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BLACKWOOD'S 


MAGAZINE. 

VOL.  CIX. 


JANUARY— JUNE,  1871, 


WILLIAM   BLACKWOOD  &  SONS,  EDINBUKGH ; 


37  PATERNOSTER  ROW,  LONDON. 


1871. 


AP 

t 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBURGH    MAGAZINE. 


No.  DCLXIII. 


JANUARY  1871. 


VOL.  CIX. 


THE  LIFE   OF  LORD   PALMERSTON. 


"WE  doubt  the  propriety  of  writ- 
ing detailed  biographies  of  conspicu- 
ous statesmen  within  a  year  or  two 
of  their  demise.  We  disapprove 
the  publication  of  their  diaries  and 
private  letters  while  many  of  the 
actors  in  the  scenes  which  these  de- 
scribe are  still  alive.  And  we  ques- 
tion the  wisdom,  not  to  say  the 
justice,  of  stereotyping  as  their 
fixed  opinions  upon  men  and  things, 
phrases  set  down  by  them  in  early 
life,  which  there  is  reason  to  believe, 
had  time  and  opportunity  been 
afforded,  they  would  have  subse- 
quently modified,  perhaps  effaced 
altogether.  Our  views  on  these 
heads  are  not,  however,  it  ap- 
pears, quite  in  accord  with  those 
of  Sir  Henry  Lytton  Bulwer.  He 
seems  to  think  that  caution  and 
reserve  in  such  cases  are  wrongs 
done  to  history.  He  undertakes 
a  task,  and  makes  up  his  mind 
to  go  through  with  it,  putting  as 
much  as  possible  out  of  sight  all 
except  the  principal  end  to  be 


achieved.  And  looking  to  that  end 
exclusively  in  the  present  instance, 
and  shutting  our  eyes  to  the  fact 
that  no  one  man,  however  eminent 
his  station,  however  large  his  oppor- 
tunities, ever  has  made  or  ever  will 
make  history,  it  is  not  very  easy  to 
say  that  Sir  Henry's  argument  is 
unsound.  Yet  the  results  are  far 
from  pleasant.  Lord  Palmerston, 
especially  towards  the  close  of  his 
life,  was  a  man  in  some  respects 
greatly  to  be  admired.  His  clear- 
sightedness appeared  to  become 
clearer  as  years  increased  upon  him ; 
while  old  principles,  long  put  in 
abeyance,  yet  never  absolutely  thrust 
aside,  came  to  the  front  again,  and 
reasserted  their  influence  over  him. 
Lord  Palmerston  never  served  his 
country  so  well,  nor  showed  himself 
better  qualified  to  take  a  lead  in  the 
counsels  of  his  sovereign,  than  dur- 
ing the  six  years  of  his  continuous 
premiership,  and  they  were  the  last 
of  his  life.  The  skill  with  which 
he  baffled  the  designs  of  his  nominal 


The  Life  of  Henry  John  Temple,  Viscount  Palmerston. 
le  Sir  Henry  Lytton  Bulwer.     Bentley,  London :  1870. 
VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXIII. 


By  the  Eight  Honour- 


The  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


[Jan. 


supporters  was  only  to  be  equalled 
by  the  adroitness  with  which  he 
held  his  ground  against  the  untiring 
efforts  of  rivals  and  avowed  enemies 
to  trip  him  up.  And  the  conse- 
quence was  a  lull  in  that  tempest  of 
constitutional  and  organic  change 
that  for  thirty  years  had  raged  till 
he  grasped  the  helm  of  state,  and 
which  began  again  with  greater  fury 
than  ever  as  soon  as  he  quitted  the 
deck,  and  left  to  other  and  feebler 
hands  the  charge  of  the  vessel.  It 
was  on  that  portion  of  his  public 
life  that  our  memory  delighted  ex- 
clusively to  dwell,  and  we  confess 
to  a  feeling  of  mingled  annoyance 
and  regret  at  having  our  thoughts 
diverted  from  it  by  other  and  less 
satisfactory  reminiscences.  If  Sir 
Henry  Lytton  Bulwer  had  adhered 
to  his  original  design,  and  in  a 
second  series  of  historical  characters 
had  sketched  Lord  Palmerston  as  he 
has  sketched  Mr  Canning,  we  be- 
lieve that  he  would  have  at  once 
done  more  justice  to  his  subject  and 
given  greater  pleasure  to  his  many 
readers.  As  it  is,  we  have  presented 
to  us  a  work  which,  with  all  its  ex- 
cellences, offends  continually  both 
in  matter  and  in  manner;  sometimes 
putting  us  out  of  humour  with  the 
hero  of  the  tale  as  he  is  painted, 
sometimes  making  us  angry  with  the 
limner.  For  example — and  this  is 
really  a  serious  matter — the  life  of 
such  a  man  as  Lord  Palmerston,  if 
it  must  needs  be  published  thus 
early  in  extenso,  ought  to  have  been 
published  entire.  Possibly,  rather 
let  us  say  probably,  the  volumes  for 
which  we  still  wait  may  correct  the 
impressions,  not  always  favourable 
to  Lord  Palmerston,  which  those 
upon  our  table  have  produced.  Yet, 
being  thus  challenged  to  pronounce 
judgment  in  the  case,  we  are  con- 
strained to  go  upon  such  evidence 
as  our  witness  produces,  even  though 
more  than  half  suspecting  that  it  is 
incomplete,  This  is  a  pity,  because 


there  can  be  no  wish  on  our  part, 
but  the  contrary,  to  censure  by  an- 
ticipation either  Lord  Palmerston  or 
his  biographer ;  and  it  is  neither 
agreeable  nor  easy,  after  a  verdict 
has  once  been  given  in,  to  unsay 
what  has  been  said  without  subject- 
ing ourselves  to  the  charge  of  self- 
contradiction.  In  the  present  in- 
stance, however,  we  cannot  help 
ourselves.  The  goods  which  the 
gods  provide,  men  are  constrained 
to  take ;  and  this  particular  benefit, 
dispensed  to  us  through  the  hands 
of  a  very  pleasant  writer,  we  accept 
with  due  gratitude,  proceeding  at 
once  to  sift  and  analyse  it. 

And  here  our  readers  must  be 
advised  in  limine  that  for  obvious 
reasons  their  attention  will  be  con- 
fined in  this  paper  almost  exclusive- 
ly to  one  or  two  points.  The  vol- 
umes before  us  tell  little  else  than 
how  Lord  Palmerston  rose  by  slow 
degrees  from  obscurity  to  eminence. 
They  describe  him,  indeed,  as  he 
bore  himself  when  for  the  first  time  he 
conducted  the  foreign  policy  of  the 
country ;  and  in  that  attitude  we  see 
about  him  a  good  deal  to  admire.  But 
the  story,  as  it  Is  told,  exhibits  also 
a  disposition  on  his  part  not  to  be 
over-scrupulous  respecting  the  means 
by  which  he  is  to  ascend  the  ladder 
of  state,  and  a  readiness,  which  we 
cannot  sufficiently  condemn,  to  attri- 
bute unworthy  motives  to  his  con- 
temporaries. In  particular,  the  out- 
rages offered  (for  we  cannot  other- 
wise characterise  them)  to  the  memory 
of  the  greatest  and  most  honest  man 
England  ever  produced  —  are  the 
more  offensive  to  us  that  they  are 
generally  covert  outrages.  To  these, 
then,  and  to  the  exposure  of  the 
worse  than  ignorance  of  facts  on 
which  they  rest,  we  intend,  after 
briefly  noticing  such  details  as  lead 
more  directly  up  to  them,  on  the 
present  occasion  to  limit  our  stric- 
tures. What  else  deserves  to  be 
said  of  the  man  will  be  said  when 


1871.] 


The  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


his  career  comes  in  its  completeness 
before  us. 

Henry  or  Harry  John  Temple, 
fourth  and  last  Viscount  Palmerston 
of  the  peerage  of  Ireland,  was  born 
on  the  20th  of  October  1784.  He 
derived  his  descent  from  the  young- 
er brother  of  that  distinguished 
Sir  William  Temple  who  had 
Swift  for  his  protege,  and  William 
III.  for  his  friend.  He  received  his 
early  education  partly  in  Italy — in 
which  country  his  father,  a  man  of 
great  taste  in  the  arts,  was  accus- 
tomed to  spend  a  good  deal  of  his 
time — and  subsequently  at  Harrow, 
where  he  was  contemporary  with 
Lord  Byron  and  Peel ; — and  last  of 
all,  in  St  John's  College,  Cambridge. 
He  succeeded  to  the  title  in  conse- 
quence of  his  father's  death  in  1802. 
His  mother,  to  whom  he  seems  to 
have  been  much  attached,  he  lost  in 
1805.  In  1806,  being  barely  of 
age,  he  made  his  first  attempt  to  get 
into  the  House  of  Commons,  and  shot 
high  for  the  distinction.  Young 
as  he  was,  he  aspired  to  represent 
the  University,  in  which  he  was 
still  only  an  undergraduate,  and 
sustained,  as  he  frankly  admits  that 
he  deserved  to  do,  a  signal  defeat. 
Nothing  daunted,  however,  he  fought 
and  won  a  battle  in  the  autumn  of 
the  same  year  at  Horsham.  But  he 
won  only  by  a  double  return ;  and, 
the  House  determining  against  him, 
he  went  back  into  private  life  a 
poorer  man  by  some  fifteen  hundred 
pounds. 

Lord  Palmerston  had  been  brought 
up  in  the  school  of  Pitt.  In  1806, 
when  he  made  his  first  essay  to  co- 
operate with  the  party,  the  party 
was  broken  up.  All  the  Talents 
were  then  in  office,  and  to  that  cir- 
cumstance, not  less  than  to  his  own 
extreme  youth,  he  attributed  his 
place  at  the  bottom  of  the  poll. 
But  in  1807  the  Pittites  were  in 
power  again ;  and  the  Duke  of  Port- 
land, at  the  instigation  of  the  Earl 


of  Malmesbury,  gave  to  Lord  Pal- 
merston, being  still  out  of  Parliament, 
a  place  in  his  Administration.  From 
that  date  up  to  the  day  of  his  death, 
Lord  Palmerston  may  be  said  to  have 
been  constantly  in  office.  Short 
breaches  in  the  official  career  did 
indeed  occur,  as  in  1828,  and  again 
in  1842  ;  but  with  these  exceptions 
we  find  him,  under  various  changes 
both  of  men  and  measures,  still  a 
placeman ; — entering  life  as  a  Tory 
under  the  segis  of  Eldon  and  Bath- 
urst,  and  going  out  of  it  the  ac- 
cepted leader  of  Liberals  of  every 
shade  of  opinion,  except  perhaps  the 
deepest. 

Lord  Palnierston's  first  seat  in  the 
House  was  for  the  pocket  borough 
of  Newton  in  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
He  had  again,  on  the  dissolution  in 
1807,  tried  his  chances  at  Cam- 
bridge, and  was  again  defeated,  as 
he  himself  alleges,  through  foul 
play  on  the  part  of  another  Minis- 
terial candidate.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
he  consoled  himself,  under  the  mis- 
fortune by  acceding  to  the  terms 
on  which  Sir  Leonard  Holmes 
opened  the  doors  of  Parliament  to 
ambitious  statesmen— one  of  which 
was,  that  the  candidate  should  never, 
even  for  the  election,  put  his  foot 
within  the  place.  As  was  to  be  ex- 
pected, the  young  Lord  of  the  Ad- 
miralty gave  his  uncompromising 
support  to  his  patrons.  He  de- 
fended the  Copenhagen  expedition 
in  a  speech,  "  upon- which,"  he  says, 
"I  received  much  praise  and  many 
compliments."  He  advocated  the 
rendering  assistance  to  the  Penin- 
sular nations  in  their  struggle  to 
throw  off  the  French  yoke.  He 
voted  steadily  against  the  admission 
of  Eoman  Catholics  into  Parlia- 
ment— all  the  while,  as  his  Diary 
assures  us,  believing  their  claims  to 
be  just.  In  the  same  beaten  path 
of  George  IIL  Toryism  he  con- 
tinued to  walk  after  the  Duke  of 
Portland's  death  and  the  accession 


Tlie  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


[Jan. 


of  Mr  Perceval  to  power.  Indeed, 
so  highly  does  he  appear  to  have 
"been  thought  of  by  the  latter  of 
these  statesmen,  that  he  was  invited 
by  him  to  take  a  seat  in  the  Cabinet, 
and  to  exchange  a  Junior  Lordship 
of  the  Admiralty  for  the  Chancel- 
lorship of  the  Exchequer.  It  speaks 
well  for  the  modesty  of  Lord  Pal- 
merston at  this  time  that  he  shrank 
from  being  brought  into  so  pro- 
minent a  position.  He  declined 
the  Exchequer  as  too  hazardous 
an  attempt  for  so  young  and  inex- 
perienced a  man,  and  accepted  in 
lieu  of  it  the  post  of  Secretary  at 
War,  though  warned  beforehand 
that  it  could  not  carry  with  it  a 
seat  in  the  Cabinet.  Lord  Pal- 
merston did  excellent  work  in  the 
old  War  Office.  The  place  suited 
him  well.  It  was  one  of  detail,  not 
too  hard  to  master,  yet  sufficiently 
complicated  to  require  both  atten- 
tion and  firmness.  He  was  ably 
supported  in  it  by  his  brother-in- 
law,  the  late  Right  Honourable  Law- 
rence Sullivan,  whom  he  selected  to 
be  his  deputy,  and  who  proved  him- 
self worthy  of  the  advancement. 
Neither  did  the  duties  of  his  office 
interfere  with  that  love  of  plea- 
sure, that  delight  in  the  society  of 
clever  men  and  women,  which  was 
natural  to  him.  More  than  once 
oifers  were  made  to  him  of  advance- 
ment— among  other  places,  to  that 
of  the  Governor-Generalship  of  In- 
dia— but  he  declined  them  all.  Be- 
coming Secretary  at  War  in  1809, 
he  clung  to  the  office  for  wellnigh 
twenty  years ;  and  exchanged  it  at 
last  for  a  more  conspicuous  place  in 
the  Government,  only  after  the  Ad- 
ministration of  which  all  that  while 
he  had  been  a  member  fell  to 
pieces. 

Up  to  the  year  1812  the  counsels 
of  the  Tory  Government  were,  to 
outward  appearance  at  least,  pretty 
well  united.  ~Not  that  even  then 
.all.  the  members  of  the  Administra- 


tion thought  alike,  or  professed  to 
think  alike,  on  every  State  question. 
But  decisions  once  arrived  at  after 
mature  deliberation  in  Cabinet  were 
held  to  be  final,  the  minority  yield- 
ing, as  was  fit,  their  judgment  to 
that  of  the  majority,  or  else  retiring 
altogether  from  the  Administration. 
In  1812  a  new  order  of  things  was 
originated.  Lord  Liverpool,  a  con- 
scientious but  weak  man,  felt  him- 
self unable  either  to  impress  his  own 
views  of  things  upon  his  colleagues, 
or  to  do  without  the  men  themselves. 
The  consequence  was,  the  establish- 
ment of  a  principle  of  action  of 
which  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
to  it  we  are  mainly,  if  not  wholly, 
indebted  for  the  state  of  weakness 
into  which  the  powers  of  Govern- 
ment have  fallen  in  this  country. 

Open  questions  in  a  governing 
body,  whether  it  direct  the  affairs  of 
a  railway  company  or  of  an  empire, 
are  fatal  to  mutual  confidence,  and 
therefore  to  vigour  of  action.  They 
foster  and  encourage,  if  they  do  not 
practically  originate,  a  spirit  of  in- 
trigue wherever  they  exist,  which  is 
invariably  the  most  active  in  ardent 
and  ambitious  spirits,  leading  sooner 
or  later  to  confusion.  The  one 
point  on  which  such  spirits  differ 
from,  it  may  be,  a  majority  of  their 
colleagues,  acquires  in  their  eyes  far 
more  importance  than  all  the  rest  on 
which  they  agree ;  and  seeking  to 
carry  that  point,  or  persuading  them- 
selves that  no  more  is  sought,  they 
lay  themselves  out  to  supplant  their 
rivals  in  the  good  opinion  of  the 
community  out  of  doors.  This  was 
remarkably  shown  under  the  feeble 
regime  of  Lord  Liverpool.  Two 
Cabinet  Ministers,  both  of  them  men 
of  great  mark,  had  been  favourable, 
both  in  the  Duke  of  Portland's  time 
and  in  Mr  Perceval's,  to  the  repeal 
of  the  laws  which  excluded  Roman 
Catholics  from  Parliament.  They 
were  both  invited,  and  both  ac- 
cepted the  invitation,  to  retain  office 


1871.] 


Tlie  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


under  Lord  Liverpool ; — though  not 
before  one — the  more  ambitious  of 
the  two — had  made  an  attempt  to 
be  Mr  Perceval's  successor.  The 
restraint  heretofore  laid  upon  them 
being  removed,  they  both  thence- 
forth supported  what  was  called 
Catholic  Emancipation,  but  with  a 
marked  contrariety  in  their  mode  of 
doing  so  strictly  in  accordance  with 
the  differences  in  their  temperament. 
Lord  Castlereagh  voted,  and  even 
spoke,  in  opposition  to  his  col- 
leagues on  that  question,  but 
there  he  stopped.  Mr  Canning 
spoke  and  voted  in  like  manner, 
but  did  not  stop  there.  He  entered 
into  cabals,  not  alone  with  other 
members  of  the  Government,  but 
both  with  Tories  out  of  office  and 
with  members  of  the  Opposition, 
with  a  view  to  defeat  the  adverse 
section  ;  and  by  no  means  confined 
his  hostility  to  the  one  point  osten- 
sibly at  issue.  Among  others,  he 
early  obtained  the  support  of  Lord 
Palmerston.  We  perceive  that  Sir 
Henry  Bulwer  disputes  this,  on  the 
ground  that  Lord  Palmerston  did 
not  go  out  of  office  when  Mr  Can- 
ning retired,  either  at  the  time  of  his 
duel  with  Lord  Castlereagh,  or  sub- 
sequently when  the  Queen's  trial 
came  on.  But  the  inference  cannot 
be  accepted  as  a  just  one  in  the  face 
of  Lord  Palmerston's  distinct  asser- 
tion to  the  contrary,  when  he  says 
of  himself  and  his  party,  "  We  came 
in  as  Canning's  friends,  and  as  Can- 
ning's friends  went  out  again." 
Voting  from  1807  to  1812,  ses- 
sion after  session,  against  Emanci- 
pation, Lord  Palmerston  followed 
the  example  of  Castlereagh  and 
Canning,  and  thenceforth  voted  for 
it.  He  did  so,  however,  as  late  as 
1815,  and  later,  without  any  declina- 
tion whatever  from  his  fealty  to 
Toryism.  '  The  New  Whig  Guide,' 
to  which  he  contributed  some 
of  the  best  pieces  (why  has  Sir 
Henry  Bulwer  forgotten  to  tell  his 


readers  so  ?),  shows  what  his  opinion 
then  was  of — "  A  was  an  Althorp, 
heavy  and  dull" — and  the  rest  of 
the  set  to  which  he  subsequently 
joined  himself.  But  we  are  not,  as  it 
would  seem,  quite  the  masters  of  our 
own  destiny.  Lord  Palmerston  grew 
day  by  day  more  politically  attached 
to  Canning.  He  could  not,  of 
course,  do  this  without  gradually 
alienating  himself  from  the  other 
section  of  the  Government ;  and  the 
rupture  became  open — so  at  least  he 
tells  us — in  1825.  Speaking  of  the 
contest  for  Cambridge,  which  was 
then  going  on,  and  the  candidatures 
of  Bankes,  Copley,  and  Goulburn, 
coincident  with  his  own,  he  says  : — 

"It  was  soon  manifest  that  the  object 
of  certain  parties  was  to  eject  me  as 
well  as  Bankes  ;  and  the  active  influence 
of  the  anti-Catholic  members  of  the  Gov- 
ernment was  exerted  in  favour  of  Copley 
and  Goulburn,  and  therefore  against  me. 

"I  complained  to  Lord  Liverpool,  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  and  Canning,  of  my 
being  thus  attacked,  in  violation  of  the 
understanding  on  which  the  Government 
was  formed,  and  by  which  the  Catholic 
question  was  to  be  an  open  one,  and  not 
a  ground  for  the  exclusion  of  any  indivi- 
dual ;  and  I  told  Lord  Liverpool  that  if 
I  was  beat  I  should  quit  the  Government. 
This  was  the  first  decided  step  towards  a 
breach  between  me  and  the  Tories,  and 
they  were  the  aggressors." 

It  seems  to  us  impossible  to  read 
the  Diary  which  Sir  Henry  Bulwer 
has  printed,  brief  and  fragmentary 
as  it  is,  much  less  to  attend  to  the 
running  commentary  upon  it  which 
appears  in  Lord  Palmerston's  letters, 
without  perceiving  that,  long  before 
the  crisis  came,  Lord  Palmerston  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  break  loose 
from  all  the  traditions  by  which  the 
party  of  which  he  remained  osten- 
sibly a  member  had  heretofore  been 
guided.  Open  questions  had  done 
their  work  on  him  as  well  as  on 
Canning,  and  perhaps  done  it — 
though  on  that  head  the  evidence  is 
inferential  only — even  more  decided- 
ly. An  advocate  of  Catholic  Ernanci- 


The  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


[Jan. 


pation  and  Free-trade,  a  propagand- 
ist of  Liberal  opinions  abroad  as  well 
as  at  home,  Canning  continued  to  be 
an  opponent  of  Parliamentary  Reform 
to  the  last.  Palmerston,  when  the 
convenient  season  came,  renounced 
that  article  of  his  leader's  creed.  In 
other  respects  he  did  very  much  as 
Canning  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  : 
passively  he  supported  the  Ministry 
to  which  he  belonged;  actively  and 
intimately  he  sought  his  personal 
friendships  among  their  opponents. 
His  biographer  says  that  his  position 
was  an  isolated  one.  Who  made  it 
such1?  It  is  further  insinuated  that 
the  King  always  hated,  and  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  looked  cold  upon  him. 
Probably  both  allegations  may  have 
some  ground  of  truth  in  them,  be- 
cause it  is  not  easy  for  people  who  are 
in  earnest  themselves  to  take  to  their 
heart  of  hearts  those  in  whom  they 
discover  no  sign  df  earnestness. 
Still  we  find  nothing,  either  in  the 
Diary  or  the  Letters,  to  show  that  the 
terms  on  which  the  Duke  and  he 
stood  towards  each  other,  for  the 
nine  years  preceding  the  death  of 
Lord  Liverpool,  were  other  than 
friendly.  But  then  a  new  condition 
of  affairs  is  induced,  and  Lord  Pal- 
merston at  once  adapts  himself  to  it. 
In  1827,  as  in  1812,  Mr  Canning 
intrigued  for  high  office.  Whether 
Lord  Palmerston  did  or  could  serve 
him  in  that  intrigue  there  is  nothing 
to  show ;  but  in  its  success  he  re- 
joiced, as  he  personally  profited 
from  it.  Canning's  friends  are,  of 
course,  his  friends  ;  Canning's  op- 
ponents come  under  the  lash  of  his 
censure.  The  following  is  the 
account  which  he  gives  of  a  series 
of  transactions  which  took  all  Eng- 
land by  surprise,  and  shivered  the 
Tory  party,  never  again  as  such  to 
be  reunited.  He  is  writing  to  his 
brother  William : — 

"  You  must  have  been  surprised,"  he 
says,  "like  the  rest  of  the  world,  at  all 
the  resignations  in  the  last  week.  Peel's 


was  expected  by  Canning,  as  he  had  all 
along  explained  that,  from  his  peculiar 
connection  with  Oxford,  he  should  think 
himself  obliged  to  go  out  if  a  Catholic 
were  head  of  a  Government ;  but  the 
others  were  unexpected,  and  generally 
without  a  public  ground.  Westmoreland, 
indeed,  stated  fairly  that  he  could  not 
serve  under  a  Catholic  chief.  The  Duke 
of  Wellington  gives  out  that  he  went  out 
because  Canning's  letters  were  uncivil ; 
Melville,  because  the  Duke  persuaded 
him,  and  told  him  that  if  he  did  not  go 
out  now,  he  would  be  turned  out  six 
months  hence ;  Bathurst,  because  his 
colleagues  went ;  Bexley,  that  he  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  coming  back  again. 
Peel  is  a  great  loss ;  but  he  parts  with 
undiminished  cordiality,  and  one  under- 
stands and  respects  his  motives.  The 
Duke  is  a  great  loss  in  the  Cabinet,  but  in 
the  command  of  the  army  an  irreparable 
one ;  and  it  is  the  more  provoking  that 
he  should  have  resigned  this  office,  be- 
cause it  is  not  a  political  office ;  and  he 
felt  this  so  strongly,  that  when  it  became 
a  question,  three  months  ago,  on  what 
footing  he  should  hold  it,  he  declared 
himself  perfectly  ready  to  quit  the  Cabi- 
net, if  it  was  thought  not  tenable  with 
that  situation.  The  King  is  very  angry 
with  him,  and  wrote  a  short  and  equivocal 
answer  to  his  letter  of  resignation,  simply 
saying  that  he  received  it  with  the  same 
regret  with  which  the  Duke  appeared 
to  have  sent  it.  I  take  it  that  this 
was  worked  about  by  Eldon ;  no  doubt 
he  thought  it  a  master-stroke.  In  the 
mean  time,  however,  I  am  glad  to  find 
that  nobody  else  is  to  be  appointed.  The 
situation  will  be  left  vacant,  and  the 
duties  done  as  in  the  last  interregnum  ; 
and  when  arrangements  for  the  new  Gov- 
ernment have  been  made,  and  personal 
feelings  on  both  sides  have  cooled,  I  have 
no  doubt  the  Duke  will  return  to  his  com- 
mand." 

The  preceding  sentences,  which 
Lord  Palmerston's  biographer  takes 
no  trouble  either  to  controvert  or  to 
explain  away,  lay  down  this  as  a  fact, 
that  the  Duke  of  Wellington  had  no 
just  cause  of  severance  from  Mr  Can- 
ning; that  he  was  induced  to  act  as  he 
didby  mere  irritability  of  temper;  that 
the  ground  of  offence  taken  was  a 
very  silly  one;  and  that  the  offended 
man,  as  soon  as  his  anger  cooled 
down  a  little,  would  without  doubt 
come  back,  at  all  events  to  the 
Horse  Guards.  Now,  whatever 


1871.] 


Tlie  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


Lord  Palmerston's  opinion  on  these 
matters  may  have  been  at  the  mo- 
ment, Lord  Palmerston's  biographer 
has  doubtless  read  the  Duke's  public 
despatches.  Possibly  he  may  have 
glanced  through  the  last-published 
edition  of  the  great  Duke's  Life;  and, 
in  either  case,  he  can  hardly  be  ignor- 
ant that  the  motives  of  action  attri- 
buted to  him  by  Lord  Palmerston 
in  1827  were  not  the  true  motives. 
We  should  think,  also,  that  Lord 
Palmerston  himself  before  he  died 
may  have  discovered  his  mistake, 
and  that  the  last  thing  in  the  world 
he  could  have  desired  would  be, 
that  a  rash  opinion,  expressed  while 
yet  he  knew  no  better,  should  be 
set  down  as  the  deliverance  of  his 
matured  judgment.  There,  how- 
ever, stands  Lord  Palmerston's  ver- 
dict, without  any  attempt  at  quali- 
fication, without  a  word  of  comment 
from  the  guardian  of  Lord  Palmer- 
ston's fame,  to  show  that  the  error 
into  which  his  hero  fell  was  at  least 
an  involuntary  one.  It  is  due  to 
both  parties, — not  less  to  Lord  Pal- 
merston than  to  the  Duke,  that  the 
true  version  of  this  curious  story 
should  be  given ;  and  this  we  pro- 
pose to  do  as  much  as  possible  in 
the  words  of  the  chief  actor  in  the 
scene,  rather  than  in  our  own. 

When  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
first  entered  the  Cabinet,  he  found 
Mr  Canning  already  a  member  of  it. 
They  acted  together  for  about  two 
years,  at  the  end  of  which  period 
the  determination  of  the  Government 
to  proceed  against  Queen  Caroline 
by  a  bill  of  pains  and  penalties,  in- 
duced Mr  Canning,  who  strongly 
objected  to  the  proceeding,  to  send 
in  his  resignation.  There  is  the  best 
reason  to  believe  that  the  Duke  and 
Mr  Canning  never  took  very  heartily 
to  one  another  from  the  first.  Their 
characters  both  as  public  and  private 
men  were  cast  in  different  moulds. 
They  both  had  their  faults,  they 
both  had  their  excellences ;  but  the 


lines  that  ran  between  them  were 
too  broadly  marked  to  admit  of  the 
growth  of  anything  like  real  confi- 
dence on  either  side.  "  Idem  velle 
idem  nolle"  was  no  watchword  of 
theirs.  The  Duke,  the  very  soul  of 
truth  and  honour,  could  never  lend 
himself,  either  as  a  politician  or  a 
member  of  society,  to  any  course 
of  conduct  which  in  his  opinion 
savoured,  be  it  ever  so  slightly,  of 
bad  faith.  He  had  his  own  opinions 
on  many  points  of  policy  in  which 
his  colleagues  differed  from  him. 
He  argued  each  case  as  it  came  before 
them  in  Cabinet,  but  would  -have 
no  more  considered  it  right,  the 
decision  being  against  him,  to  aim 
at  thwarting  that  decision  by  under- 
hand means,  than  he  would  have 
stirred  up  a  mutinous  feeling  in  the 
army  with  a  view  to  overawe  the 
Government  and  carry  some  point 
of  his  own.  Mr  Canning  took  a 
different  view  of  the  moral  fitness  of 
things  with  regard  to  public  affairs. 
Whatever  he  believed  to  be  for  the 
good  of  the  commonwealth,  he  was 
ready  by  any  means  to  bring  about, 
were  it  even  necessary  for  the  attain- 
ment of  his  object  to  play  fast  and 
loose  with  his  colleagues.  Mr  Can- 
ning, moreover,  was  as  ambitious  as 
he  was  able.  He  had  aspired  in 
1812  to  take  Mr  Perceval's  place, 
and  failed ;  yet  continuing  to  per- 
suade himself  that,  as  Prime  Minister, 
he  would  be  able  more  than  any 
other  living  man  to  benefit  the  State, 
he  never  for  a  moment  ceased  to 
meditate  and  work  out  plans  for  the 
achievement  of  that  great  object  of 
his  ambition.  With  this  view  he 
laid  himself  out  to  make  friends  in 
every  party  and  section  of  a  party 
in  both  Houses  of  Parliament.  In 
this  respect,  not  less  than  in  many 
others,  the  Duke  and  he  were  anti- 
podes to  each  other.  The  Duke  had 
no  personal  friends,  he  had  few 
familiar  acquaintances  among  the 
Whigs.  Meeting  them  continually 


8 


The  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


[Jan'. 


in  society,  and  greeting  them  at  all 
times  with  kindness  and  txrbanity, 
he  never,  while  serving  under  the 
leadership  of  Lord  Liverpool,  per- 
mitted himself  to  go  further.  Mr 
Canning's  intimacies,  on  the  con- 
trary, were  dispensed  with  absolute 
impartiality  among  persons  whom  he 
thought  it  worth  while  to  cultivate, 
whether  they  were  Whigs  or  Tories. 
Indeed  the  former  being,  it  must 
be  confessed,  for  the  most  part  the 
better  company  of  the  two,  seemed 
to  enjoy  at  least  as  large  a  share  of 
his  confidences  as  the  latter.  To 
what  extent  these  confidences  were 
carried,  will  probably  not  be  known 
till  private  correspondence  still  held 
sacred  shall  see  the  light.  "We  do 
Mr  Canning  no  wrong  therefore ;  we 
merely  repeat  what  his  friends  have 
said  before  us,  and  what  the  letters 
of  one  of  the  most  devoted  among 
them,  now  for  the  first  time  publish- 
ed, seem  to  confirm,  that  long  before 
the  break-up  of  the  Tory  party  in 
1827,  Canning  had  at  least  as  many 
confidential  supporters  among  the 
Opposition  members  in  both  Houses 
as  he  had  among  the  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  who  sat  beside  him  upon 
the  Ministerial  benches. 

Between  two  men  so  circumstanc- 
ed, the  one  guided  in  all  his  proceed- 
ings by  an  unyielding,  perhaps  a 
stern — call  it,  if  you  will,  a  narrow 
— sense  of  duty ;  the  other  holding 
that  to  be  right,  and  therefore  con- 
sistent with  duty,  which  is  expedi- 
ent or  suitable  to  occasions  as  they 
arise, — there  could  be  very  little  cor- 
diality of  sentiment.  They  might 
meet,  they  did  meet,  and  consult 
together,  and  they  could  act  together 
up  to  a  certain  point.  But  it  was 
not  in  the  nature  of  things  that 
either  should  so  trust  the  other  as 
under  any  circumstances  to  be  pre- 
pared to  acknowledge  him  as  his 
chief,  or  to  follow  him  as  his  leader. 

The  Duke,  though  mistrusting 
Mr  Canning,  fully  appreciated  his 


talents,  especially  as  a  Parliamentary 
speaker.  He  felt  that  in  losing  him 
the  Cabinet  had  sustained  a  serious 
loss  indeed ;  and  the  more  so  that 
he  looked  forward  to  the  time  when 
impatience  of  a  false  position  and 
the  consciousness  of  power  kept 
down  would  probably  drive  Mr 
Canning  into  the  ranks  of  the  Op- 
position. Perhaps  if  Mr  Canning's 
appointment  to  the  Governor-Gene- 
ralship of  India  had  taken  place 
earlier  than  it  did,  the  Duke  would 
have  got  rid  of  those  impressions. 
Whatever  his  disposition  might  be, 
Mr  Canning's  opportunities  of  dam- 
aging the  Government  from  which 
he  had  seceded  would  have  been 
comparatively  fewer,  he  being  in 
Calcutta,  than  if  he  had  remained 
in  England ;  but  matters  were  not 
so  ordered.  Recommended  by  the 
Court  of  Directors,  and  accepted  by 
the  Board  of  Control,  he  was  just 
about  to  sail  for  the  seat  of  his  gov- 
ernment when  Lord  Castlereagh's 
melancholy  death  occurred,  and  the 
place  of  Secretary  of  State  for  Fo- 
reign Affairs  became  vacant.  Lord 
Liverpool,  a  man,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  wanting  in  self-reliance,  and 
who,  in  losing  Lord  Castlereagh, 
had  lost  his  mainstay,  thought  at 
once  with  bitter  regret  of  Canning's 
severance  from  his  Administration, 
and  yearned  to  bring  him  back. 
But  the  King  was  at  that  time 
strongly  prejudiced  against  Mr  Can- 
ning, and  Lord  Liverpool  had  no 
influence  over  the  King,  with  whom, 
indeed,  he  held  little  except  the 
merest  official  intercourse.  The  con- 
sequence was  that  the  Duke,  called 
in  to  advise,  considered  the  question 
in  all  its  bearings,  and  came  to  the 
conclusion  that,  in  spite  of  the  risk 
attending  it,  the  gain  to  the  Govern- 
ment would  be  greater  from  the 
readmission  of  Canning  into  the 
Cabinet  than  from  his  continued 
exclusion.  They  needed  his  elo- 
quence in  the  House  of  Commons. 


1871.] 


The  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


9 


They  would  be  able — so  at  least  the 
Duke  persuaded  himself — to  baffle 
again,  as  they  had  baffled  before,  his 
constitutional  shiftiness.  He  ac- 
cordingly undertook  to  get  the  bet- 
ter of  the  King's  antipathies,  and  he 
succeeded.  Thus  it  was  by  the 
Duke's  means  principally  that  Mr 
Canning,  instead  of  getting  shelved 
at  Calcutta,  returned  to  the  Cabinet, 
of  which  Lord  Liverpool  was  the 
ostensible  head.  Why  he  was  ap- 
pointed to  the  important  office  of 
Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs 
the  Duke  explains  in  a  memoran- 
dum, of  which  we  subjoin  a  copy: — 

"  7th  September  1827. — When  the  mis- 
fortune occurred  (the  death  of  Lord  Castle- 
reagh)  it  was  necessary  for  the  Govern- 
ment to  consider  what  measures  should 
be  adopted  for  its  reorganisation.  We 
could  look  to  two  persons  to  take  the  lead 
in  the  House  of  Commons.  If  we  looked 
to  Mr  Peel  we  had  only  one  individual 
who  could  pretend  to  take  a  great  lead  in 
Parliament;  and  giving  him  every  credit 
for  talents,  we  could  not  believe  that  he 
would  prove  himself  more  capable  than 
the  man  we  had  lost  to  carry  on  such  a 
concern  alone  and  unsupported.  His 
health  is  not  very  good,  and  he  had  more 
than  once  complained  in  the  last  session 
that  he  was  not  equal  even  to  the  moder- 
ate share  of  the  labour  which  had  de- 
volved upon  him,  and  we  could  not  ex- 
pect that  alone  he  could  be  equal  to  the 
whole. 

"  Then  we  knew  and  were  informed 
that  a  large  number  of  the  supporters  of 
Government,  some  even  in  office,  had, 
during  the  last  session,  lamented  that  a 
person  of  Mr  Canning's  Parliamentary 
talents  should  have  been  allowed  to  go 
away  ;  and  it  was  found  that  many  indi- 
viduals, some  in  office,  declared  that  they 
could  not  support  us  if,  under  existing 
circumstances,  an  attempt  was  not  made 
to  detain  Mr  Canning  in  the  country. 
These  individuals  were  principally  those 
who  favour  the  Roman  Catholic  cause, 
and  what  I  should  call  the  Liberals 
among  the  supporters  of  the  Government ; 
and  I  entertain  no  doubt  that  if  we  had 
determined  to  carry  on  the  Government 
without  making  an  offer  to  Mr  Canning, 
we  should  have  lost  the  support  of  all  those 
and  of  Mr  Canning's  particular  party;  and 
we  should,  moreover,  have  left  ourselves 
in  respect  of  Parliamentary  talents  in  a 
situation  far  inferior  to  that  in  which  we 


had  been  for  many  years.  It  was  deter- 
mined to  recommend  the  King  to  recall 
Mr  Canning  to  his  counsels.  When  this 
was  determined  the  question  was,  to  what 
situation  he  should  be  called.  Upon 
this  point,  common-sense,  strengthened 
by  former  experience,  could  have  no 
doubt.  Nothing  can  be  so  erroneous  as 
to  place  any  individual  of  great  activity 
and  talents  in  a  situation  in  which  there 
is  no  scope  for  his  activity,  and  in  which 
he  must  feel  that  his  talents  are  thrown 
away.  His  views  must  always  be  di- 
rected to  disturb  rather  than  to  preserve 
the  existing  order  of  things,  in  order  that 
out  of  a  new  arrangement  he  may  find 
himself  in  a  situation  better  suited  to 
him.  But  there  exist  other  circum- 
stances which  render  it  impossible  to 
appoint  Mr  Canning  to  any  other  situa- 
tion. He  must  be  the  leader  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  and  as  such  he  must 
be  either  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  or 
Secretary  of  State  in  one  of  the  three  de- 
partments. 

"  I  believe  it  would  be  impossible  to 
place  two  leading  men  in  the  Treasury. 
There  remained  then  only  the  office  of  the 
Secretary  of  State.  Mr  Peel  cannot  talk 
French,  and  is  totally  unaccustomed  to 
foreign  affairs ;  and  Lord  Bathurst's  office 
in  time  of  peace  is  certainly  less  im- 
portant than  either  of  the  others.  It  is 
therefore  deemed  advisable  to  place  Mr 
Canning  in  the  Foreign  Office,  on  the 
principle  above  laid  down  (which  is  unde- 
niable) of  placing  him  in  the  situation  in 
which  there  shall  be  ample  scope  for  his 
activity  and  talents." 

So  much  for  the  part  taken  by 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  in  bringing 
Canning  back  to  the  Cabinet.  It 
is  quite  evident  from  the  tone  of 
this  memorandum  that  the  measure 
was  adopted  only  as  the  lesser  of 
two  evils.  Canning  had  his  own 
party  within  the  Tory  circle — strong 
even  in  numbers,  stronger  still  in 
talent.  The  open  secession  of  these 
men,  in  disgust  that  their  chief  had 
been  thrown  over,  would  render  the 
position  of  the  Government  ex- 
tremely critical.  On  the  other  hand, 
a  prompt  and  complete  tender  of 
renewed  confidence,  such  as  was 
involved  in  the  appointment  of  Mr 
Canning  to  be  Lord  Castlereagh's 
successor,  could  not,  it  was  believed, 
fail  of  securing  the  absolute  good 


10 


Tlie  Life  of  Lord  Palm&rston. 


[Jan. 


faith  of  botli  the  person  so  treated 
and  of  his  followers,  if  of  absolute 
good  faith,  in  the  well-understood 
sense  of  that  term,  he  as  a  poli- 
tician were  capable.  Whether  Mr 
Canning  saw  into  the  real  mo- 
tive which  swayed  the  more  influ- 
ential members  of  the  Cabinet  to 
vote  for  his  return,  and  resented  it, 
we  cannot  pretend  to  say.  Proud 
men — and  Mr  Canning  was  proud 
—  are  apt  to  take  that  particu- 
lar view  of  arrangements  of  the 
sort  which  best  flatters  their  self- 
esteem,  and  to  regard,  rather  with 
deeper  dislike  than  the  contrary, 
those  who  seek  them  out  more  be- 
cause they  fear  than  because  they 
esteem  them.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
the  Cabinet  had  not  been  long  re- 
constructed ere  signs  of  disunion 
more  ominous  than  ever  began  to 
appear  in  its  proceedings.  To  speak 
the  truth  shortly,  two  separate 
camps — each  held  by  its  own  gar- 


rison —  were  almost  immediately 
formed,  between  which,  with  the 
simple  view  of  keeping  them  from 
an  open  rupture,  the  Duke  happily 
and  assiduously  negotiated. 

We  come  now  to  the  incidents 
which  followed  the  political  death 
of  Lord  Liverpool,  and  find  in  them, 
as  we  imagine  the  bulk  of  our 
readers  will  likewise  find,  the  full- 
est justification  of  all  that  has  just 
been  stated.  Lord  Palmerston,  as  we 
have  seen,  attributes  the  Duke's  re- 
signation of  his  office  to  personal 
pique.  "The  Duke  of  Wellington 
gives  out  that  he  went  out  because 
Canning's  letters  were  uncivil." 
Canning's  letters  were  certainly  not 
such  as  it  became  him,  all  things 
considered,  to  have  addressed  to  the 
Duke;*  and  the  Duke  felt  this, 
and  made  no  secret  of  so  regarding 
them.  But  other  and  graver  con- 
siderations moved  him ;  and  Lord 
Palmerston  himself  helps  us  to  dis- 


*  The  correspondence  between  Mr  Canning  and  the  Duke  is  well  known.  "We  must, 
however,  insert  it  here,  in  order  that  there  may  be  no  obscurity  in  the  references  made 
to  it  in  the  Duke's  letter  to  the  King  : — 

"FOREIGN  OFFICE,  April  10, 1827. 

"MY  DEAR  DUKE  OF  "WELLINGTON, — The  King  has,  at  an  audience  from  which  I 
have  just  returned,  been  graciously  pleased  to  signify  to  me  his  Majesty's  commands  to 
lay  before  his  Majesty,  with  as  little  loss  of  time  as  possible,  a  plan  of  an  arrangement 
for  the  reconstruction  of  the  Administration.  In  executing  these  commands,  it  will 
be  as  much  my  own  wish  as  it  is  my  duty  to  his  Majesty,  to  adhere  to  the  principles 
on  which  Lord  Liverpool's  Government  has  so  long  acted  together.  I  need  not  add 
how  essentially  the  accomplishment  must  depend  upon  your  Grace's  continuance  as  a 
member  of  the  Cabinet. — Ever,  &c.  GEORGE  CANNING." 

"  LONDON,  April  10,  1827.    ' 

"My  DEAR  MR  CANNING, — I  have  received  your  letter  of  this  evening,  informing 
me  that  the  King  had  desired  you  to  lay  before  his  Majesty  a  plan  of  an  arrangement 
for  the  reconstruction  of  the  Administration,  and  that,  in  executing  these  commands, 
it  was  your  wish  to  adhere  to  the  principles  on  which  Lord  Liverpool's  Government 
had  so  long  acted  together.  I  anxiously  desire  to  serve  his  Majesty  as  I  have  done 
hitherto  in  his  Cabinet  with  the  same  colleagues.  But  before  I  can  give  an  answer 
to  your  obliging  proposition,  I  should  wish  to  know  who  the  person  is  whom  you 
intend  to  propose  to  his  Majesty  as  the  head  of  the  Government. — Ever,  &c. 

"WELLINGTON." 

"  FOREIGN  OFFICE,  April  11, 1827. 

"  MY  DEAR  DUKE  OP  WELLINGTON, — I  believed  it  to  be  so  generally  understood 
that  the  King  usually  intrusts  the  formation  of  an  Administration  to  the  individual 
whom  it  is  his  Majesty's  gracious  intention  to  place  at  the  head  of  it,  that  it  did  not 
occur  to  me,  when  I  communicated  to  your  Grace  yesterday  the  commands  which  I 
had  just  received  from  his  Majesty,  to  add,  that  in  the  present  instance  his  Majesty 
does  not  intend  to  depart  from  the  usual  course  of  procedure  on  such  occasions.  I 
am  sorry  to  have  delayed  some  hours  this  answer  to  your  Grace's  letter,  but  from  the 


1871.] 


Tlie  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston, 


11 


cover  what  these  were.  In  the 
same  letter  which  we  have  already 
quoted,  Lord  Palmerston  says  : — 

"  Canning  has  all  along'received  from 
the  Whigs  assurances  of  their  support  in 
the  event  of  his  forming  a  Government 
of  which  he  should  be  the  head,  even 
though  he  made  no  stipulation  on  the 
Catholic  question.  .  .  .  My  own 
opinion  is,  that  some  of  them  ought  to 
be  brought  into  the  Cabinet — Lansdowne 
or  Holland,  perhaps,  in  the  Lords,  and 
Abercrombie  andTierney  in  the  Commons. 
I  should  not  be  surprised  if  this  were  to 
happen.  ...  Do  not  mention  to 
anybody  the  assurance  of  sxipport  from 
the  Whigs  which  Canning  has  received." 

If  unprejudiced  observers  fail  to 
see  in  these  revelations  a  perfect 
justification  of  the  Duke's  want  of 
confidence  in  Mr  Canning,  we  really 
do  not  know  how  any  truth  is  to  be 
established  on  moral  evidence,  how- 
ever strong.  All  considerations  of 
party  honour,  all  thoughts  of  im- 
perial policy,  come  second  in  Mr 
Canning's  eyes  to  the  gratification  of 
his  over-mastering  desire  of  power. 
"  Canning  has  all  along  received  from 
the  Whigs  assurances  of  their  sup- 
port." Canning  had  received  these 
assurances  long  before  the  crisis  came. 
His  correspondence  with  the  Whig 
leaders,  when  the  whole  of  it 


sees  the  light,  will  tell — or  we  are 
misinformed — a  very  curious  tale. 
Meanwhile,  it  may  be  well  to  place 
side  by  side  with  Lord  Palmerston' s 
account  of  the  transaction  an  ex- 
tract from  a  letter  addressed  by  the 
Duke  to  the  King,  on  the  12th  of 
April  1827:— 

"Mr  Canning  will,  I  doubt  not,  have 
submitted  to  your  Majesty  the  letter 
which  I  have  written  to  him,  in  answer 
to  the  one  announcing  to  me  that  he  had 
been  appointed  by  your  Majesty  to  be  at 
the  head  of  your  Gavernment.  I  have 
frequently  had  occasion  to  express  to' your 
Majesty  my  most  grateful  acknowledg- 
ments for  your  Majesty's  most  gracious 
favour  and  kindness  towards  me  ;  and 
your  Majesty  can  now  more  easily  con- 
ceive than  I  can  express  the  pain  and 
grief  which  I  feel  upon  requesting  your 
Majesty  to  excuse  me  from  attendance  on 
your  councils ;  and  in  consequence  there- 
of, and  adverting  to  the  tenor  of  the  let- 
ters I  have  received  from  your  Majesty's 
Minister,  by  your  Majesty's  command, 
when  asking  your  Majesty's  permission 
to  lay  at  your  feet  those  offices  which 
connect  me  with  your  Majesty's  Govern- 
ment. 

"  I  had  considered  it  necessary,  for  the 
reasons  stated  in  my  letter  to  Mr  Canning, 
of  the  llth  of  April,  to  decline  to  sit  in 
the  Cabinet ;  and  of  course  my  office  of 
Master-General  of  the  Ordnance  was  at  the 
disposal  of  his  Majesty.  I  remained  still 
in  the  office  of  Commander-in -Chief,  which 
I  might  have  continued  to  hold,  whatever 


nature  of  the  subject  I  did  not  like  to  forward  it  without  having  previously  submit- 
ted it,  together  with  your  Grace's  letter,  to  his  Majesty. — Ever,  &c. 

"  GEORGE  CANNING." 

"  LONDON,  April  11,  1827. 

"  MY  DEAR  MB  CANNING, — I  have  received  your  letter  of  this  day ;  and  I  did  not 
understand  the  one  of  yesterday  evening  as  you  have  now  explained  it  to  me.  I  un- 
derstood from  yourself  that  you  had  in  contemplation  another  arrangement,  and  I  do 
not  believe  that  the  practice  to  which  you  refer  has  been  so  invariable  as  to  enable 
me  to  affix  a  meaning  to  your  letter  which  its  words  did  not,  in  my  opinion,  convey. 
I  sincerely  wish  that  I  could  bring  my  mind  to  the  conviction  that,  with  the  best  in- 
tentions on  your  part,  your  Government  could  be  conducted  practically  on  the  prin- 
ciples of  that  of  Lord  Liverpool ;  that  it  would  be  generally  so  considered  ;  or  that  it 
would  be  adequate  to  meet  our  difficulties  in  a  manner  satisfactory  to  the  King,  and 
conducive  to  the  interests  of  the  country.  As,  however,  I  am  convinced  that  these 
principles  must  be  abandoned  eventually,  and  that  all  our  measures  would  be 
viewed  with  suspicion  by  the  usual  supporters  of  the  Government — that  I  could  do  no 
good  in  the  Cabinet,  and  that  I  should  at  last  be  obliged  to  separate  myself  from  it 
at  a  moment  when  such  separation  might  be  more  inconvenient  to  the  King's  service 
than  it  can  be  at  present — I  must  beg  you  to  request  his  Majesty  to  excuse  me  from 
belonging  to  his  councils. — Ever,  &c.  WELLINGTON." 


12 


TJie  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


[Jan! 


might  be  the  difference  of  iny  political 
opinions  with  his  Majesty's  Minister. 
But,  in  addition  to  political  differences, 
the  tenor  and  temper  of  Mr  Canning's 
letters,  and  of  that  of  the  llth  particu- 
larly (which  had  been  previously  sub- 
mitted to  his  Majesty,  and  which,  there- 
fore, was  a  communication  from  the  King), 
were  of  a  nature  which  rendered  it  impos- 
sible for  me  to  retain  the  command  of  the 
army.  I  could  not  exercise  that  com- 
mand with  advantage  to  his  Majesty,  the 
Government,  and  the  public,  or  with  hon- 
our to  myself,  unless  I  was  respected  and 
treated  with  that  fair  confidence,  by  Ms 
Majesty  and  his  Minister,  which  I  think 
I  deserve  ;  and  nobody  will  think  I  was 
treated  with  confidence,  respect,  or  even 
common  civility,  by  Mr  Canning  in  his 
last  letter. 

"But  it  has  been  stated  by  Mr  Can- 
ning's friends,  as  I  understand,  that  in 
my  letter  to  him  of  the  10th  I  had  given 
him  cause  of  offence,  and  had  provoked 
this  answer  ;  and  it  is  but  fair  to  consider 
whether  the  letter  which  he  had  received 
from  me  does  give  to  Mr  Canning  any 
ground  to  complain.  My  letter  of  the 
10th  is  a  clear,  distinct  answer  to  the  one 
from  Mr  Canning  of  the  same  date,  in  as 
polite  terms  as  it  could  be  written,  and  in 
the  usual  form  of  my  correspondence  with 
Mr  Canning.  I  stated  my  anxious  desire 
to  remain  in  the  Cabinet  with  my  col- 
leagues ;  and,  for  the  purpose  of  receiving 
information,  I  asked  who  was  to  be  at 
the  head  of  the  Government,  hoping 
always  that  the  information  I  should 
receive  would  enable  me  to  belong  to  the 
Cabinet. 

"Mr  Canning  had,  in  a  conversation 
which  I  held  with  him  on  the  2d  of  April, 
explained  to  me  that,  in  case  his  Majesty 
should  commission  him  to  consider  of 
a  scheme  for  the  reconstruction  of  the 
Government,  one  of  his  designs  was  to 
propose  that  Mr  Robinson  should  be 
removed  to  the  House  of  Lords,  and  be 
made  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury ;  and  if 
the  answer  to  my  letter  had  been  that 
this  was  the  plan  which  he  still  intended 
to  follow,  it  would  then  have  been  sug- 
gested by  me  that  he  should  think  of  an 
arrangement  which  might  have  been 
better  calculated  to  keep  the  Govern- 
ment together.  The  question,  there- 
fore, in  my  letter  was  fairly  founded 
upon  a  former  communication  from  Mr 
Canning.  The  question  was  likewise 
fully  justified  by  former  practice. 

"  In  1812  Mr  Canning  was  the  channel 
of  communication  from  Lord  Wellesley  to 


Lord  Liverpool  respecting  the  formation 
of  an  Administration.  Mr  Canning  ap- 
prised Lord  Livei-pool  upon  that  occasion 
that  the  Prince  Regent  had  laid  his  com- 
mands upon  Lord  Wellesley  to  form  a 
plan  of  Administration  to  be  submitted  for 
his  Royal  Highness's  approbation.  Lord 
Wellesley,  upon  the  same  occasion,  waited 
upon  Lord  Gre}'  and  Lord  Granville,  by 
order  of  his  Majesty,  then  Prince  Regent, 
with  a  view  to  consider  of  the  formation  of 
an  Administration ;  and  Lord  Wellesley, 
in  the  course  of  the  discussion,  stated 
that  he  considered  himself  merely  as  the 
instrument  of  executing  his  Royal  High- 
ness the  Prince  Regent's  commands  on 
that  occasion,  and  he  even  went  so  far  as 
to  say  that  he  neither  claimed  nor  de- 
sired for_himself  any  share  in  the  Admin- 
istration. Subsequently,  in  the  year 
1812,  Lord  Moira  had  the  Prince  Re- 
gent's instructions  to  take  steps  towards 
the  formation  of  a  new  Ministry.  It  does 
not  appear  that  Lord  Moira,  or  Lord 
Grey,  or  Lord  Granville,  to  whom  he  ad- 
dressed himself,  considered  that  he  was 
the  head  of  the  Ministry  which  he  had 
a  commission  to  form.  In  speaking  in 
the  House  of  Lords  on  the  12th  of  June, 
he  says  :  '  I  came  to  the  subject  unfet- 
tered in  any  way.  Not  an  individual  was 
named  for  a  seal,  and  no  place  was  point- 
ed out  even  for  myself. ' 

"  How  then  could  I  take  it  for  granted 
that  his  Majesty  had  nominated  Mr  Can- 
ning to  be  his  Minister  merely  because 
Mr  Canning  informed  me  that  his  Ma- 
jesty had  signified  to  him  his  commands 
to  lay  before  his  Majesty  a  plan  of  ar- 
rangements for  the  reconstruction  of  the 
Administration  ? 

"Before  I  could  give  Mr  Canning  an 
answer  to  his  proposition  that  I  should 
be  one  of  the  Cabinet,  it  was  necessaiy  to 
ascertain  who  was  to  be  the  Minister,  and 
fhis  it  was  which  induced  me  to  ask  the 
question.  I  will  now  show,  from  the  best 
authority  possible — viz.,  Mr  Canning  him- 
self— that  the  question  asked  by  me  in 
my  letter  to  Mr  Canning  might  be  asked 
without  offence.  On  the  *  May  1812, 
Lord  Liverpool  waited  upon  Mr  Canning 
by  command  of  his  Majesty,  then  Prince 
Regent,  to  invite  Mr  Canning  to  become 
a  member  of  his  councils.  Mr  Perceval 
had  just  then  been  assassinated. 

"  The  first  question,  it  appears  (from  a 
memorandum  drawn  by  Mr  Canning  him- 
self), that  Mr  Canning  asked  was,  '  Who 
is  to  be  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  ? ' 
and  it  does  not  appear  that  Lord  Liver- 
pool rebuked  Mr  Canning  for  asking  that 


*  Blank  in  original  letter. 


1871.] 


The  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


13 


question.  The  negotiation  failed  for 
other  reasons  not  worth  discussing  now, 
excepting  to  observe  that  Mr  Canning 
then  thought  that  the  influence  of  the 
head  of  the  Government  was  likely  to  be 
paramount  in  the  discussion  of  the  Catho- 
lic question.  Surely,  then,  I  could  not 
merit  a  rebuke  for  asking  Mr  Canning  in 
1827  the  same  question,  under  nearly  sim- 
ilar circumstances,  which  he  asked  Lord 
Liverpool  without  offence  in  1812. 

"  I  must  also  add  that  Mr  Canning's 
letter  of  the  llth  convinced  me  that  on 
the  10th  he  had  not  been  appointed  his 
Majesty's  Minister,  nor  had  received  any 
commission  from  his  Majesty,  excepting 
the  one  to  suggest  a  plan  of  arrangement 
for  the  reconstruction  of  the  Administra- 
tion. If  Mr  Canning  had,  on  Tuesday 
the  10th,  been  appointed  his  Majesty's 
Minister,  he  might,  without  reference  to 
his  Majesty,  have  stated  the  fact  in  his 
answer  to  me  with  as  much  of  rebuke  as 
he  might  have  thought  proper  to  use.  I 
cannot  believe  that  he  referred  to  his 
Majesty  in  order  to  cover  this  rebuke  with 
his  Majesty's  sacred  name  and  protection. 
This  step  must  have  been  taken  because, 
in  point  of  fact,  he  was  not  his  Majesty's 
Minister  at  the  moment  at  which  he  re- 
ceived my  question. 

"Upon  the  whole,  then,  I  considered 
that  there  was  no  very  cordial  desire  that 
I  should  be  a  member  of  the  Cabinet; 
and  that,  in  the  course  of  the  communi- 
cations with  the  Minister  whom  the  King 
had  honoured  with  his  confidence,  I  had 
not  been  treated  in  a  manner  calculated 
to  render  my  continuance  in  the  com- 
mand of  the  army  satisfactory  to  myself 
or  advantageous  to  his  Majesty. 

"  WELLINGTON." 

Out  of  the  dilemma  into  which 
this  document  thrust  him,  Mr  Can- 
ning never,  as  far  as  we  have  heard, 
succeeded  in  escaping.  Either  he 
was  not  the  King's  Minister  when 
he  wrote  his  letter  of  the  10th  of 
April,  or  he  was.  If  he  was  Minis- 
ter, why  did  he  not  say  so,  without 
further  reference  to  the  King,  in  his 
letter  of  the  1 1th  1  Not  being  as 
yet  Minister  on  the  10th,  did 
he,  on  the  llth,  refer  the  Duke's 
letter  to  the  King,  with  the  view 
of  working  upon  his  Majesty's  tem- 
per for  the  accomplishment  of  his 
own  end,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
making  his  Majesty  a  party  to  the 


rebuke  which  his  letter  of  the  llth 
conveyed — and  was  meant  to  con- 
vey— to  the  Duke  of  Wellington1? 
If  so,  the  Duke  was  not  only  justi- 
fied, but  in  honour  bound,  to  with- 
draw entirely  from  the  King's  ac- 
tive service.  If  Mr  Canning  became 
Minister  only  on  showing  the  cor- 
respondence of  the  10th,  then  the 
tone  of  his  letter  of  the  llth  clearly 
shows  that  he  had  managed,  by 
means  of  that  correspondence,  to 
poison  the  King's  mind,  and  to 
make  the  Duke's  resignation  of  every 
office  which  he  held  under  the 
Crown  unavoidable.  In  either  case 
Mr  Canning's  conduct  was  directly  at 
variance  with  the  Duke's  keen  sense 
of  honour,  and  the  effect  of  it  was 
to  impose  upon  him  the  moral  obli- 
gation of  acting  as  he  did. 

Lord  Palmerston,  we  find,  had  all 
along  been  marked  by  Mr  Canning 
for  high  office  under  himself.  It 
would  almost  appear — we  do  not  go 
further — that  he  was  early  admitted 
into  the  confidence  of  his  future 
chief.  "  Canning,"  he  says  in  his 
Diary,  "  had  some  little  time  before 
desired  me  not  to  leave  town  for 
Easter  without  letting  him  know ; 
and  upon  the  break-up  he  sent  for 
me  to  offer  me  a  seat  in  the  Cabi- 
net with  the  office  of  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer."  Difficulties  came 
in  the  way,  however ;  and  though 
Lord  Palmerston  had  at  once  ac- 
cepted both  offers,  only  one  could 
be  realised.  He  entered  the  Cabi- 
net still  retaining  his  old  post  of 
Secretary  at  War.  His  correspond- 
ence shows  how  heartily  he  threw 
himself  into  all  Mr  Canning's  pro- 
jects. There  is  no  regret  on  his 
part  at  being  separated  from  his  old 
friends.  On  the  contrary,  he  seems 
to  rejoice  as  if  some  incubus  had 
been  removed  from  his  shoulders, 
and  a  fair  field,  for  which  he  had 
too  long  waited,  was  opened  to  his 
ambition.  We  believe  that  he  was 
in  constant  communication  at  this 


14 


TJie  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


[Jan. 


time  with  Mr  Croker.  They  had 
been  collaborateurs,  in  former  days, 
in  pleasantly  libelling  the  Whigs. 
They  were  ready  now,  or  equally 
seemed  so,  to  act  with  the  objects 
of  their  bygone  sarcasm.  One  of 
their  great  coups — and  of  that,  we 
rather  think,  the  merit  belongs  ex- 
clusively to  Croker — was  getting  the 
King  to  appoint  his  brother,  the 
Duke  of  Clarence,  to  be  Lord  High 
Admiral  of  England.  "There," 
said  Croker,  coming  straight  from 
the  Eoyal  Duke  to  Mr  Canning  at 
the  Foreign  Office,  "  I  have  got  his 
consent  to  serve,  and  it  will  be 
your  own  faults  if  you  don't  retain 
power  through  two  reigns."  Lord 
Palmerston  assigns  a  different  reason 
for  approving  the  measure,  which 
may  be  more  statesmanlike,  but  is 
much  less  candid — "The  appoint- 
ment of  Clarence  to  the  navy  has 
given  great  satisfaction  to  the  ser- 
vice, and  is  certainly  a  wise  measure. 
The  heir  -  presumptive  cannot  be 
always  quite  passive,  and  it  is  use- 
ful to  bring  him  into  action  by  plac- 
ing him  in  official  communication 
with  the  King,  and  by  giving  them, 
as  it  were,  a  community  of  interest, 
prevent  the  heir  being  drawn  into 
cabals  and  intrigues." 

We  have  gone  into  these  details, 
not  with  a  view  to  condemn,  in  the 
abstract,  this  or  any  other  attempt 
on  the  part  of  public  men  to  get,  if 
they  honestly  can,  the  chief  man- 
agement of  public  affairs  into  their 
own  hands.  Changes  both  of  Min- 
isters and  of  policy  are  inseparable 
from  the  conditions  of  government 
in  a  free  state ;  and  in  the  present 
instance  no  course  of  conduct  could 
be  more  legitimate  than  that  pur- 
sued by  the  leaders  of  the  great 
Whig  party.  They  had  been  long 
kept  out  in  the  cold ;  they  were  im- 
patient under  it,  and  only  obeyed 
a  natural  instinct  in  striving  to 
escape  from  it.  They  had  a  perfect 
right,  also,  to  make  use  of  whatever 


instruments  came  first  to  hand  with 
a  view  to  accomplish  their  purpose. 
But  there  we  must  stop.  Old-fash- 
ioned moralists,  as  we  admit  our- 
selves to  be,  we  find  it  impossible 
to  discover  so  much  as  the  shadow 
of  a  justification  for  the  conduct  of 
those  who  played  their  game  for 
them,  as  Mr  Canning  and  his  friends 
undoubtedly  did.  Canning  was 
Pitt's  disciple  and  early  follower. 
Palmerston  was  the  disciple,  and, 
in  later  years,  the  follower  of  Can- 
ning. They  both  professed  a  Tory- 
ism which  was  not  that  of  Lord 
Liverpool,  certainly  not  that  of  Lord 
Eldon,  nor  of  Lord  Bathurst,  but 
which  was  absolutely  and  entirely 
antagonistic  to  what  they  knew  to 
be  the  principles  of  Lord  Lans- 
downe,  Lord  Holland,  Mr  Tierney, 
and  Mr  Calcraft.  Read  Lord  Pal- 
merston's  letter  of  the  4th  of  May, 
however,  and  you  will  see  that  the 
prospect  of  acting  with  these  gen- 
tlemen and  the  party  of  which  they 
were  the  leaders  was  treated  with 
exuberant  delight. 

"All  arrangements  are  now  settled  as 
to  general  principles.  The  Whigs  join 
us  in  a  body,  and  with  zeal,  and  some  of 
them  come  into  office.  These,  namely, 
who  are  not  to  be  in  the  Cabinet :  Tier- 
ney,  I  believe,  Master  of  the  Mint ; 
Calcraft,  Woods  and  Forests;  and  Aber- 
crombie,  Judge  Advocate ;  William  Lamb 
as  Secretary  for  Ireland,  not  as  a  Whig, 
bnt  on  his  own  account  as  an  individual. 
The  provisional  members  of  the  Cabinet 
are  :  the  Duke  of  Portland,  Privy  Seal ; 
Dudley,  Foreign  Affairs ;  and  Bourne, 
Home  Office.  Who  is  to  succeed  them  I 
do  not  know ;  but  at  the  end  of  the  ses- 
sion Lord  Lansdowne  will  come  in,  and, 
I  suppose,  some  others  of  his  party.  I 
should  think  Lansdowne  would  be  Home 
Secretary,  and  Lord  Holland  Privy  Seal ; 
and  then  Canning  will  probably  resume 
the  Foreign  Office,  if  arrangements  can 
be  made  by  which  all  the  patronage  and 
influence  properly  belonging  to  the  situa- 
tion of  First  Minister  can  be  attached  to 
that  appointment  In  that  case  the  First 
Lordship  of  the  Treasury  will  also  be  dis- 
posable. I  am  in  the  Cabinet,  but  con- 
tinue Secretary  at  War  till  the  end  of 
the  session,  having,  in  addition  to  my 


1871.] 


TJie  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


15 


own  duties,  those  of  the  Commander-in- 
Chief  to  perform.  This  is  the  natural 
constitution  of  my  office,  that,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  a  Commander-in-Chief,  the  pat- 
ronage of  the  army  devolves  on  the  Sec- 
retary at  War.  At" the  end  of  the  session 
I  shall  be  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
and  then,  in  my  opinion,  some  military 
man  ought  to  be  placed  in  command  of 
the  army ;  and  if  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton cannot  be  brought  back  again,  some 
general  officer  high  up  upon  the  list  ought 
to  be  placed  on  the  staff.  The  advantage 
of  the  present  arrangement  is,  that  it 
leaves  the  door  open  for  the  Duke  of 
Wellington's  return,  when  the  other  ar- 
rangements are  made,  without  dispossess- 
ing any  other  individual.  You  will  see 
by  the  debates  that  the  Whigs  have  joined 
us  manfully,  and  have  boldly  faced  all 
charges  of  inconsistency.  .  .  .  The 
Tories  are  furious  at  this  junction,  be- 
cause they  see  that  it  puts  the  Govern- 
ment out  of  their  power,  and  excludes 
them  from  a  return.  Peel  parted  good 
friends  with  Canning,  but  it  is  easy  to 
foresee  that  their  lines  of  march  must 
daily  diverge,  and  yesterday  showed  a 
good  deal  more  personal  opinion  between 
them  than  might  have  been  looked  for. 
Indeed,  Peel's  speech,  two  nights  before, 
was  rather  of  a  hostile  complexion.  His 
reference  to  Canning's  correspondence  in 
1812  was  needless;  and  such  a  reference 
where  not  necessary  is  always  more  or  less 
personal.  If  Canning  had  blamed  Peel 
for  retiring,  then  Peel  would  naturally 
have  defended  himself  by  referring  to 
Canning's  former  career  ;  but  as  Canning 
had,  on  the  contrary,  gone  out  of  his  way 
to  acquit  Peel  of  blame  or  any  want  of 
perfect  candour,  the  reference  could  only 
be  looked  upon  as  unfriendly. 

"  The  Duke  is,  I  think,  very  sorry  now 
that  he  gave  up  the  army,  and  I  am  sure 
he  was  worked  upon  to  do  it  by  the  old 
Chancellor.  The  King,  however,  is  very 
angry  with  him,  and  return  at  present  is 
impossible." 

It  is  really  worth  while  to  con- 
trast for  one  moment  the  conduct  of 
Canning  with  that  of  the  man  whom 
Canning's  follower  charges,  in  these 
terms,  with  lack  of  candour ;  the 
circumstances  into  which  both  were 
thrown  being  in  most  respects  iden- 
tical. Canning,  successful  in  an  in- 
trigue against  his  Tory  colleagues  in 
Cabinet,  becomes  Prime  Minister, 
and  invites  the  Whigs  to  join  him. 
They  accept  the  invitation,  because 


"  they  agree  with  him  on  almost  all 
great  questions  of  foreign  and  do- 
mestic policy ;  and  because,  if  they 
did  not  support  him,  he  could  not, 
by  reason  of  the  defection  of  his 
colleagues,  maintain  his  position." 
Some  years  later  Peel  is  at  the  head 
of  a  Tory  Administration.  He  sees 
reason  to  change  his  opinion  upon 
the  single  question  of  domestic 
policy  in  regard  to  which  his  party 
think  as  one  man,  and  which  alone 
may  be  said  to  have  kept  them  to- 
gether. Does  he  look  apart  from 
his  own  friends  for  support  1  Does 
he  invite  the  Whigs  to  join,  or  en- 
courage them  to  make  advances  to 
him  because,  "if  they  do  not  sup- 
port him,  he  will  be  unable,  by 
reason  of  the  defection  of  his  col- 
leagues, to  maintain  his  position  "  1 
No.  He  might  be  right  or  he  might 
be  wrong  in  his  determination  to 
repeal  the  Corn-laws,  but  he  applies 
himself  to  the  task,  in  spite  of  strong 
opposition  in  his  own  party,  without 
entering  into  any  negotiation  what- 
ever with  the  opposite  party,  and, 
carrying  his  point,  ceases  to  be 
Prime  Minister.  Canning  wins  the 
chief  place  in  the  Government  by 
driving  the  Duke  and  Peel  and 
others  out  of  the  Cabinet ;  and  keeps 
it,  or  strives  to  do  so,  by  forming  new 
alliances  with  old  political  rivals. 
Peel,  lifted  into  power  by  a  party 
the  most  powerful  that  had  come 
together  in  recent  times,  breaks  with 
his  friends,  and  sacrifices  himself  for 
what  he  believes  to  be  the  good  of 
his  country.  Observe  that  we  are 
not  considering  here  whether  or  no 
Peel  treated  his  own  party  well — 
that  is  a  matter  foreign  to  the  present 
discussion — but  at  least  he  did  not 
enter  into  a  close  alliance  with  the 
enemy  in  order  to  gratify  his  own 
ambition,  professing  all  the  while  to 
seek  only  the  welfare  of  the  State. 
It  is  a  striking  and  curious  contrast. 
Observe  next  the  terms  in  which 
Lord  Palmerston  speaks  of  the  Duke, 


16 


Tlie  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


[Jan. 


"  The  Duke  is,  I  think,  very  sorry 
now  that  he  gave  up  the  army;" 
"  the  Duke  is  also  a  great  loss  to 
the  Cabinet ; "  "  but  the  King  is  very 
angry  with  him,  and  return  at  pre- 
sent is  impossible."  A  few  months 
pass,  and  Canning,  worn  out  with 
anxiety,  and  deserted  at  a  pinch 
by  his  new  friends,  dies.  Difficul- 
ties occur  as  to  the  reconstruction 
of  the  Government,  but  they  are  sur- 
mounted in  a  way.  Lord  Goderich 
(the  same  who  as  Mr  Robinson  had 
been  designated  for  the  post  by  Mr 
Canning)  became  First  Lord  of  the 
Treasury.  Lord  Palmerston  shall 
himself  continue  the  story.  After 
telling  us  that  he  was  himself  per- 
sonally obnoxious  to  the  King,  and 
that  the  King  would  not  therefore 
sanction  his  appointment  as  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Exchequer ;  that  the 
King  preferred  Mr  Herries,  because 
he  had  objects  of  his  own  to  serve, 
and  could  count  upon  that  gentleman 
as  a  compliant  finance  Minister, — 
Diarist  proceeds  thus  : — 

"  Huskisson  blamed  me  for  not  having 
stood  out.  He  said  if  I  had  insisted  on 
the  fulfilment  of  Goderich's  promise,  that 
promise  would  not  have  been  retracted, 
especially  as  it  was  spontaneously  made, 
and  Herries  would  not  have  been  thrown 
like  a  live  shell  into  the  Cabinet,  to  ex- 
plode and  blow  us  all  up. 

"  At  the  appointed  time  he  did  explode. 
He  picked  a  quarrel  with  Huskisson, 
who,  having  been  abroad  at  Canning's 
death,  returned  soon  afterwards,  and  took 
the  Colonial  Office.  Goderich  had  not 
energy  of  mind  enough  to  determine  in 
favour  of  one  or  the  other,  though  the 
question  was  literally  nothing  more  than 
who  should  be  proposed  as  the  chairman 
of  a  finance  committee  to  be  appointed 
next  session.  Instead  of  going  to  the 
King  and  saying,  '  Sire,  Mr  Huskisson 
and  Mr  Herries  have  differed  and  cannot 
serve  together,  and  therefore  1  propose  to 
you  to  appoint  A.  B.  instead  of  one  or 
the  other,'  Goderich  stated  the  quarrel, 
the  impossibility  of  the  two  going  on  as 
colleagues,  and  gave  the  King  to  under- 
stand that  he  had  no  advice  to  give,  and 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  But  George 
knew  very  well  what  he  had  to  do  :  he 
.bade  Goderich  go  home  and  take  care  of 


himself ;  and  he  immediately  sent  for  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  to  form  a  Govern- 
ment." 

Lord  Palmerston  is  now  in  diffi- 
culties. He  begins  to  find  out  that 
the  King  had  not  been  quite  so 
angry  with  the  Duke  as  he  supposed, 
and  he  drops  the  tone  of  regret  in 
which  he  had  not  very  long  before 
spoken  of  the  Duke's  secession,  both 
from  the  Cabinet  and  the  command 
of  the  army.  The  Diary  runs  on  to 
quite  a  different  measure  : — 

"  One  of  the  first  acts  of  Goderich's 
Administration  had  been  to  ask  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  to  be  Commander-in- 
Chief.  Lord  Anglesey  had  been  sent  to 
make  the  offer.  He  travelled  without 
stopping,  arriving  at  some  country-house, 
where  the  Duke  was  staying,  about  three 
in  the  morning  ;  found  the  Duke  in  full 
uniform,  just  come  home  from  a  fancy 
ball ;  obtained  his  immediate  acceptance, 
and  arrived  with  it  at  Windsor  while  we 
were  sitting  in  council  on  the  memorable 
day  in  August,  at  which  Lord  William 
Bentinck  also  was  present  to  be  sworn 
in  Governor  -  General  of  India.  Lord 
Anglesey  said  to  us,  '  Well,  gentlemen,  I 
have  done  what  you  sent  me  to  do.  I 
have  brought  you  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton's acceptance  as  Commander-m-Chief, 
and,  by  God  !  mark  my  words  :  as  sure  as 
you  are  alive  he  will  trip  up  all  our  heels 
before  six  months  are  over  your  heads.' 

"  Before  six  months,"  continues  the 
Diary,  "  were  well  over,  the  Duke  was  in 
and  our  heels  were  up  ;  but  what  share  he 
had  in  that  I  cannot  say.  The  King  was 
the  great  plotter;  and  Holmes  and  Plan- 
ta  worked  upon  Goderich  and  persuaded 
him  he  could  never  overcome  the  diffi- 
culties he  would  have  to  encounter." 

In  regard  to  the  taste  of  these 
sentences  we  express  no  opinion. 
It  strikes  us  that,  if  we  had  under- 
taken to  be  the  guardians  of  Lord 
Palmerston's  good  name,  we  should 
have  suppressed  them.  They  exhi- 
bit the  Diarist  in  the  character  of  a 
man  growing  day  by  day  more  am- 
bitious, and  praising  and  blaming 
all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact, 
according  to  the  measure  in  which 
they  happened  to  promote  or  to  de- 
feat his  plans.  The  King,  whom — 
though  never  professing  formally  to 


1871.] 


The  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


17 


admire — he  had  spoken  well  of  in  a 
previous  page,  as  justly  indignant 
with  the  Duke,  is  now  "  the  great 
plotter."  The  Duke,  whom  he  did 
profess  personally  to  admire,  and 
whose  return  to  the  Horse  Guards,  if 
not  to  the  Cabinet,  he  anxiously  de- 
sired, comes  back  for  the  sole  pur- 
pose of  "  tripping  up  the  heels  of 
the  Ministers,"  and  immediately 
does  the  job.  Did  it  not  occur  to 
Lord  Palmerston  at  the  moment — 
was  the  fact  entirely  overlooked 
by  Lord  Palmerston's  biographer — 
that  not  the  King  only,  but  the 
country,  had  been  indignant  at  the 
destruction  of  the  Turkish  fleet — 
the  fleet  of  a  power  with  which 
England  was  not  at  war,  and  which 
it  had  been  the  long-established  po- 
licy of  England  to  support  as  the 
best  check  upon  Russian  ambition  ? 
Was  it  not  natural,  likewise,  that  the 
King,  who  had  been  cajoled  by  a 
palace  camarilla  into  Canning's  pro- 
motion, should  have  returned,  as 
soon  as  the  object  of  that  domestic 
plot  was  taken  out  of  the  way,  to 
his  senses'?  that  so  returning  he 
should  have  been  anxious  to  see 
around  him  again  as  his  trusted 
counsellors  men  who,  at  all  events, 
knew  their  own  minds ;  and  that, 
almost  as  much  in  disgust  at  the 
weakness  of  Lord  Goderich  as  be- 
cause old  feelings  of  affection  and 
confidence  were  reawakened  in  him, 
he  should  have  thrown  himself  on 
the  firmness  of  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington ?  Lord  Palmerston  evident- 
ly did  not  take  these  matters  into 
account  forty  years  ago  ;  neither,  as 
it  would  seem,  does  Sir  Henry  Lyt- 
ton  Bulwer  remember  them  now ; 
for  thus  he  comments  on  the  Di- 
ary: — 

"  The  projected  arrangements  ended, 
as  we  know,  by  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
being  named  Premier  instead  of  Lord 
Goderich,  though  the  post  of  Premier  was 
one  for  which  he  had  declared  himself  a 
short  time  previous  wholly  unfit." 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXIII. 


We  fancy  that  we  have  studied 
the  Duke's  career  and  character 
at  least  as  carefully  as  Sir  Henry 
Bulwer,  yet  we  are  unable  to  dis-  , 
cover  in  his  letters,  in  his  speeches, 
or  in  his  memoranda,  a  single  sen- 
tence or  expression  which  corrobo- 
rates the  above  statement.  It  is 
quite  true  that  in  1827,  when  Mr 
Canning's  friends  went  about  pro- 
claiming that  he  had  intrigued  for 
the  Premiership — when  they  charged 
him  with  resigning  his  seat  in  the 
Cabinet  because  a  higher  place  was 
refused  him — he  repelled  the  cal- 
umny in  the  language  of  strong  "in- 
dignation." 

"  Does  any  one  believe,"  he  said,  "that 
I  would  give  up  such  a  gratification  "  (the 
command  of  the  army  which  had  recently 
been  conferred  upon  him)  "in order  to  be 
appointed  to  a  situation  in  which  I  was 
not  wished,  and  for  which  1  was  not  qua- 
lified ? " 

And  that  the  calumny  could  not  be 
other  than  groundless  Lord  Palmer- 
ston himself  testifies,  when,  lament- 
ing the  Duke's  resignation  of  the 
army,  he  says,  as  we  have  just  seen — 

"It  is  the  more  provoking  that  he 
should  have  resigned  this  office,  because 
it  is  not  a  political  office ;  and  he  felt  this 
so  strongly  that,  when  it  became  a  ques- 
tion three  months  ago  on  what  footing  he 
should  hold  it,  he  declared  himself  per- 
fectly ready  to  quit  the  Cabinet  if  it  was 
not  thought  tenable  with  that  situation. " 

Is  it  to  be  credited  that  the  same 
man  who  in  January  had  preferred 
the  command  of  the  army  to  a  seat 
in  the  Cabinet,  should,  in  April, 
scheme  and  plot  for  the  office  of 
Premier,  knowing  that  by  gaining 
that  he  must  necessarily  lose  the 
army  ?  The  idea  is  monstrous.  And 
as  to  the  phrase  so  much  and  per- 
sistently dwelt  upon,  "  in  which  I 
was  not  wished,  and  for  which  I 
was  not  qualified," — to  what  did  it 
amount  ?  To  this,  and  this  only, — 
I  had  never  so  much  as  thought  of 
aspiring  to  the  first  place  in  the  Ad- 
ministration.  None  of  my  colleagues 
B 


18 


Tlie,  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


[Jan. 


proposed  to  me  that  I  should  do  so. 
It  did  not  enter  into  my  imagina- 
tion to  conceive  that  I,  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  of  the  King's  army, 
and  heretofore  only  a  subordinate  in 
the  Cabinet,  possessed  the  qualifica- 
tions necessary  for  such  a  position. 
For  I  saw  round  me  many  men, 
better  trained,  as  I  believed,  by  long 
years  of  political  experience,  than  I, 
to  guide,  control,  and  come  to  com- 
promises with  others.  I  should  have 
been  mad  if  in  1827  I  had  entered 
into  competition  with  them.  I 
never  did,  nor  ever  thought  of  do- 
ing so. 

But  men  like  the  Duke  learn  a 
great  deal  in  a  year.  The  result  of 
the  struggle  in  which  he  had  played 
but  a  secondary  part  showed  him 
that  he  had  at  once  under-estimated 
his  own  qualifications,  and  over- 
estimated those  of  others ;  so  that 
when  the  Premiership  did  become 
for  the  second  time  vacant,  he  no 
longer  scrupled,  his  political  friends 
urging  him  on,  to  accept  the  trust 
which  the  King  committed  to  him. 
Is  there  anything  contradictory  in 
this1?  Does  it  justify  Sir  Henry 
Bulwer  in  affirming,  as  he  does,  that 
the  Duke  was  wholly  unfit  to  be 
First  Lord  of  the  Treasury? — that 
he  knew  himself  to  be  unfit  1 — yet 
that,  swayed  by  some  motive  about 
which  we  are  left  to  guess,  he 
grasped  at  power  ? 

Not  content  with  reasserting  a 
fiction,  on  which  all  the  world  be- 
sides had  long  ago  put  its  right 
value,  Sir  Henry  Lytton  Bulwer 
proceeds  still  further  to  cast  re- 
proach upon  the  memory  of  the 
Duke, — a  proceeding  in  which,  to 
our  very  great  surprise,  we  find  a 
writer  in  a  recent  number  of  the 
'  Quarterly  Review '  concurring. 
Commenting  upon  his  own  story 
Sir  Henry  says  : — 

"I  have  been  told  by  a  gentleman  yet 
alive,  and  likely  to  be  well  informed  on 
the  subject,  that  Lord  Wellesley  expected 


this  appointment,  and  had  been  encour- 
aged by  his  brother  to  do  so — that  when 
the  Duke  was  summoned  by  the  King  it 
was  understood  that  he  should  recom- 
mend the  Marquess  as  more  tit  to  take 
the  lead  in  civil  affairs  than  himself — 
that  the  Marquess  expected  the  Duke's 
return  with  much  anxiety,  anticipating 
his  own  elevation — and  that  the  disap- 
pointment that  ensued  occasioned  a  cool- 
ness between  these  two  eminent  men. 
Whatever  may  be  the  precise  truth  of 
this  story — and  such  stories  are  rarely 
told  with  perfect  accuracy — I  venture  to 
express  an  opinion  that  it  would  have 
been,  on  the  whole,  fortunate  for  the 
Duke's  reputation,  great  as  that  reputa- 
tion is,  if  he  had  followed  the  course 
which  1  have  heard  he  at  one  time  in- 
tended to  pursue." 

Whereupon  the  '  Quarterly  Re- 
viewer,' for  the  purpose,  as  it  would 
seem,  of  rendering  more  credible  this 
extraordinary  story,  appends  a  note 
to  the  page  on  which  it  is  printed, 
as  follows  : — 

"Count  d'Orsay's  well-known  portrait 
of  the  Duke  was  in  progress  when  the 
Marquess  died.  The  day  after  his  death 
the  illustrious  sitter,  much  to  D'Orsay's 
surprise,  came  at  the  usual  hour  and  took 
his  seat  as  if  nothing  had  occurred.  His 
sole  reference  to  the  event,  after  a  short 
pause,  was  :  '  You  have  heard  of  the  death 
of  the  Marquess  of  Wellesley; — a  very 
agreeable  man  when  he  had  his  own  way." 

From  which,  of  course,  we  are  ex- 
pected to  draw  the  inference  that 
the  rupture  between  the  brothers, 
occasioned  by  the  treachery  of  one 
of  them,  continued  through  life,  and 
that  the  Marquess  died  at  enmity 
with  the  Duke. 

The  anecdote  connected  with 
Count  d'Orsay's  portrait  may  or  may 
not  be  authentic.  The  inference  ob- 
viously intended  to  be  drawn  from  it 
by  the  publication  of  the  note  which 
we  have  just  quoted,  is  without  jus- 
tification. The  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton was  no  sentimentalist ;  he  never 
allowed  personal  feeling  to  interfere 
with  duty.  If  he  took  his  sitting 
the  day  after  Lord  Wellesley's 
death,  he  did  so  because  he  had 
promised  to  sit,  and  because  his 


1871.] 


The  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


19 


failing  to  sit  might  have  proved 
inconvenient  or  hurtful  to  the 
artist.  If  he  made  the  remark 
which  Count  d'Orsay  is  described 
as  repeating,  it  was  either  uttered 
gratuitously,  or  the  course  of  con- 
versation led  up  to  it.  But  in 
either  case  it  tells  nothing,  as  far 
as  we  can  see,  respecting  the  terms 
on  which  the  brothers  had  lived 
together.  On  the  other  hand,  we 
have  the  best  reason  to  know  that 
during  the  last  years  of  Lord  Wel- 
lesley's  life,  he  and  his  illustrious 
brother  lived  on  terms  of  the  closest 
intimacy  and  affection ;  and  if  any 
of  our  readers  hesitate  as  to  the 
degree  of  credence  which  is  due  to 
one  or  other  of  two  statements  so 
directly  opposed  to  each  other,  we 
recommend  them  to  refer  the  point 
to  the  present  Duke  of  Wellington, 
by  whose  decision  we  are  ready 
to  abide.  Doubtless,  when  the 
proper  time  comes  for  giving  the 
later  portion  of  the  great  Duke's 
correspondence  to  the  world,  the 
fact  will  be  made  clear  to  all  the 
world.  Meanwhile  we  cannot  suf- 
ficiently condemn  the  bad  taste  of 
a  note  which  insinuates  so  much, 
without  directly  alleging  anything. 

But  the  charge  brought  by  the 
biographer,  as  it  is  at  once  more 
grave  and  more  direct,  so  the  evi- 
dence on  which  it  rests  puts  it  well- 
nigh  beyond  the  reach  of  controversy. 

"A  gentleman  yet  alive"  may 
be  anybody  or  nobody.  If  the 
former,  why  is  he  not  named  1 
And  whether  named  or  not,  how 
is  it  that  we  have  no  better  proof 
advanced  of  a  very  improbable 
story  than  the  ipse  dixit,  at  second 
hand,  of  a  man  in  a  mask?  It  is 
proverbially  hard  to  prove  a  neg- 
ative ;  yet  in  the  present  instance 
we  fancy  that  in  the  very  nature 
of  the  transaction  there  is  enough, 
and  more  than  enough,  to  show  how 
entirely  "  the  gentleman  yet  alive  " 
is  to  be  mistrusted.  Lord  Wel- 


lesley  might  be  all  that  Sir  Henry 
Bulwer  describes  him  to  have 
been,  but  his  political  views  were 
certainly  not  identical  with  those 
of  his  illustrious  brother.  He  had 
been  in  the  Cabinet  before,  and  got 
on  but  indifferently  with  his  col- 
leagues, some  of  whom  being  most 
in  the  Duke's  confidence,  he  was 
desirous  to  see  again  in  office. 
Neither  can  it  be  said  of  Lord 
Wellesley  that  he  was  a  follower 
of  Canning,  with  whose  perspnal 
adherents,  on  the  break-up  of  the 
Goderich  Administration,  the  Duke 
and  Peel  had  agreed  that  a  coali- 
tion should  if  possible  be  effected. 
No  doubt  Lord  Wellesley  and 
Canning  took  the  same  line  on  one 
occasion,  when  both  were  out  of 
office.  But  there  had  never  been 
that  cordiality  between  the  two 
men  which  would  have  induced 
Palmerston,  Huskisson,  Grant,  and 
Lord  Dudley  to  act  under  the  sur- 
vivor, towards  whom,  moreover,  the 
Duke  very  well  knew  that  the  King 
had  in  1828  no  special  leaning. 
Looking  to  all  these  circumstances, 
it  is,  to  say  the  least,  highly  impro- 
bable that  the  Duke  could  have 
proposed  to  Lord  Wellesley  that  he 
should  become  the  head  of  the 
Government.  That  they  were  fre- 
quently together  at  this  time  is  true 
enough.  Scarcely  a  day  passed  in 
which  the  Duke  omitted  to  visit 
his  brother.  They  may  have  dif- 
fered also  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
produce  a  momentary  alienation. 
But  we  decline  to  believe  that  their 
difference  originated  in  the  cause 
assigned  for  it  by  "the  gentleman 
yet  alive ; "  and  we  know  that  long 
before  Lord  Wellesley's  death,  it  had 
given  place  to  renewed  affection. 

That  the  Duke  added  nothing  to 
his  great  reputation  in  the  two 
years  during  which  he  conducted 
the  affairs  of  the  Government,  hia 
most  ardent  admirers  are  ready  to 
admit.  Indeed  they  go  further. 


20 


The  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


[Jan. 


They  allow  that  his  administration 
was  a  failure  ;  that  with  the  best 
and  noblest  intentions  in  the  world, 
he  passed  measures,  one  in  parti- 
cular, of  which  the  consequences 
have  been  most  disastrous ;  that 
being  thwarted  in  the  details  of  the 
plan  on  which  he  proposed  to  act 
in  passing  that  measure,  he  ought 
at  once  to  have  abandoned  it,  even 
if  by  so  doing  he  threw  power  into 
the  hands  of  those  whom  he  believed 
prepared  to  abuse  it.  But  this  is 
quite  a  different  matter  from  the 
moral  delinquencies  with  which  Sir 
Henry  Bulwer  and  his  reviewer 
charge  him.  The  Duke  might 
miss  the  mark  as  a  great  consti- 
tutional statesman :  he  never  missed 
it  as  a  man  of  honour. 

The  Duke  formed  his  Government, 
and  a  very  motley  affair  it  proved 
to  be.  Huskisson,  Lord  Dudley, 
Charles  Grant,  Lord  Palmerston, 
and  Mr  Lamb,  afterwards  Lord 
Melbourne,  composed  a  camp  of 
their  own.  The  Duke,  Lord  Aber- 
deen, Lords  Ellenborough,  Melville, 
Bathurst,  and  Lord  Chancellor 
Lyndhurst,  pitched  their  tents  for 
the  most  part  together,  and  in  a 
position  of  their  own.  From  the 
very  outset  there  was  discord. 
The  entries  made  in  the  Diary 
which  Sir  Henry  Bulwer  has  pub- 
lished are,  we  suspect,  unique  of 
the  kind.  We  doubt  indeed 
whether  any  other  Minister  of  the 
Crown  ever  considered  it  justifiable 
to  set  down  in  his  note-book,  day 
by  day,  the  points  discussed  in 
Cabinet,  and  the  details  of  these  dis- 
cussions, to  be  disposed  of  by  his 
executors,  after  his  demise,  as  they 
might  consider  expedient.  And  yet 
the  public  has  every  reason  to  be 
grateful,  for  the  story  told  is  not 
only  curious  but  instructive.  We 
certainly  learn  a  good  deal  from  it, 
the  reverse  of  favourable  to  attempts 
at  coalition  administrations. 
•  "  The  Cabinet  has  gone  on  for 


some  time  past  as  it  had  done  be- 
fore, differing  upon  almost  every 
question  of  importance  that  has  been 
brought  under  consideration  ;  meet- 
ing to  debate  and  dispute,  and 
separating  without  deciding." 

The  above  entry  occurs  in  Lord 
Palmerston's  Diary  under  date  2d 
of  April.  In  May,  he  and  his 
friends  quitted  office  together.  It 
had  been  made  clear  from  the  first 
that  a  body  so  heterogeneous  could 
not  long  hold  together ;  yet  the 
immediate  cause  of  the  severance 
was  very  extraordinary.  A  particu- 
lar arrangement  had  been  agreed  to, 
after  much  discussion,  in  a  Cabinet 
which  met  at  3  P.M.  on  the  19th  of 
May;  and  the  same  night,  without 
any  previous  notice  given,  both  Mr 
Huskisson  and  Lord  Palmerston  vot- 
ed against  their  colleagues,  and  in  con- 
travention of  the  point  settled  only  a 
few  hours  before.  It  is  curious  to  see 
how  Lord  Palmerston  in  his  journal 
labours  to  justify  the  act.  Hus- 
kisson, to  do  him  justice,  saw  the 
matter  in  a  different  light,  and  on 
the  morning  of  the  20th,  before 
lying  down,  wrote  a  letter  which 
put  the  disposal  of  his  office  in  the 
hands  of  the  Duke.  The  Duke, 
doubtless  glad  enough  to  get  rid  of 
a  colleague  who  had  already  given 
him  no  little  trouble,  at  once  treated 
the  communication  as  an  act  of 
resignation — a  view  of  the  case  in 
which  Peel  heartily  sustained  him. 
And  looking  back  upon  the  transac- 
tion as  a  mere  incident  in  history,  it 
is  impossible  to  deny  that  Peel  and 
he  had  right  on  their  side.  Lord  Pal- 
merston, of  course,  argues  differently. 
He  even  justifies  himself  in  censur- 
ing the  Duke  by  referring  to  a  case, 
between  which  and  the  party-treason 
of  Huskisson  there  is  no  parallel. 
Lord  Lowther,  we  are  told,  being 
Chief  Commissioner  of  Woods  and 
Forests,  Sir  John  Becket,  Judge 
Advocate-General,  Mr  George  Banks, 
Secretary  to  the  Board  of  Control, 


1871.] 


TJie  Life  of  Lord  Palmerston. 


21 


and  Mr  Holmes,  Treasurer  to  the 
Board  of  Ordnance,  all  refused  to 
vote  for  Catholic  Emancipation  in 
1829,  yet  were  allowed  to  sit  in 
their  offices.  Quite  true.  But,  in 
the  first  place,  the  Catholic  question 
was  in  1829,  as  it  had  been  in  1820, 
an  open  question ;  and,  in  the  next, 
these  gentlemen  were  not  in  the 
Cabinet.  Whereas  the  Cabinet  of 
which  Mr  Huskisson  and  Lord  Pal- 
merston were  both  members,  had 
agreed  on  a  particular  line  of  action, 
and  Mr  Huskisson  and  Lord  Pal- 
merston the  very  same  night  took 
a  line  diametrically  the  reverse. 
"  Well,  to-night  at  all  events,"  said 
Mr  Huskisson,  as  he  passed  out  of 
the  Cabinet-room,  "  we  may  stand 
upon  the  ground  that  the  Lords 
have  not  disposed  of  Penryn ;" 
and  that  self -same  night  he,  and 
Lord  Palmerston  with  him,  departed 
from  that  ground,  and  voted  with 
the  Opposition.  What  could  the 
Duke  do  except  receive  Mr  Huskis- 
son's  communication  as  the  only 
amends  which  a  recalcitrant  Cabinet 
Minister  could  make  to  his  chief1? 
The  resignation  was  accepted,  and 
the  whole  of  the  Canningites  retired 
in  a  body. 

In  acting  as  he  did,  the  Duke 
carried  public  opinion  with  him. 
Huskisson  lost  credit  by  the  at- 
tempts which  he  made  to  explain 
away  a  document  which  admitted  of 
no  explanation,  and  his  friends  suf- 
fered with  him,  though  not,  perhaps, 
to  the  same  extent.  It  appears,  too, 
that  one  of  them,  at  least,  suffered 
rather  against  his  own  will.  Lord 
Palmerston,  describing  what  passed 
between  Lord  Dudley,  Mr  Lamb, 
and  himself,  while  the  resignation 
was  yet  in  suspense,  thus  speaks  : — 

"We  all,"  Lord  Dudley,  and  Mr 
Lamb,  and  he,  "  left  Huskisson  together, 
and  Dudley  proposed  we  should  walk  up 
a  little,  our  cabriolets  following.  He  was 
in  the  middle  and  said,  '  Well,  now  we 
are  by  ourselves  in  the  street,  and  no- 
t>ody  but  the  sentry  to  hear  us,  let  me 


know,  right  and  left,  what  is  meant  to  bo 
done!'  I  said  'Out;'  and  Lamb  echoed 
'  Out. '  .  .  .  Dudley  said  there  was 
something  in  attaching  himself  to  so 
great  a  man  as  the  Duke.  '  For  my  part, ' 
said  Lamb,  'I  do  not  happen  to  think 
that  he  is  so  great  a  man  ;  but  that  is  a 
matter  of  opinion.' " 

If  Mr  Lamb  gave  utterance  to  so 
silly  a  speech,  it  must  have  been 
under  the  influence  of  passing  ill- 
humour.  Certainly  the  sentiment 
was  not  his  own,  and  the  words  ought 
never  to  have  been  put  on  record. 
But  this  is  the  great  fault  of  the 
book  throughout.  Lord  Palmer- 
ston's  habit,  not  a  good  one,  of 
making  notes  of  incidents  which 
neither  deserved  nor  warranted 
being  admitted  into  history,  seems 
to  be  regarded  by  his  biographer  as 
a  peculiarly  valuable  trait  in  his 
character,  of  which  the  consequence 
is,  that  he  is  continually  made  to 
say  and  do  things  which  must  bring 
him  into  discredit  with  all  right- 
thinking  persons.  Whatever  Mr 
Lamb  may  have  said  in  1828,  we 
know  that  Lord  Melbourne,  when 
at  the  head  of  her  Majesty's  Gov- 
ernment, held  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton in  the  highest  admiration ;  go- 
ing to  him  for  advice  on  many  occa- 
sions when  the  honour  or  interests 
of  the  State  were  threatened,  and 
always  receiving  from  him  such 
counsels  as  only  great  wisdom  and 
the  purest  patriotism  could  sug- 
gest. 

"We  have  already  so  far  exceeded 
the  just  limits  of  a  magazine  article, 
that  we  cannot  pretend  to  speak  of 
Lord  Palmerston,  on  the  present  oc- 
casion, either  as  a  member  of  society, 
or  as  Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign 
Affairs.  We  hope  to  make  good 
these  grave  omissions  when  the 
concluding  portion  of  the  biogra- 
phy comes  into  our  hands.  Mean- 
while we  content  ourselves  with 
saying  that  in  the  two  volumes  now 
before  us  will  be  found  a  great  deal 
to  interest  and  amuse,  especially  the 


22 


New  BooJcs. 


uninstructed  reader, — with  not  a 
little  which  both  offends  and  sur- 
prises persons  who,  like  ourselves, 
happen  to  have  lived  through  the 
events  recorded,  and  to  have  known 
something  both  of  the  actors  in 
them,  and  of  their  motives  and 
principles.  Indeed  we  may  go  fur- 


ther. In  spite  of  strong  objection 
to  some  of  its  details,  we  have  our- 
selves read  Sir  Henry  Lytton's  book 
both  with  pleasure  and  profit,  and 
can  therefore  honestly  recommend 
it  to  others  as  an  extremely  agree- 
able and  well-written  piece  of  bio- 
graphy. 


NEW    BOOKS. 


IT  has  become  a  fashion  of  late 
years  for  men  of  distinguished  scien- 
tific and  literary  reputation  to  give 
to  the  world  what  may  be  supposed 
to  be  a  succinct  statement  of  their 
views  on  certain  important  subjects 
in  a  form  less  laboured  than  a  scien- 
tific lecture,  and  adapted,  if  not  to 
the  meanest  capacity,  yet  to  the 
rapid  survey  of  the  public,  which 
has  not  time  to  investigate  closely 
or  reason  deeply.  It  would  be  wrong 
to  class  such  expositions  among  the 
works  of  light  literature,  or  even  to 
call  them  popular  in  the  common 
acceptation  of  the  word.  Lectures 
delivered  at  the  Royal  Institution, 
for  example,  cannot  be  supposed  to 
be  addressed  to  the  people  ;  nor  are 
these  solemn  brown  volumes  of  a 
kind  to  attract  the  frivolous  reader. 
Yet  they  are  far  removed,  on  the 
other  side,  from  those  expositions  of 
real  science  which  tax  all  the  faculties 
of  the  listener,  and  demand  not  the 
glance  of  the  passer-by,  but  the  gaze 
of  the  student.  Professor  Seeley,* 
however,  has  thought,  as  Professor 
Huxley  did  lately,  that  the  passer- 
by too  might  be  the  better  for  a  cer- 
tain acquaintance  with  his  views 
upon  some  subjects  which  occupy 
the  mind  of  the  modern  world,  and 
accordingly  has  here  collected  into 
a  volume  certain  fugitive  Essays  and 
Sketches,  which,  to  a  great  many 
readers  used  to  lighter  fare,  will  be 


the  piece  de  resistance  of  the  winter 
banquet — the  one  halfpenny-worth 
of  bread  in  the  enormous  quantity 
of  washy  liquid  which  is  their  or- 
dinary literary  sustenance.  The 
fact  that  this  is  the  case — that  such 
books  do  reach  minds  little  accus- 
tomed to  sound  literary  provision, 
and  form  a  sort  of  dignified  top- 
dressing  upon  the  light  soil  of  popu- 
lar libraries— gives  them  a  certain  im- 
portance independent  of  their  indi- 
vidual merit.  They  explain  in  some 
degree  the  odd  surface-strata  of  very 
lofty  notions  which  is  to  be  found 
in  the  present  day  often  adorning  a 
deep  foundation  of  ignorance.  They 
are  very  readable,  and  they  pro- 
pound theories  which  sound  very 
sublimely  to  the  uneducated  ear — - 
theories  of  education  above  all,  such 
as  come  quite  natural  to  professors, 
and  are  highly  appropriate  to  the 
academical  class  whose  aim  in  life 
is  learning;  but  which  are  whimsi- 
cally, amusingly  inappropriate  to  the 
mass  of  half-educated  hard-working 
persons  to  whom  learning  can  never 
be  more  than  a  dream.  Probably  it 
is  these  books  more  than  any  other 
which  produce  the  curious  mixture  of 
intellectual  pretensions  with  the  sim- 
plest ignorance  which  is  to  be  found 
at  the  present  day,  especially  among 
women  —  those  women  who  feel 
themselves  awakened,  by  the  new 
impulse  of  the  age,  to  new  ambi- 


*  Lectures  and  Essays.     By  J.  R.  Seeley,  M.A.     Macmillan  &  Co.     1870. 


1871.]  New  Books. 

tions.  In  this  way  Professor  Hux- 
ley's favourite  panacea  of  the  Erd- 
Kunde  —  the  science  of  the  earth 
— is  received  with  enthusiasm  by 
people  who  have  travelled  over 
half  the  surface  of  the  earth  without 
ever  finding  out  any  difference,  ex- 
cept that  of  costume,  between  one 
place  and  another — but  who  imme- 
diately hurry  their  daughters  (sons 
being  happily  out  of  the  way)  to 
the  Professor's  lectures,  hoping  for 
a  sort  of  collodion  process  of  instan- 
taneous culture ;  while  Professor 
Seeley's  conviction  that  the  know- 
ledge of  history  is  the  best  guide 
to  the  enlightened  understanding 
of  politics  is  warmly  taken  up  by 
many  who  know  indeed  the  differ- 
ence between  Mr  Gladstone  and  Mr 
Disraeli  personally,  but  know  no 
more.  Perhaps  it  would  be  wrong 
to  say  that  the  top-dressing  is  of  no 
use,  or  that  the  mind  is  not  the  bet- 
ter for  it,  however  thinly  laid  on. 
Sound  judgments  and  right  views 
are  always  good,  even  in  their  slen- 
derest application ;  but  it  is  amusing 
to  note  the  immediate  effect  of  their 
popular  diffusion.  The  perusal  of 
one  such  work  as  Professor  Huxley's 
or  Professor  Seeley's  is  justification 
sufficient  for  ever  so  much  novel- 
reading,  and  supplies  the  novel- 
reader  with  superior  subjects  of  con- 
versation all  the  same. 

The  Professors,  however,  though 
they  (or  their  publishers)  choose  to 
take  advantage  of  the  present  appe- 
tite for  philosophical  sentiments  at 
small  cost,  and  thus  present  them- 
selves on  the  debatable  ground  be- 
tween grave  and  light  literature,  are 
not  to  be  dealt  with  unceremoniously. 
The  name  of  Professor  Seeley  is  asso- 
ciated in  the  public  mind  with  one 
of  the  most  striking  attempts  which 
has  been  made  in  modern  times  to 
conciliate  the  old-fashioned  assertions 
of  Christianity  with  the  new  ad- 
vancing tide  of  thought.  It  is  not 
within  our  range  to  comment  upon 


23 


a  book  which  is  no  longer  new, 
which  has  been  subjected  to  the 
elaborate  criticisms  of  a  Prime 
Minister,  and  which,  at  the  same 
time,  has  never  been  publicly  ac- 
knowledged by  any  author;  but  yet 
its  prevailing  purpose  throws  a  cer- 
tain light  upon  those  Essays  in  the 
present  volume  which  are  likely  to 
be  most  interesting  to  the  public. 
We  are  not  at  all  sure,  in  our  own 
mind,  that  to  translate  the  old  and 
well-known  statement,  that  "'God 
so  loved  the  world  that  He  sent  His 
Son,"  into  the  new  one  that  Christ 
was  penetrated  and  impelled  to  a 
great  work  by  the  Enthusiasm  of 
Humanity,  can  bring  the  fact  more 
closely  home  to  the  most  modern  of 
intelligences ;  but  at  the  same  time 
we  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that 
the  writer  believed  it  did  so,  and 
meant  it  in  that  sense.  For  our 
own  part,  the  Enthusiasm  of  Hu- 
manity, notwithstanding  its  capi- 
tals, is  less  impressive  and  less  intelli- 
gible than  the  other  statement.  The 
use  of  it  reminds  us  much  of  the 
advice  said  to  be  given  by  a  cele- 
brated clergyman  of  the  Broad 
Church  party  to  one  of  his  dis- 
ciples. "  When  you  go  to  visit 
working  men,"  said  this  authority, 
"go  in  a  shooting-coat  and  wide- 
awake, with  a  short  pipe  in  your 
mouth."  This  advice  is  thoroughly 
characteristic  of  much  that  has  been 
done  in  the  way  of  conciliating  the 
working  man  in  actual  life,  and  the 
secular  mind  in  literature.  It  is,  in 
plain  words,  put  on  a  disguise — de- 
lude the  one  or  the  other  into  the 
idea  that  you  are  bon  camarade, 
anxious  to  be  on  friendly  terms, 
without  the  least  ulterior  motive ; 
and  when  you  have  made  the  re- 
quisite impression  —  then  !  It  is 
strange  that  a  class  which  more 
than  any  other  preaches  straight- 
forwardness, and  honesty  of  speech 
and  meaning,  should  be  unable  to 
perceive  the  insincerity  of  this  mode 


24 


New  Boolcs. 


[Jan. 


of  dealing — though  perhaps  it  is 
significant  of  the  fundamental  sim- 
plicity of  character  which  they  re- 
tain under  their  cleverest  devices,  that 
it  never  occurs  to  them  to  imagine 
that  the  working  man,  for  instance, 
who  is  in  his  way  as  astute  as  a 
Lord  Chancellor,  and  finds  out  a 
masquerade  with  the  quickness  of  a 
child,  should  discover  and  laugh  in 
his  sleeve  at  the  transparent  hum- 
bug. Something  of  the  same  idea 
pervades  Professor  Seeley's  Essay 
upon  the  '  Church  as  a  Teacher  of 
Morality.'  Here  he  takes  lip  a  great 
subject,  and  professes  to  treat  one  of 
the  most  important  of  modern  diffi- 
culties. There  can  be  no  doubt  of 
the  profound  seriousness  of  the  ques- 
tion, nor  of  the  writer's  desire  to 
consider  it  with  the  gravity  it 
deserves.  He  proposes  what  is 
nothing  less  than  a  total  revolution 
in  the  matter  and  manner  of  our 
public  religious  teaching.  The  dis- 
establishment of  the  Church  itself 
would  be  a  trifle  in  comparison  with 
the  change  he  suggests ;  and  yet, 
though  he  is  thus  wildly  revolution- 
ary in  his  proposed  system  of  re- 
formation, he  is  animated  by  no  un- 
kindly feeling  towards  the  Church  ; 
and  his  dissatisfaction  with  its  pre- 
sent position  is  one  which  most 
reflective  persons  share.  He  does 
not  make  any  suggestion  so  undig- 
nified as  the  one  we  have  quoted, 
and  yet  it  is  evident  that  a  certain 
lingering  tenderness  for  the  shooting- 
coat  and  the  short  pipe  are  at  the 
bottom  of  his  thoughts. 

Mr  Seeley's  starting-point  is  a  very 
simple  one.  He  sees  a  trained  body 
of  educated  men  spread  over  the 
kingdom,  placed  exactly  in  the  most 
suitable  positions  for  guiding  and 
influencing  the  mind  of  the  country, 
arranged  according  to  ancient  stra- 
tegical principles,  which  have  as  yet 
been  unsurpassed  by  anything  the 
modern  world  has  invented.  It  is  as 
if  poor  France  in  her  agony  had  in 


every  arrondissement  a  skilful  and 
brave  veteran,  who  could  stir  up 
the  sentiments  of  patriotism  in  the 
hearts  of  her  people,  and  teach  them 
to  defend  her.  Our  continual 
fight  with  ignorance,  selfishness, 
wretchedness,  and  want,  is  as  des- 
perate, and  we  have  need  of  every 
available  instrument  against  these 
gigantic  foes.  Our  organisation  for 
the  strife  is  in  principle  excellent — 
every  parish  has  its  general,  Us 
cadre,  its  recognised  agency.  And 
yet  all  these  captains  to  the  manner 
born — these  men,  trained  and  main- 
tained to  no  other  purpose — what  is 
the  effect  of  them  upon  the  character 
of  the  country — what  do  they  do  for 
us?  Do  they  keep  our  enemies 
Misery  and  Ignorance  at  bay  ?  and 
if  not,  how  can  they  be  made  to  do 
so  ?  Such  are  the  questions  he 
asks.  In  our  own  corner  of  the 
world  most  of  us  have  feebly  or 
warmly  echoed  the  same  inquiry. 
Are  our  clergymen  worth  the  cost 
of  them  ?  Does  it  pay  us  to  sub- 
tract so  many  good  heads  and  warm 
hearts  from  the  common  service  of 
the  world?  Does  it  pay  them  to 
commit  themselves  to  lives  limited 
within  bounds  which  do  not  tie 
other  men,  and  in  the  majority  of 
cases  to  scanty  means  and  an  un- 
improvable position  1  All  this  it 
is  noble  and  satisfactory  to  under- 
take when  the  result  is  worth  the 
sacrifice.  But  is  it  so  in  their  case? 
This  is  really  the  question  which  Mr 
Seeley  discusses  under  the  simpler 
pretence  of  considering  the  Church 
as  a  teacher  of  morality ;  and  we  do 
not  know  that  there  is  any  question 
more  momentous  in  the  entire  round 
of  social  problems. 

There  are  few  people  who  have 
not  looked  on  with  a  silent  wonder, 
often  respect,  sometimes  simple  in- 
comprehension, at  the  life  of  an  ear- 
nest clergyman.  He  has  his  own 
bit  of  intellectual  work  to  do  every 
week — his  sermon,  or  brace  of  ser- 


1871.]  New  Books. 

mons — which,  if  he  is  a  man  of  ordi- 
nary intelligence,  without  any  con- 
sciousness of  eloquence  or  popu- 
lar talent  to  lend  him  a  little  heart, 
he  does  under  the  most  discouraging 
circumstances,  knowing  that,  though 
it  may  be  his  very  best,  it  will  be 
listened  to  merely  as  a  duty,  and 
with  the  coldest  indifference  by  the 
people  to  whom  it  is  preached.  Per- 
haps the  natural  amour propre  which 
throws  to  every  human  being  a  cer- 
tain halo  round  his  own  individual 
exertions,  may  extract  some  of  the 
sting  from  this  thought ;  but  yet  a 
reasonable  man  who  has  listened  to 
other  people's  sermons  cannot  refuse 
to  be  aware  of  the  fact,  which  besides 
is  urged  upon  him  in  half  of  what 
he  reads  and  what  he  hears.  He 
is  probably  at  the  same  time  quite 
aware  that  his  talents,  such  as  they 
are,  are  not  literary;  that  his  stock 
of  ideas  is  limited  enough ;  and  that, 
were  his  profession  other  than  what 
it  is,  he  would  never  take  pen  in 
hand  save  to  write  a  domestic  let- 
ter. Yet  with  all  this  want  of 
impulse  and  absence  of  encourage- 
ment, he  has  the  weary  drag  of 
routine  upon  him,  and  must  com- 
pose something  every  week — some- 
thing which  everybody  is  disposed 
to  be  contemptuous  of  beforehand, 
yet  which  all  condemn  him  for  al- 
lowing them  to  despise.  When  this 
work  is  over,  what  is  it  that  he  has 
to  do?  To  go  forth  into  the  world 
like  other  men  compelled  to  literary 
exertion — to  fill  his  mind  with  new 
images — to  refresh  his  soul  with  the 
higher  ideas  and  stronger  vitality  of 
other  men  ?  Alas,  no  !  He  has  to 
go  into  the  parish ;  he  has  to  move 
about  among  the  most  sordid  needs 
of  humanity — to  hear  a  succession 
of  old  wives'  tales — to  mediate  in 
petty  quarrels — to  sicken  the  very 
soul  within  him  in  an  attempt  to 
discriminate  which  is  true  and 
which  is  false  of  the  plaints  that 
rise  all  around  as  he  approaches. 


25 


The  man  who  really  devotes  him- 
self to  this  life  is  a  wonder  and  a 
mystery  to  the  sympathetic  lookers- 
on.  Perhaps  he  is  young,  in  the 
bloom  of  his  life,  with  youth's  ex- 
pectations still  strong  in  him,  and 
a  longing  after  all  that  is  noble, 
and  lovely,  and  of  good  report ; 
but  all  his  aspirations  must  end  in 
those  courts  in  his  district  where 
swarms  of  human  beings  struggle 
for  mere  life,  and  where  the  scanty 
contents  of  his  pocket,  the  aching 
anxieties  of  his  heart,  the  strain  of 
his  faculties  how  to  get  coals  for 
them,  and  bread  for  them,  and  hos- 
pital tickets,  replace  all  the  higher 
thoughts  and  schemes  and  dreams 
of  national  influence  and  world- 
amelioration  which  encouraged  his 
beginning.  This  is  no  fancy  pic- 
ture, but  one  upon  which  the  writer 
has  looked  with  that  mixture  of 
aching  wonder,  disapproval,  admira- 
tion, and  pity,  which  must  always 
move  the  spectator  of  a  bitter  but 
ineffectual  sacrifice  ;  for  the  sacri- 
fice is,  in  every  wide  and  important 
sense,  always  ineffectual.  The 
utmost  the  man  can  accomplish  is 
to  keep  the  wolf  so  far  from  the  door 
of  his  parish  that  his  poor  shall  not 
absolutely  starve.  This  task  strains 
his  utmost  faculties.  He  has  to 
leave  his  well-to-do  people  in  great 
measure  to  themselves — he  has  to 
leave  the  higher  education  of  his 
district  to  itself.  To  snatch  the 
rudiments  of  instruction  for  the 
children  of  his  poor,  and  to  help 
their  parents  sufficiently  through 
the  vicissitudes  of  life — through 
sickness,  want  of  work,  temptations 
to  idleness  and  vice — that  they  shall 
keep  out  of  the  workhouse  and 
under  an  honest  roof, — is  all  that 
he  can  find  time  to  do.  The  race 
of  gay  rectors  and  croquet-playing 
curates  express  but  the  inevitable 
reaction  against  this  strain  of  hope- 
less labour  :  for  it  is  just  its  hope- 
lessness which  makes  it  terrible — 


26 


the  pretty  pictures  with  which  we 
are  all  familiar  of  the  difference 
made  in  a  parish  by  an  energetic 
and  hard-working  parish  priest  are 
for  the  most  part  fancy  pictures ; 
except,  indeed,  in  the  depths  of  the 
country,  where  the  harms  of  civilisa- 
tion are  not  so  apparent,  and  the 
primitive  balance  is  more  easily  re- 
established. In  all  towns  the  pop- 
ulation shifts  and  fluctuates  too 
constantly  to  afford  any  hope  of 
absolute  improvement.  The  clergy- 
man feels  that  he  must  do  what 
he  can,  in  the  very  face  of  his 
own  conviction  that  he  can  do  very 
little.  Thus  it  is  the  most  dis- 
heartening, the  most  depressing,  of 
professions.  It  is  a  fight  out  of  which 
men  seldom,  very  seldom,  carry 
any  laurels.  It  is  a  life-long  strug- 
gle against,  not  the  principalities 
and  powers  of  spiritual  wickedness 
alone,  but  the  rudest  demons  of  de- 
struction, brutal  misery,  and  want — 
a  struggle  scarcely  less  tedious  and 
disheartening  than  is  that  of  the  vic- 
tims themselves,  who  are  always  on 
the  edge  of  ruin. 

This  is  the  life  which  a  large  pro- 
portion of  the  clergy  of  England,*  if 
they  do  their  duty  conscientiously, 
are  called  upon  to  live.  A  few  incum- 
bents of  chapels  in  fashionable  dis- 
tricts, a  few  country  clergymen  in 
favoured  regions,  are  exempt  from  it. 
So  are,  no  doubt,  the  dignitaries  of  the 
Church,  the  peaceful  prebends,  and 
learned  canons,  and  all  the  aristocra- 
cy of  the  Close,  upon  whom  ought  to 
fall  the  duty  of  maintaining  the  lit- 
erary reputation  of  their  cloth.  But 
the  working  men  of  the  Church,  who 
preach  the  bulk  of  our  weekly  ser- 
mons, have  had  their  lives  taken  out 
of  their  hands,  as  it  were,  by  the 
second  trade  of  charity.  "  They  are 


New  Books.  [Jan. 

the  almoners  of  the  people,"  Mr 
Seeley  allows  ;  and  he  is  willing  to 
grant  that  their  preaching  on  this 
subject  has  not  been  without  force 
or  effect.  "  The  charitable  institu- 
tions with  which  it "  (the  Church) 
"  has  covered  the  country  are  visible 
to  all.  This  one  great  and  undeni- 
able achievement  of  the  Christian 
Church  seems  to  me  instructive, 
as  showing  what  sort  of  enter- 
prise the  Church  may  engage  in 
with  real  hope  of  success.  .  .  . 
In  such  a  case,  so  far  from  preaching 
to  deaf  ears,  it  wins  an  obedience 
which  is  excessive  and  unreasonable. 
Men  give  and  give,  in  defiance  of 
reason  and  political  economy."  In 
another  place  he  acknowledges,  with 
equal  candour,  "  a  moral  sense  really 
awakened  "  (by  preaching),  "  but  in- 
structed only  on  one  point^-namely, 
the  duty  of  relieving  distress."  This 
point,  on  which  the  Church  does 
well,  and  too  well,  according  to  Mr 
Seeley,  is  the  point  round  which,  as 
on  a  pivot,  the  lives  of  the  clergy 
are  made  to  turn ;  but  this  curious 
connection  of  their  one  success  with 
their  absorbing  occupation  does  not 
seem  to  strike  our  Professor  as  a 
natural  and  reasonable  sequence. 
He  takes  the  two  points  as  totally 
separate  things  that  have  no  con- 
nection with  each  other,  and,  missing 
his  point  as  completely  as  if  he  were 
a  man  of  very  inferior  ability,  or 
even — save  the  mark  ! — a  woman, 
goes  on  to  tell  us  how  our  preachers 
fail. 

Now  we  all  know  very  well  that 
our  preachers  do  fail.  There  is  no 
doubt  on  this  subject ;  and  there 
is,  in  our  opinion,  a  very  clear  and 
substantial  reason  for  it^the  reason 
we  have  just  referred  to.  In  Mr 
Seeley's  opinion,  however,  this  has 


*  We  say  England  pointedly,  excluding  Scotland,  where  the  habits  of  clerical  life 
are  to  some  extent  different,  and  where  the  pulpit  has  always  held  a  more  important 
place ;  notwithstanding  which,  we  recollect  a  very  eloquent  sermon  of  Dr  Chalmers 
which  takes  up  this  very  subject. 


1871.]  New  Books. 

nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  They 
fail,  he  thinks,  because  "  the  special 
training  of  the  clergy  in  England  is 
very  slight " — because  they  are  re- 
quired to  be  acquainted  with  Biblical 
criticism — to  deal  with  Scripture 
characters  flourishing  in  a  totally 
different  society  from  ours,  instead 
of  English  history  and  the  lives  of 
modern  men — and  to  employ  Oriental 
figures  of  speech  and  circumstances 
of  existence  instead  of  nineteenth- 
century  Saxon  and  the  incidents  of 
common  life. 

"  As  the  poets  (of  the  last  century)  de- 
scribed imaginary  shepherds  and  shep- 
herdesses living  in  scenery  partly  Sicil- 
ian, partly  Italian,  and  partly  English, 
a  state  of  things  answering  to  nothing 
in  their  reader's  experience,  so  are  we 
still  introduced  in  sermons  to  an  artifi- 
cial and  conventional  world.  We  are 
sometimes  warned  against  the  sin  of 
idolatry,  which  has  been  extinct  in  Eng- 
land since  the  time  of  the  Saxon  Hep- 
tarchy. We  hear  declarations  against 
Babylon,  which  lost  all  independent 
power  to  do  mischief  about  2400  years 
ago.  Of  course  these  phrases  are  not 
used  literally :  in  the  same  way  the 
shepherds  of  the  old  pastoral  often  stood 
symbolically  for  lovers  or  poets ;  but  such 
symbolism  serves  not  to  illustrate  but 
to  darken  thought." 

Now  there  is,  no  doubt,  a  certain 
truth  in  this,  but  at  the  same  time 
a  much  greater  mistake  ;  for  the 
shepherds  and  shepherdesses  were 
essentially  false  and  unreal,  where- 
as that  tendency  in  the  minds  of 
men  which  our  preachers  treat  under 
the  name  of  idolatry,  is  absolutely 
true  :  and  the  figurative  meaning  of 
it  has  so  completely  eclipsed  the 
actual,  that  we  do  not  believe  one 
person  in  a  million,  and  certainly 
not  Mr  Seeley  himself,  would  ever 
for  one  moment  think  of  the  stocks 
and  stones  of  the  Heptarchy  did 
the  preacher  in  their  parish  church 
give  forth  as  his  text  the  old  com- 
mand, "Keep  yourself  from  idols"  ; 
nay,  more,  we  are  perfectly  convinced 
that  a  forcible  and  earnest  address 
on  this  subject  at  the  present  day 


27 


would  make  many  a  heart  tremble 
and  quake  as  much  as  that  of  Felix 
did  when  Paul  preached  to  him  of 
temperance  and  judgment  to  come. 
The  subject  is  as  much  modern  as 
ancient,  and  will  flourish,  in  despite 
of  philosophy,  to  the  end  of  the 
world.  Blame,  however,  is  the  easiest 
of  all  things,  and  scarcely  ever  fails 
to  have  some  truth  in  it.  It  is 
more  trying  when  the  reformer  sets 
forth  his  way  of  mending  the  mat- 
ters, which  he  does  as  follows  : — 

"  Teaching,  in  all  subjects,  proceeds 
as  much  by  example  as  precept ;  in 
morals,  the  importance  of  example  is  even 
greater  than  in  other  subjects,  and  it 
is  characteristic  of  Christianity  that  it 
makes  a  greater  use  of  example  than 
any  other  system.  Christianity  starts 
from  the  unbounded  admiration  of  a 
Person,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  all  true 
moral  progress  is  made  through  admira- 
tion ;  in  other  words,  that  before  you 
can  rise  to  a  higher  moral  standard  you 
must  become  aware,  by  actual  experi- 
ence, of  the  existence  of  that  higher 
standard.  Now,  while  all  Christian 
schools  have  agreed  in  putting  forward 
Christ  as  the  supreme  example,  no 
Christian  school  has  ever  treated  Him 
as  the  only  one.  The  early  and  medie- 
val Church  surrounded  the  central 
figure  with  a  host  of  inferior  objects  of 
admiration.  Protestants  have  put  aside 
this  ancient  calendar,  but  they  have  not 
repudiated  the  principle  of  it.  They 
hold  the  admiration  offered  to  have 
been  excessive  in  degree  or  superstitious 
in  kind,  and  the  objects  of  it  to  have 
been,  in  many  instances,  ill  chosen.  But 
the  principle  of  setting  up  objects  of 
.  imitation  other  than  Christ  is  admit- 
ted by  them  as  much  as  by  Catholics. 
The  lives  of  Moses,  David,  Ezra,  St 
Paul,  furnish  the  material  of  a  large 
proportion  of  Protestant  sermons.  Nor 
does  any  school  theoretically  maintain 
that  such  objects  of  imitation  are  to  be 
found  only  in  the  Bible.  No  preacher 
is  blamed  for  referring  in  the  pulpit  to 
modern  examples  of  virtue ;  but  it  is 
supposed  to  be  advisable,  in  the  main, 
to  keep  within  the  limits  of  Scriptural 
history. 

"  This  notion  seems  to  me  to  have  the 
same  origin  as  the  notion  which  almost 
brings  Christianity  into  contempt — that 
all  sermons  should  be  of  an  extreme 
simplicity.  It  arose  in  the  missionary 
preaching  of  the  Methodists  of  the  last 


century.  Addressing  an  almost  barbaric 
population,  they  naturally  simplified 
their  teaching  to  the  utmost  limit; 
and  for  the  same  reason  they  confined 
themselves  to  the  one  book  which  they 
knew  thoroughly  themselves,  and  had 
any  chance  of  making  their  disciples 
know.  But  a  practice  which  in  such 
circumstances  was  inevitable,  is  very 
ill  adapted  to  preaching  addressed  to 
the  educated  classes,  and  therefore  to 
preaching  generally  in  the  age  to  which 
we  look  forward  of  universal  education. 
To  an  intelligent  audience,  the  best 
examples  of  virtue  are  not,  as  a  general 
rule,  those  of  the  Bible,  but  examples 
taken  from  modern  time,  and  from  a 
society  like  our  own.  The  men  of  the 
Bible  lived,  in  the  first  place,  in  circum- 
stances unfamiliar  to  us ;  it  follows  that 
it  must  cost  us  an  effort  to  realise  their 
actions  and  characters.  Nay,  more  than 
this  follows.  It  follows  that  we  may  often 
make  mistakes  in  estimating  their  char- 
acters, and  conceive  them  not  merely 
imperfectly  but  wrongly.  Must  not  this 
frequently  happen  to  a  preacher  of  only 
ordinary  intelligence  and  information  ? 
Do  not  persons  acquainted  with  antiquity 
often  smile  at  the  innocent  modernism 
with  which  the  acts  of  Jacob  or  Debo- 
rah are  discussed  in  the  pulpit  ?  Do  not 
travellers  tell  us  of  the  contempt  with 
which,  after  becoming  acquainted  with 
Oriental  manners,  they  recollected  clerical 
interpretations  of  Old  Testament  history  ? 
Now  there  is  no  reason  why  the  clergy 
should  expose  themselves  to  the  risk  of 
making  such  mistakes.  Incomparably 
the  larger  portion  of  Scripture  history  is 
entirely  unnecessary  for  the  establish- 
ment of  any  theological  doctrine.  When 
it  is  discussed  in  the  pulpit,  nothing  is 
drawn  from  it  but  example;  and  this 
might  be  drawn  equally  well,  and  without 
running  any  risk,  from  modern  history. 
"  The  most  impressive  and  practically 
useful  of  biographies,  ccRteris  paribus, 
are  those  of  fellow-countrymen  of  the 
most  recent  date.  Their  characters  are 
legible  to  us  without  effort;  their  con- 
duct imitable  without  much  modifica- 
tion ;  and  everything  about  them  is  in- 
teresting to  us.  The  places  where  they 
lived  we  have  seen  or  may  see.  We  may 
stand  where  they  stood,  or  touch  what 
they  touched.  Their  relics  are  among 
us,  ready  for  a  worship  which  must  not 
be  pushed  to  extravagance.  To  disre- 
gard all  these  moral  influences,  to  suffer 
the  great  and  good  to  pass  away  from 
among  us  without  any  memorial  that 
really  keeps  them  in  memory— unre- 
membered  by  three-fourths  of  the  popu- 


New  Books.  [Jan. 

lation,  and  unknown  in  the  next  genera- 
tion to  all  but  a  few  students — and  in 
the  meanwhile  to  concentrate  our  admir- 
ation upon  the  Hebrew  judges  and  kings 
of  an  epoch  separated  from  us,  as  we 
may  say,  by  three  civilisations,  - —  what 
does  this  involve?  It  involves  an  enor- 
mous gap  or  break  in  the  gradations  of 
our  moral  feelings,  which  should  extend 
in  regular  series  from  what  is  near  to 
what  is  remote.  From  our  family  affec- 
tions and  admirations  we  ought  not  to 
pass  abruptly  to  the  largest  and  most 
comprehensive  admirations.  Cosmopol- 
itanism, said  Coleridge,  is  not  possible 
but  by  antecedence  of  patriotism.  And 
patriotism  is  only  another  name  for  the 
worship  of  relics.  We  should  begin  by 
admiring  all  the  virtue  which  is  near  us 
in  time  and  space.  We  should  contem- 
plate all  the  greatness  which  appears  in 
our  neighbourhood,  until,  as  in  natural 
course  it  will,  the  very  land  which  has 
been  the  stage  of  it  acquires  a  sacredness. 
From  this  we  should  pass  regularly  back- 
ward through  time,  adding  our  great  fel- 
low-countrymen of  a  past  age  to  those  of 
the  present ;  then  we  should  pass  to  other 
countries  and  times,  rising  to.those  names 
which  are  highest  of  all,  but  remote, 
through  those  which  are  less  high  but 
near  to  us.  We  should  form,  as  it  were, 
a  national  calendar — consecrate  our  ances- 
tors— keep  their  images  near  to  us — and 
so  reap  the  inestimable  advantage  of 
living  always  coram  Lepidis. 

"  I  suggest,  then,  that  the  clergy  should 
draw  largely  upon  English  history  and 
biography  for  illustrations  of  their  moral 
teaching." 

This  is  an  opinion  very  frankly 
stated,  and  without  any  ambiguity. 
It  involves,  as  will  be  seen,  a  very 
sweeping  change  of  manners  and 
modes  of  thought.  Mr  Seeley  in 
another  place  informs  us  that  news- 
papers take  the  Church's  office  of 
"  moral  guidance."  "  Most  English- 
men probably  get  their  morality 
from  their  paper,  as  exclusively  as 
they  get  their  religion,  when  they 
get  it  at  all,  from  their  favourite 
preacher  " — a  very  astounding  state- 
ment, it  seems  to  us.  We  gaze  at 
it  confused,  and  rub  our  eyes,  and 
ask  whether  it  is  possible  that  Mr 
Seeley  can  have  forgotten  to  put  the 
little  syllable  "  im "  before  the  big 
word  "  morality " — in  wliich  case 


1871.]  New  Books. 

we  should  perfectly  agree  with  him. 
However,  this  is  not  the  question  in 
hand.  As  the  Professor  considers 
journalism  to  have  thus  compassion- 
ately taken  up  the  work  in  which 
the  Church  fails,  so  he  would  not 
unnaturally  have  the  eyes  of  the 
Church  reverently  directed  towards 
the  manner  in  which  that  superior 
agency  fulfils  its  high  office.  And 
it  is  evidently  the  particular  example 
afforded  by  those  rapid  biographies 
with  which  the  journalist  hails  the 
departure,  or  supposed  departure,  of 
any  celebrity  from  the  world,  which 
has  shaped  the  advice  of  the  philo- 
sopher. This  is  his  ideal  of  the 
preaching  of  the  future.  We  may 
not  be  quite  capable  of  it  now ;  but 
when  the  days  come  in  which  every- 
body shall  have  learned  something, 
and  all  men  will  read  and  think,  the 
discourses  to  be  delivered  from  our 
pulpits  will  be  in  the  style  of  Miss 
Martineau's  biographical  sketches. 
We  instance  these,  in  order  to  do 
Mr  Seeley's  suggestion  the  fullest 
justice,  as  being  the  best  works  of 
the  class  with  which  we  .are  ac- 
quainted. They  are  model  repre- 
sentations of  "the  virtue  which  is 
near  us  in  time  and  space."  The 
age  to  which  Mr  Seeley  looks  for- 
ward will  no  doubt  be  an  age  very 
superior  to  this ;  the  world  will 
have  gone  farther  on  the  path  of 
progress;  and  we  will  not  be  so  dis- 
ingenuous as  to  suggest  that  the 
life  of  a  defunct  churchwarden,  or 
even  beadle,  might  be  virtue  still 
nearer  the  parochial  mind  than  that 
of  a  statesman  or  a  poet.  Let  us 
take  the  highest  type  to  be  followed 
in  the  reformed  art  of  preaching. 
The  age  will  be  more  elevated,  as 
we  have  said,  and  instead  of  con- 
fused speculations  about  the  troubles 
of  human  existence,  or  the  possible 
explanation  of  our  sorrows  and 
struggles  which  may  be  coming  to 
us,  or  the  support  God  can  give  and 
has  promised  under  our  burdens,  we 


29 


shall  have  little  sketches  of  Baron 
Bunsen  and  Lord  Palmerston.  For 
our  own  part,  we  frankly  allow  that 
we  should  prefer  either  Moses,  or 
David,  or  Ezra  (not,  by  the  way,  a 
usual  hero  of  preaching),  or  Paul ; 
but  that  is  not  to  the  purpose.  Mr 
Seeley  here  has  allowed  himself  to 
be  led  into  one  of  the  strangest  mis- 
takes which  a  man  of  high  intellec- 
tual power,  not  destitute  of  imagina- 
tion and  sympathy,  could  fall  into. 
He  has  mistaken  the  exterior  for 
the  interior,  the  apparent  for  the 
real.  We  can  understand  these 
men  better,  he  says.  We  are  likely 
to  have  our  minds  exercised  with 
difficulties  similar  to  theirs,  and 
consequently  we  can  learn  more 
from  their  example.  There  is  a 
specious  appearance  of  truth  about 
this  at  the  first  glance,  for  naturally 
the  circumstances  of  the  nineteenth 
century  should  be  more  like  our  own 
than  those  of  the  first;  but  is  it  really 
so?  Baron  Bunsen,  for  example — • 
and  we  take  him  not  as  a  typical 
modern  hero,  or  one  whom  we  feel 
the  slightest  temptation  to  worship, 
but  merely  because  he  is  the  first 
whose  name  occurs  to  us — has  left 
us  a  great  deal  more  material 
for  judging  of  his  character  than 
Paul  has  done.  Do  we  know  it 
as  well?  We  are  aware  of  his 
prosperous  progress  from  a  low 
grade  to  a  high  one  —  of  a  very 
smooth,  genial,  well-rewarded  exist- 
ence, occupied  with  some  great  ob- 
jects and  a  great  many  small  ones, 
and  distinguished  by  a  large  amount 
of  human  kindness,  and  a  consider- 
able margin  of  amiable  humbug. 
But  will  any  one  say  that  the  man 
is  known  to  us  as  Paul  is  known,  or 
as  David  or  Moses?  His  tempta- 
tions, if  he  had  any,  are  veiled  in 
that  haze  of  the  present  which  is 
more  blinding  than  any  mist  of  the 
past ;  if  he  ever  fell  and  rose  again, 
be  sure  we  are  not  told  of  that; 
his  blunders  are  carefully  explained 


30 


New  Books. 


[Jan. 


to  us,  if,  indeed,  we  are  permitted 
to  suspect  that  he  ever  made  any; 
anything  we  know  about  him  is 
outside — it  is  the  man  clothed  in 
all  his  external  garments,  his  rib- 
bons, stars,  authorships,  importances. 
He  never  "  speaks  as  a  fool, " 
never  forgets  himself  in  the  vehe- 
mence of  his  recollections,  never 
confides  to  us  his  thorn  in  the  flesh. 
If  he  had  been  sharp  and  hot  of 
temper  as  Paul  was,  poor  in  appear- 
ance, bigoted  in  his  own  way,  should 
we  ever  have  heard  of  it  ?  and  with- 
out hearing  of  that,  how  could  we 
have  understood  the  self-conflicts, 
the  humiliations,  the  relentings, 
which  must,  without  their  raison 
d'etre,  have  been  concealed  too? 
The  value  of  Scriptural  examples  is 
that  they  are  set  before  us  with  the 
severest  impartiality  and  openness — 
qualities  which  are  impossible  in  the 
case  of  a  contemporary,  and  difficult 
to  be  obtained  even  in  history.  Had 
David  even  been  Henry  III.  — 
far  enough  back,  one  would  think, 
to  secure  full  honesty  of  speech — 
should  we  have  known  as  we  do 
that  tragic  crime  of  his,  and  Na- 
than's parable,  and  the  king's  hu- 
miliation, and  the  great  cry  of  his 
penitence,  which  from  that  day  to 
this  has  rung  through  all  the  echoes 
of  a  wondering,  sinning,  repenting 
world  ?  What  contemporary  would 
dare  to  reveal  the  existence  of  such 
a  blot  in  the  life  of  a  man  for  whom 
he  expected  respect  or  admiration  ? 
Even  Mr  Carlyle,  the  boldest  hero- 
worshipper  that  ever  existed,  does 
not  dare  to  say  of  his  Cromwell  or 
his  Frederick,  "  Here  the  man  sin- 
ned ! "  No ;  rather  the  austere  en- 
thusiast himself  will  force  his  hon- 
esty into  the  celebration,  as  of  the 
acts  of  a  demigod  above  mortal 
judgment,  of  the  massacre  of  Drog- 
heda,  and  the  rape  of  Silesia.  He 
dares  not  throw  off  the  veil  and  ac- 
knowledge the  flaw.  He  does  not 
venture  to  say,  "  In  other  scenes,  in 


other  acts,  my  hero  is  spotless — here 
he  is  guilty."  This  is  an  effort,  as 
it  seems,  beyond  the  power  of  any 
one  of  those  bards  who  sing  the 
deeds  of  heroes.  Only  Scripture  is 
calm  as  death,  and  deifies  no  man 
— save  One. 

The  persistence  with  which  our 
Professor  takes  the  outside  for  the 
in,  is  evident  again  in  his  sneer  at 
the  "innocent  modernism"  of  the 
ordinary  pulpit  explanations  of  Ori- 
ental life.  He  is  quite  justified  in 
sneering.  Nothing  can  be  more 
strange  than  the  foolish  look  of 
wisdom  with  which  some  bit  of 
Eastern  circumstance  is  often  elabo- 
rately brought  forth  in  the  pulpit, 
as  if  it  could  possibly  throw  any 
light  upon  the  moral  meaning  of  a 
human  story — except  the  fact  that 
our  Professor  actually  thinks  it  does, 
and  sympathises  with  travellers 
whose  contempt  for  "  clerical  inter- 
pretations of  Old  Testament  history" 
has  evidently  led  them  to  contempt 
for  the  history  itself.  The  preacher 
is  foolish  who  tries  to  envelop  the 
real  man  or  men  whom  he  has  to 
deal  with  in  the  prosaic  wrappings 
of  an  Egyptian  or  a  Bedouin.  What 
do  we  care  about  Abraham's  dress 
or  Paul's  tent-making?  But  Mr 
Seeley  argues  with  the  preacher,  and 
thinks  we  ought  to  care,  and  that 
Paul's  example  would  be  lessened  in 
its  effect  upon  us  if  he  were  repre- 
sented as  using  canvas  of  the  nine- 
teenth century !  This  is  the  very 
triumph  of  the  accidental  and  tempo- 
rary over  the  real  and  everlasting.  Mr 
Seeley's  advice,  to  prefer  the  "  virtue 
which  is  near  us,"  and  his  examples 
drawn  from  our  contemporaries,  are 
as  if  a  painter  should  advise  his  pu- 
pil to  make  all  his  studies  from  a 
decorous,  full-draped,  amateur  model, 
and  to  shun  the  rude  nature  of  the 
life-school. 

It  does  not,  however,  lessen  the 
force  of  the  fact  that  preaching  is  to 
a  great  extent  a  forgotten  art,  that 


1871.]  New  Books. 

the  advice  of  the  present  counsellor 
fails  in  meeting  its  real  difficulties. 
Mr  Seeley's  purpose  is  a  thoroughly 
good    one,    though    he    has    been 
strangely  unfortunate  in  his  practi- 
cal advices.     He  is  strenuous  that 
individual  and  specific  vices  should 
be  assailed  from  the  pulpit,  without 
considering  that  it  would  be  hard 
upon  several  hundred  honest   folk 
to   hear    themselves    specially    de- 
nounced for  the  sins  of  the  one  or 
two  adulterators  of  their  food,  from 
whom  they  suffer  more  than  any  one 
else  can.     If  he  had  said  that  it  is 
the  duty  of  preachers  to  explain  and 
expound,  in  season  and  out  of  sea- 
son,  those    vast    but    imperfectly- 
taught  principles  of  human  truthful- 
ness, which  make  not  only  every 
false  oath  and  lie,  every  false  mea- 
sure and  weight,  but  every  false  pre- 
tence, hateful  in  the  sight  of  God 
and  man — would  not  that  be  more 
to  the  purpose  ?  The  following  piece 
of  counsel  as  to   the  preaching  of 
politics  shows  how  little  he,  who  at 
other  moments  gives  circumstance  so 
much  weight,  is  disposed  to  take  it 
into  consideration  when  it  comes  in 
the  way  of  his  own  theories.     The 
sublime  position  which  he  supposes 
the  clergy  to  be  able  to  hold  in  re- 
spect  to   this    exciting   subject    is 
strangely  inconsistent  with  his  opin- 
ion of  them  in  other  respects.     If 
they  were  archangels,  serenely  above 
all   party  views,  perfectly  able   to 
discriminate  what  was  fundamental 
from  what  was  superficial,  and  in- 
dependent of  all  those  prejudices  of 
merely  human  upbringing  and  asso- 
ciation  which   often,  without   any 
conscious  will  of  his  own,  mark  a 
man  with  a  certain  stamp  of  Whig 
or   Tory — in   these   very  desirable 
and  very  superior  circumstances  we 
should  certainly  advise  the  clergy 
on  this  subject  to  take  Mr  Seeley's 
advice  : — 

"  Politics,  then,  should  be  a  part,  and 
a  principal  part,  of  the  studies  of  the 


31 


clergy.  To  discover  .and  popularise  the 
lessons  that  may  be  drawn  from  our  his- 
tory, to  idealise  the  nation,  and  famil- 
iarise it  in  its  unity  to  the  minds  of  its 
members,  is  a  most  vital  part  of  the 
moral  teaching  of  the  community.  The 
phrase,  political  religion,  may  have  very 
different  meanings  ;  there  are  two  senses 
in  which  it  signifies  a  hateful  thing,  but 
there  is  a  third  sense  in  which  it  is  an 
admirable  and  necessary  thing.  It  is 
a  hateful  thing  when  it  means  religion 
made  the  tool  of  a  political  party  or  gov- 
erning class,  as  wheu  the  Church  con- 
secrated the  absolutism  of  the  Stuarts, 
or,  on  a  smaller  scale,  when  the  parson 
preaches  submission  to  the  squire.  It  is 
a  hateful  thing  when  it  means  the  Church 
interfering  with  public  affairs  merely 
with  a  view  of  strengthening  its  own 
position,  of  preserving  its  own  influence, 
or  privileges,  or  endowments.  But  when 
a  Church  is  independent  of  political  par- 
ties, and  sure  of  the  respect  of  the  people, 
when  it  can  speak  with  impartiality  and 
with  authority,  then  political  religion 
means  only  the  purifying  of  politics  by 
connecting  them  with  duty,  honour,  and 
piety ;  it  means  only  the  discouragement 
of  faction,  the  assertion  of  general  prin- 
ciples, the  keeping  before  the  eyes  of  the 
people  a  political  ideal.  And  as  in  the 
former  senses  political  religion  is  only 
another  name  for  corrupt  religion,  in  the 
latter  sense  it  is  another  name  for  worthy 
and  noble  politics." 

Something  more,  however,  must 
be  done  before  the  ordinary  parish 
priest  will _  be  able  to  fill  the  place 
which  is  here  chalked  out  for  him. 
If  he  is  to  preach  and  preach  well, 
his  whole  life  and  powers  must 
not  be  swept  away  in  the  whirl  of 
parochial  management.  If  it  is 
hard  for  a  man  to  do  his  intellectual 
best  when  he  has  to  keep  the 
wolf  from  his  own  door  (a  common 
opinion,  in  which  we  agree  but 
slightly),  the  matter  can  scarcely 
be  mended  when  he  has  to  help  to 
keep  the  wolf  from  a  hundred  doors, 
and  has  his  heart  torn  asunder  and 
his  faculties  confused  in  the  process. 
Political  economy  does  not  create  the 
wretchedness  which  it  classifies  and 
explains,  but  neither  does  it  lift  a 
finger  to  mend  ;  and  all  the  weight 
of  the  burden  left  by  its  cruel  laws 


32 


— along  with  all  the  terrible  sugges- 
tions raised  by  its  teaching  that  the 
humanity  which  breaks  these  laws 
does  more  harm  than  good — is  more 
than  enough  to  send  any  ordinary 
brain  reeling.  If  the  clergyman  were 
relieved  of  this  weight,  or  at  least 
of  the  more  serious  part  of  it,  there 
might  then  be  some  hope  of  his 
succeeding  in  other  matters  as  well 
as  in  that  one  matter  of  charity 
which  Mr  Seeley  acknowledges  he 
has  succeeded  in  —  an  acknowledg- 
ment which  seems  to  us  rather  to 
convey  the  promise  that  our  poor 
priest  might  be  able  to  teach  toler- 
ably well  if  he  had  time,  than  that 
his  mind  was  utterly  vitiated  by  his 
education  and  the  vile  habit  of  re- 
ferring to  the  Bible  on  all  subjects 
which  he  has  acquired. 

We  must  add,  however,  our  con- 
viction that  preaching  of  a  high  class 
is  not  to  be  looked  for  from  the  man 
of  ordinary  endowments  who  has 
chanced  to  be  brought  up  a  clergy- 
man. He  must  preach  dully,  as  his 
parallel  man  who  is  not  a  clergy- 
man would  of  necessity  write  dully 
—the  thing  not  being  his  vocation. 
Bishops  once  were  great  in  this 
matter ;  but  that  was  in  a  day  when 
bishops  were  not  chosen  because 
they  were  distinguished  school- 
masters, nor  because  they  were  gen- 
tlemen of  bland  manners  and  harm- 
less intellect.  If  the  Church  of 
England  were  but  wise  enough  to 
follow  the  example  of  wise  Eome  in 
her  great  ages,  and  establish  a  dis- 
tinct class  or  order  of  preachers, 
giving  her  poor  clergy  liberty  to 
close  their  mouths  if  they  liked, 
then  we  might  hope  for  good  work 
in  England,  such  as  it  was  before 
the  hard  and  needful  rush  of  charity 
had  overrun  all  other  uses  in  the 
life  of  a  parish  priest. 

It  is  curious  to  turn  from  this 


New  Books.  [Jan. 

book,  which  contains,  let  us  say, 
the  instructions  of  modern  Intellec- 
tualism  to  the  modern  preacher,  to 
a  volume  called,  not  very  appro- 
priately, '  Christus  Consolator,'  * 
which  is  an  exposition  of  the  uses 
and  meaning  of  preaching  as  they 
appear  to  a  Dissenting  minister  of 
rising  reputation  and  considerable 
intellectual  power.  Professor  Seeley 
is  instructive  and  professorial,  but 
Dr  Macleod  is  apologetic.  The  one 
takes  it  for  granted  that  the  pulpit 
has  lost  its  ancient  power,  and,  with- 
out an  entire  change  of  character,  is 
not  likely  to  regain  it.  The  other 
is  confident  that  the  pulpit  is  as 
powerful  as  ever ;  speaks  of  "  the 
utter  and  scandalous  falsity  "  of  the 
sneers  which  are  generally  levelled 
at  it,  and  "  the  meanness,  shallow- 
ness,  and  ingratitude  "  of  those  who 
make  them ;  yet  devotes  a  dozen 
papers  to  the  elucidation  of  his  own 
views  as  to  what  its  work  ought  to 
be,  the  reasons  of  its  occasional  fail- 
ure, and  the  remedies  for  them. 
In  this  gentleman's  statement  of  his 
own  theoretical  position  and  pur- 
pose, we  recognise  in  a  moment  the 
real  preacher  to  whom  Mr  Seeley's 
book  is  addressed.  There  are,  doubt- 
less, men  in  the  Established  Church 
as  free  from  the  distracting  cares  of 
parochial  work,  but  their  number 
must  be  few  in  comparison.  The 
Dissenting  preacher  occupies  a  dif- 
ferent standing-ground.  He  is  not 
an  officer  of  the  State,  pledged  to 
certain  labours  of  which  no  one  at- 
tempts to  ease  him,  but  which,  on 
the  contrary,  grow  heavier  as  the 
world  goes  on.  He  has  none  of  the 
snares  or  cares  of  parochial  work. 
The  poor  do  not  lie  on  his  hands  a 
vast  and  helpless  burden,  as  they  do 
on  the  hands  of  the  parish  priest. 
His  congregation,  even  when  it  is  not 
rich,  is  well  to  do.  A  few  respect- 


*  Christus  Consolator :   the  Pulpit  in  Relation  to  Social  Life.      By  Alexander 
Macleod,  D.D.     London  :  Hodder  and  Stoughton.     1870. 


1871.]  New  Books. 

able  widows  and  orphans,  or  a  stray 
ne'er-do-weel,  are  all  that  he  has 
upon  his  mind;  and  the  very  fact 
of  this  general  comfort  brings  his 
social  work  within  very  small  limits. 
We  do  not  for  a  moment  imagine 
that  the  claim  of  sickness  and 
sorrow  is  made  to  him  in  vain,  or 
that  he  does  not  minister  to  the 
minds  diseased  of  his  little  com- 
munity when  his  services  are  called 
for ;  but  in  an  ordinary  community 
not  burdened  with  too  lively  an  in- 
tellectual life,  and  not  -worn  by 
want,  such  calls  are  not  beyond  a 
man's  strength.  When  he  has  dined 
with  the  richer  and  taken  tea  with 
the  poorer,  he  has  done  the  most 
that  his  congregation  requires  of 
him  socially,  and  his  hands  are  free 
for  that  which  is  their  chief  require- 
ment, and  in  which  his  highest 
ideal  of  his  own  duty  is  embodied. 
This  is  a  very  sufficient  reason  why 
he  should  give  the  profoundest  study 
of  which  he  is  capable  to  this  sub- 
ject ;  and  though  we  are  not  aware 
that  he  often  attains  the  highest 
rank  of  preaching,  we  believe  that 
his  average  production  of  clever  ser- 
mons is  higher  than  the  average  of 
the  Churchman.  The  book  before 
us,  which  would  not  naturally  come 
under  our  notice  but  for  its  relations 
to  the  other  which  we  have  just  dis- 
cussed, is  full  of  fluent  and  agree- 
able writing,  and  curiously  agrees 
with  some  of  Mr  Seeley's  views, 
while  utterly  differing  from  him  in 
every  suggestion  he  makes.  "  Has 
the  pulpit  lost  its  ancient  hold  on 
the  people  ?  Has  the  right  hand  of 
the  preacher  forgot  its  cunning?" 
Dr  Macleod  asks. 

"  Amid  many  suggestions, 
and  mauy  views  of  earnest  men  recom- 
mending this  or  that,  I  venture  here  to 
declare,  and  with  unabated  confidence, 
for  the  old  instrumentality  of  Gospel 
preaching.  Men  run  to  and  fro,  and  up 
and  down,  in  their  anxiety  to  mend  the 
world,  just  as  in  earlier  times.  In  their 
impatience  of  the  evils  in  the  lot  of  par- 

VOL.    C1X. — NO.    DCLXIII. 


33 


ticular  classes,  they  utter  the  cry,  '  Who 
shall  bring  heaven  down  into  debase- 
ments like  this  ?  Who  out  of  such  awfid 
depths  shall  bring  light  and  healing  into 
the  lives  their  inhabitants  are  leading  ? ' 
The  reply  to  this  despair  now,  as  in  the 
days  of  Paul,  is  nearer  than  men  think. 
It  is  not  in  the  height  nor  in  the  depth, 
but  in  a  possession  we  already  know,  in 
'the  word  of  faith  which  we  preach.' 
.  .  .  For  far  and  near,  for  rich  and 
poor,  for  workmen  and  for  employers, 
for  man  and  for  nations,  there  is  but  one 
power  under  heaven  which  can  bring  us 
to  the  better  time.  That  is  the  power 
that  resides  in  the  Gospel  of  Christ." 

Mr  Seeley  holds  a  different  opin- 
ion. He  thinks  it  is  to  be  done  in 
other  ways.  He  considers  that  the 
preaching  of  political  economy  and 
sound  social  principles  would  recon- 
cile the  questions  between  masters 
and  men,  for  instance,  and  throw 
light  upon  all  that  darkness  which 
produces  trades-unions.  Dr  Macleod 
also  thinks  that  preaching  has  to  do 
with  this  great  question,  but  in  a 
different  way.  This  would  be  his 
manner  of  treating  the  question  :— 

"  Look  once  more  on  that  immense 
breadth  of  our  social  life  which  is  filled 
by  the  employer  and  employed,  and 
consider  the  character  of  the  relations 
which  subsist  between  the  two  at  pre- 
sent. In  the  ideal  or  perfect  state  of 
these  relations  there  should  be  no  conten- 
tion between  master  and  workman,  ex- 
cept the  contention  of  rendering  the 
noblest  service  to  the  country.  Their  in- 
terest is  one,  their  labour  is  one.  But  at 
this  moment  they  are  hostile  camps. 
The  employers  are  combined  to  protect 
themselves  against  the  workmen ;  the 
workmen  to  defend  themselves  from  the 
employers.  It  is  not  to  the  point  to 
raise  the  question,  Who  is  to  blame  ?  It 
is  not  necessary  in  dealing  with  the 
problem  of  education  to  determine  this 
question.  Determining  this  question 
would  leave  still  the  main,  the  moment- 
ous part  as  it  stood ;  and  employers  and 
employed  would  go  on  suspecting,  fear- 
ing,  and  warring  against  each  other.  The 
underlying  question  is  this  :  What  is  it 
in  employer  and  employed  which  has  led 
to  this  alienation.  What  sustains  it? 
It  is  this,  that  the  eyes  of  the  dwellers  in 
this  entire  world  of  labour  are  still  shut 
to  the  fact  of  the  Lordship  of  Christ  in 
their  domain,  The  one  side  does  not 


34 


see  its  obligation  to  serve  Him  in  their 
daily  works — Him  and  not  man.  The 
other  side  does  not  think  that  Christ  is 
Lord  over  capital  as  well  as  labour,  and 
for  the  interest  of  labour  as  truly  as  of 
capital.  .  .  .  Both  require  to  be  in- 
stnicted  in  the  blessed  and  healing  wis- 
dom that  Christ  is  Lord  over  all  to  bless 
men  in  their  daily  tasks;  Lord  over  rich 
and  poor,  and  rich  in  mercy  to  both :  and 
that  they,  both  masters  and  workmen 
alike,  are  responsible  to  Him  for  the  ren- 
dering a  just  hire,  a  just  reverence,  and 
a  just  consideration  of  the  difficulties  on 
either  side." 

Such  are  the  very  different  judg- 
ments given  by  the  essayist  and  the 
preacher  upon  this  great  subject. 
We  do  not  pretend  that  the  voice  on 
the  one  side  is  either  so  potent  or  so 
valuable  as  that  on  the  other.  But 
Mr  Seeley's  appeal  is  not  to  the  man 
of  genius,  but  to  the  average  man 
whose  office  is  religious  teaching. 
We  have  endeavoured  to  show  how 
little  chance  the  clergyman,  with  his 
hands  full  of  parochial  labour,  has  to 
enter  upon  the  career  of  secular  in- 
struction which  his  lay  adviser  indi- 
cates to  him:  the  Dissenting  preacher, 
however,  has  full  opportunity  to  do 
so.  But  here  is  the  very  different 
conclusion  to  which  he  comes.  Thus 
the  public  teacher  in  one  kind  runs 
full  a-tilt  upon  the  public  teacher  in 
the  other.  And  which  is  right? 
We  believe  that  the  general  voice, 
notwithstanding  all  pulpit  failures, 
will  still  be  for  the  Gospels  in  pre- 
ference to  the  Biographical  Sketches, 
and  for  the  revelation  of  God  in- 
stead of  the  counsel  of  man. 

The  life  of  Madame  de  Miramion  * 
is  one  of  those  quaint  and  pretty 
sketches  of  Catholic  Puritanism 
which  we  have  lately  become  ac- 
quainted with  by  means  of  several 
similar  publications.  It  comes  to 
us  under  the  warrant,  as  it  were,  de- 
livered with  the  gentle  authority  of 
a  feminine  Pope,  whose  recommen- 
dation is  naturally  expected  to  go  a 
long  way — of  Lady  Herbert  of  Lea. 


New  Books.  [Jan. 

It  is  written  in  what  would  be  very 
bad  English  were  it  not  made  rather 
graceful  and  conciliatory  by  the 
pretty  flavour  of  French  which  clings 
to  the  translation.  The  book  alto- 
gether bears  on  every  page  the  gen- 
tle dignity  and  grace  of  those  long- 
past  days,  in  which  a  lady  now  and 
then,  with  much  diffidence,  put 
forth  a  delicate  volume  intended  for 
ladies,  which  both  writer  and  reader 
felt  to  be  a  little  exceptional,  a  flower 
of  literature  to  be  plucked  daintily, 
to  be  sent  from  one  hand  to  another 
with  loving  inscriptions  and  pretty 
names  upon  its  title-page,  and  to  be 
associated  always  with  the  recollec- 
tion of  some  gentle  reader.  As  we 
open  it  we  feel  the  pleasant  tempta- 
tion to  write  "To  Blanche,"  "To 
Margaret,"  upon  the  book,  and  send 
it  away  to  the  place  it  belongs  to. 
Alas !  they  say  girls  are  not  to  be  so 
treated  nowadays ;  we  are  not  to 
be  allowed  to  think  of  them  as  we 
think  of  the  flowers,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  to  deal  with  them  rather 
more  severely  than  with  their  bro- 
thers. But  it  was  not  always  so; 
and  this  book,  which  is  full  of  sweet 
impossible  piety,  and  that  romance 
of  benevolence,  which  is  also  impos- 
sible, but  which,  like  the  other  im- 
possibility, comes  true  now  and  then, 
breathes  the  very  essence  of  that 
perfume  of  womanhood  which  we 
humbly  believe  belongs  to  nature, 
and  cannot  be  abolished.  This  is 
none  the  less  real  that  it  is  a  kind 
of  saint's  legend,  framed  on  the 
principle  that  it  would  be  profane 
to  suppose  Madame  de  Miramion 
ever  did  anything  in  her  life  which 
was  less  than  perfect.  From  the 
time  when,  a  girl  in  her  teens,  she 
"  wore  under  her  dress  a  thick  iron 
chain  which  she  had  procured  in 
secret;  and  if  she  went  to  the  theatre 
she  shut  her  eyes,  but  when  her 
aunt  laughed,  she  turned  round  and 
laughed  also  (pious  little  humbug !), 


*  Life  of  Madame  de  Miramion.    Edited  by  Lady  Herbert.    London :  E.  Bentley. 


1371.]  New  Boote. 

as  if  she  were  paying  attention  to 
the  play," — until  the  moment  when, 
having  spent  fifty  years  of  a  devoted 
life  in  the  service  of  the  poor,  she 
died  amid  the  tears  of  all  Paris, 
there  is  nothing  but  sanctity  in  her 
story.  There  are  no  sins  in  it,  and 
consequently  no  struggles  to  speak 
of.  When  we  say  this  we  do  not 
mean  to  infer  that  its  perfection 
carries  it  beyond  the  range  of  sym- 
pathy and  interest;  but  only  that,  as 
is  the  case  in  almost  all  biography, 
those  shadows  in  life,  which  are  to 
every  individual  its  most  momentous 
fact,  are  inevitably  softened  and 
brought  into  concord  with  the  story 
as  soon  as  it  gets  into  the  hand  of 
literature.  In  this  way,  if  Professor 
Seeley  were  ever  to  succeed  in  his 
attempt  to  introduce  biography  into 
the  pulpit,  and  the  contemplation  of 
"virtue  near  us  in  time  and  space" 
as  our  best  example,  nature  would 
balk  him  as  she  always  does,  and 
deluge  his  unhappy  audience  with 
a  characterless  succession  of  eulogies. 
It  is  the  inevitable  tendency  of  this 
branch  of  literature. 

But  let  us  not  suppose  that  the 
woman  who  died  Superior  of  a  con- 
vent of  charitable  sisters,  and  who 
gave  her  whole  mature  life  to  the 
service  of  the  miserable,  had  nothing 
else  in  her  existence.  It  is  one  of 
the  favourite  fallacies  of  the  British 
nation,  and  we  suppose  more  or  less 
of  all  Protestant  peoples,  to  believe 
that  women  devote  their  lives  to 
charity,  especially  under  a  monastic 
form,  only  when  life  contains  no- 
thing else  for  them — when  they 
have  been  "  disappointed "  or  de- 
serted, or  at  the  very  least  have  lost 
their  husband  or  lover  in  the  less 
humiliating  way,  by  death.  No- 
thing can  be  more  in  opposition  to 
fact,  and  nothing  can  be  more  ab- 
solutely persistent  than  this  opinion. 
"Women  who  are  ugly,  and  hopeless 
of  the  attentions  of  "the  other  sex;" 
women  who  are  broken-hearted ;  wo- 
men who  have  allowed  the  chances 


35 


of  life  to  go  past  them, — such  are 
nuns  and  sisters  of  charity  according 
to  the  English  idea.  Mr  Trollope 
makes  his  fathers  and  mothers  grow 
anxious  as  soon  as  their  Emily  or 
their  Madeline  takes  to  a  very  de- 
voted visiting  of  the  poor.  It  is  a 
sign  that  things  are  growing  very 
serious  indeed,  and  that  the  girl's 
heart  is  broken  —  a  broken  heart 
apparently  being  supposed  the  nat- 
ural fount  of  that  energy  and  pa- 
tience which  are  required  for  the 
hardest  and  most  disheartening  work 
in  the  world.  We  are  aware  that 
it  is  useless  to  protest  against  this 
obstinate  prepossession ;  but  the 
story  of  Madame  de  Miramion,  with 
its  prematurely -ended  romance,  is 
tolerably  strong  testimony  on  the 
other  side  of  the  question.  She  be- 
longed to  the  noblesse  de  la  robe,  the 
Parliamentary  party,  in  the  early 
days  of  Louis  XIV. — a  pretty  pious 
young  creature,  who  made  at  six- 
teen the  nearest  approach  to  a  love- 
match  which  was  practicable  to 
a  well  brought  up  and  carefully 
guarded  French  maiden.  Made- 
moiselle de  Eubelle,  deep  though 
her  piety  was,  must  have  had  youth- 
ful eyes  which  sometimes  strayed 
from  her  prayer-book;  for  she  had 
early  remarked  in  the  parish  church 
where  she  went  with  her  aunt 
to  their  frequent  devotions,  a  cer- 
tain M.  de  Miramion,  "who  often 
accompanied  his  mother,  a  lady  of 
exemplary  piety  and  charity."  She 
remarked  (was  it  not  sinful  in  the 
midst  of  her  religious  duties'?)  the 
tender  deference  with  which  this 
young  man  treated  his  mother,  a 
sight  always  prepossessing  to  a 
woman  ;  and  when  in  the  list  of 
suitors  for  her  hand  she  heard  his 
name,  "  her  blushes  discovered  to 
every  one  the  person  whom  her 
heart  had  chosen."  They  were 
married,  and  for  six  months  lived 
in  the  midst  of  their  family  after 
the  patriarchal  French  fashion — 
happy  and  making  happy — when 


30 


New  Boolcs. 


[Jan. 


sudden  darkness  came  upon  the 
bright  beginning ;  the  young  hus- 
band was  seized  with  inflammation  of 
the  lungs  and  died  after  a  short  ill- 
ness, leaving  his  poor  young  beau- 
tiful despairing  widow,  not  yet  a 
mother,  to  fight  her  way  through 
the  half-century  of  life  which  re- 
mained to  her.  The  story  of  her 
grief,  the  crushing  of  her  happy 
existence,  is  very  pitiful  and  pathetic, 
though  it  is  hard  to  believe  that 
this  early  union,  which  ended  on  her 
sixteenth  birthday — an  age  at  which 
we  are  reluctant  to  allow  that  a  girl 
is  able  to  choose  for  herself — was 
enough  to  close  her  heart  against 
all  further  thoughts  of  earthly  love. 
Her  biographer  assumes  it  was,  with 
a  pretty  womanish  faith  in  unalter- 
able attachments  ;  and  it  is  certain 
that  the  young  widow  never  listened 
to  love-tale  more.  She  was  not  only 
young  and  beautiful,  but  very  rich  ; 
and  was  assailed  by  crowds  of 
suitors,  among  others  by  the  gallant 
and  haughty  Count  Bussy  de 
Eabutin,  the  cousin  of  Madame 
de  Sevigne,  a  man  of  the  highest 
race  and  connections,  who  went 
so  far  as  to  carry  her  off  on  her 
return  from  a  pilgrimage  to  Mont 
Valerien,  then  the  object  of  expedi- 
tions very  different  from  those  which 
have  now  made  its  name  so  familiar 
to  us.  Her  resistance  to  the  abduc- 
tion, and  determination  to  accept  no 
favour,  not  even  food,  but  only  her 
freedom,  from  the  hands  of  her  too 
enterprising  lover,  seem  to  have 
confounded  that  gallant ;  and  his 
narrative  of  the  whole  affair,  in 
which  he  lays  the  blame  upon  a 
priest  who  had  encouraged  him  to 
the  undertaking,  comes  in  oddly 
enough,  with  a  certain  confused 
masculinity  in  the  feminine  re- 
cord. The  young  widow,  however, 
carried  the  day,  got  safely  out  of  his 
hands,  leaving  the  valiant  party  who 
had  carried  her  oif  covered  with 
shame  and  ridicule;  but  paid  the 


penalty  of  a  bad  illness  for  her 
courage  and  self-possession.  This 
adventure  was  followed  some  time 
after  by  a  gentler  but  much  more 
severe  trial.  M.  de  Caumartin, 
her  husband's  cousin  and  dearest 
friend,  who  had  been  brought  up 
with  him,  and  since  his  death  had 
lived  in  unbroken  family  intercourse 
with  her,  sought  her  one  day  in  the 
garden,  where  the  young  creature, 
just  twenty,  was  walking  with  her 
little  girl.  The  child  held  out  her 
arms  to  the  trembling  lover,  who 
had  been  watching  for  his  oppor- 
tunity for  hours.  The  anxious 
family  indoors  —  grandfather,  mo- 
ther, all  the  relations — waited  with 
anxiety  to  hear  the  result.  Madame 
de  Miramion  heard  his  declaration 
of  love  to  an  end ;  and  then,  speech- 
less and  weeping,  hurried  away  with 
her  child  in  her  arms  without  mak- 
ing any  reply.  "  There  was  in  the 
same  family  with  me  a  person  who 
urged  me  greatly,  and  all  the  family 
desired  it.  I  required  a  great  deal 
of  courage  to  resist  him,"  says  her 
own  brief  and  simple  story.  These 
were  the  preliminaries  to  her  self- 
dedication,  which  certainly  was  not 
made  for  want  of  appreciation  from 
"  the  other  sex." 

We  cannot  enter  at  length  into 
the  graver  conclusion  of  the  tale. 
How  she  threw  herself  into  the 
labours  of  St  Vincent  de  Paul, 
founded  hospitals,  established  or- 
phanages and  schools,  and  herself 
worked  in  them  with  unfailing 
energy ;  how  she  importuned  all 
her  religious  friends,  her  confessor, 
and  the  saintly  women,  themselves 
already  in  the  cloister,  who  were  in 
her  confidence,  to  permit  her  to  be- 
come a  nun  of  the  severe  order  of 
the  Carmelites;  and  how,  balked 
in  that  by  the  better  judgment  of 
her  advisers,  she  became  a  humble 
"  Grey  Sister,"  a  lay-woman  having 
no  religious  rank,  yet  utterly  dedi- 
cated to  the  service  of  the  Church 


1871.] 


New  Books. 


37 


and  the  poor, — are  all  set  forth  with 
charming  simplicity.  She  was  so 
wise  and  unexaggerated  in  her  ways, 
that  when  she  had  drawn  together  a 
few  penitents — the  first  attempt  to 
reclaim  fallen  women  which  ever 
seems  to  have  been  made — she  gave 
them  no  uniform  dress,  but  "  had 
them  neatly  clothed  according  to 
their  condition;"  and  this  spirit 
of  moderation  and  good  sense  she 
seems  to  have  taken  with  her  into 
all  her  undertakings.  At  a  very 
early  period  she  gave  up  her  fine 
dresses  and  jewels — a  resolution,  no 
doubt,  strengthened  by  her  widow- 
hood ;  but  it  was  some  time  before 
she  could  be  weaned  from  the  love 
of  fine  furniture  and  elegant  sur- 
roundings, which  was  a  special  fea- 
ture of  the  age.  She  had  a  pretty 
bed-chamber  hung  with  velvet,  in 
which  she  was  in  the  habit  of 
receiving  her  guests,  until  one  day 
a  visitor  whom  she  held  in  high 
consideration  rebuked  her  luxury. 
"  I  should  not  have  thought,  Ma- 
dame," he  said,  coldly,  "  that  the 
room  of  a  Christian  widow  would 
be  so  magnificent."  After-  that 
day  the  hangings  were  changed  to 
simple  grey  cloth,  and  the  pretty 
things  were  sent  away.  But  she 
was  still  a  great  lady  notwithstand- 
ing all.  When  her  daughter  had 
attained  the  proper  age,  the  sister 
of  St  Genevieve  put  off  her  chari- 
table uniform,  and  appeared  again 
"  in  the  world  "  by  the  side  of  her 
Marie.  The  daughter  was  not  so 
beautiful  as  the  mother,  but  she 
was  young  and  sweet,  and  at  four- 
teen and  a  half  she  was  married. 
This  event  left  the  mother  still  more 
time  for  future  self-devotion,  and 
her  life  thereafter  is  but  a  chronicle 
of  institutions  created,  and  the  most 
patriotic  of  good  works.  She  seems 
to  have  had  a  hand  in  the  founda- 
tion of  half  the  charitable  institutions 
now  existing.  She  was  one  of  those 
who,  under  the  direction  of  the 


Abb6  Vincent  de  Paul,  formed  the 
nucleus  of  the  great  Foundling 
Hospital.  She  it  was,  as  we  have 
already  said,  who  drew  together  the 
first  little  company  of  reclaimed 
penitents  among  women.  She  in- 
vited the  girls  whom  she  saw  laugh- 
ing and  gossiping  in  the  streets 
to  come  to  her  home  and  learn 
to  work — thus  establishing  those 
homes  for  young  needlewomen 
which  are  so  beneficial  to  this  much- 
exposed  class.  She  established 
schools,  orphanages,  and  every  kind 
of  good  works.  "  I  occupied  my- 
self in  having  missions  preached,  in 
establishing  schools  and  charities 
for  the  sick  poor  in  villages.  I 
learned  how  to  doctor  and  bleed, 
and  distributed  clothes  among  the 
poor.  I  had  a  closet  where  I 
had  all  sorts  of  things  for  them. 
...  I  always  wished  to  be  a  nun, 
but  it  was  not  judged  advisable  by 
my  superiors."  Such  is  her  own 
most  brief  narrative  of  her  life.  At 
sixty-six  she  died,  universally  la- 
mented. The  whole  neighbourhood 
of  her  home  had  been  thronged  for 
days  with  anxious  visitors.  When 
it  was  known  that  she  was  dead, 
"  the  people  insisted  on  seeing  her, 
and  forced  the  doors  of  the  commu- 
nity." Her  contemporaries,  among 
them  Madame  de  Sevigne",  and  even 
the  Due  de  Saint-Simon,  call  her 
the  "  Mother  of  the  Poor."  Such 
was  the  life  which  begins  like  a 
Quaker  romance.  Its  union  of 
Puritanism,  quaintly  and  sweetly 
excessive  in  all  the  whims  of  an 
old-fashioned  piety,  and  of  the  full- 
est energy  of  work  and  that  kind 
of  stateswomanship  in  the  great 
business  of  charity  which  has  dis- 
tinguished so  many  women,  are  set 
forth  in  this  volume  in  that  slight 
but  significant  frame  of  gentle  mir- 
acle, prayers  answered,  and  deliver- 
ance given,  which  becomes  the  sub- 
ject. To  the  writer  and  to  the 
translator  it  has  evidently  been  a 


33 


work  of  love ;  and  it  is  not  for  us 
to  judge  such  a  production  by  or- 
dinary rules.  It  is  charming  in 
spite  of,  or  even  perhaps  in  conse- 
quence of,  its  indifferent  English,  its 
foreign  fashion,  its  devoutly-submis- 
sive spirit.  It  belongs  to  the  same 
class  which  includes  Madame  Cra- 
ven's '  Recit  de  Deux  Sceurs,'  and  the 
Life  of  Madame  de  Montagu.  They 
are  as  intensely  French  as  a  novel 
by  About,  as  profoundly  Puritan 
as  Newton  or  Wesley.  Stories  of 
such  women  might  be  gathered  out 
of  the  Paris  of  to-day  to  neutralise 
a  hundred  stories  of  very  different 
women  who  are  better  known  to 
the  public,  but  are  not  more,  per- 
haps are  not  half  so  much,  types 
of  national  character  as  these. 

A  very  different  kind  of  life  was 
that  of  the  gay  and  genial  English 
Churchman  who  is  known  to  the 
world  chiefly  as  the  author  of  the 
'  Ingoldsby  Legends.'  *  Mr  Barham 
requires  no  interpreter  to  the  public 
so  far  as  his  authorship  is  concerned, 
for  few  publications  have  had  more 
complete  success.  Their  extraordi- 
nary power  of  versification,  their 
unfailing  fun  and  vivacity,  have 
secured  an  amount  of  public  ap- 
preciation that  might  not  have 
fallen  to  their  share  had  their 
pretensions  or  qualities  been  great- 
er. They  do  not  reach  the  level 
of  the  '  Rejected  Addresses,'  or 
of  those  wonderful  outbursts  of  wit 
and  high  spirit,  the  '  Ballads  of  Bon 
Gaultier.'  But  such  as  they  are,  in 
their  fluency  and  power  of  utterance, 
in  their  wonderful  fertility  of  rhyme, 
and  unbroken  jingle  of  rhythm,  they 
are  unsurpassed  in  the  language. 
The  faculty  which  is  so  prominent 
in  them  was  evidently  as  natural  to 
the  author  as  breathing  is  to  ordi- 
nary men.  Not  only  in  print,  and 
for  the  eyes  of  the  public,  but  on 
every  accidental  circumstance  in  his 


New  Books.  [Jan. 

life  he  seems  to  have  poured  forth 
the  same  flood — sometimes  ringing 
the  changes  upon  one  rhyme  for 
hours  together,  sometimes  bursting 
into  the  wildest  originality  of  jingle. 
Here  and  there  a  break  of  more 
dignified  verse  occurs  throughout 
the  legends,  but  we  doubt  whether 
these  serious  lines  would  ever  have 
gained  any  attention  by  themselves. 
It  is  the  mingled  daring  and  flu- 
ency and  fun,  always  accompa- 
nied by  the  frankest  consciousness 
that  the  whole  is  nonsense,  which 
gives  a  charm  to  these  productions. 
They  go  dancing  and  frisking 
through  one's  ears  after  the  be- 
wildered mind  has  lost  all  sense  of 
the  meaning,  everything  is  so  easy, 
so  spontaneous,  so  smooth;  even 
the  most  fictitious  and  strained 
rhyme  falls  naturally  into  its  place. 
The  subjects  are  nothing ;  the 
stories  of  next  to  no  importance. 
It  is  the  fluent  utterance  which  is 
everything.  It  may  be  said  that 
this  is  not  very  high  praise;  but 
there  is  always  a  certain  attraction 
to  the  English  mind  in  that  sense 
of  overflowing  force  and  fertility. 
It  conciliates  at  once  and  fills  with 
admiration  a  mind  not  generally  too 
ready  to  express  itself.  In  its  way 
it  is  wealth,  profuse,  and  lavish, 
and  freely  flowing ;  and  we  all  love 
wealth,  in  whatever  way  it  shows 
itself.  The  fictitious  Ingoldsby  is 
never  afraid  of  tackling  anything. 
He  enters  upon  any  theme  suggested 
to  him  with  perfect  humility  and 
honesty.  He  does  not  care  to 
invent,  to  frame  the  story  for  him- 
self, or  mould  its  moral.  All 
that  he  wants  to  do  is  what  he 
knows  he  can  do — to  rhyme.  It 
is  not  a  great  gift,  he  is  well 
aware ;  but  he  is  also  aware  that 
he  has  the  fullest  command  of  it. 
Thus  a  faculty  which  cannot  in  any 
way  be  represented  as  great,  has 


*  Life  of  R.  H.  Barham.     Bentley  :  1870. 


1871.]  New  Books. 

caught  the  ear  and  apparently  the 
heart  of  the  public ;  and  while 
books  of  much  higher  quality  stand 
still  in  the  market,  the  Ingoldsby 
Legends  pursue  each  other  through 
a  host  of  editions.  At  this  we  can 
only  wonder  and  admire,  we  cannot 
tell  the  reason  why. 

Mr  Barham  himself  seems  to  have 
been  one  of  those  good  and  worthy, 
but  somewhat  secular  clergymen, 
whose  work  was,  no  doubt,  done  in 
the  most  conscientious  manner,  but 
whose  favourite  tastes  led  them  more 
to  the  world  than  to  the  Church. 
He  was  a  neighbour  fellow-canon 
and  friend  of  Sydney  Smith,  and 
the  two  men  were  not  unlike 
each  other.  Neither  could  be 
blamed  with  any  dereliction  of  duty, 
or  want  of  conscientiousness  in 
their  profession ;  but  the  place  to 
which  they  seemed  most  appro- 
priate was  not  the  church,  or  the 
parish,  but  rather  the  club  and  the 
dinner-party.  They  were  both  wits, 
pur  et  simple — not  men  of  genius ; 
but  possessed  of  that  temperament 
which  is  often  more  influential  than 
genius,  and  which  combines  natural 
high  spirit  and  lively  talent  with  a 
certain  confidence  in  the  world  and 
itself,  such  as  puts  timidity  to  flight, 
and  encourages  every  characteristic 
quality.  In  such  characters  success 
is  the  true  seed  of  success,  and 
the  self-confidence  which  we  can 
scarcely  call  self-assurance  gets  the 
better  of  every  opposition.  Mr 
Barham  does  his  rhyming,  it  is 
clear,  without  ever  stopping  to  ask 
himself  what  is  the  good  of  it  or 
the  meaning  of  it.  His  mind  did 
not  require  any  meaning  or  object. 
He  has  a  certain  modest  yet  ex- 
ultant sense  of  the  supreme  clever- 
ness of  his  work ;  and  his  confi- 
dence is  so  strong,  so  blithe  and 
pleasant  to  behold,  that  he  carries  us 
with  him.  There  is  no  resisting  that 
cheery  honest  sense  of  his  own  power. 
He  was  a  friend  of  Theodore  Hook, 


39 


which  doubtless  strengthened  his 
tendency  towards  the  mystifications 
and  practical  jokes  which  were 
so  much  enjoyed  in  those  days,  but 
which  sometimes  fall  a  little  flat 
now.  The  book  is  full  of  such  sto- 
ries, and  some  of  them  are  fresh  and 
clever;  indeed  it  is  altogether  a  very 
amusing  book.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  too  much  to  say  that  the  world 
wanted  two  volumes  about  Mr  Bar- 
ham  ;  but  yet,  as  books  go,  these 
chatty  cheerful  volumes,  full  of  sto- 
ries which  can  be  retailed  for  the 
benefit  of  one's  neighbour,  have  their 
own  attraction.  The  biographer 
does  not  assert  that  he  has  much  to 
tell — he  has  had  perhaps  a  little 
trouble  to  fill  up  the  necessary  amount 
of  copy — but  on  the  whole  he  has 
done  his  work  modestly  and  welL 

Richard  Barham  was  born  to  a 
modest  fortune,  and  was  so  far  for- 
tunate in  his  life  that  all  his  under- 
takings prospered,  and  good  things 
fell  in  his  way  almost  without  his 
asking.  Thus  when  he  wanted  a 
living  he  met  by  chance  a  friend  who 
had  (by  chance)  passed  the  post- 
office  on  his  way  to  post  a  letter,  in- 
viting another  friend  in  the  country 
"  to  stand  for  a  minor  canonry  in  St 
Paul's."  The  half-dozen  steps  which 
the  first  had  taken  beyond  the  post- 
office  decided  Barham's  fate.  The 
letter  was  never  sent  off,  and  he, 
the  stranger,  became  minor  canon  of 
St  Paul's  instead.  One  wonders  what 
were  the  feelings  of  the  clergyman 
in  the  country  when  he  heard  of  it, 
or  if  he  thought  it  "  providential." 
This  position  secured  him  the  town 
life  which  must  have  been  essential 
to  such  a  man,  and  opened  the  door 
to  many  other  pieces  of  preferment. 
He  established  himself  in  a  house  in 
St  Paul's  Churchyard,  and  there  be- 
gan a  genial  pleasant  life,  which  was 
broken  by  many  and  severe  domes- 
tic sorrows,  but  by  no  other  disturb- 
ing influences.  In  the  year  1826 
he  began  his  connection  with  this 


New  Books. 


[Jan. 


Magazine — a  connection  which  lasted 
for  several  years,  and  during  which 
one  novel,  called  '  My  Cousin  Nicho- 
las,' and  many  poems,  saw  the  light 
in  these  pages.  The  way  in  which 
his  novel  found  its  way  to  'Maga' 
may  amuse  the  reader,  as  showing 
at  once  how  much  more  warmly  the 
bud  of  literary  talent  was  encouraged 
in  those  days,  when  such  blossoms 
were  not  so  plentiful  as  now,  and 
the  prompt  and  energetic  proceed- 
ings of  the  originator  and  first  editor 
of  '  Blackwood's  Magazine.' 

"The  completion  and  publication  of 
'My  Cousin  Nicholas'  was  immediately 
owing  to  the  kindly  interference  of  Mrs 
Hughes.  Having  read  'Baldwin,'  and 
having  learnt  that  another  tale  was  lying 
unfinished  in  Mr  Barham's  desk,  she 
prevailed  upon  him  to  lend  her  the  manu- 
script. So  favourable  was  her  opinion  of 
its  merits,  that,  without  more  ado,  she  sub- 
mitted it  to  the  inspection  of  Mr  Black- 
wood;  and  the  first  intimation  the  author 
received  of  the  circumstance  was  convey- 
ed in  the  shape  of  a  packet  containing  the 
proof-sheets  of  the  opening  chapters.  As 
his  zealous  friend  had  pledged  her  word 
for  the  continuance  of  the  work,  all  retreat 
was  cut  off;  there  was  nothing  for  it  but 
diligently  to  take  the  matter  in  hand, 
and  endeavour  to  surmount  those  ob- 
stacles which  had  caused  him  to  lay  his 
pen  aside.  Whatever  the  difficulties  may 
have  been,  they  were  speedily  overcome. 
'  My  Cousin's '  adventures  were  carried 
on  monthly  with  spirit;  and  the  catas- 
trophe was  worked  up  in  a  manner  that 
certainly  brought  no  discredit  on  the 
earlier  portions  of  the  work." 

We  are  tempted  to  quote,  at  the 
same  time,  a  little  poem  of  very 
high  qualities  which  was  also  pub- 
lished in  '  Blackwood,'  and  which 
we  almost  think  superior  to  any 
'Ingoldsby'  that  Mr  Barham  ever 
wrote.  Its  severe  simplicity  and 
fine  incisiveness  are  beyond  compe- 
tition. 

"NURSERY  REMINISCENCES. 

"I  remember,  I  remember, 

When  I  was  a  little  boy, 
One  fine  morning  in  September 
Uncle  brought  me  home  a  toy. 


I  remember  how  he  patted 

Both  my  cheeks  in  kindliest  mood. 
'There,'  he  said,  'you  little  Fat-head- 

There's  a  top  because  you're  good.' 

Grandmamma,  a  shrewd  observer, 

I  remember  gazed  upon 
My  new  top,  and  said  with  fervour, 

'  Oh,  how  kind  of  Uncle  John  ! ' 

While  mamma,  my  form  caressing, 
In  her  eye  the  tear-drop  stood, 

Read  me  this  fine  moral  lesson, 
'  See  what  comes  of  being  good  ! ' 


I  remember,  I  remember, 

On  a  wet  and  windy  day, 
One  cold  morning  in  December, 

I  stole  out  and  went  to  play ; 

r'     I  remember  Billy  Hawkins 

Came,  and  with  his  pewter  squirt 
Squibbed  my  pantaloons  and  stockings, 
Till  they  were  all  over  dirt ! 

To  my  mother  for  protection 

I  ran,  quaking  every  limb ; 
She  exclaimed  with  fond  affection, 

'  Gracious  goodness  !  look  at  him ! ' 

Pa  cried,  when  he  saw  my  garment — 
'Twas  a  newly-purchased  dress — 

'  Oh,  you  nasty  little  Warment, 
How  came  you  in  such  a  mess  ? ' 

Then  he  caught  me  by  the  collar — 

Cruel  only  to  be  kind — 
And,  to  my  exceeding  dolour, 

Gave  me — several  slaps  behind. 

Grandmamma,  while  yet  I  smarted, 

As  she  saw  my  evil  plight, 
Said — 'twas  rather  stony-hearted— 

'  Little  rascal !  sarve  him  right ! ' 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

From  that  sad  and  solemn  day, 

Never  more  in  dark  December 
Did  I  venture  out  to  play. 

And  the  moral  which  they  taught,  I 
Well  remember ;  thus  they  said — 

'  Little  boys  when  they  are  naughty 
Must  be  whipped  and  sent  to  bed  !' " 

At  a  later  period  Mr  Barham  be- 
came concerned  in  the  beginning  of 
'Bentley's  Miscellany,'  and  it  was 
for  that  publication,  since  deceased, 
that  the  '  Ingoldsby  Legends '  were 
brought  into  being,  along  with  the 
half -fictitious,  half -real  figure  of 
Thomas  Ingoldsby,  through  whom 
Richard  Barham  shines  distinctly 
enough.  Notwithstanding  the  charm 
of  fluency  which  we  have  re- 


1871.] 

marked  on,  there  is  no  doubt  that 
these  ballads  are  heavy  reading  as  a 
book,  and  we  doubt  whether  the 
tendency  much  encouraged  in  them 
of  turning  romance  into  burlesque 
has  had  a  very  good  effect  upon  the 
popular  mind.  They  seem  at  the 
time,  however,  to  have  been  received 
with  unbounded  applause,  and  their 
popularity  evidently  turned  the 
author's  mind  entirely  into  this 
channel.  Mr  Barham  was  one  of 
the  founders  of  the  Garrick  Club, 
where  he  found  a  congenial  retreat, 
being  essentially  social  in  his  charac- 
ter. Thus  his  life  ran  on  between 
duties  of  the  most  serious  description 
and  sorrows  of  the  heaviest  on  one 
side,  and  the  most  jovial  and  genial 
social  interludes  on  the  other.  The 
book  is  full  of  the  witty  nonsense  of 
Hook  and  Matthews,  and  not  less 
of  Barham'  s  own  jokes  and  mysti- 
fications. Here  is  one  of  the  most 
successful  of  the  latter  :  — 

"William  Linley,  brother  to  the  first 
Mrs  Sheridan,  .  .  .  was  a  man  of  great 

§jod-nature  and  simplicity  of  mind.  .  .  . 
ne  day  in  this  month  he  had  begun  to 
spout  from  the  opening  scene  in  '  Mac- 
beth,' and  would  probably  have  gone 
through  it  if  I  had  not  cut  him  short  at 
the  third  line  —  '  When  the  hurly-burly's 
done'  —  with  'What  on  earth  are  you 
talking  of  ?  Why,  my  dear  Linley,  it  is 
astonishing  that  a  man  so  well  read  in 
Shakespeare  as  yourself  should  adopt 
that  nonsensical  reading.  What  is 
hurly-burly,  pray?  There  is  no  such 
word  in  the  language  :  you  can't  find  an 
allusion  to  it  in  Johnson.  '  Linley,  whose 
veneration  for  Dr  Johnson  was  only  in- 
ferior to  that  which  he  entertained  for 
the  great  poet  himself,  said  :  — 

"  '  Indeed!  are  you  sure  there  is  not  ? 
What  can  be  the  reason  of  the  omission? 
The  word,  you  see,  is  used  by  Shakespeare.' 

"  '  No  such  thing,'  was  the  reply  ;  '  it 
appears  so,  indeed,  in  one  or  two  early 
editions,  but  it  is  evidently  mistran- 
scribed. The  second  folio  is  the  best 
and  most  authentic  copy,  and  gives  the 
true  reading,  though  the  old  nonsense  is 
still  retained  upon  the  stage.' 

'  '  '  Indeed  !  and  pray  what  do  you  call 
the  true  reading  ?  ' 

•'  '  Why,  of  course,  the  same  that  is  fol- 


Books. 


41 


lowed  by  Johnson  and  Steevens  in  the 
edition  up-stairs — "  When  the  early  purl 
is  done," — that  is,  when  we  have  finished 
our  early  purl,  i.e.,  immediately  after 
breakfast. ' 

"  Linley  was  startled,  and  after  look- 
ing steadily  at  me  to  see  if  he  could  dis- 
cover any  indication  of  an  intention  to 
hoax  him,  became  quite  puzzled  by  the 
gravity  of  my  countenance,  and  only 
gave  vent  in  a  hesitating  tone,  half  doubt- 
ful, half  indignant,  to  the  word  '  Non- 
sense ! ' 

"  'Nonsense?  It  is  as  I  assure  you. 
We  will  send  for  the  book,  and  see  what 
Steevens  says  in  his  note  on  the  passage.' 

"  The  book  was  accordingly  sent  for, 
but  I  took  good  care  to  intercept  it 
before  it  reached  the  hands  of  Linley, 
and  taking  it  from  the  servant,  pretended 
to  read — 

"'When  the  hurly-burly's  done.' 
'  Some  copies  have  it — "  When  the  early 
purl  is  done : "  and  I  am  inclined  to  think 
this  reading  the  true  one,  if  the  well- 
known  distich  be  worthy  of  credit — 

"  Hops,  reformation,  turkeys,  and  beer, 
Came  to  England  all  in  one  year." 

' ' '  This  would  seem  to  fix  the  introduc- 
tion of  beer,  and  consequently  of  early 
purl,  into  the  country  to  about  that 
period  of  Henry  VIII. 's  reign  when  he 
intermarried  with  Anne  Boleyn,  the  mo- 
ther of  Queen  Elizabeth,  Shakespeare's 
great  friend  and  patroness,  and  to  whom 
this  allusion  may  perhaps  have  been  in- 
tended by  the  poet  as  a  delicate  compli- 
ment. Purl,  it  is  well  known,  was  a 
favourite  beverage  of  the  English  court 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  .  .  .  Theobald's  objection, 
that  whatever  may  have  been  the  pro- 
priety of  its  introduction  at  the  court  of 
Elizabeth,  the  mention  made  of  it  at  that 
of  Macbeth  would  be  a  gross  anachron- 
ism, may  be  at  once  dismissed  as  futile. 
Does  not  Shakespeare  in  the  very  next 
scene  talk  of  "  Cannon  overcharged  with 
double  cracks  ? "  and  is  not  allusion 
made  by  him  to  the  use  of  the  same 
beverage  at  the  court  of  Denmark  at  a 
period  coeval,  or  nearly  so,  with  that 
under  consideration — "  Hamlet,  this  purl 
is  thine "  ' 

"'But,  dear  me,'  broke  in  Linley, 
'  that  is  pearl,  not  purl.  I  remember 
old  Packer  used  to  hold  up  a  pearl  and 
let  it  drop  into  the  cup.' 

' ' '  Sheer  misconception  on  the  part  of 
a  very  indifferent  actor,  my  dear  Linley, 
be  assured.' 

"  Here  Beazley,  who  was  present,  ob- 
served, '  "  Early  purl "  is  all  very  well, 
but  my  own  opinion  has  always  leaned  to 


42 


Warburton's  conjecture  that  a  political 
allusion  is  intended.  He  suggests  ' '  When 
the  Earl  of  Burleigh's  done" — that  is, 
when  we  have  done,  i.e.,  cheated  or  de- 
ceived, the  Earl  of  Burleigh,  a  great 
statesman,  you  know,  in  Elizabeth's 
time,  and  one  whom,  to  use  a  cant  phrase 
among  ourselves,  you  must  get  up  very 
early  in  the  morning  to  take  in. ' 

"'But  what  had  Macbeth  or  the 
witches  to  do  with  the  Earl  of  Burleigh  ? 
Stuff — nonsense,  'said  Linley  indignantly. 
And  though  Beazley  made  a  good  fight 
in  defence  of  his  version,  yet  his  opponent 
would  not  listen  to  it  for  one  instant. 
'No,  no,'  he  continued,  'the  jEarl  of 
Burleigh  is  all  rubbish ;  but  there  may 
be  something  in  the  other  reading. ' 

' '  And  as  the  book  was  closed  directly 
the  passage  had  been  repeated,  and 
was  replaced  immediately  on  the  shelf, 
the  unsuspicious  critic  went  away 
thoroughly  mystified,  especially  as  Tom 
Hill,  for  whose  acquaintance  with  early 
English  literature  he  had  a  great  respect, 
confirmed  the  emendation  with — 

"  Early  purl  ?  Pooh,  pooh  !  tq  be 
sure  it  is  early  purl ;  I've  got  it  so  in  two 
of  my  old  copies." 

The  letters,  in  which,  more  than 
anything  else  this  curiously  compo- 
site life  is  told,  are  chiefly  addressed 
to  Mrs  Hughes,  a  lady  of  great 
accomplishments  and  the  kindest 
sympathies,  who  was  very  well 
known  in  literary  circles,  and  whose 
grandson,  Mr  Thomas  Hughes,  the 
accomplished  author  of  'Tom  Brown,' 
has  carried  out  and  brought  to  fruit 
the  ripening  intellectual  life  of  his 
family.  A  curious  beginning  of  that 
famous  story  is  referred  to  in  the 
second  volume  of  Mr  Barham's  life 
in  the  account  of  an  abortive  project 
of  his  for  a  novel  to  be  called  the 
'  Modern  Eake's  Progress.'  This 
was  to  have  been  written  by  a  num- 
ber of  different  contributors,  each 
taking  that  portion  of  the  hero's  life 
which  he  might  be  considered  to 
know  best.  Mr  Barham  was  to 
furnish  the  opening  chapters,  in 
which  the  birth  and  earliest  days  of 
the  young  heir  were  to  be  described. 
Mr  Hughes,  the  father  of  the  author 
of  'Tom  Brown,'  was  to  describe  his 
life  at  a  public  school.  Of  this  book, 


New  Books.  [Jan. 

which  was  never  written,  we  are  told 
a  little  further  on — "  Mr  Hughes 
went  more  steadily  to  work,  and  the 
portion  of  MS.  forwarded  by  him, 
and  supplied,  I  believe,  by  one  of 
his  sons,  then  at  Rugby,  was  of 
remarkable  quality,  and  produced 
a  most  favourable  impression  upon 
those  to  whom  it  was  submitted." 
This  was  in  the  year  1838.  It  is 
seldom  that  the  efforts  of  a  boy  are 
so  clearly  traceable  in  the  work  of 
the  man. 

There  is  one  other  remarkable 
quality  in  this  book  which  should 
make  it  particularly  attractive  at  a 
season  which,  from  time  immemo- 
rial, has  had  a  sacred  corner  for 
everything  weird  and  supernatural. 
It  is  full  of  capital  ghost-stories — 
some  of  them  quite  fresh  and  novel, 
which  is  very  unusual.  Nothing, 
for  instance,  could  well  be  more 
striking,  or  (to  all  appearance)  more 
fully  authenticated,  than  the  follow- 
ing :— 

' '  During  the  American  war  two  officers 
of  rank  were  seated  in  their  tent,  and 
delayed  taking  their  slipper  till  a  brother 
officer,  then  absent  upon  a  foraging 
party,  should  return.  Their  patience 
was  wellnigh  exhausted,  and  they  were 
about  to  commence  their  meal,  conclud- 
ing something  had  occurred  to  detain 
the  party,  when  suddenly  his  well-known 
footstep  was  heard  approaching.  Con- 
trary to  their  expectation,  however,  he 
paused  at  the  entrance  of  the  tent,  and, 
without  coming  in,  called  on  one  of  them 
by  name,  requesting  him  with  much 
earnestness,  as  soon  as  he  should  return 
to  England,  to  proceed  to  a  house  in  a 
particular  street  in  Westminster,  in  a 
room  of  which  (describing  it)  he  would 
find  certain  papers  of  great  consequence 
to  a  young  lad  with  whom  the  speaker 
was  nearly  connected.  The  speaker 
then  apparently  turned  away,  and  his 
footsteps  were  distinctly  heard  retiring 
until  their  sound  was  lost  in  distance. 
Struck  with  the  singularity  of  his  beha- 
viour, they  both  rose  and  proceeded  in 
search  of  him.  A  neighbouring  sentinel, 
on  being  questioned,  denied  that  he  had 
either  seen  or  heard  any  one,  although, 
as  they  believed,  their  friend  must  have 
passed  close  by  his  post.  In  a  few  min- 


1ST  1.1  JVcM?  Books. 

utes  their  bewilderment  was  changed 
into  a  more  painful  feeling  by  the  ap- 
proach of  the  visiting  officer  of  the  night, 
who  informed  them  that  the  party  which 
went  out  in  the  morning  had  been  sur- 
prised, and  that  the  dead  body  of  poor 
Major  Blomberg  (their  friend)  had  been 
brought  into  the  camp  about  ten  minutes 
before.  The  two  friends  retired  in  si- 
lence, and  sought  the  corpse  of  the  per- 
son who,  as  both  were  fully  persuaded, 
had  just  addressed  them.  They  found 
him  pierced  by  three  bullets,  one  of 
which  had  passed  through  his  temples, 
and  must  have  occasioned  instant  death. 
He  was  quite  cold,  and  appeared  to  have 
been  dead  some  hours.  It  may  easily  be 
conceived  that  a  memorandum  was  in- 
stantly made  of  the  request  they  had  both 
so  distinctly  heard,  and  of  the  instruc- 
tions attending  it,  and  that,  on  the  re- 
turn of  the  regiment  to  Europe,  no  time 
was  lost  in  searching  for  the  papers. 
The  house  was  found  without  difficulty, 
and  in  an  upper  room,  agreeably  with  the 
information  they  had  received  in  such 
an  extraordinary  manner,  an  old  box  was 
discovered,  which  had  remained  there 
many  years,  containing  the  title-deeds  of 
some  property  now  in  the  possession  of  Dr 
Blomberg,  who  was  '  the  lad  '  mentioned 
by  name  by  the  voice  at  the  tent-door." 


43 


If  we  might  venture  to  use  com- 
mercial language  in  connection  with 
wares  so  fragile,  we  should  be  dis- 
posed to  say  that,  at  this  moment, 
novels  are  dull.  The  fact  is  not  un- 
usual in  a  literary  sense;  but  the 
season  seems  to  be  so  unusually 
unpropitious,  that  we  find  ourselves 
concentrating  our  attention  upon  a 
novel*  which  is  not  new,  which  has 
somehow  managed  to  get  through 
its  first  three-volume  stage  without 
attracting  any  particular  notice,  but 
which  now,  in  a  cheap  edition,  has 
mysteriously  asserted  itself  and  taken 
the  world  by  storm.  'Lorna  Doone' 
has  several  disadvantages  that  might 
well  discourage  the  ordinary  reader. 
It  is  very  long,  it  is  historical,  and 
it  is  extremely  minute  in  all  its  de- 
tails. Something  of  the  elaboration 
of  a  child's  story  of  country-life — 
its  love  of  details  simply  as  details, 


its  narrative  of  every  walk  taken, 
and  every  change  of  season — en- 
cumbers the  tale  ;  but  all  these  de- 
tails, or  almost  all,  contribute  to  the 
making  up  of  so  wonderfully  har- 
monious and  real  a  whole,  that  its 
historical  date  is  lost  in  the  truth  of 
its  actual  life,  and  we  cease  to  be 
conscious  that  there  is  anything 
antiquarian  in  the  manners  depicted. 
The  historical  novel  proper  is  seldom 
a  very  satisfactory  production ;  but 
there  is  more  than  one  way  by  which 
its  disadvantages  can  be  neutralised. 
One  of  these  methods  of  making  an 
old-world  tale  as  real  to  us  as  if  it 
had  happened  in  our  midst,  Thack- 
eray has  made  use  of  in  the  story  of 
'  Esmond,'  the  skill  of  which  is  sim- 
ply extraordinary.  It  is  an  unpleas- 
ant story,  but  the  workmanship  is  so 
exquisite  that  we  can  but  stand  and 
gaze  at  it  in  wonder.  It  has  the  air 
of  a  book  written  not  in  this  but  the 
previous  century.  The  present,  no 
doubt,  intrudes  into  it  by  mo- 
ments ;  but  as  a  whole  it  reads  as 
the  sketches  of  the  'Spectator'  read 
— like  a  book  really  belonging  to  the 
period  it  describes.  The  charm  of 
'  Lorna  Doone  '  is  not  of  this  kind. 
The  scene  is  laid  in  wild  Exmoor, 
in  that  dreary  period  of  history 
which  embraces  the  end  of  Charles 
II. 's  reign,  and  the  beginning  of  his 
unfortunate  brother's — as  unattrac- 
tive an  age  as  can  be  imagined. 
But  there  is  no  antiquarianism  about 
it.  "Why,  here  are  men  with  hel- 
mets ! "  we  heard  a  reader  say, 
looking  with  visible  dismay  at  the 
frontispiece.  But  the  fact  is,  the 
men  in  helmets  occupy  so  little 
space  in  the  story,  and  the  life  of 
the  farmhouse  in  which  the  scene 
is  laid  is  so  entirely  simple  and 
true,  that  one  forgets  it  is  not 
of  one's  own  age.  Perhaps,  for 
anything  we  can  tell,  people  live 
at  the  present  day  in  Exmoor  as 


*  Lorna  Doone.     By  R.  D.  Blackmore.    Sampson,  Low,  &  Co. 


44 


New  Books. 


people  lived  in  the  days  of  Great 
John,  otherwise  '1Qli4  Jan,  Bidd. 
There  seems  no  particular  reason 
why  it  should  not  be  so  ;  for  it  is  a 
real  life  that  is  set  before  us— not 
certain  tricks  of  manner  which  pass 
away,  but  an  absolute  living,  such 
as  changes  but  little  from  century  to 
century.  Even  the  melodrama 
with  which  the  book  is  full  comes 
natural.  We  may  here  and  there 
make  a  faint  objection  to  it,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  villain  of  the  piece, 
who  is  a  very  big  and  a  very  black 
villain  indeed;  but  there  is  nothing 
which  strikes  us  as  monstrous  in  the 
existence  of  the  robber  clan  in  the 
midst  of  these  wild  and  peaceful 
solitudes. 

The  story  of  the  Doones  is,  as 
we  are  told  in  the  preface,  a  real 
story.  They  are  represented  as  a  re- 
bellious and  lawless  but  noble  family, 
driven  out  of  the  society  of  their 
kind  by  their  reckless  life,  and  li ving 
intrenched  in  a  natural  fortress — a 
glen  locked  fast  among  the  hills,  with 
but  one  narrow  entrance,  which  is 
perfectly  defensible.  They  are  safe 
in  this  retirement  as  in  a  castle ; 
and  their  houses  occupy  the  banks 
of  the  brawling  mountain  -  stream 
which  runs  through  it,  and  are 
dotted  about  the  green  slopes.  Here 
they  live  in  idleness  in  the  midst  of 
the  hard-working  agricultural  pop- 
ulation, making  raids  upon  passing 
travellers,  and  sometimes  even  upon 
the  farmhouses,  if  there  happens  to 
be  either  money  or  a  pretty  face 
to  tempt  them.  They  are  the  nat- 
ural enemies  of  everybody  around 
them,  hated  but  also  feared.  There 
is  no  authority  in  law  which  can 
reach  them — or  at  least  no  magistrate 
has  power  or  inclination  to  carry 
the  penalties  of  justice  to  the  Doone- 
gate;  and  there  they  dwell  accord- 
ingly, a  gigantic  race,  stalking  about 
the  moors  with  their  long  carbines, 
or  riding  out  in  wild  parties  to  car- 
ry murder  and  destruction  around. 


[Jan. 

The  story  of  Lorna  Doone  is  told  by 
the  young  yeoman  John  Eidd,  him- 
self more  gigantic  in  natural  stature 
and  strength  than  any  Doone  of 
them  all,  although  the  reivers  were 
all  picked  men,  subject  to  a  certain 
standard  of  size.  "  There  was  not 
one  among  them,"  says  John  Eidd, 
"  but  was  a  mighty  man,  straight 
and  tall  and  wide,  and  fit  to  lift 
four  hundredweight.  If  son  or 
grandson  of  old  Doone,  or  one  of 
the  northern  retainers,  failed  at  the 
age  of  twenty,  while  standing  on 
his  naked  feet,  to  touch  with  his 
head  the  lintel  of  Sir  Ensor's  door, 
and  to  fill  the  door-frame  with  his 
shoulders  from  side-post  even  to 
side-post,  he  was  led  away  to  the 
narrow  pass  which  made  their  vil- 
lage so  desperate,  and  thrust  from 
the  town  with  ignominy  to  get  his 
own  living  honestly.  -  Now  the 
measure  of  that  doorway  is,  or  ra- 
ther was,  I  ought  to  say,  six  feet 
and  one  inch  lengthwise,  and  two 
feet  all  but  two  inches  taken  cross- 
wise in  the  door — not  that  I  think 
anything  of  a  standard  the  like  of 
that,"  adds  great  John  Eidd,  "  for 
if  they  had  set  me  in  that  doorway 
at  the  age  of  twenty ;  it  is  like 
enough  I  should  have  walked  away 
with  it  on  my  shoulders,  though  I 
was  not  come  to  my  full  strength 
then." 

This  young  giant  lost  his  father 
at  a  very  early  age  by  the  hand  of 
the  Doones ;  and  would  no  doubt 
have  grown  up  their  determined 
enemy,  but  for  an  adventurous  raid 
which  he  made  while  a  boy  by 
means  of  the  wild  chasm  through 
which  the  river  escaped  from  that 
terrible  valley  into  their  territory, 
where  he  found  Lorna  Doone,  a  child 
of  only  eight  years  old,  but  yet  old 
enough  to  become  at  once  the  prin- 
cess of  his  life.  Lorna  is  supposed 
to  be  the  granddaughter  of  old  Sir 
Ensor,  and  is  to  be  the  queen  of  the 
wild  community,  which,  however, 


1871.]  New  Books. 

she  hates.  This  little  lady  is  a 
very  precocious  child,  and  she  is 
rather  modern  in  her  ways  when 
she  grows  up ;  but  nothing  can  be 
more  charming  than  the  story 
of  the  love  which  takes  hold 
of  the  young  rustic,  filling  him 
with  all  manner  of  beautiful 
thoughts,  ripening  and  strengthen- 
ing with  his  strength.  His  home 
and  his  mother  and  sisters  form  the 
constant  light  in  the  picture  of 
which  the  Doones  are  the  shadow. 
The  innocent,  honest,  and  blameless 
family,  with  pretty  Annie,  who  has 
a  genius  for  cookery,  and  whose 
"  equal  had  never  been  seen  for 
making  a  man  comfortable ; "  and 
Lizzie,  who  loved  books,  and  was 
undergrown,  and  "knew  that  the 
gift  of  cooking  was  not  vouchsafed 
by  God  to  her ;  but  sometimes  she 
would  do  her  best,  by  intellect,  to 
win  it,  whereas  it  is  no  more  to  be 
won  by  intellect  than  divine  poetry ;" 
and  their  mother,  who  is  very  kind 
and  sweet  and  loving,  but  fancifully 
jealous,  as  good  mothers  always  are, 
at  least  in  novels  ;  and  the  warm 
and  kindly  home-light  which  sur- 
rounds them,  which  is  as  genial  and 
real  as  if  we  could  see  it  shining  out 
of  the  quiet  old  farm-kitchen,  not 
etherealised  nor  over-refined,  but 
full  of  savoury  smells,  and  homely 
activity,  and  substantial  food, — is  set 
forth  before  us  in  the  most  lifelike 
and  charming  reality.  John  Bidd 
is  no  intellectualist,  though  he  was 
a  scholar  of  Tiverton,  one  of  the 
Blundellites  of  that  famous  centre  of 
learning.  He  sets  very  little  store 
by  his  younger  sister's  books ;  and 
his  own  devotion  to  Shakespeare, 
which  is  a  little  dwelt  upon  at  the 
end  of  the  book,  is  evidently  an 
after-thought,  by  way  of  giving  some 
higher  gifts  to  the  honest  yeoman, 
and  is  not  at  all  in  harmony  with 
the  rest  of  the  picture.  But  he  is 
full  of  mother-wit,  and  that  minute 
rustic  observation  of  every  change  of 


45 


atmosphere  and  natural  appearance 
which  is  the  poetry  of  the  rural  mind. 
Curiously  enough,  though  the  book  is 
full  of  stirring  scenes,  there  is  none 
sufficiently  striking  in  itself,  as 
detached  from  the  general  thread 
of  the  story,  to  be  quoted  as  an 
example  of  the  real  power  in  the 
book;  unless  it  were,  perhaps,  the 
account  of  John's  interview  with 
Judge  Jeffreys,  which  is  perhaps 
the  only  favourable  appearance  ever 
made  by  that  personage  in  print. 
However,  as  Judge  Jeffreys  has  no- 
thing to  do  with  the  story  except  in 
this  accidental  interview,  we  prefer 
to  quote  the  introduction  into  the  tale 
of  Tom  Faggus,  a  renowned  high- 
wayman, whose  position  among 
honest  people  is  one  of  the  most 
curious  things  in  the  book.  Tom 
is  the  cousin  of  the  high-minded  and 
honourable  Bidds,  who  are  perfectly 
aware  what  his  profession  is,  and 
yet  are  on  the  whole  very  proud  of 
him.  The  first  mention  of  him 
occurs  in  the  time  of  John's  school- 
days, when  we  are  told,  —  "  The 
day-boys  had  brought  us  word  that 
some  packmen,  intending  their  way 
to  town,  had  lain  that  morning  at 
Sampford  Peveril,  and  must  be  in 
ere  nightfall,  because  Mr  Faggus 
was  after  them.  Now  Mr  Faggus 
was  my  first  cousin,  and  an  honour 
to  the  family,  being  a  Northmolton 
man  of  great  renown  on  the  high- 
way from  Banner  town  even  to 
London.  Therefore,  of  course,  I 
hoped  that  he  would  catch  the 
packmen ;  and  the  boys  were  asking 
my  opinion,  as  of  an  oracle,  about 
it."  The  way  in  which  this  gallant 
makes  his  first  appearance  at  Plover* 
Barrows  farm  is  as  follows : — The 
river  is  in  full  flood  after  rain,  and 
the  ducks  of  the  farm  have  just 
given  utterance  to  certain  cries  of 
distress,  which  have  called  forth 
John  and  Annie,  aged  respectively 
fifteen  and  thirteen,  to  see  what  is 
the  matter.  It  is  then  found  that  a 


46 


real  catastrophe  has  happened  in  the 
duck  world.  "The  old  white  drake 
— the  father  of  all,  a  bird  of  high 
manners  and  chivalry,  always  the 
last  to  help  himself  from  the  pan  of 
barleymeal  and  the  first  to  show 
fight  to  a  dog  or  cock  intruding 
upon  his  family, — this  fine  fellow 
and  a  pillar  of  the  state  was  now  in 
a  sad  predicament,  yet  quacking 
very  stoutly."  He  had  got  jammed 
in  by  the  corner  of  a  hurdle  which 
was  stretched  across  the  stream  at 
ordinary  times,  but  was  now  danger- 
ously rising  and  falling  with  the 
swollen  tide. 

"Annie  was  crying  and  wringing  her 
hands,  and  I  was  about  to  rush  into  the 
water,  although  I  liked  not  the  look  of 
it,  but  hoped  to  hold  on  by  the  hurdle, 
when  a  man  on  horseback  suddenly  came 
round  the  corner  of  the  great  ash  hedge 
on  the  other  side  of  the  stream,  and  his 
horse's  feet  were  in  the  water. 

"'Ho,  there!'  he  cried;  'get  thee 
back,  boy!  The  flood  will  carry  thee 
down  like  a  straw.  I  will  do  it  for  thee, 
and  no  trouble.' 

' '  With  that  he  leant  forward,  and  spoke 
to  his  mare — she  was  just  of  the  tint  of 
a  strawberry,  a  young  thing,  very  beau- 
tiful; and  she  arched  up  her  neck,  as 
misliking  the  job :  yet,  trusting  him, 
would  attempt  it.  She  entered  the  flood 
with  her  dainty  fore  legs  sloped  further 
and  further  in  front  of  her,  and  her  deli- 
cate ears  pricked  forward,  and  the  size 
of  her  great  eyes  increasing ;  but  he 
kept  her  straight  in  the  turbid  rush  by 
the  pressure  of  his  knees  on  her.  Then 
she  looked  back,  and  wondered  at  him, 
as  the  force  of  the  torrent  grew  stronger, 
but  he  bade  her  go  on ;  and  on  she  went, 
and  it  foamed  up  over  her  shoulders, 
and  she  tossed  up  her  lip,  and  scorned 
it,  for  now  her  courage  was  waking. 
Then,  as  the  rush  of  it  swept  her  away, 
and  she  struck  with  her  fore  feet  down 
the  stream,  he  leaned  from  his  saddle 
in  a  way  which  I  never  could  have 
'thought  possible,  and  caught  up  old 
Tom  with  his  left  hand,  and  set  him 
between  his  holsters,  and  smiled  at  his 
faint  quack  of  gratitude.  In  a  moment 
all  three  were  carried  down-stream,  and 
the  rider  lay  flat  on  his  horse,  and  tossed 
the  hurdle  clear  from  him,  and  made  for 
the  bend  of  smooth  water. 

"  They  landed  some  thirty  or  forty 
yards  lower,  in  the  midst  of  our  kitchen- 


New  Books.  [Jan. 

farden,  where  the  winter  cabbage  was : 
ut,  though  Annie  and  I  crept  through 
the  hedge,  and  were  full  of  our  thanks 
and  admiring  him,  he  would  answer  us 
never  a  word  until  he  had  spoken  in  full 
to  the  mare,  as  if  explaining  the  whole 
to  her. 

"  '  Sweetheart,  I  know  thou  couldest 
have  leaped  it,'  he  said,  as  he  patted  her 
cheek,  being  on  the  ground  by  this  time, 
and  she  was  nudging  up  to  him,  with 
the  water  pattering  off  from  her,  '  but  I 
had  good  reason,  Winnie  dear,  for  mak- 
ing thee  go  through  it.' 

"She  answered  him  kindly  with  her 
soft  eyes,  and  sniffed  at  him  very  lov- 
ingly, and  they  understood  one  another. 
Then  he  took  from  his  waistcoat  two 
peppercorns,  and  made  the  old  drake 
swallow  them,  and  tried  him  softly  upon 
his  legs,  where  the  leading  gap  in  the 
hedge  was.  Old  Tom  stood  up  quite 
bravely,  and  clapped  his  wings,  and 
shook  off  the  wet  from  his  tail-feathers, 
and  then  away  into  the  courtyard; 
and  his  family  gathered  around  him, 
and  they  all  made  a  noise  in  their 
throats,  and  stood  up,  and  put  their 
bills  together,  to  thank  God  for  this 
great  deliverance. 

"  Having  taken  all  this  trouble,  and 
watched  the  end  of  this  adventure,  the 
gentleman  turned  round  to  us  with  a 
pleasant  smile  on  his  face,  as  if  he  were 
highly  amused  with  himself ;  and  we 
came  up,  and  looked  at  him.  He  was 
rather  short,  but  very  strongly  built,  and 
springy,  as  his  gait  at  every  step  showed 
plainly,  although  his  legs  were  bowed 
with  much  riding,  and  he  looked  as  if  he 
lived  on  horseback.  To  a  boy  like  me, 
he  seemed  very  old,  being  over  twenty, 
and  well  found  in  beard  ;  but  he  was 
not  more  than  four-and-twenty,  fresh 
and  ruddy-looking,  with  a  short  nose 
and  keen  blue  eyes,  and  a  merry  wag- 
gish jerk  about  him,  as  if  the  world 
were  not  in  earnest.  Yet  he  had  a 
sharp,  stern  way,  like  the  crack  of  a 
pistol,  if  anything  misliked  him,  and  we 
knew  (for  children  see  such  things)  that 
it  was  safer  to  tickle  than  to  buffet  him. 

"  '  Well,  young  ones,  what  be  gaping 
at  ? '  He  gave  pretty  Annie  a  chuck 
under  the  chin,  and  took  me  all  in  with- 
out winking. 

" '  Your  mare,'  said  I,  standing  stoutly 
up,  being  a  tall  boy  now.  '  I  never  saw 
such  a  beauty.  Sir,  will  you  let  me  have 
a  ride  of  her  ? ' 

"  '  Think  thou  could'st  ride  her,  lad  ? 
She  will  have  no  burden  but  mine.  Thou 
could'st  never  ride  her.  Tut  !  I  would 
be  loth  to  kill  thee.' 


1871.]  New  Boohs. 


47 


"  'Ride  her ! '  I  cried,  with  the  bravest 
scorn,  for  she  looked  so  kind  and  gentle; 
'  there  never  was  horse  upon  Exmoor 
foaled  but  I  could  tackle  in  half  an  hour 
— only  I  never  ride  upon  saddle.  Take 
them  leathers  off  of  her.' 

"He  looked  at  me  with  a  dry  little 
whistle,  and  thrust  his  hands  into  his 
breeches-pocket,  and  so  grinned  that  I 
could  not  stand  it.  And  Annie  laid  hold 
of  me  in  such  a  way  that  I  was  almost 
mad  with  her.  And  he  laughed  and 
approved  her  for  doing  so.  And  the 
worst  of  it  all  was  he  said  nothing. 

"'Get  away,  Annie,  will  you?  Do 
you  think  I'm  a  fool,  good  sir?  Only 
trust  me  with  her  and  I  will  not  over- 
ride her. ' 

"  'For  that  I  will  go  bail,  my  son.  She 
is  like  to  override  thee.  But  the  ground 
is  soft  to  fall  upon  after  all  this  rain. 
Now  come  out  into  the  yard,  young  man, 
for  the  sake  of  your  mother's  cabbage. 
And  the  mellow  straw  bed  will  be  softer 
for  thee,  since  pride  must  have  its  fall. 
I  am  thy  mother's  cousin,  boy,  and  am 
going  up  to  house.  Tom  Faggus  is  my 
name,  as  everybody  knows ;  and  this  is 
my  young  mare  Winnie.' 

"  What  a  fool  I  must  have  been  not 
to  know  at  once  !  Tom  Faggus  the  great 
highwayman,  and  his  young  blood-mare 
the  strawberry." 

Tom  Faggus  has  no  inconsider- 
able part  in  the  tale ;  and  we  learn 
with  much  interest  how  he  retired 
and  lived  a  "  godly  life,"  and  got 
his  pardon,  and  married  the  pretty 
Annie;  though  to  the  end  of  his 
career  his  highwayman-days  return 
to  his  memory  as  a  kind  of  golden 
age.  It  is,  however,  John  Eidd 
himself  in  whom  the  interest  of  the 
story  centres  ;  and  it  is,  as  we  have 
said,  not  an  interest  which  belongs 
to  striking  scenes,  but  to  the  minute 
production  of  the  man  and  his 


ways  upon  the  canvas  before  us. 
We  are  as  much  interested  in  the 
way  he  digs  out  his  sheep  from 
the  snow  as  in  his  rescue  of  Lorna 
from  the  hands  of  her  clan.  His 
size,  and  his  strength,  and  his  good 
farmership ;  his  love  of  the  animals 
who  are  his  friends;  his  delight  in 
the  prosperity  of  his  fields — as  if 
they  were  friends  too ;  the  dumb- 
loving  motherhood  with  which  all 
nature  seems  to  his  eyes  to  surround 
and  cherish  him, — are  wonderfully 
real,  and  tenderly  touched.  He  is 
a  man  of  the  moors  and  fields,  with 
a  fresh  breeze  blowing  about  him, 
and  all  the  yeoman's  cares  in  his 
mind.  We  do  not  venture  to  say 
that  '  Lorna  Doone  '  will  ever  take  a 
strong  hold  upon  the  popular  mind. 
Its  historical  character  alone  would 
hinder  this,  and  so  must  its  close 
texture — if  we  may  use  the  words — 
the  minute  and  elaborate  compo- 
sition which  defies  the  art  of  skip- 
ping. Even  its  close  printing  is  a 
mistake  and  drawback  to  the  book; 
we  should  have  had  it  in  large  print, 
with  a  cheerful  breadth  of  margin  to 
beguile  the  reader — though  in  that 
case  we  tremble  to  think  how  many 
volumes  there  would  have  been.  It 
is,  in  short,  too  long,  even  by  the 
most  indulgent  judgment,  and  had 
it  been  presented  to  us  under  the 
most  favourable  circumstances.  But 
though  it  may  never  secure  uni- 
versal popularity,  it  is  a  book  far 
above  the  standard  of  the  ordinary 
novel — a  book  full  of  the  truest 
nature  and  beautiful  thoughts. 


48 


Nan-ative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


NARRATIVE   OF  THE  RED   RIVER  EXPEDITION. — PART   II. 


BY   AN    OFFICER    OF    THE    EXPEDITIONARY    FORCE. 


IN  our  last  number  we  sketched 
out  the  circumstances  that  led  to 
the  French  half-breed  rebellion  in 
the  north-western  territory,  result- 
ing in  the  despatch  of  an  armed 
force  to  that  country,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  re-establishing  her  Majesty's 
sovereignty,  and  for  protecting  her 
loyal  subjects  from  the  cruelties  and 
plunder  to  which  they  had  been 
subjected  by  Kiel  and  the  other 
rebel  leaders. 

The  force  consisted  of  the  1st 
Battalion  60th  Rifles,  two  battalions 
of  Canadian  Militia,  a  detachment 
of  Royal  Engineers,  and  a  detach- 
ment of  Royal  Artillery,  with  four 
7-pounder  guns. 

Navigation  opens  usually  on  Lake 
Superior  about  the  8th  or  10th  of 
May;  and  it  was  essential  that  the 
troops  for  the  Red  River  Expedition 
should  rendezvous  at  the  earliest 
possible  date  in  Thunder  Bay,  on 
the  western  shores  of  that  lake. 

As  described  in  the  previous  arti- 
cle, all  ships  sailing  from  Colling- 
wood  for  that  place  must  pass 
through  the  canal  at  the  Sault  Ste 
Marie,  which  runs  exclusively 
through  United  States  territory. 
It  had  never  been  contemplated  to 
send  soldiers  through  that  canal, 
They  were  to  be  landed  on  our  side 
of  the  Ste  Marie  River,  below  the 
rapids,  to  march  up  the  bank  about 
three  miles,  and  then  embark  again 
in  the  same  steamers  in  which  they 
had  sailed  from  Collingwood,  and 
which  in  the  mean  time  were  to  have 
gone  round  through  the  canal.  Dur- 
ing the  war  between  the  Korth  and 
South,  we  had  never  made  any  re- 
monstrances when  the  Washington 
Government  sent  warlike  material 
up  the  St  Lawrence  through  our 


canals  into  the  lakes  ;  in  fact  they 
had  once  sent  a  gunboat  by  that 
route.  It  was  hoped  that  similar 
facility  would  be  allowed  to  us,  and 
that  as  long  as  no  armed  men  vio- 
lated their  territory,  no  difficulty 
would  be  raised  against  our  sending 
stores  of  all  descriptions  through 
the  Ste  Marie  Canal.  As,  however, 
faith  is  seldom  put  in  the  political 
honour  or  generosity  of  the  United 
States,  it  was  determined  to  send 
through  the  canal,  as  soon  as  it  was 
open  for  traffic,  laden  only  with  a 
purely  mercantile  cargo,  one  of  the 
steamers  that  runs  every  summer 
between  Collingwood  and  Thunder 
Bay,  and,  when  once  on  Lake  Supe- 
rior, to  keep  her  there  until  it  was 
officially  ascertained  whether  the 
Americans  intended  to  be  obstruc- 
tive or  not.  Having  even  one 
steamer  on  that  lake  would  render 
us  independent,  as  she  could  be 
kept  constantly  running  across,  tak- 
ing men,  horses,  stores,  &c.  &c.,  from 
the  Sault,  to  which  place  they  could 
be  brought  by  other  vessels  from 
Collingwood,  whether  the  Americans 
wished  it  or  not.  This  was  carried  out 
successfully.  The  steamer  was  al- 
lowed to  pass  through  the  canal, 
the  United  States  officials  there  be- 
ing rather  taken  by  surprise,  and 
having  no  instructions  on  the  point ; 
the  next  steamer  which  attempted 
to  pass  about  five  days  afterwards 
was  stopped,  although  she  had  no 
warlike  material  on  board ;  and  the 
American  authorities  stated  that  no 
more  British  ships,  no  matter  what 
their  cargo  might  be,  should  for  the 
present  be  allowed  to  pass  into  Lake 
Superior. 

This  obstruction  was  as  futile  as 
it  was  unfriendly;  for  if  the  Minis- 


1871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


ters  at  "Washington  had  but  reflect- 
ed for  a  moment,  they  would  have 
realised  how  utterly  impossible  it 
was  for  them  to  put  a  stop  to  the 
Expedition  by  any  course  they  might 
adopt  short  of  actual  war.  They 
could  certainly  prevent  our  vessels 
going  through  their  canal,  but  they 
could  not  possibly  prevent  us  from 
buying  or  hiring  steamers  belonging 
to  their  citizens  on  Lake  Superior 
for  use  there. 

No  matter  how  anxious  the  nation 
as  a  whole  might  be  to  thwart  Brit- 
ish interests,  and  throw  every  im- 
pediment in  the  way  of  the  little 
ariny  ordered  to  the  Red  Eiver, 
still  the  love  of  gain  being  much 
stronger  than  any  such  national 
sentiment  in  the  heart  of  the  true 
dollar-loving  Yankee,  we  should  al- 
ways be  certain  of  obtaining  any 
required  number  of  their  vessels. 
As  long  as  the  rebellion  lasted  in 
our  north-western  territories,  there 
was  always  a  chance  of  their  drop- 
ping, from  exhaustion  and  inability 
to  defend  themselves  against  In- 
dians, into  the  hands  of  the  United 
States.  It  was  said  that  Kiel,  or 
at  least  some  of  his  gang,  had  been 
coquetting  with  the  American  au- 
thorities upon  the  subject  of  annex- 
ation. The  press  throughout  the 
western  States  openly  declared  a 
desire  to  hinder  the  British  troops 
from  getting  to  Fort  Garry. 

For  years  back  the  Eed  Eiver  Ter- 
ritory had  been  coveted  by  our  Ee- 
publican  neighbours,  and  it  was  sup- 
posed that  it  would  fall  to  them  in 
the  natural  course  of  events.  This 
Expedition  was  therefore  regarded 
by  all  classes  of  Americans  as  inju- 
rious to  their  future  prospects  —  a 
feeling  which,  apart  from  the  pleas- 
ure with  which  the  American  people 
generally  contemplate  any  difficulties 
we  may  be  exposed  to,  will  account 
for  their  anxiety  to  throw  every 
possible  obstruction  in  the  path  of 
-the  expeditionary  force. 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXIII. 


As  it  was  thought  that  the  single 
steamer  which,  as  already  described, 
we  had  succeeded  in  placing  upon 
Lake  Superior  might  not  be  suffi- 
cient for  our  own  requirements,  an 
American  propeller  was  hired  at 
Sarnia,  and  sent  up  empty  to  Lake 
Superior  through  the  canal,  her 
master  swearing  to  the  United  States 
authorities  at  the  Sault  that  he  had 
not  been  hired  by  the  Canadian 
Government,  and  that  he  had  no- 
thing whatever  to  do  with  the  Eed 
Eiver  Expedition.  This  declaration 
was  entirely  spontaneous  on  his 
part,  and  not  the  result  of  any  in- 
structions received  from  us.  When 
he  had  passed  through  the  canal, 
and  was  seen  to  steer  over  and 
anchor  near  our  shore,  the  wrath  of 
the  chief  United  States  official  was 
beyond  all  bounds,  and  deep  was  the 
vengeance  which  it  was  said  should 
be  taken  upon  him  when  he  returned 
that  way.  A  protest  having  by  this 
time  been  sent  to  the  President  by 
the  Governor  -  General  of  the  Do- 
minion, all  restrictions  upon  British 
trading  vessels  having  no  warlike 
material  on  board  were  withdrawn. 

This  affair  of  the  canal  had  the 
effect  of  retarding  for  some  time  the 
departure  of  the  Expedition,  but 
it  was  not  the  only  cause  of  de- 
lay. As  this  was  the  first  military 
expedition  ever  undertaken  by  the 
Government  of  Canada,  excuses  can 
easily  be  made  for  the  ignorance 
displayed  by  its  Ministers  upon  all 
points  connected  with  army  mat- 
ters, or  the  requirements  of  troops  in 
the  field.  They  cannot,  however, 
be  so  easily  pardoned  for  having 
failed  to  recognise  their  ignorance, 
and  for  having  neglected  to  avail 
themselves  of  the  military  talents  of 
the  able  soldier  who  had  been  sent 
out  from  England  especially  for  the 
occasion.  General  Lindsay  was  most 
anxious  to  relieve  them  of  all  re- 
sponsibility regarding  the  organisa- 
tion, equipment,  and  despatch  of 


50 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


the  expeditionary  force;  but  such 
an  arrangement  did  not  suit  their 
political  ends.  A  large  outlay  of 
money  was  to  be  made,  and  they 
wished  to  spend  it  as  much  as  possi- 
ble amongst  their  political  support- 
ers. When  therefore  the  General, 
with  the  thoroughness  and  energy 
for  which  he  is  celebrated,  went  to 
Collingwood  on  the  5th  of  May, 
and  made  all  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments for  the  despatch  of  the  troops 
by  steamer  from  thence,  and  tele- 
graphed for  permission  to  close  the 
bargains,  he  was  told  by  the  Ottawa 
Government  to  do  nothing  in  the 
matter,  as  all  such  arrangements 
would  be  made  by  their  own  agents. 
The  result  was,  that  instead  of  start- 
ing about  the  end  of  the  first  week 
in  May,  the  first  detachment  of  the 
expeditionary  force  did  not  leave 
Collingwood  for  Thunder  Bay  until 
the  21st  of  that  month. 

The  steamers  used  on  these  great 
Canadian  lakes  are  a  sort  of  cross 
between  the  ocean-going  and  the 
ordinary  American  river-steamboats. 
They  have  their  state-rooms  and 
their  bars,  so  that  in  calm  weather 
one  can  enjoy  all  the  luxuries  that 
are  so  dear  to  our  Transatlantic 
cousins ;  whilst  their  hulls  are  strong- 
ly built,  and  capable  of  enduring 
the  heavy  weather  so  often  encoun- 
tered on  these  inland  seas.  The 
scenery  has  been  so  frequently  de- 
scribed, that  we  make  no  apology 
for  landing  the  reader  without  more 
ado,  together  with  the  expeditionary 
force,  on  the  western  shore  of  Thun- 
der Bay,  about  four  miles  north-west 
of  where  the  Kaministiquia  River 
flows  into  Lake  Superior,  the  place 
being  now  known  as  Prince  Arthur's 
Landing.  There  was  but  a  small 
clearance  in  the  woods  when  we 
landed,  where  a  few  wooden  shan- 
ties had  been  erected,  and  all  around 
the  prospect  was  extremely  desolate. 
One  of  those  dreadful  fires  which 
occasionally  sweep  over  whole  dis- 


tricts in  Canada,  destroying  houses, 
crops,  cattle,  and  SQmetim.es  many 
human  lives,  had  raged  over  the 
country  between  the  landing  and 
Shebandowan  Lake,  destroying  small 
bridges,  culverts,  and  crib  work  on 
the  road  already  partly  made  be- 
tween those  two  points.  No  lives 
had  been  lost,  and  the  two  large 
bridges  which  had  been  erected 
during  the  winter,  and  most  of  the 
public  property,  had  been  saved  by 
the  exertions  of  the  workmen.  The 
forest,  which  came  down  to  the 
water's  edge  all  round  the  bay,  pre- 
sented a  pitiful  sight.  Nature  never 
wears  a  more  sombre  appearance 
than  when  the  fiery  element  has 
swept  over  a  forest,  burning  every 
leaf,  every  small  branch,  and  every 
blade  of  grass,  leaving  nothing  but 
the  tall  dismally  blackened  trunks 
and  burnt-up  rocks  around  them. 

Such  was  the  first  impression 
upon  landing :  it  had  a  depressing 
effect  on  our  spirits,  for  go  where 
we  might,  the  scene  was  one  of  fu- 
nereal mourning,  whilst  here  and 
there  the  peaty  soil  still  smoked 
heavily,  showing  that  although  no 
fire  was  visible  on  the  surface,  the 
elements  of  destruction  still  smoul- 
dered beneath  it.  During  our  subse- 
quent stay  at  Prince  Arthur's  Land- 
ing, we  had  more  than  one  oppor- 
tunity of  witnessing  great  fires  in 
the  woods ;  and  the  imposing  grand- 
eur of  such  scenes  may  be  imagined, 
but  words  cannot  describe  them. 
To  be  surrounded  by  a  forest,  and 
to  hear  the  roaring,  crashing,  crack- 
ling sounds  of  a  raging  fire  borne  by 
a  high  wind  in  your  direction,  is,  we 
feel  sure,  the  most  appalling  qf  all 
human  sensations.  The  smallest  and 
most  despised  insect  seems  grown 
superior  as  it  flies  away  out  of  harm's 
reach  with  what  sounds  at  the  time 
like  a  chirp  of  mocking  disdain  and 
pity  for  your  earth-bound  impotence. 
Your  only  hope  of  safety  is  either 
a  change  of  wind,  or  being  able  to 


1871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


51 


reach  a  swamp,  a  lake,  or  a  large  river, 
before  your  swift  pursuer  overtakes 
you. 

Any  one  who  has  ever  witnessed 
the  landing  of  an  army  at  a  point 
which  is  to  become  the  base  of  fur- 
ther operations,  will  easily  under- 
stand how  little  time  was  left  for 
either  mournful  or  poetical  reflec- 
tions upon  the  manner  in  which 
such  a  fair  spot  had  been  converted 
into  a  dismal  wilderness.  Work, 
work,  work,  from  daylight  until 
dark,  and  often  even  until  late  at 
night,  getting  stores,  horses,  wag- 
gons, &c.  &c.,  ashore,  and  convey- 
ing them  from  the  beach  to  the 
several  depots  appointed  for  their 
reception.  Road-making  and  open- 
ing out  communications  between  the 
camps,  which  the  nature  of  the 
ground  rendered  it  impossible  to 
have  in  one  place,  gave  employment 
to  a  large  number  daily.  It  was 
intended  to  establish  a  large  depot 
of  supplies  and  ammunition  there, 
which  we  could  draw  upon  in  case 
of  need,  or  upon  which  we  could 
fall  back  in  the  event  of  any  unto- 
ward disaster ;  a  hospital  was  to 
be  equipped  for  the  reception  of  the 
wounded  if  there  should  be  any, 
and  to  which  all  who  fell  sick  dur- 
ing the  advance  were  to  be  sent 
back.  As  the  Fenians  had  declared 
their  intention  of  fitting  out  an 
armed  vessel  on  Lake  Superior  for 
the  purpose  of  attacking  our  store- 
ships  whilst  en  route,  and  of  falling 
upon  our  depots  when  left  un- 
guarded by  the  advance  of  the  Ex- 
pedition, it  was  considered  necessary 
to  construct  a  redoubt  for  their  pro- 
tection. This  entailed  considerable 
extra  labour  upon  the  soldiers  ;  but 
notwithstanding  the  frequent  rains, 
the  work  went  on  merrily,  so  that 
when  the  force  left  Thunder  Bay, 
the  rear  with  its  stores  was  per- 
fectly secure  from  any  attack  that 
could  possibly  be  brought  against  it 
by  this  Hibernian  brotherhood.  A 


company  of  militia  was  left  behind, 
with  two  guns,  as  a  garrison  for  the 
redoubt.  Of  all  known  parts  of  the 
world  it  may  be  truthfully  stated 
that  the  Thunder  Bay  region  is  the 
most  subject  to  violent  thunder- 
storms, whether-  owing  to  metal- 
lurgic  influences  or  to  geographical 
position  we  do  not  know.  Many 
officers  who  had  been  "  all  over  the 
world"  admitted  they  had  never 
heard  such  appalling  claps  of  thun- 
der before.  On  some  occasions  trees 
were  blown  down,  on  others  they 
were  split  into  shreds.  At  times, 
especially  at  night,  the  noise  was 
such  that  the  ground  seemed  to 
shake,  and  it  sounded  so  close  that 
one  expected  to  see  the  tent -pole 
riven  in  two.  Now  and  then  these 
storms  were  accompanied  by  rain 
of  quite  a  tropical  character,  after 
which  the  numerous  streams  became 
so  swollen  that  bridges  were  swept 
away,  and  long  portions  of  the  road, 
which  had  been  constructed  with 
infinite  toil,  were  completely  de- 
stroyed. Every  such  misfortune 
retarded  progress. 

The  Hudson  Bay  officers  best 
acquainted  with  the  country,  re- 
ported that  we  could  not  calculate 
upon  being  able  to  get  through  the 
higher  region  over  which  the  route 
lay  after  the  end  of  September. 
Every  day  was  therefore  of  con- 
sequence ;  for  although  it  was  in- 
tended to  leave  the  militia  regiments 
at  Fort  Garry  for  the  winter,  in- 
structions had  been  received  from 
the  home  authorities  desiring  that 
the  regular  troops  should  be  brought 
back  from  the  Red  River  before  the 
winter  set  in,  if  it  was  possible  to 
do  so.  This  was  not  the  only  in- 
centive to  haste  ;  for  every  mail  from 
the  north-west  brought  urgent  ap- 
peals from  its  inhabitants,  praying 
for  the  earliest  possible  arrival  of 
the  force  amongst  them.  Alarm, 
and  a  dread  of  some  unknown 
evil,  seemed  to  have  possessed 


52 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  IT. 


[J 


an. 


their  minds ;  men  had  begun  to 
suspect  one  another,  and  no  one 
knew  to  whom  to  look  for  either 
comfort  or  safety :  all  eyes  and 
thoughts  were  bent  upon  the  ex- 
peditionary force  as  the  sole  chance 
of  deliverance  from  the  bondage, 
both  of  mind  and  body,  to  which 
every  loyal  man  was  there  subjected. 

As  stated  in  our  previous  article, 
the  Ottawa  authorities  had  an- 
nounced that  the  road  from  Thunder 
Bay  to  Shebandowan  Lake  would 
be  fit  for  traffic  before  the  end  of 
May ;  whereas  by  that  date  not 
more  than  thirty  miles  of  it  were 
finished,  and  many  miles  were  still 
uncut  through  the  primeval  forest. 
A  rumour  got  abroad  amongst  the 
regular  troops  that  the  Canadian 
authorities  were  not  very  anxious 
to  hasten  the  operation,  lest  by  so 
doing  they  might  make  it  possible 
for  the  regulars  to  get  back  before 
the  winter  set  in ;  and  every  one 
knew  that  the  Dominion  Ministry 
were  most  anxious  that  they  should 
be  kept  at  Fort  Garry  for  at  least  a 
year. 

The  construction  of  this  road  was 
under  the  superintendence  of  the 
Public  Works  Department,  the 
gentleman  representing  which  in 
the  Ministry  was  a  French  Canadian, 
and  known  to  be  heart  and  soul 
with  the  priestly  party  in  Quebec, 
and  therefore  most  favourably  in- 
clined to  Riel.  Men  of  a  suspicious 
turn  of  mind  began  to  say  that  the 
fact  of  there  being  no  road  ready 
for  our  advance  was  part  and  parcel 
of  a  political  scheme  whereby  the 
departure  of  the  Expedition  might 
be  stopped  altogether.  Fortunately 
those  who  had  charge  of  its  manage- 
ment were  not  men  to  be  turned 
from  their  plans  by  any  ordinary 
difficulties ;  and  as  the  promised 
road  was  not  likely  to  be  ready  in 
time,  another  route  to  Shebandowan 
Lake  was  sought  out  and  utilised  for 
the  conveyance  of  the  boats,  &c,  &c. 


A  large-sized  river  flows  out  of 
that  lake,  and  being  joined  by  two 
others  of  about  equal  magnitude, 
empties  itself  into  Thunder  Bay  :  it 
is  known  for  the  greater  part  of  its 
course  as  the  Kaministiquia  River. 
The  difference  of  level  between 
Shebandowan  Lake  and  Thunder 
Bay  is  more  than  800  feet,  and  in 
descending  from  that  great  height 
the  water  passes  over  some  very 
fine  falls,  one  of  which  is  about 
120  feet  high,  being  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  spots  in  British  Korth 
America. 

The  officials  of  the  Public  Works 
Department  who  had  been  employed 
for  several  years  exploring,  survey- 
ing, and  road-making  in  that  dis- 
trict, had  impressed  upon  the  mili- 
tary authorities,  when  the  plan  of 
operations  for  the  Expedition  was 
being  decided  upon,  that  this  river 
could  not  be  made  use  of  owing  to 
the  dangerous  nature  of  its  rapids 
and  the  magnitude  of  its  falls.  How- 
ever, when  it  was  found  that  the 
road  could  not  possibly  be  ready  in 
time,  an  exploring  party  of  one  com- 
pany, under  Captain  Young,  60th 
Rifles,  was  sent  up  it  in  boats  to 
ascertain  the  practicability  of  using 
it  for  the  conveyance  of  boats  and 
stores.  The  weather  was  most  un- 
propitious  ;  it  poured  continuously : 
the  men  were  never  dry,  having 
constantly  to  work  up  to  their  waists 
in  water ;  the  labour  was  excessive, 
but  the  perseverance  of  the  above- 
mentioned  officer,  capable  of  over- 
coming any  difficulties,  was  duly  re- 
warded. This  discovery  was  a  hap- 
py event,  as  it  rendered  us  indepen- 
dent of  the  road. 

As  numerous  portages  have  to  be 
got  over  before  we  land  the  reader 
in  the  province  of  Manitobah,  it  is 
perhaps  better  to  describe  here  the 
mode  of  crossing  one,  the  work  on 
all  being  alike  in  character,  and  only 
varying  in  amount  according  to  the 
distance  to  be  traversed  and  the 


1871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  IL 


53 


nature  of  the  intervening  ground. 
The  bulkiest  articles  taken  with  us 
were  the  boats,  which  were  all  about 
30  feet  long,  and  made  in  propor- 
tion. They  were  built  with  keels, 
and  in  form  were  very  much  like 
those  used  in  our  navy.  Each 
boat  carried  eight  or  nine  soldiers, 
and  two  or  three  Indians  or  civil- 
ians, who  had  been  especially  en- 
gaged as  skilled  in  managing  boats 
in  rapid  water.  The  stores  were 
sixty  days'  provisions  for  all  embark- 
ed, consisting  of  salt  pork,  beans, 
preserved  potatoes,  flour,  biscuit, 
pepper,  salt,  tea,  and  sugar.  The 
heaviest  of  these  articles  was  the 
pork,  which  was  packed  in  small 
barrels,  weighing  200  Ib.  each,  the 
others  being  in  much  lighter  and 
much  handier  packages.  Besides 
food,  there  was  ammunition,  in- 
trenching -  tools,  camp  equipment, 
cooking  utensils,  waterproof  sheets, 
blankets,  &c.  &c.;  and  with  the 
artillery,  two  7-pounder  bronze 
guns,  and  their  ammunition,  mate- 
rial, &c.  &c. 

The  boats  were  distributed  into 
brigades  of  six,  to  each  of  which  a 
company  was  allotted.  With  each 
brigade  were  boat  -  builders'  tools, 
and  all  sorts  of  stuff  for  repairs,  be- 
sides spare  oars,  sails,  &c.  &c.  Once 
started,  it  was  known  that  we  should 
have  to  rely  upon  ourselves  and  the 
stores  we  took  with  us ;  for  such  was 
the  utter  barrenness  of  the  wilder- 
ness through  which  we  were  about 
to  penetrate,  that  nothing  but  wood, 
stones,  and  water  were  to  be  had 
there. 

Every  probable,  indeed  almost 
every  possible,  contingency  had  to 
be  thought  of  and  provided  for ;  and 
it  may  be  confidently  asserted  that 
no  expedition  has  ever  started  more 
thoroughly  complete  or  better  pre- 
pared for  its  work. 

The  brigades  of  boats  were  to 
move  singly  or  in  groups  of  two  or 
three,  according  to  circumstances; 


but  three  was  the  largest  number 
that  could  work  together  on  a  port- 
age, two  being  the  best.  When  one 
of  these  detachments  reached  a  port- 
age— which  it  generally  did  before 
the  one  immediately  in  front  of  it 
had  got  all  its  stores,  &c.,  over,  and 
had  again  started — the  boats  were 
at  once  drawn  in  to  the  shore  as 
close  as  possible  and  unloaded,  the 
stores  belonging  to  each  boat-  being 
put  in  a  separate  pile.  These  were 
covered  over  with  tarpaulins  if  the 
hour  was  too  late  for  work,  or  if — 
as  was  always  the  case  with  the 
leading  detachment,  consisting  of 
three  brigades — the  road  over  the 
portage  had  to  be  opened  out,  and 
rollers  for  the  boats  laid  down  upon 
it.  At  other  times  the  men  began 
to  carry  over  the  stores  without  de- 
lay, piling  them  in  heaps,  one  for 
each  boat,  at  the  far  end  of  the  road. 
The  ordinary  method  in  vogue  with 
Indians  and  the  regular  North 
American  voyageurs  for  carrying 
loads,  is  by  means  of  a  long  strap 
about  three  inches  wide  in  the 
centre,  where  it  is  passed  across  the 
forehead,  but  tapering  off  to  an  inch 
in  width  at  the  ends,  which  are 
fastened  round  the  barrel  or  parcel 
to  be  portaged. 

Men  accustomed  to  this  work 
will  thus  carry  weights  of  400  Ib., 
and  some  500  Ib.,  across  the  long- 
est portage,  the  loads  resting  on  the 
upper  part  of  the  back,  and  kept 
there  by  the  strap  going  round  the 
forehead.  The  great  strain  is  thus 
upon  the  neck,  which  has  to  be 
kept  very  rigid,  whilst  the  body  is 
bent  well  forward. 

As  it  could  not  be  expected  that 
soldiers  untrained  to  such  labour 
would  be  able  to  carry  loads  in  that 
manner,  short  pieces  of  rope  with  a 
loop  at  each  end  were  supplied  to 
the  boats,  by  means  of  which  two 
short  poles — cut  in  the  woods  at  the 
portages  as  required — were  easily 
converted  into  a  very  efficient  hand- 


54 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


barrow,  of  just  the  dimensions  re- 
quired for  the  conveyance  of  the 
small  barrels  in  which  our  pork  and 
flour  were  packed. 

After,  however,  a  little  practice, 
a  large  proportion  of  the  men  soon 
learned  to  use  the  common  portage- 
strap,  their  officers  setting  them  the 
example  by  themselves  carrying 
heavy  loads  with  it.  As  soon  as 
all  the  stores  had  been  conveyed 
across  the  portage,  the  boats  were 
hauled  ashore,  and  dragged  over, 
their  keels  resting  on  small  trees 
felled  across  the  path  to  act  as  roll- 
ers. The  labour  involved  by  haul- 
ing a  heavy  boat  up  a  very  steep 
incline,  to  a  height  of  about  a  hun- 
dred feet,  is  no  child's  play.  In  each 
boat  there  was  a  strong  painter  and 
a  towing-line,  by  means  of  which 
and  the  leather  portage-straps  a  sort 
of  man-harness  was  formed  when 
required,  so  that  forty  or  fifty  men 
could  haul  together.  Say  the  port- 
age was  a  mile  long  (some  were 
more),  and  that  each  man  had  to 
make  ten  trips  across  it  before  all 
the  stores  of  his  brigade  were  got 
over,  he  would  have  walked  nine- 
teen miles  during  the  operation, 
being  heavily  laden  for  ten  of  them. 
At  some  portages  considerable  en- 
gineering ingenuity  was  required — 
small  streams  had  to  be  bridged 
and  marshy  spots  to  be  corduroyed 
over.  By  the  time  our  men  re- 
turned many  of  them  were  expert 
axemen,  and  all  were  more  or  less 
skilled  in  the  craft  of  the  voyageur 
and  American  woodsman. 

The  country  between  Prince  Ar- 
thur's Landing  and  Shebandowan 
Lake  is  wild  and  rugged.  The 
road  between  those  two  places  runs 
W.N.W.,  and  may,  for  purposes 
of  description,  be  divided  into 
three  sections — the  first  extending 
to  Strawberry  Creek,  about  eighteen 
miles;  the  second  to  the  Matawan 
River,  about  eight  miles  further 
on;  and  the  third  from  thence  to 


Shebandowan  Lake,  about  twenty- 
two  miles  more. 

The  first  section  is  very  hilly, 
the  soil  near  the  bay  being  sandy, 
with  a  surface  -  covering  at  most 
places  of  from  six  to  twenty-nine 
inches  of  peaty  mould.  In  the 
valleys  between  the  hills  are  deep 
swamps,  over  which  roads  can  only 
be  made  with  considerable  labour. 
The  timber  has  been  entirely  de- 
stroyed at  some  places  by  fires,  so 
that  every  now  and  then  the  road 
emerges  •  from  the  thick  forest  into 
clear  open  spaces  sometimes  of  many 
hundreds  of  acres  in  extent,  where 
the  ground  is  covered  with  the  burnt 
trunks  of  fallen  trees,  piled  up  at 
places  one  over  the  other  like  spil- 
likins, an  occasional  pine  of  great 
height  being  left  standing  as  it  were 
to  show  the  traveller  the  vastness 
of  the  destruction.  These  places  are 
called  brulees  in  the  language  of  the 
country  ;  and  in  a  few  years  after 
the  fire  has  passed  over  them,  are  so 
thickly  covered  by  raspberry  and 
rose  bushes  that  it  is  difficult  and 
tiring  to  cross  them  on  foot.  The 
timber  consists  of  white  and  red 
spruce,  pitch  pine,  balsam,  cedar, 
tamarack,  white  birch,  and  poplar, 
the  latter  being  at  some  places  along 
the  road  in  large  quantities  and  of 
a  great  size.  The  rocks -are  trappean, 
a  hard  compact  slate,  with  numerous 
veins  of  amethystine  quartz  and 
jasper,  and  jasper  conglomerate,  run- 
ning through  them  in  irregular 
directions.  Many  silver-mines  have 
been  discovered  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  galena,  plumbago,  and 
copper  in  several  forms  are  known 
to  abound ;  so  that  no  prophetic 
powers  are  necessary  to  foretell  the 
great  importance  that  this  country 
will  assume  ere  long  from  the  de- 
velopment of  its  mineral  resources. 
About  midway  in  this  section  is  the 
most  rocky  district  traversed  by  the 
road,  where  it  ascends  through  a 
rugged  and  hilly  country  to  a  height 


1871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


55 


of  many  hundred  feet  above  Thun- 
der Bay.  This  region  is  also  heavily 
wooded,  so  road -making  through 
it  was  no  easy  matter.  At  many 
places  large-sized  boulders  had  to 
be  removed  from  the  road;  and  at 
others,  where  great  rough  rocks 
cropped  up  in  the  way,  they  were 
broken  up  by  lighting  huge  fires 
around  them,  and  by  throwing 
water  over  them  when  thoroughly 
heated.  This  caused  them  to  split 
up  into  pieces,  reminding  one  of 
the  method  said  to  have  been  adopt- 
ed by  Hannibal  in  crossing  the 
Alps. 

Some  half-dozen  emigrants  had 
settled  along  this  first  section  of  the 
road,  the  brulees  enabling  them  to 
establish  themselves  without  the 
labour  of  felling  timber ;  and  their 
little  shanties  were,  when  we  arrived, 
already  surrounded  by  potato-gar- 
dens, whilst  here  and  there  the  rich 
greenness  of  a  patch  of  oats  gave  an 
air  of  civilisation  to  the  scene.  Nu- 
merous small  rivulets  are  crossed  in 
this  section,  over  which  bridges  and 
culverts  were  constructed;  also  two 
streams,  one  about  30  and  the  other 
about  40  yards  wide,  requiring  more 
substantial  work  in  carrying  the 
road  over  them. 

As  youapproach  Strawberry  Creek, 
which  separates  the  first  from  the 
second  of  the  three  sections,  the 
general  aspect  of  the  country  changes 
completely,  and  a  red  clay  soil  takes 
the  place  of  the  sand,  rock,  and  peat 
passed  over  up  to  that  point.  The 
whole  of  the  second  section  is  com- 
posed of  hills  formed  by  this  red 
clay,  which,  although  admirably 
adapted  for  bricks  and  pottery,  is 
extremely  bad  for  road -making. 
When  hard  and  dry,  it  was  good 
for  traffic ;  but  after  a  shower  of  rain 
it  became  so  slippery  that  horses 
had  much  difficulty  in  keeping  their 
feet,  and  a  regularly  wet  day  caused 
the  wheels  to  sink  so  deep,  that  the 
horses  struggled  through  it  with  diffi- 


culty, losing  shoes  at  every  stride. 
A  few  days'  rain  renders  it  impas- 
sable for  wheeled  transport,  so  that 
during  the  operation  of  forwarding 
stores  over  it  in  waggons,  all  traffic 
was  stopped  several  times  for  days 
together. 

The  valley  of  the  Kaministiquia, 
where  the  road  crosses  it,  is  ex- 
tremely pretty :  the  hills  around  are 
sufficiently  rugged  to  be  picturesque ; 
whilst  fires  have  for  generations 
back  so  frequently  swept  over  them 
that  their  surface  is  tolerably  open, 
with  rocks  cropping  up  here  and 
there,  as  if  to  give  shadows  to  the 
picture ;  clumps  of  willow  are  scat- 
tered at  places,  whilst  the  river's 
edge  is  fringed  with  bushes  and 
stunted  trees.  The  river  is  about 
107  yards  in  width,  and  unfordable. 
The  Matawan  falls  into  it  about 
half  a  mile  above  the  bridge  ;  above 
that  again  is  a  succession  of  heavy 
and  imposing-looking  rapids,  over 
which  our  boats  were  tracked  with 
difficulty,  and  with  trying  labour  to 
the  men. 

The  second  section  ends  where 
the  road  crosses  the  Matawan  by  a 
bridge  about  70  yards  in  length, 
constructed,  like  the  previous  one, 
during  the  preceding  winter.  The 
distance  between  the  two  bridges  is 
about  five  miles,  the  road  running 
through  some  deep  valleys  and  along 
the  sides  of  rounded  hills  of  red  clay, 
the  timber  of  which  lay  about  in 
decaying  logs,  bearing  witness  to 
the  many  fires  that  have  swept  over 
the  district  at  various  remote  periods. 

As  the  road  descends  into  the^ 
valley  of  the  Matawan  and  enters 
the  third  section,  the  character  of 
the  soil  and  scenery  again  changes — 
the  red  clay  is  left  behind,  and  one 
enters  a  rolling  country  of  rich 
clayey  loam,  with  sandy  rises  here 
and  there,  all  thickly  wooded  over. 
Two  unfordable  streams,  one  of  24, 
the  other  of  about  33  yards  in  width, 
had  to  be  bridged  over  in  this  sec- 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


tion.  As  already  stated,  nearly  the 
whole  of  the  last  eighteen  miles  of 
road,  including  these  two  bridges,  had 
to  be  made  after  our  arrival,  which 
retarded  our  progress  to  an  extent 
that  had  not  been  anticipated. 

The  road  is  much  more  level  in 
this  section  than  in  the  other  two; 
but  at  many  places  the  natural 
drainage  is  so  bad,  that  even  up  to 
the  date  when  the  force  had  finally 
embarked  at  Shebandowan,  the 
track  cut  through  the  forest  was 
useless  as  a  highway  for  constant 
and  heavy  traffic.  Had  it  not  been 
discovered  in  time,  as  already  de- 
tailed, that  the  river  could  be  made 
available,  particularly  along  parts  of 
this  third  section,  for  the  transport 
of  our  boats  and  stores,  we  should 
have  been  delayed  a  month  or  six 
weeks  still  further  than  we  were, 
and  could  not  possibly  have  reached 
Fort  Garry  in  time  to  have  fitted 
up  barrack  accommodation  for  the 
troops  before  the  winter  set  in,  or 
to  have  brought  them  back  before 
the  frost  had  closed  the  rivers  and 
small  lakes  to  be  passed  on  the 
higher  portions  of  the  route. 

It  was  the  knowledge  of  these 
facts,  and  the  consciousness  of  the 
emergency,  that  justified  those  re- 
sponsible for  the  success  of  the  Ex- 
pedition in  calling  upon  the  men  to 
undergo  the  unceasing  labour  that 
was  entailed  upon  them.  "  Sunday 
shone  no  Sabbath-day  for  them." 
From  the  time  the  troops  began  to 
advance,  "  Push  on,  push  on,"  was 
the  hourly  cry  of  the  officers ;  and 
every  one,  down  to  the  youngest 
"bugler,  being  taken  into  the  leader's 
confidence  regarding  the  necessity 
for  haste,  recognised  the  urgency  of 
the  case,  and  put  his  shoulder  to 
the  wheel  with  a  will  and  a  cheery 
energy  that  bid  defiance  to  all  ob- 
stacles. We  treated  our  men  not  as 
machines,  but  as  reasoning  beings, 
having  all  feelings  in  common  with 
ourselves;  and  they  responded  to 


our  appeals  as  British  soldiers  ever 
will  when  under  men  in  whom  they 
have  unbounded  confidence. 

Before  a  start  could  be  made 
it  was  essential  that  at  least  two 
months'  supplies  for  the  whole  force 
should  be  collected  at  Shebandowan 
Lake. 

Our  transport  horses  were  very 
fat  when  they  landed,  and  had  to 
begin  work  at  once,  so  that,  although 
allowed  to  eat  as  much  oats  and  hay 
as  they  could,  they  quickly  fell  off 
dreadfully  in  condition.  The  bad- 
ness of  the  roads  rendered  the  work 
very  severe  upon  them,  and  a  large 
proportion  were  soon  unfit  for 
draught,  owing  to  sore  shoulders. 
Two  causes  contributed  chiefly  to 
this :  first,  the  badness  of  the  col- 
lars ;  and  secondly,  the  carelessness 
of  the  drivers. 

The  harness  had  been  provided 
by  the  Canadian  Government,  and, 
like  all  the  military  stores  supplied 
by  it  for  this  Expedition,  was  of  an 
^  inferior  description  obtained  by  con- 
tract. The  military  force  in  Canada 
was  to  be  reduced  in  the  summer  of 
1870;  and  orders  had  been  received 
by  the  general  commanding,  desir- 
ing him  to  dispose  of,  on  the  spot, 
or  to  send  home  to  England — ac- 
cording as  he  might  think  best  for 
the  public  interest — all  the  military 
stores,  giving  the  Dominion  Govern- 
ment the  option  of  buying  at  a  val- 
uation all  or  any  portion  of  them. 
We  had  in  store  plenty  of  harness 
and  every  description  of  article  re- 
quired for  the  equipment  of  the 
force,  the  regulation  prices  of  which 
were  considerably  below  what  simi- 
lar but  vastly  inferior  articles  could 
be  obtained  for  in  the  open  market. 

It  did  not,  however,  suit  the 
Ottawa  Ministers,  whose  province 
it  was  to  obtain  the  required  stores, 
to  get  them  from  our  magazines; 
they  preferred  purchasing  the  in- 
ferior and  dearer  articles  through 
their  own  agents  from  their  own 


1871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


5T 


political  friends  and  supporters. 
When  money  is  to  be  spent  in 
Canada,  the  opportunity  is  seldom 
lost  for  furthering  party  objects. 
As  a  stronger  illustration  of  this,  we 
may  here  mention  that  the  boots 
supplied  to  the  militia  regiments 
were  so  utterly  worthless  after  a 
few  weeks'  wear,  that,  upon  arriv- 
ing at  Thunder  Bay,  it  was  found 
necessary  to  send  back  to  Canada 
for  new  ones  from  our  stores — so 
that  the  country  had  to  pay  for  two 
pair  per  man  instead  of  one. 

The  men  for  the  land  transport 
service  were  especially  engaged  for 
this  duty  by  the  militia  depart- 
ment ;  and,  with  some  exceptions,  a 
more  worthless  set  as  drivers  and 
horse-keepers  it  is  scarcely  possible 
to  imagine.  Men  of  all  sorts  of 
callings,  except  those  accustomed  to 
the  care  of  horses,  were  enlisted,  so 
that  some  of  them  did  not  even 
know  how  to  put  a  set  of  harness 
together.  As  soon  as  these  men 
got  clear  of  a  station  on  the  road, 
and  out  of  view  of  the  transport 
officers,  they  played  all  sorts  of 
pranks,  and  instead  of  going  at  a 
steady  walk,  chose  their  own  pace, 
sometimes  amusing  themselves  by 
racing.  It  was  found  necessary  to 
make  some  examples  amongst  the 
worst-behaved  before  anything  like 
discipline  could  be  maintained 
amongst  them. 

As  a  protection  for  the  horses 
against  the  heavy  rains,  ranges  of 
rough  stables  were  erected  at  several 
places  along  the  48  miles  of  road 
between  Prince  Arthur's  Landing 
and  the  lake — the  planks  for  those 
at  the  former  place  being  brought 
from  Collingwood  in  steamers,  those 
used  elsewhere  being  sawn  from 
trees  cut  down  where  required. 
The  Canadian  axeman  is  very 
handy  at  constructing  shelter  for 
either  cattle  or  stores  :  the  bark  of 
trees,  particularly  of  the  birch  and 
tamarack,  is  largely  used  instead  of 


planking.  A  roof  is  also  quickly 
and  efficiently  made  with  troughs 
hewn  from  logs  of  American  pop- 
lar, placed,  as  tiles  are,  in  rows 
alternately  convex  and  concave, 
each  trough  being  cut  of  sufficient 
length  to  reach  from  the  apex  to 
the  eave  of  the  roof ;  and  one  large 
one,  cut  from  a  tree  of  greater  dia- 
meter, being  placed  longitudinally 
at  top,  along  the  ridge,  so  as  to  cover 
up  the  ends  of  the  troughs  of  both 
sides  of  the  roof  where  they  meet 
above. 

During  the  month  of  June,  and 
half  the  month  of  July,  the  work 
on  the  road  went  on  unremittingly, 
"corduroying"  being  alone  attempt- 
ed ;  ditches  were  made  at  points  only 
where  they  were  essential  to  prevent 
flooding.  As  few  of  our  readers 
have  ever  seen  a  corduroy  road — 
may  none  of  them  ever  have  to 
drive  over  one! — a  few  lines  de- 
scribing its  construction  may  not 
be  out  of  place.  The  course  to  be 
followed  through  the  forest  having 
been  marked  out  by  "  blazing "  a 
line  of  trees,  the  required  breadth 
of  road  is  cleared  of  timber  and  all 
serious  obstructions,  and  partially 
levelled.  Logs  of  from  six  to  nine 
inches  in  diameter  are  then  cut  ten 
feet  long,  and  laid  close  together 
side  by  side,  small  branches  and 
sand  or  earth  being  strewn  over 
them  to  fill  up  the  unavoidable 
interstices.  Such  was  the  rough 
method  pursued  by  us;  but  in 
Canada  more  careful  labour  is 
bestowed  upon  roads  of  this  de- 
scription when  they  are  intended 
for  more  permanent  use. 

Before  leaving  Prince  Arthur's 
Landing,  a  deputation  of  Indians 
from  the  neighbourhood  of  Fort 
Francis  arrived  to  inquire  what  we 
were  doing,  and  what  were  to  be 
our  intended  movements.  The 
party  consisted  of  three  men,  two 
boys,  and  a  squaw.  Few  of  us  had 
ever  before  seen  the  pure  heathen. 


58 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


Korth  American  Indian,  and  we 
cannot  say  that  any  of  us  were  very 
favourably  impressed  by  these  spe- 
cimens of  that  people.  When  near 
our  camp,  the  speaker  of  the  party, 
called  "  Blackstone,"  having  lagged 
behind  the  others,  was  overtaken 
by  an  officer  who  was  driving 
towards  the  bay,  and  who  volun- 
teered by  signs  to  give  him  a  lift; 
the  offer  was  good-humouredly  ac- 
cepted. This  Indian  chief  had 
never  been  in  a  wheeled  conveyance 
before ;  and  having,  like  all  these 
wood  savages,  an  instinctive  horror 
of  horses,  the  drive  was  gone 
through  with  more  solemnity  than 
pleasure.  When  he  came  in  sight 
of  the  tents  he  requested  permis- 
sion to  dismount  where  there  was 
a  little  stream  of  water.  Pulling 
from  his  pocket  a  small  piece  of 
soap,  he  wet  it,  and  plastered 
down  his  long,  straight,  black 
hair  with  it,  and  tied  round  his 
head  a  mink -skin,  from  which  at 
the  back  stood  up  a  row  of  eagle's 
feathers,  with  here  and  there  an 
ermine  -  tail  hanging  from  them. 
Having  thus  completed  his  toilet, 
he  came  into  camp. 

An  English  missionary  who  had 
recently  arrived  from  Canada,  and 
who  lived  close  to  the  beach,  in- 
vited the  whole  party  to  his  tent, 
where  he  gave  them  a  good  dinner 
— no  easy  matter,  as  an  Indian  will 
eat  as  much  as  four  white  men  if 
allowed  to  have  as  much  as  he  likes. 
The  feast  over,  the  zealous  clergy- 
man thought  he  might  improve  the 
occasion  by  administering  to  their 
spiritual  wants ;  but  they  no  sooner 
understood  his  object  than  they 
hastily  bolted  from  his  tent  as  if  it 
had  been  infected,  such  is  their  horror 
of  those  who  seek  to  convert  them. 

The  deputation  was  formally  pre- 
sented to  Colonel  Wolseley,  and  a 
great  deal  of  talking  ensued.  The 
Indians  call  such  an  interview 
a  "pow-wow,"  and  are  very  fond 


of  making  long  speeches  at  them. 
Many  of  the  chiefs  have  great  ora- 
torical powers,  and  use  much  ges- 
ticulation when  declaiming.  They 
expressed  astonishment  at  finding 
us  making  a  road  through  their 
country  without  having  previously 
made  any  treaty  for  their  lands,  and 
were  very  anxious  to  enter  upon  the 
subject  of  the  terms  we  intended 
proposing  for  the  extinction  of  their 
territorial  rights.  These  men  had 
really  no  just  claim  to  the  land  near 
the  bay,  nor,  indeed,  one  might 
say  to  the  land  lying  between  the 
hills  and  Lake  Superior,  as  they 
never  hunted  there;  and  beyond 
those  hills,  until  you  reached  Rainy 
River,  there  was  no  land  worth 
making  a  treaty  about.  They  were 
told  that  there  was  no  intention 
whatever  of  making  any  arrange- 
ments on  the  subject  at  present;  but 
that  hereafter,  should  the  Canadian 
Government  require  any  of  their 
land,  a  suitable  treaty  would  be 
made,  when  ample  justice  would  be 
done  them.  They  expressed  them- 
selves as  devotedly  loyal  to  the 
"  Great  Mother  "  —  meaning  the 
Queen — and  anxious  to  assist  their 
white  brethren  to  the  utmost  of 
their  power.  They  were  made  to 
understand  that  we  merely  wished 
for  a  right  of  way  through  their 
territory,  and  that  we  had  no  inten- 
tion of  occupying  their  lands.  Pro- 
mises were  made  to  them  that  their 
head  men  should  receive  suitable 
presents ;  but  that  as  we  were 
pressed  extremely  for  time,  and 
would  have  great  difficulty  in  carry- 
ing enough  supplies  with  us  to  last 
during  our  tedious  journey,  they 
must  not  expect  to  receive  them 
from  the  soldiers  this  year;  that 
the  officer  who  was  then  represent- 
ing Canada  at  Fort  Francis  would 
arrange  all  particulars  as  to  the 
quantities  of  things  they  were  to  be 
given,  and  when  and  where  they 
were  to  receive  them. 


1871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


59 


They  said  they  would  go  back 
and  inform  their  friends  of  what 
had  been  told  them,  and  in  the 
mean  time  we  were  welcome  to  help 
ourselves  to  as  much  wood  and 
water  along  the  line  of  route  as  we 
might  require  daily. 

These  representatives  of  the  once 
flourishing  tribe  of  Ojibewahs — or 
Chippewahs,  as  they  are  indifferently 
called — were  fine  straight -looking 
men,  and  moved  about  with  a  cer- 
tain dignity  of  bearing.  Never  but 
once  did  any  of  them  express  as- 
tonishment at  what  they  saw,  when 
the  oldest  of  the  party,  after  long 
and  silent  contemplation  of  the 
busy  scene  at  our  crowded  wharf, 
said,  "What  a  number  of  white 
men  there  must  be  in  the  world!" 
They  were  told  to  help  themselves 
to  a  suit  of  clothes  each  from  a 
shop  which  an  enterprising  trades- 
man had  established  near  camp; 
and,  with  the  usual  childishness  and 
improvidence  of  their  race,  they 
seemed  to  select  those  articles  which, 
of  all  others,  were  least  suited  for 
the  life  they  had  to  lead — a  frock- 
coat  of  the  finest  cloth  being  the 
garment  most  dear  to  them. 

Early  in  July  our  headquarters 
were  transferred  to  the  bridge  over 
the  Matawan  River,  a  most  pic- 
turesque spot.  Immediately  below 
the  bridge  there  was  a  fall,  and 
below  that  again  a  series  of  rapids 
for  many  miles.  The  banks  being 
wooded  down  to  the  water's  edge, 
there  was  some  difficulty  in  clearing 
sufficient  space  for  the  camp  of  two 
battalions,  and  the  large  mass  of 
provisions  which  it  was  found 
necessary  to  collect  there.  Here  we 
erected  stables  and  rough  store- 
houses, so  that  the  place  quickly 
assumed  the  appearance  of  a  little 
village  busy  with  life,  where  the 
noise  of  the  blacksmith's  hammer 
resounded  from  early  dawn  until 
dark.  The  departure  of  empty 
waggons,  and  the  arrival  of  loaded 


ones,  went  on  at  all  hours  ;  and  the 
noisy  scene  at  the  falls,  where  the 
boats  arriving  by  river  from  Thunder 
Bay  had  to  be  portaged  over  about 
fifty  yards,  impressed  upon  the 
stranger  visiting  our  camps  the 
earnestness  of  the  work  before  us. 

The  black  flies  and  sand-flies  were 
very  troublesome  at  times,  but  a 
merciful  Providence  has  only  given 
them  power  to  annoy  man  by  day, 
so  that,  except  occasionally,  when 
the  never-flagging  mosquito  buzzed 
round  our  heads  at  night,  our  sleep 
was  undisturbed.  Before  leaving 
Canada  we  had  heard  such  "  travel- 
lers' yarns"  about  the  positive  torture 
we  should  have  to  undergo  from 
flies,  that  considerable  trouble  was 
taken  to  design,  as  a  protection 
against  them,  a  veil  made  of  net, 
shaped  like  a  bag  open  at  both  ends  : 
it  was  to  be  worn  round  the  head, 
with  which  it  was  prevented  from 
coming  in  contact  by  hoops  made 
of  fine  crinoline  wire.  Much  ex- 
pense had  also  been  ,  incurred  in 
providing  each  boat  with  a  can  of 
stuff  known  to  all  salmon-fishermen 
in  North  America  as  mosquito  oil. 
It  is  made  with  creosote  and  penny- 
royal ;  and  when  the  face  is  well 
anointed  with  this  disgusting  un- 
guent, no  mosquito  or  other  winged 
torment  will  touch  you  as  long  as  it  is 
fresh.  The  parties  engaged  in  bring- 
ing up  the  boats  by  river,  and  some 
of  those  stationed  at  places  along 
the  road,  were  occasionally  glad  to 
use  the  veil  towards  evening ;  but 
after  the  final  start  of  the  force  from 
Shebandowan,  the  only  use  they 
were  put  to  was  for  straining  water 
through  on  the  Lake  of  the  Woods, 
where,  as  will  be  hereafter  described, 
the  water  was  almost  opaque  from 
the  vegetable  matter  it  held  in  sus- 
pension. The  oil  came  in  useful 
for  burning  in  the  lamps  when  the 
supply  taken  for  them  had  been 
expended. 

Although  the  extreme  measures  of 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


[Jan," 


veils  and  oil  were  not  found  necessary, 
yet  whilst  we  were  encamped  in  the 
woods,  the  mosquitoes  were  always 
sufficiently  annoying  to  render  it 
desirable  to  have  as  much  smoke  as 
possible  round  where  you  sat  in  the 
evening,  to  keep  them  at  a  distance. 
In  front  of  each  tent-door,  as  soon 
as  the  sun  went  down,  you  generally 
saw  what  the  backwoodsman  calls  a 
"  smudge"  smouldering  away,  filling 
the  tents  with  the  volumes  of  steamy 
smoke  which  it  emitted.  A  smudge 
is  simply  a  small  fire,  on  which 
is  put  damp  moss,  or  wet  rotten 
wood  or  bark,  which  in  burning 
gives  out  clouds  of  vapour  laden 
with  carbolic  acid  gas.  To  impreg- 
nate the  air  more  effectually,  the 
smudge  was  frequently  placed  actu- 
ally inside  the  tent,  the  door  being 
left  open,  so  that  the  flies  incom- 
moded by  the  atmosphere  might 
escape.  When  the  tent  is  com- 
pletely filled  with  smoke,  the  door 
is  fastened  up  for  the  night,  so  that 
no  mosquito  can  enter. 

The  stores  were  brought  by  our 
land-transport  waggons  as  far  as  the 
Matawan  camp;  the  road  as  far  as 
that  being  in  fine  weather  very  good, 
all  things  considered.  The  great  nut 
to  crack  was  to  get  them  over  the 
twenty-two  miles  between  there  and 
Lake  Shebandowan,  a  small  portion 
only  of  that  distance  having  a  prac- 
ticable road  over  it.  Every  mile  of 
navigable  water  on  the  river  was 
therefore  made  use  of,  the  stores  being 
sent  up  for  the  first  few  miles  in 
boats,  then  conveyed  a  few  more 
miles  in  waggons,  then  in  boats 
again  for  about  eleven  miles,  then 
a  short  distance  again  by  waggon, 
and  finally  by  water  again  for  the 
last  three  miles  to  Shebandowan 
Lake  :  there  they  were  collected  on 
a  sandy  beach,  previous  to  being 
distributed  amongst  the  brigades 
as  they  started  finally  for  Port 
Garry. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  remind 


the  mercantile  reader  that  this 
"  breaking  bulk "  so  repeatedly,  in- 
jured the  stores  considerably,  and 
entailed  much  labour  on  the  sol- 
diers. 

The  only  recreations  enjoyed  by 
our  men  were  bathing  and  fishing. 
Of  the  former,  whilst  working  in 
the  boats,  all  had  more  than  enough, 
for  the  men  had  constantly  to  work 
in  the  water ;  but  whilst  employed 
at  road -making  or  moving  stores 
on  shore,  a  swim  after  the  day's 
work  was  ended  was  most  enjoyable. 
The  water  in  Lake  Superior  is  al- 
ways very  cold ;  but  that  in  some  of 
the  rivers  —  the  Matawan,  for  in- 
stance —  was  positively  tepid,  so 
that  the  men  would  roll  about  in 
it  for  a  length  of  time  Avithout  feel- 
ing any  ill  effects.  The  strangest 
phenomenon  was  in  M 'Neil's  Bay, 
on  Lake  Shebandowan,  when,  in 
swimming,  at  one  moment  you  pass- 
ed through  a  narrow  strip  of  very 
cold  water,  and  the  next  instant 
you  were  in  water  as  warm  as  the 
human  body.  The  effect  was  most 
curious,  and  is  supposed  to  come 
from  springs  rising  from  the  bottom 
of  the  lake  in  that  shallow  portion 
of  it.  When  encamped  at  Prince 
Arthur's  Landing  the  men  caught 
immense  quantities  of  lake  trout, 
many  of  them  weighing  ten  or 
twelve  pounds,  those  of  five  or  six 
being  considered  small.  They  are 
without  exception  the  most  tasteless 
of  the  finny  tribe.  There  is  nothing 
repulsive  about  them,  either  in  ap- 
pearance or  in  flavour;  but  still,  as 
food,  we  know  of  nothing  which  is 
less  palatable  without  being  posi- 
tively nauseous.  At  the  various 
other  camps  along  the  road,  and 
subsequently  during  the  advance 
upon  Fort  Garry,  the  men  used  to 
catch  pike  by  trolling  from  the 
boats.  Those  with  black  backs 
were  fair  eating;  but  the  other  sorts 
were  bony  and  soft,  with  a  muddy 
flavour.  Each  brigade  was  fur- 


1871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


61 


nished  with  a  fishing-net,  as  it  was 
expected  that  large  quantities  of 
fish  would  be  obtained  along  the 
line  of  route  to  vary  the  daily  diet : 
but  it  was  subsequently  found  im- 
possible to  use  them ;  for,  being  so 
pressed  for  time,  we  never  halted  for 
a  day  until  we  reached  Fort  Alex- 
ander, close  to  Lake  Winnipeg ;  and 
as  every  one  worked  hard  until  dark 
every  evening,  there  was  never  time 
for  net-setting. 

Headquarters  were  moved  on  the 
14th  July,  to  a  spot  within  about 
three  and  a  half  miles  of  Shebando- 
wan  Lake.  The  16th  of  that  month 
had  for  some  time  been  named  for 
the  departure  of  the  first  detachment ; 
but  as  the  day  grew  near,  so  much 
still  remained  to  be  done,  that  few 
believed  it  possible  to  carry  out  the 
programme  laid  down.  The  spot 
on  the  lake  selected  as  the  starting- 
point  was  at  its  extreme  eastern  end, 
where  there  was  a  beach  of  bright 
yellow  sand  for  some  hundreds  of 
yards  devoid  of  rocks  or  stones.  The 
forest  reaching  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  entailed  a  considerable  amount 
of  clearing  before  sufficient  space  for 
a  small  camp,  and  for  the  marquees 
to  hold  the  perishable  stores,  could 
be  obtained.  A  wharf  was  soon  run 
out  into  deep  water,  alongside  of 
which  the  boats  were  to  be  loaded. 
A  cooper's  shop  was  established, 
where  all  the  barrels  that  had  re- 
ceived injury  during  their  many 
changes  from  carts  to  boats,  and  vice 
versa,  were  re-hooped,  those  from 
which  the  brine  had  leaked  being 
refilled.  Carpenters  were  hard  at 
work  repairing  the  boats,  many  of 
which  leaked  considerably,  all  having 
suffered  more  or  less  from  the  sharp- 
pointed  rocks  of  the  Kaministiquia. 
According  to  the  arrangements  made 
with  the  Canadian  authorities,  the 
boats  were  to  have  been  handed 
over  to  us  complete  with  all  their 
own  stores ;  but  unfortunately,  from 
want  of  an  organised  system,  and 


from  the  lack  of  an  efficient  staff  to 
carry  out  the  instructions  received 
from  Ottawa,  the  details  of  all  such 
arrangements  throughout  the  pro* 
gress  of  the  Expedition  invariably 
fell  to  the  ground.  The  result  was, 
that  according  as  every  six  or  eight 
boats  arrived  daily,  they  had  to  be 
fitted  with  rowlocks,  masts,  sails, 
rudders,  &c.:  those  made  for  each 
individual  boat  were  not  to  be  found'; 
so  that  really  the  onus  of  fitting  out 
the  boats  devolved  upon  the  troops, 
each  captain  looking  after  the  equip- 
ment for  the  boats  of  his  own  brigade. 
This  occasioned  some  delay ;  for  as 
the  boats  were  of  many  different 
models  and  sizes,  rudders,  &c.,  re- 
quired much  alteration  before  they 
could  be  made  to  fit  boats  of  a  dif- 
ferent class  from  those  for  which 
they  had  been  constructed. 

During  the  progress  of  this  Expe- 
dition, we  had  many  opportunities 
of  observing  from  behind  the  scenes 
how  Government  affairs  are  managed 
in  Canada,  where  every  day  the  cor- 
rupt practices  common  in  Washing- 
ton are  being  more  and  more  adopt- 
ed. The  gentleman  who  represented 
the  Public  Works  Department  with 
us  was  a  most  hard-working  man, 
who  never  spared  himself  in  any 
way.  If  he  was  always  over-sanguine, 
it  was  at  least  an  agreeable  failing, 
and  perhaps  arose  from  calculations 
based  upon  the  belief  that  other  men 
would  work  as  hard  as  he  did  him- 
self. He  had  his  hands  always  full, 
and  had  as  much  to  do  as  any  man, 
aided  by  the  most  efficient  of  staffs, 
could  possibly  do  well.  Alas  for 
his  sake,  for  the  good  of  the  service, 
and  for  the  progress  of  the  Expedi- 
tion, those  under  him,  with  one  or 
two  exceptions,  were  the  most  help- 
lessly useless  men  that  it  is  possible 
to  imagine  !  Instead  of  being  per- 
mitted to  choose  his  own  assistants, 
he  had  all  sorts  of  hangers-on  about 
the  Ministers  forced  upon  him.  Some 
were  broken-down  drunkards  who 


62 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


it  was  thought  by  their  friends  might 
be  reclaimed,  if  they  could  only  be 
sent  on  an  errand  into  a  country 
where  no  whisky  was  to  be  had. 
All  more  or  less  belonged  to  the 
class  known  in  America  as  "loafers" 
— men  who  lived  no  one  knew  how, 
spending  nearly  all  their  time  in 
bars  "liquoring -up"  and  smoking. 
We  were  much  amused  one  day 
upon  entering  into  conversation' with 
a  young  gentleman  who  called  him- 
self the  "book-keeper"  at  one  of  the 
roadside  stations.  He,  upon  being 
asked  the  employment  he  had  been 
hired  for,  said,  most  naively,  that 
having  a  brother  in  Manitobah 
whom  he  desired  to  see,  his  uncle, 
the  Minister  for  Public  Works,  had 
placed  him  upon  the  staff  of  that 
department,  so  that  he  might  be 
taken  there  in  one  of  our  boats 
without  expense  to  himself.  When 
appointments  are  to  be  given  away, 
it  is  not  a  question  of  obtaining 
good  men,  but  of  how  party  pur- 
poses may  be  served  by  a  judicious 
allotment  of  them  amongst  politi- 
cal supporters  and  their  relations. 

Strong  westerly  winds  prevailed 
on  Lake  Shebandowan  whilst  the 
final  arrangements  were  being  made 
for  our  start,  so  that  upon  some  days 
such  a  sea  came  rolling  in  and  break- 
ing upon  the  shore  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  load  boats,  or  to  get  them 
off  had  we  even  succeeded  in  equip- 
ping them.  Most  fortunately  these 
"  blows "  seldom  became  powerful 
until  about  nine  or  ten  A.M.,  and 
generally  wore  themselves  out  to- 
wards four  or  five  P.M.,  so  that  we 
had  almost  always  several  hours  in 
the  morning  and  evening  for  push- 
ing on  our  work. 

On  the  night  of  the  15th  July 
we  had  the  most  violent  thunder- 
storm experienced  during  the  entire 
operation.  The  heavens  seemed  at 
times  as  if  to  open  and  let  fall  great 
crushing  weights  of  exploding  sub- 
stance upon  the  earth  beneath,  which 


they  struck  with  blows  that  made 
all  nature  shake  and  tremble.  Then 
followed  what  is  commonly  known 
as  rain,  but  which  in  this  instance 
was  as  sheets  of  water  tumbling  upon 
us  in  rapid  succession,  beginning 
suddenly  and  ending  as  abruptly. 
The  morning  of  the  16th  was,  how- 
ever, fine,  with  a  bright  sun  shin- 
ing, and  a  strong  westerly  wind 
blowing,  which,  although  it  served 
to  dry  up  everything,  raised  such 
a  sea  on  the  lake  that  wave  after 
wave  rolled  in  towards  shore,  break- 
ing with  a  heavy  surf  over  the  sandy 
beach  in  M'NeiTs  Bay.  Whilst 
this  lasted  little  could  be  done :  the 
empty  boats  were  either  kept  moored 
out  in  deep  water  in  strings  one 
behind  the  others,  or  were  drawn  up 
high  and  dry  on  the  shore.  Its 
force  lessened  as  the  sun  approached 
the  horizon ;  and  as  the  lake  became 
sufficiently  calm,  boat  after  boat  was 
brought  alongside  the  wharf  and 
received  its  allotted  cargo.  Such 
a  scene  of  bustle  and  excitement  is 
seldom  to  be  witnessed.  Each  boat 
had  to  be  complete  in  itself  with  60 
days'  provisions  for  all  on  board, 
with  ammunition,  camp  equipment, 
and  a  hundred  other  things  all  essen- 
tial for  health  and  safety.  Every 
one  felt  that  their  comfort  and  pre- 
servation would  be  endangered  if 
any  of  the  articles  selected  after  so 
much  careful  thought  by  General 
Lindsay  were  forgotten  ;  for  we  all 
knew  that  in  a  few  hours  we  should 
have  bid  a  long  farewell  to  civilisa- 
tion, and  that  ere  many  days  had 
passed  we  should  be  beyond  the 
reach  of  all  assistance  from  the  out- 
side world.  Officers  and  non-com- 
missioned were  running  about  in  all 
directions,  some  searching  for  oars, 
others  for  missing  sails,  &c.  Here 
a  sergeant  came  to  say  that  the  spare 
rowlocks  issued  to  his  boat  would 
not  fit;  another  reported  that  al- 
though he  had  been  given  a  lamp,  he 
had  not  received  any  oil  for  it, — and 


J871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


63 


so  on;  staff  officers  running  about 
in  all  directions,  endeavouring  to  rec- 
tify mistakes  and  smooth  down  dif- 
ficulties. To  a  civilian  unacquainted 
with  the  working  of  an  army,  and 
the  manner  in  which  various  duties 
are  classified,  divided  and  subdi- 
vided amongst  ranks  and  individ- 
uals, each  having  their  special  work 
assigned  to  them,  such  a  scene  must 
have  been  like  Pandemonium  let 
loose. 

The  boats  being  duly  loaded,  the 
crews  were  put  into  them.  In  more 
than  one  instance  it  was  found  that 
the  men  when  placed  on  the  thwarts 
had  no  room  to  stretch  their  legs 
so  as  to  enable  them  to  row,  and 
a  restowage  of  cargo  had  therefore 
to  be  effected.  All  were  laden  to 
the  utmost  extent  compatible  with 
safety.  Up  to  a  late  hour  the  pro- 
per number  of  voyageurs  had  not 
arrived.  The  original  intention  was 
to  have  three  in  each  boat  who 
were  to  steer  it,  and  manage  it  when 
in  rapid  water — an  art  of  itself 
requiring  great  nerve  as  well  as 
lengthened  experience. 

At  the  last  moment  the  number 
per  boat  had  to  be  reduced  to  two, 
more  not  being  forthcoming. 

The  sun  had  disappeared  for  some 
time  ere,  all  being  in  readiness,  the 
order  was  given  for  this  first  detach- 
ment to  "  shove  off."  It  consisted 
of  two  companies  of  the  60th  Eifles, 
a  detachment  of  Royal  Engineers 
and  of  Eoyal  Artillery,  with  two  7- 
pounder  guns,  all  under  command  of 
Colonel  Feildon  of  the  60th. 

The  wind  had  died  away  com- 
pletely, leaving  the  surface  of  the 
lake  calm  as  a  mirror,  wherein  was 
reflected  only  the  mist  of  the  ap- 
proaching evening.  There  was  no 
hum  of  birds  or  insects  from  the 
woods  which  fringed  its  shores,  no 
swallows  rippled  its  smoothness  in 
their  hunt  after  an  evening  meal. 
Except  at  this  little  spot,  where  we 
.were  all  bustle  and  excitement,  the 


scene  had  the  stillness  of  death  about 
it,  which  in  the  distance  seemed  all 
the  more  deathlike  from  the  con- 
trast between  it  and  the  noise  im- 
mediately around  us.  This  absence 
of  animal  or  even  insect  life  in  the 
North  American  woods  is  one  of 
their  most  striking  characteristics. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  this 
little  flotilla  of  boats  row  off  over 
the  lake  whilst  it  still  glowed  with 
the  golden  tinges  of  the  sun's  last 
rays.  It  called  to  mind  many  an 
account  read  in  early  youth  of  very 
similar  scenes,  when  freebooting 
Norsemen  weighed  anchor  and  shook 
out  their  sails  in  some  secluded  in- 
let bent  upon  adventure.  Except 
that  we  had  rifled  guns  and  cannon, 
our  equipment  and  our  arrangements 
for  overcoming  the  obstacles  of  na- 
ture were  of  a  most  primitive  de- 
scription. It  seemed  curious  that 
a  military  expedition  should  be  fitted 
out  in  such  an  advanced  era  of  civili- 
sation, in  an  age  so  justly  celebrated 
for  its  inventions  and  its  progress  in 
those  arts  and  sciences  which  now 
enter  so  largely  into  the  organisation 
of  armies,  and  yet  that  it  should  not 
be  possible  to  enlist  into  its  services 
the  aid  either  of  steam  or  of  the 
electric  telegraph.  The  sail  and  the 
oar  were  to  be  our  means  of  propul- 
sion, as  they  had  been  those  of  the 
Greeks  and  Romans  in  classic  times ; 
and  when  arrived  at  the  end  of  our 
600  miles'  journey,  we  should  have 
as  much  difficulty  and  as  far  to  send 
in  order  to  communicate  with  even 
the  nearest  telegraph  office,  as  Caesar 
had  when  he  sent  a  messenger  to 
Rome,  announcing  his  successful  de- 
scent upon  our  shores  more  than 
1900  years  ago. 

All  sorts  of  melancholy  prophecies 
had  been  published  in  the  papers  as 
to  the  dangers  we  should  have  to 
encounter.  We  were  to  be  devoured 
by  mosquitoes  and  other  flies.  It 
was  said  the  Indians  themselves 
could  not  live  in  the  woods  during 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


July  ;  others  who  knew  the  country 
declared  that  the  heat  was  then  so 
stifling  that  the  most  acclimatised 
hunters  had  to  forsake  them,  and 
seek  for  air  and  breath  along  the 
shores  of  Lake  Superior.  Many 
asserted  that  the  Indians  would 
never  permit  us  to  pass  through 
their  country  without  enforcing  the 
payment  of  a  large  subsidy;  whilst 
many  laughed  at  the  notion  of  ever 
attempting  to  make  the  journey  to 
Fort  Garry  in  anything  except  bark 
canoes  manned  by  Indians.  When 
told  of  the  description  of  boats  we 
were  taking  with  us,  some  pitied  us 
as  poor  deluded  people,  totally  ig- 
norant of  what  was  before  us;  whilst 
all  these  wiseacres  seemed  to  con- 
sider us  as  men  whom  the  gods  hav- 
ing doomed  to  destruction  had  first 
becrazed. 

Sensible  men  who  had  but  recent- 
ly returned  via  the  United  States 
from  Manitobah  said  that  our  force 
ought  at  least  to  be  three  times 
stronger  than  it  was  :  that  Riel 
was  on  the  look-out  for  our  advance, 
and  intended  to  defend  step  by  step 
and  mile  by  mile  the  difficult  coun- 
try we  should  have  to  pass  through, 
where  a  few  good  huntsmen,  accus- 
tomed to  the  woods,  could  annihilate 
an  army ;  in  fact,  that  General  Brad- 
dock's  fate  was  in  store  for  us,  &c. 
&c.  Never  did  any  expedition  have 
more  lugubrious  prophecies  made 
concerning  it. 

From  time  to  time  the  soldiers 
were,  however,  encouraged  by  intel- 
ligence received  from  Red  River  an- 
nouncing Riel's  determination  to 
show  fight.  The  work  on  the 
Kaministiquia  River  had  been  so 
very  severe,  and  that  of  road-making 
• — always  distasteful  to  soldiers — so 
very  wearisome,  that  all  looked  for- 
ward to  the  embarkation  at  Sheban- 
dowan  Lake  as  a  relief  from  toil,  or 
at  least  regarded  it  as  a  new  phase 
in  the  undertaking  whose  novelty 
alone  would  compensate  for  any 


drawbacks  attendant  upon  it.  From 
the  1st  June  to  the  16th  July  (when 
this  first  detachment  started)  it  had 
rained  upon  twenty-three  days.  Fine 
weather  always  cheers  men  up  when 
in  the  field ;  and  as  the  embarkation 
took  place  on  a  lovely  day,  this  fact, 
added  to  the  novelty  of  the  opera- 
tion, raised  our  animal  spirits.  Even 
the  few  of  a  desponding  tempera- 
ment, who  for  some  time  before  had 
never  ceased  repeating  that  a  start 
Avas  out  of  the  question  "  for  a  long 
time" — even  these  men  were  seen  to 
smile  with  gratification  as  the  boats 
pushed  off  from  shore,  the  men 
cheering  for  "  Fort  Garry." 

No  men  ever  began  an  under- 
taking, notwithstanding  the  evil 
forebodings  of  croakers,  with  lighter 
hearts ;  every  man  seemed  as  if  he 
was  embarking  at  Richmond  for  a 
pleasure-trip  on  the  river;  and  all, 
the  private  just  as  much  as  the 
officer,  appeared  to  take  a  real  earn- 
est interest  in  their  work.  They 
were  pictures  of  good  health  and 
soldier-like  condition.  Whilst  sta- 
tioned at  Prince  Arthur's  Landing, 
and  the  other  larger  camps,  the  men 
had  fresh  meat,  bread,  and  potatoes 
every  day.  No  spirits  were  allowed 
throughout  the  journey  to  Fort 
Garry,  but  all  ranks  had  daily  a 
large  ration  of  tea.  This  was  one 
of  the  very  few  military  expedi- 
tions ever  undertaken  by  English 
troops  where  intoxicating  liquor 
formed  no  part  of  the  daily  ration. 
It  was  an  experiment  based  upon 
the  practice  common  in  Canada, 
where  the  lumbermen,  who  spend 
the  whole  winter  in  the  backwoods, 
employed  upon  the  hardest  labour, 
and  exposed  to  a  freezing  tempera- 
ture, are  allowed  no  spirits,  but 
have  an  unlimited  quantity  of  tea. 
Our  old-fashioned  generals  accept, 
without  any  attempt  to  question  its 
truth,  the  traditional  theory  of  rum 
being  essential  to  keep  British  sol- 
diers in  health  and  humour.  Let 


1871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


65 


us  hope  that  the  experience  we  have 
acquired  during  the  Red  River  Ex- 
pedition may  have  buried  for  ever 
this  old-fogyish  superstition.  Never 
have  the  soldiers  of  any  nation  been 
called  upon  to  perform  more  un- 
ceasingly hard  work;  and  it  may 
be  confidently  asserted,  without 
dread  of  contradiction,  that  no  men 
have  ever  been  more  cheerful  or 
better  behaved  in  every  respect.  No 
spirit-ration  means  no  crime  ;  and 
even  the  doctors,  who  anticipated 
serious  illness  from  the  absence  of 
liquor,  will  allow  that  no  troops 
have  ever  been  healthier  than  we 
were  from  the  beginning  to  the  end 
of  the  operation.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  slight  cases  of  diarrhoea, 
arising  from  change  of  diet,  it  may 
be  said  that  sickness  was  unknown 
amongst  us. 

The  same  busy  scene  was  repeated 
daily  up  to  the  2d  August,  when 
the  last  detachment  started.  The 
weather  had  improved  greatly,  and 
remained  good  until  nearly  the  end 
of  August,  when  it  again  turned  to 
rain.  The  expeditionary  force,  from 
front  to  rear,  covered  the  route  for 
150  miles  ;  but  as  arrangements  had 
been  made  for  communicating  and 
sending  messages  either  backwards 
or  forwards,  and  as  the  officer  com- 
manding the  whole  force  travelled 
about  in  a  bark  canoe,  well  manned 
by  Indians,  going  from  one  detach- 
ment to  another  as  he  considered 
necessary,  all  were  well  in  hand,  and 
under  his  control  for  concentration 
at  any  time,  should  circumstances 
have  required  it  The  officer  com- 
manding each  brigade  had  been 
furnished  with  a  map  of  the  route, 
which,  although  far  from  accurate, 
gave  a  sufficiently  detailed  delinea- 
tion of  the  country  to  enable  them 
to  steer  their  course  by  compass 
across  the  large  lakes.  We  had 
been  promised  an  ample  supply  of 
guides,  but  only  very  few  were  forth- 
coming when  required. 

VOL.    CIX. NO.    DCLXIII. 


The  officer  representing  the  Cana- 
dian Government  with  us,  whose 
duty  it  was  to  have  furnished  them, 
found  at  the  last  moment  that  the 
Indians  he  had  depended  upon  to 
act  in  this  capacity  held  back,  and 
refused  the  "  job  "  upon  all  sorts  of 
excuses.  As  described  in  the  pre- 
vious article,  the  priesthood  of  Can- 
ada being  much  opposed  to  -this 
Expedition,  had  preached  it  down 
everywhere;  and  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  priestly  influence  was 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  Christian 
Indians  settled  near  Fort  William, 
to  prevent  them  from  acting  as  our 
guides.  These  Indians  are  partial- 
ly civilised,  many  of  them  speak 
French,  and  a  considerable  proportion 
can  write  their  own  language  in  a 
character  which  has  been  invented 
especially  for  them.  They  live  in 
houses  clustered  together  on  both 
banks  of  the  Kaministiquia,  a  few 
miles  above  where  it  falls  into  Lake 
Superior.  The  village,  for  such  it 
may  be  called,  is  known  as  the 
"  Mission,"  from  the  Jesuit  -esta- 
blishment there.  They  cultivate 
small  patches  of  ground ;  but  their 
chief  means  of  obtaining  a  liveli- 
hood is  by  hunting  and  fishing,  and 
by  working  for  the  Hudson  Bay 
Company  as  voyageurs  on  the  in- 
land rivers,  transporting  goods  from 
one  post  to  the  others.  This  Expe- 
dition to  Red  River  would  have 
been  a  godsend  to  them  if  they  had 
not  been  tampered  with,  as  it  would 
have  afforded  them  lucrative  em- 
ployment. They  know  every  river, 
lake,  and  portage  in  the  country  as 
far  as  Fort  Francis ;  and  in  previous 
years,  when  exploring  and  surveying 
parties  had  been  at  work  in  their 
country,  they  had  done  good  ser- 
vice in  a  most  willing  and  cheerful 
manner. 

They  are  a  simple-minded  but 
very  superstitious  race,  easily  ruled 
by  the  Jesuit  Father  who  has  spent 
his  life  amongst  them  doing  good. 


66 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


Humour  was  busy  at  this  village 
frightening  them  with  stories  of 
Kiel's  determination  to  fight,  and  of 
the  great  numbers  of  armed  men  at 
liis  back.  These  Christian  Chip- 
pewahs  have  an  extraordinary  dread 
of  war — so  much  so,  that  when  we 
had  reached  Fort  Francis,  the  few 
who  did  accompany  us  so  far  be- 
came terror-stricken  by  the  warlike 
reports  that  Kiel's  emissaries  had 
spread  amongst  the  Indians  in  that 
district,  and  positively  refused  to 
go  any  further.  When  a  little  co- 
ercion was  tried  by  telling  them 
that  we  could  not  afford  to  give 
them  any  provisions  to  take  them 
back  to  their  homes  unless  they 
kept  with  us,  they  bewailed  their 
fate,  many  of  them  with  tears,  say- 
ing they  would  risk  anything  sooner 
than  go  on  where  there  was  to  be 
fighting  —  their  determination  was 
not  to  be  shaken  by  any  arguments 
or  promises.  The  warlike  character- 
istics for  which  the  North  American 
Indian  was  so  celebrated,  if  they  are 
faithfully  described  in  "  Hiawatha  " 
and  Cooper's  novels,  have  disap- 
peared even  from  the  once  celebrated 
tribe  of  Irroquois.  Of  this  latter 
race  we  had  a  considerable  number 
as  voyageurs,  a  large  proportion  of 
whom  were  most  anxious  to  turn 
back  from  Fort  Francis  when  they 
heard  the  startling  accounts  of  the 
number  of  Kiel's  followers,  and  of 
his  determination  to  fight.  Their 
minds  were  only  to  be  quieted  by 
assuring  them  of  the  falseness  of 
these  rumours. 

Shebandowan  Lake,  about  20 
miles  long  and  a  few  wide,  run- 
ning in  a  W.  by  N.  direction,  has 
no  striking  features  to  distinguish  it 
from  thousands  of  other  lakes  in 
Canada.  It  has  about  the  same  pro- 
portion of  islands,  and  the  same 
cliffless  shore  common  to  nearly  all 
of  them.  As  it  is  almost  at  the  sum- 
mit level  forming  the  watershed  be- 
.  tween  the  basins  of  the  St  Lawrence 


and  the  rivers  which  flow  into  Hud- 
son Bay,  no  mountains  abut  upon 
it,  although  there  are  some  hills  in 
the  distance.  The  north  side  had 
been  burnt  over  for  miles  inland, 
where  blackened  trunks  stood  up 
against  the  sky-line  as  one  viewed 
the  shore  from  the  boats.  For  miles 
raspberry-bushes  had  taken  the  place 
of  the  destroyed  forest,  the  fruit  of 
which  supplied  a  good  supper  to  the 
several  detachments  that  had  to 
spend  the  evening  there.  The  south- 
ern side  is  thickly  wooded  with  very 
poor  timber,  poplar  being  the  pre- 
vailing tree;  indeed  there  is  so  much 
rock  and  so  little  soil  everywhere  in 
this  vicinity,  that  it  is  only  wonder- 
ful how  anything  can  grow.  A  por- 
tage of  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
took  us  into  another  lake  about  8 
miles  long,  our  course  over  which 
was  due  north ;  Lac  des  "Mille  Lacs 
was  reached  from  it  by  a  portage  of 
over  a  mile  in  length.  The  latter  is 
a  curiously-shaped  and  straggling  ex- 
panse of  water,  in  which  there  are 
islands  without  number,  many  being 
of  sufficient  size  to  have  great  bays 
stretching  for  miles  into  them.  One 
island  so  closely  resembles  another 
that  it  is  wonderful  how  any  of  us 
found  our  way  over  the  20  miles  to 
be  travelled  before  we  reached  the 
next  portage.  Even  the  brigade,  fur- 
nished with  the  most  experienced 
guides,  strayed  sometimes  for  hours 
out  of  their  course.  Steering  solely 
by  the  compass  took  one  repeatedly 
into  these  large  bays ;  and  nothing  is 
more  disheartening  than  finding  one's 
self  in  a  cul  de  sac  after  a  pull  for 
many  miles  up  one  of  these  bays, 
and  having  to  row  back  again  to 
search  for  another  passage.  Imme- 
diately as  we  passed  out  of  this  lake 
we  had  the  stream  with  us  all  the 
rest  of  our  voyage. 

Having  steered  for  about  the  first 
5  miles  over  this  lake  a  N.W. 
course,  the  general  direction  for 
more  than  100  miles  is  S.W.  :  a 


1871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


67 


slight  detour  is  then  made  to  the 
south,  and  the  rest  of  the  journey 
as  far  as  Fort  Francis  is  in  a  N'.W. 
direction. 

We  shall  not  weary  the  reader 
with  descriptions  of  the  many  lakes 
and  rivers  and  dreary  portages  passed 
over  during  the  journey,  but  in  order 
to  give  a  general  idea  of  the  country, 
we  shall  divide  it  into  three  sections  : 
the  first,  between  Shebandowan  and 
Fort  Francis;  the  second,  from  thence 
to  Fort  Alexander;  and  the  third, 
from  that  place  to  Fort  Garry,  the 
objective  point  of  the  Expedition. 

The  first  section  is  a  dreary  region ; 
unfit,  from  its  sterile  barrenness,  for 
man's  habitation.  Rock,  water,  and 
stunted  trees  everywhere.  When 
it  was  necessary  to  pitch  tents,  we 
seldom  found  enough  soil  for  the 
pegs  to  support  them,  and  were 
forced  to  use  large  stone  instead. 
The  surface  is  covered  with  moss, 
which  in  some  places  was  so  thick 
that,  with  a  blanket  rolled  round  one, 
our  bivouac  had  all  the  softness  of 
a  luxurious  spring  bed.  The  blue- 
berry-bushes were  in  full  fruit  as  we 
went  along,  affording  us  many  a  good 
meal,  and  enabling  us  to  vary  the 
usual  menu  of  salt  pork  and  biscuit. 
We  met  numerous  families  of  In- 
dians, who  thronged  round  our  boats 
begging  for  provisions.  They  were 
an  intolerable  nuisance,  and  so  very 
dirty  that  their  presence  gives  one 
a  sort  of  creeping  sensation.  It  was 
curious  to  see  them  arrive  at  a  por- 
tage, a  family  travelling  generally  in 
two  or  three  canoes.  The  lord  and 
master  would  step  ashore,  pull  his 
canoe  up,  and  shouldering  his  gun 
would  stalk  off  to  the  other  side, 
leaving  his  wife  or  wives,  as  the  case 
might  be,  and  perhaps  his  mother, 
to  carry  over  the  canoes  and  all  their 
worldly  goods. 

We  were  once  pointed  out  an  old 
woman  who  some  years  ago  had  sup- 
ported life,  when  in  a  starving  con- 
dition, by  eating  human  flesh — by  no 


means  an  extraordinary  or  unusual 
occurrence  amongst  those  people  when 
in  such  straits.  She  was  certainly  a 
most  loathsome  creature  to  look  at ; 
her  face  was  so  deeply  wrinkled,  and 
the  wrinkles  so  full  of  dirt,  that  she 
seemed  as  if  tattooed. 

We  generally  spared  these  poor 
creatures  a  little  from  our  ration ; 
whatever  we  gave  them  was'  put 
into  a  pot,  in  which  was  boiled  to- 
gether pork,  flour,  blueberries,  fish, 
biscuit,  &c.  &c.  No  two  things 
could  be  too  incongruous  to  be  boiled 
at  the  same  time.  They  never  roast, 
grill,  or  stew,  boiling  being  their  sole 
idea  of  the  culinary  art.  They  were 
very  fond  of  the  water  in  which  the 
pork  was  boiled,  drinking  it  freely, 
as  if  it  was  some  delicious  beverage. 
They  generally  carried  in  their  canoes 
a  fish-skin  bottle  filled  with  sturgeon- 
oil,  of  which  they  took  copious 
draughts  at  times.  The  women  wear 
their  hair  in  one  long  plait  hanging 
down  behind,  the  men  in  two,  very 
often  joined  at  the  ends.  So  very 
beardless  are  the  men,  that  when  one 
meets  a  canoe  with  Indians  sitting 
in  it,  there  might  often  be  difficulty 
in  distinguishing  the  sexes,  if  it  were 
not  for  this  variety  in  the  number 
of  plaits  with  which  they  are  coifes. 
The  women  always  wear  leggings 
from  the  knee  to  the  ankle,  with  a 
petticoat  reaching  to  the  calf  of  the 
leg ;  an  open  cloth  jacket,  with  a 
sort  of  boddice  supported  by  braces 
over  the  shoulders,  completes  their 
costume.  The  men  were  generally 
clothed  in  woollen  garments,  most- 
ly of  quaint  old-fashioned  patterns 
purchased  at  the  Hudson  Bay  posts. 
Having  become  accustomed  to  the 
coats  made  in  the  style  common 
here  a  hundred  years  ago,  the  In- 
dians will  not  purchase  those  of 
any  other  pattern ;  so  that  the  Com- 
pany, who  have  their  tailoring  done 
in  London,  have  to  get  the  clothes 
they  require  for  exportation  made 
accordingly.  Unlike  their  squaws, 


63 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  E^edition. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


they  almost  always  wear  some  sort 
of  shirt;  and  although  they  are  fre- 
quently without  trousers,  they  never, 
from  earliest  boyhood,  go  without  a 
breech-cloth.  They  seldom  or  never 
build  a  hut  of  even  the  roughest  de- 
scription, living,  as  their  ancestors 
have  done  for  centuries,  in  wigwams 
made  with  birch-bark  stretched  over 
poles  driven  into  the  ground  in  a 
circle,  and  all  meeting  at  the  top. 
An  aperture  is  left  to  serve  as  a  chim- 
ney, for  they  light  a  fire  and  cook 
within  during  cold  weather.  The 
space  left  as  a  door  is  closed  by  a 
curtain.  Altogether  it  is  a  cold  resi- 
dence in  a  climate  where  the  Fahren- 
heit thermometer  ranges  for  months 
from  zero  to  many  degrees  below  it. 

During  the  whole  of  our  journey 
to  Fort  Francis  we  seldom  had  a 
favourable  wind.  Although  this 
added  greatly  to  our  labour  at  the 
oar,  still  it  blew  us  fine  weather. 
Easterly  winds  in  these  regions 
bring  the  evaporations  from  the 
great  lakes,  which  break  into  heavy 
showers  of  rain  against  the  hills 
forming  the  height  of  land.  Most 
of  the  rain  we  had  fell  at  night ; 
and  if  we  occasionally  had  a  wet 
bivouac,  wood  was  plentiful,  and 
we  were  able  to  dry  ourselves  easily 
before  large  fires.  Now  and  then 
we  got  a  slant  of  wind,  and  when 
the  weather  was  fine  there  were 
ample  materials  for  the  artist's  brush, 
the  white  sails  standing  out  so  well 
against  the  dark-green  foliage  com- 
mon to  every  island  and  shore 
throughout  the  route. 

The  only  difficult  and  dangerous 
rapids  in  this  section  were  on  the 
Sturgeon  River,  where  extreme  care 
is  necessary  in  running  them.  A 
number  of  Irroquois  were  perma- 
nently stationed  there  until  all  the 
troops  had  gone  by,  who  took  down 
every  boat,  only  one  being  totally 
wrecked.  It  is  a  fine  sight  to  watch 
these  splendid  boatmen  taking  a 
boat  down.  Four  generally  rowed 


or  paddled ;  two  others  steered,  with 
large-sized  paddles — one  in  the  bow, 
the  other  in  the  stern.  The  post  of 
honour  is  in  the  bow;  and  it  was 
curious  to  see  how  their  eyes  spark- 
led with  fiery  enthusiasm  as  they 
approached  the  roaring,  seething  wa- 
ters, where  the  breaking  of  a  paddle, 
or  a  false  movement  of  any  sort, 
would  send  the  whole  crew  to  cer- 
tain death.  They  seemed  thoroughly 
at  home  at  the  most  trying  moment ; 
for  there  is  generally  in  all  rapids 
one  particular  spot — perhaps  where 
some  back  eddy  from  a  rock  tends 
to  suck  in  everything  that  ap- 
proaches— that  is  the  climax  of  the 
danger,  which,  if  passed  safely,  the 
rest  is  easy  sailing.  The  intensity 
of  the  look  with  which  they  regard 
the  rushing  water  in  front  of  them 
whilst  every  fibre  in  their  powerful 
frames  is  at  its  utmost  tension,  is  a 
thing  to  be  admired,  but  not  to  be 
described  in  words,  nor  even  on 
canvas.  There  is  a  mixture  of 
extreme,  almost  unearthly,  enjoy- 
ment, alloyed  with  a  realisation  of 
the  danger  to  be  encountered,  in 
their  expression,  which  we  never 
remember  having  seen  in  any  face 
before,  except  in  the  countenance  of 
soldiers  at  the  hottest  moment  of 
a  storming -party.  It  bespoke  the 
earnestness  of  men  prepared  to  dare 
anything,  and  who  gloried  and  rev- 
elled in  the  attendant  danger. 

Our  daily  routine  was  as  follows  : 
At  the  first  streak  of  daylight  (occa- 
sionally long  before  it)  the  reveille 
was  sounded,  followed  quickly  by 
a  cry  of  "  Fort  Garry "  from  every 
tent  or  bivouac  fire.  This  was  the 
watchword  of  the  force,  as  "  Arms, 
men,  and  canoes"  ("Anna  virum- 
que  cano")  was  the  punning  motto 
adopted  for  us  by  our  witty  chaplain. 
Tents  were  struck  and  stowed  away 
in  the  boats,  and  all  were  soon  on 
board  and  working  hard  at  the  oar. 
We  halted  for  an  hour  at  8  A.M.  for 
breakfast,  and  again  for  another  hour 


1871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


G9 


for  dinner  at  1  P.M.,  and  finally  for 
the  night  about  6  or  7  P.M.  It  was 
surprising,  after  the  first  week's  prac- 
tice, to  see  the  rapidity  with  which 
the  men  cooked :  they  quickly  be- 
came most  expert  at  lighting  fires, 
cutting  down  trees,  &c.  &c.  The 
sun  soon  burnt  them  a  dark  colour  ; 
indeed  some  became  nearly  black, 
the  reflection  from  the  water  having 
a  very  bronzing  effect  upon  the 
skin.  The  wear  and  tear  upon  their 
clothes  was  excessive :  carrying 
loads  on  their  backs  tore  their 
shirts  and  coats,  whilst  the  con- 
stant friction  from  rowing  soon 
wore  large  holes  in  their  trousers, 
which,  being  patched  with  canvas 
from  the  bags  in  which  the  beans 
or  other  provisions  had  been  car- 
ried, gave  them  a  most  motley 
appearance.  Leading  a  sort  of 
amphibious  life,  they  were  well 
nicknamed  the  "  canvas  -  backed 
ducks."  This  constant  pulling  was 
very  monotonous  employment;  but 
we  had  a  goal  to  reach,  and  all  felt 
that  every  stroke  of  the  oar  brought 
us  nearer  to  it.  The  long  portages 
were  most  trying  to  the  pluck  and 
endurance  of  our  men,-  and  it  is 
very  questionable  whether  the  sol- 
diers of  any  other  nation  would  or 
could  have  gone  through  the  same 
amount  of  physical  labour  that  fell 
to  our  lot  daily.  It  is  upon  such 
occasions  that  we  learn  to  appreciate 
the  full  value  of  the  British  officer. 
He  may  be  idle  in  peace,  but  the 
very  amusements  of  his  idle  hours — 
boating,  shooting,  hunting,  cricket, 
&c.  &c. — fit  him  to  shine,  when 
hard  work  has  to  be  done,  in  a 
manner  that  would  be  impossible 
to  the  spectacled  bookworm  of  Ger- 
many or  the  caftS-lounging  flaneur 
of  France.  Our  officers  carried 
barrels  of  pork  and  other  loads  on 
their  backs  like  the  men;  and  the 
emulation  and  rivalry  between  the 
captains  of  companies,  each  being 
afraid  that  he  should  be  passed  in 


the  race,  soon  spread  to  all  ranks. 
You  had  only  to  tell  a  detachment 
that  some  other  company  had  done 
a  thing  without  any  great  effort,  to 
insure  its  prompt  execution.  There 
was  also  called  into  play  the  rivalry 
between  the  regulars  and  the  mili- 
tia. The  latter  were  determined 
that,  no  matter  what  the  former 
did,  they  would  not  be  beaten. 
The  regulars  were  in  front  all  the 
time.  One  had  only  to  tell  them 
that  they  were  making  so  little  pro- 
gress that  the  militia  complained  of 
being  kept  back  by  their  slowness, 
to  cause  them  to  push  ahead  at  any 
required  speed  ;  and,  vice  versa,  if 
you  told  the  militia  that  the  regu- 
lars were  running  away  from  them, 
each  successive  company  hurried  on 
until  those  in  the  immediate  front 
were  overtaken.  Indeed  it  may  be 
said  that  each  detachment  trod 
iipon  the  heels  of  the  one  before  it, 
all  were  so  eager  to  get  on.  At 
some  shallow  places  the  men  had 
to  get  into  the  water,  and  pull  their 
boats  along  after  them.  Occasion- 
ally it  was  necessary  to  unload  them 
partially  or  entirely,  the  boats  being 
then  run  down  rapids,  or  hauled 
over  the  shallow  spots  into  deep 
water,  where  they  were  re-loaded, 
their  cargoes  being  carried  along  the 
banks  by  the  soldiers.  At  times  it 
blew  very  hard  from  the  west,  so 
that  many  detachments  were  de- 
tained one  or  two  days  on  some 
of  the  large  lakes,  unable  even  to 
start. 

A  voyage  W.  by  N.  of  forty  miles 
across  Eainy  Lake  takes  you  to 
Rainy  River,  upon  the  right  bank 
of  which  stands  Fort  Francis,  two 
miles  from  the  lake.  The  leading 
detachment  reached  this  post  on  the 
4th  August.  They  had  done  two 
hundred  miles  in  nineteen  days, 
having  taken  their  boats,  stores, 
&c.  &c.,  over  seventeen  portages 
in  that  time,  and  having  made  a 
good  practicable  road  at  all  these 


70 


Narrative  of  the  Red  Ricer  Expedition. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


seventeen  places.  The  troops  in 
rear  of  them  Avere  able  to  make  the 
journey  quicker,  as  they  found  a 
made  road  and  rollers  laid  down  for 
the  boats  at  every  portage. 

Fort  Francis,  a  Hudson  Bay 
Company  trading  post,  is  exactly 
due  west  from  Shebandowan  Lake. 
It  is  a  collection  of  one -storied 
wooden  buildings  surrounded  by 
palisading.  Although  dignified  by 
the  high-sounding  title  of  fort,  it 
has  no  military  works  whatever 
about  it.  The  river  bends  here, 
so  that  immediately  in  front  of 
the  place  is  a  very  fine  fall,  about 
twenty -two  feet  in  height,  from 
below  which  the  broken,  boiling, 
bubbling  waters  send  up  volumes 
of  spray,  covering  the  land,  accord- 
ing to  the  direction  of  the  wind, 
with  a  perpetually  -  falling  rain. 
This,  and  the  luxuriant  fertility  of 
the  soil,  causes  the  banks  near  it  to 
be  clothed  with  grass  of  the  bright- 
est green,  affording  the  richest  of 
pasture.  After  the  wilderness  of 
water,  rock,  and  scrubby  wood  that 
we  had  passed  through,  the  sight 
of  cattle  grazing,  and  of  ripe  wheat 
bending  before  the  lightest  wind 
from  the  heaviness  of  the  ear,  was 
most  refreshing.  Only  a  few  acres 
were  under  cultivation,  although 
there  was  a  considerable  clearance  ; 
and  a  large  extent  covered  with 
bushes  bore  evidence  to  there  hav- 
ing been  here  at  one  time  a  good- 
sized  farm.  There  was  a  garden 
close  to  the  dwelling-house,  where 
there  were  peas,  potatoes,  and 
onions  growing,  and  apparently 
going  to  waste,  until  we  arrived  to 
partake  of  them. 

A  mill  for  grinding  corn  had  once 
existed  here,  there  being  water-power 
enough  on  the  spot  to  drive  every 
mill  in  America,  but  it  had  disap- 
peared. There  was  an  air  of  decay 
and  neglect  about  the  whole  place 
that  bespoke  either  poverty  or  want 
of  energy  on  the  part  of  those  in 


charge.  The  half-  breed  race  to 
which  the  officers  of  the  Hudson 
Bay  Company  at  such  posts  gen- 
erally belong  now,  is  extremely 
apathetic — there  is  no  go-aheadness 
about  it ;  and  in  these  out-of-the-way 
localities  the  half-breeds  quickly  go 
back  to  the  manners,  customs,  and 
mode  of  living  of  their  Indian 
mothers.  They  live  upon  fish  as 
their  Indian  ancestors  did,  and,  like 
them,  have  no  appreciation  of  the 
value  of  cleanliness  or  order. 

By  the  rules  of  the  Company  it 
is  compulsory  to  have  at  each  post 
an  ice-house,  a  garden,  and  a  few 
cows  ;  so  they  have  them,  but  they 
seem  to  care  for  none  of  these 
things. 

The  fertile  belt  of  land  along  the 
north  bank  of  Rainy  River  is  only 
about  a  mile  in  width,  great  swamps 
existing  between  it  and  the  chain 
of  lakes  which  lies  to  the  northward. 
There  had  been  a  large  Indian  en- 
campment here  during  the  early 
part  of  July,  it  being  a  great  annual 
resort  for  the  surrounding  tribes  ; 
but  this  summer,  as  they  expected 
our  arrival  amongst  them,  they  had 
collected  from  all  quarters  in  the 
hope  of  obtaining  presents.  They 
also  wished  to  appear  imposing  by 
their  numbers,  so  as  to  enhance  the 
value  of  their  goodwill  towards  us, 
and  to  impress  upon  the  white-faced 
soldier  how  formidable  they  might 
be  as  enemies.  Unfortunately  for 
the  success  of  their  intentions,  we 
were  not  able  to  start  for  at  least 
six  weeks  after  the  time  originally 
proposed  for  our  departure  from 
Shebandowan ;  so  that  as- days  wore 
on.  and  there  was  no  sign  of  our 
arrival,  the  crowd  grew  weary  of 
waiting,  particularly  as  the  supply 
of  fish  in  the  neighbourhood  became 
exhausted,  there  being  so  many 
mouths  to  feed.  The  Government 
had  early  in  the  preceding  winter 
sent  a  gentleman  to  Fort  Francis 
for  the  purpose  of  keeping  the 


1871.] 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


71 


Indians  of  that  district  quiet,  and 
preventing  them  from  being  tam- 
pered with  by  Eiel.  He  had  exert- 
ed his  influence — which  was  con- 
siderable— to  induce  them  to  dis- 
perse, fearing  that  their  presence 
might  lead  to  collision  with  the 
soldiery  when  engaged  in  carrying 
stores  and  boats  over  the  portage  on 
which  stood  the  Indian  wigwams. 
His  persuasions,  and  that  most 
potent  of  arguments,  an  empty 
stomach,  soon  caused  them  to 
leave ;  so  that  when  we  arrived  not 
more  than  about  a  dozen  lodges  re- 
mained, although  their  uncovered 
poles  stood  thickly  around,  remind- 
ing one  of  the  way  poles  are  piled 
together  in  a  field  at  home  when 
the  hops  have  been  picked. 

Colonel  Wolseley  had  several 
"  pow-wows "  with  those  that  re- 
mained. A  hideous  old  chief  named 
Crooked-neck,  from  the  manner  in 
which  his  head  was  set  on  his 
shoulders,  was  the  principal  speaker. 
He  was  very  old  and  very  dirty, 
and,  in  the  name  of  his  people,  made 
most  exorbitant  demands  in  stating 
the  terms  on  which  they  were  pre- 
pared to  allow  us  permanently  to 
open  out  a  route  through  their 
territory.  There  was  much  difficulty 
in  making  them  understand  that  the 
military  necessities  of  our  position 
rendered  it  impossible  for  us  to  have 
brought  them  up  large  presents,  but 
that  whatever  it  was  settled  by  the 
Government  of  Canada  they  were  to 
receive  should  be  given  to  them 
next  year.  There  was  the  usual 
talk  about  loyalty  to  the  Great 
Mother,  and  of  their  desire  to  live 
on  good  terms  with  their  white 
brothers.  They  said  that  the  pas- 
sage of  so  many  boats  through  their 
waters  had  frightened  their  fish,  so 
that  but  little  was  now  to  be  had  ; 
.and  complained  of  our  men  having 
at  many  places  thrown  empty  bar- 
rels into  the  rivers,  which  scared  the 
pike  and  sturgeon,  alleging  that 


even  the  grease  from  these  barrels 
had  been  generally  destructive  to 
fish  of  all  sorts.  Some  one  had 
put  this  idea  into  their  heads,  and 
there  was  no  eradicating  it. 

The  costumes  of  these  people  were 
very  grotesque,  and  all  the  warriors 
painted  their  faces  most  fantastically 
with  red,  yellow,  or  green.  A  fine 
tall  fellow  had  one  side  of  his  'face 
painted  black  and  the  other  red,  his 
coat  being  also  of  two  colours  simi- 
larly divided.  All  wore  a  blanket 
wrapped  round  their  bodies,  which 
gave  them  the  appearance  of  height. 

Fort  Francis,  or  rather  the  ground 
about  it,  has  a  sacred  repute  with 
them;  and  here  take  place  annually 
their  medicine  ceremonies,  a  sort  of 
secret  orgie,  beginning  with  eating 
the  flesh  of  dogs — white  ones  if  they 
are  to  be  had — and  ending  by  ini- 
tiating those  anxious  for  instruction 
into  various  mysteries,  and  the  use  of 
many  herbs. 

Previous  to  leaving  Prince  Ar- 
thur's Landing,  Colonel  Wolseley 
had  sent  a  proclamation  into  the 
Red  River  Settlement,  informing  the 
people  of  the  objects  of  the  Expedi- 
tion, and  calling  upon  all  loyal  men 
to  assist  him  in  carrying  them  out. 
Copies  of  it  were  sent  to  the  Pro- 
testant and  Roman  Catholic  bishops, 
also  to  the  Governor  of  the  Hudson 
Bay  Company  at  Fort  Garry,  who 
were  at  the  same  time  requested  by 
letter  to  take  measures  for  pushing 
on  the  road  to  the  Lake  of  the 
Woods,  already  partially  made.  It 
was  never  anticipated  that  this  road 
could  be  completed  in  time  for  us  to 
use  it,  even  should  there  be  no  hos- 
tilities ;  but  it  was  considered  ad- 
visable to  impress  Riel  with  the  idea 
that  we  intended  advancing  by  that 
route,  so  that,  in  case  he  was  bent 
upon  fighting,  he  would  frame  all 
his  calculations  upon  a  wrong  basis, 
and  make  his  preparations  along  it 
for  our  reception.  This  ruse  was 
successful ;  for  we  learned  at  Fort 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


Francis  that  he  had  armed  men  on 
the  look-out  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  where  he  thought  we  should  dis- 
embark on  the  shores  of  the  Lake  of 
the  Woods.  A  loyal  half-breed  of 
undoubted  character  had  been  de- 
spatched early  in  June  from  Prince 
Arthur's  Landing  for  the  purpose  of 
going  into  the  Red  River  Settlement 
by  the  Lake  of  the  Woods  road,  and 
of  obtaining  reliable  information  as 
to  the  state  of  atfairs  there  up  to  the 
latest  possible  date  that  he  could  re- 
main, compatible  with  his  meeting 
Colonel  Wolseley  at  Fort  Francis  on 
the  31st  July.  This  service  was 
faithfully  performed.  He  had  left 
his  home  in  the  Indian  settlement 
on  the  lower  Red  River  on  the  20th 
July,  bringing  letters  for  that  officer 
from  the  Protestant  bishop  and 
others,  containing  information  as  to 
the  supplies  of  fresh  beef  and  flour 
we  could  calculate  upon  obtaining 
at  Fort  Garry,  and  interesting  but 
melancholy  accounts  of  how  things 
stood  there.  It  was  essential  that 
the  commander  of  the  Expedition 
should  have  the  latest  and  most 
reliable  information  as  to  the  rebel 
movements  and  Riel's  intentions 
before  leaving  Fort  Francis;  for  it 
was  necessary  to  decide  upon  the 
final  plan  of  operations  there,  as 
beyond  that  place  we  should  be,  one 
might  say,  in  rebel  territory,  or  at 
least  where  it  would  always  be  pos- 
sible to  attack  us.  The  scanty  in- 
telligence supplied  by  the  Canadian 
Ministry  was  not  to  be  relied  upon, 
as  it  came  chiefly  from  disloyal 
sources,  and  had  always  percolated 
through  rebel  sympathising  chan- 
nels before  it  reached  us.  Under 
any  circumstances  it  is  difficult  for 
a  civilian  to  collect  or  to  convey 
useful  military  information.  General 
Lindsay  had  therefore  sent  a  sharp, 
intelligent  officer,  who  knew  the 
north-west  country  and  its  people, 
round  through  the  United  States  to 
Pembina,  with  instructions  to  act 


upon  his  own  judgment  as  to  his 
further  progress  from  thence,  but 
under  any  circumstances  to  adopt 
measures  for  communicating  with 
Colonel  Wolesley  at  Fort  Francis. 
He  was  most  successful,  having 
managed  to  get  to  the  Lower  Fort, 
where  he  remained  some  days 
amongst  the  loyal  inhabitants. 
Leaving  on  the  24th  July,  by  tra- 
velling incessantly  he  reached  Fort 
Francis  on  the  same  day  as  the 
leading  detachment  of  the  force. 
He  described  the  people  as  panic- 
stricken — the  English  and  French 
speaking  populations  being  mutually 
afraid  of  one  another,  and  both 
being  in  the  direst  dread  of  the 
Indians.  The  messages  sent  to  us 
verbally,  as  well  as  by  letter,  were 
all  in  the  same  strain — "  Come  on 
as  quickly  as  you  can,  for  the  aspect 
of  affairs  is  serious  and  threatening." 
Riel  and  his  gang  had  been  for  some 
time  past  busy  in  removing  their 
plunder  from  Fort  Garry,  distributing 
it  amongst  his  friends,  and  in  places 
of  safety  within  the  United  States 
territory.  This  looked  as  if  he  was 
preparing  to  bolt,  although  he  still 
ruled  every  one  most  despotically. 
His  great  anxiety  —  now  that  the 
rebel  aspirations  had  been  satisfied 
by  the  Manitobah  Bill — was  that  he 
himself  should  have  an  amnesty  for 
the  crimes  he  had  been  guilty  of. 
The  Government  would  have  will- 
ingly given  him  an  amnesty  for  all 
his  political  offences,  but  such  would 
not  have  protected  him  from  the 
charge  of  having  wilfully  and  in 
cold  blood  murdered  a  loyal  subject. 
Therein  lay  the  difficulty;  for,  anx- 
ious as  the  Cartier  party  might  be 
to  secure  him  from  all  punishment, 
it  was  known  that  the  English- 
speaking  people  of  Canada  would 
not  tolerate  his  being  protected  from 
legal  proceedings  in  that  matter. 
The  rebellion  had  obtained  for  Bi- 
shop Tach£  and  his  party  all  that 
even  the  most  sanguine  had  expect- 


1871.]          Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Part  II. 


ed  from  it;  and  he  was  naturally 
afraid  lest  Kiel,  from  personal  mo- 
tives and  fear  of  punishment,  might 
upset  the  whole  arrangement  by  at- 
tempting to  resist.  He  was  wise 
enough  to  know  that  nothing  was 
to  be  gained,  whilst  everything  al- 
ready gained  was  to  be  lost,  by  an 
appeal  to  arms.  He  therefore  strain- 
ed every  nerve  at  this  juncture  to 
keep  Kiel  quiet.  He  had  left  for 
Canada  with  the  especial  object  of 
procuring  an  amnesty  by  which  he 
should  be  held  entirely  blameless  ; 
and  this  wily  priest  had  impressed 
upon  him  the  certainty  of  his  being 
able  to  obtain  it,  his  influence  being 
so  powerful  at  Ottawa.  Riel  knew 
not  what  to  do  :  at  one  moment  he 
talked  of  resistance ;  then,  when  the 
word  amnesty  was  whispered  in  his 
ear,  and  visions  of  future  political 
greatness  came  up  before  him,  he 
would  announce  his  intention  of 
coming  out  to  meet  us  for  the  pur- 
pose of  handing  over  the  govern- 
ment of  the  country  to  the  com- 
mander of  the  Expedition.  The  re- 


sult of  this  hesitation  was  that  he 
did  notliing ;  and  his  followers  -kept 
dropping  off  from  him  daily  in  con- 
sequence. 

He  still  held  Fort  Garry  with  an 
armed  garrison,  and  his  published 
proclamations  at  the  time,  although 
indicative  of  declining  power  on  his 
part,  were  by  no  means  sufficiently 
reassuring  or  peaceable  in  their  tone 
to  warrant  any  departure  from  all 
military  precautions  by  us.  Orders 
were  therefore  given  to  the  leading 
detachments  to  approach  Rat  Port- 
age, at  the  entrance  to  Winni- 
peg River,  with  the  greatest  care, 
and  to  take  measures  for  guarding 
against  surprise  or  ambush,  as  it  was 
a  very  likely  place  for  an  attack, 
should  Riel  mean  fighting.  The 
first  detachment  having  arrived  at 
Fort  Francis  on  the  4th  of  August, 
and  portaged  its  boats,  &c.,  round 
the  falls  there,  started  again  that 
same  afternoon. 

A  narrative  of  our  further  doings 
during  the  journey  will  be  given  in, 
next  month's  number. 


Fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


[Jan. 


FAIR    TO    SEE. — PART    I. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  shooting  season  of  the  year 
186-,  — the  great  and  glorious 
"  Twelfth," — was  drawing  near,  and 
the  prospects  and  the  hopes  there- 
with connected  were  one  wet  -Sun- 
day afternoon  the  subject  of  deep 
discussion  in  the  mess-room  of  the 
— th,  then  quartered  in  the  New 
Barracks  at  Gosport.  The  regiment 
had  very  lately  returned  from  a  tour 
of  foreign  service ;  and  this  circum- 
stance entitled  the  officers  to  two 
months'  extra  leave  of  absence,  as 
soon  and  in  such  proportions  as  they 
could  be  spared  from  "  duty. "  About 
half  of  their  number,  made  up  of 
those  who  did  not  specially  affect 
sport,  and  of  those  whose  juniority 
deprived  them  of  a  voice  in  the 
matter,  were  already  availing  them- 
selves of  this  privilege ;  and  thus 
the  approaching  months  of  August 
and  September  were  left  open  to 
those  who  remained  behind — gen- 
tlemen for  whom  the  crow  of  the 
"  muir-cock  "  and  the  whirr  of  the 
partridge  were  that  very  soul  of 
music  for  which  they  had  been 
yearning  all  the  last  four  years  in 
a  tropical  station. 

The  company,  therefore,  lounging 
in  the  mess-room  after  church -par- 
ade and  luncheon  on  the  Sunday  in 
question,  being  mostly  of  one  per- 
suasion as  to  sport — with  one  faith, 
one  hope,  and,  for  the  present  at 
least,  one  idea — formed  a  harmonious 
and  happy  assemblage,  and  the  com- 
mon idea  was  very  thoroughly  ven- 
tilated. The  special  qualities  of  the 
old  "  muzzier,"  the  various  modifi- 
cations of  the  "pin"  breech-loader 
and  the  "  central-fire,"  the  rival 
merits  of  Henry,  and  Dickson,  and 
Purdie,  and  Dougal,  were  gone  into 
at  full  length  ;  pointers  and  setters, 


retrievers  and  terriers — dogs  of  all 
degrees  —  had  their  due  share  of 
attention;  nor,  in  the  exhaustive 
treatment  of  the  subject,  was  a  place 
denied  to  the  minor  equipments  of 
the  "  shikari,"  which  were  all  laid 
on  the  tapis,  and  sat  upon  with  the 
solemnity  befitting  subjects  of  such 
grave  importance. 

Sportsmen — or,  as  we  should  per- 
haps rather  say,  men  talking  about 
sport — are  apt  to  repeat  themselves ; 
and  undoubtedly  this  tendency  to 
iteration  is  one  of  the  deadliest 
nuisances  to  which  flesh,  in  club 
and  smoking  room,  is  heir.  Who 
does  not  tremble  when  the  hunting 
Munchausen  gets  into  his  saddle? 
when  the  nautical  proser  clears  out 
of  harbour  ?  when  the  shooting  Bore 
plants  his  foot  upon  his  native 
heath,  and  opens  fire  with  his  mon- 
otonous barrels  1 

But  here,  all  being  of  the  same 
mind,  none  were  dissatisfied ;  and 
though  every  one  who  had  an  idea 
or  an  opinion  repeated  it  emphati- 
cally not  less  than  seventeen  or 
eighteen  times,  the  hearing  vouch- 
safed to  each  successive  utterance 
was  perfectly  patient  and  respectful. 
Why  not?  Here  all  interests  were 
respected,  here  perfect  reciprocity 
was  established ;  and  under  such 
circumstances,  this  conversational 
method  has  the  very  tangible  ad- 
vantage of  killing  a  wet  afternoon 
with  a  minimum  tear  and  wear  of 
mind,  of  which  we  can  never  be  too 
saving.  By  degrees  the  conversa- 
tion passed  to  the  plans  and  pros- 
pects of  individuals  for  the  next  two 
months. 

"What  lucky  fellows  are  going 
north  for  the  'Twelfth']"  asked 
one  of  the  party. 


1871.] 

"I  am,"  and  "I  am,"  and  "I 
am,"  rose  from  several  voices. 

"  AND  I  AM  ! "  cried  Fuskis- 
son,  a  little  white  ensign,  speaking 
in  large  capitals  with  a  voice  like  a 
Jew's  harp. 

"And  I  am  NOT!"  shouted 
M'Niven,  the  adjutant  —  a  large, 
loud,  red,  portentous-looking  Scot, 
whose  nationality,  combined  with 
certain  peculiarities  of  diction,  had 
procured  for  him  the  sobriquet  of 
"  Ossian." 

"  But  I  AM,"  persisted  Fuskis- 
son,  as  if  in  that  fact  M'Niven  ought 
to  find  ample  compensation.  "  Old 
Gosset,  my  father's  partner,  has 
again  come  to  the  front ;  and  this 
will  be  my  second  innings  at  Braxy. 
Luck  for  me,  isn't  it1?  Braxy  is 
something  like  a  billet.  You  can 
bag  your  five-and-twenty  brace  there 
any  day,  don't  you  know?  besides 
hooking  your  salmon  in  Kelt  water 
in  the  morning,  don't  you  see  ?  and 
then  the  feeding  and  the  liquor, 
mind  you !  Pass  that  bottle  of 
sherry,  some  one,  that  I  may  drink 
old  Cosset's  health." 

"  Pearls  cast  unto  the  swine  !  " 
thundered  M 'Niven.  "  Pearls  cast 
utterly  to  a  very  foul  sort  of  swine, 
pale-faced  descendant  of  the  Fuski. 
It  has  now  come  to  this,  that  huck- 
stering aldermen, — bloated,  gouty- 
hooved,  asthmatic,  turtle-eating  al- 
dermen, with  their  puny  brood  of 
alderruanikins  like  you,  desecrate 
the  heather,  demoralise  the  game, 
and  suck  up  all  the  ozone  from 
Scotia's  violated  breezes ;  while  I, 
Niven,  sad  son  of  Niven  and  of 
the  mountain,  pine  grouseless  in  this 
southern  cell." 

"  Are  you  going  really  to  pine  all 
the  leave-season  in  your  southern 
cell,  Ossian?"  asked  Fuskisson, 
who  took  the  adjutant's  magnilo- 
quent personalities  with  perfect  com- 
posure. 

"  '  My  poverty,  but  not  my  will, 
consents." " 


Fair  to  Sec.— Part  I. 


75 


"  Neither  my  poverty  nor  my 
will  consents,"  said  Bertrand  Cam- 
eron, a  handsome,  smart  -  looking 
subaltern ;  "  but,  all  the  same,  it 
seems  as  if  I  were  doomed  to  share 
Ossian's  cell  with  him.  Here  am  I 
with  the  frugal  savings  of  two  years, 
saved  for  the  very  purpose  of  get- 
ting some  shooting  in  Scotland  when 
we  came  home ;  here  am  I,  author 
of  seven  advertisements  on  the  sub- 
ject, still  unprovided  with  a  moor ; 
that  is,  Pigott  and  I — for,  of  course, 
I  could  not  go  in  for  the  whole 
thing  by  myself;  so  as  Pigott  is  in 
the  same  boat  with  me,  he  will 
make  a  third  for  the  cell,  if  some- 
thing doesn't  turn  up  soon." 

"  Have  you  looked  in  to-day's 
'  Field '  ? "  asked  one  of  the  party. 

"  No,  I  haven't.     Has  it  come  ? " 

"Yes;  and  I  heard  some  of  the 
fellows  at  breakfast  reading  and 
laughing  over  an  advertisement  of 
a  Scotch  shooting  in  it." 

"  Oh  !  a  '  Tommiebeg,'  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  I  don't  know :  you'd  better  have 
a  look  at  it." 

"  I  wonder  where  it  is." 

"  Dent  took  it  to  his  room  after 
breakfast,"  said  Fuskisson.  "  I  saw 
him  going  away  with  it." 

"Well,  as  he's  your  captain,  you're 
responsible  for  him ;  go  and  bring  it, 
and  tell  him  he's  fined." 

"  I  daren't  go  near  him  just  now  ; 
he's  awfully  savage  at  me.  Fancy 
his  cheek !  he  ordered  me  to  come 
and  load  cartridges  for  him  till  lun- 
cheon ;  and  when  I  told  him  it  was 
against  my  principles  to  labour  on 
Sunday,  he  said, '  All  right,  it's  against 
my  principles  to  pay  the  company 
for  the  next  fortnight,  so  you  must 
do  it,  my  boy.'  And  when  I  said, 
'  D — n  it,  that's  fagging,'  he  said, 
'Mr  Fuskisson,  you  mustn't  swear 
on  the  Sabbath-day  in  your  captain's 
quarters ;  leave  them,  sir,  and  pay 
the  men  for  the  next  three  weeks  ; 
another  oath  and  I'll  make  it  a  month, 


76 


Fair  to  See.— Part  L 


[Jan. 


and  cut  you  out  of  Braxy  altogether.' 
The  beast !  why  did  you  post  me  to 
his  company,  Ossian?" 

"  Dent  is  wise  ! "  thundered 
M'Niven — "  Dent  is  a  philosopher  ; 
Dent,  by  the  Mass,  is  Scriptural !  he 
spares  not  the  rod,  lest  he  spoil  this 
Cockney  bantling." 

"I'll  send  a  mess-waiter  for  it, 
then,"  said  Cameron ;  and  in  due 
time  the  paper  was  brought  and  ex- 
amined by  one  of  the  party. 

"  Here  it  is,"  he  cried,  with  a  laugh, 
after  scanning  the  columns  for  a  min- 
ute or  two.  "  Here  it  is — and  the 
very  thing,  Bertrand,  for  you  and 
Pigott.  Shootings  in  the  bosom  of 
a  family  of  distinction ;  a  happy 
hunting-ground,  combined  with  a 
happy  home  !  Everything  extra ;  all 
questions  to  be  asked  by  the  adver- 
tiser, and  none  answered  by  him ; 
verified  copy  of  pedigree  to  be  for- 
warded, and  sketch  of  armorial  bear- 
ings. Capital !  capital ! " 

"  What  does  the  fellow  mean  ?" 

"  Listen " — and  he  read  as  fol- 
lows: 


"  TO  SPORTSMEN.— SHOOTINGS  ix 
THE  HIGHLANDS. — A  gentleman  of  for- 
tune and  position,  having  rented  for  the 
ensuing  season  the  celebrated  shootings 
of  Cairnarvoch,  in  the  county  of  —  — , 
•which  are  too  extensive  for  his  require- 
ments, in  consequence  of  his  having  been 
disappointed  of  the  partnership  of  his  son 
and  another  gentleman,  is  willing  to  sub- 
let shooting  for  two  guns  at  £100  per 
gun.  The  MANSION-HOUSE  OF  CAIRNAR- 
VOCH is  large  and  commodious,  and  hav- 
ing more  accommodation  than  is  required 
by  the  advertiser,  he  would  be  prepared 
to  admit  gentlemen  sharing  the  shooting 
to  a  share  also  of  the  house  ;  and  as  his 
establishment  is  on  the  handsomest  scale, 
an  arrangement  might  be  made  whereby 
the  gentlemen  (ou  terms  hereafter  to  be 
agreed  upon)  should,  to  obviate  the  in- 
convenience of  separate  establishments, 
join  his  family  circle  ;  but  in  this  case, 
as  there  are  ladies  of  refinement  in  the 
family,  the  most  satisfactory  references 
as  to  position  and  character  would  be 
required.  Application  to  be  made  to 
Messrs  Buncombe  &  M'Nab,  Solicitors, 
Gray's  Inu,  London." 


"  That  sounds  an  odd  sort  of  pro- 
posal," said  Bertrand. 

"  To  me  it  sounds  very  eligible," 
said  another. 

"How  about  the  family  circle, 
though?" 

"  Oh  !  that  would  be  the  best  of 
it.  Only  read  that  advertisement ; 
mark  the  suggested  glories  of  the.  ad- 
vertiser—  his  wealth,  his  social  posi- 
tion, the  size  of  his  household,  the 
refinement  of  his  ladies — and  say  if 
it  escapes  your  eagle  eye  that  this 
man  would  be  a  mine  of  fun  ?  and 
the  ladies,  Bertrand,  think  of  them  ; 
if  the  shooting  is  only  passable,  que 
voulez-vous  ?  " 

"  You  seem  to  forget,"  said  Pigott, 
"  that  my  object  is  the  shooting,  not 
to  trot  out  ridiculous  old  gentlemen, 
or  to  flirt  with  their  daughters.  One 
can  do  that  here,  anywhere,  without 
the  trouble  and  expense  of  a  journey 
to  the  Highlands.  The  shooting 
must  be  much  more  than  passable  to 
satisfy  me,  I  can  tell  you.  Now  I 
should  not  expect  this  shooting  to 
be  much ;  the  man  is  in  a  hole,  and 
wants  to  get  out  of  it  as  cheaply  as 
possible,  small  blame  to  him — but 
the  whole  thing  smacks  of  'Tommie- 
beg.'  Does  any  one  know  anything 
about  Cairnarvoch  ? " 

"  Know  Cairnarvoch  V  thundered 
M'Niven.  "  Ay,  well  I  know  it — 
paradise  of  sport ;  look  you,  a  para- 
dise. Grouse,  capercailzie,  ptarmi- 
gan, blue  hares,  black -game,  and 
rabbits,  woodcock,  snipe,  and  roe, 
swarm  on  its  hills  and  make  the 
welkin  black." 

"  Which  being  interpreted  means 
that  the  shooting  is  first-rate?" 

"  All  that  the  sporting  heart  de- 
sires. Too  good,  alack !  if  gouty 
hooves  of  pampered  aldermen  and 
the  be-turtled " 

"  Oh  !  spare  us,  spare  us,  Ossian : 
you  can  recommend  the  shooting, 
seriously?" 

"  On  soul  and  conscience,  Came- 
ron, I  can," 


1871.] 

"  Come,  that  alters  the  case,"  said 
Cameron. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Pigott? 
After  all,  the  people  won't  matter 
much,  if  they  give  us  plenty  to  eat 
and  drink ;  open  air  all  day  and  early 
hours  at  night ;  what  do  you  say, 
PigottP 

"I  can't  say  anything  about  it 
till  I've  thought  it  over,  talked  it 
over,  and  smoked  over  it.  I'm  going 
to  my  quarters  now  :  you  can  come 
if  you  like,  and  we'll  do  all  three  to- 
gether. "  Whereupon  the  two  friends 
left  the  mess-room  together. 

As  these  two  gentlemen  are  to 
play  conspicuous  parts  in  our  story, 
it  may  here  be  as  well  to  say  some- 
thing of  them  by  way  of  introduc- 
tion— albeit  it  is  far  from  our  in- 
tention to  act  the  part  of  the  mas- 
ter of  ceremonies  in  the  unsophis- 
ticated days  of  the  drama,  shout- 
ing, at  each  new  entrance,  "  Here 
cometh  in  '  Spotless  -  Modesty ' ! " 
"  Enter  the  <  Soul -of- Honour' !" 
"  Listen  to  '  Refinement -of -Man- 
ners,' " — and  so  on.  It  is  no  part  of 
our  plan  to  thrust  upon  readers  an 
inventory  of  all  the  vices  and  virtues, 
graces,  adornments,  specks  and  flaws 
of  each  character  at  the  outset,  and 
so  to  send  each  character  "  on  "  with 
his  raison  d'etre  hung  as  a  foregone 
conclusion  about  his  neck. 

Our  dramatis  personce  shall  speak 
and  act  for  themselves ;  and  every 
one  shall  be  at  liberty  to  refer  the 
deeds  and  words  reported  to  such 
springs  as  may  appear  to  each  to  be 
their  legitimate  sources.  In  this 
way  the  reader's  right  of  private 
judgment  shall  not  be  filched  from 
him,  and  in  one  respect,  at  least,  the 
writer  shall  avoid  committing  him- 
self. 

But  as  in  everyday  life,  before 
presenting  one  person  to  another, 
we  commonly,  when  we  have  the 
opportunity,  furnish  each  with  some 
slight  renseignements  of  the  other ; 
so  it  is  necessary  to  say  something 


Fair  to  See.— Part  I. 


77 


by  way  of  introduction  to  the  per- 
sonages who  from  time  to  time  make 
their  appearance  on  our  little  stage. 
On  this  principle,  let  us  introduce 
the  two  gentlemen  who  have  retired 
for  consultation  ;  and  first,  Lieuten- 
ant Bertrand  Cameron,  of  H.M.'s 
— th  Regiment  of  Infantry.  He  was 
the  only  son  of  a  gentleman  of  very 
ancient  and  distinguished  family  in 
the  Scottish  Highlands,  who,  in  ad- 
dition to  a  long  yet  authentic  ped- 
igree, had  inherited  a  property  not 
only  magnificent  in  territorial  ex- 
tent, but  yielding  a  revenue  which, 
even  according  to  Low  -  country 
standards,  was  magnificent.  These 
combined  advantages  made  the  Laird 
somewhat  of  a  rara  avis  in  the 
Highlands ;  and  it  would  have  been 
well  for  him  if  he  had  been  satisfied 
with  that  distinction ;  but  it  was  not 
so.  If  his  fortune  was  large,  his  ideas 
were  on  a  much  more  extensive 
scale.  He  aspired  to  be  a  rara  avis 
wherever  he  went.  The  prestige  of 
his  feudal  grandeur  in  the  north  he 
supported  in  London  and  in  Paris 
with  a  splendid  recklessness ;  and 
what  with  that  and  the  turf,  and 
play,  and  an  extravagant  wife,  and 
that  laissez-aller  easiness  of  disposi- 
tion as  to  the  state  of  his  affairs, 
which  marks  its  possessor  as  a  sure 
prey  for  every  class  of  marauder,  a 
very  few  years  had  reduced  the 
Laird  to  a  state  of  desperate  embar- 
rassment. The  nursing  and  re- 
trenchment which  might  in  time 
have  restored  the  property  was  im- 
possible to  him ;  a  run  of  luck  at 
the  tables,  a  fortunate  coup  on  the 
turf, — such  are  the  only  resources 
which  appear  available  to  men  of 
his  disposition  and  training ;  and 
just  at  this  time  railway  speculation, 
which  was  at  its  most  frenzied 
height,  offered  him  an  obvious  sand- 
bank wherein  to  drop  the  mangled 
remains  of  his  fortune.  Of  course 
he  availed  himself  of  it,  and  six 
months  thereafter  his  property  was 


78 


Fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


brought  to  the  hammer,  and,  fol- 
lowed by  sincere  regret,  Mr  Cameron 
disappeared  from  the  social  orbit  in 
which  he  had  been  some  time  a 
particular  star. 

From  a  rental  of  £20,000  a-year 
nothing  was  saved — absolutely  no- 
thing. It  was,  indeed,  fortunate 
that  his  wife  had  a  few  hundreds 
a-year  in  her  own  right;  for  on  this 
pittance  they  had  to  depend  entirely 
for  subsistence,  and  on  this  they 
settled  down  in  an  obscure  little 
town  in  France — to  "  make  the  best 
of  it."  When  calamities  of  this  sort 
come  upon  people  well  advanced  in 
years,  they  have  some  consolation  in 
feeling  that  they  have  had  a  long 
spell  of  the  brighter  side  of  life,  and 
that,  if  the  evil  days  have  come  at 
last,  their  duration  cannot  be  very 
protracted;  but  here  was  a  couple 
not  yet  near  middle  life,  with  a  very 
short  and  very  brilliant  past  behind 
them,  and  a  very  long  and  very 
dreary  future  in  front,  quite  without 
hope  of  a  change  for  the  better. 
The  prospect  was  too  much  for  Mr 
Cameron.  He  "  made  the  best  of 
it"  by  declining  to  face  the  situa- 
tion, and  died  in  a  few  months  of 
that  mixture  of  regret,  disgust,  ennui, 
and  despair  which  constitutes  a  very 
real  and  fatal  disease,  however  much 
it  may  be  sneered  at  when  described 
as  "a  broken  heart."  His  widow 
settled  at  Brussels  with  her  only 
child  Bertrand ;  but  she  did  not 
very  long  survive  her  husband  and 
her  fortunes ;  and  before  he  was  ten 
years  old  Bertrand  was  an  orphan, 
left  to  the  guardianship  of  his  uncle. 
This  uncle  was  Roland  Cameron, 
who,  though  the  younger  brother  of 
his  ward's  father,  had  also  inherited 
a  very  good  property  in  the  High- 
lands. The  estate  in  question  had 
been  for  centuries  possessed  by  the 
Camerons ;  and  though  it  was  not 
entailed,  it  had  been  the  family 
custom,  by  a  system  not  uncommon 
in  Scotland  (which  has  been  a  fruit- 


[Jan. 

ful  source  of  litigation  and  hardship), 
that  it  should  be  held  by  him  who, 
for  the  time  being,  was  next  in  suc- 
cession to  the  principal  estate. 

This  system  had,  however,  been 
abolished  by  Roland's  father  in  his 
favour ;  he,  in  consideration,  it  was 
supposed,  of  the  greatly  enhanced 
value  of  the  first  property,  having 
devised  to  his  second  son  absolutely 
the  fee-simple  of  the  second.  Ro- 
land, although  thus  free  from  the 
usual  hard  conditions  of  younger 
sonship,  had  been  endowed  by  na- 
ture with  those  qualities  which  fre- 
quently seem  to  compensate  the 
cadet  for  the  narrowness  of  his 
patrimony.  He  had  intelligence, 
activity,  perseverance,  and  energy — 
gifts  which  might  have  been  allow- 
ed to  waste  themselves  in  inaction, 
wanting  the  spur  of  necessity,  had 
it  not  been  for  his  ambition,  which 
was  indomitable.  This  moved  him 
to  look  about  for  a  career  with  a 
wide  horizon  and  large  possibilities 
of  eventual  distinction,  and  he  se- 
lected diplomacy  as  the  profession 
in  which  he  believed  his  talents 
would  be  most  likely  to  find  a 
suitable  and  congenial  sphere.  Xor 
was  he  mistaken.  His  progress 
was  more  than  usually  rapid  ;  and 
in  consequence  of  a  contribution 
which  he  made  to  the  literature 
of  an  important  international  ques- 
tion, at  a  time  when  it  was  dividing 
political  parties  in  England,  he  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  leaders 
of  that  party  whose  views  he  ad- 
vocated. A  seat  was  before  long 
found  for  him  in  the  House,  and, 
once  there,  he  soon  talked  himself — 
as  so  many  have  done  before  and 
since — into  office.  An  under-secre- 
taryship  in  a  hard-worked  depart- 
ment probably  looks  more  desirable 
at  a  distance  than  from  the  point  of 
view  of  an  incumbent.  Roland  cer- 
tainly found  it  so  ;  and  scarcely  ap- 
preciated, as  of  the  nature  of  a  re- 
ward, the  incessant  application  to 


1871.] 

laborious  duties  of  routine  which  it 
imposed,  or  the  official  muzzle  which 
forbade  the  free  use  of  his  versatile 
and  discursive  powers  of  talk.  He 
gladly,  therefore,  when  it  came  his 
way,  accepted  promotion  to  the  gov- 
ernorship of  a  British  dependency, 
which,  although  unimportant  and 
not  very  remunerative,  was  the  first 
step  on  the  ladder  by  which  he 
aspired  to  climb.  Others  were 
reached  in  due  succession.  He 
knew  how  to  keep  himself  in  the 
recollection  of  the  Government  and 
before  the  eyes  of  the  public.  If 
there  was  nothing  stirring  in  his 
own  particular  colony,  he  was  al- 
ways ready  with  letters,  articles, 
and  pamphlets  on  the  affairs  of 
others.  Sometimes  his  energy  was 
of  use,  sometimes  it  was  a  bore;  but 
either  alternative  conduces  to  ad- 
vancement in  the  public  service, 
and  as  each  term  of  office  expired, 
Roland  was,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
re-employed  and  promoted.  At  the 
time  this  story  opens,  he  was  gover- 
nor of  a  most  important  colony  in 
"  Greater  Britain ; "  he  had  been 
made  a  K.C.B. ;  and  the  value  of 
his  property  in  Scotland  had  been 
nearly  trebled  since  his  succession 
to  it.  Thus  prosperity  had  hitherto 
shone  upon  him  from  every  quarter. 
Up  to  this  time  there  had  been  no 
check  in  his  career ;  and  if  it  came 
now,  as  come  it  did,  he  had  the 
melancholy  satisfaction  of  feeling 
that  he  himself,  and  no  such  intangi- 
bility as  Fortune,  Fate,  or  the  like, 
was  to  blame. 

We  all  have  our  weak  points,  and 
it  was  in  the  point  of  morality  that 
Sir  Roland  displayed  a  somewhat 
deplorable  feebleness.  The  most 
servile  of  colonial  courtiers  could 
not  have  otherwise  averred ;  and  in 
the  fierce  light  which  beats  not 
merely  on  the  throne,  but  on  all 
governmental  eminences,  his  Excel- 
lency's failings  were  conspicuously 
visible.  Even  in  communities  where 


Fair  to  See.— Part  I. 


79 


the  moral  tone  is  not  high,  morality 
is  exacted  by  public  opinion  from 
those  who  are  set  in  authority — the 
reverse,  at  least,  is  always  unpopu- 
lar ;  and  as  Sir  Roland,  by  succes- 
sive promotions,  came  under  the 
criticism  of  a  larger  and  more  civil- 
ised, and  therefore  more  exacting, 
public  opinion,  his  personal  unpopu- 
larity increased.  All  his  acts  of 
government  were  accordingly  criti- 
cised with  an  animus  personally  un- 
favourable to  the  Governor;  and 
such  as  were  unpopular  in  them- 
selves were  assailed  with  a  vehe- 
mence and  bitterness  more  than 
half-inspired  by  dislike  to  their  ori- 
ginator. There  was  a  turbulent 
legislature  in  Sir  Roland's  last  and 
most  important  colony ;  a  strong  and 
vigorous  party  offered  him  a  relent- 
less opposition.  Difficult  questions 
of  policy  arose ;  and  the  good  of  the 
colony  seemed  at  times  a  minor  con- 
sideration with  the  Opposition  com- 
pared with  the  defeat  and  humilia- 
tion of  the  Governor.  His  disposi- 
tion, which  was  naturally  haughty 
and  autocratic,  would  not  stoop  to 
conciliation.  He  met  the  animosity 
of  his  opponents  with  fierce  resent- 
ment ;  and  in  his  measures  of  retalia- 
tion at  last  permitted  himself  to 
overstep  constitutional  limits.  This 
at  once  embroiled  him  with  friend 
and  foe  alike.  The  Imperial  Legis- 
lature was  appealed  to,  and  Sir 
Roland  found  himself  in  danger  of 
impeachment  or  of  enforced  retire- 
ment into  private  life.  Thus  mat- 
ters stood  with  him  at  the  opening 
of  our  tale ;  but  we  must  not  fur- 
ther anticipate  his  history. 

At  the  time  when  young  Bertram! 
was  left  to  his  guardianship  he  was 
still  in  a  very  minor  colony,  in  a 
very  remote  part  of  the  empire;  and 
he  at  once  arranged  that  the  child's 
education  should  in  the  mean  time 
be  continued  at  Brussels  ;  and  hav- 
ing instructed  his  agent  to  select  a 
suitable  pensionnat,  and  establish 


80 


Fair  to  See.— Part  I. 


his  nephew  at  it,  he  troubled  him- 
self little  more  about  his  charge. 
Once  annually  he  wrote  the  boy  a 
letter,  and  once  annually  he  receiv- 
ed an  answer — so  that  twice  a-year 
he  was  certainly  reminded  that  he 
possessed  a  nephew.  Sir  Roland 
(having  been  for  many  consecutive 
years  absent  from  Europe)  did  not 
see  Bertrand  till  he  was  fifteen  years 
of  age — his  last  year  having  been 
spent  at  a  military  school  in  Ger- 
many. "  The  boy  is  growing  up  a 

d d  foreigner,"  was  the  verdict 

he  pronounced  on  his  young  charge, 
in  a  tone  of  somewhat  unreasonable 
displeasure.  "We  must  get  you 
home  at  once,  youngster;  and,  by 
the  by,  what  do  you  think  of  in  the 
way  of  a  profession  ?"  Bertrand  gave 
the  answer  which  ninety  young  Bri- 
tons out  of  a  hundred  would  give  at 
the  same  age.  He  unhesitatingly  de- 
clared for  the  army;  and  his  uncle 
making  no  objection,  his  future  lot  in 
life  was  thus  summarily  determined. 
He  was  at  once  transferred  to  Sand- 
hurst, whence  he  was  in  due  time 
gazetted  to  the  — th  Regiment,  in 
which  he  had  now  served  for  five 
years — the  two  first  with  the  depot 
of  his  corps  in  England  and  Ireland, 
and  the  remainder  in  that  tropical 
station  from  which  they  had  just 
returned  at  the  opening  of  our  story. 
It  is  only  farther  necessary  to  say 
something  of  Bertrand's  personal 
appearance,  which  was  extremely 
handsome  and  prepossessing ;  of 
that  dark  Celtic  type  which,  with 
a  clear  complexion  and  grey  hazel 
eyes,  unites  hair  of  the  deepest  and 
glossiest  black.  His  features  were 
refined  and  regular,  the  upper  part 
of  his  face  indicating  bright  intelli- 
gence ;  though  perhaps  the  physiog- 
nomist might  doubt,  from  symptoms 
of  irresolution  in  the  contour  of  the 
lower  part  of  his  face,  and  from  the 
pattern  of  his  mouth,  whether  this 
intelligence  would  not  at  times  be 
scantily  interpreted  by  his  actions. 


[Jan. 

A  tall,  lithe,  active  figure,  the 
strength  and  symmetry  of  which 
were  denoted  by  a  singular  grace, 
either  in  action  or  repose,  completed 
a  tout  ensemble  that  would  alike  have 
delighted  the  eye  of  the  artist  and 
of  the  recruiting-sergeant.  He  was 
a  favourite  in  his  regiment;  he  had 
been  a  favourite  at  Sandhurst  ;  and 
we  need  only  farther  add  that  we 
trust  the  reader's  opinion  of  him 
may  not  altogether  differ  from  that 
of  his  school-fellows  and  comrades. 
His  friend  Captain  Watson  Pigott 
was  nobody's  son  in  particular,  and 
did  not  regret  the  circumstance  in 
the  least.  If  a  man  has  a  thorough 
respect  for  and  appreciation  of  his 
own  personal  qualities,  he  is  apt  to 
undervalue  family  antecedents,  par- 
ticularly in  these  democratic  days. 
He  was  four  or  five  years  older  than 
Bertrand,  and  his  personal  appear- 
ance was  neutral — eyes,  mouth,  hair, 
complexion,  and  height — all  were 
neutral.  Everything  about  him 
seemed  to  be  devised  to  escape  spe- 
cial remark ;  and,  indeed,  the  only 
idea  that  occurred  to  one  on  first 
seeing  him  was,  "What  a  clean- 
looking  fellow  !  "  But  when  you 
came  to  examine  him  more  closely, 
from  the  cut  of  his  hair  and  its 
faultless  partition,  down  to  his 
blameless  boots,  there  was  a  quiet 
harmony  in  all  his  appointments 
that  might  lead  one  given  to  judge 
by  externals  to  expect  to  find  him 
a  self-contained  man,  with  a  well- 
regulated  mind. 

His  habits  were  not  gregarious  ; 
indeed  there  was  a  certain  retenu 
about  his  manner  which  was  rarely 
laid  aside,  except  in  a  tete-a-tete — 
and  in  tetes-d-tetes  he  almost  never 
indulged  except  with  Bertrand 
Cameron.  His  friendship  for  Ber- 
trand, and  his  constant  association 
with  him,  were  perhaps  the  most 
salient  points  in  his  character  in  the 
judgment  of  his  brother  officers. 
They  voted  him  a  good-natured  fel- 


1871.] 

low,  but  suspected  him  of  being 
intensely  selfish,  which  may  have 
arisen  from  the  fact  that  he  was 
rich,  and  yet  not  extravagant — a 
combination  singularly  grovelling 
and  unlovely  in  the  eyes  of  gentle- 
men whose  meagreness  of  fortune 
was,  as  a  rule,  compensated  for  by 
a  noble  breadth  of  view  as  to  the 
paternal  relation  in  a  pecuniary 
sense. 

This  will  be  sufficient  as  an  in- 
troduction to  the  two  young  men 
whom  we  left  retiring  to  consult  on 
the  Cairnarvoch  question  in  Captain 
Pigott's  quarters. 

Bertrand  Cameron,  comfortably 
established  in  an  arm-chair,  with  a 
cigar  in  his  mouth,  unfolded  '  The 
Field'  with  solemn  deliberation, 
and  began  to  re-read  the  advertise- 
ment lately  under  discussion  in  the 
mess-room,  approaching  it  with  the 
air  of  one  who  has  a  knotty  ques- 
tion to  solve. 

"I'll  read  it  first,  Pigott,"  he 
said ;  "  then  you  shall  read  it,  and 
then  we'll  compare  notes  and  talk 
it  over.  It  will  require  a  deal  of 
consideration,  you  know ;  we  must 
do  nothing  in  a  hurry." 

Bertrand's  processes  of  thought 
must  have  been  singularly  rapid  on 
this  occasion,  or  his  judgment  ar- 
rived at  altogether  per  saltum ;  for 
no  sooner  had  he  concluded  the  re- 
perusal,  than  he  jumped  up  with 
great  vivacity,  and  thumping  '  The 
Field'  down  on  the  table  before 
Pigott,  cried,  "  It's  the  very  thing 
for  us,  Pigott — made  for  us,  con- 
trived for  us — if  we  have  only  the 
luck  to  secure  it.  Let  us  write  at 
once  to  these  London  lawyers  and 
book  it." 

"  I  thought  you  had  just  said 
that  it  would  require  a  deal  of  con- 
sideration ] " 

"So  I  thought,  but  I  was  mis- 
taken. The  second  reading  is  every- 
thing :  it  gives  one  new  lights,  it 
opens  fresh  points  of  view;  I  see 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXIII. 


Fair  to  Sec. — Part  I. 


81 


all  the  advantages  of  the  plan  now. 
Let's  cry  '  agreed,'  and  write  to  the 
lawyers." 

"  You  forget  I  haven't  had  the 
advantage  of  a  second  reading  yet." 

"  What  a  slow -coach  you  are  ! 
listen,  then," — and  Bertrand  again 
seized  the  paper  and  read  the  para- 
graph aloud,  sonorously,  enthusias- 
tically, dwelling  upon  the  points 
which  he  took  to  be  most  seduc- 
tive, with  the  emphasis  of  a  par- 
tisan. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  say,  Pigott  ?" 
he  cried,  the  reading  concluded. 

"  My  good  man,  what  a  hurry 
you're  in !"  replied  his  friend.  "  You 
may  have  inspirations — I  haven't : 
give  a  fellow  time  to  think." 

"  "Well,  well,  what's  your  primd 
facie  view  of  it  1  Hang  it !  You 
must  have  a  primd  facie  view  of 
some  sort ;  what  is  it  1 " 

"  Some  one  in  the  mess-room  said 
it  sounded  like  a  '  Tommiebeg;'  per- 
haps he  was  right.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  that  was  my  primd  facie 
view,  if  I  had  time  to  discover  it." 

"  Tommiebeg !  humbug !  It's  well 
known  to  be  one  of  the  finest  shoot- 
ings in  Scotland." 

"  So  the  advertisement  says,  of 
course ;  just  as  I,  if  I  was  advertis- 
ing for  a  brigadiership  in  the  Ame- 
rican army,  would  likely  describe 
myself  as  '  well  known  to  be  one 
of  the  finest  soldiers  in  the  Brit- 
ish army.'  Of  course  I  should  be 
speaking  the  truth ;  but  the  Yan- 
kees would  scarcely  engage  me  upon 
my  own  certificate,  would  they  ? " 

"  Well,  M'Niven  says  it  is  true." 

"  M'Niven  is  an  Ossian,  not  a 
Solomon." 

"The  game-book  would  show,  at 
all  events." 

"  Precisely ;  the  first  sensible 
words  you've  spoken  in  the  matter, 
Bertrand.  In  the  first  instance,  we 
should  require  to  see  the  game- 
book." 

"  Well,  let  us  write  and  ask  for 


82 


Fair  to  See.— Part  I. 


[Jan. 


it,  and  engage  the  shooting  condi- 
tionally on  the  book  giving  a  satis- 
factory account." 

"  Ah  !  but  there  are  other  ques- 
tions— the  domestic,  the  financial." 

"  Well,  what's  your  primd  facie 
view  about  them  ? " 

"  My  jjriwza  facie  view  about 
them  is,  that  we  have  no  means  of 
taking  any  view  of  them  whatso- 
ever. Who  is  this  '  gentleman  of 
position '1  who  are  his  ladies  of 
refinement1?  what  does  he  define 
'  position '  to  be  1  and  what  is  his 
notion  of  refinement  1  I  confess  to 
a  certain  inquisitiveness  on  these 
points — weak  of  me,  perhaps,  but  I 
am  a  frail  mortal  Then  what  is 
the  entrance  to  his  dress-circle  to 
cost  us  1  I  am  not  a  bloated  aris- 
tocrat, as  you  know,  and  I  don't 
think  I'm  a  screw  (though  some 
asses  say  I  am);  but  I  must  say 
I  like  to  know  my  company,  and 
I  prefer  to  estimate  the  expense 
of  a  campaign  before  plunging  into 
it," 

"What  a  cautious  old  bloater 
you  are  !  Talk  of  Scotchmen  being 
'  canny ' !  Now  look  at  yourself  an 
Englishman,  and  at  me  a  Scot ; 
which  of  us  two  is  the  '  canny ' 
one  ? " 

"  I  sincerely  believe  and  hope  I 
am,  (Bertrand;  but  heaven  forbid 
I  should  insult  most  grave  and 
reverend  Caledonia  by  considering 
a  hare-brained  lunatic  like  you  a 
typical  Scot !  but  that  isn't  the 
question.  I  am  a  practical  man, 
and  I  want  to  know  what  you've 
got  to  say  to  my  questions." 

"  Oh  !  I  detest  a  practical  fellow  ; 
you've  got  no  go,  no  dash,  no  spirit 
of  adventure  about  you ;  but  I  know 
you're  a  mule,  so  pray  take  your  own 
way,  only  take  action  of  some  sort 
at  once.  Remember  this  day  fort- 
night is  the  '  Twelfth.' " 

"  Very  well,  Bertrand,  I'll  meet 
you  in  that,  at  all  events.  I'll  write 
to  Buncombe  &  M'Nab,  and  make 


them  disgorge  all  essential  particu- 
lars. You  needn't  be  in  such  a  state 
of  mind — there's  lots  of  time ;  all 
the  world  is  not  so  impetuous." 

"  Sit  down  then,  at  once,  and 
write." 

And  down  Pigott  sat  and  wrote 
accordingly ;  and,  after  some  day.*, 
particulars  were  obtained  sufficient 
to  enable  him  to  form  at  least  "  a 
primd  facie  view"  of  the  matter. 
Bertrand's  fears  were  not  realised. 
The  shootings  were  still  to  be  had. 
Nor  were  Pigott's  "  Tommiebeg " 
surmises  substantiated,  for  the  game- 
book  showed  a  really  splendid  aver- 
age over  the  last  five  years. 

The  consideration  to  be  paid  for 
an  entrance  to,  and  residence  in,  the 
domestic  circle  of  Cairnarvoch,  was 
pretty  stiff — an  "eye-opener,"  Pig- 
ott said ;  but  Buncombe  &  M'Nab 
pledged  their  professional  reputation 
that  there  would  be  ample  equiva- 
lents, and  Pigott  thought  he  might 
surmount  that  objection.  As  to  the 
social  question,  the  lawyers  said  that 
the  advertiser  was  a  most  esteemed 
client,  a  most  respectable  and  wealthy 
gentleman — M'Killop  by  name,  a 
native  Scot,  but  who  had  spent  all 
his  life  in  the  colonies,  whence  he 
had  recently  returned  with  a  large 
fortune. 

It  was  his  intention  to  purchase 
a  landed  property  in  the  north,  for 
which  he  was  on  the  look-out,  and 
in  the  mean  time  he  rented  Cairn- 
arvoch Castle.  In  reply  to  a  half- 
expressed  indication  of  surprise  on 
Pigott's  part  that  a  gentleman  of 
wealth  and  position  should  care  to 
sublet  his  shootings,  and  admit  total 
strangers  into  his  family  as  a  kind 
of  boarders,  the  lawyers  admitted 
that,  though  by  no  means  without 
precedent,  it  might  appear  strange ; 
but  Mr  M'Killop  was  a  mercantile 
man,  and  mercantile  men  were  apt 
to  prefer  the  utilitarian  to  the  con- 
ventional view  of  matters.  Owing 
to  the  unexpected  departure  of  his 


1871.] 


fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


83 


son  and  a  friend  for  the  colonies,  he 
found  himself  with  shooting  on  his- 
hands  three  times  as  extensive  as 
his  requirements,  and,  as  a  man  of 
business,  he  had  resorted  to  the  ex- 
pedient in  question.  But  it  was 
not  altogether  by  business  motives 
that  he  was  actuated.  It  would  be 
a  real  benefit  to  him  to  have  the 
society  of  some  pleasant  gentleman- 
like inmates  ;  for  a  man,  all  his  life 
in  the  colonies,  found  but  few 
friends  on  his  return  home,  and  the 
district  around  Cairnarvoch  had  few 
residents,  and  at  such  distances  as 
to  render  their  society  but  little 
available. 

The  ladies  of  the  family  were 
three  in  number.  Mrs  M'Killop, 
her  daughter  by  a  former  marriage, 
and  Mr  M'Killop's  daughter,  also 
by  a  former  marriage,  constituting 
in  the  opinion  of  Messrs  Buncombe 
&  M'Nab  as  truly  charming  a  family 
circle  as  any  gentleman  could  desire 
to  be  admitted  to. 

"  It  is  something  of  a  leap  in  the 
dark,  Bertrand,"  said  Pigott  at  last, 
after  mature  consideration  of  all 
these  particulars  ;  "  but  as  there  are 
a  few  streaks  of  light  about  it — the 


game  average,  for  instance — I  am 
prepared  on  the  whole  to  take  it. 
What  say  you?" 

"  What  say  1 1  what  I  said  from 
the  first ;  it's  the  very  thing  for  us. 
We  get  rid  of  all  the  nuisance  of 
servants  and  housekeeping,  and 
stores  and  keepers  and  ghillies  to 
look  after,  and  a  hundred  other 
worries.  We  are  certain  of  good 
sport,  and  if  the  society  is  not  all 
we  could  wish,  we  can  keep  our- 
selves pretty  much  to  oiirselves. 
So  it's  agreed.  Vive  Cairnarvoch  ! 
Vive  M'Killop  !  Vive  Buncombe  ! 
Vive  M'Nab  !  Vive  everybody  !" 

All  the  arrangements  were  quickly 
completed,  and  ratified  by  an  auto- 
graph letter  from  M'Killop,  express- 
ing his  satisfaction  and  describing 
their  route;  and  on  the  morning 
of  the  9th  of  August,  behold  our 
sportsmen  starting  from  Eustoii 
Square  by  the  Scotch  mail,  accom- 
panied by  Pigott's  valet,  a  nonde- 
script lad,  to  look  after  the  dogs, 
picked  up  at  a  livery-stable — quite  a 
small  pack  of  setters,  pointers,  and 
retrievers — and  all  the  usual  imped- 
imenta of  sporting  youths  of  con- 
dition. 


CHAPTER   II. 


The  route  by  which  Cairnarvoch 
was  to  be  reached  is  one  of  the 
most  delightful  that  can  well  be 
conceived  —  that  is,  after  leaving 
Greenock,  in  which  fetid  and 
whiskyfied  town  our  travellers 
found  themselves  at  the  close  of 
their  first  day's  journey.  Here, 
rather  than  in  Glasgow,  they  had 
resolved  to  sleep,  so  as  to  avoid  an 
inconveniently  early  start  on  the 
morrow,  when  their  journey  was 
to  be  continued  to  Oban,  in  the 
far-famed  steamer  lona. 

Happy  he  or  she  who  has  yet  to 
experience  the  first  delights  of  that 
delectable  voyage!  and  happier  he 


or  she  who  can  look  forward  to 
repeating  it,  year  by  year,  when 
summer  days  are  fine !  Given 
bright  weather  and  a  bright  com- 
panion, the  pleasure  of  that  passage 
is  something  unique.  The  melange 
of  delights  of  which  that  steamer 
forms  the  nucleus  is  decidedly  by 
itself, — and  in  this  respect  among 
others,  that  here  almost  every  sort 
and  condition  of  men  must  find 
some  source  of  gratification  and 
amusement. 

"How?"  "Why?"  "What  is 
thereto  do?" 

You  ask  this,  0  miseras  homi- 
num  menteis  ? — you  ask  this,  O 


Fair  to  See. — Part  L 


pectora  cceca  ?  that  have  never 
thrilled  in  unison  with  the  pulsing 
of  the  Ionian  paddle-wheels  ! 

What  is  there  to  do?  What  is 
there  not  to  do  1  and  to  see  1 
First,  if  you  have  ever  so  little  of 
an  artist's  eye  or  an  artist's  soul — 
that  is  to  say,  if  you  love  nature  at 
all — very  surely  you  will  find  that  love 
stirred  and  quickened  within  you 
all  the  live-long  day — if  you  only 
keep  your  eyes  open — while  thread- 
ing with  the  lona  the  wondrous 
labyrinth  of  her  beautiful  course. 
The  mountain  panorama  which 
greets  you  as  you  start,  noble 
though  it  be,  is  but  the  noble  pro- 
mise of  still  better  things  ;  for  it 
cannot  show  you  the  exquisite 
variety,  the  contrasts,  the  combina- 
tions, the  marvellous  chiaroscuro, 
the  subtle  harmonies,  the  sublime 
discords,  that  meet  you  and  thrill 
you  at  every  turn,  passing  through 
the  inner  penetralia  of  all  that  is 
most  glorious  in  the  land  of  moun- 
tain and  of  flood. 

Gliding  through  those  strange 
sounds  and  estuaries,  with  their  in- 
finite sinuosities,  traced  about  pen- 
insula and  cape  and  island — traced 
as  it  were  with  a  design  of  delight- 
ing the  eye  with  sudden  present- 
ments of  scenic  surprises,  as  it  were 
with  a  design  of  furnishing  not  one, 
but  twenty  points  of  view,  where- 
from  to  consider  each  salient  wonder 
and  beauty  round  which  they  seem 
to  conduct  you  proudly  on  their 
glittering  paths  —  there  must  be 
something  far  wrong  with  you  if 
you  find  no  delight  in  all  this.  For 
here,  indeed,  you  have  a  succession 
of  the  noblest  pictures, — no  mere 
iteration  of  rugged  mountains,  mon- 
otonous in  their  grim  severity  and 
sublime  desolation, — no  mere  sleepy 
tracts  of  unbroken  forest,  nor  blank 
heaths  losing  themselves  vaguely  in 
the  horizon,  nor  undulating  expanses 
of  lawn-like  pasture  land,  but  with 
something  of  all  these  features  blend- 


[Jan. 

ing  in  each  of  the  splendid  series ; 
every  feature  in  turn  claiming  its 
predominance,  when  all  the  others 
seem  to  pose  themselves  about  the 
one  central  object,  sinking  for  the 
moment  their  own  individualities 
that  it  may  be  glorified. 

Something  of  this  sort  you  may 
see  at  almost  any  point  of  the  voy- 
age ;  and  then — as  to  what  you  may 
do — inspired  by  such  scenes,  you 
may  well  address  yourself  to 

"  Feed  on  thoughts  that  voluntary  move    ] 
Harmonious  numbers." 

Or  if  inclined  for  a  grosser  susten- 
ance, down  below  you  will  find  the 
best  and  amplest  means  of  satisfy- 
ing such  requirements.  Or  if  tired 
awhile  of  ministering  to  the  hunger 
of  the  soul,  and  of  quelling  the  more 
sordid  rage  of  carnal  wants,  you  may 
look  about  you  on  the  decks  and 
cabins,  and  there  find  a  rare  oppor- 
tunity of  considering  your  kind  in 
right  humorous  aspects. 

We  once  heard  a  fellow-passenger 
remark,  "This  lona  is  far  better 
than  most  plays ;"  and  he  was  very 
right.  You  won't  often  meet  with 
a  quainter  assortment  of  human 
units.  The  steamer  is  a  moving 
stage,  on  which  you  can  see  going 
on,  side  by  side,  no  end  of  little 
dramas ;  and  as  for  the  dramatis 
personce,  who  are  they  ?  or  rather, 
who  are  they  not  1  Honeymooning 
couples  huddled  together  under 
umbrellas  to  screen  them  from  the 
sun,  and  from  the  world's  garish 
eye ;  inevitable  reading  parties  from 
Oxford  and  Cambridge  ;  indigestive 
blue-stockings,  "  inverted  "  philoso- 
phers, smug  parsons,  and  leathery- 
looking  lawyers  ;  sportsmen  en 
route  for  their  shootings,  yachting 
men  for  their  yachts,  gamekeepers, 
ghillies,  and  figure  footmen  ;  bleary 
Germans,  and  dyspeptic  Yankees, 
calculating  the  exact  number  of 
cocked-hats  into  which  the  Missis- 
sippi knocks  the  Clyde;  jocund 


an.] 

schoolboys,  bread-and-butter  misses, 
"  cock-lairds,"  and  Cockneys ;  High- 
landers and  Mile-Enders,  ladies  and 
gentlemen, — all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  men,  natural  and  artificial,  sham- 
ming and  detective,  bragging  and 
counter-bragging,  appreciative  and 
depreciative,  a.  farrago,  A  pot-pourri, 
an  olla  podrida — a  dainty  dish  to 
set  before  Democritus. 

As  these  personce  shift  about  and 
interchange  and  intermingle,  the 
scenes  and  acts  of  separate  dramas 
get  confused  and  entangled  in  the 
quaintest  way.  The  hero  of  one 
walks  into  another  and  becomes  its 
zany ;  and  the  high-life  of  a  third 
suddenly  appears  cockaded  and  ob- 
sequious in  a  fourth.  Look  at  two 
groups  that  are  always  to  be  seen  on 
the  lona. 

The  first  is  ubiquitous — we  meet 
it  everywhere  —  the  central  figure 
being  our  old  friend  paterfamilias, 
with  his  semi-clerical  look,  his  um- 
brageous "  wide-awake,"  natty  wa- 
terproof, guide  -  book,  and  eternal 
telescope.  He  is  surrounded  by  his 
troop  of  rosy  girls  and  smug  youths, 
whom  he  dominates  fussily.  One 
of  the  boys  has  a  contraband  taste 
for  tobacco,  and  preventive  strata- 
gems are  in  perpetual  requisition. 
Another  has  an  inquiring  mind, 
and  lurks  dangerously  about  the 
engine-room.  Then  there  is  the 
waggish  daughter — the  female  pickle 
— who  never  can  see  the  particular 
point  on  which  her  papa  desires 
to  lecture ;  and  the  lackadaisical 
daughter,  who  requires  constant 
rousing  from  her  novel  to  contem- 
plate the  book  of  nature ;  and  the 
mysterious  female  friend  with  a  look 
of  chronic  sea  -  sickness ;  and  the 
limp  mamma,  with  a  headache  and 
slight  infirmity  of  temper  which  re- 
quires coaxing.  All  these  cares 
and  troubles  are  on  the  shoulders 
of  poor  paterfamilias,  and  yet  he 
contrives  to  explain  everything  to 
everybody  who  approaches.  Who 


Fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


85 


has  not  met  this  group  at  all  sorts 
of  places  ?  Who  has  not  seen  this 
typical  family  tourist,  with  his  fussy 
look  of  abnormal  relaxation?  But 
does  any  one  "  know  him  at  home"? 
What  is  he  ?  What  does  he  do, 
and  where  does  he  do  it,  when  he 
is  not  panting  up  the  Eighi,  or  ex- 
patiating at  Ramsgate,  or  ogling  the 
Rhineland?  Does  any  one  know 
him  ?  or  will  Mr  Pollaky  undertake 
to  run  him  to  earth  ? 

Down  below  in  the  cabin  we 
have  another  group  inevitable  in 
the  lona,  but  not  much  met  with 
elsewhere.  It  is  a  small  trades- 
man's family  from  Glasgow  "  oot  for 
a  bit  jant." 

In  this  case  the  head  of  the 
family  separates  himself  from  his 
kith  and  kin,  and  keeps  holiday  in- 
dependently in  the  fore-cabin.  How 
he  has  amused  himself  we  have  a 
fair  opportunity  of  judging  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  voyage,  when  (but 
not  till  then)  he  emerges  from  his 
lair,  solemn,  sodden,  staggery,  with 
imbecile  up-liftings  of  the  arms  and 
monotonous  inarticulate  murmurs, 
as  who  would  preach — and  without 
doubt  that  is  what  he  is  attempting 
to  do;  for,  say  what  they  like  of 
"  our  own  flesh  and  blood  "  in  Scot- 
land, their  festal  programme,  simple 
though  it  be,  is  not  absolutely  ful- 
filled by  whisky — a  little  theology 
is  supposed  to  give  "  bite  "  and  re- 
lish to  the  "  barley  bree."  His 
"  sonsy  "  wife  remains  mistress  of 
the  group  in  the  saloon.  It  is  large 
enough,  luckily,  to  contain  many 
groups,  but  hers  is  the  most  not- 
able. She  sits  there  in  company 
with  seven  children,  two  quart  bot- 
tles of  milk,  a  soda  -  water  bottle 
filled  with  a  pellucid  liquor,  a  paper 
containing  some  glutinous  sweet- 
meat, a  basket  of  gooseberries,  an- 
other basket  which  is  covered  with 
a  cloth,  but  emits  pungent  odours 
as  of  cheese.  The  youngest  child 
is,  of  course,  in  arms  ;  it  is  teething 


86 


Fair  to  See.— Part  I. 


[Jan. 


before  our  very  eyes,  and  is  ob- 
viously the  victim  of  intestinal 
pangs.  It  cries  incessantly  when 
it  is  not  being  nourished,  and  when 
it  is  nourished  (in  open  court)  it 
chokes.  The  other  children,  who 
appear  to  be  all  about  five  years 
old,  play,  romp,  fight,  scream,  yell, 
finally  are  whipped  in  the  old-fasli- 
ioned  style,  with  much  preliminary 
nntrussing  of  points. 

Certain  spinsters  flounce  from  the 
saloon,  a  nervous  fellow  is  agace 
and  swears,  a  coarse  fellow  laughs 
aloud.  What  does  she  care,  this  not- 
able woman  ]  She  has  paid  her  fare 
and  will  take  her  ease  :  "  The  baby 
camia  dee  o'  hunger,  and  the  bairns 
maun  hae  their  skelps.  Afore  folk  1 
Whatna  folk  1  Cock  them  up." 
Accept  these  specimens,  and  then 
call  up  how  whimsically  in  contrast 
all  this  sort  of  thing  is  to  the  scen- 
ery through  which  the  steamer  is 
gliding — scenery  ever  varying,  un- 
changing only  in  its  one  fidelity  to 
the  beautiful  and  the  sublime. 

Oh  !  dear  reader,  we  have  ridden 
thus  long  on  our  Ionian  hobby,  and 
very  likely  we  have  bored  you.  But 
if  you,  too,  are  an  Ionian,  forgive 
our  tediousness,  appreciating  our 
zeal ;  whereas  if  the  lona  is  still  an 
untasted  joy,  accept  our  prolixity  as 
a  chastening  and  penal  visitation, 
and  next  summer  supply  the  miss- 
ing experience. 

On  board  this  steamer,  and  sur- 
rounded by  some  such  accessories  as 
those  above  sketched,  behold  our 
two  travellers  embarked  on  the  tenth 
morning  of  August — the  brightest 
month  of  the  Scottish  year.  Pigott's 
tastes  as  a  devoted  sportsman  had 
frequently  brought  him  to  Scotland 
before,  but  it  was  Bertrand's  first 
visit  to  the  land  of  his  sires.  This 
(unacknowledged)  circumstance  was 
a  secret  and  rankling  source  of  grief 
and  shame  to  him — that  he,  the  scion 
of  a  thousand  sons  of  the  heather 
(not  to  speak  of  the  mist),  should 


never  yet  have  planted  his  chieftain 
foot  upon  his  ancestral  hills,  seemed 
to  him  to  be  indeed  a  woe  and  a 
disgrace  to  be  carefully  concealed ; 
and  his  desire  on  this  occasion  to 
guard  the  secret  from  his  companion 
cost  him  no  small  efforts  of  self- 
restraint  and  of  finesse.  Sore,  in- 
deed, was  the  trial  to  curb  mani- 
festations of  excessive  enthusiasm, 
which  might  suggest  non-familiarity 
with  Scottish  scenery,  and  to  repress 
eager  questions  which  were  for  ever 
rising  to  his  lips.  Had  his  compan- 
ion been  as  demonstrative  a  man  as 
himself,  his  task  would  have  been 
simpler ;  but  Pigott  was  essentially 
of  the  "  nil-admirari  "  school — sur- 
prise, admiration,  excitement  of  any 
sort,  appeared  to  be  contraband  of  his 
mental  laws,  insomuch  that  any  com- 
mendatory remarks  elicited  from  him 
by  a  first  view  of  Niagara  or  the  Mat- 
terhorn  would  have  differed  but 
little  in  form  and  tone  from  his 
favourable  verdict  on  the  freshness 
of  his  egg  at  breakfast,  or  some  ex- 
tra radiance  in  the  polish  of  his 
boots.  Bertrand's  secret  had,  of 
course,  been  fathomed  by  him,  and 
he  circled  round  and  round  it  in  his 
conversation,  to  the  confusion  of  his 
friend  and  his  own  cynical  amuse- 
ment at  the  boyish  absurdity. 

But  Bertrand  had  another  cause 
of  disquiet.  With  some  palpita- 
tions of  the  heart  he  had  that  morn- 
ing determined  to  array  himself  for 
the  first  time  in  the  "  garb  of  Old 
Gaul : "  when,  however,  he  had  laid 
out  the  different  parts  of  the  dress 
(Avhich  had  been  supplied  by  a 
London  tailor),  a  difficulty  arose. 
A  South  -  Sea  islander  of  average 
intelligence  might  probably  enough 
contrive  without  instruction  to  get 
himself  inside  a  pair  of  trousers  ; 
but  any  one  of  us  would  find  it  a 
hard  task  to  array  himself  in  the 
beads,  paint,  feathers,  and  other 
paraphernalia  of  the  savage,  so  as 
to  pass  muster  as  a  gentleman-like, 


1871.] 

well-dressed  cannibal  of  fashion  ; 
and  so  in  a  minor  degree  is  it  with 
the  Highland  dress.  Poor  Bertrand 
looked  at  the  kilt  and  could  find  no 
visible  means  of  fastening  it.  In 
despair  he  essayed  to  gird  it  on  with 
a  portmanteau-strap  worn  en  ceinture; 
but  its  dimensions  were  hopelessly 
voluminous,  and  he  came  to  the 
mournful  conclusion  that  he  must 
have  been  accidentally  supplied  with 
a  dress  intended  for  some  masquer- 
ading London  alderman  of  especial 
obesity. 

What  was  to  be  done  1  Time 
was  flying.  Must  he  relinquish  his 
intention  of  entering  the  Highlands 
as  a  Cameron,  glittering  in  the 
proud  plumage  of  a  mountain  bird  1 
Perish  the  thought !  He  would  try 
very  diplomatically  to  get  a  wrinkle 
from  the  waiter,  whom  he  sum- 
moned accordingly.  "  Oh  !  waiter, 
I  find  I've  got  some  one  else's  kilt 
sent  with  me  by  mistake  ;  it's  miles 
too  large,  and  I  wanted  to  see  if  you 
could  contrive  any  dodge  for  tuck- 
ing it  in,  so  that  I  might  wear  it 
for  the  day.  I  hate  travelling  in 
trousers ;  and,  by  the  by,  there's 
nothing  to  fasten  it  with.  I  never 
saw  such  a  kilt  in  my  life." 

The  waiter,  a  stolid-looking  West- 
Highlander,  examined  the  garment, 
and  then  gave  an  inquisitive  semi- 
comical  glance  at  its  would-be 
wearer.  "  I'll  sort  it  for  you,  sir," 
he  said ;  and  in  a  twinkling  the  re- 
fractory garment  was  wrapped  round 
Bertrand's  loins  and  pinned  with 
two  big  pins  about  the  haunch  and 
hip-joint.  "  There,  sir,  it'll  no  be 
getting  lowse  noo,"  he  promised, 
when  the  investiture  was  completed. 
He  then  helped  Bertrand  to  "do 
on"  the  sporran,  hose,  brogues, 
skien-dhu,  &c.  &c.,  to  which  our 
Celtic  novice,  in  his  innocence,  ad- 
ded a  belted  plaid,  brooch,  and  dirk. 
All  that  was  metallic  in  his  appoint- 
ments was  of  silver,  freely  incrusted 
with  rarnpagious  cairngorms;  and 


Fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


87 


altogether  his  appearance  was  as  gor- 
geous as  the  most  florid  taste  could 
desire. 

Thus  equipped,  with  his  bonnet 
(bearing  a  huge  silver  platter  of  ar- 
morial devices,  and  an  eagle's  plume) 
cocked  jauntily  on  his  right  ear, 
Bertrand  descended  in  mingled  pride 
and  perturbation  to  the  coffee-room, 
where  Pigott  was  already  seated  at 
breakfast.  He  posed  himself  serio- 
comically  at  the  door  to  disarm  the 
cynic  by  meeting  him  half-way. 
His  friend  looked  at  him  and  munch- 
ed, and  looking  and  munching,  his 
eyes  got  a  trifle  larger,  and  at  last, 
with  a  ghost  of  grin,  he  remarked, 
"  In  the  name  of  the  Prophet,  how 
did  you  get  into  that  thing  1 " 

"  If  you  mean  the  Highland 
dress,"  said  Bertrand,  flaring  up  at 
once,  "  I  got  into  it,  I  suppose,  as 
other  Highlanders  have  done." 

"  One  can  conceive  no  limits  to 
the  eccentricities  which  other  Celts 
may  have  performed,  especially  in 
their  cups.  Brian  O'Lynn,  for  in- 
stance, had  his  coat  buttoned  be- 
hind, and  turned  inside  out." 

"  And  pray  what  has  that  got  to 
do  with  me  and  my  dress  1 " 

"  Only  that  you've  been  follow- 
ing in  the  Irish  Celt's  wake  in 
putting  your  kilt  on  hind-side  in 
front." 

"  Pshaw  !  nonsense  ! " 

"  I'll  prove  it ;  sit  down." 

Bertrand  flounced  himself  down 
on  a  chair,  and  the  heavy  sporran 
swinging  aside,  up  sprang  the  kilt 
in  front,  the  plaits  that  should  have 
been  behind  fanning  themselves  out 
like  a  peacock's  tail.  Up  started 
Bertrand.  "  There  must  be  some- 
thing wrong,  I  suspect." 

"  I  have  something  more  than  a 
suspicion  to  the  same  effect,"  re- 
joined Pigott.  "  Go  and  take  it 
off ;  I  wouldn't  run  the  gauntlet  of 
the  lona  with  a  fellow  rigged  like 
that  for  a  trifle." 

"  It's  a  new  kind  of  kilt,"  faltered 


88 


Fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


[Jan. 


Bert  rand ;  "  but  I'll  get  accustom- 
ed to  it.  I  won't  take  it  off." 

"  Oh,  if  you're  obstinate,  at  least 
let  me  put  it  on  right  for  you.  I 
flatter  myself  I  know  all  the  eccen- 
tricities of  the  garment.  I  used  to 
wear  it  deer-stalking  when  I  was 
young  and  foolish." 

Here  was  a  humiliation  for  the 
de  jure  mountaineer ;  but  it  was 
obviously  necessary  to  get  on  a  bet- 
ter understanding  with  his  garments 
before  starting,  so  he  crept  meekly 
up-stairs  with  Pigott,  remarking, 
"It's  wonderful  how  soon  one  gets 
out  of  the  trick  of  a  dress  of  that  sort." 

Two  chamber  -  maids  and  the 
waiter  looked  out  of  a  room  as  they 
passed,  and  retired  sniggering  vio- 
lently, and  Bertrand  ground  his 
teeth  with  rage  as  he  recognised, 
and  promised  himself  a  future  re- 
venge for,  the  trick  which  the  rascal 
had  played  him.  After  the  kilt 
had  been  adjusted,  Pigott  persuad- 
ed him  to  tone  down  the  rest  of  his 
appearance  by  suppressing  plaid, 
brooch,  dirk,  and  other  superflui- 
ties; so  that  when  he  appeared  on 
the  quarter-deck  of  the  lona,  bar- 
ring that  his  unsunned  knees  were 
of  a  dazzling  whiteness,  that  his 
jacket  was  velvet,  and  his  kilt  of 
full-dress  tartan,  there  was  nothing 
radically  amiss  with  him  in  his  qua- 
lity of  montagnard. 

He  was,  as  we  have  said,  a  very 
handsome  fellow ;  and  as  he  and  his 
friend  commenced  their  promenade 
on  deck,  he  was  quite  a  central  ob- 
ject of  observation,  which  was  ra- 
ther embarrassing  at  first,  and  every 
now  and  then  suggested  grave  sus- 
picions of  the  conduct  of  his  kilt, 
which  he  felt  to  be  a  garment  of 
terrible  possibilities.  But  by  degrees 
his  self  -  consciousness  was  quieted 
down,  and  he  was  able  to  look  the 
world  boldly  enough  in  the  face. 
Of  course  the  steamer  contained  the 
usual  quaint  groups  and  outre  indi- 


viduals ;  and  as  our  travellers  moved 
about  among  them,  they  found  ample 
sources  of  amusement.  Pigott, 
walking  up  and  down  with  that 
abstracted  air  which  seems  to  imply 
a  consciousness  of  no  other  presence 
than  the  wearer's  own,  contrived,  by 
a  few  rapid,  sidelong  glances,  to 
take  in  the  various  humours  of  the 
scene,  and  fell  to  expounding  sotto 
voce  to  .his  companion  the  conditions 
and  characteristics  of  their  fellow- 
voyagers,  telling  them  off  in  short 
epigrammatic  sentences.  "  Why, 
Pigott,"  he  exclaimed,  when  a  tem- 
porary cessation  took  place  on  their 
arrival  at  one  of  the  numerous  land- 
ing-stages, "  you  would  make  your 
fortune  as  a  showman  ;  but  what  an 
ill-conditioned  ruffian  you  must  be  ! 
you  haven't  got  a  good  word  to  say 
for  any  of  them." 

"  Why  should  I  ?  I  don't  know 
any  good  of  any  of  them  ;  and  even 
if  I  had  said  anything  bad  of  any 
of  them — which  I  deny — in  groping 
for  the  truth,  it  is  always  best  to 
err  on  the  safe  side." 

"  And  the  safe  side  is  to  make 
them  all  out  bad  1" 

"  Well,  for  choice,  I  should  say 
so,  decidedly;  but  I  have  done  no- 
thing of  the  sort;  I  have  only 
pointed  out  their  actual  or  possible 
absurdities." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  be 
laughed  at  yourself?" 

"  Like  it  ?  of  course  I  like  it.  I 
am  laughed  at,  so  are  you,  so  is 
everybody,  by  some  one  or  other. 
I  laugh  at  a  man  for  what  I  con- 
sider his  absurdities ;  he  believes 
in  himself,  and  is  all  the  while 
laughing  at  me  for  my  ridiculous 
deficiency  of  the  very  qualities  I 
deride  in  him.  We  are  both  pleased. 
We  are  all  Ishmaelites  in  the  mat- 
ter of  mirth.  The  doctrine  is  a 
great  comfort  to  me.  It  teaches 
me  that  I  violate  no  Christian  pre- 
cept— at  all  events,  I  do  as  I  know 
I  am  done  by." 


1871.] 


"  Yes,  but  every  one  doesn't 
think  as  you  do.  I  don't  go  in  for 
laughing  at  people  myself,  and  I 
know  I  should  hate  being  laughed 
at  —  not  that  I  suppose  there  is 
much  to  laugh  at  about  me,  and  I 
don't  suppose  I  am  laughed  at. 
Should  you  1 " 

"  Candidly,  I  should  certainly 
say  you  are ;  and  still  more  can- 
didly, I  should  say  you  deserve  it : 
that  kilt,  for  instance " 

Bertrand  stopped  abruptly,  and 
hurriedly  examined  the  hinder  por- 
tion of  the  garment  with  a  renewed 
terror  that  it  was  repeating  its  pea- 
cock manoeuvre  in  rear. 

"Oh!  bother  the  kilt.  Don't 
let  us  prose !  What  a  charming 
place  !  What  a  crush  of  people  ! 
but  half  your  oddities  are  going 
out.  Why,  they're  all  leaving ; 
look." 

"  Never  mind,  they  will  be  re- 
placed :  the  tide  has  just  done  ebb- 
ing, and  here  it  comes  flowing 
again."  And  truly  the  departing 
crowd  were  soon  replaced  by  one 
similar  in  quantity  and  quality. 

On  they  came,  crushing  breath- 
less and  eager  along  the  gangway, 
with  a  brandished  forest  of  walking- 
sticks,  umbrellas,  camp-stools,  bas- 
kets, and  so  on — the  Captain  on  the 
paddle-box  looking  like  Noah  pass- 
ing his  cargo  into  the  ark. 

"  Holloa  ! "  cried  Bertrand,  sud- 
denly. "What's  this?" 

"  Where  1 "  asked  Pigott. 

"Why,  there,  on  the  pier,  just 
coming  in." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Pigott,  "  that's  a 
very  nice  point  for  consideration; 
don't  hurry  me.  Not  Helen  M'Gre- 
gor — she's  too  old  for  that ;  nor 
Madge  Wildfire,  nor  Meg  Merrilies, 
nor  Norna  of  the  Fitful  Head ;  she 

has  a  dash  of  all  four,  but No, 

I  give  her  up." 

The  subject  of  these  remarks  was 
a  tall,  plethoric,  elderly  lady,  in 
whose  attire  and  complexion  all  the 


Fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


89 


colours  of  the  rainbow,  and  a  good 
many  more,  met  in  a  blaze  of  inhar- 
monious combinations.  A  bright 
silk -tartan  dress,  involving  stripes 
of  the  most  contradictory  tints,  was 
surmounted  by  a  black  velvet  tunic, 
over  which  was  draped  a  shawl  of 
another  tartan  —  differing  in  all, 
save  its  variegated  brilliancy,  from 
the  dress.  A  huge  cairngorm 
brooch  fastened  the  shawl  under 
her  chin,  but  its  lustre  paled  before 
the  superior  brilliancy  of  the  ample 
round  red  face,  which  wibbled 
and  wobbled  in  its  billowy  fatness 
above. 

Great  saffron-coloured  ogreish  teeth 
flashed  from  a  ravine  bisecting  the 
lower  part  of  this  ruddy  orb.  Two 
pale  twinkling  eyes,  seeming  for  ever 
about  to  set  behind  high  but  full- 
fleshed  cheek-bones,  peered  over  a 
short  up-turned  nose ;  while  above, 
a  profusion  of  grizzled  flaxen  hair 
towered  in  fantastic  coils,  detaching 
one  perfectly  inauthentic  ringlet  to 
patrol  the  capacious  shoulders.  The 
whole  edifice  was  crowned  by  a 
perky  white  bonnet,  from  which,  as 
from  a  festive  May-pole,  streamed 
many  a  banneret  of  tartan  ribbon. 

This  wondrous  creature,  posed  in 
an  attitude  of  command,  stood  look- 
ing down  on  the  quarter-deck  and 
its  inhabitants,  as  if  doubting  their 
worthiness  to  be  admitted  to  a  closer 
contact  with  herself,  and  probably 
to  give  them  an  unobstructed  view 
of  the  glory  which  was  about  to 
descend  into  their  midst.  But  the 
steamer  had  embarked  its  passen- 
gers, the  "dreadful  bell"  had  jan- 
gled thrice,  and  the  Captain,  in  that 
state  of  normal  fuss  and  "  boil-over  " 
which  belongs  to  his  tribe,  having 
shouted  irreverently  to  the  lady  to 
"  come  along  if  she  was  coming," 
the  paddle-wheels  began  to  make 
some  premonitory  revolutions.  Thus 
stimulated,  and  followed  by  a  young 
lady  and  a  maid  of  spectral  aspect, 
who  looked  as  if  her  substance  and 


90 


Fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


colour  had  been  absorbed  into  the 
luminary  of  which  she  was  the  sat- 
ellite, the  great  being  moved  heavily 
across  the  gangway,  sending  Par- 
thian shafts  back  to  a  couple  of 
porters,  who  were  staring  with  in- 
credulous contempt  at  certain  min- 
ute coins  in  their  extended  palms 
with  Avhich  she  had  just  failed  to 
satisfy  them. 

Leaning  on  the  maid,  she  sailed 
up  the  quarter-deck  with  a  back- 
ward rake  of  the  head;  and,  after  a 
world  of  fussy  arrangements  of  rug 
and  shawl,  came  to  an  anchor  in  a 
prominent  situation,  and  proceeded 
to  "take  stock"  of  her  fellow-pas- 
sengers haughtily,  through  a  mas- 
sive double  eye-glass. 

The  effect  upon  them  of  this 
entree  was  varied. 

"  Mair  like  a  muckle  plei-actress 
nur  a  dacent  wummin,"  soliloquised 
an  acid  Glasgow  matron,  withdraw- 
ing her  teeth  from  the  recesses  of  a 
bun  to  make  the  remark. 

"Oh!  goot  life,"  snivelled  a  de- 
lighted Celt  at  her  elbow,  "  but  she 
put  the  fear  o'  deas  on  the  pit  por- 
ter podies." 

"Whew!"  whistled  Pigott,  "So- 
lomon in  all  his  glory  could  have 
been  nothing  to  this." 

"  I  rather  think,  sir,"  said  an 
ever  -  hovering  paterfamilias  who 
overheard  the  remark,  and  was,  as 
usual,  ready  to  supply  information 
of  the  most  dilapidated  description, 
— "  I  rather  think  she  is  a  chief- 
tainess." 

"  She  looks  like  one,  don't  she  ] " 
said  Pigott. 

"  She  does  indeed,  sir;  and  if  my 
memory  carries  me  aright — a  rela- 
tive of  the  Duke  of  Argyll's." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  :  he  has  a 
few  relatives  in  these  parts,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  Yes,  and  I  really  believe  she 
must  be  the  lady  who  owns  several 
of  the  Hebrides  ;  a  very  noble-look- 
ing person;  so  national,  eh1?" 


[Jan. 


"Oh!  decidedly  so,"  &c.  &c.  &c. 

There  was  as  strong  as  possible 
a  contrast  between  the  appearance 
and  equipments  of  the  chieftainess 
and  those  of  the  young  lady  who 
accompained  her.  The  only  bright 
colours  which  adorned  the  latter 
were  to  be  found  in  the  rosy  bloom 
of  her  cheek,  and  in  the  golden 
sheen  which  rippled  through  the 
deep  masses  of  her  auburn  hair. 
Her  face  was  a  most  pleasing  one ; 
and  if  it  was  deficient  of  that  severe 
regularity  of  feature  which  painters 
and  sculptors  are  perversely  sup- 
posed to  desiderate,  there  was  a 
frank,  fresh,  joyous  simplicity  look- 
ing out  of  her  bright  hazel  eyes, 
and  a  genial  kindliness  about  her 
whole  expression,  which  might  per- 
haps be  more  likely  to  win  hearts 
worth  winning  than  the  most  chis- 
elled perfection  of  outline  and  pro- 
portion. Her  height,  though  look- 
ing insignificant  beside  the  colossal 
dimensions  of  her  companion,  was 
in  reality  above  the  average;  and 
her  figure,  light,  active,  and  grace- 
ful, was  set  off  to  advantage  in  a 
close-fitting  tunic  and  simple  skirt 
of  a  neutral  colour. 

The  course  of  the  great  woman's 
inspection  soon  brought  her  to  Pig- 
ott and  Cameron,  and  she  favoured 
them  with  a  very  protracted  scrutiny, 
dwelling  chiefly  upon  Bertrand,  over 
whose  equipments  her  eyes  promen- 
aded with  looks  of  curious  disap- 
probation. That  foolish  fellow 
found  himself  getting  very  red  and 
uncomfortable.  To  be  narrowly  in- 
spected by  any  one  would  have 
been  embarrassing  enough  at  the 
moment;  but  to  be  weighed  in  the 
balance  and  found  Celtically  want- 
ing by  a  chieftainess  '  to  the  High- 
lands bound'  was  woe  indeed. 

Presently  she  turned  to  her  com- 
panion and  made  some  remark 
which  caused  the  young  lady  to 
glance  quickly  in  the  direction  of 
the  two  young  men;  and  then  a 


1871.] 

short  conversation  followed  which 
they  partially  overheard. 

"  I'm  certain  it's  them,"  said  the 
eldor  lady.  "  Go  and  find  out." 

"Find  out!"  laughed  the  girl. 
"  How  ?  am  I  to  go  and  ask  them?" 

"  Ask  the  Captain." 

"  But  the  Captain  is  not  the  least 
likely  to  know." 

"  Go  and  ask  him." 

"  Oh !  please  don't  ask  me  to  go. 
I  should  never  he  ahle  to  struggle 
through  all  these  dreadful  men  on 
the  paddle-boxes.  And  surely  there 
is  no  serious  hurry — if  it  is  them, 
we  are  sure  to  know  in  plenty  of 
time,  and  if  not  it  Avon't  signify  who 
they  are." 

"  Salfish !  parvarse !  as  usual,  I 
must  go  rnysalf;"  whereupon  she 
rose  and  moved  down  the  quarter- 
deck. 

Presently  she  had  got  hold  of  one 
of  the  men  of  the  steamer ;  and  after 
some  conversation,  of  which  Ber- 
trand  and  Pigott  could  perceive 
that  they  were  the  subjects,  they 
saw  her  conducted  to  the  stack  of 
luggage,  saw  her  halted  in  front  of 
theirs,  saw  her  deliberately  read  the 
labels  thereon,  and  return  in  triumph 
to  her  companion,  remarking,  "  I 
was  right — it  is  them ;  I'll  go  and 
speak  to  them." 

"  Oh,  please  not ! "  said  the 
younger  lady. 

"  Why  not,  pray  ? " 

"  It  looks  so  forward  and  inquisi- 
tive ;  and  they  must  have  seen  you 
reading  their  addresses." 

"  Affectation  !  I  have  no  patience 
with  you ;  "  and  she  turned  and  ad- 
vanced upon  Bertrand  and  Pigott. 
But  Pigott,  divining  her  intention, 
and  remarking  to  his  friend,  "  With- 
out doubt  a  Highland  kinswoman 
of  yours,  who  recognises  the  family 
knee,  and  is  coming  to  rend  us," 
they  broke  and  fled  to  the  paddle- 
boxes,  and  there  remained  in  safety 
till  the  vessel  reached  Ardrishaig, 
where  disembarkation  is  necessary 


Fair  to  Sec.— Part  I. 


91 


to  cross  by  the  Crinan  Canal  to  the 
lona's  sister  on  Loch  Crinan. 

On  their  walk  up  to  the  Canal 
they  overtook  and  passed  the  ladies. 
"  Now,  then,"  they  heard  the  elder 
say,  "  I've  got  them ;  ahem  ! " 

"•No,  no !"  whispered  the  younger 
lady. 

"  I  will ;  ahem  !  ahem  !  ahem  ! " 
and  the  latter  sounds  being  obvious- 
ly intended  to  attract  their  atten- 
tion, Bertrand  and  Pigott  turned 
round  and  were  at  once  accosted 
by  their  pursuer.  Her  accent  AVUS 
extremely  Scotch,  and  a  grotesque 
attempt  to  veneer  it  with  the  tones 
of  the  Southron,  and  to  gild  it  with 
a  few  French  phrases,  made  her  all 
but  unintelligible.  We  shall  only 
attempt  in  her  first  few  sentences 
to  represent  the  hideous  sounds  of 
which  she  was  guilty. 

"  Meal  perdong,  jontlemen,"  she 
exclaimed — "  dee  meal  perdong  ;  a 
little  burrd  has  whispered  to  me 
that  you  are  ong  root  for  Cairnar- 
voch ;  was  the  little  burrd  correct1*" 

Pigott  replied  that  the  bird's  in- 
telligence was  accurate,  with  an  in- 
voluntary glance  in  the  direction  of 
the  younger  lady,  as  if  surmising 
that  she  was  alluded  to  under  the 
metaphor. 

"  Let  me,"  continued  the  chief- 
tainess,  "jontlemen,  let  me  introjooce 
you  to  my  daughter,  Miss  Grant." 

The  two  young  men  made  their 
obeisance  in  great  bewilderment. 

"  The  little  burrd,"  continued  the 
chieftainess,  archly,  "  has  told  me 
something  else." 

"Indeed]" 

"  Yes,  indeed — your  names." 

"  The  little  bird  seems  to  take  a 
very  flattering  interest  in  us." 

"  Yes :  you  are  Captain  Pigott, 
neyspau 1 " 

"  I  am  indeed." 

"  And  you,"  turning  to  Bertrand, 
"  are  Mr  Cameron,  neyspau  1 " 

"  The  bird  seems  to  be  infal- 
lible." 


Fair  to  See.— Part  I. 


"  I  could  tell  that  you  were  in- 
tended to  be  a  Cameron  by  your 
tartans,  of  course.  Well,  jontlemen, 
I'm  deloited  to  make  your  acquoint- 
ance,  I'm  shaw."  The  party  then 
moved  on  together,  the  two  young 
men  much  puzzled  as  to  who  this 
oracle  might  be  who  stopped  them 
on  the  Queen's  highway  to  tell  them 
who  they  were  and  where  they  were 
going. 

"  We  are  most  fortunate  in  our 
weather,"  remarked  Bertrand. 

"  We  are,"  replied  the  lady,  eye- 
ing him  grimly  all  over ;  "  and 
that,  let  me  say,  is  very  fortunate 
for  your  jacket — a  velvet  jacket — a 
silk- velvet  jacket ;  you  must  excuse 
me  for  saying  that  it  has  a  peculiar 
look  in  the  morning." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said 
Bertrand,  blushing  painfully. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  lady,  "  out 
of  all  taste.  How  would  I  look 
in  a  silk -velvet  gown  on  board  a 
steamer  ?  " 

"  There  can  be  no  question  that 
the  effect  would  be  superb  in  any 
situation,"  said  Pigott,  gravely,  com- 
ing to  the  rescue  of  his  friend. 

"Which  shows  that  you  know 
nothing  about  it,"  rejoined  the 
chieftainess,  ignoring  the  compli- 
ment. "  Full-dress  tartan,  too  !  it 
is  very  suspicious — very." 

"  I  trust  you  don't  suspect  me  of 
being  an  accomplice,  madam,"  said 
Pigott,  gravely. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  you,  but 
my  suspicion  is  that  he  is  only  a 
Cockney  Highlander  after  all." 

"  No,  I'm  not,  indeed  ;  I'm  as 
Highland  as — as — anything." 

"  As  a  peat,  you  would  have  said, 
if  you  had  been^wre  song.11 

"  To  confess  the  truth,  then, 
though  I  am  pur  sang  a  High- 
lander, I  know  nothing  of  the  lan- 
guage, I  am  ashamed  to  say." 

"  That's  honest,  at  all  events  ; 
and,  if  you  are  a  Highlander,  we 
must  teach  you  up  at  Cairnarvoch 


[Jan. 

to  look  like  one,  and  to  speak  the 
language,  and  how  to  dance  strath- 
speys and  reels  and  Ghillie  Callum, 
and  toss  the  caber  and  throw  the 
hammer,  and  eat  haggis,  and  drink 
whisky  and  Athole  brose,  and 

"  I  am  afraid  it  would  take  too 
long  to  teach  me  so  many  desirable 
accomplishments — that  is,  if  I  am 
to  shoot  any  grouse ;  but  am  I  to 
xinderstand  that  we  are  to  have 
the  happiness  of  being  your  neigh- 
bours at  Cairnarvoch?" 

"  Neighbours  !  why,  aren't  you 
coming  to  stay  with  us?" 

"  Ah  !   really  —  too   kind  —  but 


"  Mamma,  you  quite  forget  that 
these  gentlemen  can't  possibly  know 
who  you  are,"  said  Morna. 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ? " 

"  Unless  they  have  the  '  second- 
sight.'  " 

"  You  are  forgetting  yourself, 
Morna.  Is  this  so,  jontlemen?  Am 
I  not  known  to  you  ? " 

"  A  little  bird,"  said  Pigott,  "  has 
whispered  to  me  that  you  are  Mrs 
Grant." 

"  That's  right  and  wrong." 

"  She  must  have  been  drinking 
before  she  came  on  board,"  thought 
both  the  men. 

"  Eight,  because  I  was  Mrs 
Grant ;  wrong  because  I'm  not." 

"  Fearfully  intoxicated,"  thought 
Pigott  and  Bertrand — "  a  painful 
spectacle." 

"  I  see,  in  introjoocing  my  daugh- 
ter, I  forgot  myself.  She  is  Miss 
Grant,  my  daughter  by  my  first, 
Captain  Grant ;  but  I  am  now  Mrs 
M'Killop,  to  whose  house  you  are 
going."  The  young  men  expressed 
due  satisfaction  at  the  discovery, 
and  she  went  on  loftily:  "  The 
mistake  is  tickling;  but  one  is  so 
accustomed  to  be  known  in  one's 
own  country  by  every  one,  that  it 
does  not  occur  to  one  that  one  is 
not  known  by  any  one." 

"  It  was  deplorable  stupidity  on 


Fair  to  See.— Part  I. 


1871.] 

our  part,"  said  Pigott,  "  and  we  beg 
to  apologise." 

"  We'll  say  no  more  about  it," 
said  the  lady,  with  magnanimity ; 
"  we  were  staying  with  some  friends 
on  a  visit  at  Port  Maikie ;  but  I 
harrd  two  days  ago  from  M'Killop 
that  you  were  to  arrive  to-day,  so  we 
have  returned  to  receive  you  ;  and 
here  we  are  at  the  Canal  and  the 
steamer.  Captain  Pigott,  kindly 
give  me  your  hand  up  the  ladder ; 
Morna,  take  my  parasol ;  M'Kenzie 
(to  the  spectre),  run  up  and  pre- 
pare a  seat.  Let  me  give  you  a 
hint,  Mr  Cameron,  in  ascending 
the  ladder  to  be  very  careful.  You 
look  like  a  fish  out  of  water  in  that 
dress  ;  and  an  Englishman  in  a 
kilt  is  usually  a  shocking,  indecent 
sight." 

"  I  shall  certainly  spare  you  such 
an  infliction,"  said  Bertrand,  in  a 
rage.  "  I  shall  stay  below.  Pigott, 
you  will  find  me  in  the  cabin  when 
you  come  down  again." 

"  It  is  a  wise  plan,"  rejoined  the 
matron,  "  for  the  sun  will  soon  have 
blistered  these  poor  white  knees  of 
yours — I  can  see  that ;  and  you  will 
avoid  impertinent  , remarks  at  the 
same  time,  which  your  appearance 
provokes.  It  would  be  unpleasant 
to  have  every  one  saying,  '  Who 
in  the  world  is  this  with  Mrs 
M'Killop T — would  it  not?" 

"  Very  much  so  indeed ;  but  you 
need  have  no  fear  of  my  compro- 
mising you  —  or  myself."  And 
Bertrand,  torn  with  rage  and  morti- 
fication, increased  by  the  tittering  of 
some  bystanders  who  overheard  Mrs 
M'Killop's  loud  remarks,  flounced 
into  the  little  cabin  and  sat  down 
in  a  corner,  thankful  for  the  small 
mercy  of  finding  it  empty. 

Presently  he  was  joined  by  his 
friend.  "  Well,  Bertrand-,"  said  he, 
"  even  you  are  laughed  at  sometimes, 
it  seems." 

"  Yes,"  roared  Bertrand,  starting 
up ;  "  but  it's  the  last  time  I  shall 


93 


be  laughed  at  for  this  infamous 
dress.  It  is  a  savage  dress,  an  abom- 
inable contrivance  of  the  foul  fiend. 
I'll  change  it  directly  I  get  to  Oban ; 
and  as  for  that  she- savage,  I  wish 
she  was  overboard." 

"  I  think  she  is  rather  a  trump — 
mad,  of  course,  but  a  trump." 

"  I  admire  your  taste.  This  is 
one  of  your  'ladies  of  refinement' 
you've  let  me  in  for." 

"  Come,  come,  Bertrand,  you're 
unreasonable." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it :  it  was  all  your 
doing.  You  brought  me  here,  but 
hang  me  if  I  stay  here !  I'll  give  up 
my  leave  and  go  back  to-night — I 
tell  you,  to-night." 

"  In  trousers,  of  course  1 "  suggest- 
ed Pigott. 

"  In  trousers  !  I  should  rather 
think  so." 

While  Bertrand  was  indulging  in 
this  childish  ebullition  below,  the 
cause  of  his  ire  was  being  taken  to 
task  on  deck.  "  Mamma,"  said  Miss 
Grant,  when  Pigott  left  them,  "what 
could  induce  you  to  be  so  rude  to 
Mr  Cameron  1 " 

"  I  protest  I  don't  understand 
you,  gurl;  I  never  was  rude  in  my 
life." 

"  You  told  him  he  was  a  Cockney, 
that  his  dress  was  out  of  taste  and 
ridiculous,  and  that  it  was  unplea- 
sant to  you  to  be  seen  with  him.  It 
has  hurt  his  feelings,  at  all  events, 
whether  it  was  rude  or  not,  and 
made  me  feel — feel " 

"  Oh,  out  with  it;  say  it  at  once. 
You're  ashamed  of  your  mother — 
that's  it;  and  this  is  what  comes  of 
your  fine  education,  and  living  with 
your  mother's  enemies;  this  is  the 
Grant  spirit — quite  the  Grant  spirit 
— most  undutiful !" 

"  Mamma,  you  know  I  would 
rather  be  anything  than  undutiful ; 
but  surely  you  can't  wish  to  say  un- 
kind things  to  people,  or  to  hurt 
their  feelings  intentionally ;  and  if 
I  see  you  doing  it  without  being 


94 


Fair  to  See.— Part  I. 


[Jan. 


aware,  it  can't  "be  undutiful  of  me  to 
tell  you." 

"  You  are  far  too  fond  of  lectur- 
ing. I  saw  this  young  man  had  a 
high  look  and  a  conceited  manner, 
and  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  put 
him  in  his  place  at  once.  Who  is 
he  ?  Some  beggarly  subaltern,  who 
thinks,  because  he  pays  us  a  rent, 
that  we  are  to  be  the  dust  under  his 
feet!  No,  no;  I've  put  him  in  his 
place,  and  in  his  place  I'll  keep  him. 
He  may  be  the  son  of  a  London 
shopkeeper  for  all  we  know." 

"  Well,  mamma,  I  declare  I  saw 
nothing  the  least  assuming  or  im- 
pertinent about  either  of  these  two 
gentlemen  ;  and  surely  it  would  be 
time  enough  to  put  them  in  their 
places  when  they  become  so." 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  We  have 
too  many  of  these  sham  Highlanders 
nowadays.  It  is  most  offensive  to 
the  old  blood." 

"  You  don't  know  that  this  gen- 
tleman is  not  of  the  old  blood." 

"  What !  and  travel  in  a  silk- vel- 
vet jacket  and  full-dress  tartan  1 — 
preposterous  ! " 

"  At  any  rate,  whoever  he  is,  he 
certainly  did  nothing  to  offend  you, 
and  I  am  afraid  you  have  certainly 
offended  him.  Is  this  Highland 
hospitality  1 " 

"  No  one  can  say  a  word  against 
my  hospitality  ;  and  if  you  really 
think  the  poor  creature  takes  to 
heart  so  much  what  I  said,  I'll  put 
him  at  his  ease  again  in  a  moment. 
I  have  tact." 

This  valuable  quality  she  put  in 
requisition  on  Bertrand's  reappear- 
ance, which,  however,  did  not  take 
place  till  they  were  approaching  the 
end  of  the  voyage.  Then  advancing 
to  him  with  a  subtle  smile  in  her 
pig's  eyes,  she  peered  into  his  dark 
countenance,  and  remarked  mincing- 
ly,  "Gloomy,  gloomy  face!" — an 
exhibition  of  tact  which,  though 
twice  repeated,  had  not  the  instan- 
taneous effect  expected ;  on  the  con- 


trary, Bertram!  showed  symptoms  of 
retreat. 

"A  high  temper  is  a  sad  curse, 
Mr  Cameron,"  she  continued.  "  I 
see  you  suffer  from  it ;  but  if  I  had 
known  its  violence,  my  playful  rub 
would  have  been  spared.  No  per- 
son of  tact  would  wantonly  infuri- 
ate such  a  disposition." 

To  be  grossly  insulted,  and  then 
accused  of  having  a  furious  temper 
because  he  had  simply  avoided  bis 
insulter,  struck  Bertrand  as  rather 
strong,  and  he  replied  with  a  digni- 
fied falsehood,  "You  must  pardon 
me  if  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  under- 
stand your  allusions." 

"  Oh !  don't  attempt  to  deny  it. 
In  my  playful  way  (I'm  a  sad  joker) 
I  rallied  you  about  your  dress,  which 
is,  you  must  feel,  a  little  Laznrre, 
and  about  your  white  limbs,  and  *o 
forth,  and  you  must  needs  fly  into  a 
tantrum  and  shut  yourself  up  in  the 
cabin,  foaming  and  swearing,  I've 
no  doubt.  It's  choildish,  choildish  ; 
we  must  all  bear  rubs,  and  to  sho" 
temper  to  a  lady  is  not,  let  me  tc-ll 
you,  commy  faw  in  a  Highland  gen- 
tleman, which  seems  to  be  the  char- 
acter you  aim  at ! ! " 

"  I  flatter  myself,  madam,  it  is  the 
character  which  I  have  the  honour 
to  possess,"  said  Bertrand,  loftily. 

"  Ah  !  perhaps,  perhaps ;  but  silk 
velvet  in  the  morning,  and  a  dress 
tartan,  you  must  see  that  these  are 
very  suspicious." 

"  I  don't  really  know  what  yoxi 
suspect  me  of,"  cried  Bertrand, 
bursting,  in  spite  of  himself,  into  a 
laugh  at  this  singular  moral  and 
social  criterion. 

"  That's  right ;  another  laugh, 
and  the  black  dog  will  be  off  your 
back.  It  is  suspicious,  as  I  said. 
You  see  we  have  many  London 
Cockneys  coming  down  here  dressed 
out  like  you,  and  we  don't  like  it ; 
the  old  blood  doesn't  like  it :  right 
or  wrong,  it  is  insulting  to  the  old 
blood." 


1871.] 


"  You  imply  that  I  am  one  of  the 
London  Cockneys  1 " 

"  No,  I  didn't  say  imply.  I  said 
that  there  was  a  suspicious  look 
about  the  whole  thing." 

"  Then  let  me  relieve  you  by 
saying  that  I  believe  in  this  very 
district  there  is  no  blood  older  than 
mine." 

"  Ah !  yes,  it's  common  to  say 
that,  and  believe  it  too,  I  daresay  ; 
but  when  one  comes  to  investigate, 
— to  say,  '  Show  me  your  ruins,  your 
tombs,  your  castles  passed  away  to 
strangers  and  Sassenachs,' — there  is 
often  a  hitch — a  hitch." 

"  I  daresay  we  can  show  tombs 
and  ruins  with  our  neighbours ;  as 
to  castles  passed  away  to  Sassen- 
achs, I  am  glad  to  say  there  is  a 
hitch ;  but  there  is  a  castle  in  this 
county  belonging  to  us,  and  I  be- 
lieve it  has  been  some  five  hundred 
years  in  our  possession.  I  had  a 
notion  that  made  us  a  pretty  old 
family  ;  but  if  it  is  necessary  to  sell 
it  before  we  can  be  recognised  as 
'  the  old  blood,'  I  hope  we  shall  con- 
tinue parvenus  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury." 

"  It  is  a  fair  age,  certainly,"  said 
the  lady,  "though  nothing  to  the 
M'Whannels,  my  maternal  ances- 
tors ;  but  there  is  no  family  an- 
swering to  all  this  except  the  Cam- 
erons  of  Aberlorna,  and  there  is  only 
one  old  man  in  it." 

"There  you  are  mistaken;  there 
is  also  a  young  one,  and  I  am  the 
individual." 

"  The  relationship  will  be  pretty 
distant,  I'm  thinking." 

"Not  so  very  far  of;  I  am  Sir 
Roland  Cameron's  nephew." 

"His  nephew?" 

"Yes." 

"  Dear,  dear  !  how  stupid  of  me  ! 
Then  you  must  have  been  an  or- 
phan 1 " 

"  I  still  am,  unfortunately." 

"  And  you  didn't  die,  as  was  said, 
at  the  same  time  as  your  parents  f 


Fair  to  See.— Part  I. 


95 


"  So  it  would  seem." 

"  Oh  !  this  is  all  very  different — 
gratifying,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Mrs 
M'Killop,  with  enthusiasm  ;  "  we'll 
shake  hands,  if  you  please,  and  think 
no  more  of  my  little  rub,  which 
could  never  apply  to  a  Cameron  of 
Aberlorna.  Satirical  people  like 
me  are  often  led  away  into  saying 
things  they  don't  mean  ;  and  if  your 
dress  is  a  little  fine,  his  most  sacred 
Majesty  George  the  Fourth  landed 
at  Leith  in  full  dress,  which  ought 
to  be  a  setting  of  the  fashion;  and 
it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  re- 
ceive you  into  our  house.  Indeed 
it's  a  kind  of  revival  of  old  times, 
for  there  is  a  connection  between 
us. 

"Really?" 

"Yes;  although  there  has  been 
no  intercourse  and  something  more 
than  a  coolness  between  the  fami- 
lies for  generations,  there  is  a  con- 
nection. You  must  have  heard  of 
TorkM'Ouanall,  who  received  thirty- 
seven  wounds — all  mortal — at  the 
battle  of  Inverlochy  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  not." 

"  No  1  how  droll !  well,  he  was 
my  ancestor,  and  he  married  a  Cam- 
eron (it  was  a  great  match  for  the 
Camerons,  although  I  say  it),  and 
that  makes  the  connection." 

"It  is  the  proudest  moment  of 
my  existence,"  said  Bertrand,  his 
ill-humour  vanishing  at  the  absurd- 
ity of  the  whole  scene. 

"  Morna,  you  must  shake  hands 
with  Mr  Cameron,"  said  her  mother. 

Morna  gave  a  look  of  half-annoy- 
ance, with  which,  however,  fun  was 
struggling,  and  held  out  her  hand 
to  Bertrand,  who  gallantly  remark- 
ed, "  Let  the  vendetta  of  generations 
die  from  this  hour." 

"  A  most  extraordinary  coinci- 
dence, I  must  say,"  continued  Mrs 
M'Killop,  "  that  we  should  become 
acquainted  in  this  way.  We  are  very 
clannish,  we  Highlanders,  Captain 
Pigott;  and  I  daresay  you  can 


96 


Fair  to  See, — Part  I. 


[Jan. 


scarcely  understand  the  feelings  of 
delight  which  Mr  Cameron  and  I 
are  enjoying  just  now?" 

Pigott  confessed  that,  though  en- 
viable, they  were  a  trifle  beyond  his 
depth ;  and  here  the  voyage,  like 
the  vendetta,  came  to  a  close,  and 
any  hope  our  travellers  might  have 
cherished  of  escaping  from  the  toils 
of  their  hostess  were  at  once  dis- 
pelled by  her  remarking,  "  M'Killop 
has  arranged  that  we  are  all  to  dine 
here  together,  and  drive  home  in  the 
evening.  He  was  to  bespeak  all 
necessary  conveyances  for  the  joint 
party." 

"  A  charming  plan,"  said  Pigott ; 
"  and  what  is  the  length  of  the 
drive  1 " 

"From  three  to  four  hours;  but 
it  is  never  dark  at  this  season,  and 
we  shall  all  be  refreshed  by  the 
cool  jews." 

Before  long  they  were  seated  at 
an  excellent  dinner  in  the  hotel, 
and  its  soothing  influence  very  soon 
told  upon  the  party.  Bertrand  for- 
got his  sulks,  his  annoyances,  even 
his  kilt ;  and  his  heart  was  merry 
Avithin  him,  as  he  sat  amicably 
vis-a-vis  to  the  descendant  of  the 
ill-fated  Tork. 

As  for  that  lady,  after  a  glass  or 
two  of  champagne,  she  became  more 
than  ever  communicative,  pouring 
forth,  in  an  unbroken  stream,  choice 
extracts  from  her  personal  and  fam- 
ily history. 

It  was  thus  that  our  travellers 
became  aware  that  her  maiden  name 
had  been  M'Kechnie  (which  was 
not  to  be  confounded  with  M'Kech- 
ran  or  M'Fechnie,  these  being  in- 
ferior septs),  a  clan  of  unusual  an- 
tiquity and  power,  but  which,  sur- 
prising as  it  might  seem,  was  not  to 
her  so  great  a  source  of  pride  as 
her  descent  maternally  from  the 
M'Whannels.  Pigott  gravely  as- 
sented that  he  was  scarcely  prepared 
for  that.  It  was  true,  however,  she 
averred ;  but  ail  their  grand  days 


were  over.  Clans  and  clansman- 
ship  were  at  an  end.  Their  proper- 
ties had  passed  to  aliens.  The 
M'Kechnies  were  landless  as  the 
Gregarach ;  and,  to  his  undying  dis- 
grace, the  titular  chief  of  the 
M'Whannels  was  content  to  super- 
vise the  excise  department  of  his 
native  district  for  the  meanest  of 
stipends. 

Washing  away  ancestral  sorrows 
with  a  glass  of  champagne,  Mrs 
M'Killop  came  to  her  own  personal 
history,  and  explained  that  in  their 
reduced  state  the  daughters  of  her 
clan  could  not  afford  to  be  fastidi- 
ous in  matrimonial  matters.  Hence 
her  marriage,  contracted  in  spite  of 
personal  advantages  which  she  need 
not  dwell  upon  (but  did,  however, 
at  great  length),  with  Grant,  a 
worthy  man,  and  a  cadet  of  a  good 
house,  but  only  a  "  marching  cap- 
tain." He  died,  and  she  had  sor- 
rowed for  him — honestly  and  con- 
scientiously mourned  him — as  long 
as  was  fit  and  proper,  whatever  a  set 
of  stuck-up  vinegar  old  maids  might 
say  to  the  contrary ;  after  whom  " 
(with  a  fierce  glance  at  Morna),"  she 
hoped  no  daughter  of  hers  would 
take," — a  remark  which  brought  the 
young  lady  into  action,  her  annoy- 
ance at  her  mother's  absurdity  being 
no  longer  repressible,  and  she  said : 
"  Mamma,  I  don't  think  our  family 
matters  can  be  very  amusing  to 
these  gentlemen,  and  I  do  beg  of 
you,  at  all  events,  to  say  nothing 
against  my  dear,  kind  aunts ;  you 
know  how  it  vexes  me." 

"  There  !  "  said  Mrs  M'Killop, 
looking  round  at  the  two  gentle- 
men, "  there  it  is.  This  comes  of 
living  with  aunts.  Poor  Grant  had 
a  fancy  that  this  child  should  spend 
half  her  time  with  his  sisters,  and 
this  is  what  comes  of  it — temper 
and  insubordination  which  only  a 
mother's  tact  and  tuition  could  con- 
trol. I  will  say  nothing  more  of 
your  friends,  Morna,  since  it  is  un- 


1871.] 

pleasant  to  you;  but  I  will  go  on 
with  my  little  story,  as  I  take  leave 
to  think  it  will  interest  these  gen- 
tlemen, both  of  whom  are  to  be 
our  inmates,  and  one  of  whom  is 
in  a  manner  connected."  And  this 
brought  her  to  her  marriage  with 
M'Killop,  a  gentleman  who  had,  a 
few  years  before,  returned  from  the 
colonies.  He  had  realised  every- 
thing there,  and  resolved  upon  the 
purchase  of  an  estate  in  Scotland, 
where,  by  a  strange  coincidence, 
his  clan  had  also  become  as  land- 
less as  any  M'Kechnie  or  M'Whan- 
nel  of  them  all.  By  another  coin- 
cidence, M'Killop  was  a  widower, 
with  one  son  and  one  daughter. 
When  he  had  urged  his  suit,  which 
he  had  done  with  a  very  proper 
importunity,  she  had  carefully 
weighed  everything ;  and  her  daugh- 
ter's interest  being  paramount,  the 
circumstance  that  he,  too,  had  a 
daughter,  had  told  in  his  favour. 
"  The  companionship  will  be  good 
for  my  child,"  she  had  said  ;  "I 
will  be  a  mother  to  his  girl,  he  a 
father  to  mine ; "  and  so  had  yield- 
ed. "  I  have  not  repented  my  de- 
cision," she  continued ;  "  like  Auld 
Robin  Gray,  M'Killop  has  been  'a 
kind  man  to  me.' "  And  she  spoke 
as  though  the  wedding  had  in- 
volved sacrifices  on  her  part  equi- 
valent to  those  of  the  heroine  of 
that  tearful  ballad.  "  My  only  re- 
gret is  that  we  cannot  suit  our- 
selves with  an  estate.  The  M'Kil- 
lop country  has  passed  entirely  into 
the  hands  of  an  English  Duke" 
(and  the  probabilities  are  that  his 
Grace  did  not  find  it  a  very  heavy 
handful),  "  and  there  is  no  other 
appropriate  settlement  open  at  pre- 
sent. Cairnarvoch  is  a  sadly  dull 
place — the  neighbours  distant,  and 
not  to  our  mind;  and  so  this  plan 
of  taking  in  our  shooting  tenants 
does  not  seem  amiss.  I  am  sure  we 
shall  get  on  very  happily  together. 
M'Killop  has  reserve,  but  he  is 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLX1II. 


Fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


97 


quite  the  jontleman.  My  daughter 
is  as  you  see  her— too  brusk — too 
outspoken.  I  wish  she  could  take 
a  little  of  the  polish  of  her  step- 
sister, keeping  her  own  heart,  which 
is  a  kind  one,  although  she  does  her 
best  to  conceal  it.  But  you  will 
make  allowances  for  her ;  it  is  all 
the  wild  M'Whannel  blood,  which 
is  not  tamed  in  a  day,  as  I  daresay 
you  know,  Mr  Cameron."  Thus 
appealed  to,  Bertrand  gave  a  know- 
ing look,  intended  to  signify  that 
any  one  who  attempted  to  tackle  a 
M'Whannel  would,  in  his  opinion, 
find  tough  work  cut  out  for  him  ; 
and  Morna,  jumping  up,  cried  out, 
"  Mamma,  if  you  give  such  a  dread- 
ful account  of  me,  these  poor  gentle- 
men will  be  afraid  to  drive  home 
with  us  in  the  dark,  and  if  we  stay 
here  much  longer,  it  will  be  dark 
before  we  get  home.  Do  order  the 
carriages." 

The  order  was  given,  and  two 
large  uncovered  omnibuses  were 
speedily  at  the  door.  In  the  fore- 
most the  ladies  and  gentlemen  and 
the  lighter  baggage  were  bestowed, 
and  the  other  being  loaded  with  the 
servants,  dogs,  and  heavier  impedi- 
menta, a  start  was  effected. 

It  will  not  do  to  indicate  their 
exact  route.  The  Celtic  imagination 
is  highly  pitched,  and  the  temper  of 
the  race  sometimes  a  little  stiff,  and 
if  we  were  to  particularise,  who  can 
say  what  might  come  of  it  1  Who 
can  say  how  many  Mornas,  and 
M'Killops,  and  M'Kechnies,  not  to 
mention  untamable  M'Whannels, 
might  swoop  upon  us,  terrible  as  the 
army  of  "  the  Phairshon,"  and  stri- 
dent as  the  overwhelming  music  of 
that  celebrated  host  1  Far  from  us 
be  any  such  indiscretion.  We  may 
safely  say,  however,  that  the  route 
was  a  beautiful  one,  though  the 
road  was  hilly,  and  its  engineering 
reflected  more  credit  on  the  aesthe- 
tic than  on  the  practical  turn  of  its 
contriver. 


98 


Fair  to  See.— Part  I. 


[Jan. 


The  sun  had  just  set  behind  the 
distant  hills  of  Mull,  but  the  sky 
was  without  a  cloud,  and  glorious 
with  that  warm  and  mellow  tint 
which  comes  not  often  on  the  north- 
ern sky,  but  coming  casts  on  it  a 
beauty  unknown  to  the  heavens  of 
the  South,  where  night  usurps  with 
indecent  haste  the  kingdom  of  the 
sun,  allowing  no  brief  courtesy  of 
twilight.  Yet  not  to  twilight  does 
this  mellow  tint  belong,  but  to  a 
certain  benign  middle  light  between 
it  and  the  sun's  departure.  Lack- 
ing the  glory  of  the  sun,  yet  lacking 
the  mystery  of  the  dusk,  it  with- 
holds the  ruder  revelations  of  the 
one  and  the  weird  transformations 
of  the  other.  Seen  by  it,  every  ob- 
ject retains  its  identity,  but  with 
each  harsher  detail  refined  and  soft- 
ened. Seen  by  it,  the  purple  hills, 
though  their  outlines  are  severe  as 
against  a  moonlit  sky,  may  indeed 
be  said  to  bloom  ;  and  the  wild  cat- 
aract, leaping  in  its  glory,  to  cast 
itself  down  in  softlier  falling  sheets 
of  silvery  tissue  from  the  height ; 
and  the  thousand  variations  of  the 
forest  foliage  to  blend  into  the  one 
excellence  of  an  ideal  verdure  ;  and 
the  sunset  breeze  rippling  the  bos- 
oms of  quiet  mountain-tarns,  to  lay 
on  them  a  chastened  lustre — the 
pathetic  impress,  as  it  were,  of  the 
sun's  pure  "  good-night."  "  The 
stars  of  earth,"  as  Schiller  calls  the 
flowers,  may  pensively  veil  some- 
what of  their  brightness — a  fitting 
tribute  to  him  who  is  away — their 
glory  and  their  life  ;  yet  from  them, 
in  their  sweet  eclipse,  a  compensat- 
ing fragrance  rises,  and  fresher  than 
the  incense  offered  to  their  present 
lord  are  the  odorous  sighs  they 
breathe  when  he  is  gone — waiting 
for  the  sympathetic  light  of  their 
sister  stars  above. 

It  was  a  delicious  evening,  and  its 
soft  influence,  and  the  great  beauty 
all  around,  and  the  stillness — the 
sudden  hush  which  falls  upon  the 


world  when  the  sun  disappears,  as 
if  Nature  paused  a  moment  and 
muttered  the  breathless  question — 
"  Will  he  return  ] " — all  the  deep 
influences  of  the  hour  and  scene 
might  well  make  speech  a  profana- 
tion, and  silence  praise,  and  silence 
fell  upon  the  party.  It  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  Pigott's  taciturnity  was 
probably  due  to  a  constitutional  bias 
in  that  direction,  and  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop's,  without  doubt,  to  the  more 
sublunary  influence  of  an  after-din- 
ner sleep.  But  Bertrand  was  in  a 
seventh  heaven.  Nature  and  Beauty 
were  revealing  themselves  to  him  in 
their  most  benignant  aspects,  touch- 
ing his  heart  with  the  fire  of  a  hun- 
dred enthusiasms,  and  stirring  all 
the  romance  and  poetry  of  his  soul 
into  a  sort  of  rapturous  life. 

Looking  over  the  splendid  hills, 
his  spirit  swelled  with  a  patriotic 
joy,  and  he  thought,  "  At  last !  Scot- 
land !  my  country  ! "  Here  he  was 
living  and  moving  amid  scenes  that 
hitherto  had  been  but  the  shadowy 
accessories  of  a  thousand  day-dreams. 
On  these  very  hills  the  mighty  king 
of  Morven  had  mustered  his  hosts 
to  go  forth  to  the  battle  with  Loch- 
lin ;  in  these  hollow  glens  they  had 
gathered  to  the  joyous  "  feast  of 
shells ; "  across  these  shimmering 
waters  they  had  sped  their  dark 
prows,  burning  to  reap  harvests  of 
death  with  biting  brands  that 
"  never  gave  a  second  wound " — 
Fingal,  Ossian,  and  Oscar,  and  Gaul, 
the  peerless  son  of  Morni !  The 
wild  strains  of  ecstatic  minstrels,  the 
clash  of  armour,  the  battle-cry,  the 
wailing  dirge,  seemed  to  live  in  his 
ears  ;  the  sheen  of  beamy  spears, 
the  waving  of  banners,  the  stream- 
ing locks  of  heroes  rushing  to  the 
maelstrom  of  the  fray,  rose  to  his 
mental  vision.  The  clear  sky-line 
of  the  mountains  seemed  thronged 
with  shadowy  hosts,  and  on  the 
margin  of  the  sea  stood  the  fair 
forms  of  other  years — Bragela,  and 


1871.] 

Evirallin,  and  white-armed  Strina- 
Dona.  And  who  were  these  that 
came  like  the  mists,  hovering, 
slow 

"  What  a  delicious  curd  there  was 
on  that  salmon  at  dinner ! "  here 
broke  in  the  rasping  voice  of  Mrs 
M'Killop;  and  though  the  remark 
(no  doubt  from  the  depths  of  slum- 
ber) was  not  followed  by  another, 
but  tapered  off  into  a  succession  of 
snores,  snorts,  gasps,  and  wheezes, 
it  acted  as  "  a  word  of  power."  The 
shadowy  hosts  halted  in  their  rush, 
when  the  salmon  rose  in  its  material 
curdiness ;  at  the  sound  of  the  earthy 
artillery  which  followed,  they  fled 
quaking  back  to  Valhalla  ;  and  Ber- 
trand,  tumbling  headlong  out  of 
cloiidland,  "  shocked "  against  the 
cold  earth,  as  the  eagle  falls  pierced 
by  the  bullet  of  prosaic  man. 

He  glanced  rapidly  round  at  his 
companions,  as  if  half  fearing  that 
they  might  be  conscious  of  his  fan- 
ciful excursion,  and  half  indignant 
at  his  rude  recall.  Mrs  M'Killop's 
eyes  were  closed,  her  head  moved  in 
a  suave  rhythm  with  the  sound  of 
her  snoring ;  she  was  beyond  suspi- 
cion and  the  reach  of  wrath,  and  a 
well-pleased  smile  on  her  full  lips 
suggested  that  her  late  repast  was 
being  re-enacted  in  a  succulent 
dream. 

Pigott,  cold  and  wooden,  was 
fixedly  staring  at  the  rug  upon  his 
knees;  but  Bertrand  found  that 
Morna  was  curiously  looking  at  him. 

"  I — I  was  admiring  that  moun- 
tain," he  said,  in  an  apologetic  tone  ; 
"  what  is  its  name  1 " 

"That  is  Ben  Scarrig,"  replied 
Morna. 

"  It  is  magnificent." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  very  fine  hill." 

"  And  how  beautifully  clear  the 
outline  is  ! " 

"  Yes,  but  I  prefer  it  with  some 
mist.  It  is  wonderful  sometimes  to 
see  the  mist  marching  up  from  the 
sea,  stealing  through  these  woods 


Fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


below,  and  creeping  along  the  ridges, 
just  as  if  it  had  started  to  reach  the 
top,  like  something  living — with  a 
purpose." 

"  Like  an  army  of  phantom  sea- 
kings  storming  the  height,"  cried 
Bertrand,  suspecting  a  congenial 
spirit. 

"  It  moves  too  gently  for  that," 
said  Morna,  "  more  like  a  procession 
of  phantom  pilgrims  visiting  the 
cairn  of  some  great  soldier  who  had 
died  a  hermit  and  a  saint,  and  been 
buried  in  his  cell  far  away  up  there 
on  the  top  of  the  mountain." 

"  Miss  Grant,  you  are  quite  a 
poetess." 

"  No,  no,  I  was  only  following 
your  idea — only  an  imitator ;  it  is 
the  story  of  Columbus'  egg." 

"  I  wonder  what  Pigott's  simile 
would  be?"  said  Bertrand;  "  what  is 
it  like,  Pigott  ?" 

"  Which  ?  the  egg,  or  the  hermit, 
or  the  mountain,  or  what?" 

"  The  mist." 

"  Produce  the  mist,  and  I  may 
be  able  to  tell  you." 

"There  wouldn't  be  half  the 
imagination,  you  wouldn't  have  half 
the  credit,  Captain  Pigott,  if  you 
saw  it  before  your  eyes." 

"  Oh  !  I'm  a  prose  author ;  but, 
if  it  must  be  a  procession  of  some 
sort,  I  should  say  a  string  of  phan- 
tom tourists,  headed  by  the  adven- 
turous Cook." 

"  Doesn't  he  deserve  to  be  among 
them,  Miss  Grant  1 " 

"  Yes,  I  don't  really  think  he  is 
half  ethereal  enough  for  our  society." 

"  You  should  let  me  sleep,  then, 
if  I  am  not  to  be  among  the  prophets ; 
or,  better  still,  will  you  let  me  smoke, 
Miss  Grant?" 

"  Of  course,  pray  do." 

"  Then  I  will,  and  listen  dream- 
ily to  your  sweet  discourse." 

"  Oh  !  but  we  shall  be  too  shy 
to  say  anything  worth  listening  to, 
when  we  know  that  you  are  sneer- 
ing at  us  all  the  time." 


100 


Fair  to  See, — Part  I. 


[Jan. 


"  Bertrand  is  too  conceited  to  be 
silenced  by  anything,"  said  Pigott. 

"  But  perhaps  I  am  not." 

"  Smokers  never  sneer." 

"  I  won't  trust  you  ;  you  had 
better  go  to  sleep." 

"  Until  Mrs  M'Killop  awakes,  I 
must  watch  over  my  young  friend." 

"  Why,  what  can  you  mean1?" 

"  I  mean  that  after  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop's  formidable  account  of  your 
ancestors,  whose  fierce  disposition 
you  are  said  to  inherit,  I  couldn't 
conscientiously  close  an  eye  upon 
the  lad's  safety.  I  once  read  a 
ballad — perhaps  you  know  it — Glen- 
finlas  by  name.  I  have  a  shocking 
memory,  but  I  think  it  tells  how 
a  gallant  sportsman,  Lord  Ronald, 
went  out  to  hunt  the  dun  deer,  and 
in  his  forest-hut  was  visited  by  just 
such  a  young  lady  as  yourself,  who, 
however,  presently  turned  into  a 
colossal  lady-fiend,  and  made  a  light 
supper  of  the  unhappy  young  noble- 
man." 

"  Pray,  smoke,  Captain  Pigott." 

"But  listen.  Your  ancestors,  the 
MacWanels " 

' '  MacHoo -  annel  !  MacHoo -an- 
nel  ! "  cried  Mrs  M'Killop,  waking 
up  and  shouting  the  words  like  a 
slogan. 

"  The  application  I  reserve  to  a 
future  diet,  as  your  ministers  say," 
remarked  Pigott.  "  Yes,  Mrs 
M'Killop,  I  admit  that  my  pro- 
nunciation is  feeble  :  it  is  one  of 
the  many  failings  of  the  Saxon." 

"  They  are  a  miserable  race,"  said 
Mrs  M'Killop,  relapsing  at  once 
into  slumber. 

"  Instead  of  listening  to  Pigott's 
nonsense,"  said  Bertrand,  "  suppose 
you  sing  us  a  song,  Miss  Grant  ] " 

'  But  suppose  I  can't  sing  1 " 

'  I  know  you  can." 

'Howl" 

'  By  the  sound  of  your  voice." 

'  That  is  very  flattering.  Well, 
I  will  admit  that  I  do  sing  some- 
times." 


"  Gaelic  songs  ? " 

"  Sometimes." 

"Will  you  now?" 

"I  am  afraid  Captain  Pigott 
would  laugh,  and  if  he  did  I  should 
be  angry,  because  I  love  these  songs ; 
I  like  my  other  songs,  but  I  love  the 
Gaelic." 

"  Pigott  is  a  heathen  and  a  Saxon, 
but  he  won't  laugh  at  anything  you 
sing,  I'll  answer  for  him." 

"  Even  if  he  were  ill-bred 
enough  to  think  of  such  a  thing," 
said  Pigott,  "  fear  would  deter  him ; 
the  blood  of  your  untamed  ances- 
tors  " 

"  Now,  Captain  Pigott,  I'm  not 
going  to  be  teased  about  my  ances- 
tors ;  they  are  mamma's  hobby,  not 
mine — pray  let  them  rest  in  peace." 

"  Amen  !  but  do  sing  a  verse  or 
two  of  a  pibroch  or  a  coronach — 

"  You  are  laughing  at  me  already, 
and  that  settles  the  matter.  Mr 
Cameron,  I  will  sing  you  a  Gaelic 
song  some  other  time  when  Captain 
Pigott  is  out  of  the  way.  I  won't 
profane  my  repertoire  by  singing  one 
to  him." 

"  I  belong  to  an  oppressed  na- 
tionality, and  I  kiss  the  rod,"  said 
Pigott ;  "  but  at  least  you  will  let 
us  have  a  song  in  the  vulgar 
tongue  ? " 

"  You  don't  deserve  it,  but  I  will 
be  generous.  You  must  light  your 
cigar  first,  though  ;  I'm  sure  it  will 
make  you  more  civil." 

"  Thus  coerced,  I  yield,"  said 
Pigott,  lighting  up ;  and  Morna 


Bertrand  had  rightly  surmised — 
she  could  sing.  Moreover,  she  chose 
a  song  to  which  her  voice  was  ex- 
actly suited,  one  of  the  sweetest  of 
those  Lowland  melodies  which  the 
genius  of  the  country  and  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  heart  can  teach  a  true, 
pure,  Scottish  voice  to  sing  to  a  per- 
fection seldom  reached  by  any  alien 
with  all  the  advantages  of  artistic 
culture.  Morna's  voice  was  very 


1871.] 

true  and  pure,  and  with  frequent 
tones  of  genuine  pathos  in  its  large 
compass. 

"  I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair ; 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air. 
There's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green — 
There's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings, 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 

"  0  blaw,  ye  westlin  winds,  blaw  saft, 

Amang  the  leafy  trees, 
Wi"  balmy  gale,  frae  hill  and  dale, 

Bring  hame  the  laden  bees  ; 
And  bring  the  lassie  back  to  me, 

Wi'  her  twa  glancin'  een, 
Ae  blink  o'  her  wad  banish  care, 

Sae  lovely  is  my  Jean." 

The  air  and  the  words,  and  the 
voice  that  sang  them,  seemed  all 
to  be  the  natural  outcome  of  the 
scenery  and  the  hour;  and  Ber- 
trand  felt  that,  if  then  and  there 
the  voice  of  singing  was  to  be 
heard,  that  was  the  voice  and  that 
the  song  he  would  have  chosen. 
There  were  the  dewy  flowers  she 
sang  of — the  blue-bell  and  the  fox- 
glove, the  wild-rose  and  the  heather 
— and  there  the  tinkling  chime  of 
mountain  springs — and  the  hills, 
and  the  dales,  and  the  pensive 
light,  and  the  darkening  shaws,  and 
the  plaintive  murmur  of  the  night- 
breeze  stealing  across  the  moorlands, 
balmy  with  the  breath  of  pine  and 
gorse,  and  all  manner  of  delightful 
thymy  fragrance.  It  seemed  to 
Bertrand  that  Morna's  fresh  voice 
set  to  music  all  these  gracious  siir- 
roundings,  and  infused  their  spirit 
into  the  tender  passion  of  her 
"  wood-notes  wild." 

"  Beautiful !  Miss  Grant  —  per- 
fectly beautiful,"  he  cried,  with  en- 
thusiasm ;  "a  thousand  thanks." 

"  Such  a  voice,"  said  Pigott, 
"  might  even  sing  the  songs  of  the 
Ojibbaway,  and  achieve  a  triumph." 

"  Evert,  sing  them,  Captain  Pig- 
ott?" gobbled  Mrs  M'Killop,  who 
was  again  awake ;  "  indeed  !  if  my 
girl  is  not  competent  to  sing  them, 
or  anything  else,  I  don't  know  who 


Fair  to  See, — Part  I. 


should  be,  after  all  the  Signers  and 
the  Herrs  that  have  been  drilling  at 
her." 

"  I  don't  think  my  masters  would 
quite  take  that  as  a  compliment, 
mamma,"  laughed  Morna ;  "  but  the 
less  I  say  about  them  the  better. 
And  now,  Mr  Cameron,  it  is  my 
turn  to  ask  for  a  song." 

"  If  I  begin  to  think  how  badly 
my  performance  will  sound  after 
yours,  I  shall  get  nervous ;  so  I 
won't  think,  but  sing  without  a 
preface." 

And  so  Bertrand  contributed  his 
mite  to  the  concert,  singing  in  a 
pleasant,  capable  baritone,  one  of 
the  English  ballads  of  the  day, 
which  Mrs  M'Killop  pronounced 
to  be  "  mawkish,"  although  the 
singer's  voice  seemed  to  her  to 
have  promise.  Then  Pigott  was 
called  upon,  but  laughed  the  notion 
to  scorn,  and  named  the  driver  as 
his  substitute,  who  declined  the 
office ;  but  being  peremptorily  or- 
dered by  Mrs  M'Killop  to  perform 
on  the  instant  and  in  Gaelic,  even- 
tually did  so,  and  at  great  length, 
• — letting  loose  a  flood  of  low,  dolor- 
ous, guttural  sounds,  which  seemed 
always  on  the  point  of  dying  out, 
but  were  perpetually  rallied  back 
to  life  by  a  sort  of  hiccupy  cry  of 
"  hinyo." 

"Did  he  die?"  asked  Pigott, 
when  the  man  came  at  last  to  a 
close. 

"Die?  who?"  said  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop. 

"  The  gentleman  in  the  ballad," 
said  Pigott. 

"  There  was  nothing  about  death 
or  a  gentleman  in  the  man's  song ; 
it  was  quite  a  funny  little  tale  of 
love,  and  about  a  cow,  and  a  shep- 
herd, and  three  crows — full  of  wit 
and  merriment." 

"But  some  one  groaned  in  the 
chorus,  surely?" 

"  No,  no ;  that  was  an  exclama- 
tion of  joyful  surprise." 


102 


Fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


[Jan. 


"  It  must  be  a  wonderfully  ex- 
pressive language." 

"  It  is  indeed ;  we'll  make  him 
sing  another." 

"  Oh,  Mrs  M'Killop,  that  would 
be  taxing  the  poor  fellow  too  much ; 
and,  by  the  by,  we  are  not  going 
to  let  you  off.  We  must  insist — and 
indeed,  it  is  my  call — upon  a  song 
from  you." 

Pigott  found  he  had  got  from 
the  frying-pan  into  the  fire.  His 
request  was  instantly  complied  with, 
and  Mrs  M'Killop,  in  a  high,  reedy 
voice,  full  of  cracks  and  fissures, 
plunged  straight  into  an  intricate 
ballad,  in  which  some  Scottish  maid 
tested  her  true  love,  as  Eosalind  did 
in  the  forest  of  Arden.  It  involved 
a  series  of  lengthy  dialogues  between 
the  lover  and  his  disguised  mistress, 
which  Mrs  M'Killop  gave  with 
great  dramatic  spirit,  gruifening  her 
voice  for  the  male  part,  and  re- 
ducing it  to  a  sort  of  asthmatic 
whistle  for  the  arch  utterances  of 
the  fair  beguiler. 

"  Yes,  it  is  full  of  pathos,"  she 
remarked,  in  accepting  the  applause 
which  followed ;  "  and  it  is  said  to 
be  founded  on  an  event  in  the  life 
of  my  great  -  grandmother,  Mrs 
M'Kechnie  of  Tillywheesle  —  in 
Prince  Charlie's  time." 

"  Did  the  Prince  play  Orlando  on 
the  occasion?" 

"Fie!  Captain  Pigott,  fie!  fie! 
fie  !  The  M'Kechnie  was  the  lover, 
of  course ;  although  there  is  a 
naughty  idea  in  Scotland  such  as 
you  hint  at.  She  was  beautiful, 
you  see — (indeed,  it  belongs  to  the 
race  to  be  beautiful) — and  the 
Prince,  dancing  with  her  at  Holy- 
rood,  is  said  to  have  made  a  point 
of  it,  that  from  that  hour  she 
should  be  called  '  The  "White  Eose 
of  TillyAvheesle ' — but  that  was  all. 
And  now  I  must  give  you  a  song 
about  dear  Prince  Charlie ; "  and 
she  did — several,  in  fact,  and  kept 
pretty  steadily  "in  possession  of 


the  floor "  for  the  rest  of  the  jour- 
ney, only  suffering  one  song  by 
Morna  and  one  by  Bertrand  to  be 
edged  in  between  her  performances, 
which  she  accompanied  by  stiffish 
notes  of  explanation,  and  not  a  few 
strange  genealogies. 

It  was  with  much  satisfaction, 
therefore,  that  the  rest  of  the  party 
found  themselves  at  last  entering 
the  avenue. 

The  twilight  had  deepened,  for 
it  was  past  eleven  o'clock,  but  still 
our  travellers  had  light  enough  to 
see  that  the  place  was  one  of  great 
beauty.  The  house  was  large,  old, 
and  irregular.  Probably  it  had 
originally  been  in  the  old  Scottish 
style;  but  a  succession  of  additions 
had  developed  it  into  a  very  pic- 
turesque nondescript,  the  general 
result  of  which  was  a  square  battle- 
mented  tower,  rising  in  state  among 
tall  gables  with  their  "corby-stairs," 
supported  on  either  flank  by  wings 
of  a  lower  and  lighter  class  of  build- 
ing, ornamented  with  a  profusion 
of  turrets  and  pinnacles.  The  situa- 
tion of  the  house  was  very  striking. 
It  stood  on  a  broadish  plateau, 
which  sloped  away  to  the  front  in 
gentle  declivities  and  undulations, 
but  descended  at  the  back  of  the 
house  in  a  sheer  rocky  precipice, 
the  base  of  which  was  lashed  by  the 
tumultuous  waters  of  a  cascade, 
roaring  down  a  steep  glen  which 
here  expanded  into  a  valley,  the 
waters  widening  themselves  into  a 
river,  and  winding  round  one  flank 
of  the  plateau  so  as  to  run  for  half 
a  mile  parallel  with,  but  far  below, 
the  avenue.  In  front  of  the  house, 
beyond  an  acre  or  two  of  lawn, 
there  was  no  attempt  at  a  park. 
The  natural  wood  had  been  cut  out, 
indeed,  in  divers  places,  so  as  to 
give  expanse  and  variety,  and  here 
and  there  to  uncover  the  full  pro- 
portions of  some  giant  of  the  forest ; 
but  underneath,  the  heather  and  the 
bracken  had  it  all  their  own  way, 


1871.] 

— at  least  they  did  their  best  to 
dispute  supremacy  with  those  un- 
sightly boulders  and  protruding 
rocks  which  bring  grief  to  the  hearts 
of  reclaiming  landowners.  At  the 
distance  of  a  mile  from  the  front  of 
the  house  the  ground  rose  again 
into  hills,  backed  in  the  distance 
by  veritable  mountains.  Behind 
the  house  the  glen  divided  the 
lowest  spur  of  another  range,  and 
on  the  left  flank  a  narrow  cultivated 
valley,  already  whitening  to  the 
harvest,  ran  for  half  a  mile  or  so, 
when  it  was  hemmed  in  and  stopped 
by  formidable  banks  of  boulder, 
the  outposts  of  the  mountains  that 
rose  behind.  Mountains,  mountains 
everywhere. 

"Glorious!"  exclaimed  Bertrand. 

"  What  a  trap  for  black  game  ! " 
muttered  Pigott,  indicating  the 
bright  little  bit  of  corn-land. 

"  I  hope  to  goodness  they  haven't 
forgot  supper,"  suggested  Mrs 
M'Killop. 

"They're  awake,  at  all  events," 
said  Morna,  as  with  a  mighty 
clangour  the  great  iron  -  studded 
doors  were  thrown  open,  letting 
loose  some  half-dozen  terriers,  who 
barked  and  pranced  and  ramped  on 


Fair  to  See. — Part  I. 


103 


the  steps,  as  if  prepared  to  do  battle 
against  all  comers. 

"  Down,  Bodach  !  For  shame, 
Frioch !  Bob,  you  little  viper ! " 
exclaimed  Morna,  jumping  lightly 
from  the  carriage,  and  plunging  in 
among  the  canine  rabble,  who  forth- 
with changed  their  wrathful  clam- 
our into  yells  and  screams  of  affec- 
tion and  delight.  "Down,  dogs 
all!" 

"  The  noise  of  the  dogs,"  said 
Mrs  M'Killop,  as  she  slowly  de- 
scended ;  "  is  a  little  trying ;  but  the 
effect  is  baronial  and  commy  faw, 
so  I  encourage  it.  None  of  them  bite 
except  Wasp,  which  is  a  mercy.  Is 
supper  ready,  Jinkyson  1 " 

"  Supper  is  ready,  ma'am,"  said 
an  austere-looking  butler,  who,  with 
two  li veried  satellites,  had  appeared 
at  the  entrance. 

"  Let  us  go  in,  then,  gentlemen  ; 
you  are  welcome  to  Cairnarvoch." 
And  with  a  gracious  flourish  she 
waved  them  into  the  hall,  all  the 
dogs  strenuously  flattening  their  ba- 
ronial noses  against  Bertrand's  calves, 
which,  however,  remained  unbitten, 
the  truculent  Wasp  being  probably 
off  duty  for  the  evening. 


104  This  Morning's  '  Times'  in  Chambers.  [Jan. 


THIS  MORNING'S  'TIMES'  IN  CHAMBERS. 

H'M — Smith,  a  boy, — Brown,  ditto, — Jones,  a  girl: — 

Inevitable  Smith  and  Brown  and  Jones ! 

Burrs  on  the  coat-tails  of  Society 

That  won't  be  brushed  away ! — They're  like  the  Poor, 

They're  always  with  us ! — Reverend  Trotter's  wife 

Of  twins : — the  man's  a  curate,  I'll  lay  odds ; 

Some  special  Providence  invigorates 

The  loins  of  such.     Your  curate  evermore 

Is  your  prize-proletarian.     There  was  once 

A  law  in  Egypt,  that  a  baker's  son 

Must  live  a  baker,  and  a  cook's  a  cook : — 

Thank  heaven  that  chapter  stands  not  in  our  code ! 

Else,  with  this  pastoral  reproductive  power, 

There'd  be  so  many  dogs  about  the  flock 

That  no  stray  sheep  could  nibble  more  in  peace. 

Holloa !  what's  this  1 — "  On  June  the  twenty-third, 

"  Peter,  fourth  son  of  Piper  Peck,  Esq. 

"  Of  Pepperpool,  to  Rosa,  only  child 

"  Of  Sydenham  Potts  of  Pestleton,  M.D." 

Rosa !  my  Rosa ! — mine  that  should  have  been 

If Pah !  what  filth  these  grocers  sell  for  tea ! 

It  chokes  one ! — Rosa  married ! — and  old  Potts 

"  M.D."  forsooth !     Where  gat  he  that  "  M.D."  ? 

He  sucked  no  Alma  Mater's  milk  at  home : — 

What  Pumpernickel  Universitat, 

For  some  two  thalers'  fee  of  vile  alloy, 

Diplomatised  him  into  Doctor-hood  1 

Yet  that's  not  fair: — I  recollect  the  time 

When,  for  the  sake  of  that  blonde  girl  of  his, 

That  shed  a  halo  round  his  bulbous  brows, 

I  held  him  re-incarnate  ^Esculape, 

Yea,  Paean's  self, — and  at  his  lightest  hint 

Had  drained  the  filthiest  drench  his  art  could  brew, 

And  bolted  every  bolus  in  his  shop ! 

Lord !  how  time  flies ! — That's  twelve  good  years  ago, 

And  I  was  two-and-twenty,  she  nineteen, — 

Most  loving — so  she  swore ; — and  yet  withal 

Most  dutiful : — she  called  her  father  in 

To  treat  the  case : — "  'Twas  no  uncommon  one," 

He  said, — "  Romantic  Fever  : — Time  and  Sense 
'  Were  potent  with  such  ailments : — irritants 
'  Must  be  avoided ;  letters,  interviews 
'  Forbidden : — we  were  young,  and  had  not  weighed 
'  What  wedlock  meant.     If  pills  and  draughts  could  stock 
'  A  household,  he  might  make  us  rich  enough : — 
'  Sometimes  he  read  in  City- Articles 
'  That  money  was  a  drug, — he  wished  to  God  " 

(He  liked  his  joke,  in  his  mild  way,  did  Potts,) 


This  Morning's  '  Times'  in  Chambers.  105 

"  That  drugs  were  money.     There  must  be,  he  said, 
"  No  tie,  bond,  pledge,  engagement: — both  were  free: — 
"  Five  years  must  pass : — and  if  that  period's  lapse 
"  In  the  same  mind  should  find  us,  and  if  then  " 
(Most  damnable  if !)  "  I  could  by  documents 
"  Sufficient  show  an  income  capable 
"  Of  Rent  and  Taxes,  Eates,  and  weekly  bills, 
"  And  nurture  for  such  hungry  consequence 
"  Of  marriage  as  might  follow  in  due  time, 
'  Why,  then  the  subject  might  be  rediscussed. 
'  Till  when,  with  all  regret,  he  must  desire 
'  We  might  be  better  strangers : — friends,  of  course, 
'  But  friends  that  held  it  wiser  not  to  meet : — 
'  And  so,  once  more  with  all  regret,  good  day 
'  And  all  good  wishes." 

At  his  garden  gate 

I  stood — the  world  mine  oyster : — one  last  look 
At  Eosa  flattening  at  her  chamber-pane 
Her  innocent  nose,  and  waving  frantical 
A  kerchief  sopped  with  tears : — one  bitter  curse 
On  worldly  Fathers  and  their  flinty  hearts : — 
And  I  was  gone.     Heart-broken  1— -  Yes  :  or  so 
It  seemed  that  morning.     Day  was  night — and  men 
All  brutes — her  sire  the  biggest  brute  of  all. 
To-day,  I  own  it,  calmly  looking  back 
Through  twice  the  years  assigned  us  and  two  more, 
I  doubt  if  Potts  was  so  much  in  the  wrong. 

What  followed  1 — London  !  what  should  follow  else  1 — 
London — false  land  of  promise,  paved  with  gold 
That  turns  to  iron  'neath  the  blistering  foot 
Lured  by  that  rustic  lie  to  pace  her  streets  ! 
The  load-stone  rock  whereon  Adventure  splits, 
And  wrecked  Ambition  starves : — where  Poverty 
May  lurk  untortured  by  the  scoff  that  wakes 
Her  keenest  pang  : — where  Disappointment  eats, 
Unnoticed  in  the  populoiis  solitude, 
The  aching  heart  she  scorns  to  show  the  world. 
I  came  to  London.     Misanthropic  months 
Wore  the  first  year  to  end, — with  casual  gleams 
Of  sunshine  shed  from  stealthy  messages 
Sent  through  a  common  friend  at  Pestleton, 
(Female,  of  course),  brimful  at  first  of  love 
Unalterable,  unextinguishable : — 
Then,  at  less  frequent  periods,  hints  would  come 
Of  Duty,  Fifth  Commandment,  and  the  like. 
"  I  must  not  blame  her,  doubt  her  constancy, — 
"  She  had  given  her  Sire  her  promise  not  to  write, 
"  And  had  not  written: — Conscience  whispered  her 
"  Nathless  that  she  was  paltering  with  her  pledge  : 
"  'Twas  a  sore  struggle,  but  we  must  submit ; — 
"  (By  the  way,  my  last  response  was  something  cold, — ) 
"  Call  Time,  and  Faith,  and  Patience  to  our  aid, 


106  This  Morning's  e  Times'  in  Chambers. 

"  And  hope  for  happier  days." — Too  dutiful ! 
Too  dutiful ! — And  that  parenthesis 
Of  "  something  cold,"  too  ! — Warmth  enough,  I  know, 
I  put  in  my  reply, — perchance  too  much  ; — 
And  got  for  answer — "  She  must  be  excused 
"  If  henceforth  she  declined  to  answer  me  :" — 
And  so  our  correspondence  came  to  end, 
And  so,  I  hope,  her  conscience  slept  in  peace. 
That  second  shock  was  lighter.     Life  began 
Somehow  to  taste  less  bitter ; — wretchedness 
And  three-and-twenty  would  not  be  at  one. 
I  found  a  friend  or  two  of  either  sex, — 
Contrived  to  earn  a  dinner  by  my  pen, — 
Sate  sometimes  laughing  in  a  Play-House  stall, — 
Kept  Terms,  and  jested  at  the  Temple  mess, — 
And  ere  two  years  were  ended  joined  a  Club. 
'Twas  there,  at  closing  of  that  second  year, 
That  in  their  local  paper, — for  I  kept 
Sharp  eyes  upon  the  '  Loamshire  Chronicle  '• — 
I  read — "  Festivities  at  Pestleton, 
'  Ball  at  the  Dragon  " — and  a  string  of  names — 
'  The  County  Sheriff,  and  the  Borough-Mayor, — 
'  Lord  This,— Sir  Thomas  That,— Tother  M.P.,— 
'  And  our  distinguished  townsman  Captain  Sniijth," 
He  spelt  his  curst  cognomen  with  a  "  j  " — ) 
'  V.C.,  with  fresh  Crimean  laurels  crowned, 
'  Who,  Eumour  whispers  us,  will  speedily 
'  To  Hymen's  altar  lead  our  township's  belle  ; — 
'  Potz-tausend  !  as  our  Teuton  cousins  swear, 
'  We  blab  no  secrets, — but,  when  poets  sing 
'  The  Garden's  Queen,  no  need  to  name  the  Ease." 

I  crumpled  up  the  print,  and  flung  it  down  : — 
I  said,  more  loudly  than  I  should  have  said, 
A  word  or  two,  not  good,  of  Captain  Smijth  : — 
(I  know  old  Boodles,  purring  o'er  the  '  Post/ 
Looked  up  with  fishy  eyes,  and,  winking  hard 
At  Toodles,  tapped  his  wig-beshadowed  brows, 
As  who  should  say,  "  Behold  a  Lunatic  ! ") 
Then  from  its  columns  tore  the  paragraph, 
And,  with  three  words  of  question,  "  Is  this  true?" 
To  Pestleton  dispatched  it  by  the  Post. 

Answer,  from  Dr  Potts  : — "  My  favour,  sent, 
'  In  violation  of  our  compact  made, 
'  Duly  received.     He  recognised  no  right, 
'  Whether  the  meaning  of  the  journalist 
'  Were  rightly  guessed  or  wrongly, — (for  himself 
'  He  held  the  writer  an  impertinent  ass, — ) 
'  In  me  to  put  such  questions  : — must  decline 
'  All  further  answer : — thought  I  must  forget, 
'  (Seeing  three  years  of  five  were  yet  to  run,) 
'  That  to  his  daughter  I  was  nothing  now, — 
'  Nothing.     Miss  P.  desired  her  compliments  : — 


[Jan. 


This  Morning's  '  Times1  in  Chambers.  107 

"  "Was  glad  to  hear  I  had  been  seen  of  late, — 

"  For  Pestleton  heard  London  news  at  times, — 

"  Awfully  jolly  in  the  Smoking-Room, 

"  The  life  and  soul  o'  the  Club.     And  for  himself 

"  He  was  my  most  obedient  Sydenham  Potts." 

And  so,  for  me,  first  love  and  Rosa  Potts 
Were  thenceforth  memories  only : — wounds  that  left 
A  scar  at  first,  but  over-skinned  by  time. 
And  yet  in  those  young  years  I  loved  that  Girl — 
I  did,  by  Heaven  ! — it  may  be  'twas  as  well 
The  love  was  thwarted  : — but  'twas  honest  then, 
And  in  such  cases  there's  a  wrench  o'  the  heart 
That  for  the  rest  of  life  we  feel  at  times 
Like  an  old  sprain.     I  wonder  what  Smijth  felt 
"When  in  due  season  he  was  jilted  too  1 
"What  time  they  found  he  had  but  Pay  and  Debts — 
Three  crusty  uncles,  impecunious  all — 
And  a  small  family  in  Pimlico, 
Whereof  the  mother  was  not  Mrs  Smijth. 

"Well,  well, — I'm  four-and-thirty  : — at  the  Bar : — 
Not  absolutely  briefless  : — fancy-free  : — 
I've  had  stray  thoughts  of  marriage  now  and  then, — 
Been  "  spoony  "  once  or  twice,  for  some  two  hours 
At  midnight,  after  supper  at  a  Ball, — 
(Ah  me  !  the  traps  those  London  Salons  set, 
With  small  conservatories  on  the  stairs, 
Or  o'er  the  portico  ! — )  but  with  the  morn, 
And  the  Queen's  Bench,  myself  again.     These  Girls 
Of  the  Period  "font  passer  une  heure  ou  deux  " 
Glibly  enough  : — but  skating  on  thin  ice 
Is  perilous  pastime  : — strike  out  but  an  inch 
Too  hard,  and,  souse  !  you're  over  head  and  ears  ! 
Flower-painting's  pretty, — ballads  ravishing, — 
When  after  dinner  one  don't  want  to  sleep  : — 
It's  nice  to  broider  altar-cloths,  or  set 
Soft  slipper-springes  for  a  Curate's  feet : — 
Sweet  are  the  uses  of  a  Croquet-lawn 
To  dainty-ankled  Nymphs  : — no  fairer  sight 
Than,  in  "  the  Row,"  a  shapely  Amazon  : — 
But  yet, — if  Fate  not  makes  us  Millionaires 
Ordained  to  Butler,  Brougham,  and  Opera-Box, — 
'Twere  better  should  the  helpmate  of  one's  life 
Have  learned,  to  boot,  the  price  of  butcher's  meat, 
What  time  a  leg  of  mutton  takes  to  roast, 
And  how  to  sew  a  button  on  a  shirt. 

Peck  ! — Peter  Peck  ! — I  wonder  who  the  Deuce 
Is  Peter  Peck ! — It's  not  a  county-name, 
And  Pepperpool  was  Norman  Poivreaux's  place: — 
Some  Wigan  "chap,"  some  "man"  from  Manchester, 
Some  shoddy-Plutocrat  has  mortgaged  out 
The  fine  old  Squire ! — Rosa's  no  chicken  too 
At  one-and-thirty, — fattish  probably, — 


108  This  Morning's  'Times'  in  Chambers.  [Jan. 

Your  Blondes  in  middle  life  are  apt  to  run 

To  corpulence: — I've  noticed  flaxen  hair 

Thins  early,  and  turns  sandy.     Well,  what  then  ? 

That's  his  affair,  not  mine.     Confound  him !     What 

Care  I  to-day  if  Rosa — Eosa  Peck — 

His  Peck, — his  Henpeck, — (that's  a  scurvy  jest!) 

The  spouse  of  Peter — wears  a  wig  or  no, 

Or  stuffs  her  chignon  with  a  greasy  pad  ? 

Peter,  I  beg  your  pardon ! — May  your  hearth 

Be  happy,  and  a  dozen  little  Pecks 

Sit  peckish  round  your  board ! — Why,  there  again ! 

Out  on  this  peevish  mocking ! — Must  I  wince 

That  you  pick  up  what  long  ago  I  lost  1 — 

A  jilt ! — And  yet,  if  true  love  had  run  smooth,— 

Had  Potts  been  less  a  Sire  and  more  a  man, — 

Such  as  he  was  when  penniless  he  wooed 

And  won  the  late  lamented  Mrs  P. — 

These  dull  old  chambers  might  have  been  a  house, 

A  cosy  home,  lighted  with  loving  eyes, 

And  musical  with  laugh  of  little  lips 

Eound  the  post-prandial  fire.     And  Eosa — Pooh ! 

An  idle  dream !     The  sketcher  Fancy  dips 

Her  pencil  in  the  Eainbow's  richest  hues, 

And  Fact  upon  the  actual  canvas  lays 

A  daub,  fit  only  to  be  turned  to  the  wall. 

You  can't  make  silken  purses  of  sows'  ears : — 

A  jilt  at  heart 's  a  jilt  for  evermore : — 

And  Peter  Peck  may  live  to  find  it  out. 

Was  that  a  knock  I  heard1? — Who  duns  us  now  ? 
No !  as  I  live,  a  Brief,  and  liberal-fee'd : — 
Dodson  and  Fogg  retain  my  eloquence 
For  "  Fondwell  versus  Fondwell  and  De  Bosch," 
In  the  Divorce  Court,  third  for  Friday  next. 
Oh!  Wives  and  husbands!     Wives  and  husbands  oh! 

Give  me  my  pipe.     It's  better  as  it  is. 

H.  K. 


1871.] 


Tlie  late  George  Moir. 


109 


THE    LATE    GEORGE    MOIR. 


THE  death  of  Mr  George  Moir, 
at  one  time  a  very  frequent,  and 
always  a  much  valued,  contributor 
to  this  Magazine,  has  awakened  a 
train  of  recollections  full  of  a  strange 
and  aifecting  interest,  especially  to 
those  who,  like  the  writer  of  this 
notice,  were  united  to  him  by  long 
intimacy  and  by  a  cordial  co-opera- 
tion in  favourite  pursuits.  In  con- 
sequence of  impaired  health,  Mr 
Moir  had  for  some  time  back  dis- 
continued all  literary  exertions,  and 
almost  secluded  himself  from  gene- 
ral society  :  but  for  many  years  he 
was  a  distinguished  ornament  of 
that  literary  circle  of  which  Edin- 
burgh was  then  so  justly  proud. 

Mr  Moir  was  born  and  educated 
in  Aberdeen ;  but  to  the  sound 
scholarship  and  vigorous  logic  of 
that  excellent  school,  he  added  a 
more  than  usual  degree  of  taste  and 
refinement.  His  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  modern  literature,  not 
only  vernacular,  but  French,  Span- 
ish, and  Italian,  to  which  he  after- 
wards added  German,  attracted 
eager  attention  and  warm  admira- 
tion ;  and  his  prompt  and  versatile 
talents  of  composition  found  a 
ready  acceptance  in  the  literary 
mart.  His  earliest  productions 
seem  to  have  been  two  articles 
furnished  to  the  'Edinburgh  Re- 
view* in  1824 — one  on  "Spanish 
Literature"  in  the  39th  volume, 
and  the  other  on  the  "  Lyric  Poetry 
of  Spain  "  in  the  40th  volume  ;  both 
of  them  distinguished  by  elegant 
taste  and  just  criticism,  and  con- 
taining several  translations  by  him- 
self of  the  poems  of  Luis  de  Leon 
and  other  Spanish  writers,  which 
are  remarkable  for  ease  and  beauty 
of  diction,  as  well  as  for  strict  fidel- 
ity to  the  originals. 

Mr  Moir  passed  advocate  at  the 


Scottish  Bar  in  July  1825,  and 
his  position  before  doing  so,  and 
while  preparing  the  articles  in  the 
'  Edinburgh  Review '  above  men- 
tioned, may  be  seen  in  the  follow- 
ing extract  from  Mr  Veitch's  ex- 
cellent 'Memoir  of  Sir  William 
Hamilton,'  which  is  based  on  in- 
formation furnished  by  Mr  Moir  him- 
self, and  well  illustrates  the  auspi- 
cious commencement  of  his  career, 
and  of  his  long  and  lasting  friend- 
ship with  that  distinguished  philo- 
sopher : — 

"  A  literary  consultation  was  the  occa- 
sion of  the  commencement  of  the  warm 
and  life-long  friendship  which  subsisted 
between  Sir  William  and  Mr  George  Moir. 
In  1824,  Mr  Moir,  then  a  young  man 
preparing  to  pass  advocate,  was  engaged 
on  an  article  for  the  'Edinburgh  Re- 
view' on  the  ancient  ballad -poetry  of 
Spain,  and  was  encouraged  by  a  mutual 
friend,  Mr  Thomson  of  Banchory,  to 
apply  to  Sir  William  for  information  on 
the  subject,  and  on  the  numerous  books 
that  had  appeared  in  Germany  in  refer- 
ence to  it.  It  was  arranged  that  Mr 
Moir  should  meet  Sir  William  one  morn- 
ing at  the  Advocates'  Library.  '  I  con- 
fess,' says  Mr  Moir,  '  the  interview 
appeared  to  me  beforehand  rather  a 
formidable  one.  I  had  heard  of  Sir 
William's  almost  unequalled  examina- 
tion at  Oxford,  and  of  his  universal 
erudition  both  in  philosophy  and  lan- 
guages. There  was  something  also  in 
his  appearance  which  had  powerfully 
impressed  me.  When  in  repose,  indeed, 
his  look  was  somewhat  stern.  The 
massive  though  well  cut  features,  the 
firm  compressed  mouth,  and  the  eagle- 
looking  eye,  of  which  the  whole  pupil 
was  visible,  created  a  feeling  akin  to 
awe.  But  in  proportion  to  this  apparent 
sternness  was  the  charm  of  his  smile 
and  of  his  whole  manner  when  animat- 
ed. To  myself  he  was  most  indulgent ; 
and  I  had  not  been  ten  minutes  in  his 
company  when  my  anxiety  vanished, 
and  I  felt  an  assurance  that,  however 
little  I  might  deserve  it,  we  were  des- 
tined to  become  not  merely  acquaint- 
ances but  friends — an  assurance  which 
I  rejoice  to  think  was  verified  by  the 
event.  He  not  only  took  a  warm  inter- 


110 


The  late  George  Moir. 


[Jan. 


est  in  my  review,  but,  as  I  did  not  then 
understand  German,  explained  to  me 
the  meaning  of  passages  in  the  German 
works  bearing  on  the  subject.'  " 

At  the  time  when  Mr  Moir  joined 
its  ranks,  the  Bar  of  Scotland  formed 
certainly  a  bright  and  brilliant  as- 
semblage, in  which  it  must  have 
been  very  pleasant  to  enjoy  an 
honoured  or  respected  place.  Sir 
Walter  Scott  at  that  time  was  in 
the  zenith  of  his  reputation,  with 
some  forebodings,  indeed,  of  com- 
ing difficulties,  but  with  little  an- 
ticipation of  the  melancholy  change 
that  was  so  soon  to  overtake  him. 
Every  now  and  then  the  towering 
head  of  '  Peveril  of  the  Peak '  *  was 
to  be  seen  slowly  advancing  from 
the  Inner  House  to  the  Outer  House 
stove,  to  add  to  the  hilarity  in 
which  his  younger  friends  were 
freely  indulging.  Wilson,  too,  who 
had  been  appointed  Professor  of 
Moral  Philosophy  in  1820,  almost 
daily  visited  the  Outer  House  for 
half  an  hour  on  his  way  to  or  from 
his  class.  Hamilton  also  was  there ; 
then  Professor  of  History,  busy  in 
discussion  or  disputation  with  any 
one  who  would  discuss  or  dispute 
with  him,  or  grappling  with  the 
vast  contents  of  the  Advocates' 
Library,  which  were  better  known 
to  himself  than  to  any  of  its 
officers.  Patrick  Robertson,  when 
not  carried  off  to  a  Bar,  was  every- 
where present  and  everywhere  wel- 
come ;  and  Patrick,  or  Peter  Tytler, 
as  his  friends  loved  to  call  him, 
contributed  his  sunny  cheerfulness 
and  polished  wit  to  put  every  one 
in  good  humour.  Lockhart,  in- 
deed, left  Edinburgh  in  the  end  of 
1825  to  assume  the  editorship  of 
the  '  Quarterly,'  and  in  this  way  no 
opportunity  was  then  allowed  for 
an  intimacy  arising  between  him 
and  Moir,  nor  were  they  afterwards 
thrown  much  into  contact,  though 


Moir  contributed  at  least  one  article 
to  the  '  Quarterly '  in  Lockhart's 
time.  But  Lockhart'sintimatefriend, 
Douglas  Cheape,  soon  formed  Moir's 
acquaintance,  and  a  close  and  cor- 
dial friendship  arose  between  them, 
which  was  only  terminated  by  Mr 
Cheape's  death.  Besides  the  re- 
markable men  we  have  mentioned 
who  were  so  well  calculated  to  mix 
wit  with  wisdom,  there  was  always 
in  the  younger  or  briefless  portion 
of  the  Bar  a  ready  audience  by 
whom  their  sayings,  whether  wise 
or  witty,  were  appreciated  and 
welcomed.  There  were  at  the  same 
time  graver  men  of  high  talent  and 
valuable  attainments :  Mr  Hope, 
then  Solicitor  -  General,  afterwards 
Justice  -  Clerk  :  Mr  M'Neill,  now 
Lord  Colonsay,  then  in  high  prac- 
tice as  an  advocate,  and  who,  after 
passing  through  every  grade  of  hon- 
our which  his  profession  could 
yield,  is  now  enjoying  a  well-merit- 
ed retirement  from  more  laborious 
duties,  while  still  contributing  in 
the  Court  of  highest  resort  the 
benefit  of  his  knowledge,  and  expe- 
rience, and  great  practical  sagacity : 
Mr,  afterwards  Sir  Archibald,  Alison, 
who,  in  the  midst  of  professional  and 
official  occupations,  was  then  accu- 
mulating those  stores  of  historical 
information  which  at  a  subsequent 
period  gained  him  so  high  a  name, 
and  of  which  the  first  specimens 
appeared  in  our  pages.  In  addition 
to  all  these  were  the  distinguished 
men  of  an  older  generation — Thom- 
son, Cranstoun,  Jeffrey,  Murray, 
and  Cockburn,  with  Skene  and 
Rutherfurd  of  an  intermediate  date 
— all  possessed  of  great  talents  or 
profound  learning,  and  whose  social 
qualities  gave  additional  lustre  and 
interest  to  the  profession  to  which 
they  belonged. 

In  calling  to  mind  this  condition 
of  the  Bar,  we  cannot  forbear  from 


*•  See  Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  v.  p.  251. 


1871.] 


The  late  George  Moir. 


Ill 


saying  a  few  words  as  to  some 
of  the  individuals  whom  we  have 
named,  and  in  contact  with  whom 
Mr  Moir  came  thus  to  be  placed. 

Of  Patrick  Fraser  Tytler — with 
whose  History  of  Scotland  many 
must  be  familiar — a  good  deal  is 
known  from  two  biographies  of 
him  that  have  been  published — 
one  in  Thomson's  Supplement  to 
Chambers's  Biographical  Dictionary 
of  Eminent  Scotsmen;  and  the 
other  a  separate  life,  by  his  friend 
Mr  Burgon  of  Oriel  College,  Oxford. 
From  these  sources  full  information 
may  be  gathered  as  to  the  principal 
incidents  of  his  life,  and  particularly 
as  to  his  literary  career  in  the  later 
portion  of  it.  But  Mr  Thomson, 
we  suspect,  did  not  know  Mr  Tytler 
at  all;  and  Mr  Burgon  came  to 
know  him  only  in  1835,  after  the 
death  of  his  first  wife,  when  he  had 
attained  to  middle  age,  and  had  his 
character  greatly  saddened  by  recent 
affliction.  In  1825,  the  period  of 
which  we  are  here  speaking,  Tytler 
was  a  gayer  and  a  happier  man  :  not 
that  the  essential  elements  of  his 
character  were  less  earnest  and 
serious  than  when  they  came  more 
fully  to  unfold  themselves  at  the 
later  period  at  which  Mr  Burgon 
knew  him.  But  in  his  first  youth, 
Patrick  Tytler  came  indeed  under 
Shakespeare's  description  of  Biron 
as  one  of  the  merriest  of  men, 

"  Within  the  limits  of  becoming  mirth." 

Tytler's  mind  and  habits  com- 
bined two  very  different  and 
strongly  contrasted  qualities.  In 
his  hours  of  relaxation  he  was  the 
gayest  of  the  gay,  the  composer  and 
singer  of  delightful  songs,  and  the 
promoter  of  the  best -humoured  and 
most  urbane  hilarity ;  while  at  the 
same  time  he  was  busily  breaking 
ground  upon  those  researches  of  a 


more  severe  and  recondite  descrip- 
tion, which  ultimately  enabled  him 
to  take  a  high  position  as  a  writer 
of  biography  and  history.  His  His- 
tory has  its  own  merits  as  well  as 
faults,  and  may  always  be  consulted 
with  advantage,  though  we  need  not 
say  that  it  cannot  now  claim  to  be 
the  History  of  Scotland.  The  ex- 
tracts from  Tytler's  diary  which  are 
given  by  Mr  Burgon  show  the  more 
serious  part  of  his  mind  at  this  early 
period,  and  some  fruits  of  his  studies 
were  beginning  to  appear.  In  1817 
he  had  contributed  to  this  Magazine 
the  first  part  of  a  Life  of  Sir  Thomas 
Craig,  which  he  afterwards  com- 
pleted and  published  as  a  separate 
work  in  1823;  but,  in  the  mean 
time,  in  society  he  was  all  that  was 
delightful,  and  in  particular  his  vol- 
unteer and  yeomanry  songs  were 
always  forthcoming  to  enliven  the 
"  nights  at  mess."  Some  specimens 
of  a  more  ambitious  character  are  to 
be  found  in  Mr  George  Thomson's 
collection  of  Scottish  songs,  and 
one  in  particular  used  to  delight 
us,  "Though  Summer's  a  glorious 
Season ; "  but  in  this  case,  as  hap- 
pens in  some  others,  the  full  effect 
is  wanting  when  we  cannot  have  the 
author's  voice  to  do  the  song  justice. 
We  look  back  as  if  it  were  yesterday 
to  a  long  and  charming  summer's 
day  spent  with  him  about  the  year 
1825,  on  the  outside  of  the  High- 
land coach  in  its  journey  to  Inver- 
ness, when  he  delighted  us  and  some 
other  friends  with  an  endless  succes- 
sion of  his  pleasantest  vocal  efforts.* 
Of  Douglas  Cheape  we  cannot 
write  without  feelings  of  deep  emo- 
tion. He  was  long  connected  with 
this  Magazine,  and  was  the  intimate 
friend  of  all  the  inner  circle  of  its 
supporters.  A  better  friend,  or  a 
man  of  more  disinterested  and  inde- 
pendent spirit,  there  never  breathed. 


*  A  very  pretty  song  of  Tytler's — "  Hark  !  through  the  Greenwood  ringing  "—was 
printed  by  Sir  Thomas  Dick  La 


Lander  in  his  edition  of  Gilpin's  Forest  Scenery. 


112 


The  late  George  Moir. 


[Jan. 


His  talents  and  attainments  were  of 
a  high  order;  but  various  causes — 
fastidiousness  of  taste,  a  love  of  a 
country  life,  and  somewhat  of  a 
"  truant "  and  desultory  disposition 
— prevented  him  from  exerting  him- 
self in  many  ways  in  which  he  might 
have  attained  excellence.  When  he 
became  Professor  of  Civil  Law,  an 
appointment  which  he  obtained  in 
1827,  he  felt  that  all  his  wants  were 
supplied,  and  beyond  composing  a 
series  of  excellent  lectures,  he  ceased 
to  feel  any  further  ambition ;  and 
though  a  frequent  contributor  to 
these  pages,  he  was  not  easily  roused 
to  exertion.  In  one  vein  of  compo- 
sition, that  of  satirical  song,  he  was 
without  a  rival,  at  least  in  Scotland. 
As  yet  Outram  was  little  known ; 
but  Outram's  style  was  of  a  different 
character.  We  have  no  desire  to 
resuscitate  forgotten  personalities, 
but  we  think  we  may  say  that 
those  who  remember  and  who  felt 
resentment  at  the  foolish  virulence 
which  would  have  excluded  the 
name  of  Scott  from  a  toast  to  be 
given  in  honour  of  the  literature  of 
Scotland,  would  never  feel  much 
regret  at  the  rich  basting  bestowed 
upon  "  Glasgow's  Gander."  *  Among 
lyrics  of  a  more  general  kind,  we 
believe  that  Mr  Cheape's  song  of 
the  "  Tailor  "  is  still  popular  amongst 
all  political  parties.  It  first  appeared, 
we  think,  in  the  '  Ten-Pounder,'  and 
describes  the  history  of  a  tailor  who, 
having  been  "  taught  in  an  ill-fated 
hour  "  "  the  unfortunate  secret  that 
knowledge  is  power,"  relinquishes 
his  humble  calling  for  the  trade  of  a 
reforming  agitator.  The  conclusion 
is  excellent : — 

"Then    THE    BILL  it  is  passed  and   the 

country  is  free, 

And  pur  poor  little  tailor,  what  better  is  he  ? 
His  customers  gone  and  his  rent  still  to  pay, 
And  his  wife,  the  ninth  time,  in  the  family 

way ! 
Sing  down,  down,  down,  deny  down. 


I  remember  him  well  ere  his  time  he  thus 
lost, 

And  a  happier  tailor  his  legs  never  crossed ; 

But  now  he's  quite  changed — he  is  surly  and 
sour — 

Though  he's  clearer  than  ever  that  'know- 
ledge is  power.' 
Sing  down,  down,  down,  derry  down." 

The  adhesion  of  Snip  to  his  favourite 
maxim  in  the  face  of  all  practical 
difficulties  is  eminently  characteristic 
of  the  doctrinaire  mind,  as  we  see  it 
sometimes  illustrated  even  at  the 
present  day.  Mr  Cheape  was  lat- 
terly in  bad  health — a  widower  and 
childless — and  during  his  long  ill- 
ness the  assiduous  attention  of  his 
friend,  George  Moir,  was  a  great 
consolation. 

Last,  though  in  no  sense  least,  of 
the  band  of  advocates  with  whom 
Moir  was  about  to  associate,  we 
shall  advert  to  Patrick  Robertson, 
whose  reputation  is  too  well  known, 
at  least  on  this  side  of  the  Border, 
to  require  many  words  on  our  part 
to  describe  him.  He  was  a  man  of 
singular  originality  and  force  of  char- 
acter; and  while  he  remained  at  the 
bar  he  was  probably  the  source  of  a 
greater  amount  of  mirth  and  amuse- 
ment than  any  man  of  his  time. 
The  admirable  geniality  and  good- 
humour  of  his  nature  made  him  a 
delightful  companion.  His  imita- 
tive representations  of  various  char- 
acters,— the  Italian  Buffo,  the  Gaelic 
minister,  the  stammering  dragoon 
officer  returning  thanks  for  the  army, 
the  discursive  orator  expatiating  on 
the  general  question, — all  these  were 
superlative  performances ;  and  as 
chairman  or  croupier  of  a  festive 
dinner  he  was  without  a  rival.  But 
in  fact  his  company  in  the  forenoon 
was  almost  equally  entertaining.  A 
remarkable  feature  about  him  was 
the  facility  with  which  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  made  a  subject  of 
raillery  or  satire  by  his  friends  ;  and 
freely  did  those  friends  avail  them- 


*  See  Index  to  '  Black  wood,'  in  voce. 


1871.] 


Tlie  late  George  Moir. 


113 


selves  of  the  permission.  The  old 
traditional  "  High  Jinks  "  were  still 
in  observance  among  the  Bar,  and 
in  these  scenes  Robertson  always 
figured  as  one  of  the  chief  dramatis 
personce.  A  song  or  squib  of  some 
kind  or  other  was  ever  forthcoming 
on  any  great  occasion ;  and  to  the 
librettos  thus  produced  Moir  became 
a  liberal  contributor.  The  first  for- 
mation of  Eobertson  was  celebrated 
by  Cheape  in  a  song  beginning — 

"  Said  Jupiter  to  Mercury,  all  on  a  sum- 
mer's day : 

I  wish  to  make  a  pretty  man,  so  fetch  a 
piece  of  clay." 

On  occasion  of  his  being  made  Dean 
of  the  Faculty  of  Advocates,  he  was 
saluted  by  a  joint-stock  production, 
entitled  "  Peter  no  more ; "  indicat- 
ing that  his  usual  character  was  to 
disappear  under  the  honours  con- 
ferred upon  him ;  but  it  concluded 
by  expressing  a  hope  that  he  might 
not  be  wholly  lost  to  his  friends  : — 

"  Yet  sometimes,   perhaps,  when  a  Whig 

isn't  present, 
Having  used  the  precaution  of  shutting  the 

door, 
Our  friend  once  again  may  consent  to  be 

pleasant, 
And  half  condescend  to  be  Peter  once  more." 

On  occasion  of  the  Edinburgh 
dinner  to  Mr  Dickens,  at  which  he 
was  croupier,  Eobertson  was  thus 
made  to  allude  to  himself  in  con- 
nection with  the  subject  of  the  even- 
ing :— 

"Shakespeare   and    Dickens  in    one  fault 

agree : 
They  steal  from  Nature,  and   they  steal 

from  me. 

In  the  fat  boy  a  favourite  form  appears, 
The  unctuous  image  of  my  earlier  years ; 
While  all  admit  that  FalstafTs  girth  and 

gauge 
Were  basely  borrowed  from  my  riper  age." 

But  perhaps  the  most  elaborate 
jeu  cCesprit  of  which  he  was  the 
subject  was  one  on  which  we  lighted 
the  other  day,  in  a  very  respectable 
little  volume  of  Reminiscences  of 
the  Court  of  Session.  It  consists 
of  lines  which  he  delivered  in  per- 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXIII. 


son  at  a  dinner  given  to  him  in  an- 
ticipation, it  is  believed,  of  his  pro- 
bable promotion  to  the  Bench,  arid 
is  in  the  form  of  a  parody  on  the 
Farewell  Address  delivered  by  John 
Kemble  when  he  retired  from  the 


"  As  the  worn  war-horse,  whom  Ducrow  so 
long 

Has  taught  to  prance  before  the  applauding 
throng, 

Now,  all  unfit  to  play  his  wonted  part, 

Turns  the  dull  mill,  Jo  r  trails  the -ignoble 
cart : 

If,  midst  his  daily  toils,  perchance  he  hears 

Great  Wombwell's  trumpets,  and  the  attend- 
ant cheers, 

Strives,  from  his  rear,  the  cumbrous  load  to 
fling, 

And  longs  to  circle  in  Ms  ancient  ring — 

So  I,"  &c. 

A  great  part  of  this  production  was, 
we  know,  contributed  by  Mr  Moir. 

The  extreme  good -nature  with 
which  Robertson  not  only  submitted 
but  gave  a  helping  hand  to  these 
jocular  effusions  on  himself,  might 
in  another  man  have  suggested  the 
idea  of  weakness  or  facility  of 
character.  But  from  any  such  charge 
Robertson  was  amply  protected  by 
the  great  talents  he  displayed,  and 
the  high  position  he  maintained,  as 
a  professional  man.  He  was  all 
along  in  extensive  employment  as 
a  counsel,  and  was  both  a  sound 
adviser  and  an  able  advocate.  In 
some  departments  of  practice — as  in 
trials  by  jury,  both  civil  and  crimi- 
nal— he  was  eminently  skilful  and 
successful,  and  not  only  knew  how 
to  employ  his  wit,  readiness,  and 
geniality  in  aid  of  his  cause,  but 
brought  to  the  service  of  his  clients 
a  degree  of  good  sense,  sagacity,  in- 
dustry, and  often  eloquence,  which 
might  seem  to  be  incompatible  witli 
the  lighter  qualities  of  his  mind. 
His  demeanour,  and  his  usefulness 
as  a  judge,  fully  justified  his  eleva- 
tion to  the  Bench,  and  confirmed 
the  high  opinion  of  his  talents  and 
devotion  to  duty  for  which  his 
friends  had  always  given  him  credit. 

Mr  Moir  himself,  after  being  ad- 


114 


Tlie  late  George  Moir. 


[Jan. 


mitted  to  the  Bar,  soon  showed  that 
he  was  qualified  to  excel  as  much  in 
a  professional  as  in  a  literary  career. 
His  literary  studies  at  the  same  time 
were  not  neglected,  but  ardently 
pursued.  We  have  seen  that  in 
1824,  when  he  first  came  in  contact 
with  Sir  "William  Hamilton,  he  was 
unacquainted  with  German ;  but 
within  a  very  short  time  afterwards 
he  had  made  himself  master  of  that 
language,  and  in  1827  his  admirable 
version  of  Schiller's  '  Wallenstein ' 
appeared  anonymously.  This  trans- 
lation, in  which  he  tells  us  that  he 
had  Hamilton's  patient  and  efficient 
assistance,  may  well  bear  comparison 
with  that  of  Coleridge,  being  much 
more  close  and  faithful,  while  in 
felicity  of  diction  it  can  scarcely  be 
considered  inferior.  It  does  not, 
we  may  notice,  contain  Schiller's 
Camp,  which  forms  the  introduction 
to  'Wallenstein,'  but  which  Moir 
seems  to  have  considered  untranslat- 
able. Some  extracts  from  the  Camp, 
however,  are  translated  in  an  article 
which  we  believe  to  be  Mr  Moir's, 
in  the  fifth  volume  of  the  Foreign 
Quarterly,  being  a  review  of  a  very- 
poor  French  translation  of  'Wai- 
stein,'  by  M.  Liadieres.  In  the  same 
year,  1827,  he  contributed  to  Con- 
stable's Miscellany,  also  anonymous- 
ly, a  pleasant  little  volume  under 
the  title  of  'Table  Talk,'  being  a 
selection  from  the  best  of  the  Ana, 
extremely  well  chosen,  well  ex- 
pressed, and  well  translated  where 
derived  from  foreign  sources.  We 
believe  that  he  also  contributed  two 
volumes  to  the  same  Miscellany, 
containing  a  translation  of  Schiller's 
Historical  Works,  in  1828. 

We  have  already  adverted  to  his 
review  of  Liadieres' s  'Walstein,'  in 
the  fifth  volume  of  the  Foreign 
Quarterly;  and  in  the  sixth  volume 
of  that  publication  we  find  another 


article  of  his  on  "  Demonology  and 
Witchcraft,"  being  a  review  of 
Horst's  'Zauber  Bibliothek.'  The 
article  is  very  amusing  and  exhaus- 
tive, the  subject  being  one  on  which 
Moir  was  well  able  and  well  disposed 
to  expatiate. 

The  ardent  prosecution  of  his 
German  studies  was  probably  the 
occasion  of  introducing  Moir  to  the 
acquaintance  of  Thomas  Carlyle, 
who  was  then  in  Edinburgh ;  and 
although  their  minds  were  very 
differeriT,  it  is  likely  that  if  Carlyle 
had  not  removed  to  London,  which 
he  did  in  1833,  a  long  and  pleasant 
friendship  might  have  been  formed 
between  them.  In  July  1834,  Car- 
lyle, writing  to  Sir  William  Hamil- 
ton from  Chelsea,  says: — "Will 
you  ever  send  me  a  sheet  of  Edin- 
burgh news.  It  were  very  welcome 
from  your  hand.  Pray  tell  Moir 
also  where  I  am,  and  give  my  hearty 
love  to  him."*  Prior  to  this,  and 
while  Carlyle  was  living  at  Craigen- 
puttock,  Moir  paid  him  a  visit  of 
two  days,  and  took  two  sketches  of 
the  house  there,  which  Goethe 
wished  to  have,  and  which  were  sent 
to  him  accordingly.  Not  long  after 
this  Goethe  got  these  engraved  as 
frontispieces  to  the  German  transla- 
tion of  Carlyle's  'Life  of  Schiller;' 
and  we  believe  that  the  two  parties 
from  whom  they  emanated  made 
themselves  merry  over  the  "honour" 
thus  done  them. 

In  1831  fifteen  Englishmen  con- 
tributed to  procure  and  send  to 
Goethe  on  his  birthday  (it  proved 
to  be  his  last)  a  simple  but  graceful 
present — an  engraved  seal — in  token 
of  their  admiration  of  his  genius, 
with  the  motto  from  his  own  works, 
"  Ohne  Hast,  und  ohne  East."  Re- 
ference is  made  to  this  incident  in 
Lewes's  '  Life  of  Goethe,'  vol.  ii.  p. 
440,  where  thirteen  of  the  names 


*  Memoir  of  Hamilton,  p.  132. 


1871.] 


The  late  George  Moir. 


115 


are  given,  including  those  of  Carlyle 
and  his  brother,  Scott,  Wilson,  and 
Lockhart.  Moir,  and  we  believe 
Hamilton,  completed  the  number. 
The  project  had  originated  with 
Carlyle,  and  the  design  was  sketched 
by  his  amiable  and  accomplished 
wife.  The  tribute  was  gratifying  to 
Goethe,  who  acknowledged  it  in  a 
sonnet,  "  Den  Funfzehn  Englischen 
Freunden."  We  believe  that  after 
1834  Carlyle  and  Moir  met  only  on 
one  occasion ;  but  we  are  sure  that 
the  venerable  and  true-hearted  old 
man  of  Chelsea  was  grieved  when  he 
learned  that  his  former  friend  and 
fellow-labourer  in  good  literature 
had  gone  before  him. 

In  the  same  year,  1831,  Moir's 
connection  with  this  Magazine 
began;  and  for  nearly  twenty  years 
after  that  date  he  continued  to  be 
a  regular  and  frequent  contributor. 
The  first  of  his  contributions  was 
the  commencement  of  "  Fragments 
from  the  History  of  John  Bull," 
which  was  continued  through  several 
numbers,  and  afterwards  published 
anonymously  in  a  separate  shape. 
It  is  needless  to  eulogise  a  perform- 
ance which  must  be  well  known  to 
our  older  readers;  but  it  well  de- 
serves perusal  by  the  younger  part  of 
our  friends,  as  a  very  witty  and  suc- 
cessful imitation  of  Swift's  original. 
It  would  be  endless  to  notice  in  de- 
tail his  various  other  papers  ;  but 
we  may  mention,  as  particularly  de- 
serving of  notice,  his  articles  on 
"  Shakespeare  in  Germany,"  on 
"French  Literature  of  the  18th 
Century,"  on  "  Tasso,"  on  "  Calder- 
on,"  and  on  "  Camoens." 

In  February  1843  he  paid  a  well- 
merited  tribute  to  the  memory  of 
his  friend,  Captain  Thomas  Hamil- 
ton, in  a  short  notice  in  the  Maga- 
zine ;  and  finally,  after  an  interval, 
he  closed  his  contributions  to  our 
pages  by  writing,  in  May  1854,  a 
notice  of  the  death  of  Professor 


Wilson,  which  we  venture  to  cha- 
racterise as  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  just  estimates  of  the  cha- 
racter of  a  great  literary  man  that 
has  ever  been  produced.  Would  that 
he  had  now  left  behind  him  any 
one  able  to  do  equal  justice  to  his 
own  merits !  To  that  notice  of 
Professor  Wilson  we  would  respect- 
fully refer  our  readers,  as  a  specimen 
of  Mr  Moir's  powers  in  serious 
composition,  and  as  a  proof  at  once 
of  the  graces  of  his  style  and  the 
strength  of  his  feelings. 

In  1838  Mr  Moir  had  been  ap- 
pointed Professor  of  Ehetoric  and 
Belles  Lettres.  That  Chair  had  for 
many  years  previously  been  a  mere 
nonentity,  during  the  incumbency 
of  his  predecessor.  But  Mr  Moir, 
by  the  excellence  of  his  lectures, 
began  that  improvement  in  its  posi- 
tion which  has  since  been  continued, 
and  which,  by  the  exertions  of  Mr 
Aytoun,  rose  afterwards  to  so  high 
a  pitch. 

One  of  Mr  Moir's  intimate  friends 
for  many  years  was  Mr  Macvey 
Napier,  who  succeeded  to  the  editor- 
ship of  the  '  Edinburgh  Review  '  in 
1829,  upon  Mr  Jeffrey's  elevation 
to  the  office  of  Dean  of  Faculty. 
We  believe  that  Mr  Moir  furnished 
several  literary  articles  to  Mr  Napier 
for  that  Review,  although  we  are 
unable  to  give  details.  We  know 
that  he  contributed  to  the  Seventh 
Edition  of  the  '  Encyclopaedia  Brit- 
annica,'  of  which  Mr  Napier  was 
also  editor.  Two  excellent  articles 
in  that  work  furnished  by  Mr  Moir, 
on  "  Poetry "  and  "  Modern  Ro- 
mance," were  afterwards  published 
in  a  separate  volume,  along  with  an 
"  Essay  on  Rhetoric,"  by  Mr  Spald- 
ing,  who  afterwards  succeeded  Mr 
Moir  in  the  Rhetoric  Chair. 

While  Mr  Moir  was  thus  dis- 
tinguishing himself  ag  a  literary 
man  of  high  eminence,  he  had  been 
rapidly  rising  in  his  profession, 


116 


Tlie  late  George  Moir. 


[Jan. 


and  had  attained  the  reputation  of 
a  sound  lawyer,  and  an  able  and 
eloquent  counsel.  He  did  not  lay 
himself  out  for  criminal  business; 
and  his  forte  perhaps  lay  in  the 
more  erudite  departments  of  law, 
in  which  his  speeches  were  soon  ac- 
knowledged to  he  distinguished  for 
great  clearness  of  exposition,  lucid 
symmetry  of  arrangement,  sound 
learning,  and  felicitous  illustration. 
He  resigned  his  Professorship  in 
1840,  and  in  1858  he  was  appointed 
Sheriff  of  Stirlingshire,  having  been 
previously  Sheriff  of  Ross-shire.  In 
1864  he  was  made  Professor  of 
Scotch  Law,  by  the  unanimous 
vote  of  his  brethren  of  the  Bar, 
and  held  the  office  for  two  years, 
continuing  to  carry  on  his  pro- 
fession as  a  Chamber  Counsel,  in 
which  character  he  was  held  in  high 
esteem. 

Our  view  of  Mr  Moir's  character 
would  be  incomplete  if  we  did  not 
allude  to  his  great  love  of  art,  which 
was  very  early  developed,  and  was 
combined  with  taste  eminently  just 
and  discriminating.  If  he  had  not 
been  successful  as  a  lawyer  and  a 
man  of  letters,  he  might  probably 
have  been  distinguished  as  an  artist. 
Genius  and  taste  are  not  always 
found  in  combination,  and  the  ex- 
cellence of  an  amateur  does  not 
always  come  up  to  the  profes- 
sional standard.  But  Moir  had, 
we  believe,  sufficient  aptitude  to 
have  given  expression  to  his  artistic 
feelings,  if  he  had  been  induced  to 
practise  art  otherwise  than  for  his 
amusement. 

For  the  last  few  years  Mr  Moir's 
health  became  extremely  precarious, 
and  as  he  considered  himself  pos- 
sessed of  an  ample  competence,  he 
resigned  his  sheriffship  and  retired 
from  professional  practice.  From 
family  reasons  he  was  about  to  re- 
move to  London,  but  on  the  very 
eve  of  his  departure  he  died  sud- 


denly, on  the   19th  of  October,  in 
his  seventy-first  year. 

The  notice  of  him  that  we  have 
now  ventured  to  submit  to  our 
readers  seems  in  some  respects  to 
require  an  apology.  It  is  like  life 
itself,  a  mingled  yarn  of  brighter  as 
well  as  of  graver  recollections;  but 
we  venture  to  suggest,  that  often  as 
amidst  the  flowers  that  strew  our 
path  some  bitterness  arises  that 
gives  a  momentary  pang,  so  in  the 
midst  of  the  most  mournful  con- 
templation of  the  past  some  gleams 
of  pleasantness  will  interpose  on 
which  it  is  allowable  to  dwell  a 
little  without  doing  injustice  to  our 
more  serious  feelings.  Some  of  our 
readers,  imperfectly  acquainted  with 
the  facts,  and  with  the  literary  tend- 
encies then  prevailing,  may  think 
that  we  have  been  here  striving  to 
ask  for  attention  and  sympathy  in 
matters  that  may  be  looked  upon  as 
too  personal  to  call  for  public  con- 
sideration ;  but  this  cannot  be  justly 
said.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that  in 
the  early  half  of  the  present  cen- 
tury, laying  aside  the  high  scholar- 
ship of  the  English  universities, 
there  existed  in  Edinburgh  a  con- 
centration of  literary  taste  and  talent 
that  was  not  surpassed,  and  could 
scarcely  be  said  to  be  equalled,  in 
any  other  part  of  the  kingdom.  In 
the  department  of  periodical  litera- 
ture, it  seems  a  plain  and  impartial 
truth  that  the  '  Edinburgh  Review ' 
and  this  Magazine,  as  the  vigorous 
organs  of  opposite  schools  of  poli- 
tics and  criticism,  were  not  only  the 
founders  but  the  formers  of  that 
peculiar  agency  which  is  now  so 
prevalent  and  so  powerful;  for  we 
presume  it  will  be  allowed  that  the 
Reviews  and  Magazines  of  the  for- 
mer century  were  productions  too 
feeble  and  ephemeral  to  have  much 
effect.  These  new  leaders  in  this 
important  path  have  had  many  fol- 
lowers, and  among  these  some  for- 


1871.] 


The  late  George  Moir. 


117 


midable  rivals;  but  we  think  we 
may  say  that  they  themselves  in  a 
great  measure  taught  those  rivals 
how  to  compete  with  them.  It  is 
also  certain,  that  both  in  periodical 
and  in  general  literature  the  Bar  of 
Scotland  during  that  period  sup- 
plied a  great  proportion  of  eminent 
writers.  His  own  unobtrusive  na- 
ture, and  the  anonymous  form  of 
almost  all  his  writings,  made  Moir 
less  known  to  the  outer  world  than 
some  others  were;  but  those  who 
were  admitted  behind  the  scenes 
knew  how  important  a  part  he 
played  in  the  drama,  how  much  he 
was  esteemed  by  all,  and  how  great 
was  the  influence  which  he  exerted. 
We  think,  too,  that  apart  from  their 
abstract  interest,  there  are  many, 
both  at  home  and  far  away,  in  whom 
the  details  which  we  have  now  given 


will  excite  pleasure  and  gratify  a 
natural  curiosity.  If  we  have  erred 
in  this  respect  in  any  way,  we  must 
hope  that  some  indulgence  will  be 
given  to  private  feelings.  The  hand 
that  has  traced  these  lines  was  first 
joined  in  friendship  to  George  Moir's 
forty-five  years  ago  ;  and  the  inti- 
macy then  begun  continued  ever 
afterwards  till  it  was  terminated  by 
his  death,  without  having  ever  been 
clouded  by  disagreement  or  chilled 
by  interruption  of  any  kind.  A  sym- 
pathy of  the  closest  description  sub- 
sisted to  the  last,  in  work  and  in  re- 
laxation, in  j  oy  and  in  sorrow.  Moir's 
advice  and  aid  were  ever  ready  and 
ever  useful :  he  was  as  true,  sincere, 
and  faithful  a  friend  as  ever  lived : — 

"  Cui  Pudor,  et  Justitiae  sorpr, 
Incorrupta  fides,  nudaque  Veritas 
Quando  ullum  invenient  parem  ?" 


118 


The  Two  Systems. 


[Jan. 


THE    TWO     SYSTEMS. 


WE  are  not  among  the  number  of 
those  who  either  expect  or  desire  to 
see  established,  now  or  at  any  future 
time,  a  facsimile  of  the  Prussian 
military  system  in  this  country. 
Happily  for  us,  our  geographical  po- 
sition on  the  globe  is  such  as  ought 
to  render  unnecessary  a  measure  so 
much  opposed  to  the  political  tradi- 
tions and  social  habits  of  the  British 
people.  Surrounded  by  the  ocean, 
which,  to  be  sure,  on  one  side  of  us 
shrinks  into  "  a  silver  thread,"  we 
need  be  under  little  apprehension, 
assuming  our  navy  to  be  adequate, 
of  any  such  sudden  attack  upon  our 
coasts  as,  with  common  prudence 
guiding  our  counsels  on  shore,  we 
should  be  unable  to  repel.  At  the 
same  time,  let  us  not  forget  that 
navies  are  very  far  from  being  now 
what  they  used  to  be  during  the 
great  war  of  the  first  French  Eevolu- 
tion.  All  nations,  ourselves  among 
the  rest,  are,  in  point  of  fact,  only 
beginning  to  create  them.  We  cer- 
tainly, whatever  other  peoples  may 
think  upon  the  subject,  seem  to 
have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
the  dominion  of  the  sea  is  to  be 
asserted  and  maintained  by  means 
of  armoured  vessels  exclusively. 
Hence,  applying  our  undivided  en- 
ergies to  the  construction  of  ships 
which  shall  be  shot  and  shell  proof, 
or  as  nearly  so  as  art  and  iron  can 
make  them,  we  have  broken  up  or 
sold  for  old  songs  scores  of  wooden 
hulks,  some  of  which,  it  is  believed, 
had  never  gone  to  sea  since  they  were 
built,  while  very  many  were  capable 
of  being  converted,  at  a  trifling  ex- 
pense, into  most  efficient  cruisers. 
Now  this  may  or  may  not  be  a  judi- 
cious proceeding.  In  our  opinion, 
and  we  are  far  from  singular,  it  is 
not  a  judicious  proceeding.  As  far, 


however,  as  its  capabilities  extend, 
our  fleet  may  entirely  be  relied 
upon.  But  at  once  this  question 
occurs,  Are  these  such  as  to  justify 
the  studied  neglect  with  which 
all  other  means  of  defence  against 
foreign  aggression  are  treated  ?  We 
are  sure  that,  since  the  world  be- 
gan, no  nation  was  ever  yet  saved 
in  war  by  its  ships  alone.  And  it 
is  worse  than  idle  in  us,  who  have 
fallen  upon  an  age  of  rapid  and  con- 
stant progression,  to  rely  absolutely 
upon  our  navy  to  cover  us  from 
attack,  however  superior  it  may  be 
at  this  moment  to  any  other  single 
navy  in  the  world.  Combinations 
of  powers,  bent  on  putting  down 
some  state  which  has  long  been  to 
each  of  them  an  object  of  jealousy, 
have  occurred  before,  and  may  occur 
again ;  while  it  is  just  possible 
that  the  very  incidents  connected 
with  our  naval  power  on  which 
we  mainly  trust  as  raising  us  above 
danger,  may  prove  the  fruitful  sources 
of  disaster  to  us  when  the  trial 
comes.  Not  for  a  moment,  there- 
fore, may  they  who  value  the  honour, 
not  to  say  the  safety,  of  the  country, 
intermit  their  efforts  to  force  upon  a 
reluctant  Administration  the  duty — 
nay,  more,  the  necessity — of  putting 
the  military  resources  of  the  realm 
into  an  efficient  state.  It  is  said 
that  Mr  Cardwell,  anticipating  the 
attack  that  will  surely  be  made  upon 
him  as  soon  as  Parliament  meets, 
has  directed  a  committee  of  officers 
to  meet  and  consider  the  question 
in  detail,  and  to  report  upon  it. 
Was  any  proceeding  of  the  sort  re- 
quired 1  Do  we  not  all  understand 
already  where  the  fault  lies  ?  Has 
not  enough  been  said  and  written 
by  persons  conversant  with  the 
whole  subject  to  show  that  England 


1871.] 


TJie  Two  Systems. 


119 


is  helpless  for  operations  either  of 
offence  or  defence  on  shore,  not  be- 
cause the  people  are  wanting  in  any 
of  the  qualities  that  go  to  make  first- 
rate  soldiers,  but  because  the  Gov- 
ernment either  does  not  know  how 
to  utilise  these  qualities,  or  shrinks 
from  the  obvious  duty  of  staking  its 
existence  as  a  Government  on  the 
adoption  by  Parliament  of  a  well- 
considered  plan  for  doing  so  1  Con- 
sider what  the  extent  of  our  man- 
hood is,  what  our  yearly  revenue, 
what  a  lesson  was  taught  us  as 
to  the  temper  and  disposition  of 
the  people  by  the  readiness  with 
which,  not  very  many  years  ago, 
in  a  time  of  known  weakness  and 
anticipated  danger,  a  hundred  thou- 
sand men,  most  of  them  in  circum- 
stances comparatively  easy,  took  up 
arms  of  their  own  accord,  and  stood 
forward  to  defend  their  homes  and 
hearths.  Will  anybody  tell  us  that 
a  nation  so  circumstanced — which 
is  really  full  of  military  ardour,  which 
is  rich  above  other  nations,  which 
in  point  of  numbers  comes  second 
only  to  Eussia,  Austria,  France,  and 
United  Germany  among  the  great 
Powers  of  Europe  —  will  anybody 
tell  us  that  a  nation  so  circumstanced 
would  hesitate  to  accept  a  wise  order 
of  defensive  military  organisation, 
were  such  proposed  to  it,  and  the 
necessity  of  acceding  to  it  made 
manifest?  The  idea  is  monstrous. 
All  that  is  wanted  to  give  us  at 
least  the  first  element  of  national 
strength  is,  that  the  Minister  shall 
state  his  case  clearly  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  ask  for  the  means 
of  attaining  it.  A  large  regular 
army  nobody  wants.  We  are  not 
an  aggressive  people;  and  if  we 
must,  at  some  future  time,  being 
bound  by  treaties  so  to  do,  put  a 
force  in  the  field  to  support  an  ally, 
the  ways  and  means  of  doing  so  will, 
at  the  proper  moment,  be  forthcom- 
ing. But  we  do  want  now  a  strong, 


well-ordered,  well-administered  army 
of  defence ;  and  sooner  or  later,  be- 
fore or  after  some  great  national  dis- 
aster, we  shall  surely  get  it. 

It  is  not,  however,  enough  to  have 
men  and  material  at  our  disposal,  in 
order  to  create  the  sort  of  military 
force  which  this  country  desiderates. 
Men  are  helpless  unless  there  be 
educated  officers  to  direct  them ;  and 
material  fails  or  is  wasted  where 
there  is  no  well-organised  machinery 
of  supply  and  control.  Now  it  is  to 
the  excellence  of  her  system  in  re- 
gard to  these  latter  points,  not  less 
than  because  of  the  care  which  she 
takes  to  have  her  armies  well  organ- 
ised and  commanded,  that  Prussia 
owes  the  success  which  has  attended 
her  operations  in  her  recent  wars 
both  with  Austria  and  France.  We 
propose,  therefore,  following  up  what 
was  stated  last  month,  to  describe, 
as  clearly  as  the  limits  at  our  com- 
mand will  allow,  the  principal  fea- 
tures in  that  system — not  under 
the  delusive  idea  that  it  would  be 
possible,  were  it  even  desirable,  to 
make  the  whole  system  our  own 
by  a  process  of  servile  imitation, 
but  because,  having  a  model  con- 
fessedly admirable  of  its  kind  upon 
which  to  work,  Mr  Cardwell  and 
his  advisers  may  have  something 
better  to  refer  to  than  their  own 
preconceived  opinions,  and  probably 
their  own  very  limited,  if  not  pre- 
judiced, personal  experience. 

The  army  in  Prussia,  like  that  of 
every  other  Continental  monarchy, 
whether  the  government  be,  as  in 
Eussia,  despotic,  or  as  in  Holland 
and  Belgium,  constitutional,  is  un- 
der the  direct  and  immediate  com- 
mand and  control  of  the  King.  The 
Chambers  have  nothing  whatever  to 
say  to  it,  except  to  vote  the  supplies 
necessary  for  its  subsistence  and  ef- 
ficiency, and  to  fix  the  term  during 
which,  whether  with  his  colours  or 
in  reserve,  each  particular  soldier 


120 


The  Two  Systems. 


[Jan. 


shall  serve.  Even  in  settling  these 
matters,  as  recent  experience  shows, 
the  judgment  of  the  King  carries 
with  it  far  greater  weight  than  that 
of  his  Parliament.  After  1866  the 
King  proposed  a  plan  of  recruitment, 
which  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  re- 
jected again  and  again  ;  but,  by  the 
mere  force  of  his  OAvn  will,  the  King 
carried  his  point,  and  the  country 
has  reaped  the  benefit  of  his  or  his 
Ministers'  wise  determination  in  the 
success  which  has  attended  its  army 
in  the  present  war.  The  Prussian 
army  is  therefore  the  King's  army, 
in  as  absolute  a  sense  as  the  English 
army,  after  the  Eestoration  and  pre- 
viously to  the  Revolution,  was  the 
army  of  the  King  of  England.  It  is, 
moreover,  the  right  arm  of  the  State, 
which  the  head  of  the  State  wields, 
unchecked  by  any  counterpoise  of 
popular  prejudice.  It  is  that  par- 
ticular institution,  also,  which  all 
others  within  the  realm  are  made  to 
subserve,  and  before  the  necessary 
requirements  of  which,  the  wants, 
wishes,  and  conveniences  of  indi- 
viduals, and  even  of  civil  communi- 
ties, must  give  way.  Thus,  if  cattle 
or  waggons  be  required  to  facilitate 
a  march,  or  provisions  run  short,  or 
lodging  for  man  and  horse  be  needed, 
on  the  town  or  village  at  which  any 
portion  of  the  army  arrives,  or  in 
which  it  happens  to  be  quartered, 
the  obligation  is  imposed  of  making 
good  such  deficiency.  The  King's 
army  must  not  want  for  aught.  The 
people  whom  the  King  governs  and 
protects  must  furnish  his  army  with 
whatever  is  needed  to  render  it 
mobile,  and  keep  it  in  a  state  of 
efficiency.  Let  us  not  be  misunder- 
stood. At  home  as  well  as  abroad 
receipts  are  given  for  every  article 
requisitioned  for  and  furnished; 
and  the  documents,  when  handed  in 
to  the  proper  quarter,  are  examined, 
checked,  and  redeemed.  But  the 
apprehension  of  pecuniary  damage 


in  such  cases  is  not  always  the  sore 
point.  The  hire  of  a  farmer's  horses 
or  waggons,  however  punctually  paid 
for,  does  not  compensate  him  for  the 
loss  of  their  services,  say  at  plough- 
ing-time  or  harvest;  yet  they  must 
go  immediately  they  are  demanded, 
while  the  owner  must  take  and  be 
thankful  for  whatever  price  the 
Government  shall  judge  expedient 
to  pay  for  the  accommodation.  Our 
readers  will  not,  we  imagine,  suspect 
us  of  any  desire  to  transplant,  in  its 
integrity,  this  item  of  the  Prussian 
military  system  into  Great  Britain. 
We  are  well  pleased  that  the  House 
of  Commons  should  continue  to  hold 
the  strings  of  the  purse,  not  less 
when  the  military  than  when  the 
civil  wants  of  the  nation  are  to  be 
provided  for.  And  we  entirely  ap- 
prove of  the  constitutional  principles 
adopted  in  1688 — we  greatly  lament 
that  even  in  part  they  should  have 
been  departed  from — that  all  who 
advise  the  Crown  in  military  affairs 
should,  equally  with  the  Crown  ad- 
visers in  civil  affairs,  be  personally 
responsible  to  Parliament  for  the 
advice  which  they  tender  to  the 
Sovereign.  But  this  is  quite  an- 
other matter  from  handing  over  the 
control  of  the  army,  as  we  have 
recently  done,  to  a  civilian,  himself 
a  member  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, and  therefore  dependent  on 
the  caprices  of  a  majority  in  that 
House,  from  day  to  day,  for  his 
tenure  of  office.  It  seems  to  us 
impossible  that  the  state  to  which 
things  have  of  late  years  been 
brought  can  long  coexist  with  the 
semblance  of  monarchical  authority, 
however  limited.  And  therefore, 
to  the  Commission  which  is  sitting 
to  advise  what  the  future  of  the 
army  shall  be,  we  take  the  liberty 
of  recommending  this  point  as  well 
worthy  of  their  notice,  before  they 
proceed  to  deal  with  any  other. 
The  administration  of  the  Prussian 


1871.] 


Tlie  Two  Systems. 


121 


army  is  conducted  under  the  King 
by  a  Minister  of  War,  who  may  or 
may  not  be  a  member  of  the  legis- 
lature, but  who  must  be  a  general 
officer  of  long  service  and  tried  ability 
and  knowledge.  He  is  selected  by 
the  King.  He  need  not  necessarily 
go  out  with  a  change  of  Ministry, 
because  his  duties  are  in  the  strictest 
sense  of  the  term  administrative. 
But  he  is  responsible  to  the  Houses 
which  vote  the  supplies  that  they 
are  rightly  dispensed ;  and  in  case  of 
malversation,  or  suspected  malversa- 
tion, he  is  open  to  impeachment. 
This  important  office  is  held,  at  the 
present  moment,  by  General  von 
Roon,  in  whom  both  the  King  and 
the  country  repose  that  entire  con- 
fidence which  his  tried  ability  and 
unimpeachable  honour  have  justly 
acquired  for  him. 

The  Prussian  War  Minister  unites 
in  his  own  person  the  attributes 
both  of  our  Commander -in -Chief 
and  of  our  Secretary  of  State  for 
War.  In  the  King's  name,  and  by 
authority  from  the  King,  he  deter- 
mines what  shall  be  from  time  to 
time  the  drill,  the  armament,  the 
uniform,  the  discipline  of  the  troops 
of  all  arms,  as  well  as  the  quarter- 
ing of  corps,  and  the  distribution  of 
commands.  Acting  in  like  manner 
for  the  King,  he  determines  and 
settles  the  great  principles  of  supply 
and  control.  Into  minute  details 
he  never  enters,  unless  special  re- 
ference be  made  to  him;  leaving 
these,  and  wisely  leaving  them,  to 
be  settled  by  the  heads  of  the  va- 
rious departments  into  which  his 
office  is  divided.  And  thus  every 
man,  having  his  own  proper  work 
to  do,  and  being  held  personally  re- 
sponsible that  it  shall  be  well  done, 
applies  to  it  his  undivided  energies, 
and  the  work  is  done. 

Over  each  department,  whether 
it  take  charge  of  discipline  or  sup- 
ply, a  military  man  presides.  Per- 


sons who  have  shown  in  the  War 
Academy  business  habits  more  than 
ordinarily  accurate  are  selected  for 
such  employment,  each  in  accord 
with  his  specialties ;  and  they  usually 
work  their  way  from  employment 
at  the  headquarters  of  corps  cFarmee, 
to  employment  at  the  headquarters 
of  the  whole  army.  For  in  all  re- 
spects each  of  the  thirteen  great 
commands  into  which,  during  peace, 
the  Prussian  army  is  divided,  is  a 
complete  representation  on  a  small 
scale  of  the  central  machine,  the 
war  office  at  the  capital.  Hence, 
in  giving  a  rapid  sketch  of  one  of 
these,  we  sketch  the  whole,  because 
just  as  the  War  Minister  is  supreme 
under  the  King  over  the  entire  state 
military,  so  is  every  corps  com- 
mander supreme  within  the  limits 
of  his  command  over  the  entire 
force  submitted  to  his  orders,  with 
its  staff,  whether  they  be  occupied 
upon  matters  of  discipline  or  matters 
of  supply. 

The  discipline  of  the  Prussian 
army,  like  that  of  all  other  armies, 
is  kept  up  mainly  by  the  regimental 
officers.  These  have  their  rules  and 
regulations  to  guide  them,  and  their 
responsibilities,  which  pass  from  one 
superior  order  to  another  until  they 
reach  headquarters.  There  is,  how- 
ever, this  difference  between  the 
Prussian  and  all  other  army  sys- 
tems, that  in  Prussia  the  company, 
squadron,  or  battery  plays  in  the 
hierarchy  of  command  a  far  more 
important  part  than  is  allowed  to 
it  in  any  other  European  army. 
This  is,  perhaps,  in  some  degree 
due  to  the  fact  that  the  company 
in  the  Prussian  service  bears  almost 
the  same  numerical  proportion  to  a 
battalion  that  a  battalion  does  to  a 
regiment.  It  is  a  strongly  marked 
unit,  being  so  constituted  as  to 
bring  the  captain  into  far  more 
intimate  relations  with  the  men  and 
officers  composing  his  company  than 


122 


Tfte  Two  Systems. 


[Jan. 


the  chef -de -battalion  can  ever  be 
brought  with  his  battalion  or  the 
colonel  with  his  regiment.  The  con- 
sequence is,  that  the  colonel  and 
chef-de-battalion  have  very  little  to 
say  to  the  people  under  their  orders, 
except  on  parade,  unless,  indeed, 
which  rarely  or  never  occurs,  appeals 
be  made  to  one  or  the  other  from  the 
decision  of  the  captain.  For  he  it  is 
who  arbitrates  between  contending 
parties  in  the  ranks — who  praises  or 
rewards  the  good  soldier,  and  pun- 
ishes the  bad.  And  the  official  next 
in  importance  to  him  among  the  men 
in  all  these  respects  is  not  the  first 
lieutenant,  but  the  company  sergeant- 
major.  In  a  word,  the  captain  is, 
and  is  indeed  called  by  his  men,  the 
father  of  the  company,  just  as  the 
company  sergeant-major  is  called 
their  mother.  And  so  well  do 
they  generally  sustain  their  parts 
— among  youths,  be  it  remembered, 
enrolled  for  three  years  only,  and 
rarely  throughout  that  interval  los- 
ing the  freshness  with  which  they  first 
join  their  colours — that  discipline 
goes  on  almost  of  its  own  accord. 
Prussian  punishments  are  indeed 
sharp  enough  when  they  fall,  involv- 
ing death,  imprisonment  with  short 
commons,  fatigues,  and  extra  drilL 
But  it  is  only  fair  to  the  Prussian 
service  to  say,  that  in  time  of  peace, 
at  least,  the  defaulters  in  the  com- 
pany's list  are  few,  and  punishment 
is  of  rare  occurrence. 

Every  captain  in  the  Prussian 
army  is  mounted.  This  gives  to 
a  battalion  on  parade  five  field- 
officers  ;  for  there  is  no  battalion 
adjutant,  in  our  sense  of  the  term, 
nor  indeed  any  quartermaster  or 
quartermaster-sergeant.  The  cap- 
tain looks  after  the  lodging  of  his 
men  ;  the  sergeant-major  sees  that 
they  have  their  rations  served  out 
to  them.  To  receive  these  they 
are  divided  into  messes  of  fifteen 
men  respectively,  with  a  corporal 


in  charge  of  each.  Their  daily 
food  consists  of  bread,  about  a 
pound  and  a  half;  of  meat,  about 
three  quarters  of  a  pound;  of  rice 
or  groats,  four  ounces — or  else  of 
meal,  one  half-pound — or  of  pota- 
toes, three  pounds ;  of  salt,  they  re- 
ceive three  grains ;  and  of  coffee, 
one  ounce.  When  the  army  takes 
the  field,  each  man  carries  about  him 
enough  of  these  articles  for  three 
days'  consumption.  But  as  we  shall 
have  occasion  presently  to  describe 
the  Prussian  mode  of  subsisting  and 
managing  troops  in  war,  we  need  say 
no  more  about  this  part  of  our  sub- 
ject at  present,  than  that  only  in  an 
enemy's  country  is  either  beer  or 
wine,  or  butter,  or  tobacco,  issued  to 
the  soldier,  whose  pay,  after  all  his 
necessaries  are  provided  for  him, 
amounts  to  three  groschens,  or  some- 
thing more  than  threepence  a-day. 

The  Prussian  battalion  of  infantry 
consists  of  four  companies,  which 
muster,  in  peace-time,  one  hundred 
and  fifty  men  ;  in  war,  when  the 
reserves  are  called  in,  two  hundred 
and  fifty  respectively.  Of  the 
strength  of  the  squadron  of  cavalry 
and  battery  of  artillery — each  being 
the  unit  out  of  which  regiments 
spring — we  have  elsewhere  spoken. 
Their  internal  economy  resembles 
in  every  important  particular  that 
of  the  company  of  infantry,  and  the 
daily  food  provided  for  the  men  is 
the  same. 

A  regiment  of  infantry  consists 
of  three  battalions,  which  are  not, 
however,  necessarily  or  at  all  times 
worked  together.  A  brigade  com- 
prises seven  or  six  battalions,  as  the 
case  may  be ;  one  of  which  is  either  a 
rifle  battalion  or  a  battalion  of  light 
infantry.  A  division  —  including 
two  brigades  of  infantry,  one  regi- 
ment of  cavalry,  and  four  batteries 
of  artillery,  or  twenty -four  guns — 
numbers,  in  all,  17,000  combatants. 
Two  divisions  make  up  a  corps,  which, 


1871.] 


The  Two  Systems. 


123 


inclusive  of  a  separate  cavalry  divi- 
sion, with  its  two  batteries  of  horse- 
artillery  attached — a  reserve  artillery, 
thirty  guns — a  pontoon  train — a  hos- 
pital train  —  waggons  of  transport 
and  their  attendants — reaches,  when 
complete,  the  total  strength  of 
41,000  men.  Nor  is  there  any 
portion  of  this  mass  on  which 
greater  care  is  bestowed,  or  which 
better  serves  its  purposes  when 
called  into  use,  than  the  pontoon 
train.  The  Prussian  bridge,  span- 
ing  a  river  685  feet  wide,  bears  with 
ease  infantry,  cavalry,  and  light 
guns,  unlimbered.  A  bridge  across 
a  stream  295  feet  wide  sustains  the 
weight  of  guns  of  position.  Siege 
guns  will  pass  upon  a  bridge,  lim- 
bered, over  a  stream  180  feet  wide. 
Here,  then,  as  has  just  been  said, 
we  have  brought  in  review  order  be- 
fore us  the  whole  Prussian  army  in 
miniature.  At  the  head  is  the  corps 
commander,  representing  at  once 
the  King  and  his  Minister  of  War. 
Near  him  are  his  staff  officers — all, 
without  exception,  military  men — 
by  whom  every  detail  of  strategy, 
discipline,  administration,  and  sup- 
ply is  carried  on.  The  higher  staff, 
as  it  is  called,  consists  of  four  such 
officers,  the  chief  of  the  staff  with 
the  rank  of  colonel,  a  major,  and 
two  captains.  The  officers  of  the 
lower  staff  are  much  more  numerous, 
and  comprise  his  own  adjutants  or 
aides-de-camp  (though  that  term  is 
never  used,  except  in  reference  to 
the  King),  and  the  adjutants  of  the 
generals  of  division  and  brigade. 
The  duties  of  these  gentlemen  cor- 
respond in  part  to  those  of  the  adju- 
tant-general's staff  with  us,  in  part 
to  those  of  the  personal  staff  of  our 
general  officers,  including  brigade- 
majors.  While  the  higher  staff  ar- 
range plans  of  campaign,  and  look 
to  the  quartering  and  supply  of  the 
whole  corps,  as  well  in  motion  as  in 
rest,  the  personal  staff  attend  to  mat- 


ters of  discipline  and  to  the  transmis- 
sion of  orders  received  from  head- 
quarters. A  third  class  of  staff  offi- 
cers make  up  the  Intendance,  upon 
whom,  subject  to  instructions  from 
the  corps  commander,  devolves  the 
responsibility  of  seeing  that  the 
troops  are  properly  supplied  with 
fuel,  food,  clothing,  and  the  means 
of  transporting  the  two  latter  from 
place  to  place.  All  military  stores, 
including  guns,  small-arms,  ammu- 
nition, carriages,  and  so  forth,  are 
in  like  manner,  and  subject  to  the 
like  conditions,  controlled  and  man- 
aged by  the  commanding  officer  of 
artillery.  So  also  the  chief  engi- 
neer is  intrusted  with  the  charge 
of  building  and  repairing  barracks, 
forts,  and  other  works,  and  with 
the  means  of  carrying  to  any 
point  where  they  may  be  re- 
quired intrenching  tools,  pontoons, 
and  other  instruments  of  bridge- 
making.  Then  there  come  what 
we  may  describe  as  the  only  two 
civilian  departments  connected  with 
the  army  :  the  medical  department, 
with  its  corps  of  hospital  orderlies; 
the  chaplains'  department,  with  pas- 
tor attached  to  every  half-brigade. 
The  chief  of  the  medical  department 
does,  we  believe,  rank  with  a  major. 
The  chaplain-general  has  no  military 
rank.  But  doctor  and  parson  are 
alike  independent  of  all,  except  that 
general  control  which  the  Minister 
of  War,  representing  the  King, 
exercises  over  the  whole  army. 
Finally,  the  police  of  the  corps, 
consisting  of  a  hundred  men,  of 
whom  one  half  are  mounted,  the 
other  on  foot,  obey  the  orders  of 
the  provost ;  while  a  perfect  host 
of  artificers  of  every  description 
— such  as  bricklayers,  carpenters, 
smiths,  and  so  forth — is  disposable 
for  employment,  under  official  super- 
intendence, wherever  their  services 
are  needed.  Over  all  these,  from 
the  highest  to  the  lowest,  the 


124 


The  Two  Systems. 


[Jean. 


authority  of  the  corps  commander 
is  supreme.  There  is  no  duality, 
nor  the  approximation  to  duality, 
anywhere.  The  corps  commander's 
order  once  issued  must  be  oheyed, 
without  remonstrance,  whatever  the 
department  may  he  to  which  it 
is  addressed,  and  the  results  are 
promptitude  and  uniformity  of  ac- 
tion in  all  quarters.  We  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  the  corps  com- 
mander may  not  occasionally,  per- 
haps very  often,  commit  irregulari- 
ties; and  when  he  does  so  he  never 
fails  to  hear  of  it.  But  delays  and 
discussions  are  things  unknown. 
The  machine  works  rapidly,  be- 
cause it  is  subject  to  little  or  no 
friction ;  and,  generally  speaking, 
because  it  works  rapidly  it  works 
well. 

.  Similar  in  all  respects  to  this, 
though  of  course  upon  a  still  larger 
scale,  is  the  machinery  set  up,  and 
its  mode  of  working  at  headquar- 
ters. The  will  of  the  Minister  of 
War  is  law.  It  is  made  known  to 
all  the  segments  of  the  army  through 
corps  commanders  and  chiefs  of 
departments,  with  the  details  of 
whose  business  the  Minister  seldom 
if  ever  interferes.  Master  of  the 
whole  subject  of  army  administra- 
tion, he  knows  how  to  choose  his 
instruments,  and  trusts  them.  From 
time  to  time,  if  complaints  reach 
him,  he  thoroughly  overhauls  the 
department  complained  of.  But 
this  is  an  incident  of  rare  occur- 
rence, because  the  ablest  adminis- 
trators in  every  branch  of  the 
service  are  selected  by  himself,  or 
on  the  recommendation  of  the  chief 
of  the  staff,  to  work  under  him; 
and  these  are  all,  looking  only  to 
him,  absolutely  independent  one  of 
the  other.  The  consequence  is, 
that  at  the  War  Office  in  Berlin  there 
is  no  waste  of  time  in  minuting 
papers,  and  referring  them  from 
room  to  room;  while  the  corre- 


spondence with  the  out-stations  of  an 
army  five  times  as  numerous  as  our 
own,  scarcely  equals  one -fifth  of 
that  which  cumbers  our  War  Office 
pigeon-holes.  As  we  have  just  said, 
the  Minister  takes  large  views  of 
every  subject,  believing  .that  in 
working  out  details  he  can  trust 
implicitly  to  his  subordinates,  just 
as  these,  being  heads  of  departments, 
believe  that  they  can  trust  their 
inferiors.  And  this  confidence  is 
the  more  secure  that  neglect  of 
duty  or  foul  play  subjects  the 
defaulter  to  immediate  dismissal. 
For  the  War  Office  at  Berlin,  like  the 
headquarters  in  corps  commands,  is 
officered  entirely  by  military  men; 
while  the  inferior  clerks  are  chosen, 
as  indeed  is  the  case  in  every 
Prussian  public  office,  from  non- 
commissioned officers,  or  men  who 
have  been  non-commissioned  officers, 
in  the  regular  army.  Hence,  if 
an  officer  show  in  ever  so  slight 
a  degree  that  he  is  indifferently 
qualified  for  the  post  to  which  he 
has  been  appointed,  he  is  forth- 
with remanded  to  regimental  duty : 
if  the  non-commissioned  officer  fail, 
and  be  still  in  active  service,  he  is 
sent  back  to  his  regiment.  If  emeritus, 
he  is  sent  about  his  business.  The 
result  is,  that  affairs  go  on  with 
the  regularity  and  accuracy  of  time ; 
and  that  all  the  appliances  necessary 
to  put  half  a  million  of  men,  or  more, 
in  the  field,  are  forthcoming  at  a 
day's  notice. 

Under  the  same  roof  with  the 
War  Minister  sits  the  chief  of  the 
staff,  whose  special  duty  it  is  to 
direct  and  superintend  the  pro- 
fessional instruction  of  the  army 
in  general,  and  especially  to  see 
that  such  officers  as  do  duty  on 
the  staff  understand  what  is  ex- 
pected of  them,  and  act  up  to  it. 
The  chief  of  the  staff  receives  and 
examines  the  reports  of  the  Council 
of  Military  Education,  personally 


1871.] 


Tlie  Two  Systems. 


125 


inspects  the  war  schools,  and  espe- 
cially the  War  Academy,  and  re- 
commends for  employment  and 
promotion  such  of  the  pupils 
and  staff  officers  as  remarkahly 
distinguish  themselves.  What 
education  for  the  staff  means  in 
the  Prussian  army,  we  took  occa- 
sion last  month  to  explain.  What 
the  acquirements  of  those  must 
be  who  are  qualified  to  determine, 
in  the  order  of  merit,  where 
aspirants  for  staff  employ  are  to 
be  placed,  we  need  not  pause  to 
point  out.  The  chief  of  the  staff  of 
the  Prussian  service  has  not  much 
power,  however,  in  time  of  peace. 
He  thinks  for  the  army,  and  sug- 
gests plans  for  rendering  it  contin- 
ually more  and  more  effective.  But 
when  war  breaks  out  he  becomes, 
what  Count  von  Moltke  is  at  this 
moment,  the  grand  referee,  without 
consultation  with  whom,  or,  to  speak 
more  correctly,  except  at  whose  sug- 
gestion, no  operation  of  any  sort  is 
undertaken  or  carried  on. 

The  affairs  of  the  Prussian  army 
go  on  like  a  well-constructed  clock  so 
long  as  there  is  peace  with  other 
nations.  Year  by  year  the  men 
who  have  completed  their  three  years' 
training  pass  into  the  reserve,  re- 
cruits filling  their  places.  Year  by 
year  the  grand  manoeuvres  are 
held,  wherein  both  officers  and  men 
learn  what  they  will  be  called  upon 
to  practise  in  war.  And  at  fixed 
intervals  the  landwehr  meet  in 
their  battalions,  to  be  kept  from  for- 
getting what  had  been  taught  them 
in  their  earlier  youth.  Meanwhile 
in  every  fortress  is  laid  up  a  store 
of  artillery,  small-arms,  ammunition, 
&c.,  under  an  officer  of  artillery ;  a 
similar  store  of  intrenching  tools, 
and  implements  of  various  kinds, 
under  an  officer  of  engineers ;  a  like 
store  of  cloaks,  boots,  clothing,  wag- 
gons, and  horses,  under  an  intend- 
ant ;  and  an  adequate  supply  of 


medicines,  surgical  instruments,  am- 
bulances, and  other  medical  require- 
ments, of  which  a  medical  officer  is 
in  charge. 

War  comes,  and  in  a  week  or  ten 
days'  time,  battalions,  regiments, 
brigades,  divisions,  corps,  are  aug- 
mented to  their  full  strength,  and 
in  readiness  to  move.  The  order 
arrives,  and  the  march  begins.  Each 
infantry  soldier  has  now  to  pack 
and  carry  in  his  knapsack  a  spare 
shirt,  a  spare  pair  of  shoes,  a  spare 
pair  of  drawers,  a  pocket-handker- 
chief, and  a  bit  of  soap.  Stockings 
the  Prussian  soldier  does  not  wear. 
He  wraps  his  feet  and  legs  in  linen 
or  cotton  bandages,  which,  being 
accustomed  to  them,  he  finds  more 
convenient,  and  which  are,  at  all 
events,  easily  washed.  Besides  his 
necessaries,  the  infantry  soldier  car- 
ries in  his  haversack  three  days' 
provisions,  with  eighty  rounds  of 
ammunition,  partly  in  his  pouch, 
partly  in  his  knapsack.  The  latter 
has  a  drawer  let  into  it,  in  which 
forty  rounds  are  put  away,  which 
he  can  easily  reach  and  empty  of 
its  contents  without  halting  or  dis- 
turbing the  kit.  Besides  all  this, 
mess -squads  distribute  and  carry 
among  them  brushes  enough  for  their 
common  use,  as  well  as  a  certain 
number  of  spades,  picks,  axes,  and 
tools ;  and  over  every  man's  shoul- 
der is  wrapped  and  worn,  bandoleer 
fashion,  his  cloak  or  greatcoat.  The 
battalion  is  now  a  thousand  strong, 
the  company  two  hundred  and  fifty. 

Simultaneous  with  this  stir  among 
the  infantry  are  the  movements  of 
the  cavalry,  the  artillery,  and  the 
train.  A  regiment  of  cavalry,  leav- 
ing one  squadron  on  which  to  form 
its  recruits,  carries  four  into  the 
field.  These  muster  seven  hundred 
and  five  horses,  all  thoroughly  brok- 
en, inclusive  of  officers'  horses;  and 
six  hundred  fighting  men.  The 
trooper  carries  two  sacks — one  of 


126 


The  Two  Systems. 


[Jan. 


which  contains  three  days'  pro- 
visions for  himself,  the  other  three 
days'  oats  for  his  horse.  His  neces- 
saries are  conveyed  in  his  valise. 
The  artillery,  like  our  own,  trans- 
port all  things  necessary  to  render 
them  efficient — including  provisions 
for  men,  forage,  horse-shoes,  nails, 
and  spare  bits  of  harness — in  their 
own  waggons.  Much  has  been  said 
of  the  superiority  of  this  arm,  in  the 
recent  actions,  over  the  French.  It 
may  be  so ;  and  in  one  point — so 
far  as  the  field -batteries  are  con- 
cerned —  the  circumstance  is  not 
hard  to  be  accounted  for.  The  field- 
gun  in  the  Prussian  service  has 
seats  appended  to  the  axle-trees, 
whereby  the  gunner  moves  with  his 
weapon,  be  the  pace  in  effecting  a 
change  of  position  ever  so  rapid; 
whereas  in  the  French  service,  just 
as  in  our  own,  the  gunner  marches 
on  foot.  Why,  after  the  experience 
acquired  at  the  battle  of  the  Alma, 
we  have  not  yet  applied  a  remedy 
to  such  an  obvious  defect,  is  one  of 
those  mysteries  in  English  military 
administration  for  which  nobody  is 
able  to  account.  There  is  no  differ- 
ence of  opinion,  we  rather  think, 
among  artillery  officers  in  regard  to 
this  matter.  Perhaps  when  Parlia- 
ment meets  some  member  will  ques- 
tion the  Secretary  of  State  on  the 
subject,  and  then  we  may  have  light 
thrown  upon  our  darkness. 

There  attend  each  battalion  of  in- 
fantry into  the  field  one  six-horse 
waggon  for  the  conveyance  of  spare 
ammunition  ;  one  four-horse  vehicle 
laden  with  spare  clothing ;  one  two- 
horse  cart  in  which  medicine  and 
hospital  stores  are  conveyed  ;  and 
one  four-horse  waggon  for  transport- 
ing the  officers'  baggage.  A  similar 
special  service,  though  on  a  smaller 
scale,  waits  upon  a  regiment  of  cav- 
alry. In  other  respects  the  sup- 
plies necessary  in  the  gross  are  con- 
veyed in  the  rear  of  divisions  and 


corps.  Two  hundred  horses,  or 
thereabouts,  dragging  upwards  of 
eighty  waggons,  attend  each  corps, 
all  under  strict  military  control.  Of 
these,  twelve  are  appropriated  to 
hospital  purposes  —  the  principal 
medical  officer  being  in  supreme 
charge;  the  rest  carry  flour,  am- 
munition, and  other  things,  of  which 
the  expenditure  is  rapid  and  inces- 
sant. The  generals  in  command 
of  corps,  divisions,  and  brigades, 
have  their  own  waggons  allotted  to 
them. 

Though  the  Prussian  army  takes 
the  field  thus  provided  against  the 
pressure  of  immediate  want,  its 
habit  is,  when  operating  in  an  en- 
emy's country,  to  live  as  much  as 
possible  by  requisitions.  The  pro- 
cess is  this  :  A  day's  march  in  front 
of  each  column  moves  a  screen  of 
light-horsemen,  who,  besides  collect- 
ing intelligence  respecting  the  ene- 
my's whereabouts,  have  it  in  charge 
to  demand  from  the  townships  and 
villages  which  they  enter,  beeves, 
sheep,  bread,  wine,  beer,  forage,  and 
tobacco,  sufficient  for  a  day's  con- 
sumption of  a  given  number  of  men 
and  horses.  The  butchers,  bakers, 
and  other  tradesmen  of  each  battal- 
ion and  regiment  are  told  off  to  re- 
ceive the  articles  requisitioned  for, 
and  proceed  at  once,  on  the  arrival 
of  the  corps  at  its  ground,  to  kill 
and  otherwise  make  them  ready  for 
general  use.  On  the  meat  thus 
procured  the  men  live,  preserving 
their  own,  which  is  not  unfrequently 
converted  into  sausages,  against  a 
time  when  requisitions  may  fail 
them.  They  use  their  own  flour, 
however,  which  is  liable  to  be  da- 
maged by  wet — converting  it  into 
bread;  and  trusting  to  the  com- 
missary, or  the  mills  which  are  met 
with  on  the  march,  to  make  good 
the  deficiency.  For  every  article 
so  taken  from  the  country-people, 
regular  receipts  are  given,  which 


1871.] 


Tlie  Two  Systems. 


127 


the  recipients  are  desired  to  put 
safely  away,  and  to  produce  for  pay- 
ment to  their  own  Government 
when  the  war  shall  end. 

The  last,  and  not  the  least  impor- 
tant, point  to  be  noticed  in  the  ad- 
ministrative machinery  of  the  Prus- 
sian army,  is  its  telegraphic  appara- 
tus. In  peace  each  army  corps  is 
supplied  with  a  complete  set,  and  in 
war  eight  of  these  sets  wait  upon  the 
field  force.  Communication  with  the 
rear  is  kept  up  by  four  of  these,  which 
follow  roads  or  railroads.  They 
connect  themselves  with  the  maga- 
zines at  the  base  of  operations,  and 
move  onwards  as  the  army  moves. 
Hence,  in  waggons  imported  for  the 
purpose,  or  by  railway,  as  the  case 
may  be,  fresh  supplies  of  ammuni- 
tion and  stores  of  every  kind  are 
forwarded,  without  delay,  as  they 
are  required.  The  other  four  cross 
fields,  hills,  valleys,  and  pass  through 
woods,  keeping  columns,  whether 
in  motion  or  at  rest,  in  constant 
communication  with  one  another. 
The  influence  of  telegraphic  in- 
tercommunication in  war  is  con- 
siderable, though  not  perhaps  so 
great,  nor  so  persistently  great,  as 
might  be  supposed.  The  army 
which  surrounds  Paris  trusts  largely 
to  it,  and  is  safe  in  doing  so.  But 
columns  on  the  march  run  the  risk 
of  having  their  messages  tapped 
by  the  enemy,  and  find  themselves 
obliged  to  supplement  the  power  of 
the  electric  wire  with  ordinary  mes- 
sengers. The  Prussian  cavalry  passes 
on  instructions  from  point  to  point 
always  in  action,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  when  preparations  for  the 
fight  are  going  on. 

We  have  already  guarded  our- 
selves against  being  supposed  to 
desire  the  transfer  wholesale  of  the 
Prussian  military  system  to  this 
country.  A  conscription  which 
should  sweep  the  whole  mankind  of 
England  into  the  ranks  would  be 


intolerable.  It  is  not  needed,  it 
never  can  be  needed,  our  superior- 
ity at  sea  being  maintained  ;  and  if 
enforced,  it  would  inflict  upon  our 
young  citizens  hardships  far  greater 
than  those  which  the  youth  of  Prus- 
sia experience.  Our  regular  army, 
be  it  understood,  is  always  more 
or  less  upon  foreign  service.  The 
regular  army  of  Prussia  is,  except 
when  war  occurs,  a  mere  militia. 
We  must  hold  India  with  a  large 
force,  and  be  ready  to  support  our 
colonies,  besides  giving  garrisons  to 
our  foreign  fortresses.  Prussia  has 
only  her  home  towns  and  strong- 
holds to  occupy.  Not,  therefore, 
for  a  moment  would  the  idea  be 
tolerated,  that  because  Prussia  trains 
her  whole  male  population  to  the 
use  of  arms  by  passing  it  through 
the  ranks  of  the  regular  army,  we 
also  must  constrain  ours  to  pass 
through  the  ranks  of  our  standing 
army,  and  to  serve  in  India,  in 
America,  in  the  West  Indies,  in 
the  Mediterranean,  and  elsewhere. 
Enough  will  be  done  when  we  see 
enrolled — not  by  voluntary  enlist- 
ment, but  by  ballot — some  three 
hundred  thousand  militia,  of  which 
one  hundred  thousand  at  a  time 
shall  be  under  arms  and  properly 
officered  for  a  year.  And  when  to 
this  we  add  a  judicious  organisa- 
tion of  the  volunteer  force — horse 
as  well  as  foot — such  as  shall 
give  to  it  the  consistency  and  pli- 
ability which  it  is  quite  ready  to 
receive, — then,  so  far  as  men  in  arms 
can  lead  us  to  do  so,  we  may  sleep 
at  peace  in  our  beds.  But  we  ob- 
ject to  the  Prussian  military  system 
in  its  integrity,  and  to  no  portion  of 
it  more  vehemently  than  that  to 
which  reference  has  just  been  made. 
An  army  which  lives  by  requisition 
comes  sooner  or  later  to  live  by 
plunder.  The  superabundant  re- 
sources of  the  district  in  which  it 
makes  war  are  soon  eaten  up ;  and 


The  Two  Systems. 


[Ja 


then  nothing  remains  except  to  take 
by  violence  that  which  the  people 
absolutely  require  for  their  own 
use.  This  is  robbery  ;  and  the  mo- 
ment an  invading  army  begins  to 
rob,  it  makes  enemies  of  every  man, 
woman,  and  child,  with  whom  it 
comes  in  contact.  There  follows 
a  repetition  everywhere  of  murder 
and  reprisals :  the  peasant  shoots 
the  soldier  wherever  he  can  take 
him  at  a  disadvantage ;  the  soldiers 
avenge  their  comrades  by  shoot- 
ing either  the  actual  homicide  or 
anybody  else.  Villages  are  next 
burned,  and  guerilla  bands  formed, 
and  war  degenerates  into  indiscri- 
minate slaughter,  from  which  wo- 
men and  children  are  not  exempt. 
Our  own  great  Duke  fully  under- 
stood this ;  and  by  his  wise,  because 
humane,  conduct  in  the  south  of 
France,  not  only  made  friends  of  the 
people,  whom,  in  their  property  as 
well  as  in  their  persons,  he  protected 
from  outrage,  but  left  behind  him  a 
name  which  is  still  held  in  honour 
in  all  the  districts  that  intervene  be- 
tween the  Bidassoa  and  the  Garonne. 
It  is  not  so,  we  regret  to  say,  with 
the  Germans.  They  began  well ; 
they  are  driven,  as  the  war  protracts 
itself,  by  the  vicious  nature  of  their 
system,  to  end  ill.  They  have  cre- 
ated in  France  a  feeling  which  will 
not  die  out  for  many  generations. 
God  forbid  that  we  should  ever  see 
this  item  of  Prussian  military  ad- 
ministration adopted  into  our  service! 
But  surely  enough  has  been  said 
respecting  her  system,  considered  as 
a  whole,  to  induce  those  to  whom 
the  country  looks  as  the  guardians 
of  its  honour  to  consider  whether  or 
no,  and  to  what  extent,  we  may  fol- 
low the  example  which  Prussia  has 
set  us.  However  they  may  be  re- 
garded by  foreigners,  Prussian  sol- 
diers of  every  rank  are  satisfied  with 
themselves  and  their  condition. 
The  army,  though  very  large,  costs 


the  country,  except  in  war,  compar- 
atively little.  We  believe  that  her 
whole  expenditure  on  300,000  reg- 
ular troops,  200,000  of  the  first  re- 
serve, 300,000  at  least  of  the  land- 
wehr,  and  all  the  incidents  connected 
with  them,  amounts  to  something 
under  seven  millions  sterling.  In 
the  management  and  administration 
of  this  enormous  force,  moreover, 
there  is  no  friction,  no  squabbling, 
no  heartburnings.  Every  man, 
whatever  his  rank  and  condition 
may  be,  knows  what  he  has  to  do, 
and  does  it  without  needless  and 
therefore  irritating  interference  from 
anybody  else.  Now  contrast  this 
for  one  instant  with  the  state  of 
things  by  which  we  are  encountered. 
In  the  memory  of  living  men  the 
British  army  was  never  so  discon- 
tented or  so  disjointed  as  it  is  now. 
Regimental  officers  complain,  and 
they  have  just  right  to  do  so,  that 
they  are  held  up  in  Parliament,  in 
private  society,  and  through  the 
press,  as  habitually  neglectful  of 
their  duty.  They  do  nothing,  it  is 
said,  that  they  can  possibly  help, 
and  the  little  that  they  are  com- 
pelled to  do,  they  do  grudgingly. 
If  this  were  true  to  the  letter,  which 
it  is  not,  could  anybody  be  surpris- 
ed? It  seems  to  be  the  great  object 
of  those  in  authority  to  sever,  as 
much  as  possible,  all  connection 
between  the  officer  and  the  man, 
except  on  formal  parades.  The 
captain  of  a  company  with  iis  is 
nobody.  He  can  neither  reward 
nor  punish  a  man,  be  he  ever  so 
deserving  either  of  reward  or  pun- 
ishment. He  is  more  of  a  cipher 
than  the  youngest  ensign  used  to  be 
half  a  century  ago.  So  also  the 
officer  in  command  of  a  regiment 
is  hampered  and  restrained  on  every 
side,  till  there  is  induced  on  his  part 
a  disposition  to  let  things  take  their 
course — on  the  part  of  the  non-com- 
missioned officers  and  privates,  the 


1871.] 


The  Two  Systems. 


129 


habit  of  carping  at  everything  that  is 
done  or  proposed.  Let  us  take  care ! 
It  was  thus  that  in  the  French  army 
began  that  spirit  of  insubordination 
which  reached  its  climax  in  the  year 
that  is  passing,  and  showed  itself  in 
the  disgraceful  routs  of  Woerth  and 
Sedan. 

Meanwhile,  in  higher  places, 
with  all  the  anxiety  manifested  to 
centralise  power,  there  are  mutual 
jealousies,  official  distrusts,  personal 
antipathies,  which,  were  the  pressure 
of  sudden  war  to  come  upon  us, 
would  make  shipwreck  of  the  whole 
machine.  What  is  the  use,  with- 
in little  more  than  a  month  of  the 
meeting  of  Parliament,  of  disguising 
the  truth  ?  The  new  control  system, 
and  all  the  officials  connected  with 
it,  are  hated  by  the  entire  com- 
batant portion  of  the  army.  The 
control,  from  the  chief  downwards, 
is  furious  at  this,  and  hates  the  com- 
batant portion  of  the  army  in  return. 
The  Field -Marshal  commanding  in 
chief,  since  his  transfer  to  the  office 
in  Pall  Mall,  has  become  an  anomaly, 
with  whom  no  human  being  appears 
to  understand  how  to  deal.  Then 
look  at  the  militia  and  the  volunteers. 
Where  is  their  organisation  ?  where 
their  discipline?  where  their  confi- 
dence in  the  authority  under  which 
they  exist  ?  where  their  zeal  for  the 
service?  Positively  the  military 
element  in  this  country  is  nowhere ; 
for  the  men  who  carry  arms  are  uni- 
versally dissatisfied,  and  they  whose 
business  it  is  to  keep  them  in  good 
heart  harass  and  annoy  them  in  every 
conceivable  way.  As  to  our  stores, 
whether  of  arms  or  ammunition — our 
appliances  for  putting  an  army  in  the 
field — and  our  means  of  land  trans- 
port— our  artillery,  both  for  the  fort- 
resses and  the  field — they  are  nowhere. 
And  to  crown  all,  we  still  make  the 
transport  of  an  army  corps  abroad, 
whether  it  be  required  to  garrison  a 
colony  or  to  support  an  ally,  depend- 

VOL.    CIZ. NO.    DCLXIII. 


ent  on  the  caprices  of  a  rival  public 
office,  between  which  and  the  War 
Office  there  is  no  love  lost.  Did 
ever  any  people  in  the  world,  except 
ourselves,  compel  the  commanders  of 
its  army  to  apply  humbly  to  the 
chiefs  of  its  navy  before  they  could 
ship  a  corps,  and  send  it  off  to  sus- 
tain an  ally  or  to  attack  an  enemy  ? 
Our  regular  army  is  at  this  mo- 
ment quite  inefficient.  It  consists 
of  cadres  of  infantry  and  cavalry 
which  we  find  it  impossible  to  com- 
plete; of  180  field-guns  neither 
horsed  nor  properly  provided  ;  of  a 
handful  of  engineers,  excellent  of 
their  kind;  and  a  transport-corps,  to 
name  which  is  to  expose  ourselves 
to  ridicule.  The  total  strength  of 
these  fragments  may  be  taken  at 
80,000  men,  of  whom,  perhaps,  one- 
half  may  be  sufficiently  trained  to 
enter  upon  a  campaign.  What  the 
real  strength,  either  of  the  militia  or 
the  volunteers  may  be,  nobody  seems 
to  know.  But  every  man  capable 
of  expressing  a  trustworthy  opinion 
on  the  subject  is  aware  that,  as  both 
descriptions  of  fpree  are  virtually 
dormant,  so  if  a  sudden  demand 
were  made  upon  them  for  service 
before  an  enemy,  they  would  do  their 
best,  but  they  could  not  as  an  army 
do  anything.  And  we  are  paying  to 
keep  up  this  practically  useless  ma- 
chine not  less  than  fifteen  millions 
sterling  from  year  to  year.  Will 
anybody  do  us  the  favour  to  inform 
us  how  and  where  the  money  goes  ? 
Seven  millions  suffice  in  Prussia  to 
render  800,000  excellent  troops  avail- 
able, should  the  country  need  them. 
We  devote  fifteen  millions  to  the 
same  purpose,  and  we  get  in  exchange 
an  available  force  equal  to  one  army 
corps  in  Prussia,  with  about  300,000 
individuals  behind  them,  imperfectly 
armed  and  without  either  discipline 
or  organisation.  Surely  there  is  in 
the  House  of  Commons  some  one 
sufficiently  honest  and  instructed  to 


130 


TJie  Two  Systems. 


[Jan.  1871. 


inquire  into  this  matter.  Let  us 
not,  however,  be  misunderstood. 
"We  should  not  grudge  fifteen  mil- 
lions, or  twenty  millions,  if  we  had 
our  money's  worth.  If  an  English 
army  be  of  necessity  a  machine  four- 
fold more  expensive  than  a  Contin- 
ental army,  there  is  no  help  for  it. 
An  army  we  must  have,  and  are 
quite  ready  to  pay  for  it.  But  it  is 
intolerable  that  we  should  be  called 
upon  to  bear  the  twofold  burthen  of 
heavy  taxation  and  nothing  to  show 
for  it — that  our  artisans  should  be 


turned  adrift  from  the  dockyards, 
and  our  whole  military  force  thrown 
into  confusion,  in  order  that  Mr 
Lowe  may  be  able  to  boast  that  he 
has  reduced  the  income-tax  to  two- 
pence in  the  pound.  There  were 
manifest  symptoms  ere  the  Houses 
rose  last  summer  that  Mr  Gladstone 
and  his  colleagues  had,  in  these  re- 
spects, pretty  well  run  out  their 
tether.  We  shall  be  much  surprised 
if  they  do  not  hear  a  good  deal  more 
upon  the  subject  when  they  meet 
the  Houses  again. 


Printed  by  William  Blackwood  <Sc  Sont,  Edinburgh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBUKGH    MAGAZINE. 


No.  DCLXIV. 


FEBRUARY  1871. 


VOL.  CIX. 


WHAT  WE  MAY  LEAKN. 


WE  shall  have  very  imperfectly 
fulfilled  the  task  which  we  had  set 
ourselves  in  describing  the  causes, 
both  of  French  failure  and  Prussian 
success  in  the  present  war,  if  Mr 
Cardwell  and  his  advisers  find  any 
difficulty  in  extracting  from  our 
narrative  some  useful  hints  to  aid 
them  in  the  work  in  which  they 
are  this  moment  supposed  to  be 
engaged.  The  three  main  sources 
of  all  the  disasters  from  which 
the  French  now  suffer,  are  these: 
gross  corruption  everywhere,  in 
high  places  as  well  as  in  low;  a 
policy  of  centralisation  carried  to 
such  an  extent  as  to  render  the 
machine  which  it  was  designed 
to  guide  unmanageable;  and  a 
system  of  transport  and  supply — 
Intendance  Militaire  —  so  defec- 
tive that  it  broke  down  as  soon 
as  the  first  strain  of  war  and  its 
requirements  fell  upon  it.  To  these 
may  be  added : .  the  constitution 
of  the  French  army,  democratic  to 
the  core,  and  therefore  opposed  to 
all  discipline  except  that  of  brute 
force  ;  and  the  extraordinary  ignor- 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXIV. 


ance  of  the  French  officers,  as  well 
those  employed  on  the  staff  as 
those  attached  to  regiments,  of 
the  first  principles  of  the  art  in 
which  they  were  assumed  to  be 
instructors  to  their  men.  The 
effect  of  the  first  abuse  was,  that 
the  army,  when  called  into  the 
field,  appeared  in  numbers  de- 
plorably incomplete,  in  composi- 
tion deplorably  defective.  The 
effect  of  the  second  abuse  was,  that 
the  army  in  the  field  could  not 
be  recruited  except  by  a  process 
so  formal  and  tedious  as  positively 
to  obstruct  the  operation.  While 
of  the  third  it  is  not  too  much  to 
say,  that  it  justified  all  that  General 
Trochu  had  prophesied  concerning 
it  while  yet  the  trial  of  its  powers 
was  in  the  future.  As  to  the  sub- 
sidiary evils  referred  to,  they  speak 
for  themselves.  Bad  officers  make 
bad  soldiers ;  and  mutiny  and  in- 
subordination trod  fast  upon  the 
heels  of  incompetency,  too  glaring 
to  be  disguised.  The  French  army, 
when  tested  in  war  with  a  power 
which  it  affected  to  hold  cheap, 


132 


What  we  may  Learn. 


[Feb. 


broke  to  pieces,  and  the  French, 
nation  is  reaping  the  fruits  of  years 
of  misgovernment  and  of  an  amount 
of  social  demoralisation  unparalleled 
in  modern  times. 

The  opposite,  in  all  respects,  to 
the  French  principle  of  military 
administration,  is  that  of  Prussia. 
It  may  be  rigid  in  itself,  and  to- 
wards the  bulk  of  the  population 
somewhat  oppressive;  but  the  voice 
of  slander  never  charged  those  whose 
duty  it  is  to  guide  and  control  it, 
with  corruption.  In  recruiting  their 
armies,  both  Powers  depend  upon 
conscription.  But  while  France,  re- 
cognising the  principle  of  remplace- 
ment,  opens  a  door  to  abuses  by 
which  individuals  gain  and  the 
State  suffers,  Prussia  exacts  rigidly, 
from  all  classes  alike — from  the  rich 
not  less  than  from  the  poor,  from 
the  noble  equally  with  the  peasant 
— that  amount  of  personal  service 
under  arms  which  the  law  has 
appointed  for  each.  Hence  the 
strength  of  the  Prussian  army, 
whether  for  peace  or  war,  is  to  a 
man  and  a  horse  just  what  the 
returns  represent  it  to  be;  whereas 
the  French  army,  with  a  formid- 
able muster-roll  on  paper,  takes 
the  field  comparatively  worthless, 
because  with  all  its  battalions,  regi- 
ments, and  even  batteries  incom- 
plete. Again,  the  Prussian  army, 
looking,  as  all  armies  to  be  effective 
must,  to  a  common  centre  for  the 
motive  power  which  shall  be  felt  and 
acknowledged  everywhere,  is  yet  so 
distributed  in  peace  time  into  por- 
tions complete  each  within  itself,  as 
to  be  capable,  at  the  shortest  notice, 
of  rapid  concentration,  and,  which  is 
not  less  important,  of  steady  and 
systematic  recruitment,  each  portion 
drawing  its  reinforcements  from  the 
province  of  which  it  forms  the 
standing  garrison.  Hence,  while  the 
French  labour,  on  the  breaking- out 
of  war,  to  fill  the  vacancies  in 
the  ranks  with  conscripts,  gathered 


in  at  random  from  all  parts  of  the 
country,  and  brought  to  Paris,  or 
some  other  central  depot,  for  distri- 
bution ;  the  Prussians,  calling  in 
trained  reserves  from  the  several 
military  districts,  put  their  corps  at 
once  upon  a  war  footing,  and  leave 
behind  when  the  corps  marches  de- 
pots on  which  fresh  levies  may  be 
gathered,  disciplined,  and  made  fit 
for  active  service.  Finally,  while 
France  trusts  to  a  Garde  National 
in  her  last  extremity,  which  has 
never  served  in  the  regular  army  at 
all,  and  elects  its  own  officers,  Prus- 
sia has  her  veteran  Landwehr  to 
look  to,  officered  by  gentlemen  who, 
having  completed  their  term  of  duty 
with  the  line,  rise  to  com  missions  in 
the  militia,  through  the  non-commis- 
sioned grades,  and  after  special  exa- 
minations as  to  their  fitness  for  the 
higher  commands  to  which  they 
aspire.  So  also,  in  what  we  may 
call  the  Control  Department,  the 
differences  between  the  French  and 
the  Prussian  systems  are  to  the  full 
as  striking.  The  French  select,  to 
be  the  administrators  of  all  its  sup- 
plies to  the  army,  whether  of  war- 
like or  other  stores,  whether  of  me- 
dicines or  provisions,  old  officers 
and  non-commissioned  officers,  the 
best  of  whose  years  had  been  spent 
in  doing  regimental  duty,  chiefly 
with  the  infantry,  without  any  op- 
portunity having  been  afforded 
them  of  studying  the  wants  of  ar- 
mies, either  in  the  gross  or  in  detail, 
or  the  modes  of  supplying  them. 
Moreover,  to  these  old  officers  and 
non-commissioned  officers,  necessar- 
ily bad  men  of  business,  because 
wholly  unused  to  it,  just  so  much 
of  independent  power  is  given  as 
to  render  them  checks  and  hin- 
drances, rather  than  assistants,  to 
the  generals  commanding  districts 
in  time  of  peace,  and  at  the  head  of 
corps,  and  even  armies  in  the  field. 
Let  anybody  who  is  curious  to 
know  how  the  system  works  read 


1871.] 


Wliat  ice  may  Learn. 


13 


the  Emperor's  pamphlet,  or  the  de- 
spatches of  Marshals  MacMahon 
and  Bazaine,  and  he  will  see  that 
the  appliances  necessary  to  render 
the  work  effective  were  all  want- 
ing at  the  critical  moment ;  that 
the  stores  which  ought  to  have 
crowded  the  magazines  were  not 
there;  that  ammunition  itself  ran 
short ;  and  that  everything,  down  to 
carts,  waggons,  and  means  of  trans- 
port, had  to  be  applied  for  at  the 
moment  when  the  existence  of  the 
army  depended  on  their  being  al- 
xeady  at  hand.  How  could  it  be 
otherwise  than  that  an  army  so 
dealt  with  should  get  out  of  gear 
as  soon  as  the  attempt  was  made  to 
turn  it  to  its  proper  uses  ?  If  there 
had  been  no  other  reasons  for  the 
failure  at  the  opening  of  the  cam- 
paign, the  breakdown  in  the  Intend- 
ance  would  have  been  sufficient  to 
account  for  it 

The  reader  will  have  gathered 
from  what  was  said  in  our  last  num- 
"ber,  how  different  in  all  respects 
from  the  French  system  of  con- 
trol and  supply  is  that  which 
prevails  in  the  Prussian  army. 
In  Prussia  men  are  selected  for 
the  different  departments  of  army 
administration  according  to  their 
well-known  special  qualifications. 
Artillery  officers  versed  in  all  the 
arcana  of  their  art  take  charge  of 
military  stores,  properly  so  called, 
and  distribute  them.  Engineer  of- 
ficers do  the  like  with  intrenching 
tools,  pontoons,  and  other  articles 
needed  in  their  craft.  Staff  officers, 
trained  in  the  "War  Academy,  have 
charge  of  the  Commissariat,  and  its 
means  of  transport.  The  principal 
medical  officers  are  responsible  that 
their  own  supplies  are  adequate 
and  at  hand.  And  all  are  as  com- 
pletely subordinated  to  the  corps- 
commander  in  whose  district  they 
happen  to  be  stationed,  as  he  in  his 
turn  is  subordinated  to  the  Minister 
of  War,  and  the  Minister  of  War  to 


the  King.  Thus  the  machine  worl 
not  less  regularly  in  war  than  i 
peace — subject,  of  course,  wherev* 
hostilities  are  going  on,  to  tl 
interruptions  which  these  occasioi 
The  chain  of  responsibility,  also, 
complete  in  every  link,  and  eac 
sustains  the  amount  of  pressure  thj 
is  put  upon  it,  because  the  pressun 
being  well  divided,  is  nowhere  tc 
great,  and  friction  becomes  in 
possible. 

It  may  be  worth  while,  befo] 
proceeding  to  deduce  from  these  d' 
tails  the  lesson  which  they  teacl 
if  we  briefly  advert  to  the  not  lei 
striking  contrast  that  is  presente 
when  we  pass  in  review  the  const 
tution  of  the  two  armies,  both  { 
regards  the  spirit  of  the  men  an 
the  professional  and  other  acquir 
ments  of  the  officers.  The  Frenc 
army,  as  we  have  just  said,  is  den* 
cratic  to  the  core.  The  private 
taught  to  regard  himself  as  social] 
the  equal  of  his  officer.  It  is  mei 
luck,  to  which  the  chances  of  w* 
may  at  any  time  give  a  turn,  whic 
places  him  for  the  moment  in 
subordinate  situation.  And  th 
is  made  the  more  clear  to  bin 
that  every  officer  not  immediate] 
posted  from  one  or  other  of  tl 
military  schools  has  served  in  tl 
ranks,  and  been  promoted  fro: 
them.  The  Prussian  army,  on  tl 
contrary,  is  thoroughly  aristocrati 
It  is  officered  exclusively  by  gentl 
men,  all  of  whom,  whether  educate 
at  a  military  school  or  otherwis 
join  their  regiments  as  ensigns,  an 
serve  for  a  certain  specified  time  c 
probation.  For  the  ensign  in  tt 
Prussian  army  is  not,  like  the  ei 
sign  in  our  army,  a  commissione 
officer.  His  place  in  the  corps  : 
rather  that  of  a  cadet,  which  enabl< 
him  to  wear  a  sword,  and  to  assoc 
ate  with  the  officers ;  but  for  a 
purposes  of  military  command,  place 
him  under  the  company  sergean 
major.  If  at  the  expiration  of  h 


134 


Wind  ice  may  Learn. 


[FeK 


term  of  trial  he  be  pronounced  mili- 
tarily qualified,  he  must  be  further 
tested  in  regard  to  his  social  and 
moral  qualities,  before  he  is  advanced 
to  a  lieutenancy.  And  tin's  is 
done  by  a  committee  of  officers, 
whose  verdict  is  scarcely  ever  called 
in  question,  because  it  is  almost 
always  just.  If  they  pronounce 
the  ensign  or  cadet  to  be  the  sort 
of  person  with  whom  the  officers  of 
the  regiment  find  it  satisfactory  to 
associate,  that  decision,  coming  on 
the  back  of  his  professional  ap- 
proval, seciires  for  him  his  commis- 
sion. If  they  pronounce  against 
him,  he  retires  at  once  into  civil  life. 
Of  the  relative  degrees  of  influ- 
ence exercised  by  the  French  and 
Prussian  officers  over  their  men, 
the  present  war  supplies  abundant 
proof.  A  Prussian  company  or 
regiment,  harassed  with  much  mar- 
ching and  fighting,  may  be  dirty 
and  in  rags — though  this  rarely  oc- 
curs— but  it  is  never  insubordinate. 
A  French  company  or  regiment  no 
sooner  finds  itself  in  distress  than 
it  throws  off  all  the  restraints  of 
discipline.  One  who  saw  and  heard 
what  he  reported,  assures  us  that  in 
Sedan,  during  the  night  before  the 
surrender,  the  French  troops  were 
like  madmen.  No  officer's  life  was 
safe.  The  Prussian  soldier  never 
omits  to  salute  his  officer,  even 
when  wounded,  and  deprives  him- 
self of  his  own  cloak  to  cover  his 
captain  or  his  lieutenant,  if  either  be 
without  one.  In  return  the  Prus- 
sian officer  is  towards  his  men  what 
a  considerate  master  is  to  his  domes- 
tic servants.  The  common  mode  of 
address  from  the  captain  to  the  pri- 
vate is  "  My  Son,"  and  as  a  son  the 
man  receives  his  officer's  commenda- 
tion or  rebuke.  We  have  thus  the 
perfection  of  an  army  constitution ; 
a  force  in  which  authority  is  wield- 
ed by  one  set  of  men  accustomed 
from  their  childhood  to  command ; 
and  service  is  performed  by  another 


set  of  men  accustomed  from  their 
childhood  to  obey.  Yet  there  is 
neither  servility  on  the  one  hand, 
nor  insolence  on  the  other.  It  is 
home-life  transferred  to  the  barrack 
and  the  camp. 

Again,  the  French,  content  to  give 
an  excellent  theoretical  education  to 
a  certain  number  of  officers,  who 
serve  all  their  lives  in  the  staff  corps, 
leave  the  officers  of  the  infantry  and 
the  cavalry  to  make  the  most  of 
such  knowledge  as  they  may  pick 
up  in  the  ranks ;  which  seldom 
goes  further  than  a  familiarity  with 
the  common  routine  movements  of 
parade,  and  the  words  to  be  given  in 
changing  one  formation  into  another. 
War  schools  the  French  army  has 
none,  as  contradistinguished  from 
its  artillery  schools  and  schools  of 
engineering;  and  the  consequence  is, 
that  the  great  bulk  of  its  officers  are 
as  illiterate  as  they  are  vulgar  in 
their  habits.  Even  the  officers  of  the 
staff  corps  themselves  know  little 
beyond  what  can  be  gathered  from 
the  study  of  bygone  wars,  especially 
the  wars  of  the  First  Empire,  super- 
added  to  surveying,  military  draw- 
ing, castrametation,  and  the  duty  of 
outposts  and  patrols  as  laid  down 
by  regulation.  How  very  imper- 
fectly they  practised  what  they  had 
learned  in  the  matter  of  outpost  and 
patrol  duty,  the  constant  surprises  of 
French  corps  during  the  war  make 
manifest ;  and  their  knowledge  of 
country,  whether  obtained  from  maps 
or  from  personal  survey,  was  ignor- 
ance in  comparison  with  that  of 
which  the  Prussian  staff  showed  that 
they  were  masters.  The  Prussians, 
on  the  other  hand,  by  the  process  of 
passing  through  the  staff  the  most  in- 
telligent of  their  officers  of  every  arm, 
contrive  to  inoculate  all  their  regi- 
ments, whether  of  infantry,  cavalry, 
and  artillery,  with  persons  quite  fit, 
should  the  occasion  arise,  to  become 
corps-commanders ;  while  at  the  war 
schools — of  which  there  are  seven — 


1871.] 


Wliat  ice  may  Learn. 


135 


the  rest  learn  enough  to  render  them 
•capable  of  handling  battalions  and 
regiments  well,  and  so  becoming  in 
time  excellent  brigadiers. 

Keeping  these  leading  principles 
in  mind,  and  looking  to  the  issues 
of  a  fair  trial  between  two  armies 
respectively  built  up  upon  them,  it 
will  not,  we  think,  be  difficult  for 
•our  Minister  of  War,  assuming  him 
to  have  wise  counsellors  beside  him, 
to  work  out  a  system  which,  without 
servilely  copying  either,  shall  give 
us  the  cream  of  both,  and  yet  fall 
in  with  our  own  national  habits  and 
prejudices,  modified,  as  these  must 
necessarily  be,  by  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances too  strong  to  be  resisted. 
Thus,  in  the  primary  matter  of  all, 
the  recruitment  of  men  —  the  get- 
ting together  of  the  living  material 
out  of  which  armies  are  formed — it 
is  self-evident  that  for  general  ser- 
vice a  conscription  in  any  form  is 
out  of  the  question  among  us.  We 
need  not,  surely,  give  again  in 
detail  the  reasons  for  this  judgment. 
General  service  for  Englishmen 
means  service  in  India,  in  Africa,  in 
the  West  Indies,  in  America,  in  the 
Mediterranean,  in  China,  diversified 
with  occasional  sojourns  of  perhaps 
two  or  three  years  at  a  time  in 
Great  Britain  or  in  Ireland.  To  lay 
this  burden,  by  the  power  of  law, 
•on  the  shoulders  of  the  Avhole  adult 
male  population,  would  be  to  subject 
the  manhood  of  England  to  a  bond- 
age such  as  no  free  nation  could  be 
expected  to  endure.  No.  The  regular 
army  of  England  must  continue  to 
be  raised  as  for  the  last  eighty  or 
ninety  years  (not  more)  it  has  been 
raised,  altogether  by  voluntary  en- 
listment. If  the  wages  now  offered 
for  soldiers  be  insufficient  to  procure 
them,  raise  the  pay.  If  men  will 
not  come  even  then  unless  a  bounty 
be  offered,  give  a  bounty.  Make 
the  service  as  attractive  as  you 
please ;  and  fix  its  limits  at  what- 
-ever  term  shall  present  the  best 


prospect  of  keeping  up  a  peace 
establishment ;  and  superadd  to  this 
a  practical  reserve  system  if  you 
can — but  do  not  try  a  conscription. 
How  to  set  up  a  separate  and  efficient 
reserve  system  in  a  country  where 
there  is  no  restriction  on  locomotion, 
and  all  who  choose  may  emigrate 
without  asking  leave  from  the  Gov- 
ernment, is  a  question  more  easily  put 
than  answered.  We  know  that  Mr 
Cardwell's  scheme,  well  meant  as  it 
was,  has  failed.  Possibly  if  he  had 
offered  sixpence  instead  of  fourpence 
a-day  as  a  retaining  fee,  more  men 
might  have  listened  to  him.  But 
this  is  mere  conjecture  on  our  part ; 
and  therefore  we  end  as  we  began, 
by  confessing  that  the  full  value 
of  a  proposal  admirable  in  theory 
cannot  be  determined  except  by  an 
amount  of  experience  to  which  as  yet 
we  do  not  pretend  to  have  attained. 
But  though  conscription  for  the 
regular  army  be,  in  this  country, 
out  of  the  question,  compulsory 
service  in  the  militia  is  an  obliga- 
tion which  the  law  of  the  land  and 
immemorial  usage  equally  impose 
upon  every  able-bodied  Englishman 
between  the  ages  of  sixteen  and 
sixty.  We  hold  that  it  is  the  duty 
of  the  Government  to  revive  and 
enforce,  in  a  modified  form,  this 
old  constitutional  obligation.  In- 
deed we  go  further :  the  Ministers 
who  decline  to  do  so,  or  fail  to  make 
their  tenure  of  office  dependent 
upon  the  support  which  they  re- 
ceive from  Parliament,  are,  in  our 
poor  opinion,  unfit  to  preside  over 
the  destinies  of  the  empire ;  for, 
after  all,  the  obligation  need  not  be 
so  enforced  as  to  impose  upon  the 
people  a  weight  which  shall  be  in- 
tolerable. A  population  of  thirty 
millions  of  souls,  or  of  twenty-two, 
if  for  the  present  we  confine  our  ex- 
periment to  Great  Britain,  can  easily 
spare  from  the  manipulation  of  trade 
and  agriculture  three  hundred  thou- 
sand men  to  guard  the  realm  against 


What  we  may  Learn. 


[Feb. 


both  foreign  invasion  and  internal 
discord.  Besides,  as  we  have  shown 
over  and  over  again,  it  will  not  be 
necessary,  so  long  as  the  country  is 
at  peace,  to  put  more  than  one-third 
— possibly  one-sixth — of  this  militia 
force  under  arms  at  the  same  time. 
And  this  third,  or  this  sixth — these 
hundred  thousand,  or,  if  you  prefer 
it,  fifty  thousand,  militiamen — will 
be  most  effective  if  so  disposed  as 
to  reduce  to  the  lowest  possible 
figure  the  drain  upon  industry  oc- 
casioned by  their  enrolment.  In- 
deed we  see  but  one  objection  to 
this  scheme,  which,  even  if  valid, 
ought  not  to  weigh  it  down — viz., 
that  taxation  might  be  increased  if 
we  made  up  our  minds,  in  time  of 
peace,  to  garrison  these  islands  with 
two  hundred  thousand,  or  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand,  reliable 
troops,  instead  of  trusting,  as  we  do 
now,  to  some  forty  thousand  effec- 
tives, having  behind  them  an  equal 
number  of  recruits  and  old  men  of 
the  regular  army,  and  behind  them 
again  a  crowd  of  undisciplined  and 
imperfectly-armed  militia  and  volun- 
teers. This  is  possible,  indeed  pro- 
bable, perhaps  certain,  at  the  outset ; 
but  surely,  with  a  little  manage- 
ment, such  arrangements  may  be 
made  as  shall  gradually  restore  the 
financial  balance  to  what  it  was, 
perhaps  render  it  in  the  end  more 
advantageous  to  the  tax -payer 
than  it  is  at  this  moment.  Can 
this  be  done?  We  really  think 
that  it  may — as  thus  : 

In  the  first  place,  the  Legislature, 
when  it  agrees  to  resuscitate  the 
old  constitutional  law  of  the  land, 
will  have  a  perfect  right  to  make  a 
difference  between  the  wages  paid 
to  the  man  who  serves  exclusively 
at  home,  and  the  pay  of  the  soldier, 
who,  in  peace  as  well  as  war,  is 
liable  to  be  sent  to  all  parts  of  the 
world.  This  is  obviously  just,  even 
if  the  militiaman  be  made  movable 
from  station  to  station,  as  troops  are 


moved  now,  within  the  limits  of" 
the  United  Kingdom.  But  why 
should  he  be  made  thus  movable  ? 
Under  the  old  law,  which  it  is  pro- 
posed to  revive  and  modify,  no- 
militiaman  was  required,  except  in 
case  of  invasion,  or  the  actual  oc- 
currence of  rebellion,  to  be  marched 
beyond  the  confines  of  his  own 
county.  Within  these  limits  he 
had  times  and  places  fixed,  when 
he  was  bound  to  appear  in  arms, 
and  be  trained  to  the  use  of  them. 
But  never  going  beyond  his  own 
neighbourhood,  nor  severing  the 
connection  that  linked  him  with 
his  parish  or  his  employer,  he  com- 
bined in  his  own  person  the  cha- 
racters of  a  citizen  and  a  soldier ;. 
being  available  for  industrial  pur- 
poses when  not  required  for  military 
duty,  and  keeping  in  both  capacities- 
those  home  associations  unbroken 
which  more  than  anything  else  save- 
men  from  becoming  savage  and 
reckless.  Lord  Eussell,  we  imagine, 
had  these  facts  in  his  mind  when 
he  proposed,  in  1858,  that  Militia 
Bill  which  made  shipwreck  of  his 
Government.  Lord  Russell's  views 
were  in  the  main  right,  and  he 
might  have  carried  them  into  prac- 
tice had  he  only  opened  his  eyes  a 
little  wider,  and  seen  what  those 
modifications  are  which  alone  can 
adapt  customs  of  the  middle  ages  to. 
our  own  times. 

When  battles  were  fought  with 
slings,  bows,  swords,  spears,  and 
axes,  and  success  or  failure  depend- 
ed mainly  upon  individual  prowess, 
the  task  of  training  a  people  to  the 
use  of  arms  was  easy  enough.  In 
fact,  the  butt,  the  ring,  the  quarter- 
staff,  and  suchlike,  were  the  people's 
pastime,  just  as  the  manege  and  the 
joust  were  the  amusements  of  their' 
natural  leaders.  In  these  days  a 
good  deal  more  is  required;  and 
therefore  occasional  drills  in  small 
bodies,  even  if  accuracy  in  shooting- 
be  superadded,  will  not  give  us  an. 


1871.] 


What  we  may  Learn. 


effective  militia — nor,  let  us  add, 
an  effective  force  of  volunteers 
neither.  While,  therefore,  we 
should  as  much  as  possible  keep 
each  militia  regiment  in  time  of 
peace  -within  its  own  county,  or 
division  of  its  own  county,  the  re- 
giment itself  must  be  exercised  to- 
gether from  the  first,  quarters  being 
provided  for  it  at  the  expense  of 
the  county  at  some  central  part, 
whether  near  or  far  away  from  the 
county  town  is  a  matter  of  no  real 
moment.  The  regiment  thus  embo- 
died ought  in  peace  to  serve  througli 
one  continuous  year,  the  rank  and 
file  being  liable  to  be  called  up 
again  at  any  moment  till  the  ter- 
mination of  six  years.  In  war, 
whatever  portion  of  the  militia  may 
be  embodied,  as  it  is  embodied  dur- 
ing the  continuance  of  hostilities, 
so  it  must  by  law  be  rendered  mov- 
able, like  the  regular  troops,  to  any 
point  within  the  three  kingdoms 
where  its  services  are  required.  The 
condition  of  the  officers  and  non- 
commissioned officers  will  of  course 
be  different.  They  never  leave 
their  colours.  The  former,  holding 
permanent  rank,  and,  like  the  offi- 
cers of  Mr  Pitt's  army  of  reserve, 
being  eligible  to  promotion  and 
exchanges  into  the  line,  must 
take  over  the  successive  waves  of 
militia  recruits  as  they  come  in. 
The  latter  being,  in  like  manner, 
permanent  officials,  must  help  to 
form  the  entire  force,  and  thus  earn 
their  pensions.  Hence,  when  the 
occasion  arises  for  calling  out  more 
than  one  ban  of  the  militia  at  the 
same  time,  there  will  be  little  cause 
to  apprehend  overcrowding  in  the 
ranks.  After  the  first  week  or  ten 
days  volunteering  will  go  on  so 
briskly  that  the  strength  of  the 
companies  will  certainly  not  exceed 
what  it  was  by  more  than  one  half. 
Men  embodied  for  an  indefinite 
length  of  time,  and  liable  to  be 
carried  far  from  their  homes  at  a 


moment's  notice,  soon  cease  to  be 
citizens.  They  are  aware  that 
the  regular  army  is  better  paid  than 
the  militia.  They  know  or  believe 
that  the  life  of  the  regular  soldier 
is  far  more  exciting  and  full  of 
adventure  than  their  own.  They 
need  no  encouragement  from  with- 
out, therefore,  to  make  them  change 
their  actual  condition  for  a  better. 
You  are  at  a  loss  how  to  establish  a 
trained  reserve.  Try  the  method 
here  suggested,  and  we  shall  be 
very  much  surprised  if  it  fail  to 
give  you  in  time  of  war  quite  as  many 
eligible  recruits  for  your  line  regi- 
ments as  shall  enable  you  to 
place  in  the  field  and  keep  there  an 
army  worthy  of  the  nation  which 
sends  it  forth. 

But  what  about  the  yeomanry 
and  volunteers  ]  Can  we  do  with- 
out them?  Are  they  to  be  dis- 
pensed with  1  Whether  we  can  or 
can  not  do  without  them,  it  appears 
to  us  by  no  means  desirable  that  we 
should  try  to  dispense  with  them. 
It  is  quite  right  that  here,  as  in 
Prussia,  the  means  should  be  afforded 
to  men  of  refined  tastes  and  cultivated 
manners  of  rendering  military  ser- 
vice to  the  State,  without  coming 
too  closely  into  contact  with  persons 
whose  tastes  are  the  opposite  of  re- 
fined, and  their  intellects  unculti- 
vated. Prussia  affords  these  means 
by  her  institution  of  "  one  year's 
men."  We  shall  find  them  more 
readily  in  our  corps  of  yeomanry 
and  volunteers.  But  then,  in  order 
to  make  the  bargain  a  fair  one,  the 
yeomanry  and  volunteers  must  sub- 
mit to  conditions  of  service  more 
stringent  than  are  now  in  force  with 
them.  To  escape  the  ballot,  young 
men  between  the  ages  of  eighteen 
and  twenty-four  must  engage  to 
serve,  at  their  own  expense,  on  foot 
or  on  horseback,  for  three  consecu- 
tive years.  Providing  their  own 
uniforms,  their  own  horses,  their 
own  appointments — everything,  in. 


138 


What  ice  may  Learn. 


[Feb. 


short,  except  their  arms  —  they 
must  come,  whenever  embodied, 
as  completely  under  the  Mutiny  Act 
as  either  the  militia  or  the  regular 
army.  Full  powers,  likewise,  must 
be  conferred  on  commanding  officers 
to  hold  as  many  drills,  by  squads, 
troops,  companies,  and  regiments, 
as  shall  render  the  force  fit  to  bear 
close  inspection  by  the  general,  and 
enable  it,  on  proper  occasions,  to 
play  a  becoming  part  in  those  great 
manoeuvres  of  all  arms  which  are 
essential  to  the  home-training  of  all 
armies.  Except  when  so  engaged, 
both  the  yeomanry  and  volunteers 
will  of  course  do  duty  at  their  own 
doors,  and  receive  professional  in- 
struction at  hours  which  least  inter- 
fere with  the  business  of  common 
life.  The  country  will  thus  receive 
from  them  gratuitous,  and  we  doubt 
not  efficient,  service.  It  will  give 
them  in  return  exemption  from  ser- 
vice which  would  be  irksome  to  all, 
and  intolerable  to  some. 

The  propriety  of  quartering  line 
regiments  in  the  counties  after  which 
they  are  named,  thereby  creating 
between  them  and  the  militia  inti- 
mate relations,  has  been  much  pressed 
of  late  by  public  writers  on  the  at- 
tention of  the  Government.  "We 
doubt,  not  alone  the  utility,  but  the 
possibility,  of  making  such  an  ar- 
rangement. The  connection  between 
particular  regiments  and  counties,  if 
it  ever  existed  at  all,  existed  in  times 
when,  in  the  absence  of  barracks, 
soldiers  were  billeted  on  the  people. 
It  has  long  passed  away,  and  could 
not,  we  suspect,  be  revived.  But 
some  plan  which  should  prevent  the 
constant  moving  of  regiments  and 
batteries  from  one  station  to  an- 
other within  the  United  King- 
dom would,  if  carried  into  effect, 
contribute  both  to  public  economy 
and  to  private  comfort.  Moves  are 
always  expensive,  and  are  attended 
likewise  with  great  inconvenience, 
especially  to  married  officers  and 


men.  They  serve  no  good  purpose, 
not  even  as  a  check  on  improvident 
marriages ;  which,  by  the  by,  as 
soon  as  short  service  becomes  the 
law,  ought  to  be  by  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment prohibited,  except  to  non-com- 
missioned officers.  The  sooner,  there- 
fore, they  are  stopped,  or  as  much 
as  possible  interrupted,  the  better. 
And  this,  it  appears  to  us,  may  be 
effected,  if,  taking  another  leaf  out 
of  the  Prussian  book,  we  divide  the 
Avhole  army,  regulars,  militia,  and 
volunteers,  into  corps,  and  assign  to 
each  both  its  local  habitation  and  its 
commander.  How  may  this  be  done  ? 
Prussia,  with  her  ordinary  peace 
establishment  of  300,000  men,  maps 
out  her  territories  into  thirteen  mili- 
tary districts,  thus  stationing  in  each 
about  25,000  of  all  arms,  which  on 
the  first  threatening  of  war  expand 
at  once  to  41,000.  We,  with  our 
peace  establishment  of  200,000  or 
150,000,  partly  troops  of  the  line, 
partly  militia,  may  be  content  with 
mapping  out  the  three  kingdoms 
into  seven  military  districts  \  of 
which  four  shall  embrace  all  Eng- 
land, one  the  whole  of  Scotland, 
and  two  the  whole  of  Ireland. 
This  will  give  to  six  provinces, 
assuming  the  peace  establishment 
to  be  150,000,  20,000  men  re- 
spectively; to  the  seventh,  which 
should  include  London  and  what 
are  now  called  the  Thames  and 
South-eastern  districts,  30,000.  As 
the  militia  and  volunteers  embodied 
within  these  several  provinces  are 
to  remain  stationary  in  their  respec- 
tive counties,  except  when  concen- 
trated for  purposes  of  manoeuvre,  so 
ought  the  regular  regiments,  working 
with  them,  to  be  kept  as  much  and 
as  long  as  possible  in  the  quarters 
which  they  occupy  when  the  new  sys- 
tem comes  first  into  play.  All  must, 
of  course,  take  their  turn  of  foreign 
service,  their  places  being  filled,  as 
they  vacate  them,  by  the  regiments 
which  they  relieve  abroad.  .  But, 


1871.] 


Wliat  ice  may  Learn. 


139 


beyond  this,  there  need  be  no  shift- 
ing about  from  station  to  station — 
unless,  indeed,  Ireland  be  regarded  as 
so  far  a  foreign  country  for  the  pre- 
sent, that  all  the  regiments  •  of  the 
line,  as  well  as  all  the  batteries  of 
field-artillery,  must  in  their  turn 
pass  through  it.  Observe  that  we 
by  no  means  press  this  point  as  in- 
dispensable to  the  right  working  of 
the  scheme  here  proposed.  Ireland 
may  already  be — we  shall  be  very 
glad  to  find  her  so — fully  reconciled 
to  the  British  connection;  in  which 
case  her  militia  may  be  safely  em- 
bodied, and  kept  like  that  of  Eng- 
land as  a  local  force.  But  consider- 
ing that  affairs  have  only  just  gone 
through  a  crisis ;  that  the  effects  both 
of  the  disestablishment  of  the  Pro- 
testant Church  and  of  the  new  land 
law  are  as  yet  unknown, — it  may  be 
advisable  to  pause  before  incurring 
the  risk  of  even  a  partial  Indian 
mutiny  in  that  section  of  the  United 
Kingdom. 

The  country  being  thus  told  off 
and  garrisoned,  there  may  be  placed 
in  each  province  as  corps-command- 
er a  lieutenant  -  general,  having 
under  him  two  generals  of  division, 
and  four  of  brigade.  This  will  bring 
into  active  employ  forty-nine  general 
officers  additional  to  the  eighteen  in 
India,  one  in  British  America,  and 
thirteen  scattered  through  the  rest 
of  our  colonies  and  dependencies — 
a  considerable  increase,  doubtless,  to 
our  permanent  staff.  But  if  the 
necessities  of  the  times  require  it, 
the  burden  must  be  borne;  and  it 
will  be  borne  the  more  cheerfully  if 
account  be  taken  of  the  policy  to 
which  in  time  coming  it  ought  to 
lead.  What  business  has  an  army 
of  300,000  men  at  most,  inclusive 
of  the  Indian  garrison,  native  troops 
as  well  as  European,  with  four  field- 
marshals  and  379  generals?  Yet 
such  are  the  proportions  at  this 
moment  between  British  troops  and 
their  nominal  leaders.  Should  such 


a  state  of  tilings  continue  1  We 
think  not.  In  the  navy  officers  are 
superannuated  as  they  attain  to  certain 
ages ;  so  that  the  highest  active  ranks 
can  be  reached  by  comparatively  few. 
Why  should  not  a  similar  arrange- 
ment be  adopted  hereafter  in  the 
army,  due  regard  being  paid  to  the 
claims  of  vested  interests?  Why,  as 
the  present  generals  die  off,  replace 
them  in  peace,  till  the  list  shall  be 
reduced  to  manageable  dimensions? 
And  why  for  the  future  make  any 
man  a  general,  except  with  honor- 
ary rank,  who  has  passed  the  six- 
tieth year  of  his  age,  or  keep  any 
upon  the  active  list  whose  ages  shall 
exceed  sixty-five  ?  When  war  arises 
you  may,  of  course,  be  compelled  to 
make  generals  by  the  dozen.  But 
in  peace  a  hundred  names  set  down 
as  such  in  the  'Army  List'  will 
more  than  supply  all  our  possible 
wants. 

All  this  seems  obviously  reason- 
able, and  not  beyond  the  reach  of 
attainment  by  a  well-skilled  com- 
mittee of  army  organisation.  Pro- 
bably, too,  when  the  subject  comes 
fairly  to  be  considered,  the  pro- 
priety will  be  admitted  of  so  far 
borrowing  from  the  Prussians  as 
that,  before  becoming  commissioned 
officers,  gentlemen  shall  be  required 
to  serve  with  us  for  a  year  as  cadets 
in  order  to  test  their  fitness  for 
military  life.  Such  a  regulation 
once  made  would  prove  infinitely 
advantageous  both  to  individuals 
and  the  public ;  for  many  a  youth 
now  joins  our  army,  without  any 
aptitude  for  the  calling,  because  his 
parents  or  guardians  desire  it,  and, 
hating  the  work,  would  gladly  leave 
it,  but  for  the  fear  of  losing  caste. 
Bad  bargains'  of  this  sort  cannot  be 
dissolved  too  soon.  Again,  there  is 
no  reason  why  the  war  schools  which 
have  recently  been  set  on  foot 
among  us  should  not  be  rendered, 
year  by  year,  more  generally  useful. 
Nor  will  the  propriety,  we  daresay, 


140 


Wliat  ICG  may  Learn. 


[Feb. 


be  overlooked  of  enlarging  the 
utility  of  the  staff  school,  both  by 
rendering  the  course  more  exclu- 
sively practical  than  it  now  is,  and 
by  putting  greater  stress  than  we  do 
at  this  moment  on  the  acquisition 
of  foreign  languages.  But  when  all 
this  has  been  effected, — when  our 
artillery  can  turn  out  its  500  pieces 
thoroughly  equipped  and  stored — 
when  our  cavalry  maintains  its 
15,000  brilliant  sfibreurs  at  the 
least — when  our  infantry,  both  of 
the  line  and  of  the  militia,  shall 
thoroughly  understand  their  work, 
and  our  general  officers  prove  their 
ability  to  handle  masses  of  all  arms 
with  skill, — we  shall  still  find  our- 
selves confronted  by  the  great  diffi- 
culty of  all :  how,  in  a  country  like 
this,  overridden  by  an  all-powerful 
House  of  Commons,  may  we  hope  to 
infuse  into  the  central  military  autho- 
rity just  so  much  of  vigour  as  shall 
keep  the  machine  in  good  working 
order  without  clashing  against  the 
prejudices — for  opinions  we  cannot 
call  them — of  the  popular  Govern- 
ment under  which  we  live  1  We 
must  confess  that  the  problem  would, 
under  any  circumstances,  be  hard  %to 
solve  ;  and  the  precipitancy  with 
which,  sixteen  years  ago,  we  de- 
parted from  constitutional  precedent, 
has  certainly  not  tended  to  make 
the  difficulty  of  solution  less.  The 
thing  must  be  done,  however,  if  we 
hope  to  escape  a  catastrophe — when- 
ever our  own  turn  comes,  as  come 
it  may  any  day,  to  resist  aggression 
or  repel  insult.  Yes,  the  thing 
must  be  done  somehow,  unless  we 
make  up  oxir  minds  to  go  on  spend- 
ing enormous  sums  for  very  little 
purpose,  even  in  seasons  of  pro- 
found tranquillity.  Consider  our 
actual  condition. 

At  the  head  of  the  army,  and 
supreme  over  the  whole  of  its  de- 
partments, stands  a  Secretary  of 
State  for  War,  who  is,  at  the  present 
moment,  a  civilian  and  a  member 
of  the  House  of  Commons.  On 


him,  isolated  and  alone,  are  thrown 
all  the  cares  and  responsibilities  of 
military  command — of  organisation, 
finance,  clothing  and  armament,  of 
fortifications,  of  the  provision  and 
distribution  of  stores,  of  the  health 
of  the  troops  and  the  supply  of  their 
religious  wants,  of  military  educa- 
tion in  all  its  branches, — of  every- 
thing, in  short,  connected  with  the 
army,  from  the  enlistment  of  a  recruit 
up  to  the  control  of  the  vast  sums, 
voted  from  year  to  year  for  military 
purposes.  It  is  no  wrong  done  to 
any  man,  were  he  the  most  accom- 
plished soldier  of  his  age,  to  say 
that  he  could  not  possibly  carry 
such  a  burden  as  this  and  do  justice 
to  himself  and  the  public  service. 
Remember  what  his  position  is- 
He  is  not,  like  any  other  War  Min- 
ister in  Europe,  master  even  of  his 
own  volitions.  He  cannot  stir  a 
step,  he  cannot  mature  a  plan,  he 
cannot  carry  it  into  effect,  or  linger 
over  it,  or  move  hand  or  foot,  or 
sit  still,  without  being  exposed  to 
be  called  to  account,  probably  by 
some  individual  or  individuals  who 
know  nothing  whatever  about  the 
subject  which  they  approach.  And 
if,  as  in  the  present  instance,  he  be 
not  an  experienced  soldier,  but  a 
clever  man,  taken  suddenly  away 
from  all  his  previous  habits  of 
thought,  and  plunged  into  business 
which  is  as  novel  as  it  may  be  dis- 
tasteful to  him,  how  terrible  is  the 
disadvantage  at  which  he  stands  ! 
A  more  honourable  man  than  Mr 
Card  well  never  lived.  He  is  painfully 
conscientious,  indefatigable,  anxious 
to  do  his  duty  to  the  country  and 
to  the  army.  Yet  see  into  what  a 
plight  our  miserable  system  has 
cast  him  !  He  is  universally  blamed 
for  the  statement  which  he  hazarded 
last  session  regarding  the  300,000 
breech-loaders  which  were  not  forth- 
coming. Technically,  no  doubt,  he 
must  bear  the  blame,  if  the  state- 
ment prove  to  be  incorrect.  But  how 
could  he  help  himself]  He  personally 


1871.] 


Wliat  we  may  Learn. 


HI 


never  took  account  —  never  could 
take  account  —  of  the  number  of 
muskets  in  store.  He  spoke  as  his 
subordinates  prompted.  In  like 
manner  he  has  from  time  to  time 
made  statements  in  regard  to  the 
condition  of  the  artillery  and  other 
professional  matters,  the  accuracy 
of  which,  men  supposed  to  be  more 
conversant  with  the  subject  than 
he,  call  in  question.  Probably  they 
are  right,  and  he  wrong.  But 
whether  such  be  the  case  or  other- 
wise, he  incurs  the  obloquy,  and  is 
visited  with  the  censure,  which 
ought  to  fall  upon  others.  So,  also, 
the  ill-timed  reductions  which  were 
ordered  last  summer,  in  defiance,  it 
is  understood,  of  protest  from  the 
highest  military  authority,  —  for 
these  also  he  must  answer,  when, 
in  point  of  fact,  his  only  real 
offence  has  been  that  he  acted  as 
advised  by  those  in  whom  he  had 
confidence,  when  dealing  with  a  point 
entirely  foreign  to  his  own  idiosyncra- 
sies. Now,  why  should  this  be?  Be- 
cause instead  of  insisting  on  having 
associated  with  himself  certain  func- 
tionaries, who,  if  they  were  servants 
of  the  Crown,  would,  in  their  own 
persons,  answer  to  Parliament  for 
the  manner  in  which  they  dis- 
charged their  trusts,  he,  in  an  evil 
hour,  got  an  Order  in  Council  passed 
which  made  them  all  his  servants. 
Thus  the  General  Commanding-in- 
Chief  became  reduced  to  the  condi- 
tion of  an  executive  officer  on  points 
of  discipline,  and  an  adviser  on 
military  questions,  to  Mr  Cardwell. 
Sir  Henry  Storks  became,  at  the 
same  time,  his  counsellor  on  points 
connected  with  transport  and  sup- 
ply; and  Captain  Vivian,  something 
or  another,  nobody  appears  to  know 
precisely  what,  except  that  he  is 
addressed  in  the  papers  which  are 
minuted  to  him  as  Financial  Secre- 
tary. A  scheme  of  military  control 
and  management  so  concocted  is 
really  a  thing  to  be  wondered  at. 
The  art  of  man  could  not,  as  it  ap- 


pears to  us,  have  devised  anything 
so  preposterously  impracticable. 

So  we  stand  at  the  present  mo- 
ment. What  can  we  do  ?  It  is  a 
question  easily  asked,  but,  like  the 
army  reserve  question,  the  reverse 
of  easy  to  answer.  And  if  we  try 
to  answer  it,  we  shall  do  so  with 
the  utmost  possible  diffidence.  In 
truth,  however,  looking  to  the  na- 
ture of  the  constitution,  as  recent 
legislation  has  recast  it — taking  into 
account  the  fact  that  all  the  real 
powers  of  the  State  are  wielded  by 
the  House  of  Commons — it  seems  to 
us  that  two  courses  are  all  that  lie 
open  to  us  to  choose  between :  either 
we  must  go  back,  confessing  our 
error,  to  the  arrangements  of  other 
days ;  or,  at  every  sacrifice  of  private 
feelingandrespect  for  old  associations 
and  prejudices,  we  must  march 
boldly  forward  in  the  line  of  farther 
innovation.  For  ourselves  we  would 
infinitely  prefer  the  former  alterna- 
tive— relegating  the  Secretary  of 
State  for  War  to  his  original  place 
at  the  Colonial  Office ;  restoring  to 
the  Coinmander-in-Chief  his  ancient 
powers  of  discipline ;  giving  back  to 
the  Secretary  at  War  his  ancient  con- 
trol over  army  expenditure;  reuniting 
the  Commissariat  with  the  Treasury, 
and  resuscitating  the  Board  of  Ord- 
nance, with  its  Master -General  in 
the  Cabinet,  and  its  Clerk  of  the 
Ordnance  and  Surveyor-General  of 
the  Ordnance  both  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  For  then  we  should 
have  what  at  present  we  have  not — 
an  experienced  soldier  to  advise  the 
Government  on  military  questions — 
with  not  fewer  than  six  of  the  Crown's 
Ministers  explaining  to  Parliament 
the  proceedings  in  their  respective 
departments,  and  all  alike  open  to 
impeachment  in  case  of  malversa- 
tion. But  for  that  we  hardly  dare 
to  hope.  Failing  the  moral  courage 
necessary  to  do  what  is  best,  nothing 
therefore  remains  except  to  do  what 
is  not  best ;  because  it  is  impossible 
to  stand  still.  What  is  it  1  We  have 


H2 


Wind  ice  may  Learn. 


[Feb. 


got  our  Department  of  Control ;  we 
have  got  our  Financial  Secretary. 
They  must  cease  at  once  to  be  the 
servants  of  the  Secretary  of  State, 
though  remaining  still  his  subordi- 
nates ;  just  as  under  the  old  system 
the  Board  of  Ordnance  and  Secretary 
at  War  were  subordinates  to  the  Sec- 
retary of  State  for  War  and  the  Col- 
onies. By  patent  or  commission,  as 
shall  be  most  convenient,  they  must 
become  as  the  Secretary  at  War  was, 
and  the  Parliamentary  members  of 
the  Board  of  Ordnance  used  to  be, 
Ministers  of  the  Crown.  They  must 
likewise  of  necessity  be  members  of 
the  House  of  Commons — hard  as  it 
now  is  to  find  a  seat  there — because 
the  very  object  of  their  existence  in 
connection  with  army  administra- 
tion is,  that  they  may  satisfy  the 
House  that  public  money  is  not 
wasted.  To  the  Financial  Secretary 
so  constituted  must  be  handed  over 
all  the  duties  of  detail  which  the 
old  Secretary  at  War  was  wont  to 
discharge.  On  the  head  of  the 
Control  Department,  call  him  by 
what  name  you  will,  must  devolve 
all  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of 
the  old  Board  of  Ordnance — a  load 
too  heavy  for  any  one  man  to  bear, 
unless  he  have  the  skill  to  select 
efficient  subordinates,  and  the  wis- 
dom to  give  them,  when  chosen,  his 
entire  confidence.  Thus  the  care 
of  warlike  stores,  the  manufacture 
of  arms,  the  duty  of  providing  for 
them,  in  peace  and  war,  means  of 
transport,  must  be  undertaken  by 
an  artillery  officer,  selected  because 
of  his  tried  ability  and  acquaint- 
ance with  his  art.  An  engineer 
equally  eminent  must  regulate 
the  placement  of  engineer  stores, 
including  pontoons,  the  means  of 
conveying  them  from  place  to  place, 
and  the  progress  of  all  works,  whe- 
ther of  fortification  or  lodgment, 
which  the  Government  shall  have 
determined  to  execute.  In  like 
manner  the  Director-General  must 
be  held  responsible  for  the  forth- 


coming of  due,  but  not  extravagant, 
medical  stores,  the  selection  of  gentle- 
men to  serve  as  medical  officers,  and 
so  forth.  In  a  word,  instead  of  having 
every  question  of  detail  referred  to 
him,  the  Controller-in-Chief  must 
confine  himself  to  exercising  a  gen- 
eral surveillance  over  the  depart- 
ments, which,  for  practical  purposes, 
can  hardly  be  too  much  distributed ; 
just  as  on  his  own  side  of  the  House 
the  Financial  Secretary  checks  ac- 
counts and  regulates  expenditure 
through  clerks  in  whom  he  has 
trust.  The  effect  of  all  this  will  be 
to  assimilate,  as  nearly  as  can  be 
done,  a  system  dependent  on  popular 
caprice  to  one  which  leans  upon  the 
will  of  one  man.  For  the  Secretary 
of  State  himself,  the  Controller-in- 
Chief,  and  the  Financial  Secretary  all 
being  in  Parliament,  and  each  open 
to  be  questioned  in  his  own  line, 
will  be  able  to  stop  the  mouths  of 
ignorant  inquirers ;  while  the  real 
work  of  the  office  is  carried  on  by 
men  who  know  what  they  are  doing, 
and  are  supported  in  doing  it. 

Changes  such  as  these  will  un- 
doubtedly meet  some  of  the  more 
obvious  drawbacks  which  hamper 
us  at  this  moment.  Will  they  suf- 
fice to  put  the  machine  in  good 
working  condition  ?  We  fear  not. 
There  is  yet  another  element  of  con- 
fusion which,  if  it  be  left  to  fer- 
ment, will  render  all  else  which  is 
effected  worthless,  and  which,  there- 
fore, if  it  cannot  be  taken  away  by 
one  process,  must  be  removed  by 
another.  A  Secretary  of  State  for 
War  commanding  the  army,  and  a 
General  Commanding-in-Chief,  can- 
not stand  together.  Either  withdraw 
the  command  of  the  troops  from  the 
Secretary  of  State  for  War,  leaving 
to  him  the  same  measure  of  general 
control  which,  as  representing  the 
Cabinet,  in  this  particular  he  always 
exercised ;  or  else  abolish  entirely 
the  office  of  General  Conimanding- 
in-Chief,  which  has  become,  since 
the  promulgation  of  the  late  Orders 


1871.] 


Wliat  we  may  Learn. 


143 


in  Council,  little  better  than  a  name. 
But  this  you  can  hardly  do,  unless 
you  establish  the  principle  that  only 
a  general  officer  of  practised  ability 
and  tried  experience  shall  hold  office 
as  Secretary  of  State  for  War.  There 
may  be  some  difficulty  in  making 
such  an  arrangement,  but  it  need 
not  prove  insurmountable.  Soldiers 
much  in  the  field,  whether  they 
serve  in  Europe  or  in  India,  are 
seldom  very  bitter  party  politicians. 
You  want  a  Secretary  of  State  for 
"War  rather  to  advise  his  colleagues 
on  war  questions  than  to  aid  them 
with  his  counsels  in  determining 
what  shall  be  the  general  policy, 
whether  foreign  or  domestic,  of  the 
Government ;  and  you  need  not, 
therefore,  in  selecting  the  ablest  men, 
be  too  much  acted  upon  by  party 
considerations.  But  if  these  con- 
siderations must  have  weight,  let 
them  have  weight.  The  best  of  our 
general  officers  differ  just  as  much 
as  civilians  do  in  their  political 
opinions.  Lord  Strathnairn,  we  be- 
lieve, is  a  Tory  :  Sir  William  Mans- 
field is  a  Liberal.  Either  would 
fill  the  office  a  thousand  times  better 
than  any  civilian,  be  he  ever  so 
gifted.  His  Royal  Highness  the 
Duke  of  Cambridge  may  be  too 
nearly  allied  to  the  Sovereign  to 
render  him,  in  the  opinion  of  our 
Radical  masters,  the  household  voters, 
eligible  for  office.  Such  is  certainly 
not  our  own  view  of  the  case.  But 
be  the  individual  selected  whom  he 
may,  nothing  can  be  more  clear 
than  that  the  machine  will  never 
work  satisfactorily,  till  the  Minister 
at  the  head  of  it  shall  be  a  man  who 
thoroughly  understands  its  construc- 
tion, and  the  appliances  that  are  in- 
dispensable to  keep  it  in  gear.  Give 
us  this,  and  see  how  many  beneficial 
results  will  follow. 

The  Secretary  of  State,  being  him- 
self a  soldier,  will  have  his  military 
just  as  he  has  his  store,  his  finance, 
his  commissariat,  and  other  depart- 
ments under  him.  A  chief  of  the 


staff  will  preside  over  the  military  de- 
partment, distributing  his  subordi- 
nates into  two  classes,  the  higher  and 
the  lower  staff.  These  will  take 
charge  respectively  of  the  discipline 
and  disposition  of  the  whole  army : 
including,  under  the  former  head, 
drill,  rewards,  and  punishments;  un- 
der the  latter,  the  routes,  the  arrange- 
ment of  quarters,  the  control  of  educa- 
tion, from  that  which  goes  on  in  the 
staff  school  to  the  simple  lessons 
that  are  taught  to  private  soldiers 
and  their  children.  On  requisition 
signed  by  them,  in  the  Secretary  of 
State's  name,  will. go  forth  orders 
to  replenish  stores  which  need  re- 
plenishing, to  forward  clothing  where 
it  is  wanted,  to  build  forts,  repair 
barracks,  and  keep  hospitals  sup- 
plied. They  will  be  to  the  War 
Minister  his  eyes  and  ears — the  in- 
struments, in  fact,  through  whom  he 
makes  known  to  the  heads  of  other 
departments  the  needs  of  the  army, 
and  the  mode  in  which  it  is  his 
pleasure  to  meet  them.  Of  course 
the  Controller-in-Chief,  the  Com- 
missary-General, and  so  forth,  will 
be  free  to  remonstrate  if  they  con- 
ceive that  they  are  unduly  pressed. 
But  there  will  be  no  refusal  to  obey. 
The  War  Minister  is  supreme,  being- 
responsible  for  the  large  views  which 
he  takes  only  to  the  Crown  and  to 
Parliament. 

An  establishment  of  this  sort  set 
up  in  London  will  repeat  itself  at 
the  headquarters  of  each  of  the  mili- 
tary districts  or  provinces.  There, 
as  in  Pall  Mall,  all  officers,  whether 
of  ordnance  or  of  supply,  will  owe- 
prompt  and  willing  obedience  to 
the  orders  of  the  corps-commanders, 
communicated  through  their  staff; 
each  accounting  to  his  immediate 
chief  in  the  metropolis  for  the  items 
of  expenditure  that  are  incurred. 
Finally,  with  a  view  to  the  more 
prompt  embarkation  of  troops  and 
stores,  and  their  ready  transmis- 
sion to  foreign  parts,  the  Sec- 
retary for  War  must  be  author- 


144 


Wliat  ice  may  Learn. 


[Feb. 


ised  to  take  up,  from  time  to  time, 
the  necessary  tonnage — just  as  he 
makes  arrangements  with  the  mana- 
gers of  railways,  and  the  owners  of 
carts  and  waggons,  at  home,  for  as 
much  land-transport  as  may  be  re- 
quired to  supplement  the  deficiencies 
in  the  train  which  now  exists  or 
may  hereafter  be  created. 

Whether  it  will  be  judicious  so 
far  to  change  the  organisation  of 
regiments  in  our  service  as  to  ren- 
der the  company  in  the  infantry, 
and  the  squadron  in  the  cavalry,  the 
same  unit  of  formation  which  the 
battery  is  in  the  artillery,  is  a  point 
not  for  us  to  determine. 

There  is,  undoubtedly,  much  to 
be  said  in  favour  of  the  change,  and 
something  against  it.  The  saving 
of  expense,  for  example,  as  re- 
gards officers,  would  undoubtedly 
be  considerable;  while  the  gentle- 
men not  required  for  the  line  being 
absorbed  into  the  militia,  the  injury 
done  to  individual  prospects  would 
be  small.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  adoption  of  the  German  device 
must  put  an  almost  immediate  end 
to  purchase ;  and  it  is  at  least  doubt- 
ful whether,  in  the  long-run,  an 
English  army  would  not  lose  more 
than  it  gained  by  the  triumph  of  ultra- 
liberal  views  on  that  head.  This,  how- 
ever, with  other  matters  of  detail,  may 
be  safely  left  to  be  dealt  with  by  our 
military  "War  Minister  when  we  get 
him.  Probably  he  will  recast  the 
whole  staff  on  the  model  which 
Prussia  offers.  Aides-de-camp  as  at- 
tendants on  generals  of  brigade  have 
little  to  do  in  peaceful  times ;  and  a 
large  staff  of  adjutant  and  quarter- 
master generals  at  the  headquarters  of 
each  division  seems  hardly  called  for. 
But  the  habit  of  so  distributing  staff 
employ  and  so  using  staff  officers,  when 
you  make  them,  as  to  give  a  leaven 
of  superior  military  intelligence  to 
every  regiment  in  the  service,  can- 
not be  too  industriously  practised. 


This  it  is,  quite  as  much  as  the 
ability  of  the  staff  actually  serving, 
which  has  made  the  Prussian  army 
what  the  French  have  found  it  to 
be.  "We  need  not,  in  many  other 
respects,  copy  our  Teutonic  friends 
too  closely,  but  here  they  deserve  to 
be  rigidly  folloAved. 

Many  other  points  deserving  no- 
tice present  themselves,  but  we  ab- 
stain from  approaching  them.  Al- 
ready, perhaps,  there  has  been  given  to 
the  subject  greater  prominence  than 
the  bulk  of  our  readers  may  fancy 
that  it  deserves;  and  though  far 
from  sharing  this  opinion  ourselves, 
it  may  be  wise  not  to  weary  them. 
Let  us  not,  however,  bring  our  task 
to  an  end  without  one  word  of  ex- 
planation. If,  in  the  course  of  these 
essays,  we  have  said  a  word  calcu- 
lated in  any  way  to  wound  the  feel- 
ings of  individuals,  we  beg  at  once  to 
retract  and  apologise  for  it.  Against 
individuals  we  make  no  war.  It  is 
the  system,  and  that  alone,  which 
we  desire,  by  exposing,  to  hold  up 
to  public  reprobation — for  it  is  one 
the  bare  endeavour  to  carry  which 
into  effect  must  convince  all  who 
approach  it  of  its  impracticability. 
Not  one  of  the  many  Ministers  who 
have  in  succession  accepted  the  War 
Office  since  it  became  what  it  is  but 
has  bitterly  lamented  his  evil  fortune. 
Whatever  reputation  he  may  have 
carried  with  him  to  Pall  Mall  has 
been  damaged ;  and  none,  we  ven- 
ture to  say,  once  delivered  from  the 
incubus,  ever  desires  to  assume  it 
again.  The  whole  army  is  out  of 
joint.  The  whole  country  is  dissat- 
isfied with  it  and  with  its  adminis- 
tration. Sooner  or  later  a  radical 
change  of  system  must  be  effected ; 
and  if  it  shall  turn  out  that  we  have 
in  any  degree  contributed  to  hurry 
on  a  consummation  so  devoutly  to 
be  wished,  then  we  shall  indeed  feel 
that  we  have  not  pondered  the  sub- 
ject nor  written  about  it  in  vain. 


1871.] 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  I. 


145 


FRANK  MARSHALL. — PART  I. 


CHAPTER   I. — A   PROMISING    INVESTMENT. 


THE  following  suggestive  letter 
met  the  eye  of  Mr  Frank  Marshall, 
Barrister  -  at  -  law,  when  he  caine 
down  to  breakfast  at  10.15  to  pre- 
pare himself  for  the  labours  of  the 
day: — 

"DEAR  FRANK, — I  have  got  all 
those  queer  feelings  back  again  in 
the  old  quarter,  and  Croker  says 
nothing  but  sulphur  will  do  me  any 
good.  He  gave  me  to  understand 
pretty  plainly  that  I  am  not  long  for 
this  world:  not  that  that  matters 
much  to  me  or  anybody  else;  but  I 
suppose  it  is  a  sort  of  duty  to  give 
one's  self  every  chance,  so  I  am  off 
to  Schwarzloch  to-night.  NOAV  that 
my  time's  so  nearly  over,  I  cannot 
help  feeling  I  have  not  made  the 
best  use  of  my  little  property  while 
I  have  had  it ;  but  I  am  going  to 
try  to  make  it  do  as  much  good  as  I 
can  after  I  am  gone,  so  I  will  get 
you  at  your  leisure  to  draw  me  a 
form  of  bequest  to  a  charity — a  good 
safe  form,  mind,  which  the  lawyers 
shall  not  be  able  to  get  any  costs 
out  of.  I  am  sure  a  man  is  the 
better  and  happier  for  having  to 
work  for  his  bread,  so  I  shall  leave 
you  XI 000  just  to  give  you  a  start : 
then  if  anything  happens  to  me  you 
will  be  comfortable  enough  for  a 
year  or  two  until  you  can  make  a 
living  out  of  your  profession.  There 
is  another  matter  I  should  like  you 
to  see  to.  The  Central  Railway  Co. 
repays  me  a  loan  of  £3000  on  Wed- 
nesday next.  They  wanted  me  to 
renew;  but  I  do  not  think  much  of 
railways  nowadays,  and  I  shall  be 
very  glad  when  I  see  the  money.  I 
do  not  think  it  is  right  to  leave  so 
large  a  sum  lying  idle,  so  I  will  get 
you  to  invest  it  at  once  on  landed 


security.     My  banker  will  honour 
your  cheque. 

"  I  do  not  suppose  I  can  ever  hope 
to  see  you  again,  my  dear  boy,  for 
the  disease  will  no  doubt  attack 
some  vital  organ  before  your  Courts 
rise;  but  if  I  linger  on  till  August, 
it  would  be  a  great  comfort  if  you 
could  manage  to  come  over  here, 
and  be  with  me  at  the  last. — Your 
affectionate  uncle, 

"  MATTHEW  MARSHALL. 

"  P.S. — I  think  you  ought  to  get 


"  That's  the  way  the  dear  old 
sinner  always  goes  on  when  there's 
anything  the  matter  with  him," 
thought  Frank — ' '  Daemon  langueba  t, 
monachus  tune  esse  volebat ;  last 
year  he  talked  of  going  on  to  the 
Board  of  the  Church  Missionary, 
and  attending  every  day,  although 
he  must  have  known  that  the  Direc- 
tors got  no  fees ;  and  the  year  be- 
fore that  he  went  so  far  as  to  write 
to  the  Strand  Union  to  send  him  a 
dozen  orphans  ;  but  the  rheumatism 
went  off  with  the  fine  weather,  and 
I  got  him  to  put  the  letter  behind 
the  fire.  I  would  not  give  much  for 
the  chance  of  those  charities  he 
talks  of  enriching  ;  he  is  as  likely 
to  live  twenty  years  as  a  day ;  but 
he  is  just  as  well  without  those 
forms,  all  the  same.  I  will  run  over 
and  see  him  in  August  if  there's  no- 
thing els'e  doing  ;  by  that  time  he 
will  have  forgotten  all  about  the 
blessings  of  poverty  which  he  is  so 
anxious  for  me  to  enjoy.  I  must 
see  about  that  investment  at  once 
though ;  if  it  does  not  bear  interest 
on  Thursday  evening,  he  will  cut 
me  out  of  his  will — that  is  one  of 


14G 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  I. 


the  duties  of  property  lie  never  loses 
sight  of.  I  will  go  down  to  Blue- 
fold's  office  this  very  morning,  and 
talk  to  him  about  it.  It's  just  in 
his  line ;  and  then  he  can  hardly 
help  asking  me  to  dinner.  It's  about 
time  he  did,  or  Miss  Bluefold  will 
be  forgetting  my  existence.  I  should 
like  her  people  to  know,  too,  that 
there's  money  going  in  our  family. 
I  shall  look  in  at  chambers,  of 
course,  on  the  way,  and  get  one  or 
two  hints  from  Wilson  about  the 
manners  and  customs  of  investors." 

He  found  that  gentleman,  whose 
chambers  he  shared,  immensely  busy, 
as  usual.  The  table  was  crowded 
with  documents  of  every  descrip- 
tion, except  communications  from 
solicitors :  notices  of  meeting  of 
philanthropic  committees,  schemes 
for  assimilating  the  law  of  England 
to  that  of  Hesse  Darmstadt,  proof- 
sheets  of  a  work  on  the  destinies  of 
our  Colonial  Empire,  and  miscel- 
laneous literary  undertakings  with- 
out end. 

"Oh,  Frank,  Frank!"  said  the 
industrious  man,  without  losing  a 
coup  de  plume,  "  this  sort  of  thing 
will  never  do  :  you  may  as  well  cut 
the  bar  at  once,  as  come  down  to 
business  at  12  o'clock,  day  after 
day.  But  now  you  are  here,  you 
may  as  well  make  yourself  useful. 
I  am  working  out  an  average  of  our 
exports  to  Canada  since  the  Con- 
federation, and  you  can  help  me 
with  the  figures." 

"  !N"o,  hang  it ! "  answered  Frank ; 
"  as  I  am  so  late  I  must  make  the 
best  use  I  can  of  what  is  left  of  the 
day;  but  just  drop  your  pen,  and 
talk  to  me  for  a  minute.  I  want 
your  advice." 

"  About  Miss  Potter,  I  suppose  : 
well,  my  advice  is,  do  not  you  go  to 
that  house  any  more." 

"  Never  mind  about  that  everlast- 
ing Miss  Potter,"  said  Frank,  to 
whom  the  allusion  was  singularly 
distasteful,  recalling,  as  it  did,  cer- 


[Feb. 

tain  semi-aifectionate  transactions  of 
the  pre- Adamite  period  on  the  other 
side  of  Whitsunday,  before  the  star 
of  Miss  Bluefold  had  appeared  above 
the  horizon ;  "  neither  of  us  is  in 
any  danger :  I  am  talking  of  some- 
thing else  altogether.  I  have  got 
£3000  to  invest  on  landed  security, 
and  I  don't  know  the  A  B  C  of  the 
thing.  What  sort  of  interest  ought 
a  fellow  to  get  to  be  pretty  safe  ? " 

Wilson  pushed  away  his  papers  at 
once. 

"  Holloa  !  you're  coming  out  as 
a  capitalist,  are  you?  that's  a  new 
character  for  you  to  appear  in,  isn't 
it]  Well,  if  you  go  to  a  lawyer 
you'll  get  4  per  cent  perhaps." 

"  I  was  told  5  was  nearer  the 
mark,"  answered  Frank,  who  bore 
in  niind  his  uncle's  warning  post- 
script. 

"  Ah  !  you  won't  get  that  unless 
you  take  a  good  deal  of  trouble ; 
but  if  you  don't  mind  that,  and  will 
give  a  little  of  your  spare  time,  I 
think  I  can  show  you  just  what  you 
want.  There  was  a  fellow  in  here 
yesterday  Avho  suggested  the  very 
thing  for  you.  You  know  the  man 
— his  name's  Wright ;  you  met  him 
in  my  rooms  one  day  last  week — 
you  must  remember  him." 

"  What !  the  man  who  was  so  great 
on  agricultural  distress,  and  who 
went  on  about  '  a  greedy  aristocracy 
battening  and  fattening  upon  the 
sweat  of  the  toiling  millions '  ?  I 
should  think  I  did  recollect  him. 
If  he  said  it  once,  he  said  it  a  dozen 
times." 

"  He  is  a  very  good  fellow,  though 
he  is  rather  go-ahead  in  some  of  his 
notions  :  he  is  a  bore,  too,  when  he 
gets  on  to  one  of  his  hobbies,  but 
he  is  a  downright  excellent  fellow : 
it  would  do  you  good  to  see  more  of 
him.  Well,  he  has  always  been 
very  anxious  to  do  something  for 
those  poor  wretches,  our  labourers  : 
he  wants  to  see  them  like  the  French 
paysans;  every  man  of  whom  has 


1871.] 


Frank 


—  Part  I. 


U7 


•got  a  bit  of  ground  of  his  own,  of 
Avhich  he  is  as  proud  as  a  duke." 

"  I  know  he  is,"  said  Frank,  "  and 
very  nasty  he  makes  himself  if  you 
do  not  seem  aware  of  his  territorial 
rights.  I  trespassed  last  year  on 
•one  of  these  little  country  gentle- 
men's estates — four  yards  by  seven 
— and  out  he  came  at  me  as  if  he 
had  been  Earl  Douglas,  lord  of 
Chevy  Chase,  said  very  unkind 
-things  in  Auvergnat  about  my  na- 
tion and  myself,  and  made  me  pay 
15  francs  75  centimes  for  smashing 
two  potatoes.  But  how  is  Wright 
>going  to  set  to  work?  I  can't  say  I 
admired  Joan  Marie  Tapageur,  but 
I  must  own  he  looked  as  if  he  was 
well  satisfied  with  his  own  situation 
in  life.  And  so  Wright  is  going  to 
turn  all  the  ploughmen  into  squires. 
Is  there  to  be  a  general  redistribu- 
tion of  property?" 

"  He  lias  not  come  to  that  yet," 
said  Wilson  ;  "  it  is  a  very  mild 
little  affair  he  has  got  in  hand." 

Then  Wilson  pulled  out  a  host  of 
papers,  and  explained  that  Wright 
had  started  a  company  to  buy  land 
and  sell  it  out  again  in  small  lots  : 
that  they  were  terribly  hard  up  for 
money  to  pay  the  bill,  and  did  not 
know  how  to  manage  the  legal  part 
of  the  business  ;  and  that  if  Frank 
would  bring  £3000  into  the  con- 
cern, and  do  their  law  for  them, 
they  would  put  him  on  to  the 
board,  and  give  him  extra  pay. 
The  scheme  did  equal  honour  to 
the  head  and  heart  of  Mr  Wright, 
but  it  is  needless  to  set  forth  the 
•details  here.  Are  they  not  written 
in  the  records  of  the  Court  of 
Chancery  ? 

"Wright  talks  of  making  15  per 
•cent  and  changing  the  face  of  Eng- 
lish society,"  added  Wilson  ;  "  that 
is  all  moonshine.  He  is  a  child  in 
money  matters ;  but  I  have  looked 
into  it,  and  I  think,  with  reasonable 
care,  you  may  be  pretty  sure  of  6. 
It  is  just  what  you  are  cut  out  for. 

VOL.    CIX. — XO.    DCLXIV. 


You've  nothing  on  earth  to  do,  and 
if  you  go  in  for  this  affair  you  will 
get  a  good  deal  of  experience,  Avhich 
will  help  you  at  the  bar  if  any  in- 
fatuated solicitor  should  ever  trouble 
you ;  and,  besides,  you  will  be  of  use 
to  your  felloAv-creatures  for  once  in 
your  life." 

"  I  am  as  fond  of  my  fellow-crea- 
tures, as  you  call  them,  as  any  man 
living,"  said  Frank ;  "  but  I  am 
aware  of  my  weakness,  and  must  be 
on  my  guard  against  my  affectionate 
disposition  :  so  I  don't  think  I  will 
see  Wright  until  I  have  tried  the 
lawyers.  I  rather  think  I  will  step 
round  to  Bedford  Eow,  and  get  your 
friend  Bluefold  to  put  the  cash  on 
to  the  dirty  acres  in  the  orthodox 
way ;  and  now  I  will  leave  you  to 
settle  the  affairs  of  the  Canadas  in 
peace." 

"  You  have  driven  all  that  out 
of  my  head,"  answered  Wilson,  "  so 
you  may  just  as  well  stay  now.  I 
rather  want  to  have  a  quiet  chat. 
There  are  one  or  two  things  I 
should  like  to  talk  over.  Shall  we 
light  up  V 

"  I  never  saw  you  knock  off  at 
one  o'clock  before  as  long  as  I 
have  known  you — there's  something 
wrong.  You  have  got  something 
on  your  mind  ;  come,  out  with  it — 
it  will  do  you  all  the  good  in  the 
world  :  who  is  she  1" 

It  was  a  random  shot,  but  the 
enemy  was  silenced,  and  Frank 
knew  it. 

"  Come,  old  fellow,"  he  said ; 
"it's  what  we  must  all  come  to. 
If  you  can  bring  yourself  to  talk 
about  it,  you  will  feel  ever  so  much 
better.  Come,  you  don't  know 
how  easy  you  will  feel." 

"It's  odd  you  can't  guess,"  an- 
swered Wilson;  "  I  thought  you  must 
have  seen  it,  as  you  know  some  of 
the  family;  but  I  believe  you  don't 
go  to  the  house." 

A  ghastly  suspicion  crossed 
Frank's  mind,  and  with  difficulty 


148 


Frank  Marshall.— Part  I. 


[FeK 


lie  brought  himself  to  ask,  "You 
don't  mean  one  of  the  people  in 
Bryanstone  Square?"  He  had  no 
power  to  utter  the  holy  name. 

"Wilson,  scarcely  visible  to  the 
naked  eye  through  the  clouds  of 
smoke,  gave  ever  so  slight  a  nod. 
There  was  nothing  left  for  Frank 
now  but  to  accept  the  inevitable, 
and  to  take  care  that  he  was  not 
found  out. 

"  Well,  whereabouts  are  you  ? 
Hang  it,  man,  I  always  tell  you 
when  there's  anything  of  the  sort 
on  hand." 

"  I  do  not  knoAV  that  there's 
much  to  tell.  I  go  to  them  in 
Bryanstone  Square  whenever  I 
like.  By  the  way,  I  dine  there 
to-morrow,  and  they  are  all  very 
civil." 

"  "What  do  you  make  of  old 
Bluefold  in  private  life  ] "  asked 
Frank,  cautiously  making  his  ap- 
proaches towards  the  heart  of  the 
citadel. 

"  He  never  says  very  much  at 
any  time,  but  I  am  pretty  sure  he 
knows  why  I  come  there.  I  do 
not  anticipate  any  difficulty  in  that 
quarter." 

"  I  must  not  ask  about  the  young 
lady,  I  suppose  ? " 

"She  always  seems  glad  to  see 
me,  and  she  must  know  I  do  not 
come  there  for  the  sake  of  Bluefold 
and  his  deaf  sister;  but  of  course 
one  can't  tell." 

"  I  say,  Wilson,  though,"  began 
Frank  again,  "  this  making  love  is 
capital  fun,  I  know,  but  what  is  to 
be  the  end  of  it  all  ]  I  know  you 
are  the  sort  of  man  to  get  on,  but 
still  I  have  heard  of  one  or  two 
fellows — clever  fellows  too,  with 
work  in  them — who  have  been  ten 
years  at  the  bar  without  netting  the 
rent  of  their  chambers." 

"  She's  got  a  little  something 
from  her  mother,  and  then  there  is 
an  uncle,"  answered  Wilson,  rather 
reluctantly  ;"  "  he's  sure  to  do  some- 


thing for  her.  I  do  not  think  he 
is  very  fond  of  me,  by  the  way,  but 
she  does  what  she  likes  with  him. 
I  really  should  not  have  thought  it 
right  to  entangle  a  penniless  girl  in 
a  long  engagement,  and  then  Blue- 
fold  as  much  as  hinted  he  could 
put  some  work  in  my  way." 

"  I  do  not  know  much  of  Blue- 
fold,"  said  Frank,  "  but  they  say  he 
is  a  little  out  at  elbows.  That  boy 
of  his  at  Christ  Church  has  run 
through  more  money  than  any  man 
of  his  year:  I  should  not  have 
thought  he  would  have  cared  about 
a  son-in-law  who  had  not  a  good 
balance  at  his  banker's." 

"  He  does  not  attend  much  to 
the  shop  himself,  and  so  he  is 
rather  out  of  the  way  of  legal  gos- 
sip," answered  Wilson  ;  "  and  some- 
how he  has  taken  it  into  his  head 
that  I  am  doing  a  good  deal  of 
business.  I  cannot  talk  to  him 
about  it,  of  course — it  would  be 
against  the  etiquette  of  the  bar ; 
and  if  I  marry  Clara,  it  will  most 
likely  be  true." 

"  I  almost  think  I  should  have 
managed  to  let  him  know  how 
matters  really  stood,  if  I  had  been 
you ;  but  of  course  you  know  best. 
Now  let  me  hear  something  about 
the  young  lady.  I  never  saw  her 
but  once,  and  then  I  thought  her 
the  nicest-looking  girl  north  of  Ox- 
ford Street." 

"  How  long  have  you  lived  in 
Belgrave  Square  1 "  growled  Wil- 
son ;  "  I  thought  you  were  superior 
to  all  that  snobbish  affectation." 

"  Do  not  be  abusive,  old  fellow  ; 
you  have  a  right  to  be  cross  under 
the  circumstances,  but  you  must 
not  use  bad  langiiage.  I  only  wish 

Miss  B '  had  got  a  sister  like 

herself.  I  shoidd  not  at  all  mind 
walking  that  far  every  day." 

"  Well,  but  she  has  not,"  said 
the  lover,  "  and  I  am  just  as  well 
pleased.  There's  the  brother  to 
come  in  for  a  share  of  the  mother's 


1871.] 

money  as  it  is.  As  for  describing 
her,  it  is  what  I  cannot  do — one 
feels  such  a  fool  talking  about  a 
girl  one  means  to  marry ;  but  if  all 
goes  well  I  will  take  you  there  one 
day  next  week,  and  you  shall  see  as 
much  of  her  as  you .  like.  Get  her 
to  play  or  sing — she  will  do  any- 
thing you  ask  her  ;  but  if  you  want 
to  put  her  in  special  good  temper, 
say  you  want  to  see  her  drawings. 
She  has  a  whole  book  full  of  pen- 
and-ink  caricatures,  which  some 
people  make  a  good  deal  of  fuss 
about.  They  are  really  not  bad, 
some  of  them." 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  the 
plunge  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  must  get  it  over  one  way 
or  the  other ;  this  sort  of  thing  un- 
settles one  so.  There's  that  paper 
on  the  Koniish  and  Anglican  the- 
ories on  the  subject  of  lying  ;  I  can- 
not give  my  mind  to  it  while  this 
business  is  hanging  over  me." 

"  You've  an  awfully  severe  attack 
of  the  complaint,  old  chap ;  it  is 
generally  very  bad  the  first  time." 
Frank  spoke  with  the  authority  of 
experience.  "Go  in  and  win,  and 
at  once  ;  I  shall  be  on  the  look-out 
for  a  cheap  mustard-pot  to  adorn 
your  family  table."  Then  in  silence 
he  meditated. 

"  So  Wilson's  going  to  cut  in, 
and  it's  all  over  with  me.  I  am 
glad  I  have  found  it  out  in  time, 
though;  I  don't  know  where  I 
should  have  been  if  we  had  met 
two  or  three  times  more.  I  shall 
not  go  and  talk  to  that  dreary  old 
Bluefold  now — I  don't  want  to  go 
dining  there.  As  for  this  money 
business,  I  don't  care  about  that  or 
anything  else.  I  may  just  as  well 
let  Wright  have  it,  and  I  feel  as  if  I 
should  rather  like  something  to  do 
for  a  week  or  two.  It  is  landed 
security  after  a  sort,  and  a  safe  6  per 
cent ;  but  say  it  is  only  5,  my  uncle 
will  be  satisfied,  for  he  does  not 
expect  more  than  4f ;  and  then  it 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  I. 


149 


will  do  so  much  good  that  it  will 
materially  lighten  the  load  of  re- 
morse on  account  of  misspent  oppor- 
tunities which  seems  to  be  weigh- 
ing upon  him  :  it  is  a  pity  he  should 
adjourn  his  philanthropic  schemes 
till  after  his  decease,  when  he  will 
be  obliged  to  carry  them  out  at  my 
expense.  I  say,  Wilson,  about  that 
investment  of  mine — it  is  almost  too 
late  to  go  to  Bedford  Eow  now  ;  and, 
after  all,  I  would  just  as  soon  trust 
you  as  anybody  else.  What  will 
Wright  give  the  conveyancing  direc- 
tor r' 

"  I  don't  think  you  must  "expect 
more  than  £150,  besides  money  out 
of  pocket ;  but  then  the  experience 
will  be  worth  any  money." 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind,"  said  Frank ; 
"  if  I  get  in  a  fix  of  any  kind,  of 
course  I  shall  come  to  you.  If  the 
company's  a  great  success,  perhaps  I 
may  be  able  to  stand  an  urn.  By 
the  way,  I  should  like  the  shares 
put  in  to  my  uncle's  name ;  there 
are  some  family  reasons  for  it  which 
I  won't  bother  you  with." 

"  All  right,"  said  Wilson ;  "  I  dare- 
say they  will  manage  that  for  you. 
I  will  see  Wright  to-night  or  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  Why  should  not  we  set  about 
it  at  once?"  asked  Frank,  eager  to 
ease  his  wound's  imperious  anguish 
by  plunging  amid  the  throngs  of 
men. 

"I  can't  come  with  you  now," 
said  Wilson ;  "  I  must  finish  these 
sheets  —  and  to-morrow,  by  the 
way,  I've  an  appointment;  but  I 
will  send  Wright  a  line,  and  if  you 
call  at  Fenchurch  Street  in  the 
morning  you  will  be  sure  to  find 
him." 

"What  a  lucky  fellow  that  is!" 
sighed  Frank.  "  I  don't  know  when 
I've  seen  so  sweet  a  girl.  Who 
would  have  taken  Wilson  for  a 
marrying  man?  I  suppose  he  is 
awfully  fond  of  her,  though  he  does 
not  care  to  show  it.  I  wonder  at 


150 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


Ms  not  telling  them  he  is  doing  next 
to  nothing — such  a  particular  fellow 
as  he  is  too.  I  had  no  notion  the 
etiquette  of  the  bar  was  so  strict." 

Next  morning  Frank  went  down 
to  Fenchurch  Street  to  see  Wright, 
by  whom  he  was  most  affectionately 
received. 

"  My  dear  Mr  Marshall,"  he  be- 
gan, "  our  friend  Mr  Wilson  writes 
me  that  he  has  explained  to  you 
our  scheme  for  the  improvement  of 
our  suffering  fellow  -  countrymen, 
that  you  are  satisfied  of  its  sound- 
ness from  a  financial  point  of  view, 
and  that  you  take  so  warm  an  inte- 
rest in  the  [cause  that  you  are  will- 
ing to  give  us  the  benefit  of  your 
"professional  skill." 

"  Wilson  has  been  talking  to  me 
about  it,  and  I  rather  like  what  I 
have  heard.  It  seems  to  me  the 
money  will  be  all  right ;  and  as  I  have 
not  much  to  do  just  now,  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  be  useful  if  you  will 
show  me  how." 

"  I  hope  to  make  use  of  you  almost 
immediately,  Mr  Marshall,  in  brush- 
ing away  some  little  legal  cobwebs 
which  prevent  us  from  getting  to 
work  ;  but  I  should  like  you  just  to 
look  at  our  prospectus,  and  tell  me 
how  it  reads.  You  do  not  happen 
to  be  anything  of  a  literary  man,  I 
suppose  ? " 

"  I  have  tried  my  hand  in  a  small 
way,"  Frank  guardedly  answered. 

"  That's  fortunate,  for  I  am  ter- 
ribly overworked  ;  and  as  for  Wig- 
gins, the  only  director  who  gives 
us  much  of  his  time,  his  heart  is 
in  the  right  place,  but  English  com- 
position is  not  his  forte." 

"  I  see  it  is  not,"  said  Frank, 
glancing  at  the  prospectus,  "  for  he 
cannot  make  up  his  mind  whether 
company  is  singular  or  plural,  and  he 
spells  '  limited '  with  two  wi's.  It's 
rather  a  long  document,  too — must 
I  go  through  it  all  ? " 

"  You  need  not  read  it  all  unless 
you  like,  but  I  should  be  glad  of 


your  opinion  of  the  first  paragraph 
or  so.  I  wrote  the  beginning  just 
to  strike  the  key-note,  as  it  were. 
I  let  Wiggins  add  all  those  details 
of  productiveness  of  the  soil,  prox- 
imity to  a  railway  station,  antici- 
pated dividend,  and  so  forth." 

Frank  reads — 

"This  company  is  not  a  mere 
commercial  enterprise,  set  on  foot 
by  speculators  anxious  to  amass  a 
fortune  at  the  expense  of  the  com- 
munity :  those  who  have  started  it 
have  been  moved  solely  by  a  desire 
to  raise  the  condition  of  the  toiling 
millions  of  Great  Britain.  They 
have  seen  with  sorrow  and  shame 
that  in  free  England  alone  are  the 
workers  of  the  soil  doomed  never  to 
enjoy  its  fruits.  They  ask  their 
countrymen,  Is  the  British  labourer 
so  degraded  a  being  that  he  cannot 
be  trusted  to  till  the  soil  on  which 
he  was  born  unless  his  daily  tale  of 
work  be  set  him,  as  though  he  were 
the  ox  he  drives?  Does  not  the 
experience  of  our  brothers  across 
the  water,  since  their  chains  were 
loosed  in  '89,  show  us  that  the  stal- 
wart owner  of  a  single  rood  is  as 
anxious  to  make  his  little  holding 
productive  as  the  languid  lordling, 
whose  thousand  ill-gotten  acres  yield 
a  reluctant  harvest  to  the  enforced 
labour  of  a  famishing  and  reckless 
Helotry?  At  least  let  the  experi- 
ment be  tried.  The  first  stroke  of 
the  peasant's  spade  upon  the  en- 
franchised soil  will  toll  the  knell  of 
our  feudal  nobility." 

"  I  like  that  paragraph  amazing- 
ly," said  Frank ; "  especially  that  bit 
about  the  lordling,  whatever  such  a 
creature  may  be  :  the  sentence  has 
a  splendid  ring  in  it,  though  a  fel- 
low is  obliged  to  stop  for  breath  in 
the  middle  :  but  I  don't  like  those 
two  fs  coming  together — let  us  call 
him  '  bedwarfed  and  sallow  :'  these 
adjectives  will  make  him  look  still 
more  contemptible." 

"  I  must  keep  '  languid/  in  spite 


1871.] 


Frank  MarsMll. — Part  I. 


151 


of  the  alliteration,"  answered  Wright. 
"  It  points  the  contrast,  you  see,  be- 
tween the  useless  cunxberer  of  the 
ground  and  his  energetic  successor." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Frank ;  "  now 
for  that  allusion  to  '89  :  olet  later- 
nam,  it  smacks  of  the  lantern  and 
the  guillotine." 

"  And  whose  fault  is  that  ? "  an- 
swered Wright.  "  If  you  see  in  that 
reference  an  appeal  to  physical  force, 
I  say  the  fault  is  theirs  who  lend  no 
ear  to  moral  suasion." 

"  You  know  best,"  said  Frank ; 
"  I  was  only  thinking  it  might  make 
the  shares  hang  in  the  market :  they 
are  not  likely  to  lantern  me  for  a 
landlord.  But  about  that  ox  which 
your  degraded  labourer  drives :  would 
not  he  be  more  in  character  if  we 
gave  him  a  horse  or  a  donkey,  like 
the  British  agriculturist  of  real  life  ? " 

"  You  will  really  pardon  me,  Mr 
Marshall,  if  I  venture  to  say  that 
your  criticism  is  somewhat  strained. 
I  mean  the  ox  to  be  the  poetical  type 
of  the  labouring  animal  :  I  should 
have  thought  this  was  sufficiently 
obvious." 

"  It  does  not  much  matter,"  said 
Frank  ;  "  but  the  bit  at  the  end 
really  does  stump  me  :  how  on  earth 
can  a  man  ring  a  bell  with  a  spade  ? 
Do  let  us  make  him  dig  the  grave  of 
our  territorial  aristocracy.  It  will 
be  all  the  same  to  the  parties  con- 
cerned, while  the  sentence  will  be 
just  as  good  a  mouthful,  and  the 
metaphor  will  be  ever  so  much 
neater." 

"Keally,  Mr  Marshall,"  said 
Wright,  "if  we  devote  so  much  time 


to  minute  verbal  criticism,  we  shall 
be  all  day  about  it.  I  almost  think 
I  will  ask  you  to  see  to  our  law  busi- 
ness at  once,  and  I  will  get  the  pros- 
pectus out  by  myself.  I  am  exceed- 
ingly obliged  to  you  for  your  valu- 
able suggestions,  which  shall  have 
every  attention." 

"  Just  as  you  like,"  answered 
Frank ;  "  what  shall  I  set  about 
doing  ?  " 

"  I  will  ask  you  to  see  Mr  Leary 
for  us  this  afternoon — the  gentleman 
who  is  selling  us  the  Watermead 
estate,  where  we  propose  to  com- 
mence operations.  A  noble-minded 
man  is  Mr  Leary  :  he  is  parting 
with  the  land  greatly  below  its 
value,  because  his  heart  is  with  us. 
I  am  sure  you  will  meet  him  in  the 
same  spirit,  and  that  you  will  not 
allow  any  of  the  narrow  technical 
difficulties  with  which,  as  I  am  in- 
.  formed,  our  unhappy  system  of  con- 
veyancing has  been  studiously  en- 
cumbered by  hereditary  landowners, 
to  interpose  any  delay." 

"  I  will  not  give  him  any  trouble 
which  I  can  help,"  said  Frank ; 
"  and  I  will  go  to  work  at  once. 
By  the  way,  has  anybody  seen  the 
place  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Wiggins  went  and  looked 
at  it ;  he  says  it's  worth  half  as  much 
again  as  what  we  are  to  give  :  in 
fact,  if  Leary  was  not  so  well  off,  I 
should  not  think  it  right  to  hold 
him  to  his  contract." 

Then  Frank  went  off  to  see  the 
vendor,  leaving  behind  him  a  very 
unfavourable  opinion  of  his  literary 
abilities. 


CHAPTER   II. SCRUPLES   OF   CONSCIENCE. 


On  the  same  morning  Wilson  arose 
with  the  feeling  that  there  was  some- 
thing on  his  mind.  This  was  not 
his  suit  for  the  hand  of  Miss  Clara 
Bluefold,  as  to  which  he  felt  no  mis- 
givings, in  spite  of  the  uneasiness 


which  he  had  professed  to  Frank  ; 
but  it  was  a  little  matter  partly 
occasioned  by  the  same.  It  will 
be  remembered  that  he  had  not 
thought  it  consistent  with  the  eti- 
quette of  the  bar  to  inform  Mr  Blue- 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  I. 


fold  of  the  real  state  of  his  affairs, 
and  that  he  had  consequently  gained 
the  reputation  of  a  rising  young 
barrister.  But  this  impression, 
howsoever  it  originated,  was  not 
confined  to  that  gentleman.  A  ru- 
mour to  the  same  effect  had  reached 
the  ears  of  the  Commissioners  for 
raising  and  paying  to  her  Majesty 
certain  duties  arising  out  of  trades 
and  professions ;  and  when  it  ap- 
peared that  Mr  Wilson  had  returned 
the  sum  of  £5  as  the  full  amount 
of  his  professional  earnings,  they 
felt  satisfied  that  there  must  be 
some  clerical  error.  This  they  pro- 
ceeded to  rectify  by  adding  two 
ciphers  to  the  figure  so  returned, 
and  by  informing  him  of  the  cor- 
rection they  had  made,  which  they 
trusted  would  meet  Avith  his  appro- 
val. Should  he  deem  the  correction 
in  any  way  unsatisfactory,  he  was 
invited  to  wait  upon  them  and  talk 
the  matter  over.  As  he  feared  that 
silence  would  give  consent,  he 
determined  to  avail  himself  of  the 
invitation ;  and  being  anxious  not 
to  keep  those  gentlemen  waiting, 
proceeded  to  the  trysting  -  place 
in  a  swift  hansom.  When  he 
neared  the  scene  of  action  he  be- 
came aware  of  a  number  of  indivi- 
duals of  discontented,  not  to  say 
malevolent,  aspect,  and  threatening 
demeanour,  whose  language  con- 
cerning the  constituted  authorities 
was  so  undutiful  that  he  feared  he 
had  stumbled  upon  a  Fenian  as- 
semblage met  to  carry  out  some 
sanguinary  scheme  of  "wild  jus- 
tice." Speedily,  however,  he  dis- 
covered that  the  dangerous-looking 
mob  was  composed  of  peaceable 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  mostly  of 
pure  Saxon  breed,  who  were  there 
on  the  same  errand  as  himself. 
They  were  loyal  ratepayers  last 
week,  but  now  their  wholesome 
hearts  were  turned  to  gall,  and 
they  set  as  little  store  by  the  proud 
privileges  of  a  Briton  as  did  the 


[Feb. 

American  colonists  after  the  reim- 
position  of  the  threepenny  tea-duty 
of  immortal  memory.  Wilson  was 
a  man  of  delicate  conscience  and 
great  experience  in  casuistry,  which 
constantly  led  to  his  being  consult- 
ed by  people  who  wanted  to  do 
something  wrong ;  and  as  the  Com- 
missioners had  judiciously  arranged 
to  keep  every  man  there  waiting 
for  an  hour  and  a  half,  he  had  an 
opportunity  of  amassing  materials 
for  an  appendix  to  his  essay  on 
Lying.  In  fact,  he  arrived  at  the 
painful  conviction  that  he  was  the 
only  man  there  whose  grounds  of 
appeal  were  not  at  once  frivolous 
and  immoral. 

After  a  weary  while  he  was  called 
into  the  presence,  to  the  consider- 
able relief  of  his  fellow-sufferers 
who  had  vainly  been  seeking  his 
sympathy.  The  public  will  be  glad 
to  know  what  took  place  within 
those  sacred  precincts,  for  report- 
ers, authors,  and  suchlike,  are  not 
often  invited  to  attend  :  and  it  is 
understood  that  the  members  of 
that  Yehmgericht  are  bound  to 
secresy  under  the  most  terrible 
penalties  which  the  heart  of  man 
can  conceive.  From  information 
we  have  received,  we  believe  that 
Wilson  was  politely  motioned  to 
a  seat  at  a  table,  round  which  sat 
an  amazing  quantity  of  old  gentle- 
men, and  that  the  oldest  and  baldest 
began — 

"  You  have  been  assessed  in  the 
sum  of  £500,  Mr  Wilson,  and  you 
have  appealed  ;  what  is  the  precise 
amount  of  your  yearly  profits  1 " 

"Five  pounds." 

"  You  are  ready  to  make  oath  to 
the  truth  of  that  statement  1 " 

"lam." 

"  Your  appeal  is  allowed  —  we 
will  trouble  you  no  further :  good 
morning  : "  and  all  was  over,  and 
on  he  went  to  his  briefless  cham- 
bers pondering  on  the  stupidity  of 
officials  who  mil  take  a  man's 


1871.] 

word,  but  will  not  believe  what  he 
.sets  his  hand  to.  But  there  sat 
•one  at  that  table  of  whom  he  wotted 
not — Mr  James  Moneybags,  brother 
to  the  sainted  mamma  of  Miss  Clara 
Bluefold. 

A  sad  and  thoughtful  man  was 
that  same  Mr  Moneybags,  as  he 
hobbled  away  westwards  to  dress 
for  dinner  at  his  brother-in-law's, 
gloomily  brooding  as  he  went  on 
the  terrible  discovery  he  had  made. 
Here  was  his  niece,  his  clever  little 
Clara,  the  only  one  of  those  Blue- 
folds  he  could  look  at  with  pa- 
tience, on  the  point  of  throwing 
herself  away  on  a  mere  adventurer, 
~\vho  was  passing  himself  off  for  a 
rising  man.  He  had  never  much 
liked  the  fellow  himself :  he  was 
for  ever  laying  down  the  laAv  and 
-contradicting  Mr  Moneybags  —  a 
line  of  conduct  to  which  that  old 
.gentleman  was  very  little  accus- 
tomed ;  least  of  all  in  the  house 
•of  the  Bluefolds,  who  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  listening  to  his  opin- 
ions on  morals,  politics,  and  reli- 
gion, with  the  reverence  due  to 
age,  wealth,  and  single-blessedness. 
From  this  point  of  view  there  was 
something  not  unpleasing  to  him  in 
the  prospect  of  being  able  to  un- 
mask the  impostor,  and  to  resume 
his  own  rightful  supremacy.  He 
'did  not  believe  Clara  could  possibly 
care  much  for  the  pompous  pre- 
tender. All  these  hard  terms  he 
bestowed  on  our  excellent  friend 
Wilson  as  he  discoursed  with  him- 
;self.  As  he  reflected  on  Wilson's 
.approaching  humiliation,  his  sorrow 
melted  away  altogether  into  a  senti- 
ment compounded  of  exultation  and 
pious  thankfulness ;  and  he  began 
to  regard  his  own  presence  that 
•day  to  hear  the  appeals  as  little 
less  than  a  providence.  Then  he 
began  to  construct  a  little  drama : 
he  would  be  specially  affable  at 
•dinner  to  throw  the  enemy  off  his 
.•guard,  and  would  ask  him  about 


Frank  Marshall.— Part  I. 


153 


the  leading  juniors,  and  whether  he 
was  not  thinking  of  taking  silk 
shortly  ;  and  Wilson  would  answer, 
just  as  the  knave  had  done  in  times 
past :  "  There  are  a  good  many  men 
before  me,  Mr  Moneybags ;  it  would 
scarcely  be  wise  just  yet,  my  work 
takes  me  so  little  into  Court;" — 
and  after  he  had  given  him  plenty 
of  rope  he  would  tell  the  company 
what  had  happened  before  the  Com- 
missioners, and  ask  Wilson  what  he 
had  to  say  now.  "  I  wonder  what 
he  will  say,"  thought  the  old  gentle- 
man. But  of  a  sudden  the  blood 
rushed  to  his  head,  and  he  all  but 
carried  the  secret  to  his  grave. 
"  By  Jove  ! "  he  thought,  "  I  know 
what  he  will  say — :that  I  am  an  old 
scoundrel  for  revealing  what  be- 
came known  to  me  in  the  execution 
of  my  duty ;  and  he  will  say  the 
truth  too.  What  on  earth  is  to  be 
done?  If  I  hold  my  tongue,  that 
dear  little  tiling  will  go  marrying  a 
swindling  fellow  without  a  sixpence, 
who  lies  like  a  bulletin;  and  if  I 
give  her  a  hint,  why,  I  shall  be  as 
bad  as  he  is.  If  I  lay  some  trap 
for  him  it  will  be  all  the  same,  for 
I  must  not  tell  the  secrets  of  my 
prison-house  by  action  any  more 
than  by  words."  So  here  he  was 
"  atween  the  deil  and  the  deep  sea," 
and  the  longer  he  mused  on  the 
situation  the  less  he  liked  it. 

At  7.45  that  evening  the  rays  of 
the  setting  sun  illuminated  eight 
human  beings  assembled  round  the 
festive  board  of  Mr  Bluefold;  but 
the  banquet  certainly  did  not  pro- 
mise to  be  a  success,  for  four  or  live 
of  those  present  had  aggravating 
subjects  of  meditation.  Wilson's 
visit  to  the  Commissioners  had  put 
him.  thoroughly  out  of  sorts,  and  he 
showed  it  by  being  unusually  didac- 
tive.  Young  Charles  Bluefold,  of 
the  Alpine  and  Canoe  Clubs,  was 
to  start  next  evening  for  the  Fin- 
steraarhorn,  and  had  just  been  over- 
hauling his  equipments  ;  but  he 


154 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  I. 


could  not  conceal  from  himself  the 
fact  that  there  was  a  twist  in  the 
instep   of  that  new  boot  which  he 
had  had  constructed  in  conformity 
with  the  shape  of  the  human  foot. 
His  father — not  a  person  of  much 
account  at  home  or  elsewhere,  hut, 
nevertheless,   a    vertebrate    animal, 
susceptible  of  pain  when  purse  or 
person  was  assailed — was  musing  on 
the  iniquities  of  his  son  and  heir, 
whose  Oxford  career  had  just  reached 
an   inglorious   and   costly  termina- 
tion, and  was  wondering  whether  it 
might  not  be  as  well   to  try  and 
bleed   old   Moneybags   once    more. 
As  his  nephew  was  about  to  take 
holy  orders,  and  his  niece  was  on 
the  point  of  making  a  capital  match, 
here  was  a  good  opening  for  the  old 
Croesus  to  come  down  with  some- 
thing  handsome,   without    hurting 
the  family  dignity.     "  Why  should 
not  he  buy  Charles  a  living,  now 
•they  are  going  so  cheap  because  of 
the  Disestablishment  ?"  thought  the 
fond  father;    "and   he   cannot  do 
less  than  furnish  a  house  for  his  pet 
Clara."     That  young  person  herself 
was  not  quite   so   lively  as  usual. 
It  will  be  thought  that  her  maiden 
breast  was  agitated  by  thoughts  of 
the  proposal  which  loomed  in  the 
distance ;  but  it  was  not  so.     She 
was  reflecting  with  wonder  and  in- 
dignation upon  the  conduct  of  her 
parent,  who,   with  very  unwonted 
firmness,    had    refused   to   advance 
her  the  means  of  accompanying  her 
brother,  on  the  frivolous  pretence  of 
poverty.     To  do  her  justice,  she  had 
not  seen  the  Oxford  ticks,  or,  like  a 
good  little  woman,  she  would  have 
been  proposing  all  sorts  of  sacrifices, 
even  to  the  half  of  her  chignon.     So 
she  meant  to  have  her  own  way  yet, 
and  in  the  last  resort  to  appeal  to 
her  uncle,  of  whom  her  father  stood 
in   great   awe.      A  glance   at   that 
gentleman,  however,  convinced  her 
that  the  moment  was  unpropitious. 
Seldom  had  she   beheld   any  man 


[Feb.. 

whose   present   aspect   was   so   un- 
lovely as  that  of  Mr   Moneybags.. 
There  he  sat  in  grim  silence,  sur- 
veying the  company  with  a  baleful 
sneer.     The  poor  old  fellow  might 
have  sat  for  a  study  of  some  piti- 
less villain,  cursed  with  a  heart  un- 
knowing how  to  yield,   whose  sin 
had  found  him  out,  and  who  was 
now  a  prey  to  endless  and  unavail- 
ing remorse.     We  know  pretty  well 
what  he  was  thinking  about.     He 
had  lost  his  way  in  a  moral  laby- 
rinth, and  was  bound  to  find  his- 
way  out  that  very  night,  on  pain  of 
losing  for  ever  the  only  creature  on? 
earth   he   cared   about — the   sweet 
little  thing  at  the  top  of  the  table, 
who  was  wondering  all  the  while 
what  in  the  world  could  have  put 
her   uncle    into    such    a    dreadful 
temper.     Could  the  gout  have  got 
into  his  knee  1     If  so,  of  course  she 
would  not  think  of  the  glaciers,  but 
Avould   stop   in  town    and   do   his 
bandages.       He    was    apt    to    use 
strong    language    if    anybody    else- 
handled  him  under  those   circum- 
stances.    There  were  also  present  a, 
deaf  old  sister  of  Bluefold,  a  great 
admirer   of   Wilson,  and   her   two 
daughters,  who  adored  Clara,  were 
afraid    of    Wilson,    and     despised 
Charles  as  a  boy  and  a  cousin.    The 
talk  of  this  happy  family  was  Swissy 
at  first ;  and  Charles  recounted  the 
achievements  he  was  going  to  per- 
form, and  described  the  ingenious 
implements  with  which  he  was  going 
to  take  the  field.     Then  Wilson  cut 
in  and  explained  the  uselessness  of 
his  new  knapsack,  and  the  futility 
of  its   contents ;    pointed   out   the 
perilous    weakness    of    his    pocket 
alpenstock,   which  shut  up  with  a 
hinge  in  the  middle  like  a  parasol ;. 
and  concluded  with  some  very  just 
and   disagreeable   remarks    on    the 
folly  of  men    "and   boys,"   as   he 
pointedly   added,  "  who  risk  lives 
which  might  some  day  turn  out  to 
be  not  wholly  useless,  in  such  child- 


1871.]  F 

ish  sports."  Having  demolished 
Charley,  he  looked  across  the  table 
to  see  if  his  old  enemy  Moneybags 
was  disposed  to  argue  the  point ; 
biit  the  old  fellow  was  still  at  buffets 
with  himself,  and  had  no  power  to 
do  more  than  glare  grimly  at  him. 
"  Old  boy  looks  as  if  he  was  going 
to  have  a  stroke,"  thought  Wilson. 
"  Wonder  if  he  has  made  his  will." 

Then  there  was  a  short  silence. 
Charley  was  sulking ;  old  Bluefold 
was  speculating  whether  it  would 
be  safe  to  tell  Moneybags  about 
his  son's  debts  •with  a  view  to  a 
loan,  or  whether  it  might  not  pro- 
voke him  to  leave  his  money  to  the 
other  side  of  the  hoiise.  That  gen- 
tleman was  so  wrapt  in  his  medita- 
tions that,  wholly  regardless  of  his 
besetting  infirmities,  he  devoured 
anything  and  everything  which  was 
set  before  him  with  so  unamiable 
a  countenance  that  Clara  was  abso- 
lutely afraid  to  interfere.  So  Wilson 
had  to  take  up  the  ball  again. 

"  Most  of  you  Alpine  fellows  are 
clergymen,  too,  who  ought  to  know 
better.  If  you  must  have  your 
nerves  braced  by  danger  and  thin 
air,  why  don't  you  do  it  for  some 
sensible  purpose?  You  might  go 
to  New  Zealand  and  discover  short 
cuts  to  circumvent  the  Maories." 

"  We  leave  that  to  the  members  of 
the  Devil's  Own,"  retorted  Charles, 
"who  get  a  thousand  a -year  for 
six  months'  work :  a  poor  parson's 
three  Sundays  would  not  take  him 
far  towards  the  antipodes.  There's 
nothing  I  should  like  better  myself, 
but  some  folks  grudge  us  a  Cook's 
ticket  to  Geneva :" — with  that  he 
glanced  sourly  at  the  author  of  his 
being. 

"  You  would  be  a  deal  better  em- 
ployed at  home,  Master  Charles," 
observed  that  much -enduring  per- 
sonage, "  reading  up  for  the  Bishop, 
than  everlastingly  rushing  hither 
and  thither,  risking  your  neck  and 
wasting  my  money.  As  for  New 


M«f«J<all.—Pai-t  I. 


Zealand,  they  say  that's  going  to  be 
a  state  of  the  Union,  now  there's  no- 
more  to  be  got  out  of  us  ;  and  the 
sooner  the  better,  say  I." 

This  roused  Moneybags  from  his 
torpid  state,  for  he  was  a  genuine 
old  John  Bull. 

"  The  colonists  have  had  con- 
foundedly hard  usage,"  he  cried, 
"  but  they  are  honest  Englishmen, 
not  the  drainings  of  creation,  like 
the  Yankees;  and  they  will  stick 
by  the  old  flag,  although  we  show 
them  only  the  wrong  side  of  it." 

"  I  fear,  my  dear  Mr  Moneybags," 
began  Wilson,  very  sweetly,  de- 
lighted at  the  prospect  of  encoun- 
tering a  foeman  worthy  of  his  steel, 
on  ground  which  he  considered 
peculiarly  his  own,  "I  fear  that 
you  take  too  favourable  a  view  of 
human  nature.  Depend  upon  it, 
with  man  in  general,  sentiment  is 
wholly  subordinate  to  financial  con- 
siderations." 

"  It  is  with  some  fellows,  I 
know,"  jerked  Moneybags,  under- 
lining the  remark  in  quite  a  per- 
sonal manner. 

"  Depend  upon  it,  my  dear  sir," 
went  on  Wilson,  quoting  from  the 
introduction  to  his  aforesaid  work 
on  our  Colonial  Empire,  "if  the 
colonists  discover  that  they  can  re- 
duce their  import  duties  2  per  cent 
by  joining  the  States,  they  will 
hoist  the  stars  and  stripes  to-mor- 
row. Why,  this  very  morning  I 
saw  a  number  of  people  who  thought 
they  had  met  with  sharp  practice 
from  a  Government  Department, 
talking  language  fit  for  a  mob  of 
Fenians." 

"  Has  Mr  Wilson  met  a  mob  of 
Fenians  to-day  in  the  streets  of 
London1?"  asked  the  deaf  aunt. 
"  Good  gracious  !  why  does  not  the 
Government  do  something?  they 
would  have  been  hanged,  every 
man  of  them,  when  I  was  a  girl." 

"Too  many  for  that,  aunt," 
shouted  Charley;  "Calcraft  has 


156 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  I. 


grown  so  rusty  lie  could  never  get 
through  it  all.  He  would  have  to 
put  on  two  or  three  devOs,  and 
then  the  work  would  be  bungled, 
and  we  should  have  complaints. 
We  ought  to  shoot  our  treason- 
felons.  We  might  turn  them  to  ac- 
count by  sending  two  or  three  score 
of  them  to  Wimbledon  next  week 
for  the  benefit  of  the  Volunteers; 
they  might  be  tied  up  at  300  yards, 
and  allowed  to  dodge.  After  ten 
shots  the  live  target  might  be  allowed 
to  walk  off,  what  was  left  of  it.  It 
would  be  much  more  improving  to 
the  riflemen  than  shooting  at  the 
running  deer,  and  would  give  an 
air  of  reality  to  the  whole  perform- 
ance. The  Paddies  would  like  it 
better  than  being  hanged,  and  less 
guilty  criminals  might  be  made  to 
carry  sawdust  to  the  fatal  spot,  and 
to  shovel  up  and  carry  away  the 
heads,  fingers,  and  other  refuse  mat- 
ter." 

"  My  dear  Charles,"  cried  out  the 
old  lady,  "  pray  do  not  say  such 
shocking  things :  they  tell  me  it  is 
quite  wicked  now  to  take  pleasure 
in  the  death  of  a  fox ;  and  yet  you 
are  proposing  to  make  the  agonies 
of  your  fellow-Christians  a  source 
of  amusement.  And  then  your  sug- 
gestion to  make  these  misguided 
men  stand  by  to  see  the  death  and 
mutilation  of  their  friends  is  the 
most  dreadful  thing  I  ever  heard." 

"  Do  let  xis  talk  of  something 
else,"  said  Clara;  "  the  boy  is  only 
laughing  at  you,  as  usual,  auntie: 
he  rather  likes  the  Fenians  " — but 
her  voice  was  lost  in  the  grave  ar- 
gument of  Wilson,  who  had  scented 
a  fallacy,  and  was  down  upon  it  in 
a  moment. 

"The  cases  are  hardly  parallel, 
my  dear  madam,"  he  said;  "the 
fox  does  not  like  to  be  hunted,  and 
nobody  thinks  of  consulting  his 
wishes.  If  we  were  to  do  as  your 
nephew  suggests  out  of  mere  wan- 
tonness, we  should  be  a  disgrace  to 
the  nineteenth  century,  and  as  bad 


[Feb. 

as  the  Pope  makes  us  out;  but 
Charles  has  supposed  these  wretched 
men  to  be  willing  to  submit  to  the 
experiment ;  and  in  that  case,  what- 
ever may  be  the  policy  of  execu- 
tions on  so  large  a  scale,  I  cannot 
for  the  life  of  me  see  what  objec- 
tion on  the  score  of  inhumanity 
can  be  made  to  this  particular 
method:  volcnti  non fit  injuria" 

"Construe  that  bit  of  Greek, 
please,  for  the  benefit  of  this  end 
of  the  table,"  holloaed  Charles. 

"  I  mean,"  replied  Wilson,  al- 
ways happy  to  instruct,  "that  no 
man  can  ever  complain  of  the  vio- 
lation of  any  law,  however  sacred 
that  law  may  be,  if  he  has  himself 
consented  to  waive  his  right  to  its 
protection.  What  is  old  Money- 
bags grinning  at?"  he  went  on, 
sotto  voce;  "it  is  my  belief  that 
fourth  glass  has  been  too  many  for 
him.  He  does  not  drink  fair.  When 
he  comes  to  dine  with  Clara  and 
me  next  year,  if  he  lasts  so  long, 
he  shall  not  keep  that  little  flask  of 
brown  sherry  at  his  elbow;  I  will 
make  him  stick  to  claret.  It  is 
pitiable  to  see  a  man  at  his  time  of 
life  so  forgetting  himself." 

A  singular  change  had  indeed 
come  over  the  old  gentleman's  face: 
Wilson's  last  words  had  suggested 
to  him  a  way  out  of  the  maze  of 
doubts  in  which  he  had  been  wan- 
dering; and  the  gloom  which  arose 
from  a  troubled  conscience  had  been 
replaced  by  the  serenity  of  a  mind 
at  peace  with  itself.  But  of  course 
nobody  else  could  guess  what  he 
was  chuckling  at ;  and  even  Clara 
began  to  fear  that  he  had  had  quite 
enough.  So  up  she  got ; — "  I  have 
retouched  that  sketch,  Mr  Wilson," 
she  said,  "  which  you  told  me  was 
out  of  drawing  ;  you  shall  tell  me 
what  you  think  of  it  now,  as  soon 
as  you  come  up-stairs  :  mind  you  do 
not  keep  me  waiting.  Do  not  you 
be  long,  uncle  ;  I  have  got  a  little 
plot  to  consult  you  about;" — and 
the  ladies  vanished,  and  the  thinned 


1871.] 

ranks  of  the  survivors  fell  in  to  the 
centre. 

Then  old  Moneybags  set  to  work. 
"You  quite  startled  my  sister-in- 
law  just  now,  Mr  Wilson;  her 
hearing  is  not  so  good  as  it  was, 
and  she  gets  nervous,  poor  soul,  if 
you  but  talk  of  a  Fenian.  But, 
joking  apart,  we  have  not  seen  the 
end  of  these  disturbances  yet;  it  is 
my  belief  the  priests  are  at  the  bot- 
tom of  this  bad  feeling." 

"  I  hardly  agree  with  you,"  an- 
swered Wilson:  "the  Church  of 
Eome  has  always  set  its  face  against 
secret  societies,  and  this  organisa- 
tion has  frequently  been  denounced 
by  the  bishops  in  strong  language." 

"  That's  a  matter  of  course,"  said 
the  old  man:  "it  would  never  do 
for  an  Ultramontane  openly  to  back 
up  rebellion  and  nationality.  But 
they  do  what  they  can  for  it  on  the 
sly.  Why  didn't  they  make  those 
Manchester  murderers  confess  be- 
fore they  gave  them  absolution? 
Does  any  man  in  his  senses  doubt 
that  the  miscreants  were  shriven  as 
clean  as  the  priest  could  make  them 
before  they  committed  the  outrage  1 
A  terrible  position  it  must  be,  that 
of  a  Eoman  Catholic  priest  who 
hears,  in  confession,  of  some  wrong 
which  is  about  to  be  done !  I  sup- 
pose he  cannot  help  himself,  but  is 
obliged  to  hold  his  tongue,  and  see 
a  crime  perpetrated  which  he  could 
prevent  with  a  word." 

"  Of  course  he  must  be  silent," 
put  in  Charley,  who  was  slightly 
Ritualistic;  "any  clergyman  of  the 
Church  of  England  may  find  him- 
self in  the  same  difficulty  to-mor- 
row. As  soon  as  the  penitent  leaves 
my  confessional,  all  he  has  spoken 
will  be  to  me  as  if  it  had  never 
been  uttered." 

"  Idiots  these  young  fellows  are," 
thought  his  father;  "does  not  he 
know  how  Moneybags  hates  this 
sort  of  thing?  why  could  not  he 
wait  till  he  had  got  the  living?" 
.But  before  he  could  say  anything  to 


.Frank  Marshall, — Part  I. 


157 


efface  the  unfavourable  impression 
Wilson  was  off  again. 

"  I  believe,"  he  said,  "  some  such 
doctrine  is  prevalent  at  the  present 
day  among  extreme  supporters  of 
the  dignity  of  the  priesthood;  but 
it  is  a  notion  alike  contrary  to 
Christian  morality  and  to  the  teach- 
ing of  the  most  learned  of  the 
schoolmen." 

"  How  do  you  make  out  that  ? " 
cried  Charley.  "Thomas  Aquinas 


"  We  do  not  want  your  old-world 
trash  here,  Master  Charley,"  inter- 
rupted his  uncle,  with  much  heat, 
afraid  the  fish  he  was  landing  would 
be  scared  away.  "  You  were  saying, 
Mr  Wilson " 

"I  hold,"  pursued  that  gentle- 
man, "that  the  duty  of  keeping  a 
secret  is  one  of  imperfect  obliga- 
tion; and  all  who  intrust  damaging 
secrets  to  priests  or  others  must  be 
taken  to  do  so  with  the  knowledge 
that  circumstances  may  arise  when 
they  must  be  divulged.  It  is  in 
most  cases  desirable  that  a  promise 
of  secrecy  should,  like  all  other  pro- 
mises, be  kept.  But  there  are  fre- 
quent exceptions;  and  every  man 
must  decide  for  himself  whether 
holding  his  tongue  will  do  more 
good  or  harm  in  any  particular 
case." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  your  doc- 
trine is  not  rather  too  elastic  for 
most  of  us,"  said  Moneybags;  "but 
let  us  put  a  particular  case:  Sup- 
pose you  told  me  a  secret  about 
yourself,  and  I  found  that  some- 
body else  would  be  terribly  injured 
if  I  kept  it,  I  suppose  you  would 
say  I  ought  to  tell  it?" 

"No  doubt  about  it,"  answered 
the  unconscious  Wilson;  "it  would 
be  your  bounden  duty,  or  you  would 
be  responsible  for  all  the  mischief 
which  might  result.  I  am  perfectly 
clear  on  the  point." 

Charley  would  fain  have  con- 
tinued the  argument,  but  his  uncle 
would  not  listen  for  a  moment. 


158 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  I. 


"  Any  more  wine,  Mr  Wilson  1 
then  let  us  go  and  have  some  tea. 
Just  stop  one  moment,  Mr  Wilson  ; 
we  will  follow  you,  Bluefold.  That 
argument  of  yours  was  very  neat  • 
it  has  convinced  me,  at  any  rate.  I 
don't  mind  saying  you  are  a  deuced 
clever  fellow,  but  just  take  a  fool's 
advice :  don't  spend  so  much  of 
your  time  correcting  young  ladies' 
sketches  ;  it  really  is  not  worth  the 
while.  There  is  nothing  like  stick- 
ing to  your  trade.  The  law  is  a 
jealous  mistress,  they  say,  and  if 
you  give  her  a  little  more  of  your 
attention,  you  will  be  able  to  show 
the  Commissioners  a  better  balance- 
sheet  next  year — I  am  one  of  them, 
you  know.  Shall  I  say  good-night 
for  you  ?  It  would  be  hardly  fair 
of  me  to  tell  the  folks  up -stairs 
where  we  met  this  morning,  though 
you  seem  to  think  that  I  ought, 
and  volenti  non  fit  injuria" 

11  Mr  Moneybags,"  replied  the 
undaunted  Wilson,  "  I  suppose  no 
man  likes  gossip  about  his  private 
affairs,  but  I  am  at  a  loss  to  im- 
agine why  you  should  think  I  have 
any  special  reason  for  concealing 
anything  from  my  good  friend  Mr 
Bluefold.  And  if,  as  you  almost 
imply,  you  think  niy  reticence  is 
due  to  any  unworthy  motive,  I 
must  say  I  have  not  deserved  this 
harsh  construction.  And  now,  as  it 
is  really  growing  late,  I  will  wish 
you  a  very  good  evening." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  don't  think 
a  bit  the  worse  of  you :  all's  fair 
in  love  and  war,  but  a  bon  chat, 
bon  rat;  a  cor sa ire,  corsaire  et 
demi.  I  shall  always  be  glad  to 
see  you  at  my  little  place  in  Port- 
man  Square  all  the  same." 

"  He  is  gone  off  quite  pleasantly, 
like  a  sensible  fellow,"  said  the  tri- 
umphant old  boy  to  himself  as  he 
toddled  up-stairs.  "  I  must  take 
care  he  does  not  try  it  on  again, 
though,  as  soon  as  my  back  is  turn- 
ed :  better  get  Clara  out  of  the  way 


[Feb. 

somewhere  for  a  bit."  Then  he 
went  and  sat  down  by  the  tea-table, 

"  Our  young  friend  Wilson,"  he 
began,  "  complains  of  a  slight  head- 
ache. Men  do  work  themselves  to 
death  nowadays,  burning  the  candle 
at  both  ends ;  and  you  are  not  half 
the  girl  you  were  when  you  came  to 
town  :  you  want  country  air." 

"  Here's  an  opening,"  thought 
that  young  woman.  "I  do  not 
feel  quite  as  strong  as  I  did  in  the 
spring,"  she  said  with  an  air  of 
saint-like  resignation  ;  "  but  I  do 
not  think  there's  anything  really 
wrong  with  me.  Charley  did  want 
me  to  go  with  him  to  Switzerland, 
which  would  quite  set  me  up " 
(Oh,  Clara !  do  not  you  remember 
how  unfavourably  that  young  man 
received  the  offer  of  your  sisterly 
company1?) — "but  as  papa  says  it 
is  out  of  the  question,  I  shall  try 
long  walks  before  breakfast  to  High- 
gate." 

"I  will  talk  to  Bluefold,"  said 
her  uncle ;  and  he  did.  What  he 
said  is  unknown ;  but  Mr  and  Miss 
Bluefold  purchased  first-class  tickets 
from  Charing  Cross  to  Paris  the 
next  evening. 

As  some  readers  may  think 
Clara's  bosom  contained  a  heart  of 
stone,  because  she  went  off  rejoicing 
to  the  mountains  and  left  a  lover 
behind  her,  it  may  be  as  well  to 
mention  that  her  uncle  had  been 
disquieting  himself  in  vain,  for  she 
had  never  felt  herself  to  be  worthy 
of  a  man  who  was  so  much  wiser 
than  his  neighbours,  and  so  well 
aware  of  the  fact.  She  was  a  little 
disappointed,  though,  at  not  seeing 
him  in  the  drawing-room  after  din- 
ner :  she  had  meant  to  ask  what 
had  become  of  that  amusing  friend 
of  his  who  had  made  the  Ascot 
party  go  off  so  successfully  ;  and  if 
she  got  a  very  good  opening,  to  sug- 
gest that  he  might,  without  indis- 
cretion, be  brought  to  lunch  somo 
Sunday. 


J871.] 


Frank  MardiaU. — Part  I. 


159 


CHAPTER    III. A    CAMPAIGN    IN    THE    ALPS. 


Schwarzloch  is  a  minute  village 
in  a  lonely  valley  in  Switzerland, 
and  lies  out  of  the  ordinary  track 
of  tourists.  On  the  east  and  west 
it  is  easily  got  at  over  beautiful 
green  hills  of  moderate  height, 
which  present  no  difficulty  what- 
ever, and  which  are,  consequently, 
wholly  unknown  to  the  travelling 
public.  From  the  north,  invalids, 
old  ladies,  and  gentlemen  void  of 
self-respect,  can  approach  it  by  a 
carriage  -  road ;  but  the  legitimate 
entrance  is  from  the  south,  where 
the  valley  is  blocked  up  by  a  wall 
of  granite  slightly  more  than  per- 
pendicular. In  this  a  groove  has 
been  cunningly  wrought,  designed 
apparently  for  the  convenience  of 
reckless  goats.  As  this  route  leads 
up  into  boggy  wastes  of  singularly 
unlovely  aspect,  then  traverses  cer- 
tain wooden  water-courses  not  very 
securely  pinned  to  the  side  of  a 
precipice  of  1000  feet,  and  lands 
a  well -girded  man,  after  thirteen 
hours'  hard  walking,  in  a  valley 
renowned  for  the  size  of  its  horse- 
flies, it  is  rather  a  favourite  with 
the  members  of  that  ascetic  com- 
munity known  as  the  Alpine  Club. 
The  village  of  Schwarzloch  con- 
sists of  a  dozen  chalets,  and  of  one 
enormous  hotel,  built  in  a  magni- 
ficent situation  to  tempt  people  to 
avail  themselves  of  a  foul  sulphur- 
spring,  the  scent  of  which  poisons 
the  house.  There  is  very  seldom 
anybody  here,  and  when  Mr  Mat- 
thew Marshall  arrived  to  lay  him 
down  to  die,  he  had  the  place  vir- 
tually to  himself,  and  was  a  good 
deal  made  of  accordingly.  He  made 
out  a  few  days  pleasantly  enough : 
the  care  of  his  body  accounted  for 
a  good  deal  of  his  time ;  and  the 
rest  he  spent  in  preparing  notes  for 
an  essay  on  the  "Dangerous  Re- 
sults of  the  Limited  Liability  Act," 


which  he  had  sent  to  the  editor  of 
the  '  Mercantile  Review '  shortly  be- 
fore he  started,  with  instructions  to 
the  editor  to  forward  the  proof  to 
Schwarzloch.  Mr  Matthew  was  far 
from  a  society  man  :  no  man  was 
less  partial  to  greetings  in  the  mar- 
ket-place ;  and  it  was  as  good  as  a 
sermon  to  hear  him  rebuking  the 
little  social  ambitions  of  his  frivo- 
lous nephew.  But  after  a  few  days 
spent  in  this  fetid  paradise  he  be- 
gan to  think  of  Rotten  Row  with 
less  than  his  usual  bitterness.  No- 
body in  the  place  spoke  anything 
but  Swiss ;  the  post  came  in  twice 
a -week;  a  portmanteau  containing 
the  big  blue  -  book  in  which  he 
trusted  to  supply  him  with  statis- 
tics had  miscarried  at  the  frontier ; 
there  was  nobody  to  tell  him  what 
he  ought  to  pay  the  doctor ;  the 
hotel  bills,  which  he  audited  every 
day,  bristled  with  audacious  frauds ; 
and  an  inflammation  had  appeared 
on  his  left  ankle,  which  kept  him 
a  prisoner  to  the  house.  This  he 
attributed  to  the  deleterious  char- 
acter of  the  wine;  but  the  land- 
lord gave  him  to  understand  by 
signs  that  it  was  the  wholesome 
working  of  the  sulphur-water. 

On  the  sixth  afternoon  he  sat 
sadly  in  the  window  of  the  huge 
empty  dining-room,  polishing  and 
recasting  a  note  in  which  he  be- 
wailed the  growing  tendency  on  the 
part  of  young  men  of  family  to 
engage  in  trade — a  tendency  which 
lie  traced  to  the  facilities  afforded 
by  joint-stock  companies — when  he 
became  aware  of  a  caravan  of  five 
persons  descending  the  green  slopes 
which  bounded  the  valley  on  the 
west.  The  two  first  were  our  friends 
Charles  and  Clara  Bluefold ;  then 
followed  Heinrich  Baur,  [stepping 
nimbly  along  under  Clara's  bag- 
gage, which  was  contained  in  a 


160 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  I. 


compact  leathern  portmanteau  of 
less  than  fifteen  pounds  avoirdu- 
pois. Charles  weighed  it  with  his 
own  hands  in  Bryanstone  Square, 
while  the  cab  was  at  the  door ;  and, 
deaf  to  all  entreaties,  threw  over- 
board a  pot  of  pomatum  and  a 
Church  Service  to  bring  it  down 
to  the  regulation  weight.  Far  in 
the  distance  tottered  Johann  Enge- 
brust,  and  UK  Kurzbein,  staggering 
beneath  her  brother's  manifold 
equipments. 

The  old  man  did  not  meet  the 
new-comers  till  dinner,  and  then  he 
fell  a -talking  Math  the  eagerness  of 
a  man  whose  tongue  has  long  had  a 
holiday. 

"  I  hope  the  lady  is  not  tired  with 
her  walk,  sir  1 " 

"  Tired  ! ! ! "  answered  Charles, 
indignantly,  as  if  his  sister  had 
been  charged  with  light  conversa- 
tion ;  "  why,  it  is  an  easy  five 
hours.  I  wanted  to  come  over  the 
Hollenthur"  (the  aforesaid  goat- 
track)  ;  "  but  perhaps  that  would 
have  been  rather  stiff  for  my  sister 
the  first  day,  —  and  then  I  got  a 
capital  side  view  this  afternoon  of 
the  Teufelskralle,  which  I  am  go- 
ing to  try  to-morrow.  Ball  says  it 
is  not  to  be  done ;  but  I  think  I 
made  it  out  with  the  glass,  so  I  do 
not  call  this  a  lost  day." 

"I  shall  never  forget  the  walk 
of  to-day  as  long  as  I  live,"  said 
Clara ;  "  I  never  could  have  ima- 
gined anything  half  so  lovely  as 
those  granite  needles  specked  with 
snow,  rising  behind  the  pine-for- 
est." 

"  It  was  ice,  Clara,"  pityingly 
observed  her  experienced  brother. 
"  But  I  wish  you  had  not  stopped 
to  draw  it ;  we  should  have  done 
the  pass  in  four  hours  and  a  quar- 
ter, and  that  muff  Murray  calls  it 
six." 

"  May  I  ask  to  see  your  drawings 
presently  ]  "  said  Matthew  ;  "  it  is 
a  treat  to  a  poor  old  cripple  to  see 


[Feb. 

what  the  mountains  are  like  which 
he  cannot  get  up  to." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  show  you 
all  I  have  done,"  she  answered  ;  and 
the  album  came  out,  and  the  couple 
passed  a  very  pleasant  evening  in- 
deed. Matthew  was  as  appreciative 
as  could  be  desired,  and  Clara  re- 
warded him  by  producing  a  pirat- 
ed edition  of  Anthony  Trollope ; 
and  the  old  man,  who  was  no  trav- 
eller, was  amazed  and  delighted 
at  the  discovery  that  the  profits  of 
authors  might  be  done  away  with 
by  a  careful  man.  Charley  was  not 
seen  much  of  that  evening  ;  but  his 
voice  was  heard  in  anxious  consul- 
tation with  Heinrich  Baur  and  the 
landlord.  The  result  of  the  con- 
ference was,  that  he  started  next 
morning  at  1.30  A.M.  to  scale  the 
Teufelskralle,  preceded  by  his  three 
guides,  and  followed  by  the  greater 
part  of  the  adult  male  population 
of  the  valley,  having  all  the  external 
appearance  of  an  expedition  intend- 
ed for  the  final  discovery  of  the 
North  Pole. 

Matthew  took  'Barchester  Towers' 
to  bed  with  him,  for  he  did  not 
know  how  long  he  would  be  al- 
lowed to  keep  it,  and  did  not  show 
in  public  before  eleven  next  morn- 
ing. He  found  Clara  in  possession 
of  the  one  sofa,  and  confessing  to  a 
little  fatigue,  now  her  brother  was 
out  of  hearing,  and  very  glad  of 
somebody  to  talk  to. 

"  You  must  come  and  lie  down, 
Mr  Marshall,"  she  said,  "  for  I  see 
you  are  quite  lame,  and  I  have  got 
the  only  comfortable  place." 

"Do  not  stir,  my  dear  young 
lady — do  not  stir,  I  beg  :  I  have 
just  drunk  my  three  tumblers,  and 
Herr  Eossenarzt  says  I  must  walk 
for  half  an  hour  afterwards.  I 
used  to  stroll  to  the  church,  and 
back ;  but,  since  my  ankle  has 
been  bad,  I  take  a  turn  up  and 
down  this  room  as  well  as  I  can." 

"I  should  not  think  moving  about 


1871.] 

was  the  right  thing  for  a  bad 
ankle,"  said  Clara,  who  was  always 
with  old  Moneybags  when  he  was 
laid  up,  and  was  considered  in  the 
family  little  inferior  to  Miss  Night- 
ingale. "  You  should  use  cold 
fomentations,  and  keep  it  perfectly 
still." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  know 
Eossenarzt  is  an  ass,  and  I  am  get- 
ting worse  every  day  ;  but  how  am 
I  to  foment  my  ankle  when  I  can 
hardly  stoop  to  put  on  my  slipper  1 
I  must  let  him  kill  me  his  own 
waj." 

"  Do  let  me  run  for  a  jug  of  water, 
and  try  my  prescription.  There's 
a  stream  of  iced  water  outside  the 
door.  I  am  quite  accustomed  to 
the  charge  of  invalids  ;  and  then 
you  come  and  lie  down  here  till 
lunch  time.  This  is  not  the  doc- 
tor's day,  and  he  will  not  find  it 
out." 

He  was  wholly  unused  to  be 
waited  upon  by  young  ladies,  and 
was  rather  alarmed,  but  "  for  a' 
that  he  could  do  or  say,  she  wad'na 
be  gainsaid : "  so  she  showered, 
and  sponged,  and  bandaged  him  to 
her  heart's  content,  and  established 
him  on  the  sofa,  and  made  him  ad- 
mit he  was  very  comfortable. 

After  this  they  became  quite 
confidential,  and  she  brought  out 
all  her  light  literature,  and  said 
she  would  leave  it  behind  to  com- 
fort him  in  his  solitude  ;  and  he 
read  her  some  of  the  notes  upon 
his  essay,  heard  her  criticisms  with 
great  complacency,  and  promised 
to  show  her  the  paper  itself  if  she 
could  wait  a  day  or  two.  He  even 
hinted  at  getting  her  to  correct  the 
proofs  if  anything  should  happen 
to  him  before  they  arrived.  This, 
however,  she  was  obliged  to  de- 
cline, as  they  were  to  leave  by  the 
Hollenthur  next  day.  But  their 
acquaintance  was  not  doomed  to  so 
speedy  a  termination.  The  expe- 
dition Avhich  had  taken  the  field 


Murdinll — Part  I. 


1G1 


that  morning  was  expected  to  make 
a  triumphant  re-entry  about  seven 
or  eight ;  but  towards  five  o'clock 
a  gloomy  feeling  that  all  was  not 
as  it  should  be  began  to  pervade 
the  community.  Then  stragglers, 
such  as  herald  a  disastrous  defeat, 
came  dropping  in ;  and,  finally,  the 
main  body  appeared  with  clothes 
rent,  and  earth  on  every  part  of 
their  persons.  Their  countenances 
were  sullen  and  dejected,  as  those 
of  men  who  flee  away  in  battle  ; 
and  as  a  theodolite  and  a  baro- 
meter remained  at  the  bottom  of 
a  crevasse,  their  baggage  may  be 
said  to  have  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  the  enemy.  Not  loss  only,  but 
shame  had  befallen  them  ;  they  had 
crossed  the  lower  moraine  with  un- 
precedented rapidity,  and  were  noAV 
going  over  the  second  glacier  at  a 
pace  which  has  no  recorded  equal, 
when  Charley's  jointed  alpenstock, 
which  he  loved  as  his  own  soul, 
snapped  asunder  in  the  midst,  and 
sent  him  into  a  crevasse,  which  was 
happily  half  full  of  water.  Hard 
work  they  had  to  get  him  out,  par- 
mulct  non  bene  relictd,  and  harder 
still  to  make  him  turn  back  when 
he  was  out ;  but  Baur,  though  a 
professional  guide,  was  not  without 
brains.  Charley  declared  he  was 
fresher  than  when  he  started ;  but 
Clara  now  assumed  her  proper  place 
as  elder  sister,  and  not  only  put 
him  to  bed  then  and  there,  but  de- 
clared it  to  be  her  will  and  pleasure 
to  keep  him  in  it  till  Eossenarzt 
had  seen  him  next  day.  That  gen- 
tleman trusted  there  was  nothing 
serious  the  matter,  but  could  not 
answer  for  the  consequences  if  the 
invalid  stirred  from  the  house  for 
a  week  ;  meanwhile  he  promised  to 
come  and  see  him  daily. 

A  joyful  man  was  old  Matthew 
when  he  heard  of  the  accident,  and 
found  that  he  was  to  have  com- 
pany for  a  week  at  least.  Whether 
it  was  caused  by  the  exuberance  of 


162 


Frank  Marshall.— Part  I. 


his  delight,  or  by  the  cold  fomenta- 
tions, is  not  clear ;  but  certain  it 
is,  that  he  felt  strong  enough  about 
noon  to  take  his  usual  walk  as  far 
as  the  church.  On  his  return  he 
was  met  by  Clara. 

"  Where  have  you  been  to,  Mr 
Marshall  ?  we  have  been  looking 
for  you  everywhere :  the  postman 
has  been  here  with  a  large  parcel 
for  you,  but  he  would  not  leave  it 
without  your  receipt." 

"  That  must  be  my  essay,"  cried 
Matthew.  "  What  a  trump  the 
editor  is  !  I  did  not  expect  him  to 
register  it,  but  I  suppose  he  was 
afraid  it  might  fall  into  the  wrong 
hands.  What  a  bore  it  is,  though  ! 
there  is  no  post  again  for  three  days. 
I  must  send  a  messenger  :  perhaps 
you  would  allow  me  to  send  your 
fellow  Johann  at  once,  and  then 
we  can  read  the  essay  together  to- 
night." 

Clara  was  charmed,  and  Johann 
went  off ;  not,  however,  without  an 
immense  amount  of  bargaining. 
Johann  wanted  15  francs,  and 
Matthew  thought  4  magnificent. 
It  Avas  at  last  settled  he  was  to  have 
5,  and  "  trinkgeld,  wenn  der  Herr 
ware  zufrieden."  For  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon  novels  had  no  charms 
for  Matthew ;  and  he  was  out  at 
the  door  to  watch  for  Johann  so 
often,  that  Clara  was  sure  he  would 
make  his  foot  bad  again.  At  last, 
when  he  had  given  it  up,  and  had 
retired  to  his  sofa  in  despair,  Clara 
suddenly  appeared. 

"  Here  it  is,  Mr  Marshall.  You 
are  quite  right ;  I  can  see  the  print 
through  the  cover.  It  must  be  a 
long  paper,  or  perhaps  the  editor 
has  sent  you  two  or  three  copies. 
But  you  seem  distressed ;  I  am 
afraid  you  have  heard  some  bad 
news." 

-.  We  cannot  bring  ourselves  to  re- 
peat what  Mr  Marshall  said :  it 
was  something  very  shocking,  and 
closely  resembled  the  comment 


[Feb. 


made  by  General  Sherman  Avhen 
informed  that  the  enemy  was  in 
possession  of  the  ford: — 

"  He  turned  in  his  sattel,  ant  priefly  said. 
'Tamn!'" 

Other  disjointed  words  made 
themselves  audible  at  the  same 
time  :  such  as  "  idiot,"  "  might  have 
known  it,"  "  swindlers,"  "  last  time 
he  serves  me  so,"  &c.  Let  us  glance 
over  his  shoulder  and  see  what  was 
the  communication  which  so  dis- 
turbed him. 

The  envelope  contained  a  mass 
of  papers  and  printed  matter;  but 
the  one  which  first  caught  his  eye 
was  the  following  note  from  his 
nephew : — 

"  Offices  of  the  Industrial  Free- 
hold Land  Company,  Limited,  85 
Fenchurch  Street. — My  dear  Uncle, 
I  have  been  so  busy  about  that  in- 
vestment of  yours  that  I  have  not 
been  able  to  find  a  moment  to  write. 
You  seemed  so  impressed  with  the 
responsibilities  of  property  that  I 
was  anxious  to  make  the  money  do 
as  much  good  as  possible,  and  I 
have  been  fortunate  enough  to  light 
upon  the  very  thing.  There  is  a 
company  just  formed  with  the  ob- 
ject of  improving  the  condition  of 
the  working  classes  by  distributing 
small  holdings  among  deserving 
labourers.  I  have  gone  very  care- 
fully into  the  scheme,  and  have 
satisfied  myself  that  the  risk  is  in- 
finitesimal ;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  profits  may  easily  turn 
out  to  be  enormous,  and  the  good 
done  to  the  toiling  millions  will  be 
incalculable."  (Frank  had  evident- 
ly been  talking  a  good  deal  to  Wright, 
and  had  caught  his  style. )  "I  have 
succeeded  in  securing  for  you  a 
hundred  shares  of  the  nominal  value 
of  £30  each.  Only  £20  have  been 
paid  up ;  but  as  7|-  per  cent  is 
allowed  on  calls  paid  in  advance,  I 
have  of  course  paid  up  the  whole 
£30,  which  just  accounts  for  the 


1871.] 

sum  you  had  to  invest.  The  Com- 
pany has  made  me  conveyancing 
director,  which  will  be  of  immense 
use  to  me  at  the  Bar :  but  it  gives 
me  such  a  lot  to  do  now  that  I  have 
no  time  to  enter  into  explanations. 
I  enclose  you  a  prospectus,  which 
will  tell  you  all  about  it,  and  also 
the  shares,  which  please  accept,  and 
return  at  once.  Hope  you  find  the 
sulphur  suits.  Will  try  and  run 
over  and  look  you  up  as  soon  as  I 
can  make  a  holiday.  In  haste,  your 
affectionate  nephew, 

"  FRANK  MARSHALL. 
"JP.S. — I  find  going  about  on  the 
Company's  business  comes  rather 
expensive,  and  one  does  not  like 
spending  much  on  preliminary  ex- 
penses in  a  charitable  undertaking 
of  this  kind ;  so  as  you  told  your 
banker  to  honour  my  cheques,  I  was 
sure  you  would  not  mind  my  draw- 
ing on  your  account  for  <£100." 

Matthew  was  always  exceedingly 
polite  and  even  deferential  to  ladies, 
and  before  he  had  finished  this  ex- 
asperating communication  he  became 
shocked  at  the  violence  of  his  own 
demeanour,  and  felt  that  some  sort 
of  apology  was  due  to  Clara. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  began, 
"  I  do  not  know  what  you  must 
think  of  me,  but  I  have  just  heard 
something  which  has  wounded  me 
deeply.  I  have  been  deceived,  ter- 
ribly deceived,  by  one  whom  I  have 
loaded  with  benefits.  My  worthless 
nephew,  whom  I  have  ever  regarded 
as  my  own  son,  has  cruelly  abused 
the  confidence  I  reposed  in  him. 
Read  what  the  miserable  lad  has 
just  written." 

"I  feel  for  you  in  your  trouble, 
Mr  Marshall,  but  really  I  do  not 
think  I  ought  to  intrude  upon  your 
family  sorrows." 

"  Read  it  without  scruple  ;  it  will 
be  a  comfort  to  talk  it  over  with 
somebody  who  enters  into  my  feel- 
ings." 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXIV. 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  I. 


163 


"Frank  Marshall,"  said  Clara, 
glancing  at  the  signature  ;  "  I  won- 
der if  he's  the  gentleman  I  lunched 
with  at  Ascot." 

"  Should  not  wonder,"  grunted 
the  old  man  ;  "  he  is  always  idling 
about  everywhere  and  wasting  my 
money.  I  will  clip  his  wings  for 
the  future — he  may  rely  on  that." 

"I  do  not  think  I  quite  under- 
stand what  it  is  all  about,"  said 
Clara,  when  she  had  read  the  letter  ; 
"  he  may  have  made  a  mistake,  but 
he  really  seems  to  have  tried  to 
meet  your  wishes,  and  perhaps  it 
will  turn  out  to  be  a  good  invest- 
ment after  all ;  and  then  I  like  to 
see  young  men  trying  to  help  the 
poor  labourers." 

"Young  men  should  do  it  with 
their  own  money,  then :  you  are 
trying  to  put  in  a  good  word  for  the 
wretched  boy;  but  take  my  word 
for  it,  he  has  fallen  in  with  a  pack 
of  swindlers.  It  is  my  belief  the 
whole  business  has  brought  him 
within  the  reach  of  the  criminal 
law,  and  I  am  disposed  to  think  it 
is  my  duty  to  society  to  set  it  in 
motion." 

"Suppose  we  look  at  the  pros- 
pectus Mr  Frank  talks  of,"  suggested 
Clara ;  so  they  conned  it  over  to- 
gether. It  was  from  the  pen  of 
Wright,  and  dilated  in  glowing  lan- 
guage on  the  facilities  offered  by  the 
Company  for  breaking  up  the  large 
estates  of  the  aristocracy  and  de- 
stroying the  monopoly  of  the  great 
landowners.  The  reader  has  seen 
the  first  paragraph  :  the  second  was 
like  unto  it,  but  grander  :  the  writer 
had  warmed  into  his  subject,  and 
looked  confidently  forward  to  the 
time  when  a  Freemen's  Parliament, 
untrammelled  by  class  prejudices, 
and  emboldened  by  the  success  of 
the  Company,  would  carry  out  the 
scheme  on  a  scale  worthy  of  the 
conception.  Then  followed  an  ad- 
dition, suggested  by  the  coarser- 
souled  Wiggins,  that  when  Govern- 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.          [Feb. 


merit  took  the  matter  up  they 
would  have  to  buy  up  the  Com- 
pany's shares  at  an  enormous  pre- 
mium. The  further  he  read  the 
deeper  became  Matthew's  indigna- 
tion; his  doubts  of  the  Company's 
solvency  became  lost  in  dismal  ap- 
prehensions of  the  terrible  social  and 
political  evils  which  would  flow 
from  its  success.  Clara,  on  the 
other  hand,  who  had  never  seen  a 
prospectus  before,  was  rather  carried 
away  by  the  eloquent  periods  of 
Wright,  and  thought  it  was  worth 
some  risk  for  a  chance  of  the  mag- 
nificent results  which  he  prophesied. 


But  as  the  old  man  was  quite  beyond 
the  reach  of  argument,  she  proposed 
cribbage,  a  sport  which  he  adored, 
and  very  considerately  let  him  win 
three  francs  ;  then  she  showed  him 
a  caricature  of  Rossenarzt,  as  he 
appeared  expressing  with  uplifted 
hands  his  horror  at  Charley,  who 
had  declared  himself  well  enough  to 
cross  the  Hollenthur  next  day ; 
finally  she  bestowed  on  him  divers 
little  filial  attentions,  and  sent  the 
old  fellow  to  bed  in  a  happier  frame 
of  mind  than  could  have  been  an- 
ticipated. 


NARRATIVE   OF   THE   BED   RIVER  EXPEDITION. — CONCLUSION. 


BY   AN    OFFICER   OF    THE    EXPEDITIONARY    FORCE. 


IN  last  month's  number  we  de- 
scribed the  advance  of  the  expedi- 
tionary troops  as  far  as  Fort  Francis, 
and  endeavoured  to  convey  to  the 
reader  a  general  idea  of  the  country 
in  the  first  of  the  three  sections  into 
which  we  divided  the  entire  dis- 
tance between  Shebandowan  Lake 
and  Fort  Garry. 

The  second  section  begins  at  Fort 
Francis,  where  the  leading  detach- 
ment arrived,  as  previously  stated, 
on  the  4th  August,  starting  again 
that  same  afternoon.  A  garrison  of 
one  company  of  militia  was  left  for 
the  protection  of  the  hospital,  bak- 
ery, and  depot  of  stores  established 
there,  and  to  insure  our  communi- 
cations being  kept  open  through  the 
Chippewah  territories.  Although 
these  Indians  had  been  hitherto 
very  friendly,  there  was  no  saying 
when  they  might  give  us  trouble, 
particularly  if  they  saw  large  quan- 
tities of  that  much-coveted  article, 
flour,  stored  in  their  very  midst 
without  a  sufficient  guard  to  protect 
it.  Indians  have  great  appetites, 
and  are  always  hungry — and  hun- 


gry men  are  ever  more  or  less  dan- 
gerous. Our  voyage  down  Rainy 
River  was  most  enjoyable.  As  we 
pushed  off  from  shore  below  the 
falls  at  Fort  Francis,  we  were 
twisted  round  for  some  time  in 
every  direction  by  the  numerous 
whirlpools  formed  by  the  falling  of 
such  a  great  body  of  water  into  a 
circular  basin,  where  it  acquired  a 
rotary  motion.  At  one  moment  a 
boat  was  going  at  the  rate  of  about 
nine  miles  an  hour,  and  the  next 
it  was  perfectly  stationary,  having 
stopped  without  any  shock,  but  as 
suddenly  as  if  it  had  struck  a  rock. 
In  some  instances  minutes  elapsed 
ere  the  utmost  exertion  at  the  oar, 
the  whole  crew  pulling  their  best, 
could  impart  the  least  motion  to  the 
boats.  They  seemed  as  if  held  in 
a  vice  by  the  hand  of  some  hidden 
giant — the  sensation  being  all  the 
more  peculiar  from  the  contrast 
with  the  rushing,  frothing  waters 
around,  in  themselves  the  very  sym- 
bol of  motion.  Then,  after  some 
moments  of  hard  pulling,  every 
muscle  being  strained  to  the  ut- 


1871.]        Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.  1G5 


most,  the  boat  was  released  so  sud- 
denly that  it  bounded  forward  as  a 
spring  would  which  had  been  kept 
back  by  a  rope  that  had  suddenly 
snapped.  The  sensation  of  being 
in  a  small  boat  amongst  such  eddies, 
whirlpools,  and  upheaving  waves, 
which,  rising  from  below,  broke  on 
the  surface  in  great  mounds  of  water 
without  any  apparent  cause,  was 
most  exciting  and  enjoyable  to  the 
strong-nerved  man ;  whilst  the  weak- 
headed  experienced  a  disagreeable 
feeling  about  the  stomach  that 
seemed  to  give  a  strong  tendency 
to  grasp  at  something  or  somebody. 

As  we  glided  down  this  deep 
river  at  the  rate  of  about  four  or 
five  miles  an  hour,  the  scenery  was 
very  pretty.  Its  breadth  was  from 
three  to  four  hundred  yards ;  the 
banks  were  wooded  to  the  water's 
edge,  with  here  and  there  a  patch 
of  greensward  peeping  out  through 
the  trees ;  whilst  occasionally  one 
came  to  an  open  park-like  clearance, 
where  fine  spreading  oaks  reminded 
one  of  England.  This  river  is  the 
frontier  between  British  North 
America  and  the  United  States. 
There  are  no  settlements  upon  either 
bank,  but  the  numbers  of  lodge- 
poles  showed  that  the  locality  was 
a  favourite  one  with  Indians.  From 
Fort  Francis  to  where  Rainy  River 
discharges  itself  into  the  Lake  of 
the  Woods,  a  distance  of  70  miles 
in  a  westerly  direction,  the  naviga- 
tion is  unbroken.  There  are  rapids 
at  two  places,  but  they  can  be  run 
easily  and  safely  ;  and  in  ascending 
the  stream,  boats  are  tracked  up 
them  without  discharging  cargo. 

At  both,  many  Indian  families 
are  always  encamped,  as  they  are 
favourite  spots  for  fishing,  particu- 
larly during  the  winter,  as  the  water 
never  freezes  there.  There  are  wide 
open  spaces  at  these  rapids,  covered 
when  we  passed  with  rich  luxuriant 
grass,  small  spots  being  under  culti- 
vation as  gardens  for  potatoes  and 


Indian  corn.  There  were  also  some 
circular  mounds  of  earth,  one  or 
two  being  about  twenty  feet  high. 
We  had  not  time  to  land  and  ex- 
amine them,  but  the  natives  call 
them  underground  houses,  although 
not  now  used  as  habitations. 

It  was  a  lovely  day,  and  as  there 
was  a  good  current  in  the  river,  we 
determined  upon  trying  the  plan  of 
drifting  along  it  during  the  night. 
So,  after  the  evening  meal,  we  again 
started,  lashing  the  boats  together 
two  and  two,  one  man  remaining 
awake  in  each  boat  to  steer,  the 
others  lying  down  to  sleep  as  best 
they  could.  As  the  sun  went 
down,  a  dense  mass  of  curious- 
looking  flies  came  streaming  up 
with  the  gentle  westerly  wind. 
They  were  nearly  white,  with  grey 
wings  and  pale -yellow  bodies,  hav- 
ing a  tail  more  than  an  inch  long 
consisting  of  what  looked  like  two 
white  hairs.  They  flew  in  a  regular 
column,  closely  formed  up,  without 
any  stragglers  to  the  right  or  left, 
which  opened  out  with  a  sort  of 
tactical  regularity  when  a  boat 
pushed  into  its  midst.  At  a  little 
distance  they  had  all  the  appearance 
of  a  driving  fall  of  snow.  The  pres- 
sure from  above  caused  vast  mim- 
bers  of  them  to  strike  the  water, 
from  which  they  had  not  the  power 
to  rise  again. 

We  had  not  been  many  hours 
drifting  along  when  black  clouds 
came  up  and  hid  the  moon;  the 
wind  freshened  and  brought  heavy 
rain  with  it,  which  soon  wet  us 
through.  We  were  making  no  way; 
and  it  became  so  pitchy  dark  that 
steering  was  impossible.  We  had 
therefore  to  push  into  shore,  and 
await  daybreak  as  best  we  could. 

We  reached  the  mouth  of  the 
river  next  day  in  time  for  breakfast 
at  a  small  Hudson  Bay  post,  for- 
merly called  Hungry  Hall,  from  the 
number  of  men  who  had  from  time 
to  time  nearly  died  from  starvation 


1G6 


Narrative  of  the  Red  Ricer  Expedition. — Conclusion.          [Feb. 


whilst  quartered  there.  It  has  now 
been  renamed  Fort  Louisa  by  the 
Company,  and,  it  is  expected,  will 
become  shortly  a  post  of  some  im- 
portance, being  so  advantageously 
situated  upon  what  will  henceforth 
be,  until  a  railway  is  opened,  the 
highway  for  North-western  emigra- 
tion. Close  to  the  post  is  an  Indian 
burial-ground, where  there  were  some 
coffins  raised  in  the  air  on  platforms 
about  six  feet  high ;  chiefs  only 
and  their  sons  are  th'us  honoured 
after  death.  Around  the  post  are 
many  Indian  potato  -  gardens  ;  but 
there  were  very  few  families  there 
as  we  passed,  every  one  that  could 
being  away  from  the  ordinary  hunt- 
ing-grounds at  this  season,  for  the 
purpose  of  collecting  wild  rice, which 
abounds  in  some  neighbouring  loca- 
lities. 

In  every  part  of  Rainy  River 
sturgeon  are  found  in  great  abun- 
dance, one  of  fifty,  sixty,  or  more 
pounds  being  no  extraordinary  fish. 
It  is  very  good  eating,  and  is  a 
great  staple  of  food  amongst  the 
poor  half-starved  Indians. 

The  land  upon  each  side  is  low 
and  marshy  at  the  mouth  of  Rainy 
River,  from  which  rose  up  quanti- 
ties of  wild  duck,  disturbed  at  their 
feast  upon  the  wild  rice  by  the  noise 
of  our  oars,  and  by  the  cheery  laugh- 
ter and  songs  of  our  men.  A 
large  sand-bar  has  formed  in  the 
Lake  of  the  Woods  immediately 
across  the  mouth  of  the  river,  upon 
which  great  seas,  rolling  in  from  the 
ocean-like  lake  beyond,  broke  with 
a  loud  roar,  sending  up  clouds  of 
spray  in  an  angry  fashion.  Looking 
out  westward  as  we  passed  into  the 
space  between  the  bar  and  the  shore, 
where  the  water  was  calm  as  in  a 
harbour,  the  lake  was  covered  with 
"  white-horses  " — bespeaking,  as  the 
breeze  was  freshening,  by  no  means 
a  pleasant  day's  work  for  us.  No 
open  boat  could  have  crossed  the 
bar ;  so  we  turned  northward,  keep- 


ing near  shore  ;  but  between  it  and 
a  line  of  sandy  dunes,  which  seemed 
to  be  a  continuation  of  the  bar  at 
the  entrance  to  the  river,  and  which 
had  been  formed  most  probably — 
as  the  bar  has  been  —  when  the 
river's  mouth  was  more  to  the  north 
than  it  is  at  present.  These  sand- 
banks extended  some  six  or  eight 
miles,  running  tolerably  parallel 
with  the  shore,  and  from  a  thou- 
sand to  two  thousand  yards  from  it. 
The  water  was  very  shallow  at 
places  ;  and  as  we  got  towards  the 
end  of  the  protecting  sand-banks, 
the  force  of  the  waves  increased,  so 
that  all  chance  of  beating  to  wind- 
ward under  sail  was  out  of  the 
question.  We  were  therefore  forced 
to  put  into  a  rocky  island  partly 
covered  with  trees,  where  we  were 
detained  two  days  by  a  heavy 
westerly  gale — a  severe  trial  to  our 
patience.  When  we  did  get  off,  a 
journey  of  two  days,  sometimes 
under  sail  and  sometimes  having  to 
depend  solely  upon  the  oar,  took  us 
to  Rat  Portage,  at  the  northern  ex- 
tremity of  the  lake,  where  the  Winni- 
peg River  flowed  out  of  it.  Some  of 
us  were  without  guides  in  crossing  the 
lake,  which  for  miles  at  places  is 
crowded  with  islands  of  all  shapes 
and  sizes ;  and  as  the  maps  were 
altogether  wrong,  many  wandered 
about  at  the  northern  extremity  of 
the  lake  searching  in  vain  for  the 
mouth  of  the  Winnipeg  River.  The 
Lake  of  the  Woods  is  about  seventy- 
five  miles  long,  with  an  average  width 
of  about  seventy  miles.  It  is  in  reality 
three  lakes,  separated  one  from  the 
other  by  clusters  of  islands,  all  more 
or  less  pretty,  some  having  fine  per- 
pendicular cliffs  tinted  with  many 
shades  of  red,  and  standing  majes- 
tically out  of  the  water.  All  are 
well  wooded,  and  in  some  there  are 
a  few  acres  under  cultivation  as  gar- 
dens, where  the  Indians,  from  time 
immemorial,  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  growing  potatoes  and  maize.  The 


1871.]        Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.  167 


water  in  the  lake  is  nearly  luke- 
warm, being  from  70°  to  78°  Fahr.  : 
it  is,  except  at  a  very  few  places, 
of  a  dark-green  colour,  and  almost 
opaque  from  a  profuseness  of  con- 
fervoid  growth.  These  confervas  are 
minute,  needle-shaped  organisms,  of 
a  bright  green  hue,  and  about  half 
an  inch  in  length.  They  abound 
throughout  the  lake,  and  are  in  such 
quantities  at  places  that  the  water 
resembles  green-pea  soup.  When 
pressed  between  the  teeth  they  have 
a  pungent  flavour  like  mustard.  Our 
musquito-nets  were  here  very  use- 
ful for  straining  the  water ;  but  even 
after  that  process  had  been  gone 
through,  it  was  not  fit  for  drinking 
until  boiled.  A  few  of  the  long 
deep  bays  receding  from  the  lake 
are  free  from  this  substance ;  and 
upon  their  banks  lived  the  majority 
of  the  Indians  who  belong  to  this 
neighbourhood. 

To  lose  one's  way  upon  an  ex- 
panse of  water  like  the  Lake  of  the 
Woods,  and  to  wander  about  in  a 
boat,  as  the  writer  did,  through  its 
maze  of  uninhabited  islands,  where 
no  sound  was  to  be  heard  but  the  dip 
of  the  oars  at  regular  intervals,  or  the 
distant  and  weird-like  whistle  of  the 
loon,  is  to  experience  the  exquisite 
sensation  of  solitude  in  all  its  full 
intensity.  There  are  trees  and  rocks, 
and  earth  and  water,  in  all  their 
varied  and  united  beauty,  but  no 
sign  whatever  of  man's  handiwork 
anywhere.  Oh  !  if  it  was  not  for  the 
trouble  of  having  to  cook  one's  own 
dinner,  how  delicious  would  be  exist- 
ence passed  in  the  society  of  nature  ! 

The  drainage  of  an  immense 
country  is  collected  in  the  Lake  of 
the  Woods,  which  flows  into  Lake 
Winnipeg  by  a  river  of  that  name. 
This  river  begins  in  the  former  lake, 
flowing  from  it  by  several  channels, 
all  more  or  less  romantically  pictur- 
esque in  their  scenery,  and  at  the 
entrance  to  each  of  which  there  are 
falls  about  thirteen  feet  high.  Upon 


one  of  the  central  islands  thus  formed 
is  the  Hudson  Bay  post  of  Eat 
Portage.  It  is  approached  by  a  most 
intricate  channel  winding  round 
islands  in  such  a  manner  that  a 
stranger  would  have  very  great 
difficulty  in  finding  it.  There  is 
a  nice  little  farm  there,  and  a 
good  garden,  the  vegetables  of 
which  were  a  great  treat  after  our 
journey  of  so  many  days  through 
a  wilderness.  There  was  a  most 
striking  difference  between  the  cli- 
mate of  Shebandowan  and  on  the 
shores  of  this  great  lake  :  every  day's 
journey  from  the  high  level  of  the 
former  place  brought  us  into  a  more 
genial  temperature,  humming-birds 
having  been  seen  for  the  first  time 
at  French  Portage  before  we  reached 
Rainy  Lake  ;  and  the  corn  was  being 
cut  as  we  left  Fort  Francis,  where 
the  summer  is  very  early.  The 
post  at  Hat  Portage  consists  of  a 
few  log -houses  surrounded  by  a 
high  wooden  palisading.  It  stands 
on  a  bank  some  fifteen  feet  high,  and 
when  viewed  from  the  river,  bears 
a  strong  resemblance  to  a  Burmese 
village.  As  you  ascend  the  bank  to 
enter  the  post,  you  are  surrounded 
by  a  pack  of  the  leanest- looking  and 
most  cur-like  dogs,  who  are  always 
quarrelling  amongst  themselves,  and 
have  starvation  written  on  their 
countenances,  as  well  as  evidenced 
by  their  bone  -  protruding  flanks. 
They  are  to  the  Indians,  or  the 
dwellers  in  the  backwoods,  during 
winter,  what  canoes  are  to  them  in 
summer.  These  dogs  drag  their 
traineaux,  or  toboggins  as  they  are 
indifferently  called,  and  are  capable 
of  lengthened  exertions  over  snow- 
tracks  where  no  horse  could  travel. 
In  summer  they  are  turned  loose  about 
the  post,  and  pick  up  enough  to  eat 
as  best  they  can  among  the  Indians 
encamped  around  it ;  but  in  winter 
they  are  regularly  fed  upon  fish. 

The  gentleman  in  charge  of  Rat 
Portage  had  been  there  for  thirteen 


168  Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.  [Feb. 


years,  without  having  had,  during 
that  period,  any  further  glimpse  of 
civilisation  than  what  could  be  ob- 
tained at  some  of  the  other  posts.  He 
was  a  half-breed  married  to  a  squaw. 
It  is  next  to  impossible  that  any 
man  could  lead  such  a  solitary  life 
and  still  retain  the  intelligence  and 
enlargement  of  ideas  imparted  by 
even  an  ordinary  country  -  school 
education.  Men's  minds  are  too 
prone  to  assimilate  with  the  minds 
of  those  with  whom  they  are  ex- 
clusively associated,  to  retain,  after  a 
series  of  years  spent  amongst  ignorant 
heathens,  many  traces  of  education  or 
civilisation.  Great,  therefore,  was 
our  astonishment  at  finding  the  table 
neatly  arranged  with  breakfast  things, 
laid  out  on  a  clean  table-cloth,  when 
we  entered  the  house  the  morning 
after  our  arrival.  Thrice  blessed  is 
the  man  who  first  discovered  the  plea- 
sures of  eating.  Your  gourmet  in 
refined  life  really  knows  nothing  of 
them  ;  nor  has  he  ever  enjoyed  the 
rapturous  sensations  which  broiled 
fish,  boiled  potatoes,  and  tea,  afforded 
us  that  morning.  En  route,  our  daily 
meals  were  always  cooked  and  eaten 
in  a  hurry.  A  picnic  once  a-year 
is  very  pleasant  to  the  man  accus- 
tomed to  eat  his  dinner  for  the  fol- 
lowing 364  days  in  a  white  cravat, 
and  with  his  legs  under  an  artisti- 
cally-decorated table ;  but  to  eat 
one's  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper 
of  salt  pork,  beans,  and  biscuit,  sit- 
ting on  a  log  or  stone,  day  after  day 
for  months  together,  is,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  rather  monotonous,  and 
makes  one  appreciate  the  luxury  of 
a  chair,  table,  and  clean  table-cloth 
in  a  remarkable  degree. 

At  Eat  Portage  more  letters  were 
received  by  the  officer  commanding 
from  the  Eed  River  Settlement,  urg- 
ing the  necessity  of  haste,  and  beg- 
ging of  him  to  send  on  even  a  couple 
of  hundred  men  in  advance,  for  the 
purpose  of  inspiring  confidence,  and 
of  putting  an  end  to  the  feelings  of 


doubt  and  apprehension  of  impend- 
ing danger,  then  universal  amongst 
the  loyal  inhabitants.  Eiel  was  still 
in  Fort  Garry,  surrounded  by  armed 
men  and  the  banditti  composing  his 
government.  He  still  ruled  most 
arbitrarily ;  and  although  he  had 
permitted  the  Hudson  Bay  Com- 
pany to  recommence  business,  he 
had  forced  its  representative  to  pay 
a  large  sum  for  the  privilege  of 
doing  so.  The  chief  of  the  Swampy 
Indians  (who  inhabit  the  banks  of 
the  Red  River  for  a  distance  of  about 
fifteen  miles  from  where  it  falls  into 
Lake  Winnipeg)  wrote  volunteering 
the  service  of  his  people  in  any  way 
in  which  they  could  be  made  useful. 
They  had  been  stanch  and  loyal 
throughout  all  the  half-breed  dis- 
turbances, and  had  always  been  most 
anxious  to  take  up  arms  against  the 
rebels.  The  dread  of  calling  in  such 
a  dangerous  element  as  these  Indians 
would  have  been,  had  hitherto  de- 
terred those  most  anxious  for  the  re- 
establishment  of  order  from  making 
any  use  of  them.  This  Indian  chief 
complained  greatly  in  his  letter  of 
the  inconsistency  of  our  conduct  in 
having  made  a  practice  of  punishing 
Indians  when  they  robbed  or  com- 
mitted any  crime,  whilst  the  gang 
of  robbers  under  Riel  was  allowed, 
he  said,  to  overturn  the  lawful 
government  of  the  country,  to  pil- 
lage private  property,  to  imprison 
loyal  men,  and  even  to  commit 
murder  with  impunity.  A  number 
of  the  English -speaking  people  of 
the  lower  Red  River  Settlement 
had,  under  the  sanction  of  the  Pro- 
testant bishop,  started  off  up  the 
AVinnipeg  River  to  meet  us  with 
some  large  Hudson  Bay  boats, 
having  experienced  guides  and 
crews,  for  the  purpose  of  assisting 
us  in  descending  that  river.  Its 
navigation  is  generally  esteemed  to 
be  most  dangerous,  and  none  but 
those  well  skilled  in  the  voyageur's 
art,  and  acquainted  with  this  river 


1871.]         Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.  169 


in  particular,  will  ever  attempt  to 
take  "boats  along  it.  We  were  very 
deficient  in  good  steersmen,  and  had 
not  more  than  a  few  guides — ob- 
tained at  Fort  Francis — who  knew 
the  route:  so  when  this  party  of 
men,  under  charge  of  the  Rev. 
Mr  Gardner,  an  English  clergyman, 
met  us  at  Rat  Portage,  we  realised 
for  the  first  time  that  there  was 
really  an  active  party  in  Manitohah, 
who  had  not  yet  bowed  the  knee  be- 
fore Baal ;  that  there  were  men  whose 
loyalty  was  not  of  the  lip  only, 
but  a  reality,  for  which  they  were 
prepared  to  leave  their  homes,  and 
share  the  dangers  to  be  encountered 
by  their  countrymen  who  were 
struggling  through  a  vast  wilderness 
to  their  assistance,  and  in  order  to 
relieve  them  from  the  tyranny  to 
which  they  had  been  so  long  ex- 
posed. 

The  description  given  to  us  by 
these  men  of  the  dangers  which 
were  before  us,  of  rapids  where  the 
least  false  step  would  send  us  over 
heavy  falls  into  whirlpools  of  such 
magnitude  that  the  largest-sized 
boats  are  quickly  ingulfed  in  them, 
made  many  of  us  wince.  When 
shown  the  boats  in  which  we  had 
made  the  journey  up  to  that  point, 
and  in  which  we  expressed  our 
determination  to  go  on,  they  shook 
their  heads  in  mournful  astonish- 
ment. Here,  as  throughout  the 
whole  of  this  Expedition,  we  found 
a  general  conviction  stamped  upon 
the  minds  of  every  one  of  every  class 
that  we  met,  that  the  British  sol- 
dier was  a  fine  brave  fellow,  who, 
as  a  fighting  man,  was  superior  to 
two  of  any  other  nation,  but  ut- 
terly useless  for  any  other  purpose. 
They  thought  it  was  impossible 
that  he  could  carry  loads,  perform 
heavy  bodily  labour,  or  endure 
great  physical  fatigue.  It  need 
scarcely  be  added  that  we  now  bear 
a  very  different  reputation  in  those 
parts ;  and  it  is  not  saying  too  much 


to  assert,  that  we  left  behind  us  a 
character  for  every  manly  virtue. 
Our  men  soon  acquired  considerable 
skill  in  managing  their  boats,  in 
portaging,  &c.  &c.  ;  and  the  natural 
cheery  energy  of  the  British  charac- 
ter shone  out  brilliantly  when  dis- 
played side  by  side  with  the  apathy 
and  listlessness  of  the  half-breed 
voyageur. 

We  were  informed  that  it  would 
take  us  about  twenty  days  to  get  to 
Fort  Alexander,  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Winnipeg  River.  This  was  very 
discouraging,  because  we  had  been 
previously  told  by  our  leader  that 
we  should  reach  Fort  Garry  about 
the  23d  of  August,  which  would  be 
impossible  if  it  were  to  take  us  so 
long  in  descending  the  river. 

The  journey  down  the  Winnipeg 
River  can  never  be  forgotten  if  once 
made.  The  difference  of  level  be- 
tween the  Lake  of  the  Woods  and 
Lake  Winnipeg  is  340  feet — the 
distance  between  them  by  river  be- 
ing about  160  miles.  The  descent 
down  that  number  of  feet  is  distri- 
buted throughout  30  falls  and  rapids, 
presenting  every  variety  of  river- 
scenery  that  nature  is  capable  of. 
For  the  first  fifty  miles  there  are 
numerous  islands — so  much  so,  that 
the  river  is  a  succession  of  lakes,  or 
as  if  there  were  four  or  five  rivers 
running  side  by  side,  uniting  here 
and  there  only  to  separate  a  few 
miles  lower  down.  At  some  points 
it  is,  however,  contracted  into  one 
or  two  comparatively  narrow  chan- 
nels, where  the  great  rush  of  water 
resembles  a  magnified  mill  -  race. 
The  passage  of  such  places  is  always 
more  or  less  dangerous,  particularly 
if  small  islands  or  large  rocks  divide 
the  rapids  into  several  channels, 
crossing  one  another  before  they  meet 
in  the  boiling  caldron  of  foaming 
water  below.  Numerous  were  the 
hair-breadth  escapes  :  in  many  in- 
stances the  lives  of  boats'  crews 
seemed  held  in  the  balance  for  some 


170 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.         [Feb. 


moments — more  awful  for  those  who 
watched  the  scene  from  the  bank, 
than  for  the  soldiers  actually  in  the 
1-oat.  Providence — a  noble  term 
which  this  war  in  France  has  taught 
newspaper  writers  to  sneer  at  — 
watched  over  us  in  a  remarkable  man- 
ner ;  for  although  we  had  one  or  two 
boats  wrecked  on  this  mighty  river, 
and  many  men  were  for  minutes  in 
imminent  danger,  the  whole  force 
reached  Lake  Winnipeg  without  any 
loss  of  life. 

There  is  no  more  deliciously  ex- 
citing pleasure  in  the  world  than 
that  of  running  a  really  large  and 
dangerous  rapid  in  a  canoe,  or  in  a 
small  boat.  As  your  frail  skiff 
bounds  over  the  waves,  ever  and 
anon  jumping  as  it  were  from  a 
higher  to  a  lower  level,  whilst  the 
paddlers  or  oarsmen  tug  away  with 
might  and  main,  and  the  outcrop- 
ping rocks  are  cleverly  avoided  by 
the  skilful  bowsman  and  steersman, 
every  pleasurable  sensation  is  ex- 
perienced. As  each  boat  turned  into 
the  slack  water  below  the  rapid,  one 
took  a  long  breath  of  relief,  and  the 
world  and  life  itself  seemed  to  be 
different  in  the  calm  stillness  there 
from  what  it  was  when  we  were 
dashing  through  the  roaring,  rush- 
ing waters  in  mid-stream. 

No  length  of  time,  nor  any  amount 
of  future  adventures,  can  erase  from 
the  writer's  mind  his  arrival  at  the 
Slave  Falls.  He  was  in  a  birch- 
bark  canoe  manned  by  Irroquois, 
one  of  whom  acted  as  guide.  The 
regular  portage  for  the  boats  was 
several  hundred  yards  from  the  falls, 
and  lay  in  a  slack- water  bay,  reached 
without  any  danger  as  long  as  the 
boats  kept  tolerably  well  in  towards 
the  bank  on  that  side.  Our  aston- 
ishment was  great  at  finding  the 
guide  take  the  canoe  out  into  mid- 
stream, where  the  current  ran  at 
an  exciting  pace,  becoming  swifter 
every  yard,  until  at  last,  as  one  ap- 
proached the  vicinity  of  the  falls, 


it  was  palpably  evident  that  we 
were  descending  a  steeply-inclined 
plane.  Consoling  ourselves  at 
first  with  the  reflection  that  the 
guide  knew  best  what  he  was 
about,  we  sat  motionless,  but,  let  us 
confess  it,  awe-stricken,  as  we  swept 
into  the  narrow  gully  at  the  end  of 
which  the  great  noisy  roar  of  falling 
waters,  and  the  columns  of  spray 
that  curled  up  like  clouds  into  the 
air,  announced  the  position  of  the 
fall.  We  were  close  to  the  brink. 
We  appeared  to  have  reached  that 
point  which  exists  in  most  falls 
from  whence  the  water  seems  to 
begin  its  run  preparatory  to  a  good 
jump  over  into  the  abyss  below ; 
and  we  knew,  from  having  watched 
many  great  cataracts  for  hours,  that 
it  was  a  bourne  from  whence  there 
was  no  return.  Quick  as  lightning 
the  idea  flashed  across  us  that  the 
Indians  had  made  a  mistake,  and 
that  everything  was  over  for  \is  in 
this  world.  In  that  infinitesimal 
fraction  of  time  a  glimpse  of  the 
countenance  of  the  sturdy  bowsman 
rather  confirmed  this  idea  —  his 
teeth  appeared  set,  and  there  was 
an  unusual  look  in  his  eye.  All 
creations  of  our  own  heated  fancy ; 
for  in  another  second  the  canoe's 
head  swept  in  towards  the  rocks, 
and  was  turned  nose  up  stream  in 
tolerably  slack  water,  two  of  the 
paddlers  jumping  out  and  holding 
it  firmly  there.  All  our  poetical 
fancies  were  rudely  dispersed  by  a 
cheer  and  chorus  of  laughter  from 
the  Irroquois  crew.  The  breaking 
of  a  paddle  in  the  hands  of  either 
bowsman  or  steersman  would  have 
been  fatal  at  that  critical  moment 
when  we  turned  sharply  in  to  the 
bank,  the  stern  being  allowed  to 
swing  round  in  the  heavy  stream, 
and  by  so  doing,  aid  in  driving 
the  bow  inwards.  Nothing  could 
have  saved  us  if  such  an  accident 
had  occurred  ;  yet  here  were  these 
Indians  chuckling  over  the  danger 


1871.]         Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.  171 


they  had  only  just  escaped  by  the 
exertions  of  their  greatest  skill  and 
of  their  utmost  muscular  power. 
They  had  needlessly  and  wittingly 
encountered  it,  for  they  could  have 
gained  the  shore  about  a  hundred 
yards  higher  up  with  comparative 
ease,  and  then  lowered  their  canoes 
through  the  slack- water  pools  in  the 
rocks  along  the  side  to  the  place 
they  had  only  reached  with  extreme 
danger.  There  was  no  use  in 
arguing  with  them  on  the  subject ; 
they  had  confidence  in  themselves, 
and  gloried  in  any  danger  which 
they  felt  certain  of  overcoming.  If 
any  of  these  Indians  say  they  can 
take  you  down  a  rapid,  reliance 
may  be  placed  in  their  doing  so,  as 
they  will  not  attempt  what  they 
feel  would  be  beyond  their  powers. 
Therein  lies  the  great  difference 
between  them  and  the  white-faced 
voyageur,  who  is  so  often  foolhardy, 
and  prone  to  allow  his  pluck  to 
overtax  his  strength  and  skill. 

The  name  of  Slave  Falls  is  in 
memory  of  a  base,  cruel  act  perpe- 
trated there  some  generations  ago 
by  the  Chippewahs.  The  Sioux  of 
the  plains  have  always  been  their 
hereditary  enemies,  and  from  time 
immemorial  raids  have  been  made 
by  each  into  the  other's  country. 
The  Chippewahs  upon  one  of  these 
forays  had  taken  two  prisoners, 
whom  they  kept  as  slaves.  To 
gratify  some  passing  whim,  or  to 
afford  amusement  to  their  children, 
they  one  day  bound  these  poor 
wretches  in  a  canoe,  and  in  that 
manner  sent  them  over  these  falls, 
so  sublime  by  nature,  but  put  to 
a  cowardly  and  degrading  use  by 
what  we  are  taught  to  call  nature's 
noblest  creature — man. 

The  banks  of  the  river  are 
wooded  everywhere,  poplar  being 
the  prevailing  timber,  interspersed 
here  and  there  with  poor  birch  and 
stunted  pines.  The  syenite  rocks 
and  granite  boulders  were  very 


grand  at  places  ;  and  occasionally 
river  -  scenery  was  presented  upon 
the  largest  imaginable  scale. 

Several  large-sized  rivers  join  the 
Winnipeg,  particularly  from  the 
west,  up  some  of  which  the  Hud- 
son Bay  Company  have  outlying 
posts.  About  half-  way  to  Fort 
Alexander  is  an  English  missionary 
establishment,  with  a  good  farm  at- 
tached, and  a  few  Indian  log-shan- 
ties scattered  around  it.  No  clergy- 
man resides  there,  but  it  is  presided 
over  by  a  catechist,  who  has  a  school 
where  he  teaches  English, to  about 
twenty  or  thirty  children.  Now  and 
then  we  came  to  a  spot  capable  of 
cultivation ;  but,  as  a  general  rule,  the 
land  on  the  Upper  Winnipeg  is  poor, 
and  unsuited  for  settlement. 

We  had  a  good  deal  of  rain  whilst 
descending  it ;  but  as  we  neared  Fort 
Alexander  the  weather  mended  con- 
siderably, the  days  being  warm  and 
balmy,  although  the  nights  were  al- 
ways cool  and  sometimes  extremely 
chilly. 

The  locality  most  celebrated  for 
its  danger  is  at  the  "seven  por- 
tages," where  the  boats  have  to  be 
unloaded  arid  everything  portaged 
that  number  of  times,  although 
the  entire  distance  from  the  top 
of  the  first  to  the  bottom  of  the 
seventh  is  only  two  and  a  half 
miles.  The  work  was  most  wear- 
ing upon  both  men  and  boats : 
every  one  looked  forward  to  Fort 
Alexander  as  the  end  of  their  hard 
work,  it  being  clear  -  sailing  from 
thence  to  Fort  Garry.  The  finest 
scenery  on  the  river  is  at  Silver 
Falls ;  there  is  nothing  that  can 
compare  with  them  in  Northern 
America  to  the  eastward  of  Red 
River.  Niagara  is  a  thing  apart,  as 
there  is  nothing  elsewhere  that  can 
be  likened  to  it.  Silver  Falls,  as  a 
great  rapid,  also  stands  alone.  Time 
pressed,  so  we  had  to  hurry  past 
them  ;  but  their  magnificent  gran- 
deur will  long  remain  impressed 


172  Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.         [Feb. 


upon  the  memory  as  a  glorious  pic- 
ture, illustrating  the  vast  power  of 
running  water.  Owing  to  some 
dividing  rocks  above,  the  stream 
rushes  down  this  steep  incline  in 
two  separate  volumes,  which  appear 
so  to  jostle  one  another  in  their 
downward  race,  that  in  the  centre 
the  water  is  pushed  up  into  a  high 
ridge,  marking  their  line  of  contact, 
until  both  are  lost  in  the  great  chaos 
of  foam,  spray,  and  broken  water 
below. 

The  leading  brigades  reached  Fort 
Alexander  on  the  morning  of  the 
18th  August,  having  descended 
the  river  without  accident  in  nine 
and  a  half  days  instead  of  twenty, 
as  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  voy- 
ageurs,  who  were  ignorant  what 
well  -  led  British  soldiers  can  do, 
said  we  should  take.  By  the  even- 
ing of  the  20th  August  all  the 
regular  troops  were  concentrated 
there,  the  brigades  of  militia  being 
echeloned  along  the  river  in  rear, 
at  close  intervals  one  behind  the 
other.  There  was  not  a  sick  man 
amongst  those  collected  at  Fort 
Alexander — all  looked  the  picture 
of  health  and  of  soldier-like  bearing. 
Oh  for  100,000  such  men  !  They 
would  be  invincible.  Up  to  the 
20th  of  August  it  had  rained  upon 
thirteen  days  in  that  month.  The 
work  had  been  incessant  from  day- 
light until  dark,  but  no  murmur  was 
heard.  The  men  chaffed  one  an- 
other about  being  mules  and  beasts 
of  burden ;  but  when  they  saw  their 
officers  carrying  barrels  of  flour  and 
pork  on  their  backs,  and  fairly  shar- 
ing their  fatigues,  eating  the  same 
rations,  and  living  just  as  they  did, 
they  realised  the  necessity  for  exer- 
tion. There  must  surely  be  some 
inherent  good  in  a  regimental  sys- 
tem which  can  thus  in  a  few  years 
convert  the  British  lout  into  the 
highly-trained  soldier,  developing 
in  him  qualities  such  as  cheerful 
obedience,  endurance,  &c.  &c.,  un- 


known to  the  beerhouse  -  lounging 
rustic. 

A  fresh  batch  of  news  from  Fort 
Garry  was  here  obtained.  liiel  had 
summoned  together  his  followers, 
who  had  assembled  to  the  number 
of  about  600,  and  had  endeavoured 
to  organise  a  force  to  resist,  but  had 
not  received  the  support  he  expect- 
ed. He  had  also  called  a  council, 
who  met  in  secret  conclave,  no  Eng- 
lish-speaking man  being  admitted. 
Of  course  it  was  not  known  what 
had  passed  upon  that  occasion;  but 
when  the  council  broke  up,  an  or- 
der was  sent  to  the  Hudson  Bay 
Company  forbidding  any  further 
sale  of  gunpowder  or  bullets.  This 
was  done,  our  correspondent  alleged, 
to  prevent  the  supply  of  ammuni- 
tion running  short  should  they 
require  it.  Kiel  had  been  told  that 
the  governor  would  not  go  into  the 
Settlement  with  Bishop  Tach£,  as 
the  rebels  had  hoped,  and  to  accom- 
plish which  had  been  one  of  that 
prelate's  objects  in  going  to  Canada. 
Kiel's  mind  was  still  much  troubled 
upon  the  subject  of  an  amnesty, 
which  the  Canadian  Government 
did  not  seem  in  any  haste  to  grant. 
All  letters  received  ended  in  the 
usual  strain,  "  come  on  as  quickly  as 
you  can ;  we  are  in  momentary  dread 
of  our  lives  and  property."  The 
general  tenor  of  the  news  proved 
two  things  —  first  that  there  was 
every  possibility,  almost  amounting 
to  a  probability,  of  resistance  being 
offered;  and  secondly,  that  should 
our  advance  be  opposed,  the  number 
we  should  have  to  meet  would  be 
small  compared  with  that  at  Kiel's 
disposal  during  the  past  winter.  It 
was  therefore  determined  to  push  on 
at  once  with  the  60th  Rifles,  the 
detachments  of  Koyal  Engineers  and 
of  Koyal  Artillery  with  their  two  7- 
pounder  guns. 

We  waited  half  a  day  in  hopes 
that  the  two  leading  brigades  of 
militia,  which  were  known  to  be 


1871.]        Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.  173 


close  behind,  might  come  up ;  but  as 
they  did  not  do  so  in  that  time,  we 
started  without  them,  for  the  wind 
was  fair,  and  when  foul  it  is  often 
impossible  to  get  round  the  point  at 
Elk  Island  in  Lake  Winnipeg  for 
days  together. 

There  are  numerous  clearances 
in  the  vicinity  of  Fort  Alexander, 
where  some  half-breed  farmers  have 
established  themselves.  There  is 
also  a  very  fine  farm  belonging  to 
the  post  in  a  good  state  of  culti- 
vation. The  land  is  very  rich  for 
about  half  a  mile  or  a  mile  back 
from  the  river,  beyond  that  being  a 
succession  of  swamps  impassable 
during  the  summer,  but  travelled 
over  when  frozen  in  winter.  The 
Fort  is  like  the  others  already  de- 
scribed, but  is  on  a  larger  scale,  and 
has  a  less  decayed  air  about  it.  It 
stands  on  the  left  bank,  which  is 
about  twenty  feet  above  the  water, 
and  is  two  miles  from  the  mouth  of 
the  river.  There  is  a  Protestant  mis- 
sion here,  and  much  good  is  done  by 
its  schools,  in  which  English  is 
taught.  The  21st  of  August  being 
Sunday,  there  was  a  parade  for 
divine  service  in  the  morning,  at 
which  the  servants  of  the  Hudson 
Bay  Company,  and  the  few  half- 
breed  farmers  in  the  neighbourhood, 
joined  us  in  prayers  for  the  success 
of  the  operation  we  were  about  to 
undertake. 

The  afternoon  was  lovely,  with 
a  bright  warm  sun  shining  down 
upon  us  as  our  fleet  of  fifty  boats 
hoisted  their  sails,  and  started  with 
a  light  wind  from  the  S.W.  It 
was  a  very  pretty  sight,  and  a  sub- 
ject well  worthy  of  an  artist.  As 
we  rounded  the  point  of  Elk  Island, 
eighteen  miles  N.  W.  from  Fort  Alex- 
ander, evening  was  falling  fast;  so 
we  halted  for  the  night  in  a  bay 
with  a  -wide  sandy  beach  between 
the  water  and  the  high  overhanging 
bank,  which  was  covered  with  tim- 
ber, chiefly  birch.  The  boats  drew 


up  in  a  long  line,  side  by  side,  with 
their  bows  on  the  beach.  Fires 
were  soon  lighted,  and  a  few  tents 
pitched  here  and  there.  As  one 
looked  down  from  the  high  bank 
upon  the  busy  scene  below,  where 
all  was  cheerful  bustle,  the  hum  of 
voices,  the  noise  of  the  axe  chop- 
ping wood,  and  now  and  then  the 
crashing  sound  of  a  falling  tree,  one 
realised  how  quickly  the  solitude  of 
the  forest  is  transformed  into  life 
by  the  presence  of  man,  endowed 
as  he  is  with  so  many  wants.  The 
climate  was  that  of  the  south  of 
Europe  ;  and  as  the  sun  set  beyond 
a  horizon  of  water,  one  might  have 
imagined  one's  self  in  some  Grecian 
island  looking  out  upon  the  Medi- 
terranean, the  beach  covered  with 
the  crews  and  boats  of  a  corsair 
fleet. 

Reveille  sounded  next  morning 
ere  it  was  light ;  and  after  a  hurried 
breakfast,  we  once  more  embarked, 
steering  about  S.W.  for  the  mouth 
of  the  Eed  Eiver.  Lake  Winnipeg 
is  264  miles  long,  by  about  35  miles 
in  breadth,  and  has  an  area  of  9000 
square  miles.  It  drains  about 
400,000  square  miles  of  country. 
Its  average  depth  is  not  more  than 
from  6  to  8  feet ;  and  those  who 
have  navigated  it  for  many  years 
say  it  is  filling  up  more  and  more 
every  year.  Owing  to  this  shallow- 
ness,  a  little  wind  soon  raises  a  very 
heavy  sea,  the  waves  being  so  high 
at  times  for  days  together  that  no 
boats  can  venture  on  it.  Many  of 
the  detachments  in  rear  were  thua 
detained  at  Fort  Alexander  and  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Elk  Island. 

As  we  approached  the  mouths  of 
Eed  Eiver,  the  water  became  so 
shallow  at  places  that  many  of  our 
boats  grounded  ;  but  as  the  day  was 
calm  and  the  bottom  was  muddy 
they  did  not  suffer  any  damage. 

The  scenery  is  extremely  dreary  as 
one  nears  the  river — not  a  tree  to  be 
seen,  and  only  a  few  bushes  at  places 


174 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.          [Feb. 


where  the  land  seemed  to  be  some- 
what higher  than  elsewhere.  Great 
flats  of  alluvial  deposit  stretched 
out  into  the  lake,  all  densely  covered 
with  reeds  and  rushes,  a  fitting 
home  for  the  flocks  of  wild-duck 
that  quacked  out  a  greeting  to  us 
as  we  approached  them. 

Where  the  left  bank  terminates 
there  is  a  little  firm  ground,  upon 
which  a  few  Indians  were  encamp- 
ed, who  fired  their  guns  off  as  a 
salute  as  we  landed  to  cook  dinners 
at  about  1  o'clock.  A  few  presents 
soon  made  us  friends ;  and  they 
consented  to  man  a  canoe  to  take 
up  a  loyal  half-breed  whom  we  had 
with  us  to  the  Lower  or  Stone  Fort, 
as  it  was  considered  desirable  that 
we  should  communicate  secretly 
with  the  Hudson  Bay  officer  in 
charge  of  that  post.  Dinner  over, 
we  lost  no  time  in  pushing  on ;  but 
the  wind,  unfortunately,  was  blow- 
ing down  stream,  so  that  pulling 
against  the  current  was  laborious 
Avork.  We  advanced  in  three  lines 
of  boats,  the  guns  in  the  leading 
boats  of  one  line,  and  kept  ready 
for  action  at  a  moment's  warning. 
We  had  hoped  to  have  reached  the 
Lower  Fort  by  evening ;  but  night 
coming  on  when  we  were  still 
about  twelve  miles  from  it,  we  were 
forced  to  halt  opposite  the  Indian 
settlement. 

The  chief  of  these  loyal  swampy 
Indians  soon  made  his  appearance, 
and  had  a  pow-wow  with  Colonel 
Wolseley,  being  dismissed,  after  a 
lengthened  conversation,  with  pre- 
sents of  pork  and  flour.  He  told 
us  that  although  every  one  had  long 
been  expecting  us,  no  news  of  our 
whereabouts  had  lately  reached  him; 
so  that,  until  he  saw  the  fleet  com- 
ing round  the  bend  in  the  river,  he 
was  not  aware  that  our  leading  de- 
tachment had  even  reached  Fort 
Alexander. 

The    Hudson    Bay    Company's 
officer  from  the  Lower  Fort  having 


been  sent  for,  arrived  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  and  corroborated  this 
statement.  No  one  at  Fort  Garry, 
he  said,  expected  us  so  soon,  or 
knew  anything  of  our  doings  fur- 
ther than  that  some  of  our  boats 
had  been  seen  on  the  Lake  of  the 
Woods. 

An  early  start  the  following  morn- 
ing, the  23d  of  August,  enabled 
us  to  reach  the  Lower  Fort  in  time 
for  breakfast. 

As  we  advanced  towards  it,  the 
people  turned  out  from  every  house 
on  both  banks — the  men  cheered,  the 
women  waved  handkerchiefs,  and 
the  bells  of  the  churches,  which  are 
all  Protestant  below  Fort  Garry, 
were  rung  to  manifest  the  universal 
joy  felt  at  seeing  us.  At  some 
places  numbers  of  Indians  were  en- 
camped, who  welcomed  us  by  the 
discharge  of  firearms.  As  each  man 
emerged  from  his  wigwam,  bang, 
bang,  went  his  double-barrelled  gun. 
As  we  neared  the  Stone  Fort  the 
farms  became  better,  and  the  left 
bank  more  thickly  settled — the  op- 
posite side  of  the  river  being  covered 
with  poplar,  aspen,  and  thick  under- 
growth. The  banks  became  higher 
and  steeper  as  we  ascended  the 
river,  exposing  to  view  a  section 
which  would  have  delighted  a  geo- 
logical explorer.  The  surface  was 
composed  apparently  of  alluvial 
clay  and  vegetable  mould,  four  or 
five  feet  deep,  lying  over  clay  in- 
terspersed with  boulders  to  a  depth 
of  about  ten  feet;  under  it  again 
was  stratified  limestone  of  a  highly 
fossiliferous  character,  and  of  a  light 
brownish-yellow  colour — it  was  the 
first  limestone  we  had  seen  during 
our  journey.  The  upper  half  of  the 
banks  was  nearly  perpendicular ;  the 
lower  half,  being  composed  of  debris 
from  the  clay,  boulders,  and  disin- 
tegrated limestone,  formed  an  easy 
slope.  When  wet,  the  mud  formed 
from  these  substances  is  of  such  a 
soapy  and  sticky  nature  that  it  is 


1871.]        Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.  175 


almost  impossible  to  walk  over  it 
without  losing  your  shoes. 

As  we  pulled  into  shore  in  front 
of  the  Stone  Fort,  we  were  welcomed 
by  cheers  from  all  the  people,  who, 
from  below,  had  proceeded  there  on 
horseback  as  soon  as  they  saw  us 
row  past  their  farms.  The  union- 
jack  was  hoisted  by  the  servants  of 
the  Company — an  emblem  of  nation- 
ality that  none  had  dared  to  display 
for  many  months.  Joy  was  writ- 
ten on  every  one's  countenance. 

The  Lower  or  Stone  Fort  is 
twenty -one  and  a  half  miles  by 
road  from  Fort  Garry,  and  stands 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  river. 
It  is  a  square  enclosure,  with  large 
circular  bastions  at  each  angle,  the 
walls  being  of  substantial  masonry 
and  loopholed  throughout.  There 
is  a  good  steam-mill,  where  the  Hud- 
son Bay  Company  grind  all  the 
flour  they  require  in  this  northern 
department.  The  stone  used  in  all 
these  buildings  is  quarried  from  the 
bank  on  which  the  Fort  stands,  which 
is  there  about  forty  feet  high.  We 
discharged  all  surplus  stores  here, 
retaining  only  enough  provisions 
for  a  few  days,  so  as  to  lighten  our 
boats  as  much  as  possible.  A  com- 
pany of  the  60th  Rifles  was  mounted 
on  ponies  and  in  carts,  and  extended 
as  a  line  of  skirmishers  on  the  left 
bank,  with  orders  to  keep  well 
ahead,  but  always  in  communication 
by  signallers  with  the  boats.  An 
officer  on  horseback  was  sent  to  ex- 
amine the  right  bank,  so  as  to  pro- 
tect us  from  surprise  there,  although 
there  was  little  chance  of  any  op- 
position being  attempted  on  that 
side,  even  should  Eiel  intend  fight- 
ing. That  bandit  potentate,  accord- 
ing to  the  news  of  the  day  before 
from  Fort  Garry,  was  still  in  the 
Fort,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  his 
friend  Bishop  Tache",  who  was  hourly 
expected.  Strict  watch  and  guard 
was  still  maintained  by  his  armed 
followers,  whose  numbers  varied  con- 


stantly. We  took  every  possible 
precaution  to  prevent  intelligence  of 
our  arrival  in  the  river  from  reach- 
ing Fort  Garry.  No  one  was  per- 
mitted to  pass  in  that  direction, 
although  every  one  was  allowed  to 
come  within  our  line  of  skirmishers. 
This  was  done  so  successfully,  that 
although  we  halted  for  the  night  at 
only  six  miles  from  the  place,  Riel 
did  not  know  positively  that  we 
were  in  the  river.  A  vague  report 
of  some  boats  with  men  in  them 
being  on  their  way  up  towards  the 
Fort  had  reached  the  village  of 
Winnipeg ;  but  there  had  been  so 
many  previous  rumours  of  a  similar 
nature  from  week  to  week  in  the 
two  preceding  months,  that  no  one 
credited  it.  We  subsequently  as- 
certained that  Eiel  and  O'Donoghue 
rode  out  late  at  night  in  our  direc- 
tion ;  but  heavy  rain  coming  on  as 
they  approached  our  pickets,  and 
being  in  dread  of  capture,  they  re- 
turned without  any  certain  informa- 
tion regarding  us. 

Our  advance  up  the  river  had 
much  of  a  triumphal  procession 
about  it.  Every  church-bell  rang  out 
its  peal  of  welcome  ;  ladies  in  their 
best  toilettes,  squaws  with  papooses 
on  their  backs,  the  painted  warrior 
of  the  plain — all  testified  joy  after 
their  own  fashion.  There  are  some 
small  rapids  a  few  miles  above  the 
Stone  Fort  caused  by  a  ledge  of 
limestone  cropping  up  and  forming 
a  natural  dam  to  the  waters  above. 
The  detention  caused  by  having  to 
pole  and  track  up  so  many  boats  at 
one  time  enabled  the  inhabitants  to 
get  a  good  view  of  us ;  so  they  as- 
sembled in  numbers  to  do  so. 

The  wind  being  against  us,  we 
had  to  halt  for  the  night  at  a  point 
six  miles  by  road  from  Fort  Garry. 
Our  bivouac  was  carefully  watched 
by  a  cordon  of  sentries  on  both 
banks  of  the  river,  and  trustworthy 
men  were  sent  forward  into  the  vil- 
lage near  the  Fort  to  gain  informa- 


17G 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.          [Feb. 


tion,  and  meet  us  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, as  it  was  intended  to  march 
upon  the  Fort  at  daybreak.  The 
"  shave "  that  night  was,  that  we 
should  have  a  fight ;  and  it  was 
well  that  we  had  something  to  cheer 
us,  for  a  more  dreary  attempt  at  re- 
pose it  is  impossible  to  imagine. 
It  began  to  pour  with  rain  soon 
after  nightfall,  and  continued  with- 
out cessation  until  morning.  To 
march  upon  Fort  Garry  was  out  of 
the  question,  or  at  least  it  would 
have  been  folly  to  have  attempted 
it,  when  we  had  the  means  of  going 
there  by  water,  as  the  face  of  the 
country  was  changed  into  a  sea  of 
mud.  Roads  there  are  none  on 
these  prairies  in  the  ordinary  accep- 
tation of  the  term.  Places  between 
which  there  is  any  traffic  are  joined 
by  cart-tracks,  for  which  a  width  of 
about  eighty  yards  is  allowed  when 
they  pass  through  a  farm ;  so  that 
when  one  spot  becomes  cut  up,  the 
traveller  can  have  a  wide  margin  to 
select  his  way  from  upon  each  side 
of  the  old  path. 

This  necessary  change  of  plan 
was  annoying,  as  we  had  looked 
forward  to  advancing  upon  the  Fort 
in  all  the  pride,  pomp,  and  circum- 
stance of  war. 

As  we  bent  over  our  fires  at  day- 
break, trying  to  get  some  warmth 
for  our  bodies,  and  sufficient  heat 
to  boil  the  kettles,  a  more  miserable- 
looking  lot  of  objects  it  would  be 
impossible  to  imagine.  Every  one 
was  wet  through ;  we  were  cold  and 
hungry ;  our  very  enemies  would 
have  pitied  our  plight.  A  hurried 
breakfast  of  tea  and  biscuit  was 
soon  over,  and  we  were  again  in  the 
boats  by  6  A.M.,  rowing  in  three 
columns  towards  Fort  Garry,  as 
upon  the  preceding  day.  It  poured 
heavily,  and  the  country  was  at 
places  a  sheet  of  water,  through 
which  our  skirmishers  on  the  banks 
had  to  wade  as  best  they  could. 
As  we  approached  the  Protestant 


cathedral,  the  union -jack  was  run 
up  to  the  steeple,  and  its  bells  rang 
out  a  musical  welcome  to  the  ex- 
peditionary force.  The  left  bank  was 
neatly  cultivated  and  well  settled, 
the  population  being  entirely  of 
English  and  Scotch  descent.  The 
other  bank  was  a  tangled  mass  of 
poor  timber,  and  an  underbrush 
consisting  of  hazel  and  rose  bushes, 
intertwined  with  Virginia  creeper. 
The  moderately-rapid  current  in  the 
river  has,  in  the  course  of  ages,  cut 
out  for  itself  a  canal-like  channel, 
which  averaged  from  150  to  300 
yards  in  width.  The  floods  in 
spring,  when  the  ice  breaks  up,  have 
in  the  last  twenty  years  doubled  in 
some  places  the  distance  between 
the  banks,  which  are  of  most  tena- 
cious clay,  steep  throughout,  and 
generally  about  thirty  feet  high. 
We  landed  at  a  place  called  Point 
Douglas  on  the  left  bank,  where  the 
river  makes  a  great  bend  to  the  east- 
ward ;  so  that,  although  it  is  only 
about  two  miles  by  road  to  the  Fort, 
it  is  about  six  there  by  river.  Our 
skirmishers  had  collected  a  few  carts 
and  horses,  sufficient  for  the  con- 
veyance of  some  tools,  ammunition, 
&c.  &c.  The  guns  were  fastened 
by  their  trails  to  the  rear  of  carts, 
and  dragged  along  in  that  manner. 
Messengers  who  had  been  sent  on 
the  previous  evening  to  the  village 
of  Winnipeg  joined  us  here  with 
information  that  Kiel  and  his  gang 
were  still  in  the  Fort,  and  that  the 
current  rumour  was  that  he  intended 
to  fight.  He  had  distributed  addi- 
tional ammunition  amongst  his  men, 
and  the  gates  were  closed  and  the 
guns  loaded. 

The  men  were  quickly  ashore, 
and  advanced  towards  the  Fort 
under  cover  of  a  line  of  skirmishers. 
It  was  heavy  work  marching  through 
the  deep  mud  with  a  driving  rain 
beating  in  our  faces,  making  it  very 
difficult  to  see  more  than  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  before  us.  Notwith- 


1871.  J       Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.  177 


standing  all  these  drawbacks,  the 
men's  pace  was  most  elastic,  and 
they  were  in  the  highest  spirits  at 
the  prospect  of  a  fight,  which  all 
the  inhabitants  we  encountered 
now  assured  us  we  were  certain  of 
having.  The  village  of  Winnipeg 
is  a  small  collection  of  houses, 
chiefly  of  wood,  situated  about  800 
yards  north  of  the  Fort,  with  which 
a  straight  road  connects  it.  The 
Fort  is  in  the  right  angle  formed  by 
the  junction  of  the  Assinaboine  with 
the  Red  River,  being  north  of  the 
former,  and  west  of  the  latter  stream. 
It  was  known  that  there  was  a  boat- 
bridge  over  the  Assinaboine,  imme- 
diately opposite  the  southern  gate  of 
the  Fort  It  was  therefore  desirable 
to  draw  our  line  of  attack  round  it, 
so  as  to  command  the  two  rivers, 
and  so  getting  the  enemy  into  the 
corner  formed  by  them,  prevent  his 
escape. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  passing 
directly  through  the  village,  we 
swept  round  to  the  west,  leaving  it 
on  our  left;  and  when  clear  of  it, 
swung  round  our  right  with  the  in- 
tention of  taking  up  a  position  com- 
manding the  bridge.  The  people  in 
the  village  assured  us  that  Riel  was 
in  the  Fort,  and  intended  to  resist. 
Several  were  asked  to  go  forward  in 
advance  of  our  skirmishers,  to  ascer- 
tain if  the  southern  gate  was  closed 
and  the  walls  manned ;  but  all 
feared  to  do  so.  As  we  passed  the 
village  we  could  see  the  guns  in  the 
embrasures  bearing  in  our  direction. 
Some  people  in  buggies  were  de- 
scried going  off  from  the  Fort  west- 
erly, but  were  brought  to  a  halt 
by  our  skirmishers.  They  proved 
to  be  some  of  Riel's  counsellors ; 
but  nothing  could  be  learned  from 
them.  The  atmosphere  was  so 
thick  that  it  was  difficult  to  make 
out,  even  with  our  glasses,  whether 
men  were  or  were  not  standing  to 
the  guns  which  we  saw.  We  ex- 
pected every  moment  to  see  a  puff 


of  smoke  from  an  embrasure,  to  be 
followed  by  the  whizz  of  a  round- 
shot  past  our  heads.  Every  mo- 
ment increased  the  excitement :  the 
skirmishers  quickened  their  pace  as 
they  neared  the  place,  as  if  in  dread 
lest  others  should  enter  it  before 
them.  Everything  remaining  silent, 
some  staff  officers  were  sent  gallop- 
ing round  to  see  if  the  southern 
gate  was  open,  and  what  was  going 
on  in  rear  of  the  Fort.  They  soon 
returned,  bringing  word  that  it  was 
evacuated,  and  the  gates  left  open. 

This  was  at  first  a  sad  disap- 
pointment to  the  soldiers,  who,  hav- 
ing gone  through  so  much  toil  in 
order  to  put  down  the  rebellion, 
longed  to  be  avenged  upon  its  au- 
thors. Our  victory,  although  blood- 
less, was  complete.  We  dragged  out 
some  of  the  rebel  guns,  and  fired  a 
royal  salute  as  the  union-jack  was 
run  up  the  flagstaff,  from  which 
had  floated,  for  so  many  months,  the 
rebel  banner  that  had  been  worked 
for  Riel  by  the  nuns  in  the  convent 
attached  to  Bishop  Tache^s  cathe- 
dral. The  scene  inside  the  Fort  was 
most  depressing  :  the  square  in  front 
of  the  principal  house  was  under 
water,  and  there  was  mud  and  filth 
everywhere.  Riel  and  some  of  his 
friends  had  remained  in  the  Fort  up 
to  the  last  possible  moment,  and 
had  only  left  when  they  saw  our 
skirmishers.  Their  breakfast  was 
still  on  the  table ;  and  their  clothes 
and  arms  lay  scattered  about  through 
the  numerous  houses  they  had  occu- 
pied, in  a  manner  denoting  the  sud- 
denness of  their  departure. 

Every  one  was  drenched  with 
rain ;  and  as  the  ground  round  the 
Fort  was  deep  with  mud,  the  men 
were  temporarily  lodged  in  the  store- 
houses and  buildings  within  it. 

Fort  Garry  is  a  rectangular  paral- 
lelogram, surrounded  by  high  walls 
of  masonry,  except  on  the  northern 
side,  where  they  are  formed  of  large 
square  logs  placed  horizontally,  one 


178  Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.          [Feb.* 


over  the  other.  At  each  of  the 
southern  angles,  and  half-way  down 
the  eastern  and  western  faces,  there 
is  a  circular  tower  affording  flanking 
defence  to  the  place.  The  Assina- 
boine  River  flows  at  about  a  hundred 
yards  from  its  southern  side.  Like  the 
Red  Eiver,  its  banks  are  steep,  and  of 
very  sticky  clay,  the  Fort  being  about 
forty  feet  above  the  water's  level. 
Looking  east  over  the  Red  River, 
one  sees  the  Roman  Catholic  cathe- 
dral, with  its  monastery,  convent, 
and  bishop's  palace,  all  well-built 
and  neatly-kept  buildings.  Close 
to  them  are  some  miserably  squalid 
cabins  belonging  to  French  half- 
breeds,  whose  houses  generally  are 
vastly  inferior  in  every  respect  to 
those  of  British  origin.  The  eastern 
horizon  is  formed  of  trees,  chiefly 
poplar  and  aspen ;  for  although  the 
regular  wooded  country  is  not  reach- 
ed for  about  thirty  miles  west  of  Red 
River,  still  there  are  numerous  belts 
of  wood  intersecting  the  prairie  in 
that  direction.  Looking  up  that 
river  towards  the  south,  the  eye 
wanders  over  a  series  of  wretchedly- 
tilled  farms,  with  their  houses  and 
barns  situated  upon  both  banks,  and 
interspersed  here  and  there  with 
patches  of  poplar,  dwarf  oak,  wil- 
low, and  underbrush.  The  banks 
of  the  Assinaboine  are  skirted  by 
woods  of  a  similar  description,  having 
occasional  clearances  for  the  squalid 
houses  of  the  French  half-breeds, 
who  occupy  the  adjoining  farms. 
Looking  north,  the  whitewashed 
buildings  constituting  the  village  of 
Winnipeg,  and  the  farmhouses  of 
well-to-do  English-speaking  people, 
give  an  air  of  prosperity  to  the  land- 
scape :  in  the  distance  is  the  square 
tower  of  the  badly -built  English 
cathedral,  all  out  of  the  perpendi- 
cular, and  foreboding  a  fall  at  no 
very  distant  time. 

The  one  point  of  view  having 
peculiar  interest  to  the  stranger  is 
gained  by  turning  west  or  south- 


westward.  Ear  as  the  eye  can  see, 
there  is  stretched  out  before  you  an 
ocean  of  grass,  whose  vast  immen- 
sity grows  upon  you  more  and  more 
the  longer  you  gaze  upon  it.  Gallop 
out  alone  in  the  evening  for  a  few 
miles  from  the  Fort  towards  the 
S.W.,  and  the  most  unimpression- 
able of  mortals  will  experience  a 
novel  sensation.  A  feeling  of  in- 
describably buoyant  freedom  seems 
to  tingle  through  every  nerve,  mak- 
ing the  old  feel  young  again.  Old 
age  and  decrepitude  belong  to  civil- 
isation and  the  abodes  of  men.  We 
can  even  associate  it  in  our  mind 
with  mountains,  whose  rocks  them- 
selves appear  as  monuments  of  pre- 
ceding centuries  ;  and  the  withered 
and  fallen  trees  in  ancient  forests 
seem  akin  to  it :  but  upon  the  bound- 
less prairies,  with  no  traces  of  man 
in  sight,  nature  looks  so  fresh  and 
smiling  that  youth  alone  is  in  con- 
sonance with  it. 

Notwithstanding  the  badness  of 
the  weather  on  the  day  that  we  took 
possession  of  Fort  Garry,  numbers 
of  the  loyal  inhabitants  came  in  to 
see  their  deliverers.  All  were  most 
anxious  that  immediate  vengeance 
should  be  taken  upon  the  rebel 
leaders,  and  many  volunteered  to 
capture  Riel  and  others  of  his  gang, 
who  were  stated  to  be  still  within 
easy  reach.  The  officer  command- 
ing the  troops  had  had  no  civil  au- 
thority conferred  upon  him  by  the 
Canadian  Government,  so  it  was  not 
in  his  power  to  issue  warrants  for 
their  arrest.  The  Ottawa  Ministry 
had  intended  that  the  civil  Lieuten- 
ant-Governor  whom  they  had  ap- 
pointed for  the  province  of  Manito- 
bah  should  have  arrived  at  Fort 
Garry  either  with  or  -immediately 
after  us.  We  reached  that  place  on 
the  morning  of  the  24th  August,  but 
he  did  not  get  there  until  the  even- 
ing of  the  2d  September,  no  arrange- 
ment having  been  made  by  the 
Canadian  Ministry  for  the  govern- 


1871.]        Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion. 


merit  of  the  province  during  that 
interregnum.  Colonel  Wolseley 
found  himself  in  a  difficult  position. 
The  most  influential  people,  longing 
for  some  form  of  government  that 
would  be  strong  enough  to  afford 
the  community  protection,  begged 
him  to  assume  the  position  of  pro- 
visional Lieutenant-Governor.  To 
have  done  so  would  have  been 
illegal;  for  the  Hudson  Bay  Com- 
pany, represented  by  its  officers, 
were  de  jure  the  rulers  of  the  coun- 
try, until  an  official  communication 
had  been  received  announcing  its 
transfer  to  the  Dominion  of  Canada. 
As  the  rebels  had  bolted  without 
firing  a  shot,  to  have  proclaimed 
martial  law  would  have  been  un- 
warrantable. He  therefore  insisted 
upon  the  senior  officer  of  the  Com- 
pany then  present  being  recognised 
as  governor  of  the  province,  as  if 
there  had  never  been  any  rebellion 
whatever,  and  as  if  the  rule  of  the 
Company  had  continued  without 
any  break,  until  the  newly-appointed 
Lieutenant-Governor  arrived. 

Few,  except  those  who  have  had 
revolutionary  experience,  can  form 
a  just  idea  of  the  condition  of  affairs 
on  the  Red  River  for  some  days 
after  our  arrival.  There  were  no 
police  to  maintain  order ;  all  those 
who  had  during  the  past  winter  suf- 
fered in  body  or  in  property  from 
Riel's  tyranny,  considered  they  were 
justified  in  avenging  themselves  up- 
on those  who  had  had  any  connec- 
tion with  rebel  affairs.  The  reaction 
from  the  state  of  fear  and  trembling 
in  which  all  had  lived  for  the  pre- 
ceding ten  months  was  too  great  for 
many,  and  there  was  some  little 
trouble  in  keeping  them  in  proper 
restraint.  The  rebel  leaders  had 
disappeared,  but  many  of  their  ad- 
herents had  merely  gone  home,  hop- 
ing to  be  forgotten  through  the  in- 
significance of  their  position.  Those 
who  had  remained  loyal  were  loud 
in  expressing  their  discontent  at 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXIV. 


these  rebels  being  allowed  to  live  at 
large. 

Every  precaution  was  taken  by 
the  military  to  prevent  any  serious 
disturbance.  Armed  parties  patrol- 
led about  the  Fort  and  through  the 
village  each  night  until  everything 
was  quiet,  and  a  few  special  con- 
stables were  sworn  in  as  policemen 
to  assist  in  preserving  order  in  the 
town.  Unfortunately,  whisky  was 
to  be  had  in  every  shop  in  the 
village ;  and  the  Indians  who  had 
served  with  us  as  voyageurs  added 
to  the  excitement  by  their  noisy 
drunkenness.  The  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor was  hourly  expected ;  but 
as  day  after  day  passed  without 
his  being  heard  of,  a  good  deal  of 
nice  management  was  required  to 
keep  things  quiet,  and  prevent  any 
collision  between  the  loyalists  and 
those  who  had  recently  been  in 
arms  against  her  Majesty.  If  mili- 
tary rule  had  been  resorted  to,  quiet 
and  peace  could  have  been  easily 
maintained;  but  it  was  considered 
essential  for  political  reasons  to  keep 
the  military  element  in  the  back- 
ground as  much  as  possible,  and  to 
make  it  appear  that  law  and  order 
were  maintained  there  in  the  same 
manner  as  in  the  other  Canadian 
provinces.  The  difficulty  of  doing 
so  may  be  partially  appreciated 
when  it  is  remembered  that  all  the 
former  machinery  of  government 
had  disappeared,  and  even  the  few 
magistrates  who  remained  were 
afraid  or  disinclined  to  act.  There 
was  no  law  officer  of  any  descrip- 
tion ;  so  that  in  reality  order  was 
kept  by  the  moral  effect  produced 
by  the  presence  of  the  troops,  and 
by  the  consciousness  that  they  would 
be  used  at  any  moment  if  necessary 
for  the  suppression  of  disturbance. 
There  were  occasionally  rumours  of 
armed  bodies  of  rebels  collecting  on 
the  frontier,  or  in  the  plains  to  the 
west ;  but  as  soon  as  the  people 
generally  perceived  that  no  arrests 

N 


180 


Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.         [Feb. 


were  being  made  by  the  military, 
and  that  even  the  few  leading  rebels 
who  had  been  captured  by  our 
skirmishers  in  their  advance  upon 
the  Fort  had  been  released  without 
any  trial  whatever,  public  confidence 
revived.  Even  the  poor  ignorant 
French  half-breeds,  who  had  been 
misled  by  their  priests  for  political 
objects,  accepted  the  position,  and 
settled  down  to  their  ordinary  occu- 
pations. In  such  sparsely  -  popu- 
lated countries,  revolutionary  move- 
ments hold  within  themselves  the 
germ  of  dissolution.  It  is  difficult 
to  collect  the  men  together  for 
action;  and  if  collected,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  obtain  food,  or  funds  to  buy 
it  for  them.  Riel  got  over  this 
difficulty  by  seizing  upon  the  Hud- 
son Bay  Company  stores  of  pro- 
visions as  a  preliminary  step  in  his 
rebellion.  He  was  thus  able  to 
feed,  clothe,  and  pay  his  soldiers 
at  the  Company's  expense.  If  at 
the  outset  of  his  revolutionary 
career  Fort  Garry  had  been  set  on 
fire,  and  all  its  stores  of  food, 
money,  clothing,  ammunition,  &c. 
&c.,  thus  burnt,  the  rebellion  would 
have  been  smothered  and  buried  in 
the  smoke  and  ashes. 

Kiel  in  his  fall  experienced  the 
fickleness  of  Dame  Fortune.  On  the 
23d  August  he  was  the  despotic 
potentate  issuing  orders  like  a  dic- 
tator, there  being  none  to  gainsay 
him.  Early  in  the  forenoon  on  the 
following  morning  he  might  have 
been  seen  accompanied  only  by  one 
follower,  both  on  stolen  horses,  gal- 
loping through  the  rain  and  mud, 
their  backs  towards  the  scene  of 
their  villany.  Let  us  hope  that  as 
he  passed  in  his  flight  the  spot 
where  the  poor  Canadian  volunteer 
had  been  murdered  by  his  orders,  he 
repented  him  of  his  crime.  These 
two  worthies,  the  master  and  the 
man,  having  crossed  to  the  right 
bank  of  the  Red  River,  fled  south, 
thinking  they  were  safer  from  pur- 


suit on  that  side  of  it  than  if  they 
followed  the  regular  road  to  Pem- 
bina,  which  runs  on  the  western  or 
left  bank  of  that  stream.  Night 
having  set  in,  they  bivouacked  on 
the  plain,  and  upon  waking  the 
following  morning  discovered  that 
their  horses  had  disappeared.  They 
were  without  food,  but  their  pockets 
were  well  lined  with  stolen  money. 
Having  lost  their  horses,  and  that 
side  of  the  river  being  little  in- 
habited, it  was  necessary  for  them 
to  cross  to  the  other  bank.  There 
was  no  boat,  so  they  set  to  work 
pulling  down  a  fence  to  make  a  raft. 
They  could  not  find  enough  rope  01 
cord  to  fasten  it  together,  so  Riel'f 
follower  —  his  late  "  Secretary  oi 
State" — took  off  his  trousers  and 
used  them  for  that  purpose.  Upon 
landing  on  the  other  side  they  were 
assailed  by  the  farmer,  who  had  seer 
them  pulling  down  his  fence,  and 
were  forced  to  disgorge  some  o! 
their  plunder  as  compensation  foi 
the  damage.  Two  days  afterward; 
they  reached  Pembina — Riel  wit! 
bare  feet,  swollen  and  sore  from  th< 
journey.  He  found  that  he  was  noi 
at  all  well  received  by  the  Ameri 
cans  there,  who  had  taken  umbrage 
at  his  having  imprisoned  their  con 
sul ;  so  he  went  to  St  Josephs,  a  vil 
lage  about  fifty  miles  to  the  west 
and  within  a  few  miles  of  our  fron 
tier.  He  had  previously  sent  i 
large  proportion  of  his  plunder  t< 
that  place;  and,  according  to  th< 
latest  received  accounts,  he  is  stil 
there,  living  comfortably  in  the  en 
joyment  of  his  stolen  property. 

The  first  detachment  of  the  reg 
ular  troops  started  from  Fort  Garrj 
on  their  return -journey  to  Canadf 
on  the  29th  of  August,  and  all  o 
them  had  left  on  the  3d  of  Septem 
her.  The  two  militia  regiments  hac 
been  quartered,  one  in  the  Lower  o: 
Stone  Fort,  the  other  in  Fort  Garry 
The  regulars  had  all  crossed  th< 
height  of  land  near  Lake  Superio: 


1871.]        Narrative  of  the  Red  River  Expedition. — Conclusion.  181 


on  their  return -journey  before  the 
1st  of  October,  and  were  in  their 
barracks  at  Quebec  and  Montreal 
before  the  autumn  had  closed  in. 

So  ended  the  Red  River  Expe- 
dition— an  undertaking  that  will 
long  stand  out  in  our  military 
chronicles  as  possessing  character- 
istics peculiarly  its  own.  The  force 
which  landed  at  Massowah  in  1867 
had  to  march  about  400  miles 
inland,  through  an  inhabited  coun- 
try where  supplies  were  obtain- 
able, to  relieve  some  British  pri- 
soners held  captive  by  a  sove- 
reign, half  tyrant,  half  madman. 
Europe  was  in  profound  peace  at 
the  time,  so  all  eyes  were  turned 
upon  its  doings.  Although  there  can 
scarcely  be  said  to  have  been  any 
fighting,  as  we  had  not  even  a  man 
killed,  still  our  Ministry  was  glad  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  attracting 
so  much  general  attention  to  a 
military  operation  entirely  English; 
and  many  think  that  for  the  mil- 
lions spent  upon  it,  we,  as  a  nation, 
received  an  equivalent  in  proving 
before  the  world  that  we  were  still 
capable  of  military  enterprise.  The 
force  sent  to  the  Red  River  for  the 
parpose  of  crushing  out  rebellion 
$hgre,  had  to  advance  from  its  point 
of  disembarkation  more  than  600 
miles  through  a  wilderness  of  water, 
rocks,  and  forests,  where  no  supplies 
were  to  be  had,  and  where  every 
pound -weight  of  provisions  and 
stores  had  to  be  transported  for 
miles  on  the  backs  of  the  soldiers. 
Happily  its  object  was  accomplished, 
as  in  the  expedition  to  Abyssinia, 
without  any  loss  of  life.  A  great 
war  was  raging  in  Europe  whilst 
this  Expedition  was  forcing  its  way 
over  and  through  the  immense 
natural  obstacles  that  lay  in  its 
path.  All  thoughts  were  of  affairs 
upon  the  Rhine ;  no  one  could  spare 


a  moment's  reflection  for  the  doings 
of  this  little  British  army.  No 
home  newspapers  cared  to  record  its 
success,  nor  to  sound  one  single  note 
of  praise  in  its  honour.  By  the 
careful  administration  of  General 
Lindsay,  and  the  officers  he  had 
selected  to  carry  out  his  orders,  the 
total  expense  of  the  whole  Expe- 
dition was  under  £100,000,  one 
quarter  of  which  only  is  to  be  paid 
by  England.  There  was  no  reckless 
waste  either  in  material  or  in  money. 
Such  a  careful  economy  was  exer- 
cised in  its  organisation,  and  in  ad- 
ministering to  its  subsequent  wants, 
that  it  may  be  safely  asserted  that 
no  such  distance  has  ever  been  tra- 
versed by  an  efficient  brigade  num- 
bering about  1400  souls,  in  any  of 
our  numerous  little  wars,  at  such  a 
trifling  cost. 

The  English  flag  had  been  pulled    ] 
down,  and  the  standard  of  rebellion  7  $  S 
had  been  raised  at  Fort  Garry.     A  . , 
man  loyal  to  his  Queen  had  been  "'' 
murdered,  loyalty  having  been  his 
crime.     Men  were  imprisoned  and 
robbed  without  even  the  mockery  of 
a  trial.     The  perpetrators  of  these 
crimes  believed  that  the  wilderness 
which  separated  them  from  civilisa- 
tion would  secure  them  from  pun- 
ishment; but  the  manner  in  which 
our  Expedition  performed  its  allotted 
task,  proved  that  no  distance  or  in- 
tervening obstacles  can  afford  protec- 
tion to  those  who  outrage  our  laws. 

The  province  of  Manitobah,  re- 
lieved from  the  oppression  which 
Riel  had  established,  has  a  great 
future  before  it.  Notwithstanding 
the  severity  of  its  long  winter, 
nature  has  been  so  bountiful  to  it  in 
the  fertility  of  its  soil,  that  it  only 
wants  a  population  and  railway  con- 
nection with  the  sea-coast,  to  make 
it  at  no  distant  period  the  granary 
for  our  empire. 


Lord  Lyttelton's  Letter  to  the  Vice- Chancellor 


[Feb. 


LOED  LYTTELTON'S  LETTER  TO  THE  VICE-CHANCELLOR  OF  OXFORD 
ON  THE  STUDY'  OF  GREEK. 


LORD  LYTTELTON,  in  the  month 
of  June  last,  addressed  a  public 
letter  to  the  Vice-Chancellor  of  the 
University  of  Oxford,  which  raises 
a  most  important  question  in  the 
superior  education  of  England.  In 
his  capacity  of  head  of  the  Commis- 
sion for  the  reconstruction  of  En- 
dowed Schools,  he  invites  the  Uni- 
versity to  modify  its  educational 
system  so  far  as  to  dispense  with  the 
study  of  Greek  for  some  of  its  stu- 
dents. He  proposes  that  a  new 
class  of  students  shall  be  formed  at 
the  University,  who  shall  be  per- 
mitted to  acquire  the  academical 
degree  and  honours  without  any 
knowledge  of  Greek. 

This  is  a  very  large  and  serious 
proposition.  It  may  affect,  at  least 
for  a  time,  only  a  very  small  num- 
ber of  students ;  but  its  bearing  on 
the  superior  education  of  the  nation 
is  manifestly  very  heavy.  It  is 
admitted  that  it  will  produce  a  large 
effect  on  many  schools  in  the  coun- 
try, both  actually  existing  and  to 
be  erected.  Its  action,  indeed,  on 
these  schools,  is  urged  as  the  chief 
ground  for  the  adoption  of  this 
measure.  It  becomes,  therefore, 
extremely  important  to  ascertain 
carefully  the  character  of  this  pro- 
posal, and  the  nature  of  the  reasons 
on  which  it  is  founded.  Lord  Lyt- 
telton  does  not  discuss  the  omission 
of  Greek  on  its  merits ;  he  urges  no 
reason  for  the  change  he  proposes, 
which  rests  on  an  examination  of 
the  part  which  the  study  of  Greek 
performs  in  education.  He  pleads 
arguments  which  are  not  his  own. 
He  takes  his  stand  on  a  demand 
for  a  scientific  education,  and  which 
comes  before  the  Commission  of 
which  he  is  chief.  As  a  Com- 
missioner he  is  called  upon  "to 


establish  schools  which,  by  way  of 
distinction,  may  be  called  modern 
— that  is,  schools  in  which  Greek 
shall  be  excluded  in  order  to  pro- 
vide adequate  test  and  encourage- 
ment for  the  study  of  Modern  Lan- 
guages and  Natural  Science ; "  and 
when  the  Commissioners  propose  to 
establish  such  schools,  they  are  met 
by  the  objection  that  the  Univer- 
sities will  be  closed  to  the  pupils, 
however  competent,  unless  they  shall 
spend  money  and  time  in  acquiring 
the  quantum  of  Greek  which  is  ex- 
acted from  all  who  go  there.  The 
University  of  Oxford,  therefore,  is 
asked  to  modify  its  system,  and  to 
omit  Greek  from  its  requirements 
in  the  case  of  scientific  students,  not 
because  Greek  is  an  undesirable 
element  of  education  even  for  these 
students,  but  because  a  certain  num- 
ber of  parents  demand  a  scientific 
education  for  their  sons  without 
Greek. 

ISTow,  on  the  very  face  of  it,  the 
fact  that  some  parents  do  not  wish 
their  sons  to  learn  Greek,  is  an  ex- 
ceedingly poor  reason  for  calling  on 
the  universities  to  abandon  what 
has  been  hitherto  an  integral  portion 
of  their  education.  Surely  it  would 
have  been  only  natural  and  becom- 
ing in  the  Commissioners,  when  ask- 
ing those  responsible  for  guiding 
England's  best  education  to  modify 
their  course,  to  discuss  the  merits 
of  the  change  proposed.  Lord 
Lyttelton,  it  is  true,  declares  that 
"  the  demand  made  by  so  many 
parents  is  supported  by  strong 
proof  of  its  reasonableness ; "  but 
when  he  requires  Oxford  to  "  con- 
cede this  demand  ungrudgingly," 
he  does  not  tell  Oxford  what  that 
proof  is.  The  Commissioners,  there- 
fore, appear  in  their  official  address 


1871.] 


of  Oxford  on  the  Study  of  Greek. 


183 


as  the  mere  mouthpiece  of  the  ideas 
of  other  people — a  position  not  very 
dignified  either  for  Oxford  or  for 
the  Commissioners  themselves. 

However,  the  Commissioners  have 
addressed  the  University  of  Oxford, 
and  have  thus  raised  a  question 
which,  though  unopened  by  them, 
deserves  the  clearest  and  fullest 
discussion.  It  is  true  that  many 
parents  seek  the  advantage  for  their 
sons  of  the  education  offered  them 
at  the  universities  and  public 
schools,  but  desire  to  erase  Greek 
from  the  curriculum.  They  wish  to 
substitute  natural  science,  modern 
languages,  and  other  elements  of 
knowledge,  for  this  ancient  classical 
language.  It  cannot  be  denied  that 
this  desire  is  felt  not  only  by  those 
whose  conception  of  education  is 
the  acquisition  of  knowledge  which 
may  be  useful  for  the  occupations 
of  after-life,  but  is  also  shared  by 
minds  of  high  order,  who  conceive 
that  science,  as  the  ground  of  gen- 
eral training  and  refined  culture, 
possesses  a  decided  superiority  over 
classical  education.  The  nation, 
therefore,  situated  as  it  now  is,  has 
the  right  to  ask  of  the  Universities 
and  the  higher  schools,  what  is  the 
worth  of  the  classical  education 
which  they  impose  on  the  best 
youth  of  the  people?  and  it  is  a 
question  which  every  scholar  ought 
to  be  prepared  to  answer. 

What  is  the  use,  then,  of  making 
a  boy  spend  so  many  years  on  the 
study  of  Greek  and  Latin?  How 
is  Lord  Lyttelton's  parent  to  be  an- 
swered, who  complains  of  the  hard- 
ship of  being  obliged  to  forego  a 
public  school  and  University  for  his 
son,  or  else  being  compelled  to  mis- 
direct so  much  time  and  so  much 
energy  to  so  unprofitable  a  purpose  1 
Those  whose  hearts  are  set  on 
worldly  success  for  their  sons,  and 
men  of  science  in  league  with  them, 
exclaim  that  the  classics — above  all, 
the  Greek — fit  the  scholar  for  no 


definite  profession,  and  impart  no 
useful  learning :  and  they  will  in- 
sist on  their  more  excellent  way. 
They  claim  equal,  if  not  more  than 
equal,  efficiency  in  developing  cul- 
ture for  the  scientific  studies,  whilst 
they  intrench  themselves  in  the 
varied  knowledge  which  their  stu- 
dents will  find  available  for  car- 
rying on  their  subsequent  career. 
Thus  the  burden  of  proof  falls  on 
the  system  which  requires  annually 
thousands  of  English  boys  to  devote 
their  own  time  and  the  money  of 
their  parents  to  the  study  of  dead 
languages  ;  and  the  load  is  heav- 
ily aggravated  by  the  conscious- 
ness that  very  few  only  of  these 
youths  will  ever  acquire  anything 
but  the  most  meagre  acquaintance 
with  those  ancient  tongues. 

This  is  the  cause  which  classical 
scholars  are  summoned  to  defend. 
Can  it  be  sustained  against  the 
attacks  of  adversaries  so  intellectual 
and  so  vehement  1  We  hold  that  it 
.can — that  the  nation  judges  rightly 
in  adhering  to  classical  education — 
that  for  general  excellence  no  other 
training  can  compete  with  the  classi- 
cal. But  the  nature  of  the  problem 
must  be  clearly  understood.  We 
do  not  deny  the  necessity  or  the  im- 
portance of  some  distinctly  useful 
attainments  in  the  education  of  the 
young.  We  do  not  dispute  the  ex- 
pediency of  teaching  a  certain  amount 
of  arithmetic,  modern  languages, 
geography,  and  physical  science  to 
the  young.  Let  the  shortcomings  of 
schools  in  this  respect  by  all  means 
be  remedied.  We  make  no  objection 
to  an  inquiry  being  made,  however 
rigid,  into  the  inefficiency  of  Eton 
and  Harrow,  and  their  comrades,  in 
these  important  matters.  Our  quar- 
rel with  the  advocates  of  science  and 
utility  begins  later.  It  bursts  out 
when  the  claim  is  advanced  that 
these  special  attainments  are  more 
excellent  in  themselves  than  the 
general  culture;  or,  as  Professor 


184 


Lord -Lytteltoris  Letter  to  the  Vice-Chancellor 


[Feb. 


Huxley  and  others  maintain,  that 
they  contain  that  very  general  cul- 
ture itself  which  is  held  to  be  su- 
preme, and  that  in  a  purer  and 
more  educating  form  than  the 
study  of  the  classical  languages. 
We  say  in  reply,  that  the  quality  of 
education  is  not  to  be  measured 
by  the  amount  of  accurate  informa- 
tion which  it  supplies.  On  such 
a  principle,  the  possession  of  pro- 
fessional and  technical  knowledge 
would  be  entitled  to  claim  suprem- 
acy in  education.  A  sailor  knows 
how  to  navigate  a  ship,  and  a  ship- 
wright how  to  build  one ;  a  Bir- 
mingham artisan  is  deeply  versed  in 
the  nature  of  metals  and  the  skill  to 
work  them;  a  watchmaker  displays 
a  vast  amount  of  delicate  and  refined 
skill  in  the  construction  of  a  chro- 
nometer ;  a  Lincolnshire  farmer 
brings  great  thought  and  judgment 
to  bear  upon  the  cultivation  of  the 
wolds.  How  many  men,  whom  the 
world  agrees  to  call  educated,  pos- 
sess knowledge  of  equal  accuracy 
and  extent  with  that  wielded  by 
these  professionals  ?  If  accurate 
knowledge  is  education,  must  not 
mechanics  and  artisans  be  ranked 
amongst  the  most  highly  educated 
minds  of  a  nation1?  And  is  not 
this  a  reductio  ad  absurdum  ? 
We  shall  be  told  that  it  is  not 
the  knowledge  actually  acquired 
which  is  the  true  test  of  education, 
but  the  power  of  thinking  de- 
veloped in  the  attainment  of  the 
knowledge,  the  familiarity  with 
theory  and  its  processes,  and  the 
ability  acquired  to  employ  with 
skill  and  success  the  various  facul- 
ties of  the  mind.  We  accept  the 
standard,  we  consent  to  try  the  issue 
by  this  principle.  The  educated 
man,  then,  is  not  the  man  who 
knows  most  things  accurately,  but 
•he  who  has  attained  the  best  com- 
mand of  his  instrument — who  has 
trained  his  mind  to  perform  its 
work  well,  whatever  that  work  may 


be ;  who  has  faculties  capable  of 
meeting  the  demands  of  the  high- 
est and  widest  culture.  It  will  be 
no  longer  the  man  who  can  enume- 
rate all  the  shells  in  existence,  nor 
recount  all  the  salts ;  no,  nor  even 
those  who  can  explain  the  theories 
of  the  salts  and  colours.  The 
quality  of  the  knowledge  must  be 
taken  into  account,  and  its  range 
over  the  multiple  elements  of  man's 
nature ;  its  power  not  solely  or 
chiefly  over  the  material  constituents 
of  human  existence,  but  over  the 
spiritual  and  intellectual  properties 
of  the  human  soul.  Here  it  is  that 
we  affirm  that  the  importance  of  the 
general  education  far  surpasses  the 
special,  and  that  for  aiding  the 
ends  of  this  higher  education  no 
instruments  are  comparable  to  the 
Greek  and  Latin  languages  and  their 
literatures. 

I.  Solid  reasons  may  be  assigned 
for  this  judgment.  In  the  first 
place,  they  are  languages ;  they  are 
not  particular  sciences,  nor  definite 
branches  of  knowledge,  but  litera- 
tures. Great  claims  to  superiority 
have  been  advanced  for  them  on  the 
ground  that  they  cultivate  the  taste, 
and  bestow  great  powers  of  expres- 
sion. These  claims  cannot  be  con- 
tested. The  Greek  and  Latin  writers 
were  great  masters  of  language,  and 
on  that  very  account  have  served  as 
models  of  expression  and  taste  for 
more  than  twenty  centuries.  No 
modern  writers  pretend  to  excel  in 
finish,  and  in  delicacy  and  power 
of  expression,  their  predecessors  in 
Greek  and  Latin.  So  far,  then, 
the  merit  proclaimed  for  Greek  and 
Latin  can  be  sustained ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  feel  that  at  times 
undue  stress  has  been  laid  upon  it. 
The  peculiar  value  of  a  classical  edu- 
cation is  not  the  study  of  language, 
great  as  that  is.  Success  in  the 
powerful  and  refined  use  of  words  is 
realised  by  few  students,  either  at 
school  or  college.  Compared  with 


1871.] 


of  Oxford  on  the  Study  of  Greek. 


185 


the  many  years  and  the  large  ex- 
pense involved  in  classical  training, 
the  happy  use  of  language,  even 
•were  it  attained  by  the  majority  of 
its  disciples,  is  no  adequate  justifi- 
cation. Most  of  all  is  the  mischiev- 
ousness  of  this  misconception  felt 
when  composition  is  held  up  as  the 
great  aim  to  be  achieved.  Skill  in 
classical  composition  is  unquestion- 
ably a  very  distinguished  accom- 
plishment. It  necessarily  implies 
very  high  culture,  and  the  posses- 
sion of  many  attainments  besides 
the  power  of  expression.  But  it 
is  a  gift  bestowed  only  on  the 
few;  and  to  make  of  it  the  staple 
of  general  education  is  as  senseless 
as  it  would  be  to  require  English 
education  to  consist  in  writing 
verses.  The  time  and  effort  de- 
voted to  composition,  prose  or 
verse — though,  of  course,  the  latter 
in  the  greatest  degree — is  a  flagrant 
waste  of  time,  and  always  a  radical 
misconception  of  the  value  of  clas- 
sical education.  There  is  many  a 
man  who  can  read  and  understand 
French  or  German  perfectly,  and 
yet  would  be  unable  to  write  ten 
lines  in  either  of  these  languages  with- 
out falling  into  grammatical  error. 
Would  the  world  acknowledge  that 
he  was  unacquainted  with  French 
or  German  —  that  his  knowledge 
of  the  language,  because  unaccom- 
panied by  the  power  of  writing  it 
correctly,  was  a  failure?  Is  it  no- 
thing, or  rather,  is  it  not  almost 
everything,  to  be  able  to  master  the 
writings  of  the  great  French  or  Ger- 
man authors  with  ease  and  accuracy1? 
Let  honours  and  prizes  be  awarded 
to  fine  composition  in  Greek  or 
Latin — it  is  a  standard  to  be  held 
up,  an  attainment  meriting  distinc- 
tion ;  but  to  make  it  a  necessary  or 
even  a  chief  part  of  classical  educa- 
tion, is  to  imperil  the  continuance 
of  that  mode  of  training.  Classical 
education,  so  conceived,  cannot  be 
defended  against  the  assaults  of 


enemies  who  can  point  to  so  many 
other  means  of  cultivating  the  mind 
— it  cannot  hold  its  ground  in  our 
day — if  placed  on  such  a  basis.  Nor 
is  the  study  of  classical  composition 
necessary  for  acquiring  the  faculty 
of  speaking  and  writing  well  in 
English.  On  the  other  hand,  Ger- 
man professors  may  write  Greek  and 
Latin  well — their  prose,  in  their  own 
tongue,  is  about  the  worst  in  Europe. 
France  gave  up  the  study  of  Greek 
for  nearly  a  century :  what  writings, 
for  style  and  finish,  shall  we  com- 
pare with  the  prose  of  a  Cousin  or 
a  Saint-Beuve  1  The  educational 
value  of  Greek  and  Latin  is  some- 
thing immeasurably  broader  and 
better  than  this  single  accomplish- 
ment of  refined  taste  and  cultivated 
expression.  The  problem  to  be 
solved  is  to  open  out  the  undevel- 
oped nature  of  a  human  being ;  to 
bring  out  his  faculties,  and  to  im- 
part skill  in  the  use  of  them  ;  to  set 
the  seeds  of  many  powers  growing  ; 
to  give  the  boy,  according  to  his  cir- 
cumstances, the  largest  practicable 
acquaintance  with  life — with  what 
it  is  composed  of,  morally,  intellectu- 
ally, and  materially.  For  the  accom- 
plishment of  this  great  work,  what 
instrument  can  be  compared  with  a 
great  literature?  With  how  many 
elements  of  thought  does  a  boy 
come  in  contact  when  he  reads 
Herodotus  and  Homer,  Thucydides 
and  Aristotle !  How  many  ideas 
has  he  acquired  !  how  many  regions 
of  human  life,  how  many  portions 
of  his  own  mind,  has  he  gained 
insight  into  !  How  familiar  has 
he  become  with  countless  elements 
of  human  existence,  whether  indi- 
vidual or  social !  Let  the  youthful 
spirit  be  penetrated  with  Homer, 
and  think  how  vast  an  intimacy 
he  will  have  acquired  with  the 
feelings,  the  passions,  the  play  of. 
the  human  mind  in  all  ages  and 
under  all  circumstances,  with  all 
that  most  emphatically  constitutes 


186 


Lord  LyHeltorfs  Letter  to  the  Vice-Cliancellor 


[Feb. 


a  human  being.  Will  any  one 
assert  that  to  know  about  the  dis- 
tance of  the  sun  from  the  earth,  to 
be  able  to  calculate  the  velocity 
of  light,  to  have  learnt  that  heat 
is  motion,  is  better  for  man,  is 
more  truly  his  happiness,  than  to 
have  grasped  and  to  sympathise 
with  the  deeds  and  the  emotions 
described  by  Homer?  Or  think 
again  of  Thucydides  and  Demos- 
thenes, and  what  the  student  who 
has  dived  into  the  depth  of  their 
minds  will  have  gained — what  light 
•will  have  been  shed  on  the  laws 
which  regulate  human  society  in  all 
times,  on  the  essential  elements  of 
political  association,  on  the  relations 
of  man  to  man,  on  the  impulses  of 
human  nature  itself.  Every  glow- 
ing word  will  awaken  a  correspond- 
ing emotion ;  every  deed  recorded, 
every  motive  unfolded,  every  policy 
explained,  will  be  pregnant  with 
instruction ;  and  that  instruction 
will  be  valuable,  not  so  much  for 
the  definite  application  which  may 
be  made  of  it  to  particular  cases, 
but  infinitely  more  for  the  acquaint- 
ance with  human  nature  which  it 
has  generated,  the  readiness  for 
action  it  has  produced  in  a  world 
now  become  familiar,  and  the  skill 
and  tact  it  has  created  in  the  use 
of  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind.  A 
man  may  be  able  to  describe  all  the 
animals  in  the  sea,  or  to  reckon  up 
all  the  kings  that  ever  reigned  in 
Europe,  and  yet  be  very  imperfectly 
educated.  But  the  unfledged  boy, 
who  starts  with  a  mind  empty, 
blank,  and  unperceiving,  if  only  he 
has  been  in  contact  with  a  com- 
petent teacher,  is  transformed  by 
passing  through  Greek  and  Latin  : 
a  thousand  ideas,  a  thousand  per- 
ceptions, are  awakened  in  him — 
that  is,  a  thousand  fitnesses  for  life, 
for  its  labours  and  its  duties. 

But  is  he  able  to  reason,  asks  the 
mathematician1?  Can  he  correctly 
deduce  conclusions  from  premises  ? 
Is  he  not  a  slave  to  authority,  a  pas- 


sive recipient  of  matters  dropped 
into  his  ears,  but  not  reasoned  out 
by  his  understanding?  inquires  Pro- 
fessor Huxley.  Can  he  follow  a 
chain  of  sequences,  and  convert  his 
knowledge  into  living  truth  1  The 
answer  is  easy  and  decisive  :  He 
can  do  all  these  things,  if  he  be 
properly  handled  by  a  competent 
teacher.  Everything  turns  on  that ; 
for  it  is  possible  to  learn  languages 
by  rote,  and  to  get  small  good  out 
of  the  operation.  The  teacher  must 
challenge  the  scholar  as  he  pro- 
ceeds, if  the  benefit  of  classical  edu- 
cation is  to  be  won.  When  Pro- 
fessor Huxley  speaks  of  the  routine 
learners  of  classical  grammar,  we 
must  remind  him  in  turn  of  the 
prodigious  amount  of  arithmetic  and 
algebra  and  the  calculi  which  may  be 
piled  up  in  the  brain  with  small  ex- 
ercise to  its  reasoning  faculties.  Geo- 
metry is  a  very  thinking  process  ; 
but  many  a  formidable  problem  has 
been  solved  by  the  calculus  with 
little  more  reasoning  than  is  invol- 
ved in  the  calculating  machine  of 
Mr  Babbage.  Then,  is  it  not  very 
possible  to  acquire  a  large  famili- 
arity with  chemistry  with  very 
little  continuous  thought1?  To 
us  it  is  as  clear  as  that  the  sun 
shines  in  the  heavens,  that  the 
study  of  the  literature  of  Greece 
and  Eome,  most  of  all  of  Greece, 
furnishes  the  means  for  developing 
and  exercising  thought  in  a  young 
student,  with  which  no  field  of 
science  can  compete.  If  a  young 
man  is  to  be  taught  how  to  think, 
how  to  reason  closely  and  accur- 
ately, how  to  penetrate  the  workings 
of  the  understanding,  how  to  perceive 
the  multitudinous  relations  and  logi- 
cal combinations  of  the  intellectual 
faculties,  give  us,  we  say,  Thucy- 
dides, Aristotle,  or  the  Epistles  of 
St  Paul,  and  we  will  enter  the  lists 
against  any  other  form  of  mental 
discipline.  Only  he  must  have  a 
capable  teacher. 

This  essential  condition  of  sue- 


1871.] 


of  Oxford  on  the  Study  of  Greek. 


187 


1 


cessful  education  exposes  us  to  the 
question,  Is  all  this  fine  theory  re- 
alised in  practice  ?  Are  the  boys 
•which  issue  forth  from  the  famous 
schools  of  England  and  her  univer- 
sities models  of  cultivated  intellect  ? 
Is  it  not  the  plain  truth  that 
the  general  feeling  of  parents  com- 
plains that  their  sons  spend  long 
years  and  much  money  in  ponder- 
ing over  Greek  and  Latin  books, 
and  enter  into  life  with  little 
knowledge,  with  slender  culti- 
vation, and  small  aptitude  for 
the  efficient  discharge  of  any 
single  profession?  The  accusation 
cannot  be  denied.  English  youths 
are  not  educated  as  they  ought  to 
be,  but  not  because  the  instrument 
employed  is  inefficient,  but  because 
the  teaching  is  defective.  The 
boys  of  the  greatest  talent,  and 
the  honour- men  at  college,  have 
an  education  which  marches  on  a 
level  with  that  given  in  any  coun- 
try or  any  school  of  science.  But 
the  state  in  which  the  mass  of  boys 
at  school  and  pass -men  at  college 
are  turned  out  is  a  disgrace  to  the 
nation.  Classical  education,  unless 
worked  by  a  man  who  has  the  gift 
of  teaching — who  knows  how  to  in- 
terest and  develop  the  scholar  — 
how  to  force  him  to  think  at  every 
stage, — who  can  throw  himself  in- 
to his  mind,  and,  still  more,  set  the 
pupil  to  look  into  and  understand 
the  mind  of  the  master, — is  a  very 
sorry  affair.  We  freely  but  sorrow- 
fully concede  this  lamentable  fact  to 
Professor  Huxley.  But  then  we 
draw  the  opposite  conclusion  from 
the  common  premise.  We  condemn 
the  classical  teaching,  and  to  no 
small  extent  the  schools  of  England, 
but  we  acquit  the  instrument  em- 
ployed. Reform  the  schools  and  the 
teachers,  we  say,  and  then  you  will 
find  that  no  other  method  will  yield 
you  such  good  results  as  the  classical. 
In  the  schools  and  the  universities 
let  the  right  workman  be  employed, 
and  let  the  arrangements  of  the 


school  allow  him  to  have  free  play, 
and  the  complaint  that  boys  fresh 
from  school  or  college  know  little, 
and  that  little  badly — and  have  minds 
untrained  to  reason,  with  no  power 
of  setting  to  work  in  the  right  way 
in  any  profession  they  may  take  up 
— will  speedily  diminish. 

But  we  must  here  guard  against 
a  misunderstanding  very  easy  to 
occur.  Professor  Huxley  lays  vast 
stress  on  the  accuracy  of  scientific 
training — the  store  of  exact  know- 
ledge accumulated.  But  this  is  to 
ignore  the  question  at  issue.  We 
have  already  pointed  out  that  pro- 
fessional men  of  almost  every  class 
— farmers,  artisans,  and  manu- 
facturers—  possess,  as  a  whole, 
exact  and  accurate  information  far 
exceeding  that  of  which  the  men 
called  educated,  of  any  kind,  can 
boast.  Nor  is  exactness  the  quality 
of  knowledge  to  be  chiefly  aimed  at 
in  education,  and  that  for  a  very 
decisive  reason.  Mathematics  ex- 
hibit exact  science,  because  they  are 
composed  of  strictly  logical  deduc- 
tions from  definite  premises.  They 
are  expansions  of  what  is  con- 
tained in  these  premises.  But 
those  elements  of  man's  nature 
which  constitute  by  far  the  largest 
portion  of  his  multiple  existence, 
furnish  no  premises  of  this  quality. 
The  truth  which  they  furnish  is  con- 
tingent and  probable,  but  not  abso- 
lute truth.  The  motives  which 
govern  men's  actions  never  act  singly; 
the  combinations  of  them  from  which 
conduct  proceeds  assume  the  most 
diverging  forms.  One  cannot  say  of 
a  single  motive — give  it  existence 
and  the  resulting  action  will  fol- 
low ;  for  it  is  ever  controlled  by 
other  motives,  and  the  final  result- 
ant is  hard  to  foretell.  We  know, 
singly,  the  conduct  which  selfish- 
ness, anger,  love,  hatred,  jealousy, 
are  calculated  to  produce;  will  any 
one  pretend  that  these  emotions 
always  generate  their  precise  effects 
— that  men  will  never  injure  their 


188 


Lord  Lyttelloris  Letter  to  the  Vice-CJiancellor 


[Feb. 


pecuniary  advantage  in  order  to 
gratify  resentment,  jealousy,  or  pas- 
sion? Are  accurate  premises  pos- 
sible here,  whereby  human  conduct 
may  be  predicted  with  the  same  ac- 
curacy as  the  effects  of  carbonic  acid 
upon  lime  1  Are  exact  premises 
obtainable  in  the  construction  of 
government,  so  that  one  may  make 
a  constitution  in  the  same  way  as  a 
watchmaker,  learned  in  metals,  con- 
structs a  balanced  pendulum  ?  Are 
the  affections,  tastes,  social  feelings, 
products  of  exact  and  scientific 
workmanship?  Does  every  son 
love  his  father,  though  his  father 
may  be  the  most  excellent  of  man- 
kind ?  Were  exact  premises  within 
the  reach  of  Germany  when  France 
assailed  her  with  war?  And  yet, 
will  it  be  asserted  that  there  is  no 
knowledge  to  be  had  from  contingent 
matter,  no  information  worth  acquir- 
ing in  such  an  undulating  region,  no 
general  acquaintance  with  man's  be- 
ing attainable,  because  we  are  un- 
able to  declare  that  the  existence  of  a 
motive  is  a  warrant  for  the  genera- 
tion of  its  effect  1  Nay,  is  not  this 
probable,  inexact,  contingent  know- 
ledge, the  knowledge  which  above 
all  others  it  concerns  every  man  and 
woman  to  acquire  ?  We  have  heard 
an  eminent  barrister,  who  was  also 
a  great  mathematician,  declare  that 
one  of  the  most  embarrassing  diffi- 
culties he  had  to  encounter  in  the 
exercise  of  his  profession,  and  one 
of  the  very  hardest  to  overcome,  was 
the  inveterate  habit  which  his 
mathematical  education  had  created, 
of  assuming  the  perfect  accuracy  of 
his  premises,  and  the  consequent 
absolute  trustworthiness  of  the  de- 
ductions which  logic  derived  from 
them.  He  found  himself  incessantly 
landed  in  untruth  and  obscurity ; 
and  the  cause  of  his  error  was  the 
inaccuracy  of  the  premises  which 
common  life  supplied  him  with  in 
his  briefs.  Thus  the  very  strictness 
of  the  scientific  training  which  he 
had  received  was  the  most  grievous 


obstacle  to  his  efficiency  as  an 
adviser  and  an  advocate.  What 
reply  can  Professor  Huxley  make 
to  such  a  fact,  if  he  persists  in 
dwelling  on  the  superiority  of 
scientific  training?  Will  he  say 
that  our  mathematician  ought  to 
have  had  recourse  to  the  inductive 
process,  and  thereby  ascertain  how 
far  his  premises  might  be  trusted  ? 
But  that  is  the  very  process,  the 
very  inductive  method,  which  clas- 
sical education  sets  to  work — only, 
unfortunately,  at  the  end  it  can  ar- 
rive at  probabilities  only.  Profes- 
sor Huxley  may  despise  probabili- 
ties, but  they  are  the  very  essence  of 
human  life.  Science,  and  still  more 
mathematics,  would  be  more  accurate 
and  would  unfold  the  boy's  intellect ; 
but  they  would  leave  him  empty  of 
countless  perceptions,  destitute  of  a 
multitude  of  insights  into  things  mo- 
ral, social,  and  political,  which  con- 
stitute the  most  important  parts  of 
human  life,  and  of  his  own  being. 

II.  Wa  have  now  reached  the  se- 
cond excellence  of  a  classical  educa- 
tion— the  greatness  of  the  literature 
which  is  its  instrument.  The  work 
to  be  accomplished  is  the  opening 
out  of  the  mind  and  nature  of  the 
young ;  and  there  are  no  means  for 
obtaining  this  end  so  effective,  or  so 
satisfactory  in  the  quality  of  the 
results  achieved,  as  the  bringing  the 
nature  to  be  developed  into  contact 
with  the  highest  form  of  greatness. 
The  principle  of  rearing  up  the 
young  by  safe  mediocrity  is  simply 
detestable ;  it  contradicts  the  very 
conception  of  education.  The  ele- 
vation of  the  model  placed  before 
the  eyes  of  the  student  is  here 
of  vital  consequence;  the  power 
and  range  of  the  training  force  can- 
not be  too  large.  No  writer  can  be 
too  lofty  to=be  placed  in  the  hands 
of  the  young,  no  man  too  great  to 
be  a  schoolmaster.  The  highest  de- 
velopments of  human  nature,  whe- 
ther exhibited  in  written  book  or 
living  teacher,  are  precisely  the 


1871.] 


of  Oxford  on  the  Study  of  Greek. 


189 


tools  which  education  should  em- 
ploy. The  difference  between  a 
great  and  a  mediocre  mind,  a  power- 
ful and  an  ordinary  nature,  in  their 
modelling  force  on  the  young,  is  in- 
finite. The  greater  the  excellence 
presented  to  the  young — the  richer, 
riper,  and  more  varied  the  qualifica- 
tions of  the  educator — incomparably 
the  more  valuable  and  productive 
will  be  the  action  brought  to  bear 
on  the  pupil.  The  society  of  the  best 
and  greatest  men,  the  companion- 
ship of  the  noblest  and  loftiest 
thoughts,  are  the  most  powerful 
educators  down  to  the  end  of  life. 
It  never  ceases  to  train  and  to  influ- 
ence ;  and  if  it  moulds  men  ripe  in 
years,  how  much  more  the  young, 
the  ardent,  and  the  impressionable  ! 
Now,  if  such  companionship  is  the 
very  core  of  the  highest  education, 
where,  we  ask,  is  the  literature 
which  can  compare  with  the  Greek 
for  the  number  and  greatness  of 
the  minds  it  contains,  the  range 
and  depth  of  their  thoughts,  and 
the  nobleness  of  their  conceptions  1 
Where  else  are  to  be  found  such 
ability  of  treatment,  such  a  div- 
ing down  to  first  principles,  such 
perfection  of  form  and  expression, 
such  cultivation  of  every  force  and 
element  which  belongs  to  human 
nature?  In  poetry,  history,  philo- 
sophy, politics,  and  countless  other 
regions,  utterance  upon  utterance  of 
the  most  concentrated  force,  of  the 
tersest  expression,  of  the  richest 
eloquence,  of  the  nicest  and  most 
subtle  discrimination,  strike  succes- 
sive blows  on  the  imagination  and 
the  thinking  faculty  of  the  student. 
They  disclose  to  him  what  human 
nature  is  capable  of,  the  height 
which  it  has  reached  in  the  past, 
and  which  the  future  is  summoned 
to  climb  also ;  in  a  word,  all  the 
wonderful  powers  of  the  human  in- 
tellect, and  all  the  noble  emotions 
of  the  human  soul.  What  more 
effectual  remedy  can  be  devised 
against  the  most  formidable  danger 


which  warps  even  minds  of  strong 
intellectual  grasp  —  one-sidedness  ? 
Where  so  well  as  in  Greek  can 
boy  or  undergraduate  be  initiated 
into  so  many  things,  catch  so  many 
vistas  of  what  human  nature  is  and 
can  do,  or  acquire  so  fruitful  a  fa- 
miliarity with  manly  and  cultivated 
thought,  as  in  the  pages  of  Homer 
and  Sophocles,  Aristotle  and  Plato, 
Herodotus  and  Thucydides,  ^Eschy- 
lus  and  Demosthenes  1  Their  power 
and  their  greatness  have  been  ac- 
knowledged and  reverenced  through 
the  course  of  revolving  ages.  They 
have  been  the  founders  of  civilisa- 
tion ;  they  have  hewn  out  the  roads 
by  which  nations  and  individuals 
have  travelled,  and  travel  still.  The 
Greek  type  is  the  form  of  the  thought 
of  modern  Europe.  The  writings 
of  the  Greeks  are  fresh  and  living 
for  us  now.  What  more  splendid 
proof  of  profound  truthfulness  to 
nature  can  be  given  than  the  eter- 
nal freshness  of  the  Greek  writings, 
their  genuine  and  ever  -  renewed 
modernness?  Homer  and  Thucy- 
dides are  wonderful  reading  for  us 
now, — none  better.  We  know  of 
no  richer  mine  for  the  man  who 
seeks  to  be  a  statesman,  and  desires 
to  learn  the  deepest  elements  of  poli- 
tical life,  than  the  speech  of  Peri- 
cles in  Thucydides.  It  will  teach 
more  about  man  and  his  political 
nature  than  whole  volumes  of  the 
best  modern  political  writers.  No 
man  on  earth  ever  had  a  profounder 
conception  of  the  abiding  same- 
ness of  human  nature  in  all  ages ; 
no  man  apprehended  its  political 
instincts  more  faithfully,  or  so  accu- 
rately described  the  forces  which 
rule  political  existence  for  all  ages. 
Nothing  can  be  read — no,  not  Burke 
or  De  Tocqueville — which  is  more 
modern  than  Thucydides. 

III.  The  third  merit  which  we 
claim  for  classical  education  is  the 
very  quality  for  which  its  rejection  is 
most  commonly  demanded.  Greek 
and  Latin  are  dead  languages,  and 


190 


Lord  Lytteltoris  Letter  to  the  Vice-Cliancellor 


[Feb. 


that  is  a  characteristic  of  the  highest 
value.  What  is  the  use,  say  money- 
seeking  critics,  of  forcing  our  boys 
to  learn  languages  which  nobody 
speaks?  Some  excuse  may  perhaps 
be  pleaded  for  Latin ;  it  enters  in- 
directly, but  largely,  into  many 
modern  matters.  But  what  can  be 
said  for  Greek?  The  literature  it 
contains  belongs  to  the  past — the 
nations  and  the  societies  of  which 
it  speaks  have  passed  away — the 
social  and  political  feelings  it  de- 
scribes are  numbered  among  the 
things  departed.  Then  why  live 
among  the  dead  ?  We  answer  that 
the  literature  is  alive,  and  that  the 
deadness  of  its  language  is  an  in- 
valuable quality  for  the  purposes  of 
education.  Living  languages  are 
learnt  by  the  ear.  They  are  appre- 
hended mechanically.  Their  pos- 
session need  not  denote  much  intel- 
lectual development  in  those  who 
can  speak  them.  Many  a  dull  little 
boy,  many  an  untutored  peasant, 
can  speak  two  or  three  languages, 
and  yet  but  a  small  demand  may  have 
been  made  on  the  intellect  for  ac- 
quiring them.  There  is  an  absence  of 
thinking  in  the  process,  which  strips 
it  of  educational  value.  Modern 
languages  are  not  difficult  enough  to 
compel  the  learner  to  look  into  the 
machinery  of  language,  much  less 
into  the  thoughts  of  the  writer  or 
speaker,  so  as  to  grasp  his  meaning. 
We  are  not  speaking  of  their  useful- 
ness in  after-life — our  business  now 
is  with  general  culture;  and  here  it 
is  that  they  are  too  easy  to  be  effi- 
cient instruments  for  the  work  re- 
quired. But  is  not  German  at  least 
hard  enough?  No.  The  run  of  the 
expression  is  modern — the  manner 
of  writing  conforms  with  modern 
ideas.  The  meaning  comes  naturally, 
without  much  investigation  :  it  is 
easy  to  grasp  what  is  said.  Nor  are 
the  logical  relations  of  the  language 
observed  by  the  student ;  there  is 
too  weak  a  call  for  reasoning  re- 
search to  develop  the  faculties. 


It  is  precisely  the  reverse  with  a 
dead  language,  especially  a  language 
whose  construction  does  not  coin- 
cide with  that  of  a  modern  tongue. 
Every  part  of  it  is  obscure  :  it  must 
be  learned  by  rule  ;  the  relations 
first  of  grammar,  then  of  logic,  must 
be  carefully  observed.  Amongst  the 
meanings  assigned  to  a  word  in  the 
dictionary,  thought  and  judgment 
are  called  into  play  to  select  the  one 
which  suits  the  passage.  The  laws 
of  thought  are  thus  gradually  im-_ 
bibed ;  and  if  a  good  teacher  con- 
ducts the  operation,  every  blunder  of 
the  student  becomes  an  occasion  for 
much  intellectual  exercise  in  correct- 
ing it.  The  final  result  ought  to  be 
— and  will  be,  if  the  teacher  under- 
stands his  business — the  assurance 
gained  by  the  scholar  that  he  has 
mastered  the  sense  of  the  writer ; 
and  this  means  intellectual  insight, 
assurance  built  on  intelligence,  dis- 
cipline, and  education.  The  mind 
under  training,  whether  it  animates 
the  little  lad  in  the  second  form, 
or  is  stirred  by  the  ambition  which 
gazes  at  university  honours,  is  com- 
pelled at  every  moment  to  perform 
acts  of  perception  and  judgment,  to 
discriminate  and  to  select,  to  carry 
out  the  very  processes  which  are  so 
vaunted  in  the  inductive  and  scien- 
tific methods.  In  a  dead  language, 
where  the  land  is  strange — where 
association  does  not  unconsciously 
bring  up  the  sense  of  each  word — 
where  the  mode  of  thinking  is  un- 
familiar, and  the  links  that  bind 
words  together  have  to  be  searched 
for  at  the  intervals  often  of  seve- 
ral lines,  and  can  be  found  only 
by  a  perpetual  application  of  the 
laws  of  logic  and  grammar, — to  mas- 
ter the  thoughts  and  expressions 
of  a  great  writer  is  an  educational 
machinery  of  supreme  efficiency. 

But  there  is  a  still  greater  advan- 
tage to  be  reaped  from  this  method 
of  education.-  In  no  other  way  can 
the  student  be  so  thoroughly  com- 
pelled to  come  into  the  closest  union 


1871.] 


of  Oxford  on  the  Study  of  Greek. 


191 


with  the  mind  of  the  writer  ;  by  no 
other  instrument  can  he  be  so  forced 
to  enter  into  the  very  depths  of  the 
great  man's  being.  That  is  the 
specific  excellence  of  a  Greek  edu- 
cation. Of  course  there  must  be 
the  teacher  to  work  this  noble  in- 
strument. The  supposition  of  such 
a  teacher  is  always  at  the  root  of 
everything  that  we  say  here  ;  not 
a  mere  lecturer,  or  propounder  of 
learning,  however  magnificent  or 
profound,  but  a  real  instructor,  a 
catechiser,  a  companion  of  the  stu 
dent's  thoughts.  Thus  education 
reaches  its  perfect  type  —  the  de- 
velopment of  one  human  being  by 
another,  the  interpenetration  of  a 
young  mind  by  a  great  one.  Thus 
the  pupil  is  subjected  to  two  mighty 
powers  at  the  same  moment ;  the 
great  dead  writer  into  whose  inmost 
essence  he  is  compelled  to  enter,  and 
the  sympathetic  teacher,  who  gives 
vitality  to  the  whole  operation. 

But  what  constitutes  the  gift  of 
teaching?  Assuredly  not  the  mere 
possession  of  a  large  amount  of 
solid  learning.  It  consists  rather 
in  sympathy  and  quick  intelligent 
perception  ;  in  the  ability  to  place 
one's  self  in  the  exact  position 
of  the  learner — to  see  things  as  he 
sees  them — to  feel  the  difficulties 
exactly  as  he  feels  them — to  under- 
stand the  precise  point  at  which  the 
obstacle  bars  the  way — to  be  able  to 
present  the  solution  exactly  in  the 
form  which  will  open  the  under- 
standing of  the  pupil,  and  enable 
him,  in  gathering  the  new  piece  of 
knowledge,  to  comprehend  its  nature 
and  its  value.  Such  a  teacher  will  take 
the  mind  of  the  boy  as  his  starting- 
point,  and  will  just  keep  ahead  of 
his  intellectual  state,  so  as  to  furnish 
him  with  such  matter  only  as  he  will 
be  able  to  assimilate  ;  his  questions 
will  range  just  above  him,  and  yet 
not  be  out  of  his  reach.  Above  all, 
he  will  feel  the  true  essence,  the 
one  function  of  his  office,  to  be  to 
make  the  boy's  mind  act  for  itself, 


to  assist  him  to  think  and  to  under- 
stand. As  the  pupil  advances,  he 
will  awake  the  perception  of  broader 
relations,  he  will  suggest  principles 
and  general  ideas,  he  will  so  handle 
his  own  stores  as  to  let  the  pupil 
catch  first  glimpses,  then  successively 
clearer  outlines  of  the  ultimate  form 
which  his  knowledge  must  assume, 
whilst  the  charmed  disciple  is  brought 
to  rejoice  in  his  own  strength,  to 
feel  that  he  too  has  the  power  of 
grasping  broad  and  high  truths,  to 
become  conscious  that  he  also  may 
crown  the  heights  on  which  the 
teacher  stands.  All  this  is  to  be 
found  in  a  classical  education,  in 
the  study  of  the  Greek  and  Latin 
literature,  in  their  poetry,  their  his- 
tory, their  moral  and  political  philo- 
sophy. Nor  will  manifold  processes 
of  the  strictest  reasoning  be  want- 
ing, nor  arguments  as  close  and  as 
continuous  as  in  any  induction  of 
physical  science.  For  the  develop- 
ment of  the  learning  faculty  of  .the 
pupil  we  would  fearlessly  back  a 
good  teacher,  with  Greek  and  Latin 
writers  for  his  instruments,  against 
Professor  Huxley  and  any  scientific 
instrument  which  he  may  choose  to 
employ.  And  one  great  advantage 
the  classical  pupil  will  enjoy — the 
deadness  of  the  said  languages  will 
force  him  to  travel  slowly,  to  dwell 
on  the  thoughts  and  the  expressions 
of  the  writers,  to  probe  their  inmost 
minds,  and  by  intelligent  selection, 
reasoned  out  at  every  step,  discover 
a  rendering  which  will  fit  the  argu- 
ment and  give  satisfaction  to  the 
passage  handled  and  the  general 
context.  Thus  we  reach  the  cul- 
minating point  of  a  classical  edu- 
cation— that  there  is  no  man  so 
great  who  may  not  find  in  the  im- 
parting of  this  training  a  field  worthy 
of  his  powers.  There  is  no  quality 
of  his  nature  which  may  not  be 
applied  to  influencing  the  mind 
of  the  pupil,  and  moulding  his 
development.  A  purely  scientific 
training  must  fail  to  furnish  oppor- 


Lord  Lytteltorfs  Letter  to  the  Vice-CJiancellor 


[Feb. 


tunities  for  many  things  in  the 
teacher's  being  to  come  forth.  A 
great  literature  embraces  the  whole 
of  human  thought  and  human 
existence.  The  scientific  element 
need  not  and  ought  not  to  be  ab- 
sent. We  would  gladly  see  some 
portion  of  science,  small  it  may 
be,  but  accurately  and  intelligently 
grasped,  form  a  part  of  every  clas- 
sically-trained boy  and  undergrad- 
uate, for  education  cannot  be  too 
wide.  Its  ordinary  representative 
in  most  public  schools  is  arithmetic ; 
but  how  much  scientific  intelligence 
is  developed  by  the  manner  in  which 
arithmetic  is  taught?  It  is  com- 
municated mechanically,  and  worked 
much  in  the  same  way  as  a  carpen- 
ter applies  the  figures  on  his  rule. 
Well  may  Professor  Huxley  de- 
nounce such  teaching.  No  prin- 
ciples are  explained,  the  reasons 
why  the  rule  is  framed  in  such  a 
form  are  not  given  or  imbibed,  the 
intellectual  faculty  is  unexercised; 
and  arithmetic  becomes,  not  an  un- 
derstood science,  but  a  mechanical 
art  of  the  most  unintelligent  kind. 
Worse  education  cannot  be  con- 
ceived, even  though  the  utility  of 
getting  up  the  multiplication-table 
by  heart  may  be  real. 

Here,  again,  we  thoroughly  share 
the  astonishment  expressed  by  Pro- 
fessor Huxley,  when  he  exclaims: 
"  You  will  very  likely  get  into  the 
House  of  Commons;  you  will  have 
to  take  your  share  in  making  laws 
which  may  prove  a  blessing  or  a 
curse  to  millions  of  men.  But  you 
shall  not  hear  one  word  respecting 
the  political  organisation  of  your 
country :  the  meaning  of  the  contro- 
versy between  Free-traders  and  Pro- 
tectionists shall  never  have  been 
mentioned  to  you  :  you  shall  not  so 
much  as  know  that  there  are  such 
things  as  economical  laws." — Lay 
Sermons,  p.  47.  The  omission  here 
described  is  the  more  discreditable, 
because  the  laws  of  commerce  lie  in 
a  classical  education.  Every  great 


historian  —  Thucydides,  the  orator 
Demosthenes  —  furnishes  countless 
opportunities  for  entering  into  the 
commercial  elements  of  human  asso- 
ciation. To  neglect  to  give  this  ex- 
planation, to  fail  to  call  the  attention 
of  the  scholar  to  the  existence  and 
the  working  of  these  laws,  is  an 
offence  against  classical  education 
itself;  it  is  to  abandon  one  of  its 
essential  elements.  But  when  Pro- 
fessor Huxley  adds, — "  The  mental 
power  which  will  be  of  most  import- 
ance in  your  daily  life  will  be  the 
power  of  seeing  things  as  they  are 
without  regard  to  authority,  and  of 
drawing  accurate  general  conclusions 
from  particular  facts.  But  at  school 
and  at  college  you  shall  know  of  no 
source  of  truth  but  authority,  nor 
exercise  your  reasoning  faculty  upon 
anything  but  deduction  from  that 
which  is  laid  down  by  authority," 
— we  are  taken  aback  by  the  igno- 
rance of  the  quality  of  the  education 
imparted  at  school  and  college  here 
displayed.  But  there  is  something 
more  deeply  seated  in  the  Professor's 
mind  than  misapprehension  of  fact. 
If  the  English  people  are  called 
rightly  a  "wonderful  people,  Eng- 
lishmen who  are  to  be  quoted 
in  the  time  to  come  as  the  stock 
example  of  the  stolid  stupidity  of 
the  nineteenth  century,"  surely  the 
writer  of  the  following  passage 
is  a  wonderful  man  :  "  But  if  the 
classics  were  taught  as  they  might 
be  taught ;  if  boys  and  girls  were 
instructed  in  Greek  and  Latin  not 
merely  as  languages,  but  as  illustra- 
tions of  philological  science ;  if  a 
vivid  picture  of  life  on  the  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean  two  thousand 
years  ago  were  imprinted  on  the 
mind  of  scholars ;  if  ancient  history 
were  taught,  not  as  a  weary  series 
of  feuds  and  fights,  but  traced  to  its 
causes  in  such  men  under  such  con- 
ditions ;  if,  lastly,  the  study  of  the 
classical  books  were  followed  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  impress 
boys  with  their  beauties,  and  with 


1871.] 


of  Oxford  on  the  Study  of  &reek. 


193 


the  grand  simplicity  of  their  state- 
ment of  the  everlasting  problems 
of  human  life,  instead  of  with 
their  verbal  and  grammatical  pecu- 
liarities,— I  still  think  it  as  little 
proper  that  they  should  form  the 
basis  of  a  liberal  education  for 
our  contemporaries,  as  I  should 
think  it  fitting  to  make  that  sort 
of  palaeontology  with  which  I  am 
familiar  the  backbone  of  modern 
education."  A  most  marvellous 
utterance,  truly.  So  then,  real  and 
deep  knowledge  of  a  life  lived  by 
nations  who  founded  civilisation, 
produced  works  as  great  as  any 
generated  in  modern  times,  and 
formed  empires  which  lasted  for 
ages,  building  them  on  principles 
of  law  which  to  this  day  lie  at  the 
foundation  of  great  States — a  vivid 
perception  of  the  living  elements 
of  taste  and  beauty  —  above  all, 
the  apprehension  of  the  everlasting 
problem  of  human  life, — all  these 
things  are  not  a  liberal  education, 
but  palaeontology,  superannuated 
records  of  past  existence,  no  bet- 
ter nor  more  cultivating  than 
the  knowledge  of  the  bones  and 
jaws  of  a  megatherium.  Liberal 
education — that  education  for  which 
the  people,  the  idiotic  people,  of 
England  are  summoned  to  thrust 
aside  the  knowledge  of  the  everlast- 
ing laws  of  human  life  and  human 
nature — is  something  higher  and 
more  ennobling.  Then,  what  is  it  1 
what  is  this  liberal  education,  which 
is  the  last  conception  of  philosophic 
thought?  Professor  Huxley  says 
not,  unless  it  be  the  knowledge  of 
"when  and  how  any  article  of 
commerce  is  produced  ;  of  the  differ- 
ence between  an  export  and  an  im- 
port ;  of  the  fact  that  Tasmania  is 
a  part  of  New  South  Wales  ;  of  the 
working  of  a  steam-engine,  and  the 
nature  of  the  raw  products  one  em- 
ploys." What  is  the  meaning  of 
the  word  "liberal,"  we  beg  to  ask 
Professor  Huxley  ? 

It  remains  for  us  to  add  a  few 


words  on  the  recommendation  given 
to  the  University  of  Oxford  to  omit 
the  study  of  Greek  from  a  certain 
class  of  her  students.  As  we  have 
already  remarked,  Lord  Lyttelton 
does  not  discuss  the  question  whe- 
ther Greek  is  so  valuable  a  portion 
of  superior  education  that  the  Uni- 
versity would  do  wrong  in  relieving 
any  portion  of  her  scholars  from  its 
study.  He  contents  himself  with 
pointing  out  that  there  is  a  demand 
for  an  education  which  excludes 
Greek,  and  affirming,  without  dis- 
cussion, that  the  University  ought 
to  supply  that  demand.  But  the 
University  of  Oxford  has  other  con- 
siderations to  take  into  account  than 
a  mere  regard  for  the  supply  of  a 
popular  demand.  It  cannot  forget 
the  position  it  occupies  with  refer- 
ence to  the  general  education  of  the 
whole  nation  —  a  position  which 
Lord  Lyttelton  himself  recognises. 
The  determination  of  the  standard, 
the  regulation  of  what  the  higher 
English  education  shall  be,  rests 
with  the  English  universities,  as  it 
does  with  the  German ;  and  it  must 
always  be  a  grave  matter  to  make 
any  alteration  in  that  standard. 
Nor  is  that  all.  It  may  be  the 
function  of  the  University  to  tell 
the  people  that  they  do  not  under- 
stand the  nature  of  the  problem, 
and  that  it  is  the  responsible  duty 
of  the  universities  to  take  care 
that  culture  shall  not  be  sacrificed 
to  considerations  of  utility.  There 
are  commodities  for  which  the 
taste  has  to  be  developed — which 
the  uninstructed  popular  mind 
is  not  quick  to  value,  and  from 
which  there  is  a  perpetual  centri- 
fugal force  diverting  popular  esti- 
mation to  some  inferior  article. 
And  then  a  second  question  arises. 
Supposing  that  the  University  con- 
curs in  the  opinion  that  some  stu- 
dents at  school  might  justly  be  ex- 
empted from  the  study  of  Greek, 
might  not  the  extension  of  that  ex- 
emption to  the  curriculum  of  the 


194 


Lord  Lyttelton's  Letter  on  the  Study  of  Greek. 


[Feb. 


University  have  a  far  -wider  bearing 
than  the  single  case  of  these  stu- 
dents ?  Might  not  the  general  study 
of  Greek  suffer  thereby  some  dis- 
credit ;  and  might  not  many  schools, 
now  feeling  that  Greek  was  not 
indispensable  at  Oxford,  organise 
themselves  on  the  basis  of  a  wide 
omission  of  Greek  ?  The  concession 
to  the  demand  of  parents,  not  be- 
cause they  desire  a  thing  which  the 
University  esteems  to  be  better,  but 
simply  because  they  ask  for  it, 
threatens  to  establish  a  most  danger- 
ous principle  ;  it  transfers  the  deter- 
mining of  what  is  good  education 
from  a  competent  to  an  incompetent 
authority.  As  time  proceeded  on, 
parents  would  be  encouraged  to  ask 
for  much  more,  and  they  would 
more  and  more  feel  that  their  judg- 
ment ought  to  prevail.  As  the 
guardians  of  the. intellectual  culture 
of  the  nation,  the  universities  are 
bound  to  pause  before  they  establish 
such  a  precedent.  We  are  firmly  per- 
suaded that  the  number  of  additional 
students  who  would  enter  the  schools 
of  Oxford  would  be  absolutely 
trifling  ;  and  the  opinions  of  experi- 
enced schoolmasters  we  have  found 
to  confirm  our  own.  Adequate 
motive,  therefore,  for  such  a 
change  does  not  exist.  Nor  must 
the  warning  supplied  by  France  be 
unheeded.  After  the  great  Revolu- 
tion, France  gave  up  the  study  of 
Greek  and  betook  herself  to  mathe- 
matics and  the  physical  sciences ; 
but  with  what  result?  That  she 
repented  of  the  deed,  and  bewailed 
the  injury  it  had  inflicted  on  su- 
perior French  education,  and  has  of 
late  years  striven  hard  to  restore 
Hellenic  studies  to  her  schools. 

But  the  question  still  remains. 
The  study  of  Greek  may  produce  all 
these  excellent  results  in  scholars  of 
superior  ability.  Well,  what  is  it 
worth  to  pass-men  and  boys  of  in- 
ferior talent  ?  Do  they  obtain  from 


this  strange  and  difficult  language 
educational  benefits  of  much  value? 
Would  the  absence  of  Greek  pro- 
duce any  perceptible  deterioration 
of  the  quality  of  their  education, 
and  would  it  not  leave  them  free 
for  the  pursuit  of  other  knowledge  ? 
Kay,  would  not  scientific  studies  be 
positively  better  than  Greek  produc- 
tion of  even  elevated  intelligence] 
In  answer  to  these  questions,  we 
affirm,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  is 
perfectly  feasible  to  make  Greek  a 
real  and  most  beneficial  study  for 
the  average  quality  of  scholars. 
Experience  has  demonstrated  the 
fact.  Dr  Arnold  at  Rugby  did  ren- 
der the  study  of  Greek  the  centre  of 
education  for  the  three  upper  forms 
of  the  school.  The  education  which 
he  there  gave  came  mainly  through 
Greek.  Greek  was  the  staple  in 
those  three  forms  for  all  the  boys — 
not  for  the  best  only,  but  for  all. 
The  results  of  classical  education, 
such  as  we  have  described  them,  were 
realised  by  those  forms  not  in  equal 
degree  by  all  the  boys  in  it,  but  still 
in  a  real  sense  by  all.  To  have  said 
that  'Greek  was  a  failure  at  Rugby 
under  such  a  teacher  as  Arnold  for 
the  mass  of  boys,  would  have  been 
absolutely  impossible,  unless  the 
study  of  Greek  itself  by  any  boy 
were  declared  to  be  necessarily  and 
always  a  failure.  It  is  a  matter  of 
teaching.  What  Arnold  did  others 
have  done,  and  are  doing  also  ;  but 
it  is  true,  also,  that  there  is  a  large 
amount  of  inefficient,  leaden,  me- 
chanical, unintelligent  teachers  of 
the  classics  all  over  England.  It  is 
by  dwelling  on  this  undeniable  fact 
that  Professor  Huxley  wins  the  ap- 
pearance of  proving  the  inferiority 
of  classical  culture.  If  he  had  ex- 
amined the  three  upper  forms  at 
Rugby,  he  would  have  seen  what 
Greek  literature  could  do,  not  only 
for  the  clever,  but  also  for  the  aver- 
age boy. 


1871.] 


Who  Primed  Prince  Gortschakoff  ? 


231 


Prince  would  accept  "  all  the  treaty 
of  Paris  except  that  part  about  the 
Black  Sea."  There  was,  besides,  a 
sort  of  easy  levity  in  the  way  that 
he  made  this  assurance,  as  though 
he  was  only  enunciating  a  proposi- 
tion familiar  to  us  all ;  and  that  if 
any  apology  were  called  for,  it  would 
be  for  having  uttered  a  common- 
place. Here  was  a  new  discovery 
in  ethics,  not  to  be  thought  the 
less  of  that  it  came  from  beyond  the 
Neva ;  "  and  we  set  off  to  speculate 
how  a  general  repudiation  of  all 
contracts  would  relieve  life  of  a 
great  many  embarrassments,  and 
simplify  existence  in  a  very  remark- 
able degree." 

Such  of  us  as  had  not  been,  as 
the  phrase  is,  "  married  in  heaven," 
imagined  visions  of  Doctors'  Com- 
mons and  Divorce.  Few  contracts 
sustain  all  that  expectation  would 
adorn  them  with,  and  perhaps 
the  connubial  contract  might  be 
no  luckier  than  its  fellows.  Cer- 
tainly, if  husbands  were  not  called 
on  to  show  cause  why,  more  forcibly 
than  Prince  Gortschakoff,  the  Court 
of  Arches  would  have  a  busy  time 
of  it  these  next  sessions.  Less  am- 
bitious souls  were  satisfied  with  a 
polite  intimation  to  their  tailors 
that  they  would  pay  no  more  bills — 
that  the  sentiment  of  remuneration 
jarred  upon  "their  sense  of  dignity ;" 
and  they  appealed  to  Mr  Poole  him- 
self, or  Count  Beust,  whether,  with 
that  elevated  sense  of  justice  that 
characterised  him,  he  would  not  "on 
consideration"  add  the  inestimable 
force  of  his  own  concurrence  to 
their  argument. 

All  of  us,  or  nearly  all  of  us,  had 
contracted  some  tie  or  other  in  life 
whose  convenience  was  at  times 
questionable,  and  if  this  Russian 
Prince  was  only  correct  in  his  logic, 
it  was  sheer  folly  to  be  bound  any 
longer  by  whatever  we  disliked.  In- 
conveniences would  accrue,  even 
troubles  in  certain  cases  might 


follow;  but  there  is  a  wonderful 
spirit  of  accommodation  in  life — 
nothing  is  nearly  as  bad  as  is  ap- 
prehended ;  and  when  we  assure  the 
world  that,  so  far  from  the  breach  of 
one  treaty  serving  to  unloose  the 
ties  of  contract,  or  rendering  us  in 
any  degree  less  observant  of  other 
pledges  than  heretofore,  mankind 
will  see  in  us  the  most  energetic  apos- 
tle of  the  sanctity  of  all  agreements, 
and,  in  point  of  fact,  strongholds 
against  all  attempts  to  weaken  the 
sacred  obligation  of  a  bargain. 

To  come  back  to  Prince  Gortscha- 
koff, from  whom  we  have  been  so 
ruthlessly  plagiarising  all  this  time, 
he  said  all  this,  and  more ;  and  he 
very  triumphantly  asked  if  any  one 
could  dare  to  continue  the  im- 
position of  restrictions  now,  which 
he  would  not  presume  to  suggest  at 
the  present  moment  if  unimposed. 

Certainly  Lord  Granville  could 
not  have  liked  the  turn  the  corre- 
spondence was  taking,  for  he  sent  a 
special  messenger  to  Count  Bismark 
to  bespeak  his  good  offices.  The 
Count  is  an  ingenious  man,  and  he 
suggested  a  Congress.  A  Congress 
is  usually  .called  to  discuss  some 
question  of  international  difficulty, 
and  arrive  at  some  mode  of  solution 
sufficiently  palatable  to  be  acceded 
to  by  all — that  is  to  say,  by  a 
treaty.  To  make  a  treaty,  however, 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  declaring 
that  treaties  were  no  longer  to  be 
considered  binding  ;  that  one  dis- 
sentient dissolved  the  obligation, 
and  left  him  free  to  take  such  a 
course  as  he  pleased, — was  at  least 
something  novel :  and  possibly,  if  a 
Bull  were  to  be  enacted,  a  graceful 
compliment  might  have  been  paid 
to  Ireland,  and  the  seat  of  the  Con- 
gress been  Dublin.  The  Con- 
gress, however,  is  to  be  held  in 
London ;  and  what  it  is  to  do  when 
it  meets,  or  what  any  one  expects  of 
it,  is  the  problem  that,  while  we 
write,  disturbs  the  world. 


232 


Cornelius  Cf  Dowel. 


[Feb. 


Count  Beust,  who  has  already 
discussed  the  whole  Gortschakoff  pro- 
position in  liis  two  despatches,  and 
shown  very  decisively  why  he  en- 
tertains a  strong  conviction  on  the 
question,  assures  the  Prince  that  he 
will  meet  the  Congress  with  a  mind 
totally  unprejudiced  and  uninflu- 
enced by  previous  discussion ;  that 
he  will,  in  short,  be  in  that  frame 
of  mind — as  jurymen  are  earnestly 
entreated  to  be  by  a  judge  in  a 
weighty  cause  —  wholly  free  from 
all  external  influences,  and  unmoved 
by  anything  they  may  have  heard 
without.  This  is  all  the  more  com- 
mendable on  his  part,  as  it  pledges 
him  to  forget  much  that  he  has 
said  only  a  few  days  ago. 

Then  if  France  will  depute  a  re- 
presentative, it  is  likely  enough  the 
envoy  will  be  far  more  eager  to  in- 
duce a  discussion  on  the  condition 
of  Paris  than  on  the  neutrality  of 
the  Euxine ;  while  there  is  no  rea- 
son on  earth  that  Count  Bisniark 
should  not  bring  on  the  Luxembourg 
question,  or  any  other  small  matter 
that  is  troubling  him. 

Meanwhile  our  journalists  say 
Prince  Gortschakoff  has  not  with- 
drawn his  original  despatch.  He 
admits  that  it  is  not  unreasonable 
in  the  other  parties  to  like  to  talk  it 
over;  and  he  is  willing  "  to  talk  it 
over  "  in  a  Congress,  if  they  like.  He 
is  the  most  courteous  and  polite  of 
men ;  and  he  will  do  anything  they 
like — but  one ;  he  will  not  change  his 
opinion.  Now,  when  a  gentleman 
shows  a  conciliatory  spirit  of  this 
order,  nothing  short  of  actual  ob- 
structiveness  could  stand  against 
him.  Some  narrow-minded  people, 
notwithstanding,  do  object,  and  say, 
How  are  we  to  discuss  what  is  al- 
ready prejudged  ?  How  expect  argu- 
ment to  prevail  where  one  party  has 
declared  his  convictions  are  not  to 
be  shaken  ? 

It  is  fortunate  for  us  that  the 
Prince  himself  should  be  able  to 


relieve  us  from  this  difficulty;  and 
in  the  columns  of  a  newspaper, 
which  has  the  credit  of  what  are 
called  "  Ministerial  inspirations,"  do 
we  find  the  mode  of  exit  from  the 
present  embarrassment.  The  '  Go- 
loss'  says  :  "When  the  Congress  as- 
sembles it  will  learn  at  length  the 
justice  and  the  moderation  of  the 
Russian  demands ;  and  by  giving 
them  the  sanction  of  its  own  con- 
currence, Prince  Gortschakoff's  man- 
ifesto will  be  confirmed,  and  the 
peace  of  the  world  assured." 

It  is  impossible  to  add  another 
word  to  a  statement  so  satisfactory; 
and  the  triumph  of  the  Prince's  diplo- 
macy would  be  complete  if  it  were 
not  a  plagiary. 

"We  live  in  an  age  so  abounding 
in  intellectual  activity,  that  probably 
originality  is  all  but  impossible  in 
any  present  case.  Not  even  flattery 
could  exempt  the  Minister  from  the 
charge,  since  the  expedient  he  sug- 
gests has  been  derived  from  a  land 
in  the  closest  relations  with  his  own. 
It  came  from  Greece.  WhenTakosAr- 
vanitaki,  the  chief  brigand  of  the  band 
who  murdered  our  countrymen  near 
Marathon,  was  negotiating  for  the 
terms  on  which  their  lives  might  be 
spared,  he  strongly  insisted  on  an 
amnesty.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  law 
officers  of  the  Crown  protested  the 
thing  to  be  impossible  ;  in  vain  they 
demonstrated  that,  until  he  and  his 
followers  had  surrendered  and  sub- 
mitted to  a  trial,  they  could  not  be 
made  the  subjects  of  royal  clemency. 
There  was  no  means  of  persuading 
this  man  that  he  was  wrong.  It 
was  as  much  beyond  all  human 
power  of  argumentation  as  to  try  and 
convince  Prince  Gortschakoff  that 
he  had  no  right  to  absolve  himself 
from  a  treaty  when  he  had  obtained 
only  his  own  consent.  Takos  kept 
on  repeating,  "  It  may  be  illegal,  as 
you  say ;  and  I  reply,  make  it  legal. 
They  who  made  these  laws  can  un- 
make them,  and  I  ask  no  more." 


1871.] 


The,  Healing  Measure. 


233 


So  says  Prince  Gortschakoff — I  ad- 
mit all  that  you  say.  I  signed  this 
treaty  of  Paris.  I  was  present  when 
its  conditions  were  discussed,  and  I 
was  not  at  the  time  disposed  to  re- 
gard the  terms  as  being  either  oner- 
ous or  oppressive.  Now,  however, 
that  one  of  the  parties  to  the  com- 
pact is  utterly  unable  to  stir  hand 
•or  foot  in  support  of  his  convictions, 
I  deem  the  moment  favourable  to 
extricate  myself  from  my  pledges. 
You  tell  me  it  is  illegal,  and  I  will  not 
say  I  can  contradict  you  ;  but  I  will 
suggest  to  you  what  will  satisfy  us 
both.  Make  it  legal,  and  you  will 
.acquire  all  the  force  of  your  connec- 
tions, and  /  shall  gain  the  freedom 
of  the  Black  Sea. 

It  is  said,  however,  by  high  axitho- 
rity,  that  exception  has  been  taken 
rather  to  the  manner  than  the  mat- 
ter of  the  Gortschakoff  demands  ; 
that  the  mode  in  which  he  an- 
nounced his  master's  intentions  was 
intentionally  insulting  and  offensive ; 
that  instead  of  approaching  the 
question  as  a  subject  of  just  com- 
plaint and  unmerited  hardship,  he 
took  the  law  into  his  own  hands, 
;and  decided  his  cause  for  himself. 


Such  conduct  was  pronounced  by 
one  of  our  journals  as  "gross,  brutal, 
and  undiplomatic."  I  remember  an 
Irish  judge,  in  sentencing  a  man. 
who  had  beaten  his  wife  to  imprison- 
ment, denouncing  his  act  as  un- 
manly, inhuman,  and,  in  fact,  "  ille- 
gal." Gortschakoff  has  been  all 
these ;  and  what  we  complain  of  is, 
not  that  he  wants  to  rob  the  house, 
but  that  he  has  kicked  in  the  door ! 
Could  you  not  have  rung  the  bell  ] 
was  there  no  knocker  ]  we  mildly  ask 
him;  while  we  more  than  insinuate 
we  are  ready  not  only  to  let  him 
in,  but  to  have  his  wicked  will  of 
the  premises  when  he  is  there ! 
These  are  Eussian  manners,  say  we, 
and  we  are  not  used  to  them  in  this 
part  of  the  world.  If  that  is  all 
you  have  to  complain  of,  rejoins  the 
Prince,  I  am  quite  ready  to  make 
you  a  proper  apology ;  only  open  the 
door,  and  I'll  make  you  my  politest 
bow  as  I  pass  in. 

If  the  occasion  could  warrant  a 
wager,  I  would  bet  that  this  would 
be  the  end  of  the  Conference,  and 
that  here,  at  least,  Gortschakoff 
would  be  more  successful  than 
Takos. 


THE   HEALING   MEASURE. 


It  is  a  maxim  of  approved  wis- 
•dom,  that  when  called  on  to  take 
•some  determined  line  for  which  you 
have  not  any  immediate  precedent, 
you  should  announce  your  decision, 
but  give  no  reasons  for  your  act.  The 
advice  has  a  wide  application,  and 
there  are  few  of  us  who  have  not  at 
some  time  or  other  of  our  lives  felt 
its  wisdom.  For  my  own  part  I 
was  never  more  forcibly  struck  with 
its  practical  value  than  when  I  read 
the  letter  in  which  the  Minister  jus- 
tifies the  liberation  of  the  Fenian 
prisoners.  Had  it  been  simply  an- 
nounced that  these  men  should  be 
free  on  a  certain  day,  we  each  of 


us  might,  according  to  temperament, 
time  of  life,  nationality,  and  party 
leanings,  have  conjured  up  some 
reason  for  the  policy  that  might 
have  sufficed  for  ourselves.  One 
might  have  ascribed  it  to  kind- 
heartedness  and  benevolence,  stimu- 
lated by  a  season  when  such  quali- 
ties are  in  their  fullest  force.  An- 
other might  have  thought  that  en- 
ough had  been  done  for  punishment, 
and  enough  for  example,  and  that 
to  do  more  would  savour  of  vindic- 
tiveness.  A  third  might  less  gener- 
ously have  hinted  at  the  exigencies 
of  party,  and  a  bribe  for  the  Irish 
vote;  or  a  high-faluten  journalist 


234 


Cornelius  O'Dowd. 


might  have  deemed  the  policy  the 
cont re-coup  to  that  of  Count  Bis- 
mark,  who  is  sending  dissentient 
deputies  to  prison  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  we  in  "happy  England" 
are  liberating  our  imprisoned  traitors. 
There  is  not  one  of  these  reasons 
totally  devoid  of  a  certain  force ;  and 
however  little  they  may  have  in 
common,  there  is  yet  in  their  com- 
bined agency  an  aggregate  of  loose 
argument  that  might  account  for 
the  policy. 

The  only  totally  inadmissible 
reason  for  the  act  of  grace  was  the 
one  alleged,  that  "  the  altered  condi- 
tion of  Ireland  was  such  as  to  justify 
the  policy."  "Where  the  Irish  Chief 
Secretary  discovered  the  evidences 
of  this  happy  change  one  might  be 
curious  to  learn.  Have  the  popu- 
lar party  expressed  any  alteration  in 
their  opinions,  contrition  for  the  past, 
and  promised  amendment  for  the 
future  ?  Has  any  leading  national- 
ist declared  that  "  the  healing  mea- 
sures" have  brought  balm  to  the 
wounds,  and  salve  to  the  sores,  of 
Ireland1?  Have  the  newspapers  most 
in  the  confidence  of  the  people  ceased 
to  menace  England,  and  warn  her 
that  the  moment  of  her  difficulty 
may  be  Ireland's  opportunity,  and 
that  her  lawsuit  with  America  may 
possibly  be  tried  in  Tipperary? 
Where  are  the  evidences  of  the 
happy  change ;  or  where,  even  in  the 
petitions  of  the  Amnesty  Commit- 
tees, is  there  an  expression  to  be 
found  that  would  justify  a  Minister 
in  saying  that  the  offence  for  which 
these  men  were  convicted  has  died 
out  in  the  land,  and  that  the  legal 
description  of  the  crime  may  be 
erased  from  the  statute-book? 

Let  us  no  more  imprison  for 
Fenianism  than  burn  for  Witch- 
craft. They  are  both  of  them  relics 
of  the  past.  I  should  be  right  glad 
to  believe  this ;  but  though  I  do  not 
believe  it,  and  though  I  believe  that 
no  man  now  living  will  ever  see  the 


[Feb. 

day  when  it  will  be  a  fact  too  indis- 
putable for  denial,  I  am  not  sorry 
these  men  are  free. 

Some  traveller  returning  from 
one  of  our  penal  settlements  once 
brought  the  very  curious  result  of 
his  ethnological  experiences  in  this- 
shape.  If  you  meet  a  Scotchman, 
says  he,  amongst  the  convicts,  he  is- 
sure  to  be  a  confirmed  scoundrel, 
while  the  Irish  criminal  may  very 
possibly  be  very  little  worse  than 
the  mass  of  his  countrymen.  Now 
I  protest  strongly  that  this  judg- 
ment be  not  misconstrued,  nor  malic- 
iously interpreted.  It  means  simply 
this,  that  a  great  proportion  of  Irish 
crime  is  less  the  frait  of  inherent 
wickedness  than  of  the  movement  of 
passion  in  a  very  excited  and  excit- 
able people ;  that  the  confirmed 
criminal  is  rarely  found  amongst 
us;  but  that  a  large  mass  of  our' 
people  are  easily  stimulated  to  acts 
of  vengeance  for  real  or  imaginary 
wrong,  and  to  vindication  for  sup- 
posed insult;  and  that  the  notion  so 
studiously  disseminated  and  express- 
ed by  agitation,  that  we  are  a  de- 
spised and  trampled-down  race,  has 
given  to  this  spirit  of  resistance  an 
acrimony  and  a  vindictive  hate 
that  are  not  to  be  found  in  the 
normal  condition  of  the  national 
character. 

I  know  nothing  whatever  of  the 
Fenian  prisoners.  I  never  to  my 
knowledge  saw  one  of  them;  but  I 
am  fully  persuaded  that  they  are 
neither  much  better  nor  worse  than 
some  hundreds  of  thousands  of  Irish- 
men; and  that,  this  craze  of  a  regen- 
erated independent  Ireland  exceptedr 
they  are,  in  all  probability,  not  bad 
fellows  at  bottom — ready  enough 
to  do  a  generous  tiling,  and  very  far 
from  being  deficient  in  other  good 
qualities. 

It  is  of  these  men  the  Minister 
writes, — "  The  same  principles  of 
justice  which  dictated  their  sen- 
tences would  amply  justify  the  pro- 


1871.] 


TJie  Healing  Measure. 


235- 


longation  of  their  imprisonment  if 
the  public  security  demanded  it." 
Now,  if  this  passage  has  any  mean- 
ing at  all,  it  is,  that  the  public  se- 
curity has  been  hitherto  provided 
for  by  the  incarceration  of  these 
men  who,  if  at  large,  would  have 
been  an  imminent  peril  to  the  State. 
But  I  can  neither  admit  this  nor 
accept  it  as  a  just  view  of  their  con- 
demnation. They  were  sentenced 
to  imprisonment  partly  for  punish- 
ment, partly  for  example.  Of  that 
terror  of  which  the  Minister  speaks 
so  touchingly,  that  their  mere  pre- 
sence at  large  might  occasion,  I  am 
not  aware  that  the  large  class  of 
Irishmen  have  confessed  to  having 
experienced  it. 

If  I  do  not  ask  what  is  the  im- 
provement so  manifest  in  Ireland 
that  warrants  the  experiment  of  their 
liberation,  it  is  simply  because  I 
desire  to  limit  myself  to  the  fact 
that,  whatever  may  be  the  policy  of 
the  pardon,  there  cannot  be  a  word 
said  in  defence  of  the  reasons  alleged 
for  the  act. 

Ask  any  Irishman,  of  any  party, 
who  has  given  much  attention  to 
the  condition  of  the  country,  and  is 
able  to  speak  dispassionately  on  the 
subject,  what  he  believes  to  be  the 
greatest  evil  of  the  land  and  the 
strongest  obstacle  to  all  betterment, 
and  he  will  tell  you  it  is  Insecurity. 
The  law,  that  ought  to  be  the  type 
and  emblem  of  immutability  and 
permanence,  is  of  all  things  the 
least  certain.  The  prosecutions  and 
convictions  which  elsewhere  might 
be  accounted  matters  of  almost  cer- 
tainty, are  in  Ireland  questions  of 
pure  chance.  The  county,  the  ac- 


cidental condition  of  political  events 
at  the  time,  the  nature  of  the  jury, 
the  tone  of  public  feeling,  have 
all  their  influence ;  and  last  of  all 
come  the  supposed  exigencies  of 
party,  to  make  political  capital  out 
of  interference  with  the  course  of 
law,  and  see  post  facto  reasons  for 
a  remission  of  punishment. 

It  is  not  a  wise  legislation  that, 
makes  political  life  a  profession,  but 
it  is  a  million  times  worse  to  make 
it  a  game  of  chance.  Irishmen,  like 
most  warm-tempered  people,  have  too 
much  of  the  gambling  element  in 
their  natures,  and  it  is  scarcely  wise 
to  add  to  the  temptation  of  treason 
the  triple  chances  of  escape. 

It  is  because  everything  has  been 
tried  in  Ireland  but  an  immutable 
administration  of  the  law  that  I  ask 
for  this.  You  have  crushed  what  you 
called  "  ascendancy,"  uprooted  the 
Church,  and  shaken  the  rights  of 
property ;  you  have  discouraged  the 
Protestant,  and  derided  his  attach- 
ment to  England  ;  while  you  have 
petted  the  Romanist  even  to  coquet- 
ting with  the  Pope !  You  have  opened 
the  jails,  and  in  a  measure  rebuked 
the  legality  that  had  made  them 
places  of  punishment.  Why  not, 
in  this  zeal  for  experiment,  adventure 
upon  one  novelty  more  1  Make  the 
law  of  the  land  fixed  and  unchange- 
able. Let  it  be  clearly  understood 
that  amnesty  committees  and  felon 
sympathisers  have  no  pretension 
to  approach  a  Government;  and  that 
whatever  may  be  the  strength  or 
difficulties  of  party,  nothing  shall 
warrant  an  interference  with  the 
course  of  law,  still  less  with  the  sen- 
tence when  the  law  has  decreed  it. 


236 


Cornelius  O'Doicd. 


[Fob. 


THE   SHADOWS   BEFORE- 


"  If  Genius  should  ever  employ 
itself  in  the  work  of  statecraft," 
says  Henri  Heine,  "  its  distinctive 
mark  will  be,  '  always  to  be  apro- 
pos.' "  The  merit  of  the  character- 
istic is  a  very  high  one ;  and  if  ex- 
amples are  not  readily  at  our  hand 
to  sustain  the  assertion,  it  is  only 
because  this  form  of  mind  has 
not  usually  been  conceded  to  our 
rulers.  Mr  Pitt  was  probably  the 
strongest  exception,  since  whom, 
not  even  Peel  himself  could  lay 
a  just  claim  to  the  "  diviner  ele- 
ment." 

The  present  Premier  certainly 
fulfils  many  of  the  conditions  of 
the  great  gift,  but  is  very  far  from 
sustaining  the  Heine  test  if  the 
"  apropos  "  should  ever  be  received 
as  the  distinctive  mark  of  genius. 

The  commemorative  dinner  to 
Mr  Cobden's  memory  which,  so  to 
say,  heralded  the  greatest  war  the 
world  has  ever  seen,  and  the  lavish 
praises  bestowed  on  one  whose  dis- 
tinctive merit  was  declared  to  be, 
that  he  had  "made  the  policy  of 
peace  a  necessity,"  is  still  fresh  in  all 
our  memories. 

The  wannest  advocates  of  Free- 
trade  will  no  longer  pretend  that 
universal  peace  was  amongst  its 
triumphs.  Buying  in  the  cheapest 
and  selling  in  the  dearest  markets 
• — admirable  precepts  as  they  are — 
are  no  securities  against  the  workings 
of  ambition,  the  natural  promptings 
of  race  and  nationality,  and  the  re- 
ligious belief  of  certain  peoples  in 
"  inevitable  destiny." 

To  make  the  health  of  Father 
Matthew  the  charter  toast  of  a  so- 
ciety dedicated  to  hard  drinking 
and  intemperance,  could  not  be  a 
stronger  outrage  on  propriety  and 
the  fitness  of  things,  than  to  select 
the  time  of  the  late  Cobden  festival 
to  commemorate  the  merits  of  the 


great  peace-maker — Si  quart's  monu- 
ment urn,  look  at  Solferino  and 
Sadowa,  and  now  at  Sedan  !  Sing 
your  hymn  to  peace,  and  the  guns 
that  thunder  around  Paris  shall 
play  the  accompaniment  to  your 
melody. 

The  very  smallest  ingredient  of 
that  imaginative  element  which  dis- 
tinguished Edmund  Burke  would 
have  arrested  the  possibility  of  this 
blunder.  The  great  Irishman  would 
have  foreseen  how  far  the  Cobden 
policy  had  penetrated,  and  where  it 
had  failed  to  influence  the  acts  of 
statescraft.  He  would  have  con- 
ceived a  situation  in  which  men's 
thoughts  soared  to  something  above 
a  balance-sheet,  and  dreamed  that  a 
nation  was  a  greater  thing  than  a 
counting-house ;  and  he  would  have 
calculated  on  the  very  reaction 
which  should  drive  them  from  the 
pursuits  of  material  profit  to  specu- 
lative projects  and  daring  achieve- 
ments, as  it  were,  in  insolent  protest 
at  being  set  down  amongst  "these 
nations  of  shopkeepers ! "  When  the 
venerable  authority  at  F.  0.,  whom 
Sir  Henry  Bulwer  styled  the  Nes- 
tor, and  whom  an  Irish  editor, 
thinking  to  quote  the  epithet,  by  a 
perhaps  pardonable  blunder,  called 
the  "'Nest-egg'  of  Downing  Street," 
told  Lord  Granville  that  he  had  ac- 
ceded to  office  in  a  time  of  unusual 
dulness  and  tranquillity,  the  feli- 
citation had  the  customary  fate  of 
an  official  prediction.  It  was  uttered 
last  July,  and  we  know  Avhat  has 
happened  since  midsummer. 

After  all,  it  might  be  said,  if  the 
Emperor  of  France  was  so  ignorant 
of  the  state  of  policy  in  South  Ger- 
many before  the  war,  as  to  fancy  he 
would  have  had  Bavaria  for  an  ally, 
there  is  surely  some  excuse  for  our 
ignorance  of  all  things  Continental. 

All  this,  however,  should  not  ex- 


1871.] 

cuse  us  for  not  seeing  what  is  hap- 
pening before  us  at  home.  Now,  if 
there  be  any  movement  on  which 
we  might  calculate  as  a  certainty  in 
political  life,  it  will  be  an  agita- 
tion for  the  disestablishment  of  the 
Church.  The  large  party  who  allied 
themselves  to  the  Minister  in  his 
attack  on  the  Irish  Church  have 
never  disbanded  themselves  under 
the  impression  that  the  campaign 
was  over  and  the  war  ended.  Far 
from  it.  The  outpost — and  it  was 
only  the  outpost— carried  in  Ire- 
land, has  only  emboldened  them  as 
to  the  greater  struggle  that  is  before 
them.  With  the  exception  of  that 
cant — which  was  never  an  argument 
— the  "badge  of  conquest"  cry,  there 
is  scarcely  anything  which  was  al- 
leged against  the  Irish  that  cannot  be 
employed  against  the  English  Estab- 
lishment. Methodism,  and  the  va- 
rious other  forms  of  Dissent,  will 
enable  them  to  dilate  on  the  short- 
comings of  that  avhich  is  not  the 
Church  of  the  people,  and  we  shall 
be  triumphantly  asked  if  the  afflu- 
ent classes  of  England  are  not  rich 
enough  to  support  their  own  form 
of  worship.  We  know  what  a  large 
class  of  people  are  interested  in  ex- 
cluding the  bishops  from  the  House 
of  Lords ;  and  as  the  same  persons 
are  candid  enough  to  declare  that 
they  regard  that  Chamber  as  an 
anomaly,  they  have  abundant  reason 
for  denuding  it  of  as  much  learning 
and  eloquence  as  they  can,  before 
they  open  the  attack  in  form. 

I  am  not  more  certain  that  the 
assault  on  the  Church  will  be  made 
than  that  it  will  succeed.  In  that 
unsated  and  unsatiable  passion  for 
putting  down  which  besets  us,  no 
agitation  is  hopeless,  no  prospective 
destruction  can  be  called  impossible, 
41  quelche  non  han  fatto  i  Barbari, 
hanno  fatto  i  Barbarini."  If  the 
Whigs  will  not  do  it,  the  Radicals 
•will  We  may  rest  assured  that 
when  the  stone  is  once  set  in  mo- 


237 


tion  there  will  not  be  wanting  the 
hands  to  impel  it. 

I  know  that  by  many  the  contin- 
gency is  not  looked  forward  to  with 
fear,  as  regards  the  interests  of  true 
religion.  I  know  that  while  to  some 
a  State  connection  is  regarded  with 
distrust  and  positive  dislike,  there 
are  others  who  believe  that  the  effi- 
cient and  working  character  of  the 
Church  would  benefit  by  its  being 
solely  dependent  on  the  voluntary 
principle,  and  becoming  of  necessity 
the  people's  Church.  Into  this 
question  I  have  no  pretence  to  enter. 
I  would  only  call  attention  to  the 
fact,  that  if,  as  many  think,  the 
coming  session  be  a  time  in  which 
this  momentous  matter  will  be  dis- 
cussed, there  was  a  strange  apropos 
in  that  letter  of  the  Prime  Minister 
which  has  just  appeared  in  print, 
regarding  the  maintenance  of  the 
Pope  and  his  prerogatives ;  and — 
shall  I  own  it  ? — it  is  exactly  by  the 
ill-timed  publication  of  this  letter 
that  I  infer  Protestantism  to  be 
doomed,  and  the  Established  Church 
to  be  in  danger.  Mr  Cobden's 
health — the  peace-maker,  par  excel- 
lence— had  scarcely  died  out  in  the 
hip-hurrahs,  when  the  telegraph  told 
us  that  France  had  declared  war; 
and  I  shall  be  greatly  surprised  if 
the  debate  on  the  destruction  of 
the  Church  be  not  followed  by 
some  proposition  in  aid  of  the  sove- 
reign Pontiff,  and  a  supplicatory 
appeal  to  Victor  Emanuel  to  treat 
his  prisoner  with  generosity  and  all 
the  deference  that  is  his  due.  Who 
knows  if  the  same  order  that  shall 
declare  Lambeth  for  sale  shall  not 
be  followed  by  the  offer  of  Malta  to 
the  Holy  Father? 

Many  of  our  public  writers  con- 
fess themselves  unable  to  account 
for  this  touching  evidence  of  the 
Premier's  sympathy  for  the  Pope, 
and  that  startling  avowal  that  his 
"  case  had  long  been  one  of  great  in- 
terest to  the  Cabinet."  Still,  as  the 


238 


New  Year's  Musings. 


[Feb. 


Administration  seem  to  have  a  spe- 
cial fondness  for  healing  measures, 
and  a  great  skill  in  their  concoction, 
it  would  be  a  pity  to  deny  them 
such  an  opportunity  for  their  art. 
Indeed,  that  soothing  syrup  which 
we  so  often  see  advertised  as  a  real 
blessing  to  mothers,  would  seem  to 
be  totally  eclipsed  by  the  Whig 
anodyne,  that  can  assuage  the  con- 
vulsions of  Treason,  and  calm  all 
the  tremors  of  Popery. 

What  is  really  unfortunate  is  to 


find  that  the  time  chosen  to  watch 
over  the  Pope's  interests  should 
be  that  in  which  the  Established 
Church  is  to  be  put  on  its  trial. 
Here  is  a  fatal  "  malapropos,"  and  it 
is  not  hard  to  see  how  the  backwater 
of  the  one  measure  will  react  on 
the  other.  Mr  Miall,  however,  was 
"  piqued "  at  the  close  of  the  last 
session ;  and  of  all  the  good  quali- 
ties of  his  sect,  I  have  never  heard 
that  the  most  conspicuous  was  an  ex- 
aggerated forgetfubaessof  past  injury. 


NEW    YEARS     MUSINGS. 


COLOURED    GLASS. 


BUT  little  art  is  required  to  de- 
light the  senses  and  imagination  of 
childhood.  Hold  but  a  piece  of  col- 
oured glass  before  the  child's  eyes, 
and  he  is  satisfied  that  a  familiar 
scene  has  become  suddenly  a  fairy 
landscape  of  red  or  gold,  with  en- 
chanted castles  or  Arabian  splendour. 
The  unreality  of  the  vision  is  the 
last  thing  that  he  thinks  of.  He  is 
only  too  well  pleased  to  see  things 
in  such  a  light;  he  cherishes  the 
delusion;  the  enjoyment  is  thorough. 
It  is  experience  which  teaches  men 
to  beware  of  such  illusions — which 
cautions  them  as  they  grow  and 
grow  that  it  is  necessary  in  this 
work-a-day  world  to  look  at  things 
in  their  work-a-day  dress.  So  gen- 
erally has  such  a  maxim  been  recog- 
nised, that  the  common  complaint  is 
of  its  extreme  influence  in  the  for- 
mation of  modern  character :  the 
age  has  been  characterised  as  stern, 
unimaginative,  material.  Yet  in  all 
ages — even  in  this  so-called  age  of 
iron — there  have  been  always  some 
who,  by  nature  or  circumstances, 
either  never  forsake,  or  are  prone  at 
inconvenient  times  to  return  to,  the 
delight  of  looking  through  coloured 


glass.  Shakespeare  would  appear 
to  include  the  whole  dreamy  genus 
under  the  three  heads  of  "the  lu- 
natic, the  lover,  and  the  poet,"  and 
he  places  no  limit  to  its  power  of 
self-deception : — 

"  Such  tricks  hath  strong  imagination, 
That,  if  it  would  but  apprehend  some  joy, 
It  comprehends  some  Lringer  of  that  joy." 

According  to  modern  definitions, 
it  would  be  necessary  to  extend  the 
series ;  for  there  are  many  who  can- 
not be  called  accurately  either  lu- 
natics, or  lovers,  or  poets,  who  are 
nevertheless  "  of  imagination  all 
compact "  with  these.  There  is,  for 
instance,  the  religious  enthusiast,  who 
in  every  century  spots  Apollyon  and 
Antichrist,  and  gives  the  latitude  of 
Armageddon,  and  has  advices  about 
the  millennium.  There  is  the  more 
dangerous,'  zealot,  who  is  convinced 
that  the  world  as  it  is  can  be,  and 
ought  to  be,  governed  as  if  it  were 
a  handful  of  primitive  Christians  ; 
who  recognises  no  impediment  to 
the  literal  working  of  the  Scriptural 
precepts ;  approves  no  law  which 
cannot  be  supported  from  the  book 
of  an  evangelist  or  prophet,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  interpretation.  But 


1871.]  Coloured  Glass. 

there  is,  also,  the  man  who  does  not, 
and  will  not,  know  the  world  as  it 
is ;  who,  ineffably  conceited,  has  ima- 
gined a  world  formed  and  coloured 
according  to  his  own  fancy,  and  in- 
sists that  this,  and  this  alone,  shall 
"be  recognised  as  the  world  we  live 
in.  It  is  fortunate  that  these  vision- 
aries are  for  the  most  part  shy  and 
inactive.  They  do  not  force  their 
fancies  on  a  large  circle  of  victims, 
and  are  moody  and  indignant  rather 
than  importunate.  Here  and  there, 
however,  it  happens  that  they  are 
men  of  talent  in  respect  of  every- 
thing except  what  is  called  common- 
sense.  They  know  how  to  dazzle 
and  persuade,  and  are  therefore  very 
apt  to  mislead.  But  the  most  dan- 
gerous case  of  all  is  when  the  slave 
of  the  coloured-glass  passion  is  not 
only  learned  and  accomplished  above 
his  fellows,  and  therefore  gifted  with 
the  power  of  fascination,  but  has 
been,  by  unhappy  accident,  exalted 
to  a  position  from  whence  his  words 
come  with  authority.  For  it  is  piti- 
able that  the  powers  of  learning  and 
eloquence  should  be  wasted  upon  a 
delusion  :  authority  is  abused  when 
it  is  made  a  means  of  disseminating 
what  is  untrue. 

We  make  these  observations  after 
reading,  not  for  the  first  nor  second 
time,  the  remarkable  work  of  ima- 
gination, which,  under  the  title  of 
"Germany,  France,  and  England," 
has  been  amusing  thousands  of  edu- 
cated men  in  the  autumnal  pages  of 
a  quarterly  periodical.  The  first 
thing  that  strikes  the  reader,  as  the 
humour  of  the  article  becomes  ap- 
parent, is  the  utter  abandonment 
with  which  a  dreamer  will  give  him- 
self up  to  his  hallucination.  No 
scruple  as  to  whether  the  time  was 
propitious  for  the  announcement  of 
his  glamour,  no  thought  that  men's 
minds  were  forcibly  possessed  by 
far  different  ideas  beaten  in  by  the 
hard  logic  of  facts,  seems  for  a 
moment  to  have  withheld  the  au- 


239 


thor.  Whether  in  season  or  out  of 
season  (and  one  thinks  that  the 
effusion  is  lamentably  out  of  season), 
he  was  determined  to  publish  what 
his  coloured  spectacles  revealed  to 
him,  and  with  fanatic  hardihood  he 
called  upon  his  countrymen  to  look 
at  things  through  a  similar  medium. 
Men  of  the  world,  even  the  most 
positive,  know  well  that  when  one 
would  expound  a  new  theory,  it  is 
above  all  things  desirable  to  select 
a  favourable  occasion,  when  the 
world  is  in  some  sort  prepared  for 
the  doctrine,  when  discoveries  or 
events,  publicly  known,  assist  the 
proof.  They  do  not,  when  all  the 
world  is  shuddering  at  thoughts  of 
"  guns  and  drums  and  wounds,"  pro- 
duce their  pouncet-box,  and  talk 
daintily  of  parmaceti  and  villanous 
saltpetre. 

Whatever  may  have  been  a 
reader's  conception  of  the  state  of 
things  in  general,  and  of  the  con- 
dition and  position  of  England  in 
particular,  he  will  probably  find  in 
the  article  in  question  some  startling 
contradiction  of  his  belief,  though 
his  notions  may  be  extreme.  He 
will  there  read  "  that  a  new  law  of 
nations  is  gradually  taking  hold  of 
the  mind,  and  coming  to  sway  the 
practice  of  the  world  ;  a  law  which 
recognises  independence,  which 
frowns  upon  aggression,  which  fa- 
vours the  pacific,  not  the  bloody 
settlement  of  disputes,  which  aims 
at  permanent  and  not  temporary 
adjustments — above  all,  which  re- 
cognises as  a  tribunal  of  paramount 
authority,  the  general  judgment  of 
civilised  mankind."  What  a  power 
this  writer's  spectacles  must  pos- 
sess !  !  If  accident  should  push 
them  up  for  a  moment,  or  if  he 
should  have  resolution  to  take  a 
peep  over  the  rim,  what  a  different 
scene  would  meet  his  eyes  from  that 
which  his  spectacles  present !  The 
real  picture  would  show  not  only 
France  and  Germany  rushing  at 


240 


New  Year's  Musings. 


[Feb. 


each  other's  throats  with  more  than 
Red  Indian  implacability.  It  would 
show  Russia  so  disdainful  of  "  the 
law  which  frowns  upon  aggression," 
that  she  is  openly  attempting  to 
compass  the  subjugation  of  Turkey ; 
that  she  has  flung  in  the  faces  of 
the  signatories  of  the  treaty  of  1856 
the  obligations  which  by  that  treaty 
are  imposed  on  her,  and  declared 
that  she  will  violate  them  at  her 
pleasure ;  that  the  East  is  convulsed 
in  consequence.  It  would  show 
Prussia  also  so  defiant  of  right,  that 
she  is,  by  an  unblushing  assertion  of 
her  will  in  opposition  to  law,  at- 
tempting the  appropriation  of  Lux- 
embourg. It  would  show  Italy  in 
the  act  of  seizing  the  States  of  the 
Church.  It  would  show  Spain  in 
a  state  of  confusion  and  lawlessness, 
with  the  ashes  of  her  murdered 
Marshal  scarcely  cold.  It  would 
show  Austria  troubled  and  appre- 
hensive, distrustful  of  what  Prussia 
on  the  one  hand,  and  Russia  on  the 
other,  may  be  designing  against  her. 
It  would  show  England  pecked  at 
from  all  sides,  disarmed,  humiliated, 
her  councils  timid  and  vacillating, 
her  utterance  faltering  and  meek.  It 
would  shoAV,  as  an  example  of  the 
aim  at  "  permanent  and  not  tempo- 
rary adjustments,"  the  convocation 
of  a  Conference  avowedly  summoned 
to  temporise  with  one  of  the  most 
pressing  calls  that  can  demand  from 
nations  the  infliction  of  summary 
justice. 

The  law  which  favours  the  pacific 
and  not  the  bloody  settlement  of 
disputes  is  not,  we  fancy,  a  modern 
invention,  to  those  who  take  a 
rational  view  of  things  past  and 
present.  Most  nations  who  have 
emerged  from  the  cloud  of  barbar- 
ism— at  any  rate,  most  nations  who 
have  attained  to  a  literature  of  their 
own — have  admitted,  and  still  will, 
in  their  calm,  unimpassioned  periods, 
admit,  the  sin  and  inexpediency  of 
wars.  This  is  no  new  doctrine. 


The  novelty  is  in  imagining  that,  at 
the  present  time,  any  nation,  with 
cupidity,  or  emulation,  or  revenge 
aroused,  will  be  guided  by  such  a 
doctrine.  The  good  old  plan,  that 
they  will  take  who  have  the  power, 
and  they  may  keep  who  can,  was 
never  more  practically  effective  than 
now.  On  what  can  unscrupulous 
statesmen  found  their  schemes  of 
robbery  and  fraud,  if  not  on  the 
firm  belief  that  the  peoples  whom 
they  represent  will  eventually  not 
refer  the  cases  to  a  congress  of  na- 
tions, but  act  arbitrarily,  and  uphold 
by  force  of  arms  their  arbitrary  acts  ? 
When  Louis  Napoleon  and  Bismark 
were  chaffering  over  the  fate  of  Bel- 
gium, there  was  little  thought  of 
any  deference  to  the  judgment  of 
civilised  mankind,  we  trow.  If  that 
nefarious  project  had  taken  effect, 
who  can  doubt  that  the  perpetrators 
would  have  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  a 
judgment  of  nations,  and  defied  the 
civilised  world  to  balk  them  of  their 
will? 

But  the  coloured  glass  makes  one 
see  Europe  as  a  family.  "  In  truth," 
says  the  author  whom  we  are  won- 
dering at — "  in  truth  the  nations 
of  Europe  are  a  family."  If  they 
are  so,  they  compose  just  such  a 
family  as  might  prowl  round  the 
board  of  Mr  "William  Sykes,  where 
brother  would  point  a  fork  at 
brother's  eye,  sister  would  seize 
sister's  mess  and  send  the  mustard- 
pot  at  sister's  head,  and  father 
would  correct  mother  to  fill  up 
the  interval  between  the  courses. 
Eamily,  indeed !  But  our  author, 
looking  through  his  tinted  lens,  has 
no  idea  of  satire.  It  is  clear  from 
the  context  that  he  sees  them  as 
a  family  bound  together  by  ties  of 
affection,  of  common  interest,  of 
similar  habits  and  breeding,  of  like 
associations.  When  Mr  Swiveller 
called  the  kitchen- wench  a  mar- 
chioness, he  consciously  sullied  the 
eternal  beauty  of  truth,  but  palliated 


1871.] 


Coloured  Ghi*at. 


241 


his  sin  by  the  plea  that  this  made 
things  look  natural.  Our  author  has 
no  apology  to  make — he  simply 
tells  us  what  his  spectacles  show 
him ;  and  though  this  is  the  very 
opposite  of  the  fact,  he  describes  it 
in  all  sincerity. 

"We  cannot  refrain  from  noting 
here  two  little  splenetic  passages, 
the  only  ones,  be  it  remarked,  in  the 
whole  of  the  paper ;  for  so  absorbed 
is  the  writer  in  his  fairy  vision,  that 
he  shows  little  disposition  to  combat 
the  views  of  others.  He  mentions 
in  one  place  "  that  state  of  highly- 
armed  preparation  which,  we  are 
affectedly  told,  is  the  true  security 
for  the  avoidance  of  quarrels  among 
men."  Now,  is  it  not  apparent 
that,  for  want  of  armed  preparation 
of  some  kind,  Great  Britain  is  at 
this  moment  xinable  to  do  the  good 
to  others  which  she  desires,  or  to 
keep  herself  from  indignity  1  It  is 
one  thing  to  look  upon  a  state  of 
highly-armed  preparation  as  a  secu- 
rity for  the  avoidance  of  quarrels, 
another  to  hold  that  total  unpre- 
paredness  is  a  security.  "We  cer- 
tainly do  not  think  with  those,  if 
any  such  there  be,  who  regard 
armament  as  a  guarantee  for  peace. 
Whether  it  be  so  or  not  must  de- 
pend on  the  dispositions  of  those 
who  are  armed.  It  is  to  be  feared 
that  the  seer's  intention  here  is  not 
so  much  to  disprove  the  doctrine 
which  he  attacks  as  to  suggest  the 
truth  of  its  opposite.  "What  ice  have 
heard  said,  not  "  affectedly,"  and 
what  we  are  quite  willing  to  endorse, 
is  this — that  in  the  present  state  of 
the  European  "family"  no  member 
can  exert  influence  without  being 
able  to  throw  such  weight  into  the 
scale  as  may  incline  the  balance. 
The  influence  may  be  good  or  bad, 
peaceful  or  warlike,  but  it  will  not 
exist  at  all  for  a  country  confessedly 
helpless.  Talking  and  writing  go 
for  very  little  in  these  hard  times  ; 
there  is  far  more  persuasion  in  hard 


knocks.  But  we  say  this  with  the 
full  admission  that  an  armed  force 
may  be  abused  as  well  as  used — may 
be  made  a  means  of  oppression  and 
wrong  as  certainly  as  of  true  secu- 
rity. We  say  that  two  conditions 
are  required  for  a  nation  that  would 
work  effectually  for  peace — a  peace- 
ful inclination,  and  material  power 
to  restrain  those  who  are  not  peace- 
ful. 

The  other  bit  of  envenomed  rhet- 
oric is  contained  in  an  allusion  to 
the  King  of  Prussia,  whose  piety,  it 
is  said,  never  failed  him  during  tho 
Danish  transactions.  This  ill-natur- 
ed shaft,  shot  by  a  man  who  posses- 
ses the  glorious  faculty  of  seeing  the 
most  shocking  objects  en  couleur  de 
roue,  is  not  so  excusable  as  if  it  pro- 
ceeded from  a  mind  embittered  by 
the  contemplation  of  things  as  they 
are.  One  is  driven  to  think  that 
there  must  be  some  little  grudge, 
some  envy,  perhaps  some  rivalry — 
hah  !  can  that  be  it  1  Are  his  Ma- 
jesty and  our  author  two  of  the 
same  trade1?  Does  the  seer  of 
peaceful  visions  occasionally  him- 
self court  for  opinion  by  making 
long  prayers,  and  being  of  a  sad 
countenance  as  the  hypocrites  are  ? 
Is  he  himself  a  professor  of  the 
snuffle  and  the  downcast  eye  ?  Does 
he,  too,  let  his  light  shine  before 
men]  Is  Saul  also  among  the  pro- 
phets 1  If  so,  we  understand  the 
sneap.  The  king  is  jeered  at  as  a 
dull  competitor — is  denounced  as  a 
poacher. 

To  return  to  the  bright  visions. 
The  descriptions  which  we  have 
hitherto  been  considering,  curious  as 
they  are,  can  yet  be  read  with  an 
equal  mind,  as  being  the  romance 
phase  of  what  concerns  principally 
our  neighbours.  We  can  afford  to 
smile  over  them,  to  contrast  their 
fiction  with  the  stern  reality,  to 
speculate  in  regard  to  them  on 
the  physical  or  mental  peculiarities 
which,  in  a  mind  otherwise  so  logi- 


242 


New  Year's  Musings. 


[Feb. 


cal,  can  produce  such  false  imagina- 
tions. But  it  is  different  when 
our  author  comes  to  speak  of  Eng- 
land. His  phantasnia  begins  then 
to  touch  us  too  nearly  even  for  en- 
durance. The  cruel  sham  but  re- 
calls with  aggravated  poignancy  the 
sad  reality.  Chords  are  touched 
whose  vibration  is  intolerable.  The 
thought  of  the  security  that  might 
have  been,  compared  with  the  danger 
and  degradation  that  are,  bids  our 
blood  run  chill  and  our  minds  to 
sicken.  It  is  as  when  the  mother 
of  Mucklebackit  in  '  The  Antiquary,' 
at  her  grandson's  funeral,  raises  a 
glass  of  wine  to  pledge  the  company, 
saying,  "  May  we  hae  mony  sic 
happy  meetings  !"  As,  one  and  all, 
that  assemblage  shrank  from  a  toast 
which  there  spoke  of  happiness,  so 
shrink  we  from  the  picture  of  a 
glowing  happy  England,  because  we 
know  too  well  to  what  England  has 
come  down — because  our  woe  is  too 
keen  to  bear  mockery  even  from 
those  who  know  not  that  they  mock. 
With  what  feeling  can  a  patriotic 
Englishman  read,  for  instance,  the 
following :  "  But  so  far  is  this 
state  of  facts  from  implying  either  a 
•condition  or  a  policy  of  isolation, 
that  it  marks  out  England  as  the 
appropriate  object  of  the  general 
confidence — as  the  sole,  comparative- 
ly, unsuspected  Power.  In  every 
-quarrel,  in  every  difficulty,  it  is  her 
aid  that  is  most  courted ;  it  is  by 
her  agency  that  parties,  if  they  seek 
a  mediator,  prefer  to  come  together ; 
it  is  under  her  leadership  that  neu- 
trals most  desire  to  move."  How 
bitter  is  this  fooling  !  The  spec- 
iacles  must  show  to  the  seer  Bis- 
mark  and  Gambetta  imploring  Eng- 
land to  reconcile  them,  Gortschakoff 


throwing  all  his  care  upon  Great 
Britain,  asking  only  her  counsel  and 
countenance,  the  neutral  Powers  on 
the  tiptoe  of  expectation,  obedient, 
devoted,  waiting  only  the  word  of 
command  from  Britannia,  who,  armed 
ccip-ci-pie,  ready  for  all  chances,  strong 
in  counsel,  resolved  and  inexorably 
just,  gives  the  signal  by  which  all 
the  chivalry  of  Europe  moves.  We 
are  not  told  whether  the  optical 
snare  extends  across  the  Atlantic; 
but  if  it  does,  it  must  there  show 
Benjamin  Butler  snorting  the  praises 
of  England,  and  declaring  that  her 
friendship  is  better  than  dollars ; 
Orator  Sumner  also  stamping  out 
the  Alabama  claims ;  and  head-centres 
innumerable  kissing  St  George's 
cross,  while  they  howl  "Rule  Britan- 
nia ! "  God  save  the  mark !  We 
cannot  dwell  on  this  branch  of  the 
subject. 

The  clear  easy  style  of  the  paper, 
the  aptness  of  the  illustrations,  the 
arrangement  and  force  of  the  argu- 
ments, could  not  fail  to  affect  the 
reader  pleasantly  were  the  subject 
only  fact  instead  of  mirage.  But 
to  see  so  much  power  wasted  on 
what  is  unreal  must  excite  unfeigned 
regret.  The  one  marring  infirmity 
of  looking  through  coloured  glass 
has  taken  all  power  of  instructing 
from  a  mind  which,  gifted  with  an 
accurate  vision,  would  have  been 
highly  capable.  If  incompetent  to 
teach,  of  course  such  a  person  is  in 
a  much  greater  degree  unfit  for  ac- 
tion. Action  must  be  for  those 
who  can  see  through  a  natural  me- 
dium. Should  a  dreamer  be  trusted 
with  the  conduct  of  important  af- 
fairs, he  would  soon  play  before 
high  heaven  such  fantastic  tricks  as 
make  the  angels  weep. 


AMICABLE    RELATIONS. 


It  would  be  impossible  to  intensify 
the  condemnation  or  the  contempt 


manifested  by  our  party  of  peace 
for  a  firm   and    dignified    foreign 


Amicable  Relations. 


1871.] 


policy.  Wars  and  quarrels,  they 
said,  arise  from  unbecoming  arro- 
gance, from  undue  maintenance  of 
what  we  call  our  rights,  from  im- 
patience of  the  just  claims  of  others, 
from  interference  in  the  quarrels  of 
foreigners — above  all,  from  the  know- 
ledge that  we  possess  the  means  of 
going  to  war.  Their  counsel  there- 
fore was,  to  be  rid  of  our  army  and 
navy,  so  that  under  no  provocation 
and  in  no  extremity  we  might 
be  able  immediately  to  help  our- 
selves ;  to  be  meek  in  setting  forth 
our  own  rights  and  opinions ;  to 
refuse  to  concern  ourselves  with  any 
dispute  which  might  not  immedi- 
ately affect  us  ;  and  to  entertain  all 
manner  of  demands,  no  matter  what 
discussions  or  correspondences  they 
might  involve  us  in.  This  modera- 
tion and  innocence,  this  unobtrusive 
amiability,  cannot  fail  to  impress 
even  the  rudest  and  most  quarrel- 
some of  our  neighbours,  who  must 
sooner  or  later  be  charmed  by  our 
sweet  humility  ;  while  from  those 
who  are  at  all  softened  by  culture, 
it  must  earn  us  admiration,  respect, 
love,  nay  imitation ;  for  our  beautiful 
example  is  to  convince  the  whole 
world  of  error,  and  bring  it  step 
by  step  to  the  fulness  of  brotherly 
love. 

It  took  a  long  time  to  induce  the 
people  of  this  country  to  test  these 
kindly  doctrines.  Our  older  states- 
men, and  our  elders  generally  till 
lately,  could  remember  long  wars 
and  the  passions  which  moved  men 
in  those  troubled  times.  They  let 
the  peaceful  evangelists  prattle  away 
without  contradiction,  but  they'^took 
care  that  the  peace  doctrines  should 
be  confined  to  talk,  not  brought  into 
act.  Wary  seniors  these  were,  who 
knew  men  and  cities,  whose  youth 
had  been  passed  amid  stir  and  ex- 
citement, who  smiled  at  the  babble 
of  a  theory,  and  acted  like  men  of 
this  world.  Not  all  the  talk — not 
all  the  inkshed  that  could  proceed 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXIV. 


243 


from  an  inexperienced  vain  gener- 
ation— for  an  instant  dimmed  the 
perceptions  of  these  veterans ;  they 
refused  to  hear  the  voice  of  the 
charmers,  but  they  did  not  conde- 
scend to  answer  what  appeared  to 
them  self-evident  trash.  Here  and 
there  an  utterance  from  one  of  them 
would  become  known,  and  would 
be  seized  upon  by  the  country  as  an 
oracle,  so  refreshing  was  its  sound 
clear  tone  and  manly  argument 
after  the  vapid  whine  of  the  pro- 
fessed talkers.  Notably,  a  letter 
from  the  late  Duke  of  Wellington 
to  Sir  John  Burgoyne,  which  was 
never  intended  for  publication, 
found  its  way  into  print  by  acci- 
dent, and  immediately  took  posses- 
sion of  the  public  mind.  In  it  the 
country  was  reminded  of  the  kind 
of  title  by  which  England  holds 
most  of  her  possessions.  It  was 
shown  that  what  England  had  ac- 
quired by  the  sword,  other  nations 
might  consider  themselves  warranted 
in  taking  from  her  by  the  sword,  if 
they  could.  Mention  was  made, 
too,  of  the  defeats  and  humiliations 
which  England,  in  the  day  of  her 
strength,  had  inflicted  on  other 
nations.  It  was  not  said  that  these 
were  unjustly  or  even  \innecessarily 
inflicted ;  but  it  was  wisely  ob- 
served that  the  nations  which  had 
been  obliged  to  endure  them  would 
never  allow  that  they  were  deserved, 
would  never  cease  to  cherish  the 
hope  of  retaliating,  would  never 
forbear  to  retaliate,  if  fate  or  our 
own  folly  should  give  them  the 
opportunity.  The  practical  advice 
which  lay  behind  these  arguments 
was,  that  if  we  wished  to  be  left  to 
the  quiet  enjoyment  of  what  we  had 
got,  our  only  plan  was  to  show  that 
we  knew  how  to  defend  it. 

The  nervous  style,  the  unanswer- 
able reasoning  of  this  letter,  could 
not  fail  to  make  a  deep  impression. 
So  effectually  did  it  open  men's 
eyes,  so  completely  did  it  invert  for 


244 


New  Year's  Musings. 


[Feb. 


the  time  the  current  of  public  feel- 
ing, and  expose  the  fallacies  of  the 
peacemongers,  that  the  whole  of 
these  amiable  men  were  beside  them- 
selves with  chagrin,  and  one  or  two 
of  them  broke  out  into  railing,  as 
unhappily  it  was  their  nature  to. 
Loudest  in  abuse  was  the  eminent 
peace-doctor,  Mr  Eichard  Cobden, 
who  could  find  nothing  better  to 
say  by  way  of  refutation  than  that 
the  Duke  was  tottering  on  the  very 
verge  of  the  grave.  "He  is  seventy- 
seven  years  old,"  said  the  dema- 
gogue, "  which  explains  it  all, 
and  excuses  it."  This  was  a 
grave  mistake,  as  the  scoffer  soon 
found  to  his  cost.  The  people  had 
been  too  felicitously  taught,  too 
much  relieved  of  their  doubts  by 
the  Duke's  unaccustomed  searching 
rhetoric,  to  tolerate  again  imme- 
diately the  old  leaven  of  objurga- 
tion and  cant.  The  whole  press, 
the  whole  public,  rose  up  without 
distinction  of  parties  to  condemn 
the  upstart  who  had  dared  to  launch 
a  jeer  at  words  which  had  so  emi- 
nently satisfied  the  general  require- 
ment. The  good  impression,  however, 
died  away,  and  the  great  Duke  died ; 
so  the  old  peace  fallacies  began  again 
to  prevail,  but  were  rudely  inter- 
rupted by  the  Crimean  "War,  into 
which  we  drifted  under  the  feeble 
guidance  of  the  first  Administration 
that  ever  gave  the  least  countenance 
to  the  preachers  of  peace.  Of  course, 
while  we  were  at  war  the  party  was 
kept  pretty  quiet,  but  it  was  not 
long  after  peace  was  made  that  they 
began  again,  exercising  more  or  less 
influence.  Their  errors  were  ex- 
posed now  and  then  by  such  men 
as  the  Napiers,  and  continually  by 
Lord  Palmerston ;  yet,  by  mere 
iteration  and  vehemence,  these  errors 
gained  countenance,  until  at  last,  in 
an  evil  hour,  an  English  Administra- 
tion was  formed  which  was  known 
to  be  wholly  subject  to  the  dicta- 
tion of  the  Peace-at-any-price  party. 


Thus  the  doctrines  were  brought 
to  a  test.  They  were  no  longer  to 
be  maintained  by  argument  and 
exhortation  alone,  but  the  country 
had  an  opportunity  of  judging  by 
results  in  what  direction  they  were 
likely  to  take  us.  It  is  commonly 
a  disadvantage  in  political  experi- 
menting, that  the  effects  of  innova- 
tions are  slow  in  being  developed, 
and  that  a  succeeding  generation  has 
to  read  the  lesson  derivable  from 
their  predecessors'  .acts.  In  this 
case,  however,  the  sad  proof  was 
not  so  long  delayed.  Not  a  decen- 
nium,  not  a  lustrum,  not  an  olym- 
piad had  elapsed  before  the  conse- 
quences of  the  grievous  fallacy  were 
too  painfully  apparent.  So  rapid 
was  the  baneful  progress  of  a  Peace 
Ministry,  that  they  had  not  been  in 
office  two  years  before  they  had  so 
damaged  the  condition  and  position 
of  England,  that  the  gravest  and 
most  unfeigned  alarm  was  felt  from 
one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other. 
We  begin  the  year  1871  so  friend- 
less, so  disliked,  and  so  disabled, 
that  the  nation  may  well  be  dissatis- 
fied and  dismayed. 

We  have  notoriously  gained  the 
ill-will  of  both  the  belligerents  on 
the  continent  of  Europe.  We  have 
incurred  the  contempt  and  conse- 
quently the  insult  of  Russia,  who 
has  coolly  told  us  that  she  repudi- 
ates the  obligations  into  which  she 
entered  fourteen  years  ago.  The 
opportunity  thus  given  us  of  stand- 
ing forth  and  vindicating  our  own 
honour,  and,  at  the  head  of  a  con- 
federation, insisting  on  the  rights 
of  Europe,  has  been  not  only  ne- 
glected, but  turned  to  our  disgrace 
and  degradation  in  the  eyes  of  those 
Powers  whom  a  common  interest 
would  have  inclined  to  accept  our 
leadership.  Victorious  Prussia  is 
favouring  the  designs  of  Russia 
against  us.  And,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  the  United 
States  of  America  are  reviving  old 


1871.] 

demands  and  inventing  new  ones, 
•with  the  avowed  intention  of  add- 
ing to  our  embarrassments  and  dam- 
aging us  materially.  Our  standing 
or  falling  is  looked  for  with  politi- 
cal indifference  by  the  nations ;  as  a 
matter  of  sentiment  there  is  scarcely 
one,  great  or  small,  that  will  not  re- 
joice to  see  us  humbled.  It  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at  if  with  the  loss 
of  prestige  abroad  comes  the  re- 
vival of  domestic  troubles — Fenian- 
ism,  Eepublicanism.  This  is  truly 
a  glorious  result  of  two  years'  gov- 
ernment by  a  peace  -  seeking  Min- 
istry ! 

Is  it  then  so  wicked  and  so  irra- 
tional a  thing  to  desire  peace  and 
goodwill,  that  to  entertain  such  a 
desire  is  inevitably  to  incur  merited 
punishment,  moral  and  material? 
Certainly  not.  Such  is  not  the  ar- 
gument of  those  who  oppose  the 
peacemongers,  although  the  latter 
are  fond  of  saying  that  it  is,  and  of 
imputing  to  all  who  will  not  swal- 
low their  doctrines  whole  a  crimi- 
nal desire  for  Avar.  It  is  not  the 
desire  for  peace  which  the  other 
side  condemns,  but  it  is  the  seek- 
ing after  peace  by  inadequate,  silly 
means — means  which  must  not  only 
fail  of  their  object,  but  which  tend 
to  bring  about  the  very  evils  which 
they  are  intended  to  avert,  while  at 
the  same  time  they  render  us  incap- 
able of  repelling  those  evils.  We 
are  not  denying  the  truth  that  a 
meek,  unassuming  deportment,  an 
unselfish  course  of  dealing,  a  with- 
drawal from  broils  and  contests,  may, 
and  often  do,  induce  forbearance  if 
not  respect,  a  good  name  if  not 
worldly  benefits.  But  in  order  that 
the  virtues  may  bear  this  fruit,  con- 
duct must  throughout  be  consistent ; 
others  must  be  convinced  of  the 
genuineness  of  the  self-denial.  And 
here  it  is,  we  take  it,  that  the  plans 
of  the  Peace  party  are  at  fault. 
They  imagine  that  the  world  will 
take  them  at  their  word  and  believe 


Amicable  Relations. 


245 


in  their  sincerity.  We  know  that 
the  world  will  do  no  such  thing. 
We  can  understand,  moreover,  why 
the  world  should  not  be  in  a  great 
hurry  to  believe  our  professions,  and 
should  attribute  to  us  very  different 
motives  from  those  which  we  put 
forward.  They  look  at  our  great 
possessions  and  remember  the  means 
by  which  many  of  them  came  into 
our  hands.  Some  of  the  Powers 
felt,  not  so  very  long  ago,  the  qual- 
ity of  our  teeth.  There  are  few  of 
them  over  whom  we  do  not  hold 
some  little  souvenir  of  what  the 
British  Lion  can  do  when  he  is 
stirred  up  with  a  long  pole.  The 
faintest  suspicion  may  come  over 
them,  that  not  peace  for  peace's  sake, 
but  undisturbed  enjoyment  of  great 
wealth,  is  what  we  really  want. 
Now,  we  are  very  far  indeed  from 
saying  that  Britain  has  not  the  best 
possible  right  to  all  that  she  owns. 
She  got  it  hardly  and  honourably, 
and  Heaven  send  that  she  keep  it 
long  !  But  we  can  hardly  expect 
our  neighbours  to  join  in  this  senti- 
ment, to  forget  antecedents,  and  pos- 
sibly old  rights  which  they  fancy  that 
we  have  overridden,  and  to  credit  us 
with  a  resolution  to  devote  ourselves 
henceforth  to  peace  and  brotherly 
love.  Then,  again,  the  professors  of 
the  peace  doctrines  themselves  do 
not  exhibit  that  coincidence  of  life 
and  doctrine  which  constitute  lucid 
proof  of  honesty  and  sincerity. 
On  the  contrary,  many  of  them 
have  shown  dispositions  the  most 
pugnacious  and  offensive.  Notori- 
ously Mr  Bright,  the  most  promi- 
nent of  the  Peace  party,  though  he 
condemns  national  wars  and  provo- 
cations, does  not  in  the  least  abstain 
from  injurious  language,  the  gravest 
imputations,  and  wholesale  denunci- 
ations— the  very  offences  which  en- 
gender envy,  hatred,  malice,  and  all 
uncharitableness.  And  then  it  is 
not  so  long  ago,  when  there  was 
war  in  the  United  States  of  America, 


246 


New  Year's  Musings. 


[FeK 


that  Mr  Bright' s  intense  love  of 
peace  seemed  suddenly  to  decline. 
He  had  not  so  much  to  say  against 
war  when  it  was  waged  for  a  politi- 
cal purpose  of  which  he  approved. 
Now,  we  are  not  questioning  Mr 
Bright' s  sincerity.  We  believe  that, 
according  to  his  lights,  he  does 
honestly  and  conscientiously  act  in 
accordance  with  his  principles ;  and 
we  know  that  when  his  doctrines 
were  out  of  favour  during  the  Crim- 
ean War,  he  suffered  unpopularity 
for  them,  and  bided  his  time  until 
they  could  again  be  received,  there- 
by contrasting  most  favourably  with 
his  head-pupil,  who,  when  he  found 
himself  associated  with  a  losing 
cause,  was  troubled  with  convictions, 
and  turned  his  coat  inside  out.  But 
Mr  Bright,  whatever  his  belief  may 
be,  has  his  weaknesses  as  well  as 
the  rest  of  us,  and  these  weaknesses 
he  does  not  conceal.  However, 
therefore,  we  may  ascribe  to  him 
honesty  of  purpose,  we  cannot  hope 
that  foreigners  Avill  shut  their  eyes 
to  the  inconsistencies  that  we  have 
been  pointing  out.  In  a  word,  to 
imagine  that  we  can  persuade  other 
nations  to  seek  peace,  and  ensue  it, 
by  loud  professions,  or  even  by  cast- 
ing away  our  sword  and  shield,  is 
absurd. 

But  we  have  said  that  we  do  not 
differ  from  Mr  Bright  and  his  party 
as  to  the  desire  of  preserving  peace, 
but  only  as  to  the  means  by  which 
the  desire  is  to  be  satisfied.  What, 
then,  according  to  our  view,  are  the 
most  promising  means  of  preserving 
peace  ? 

If  men  are  so  blinded  by  passion 
or  interest  that  they  refuse  to  listen 
to  our  protestations,  and  only  insult 
our  unarmed  innocence,  it  is  clear 
that  before  we  can  preach  with 
effect  we  must  make  ourselves  re- 
spected. Talking  will  not  do  this. 
The  peoples  with  whom  we  have  to 
deal  are  so  constituted  that  they 
will  reverence  only  those  who  show 


a  clear  appreciation  of  what  is  due 
to  themselves,  and  a  resolution  and 
ability  to  exact  their  rights.  The- 
powerful  alone  can  afford  to  be  paci- 
fic. Inspire  foreign  Governments 
with  the  belief  that  you  are  able- 
and  ready  to  resist  encroachment 
and  to  chastise  impertinence,  and 
then  they  will  not  misconstrue  your 
motives  when  you  show  a  preference? 
for  peace.  The  Peace  party  will  tell 
us,  that  to  assume  such  an  attitude 
is  to  become  quarrelsome  and  menac- 
ing ;  but  those  who  know  anything 
of  the  world  can  tell  them  that  it  is- 
no  such  thing.  There  is  a  perfectly 
dignified  and  undemonstrative  bear- 
ing which,  though  indicating  con- 
scious power,  is  most  studious  not 
to  offend  or  provoke.  It  is  not 
enough  that  in  the  cause  of  peace 
we  refrain  from  molesting  others;  it 
is  necessary  also  that  we  possess  the 
means  of  preventing  them  from 
molesting  us.  On  these  two  condi- 
tions the  maintenance  of  peace  is 
probable ;  on  the  one  condition  of 
mere  unwillingness  to  fight,  it  is 
impossible.  We  need  hardly  say 
more  particularly  what  we  mean. 
We  must  maintain  an  efficient  army 
and  navy,  especially  a  navy ;  and 
we  must  let  it  be  understood  that 
when  gentle  means  fail  we  intend 
to  use  these  forces,  although  we 
greatly  prefer  the  use  of  gentle 
means.  It  is  astonishing  how  such 
a  course  will  open  the  understand- 
ings of  the  contentious,  and  incline 
them  to  receive  our  doctrine.  The 
late  Lord  Palmerston  seems  to  have 
understood  thoroughly  this  truth. 
He  was  constantly  accused  by  the 
Peace  party  of  an  indifference  to 
quiet — nay,  of  a  positive  desire  for 
strife  ;  and  yet  in  a  very  long  career 
he  never  committed  the  country  to 
a  Avar,  while  it  may  be  asserted  that 
by  his  judicious  method  of  showing 
a  bold  front,  and  letting  opponents 
see  that  he  knew  how  to  hold  his 
own,  he  often  averted  that  calamity^ 


1871.] 


Amicable  Relations. 


247 


And  it  is  true,  not  only  that  we 
can  keep  our  own  and  enforce  what 
we  know  to  be  right  by  keeping  up 
•our  strength  ;  it  is  also  true  that  by 
this  means  we  can  obtain  that  credit 
for  moderation  and  disinterestedness 
which  the  Peace  party  bid  for  in 
vain.  When  the  British  force 
marched  back  from  Abyssinia,  hav- 
ing gallantly  rescued  the  prisoners 
and  punished  their  captor,  there 
came  from  all  sides  an  ungrudging 
acknowledgment  of  the  generous 
impulse  which  alone  prompted  that 
•expedition.  It  was  patent  to  all 
who  regarded  the  aifair  that  we  pos- 
sessed the  pOAver  to  gain  ulterior 
•ends,  had  that  been  our  desire.  They 
could  not  help  believing  in  the 
singleness  of  our  intent,  and  they 
yielded  their  admiration  accordingly. 
But,  as  we  have  said,  they  are  not 
half  so  clearly  convinced  by  all  the 
groanings  about  war  and  its  hor- 
rors, and  the  platitudes  about  peace. 
They  suspect  strongly  an  arriere 
pensee  directed  to  the  breeches- 
pocket — nay,  some  do  not  hesitate 
to  suggest  a  little  paleness  about  the 
liver. 

Taking  the  designation  in  its 
broad  sense,  we  may  say  that  all 
England  is  a  Peace  party,  but  it  is 
divided  into  sections,  which  pursue 
the  same  dear  end  of  peace  by  very 
•different  means.  We  do  not  at  all 
deny  the  zeal  of  the  professing  Peace 
men,  but  say  that  it  is  not  accord- 
ing to  knowledge.  We  claim  for 
ourselves  an  equally  ardent  but  a 
more  intelligent  zeal.  And  we  cite 
the  pitiable  condition  in  which  our 
country  stands  in  proof  that,  at  any 
rate,  the  Peace  professors  are  incap- 
able of  leading  the  world  to  the  pro- 
anised  goal,  but,  instead  thereof,  have 
brought  us  to  the  brink  of  most 
•calamitous  strife. 

We  had  hoped  to  be  able  before 
closing  this  notice  to  say  a  word 
concerning  hope  of  peace ;  but,  alas  ! 
as  far  as  military  events  can  induce 


it,  peace  seems  to  be  no  nearer.  If 
the  Prussians  will  not  attack,  and 
the  French  can  endure  their  priva- 
tions, how  can  the  end  of  the  war 
come  ?  The  languor  and  indecision 
now  observable  could  hardly  have 
been  anticipated  in  the  rapid  period 
of  Sedan  and  Metz.  Meanwhile,  if 
the  quarrel  cannot  be  brought  to  a 
close  by  arms,  there  is  the  faint 
chance  that  the  Conference  may  find 
means  of  healing  it.  It  is  not  an 
unpromising  sign  that  M.  Jules 
Favre  seems  at  length  disposed  to 
accept  a  safe-conduct  and  take  part 
in  the  proceedings.  With  represen- 
tatives of  the  two  belligerents,  and 
of  other  great  Powers,  competent 
and  ready  to  mediate,  all  assembled 
round  the  same  board,  a  compromise 
must  surely  be  made  if  compromise 
be  possible. 

But  while  our  regard  is  "before 
Paris,"  there  is  a  transaction  to  be 
noted  of  that  neighbourhood,  for 
the  moment  overshadowed  by  the 
war,  but  of  far  greater  consequence 
to  Europe  than  the  restoration  of 
peace  between  two  of  her  nations. 
The  acceptance  by  the  King  of 
Prussia  of  the  Imperial  title,  which 
is  the  outward  and  visible  sign  of 
the  unification  of  Germany  having 
taken  form  and  substance,  is  fraught 
with  interest  to  the  whole  world. 
For  if  it  be  European  progress  which 
is  lighting  the  earth,  then  the  earth 
for  weal  or  woe  will  feel  the  great 
change  which  has  been  formally 
heralded  from  Versailles.  A  new 
primacy  has  been  established  among 
the  nations  of  the  Old  World,  and 
the  anxious  thought  arises  whether 
we  are  to  be  driven  back  towards 
barbarism,  or  whether  knowledge, 
improvement,  the  elevation  of  our 
nature,  are  to  receive  a  fresh  impetus, 
own  a  glorious  leader.  The  new 
Emperor  promises  fairly,  of  course  j 
and  happily  there  are  reasons,  de- 
rivable chiefly  from  the  known  char- 
acter of  the  German  peoples,  for  an- 


248 


New  Year's  Musings. 


[Feb. 


ticipating  much  good.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  in  the  Government,  in 
the  Court,  there  is  a  savour  of  some- 
thing so  like  Nspotoonism,  so  like  a 
lust  of  subjugation  rather  than  a  de- 
sire to  benefit,  something  so  tortuous, 
so  unscrupulous,  that  men  may  well 
stand  awe-struck  in  its  presence. 
Surely,  in  such  circumstances,  it 
would  be  wise  to  restrain  to  the 
greatest  possible  extent  the  arro- 
gance which  may  follow  victory,  to 
provide  the  greatest  inducement  for 
choosing  the  higher  path — not  to 
wait  supinely  till  the  disposition  of 
Prussia  shall  be  declared,  but  to 
take  a  bond  of  fate.  It  would 
be  well  if  the  nations  of  Western 
Europe  could  at  once  strengthen 
themselves  and  stand  ready  to 
avert  the  possible  sword  that  is  un- 
sheathed, and  may  intend  not  to  be 
quiet.  That  they  are  not  associat- 
ing themselves  for  this  holy  end  is 
due  to  the  fact  that  they  are  individ- 
ually weak  and  have  no  leader. 
They  have  no  leader  because  England 
is  recreant :  England  is  impatient  of 
wars  Avhich  interrupt  her  commerce, 
disturb  her  repose,  and  falsify  the 
predictions  of  her  prophets.  Be- 
cause she  does  not  like  war  she 
refuses  to  recognise  the  full  im- 
port of  the  war  that  exists,  which  is 
not  a  quarrel  between  two  foreign 
nations  only,  but  a  rude  unsettl- 
ing of  the  equilibrium  of  Europe. 
She  will  not  consider  that  there  is 
a  spirit  of  evil  at  large,  whose  future 
movements  none  can  predict,  that 
issues  of  life  and  death  are  depend- 


ing. Is  it  a  time,  then,  "  to  receive 
money,  and  to  receive  garments,  and 
oliveyards,  and  vineyards,  and  sheep,, 
and  oxen,  and  men-servants,  and 
maid-servants,"  when  every  people 
with  the  least  foresight  would  be  up 
and  doing]  Austria  alone  of  the 
non-belligerent  nations  appears  to 
comprehend  the  gravity  of  the  situa- 
tion. Austria  alone  has  spoken  out 
as  becomes  a  nation,  has  stood  in 
the  gap  when  others  failed  of  their 
duty,  has  made  us  feelhowour  Minis- 
ter ought  to  have  acted  and  spoken. 
But  we  believe  that  England  is,  at 
any  rate,  beginning  to  perceive  that 
there  is  something  more  than  a 
passing  shower  in  the  air,  that  it 
will  not  do  to  get  xmder  a  tree 
and  expect  the  sun  to  shine  again 
presently.  Still  she  does  not  see 
the  greatness  of  the  danger.  She 
does  not  reflect  that  her  affairs 
are  administered  by  a  set  of  men 
who  dare  not,  under  any  circum- 
stances, break  with  the  Peace-at- 
any-price  party,  who  may  be  strongly 
tempted  to  a  course  inconsistent 
with  the  honour  and  the  true 
interests  of  the  country.  Surely 
in  such  a  crisis  the  Ministers  of 
England  should  be  wholly  un- 
shackled; not  "slaves  of  any  uto- 
pian  theory,  not  trammelled  by 
silly  utterances  and  obligations  in. 
respect  to  war  and  warlike  prepara- 
tion ! 

We  could  hail  the  German  Empire 
with  more  satisfaction  if  we  kneAv 
only  that  the  British  Empire  was 
under  truer  guidance. 


DEAD-SEA    FRUIT. 


If  any  man  ever  proved  the  vanity 
of  human  devices,  we  imagine  that 
the  Prime  Minister  of  England  must 
have  proved  it  now.  Two  years 
only  have  elapsed  since,  with  an 
overwhelming  majority,  he  took 
office ;  two  years  and  a-half  since 


he  made  his  successful  bid  for  place 
by  proposing  to  disestablish  and 
disendow  the  Irish  Church  ;  a  little- 
more  than  two  years  since  he  an- 
nounced that  our  military  and  naval 
expenses  were  excessive,  and  ought 
to  be  curtailed.  He  was  extremely 


1871.] 


Dead-Sea  Fruit. 


249 


popular  at  the  beginning  of  1869. 
He  commenced  his  administration 
under  such  favourable  circumstances 
as  have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  few. 
Since  then  no  untoward  accident, 
no  single  adherence  to  any  great 
principle,  has  suddenly  placed  a  gulf 
between  him  and  his  admirers ;  and 
yet  he  has  contrived  not  only  to 
alienate  enthusiasm  from  himself, 
but  to  render  it  extremely  doubtful 
whether  his  Ministry  can  endure 
through  another  session  of  Parlia- 
ment. One  is  absolutely  amazed  at 
the  blundering  perversity  which  in 
so  short  a  time  can  have  dispelled 
so  many  advantages.  If  he  had 
tried  to  ruin  himself  at  such  a  pace, 
he  would  probably  have  failed. 
Nothing  but  an  intense  devotion  to 
success,  without  the  least  perception 
of  how  success  was  to  be  achieved, 
could  have  lost  such  a  game  against 
time.  That  he  might  make  haste 
to  be  great,  he  sacrificed  what  to 
most  men  is  dearer  than  greatness  ; 
but  as  one  who  sails  against  an  un- 
suspected current,  he  drifted  steadily 
from  his  object,  till,  now,  it  seems 
unattainable.  He  plucked  his  apple, 
but, 

"  Fondly  thinking  to  allay 

His  appetite  with  gust,  instead  of  fruit 

Chewed  bitter  ashes." 

Though  this  is  the  greatest  of  Mr 
Gladstone's  reverses,  it  is  by  no 
means  the  only  one.  It  attracts 
general  attention  because  of  his  high 
position.  But  in  truth  his  whole 
career  has  been  a  sequence  of  violent 
ups  and  downs — of  large  successes, 
followed  certainly  by  large  disap- 
pointments. Oxford  thought  high- 
ly of  him,  and  treated  him  with  the 
greatest  distinction,  then  reproached 
and  dismissed  him.  South  Lanca- 
shire made  him  her  joy,  and  then 
turned  from  him  with  loathing. 
Greenwich  sprang  up  and  prayed 
for  the  honour  of  worshipping  him ; 
now  the  relations  between  them  are 
certainly  not  those  of  idol  and  idol- 


aters, unless  they  be  such  relations 
as  exist  where  disappointed  devo- 
tees flog  their  inexorable  images. 
To  return  to  our  figure  of  a  ship 
apparently  borne  gallantly  on  her 
course,  but  really  carried  astern  by 
a  treacherous  current — such  has  been 
our  Premier's  voyage.  "While  seem- 
ingly working  towards  his  goal  he 
has  really  been  losing  ground — for- 
feiting the  good  opinion  of  the  high- 
est and  most  intelligent,  and  falling 
back  by  a  certain  retrocession  upon 
baser  and  less  discriminating  appre- 
ciation. It  is  no  bar  to  our  argu- 
ment that  his  greatest  elevation  was 
attained  only  two  years  since,  for 
this  elevation  was  given  to  him  by 
the  most  fickle  and  least  reflecting 
classes  to  which  he  has  ever  ap- 
pealed ;  and  the  speed  with  which 
they  have  grown  tired  of  him  shows 
that  it  was  a  popular  impulse,  not  a 
fixed  national  purpose,  which  lifted 
him  up. 

It  is  well  worthy  of  remark  that 
all  the  ruptures  between  Mr  Glad- 
stone and  his  constituents  have 
been  on  the  same  imputed  grounds. 
The  constituencies  have  all  said  (we 
do  not  say  it)  that  he  has  betrayed 
them.  Oxford  University  sent  him 
to  curse  her  enemies,  and  then,  like 
Balak,  complained  that  he  had 
blessed  them  altogether.  South  Lan- 
cashire's complaint,  as  far  as  can  be 
gathered  from  the  cries  of  the  elec- 
tion in  1868,  was  that  Mr  Gladstone 
was  a  turncoat.  The  language  of  a 
requisition  lately  composed  at  Green- 
wich, and  now  notorious,  is,  that 
Mr  Gladstone  has  "  abused  his 
trust."  Now,  these  coincidences 
are,  to  say  the  least  of  them,  very 
striking.  Such  an  accusation  to  be 
brought  against  Mr  Gladstone  of  all 
men,  and  to  be  thrice  repeated  at 
diflerent  periods  in  his  life!  We 
have  said  that  we  do  not  make  the 
charges,  and  are  unable  to  decide  whe- 
ther they  are  proven  or  not  proven. 
It  is  certain,  however,  that  we  have 


250 


New  Year's  Musirtgs. 


[Feb. 


one  or  two  complaints  to  make 
against  tlie  right  honourable  gen- 
tleman, which  have  a  disagreeable 
likeness  to  those  put  forward  by 
his  past  and  present  constituents. 
We  cannot  quite  forget  his  conduct 
to  the  Irish  Church.  And  we  think, 
and  have  said  before,  that  the  con- 
dition to  which  the  three  kingdoms 
have  been  reduced  looks  very  like  a 
betrayal — as  if  party  interests  had 
been  pursued  at  the  expense  of 
national. 

But  to  estimate  the  significance 
of  all  these  quarrels  we  have  to  con- 
sider that  every  one  of  them  marks 
the  "love  to  hatred  turned"  of  a 
powerful  class.  First  the  Premier 
was  discarded  by  the  learned  mem- 
bers of  the  university,  a  body  with 
whom,  if  with  any,  we  should  have 
thought  his  sympathies  to  reside. 
Then  the  landed  influence  of  his 
native  county  division  could  not 
away  with  him,  which  was  a  dis- 
missal still  more  damaging  than  the 
first.  And  finally,  having  thrown 
himself  upon  "his  own  flesh  and 
blood,"  he  is  considered  by  the 
electors  of  Greenwich,  or  at  least 
by  a  portion  of  them,  too  slippery 
for  their  representative,  and  re- 
quested to  resign.  One  would 
think  that  the  lowest  point  of  de- 
gradation was  now  reached.  But 
no, — Mr  Gladstone's  ingenuity  iu. 
falling  is  not  exhausted ; 

"And  in  the  lowest  deep  a  lower  deep 
Still  threatening  to  devour  me  opens  wide." 

Perhaps  we  may  hear  yet  of  a  jilted 
Beales  or  a  Finlen  tradito. 

Our  power  of  analysis  and  our 
space  are  both  insufficient  for  giving 
a  full  explanation  of  this  most  piti- 
able gravitation  toward  the  lowest 
room.  The  condensed  reason,  as  it 
seems  to  be  finding  expression  in 
the  country,  is,  that  Mr  Gladstone 
is  certainly  great  in  words,  written 


and  spoken — that  he  has  an  inex- 
haustible supply  of  them  at  the 
service  of  anybody  and  everybody 
— and  that  by  them  he  raises  an 
opinion  of  his  general  ability,  and 
of  a  strength  of  character  which 
he  does  not  possess  ;  —  for  words, 
men  say,  are  not  works.  We 
may  observe,  too,  that  there  is  a 
want  of  dignity  in  Mr  Gladstone 
— a  readiness  to  (we  borrow  the 
phrase  from  the  '  Saturday  Re- 
view ')  descend  into  the  gutter  to 
serve  a  temporary  purpose,  which  is 
most  damaging  to  the  people's  esti- 
mation of  him.  When  he  quarrels 
•with  a  class,  the  breach  is  irreme- 
diable :  and  he  has  incurred  the 
censure  of  so  many  classes,  that  if 
he  should  be  now,  as  he  probably 
will  be,  declared  incompetent,  there 
is  an  end  to  his  hopes,  a  long  fare- 
well to  all  his  greatness.  If  ever  a 
man  ventured,  "like  little  wanton 
boys  that  swim  on  bladders,"  far  be- 
yond his  depth,  Mr  Gladstone  has 
done  so.  With  the  presumption  of 
a  conscious  master  of  words,  and 
with  the  short  sight  of  inexperience, 
he  caught  at  the  opportunity  of 
unseating  Mr  Disraeli's  Ministry  in 
1868,  little  suspecting  that  the  cry 
for  disarmament  which  he  then  raised 
would  so  soon  work  woe  to  himself. 
His  accession  to  office  by  means  of 
that  most  discreditable  attack  looked 
like  a  triumph,  but  may  prove  to 
have  been  but  the  temptation  to  his 
severest  fall.  For  if  it  be  truly  said 
that  he  loses  the  confidence  of  every 
one  who  trusts  him,  he  is  sure, 
sooner  or  later,  to  incur  the  distrust 
of  the  householders  by  whose  votes 

he  rose  to  power,  and  then 

Let  us  whisper  in  your  ear,  reader 
— for  it  is  too  soon  to  say  it  aloud, 
though  ere  long  it  will  be  proclaimed 
from  the  house-tops — in  your  ear; 
nearer ;  Mr  Gladstone  is  a  failure  ! 


1871.] 


Before  Paris. 


251 


BEFORE    PARIS. 


The  sluggishness  of  the  siege  of 
Paris  during  the  months  of  October, 
November,  December  seemed  to  in- 
dicate that  the  foresight  of  the  great 
Von  Moltke  had  for  once  been  at 
fault.  He  can  never  by  deliberate 
arrangement  have  appointed  siege 
operations  to  take  place  in  the  dark- 
est dajrs  of  winter,  when  the  frozen 
ground  resists  the  spade,  when  the 
hardiest  troops  can  hardly  stand  to 
their  work,  when  the  transport  is 
most  difficult,  when  the  protection 
of  ammunition  in  field-magazines  is 
wellnigh  impossible,  when  the  ele- 
ments are  so  likely  to  second  the  at- 
tempts of  the  enemy,  when  disaster, 
if  it  should  come,  would  be  heaviest. 
The  voluntary  acceptance  of  so  much 
risk,  such  certain  loss,  is  not  excused 
by  the  consideration  that  the  attack 
from  without  would  be  doubly  effec- 
tive when  it  could  be  seconded  by 
the  pressure  of  cold  and  famine  from 
within.  Loss  of  time  in  the  opera- 
tions of  war  is  an  error  of  the  grav- 
est kind ;  and  want  is  as  likely  to 
excite  ferocity  and  confirm  fanati- 
cism as  to  quell  the  spirit  of  the 
defenders.  On  the  whole,  we  in- 
cline to  reject  the  supposition  that 
this  long  interval  was  in  the  pro- 
gramme. There  has  probably  been 
miscalculation  somewhere,  and  the 
Prussians  are  supremely  lucky  in 
that  their  enemies  have  known  so 
little  how  to  profit  by  the  delay 
and  by  the  inclement  season.  It 
would  be  presumptuous  to  con- 
demn a  course  taken  by  one  who 
has  proved  himself  so  able  as 
the  veteran  chief  of  the  Prussian 
staff ;  but  we  may  perhaps  say  with- 
out immodesty  that  the  reason  for 
not  proceeding  with  the  siege  as 
soon  as  the  investment  was  formed 
is  not  apparent.  At  that  time  the 
troops  inside  the  city  were  in  great 
proportion  untrained;  nothing  could 


have  been  in  order  for  a  siege,  even 
though  stores  might  have  been  ac- 
cumulated; the  country  generally 
was  paralysed  by  the  huge  disaster 
at  Sedan,  and  was  for  the  time  un- 
equal to  the  smallest  effort.  Every 
one  then  looked  for  the  attack,  but 
the  attack  did  not  take  place.  There 
were,  perhaps,  excellent  political 
reasons  why  the  attack  should  not 
be  made  then,  nor  at  all ;  but  it  is 
now  evident  that  these  reasons  were 
not  allowed  to  prevail.  The  attack 
was  to  be,  and  it  is  hard  to  assign  a 
good  military  reason  why  it  did  not 
take  place  earlier.  Grant  that  there 
was  hesitation  from  any  cause,  and 
the  prestige  which  the  foresight  and 
decision  of  Prussia  had  obtained 
disappears. 

Be  the  cause  what  it  may,  we  see 
the  campaign,  broken  off,  as  it  were,  in 
the  autumn  of  1870,  resumed,  after 
a  long  hiatus,  in  1871.  On  hearing 
again  in  the  peaceful  Christmas  ho- 
lidays of  the  din  and  dire  accom- 
paniments of  battle,  the  mind  can 
hardly  help  reverting  to  the  weird 
legends  which  the  season  brings  back 
— is  fain  to  think  that  the  fierce  on- 
set, hushed  suddenly  and  paralysed 
for  months  by  some  enchanter,  had 
with  the  changing  year  been  re- 
lieved from  the  spell,  and  the  de- 
mons of  war  let  loose  again  to  ply 
their  infernal  mischief  and  redden 
the  gloom  of  winter.  Once  more 
the  character  of  the  defences  ot 
Paris  rises  to  importance  among  the 
forces  which  may  decide  the  dura- 
tion, or  possibly  the  fortune,  of  the 
war.  As  was  said  in  a  former  paper, 
there  is  a  continuous  enceinte,  with 
a  circuit  of  over  twenty  miles,  en- 
closing the  city  and  forming  the 
body  of  the  place.  The  escarp,  or 
retaining-wall  which  supports  the 
earth  of  the  ramparts,  is  high  enough 
to  make  escalade  extremely  difficult, 


252 


New  Year's  Musing. 


[Feb. 


and  is  said  to  be  of  good  masonry ; 
so  that  it  will  take  a  good  deal  of 
hammering  before  it  gives  way. 
The  outer  bank  of  the  ditch  has  no 
wall ;  the  earth  lies  at  its  natural 
slope — i.e.,  an  angle  of  45  degrees  ; 
and  outside  the  ditch  altogether 
runs  another  bank  about  twelve 
feet  high,  masking  a  passage  be- 
tween it  and  the  ditch,  which  pass- 
age is  called  the  cover  ed-icay.  There 
is  no  outwork  properly  so  called, 
but  there  are  many  detached  forts 
at  various  distances  (none  of  them 
less  than  an  English  mile)  from  the 
enceinte,  and  of  different  degrees  of 
strength.  These  forts  have  been  ir- 
regularly placed  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  ground,  and  many  of 
them  are  respectable  works.  In 
the  majority  of  cases,  each  fort  is 
within  supporting  distance  of  two 
other  forts,  but  one  or  two  are  iso- 
lated, and  must  be  self-supporting. 
In  particular  Mont  Valerien,  the 
strongest  of  them,  stands  alone.  In 
a  regular  attack,  which  seems  to  be 
what  the  Prussians  are  now  begin- 
ning, some  of  these  detached  forts 
must  of  necessity  be  reduced  before 
the  besieger  can  attack  the  enceinte ; 
and  to  reduce  them  now  will,  if 
there  be  any  meaning  in  the  de- 
fence, be  a  more  difficult  matter 
than  it  would  have  been  in  the 
autumn,  because  the  besieged  have 
used  the  interval  to  construct  earth- 
works for  the  purpose  of  connecting 
and  supporting  the  permanent  de- 
tached works. 

Two  statements  have  been  made 
in  reference  to  the  present  value  of 
these  works,  and  if  either  of  them 
be  true  the  exact  strength  of  the 
walls  will  not  be  of  very  great  mo- 
ment. One  is  that  ammunition  and 
stores  are  failing ;  the  other,  that 


when  they  have  got  formidable 
works,  the  garrison  have  not  got 
constancy  to  defend  them.  In  proof 
of  the  latter  statement  the  hasty 
abandonment  of  the  redoubt  on 
Mont  Avron  appears  to  be  strong 
evidence.  Nevertheless  both  state- 
ments may  arise  from  vain  imagina- 
tions, in  which  case  we  fall  back 
upon  the  former  assertion,  that  the 
forts  must  be  reduced  and  the  mile 
of  ground  between  them  and  the 
enceinte  then  crossed  under,  cover 
by  the  besieger  —  i.e.,  in  zigzag 
roads,  as  was  explained  in  our 
October  number. 

By  reference  to  the  same  October 
number  it  will  be  seen  that  we  ven- 
tured to  state  in  what  method  it  was 
likely  that  the  Prussians  would  deal 
with  the  forts.  It  was  there  said 
that  they  would  drown  these  works 
in  fire,  and  beat  them  to  pieces.  So 
far  as  can  be  perceived,  this  is  the 
very  course  which  is  being  pursued. 
The  besiegers  will  not  condescend  to 
open  trenches  against  the  outworks, 
breach  their  ramparts,  and  then 
enter  through  the  breaches ;  but  he 
seems  to  contemplate  so  battering 
them  that  the  defenders  shall  be 
driven  out.  This,  let  us  remark, 
woidd  be  impossible  if  there  were 
an  approach  to  equality  between 
attack  and  defence.  From  the  bat- 
teries of  such  forts,  if  properly 
manned  and  fought,  a  besieger  ought 
to  get,  in  the  first  instance,  quite  as 
warm  treatment  as  he  might  give.* 

As  January  rolls  away,  the  chance 
of  the  French  armies  which  operate 
outside  the  Prussian  cordon  being 
able  to  avert  the  fate  of  the  capital 
rolls  away  also.  Paris  is  left  to  the 
skill,  constancy,  and  valour  of  its 
defenders,  and  according  to  their 
strength  so  will  its  days  be.  We 


*  The  attacking  power  of  a  whole  empire  is  directed  on  one  city.  Moreover,  it 
is  certain  that  the  redoubt  on  Mont  Avron  did  not  do  its  best ;  hence  there  is  reason 
to  fear  that  the  forts  may  not  be  doing  their  best. 

Since  the  text  was  written,  however,  the  game  has  become  a  little  plainer.  There 
is  doubt  as  to  whether  the  attack  is  in  earnest,  and  there  may  be  justification  for 
the  forts  reserving  their  fire. 


1871.] 


Before.  Pari*. 


255 


never  thought  the  defence  of  the 
city  a  wise  proceeding;  neverthe- 
less we  hope  that,  having  called  all 
the  world  to  witness  their  devotion, 
the  garrison  will  at  least  make  a 
stand  that  shall  be  worthy  of  such 
earnest  promises.  But  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  these  determined  men 
can  now  do  no  more  than  sacrifice 
themselves  dearly.  Whether  the 
resistance  be  long  or  short,  the  in- 
evitable end  seems  to  loom  through 
the  mist.  When  the  city  falls,  there 
must  be  practically  an  end  of  the 
war.  That  fatal  question,  "which 
of  us  is  greater1?"  will  have  been 
solved,  and  mankind  will  be  at 
leisure  to  sum  up  the  blood  and 
tears  and  ruin  which  the  solution 
has  cost. 

Supposing,  now,  that  the  attack 
be  proceeded  with  in  the  usual  man- 
ner, and  without  more  pauses,  the 
place,  if  well  defended,  might  hold 
out  to  the  middle  of  February.  By 
that  time  the  walls  at  least  must 
fall,  and  any  resistance  which  might 
follow  would  be  made  among  the 
streets  and  houses.  And  we  have 
no  warrant  whatever  for  presuming 
that  such  fighting  will  not  occur. 
"  Oh  !  but  when  once  the  city  walls 
are  taken  they  must  see  that  there 
is  an  end,"  people  are  beginning  to 
say.  It  is,  however,  by  no  means 
certain  that  they  will  see  anything 
of  the  sort.  They  could  see  nothing 
after  Sedan ;  they  could  see  nothing 
after  Metz ;  they  could  see  nothing 
when  the  First  Army  of  the  Loire 
collapsed;  nor  when  the  Govern- 
ment removed  from  Tours ;  nor  in 
the  defeats  of  Faidherbe  or  Chanzy ; 
why  should  they  see  after  the  cap- 
ture of  the  ramparts  ?  It  is  better 
sometimes  that  people  should  know 
when  they  are  beaten,  one  begins  to 
think,  though  even  yet  this  war  may 
not  furnish  a  proof  that  it  is  so. 
But  those  who  could  see  no  sense  in 
defending  Paris,  in  turning  out  raw 
levies  by  hundreds  of  thousands 
to  gorge  the  dogs  of  war  or  to  fill 


German  prisons,  and  in  keeping 
France  for  months  in  a  state  of  par- 
alysis, will  be  slow  to  recognise  the 
utility  or  the  merit  of  bringing  Ate 
hot  from  hell  right  up  to  the  hearth 
and  the  altar.  We  read  in  the  cor- 
respondents' letters  that  a  stray  shell 
falling  now  in  a  street  of  the  city 
causes  no  consternation,  and  per- 
haps an  irruption  of  Prussians,  if  it 
occur,  may  be  looked  upon  as  only 
the  commencement  of  the  real 
struggle.  Notwithstanding  the  ac- 
counts of  the  unpopularity  of  the 
commandant,  of  the  attempts  of  the 
press  and  of  parties  to  alter  the 
plan  of  defence,  of  the  hope  of  the 
city  being  sustained  by  belief  that 
Chanzy  with  a  delivering  army  is 
at  hand,  and  that  they  can  hear  his. 
distant  guns,  we  do  not  feel  at  all 
certain  that  a  capitulation  will  take 
place,  or  that  the  last  horrors  of  fire 
and  sword  will  not  be  defied. 

The  great  circuit  of  the  attack  is, 
so  far  as  we  know,  without  a  preced- 
ent. It  is,  of  course,  necessary  to 
thoroughly  invest  the  whole  fortress ; 
but  when  this  is  done,  old  maxims 
prescribe  the  selection  of  one  or  two- 
faces  for  attack.  Upon  the  attack 
of  these  faces  the  besieger  is  then 
directed  to  concentrate  his  means, 
working  steadily  along  upon  their 
salients,  and  neglecting  the  faces 
and  the  detachments  which  do  not 
thus  come  in  his  way.  But  as  yet 
it  is  impossible  to  say  where  the 
Germans  mean  to  breach  the  en- 
ceinte, or  to  say  why  their  method 
is  so  peculiar.  By-and-by,  perhaps, 
those  who  may  live  to  see  the  end 
of  this  terrible  war  may  be  enlight- 
ened as  to  the  reasons  for  not  mak- 
ing approaches  in  the  old  way,  and 
may  see  the  whole  theory  of  attack 
revolutionised.  One  is  apt  to  sus- 
pect at  first  that  the  increased  and 
more  deadly  range  of  the  rifled 
musket  may  have  something  to  do 
with  the  change,  and  may  have 
thrown  the  whole  burden  of  the 
attack  on  the  artillery ;  but  when 


254 


New  Year's  Musings. 


[Feb. 


one  reflects,  it  is  clear  that  the  re- 
lative ranges  of  small-arms  and  can- 
non are  not  veiy  different  no\v 
from  what  they  were  in  the  old 
smooth-bore  and  exclusively  muzzle- 
loading  days.  Of  old  the  small-arm 
was  formidable  to  the  besieger  at 
the  distance  of  two  hundred  yards, 
as  indicated  by  the  position  of  his 
second  parallel,  and  his  artillery 
was  effective  at  about  eight  hundred 
yards  from  the  place, — his  first  bat- 
teries being  erected  at  that  distance. 
Xow,  nine  hundred  yards  for  the 
musket,  and  from  three  to  four 
thousand  yards  for  cannon,  may  be 
assumed.  One  doubts,  therefore, 
after  all,  whether  the  changed  wea- 
pons be  the  cause  of  the  new  system, 
or  rather  of  the  experiment,  or  whe- 
ther a  mind  as  penetrating  as  his  * 
who  invented  the  ricochet  fire  has 
invented  a  new  application  of  the 
arms  so  as  to  give  a  decided  superi- 
ority to  the  attack  over  the  defence. 
We  are  aware  that  it  has  been 
hinted  that  the  artillery  attack  is, 
after  all,  but  a  sham  attack  —  a 
little  noise  and  smoke  to  quiet 
impatience  on  the  further  side  of 
the  Ehine,  and  that  now,  as  in  the 
beginning  of  the  siege,  famine  is  the 
real  assailant  in  which  the  Germans 
trust.  But  we  can  hardly  believe 
that  such  approved  leaders  would 
condescend  to  such  deceit ;  neither 
can  we  quite  understand  the  reasons 
which  are  supposed  to  recommend 
all  this  "  sound  and  fury,  signifying 
nothing,"  to  cover  a  delay  of  wliich 
there  is  no  need.  We  repeat  that, 
notwithstanding  that  the  Germans 
seem  likely  to  have  things  their 
own  way,  wilful  delay  is  unwarrant- 
able. 

While  we  wait  for  later  intelli- 
gence which  may  peradventure  ex- 
plain more  clearly  the  design  and 


method  of  the  attack,  let  us  quote, 
as  indicative  of  the  feelings  en- 
gendered by  the  siege,  a  passage 
from  the  '  Gaulois,'  a  Paris  paper, 
and  copied  in  the  '  Daily  News ' 
of  the  13th  January.  In  it  the 
enemy  are  called  Prussian  beg- 
gars, Prussian  scoundrels,  bandits, 
Vandals,  and  the  right  is  claimed 
of  hating  them  with  a  royal  hatred. 
And  it  goes  on  to  say,  "  You  will 
see  by  the  hatred  which  we  shall 
ever  bear  to  you,  that  we  too  know 
how  to  love — our  time  will  come 
some  day,  be  assured.  This  Jan- 
uary 1  of  the  year  1871  inaugu- 
rates a  terrible  era  of  bloody  re- 
venge. Poor  philosophers  of  uni- 
versal peace,,  you  see  now  the  value 
of  your  grand  phrases,  and  of  your 
humanitarian  dreams!  Vainly  you 
imagined  that  the  world  was  enter- 
ing into  a  period  of  everlasting 
peace  and  progress.  Wonderful 
progress,  indeed,  has  1870  brought 
us  !  You  never  calculated  on  the 
existence  of  these  Huns.  We  are 
back  again  now  in  the  midst  of  all 
the  miseries  of  the  thirteenth  and 
fourteenth  centuries.  The  memory 
of  to-day  will  be  written  on  the 
hearts  of  our  children.  '  It  was  the 
year,'  they  will  say,  '  when  we  re- 
ceived no  presents,  when  we  did  not 
kiss  our  father,  because  of  the  Prus- 
sians. They  shall  pay  for  it !'  Let 
us  hope  that  the  payment  will  com- 
mence this  very  day.  But  if  we 
are  still  to  be  vanquished,  we  will 
leave  to  our  children  the  memory  of 
our  wrongs,  and  the  care  to  avenge 
them."  Such  writing  gives  little 
ground  for  hoping  that  the  causes 
of  Avar  will  die  out  with  this  war. 
The  battles  of  August  and  Septem- 
ber might  perhaps  have  been  for- 
gotten or  condoned,  but  the  incidents 
of  this  siese  will  no  doubt  rankle 


*  Vauban.  He  found  that  by  slightly  elevating  a  gun,  so  that  its  line  of  fire  would 
pass  above  the  enemy's  rampart,  he  could,  Avith  a  reduced  charge  of  powder,  pitch 
over  the  parapet  a  shot  wliich  would  make  several  hops  after  it  first  struck  the  ground. 
So,  by  making  batteries  on  the  prolongations  of  the  lines  of  ramparts,  he  sent  destruc- 
tion among  guns,  gunners,  and  musketeers  along  the  inside  of  the  walls. 


1871.] 


Before  Pa;vV. 


255 


for  years,  perhaps  for  generations  to 
come.  Shut  in  as  the  civil  popula- 
tion of  Paris  are,  they  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  brood  over  their  troubles 
— their  wrongs,  as  they  think  them 
— and  to  vow  vengeance,  and  record 
harrowing  details  to  keep  the  feud 
alive  in  the  breasts  of  their  descend- 
ants. This  is  one  reason  why  to 
besiege  Paris  Avas  an  ill-advised 
measure — a  reason  also  why,  if  siege 
there  was  to  be,  it  should  have  been 
prosecuted  with  vigour,  and  brought 
to  a  close  as  rapidly  as  possible.  If 
this  Avar  be,  as  it  probably  is,  the 
product  of  the  Avars  waged  in  the 
beginning  of  the  century,  it  is 
likely  also  to  be  the  parent  of 
Avars  for  many  a  year.  If  a  French- 
man may  ever  see  that  he  has 
opportunity  of  injuring  Prussia, 
he  will  always  think  that  he  has 
the  justification.  We  must  hope 
that  opportunity  will  not  occur  un- 
til time  shall  have  cicatrised  these 
wounds,  noAV  so  agonising,  and  that 
neAV  interests,  new  relations,  new 
distributions  of  poAver,  may  fuse  the 
elements  of  nations  and  Avear  out 
the  bitter  grudge.  There  is  some 
comfort  in  the  reflection  that  French 
threatenings  do  not  invariably  take 
effect.  England  has  in  times  past 
been  told  to  expect  annihilation  on 
an  early  day,  ami,  when  the  Russians 
objected  to  the  French  Avintering 
in  MOSCOAV,  and  \vithout  great  cere- 
mony drove  them  out,  the  sense  of 
injury  among  the  French,  and  their 
denunciations  of  future  vengeance, 
Avere  extreme.  Yet,  except  the  Cri- 
mean War,  Avhich  Avas  not  a  very 
savage  Avar,  France  has  had  no  fight 
Avith  Russia.  She  probably  will  for- 
get Russian,  in  occupying  herself 
Avith  German,  injuries. 

And  Avhile  Ave  are  speaking  of 
the  '  Daily  NCAVS,'  let  us  notice  a  per- 
plexity of  one  of  its  correspondents, 
Avhich  may  have  been,  and  may  be 
still,  a  perplexity  to  many  beside. 
The  correspondent  saAv  iron  in  any 
quantity  arching  through  the  air, 


hissing,  Avhistling,  and  falling  upon 
Paris.  He  speaks  of  this  to  his 
familiars  in  the  camp  as  "  the  bom- 
bardment," but  is  told  that  this  is 
not  a  bombardment.  If  not,  then,  if 
this  isn't  a  bombardment,  he  would 
like  very  much  to  knoAv  Avhat  is. 
Unquestionably  to  send  a  shoAver  of 
bombs  into  a  place  must  be  to  bom- 
bard it,  in  the  broad  sense  of  the 
Avord.  But  in  military  phrase  there- 
is  a  distinction,  Avhich  AVC  take  to  be 
this:  When  fortifications  defend- 
ed by  artillery  are  also  attacked  by 
artillery,  the  fight  is  between  bat- 
tery and  battery,  betAveen  soldier 
and  soldier;  it  is  a  battle  and  no- 
thing else,  although  Avaged  by  parties- 
Avho  are  both  under  cover.  In  this 
case  military  men  are  used  to  speak 
of  "the  fire"  of  the  besieger,  or 
"  the  fire  "  of  the  place,  not  of  bom- 
bardment as  proceeding  from  either 
side.  They  resenre  the  Avord  bom- 
bardment for  an  attack  by  shells 
made  with  the  sole  object  of 
destruction,  and  it  generally  im- 
plies that  an  armed  force  is  endea- 
vouring to  burn  or  destroy  an  un- 
armed population,  buildings,  or 
shipping.  Thus  there  is  an  in- 
equality about  bombardment,  a 
punishment  of  the  feeble  and  un- 
resisting which  makes  the  term  to 
some  extent  odious.  We  believe 
this  to  be  the  true  practical  distinc- 
tion, although  it  Avill  probably  not. 
be  found  recorded  on  any  learned 
page  ;  and  it  is  no  discredit  to  the 
lively  correspondent  of  the  '  Daily 
NCAVS'  that  he  does  not  understand 
it ;  far  less  is  it  to  his  discredit  that 
he  honestly  avows  his  difficulty. 
There  are  correspondents  more  mili- 
tary than  Charles  XII.,  more 
technical  than  an  engineer's  siege 
journal,  Avho,  though  they  may 
not  be  very  accurate  as  to  facts,  and 
may  be  given  to  Avriting  occasional 
nonsense,  Avould  defend  their  per- 
fect familiarity  Avith  military  prac- 
tice and  speech  as  jealously  as  they 
would  their  purse  or  their  dinner. 


256 


New  Year's  Musings. 


[Feb. 


Being  in  the  vein  of  investigation, 
we  venture  to  give  our  reading,  too, 
•of  another  expression  which  seems 
to  bother  a  writer  here  and  there. 
It  is  common  to  read  of  "  the  bat- 
teries" as  opposed  to  "the  forts,"  as 
if  only  the  besieger  had  batteries  and 
the  forts  had  none,  but  replied  from 
some  mysterious  source  to  the  be- 
sieger's fire.  We  take  it  that  wher- 
ever cannon  are  grouped  or  massed 
together  for  action,  there  is  a  bat- 
tery. Every  fort  has  its  batteries 
in  convenient  places,  and  in  every 
fort  that  we  have  seen  each  battery 
has  a  name. 

The  few  days  that  have  elapsed 
since  we  began  to  write  of  the 
doings  before  Paris  have  brought 
forth  accounts  which  give  some 
colour  to  the  belief  that  there  is 
no  soul  in  the  German  field-attack. 
The  batteries  go  on  firing,  it  is 
true,  and  there  is  a  notice  here  and 
there  of  trench  -  work ;  but  there 
is  no  evidence  at  all  of  the  regu- 
lar approaches  which  would  by 
this  time  have  been  far  advanced 
if  they  had  been  undertaken  with 
earnestness.  It  is  just  such  a  de- 
monstration as  might  be  made  in 
order  to  quiet  an  impatient  party 
at  home.  Possibly  the  distance"  at 
which  the  Germans  keep  may  ex- 
plain in  some  sort  Trochu's  unreadi- 
ness to  make  sorties.  He,  too,  per- 
haps, is  playing  his  game  of  patience, 
waiting  till  his  enemy  may  venture 
within  rifle-range,  or  may  execute 
some  heavy  labour  which  the  French, 
without  leaving  the  shelter  of  their 
guns,  may  destroy  after  rushing  sud- 
denly out.  If  this  be  the  real  ex- 
position of  the  game  that  is  going 


on,  the  French  side  of  it  is  justified 
rather  than  the  German,  and  the 
French  loss  of  means  and  labour  is 
decidedly  less,  supposing  always  that 
the  pressure  of  famine  can  be  toler- 
ated for  a  few  weeks  longer.  Ac- 
cording to  this  view,  it  is  manifest 
also  that  the  Parisians  are  acting 
foolishly  in  trying  to  compel  sorties. 
If  Trochu  can  arrange  his  account 
with  the  famine  for  a  few  weeks 
longer,  he  is  quite  warranted  in 
reserving  his  rush  upon  the  Ger- 
mans until  he  may  get  them  at 
greater  advantage,  which  he  mu*t 
do  if  they  should  be  at  length 
driven  to  work  up  to  the  enceinte. 
The  daily  cost  to  the  Germans  of 
thus  sitting  and  looking'  upon  Paris 
must  be  enormous,  which,  however, 
is  a  point  for  them  to  consider,  as 
they  have  the  initiative  in  the  con- 
test. Their  honour  is  concerned  in 
their  capturing  Paris ;  but  the  busi- 
ness of  General  Trochu  is  to  prevent 
the  capture,  to  parry  their  thrusts, 
counteract  their  moves,  and  destroy 
their  works :  he  is  by  no  means 
bound  to  march  afield,  like  Hector, 
to  fight  his  enemy  on  the  plain 
when  he  has  the  security  of  his 
walls.* 

The  last  intelligence  which  reaches 
us  before  going  to  press  is  of  M. 
Gambetta's  speeches  at  Lille.  It  is 
plain  that  he  intends  his  country 
to  drink  the  cup  of  sorrow  to  the 
dregs  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  has  no  rational  hope  of  success 
to  offer,  only  the  old  vague  promises 
at  which  the  heart  sickens.  Will 
history  describe  M.  Gambetta's  con- 
duct as  patriotism  1  It  is  much  to 
be  doubted. — January 


•  *  "  Car  la  ddfense  £tant  par  essence  borage  a  contravier  en  tout  les  progres  de 
1  attaque,  il  faut  que  rien  ne  s'y  fasse  qui  ne  tende  efficacement  a  ce  but.  Eien  n'y 
doit  done  6tre  abandonne  au  hasard,  ou,  ce  qui  revient  au  me'me,  au  caprice  d'agens 
peu  on  point  e'claire's  !" — Bousmard  :  'Essai  Ge'ne'ral  de  Fortification.' 

"En  un  mot,  si  la  science  de  1'attaque  n'est  autre  chose  que  Tart  de  se  rendre 
mditre  d'une  place  donnee,  dans  It,  moins  de  temps  et  avec  la  moindre  perte  possible, 
celle  de  la  defense  devra  6tre  definie  I'art  dcfaire  achetcr  la  prise  d'une  place  donnee 
par  la  plus  grande  perte  possible  d'hommcs  et  de  temps." — Ibid. 


1871.]  Wakf,  England,  Wake!  257 


WAKE,  ENGLAND   WAKE  ! 

AND  thought  we  that  His  reign  could  cease  ? 

And  thought  we  that  His  day  was  done  ? 
For  that  the  gentle  hand  of  Peace 

Had  loosed  the  War-God's  fiery  zone  1 

"Wake,  England,  wake  !  let  heart  and  hand  be  steady  ! 
Still  for  thy  motto  take  :  Eeady — Aye  ready  ! 

A  touch  ! — a  flash  ! — He  breaks  his  chain, 
And  starts  to  new  and  awful  birth, 

To  loose  Hell's  husbandmen  amain, 
And  sow  in  blood  the  fallow  earth. 

This  is  no  time  for  pride  of  pelf ; 

This  is  no  time  to  sleep  or  save  : 
Britain,  arise  and  arm  thyself ! 

Peace  has  no  home  this  side  the  grave. 

Wake,  England,  wake  !  let  heart  and  hand  be  steady  ! 
Still  for  thy  motto  take :  Eeady — Aye  ready  ! 

Men  tell  us  that  our  arm  is  weak  ; 

Men  tell  us  that  our  blood  is  cold ; 
And  that  our  hearts  no  longer  speak 

With  the  rich  trumpet-note  of  old. 

With  threat  and  taunt,  with  scoff  and  sneer, 
They  gather  round  the  lion's  den, 

And  deem  him  all  too  deaf  to  hear 
The  groAving  tread  of  armed  men. 

Wake,  England,  wake  !  let  heart  and  hand  be  steady  ! 
Still  for  thy  motto  take  :  Ready — Aye  ready  ! 

Above,  around,  and  east  and  west, 

The  storm-clouds  muster  swift  and  dark  ; 

Think  ice  the  flood  of  fire  to  breast, 
Safe  in  our  isle  as  in  the  ark  ? 

The  Prussian  is  at  Paris'  gates — 
The  Prussian  dons  the  iron  crown, 

And  marshals  all  the  vassal  States 
That  at  his  mailed  foot  bow  down. 

The  Russian  crouches  for  his  spring — 
Columbia  rails  in  England's  tongue, 

And  waits  to  pierce,  with  mortal  sting, 
The  mighty  loins  from  which  she  sprung. 

Wake,  England,  wake  !  let  heart  and  hand  be  steady ! 
Still  for  thy  motto  take :  Ready — Aye  ready  ! 


258  Position  of  the  Government.  [Feb. 

Faint  not  nor  fail,  ye  sons  of  those 

Who  were  the  bravest  born  of  men  : 
Our  nearest  friends  may  be  our  foes 

Ere  Christmas-tide  come  round  again. 

Though  praying  yet  for  peace  on  earth, 

Keep  dry  your  powder  while  you  can, 
Forearmed  to  meet  for  home  and  hearth 

Man's  message  of  good-will  to  man. 

Pray  we  that  soon,  on  every  land, 

The  reign  of  all  the  saints  may  come  ; 
But  till  its  dawning,  sword-in-hand 

Await  we  that  millennium. 

"Wake,  England,  wake  !  let  heart  and  hand  be  steady  ! 
Still  for  thy  motto  take  :  Keady — Aye  ready  ! 

H.  C.  M. 
THE  TEMPLE,  Jan.  1871. 


POSITION  OF   THE   GOVERNMENT. 


NOBODY  can  be  surprised  to  find, 
not  even  the  persons  most  deeply  con- 
cerned, that  the  confidence  of  the 
public  in  the  present  Administration 
has  received  a  serious  blow.  Even  if 
tunes  had  continued  as  smooth  upon 
the  surface  as  they  were,  or  seemed 
to  be,  when  Mr  Gladstone  made  his 
first  great  bid  for  power,  a  like  re- 
sult must  have  been  brought  about, 
though  not  perhaps  so  speedily. 
Statesmen  who  force  their  way  into 
office  as  the  avowed  advocates  of 
revolutionary  measures,  greatly  de- 
ceive themselves  if  they  imagine 
that,  having  carried  the  points  to 
which  they  were  pledged,  they  may 
there  stand  still.  The  appetite  for 
change  among  revolutionary  consti- 
tuencies "  grows  with  that  it  feeds 
on."  The  Bill  to  Disestablish  and 
Disendow  the  Protestant  Church  in 
Ireland,  appealing,  as  it  did,  to  the 
sectarian  prejudices  of  some  and 
the  pure  republicanism  of  others, 
was  accepted  by  both  sections  of 
the  extreme  Liberal  party  as  a  fore- 
taste, and  nothing  more,  of  better 
things  to  come.  So  also  the  Irish 


Land  Act  falls  so  far  short  in  its 
immediate  effects  of  what  was  ex- 
pected from  it,  that  though  accom- 
plishing, in  point  of  fact,  the  greatest 
social  revolution  of  modern  times,  it 
is  yet  ridiculed  and  denounced  as  a 
delusion  and  a  snare  by  the  very 
men  whom  it  is  designed  to  benefit. 
A  similar  spirit  already  manifests 
itself  in  regard  to  Mr  Forster's  Eng- 
lish Education  Act.  The  law  as  it 
stands  declines  to  recognise  religious 
instruction  as  a  necessary  element 
in  popular  education.  But  because 
it  permits  such  element  to  be  intro- 
duced at  the  option  of  school-man- 
agers, no  inconsiderable  portion  of 
the  Liberal  party  are  dissatisfied. 
Mr  Gladstone  will  find  himself,  or 
we  are  mistaken,  constrained  to 
choose  ere  long  between  a  modifica- 
tion of  the  law,  so  as  to  make  popu- 
lar education  purely  secular,  and 
the  loss  of  the  hearty  support  of  the 
National  Education  League — by  no 
means  the  least  influential  section  of" 
the  party  which  chose  him  to  be  its 
leader.  And,  finally,  this  same 
question  of  education  for  Ireland 


1871.] 


Position  of  the  Government. 


259 


has  assumed  such  an  aspect,  that 
the  Ministers  who  raised  it  to  serve 
their  own  purposes  do  not  know 
how  to  deal  with  it.  Cardinal  Cul- 
len  will  be  content  with  nothing 
less  than  the  incorporation  and  en- 
dowment of  a  distinct  Roman  Cath- 
olic University,  with  the  substitu- 
tion for  the  national-school  system 
which  the  late  Lord  Derby  estab- 
lished, of  a  scheme  which  shall  put 
the  elementary  education  of  the 
Irish  people  absolutely  in  the  hands 
of  the  priests.  Now  if  there  be  one 
political  arrangement  to  which,  more 
than  all  others,  Scotch  Presbyterians 
and  English  Dissenters  are  averse, 
it  is  that  by  any  means,  and  in  any 
shape,  the  power  of  the  Romish 
priesthood  should,  in  any  portion 
of  the  empire,  be  increased.  No- 
thing tended  more  to  provoke  the 
wrath  of  these  persons  against  the 
Tory  Government  than  their  as- 
sumed negotiations  with  the  Romish 
bishops  in  Ireland,  though  these 
came  to  nothing.  Let  Mr  Glad- 
stone give  way  in  ever  so  slight  a 
degree  to  the  demands  of  the  same 
bishops  as  they  are  now  put  for- 
ward, and  he  will  drive  from  him 
at  least  a  good  half  of  the  Scotch 
and  English  constituencies  to  which, 
while  they  acted  in  unison  with 
Irish  Roman  Catholics,  he  owed  his 
accession  to  office. 

Another  difficulty,  having  its  root 
in  Ireland,  besets  him ;  and  it  is  the 
more  formidable  that  neither  he  nor 
anybody  else  seems  to  have  contem- 
plated its  possible  occurrence.  The 
Irish  Roman  Catholic  laity,  without 
changing  their  faith,  begin  to  ex- 
hibit unmistakable  symptoms  of 
impatience  of  priestly  domination. 
To  what  cause  this  remarkable  fact 
may  be  attributed,  if  to  any  in 
particular,  it  is  not  easy  to  say. 
Doubtless  many  causes  have  contri- 

Kmted  to  produce  the  result.     For 
ixample,  the  national  schools,  not- 
withstanding the  undue  hold  over 
VOL.  CIX. NO.  DCLXIV. 


them  which  the  Romish  hierarchy 
contrived  of  late  years  to  establish, 
certainly  did  their  part  in  this  work. 
A  reading  people  becomes,  by  degrees, 
an  inquiring  people ;  and  though 
they  may  not  always,  in  their  search 
after  knowledge,  commit  themselves 
to  safe  guides,  they  seldom  fail  to 
discover  on  what  points  their  old 
instructors — especially  if  these  hap- 
pen to  be,  as  the  Romish  priests 
notoriously  are,  opposed  to  such 
inquiries — misled  them.  Neither, 
we  suspect,  now  that  the  excite- 
ment of  the  struggle  is  over,  have 
the  priesthood  done  much  to  con- 
firm their  hold  upon  the  people  by 
the  part  which  they  played  in  over- 
throwing the  Established  Church. 
The  people  begin  to  discover  that 
the  question  at  issue  was  never  their 
question  at  all.  Their  clergy,  while 
yet  it  was  in  the  distance,  persuaded 
them  to  the  contrary ;  and  believing 
that  rent-charges,  ceasing  to  be  paid 
to  the  parson,  would  go  into  their 
own  pockets,  the  people  marched 
to  the  hustings  under  the  priest's 
leadership,  and  voted  as  he  de- 
sired. But  now,  the  measure  is  car- 
ried, and  they  receive  from  it  no 
advantages  whatever ;  while  the 
dues  and  fees  to  the  priest,  from 
which  they  expected  to  be  ex- 
empt, are  claimed  under  the  old 
sanction  of  spiritual  terrorism  with 
as  much  tenacity  as  ever.  Now 
the  Irish  are  a  remarkably  shrewd 
people,  especially  where  their  per- 
sonal interests  are  concerned.  They 
see  that  the  priests  deceived  them. 
The  poor  parson,  whom  they  helped 
to  rob  under  the  delusive  idea  that 
what  was  taken  from  him  would  go 
to  themselves,  was,  in  all  the  rela- 
tions of  social  life,  their  best  Mend. 
And  they  are  positively  angry — in 
remote  country  districts  especially 
— with  their  own  clergy,  for  having 
beguiled  them  into  driving  him 
away.  Moreover,  the  priests  them- 
selves are  by  no  means  satisfied  with 


260 


Position  of  the  Government. 


[Feb. 


the  issues  of  the  move.  They  did 
count  on  gaining  what  the  Church 
lost,  in  spite  of  the  protestations  to 
the  contrary  of  their  lay  advocates 
and  bishops ;  and  as  they  already 
begin  to  clamour  for  the  restitution, 
as  they  call  it,  of  the  old  cathedrals 
and  parish  churches,  so  it  is  quite 
upon  the  cards  that  they  may 
aspire  even  yet  to  be  recognised  as 
the  established  or  dominant  clergy 
in  the  land.  Thus  Mr  Gladstone  is 
exposed  to  fresh  solicitations  from 
that  particular  body  through  whom 
it  is  his  policy  to  govern  Ireland. 
If  he  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  their  de- 
mands, the  priests  will  throw  him 
over.  If  he  yield  to  them,  a  spirit 
will  be  evoked  among  the  people 
which  may  prove  too  strong  both 
for  him  and  his  allies. 

Again,  a  very  remarkable  change 
has  passed,  or  is  passing,  over 
public  opinion  in  Protestant  Ire- 
land. The  English  connection,  to 
maintain  which  Irish  Protestants 
were  ready,  ten  years  ago,  to  shed 
their  blood,  has  lost  all  value  in 
their  eyes.  "We  are  not  prepared 
to  say  that  the  upper  stratum  of 
Churchmen,  the  nobles  and  great 
landed  proprietors  of  Ireland,  are 
at  this  moment,  or  are  likely  to 
become,  ferocious  repealers.  More 
British  than  Irish,  living  a  larger 
portion  of  their  time  in  England 
than  in  Ireland,  they  still  retain  a 
prejudice  in  favour  of  the  Union, 
though  it  is  certainly  not  what  it 
once  was.  But  the  bulk  of  the 
middle  classes,  especially  the  Pres- 
byterians and  Orangemen  of  the 
north,  are  passing  over  one  after 
another,  and  by  shoals,  into  the 
camp  of  the  Nationalist  party.  They 
argue  thus :  "What  do  we  gain  from 
the  connection  1  The  English  Par- 
liament has  violated  the  conditions 
on  which  our  fathers  agreed  to 
surrender  their  right  to  self- 
government.  The  English  Parlia- 
ment has  passed  laws,  making  them 


special  to  Ireland,  which  bring  us 
near  to  Communism,  and  must, 
when  pushed  to  their  legitimate 
issues,  land  us  there.  Romanism, 
to  restrain  which,  and  keep  its 
slaves  from  chronic  rebellion,  our 
ancestors  gave  up  their  homes  in 
England  and  Scotland  and  settled 
in  Ireland,  is  by  the  English  Parlia- 
ment pampered  and  petted,  and,  in 
the  persons  of  its  hierarchy,  raised 
to  be  our  master.  Could  we  be 
worse  off  than  we  are  if  the  legis- 
lative union  were  dissolved  ?  Is  it 
not,  on  the  contrary,  more  than 
probable  that  we  should  be  better 
off?  Consider  how,  for  lack  of 
capital  and  enterprise,  our  trade 
languishes;  how  mischievously  the 
curse  of  absenteeism  operates  up- 
on society  in  all  its  ramifications; 
how  strong  the  tendency  of  recent 
legislation  is  to  increase  this  evil; 
how  surely  and  how  soon  the  restora- 
tion of  a  domestic  Parliament  would 
stop  it.  Can  anybody  doubt  that 
one  of  the  first  measures  passed  by 
an  Irish  Parliament  would  be  one 
compelling  the  owners  of  large 
estates  to  sell  or  reside  upon  their 
property?  Can  anybody  doubt 
that  the  immediate  consequence 
of  such  residence  would  be  a  strong 
stimulus  to  industry,  and  the  ap- 
plication of  capital  to  improvements 
in  manufactures  as  well  as  in  agricul- 
ture ?  Don't  talk  to  us  at  this  time 
of  day  about  the  inevitable  ascend- 
ancy of  Romanism  in  a  domestic 
Parliament,  much  less  of  a  course  of 
legislation  having  for  its  object  the 
extinction  of  free  thought  on  reli- 
gious subjects.  These  things  we 
might  have  apprehended  a  hundred 
years  ago  ;  but  our  laity,  even  in  the 
humblest  stations,  are  no  longer  the 
slaves  of  the  priests.  Remember 
what  was  done  a  year  ago  in  Tip- 
perary.  Take  note  of  the  issues 
of  the  recent  contest  in  Meath. 
Can  you  discover  in  one  or  other  of 
these  events  any  signs  of  the  danger 


1871.] 


Position  of  the  Government. 


261 


to  conscience  with  which  you 
threaten  us1?  You  may  affect  to  think 
lightly  of  O'Donovan  Rossa's  return 
for  Tipperary,  attributing  the  cir- 
cumstance to  the  peculiarities  of  the 
case.  Tipperary  is  the  very  heart 
and  focus  of  Ribbonism  in  Ireland, 
and  the  people  seized  the  opportunity 
of  showing  how  entirely  they  sym- 
pathised with  the  leaders  in  the 
Fenian  movement.  It  was  this  feel- 
ing, and  no  settled  determination  to 
act  for  themselves,  which  induced 
the  electors  of  Tipperary  to  choose 
for  their  representative  a  captive  in 
his  cell.  Perhaps  so,  but  can  the 
same  be  said  of  the  Meath  election  ? 
No.  Excitement,  true  or  false,  had 
nothing  to  say  in  guiding  that  issue. 
There  we  have  sure  manifestation 
of  such  a  change  of  public  opinion 
in  Roman  Catholic  Ireland  as  it 
had  never  entered  the  mind  of  man 
to  calculate  upon ;  and  about  the 
steady  progress  of  which,  over  an 
area  continually  widening,  there  can 
be  no  doubt.  Mr  Plunkett  was  the 
representative  man  among  conscien- 
tious and  well-born  Roman  Catholic 
laymen.  Put  forward  by  Cardinal 
Cullen,  taken  up  by  the  priests, 
recommended  from  every  altar  to 
the  support  of  the  people,  he  is  by 
the  people  rejected,  and  a  stranger 
from  another  county  called  in  at  a 
few  days'  notice  ;  and,  most  remark- 
able of  all,  a  Presbyterian  by  reli- 
gion is  elected  by  a  majority  of  well- 
nigh  two  to  one.  If  this  feather 
thrown  up  does  not  show  in  what 
direction  the  wind  is  setting,  there 
is  no  truth  in  auguries.  We  go  in, 
therefore,  for  a  native  Parliament, 
because  the  mass  of  the  people  desire 
it ;  and  we  are  strengthened  in  the 
determination  by  hook  or  by  crook 
to  get  what  the  people  desire,  be- 
cause the  priests  take  the  other  side 
in  the  controversy." 

It  seems  then  to  us  that  Ireland, 
which  did  so  much  to  bring  Mr 
Gladstone  into  power,  is  very  likely 


to  go  as  far  as  any  other  portion 
of  the  kingdom  to  make  his  con- 
tinued tenure  of  office  irksome,  if 
not  impossible.  Not  that  he  sits 
upon  a  bed  of  roses,  in  conference 
with  all  his  nominal  supporters 
elsewhere.  The  more  thoughtful 
and  influential  of  the  Radicals  of 
England  and  Scotland  believe  that 
they  have  great  reason  to  com- 
plain of  him.  Why,  in  the  readjust- 
ment of  the  Cabinet,  rendered  neces- 
sary by  Mr  Bright's  resignation,  did 
he  carefully  shut  the  door  of  high 
office  in  their  faces  ?  Why,  too,  did 
Mr  Bright  resign  ?  There  are  those 
understood  to  be  deep  in  his  confi- 
dence who  decline  to  attribute  the 
incident  entirely  to  broken  health. 
Ill  Mr  Bright  has  been,  and  still  is, 
though  he  is  fast  recovering.  In- 
deed the  state  of  his  health,  while 
it  required  him  to  seek  repose,  has 
never  been  such  as  absolutely  to 
prevent  his  taking  an  interest  in 
public  affairs.  He  might  not  attend 
— we  know  that  he  did  not  attend — 
the  very  few  meetings  of  the  Cabinet 
which  took  place  during  the  recess. 
But  he  was  not  kept  in  ignorance  of 
the  matters  under  discussion  ;  for 
the  intercourse  by  letter  between  him 
and  Mr  Gladstone  has,  we  are  told, 
been  frequent,  and  of  late  more  than 
frequent.  Something  else,  then,  than 
physical  inability  to  support  his  col- 
leagues in  the  House,  and  co-operate 
with  them  in  Council,  must  have  led 
to  his  severance  from  the  Government. 
What  that  something  is  we  shall  pro- 
bably find  out  soon  after  Parliament 
assembles.  Meanwhile  it  is  certain 
that  the  section  of  the  Liberal  party 
which  follows  his  lead  is  out  of 
humour  ;  that  they  look  upon  Mr 
Bright's  retirement  as  a  great  mis- 
fortune to  the  public,  and  on  the 
refusal  of  Mr  Gladstone  to  replace 
him  with  Mr  Stansfeld,  or  Mr  Mun- 
della,  or  some  other  prominent  mem- 
ber of  their  body,  as  a  slight  and 
a  wrong  done  to  their  party.  It  is 


262 


Position  of  the  Government. 


[Feb. 


probable,  therefore,  that  if  embarrass- 
ments arise,  as  they  are  pretty  sure 
to  do,  in  the  course  of  the  session, 
the  sturdy  phalanx  which  occupies 
the  front  benches  below  the  gang- 
way will  not  prove  the  compliant 
friends  whom  Mr  Gladstone  has 
heretofore  found  them;  and  that  for 
such  services  as  they  render  they  will 
expect  a  higher  price  than,  out  of 
compliment  to  Mr  Bright,  they  were 
accustomed  to  exact  six  months  ago. 
Whether  Mr  Gladstone  is  prepared 
to  pay  that  price  remains  to  be  seen. 
Whether,  paying  or  refusing  to  pay 
it,  he  will  be  able  to  hold  his  course, 
time  alone  can  determine.  All  that 
we  know  for  certain  is,  that  he  is  at 
this  moment  steering  between  Scylla 
and  Charybdis. 

But  we  are  not  yet  done  with 
Mr  Gladstone's  difficulties  • —  with 
the  difficulties  which,  apart  from 
incidental  and  unlooked-for  misfor- 
tunes, it  was  obvious  from  the  first 
that  he  would  be  confronted  with, 
as  soon  as  the  work  of-  social  revolu- 
tion which  he  had  cut  out  for  him- 
self should  be  completed.  The 
mode  in  which  his  great  measures 
were  brought  forward,  the  strong 
language  made  use  of  in  press- 
ing them  upon  public  attention, 
the  encouragement  given  to  agi- 
tation, and  even  to  outrage,  as 
a  means  of  averting  defeat  and 
securing  victory — these  things  have 
not  been  without  their  influence 
on  public  opinion  both  in  Ireland 
and  in  England.  Mr  Butt's  ad- 
dress to  the  "  patriots "  set  free 
from  prison,  yet  exiled  from  their 
native  land,  expresses  not  his  own 
views,  but  the  views  of  the  en- 
tire population.  The  part  played 
by  Fenianism  in  obtaining  for  Ire- 
land whatever  advantages  recent 
legislation  may  have  given  her,  Mr 
Butt,  in  his  address  to  the  exiles, 
has  clearly  set  forth.  Nor  is  this 
done  in  a  commonplace  declamatory 


sort  of  way.  The  ipsissima  verba 
of  the  great  statesman  are  quoted, 
crediting  to  Fenianism,  and  the  out- 
rages attendant  on  it,  all  the  merit 
of  bringing  the  people  and  Parlia- 
ment of  England  to  reflect  upon  the 
wrongs  done  by  them  in  times  past 
to  trodden-down  Ireland,  and  to  ini- 
tiate a  course  of  policy  which  shall 
redress  these  wrongs.  There  is 
little  doubt  that  Mr  Butt's  speech 
will  bring  forth  fruit  abundantly 
on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 
The  national  press  at  home  will  not 
allow  its  many  readers  to  forget  the 
advice  which  the  address  covers. 
The  high-minded  exiles  will  go  about 
from  platform  to  platform  in  the 
land  of  their  adoption,  aggravating 
the  hatred,  which  is  already  keen 
enough  in  the  Fenian  brotherhood, 
towards  England.  Thus,  all  Mr 
Gladstone's  efforts  to  conciliate  the 
Irish,  and  inspire  them  with  con- 
fidence in  himself,  operate  in  an  ex- 
actly contrary  direction.  He  makes 
no  friends  among  the  masses,  to 
gratify  whom  he  passed  laws  that 
are  unjust.  He  makes  enemies  of 
the  upper  and  middle  classes  by 
outraging  every  sense  of  right  among 
them.  The  concord  and  unity  of 
which  he  spoke  as  waiting  upon 
his  policy  is  as  far  distant  as  ever. 
Take  an  example  or  two  of  the 
working  of  that  blessed  law,  which 
was  to  smooth  down  all  differences 
between  landlord  and  tenant.  A  gen- 
tleman lets,  on  yearly  tenure,  a  house 
and  four  acres  of  land,  for  which 
the  rent  exacted  is  forty  pounds 
a -year.  By -and -by  the  landlord 
wishes  himself  to  occupy  the  house, 
and  gives  his  tenant  due  notice. 
There  is  no  pretence  of  foul  play  on 
either  side ;  but  forthwith  the  ten- 
ant brings  an  action  against  the  land- 
lord, and  having  paid  him  exactly 
£160  for  four  years'  occupancy, 
claims  to  be  compensated  for  dis- 
turbance with  £270,  and  carries  his 


1871.]  Position  of  the  Government.  2G3 

point.*     A  harmless  process-server  guage  after  two  years'  experience  of 

delivers  the  documents  which  are  the  policy  which  was  to  insure  the 

intrusted  to  him,  and  goes  his  way.  loyalty  and  internal    peace  of  the 

He  is  shot  dead  on  the  road,  and  no-  sister  isle,  what  can  the  prospects  be 

body  can  or  will  come  forward  to  of  the  Minister  himself,  about  to 

say  by  whom  the  murder  was  com-  face  a  Parliament  discontented  with 

mitted.     These  are  not  solitary  in-  many  things,  and  not  least  so  with 

stances,  be  it  observed.     Deeds  like  the  condition  to  which  Ireland  is 

these  are  of  constant  occurrence,  and  reduced  ? 

in  all  parts  of  the  country.    Indeed  Again,  the  state  of  feeling  among 

to  such  a  height  has  the  evil  risen,  English  and  Scotch  Liberals,  as  it 

that  the  Lord-Lieutenant  is  driven  has  shown  itself  in  various  ways,  is 

at  last  to  meet  it  with  threats.    Now,  not,   to   say  the   least,   reassuring, 

if  Mr  Gladstone's  representative  be  Never,   surely,   did  a  man   in  Mr 

compelled  to  use   threatening  Ian-  Gladstone's  high  place  so  often  and 

*  The  following,  which  we  extract  from  the  '  Standard'  of  the  llth  of  January 
last,  gives  a  ludicrous  but  correct  account  of  the  working  of  the  Land  Law  : — 

"  If  the  cases  under  the  Land  Act  increase  in  number  and  difficulty  in  proportion 
with  those  which  have  already,  for  the  short  time  it  has  been  in  force,  come  before 
the  Chairmen  of  Counties  in  Ireland,  there  will  soon  be  a  demand  for  the  increase 
of  the  number  of  those  judicial  officers.  Out  of  the  many  that  have  come  before 
these  tribunals,  only  one  case  has  been  decided,  the  chairmen  in  all  the  others  find- 
ing some  knotty  point  which  obliged  them  to  suspend  their  judgment.  Even  this 
case  was  settled  by  a  sort  of  compromise.  It  was  tried  at  Ballymena  Land  Sessions. 
The  plaintiff,  a  Mrs  Moore,  sought  to  recover  £700  (which  her  counsel  reduced  in 
his  statement  to  £500)  from  her  landlord,  Mr  G.  T.  Macartney,  of  Lissanoure  Castle, 
under  the  third  and  fourth  sections  of  the  Act,  for  disturbance  (four  years'  rent)  and 
improvements  to  her  house  and  farm  while  in  the  occupation  of  her  husband,  from 
1852  to  1867,  and  since  his  death  in  1867  by  herself,  as  his  successor  in  the  pre- 
mises. When  the  cause  had  proceeded  for  some  time,  after  a  conference,  it  was  agreed 
that  judgment  should  be  given  in  favour  of  the  claimant  for  £350,  and  that  the 
rent  which  was  due  by  her  should  be  forgiven.  His  worship  pronounced  judgment 
accordingly. 

"In  another  case — that  of  'Garrihy  v.  Molony' — still  pending  at  the  County 
Clare  Court,  before  Mr  O'Shaughnessy,  Q.C.,  Garrihy,  a  tenant,  sublet  to  Molony 
a  house  and  sixty  perches,  the  agreement  being  that  Molony  was  to  give  him  two 
days'  labour  a-week  as  payment,  and  in  case  the  weather  prevented  labour,  two 
shillings  in  money.  Garrihy  served  a  notice  to  quit,  but  Molony  clings  to  the  sixty 
perches,  or  must  get  for  surrendering  them  £96.  It  is  alleged  that  he,  upon  this 
patch,  '  improved  the  dwelling,  cleared,  reclaimed,  drained,  and  subsoiled. '  As  the 
Chairman  expressed  a  general  opinion  in  favour  of  the  claim,  it  will  possibly  be 
granted,  and  Molony  put  in  possession  of  a  little  fortune  through  being  put  out  of 
possession  of  a  few  perches  of  land.  Another  Clare  case  shows  that  the  landlord  is 
not  excluded  altogether  from  the  privileges  of  the  statute.  Captain  Stacpoole  seeks 
power  to  evict  a  tenant  without  any  compensation,  on  the  ground  that  he  is  a  '  non- 
improving  '  holder,  having  '  neither  value  nor  stock  ; '  and  if  the  Chairman  sanctions 
the  application,  there  will  be  a  precedent  for  evicting  hundreds  of  tenants  without  a 
farthing.  Mr  Coffey,  Q.C.,  had  before  him,  at  Magherafelt,  on  Saturday,  the  claim 
of  a  tenant  for  £166,  17s.  6d.,  who  held  seven  acres  and  a  rood,  and  paid  £9,  10s., 
a-year.  This  sum  of  £166  was  compensation  for  disturbance  solely.  The  Chairman 
remarked,  '  You  wish  the  whole  of  the  fee-simple  of  the  estate  at  20  years'  pur- 
chase.' On  being  argued  with  on  the  policy  of  the  Act,  the  Chairman  once  more 
remarked,  '  Your  claim  amounts  to  this  certainly — you  want  the  fee-simple  of  the 
estate.'  The  tenant's  counsel  still  pressing  his  client's  legal  right,  the  puzzled  judge 
continued,  '  According  to  your  arrangement,  I  am  to  hand  it  over  to  you.  It  is  no 
use  to  say  that  the  policy  of  this  Act  is  to  take  and  improve  a  man  out  of  his  estate 
— to  have  a  tenant  coming  at  the  expiration  of  a  term,  and  saying,  You  have  no 
claim  011  this  estate  j  I  will  keep  it.'  The  matter  stands  over." 


264 


Position  of  the  Government. 


[Feb. 


so  grievously  commit  himself  by  the 
misuse  of  his  pen.  His  letter  to  Mr 
Dease,  on  the  subject  of  the  Pope's 
loss  of  temporal  sovereignty,  is  at 
once  the  most  ill-judged  and  unfor- 
tunate of  productions.  What  busi- 
ness had  he  to  notice  the  impertinent 
appeal  from  Stradbally  at  all?  The 
Pope,  regarded  as  a  temporal  sove- 
reign, had  his  proper  place  in  the 
political  relations  of  Europe.  Fifty 
years  ago  England  might,  perhaps, 
have  objected  to  any  interference 
with  that  place,  because  recent 
treaties  had  established  for  him,  not 
less  than  for  other  restored  sovereign- 
ties, the  rights  from  which  conquest 
had  ejected  him.  Possibly  there 
may  still  be  among  English  states- 
men those  who  look  with  little 
favour  upon  objects  gained  by 
violence  and  the  breach  of  treaties, 
even  if  in  the  end  they  hold  out 
some  prospects  of  good  to  mankind. 
But  for  the  Minister  of  a  Protestant 
Queen,  the  administrator  of  the 
affairs  of  a  Protestant  empire,  to 
assure  a  Eoman  Catholic  member  of 
Parliament  that  her  Majesty's  Gov- 
ernment consider  all  that  relates  to 
the  adequate  support  of  the  dignity 
of  the  Pope,  and  to  his  personal 
freedom  in  the  discharge  of  his 
spiritual  functions,  to  be  legitimate 
matter  for  their  notice,  is  going 
very  far  beyond  what  public  opinion 
will  tolerate.  What  are  the  due 
discharge  of  his  spiritual  functions 
by  the  Pope  to  the  Protestant  people 
of  this  country  ?  What  right  has  a 
Protestant  statesman,  speaking  for 
the  Government  of  a  Protestant 
Queen,  to  assume  any  responsibility 
for  the  maintenance  of  the  Pope's 
independence,  regarded  as  a  Supreme 
Pontiff?  A  Supreme  Pontiff  is  either 
the  visible  head  of  the  Church  upon 
earth,  or  he  is  nothing.  Does  Mr 
Gladstone  so  regard  the  Pope,  as  to 
justify  his  writing  officially  about 
him  thus?  Mr  Gladstone's  un- 
friends more  than  insinuate  that  he 


has  been  admitted  into  the  commun- 
ion of  the  Church  of  Rome — though 
secretly,  "  for  fear  of  the  people." 
We  believe  nothing  of  the  sort ;  yet 
surely  language  such  as  this,  em- 
ployed on  an  occasion  so  little  urgent, 
cannot  but  go  some  way  to  gain 
credence  for  the  scandal.  Be  this, 
however,  as  it  may,  we  are  not  sur- 
prised to  find  that  other  bodies  be- 
sides the  General  Assembly  of  the 
Free  Church  of  Scotland  should  be 
up  in  arms  against  so  extraordinary 
a  procedure.  We  shall  be  very  much 
astonished  if  Mr  Gladstone  fail  to 
hear  more  of  the  matter  when  Parlia- 
ment meets. 

Again,  Mr  Gladstone's  friends  are 
quite  mistaken  if  they  suppose  that 
his  hold  upon  the  lower  stratum  of 
the  Liberal  party — upon  the  gentle- 
men who  get  up  processions  and 
tear  down  railings  when  refused 
admittance  to  the  parks — is  at  all 
what  it  was  two  years  ago.  The 
promotion  of  Mr  Beales,  politic  as  it 
seemed  to  be,  cuts  two  ways.  There 
is  proof  enough  in  the  act  that 
the  Government  recognises  and 
values  the  support  which  it  received 
in  the  hour  of  need  from  that  re- 
spectable gentleman  and  his  adher- 
ents. It  gives  all  the  sanction,  like- 
wise, which  could  be  expected  from 
constituted  authority,  to  breaches  of 
the  peace,  provided  they  go  to  in- 
sure the  success  of  a  Liberal  mea- 
sure ;  and  it  shuts  the  mouth  of  a 
demagogue  at  a  time  when  his 
speech  might  have  been  inconveni- 
ent. But  in  the  lower  stratum  of 
the  Liberal  party  there  is  at  least  as 
much  of  self-seeking — of  personal 
jealousy  bet  ween  man  and  man — as  in 
any  other  order  of  society  among  us. 
We  doubt  whether  Professor  Beasley, 
or  Mr  Harrison,  or  Mr  Odger,  or  Mr 
Applegarth,  is  at  all  drawn  closer  to 
Mr  Gladstone  and  the  Government 
out  of  gratitude  for  Mr  Beales's  pro- 
motion. Probably  each  of  these 
distinguished  individuals  is  of  opin- 


1871.] 


Position  of  the  Government. 


265 


ion  that  he  has  done  as  much  for 
the  Liberal  cause  as  the  newly-made 
county-court  judge,  and  it  is  just 
possible  that  they  may  all  prove 
hereafter  less  pliant,  should  some 
emergency  arise,  than  could  be 
wished.  Indeed  they  are  already 
showing  signs  of  impatience  on  a 
matter  which,  for  other  reasons  than 
any  assigned  by  them,  occasions 
both  anxiety  and  grief  to  better  and 
wiser  men  than  they  will  ever  be. 
The  proceedings  at  the  great  meet- 
ing in  St  James's  Hall  are  ominous 
of  a  break-up  in  the  Liberal  party, 
and  therefore  full  of  danger  to  its 
chief.  It  may  be,  it  probably  is,  the 
fact,  that  Messrs  Beesley,  Harrison, 
&  Co.,  take  a  far  deeper  interest  in 
the  success  of  the  French  Republic 
than  in  the  risk  to  which  France 
is  exposed  of  dismemberment.  But 
there  is  no  mistaking  the  object  of 
their  resolution,  which,  though  op- 
posed, was  carried  by  an  overwhelm- 
ing majority  :  "  That  this  meeting 
condemns  and  resents  the  conduct  of 
Mr  Gladstone ;  firstly,  for  his  per- 
sistent refusal  to  accord  full  official 
recognition  of  the  existing  Govern- 
ment of  France  ;  and,  secondly,  for 
compromising  the  honour  and  safety 
of  the  country  by  the  vacillation 
and  feebleness  of  his  foreign  policy." 
Again,  recent  proceedings  in  the 
borough  for  which  Mr  Gladstone 
sits  fling  dark  shadows  before  him. 
The  constituency  which,  only  two 
years  ago,  opened  its  arms  to  the 
rejected  of  Oxford  and  of  South 
Lancashire,  repents  of  what  it  did, 
and  petitions  its  member,  Prime 
Minister  though  he  be,  to  resign  the 
trust  which  he  has  abused.  There 
is  no  record,  as  far  as  our  knowledge 
extends,  of  any  such  procedure  in 
times  past,  or  anything  approaching 
to  it,  in  this  country.  For  it  is  ab- 
surd to  argue,  as  the  ministerial 
newspapers  do,  that  the  Greenwich 
memorial  is  a  Tory  stratagem.  It 
took  its  rise  in  feelings  quite  apart 


from 


any  which  have  their  roots 
in  mere  party  differences.  Green- 
wich is  suffering  from  the  effects  of 
Government  measures,  be  these  in 
themselves  wise  or  unwise,  to  an 
extent  of  which  only  they  who  live 
within  the  limits  of  the  borough  can 
form  an  adequate  conception.  The 
abrupt  and  ill  -  timed  closing  of 
"Woolwich  dockyard  completed  the 
distress  which  the  suppression  of 
the  Royal  Hospital  and  of  the  dock- 
yard in  Deptford  had  begun,  and 
left  in  the  minds  of  the  voters  a 
bitterness  to  which  they  were  glad 
to  give  utterance  in  the  memorial,  by 
whomsoever  suggested. 

If  the  preceding  statements  be 
correct — and  we  know  of  no  reason 
why  their  correctness  should  be 
questioned — enough,  as  it  appears 
to  us,  has  been  said  in  justification 
of  the  sentence,  that  had  the  times 
been  as  smooth  upon  the  surface 
now  as  they  seemed  to  be  when 
Mr  Gladstone  made  his  great  bid 
for  power,  the  decline  of  his  popu- 
larity, and  of  that  of  the  Government 
over  which  he  presides,  would  still 
have  been,  by  this  time,  inevitable. 
But  other  causes  of  dissatisfaction 
are  rife  than  the  apprehension 
among  the  more  eager  of  his  original 
supporters  that  the  tide  of  change 
has  reached  the  full.  The  economies 
of  the  Government,  from  whatever 
side  we  view  them,  give  little  sa- 
tisfaction to  any  one.  Clerks  are 
sent  adrift  from  public  offices  on 
the  ground  that  their  services  are 
not  needed,  and  mortal  enemies  are 
made  of  them  and  of  their  friends, 
without  diminishing,  in  any  percep- 
tible degree,  the  public  expenditure. 
For  every  clerk  so  dismissed  is 
dismissed  with  a  pension ;  or  else, 
being  put  upon  what  is  called  the 
supernumerary  list,  he  continues  to 
draw  his  salary  at  the  same  rate  as 
before,  and  will  go  on  drawing  it 
till  he  can  be  reabsorbed  into  tho 
office.  Not  so  in  other  and  more 


266 


Position  of  the  Government. 


[Feb. 


modest  directions.  At  a  moment, 
the  most  unfortunate  that  could 
have  been  chosen,  dockyards  were 
suddenly  closed,  and  the  officers  and 
workmen  sent  about  their  business ; 
the  former  with  their  half-pay,  the 
latter  to  starve.  In  every  arsenal 
work  was  simultaneously  suspended 
in  order  that,  to  the  utmost  attain- 
able degree,  artisans  and  labourers 
might  be  weeded  out ;  while  stores 
of  all  descriptions — timber,  cordage, 
anchors,  iron,  &c. — were  sold  at  a 
tenth  of  what  they  originally  cost, 
the  amount  being  credited  to  the 
public  as  so  much  clear  gain.  The 
results  were,  that  Mr  Lowe  was  able 
to  bring  back  the  property -tax  to  its 
first  figure,  fourpence  in  the  pound  ; 
and  that  far  and  near,  throughout  our 
seaports  and  in  the  capital,  a  cry 
arose  that  families  were  starving. 

Meanwhile  troubles  accumulate 
on  the  Continent,  more  alarming  by 
far  than  any  with  which  the  present 
generation  had  a  previous  oppor- 
tunity of  becoming  acquainted. 
France  and  Prussia,  after  scowling 
on  each  other  for  years,  formed 
or  created  a  ground  of  quarrel.  It 
seems  incredible  that  the  British 
Government  should  have  failed  to 
anticipate  the  results  in  which  this 
jealousy  of  races  must  sooner  or 
later  issue.  Yet  the  British  Govern- 
ment recognised  no  such  possible 
contingency,  or  at  all  events  acted 
as  if  no  such  recognition  could  be 
accepted.  Never,  perhaps,  in  the 
history  of  statesmanship  was  such  an 
exhibition  of  imbecility  made  as  in 
Lord  Granville's  naive  announce- 
ment to  the  House  of  Lords,  that 
there  was  war  on  the  Continent. 
He  had  recently  succeeded  to  Lord 
Clarendon  at  the  Foreign  Office ; 
and,  according  to  his  own  showing, 
had  received  from  Mr  Hammond, 
the  permanent  Under-Secretary  of 
State,  an  assurance  that,  so  far  as 
foreign  affairs  were  concerned,  there 
was  not  a  cloud  on  the  political 


horizon.  This  occurred  one  day  in 
last  July,  on  the  occasion  of  his  first 
visit  to  his  new  office.  But  behold, 
ere  four  -  and  -  twenty  hours  were 
passed,  and  before  he  had  time  to 
congratulate  himself  and  his  friends 
on  the  pleasant  prospects  in  their 
future,  the  clouds  gather  and  a 
tempest  bursts  with  incredible  fury 
over  the  fairest  provinces  of  Europe ! 
And  Lord  Granville  is  simple  enough 
to  hurry  down  to  the  House  of  Lords 
and  announce  that  he  and  his  Under- 
Secretary,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  Ad- 
ministration, are  taken  by  surprise. 
Can  such  an  excuse  for  lack  of  fore- 
thought and  prevision  be  accepted  ? 
Is  it  to  be  endured  that  a  rich 
country  like  this,  which  has  its 
ministers  at  every  court,  and  its  con- 
sular agents  supposed  to  have  their 
eyes  open  at  all  the  great  marts  of 
foreign  industry,  shall  not  be  warn- 
ed of  coming  events  so  stupendous 
as  have  marked  the  progress  of  the 
last  six  months'?  Frankly,  we  do 
not  believe  in  the  utter  ignorance 
that  was  pretended.  Enough  had 
been  shown  in  the  Luxembourg  con- 
troversy of  the  spirit  which  animated 
both  France  and  Prussia,  to  put 
statesmen  gifted  with  ordinary  pru- 
dence upon  their  guard.  And  one 
such  statesman  the  Cabinet  was  sup- 
posed to  boast  of,  while  yet  Lord 
Clarendon  lived — a  man  trained  to 
his  craft  by  long  residence  abroad, 
and  a  familiar  acquaintance  with 
the  political  views  of  foreign  Govern- 
ments. Whether  Lord  Clarendon 
warned  his  colleagues  of  the  danger 
that  threatened  the  peace  of  Europe, 
and  urged  them  to  postpone  their 
economic  hobbies  till  England 
should  be  in  a  position  to  make  her 
influence  felt  abroad,  we  have  no 
means  of  judging.  It  seems  more 
than  probable  that  he  did,  though 
doubtless  with  that  diffidence,  that 
disinclination  to  hold  his  own  in 
dispute,  which  was  the  weak  point 
in  his  character.  Be  this  as  it  may, 


1871.] 


Position  of  the  Government. 


2G7 


we  all  know  how  the  occasion  was 
dealt  with.  Either  the  Cabinet  re- 
fused to  recognise  the  approach  of 
danger,  or  they  counted  on  being 
able  by  moral  suasion  to  aveit  it 
again,  as  it  had  been  averted  before. 
While  the  rest  of  Europe  was 
arming,  they  hastened  to  disarm. 
Trained  soldiers  were  discharged ; 
ships  of  war  were  put  out  of  com- 
mission ;  magazines  were  emptied ; 
arsenals  silenced.  Not  since  just 
before  the  outbreak  of  the  first 
French  Revolution  was  England  so 
powerless  as  in  last  July,  and  the 
consequences  are  upon  us. 

We  have  spoken  elsewhere  about 
the  origin  of  the  Franco-German  war, 
throwing  the  chief  blame — where  we 
still  believe  it  ought  to  rest — upon 
the  French  nation.  Their  wounded 
vanity  would  not  endure  that  Prus- 
sia should  exercise  greater  influence 
in  Europe  than  themselves,  and 
they  seized  the  opportunity  which 
the  candidature  of  a  German  prince 
for  the  Spanish  throne  afforded,  to 
measure  swords  with  their  military 
rivals.  It  is  the  fashion  now  to 
gay,  that  not  the  nation  but  the 
Emperor  sought  the  war.  This  is 
a  false  representation  of  the  case. 
Probably,  had  the  Emperor  shown 
too  ready  a  disposition  to  accept 
the  withdrawal  of  the  candidate  as 
closing  the  controversy,  he  might 
have  damaged  himself  in  public 
opinion.  And  such  damage  to  him- 
self, circumstanced  as  he  then  was, 
would  have  been  fatal,  sooner  or 
later,  to  his  dynasty.  But  no  as- 
sertion can  be  less  correct  than  that 
he  dragged  the  nation  into  war  for 
dynastic  purposes.  It  is  true  that 
he  gave  his  voice  for  war  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  majority  of  his  Cabinet, 
— but  what  then?  He  could  not 
help  himself.  The  people  were  in  a 
state  of  mind  which  a  telegram,  im- 
perfectly deciphered,  as  subsequent- 
ly proved  to  be  the  case,  lashed  into 
frenzy;  and  the  sole  choice  left  to  the 


Emperor  was,  to  direct  the  tide  by 
going  with  it,  or  to  be  swept  away 
by  it.  Had  England  been  prepared 
at  that  moment  to  say  that  she 
could  not  permit  the  war — had  she 
been  able  to  show  that  her  sword 
was  of  weight  enough  to  turn  the 
scale  against  whichever  Power  fired 
the  first  shot — we  no  more  doubt 
than  we  doubt  our  own  existence 
that  not  a  shot  would  have  been 
fired.  Prussia  did  not  desire  war, 
though  well  prepared  to  accept  it. 
Napoleon  needed  only  some  fair 
excuse  to  hold  back  from  it ;  be- 
cause, both  from  policy  and  from  na- 
tural temperament,  Napoleon  III. 
hates  war.  But  England  had  no 
sword  to  fling  into  either  scale. 
The  Government  knew  this,  and, 
venturing  upon  nothing  beyond  a 
remonstrance,  they  proclaimed  their 
own  neutrality,  and  left  two  nations 
— towards  both  of  whom  they  pro- 
fessed the  most  friendly  sentiments 
— to  rush  at  each  other's  throats 
and  fight  it  out. 

It  has  been  our  misfortune  for 
many  years  back — indeed,  ever  since 
the  Manchester  school  got  into  the 
ascendant — to  have  pressed  upon 
us,  in  newspapers,  in  pamphlets, 
and  speeches,  both  on  stump  and 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  that  the 
first  duty  of  the  Government  is  to 
avoid  mixing  up  England  in  the 
affairs  of  other  countries — in  other 
words,  that  it  is  both  prudent  and 
praiseworthy  to  abstain  from  trying 
to  exercise  any  influence  beyond  the 
four  seas,  except  such  as  may  induce 
foreign  nations  to  receive  our  cotton 
goods,  and  to  give  us  in  exchange  their 
silks  and  wines  and  corn  on  fair  terms. 
The  old  doctrine  of  the  balance  of 
power  in  Europe  is  quite  gone  out 
of  date,  and  in  its  room  we  are  urged 
to  accept  it  as  a  political  axiom,  that 
all  nations,  and  especially  an  insular 
nation  like  England,  best  consult 
their  own  honour  and  safety  if  they 
decline  to  interfere  in  the  quarrels 


268 


Position  of  the  Government. 


[Feb. 


of  other  nations,  as  soon  as  these 
pass  out  of  the  sphere  of  peaceful 
arbitration.  A  little  passing  incon- 
venience may  from  time  to  time  be 
occasioned  by  rigid  adherence  to  this 
principle.  But  the  principle,  as  it 
is  a  sound  one,  so  in  time  it  will  be 
recognised  all  over  the  world,  and  the 
policies  of  nations  become,  for  the  pro- 
motion of  the  arts  of  peace,  a  sort  of 
federal  policy  ;  in  matters  which  are 
not  peaceable,  one  of  strict  isolation. 
For  the  world  has  learned  much 
since  the  days  of  our  grandfathers. 
Material  wealth,  substantial  com- 
forts, these  are  the  great  objects  for 
which  nations  as  well  as  individuals 
now  live ;  and  the  nation  which 
keeps  this  great  truth  most  con- 
stantly in  view,  must  in  the  end 
take  the  lead  of  all  other  nations. 
This  view  of  things  culminated,  we 
believe,  about  the  period  of  the  first 
International  Exhibition.  Wars 
were  ended  then,  the  reign  of  peace 
had  set  in,  and  the  best  thing  Eng- 
land could  do  was  to  disband  her 
armies,  lay  up  her  fleet  in  ordinary, 
and  try  to  become  the  workshop  of 
the  world. 

It  would  be  to  repeat  a  tale  thrice 
told  were  we  to  show  how,  year 
after  year,  subsequently  to  this 
closing  of  the  temple  of  Janus,  events 
more  and  more  falsified  the  anticipa- 
tions of  our  philosophical  instruc- 
tors. Human  nature  seemed  to 
take  part  against  them.  Nations, 
like  individuals,  continued  to  be 
moved  by  more  than  a  regard  to 
material  advantages,  and  persisted 
in  acting  one  towards  another  as 
ambition,  national  jealousies,  and 
rivalries  might  suggest.  How  long 
was  it  after  1852  before  peaceful 
England  found  herself  involved  in 
war  with  Russia  ?  What  has  been 
going  on  in  Italy  since  that  date  ] 
Even  the  great  Western  Republic, 
having  nobody  else  to  contend  against, 
battled  with  herself ;  while,  at  the 
same  time,  she  so  interfered  in  the 


internal  affairs  of  Mexico  as  to 
deprive  that  unhappy  country  of 
her  last  hope  of  getting  a  Govern- 
ment strong  enough  to  substitute 
for  anarchy  the  reign  of  law.  And 
when  we  turn  our  eyes  elsewhere, 
what  is  the  spectacle  that  meets 
them  ?  In  Spain,  revolution.  In 
France,  whether  Republic  or  Im- 
perial, a  determination  to  give  the 
law  to  all  her  neighbours,  mixed  up 
with  an  irrepressible  yearning  for 
territorial  aggrandisement.  In  Ger- 
many we  see  an  ambition,  laudable 
perhaps  in  principle,  but  in  its 
development  overriding  all  consid- 
erations of  justice  and  equity — that 
nations  cognate,  yet  weak  because 
they  stand  apart,  should  become 
one.  The  events  to  which  this 
ambition  led  are  fresh  in  our 
memories,  if  indeed  they  can  as  yet 
be  said  to  have  summed  themselves 
up.  For  successful  war  is  a  mighty 
instrument  to  change  the  dispositions 
both  of  peoples  and  their  rulers. 
And  the  German  tongue  is  spoken 
elsewhere  beyond  the  geographical 
limits  of  Germany  than  in  Alsace 
and  part  of  Lorraine.  Meanwhile 
Russia  is  gathering  up  her  strength, 
and  more  than  repairing  the  damage 
that  she  took  at  the  hands  of  Eng- 
land and  France  sixteen  years  ago. 
Austria,  too,  weakened  as  she  is, 
still  puts ,  herself  in  an  attitude  of 
defence ;  and  all  the  smaller  states — 
Holland,  Belgium,  Switzerland — 
are  bristling  with  bayonets.  Now, 
these  results  did  not  come  about  in 
a  day.  Continental  Europe  has 
been  a  huge  camp  for  not  far  short 
of  twenty  years,  without,  as  it  would 
seem,  giving  an  hour's  serious  un- 
easiness to  the  Liberal  Governments 
which  have  in  this  country  succeed- 
ed one  another.  Only  during  the 
brief  reigns  of  the  Tories  —  first 
in  1859,  next  in  1867 — was  any- 
thing done  to  keep  us  abreast 
of  the  warlike  preparations  going 
on  elsewhere ;  and  invariably  on 


1871.] 


Position  of  the  Government. 


269 


the  return  of  their  rivals  to 
Downing  Street,  the  work  which 
the  Tories  had  begun  was  interrupt- 
ed, and,  as  far  as  it  was  possible,  an- 
nulled. But  if  they  kept  down  the 
fighting  powers  of  the  nation,  the 
Liberals  found  ample  employment 
in  remodelling  the  machinery  by 
which  both  navy  and  army  used 
to  be  directed.  How  mischievous 
this  policy  of  change  has  been  in 
the  case  of  the  navy,  we  took  occa- 
sion so  long  back  as  June  of  last 
year  to  show.  In  the  article  for  that 
month,  entitled  "  The  Admiralty," 
the  writer,  Admiral  Martin,  whom 
we  need  not  now  hesitate  to  name, 
proves  to  demonstration  that  the  old 
Board  of  Admiralty,  though  not  per- 
fect (what  human  institution  is?), 
was  a  thousand-fold  better  suited 
than  the  new  for  the  wise  administra- 
tion of  that  branch  of  the  public 
service  over  which  it  was  set.  "  In 
such  a  department  as  the  Admi- 
ralty "  (we  quote  from  the  paper  in 
question)  "  there  must  be  distinct 
branches,  which  ought  to  work  with 
a  mutual  and  earnest  desire  to  as- 
sist each  other  in  a  common  purpose, 
and  for  a  common  credit.  These 
ends  were  attained  by  the  branches 
being  severally  allotted  to  differ- 
ent members  of  the  Board,  who, 
collectively  in  council,  determined 
on  all  matters  tending  to  change 
any  established  principle  of  the  ser- 
vice, as  well  as  on  all  measures  of 
importance.  '  Boards,'  as  these 
meetings  were  called,  were  held 
daily,  or  very  frequently  during 
each  week  ;  and  their  decisions, 
which  were  at  once  minuted,  were 
paramount  in  every  branch.  The 
branches  being  superintended  each 
by  a  member  of  the  Board,  mea- 
sures were  systematically  under- 
taken, unexpected  hindrances  were 
encountered,  and  unexpected  facili- 
ties were  improved  by  a  correspond- 
ing adjustment  of  work.  Each 
superintendent  of  a  branch  being 


a  party  to  the  decisions,  an  indivi- 
dual character  was  as  certainly  im- 
parted to  the  results  as  if  they  had 
issued  from  one  person  only.  But 
setting  aside  theory,  undoubtedly 
this  system,  approved  by  such  Min- 
isters as  Sir  James  Graham,  Sir 
Francis  Baring,  Lord  Halifax,  and 
the  Duke  of  Somerset,  after  each 
had  enjoyed  many  years'  experience 
of  Admiralty  business,  is  likely  not 
only  to  possess  merit,  but  merit  of 
the  highest  order." 

"Whatever  merit  might  attach  to 
the  system,  it  received  no  recogni- 
tion from  Mr  Childers.  Bringing 
to  a  great  department  of  State  the 
views  of  a  trader,  he  no  sooner 
found  himself  in  power  than  he 
proceeded  to  revolutionise  the  entire 
office.  "  The  Board  meetings  have 
been  discontinued  in  any  proper 
sense,  and  most  important  measures 
have  been  acted  upon  by  some 
Lords,  of  which  other  Lords  have 
known  nothing."  "  The  notorious 
result  of  the  altered  organisation  of 
the  Admiralty  is  an  absence  of  any 
common  principle  of  professional 
policy,  a  want  of  concert  among  the 
branches,  conflicting  regulations, 
and  ill-advised  orders.  In  short,  it 
is  admitted  by  those  who  are  com- 
petent to  judge  of  the  manner  in 
which  Admiralty  business  is  con- 
ducted, that  the  changes  in  the  con- 
stitution of  the  department  would 
have  subverted  its  administrative 
powers,  even  had  the  branches  been 
under  the  guidance  of  the  most 
discreet  and  the  wisest  men.  The 
chaos  into  which  the  Admiralty  is 
plunged,  shows  that  the  Lords  are 
unequal  to  their  work." 

That  this  sentence,  pronounced 
upon  the  Admiralty  as  now  consti- 
tuted, by  one  whose  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  the  service  gives 
enormous  weight  to  his  opinions, 
is  not  too  severe,  there  needs  but  a 
glance  into  recent  proceedings  to 
demonstrate.  The  office,  in  Mr 


270 


Position  of  the  Government. 


[Fe*. 


Childers's  hands,  has  become  disor- 
ganised.* It  is  discourteous  to  all 
who  have  business  of  any  kind  to 
transact  with  it.  "  Its  harsh  treat- 
ment of  civilians,  its  want  of  sym- 
pathy for  the  active  service,  and  the 
disdainful  extinction  of  the  naval 
element  at  the  Board,  have  destroyed 
feelings  the  loss  of  which  is  deplor- 
able." One  would  really  think, 
Avhile  reading  these  details,  that 
it  was  the  War  Office,  not  the 
office  in  "Whitehall,  of  which  the 
portrait  is  presented.  For  thus  the 
story  continues  to  run  :  "  The  dan- 
gerous theory,  that  the  navy  should 
be  ruled  absolutely  by  a  Minister, 
in  the  sense  that  his  professional 
advisers  shall  be  released  from  re- 
sponsibility, is  avowedly  brought 
into  practice  at  the  Admiralty.  If 
the  naval  advisers  of  the  Minis- 
ter are  to  be  absolved  from  direct 
official  responsibility  to  Parliament, 
a  great  national  danger  is  incurred." 
Again,  after  pointing  out  how  idle 
it  would  be  to  rest,  as  Mr  Childers 
is  disposed  to  do,  upon  private 
yards,  for  the  construction  and  main- 
tenance of  the  fleet,  the  writer  goes 
on  to  say  : — 

"A  very  objectionable  change  has 
just  been  made  in  the  dockyard 
administration,  by  abolishing  the 
storekeepers,  and  transferring  their 
departments,  as  well  as  that  of  the 
engineers,  to  the  master  shipwright. 
This  will  increase  a  previously-ex- 
isting evil;  for  the  master  shipwright 
has  been  so  much  confined  to  his 
office  that  he  could  not  sufficiently 
supervise  the  building  and  equipping 
of  ships.  It  is,  moreover,  fatal  to 
the  important  principle  (so  essential 
for  any  effectual  control  of  ex- 
penditure), that  the  person  issu- 


ing stores  ought  not  to  be  he 
who  expends  them."  Surely  Mr 
Childers  must  have  taken  counsel 
with  Lord  Northbrooke  before  ar- 
riving at  this  curious  conclusion. 
In  the  Committee  on  Army  Admin- 
istration, over  which  the  noble  Lord 
presided,  and  of  which  the  members 
were  two  civilians — one,  Mr  Stans- 
feld,  Parliamentary  Secretary  to  the 
Treasury;  the  other,  Mr  Anderson, 
of  the  Audit  Department  in  the 
Exchequer — the  idea  of  exercising 
any  check  upon  expenditure,  other 
than  the  party  expending  might 
establish  for  himself,  is  held  up  to 
ridicule.  Verily  we  have  fallen  into 
strange  hands  at  both  the  great 
sources  of  national  expenditure. 
No  wonder  that  the  estimates  con- 
tinued to  go  up  in  spite  of  a 
perpetual  chorus  of  economies.  It 
will  be  well  if  to  this  be  not  added, 
when  the  hour  of  trial  comes,  a 
display  of  inefficiency  which  shall 
prove  fatal  to  our  very  existence. 

Against  that  catastrophe,  so  far 
as  the  navy  is  concerned,  we  have, 
thank  God,  to  oppose  the  indomit- 
able courage  of  British  seamen,  the 
high  training  of  British  officers,  and 
an  ironclad  fleet,  to  which  the 
Tories  gave  the  first  impulse,  and 
which  is  now  more  than  a  match 
for  any  other  two  navies  in  the 
world.  Give  the  fleet  fair  play — in 
other  words,  keep  it  always  in  home 
waters — and  a  descent  upon  our 
shores,  except  for  predatory  pur- 
poses, is  impossible.  But  an  iron 
fleet  which  consists  at  most  of  forty- 
eight  or  fifty  sail,  an  immense  pro- 
portion of  which,  by  the  by,  carries 
armour  only  from  4|  to  6  inches  in 
thickness,  cannot  afford  adequate 
protection  at  once  to  the  English 


*  In  thus  expressing  ourselves  we  desire  to  bring  no  graver  charge  against  Mr 
Childers,  than  that,  in  common  with  his  colleagues  at  the  War  Office,  he  entirely 
mistook  the  proper  objects  for  which  the  office  over  which  he  presides  exists.  Mr 
Childers  is  an  able  man,  whose  state  of  health  all  who  know  him  deplore.  But  he 
lias  not  made  a  good  First  Lord,  any  more  than  Mr  Cardwell  has  made  "a  wise" 
War  Minister. 


1871.] 


Position  of  the  Government. 


271 


coasts,  to  the  colonies,  and  to  the 
maritime  trade  of  the  country.  You 
must  scatter  it  when  war  comes,  be 
the  disinclination  so  to  do  as  strong 
as  it  may;  and  when  scattered,  it 
obviously  runs  the  risk  of  being 
overmatched  somewhere.  Now  this 
somewhere  might  be  in  the  Channel, 
or  the  North  Sea,  or  away  in  the 
Atlantic;  for  Ireland  must  be 
guarded  with  even  greater  jealousy 
than  Great  Britain.  Are  we  acting 
wisely,  then,  in  placing  for  purposes 
of  defence  our  entire  dependence  on 
the  fleet?  The  nation  has  an- 
swered this  question  in  the  negative, 
and  we  have  only  to  indorse  the 
nation's  opinion.  We  cannot  trust, 
even  for  purposes  of  defence,  en- 
tirely to  the  navy.  We  must  have 
a  thoroughly  efficient  army — effi- 
cient in  point  of  numbers,  efficient 
in  organisation  and  armament,  effi- 
cient in  its  system  of  administration 
and  supply — to  act  with  or  sup- 
plement the  fleet.  Have  we  such  an 
army  1  No. 

Again,  there  are  treaties  in  exist- 
ence which  bind  us  to  defend  the 
integrity  of  more  than  one  Conti- 
nental State,  should  it  be  assailed. 
We  are  guarantees  to  Turkey  for  the 
integrity  of  the  Ottoman  Empire. 
We  are  guarantees  to  Portugal,  to 
Belgium,  and  to  Luxembourg,  that 
the  neutrality  of  all  these  shall  be 
observed.  Possibly  the  Ministers 
who  laid  these  obligations  on  the 
country  may  have  committed  an  in- 
discretion ;  but  a  country  cannot, 
any  more  than  an  individual,  escape 
from  its  obligations,  however  in- 
convenient they  may  be:  and  thus, 
whenever  Portugal  or  Turkey,  or 
Belgium  or  Luxembourg,  calls  upon 
us  to  come  to  her  support,  we  must 
go,  or  forfeit  our  good  name  among 
men.  Now,  no  country,  especially 
a  commercial  country  like  England, 
can  afford  to  lose  caste  among  the 
nations.  If  we  be  unable  or  indis- 
posed to  help  those  who  have  a 


right  to  our  support  in  their  hour  of 
danger,  we  shall  soon  find  that  our 
own  hour  of  danger  has  struck.  A 
Power  once  great,  and  still  rich,  no 
sooner  exhibits  signs  of  feebleness 
than  it  becomes  the  object,  first  of 
insult,  and  by-and-by  of  outrage,  to 
other  Powers.  How  long  will  it  be, 
after  we  shuffle  out  of  our  obliga- 
tions to  any  one  of  the  four  states 
just  enumerated,  ere  the  Union-jack 
shall  cease  to  protect  the  merchant 
ships  over  which  it  waves,  and  our 
rights  of  fishery,  both  in  Europe  and 
America,  be  invaded  ?  And  yet, 
were  we  not  on  the  very  point  of 
backing  out  of  our  obligations  to  Bel- 
gium ]  Perhaps  Mr  Gladstone  never 
did  more  damage  to  himself  and  to 
his  Administration  than  he  brought 
upon  both  at  the  opening  of  the 
Franco-Prussian  war.  It  was  not 
enough  that  the  state  of  our  arma- 
ments rendered  interference  on  the 
part  of  England  to  stop  the  war 
impossible.  The  Minister,  when 
questioned  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons respecting  the  intentions  of 
the  Government  in  the  event  of  an 
invasion  of  Belgium  by  either  of  the 
belligerents,  refused  to  give  a  cate- 
gorical answer.  Had  Lord  Gran- 
ville  •  followed  his  example,  and 
practised  like  reticence  in  the  House 
of  Lords,  our  belief  is,  that  in  both 
Houses  a  vote  of  want  of  confi- 
dence in  her  Majesty's  Ministers,  if 
moved,  would  have  been  carried 
by  acclamation. 

But  it  is  not  in  this  particular 
alone  that  the  Government  has  shown 
its  incapacity  to  deal  with  great  na- 
tional difficulties  when  they  arise. 
No  doubt  the  reorganisation  of  the 
military  resources  of  the  country  is 
not  a  work  to  be  performed  in  a  day. 
And  we  can  well  understand  that 
gentlemen,  wholly  unaccustomed 
throughout  their  previous  lives  to 
consider  such  a  subject  otherwise 
than  as  one  carefully  to  be  avoided, 
should  be  at  a  loss  how  to  deal  with 


272 


Position  of  the  Government. 


[Feb. 


the  advice  which  pours  in  upon  them 
like  a  flood  from  all  quarters.  But 
what  we  blame  the  present  Govern- 
ment for  is,  that  they  should  have 
refused  to  seek  advice  earlier,  except 
from  partisans  whose  sole  object 
appears  to  have  been  to  win  their 
favour  by  pressing  forward  reduc- 
tions. For  example,  there  is  no 
excuse — there  can  be  none — for  the 
state  of  absolute  destitution  in  which 
we  suddenly  find  ourselves  in  the 
important  matter  of  serviceable  gun- 
powder. Mr  Cardwell,  when  ques- 
tioned on  that  head  towards  the 
close  of  last  session,  stated  that  the 
magazines  were  full,  and  that  he 
had  facilities  for  producing  in  a  week 
or  a  fortnight  (we  forget  which)  as 
much  powder  as  was  expended  in 
the  siege  of  Sebastopol.  The  state- 
ment was  literally  true,  yet  substan- 
tially most  inaccurate.  The  maga- 
zines are  full  of  old  powder,  the  use 
of  which,  after  a  few  rounds,  would 
disable  the  guns  on  which  we  now 
rely.  Of  pebble-powder,  however, 
which  alone  will  be  used  for  rifled 
artillery  in  future  wars,  there  is  not 
on  hand  more  than  enough  to  supply 
each  gun  which  has  been  lately 
mounted  on  the  defences  with 
twenty-five  rounds.  And  we  are 
buying  it  as  fast  as  we  can  from 
private  makers  at  not  far  short  of 
double  the  price  which,  when  the 
pressure  ceases,  they  will  be  ready 
to  take  for  it. 

It  is  not,  however,  necessary,  con- 
sidering the  exposures  which  it  has 
undergone  elsewhere,  to  demon- 
strate, by  reference  to  example,  in 
this  place,  the  absolute  worthless- 
ness  of  the  military  system,  con- 
sidered as  a  whole,  which  Liberal 
statesmen  have  set  up.  Everything 
connected  with  the  regular  army, 
with  the  militia,  with  the  volunteers 
— their  armament,  their  organisation, 
their  equipment  and  means  of  trans- 
port— is  at  sixes  and  sevens.  Com- 
mittees sit  daily  to  inquire  and  to 


report ;  and  their  printed  reports, 
with  the  evidence  which  they  collect, 
are  cast  aside  as  so  much  waste 
paper.  Lord  Elcho  writes  letters, 
the  tenor  of  which  is  at  variance 
with  what  the  Secretary  of  State  had 
uttered  in  the  House  of  Commons  ; 
and  the  Secretary  of  State,  seizing  the 
occasion  of  the  address  of  the  Green- 
wich electors  to  Mr  Gladstone,  puts 
a  gloss  both  upon  his  own  speech 
and  upon  his  subsequent  conversa- 
tion with  Lord  Elcho,  such  as  the 
noble  lord  can  hardly  fail  to  notice 
when  he  and  Mr  Cardwell  are  sit- 
ting near  each  other  in  the  House. 
Meanwhile  Mr  Cardwell  is  not  idle. 
He  failed  to  get  the  20,000  men 
for  whom  he  took  a  vote  in  August 
last ;  he  is  arranging  to  take  an- 
other vote  for  20,000  men  more,  as 
soon  as  Parliament  meets.  Will 
he  get  them  ]  If  he  was  slack  pre- 
viously to  July  1870  in  providing 
proper  armament  for  our  forts  and 
ships  and  men,  he  is  pushing  on 
the  operation  now  with  great  vig- 
our. There  is  reason  to  believe, 
also,  that,  advised  by  Sir  William 
Mansfield,  he  had  arranged  a  plan 
of  extensive  and  national  military 
organisation.  The  exact  amount 
to  be  added  to  the  estimates  was 
even  named  —  viz.,  four  millions. 
But  the  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer, when  appealed  to,  de- 
nounced the  scheme  as  preposter- 
ous, and  refused  point-blank  to  go 
beyond  two  millions  in  excess  of 
what  was  voted  for  the  service  last 
year.  Hence  the  miserable  pro- 
gramme of  which,  by  some  means 
or  another,  the  '  Standard '  got  pos- 
session, and  with  which,  as  all  that 
the  Government  means  to  attempt, 
the  Houses  are  expected  to  be  con- 
tent. How  the  Houses  may  treat 
the  announcement  that  we  are  to 
be  put  off  again  with  a  paltry  in- 
crease to  the  regular  army,  it  is  not 
for  us  to  guess.  But  two  points 
seem  quite  clear.  The  country  is 


1871.] 


Position  of  the  Government. 


273 


perfectly  well  aware — first,  that  of 
the  20,000  men  voted  last  year 
not  10,000  were  enlisted ;  and 
next,  that  if  thrice  10,000  men 
were  added  to  the  regular  army 
this  year,  we  should  still  be 
contemptible  in  the  presence  of 
such  an  emergency  as  the  present. 
The  country  will  therefore  reject 
the  paltry  proposal  if  it  be  made, 
and  insist  upon  one  of  two  things 
— either  that  the  present  Ministers 
do  their  duty,  or  that  they  make 
way  for  others  who  will. 

It  is  for  these  and  other  reasons, 
to  enumerate  all  of  which  would 
overstep  the  limits  at  our  command, 
that  an  Administration  which  came 
into  office  borne  breast-high  on  the 
tide  of  popularity  is  fast  becoming 
— we  may  rather  say  has  already 
become — an  object  of  distrust  to  the 
whole  empire.  The  incapacity  of 
its  chief  to  deal  with  foreign  affairs 
is  scarcely  more  fatal  to  his  influ- 
ence than  the  line  which  it  pleases 
him  to  take  in  domestic  matters. 
On  all  sides  we  hear  the  question 
asked,  What  is  Mr  Gladstone  ?  Is 
it  because  he  has  joined  the  com- 
munion of  the  Church  of  Rome  that 
he  writes  to  one  man  about  sustain- 
ing the  Supreme  Pontiff  in  the  in- 
dependent exercise  of  his  spiritual 
functions ;  and  when  fairly  and 
frankly  taxed  with  apostasy  by 
another,  that  instead  of  treating 
the  impertinence  with  the  contempt 
which  it  deserved,  he  fences  with  the 
charge  while  seeming  to  rebut  it? 
Is  it  because  he  thinks  of  playing 
a  Palmerstonian  game,  that  he 
fills  his  Cabinet  with  old  Whigs, 
leaving  his  Radical  friends  out  in 
the  cold  ?  Is  it  because  he  is  still 
at  heart  a  Eadical,  bent  on  further 
constitutional  changes,  that  he  ac- 
cepts with  gratitude  the  address 
of  the  extreme  Liberals  of  Green- 
wich, and  thus  keeps  his1  seat  for 
a  borough  which  has  invited  him 
to  resign  ?  Is  he  playing  fast  and 


loose  with  Dr  Candlish  in  Scot- 
land, with  Cardinal  Cullen  in  Ire- 
land, with  Mr  Miall  in  England  ? 
Is  his  mind  so  wholly  engrossed  with 
parish  matters  that  he  cannot  give  a 
thought  to  those  imperial  questions, 
on  the  right  solution  of  which  will 
depend  our  existence  as  a  great 
Power  now  and  for  evermore  1  People 
blame  Mr  Cardwell,  Mr  Childers, 
and  Mr  Lowe.  They  deserve  to  be 
blamed,  each  in  his  own  degree. 
But  the  great  culprit  of  all  is  he 
who  formed  the  Administration, 
and  presides  over  it,  and  against 
whose  deliberate  judgment  no  oppo- 
sition could  prevail,  if  he  were  cap- 
able of  taking  a  correct  view  of 
what  the  country  really  needs,  and 
of  the  measures  to  be  pursued  in 
order  to  supply  them.  Yet  this 
man  can  find  time,  or  the  world 
belies  him,  to  write  at  least  one 
paper  for  a  Review,  of  which  the 
obvious  effect  must  be,  accepting 
the  fact  of  its  authorship,  to  exag- 
gerate against  England  the  just  in- 
dignation of  Germany.  Mr  Glad- 
stone has  done  many  foolish  things 
in  his  day,  and  said  very  many 
foolish  and  mischievous  things.  But 
anything  at  once  so  mischievous 
and  insane  as  the  inditing  of  the 
essay  to  which  we  refer,  it  is  hardly 
possible  to  conceive  that  even  he 
could  have  committed.  For  our- 
selves, we  discredit  the  story,  and 
only  wonder  that,  for  his  own  sake, 
ho  should  hesitate  to  get  rid  of 
such  a  serious  imputation  by  frankly 
and  openly  contradicting  it. 

On  the  whole,  then,  our  position 
seems  to  be  this :  We  have  the 
misfortune  to  have  at  the  seat  of 
power  a  body  of  men  who  won  their 
way  to  the  places  which  they  still 
hold  by  bidding  against  the  great 
institutions  of  the  country.  The 
particular  measures  which  they  un- 
dertook to  carry  they  carried  trium- 
phantly. But  those  who  lifted  them 
into  office  desire  a  great  deal  more  ; 


Position  of  the  Government. 


[Feb. 


and  because  they  hesitate  and  hang 
back,  their  quondam  friends  fall  out 
with  them.  The  men  thus  lifted 
into  power  on  the  crest  of  a  revolu- 
tionary Avave,  have  no  notion  of 
governing  on  imperial  principles. 
They  never  look  beyond  the  require- 
ments of  the  hour  —  their  beau 
ideal  of  policy  is  to  diminish  taxa- 
tion. The  colonies  and  dependen- 
cies of  England,  on  which,  to  use  a 
well-worn  phrase,  "  the  sun  never 
sets,"  are  to  them  as  if  they  had  110 
claim  on  their  attention.  These  two 
small  islands,  with  the  wants  and 
wishes  of  their  inhabitants — often 
unreasonable,  not  unfrequently  un- 
just— engross  the  whole  of  their  care, 
and  that,  too,  after  a  fashion  which 
makes  them  perfectly  indifferent  in 
regard  to  the  terms  in  which  they 
are  spoken  of  by  other  nations  all 
over  the  world.  They  cannot  see 
that  a  people  which  is  both  hated 
and  envied  must  sooner  or  later 
be  struck  at.  They  have  not  the 
heart  to  resent  insults,  or  to  put 
themselves  in  a  plight  to  resist  more 
serious  aggressions.  "Will  the  coun- 
try endure  that  this  state  of  things 
should  last?  Oh,  but  who  is  to 
succeed,  then]  Well,  there  is  a 
difficulty  there.  What  could  induce 
Lord  Derby  to  commit  himself,  as 
he  did,  to  a  policy  of  national  de- 
fence so  puerile  as  that  which  he 
expounded  to  the  volunteers  of  East 
Lancashire?  Why  is  Lord  Salis- 
bury silent  ?  If  he  had  been  pre- 
sent at  the  distribution  of  prizes  to 
the  London  Scottish,  and  backed 


up,  as  we  cannot  doubt  that  he 
would  have  done,  Sir  William  Mans- 
field's soldierly  and  statesman-like 
view  of  the  crisis,*  he  would  have 
fixed  upon  himself  the  eyes  of  that 
large  and  increasing  number  of  men 
who  need  but  the  appearance  of  a 
competent  leader  to  form  themselves 
into  a  party  divorced  from  worn-out 
traditions,  or  banded  together  for  the 
defence  of  the  country  and  its  honour. 
But  the  question  of  a  Government 
to  succeed  the  present  has  not  yet 
been  raised.  We  have  Mr  Glad- 
stone and  his  friends,  and  we  may 
be  obliged  to  keep  them ;  or  if,  as  is 
possible,  they  break  down,  it  would 
be  a  libel  on  the  intelligence  of  the 
country  to  suppose  that  then  must 
come  the  Deluge.  For  ourselves,  we 
do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  we  an- 
xiously desire  to  see  the  best  of  the 
moderate  men  on  both  sides — the 
best  of  moderate  Liberals  and  the 
best  of  moderate  Conservatives  — 
come  together  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  saving  the  monarchy,  and  giving 
back  to  it  its  legitimate  place  in 
Europe. 

That  our  present  rulers  are  cap- 
able of  effecting  these  ends,  neither 
their  friends  of  the  press,  nor  their 
quondam  supporters  among  the  con- 
stituencies, seem  any  longerto  believe. 
Of  the  frame  of  mind  into  which 
the  electors  are  falling,  some  very 
curious  specimens  are  now  before 
us.  Take  the  following  as  not  the 
least  remarkable  among  them. 

Three  Liberal  statesmen — two  of 
them  actual  members,  the  third  an 


*  We  must  guard  ourselves  against  assenting  to  the  whole  of  Sir  William  Mans- 
field's views.  His  proposal  to  limit  the  command  of  a  regiment  to  five  years—  because 
for  five  years  only  a  brigadier  holds  his  command — is  astounding.  We  had  thought 
that  regiments  were  regarded  as  families — that  the  beauty  of  our  system  was  in  so  deal- 
ing with  them.  But  if  you  change  your  lieutenant-colonels  every  five  years,  why  not 
your  captains  also  ?  Brigades  change  in  the  regiments  which  compose  them  over  and 
over  again  within  five  years — what  similarity  is  there  between  their  condition  and  that 
of  battalions  ?  Neither  was  Sir  William  more  happy  in  his  reference  to  the  customs 
of  the  navy.  The  wisdom  of  paying  off  ships  only  that  they  may  be  recommissioned 
every  three  years,  is  at  best  questionable.  But  if  the  parallel  is  to  hold,  we  must 
disperse  the  men  of  our  battalions  periodically,  as  the  crews  of  ships  are  dispersed. 
Will  any  man  acquainted  with  the  service  advocate  such  a  proceeding  as  this  ? 


1871.] 


Position  of  the  Government. 


275 


ex-member,  of  the  Administration — 
went  down  the  other  day  to  visit 
their  constituents,  and  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  their  stewardship.  The  two 
gentlemen  still  in  office,  Mr  Forster 
and  Mr  Stansfeld,  met  with  a  recep- 
tion the  very  reverse  of  cordial.  The 
former,  while  the  meeting  was  in 
progress,  heard  himself  roughly  con- 
demned by  many  voices ;  and,  at  the 
close  of  the  day,  a  vote  of  cen- 
sure was  carried  against  him  for  the 
part  which  he  played  in  promoting 
the  Government  scheme  of  National 
Education.  The  latter,  because  he 
avowed  himself  antagonistic  to  the 
opinions  on  that  head  entertained 
by  his  colleague,  was  so  far  favoured 
that  his  constituents  condescended 
to  signify  their  approbation.  But 
this  did  not  prevent  the  meeting 
from  expressing  entire  want  of  confi- 
dence in  the  Government,  and  forc- 
ing their  member,  in  his  attempt 
at  a  defence,  into  the  utterance  of 
the  vaguest  and  most  self-contradic- 
tory platitudes.  Very  different  was 
the  treatment  awarded  to  Mr  Ot- 
way,  who,  disapproving  the  policy 
of  the  Government,  had  resigned 
his  place  as  Under-Secretary  of 
State  for  Foreign  Affairs,  and  be- 
come an  independent  member  of  Par- 
liament. For  him  the  electors  of 
Chatham  could  not  say  too  much. 
When  he  ceased  to  speak  in  mea- 
sured terms  of  condemnation  about 
his  late  colleagues  and  their  doings, 
a  resolution  was  passed,  by  an  over- 
whelming majority,  "  expressing 
entire  satisfaction  with  his  public 
conduct,  and  pledging  the  meeting 
to  give  to  him  their  entire  confidence 
and  support." 

These  are  ominous  occurrences, 
more  than  justifying  what  we  have 
said  elsewhere  respecting  the  posi- 
tion of  the  Government,  yet  they 
are  scarcely  more  ominous  than  the 
comments  made  upon  them  by  the 
'Times.'  On  the  21st  of  January 
last,  an  article  appeared  in  that 

VOL.  CIX. — NO.  DCLXIV. 


journal,  which,  after  analysing  fairly, 
and  therefore  with  great  damage  to 
her  Majesty's  Ministers,  the  pro- 
ceedings at  Bradford,  Halifax,  and 
Chatham,  concludes  thus: — 

"There  is  no  wish  either  in  Parliament 
or  the  country  to  upset  the  present  Gov- 
ernment, yet  it  is  better  the  truth  should 
be  told.  There  is  an  uneasiness,  a  certain 
amount  of  dissatisfaction,  of  vague  discon- 
tent^ want  of  perfect  confidence,  manifest- 
ed by  a  thousand  signs  to  those  who  keep 
their  eyes  open  to  see  what  is  to  be  seen. 
Men  say  that  the  strongest  of  the  Minis- 
ters bury  themselves  in  their  departments ; 
the  way  in  which  they  avoided  meeting 
during  the  autumn  was  a  scandal ;  and 
there  is  a  fear — which  cannot,  perhaps,  be 
supported  by  strict  evidence — that  when 
they  meet  they  shrink  from  difficult  ques- 
tions, turn  away  their  eyes  from  hard 
tasks,  and  hope  that  by  some  wonderful 
luck  such  difficulties  may  be  got  rid  of  by 
being  left  alone.  Hence,  possibly,  an 
almost  jealous  attention  was  devoted  to 
Mr  Stansfeld's  speech.  A  modification  of 
the  Ministry  is  imminent,  or  is  even  now 
in  progress,  and  Mr  Stansfeld  is  named  as 
the  man  who  is  to  come  into  the  Cabinet 
as  the  representative  of  advanced  Liber- 
alised— of  the  party  that  has  ideas  and 
aims.  Under  such  circumstances,  what  is 
to  be  said  of  his  speech  on  Thursday  at 
Halifax  ?  It  is  a  bad  copy  of  the  bad 
manner  of  his  master.  It  may  advance 
him  at  once  to  a  seat  in  the  Cabinet — for 
•no  flattery  is  so  sweet  as  imitation — but  it 
will  not  advance  him  in  the  judgment  of 
the  public.  We  exhort  him  to  stop  in 
his  career  of  declension  before  it  is  too  late. 
Let  him  get  back  out  of  the  bad  way  with 
all  speed,  and  we  will  do  our  best  to  for- 
get that  he  ever  wandered  into  it." 

Meanwhile  in  Ireland  the  plot 
thickens.  The  attempt  to  assassi- 
nate Supple,  the  police  constable, 
has  brought  to  light  a  state  of  things 
more  alarming  than  our  worst  fears 
had  represented  it  to  be.  "  Per- 
sons," we  quote  from  the  '  Dublin 
Evening  Mail,'  "  who  have  been  for 
some  time  under  the  special  protec- 
tion of  the  police,  have  withdrawn 
themselves  from  that  guardianship, 
and  thought  it  wiser  to  pay  black- 
mail to  the  Ribbon  exchequer  than 
to  rely  upon  the  law  of  the  land. 
This  is  openly  said,  and  the  English 


276 


Position  of  the  Government. 


[Feb.  1871. 


Government  should  be  made  aware 
of  the  fact."  "  The  reign  of  terror 
is  not  narrowed  to  Westmeath  only, 
but  those  who  know  the  country 
well  say  openly  that  the  persons 
who  maintain  the  Eibbon  system 
there  are  well  known,  and  that  they 
could  be  easily  laid  hold  of."  Nor 
are  things  much  better  nearer  to 
Downing  Street.  When  volunteers 
hold  public  meetings  to  protest 
against  orders  issued  from  the  War 
Office,  and  when  the  protesters  are 
sustained  and  urged  on  by  leading 
demagogues,  not  being  volunteers,  to 
assert  their  rights  as  English  citizens, 
the  work  cut  out  both  for  the  War 
Minister  and  for  the  Home  Secre- 
tary would  appear  to  be  serious.  On 
the  whole,  our  prospects,  whether 
we  look  abroad  or  at  home,  do  not 
become  brighter  the  closer  we  ex- 
amine them. 

P.S. — Just  as  the  above  sentences 
were  going  to  press,  an  original  and 
curious  correspondence  between  Mr 
Arthur  Kinnaird  and  Mr  Gladstone 
came  under  our  notice.  The  Liberal 
and  pious  member  for  Perth  seems 
to  have  been  greatly  scandalised  by 
Mr  Gladstone's  epistolary  intercourse 
with  Mr  Dease.  In  conjunction 
with  his  friend  Mr  J.  Chambers,  he 
protests  formally  against  the  Pre- 
mier's phraseology,  and  forthwith 
sees  and  converses  with  him  there- 
anent.  Still  dissatisfied  or  in  doubt  as 
to  the  right  honourable  gentleman's 
meaning,  he  writes  again,  after  an 
interval  of  a  fortnight ;  but,  on  this 


occasion,  in    a  more  familiar  style. 
We  should  spoil  the  effect  of  this 
subsidiary  correspondence  were  Ave 
to  give  it  otherwise  than  in  full. 
"  PALL  MALL,  Jan.  19,  1871. 

"Mv  DEAR  GLADSTONE, — With  refer- 
ence to  our  interviews  about  your  letter 
to  Mr  Dease,  am  I  right  in  distinctly 
understanding  from  you,  that  the  expres- 
sions used  by  you  were  in  no  wise  in- 
tended to  pledge  the  Government  to  do 
anything  to  mix  itself  up  in  any  manner 
with  the  Pope's  spiritual  power,  but 
merely  designed  to  express  their  readiness, 
should  any  restraint  be  placed  upon  his 
person  and  personal  acts  by  the  civil 
power  contrary  to  the  principles  of  complete 
civil  and  religious  liberty,  to  represent 
this  personal  grievance  to  the  State  and 
Government,  especially  bearing  in  mind 
that  the  many  millions  of  British  subjects 
are  interested  in  him,  through  their  re- 
ligious connection  with  him  ?  —  Ever 
yours  most  truly,  A.  KINNAIRD. 

"The  Right  Hon.  W.  E.  GLADSTONE." 

The  idea  of  securing  civil  and 
religious  liberty  to  the  Pope  is 
comical  enough.  The  laboured  and 
awkward  terms  in  which  the  whole 
question  is  put  are  not  less  so. 
Here  is  the  reply: — 

"CARLTON  TERRACE,  Jan.  19,  1871. 

"MY  DEAR  KINNAIBD, — You  have  quite 
accurately   understood  those  expressions 
in  my  letter  to  Mr  Dease  to  which  you 
refer.     With  many  thanks,  truly  yours, 
"W.  E.  GLADSTONE. 

"Mr  A.  KINNAIRD,  M.P." 

Comment  upon  these  epistles 
would  be  superfluous.  We  com- 
mend them  to  the  serious  attention 
of  Cardinal  Cullen,  Dr  Candlish, 
Mr  Miall,  and  Mr  Punch. 


Printed  by  William  Blackwood  <L-  Suns,  Edinburgh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBUKGH    MAGAZINE. 


DCLXV. 


MARCH  1871. 


YOL.  CIX. 


FAIR  TO   SEE. — PAET   III. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  programme  of  the  Cairnarvoch 
party  for  the  13th  of  August  had 
been  to  shoot  over  some  ground 
lying  near  home,  not  to  start  till 
after  the  family  breakfast,  and  to 
make  a  short  and  easy  day  of  it. 
The  plan  was,  however,  upset,  as 
so  many  plans  of  the  sort  are,  in 
the  Highlands,  by  the  weather. 
The  sun  had  gone  down  upon  the 
12th  in  a  blaze  of  glory,  and  Ben 
Scarrig,  where  his  last  rays  lingered, 
had  signalled  from  cloudless  glit- 
tering peaks  all  manner  of  golden 
promises  for  the  morrow ;  but  a  sud- 
den change  had  set  in  after  mid- 
night, and  a  mournful  tableau  it 
was  which  met  the  eyes  of  the 
sportsmen  when  the  inexorable 
reveille  of  Hamish  M'Erracher 
roused  them  from  their  slumbers. 
The  mountains  were  swathed  in 
horrible  wet-blankets  of  cloud.  On 
the  lower  hills  the  pine-trees  loomed 
through  stagnant  mists  with  a  de- 
jected, blue-devilly  aspect.  The 
linn  and  the  swollen  river  moaned 
wearily,  •  wearily ;  but,  save  for 

VOL,    CIX. — NO.    DCLXV. 


their  monotonous  lamentation,*  a 
dumb  and  dreary  stillness  held  the 
air.  The  rain  fell  perpendicularly, 
and  in  buckets;  for  there  was  not 
a  breath  of  wind,  and  the  motion- 
less clouds  wore  in  their  stolid  im- 
mobility the  look  of  that  most  in- 
veterate class  of  kill-joys  who  have 
"  a  duty  to  perform." 

Even  the  terriers,  who  usually 
hailed  the  piper's  first  note  with  a 
storm  of  rival  howling,  this  morn- 
ing, with  their  quaint  impression- 
ableness  to  the  weather,  only  half 
rose  in  the  various  nooks  where 
they  bestowed  themselves,  and  with 
one  querulous  half-yelp,  half-yawn, 
subsided  again,  and  left  Hamish  un- 
disputed master  of  the  situation. 
It  was,  of  course,  agreed  on  all 
hands  that  shooting  was  out  of  the 
question ;  and  the  party  separated 
after  breakfast  to  do  battle  with  the 
"  enemy  "  according  to  their  several 
inclinations.  Bertrand  and  Pigott 
betook  themselves  to  their  private 
sanctum,  where,  what  with  writing 
letters,  loading  cartridges,  drowsing 


278 


Fair  to  See. — Part  III. 


over  the  newspapers,  abusing  the 
weather,  and  smoking  tobacco,  they 
managed  to  pass  the  forenoon  well 
enough. 

M'Killop  disappeared  with  Tainsh 
into  the  business-room  to  discuss 
the  pros  and  cons  of  a  certain  in- 
vestment in  land  meditated  by  the 
former :  Mrs  M'Killop  went  about 
her  household  cares;  and  Morna, 
finding  that  Mr  Duncanson  was  cut 
adrift,  and  disposed  to  inflict  him- 
self upon  her  for  the  forenoon,  made 
an  early  retreat  to  her  sanctum, 
leaving  the  young  laird  to  his  own 
sweet  thoughts,  and  the  distraction 
of  a  match  between  his  right  hand 
and  his  left  in  the  billiard-room. 

By  these  dispositions,  when  Mrs 
M'Killop  returned  to  the  drawing- 
room  she  found  it  empty;  and 
when,  some  half  an  hour  later,  Mr 
Tainsh  repaired  thither  from  his 
conference  in  the  business-room,  he 
found  that  lady  by  herself;  and  Mr 
Tainsh  was  glad  of  this,  for  a  tete-a- 
tete  with  his  hostess  was  exactly 
what  the  factor  coveted  at  the  time. 
Rather  a  desperate  expedient  for 
killing  a  wet  day,  it  may  appear  at 
first  sight,  but  Mr  Tainsh  had 
something  much  more  serious  in 
view.  We  know  that  the  public 
credited  him  with  matrimonial  in- 
tentions, and  the  imputation  was 
correct ;  and  it  was  because  it  was 
correct,  not  merely  in  a  vague, 
abstract  way  (beyond  which  the 
public  did  not  go),  but  definitely 
and  concretely  so,  that  he  was 
thus  willing  to  face  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop in  her  den,  prepared  even  to 
endure  a  general  parade  and  "  march 
past"  of  her  shadowy  ancestors, 
from  the  days  when  Kenneth,  son 
of  Alpin,  ruled  the  land.  The 
truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  the  fac- 
tor's matrimonial  aspirations  were 
closely  connected  with  a  young  lady 
who  has  not  as  yet  made  her  ap- 
pearance personally  on  our  stage, 
but  who,  from  certain  stray  allusions 


to  her  on  the  part  of  her  step-mother 
and  step-sister,  may  be  expected  to 
be  found  dangerous  to  the  male  sex 
when  she  does  make  her  entree.  It 
is  quite  certain  that  Mr  Tainsh  had 
found  her  so.  Miss  Eila  M'Killop 
had  produced  a  very  powerful  im- 
pression upon  him,  even  at  first 
sight :  he  had  nursed  the  impres- 
sion, and  subsequent  meetings  had 
confirmed  it :  eventually  he  had  set 
himself  in  a  business-like  way  to 
consider  the  pros  and  cons  of  the 
matter ;  and  seeing  no  prudential 
reasons  why  he  should  not  indulge 
his  fancy,  he  had  "concluded"  to 
fall  in  love  with  her,  and  had  done 
so  accordingly.  That  he  had  re- 
ceived encouragement  from  the  lady, 
it  is  not  for  us  to  say ;  but  it  is  very 
possible  that  he  had.  He  was  by  no 
means  ill-favoured  or  disagreeable  in 
his  way :  he  was  reputed  rich :  the 
lady  had  really  no  substantial  reasons 
for  affecting  social  superiority ;  and 
why  not  Tainsh  as  well  as  another  ? 
Besides,  encouragement  by  no  means 
implies  ulterior  consent,  as  many 
dear  but  haggard  readers  must  be 
too  well  aware.  The  neighbour- 
hood of  Cairnarvoch  was  thinly 
peopled ;  visitors  to  the  castle  were 
few  and  far  between;  and  if  a  young 
lady  in  such  a  situation  is  not  to 
keep  her  hand  in  when  chance  occa- 
sions offer,  what,  pray,  is  to  become 
of  her  skill  of  fence  when  the  foil 
is  exchanged  for  the  small  sword, 
and  she  wishes  to  use  the  latter  to 
the  best  advantage  in  real  earnest  ? 
So  it  is  very  probable  that  Mr 
Tainsh  had  something  to  go  upon ; 
but  if  it  were  so,  being  a  prudent 
man,  he  was  anxious  to  know  a 
little  more  about  the  ground  he 
occupied  before  he  took  action  :  he 
was  also  desirous  of  securing  an 
ally ;  and  there  were  one  or  two 
little  matters  of  finance  which,  as  a 
man  of  business,  he  thought  might 
stand  some  elucidation.  And  hence 
his  hardihood  in  plunging  into  a 


1871.] 

ttte-a-tete  with  Mrs  M'Killop.  That 
lady  (who  had  no  suspicion  of  the 
factor's  views — for  Tainsh  was  a  sly 
dog)  was  always  friendly  and  cor- 
dial to  him.  Her  manner,  indeed, 
was  intended  to  mark  that  a  social 
Gulf  did  yawn  between  them,  albeit 
masked,  as  much  as  was  possible, 
by  her  gracious  artifices  of  con- 
descension ;  but  Tainsh  was  happily 
as  unconscious  of  the  Gulf  as  of  her 
benevolent  efforts  to  ignore  it ;  and 
lience  they  met  on  very  easy  and 
pleasant  terms. 

"  Well,  Mr  Tainsh,"  she  said,  as 
he  entered,  "and  what  are  you 
going  to  make  of  yourself  all  this 
ongnweeong  day  ? " 

"There  is  a  certain  cure  for 
onnwy  in  your  company,  Mrs 
M'Killop,  and  here  I  come  to  avail 
myself  of  it,"  replied  the  serpentine 
factor. 

"A  very  gallant  speech,  Mr 
Tainsh;  but  you  shouldn't  throw 
away  such  pretty  things  upon  an 
old  Avoman." 

"  If  you  begin  to  call  yourself 
old,  Mrs  M'Killop,  it  will  be  time 
for  me  to  give  up  making  pretty 
speeches." 

"  As  if  we  were  contemporaries  ! " 

"  Much  about  a  muchness,  I 
should  say." 

"  Oh  you  flatterer  !  You  can't 
be  forty  ? " 

"2sTo,  I'm  not  quite  forty;  you 
have  only  the  advantage  of  me  by 
a  year  or  two,  though,  if  you  are." 

"  If  I  am  !  As  if  you  thought  I 
was  no  more  than  that." 

"  I  can  only  go  by  your  looks, 
you  know,  Mrs  M'Killop ;  and  if 
they  won't  help  you  to  be  more 
venerable,  it  is  not  my  fault." 

"  Bless  the  man !  I  might  be  a 
grandmother." 

"A  mere  matter  of  climate.  If 
you  come  to  that,  I  might  be  a 
grandfather." 

"  Well,  all  my  family  are  said  to 
wear  well.  At  eighty -nine  my 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


279 


grandmother — Mrs  M'Kechnie  of 
Tillywheesle — had  a  cheek  like  an 
apple." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it,"  said 
Tainsh,  groaning  in  the  spirit. 

"  She  had  the  M'Cuaig  com- 
plexion, of  course." 

"  Yes,  that  would  account  for  it 
in  a  measure,"  said  Tainsh,  endea- 
vouring, by  intelligent  assent,  to 
stem  the  tide  of  her  reminiscences. 

"  Oh  !  you've  heard  of  it,  then  ? " 

"  Heard  of  it,  iny  dear  madam  ! " 
and  the  factor  seemed  all  astonish- 
ment that  it  should  enter  into  the 
heart  of  woman  to  imagine  ignorance 
on  that  point.  "  Heard  of  it ! "  he 
repeated.  "Yes,  and  I  have  seen 
it,  too,  which  is  still  better,"  fasten- 
ing his  eyes  meaningly  on  his 
hostess's  cheeks,  which  suggested 
something  terribly  tough  and  under- 
done. 

"  Ah  !  Mr  Tainsh,  I'm  not  what 
I  was  ;  if  you  had  seen  me  when 
poor  dear  Grant  first  met  me,  you 
might  have  spoken." 

"  I'm  certain  I  would,"  cried  Mr 
Tainsh,  plunging  recklessly  across 
the  social  Gulf,  and  interpreting  her 
words  as  a  matrimonial  idiom  of  the 
provinces. 

"I  think  not,  in  your  sense, 
Mr  Tainsh,"  said  the  lady,  with 
dignity.  "  I  don't  think  you  would ; 
I  was  very  particular." 

"  Yes,  yes,  ma'am,  justly  so ;  but 
you  see,  men  will  be  reckless ;  they 
won't  calculate  consequences  ;  they 
rush  upon — upon — eh  ? — you  know. ' ' 

"There  were  many  such,  Mr 
Tainsh,  eligible  and  ineligible." 

"  You  don't  need  to  tell  me 
that." 

"  It's  not  fair  to  mention  names," 
sighed  the  lady. 

"Perhaps  not,"  Tainsh  assented, 
hopefully. 

"  Yet  there  can  be  no  harm  in 
saying  that  Sir  Eonald  M'Tammy 
was  one  of  them.  He  died,  you 
know." 


280 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


"  A  broken  heart,  ma'am  ] " 

"I  —  I  —  have  my  suspicions. 
They  said  it  was  climate  and — and 
l>ra — ,  well,  well,  I  have  my  own 
sad  thoughts  at  times." 

"No  moral  blame  could  attach 
to  you,  ma'am,"  said  Tainsh. 

"Well,  Mr  Tainsh,  if  I  was 
guilty,  it  was  unintentionally  so. 
I  could  blame  myself  more  in  the 

case  of  Lord ;  but  he  is  alive. 

I  will  change  the  subject,  Mr 
Tainsh,  if  you  please." 

"Amen,"  thought  the  factor, 
most  devoutly. 

"  And,  Mr  Tainsh,  with  all  this 
nonsense  you  talk  about  beauty  and 
love-making,  and  so  forth,  are  you 
never  going  to  get  married  yourself  1 
I'm  sure  you  have  a  good  large 
number  to  pick  from,  and  many 
things  in  your  favour." 

Mr  Tainsh  brightened  up.  "You're 
very  kind,"  he  said,  "  perhaps  you 
can  suggest  some  one  1 " 

"  Well,  there's  Miss  Trotter,  the 
town-clerk's  daughter." 

"  Oh  no!  she's  not  in  my  style." 

"  Then,  there's  Miss  Gregorson, 
at  the  Knowe." 

"  I  couldn't  think  of  her." 

"  She  has  £8000." 

"  Money  is  not  an  ob ,  at 

least  not  my  primary  object." 

"Then  whynot  Bessie  M'Alister?" 

"  She  would  never  do." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Mr  Tainsh, 
you're  mighty  particular !  And  her 
mother  was  my  own  father's  second 
cousin." 

"  Oh  !  I  know  the  connection 
would  be  most  desirable,  most  un- 
exceptionable, but  connection  and 
blood  are  not  my  —  ahem  !  —  my 
main  objects." 

"Good  heavens,  man !  what  would 
you  have  1  You  won't  be  satisfied 
with  money,  and  you  turn  up  your 
nose  at  good  blood." 

"  No,  no,  Mrs  M'Killop,  not  so, 
but  I  am  a  little  ambitious  ;  I  want 
beauty  and  grace,  Mrs  M'Killop,  and 


refinement ;  and  I'm  sure  you  can't 
blame  me  for  that.  Can  you  think 
of  no  one  with  these  qualifications, 
who  wouldn't  turn  up  her  nose  at  a 
plain,  honest  fellow  1"  and  he  put 
on  a  most  meaning  and  insinuating 
expression. 

"  I  can't  blame  you,  I'm  sure,  Mr 
Tainsh,  but  these  qualities  are  not 
so  common  in  the  country-side." 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  not  to  look 
very  far  from  home  to  find  them." 

"  I  vow  I  can't  think  where  I'm 
to  look." 

"  Suppose  you  don't  look  abroad 
at  all,  ma'am,  but  think  of  some  one 
who — who — some  one,  I  may  indeed 
say,  who — that  is — upon  the  whole- 
— who  very  certainly  does — hypo- 
thetically  of  course,"  (Mr  Tainsh  had 
apparently  lost  his  idea,  and  was 
groping  about  for  it  all  over  the- 
English  language),  "  still  in  all 
essentials  identically  —  call  you  — 
call  you  by  the  most  endearing  of 
names."  The  idea  came  at  last  man- 
fully through  the  ruck  of  words. 

"Mr  Tainsh!  Sir!  you  forget 
yourself,"  said  Mrs  M'Killop,  rising- 
like  an  insulted  archduchess.  "  You 
forget,  sir,  certain  things — certain 
points  which  you  should  not  forget, 
Mr  Tainsh.  I  have  very  different 
views  for  my  daughter  —  very  dif- 
ferent indeed.  She  is  not  going  to 
throw  herself ' 

"  Excuse  me,  Mrs  M'Killop, 
you  quite  misunderstand  me,"  cried 
Tainsh.  The  social  Gulf  yawned 
wide  to  his  perceptions  for  the  first 
time,  but  the  factor,  though  respect- 
ing himself,  was  not  the  man  to 
allow  any  sentiment  of  amour  propre 
to  interfere  with  an  important  object ; 
so,  instantly  suppressing  his  atonish- 
ment  and  any  resentment  he  might 
feel,  he  accepted  the  idea  of  the  Gulf, 
and  turned  it  adroitly  to  his  own 
account. 

"  You  quite  misunderstand  me,, 
my  dear  madam ;  pray  be  seated, 
and  listen  to  me." 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


281 


"  You  can  scarcely  have  forgotten, 
Mr  Tainsh,  the  claims  which  my 
child  has  to  a  considerable  alliance." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no  ! "  cried  the 
factor. 

"  On  her  father's  side,  you  must 
be  aware " 

"  I  am  perfectly  aware  of  it — I 
assure  you." 

"  While  I  need  scarcely  remind 
you  that,  though  now  depressed, — 
impoverished,  —  confiscated,  —  ex- 
tinct in  the  male  line, — from  not 
less  than  three  families  of  immense 
antiquity  on  my  side  does  the  child 
derive  some  title  to  hold  up  her 
head  and  look  high." 

"  I  know  it — I  know  it,"  groaned 
Tainsh. 

"  Hector  M'Cuaig " 

"  He  was  one  of  nature's  nobles, 
Mrs  M'Killop." 

"  I  don't  like  the  phrase,  Mr 
Tainsh ;  it  has  a  Radical  twang  to 
my  ears." 

"  I  mean  that  a  mere  patent  of 
nobility  could  have  added  no  dis- 
tinction to  him" 

"Perhaps  not — perhaps  not;  then 
Tork  M'Whannel " 

"  Oh  dear  ! — oh  dear  !"  thought 
Tainsh,  seeing  that  the  entire  liturgy 
was  impending ;  "  this  must  be 
.stopped  at  any  price;"  then  he  went 
on  aloud  with  great  volubility — 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  Tork  M'Whannel 
was  certainly  one  of  our  most  emi- 
nent men  of  his  day,  take  him  from 
no  matter  what  point  of  view ;  and 
indeed  I  have  to  ask  you  for  some 
memoranda  about  him,  but  not 
now,  for  I  must  hasten  to  explain 
that  I  had  no  thought  of  aspiring — 
.of  evening  myself — to  a  match  with 
your  daughter." 

"  Indeed,  sir  !"  said  the  unreason- 
able female,  half  inclined  to  resent 
Tainsh's  deadness  to  her  daughter's 
.charms. 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  fly  lower.  I 
aspire,  I  admit  it,  but  I  hope  not 
.too  unreasonably.  I  will  ask  you 


to  be  my  confidante ;  I  know  I  could 
not  find  a  more  judicious  one.  I 
feel  certain  you  are  my  friend,  and 
I  could  not  have  a  kinder  friend. 
It  was  to  your  step  -  daughter  I 
alluded." 

"Miss  M'Killop,  Mr  Tainsh!" 
At  this  juncture  Mr  M'Killop  en- 
tered the  room,  and  remained  for 
five  minutes  or  so,  rummaging  about 
for  a  book  or  a  paper.  The  conver- 
sation of  course  dropped,  but  the 
diversion  was  in  favour  of  Mr 
Tainsh,  for  it  gave  Mrs  M'Eallop 
time  to  reflect,  to  clear  her  mind  of 
ancestral  hazes,  and  to  reflect  upon 
the  attitude  she  would  do  well,  in 
her  own  interests,  to  adopt.  Her 
first  idea  was  that  Mr  Tainsh  was 
by  no  means  treating  the  gulf  with 
proper  consideration  ;  he  was  a  good 
deal  too  free  with  his  pontooning ; 
he  was  aspiring  to  marry  the  daugh- 
ter of  HER  husband,  and  that  seemed 
a  little  too  strong.  Mythical  as 
was  most  of  her  pedigree,  it  was,  be 
it  observed,  or  had  become,  all  gos- 
pel to  her;  and,  indeed,  she  went 
so  very  far  back  for  her  gentility 
that  she  was  safe  from  any  practical 
disillusionment — about  as  safe,  for 
instance,  as  Odin  and  Thor  from  any 
risk  of  losing  their  status  by  a 
serious  exposition  of  the  untruth  of 
the  Scandinavian  theogony.  But 
the  more  practical  side  of  her  char- 
acter soon  asserted  itself  in  the  mat- 
ter, and  then  Mr  Tainsh  was  remem- 
bered as  a  man  of  substance,  well 
to  do,  with  an  improving  position, 
and  every  prospect  of  having  the 
means  to  become  one  day  landowner 
and  laird  himself;  in  any  case,  he 
was  independent  of  subsidising. 
That  was  so  far  well ;  there  would 
be  none  of  the  disagreeables  of  a 
pauperised  connection ;  but,  before 
and  above  all,  there  would  be  a  per- 
manent rectification  of  the  bound- 
aries between  herself  and  her  step- 
daughter. Her  personal  relations 
with  that  young  lady  had  not  been 


282 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


[Marclu 


satisfactory  to  her.  In  the  inter- 
necine war  which  naturally  rages 
between  two  ladies  so  connected, 
the  issue  is  generally  in  favour  of 
the  step-mother;  it  ought  to  he 
twenty  to  one  on  her,  at  least. 
Holding  as  she  does  the  key  of  the 
position,  having  the  arsenals  and 
munitions  under  her  command,  and 
fighting  in  the  name  of  the  acknow- 
ledged sovereign,  the  tactics  of  the 
opponent  can  seldom  achieve  more 
than  brilliant  guerilla  successes,  and 
these  only  for  a  time.  But,  in  this 
case,  Mrs  M'Killop  was  not  satis- 
fied that  her  victory  had  been  in  any 
sense  complete.  For  one  thing,  the 
enemy  would  not  fight,  and,  avoiding 
battle,  contrived  practically  to  carry 
everything  her  own  way  by  finesse  ; 
and  thus,  while  loudest  in  her  pro- 
fessions of  affectionate  homage  to 
the  queen-regent,  confounding  the 
politics  of  that  potentate,  and  mak- 
ing her  ridiculous  to  herself  and  all 
her  subjects.  K"ot  a  little  did  Eila's 
powers  of  fascination  over  the  other 
sex  embitter  her  step-mother  against 
her.  Having  the  match-making 
propensities  of  a  frivolous  and  vulgar 
mind,  and  being,  moreover,  the 
mother  of  a  marriageable  daughter, 
it  was  intolerable  to  her,  with  her 
very  limited  field  of  operations,  that 
every  little  project  and  scheme  she 
formed  was  invariably  counteracted 
by  "  that  minx  Eila ; "  not  a  whit 
the  less  so  that  it  was  done  in  an 
apparently  unconscious  and  effort- 
less way.  The  few  men  who  came 
saw  her,  and  she  conquered;  and 
poor  Morna  was  nowhere.  But  still 
the  conqueress  remained  satisfied 
with  the  moral  results  of  her  vic- 
tories, declining  the  only  results 
which  would  have  been  a  boon  to 
her  step-mother.  "  What  would  I 
not  give  to  be  rid  of  her  ?"  had  been 
for  many  a  day  the  refrain  of  Mrs 
M'Killop's  daily  thoughts  on  the 
subject;  and  the  conclusion  which 
five  minutes'  reflection  now  brought 


her  to  was  in  harmony  with  it — in 
other  words,  that  if  Mr  Tainsh. 
would  be  good  enough  to  take  Eila 
away  he  was  very  heartily  wel- 
come to  her,  and  also  to  any  as- 
sistance which  her  step-dame  could 
give  him  in  the  matter.  When  Mr 
M'Killop  left  the  room,  therefore, 
she  recommenced  the  conversation,, 
determined  to  conclude  an  alliance 
with  the  factor;  but,  at  the  same- 
time,  to  indicate  the  necessity  of  his- 
keeping  to  his  own  side  of  the  Gulf, 
that  alliance  notwithstanding. 

"  It  was  to  my  step-daughter,  Mr 
Tainsh,  I  am  to  understand,  that 
you  alluded  in  your — your  very  un- 
expected communication  1 " 

"  It  was  to  Miss  M'Killop  that  I 
ventured  to  allude  ;  and  I  am  afraid 
I  appear  somewhat  bold  and  aspir- 
ing." 

"  To  a  certain  extent  you  do,  Mr 
Tainsh,"  said  the  lady,  torn  between 
her  desire  to  underrate  Eila  and  to* 
preserve  her  own  dignity;  "to  a 
certain  extent  you  unquestionably 
do." 

"I  feel  that  I  am  unworthy  of" 
her." 

This  was  exactly  what  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop did  wo^feelasto  Eila  personally ; 
so  she  was  again  ambiguous.  "  To 
a  certain  extent,  no  doubt,  it  would 
appear  so  to  the  world." 

"  Her  graces  and  accomplishments. 
— even  her  youth — entitle  her,  I 
feel,  to  more  ambitious  views  f 
but " 

"  There  are  other  considerations, 
Mr  Tainsh,  which  you  seem  to  miss, 
but  which  possibly  the  world  would 
make  more  of  than  those  you  allude 
to.  Of  course,  personally,  there  is- 
nothing  to  be  said  against  you,  and 
a  great  deal  in  your  favour ;  but  you 
must  remember  that,  however  re- 
speetcible  your  social  position  may 
be,  respectability  in  such  a  case  is 
alway  supposed  to  be  understood ;, 
and  some  people  have  their  ideas, 
Mr  Tainsh,  as  to — as  to — I  don't- 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


283 


well  know  how  to  express  myself — 
as  to  what  may  appear  in  this  case 
some  inequality." 

Her  language  was  sufficiently  am- 
biguous, and  Tainsh  took  advantage 
of  it. 

"  I  freely  admitted,"  he  replied, 
"  that  her  many  qualities  entitled 
her  to  a  more  ambitious  match." 

How  stupid  he  was !  he  would 
keep  hammering  away  about  Eila's 
qualities  instead  of  devoting  himself 
to  Mrs  M'Killop's,  and  to  her  social 
requirements.  It  was  not  to  be 
stood  any  longer,  however,  and  Mrs 
M'Killop  discarded  ambiguity  at 
last.  "Well,  Mr  Tainsh,  if  you 
won't  take  a  hint,  I  must  suggest 
to  you  that  you  can  hardly  look 
upon  yourself  as  socially  the  equal 
of  my  step-daughter." 

"  I  protest "  Tainsh  began  ; 

he  was  going  to  add  that  the  in- 
equality was  not  perceptible  to  him, 
but  paused  on  the  very  threshold  of 
his  mistake,  and  went  on  diplomati- 
cally. "  I  protest,  ma'am,  that,  in 
these  days,  refined  shades,  or  even 
strongly -marked  shades,  of  differ- 
ence appear  to  be  made  little  of; 
affluence,  respectability,  and  an  im- 
proving position  bridge  over  such 
difficulties  nowadays  with  great  ease. 
We  have  only  to  look  at  the  upper 
ten  thousand " 

"  /  am  not  accustomed  to  look 
anywhere  else,  Mr  Tainsh." 

"  Of  course  not,  ma'am,  and  your 
own  experience  must  teach  you  how 
little  is  now  made  in  such  circles,  in 
your  circles,  I  should  say,  of  social 
disparity,  provided  there  are  coun- 
terbalancing advantages." 

"It  is  a  sadly  democratic  age, 
Mr  Tainsh,  and  what  you  say  is 
very  true ;  but  in  other  respects  I 
am  free  to  admit  that  you  are  per- 
haps entitled  to  aspire  to  Eila." 
She  had  now  placed  Mr  Tainsh 
on  his  own  side  of  the  Gulf,  and 
was,  for  the  future,  at  his  dis- 
posal. 


"  Do  you  think  I  have  any  reason 
to  hope  ? "  asked  the  factor. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  say 
certainly  that  you  have  any  reason 
to  hope ;  but  I  can  see  no  reason 
why  you  should  not  hope  —  and 
succeed,  too  —  if  you  play  your 
cards  well." 

"  May  I  at  least  hope  for  your 
support  1 " 

"  Well,  Mr  Tainsh,  I  have  a  re- 
gard for  you,  and  what  I  can  do  I 
will  do,  but  I  warn  you  that  my 
influence  is  not  great." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  thank 
you.  When  does  Miss  Eila  return?" 

"  In  a  few  days." 

"  Unfortunately,  my  stay  here 
must  terminate  to-morrow." 

"  You  shall  be  asked  back  next 
week." 

"  You're  most  kind  and  consider- 
ate. I  shall  never  be  able  sufficiently 
to  thank  you."  And  they  cordially 
clasped  hands  in  ratification  of  the 
alliance. 

"  I  spoke,"  continued  Mr  Tainsh, 
when  this  important  pact  was  con- 
cluded— "  I  spoke  of  money  as  not 
being  my  primary  object." 

"  It  was  unnecessary,  Mr  Tainsh; 
if  all  tales  be  true,  it  can  be  no  object 
at  all." 

"  Comparatively." 

"  Why  not  say  positively  1 " 

"  Well,  you  see,  Mrs  M'Killop,  I 
am  a  man  of  business." 

"Coining  money; — you  all  do." 

"  Yes,  but  to  coin  money,  money 
has  to  be  risked ;  and  in  marrying, 
without  any  selfish  motive,  the  ex- 
istence of  a  fortune  ^of — of  even 
modest  dimensions,  on  the  part  of 
the  lady,  is  always  a  comfort  to  a 
man  of  business." 

"  To  most  men  I  should  say,  Mr 
Tainsh." 

"  Yes,  but  to  an  unselfish  man  of 
business  there  is  an  especial  comfort 
in  feeling  that  there  is  for  his  wife 
a  provision  free  from  all  risks  of 
speculation,  and  so  forth." 


284 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


"  Settlements,  I  believe,  Mr 
Tainsh,  secure  all  that,  and  a  man 
who  can't  make  settlements  does 
wrong  to  many  ;  and  as  for  specu- 
lation, I'm  sorry  to  find  you  are  a 
speculator.  It  would  be  a  great 
responsibility  to  countenance  the 
marriage  of  one — in  whom — ahem ! 
— interest  is  felt — with  a  specula- 
tor." 

"  I  don't  call  myself  a  speculator, 
but  there  are  risks  in  my  business, 
and  sudden  large  calls  for  money 
to  assist  clients,  requiring  a  con- 
siderable free  capital;  and  if  one  had 
any  sort  of  idea,  any  sort  of  approxi- 
mate idea  of  what — that  is,  of  the 
kind  of  portion " 

"  Do  you  remember  what  you 
said  about  counterbalancing  advan- 
tages ?  it  seems  now  that  these  are 
melting  away ;  so  let  me  recommend 
you  to  wait  till  you  can  disengage 
a  sufficient  portion  of  capital  for  a 
settlement,  before  you  turn  your 
eyes  in  a  certain  direction." 

"  Then  I  am  to  understand  that 
Miss  M'Killop's  portion " 

"  You  can  understand  nothing 
about  it  from  me,  except  this,  that 
if  you  think  you  are  entitled  to  be 
mercenary,  /  don't ;  and  I  wouldn't 
countenance  your  views  on  any  such 
footing.  Upon  my  word,  sir,  you 
do  set  yourself  up  ! "  And  the  lady 
bridled  up  and  snorted  a  very  well 
feigned  snort  of  wrathful  surprise. 
Tainsh  was  beaten ;  he  was  in  the 
position  of  a  cabman  or  other  ma- 
rauder who,  having  originally  ob- 
tained more  than  his  due,  is  thereby 
emboldened  to  ask  for  yet  more,  and 
finds  himself  summarily  snubbed  and 
threatened  with  the  police.  So  he 
changed  his  course,  disavowed  all 
mercenary  motives,  and  vowed  he 
would  be  the  luckiest  of  men  if  he 
got  Eila  penniless ;  and  the  alliance 
was  restored  to  its  original  footing. 

While  these  diplomatic  relations 
were  being  established  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  while  the  forenoon 


[March 

was  being  passed  in  a  kind  of  the- 
oretical discontent  by  Pigott  and 
Bertrand  in  their  own  premises, 
Morna  was  finding  it  very  dull  work 
all  by  herself  in  her  retreat.  Twice 
had  she  essayed  an  invasion  of  the 
drawing-room,  and  twice  had  the 
mysterious  pause,  consequent  on  her 
entrance,  warned  her  that  its  oc- 
cupants could  dispense  with  her 
company.  Twice  had  she  entered 
the  billiard-room,  but  only  to  find 
it  occupied  by  Duncanson  solus, 
and,  with  a  hurried  excuse,  she  had 
made  off  again ;  for  indeed  the  ex- 
pression of  that  gentleman's  face  was 
not  inviting.  In  the  first  place,  he 
was  bored  with  the  weather;  in  the 
second,  with  his  own  society ;  in 
the  third,  he  felt  that  he  was  being 
ostracised  and  neglected ;  in  the 
fourth,  he  was  full  of  wrath  against 
Morna  for  not  seizing  the  opportun- 
ity of  having  a  tete-a-tete  with  him 
when  "  these  interlopers  "  were  out 
of  the  way ;  and  if  anything  was 
wanting  to  fill  up  the  measure  of 
his  discontent,  it  was  well  supplied 
by  the  recollection  of  yesterday's 
deep  discomfiture.  When,  there- 
fore, within  a  very  short  distance  of 
luncheon,  Morna  again  made  her 
appearance  in  the  billiard-room,  with 
the  intention  of  staying  there,  even 
tete-a-tete  with  Mr  Duncanson,  till 
luncheon  released  her,  she  found 
that  gentleman  in  a  very  thundery 
state  of  mind  indeed — a  state  of  mind 
which  had  decided  him  to  beat  a 
retreat  from  the  place  altogether. 
"Still  alone?"  said  Morna,  enter- 
ing the  room. 

"  Still  alone ;  and,  for  your  sake, 
I'm  very  sorry  for  it." 

"  For  my  sake  ?  Don't  you  be- 
lieve in  your  own  unassisted  powers 
of  amusing  me,  then,  on  this  dreary 
day?" 

"  You  don't  seem  to,  at  all  events, 
or  perhaps  I  might  have  had  a 
chance  of  trying." 

"  Oh  !  I  have  had  so  many  things 


1871.] 


Fair  to  Sec.— Part  III. 


285 


to  do ;  but  I  hope  you  have  not 
"been  very  dull.  Mr  M'Killop  never 
can  tear  himself  away  from  his 
letters  and  share-lists  till  after 
luncheon.  Mamma  and  Mr  Tainsh 
are  hatching  some  treason  in  the 
drawing-room ;  but  where  are  the 
others?" 

"  The  others  ?  oh,  I  don't  know 
anything  about  them.  The  only 
person  I  would  have  cared  to  see 
here  was  yourself,  more  particularly 
as  I  am  going  away." 

"  Going  away  !  I  thought  you 
were  going  to  stay  the  whole  week. 
We  hoped  you  were." 

"Is  that  true?  did  you  hope?" 

"  How  very  cross  and  rude  you 
are  !  Why  are  you  going  away  ?  and 
may  I  ask  why  you  are  angry  with 
me?" 

"Well,  I  am — no,  I'm  not — I 
can't  be  angry  with  you;  but  I 
can't  stand  these  fellows  here  — 
they're  not  the  form  I've  been  used 
to,  I  can  tell  you ;  and — and  my 
father  wished  me  to  come  back  to- 
morrow if  possible,  and,  though  he 
had  a  crotchet  about  not  shooting 
this  year  till  the  20th,  this  weather 
will  alter  his  plan." 

"  And  won't  you  come  back 
again  ? "  said  Morna,  with  instinc- 
tive hospitality. 

"  I  think  not." 

"  Then  you  are  going  to  let  Mr 
Cameron  beat  you — as  to  the  shoot- 
ing, I  mean — without  another  trial  ?" 
iNot  a  very  lucky  remark. 

"  Ah  !  I  forgot  that ;  we  can 
settle  that  some  other  time :  I  am 
positively  going  to-morrow  at  any 
rate.  I  have  written  for  my  dog- 
cart." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Morna — 
•even  Morna  the  truthful;  for  all 
men  and  women  must  justify  the 
hasty  Psalmist  once  at  least  in  a 
lifetime,  it  is  to  be  supposed. 

rire  you  really,  now?"  said 
:anson;  "well,  if  I  thought 
'  "  snarl ! "  went  the  pipes ; 


"  boom  ! "  went  the  gong ;  and  the 
six  terriers,  forgetting  their  depres- 
sion in  the  prospect  of  a  meal,  bow- 
wowed  an  energetic  chorus  ;  and  the 
door  opened,  and  Mr  M'Killop 
walked  in,  and  walked  them  off  to 
luncheon.  At  this  meal  it  tran- 
spired that  Duncanson  was  going 
away  next  day,  also  Tainsh  ;  where- 
upon it  was  moved  by  Mrs  M'Killop 
that  they  should  both  return  to- 
wards the  latter  part  of  the  follow- 
ing week,  which  being  seconded  by 
Mr  M'Killop,  and  Morna  having 
said,  under  pressure  of  a  full-faced 
stare  from  Mr  Duncanson,  "  Pray 
do"  —  the  motion  was  carried 
with  a  slight  formal  resistance 
on  the  part  of  the  invited.  Lun- 
cheon over,  a  visit  to  the  kennels 
and  stable  was  agreed  to  by  the 
gentlemen ;  and  four  of  them  started, 
leaving  Bertrand,  who  had  gone  to 
his  room  for  a  cigar-case,  to  follow. 
It  was  not,  however,  fated  that 
he  should  follow ;  for  as  he  came 
down -stairs  the  door  of  an  ante- 
drawing-room  where  music  took 
place  had  to  be  passed.  It  was  wide 
open ;  exactly  opposite  the  door 
stood  a  piano ;  at  that  piano  sat 
Morna  ;  on  it  she  was  playing;  and, 
of  course  (her  back  being  to  the 
door),  all  unconscious  of  an  audience, 
she  lifted  up  her  voice  and  sang. 
Bertrand  softly  entered.  It  was 
the  "  Water  -  spirit's  Lament"  she 


Perhaps  it  may  have  been  that 
she  believed  herself  to  be  alone,  or 
it  may  have  been  the  effect  of  the 
accompaniment — at  all  events,  the 
song  seemed  to  be  given  with  even 
more  power  and  pathos  than  when 
it  enthralled  Bertrand  by  the  river- 
side. When  it  was  finished  she 
continued  mechanically  touching 
the  chords  of  the  symphony  for  a 
time,  Bertrand  remaining  silent.  At 
last  she  looked  round,  started  on 
finding  that  she  was  not  alone,  and, 
blushing  a  delightful  blush  which 


286 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


intensified  the  expression  of  her 
eyes,  said, — 

"  Mr  Cameron  !  you  here  1  I 
thought "  (surely  this  could  not 
have  been  her  second  within  an 
hour  ?)  "  you  had  gone  to  the  ken- 
nels/' 

"  I  was  going  to  the  kennels, 
"but  the  voice  of  the  siren  drew  me 
hither  instead ;  and  if  she  will  allow 
me,  here  will  I  remain." 

The  siren,  who  had  so  steadily 
avoided  Mr  Duncanson,  made  no 
objection,  and  Bertrand  did  remain. 
It  would  be  grossly  unfair,  however, 
to  weary  the  reader  with  what  was 
after  all  something  like  a  drawing- 
room  repetition  of  their  tete-d-tefe 
by  the  river.  There  was  more 
music  indeed,  but  there  were  long 
pauses  between  the  songs,  and  plea- 
sant entfactes  both  grave  and  gay, 
wherein  considerable  art  in  non- 
sense was  displayed,  and  not  a  little 
nonsense  about  art;  whereinjmirth 
and  earnest  mingled  with  sprightly 
facility  in  the  mutual  self-revela- 
tions of  two  frank,  fresh  spirits 
charmed  with  the  novelty  of  the 
process.  Very  dangerous  sort  of 
work  all  this,  of  course,  but  these  two 
young  people  did  not  seem  to  feel 
the  slightest  alarm  ;  and  so,  while 
the  rain  plashed  drearily  without, 
and  the  invisible  sun  passed  west- 
ward behind  the  surly  clouds,  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  brightness  and 
sunshine  in  the  music  -  room  of 
Cairnarvoch  at  all  events.  Twice, 
at  intervals  of  an  hour  or  so,  Morna 
had  said,  "  Ought  you  not  to  go  to 
the  kennels  now1?"  and  twice  had 
Bertrand  replied,  "  In  five  minutes." 
The  third  time  she  made  the  re- 
mark, it  was  answered  by  the  yell 
of  the  bagpipes,  the  thunder  of  the 
gong,  and  all  the  inevitable  dogs. 
"  The  kennels  have  come  to  me,  it 
would  seem,"  laughed  Bertrand ; 
but  Morna  started  up  in  amazement 
and  confusion. 

"  The  dressing-gong ! "  she  cried : 


[March 


"I  thought  it  was  only what 

a  time  we  must  have  been  here  !  " 
and  thereupon  hastened  from  the 
room  with  a  heightened  colour.  She 
had  clearly  taken  no  note  of  time. 
It  transpired  that  the  four  gentle- 
men had  gone  for  a  long  wet  "  con- 
stitutional," and  as  Bertrand  was 
supposed  to  have  missed  them,  and 
as  Mrs  M'Killop  (having  slept  the 
whole  afternoon  and  wishing  to 
conceal  the  circumstance)  was  un- 
aware of  the  music -room  episode, 
Duncanson  had  had  no  means  of 
knowing  that  Bertrand  had  been 
monopolising  the  young  lady  to 
whom  he  appeared  to  grudge  the 
attentions  of  other  gentlemen. 

The  evening  passed  off  without 
any  remarkable  incident :  a  long 
wet  day  in  the  Highlands  takes  the 
curl  out  of  the  sprightliest :  the  ani- 
mal spirits  that  have  been  struggling 
against  atmospheric  pressure  since 
breakfast,  necessarily  experience 
some  exhaustion  by  nightfall.  Thus 
the  dinner- conversation  was  less 
lively  than  on  previous  evenings, 
and  the  flow  of  mirthful  anecdote 
not  half  so  well  sustained ;  and  Dun- 
canson, who  had  obtained  undis- 
puted possession  of  Morna,  found 
that  he  was  able  to  get  a  hearing 
from  her,  without  seeing  that  her 
attention  wandered  to  other  parts  of 
the  table.  Therefore  Mr  Duncan- 
son's  temper  was  reasonably  good, 
and  while  he  abstained  from  giving 
offence  to  the  others,  he  did  his  very 
best  to  make  himself  agreeable  to 
his  fair  neighbour.  Her  attention 
was  rather  suspiciously  earnest,  and 
if  Duncanson  had  been  a  closer  ob- 
server, even  he,  following  certain 
shy,  quick  glances  of  hers,  that  at 
rare  intervals  sought  another  face 
than  his,  might  have  suspected  that 
her  appearance  of  interest  in  the  in- 
tellectual garbage  which  he  admin- 
istered was  not  due  to  his  offering, 
but,  in  fact,  to  some  entirely  differ- 
ent caiise.  The  truth  is,  Morna 


J71.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


287 


ras  distraite — she  may  have  had  a 
.hundred  reasons  for  being  so — and 
she  concealed  her  distraction  by  an 
apparent  concentration  on  her  neigh- 
bour's conversation,  or  rather  on  the 
monologue  which  he  would  have 
dignified  by  that  name.  Then  the 
shy  glances  ?  Of  course  they  were 
directed  to  Bertrand.  Naturally 
enough.  Probably  she  was  dis- 
pleased with  him  for  not  offering  to 
save  her  from  her  present  partner- 
ship, or  perhaps but  after  all,  if 

it  was  her  good  pleasure  to  be  dis- 
frt.tifi',  and  to  glance  in  such  or  such 
a  direction,  what  have  we  got  to  do 
with  it?  Why  pry1?  One  thing  is 
certain,  that  Bertrand  could  not  be 
accused  of  exchanging  glances  with 
her;  their  eyes  may  have  met,  of 
course,  but  he  had  got  involved  in 
a  long  discussion  with  Mr  Tainsh  as 
to  the  feasibility  of  converting  a 
portion  of  his  uncle's  property  into 
a  deer-forest;  and  taking  up  every- 
thing he  did  take  up  with  immense 
energy,  he  was  ungallant  enough  to 
be  devoting  his  attention  entirely 
to  this  topic;  so  that  the  eyes  he 
looked  into  were  not  those  of  Morna, 
but  the  green  orbs  of  Mr  Tainsh, 
glittering  with  the  light  of  argu- 
ment and  self-interest.  And  well 
they  might,  for  was  not  Mr  Tainsh 
a  lawyer  and  a  factor  ?  And  did  not 
Bertrand's  proposal  amount  to  the 
annihilation  of  six  tinkerable  and 
renewable  leases,  to  the  suppression 
of  six  tinkerable  and  renewable 
steadings — to  the  extinction,  that 
was,  of  twelve  sources  of  arbitration, 
legal  communings  and  compromises, 
besides  coveys  of  annual  letters  at 
six-and-eightpence  apiece?  So  the 
argument  was  engrossing,  and  the 
battle  raged  between  them  over  the 
dinner;  was  revived,  after  a  lull,  over 
the  wine ;  was  carried  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, raged  there  intermittently, 
and  finally  smouldered  out  in  the 
smoking-room  among  the  ashes  of 
the  last  cigar.  In  this  way  Dun- 


canson  had  again  a  clear  field  with 
Morna,  only  disturbed  by  a  short 
inciirsion  on  the  part  of  Pigott,  who, 
however,  soon  retired  to  mild  ecaiie 
with  Mrs  M'Killop;  and  Duncan- 
son  was  in  high  delight,  for  it  would 
appear  that  in  his  brutal,  abomin- 
able, jealous,  bearish  way,  this  fellow 

liked  Morna,  and  might  even 

but  sufficient  for  her  day  be  the  evil 
thereof. 

She  did  not  seem  to  have  enjoyed 
her  evening  so  much  as  her  com- 
panion probably  imagined  she  had. 

He  bade  "good-bye"  to  her  (as 
his  morning  start  was  to  be  early) 
when  the  ladies  retired  for  the  night, 
and,  sinking  his  voice  into  a  tone  of 
tender  confidence,  said,  "  I  would 
not  be  coming  back  again  next  week, 
if  it  was  not  for  what  you  said  :  did 
you  mean  it?" 

"Of  course  I  did,"  said  Morna; "  I 
always  mean  what  I  say;"  but  at 
that  moment  she  had  no  idea  what 
she  had  said. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Duncanson, 
gently  pressing  her  hand;  and  he 
went  away  to  the  smoking-room 
radiant,  and  she  to  her  room  not  the 
least  radiant,  but  quite  the  reverse, 
and  sat  at  her  dressing-table  for  an 
hour  doing  nothing,  not  even  look- 
ing at  herself  (which,  for  eighteen 
and  beaux  yeiix,  is,  to  say  the  least 
of  it,  abnormal),  but  apparently 
thinking  hard,  and  thinking,  more- 
over, hard  thoughts  both  of  herself 
and  some  other  party  unknown ;  for 
now  and  then  she  muttered  with 
great  energy,  "  How  I  detest  him  ! 
how  I  do  loathe  and  detest  him  ! " 
And  again,  "  How  I  despise  myself ! 
how  contemptible  I  am !  how — oh, 
dear!  oh,  dear!"  with  which  inter- 
jections she  would  cover  her  face 
with  her  hands  for  a  moment,  and 
then  fall  to  thinking  again. 

The  days  that  succeeded  the  de- 
parture of  Tainsh  and  Duncanson 
pretty  much  resembled  their  prede- 
cessors. One  day  fine,  and  devoted 


288 


Fair  to  See. — Part  III. 


to  the  slaughter  of  grouse;  the  next  a 
gloomy  day,  set  apart  for  rest  and  the 
art  of  fishing,  as  understood  by  Ber- 
trand  and  Morna,  and  theoretically, 
but  not  much  more  than  theoreti- 
cally, supervised  by  Mrs  M'Killop, 
when  it  was  understood  that  Pigott 
was  not  to  be  of  the  party;  the  third 
wet,  perhaps,  admirably  adapted  for 
-a  seance  in  the  music-room,  or  half 
wet  and  half  dry,  so  as  to  suit  itself 
to  a  combination  of  amusements. 

The  dinner-table  was,  on  the 
whole,  cheery  and  pleasant ;  it  lost 
-something  by  Mr  Tainsh's  absence, 
who  was  both  voluble  and  adaptive, 
but  that  was  balanced  by  the  ab- 
sence of  Mr  Duncanson's  moody 
countenance  and  the  perpetual  gene 
of  his  difficult  temper.  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop did  not  share  the  general  feeling 
of  relief  at  his  absence ;  she,  in- 
deed, regretted  it — poignantly ;  for 
though  her  match-making  spirit 
might  have  had  some  consolation 
in  observing  the  relations  that  were 
springing  up  between  her  daughter 
and  Bertrand,  still  she  had  fairly 
come  to  a  decided  preference  for  the 
absent  Duncanson,  based  rather  on 
prudential  than  on  personal  grounds. 
He,  as  she  has  already  informed  us, 
in  her  half-awake  revelations,  was  a 
certainty  as  to  fortune ;  he  was  a 
"  bird  in  the  hand,"  and  a  bird  who 
had  shown  no  disposition  to  surren- 
der to  the  lures  of  the  arch-fowler, 
Eila ;  whereas  Bertrand  was  no  cer- 
tainty in  any  sense,  and,  moreover, 
had  very  soon  to  be  subjected  to  the 
test  which  Duncanson  had,  for  a 
wonder,  withstood.  Again,  the  lat- 
ter gentleman  had  demonstrated 
during  his  late  visit,  amid  all  his 
unpleasantness — and  even  by  it — 
symptoms  which  did  not  fail  to  in- 
spire Mrs  M'Killop  with  much  more 
definite  hopes  than  she  had  hitherto 
cherished.  So,  mourning  his  ab- 
sence, it  was  with  far  from  an 
approving  eye  that  she  noted  the 
.growing  intimacy  between  her 


[March 

daughter  and  her  guest ;  and  indeed 
it  is  to  be  doubted  if  anything,  save 
an  all-engrossing  passion  for  six- 
penny ecarte  which  she  nightly  in- 
dulged with  Captain  Pigott,  would 
have  prevented  her  from  personally 
superintending  a  certain  tete-a-tete 
on  the  terrace,  which,  when  the 
weather  was  fine,  a  staircase  lead- 
ing from  the  open  drawing-room 
windows,  invited  Morna  and  Ber- 
trand to  make  a  considerable  portion 
of  their  evening's  programme. 

To  neutralise  the  effects  of  these 
promenades,  she  felt  that  her  own 
personal  presence  would  have  been 
necessary,  for  private  remonstrance 
with  Morna  might,  as  she  expressed 
it,  only  "  put  nonsense  into  her 
head;"  but  ecarte  carried  the  day, 
and  she  left  the  rest  to  the  chapter 
of  accidents,  relying  mainly  on  the 
shortness  of  the  time  during  which 
the  danger  would  subsist. 

What  happened  in  these  terrace- 
walks  ?  Was  there  any  danger  such 
as  Mi's  M'Killop  apprehended? 
That  they  were  agreeable  we  may 
suppose,  or  they  would  hardly  have 
been  persisted  in;  but  perhaps  a 
small  fragment  of  conversation  the 
night  before  Eila  arrived,  may 
throw  a  little  light  on  the  matter. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  to  go  in  to-night," 
said  Morna,  when,  ecarte  concluded, 
the  maternal  telegraph  was  seen  to 
be  working  at  the  window. 

"So  am  I,"  said  Bertrand;  "I 
always  am;  one  never  can  get 
enough  of  a  real  summer  night  like 
this." 

"  And  this  will  be  our  last  sum- 
mer-night walk,  I  fear." 

"What  has  inspired  you  with 
that  midsummer-night's  dream  ? " 

"  Oh  !  our  little  square  party — 
for  Mr  M'Killop  counts  for  nothing 
— will  be  broken  up  to-morrow,  and 
then  back  will  come  Mr  Tainsh, 
and  back  will  come  Mr  Duncanson, 
and  then " 

"What?" 


1871.] 


"  Nothing." 

"  Mysterious." 

"  Oh  no  !  not  the  least ;  I  had 
finished." 

"  Perhaps  you  were  going  to  add 
that  Mr  Duncanson  would  insist  on 
joining  us  ;  it  was  my  idea." 

"  How  I  detest  him  ! " 

"  He  icitt  insist  notwithstanding ; 
but  I  daresay  we  shall  be  able  to 
induce  the  whole  of  them,  except 
the  ecartists,  to  make  a  drawing- 
room  of  the  terrace ;  and  so  we  shall 
still  have  sxtmmer  nights  al  fresco, 
and,  as  you  don't  appreciate  Mr 
Duncanson,  we  shall  be  able  to  save 
you  from  a  tete-a-tete" 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  quite  differ- 
ent," said  Morna,  sadly,  absently ;  a 
tone  which  she  corrected  with  a  ra- 
ther blundering  alacrity,  explaining 
— "  I  mean  that  it  would  be  very 
different  if  we  could — very  nice  in- 
deed ;  but  I  suspect  they  wouldn't. 
Let  us  go  in,  I  am  so  tired,  and  it 
has  become  so  cold." 

Her  manner  and  voice  had  changed 
very  suddenly,  and  her  impatience  to 
return  to  the  house  was  so  incon- 
sistent with  her  remark  of  half-a- 
minute  ago,  that  Bertrand  puzzled 
himself  as  to  how  he  could  have 
offended  her. 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  and  the 
fraulein  find  to  talk  about,  Bertrand, 
in  your  numerous  tetes-d-tetes  1 "  was 
Pigott's  somewhat  comprehensive 
question  in  the  smoking-room  after- 
wards. 

"  Well,  to  answer  that,  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  divide  my  reply  into  a 
good  many  paragraphs.  First  pa- 
ragraph  " 

"  Xo,  no ;  we'll  not  take  such  a 
large  view  of  the  subject.  I  sup- 
pose, on  the  whole,  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  the  old  story.  I  suppose 
that,  in  the  long-run,  the  paragraphs 
tend  to  the  old  conclusion  and  prac- 
tical application  1 " 

"  What  do  you  mean  1 " 

"I    mean    that    I   suppose    the 


Fair  to  Sec.— Part  III. 


2S9 


Platonic  theory  has  been  abandoned 
and  Duncanson  disestablished." 

"  Then  you  are  all  wrong — as  to 
the  first  clause,  at  least ;  for,  as  to- 
the  second,  she  never  cared  a  straw 
for  the  fellow." 

"The  second  clause  of  your  an- 
swer contradicts  the  first,  for  — 
though,  of  course,  practically  I 
know  nothing  of  such  matters — I 
should  imagine  it  was  rather  a 
straining  of  the  Platonic  system  to 
exchange  confidences  of  so  delicate 
a  nature." 

"Well,  you  see,  Pigott,  you  are 
rather  an  ass." 

"  If  to  be  ignorant  of  that  sort  of 
rubbish  is  to  be  an  ass,  an  ass  let  me 
continue  to  the  end  of  time.  I've 
often  wondered,  by  the  by,  that, 
with  all  your  amazing  follies,  it  has 
not  arrived  to  you  to  fall  in  love 
before." 

"  How  do  you  know,  pray  ? " 

"  Know,  my  dear  fellow  1  If  you 
had,  what  a  row  there  would  have 
been  about  it !  what  whirlwinds, 
and  tempests,  and  fiery  flames,  and 
desolation !  I  quite  shudder  to 
think  how  well  I  should  have  known 
about  it." 

"  As  we  are  in  an  argumentative 
mood,  let  me  suggest  to  you  that 
that  conviction  of  yours  ought  to 
prove  to  you  that  the  Platonic  sys- 
tem still  prevails." 

"  I  don't  admit  it ;  everything 
must  have  a  beginning, — a  fever  has 
its  initial  stages  before  the  crisis 
comes.  Do  you  mean — do  you  dare 
— to  tell  me  that  you  don't  care  for 
that  girl ]" 

"  Care* for  her?  Of  course  I  do ; 
but — but — not  as  you  mean.  I 
think  she  is  one  of  the  nicest  girls 
I  ever  met, — clever,  cheery,  good- 
tempered,  and " 

"  Very  fond  of  me,"  suggested 
Pigott. 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  she  is  ! "  cried 
Bertrand. 

"  I  was  speaking  in  your  person, 


290 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


[March 


you  blockhead ;  but  you  help  my 
diagnosis." 

"  Confound  your  diagnosis  ;  what 
are  you  driving  at  ?  Why  shouldn't 
I  like  the  girl  as  a  friend?  If  it 
conies  to  that,  why  shouldn't  I  be 
in  love  with  her,  if  it  suits  my  con- 
venience to  be  in  love  with  her  1  I 
haven't  taken  the  vow  of  celibacy. 
If  it  amuses  you  to  think  I  am  in 
love  with  her,  I  have  no  earthly  ob- 
jection ;  and  I  don't  see  why  thou- 
sands of  fellows  shouldn't  be.  She's 
decidedly  pretty." 

"  Oh,  come,  Bertrand !    Ha !  ha !" 

"  Yes,  she  is  ;  her  eyes  are  beau- 
tiful; when  she  is  animated  they 
are — perfectly  beautiful ;  her  hair  is 
the  colour  of  all  others  I  admire ; 
every  one  will  admit  that  her  voice 
is  angelic, — any  fool  can  understand 
th  a  t, — and — and " 

"  You  needn't  bellow  like  a  bull 
of  Bashan  :  I'm  not  deaf,  and  I  don't 
object  to  any  amount  of  admiration 
provided  you  don't  rehearse  it  all  to 
me.  It  will  suit  my  comfort  to  a 
marvel  if  you  continue  to  fancy  the 
Platonic  system  still  Avorking :  pray 
keep  the  fires  banked  up,  or  I  know 
Cairnarvoch  will  be  too  hot  to  hold 
me.  If  there  is  one  thing  more  en- 
tirely crushing  than  another,  it  is 
to  be  shut  up  with  a  fellow  who  is 
in  love.  I  was  on  detachment  with 
Baker  once.  I  knew  the  villain  was 
in  that  state  when  we  went  out,  and 
I  trembled.  I  put  on  my  hardest 
and  most  unsympathetic  manner  to 
dam  up  his  confidences ;  but  it  was 


of  no  use.  The  second  evening,  out 
it  all  came,  and  after  that,  we  break- 
fasted, lunched,  dined,  and  supped 
upon  Anna  Maria.  She  went  with 
us  to  parade  ;  she  mingled  herself 
with  our  tobacco ;  she  popped  out 
of  soda-water  bottles  ;  she  came  by 
the  post  and  had  to  be  read  aloud — 
sometimes  with  tears  ;  she  was  writ- 
ten upon  reams  of  paper,  read  aloud, 
kissed,  wept  over,  and  posted.  I 
tried  a  counter-irritation ;  I  got  up 
a  spurious  opposition ;  I  decided  to 
have  a  big  name  for  my  goddess,  so 
I  selected  '  Thomasina,'  and  I  thun- 
dered it  out  Avith  the  full  strength 
of  my  lungs  whenever  Anna  Maria 
came  on  the  tapis.  The  stratagem 
was  entirely  a  failure.  Baker  Avas 
a  sympathetic  fellow ;  he  became 
deeply  interested  in  Thomasina,  and 
I  found  that  she  only  gave  him  ad- 
ditional leverage  for  hoisting  his 
Dulcinea  into  notice,  besides  sorely 
taxing  my  powers  of  invention  to 
keep  up  the  alternate  A-erse  in  GUI 
idyll.  So  I  got  recalled  to  head- 
quarters :  I  don't  think  I  could  have 
survived  another  fortnight.  You 
can  understand,  therefore,  that  I 
think  this  calm  phase  of  yours  is 
much  to  be  commended.  Stick  to 
it." 

"  Keep  your  mind  easy  ;  but  as  to 
your  saying  that  Morna  is  not 
pretty " 

"  I  declare  it's  past  midnight," 
cried  Pigott,  jumping  up,  "so  I 
shaU  go  and  dream  of  '  THOMAS- 
' " 


CHAPTER   IX. 


A  coming  event  that  is  tardy  in 
its  advent,  and  yet  perpetually  keeps 
casting  forward  the  shadoAv  of  its 
influence  upon  other  circumstances, 
holding  them,  as  it  were,  in  a  pro- 
visional condition,  and  in  a  state  of 
suspense,  is  as  worrying  in  fiction 
as  it  is  detestable  in  real  life ;  and 


therefore  we  are  glad  that  Miss  Eila 
M'Killop  is  now  going  to  present 
herself  in  proprid  persona,  and  to 
give  us  an  opportunity  of  judging 
of  her  on  something  more  than 
hearsay  evidence.  "We  have  heard 
a  good  deal  about  her — contradic- 
tory evidence,  indeed — and  we  have 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


1871.] 

seen  her  influence  working  opposite- 
ly in  the  persons  of  her  step-mother 
and  of  Mr  Tainsh ;  and  it  is  certainly 
high  time  that  she  should  appear 
and  show  us  what  she  really  is.  At 
the  commencement  of  the  shooting- 
season  she  had  been  away  from 
home  for  a  few  weeks,  on  a  visit  in 
another  part  of  the  country ;  and  if 
her  step-dame's  wishes  could  have 
effected  it,  her  visit  would  have 
been  prolonged,  as  we  have  seen, 
for  not  a  few  weeks  to  come :  and 
indeed  it  might  so  have  been,  but 
for  the  empressement  with  which 
Mrs  M'Killop  had,  in  her  letters,' 
begged  her,  if  she  was  enjoying  her- 
self, by  no  means  "  to  consider  them" 
or  to  think  of  hurrying  home,  where 
of  course  they  missed  her  sadly,  &c. 
&c.  But  this  manceuvre  Eila  inter- 
preted in  her  own  way,  and  the  re- 
solution she  took  from  it  was  rather 
to  abridge  her  visit.  In  the  interval, 
however,  the  Tainsh  episode  had 
supervened,  and  also  Mr  Duncanson 
had  developed  very  hopeful  symp- 
toms ;  so  that  altogether,  when  the 
time  of  her  arrival  came,  her  step- 
mother could  face  it  with  fortitude 
and  even  without  fear — a  state  of 
things  which  would  have  sorely  dis- 
appointed Eila  if  she  coidd  only 
have  divined  it.  The  day  following 
the  events  narrated  in  the  last 
chapter  was  the  day  fixed  for  her 
return,  but,  as  her  movements  de- 
pended upon  no  public  conveyance, 
it  was  uncertain  when  she  might 
arrive  ;  and  therefore,  as  she  had  not 
made  her  appearance  when  Hamish 
sounded  for  dinner,  the  party  sat 
down  without  her.  They  had  scarce- 
ly done  so,  however,  when  the 
sound  of  carriage-wheels  announced 
an  arrival,  and,  shortly  after,  the 
butler  intimated  that  it  was  the 
arrival  of  Miss  M'Killop.  Mrs 
M'Killop  probably  felt  that  the 
presence  of  her  antagonist  might 
not  have  a  sharpening  effect  upon 
her  own  appetite — over  which  she 


291 


watched  with  a  maternal  tenderness 
— and  made  an  effort  to  have  one 
more  meal  in  peace. 

"  The  dear  child,"  she  exclaimed, 
"will  be  sadly  tired.  Jinkyson, 
send  to  Miss  M'Killop  and  say  that 
she  is  on  no  account  to  hurry  ;  she 
can  have  dinner  sent  to  her  by-and- 
by,  if  she  wishes  it." 

"Wishes  it,  Elizabeth  !"  said  Mr 
M'Killop ;  "  after  a  thirty  miles' 
drive,  the  child  will  wish  it,  it  is 
to  be  hoped." 

"  Tut,  M'Killop,  what  a  chatter- 
box you  are  !  She  will  take  hours 
to  dress,  you  know  —  won't  she, 
Morna? — and  keep  us  all  waiting. 
Order  dinner  for  Miss  M'Killop  in 
the  library,  Jinkyson." 

On  this  occasion,  however,  Miss 
M'Killop  did  not  take  hours  to 
dress,  for  in  a  minute  or  two  after 
the  order  for  her  relegation  to  the 
library  had  been  given,  the  door 
opened  and  she  entered — we  should 
rather  say  glided  into — the  room. 
Without  a  pause  to  look  at  the 
company — without  a  glance  for  any 
one  else,  as  if  hurried  away  by  some 
impulse  of  passionate  devotion  for 
her  step-mother,  she  undulated  swift- 
ly up  to  that  lady,  threw  her  arms 
round  her  neck,  and  embraced  her 
with  immense  effusion,  a  challenge 
which  was  amply  responded  to  by 
Mrs  M'Killop,  who,  clutching  Eila 
with  the  hug  of  a  Cornish  wrestler, 
dealt  upon  her  fair  face  a  long 
series  of  deliberate  kisses,  select- 
ing every  now  and  then  a  new 
"  claim,"  so  to  speak,  to  work  upon 
—  first  on  one  side  of  the  nose, 
then  on  the  other,  then  under  one 
eye,  then  on  the  chin,  then  on  the 
forehead — and  punctuating  each  kiss 
with  a  low  murmur  of  satisfaction, 
such  as  a  schoolboy  may  occasionally 
be  observed  to  emit  when  employed 
in  consuming  some  sweetmeat  to 
which  he  applies  the  epithet  "gol- 
optious." 

"  Dear  child,"  said  Mrs  M'Killop, 


292 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


holding  her  out  at  arm's-length  to 
recover  breath — provisionally  re- 
leasing her,  as  a  cat  might  a  mouse, 
but  ready  to  reclaim  her  on  the 
slightest  provocation, — "  dear  child, 
how  we  have  missed  you  ! " 

"Have  you,  dear  mamma'?  and 
so  have  I  missed  you  all  terribly;" 
whereupon  Mrs  M'Killop  opened  an 
entirely  new  set  of  "  claims,"  and 
worked  them  out  unmercifully. 

"  Eila,  let  me  introduce  to  you 
Captain  Pigott  and  Mr  Cameron," 
said  her  father,  who  seemed  to 
fidget  a  good  deal  while  these  de- 
monstrations were  in  progress.  The 
gentlemen  made  their  obeisances, 
and  Eila,  seemingly  aware  for  the 
first  time  of  their  existence,  be- 
stowed on  each  a  smile  that  might 
have  quickened  the  pulse  of  an 
octogenarian.  To  Bertrand's  eyes, 
through  which  we  propose  to  look 
at  Eila,  there  was  presented  in  her 
person  the  realisation  of  an  ideal 
which  fancy  had  often  revealed  to 
him  before  in  dim  but  beatific 
visions,  as,  sighing  for  the  beauti- 
ful, he  roamed  about  the  shadow- 
land  of  day-dreams.  A  figure  so 
light,  so  airy,  moving  with  such  an 
indescribably  effortless  ease  and 
grace  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  at- 
mosphere dared  offer  no  resistance 
to  a  shape  so  ethereal,  but  fell  back 
wondering,  to  make  way  for  the 
witchery  of  each  new  movement. 

The  beautiful  head  and  face  which 
crowned  this  sylph-like  form  were 
worthy  of  it.  In  average  faces  the 
power  of  expression  is  pretty  evenly 
divided  among  the  leading  features, 
but  in  Eila's  her  eyes  seemed  almost 
to  monopolise  it.  It  would  have 
been  hard  to  find  a  sweeter  mouth 
when  the  eyes  were  smiling  j  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  match 
the  delicate  outline  of  the  face,  or 
the  exquisite  chiselling  of  every 
featural  detail ;  nothing  could  be 
more  finished  than  the  contour  and 
pose  of  the  high-bred  little  head, 


H  [March 

or  more  luxuriant  than  the  almost 
embarrassing  wealth  of  her  glossy 
brown  hair ;  but  from  all  these  the 
attention  was  at  once  withdrawn 
when  her  grey  eyes  flashed  upon 
the  spectator  from  their  mysterious- 
depths  some  look  in  which  all  her 
expressional  power  was  concentrat- 
ed. Eyes  like  these  might  suggest 
the  idea  that  they  would  either  see 
too  much  or  tell  too  much,  unless 
they  were  under  some  remarkable 
control ;  but  this  they  were,  for  the 
expressional  centralisation  made  the 
control  of  expression  very  complete 
indeed.  When  in  repose  her  eyes 
were  habitually  half  concealed  by 
their  singularly  long  and  beautiful 
dark  lashes,  and  then  her  expression 
was  soft,  dreamy,  and  pensive ;  but, 
when  called  into  animation,  she 
seemed  able  to  raise  or  lower  these 
silky  veils  with  the  subtlest  gradua- 
tions, so  as  to  reveal  the  exact  shade 
of  emotion  it  was  her  pleasure  to 
reveal,  and  nothing  more.  Thus, 
while  no  face  could  beam  with  a 
franker  intelligence,  none  could  be 
more  inscrutable.  The  bloom  of 
Hebe  lay  upon  her  cheek — a  bloom 
of  mingled  richness  and  delicacy, 
which  the  pure  blood  of  the  north 
cannot  supply,  and  which  in  this 
instance  came  by  inheritance  from 
a  Mexican  mother. 

Such  was  Eila  M'Killop — a  sight 
to  make  an  old  man  young.  The 
look  with  which  she  favoured  the 
gentlemen  on  their  presentation  was 
quite  a  study  in  its  way.  Her  eyes 
were  on  this  occasion  thoroughly 
unveiled,  and  from  their  beautiful 
depths  came  such  a  beam  of  kindly, 
frank,  gracious  cordiality,  that  Bert- 
rand's  heart  vibrated  like  the  index- 
needle  of  a  telegraphic  machine,  and 
there  seemed  to  strike  into  his  be- 
wildered mind  some  vague,  dreamy 
association  of  a  SAveet  strain  of 
music  floating  through  the  rosy  air 
of  a  still  summer  morning,  amid 
the  exquisite  breath  of  dewy  wild- 


1871.] 

flowers.  Even  Pigott  was  not  un- 
moved, for  he  actually  forgot,  until 
it  was  all  but  too  late — that  is,  for 
a  full  minute — the  glass  of  sherry, 
with  which  no  well-regulated  palate 
•can  dispense  as  an  immediate  sequel 
to  clear  soup. 

Morna  glanced  across  the  table  to 
see  the  effect  produced  by  her  step- 
sister. By  what  law  of  association 
was  it  that  a  certain  strange  new 
light  upon  Bertrand's  face  instantly 
recalled  to  her  her  own  self-reviled 
image  in  the  mirror  on  the  afternoon 
of  that  pleasant  day  when  he  and 
she  had  first  sat  by  the  river  ?  and 
recalled  it  with  a  sudden  indefinite 
sense  of  pain  1 

Eila  having  satisfied  the  cravings 
of  her  step-mother's  affection,  and 
having  done  a  little  business  in  the 
.same  way  on  her  account  with  her 
father  and  with  Morna,  seated  her- 
self between  her  father  and  Ber- 
trand,  and  proceeded  to  satisfy  the 
curiosity  of  her  relatives  as  to  her 
own  history  during  the  last  few 
weeks. 

"  You  have  greatty  enjoyed  your- 
self, dear  child,  I  fondly  hope  ? "  said 
Mrs  M'Killop. 

"  Pretty  well,  thanks,  dearest 
mamma."  (N.B. — These  ladies  were 
for  ever  expressing  by  lavish  terms 
of  endearment  the  ferocious  and 
truculent  feelings  which  each,  au 
fond,  cherished  for  the  other.)  "  They 
were  all  so  kind,  and  pressed  me  so 
to  stay  that  I  could  hardly  make  my 
escape ;  but  I  did  long  to  be  home 
again;  so  here  you  have  me  back  to 
tease  and  worry  you  all;"  and  she 
favoured  Pigott  with  a  three-quarter 
glance,  which  seemed  to  say,  "  If 
you  are  very  good  and  nice,  perhaps 
you  shall  be  teased  and  worried  too ; 
don't  despair."  But  Pigott  was  not 
going  to  let  himself  be  surprised 
again.  He  was  at  that  moment  earn- 
estly engaged  with  a  splendid  piece 
of  salmon,  and  if  he  had  spoken  out 
the  aspiration  of  his  heart,  it  would 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXV. 


Fair  to  Sec.— Part  III. 


293 


have  been  this  :  "  Oh  !  if  old  M'Kil- 
lop would  only  produce  some  of  that 
Steinberg  !  "  His  eye,  therefore,  was 
as  dim  and  responseless  as  the  sal- 
mon's on  the  sideboard;  and  Eila, 
recognising  intuitively  a  subject  who 
was  to  be  no  subject  of  hers,  said 
inly,  "  Here  is  an  oyster."  That 
even  this  impenetrable  mollusc  could 
be  turned  to  her  own  account,  how- 
ever, in  some  shape  or  other,  was 
obviously  the  young  lady's  convic- 
tion ;  otherwise  why  should  she  have 
turned  upon  him  the  battery  of  her 
brightest  glances  during  dinner? 
why  should  he  have  been  selected, 
and  Bertrand,  who  sat  by  her,  left 
altogether  out  in  the  cold  ] 

Pigott,  who  saw  through,  or  flat- 
tered himself  that  he  saw  through, 
everything,  by  no  means  allowed  his 
tranquillity  or  his  dinner  to  be  dis- 
turbed by  his  high  privileges.  "Don't 
know  what  her  game  may  be,  just  at 
present,"  he  thought;  "but  it  ts'a 
game  :  tremendous  pair  of  eyes,  to 
be  sure  !  Salad,  please,  Jenkinson." 

"  Had  you  a  large  party,  Eila  1 " 
asked  Morna. 

"  No ;  a  few  people  came  from  time 
to  time,  and  the  house  was  pretty 
full  for  '  the  Twelfth  ;'  but  most  of 
the  people  were  rather  stupid.  It 
didn't  seem  like  '  the  Twelfth.'  The 
gentlemen  didn't  seem  to  care  about 
shooting  even  ;  they  went  out  late 
and  languid;  they  came  home  early 
and  languid ;  they  must  have  shot 
languidly,  I  should  think,  from  the 
size  of  their  bags  ;  they  were  too  lan- 
guid to  speak  even :  then  they  sat 
half  the  night  in  the  dining-room 
after  dinner,  but  were  no  better  when 
they  came  into  the  drawing-room — 
in  fact,  just  the  same,  except  that 
their  faces  were  red,  and  they  fell 
asleep  in  their  chairs.  They  were 
really  rather  dismal — so  different," 
her  eyes  seemed  to  tell  Pigott,  "from 
what  you  are,  I  am  sure." 

"  Poor  Eila  !  you  have  been  quite 
a  martyr,"  said  Morna. 


294 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


"Oh,  quite;  I  hope  you  have 
been  more  brilliant  here  ] " 

"I  think  we  have  not  been  so 
very  languid  at  all  events ;  I  think 
we  have  been  very  happy." 

"  You  have  had  people  here  ? " 

"  Yes,  although  it  is  not  very  civil 
in  you  to  suppose  that  that  was  ne- 
cessary to  our  happiness ;  we  have 
had  Mr  Tainsh  and  Mr  Duncanson 
here." 

"  How  unfortunate  I  am  to  have 
missed  them ! " 

"  They  are  coming  back,  dear 
choild,"  said  Mrs  M'Killop. 

"  I  am  so  glad — when  1 " 

"  I  believe  the  day  is  uncertain, 
but  very  soon." 

"  I  am  so  glad." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  so  en- 
thusiastic about  either  of  them," 
laughed  Morna. 

"Oh,  indeed,  yes;  everybody  likes 
Mr  Tainsh,  and  Mr  Duncanson  is 
too  singularly  rude  and  ill-tempered 
not  to  be  interesting." 

Mrs  M'Killop's  crest  began  to  rise. 
"My  dear  Eila,"  she  said,  "I  beg 
you  won't  run  him  down.  He  is  a 
remarkably  clever,  intelligent,  agree- 
able, well-principled  young  man." 

"Of  course,  dear  mamma,  that 
only  adds  to  his  interest.  I  am  so 
anxious  to  get  his  receipt  for  being 
rude,  and  cross,  and  agreeable,  and 
stupid,  and  intelligent,  all  at  the 
same  time,  and  still  equally  popular; 
it  would  be  most  useful  to  me  with 
my  shocking  temper;"  on  which 
score,  however,  her  eyes  confided  to 
Pigott  that  he  at  least  need  have  no 
anxiety. 

"  She'll  tire  of  all  this  eyeing  be- 
fore I  do,"  thought  that  gentleman, 
turning  on  her  a  countenance  as  ex- 
pressionless as  the  dead  wall  of  a 
cotton-mill. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Eila,"  laughed  Morna, 
"  I  wish  you  would  get  his  receipt ; 
you  know  how  we  all  suffer  from 
your  violence." 

"Had  you  great  sport  on  'the 


B  [March 

Twelfth,'    Captain    Pigott?"    con- 
tinued Eila. 

"Oh  yes,  we  had  an  excellent 
bag." 

"  And  who  shot  best  ? " 

"  Mr  Cameron,  I  think ;  but  it 
wasn't  quite  certain — it  lay  between 
him  and  me." 

"  That  is  his  modesty,  Miss 
M'Killop,"  said  Bertrand;  "he 
really  made  the  bag ;  my  only  tri- 
umph was  beating  Mr  Duncanson." 

Eila  turned  her  eyes  on  her  next 
neighbour  for  the  first  time,  only 
for  an  instant ;  but  she  gave  him 
a  full  benefit  which  seemed  to  set 
many  powerful  eight  -  day  clocks 
ticking  all  through  his  veins ;  then 
she  dropped  her  long  lashes  and 
said, — 

"  I  hope  he  bore  his  defeat  well, 
and  showed  a  great  deal  of  high 
principle." 

"  He  showed  a  good  deal  of  high 
temper  at  all  events,"  said  Pigott. 

"  Oh,  poor  fellow  !  he  had  lost 
his  money ;  it  was  enough  to  put 
him  out  a  little,"  cried  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  assented  Eila;  "  that 
certainly  was ;  poor  fellow  !  it  was 
rather  exigeant  of  you,  Captain  Pig- 
ott, to  expect  him  to  keep  his  tem- 
per, when  it  is  so  much  less  trouble- 
some to  lose  it,  and  when  he  loses 
nothing  by  losing  it.  Principle  is 
a  most  useful  thing — I  must  really 
take  to  it." 

"  You  must  have  a  private  pick 
at  young  Duncanson,  I  suspect, 
Eila,"  said  Mrs  M'Killop,  with 
swiftly-rising  choler.  "  Has  he  not 
been  sufficiently  devoted,  not  enough 
conquered  by  your  bows  ewes  ?  " 

"  Mamma,  you  are  the  cleverest 
of  people ;  I  am  certain  that  must 
exactly  be  the  reason.  I  never 
thoxight  of  it  before;  nothing  else 
could  make  me  so  blind  to  his 
merits  when  you  see  them  so  clearly. 
Now  I  think  of  it,  he  is  not  very 
civil  to  me ;  but  then  he  is  always 


1871.] 

preoccupied,  and  that  is  not  Mr  Dun- 
cansoii's  fault.  Somebody  else  is  the 
real  culprit — somebody  else  shoxdd 
bear  the  blame,"  turning  her  wicked 
eyes  on  Moma's  blushing  face;  "  and 
I  have  been  unjust  to  Mr  Duncan- 
son — selfish  and  unjust." 

"  You  see,  gentlemen,"  snorted 
Mrs  M'Killop,  "  how  exacting  this 
young  lady  is.  If  you  are  not  very 
gallant  you  will  be  having  your- 
selves abused  just  like  poor  Mr 
Duncanson." 

"  Oh,  ungenerous  mamma  !  just 
•when  I  have  made  the  amende.  We 
had  a  charming  picnic,  by  the  by, 
the  other  day,"  she  continued,  turn- 
ing the  subject,  "  to  such  a  delight- 
ful old  castle." 

"Dalquhairn,  of  course,"  cried 
Mrs  M'Killop;  "the  oldest  pro- 
perty of  our  ancestors  the  Parlanes, 
Morna,  confiscated  in  the  '15  "  (it 
certainly  could  not  have  been  at 
all  a  paying  thing  to  be  an  ancestor 
of  Mrs  M'Killop's)— "a  noble  old 
place — in  the  family  for  centuries 
— for  it  is  quite  certain  that  Fear- 
guish  Parlane  was  killed  at  the 
battle  of  Largs ;  and  if  so " 

"  And  if  so,  dearest  mamma,  it  is 
quite  certain  that  he  could  have  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  picnic  I 
was  going  to  tell  you  about,  which 
was  not  at  Dalquhairn  at  all,  but  at 
another  noble  old  place — Aberlorna 
Castle.  You  know  it,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  Know  it  ?  In  the  year  sixteen 
hundred  and " 

"  Yes.  Well,  it  was  at  Aberlorna 
Castle — a  splendid  old  ruin  hanging 
on  a  cliff  over  the  sea,  and  splendid 
old  woods  all  round  it ;  and  such  a 
beautiful  house ! — the  modern  house, 
I  mean — standing  in  such  a  situa- 
tion, with  terraces  all  down  to  the 
very  shores  of  the  bay.  We  went 
in  a  boat  the  last  half  of  the  jour- 
ney ;  and  when  we  turned  into  the 
little  bay  it  burst  on  us  quite  un- 
expectedly. On  one  side  you  saw 
the  ruin,  and  on  the  other  the  new 


Fair  to  See. — Part  III. 


295 


house — crumbling  walls  and  mossy 
battlements  and  ancient  woods  on 
one  side,  and  the  beautiful  bright 
chateau  on  the  other,  with  gardens 
and  shrubberies  and  terraces  all  in 
the  most  perfect  order.  Such  a  con- 
trast you  know — '  a  picture  of  the 
Past  and  the  Present  in  the  same 
frame,'  as  Captain  Fearon  said — and 
the  Lorna  running  down  between 
them,  with  a  little  cascade  just 
under  the  bridge  that  joins  the 
two  sides  —  a  light,  airy-looking, 
iron  bridge.  I  never  saw  such  a 
lovely  place ;  and  fancy  its  belong- 
ing to  some  stupid  old  man  who 
never  lives  there,  but  is  something 
or  other  on  the  other  side  of  the 
world.  If  it  was  mine  I  could 
never  bear  to  leave  it.  I  never 
coveted  anything  half  so  much.  I 
wish  the  proprietor  would  adopt 
me,  or  leave  it  to  me,  or  some- 
thing." 

"  And  don't  you  know  who  the 
proprietor  is?"  asked  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop. 

"  No — yes,  by  the  by,  I  did  hear 
his  name ;  Sir  Eichard  or  Sir  Eobert 
something  or  other." 

"  Cameron." 

"  Yes,  that  was  it ;  and  a  stupid 
old  creature  he  must  be." 

"  Sir  Eoland  Cameron,  my  dear," 
said  Mrs  M'Killop,  with  awful  em- 
2?ressement,  "is  the  proprietor.  He 
is  also  the  uncle  of  our  friend  Mi- 
Cameron  here,  who  may  not  like  to 
hear  his  nearest  relative  spoken  of 
so  lightly." 

"  Oh,  Mr  Cameron  ! "  cried  Eila, 
turning  on  him  such  a  look  of  be- 
witchingly  innocent  contrition,  "I 
do  beg  your  pardon ;  but  of  course, 
you  know,  I  couldn't  possibly  know 
anything  about  it.  I  hope  you  are 
not  dreadfully  fond  of  him.  I  hope 
you  are  not  very  angry  with  me  ? " 

The  eye-battery  blazed  into  Ber- 
trand  point-blank,  throwing,  as  it 
were,  incendiary  bombs  and  all  man- 
ner of  explosives  and  combustibles 


296 


Fair  to  See. — Part  III. 


right  into  the  centre  of  his  dazzled 
and  mazed  inner  consciousness. 

"Angry  with  you,  Miss  M'Kil- 
lop  ! "  he  stammered  ;  "  oh  no  ! 
that  would  be  something  like — 
ha !  ha ! — oh  no,  that  would  be — 
wouldn't  it?  Yes,  I  assure  you,  a 
sort  of  impossible — ahem — eh  ?  he  ! 
he!" 

In  acknowledgment  of  which  ex- 
tremely lucid  disclaimer  of  outraged 
family  feeling,  and  perhaps  in  pity 
for  it,  the  eyes  were  slowly  drooped, 
and  Eila  went  on, — "  You  know  I 
only  called  him  stupid  for  not  liking 
his  beautiful  place,  and  I  am  sure 
you  agree  with  me  that  he  ought  to 
like  it." 

"  I  am  sure,  if  it  is  anything  like 
your  picturesque  description,  he 
ought  to  like  it." 

"What !  have  you  never  seen  it?" 

"N — no,  I  am  sorry  to  say  I 
haven't." 

"  Never  seen  your  uncle's  place  ! " 

"Never ;  but  now  I  am  all  curiosity. 
I  shall  certainly  go  and  see  it  before 
I  leave  Scotland." 

"  You  must  indeed,  and  you  must 
go  too,  Captain  Pigott ;  you  never 
saw  anything  half  so  lovely.  Do 
you  sketch  ? " 

'In  a  very  small  way,"  saidPigott. 

'  Oh,  then,  will  you  do  me  a 
favour  ? " 

'  With  pleasure." 

'  A  great  favour,  though." 

'  With  great  pleasure." 

'  Then  you  must  take  a  sketch  of 
the  tower  from  the  bridge  and  give 
it  to  me ;  I  worked  at  it  for  an  hour 
and  a  half,  and  could  make  nothing 
of  it.  I  shan't  be  happy  till  I  have 
a  sketch  of  it." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  try ;  but 
if  you  failed  to  satisfy  yourself,  I 
fear  I  am  not  likely  to  succeed  in 
doing  so." 

"Oh,  I  know  you  will" — as  if 
Pigott's  appearance  alone  was  con- 
clusive evidence  of  his  eminence  in 
art — "  so  it  is  a  promise  ? " 


[March 

"  I  am  highly  nattered  by  being 
asked  to  make  the  promise,  and  you 
may  depend  upon  my  doing  my 
best." 

Eila  thanked  him  with  a  sun- 
beam (Bertrand  could  have  thrown 
a  plate  at  him  for  the  stolidity  with 
which  he  received  it),  and  con- 
tinued her  account  of  the  picnic, 
which  had  no  doubt  been  much  like 
other  picnics;  but  which — described 
by  Eila  in  her  musical  voice,  with 
every  little  incident  pointed  by  her 
na'ivete,  and  her  clear,  silvery  laugh 
— appeared  to  Bertrand  to  have  been 
a  festival  of  unrivalled  attractions. 
"  It  was  wonderfully  pleasant,"  she 
concluded,  "  considering  how  dull 
and  stupid  the  people  all  were,  ex- 
cept Captain  Fearon"  (Bertrand 
felt  that  the  Captain's  alleged  viva- 
city did  not  improve  Ms  opinion  of 
the  picnic).  "  Nothing  would  make 
them  laugh;  at  last  that  made  us 
laugh,  and  I'm  afraid  we  behaved 
very  ill"  (Bertrand  was  sure  Cap- 
tain Fearon  had, — "  the  snob  ! ") — 
"and  at  last  I  got  quite  into  dis- 
grace; for  fat  old  Mrs  Eingwood 
tumbled  into  the  sea  when  we  were 
re  -  embarking,  and  her  daughters 
screamed  and  nearly  fainted,  and 
Captain  Fearon  was  obliged  to  go 
in  after  her  (in  shallow  water,  you 
know)  in  his  beautiful  plum-coloured 
knickerbecker  stockings ;  and  she 
was  so  heavy  to  pull  out  that  Cap- 
tain Fearon  fell  under  the  water, 
and  they  both  disappeared  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  then  came  up  looking 
so  dismal" — here  the  recollection 
revived  Eila's  laughter  to  such  an 
extent  that  she  was  unable  to  go  on 
for  a  time — "Mrs  Eingwood  looking 
like  a  great  seal,  with  her  brown 
front  off,  and  Captain  Fearon  with 
all  his  fine  curls  hanging  like  string 
over  his  nose  ;  so  that  I  laughed 
till  tears  ran  down  my  face,  and  I 
could  not  help  saying  that  it  put  me 
in  mind  of  the  scene  in  the  "Colleen 
Bawn,"  where  Myles  jumps  into  the 


1871.] 

water  after  Eilah  O'Connor :  and 
Mrs  Eingwood  scolded  me,  and  her 
daughters  muttered  something  about 
'  heartlessness;'  and  Captain  Fearon, 
who  is  a  great  dandy"  (ha  !  ha  ! 
Bertrand  was  glad  of  that),  "was 
quite  cross  and  sulky,  and  wouldn't 
speak  to  me,  although  we  had  been 
such  friends  before,  so  that  I  was 
really  quite  in  disgrace ;  and  al- 
though I  tried  all  the  way  home  to 
apologise  and  be  sorry,  whenever  I 
looked  at  the  two  shipwrecked  un- 
fortunates I  broke  down  again,  and 
so  ended  the  picnic ;  but  I  wouldn't 
have  missed  the  drowning  scene  for 
anything."  And  Bertrand,  listening 
to  the  merry  music  of  her  laughter, 
and  absorbing  stray  fragments  of  sun- 
beam as  they  passed  on  their  way  to 
Pigott,  felt  that  he  woidd  like  to  go 
to  a  picnic  with  her,  and  behave  ill 
with  her,  and  be  in  Coventry  with 
her,  and  even  tumble  overboard 
with  her  (not  Mrs  Eingwood),  al- 
though it  should  be  in  stockings  of 
Tyrian  purple  and  upper  garments 
of  the  costliest  velvet. 

And  so  the  dinner  passed  off,  and 
the  ladies  passed  away,  and  over 
the  wine  Bertrand  was  very  silent, 
dimly  wondering  why  Eila  had 
taken  a  sudden  antipathy  to  him 
(he  had  felt  that  she  scarcely  seem- 
ed to  notice  his  existence,  and 
he  was  unaccustomed  to  total 
neglect  from  the  fair  sex),  dimly 
wondering  why  a  glance  of  her  eye 
should  make  him  feel — feel — like — 
like — hang  it !  like  that  ;  dimly 
wondering  if  she  had  made  it  up 
with  Captain  Fearon,  and  what 
sort  of  fellow  Fearon  was — that  is, 
when  his  plum-coloured  stockings 
were  thoroughly  dry,  and  his 
hyacinthine  locks  restored  to  their 
normal  curl.  No  glory  sat  on  the 
insensate  Pigott's  face  for  all  the 
bright  sunshine  that  had  been 
playing  on  it  for  an  hour.  Wool 
was,  as  we  are  aware,  Mr  M'Killop's 
conversational  staple — colonial  wool, 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


297 


by  preference  ;  and  with  him  Pigott 
was  carding  and  teasing  that  lamen- 
table topic,  with  an  unruffled  calm 
Avhich,  considering  what  he  had 
recently  been  enjoying,  was  to  Ber- 
trand simply  inexplicable. 

"  She  may  hate  me  as  much  as 
she  likes,"  he  thought ;  "  but  as  for 
seeing  anything  in  Pigott,  she  can't, 
you  know — simply  can't.  A  capital 
fellow,  of  course — a  delightful  fellow 
among  men,  when  he  likes ;  but  as 
for  the  other  thing  —  oh  no  —  oh 
dear,  no  ! —  preposterous  ! " 

In  the  drawing-room  Morna  did 
not  seem  to  be  quite  in  her  usual 
spirits,  but  that  might  only  have  been 
by  comparison  with  the  exuberant 
gaiety  of  her  step-sister.  That 
young  lady  had  a  hundred  little 
bits  of  airy  gossip  to  tell,  a  hun- 
dred little  laughing  sketches  of  her 
visit  and  co  -  inmates  to  retail, 
mysteries  of  dress  to  unfold,  od- 
dities to  caricature,  beauties  to 
expatiate  upon,  touching  each  sub- 
ject with  the  lightest  of  touches, 
and  gliding  from  one  to  another 
with  a  most  facile  espieglerie.  At 
last  her  budget  was  exhausted,  and 
she  said,  "  Now,  Morna,  I've  told 
you  all  about  myself ;  now  for  your 
experiences.  What  have  you  been 
about ? " 

"  Nothing  particular,  Eila." 

"  Nothing  particular  1  then  I  sup- 
pose our  two  guests  are  as  stupid 
as  they  look  ? " 

"Stupid,  Eila?  do  you  think 
they  look  stupid  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dreadfully  heavy  ! — parti- 
cularly the  younger  one,  Mr — Mr 
— the  nephew  of  the  uncle,  you 
knowl" 

"Mr  Cameron?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  you're  quite  wrong::  he 
is  not  the  least  stupid;  neither 
is  Captain  Pigott.  Oh  no  !  Mr 
Cameron  is  not  at  all  stupid — quite 

the  reverse — in  fact,  he  is  just " 

Morna  stopped,  conscious  that  she 


298 


Fair  to  See. — Part  III. 


[March. 


was  blushing,  and  that  her  step- 
sister was  looking  at  her  with  a  half- 
smile  from  under  her  long  eyelashes. 

"Just  what,  Morna?"  she  in- 
quired. 

"  Just  as  clever  as  most  people 
one  meets,  I  mean." 

"  He  is  your  friend,  then,  of 
course  ?  " 

"  We  are  very  good  friends." 

"  Are  they  sociable  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"Both  of  them?" 

"Yes — no — I  don't  know;  why 
do  you  ask  1 " 

"  Because  it  will  make  all  the 
difference  while  they  are  here.  If 
they  are  stupid  and  sociable,  so 
much  the  worse;  if  they  are  nice 
and  sociable,  so  much  the  better. 
Are  they  nice  and  sociable  1 " 

"  Yes,"  said  Morna,  laughing ;  "  I 
think  they  are  nice  and  sociable." 

"  They  don't  look  as  if  they  had 
been  chloroformed  in  the  evenings, 
like  the  people  at  Strathinan  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not." 

"  Well,  if  they  are  nice,  they 
mustn't  be  allowed  to  shoot  every 
day." 

"  They  don't,  as  it  is." 

"  Then  what  do  they  do  with 
themselves  ? " 

"  Oh,  they  walk  about,  and  do 
all  sorts  of  things." 

"Fish?" 

"  Sometimes." 

"  That  interferes  with  your  mo- 
nopoly." 

"No,  I  fish  too." 

"With  them?" 

"Yes— at  least  Captain  Pigott 
never  fishes." 

"  You  fish  with  Mr  Cameron, 
then?" 

"  My  dear  Eila,  what  a  catechism 
you  are ! " 

"  But  you  do,  don't  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  do  sometimes." 

"  Then  fie  is  nice  and  sociable  ? " 

"  I  said  so  before." 

"  And  the  evenings  ? " 


'  Well,  they  pass  somehow." 

'  Whist  ? " 

'  tfo," 

'Music?" 

'  Xot  often." 

'  What  does  mamma  do  ?  " 

'  JEcarte." 

'  Oh,  they  play  ecarte  ?  " 

'Yes — that  is — Captain  Pigott 
does." 

"  And  how  do  you  amuse  Mr 
Cameron,  or  how  does  he  amuse 
you  ? " 

"  We  talk  sometimes." 

"  At  rare  intervals,  —  I  under- 
stand. Apropos  of  Mr  Cameron,  I 
am  dying  to  take  you  to  see  that 
beautiful  old  castle.  Suppose  we 
make  an  expedition  there  some 
day  soon — next  week  ? " 

"  Mr  Tainsh  and  Mr  Duncanson 
are  coming  back,  I  think,  next 
week." 

"  Very  well,  we  can  take  them 
with  us ;  and  oh,  Morna,  of  course, 
the  very  thing — we  might  get  your 
admirer,  Mr  Duncanson,  to  take  us 
there  in  his  papa's  yacht ;  it  would 
be  delightful,  and  make  the  journey 
so  much  shorter." 

"  Yes,  it  would  be  very  pleasant 
without  Mr  Duncanson." 

"  Oh,  you  ungrateful .  We 

are  just  saying,  Captain  Pigott " 
(the  gentleman  arrived  at  this  mo- 
ment)— "we  are  just  saying  how 
charming  it  would  be  to  make  an 
expedition  round  to  Aberlorna 
some  day  next  week.  You  see  I 
am  quite  a  fanatic  about  it.  Do 
you  think  you  will  be  able  to  tear 
yourselves  away  from  the  grouse  for 
one  day — next  week,  perhaps  ? " 

"It  would  be  charming,"  said 
Pigott.  "  Any  day  you  like  to  fix." 
"  Do  let  us  arrange  it,  then;"  and, 
by  the  most  infinitesimal  soupqon  of 
a  movement,  it  was  suggested  to 
Pigott  that  he  might  seat  himself 
by  her  on  the  sofa,  which  he  did, 
stolidly,  probably  because  he  knew 
it  was  a  soft  and  comfortable  seat. 


Fait-  to  &e.—P<irt  III, 


- 


1871.] 

"What  can  she  see  in  Pigott? 
How  the — what  the — why  the — 
-what  can  she  see  in  him  ?  "  thought 
Bertram!,  strolling  slowly  up  to 
Morna,  who  was  sitting,  as  she 
iually  was  at  this  point  of  the 
ivening,  by  the  window,  looking 
out  on  the  terrace. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  it,  Mr 
Cameron?"  she  inquired. 

I  ?      Oh,   beautiful  —  perfectly 
>vely  !  that  cloud — what  a  tint ! — 
what  fleeciness  ! " 

"You  seem  to  be  in  the  clouds 
ourself,  Mr  Cameron,"  said  Morna, 
ooking    up   into   his   absent   face. 
"I  was  talking  about  the  expedi- 
tion." 

"Ah,  yes — of  course,  of  course." 

"  And  would  you  like  it  ? " 

"Nothing  so  much,"  said  Ber- 
trand,  entirely  innocent  of  the  sub- 
ject on  the  tapis — he  was  in  "  the 
fierce  vexation  of  a  dream  " — a  mid- 
summer-night's dream  :  that  sofa 
was  the  bank  whereon  the  wild 
thyme  blew — and  there  was  Titania 
sitting  on  it,  "sticking  musk-roses 
in  the  sleek  smooth  head  "  of  Bot- 
tom the  weaver. 

"Even  in  Mr  Duncanson's  yacht?" 
asked  Morna. 

"  Has  he  a  yacht  ?  He's  very 
lucky.  I  like  yachting  :  and  so 
Duncanson  has  a  yacht  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Captain  Pigott,  are  we  to  have 
our  ecarte  to-night  ? "  cried  Mrs 
M'Killop. 

"  Certainly.  I  am  perfectly  at 
your  disposal,"  said  Pigott,  rising 
and  abandoning  Titania  with  the 
.same  stolid  calm. 

"  Does  this  go  on  every  evening?" 
asked  Eila,  also  rising,  and  joining 
the  pair  at  the  window.  "  Isn't  it 
-a  little  triste  ?  what  do  you  do  ? " 

"  We  go  out  on  the  terrace. 
We're  going  to-night — are  we  not, 
Miss  Grant?" 

"  If  you  like." 

"Shall  we  go,  then?"  adding,  as 


299 


Eila  made  no  sign  of  moving, 
"  Won't  you  come,  Miss  M'Killop  ? 
You  have  no  idea  how  beautiful  the 
hills  look  at  this  time  of  the  even- 
ing from  the  terrace." 

"  Thanks — not  to-night;  I  believe 
I  am  a  little  tired ; "  and  so  Ber- 
trand  and  Morna  went  out  by  them- 
selves. But  their  walk  that  night 
was  far  from  a  success.  There  were 
silences,  apologies,  forced  random 
starts  into  the  driest  of  subjects,  again 
silences,  and  then  more  apologies. 
What  could  it  all  mean?  It  must 
have  been  Bertrand's  fault,  he  looked 
so  abstracted  and  dull ;  and  Morna 
evidently  thought  so,  for  she  looked 
up  now  and  then  into  his  thoughtful 
face  in  a  simple,  questioning  way, 
receiving,  however,  no  explanation. 
It  was  very  mysterious  and  un- 
pleasant. 

The  snninier  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  taken  to  its  golden  wings  and 
fled.  There  was  a  cloud  over  every- 
thing to-night,  and  a  dullness.  Was 
it  possible  that  from  so  sunny  a 
source  as  Eila's  presence  a  sudden 
mistral  had  come  forth,  blowing  a 
damp  and  obscuring  haze  between 
two  spirits  hitherto  so  congenial? 
Or  whence  else  had  it  come  ? 

"  I  hear  Eila  singing,  I  think," 
said  Morna  at  last,  in  a  painfully 
flat  tone  of  voice;  "and  perhaps 
listening  to  her  would  amuse  us 
more  than  walking  here  to-night. 
Shall  we  go  in  ? " 

Listening  to  her!  Where  was 
Bertrand's  wonted  gallant  enthusi- 
asm ?  Why  was  Morna  not  assured 
that  only  one  singing  voice,  and  that 
her  own,  could  tempt  him  indoors 
on  such  a  night,  and  from  a  tete-a-tete 
with  her?  She  was  not  so  assured, 
at  all  events ;  for  Bertrand  only  said, 
"  Perhaps  you  would  prefer  it — I 
daresay  you  are  tired  ; "  and  they 
turned  towards  the  house.  As  they 
drew  near  to  the  windows,  the  re- 
frain of  Eila's  song  floated  to  them 
very  distinctly — 


300 


Fair  to  See.— Part  III. 


[Marcfo 


"  Come  back  to  Erin,  Mavoimieen  !  Ma- 

vourneen ! 
Come  back,  Aroon,  to  the  land  of  thy 

birth!" 

Very  sweet  indeed  would  the  lay 
have  sounded  to  any  ears — very  sweet, 
and  plaintive,  and  pleading ;  indeed 
the  most  obdurate  Irish  absentee 
might  have  been  half  tempted  back 
to  face  "  Rory  of  the  Hills  "  in  de- 
ference to  such  an  appeal ;  but  to 
Bertrand  it  sounded  something 
more  than  very  sweet,  and  he 
walked  into  the  room  in  a  tumult 
of  thoughts  betwixt  pleasure  and 
pain. 

What  a  heaven  upon  earth  it 
would  be  to  be  addressed  as  "  Ma- 
vourneen"  by  such  a  voice,  in  the 
sunlight  of  such  eyes  !  Ah,  what 
bliss  !  But  did — was — could  there 
be  any  one  so  highly  privileged  1 
and  if  so,  did  he  wear  plum- 
coloured  knickerbocker  stockings? 

0  ashes !    0   despair !     Eila    rose 
the  moment  Bertrand  and   Morna 
entered ;  nor  could  she  be  prevailed 
upon  to  resume  her  seat  at  the  piano. 
"  I  am  too  humble  to  sing  when  the 
prima  donna  is  here  to  sing,"  she 
said.     "  Dear  Morna,  I  have  missed 
your  music  so  much  while  I  have 
been  away;  you  must   sing  some- 
thing now — will  you,  to  oblige  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  try,  but  I  feel  sure  that 

1  am  not  at  all  in  voice  to-night.     I 
wish  you  would  sing  another,  first." 

"  Oh  no,  I'm  too  impatient ;  I 
can't  wait :  do,  pray,  let  us  have 
'Wings.'" 

Morna  complied,  and  Eila  seated 
herself  on  the  sofa.  And  how  did 
it  happen  ?  Was  it  by  electricity,  by 
magnetism,  by  the  teaching  of  some 
strange  spell,  that  Bertrand  instantly 
became  aware  that  he  might  seat 
himself  beside  her  on  the  sofa,  un- 
rebuffed,  and  even  welcome  ?  "  How 
it  came,  let  doctors  tell."  Morna 
had  scarcely  taken  flight  upon 
"  Wings,"  before  Bertrand  had  gra- 
vitated to  the  sofa  ;  and  instantly 


there  seemed  about  him — such  as 
came  about  Launcelot  in  the  castle- 
of  King  Pelles  —  "  a  marvellous 
greyte  clearenesse,  that  the  playcer 
was  as  bright  as  though  all  the- 
torches  of  the  world  had  beene 
there  ;"  and  in  his  ears  there  was- 
a  voice  as  of  "  the  low-tongued 
Orient ;  "  and  when  "  Wings  "  had 
borne  Morna  to  the  end  of  their 
pathetic  flight  of  touching  aspira- 
tion, she  found  that  no  sympathis- 
ing spirit  had  followed  on  her  track. 
Prom  the  sofa  came  a  murmur  as  of 
softly-flowing  waters,  and  from  the 
card-table  rang  a  shrill  female  cry 
of  triumph — "  The  king  !  game  and 
rubber !  Three-and-sixpence,  Cap- 
tain Pigott!"  Hereupon  the  sofa 
woke  up. 

"  Another  !  oh,  I  beseech  you  for 
another,  dearest  Moma  !" 

"  Another,  Miss  Grant,  as  the 
greatest  of  favours." 

But  the  favour  appeared  to  be 
too  great — at  least  it  was  not 
granted.  There  was  thunder  in  the 
air,  Miss  Grant  verily  believed — 
otherwise,  how  could  she  have  such 
a  dreadful  headache  1 — which  made- 
farther  vocal  effort  impossible.  There 
must  certainly  be  thunder  in  the 
air — Miss  M'Killop  agreed — full  of 
sympathy  and  condolence.  And 
then  Mrs  M'Killop,  snapping  the 
clasp  of  her  purse  on  the  evening's 
winnings,  thought  that  bed  was  the 
best  place  for  a  headache,  and  car- 
ried the  young  ladies  off ;  but  before 
they  went,  and  even  across  their 
leave-taking,  the  mistral  blew  again 
with  double  bitterness,  not  merely 
floating  the  damp  mist  between 
Morna  and  Bertrand,  but  dropping 
a  sudden  cloud-curtain  between  him 
and  the  "  marvellous  greyte  cleare- 
nesse," so  that  it  went  from  him  as 
it  came  to  him,  and  he  was  again  in 
the  cold,  dank  darkness  —  where, 
however,  he  seemed  to  recognise,. 
with  an  enhanced  perception,  that 
Pigott  was  fearfully  deficient  in. 


1871.] 


King's  Translation  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses. 


301 


every  personal  grace  and  allurement 
— distressingly  so — poor  fellow  ! 
They  had  rather  a  grumpy  time  of 
it  in  divan  that  night.  Bertrand 
mooned  and  moped — while,  as  tad 
luck  would  have  it,  Pigott's  spirits 
were  more  buoyant  than  usual,  so 
that  he  would  have  conversed 
gladly;  but,  failing  that  resource, 
so  buoyant  was  he,  that  he  fell 
back  on  music.  "With  the  ear  of 
an  oyster  and  the  voice  of  a  saw, 
and  being  only  acquainted  with 
about  the  eighth  part  of  an  old 
schoolboy  tune,  and  words  to  match, 
great  results  were  not  to  be  expected 


from  his  performance.  Still,  it  is 
astonishing  how  far  a  slight  and 
rather  inferior  piece  of  music  will 
go  sometimes;  and  on  this  occasion 
Pigott  managed,  by  dint  of  encoring 
himself  every  second  minute,  to 
satisfy  his  own  requirements,  and 
eventually  to  send  Bertrand  off  to 
bed  in  a  towering  passion,  by 
nothing  more  elaborate  than — 

"  Pretty,  pretty  Polly  Ho-opkins, 

How  d'ye  do-oo  ? — how  d'ye  do-oo  ? 
None  the  better,  Mr  Tom-kins, 
Of  seeing  you-oo— of  see-eeing  you  :  " 

and  then  da  capo. 


KING'S  TRANSLATION   OF  OVID'S  METAMOEPHOSES. 


THE  mass  of  early  Greek  fable 
which  we  call  mythology  has  a 
wonderful  vitality  of  interest.  The 
legends  which  formed  part  of  the  re- 
ligion of  the  ancient  Greeks  were 
adopted  as  text-books  for  modern 
schoolboys,  in  spite  of  some  very 
questionable  characteristics  which 
might  seem  to  unfit  them  as  much 
for  one  purpose  as  the  other.  And 
now,  just  as  they  are  losing  the 
hold  which  they  so  long  maintain- 
ed almost  exclusively  in  our  public 
schools,  they  are  becoming  the  sub- 
ject of  grave  discussion  amongst  his- 
torians and  philologers,  and  the 
storehouse  of  our  modern  poets. 
It  was  long  a  reproach,  fair  or  un- 
fair, against  the  Eton  or  Harrow 
boy,  that  he  knew  a  great  deal  more 
about  the  scandals  of  the  court  of 
Olympus  than  he  did  about  the 
British  Constitution.  It  would  not 
be  difficult  now  to  find  readers  of  the 
fairer  sex  who — thanks  to  Mr  Morris's 
graceful  poems — know  more  about 
Bellerophon  and  the  Argonauts  than 
an  average  schoolboy. 


It  is  therefore  no  very  desperate 
experiment  on  the  public  taste  which 
Mr  King  has  made  in  undertaking 
a  poetical  version  of  Ovid's  Meta- 
morphoses, especially  as  no  tolerable 
English  translation  exists.  That 
which  is  best  known,  edited  and 
published  by  Dr  Garth  in  1717  as 
the  production  of  "  various  hands," 
exhibits  for  the  most  part  only 
variety  of  bad  taste  and  loose  para- 
phrase. The  Latin  original  has 
dropped  out  of  use  in  our  schools 
of  late  years,  in  spite  of  the  great 
beauty  of  the  versification  and  the 
attractiveness  of  the  stories  in  gene- 
ral to  the  taste  of  boys ;  and  there 
are,  no  doubt,  some  objections  to 
its  use  as  a  whole.  But  very  many 
of  the  passing  generation  remember 
it  as  almost  their  earliest  classical 
acquaintance,  and,  we  will  be  bold 
to  say,  remember  it  with  a  very 
lively  pleasure.  The  ripple  of  Ovid's 
melodious  stream  of  verse  charms 
the  ear  and  fancy  still,  and  what 
little  mud  it  stirred  up  here  and 
there  in  its  course,  has  left,  it  may 


The  Metamorphoses  of  Publius  Ovidius  Naso,  translated  in  English  Blank  Verse 
by  Henry  King,  M.A.    William  Blackwood  &  Sons:  1871. 


302 


Translation  of  Ovitfs  Metamorphoses, 


[March 


"be  safely  said,  no  permanent  trace 
behind  it. 

The  name  'Metamorphoses,'  or 
Transformations,  describes  suffici- 
ently the  principal  subject  of  Ovid's 
poem.  It  is  a  collection  of  the  cur- 
rent legends  of  men  and  women 
having  been  transformed,  by  the 
vengeance  or  the  caprice  of  the  gods, 
into  lower  animals,  or  into  trees  or 
stones.  Such  legends  had  very  pro- 
bably an  Eastern  origin.  But  they 
harmonised  well  with  the  popular 
ereed  of  Greece,  which  gave  a  per- 
sonal existence  to  every  river  and 
mountain,  and  believed  that  in  every 
forest  beech  or  oak  there  lay  hidden 
some  spirit  of  the  wood,  Faun  or 
Dryad,  which,  upon  occasion, 

c.        "  Could  slip  its  bark  and  walk." 

Worse  fables  than  these  Trans- 
formations, after  all,  have  been  can- 
onised as  national  beliefs.  It  was 
not  an  ungentle  fancy,  though  it 
might  be  extravagant,  to  see  the 
shadow  of  a  lost  humanity  in  the 
favourite  shrub  or  flower,  or  catch 
in  the  note  of  a  bird  the  tones  of 
human  feeling.  They  were  no  sav- 
ages, who  could  so  sympathise  with 
the  inanimate  creation  as  to  imagine 
that  the  Narcissus  and  Hyacinth  had 
once  been  beautiful  youths ;  that  the 
anemone — Flos  Adonis — was  the 
form  in  which  the  goddess  of  love 
still  preserved  her  favourite,  and  that 
the  mulberry  drew  its  red  juice  from 
the  blood  of  the  unhappy  Babylonian 
lovers ;  who  dreamed  that  they  heard 
in  the  whistling  reeds  the  wail  of  the 
lost  nymph  Syrinx,  and  saw  in  the 
heliotrope,  ever  turning  its  face  to 
the  sun,  the  love-lorn  Clytie,  vainly 
striving  to  recall  the  lost  affection  of 
Phoebus  Apollo.  No  enthusiastic 
florist,  who  gives  to  his  favourite 
flower  some  noble  or  graceful  name, 
and  watches  its  development  year 
by  year  with  affectionate  interest, 
can  fail  to  have  a  kindly  sympathy 
with  these  imaginative  Greeks. 


Those  men  could  hardly  have,  been 
very  cruel  to  the  brute  creation,  if 
they  believed,  even  with  a  half-be- 
lief, that  into  such  lower  forms  had 
passed  the  very  self  of  some  of  their 
national  ancestors.  Some  such  be- 
lief would  be  wholesome  enough 
now  amongst  the  ruffian  class  of  our 
population.  It  might  check  the 
hand  of  the  human  brute  who  ham- 
mers his  unhappy  donkey  on  the 
head,  or  "  twists  the  tail "  of  the 
poor  beast  he  is  driving  to  slaughter, 
if  he  knew  that  the  Humane  Society's 
officer  had  the  power  of  translating 
him  forthwith,  like  Apuleius,  into 
an  ass,  or  giving  him  six  months  as 
a  bullock — a  masculine  lo — in  old 
Smithfield.  But  the  metamorphoses 
of  modern  science  proceed  in  an  in- 
verse order.  We  are  now  taught 
that  it  is  the  beast  of  exceptional 
character  (and  who  is  also  fortunate 
in  his  matrimonial .  selection)  who 
develops  into  a  man,  and  not  the 
man  who,  for  his  sins,  descends  into 
the  beast.  The  new  faith  is  scarcely 
an  improvement  on  the  old.  It  is 
more  comfortable  to  believe,  with 
Ovid,  that  the  monkeys  were  ori- 
ginally an  Ethiopian  tribe,  called 
Cercopes — men  with  rudimentary 
tails — who  were  developed  into  their 
present  form  as  a  punishment  for 
their  cheating  propensities,  than  that 
we  ourselves  are  only  improved 
gorillas.  The  moral  teaching  of  the 
fabulist,  that  men  may  make  beasts 
or  apes  of  themselves,  if  not  very  re- 
condite, is  at  least  infinitely  higher 
than  the  conclusion  which  seems  to 
follow  from  the  other  hypothesis — 
that  any  such  moral  transformation  is 
really  nothing  more  than  going  back 
to  the  good  old  days  of  our  fore- 
fathers. 

Ovid's  moral  sense  is  not  of  a 
high  order,  as  we  have  already 
hinted,  but  certainly  he  teaches 
nothing  so  dangerous  as  this.  And 
here,  as  to  this  question  of  the 
morality  of  the  heathen  poet,  let 


1871.] 


Translation  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses. 


303 


something  be  said  once  for  all  to 
the  readers  of  the  present  trans- 
lation. That  the  themes  chosen  by 
the  Greek  and  Eoman  poets  were 
often  such  as  a  purer  taste  would 
avoid, — that  they  were  sometimes 
treated  by  them  in  terms  which 
offend  our  modern  delicacy, — is 
notorious  to  the  merest  smatterer 
in  the  mythology  and  the  literature 
of  these  peoples.  That  an  English 
poet  can  deliberately  choose  some  of 
these  deformities  of  classical  genius, 
and  clothe  them  in  language  ten 
times  more  objectionable,  because 
it  is  English,  and  not  Greek  or 
Latin — the  product  of  Christendom, 
and  not  of  heathendom — we  have 
unfortunately  a  striking  modern  ex- 
ample. Let  no  such  suspicion  at- 
tach to  Mr  King's  volume.  With- 
out having  recourse  to  the  easy 
expedient  of  omission,  he  has  pas- 
sed over  the  hazardous  ground  into 
which  his  author  occasionally  leads 
him  with  a  light  and  safe  step 
which  contracts  little  soil  in  the 
passage ;  which  is  more  than  can  be 
said  for  some  earlier  translators. 
Pagan  mythology  is  not  to  be  re- 
duced to  the  rules  of  our  morality ; 
but  with  this  understanding,  which 
applies  to  all  our  dealings  with 
heathen  literature,  there  is  in  this 
translation  of  the  Metamorphoses 
no  wilful  offence  against  purity. 
The  care  of  the  translator  in  this 
respect  does  equal  credit  to  his  skill 
and  his  good  taste. 

The  Eoman  poet  collected  to- 
gether the  marvellous  legends  which 
were  told  in  different  forms  by  the 
Greek  fabulists,  or  which  had  been 
introduced  from  other  sources  into 
the  national  mythology ;  adding 
also  here  and  there,  it  is  conjectured, 
some  original  fictions  of  his  own. 
Though  he  chose  especially  the  sub- 
ject of  transformations,  he  did  not 


confine  himself  to  this  branch  of 
fable.  He  has  shown  considerable 
ingenuity  in  weaving  the  whole 
into  one  continuous  series — connect- 
ing the  several  legends  by  links 
which  are  sometimes,  it  must  be 
confessed,  of  a  very  slight  and 
arbitrary  character,  but  contriving 
in  this  way  to  mould  the  poem  into 
a  sort  of  romance-history  of  the 
early  world.  He  begins  with  the 
first  and  greatest  metamorphosis — 
that  of  Chaos  into  order.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  discuss  the  question, 
whether  or  not  he  drew  any  part 
of  his  cosmogony  from  the  Hebrew 
Scriptures.  More  probably  he  fol- 
lowed the  traditionary  account  of 
the  origin  of  the  habitable  world 
common  to  many  faiths  and  lan- 
guages. It  is  enough  to  notice 
how  remarkably  the  Mosaic  record 
of  "the  Earth  without  form  and 
void,"  and  the  "  darkness  on  the 
face  of  the  deep,"  is  reflected  in 
the  description  of  the  Roman  fabu- 
list :— 

"A  rude  unfeatured  mass, — 
A  mere  vast  weight  inert, — discordant  seeds' 
Of   ill-matched  things  in  one  huge    heap 

compressed. 
No  Titan  *  gladdened  yet  with  light  the 

world ; — 

No  Phoebe  filled  anew  her  growing  horns ; — 
No  floating  Earth  in  ./Ether  circumfused 
By  her  own  weight  hung  balanced; — round 

the  shores 

No  Amphitrite  twined  her  circling  arms. 
Land,  Water,  Air,  together  mixed  and  blent; — 
Land  stable  to  no  foot, — Water  which  gave 
No  space  to  swim, — and  Air  devoid  of  light." 

His  account  of  the  creation  of  man 
follows  also  the  Mosaic  order,  plac- 
ing him  last  in  point  of  time  of 
all  living  creatures.  The  passage 
is  well  known,  and  finely  here  trans- 
lated : — 

"  Something  yet  lacked — some  holier  being 

— dowered 

With  lofty  soul,  and  capable  of  rule 
And  governance  o'er  all  besides, — and  MAN 
At    last  had   birth : — whether  from    seed 
divine 


*  The  Sun-god,  in  the  older  theogony,  was  not  Phoebus  Apollo,  but  the  son  of 
Hyperion,  of  the  race  of  the  Titans. 


304 


King's  Translation  of  OvicPs  Metamorphoses. 


[March 


Of  Him,  the  artificer  of  things,  and  cause 
Of  the  amended  world, — or  whether  Earth 
Yet  new,  and  late  from  JEther  separate,  still 
Retained  some  lingering  germs  of  kindred 

Heaven, 

Which  wise  Prometheus,  with  the  plastic  aid 
Of  water  borrowed  from  the  neighbouring 

stream, 
Formed  in  the  likeness  of  the  all-ordering 

Gods; 
And,  while  all  other  creatures  sought  the 

ground 
With  downward  aspect  grovelling,  gave  to 

man 

His  port  sublime,  and  bade  him  scan,  erect, 
The  heavens,  and  front  with  upward  gaze 

the  stars. 

And  thus  earth's  substance,  rude  and  shape- 
less erst, 
Transmuted  took  the  novel  form  of  MAN. " 

Ovid  follows  the  Greek  Hesiod  in 
the  legend  of  the  four  successive  ages 
of  men,  each  degenerating  from  its 
predecessor.  First  came  the  golden 
age,  before  Paradise  was  lost,  when 
earth  "brought  forth  all  good  things 
in  spontaneous  abundance,  and  there 
was  no  more  need  of  labour  than 
there  was  of  law.  Those  happy 
days  upon  earth  were  when  good 
King  Saturn  reigned  in  heaven.  He 
was  dethroned  by  the  unfilial  Jupi- 
ter, and  with  this  new  ruler  the 
silver  age  succeeded  —  an  age  of 
higher  civilisation,  but  less  virtue. 
It  was  followed  successively  by  the 
ages  of  brass  and  iron,  in  which  the 
arts  and  the  vices  grew  with  equal 
growth.  Very  far  were  these  an- 
cient poets  from  OUT  modern  philo- 
sophy, which  ascribes  all  vice  to 
ignorance,  and  all  virtue  to  educa- 
tion. In  their  estimate,  ignorance 
is  not  only  bliss,  but  virtue.  The 
good  old  days  were  those  in  which 
not  only  were  "  the  miraculous  arts 
of  reading  and  writing"  unknown 
to  men,  but  they  did  not  even  know 
how  to  sow,  or  to  plant,  or  to  build. 
It  was,  according  to  their  view, 
"  audacious  wickedness  "  that  first 
invented  ships,  and  dug  into  the 
bowels  of  the  tortured  earth  for  iron. 
And  now  we  have  filled  up  the  cup 
of  our  iniquity  by  railways,  and 
steam-engines,  and  compulsory  edu- 
cation ! 


The  increasing  wickedness  of 
mortals,  which  drew  down  upon  the 
whole  race  the  vengeance  of  heaven, 
is  another  point  in  the  world's  his- 
tory upon  which  the  fabulists  are  in 
accordance  with  the  Scriptures. 
Ovid  describes  the  Ruler  of  Olympus 
as  taking  cognisance  of  the  growing 
corruption  of  mortals,  in  phrases 
which  bear  a  very  remarkable  re- 
semblance to  those  used  by  the 
sacred  chronicler  on  another  very 
similar  occasion : — 

"  Of  man's  condition  to  the  skies 
Report  came,  infamous :  which  to  disprove 
Still  hoping,  from  Olympus  down  to  earth 
My  way  I  took,  and,  putting  off  the  god, 
Disguised  in  human  semblance  walked  the 
world." 

One  might  suppose  the  writer  had 
before  his  mind  the  very  words  of 
the  Book  of  Genesis  :  "  Because  the 
cry  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  is  great, 
and  because  their  sin  is  very  griev- 
ous ;  I  will  go  down  now,  and  see 
Avhether  they  have  done  altogether 
according  to  the  cry  of  it  which  is 
come  unto  me ;  and  if  not,  I  will 
know."  The  legends  told  —  and 
still  we  seem  to  hear  the  echo  of  the 
figurative  Hebrew  phrases — that  in 
those  days  gods  walked  the  earth, 
and  consorted  at  times  with  mortals. 
In  such  guise  did  Jupiter  ask  hospi- 
tality of  Lycaon,  king  of  Arcadia. 
He,  to  test  the  quality  of  his  strange 
guest,  set  before  him  as  a  meal  por- 
tions of  the  body  of  an  unhappy 
hostage  whom  he  slaughtered  for 
the  occasion.  Then  the  fire  of  heaven 
fell  upon  the  accursed  house,  and 
Lycaon  himself  fled  howling  into 
the  woods  in  the  shape  of  a  wolf, 
to  indulge  for  ever  in  the  horrid 
banquet  which  he  had  devised. 
Such  is  the  germ,  in  the  old  mytho- 
logy, of  that  strange  superstition 
which  seems  to  have  fixed  itself  for 
many  ages  in  the  belief  of  the  nor- 
thern nations,  and  which  is  by  no 
means  extinct  even  at  this  day. 

But  this  single  example,  says  the 
poet,  was  not  enough.     The  whole 


1871.] 


Kiity's  Translation  of  Ocitfs  Metamorphoses. 


305 


mortal  race  were  condemned,  and 
the  Deluge  followed.  Ovid  gives  at 
length  the  well-known  story  of 
Deucalion  and  Pyrrha,  the  sole  sur- 
vivors, and  the  authors  of  a  new 
race.  From  that  point  he  no  longer 
follows  the  course  of  the  world's 
history,  but  becomes  highly  discur- 
sive ;  recounting,  sometimes  briefly, 
sometimes  with  elaborate  detail,  all 
the  most  striking  of  the  legends 
which  he  found  in  the  early  poets 
and  fabulists — the  only  current  lit- 
erature of  his  day — choosing,  as  has 
been  said,  especially  though  not  ex- 
clusively, those  which  had  some 
case  of  transformation  as .  their  cli- 
max, and  introducing  them  for  the 
most  part  by  such  links  of  connec- 
tion as  his  ingenuity  can  devise. 

Of  course,  in  such  a  series,  the 
loves  of  the  gods,  as  a  favourite  sub- 
ject with  his  originals,  occupy  a  con- 
spicuous place.  The  stories  are  told 
by  the  Eoman  poet  with  a  fluent 
grace  which  loses  little  in  the  hands 
of  his  translator.  Apollo's  courtships 
were  so  far  of  an  innocent  nature, 
that  many  of  them  may  be  resolved, 
without  much  forcing  of  the  alle- 
gory, into  a  passion  for  flowers. 
The  story  of  the  heliotrope  has  been 
already  noticed.  The  lotus  had 
once  been  his  favourite  nymph  Dry- 
ope.  Daphne,  pursued  by  his  too 
ardent  attentions,  and  trying  to 
escape,  is  changed  at  her  own  prayer 
into  a  laurel,  just  as  the  god's  eager 
arms  are  seizing  her  after  a  long 
chase.  Apollo's  passionate  appeal  to 
the  nymph  as  she  flies  from  him  is 
well  rendered  by  Mr  King : — 

"  Oh  stay  !  oh  Maiden,  stay  !  No  foe  pur- 
sues 

Thy  footsteps.  Let  the  lamb  the  wolf,  the 
deer 

The  lion  fly,  or  trembling  doves  the  kite, 

Their  natural  foes — 'tis  love  that  follows 
thee! 

Ah  Heaven!  if  thou  shouldst  fall,  or  thorns 
should  wound 

Those  dainty  limbs — and  I  the  cause  !  Ah  ! 
see 

How  rough  thy  path  !    If  thoxi  mutt  fly,  yet 


Less  wildly,  while  less  wildly  I  pursue  ! 
Learn  who  it  is  entreats  thy  love  !    No  boor, 
No  shepherd  I — no  herdsman  sues  thee,  rough 
And  brutish  as  his  charge.     Thy  ignorance 

flies 
It  knows  not  whom,   unreasoning.     Mine 

the  steep 

OfDelphos, — Glares, — Tenedos, — the  realms 
Of  Patara.     My  sire  is  Jove.     My  voice 
Reveals  what  was,  and  is,  and  is  to  come. 
Mine  music,  wedded  to  immortal  song ! 
My  shaft  is  sure — surest  save  one,  whose  barb 
Stings  now  my  inmost  soul.    Mine  too  the 

fame 

Of  medicine.     Me  a  grateful  world  surnames 
'  The  Healer : '  and  the  virtues  of  all  herbs 
I  know  :  alas !  that  never  one  of  all 
Hath  power  on  love  !  and  all  the  arts  which 

help 
All  others,  fail  to  help  their  lord  alone !  " 

The  description  of  the  hot  chase, 
admirable  in  the  original,  is  scarcely 
less  so  in  the  translation  : — 

"  As  when  the  greyhound  o'er  the  level  plain 
Pursues  the  hare, — both  speeding,  one  for 

prey 

And  one  for  life, — as  nearer  yet  he  wins 
And  nearer, — holds  her  now  for  sure,  and 

close 
With  eager  muzzle  pants ; — she,  knowing 

scarce 

If  she  be  ta'en  or  not,  with  hair-breadth  turn 
Baffling  the  gripe,  one  moment  yet  the  fangs 
Escapes, — so  fared  it  with  these  twain : — 

the  God 

To  speed  by  passion  urged,  the  Maid  by  fear. 
But  still  the  swifter  he,  to  whom  love  lends 
His  wings.  No  respite  !  On  her  steps  he 

gains, 

Till,  wellnigh  in  his  grasp,  upon  her  locks 
She  feels  his  hot  breath  play." 

It  would  be  impossible  to  repro- 
duce faithfully  in  an  English  version 
the  Ovidian  polish  of  the  well-known 
lines  : — 

"  Alter  inlisesuro  similis,  jam  jamque  tenere 
Sperat,  et  extento  stringit  vestigia  rostro  ; 
Alter  in  ambiguo  est,  an  sit  deprensus,  et 

ipsis 
Morsibus  eripitur,  tangentiaque  ora  relin- 

quit. " 

But  Mr  King  has  not  unsuccessfully 
attempted  it. 

The  nymph's  name  is  still  borne 
by  a  class  of  pretty  shrubs,  the  best 
known  of  which  is  perhaps  the  mez- 
ereon,  or,  as  the  Spaniards  gallantly 
call  it,  the  "lady-laurel;"  but  our 
common  laurel  is  really  one  of  the 
cherry  tribe,  and  must  be  assigned 
to  a  humbler  origin. 


306 


King's  Translation  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses. 


[March 


One  of  the  finest  episodes — if  the 
term  can  be  used  in  speaking  of  a 
book  which  is,  in  fact,  all  episodes 
— is  that  of  the  Fate  of  Phaeton ; 
who,  eager  to  make  good  his  claim 
to  be  the  offspring,  as  he  was  reputed, 
of  the  god  of  day,  obtained  from 
that  deity,  in  recognition  of  his  birth, 
the  promise  to  grant  whatever  boon 
he  asked.  Too  late  the  father  re- 
pented of  his  promise,  when  the 
youth  made  his  reqiiest  to  drive  for 
one  day  the  chariot  of  the  sun. 
Apollo  foresaw  the  catastrophe,  but 
the  oath  which  he  had  sworn  by 
Styx  was  irrevocable.  Every  one 
knows  the  sequel — how  the  young 
aspirant,  like  Prior's  "Kitty,"  the 
beautiful  Queensberry, 

"  Obtained  the  chariot  for  a  day, 
And  set  the  world  on  fire."  . 

It  was  in  the  tremendous  confla- 
gration which  ensued,  the  poet  as- 
sures us,  that  the  negroes  were  burnt 
black — a  statement  which  has  at 
least  this  to  recommend  it,  that  the 
ethnologists  have  never  been  able  to 
account  for  the  colour  satisfactorily 
in  any  other  way.  But  the  ration- 
alists will  not  let  this  story  alone. 
Plato  had  explained  it  all  away  long 
before  Ovid  got  hold  of  it :  "  The 
real  meaning  is,"  says  he,  "  that  in 
the  course  of  the  revolutions  of  the 
skies  at  long  intervals  there  comes 
a  catastrophe,  when  the  things  on 
earth  are  destroyed  by  fire,  and  then 
those  who  live  high  up  in  mountains 
and  in  dry  places  perish." 

The  story  of  the  two  unfortunate 
lovers,  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  is  to- 
lerably well  known  in  outline 
through  the  burlesque  interlude  in 
Shakespeare's  "  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream."  They  were  doubly  unfor- 
tunate in  this,  that  they  are  insepar- 
ably associated  in  most  of  our  mem- 
ories with  Bottom  the  weaver  and 
his  fellow-clowns.  In  truth,  there 
are  original  elements  of  comic  absur- 
dity in  the  story  itself,  which  Shake- 


speare was  quick  to  discern.  The  no- 
tion of  two  lovers  conversing  through 
a  chink  in  the  wall,  and  imprint- 
ing kisses  on  either  side  of  the  envi- 
ous partition  which  separated  them, 
was  a  manifest  temptation  to  its 
personal  rendering  by  Peter  Snout, 
with  his  lime  and  stone  and  rough- 
cast. Shakespeare  has  condemned 
the  story  to  a  comic  immortality,  so 
far  as  English  readers  are  concerned. 
The  heroine,  though  Ovid  calls  her 
"fairest  of  the  daughters  of  the 
East,"  will  always  be  associated  in 
our  minds  with  "  Flowers  of  odious 
savours  sweet ; "  and  our  apprecia- 
tion of  the  catastrophe,  even  in  Mr 
King's  translation,  is  sadly  marred 
by  our  recollection  of  its  present- 
ment before  the  Duke  of  Athens. 
Criticism  repeats  mechanically  the 
shout  of  the  courtly  audience  — 
"  Well  roared,  lion  !  —  Well  run, 
Thisbe!" 

The  tale  of  Cephalus  and  Procris 
— though  known  also  to  Bottom  and 
his  fellows  as  "  Shafalus  and  Pro- 
cms" — has  escaped  better.  Their 
story  was  a  favourite  with  the  early 
fabulists,  and  continued  to  be  so 
with  modern  romance-writers.  JS"o 
one  tells  it  better  than  Ovid :  its 
tenderness  suits  the  genius  of  his 
verse  better  than  the  more  violent 
passions.  He  makes  Cephalus  the 
Athenian  relate  his  own  unfortunate 
history  to  Prince  Phocus  at  the  court 
of  his  father  ^Eacus  at  ^Egina. 
Phocus  had  admired  a  javelin  which 
his  visitor  carried.  It  had  been  a 
fatal  gift,  the  owner  told  him. 
Scarce  two  months  of  wedded  hap- 
piness had  been  spent  with  his 
bride,  Procris,  when  the  goddess  of 
the  morning  became  enamoured  of 
him  while  he  was  hunting — 

"  The  golden-haired  Aurora  looked  on  me, 
And  snatched  me,  all  unwilling,  to  her  arms. 
The  Goddess  pardon  me  !  —  but,  truth  to 

tell,— 
Sweet  as  her  roseate  cheek,  whereon  the 

dark 
And  light  she  parts  in  blest  complexion  met 


1871.] 


King's  Translation  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses. 


307 


Of  tenderest  colour,   washed  with  nectar- 
dews, — 

I  loved  my  Procris  better  !  Procris'  name 
Was  ever  ill  my  heart,  and  on  my  lips." 

The  indignant  goddess  at  last  bade 
him  go  back  to  his  mortal  bride, 
warning  him,  however,  that  he 
would  Hve  to  repent  his  unworthy 
preference.  On  his  way  home- 
wards, jealousy  awoke  in  his  heart. 
Had  his  Procris  been  faithful  dur- 
ing his  enforced  absence?  He  re- 
solved to  make  experiment,  and  to 
enter  his  home  in  disguise  : — 

"  Some  pretext  won  me  audience,  and  con- 
fused 

I  stood  before  her,  and  wellnigh  renounced 
The  meditated  trial,  scarce  restrained 
From  instant  frank  avowal  of  the  truth 
And  the  fond  kisses  that  I  yearned  to  give. — 
Sad  was  she,  but  her  sadness  lent  a  grace 
To  others'  smiles  denied  :— her  absent  Lord 
Was  all  her  thought.    Judge,  Phocus,  if  in 

grief 

So  lovely  seemed  she,  what  in  happier  hours 
The  charm  she  wore  !  *  What  need  to  tell 

how  oft 

I  tried  her,  or  how  oft  her  purity 
My  suit  repelled, — how  oft  '  For  one  alone," 
She  answered  me, '  I  live,  though  where  he  be 
I  know  not — and  none  else ! '    Ah !  was  I  mad 
With  proof  like  this  not  satisfied  ?  *  I  was ! 
And  with  my  own  hand  dealt  my  proper 

wound, 

And  still  my  proffer  raised,  and  for  one  kiss 
Such  lavish  bribe  I  offered,  that  at  last 
Methought  she  wavered." 

Then  the  husband  declared  himself, 
and  charged  her  with  listening  too 
lightly  to  the  love-tale  of  a  stranger. 
Procris,  indignant  at  the  stratagem, 
fled  to  the  woods,  and  became  a 
huntress  in  Diana's  train.  The 
penitent  bridegroom  followed,  and 
won  her  pardon.  In  token  of  re- 
conciliation she  gave  him  two  gifts 
— a  hound  of  surpassing  fleetness, 
and  a  javelin  that  never  missed  its 
mark.  So  they  lived  once  more 
their  first  happy  life — 

"When  morning  lit  the  mountain-peaks 
The  chase  would  call  me  to  the  woods : — 
nor  train, 


Nor  horse,  nor  keen-nosed  hound,  nor  knot- 
ted net 

I  needed  : — game  enough  this  lance  ensured. 
And,  when  the  sport  had  wearied  me,  I 

sought 
The  cooling  shade,  the  breeze  that  through 

the  glade 

Breathed  fresh,  the  air  that  tolerable  made 
The  sultry  noon,  the  air  whose  breath  re- 
stored 
My  fainting  forces.     '  Come !   come  Aura  ! 

come ! ' 

So  was  I  wont  to  murmur — all  too  well 
I  mind  it — '  to  this  bosom !  let  me  feel 
Thy  kisses  on  me !    Come,  as  thou  art  wont, 
And  cool  this  fever  in  my  blood  ! '     And 

more, 

So  prompted  by  my  Fate,  of  blandishment 
Would  add — 'Come!   come!   my  one  sole 

pleasure  thou ! 

Sole  charm  amid  these  solitary  woods 
That  cheer'st  me  and  refreshest,  come,  oh 

come ! 
My  longing  lips  await  thee ! ' " 

Some  mischievous  listener  carried  to 
Procris  the  story  of  her  husband's 
passionate  apostrophe — plainly  this 
Aura  was  some  Oread  nymph,  with 
whom  Cephalus  had  rendezvous  in 
the  woods. 

"Again  the  woods  I  sought,  and  when  the 

chase 

Was  o'er,  the  quarry  slain,  upon  the  grass 
I  flung  me,  and  '  Come,  Aura,  come  ! '  I  cried, 
'  I  languish  for  thy  kisses  !'    As  I  spoke, 
From  the  nigh  thicket  seemed  some  moaning 

sound 
To  issue,  hardly  marked  : — '  Come,  sweetest, 

come  !' 

Again  I  murmured, — and  the  rustling  leaves 
Were  stirred,  as  by  the  passage  of  some 

beast, — 
And  quick  I  launched  my  javelin  ! — Procris 

'twas 

That  in  her  breast  received  it !    Procris  'twas 
That  shrieked  and  fell !    Too  well  I  recog- 
nised 

In  that  sad  cry,  my  Wife,  and  to  her  side 
Distracted  sprang  !    Half-dead,  her  vest  with 

blood 

Bedabbled,  striving  from  her  wound  to  draw 
The  dart— alas  !  her  proper  gift !— I  raised 
The  fainting  form,  more  dear  to  me  than  life 
Itself,  and  in  my  guilty  arms  sustained, 
And  with  my  torn  robe   bound  her  cruel 

wound, 
And  strove  to  stanch  the  welling  flood,  and 

wild 

Besought  her  yet  to  live,  nor  leave  that  guilt 
Of  murder  on  my  soul !  Too  late  !  Too  fast 


*  The  reader  would  perhaps  like  to  see  what  Nahum  Tate,  Esq.,  Poet-I  aureate, 
makes  of  these  lines : — 

"How  charming  was  her  grief!  then,  Phocus,  guess 
What  killing  beauties  waited  on  her  dress  !  " 

There  is  not,  of  course,  a  word  about  the  millinery  in  the  original. 


308 


Kincjs  Translation  of  OviJs  Metamorphoses. 


[March 


The  life-stream  ebbed  !    Yet  some  few  eager 

words 

She  nerved  herself  to  utter,— '  By  our  bond 
Of  wedlock,  Cephalus  !— by  all  the  Gods, 
By  all  in  me  that  charmed  thee, — by  the 

Love 

That,  as  I  die,  still  warm  and  true  for  thee 
Beats  in  this  sinking  heart, — ah  !  grant  me 

yet 

One  boon, — nor  take  this  Aura  to  my  bed  !' 
Too  late  the  fatal  error  of  that  name 
I  saw,  and  told  : — what  boot  was  then  to  tell, 
When  life  was  ebbing  from  her?— Yet  her 

gaze, 
Long  as  it  could,  was  fixed  on  mine, — my 

lips 

Received   her   latest   breath,— and,    unde- 
ceived, 
Methought  her  spirit  peaceful  seemed  to 

part !" 

These  extracts  are  a  good  speci- 
men of  the  merits  of  both  poet  and 
translator. 

Modern  mythologists  discover  in 
this  story,  as  in  the  whole  cycle  of 
classical  legend,  a  "  solar  myth." 
Cephalus  is  the  rising  sun ;  Procris 
is  referred  to  a  Sanscrit  root  mean- 
ing "dew;"  and  the  beginning  of 
the  story  means  nothing  more  or 
less  than  this, — "  the  Sun  kisses  the 
morning  Dew."*  But  the  course  of 
true  love  is  as  complicated  in  nature 
as  in  humanity.  Eos  (Aurora),  the 
Dawn,  loves  the  Sun,  and  woos 
him  to  join  her.  Then  Procris  is 
faithless,  apparently,  to  her  old  love ; 
but  the  new  lover  turns  out  to  be 
only  Cephalus  in  disguise.  This 
is  only  poetical  for  "  the  rays  of 
the  sun  being  reflected  in  various 
colours  from  the  dew-drops."  At 
last  Procris  is  killed  by  the  weapon 
of  Cephalus,  and  "  he  must  kill  her 
because  he  loves  her  :  it  is  the  gra- 
dual and  inevitable  absorption  of 
the  dew  by  the  glowing  rays  of  the 
sun  which  is  expressed  with  so  much 
truth  by  the  unerring  shaft  of  Keph- 
alos  thrown  unintentionally  at  Pro- 
kris  hidden  in  the  thicket  of  the 
forest."  Well — allegory,  and  the 
interpretation  thereof,  is  a  very  fas- 
cinating study.  It  is  impossible  to 
say  what  deep  meanings,  physical  or 


metaphysical,  may  not  be  drawn  out 
of  any  story  by  an  ingenious  mind. 
We  are  half  tempted  ourselves  to 
take  up  our  parable  after  a  homelier 
sort,  and  to  gather  from  the  classical 
text  a  warning  against  the  pernicious 
habit  of  early  rising,  and  going  out, 
as  Horace  Walpole  says,  "before 
the  world  is  thoroughly  aired." 
Cephalus  was.  evidently  an  ardent 
sportsman,  not  of  these  degenerate 
days,  but  of  that  hardier  age  when 

"  The  squires  of  old  would  awake  the  day 
To  the  sound  of  the  bugle-horn." 

Procris,  like  an  affectionate  bride,  of 
course  did  not  approve  of  his  going 
out  to  meet  the  Dawn — have  we 
not  her  very  picture  in  the  good  old 
hunting  ditty,  not  yet  forgotten  in 
"the  Shires"?— 

"  The  wife  around  her  husband  throws 

Her  arms  to  make  him  stay ; 
'My  dear,  it  rains,  it  hails,  it  snows, — 
You  cannot  hunt  to-day.' " 

But,  as  the  chorus  tells,  "  a-hunting 
he  would  go."  And  no  good  came 
of  it.  He  returned  home  late,  and, 
as  was  not  uncommon  with  the 
hunters  of  those  days,  so  "dis- 
guised "  that  his  wife  did  not  know 
him.  Then  as  to  the  latter  part  of 
the  story,  about  Aura;  is  not  the 
moral  palpable,  that  if  a  gentleman 
is  heated,  and  wants  to  cool  the 
fever  in  his  blood,  about  the  most 
dangerous  thing  he  can  do  is  to  lie 
down  in  a  draught  ] 

No  one  has  told  so  prettily  as 
Ovid  the  familiar  legend  of  Action 
— a  favourite  subject  both  with 
ancient  and  modern  painters — the 
hunter  who  paid  the  terrible  penalty 
for  having  seen  a  goddess  unrobed. 
For  he  did  not  live  in  that  age  of 
gold,  when  men  were  innocent,  and, 
as  the  poets  tell  us,  could  even  gaze 
on  all  the  unveiled  charms  of  im- 
mortal beauty  and  take  no  harm. 
We  seem  to  get  an  inkling  of  a 
deeper  truth  than  the  poet  was  con- 


Max  Mi  11  Vs  Chips,  ii.  87. 


1871.] 


King's  Translation  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses. 


309 


scious  of,  in  the  fact  that  as  man 
degenerated  from  his  original  type, 
the  divinity  was  hidden  from  his 
eyes — he  must  not  look  upon  it  and 
live.  So  when  the  unhappy  mor- 
tal, though  with  no  thought  of  idle 
curiosity,  comes  suddenly  upon  the 
secret  haunt,  in  the  cool  grotto  under 
the  pines  of  Gargaphia,  where  Diana 
is  bathing  with  her  nymphs,*  his 
doom  is  sealed  at  once — he  shall 
never  boast  of  what  his  profane  eyes 
have  seen.  Changed  into  a  stag, 
yet  retaining  all  his  human  con- 
sciousness, he  is  hunted  down  and 
devoured  by  his  own  hounds — 
eighteen  couple,  of  whom  the  poet 
is  so  conscientious  as  to  give  all  the 
names.  Lucian,  whose  thorough 
unbelief  in  the  pagan  theology  of 
Ms  day  has  made  some  ingenious 
persons  hazard  a  theory  that  he  was 
a  Christian  in  disguise — as  though 
scepticism  as  to  one  creed  was  pre- 
sumptive evidence  of  faith  in  an- 
other— Lucian  is  wittily  severe  upon 
the  goddess  in  the  matter.  In  one 
of  his  clever  dialogues,  he  makes 
Juno  account  for  Diana's  prudery 
by  the  suggestion,  that  she  was 
afraid  lest  Actseon  should  publish 
her  ugliness — not  her  beauty — and 
therefore  set  the  dogs  on  him.  She 
— Juno — had  found  no  need  for 
such  scruples  in  the  case  of  Paris. 
Euripides,  who  had  little  reverence 
for  the  sex,  ascribes  the  implacable 
vengeance  of  the  fair  huntress  to 
Actaeon's  having  boasted  of  his 
superior  skill  in  the  chase.  Graver 
writers  have  dealt  with  the  pretty 
myth  quite  as  hardly,  in  their  wis- 
dom :  they  have  improved  it  into  a 
parable,  telling  us  that  Actseon  was 
nothing  more  or  less  than  an  Arca- 
dian country-gentleman,  who  kept 
too  expensive  an  establishment,  and 
so  at  last  "went  to  the  dogs" — 


being   practically,   if   not  literally, 
"  eaten  up  by  his  hounds." 

A  curious  system  of  animated 
nature  might  be  drawn  from  the 
myths  of  Ovid.  Would  you  know 
the  natural  history  of  the  gecko,  or 
spotted  lizard?  He  was  once  a 
naughty  boy  called  Stellio.  Why 
is  the  creature's  body  so  blotched 
all  over,  to  make  him  doubly  dis- 
agreeable ?  Because  Ceres  threw  the 
broth  in  his  face,  when  he  laughed 
rudely  at  the  eager  way  in  which 
she  drank  it.  Tired  out  with  her 
sad  search  for  her  daughter  Proser- 
pine, the  goddess  had  asked  refresh- 
ment from  the  boy's  mother ;  and 
this  was  his  punishment  for  his  ill- 
manners.  The  frogs,  again,  are  at 
best  a  disagreeable  and  unpopular 
folk.  There  is  no  great  harm  in 
them,  if  we  may  trust  mere  prosaic 
zoologists;  but,  if  Ovid's  tale  be 
true,  they  deserve  all  the  persecution 
which  village  boys  bestow  upon 
them.  They  too  had  mocked  a  god- 
dess in  her  hour  of  sore  need.  When 
the  jealous  queen  of  Olympus  had 
issued  her  interdict,  and  forbidden 
any  one  to  give  shelter  to  Latona 
and  her  new-born  twins,  at  last  the 
exhausted  mother  reached  the  land 
of  Lycia. 

"  The  Sun  had  scorched  the  fields,—  the 

weary  way 
And  sultry  Noon  had  parched  her, — and  her 

breasts 

Those  little  lips  had  dried.     But,  in  a  vale, 
A  limpid  lake  she  marked,  whereat  a  band 
Of  peasants  gathered  osier,  rush,  and  sedge, 
And  all  the  watery  growth  that  there  was 

rife, — 
And  down  she  knelt,  and  bent  her  to  the 

wave, 

And  would  have  drunk  :— but  from  the  cool- 
ing flood 
The  loutish  rabble  drove  her.    What ! — she 

cried — 

Ye  grudge  me  water  ? — Water  sure  to  all 
Is  common  !    Nature  not  for  this  or  that 
The  light  of  Day  created,  or  the  air 
Outspread,   or  poured  the  wave; — for  all 

alike 


*  As  a  specimen  of  the  way  in  which  some  of  Mr  King's  predecessors  have  dealt 
with  Ovid,  here  is  a  line  from  Addison's  version  of  this  story: — 
"  '  Let's  strip,  my  gentle  maids,  and  wash,'  she  cried." 
VOL.  CIX. — NO.  DCLXV.  Y 


310 


King's  Translation  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses. 


[March 


She  made  them.     In  the  general  stock  my 

share 

Is  all  I  claim.    But,  of  your  charity 
G-ive  what  of  right  I  waive.     I  seek  not,  I, 
These  weary  limbs  within  your  fount  to 

lave, 

One  draught  is  all  I  ask.  My  throat  is  dry, 
My  lips  are  parched; — barely  they  yield  my 

voice 

Its  way.     One  drop  of  yonder  spring  to  me 
Were  nectar, — life  renewed : — 'tis  life  itself 
I  beg  of  ye !    Oh  !  let  these  little  ones 
I  bear,  your  pity  move  !—  And,  as  she  spoke, 
The  unconscious  Infants  spread  their  baby- 
arms." 

Still  they  thrust  her  back,  and  in 
wanton  spite  stirred  up  the  water 
into  mud.  Then  the  goddess  rose 
in  wrath : — 

"  Keep  then  your  pool ! — she  cried — 

And  dwell  in  it  for  ever  !     And  the  curse 

Wrought  instant.  Now  beneath  the  wave 
they  dive, 

Submerged  and  lost  to  sight, — and  now  their 
heads 

Rise  peering  round  the  margin ; — now  they 
cleave 

The  surface ; — now  upon  the  banks  they 
squat 

And  leap,  and  dive,  and  rise  again.  And 
still 

Their  foul  tongues  rail  in  quarrel,  —shame- 
less still 

Beneath  the  flood  they  croak,  and  croaking 
seem 

To  strive  for  curses.     Harsh  and  dissonant 

Their  voice, — their  throats  are  swoln  and 
puffed, — their  moiiths 

Unsightly  broadened  gape,  and  scarce  a 
trace 

Of  neck,  where  head  and  body  join,  re- 
mains." 

Why  do  we  all  talk  of  "  halcyon 
days,"  and  why  did  the  seamen 
hold  in  Pliny's  time  (and  a  great 
deal  later,  probably,  for  sailors  are 
especially  conservative  of  such  tradi- 
tions) that  there  were  always  seven 
days,  more  or  less,  of  calm  weather 
just  before  the  winter  solstice,  while 
the  halcyon  (alcedo  ipsida)  was 
brooding  its  young  ?  Why,  but 
because  Halcyone,  turned  into  a 
sea-bird  with  her  husband  as  she 
flung  herself  on  his  drowned  corpse, 
was  a  daughter  of  the  Bang  of  the 
Winds. 
"  Fond  as  of  yore,  still  linked  in  that  new 


By  the  same  bond  of  conjugal  love,  they  pair, 
And  breed:  and,in  the  Winter's  sunnier  calm, 
Seven  days  and  nights  upon  her  floating  nest 


Alcyone  sits  brooding.  Fearless  then 
Launches  his  bark  the  sailor.  ^Eolus 
Fast  in  their  caverns  locks  the  prisoned 

winds, 
And  for  his  daughter's  children  smooths  the 

seas. " 

The  magpies — would  we  know 
how  they  came  by  their  chattering 
note,  and  faculty  of  imitating  all 
sounds  they  hear  1  They  were  nine 
sisters,  daughters  of  the  Macedonian 
Pierus,  who,  too  vain  of  their  mystic 
number  and  their  powers  of  song, 
dared  to  challenge  the  Muses  them- 
selves to  a  contest.  The  mountain- 
nymphs  were  to  be  the  judges,  and 
gave  their  decision  against  the  new 
aspirants.  These  last  were  dissatis- 
fied, and  railed  against  the  award. 
Then  the  patience  of  Calliope — 
who  had  a  poet's  sensitive  temper 
— was  exhausted,  and  she  changed 
her  would-be  rivals  into  birds  : — 

"  The  grove's  disgrace— a  flock  of  chatter- 
ing pies — 

And  still  incontinent  of  tongue,  and  hoarse 
And  dissonant  with  everlasting  screech." 

Ordinary  naturalists  will  have  it 
that  the  woodpecker  "tapping  the 
hollow  beech-tree,"  does  it  to  see 
whether  the  insects  are  at  home  or 
no.  The  theory  has  always  been 
open  to  the  objection  that  the  in- 
sect, who  must  be  supposed  to  have 
his  instinct  also,  would  know  better 
than  to  answer  the  tap  if  he  was. 
But  Ovid  tells  a  different  story.  The 
woodpecker  was  once  a  gay  young 
prince — Picus — who,  spurning  the 
proffered  love  of  the  enchantress 
Circe,  was  changed  by  her  into  a 
bird ;  and  ever  since,  in  deep  dis- 
gust at  himself  and  his  surround- 
ings, has  continued  to  strike  his  bill 
furiously  into  every  tree  that  comes 
in  his  way. 

We  all  admire  the  spider's  web, 
if  we  have  patience  to  look  at  it, 
though  the  creature  itself  is  not 
popular  ;  but  the  web  is  a  work  of 
art  indeed,  far  surpassing  in  fineness 
and  ingenuity  of  construction  any 
product  of  human  shuttle  and  loom. 


1871.] 


King's  Translation  of  OvicTs  Metamorphoses, 


311 


No  wonder!  Arachne,  the  aranea  of 
our  entomologists,  was  once  a  lady, 
and  a  very  clever  one.  She  dwelt 
in  that  land  of  Maeonia,  whose  wo- 
men were  far-famed  for  their  accom- 
plishments. So  wondrous  were  her 
performances,  whether  with  the 
needle  or  the  shuttle,  and  such  grace 
was  in  all  her  movements  as  she 
worked,  that  the  wood-nymphs  left 
their  bowers,  and  the  Naiads  their 
streams,  to  stand  and  watch  those 
subtle  and  delicate  fingers.  She 
was  the  favourite  pupil,  surely,  of 
Pallas  Athene.  But  Arachne  re- 
pudiated any  such  instruction,  and 
claimed  to  be  an  original  genius. 
She  even  threw  out  a  challenge  to  the 
goddess  herself.  It  was  accepted 
— not  without  a  warning  from  the 
immortal  artist  to  her  rival  of  the 
penalties  of  failure.  Let  Ovid  de- 
scribe the  contest  through  his  trans- 
lator ;  it  is  a  very  spirited  version 
of  a  difficult  passage  : — 

"The  looms  were  set, — the  webs 
Were  hung :  beneath  their  fingers  nimbly 

plied 

The  subtle  fabrics  grew,  and  warp  and  woof, 
Transverse,  with  shuttle  and  with  slay  com- 
pact 

Were  pressed  in  order  fair.  And  either  girt 
Her  mantle  close,  and  eager  wrought;  the 

toil 

Itself  was  pleasure  to  the  skilful  hands 
That  knew  so  well  their  task.    With  Tyrian 

hue 

Of  purple  blushed  the  texture,  and  all  shades 
Of  colour,  blending  imperceptibly 
Each  into  each.      So,  when  the  wondrous 

bow — 
What  time  some  passing  shower  hath  dashed 

the  sun — 
Spans  with  its  mighty  arch  the  vault  of 

Heaven, 

A  thousand  colours  deck  it,  different  all, 
Yet  all  so  subtly  interfused,  that  each 
Seems  one  with  that  which  joins  it,  and  the 

eye 

But  by  the  contrasts  of  the  extremes  per- 
ceives 
The  intermediate  change. — And  last,  with 

thread 

Of  gold  embroidery  pictured,  on  the  web 
Life  -  like    expressed,  some    antique    fable 
glowed." 

It  seems  at  the  least  doubtful 
whether,  in  point  of  design  and 
workmanship,  the  mortal  had  not 


the  best  of  it :  but  Arachne,  with 
the  daring  imprudence  of  genius, 
defied  the  conventionalities,  and 
chose  to  represent  in  her  pattern 
some  not  very  creditable  passages 
in  the  biography  of  the  Olympian 
deities.  The  angry  Pallas  tore  the 
web  in  pieces  without  waiting  for  a 
decision,  and  struck  the  aspirant 
fiercely  on  the  head  with  a  boxwood 
shuttle— -and  poor  Arachne,  unable 
to  endure  such  insult,  straightway 
went  and  hanged  herself.  In 
mercy,  says  the  poet — or  in  con- 
tempt ? — the  goddess  bade  her  live 
again  as  a  spider :  and  still  she 
spins  a  web  which  no  loom,  since 
Pallas  gave  up  work,  can  equal. 
True  Art  is  immortal,  survives  all 
angry  criticism,  and  cannot  be 
knocked  on  the  head  by  any  known 
process, — is  this  the  moral  1 

The  fierce  jealousy  entertained 
by  the  immortals  of  anything  like 
rivalry,  in  their  own  special  depart- 
ment, on  the  part  of  the  creatures  of 
earth,  appears  continually  in  various 
forms  throughout  pagan  mythology. 
It  embodied,  of  course,  a  truth ;  and 
the  excellent  old  commentators — who 
tell  us  so  much  that  we  know,  and 
leave  untouched  so  much  that  we 
should  like  to  know — are  careful 
to  impress  upon  us  that  such  pride 
must  have  a  fall.  But  the  fabulist, 
in  some  instances,  left  a  loophole 
for  the  satirist.  The  judge  in  such 
trials  was  necessarily  either  of  kin- 
dred race  to  the  competing  deity — 
in  which  case  he  clearly  had  no 
business  on  the  bench — or  he  was 
mortal,  and,  like  the  mortal  com- 
petitor, amenable  to  the  vengeance 
of  the  higher  power  if  he  gave  his 
decision  against  him.  Ovid  tells 
very  briefly  the  story  of  Marsyas, 
whom  Apollo  flayed  alive  for  having 
dared  to  compete  with  him  as  a 
musician.  It  had  been  agreed  be- 
tween them  that  the  victor  should 
work  his  will  upon  the  vanquished. 
Marsyas  failed,  according  to  the  ver- 


312 


J&ny's  Translation  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses. 


[March 


diet  of  the  Muses — a  modern  coun- 
sel would  have  challenged  the  whole 
of  the  jury — and  was  immediately 
flayed  alive  by  the  triumphant  god. 
"  As  a  just  punishment,"  says  even 
the  learned  writer  of  the  biograph- 
ical article  in  Dr  Smith's  useful  dic- 
tionary, treating  the  whole  anecdote 
as  though  it  were  historical.  Lu- 
cian — who  could  have  written  a  very 
curious  Classical  Dictionary,  though 
not  exactly  from  the  same  point  of 
view  as  Dr  Smith's  contributor — 
saw  the  trial  in  a  different  light  : 
he  thought  Apollo  would  very  pro- 
bably have  been  skinned  himself,  if 
he  had  not  had  friends  on  the  jury. 
The  present  translator  evidently 
possesses  one  important  qualification 
for  his  work — a  genuine  admiration 
for  his  author.  He  fully  appreciates 
those  polished  epigrammatic  phrases 
of  verse  in  which  Ovid  abounds, 
and  which  may  best  be  described  as 
"  prettinesses."  Some  severe  critics 
have  called  them  "  puerilities," 
but  they  only  deserve  the  name  in 
so  far  as  they  certainly  make  his 
verse  attractive  to  boys,  and  give  it 
a  permadent  hold  on  the  memory. 
The  list  of  popular  quotations  which 
might  be  collected  out  of  these  Met- 
amorphoses alone  would  surprise 
many  to  whom  the  quotations  them- 
selves are  familiar,  but  who  would 
be  often  at  a  loss  to  refer  them  to 
their  context.  In  rendering  into 
English  the  sparkling  play  of  words 
in  which  Ovid  delighted,  Mr  King 
has  often  been  very  successful. 
Take,  for  example,  these  which 
follow : — • 

"  Fades  non  omnibus  una, 
Nee  diversa  tamen,  qualem  decet  esse  sor- 
rorum." 

"  Nor  all  in  face 

The  same,  nor  different;   so  should  sisters 
be." 

In  the  epitaph  on  Phaeton  : — 

"  Quern  si  non  tenuit,  magnis  tamen  excidit 
ausis." 

"  And  if  he  strove 
In  vain,  at  least  in  no  mean  venture  failed." 


"  Oraque  nostra,   tuurn  frustra    clamantia 

nomen, 

Implerunt  fluctus." 
"  The  salt  sea  chokes  the  lips,  whose  last 

vain  cry 
Was  on  thy  name." 

"Sic  pugnat,  sic  est  metuendus  Ulysses." 

"  So  fights  Ulysses  ;  and  such  arms,  I  own, 
Men  well  may  dread." 

"  Atque  Ajax  armis,  non  Ajaci  arma  petun- 
tur." 

"  The  arms 
Want  Ajax  more  than  Ajax  wants  the  arms." 

"  Invictumque  virum  vincit  dolor." 
"  And  passion  conquered  whom  none  con- 
quered else." 

"  Inferias  inopes,  crinem  lacrimasque  relin- 
quit." 

"Poor  funeral  gift,  yet  all 
She  has  to  give — her  tresses  and  her  tears  ! " 

"  Nee,  quse  sulfureis  ardet  fornacibus  JEtne 
Ignea  semper  erit :  neque  enim  fuit  ignea 
semper." 

"Time  was,  as  yet  the  furnace  at  the  heart 
Of  sulphxirous^Etna  blazed — and  time  will  be 
When  it  shall  blaze  no  more." 

In  this  last  the  translation  is  an 
improvement  on  the  original,  pre- 
serving the  antithesis  without  the 
jingle,  of  which  Ovid  is  too  fond. 
Here  and  there,  in  the  desire  to 
give  the  full  force  of  his  author's 
meaning,  he  has  indulged  in  a 
little  more  amplification  than  a 
translator's  licence  strictly  admits ; 
as  when  we  find  the  sneer  of  Ajax 
against  his  rival  Ulysses — 

"  Cui  standi  vulnera  vires 
Non  dederunt,  nullo  tardatus  vulnere  fugit," 

thus  rendered — 

"  He  whose  heart 
Not  left  him  strength  to  stand,  found  speed 

enough 
To  fly, — /  swear  no  wound  was  in  his  legs  !  " 

The  last  phrase,  though  no  doubt  it 
materially  helps  the  point,  is  Mr 
King's  own  property,  and  neither 
Ajax's  nor  Ovid's.  So  again,  in 
Ulysses'  reply — 

"  Quae  nisi  fecissem,  frustra  Telamone  cre- 

atus 
Gestasset  Iseva  taurorum  tergora  septem  "- 

"But  for  which  feat  of  mine,  your  Ajax' 

shield, 
With  all  its  seven-fold  hides  that  fence  his 

wm, 
Had  wrought  ye  little  help  ! " 


1871.] 


King's  Translation  of  OvicCs  Metamorphoses. 


313 


the  translator  is  harder  upon  Ajax 
than  even  his  rival  was.  But  it  is 
so  transcendent  a  duty  in  a  trans- 
lator to  be  readable,  that  the  inser- 
tion of  an  additional  point  is  far 
more  excusable  than  the  omission 
of  one.  To  give  any  really  good 
version  of  a  poet  into  another  lan- 
guage requires  no  small  share  of  the 
poetic  faculty  in  him  who  makes 
the  attempt ;  and  his  constant 
temptation  naturally  is  to  indulge 
it.  Mr  King  has  perhaps  been 
carried  away  by  this  temptation 
most  in  the  two  latter  books  of  the 
poem,  in  which  it  would  certainly 
be  especially  difficult  for  any  trans- 
lator to  be  at  once  perfectly  faithful 
to  his  author  and  attractive  to  his 
reader.  When,  for  instance,  in  the 
passage  in  which  is  introduced 
Pythagoras' s  teaching  of  transmigra- 
tion (xv.  165),  the  human  spirit  is 
called 
"  The  shifting  tenant  of  a  thousand  homes  " — 

the  vigorous  phrase  is  Mr  King's, 
not  Ovid's.  So,  in  his  version  of 
Ovid's  sketch  of  the  several  ages  of 
mman  life,  from  which  it  is  more 

lan  possible  that  Shakespeare  took 
idea  of  his  well-known  passage 
•though  he  makes  the  periods 

aven,  while  Ovid  is  content  with 
six — Mr  King  has  some  fine  lines 
in  which  he  describes  the  closing 
scene : — 

"And  last — the  holiday  of  youth  played 

out, 

The  strife  and  struggle  of  the  middle  years 
Fought  to  the  end, — the  Veteran,  leaping 

down 
The  hill  that  slopes  to  age — the  thief  that 

waits 

Below  to  filch  from  frame  and  soul  alike 
All  vigour  of  the  past,  nor  in  the  wreck 
Leaves  trace  of  what  he  steals." 

Vigorous  and  graceful  as  this  cer- 
tainly is,  it  can  only  be  accepted  as 
a  paraphrase  of  the  original. 

But  it  seems  ungracious  to  find 
fault  in  a  portion  of  the  work 
which  gives  us  such  fine  passages 
as  the  sacrifice  of  Polyxena  at  the 


tomb  of  Achilles — a  passage  in 
which  Ovid  rises  beyond  his  level, 
and  where  his  present  translator 
does  him  full  justice : — 

"  Bosom  and  throat  she  bared — '  Ye  cannot 

deem 

Polyxena  would  deign  to  live  a  slave  ! 
Rather  come  death !    Though  with  such  sac- 
rifice 

Ye  win  no  grace  of  any  God  in  Heaven  ! 
Yet  happier  could  I  die,  so  of  my  fate 
My  mother  knew  not : — 'tis  that  only  thought 
That  of  its  perfect  welcome  stints  your  blow ! 
Though, — for  her  tears, — her  life,  and  not 

my  death, 
Should  justlier  ask  their  shedding.     Please 

ye,  press 

Less  closely  on  me, — 'tis  not  much  to  ask, — 
My  Ghost  will  freelier  seem  to  seek  the 

Shades ; 

And  uncontaminate  by  the  touch  of  man, 
As  maid  should  die,  dismiss  me  !    Better  so 
The  Power,  whoe'er  he  be,  ye  think  to  please 
Will  thank  ye  for  my  blood ! — If  yet  one 

word, 
The  last  these  lips  may  speak,  can  touch  your 

hearts, 

'Tis  Priam's  child,  the  daughter  of  a  King, 
No  nameless  slave,  beseeches  ye  to  grant 
Her  corse  unransomed  to  her  mother's  arms : — 
Let  tears,  not  gold,  redeem  it ! — Gold  enough 
She  paid  ye  for  such  bargains  while  she 

could  ! ' 
She  said : — nor  in  the  throng  was  cheek 

unwet 
With  weeping  save    her    own : — the  very 

Priest, 
Whose  knife  was  buried  in  her  proffered 

breast, 
Unwilling  struck,  and  blinded  by  his  tears." 

There  are  many  other  successful 
renderings,  interspersed  through  the 
volume,  which  tempt  us  to  quota- 
tion. Nothing  can  be  better  than 
the  version  of  the  following  passage, 
well  known  to  all  readers  of  Ovid, 
where  the  sculptor  Pygmalion  falls 
in  love  with  his  own  work  : — 

"  S«pe  manus  operi  tentantes  admovet  an  sit 
Corpus,  an  illud  ebur :  nee  ebur  tamen  esse 

fatetur. 
Oscula  dat,  reddique    putat :    loquiturque 

tenetque, 

Et  credit  tactis  digitos  insidere  membris, 
Et  metuit  presses  veniat  ne  livor  in  artus." 

"  And  oft  his  hands  the  ivory  tried,  in  doubt 
If  flesh  it  were  or  ivory,  scarce  the  last 
Convinced  to  think  it. — Now  upon  her  lips 
A  kiss  he  prints ;  and  deems  his  kiss  returned; 
Now  lover-wise  he  sues,  now  passionate 
Embraces  : — fancies  that  the  yielding  limbs 
Give  to  his  touch,  and  fears  their  tenderness 
To  bruise." 

It  is  worth  while  to  compare  with 


314 


King's  Translation  of  OvicTs  Metamorphoses. 


[March 


this  original  Mr  Morris's  treatment 
of  the  same  fable — scarcely  less  grace- 
ful, though  perfectly  distinct: — 

"  No  smile  was  on  the  parted  lips,  the  eyes 
Seemed  as  if  even  now  great  love  had  shown 
Unto  them  something  of  its  sweet  surprise, 
Yet  saddened  them  with  half-seen  mysteries  ; 
And  still  'midst  passion  maiden-like  she 

seemed, 
As  though  of  love  unchanged  for  aye  she 

dreamed. 

Reproachfully  beholding  all  her  grace, 
Pygmalion  stood,  until  he  grew  dry-eyed, 
And  then  at  last  he  turned  away  his  face, 
As  if  from  her  cold  eyes  his  grief  to  hide  ; 
And  thus  a  weary  while  did  he  abide, 
With  nothing  in  his  heart  but  vain  desire, 
The  ever-burning,  all-consuming  fire. 

'  Alas  ! '  he  cried,  '  why  have  I  made  thee, 
then, 

That  thus  thou  mockest  me  ?  I  know,  in- 
deed, 

That  many  such  as  thou  are  loved  of  men, 

Whose  passionate  eyes  poor  wretches  still 
will  lead 

Into  their  net,  and  smile  to  see  them  bleed ; 

But  these  the  Gods  made,  and  this  hand 
made  thee, 

Who  will  not  speak  one  little  word  to  me ! ' "  * 

Again,  in  that  fine  picture  of 
Byblis  writing  her  love-letter,  the 
translator's  rendering  is  very  happy 
as  well  as  faithful : — 


"  Incipit,   et  dubitat :   scribit,  damnatque 

tabellas  ; 
Ex  notat  et  delet ;  mutat,  culpatque,  pro- 

batque ; 
Inque    vicem    sumptas    ponit,    positasque 

resumet. 

Quid  velit,  ignorat ;  quidquid  factura  videtur 
Displicet :  in  vultu  estaudacia  mixta  pudori." 

"  Begins,  then  hesitates  ; — begins  anew  ;— 
Effaces  what  she  wrote,  and  writes,  and  blots, 
And  writes  again,  and  alters ; — all  too  warm 
Is  this,  and  that  too  frigid  : — now  she  flings 
The  tablets  from  her,  —  now  resumes  the 

task  :— 
What  she  would  say,  she  cannot ;  what  she 

says 
Seems  still  amiss :   and,  at  each  word  she 

writes, 
Boldness  with  shame  holds  conflict  on  her 

cheeks." 

Mr  King  tells,  in  the  few  lines 
which  stand  in  the  place  of  a  dedi- 
cation, that  "  it  had  been  his  hope 
to  have  been  able  to  offer  these 
pages,  as  a  token  of  respect,  politi- 
cal, social,  and  literary,"  to  the  late 
Earl  of  Derby.  He  adds,  "  '  Diis 
aliter  visum  ' ;  but  I  prefer  the  ex- 
pression of  that  vanished  hope  to 
any  substituted  dedication."  He 
will  be  contented  with  the  sum  of 
our  criticism,  if  we  say  that  his  vol- 
ume is  worthy  of  the  great  name 
with  which  he  desired  to  associate  it. 


*  '  The  Earthly  Paradise ' — Pygmalion  and  the  Image. 


1871.] 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


315 


FRANK  MARSHALL. — PART  II. 


CHAPTER   IV. — THE   CRIMINAL   BEFORE    HIS   JUDGE. 


WILSON  sat  in  his  lonely  lodgings, 
moodily  reflecting  on  the  sufferings 
by  which  merit  must  needs  be  tried 
in  this  vale.  He  had  many  things 
to  vex  him  :  the  Bluefolds  evidently 
did  not  know  what  was  for  their 
good ;  his  principal  client,  he  had 
reason  to  believe,  was  not  favour- 
ably impressed  with  his  conduct  in 
one  or  two  recent  transactions  ;  and 
his  work  on  colonial  policy,  which 
was  to  set  the  political  world  in  a 
blaze,  had  been  received  as  calmly 
as  the  paradoxes  of  George  Prim- 
rose :  no  journal  except  the '  Penzance 
Courier'  had  deigned  to  point  out 
its  mischievous  tendency.  Alto- 
gether, he  was  not  displeased  to 
have  his  meditations  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  Frank,  of  late  an 
unfrequent  visitor,  who  sauntered 
discontentedly  in,  and  cast  himself 
into  a  chair,  without  speaking. 

"Well,"  said  Wilson,  "how  do 
you  like  your  work  at  the  Indus- 
trial 1  It  is  a  capital  thing  for  you 
to  be  engaged  on  a  grand  scheme 
like  that,  instead  of  dreaming  life 
away  while  you  are  waiting  for  your 
uncle's  shoes." 

"  A  nice  thing  you  have  let  me 
in  for,"  answered  Frank ;  "  I  should 
not  wonder  if  we  lost  every  six- 
pence. I  took  him  for  a  swindler 
as  soon  as  I  set  my  eyes  on  him." 

"  Wright  is  as  honest  as  any  man 
breathing  ;  but  if  there  is  a  hitch  I 
cannot  see  how  I  am  to  blame." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  find  fault  with 
you,"  said  Frank ;  "  and  I  have 
nothing  to  say  against  Wright,  only 
he  is  such  a  fellow  to  talk,  and  will 
not  do  any  work  :  I  mean  that  man 
Leary  who  sold  us  the  land.  It  is 
my  belief  it  no  more  belongs  to 


him  than  it  does  to  the  man  in 
the  moon." 

"  It  will  throw  you  back  a  good 
deal  if  he  cannot  make  out  a  title  ; 
but,  after  all,  there  will  not  be  much 
harm  done  :  you  will  be  just  where 
you  were,  and  the  contract  is  at 
an  end." 

"  Maybe  it  is,"  replied  Frank ; 
"but  we  are  not  just  where  we 
were,  you  see  :  he  may  be  off  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains  any  day  with  the 
purchase-money,  and  that  is  about 
the  whole  capital  of  the  Company." 

"  How  the  deuce  did  he  get  hold 
of  the  purchase -money?"  asked 
Wilson. 

"  Why,  I  am  afraid  I  was  a  little 
to  blame  there,"  answered  Frank. 
"  You  see  it  seemed  all  plain  sailing, 
and  he  wanted  the  money  at  once 
to  send  to  his  boys  in  Queensland — 
he  has  sent  it  by  this,  I  daresay, 
confound  him  ! — and  it  was  a  great 
thing  for  us  to  get  hold  of  the  land 
at  once,  and  he  told  me  there  was 
another  chap  would  give  him  XI 00 
more  if  our  cash  was  not  ready,  and 
then  Wright  always  kept  telling  me 
not  to  raise  any  frivolous  objection, 
so  I  advised  our  people  to  pay  the 
money ;  and  now  it  seems  he  has 
been  insolvent  since  the  time  of 
Queen  Caroline,  and  owes  money 
to  half  the  county :  and  there's  a 
brute  of  a  fellow  in  the  next  parish 
who  is  trying  to  make  out  that  he 
has  got  a  right  to  burn  bricks  all 
over  our  property  for  nothing  until 
twenty-one  years  after  the  annihila- 
tion of  the  royal  family,  or  some 
precious  rigmarole  of  the  sort.  It 
is  all  a  plant,  of  course,  got  up  by 
him  and  that  infernal  scamp,  Leary." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  to  give 


316 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


in,  and  let  yourselves  be  done  quiet- 
ly, are  you  1 "  asked  Wilson. 

"  Give  in !  Lord  bless  you,  we 
have  got  a  regular  lawyer  at  work 
now  !  and  as  soon  as  he  found  what 
our  uncalled  capital  was,  and  heard 
something  about  our  shareholders, 
he  said  it  was  the  prettiest  case  he 
had  ever  met  with,  and  that  there 
was  nothing  like  it  in  the  books  ; 
and  then  he  began  to  scatter  the 
fees  right  and  left,  I  can  tell  you. 
But  that  fellow  "Wright  goes  on  ever- 
lastingly saying  it  is  all  my  fault, 
and  that  I  have  thrown  back  English 
civilisation  for  half  a  century.  I 
am  sick  of  the  whole  thing ;  and  as 
there  is  no  conveyancing  for  me  to 
do  now,  and  our  capital  is  locked  up, 
I  shall  go  abroad  for  a  few  weeks. 
But  tell  me  something  about  your- 
self. I  have  had  no  time  to  come  to 
chambers  since  this  blessed  Company 
started.  Am  I  to  congratulate  you?" 

"  That's  all  off  for  the  present," 
answered  Wilson.  "  They  have 
gone  abroad  for  the  summer,  and 
I  don't  suppose  anything  will  come 
of  it  after  all ;  but  we  need  not  talk 
about  that  now." 

"  Well,  I  will  not  ask  any  ques- 
tions, old  fellow,"  said  Frank ;  "  but 
I  am  really  very  sorry,  upon  my 
word.  Come  along  with  me,  to 
Switzerland,  or  Norway,  or  Egypt — 
anywhere  you  like — and  shake  it  off; 
that's  what  I  always  do.  I  looked 
into  chambers  as  I  came  along,  and 
told  our  fellow  I  was  off  somewhere, 
and  that  you  would  most  likely 
come  too." 

"I  cannot  move,"  answered  the 
lorn  one ;  "  I  have  so  many  irons  in 
the  fire." 

So  Frank  went  off  by  himself. 
This  he  did  not  like,  because  then 
he  must  make  up  his  mind  for 
himself  where  he  would  go  every 
day,  and  he  hated  having  to  do  this, 
of  all  things  ;  whereas  nobody  who 
went  in  Wilson's  company  need  be 
at  the  trouble  of  forming  an  opinion 


of  his  own — and  if  he  did,  he  had 
to  give  it  up.  So,  as  he  could  not 
bear  starting  alone  without  some 
definite  point  to  make  for,  he 
thought  he  might  as  well  go  and 
see  how  his  uncle  was  getting  on. 
He  would  not  be  obliged  to  stay 
longer  than  he  liked,  for  he  could 
always  plead  business  of  the  Com- 
pany when  the  old  man  got  tire- 
some. When  he  cast  aside  the 
frock-coat  of  the  period,  and  put 
on  his  much-loved  tweed  monkey- 
jacket,  stained  by  the  suns  of  many 
a  broiling  day,  he  flung  from  him 
all  the  toils  and  losses  of  the  Indus- 
trial Company,  and  began  to  think 
quite  affectionately  of  his  kinsman 
Matthew  and  the  peaceful  valley  of 
Schwarzloch.  Oddly  enough,  no 
doubt  of  that  old  gentleman's  joy 
at  beholding  him  ever  crossed  his 
mind  :  he  had  been  in  possession  of 
that  £3000  so  long — i.e.,  some  six- 
teen days — that  he  had  come  to  feel 
towards  it  as  a  proprietor,  and  it 
somehow  escaped  him  that  old 
Matthew  would  not  improbably 
have  something  to  say  in  the  mat- 
ter. The  farther  he  got  from  Wright 
the  lighter  his  bosom  became,  and 
the  more  cheerful  was  the  view 
which  he  took  of  the  Company's 
prospects;  and  if  they  were  hung 
up  for  a  year  or  two,  that  was  not 
an  unmixed  evil :  he  would  have 
time  to  read  up  to  be  in  readiness 
to  deal  with  all  those  sub-tenants. 
Before  he  crossed  the  Swiss  fron- 
tier he  had  forgotten  the  whole 
business,  and  had  cut  out  the  next 
three  weeks  very  much  to  his  satis- 
faction. He  would  leave  his  port- 
manteau at  the  point  where  the 
by-road  to  Schwarzloch  quitted  the 
highway,  then  he  would  shoulder 
his  knapsack  and  walk  up  to  the 
baths :  that  might  be  about  three 
hours.  His  uncle  would  think  it 
unkind  if  he  went  away  next  morn- 
ing ;  so  he  could  make  out  a  day, 
or  perhaps  two,  very  well,  looking 


1871.] 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


317 


about  in  the  direction  of  the  Teufels- 
kralle.  Then  he  could  get  away 
by  the  Hbllenthur ;  or,  if  he  found 
that  was  too  much  of  a  grind,  he 
could  strike  eastwards.  Murray 
said  nothing  of  a  path,  but  there 
was  one  marked  on  the  map,  and 
his  portmanteau  might  come  round 
by  the  road  and  meet  him  on  Sun- 
day at  Sumpf  boden  or  Fliegenmatte, 
as  the  case  might  be.  At  either  of 
these  places  he  would  be  sure  to 
find  some  fellow  to  join,  and,  of 
course,  could  not  quite  determine 
upon  his  route  until  he  knew  where 
the  other  man  wanted  to  go. 

There  is  nothing  like  carrying 
your  own  knapsack,  especially  the 
first  day,  when  the  thing  is  all  new 
to  you  and  your  shoulders  are  not 
raw.  So  Frank  stepped  gaily  along, 
•with  a  feeling  that  he  was  going 
forth  into  the  wide,  wide  world,  or,  to 
give  his  thoughts  a  local  colouring, 
in  die  write  Welt  hinaus,  plus  the 
conviction  that  an  excellent  supper 
and  bed  awaited  him  that  evening, 
and  that  he  could  get  rid  of  his 
burthen  the  moment  it  became 
troublesome.  He  had  been  in  afflic- 
tion for  the  last  three  weeks :  She 
was  another's  ;  Leary  had  been  too 
many  for  him  ;  and  everybody  had 
gone  out  of  town  except  Wright, 
who  spent  his  evenings  with  him,  and 
sorrowfully  pointed  out  that  he  had 
riveted  the  fetters  upon  a  despair- 
ing peasantry.  But  Wright  could 
not  get  at  him  here  :  old  Matthew, 
who  would  be  pleased  to  find  his 
nephew  so  busy,  might  be  able  to 
suggest  some  dodge  whereby  to  cir- 
cumvent Leary ;  and  with  joy  and 
thankfulness  he  was  beginning  to 
recognise  the  familiar  symptoms  of 
recovery  from  an  undying  and  hope- 
less passion.  But  had  a  seer,  such 
as  whilom  saw  a  shroud  enveloping 
the  living  man,  met  our  friend  as  he 
went  gaily  onwards  exulting  in  his 
deliverance  from  the  cares  of  love 
and  business,  he  had  said, — 


"  I  see  a  sight  he  cannot  see :  the 
unthinking  lad  is  rushing  to  his 
doom  ;  yon  man  is  fey."  But  his 
good  angel  slumbered.  He  often 
does. 

The  road  scrambled  up  and 
down  by  the  side  of  a  stream 
white  with  fury,  and  led  him 
through  dense  fir-woods,  which  at 
no  time  allowed  him  to  see  more 
than  a  few  hundred  yards  ahead. 
After  some  two  hours  of  this  he  be- 
came impatient  for  the  glaciers,  but 
could  see  nothing  of  them  until  the 
road  turned  sharp  to  the  left  across 
a  quaking  bridge  of  pine-trees. 
From  this  point  he  suddenly  dis- 
covered Schwarzloch  nestling  in  the 
meadows  at  the  head  of  the  valley, 
and  the  Teufelskralle  springing  out 
of  the  clouds  in  the  distance.  Here 
he  halted  against  a  bank  to  take  in 
the  scene  and  to  ease  his  shoulders. 
Presently  he  found  he  was  not 
alone ;  a  lady  was  sitting  on  a  rock 
by  the  water  in  the  shadow  of  the 
bridge  he  had  just  crossed,  so  deeply 
engaged  in  the  difficult  task  of 
sketching  a  view  whose  lights  were 
constantly  shifting,  that  she  did  not 
hear  his  steps.  This  was  Clara,  of 
course;  and  Frank,  who  had  not 
thought  it  necessary  to  get  himself 
up  very  elaborately  to  please  the 
eyes  of  old  Matthew,  immediately 
began  to  bewail  the  absence  of  his 
portmanteau.  His  limp  old  wide- 
awake, admirably  fitted  as  it  was 
to  shelter  the  human  head,  was 
ill  suited  to  purposes  of  courtesy ; 
gloves  he  had  none ;  and  against 
his  knapsack  Wilson  had  used  all  his 
influence  for  many  successive  years. 
However,  there  was  no  help  for  it, 
so  he  slipped  off  his  burthen  and 
advanced. 

"Miss  Bluefold,  I  believe?  I 
think  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
you  at  Ascot.  I  hope  you  are  stay- 
ing at  the  baths?" 

"  Yes,  we  have  been  at  Schwarz- 
loch some  days,"  said  Clara,  as  soon 


318 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


as  amazement  and  dismay  allowed 
her  to  speak. 

Most  of  us-  would  have  been 
charmed  with  the  prospect  of  a  row ; 
but  she,  the  kind  little  soul,  had 
been  taking  Frank's  part  for  the 
last  few  days,  and  rather  feared  she 
had  made  matters  worse. 

"  I  am  on  my  way  there  to  see 
my  uncle,  who  is  taking  the  waters ; 
perhaps  you  can  tell  me  if  he  is 
still  here." 

"Mr  Marshall  is  here;  but  I 
hardly  think — that  is,  I  mean,  do 
you  think  he  is  expecting  you?" 

"  Oh  no ;  he  never  expects  me 
till  he  sees  me.  But  I  am  interrupt- 
ing you,  and  the  sun  will  be  off  the 
valley  in  a  few  minutes.  If  you  will 
allow  me,  I  will  sit  down  and  rest 
while  you  are  finishing  your  draw- 
ing, and  then  I  can  carry  your  books 
back  to  the  hotel." 

So  down  she  sat  again,  drawing 
away  to  gain  time,  but  not  to  much 
purpose.  What  was  to  be  done? 
Frank  did  not  seem  conscious  of 
the  crime  he  had  committed,  and 
she  did  not  know  whether  she 
ought  to  enlighten  him.  He  would 
wonder  how  she  came  to  know  all 
about  his  affairs,  and  think  she  was 
a  marvel  of  inquisitiveness.  But  if 
he  went  up  to  the  house  now,  she 
was  sure  that  something  terrible 
would  happen.  That  very  morning 
the  old  man  had  been  consulting 
her  about  founding  a  Greek  profes- 
sorship at  St  Bees,  to  which  all  per- 
sons of  the  name  of  Marshall  should 
be  ineligible ;  and  had  told  her  he  had 
closed  his  account  with  his  banker 
because  of  that  gentleman's  fatuity 
in  honouring  Frank's  cheque.  Pre- 
sently Frank  saw  she  was  not  doing 
anything,  and  asked  if  he  might  see 
her  album.  He  did  not  greatly  ad- 
mire the  water-colour,  which  had 
been  executed  under  difficulties,  so 
he  turned  over  and  found  a  series  of 
slight  pen-and-pencil  sketches  which 
tickled  him  immensely.  All  of  a 
sudden  he  shouted  out, — • 


[March 

"  By  Jove,  here's  my  uncle !  but 
how  savage  you  have  made  him 
look  !  Poor  old  fellow,  I  had  not 
an  idea  he  was  so  ill !  It  is  a  very 
clever  sketch,  Miss  Bluefold.  I 
know  he  does  not  bear  pain  well, 
but  I  must  say  I  never  heard  of 
his  shaking  his  fist  like  a  maniac  ;" 
and  he  closed  the  book  and  looked 
hurt. 

"  Dear  me,  Mr  Marshall,"  cried 
Clara,  much  distressed,  "  I  did  not 
mean  you  to  see  that ;  but  it  really 
is  not  what  you  take  it  for.  Your 
uncle  has  not  been  ill  at  all ;  but 
he  was  very  much  vexed  at  some- 
thing he  had  heard  :  and  he  did 
look  so  funny  when  he  was  put  out, 
that  I  could  not  help  just  sketch- 
ing the  scene.  It  was  very  wrong 
of  me,  and  I  quite  forgot  it  was 
in  that  book.  I  will  tear  it  up 
at  once." 

"  Pray  do  not  think  of  doing 
that,"  said  Frank,  rather  stiffly ; 
"  and  I  should  like  to  have  another 
glance  at  it,  if  you  will  allow  me. 
It  is  really  very  like  him,"  he  went 
on,  laughing  in  spite  of  his  annoy- 
ance ;  "  but  what  could  he  have 
heard  to  make  him  so  fierce?  and 
what  are  all  those  papers  he  seems 
to  be  kicking  about  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  like  to  tell  you,  but  I 
suppose  you  ought  to  know.  You 
will  think  me  such  a  very  odd 
person,  meddling  like  this  in  your 
family  matters ;  but  those  are  the 
shares  in  that  Company  of  yours, 
you  know,  for  making  gentlemen  of 
the  labourers." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?"  said  Frank. 
"  I  suppose  he  did  not  think  it  a 
safe  investment.  I  am  not  sure  I 
do  not  agree  with  him  :  but  I  must 
try  and  make  the  best  of  it  to  him 
to-night,  and  to-morrow  we  will 
have  it  all  out.  I  suppose  he  is 
still  rather  sore  about  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed  he  is  ;  and  it  is  not  so 
much  about  the  money,  but  he  is 
furious  at  that  passage  in  the  pros-, 
pectus  about  '  breaking  down  our 


1871.] 

great  territorial  aristocracy.'  Only 
this  morning,  when  I  said  that, 
after  all,  it  was  very  kind  of  you  to 
be  taking  all  this  trouble  for  these 
poor  people,  he  declared  that  if 
your  names  were  not  the  same, 
really  and  truly  he  would  prose- 
cute." 

"  It  was  that  fellow  Wright  wrote 
that  about  the  aristocracy,  and  that 
other  bit  about  the  '  workers  of  the 
soil  doomed  never  to  enjoy  its 
fruits.1  The  worst  of  that  man  is, 
he  never  will  scratch  out  anything 
he  has  once  scribbled  down.  But 
what  had  I  better  do?  I  suppose 
you  would  not  like  to  go  in  and 
break  it  to  him  that  I  am  here  ] " 

"  You  stay  here,  and  I  will  try 
what  I  can  do,"  said  Clara;  and 
away  she  tripped. 

"  How  infinitely  better  girls  look 
in  these  broad-brimmed  straws  than 
in  the  soup-plates  of  the  period!" 
thought  Frank,  admiringly  survey- 
ing the  retreating  figure.  "  I  don't 
wonder  that  I  was  a  little  smitten. 
She  seems  about  the  nicest  girl  I 
ever  saw,  too,  although  she  is  rather 
free  with  her  pencil.  I  daresay  my 
uncle  was  a  tempting  subject." 

Clara  went  back  to  the  hotel  in 
an  awful  fright :  she  had  talked  to 
old  Matthew  about  his  nephew  a 
good  deal;  and  though  she  had 
always  said  as  much  in  Frank's 
favour  as  she  dared,  the  old  man 
seemed  more  exasperated  every  day. 
He  was  always  kind  and  almost 
affectionate  in  his  manner  to  herself, 
but  he  had  a  wicked  look  about 
him  at  times.  She  had  been  a  good 
deal  perturbed,  too,  by  Frank's  being 
so  annoyed  at  the  caricature ;  so 
that  altogether  the  poor  little  body 
was  not  quite  so  collected  as  usual. 
She  was  a  timid  little  creature,  who 
had  never  had  her  fair  share  of 
scolding,  for  Moneybags  never  would 
let  anybody  speak  a  cross  word  to 
her;  and  when  she  reflected  that 
the  old  gentleman  would  most  likely 


Frank  Marshall, — Part  II. 


319 


fly  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  rage, 
her  head  began  quite  to  swim  with 
consternation.  Perhaps  he  would 
stamp  and  shake  his  fist,  and  this 
idea  brought  the  caricature  into  her 
head,  and  then  she  laughed  in  spite 
of  her  anguish.  By  the  time  she 
got  into  the  big  sitting-room  all  her 
diplomacy  had  left  her,  and  she  was 
secretly  a  little  hysterical,  though 
she  showed  no  signs  of  it.  The  old 
man  was  striding  up  and  down,  like 
the  beasts  at  feeding-time,  wearying 
for  his  dinner,  for  Clara's  absence 
had  delayed  the  table  d'hote. 

"  Well,  Miss  Clara,"  he  said,  with 
more  acerbity  of  manner  than  he 
had  ever  shown  towards  her,  "  better 
late  than  never :  young  ladies  should 
not  take  such  long  walks ;  and  you 
are  looking  as  if  you  had  over-tired 
yourself.  I  suspect  we  shall  find 
presently  that  you  have  done  too 
much,  and  have  lost  your  appetite. 
What  has  been  keeping  you  so 
long?" 

This  was  just  what  she  wanted 
to  tell  him,  but  she  could  not  bring 
the  words  out ;  so,  aiter  one  or  two 
attempts  at  articulate  speech,  she 
began  to  choke,  and  the  tears 
to  show  themselves.  Mr  Matthew 
Marshall  was  horrified  :  such  a  thing 
had  never  befallen  him  all  his  life 
long.  Here  was  a  nice  little  girl 
who  had  been  trying  to  please  him 
all  she  could — had  lent  him  her 
books,  and  shown  him  her  pictures, 
and  sponged  his  clumsy  old  ankle — 
and  just  because  she  kept  him  wait- 
ing for  dinner  half  an  hour,  he  had 
been  scolding  her  till  she  cried. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear, 
for  speaking  so  rudely ;  it's  only 
twenty  minutes  past  six  now,  and 
I  am  never  in  any  hurry  for  my 
dinner :  but  I  was  getting  uneasy 
about  you,  as  you  are  generally  so 
punctual  You  must  not  mind 
what  an  old  bear  like  me  says  now 
and  then." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  sobbed  Clara — • 


320 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II, 


"  you  are  always  very  kind ;  "but  I 
have  got  something  to  tell  you,  and 
I  am  so  afraid  you  will  be  angry." 

"  You  cannot  have  done  anything 
to  make  me  very  savage,  my  dear ; 
so  let  me  hear  your  little  confession, 
and  then  go  and  get  ready  for  din- 
ner." 

"  I  met  him :  he  is  just  outside 
—Mr  Frank  Marshall."  She  had 
not  voice  to  say  any  more,  and  now 
the  murder  was  out. 

The  old  man  did  not  say  any- 
thing, but  took  two  turns  up  and 
down  the  room,  and  then  stopped 
opposite  Clara,  who  was  not  quite 
reassured  yet. 

"So  he  was  afraid  to  come  in 
himself,  and  sent  you  to  bear  the 
first  brunt  of  it :  I  cannot  say  I 
think  the  better  of  him  for  it.  Go 
and  send  him  in  to  me — that  is,  if 
you  would  be  so  kind,"  he  added, 
suddenly  recollecting  himself. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  be  very 
angry  with  him,  Mr  Marshall?" 
pleaded  she. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Bluefold,  when 
young  men  at  my  nephew's  time  of 
life  do  wrong  and  silly  things,  they 
have  to  take  the  consequences  ;  but 
you  need  not  be  afraid  that  anything 
will  happen  to  shock  your  nerves. 
Getting  that  little  girl  to  come  in 
like  that ;  just  as  an  idle  schoolboy 
sends  his  sister  to  beg  him  off !  II 
me  le  payera" 

Clara  went  back  and  gave  her 
message  :  she  was  still  rather  agitat- 
ed, and  her  black  eyelashes  looked 
a  little  dewy.  As  Frank  looked  and 
listened,  he  felt  that  his  strength 
was  departing  from  him,  and  that  a 
return  of  his  malady  was  imminent, 
and  he  said  within  himself,  "  I  won- 
der how  far  Wilson  has  got  in  the 
business.  He  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  it  was  as  good  as  settled ; 
but  I  should  like  to  know  exactly 
how  the  land  lies,  I  must  say.  It 
won't  do  for  me  to  be  staying  here, 
or  I  shall  be  making  a  fool  of  my- 


self. But  the  worst  of  it  is,  there's 
no  help  for  it :  my  uncle  won't 
take  it  at  all  kind  of  ine  if  I  go 
before  the  week  is  out,  at  any  rate." 
Then  aloud  he  said,  "So  he  did 
not  utter  a  single  imprecation ! 
— that  looks  bad.  He  does  not 
often  take  things  this  way,  but  he 
is  a  long  time  coming  round  when 
he  does.  I  had  better  go  and  have 
it  over ;  I  hope  you  are  not  going 
to  leave  us  alone  after  dinner  ? " 
Then  he  went  in,  but  on  the  way 
found  time  to  speak  a  word  to  the 
landlord  about  his  portmanteau, 
which  he  said  he  must  have  up  at 
once,  as  he  thought  he  might  have 
to  stop  some  days,  and  did  not  want 
Clara  to  see  that  wideawake  again. 

"  Well,  Frank,"  said  the  old  man 
as  soon  as  the  criminal  appeared, 
"  it  is  very  good  of  you,  I  am  sure, 
to  tear  yourself  away  from  your  im- 
portant avocations  for  the  sake  of 
coming  to  this  dull  little  hole !  Do 
you  not  feel,  though,  that  you  are 
rather  neglecting  your  duty  to  the 
toiling  millions  of  Great  Britain  ?  " 

No  amount  of  word-painting  can 
express  the  bitterness  which  Mat- 
thew threw  into  this  quotation. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  find  you  are  not 
pleased  with  what  I  have  been  do- 
ing, sir.  I  must  own  I  think  I 
have  been  a  bit  of  a  fool,  and  that  I 
have  got  rather  into  a  mess.  I  am 
not  much  of  a  man  of  business  my- 
self, and  I  wish  you  would  let  me 
go  into  the  matter  with  you  pre- 
sently, and  then  you  can  advise  me 
.  what  we  had  best  do." 

"  You  want  my  advice,  eh  ? "  an- 
swered Matthew,  with  savage  irony. 
"  It  is  about  the  dividend,  I  suppose, 
— whether  your  enormous  profits  will 
allow  you  to  divide  10  or  15  per 
cent,  and  how  much  is  to  be  set 
aside  to  meet  contingencies.  No, 
Mr  Director,  you  must  excuse  me. 
I  have  belonged  to  a  good  many 
companies  in  my  time,  and  have 
burnt  my  fingers  like  other  folks  " 


1871.] 

(we  have  reason  to  believe  that  in 
making  this  last  statement  he  was 
romancing),  "  but  I  have  always 
made  it  a  rule  never  to  fetter  the 
discretion  of  the  board."  Then  sud- 
denly changing  his  tone,  "  I  have 
no  wish  to  meddle  in  your  affairs, 
Frank ;  you  have  taken  your  own 
line,  and  must  please  yourself.  I 
know  none  of  the  gentlemen  whose 
names  I  see  associated  with  yours, 
and  have  no  desire  to  make  their 
acquaintance.  If  they  are  not  de- 
signing swindlers,  they  are  empty- 
headed  firebrands,  who  are  putting 
forth  their  puny  strength  to  under- 
mine the  fabric  of  society.  As  for 
their  scheme,  the  best  issue  I  can 
wish  to  it  is  the  ruin  of  everybody 
who  has  anything  to  do  with  it.  I 
shall  hardly  regret  the  loss  of  my 
£3000  if  I  see  the  name  of  your 
Company  in  the  '  Gazette.'  As  for 
your  own  share  in  the  business,  we 
will  say  no  more  at  present ;  in  fact, 
I  cannot  trust  myself  to  say  all  I 
feel.  We  will  drop  the  subject  for 
to-day,  if  you  please." 

Then  they  went  to  dinner.  Char- 
ley came  out  of  his  room  that  day 
for  the  first  time  :  Clara  had  kept 
him  boxed  up  hitherto,  but  now  she 
was  actually  afraid  to  face  the  belli- 
gerents alone,  and  so  let  him  out  on 
sick-leave.  He  did  not  know  any- 
thing about  the  unpleasantness  which 
existed  between  the  uncle  and  ne- 
phew, and  had  a  great  deal  to  say, 
fondly  imagining  himself  to  be  the 
hero  of  the  party.  His  sister  was 
afraid  to  look  up;  for  besides  the 
feeling  that  there  was  thunder  in  the 
air,  she  felt  she  had  made  a  fool  of 
herself,  and  was  sure  that  Matthew 
must  take  her  for  a  goose.  Frank  was 
soon  alive  to  the  fact  that  the  ex- 
igency was  serious,  and  wondered 
what  his  uncle  was  going  to  do  to 
him.  That  gentleman  was  a  little 
ashamed  of  himself  for  having  made 
Clara  cry,  and  he  feared  she  thought 
he  was  a  brute.  Everybody  was 


Frank  Mar  shall. — Part  II. 


321 


glad  when  the  nuts  came  round  ; 
and  the  quality  of  the  wine  did  not 
tempt  them  to  linger.  Then  Char- 
ley proposed  a  rubber,  but  this  no- 
body seemed  to  relish ;  then  he 
offered  to  teach  Matthew  bezique  : 
the  old  fellow  would  have  preferred 
a  game  of  cribbage  with  Clara,  but 
he  thought  she  was  offended,  and 
he  did  not  like  to  propose  it ;  so, 
though  he  hated  new  inventions,  he 
felt  constrained  to  accept  the  chal- 
lenge, lest  she  should  think  him  un- 
amiable.  Then  what  were  the  other 
two  to  do  ?  There  was  no  other 
pack  of  cards,  and  they  had  got  no- 
thing to  read  except  the  Company's 
prospectus.  So  they  were  obliged 
to  take  a  turn  up  and  down  in  the 
moonlight. 

"  I  wish  he  would  have  it  out, 
and  have  done  with  it,"  began  Frank; 
"it  is  too  bad  of  me  to  bore  you 
with  all  this,  but  for  the  life  of  me 
I  cannot  think  of  anything  else.  I 
do  not  like  his  nursing  his  wrath 
this  way.  I  suppose  it  is  because 
he  cannot  think  of  anything  bad 
enough  to  do  to  me  all  at  once." 

"I  do  not  think  he  is  quite  so 
angry  now  as  he  was,"  answered 
Clara.  "  Do  you  know,  I  think  I 
would  try  him  again,  if  I  were  you, 
now  he  has  had  his  dinner.  I  have 
noticed  that's  the  time  the  landlord 
always  brings  his  bill ;  and  then  he 
was  a  good  deal  put  out  just  now, 
because  I  was  late  for  table  d'hote. 
I  will  go  and  send  Charley  to  bed, 
and  then  you  two  can  have  a  com- 
fortable talk." 

"  Well,  there's  no  use  in  disturb- 
ing them  until  they  have  done  that 
game,"  said  Frank.  "  We  had  bet- 
ter stay  here  a  few  minutes,  and 
watch  the  moon  lighting  up  those 
peaks.  There  are  not  three  nights 
in  the  year  when  you  can  see  them 
so  well." 

Bezique  is  a  long  game  sometimes, 
and  it  was  a  good  half-hour  before 
Frank  thought  it  would  be  safe  to 


322 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


go  in  and  stop  the  players ;  but  he 
was  not  impatient.  It  was  very 
pleasant  outside,  and  a  tete-a-tete 
with  old  Matthew  was  not  an  allur- 
ing prospect.  At  last  Charley  was 
sent  to  bed,  and  Frank  screwed  up 
his  courage  and  went  in — both 
parties  had  been  thinking  a  good  deal. 

"Well,  uncle,"  began  Frank,  "I 
am  come  to  say  good-night,  for  I  am 
thinking  of  turning  in  early  after 
niy  journey.  I  am  glad  to  see  the 
waters  seem  to  agree  with  you." 

"  Do  not  go  yet,  Frank.  I  should 
like  to  have  a  little  talk  to  you  first. 
Just  ring  for  two  cups  of  coffee,  will 
you — it's  included  in  the  pension — 
and  come  and  sit  down  by  the  win- 
dow. Frank,  my  lad,  I  take  a  good 
deal  of  blame  to  myself  about  you — 
I  do  indeed.  I  promised  my  poor 
brother  I  would  be  a  father  to  you." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Frank,  rather 
touched,  "  you  have  always  been 
very  kind.  I  am  not  at  all  surprised 
at  your  not  liking  this  Company  busi- 
ness, for  I  have  been  making  a  most 
confounded  ass  of  myself;  there  is 
no  use  in  denying  it." 

"  JSTo,  Frank,  there  is  not  any  use 
in  denying  it,  so  we  will  take  that 
for  granted  ;  but  it  has  been  my  fault 
after  all.  If  I  had  kept  you  up  to 
the  collar  ten  years  ago,  you  would 
have  been  a  good  steady  man  of 
business  now,  taking  life  in  earnest, 
and  doing  your  fair  share  of  work. 
What  a  mistake  I  have  made,  allow- 
ing you  ,£300  a-year,  and  asking  no 
questions !  I  ought  to  have  known 
that  no  man  can  learn  to  swim  if  he 
sets  out  with  a  bladder  under  his 
arm.  Well,  well,  what's  done  can't 
be  undone ;  but  I  will  try  and  be 
wiser  in  future." 


[March 

"  Your  money  is  your  own,  sir,  to 
do  as  you  like  with,"  said  Frank, 
considerably  nettled.  "  If  you  are 
going  to  stop  the  supplies,  I  do  not 
deny  it  will  be  unpleasant ;  but  I 
daresay  I  shall  manage  to  get  along 
as  well  as  another." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  you 
would  do  if  I  were  to  stop  the  sup- 
plies, as  you  call  it.  I  should  be 
sorry  to  hear  of  my  brother's  son 
jumping  off  Waterloo  Bridge  or  en- 
listing in  the  Pope's  Brigade.  No,  I 
will  tell  you  what  I  am  going  to  do. 
I  suppose  we  may  call  that  £3000  a 
dead  loss  ?"  Frank  nodded.  "  Very 
well,  I  am  going  to  cut  you  down  to 
£100  a-year,  and  the  remaining £200 
shall  go  to  recoup  me  for  the  loss. 
This  will  teach  you  the  value  of 
money,  and  you  will  have  something 
to  live  upon  while  you  are  learning 
some  occupation.  It  is  not  that  I 
want  to  save  the  money.  When- 
ever you  come  and  show  me  that  you 
are  setting  to  work  in  earnest,  I  will 
give  you  a  helping  hand.  You  shall 
never  miss  a  step  in  life  for  want  of 
assistance ;  but  I  must  be  satisfied 
that  you  are  really  making  your  way, 
for  I  am  determined  no  longer  to 
support  you  in  idleness.  And  now 
good-night,  and  God  bless  you  ! " 

"  Butter -hearted  old  ass  that  I 
am,"  said  Matthew  to  himself,  as 
he  brewed  a  horrible  compound 
devised  by  the  skill  of  Rossenarzt. 
"  I  shall  have  the  ruin  of  that  lad 
on  my  head." 

"  The  old  curmudgeon  has  cut  off 
my  pocket-money,"  said  Frank  to 
Clara,  as  they  shook  hands  in  the 
passage ;  "  but  as  you  must  say 
good-night  now,  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  it  in  the  morning." 


CHAPTER   V. HOW    LITERATURE    IS    MANUFACTURED. 


Old  Matthew  used  always  to  take 
a  bath  some  time  in  the  small  hours, 
and  then  he  was  put  to  bed  under 


three  feather-quilts,  with  orders  to 
stay  there  till  somebody  was  at 
leisure  to  come  and  tell  him  to  get 


1871.] 

up.  Consequently  he  did  not  make 
a  public  appearance  till  it  was  get- 
ting on  for  eleven  o'clock.  Charley 
was  not  yet  allowed  to  be  at  large. 
So  Clara  and  Frank  had  a  quiet 
breakfast  all  to  themselves,  at  a 
little  table  in  a  window  looking 
down  the  valley.  The  portmanteau 
had  arrived  along  with  the  rolls. 
Matthew  could  not  stand  the  house- 
hold bread,  and  had  arranged  that  a 
messenger  from  the  town  on  the 
highroad  should  bring  him  some- 
thing fit  for  a  Christian  every  morn- 
ing. Frank  was  in  the  lowest 
spirits  as  he  told  his  tale. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  blame 
the  old  fellow  after  all,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  used  him  very  badly,  there 
is  no  doubt  about  it.  But  what  on 
earth  I  am  to  do  is  more  than  I 
know.  For  one  thing,  I  must  leave 
this  to-morrow.  I  cannot  afford  to 
stay  on  here." 

"  What  sort  of  thing  are  you 
thinking  of  doing  ? "  asked  Clara. 

"  There's  nothing  I  can  do.  I 
might  perhaps  be  an  usher ;  but 
there's  that  new  Latin  Grammar 
come  out  since  my  time.  However, 
I  must  get  back  to  town  at  once,  and 
look  about  me.  I  shall  move  into 
lodgings  at  Islington  to  begin  with." 

"  But  there  are  so  many  ways  of 
making  money.  You  are  at  the 
bar,  are  you  not?" 

"  Yes,  I  am,  and  much  I  have 
made  by  that.  I  never  had  but  one 
job,  and  I  have  managed  to  ruin 
my  client  horse  and  foot,  as  you 
have  heard." 

"  Some  men  make  a  good  deal,  I 
know,  by  writing  for  the  newspapers 
and  magazines, — did  you  ever  think 
of  trying  that  sort  of  thing  1" 

"  I  have  tried  that,"  answered 
Frank.  "  Last  year  when  I  was  in 
Auvergne  I  thought  I  would  write 
about  the  place  and  the  people,  and 
all  that — and  I  took  a  good  deal  of 
trouble  about  it — but  it  would  not 
do." 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  IL 


323 


"  What  did  the  publisher  say 
to  it?" 

"  I  never  sent  it  to  anybody.  I 
showed  it  to  a  fellow  who  was  with 
me  at  the  time,  and  who  under- 
stands that  sort  of  thing,  and  he 
said  there  was  nothing  in  it;  in 
fact,  he  spoke  so  unkindly  about  it 
that  I  was  afraid  to  show  it  to  any- 
body else.  By  the  way,  I  think  he 
is  a  friend  of  yours.  It  was  Wilson. 
He  was  one  of  the  party  at  Ascot." 
And  he  looked  up  from  his  omelette 
to  watch  the  effect  of  the  name. 

"  Oh,  it  was  that  gentleman,  was 
it1?"  said  Clara,  rather  contemptuous- 
ly, for  his  comments  on  her  drawings 
still  rankled  in  her  gentle  breast. 
"I  do  not  think  I  would  let  Mr 
Wilson's  criticisms  be  decisive." 

"  I  believe  I  have  got  it  here,  if 
you  would  care  to  see  it.  I  threw 
it  into  my  portmanteau,  and  have 
never  looked  at  it  from  that  day  to 
this." 

"  Fetch  it  at  once,"  cried  she. 
"  I  usually  go  at  this  time  of  day  to 
the  churchyard  for  shade.  I  can 
take  it  with  me  and  read  it  there." 

"  And  I  will  come  along  with  you, 
and  explain  the  hard  passages,"  said 
Frank. 

It  was  not  very  long,  but  she 
could  not  make  out  the  writing,  so 
he  had  to  read  it  aloud.  She  made 
no  comments  until  he  came  to  a 
passage  in  which  he  described  the 
delight  of  a  native  at  beholding  an 
Englishman  for  the  first  time.  The 
man  in  the  blouse  was  represented 
as  saying, — 

"  Mon  Dieu !  tu  es  Anglais  ! 
permets  que  je  t'embrasse." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  did  it1?" 
asked  Clara. 

"  Ay,  that  did  he— 

" '  Syne  he  kiss'd  me  on  ae  cheek, 
And  syne  upon  the  t'ither.'  " 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  present  to 
sketch  the  group,"  said  Clara.  "  An 
illustration  of  that  little  scene  might 
have  done  for  your  frontispiece." 


324 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


Frank  "was  taken  with  the  idea. 

"  Why  should  not  you  do  it  from 
imagination?"  he  suggested.  "I 
really  do  think  it  would  sell  the 
paper." 

"  I  can  only  draw  what  I  see," 
she  answered  ;  "  but  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  will  do  for  you,"  she  cried, 
with  a  shriek  of  delight.  "  If  you 
will  get  Heinrich  Baur,  my  brother's 
guide,  and  stand  up  against  the  wall 
yonder  in  an  affectionate  attitude,  I 
will  sketch  you  both  in  pen  and 
ink,  and  make  you  a  present  of  the 
copyright." 

Frank  did  not  see  it  at  all ;  but 
she  had  quite  set  her  heart  upon  it, 
and  was  not  by  any  means  in  the 
habit  of  being  contradicted.  And 
then  she  had  really  been  very  good- 
natured  the  day  before ;  so  at  last 
the  only  objection  he  could  think  of 
was  that  Baur  had  not  got  a  blouse, 
and  that  there  would  be  a  breach  of 
the  unities.  But  this  only  put  an- 
other queer  idea  into  her  wild  little 
head. 

"  Well,  then,  make  a  slight  al- 
teration in  the  title  of  your  tour : 
for  '  Auvergne '  read  '  Oberland ' : 
while  I  was  listening  I  could  not 
help  thinking  the  valley  of  Mont 
Dore  must  be  very  like  this  place. 
You  will  have  to  make  a  few  other 
changes,  of  course ;  but  you  can 
stay  a  day  or  two  and  make  them. 
Any  of  my  sketches  which  you  think 
will  do  you  shall  have,  only  you 
must  go  and  fetch  Heinrich  Baur — • 
do,  please — we  will  make  him  say  : 
'  Der  Herr  sei  ein  Englander  !  A  us 
London  selbst !  Gott  in  Himmel, 
ich  musz  ihn  kiissen.  Bitt  'um  Ver- 
zeihung.' " 

Frank  did  not  think  very  highly 
of  his  descriptive  powers,  but  never- 
theless this  suggestion  did  rather 
shock  him.  But  she  was  so  very- 
keen  about  it,  and  the  paper  had 
been  thrown  away  as  rubbish ;  and 
above  all,  he  so  very  much  wanted 
to  stay  where  he  was,  that  he  con- 


[March 

sented  to  try,  on  condition  that  she 
should  help  to  make  the  alteration. 
He  would  fain  have  stipulated  that 
Baur  should  make  some  frais  de 
toilette,  but  to  this  she  would  not 
listen ;  only  she  conceded  that  Frank 
should  be  depicted  with  his  back  to- 
wards the  spectator. 

Baur  considered  the  result  a 
triumph  of  art ;  he  was  beyond 
measure  elated,  and  insisted  that  it 
must  be  shown  to  Johann  and  Uli. 
They  took  a  comic  view  of  the  per- 
formance, and  laughed  so  uproarious- 
ly that  Matthew  came  out  to  see 
what  was  up.  He  was  immensely 
pleased,  and  asked  what  she  was 
going  to  do  with  it. 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,"  said  Frank, 
"  I  have  got  to  make  my  living  the 
best  way  I  can ;  so,  to  lose  no  more 
time,  I  am  going  to  write  an  account 
of  the  valley,  and  Miss  Bluefold  is 
kind  enough  to  say  she  will  enrich 
my  little  essay  with  some  sketches 
illustrative  of  the  manners  and  cus- 
toms of  the  aborigines." 

"  That  looks  like  business,  Frank ; 
you  must  show  me  what  you  are 
writing  from  day  to  day :  my  ex- 
perience in  literary  composition  will 
enable  me  to  make  some  valuable 
suggestions  which  shall  be  very  much 
at  your  service.  And  if  you  want 
some  scribbling  paper,  I  think  I  can 
supply  you.  Here  are  these  shares 
in  the  Freehold  Industrial :  if  you 
cannot  make  the  reverse  side  worth 
more  than  the  face,  you  will  have 
to  take  to  some  other  trade." 

"  We  will  set  to  work  this  after- 
noon," said  Frank  aside  to  his  col- 
league, "but  we  need  not  tell  him 
about  the  adaptation  we  are  making." 

"  And  as  soon  as  ever  it  is  done," 
said  she,  "  I  will  write  off  to  my 
uncle,  Mr  Moneybags — he  knows 
all  sorts  of  people  that  write,  and 
can  do  what  he  likes  with  the  editor 
of  the  '  Tyburnia.' " 

After  the  first  shock  he  felt  at 
dismembering  and  re-christening  his 


1871.] 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


325 


first-born,  Frank  began  to  think 
the  work  might  turn  out  to  be  the 
reverse  of  disagreeable.  "  I  hope 
you  will  continue  to  give  me  your 
kind  assistance,  Miss  Bluefold,"  he 
said.  "  It  ought  to  be  a  great  satis- 
faction to  be  able  to  put  an  honest 
penny  in  a  poor  man's  way.  My 
time's  my  money  now,  and  it  won't  do 
to  leave  off  while  the  frenzy  of  com- 
position is  upon  us  ;  so,  if  you  don't 
mind  coming  back  to  the  workshop, 
you  may  help  me  to  earn  a  trifle 
before  dinner.  I  can't  afford  to 
waste  anything  now,  so  I  will  take 
these  shares,  uncle,  which  you  are 
good  enough  to  say  I  may  write  on 
the  backs  of.  Just  as  well  to  get 
them  away  from  him,"  he  muttered 
to  Clara,  "  and  the  prospectus  too. 
I  find  he  sat  up  half  the  night  study- 
ing them,  and  the  sight  of  them 
drives  him  wild." 

Clara  was  charmed  at  the  idea 
of  writing  a  book,  so  back  went  the 
confederates  to  the  churchyard  with 
the  MS.,  Murray,  Charley's  ink- 
bottle  designed  by  the  Alpine  Club, 
which  leaked  over  them  both,  and 
a  bundle  of  shares  for  the  emenda- 
tions. 

"  We  had  better  consider  the  docu- 
ment clause  by  clause,  as  they  do  in 
the  House.  I  suppose  we  may  take 
the  first  paragraph  as  read.  It  be- 
gins, you  know,  There  is  no  lovelier 
spot  in  the  universe  than  the  valley 
of  Mont  Dore,  and  goes  on  about 
brawling  torrents,  dark  pine-woods, 
and  the  delights  of  being  brought 
face  to  face  with  nature  after  a  long 
compliance  with  the  silly  formalisms 
of  an  effete  civilisation.  I  meant 
how  jolly  it  was  not  to  have  to  dress 
for  dinner.  I  won't  bother  you 
with  all  that." 

"  I  trust  I  shall  never  be  found 
to  shrink  from  the  discharge  of  any 
duty,  however  painful,"  said  Clara. 
"  I  must  hear  it  all,  or  I  cannot  con- 
sider myself  responsible.  It  is  my 
duty,  and  I  will." 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXV. 


So  he  read  the  first  paragraph, 
and  that  was  passed. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  is  to  be 
done  about  the  next  bit,"  said  Frank. 
"  It  is  my  walk  from  Royat  to  Mont 
Dore,  and  my  meditations  as  I  sate 
on  the  top  of  the  Puy  de  Dome, 
looking  over  Clermont  and  the  plain 
of  the  Limagne." 

"  That  must  come  out,  every  word 
of  it,"  said  Clara,  resolutely;  for  she 
saw  Frank's  eye  fondly  lingering 
upon  the  familiar  phrases. 

"  I'll  keep  the  meditations,  at  any 
rate,"  said  Frank,  "and  see  if  I 
can't  stick  them  in  somewhere  or 
other." 

"  The  feelings  you  describe  as 
having  arisen  in  your  bosom  while 
you  sate  on  that  lonely  eminence 
are  highly  creditable  to  you,"  said 
Clara ;  "  but  there's  nothing  within 
a  hundred  miles  of  us  at  all  calculated 
to  awaken  such  sentiments." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that :  there's 
nothing  just  about  here,  I  grant  you ; 
but  why  should  not  I  get  out  of  the 
train  at  that  place,  somewhere  out 
Basle  way,  where  everybody  loses 
his  luggage — I  mean  Olten ;  there's 
a  good-sized  hill  close  to  the  station, 
and  as  nobody  ever  goes  up  it,  why 
should  not  I  make  the  ascent,  and 
see  and  think  just  what  I  like  ?  I 
have  only  got  to  alter  the  names  ac- 
cording to  Murray,  and  it  will  pass 
muster  well  enough.  Now,  then,  I 
will  read :  '  Here  I  left  the  track 
[train]  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  lion  of 
this  part  of  the  world — the  extinct 
crater  of  the  Puy  de  Dome  [Hauen- 
stein].  The  old  fellow  stands  on  a 
dismal  bit  of  high  ground  about  four 
miles  from  Clermont  [Olten],  sur- 
rounded by  a  number  of  younger 
brothers,  and  looks  like  a  slop-basin 
turned  upside  down  on  a  tray  in 
the  midst  of  a  set  of  tea-cups.  On 
the  summit  a  solitary  shepherd,  clad 
in  the  strange  Auvergndt  cloak 
[wildly  quaint  costume  of  Solothurn] 
was  icatching  his  flock,  attended 


326 


Frank  MarsJiall. — Part  II. 


l>y  an  ill-favoured  wolf-dog,  who 
seemed  to  me  to  require  as  much 
looking  after  as  any  wolf  in  the 
arrondisement  [canton].  As  I  sate 
in  a  craggy  nook,  disturbed  only 
by  the  occasional  scream  of  an 
eagle  whom  my  presence  had 
scared,  I  fell  a-musing  on  the  scene 
before  me.'  It  was  Wilson  who 
mused,  you  must  know ;  he  thinks 
it  his  duty  on  such  occasions.  I 
went  and  smoked  a  pipe  with  the 
shepherd,  who  was  uncommonly 
glad  to  have  a  Christian  to  talk  to, 
and  left  our  friend  meditating  on  the 
checkered  past,  and  conjuring  up 
before  his  mind's  eye  the  prospect  he 
would  have  witnessed  had  it  been 
given  him  to  stand  there  in  the  year 
15,000  B.C.  and  beheld  the  megathe- 
rium seething  in  the  glowing  lava." 

"  Passons  au  deluge,"  said  Clara. 
"We  will  scratch  all  that  out. 
From  all  I  have  heard  my  uncle  say, 
I  don't  think  the  readers  of  the 
'  Tyburnia '  have  a  high  opinion  of 
anything  which  happened  before  the 
Reform  BilL  They  will  be  quite 
satisfied  if  you  tell  them  what  the 
place  looked  like  last  year." 

"  Out  it  goes,"  said  Frank,  calmly 
drawing  his  pen  through  the  visions 
of  Wilson,  for  which  he  was  not 
disposed  to  make  any  great  fight. 
"  You  can't  say  that  I  resist  whole- 
some criticism,  Miss  Bluefold.  Now 
for  the  description.  '  Below  me  lay 
a  wide  plain,  half  veiled  by  a  low- 
lying  mist,  through  which  the  tops 
of  three  tall  factory-chimneys  were 
faintly  visible,  and  had  something 
the  look  of  the  masts  of  weird  ships 
upon  a  vast  lake.  As  the  hazy  cur- 
tain rolled  away,  I  saw  an  endless 
succession  of  towns,  villages,  and 
manufactories,  with  all  the  signs  of 
that  life  and  plenty  which  are  in  the 
minds  of  its  inhabitants  when  they 
fondly  speak  of  ( la  belle  France' 
(to  which  the  natives  proudly  point 
as  liberty's  fair  fruits).  Directly  in 
front  rose  the  grand  old  cathedral  of 
Clermont  [ruin  of  Homburg],  stand- 


[March 

ing  out  black  against  the  snowy  mist  in 
the  background,  and  awakening  .me- 
mories of  Peter  the  Hermit  and  the 
devoted  Crusaders — (of  that  romantic 
incident  when  the  despot's  cruel 
glee  hastened  on  the  freer  hour).' 
There ;  I  don't  think  that's  at  all 
bad.  All  it  wants  to  make  it  per- 
fect is  an  illustration.  Euin  on  a 
hill  in  the  foreground ;  misty  plain 
behind,  with  low  hills  shutting  in 
the  distance.  Have  you  got  any- 
thing in  your  portfolio  which  might 
stand  for  it  with  a  little  accommo- 
dation?" 

"  What  was  that  romantic  inci- 
dent which  seems  to  have  made  such 
an  impression  on  you  ?"  asked  Clara. 

"  I  have  not  a  notion.  If  the 
editor  knows,  he  will  appreciate  the 
allusion  ;  and  if  he  does  not,  he  will 
be  ashamed  of  himself,  and  ask  us 
no  questions.  But  I  hope  you  will 
help  me  with  a  drawing." 

"  Mr  Marshall,  the  audacity  of 
your  forgeries  quite  takes  my  breath 
away.  The  only  building  I  have 
got  is  this  sketch  of  the  old  church 
at  Calais,  which  I  did  before  break- 
fast. But  you  can't  make  anything 
of  that." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that," 
answered  Frank,  reflectively. 

"  Put  a  little  mist  on  the  water, 
and  there  we  have  got  the  sea-like 
plain  which  I  talked  about.  Then, 
if  you  wouldn't  mind  just  taking  off 
the  tip  of  the  spire,  and  filling  up 
the  foreground  with  one  of  these 
hills  and  a  few  cherry-trees " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  I 
must  take  out  my  old  woman  in  the 
Normandy  cap  ! " 

"  I  do  indeed ;  and  the  railway 
station,  and  the  little  boy  making 
faces  at  the  Scottishman  in  the 
Glengarry.  Ah,  Miss  Bluefold  ! 
who  is  resisting  wholesome  criticism 
now  1 " 

"  I'm  not  insubordinate,"  pleaded 
Clara ;  "  but  it  won't  be  a  bit  like 
the  place,  and  you  will  be  sure  to  be 
found  out." 


1871.] 

"Do  you  stippose  every  fellow 
who  goes  up  there  will  have  a  copy 
of  the  'Tyburnia'  in  his  pocket?  I'm 
sorry  about  the  old  woman,  but  we 
will  try  and  bring  her  in  by-and- 
by,  when  we  come  on  to  the  cos- 
tumes of  the  less  -  known  Swiss 
valleys." 

Clara  accepted  the  compromise ; 
and  then  they  came  to  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  fine  old  castle  of 
Murol,  gutted  in  the  French  Revolu- 
tion. Frank  had  exulted  at  great 
length  in  this  uprising  of  the 
trampled  peasantry,  and  had  ap- 
pended a  touching  romance  of  his 
own,  in  which  he  represented  the 
grandson  of  the  ruined  noble  now 
contentedly  earning  an  honourable 
livelihood  as  a  small  grocer,  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  walls  wherein  his 
wealthy  but  miserable  ancestors  had 
stifled  the  stings  of  remorse  with 
their  unhallowed  orgies.  A  slight 
modification  enabled  this  passage  to 
do  duty  as  an  episode  of  the  Refor- 
mation, and  of  the  dispossessed 
abbot  converted  into  a  Protestant 
vine-dresser,  edifying  by  his  life  and 
exhortations  the  converted  villagers 
whom  he  had  visited  in  the  days  of 
his  blindness. 

Many  similar  changes  were  intro- 
duced with  general  consent,  and  so 
the  afternoon  wore  away  very  plea- 
santly indeed. 

After  dinner  the  draft  sheets  were 
read  in  public,  and  Matthew  was 
amazed  at  his  nephew's  facility  of 
composition,  and  applauded  himself 
for  having  thus  compelled  him  to 
set  to  work ;  while  everybody  con- 
sidered the  account  of  the  Pic  de 
Sancy,  the  monarch  of  the  mountains 
of  Auvergne,  illustrated  by  the  ac- 
companying sketch  of  the  Teufels- 
kralle,  a  masterpiece  of  accurate 
and  spirited  description.  Specially 
charmed  was  Matthew  with  the  re- 
port of  a  sermon  which  Frank  had 
heard  in  the  Roman  Catholic  Church 
at  Mont  Dore,  and  which  he  un- 
scrupulously ascribed  to  the  Re- 


Frarik  Marshall. — Part  II. 


327 


formed  pastor  at  Schwarzloch. 
The  preacher  had  bitterly  rebuked 
his  flock  for  the  vices  of  greed,  cov- 
etousness,  and  extortion  towards 
travellers  to  which  they  were  ad- 
dicted. 

"  A  very  sensible  discourse  that," 
he  remarked.  "  I  hope  the  land- 
lord was  there  to  hear  it :  but  I 
wish  it  had  been  delivered  at  the 
beginning  of  the  season.  It  is  the 
best  thing  in  the  paper.  There  is 
an  air  of  levity  about  what  you 
write  mostly,  Frank,  which  rather 
grates  upon  me ;  but  you  shall  hand 
it  over  to  me  when  you  have  fin- 
ished, and  I  will  endeavour  to  re- 
move this  and  other  little  blemishes, 
which  are  the  result  of  inexperience 
and  haste.  There  are  a  few  thoughts 
of  my  own,  too,  on  the  effect  of  sul- 
phur waters  upon  gout,  rheumatism, 
and  skin  disease,  which  I  will  put 
into  shape  for  you,  and  you  can  in- 
sert them  in  a  footnote  in  some  con- 
venient place." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  I'm  sure, 
sir ;  we  will  attend  to  your  sugges- 
tions, especially  to  that  about  the 
danger  of  writing  too  rapidly.  I 
quite  feel  I  hardly  do  myself  justice 
if  I  do  not  take  plenty  of  time. 
There's  no  sort  of  hurry,  and  it 
will  be  cheaper  for  me  living  here 
than  in  London." 

"  You  have  done  a  fair  stroke  of 
work  to-day,  Frank,  and  I  shall  not 
mind  your  staying  on  here  for  a 
while.  I  shall  be  able  to  see  that 
you  don't  idle  away  your  time  ;  but 
we  will  put  it  by  for  this  evening. 
Who  is  for  a  game  of  cribbage  V 

"  That  fascinating  sport  is  not  for 
poor  fellows  like  me,  who  are  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  stern  realities 
of  life.  I  must  give  my  mind  to 
the  completion  of  my  task.  You 
were  all  very  kind  in  approving  of 
my  little  description  of  the  Teu- 
felskralle  by  moonlight,  but  I  am. 
quite  alive  to  its  imperfections.  It 
was  done  in  a  hurry,  as  you  say, 
uncle ;  and  I  must  take  a  turn  out- 


328 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


side,  and  study  the  effects  once 
more.  If  Miss  Bluefold  will  for- 
give me  for  saying  so,  her  very 
clever  illustration  was  taken  when 
the  moon  was  at  the  full,  and  wants 
just  a  touch  to  make  it  fit  my  de- 
scription. If  you  would  but  let  me 
take  a  chair  outside  for  you,  a  few 
minutes'  careful  study  of  the  scene 
might  make  the  difference  of  a 
pound  or  two.  Mr  Bluefold  will 
be  very  glad  to  give  you  another 
lesson  in  bezique,  uncle,  I  am  sure." 

"  All  right,"  replied  that  young 
gentleman  ;  u  Mr  Marshall  catches 
the  points  of  the  game  faster  than 
any  man  I  know.  He  will  be  giv- 
ing me  odds  in  a  day  or  two.  (I 
won't  play  for  money  unless  he 
does,"  he  whispered  to  Clara.)  "  I 
hope  you  will  do  the  Teufelskralle 
before  you  go  away.  Depend  upon 
it,  that's  the  first  point  the  editor 
will  look  at ;  and  if  he  finds  that 
you  have  not  been  up,  he  will 
chuck  the  MS.  behind  the  fire, 
drawings  and  all." 

So  the  colleagues  adjourned  out- 


[Marcb. 

side  to  execute  the  improvements. 
The  last  touches  to  a  work  of  art 
always  take  time,  and  Charley  had 
to  go  and  fetch  them  in,  for  they 
got  so  absorbed  in  their  task  that 
they  forgot  it  was  tea-time. 

"  Well,  Frank,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  stick  to  it,  my  boy.  Hard  work 
is  not  pleasant  at  first,  I  know ; 
but  you  will  find  it  come  easy  after 
a  bit.  An  idle  life  is  not  a  happy 
one,  depend  upon  it ;  but  you  don't 
seem  to  have  done  much  to-night,  I 
must  say." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  uncle.  I 
don't  know  when  I  have  enjoyed 
a  day  more.  As  to  this  evening's 
work  not  seeming  much,  I  daresay 
you  think  so  ;  but  I  have  got  it  all 
in  my  head,  and  I  think  I  see  my 
way.  I  natter  myself  the  paper 
will  be  a  very  presentable  one,  but 
I  must  not  be  hurried.  That's  the 
one  danger  I  have  to  guard  against." 

So  spake  he,  ignorant  of  the  fu- 
ture, and  fondly  looking  forward  to  a 
long  series  of  literary  consultations. 
But  the  morrow  brought  a  change. 


CHAPTER   VI. HOW    INDUSTRY    WAS    REWARDED. 


Charley,  who  for  the  last  day  or 
two  had  been  likening  himself  to 
Ulysses,  pent  up  midst  barren  crags 
in  uncongenial  company,  present- 
ed himself  at  lunch  with  evident 
symptoms  of  having  shaken  his  sis- 
ter's yoke  from  off  his  neck.  "  Tell 
you  what,  Clara,"  he  said,  "  I  have 
just  heard  from  Golightly;  he  has 
done  the  Jungfrau  in  13^  hours, 
including  stoppages,  and  is  going  to 
have  a  shy  at  the  Teufelskralle  on 
Monday  from  Fliegenmatte.  If  you 
and  I  start  to-morrow  by  the  Hb'llen- 
thur  we  shall  just  catch  him,  and  I 
will  have  another  try  along  with 
him." 

"You  are  never  thinking  of  taking 
a  lady  over  the  Hbllenthur,"  said  the 
dismayed  Frank. 

"You  do  not  know  my  sister/' 


said  Charles  ;  "  she  came  over  that 
little  pass "  (he  scorned  to  recollect 
the  name  of  the  poor  little  Col) 
"last  week  in  five  hours  without 
turning  a  hair.  You  are  not  afraid 
of  it,  are  you,  Clara  1 " 

"  I  do  not  know  how  far  it  is," 
she  answered;  "but  I  am  a  very  good 
walker,  and  I  do  not  mind  trying,  if 
you  want  to  go." 

"  Very  well,  then.  I  will  go  and 
talk  to  Baur.  "We  shall  have  to 
make  an  early  start — we  ought  to 
be  well  under  way  by  4.30;"  and 
away  he  went  to  collect  the  impedi- 
menta. 

"  I  was  hardly  prepared  for  such 
a  hurried  start,"  began  she,  "  or  I 
would  have  been  more  diligent  about 
the  paper." 

"But  you  will   come   out 


1871.] 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


329 


won't  you,  and  try  and  finish  it  off1? 
But  I  daresay  you  have  a  good  deal 
to  do,  as  you  are  going  so  early?" 

"  No,  I  have  very  little  luggage. 
I  can  come  for  an  hour  if  you  like." 

There  was  not  much  left  of  the 
paper,  but  somehow  it  would  not 
get  itself  finished.  Frank  did  not 
seem  able  to  offer  any  suggestions  ; 
and  Clara,  who  had  to  do  all  the 
work,  was  not  so  lively  as  usual. 
However,  they  patched  it  up  as  well 
as  they  could. 

"  I  will  write  to  my  uncle  at 
once,"  she  said;  "  and  now  I  suppose 
you  will  begin  something  else." 

"Are  you  really  obliged  to  go 
away  1  "  asked  Frank.  "  Your 
brother  has  never  been  in  this  part 
of  the  world,  and  I  am  sure  he  does 
not  know  what  he  is  asking  you  to 
go  through." 

"  I  promised  I  would  not  be  in 
his  way,  and  then  I  am  never 
tired,  so  I  think  I  shall  do  well 
enough." 

"  But  what  will  he  do  with  you 
while  he  and  his  friend  are  gone 
skating  over  the  icebergs  1  I  sup- 
pose he  is  not  mad  enough  to 
make  you  go  with  him." 

"  I  believe  Mr  Golightly's  sister 
is  with  him ;  she  is  an  old  friend 
of  mine,  and  we  shall  stay  behind 
and  take  care  of  one  another." 

"  Why  should  not  Miss  Go- 
lightly  come  over  here1?"  suggested 
Frank.  "  Fliegenmatte  is  such  a 
place  for  ague,  and — and — other 
disagreeables ;  then  we  could  all 
wait  here  comfortably  till  the  heroes 
came  down  crowned  with  laurel. 
They  would  be  able  to  supply  me 
with  that  account  of  the  ascent 
which  your  brother  says  I  must 
have." 

"  I  am  sure  your  conscience  will 
allow  you  to  draw  on  your  imagi- 
nation, Mr  Marshall.  They  do  not 
mean  to  come  back  this  way;  we 
are  all  to  go  off  to  the  far  East,  I 
believe." 
.  Who  were  those  people  she  seemed 


so  intimate  with  1  Was  there  any 
Mrs  Golightly  somewhere  in  the 
background  ?  That  fellow  would 
have  such  tremendous  opportunities 
of  making  himself  pleasant  !  And 
then  he  would  have  Charley  on  his 
side.  Not  that  it  made  much  mat- 
ter, after  all :  she  was  going  away, 
and  he  was  never  likely  to  see  her 
again. 

"  I  shall  go  back  to  town  to- 
morrow," he  said  ;  "  there  is  nothing 
to  keep  me  here  now.  Not  that  I 
feel  up  to  much  work — in  fact,  I 
do  not  see  what  there  is  for  me  to 
do." 

And  he  thought  dismally  of  lodg- 
ings at  Islington,  just  opposite  the 
Angel :  and  how  he  should  not 
mind  even  that  if — if  it  were  not 
that  he  would  have  to  be  there  all 
by  himself. 

"  I  shall  look  out  for  your  paper 
in  the  '  Tyburnia,'  "  said  Clara  :  "  it 
has  been  great  fun  writing  it,  hasn't 
it?" 

It  had  been  great  fun,  as  she 
said ;  but  it  did  not  seem  at  all 
funny  now.  Confound  that  Wil- 
son !  If  he  had  not  introduced  him 
to  that  fool  Wright,  he  might  have 
had  a  chance.  But  it  would  not  do 
for  a  poor  beggar  like  him  to  be 
thinking  of  that  sort  of  thing. 

"  I  daresay  I  shall  do  well  enough 
in  time,"  he  said.  "  Of  course  it  will 
be  up-hill  work  at  first ;  and  then, 
perhaps,  my  uncle's  stony  heart  will 
soften  when  he  sees  I  am  sticking 
to  it." 

"  I  must  go  in  now,"  said  Clara, 
"  for  I  shall  not  have  any  time  after 
dinner  ; "  and  she  left  him  with  his 
heart  filled  with  bitterness  towards 
his  uncle. 

They  had  a  very  unpleasant  din- 
ner. Matthew  was  beside  himself 
Avith  indignation  against  Charley, 
who,  he  declared,  ought  to  be  put 
in  a  strait  -  waistcoat ;  while  that 
young  gentleman  treated  him  with 
the  urbane  contempt  with  which 
go-ahead  youth  generally  receive 


330 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


[March 


the  remonstrances  of  their  elders. 
Directly  dinner  was  over,  the  brother 
and  sister  disappeared  to  have  all 
things  in  readiness  for  the  start. 
The  two  Marshalls  remained  be- 
hind, lonely,  sad,  and  combative. 

"  Sweet  little  girl  that,"  said 
Matthew,  at  last,  "  and  nice-look- 
ing, too." 

"  Good-natured  little  party,"  an- 
swered Frank,  recklessly,  not  paying 
much  attention  to  his  kinsman's 
remarks,  and  not  at  all  caring  to 
take  him  into  his  confidence. 

"  Frank,"  cried  the  old  man,  "you 
are  a  blockhead — a  consummate 
blockhead  ! " 

"Thank  you,  sir;  there's  nothing 
like  candour  between  relatives." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  letting  her 
go  away  like  this  1  Do  you  expect 
to  find  a  nicer  in  all  London  and 
Westminster  ?  They  tell  me  you 
are  always  falling  in  love,  too,  with 
every  girl  you  come  across  :  I  have 
seen  you  at  it  half-a-dozen  times 
myself.  There  was  Alice  Jenkins, 
and  that  niece  of  old  Potter,  and 
the  red-headed  girl  we  stayed  in  the 
house  with  at  Christmas ;  and  not 
one  of  them  fit  to  hold  a  candle  to 
our  little  friend  up-stairs." 

"  I  say,"  remonstrated  Frank, 
looking  round  apprehensively,  "just 
please  to  recollect  that  all  the  parti- 
tions are  made  of  wood  :  every  word 
you  say  can  be  heard  all  over  the 
house.  As  to  the  young  ladies  you 
have  named,  we  were  always  very 
friendly,  but  nothing  more,  I  do 
assure  you  ;  and,  of  course,  all  that 
sort  of  thing  is  over  with  me  now." 

"I  do  not  know  that,  Master 
Frank.  If  you  were  to  find  a  nice 
little  body  like  the  one  that  sat 
next  to  you  at  dinner,  I  would  not 
mind  standing  something  to  keep 
the  pot  boiling.  She  seems  a  sen- 
sible young  woman,  with  no  non- 
sense about  her.  I  should  say  you 
might  do  very  well  together,  in  a 
quiet  suburb,  on  £250  a-year  to 
begin  with :  perhaps  I  might  man- 


age to  have  a  room  with  you  at 
times,  which,  of  course,  would  be  a 
help.  There's  something  in  her, 
too  :  she  has  found  out  how  to  make 
you  work,  which  I  never  could." 

"  She  is  a  dear  little  girl,"  said 
Frank,  with  a  slight  tremble  in  his 
voice ;  "  but  she  is  not  to  be  had 
for  the  asking  by  a  poor  devil  like 
me.  Do  not  you  know  that  her 
uncle,  old  Moneybags  of  Portman 
Square,  is  going  to  leave  her  all  he 
has  got  1  A  nice  figure  I  should  cut 
when  he  asked  me  what  I  proposed 
to  settle." 

"  Is  she  the  niece  of  Mr  Money- 
bags 1 "  asked  Matthew,  with  greatly 
augmented  respect.  "  Then,  upon 
my  conscience,  Frank,  you  are  a 
greater  fool  than  I  took  you  for  ! 
A  very  worthy  man  is  James 
Moneybags — I  have  a  high  regard 
for  him :  but  he  is  not  the  only 
man  in  the  City  of  London.  I 
tell  you  what  it  is,  Frank ;  you 
only  make  it  all  right  with  the 
young  lady,  and  if  James  Money- 
bags asks  any  questions,  just  you 
refer  him  to  me." 

A  tumult,  as  of  a  town  taken  by 
assault,  interrupted  the  conversation 
at  this  interesting  point.  A  carriage 
and  pair,  obviously  containing  a 
milord,  and  eke  a  courier,  had  arriv- 
ed. Nothing  equal  to  the  magni- 
ficence of  the  turn-out  had  been  seen 
for  the  whole  season.  A  figure,  from 
head  to  foot  encased  in  coats  and 
wrappers,  alighted,  and  heavily 
ascended  the  stairs  towards  the  din- 
ing -  room ;  the  face  was  invisible, 
but  the  voice  exclaimed, — 

"  Mr  Matthew  Marshall !  an  un- 
expected pleasure  this,  sir  !  nobody 
here  understands  a  word  my  courier 
says,  but  no  doubt  you  can  tell  me 
if  my  niece,  Miss  Bluefold,  is  here." 
It  was  none  other  than  old  Money- 
bags !  We  must  try  back  a  little, 
and  explain  how  he  came  to  drop 
out  of  the  clouds  upon  them  in  this 
way. 

When  Clara  was  gone  off  to  Swit- 


1871.] 

zerland,  her  father  and  uncle  got 
rather  demoralised  for  want  of  some- 
body to  take  care  of  them.  The 
two  elders  got,  in  fact,  to  regard 
themselves  as  a  couple  of  old  bache- 
lors ;  they  used  to  go  down  to  the 
Crystal  Palace  in  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon,  and  then  come  back  and 
go  to  the  theatre  as  often  as  they 
liked — Mr  M.  paid,  of  course,  as  the 
other  man  never  had  any  change. 
Bluefold  was  not  very  good  com- 
pany at  the  best  of  times,  but  in 
this  round  of  debauchery  he  and 
Moneybags  naturally  got  very  fond 
of  one  another,  like  Tarn  o'  Shanter 
and  his  wicked  mate.  A  very  jolly 
life  those  old  boys  had  of  it :  and 
some  time  afterwards  Moneybags 
told  Wilson,  while  they  were  dis- 
cussing colonial  politics  over  a 
brandy  -  and  -  soda,  that  Bluefold 
was  a  better  fellow  than  he  looked, 
and  that  he  could  tell  a  good  story 
or  two  about  him  if  he  liked ;  but 
Wilson  could  not  get  him  to  say 
any  more.  Well,  one  evening  they 
had  been  dining  together  in  Port- 
man  Square,  and  were  now  repos- 
ing, each  of  them  in  a  leather 
arm-chair,  with  his  legs  up.  Money- 
bags had  got  his  flask  of  brown 
sherry  handy,  and,  to  save  trouble, 
was  drinking  out  of  a  claret  glass, 
when  they  began  to  talk  about  the 
young  folks,  and  soon  got  very  con- 
fidential. 

"  I  cannot  take  it  away  with  me, 
you  know,  Bluefold,"  quoth  Money- 
bags ;  "  and  I  have  neither  chick 
nor  child  of  my  own,  so  of  course 
all  I  have  got  will  come  to  your 
children  one  of  those  days.  Now 
Charley  is  a  man,  and  can  make  his 
own  way  ;  and,  besides,  he  is  going 
into  a  profession  where  a  man  does 
not  need  to  spend  much,  so  I  mean 
to  let  Clara  have  my  little  bit  of 
savings." 

"  Charley  is  a  good  boy  too,  poor 
fellow,  and  a  little  money  would  be 
of  a  deal  of  use  to  him,  as  I  happen 
to  know,"  said  Bluefold. 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


331 


"  I  am  not  finding  any  fault  with 
the  lad,  and  I  do  not  suppose  that 
a  young  gentleman  fresh  from  col- 
lege cares  much  what  an  old  fogy 
like  me  thinks  of  him ;  and,  besides, 
he  often  tells  me  clergymen  ought 
not  to  marry.  But  I  look  upon 
Clara  as  my  own  child — she  is  just 
what  her  poor  mother  was  at  her 
age ;  and — of  course  this  is  between 
you  and  me — if  she  takes  a  fancy  to 
some  likely  young  fellow,  I  will 
make  them  comfortable  at  once ; 
they  shall  not  be  kept  waiting  till  I 
am  under  ground." 

"  I  rather  think  we  shall  have 
some  news  in  that  quarter  before 
long,"  said  Bluefold.  "I  suspect 
young  Wilson  means  to  try  his  luck, 
after  all." 

"  Nonsense ;  you  will  hear  no 
more  of  him,  take  my  word  for 
it." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  know,  but  a  very 
odd  thing  happened  this  afternoon  : 
the  man  who  does  most  of  our  con- 
veyancing is  out  of  town  —  those 
barristers  do  not  stick  to  their  work 
as  they  used  to — so  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  give  the  job  to  our 
friend  Wilson.  I  took  the  papers 
myself,  for  I  wanted  to  ask  him  to 
dine,  as  you  and  he  seemed  to  get 
on  so  well  together,  though  I  could 
not  understand  a  word  either  of  you 
said.  I  found  he  lived  in  a  cluster 
of  chambers  with  eight  other  men — 
not  the  sort  of  place,  I  must  say, 
where  I  should  have  expected  to 
find  a  man  who  has  got  so  much 
business.  There  seemed  to  be  no- 
body about  but  a  little  boy,  and  he 
told  me  Mr  Wilson  was  just  gone 
abroad — he  believed  he  was  gone  to 
Schwarzloch.  I  think  we  can  guess 
what  has  taken  him  there." 

Up  jumped  the  old  man  as  if  he 
had  been  shot.  "  Bluefold,  I  must 
leave  you  and  the  port  to  take  care 
of  one  another ;  I  am  obliged  to  go 
out  of  town  to-morrow  for  a  few 
days,  and  I  have  got  a  host  of  things 
to  see  to  this  evening.  Simpson, 


332 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


[March 


just  go  out  for  a  Continental  Brad- 
shaw,  will  you,  before  the  shops 
are  all  shut,  and  send  William  to 
me  the  moment  he  comes  in.  I 
have  got  to  go  on  a  journey  in  the 
morning,  and  I  shall  want  him  to 
be  with  me." 

Now  we  will  return  from  our 
little  digression.  Moneybags,  it 
will  be  remembered,  was  anxiously 
inquiring  if  Clara  was  still  in  the 
house. 

"  Yes,  Mr  Moneybags,"  answered 
Matthew,  "  she  is ;  but  we  are  just 
going  to  lose  her,  I  am  sorry  to  say. 
That  young  scamp  is  going  to  run 
away  with  her  in  the  morning — a 
very  hasty  and  imprudent  business 
it  is,  in  my  opinion.  I  have  said 
all  I  can,  but  of  course  I  have  no 
power  to  interfere ;  but  now  you  are 
come,  perhaps  you  will  be  able  to 
put  a  spoke  in  the  young  gentle- 
man's wheel." 

"  You  really  mean  to  say  she  has 
actually  consented  to  go  off  with 
him  to-morrow  morning!"  cried 
Moneybags,  quite  pallid  with  hor- 
ror. "  Go  up,  somebody,  and  send 
her  down ;  I  am  sure  she  will  be 
guided  by  me." 

Off  went  Frank  to  get  somebody 
to  find  Clara. 

"Do  not  let  them  persuade  you 
to  give  your  consent,"  said  Mat- 
thew ;  "  it  is  a  great  risk,  and  I  do 
not  believe  the  girl  cares  much  about 
it  herself;  it  is  only  for  the  sake  of 
pleasing  that  young  fellow." 

"  How  long  has  Wilson  been 
here?"  asked  Moneybags,  appalled 
at  the  promptitude  of  the  enemy. 

"Wilson?  Wilson?  There's  no- 
body of  that  name  in  the  place ;  the 
only  other  Englishman  is  my  ne- 
phew Frank,  the  lad  that  has  just 
gone  out." 

Moneybags  saw  he  had  made 
some  mistake,  and  that  matters  were 
not  so  bad  as  he  had  fancied,  so  he 
asked  what  was  the  exact  route  that 
had  been  chalked  out  for  the  next 
day,  and  received  a  frightful  account 


of  its  perils  and  fatigues.  Presently 
Charley  appeared. 

"  Hilloa,  uncle,  you  are  coming 
out  in  a  new  line.  I  hope  you 
will  make  one  of  the  party  to-mor- 
row. We  are  off  4.30  sharp.  I 
suppose  you  will  ride  to  the  foot  of 
the  pass  ?  We  cannot  have  all  those 
boxes  with  us  though." 

Moneybags  waxed  wroth.  "Look 
here,  Master  Charles,  you  may  go 
and  break  your  own  neck  as  soon  as 
you  like,  it  will  be  no  odds  to  any- 
body, but  you  shan't  break  Clara's." 

"  There's  no  more  risk  than  there 
is  in  crossing  Fleet  Street,"  replied 
Charley ;  "  but  now  you  are  here  to 
take  care  of  Clara,  she  won't  want 
me  any  longer.  We  shall  have 
rather  rough  quarters  at  Fliegen- 
matte,  and  women  will  be  rather  in 
the  way,  so  I  shall  go  alone  and 
tack  myself  on  to  Golightly."  And 
a  burden  seemed  to  be  lifted  from 
his  fraternal  breast. 

"  Well,  Clara,"  said  Moneybags, 
as  that  young  lady  entered,  "  you 
hardly  expected  to  see  me  out  here 
among  the  icebergs.  I  have  come 
just  in  time  to  stop  that  madcap 
scheme  you  have  set  your  heart  on. 
It's  the  last  time  you  two  children 
shall  go  off  by  yourselves  any- 
where further  than  Kensington 
Gardens." 

"  I  do  not  at  all  mind  giving  it 
up,  uncle,  if  you  do  not  like  it, 
but  I  am  not  going  to  be  scolded 
by  you  directly  you  come." 

"  Charley  has  handed  you  over 
to  my  charge,  young  lady,  and  I 
mean  to  do  my  duty  better  than  he 
has  done  his.  Why,  you  do  not 
look  so  well  as  you  did  when  you 
left  London.  You  have  been  doing 
too  much.  I  won't  have  you  out  of 
my  sight  for  the  next  few  days." 

So  Charley  started  next  morning 
at  4.53.  He  tuned  himself  exactly 
and  made  a  note  of  it,  and  he  went 
on  his  way  and  is  "  out  of  the 
story,"  as  the  sagas  have  it. 

Frank  got  up  exceedingly  early, 


1871.] 

determined  to  follow  his  uncle's 
advice,  and  "  make  it  all  right  with 
the  young  lady,"  but  he  did  not 
find  the  job  so  easy.  He  had 
hoped  for  another  tete-a-tete  break- 
fast; but  Clara  took  her  coffee  up- 
stairs along  with  her  uncle,  in  the 
private  sitting-room  belonging  to  a 
gorgeous  suite  of  apartments  which 
the  courier  had  engaged  altogether 
regardless  of  expense.  She  im- 
mediately began  at  him  about  the 
MS.,  and  gave  him  no  peace  till  he 
had  consented  to  look  at  it  that 
very  morning.  So  she  came  down 
and  asked  the  author  for  it.  That 
gentleman  wanted  to  keep  her 
down-stairs  chatting  with  him,  but 
she  alleged  Mr  M.  would  most 
likely  want  her  to  read  some  of  it 
aloud  up-stairs.  He  thought  more 
highly  of  it  than  she  had  expected. 

"  Some  of  it  is  very  good  indeed," 
he  said ;  "  I  am  not  so  sure  about 
the  illustrations.  They  look  very  nice 
in  a  portfolio,  but  I  cannot  say  how 
they  will  come  out  if  they  are  en- 
graved ;  and  there  are  one  or  two 
very  bad  bits  of  writing  too.  I 
will  come  down  and  talk  to  the 
young  fellow ;  of  course  he  will 
understand  I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  periodical,  but  I  know  the 
sort  of  thing  that  Johnson  likes." 

The  whole  party  assembled  in 
the  window  to  hear  the  critic's 
opinion. 

"  I  have  just  glanced  at  the  MS. 
you  have  been  good  enough  to  show 
me,  Mr  Frank,  and  I  am  disposed 
to  think  it  will  suit  the  '  Tyburnia ' 
well  enough.  Very  odd  paper, 
though,  you  have  chosen  to  write 
some  of  it  on :  and  I  am  sorry  to 
see  your  name  in  large  letters  several 
times,  Mr  Marshall,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  Matthew  :  "  I  thought  you 
were  too  old  a  bird  to  be  caught  by 
promises  of  the  millennium  and  15 
per  cent." 

"  There's  no  fool  like  an  old  fool," 
answered  Matthew,  writhing  in  his 
chair  ;  "  I  was  blockhead  enough  to 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


333 


take  the  opinion  of  a  very  injudi- 
cious young  friend  who  knows  no 
more  of  business  than  a  baby.  ("We 
had  better  not  tell  him  who  my 
friend  was,"  he  whispered  to  Frank, 
"  or  you  won't  have  a  chance.  He 
will  chaff  me  about  the  Industrial 
as  long  as  he  lives.)  I  am  glad  you 
like  my  nephew's  little  attempt." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Moneybags,  "  I 
think  it  does  him  a  good  deal  of 
credit;  but  it  is  very  unequally 
written  though.  I  have  marked 
one  or  two  passages  which  I  would 
strike  out  altogether,  if  I  were  you. 
That  long  note,  for  instance,  reads 
like  a  bit  copied  from  a  cyclopaedia; 
and  then  as  for  this  other  a  little 
further  on,  I  cannot  make  head  or 
tail  of  it  for  the  life  of  me." 

A  silence  that  might  be  felt 
received  these  awful  remarks,  for 
the  censured  passages  were  from  the 
gifted  pen  of  Mr  Matthew  Marshall ! 

"  My  nephew  is  not  responsible 
for  the  notes,  Mr  Moneybags,"  said 
that  gentleman.  "  They  were  con- 
tributed by  myself;  and  I  am 
sorry  to  find  they  do  not  meet  with 
the  approval  of  a  gentleman  whose 
judgment  on  such  matters  is  so 
justly  valued." 

"  My  dear  Mr  Marshall,"  ex- 
claimed the  horrified  critic,  "  you 
misapprehend  my  meaning — you  do 
indeed  ;  the  passages  to  which  I 
referred  are  full  of  valuable  matter, 
put  together  with  rare  ability. 
Only  I  fear  they  are  hardly  in  keep- 
ing with  the  slight  and  airy  texture 
of  the  rest  of  the  paper." 

"  Strike  them  out,  Frank  ;  I  had 
flattered  myself  that  the  thoughts 
I  have  thrown  together  with  some 
care  might  have  been  not  wholly 
unserviceable ;  but  as  Mr  Money- 
bags thinks  otherwise,  I  of  course 
bow  to  so  high  an  authority. 
Strike  your  pen  through  them. 
Frank,  do  you  hear  ? " 

After  this  unpleasant  interlude, 
Moneybags  was  afraid  to  make  any 
further  comments,  for  fear  of  touch- 


334 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


ing  upon  some  more  Matthew ; 
so  he  handed  back  the  MS.,  merely 
suggesting  that  some  passages 
seemed  to  be  afterthoughts,  not 
very  neatly  let  in,  and  that  Frank 
might  as  well  devote  a  little  time 
to  effacing  the  marks  of  the  joins. 
Matthew  went  away  in  high 
dudgeon  to  drink  his  three  tum- 
blers, and  nobody  seemed  quite  to 
know  what  to  do  next. 

"  I  hope,  Miss  Bluefold,"  said 
Frank,  at  last,  "you  are  not  going 
to  desert  me  before  my  work's  done. 
This  is  a  sort  of  joint  affair,  you 
must  know,  sir,  and  I  cannot  under- 
take the  responsibility  of  making 
alterations  in  the  absence  of  my  col- 
league." 

"  Well,  sit  down  at  once,  then, 
and  make  them  now,  as  you  are 
both  here,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  I  cannot  do  that,  sir ;  the  bit 
that  hobbles  the  most  is  that  de- 
scription of  the  lower  part  of  the 
valley,  as  seen  from  the  church 
yonder.  If  Miss  Blueford  would 
not  mind  coming  as  far  as  that  now, 
we  might  put  more  life  into  it,  you 
see." 

"Run  along,  Clara;  he  is  quite 
right — there  is  nothing  like  sketch- 
ing from  nature." 

"  I  am  going  to  stay  at  home  with 
you  to-day,  uncle ;  we  have  so  much 
to  talk  over — and  besides,  you  said 
you  would  not  let  me  out  of  your 
sight." 

"  Go  about  your  business,  miss  ; 
I  cannot  have  you  here — I  have 
got  letters  to  write.  You  look  as  if 
a  walk  would  do  you  good ;  and  as 
for  not  going  out  of  my  sight,  I  can 
see  two  miles  up  the  valley  from 
this  window." 

So  away  they  went  to  give  a  last 
polish  to  the  paper.  It  seemed  to 
take  them  a  very  long  time,  and 
they  got  out  of  the  old  gentleman's 
sight  in  spite  of  the  commanding 
view  from  his  window.  When  they 
came  in  again,  he  declared  she  looked 
quite  another  person,  and  that  the 


[March 

walk  had  done  her  all  the  good  in 
the  world. 

The  afternoon  witnessed  the  be- 
ginning of  a  series  of  negotiations 
between  the  high  contracting  powers 
of  Marshall  &  Moneybags,  which 
were  prolonged  for  many  weeks. 
Frank  began  by  informing  his  uncle 
that  he  thought  he  might  venture  to 
say  that,  in  obedience  to  his  instruc- 
tions, and  to  do  him  a  pleasure,  he 
had  made  it  all  right  with  the  young 
lady,  and  that  he  was  now  in  at- 
tendance to  receive  his  blessing,  and 
to  invite  him  to  wait  upon  Mr 
Moneybags.  Matthew  asked  what 
the  mischief  he  meant  by  being  in 
such  a  confounded  hurry.  She  was 
a  nice  little  girl  enough,  but  her 
uncle  was  the  most  insufferable  snob 
it  had  ever  been  his  misfortune  to 
encounter. 

"  However,  it  is  done  now,  I  sup- 
pose. I  have  passed  my  word,  and 
I  will  not  go  back  from  it.  Mr 
Moneybags  has  conducted  himself 
towards  me  in  a  manner  which  I 
cannot  but  consider  as  very  unbe- 
coming ;  but  so  great  is  my  regard 
for  his  niece,  that  if  he  has  any 
proposition  to  make  to  me,  I  shall 
be  ready  to  listen  to  him,  so  long  as 
he  expresses  himself  with  propriety; 
but  if  that  old  man  fancies  I  must 
hearken  to  him  with  bated  breath 
because  he  associates  with  scribblers 
in  some  low  periodical,  the  very 
name  of  which  I  never  heard  before 
to  -  day,  he  is  confoundedly  mis- 
taken, and  you  may  tell  him  so 
from  me  if  you  like." 

But  Frank  did  not  tell  him ;  and 
old  Matthew  presently  meeting  Clara 
in  the  passage,  was  moved  to  bestow 
upon  her  a  paternal  embrace  before 
he  knew  what  he  was  about,  and 
after  that  he  could  no  more  refuse 
to  do  her  bidding  than  old  Money- 
bags himself.  That  gentleman  re- 
ceived the  news  very  kindly  indeed. 
He  was  much  taken  with  Frank,  and 
was  enchanted  to  find  that  Wilson 
was  now  effectually  disposed  o£ 


1871.] 


Frank  Marshall. — Part  II. 


335 


He  insisted  on  celebrating  the  occa- 
sion by  ordering  up  Swiss  cham- 
pagne in  the  most  reckless  manner, 
regardless  of  Matthew's  remon- 
strances that  it  was  twice  the  price 
of  clicquot,  and  must  interfere  with 
the  waters. 

There  was  no  allusion  at  dinner- 
time to  periodical  publications,  we 
may  well  believe ;  but  as  soon  as 
the  rage  of  eating  was  appeased,  the 
young  folks  strolled  out  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  church,  and  then  Frank 
got  quite  sentimental  over  his  first 
literary  effort,  which  he  should  al- 
ways associate  with  the  happy  hours 
spent  beneath  the  shadow  of  the 
humble  village  tabernacle,  whose 
gaily-painted  spire  was  gleaming  in 
the  moonbeams.  The  stateliest  edi- 
fice of  marble  would  have  no  such 
charms  for  him ;  it  would  ever  be  to 
him  the  holiest  fane  in  Christendom. 
Why  should  they  ape  the  butterflies 
of  fashion  who  swarm  to  Hanover 
Square  ?  Why  should  not  the  sim- 
ple pastor,  who  dwelt  in  the  sun- 
stained  cabin  hard  by,  join  their 
hands  on  that  spot  where  they  had 
learnt  to  know  and  love  each  other  ? 
There  was  no  need  for  delay ;  but 
perhaps  she  deemed  him  precipitate 
— he  would  wait  till  Monday  week ; 
nay,  rather  than  vex  her  he  loved  so 
well,  he  would  adjourn  his  happi- 
ness till  the  following  Thursday. 

"  You  will  come  in  your  old  wide- 
awake," said  Clara,  "and  Heinrich 
Baur  must  be  best  man ;  then  all 
our  sweetest  associations  will  be  re- 
vived at  that  blissful  hour." 

"  Gott  in  Himmel,  ich  musz  dich 
cu'ssen,"  retorted  the  insulted  lover, 
and  the  dialogue  came  to  an  abrupt 
termination.  He  could  not  get  any- 
body to  lend  an  ear  to  his  proposi- 
tion. Moneybags  had  already  ar- 
ranged that  it  should  come  off"  in 
Portman  Square,  and  was  talking  of 
pulling  down  the  wall,  and  throwing 
the  little  room  behind  into  the  din- 
ing-room, and  was  concerting  vari- 


ous other  schemes  of  Eastern  magnifi- 
cence, to  all  of  which  Matthew 
hearkened  with  complacency,  as  he 
would  not  have  to  pay  the  bill. 

It  is  impossible  to  give  even  a 
meagre  abstract  of  the  protocols 
which  passed  between  the  two  un- 
cles when  the  financial  question 
came  to  the  front.  As  far  as  money 
went,  Matthew  was  a  man  of  his 
word.  The  house  of  Marshall  was 
not  going  to  be  put  to  shame  before 
a  Moneybags  ;  but  he  haggled  horri- 
bly about  the  limitations,  and  was 
terribly  unwilling  to  allow  a  six- 
pence to  remain  under  the  control  of 
Frank,  for  whose  business  talents 
he  had  conceived  the  profoundest 
contempt.  Moneybags,  however, 
who  did  not  know  anything  about 
the  Industrial,  stood  out  for  either 
treating  the  young  people  as  if  they 
were  grown  up,  or  else  putting  off 
the  happy  event  until  the  principals 
coidd  go  alone  ;  and  as  Matthew  had 
nobody  to  support  him,  he  was  fain 
to  give  in,  and  allow  them  a  little 
pocket-money. 

Frank  made  one  unfortunate  slip. 
As  soon  as  the  preliminaries  were 
arranged,  he  insisted  that  the  settle- 
ment should  be  intrusted  to  Wilson, 
marked  with  a  stupendous  fee ;  and 
very  well  drawn  it  was  at  last,  only 
the  wedding  had  to  be  adjourned 
three  times,  because  that  gentleman 
repeatedly  took  exception  to  every 
clause  in  the  instructions.  He  does 
all  Bluefold's  conveyancing  now ; 
and  Moneybags,  who  has  taken 
rather  a  liking  to  him  since  the  day 
when  he  enticed  him  to  his  destruc- 
tion, has  thrown  several  good  things 
in  his  way.  Next  year,  if  the  Com- 
missioners assess  him,  he  won't  think 
it  worth  while  to  appeal :  he  and 
Frank  are  excellent  friends  ;  but  our 
hero  never  could  find  out  exactly 
what  happened  at  that  dinner  in 
Bryanstone  Square,  for  Wilson 
fenced,  Clara  did  not  know,  and 
Moneybags  is  as  silent  as  the  grave. 


336 


More  Rola  di  Roma. 


[March 


MORE   ROBA   DI   ROMA.* 


THE    MAUSOLEUM    OF   HADRIAN,    OR    THE    CASTLE   ST    ANGELO. PART    II. 


CHAPTER    III. 


THE  influence  of  the  family  of 
Alberic  and  Theodora  still  con- 
tinued, and  gave  to  the  Papacy 
three  successive  popes — Benedict 
VIII,  in  1012;  John  XIX.,  his 
brother,  in  1024  ;  and  Benedict  IX., 
the  nephew  of  both,  in  1033.  Bene- 
dict is  said  to  have  been  only  ten 
years  of  age  when,  by  force  of  sword 
and  purse,  he  was  elected.  But 
though  there  is  some  doubt  as  to  his 
age,  there  is  none  as  to  the  crimes 
with  which  his  life  was  stained. 
"YVe  have  this  judgment  on  no  less 
authority  than  that  of  Pope  Victor 
III.,  who,  fifty  years  afterwards, 
occupied  the  Papal  throne.  "I 
have  horror  to  write,"  says  Victor, 
"  what  was  the  life  of  Benedict,  and 
how  shameful,  corrupt,  and  exe- 
crable it  was.  After  he  had'  suffi- 
ciently long  tormented  the  Romans 
by  his  rapine,  murders,  and  abomina- 
tions, the  citizens,  no  longer  able 
to  tolerate  his  wickedness,  rose  and 
drove  him  from  the  Pontifical  seat." 
In  his  stead  Silvester  III.  was 
chosen,  simoniacally ;  but  he  had 
only  reigned  three  months  when 
Benedict  returned  and  drove  him 
from  his  chair,  "  resuming  the  tiara 
he  had  lost,  but  without  changing 
his  ancient  manners."  He  again 
sold  the  Papacy  for  a  large  sum  to 
an  archpriest  named  John,  who  took 
the  name  of  Gregory  VI.,  while  Bene- 
dict retired  into  his  castle.  When 
Henry  III.  arrived  in  Italy  there 
were  three  Popes  :  Benedict  IX.,  at 
St  John  Lateran ;  Gregory  VI.,  at 
Sta  Maria  Maggiore ;  and  Sylves- 
ter, at  St  Peter's.  All  were  declared 


illegitimate,  and  the  Emperor  added 
another,  who  was  elected,  and  as- 
sumed the  name  of  Clement  II. 
The  history  of  the  Castle  St  Angelo 
is  connected  with  all  the  crimes  and 
vices  of  this  saddest  period  of  eccle- 
siastical history,  and  there  is  little 
satisfaction  in  recounting  them — 
"  non  ragionam  di  lor." 

Alexander  II.  was  elected  Pope  in 
1061;  but  Henry  IV.  placed  Cada- 
loo  on  the  throne  as  anti-Pope,  under 
the  title  of  Honorius  II.  Honorius 
came  to  Rome  the  succeeding  year, 
and  endeavoured  by  force  of  arms  to 
possess  himself  of  this  dignity  of 
place,  occupying  by  arms  the  Leon- 
ine City  and  the  Vatican.  But 
the  Romans,  under  the  command 
of  Goffredo,  Duke  of  Tuscany,  at- 
tacked him  and  nearly  succeeded 
in  making  him  prisoner.  He  was, 
however,  rescued  by  Cencius,  the 
son  of  the  Roman  prefect,  and  con- 
ducted in  safety  to  the  Castle  St 
Angelo,  then  commanded  by  Cen- 
cius. There  he  was  strictly  be- 
sieged ;  and  after  two  years  of  im- 
prisonment, in  constant  fear  of  his 
life,  he  finally  obtained  his  freedom 
by  paying  300  pounds  of  silver. 

The  contest  of  the  Church  with 
the  imperial  party  was  not  only  not 
determined  by  the  death  of  Alex- 
ander II.,  but  greatly  increased 
under  his  successor,  the  celebrated 
Hildebrand,  who  came  to  the  Papal 
chair  in  1073.  He  had  scarcely 
been  seated  on  the  throne  two  years 
when  a  conspiracy  was  formed 
against  him  in  Rome,  the  author 
and  chief  of  which  was  the  same 


Continued  from  our  December  Xutnbc-r. 


1871.] 


Caatle  St  Anrjelo. — Part  II. 


337 


Cencius  who  had  already  sustained 
the  Pope  Cadaloo  against  Alexander 
II.  Cencius,  who  held  the  Castle 
St  Angelo,  had  built  a  high  tower 
on  the  bridge  before  it,  from  which 
he  imposed  an  exorbitant  toll  by 
force  on  all  who  passed.  The 
Pontiff,  after  vainly  remonstrating 
with  him  against  this  conduct,  finally 
excommunicated  him.  Irritated  by 
this,  Cencius  allied  himself  with  the 
King,  and  agreed  to  make  the  Pope 
prisoner  and  bring  him  to  Henry. 
It  was  on  the  night  of  Christmas 
1075  that  he  undertook  to  carry  out 
his  project.  While  Gregory  was 
celebrating  high  mass,  according  to 
custom,  at  Sta  Maria  Maggiore, 
Cencius  and  his  armed  followers 
burst  into  the  church  with  their 
swords  drawn,  and  commenced  cut- 
ting and  wounding  the  people  on  all 
sides.  The  Pontiff,  wounded  in  the 
head,  was  then  dragged  from  the 
altar,  despoiled  of  his  ornaments,  and 
hurried  away  to  prison  in  his  aube 
and  stole.  The  populace,  alarmed 
at  this  violence,  rushed  to  arms, 
and  gathering  at  the  tower,  where 
Gregory  was  imprisoned,  fiercely 
assaulted  it.  Cencius,  seeing  the 
dangerous  position  in  which  he  had 
placed  himself,  and  fearing  the  vio- 
lence of  the  people,  fell  on  his  knees 
before  the  Pope  begging  for  pardon. 
This  the  Pope  granted,  on  condition 
that  he  should  go  on  a  pilgrimage  to 
Jerusalem  in  expiation  of  his  acts  ; 
and  then,  approaching  the  window, 
he  made  signs  to  the  people  raging 
beneath,  with  the  object  of  pacifying 
them.  But  misinterpreting  his  de- 
sign, and  supposing  he  summoned 
their  aid,  they  broke  into  the  tower, 
where  they  found  him  bleeding  and 
wounded.  After  conveying  him  to 
a  place  of  safety,  they  then  returned 
and  destroyed  the  tower.  Cencius, 
in  the  mean  time,  had  made  his  escape 
and  fled  from  the  town,  ravaging,  as 
he  went,  the  Campagna  and  the 
lands  of  the  Church, 


This,  however,  was  but  the  be- 
ginning of  other  and  more  serious 
and  protracted  contests  with  Henry. 
The  King  and  the  Pope  were  both 
determined  men  and  equally  jealous 
of  power,  but  the  advantage  of  age 
and  experience  was  greatly  on  the 
side  of  the  Pope.  Henry  had  just 
passed  his  minority,  and  was  only 
twenty-three  years  old,  while  Hilde- 
brand  was  sixty.  One  of  the  first 
acts  of  the  Pope  was  to  convoke  a 
council  to  suppress  the  simony  and 
incontinency  of  the  clergy.  This 
created  great  irritation  in  the  Church, 
and  occasioned  a  temporary  schism 
in  the  Church  of  Milan.  The 
Countess  Matilda — who,  in  addition 
to  the  heritage  of  the  ancient  mar- 
quisate  of  Tuscany,  had  acquired, 
by  the  death  of  Godfrey  of  Lorraine 
and  his  wife  Beatrice  in  1070,  the 
largest  feoff  of  Italy — espoused  the 
cause  of  Gregory,  and  consecrated 
all  her  enthusiasm,  wealth,  and 
influence,  to  the  building  up  of 
the  papal  power.  Henry,  on  the 
contrary,  defied  the  Pope,  and 
arrayed  his  strength  against  the 
Church.  While  they  were  thus 
drawn  up  against  each  other,  Gre- 
gory summoned  the  Emperor  to 
come  to  Home  on  an  appointed  day 
to  answer  certain  charges  against 
him,  threatening  him  with  excom- 
munication in  case  he  failed  to 
obey.  Henry,  enraged  at  this  cita- 
tion, convoked  a  council  at  Worms, 
addressed  violent  letters  to  the 
Pope,  and  ended  by  formally  de- 
posing him,  on  the  accusation  of 
Cardinal  Hugues  le  Blanc.  To  this 
Gregory  retorted  by  a  deposition 
of  the  King,  and  anathema  against 
him  and  his  followers.  Another 
council  was  then  convened  at  Pavia 
by  the  Archbishop  of  Ravenna,  and 
Gregory,  in  turn,  was  excommuni- 
cated. Upon  this  a  considerable 
and  powerful  party  assembled  near 
Mayence  and  threatened  to  proceed 
against  Henry  unless  he  should 


338 


More  Roba  di  Roma. 


come  to  Augsburg  and  submit  to 
the  judgment  of  the  Pope.  Alarmed 
at  the  opposition  he  had  raised, 
ft  Henry  decided  to  submit,  and 
accordingly  came  on  to  meet  the 
Pope,  who  on  his  side  also  ad- 
vanced ;  but,  through  the  persua- 
sions of  Matilda,  and  doubtful 
himself  of  the  intentions  and 
good  faith  of  the  King,  he  stopped 
on  his  way  at  the  fortress  of 
Canossa,  one  of  her  strongholds 
in  Lombardy.  Here  he  awaited 
Henry,  growing  more  imperious  as 
Henry  yielded.  At  last  the  King 
acceded  to  the  severe  conditions  of 
the  Pope,  and  came  to  Canossa.  The 
castle  was  surrounded  by  a  triple 
wall,  and  he  was  admitted  within 
the  second  enclosure,  his  suite  being 
ordered  to  remain  outside  in  the 
first.  There  he  deposed  his  royal 
robes,  retaining  upon  his  person 
nothing  to  indicate  his  rank ;  and  in 
the  bitter  cold  of  winter,  standing 
with  his  naked  feet  in  the  snow, 
he  awaited  the  orders  of  Gregory. 
For  three  days  the  haughty  Pope 
kept  him  there  fasting  from  morning 
to  night ;  but  on  the  fourth  he  was 
admitted,  and,  kneeling  down,  in 
the  presence  of  all  the  Court,  he 
kissed  the  feet  of  the  Pope,  and 
made  formal  oath  of  submission 
for  the  future.  But  even  this 
was  not  sufficient.  Absolution 
was  only  granted  him  condition- 
ally. He  was  ordered  to  appear 
before  a  diet  of  the  princes  of  Ger- 
many, and  prove  his  innocence. 
In  case  he  succeeded  in  so  doing, 
he  was  to  be  allowed  to  retain  his 
kingdom,  otherwise  he  was  to  be 
deposed,  and  submit  to  the  rigour  of 
the  ecclesiastical  law.  Henry  brave- 
ly accepted  the  humiliation  at  the 
time ;  but  the  conduct  of  the  Pope 
had  outraged  even  those  of  his  own 
party,  and  the  Lombard  lords  in- 
dignantly insisted  that  Henry  should 
break  with  the  Pope,  or  that  they 
would  break  with  him.  The  King 


[March 

desired  nothing  better,  so  enraged 
was  he  with  the  cruel  treatment  to 
which  he  had  been  subjected ;  and 
fifteen  days  later  he  again  defied  the 
Pope.  The  excommunication  was  re- 
newed, and  Henry,  in  his  turn,  again 
deposed  Gregory  in  assembly  of  the 
lords  and  bishops  at  Brixen ;  and  the 
Archbishop  of  Ravenna,  the  enemy 
of  Gregory,  was  elected  Pope  in 
1081,  under  the  title  of  Clement  III. 
Accompanied  by  this  anti-Pope, 
Henry  now  marched  upon  Rome, 
overwhelming  the  troops  of  Matilda 
and  Gregory,  seized  on  the  city, 
where  he  received  the  imperial 
crown,  and  drove  Gregory  to  take 
refuge  in  the  Castle  St  Angelo. 
There  Gregory  defended  himself 
successfully,  and  negotiations  were 
vainly  carried  on.  He  would  not 
agree  to  any  terms  which  Henry 
was  disposed  to  accept ;  and  finally, 
rather  than  yield,  he  called  upon 
Robert  Guiscard  to  assist  him  with 
his  Normans  against  the  King. 
Fatal  was  that  call  to  Rome.  The 
tall,  flaxen-haired,  ambidexter  Nor- 
man, with  his  broad  shoulders, 
ruddy  complexion,  and  powerful 
form,  brought  terrible  disaster  on. 
the  city.  On  his  approach  Henry 
retired,  and  from  the  battlements 
of  the  Castle  St  Angelo  the  Pope 
saw  the  devastation  of  the  city  by 
the  troops  he  had  himself  called  in. 
Houses  were  sacked,  the  streets 
were  thronged  with  a  wild  and 
tumultuous  soldiery,  who  commit- 
ted the  most  barbarous  acts  of  mur- 
der and  rapine.  The  city  was  set 
on  fire  in  various  places,  and  many 
were  the  buildings  which  thus  were 
destroyed.  Nor  was  Guiscard  con- 
tent with  merely  robbing  the  Ro- 
mans— he  even  reduced  many  of 
them  to  slavery.  At  last,  however, 
he  withdrew,  carrying  with  him  the 
Pope,  and  both  followed  by  the 
execrations  of  the  people.  Gregory 
never  again  entered  Rome,  but  re- 
tired to  Salerno,  where  he  died  say- 


1871.] 


Castle  St  Angelo.— Part  IL 


339 


ing,  "  I  have  loved  justice  and  hat- 
ed iniquity,  therefore  I  die  in  exile." 

On  the  death  of  Gregory  VII., 
Victor  III.  was  elected  Pope.  But 
conflicts  still  continued,  the  anti- 
Pope  Clement  III.  still  holding  pos- 
session of  the  Pantheon  and  other 
strongholds,  while  Victor  occupied 
the  Castle  St  Angelo  and  the  Leo- 
nine City.  On  the  festival  of  St 
Peter  the  two  factions  came  into 
collision,  each  being  determined  to 
celebrate  it  as  high  Pontiff  in  St 
Peter's  ;  but  when  the  troops  of  the 
anti-Pope  and  his  party  came  to  the 
bridge,  they  were  assailed  by  the 
troops  of  Victor,  who,  issuing  from 
the  Castle,  drove  them  back  by  force, 
and  thus  enabled  him  to  celebrate 
mass  undisturbed  at  St  Peter's. 

Victor  and  his  troops  were,  how- 
ever, soon  driven  out  of  the  Castle 
by  Ferruccio,  who  took  possession 
of  it  for  the  anti-Pope  Clement,  by 
whom  it  was  held  for  some  seven 
years  and  defended  against  all  at- 
tack ;  but  in  1098  it  was  surrender- 
ed to  the  papal  party  under  Urban 
II.  for  a  large  sum  of  money,  being 
the  last  of  the  Eoman  fortresses 
which  yielded  to  him — and  here 
were  celebrated  the  Christmas  festi- 
vals of  this  year. 

The  Crusaders  again  in  109G  as- 
saulted it,  but  it  withstood  all  their 
attacks,  and  they  were  forced  to 
abandon  it.  In  1099  Paschal  II. 
became  Pope ;  and  serious  contro- 
versies having  arisen  between  him 
and  Henry  V.,  hostages  were  given 
by  the  Pope,  and  solemn  pledges  of 
peace  were  made.  Among  the  terms 
of  agreement  was  one  that  no  attack 
should  be  made  from  the  bridge  and 
Castle  of  St  Angelo.  Nevertheless, 
during  the  Easter  holidays,  while 
the  Pope  and  clergy,  barefoot  and 
in  procession,  were  making  the  tour 
of  the  tombs  of  the  martyrs,  they 
were  assaulted  at  the  bridge  with 
volleys  of  stones  and  darts,  and  dis- 
persed in  confusion. 


At  a  later  period,  the  Emperor, 
being  indignant  at  the  withdrawal  of 
certain  concessions  formally  made 
by  the  Pope,  attacked  him  while  he 
was  saying  mass  at  St  Peter's  ;  slew 
in  the  melee  a  number  of  men  and 
boys  who  preceded  him  with  palms 
and  flowers ;  seized  the  Pope  himself, 
as  well  as  all  the  clergy  accompany- 
ing him,  and  threw  them  into  prison. 
The  Romans,  resenting  this  out- 
rage, assembled,  attacked  the  body- 
guard of  the  Emperor,  slew  a  num- 
ber of  them,  and  drove  the  remain- 
der out  of  the  city.  Not  satisfied 
with  this,  the  next  morning  they 
issued  from  the  gates,  renewed  the 
attack,  and  again  routed  the  Ger- 
mans. In  this  engagement,  the 
Emperor  himself  was  wounded  in 
the  face,  and  narrowly  escaped  with 
his  life.  He  was  only  saved  by  the 
gallant  self-sacrifice  of  Otto,  Count 
of  Milan,  who,  in  the  utmost  need 
of  the  Emperor,  set  him  upon  his 
own  horse,  and  lost  in  consequence 
his  life.  At  last  the  Eomans 
drew  off,  and,  laden  with  booty, 
entered  the  city,  bearing  with  them 
the  corpse  of  Otto,  which  in  their 
rage  they  cut  into  small  pieces  and 
scattered  about  the  streets  to  be 
eaten  by  the  dogs.  After  their 
retreat,  the  Germans  rallied,  pur- 
sued them  into  the  city,  and  over- 
taking them  near  the  Bridge  St 
Angelo,  furiously  attacked  them. 
A  fierce  struggle  then  ensued. 
Thousands  of  persons  were  slain ; 
and  the  Tiber,  as  Baronius  tells  us, 
ran  red  with  blood,  and  was  filled 
with  corpses.  As  the  Germans  be- 
gan to  retire,  a  sally  was  made  from 
the  Castle  with  fresh  troops,  which 
again  turned  the  fortunes  of  this 
bloody  day.  After  this,  Henry 
withdrew  from  Home,  carrying  with 
him  the  Pope  as  his  prisoner,  and 
shut  him  up  in  the  fortress  of  Tri- 
bucco,  where,  after  an  imprison- 
ment of  forty  days,  he  made  his 
submission,  and  was  set  at  liberty. 


340 


Mare  Roba  di  Roma. 


His  successor,  Gelasius  II.,  who 
came  to  the  papal  throne  in  1118, 
suffered  even  greater  violence.  Im- 
mediately after  his  election  he  "was 
seized  by  Cencio  Frangipani,  who 
with  an  armed  force  broke  into  the 
assembly  of  the  Cardinals  ("  more 
draconis  iminanissimi  sibilans,"  says 
Pandulphus),  trampled  them  under 
foot,  and  seizing  the  Pope  by  the 
throat,  threw  him  down  and  drag- 
ged him  by  his  hair  along  the  ground, 
buffeting  him  and  wounding  him 
with  his  spurs,  and  finally  carrying 
him  to  his  house,  where  he  secured 
him  with  an  iron  chain;  and  all  the 
while,  as  Pandulphus  says,  the  good 
Jesus  lay  sleeping  ("  Jesu  bono  in- 
terim dormiente  ").  Finally,  how- 
ever, he  was  set  free ;  but  being  again 
assaulted,  he  was  forced  to  flee  from 
Rome. 

During  the  reign  of  Gelasius  and 
his  immediate  successors,  the  Castle 
was  the  scene  of  various  struggles, 
now  passing  into  the  possession  of 
one  party  and  now  of  the  other. 
Anaclet,  the  anti-Pope,  took  it  by 
force  from  Innocent  II.,  and  he,  re- 
turning in  1137,  endeavoured  in 
vain  to  regain  possession  of  it,  though 
subsequently  he  became  once  more  its 
master.  The  fortifications  were  at 
this  period  greatly  strengthened,  so 
as  to  enable  the  Popes  to  withstand 
the  constant  and  violent  attacks  of 
the  contending  factions  of  the  day ; 
and,  supported  by  the  powerful 
family  of  the  Pierleoni,  who  guard- 
ed it  in  their  interests,  they  held  it 
until  the  year  1153,  when  Eugenius 
III.  died.  Already  several  power- 
ful families  of  Rome,  among  whom 
were  the  Frangipani  and  the  Pier- 
leoni, had  begun  to  fortify  them- 
selves in  the  ancient  monuments 
and  tombs ;  and  taking  different 
sides — sometimes  in  favour  of  the 
Pope,  sometimes  of  the  anti-Pope, 
sometimes  of  the  Senate — disturbed 
the  city  by  their  continual  conflicts. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  reign  of 


Innocent  II.,  in  about  1139,  Arnol- 
do  di  Brescia  made  his  appearance, 
and  began  with  great  power  to  preach 
against  the  vices  and  crimes  of  the 
clergy,  and  to  denounce  their  profli- 
gacy, ambition,  and  tyranny.  This 
remarkable  man,  who  had  studied 
under  Abelard,  was  gifted  with  an 
eloquence  equal  to  his  learning.  The 
purity  of  his  life  was  breathed  upon 
by  no  scandal;  his  principles  were 
above  seduction;  and  his  influence 
was  so  great  that  the  Church  brought 
against  him  all  its  weight  to  crush 
him.  Condemned  by  the  Council 
of  the  Lateran,  he  was  forced  to  quit 
Italy  and  seek  refuge  in  Constance. 
While  there,  St  Bernard,  writing  to 
the  Bishop  of  Constance,  said  of 
him :  "  His  conversation  is  honey, 
his  doctrines  poison ;  he  has  the 
head  of  a  dove,  but  the  tail  of  a 
scorpion."  And  in  another  letter 
he  urged  upon  the  Bishop  that 
the  best  thing  to  be  done  with  a 
man  of  such  powers,  in  open  revolt 
against  the  clergy,  was  quietly  to 
put  him  out  of  the  way.  "  Auferre 
rnalurn  ex  vobis"  are  his  words. 
Arnoldo,  however,  escaped  from  this 
persecution,  and  at  the  end  of  five 
or  six  years  reappeared  in  Rome ; 
and  here,  surrounded  by  his  dis- 
ciples and  friends,  he  publicly 
preached,  and  strove  to  rouse  the 
spirit  of  the  Romans  by  grand  invo- 
cations to  liberty  and  j  ustice.  Under 
his  influence  and  through  his  labours 
the  Senate  was  re-established,  and 
in  place  of  Prefect  of  the  city,  a  new 
office  was  created  under  the  title 
of  Patrician,  to  which  Giordano,  son 
of  Pier  Leone,  was  elected. 

On  the  death  of  Innocent  II. 
Celestine  II.  was  chosen  Pope,  and 
after  a  short  reign  he  was  succeeded 
by  Lucius  II.  Lucius  made  friends 
of  the  Frangipani,  who,  with  Roger 
of  Sicily,  opposed  the  new  Patrician, 
and  the  streets  of  Rome  were  the 
scenes  of  constant  battle  and  tumult. 
The  Senate  attacked  the  towers 


1871.] 


Castle  St  Angela. — Part  II. 


341 


of  the  Frangipani  and  their  adher- 
ents, and  demolished  them ;  but 
feeling  itself  too  weak  to  withstand 
its  enemies  alone,  a  deputation  "was 
sent  to  Conrad  III.  of  Germany, 
praying  for  his  friendship  and  as- 
sistance. They  sought  to  conciliate 
him  by  the  humblest  language.  In 
one  address  they  say :  "  The  Pope 
and  the  Sicilians  are  united  in  an 
impious  league  to  oppose  our  liberty 
and  your  coronation ;  but  our  zeal 
and  courage  have  hitherto  defeated 
the  attempts  of  their  powerful  and 
factious  adherents,  especially  the 
Frangipani.  We  have  taken  by  as- 
sault their  houses  and  turrets;  some 
of  these  are  occupied  by  our  troops, 
and  some  are  levelled  to  the  ground. 
The  Milvian  bridge,  which  they 
had  taken,  is  restored  and  fortified 
for  your  safe  passage ;  and  your 
army  may  enter  the  city  without 
being  annoyed  from  the  Castle 
St  Angelo."  The  address  ended 
with  a  prayer  to  Conrad  that  he 
would  fix  his  residence  in  Rome 
and  rule  over  them.  Their  suppli- 
cation was  vain  :  Conrad  refused  to 
assist  them,  and  they  were  left  to 
fight  for  themselves. 

Lucius,  trusting  to  the  strength 
of  his  allies,  now  publicly  attacked 
the  Senate  ;  and  surrounded  by 
priests,  in  his  pontifical  robes,  and 
at  the  head  of  his  armed  troops,  he 
marched  to  the  Capitol  to  expel 
them  from  the  city.  But  as  the 
procession  approached  the  Capitol, 
the  people  rose  and  assailed  it  with 
stones  and  every  missile  they  could 
lay  their  hands  upon.  In  this  affray 
the  Pope  himself  was  so  severely 
injured  that  he  died  of  his  wounds 
a  few  days  after. 

Eugenius  III.,  who  was  a  friend 
of  St  Bernard,  and  opposed  to  all 
the  liberties  of  the  people,  was  then 
elected.  At  first  he  refused  to  enter 
the  city,  and  though  afterwards  pre- 
vailed upon  to  change  this  resolu- 

VOL.    CIX. NO.    DCLXV. 


tion,  he  remained  but  a  short  time, 
and  abandoned  it  in  fear  of  his  life. 
It  was  then  that  Arnoldo  di  Brescia 
returned,  preaching  the  re-establish- 
ment of  the  old  forms  of  liberty,  and 
the  exclusion  of  the  Popes  from,  the 
civil  government. 

In  1153  Eugenius  died,  and  was 
succeeded  by  Anastasius  IV. ;  and  a 
year  after,  Nicholas  Breakspeare,  the 
only  Englishman  who  ever  sat  in 
the  chair  of  St  Peter,  became  Pope 
under  the  name  of  Adrian  IV. 
Seizing  upon  the  disaffection  of  the 
people  as  a  pretext,  he  placed  the 
city  under  interdict.  The  Eomans, 
fickle  as  ever,  began  to  murmur 
against  the  Senate.  It  was  near 
Holy  Week,  and  the  masses,  which 
at  this  period  they  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  celebrate,  could  not  be 
performed  while  the  churches  were 
closed.  This,  to  their  superstitious 
eyes,  was  intolerable.  They  threat- 
ened revolution  unless  they  were 
observed.  The  Senate  was  forced 
to  yield,  and  Arnoldo  withdrew 
from  the  city  to  the  house  of  a 
friend,  in  order  to  open  a  way  of 
conciliation  between  the  Pope  and 
the  Senate.  At  this  conjuncture 
Frederic  appeared  with  his  army  at 
the  gates  of  Rome.  Both  parties 
sought  his  friendship  and  support ; 
but  unfortunately  for  the  Senate  he 
accepted  the  overtures  of  the  Pope, 
who  in  return  offered  him  the  Im- 
perial crown.  One  of  the  first  acts 
of  Frederic  was  to  seize  the  friend 
of  Arnoldo  who  had  given  him 
shelter  when  he  left  the  city ;  and 
he,  yielding  to  threats,  surrendered 
Arnoldo  into  the  hands  of  the  Pre- 
fect of  Rome,  a  devoted  partisan  of 
the  Pope,  by  whom  he  was  imme- 
diately conveyed  to  the  prisons  in 
the  Castle  St  Angelo.  Before  the 
people  could  rally  from  their  sur- 
prise and  fear,  Arnoldo  was  brought 
forth  into  the  square  in  front  of  the 
Castle  and  hung.  His  body  was 
2  A 


More  Roba  di  Roma. 


then  "burnt  to  ashes  and  scattered 
over  the  Tiber.* 

"  Aspensus  cruci,  flammaque  solutus  ere- 

mante 
In  cineres,    Tyberim,   tuas   est  sparsus  in 

undas 
Ne  stolidae  plebis,  quern  fecerat,  improbus 

error 
Martyris  ossa  novo  ceneresve  foveret  ho- 

nori.""t* 

The  Senate,  meantime,  had  sent 
out  a  deputation  to  meet  Frederic 
on  his  way  to  Rome,  requiring  him 
to  take  oath  to  respect  the  ancient 
customs  and  privileges  of  the  city, 
to  preserve  the  citizens  from  assault, 
and  to  pay  5000  crowns  of  silver 
for  his  coronation  by  the  Eoman 
people.  To  this  the  answer  of  the 
Emperor  was,  that  it  was  his  office 
to  command,  and  not  to  obey  and 
accept  conditions ;  and  after  a  severe 
lecture  on  the  degeneracy  of  the 
Romans,  he  dismissed  them.  Send- 
ing forward  a  body  of  horse,  he  then 
occupied  the  Leonine  City  and  the 
Bridge  of  St  Angelo,  which  was 
barricaded,  and  the  following  day 
the  Emperor  and  Pope  made  their 
entrance  through  the  golden  gate, 
their  splendid  procession  glittering 
in  the  sun,  and  marching  through 
the  deserted  streets  to  St  Peter's, 
where  the  ceremony  of  the  corona- 
tion was  performed. 

Meantime  the  Senate  had  con- 
vened at  the  Capitol.  On  hearing 
that  their  offer  had  been  rejected, 
they  gathered  their  forces,  precipi- 
tated themselves  into  the  Leonine 
City,  pouring  over  the  Bridge  of 
St  Angelo  in  solid  masses,  forcing 
their  way  up  to  the  very  doors  of 
St  Peter,  and  massacring  the  soldiers 
of  the  Emperor  not  only  on  their 
way,  but  even  in  the  church  itself. 
Frederic,  who  had  retired,  no  sooner 
heard  of  this  attack  than  he  ad- 


vanced with  his  arms  into  the  Leo- 
nine City,  and  there,  in  front  of  the 
Castle  St  Angelo  and  on  the  Bridge, 
a  portion  of  his  forces  engaged  in  a 
fierce  contest  with  one  body  of  the 
Romans,  while  two  other  bodies  en- 
countered each  other  with  equal 
fury  near  a  Piscinum,  which  has 
since  disappeared,  in  the  Trastevere. 
The  battle  raged  with  varying  suc- 
cess ;  and  notwithstanding  the  fierce- 
ness of  the  attack,  so  obstinate  was 
the  defence,  that  the  Romans  with- 
stood during  the  whole  day  the  on- 
set of  the  best  German  troops.  But 
at  last  they  were  forced  to  yield, 
after  losing  1000  men  killed  and 
drowned  in  the  Tiber,  a  great  num- 
ber of  wounded,  and  200  prisoners. 

In  October  1209,  Otho  IV.  entered 
Rome  and  was  crowned  with  much 
pomp  by  Innocent  III.  All  pro- 
mised well,  but  the  expected  largess 
of  the  Imperial  party  did  not  come  ; 
and  in  addition  to  this  disappoint- 
ment, the  arrogant  and  violent  con- 
duct of  the  German  troops  at  last 
roused  the  ire  of  the  Romans.  The 
cries  of  rejoicing  which  had  resound- 
ed through  the  city  were  suddenly 
changed  to  those  of  tumult  and 
affray.  The  Romans  fell  upon  the 
Germans,  and  vainly  did  Ezzelino 
da  Romano  endeavour  to  defend 
them  from  the  fury  of  their  assail- 
ants. Many  a  baron  and  soldier 
perished  that  day,  over  a  thousand 
horses  were  killed,  and  the  Emperor 
was  forced  to  abandon  the  city. 

During  the  thirteenth  century, 
which  was  a  period  of  faction  and 
fighting,  the  city  had  greatly  suffered. 
Its  ancient  monuments  and  tombs  had 
been  turned  into  fortresses.  Towers 
of  defence  and  attack  were  built 
anywhere.  The  streets  seethed  with 
perpetual  tumult.  The  people  were 


*  Sismondi  says  he  was  hung  in  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  but  the  authorities  he  cites 

do  not  bear  him  out  on  this  statement.     Otto  Frisingius  says :  "  A  prefecto  urbis  ligno 

adactus,  ac  rogo  in  pulvere  redacto,  neastolida  plebe  corpus  ejus  veneratione  haberetur, 

in  Tyberim  sparsus."    Neither  Cardinal  d'Arragona  nor  Guntherus  support  Sismondi. 

t  Gunther.  Ligurin.  lib.  til 


1871.] 


Castte  St  Angela. — Part  II. 


343 


terribly  oppressed  by  the  nobles, 
who,  issuing  from  their  strongholds, 
pillaged  their  houses  and  shops, 
seized  upon  any  persons  whom  they 
might  meet,  exacting  large  ransoms 
for  their  restitution,  braved  the  au- 
thority of  the  Senate,  and  laughed 
to  scorn  the  ineffectual  rage  of  the 
people.  There  was  no  regard  for  art, 
no  care  for  the  ancient  buildings,  no 
consideration  for  the  old  historic  land- 
marks. Temples  and  statues  were 
toppled  down  and  burnt  for  lime, 
and  the  most  wretched  habitations 
were  planted  against  the  noblest 
structures  of  antiquity.  Within  the 
city,  so  depopulated  had  it  become, 
whole  districts  were  lying  wasted 
and  in  ruin.  Vegetable  gardens  and 
vineyards  were  planted  even  round 
the  Pantheon,  the  Minerva,  and  the 
Porta  del  Popolo.  The  houses  were 
falling  to  decay,  and  the  people 
were  looked  upon  as  fit  only  to  be 
plundered.  Peace  had  abandoned 
Rome,  and  desolation  wandered  in 
its  streets.  Every  noble  had  his 
tomb,  or  his  tower,  or  his  fortress. 
The  Senate  barricaded  itself.  The 
Pope  was  not  safe  out  of  his  Castle. 
On  the  island  of  the  Tiber  the  Frangi- 
pani  had  planted  their  towers.  The 
Orsini  occupied  the  Trastevere  quar- 
ter round  the  Vatican,  holding  the 
Castle  St  Angelo,  the  Theatre  of 
Pompey,  and  the  Campo  de  Fiorf. 
The  Savelli  were  gathered  in  the 
district  where  now  stands  the  Can- 
celleria.  The  families  of  the  Marzana 
and  the  Statii  were  in  the  Circus 
Flaminius.  The  Pierleoni  held  the 
Theatre  of  Marcellus  and  the  quarter 
of  the  Ghetto.  The  Colonna  oc- 
cupied the  district  extending  from 
the  Piazza  del  Popolo  to  the  Quirinal, 
and  were  also  fortified  in  the  Mauso- 
leum of  Augustus.  Near  the  Pan- 
theon were  the  Sinnebaldi  and  Cres- 
cenzi.  At  the  Lateran  were  the  An- 
nibaldi.  The  Senate  held  the  Capi- 
tol. The  Gaetani  were  on  the  Monti 
by  Sta  Maria  Maggiore.  The  Frangi- 


pani  held  the  Colosseum,  the  Septi- 
zonium,  the  Arches  of  Titus,  Con- 
stantine,  and  Janus,  and  the  Cir- 
cus Maximus.  On  the  slopes  of  the 
Quirinal  were  the  Pandolfi,  the  Ca- 
pocci,  and  the  Conti,  where  still 
stand  the  remains  of  the  Torre  de 
Conti  and  the  Torre  delle  Milizie. 

Such  was  the  power  of  the  nobles 
that  it  completely  overawed  Senate 
and  people;  and  their  cruelty  and 
lawlessness  became  at  last  so  intoler- 
able, that  the  Eomans  again  made  an 
attempt  to  strengthen  themselves  by 
calling  in  the  aid  of  Brancaleone, 
whom  they  made  senator  in  1252, 
Confiding  to  him  absolute  power. 
Brancaleone  was  not  a  man  to  be 
played  with.  He  accepted  the  post 
with  a  firm  determination  to  assure 
quiet  to  the  city,  and  make  the 
authority  of  the  Senate  felt.  His 
administration  was  just;  and  so  long 
as  his  authority  as  senator  was  re- 
spected, and  the  public  peace  kept, 
no  one  had  cause  to  complain  of  him. 
But  any  infraction  of  these  he 
visited  with  quick  and  stern  re- 
prisals. Fortress  after  fortress  of 
recalcitrant  nobles  he  attacked,  and 
in  some  cases  hung  from  their  win- 
dows nobles  and  princes  who  had 
dared  to  set  him  and  the  law  at 
defiance.  The  Pope  trembled  before 
him,  backed  though  he  was  by 
powerful  auxiliaries  and  friends ;  and 
when  Brancaleone  summoned  the 
Pontiff  to  return  to  the  city  of 
which  he  was  the  pastor,  and  "  wan- 
der no  more  at  large  like  a  vagabond 
and  a  proscribed  person,  abandoning 
Rome  to  run  after  money,  he  humbly 
obeyed  the  summons." 

Meantime,  despite  the  internal 
struggles  in  Rome,  the  papal  power 
was  steadily  augmented  abroad,  and 
may  be  said  to  have  reached  its 
culmination  during  this  century. 
Innocent  III.,  who  succeeded  Celes- 
tine  III.  in  1198,  and  died  in  July 
1216,  raised  it  to  a  sovereignty  be- 
yond the  utmost  pretensions  of  his 


344 


More  Roba  di  Roma. 


predecessors.  Gregory  VII.  had 
indeed  claimed  in  his  contest  with 
Henry  an  equal  authority,  but  he 
had  been  finally  forced  to  succumb, 
and  had  died  in  exile.  Innocent, 
however,  succeeded  in  maintaining 
the  authority  he  claimed,  and  em- 
perors, kings,  and  princes  bowed 
before  him.  His  pretensions  were 
unbounded.  He  claimed  as  Pope 
that  he  was  "vicegerent  of  God 
upon  earth,"  to  whom  "  was  in- 
trusted government,  not  only  of  the 
whole  Church,  but  of  the  whole 
world ; "  whose  rights  rested  on 
"  divine  ordinance,"  and  from  whom 
all  kings  and  princes  held  their 
power  only  by  his  permission.  His 
weapons  were  excommunication  and 
interdict ;  and  against  them,  in  the 
then  state  of  Europe,  swords  and 
spears  were  unavailing.  Between 
the  rival  claimants  for  the  empire, 
Philip  of  Suabia  and  Otho  of  Sax- 
ony, he  embraced  the  part  of  the 
latter  ;  and  Otho,  who  took  the  oath 
of  allegiance  to  Innocent,  was 
crowned  by  him  in  Rome  despite 
the  opposition  of  the  nobles.  Even 
Philip  Augustus  of  France  was 
forced  to  yield  to  his  authority  ;  and 
John  of  England,  after  a  vain 
struggle,  also  succumbed.  Spain, 
Bavaria,  Sicily,  successively  bowed 
before  him.  JSTever  before  was  the 
papal  power  at  such  a  height.  But 
fortune  is  fickle,  and  the  wheel  soon 
began  to  turn.  Between  Gregory 
IX.  (who,  after  Honorius  III.,  suc- 
ceeded to  Innocent  III.)  and  Frede- 
rick II.  a  fierce  struggle  took  place 
in  1227 ;  and  after  a  contest  of  three 
years  the  Emperor  prevailed,  and  the 
entering  wedge  was  inserted  which 
was  finally  to  overthrow  the  papal 
supremacy  in  Europe.  Still,  it  main- 
tained itself  in  power  during  the 
century,  though  not  at  the  height 
it  had  reached  under  Innocent  III. 
In  1294  Boniface  VIII.  came  to 
the  papal  chair.  The  ambition  and 
arrogance  of  this  Pope  knew  no 


[March 

bounds.  He  was  cruel,  avaricious, 
and  tyrannical,  and  by  means  of  his 
lavish  indulgences  he  provoked  the 
reaction  which  finally  led  to  the 
Reformation.  Between  him  and 
Philip,  surnamed  the  Fair,  ensued 
a  serious  contest.  But  Philip  was 
more  than  his  match ;  and  at  last  the 
Pope  was  driven  to  Rome  a  prisoner, 
and  surrounded  with  enemies.  Too 
proud  to  yield,  he  stood  at  bay  and 
vainly  menaced.  The  historians  of 
the  day  draw  a  melancholy  picture 
of  him  in  his  extremity — a  fallen 
man  sitting  and  gnawing  the  top  of 
his  staff  in  despair,  and  finally,  in  an 
access  of  fury,  dashing  his  brains  out 
against  the  wall,  in  1303. 

Benedict  IX.,  his  successor, 
reigned  only  eight  months.  Un- 
equal to  the  task  of  supporting  the 
pretensions  of  the  Holy  See  against 
France,  he  vainly  made  concessions, 
and  perished  at  last,  as  it  is  said,  by 
poison.  The  power  of  the  Popes 
now  rapidly  declined.  Clement  V., 
who  succeeded  him  in  1 305,  obtained 
possession  of  the  papal  chair  by  ser- 
vile pledges  to  sustain  the  interest  of 
France  ;  and  under  him  the  papal 
authority  declined,  and  the  papal 
Court  was  removed  to  Avignon. 
Here  the  Pope  became  the  depend- 
ant of  France,  and  the  Court  stag- 
nated in  luxury  and  debauchery. 

In  1310  Henry  VII.  received  the 
Iron  Crown  at  Milan,  and  two  years 
after  a  general  revolt  of  the  people 
took  place.  Henry  seized  his  chan- 
cellor Turnani,  the  chief  of  the  re- 
volt, and  put  him  to  death  ;  and  at 
the  head  of  his  troops  marched  on 
to  Rome,  reducing  on  his  way  Cre- 
mona, Lodi,  Brescia,  and  all  the 
fortresses  which  opposed  him.  The 
city  he  found  fortified  against  him. 
Robert  King  of  Naples  had  sent 
forward  a  considerable  body  of 
soldiers  under  the  command  of  his 
brother  John,  and  in  conjunction 
with  the  Orsini,  they  took  posses- 
sion of  the  Capitol,  the  Torre  delle 


1871.] 


Castle  St  Angela. — Part  II. 


345 


Milizie,  the  Church  and  Palace  of 
St  Peter's,  all  the  Trastevere  quarter, 
and  the  Castle  St  Angelo.  The  An- 
nibaldi  held  the  Colossexun  and  the 
Aventine.  The  Frangipani  were  at 
the  Palatine,  and  the  Savelli  occu- 
pied the  Theatre  of  Marcellus ;  while 
the  Colonna  and  Sciarra,  who  sus- 
tained the  party  of  the  Emperor, 
held  Monte  Mario,  the  Lateran,  the 
Porta  del  Popolo,  the  Mausoleum  of 
Augustus,  and  Sta  Maria  Eotonda. 
As  the  Emperor  approached  the  city, 
he  found  himself'  first  opposed  by 
John,  who  had  fortified  himself 
strongly  at  Ponte  Molle  ;  but  attack- 
ing at  once  the  bridge,  he  took  it  by 
storm,  and,  driving  the  defending 
party  before  him,  entered  the  city. 
A  pause  now  ensued  for  a  few  days, 
and  then  the  contest  was  renewed, 
and  raged  furiously  for  five  days. 
Churchmen,  laymen,  nobles,  and 
soldiers  fought  there  in  the  melee 
hand  to  hand.  On  the  26th  the 
towers  of  the  Orsini,  near  the  Minerva, 
and  San  Eustachio,  were  taken  after 
a  fierce  struggle,  and  the  forces  of  the 
King  fell  back  in  rout  and  confu- 
sion, pursued  by  the  enemy.  The 
bells  of  the  Capitol  rang  for  storm. 


Palaces  were  taken  and  set  fire  to, 
the  streets  were  encumbered  with 
corpses,  and  the  adherents  of  the 
King  were  hotly  pursued  by  the 
Imperial  troops.  When  they  reached 
the  Bridge  of  St  Angelo,  however, 
they  rallied,  and  again  made  a  stand. 
Prince  John,  issuing  from  the  Castle, 
reinforced  them,  and  after  a  long  and 
terrible  fight  the  fortunes  of  the  day 
again  changed,  and  the  Imperial  party 
was  driven  back  with  great  slaughter. 
Peter  of  Savoy,  the  senator's  bro- 
ther, Bishop  Theobald  of  Liege, 
Count  Egidius  of  Warnsberg,  Count 
Robert  of  Flanders,  and  many  other 
persons  of  note,  perished  that  day; 
and  the  tombs  of  some  of  those  who 
then  fell  may  still  be  seen  in  the 
churches  of  Sta  Sabina  and  the  Ara- 
coeli.  Still  later,  an  attempt  was 
made  by  the  Imperialists  to  storm  the 
Castle  St  Angelo,  but  it  resisted  every 
effort ;  and  the  Emperor  was  forced 
at  last  to  accept  his  coronation  in  St 
John  Lateran,  which  was  already  in 
his  possession,  on  the  29th  of  June 
1312.  Immediately  after  this  cere- 
mony he  retired  to  Tivoli,  and  then 
to  Tuscany,  abandoning  all  further 
attempts  upon  Rome. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


The  history  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury,, during  the  absence  of  the  Popes 
at  Avignon  (from  1306  to  1377),  is 
one  of  constant  struggle  between 
various  factions  and  families,  and 
between  the  partisans  of  Church 
and  State.  The  Colonna  and  Orsini 
devastated  Rome  with  their  quarrels 
and  contests,  and  the  dissensions 
of  Guelphs  and  Ghibellines  creat- 
ed chaos  throughout  Italy.  No 
sooner  was  a  peace  patched  up 
between  the  contending  parties 
than  it  was  broken.  At  the  time 
of  the  nomination  of  Benedict 
XII.  in  1334,  these  two  great 
houses  had  just  been  reconciled ;  but 

' 


the  election  of  the  Pope  was  the 
signal  for  renewed  hostilities,  and 
still  more  bloodshed.  Anarchy 
then  reigned  over  Rome  and  all  the 
surrounding  country.  The  Cam- 
pagna  and  provinces  were  ravaged 
by  robbers,  freebooters,  and  scat- 
tered bands  of  soldiers,  whose  will 
was  law,  and  industry  and  com- 
merce almost  ceased  to  exist.  In 
1337,  Jacopo  Savelli  attacked  the 
Castle  of  St  Angelo,  then  in  pos- 
session of  Giovanni  Colonna,  and 
vainly  endeavoured  to  reduce  it  by 
machines  ;  and  scarce  a  month  or  a 
week  passed  without  some  outbreak 
or  other. 


346 


More  Roba  di  Roma. 


There  were  still,  however,  some 
vestiges  of  popular  government  in 
the  assembly  of  thirteen  magistrates, 
who  were  at  the  head  of  their  re- 
spective wards,  and  were  named 
Caporioni.  But  the  Pope  had  long 
ago  usurped  the  nomination  of 
senator,  after  Brancaleone's  death, 
and  conferred  this  title  always  upon 
some  one  of  the  powerful  nobles, 
who,  far  from  exercising  his  author- 
ity to  keep  the  peace  and  execute 
the  laws,  employed  it  solely  to  break 
them  for  his  own  aggrandisement. 
After  the  Pope  went  to  Avignon, 
there  was  nothing  in  Rome  which 
could  justly  be  called  a  government. 

It  was  now  that  Cola  di  Rienzi 
rose  and  began  to  preach  the  "  good 
estate"  and  to  attack  the  nobles,  rous- 
ing the  enthusiasm  of  the  people  by 
his  eloquent  appeals  to  their  patriot- 
ism, and  his  vehement  denunciations 
of  their  oppressors.  His  well-known 
story  is  a  romance  and  a  tragedy, 
which  abler  pens  have  written  in 
detail,  and  which  here  can  only  be 
glanced  at.  He  first  appears  as  a 
youthful  deputy  to  Avignon  to  pray 
for  the  return  of  the  Pope  to  Rome ; 
and  though  Petrarca  was  his  col- 
league and  friend  who  accompanied 
him  on  his  mission,  Rienzi  seems 
to  have  been  the  spokesman.  On 
his  return  we  find  him  in  the 
Forum,  standing  on  some  ancient 
fragment,  and  with  strong  and  brave 
words  calling  upon  his  countrymen 
to  awake  from  their  apathy,  shake 
off  the  tyrannous  yoke  of  the  nobles, 
rescue  their  country  from  the  servi- 
tude into  which  it  had  fallen,  and 
revindicate  its  ancient  glory.  The 
people  listened.  The  nobles  sneered 
and  smiled.  But  Cola  smiled  not. 
He  was  enthusiastic  and  in  earnest, 
and  he  carried  the  people  with  him. 

Next  we  see  him  coming  forth  on 
the  morning  of  the  20th  of  May 
1347  from  the  Church  of  St 
Giovanni,  to  which  he  had,  by 
sound  of  trumpet,  convoked  the 


[March 


people  to  pray  for  the  triumph  of 
the  "  good  estate."  His  head  is 
uncovered,  the  Bishop  of  Orvieto  is 
at  his  side;  and  surrounded  by  a 
crowd  of  youths,  who  share  in  his 
enthusiasm,  and  fill  the  air  with 
shouts  of  joy,  he  marches  down  the 
steps  of  the  church  under  the  old 
portico  of  Octavia.  Gonfalons  and 
allegorical  standards  of  justice,  lib- 
erty, and  peace,  float  before  him, 
borne  by  friends  of  the  good  cause. 
A  hundred  armed  men  escort  him, 
and  crowds  of  adherents  follow  in 
his  train.  The  procession  slowly 
advances  through  the  streets  until 
it  reaches  the  foot  of  the  Capitol, 
and  there  pausing  before  the  old 
basalt  lions,  he  reads  to  them  the 
constitution  of  the  "  good  estate." 
The  people  accept  it  with  cheers,  and 
he  is  named  Tribune  by  acclama- 
tion. 

He  had  seized  the  opportunity, 
when  Stefano  Colonna  was  absent, 
to  draw  the  curtain  of  this  great  re- 
volutionary drama ;  and  when  this 
haughty  noble  returned,  he  affected 
to  despise  the  Tribune  and  his  gov- 
ernment. He  soon  learned  his  mis- 
take. One  of  the  new  Tribune's  first 
acts  was  to  send  an  order  to  Stefano 
Colonna  to  leave  the  city.  The 
prince,  furious  at  this  presumption, 
tore  the  order  to  pieces,  and  threat- 
ened to  throw  Rienzi  from  the  win- 
dows of  the  Capitol.  Then  sounded 
the  great  bell  of  the  Capitol  sum- 
moning the  people  to  arms.  They 
answered  the  appeal,  and  Colonna 
and  the  other  most  powerful  nobles 
were  forced  to  seek  safety  by  in- 
stant flight. 

Then  began  his  remarkable  career 
as  Tribune.  During  its  first  days 
his  rule  was  distinguished  by  justicej 
energy,  and  decision  of  purpose. 
Peace  was  again  secured,  author- 
ity established,  law  resumed,  and 
liberty  seemed  about  to  be  restored. 
But  Rienzi's  head  was  turned  by 
his  success.  He  assumed  the  pomp 


1871.] 


Castle  St  Angela. — Part  II. 


34Y 


of  a  sovereign.  He  distributed  titles, 
surrounded  himself  with  ceremonies, 
and  multiplied  feasts  and  proces- 
sions. Flattered  by  the  submission 
of  most  of  the  Italian  States  to  his 
authority,  his  presumption  and  van- 
ity increased  as  his  prudence  de- 
clined. Not  satisfied  with  the 
plainness  and  simplicity  which  be- 
came him  as  the  head  of  a  republic, 
a  theatrical  spirit  possessed  him, 
and  an  insatiable  love  of  show. 
He  desired  to  be  ennobled,  and  to 
have  the  title  of  Knight,  as  well  as 
Tribune.  To  celebrate  his  installa- 
tion as  Knight,  a  splendid  series  of 
ceremonies  was  arranged,  to  which 
all  the  ambassadors,  nobles,  and 
strangers  of  distinction  were  invited. 
Towards  ^evening  he  went  to  the 
Baptismal  Chapel  of  the  Lateran. 
The  porphyry  vase  in  which,  accord- 
ing to  tradition,  Constantine  had 
bathed,  was  filled  with  rose-water 
for  him,  and  he  bathed  in  it.  He 
was  then  clothed  in  a  white  garment 
and  slept  in  the  church.  In  the 
morning,  clad  in  scarlet,  he  showed 
himself  on  the  Loggia  to  the  people, 
and,  accompanied  by  many  nobles 
and  gentlemen,  he  was  endued 
by  the  Syndic  of  the  city  with 
sword,  girdle,  and  golden  spurs,  and 
afterwards  heard  mass  in  the  chapel. 
He  then  made  an  address,  in  which 
he  cited  the  Pope,  and  Lewis  of 
Bavaria,  and  Charles  of  Bohemia,  to 
give  reason  for  any  claims  they  had 
on  Rome ;  and  pointing  his  sword  to 
these  three  points  of  the  compass, 
he  exclaimed,  "  This  is  mine,  and 
this  mine,  and  this  is  mine."  The 
day  ended  with  a  magnificent  ban- 
quet, at  which  was  exhibited  the 
utmost  luxury  and  expense ;  and 
from  the  nostrils  of  the  Bronze  Horse 
of  Constantine  wine  flowed  con- 
stantly for  the  people. 

Folly  had  quite  got  the  better  of 
him  now,  and  his  vanity  was  lead- 
ing him  swiftly  to  ruin.  At  a  ban- 
quet held  shortly  after,  at  which  he 


was  dressed  in  a  regal  cloak  fringed 
with  gold  and  rich  embroideries, 
Stefano  Colonna,  lifting  up  the 
hem,  said,  "  Are  you  not  Tribune  ? 
and  should  you  not  rather  wear 
the  modest  dress  of  your  equals  than 
these  pompous  ornaments  ?  "  This 
reproach,  so  far  from  producing  its 
proper  effect  on  him,  inspired  him 
with  a  notion  that  the  nobles 
intended  to  play  him  false.  Short- 
ly afterwards  he  issued  a  pro- 
clamation that  he  had  discovered  a 
conspiracy  against  the  people  and 
himself,  and  declared  that  he  would 
cut  off  the  heads  of  all  those  con- 
cerned in  it.  The  conspirators 
were  seized  and  brought  forward, 
and  among  them  were  seen  the  chief 
of  the  princely  families  of  Rome. 
Solemn  preparations  were  made  for 
their  execution,  when  Rienzi,  not 
only  suddenly  and  without  reason, 
pardoned  them  all,  but  conferred 
upon  them  some  of  the  most  import- 
ant charges  and  offices  of  the  state. 

No  sooner  were  these  nobles  and 
princes  free  out  of  Rome  than  they 
began  seriously  to  conspire  to  over- 
throw Rienzi  and  his  government. 
They  assembled  their  soldiers,  and, 
after  devastating  the  country,  threat- 
ened to  march  upon  Rome  itself. 
The  Tribune,  who  was  no  soldier, 
attempted  to  intimidate  his  enemies 
by  threats ;  but  finding  that  the 
people  grew  clamorous  for  action,  he 
at  last  took  up  arms,  and  made  a 
show  of  advancing  against  them. 
But  after  a  few  days,  during  which 
he  did  nothing  except  to  destroy 
still  more  of  the  Campagna,  he  re- 
turned to  Rome,  clothed  himself  in 
the  Imperial  robes,  and  received 
a  legate  from  the  Pope. 

These  idle  flourishes  did  not 
check  the  revolt,  and  Colonna  ad- 
vanced to  the  very  gates  of  Rome. 
Still  Rienzi  did  not  move  to  attack 
him,  but  only  rang  the  bells  of  the 
Capitol,  and  recounted  his  dreams 
of  good  augury.  The  Colonne,  find- 


348 


More  Roba  di  Roma. 


ing  the  gates  shut  and  hearing  the 
bells  ring,  supposed  the  Eomans 
were  prepared  to  resist,  and  deter- 
mined to  withdraw  for  a  space.  They 
were  in  three  divisions,  and  each 
defiled  before  the  gate;  as  the  third 
passed,  at  the  head  of  which  was  young 
Giovanni  Colonna,  the  gate  opened, 
and  he,  supposing  his  friends  had 
command  of  it,  spurred  his  horse 
and  rode  into  the  city.  His  fol- 
lowers, however,  remained  behind, 
not  daring  to  enter,  and  on  he  went 
alone.  Finding  himself,  however, 
unsupported,  he  turned  his  horse 
to  fly,  when  he  was  thrown  to  the 
ground,  and  the  people  rushing  upon 
him  killed  him  on  the  spot.  His 
father  Stefano  hearing  the  noise, 
now  rushed  in,  hoping  to  save  his 
son;  but  he  also  lost  his  life  in  the 
attempt,  and  his  companions  then 
took  flight,  pursued  by  the  Eomans. 
Many  of  the  Colonna  troop  were 
slain;  among  others,  Agapito  Co- 
lonna, who  was  found  hiding  in 
a  vineyard. 

The  Tribune  celebrated  this  victory 
with  great  vainglory.  He  returned 
in  triumph  to  the  Capitol,  harangued 
the  people,  boasted  loudly  and  with- 
out decency  of  what  he  had  done, 
occupied  himself  with  idle  shows 
and  ceremonies,  and  so  conducted 
himself  as  finally  to  disgust  his  own 
followers.  His  power  soon  began 
to  crumble  away  under  him ;  and 
when,  shortly  afterwards,  he  endea- 
voured to  prevail  upon  the  people 
to  rise  and  drive  out  the  Count  of 
Minorbino,  who  had  set  his  autho- 
rity at  defiance,  he  found  that  his 
day  was  past.  They  listened  pas- 
sively to  his  eloquent  words,  and 
when  he  cried  to  them,  "  after  hav- 
ing governed  you  for  seven  months, 
I  now  renounce  my  authority,"  no 
voice  was  raised  to  dissuade  him. 
He  then  ordered  the  trumpets  of 
silver  to  sound,  and,  clothed  in  all 
his  pomp,  he  marched  through 
Rome,  accompanied  by  his  small 


[March 


band  of  soldiers,  and  on  the  15th 
October  1347,  intrenched  himself  in 
the  Castle  St  Angelo.  Still  the 
influence  of  his  name  and  his  power 
was  so  great,  that  it  was  not  till 
three  days  after  that  the  nobles  ven- 
tured to  return  to  Rome,  and  then 
they  found  that  Cola's  power  had 
vanished.  It  faded  away  like  a 
carnival  pageant,  as  that  gay  pro- 
cession entered  the  Castle  St  Angelo. 
There  he  remained  until  the  begin- 
ning of  March,  and  then  fled,  and 
found  his  way  to  Civita  Vecchia, 
where  he  remained  with  a  nephew 
of  his  for  a  short  time.  But  his 
nephew  having  been  arrested,  he 
again  returned  to  Rome  secretly, 
and  was  concealed  in  Castle  St 
Angelo  by  one  of  the  Orsini  who 
was  friendly  to  him.  and  his  party. 
The  other  branch  of  the  Orsini 
endeavoured  to  induce  his  friends 
to  deliver  him  up  by  offering 
large  bribes.  But  they  did  not 
prevail;  and  Cola  soon  after  fled  to 
Naples,  fearing  lest  he  should  be 
betrayed  into  the  hands  of  the  Car- 
dinal. 

Rome  now  fell  into  a  state  of  an- 
archy and  confusion  even  worse  than 
it  was  when  he  assumed  the  reins  of 
power.  Revolutions  occurred.  Bri- 
gandage was  renewed.  Cerroni, 
who  had  been  installed  as  Prefect, 
was  forced  to  fly,  and  the  administra- 
tion of  the  government  was  then  put 
into  the  hands  of  Bertoldo  Orsini 
and  Stefano  Colonna.  But  provi- 
sions growing  dear,  Orsini  was  stoned, 
and  Colonna  only  escaped  with  his 
life  by  leaping  out  of  a  window  in 
disguise.  Francesco  Baroncelli  was 
then  chosen  as  leader.  He  was  as 
resolute  as  Cerroni  had  been  weak. 
But  the  people  would  not  tolerate 
his  rule,  and  he  soon  fell.  In 
1353  Rienzi  returned  with  Cardinal 
Albornoz,  the  legate  of  the  Pope. 
He  was  received  with  enthu- 
siasm, and  again  installed  in  power. 
But  he  was  embarrassed  in  all  his 


1871.] 


Castle  St  Angelo. — Part  II. 


349 


actions  by  the  Cardinal,  who  sought 
only  to  make  use  of  him,  while  he 
himself  exercised  all  the  power.  The 
title  of  Senator  of  Rome  was  confer- 
red on  him,  and  the  people  forgave 
him ;  for  the  dire  experiences  of  Rome 
since  his  departure  and  his  sad  exile 
had  obliterated  the  remembrance  of 
his  vanity  and  folly.  But  Rienzi 
had  lost  the  secret  of  his  power  in 
losing  his  enthusiasm.  He  soon  be- 
came entangled  in  his  position  ;  his 
expedition  against  Colonna  in  Pales- 
trina  failed ;  his  punishment  of  Mon- 
treal and  Pandolfucci  brought  him 
ill-will,  and  all  things  went  badly 
with  him.  At  last,  in  October  1353, 
a  sedition  broke  out,  and  the  mob 
rushed  to  the  Capitol  with  cries  of 
"  Death  to  the  traitor  Rienzi  ! "  In 
this  extremity  he  was  abandoned  by 
his  guards,  attendants,  and  friends  : 
only  three  of  them  all  remained  faith- 
ful. But  under  the  pressure  of  im- 
minent danger,  the  spirit  and  courage 
of  Rienzi  rose,  and  he  showed  his 
better  self  again.  He  closed  the 
doors  of  the  palace  :  the  mob  set  fire 
to  it.  He  appeared  on  the  balcony 
clothed  in  his  armour  as  knight, 
and,  with  the  standard  of  the  people 
in  his  hand,  demanded  to  be  heard. 
But  the  populace  refused  to  listen  to 
him,  and  drowned  his  voice  in  clam- 
orous cries.  There  he  stood  in  dumb 
show  praying  to  be  heard,  while  the 
populace  raged  below  and  pelted 
him  with  stones  and  other  missiles. 
Pierced  at  last  through  the  hand  by 
an  arrow,  he  withdrew,  overcome 
by  despair.  Letting  himself  down 
by  sheets  from  the  windows  to  the 
terrace  of  the  Cancelliere  below,  he 
again  made  a  desperate  effort  to  ob- 
tain a  hearing,  but  in  vain.  Then 
came  the  great  question  as  to  whether 
he  should  rush  in  among  his  enemies 
and  brave  certain  death,  or  seek 
escape  by  flight.  Long  he  wavered  ; 
but  at  last  he  decided  to  fly.  Tear- 
ing off  his  robes,  he  put  on  the  mis- 


erable dress  of  the  porter,  rushed 
down  the  flaming  stairs  and  through 
the  burning  chambers,  where  falling 
rafters  and  ceilings  threatened  death 
at  every  step,  threaded  the  fiery  pas- 
sages in  safety,  and  at  last  reached 
the  third  door,  breathed  the  fresh 
air,  and  felt  that  he  had  still  a  chance 
for  life.  At  this  very  moment  his 
arm  was  seized,  and  a  voice  said, 
"  Where  are  you  going  1 "  He  saw 
that  all  was  lost.  But,  at  bay,  he 
did  nothing  mean.  Again  there 
was  a  flash  of  heroic  courage,  not 
unworthy  of  him.  He  threw  off  his 
disguise,  and,  disdaining  all  subter- 
fuges, said,  "  I  am  the  Tribune  !  " 
He  was  then  led  out  through  the 
door  into  the  crowd  :  at  the  sight  of 
him  it  drew  back  arid  was  silent. 
Firmly  he  walked  as  if  among  friends 
instead  of  enemies  to  the  base  of  the 
basalt  lions,  where  he  had  made  his 
first  great  call  upon  the  people. 
Standing  there,  undaunted  by  its 
tumultuous  cries,  he  stood  for  an 
hour  with  folded  arms,  and  looked 
around  upon  the  raging  crowd.  At 
last,  profiting  by  a  lull  of  silence, 
he  lifted  his  voice  to  address  them, 
when  suddenly  an  artisan  at  his 
side,  fearing  perhaps  the  result  of 
his  eloquence,  and  perhaps  prompted 
by  revenge,  plunged  his  pike  in  his 
breast,  and  he  fell.  The  wild  mob 
rushed  upon  his  corpse  ;  they 
mutilated  it ;  they  cut  off  his  head 
and  dragged  it  through  the  streets; 
and  at  last,  having  wreaked  their 
passion  on  his  senseless  remains, 
they  carried  them  to  the  Mausoleum, 
of  Augustus,  the  fortress  of  the  Col- 
onna, and  there,  aided  by  the  whole 
Jewish  tribe,  burnt  them  to  ashes. 
By  a  strange  chance,  the  last  Tribune 
of  the  people  was  burnt  and  buried 
at  the  tomb  of  the  ancient  Emperors. 
In  the  Mausoleum  of  Hadrian  he 
had  trembled,  a  prisoner ;  in  the 
Mausoleum  of  Augustus  his  ashes  at 
last  found  rest. 


350 


More  Rol>a  di  Roma. 


[March 


CHAPTER  v. 


For  twenty-three  years  after  Ri- 
enzi's  death,  the  seat  of  the  papal 
Court  remained  at  Avignon ;  and 
during  this  period,  Home  and  the 
States  of  the  Church  were  harried 
to  death  hy  contending  factions. 
The  legates,  representatives  of  the 
Pope,  were  treated  with  contempt, 
despoiled  of  their  houses  and  goods, 
plunged  into  prison,  and  even  as- 
sassinated. At  last  Gregory  XL 
returned  in  January  1377.  The  keys 
of  the  Castle  St  Angelo  were  sent 
to  him  at  Corneto;  the  papal  Court 
was  re-established  in  Home ;  but  he 
survived  only  about  a  year,  and  died 
in  March  1378.  Then  came  the 
election  of  a  new  Pope,  which 
was  held  in  the  Castle  St  Angelo. 
While  the  conclave  was  sitting,  a 
crowd  gathered  around  the  place, 
crying  out,  "  Romano  lo  volemo" — 
we  will  have  a  Roman  for  Pope. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  this  clamour, 
Cardinal  Prignani,  Archbishop  of 
Bari,  and  a  Neapolitan  by  birth, 
was  finally  chosen,  under  the  title 
of  Urban  VI.  When  Cardinal  Orsini 
presented  himself  at  the  window  to 
announce  that  a  new  Pope  had  been 
elected,  the  mob  below  cried  out, 
"  His  name,  his  name  !"  "  Go  to  St 
Peter's  and  you  will  learn,"  answered 
the  Cardinal.  The  people,  misunder- 
standing his  answer,  supposed  him 
to  announce  the  election  of  Cardinal 
Tebaldeschi,  who  was  arch-priest  of 
St  Peter's,  and  a  Roman  by  birth. 
This  news  was  received  with  great 
joy  and  acclamation,  and  the  crowd 
loudly  called  for  Tebaldeschi,  in 
order  that  they  might  prostrate 
themselves  before  him  as  Pope. 
The  Cardinals,  alarmed  at  this  de- 
monstration of  public  feeling,  be- 
sought Tebaldeschi  to  assume  the 
papal  insignia  for  the  moment,  in 
order  to  calm  the  excitement.  He 
yielded  to  their  persuasion,  and  the 


crowd  rushed  to  embrace  him,  and 
kiss  his  foot  and  hand.  But  the 
poor  old  Cardinal,  who  was  crippled 
by  gout,  suffered  so  terribly  under 
this  demonstration,  that  he  broke 
down  at  last,  and  cried  out  piteously, 
"  I  am  not  the  Pope."  The  people, 
enraged  with  the  deception  which 
had  been  practised  on  them,  broke 
into  still  fiercer  cries,  rushed  to  arms, 
and  gathering  round  the  conclave, 
threatened  them  with  death  unless 
a  Roman  was  elected.  But  the  con- 
clave was  strong  in  its  position,  and 
finally  the  people  were  pacified,  and 
accepted  Urban  VI.  Such,  however, 
was  the  fear  of  the  Cardinals,  that 
they  were  with  difficulty  persuaded 
to  proceed  to  the  Vatican  and  per- 
form the  ceremonies  necessary  for 
the  installation  of  the  new  Pope. 
This,  however,  finally  was  done,  and 
the  Castle  was  placed  in  the  charge 
of  Pietro  Guntellino,  a  French- 
man, and  garrisoned  by  a  Gallic 
guard,  the  French  Cardinals  re- 
maining also  within  its  walls  for 
safety.  On  the  20th  of  September 
they  withdrew  to  Fondi,  and  in  con- 
junction with  other  schismatics  they 
afterwards  elected  an  anti-Pope  under 
the  title  of  Clement  VII.  Guntel- 
lino, who  took  part  with  them,  on 
being  summoned  by  Urban  to  sur- 
render the  Castle,  refused  to  do  so 
without  the  order  of  his  compatriots, 
the  French  Cardinals  at  Avignon. 
Meantime  the  papal  and  anti-papal 
party  assaulted  each  other  first  with 
citations,  censures,  and  angry  words, 
and  then  with  armed  force.  The 
anti-papal  party,  having  with  them 
the  Breton  and  Gascon  soldiery,  and 
the  Savoyards  of  the  Count  of  Mount- 
joy,  the  anti-Pope's  nephew,  march- 
ed upon  the  city,  overcame  the 
undisciplined  party  of  the  Pope, 
reinforced  the  Castle  St  Angela, 
and  fortified  themselves  in  the  Vati- 


1871.] 


Castle  St  Angela.— Part  II. 


351 


can,  ravaging  the  Campagna  on  their 
way.  The  papal  party  now  besieged 
the  Castle,  attacking  it  with  machines 
and  artillery,  but  for  a  year's  space 
it  held  out.  Finally,  on  the  28th  of 
April  1379,  the  anti- papal  party 
were  utterly  routed  by  Alberico, 
Count  of  Palliano  and  Galeazzo,  at 
the  head  of  the  papal,  Italian,  and 
imperial  forces.  Terrible  was  the 
bloodshed  of  this  great  battle,  at 
which,  according  to  Baronius,  5000 
of  the  anti-papal  army  fell.  But 
the  Castle  still  refused  to  surrender, 
and  the  French  Castellano  vigorously 
defended  it,  pouring  darts  and  bombs 
upon  the  attacking  forces,  and  set- 
ting fire  to  the  houses  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. At  last,  however,  he  was 
forced  by  famine  to  capitulate ;  and 
the  Castle,  "  non  sine  divino  miracu- 
lo,"  says  Urban  VI.,  came  into  the 
possession  of  the  papal  party.  The 
damage  done  to  it  during  this  siege 
must  have  been  very  great.  In 
some  parts  it  had  been  utterly  de- 
molished, and  of  all  its  marbles  not 
a  trace  now  remained.  On  receiving 
it  again,  the  Pope  made  a  solemn 
procession,  with  prayers,  from  Sta 
Maria  Trasteverina,  in  which  all  the 
people  joined,  and  proceeded  bare- 
footed to  St  Peter's  and  to  the  Castle 
to  take  formal  possession.* 

Many  a  sad  sight  the  Castle  saw 
during  the  reign  of  Urban  VI.  He 
was  a  man  of  a  very  violent  and  vin- 
dictive character,  and  the  prisons  of 
St  Angelo  were  seldom  empty.  On 
one  occasion,  suspecting  some  of  the 
Cardinals  by  whom  he  was  surround- 
ed of  treachery,  he  here  put  them 
to  the  torture  to  extract  confession ; 
and  while  they  were  stretched  on 
the  rack,  he  recited  composedly  his 
breviary  in  the  adjoining  chamber, 
totally  unmoved  by  the  shrieks  of 
anguish  drawn  from  his  suffering 
victims. 


After  the  surrender  of  the  Castle 
to  Urban,  such  was  the  rage  of  the 
people  against  it  for  the  injury  it 
had  caused  them  during  the  siege, 
that  they  passed  a  public  decree 
ordering  it  to  be  utterly  destroyed 
and  razed  to  the  earth,  so  that  it 
should  no  longer  be  a  refuge  for  the 
enemies  of  the  people,  or  a  fortress 
from  which  to  assail  them.  In  conse- 
quence of  this  decree,  an  attempt 
was  made  to  demolish  it.  It  was 
stripped  of  everything  by  which  it 
was  adorned,  and  its  outer  casing 
was  torn  off;  but  the  solid  interior 
of  peperino  defied  all  their  efforts, 
and  the  attempt  was  given  up.  Theo- 
dorico  da  Mem,  in  his  account  of  the 
schism  at  Rome  during  this  period, 
gives  us  an  account  of  the  Castle. 
After  speaking  of  the  subterranean 
passages,  broad  enough  to  admit  two 
horsemen  or  five  foot-passengers 
marching  abreast,  and  covered  with 
beautiful  marbles,  which  he  himself 
saw,  he  goes  on  to  say,  that  after  the 
Romans  had  taken  possession  of  the 
Castle,  they  tore  down  from  it  the 
beautifully  squared  blocks  of  whitest 
marble  with  which  it  was  cased,  and 
also  the  walls  of  paonazzo  marble, 
which  they  used  to  make  the  piazze 
in  the  city ;  but  he  adds  that  they 
found  it  impossible  entirely  to  de- 
stroy the  Castle.  Poggius,  who  saw 
it  a  few  years  after,  also  tells  us  that 
though  the  title  of  it  was  still  stand- 
ing over  the  door,  the  Romans  had 
greatly  defaced  it,  and  would  indeed 
utterly  have  destroyed  it,  had  they 
been  able  to  pull  it  to  pieces. 

Boniface  IX.,  who  came  to  the 
papal  chair  in  1389,  finding 
the  Castle  absolutely  necessary  in 
order  to  command  the  tumultuous 
Romans,  began  to  repair  and  fortify 
it  anew.  In  so  doing  he  followed 
the  advice  of  Natale  and  Petruccio 
Sacco,  the  Signori  of  Rome,  who,  on 


*  Such  had  been  the  depopulation  of  Rome  by  all  these  wars  and  tumults  that  it 
now  numbered  only  17,000  inhabitants. 


352 


More  Roba  di  Roma. 


surrendering  to  him  "  lo  stato  di 
Roma,"  said  :  "  Se  tu  vuoi  mantenere 
lo  stato  di  Roma  acconcia  Castello 
Sant'  Angela" — if  you  wish  to  main- 
tain the  government  of  Rome,  re- 
fortify  St  Angelo.  The  Pope  did 
so — issuing  an  edict  "  ne  quis  ex 
Hadriana  mole,  quce  magna  ex  parte 
dejecta  erat,  marmora  saxa,  etc.,  evel- 
leret  " — that  no  one  should  take 
any  more  stones  or  marbles  from  the 
mole  of  Hadrian,  already  in  great 
part  destroyed.  The  marble  to 
which  he  refers  probably  was  that 
still  existing  in  the  interior  of  the 
Castle,  as  it  would  seem  that  all  the 
outer  casing  was  gone.  After  acting 
on  the  advice  of  Natale  and  Petruc- 
cio,  'the  reward  he  gave  them," 
says  Infessura,  "  was  to  cut  off  their 
heads ;  and  the  Pope  then  said, — 
'  These  men  gave  me  up  the  govern- 
ment that  I  should  restore  the 
Castle,  and  now  I  have  restored  it 
they  wish  to  take  it  from  me  ;'  and 
from  that  time  forward  he  preserved 
peace  in  the  State." 

Boniface  had  been  more  of  a  soldier 
than  of  a  priest,  and  had  succeeded  in 
reducing  the  city  of  Rome  to  obedi- 
ence and  order.  He  had  fortified  it 
like  a  camp,  and  by  severest  mea- 
sures repressed  any  attempt  at  re- 
bellion against  his  authority.  No 
sooner,  however,  was  he  dead,  than, 
even  before  his  successor  was  chosen, 
violent  dissensions  began  to  break 
out.  The  ambassadors  of  the  anti- 
Pope,  fearing  for  their  lives,  sought 
protection  from  the  Cardinals ;  and 
it  was  formally  promised  that  they 
should  be  safe  in  their  persons  so  long 
as  they  chose  to  remain  in  Rome. 
But  affairs  were  now  so  unsettled  that 
despite  the  fair  words  of  the  Cardi- 
nals, the  ambassadors  were  oppressed 
with  doubts  and  fears,  and  finally 
made  an  attempt  to  get  out  of  the 
city  one  evening.  But  the  attempt 
was  not  successful.  As  they  were 
passing  Ponte  St  Angelo  they  were 
arrested  by  the  Castellano,  with  all 


their  equipages,  beasts,  and  money, 
and  carried  into  the  Castle,  where 
they  were  imprisoned.  The  Cardi- 
nals interfered  in  their  behalf,  but 
in  vain.  The  Castellano  refused  to 
give  them  up.  At  last,  however, 
after  much  discussion,  he  agreed  to 
allow  them  to  depart,  upon  their  pay- 
ing 5000  golden  florins,  2  beasts,  and 
a  mule.  The  ransom  was  accordingly 
paid,  and  they  were  suffered  to  go. 

This  was  but  the  prelude  to 
other  and  more  serious  events. 
Battle  again  began  in  the  streets, 
the  Savelli  and  Colonna  tak- 
ing part  with  the  people,  and  the 
Orsini  with  the  Cardinals.  The 
Aracoeli  was  taken  by  storm,  the 
streets  were  barricaded,  and  many 
persons  lost  their  lives.  The  first 
endeavour  of  Innocent  VII. ,  who 
was  chosen  in  1404,  was  to  allay 
these  dissensions  and  secure  peace. 
Ladislaus  had  already  come  to 
Rome  to  take  advantage  of  any  turn, 
of  affairs.  The  knowledge  that  he, 
in  combination  with  the  Colonne 
and  other  nobles,  sought  to  usurp 
the  seigniory  of  the  city,  and  the 
fear  of  what  might  happen  if  they 
succeeded,  did  much  to  conciliate 
the  people  with  the  Pope  for  a  time. 
But  troubles  and  discord  soon  inter- 
vened as  usual.  The  Pope  issued 
strenuous  decrees  against  the  Colonna, 
who  were  in  open  enmity  with  him ; 
but  this  powerful  family  only  laughed 
him  to  scorn.  The  Prefect  in  com- 
mand of  the  Castle  at  this  tune  was 
Antonello  Tomacello,  nephew  of  the 
late  Pope  Boniface.  Corrupted  by 
the  gold  offered  by  Ladislaus,  he 
joined  the  party  of  the  King  and 
the  Colonna  and  Peretti ;  and  taking 
the  occasion  of  the  absence  of  the 
Pope,  he  openly  rebelled  against 
him,  and  surrendered  the  Castle  into 
the  hands  of  his  enemies.  But  on 
the  return  of  the  Pope,  the  papal 
army,  under  the  command  of  Paolo 
Orsini  and  Muscarda,  besieged  the 
Castle.  The  siege  was  vain,  the 


1871.] 


Castle  St  Angela. — Part  II. 


353 


Castle  holding  out  against  all  the 
attacks  of  the  papal  troops ;  but  at 
last  matters  were  settled.  The  Castle 
was  restored  to  the  Pope  upon  cer- 
tain terms  and  conditions,  and  peace 
again  was  patched  up. 

It  lasted,  however,  but  a  very 
short  time;  and  stormy  days  soon 
succeeded,  of  which  Leonardo  Are- 
tino  gives  us  a  vivid  picture.  The 
Castle  St  Angelo  was  then  held  on 
behalf  of  the  Pope  by  Luigi  da 
Migliorotti,  his  nephew ;  and  the 
people  demanded  that  the  Milvian 
Bridge  should  be  confided  to  them 
in  charge.  The  Colonna  and  Savelli 
supported  them  in  their  demand ; 
and  upon  the  refusal  of  the  Pope, 
they  endeavoured  to  wrench  it  from 
him  by  a  sudden  night  attack. 
The  fight  was  determined  on  both 
sides ;  but  towards  daybreak  the 
papal  cavalry  overcame  their  assail- 
ants, driving  them  back  into  the 
city.  It  was  a  fete  day.  The 
people  were  idly  strolling  about  the 
streets,  and  many  of  them  heated 
with  wine.  Seeing  their  friends 
flocking  back  into  the  city  routed, 
and  many  of  them  bleeding  and 
wounded,  and  learning  the  history 
of  their  defeat,  they  flew  to  arms, 
spread  their  banners,  and  advanced 
to  attack  the  Pope  in  his  palace. 
"Our  soldiers,"  says  Aretino,  "on 
their  side  also  prepared  for  combat. 
They  made  ready  their  arms,  closed 
up  and  strengthened  their  ranks, 
exhorted  each  other,  and  put  the 
Castle  St  Angelo  in  a  state  of  de- 
fence. The  attack  of  the  people 
was  suspended  during  the  darkness, 
and  all  night  the  two  parties  re- 
mained under  arms.  The  following 
day  there  was  a  talk  of  re-establish- 
ing peace,  and  with  this  view  several 
Roman  citizens  came  to  the  Pope. 
As  they  were  returning  at  the  close 
of  the  conference,  they  were  attack- 
ed by  Migliorotti,  the  nephew  of 
the  Pope,  who,  issuing  from  the 
Castle  with  a  company  of  soldiers, 


assailed  them  at  Hadrian's  Mole. 
Eleven  were  taken  and  the  rest 
escaped  by  flight.  The  prisoners, 
conducted  to  Migliorotti,  were  then 
cruelly  massacred  by  his  order. 
Among  them  were  two  nobles,  whom 
the  Roman  people  had  chosen  to 
govern  the  republic,  and  the  others 
were  distinguished  citizens,  some  of 
whom  had  manifested  a  partiality 
for  the  Church. 

"  When  the  noise  of  this  event 
spread  through  Rome,  all  rushed  to 
arms.  The  streets  were  filled  with 
soldiers,  and  the  city  resounded 
with  clamours  and  imprecations.  I 
myself  ran  very  great  danger  this 
day;  for,  believing  hostilities  to  be 
suspended,  I  had  passed  the  river 
and  entered  the  town.  Hearing  the 
tumult,  I  desired  to  withdraw,  but 
I  found  the  Bridge  of  Hadrian  oc- 
cupied by  a  troop  of  armed  men, 
who  were  the  relations  and  friends 
of  those  who  had  been  massacred, 
and  who  were  preparing  to  revenge 
themselves.  As  soon  as  I  recog- 
nised them,  I  turned  my  horse  and 
fled.  Having  reached  a  cross-street, 
I  dismounted,  covered  myself  with 
my  servant's  cloak,  and  mingled 
again  with  the  crowd.  I  passed, 
without  being  recognised,  through 
the  midst  of  armed  men,  and  ap- 
proached our  own  party.  The  first 
object  which  met  my  eyes  was  the 
heap  of  corpses  of  those  who  had 
been  massacred.  They  lay  in  the 
middle  of  the  street,  covered  with 
blood  and  pierced  with  large  wounds. 
I  stopped,  oppressed  with  horror, 
and  ran  my  eyes  over  their  faces. 
Among  them  I  recognised,  with 
tears,  the  bodies  of  some  of  my 
friends.  I  went  immediately  to  the 
Pope,  whom  I  found  plunged  in 
the  most  cruel  affliction.  He  had 
no  part  in  this  massacre.  He  was 
a  mild  and  pacific  man,  and  nothing 
was  more  repugnant  to  his  goodness 
and  character  than  the  shedding  of 
human  blood.  He  deplored  his 


354 


More  Roba  di  Roma. 


[March 


fortune,  lifting  his  eyes  to  heaven, 
as  if  to  take  God  to  witness  that  he 
was  innocent."* 

Against  the  people  Migliorotti 
was  unable  to  protect  the  Pope,  and 
he  fled  the  same  night  to  Viterbo. 
On  the  20th  of  August,  King 
Ladislaus  entered  with  3000  horse, 
and  the  Castle  St  Angelo  imme- 
diately broke  with  the  Eomans,  and 
commenced  bombarding  Eome.  The 
Romans  set  themselves  to  work 
to  barricade  the  bridge,  and  the 
people  beyond  it  allowed  them  to  do 
this.  After  a  severe  contest  there, 
during  which  several  houses  were 
set  on  fire,  the  Romans  made  a 
pact  with  the  leaders,  Conte  di 
Troja,  Giovanni  Colonna,  and  Conte 
Gentile  de  Montesano,  securing  them 
by  the  promise  of  a  bribe ;  and  thus 
they  were  allowed  to  barricade  the 
bridge.  But  after  they  had  walled 
up  the  barricade,  they  refused  to 
pay  over  the  bribe,  and  the 
Castle  continued  to  bombard  the 
Romans.  Finally,  after  much  fight- 
ing and  bloodshed,  both  parties 
alternately  chasing  each  other  out 
—  now  the  Orsini  and  now  the 
Colonna  prevailing  —  a  deputation 
was  sent  by  the  Romans  to  recall 
the  Pope,  promising  obedience  to 
him  if  he  would  return.  He  did 
accordingly  return  on  the  13th  of 
March  1406.  One  of  the  stipula- 
tions made  and  promised  by  the 
ambassadors  was,  that  Castle  St 
Angelo  should  be  delivered  up  to 
him.  Those  who  were  in  posses- 
sion of  it,  however,  absolutely  re- 
fused to  surrender  it  either  to  the 
Pope  or  the  people,  and  the  con- 
sequence was  that  siege  was  again 
laid  to  it ;  and  finally  it  again  came 
into  the  Pope's  possession. 

In  June  1407,  Gianni  Colonna 
entered  Rome  with  400  cavalry  and 
400  infantry,  and  a  battle  ensued 
between  him  and  the  Romans  who 
were  allied  with  the  Orsini.  But  the 


Romans  routed  him,  killing  a  large 
number  of  his  followers,  and  making 
many  prisoners,  among  whom  were 
Gianni  and  Niccolo  Colonna.  La- 
dislaus, who  was  in  the  city,  and 
had  joined  in  the  plot  with  Colonna, 
was  unable  to  render  him  much 
assistance,  and  the  attempt  was 
thus  entirely  foiled.  But  the  Pope, 
in  great  fear,  betook  himself  to  the 
Castle  at  night,  and  there  shut  him- 
self up. 

Later  in  the  same  year,  Ladis- 
laus, uniting  his  forces  with  those 
of  the  Savelli  and  Colonna,  attacked 
the  Romans  under  the  command  of 
Paolo  Orsini.  A  battle  ensued, 
in  which  Ladislaus  was  defeated. 
But  during  the  night  Paolo  went 
secretly  into  the  camp  of  the  King, 
and  treacherously  agreed  to  open 
the  gates  and  surrender  the  city. 
The  Romans,  thus  betrayed,  were 
forced  to  yield;  and  on  the  14th 
of  April  1408,  the  King  entered  the 
city  in  great  triumph,  and  the 
Capitol  and  nearly  all  the  fortresses 
were  delivered  up  to  him. 

Again,  in  1413,  Ladislaus,  violat- 
ing the  treaty  he  had  made  with 
John  XXIII. ,  broke  suddenly  into 
Rome.  The  Pope,  struck  with 
terror,  fled  before  him,  on  the 
swiftest  horse  that  he  could  find, 
and  the  Castle  was  betrayed  by  the 
Castellano  for  a  large  bribe.  But 
no  sooner  had  the  traitor  betaken 
himself  to  Naples  than  he  was  seized 
and  slain  by  order  of  Ladislaus,  and 
robbed  of  the  money  he  had  thus 
disgracefully  acquired.  The  Castle 
remained  in  possession  of  the  Nea- 
politan family  until  1419,  when 
it  was  again  restored  by  Joanna  of 
Naples  to  Martin  V.,  who  was  a 
Colonna. 

Meanwhile,  in  June  1417,  while 
there  was  a  vacancy  in  the  papal 
chair,  Braccio  da  Montone  marched 
from  Perugia,  and  attacked  and  took 
Rome.  He  also  assaulted  the 


*  Leonardo  Aretino,  Comment,  T.  1 9,  p.  922. 


1871.] 


Castle  St  Angela. — Part  II. 


355 


Castle  St  Angelo,  directing  against 
it  his  strongest  machines  of  siege, 
and  bombarding  it  severely.  But 
the  Castle  held  out  against  his  ut- 
most efforts ;  and  on  the  28th  of 
August  Sforza  arrived  from  Naples, 
sent  by  the  Queen  to  succour  its  de- 
fenders. Then  ensued  a  battle  in 
which  Giovanni  Colonna  was  killed, 
having  gallantly  interposed  his  own 
body  to  save  his  brother  Ludovico 
from  a  blow  aimed  at  him  by  one 
of  Orsini's  followers.  The  result  of 
the  battle  was  disastrous  to  Braccio, 
who  was  routed  and  driven  from 
the  city.  But,  though  defeated, 
he  was  a  terror  to  Rome  for  seven 
years ;  and  when,  finally,  on  June  2, 
1424,  he  was  slain,  great  was  the 
rejoicing  among  the  Romans.  The 
city  blazed  with  illuminations  and 
fireworks,  and  the  whole  mass  of 
the  Romans  came  out  at  night  on 
horseback,  each  with  a  torch  in  his 
hand,  to  escort  Giordano  Colonna, 
the  brother  of  the  Pope,  and  con- 
gratulate him  on  the  death  of  his 
enemy. 

In  1431,  Eugenius  IV.  was 
elected,  and  the  Castle,  which  then 
was  in  possession  of  "  Lo  Principe," 
was  restored  to  the  Pope.  But  short- 
ly afterwards,  a  dissension  having 
taken  place  between  him  and  Ste- 
fano  Colonna,  Colonna  induced  the 
Prince  to  unite  with  him  and  wrest 
the  government  from  the  Pope.  The 
city  was  attacked  by  their  troops. 
The  people  were  called  to  arms.  All 
Rome  was  in  confusion.  There  was 
fighting  in  the  streets,  and  particu- 
larly in  the  Piazza  Colonna,  at  San 
Marco  and  at  Porta  Accia,  and  many 
men  were  killed.  The  Castle  was 
still  held  by  the  Pope;  but  a  con- 
spiracy having  been  discovered,  or 
at  least  suspected,  to  wrest  it  from 
him,  drive  him  from  the  city,  kill  the 
Castellano,  and  give  up  the  Castle 
to  the  Colonna,  several  persons  of 
importance  were  arrested,  among 
whom  were  the  Archbishop  of  Be- 
nevento,  son  of  Antonio  Colonna, 


and  his  brother  Frate  Masi.  The 
latter  confessed,  under  pressure,  and 
was  then  hanged  and  quartered  in. 
the  Campo  dei  Fiori. 

Martin  V.,  on  his  death,  left  the 
treasures  which  he  had  accumulated 
to  his  nephews  of  the  Colonna 
house.  But  Eugenius  IV.,  on  his 
succession,  made  a  peremptory 
demand  that  they  should  be 
restored  to  him  as  Pope,  alleging 
that  they  had  been  fraudulently 
carried  off  by  Prospero  Colonna ; 
Antonio,  Prince  of  Salerno ;  and 
Eduardo,  Count  of  Celano.  These 
princes,  outraged  by  the  insulting 
demands  and  pretensions  of  Euge- 
nius, rose,  and,  under  the  lead  of  the 
Prince  of  Salerno,  laid  waste  the 
country.  The  Pope,  enraged  at 
their  conduct,  made  savage  reprisals. 
He  seized  Otho,  the  treasurer  of  his 
predecessor,  and  put  him  to  the 
torture ;  imprisoned  more  than  200 
citizens  of  the  Colonna  party ; 
erased  the  name  and  arms  of  Mar- 
tin V.,  and  insulted  in  every  pos- 
sible way  his  memory.  On  the  22d 
of  October  1432,  the  Pope  reaped 
the  fruit  of  his  vengeance.  He  was 
poisoned  by  one  of  his  attendants, 
who  was  instigated  to  this  act  by 
the  Colonna ;  and  though  he  did 
not  lose  his  life,  he  was  permanently 
lamed  by  it  on  one  side,  so  that  he 
could  not  lift  his  right  arm.  Three 
years  afterwards,  in  May,  the  gov- 
ernment of  Rome  was  taken  from 
him,  and  seven  Signori  were  chosen 
to  protect  the  liberties  of  the  peo- 
ple, under  the  title  of  Governatore 
della  Republica.  One  of  their  first 
acts  was  to  apprehend  the  nephew 
and  chamberlain  of  the  Pope  and 
imprison  them  in  the  Capitol. 
The  Pope  then,  in  great  alarm, 
sought  safety  in  flight.  Disguis- 
ing himself  as  a  friar,  he,  with 
one  companion,  a  real  friar,  took 
a  boat  in  the  Trastevere  quarter, 
slipped  down  the  river  with  the  cur- 
rent, and  made  his  escape  to  Flor- 
ence. Scarcely  had  he  gone,  when 


356 


More  Roba  di  Roma. 


the  Castle  began  to  thunder  against 
the  Eomans,  and  to  bombard  the 
city.  The  Bridge  of  St  Angelo  was 
barricaded,  and  Paolo  da  Forll,  with 
five  adjutants,  put  in  command  of  it. 
Other  barricades  were  made  in  the 
Piazza  Castello,  and  at  Sta  Maria 
Traspontina,  and  all  the  city  was 
under  arms.  The  Castle  was  as- 
saulted, but  without  success.  The 
Eomans,  however,  still  continued  to 
besiege  it.  At  last  a  feint  was 
made  by  its  defenders  :  some 
soldiers  appeared  on  the  battle- 
ments, and  cried  "  Viva  il  popolo  !  " 
while  Baldassare  di  Nino,  then 
in  the  Castle,  cried  out,  "  Venite  e 
pigliate  il  castello"  The  Eomans 
were  completely  taken  in  the  snare. 
Eushing  forward,  they  poured  into 
the  Castle ;  but,  as  they  entered, 
they  were  all  made  prisoners.  And 
among  these  prisoners  were  two  of 
the  Governatori.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment the  Castle  opened  fire  upon  the 
Eomans  below,  and  drove  them  back 
with  great  slaughter. 

Still  another  and  equally  suc- 
cessful scheme  was  tried  by  the 
defenders  of  the  Castle.  A  soldier 
was  privately  let  out  through  the 
lower  gate,  who  cautiously  advanced, 
pretending  to  make  his  escape.  On 
reaching  the  Eomans,  he  began  to 
complain  of  the  cruelty  with  which 
he  had  been  treated  by  the  Castel- 
lano,  and  offered,  for  a  certain 
sum,  to  return  and  kill  him,  and 
hang  him  up  at  the  window  as  a 
sign  that  he  was  dead,  and  then 
open  the  door  to  them.  Again  the 
Eomans  fell  into  the  snare.  They 
allowed  the  soldier  to  re-enter  the 
Castle.  After  a  certain  delay,  a  fig- 
ure representing  the  Castellano  was 
seen  to  hang  against  the  window, 
and  the  door  was  cautiously  opened 
by  the  soldier,  who  cried  to  them  to 
come  in.  In  they  rushed,  and  all 
again  were  made  prisoners. 


[March 

The  Eomans,  at  last  weary  of  this 
constant  fighting,  restored  the. sove- 
reignty of  the  city  to  the  Pope,  who 
again  returned  to  Eome,  and  was 
received  with  great  festivity  and 
rejoicing.  But  he  was  not  well 
assured  of  his  safety.  Many  were 
his  enemies ;  and  he  feared  con- 
stantly lest  he  might  be  betrayed. 
His  suspicion  soon  fell  upon  Gio- 
vanni Vitelleschi,  who,  though  Car- 
dinal, was  the  general-in-chief  of  the 
papal  army ;  and  an  attempt  was 
made  to  arrest  him  on  the  Bridge  of 
St  Angelo.  The  Cardinal  defended 
himself  vigorously ;  but  in  the  strug- 
gle he  was  so  seriously  wounded 
that  he  died  only  four  days  after, 
in  the  Castle. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  turbu- 
lence of  all  these  years.  There  is 
scarcely  a  pause  of  a  few  weeks  in 
the  fighting.  When  the  clash  of 
arms  ceases  for  a  moment,  there 
comes  a  dismal  record  of  eclipses 
and  earthquakes,  and  great  rains, 
tempests,  and  inundations.  Execu- 
tions of  prisoners  by  hanging  and 
decapitation  are  so  frequent  that 
one  can  scarcely  walk  through  the 
streets  of  Eome  without  seeing  ex- 
posed some  fragment  of  a  corpse, 
or  some  head,  hand,  or  foot  nailed 
against  a  wall.  When  these  fail, 
there  follow  threatening  comets  that 
shake  the  people  with  fear ;  and,  in 
the  wake  of  these,  come  the  dreadful 
scourges  of  famine  and  pestilence. 
The  annals  of  the  time  are  monot- 
onous in  their  records  of  war  and 
horrors  of  every  kind.  Liberty 
seems  but  a  name.  "  Licence  they 
mean,  when  liberty  they  cry,"  was 
never  truer  than  at  this  period ;  nor  is 
there  much  to  choose  between  Pope, 
prince,  and  people.  Treason  runs 
riot  everywhere ;  and  all  parties,  as 
they  get  the  upper  hand,  are  equally 
faithless  and  cruel. 


1871.] 


TJie  British  Navy. 


357 


THE     BEITISH     NAVY  : 


WHAT   WE   HAVE,    AND   WHAT   WE   WANT. 


No  apology  is  needed,  at  the  pre- 
sent juncture  of  European  politics, 
for  calling  attention  to  the  state  of 
the  British  Navy.  The  subject  is 
intimately  connected  with  the  na- 
tional feeling,  and  our  honour  and 
independence  are  bound  up  with  it. 
The  discussion  need  not  now  evoke 
the  controversial  bitterness  which  a 
few  years  back  seemed  to  be  inse- 
parable from  the  theme ;  nor  need 
we,  from  patriotic  motives,  exag- 
gerate its  excellence  or  seek  to  hide 
its  shortcomings.  There  have  been 
people  who,  from  a  sense  of  duty, 
have  persisted  in  regarding  our 
broadside  ironclads  through  a  roseate 
official  lens.  Like  the  Swiss  print- 
seller,  who  defended  the  predomi- 
nance of  the  colour  blue  in  his 
Swiss  views  by  the  plea,  "  II  faut 
toujours,  Monsieur,  beaucoup  de 
bleu  pour  les  Americains," — the 
chronicler  of  our  Navy  seems  to  have 
thought  the  public  would  best  be 
served  by  colouring  his  intelligence 
for  the  benefit  of  foreign  readers, 
But  in  this  country  we  live  in  a 
glass  house  :  our  faithful  allies  have 
their  naval  attaches  residing  here 
to  spy  out  our  weakness  and  our 
strength.  We  do  not  believe  in  the 
official  "  blue "  which  would  seek 
to  misguide  their  observation ;  and, 
with  all  its  shortcomings,  we  do  not 
think  that  the  British  Navy  needs  it. 

Now,  before  we  enumerate  and  de- 
scribe its  principal  component  parts, 
it  cannot,  we  think,  be  superfluous 
or  amiss  to  inquire  for  what  purposes 
the  British  Empire  requires  a  fleet. 
Before  pronouncing  on  the  fitness 
of  a  complicated  machine,  it  cannot 
be  wrong  to  form  precise  ideas  of 
the  work  it  will  have  to  do.  The 
imagination  is  apt  to  be  unduly  ex- 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXV. 


cited  by  the  memory  of  great  bat- 
tles like  Trafalgar  and  the  Nile ; 
but  it  may  be  well  to  remember 
that  the  chance  of  such  supreme 
engagements  is  rare,  and  that  the 
ordinary  duties  of  her  Majesty's 
ships  in  war  are  of  a  far  less  splen- 
did character.  Nor  should  we  for- 
get that  war  is  still  the  exception, 
and  peace  the  rule,  of  human  affairs, 
and  that  "  peace  hath  her  victories 
no  less  renowned  than  war."  In 
time  of  peace  the  British  Navy  main- 
tains the  police  of  the  high  seas,  and 
protects  the  commerce  and  lives  of 
Englishmen  in  foreign  and  remote 
stations.  Preparation  for  war  is 
the  best  security  for  peace ;  and  one 
of  the  important  functions  of  the 
Navy  is,  by  a  constant  display  of 
force,  to  support  the  political  objects 
of  the  Government.  During  war, 
the  defence  of  our  coasts  and  har- 
bours at  home,  and  of  our  colonies 
abroad,  the  convoying  of  our  mer- 
cantile marine,  the  attack  of  the 
enemy's  coasts  and  arsenals,  the 
possible  blockading  of  his  ports, 
and  the  command  and  patrol  of  the 
high  seas,  are  to  be  superadded  to 
the  peaceable  duties  which  devolve 
upon  our  sailors.  If  the  memory  of 
great  and  glorious  victories  in  line 
of  battle  is  recorded  in  the  annals 
of  the  British  Navy,  its  history  is 
no  less  full  of  daring  acts  with  sin- 
gle ships  and  boats,  and  of  infinite 
damage  inflicted  upon  an  enemy  by 
means  quite  incommensurate  to  the 
end.  When  we  read  of  the  miser- 
able cruise  of  the  fifteen  French  iron- 
clads during  the  present  war  in  the 
North  Sea  and  the  Baltic,  of  their 
prolonged  inaction  whilst  waiting 
for  a  land-force  which  never  came, 
and  of  councils  of  war  summoned  by 
2  B 


358 


The  British  Navy. 


[March 


the  coinmander-in-chief  to  determine 
what  not  to  do  ;  and  then  remember 
the  dashing  exploits  of  Lord  Coch- 
rane  in  his  single  frigate  Impe'rieuse 
on  the  French  coast — how  he  de- 
scended here  and  harried  an  ill-de- 
fended tract — and  then,  while  regi- 
ments were  hurrying  up  to  repel  his 
crew,  moved  off  in  the  night  and 
attacked  another  district  in  the  rear, 
landing  his  small  guns  and  storming 
forts,  cutting  down  the  semaphores, 
and  neutralising  a  brigade  of  the 
enemy's  land-forces — we  begin  to  see 
what  a  power  there  may  be  in  an 
efficient  Navy,  and  how  varied  are 
the  duties  which  a  sailor  may  be 
called  on  to  perform. 

It  was  well  said  by  the  old  Ca- 
valier poet,  that  "  Stone  walls  do  not 
a  prison  make,  nor  iron  bars  a  cage  ;" 
and,  in  a  similar  strain,  Sir  Francis 
Doyle  has  lately  sung — 

"  Vain,  mightiest  fleets,  of  iron  framed ; 

Vain,  those  all-shattering  guns  ; 
Unless  proud  England  keep,  untamed, 
The  strong  heart  of  her  sons. " 

Yet,  admitting  that  armour-plates 
do  not  constitute  a  man-of-war,  nor 
ironclads  a  fleet,  and  that  no  amount 
of  mechanical  invention  can  supply 
the  place  of  that  personal  daring 
and  contempt  of  danger  of  which 
the  records  of  our  Navy  are  so  full, 
it  is  still  the  business  of  Govern- 
ment to  supply  our  gallant  seamen 
with  the  best  implements  of  war- 
fare which  the  exigencies  of  the  day 
demand;  and  it  cannot  be  useless 
for  the  public  to  be  reminded,  from 


time  to  time,  what  we   have,  and 
what  we  want. 

Three  distinct  classes  of  fighting 
vessels  appear  to  be  required  for  the 
various  duties  of  war  and  peace, 
which-  we  have  in  general  terms  de- 
scribed. "We  want — 

1st,  Heavy-armoured  ships  of  large 
size  and  of  deep  draught,  fit  to 
fight  in  line  of  battle,  or  to  break 
into  an  enemy's  port  or  arsenal ; 

2d,  Small-armoured  ships  of  light 
draught  and  high  speed,  for  the 
protection  of  our  coasts  and  of 
important  strategical  positions  in 
the  colonies,  aided  by  gunboats 
which  need  not  carry  armour ; 
and, 

3d,  Light  squadrons  of  unarmoured 
corvettes  and  frigates,  of  the  high- 
est speed  attainable,  for  police  of 
the  seas  in  peace  time  and  escort  of 
trade  in  war  time,  with  swift  des- 
patch-boats for  look-out  purposes. 

Our  Ironclad  Navy,  so  far  as  we 
can  learn,  consists  at  the  present 
time  of  51  vessels,  of  various  de- 
grees of  speed  and  offensive  and  de- 
fensive power.  There  are  many 
modes  in  which  it  may  be  useful  to 
classify  these  ships,  according  as  we 
choose  to  regard  them ;  but  we 
think  the  simplest  course,  in  the 
first  instance,  is  to  arrange  them 
according  to  their  tonnage.  For 
whatever  purpose  we  may  desire  to 
compare  them  at  a  later  stage,  the 
following  table  on  the  next  page 
will  always  be  of  service  : — 


1871.] 


Tlie  British  Navy. 


359 


Tonnage. 

Horse- 
Power. 

Length 
between 
Perpendi- 
culars. 

Extreme 
Breadth. 

Mean 
Draught 
of  Water. 

No.  of 
Guns. 

Tons. 

ft.     in. 

ft.     in. 

ft.    in. 

1.  Agincourt, 

6,621 

1,350 

400     0 

59     5 

26     5 

28 

2.  Minotaur, 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

59     4| 

26     7 

26 

3.  Northumberland, 

ditto 

ditto 

400    4 

59    5 

27     0 

28 

4.  Achilles,  . 

6,121 

1,250 

380     0 

58     34 

26  10 

26 

5.  Black  Prince,  .         . 

6,109 

ditto 

380     2 

58     4 

26     7 

28 

6.   Warrior,  .         .         . 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

26     5 

32 

7.  Hercules, 

5,234 

1,200 

325     0 

59    04 

24     8 

14 

8.  Sultan,     . 

5,226 

ditto 

ditto 

59     0 

25     2 

12 

9.  Monarch,          . 

5,102 

1,100 

330     0 

57     61 

24     3 

7 

10.  Fury, 

5,000 

1,000 

310    0 

62     3 

26     6 

4 

11.  Devastation,     . 

4,406 

800 

285     0 

62    3 

26     1 

4 

12.  Thunderer, 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

4 

13,  Bellerophon,    . 

4,270 

1,000 

300     0 

56     1 

24     8 

15 

14.  Caledonia, 

4,125 

ditto 

273     0 

59     2 

25    8 

24 

15.  Hector,     . 

4,089 

800 

280     2 

56     5 

25     6 

18 

16.  Lord  Warden,  . 

4,080 

1,000 

280     0 

69     04 

25  11 

18 

17.  Royal  Alfred,  . 

4,068 

800 

273     0 

58     7 

25     4 

18 

18.  Lord  Clyde,      . 

4,067 

1,000 

280     0 

58  11 

25     5 

18 

19.  Valiant,  . 

4,063 

800 

280    2 

56     4 

25     8 

18 

20.  Koyal  Oak, 

4,056 

ditto 

273     0 

58     6 

24     6 

24 

21.  Ocean, 

4,047 

1,000 

273     1 

58     5 

25  11 

24 

22.  Prince  Consort, 

4,045 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

25     5 

24 

23.  Swiftsure, 

3,892 

800 

280     0 

55     0 

24     9 

14 

24.  Triumph, 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

14 

25.  Audacious, 

3,774 

ditto 

ditto 

54     0 

21     7 

14 

26.  Invincible, 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

21     8 

14 

27.  Iron  Duke, 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

21     7 

14 

28.   Vanguard, 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

21     8 

14 

29.  Royal  Sovereign, 

3,765 

ditto 

240     7 

62     2 

23    2 

5 

30.  Repulse,  . 

3,749 

ditto 

252     0 

59     14 

25     9 

12 

31.  Defence,  . 

3,720 

600 

280    0 

54    2 

25     2 

16 

32.  Zealous,   . 

3,716 

800 

252     0 

58     7 

25     4 

20 

33.  Resistance, 

3,710 

600 

280     0 

54     1 

25     1 

16 

34.  Rupert,    . 

3,159 

700 

250    0 

53     0 

22     6 

3 

35.  Penelope, 

3,096 

600 

260     0 

50    0 

16     6 

11 

36.  Glatton,   . 

2,709 

500 

245     0 

54    0 

19     0 

2 

37.  Hotspur,  . 

2,637 

600 

235     0 

50    0 

21     0 

2 

38.  Prince  Albert,  . 

2,529 

500 

240     0 

48     1 

19     6 

4 

39.   Pallas,  .  .        .        . 

2,372 

600 

225    0 

50     0 

21     8 

8 

40.  Favourite, 

2,094 

400 

ditto 

46     94 

21     4 

10 

41.  Cyclops,  . 

2,107 

250 

225     0 

45     0 

15     0 

4 

42.  Hecate,    . 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

4 

43.  Gorgon,    . 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

4 

44.  Hydra,     . 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

ditto 

4 

45.  Wivern,  . 

1,899 

350 

224     6 

42    44 

15  11 

4 

46.  Scorpion, 

1,833 

ditto 

ditto 

42     4 

16     2 

4 

47.  Research, 

1,253 

200 

195    0 

38     6 

13     9 

4 

48.  Enterprise, 

993 

160 

180     0 

36     04 

14     1 

4 

49.  Waterwitch,     . 

778 

ditto 

162     0 

32     1 

11     9 

2 

50.  Vixen, 

754 

ditto 

160    0 

32     5 

11     3 

2 

51.  Viper, 

737 

ditto 

ditto 

32     0 

10  11 

2 

The  first  six  vessels  upon  the  list 
form  a  class  by  themselves,  and  re- 
present the  earliest  efforts  of  the  con- 
structive department  of  the  Navy  to 


supply  us  with  armour-clad  ships 
which  should  rival  and  surpass  the 
original  ironclads  of  the  French 
navy.  It  is  the  fashion  at  the  pre- 


360 


The  British  Nary. 


[March 


sent  time  to  underrate  these  frigates, 
and  to  class  them  in  the  3d  or 
4th  rank  of  our  hroadside  ironclads. 
Great  objection  has  been  taken  to 
their  length,  which  varies  from  380 
to  400  feet,  and  would  undoubt- 
edly be  a  hindrance  to  rapid  turn- 
ing in  the  melee  of  a  naval  engage- 
ment. The  armour  which  they 
carry  is  also  of  little  efficacy  against 
the  projectiles  which  in  action  they 
would  now  have  to  encounter  ;  and 
two  of  them,  the  Warrior  and  the 
Black  Prince,  have  the  ends  of  the 
ship  quite  unprotected.  But,  after 
making  every  allowance  for  these 
comparative  deficiencies,  we  hold 
they  are  still  very  admirable  vessels, 
and  reflect  the  greatest  credit  on 
Mr  Watts,  the  Chief  Constructor  of 
the  Navy,  under  whose  auspices 
they  were  designed.  Their  speed, 
even  with  inferior  engines,  is  fully 
equal  to  14  knots  an  hour.  Only 
three  of  them,  we  believe,  are  rig- 
ged with  three  masts  in  the  usual 
manner.  The  others,  contrary  to 
the  wishes  of  their  designers,  are 
masted  with  four  or  five  masts,  and 
have  never  been  good  sailers.  But, 
even  as  they  are,  they  have  proved 
the  best  cruisers  of  our  ironclad 
navy ;  the  Achilles  has  been  pre- 
ferred by  the  admirals  in  command 
of  the  Channel  Fleet  to  any  other 
ship  under  their  orders;  and  there 
is  little  doubt  that,  if  we  were  en- 
gaged in  a  naval  war,  although  they 
might  not  be  adapted  for  fighting  in 
line  of  battle  against  the  artillery 
which  is  now  afloat,  they  would  be 
of  essential  value  for  distant  cruis- 
ing, and  might  sweep  the  seas  of 
any  number  of  Alahamas  that  en- 
deavoured to  assail  -our  commerce. 

The  remainder  of  our  ironclad 
fleet,  which,  with  a  few  exceptions, 
has  been  designed  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Mr  Reed,  consists  of  thirty 
broadside  ships  and  fifteen  turret- 
ships.  The  turret-ships  have  been 
principally  commenced  during  the  last 


two  years,  and  were  for  a  long  time 
strenuously  opposed  by  the  autho- 
rities at  Whitehall.  If  we  adopt 
the  classification  which  the  First 
Lord  of  the  Admiralty  has  followed 
in  Parliament,  these  ships  may  be 
divided  into  seven  classes  of  broad- 
side and  five  of  turret  vessels,  ac- 
cording to  the  following  tabular 
arrangement : — 


Broadsides. 

Turrets. 

03 

• 

4 

Hercules. 

Fury. 

J 

o 

Sultan. 

Devastation. 

Thunderer. 

03 
i—  I 

Audacious. 

Monarch. 

O3 

Invincible. 

Rupert. 

3 

Iron  Duke. 

Glatton. 

(4 

Vanguard. 

Hotspur. 

P 

Triumph. 

C^ 

Swiftsure. 

Bellerophon. 

Cyclops. 

S* 

Lord  Warden. 

Hecate. 

<! 

Lord  Clvde. 

Gorgon. 

h3 

o 

Royal  Alfred. 

Hydra. 

P 

Repulse. 

CO 

Penelope. 

Caledonia. 

Royal  Sove- 

CO 
OQ 

Hector. 

reign. 

9 

Valiant. 

Prince  Albert. 

0 

Royal  Oak. 

I 

Ocean. 

••* 

Prince  Consort. 

n 

Warrior. 

Wivern. 

00 

O 
J 
O 

Black  Prince. 
Defence. 

Scorpion. 

w 

Zealous. 

to 

Resistance. 

m  Sj 

Pallas. 

e<  •< 

V)    vJ 

Favourite. 

O 

03 

Research. 

00 

«t 

,J 

Enterprise. 

o 

Viper. 

m 

Vixen. 

H 

fc- 

Waterwitch. 

1871.] 


TJie  British  Navy. 


361 


We  proceed  to  consider  them  in 
their  order  of  description. 

The  Hercules  is  the  only  one  of 
our  first-class  ironclads  which  has 
yet  been  tried  at  sea,  and  it  is  due 
to  her  constructors  to  say  that  she 
has  proved  a  great  success.  Her 
armament  is  very  powerful,  and  con- 
sists of  fourteen  rifled  guns,  of  which 
eight  are  of  10-inch,  two  of  9-inch, 
and  four  of  7-inch  calibre.  Her 
water-line  is  defended  by  a  belt  of 
very  thick  armour,  perhaps  im- 
penetrable at  the  thickest  part  by 
any  of  the  guns  she  carries,  and  ex- 
tends for  about  3  feet  above  and 
3  feet  below  the  water-line  from 
stem  to  stern  of  the  ship.  As  long, 
therefore,  as  the  sea  is  sufficiently 
calm  to  confine  her  rolling  to  6°, 
it  is  probably  impossible  for  any 
ironclad  now  afloat  in  any  foreign 
navy  to  deliver  a  shot  which  of 
itself  can  sink  her.  This  great  de- 
fensive strength  is,  however,  con- 
fined to  her  belt ;  the  battery  from 
which  her  largest  guns  are  worked 
is  only  protected  with  6 -inch  armour; 
and  experiment  has  shown  that 
armour  of  that  thickness  with  the 
ordinary  backing  can  be  penetrated 
at  a  distance  of  1000  yards,  and  at 
an  inclination  of  impact  of  30°,  by 
the  9-inch  rifled  gun,  and  at  close 
quarters  by  the  7-inch  rifled  gun, 
such  as  is  carried  by  all  except 
one  of  our  present  ironclads.  But 
the  Hercules  has  other  excellences. 
She  is,  for  an  ironclad,  a  fair  sailer, 
though  awkward  in  tacking  or  wear- 
ing. She  has  a  speed  under  steam 
of  14  knots,  and  is  a  very  steady 
ship,  and  can  therefore  use  her  great 
offensive  powers  under  conditions  of 
sea  in  which  a  less  steady  ship  would 
be  almost  hors  de  combat. 

Of  our  other  first-class  ironclads, 
the  Sultan,  which  resembles  the 
Hercules  in  most  essential  points, 
has  been  launched,  but  has  not  been 
tried.  It  is  said  she  is  deficient  in 
stability.  The  Fury  has  hardly  been 


commenced,  and  the  Devastation  and 
Thunderer,  though  well  advanced, 
are  hardly  likely  to  be  finished  before 
the  end  of  the  present  year.  These 
latter  are  very  remarkable  ships ;  but 
we  defer  their  consideration  until 
after  we  have  spoken  of  the  remain- 
ing broadside  vessels. 

Our  second  class  of  broadside  iron- 
clads, which  are  commonly  called 
the  Audacious  class,  have  not  as  yet 
been  fully  tried.  They  consist  of 
six  vessels  of  similar  design,  the 
difference  of  the  Swiftsure  and 
Triumph  from  the  other  four  lying 
in  a  wooden  casing  with  which  their 
hull  is  proposed  to  be  covered,  to 
prevent  the  rapid  fouling  of  the  iron 
bottom.  If  the  storms  of  contro- 
versy in  which  they  originated,  like 
the  ancient  goddess  from  the  foam 
of  the  sea,  were  any  preparation  for 
their  future  career,  they  ought  to 
prove  the  most  efficient  cruisers  of 
our  fleet.  It  was  in  the  year  1867, 
in  the  midst  of  the  controversy  be- 
tween the  advocates  of  broadside 
and  turret  ironclads,  that  Mr  Corry's 
Board  of  Admiralty  resolved  to  in- 
vite the  principal  private  ship- 
builders of  the  country  to  compete 
in  designs  for  either  a  turret  or  a 
broadside  ship,  at  the  option  of  the 
designer.  Certain  conditions  were 
imposed  in  either  case  ;  the  tonnage 
was  not  to  exceed  3800  tons,  nor 
the  draught  22  J  feet ;  the  speed  was 
to  be  13|  knots  ;  the  armour-plating 
was  to  be  at  least  8  inches  thick  at 
and  about  the  water-line,  and  6  inches 
thick  in  other  parts,  except  at  the 
bow  and  stern ;  and  it  was  essential 
that  an  all-round  fire  should  be 
practicable,  or  that  at  least  some  one 
gun  under  armour-plates  should  com- 
mand every  point  of  the  horizon. 
The  Controller  of  the  Navy  was 
to  be  the  referee,  and  award  the 
prize  to  the  successful  competi- 
tor. Seven  shipbuilding  firms 
responded  to  the  invitation,  and 
sent  in  designs  of  various  degrees 


362 


The  British  Navy. 


[March 


of  merit.  The  London  Engineering 
Company  proposed  to  build  a  broad- 
side ship  of  3794  tons ;  the  Mill- 
wall  Company,  a  compound  of  broad- 
side and  turret  of  nearly  the  same 
tonnage  ;  Messrs  Palmer,  a  broad- 
side ship  with  a  movable  upper- 
deck  battery ;  and  the  Thames 
Company,  a  broadside  ship  ;  while 
Messrs  Napier,  Samuda,  and  Laird 
each  designed  a  turret-ship  fulfilling 
the  proposed  conditions.  The  Con- 
troller of  the  Navy,  as  he  stated  in 
his  report,  would  have  preferred 
that  the  reference  had  been  made 
"  to  some  unofficial  tribunal,  which 
should  have  been  beyond  even  the 
suspicion  of  partiality."  His  de- 
partment were  strongly  committed 
to  a  preference  for  the  broadside 
over  the  turret  type  of  armament, 
and  Mr  Eeed  especially  had  dis- 
played much  personal  feeling  on  the 
question.  To  the  surprise  of  the 
competitors,  the  referee  referred  the 
matter  over  to  Mr  Eeed,  the  Chief 
Constructor  of  the  Navy ;  and  he, 
though  selecting  the  design  of  Messrs 
Laird  as  by  far  the  best  offered,  re- 
ferred to  a  turret-ship  of  his  own  of 
the  same  dimensions,  which  he  had 
submitted  a  few  weeks  before;  and 
the  Controller,  in  reporting  on  the 
private  designs — which  was  the  en- 
tire subject-matter  referred  to  him — 
came  to  this  conclusion,  that  Mr 
Heed's  turret-ship  was  better  than 
that-  of  Messrs  Laird  ;  and  that  the 
Admiralty  design  for  the  Invincible 
or  Audacious  class  of  broadside 
ships  was  superior  to  either.  The 
Admiralty  adopted  the  views  of  Sir 
Spencer  Robinson  ;  for,  as  Mr  Corry 
said,  in  his  defence  shortly  after- 
wards in  Parliament,  "  he  must  ex- 
press his  opinion  that  the  Board 
would  undertake  a  very  great  re- 
sponsibility if  they  decided  upon 
building  a  ship,  the  design  of  which 
the  Controller  did  not  approve." 
And  the  result  of  all  this  competi- 
tion amongst  the  naval  architects  of 


the  country  was,  that  six  of  the 
Audacious  class  of  vessels  were 
ordered  to  be  built ;  and,  as  a  sop  to 
the  disappointed  shipbuilders,  four 
of  them  were  given  out  to  be  built 
in  the  private  yards.  They  have 
all,  we  believe,  been  finished,  and 
some  of  them  have  been  tried  at  sea  ; 
and,  so  far  as  these  trials  go,  the  re- 
sult has  been  the  most  miserable 
failure  which  has  yet  been  made  by 
any  naval  architects  in  the  kingdom. 
In  the  first  place,  the  calculations 
were  so  defective  that  the  ships  have 
turned  out  500  tons  lighter  than  was 
intended,  and  it  has  been  necessary  to 
fill  into  the  bottom  a  mass  of  concrete 
and  iron  ballast  to  give  moderate 
stability  to  the  ships.  The  remedy 
does  not  remove  the  evil,  for  the 
object  of  a  naval  architect  is  to  dis- 
tribute the  weights  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  combine  steadiness  with 
stability,  and  the  addition  of  these 
large  weights  to  the  bottom  of  the 
ship  is  certain  to  make  the  vessel 
roll.  If  the  weights  had  been  bet- 
ter disposed,  the  ship  might  have 
been  far  more  effectively  plated. 
We  imagine  that  few  civilians  have 
any  idea  how  small  a  part  of  the 
surface  of  a  broadside  ironclad  is 
really  protected  with  armour.  The 
Audacious,  when  broadside  on,  pre- 
sents an  area  of  6670  superficial 
feet ;  and  of  these,  only  3207,  or  less 
than  half,  are  plated  at  all.  There 
is  a  patch  of  100  feet  by  3  at  the 
water-line  of  8-inch  armour,  which 
tapers  down  to  4|  inches  at  the  bow 
and  stern  ;  and  the  rest  of  the  ship 
has  nowhere  any  thicker  armour 
than  6  inches,  the  ends  of  the  main- 
deck  battery  having  only  4  and  5 
inch  armour,  while  the  ends  of  the 
upper-deck  battery  are  unprotected 
against  a  raking  fire,  and  more  than 
half  the  ship's  side  is  in  the  same 
unprotected  state.  A  roll  of  4° 
would  lift  the  8-inch  belt  well  out 
of  water,  and  a  roll  of  10°  would 
show  the  unarrnoured  hull ;  and  we 


1871.] 


The  British  Navy. 


363 


hear  that  on  the  trials  outside  Ply- 
mouth harbour,  the  ship,  Avithout  a 
sail  set,  heeled  over  16°,  and  the 
Admiralty  have  been  compelled  to 
order  the  rig  of  the  ship  to  be  alto- 
gether altered,  and  her  sails  and 
masts  largely  reduced.  Yet  these 
are  the  ships  which  are  supposed  to 
constitute  our  second  class  of  broad- 
side ironclads  ! 

Our  third-class  ironclads  comprise 
several  in  their  number  which  are, 
in  our  opinion,  far  superior  to  the 
Audacious  class.  The  defensive 
strength  of  a  ship  does  not  depend 
on  the  maximum  thickness  of  iron 
which  she  carries  over  a  very  limit- 
ed area,  so  much  as  on  the  general 
amount  of  protection  which  is  given 
to  her.  The  Bellerophon,  which  is 
placed  at  the  head  of  the  third  class, 
is  a  very  efficient  broadside  ship, 
carrying  6-inch  armour  over  a  con- 
siderable part  of  her  side, — steady, 
fast,  and  handy  under  steam,  and 
with  ten  9-inch  and  five  7-inch  cali- 
bre guns.  The  Lord  Warden  and 
Lord  Clyde  are  better  protected  than 
the  Bellerophon,  though  the  armour 
they  carry  is  not  quite  so  thick,  and 
carry  two  9-inch,  fourteen  8-inch,  and 
four  7-inch  guns,  and  have  the  best 
bow-fire  of  any  of  our  broadsides. 
In  smooth  water  we  should  propose 
to  rank  them  next  in  efficacy  to  the 
Hercules  ;  but  they  roll  dreadfully 
in  anything  like  a  sea,  and  for 
general  service  are  not  the  equal  of 
the  Bellerophon.  The  remainder  of 
the  third-class  broadsides,  though 
stated  by  Mr  Childers,  in  his  speech 
on  moving  the  Navy  estimates  of 
1869,  to  be  "  protected  by  5|-inch 
to  6-inch  armour,  to  possess  a  speed 
of  13  to  14  knots,  and  to  carry  12- 
ton  (that  is,  9-inch)  guns,  or  under  " 
— are  inferior  to  the  three  first  men- 
tioned ;  and  the  Penelope,  from  the 
peculiar  structure  of  her  double  keel, 
is  said  to  be  extremely  difficult  to 
manage  at  sea. 

The  classification  into  four  classes 


of  the  rest  of  our  broadside  iron- 
clads is  somewhat  arbitrary.  They 
none  of  them  carry  more  than  4£ 
inches  of  armour,  but  most  of  them 
carry  8-inch  guns,  and  all  but  one 
of  them  7-inch  guns,  in  their,  bat- 
teries. 

We  have  stated  above  that  the 
9-inch  rifled  gun,  fired  at  an  angle  of 
incidence  of  30°  with  a  Palliser  shell, 
will,  at  a  distance  of  1000  yards,  pen- 
etrate an  armour-plate  of  6  inches 
thick  with  any  backing  which  has 
yet  been  tried  afloat.  So  far  as  experi- 
ment has  gone  at  present,  it  seems 
to  be  established  as  a  rough-and- 
.ready  rule,  that  every  rifled  Wool- 
wich gun,  fired  directly  and  at  short 
range,  is  more  than  a  match  for 
an  armoured  plate  well  backed,  the 
thickness  of  which  is  1  inch  less 
than  its  own  calibre.  Thus  the 
7-inch  gun  will  penetrate  6-inch 
armour ;  the  9-inch  gun,  8-inch  ar- 
mour ;  and  the  1 2-inch  gun  is  ex- 
pected to  pierce  with  shell  11 -inch 
armour.  When  the  Warrior  was 
designed  to  carry  4|~inch  armour, 
that  defence  was  sufficient  against 
the  guns  and  projectiles  of  the  day. 
But  now  the  7-inch  gun  will  pene- 
trate with  shell  any  part  of  any 
broadside  ship  we  possess,  except 
the  narrow  belt  of  the  Hercules  and 
Sultan  and  Audacious  class ;  that  is, 
except  a  very  limited  portion — per- 
haps one-twentieth — of  the  entire 
area .of  eight  of  our  ironclads ;  and 
we  have  afloat,  in  sixteen  of  our 
ironclads,  8-inch  guns ;  in  nineteen  of 
them,  9-inch  guns  ;  in  two  of  them, 
10-inch  guns;  and  in  seven  of  them, 
12-inch  guns.  There  is  only  one  of 
our  broadsides  which  does  not  car- 
ry a  7-inch  or  much  larger  gun. 
This  law  of  the  comparative  resist- 
ance of  plates  against  guns  makes  it 
convenient  to  speak  of  guns  accord- 
ing to  their  calibre ;  and  we  have 
uniformly  adopted  that  mode  in  the 
present  article.  But  it  must  not  be. 
forgotten  that  penetration  is  only 


364 


The  British  Navy. 


[March 


one  of  the  terrors  which  rifled  artil- 
lery presents.  It  is  the  fearfully 
destructive  power  of  their  shells 
bursting  in  the  interior  of  a  vessel, 
and  especially  in  the  small  fortress 
in  the  centre  of  the  vessel  in  which 
the  greater  part  of  the  guns  are 
worked,  which  serves  as  the  pretext 


and  valid  reason  for  putting  armour 
over  our  ships  at  all.  The  destruc- 
tiveness  of  a  shell  varies  fully  as  the 
cube  of  the  calibre,  as  the  following 
table,  giving  the  weight  and  burst- 
ing-charge of  the  common  and  Pal- 
liser  shells  for  the  different  class  of 
guns,  will  partly  show  : — 


Calibre  of 

Weight  of  Shell. 

Bursting-charge  of 
Shell. 

Weight 
of 

Gun. 

Common. 

Palliser. 

Common. 

Palliser. 

Solid  Shot. 

Ib.    oz. 

Ib.    oz. 

Ib.    oz. 

Ib.    oz. 

Ib. 

7-inch 

106  12 

112     8 

8     4 

2     8 

115 

8  -inch 

167     0 

175     8 

13     0 

4     8 

180 

9  -inch 

232     0 

244     8 

18     0 

5     8 

250 

10-inch 

373  12 

393     2 

26     4 

6  14 

400 

12  -inch 

460     0 

586     0 

35     0 

14     0 

600 

The  Palliser  shell,  being  intended 
to  penetrate  armour,  is  more  solid 
than  the  common  shell,  and  there- 
fore carries  a  smaller  bursting-charge; 
but  the  charge  is  sufficient  to  burst 
it,  and  the  resistance  experienced  in 
forcing  a  way  through  the  ship's 
side  is  precisely  the  force  which  is 
wanted  to  make  its  hard  and  brittle 
substance  break  up ;  and  the  battery 
of  every  one  of  our  broadside  iron- 
clads is  liable  in  any  engagement  to 
have  these  powerful  shells,  varying 
from  18  inches  to  30  inches  in 
length,  burst  in  the  interior,  filling 
it  with  smoke  and  fragments  of 
wood  and  iron,  and  probably  dis- 
abling one -half  of  the  crew  em- 
ployed for  the  time  being  in  working 
the  guns. 

It  is  this  liability  to  danger,  both 
of  crew  and  vessel,  which  has  made 
every  foresighted  naval  officer  and 
architect,  during  the  last  ten  years, 
eager  to  introduce  a  type  of  ship- 
building better  adapted  for  warfare 
against  rifled  artillery  than  the  old 
broadside  frigate.  It  is  not  that  our 
sailors  are  less  brave  or  indifferent 
to  death  than  in  days  of  old ;  but 
the  conditions  of  exposure  are  now 


entirely  different  to  what  they  were 
in  the  days  of  Kelson.  The  effect 
of  a  large  shell  bursting  in  a  con- 
fined space  is  demoralising  to  the 
bravest  crew.  We  have  heard  from 
an  eyewitness  that  in  the  attack  on 
the  Sebastopol  forts,  the  explosion 
of  a  shell  between  decks,  with  the 
material  ruin  which  it  scattered 
round,  so  unnerved  a  large  part  of 
the  men  on  board  one  of  our  finest 
two-deckers,  that  the  unwounded 
dropped  over  the  side  into  a  steam- 
ship lashed  alongside.  In  the  at- 
tack of  the  American  fleet  upon  the 
forts  of  Mobile  Bay,  the  Brooklyn, 
a  partially-armoured  broadside  ves- 
sel, was  struck  twenty-three  times, 
but  only  one  shell  exploded  in  her, 
yet  she  had  eleven  men  killed  and 
forty-three  wounded.  In  the  fight 
between  the  Weehawken,  U.S.  Mon- 
itor, with  one  15 -inch  gun,  against 
the  Confederate  broadside  ironclad 
Atlanta,  out  of  five  shots  that  struck 
the  Atlanta,  one  laid  low  forty  and 
another  disabled  seventeen  of  her 
men.  Yet  the  440-pounder  of  the 
15-inch  gun  was  a  less  terrible  pro- 
jectile than  that  which  is  fired  from 
the  12-inch  gun  of  our  own  Navy. 


1871.] 


The  British  Navy. 


365 


There  are  limits  to  human  courage  ; 
and  although,  amongst  the  chances 
of  a  naval  fight,  with  every  object 
moving  and  the  gun-platform  rolling 
up  and  down,  it  might  well  happen 
that  an  ill-protected  vessel  might 
escape  a  vital  wound,  yet  it  is  con- 
trary to  reason  to  suppose  that  an 
ironclad  like  the  Hercules  could  be 
effectively  fought,  if  her  battery 
were  even  once  in  each  half-hour 
penetrated  by  even  a  9-inch  shell. 

Viewing  the  disparity  between 
guns  and  broadside  ironclads,  many 
persons  of  eminence  have  proposed 
to  do  away  with  armour-plating  al- 
together, and  let  the  shot  and  Pal- 
liser  shell  pass  through  and  beyond 
the  ship  and  drop  into  the  sea. 
They  have  said,  with  some  show  of 
reason,  that  a  thin  side  of  unbacked 
iron  or  steel  would  neither  break  up 
the  projectile  nor  send  a  shower  of 
splinters  into  the  ship  between 
decks.  The  shot  or  hard  shell 
would  kill  whom  it  hit,  as  did  can- 
non-balls in  former  wars ;  but  we 
should  have  no  widespread  devasta- 
tion from  a  single  projectile.  But 
the  resources  of  artillery  are  not 
confined  to  shot  and  chilled-iron 
shell,  and  we  have  seen  above  that 
the  common  shell  is  more  dangerous 
than  the  Palliser  wherever  it  can 
penetrate  and  explode.  If  an  enemy 
found  that  his  hard  projectile  pass- 
ed through  and  did  little  damage, 
he  would  alter  his  charge  and  pro- 
jectile, and  inflict  with  it  still  greater 
injury  on  the  unarmoured  ship.  We 
are  driven,  therefore,  by  the  growing 
power  of  the  guns,  to  a  type  of 
vessel  which  can  carry  armour  of 
10  to  12  inch  thickness,  and  can 
carry  it  over  the  entire  length ;  and 
this  can  only  be  attained  by  lower- 
ing the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  there- 
fore reducing  the  area  which  has  to 
be  plated. 

The  late  Captain  Cowper  Coles 
was  the  man  who  earliest  recognised 
this  necessity,  and  was  prepared 


with  devices  to  meet  it.  In  season 
and  out  of  season  he  persisted  in 
pointing  out  the  defensive  weakness 
of  our  broadside  ironclads,  and  the 
growing  offensive  power  of  artillery. 
The  Admiralty  persisted  in  the  op- 
posite policy,  and  continued  to  lay 
down  ship  after  ship  of  the  36 
broadsides  which  we  now  have,  at 
a  cost  of  about  twelve  millions  ster- 
ling, and  only  reluctantly  consented, 
under  the  pressure  of  public  opinion, 
to  build  two  turret-ships,  the  Prince 
Albert  and  the  Monarch,  and  to 
convert  one  wooden  three-decker, 
the  Royal  Sovereign,  into  an  un- 
masted  turret-ironclad.  The  catas- 
trophe which  has  recently  befallen 
the  Captain  turret-ship  has  led  un- 
thinking persons  to  suppose  that 
the  system  of  turret-armament  is 
only  adapted  for  the  Monitor  type 
of  vessel ;  but  it  is  due  to  Captain 
Coles  to  remember  that  the  private 
shipbuilders  of  this  country  have 
differed  from  the  Admiralty  construc- 
tors on  this  point,  and  have  built 
on  Captain  Coles's  principle,  for  for- 
eign powers,  nearly  twenty  masted 
turret- vessels  on  comparatively  small 
dimensions,  three  of  which  have 
crossed  the  Atlantic,  and  one  has 
gone  round  Cape  Horn  to  Peru,  and 
all  have  proved  more  effective  ships 
than  our  own  ironclads  of  the  same 
dimensions.  Yet,  from  the  year 
1855  until  his  untimely  death, 
though  asserting  that  his  invention 
was  adapted  for  sea-going  cruisers, 
he  never  failed  to  point  out  the 
superiority,  as  a  fighting  engine,  of 
the  low  ship  without  masts  and 
sails. 

It  was  not  until  the  accession  of 
Mr  Childers  to  office  that  the  views 
to  which  we  have  given  expression 
above  were  suffered  to  prevail.  It 
is  quite  beside  our  mark  to  inquire 
why  it  was  that  the  constructive 
department  of  the  Navy  so  long  op- 
posed the  building  of  anything  but 
broadside  ships,  or  to  endeavour  to 


TJie  British  Navy. 


[March 


reconcile  their  policy  of  the  last  two 
years  with  their  conduct  during  the 
previous  eight.  It  was  not  in  1865, 
or  in  1867,  or  in  1869,  that  the  su- 
periority of  guns  to  armour-plating 
of  5  or  6  inches  was  established; 
but  in  1865,  before  the  naval  com- 
mittee upon  turret -ships,  and  in 
1867,  in  the  competition  of  private 
shipbuilders,  the  late  Controller  and 
Chief  Constructor  of  the  Navy  dis- 
played a  partisanship  of  opposition 
to  turret  -  ironclads  which  is  now 
most  deeply  to  be  deplored.  Mr 
Childers  came  into  office,  as  he  tells 
us  in  his  recent  Minute,  without 
any  prejudices  on  the  subject,  but 
determined  to  give  fair  play  to  the 
advocates  of  either  type  of  ship- 
building. He  had  opposed  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  on  the  13th 
July  1868,  a  motion  censuring  the 
Conservative  Board  of  Admiralty 
for  not  having  built  more  ships  of 
the  turret  type.  He  suggested  to 
Mr  Eeed  the  building  of  a  turret- 
ship  of  3000  tons  with  limited  sail- 
power.  Mr  Eeed  produced  in  pre- 
ference designs  for  a  class  of  power- 
ful unmasted  ships,  carrying  on  the 
sides  solid  12-inch,  and  on  the  tur- 
rets solid  14-inch  armour,  with  a 
freeboard  of  4£  feet,  and  a  plated 
breastwork  rising  7  feet  higher  out 
of  the  deck,  and  enclosing  the  tur- 
rets, funnels,  ventilators,  and  hatch- 
ways of  the  ship.  A  ship  of  this 
class  had  been  already  designed  for 
the  Eussian  navy,  but,  with  that 
exception,  the  design  was  a  novelty; 
and  accordingly,  before  deciding  on 
its  adoption,  an  Admiralty  Com- 
mittee, consisting  of  Admiral  Lord 
Lauderdale,  Eear- Admiral  Yelverton, 
Captain  Cowper  Coles,  Mr  (now  Sir) 
W.  Fairbairn,  Mr  (now  Sir)  Joseph 
Whitworth,  and  Dr  Woolley,  were 
appointed  to  criticise  the  design, 
and  advise  the  Board  upon  it.  The 
design  was  approved,  and  the  ships 
ordered  in  accordance  with  it  are 
the  Thunderer  and  Devastation,  two 


of  our  first  class  of  turret-ironclads. 
The  importance  of  the  subject  and 
the  admirable  clearness  of  the  ex- 
position will  justify  us  in  quoting 
at  some  length  from  the  statement 
to  the  Committee  made  on  that  oc- 
casion by  Sir  Spencer  Eobinson  : — 

"The  Controller  of  the  Navy  showed, 
by  reference  to  the  thickness  of  armour- 
plating  carried  by  our  ships  compared 
with  the  power  to  pierce  such  plates  pos- 
sessed by  the  artillery  known  to  be  afloat, 
not  only  in  our  own  ships,  but  also  in  the 
ships  of  other  Powers,  that  the  time  had 
come  when  even  8-inch  armour-plating 
was  an  insufficient  protection;  and,  ad- 
verting to  the  increasing  power  of  artil- 
lery, which,  though  slow,  was  an  element 
not  to  be  neglected,  explained  that  the 
great  feature  of  the  new  design  was  so  to 
protect  the  water-line  and  armament  of 
the  ship  as  to  resist  practically,  and  for 
some  time  to  come,  the  artillery  that  could 
be  brought  against  such  a  ship  at  sea. 
He  pointed  out  the  slow  progress  that 
had  been  made  in  obtaining  the  so-called 
600-pounder,  which  in  reality  is  a  12-inch 
25-ton  rifled  gun.  It  had  taken  upwards 
of  four  years  to  bring  us  even  to  our  pre- 
sent position  with  reference  to  this  gun, 
and  even  now  it  was  hardly  satisfactory ; 
and  admitting  that  it  was  possible  that 
the  process  of  constructing  even  larger 
guns  might  in  future  years  be  accelerated, 
he  stated  that  the  new  designs  were  cal- 
culated practically  to  resist  projectiles 
from  guns  even  of  27  or  28  tons. 

"  For  this  purpose  the  thickness  of 
armour- plating  adopted  was  12  inches  on 
the  hull,  and  14  inches  to  defend  the 
armament. 

"  He  then  showed,  by  reference  to  the 
enormous  weights  which  such  a  system  of 
defence  rendered  necessary,  that  the  ar- 
mour-plating must  be  limited  as  much  as 
possible,  to  economise  the  size  and  there- 
fore the  cost  of  the  ship  ;  deducing  from 
these  premises  the  conclusion  that  a  ship 
of  low  freeboard  was  an  absolute  necessity, 
and  that  this  necessity  existing,  a  broad- 
side armament  was  impossible;  so  that 
the  design  naturally  resolved  itself  into  a 
Monitor  type,  and  a  turret-armament. 

"He  stated  that  the  proposed  arma- 
ment was  to  be  two  25-ton  guns  in  each 
turret,  that  the  ship  was  to  carry  two  tur- 
rets, and  that  there  was  to  be  an  absolute 
and  uncompromised  line  of  fire  from  these 
guns  on  every  point  of  the  horizon. 

"  He  explained  that  the  ships  were 
specially  designed  as  powerful  sea-going 
ships ;  not  so  much  as  cruisers  for  the 


1871.] 


The  British  Navy. 


367 


ordinary  protection  of  commerce,  as  en- 
gines of  offence,  capable  of  being  sent  to 
the  Baltic  or  Mediterranean,  across  the 
Atlantic,  to  the  West  Indies,  or  to  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope.  In  adverting  to  the 
lowuess  of  the  freeboard  (4  ft.  6  inches  at 
the  load-line  of  the  new  ship),  he  showed 
that  such  lowness  was  not  incompatible 
with  safety,  and  was  extremely  favourable 
to  steadiness.  He  instanced  the  remark- 
able cases  of  the  Monadnock  and  the 
Miantonoraah,  ships  of  this  type,  one 
of  which  had  gone  into  the  Pacific  ;  the 
other  had  twice  crossed  the  Atlantic. 
The  freeboard  of  this  ship  at  her  mean 
draught  was  only  2  ft.  7  inches  amidships  ; 
and  while  the  ships  in  her  company  of 
the  ordinary  construction  were  rolling  as 
much  as  20°,  the  Miantonomah  was 
barely  rolling  4°.  He  further  explained 
that  this  lowness  of  freeboard,  while 
it  contributed  powerfully  to  a  steady 
platform  for  artillery,  had  of  course 
the  effect  of  allowing  large  masses  of 
water  to  pass  over  the  deck  ;  and  in  ships 
like  the  Miantonomah,  where  the  port- 
holes of  the  turret  were  but  from  2  to 
3  feet  above  the  deck,  they  were  neces- 
sarily closed  in  even  a  moderate  sea-way, 
and  thus  the  ship  was  in  a  great  measure 
deprived  of  her  artillery.  As  a  remedy 
for  this  defect,  and  to  protect  the  base  of 
the  turrets,  an  armour-plated  breastwork, 
7  ft.  6  inches  high,  surrounds  the  space 
occupied  by  the  turrets.  This  breast- 
work, the  upper  part  of  which  is  11  ft. 
6  inches  above  the  water,  is  closed  in  by  a 
deck  plated  with  iron  1£  inches  thick, 
through  which  are  carried  up  the  hatch- 
ways, funnels,  air-tubes,  &c.,  and  over 
which  the  guns  command  an  uninter- 
rupted range  on  every  point  of  the  hori- 
zon, at  a  height  of  upwards  of  13  ft.  from 
the  water,  insuring  the  use  of  the  offen- 
sive powers  of  the  ship  under  almost 
every  possible  circumstance. 

"Dispensing  with  masts  made  a  very 
large  supply  of  coal  necessary ;  and  accord- 
ingly the  design  provides  for  1700  tons 
of  fuel — a  quantity  sufficient  to  enable-  the 
ship  to  steam  for  10  days  at  12  knots' 
speed,  or  for  18  days  at  10  knots,  or  from 
25  to  35  days  at  lower  speeds. 

"  The  security  given  to  a  ship  by  her 
masts  and  sails  compared  with  that  ob- 
tained by  two  propellers  and  double  en- 
gines was  referred  to,  and  it  was  stated  as 
a  fact  perfectly  well  known  to  all  naval 
officers,  that,  in  going  into  action,  the  first 
order  which  must  be  given  is  to  send  every- 
thing down  from  aloft;  in  fact,  to  deprive 
a  ship  as  much  as  possible  of  the  power  of 
using  any  of  her  sails ;  that,  even  so  pre- 
pared, the  risk  to  a  ship  having  her  masts 


shot  away  is  great,  and  that  if  they  were 
shot  away  it  is  all  but  certain  that  the  ship 
would  be  deprived  of  her  steam-power, 
through  the  wreck  either  fouling  or  destroy- 
ing the  screw. 

"  This  view  of  the  case  was  illustrated 
by  the  history  of  several  remarkable 
wrecks — those,  for  example,  of  the  Prince 
and  the  Royal  Charter  amongst  others — 
which  occurred  from  the  loss  of  masts 
destroying  the  propeller,  which  up  to  the 
time  of  that  occurrence  was  taking  care  of 
the  ship. 

"  There  was,  on  the  other  hand,  no 
known  instance  of  any  ironclad  ship,  or 
indeed  of  any  screw-ship  with  a  damaged 
engine,  on  a  lee-shore,  deriving  her  safety 
from  the  use  of  her  sails  ;  and  in  consider- 
ing the  benefit  to  be  derived  from  sails  in 
steadying  a  ship  of  the  ordinary  type  in 
the  trough  of  the  sea,  it  was  pointed  out 
that  the  amount  of  canvas  required  for 
this  purpose  in  a  ship  of  about  9000  tons' 
displacement,  would  necessitate  a  system 
of  masting  entirely  inconsistent  with  low 
freeboard  and  with  the  proper  use  of  the 
turret-armament. 

"  The  necessity  of  doing  nothing  to  com- 
promise the  all-round  fire  and  the  end-on 
fighting  qualities  of  the  ship  was  insisted 
on,  and  the  sacrifice  of  those  qualities 
which  would  follow  any  system  of  masting 
pointed  out. 

"  It  was  shown  that  the  new  designs 
somewhat  resembled  in  type  the  Mian- 
tonomah and  the.  Monadnock,  while 
they  differ  widely  and  fundamentally 
from  the  Captain  and  Monarch.  It 
seemed  therefore  certain  that  a  far  more 
correct  forecast  of  the  qualities  of  the  new 
ships,  especially  of  their  steadiness  in  a 
sea-way,  would  be  formed  by  making  use 
of  the  experience  already  acquired  in  these 
American  Monitors  than  could  follow  from 
any  variety  of  trials  of  the  Captain  and 
Monarch.  Indeed,  on  reviewing  the 
turret-ships  of  the  Royal  Navy,  it  was 
evident  that  no  such  ship  had  that  real 
lowness  of  freeboard  which  would  enable 
any  trials  or  experiments  to  be  of  use  for 
purposes  of  comparison." 

It  is  said  that  when  Milo  in  his 
banishment  read  the  eloquent  ora- 
tion which  Cicero  did  not  deliver 
on  his  behalf  at  the.  trial,  but  wrote 
at  his  leisure  afterwards,  he  quietly 
observed,  "  If  Cicero  had  made  this 
speech,  I  should  not  be  eating 
oysters  now  at  Marseilles."  So  we, 
reading  this  admirable  expose  of  the 
vital  question  of  ironclad  shipbuild- 


368 


TJie  British  Navy. 


[March 


ing,  may  be  content  to  remark,  that 
if  these  views  had  only  prevailed  at 
an  earlier  date,  we  should  not  now 
be  boasting  of  thirty-six  broadside 
ironclads,  of  which  no  more  than 
fourteen  (if  so  many)  could  with 
any  prudence  be  commissioned  to 
fight  in  line  of  battle  against  a 
squadron  of  well  armed  Monitors. 
Here,  for  the  first  time  in  the  record 
of  official  utterances,  the  importance 
of  protecting  the  armament  equally 
with,  or  even  more  than,  the  water- 
line,  is  expressly  recognised  and  de- 
clared. 

After  listening  to  the  Controller 
and  Chief  Constructor  of  the  Navy, 
the  Committee  were  unanimously 
of  opinion  that  the  thickness  of  ar- 
mour required  to  meet  such  naval 
artillery  as  is  even  now  found  at 
sea  could  only  be  carried  by  a  ship 
of  a  low  freeboard;  and  there  was  a 
general  concurrence  that  the  height 
given  in  the  design  was  sufficient 
for  the  services  on  which  it  was  in- 
tended to  employ  the  ships ;  that 
for  such  services  the  absence  of 
masts  was  indispensable,  and  their 
presence  would  be  far  more  than 
counterbalanced  by  the  disadvan- 
tages attending  their  use.  "  Finally, 
it  was  urged  that  while  no  existing 
Monitor-ship  afforded  any  conclusive 
comparison  with  the  present  design, 
every  kind  of  experiment  with  Moni- 
tor-ships should  be  made,  the  present 
design  being  pushed  forward  as  ra- 
pidly as  possible." 

Shortly  after  the  adoption  of  the 
designs  appeared  Mr  Reed's  very 
fascinating  work  on  '  Our  Ironclad 
Ships/  written  probably  in  the  pre- 
vious year,  which  attempted  again 
to  show  the  superiority  of  broadsides 
to  turrets.  He  illustrated  his  work 
with  a  number  of  well-chosen  dia- 
grams, in  which  he  contrasted  the 
exceptionally  strong  parts  of  the 
Hercules  with  the  weak  parts  of  the 
American  Monitors.  What  the  well- 
informed  thought,  however,  of  his 
book,  and  what  of  his  last  perform- 


ances, is  well  shown  in  a  letter  of  Mr 
John  Ericsson,  from  New  York,  which 
appeared  in  the  '  Engineer '  of  Feb. 
18,  1870  ;  with  other  diagrams  con- 
trasting the  strength  of  one  system 
with  the  strength  of  the  other.  He 
writes : — 

"  The  turret-ships  of  the  U.S.  Navy 
are  now  sufficiently  numerous  to  defeat 
the  present  armoured  fleet  of  England,  if 
entering  our  harbours.  In  support  of  this 
assertion,  it  will  suffice  to  state  that 
twenty-four  of  the  English  ironclad  ships 
are  protected  with  only  44-inch  armour- 
plating  ;  the  average  thickness  of  plating 
of  the  forty-seven  vessels  tabulated  in  Mr 
Reed's  recent  work  being  only  5|-inch. 
Thus,  while  the  English  gunner  fights  he- 
hind  armour-plates  less  than  Q  inch  thick, 
the  American  Monitor  turret  affords  a 
protection  varying  from  11  to  15  inches 
thickness  of  iron.  .  .  .  Under  these 
circumstances,  the  security  of  the  mari- 
time cities  and  dockyards  of  the  United 
States  against  aggression  has  of  late 
years  been  deemed  assured.  But  the  means 
thus  relied  on  liave  suddenly  lost  their  po- 
tency. Mr  Reed  is  now  building  Monitors 
carrying  the  full  thickness  of  solid  ar- 
mour possible,  by  adopting  the  turret  and 
abandoning  freeboard  and  sails.  The 
Devastation  and  the  Thunderer  may  steam 
up  the  Hudson  in  spite  of  our  batteries 
and  our  Monitors,  and  dictate  terms  off 
Castle  Garden." 

Such  are  two  of  our  first-class 
turret-vessels,  and  the  third  differs 
from  them  in  being  of  somewhat 
larger  dimensions,  in  order  to  carry 
an  additonal  100  tons  of  coal,  and 
attain  one  knot  more  in  speed.  The 
former  are  to  steam  12  knots,  and  the 
latter  13  knots  an  hour.  When 
the  designer  of  the  successful  iron- 
clad fleet  of  the  United  States 
speaks  so  disparagingly  of  our  broad- 
sides, and  so  reverentially  of  our 
turret-ships  under  construction,  we 
may  well  regret  that  the  men  who 
could  design  the  latter  so  long  per- 
sisted in  building  nothing  but  the 
former.  Why  prefer  the  weak  de- 
fence to  the  strong? 

"  Of  two  such  lessons,  why  forget 
The  nobler  and  the  manlier  one  ?" 

It  is  not  as  if  the  low-lying  type 
of  heavily  -  armoured  ship  were  a 


1871.] 


Tlie  Britislt,  Navy. 


369 


new  discovery.  The  action  in  the 
Hampton  Roads  was  fought  in  1862 ; 
and  in  1868  the  navy  of  the  United 
States  contained  fifty  Monitors  of 
various  types,  ranging  from  1500  to 
7000  tons'  displacement.  The  Russian 
navy  at  the  same  date  comprised 
eleven  turret-ships  on  Cap  tain  Coles' s 
plan,  and  six  Monitors  of  the  Ameri- 
can type.  We  had  not  one  afloat 
unless  the  Royal  Sovereign  can  be 
so  called;  and  it  was  only  after 
vehement  pressure  from  both  sides  of 
the  House  of  Commons  that  Mr 
Corry's  Board  consented  to  order  the 
Glatton  and  the  Hotspur  to  be  built. 
Our  second  class  of  turret- vessels 
(according  to  the  Admiralty  classi- 
fication) consists  of  a  miscellaneous 
collection  of  powerful  ships,  differ- 
ing widely  from  one  another.  It 
comprises  the  Monarch,  a  full- 
rigged  cruiser  of  high  freeboard, 
protected  in  parts  by  7-inch  armour, 
with  a  speed  under  steam  of  14 
knots  an  hour,  and  an  armament  of 
four  12-inch  and  three  7-inch  guns. 
Next  comes  the  Glatton,  of  the 
Monitor  type,  protected  by  10  to 
12  inch  armour,  of  19  feet  draught 
of  water,  9  \  -knot  speed,  and  carry- 
ing two  12-inch  guns.  Next  the 
Hotspur,  a  low  freeboard  ram, 
with  a  fixed  turret  and  4  open  ports 
for  one  12-inch  gun,  21  feet  draught, 
12-knot  speed,  and  8  to  12  inch 
armour.  And  lastly,  the  Rupert, 
a  larger  Hotspur,  with  the  same 
speed  and  armament,  but  22£  feet 
draught,  and  10  to  14  inch  armour. 
While  the  offensive  power  of  all  these 
ships  is  very  great,  it  is  obvious 
that  the  Glatton  and  the  Rupert 
are  the  only  two  which  have  an 
equivalent  defensive  strength,  and 
that  the  high  freeboard  cruiser  is 
lamentably  weak  compared  with  any 
one  of  the  smaller  class.  She  has 
the  greater  speed,  and  could  there- 
fore take  up  her  own  position  ;  but 
having  sides  through  which  the  12- 
inch  shot  and  shell  would  crash, 
and  having  masts  and  yards  liable 


to  fall  and  encumber  her  screw,  she 
could  not,  without  infinite  risk, 
venture  to  encounter  her  less  pre- 
tentious class-mates.  The  Glatton 
and  Hotspur  are  less  than  half  the 
tonnage  of  the  Monarch,  and  cost 
one-third  of  her  expense,  and  for 
fighting  in  line  of  battle  are  far 
more  efficient  vessels.  A  compari- 
son of  them  will  readily  show  how 
speed  and  armour-plating  are  inter- 
changeable for  ships  of  the  same 
dimensions.  If  we  wish  more 
speed,  we  must  have  less  protection ; 
if  more  protection,  we  must  have 
less  speed. 

Our  third  class  of  turret -ships 
is  composed  of  four  similar  vessels 
of  the  Cyclops  class,  which  were 
ordered  in  August  last,  after  the 
breaking  out  of  the  present  war. 
They  are  said  to  be  nearly  ready, 
and  are  very  efficient  specimens  of 
the  breastwork  Monitor.  They  are 
similar  to  the  Cerberus,  which  was 
constructed  for  the  Melbourne  Gov- 
ernment, and  carry  four  12-inch 
guns  in  revolving  turrets,  have  a 
speed  of  10^  knots,  15  feet  draught 
of  water,  and  6  to  10  inch  armour. 
The  cost  of  each,  including  engines 
and  armament,  is  said  to  be  about 
£125,000. 

Our  fourth  class  of  turret-ships, 
the  Royal  Sovereign  and  the  Prince 
Albert,  have  4|  to  5|  inch  armour, 
a  speed  of  12  knots,  and  an  arma- 
ment of  9-inch  guns.  The  Wivern 
and  the  Scorpion  have  4J-inch 
armour,  10-knot  speed,  and  9-inch 
guns.  Of  these  ironclads,  the  Royal 
Sovereign,  by  the  absence  of  masts, 
is  incomparably  the  most  powerful. 

So  stands  the  comparison,  as  a 
mere  matter  of  builder's  measure- 
ment, between  our  36  broadside 
and  15  turret  ironclads ;  and  from 
that  point  of  view,  it  is  scarcely  any 
exaggeration  to  say  that,  while  there 
is  no  part  of  any  one  of  our  broad- 
side ships  (unless  we  except  the 
narrow  belt  of  the  Hercules  and 
Sultan)  which  could  not  be  readily 


370 


TJie  British  Navy. 


[March. 


penetrated  at  a  thousand  yards  by 
shell  from  every  gun  of  our  turrets, 
there  is  no  part  protecting  crew 
or  engines  or  water-line  of  our  ten 
best  turret-ironclads  which  could, 
at  the  same  distance,  be  penetrated 
by  shell  from  any  gun  which  our 
broadsides  float.  It  almost  comes 
to  this,  that  the  maximum  armour 
of  our  largest  broadsides  is  the  mini- 
mum armour  of  those  ten  turret- 
vessels.  This  of  itself,  all  other 
things  being  equal,  is  a  conclusive 
and  decisive  argument  in  favour  of 
the  latter  against  the  former  type  of 
ironclads.  But  the  relative  strength 
for  fighting  purposes  of  the  two 
types  is  by  no  means  adequately 
represented  by  such  a  comparison. 
The  principal  advantage  of  the  re- 
volving turret  as  a  platform  for 
artillery  resides  in  the  far  greater 
freedom  for  taking  aim,  which  the 
captain  of  the  gun  whose  head 
emerges  above  the  top  of  the  turret, 
enjoys  over  the  gunner  who  has  to 
aim  through  the  narrow  portholes 
with  which  our  broadside  ironclads 
are  provided.  Every  break  in  the 
armour-plated  side  of  a  ship  is  a 
necessary  element  of  weakness,  es- 
pecially in  the  present  day,  when 
breech -loading  rifles  from  the  en- 
emy's marines  may  be  expected  to 
pour  a  volley  through  every  open 
porthole.  There  is  no  way  of  meet- 
ing this  in  a  broadside,  except  by 
narrowing  the  size  of  the  porthole, 
and  providing  it  with  a  mantlet  to 
fall  over  the  opening  as  the  gun  is 
run  in.  But  any  one  who  has 
looked  through  the  portholes  of  the 
Hercules  or  Bellerophon  will  ap- 
preciate the  difficulty  which  the 
narrowing  of  the  field  of  view  has 
added  to  the  aim  of  the  gunner ; 
and  if  a  mantlet  were  used  of  the 
kind  proposed,  the  crowded  battery 
would  be  so  filled  with  smoke  as 
the  gun  ran  in,  as  to  add  still  fur- 
ther to  the  gunner's  trouble.  Fight- 
ing at  sea  is  very  different  from 
practice  at  Shoeburyness.  With 


the  ship  rolling  and  pitching,  it  is 
only  at  intervals  that  the  enemy  is 
visible  through  a  narrow  port.  The 
turret-ship  has  the  enormous  advan- 
tage, that  as  soon  as  the  gun  is 
discharged  the  turret  revolves,  and 
the  porthole  is  turned  away  during 
the  interval  of  loading ;  and  through- 
out the  entire  period  the  captain 
has  an  uninterrupted  view,  and  can 
watch  and  follow  the  enemy  wher- 
ever he  may  be. 

The  second  great  advantage  for 
fighting  in  line  of  battle  of  the  tur- 
ret-ship proper  over  the  broadside 
ironclad  is,  the  readiness  with  which 
the  former  system  lends  itself  to 
complete  protection  from  stem  to 
stern.  It  is  no  reproach  to  our 
naval  constructors  that  they  have 
left  our  broadsides  unprotected,  ex- 
cept at  the  water-line,  for  two-thirds 
of  the  ship's  area.  If  a  ship  is  to 
have  the  ordinary  height  above 
water,  and  to  be  of  any  ordinary 
dimensions,  it  is  impossible  to  do 
more  than  put  armour  around  the 
water-line,  and  build  in  the  centre  of 
the  ship  a  more  or  less  protected 
fortress.  But,  allowing  this,  it  is 
impossible  to  shut  our  eyes  to  the 
fact,  that  the  consequent  want  of 
protection  is  a  very  serious  element 
of  weakness.  It  is  as  though  we 
surrounded  our  land-fortifications  on 
the  outside  with  inflammable  dwel- 
lings for  the  garrison.  The  late  Con- 
troller of  the  Navy  has  told  us,  in  the 
passage  we  have  quoted  above,  that 
"  in  going  into  action,  the  first  order 
which  must  be  given  is  to  send 
everything  down  from  aloft,"  so  as 
to  diminish  the  danger  of  the  ship 
being  disabled  by  the  fall  of  masts 
and  spars  in  the  outset  of  the  engager 
ment.  It  would  be  well  if  the  captain 
in  command  had  power  to  order  the 
unprotected  bows  and  stern  in  like 
manner  to  be  removed  and  sent  be- 
low. Each  portion  of  the  ship  con- 
tains a  quantity  of  combustible 
woodwork,  and  there  is  absolutely 
nothing — as  the  experience  of  Lissa, 


1871.] 


The  British  Navy. 


371 


to  which  we  now  invite  attention, 
will  show — to  prevent  the  lighting 
up  of  a  conflagration  which  would 
drive   the   unhappy   vessel   out   of 
action  till  the  fire  was  extinguished. 
We  hoped  that  the  present  war 
between  France  and  Germany  might 
have  furnished  our  naval  architects 
and  sailors  with  illustrations  of  the 
weakness  of  partly-armoured  broad- 
sides.    As  it  is,  we  must  rely  on 
the   lessons   of  the  American  war, 
and   of  the   short  and  ill-contested 
fight    at    Lissa.      We  have  before 
us,    as   we  write,   the    official    ac- 
count  of    that    battle,    and    wish 
that    space    permitted    us    to    de- 
scribe its  movements  and  fortunes 
at  length.     We  have  been  told,  on 
the  authority  of  one  of  the  Austrian 
captains,   that   when    his    wooden 
broadside  ship  came  alongside  one 
of  the  finest  Italian  broadside  iron- 
clads, he  thought  that  wood  must 
give  way  to  iron,  and  that  the  last 
hour  of  his  good  ship  had  struck. 
The  sea  was  somewhat  rough,  but 
the  Italians  were  at  their  guns,  and 
delivered  two   concentrated  broad- 
sides at  the  wooden  ship   as    she 
passed  within   40  yards.     To   the 
amazement    of    the   Austrian   cap- 
tain, his  ship  was  not  once  touched : 
the  Italian  crew  fired  when  they 
saw  their  mark,  but  the  ship  was 
rolling,  and  one  broadside  discharge 
was  delivered  down  wards,  and  passed 
under  the  ship's  bottom;  the  other 
was  delivered  on  the  ascending  roll, 
and  passed  aloft  through  the  rigging. 
We  believe  that  under  like  circum- 
stances the  like  result  must  always 
follow ;  firing  through  a  narrow  port- 
hole, itself  in  motion,  must  always 
in  a  sea-way  be  liable  to  fail  in  this 
disastrous  manner.     Had  either  of 
these  ships  been  a  turret-vessel,  the 
captain   of   the    gun  would    have 
seen  his  adversary  before  the  ship 
reached  the  horizontal,  and  would 
have  been  ready  to  deliver  fire  when 
the  muzzle  was  opposite,  instead  of 
being  above  or  below  the  mark. 


The  battle  of  Lissa  signally  illus- 
trates the  other  danger  of  partly- 
armoured  broadside  ships.  The 
Palestro  was  an  ironclad  gunboat 
of  2000  tons,  carrying  four  guns, 
and  a  crew  of  250  men.  Although 
the  smallest  of  the  Italian  ironclads, 
she  was  still  a  ship  of  considerable 
proportions,  being  a  trifle  smaller 
than  the  Pallas  of  our  own  Navy, 
and  about  the  size  of  Nelson's  Vic- 
tory. She  formed  part  of  a  picked 
squadron  chosen  by  Admiral  Persa- 
no,  before  the  arrival  of  the  Austrian 
fleet,  to  attack  the  fortifications  of 
Port  San  Giorgio,  being  the  strong- 
est and  most  numerous  on  the  island 
of  Lissa.  The  Austrian  fleet,  con- 
sisting of  7  ironclads  and  15  wooden 
frigates,  bore  down  in  a  south-easter- 
ly direction,  making  for  the  island, 
with  the  ironclads  in  the  front  line 
of  battle,  and  the  wooden  frigates  in 
loose  order  behind  them.  The  Ital- 
ian fleet,  consisting  of  12  ironclads 
and  8  wooden  frigates,  steamed  in 
a  northerly  direction  so  as  to  cross 
their  path — the  ironclads  in  single 
file,  and  the  wooden  ships  at  some 
distance  in  the  rear.  At  11.15  A.  M. 
the  engagement  began.  The  first 
division  of  the  Austrian  ironclads 
fell  upon  the  second  division  of  the 
Italian  ironclads,  and  with  excellent 
judgment  concentrated  all  their  efforts 
against  the  flag-ship  Re  d'ltalia.  The 
Palestro,  which  was  next  in  position, 
hastened  to  the  rescue,  but  was 
struck  abaft  in  her  unarmoured  part 
by  a  shell,  which  set  her  on  fire, 
forcing  her  to  go  at  once  out  of 
action  in  the  hope  of  putting  out 
the  flames.  Another  Italian  ship 
came  up  and  tried  to  ram  the  Aus- 
trian ironclad  which  was  astern  of 
the  Re  d'ltalia,  but  she  eluded  the 
blow,  passed  across  the  Re  d'ltalia's 
stern,  raking  her  as  she  passed,  and 
disabling  her  rudder.  Then  the 
Ferdinand  Max,  the  Austrian  flag- 
ship, seized  the  opportunity,  ran 
full  at  the  Re  d'ltalia  with  her  spur 
and  sank  her.  Meanwliile,  the  Pa- 


372 


The  British  Navy. 


[March 


lestro,  her  stern  all  in  flame,  was 
steaming  at  full  speed  against  the 
wind,  to  prevent  the  fire  from  suffo- 
cating the  crew.  The  Austrian  fleet 
bore  on  for  Lissa,  their  object  being 
to  relieve  the  place,  and  not  to  fight 
a  naval  action ;  the  last  shot  was  fired 
at  12.20  P.M.,  but  before  the  fleets 
had  separated,  the  Palestro  blew  up, 
and  her  captain,  Chevellier  Capel- 
lini,  and  all  her  crew,  were  lost. 

The  tragic  fate  which  befell  the 
Italian  flag-ship  at  the  battle  of 
Lissa  has  led  many  officers  to  assert 
that  naval  engagements  in  future 
will  be  mainly  decided  by  ramming. 
One  thing  we  admit  as  certain,  that 
no  ship  yet  designed  could  stand 
the  shock  of  the  smallest  ram,  with- 
out a  large  hole  being  made  in  her 
hull  below  water;  and  this,  unless 
she  were  built  in  numerous  and  very 
efficient  water-tight  compartments, 
would  decide  her  fate  at  once.  But 
if  any  one  will  carefully  read  the 
account  of  the  '  Fatti  di  Lissa,'  pub- 
lished by  Admiral  Persano,  he  will 
perceive  the  extreme  difficulty  which 
was  experienced  by  both  Austrian 
and  Italian  captains  in  delivering 
against  a  ship  in  motion  the  fatal 
and  decisive  blow.  It  was  not  un- 
til the  rudder  of  the  Ee  d' Italia 
was  disabled,  that  the  Austrian  iron- 
clad was  able  to  ram  her.  This 
battle  of  one  hour's  duration  cannot 
be  quoted  as  decisive  testimony  of 
the  value  or  weakness  of  broadside 
ironclads;  but  a  careful  study  of  it 
seems  to  us  to  establish  two  points 
of  very  material  importance :  first, 
the  inaccuracy  of  broadside  fire ;  and 
secondly,  the  peculiar  dangers  of  a 
system  of  partial  armour-plating. 

Our  unarmoured  Navy  comprises 
twelve  old  line-of-battle  ships  and 
heavy  frigates  fit  for  service,  includ- 
ing the  Ariadne  and  Orlando,  of  1 3- 
knot  speed,  and  the  Mersey,  Duncan, 
and  Galatea,  of  12  to  12|  knots. 
In  addition,  we  have  the  Inconstant, 
an  iron  frigate  covered  with  wood, 
of  15-knot  speed,  carrying  9-inch 


guns ;  the  Active  and  the  Yolage, 
corvettes  of  similar  speed  and  con« 
struction,  carrying  7-inch  guns  ;  and 
fourteen  corvette  sloops  of  the 
Blanche  and  Druid  class,  with  13- 
knot  speed  ;  twelve  gunboats  of  the 
Lapwing  type,  with  11 -knot  speed  ; 
and  seventeen  new  type  composite 
gunboats,  with  10-knot  speed,  .all 
built  of  wood,  and  carrying  7-inch 
guns ;  and  others  of  the  old  type, 
including  eight  heavy  corvettes. 
The  total  of  our  unarmoured  fleet  is 
therefore  about  sixty-six  efficient 
vessels,  besides  a  number  of  old 
sloops  and  gunboats. 

It  only  remains  for  us  to  sum  up 
the  present  article  by  showing  how 
far  we  are  supplied  out  of  the  above 
lists  with  the  three  distinct  classes 
of  fighting  vessels  which  we  appear 
to  require  for  the  varied  duties  of 
peace  and  war. 

1st,  For  heavy-armoured  ships  of 
large  size  and  deep  draught,  fit  to 
fight  in  line  of  battle,  or  to  break 
into  an  enemy's  port  or  arsenal,  we 
have  in  the  Fury,  Devastation,  and 
Thunderer  (or  rather  we  shall,  when 
they  are  completed,  have),  admirable 
examples  ;  and  the  Hercules,  Sultan, 
Monarch,  Eupert,  Glatton,  and  Hot- 
spur, though  far  less  formidable,  are 
still  very  powerful  auxiliaries.  The 
broadside  ships  of  the  second  and 
third  class  might  also,  under  cer- 
tain circumstances,  and  in  an  in- 
ferior degree,  render  efficient  aid 
in  line  of  battle.  The  rest  of  our 
broadside  ironclad  fleet  could  not 
be  counted  on  for  better  service  in 
action  than  was  rendered  at  Lissa  by 
the  wooden  frigates  of  the  Austrian 
fleet.  They  carry,  as  those  frigates 
carried,  very  formidable  guns,  but 
their  defensive  properties  are  quite 
inadequate  to  meet  the  shock  of 
similar  artillery. 

We  think  that  the  Government 
ought  not  only  to  press  on  the  com- 
pletion of  our  three  first-class  turret- 
ironclads,  but  also  to  order,  if  neces- 
sary, from  the  private  shipbuilders, 


1871.] 


Tlie  British  Navy. 


373 


other  specimens  of  the  class,  so  as 
within  four  years  to  increase  the 
number  of  that  class  of  ships  to 
twelve.  And  we  would  certainly 
discontinue  the  building  of  any  new 
ironclads  of  the  first  or  second  class 
with  masts  or  sails. 

2dly,  It  is  in  small-armoured  ships 
of  light  draught  and  high  speed,  for 
the  protection  of  our  coasts  and 
important  strategical  positions  in 
the  colonies,  that  we  now  are  most 
deficient.  We  have  no  broadside 
ironclads,  except  the  five  weak  ships 
of  the  seventh  class,  which  draw  less 
than  16 £  feet  water;  and  none  other, 
except  the  Penelope,  which  draws 
less  than  21  feet  water.  Of  turret- 
ships,  we  have  the  four  new  ironclads 
of  the  Cyclops  class  ordered  in  Au- 
gust last — very  efficient  vessels,  both 
offensively  and  defensively,  but  de- 
signed to  have  15  feet  of  draught ; 
the  Wivern  and  Scorpion,  of  16  feet 
draught ;  and  the  Boyal  Sovereign 
and  Prince  Albert,  of  23  and  19£ 
feet  draught  respectively.  Apart 
from  all  other  considerations,  the 
depth  of  draught  incapacitates  these 
ships  from  service  in  shallow  waters. 
The  Eussian  Monitors  have  only 
10£  feet  draught,  and  are  very  for- 
midable craft  for  coast  attack  as  well 
as  coast  defence.  This,  indeed,  is 
a  point  to  be  always  borne  in  mind 
• — the  best  ships  for  coast  defence 
are  also  the  best  for  coast  attack. 

We  cannot  expect  impossibilities 
from  our  naval  architects,  but  there 
ought,  we  imagine,  to  be  no  diffi- 
culty in  supplying  us  with  vessels 
capable  of  steaming  10  knots  in 
all  weathers,  with  a  low  freeboard, 
heavy  armour,  and  one  if  not  two 
turrets  with  an  unobstructed  range 
of  fire.  They  should  not  exceed  10 
to  12  feet  draught  of  water.  By 
lowering  the  freeboard  of  the  Cy- 
clops class  from  3£  to  2  feet  of 
water,  and  dispensing,  if  necessary, 
with  one  of  the  turrets,  these  condi- 
tions ought  surely  to  be  attained. 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXV. 


We  want  of  this  class  of  ironclads 
at  least  20  for  home  service,  6  for 
the  Mediterranean,  6  in  the  East 
Indies,  1  in  the  Straits  of  Malacca, 
6  in  Australia,  2  at  Vancouver's 
Island,  and  6  in  the  West  Indies 
and  North  American  station,  mak- 
ing 47  in  all.  In  time  of  peace 
they  might  be  hauled  on  shore  or 
on  slips  and  preserved  from  decay  ; 
and  those  that  had  to  be  sent  to 
foreign  stations  could  easily  be  es- 
corted to  their  posts,  after  taking 
out  their  armament  for  safety.  In 
time  of  war  they  would  require  few 
seamen  to  manage  them,  their  guns 
being  worked  by  artillerymen  or 
volunteers  ;  and,  apart  from  the 
enormous  defensive  power  we  should 
possess  at  home  in  20  such  vessels, 
we  might,  in  fine  weather,  throw 
such  a  force  across  the  seas,  and  de- 
stroy any  enemy's  fleet  while  assem- 
bling for  the  invasion  of  our  coasts. 
With  such  a  naval  strength,  capable 
of  being  rapidly  increased  if  war 
broke  out,  it  would  be  absolute  in- 
sanity for  any  power  to  dream  of 
invading  our  country ;  and  the  ela- 
borate schemes  of  the  War  Office 
engineers  for  girdling  London  with 
a  circle  of  earthen  fortresses  might 
be  relegated  to  their  appropriate 
pigeon-holes. 

A  question  may  naturally  here 
be  asked,  What,  then,  are  we  to  do 
with  those  of  our  present  broadside 
ironclads  which  find  no  place  in  the 
above  programme,  either  of  offence 
or  of  defence  ?  The  difficulty  is  in- 
deed somewhat  similar  to  that  of 
the  Scotch  dramatic  author  who  was 
told  by  Garrick  on  one  occasion 
that  his  talents  did  not  lie  in  tra- 
gedy, and  on  another,  that  they  did 
not  lie  in  comedy,  and  thereupon 
logically  inquired,  "  Where  the  deil, 
then,  do  they  lie,  mon  ] "  There  are 
many  naval  officers  who  tell  us  that 
ships  like  the  Warrior,  Black  Prince, 
Eesistance,  Defence,  Hector,  and  Val- 
iant, are  a  delusion  and  a  snare ;  and 
2c 


374 


The  British  Navy. 


[March 


that  it  would  be  sound  policy  at  once 
to  sell  them,  or  to  sink  them  in  mid- 
Atlantic.  We  have  expressed  an 
opinion  above,  that  the  Warrior  and 
Black  Prince  would,  in  case  of  war, 
find  a  most  useful  occupation  in  pro- 
tecting our  commerce  against  the 
Alabamas  of  the  day.  Then-  speed  is 
greater  than  that  of  any  unarmoured 
ship  afloat,  unless  it  be  the  American 
Wampanoag  or  our  own  Inconstant 
But  as  to  our  other  broadside  iron- 
clads, which  are  not  suited  for 
the  line  of  battle,  and  are  not  in 
their  present  state  adapted  for  coast 
defence,  we  think  the  true  remedy 
is  to  cut  them  down  into  turret- 
ships  of  low  freeboard,  and  utilise 
the  weight  saved  by  the  removal  of 
their  masts  and  rigging,  and  reduc- 
tion of  height  above  water,  by  cover- 
ing them  from  stem  to  stern  with 
an  additional  coat  of  4  or  5  inches 
of  armour.  All  our  broadsides  of 
the  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth  classes, 
so  converted,  would  find  their  way 
into  the  second  and  third  classes  of 
turret-ships,  and  become  very  for- 
midable vessels ;  and  the  cost  of 
conversion  would  be  little  beyond 
the  labour,  as  they  would  them- 
selves furnish  the  additional  armour- 
plates  required. 

3dly,  In  respect  of  unarmoured 
corvettes  and  frigates,  though  fault 
may  be  found  with  the  Inconstant 
for  its  crankness,  and  with  the 
Blanche  and  Danae  class  for  their 
want  of  greater  speed,  we  believe 
that  we  stand  in  a  better  position 
than  the  United  States  or  any  other 
nation.  The  difficulty  of  building 
a  very  fast  unarmoured  ship  to  carry 
heavy  guns  appears  to  be  extreme. 
Either  she  must  be  of  wood — in 
which  case  she  is  not  strong  enough 
for  the  vibration  of  her  powerful 
engines ;  or  of  iron,  and  then  she 
rapidly  loses  speed  by  the  fouling 
of  her  bottom  ;  or  of  iron  covered 
with  wood,  like  the  Inconstant, 


Volage,  and  Active — a  very  costly 
method  of  construction,  which  is 
said  to  be  ill  adapted  for  the  im- 
pact of  shot  or  shell.  All  we  can 
say  is,  that  neither  the  Americans 
nor  ourselves,  nor  any  other  nation, 
have  yet  invented  a  perfect  type  of 
fast  unarmoured  men-of-war.  We 
stand,  however,  in  need  of  swift 
paddle-wheel  despatch-boats. 

In  the  face  of  the  troubled  state 
of  Europe,  with  interests  and  poli- 
tical objects  that  clash  in  the  East 
and  in  the  West — in  the  midst  of 
the  armed  rule  and  misrule  that  now 
agitate  the  nations — it  is  with  mingled 
feelings  of  remorse  and  relief  that  we 
survey  the  condition  of  the  British 
Navy.  With  remorse  we  contemplate 
the  wasted  time,  the  lost  opportuni- 
ties, the  lavished  treasure,  which  a 
few  self-willed  and  mistaken  men 
have  spent  in  the  creation  of  our 
broadside  ironclad  fleet.  With  re- 
lief we  recognise  that  before  it  was 
quite  too  late  a  new  course  was 
taken,  sound  principles  enunciated, 
a  different  type  selected,  and  a  class 
of  vessels  commenced  to  which  we 
can  with  confidence  and  security 
intrust  the  honour  of  the  British 
flag.  Vessels  like  our  broadside 
ironclads — of  which  the  best  you  can 
say  is,  that  where  all  such  ships  are 
defensively  weak,  ours  are  less  weak 
than  those  of  foreign  nations — are  not 
the  bulwarks  that  Britannia  needs. 
Already  the  naval  architects  and 
officers  of  Russia  and  the  United 
States  speak  of  our  strength  at  sea 
in  altered  terms.  They  know  the 
immense  resources  of  England,  and 
feel  that  now,  in  the  event  of  war, 
all  those  resources  would  without 
delay  be  turned  in  the  right  direc- 
tion. We  trust  that  this  may 
equally  happen  in  time  of  peace, 
and  that  a  retrospect  of  our  Navy 
in  the  year  1880  may  supply  mate- 
rials for  nothing  but  congratulation 
and  content. 


1871.] 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


375 


A  RETROSPECT   OF  THE  WAR. 


Go  to  the  geologist,  and  learn  how 
long  nature  spends  in  accumulating 
the  atoms  that  compose  a  continent. 
Bid  him  present  it  to  you  passing, 
after  it  is  first  formed,  through  its 
submerged,  glacial,  marshy  centu- 
ries, uninhabitable.  Ask  then  for 
the  slow  growth  by  which  man, 
made  master  of  the  land,  attains  to 
knowledge  and  civilisation.  After 
that  find  from  your  own  experience 
in  how  incredibly  short  a  time  man, 
with  his  evil  passions  aroused,  can 
reduce  the  fair  earth  to  a  desert, 
and  spread  havoc,  suffering,  want, 
and  death. 

Yea,  destruction  is  man's  most 
rapid  achievement.  Woe  to  this 
generation  that  it  should  know  the 
truth  so  well !  We  have  been  con- 
founded by  the  frequent  ruin ; 
stunned  repeatedly  by  shock  after 
shock.  Blood  and  destruction  are 
so  in  use,  and  dreadful  objects  so 
familiar,  that  we  have  ceased  to 
take  due  note  of  the  sequence  of 
events,  looking  always  for  the  next 
tidings,  and  turning  our  backs  upon 
the  past. 

How  pleasant  to  reflect  that  this 
feverish  period  seems  at  last  to  ap- 
proach its  term  !  We  may  contem- 
plate the  ferment  of  passion  as  a 
thing  that  has  bounds.  It  is  no 
longer  the  daily  life  of  waiting  for 
unknown  issues,  but  there  is  an 
accomplished  convulsion,  a  compre- 
hended epoch  to  look  back  upon  and 
take  account  of.  While  history  was 
a-making,  we  could  only  gaze  and 
marvel ;  but  now  that  this  chapter 
is  complete,  or  nearly  so,  let  us 
know  the  luxury  of  reflection.  We 
feel  that  we  have  lived  through 
stirring  times  :  we  will  meditate  on 
our  catalogue  of  events. 

It  is  difficult  to  recall  the  aspect 
•which  aiiairs  bore  in  the  first  half 


of  1870.  So  rudely  was  the  repose 
of  that  period  disturbed,  such  has 
been  the  excitement  ever  since,  that 
quiet  seems  an  abnormal  condition, 
which  we  may  never  witness  again. 
That  first  note  of  war,  how  we  re- 
fused to  believe  that  it  was  real ! 
How  we  hugged  the  idea  that  the 
quarrel  would  be  composed  after  a 
little  altercation,  as  so  many  others 
had  been  !  And  when  it  became 
only  too  certain  that  war  was  at 
hand,  how  our  minds  failed  to  un- 
derstand the  feelings  which,  with- 
out tangible  ground  of  quarrel, 
could  impel  two  powerful  and  pros- 
perous nations  to  deadly  combat. 
England  stood  aloof  from  the  first, 
shocked  at  the  reckless  behaviour  of 
both  sides;  and  history  will  con- 
demn, as  England  did,  this  cold- 
blooded, this  gigantic  crime.  But 
there  was  no  possibility  of  staying 
the  combatants  in  the  fierceness 
of  their  pride.  Europe  could  only 
look  on  aghast  and  shudder  as  she 
thought  of  the  future.  France — 
impetuous,  romantic  France — will 
bear  all  before  her  in  the  first  as- 
sault :  sturdy,  phlegmatic  Prussia 
may  endure  until  the  fine  point  of 
chivalry  shall  be  blunted,  and  then, 
perhaps,  if  there  be  still  sufficient  life 
in  her,  she  will  turn  and  overcome. 
This  was  the  prophecy  of  onlookers  ; 
Prussia  herself  did  not  hope  for  a 
much  better  result.  She  required 
time,  she  said,  to  assemble  her 
powers,  while  the  enemy  was  already 
prepared,  so  that  the  onset  would 
take  place  on  her  own  soil.  These 
forecasts  were  made  while  the  hosts 
assembled,  on  both  sides.  But  the 
very  first  event  after  the  irrevocable 
declaration  of  war  was  ominous. 
Bavaria  and  Wirtemberg  both  cast 
in  their  lot  with  Prussia.  France 
had  fondly  thought  the  two  states 


376 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


[March 


adverse  at  heart  to  Prussia,  and  had 
hoped  that  her  own  powerful  inter- 
ference would  induce  them  to  de- 
clare their  opposition.  It  was  a 
disappointment  ;  but  what  of  that  1 
"Was  not  France  all-sufficient  in  her- 
self? 

And  then  the  armies  gathered : 
the  French,  with  much  demonstra- 
tion, centring  on  Metz ;  the  Ger- 
mans moving  mysteriously  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Rhine,  then  push- 
ing some  of  their  forces  over  the 
river,  and  along  the  boundary  of  the 
Palatinate  and  the  Rhenish  province 
as  far  as  Treves.  To  this  distribu- 
tion the  French  answered  by  ex- 
tending from  Metz  through  Sarre- 
guemines,  Bitsehe,  Weissembourg, 
and  then  bending  back  a  little,  so 
as  to  rest  upon  the  Rhine  at  Lauter- 
burg  and  -Selz.  M'Mahon's  division 
was  at  Strasbourg,  Douay's  at  Bel- 
fort.  Canrobert  with  a  division 
was  at  Chalons,  and  the  Imperial 
Guard  under  Bourbaki  at  Nancy. 

Europe  still  looked  on,  breathless 
with  expectation,  and  at  the  same 
time  astonished  at  the  huge  musters 
which  it  taxed  the  imagination  to 
conceive,  somewhere  about  300,000 
on  each  side  —  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  men, 

"  All  furnished,  all  in  arms, 

All  plumed,  lik«  estridges  that  with  the 

wind 

Bated,  like  eagles  haying  lately  bathed ; 
Glittering  in  golden  coats  like  images ; 
As  full  of  spirit  .as  the  month  of  May, 
And  gorgeous  as  the  sun  at  midsummer." 

These  were  the  hosts  destined  to 
mar  the  fair  face  of  France;  but  by 
us  believed  to  have  a  different  mis- 
sion, as  we  wondered  why  the  on- 
set was  delayed.  For  the  war  did 
pause,  and  none  could  say  why.  The 
French  Emperor,  we  know,  intended 
to  carry  the  war  into  Germany,  for 
he  told  his  army  that  the  scene  of 
their  operations  would  be  a  land 
"  full  of  fortresses  and  obstacles." 
And  it  was  undoubtedly  open  to 
him  to  pierce  the  long  German  lines 
which,  after  the  French  were  already 


assembled  in  force  around  Metz, 
manned,  and  probably  but  imper- 
fectly manned,  the  right  bank  of  the 
Rhine  south  of  Carlsruhe,  and  the 
boundary  which  divides  Prussia 
from  the  north  of  France.  He  did 
not  strike  soon  nor  strike  hard.  He 
did  not  strike  at  all,  save  in  a  con- 
temptible coup  de  theatre  perpetrated 
at  Saarbruck,  to  baptise,  as  he  said, 
his  tender  son  with  fire.  But  he 
dealt  with  an  enemy  who  soon  tired 
of  waiting  to  be  attacked — who, 
though  prepared  in  the  first  instance 
for  defence,  knew  how,  with  a 
in  aster's  skill,  to  reverse  suddenly 
the  plan  of  his  campaign,  and  dare 
the  attack  if  his  adversary  would 
not.  So  one  morning — it  was  on  the 
4th  of  August — while  the  pens  of 
many  wiseacres  were  explaining  to 
the  world  how  the  delay  was  neces- 
sary in  these  days  of  great  arma- 
ments, and  by  no  means  a  circum- 
stance to  furnish  an  augury,  the 
Crown  Prince  of  Prussia,  having 
broken  into  French  territory,  struck 
suddenly  at  and  defeated  the  divi- 
sion of  General  Abel  Douay  at 
Weissembourg,  slaying  the  com- 
mander and  capturing  a  gun.  Mar- 
shal M'Mahon's  corps  was  moving 
rapidly  northward  from  Strasbourg  : 
Abel  Douay  commanded  M'Mahon's 
leading  division.  The  slaughter  was 
considerable,  and  five  hundred  un- 
wounded  French  were  made  prisoners. 
Yet  no  one  saw  in  this  event  cause 
for  altering  the  preconceived  idea  of 
the  course  of  affairs.  M'Mahon  was 
said  to  be  coming  up  in  strength  to 
avenge  Douay;  and  the  talk  was 
still,  for  a  day,  of  where  Napoleon 
would  break  the  German  line.  And 
yet  Weissembourg  was  a  field  of 
fate.  There  rolled  the  first  wave  of 
a  bloody  tide  which  never  ceased  to 
flow  till  gasping  France  sought  a 
truce  to  realise  her  ruin  and  hear 
the  victor's  demands.  There  man 
gave  an  earnest  of  his  readiness  to 
destroy.  He  did  not  devastate  the 
laud  as  yet :  he  showed  only  his 


1871.] 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


377 


ruthless  regard  of  the  being  whose 
coming  on  the  earth  the  voice  of 
the  Creator  had  heralded,  saying, 
"  Let  us  make  man  in  our  image  :  " 
he  dispelled  only  the  breath  which 
God  had  breathed  into  man's  nostrils; 
and  for  what  end  1 

Those  who  thought  the  fight  of 
Weissembourg  but  an  accident,  of 
small  account  in  the  great  war  that  was 
to  be,  did  not  wait  long  to  be  con- 
vinced of  their  error.  The  appear- 
ance of  the  Crown  Prince  at  Weiss- 
embourg was  part  of  a  well-considered 
movement.  It  was  an  attack  on  the 
French  right — on  that  flank  to  guard 
which  M'Mahon  was  hurrying  up 
from  Strasbourg,  a  day  too  late. 
After  his  victory  the  Crown  Prince 
moved  south  along  the  river's  bank. 
M'Mahon  also  moved  south  on 
another  line,  having  met  the  fugi- 
tives from  Weissembourg,  and  he  sent 
for  succour  to  General  de  Failly, 
who  commanded  the  nearest  corps 
on  the  west,  apparently  recognising 
the  danger  of  his  situation,  and  the 
importance  of  holding  his  ground. 
For  the  Crown  Prince  turning  sud- 
denly to  his  right,  found  M'Mahon 
at  Woerth  on  the  6th  of  August, 
and  fell  upon  him  there.  The 
French  had  the  advantage  of  posi- 
tion, but  they  were  inferior  in  num- 
bers. The  recent  affair  at  Weissem- 
bourg operated  on  both  sides  in  fa- 
vour of  the  Prussians.  This,  the 
best-fought  battle  of  the  war,  lasted 
all  day.  It  was  a  well-contested 
field.  There  was  tactical  ingenuity 
displayed.  Fortune  inclined  now 
this  way,  now  that.  The  result 
was  not  certain  from  the  first.  And 
a  little  halo  surrounds  this  action, 
glittering  about  the  devotion  of 
M'Mahon,  who  clearly  saw  that 
much  (he  did  not  know  how  much) 
depended  on  his  maintaining  the 
position.  He  might  have  retreated, 
but  to  check  there  the  Crown  Prince, 
who  was  operating  on  the  flank  of 
their  general  position,  was  most  im- 
portant. De  Failly,  on  whom  he 


would  have  fallen  back,  had  an 
enemy  watching  him  in  front,  who 
by  pressing  him  there  while  the 
Crown  Prince  should  be  driving  in 
M'Mahon  upon  his  flank,  would 
have  placed  the  two  generals  in  a 
position  more  disadvantageous  than 
that  in  which  M'Mahon  stood  alone 
at  Woerth.  It  would  seem,  there- 
fore, that  M'Mahon  dad  his  devoir 
in  engaging  a  superior  foe,  taking 
his  chance  of  any  help  which  de 
Failly  might  be  able  to  despatch  in 
answer  to  his  appeal.  One  of  de  Fail- 
ly's  divisions  did,  it  is  understood, 
come  up  before  the  tight  was  over — 
that  is  to  say,  before  the  French 
were  utterly  beaten,  as  they  were  on 
the  6th,  at  evening.  Thus  the  Ger- 
man army  were  able  to  roll  up  their 
adversaries  >  for  as  the  French  were 
not  prompt  to  use  the  opportunity 
of  breaking  somewhere  through  the 
long  German  lines,  they  were  sub- 
jected to  the  compressing  process  to 
which  an  extended  force  can  subject 
a  more  condensed  one,  if  allowed  to 
have  its  way. 

But  the  story  of  Woerth  is  only 
half  the  dismal  story  of  the  Sixth  of 
August.  The  Emperor  Napoleon 
had  heard  the  day  before  of  the 
affair  at  Weissembourg,  andr  becom- 
ing alarmed,  thought  fit  to  order  a 
retrograde  movement — to  what  ex- 
tent we  do  not  know,  neither  is  that 
point  important,  since  the  Germans, 
and  not  he,  determined  how  far  it 
should  extend.  What  he  did  not 
order,  or  rather  what  he  did  not 
secure,  was  proper  communications 
and  concerted  action  between  the 
parts  of  his  army.  This  disjointed 
condition,  and  the  alarm  of  the  day 
before,  account  for  M'Mahon  having 
received  no  help  in  his  gallant  and 
most  important  struggle.  And  it 
would  have  been  a  sufficiently  bad 
business  if  the  disaster  at  Woerth 
had  been  the  only  evil  of  the  day. 
But,  if  the  French  were  acting  with- 
out concert,  the  Germans'  right  hand 
probably  knew  what  their  left  hand 


378 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


[March 


was  doing.  So  when  the  Emperor 
ordered  his  troops  at  Saarbruck  to 
withdraw,  the  Germans  followed  for 
a  while  the  retiring  force,  and  kept 
close  up  to  them,  using  the  cover  of 
the  woods  to  conceal  their  numbers. 
On  the  morning  of  the  6th,  the 
French,  observing  some  sign  of  the 
enemy,  began  to  feel  about,  and 
soon  found  to  their  surprise  that 
they  had  been  closely  followed  by 
some  40,000  or  50,000  men,  not 
simply  by  an  advanced  brigade. 
They  had,  however,  a  fine  position 
on  the  height  of  Spichern  and  on  a 
part  of  the  heights  of  Saarbruck, 
where  one  is  fain  to  think  that  they 
ought  to  have  defended  themselves 
successfully.  The  Prussians  attacked 
in  great  force  early  in  the  afternoon  ; 
reinforcements  came  up  on  both 
sides ;  the  ground  in  places  was 
hotly  contested  :  but  the  Prussian 
artillery  did  wonders  ;  Prussian 
tactics  carefully  applied  in  the  heat 
of  battle  secured  advantage  after  ad- 
vantage ;  the  heights  were  stormed 
and  carried  with  great  slaughter; 
and  by  nightfall  the  French  corps 
(JCarmee  (General  Froissard's)  was 
retreating  along  its  whole  line. 

This  disaster  might  have  been  en- 
dured, or  possibly  retrieved,  but  for 
the  tidings  which  the  same  night 
reached  the  Emperor  of  M'Mahon's 
defeat  at  Woerth.  That  was  the 
top  rung  of  a  treacherous  ladder, 
which,  slipping  from  its  side-hold, 
the  Empire  came  hurrying  down, 
plunge  after  plunge,  each  step  giving 
way  as  it  was  touched,  the  supports 
drawing  asunder,  and  the  whole 
fabric  dissolving  with  rattle  and 
confusion.  Had  that  upper  rail 
held  by  only  the  narrowest  bearing, 
ruin  might  have  been  averted.  We 
do  not  learn  that  after  the  two 
shocks  of  the  6th  of  August  the 
Emperor  had  any  resource,  or  was 
equal  to  an  effort  for  deliverance. 
He  simply  ran  for  it,  his  whole 
army,  of  which  several  corps  had 
never  yet  been  engaged,  hurrying 


towards  Metz  without  any  object 
that  has  transpired,  except  that  of 
getting  quickly  out  of  the  way  of 
their  pursuers.  Communication  with 
M'Mahon  was  interrupted,  so  that 
there  was  not  concert  in  even  this 
sad  retreat.  One  cannot  contemplate 
the  case  without  being  carried  back 
to  days  when  French  armies,  in  ten- 
fold severer  straits,  lost  neither  head 
nor  heart.  A  fraction  of  the  spirit 
which  won  the  bridge  of  Lodi,  re- 
trieved Marengo,  and,  undaunted  by 
the  crushing  misfortune  of  Aspern, 
dared  the  fortune  of  war  again,  and 
won  at  Wagram,  would  have  pre- 
vented this  discreditable  retreat. 
But  now  it  seemed  that  there  had 
been  neither  a  well-devised  plan  at 
setting  out,  nor  the  ability  to  de- 
cide and  act  according  to  the  cas- 
ualties of  the  war.  NOAV  began 
in  earnest  the  woes  of  the  civil 
population  in  the  north-west  of 
France.  Two  immense  armies  were 
sweeping  over  the  villages  and 
fields,  destroying  or  consuming  the 
ripe  harvest,  and  spreading  con- 
sternation and  ruin.  The  con- 
queror was  a  little  modest  and  re- 
morseful as  yet,  but  he  soon  learned 
how  to  make  the  civil  population 
feel  the  weight  of  his  hand. 

"  All  may  yet  be  retrieved,"  said 
the  Emperor,  in  communicating  his 
reverses  to  Paris ;  and  the  expres- 
sion coming  from  a  leader  more  than 
half  of  whose  forces  had  never  yet 
come  into  collision  with  the  enemy, 
seemed  to  show  how  little  equal  he 
was  to  the  curing  of  these  ills  or 
the  avoidance  of  worse.  His  words, 
if  intended  to  carry  comfort,  were  in- 
terpreted in  his  capital  in  the  darkest 
sense.  His  Ministers,  unable  to  face 
the  excited  citizens,  resigned,  and 
were  replaced  by  an  incapable  set, 
remarkable  for  the  facility  with 
which  they  believed  impossible 
fables,  and  the  mad  design  on  the 
success  of  which  they  staked  the 
fate  of  the  Empire.  The  Empress- 
Regent,  who  showed  more  sense 


1871.] 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


and  firmness  than  her  advisers,  was 
greatly  to  be  pitied. 

The  retreat  of  the  French  armies 
was  without  order,  without  definite 
design,  and  under  no  fixed  control. 
The  generals  commanding  corps  d'- 
armee  acted  much  as  to  each  seemed 
good  in  his  own  eyes.  It  was  an 
instinct  rather  than  concert  among 
them  which  directed  the  march  of 
the  whole  on  the  Moselle.  In  the 
midst  of  this  confusion  the  Emperor 
relinquished  the  command-in-chief 
in  the  field,  and  Marshal  Bazaine 
assumed  that  office.  It  seems  to 
be  a  necessity  in  France  to  make  a 
change  of  directors  at  a  time  of  peril. 
They  have  but  one  remedy  for  all 
ills,  civil  or  military — revolution. 
It  has  not  worked  so  happily  in 
their  case  as  to  encourage  other 
peoples  to  adopt  it. 

Marshal  M'Mahon,  in  his  retreat 
from  Woerth,  effected  communica- 
tion with  de  Failly,  and  these  two 
leaders  retreated  by  different  roads 
upon  Nancy,  where  Marshal  Can- 
robert  lay  with  50,000  men.  M'- 
Mahon  and  de  Failly  were  thought 
to  be  bringing  50,000  more,  and 
there  was  much  talk  of  defending 
the  passes  of  the  Vosges,  when  the 
Prussians — fondly  represented  as 
being  crippled  by  their  victories — 
should  summon  energy  to  come  up. 
But  this  was  only  a  stave  of  the 
dislocated  ladder.  No  stand  was 
made,  and  the  beaten  French  retired 
upon  Nancy.  There  was  sounding 
talk,  too,  about  a  great  battle  to  be 
fought  before  Metz,  which  was  an- 
other stave  that  yielded  to  the 
slightest  pressure.  With  their  own 
goodwill  the  French  would  have 
fought  no  battle  before  or  near 
Metz.  They  left  off  talking  of  a 
battle  on  the  Moselle,  but  were  loud 
now  concerning  the  next  step  of  the 
ladder,  which  was  Verdun.  On 
Verdun  accordingly  the  whole  Im- 
perial army  was  to  concentrate, 
Bazaine  retreating  from  Metz,  and 
Canrobert  and  M'Mahon  from 


Nancy,  and  then 


379 

But  the 


armies  of  M'Mahon  and  Bazaine 
were  not  destined  again  to  join 
each  other.  The  former  continued 
his  retreat  to  Chalons,  and  at  last 
to  Eheims,  on  the  way  to  Paris ; 
but  the  latter  was  not  permitted  to 
move  beyond  Metz  in  the  direction 
of  the  capital.  He  set  out,  it  is 
true,  but  was  encountered  by  the 
Prussian  armies  which,  on  the  14th, 
16th,  and  18th  August,  fought  with 
him  furiously.  The  French  claimed 
to  have  been  victorious  on  the  two 
first  days ;  but,  whatever  damage 
they  may  have  inflicted  upon  their 
enemies,  they  were  balked  of  their 
westward  retreat,  and  therefore 
weighted  with  the  consequences  of 
defeat.  After  the  severe  action  of 
the  18th,  which  they  can  scarcely 
pretend  to  have  won,  they  were  fain 
to  seek  the  shelter  of  the  guns  of 
Metz  :  a  Prussian  army  of  200,000 
men  remained  to  observe  and  be- 
leaguer them  there ;  while  the  army 
of  the  Crown  Prince,  and  a  portion 
of  that  which  had  pursued  the  Em- 
peror to  Metz,  steadily  followed  on 
toward  Paris. 

From  the  enormous  forces  which 
the  Germans  had  in  the  field,  it  is 
certain  that  reinforcements  from  be- 
yond the  Rhine  were  continually 
coming  up  to  them.  Notwithstand- 
ing battles  and  marches,  their  armies 
on  the  theatre  of  war  were  more  nu- 
merous now  than  when  the  rivals, 
before  a  blow  was  struck,  were  fac- 
ing each  other  on  the  frontier. 
They  entered  the  French  territory 
with  a  perfect  provision  for  main- 
taining themselves  there,  and  for 
retreating  in  safety  upon  their  own 
land,  if  retreat  should  be  necessary. 
Everything  seems  to  have  been  pro- 
vided for;  the  co-operation  between 
the  different  branches  of  the  army 
was  perfect;  and  the  discipline  and 
organisation  of  the  immense  host 
was  more  remarkable  than  its  suc- 
cesses. The  King,  on  crossing  the 
border,  issued  a  proclamation  to  the 


•  A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


[March 


French  people,  wherein  he  said  that 
he  made  war  with  the  French  Em- 
peror and  the  French  army,  but  that 
French  citizens  should  receive  his 
protection  as  long  as  they  did  not 
render  themselves  unworthy  of  it  by 
hostile  attempts.  Reading  this  docu- 
ment by  the  light  of  subsequent 
events,  it  would  seem  to  have  been 
a  very  difficult  task  indeed  for  a 
Frenchman  to  purge  himself  of  the 
unworthiuess  which  it  had  in  view, 
and  which,  to  judge  from  the  uni- 
versality of  punishment,  must  have 
been  like  original  sin. 

Just  before  the  battles  at  Metz,  a 
German  army  sat  down  before  Stras- 
bourg, thus  neutralising  the  force  in 
that  city ;  in  observation  also  of 
Bitsche  and  Phalsburg,  and  other 
strong  places  which  they  were  ob- 
liged to  pass,  they  left  adequate  de- 
tachments. Indeed,  the  keeping 
open  theircommunications  must  have 
employed  troops  enough  to  have 
composed  what  the  last  generation 
would  have  considered  a  large  army. 

While  the  retreat  on  Paris  was 
being  made,  the  Ministers  of  the 
Empress  -  Regent  were  continually 
receiving  or  inventing  most  favour- 
able intelligence,  and  devising  the 
sagest  plans,  which  they  were  com- 
pelled to  keep  secret  lest  the  enemy 
should  get  a  suspicion  of  them,  and 
so  escape  the  ruin  which  was  being 
made  ready  for  him.  Announce- 
ments and  promises  were  made  so 
often  while  affairs  showed  no  sign  of 
mending,  that  the  people  grew  in- 
credulous :  whereupon  it  became 
necessary  to  do  something  at  once ; 
and  a  plan  was  conceived,  which 
for  its  folly  was  quite  worthy  of  a 
place  in  the  history  of  this  French 
campaign.  Marshal  M'Mahon  was 
to  be  reinforced  from  Paris,  then  to 
slip  away  to  the  north,  gain  a  day's 
or  two  days'  march  upon  the  Prus- 
sians, turn  their  right  flank,  drop 
down  by  Thionville  on  Metz,  and 
liberate  Bazaine.  ThefirstNapoleon, 
by  profound  ruses  de  guerre,  by  in- 


defatigable exertions,  and  by  work- 
ing according  to  the  nicest  calcula- 
tions, was  capable  of  carrying  out 
such  a  design.  But  with  such 
generals  and  such  want  of  enterprise 
as  were  now  the  fashion — above  all, 
with  such  a  well-appointed  watchful 
enemy,  how  could  such  an  attempt 
succeed  1  A  god  had  decreed  the 
ruin  of  a  great  French  army,  and 
sent  this  mad  conception  to  produce 
that  end. 

Marshal  M'Mahon  reached  Rheims 
before  he  diverged  from  the  route 
to  Paris ;  for,  after  fixing  the  great 
battle  of  deliverance  first  at  Verdun, 
then  at  Chalons,  then  at  Rheims, 
the  staves  of  the  ladder  had  suc- 
cessively given  way,  and  no  stand 
at  all  was  made.  De  Failly  wae 
with  M'Mahon,  and  reinforcements 
from  Paris  and  the  west  —  addi- 
tions which  made  his  army  up  to 
some  120,000  men.  If  they  had 
marched  as  straight  upon  Metz  as 
the  roads  would  permit,  their  pur- 
suers could  reach  the  same  fortress 
by  a  shorter  route.  But  M'Mahon's 
march  was  to  be  on  a  loop,  round 
the  flank  of  the  Germans,  and,  as 
the  design  has  been  stated,  he  was 
to  be  round  the  bend  and  between 
them  and  Metz  before  they  were 
aware  of  him — that  is  to  say,  Von 
Moltke,  who  had  not  been  shown 
to  have  made  a  blunder  or  to  have 
overlooked  a  possible  contingency 
since  the  war  began,  was  to  trudge 
innocently  along  with  his  face  to 
Paris  while  the  astute  M'Mahon 
should  be  circumventing  him.  Not 
an  effort  is  known  to  have  been 
made  to  deceive  or  amuse  the  Prus- 
sians. The  scheme  makes  one  think 
again  of  nursery  days — "You  mustn't 
see  till  I'm  over  there,  and  then  you 
must  turn  round  and  be  caught." 
The  mere  rashness  of  M'Mahon's 
move  did,  however,  gain  for  him 
some  advantage  in  point  of  time. 
The  Germans,  never  conceiving  such 
folly,  certainly  did  continue  their 
westward  march  after  M'Mahon 


1871.] 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


381 


had  turned  his  columns  to  the 
north.  Paris  was  in  the  secret. 
Paris  knew  of,  and  exulted  in,  the 
masterly  stratagem.  And,  when 
M'Mahon  was  known  to  he  some 
thirty-six  hours  in  advance,  there 
was  no  further  concealment ;  the 
rescue  of  Bazaine  and  the  annihila- 
tion of  the  Prussians  were  discount- 
ed at  once  on  the  Boulevards — and 
in  other  places  too,  where  men  could 
yet  he  misled  by  French  assurance. 

When  Wellington  at  Salamanca 
saw  Marmont's  circuitous  move,  he 
is  said  to  have  exclaimed,  "  Now  I 
have  him  ! "  Whatever  Von  Moltke 
said  when  he  heard  of  M'Mahon's 
flitting,  he  too  must  have  felt  that 
he  was  sure  of  his  quarry ;  for  he 
had  not  waited  till  to-day  to  guard 
the  northern  passage.  That  some 
force  from  the  north  or  west  might 
try  the  passage  hy  Eethel,  Mont- 
medy,  and  Briey,  was  an  obvious 
danger ;  and  it  had  been  met  by 
the  formation  of  a  fourth  German 
army  under  the  Crown  Prince  of 
Saxony,  who  was  already  guarding 
the  ground  when  M'Mahon  set  off 
to  traverse  it.  And  the  Crown 
Prince  of  Prussia  lost  no  time  after 
he  heard  of  the  French  army's  al- 
tered course  in  striking  north  after 
it  and  ascertaining  its  movements. 
M'Mahon  could  not  have  hoped  for 
success  except  his  movements  should 
be  very  rapid ;  and  yet  he  did  not 
advance  with  celerity.  It  was  a 
bungling  expedition  from  first  to 
last ;  and  the  poor,  blundering,  and 
now  almost  unnoticed  Emperor  fell 
in  with  it  somewhere  on  its  march, 
and  participated  in.  its  evil  for- 
tune. 

M'Mahon's  march  was  on  Mont- 
medy.  He  left  Rheims  on  22d 
August.  Waiting  for  him  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Meuse,  and  watch- 
ing the  line  between  Sedan  and 
Verdun,  lay  the  Saxon  Prince; 
coming  rapidly  up  from  the  south, 
so  as  to  cut  across  his  line  of  march, 
spurred  the  Prince  of  Prussia. 


There  was  not  an  evidence  of 
strategic  ability  or  of  ordinary 
prudence  on  the  part  of  the 
French  General  in  this  supreme 
crisis.  If  he  could  have  managed 
to  throw  his  whole  force  on  one  of 
the  princes  there  might  have  been 
some  chance  of  escape  for  him  ;  but 
such  a  course  was  far  beyond  his 
achievement.  The  disastrous  events 
of  the  30th  and  31st  August,  and  of 
the  1st  September,  have  been  detailed 
so  often  and  so  minutely,  that  it  is 
needless  to  repeat  them  here.  M'Ma- 
hon with  a  part  of  his  force  crossed 
the  Meuse  on  the  29th;  on  the  30th, 
meeting  the  Saxon  Prince  near  Car- 
ignan,  he  was  stopped  and  then 
pushed  back  after  a  fierce  encounter. 
On  the  30th  also,  part  of  his  force 
which  was  yet  on  the  left  bank  of 
the  river,  was  taken  in  flank  and 
beaten  by  a  detachment  from  the 
Saxon  Prince's  army,  joined  with  the 
advanced  divisions  of  the  Crown 
Prince  of  Prussia,  which  had  by  this 
time  come  up.  On  the  31st  there 
was  some  fighting  ;  but  the  impor- 
tant event  of  that  day  was  the  arrival 
of  the  King  and  the  Crown  Prince 
of  Prussia  with  numerous  forces, 
which  they  spread  out  on  the  flanks 
of  the  French  so  as  to  leave  only  a 
retreat  in  a  north  or  north-west  di- 
rection possible.  And  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  1st  September  the  Prus- 
sian line  was  still  further  extended 
round  the  flanks,  so  as  completely  to 
hem  the  French  army  in.  There 
was  a  battle  of  a  day's  duration  : 
M'Mahon  was  severely  wounded ; 
his  army  was  thoroughly  beaten  in 
upon  Sedan ;  the  victorious  Prus- 
sians, posted  in  overwhelming  num- 
bers all  round,  left  to  the  beaten 
troops  of  the  Empire  no  chance  of 
escape.  Then  followed  the  catas- 
trophe. The  Emperor  and  all  that 
remained  of  what  had  been  an  army 
of  120,000  men,  surrendered  them- 
selves prisoners  of  war. 

So  prepared  for  all  accidents  of 
war  was  the  Prussian  army — so  thor- 


382 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


[March 


oughly  was  it  disciplined — that  its 
marvellous  successes  did  not  embar- 
rass it  or  shake  its  steadiness  in  the 
least.  While  an  appointed  staff  saw 
to  the  disposal  of  the  captives  and 
the  material  prize,  a  brief  rest  of 
only  two  days  was  all  that  was  allot- 
ted to  the  victors  after  their  hard 
and  most  profitable  work.  The  4th 
of  September  showed  the  spectacle 
of  these  magnificent  troops — more  to 
be  admired  for  their  rigorous  obedi- 
ence than  for  their  deeds  of  valour 
— marching  again  in  dense  columns 
upon  Paris,  in  front  of  which  city 
they  arrived  about  the  14th  of  the 
month,  there  being  no  longer  a 
hostile  army  to  bar  their  progress. 

Here  ends  the  first  most  brilliant 
chapter  of  the  campaign.  Up  to 
this  point  the  achievements  of  the 
Prussians,  taken  altogether,  are  pro- 
bably without  parallel.  It  was  not 
simply  that  they  won  battles ;  the 
troops  of  other  nations  have  done 
that.  It  was  the  state  of  prepara- 
tion, equal  to  every  accident  and  to 
every  requirement  of  the  war,  the 
entire  absence  of  confusion  or  hap- 
hazard action,  the  grave  disciplined 
devotion  of  the  army,  which  were 
above  all  praise.  Our  instruction 
would  have  been  larger  could  we 
have  seen  this  host  opposed  by  a 
worthy  adversary,  and  subject  to 
more  of  the  vicissitudes  of  war.  As 
it  was,  they  carried  everything  before 
them,  controlled  the  acts  of  the 
campaign  according,  as  it  seemed,  to 
a  deliberately  -  framed  programme, 
and  were  hardly  called  upon  for 
sudden  decisions  or  ingenious  com- 
binations. But  we  learned  this 
much  at  any  rate,  that  the  nation 
that  would  excel  in  strength,  or  that 
would  even  maintain  itself  in  honour 
in  these  days,  must  hold  itself  in 
every  respect  prepared  for  war,  its 
officers  and  soldiers  thoroughly  in- 
structed, its  arms  of  the  newest  and 


the  best  construction,  its  material 
sufficient  in  both  quantity  and 
quality,  and  its  departments  of  trans- 
port and  supply  perfectly  organised 
and  in  harmony  with  the  other 
branches  of  the  service.  If  this  can 
be  done  cheaply  so  much  the  better ; 
but  it  must  be  done.  And  we 
learned,  besides,  what  it  is  to  have 
war  devastating  a  land.  We  under- 
stood how  in  two  months  a  smiling 
and  a  fruitful  country  might  be  pil- 
laged and  trampled  into  a  desert, 
and  made  to  flow  with  tears  and 
blood.  We  were  terribly  convinced 
of  man's  power  to  undo  the  work  of 
nature  and  of  progressing  industri- 
ous man,  and  to  force  back  vast  dis- 
tricts to  the  condition  of  primitive 
colonists.  It  is  hoped,  too,  that  we 
have  been  taught  the  prudence  of 
insuring  ourselves,  be  the  cost  what 
it  may,  against  the  invasion  of  our 
native  land.  We  can  do  it,  and  we 
must.* 

When  Paris  heard  of  the  fate  of 
the  Emperor  and  his  army,  she  flew 
to  her  accustomed  stimulant,  instead 
of  calmly  and  wisely  considering 
these  mischances.  As  a  weak  man 
gains  courage  to  endure  evil  from 
the  dram-bottle,  Paris  wrought  her- 
self to  heroism  by  a  political  revo- 
lution. The  Ministry  dispersed  : 
the  Empress  -  Eegent  fled  to  Eng- 
land :  a  Republic  was  proclaimed  : 
where  everything  was  being  cast 
into  a  chaotic  vortex,  the  Imperial 
crown,  as  a  matter  of  course,  was 
tumbled  in.  A  self-elected  Govern- 
ment, with  the  acquiescence  of  the 
country,  assumed  the  powers  of 
state,  and  called  itself  the  Govern- 
ment of  National  Defence.  It  pro- 
claimed itself  pre-eminently  a  Gov- 
ernment of  Peace;  but  it  also  pro- 
claimed that  it  would  not  purchase 
peace  by  relinquishing  an  inch  of 
territory  or  a  stone  of  a  fortress, 
which  seemed  a  roundabout  way  of 


*  Seethe  paper,  "Why  is  Prussia  Victorious?"  in  our  December  Number,  with 
•which  the  writer  of  the  present  article  quite  coincides. 


1871.] 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


383 


saying  that  it  did  not  intend  to 
have  peace  at  all.  But  France  likes 
the  sound  of  the  word  Peace,  though 
it  may  be  careless  about  the  thing 
signified.  The  Empire  also  was 
Peace  ! 

The  Prussian  hosts  coming  up  from 
the  eastward  ranged  themselves 
round  Paris  in  the  latter  half  of  Sep- 
tember, and  proceeded  to  form  the 
investment.  From  this  point,  how- 
ever, the  decision  and  the  immutable 
purpose  which  had  marked  their 
proceedings  are  not  so  apparent. 
Though  they  no  doubt  intended  to 
become  masters  of  the  city,  yet  they 
clearly  hesitated  so  much  about 
using  the  ordinary  means  for  attain- 
ing that  object,  that  they  greatly 
hazarded  their  success.  At  first 
they  appeared  to  think  that  famine 
alone  would  give  them  their  desire; 
and  they  sat  looking  at  the  city  for 
three  months  without  attacking  it. 
At  the  beginning  of  1871  they  began 
to  attack,  as  if  despairing  of  their 
.first  plan.  Now  the  attack,  if  to  be 
made  at  all,  should  have  been  made 
in  October.  They  obtained  the  sur- 
render at  last,  and  so  did  not  incur 
disappointment  as  regarded  the  re- 
sult ;  the  prestige,  however,  which 
at  first  attached  to  their  movements, 
declined  after  their  arrival  before 
Paris. 

A  negotiation  for  peace  between 
Count  Bismark  and  M.  Jules  Favre 
was  opened ;  but  as  the  Republicans 
would  hear  of  no  surrender  of  ter- 
ritory, no  peace  was  made.  The 
Prussian  band  was  drawn  more 
closely  round  Paris,  while  the  French 
Government  made  to  the  country 
unbounded  promises  of  victory  by 
meansof  the  levies  which  Republican 
ardour  was  sure  to  evoke.  The  im- 
mense regular  army  of  France  had 
retreated  before  their  enemies.  One 
huge  segment  had  surrendered  and 
gone  into  captivity,  and  another 
segment,  comprising  nearly  all  the 
remainder,  was  shut  up  in  Metz  and 
neutralised.  The  few  regular  troops 


that  remained  were  in  Paris,  and 
these,  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands, 
were  thoroughly  demoralised.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  this  collapse,  armies 
Avere  to  start  up  at  the  touch  of  the 
Republican  wand,  whose  achieve- 
ments should  call  back  the  glories  of 
the  first  Revolution,  annihilate  their 
enemies,  and  restore  its  sanctity  to 
the  soil  of  France.  However  one 
might  distrust  the  bombast  that  was 
uttered,  it  was  impossible,  before 
they  had  made  their  attempts,  to 
prove  that  these  loud  talkers  had 
really  no  resource,  and  no  rational 
hope  of  success.  Now  that  the 
event  is  known,  they  lie  open  to 
having,  by  most  unwarrantable  de- 
lusions, prolonged  the  miseries  and 
aggravated  the  humiliation  of  their 
country.  For  the  agony,  and  the 
exhaustion,  and  the  arrest  of  civil- 
isation which  France  has  undergone 
since  the  autumn,  the  Government 
of  National  Defence  is  responsible, 
rather  than  the  sword  of  Prussia. 

As  resistance  a  X entrance  was  now 
the  cry,  Paris  was  victualled  and 
otherwise  provided  for  the  long  and 
trying  siege  that  was  expected.  Her 
suburbs  were  ruthlessly  defaced,  and 
the  timber  of  her  beautiful  woods 
cut  down.  The  Germans  were  not, 
of  course,  allowed  to  establish  them- 
selves around  the  walls  entirely  un- 
opposed, while  the  defending  forces 
numbered  300,000  men,  made  up 
of  troops  of  the  line,  National  Guards, 
Mobiles,  and  marine  artillery.  Here 
and  there  the  French  troops  who 
were  found  occupying  positions  out- 
side the  fortifications  attempted  to 
make  good  their  ground,  but  were 
invariably  driven  in.  Once  or  twice 
the  garrison  debouched  into  the 
plains,  and  tried  the  fortune  of 
battle,  which  to  them  was  in  every 
instance  heavy  loss  and  discomfiture, 
and  there  were  numerous  small  but 
unavailing  sorties.  The  general  re- 
sult showed  the  utter  inability  of 
the  defenders  to  cope  outside  of  the 
walls  with  the  attacking  forces. 


384 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


[March 


The  useless  efforts  attracted  some 
attention  when  they  were  made, 
but  they  had  so  little  effect  in  re- 
spect to  the  siege  that  they  are  not 
worth  recounting  in  detail.  Mean- 
while the  Government  put  a  pres- 
sure upon  the  country,  and  began 
to  assemble  an  army  "behind  the 
Loire,"  as  the  saying  was,  from 
which  army,  being  a  Republican 
and  not  an  Imperial  force,  immense 
exploits  were  promised.  The  Gov- 
ernment, or  the  principal  members 
of  it,  before  the  capital  was  wholly 
invested,  removed  from  Paris  to 
Tours.  General  Trochu,  the  com- 
mandant of  Paris,  was  said  to  be  ex- 
hibiting prodigious  energy  in  train- 
ing within  the  walls  the  immense 
force  which  was  to  be  used  for  the 
defence,  and  which,  co-operating 
vigorously  with  the  army  of  the 
Loire,  would,  it  was  hoped,  occupy 
the  Germans  rather  more  closely 
than  they  might  desire. 

Towards  the  end  of  September 
came  the  news  that  Strasbourg  had 
surrendered  on  the  27th.  It  had 
stood  a  siege  of  some  forty-eight 
days,  whereof  the  attack  does  not 
seem  to  have  been  very  vigorously 
conducted,  nor  the  defence  to  have 
had  any  very  brilliant  episode.  Nev- 
ertheless the  passive  courage  of  the 
defenders  was  respectable,  and  the 
capitulation  of  the  town  an  evil  for 
France,  as  it  set  free  between  20,000 
and  30,000  German  soldiers  who 
had  been  besieging,  and  it  opened 
another  way  from  Germany  into 
France,  exposing  more  of  the  eastern 
departments  to  be  ravaged  by  the 
enemy.  450  French  officers  and 
17,000  soldiers  surrendered.  It  was 
still  strongly  in  favour  of  the  French 
that  Metz  continued  to  hold  out.  The 
force  there  imprisoned,  if  it  could  do 
nothing  more,  at  least  occupied 
200,000  Germans  in  watching  it  ; 
and  if  anything  was  to  be  done  on 
the  Loire  or  elsewhere,  it  was  plainly 
desirable  to  do  it  before  these  Ger- 
mans should  be  disposable  in  other 


directions.  Besides  the  army  of  the 
Loire  an  army  of  Lyons  was  an- 
nounced, as  also  levies  in  the  east 
of  France.  The  first  mentioned  be- 
gan to  take  some  form  iinder  the 
command  of  General  de  la  Motte 
Rouge,  and  notices  of  its  distribu- 
tion and  movements  were  regularly 
given. 

Balloons  were  in  this  siege  used 
for  escaping  from  Paris,  and  for 
emitting  intelligence  therefrom. 
Great  eclat  attached  to  one  aerial 
voyage  by  which  M.  Gambetta,  who 
was  Minister  of  the  Interior  at  the 
birth  of  the  Republic,  arrived  safely 
at  Amiens  from  Paris,  on  the  8th 
October.  He  came  to  awaken  the 
Departments  to  the  necessity  for  in- 
stant, general,  and  unremitting  ex- 
ertion if  Paris  was  to  be  saved,  and 
France  to  be  victorious.  He  pro- 
claimed and  exhorted,  and  he  did 
more  than  this :  he  undertook  the 
direction  of  things  military,  becom- 
ing, in  fact,  War  Minister ;  ordered 
levies  and  equipments,  set  up  and. 
put  down  commanders,  and  gave  a 
decided  impetus  to  the  kind  of  mili- 
tary exertion  of  which  the  country 
was  yet  capable.  Of  what  value 
this  reanimation  was  we  know  now. 
At  the  time  of  M.  Gambetta's  de- 
scent from  the  upper  air,  it  raised 
new  hope  in  many  well-wishers  of 
France  who  had  been  yielding  to 
despair.  About  the  same  time  came 
General  Garibaldi,  and  offered  his 
services  to  the  Republic.  They  were 
accepted,  and  he  received  a  com- 
mand in  the  Vosges.  But  almost 
the  first  intelligence  after  that  which 
announced  these  energetic  proceed- 
ings, was  of  disaster  to  all  the 
armies.  The  army  in  the  east  of 
France,  said  to  number  14,000  men, 
was  attacked  by  a  little  army  of 
Badeners,  who,  nothing  daunted  by 
the  numerical  superiority  of  their 
enemy,  fought  and  signally  beat 
him.  It  had  now  become  the  rule 
for  the  French  to  lose,  and  German 
troops  of  any  quality  did  not  hesi- 


1871.] 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


385 


tate  to  engage  them  against  odds,  so 
confident  had  they  learned  to  be  of 
the  result.  As  to  the  Army  of  the 
Loire,  it  began  to  make  itself  felt 
by  little  excursions,  thereby  chal- 
lenging the  attention  of  the  enemy, 
who,  by  drafts  from  the  different 
armies,  quickly  composed  a  new 
corps,  which  was  placed  under  the 
command  of  General  von  der  Tann. 
This  corps  marched  upon  de  la 
Motte  Rouge,  and  the  first  event  of 
the  expedition  was  the  unusual  one 
of  a  slight  French  success.  For 
some  of  the  cavalry  which  covered 
the  advance  were  set  upon  at  Ablis 
by  some  franc  -  tireura,  and  very 
severely  handled.  The  combat  there 
was,  however,  a  subordinate  affair, 
and  did  not  in  any  wise  arrest  the 
advance  of  der  Tann's  divisions, 
which  fell  in  on  the  8th  October 
with  the  foremost  brigade,  and  drove 
it  back  upon  supports  which  came 
up,  but  in  most  disproportioned 
strength.  The  French,  though  over- 
matched, made  a  respectable  stand, 
but  were  driven  back  with  heavy 
loss  of  prisoners  and  guns  upon 
Orleans,  which,  however,  they  did 
not  hold.  De  la  Motte  Rouge  made 
a  show  of  defending  the  city  on  the 
approach  of  Von  der  Tann,  but  un- 
successfully, and  the  Germans  entered 
the  place  on  the  llth  or  12th,  in 
triumph,  the  French  General  disap- 
pearing from  the  scene.  The  army 
at  Lyons  could  not  make  up  its 
mind  to  become  an  army.  Lyons 
seemed  more  intent  on  settling  po- 
litical differences  within  its  walls, 
than  on  contributing  to  the  national 
defence.  The  army,  if  it  had  any 
existence  save  on  paper,  was  entirely 
inoperative  in  the  field. 

Thus  the  first  burst  of  Republican 
energy  was  without  any  good  re- 
sult. And  although  M.  Gambetta 
did  not  cease  to  call  succeeding  and 
greater  armies  into  existence,  the 
fate  of  all  was  the  same.  They  were 
swept  away  by  the  Germans ;  and  it 
cannot  be  said  that  at  any  time  they 


had  a  chance  of  intercepting  the 
siege  of  Metz  or  the  siege  of  Paris, 
both  which  operations  went  steadily, 
if  not  rapidly,  forward.  Of  course 
a  success  such  as  M.  Gambetta  pro- 
mised in  the  field  would  have  dis- 
concerted the  Germans  grievously, 
and  have  forced  them  to  look  to 
their  own  safety  and  communica- 
tions, rather  than  to  the  reduction 
of  fortresses.  But  they  knew  well 
what  they  were  about,  and,  while 
employing  the  body  of  their  force 
against  these  important  cities,  al- 
ways had  a  spare  limb  or  two  ready 
and  able  to  frustrate  the  attempts  of 
M.  Gambetta's  armies. 

Although  General  de  la  Motte 
Rouge  disappeared,  the  Army  of  the 
Loire  did  not  disappear.  Either  a 
second  army  rose  from  the  remains 
of  the  first,  or  the  army  of  de  la 
Motte  Rouge  was  only  part  of  a 
greater  army,  which  still  was  an- 
nounced, and  which  at  length  again 
took  the  field  under  the  command 
of  a  mysterious  chief,  General 
d'Aurelles  de  Paladine,  about  whom 
we  know  about  as  much  as  we  do 
of  Melchisedec.  He  turns  up  of  a 
sudden  a  full-blown  General,  his 
antecedents  unknown,  a  romantic 
interest  about  his  mission.  He  is 
said  to  be  this  personage  and  that 
personage,  and  sometimes,  as  Mrs 
Malaprop  said  of  Cerberus,  three 
gentlemen  at  once.  He  came,  he 
saw,  but  he  did  not  conquer ;  and 
he  disappeared  as  mystically  as  he 
came  on  the  stage.  He,  however, 
was,  at  his  first  coming,  the  chief 
hope  of  France.  General  Bourbaki 
had  gone  to  reorganise  the  forces  in 
the  north.  Garibaldi  was  preparing 
for  a  partisan  warfare  in  the  Vosges, 
when  the  world  was  astonished  by  the 
second  memorable  event  of  the  war. 
Metz  capitulated  on  the  2  7th  October, 
three  French  Marshals  and  173,000 
French  troops  thus  becoming  prison- 
ers of  war,  and  yielding  up  their 
arms  and  stores.  This  blow  differed 
from  the  calamity  of  Sedan,  inaa- 


386 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War, 


[March 


much  as  that  it  was  expected.  But, 
moderated  as  it  was  by  this  fore- 
knowledge, it  was  still  a  most 
astounding  event.  Another  huge 
army  moved  away  as  prisoners  from 
the  theatre  of  war,  all  hope  gone  of 
France  having  the  aid  of  regular 
forces  during  the  contest,  another 
immense  encouragement  afforded  to 
the  invader,  and  the  very  darkest 
omens  for  besieged  Paris  ; — these  re- 
sults followed  when  the  fortress  of 
Metz  succumbed  to  famine.  We 
did  not  turn  aside  from  the  narra- 
tion of  events  in  the  provinces  to 
note,  as  they  occurred,  incidents  of 
the  siege,  and  indeed  the  incidents 
are  not  remarkable.  Bazaine's  army 
did  not  remain  quiescent  after  it 
was  driven  upon  Metz  on  the  18th 
August,  but  it  did  nothing  to 
affect  the  result  of  the  war.  On 
the  31st  August  a  sortie  was  made, 
intended,  it  was  thought,  to  be 
in  concert  with  an  attack  ex- 
pected to  be  made  by  M'Mahon 
from  without.  But  M'Mahon  was 
then  in  extremis  at  Sedan.  On  the 
27th  September  and  the  7th  October 
Bazaine  made  heavy  sorties,  the  last 
of  them  a  serious  affair,  but  unsuc- 
cessful ;  and  many  minor  assaults 
were  also  made  upon  the  beleaguer- 
ing force,  which  nevertheless  through 
all  held  its  ground,  and  eventually 
attained  its  object.  Of  course  this 
capture  cleared  the  chess-board  in 
a  great  degree.  Expectation  was 
centred  on  Paris,  on  the  calcula- 
tion how  long  it  could  hold  out, 
and  on  the  operations  of  the  armies 
which  still  kept  the  field — hoping 
yet,  amid  the  gloom  of  misfortune 
and  of  coming  winter,  to  do  some- 
thing for  deliverance.  Although 
from  the  31st  October  to  31st 
January  is  as  long  a  period  as  that 
which  contained  the  most  stirring 
events  of  the  war,  this  winter  quar- 
ter, now  that  it  is  past,  appears 
almost  barren.  Verdun  capitulated 
on  the  8th  November,  Neu  Brisach 
on  the  llth  of  the  same  month, 


Phalsburg  on  the  12th  December — 
the  fortresses  thus  passing  one  after 
another  into  the  invaders'  hands. 
Neither  the  fighting  without  nor 
the  sallies  from  within,  although 
both  frequently  occurred,  at  all 
affected  the  progress  of  the  siege  of 
Paris,  which  went  on  with  stern 
persistency.  For  many  weeks  the 
reading  world  was  amused  with 
accounts  of  the  arrival  of  the  Prus- 
sian siege  train,  and  the  approach- 
ing commencement  of  regular  siege 
works;  but  week  after  week  slipped 
away,  and  though  distant  batteries 
were  constructed  there  was  no  sign 
of  a  vigorous  attack.  We  have  said 
before,  and  we  say  again,  that  the 
Prussians  risked  a  great  deal  by  this 
course.  Great  as  was  their  superi- 
ority in  so  many  respects,  they  were 
not  secure  from  the  many  accidents 
which  come  sometimes  to  disconcert 
the  very  best  laid  plans.  Had  for- 
tune but  smiled  for  a  day  or  two  on 
one  of  the  French  armies  in  the 
field,  and  enabled  it  to  sever  the 
German  communications,  the  raising 
of  the  siege,  and  possibly  a  difficult 
retreat  through  the  snow,  might  have 
ensued.  But  the  result  has  now 
justified  all  that  was  done. 

About  the  8th  of  November  the 
French  Army  of  the  Loire  was  in 
motion,  and  even  achieved  a  slight 
success.  For,  being  far  more  numer- 
ous than  the  army  of  General  von 
der  Tann,  it  advanced  upon  Orleans 
where  that  General  was,  and  obliged 
him  to  leave  the  town,  and  to  retreat 
with  some  loss.  But  he  was  soon 
reinforced,  and  acting  once  more 
in  concert  with  other  corps.  The 
Army  of  the  Loire  did  not  follow 
up  its  success.  Meanwhile  General 
Bourbaki,  who  had  been  organising 
troops  in  the  north  of  France,  was 
transferred  to  the  east  by  M.  Gam- 
betta.  An  army  appeared  in  Brit- 
tany, and  Garibaldi  was  by  this 
time  in  the  south  near  Dijon.  All 
these  armies  experienced  reverses 
about  the  beginning  of  December. 


1871.] 


The  Army  of  the  Loire  was  so  crush- 
ingly  defeated  by  a  German  force  nu- 
merically far  inferior,  that  for  a  long 
while  it  was  said  to  have  altogether 
dispersed.  But  it  had  not  altogether 
dispersed.  Chanzy,  at  the  head  of 
one  portion,  did  some  hard  fighting, 
and  kept  the  field  near  Le  Mans ; 
and  Bourbaki,  who  from  the  east 
had  joined  d'Aurelles  de  Paladine, 
was  near  Bourges.  D'Aurelles  was 
not  heard  of  as  a  leader  again ;  but 
Chanzy  and  Bourbaki  continued 
their  campaign  through  December 
and  January.  Faidherbe  succeeded 
to  the  command  of  the  corps  in  the 
north  from  which  Bourbaki  had  been 
removed  ;  and  these  names  remained 
connected  with  the  field  operations 
until  the  armistice  which  followed 
the  capitulation  of  the  capital.  After 
the  signal  defeat  of  the  Army  of  the 
Loire,  the  chief  of  the  Prussian  staff 
sent  information  of  the  event  to  the 
commandant  of  Paris.  The  latter, 
however,  replied  that  Paris  would 
defend  itself  independently ;  and 
Paris,  without  doubt,  was  led  to  en- 
tertain a  belief  of  the  state  of  things 
outside  very  different  from  the  facts 
that  were  known  elsewhere.  One  of 
these  facts  was,  the  increase  of  the 
German  forces  in  France  by  a  very 
large  number — it  was  said,  150,000 
men.  Another  effect  of  the  defeat 
was,  that  the  French  Government 
removed  from  Tours  to  Bordeaux. 
The  different  armies  in  the  field  did 
not  again  cause  much  sensation  till 
the  very  end  of  the  year,  and  then 
General  Faidherbe  in  the  north  took 
up  the  fighting,  and  was  opposed  by 
General  Manteuffel.  At  first  Faid- 
herbe, though  he  gave  ground,  main- 
tained pertinacioiisly  that  he  had 
beaten  the  Germans  ;  but  it  was  soon 
apparent  that  the  beating  could  have 
been  theoretical  only,  as  Faidherbe 
was  in  retreat  to  the  north,  whereas 
his  object  was  to  advance  on  Paris. 
Great  hopes  were  then  rested  upon 
General  Chanzy,  who  was  advancing 
on  Paris  from  the  south-west,  and 


387 


whose  guns  the  unhappy  Parisians 
thought  they  heard  as  he  pressed  on 
to  their  relief;  but,  alas !  Chanzy  had 
been  taken  in  hand  by  the  Duke  of 
Mecklenburg  and  cruelly  entreated. 
His  army,  if  not  annihilated,  was 
dispersed  and  rendered  incapable  for 
a  long  time  of  being  again  formidable. 
General  Bourbaki,  though  not  so 
completely  beaten  as  Chanzy,  was 
making  but  a  sorry  fight  of  it  near 
Belfort.  He  too  claimed  victories, 
while  his  movements  too  plainly 
appeared  the  consequences  of  defeat. 
In  fact,  the  effervescence  which  M. 
Gainbetta  had  excited  in  the  Depart- 
ments was  generally  and  effectually 
quelled  just  by  the  time  when  the 
distressed  capital  had  borne  the 
straitness  of  the  siege  to  the  last 
degree  of  endurance. 

From  the  middle  of  September, 
when  Paris  was  invested,  till  the 
end  of  January,  when  it  became 
suddenly  clear  that  the  sad  game 
was  played  out,  the  confidence  of 
the  city  seems  to  have  been  very 
great.  Its  behaviour  under  trial 
was  far  better  than  any  expected  it 
to  be.  One  not  very  violent  at- 
tempt was  made  to  overset  the 
Government  of  National  Defence, 
and  that  was  the  only  political  ebul- 
lition of  consequence  until  the  very 
end,  when,  as  we  have  only  lately 
been  learning,  there  was  again  some 
disturbance.  The  deportment  of 
the  citizens  during  the  siege  appears 
to  have  been  grave,  as  became  the 
situation — not  frivolous  and  reckless, 
not  fanatically  violent,  but  steadily 
determined  and  sanguine  to  a  degree 
as  long  as  there  was  the  least  ground 
or  apparent  ground  for  hope.  The 
defence  of  the  city  was,  on  the  whole, 
quite  as  good  as  could  have  been 
expected  under  all  the  circumstances. 
At  first  there  was  an  idea  that  the 
garrison  could  sally  and  cut  their 
way  through  the  German  line;  and 
attempts  were  made  on  different 
occasions,  but  in  vain.  The  first  of 
these  was  on  the  19th  September  • 


388 


A  Retrospect  of  the  War. 


there  were  small  sorties  on  the  23d, 
and  a  sortie  in  force  on  the  30th, 
none  of  them  improving  the  con- 
dition of  the  besieged.  On  the  30th 
November  a  sortie  in  great  force 
tinder  General  Ducrot  sallied  and 
attacked  the  three  villages  of  Cham- 
pigny,  Brie,  and  Villiers,  of  all  which 
they  obtained  temporary  possession. 
The  fighting  was  very  severe,  and 
Ducrot's  force,  though  it  retired 
tinder  the  shelter  of  the  guns,  was 
for  some  days  outside  the  walls.  It 
is  supposed  that  Trochu  had  notice 
of  the  advance  at  this  time  .of  the 
armies  of  the  Loire,  the  north,  and 
the  east,  and  that  the  sortie  was 
designed  to  co-operate  with  these. 
After  all  this  fighting  the  invest- 
ment remained  undisturbed,  and,  as 
we  have  seen,  the  armies  were  all 
disposed  of.  On  the  19th  January 
another  grand  sortie,  supposed  to 
have  been  made  to  satisfy  popular 
clamour  rather  than  by  the  will  of 
General  Trochu,  came  out,  and  made 
an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  dislodge 
the  Germans.  At  the  commence- 
ment of  the  siege  the  French  worked 
diligently  at  the  construction  of 
auxiliary  and  connecting  works,  in 
some  of  which  they  established  for- 
midable batteries,  which  might  have 
added  greatly  to  the  strength  of  the 
fortifications.  And  towards  the 
end  of  December  General  Trochu 
provisioned  Mont  Valerien,  and 
strengthened  it,  for  the  purpose,  as 
was  thought,  of  making  it  a  citadel. 
One  of  the  new  redoubts,  Mount 
Avron,  became  troublesome  to  the 
Prussians,  who  replied  vigorously  to 
its  fire,  and,  to  their  surprise,  found 
that  it  had  been  abandoned,  after 
thirty-six  hours' fighting,  on  the  29th 
December.  This  abandonment  re- 
mains a  great  discredit  to  the  French 
troops.  For  the  work  was  found  to 
be  remarkably  strong  and  well  pro- 
vided, so  that  a  proper  spirit  would 
undoubtedly  have  turned  it  to  great 


account.  It  took  a  month  to  con- 
struct. 

After  having  once  begun  to  fire  at 
Mont  Avron,  the  Prussians  did  not 
again  desist  from  the  use  of  their 
artillery.  The  three  months'  block- 
ade and  the  trials  of  winter  had 
evidently  made  them  somewhat  dis- 
trustful of  their  own  plans,  and  a 
half-hearted  attack  was  commenced 
on  the  forts  and  enceinte.  Shells 
here  and  there  fell  within  the  city, 
causing  more  or  less  damage.  But 
it  may  be  assumed  now  that  this 
expenditure  of  projectiles  did  not 
in  the  least  hasten  the  capitula- 
tion of  the  city.  As  long  as  there 
was  food,  on  ever  so  small  a  scale, 
Paris  resisted ;  when  utter  star- 
vation stared  her  in  the  face,  she 
yielded. 

It  should  be  the  endeavour  of 
France  now,  as  it  is  the  wish  and  the 
hope  of  all  Europe,  to  bring  this  abo- 
minable war  to  an  end.  History  will 
count  up  its  battles  and  its  gigantic 
operations,  will  tell  of  France's  hu- 
miliation and  the  cession  of  her 
territory.  Fame  will  trumpet  the 
German  victories,  as  indeed  she  is 
bound  to  do,  and  name  Prussia  first 
among  the  nations  in  council  as  in 
the  field.  But  in  the  homes  and 
in  the  hearts  of  both  the  German 
and  the  French  peoples,  there  will 
remain  for  many  a  day  recollec- 
tions of  this  diabolical  war,  which 
patriotism  cannot  cure,  to  which 
honour's  voice  cannot  minister.  We 
may  not  refuse  our  sympathy  to 
bleeding  hearts ;  but  justice  will 
not  be  quite  swallowed  up  in  com- 
passion. We  cannot  forget  the  con- 
temptible quarrel  out  of  which  all 
this  misery  and  destruction  arose ; 
and  much  as  we  may  pity  the  in- 
dividual sufferers,  we  cannot  forgive 
the  unbridled  arrogance  which  has 
wantonly  drawn  a  pall  over  Europe, 
and  revived  the  feuds  of  barbarism 
in  the  nineteenth  century. 


1871.] 


TJie  Side  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


389 


THE   SICK  ARMY  AXD   ITS  DOCTORS. 


SOME  potent  remedies  are  about 
to  be  applied  to  the  British  army 
without  doubt.  We  seem  all  to  be 
pretty  well  agreed  about  that.  But 
somehow  there  is  a  lack  of  clearness 
about  the  disease  or  diseases  that 
we  propose  to  cure.  For  want  of  a 
correct  diagnosis  physicians  are  get- 
ting a  little  wild  :  pills,  potions,  for- 
ceps, saws,  knives,  are  pushed  menac- 
ingly into  view  ;  the  thought  has 
ceased  to  be  of  what  the  patient 
wants  :  who  shall  be  first  to  subject 
him  to  sharp  treatment  of  some  sort  ? 
that  is  the  question.  » 

We  quite  understand  that  those 
who  think  proper  to  hate  the  army 
will  be  content  to  thrust  at  it,  no 
matter  how,  provided  they  can  da- 
mage it.  We  know,  too,  that  to  a 
dull  aspiring  politician,  something 
which  he  can  denounce  ad  libitum, 
to  audiences  who  know  nothing 
whatever  concerning  it,  is  too  tempt- 
ing to  allow  him  to  reflect  whether 
he  says  what  is  just  or  unjust.  We 
pass  these  cases,  but  have  a  word 
for  fair,  well-intentioned  Englishmen 
who  may  have  been  wrought  by 
iteration  to  a  belief  that  the  army  is 
wholly  unsound,  and  that  only  the 
most  energetic  treatment  can  restore 
it.  Of  these  men  we  would  ask 
whether  they  have  definite  ideas  as 
to  the  evils  with  which  they  are 
ready  to  deal ;  whether  these,  when 
defined,  are  such  as  to  render  the 
.army  useless ;  or  whether  they 
merely  make  it  not  so  good  as  it 
might  be]  If  we  should  be  met 
with  the  well-known  cries,  Purchase 
system,  Dual  Government,  Half-pay 
list,  Efficiency  with  economy,  and 
so  on,  we  remark  that  an  army  can, 
as  we  know,  exist  and  do  its  work 
in  spite  of  the  ills  which  these  cries 
indicate.  The  loudest  cries,  then, 
do  not  point  to  a  fatal  disease  — 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXV. 


some  chronic  complaints  perhaps, 
but  nothing  threatening  the  life  or 
the  mind  of  the  patient.  And,  after 
all,  these  cries  do  not  show  in  what 
respects  the  imputed  diseases  cause 
incapacity  or  vicious  qualities  ;  they 
only  prove  that  there  are  some  mat- 
ters connected  with  the  service  at 
which  the  public  is  highly  indig- 
nant. Now  we  will  endeavour  to 
turn,  for  a  moment,  from  the  sensa- 
tional cries,  and  to  direct  attention 
to  the  patient.  It  is  clear  that  be- 
fore we  can  determine  to  what  ex- 
tent the  army  or  anything  else  fails 
of  its  purpose,  we  must  have  a  clear 
idea  of  what  that  purpose  is. 

Defence,  in  the  broad  sense  of  the 
word,  comprehends  the  great  pur- 
pose of  a  British  army.  Our  arms 
are  carried  abroad  sometimes,  but 
always  in  support  of  a  defensive, 
not  an  aggressive,  policy.  Clearly, 
then,  the  first  point  to  ascertain  be- 
yond dispute  in  weighing  the  merits 
and  demerits  of  our  force  is,  Are  its 
qualities  and  constitution  (we  say 
nothing  of  numbers  now)  such  as  to 
give  us  reasonable  reliance  on  its 
ability  to  protect  us  ?  If  the  answer 
be  affirmative,  then  the  evils  cannot 
be  considered  of  the  first  degree, 
they  will  be  moved  out  of  the  list 
of  highly  dangerous  diseases ;  and 
the  answer  may  be  promptly  given 
without  the  least  fear  of  contradic- 
tion. The  army  has  never  fled  before 
our  enemies  ;  has  been  always  ready 
to  sail  or  march  to  meet  those  ene- 
mies ;  does  never  move  or  manifest 
volition,  except  at  the  call  of  the 
State ;  politically  is  as  little  felt  as 
if  it  did  not  exist ;  maintains  its 
discipline  and  its  skill  in  the  use  of 
arms.  We  assume  all  these  points 
to  be  granted,  and  then  say  that 
the  charges  cannot  be  of  the  gravest 
order.  We  have  at  least  a  reliable 

2D 


390 


The  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


[March 


defence  ;  whether  of  the  most  effici- 
ent and  economical  kind  is  another 
question,  but  at  any  rate  we  have 
a  machine  which  can  do  its  work. 
Now  this  consideration,  we  feel  as- 
sured, will  calm  the  anxieties  of 
dispassionate  men,  whenever  it  may 
recur  to  their  minds.  It  will  con- 
vince them  that  whatever  room  there 
may  be  for  improvement,  there  is 
not  that  desperate  disease  which 
calls  for  desperate,  instant,  kill-or- 
cure  remedies.  On  the  contrary, 
there  is  so  much  of  good  in  the 
service,  that  the  preservation  of  that 
good  is  as  important  as  the  eradica- 
tion of  evil.  There  is  not  the  least 
difficulty  in  pointing  out  blemishes, 
and  if  the  blemishes  were  merely 
superficial,  there  would  be  no  diffi- 
culty in  dealing  with  them.  But, 
unfortunately,  the  remedies  would 
have  to  go  very  near  the  core,  and 
an  unskilful  physician  in  treating 
one  malady  would  be  in  danger  of 
producing  twenty.  It  is  therefore 
of  the  first  importance  that  those  who 
prescribe  should  know  thoroughly 
the  constitution  on  which  they  de- 
sign, to  work ;  that  there  should  be 
no  undue  haste  in  taking  action,  or 
animus  allowed  to  operate ;  that 
popular  excitement  should  be  as 
little  as  possible  used  in  reference 
to  the  subject. 

Those  who  know  the  reasons  why 
it  is  dangerous  to  tamper  with  the 
constitution  of  the  army,  have  been 
very  chary  of  giving  those  reasons. 
They  have  spoken  mysteriously,  and 
in  parables.  The  consequence  has 
been,  an  impression  that  they  had 
no  reason  to  give,  that  their  own  in- 
clinations or  interests  alone  swayed 
them,  and  that  their  oracular  utter- 
ances were  simply  a  cloak  for  their 
wilf  alness.  Thus  this  reticence  is  by 
no  means  Avholesome,  and  one  sees, 
at  last,  that  to  utter  the  plain  truth 
would  be  the  better  course.  We 
venture  to  be  a  little  more  communi- 
cative than  some  others  have  been, 


and  trust  that  in  being  so  we  shall 
not  offend  John  Bullism  beyond 
hope  of  forgiveness. 

In  fact,  then,  it  is  the  great  de- 
gree of  liberty  enjoyed  by  the  civil 
population  of  these  kingdoms  which 
makes  dealing  with  the  military 
body  such  a  dangerous  proceeding. 
We  all  know  that  there  is  nothing 
that  the  Briton  prizes  so  much,  no 
privilege  which  he  exercises  so  ha- 
bitually, as  his  right  to  think,  and 
speak,  and  act  as  he  may  choose 
within  the  broad  limits  of  a  most 
tolerant  common  law.  He  is  free 
from  restraint  himself,  and  he  ab- 
solutely hates  and  never  tires  of  tes- 
tifying his  hatred  of,  and  of  de- 
nouncing, everything  that  has  the 
appearance  of  restraint,  no  matter 
what  the  purpose  of  the  restraint 
may  be.  He  is  jealous,  morbidly 
jealous,  of  authority.  There  is  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  getting  him  to 
submit  himself  for  a  moment,  even 
that  he  may  obtain  his  heart's  de- 
sire, so  much  does  he  loathe  the 
appearance  of  enduring  dictation. 
Whether  he  incline  to  work  good 
or  evil,  or  to  be  utterly  idle,  or  to 
play  the  fool,  he  says  as  peremp- 
torily as  Abraham's  seed  that  he 
was  never  in  bondage  to  any  man. 
We  do  not  think  that  this  overstates 
the  creed  and  practice  of  the  civil 
population.  But  now  behold  a 
marvel !  Interspersed  among  them, 
reared  in  their  homes,  imbued  ori- 
ginally with  the  same  opinions,  are 
to  be  seen  an  exceptional  few  who 
have  learned  to  control  their  wills, 
their  sentiments,  probably  their 
very  thoughts,  in  deference  to  the 
wills  of  superiors ;  who  glory  in 
obedience,  yet  who  have  lost  not  a 
scintilla  of  the  genuine  Briton's  fire, 
but  who  rather,  by  not  expending 
that  fire  at  will,  have  a  double  por- 
tion ready  for  occasions  where  it 
may  be  called  for.  We  have  a 
perfectly  tame  and  domesticated 
fighting  organism,  which  can  be 


1871.] 


TJie  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


391 


wholly  free  and  social  during  its 
leisure,  but  which  at  a  call  assumes 
its  disciplined  character,  and  stands 
ready  to  act  by  command.  Think 
carefully,  reader,  what  our  peculiari- 
ties are,  and  you  cannot  but  wonder 
how  obedience  in  any  form  can  co- 
exist with  them.  You  can  get  but 
little  from  your  servants  or  your 
workmen — for,  as  you  know  to  your 
cost,  the  services  which  they  render 
in  return  for  wages,  are  not  very 
cheerfully  given,  and  are  carefully 
distinguished  from  anything  like 
a  general  obedience;  and  yet,  by 
some  means  or  other,  you  have  of 
your  own  flesh  and  blood  individu- 
als whose  submission  can  be  hearty 
and  perfect.  And  pray  do  not 
think  that  this  is  matter  of  course. 
Do  not  say,  It  is  not  necessary  in 
civil  life,  therefore  we  don't  enforce 
it ;  but  among  soldiers,  of  course, 
everybody  knows  that  there  must 
be  discipline,  and  so  we  all  agree  to 
have  it, — for  we  agree  to  nothing  of 
the  sort.  Not  only  does  the  British 
public  not  assist  in  maintaining  the 
discipline  of  the  army,  but  notori- 
ously it  does  its  utmost  when  occa- 
sion offers  to  weaken  that  discipline. 
It  takes  part  invariably  with  the 
inferior  against  the  superior.  The 
discipline  of  our  army  is  one  of  the 
curiosities  of  the  nation.  It  exists 
in  spite  of  a  variety  of  national  feel- 
ings, modes  of  thought,  and  habits 
quite  inimical  to  it. 

It  is  very  necessary  that  the 
above  arguments  should  be  consi- 
dered, because  we  believe  that  many 
of  the  soi-disant  army  reformers  ima- 
gine that  the  eradication  of  every- 
thing objectionable  is  a  very  simple 
matter ;  that  after  they  have  revolu- 
tionised the  old-fashioned  army, 
there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  recon- 
structing another  having  all  its  good 
points  and  none  of  its  faults.  If 
they  do  not  exactly  succeed  at  first, 
they  soon  will  succeed  once  they 
have  begun  to  tinker ;  and,  after  the 


second  attempt  if  not  after  the 
first,  after  the  third  if  not  after  the 
second,  they  will  certainly  produce 
a  perfect  article.  They  think  only 
of  removing  the  blots  ;  they  hardly 
know  what  they  undertake  when 
they  set  about  reconstructing  the 
machine.  The  offer  of  certain 
wages,  the  promise  of  advancement, 
and  so  on,  will,  they  think,  procure 
a  certain  amount  of  service  regulat- 
ed as  may  be  required.  But  this  is 
just  where  they  would  be  liable  to 
fail.  Service  may  certainly  be  got 
for  wages,  but  can  obedience  1 

And  now  to  return  to  this  obedi- 
ent incongruity  amid  an  independ- 
ent population.  The  secret  of  it 
lies  no  doubt  in  the  constitution  of 
the  army,  which  is  not  a  chance  in- 
vention, not  a  natural  or  artificial 
aggregation,  but  a  thing  that  has 
grown,  a  thing  that  in  the  course  of 
centuries  has  become  adapted  to  the 
temper  of  the  people,  finding  out 
the  mysterious  channels  through 
which  alone  discipline  can  be  made 
to  circulate,  and  the  subtile  ties 
which  link  the  leader  and  the  fol- 
lower together.  In  the  classes 
from  which  the  different  ranks  of 
the  service  are  drawn  may  be  found 
probably  the  explanation  of  how 
and  why  it  is  made  to  work  under 
so  many  disadvantages.  Some  of 
the  very  abuses  which,  abstractedly, 
seem  so  glaring  and  intolerable,  may 
be  the  main-springs  of  the  organisa- 
tion. Indeed,  those  who  know  the 
service  can  have  no  doubt  that  the 
discipline  of  the  army  is  in  great 
measure  due  to  the  personal  influ- 
ence of  the  officers.  It  would  be  a 
poor  recompense  for  some  zealous 
army  regenerator  when  he  should 
have  constructed  an  army  after  his 
own  heart  to  find  himself  a  Frank- 
enstein, the  author  of  a  dangerous 
monster  ! 

.But  we  are  not  making  this  re- 
presentation with  a  view  of  deterring 
competent  persons  from  improving 


392 


Tlie  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


[March 


the  service.  Changes  must  come  ; 
and,  provided  they  be  well -consi- 
dered changes,  we  do  not  wish  to 
avert  them.  But  we  do  earnestly 
wish  that  popular  passion  may  not 
he  excited  to  rush  wildly  at  the  ser- 
vice ;  we  wish  that  no  aspiring 
politician  may  he  allowed  to  make 
capital  out  of  its  defects,  to  turn  its 
diseases  to  commodity.  It  should 
be  meddled  with  by  those  only  who 
know  it  intimately,  who  can  tell 
where  it  can  bear  alteration  without 
losing  its  distinctive  character,  who 
will  still  keep  it  at  heart  the  same 
true  servant  that  it  has  ever  been. 

Having,  as  we  hope,  shown  that 
the  evils  which  afflict  the  army  are 
not  of  the  first  magnitude,  we  will 
try  to  ascertain  what  these  evils  are. 
And,  putting  aside  the  attacks 
which  proceed  from  pure  envy,  or 
cynicism,  or  from  a  desire  to  obtain 
political  notice,  we  take  the  com- 
plaint that  a  large  part  of  the  army 
is  rather  idle  in  time  of  peace  to  be 
the  foremost,  and  to  include  a  great 
many  other  complaints  that  are 
separately  put  forward.  Idleness 
among  the  rank  and  file  of  the 
army  naturally  offends  many  who 
have  to  fill  the  idle  mouths,  and 
who  do  not  quite  see  what  good 
is  ever  to  come  of  maintaining  so 
many  unproductive  hands.  Idle- 
ness among  the  officers  brings  the 
purchase  system  into  question,  is 
really  what  induces  the  public  to 
believe  the  army  inefficient,  is  really 
the  cause  of  many  of  the  disabilities 
with  which  the  dual  government  is 
charged.  It  appears  to  us  that  this 
is  the  first  thing  to  cure,  that  if  it 
were  cured  much  beside  would  be 
cured.  The  men  could  not  well 
be  idle  if  the  officers  be  not  so,  it 
is  pretty  evident ;  but  the  benefit 
would  reach  further  than  that,  as 
we  will  try  to  show. 

The  only  tenable  objection  to  the 
purchase  system  is,  that  under  it 
officers  in  reality  receive  scarcely 


the  interest  of  their  money  in  the 
form  of  pay,  and  so  consider  it  only 
fair  that  they  should  be  to  a  great 
extent  masters  of  their  own  time 
while  the  country  is  at  peace. 
Wherever  amusement  is  going  on, 
there,  as  a  matter  of  course,  are  a 
large  proportion  of  military  officers 
who  appear  never  to  have  business 
sufficiently  pressing  to  prevent  their 
attendance.  And  we  must  admit 
that,  while  in  other  countries  offi- 
cers are  devoting  themselves  to  the 
improvement  of  the  military  service, 
and  while  confessedly  our  own  ser- 
vice wants  increased  supervision  and 
improved  organisation  in  all  its 
branches,  the  country  has  a  right  to 
complain  that  military  officers  should 
always  find  time  at  their  disposal. 
And  it  is  not  merely  the  time  dur- 
ing which  he  is  really  away  from 
duty  which  is  debited  against  the 
officer  by  the  public.  He  has  the 
unfortunate  habit  of  making  himself 
appear  a  much  harder  bargain  than 
he  really  is.  His  affected  avoidance 
of  military  subjects  in  conversation, 
which  he  designates  "  talking  shop," 
and  the  anxiety  which  he  shows  to 
strip  off"  his  uniform  as  soon  as  he  is 
released  from  duty,  though  they  are 
known  by  the  initiated  to  be  mere 
silly  fashions  which  accident  or  the 
love  of  change  might  at  any  time 
alter,  yet  appear  to  more  distant  ob- 
servers as  signs  of  utter  indifference 
to  the  profession.  It  is  no  wonder 
if,  now  and  then,  John  Bull  the 
paymaster  is  irritated  at  this.  Ko 
wonder  if  he  says,  I  must  have  men 
who  will  work  at  their  profession, 
who  will  show  some  little  pride  in 
it,  who  will  give  up  their  time  and 
thoughts  to  it.  And  a  great  deal  of 
this  animadversion  there  is  no  doubt 
that  officers  have  brought  upon  them- 
selves. They  would  seem  to  have  re- 
versed Hamlet's  maxim,  and  instead 
of  assuming  virtues  which  they 
have  not,  to  assume  a  want  of  virtue 
of  which  as  a  body  they  are  not 


1871.] 


TJie  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


393 


guilty.  We  need  scarcely  pursue 
this  part  of  the  subject  farther,  as 
there  are  few  to  whom  the  reflection, 
is  suggested  who  cannot  fill  in  de- 
tails for  themselves.  But  there  is 
another  effect  of  idleness  not  so 
easy  to  trace  to  its  source,  and  yet 
explanatory,  as  we  believe,  of  a  diffi- 
culty that  is  cruelly  perplexing  John 
Bull,  and  the  ministers  and  stewards 
of  his  mysteries. 

There  is  an  antagonism  extant 
between  what  are  called  the  Depart- 
ments of  the  army  and  the  Combat- 
ant army.  The  Combatants  accuse 
the  Departments  of  being  remiss,  ob- 
structive, unjust  in  making  charges 
and  in  questioning  requisitions.  The 
Departments,  who  are  most  or  all 
of  them  accountants,  complain  that 
they  have  the  greatest  difficulty  in 
getting  demands,  returns,  accounts, 
certificates,  &c.,  rendered  at  proper 
times,  with  proper  care,  and  in  pro- 
per form,  so  much  do  combatant 
officers  chafe  at  documentary  labour. 
The  combatant  branches  look  to  the 
Horse  Guards  authorities  as  their 
only  legitimate  rulers,  and  to  the 
War  Department  as  a  sort  of  evil 
influence  to  which  they  are  in  some 
sort  given  over  by  the  unhappy  con- 
stitution of  things.*  The  Depart- 
ments bewail  the  friction  which  is 
caused  by  the  feeling  against  them 
and  their  work  in  barracks,  and 
think  with  sorrow  how  smoothly 
things  might  go  if  regimental  officers 
would  only  condescend  to  study 
War  Office  regulations,  and  recog- 
nise work  which  concerns  stores, 
barracks,  and  payments,  as  equally 
legitimate  with  that  which  concerns 
military  exercises  and  military  dis- 
cipline. A  great  number  of  the  dis- 
putes thus  arising  have  eventually 
to  be  settled — perhaps  fought  out — 


between  the  Horse  Guards  and  the 
War  Office;  and  hence,  to  a  great 
extent,  is   the  duality  of  the  two 
branches,  which  need  not  be  dual  at 
all,  if  regimental  officers  were  a  little 
more  disposed  to  work,  and  to  con- 
sider what  a  complex  duty  the  ad- 
ministration of  an   army   is.      No 
doubt  there  was  a  time  when  what 
is  now  the  work  of  the  Departments 
of  the   army  was   a  comparatively 
simple  care.     Either  the  command- 
ing  officer  received   a  round   sum 
in   money  for   providing  what   he 
thought  necessary  (as  was  the  case 
with  the  "  Clothing  Colonels,"  only 
recently    abolished),    or    else    the 
officers   who   performed  the  duties 
of  supply   were   attached   to    regi- 
ments, subject  to  the  commanding 
officer,  and  obliged  to  manage  things 
according  to  his  will,  receiving  his 
powerful  support  when  they  did  so, 
and  thus  averting  all  serious  obstruc- 
tion.    In  those  days  inferior  officers 
were  fain  to  be  content  with  what 
the  colonel  thought  to  be  sufficient 
for  them  or  their  men,  and  they  got 
this  without  personal  trouble.     But 
the  service  has  grown  and  grown, 
the  accessories  have  multiplied  con- 
tinually.    It  is  no  longer  possible 
for  a  regimental  officer  to  take  upon 
himself  the  various  duties  relating 
to  shelter,   transport,  and   supply ; 
neither  would  the  country  be  con- 
tent to  intrust   these  duties  to  an 
officer  who  is   considered   to  have 
enough  to  do  without  them.     And 
accordingly,    the    different    depart- 
ments of  the  army  have  come  into 
being  as   a   necessity,  and   to   the 
benefit  of  all,  as  any  reflecting  sol- 
dier must  perceive.     For  the  regi- 
mental  officers   would   not   in  the 
present  day  endure  to  receive  stores 
or  provisions,  tents  or  barracks,  at 


*  There  is  a  Nemesis  in  this.  The  Ordnance  was  by  far  the  best  constituted  and 
most  skilfully  worked  Department  that  John  Bull  ever  had.  The  Horse  Guards 
and  the  Combatant  army  set  upon  it,  destroyed  it,  and  raised  up  in  its  place  the 
War  Department,  which  is  going  to  swallow  them  up  ! 


394 


TJte  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


[March 


the  discretion  of  an  officer  under- 
taking the  whole  for  a  round  sum ; 
and  yet  they  would  gladly  still  en- 
joy that  immunity  from  personal 
trouble  which  the  old  system  al- 
lowed them.  But  this,  of  course,  is 
impossible.  If  the  rights  and  claims 
of  individuals  are  separately  cared 
for,  some  little  trouble  must  be  taken 
to  show  that  each  receives  his  due, 
and  not  more  than  his  due,  while 
all  is  as  economically  arranged  as 
possible.  This  trouble  is  due  to  the 
public  and  to  all  concerned.  It  is, 
however,  a  considerable  trouble,  and 
if  properly  encountered  will  be  an 
appreciable  addition  to  the  routine 
business  of  a  regimental  officer.  We 
have  reason  to  think,  however,  that 
the  necessity  for  performing  such 
duties  has  never  been  recognised  by 
the  combatant  officers ;  that  their 
creed  and  their  practice  follow  the 
theory  that  all  such  service  as  we 
now  call  departmental,  should  be 
done  for  them  at  their  nod,  and 
they  be  no  further  troubled  concern- 
ing matters  so  much  below  their 
dignity.  Now,  at  the  bottom  of 
this  is  the  idea  that  the  officer  has 
a  right  to  a  great  deal  of  leisure, 
and  to  resent  as  an  invasion  of  his 
right  all  duty-calls  which  are  un- 
connected with  fighting,  marching, 
discipline,  or  martial  exercise.  He 
is  continually  aggrieved  because 
things  are  not  properly  and  instant- 
ly done  for  him,  he  is  unmerciful  in 
his  condemnation  of  the  Depart- 
ments, and  yet  he  will  not  heartily 
co-operate  in  making  inspections, 
considering  requisitions,  adhering  to 
forms,  respecting  regulations,  and 
overlooking  the  economical  consump- 
tion and  use  of  stores.  These  du- 
ties, when  done  hastily  and  care- 
lessly, lead  to  misunderstandings, 
and  the  misunderstandings  to  squab- 
bles. And  so  the  service  halts. 

The  blot  has  at  last  been  hit : 
purchase  of  commissions  is  seen  to 
be  indirectly  culpable  in  this  mat- 


ter, and  many  of  those  who  perceive 
its  complicity  have  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  ought  to  cease.  The 
War  Office,  irritated  by  continual 
opposition  and  disputes,  is  inclining 
more  and  more  towards  those  who 
are  leading  the  crusade  against  pur- 
chase. The  purchase  system  will 
soon,  therefore,  disappear,  unless 
there  be  wisdom  enough  o'n  the 
part  of  the  public  and  on  the  part 
of  the  combatant  officers  to  cure 
what  is  manifestly  wrong  without 
sweeping  away  what  is  manifestly 
advantageous  in  many  respects. 
Under  the  purchase  system  has 
grown,  and  is  maintained,  that  dis- 
cipline of  which  we  have  spoken ; 
and  by  means  of  the  system  the 
service  gets  rid  of  men  who  find 
themselves  unsuited  to  it,  and  a 
current  of  promotion  is  kept  up. 
It  would  therefore  be  a  great  bene- 
fit if,  without  disturbing  the  system 
itself,  we  could  abolish  the  idleness 
to  which  it  gives  rise.  Authority 
can  do  a  great  deal  in  this  respect ; 
and  if  officers  are  wise,  they  will 
give  up  more  of  their  time  to  their 
duties,  and  not  be  ashamed  of  ap- 
pearing to  the  public  to  take  some 
interest  in  their  profession.  They 
will  study  the  War  Office  regula- 
tions— which  we  admit  to  be  a  most 
intricate  and  endless  study,  for  they 
are  altered  every  two  or  three 
months  —  and  cordially  assist  in 
carrying  them  out.  They  do  not 
wish  the  purchase  system  to  cease, 
and  if  they  will  only  cure  the  chief 
defect — namely,  idleness — to  which 
purchase  gives  rise,  they  will  pro- 
bably be  able  to  defy  agitators  and 
the  enemies  of  their  profession. 

We  must  not,  however,  leave  our- 
selves open  to  be  thought  uncom- 
promising admirers  of  the  War 
Office  and  its  Departments,  for  we 
by  no  means  consider  them  free  from 
blame.  The  complexity  of  their 
regulations,  and  the  continual  start- 
ling changes  in  the  methods  of  con- 


1871.] 


TJte  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


395 


ducting  the  duties,  of  apportioning 
the  responsibility,  and  of  keeping 
the  accounts,  are  of  themselves 
enough  to  try  patience  and  shake 
confidence.  It  is  certain  that  there 
is  no  controlling  spirit  within  the 
walls  of  the  office  in  Pall  Mall ;  and 
that  power,  without  the  requisite 
knowledge  or  ability  to  decide,  re- 
sides with  an  official  who  is  blown 
about  by  every  wind  of  doctrine,  as 
mutable  as  fortune,  inclining  now 
before  military,  now  before  quasi- 
military  influence,  timid  and  tenta- 
tive, without  purpose  and  without 
firmness.  This  want  of  an  able  re- 
solute head  we  can  only  point  out 
and  grieve  over.  But  of  the  vagaries 
which  that  head  is  made  to  execute 
we  can  suggest  some  explanation. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  until 
very  recently  the  War  Office  had 
not  even  nominal  power  over  the 
Combatant  service ;  and  that,  now 
that  it  has  got  power,  the  power  is 
too  recently  acquired  to  be  at  once 
fearlessly  and  beneficially  wielded. 
Consequently,  the  acts  of  the  War 
Department  have  been  attempts  to 
twist  the  regulations  into  a  shape  in 
which  they  will  work  smoothly — 
futile  and  endless  attempts,  of  course ;' 
because  the  fault  did  not  He  in  the 
regulations — it  lay  in  the  relations 
of  the  Combatants  to  the  Depart- 
ments. 

But,  in  order  to  get  a  true  idea 
of  the  condition  of  things,  it  should 
be  noted  that  the  War  Department, 
besides  promulgating  and  cancelling 
regulations,  has  taken  another  mea- 
sure for  insuring  some  respect  for 
its  decrees,  by  appointing  in  all  dis- 
tricts officers  to  represent  it,  and 
wholly  devoted  to  its  interests  and 
ascendancy,  as  combatant  officers  are 
said  to  be  to  the  interests  and  as- 
cendancy of  the  Horse  Guards.  By 
means  of  these  controllers,  as  they 
are  called,  an  influence  counter  to 
that  of  the  purely  military  staff  is 
raised  up  in  every  command :  a 


powerful  advocate  stands  up  to 
plead  for  War  Department  rights 
before  general  officers  and  adjutants- 
general,  and  to  point  to  regulations 
and  insist  that  they  be  regarded. 
This  plan,  clever  to  a  certain  extent, 
certainly  does  negative  a  great  deal 
of  evil,  and  override  a  great  many 
difficulties,  simply  by  acting  as 
checks  and  neutralises;  but  they 
curb  and  restrain,  they  do  not  ob- 
tain co-operation ;  and  the  animosity 
to  them  of  the  military  staff,  who 
have  been  accustomed  to  order 
things  their  own  way,  is  said  to  be 
very  bitter.  Nevertheless  the  ope- 
ration of  the  controllers  has  been  to 
our  mind  beneficial  in  securing  pro- 
per respect  for  War  Office  require- 
ments ;  the  fault  of  it  would  seem  to 
be  that  it  effects  its  object  by  an 
antagonism  which,  though  it  may, 
as  long  as  peace  continues,  produce 
equilibrium,  may  yet  bear  bitter 
fruit  some  day,  when,  after  or  during 
a  successful  war,  our  combatants  are 
once  more  in  the  ascendant,  bearing 
all  before  them,  and  seeking  ven- 
geance for  the  fancied  opposition 
and  humiliation  to  which  they  have 
been  subjected.  How,  if  under  such 
circumstances  they  should  overthrow 
the  control,  and  perhaps  not  the 
control  alone,  as  they  overthrew  the 
Ordnance ! 

Again,  we  think  it  much  to  be 
regretted  that  the  original  idea  of 
taking  controllers  from  all  branches 
of  the  service  was  departed  from. 
There  are  substantial  inducements 
to  accept  these  appointments ;  and 
we  believe  that,  if  a  few  cavalry  and 
infantry  colonels  had  been  turned 
into  controllers,  that  expedient 
would  have  done  more  to  open  the 
eyes  of  both  sides  to  •  the  origin  of 
the  troubles  than  any  they  could 
have  adopted.  As  it  is,  most  of  the 
controllers  have  been  taken  from 
the  Commissariat  and  the  Military 
Store  branches,  which  were  depart- 
ments already;  so  that  there  has 


396 


Tlie  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


[March 


been  no  fusion  or  alliance,  no  in- 
spection of  both  sides  of  the  can- 
vass. 

For  the  above  reasons,  we  doubt 
whether  the  controllers,  though 
dominant  to-day,  will  maintain  their 
ascendancy.  We  would  largely 
prefer  to  enforce,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, a  co-operation  of  the  com- 
batant officers,  which,  once  yielded, 
would  probably  be  continued  from 
a  conviction  of  its  necessity,  and 
from  an  appreciation  of  the  ends  to 
be  gained  by  it.  If  it  can  be  proved 
that  the  late  admirable  achievements 
of  the  Germans  were  the  work  of  an 
army  divided  against  itself,  whereof 
the  regiments  and  staif  on  the  one 
side,  and  the  departments  of  trans- 
port and  supply  on  the  other  side, 
simply  balanced  and  counterchecked 
each  other,  so  as  to  make  a  show  of 
unanimity  where  there  was  no  real 
consent  or  co-operation,  then  we 
will  be  hopeful  of  the  success  of  the 
control  scheme ;  but  believing  as  we 
do  that  the  Prussians  won  by  a  far 
wiser  arrangement,  we  still  desire  to 
try  means  for  producing  complete 
harmony  and  joint  action. 

To  return  to  the  purchase  system 
— we  have  reason  to  believe  that  a 
large  section  of  the  country  is 
strangely  misinformed  as  to  what 
that  system  really  means.  There 
are  many,  if  we  do  not  greatly 
err,  who  suppose  that  an  officer  can 
take  his  commission  to  market  as 
he  would  his  horse,  and  sell  it  to 
the  highest  bidder.  The  truth  is, 
that  the  senior  of  the  next  rank  be- 
low that  of  the  seller  has  always 
the  first  right  to  purchase,  suppos- 


ing him  to  be  thought  fit  for  promo- 
tion by  the  authorities  under  whose 
observation  and  control  sale  and  pur- 
chase invariably  take  place.  If  the 
senior  cannot  put  down  the  regulat- 
ed sum,  the  opportunity  of  purchase 
passes  to  the  next  below  him ;  and 
no  officer  by  offering  more  than  the 
fixed  price  can  overleap  a  senior 
who  is  ready  to  pay  that  price. 
Payments  beyond  the  regulation  do 
certainly  take  place,  but  these  are 
generally  made  as  inducements  to 
an  officer  to  retire  whom  the  regu- 
lated allowance  would  not  induce ; 
they  do  not  alter  the  established 
order  of  succession.  For  example, 
Major  A.  is  half  disposed  to  retire, 
and  it  is  certain  that  whenever  he 
may  retire  he  will  be  succeeded  by 
Captain  B.,  whose  money,  accord- 
ing to  regulation,  is  ready,  and  who 
is  the  senior  captain.  But  Captain 
B.  is  very  anxious  indeed  for  the 
step1,  and  is  willing  to  pay  some- 
thing to  put  an  end  to  Major  A.'s 
indecision :  he  therefore  tells  him 
privately  that  if  he  will  retire  at 
once  he  will  give  him  a  douceur 
over  and  above  the  regulation. 
Mark,  however,  that  no  other  cap- 
tain could  do  this  to  the  prejudice 
of  Captain  B.  Major  A.  may  retire 
or  not  retire ;  but  whenever  he  does 
retire,  Captain  B.  must  succeed  him.* 
Promotion  by  seniority  or  promo- 
tion by  merit  is  to  be  the  rule  when 
promotion  by  purchase  shall  be 
abolished,  but  the  reformers  don't 
seem  to  know  which,  t  That  they 
have  not  some  ready  substitute  of 
good  promise  to  replace  the  system 
which  they  would  extinguish  is  not 


*  To  show  how  entirely  this  question  of  purchase  is  misunderstood,  we  quote  the 
following,  published  since  the  text  above  was  in  type,  in  a  leader  of  the  '  Times  '  of 
17th  February : — "  The  regular  army  is  supplied  with  officers  under  a  system  which, 
now  that  the  Commission  of  last  year  has  reported  that  the  payment  of  over-regula- 
tion prices  must  be  recognised,  without  disguise  throws  open  the  command  of  regi- 
ments to  the  highest  bidder  among  those  who  can  satisfy  a  few  easy  conditions  of 
service. "  This  is  simply  absurd,  and  it  comes  from  a  professed  instructor.  Shall 
the  blind  lead  the  blind  ? 

t  This  was  in  type  before  the  Secretary  of  State  for  War  announced  the  prefer- 
ence of  Ministers  for  promotion  by  selection. 


1871.] 


TJie  SicJc  Army  and  its  Doctcrs. 


397 


a  good  sign.  It  seems  to  argue  that 
they  are  more  intent  on  knocking 
clown,  at  any  rate,  than  on  improv- 
ing —  that  it  is  more  animosity 
against  the  service  as  it  is  than  a 
wish  to  amend  it  which  prompts 
their  efforts.  Once  more,  guarding 
ourselves  against  the  supposition 
that  we  condemn  all  reform,  we  say 
that,  before  relinquishing  the  pur- 
chase system,  we  ought  to  have  a 
clear  idea  of  what  we  would  estab- 
lish in  its  place,  and  a  fair  and  rea- 
sonable expectation  that  the  new 
method  will  be  preferable,  to  the 
old.  To  show  the  probable  results 
of  both  the  proposed  methods  we 
subjoin  a  few  remarks  on  each. 

What  the  seniority  system  is  can 
be  learned  from  the  promotion  of 
the  Artillery  and  Engineers.  In 
these  corps  it  is  never  rapid,  and 
often  discouragingly  slow.  Alter- 
nate periods  of  stagnation  and  mo- 
derately -  slow  advancement  have 
place.  In  the  bad  times  the  upper 
ranks  are  too  old  for  work :  there 
are  grey  captains  and  middle-aged 
subalterns.  Despair  drives  away 
many  of  the  disappointed,  and 
death  at  last  takes  the  old.  The 
two  together  clear  the  way  for 
young  officers,  and  bring  about  a 
fortunate  period.  Any  one  who 
can  recall  the  condition  of  the  Ord- 
nance corps  in  the  twenty  years 
from  1825  to  1845  has  a  knowledge 
of  a  very  gloomy  epoch  in  their  his- 
tory. The  casualties  and  demands 
of  the  Peninsular  War  had  pre- 
viously opened  the  way  for  the  in- 
troduction of  numerous  aspirants, 
whose  prospects  the  peace  suddenly 
clouded.  The  field  -  officers  and 
senior  captains  were  nearly  contem- 
poraries, and  not  yet  old  enough  to 
make  vacancies  in  obedience  to  na- 
ture's law  ;  the  junior  captains  and 
the  subalterns  were  men  of  all  ages 
from  45  to  18.  The  stoppage  con- 
tinued until  some  of  the  eldest  sub- 
alterns had  registered  twenty -five 


years  of  service.  Then — that  is  to 
say,  about  1838 — things  began  to 
look  a  little  brighter  through  many 
hopeless  captains  leaving  the  ser- 
vice. In  due  time  Death  began  his 
work,  and  the  seniors,  being  nearly 
of  one  age,  succumbed  to  him  in 
numbers.  The  old  subalterns  began 
to  see  a  better  prospect,  but  they, 
being  already  stricken  in  years,  were 
not  likely  to  cumber  the  upper 
grades  long  enough  to  injure  the 
prospects  of  those  below  them.  Ac- 
cordingly the  officers  who  entered 
the  service  in  1840  have  enjoyed  a 
tolerably  even  promotion.  These, 
with  thirty  years'  service  or  there- 
abouts, and  at  the  age  of  some  50 
years,  now  fill  the  highest  regimen- 
tal grades,  still  fit  for  their  work, 
and  with  the  experience  of  a  long 
service.  But  as  a  majority  of  these 
are  likely  to  last  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century  longer,  the  prospects  of 
those  who  are  now  beginning,  or 
who  have  seen  a  short  service,  are 
not  flattering.  By  the  time  when 
the  present  field-officers  shall  have 
become  aged  men,  another  period  of 
stagnation  will  be  upon  those  below 
them,  so  that,  in  its  turn,  a  bad 
time  is  imminent.  A  liberal  sys- 
tem of  retirement,  or  the  accidents 
of  war,  may  modify  the  operation  of 
the  law,  but  the  law  nevertheless 
obtains  of  alternate  tardy  and  mo- 
derate promotion. 

At  the  times  when  the  upper 
ranks  are  too  old  for  their  several 
positions,  it  would  be  necessary,  in 
case  of  the  whole  service  moving  by 
seniority,  to  meet  the  evil  at  any 
cost ;  and  that  the  cost  would  at 
times  be  considerable  there  can  be 
no  doubt.  To  keep  up  a  regular 
continuous  stream  of  promotion 
there  are  no  means  except  the  com- 
pulsory retirement  of  men  at  a  cer- 
tain age, — either  at  a  certain  age 
absolutely,  or  at  a  certain  age  for 
each  rank.  Probably  the  former 
would  be  better  for  the  public,  as 


398 


Tlie  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


[March 


securing  in  some  grade  or  other  the 
best  years  of  every  officer's  life,  and 
letting  only  his  old  age  be  burden- 
some. The  plan  of  forcing  only 
regimental  officers  of  a  certain  age 
to  retire  seems  not  to  be  the  best. 
To  get  rid  of  the  oldest  first — i.e., 
to  insist  on  the  retirement  of  the 
Generals — is  the  surest  way  to  open 
the  door  for  the  gradual  promotion 
of  all.  But  even  thus  the  country 
must  face  the  burden  of  maintaining 
all  officers  who  may  have  passed  the 
retiring  age  (which,  it  is  presumed, 
would  be  65),  from  the  date  of  re- 
tirement to  the  day  of  death.  The 
retirement  must  be  liberal,  or  the 
whole  service  will  suffer  for  its  in- 
sufficiency ;  and,  to  produce  the 
greatest  general  benefit,  retirement 
at  the  prescribed  age  should  be  an 
inexorable  necessity  for  all. 

As  to  promotion  by  selection, 
what  the  authorities  may  consider 
best  is  hard  to  predict,  but  what 
officers  themselves  would  say  is  not 
doubtful.  They  would  prefer  for- 
tune, or  money,  or  the  chances  of 
life,  as  arbiters,  rather  than  the 
opinion  of  an  official,  be  he  who  he 
may.  They  have  no  belief  that 
selections  will  be  made  fairly,  and 
this  distrust  must  render  the  person 
whose  duty  it  may  be  to  make  selec- 
tions, as  well  as  the  officers  inter- 
ested in  that  person's  choice,  un- 
comfortable. Selection  by  a  com- 
mittee has  been  suggested,  but  this 
would  be  worse  than  selection  by  an 
individual :  the  latter  would,  at  any 
rate,  feel  that  all  responsibility  of 
his  acts  rested  on  him,  while,  among 
the  members  of  the  former,  respon- 
sibility would  be  frittered  away  so 
that  each  man's  share  would  be 
trifling. 

An  idea  of  what  promotion  by 
selection  would  be,  may  be  formed 
from  observation  of  the  selections 
made  now  for  the  Staff  and  the  civil 
offices  of  the  army.  It  is  notorious 
that  not  merit  but  personal  favour,  or 


connection,  or  political  influence,  or 
the  habit  of  working  with  a  particu- 
lar person,  decides  the  appointments. 
In  this  way  persons  most  unfit  find 
their  way  to  positions  of  high  trust, 
where  they  do  infinite  mischief.  The 
regulation  limits  the  time  of  holding 
a  Staff  appointment  to  five  years,  but 
there  seems  to  be  an  unwritten  law, 
overriding  the  apparent  regulation, 
by  which  an  officer  once  appointed 
to  the  Staff  scarcely  ever  returns  to 
regimental  duty.  If  not  continued 
in  his  first  appointment,  he  is  trans- 
ferred to  another.  It  would  seem  as 
if  the  habit  of  seeing  him  day  by 
day,  once  begun,  could  never  be 
dispensed  with ;  and  change  would 
cause  so  great  a  disturbance  to  the 
august  repose  of  the  higher  authori- 
ties, that  it  could  not  be  thought  of. 
Thus,  simply  because  working  with 
a  strange  officer  may  be  disagreeable 
at  first,  hundreds  are  never  allowed 
a  chance  of  showing  what  they  are 
good  for,  while  a  few  continue  to 
monopolise  all  the  posts  which  are 
considered  prizes.  There  are  at  this 
minute  many  officers  who  have  not 
taken  any  foreign  service  for  up- 
wards of  twenty  years,  they  having 
been  passed  from  one  home  appoint- 
ment to  another  during  that  period. 
It  would  be  invidious  to  particu- 
larise cases,  and  for  those  who  know 
the  service  it  is  not  necessary  to  do 
so  :  they  are  only  too  well  acquaint- 
ed, each  in  his  own  line,  with  glar- 
ing instances  of  men  selected  for  no 
apparent  merit,  and  sometimes  in 
spite  of  notorious  incapacity  and 
want  of  desert,  and  of  men  con- 
tinued in  offices  in  defiance  of  re- 
gulations ;  and  for  no  apparent  rea- 
son, except  that  these  men  have  got 
into  the  way  of  doing  the  duty — • 
have,  by  daily  intercourse  with  those 
who  can  give,  or  recommend  for,  ap- 
pointments, been  able  to  plead  for 
themselves,  and  that  the  superiors 
dislike  the  idea  of  strange  men  about 
them. 


1871.] 


17ie  Sic7<;  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


399 


Of  the  two  methods  of  promotion, 
that  by  seniority  would  be  far  pre- 
ferable to  that  by  selection,  provided 
only  that  a  liberal  and  inexorable 
system  of  retirement  clear  the  lists, 
and  bring  men  on  to  commands  at 
the  best  time  of  life. 

Now,  before  they  begin  to  pull 
down,  our  legislators  should  consider 
carefully  the  above  things,  and  one 
thing  more.  To  redeem  all  the 
purchased  commissions  fairly  will 
cost  the  country  seven  millions.  To 
institute  a  liberal  system  of  retire- 
ment for  the  whole  army — such  a 
system  as  would  be  required  if  pro- 
motion were  by  seniority — would 
load  the  estimates  with  a  huge  an- 
nual non-effective  charge,  varying 
from  time  to  time,  as  we  have  shown 
that  the  rate  of  promotion  in  the 
seniority  corps  varies.  Why  should 
all  this  money  be  spent  if  we  can 
improve  the  present  system  so  as  to 
give  us  what  we  want  ?  Now  that 
the  War  Minister  can  impose  his 
will  upon  the  army,  and  that  Parlia- 
ment can  impose  its  will  upon  the 
War  Minister,  why  not  begin  by 
insisting  upon  less  leave,  more  (so  to 
speak)  domestic  work,  and  the  wear- 
ing of  their  uniform  by  officers  ? 
Why  not  impress  upon  commanding 
officers  the  necessity  of  making  their 
officers  really  and  openly  military  on 
pain  of  losing  their  own  commands 
in  case  of  failure  ?  Why  not  let 
officers  see  that  the  opinion  formed 
of  their  efficiency  will  be  grounded 
on  the  will  and  ability  they  may 
show  to  deal  with  matters  of  finance, 
to  economise  stores,  keep  their  bar- 
racks in  order,  &c.,  as  well  as  on 
their  knowledge  of  discipline  and 
proficiency  in  drill  ?  All  this  can  be 
done  without  doubt,  and  could  have 
been  done  long  ago  if  the  Horse- 
Guards  had  had  the  will  to  do  it. 
The  consequence  would  be  an  im- 
mediate retirement  by  sale  of  a  good 
many  idlers  who  might  very  con- 
veniently be  spared,  while  officers  of 


the  right  kind  would  remain  and 
invigorate  the  profession.  Scions  of 
wealthy  houses  would  reflect,  before 
entering  the  service,  whether  or  not 
they  could  make  up  their  minds  to 
the  duty,  and  take  their  idleness 
elsewhere  if  they  found  it  impos- 
sible to  work.  But  this  would  not 
alter  the  class  from  which  we  officer 
our  army  :  it  would  insure  only  that 
out  of  the  twenty  candidates  who 
are  said  now  to  compete  for  every 
vacant  commission,  we  should  get  a 
working  officer  instead  of  a  scape- 
grace. Zealous  officers  would  soon 
make  their  men  productive  in  some 
way  or  other,  so  that  the  soldier 
should  no  longer  be  a  sort  of  social 
blot.  There  would  be  harmony  and 
co-operation  in  the  service,  which  is 
what  we  want,  and  there  would  be 
efficiency  with  ten  times  more  eco- 
nomy than  can  possibly  be  achieved 
if  we  undertake  to  buy  up  all  com- 
missions, to  pay  the  increased  sala- 
ries which  a  new  class  of  men  would 
undoubtedly  demand,  and  to  main- 
tain every  officer  who  may  attain 
advanced  age  in  idleness  for  a  large 
fraction  of  his  life. 

If  we  get  the  right  kind  of  men, 
and  a  sufficient  number  of  them, 
what  matters  it  whether  they  rise 
by  purchase  or  not?  Remember 
that  the  service  makes  no  complaint 
of  purchase — does  not  consider  it  a 
grievance.  It  is  only  the  reformers 
outside  who,  seeing  what  a  promis- 
ing subject  for  declamation  it  af- 
forded, "  go  in"  at  promotion  by  pur- 
chase. You  may,  we  are  persuaded, 
get  the  right  men  without  abolish- 
ing purchase.  You  would  have  to 
move  a  hard-headed  colonel  or  two, 
but  still  you  may  succeed.  There 
is  undoubtedly  a  disease,  but  we  are 
not  yet  persuaded  that  the  disease 
may  not  be  successfully  dealt  with 
without  tampering  with  the  patient's 
constitution. 

And  now,  having  made  admissions 
which  will  perhaps  be  considered 


400 


Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


[March 


large,  and  revealed  some  matters 
which,  have  no  place  in  the  burden 
of  the  old  song  that  has  been  droned 
so  pertinaciously  for  many  seasons  ; 
— having,  we  say,  stated  the  case 
pretty  broadly  against  the  adminis- 
tration and  officers  of  the  army,  we 
may  perhaps  be  allowed  to  address 
a  few  words  to  another  quarter,  to 
a  personage  who,  however  astonished 
and  indignant  he  may  look,  is  not 
altogether  without  soil  in  this  mat- 
ter. Stand  up,  John  Bull.  Look 
at  those  people  in  red,  if  you  have 
the  assurance  to  do  it.  You  com- 
plain grievously,  don't  you,  of  their 
shortcomings  and  inefficiency?  They 
are  not  the  wares  for  your  money, 
eh.1  You  must  have  something  a 
little  more  highly  trained,  something 
more  like  the  real  article  than  that; 
something  that  can  match  the  fo- 
reigner's war-men.  We've  got  the 
stuff,  why  shouldn't  we  have  the 
use  of  it?  Now,  supposing  all  your 
complaint  to  be  just  and  reasonable 
— which  it  isn't—will  you  be  good 
enough  to  say  what  you  have  ever 
done  to  induce  superior  men  to  don 
your  livery,  or  what  you  have  ever 
done  to  attach  and  encourage  the 
men  that  you  have  got  ?  Do  you 
ever  manifest  the  least  interest  in 
them?  Do  you  pay  them  decently? 
Do  you  attend  at  all  to  their  wants 
or  their  wishes  ?  Do  you  ever,  ex- 
cept in  times  of  danger,  when  you 
feel  your  need  of  them,  give  them 
even  a  kind  word?  Do  you  not  ra- 
ther take  every  opportunity  of  show- 
ing how  cordially  you  grudge  what- 
ever you  are  forced  to  give  for  their 
maintenance  ?  Do  you  not  seek  by 
every  means  to  grind  and  pare  to 
the  lowest  farthing  the  provision 
which  is  made  for  them  ?  Is  it  not 
often  made  a  boast  by  those  who 
seek  your  favour,  that  they  are 
ready  and  anxious  to  reduce  the 


service,  its  pay,  its  accessories,  its 
rewards;  that  they  loathe  the  very 
sight  of  a  soldier  ?  And  do  you 
not  continually  select  your  repre- 
sentatives and  your  Ministry  because 
they  hold  your  army  in  low  esteem, 
and  are  anxious  to  despoil  it  ?  Do 
you  not  take  every  available  oppor- 
tunity (saving  always  the  times 
when  you.  are  frightened)  of  show- 
ing your  low  appreciation  of  your 
army,  and  of  putting  indignity 
upon  it?  As  for  superior  men, 
such  as  you  now  talk  of  hav- 
ing, what  possible  inducement 
have  they  to  serve  you  ?  You 
say,  and  we  admit,  that  to  put 
you  at  all  on  a  footing  with  your 
fellows,  you  must  have  in  your 
armies  some  of  the  very  best  heads 
that  you  can  produce;  but,  as  we 
have  asked  you  before,*  what  on 
earth  should  such  men  come  into 
your  service  for?  There  is  hardly 
any  other  profession  in  which  they 
may  not  hope  to  find  better  appre- 
ciation for  their  talents  and  a  bet- 
ter reward  for  their  exertions.  And 
these,  your  present  defenders,  with 
whom  it  is  now  a  passion  with  you 
to  find  so  much  fault,  have  you  ever 
thought  of  who  and  what  they  are  ? 
what  it  is  that  they  do  for  you  in 
exchange  for  the  pittance  and  the 
insult  which  you  are  pleased  to 
throw  at  them  ?  how  their  ordinary 
lives  have  nothing  better  in  them 
than  repeated  banishment,  endur- 
ance of  the  extremes  of  heat  and 
cold,  voyages,  fatigues,  losses,  broken 
health?  and  how,  in  times  of  danger, 
they  sacrifice  all  for  you,  ride  into 
the  cannon's  mouth  as  they  would 
into  another  (you  know)  mouth,  lest 
you  should  suffer  loss  or  injury?  and 
how  they  have  ever  wrought  so  faith- 
fully and  effectually,  that  however 
negligent  you  may  have  been,  what- 
ever risks  you  may  have  run,  or 


*  See  '  Blackwood's  Magazine' for  December  1870  ;  article,  "Thoughts  suggested 
by  the  War." 


1871.] 


The  SicJc  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


401 


perilous  straits  you  may  have  been 
lured  into  by  evil  counsellors,  yot 
you  have  always  been  brought  safely 
through  your  troubles  1  You  have 
enjoyed  immunity  for  so  long  that  it 
is  to  be  feared  that  you  look  upon 
it  as  the  consequence  of  a  natural 
law,  rather  than  the  hard-Avon  pur- 
chase of  men's  blood  and  lives. 
You  have  received  all  this,  but  what 
have  you  done  to  deserve  it1?  In- 
stead of  criticising  and  abusing  your 
troops,  you  ought  to  blush  in  their 
presence,  and  think  it  your  supreme 
good  fortune  that  any  gallant  men 
think  it  worth  their  while  to  serve 
so  hard  and  penurious  a  master. 
You  have  nothing  to  say?  well,  that, 
perhaps,  is  a  hopeful  sign,  for  it 
shows  that  you  have  some  shame 
left.  You  may  go  down. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  much 
of  this  paper  was  written  and  in  type 
before  the  Secretary  of  State  for  War 
expounded  in  Parliament  the  views 
of  the  Ministry  with  regard  to  our 
land  defences,  or  it  could  not  now 
be  before  our  readers.  We  have 
time,  however,  to  add  a  few  words 
expressive  of  our  disappointment 
and  regret  at  the  miserable  display 
which  was  so  speciously  unfolded  as  to 
obtain  at  the  first  announcement  the 
cheers  of  the  House  of  Commons. 
Having  stated  our  views  so  clearly 
in  respect  of  purchase  of  commis- 
sions, we  will  for  the  present  only 
record  our  chagrin  at  finding  that 
the  only  money  additional  to  the 
expenses  of  last  year,  which  the 
country  is  to  be  invited  to  allow,  is 
to  be  spent  for  the  vain,  and,  as  we 
think,  mischievous,  purpose  of  re- 
deeming officers'  commissions,  while 
what  we  want,  the  real  defence  of 
the  country,  is  absolutely  neglected. 
For  what  is  it  that  is  promised  to  us  1 
an  increased  militia  (when  we  can 
get  it),  which  is  not  to  be  embodied 
except  for  training,  a  paperreserve  for 
the  regular  army,  a  small  addition  to 


the  Artillery — a  good  thing  in  itself, 
but  altogether  insufficient  to  uphold 
our  position  in  Europe — a  few  regi- 
ments recruited  up  to  their  strength, 
and  there  an  end,  for  the  rest  is  only 
pensioners  and  volunteers.  The 
Minister  seemed  to  understand  the 
power  of  large  numbers  upon  the 
House,  for  he  dealt  in  hundreds  of 
thousands ;  while  in  fact,  if  he 
be  allowed  to  provide  for  us,  we 
shall  be  at  any  time  in  this  year 
1871-72,  if  a  neighbour  should  think 
proper  to  behave  as  Russia  did  in 
1870,  exactly  in  the  helpless  posi- 
tion that  we  were  in  then ;  and  we 
know  very  well  that  then,  on  tak- 
ing account  of  our  means,  we  learned 
to  our  confusion  that  we  could  not 
put  50,000  men  into  the  field,  what- 
ever force  there  might  be  on  paper. 
Now  let  us  examine  the  figures  with 
which  the  Commons  were  so  easily 
delighted.  The  provision  is  for 
497,000  men — enough,  one  thinks, 
for  all  purposes  of  defence.  But 
we  are  not  allowed  for  an  instant 
to  enjoy  the  illusion  that  we  have 
such  a  protection,  for  immediate- 
ly we  find  that  in  this  number 
are  included  170,000  volunteers ; 
30,000  second  army  reserve  and 
pensioners  (that  is,  if  we  can  get 
the  reserve) ;  9000  first  army  reserve, 
if  we  can  get  them ;  14,000  disem- 
bodied yeomanry;  139,000  disem- 
bodied militia,  of  whom  45,000 
have  yet  to  be  raised ;  and  then 
139,000  regular  forces,  of  whom 
108,000  are  to  be,  or  supposed 
to  be,  in  this  country,  when 
20,600  men  who  are  to  be  added 
to  different  branches  shall  have 
been  recruited.  Thus  the  really 
available  army  is  hoped  or  pre- 
tended to  be  139,000  men  at  homo 
and  abroad;  and  of  these  we  are 
told  that  108,100  will  be  at  home. 
Now,  if  we  deduct  the  20,000  not 
yet  all  raised,  it  reduces  the  force 
at  home  to  88,100,  made  up,  we  are 
not  told  how,  but  doubtless  a  paper 


402 


Tlie  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


manufacture  to  a  great  extent;  for  if 
in  November  last  we  were  unable, 
as  we  certainly  were,  to  turn  out  a 
fighting  force  of  50,000  men, 
whence  can  the  additional  30,000 
have  come  during  the  winter  1  Pro- 
bably from  the  same  inexhausti- 
ble stores  from  whence  the  300,000 
breech-loading  rifles  were  spirited 
last  year.  But,  without  waiting  to 
see  how  this  ingenious  paradox  will 
be  made  out,  we  confidently  assume 
that  we  are  in  no  respect  stronger 
than  we  were  in  November  last;  and 
that  even  when  we  get,  if  ever 
we  get,  our  20,000  *  additional 
men  and  our  9000  reserve,  we  shall 
be,  in  comparison  with  our  Conti- 
nental neighbours,  not  appreciably 
stronger  than  we  were  before ;  for 
29,000,  even  if  they  stood  in  the 
flesh  instead  of  on  paper,  would 
not,  when  added  to  our  present 
force,  enable  us  to  speak  with  our 
enemies  in  the  gate  without  confu- 
sion. In  short,  the  country,  if  it 
approves  these  army  estimates,  will 
have  been  defrauded  of  its  proper 
defence.  What  we  all  demanded 
was  immediate  and  sufficient  de- 
fence ;  and  we  all  said  not  long 
ago  that  the  continued  existence 
of  the  Ministry  would  depend  on 
whether  or  not  they  should  provide 
the  defence.  They  have  not  pro- 


vided it.  They  have  amused  us 
with  an  expensive  crotchet  regard- 
ing commissions  which  adds  nothing 
to  our  strength  ;  they  have  changed 
the  source  from  which  the  com- 
missions of  militia  officers  shall 
emanate,  which  is  a  judicious 
change,  but  adds  nothing  to  our 
strength ;  they  have  divided  the 
reserve  forces  into  districts  under 
colonels  on  the  Staff,  which,  though 
a  satisfactory  measure  in  itself,  adds 
nothing  to  our  strength ;  and  they 
propose  to  promote  officers  by  selec- 
tion, which  is  a  most  hazardous 
proposal,  likely  to  ruin  the  service 
by  jobbery  and  heart-burnings,  but 
which  again  adds  nothing  to  our 
strength.  A  paper  army  swollen 
to  amazing  figures  seems  to  us  as 
worthless  as  to  Master  Dumbleton 
seemed  the  names  of  Falstaff  and 
Bardolph  at  the  bottom  of  a  bill. 
We  "  like  not  the  security." 

But  it  is  not  only  the  fact  of  the 
insufficient  defence  that  we  have  to 
consider ;  we  have  to  think  also  of 
the  more  dangerous  fact  which  this 
insufficient  defence  reveals.  It  tells 
us  that  the  safety  and  honour  of  the 
country  are  no  more  the  care  of  the 
Government  than  they  were  when 
the  army  and  navy  were  being  re- 
duced, or  when  we  so  disgracefully 
temporised  with  Russian  insolence.t 


*  Some  of  the  20,000  would  appear  to  have  been  already  recruited  before  Novem- 
ber, and  would  therefore  be  included  in  the  50,000  said  to  be  then  possibly  available, 
which  makes  the  case  worse  for  the  Government. 

•\"  The  difficulty  we  have  felt  in  digesting  the  buffet  received  from  Russia,  and  the 
Quaker-like  submission  with  which  it  has  been  acquiesced  in,  has  not  been  removed 
by  the  very  singular  but  very  frank  explanation  given  by  the  Premier  of  the  relations 
subsisting  between  the  Government  and  the  representatives  employed  by  them  in 
their  communications  with  foreign  countries.  That  explanation  we  find  thus  set  forth 
in  the  Parliamentary  report  of  the  '  Times '  of  17th  February  : — 

"  MR  ODO  RUSSELL'S  DIPLOMACY. 

"  Sir  J.  HAY. — I  wish  to  ask  the  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  whether  the  declara- 
tion made  by  Mr  Odo  Russell  to  Count  Bismark  on  the  21st  of  November  (contained 
in  No.  76,  page  45,  of  the  correspondence  respecting  the  Treaty  of  March  1856) — 


1871.]                         Tlie  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors.  403 

It  tells  us  that  what  little  has  been  course  of  the  year  there  should  be 
done  is  simply  to  make  a  show,  and  a  cry  for  vigorous  action,  the  country 
that  Ministers  may  keep  their  places ;  may  be  reminded,  as  it  was  in 
that  they  have  learned  nothing  and  November  1870,  that  we  have  not 
unlearned  nothing  by  the  stirring  the  means  of  going  to  war.  If,  then, 
events  of  the  last  seven  months ;  and  there  were  any  meaning  in  what  the 
that  they  are  at  heart  the  same  country  said,  the  Ministry  have 
grovelling  politicians  as  before,  the  earned  their  dismissal,  and  should 
slaves  of  Mr  Bright  and  the  Peace  at  once  give  place  to  other  Ministers 
party.  Now  it  is  a  maxim  of  the  who  will  not  only  give  us  the  re- 
Peace  party,  that  if  the  armaments  quisite  number  of  forces,  but  on 
be  but  kept  down  the  country  can-  whom  we  can  rely  to  make  those 
not  fight,  be  the  necessity  what  it  forces  a  means  of  upholding  the 
may;  and  it  would  look  very  much  honour  and  insuring  the  integrity 
as  if  we  were  being  cheated  into  this  of  the  British  empire, 
feeble  condition,  so  that  if  in  the  Thus  much  of  the  vital  question 


namely,  that  '  the  question  was  one  which  Mr  Odo  Russell  had  frankly  proved  to 
Count  Bismark  was  of  a  nature  in  its  present  state  to  compel  us,  with  or  without 
allies,  to  go  to  war  with  Russia,'  was  authorised  by  Her  Majesty's  Government,  and 
what  preparation  Her  Majesty's  Government  had  made  in  support  of  their  threat. 

"  Mr  GLADSTONE. — The  argument  used  by  Mr  Odo  Russell,  as  reported  by  him  in 
the  despatch  referred  to,  was  not  one  which  had  been  directed  by  Her  Majesty's  Gov- 
ernment. In  saying  that  I  do  not  imply  the  slightest  blame  attached  to  Mr  Odo 
Russell,  because  it  is  perfectly  well  known  that  the  duty  of  Her  Majesty's  diplomatic 
agents  requires  them  to  express  themselves  in  that  mode  in  which  they  think  they  can 
best  support  and  recommend  the  propositions  of  which  they  wish  to  procure  acceptance. 
I  do  not  therefore  blame  Mr  Odo  Russell ;  but  sucli  was  the  fact,  that  it  was  not 
under  any  specific  authority  or  instruction  from  the  Government  that  the  argument 
referred  to  was  used  by  him." 

This  statement  reminds  us  of  the  old  story  told  by  Isaac  Walton  of  Sir  Henry  Wot- 
ton,  who,  when  going  on  his  embassy  to  Venice,  passed  through  a  German  town,  where, 
in  the  course  of  an  evening's  amusement,  he  was  asked  to  give  a  definition  of  an  Ambas- 
sador. He  accordingly  wrote  in  an  album  these  words : — "  Legatus  est  vir  bonus  peregre 
missus  ad  mintiendum  Reipublicse  causa."  Of  which  definition  he  proposed  this  as  the 
English  translation :  "An  Ambassador  is  an  honest  man  sent  to  lie  abroad  for  the  good 
of  his  country."  After  an  interval  of  some  years,  Scioppius,  a  violent  Romanist,  got 
hold  of  the  sentence  and  published  it,  by  having  it  written  on  many  of  the  windows 
at  Venice,  as  revealing  the  true  principle  on  which  Sir  Henry,  and  his  master,  James 
I.,  conducted  their  diplomacy.  James  was  highly  displeased  at  this  indiscreet  jest, 
and  was  with  difficulty  prevailed  on  to  forgive  it,  upon  Sir  Henry  writing  and  circu- 
lating an  ample  apology,  and  disclaimer  of  any  such  view  of  an  Ambassador's  functions. 

Does  our  present  Government  openly  avow  and  act  on  that  conception  of  "  the  office 
of  an  Ambassador"  which  James  was  so  indignant  at  having  imputed  to  him  ?  Is  there 
any  difference  between  sending  an  honest  man  to  tellfalsehoods  to  foreign  countries,  and 
giving  him  permission  and  encouragement  to  use  threats  that  are  never  to  be  followed 
up  by  his  employers  ?  The  element  of  intended  deception  exists  in  the  one  case  as  well 
as  in  the  other,  though,  fortunately  or  unfortunately,  the  clear  and  candid  informa- 
tion now  afforded  lets  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  and  will  enable  our  foreign  friends  to 
estimate  in  future  any  similar  menace  by  a  British  Envoy  as  a  brutum  fulmcn 
which  need  cause  no  uneasiness. 


404 


The  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


[March 


of  defence.  Let  us  BOW  look  at 
some  of  the  other  proposed  measures. 
Taxpayers  ought  at  once  to  take 
note  of  the  fact,  that  the  new  system 
of  army  promotion  which  Parliament 
has  "been  invited  to  approve  con- 
tains within  it  the  certainty  of  heavy 
and  lasting  expense.  As  soon  as 
promotion  by  purchase  shall  have 
disappeared,  it  will  he  necessary  to 
increase  very  largely  the  pay  of 
officers  in  the  army.  The  miserable 
pay  now  given  is  the  same  as  was 
allowed  in  the  days  of  the  Penin- 
sular War,  when  the  value  of  money 
and  the  requirements  of  life  were 
very  different  from  what  they  now 
are.  Under  the  purchase  system 
officers  have  not  cared  for  this ;  but 
it  will  force  consideration  now  that 
we  are  about  to  open  the  way  into 
the  army  for  men  who  may  have 
to  live  wholly  by  their  profession. 
Though  much  has  been  done  for 
the  health,  comfort,  and  means  of 
non-commissioned  officers  and  sol- 
diers, not  the  least  move  has  been 
made  for  improving  the  pay  and 
position  of  officers ;  and  that,  we 
may  rely  on  it,  Avill  now  have  to  be 
done,  to  our  immediate  and  perma- 
nent cost.  Again,  when  the  outlet 
which  purchase  afforded  shall  be 
taken  away,  all  officers  who  may 
become  old  or  broken  must  be  pen- 
sioned. It  is  impossible  to  foresee 
to  what  expense  this  may  lead  us  ; 
yet  when  once  we  shall  have  abol- 
ished purchase,  there  will  be  no 
choice  but  to  incur  the  expense — 
we  must  provide  pensions,  or  no 
officer  will  enter  the  service. 

If  the  officers  of  the  army  were 
polled,  they  would  decide  by  an. 
immense  majority  against  promo- 
tion by  selection.  It  is  most  hate- 
ful to  them,  and  is  likely  per- 
manently to  damage  the  service. 
Emulations  and  envyings,  unjust 


advancement,  cruel  neglect,  will 
break  up  the  harmony  of  regiments. 
!N"ot  true  performance  of  duty,  but 
cultivation  of  political  interest,  will 
be  the  means  resorted  to  by  those 
who  desire  to  get  on.  Foreign  ser- 
vice will  become  in  the  highest 
degree  distasteful,  because  the  hang- 
ers -  on  within  reach  of  London 
will  make  the  first  application  for 
vacancies,  and  secure  them,  spite  of 
the  merits  of  those  who  may  be  serv- 
ing abroad — les  aliens  ont  toujours 
tort.  And  we  do  not  believe  in 
any  machinery  that  can  prevent  or 
check  corruption  in  this  respect. 
The  Minister  may  keep  aloof  in  ap- 
pearance, and  approve  of  promotion 
on  only  the  best  testimonials ;  yet 
injustice  will  not  only  creep  in,  but 
will  prevail.  Do  we  not  remember 
how  "  Dowb"  was  taken  care  of? 

We  do  hope  that  the  public  will 
pause — pause  long  before  they  con- 
sent to  this  useless  change  in  the 
system  of  promotion.  If  they  are 
anxious  to  get  rid  of  seven  or  eight 
millions,  we  will  suggest  to  them 
lower  doAvn  a  more  profitable  me- 
thod of  doing  so. 

We  had  thought  that  the  country 
had  emphatically  pronounced  for  the 
ballot  in  regard  to  the  militia.  Mr 
Cardwell  says  he  can  get  men  with- 
out the  ballot,  but  that  is  to  be 
seen;  and  he  says  that  he  can 
dispense  with  the  ballot,  because 
we  are  at  peace,  and  we  need  not 
hurry  our  levies.  But  that  is  just 
where  we  are  at  issue  with  him.  If 
England  is  at  peace,  Europe  is  not 
at  peace.  The  balance  of  power  has 
been  violently  disturbed,  and  no 
man  can  see  when  it  may  be  even 
again,  or  how  soon  we  may  have  to 
cast  our  sword  into  the  scale.  As 
we  have  taken  occasion  to  say  be- 
fore,* there  will  be  no  time  for  rais- 
ing troops  by  complex  channels 


*  '  Black  wood's  Magazine'  for  December,  1870— article,  "  Thoughts  suggested  l>y 
the  War." 


1871.] 


TJte  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


405 


after  the  gauntlet  shall  have  been 
once  thrown  down  and  taken  up. 
We  ought  to  be  prepared  now,  at 
once;  and  if  we  understand  at  all 
what  the  public  voice  has  been 
saying  all  through  the  winter,  it 
insists  on  the  country  being  put 
into  a  respectable  condition  of  de- 
fence with  the  least  possible  delay. 
Then  the  occasion  is  one  for  the 
ballot,  and  the  ballot  ought  to  be 
resorted  to. 

The  same  fallacy,  that  this  is 
really  a  time  of  peace,  runs  through 
the  whole  of  Mr  CardwelTs  argu- 
ment. By  it  he  defends  all  the 
tardy  experiments  of  angling  for 
first  and  second  reserves,  improving 
the  militia  and  volunteers,  attenu- 
ating regiments,  &c.  These  things 
take  time,  and  we  want  the  de- 
fences as  soon  as  we  can  get  them. 
While  the  grass  is  growing  the 
horse  starves. 

And  now,  tired  of  blaming,  let 
us  find  something  (if  under  the  cir- 
cumstances it  be  but  a  minor  mat- 
ter) that  merits  praise.  The  divi- 
sion of  the  volunteers  into  sections 
of  15,000  to  20,000,  each  under  the 
command  of  a  colonel  on  the  staff, 
will,  if  anything  can,  render  them 
efficient  soldiers  in  time.  And  the 
plan  of  strengthening  the  militia, 
and  of  giving  to  its  officers  the  so- 
vereign's commissions,  has  our  full 
approbation,  only  we  contend  that 
the  former  should  be  effected  by 
the  very  speediest  means.  The  rais- 
ing of  reserves,  too,  is  a  very  proper 
endeavour,  provided  we  do  not  count 
these  reserves  among  our  forces 
until  we  have  got  them.  There  is 
a  story  in  'The  Thousand  and  One 
Nights'  of  a  sultan  who  possessed  a 
tent,  which  at  idle  times  would 
fold  up  and  lie  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand,  but  when  he  took  the  field, 


would  expand  so  as  to  cover  his 
whole  army.  Now  an  army  pos- 
sessed of  the  same  qualities  as  this 
tent  is  what  our  Ministers  are  try- 
ing to  constitute ;  and  possibly  they 
may  in  time  acquire  one,  and  we 
wish  they  may.  But  in  the  mean 
time  we  strongly  desire  to  have  a 
respectable  army  raised  immediately 
upon  the  old  and  approved  plan. 
On  the  whole,  we  are  glad  to  be  able 
to  say  that,  provided  we  ever  get  an 
army,  Mr  Cardwell  has  hit  on  two 
or  three  changes  which  may  increase 
the  efficiency  of  that  army. 

It  is  very  easy  to  find  fault,  people 
are  apt  to  say ;  but  can  the  critics, 
after  all  their  condemnation,  suggest 
anything  better  than  that  to  which 
they  object?  If  such  a  question 
should  be  asked  in  respect  to  our 
strictures  on  the  Army  Estimates, 
we  say  at  once  that  we  could  pro- 
pose something  much  more  satisfac- 
tory, and  here  is  our  scheme  : — 

1st,  Give  up  the  foolish  plan  of 
abolishing  purchase;  vote  the  money 
or  part  of  the  money  that  it  would 
cost  for  purposes  of  real  defence. 

2d,  Call  out  the  militia  at  once, 
and  keep  it  under  arms  until  you 
have  a  sufficient  regular  force.* 

3d,  Augment  the  militia  by  bal- 
lot, not  by  voluntary  enlistment. 
Thus  you  may  have  139,000  militia 
under  arms  in  a  month's  time,  if  the 
Minister's  figures  can  be  relied  on. 

4th,  Recruit  the  regular  army 
as  fast  as  possible,  and,  as  it  increases, 
diminish  the  number  of  embodied 
militia, 

5th,  Notwithstanding,  and  in  ad- 
dition to,  the  above  measures,  try 
the  scheme  of  completing  the  re- 
serve. If  it  bear  fruit,  well.  And 
when  you  have  available  and  effici- 
ent reserves,  then,  and  not  till  then, 
attenuate  your  battalions. 


*  See  the  article,  "What  we  may  Learn,"  in  '  Blackwood's  Magazine'  for  Feb- 
ruary, where  it  is  recommended,  at  page  137,  that  every  militia  regiment  should  serve 
through  one  continuous  year. 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXV.  2  E 


406 


The  Sick  Army  and  its  Doctors. 


[March  1871. 


Now  our  project  will  cost  less 
money  than  that  of  the  Administra- 
tion, and  it  will  give  us,  instead  of 
the  realisation  of  a  fancy,  the  sub- 
stance of  many  thousand  soldiers 
armed  in  proof.  If  it  were  to  be  fol- 
lowed, we  should  immediately  be 
able  to  assert  our  place  in  European 
councils.  We  should  have  a  reality, 
and  not  a  sham.  And  we  should 
have  a  better  chance  of  remaining  at 


peace  than  we  have  had  since  France 
and  Prussia  went  to  war. 

Shall  we  accept  the  Ministerial 
scheme,  and  be  rendered,  or  kept, 
incapable  of  defending  ourselves,  and 
of  resenting  affront ;  or  shall  we  insist 
on  being  armed  to  a  degree  becom- 
ing our  standing  in  Europe,  and 
proportioned  to  our  large  interest 
throughout  the  world  1  That  is  the 
question. 


Printed  by  William  Blaclkwood  <k  Sons,  Edinburgh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBUBGH    MAGAZINE. 


No.  DCLXVI. 


APRIL  1871. 


VOL.  CIX. 


FAIR  TO   SEE. — PART   IV. 


CHAPTER  X. 


"  IT  seems  the  member  for  the 
"boroughs  has  resigned,"  said  Mr 
M'Killop  at  breakfast,  on  the  morn- 
ing after  Eila's  arrival.  "  I  have  a 
letter  from  Mr  Tainsh  excusing 
himself  from  coming  here  this  week, 
on  the  ground  that  he  will  be  busy 
electioneering." 

"  And  I  have  a  note  from  young 
Duncanson  to  the  same  effect,"  said 
Mrs  M'Killop. 

"Will  there  be  a  contest?"  in- 
quired Pigott. 

"  Taiush  doesn't  say;  I  don't 
think  it  likely ;  the  boroughs  always 
go  the  same  way,  I  believe ;  still 
one  can  never  tell  till  the  eleventh 
hour,  and  so  the  canvassing  and  the 
speech-making  must  all  be  gone 
through." 

"  What  has  Mr  Duncanson  got  to 
do  with  the  boroughs]"  asked  Eila. 

"  Oh,  his  father  has  property  and 
influence  in  Ardmartin." 

"  What  a  pleasant  canvasser  he 
will  make ! " 

"  He  has  plenty  to  say  for  him- 
self, and  he's  very  advanced,  and 

VOL.  CIX. — NO.  DCLXVI. 


both  qualities  are  popular  in  many 
places." 

"  What  do  the  people  of  Ardmar- 
tin go  in  for1?"  asked  Bertrand;  "are 
they  Radicals  or  Tories,  or  what1?" 

"  Oh,  they're  Liberal,"  replied 
M'Killop — "very  advanced  Liber- 
als. I  should  say  that  no  one  had 
a  chance  there  who  is  not  prepared 
to  go  considerable  lengths." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  thought  Mr 
Tainsh  was  in  that  line." 

"  That's  just  one  of  the  faults  Mr 
Tainsh  has,"  said  Mrs  M'Killop ; 
and  then,  mindful  of  her  pact,  "  he 
has  not  many,  worthy  man  ! — but 
that  is  one,  and,  in  my  opinion,  it 
is  to  be  regretted." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  Tainsh  is 
advanced,  or  a  Radical  at  all,"  said 
M'Killop ;  "  but  you  see  most  of  his 
clients  are  Whigs,  and  it's  his  busi- 
ness to  be  of  their  way  of  thinking ; 
but  nowadays  every  one  who  isn't 
a  Tory  is  simply  a  Liberal,  whether 
he's  a  Whig  or  a  Radical ;  and  so 
the  Whigs  are  often  obliged  to  sup- 
port candidates  they  can't  like  in 
2F 


408 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


their  hearts,  simply  because  the 
Liberal  majority  in  a  place  happens 
to  be  of  a  Radical  turn,  and  they 
must  either  cast  in  their  lot  with 
them  or  let  a  Tory  candidate  Avin." 

"  Yes,"  said  Pigott,  "  the  poor 
Whigs  are  between  the  devil  and 
the  deep  sea — no  mistake  about  it. 
What  are  your  own  politics,  Mr 
M'Killop  1 — if  that  is  a  fair  ques- 
tion." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  much  of  a  politi- 
cian :  but  I've  always  had  a  liberal 
bias — still  I  don't  think  that  means 
a  subversive  bias — so  I  don't  mix 
myself  up  with  politics  at  all.  I 
confess  I  don't  altogether  understand 
the  policy  of  either  party,  and  what 
I  do  understand  I  am  bound  to  say 
that  I  don't  altogether  sympathise 
with  or  respect." 

"  Hear,  hear  !"  cried  Pigott. 

"  Is  that  what  you  think  of  them 
too,  Captain  Pigott  1 "  asked  Eila,  who 
was  again  apparently  blind  to  Ber- 
trand's  existence  in  favour  of  his 
friend. 

"  Think  of  them,  Miss  M'Killop? 
I  don't  like  to  think  of  them.  Be- 
cause when  I  do  I  am  forced  to 
confess  that  the  Radicals  are  the 
best  of  the  lot,  and  that  is  enough 
to  break  a  gentleman's,  not  to  say 
a  patriot's,  heart.  They  have  the 
courage  of  their  opinions,  at  all 
events;  they  are  bold  and  aggressive. 
If  they  are  dishonest,  they  are  out- 
spoken. They  are  the  weakest 
party  of  the  three,  and  yet  they  are 
supreme.  They  stick  to  their  points, 
and  carry  them  always.  They  have 
outflanked  and  befooled  the  other 
two,  because  the  leader  of  one  had 
a  spasmodic  conscience  and  a  twisted 
brain,  and  the  leader  of  the  other 
had  a  spasmodic  brain  and  no  con- 
science at  all.  As  for  that  eternal 
'  working  man,'  the  political  '  work- 


[  April 


ing  man '  —  the  Radical's  fetish 
— done  into  plain  English,  he  is  a 
brutal,  rapacious  savage — a  political 
brigand." 

"  Oh,  Captain  !"  cried  M'Killop, 
"  I  can't  allow  you  to  say  that." 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  are  only  fall- 
ing into  the  prevailing  humbug  of 
the  day.  You  know  perfectly  well 
that  the  political  '  working  man '  is 
quite  a  recent  and  very  artificial 
institution,  invented  on  the  stump 
by  Mr  Bright,  developed  in  these 
blackguard  processions  and  demon- 
strations he  was  so  fond  of,  and  now 
playing  the  mischief  with  every- 
thing in  the  polling-booths.  Per- 
sonally, he  is  the  lowest  of  his  class 
— the  mangiest  of  the  flock  has  be- 
come the  bell-wether."  * 

"  Hush,  hush,  Captain  ! — think 
a  little." 

"  Think  a  little  !  I  have  thought 
not  a  little  about  the  matter.  Tell 
me  how  you  test  the  common-sense, 
the  honesty,  the  morality,  the  pa- 
triotism, of  an  individual  or  a  class. 
Isn't  it  by  words  and  deeds  ?  Is  the 
'  working  man  '  to  be  an  exception  ; 
and  if  so,  how  is  he  to  be  tested] 
I  protest  I  can't  see — so  I  stick  to 
my  opinion ;  but  I  promise  to  change 
it  if  you  can  show  me  that  he  ever 
gives  out  a  single  patriotic  senti- 
ment, ever  utters  a  wish  or  an  idea 
that  is  not  grudging,  subversive, 
impudently  selfish,  stamped  with 
ungenerous  ignorance,  and  with 
moral  and  intellectual  degradation." 

"But  where  am  I  to  find  all 
these  dreadful  things  done  and  said 
by  the  working  man  ?" 

"  Where  ? — wherever  he  is,  in  his 
political  capacity.  Listen  to  him 
catechising  a  candidate ;  look  at  him 
mountebanking  in  procession ;  ob- 
serve him  at  an  election,  bonneting 
the  respectable  voter,  and  covering 


*  Captain  Pigott  might  have  added,  in  justice  and  with  truth,  that  the  political 
"  working  man"  is  looked  upon  with  no  confidence,  but  rather  with  feelings  of  con- 
tempt and  dislike,  by  all  the  industrious  and  intelligent  of  the  working  classes ; 
wherefore  it  is  to  be  hoped  that,  as  education  becomes  more  widely  diffused,  the  evil 
influence  he  is  now  able  to  exercise  will  in  proportion  be  diminished. 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


409 


every  decent  coat  belonging  to  the 
opposition  with  his  saliva.  The 
Belleville  Socialist  in  Paris  is  the 
plant  in  full  flourish  of  which  our 
political  ouvrier  is  a  germ ;  but  ours 
will  develop  into  a  grosser,  coarser 
type.  It  might  have  been  nipped 
in  the  bud  ;  a  few  round-shot  down 
Piccadilly  in  the  teeth  of  the  park- 
railing  mob  would  have  stopped 
this  infernal  revolution.  Pray  let 
us  change  the  subject;  this  is  quite 
enough  to  destroy  any  meal ;  and  to 
destroy  breakfast  is  to  assassinate 
the  day." 

"  Oh,  Captain !  you  soldiers  are 
bloodthirsty  politicians.  Fire  upon 
her  Majesty's  lieges  !  Fie,  fie  !" 

"Certainly,  when  they  disturb 
the  social  system  and  trample  on  the 
laws ;  just  as  we  hang  a  Queen's  liege 
when  he  disturbs  the  social  econ- 
omy by  murdering  his  neighbour." 

"What  horrible  things  politics 
are  !  "  said  Morna.  "  Every  one 
seems  to  be  in  a  passion  the  mo- 
ment they  are  mentioned.  Even 
you,  Captain  Pigott,  are  looking 
quite  terrible  at  this  moment." 

"  Every  gentleman  ought  to  feel 
angry,"  cried  Eila,  "  just  now, 
when  politics  are  mentioned;  I  feel 
quite  as  angry  as  Captain  Pigott 
myself,  although  I  know  nothing 
about  the  matter,  except  that  all 
the  common  people  have  suddenly 
changed,  and  become  rude  and  dis- 
respectful, and  discontented  and 
greedy.  I  suppose  that  is  politics." 

"  Oh  !  but,  Miss  M'Killop,"  re- 
plied Pigott,  ashamed  of  being  be- 
trayed into  so  much  heat,  "please 
don't  suppose  that  I'm  angry  or 
excited,  or  anything  of  the  sort. 
It  is  a  thoroughly  selfish  age,  and 
I  have  schooled  myself  in  its  doc- 
trines— and  so  I  say, '  What  does  it 
matter  to  me  V  I  have  no  land  to 
lose,  thank  goodness  !  and  I  daresay 
they  won't  begin  to  guillotine  the 
fund-holders  for  a  time ;  and  when 
they  do,  one  surely  will  be  able 
to  find  an  asylum  somewhere  be- 


tween China  and  Peru.  Is  that  a 
duck's  egg  you've  got,  Bertrand,  you 
lucky  fellow  ? " 

"I — I  don't  really  know;  per- 
haps it  is." 

"  Or  a  swan's  1 " 

"  I— I— perhaps." 

"  You  are  quite  unfit  for  the  suf- 
frage— that's  evident." 

"  Mr  Cameron  is  not  so  unpatri- 
otic as  you  say  you  are,"  said  Eila ; 
"  he  is  thinking  of  something  else ; 
he  is  angry,  I  am  sure.  Are  you 
angry,  Mr  Cameron  ? " 

"  I  ?  Oh  dear  !  yes,  I  am  angry 
— very  angry — furious,"  stammered 
Bertrand,  staggered  by  a  sudden 
fire  from  the  batteries,  and  looking 
about  as  ferocious  as  a  dispirited 
sheep. 

"  I  think  the  politics  of  your 
family  used  to  be  Liberal,"  said  Mrs 
M'Killop. 

"  No,  no ;  only  for  the  last  two 
generations.  My  uncle  is  a  Whig, 
but  I  don't  fancy  he  would  support 
the  present  Government." 

"Oh!"  cried  Eila,  "that  puts 
me  in  mind  of  our  last  night's  plan 
— the  yachting  excursion  to  Aber- 
lorna — and  this  tiresome  election 
will  put  it  off";  for  of  course  Mr 
Duncanson  won't  be  able  to  come 
till  the  election  is  over." 

"  But  is  Mr  Duncanson  indis- 
pensable 1 "  asked  Pigott.  "  He 
would  be  a  great  addition,  of  course ; 
but  couldn't  we  manage  to  struggle 
through  a  picnic  without  him  ? " 

"  No — because  I  have  set  my 
heart  upon  his  yacht ;  and  I  don't 
think  we  could  invite  the  yacht 
without  inviting  him.  We  certainly 
shouldn't  get  it,  at  least.  I  suppose 
even  you  couldn't  manage  that, 
Morna?  It  would  be  such  a  boon, 
though,  if  you  could." 

"  Still  the  same  pick  at  James 
Duncanson!"  fleered  Mrs  M'Killop; 
"there  must  be  something  rankling." 

"  Yes,  dear  mamma,  of  course 
there  is ;  we  quite  settled  all  that 
yesterday.  But,  Morna,  do  you 


410 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


think   you   can   really  do   nothing 
for  us?" 

"  I  have  no  influence  with  Mr 
Duncanson  ;  and  if  I  had,  I  should 
be  sorry  to  ask  a  favour  of  him." 

"  That  brat  Eila  is  going  to  spoil 
everything  ! "  said  Mrs  M'Killop  to 
herself ;  and  then  aloud,  "  Well,  if 
no  one  will  take  James's  part "  (he 
had  mysteriously  become  "  James  " 
of  late),  "  /  must,  and  I  will  say  that 
he  is  not  so  ungallant  and  so  selfish 
as  you  make  out;  and  whatever 
Morna  chose  to  ask  him  he  would 
grant — of  that  I'm  sure." 

"  There,  Morna,"  cried  Eila ; 
"  mamma  understands  him  twice  as 
well  as  any  of  us,  and  she  must  be 
right.  Do  petition  '  James.' " 

Morna's  confusion  and  annoyance 
became  very  great.  She  glanced 
quickly  round  the  table ;  her  eye 
rested  on  Bertrand.  What  of  con- 
solation did  she  expect  to  find  in 
his  face  ]  She  found  nothing  there, 
at  all  events,  but  a  look  of  blank, 
moping  vacancy ;  and  then  answered 
Eila  in  a  hurried,  tremulous  voice. 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so 
very — teasing." 

Her  tormentor  glanced  quickly  at 
her,  and  seeing  that  tears  were  close 
to  the  surface,  "  ceased  filing,"  and 
said, — 

"  Then  we  must  have  patience  till 
the  election  is  over." 

"  But  there  is  some  gaiety  next 
week  to  console  you,  you  know," 
said  Mrs  M'Killop.  " '  The  gather- 
ing.'" 

"  Is  '  the  gathering '  next  week  1 
Oh,  of  course ;  I  had  forgotten. 
And  are  we  to  go  to  the  ball  ? " 

"Certainly;  did  you  not  count 
upon  it?" 

"  I  hadn't  thought  about  it ;  it  is 
such  a  poky  little  '  gathering,'  and 
the  balls  are  always  very  stupid ; 
but  I  suppose  we  shall  survive  it. 
There  is  no  chance  of  our  being 
over-fatigued — that  is  one  consola- 
tion— for  there  is  never  any  one 
worth  dancing  with." 


[April 

"  Upon  my  word,  my  dear  Eila, 
you're  growing  very  fine  upon  our 
hands !  It  struck  me  that  some 
people  thought  Lord  Edgar  Swan 
very  well  worth  dancing  with  last 
year." 

"  I  daresay  they  did  :  he  had  on 
real  clothes — a  black  coat,  you  know, 
and  things — and  spoke  two  or  three 
words  of  the  English  language,  and 
these  were  novelties,  and  so  far 
pleasant ;  but  we  can't  expect  to  be 
always  so  fortunate." 

"  You're  civil  to  the  present  com- 
pany." 

"  It  is  always  excepted,  mamma 
dear ;  and  then  we  can't  expect 
Captain  Pigott  to  dance  with  us  all 
the  evening,  or  "  (as  if  he  were  quite 
an  after-thought)  "  Mr  Cameron." 

"  It — would — be  too  much  happi- 
ness," Bertrand  managed  to  stammer 
out. 

"  Oh,  please,  don't  apologise,  Mr 
Cameron,  we  are  not  really  very  ex- 
acting." 

"  Indeed  I  am  serious  ; "  and  any 
one  who  saw  his  lugubrious  face 
must  have  admitted  it. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  and  knowing  how 
sad  a  thing  too  much  happiness  is, 
you  will  avoid  it,  won't  you  1 " 

One  little  blink  of  sunshine — 
rather  wintry,  but  still  sunshine — 
flickered  for  an  instant  in  Bertrand's 
eyes,  and  all  power  of  replication 
left  him. 

"  What  is  to  be  to  -  day's  pro- 
gramme, Captain  Pigott  ? "  asked 
Mrs  M'Killop. 

"Grouse,  Mrs  M'Killop.  The 
hill  to-day — is  it  not,  Bertrand  1 " 

"  Ye-es,  I  suppose  so ;  or,  by  the 
by,  was  it  not  to-morrow  we  fixed 
for  Craiginfrioch  ? " 

"  Come  now,  Mr  Bertrand,  no 
shirking  ;  you  know  it  was  to-day ; 
and,  what  is  more,  we  ought  to  start 
almost  immediately." 

"  Are  you  going  to  fish  to-day, 
Morna  1 "  asked  her  step-sister. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  The  day  looks 
well  for  it." 


1871.] 

"  I  think  I'll  go  with  you,  if  you 
don't  go  till  after  hmcheon." 

"  Do  come.  I'm  not  going  till 
after  luncheon." 

"  Are  you  also  a  fisher,  Miss 
M'Killop  ?"  asked  Pigott. 

"  Oh  no ;  I'm  not  at  all  use- 
fid." 

Bertrand  felt  that  the  obvious 
antithesis  ought  to  he  made  some  use 
of ;  hut  not  even  by  a  look  could  he 
point  to  it. 

"  I  can  do  nothing  useful,"  con- 
tinued Eila ;  "  but  while  Morna 
fishes  in  her  severe  and  terrible  way, 
I  can  amuse  myself  by  watching 
her,  and  teasing  her,  and  making 
pictures  of  her  and  the  equally  stern 
mountains,  time  about.  Besides, 
the  coolest  and  pleasantest  place 
where  one  can  be  in  this  fiery 
weather  is  down  by  the  river ;  and 
the  very  idea  that  you  are  scram- 
bling up  Craiginfrioch  will  make 
it  feel  all  the  cooler.  Poor  people  ! 
I  pity  you." 

"  On  second  thoughts  let  us  give 
it  up,  Pigott,"  cried  Bertrand,  des- 
perately ;  "  it  is  really  rather  too 
hot  to-day." 

"  Nonsense  !  A  man  who  has  sol- 
diered in  the  tropics  cave  in  for  a 
day  like  this  !  No,  no." 

"It  is  very  unheroic  of  you,  Mr 
Cameron,"  said  Eila.  "I've  quite 
come  to  the  conclusion,  by  the  by, 
that  all  sport  is  a  sort  of  martyrdom, 
and  therefore  the  greater  the  anguish 
the  higher  the  pleasure.  Now,  next 
to  sailing  on  an  iceberg  in  pursuit  of 
walruses,  I  should  think  that  Craig- 
infrioch on  a  day  like  this  was  al- 
most perfection  in  the  way  of  real 
sporting  pleasure.  You  ought  not 
to  miss  it,  Mr  Cameron."  But  as 
the  ladies  left  the  room,  a  glance  of 
her  eye  would  have  been  under- 
stood by  Bertrand,  if  he  had  had 
any  understanding,  to  siy,  "  You 
know  perfectly  well  that  you  can't 
go  to  Craiginfrioch  to-day;  in  point 
of  fact,  I  defy  you  to  go." 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


411 


"  Now  then,  Bertrand  ! "  cried  the 
inexorable  Pigott,  "  let  us  look 
alive." 

"  Well,  really,  Pigott,  do  you 
know  I  am  a  little  seedy.  Suppose 
we  put  it  off?  Eh,  old  fellow ? " 

"  Nonsense  !  the  grouse  are  eat- 
ing their  heads  off.  We  haven't 
touched  Craiginfrioch  yet;  the  wea- 
ther may  break  again ;  and  if  it  does, 
you  know  they  must  'pack.'  Seedy? 
that's  a  novelty,  but  all  the  more 
reason  for  going ;  it  will  be  quite 
cool  up  there.  Nothing  like  a  walk 
to  put  you  straight.  Come  along. 
Here  comes  old  Campbell  with  the 
dogs.  Allons  ! " 

So  Bertrand  went  sorrowfully 
with  his  friend,  and  as  they  made 
their  final  exit  from  the  house,  a 
voice  came  like  a  falling-star  from  a 
diaphanous  haze  of  light  muslin  at 
an  upper  window,  "  Will  somebody 
be  very  kind  and  bring  me  a  bunch 
of  white  heather  ?  It  grows  at  the 
very  top  of  Craiginfrioch,  and  there 
are  so  few  opportunities  of  getting 
it." 

Pigott  answered  in  his  earthy 
way,  that  if  they  got  to  the  top  he 
would  not  forget ;  and  Bertrand, 
veiling  his  bonnet,  was  going  to  cry 
out — —  but  he  was  too  slow.  The 
muslin  haze  was  gone  before  his  ideas 
came,  and  he  went  away  bitterly ; 
feeling,  however,  that  if  he  had  to 
visit  the  highest  mountain  in  the 
moon,  fight  its  legendary  inhabitant, 
smash  his  lantern,  and  kill  his  dog, 
the  white  heather  should  certainly 
be  Eila's ;  and  at  his  hand — not  Pig- 
ott's,  nor  another's.  There  are  many 
pleasanter  things  in  the  world  than 
zigzagging  up  a  precipitous  moun- 
tain, with  the  sun  beating  furiously 
on  the  climber,  and  the  thermometer 
ranging  at,  say,  from  90°  to  100° 
Fahrenheit,  particularly  when  the  ' 
footing  is  exceptionally  bad  and 
slippery.  The  excitement  of  an 
occasional  "point"  goes  far,  of  course, 
to  balance  such  inconveniences. 


412 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


Still,  at  best,  there  is  always  requir- 
ed, as  the  Scotch  proverb  says,  "  a 
stout  heart  for  a  stiff  brae."  And 
how  then  face  such  an  ordeal  with 
equanimity,  when  a  sleepless  night 
has  unstrung  the  climber's  nerves ; 
when  the  pointing  of  a  dog  or  the 
flushing  of  a  covey  is  to  him  as 
nought  ;  above  all,  when  his  heart 
is  in  open  mutiny  against  the  up- 
ward movement,  and,  for  reasons 
which  are  omnipotent  with  that 
unruly  member,  it  beats  "Betro 
Propera  "  with  every  pulsation  ? 

Such  was  Bertrand's  case.  The 
sun  was  very  cruel,  and  Craigin- 
frioch  was  odiously  steep  and  slip- 
pery ;  as  for  sleep,  the  poor  wretch 
had  had  none  the  night  before,  ex- 
cept a  few  moments  of  semi-delirious 
unconsciousness,  a  very  travesty  of 
nature's  sweet  restorer.  As  for  the 
dogs  and  the  grouse,  aud  their  point- 
ings and  risings,  these  were  .but  ag- 
gravations, punctuated  by  Pigott's 
steady  upward  tramp,  and  his  fre- 
quent anathema  for  the  laggard  who 
was  for  ever  behind,  and  "  sim- 
ply ruining  these  two  young  dogs — 
simply  playing  Old  Harry  with  two 
valuable  animals."  As  for  Bertrand's 
heart,  we  know  where  it  was — down 
below,  in  the  pleasant  meadows,  by 
the  cool  river,  among  the  shadowy 
trees,  where  were  flowers,  and  linger- 
ing dew,  and  grateful  umbrage,  and 
where  he  fancied  to  himself  the  vo- 
cal pines  mingling  .^Eolian  murmurs 
with  the  warbling  of  the  waters  and 
the  dreamy  summer-song  of  birds, 
and  thought  how  the  sweet  natural 
diapason  would  soon  be  completed 
by  a  music  more  exquisite  still. 

But  the  white  heather  was  above, 
and  Eila's  voice  (still  fulfilling  its 
obvious  function  as  a  falling -star) 
rang  in  his  ears,  "  Excelsior  !  "  and 
so  this  poor  Tityrus,  his  heart  among 
the  groves  with  Amaryllis,  had  to 
dree  the  weird  of  a  promethean  pas- 
sion on  the  rugged  breast  of  Craig- 
infrioch.  Some  men  glide  uncon- 


[April 

sciously  into  love ;  some  educate 
themselves  into  it ;  some  are  lured 
and  surprised  into  it ;  and  some  fall 
into  it,  wildly  catching  at  every 
branch  and  tuft  to  save  themselves 
as  they  slip  down  the  "facilis  de- 
scensus ; "  but  Bertrand  had  been 
seized  by  a  giant  power  and  whirled 
clear  of  every  obstacle,  so  that  he 
had  fallen  sudden,  sheer,  and  prone 
into  that  seething  whirlpool  of  trou- 
bles. No  wonder  he  was  breathless 
and  shaken,  and  sorely  disinclined  for 
Craiginfrioch.  When  noon  was  at 
about  his  height,  he  suddenly  halt- 
ed, and  cried  out  to  his  companion, 
"  Pigott,  would  you  mind  waiting  a 
minute  or  two  1  I'm  awfully  thirsty, 
and  I've  got  such  a  headache.  I 
see  water  in  that  corrie,  and  I 
wish  to  go  and  drink,  and  wet  my 
head." 

"  Go  along  with  you — only,  for 
goodness'  sake,  look  sharp  !  " 

Bertrand  went  with  listless  steps 
towards  the  corrie,  but  when  within 
a  few  yards  of  it  he  stopped  ab- 
ruptly, gazed  intently  forward  to 
some  object  down  by  the  little  rill, 
and  then,  going  with  a  run  and  a 
rush  and  a  bound,  flung  himself 
upon  the  ground  beside  it  with  a 
cry  of  exultation.  What  was  it] 
"  Sunstroke  ! "  said  Pigott,  and  be- 
gan to  descend  rapidly  from  his  emi- 
nence :  but  it  was  rather  an  antidote 
to  sunstroke ;  for  hermiting  there 
among  the  cool  moist  moss  and 
bracken,  under  the  shadow  of  a  drip- 
ping rock,  nestled  one  solitary  little 
plant  of  white  heather.  There  is 
nothing  so  cunning  as  love,  unless 
it  be  suicidal  mania,  and  Bertrand 
was  all  finesse  and  stratagem  in  an 
instant.  In  an  instant  the  hermit 
had  been  plucked  up  by  the  roots, 
and  thrust  bodily  into  Bertrand's 
bosom ;  and  when  Pigott  arrived 
some  moments  later,  with  anxiety 
in  his  face,  he  found  his  friend  lav- 
ing his  forehead  with  sober  earnest 
ness. 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


413 


"  Anything  wrong,  old  fellow  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Beat,  Pigott — dead  beat ! "  quoth 
the  serpent,  with  a  splendid  simula- 
tion of  the  woe-begone  in  voice  and 
manner. 

«  You  fell,  didn't  you T' 

"  Ye-es  —  a  kind  of  a — sort  of  a 
trip ;  but  I'll  be  better  presently ; 
don't  mind  me,  old  boy.  I  wouldn't 
spoil  your  day  for  worlds,  and  I 
don't  think  it  would  be  quite — 
quite  prudent  for  me  to  go  on.  I 
feel  a  sort  of  something — a  sort  of 
fuzziness  inside  my  head,  you  know ; 
but  don't  stop,  I'll  find  my  way 
home  slowly." 

"  Oh,  but  I  think  I  had  better 
go  with  you,  Bertrand ;  you  are 
looking  a  little  queer." 

"  On  no  account,  Pigott;  I  should 
be  wretched  if  you  did.  In  fact  I 
would  rather  go  on  than  spoil  your 
day's  sport.  Look !  I'm  quite  strong 
on  my  legs  again ;  "  and  he  jumped 
up  with  amazing  vigour. 

"  Well,  promise  me  to  take  it 
easily,  and  wet  your  handkerchief 
and  tie  it  round  your  head.  Mind 
you  go  slow.  Better  leave  your 
gun  with  Campbell  I'll  take  it  to 
him." 

"  All  right— thanks." 

"  And,  by  the  by,"  cried  Pigott, 
turning  back,  "  if  Miss  Thingumbob 
chaffs  you  about  the  heather,  tell 
her  I  won't  forget,  if  I  come  across 
it.  I  won't  go  searching  for  it, 
though.  I  hate  these  humbugging 
school-girl  crotchets." 

"Oh,  she  wouldn't  expect  that,  you 
know.  Au  revoir  !"  said  Bertrand, 
sweetly;  and  then  to  himself,  "  Miss 
Thingumbob !  the  savage !  Miss 
Thingumbob  !  the  blasphemer  !  the 
abominable  !  My  angel !  my  star  ! 

my oh  ! "  and  he  sat  down 

under  the  lee  of  the  bank,  and  took 
out  the  white  heather,  and  apostro- 
phised it,  talking  nonsense  enough 
to  make  angels  weep  ;  and  then  he 
kissed  it  over  and  over  again.  "  She 


may  wear  it  in  her  bosom  this  even- 
ing, you  know,"  he  explained  aloud 
to  all  creation,  not  apparently  to  the 
satisfaction  of  its  only  animal  repre- 
sentative within  earshot,  a  sturdy 
little  Highland  cow,  staring  angrily 
at  him  from  the  other  side  of  the 
corrie,  who  stamped  her  foot  de- 
fiantly at  the  sound  of  the  idiot's 
voice.  The  distant  report  of  Pig- 
ott's  gun  roused  him ;  he  came 
forth  from  his  lair,  and  finding  that 
his  friend  had  entirely  disappeared 
behind  a  shoulder  of  the  hill,  began, 
bounding  like  the  roe,  to  descend 
to  the  valley.  Craiginfrioch  was 
the  hill  which  rose  immediately  be- 
hind the  house,  and  as  it  was  very 
steep,  the  time  occupied  in  its 
ascent  was  great  compared  with  the 
amount  of  ground  got  over.  Not 
so,  however,  with  the  descent,  espe- 
cially when  accomplished  in  Love's 
seven-league  boots,  in  which  Ber- 
trand travelled,  ignoring  all  obstacles 
with  the  recklessness  of  young  Loch- 
invar,  and  only  not  swimming  across 
the  river  below,  because,  here  more 
fortunate  than  Lochinvar,  he  found 
a  ford.  That  having  been  crossed, 
there  was  only  an  ascent  of  a  few 
hundred  yards,  and  then  the  house. 
Cairnarvoch,  by  the  by,  was  by  this 
time  scarcely  a  mere  "  house  ; "  it 
was  an  "  Abode  "  at  the  very  least, 
and  was  rapidly  developing  into  a 
"  Bower ; "  Mrs  M'Killop  constitut- 
ing the  chief  obstacle  to  its  being 
immediately  advanced  to  that  posi- 
tion. 

The  Abode  being  thus,  so  to  speak, 
"  within  hail,"  and  the  ascent  being 
singularly  precipitous,  the  first  cir- 
cumstance suggested  to  Bertrand  the 
question,  "  Why  am  I  here  1 "  and 
the  second  gave  him  time  to  ponder 
it.  Fears  and  tremors  came  over 
him.  Why  had  he  come  here  ?  be- 
cause she  was  here ;  there  was  no 
sort  of  difficulty  about  that,  at  all 
events.  But  then  that  must  be 
kept  a  secret— a  dead  secret — for 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


[April 


she  hated  him — that  was  evident ; 
still  he  would  love  her,  and  love 
her,  and  perhaps,  &c.  How  then 
account  for  his  return  ?  A  slight 
threatening  of  sunstroke  1  Good  ! 
capital !  but  ah  !  people  with  slight 
threatenings  of  sunstroke  generally 
lie  down  in  dark  rooms,  with  wet 
things  round  their  heads  and  their 
feet  in  mustard.  Women  like  Mrs 
M'Killop  are  always  medical ;  she 
would  certainly  understand  this 
system,  of  treatment,  and  insist  up- 
on it,  and  this  was  not  compatible 
with  angel-worship  by  the  river  for 
the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  while  that 
other  "  very  agreeable  girl "  was  fish- 
ing in  the  abstraction  of  her  fancy- 
free  meditations. 

A  sudden  call  to  write  an  impor- 
tant letter  1  How  would  that  do  ? 
No,  that  wouldn't  do.  The  tele- 
graphic system  did  not  as  yet  em- 
brace the  summits  of  Craiginfrioch ; 
and  if  it  did,  the  post  did  not  go 
out  till  to-morrow  morning. 

Despair  !  what  was  to  be  done  ? 
Perhaps  he  had  better  go  up  the 
hill  again?  Impossible.  What 
then  ?  So  there  he  stood  under  the 
ledge  of  the  terrace  about  a  hundred 
yards  from  her,  love  and  fear  fixing 
him  in  a  stable  equilibrium.  Sud- 
denly, making  him  start  as  if  an 
avenging  demon  had  hissed  in  his 
ear,  burst  forth  the  strain  of  Ham- 
ish's  bagpipes.  "  Luncheon  ! "  he 
said  to  himself,  and  moved  fifty  yards 
farther  on.  Then  he  stopped  again : 
luncheon  was  no  excuse  ;  quite  the 
contrary.  What  was  he  to  do  1 
But,  at  all  events,  if  they  were 
all  at  luncheon,  he  could  not  be 
seen  from  the  windows;  and  thus 
encouraging  himself,  he  crept  up 
towards  the  Abode,  with  all  the 
air  of  "being  on  the  premises 
with  the  intention  of  committing 
a  felony." 

He  stopped  at  the  hall  -  door  ; 
sooner  than  enter  it  he  would  have 
been  torn  limb  from  limb  by  wild 


horses.  He  positively  fawned  upon 
Hamish  when  that  minstrel  had 
finished  his  performance  beside  him. 
He  wanted  moral  support,  you  see  : 
even  a  very  large  dog  would  have 
been  something;  and  so  he  button- 
holed the  piper,  complimented  him 
upon  his  playing,  asked  the  name  of 
the  air  just  let  off  with  so  much 
eclat,  receiving  a  shock  on  learning 
that  it  was  known  in  the  musical 
world  as  "  Give  my  love  brose  and 
butter."  Brose  and  butter  !  what  a 
revolting  class  of  viands  to  admin- 
ister to  an  angel !  The  suggestion 
was  coarse  and  abominable ;  but 
Hamish,  who  was  obviously  impa- 
tient to  get  to  his  brose  and  butter, 
must  be  detained.  Therefore  Ber- 
trand  said  it  was  a  splendid  air,  and, 
in  short,  would  the  piper  accept  an 
encore  ? 

Hamish,  being  hungry,  averred 
that  that  was  entirely  contrary  to 
etiquette ;  as  commuted  into  a  pe- 
cuniary shape,  however,  the  compli- 
ment was  not  open  to  the  same 
objection,  as  far  as  he  knew,  so  he 
accepted  five  shillings,  "  for  snuff," 
with  surprise  and  gratitude,  and 
under  the  influence  of  these  feelings 
allowed  his  professional  spirit  to 
be  roused  by  Bertrand's  compli- 
ments and  questions,  so  that  he 
launched  into  a  dissertation  on  the 
376  pipe-tunes  in  which  he  was 
proficient,  Bertrand  hanging  on  his 
words  with  a  pitiable  eagerness. 

Now,  what  was  Bertrand's  plan  ? 
What  end  was  to  be  served  by  this 
most  idiotic  proceeding]  and  how 
long  did  he  mean  there  to  remain  ? 
It  would  have  puzzled  the  wretched 
creature  himself  to  say;  and,  indeed, 
has  any  one,  under  such  circum- 
stances, ever  got  any  plan  ? 

Compassed  about  as  we  are  with 
all  manner  of  influencing  spirits, — 
white,  black,  and  grey — that  is,  good, 
bad,  and  indifferent, — it  would  seem 
that  in  such  cases  all  the  others  give 
place,  and  leave  Puck  and  his  confreres 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


to  be  the  operators  of  the  hour ;  and 
a  fine  time  they  have  of  it  with  their 
victims,  as  a  rule. 

So  Bertrand  vaguely  remained 
there,  talking,  or  rather  listening,  to 
Hamish,  with  fear  and  shame  raging 
in  his  heart. 

His  back  was  to  the  door,  but  a 
lover  has  eyes  in  the  back  of  his 
head  and  an  ear  in  every  pore  ;  and 
after  he  had  been  thus  engaged  for 
half  an  hour  or  so,  it  needed  not  the 
piper's  exclamation,  "  Goot  life ! 
here  are  the  leddies ! "  to  inform 
Bertrand  that  the  luncheon -party, 
in  passing  from  the  dining-room, 
had  turned  to  the  open  hall-door, 
and  were  standing  there  at  that  mo- 
ment. Deaf  to  Bertrand's  pite"ous 
entreaty,  "  Stop  a  bit,  Hamish ;  do 
stop;  just  one  question  about  the 
'  M'Intosh's Lament,' "  the  piper  fled, 
and  Bertrand,  in  an  instant,  was 
overboard  without  a  cork-jacket. 

"  Mr  Cameron  !  where  have  you 
dropped  from  ? "  The  voice  was  the 
voice  of  Mrs  M'Killop,  and  perforce 
he  turned  towards  it,  seeing  at  first 
only  a  luminous  mist,  in  which  the 
huge  red  face  of  his  hostess  seemed 
to  roll  about  like  an  intoxicated  sun. 

"Where  liave  you  dropped  from1?" 
repeated  the  voice ;  and  Bertrand, 
slowly  approaching  the  group,  forced 
himself  to  look  steadily  at  it,  and 
replied,  with  a  sort  of  asthmatic 
gasp,— 

"  From  the  hill." 

"  Nothing  wrong  with  Captain 
Pigott,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh  no ;  Captain  Pigott  is  per- 
fectly well,  thank  you." 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  ?  you 
look  very  strange;  are  you  ill,  or 
only  lazy?  Oh  dear  me,  you  are 
quite  pale  ! " 

By  this  time  he  could  distinctly 
see  "  his  angel,"  and  the  other  "very 
agreeable  girl,"  as  well  as  the  balance 
of  Mrs  M'Killop's  body,  and  had 
recovered  a  slight  command  of  his 
senses.  Wherefore  it  flashed  upon 


him  that  if  he  said  "  lazy,"  the  secret 
was  out ;  whereas  if  he  said  "  ill," 
wet  applications  and  mustard  were 
inevitable. 

Here  was  a  dilemma.  "Not 
lazy,"  he  replied — "  oh  no,  not  at  all 
lazy;  and  not  exactly  ill — in  fact 
weU,  but— 

"  But  what  1  are  you  faint  ?  " 

The  very  thing ;  faintness  is 
evanescent ;  you  may  fish  or  wor- 
ship immediately  after  being  faint. 
Yes,  he  was  a  little  faint,  he  thought. 

"  Girls,  wine  !  " 

The  light  fled  from  the  hall-door, 
and  Morna  went  with  it ;  and  pre- 
sently, sitting  on  the  steps,  in  the 
cool  shade  and  pleasant  draught, 
while  Hebe  herself  proffered  a  cup 
of  nectar,  and  a  minor  (but  esti- 
mable) Olympian  satellite  mixed 
it  with  water,  Bertrand  began  to 
think  that  he  would  cheerfully  pass 
the  remainder  of  his  existence  in  a 
state  of  chronic  faintness,  even  un- 
der the  supervising  eye  of  Jupiter 
Tonans  (in  petticoats).  Eila  was 
bewitchingly  sympathetic ;  she  look- 
ed at  him  with  all  her  eyes;  and 
oh !  did  he  feel  better  now  1  and 
oh !  would  he  not  put  his  head 
against  the  cool  pillar"?  and  oh ! 
mamma,  dear,  wasn't  eau-de-Cologne 
a  good  thing  1  and  oh  !  she  would 
run  and  get  some ;  and  oh !  she 
went,  and  brought  back  and  poured 
on  his  handkerchief  a  subtle,  beati- 
fied essence,  surely  expressed  from 
no  earthly  rind.  And  then  the 
hypocrite  tried  to  look  faint  (we  can 
imagine  with  what  results),  and 
kept  on  being  only  "  a  little  better  " 
for  a  rather  unreasonable  time,  dur- 
ing which,  Morna  having  said  at 
first  (drily,  Bertrand  thought)  she 
was  sorry  he  felt  ill,  said  nothing 
more,  and  eventually  went  away 
(very  unfeelingly,  and  so  unlike  "  his 
angel")  to  get  ready  for  fishing, 
which  recalled  Bertrand  to  himself, 
and  he  jumped  up  hale  and  hearty 
with  a  miraculous  alacrity  and  re- 


416 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


novation,  announcing  that  lie  was 
"  quite  well." 

"  But  you  must  keep  within 
doors,"  said  Mrs  M'Killop.  (Hang 
it  !  she  was  medical.) 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better ;  yes,  per- 
haps it  would  be  prudent,"  quoth 
Bertrand,  on  the  reculer-pour-mieux- 
sauter  principle  ;  and  then,  "  on 
second  thoughts,  open  air  is  the 
best  thing ;  but  I'll  keep  in  the 
shade,  of  course,  and  I  think  I'll 
just  stroll  down  by  the  river,  where 
the  trees  are,  and  watch  Miss  Grant 
fishing,  and  perhaps  throw  a  fly 
myself  when  the  sun  gets  lower." 

"  Very  imprudent,  Mr  Cameron," 
said  Mrs  M'Killop  ;  but  Bertrand, 
hastily  retreating  "  to  get  ready," 
avoided  further  opposition. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was 
again  in  the  hall,  where  he  was  soon 
joined  by  Morna.  "  Are  you  really 
going  to  venture  out  in  the  heat 
already,  after  being  so  unwell,  Mr 
Cameron?"  she  inquired. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  was  nothing,  —  a 
mere  passing  trifle ;  and  it  is  such 
an  age  since  I  had  a  fishing  lesson, 
I  could  not  miss  the  opportunity." 

"  An  age  ?  why,  it  was  only  two 
days  ago." 

"  Two  days  ago,  Miss  Grant  ! 

absurd  !  why,  it  is "  Bertrand 

stopped  short.  It  was  an  age  to 
him,  for  he  had  lived  a  decade  in 
the  last  twenty-four  hours ;  but  as  a 
mere  matter  of  fact,  Miss  Grant  was 
correct.  "  I  believe  you  are  right," 
he  went  on ;  "I  can't  think  how  I 
had  forgotten.  Yes,  of  course,  it 
was  the  day  before  yesterday.  Still 
an  opportunity  is  an  opportunity ; 
and  besides,  I've  got  a  new  '  spider' 
from  Campbell,  which  he  says  is  in- 
fallible on  a  day  like  this." 

"  We  had  better  start,  then,  and 
make  the  most  of  it,  if  you  are  quite 
ready." 

"  Oh,  quite — quite  ;  but  hadn't 
we  better  wait  for  Mrs  M'Killop  ?" 

"  She  is  not  coming." 


[April 

"  Oh,  I  thought ahem ! — but, 

by  the  by,  Miss  M'Killop  is  coming; 
it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  start  without 
her,  would  it]" 

"  Unless  she  has  changed  her 
mind  since  luncheon,  she  is  not 
coming  either;  she  had  quite  given 
up  the  plan :  did  she  say  she  was 
coming  just  now?" 

"  I — yes — oh,  certainly  I  thought 
so!" 

"  Very  well,  I'll  go  and  ask  her." 
And  Morna  went,  and  presently 
came  back,  saying,  with  Eila's  com- 
pliments, that  Bertrand  must  have 
dreamt  it.  It  was  much  too  warm 
to  go  out ;  and  she  was  reading  such 
a  delicious  novel,  which  could  not 
be  parted  with  before  dinner,  and 
then  only  with  a  struggle.  "  So," 
said  Morna,  "we  had  better  start, 
if  you  are  quite  ready." 

Bertrand  having  abandoned  a 
half -entertained  idea  of  becoming 
"  faint "  again,  was  ready  to  go  any- 
where any  one  chose  to  take  him, 
and  surrendered  himself  to  gloom 
and  misery — DEEP,  DARK,  FATHOM- 
LESS. For  all  his  pains,  poor  man 
— for  all  his  pains,  he  might  as  well 
have  been  on  the  top  of  Craigin- 
frioch.  She  was  avoiding  him — 
that  was  evident.  What  had  he 
done  to  make  himself  so  obnoxious  ? 
And  yet  ten  minutes  ago  she  was 
full  of  the  kindest  interest  and 
sympathy.  Ah  !  that  was  only  by 
the  impulse  of  her  faultless  heart ! 
her  repugnance  had  been  for  the 
moment  curbed  by  her  pure  philan- 
thropy— that  was  all.  She  would 
have  looked  the  same  looks,  and 
spoken  the  same  words,  to  the 
merest  costermonger  who  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  be  afflicted  with  a 
temporary  faintness  in  her  presence. 
And  then,  without  doubt,  she 
thought  he  had  misunderstood  her 
gentle  kindness,  so  that  she  was  of- 
fended, hurt,  and  a  prisoner,  this 
bright  afternoon,  all  on  account  of 
his  coarse,  selfish  infatuation.  It 


1871.] 

was  certain  that  her  maidenly  feel- 
ing was  outraged  ;  and  he  had  done 
it.  Bertrand  did  not  spare  himself : 
he  cunningly  devised  instruments 
for  his  own  torture,  and  used  them 
without  mercy.  Still  came  back 
the  eternal  refrain,  that  he  would 
love  her,  and  love  her,  and  perhaps 
years  of  devotion  illustrated  by 
splendid  deeds  done  for  her  sake 
(and  of  course  under  her  immediate 
eye),  might  at  last  gain  for  him 
some  slight  response  from  that  pre- 
cious heart,  which  no  mere  man 
could  hope  to  win  in  its  entirety. 
But  at  present  a  darkness  that  could 
be  felt  compassed  him  round  about 
as  he  went  away  with  Morna,  a 
charming  companion,  we  can  con- 
ceive, for  any  young  lady.  Fortun- 
ately, perhaps,  Morna  was  not  her- 
self conversationally  inclined.  She, 
too,  had  her  abstraction. 

Just  such  another  day  was  this 
as  that  on  which  these  two  had  paid 
their  first  visit,  in  company,  to  the 
river.  It  seemed  very  long  ago  to 
both  of  them.  To  Bertrand  it  was 
a  dim  passage  in  a  remote  and  other 
life;  and  to  Morna,  who  now  re- 
called it,  it  suggested  the  idea  of 
the  beginning  of  a  pleasant  song 
that  had  been  interrupted,  and  was 
never  likely  to  be  taken  up  again  and 
finished  ;  a  song  that  had  promised 
to  be  so  beautiful,  too,  that  it,  and 
it  alone,  might  have  filled  her  whole 
life  with  music.  And  was  it  gone  ? 
was  it  really  gone  for  ever  and  ever  1 
But  certain  feelings  are  too  subtle 
for  analysis ;  or,  if  analysis  be  pos- 
sible, too  sacred  for  exposition  in 
words ;  and  so  we  prefer  to  spare 
Morna's  inner  consciousness  any 
farther  contact  with  the  brusquen'e 
of  our  clumsy  touches.  Mechanic- 
ally, as  it  seemed,  they  turned  their 
steps  towards  the  same  part  of  the 
river  they  had  visited  on  that  first 
day;  passing  the  spot  where  the 
trees  had  rung  with  the  water-spirit's 
lamentations,  had  echoed  their  light 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


417 


laughter,  and  tossed  away  to  the 
vagrant  breeze  the  eloquent  utter- 
ances of  their  still  more  vagrant 
fancies. 

This  historical  spot  was  passed  in 
silence  (it  is  not  likely  that  Bertrand 
even  recognised  it,  for  all  the  land- 
scape was  to  him  like  some  blurred 
fiasco  of  a  photograph ;  and  as  to 

Morna but  we  are  not  going 

to  pry  into  her  feelings),  and  in- 
deed the  silence  was  only  broken 
once  or  twice  in  the  whole  journey 
from  the  house  to  the  Blue  Eock, 
and  then  on  this  wise. 

"  Terribly  warm ! " 

"  Intensely ! " 

Five  minutes'  interval. 

"Awfully  hot!" 

"  Excessively ! " 

"  Fine  fishing  will  be  necessary 
to  day." 

"  It  will." 

Deep  meditation  on  both  sides 
for  ten  minutes. 

"  I  have  everything  very  fine 
with  me." 

"  That  is  fortunate." 

Protracted  pause. 

"  This  is  an  African  day." 

"  I  can  quite  imagine  that  it  is 
exactly  an  African  day." 

"  Campbell's  spider  ought  to  do 
in  a  day  like  this." 

"  It  ought." 

Ten  minutes  more  for  reflection. 

"  This  weather  is  almost  intoler- 
able." 

"  It  is  indeed.  Here  we  are  at  the 
Blue  Eock ;  shall  we  keep  our  usual 
stations  ? " 

"  If  you  please." 

"Au  revoir,  then,  and  good  sport ! " 
and  so  they  separated  and  began  to 
fish. 

Bertrand  got  into  the  water  and 
stalked  slowly  up  mid-stream,  look- 
ing like  a  disconsolate  heron,  throw- 
ing his  fly  to  right  and  to  left  with 
mechanical  impartiality,  but  occa- 
sionally halting  and  favouring  some 
special  spot  with  a  protracted  flagel- 


418 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


lation,  as  if  he  knew  of  a  trout 
thereabouts  who  was  not  to  be  lured, 
but  might  be  bullied,  into  accepting 
a  fly.  For  about  an  hour  Bertrand 
continued  his  watery  promenade. 
The  solitude  and  the  stillness  fa- 
voured reflection — not  a  trout  rose 
to  interfere  with  it ;  while  the  calm- 
ness of  the  sunshine,  the  silence  of 
the  woods,  the  sleepy  aspect  of  the 
quiet  mountain-side,  and  the  monot- 
onous sing-song  of  the  river,  mate- 
rially assisted  in  piling  up  the  agony 
of  his  troubled  thoughts. 

Before  him,  as  he  gazed  into  the 
river,  floated  two  images :  one  all 
that  was  lovely  and  perfect,  but  with 
a  sort  of  celestial  anger,  chastened 
by  benevolence  and  sorrow,  dis- 
turbing the  features  of  the  divine 
countenance ;  the  other  of  a  dark, 
brutal  type,  turning  in  Cain-like 
remorse  from  the  bright  figure  which 
had  just  dismissed  him,  with  as 
much  scorn  and  indignation  as  is 
compatible  with  complete  purity 
and  elevation  of  soul 

The  dark  figure  turned  again  and 
again,  and  held  up  his  coarse  swart 
hands  in  '  the  attitude  of  suppli- 
cation, almost  of  worship,  but  the 
diviner  being  shook  her  beautiful 
head  and  ever  waved  him  off. 

"  Oh !  is  there  no  hope  1  is  there 
no  hope  ?"  cried  Bertrand  aloud  in 
his  agony. 

"  Not  when  you  fish  without  any 
fly  at  all,"  replied  a  voice  (apparently 
from  heaven),  with  a  symphony  of 
silvery  laughter. 

Bertrand  gave  a  prodigious  start, 
so  that  he  slipped,  was  half  down, 
up  again,  down  again.  Entirely 
ridiculous.  Whence  the  voice  which 
kept  laughing  all  the  time?  He 
looked  to  right-  and  to  left,  down 
into  the  river,  up  into  the  clouds ; 
he  saw  no  one.  Was  it  a  dream? 
No ;  there  at  last,  in  the  shadow 
of  the  trees,  blooming  among  the 
flowers,  "herself  a  fairer  flower," 
he  descried  the  speaker.  There  was 


[April 

"outraged  maidenly  feeling"  sur- 
prisingly merry,  all  things  consid- 
ered. 

Turning  red,  white,  and  blue  by 
turns,  Bertrand  reeled  up,  discover- 
ing that  his  cast  of  flies  was  entirely 
gone ;  and  then,  floundering  and 
stumbling,  made  the  best  of  his  way 
to  the  bank.  "  His  angel "  was 
sketching  some  object,  between 
which  and  the  fair  artist  his  clumsy 
person  seemed  to  be  for  ever  inter- 
posing ;  for  she  kept  craning  (if  an 
angel  can  be  conceived  to  crane) 
past  his  edges,  laughing  and  talk- 
ing, and  occasionally  putting  in  a 
stroke,  without  ever  looking  at  him. 

"  You  must  be  very  sanguine,  Mr 
Cameron,"  she  said. 

"I— I  didn't  know  I  had  lost 
my  cast ;  it  must  have  gone  at  the 
last  throw." 

"  A  large  trout,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  I  should  say  so.  Oh  yes,  a 
very  large  trout — immense." 

"  You  saw  him,  did  you?" 

"  Well,  no— not  quite." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  a  salmon  ?" 

"  I  daresay  it  was." 

"Or  a  pike?" 

"  Very  likely  a  pike." 

If  she  had  suggested  a  dolphin, 
Bertrand  would  have  cheerfully  as- 
sented. 

"  And  what  are  you  to  do  ?  have 
you  another  cast?" 

He  had  a  dozen,  at  the  least,  in 
his  pocket ;  but  all  lovers  are  in- 
different to  truth,  so  he  said  he  had 
been  stupid,  and  forgotten  his  book. 

"  This  has  been  quite  a  day  of 
catastrophes  for  you,"  said  Eila, 
looking  round  his  right  edge;  and 
when  he  had  executed  a  demivolt 
to  clear  her  line  of  vision,  instantly 
discovering  that  she  had  to  look  on 
the  other  side,  involving  a  counter- 
demivolt,  and  for  a  moment  or  two 
she  kept  him  prancing  from  right 
to  left  like  a  bear  on  hot  irons. 
Nothing,  however,  could  be  more  de- 
mure than  her  expression  all  the  time. 


1871.] 


"  Yes,"  replied  Bertrand,  "  and 
yet  not  altogether.  I  am  very 
he — appy  now." 

"  Happy,  are  you  ? "  (pause  to 
crane)  ;  "  really  1"  (pause  to  pencil); 
"why?" 

Oh,  the  bewitching  unconscious- 
ness !  Oh,  the  simplicity !  Oh, 
the  natvete!  Embarrassing,  though 
— very. 

"  Why  1  ahem  !  because — hum, 
ahem  ! — you  see " 

"  If  you  would  be  so  very  kind 
as  to  move  just  the  least  little  bit 
to  the  left  —  thanks  !  Now  I  see 
beautifully." 

"  May  I  sit  down  here  ? " 

"  Oh,  pray  do,  and  then  you 
won't  have  to  trouble  moving  so 
often.  I  fear  I'm  a  terrible  fidget." 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  move  when 
one  is — a — a — ordered." 

Could  anything  be  more  bete  ? 
and  no  one  could  be  more  conscious 
of  it  than  the  hapless  speaker  ;  but 
Puck  ruled  the  hour. 

"  That  is  a  very  military  senti- 
ment." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  in  that  sense. 


Fair  to  See.— Fart  IV. 


419 


"  Are  you  fond  of  the  army  1  " 
"  Yes,  I  like  it  very  well." 
"  Have  you  been  in  a  great  many 
battles  ]  " 

"  Well,  no—  not  many."     He  had 

once  marched  with  his  company  to 

look  at  an  electioneering  row,  and 

be  pelted  for  a  couple  of  hours  by 

Irish  patriots  at  Killygobslithereen. 

"  A  battle  must  be  delightful  ?" 

"  Ye-es,  it  has  a  wild  excitement, 

which  is  always  pleasant,  of  course." 

"  I  hope  you  always  gave  quarter, 

and  were  merciful?" 

"  I  —  I  really  —  don't  you  know  — 


"  Oh,  you  didn't  !  I  am  afraid 
you  are  dreadfully  cruel  and  "  (that 
tiresome  cow  will  not  stand  still) 
"  ferocious.  I'm  really  quite  afraid 
of  you." 

And  then  she  looked  up  from  her 


drawing,  and  looked  at  him,  and 
beamed  and  scintillated,  so  that  Ber- 
trand was  one  all-pervading  "  tingle" 
from  head  to  foot. 

"I  quite  despair  of  getting  that 
foreground  right,"  she  resumed,  lay- 
ing, down  her  pencil.  "  I  must  give 
it  up,  or  I  shall  be  cross  and  dis- 
agreeable for  the  rest  of  the  day." 

"  Pray  let  me  look  at  it." 
'  Oh  no,  no !  not  for  worlds  !  I 
know  you  are  terribly  critical  and 
severe,  and  you  don't  give  quarter 
to  your  enemies;  oh  no!"  And 
as  Bertrand  extended  his  hand 
(which  appeared  to  him  to  be  a  veri- 
table paw)  to  take  the  drawing,  she 
withdrew  it  with  a  bewitching  ges- 
ture, and  hid  it  under  her  shawl 
with  such  an  arch  little  nod  of  de- 
fiance. 

"  You  talk  of  giving  quarter  to 
enemies,  Miss  M'Killop,  just  as  if  I 
counted  you  as  one.  Why  1 " 

"  Because  it  is  true,  Mr  Came- 
ron." 

"True!" 

"  Yes ;  you  don't  like  me.  I  al- 
ways know  when  people  don't  like 
me  by  their  eyes.  I  think  a  great 
many  people  don't  like  me,  and  I 
always  want  them  to  tell  me  why. 
Now,  be  frank  ;  look  me  in  the  face 
and  tell  me  why." 

"  Whe — whe — when  I  look  you 
in  the  face,  I  swear — 

"  Oh,  please,  don't  swear ;  but, 
look  !  look  ! — oh,  do  look  at  that  ! 
What  is  it  ?  A  real  orange  butter- 
fly !  Oh,  pray,  catch  it  for  me  ! — 
do,  pray,  Mr  Cameron  ! " 

Bertrand  was  up  in  an  instant,  per- 
forming all  sorts  of  acrobatic  feats 
with  his  legs  and  arms  and  hat, 
dodging  the  butterfly  out  and  in  the 
trees,  and  among  the  tangle  of  black- 
thorn and  wild  rose  and  honeysuckle, 
butting  his  head  against  projecting 
branches,  tearing  his  clothes  and 
wounding  his  body  in  many  places. 
The  butterfly  entered  into  the  spirit 
of  the  thing,  and  flew  low,  and  Ber- 


420 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


trand  had  a  quick  three  minutes 
with  it,  resulting  in  its  capture. 

He  brought  it  carefully  under  his 
cap  :  she  bent  forward  over  the  cap ; 
he  bent  forward  over  the  cap.  The 
streamers  of  a  ribbon  round  her  neck 
were  lifted  by  a  little  breath  of  wind 
and  lay  on  his  shoulder ;  her  hand 
touched  his ;  he  trembled  all  over, 
so  that  he  collapsed  heavily  on  the 
cap,  the  cap  on  the  butterfly,  the 
butterfly  into  powder. 

"  Oh,  Mr  Cameron,  how  cruel ! 
how  cruel !  You  have  killed  the 
poor,  dear,  beautiful  butterfly,"  and 
she  looked  at  him  reproachfully  with 
eyes  that  expressed  tears,  if  they  shed 
none. 

What  sensibility  !  Still  the  rib- 
bons lay  on  his  shoulder  (the  acco- 
lade of  a  thousand  knighthoods 
would  have  been  valueless  compared 
with  that  blessed  contact),  and  in 
her  emotion  her  hand  still  clasped 
the  cap — would  have  touched  his 
hand — but  he  shrank  from  that. 

"Are  you  sorry?"  she  said,  after 
a  pause,  during  which  Bertrand  felt 
as  if  his  eyes  were  being  drawn  out 
like  telescopes  by  the  attraction  of 
hers — "are  you  sorry?" 

"  I  am  very  sorry — very,  very 
sorry."  His  voice  shook,  and 
changed  its  key  with  every  second 
word. 

"I  believe  you  are  very  sorry," 
she  said,  slowly  withdrawing  her 
eyes,  and  moving  back  so  that  the 
ribbons  glided  from  his  shoulder, 
gently,  lingeringly,  inch  by  inch — 
"  and  I  forgive  you." 

What  magnanimity! 

"To  prove  that  I  am  not  an 
enemy,"  said  Bertrand,  "  I  can  show 
that  at  least  I  have  tried  to  please 
you ;  I  have  executed  your  com- 
mission." 

"What  commission,  Mr  Cam- 
eron ? " 

"  White  heather.  Look  !"— and 
he  withdrew  from  the  interior  of  his 
waistcoat  the  hermit  of  the  corrie, 


[April 

looking  rather  jaded,  to  be  sure,  from 
long  contact  with  a  flannel  shirt  that 
had  been  shot  in,  and  fished  in,  and 
fainted  in,  all  in  a  mean  temperature 
of  90°  Fahrenheit  or  so. 

"  Oh,  how  kind  !  how  very  good 
of  you  !  to  think  of  me,  and  when 
you  were  ill !  Thank  you ;  thank 
you  so  much." 

"Let  me  dip  it  in  the  river  to 
freshen  it  before  you  take  it." 

"  Oh  no,  no  !  I  will  take  it  just 
as  you  brought  it.  I  never  thought 
you  would  trouble  about  it,  or  think 
of  it  any  more." 

Bertrand  made  a  tremendous 
effort,  and  murmured,  in  rapid, 
husky  jerks,  "  I  never  thought  of 
anything  else.  I  would  never — 
have  gone  to  the  hill  to-day — except 
to  get  it.  I  wish  it  was  a  thousand 
times  prettier — I  wish  it  was  wor- 
thier of  you." 

"  Can  anything  be  worthier  of 
a  child  of  the  mountains  than  the 
most  beautiful  thing  that  grows 
upon  them?" 

"  Oh  yes — everything  is  worthier 
— of  you." 

Puck  was  at  him  again.  "  But  I 
am  sorry  you  had  the  trouble  and 
the  fatigue.  I  am  afraid  you  made 
yourself  ill  in  looking  for  it.  How 
kind  of  you  !  but  if  you  made  your- 
self ill  in  looking  for  it,  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself.  Tell  me,  did 
you?" 

"Oh  no,  not  at  all;  I  would 
have  been  ill —  He  was  going 

to  try  to  add,  "  a  thousand  times, 
and  died  a  thousand  times,  in  such 
a  cause,"  or  some  absurdity  of  the 
sort,  but  Eila  turned  it  off. 

"  Should  you,  at  any  rate  ?  Then 
I  am  satisfied,  and  "  (rather  a  tame 
climax)  "really  very  much  obliged." 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  favour  ? " 
cried  Bertrand. 

"  If  I  can  I  will— what  is  it  ? " 

"  Will  you  wear  the  heather  this 
evening  ? " 

"  Oh   yes ;    I   will    begin   now. 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


421 


See !"  and  she  placed  it  in  the 
bosom  of  her  dress.  A h  ! 

"  Please  tell  me  a  story,  Mr  Cam- 
eron," she  resumed  suddenly,  after 
the  flower  was  adjusted. 

"  A  story,  Miss  M'Killop  !  but 
what  sort  of  story  ]" 

"  About  battles  and  adventures; 
I  like  reading  about  them,  and  it 
would  be  delightful  to  hear  about 
them  from  a  real  soldier  who  has 
been  in  them,  and  done  them, 
and  been  made  a  prisoner  and 
wounded.  You  have  been  wounded, 
of  course  1 " 

"  No  —  yes  —  very  slightly  —  a 
mere  nothing"  (in  allusion  to  a 
tremendous  black  eye  from  a  brick- 
bat at  Killygobslithereen,  painfid 
but  not  romantic,  and  certainly  not 
the  incident  for  the  moment) — "  a 
mere  nothing ;  but  no  man  likes  to 
talk  about  his  own  exploits,"  parti- 
cularly, he  might  have  added,  when 
he  has  to  draw  exclusively  for  them 
on  his  imagination — before  dinner. 
"So  if  you  really  want  to  hear  a 
little  romance  of  war,  I'll  tell  you 
about  an  adventure  in  the  Indian 
Mutiny  of  one  of  our  fellows — 
Gibbs." 

"  Gibbs  !  what  an  ugly  name  ! 
rhymes  to  '  fibs,'  doesn't  it  1" 

Bertrand  admitted  that  it  did,  and 
also  to  "  ribs,"  for  the  matter  of 
that ;  but  Gibbs,  notwithstanding 
his  prosodial  misfortunes,  was  really 
a  tremendous  fellow — a  V.C.  even. 
Still  Eila  would  have  none  of 
Gibbs,  though  his  deeds  might  have 
shed  lustre  on  a  de  Montmorency. 
"  Well,  then,  another  of  my  friends 
really  did  a  splendid  thing  at  the 
Taku  Forts,  and  had  such  an  adven- 
ture in  the  Summer  Palace  after- 
wards; shall  I  tell  you  about  that?" 

"  What  was  his  name  ]" 

The  hero's  name  was  really  Bar- 
ton, but  Bertrand  saw  at  once  that 
while  rhyming  to  "  tartan  "  he  was 
unfit  for  service,  so  he  eliminated  the 
disqualifying  letter  and  said  "  Baron. " 


"  Yes,  I  would  like  to  hear  about 
Mr  Baron." 

And  Bertrand  told  her  a  terrible 
anecdote  all  about  junks  and  joss- 
houses  and  gingalls,  and  the  yells  of 
the  Celestials,  and  the  terrible  Bri- 
tish cheer,  and  mandarins,  and  the 
Brother  of  the  Sun  and  Moon,  and 
his  silks  and  furs  and  jewels,  and 
the  palatial  bonfire, — through  all 
which  the  sword  of  the  terrible 
Barton  meandered  like  a  streak  of 
lightning  caught  and  drilled  for  the 
occasion  to  warlike  purposes.  The 
story  was  lengthy;  it  had  outfalls 
of  episode,  and  a  pretty  broad 
dreary  current  of  its  own,  and  dur- 
ing its  progress  Bertrand  made  a 
discovery — angels  can  yawn.  The 
discovery  depressed  him;  the  full- 
flowing  river  of  his  speech  rolled  on 
with  a  more  languid  movement,  and 
the  lightning  of  Barton  the  de- 
stroyer began  to  shed  rather  sickly 
gleams  on  its  sluggish  wave.  Still 
it  went  on  to  a  point  where  Barton, 
after  having  lost  an  arm  from  a 
round-shot,  received  a  sword-thrust 
through  the  body  and  a  contusion 
on  the  head,  and  become  reluctantly 
insensible,  might  reasonably  be  sup- 
pose to  have  terminated  his  ex- 
ploits ;  and  here  Eila,  assuming  the 
close  of  the  narrative,  thanked  Ber- 
trand for  it  with  great  alacrity,  said 
it  was  most  interesting,  and  what  a 
surprising  person  Mr  Baron  must  be 
— and  probably  she  might  have 
found  him  so  to  be,  if  she  had  had 
patience,  and  got  beyond  the  mere 
threshold  of  the  anecdote;  for,  of 
course,  she  had  only  heard  Act  I. ; 
and  fellows  like  Barton,  as  a  rule, 
never  succumb ;  the  lopping  off"  of  a 
limb  or  two  only  clears  them,  as  it 
were,  for  more  vigorous  action;  and 
if  they  ever  condescend  to  die  at  all, 
it  is  in  the  picturesque  Chevy-Chase 
attitude  of  fighting  on  their  stumps. 

Bertrand  acquiesced  in  the  drop- 
ping of  the  curtain  ;  he  felt  that  he 
was  not  shining;  and  indeed  what 


422 


Fair  to  See. — Part  IV. 


[April 


kind  of  figure  can  a  wax-taper  cut, 
when  flickering  in  the  full  beams  of 
Hyperion1? — and  so  he  allowed  Eila 
even  to  imagine  Mr  Barton's  death. 
That,  at  least,  lent  him  an  interest 
which  could  not  belong  to  one  whose 
voice  was  even  at  that  hour  contri- 
buting to  "the  thunder  of  the 
captains  and  the  shouting"  in  the 
Long  Valley. 

"  If  I  had  been  a  man,  I  must 
have  been  a  soldier!"  cried  Eila,  as 
a  sort  of  funeral-shot  over  Barton 
and  his  glories. 

It  flashed  across  Bertrand's  mind 
that  he  had  better  hum  (archly), 
"  If  I  was  a  lad,  for  a  soldier  I'd 
go,"  but  he  curbed  the  inclination 
as  profane,  and  said  instead,  "Surely 
you  would  not  have  preferred  to  be 
a  man  ? " 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  should  :  do  you 
think  a  woman's  life  can  be  a  very 
happy  one,  except  under  very  pe- 
culiar circumstances  1  How  would 
you  like  to  be  au  convent  under  the 
shadow  of  Craiginfrioch  for  the  rest 
of  your  days,  or  some  place  just  as 
bad?" 

"  That  fate  can  never  be  yours, 
except  by  choice." 

"  It  is  generally  a  choice  of  evils 
in  the  world,  is  it  not  1  for  a 
woman,  at  least,"  said  Eila,  with  a 
graceful  little  shrug. 

"  Oh,  please,  don't  speak  like 
that,"  cried  Bertrand,  with  genuine 
earnestness.  It  gave  him  a  quick 
pain  to  think  of  so  bright  and 
beautiful  a  being  living  in  any  at- 
mosphere save  one  of  perpetual  joy, 
radiance,  and  delight.  "  I  think 
women,"  he  said,  "  beautiful  women, 
clever  women,  and,  above  all,  good 
women,  even  without  being  beauti- 
ful or  clever,  have  as  fine  a  career, 
if  they  choose  to  accept  it,  as  any 
man  can  have." 

"  You  are  beginning  to  be  grave 
• — please,  don't." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  won't. 
But  think  of  us  poor  men  with 


compassion.  If  all  the  beautiful 
women  in  the  world  were  with- 
drawn or  transformed,  what  would 
become  of  us?  What  would  the 
knight  in  the  lists  have  been  with- 
out the  Queen  of  Beauty  or  his 
lady-love  in  the  gallery1?" 

"  That  is  very  pretty  !  I  like 
that.  Are  you  fond  of  poetry  ?" 

"  Devoted  to  it." 

"And  music?" 

"  There  I  am  a  fanatic." 

"  Oh,  I  see  now  why  Morna  and 
you  are  such  allies  !" 

"  Allies  ?"  The  villain  was  on 
the  point  of  denying  an  alliance  too 
good  for  nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  out  of  a  thousand  of  his  sex. 
Love,  which  conquers  all  things, 
walks  lightly  over  loyalty,  gener- 
osity, and  all  the  verities.  "Al- 
lies?" he  repeated;  and  then,  as  a 
compromise,  "Are  we  allies?" 

"  You  act  as  if  you  were,  at  all 
events,  don't  you?"  and  then,  with 
sudden  eagerness  (who  can  say  from 
what  source  ?),  "  and  you  may  be 
very  proud  to  be  an  ally  of  hers, 
because  there  is  no  one  the  least 
like  her.  She  is  too  good  to  be 
any  one's  ally.  It  makes  one  better 
to  be  with  her :  she  is  the  only  per- 
son in  all  the  world  I  like." 

How  beautiful  she  looked,  thus 
animated  for  her  friend  !  And  how 
delightful  to  know  that  she  cared 
for  no  one  else  ("the  present  com- 
pany," she  had  expressly  stated, 
"  is  always  excepted");  and  what  a 
goodly  thing  was  a  beautiful  girl's 
love  for  another — girl  !  Slightly 
inconsistent  though  at  times,  as 
now  appeared ;  for  instantly  after 
her  glowing  eulogy,  she  laid  her 
hand  on  Bertrand's  arm,  and  said, 
"  Hush!  hush!  look,  here  is  Morna; 
lie  down  and  hide."  Whereupon 
the  wretch  "  crouched  fawning  in  the 
weed,"  and  Morna  passed  away  on 
the  other  side.  She  looked  jaded 
and  tired  ;  she  was  carrying  her 
own  basket  slung  over  her  shoulder, 


1871.] 


Fair  to  Sec. — Part  IV. 


423 


and  lier  rod.  Her  eyes  were  bent 
on  the  ground  ;  she  was  not  looking 
very  happy.  At  sight  of  her,  some 
emotion  of — what  was  it  ] — pity  ? 
remorse  ?  of  conscious  desertion  and 
betrayal  1  —  something  unpleasant, 
at  any  rate,  struck  into  Bertrand's 
heart,  and  with  it  an  impulse  to 
dash  across  the  river  and  carry  her 
things  for  her,  and  be  "jolly"  to 
her  generally..  But  he  looked  up  to 
his  beautiful  companion,  who  sat 
leaning  against  a  tree  twined  with 
murderous  honeysuckle;  and  as  the 
tree  was  clasped  in  that  deadly- 
sweet  embrace,  so  did  the  influence 
of  those  enthralling  eyes  wind  itself 
round  his  heart,  and  choke  the  gen- 
erous emotion.  Retributive  justice 
halts  not  always;  and  in  about  a 
minute  Eila  said,  "  You  had  better 
follow  her  now."  This  was  illogi- 
cal, also  unpleasant. 

"  Oh,  please,  don't  send  me 
away,"  said  Bertrand. 

"  You  came  out  to  fish  with  her, 
you  know ;  and  so  you  belong  to 
her — for  the  afternoon." 

"  But  will  you  come  too  ?  You 
have  no  idea  how  interesting  it  is 
to  watch  Miss  Grant  fishing; — she 
catches  lots  of  them — every  minute 
— most  exciting ;  do  come." 

"  Thanks — no  ;  I  must  go  back  to 
my  novel :  I  can  think  of  nothing 
else  till  it  is  finished.  Please  don't 
mind  me.  I  shall  find  my  way 
home  by  the  bridge.  If  you  ford 
the  river  here  you  will  be  able  to 
overtake  Morna.  Poor  dear  Morna ! 
looking  so  tired  and  bored  all  by  her- 
self !  Do  run  away  quickly,  please." 

"  And  you  will  wear  it  ? "  lan- 
guishingly. 

"  It  ?     What,  Mr  Cameron  1 " 

"  The  heather !" 

"Oh,  the  heather!  Oh  yes,  if 
you  wish  it,  and  it  isn't  dead  by 
the  evening.  Good-bye — au  revoir" 

So,  with  an  east  wind  whistling 
in  every  nook  and  cranny  of  his 
soul,  Bertrand  took  the  water  and 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXVI. 


followed  "  poor  dear  Morna."  Me- 
moranda— angels  yawn — are  some- 
times illogical,  and  always  incom- 
prehensible. He  did  not  long 
follow  Morna  in  a  straight  course, 
but  soon  diverged  to  the  left,  and, 
circling  round  at  top-speed,  managed 
to  head  her,  and  was  fishing  at  the 
point  where  he  ought  to  have  been 
when,  half  an  hour  later,  she  came 
up  to  pass  him  again.  Few  and 
short  were  the  words  they  spoke. 
Morna  had  had  bad  sport;  Bertrand 
none — as  represented  in  his  basket, 
that  is  ;  and  eventually,  after  various 
passings  and  repassings,  they  walked 
home  together  much  as  they  had 
walked  out  together,  both  regretting, 
with  wonder  and  animation,  the 
total  and  surprising  failure  of  Camp- 
bell's new  "  spider." 

Pigott  came  in  late  from  the  hill, 
and  found  Bertrand  already — rather 
prematurely  —  dressed  for  dinner, 
and  about  to  descend  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. 

"Well,  Bertrand,  all  right  again  V 

"  Oh,  all  right,  thanks." 

"Been  out ?" 

"  Just  took  a  stroll  by  the  river 
for  a  bit.  How  have  you  done 
to-day?" 

"  Pretty  well ;  dogs  rather  de- 
moralised, though.  Look  here,  I 
found  that  heather  for  Miss  What's- 
her-name ;  rather  a  fine  specimen, 
isn't  it  ?" 

"  Beautiful,  yes ;  but  I  found  a 
bit  on  the  hillside,  and  have  given 
it  to  her  ;  so  we  can  keep  yours  for 
our  own  drawing-room  table." 

"  No,  I  shall  give  this  to  her. 
I've  had  rather  a  time  of  it  with 
the  thing.  I  stuck  it  in  my  cap  to 
keep  fresh,  and  it  kept  tumbling 
out,  and  lost  me  a  brace  of  grouse 
by  getting  across  my  eyes  at  the 
critical  moment ;  besides,  the  only 
ptarmigan  I  saw  to-day  rose  when  I 
was  digging  it  up ;  so  I'll  give  it  to 
her,  and  tell  her  about  it  as  a  hint 
not  to  go  bothering  again." 
2  G 


424 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


"As  you  please,"  said  Bertrand, 
and  went  to  the  drawing-room. 

No  one  there.  Presently  in  came 
Mr  M'Killop — bother  1dm  ! — no 
tete-a-tete  was  now  possible ;  then 
came  Mrs  M'Killop — bother  her! — 
how  loud  she  looked  !  then  came 
Morna,  bother — no,  not  exactly  that 
— and  immediately  after  entered 
Eila  (in  blue) ;  but,  alas  !  where  was 
the  white  heather1?  Not  there,  at 
all  events,  where  it  would  have 
looked  so  well  in  harmony  with  a 
blue  dress.  It  was  an  occasion  to 
sulk  a  little,  and  Bertrand  did  so 
(in  the  window).  The  sulking  was 
dramatic,  bien  entendu.  There  was 
nothing  in  his  heart  but  humble 
grief  and  a  sense  of  merited  dis- 
comfiture. 

Presently  in  walked  Pigott,  cool, 
trim,  dry,  in  his  hand  the  bunch  of 
heather.  He  walked  up  to  Eila, 
held  out  the  offering  with — 

"This  is  the  vegetable  you 
wanted,  Miss  M'Killop,  is  it  not  1 " 

"  Oh,  Captain  Pigott ! "  cries  Eila. 
"  Oh,  so  many  thanks  !  how  beauti- 
ful !  " 

She  takes  it ; — it  is  no  longer 
heather — it  is  amaranth — although 
the  gift  of  Pigott. 

"  On  the  very  tip-top  of  Craigin- 
frioch  did  you  find  it  ? " 

"  On  the  very  tip-top  —  where 
there  are  ptarmigan  ! " 

"  On  the  very  tip-top,  where  there 
are  ptarmigan  !  Delightful ! " 

"  The  only  ptarmigan  I  saw  to- 
day rose  when  I  was  tearing  up  that 
plant." 

"  How  tiresome !  and  did  you 
carry  it  all  the  way  down,  yourself?" 

"  All  the  way  in  my  hat ;  as  a 
proof,  it  tumbled  across  my  eyes  and 
made  me  miss  a  brace  of  grouse." 

"  What  a  pity  !  but  how  kind  of 
you  to  get  it  for  me,  and  to  go  miss- 
ing grouse  and  ptarmigans  to  oblige 
me !  Thank  you  so  much — it  is 
quite  beautiful ;  a  finer  plant,  I 
think,  than  Mr  Cameron  brought 


[April 

me,  though  it  was  very  pretty  too. 
Oh,  by  the  by,  Mr  Cameron,  I  am 
so  sorry  I  couldn't  do  what  you 
wished ;  the  poor  thing  was  too  much 
faded."  Bertrand  was  understood  to 
say  that  it  didn't  signify,  and  Eila 
went  on,  "  But  this  comes  instead, 
and  I  shall  wear  it.  Shall  I  wear 
it,  Captain  Pigott  ? " 

"  Oh,  by  all  means." 

"  Then  I  will,"  and  she  ran  air- 
ily to  the  mirror  and  placed  one 
bunch  in  her  bosom  and  another  in 
her  hair  (coquettishly) — and  then 
turned  round,  putting  her  hands 
down  by  her  side,  with  the  fairy- 
like  gesture  of  a  playful  child,  for 
inspection.  "  How  does  it  do  ?  Is 
it  pretty  1 " 

Pretty !  but  Bertrand  could  say 
nothing,  and  Pigott  remarked  jocu- 
larly, "  Yes,  it  looks  very  well ;  it 
literally  does  honour  to  your  head 
and  heart." 

He  was  getting  just  a  little  be- 
yond human  endurance — this — this 
groundling. 

Pigott's  seniority  constituted  him 
Mrs  M'Killop's  daily  escort  to  the 
diningfroom,  and  Eila  fell  to  Ber- 
trand. "  "Wasn't  it  kind  of  Captain 
Pigott  to  get  this  for  me  from  the 
tip-top  of  Craiginfrioch,  where  the 
ptarmigans  are  1 "  she  inquired  con- 
fidentially of  Bertrand,  as  they  passed 
from  the  drawing-room ;  "  but  do  you 
think,  entre  nous,  it  bored  him?  I 
should  be  in  despair  if  I  thought  I 
had  bored  him." 

"  It  was  a  great  privilege  for 
Captain  Pigott  to  have  the  happi- 
ness of  doing  anything  to  give  you 
pleasure,"  said  Bertrand,  grimly. 

"  He  is  very  good-natured  and 
kind,  is  he  not  ? " 

"  Very." 

"  He  has  such  a  nice  kind  face, 
has  he  not  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Like  a  good  dog's,  isn't  it  1 " 

11  Ha  !  ha  !  yes,  not  bad  that — 
rather  like  a  dog's,  certainly." 


1871.] 

"  A  good  dog's,  though,  and  that 
is  not  the  least  laughable,  for  a  good 
dog's  face  is  the  pleasantest  face  in 
the  world — to  me." 

Not  being  a  dog  of  any  sort, 
there  was  clearly  nothing  for  Ber- 
trand  but  to  sulk  after  that.  All 
through  dinner  Eila  was  perversely 
enchanting,  and  Bertrand  was  in  and 
out  of  the  sulks  a  score  of  times  at 
the  least;  the  trying  part  of  it  all 
being  that  she  never  appeared  to 
know  when  he  was  supposed  to  be 
in  a  state  of  dignity,  and  when  in  a 
state  of  delight,  penitence,  worship, 
or  what  not.  The  same  sort  of 
thing  went  on  in  the  drawing-room, 
where  Eila  cajoled  her  father  and 
the  two  ecartists  into  playing  whist 
with  her,  so  that  Morna  and  Ber- 
trand were  left  to  a  dismal  tete-a-tete; 
then  she  threw  up  the  cards  after 
the  first  rubber,  alleging  a  head- 
ache ;  then  she  coaxed  Morna  to 
sing,  and  when  Bertrand  approached, 
with  earnest  pleading  eyes,  to  seat 
himself  by  her,  snubbed  him  in- 
stantly by  rising,  and  "  though  so 
sorry  to  be  unsociable,  really  wish- 
ing to  sit  quite  quiet  by  the  win- 
dow, for  her  headache's  sake,  if  he 
didn't  mind."  And  so  the  evening 
passed,  and  much  in  the  same  way 
passed  the  next  few  days,  as  regarded 
the  relations  of  Eila  and  Morna  and 
Bertrand ;  the  latter  now  like  the 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


425 


Peri  at  the  gate  of  Paradise,  discon- 
solate, now  admitted  for  one  instant 
within  the  glittering  portals,  and 
the  next  expelled  from  it  by  the 
lightning  eye  of  the  avenging  angel. 
Like  Jeanie  pining  for  Jamie,  he 
began  to  "  gang  like  a  ghaist  and 
caredna  to  spin" — that  is,  to  shoot 
or  fish,  or  eat  or  drink,  or  sleep  or 
hold  commune  with  Pigott  or  any 
other  flesh  of  man,  save  only  with 
her,  who  by  a  word  could  make  him 
the  blessedest  of  mortals,  and  by  a 
look  could  cause  him  to  peak  and 
pine  and  dwindle.  He  had  no 
quarrel  with  Pigott,  quite  the  re- 
verse— but  he  avoided  a  tete-a-tete 
with  that  officer  as  he  would  have 
shunned  the  plague,  ignoring  the 
smoking-room  and  the  boudoir  sa- 
cred to  bonne  camaraderie,  and  rush- 
ing to  bed  of  nights  with  a  hasty 
"  tired  as  a  dog,  old  fellow — can- 
not  smoke  to-night — really  can't." 
Pigott,  of  course,  knew  the  state  of 
the  case  as  well  as,  if  not  better 
than,  his  friend ;  but  though  he  said 
to  himself  that  the  present  juncture 
was  not  gay,  still  he  was  certain 
that  to  endure  it  was  the  less  of 
two  evils,  the  alternative  being  to 
become  confidant,  and  listen  to  his 
friend's  eternal  maunderings  about 
that  girl,  for  ever  harvesting  with 
her  unquiet  eyes. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


The  arrival  of  the  day  of  "the 
gathering  "  brought  a  diversion,  not 
unwelcome,  perhaps,  to  any  of  the 
performers  in  this  tragi-comedy. 

It  was  to  be  a  day  full  of  events ; 
for  not  only  was  there  to  be  "a 
gathering  "  and  a  ball,  but,  as  an  in- 
terlude, suggested,  no  doubt,  by  the 
expected  concourse  of  "  the  country- 
side, "  the  candidate  for  the  boroughs 
was  in  the  evening  to  address  the 
electors  of  the  town  of  Ardmartin ; 


so  that  the  bill  of  fare  held  out  in- 
ducements to  all  the  world,  and 
everybody  said  that  all  the  world 
would  be  there.  The  weather  was 
splendid,  and  so  the  party  were  con- 
veyed to  the  scene  of  action  — 
about  fourteen  miles  distant — in  an 
open  brake ;  Mrs  M'Killop  having 
covenanted  that  a  certain  absence 
of  state  in  the  character  of  the  ve- 
hicle should  be  balanced  by  its  be- 
ing drawn  by  four  post-horses,  which 


426 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


[April 


was  very  noble.  One  of  the  postil- 
ions, indeed,  had  a  red  jacket, 
while  the  other  was  in  blue — an 
incongruity  not  perhaps  altogether 
corrected  by  the  very  black  eye 
which  dimmed  the  lustre  of  the 
gentleman  in  red  ;  but  this  was  a 
mere  matter  of  detail :  and  what 
with  Hamish  on  the  box,  his  pipes 
adorned  with  a  banner  of  the  M'Kil- 
lop  arms  quartered  with  those  of 
M'Whannel,  M'Cuaig,  M'Kechnie, 
and  a  good  many  other  rather  gut- 
tural septs;  what  with  Mrs  M'Killop 
inside,  blazing  like  the  fire  of  Baal, 
not  to  mention  the  chaster  bright- 
ness of  Eila  and  Morna, — it  must 
be  admitted  that  they  made  a  brave 
appearance  on  the  whole.  They 
were  to  dine  and  dress  at  the  hotel, 
therefore  there  was  luggage;  they 
were  to  luncheon  al  fresco  at  "  the 
gathering, "therefore  there  were  ham- 
pers— bountiful,  well-filled  hampers 
— for  the  Cairnarvoch  cook  was  a 
good  cook,  and  the  mistress  of  Cair- 
narvoch loved  the  handiwork  of  her 
handmaiden.  Also  there  was  wine  ; 
for  "there  is  to  be  no  nonsense 
about  the  champagne,  M'Killop," 
had  been  much  on  Mrs  M'Killop's 
lips  for  the  two  previous  days ;  and 
there  was  no  nonsense  about  it ;  so 
that  the  brake,  which  was  also  to 
bring  back  Messrs  Duncanson  and 
Tainsh  for  their  visit,  if  they  pre- 
ferred that  to  travelling  separately, 
was  by  no  means  overhorsed  with 
four. 

Eila  began  the  day  very  propi- 
tiously, in  the  brightest  of  moods. 
She  was  kindness  itself  to  Bertrand ; 
manoeuvred  him  into  a  seat  beside 
her  in  the  brake ;  told  him  it  was 
a  comfort  in  going  to  a  stupid  ball 
to  feel  that  one  was  with  a  nice 
party,  and  therefore  independent ; 
hoped  he  and  Captain  Pigott  would 
be  very  civil,  and  not  desert 
them ;  wished  to  know  exactly 
what  he  thought  of  her  new  hat, 
of  which  she  herself  was  doubt- 


ful; and  confided  to  him  that  she 
had  selected  and  made  up  with  her 
own  hands  a  bouquet  for  his  coat 
in  the  evening,  which  was  "  with 
her  things  "  under  charge  of  M'Ken- 
zie,  the  spectral  maid.  A  minute 
or  two  later,  Bertrand  was  a  little 
dashed  by  discovering  that  the  same 
distinction  was  to  be  enjoyed  by 
Pigott  and  her  father ;  but  rallied 
again  on  being  assured  that  he 
should  have  first  choice,  as  well  as 
the  advantage  of  her  advice  in  his 
selection.  And  "  I  do  hope  you 
are  not  going  in  the  Highland  dress, 
Mr  Cameron  V  she  added.  It  was 
desolation  to  Bertrand  to  confess 
that  that  garb  and  no  other  was  in 
his  portmanteau  in  the  boat. 

"I'm  sorry  for  that,"  said  Eila; 
"  because  almost  everybody  else  will 
wear  it, — and  the  other  is  so  much 
more  distinguished  on  such  an  oc- 
casion ;  it  looks,  you  know,  as  if 
you  didn't  care.  I  had  quite  made 
up  my  mind  not  to  dance  with  any 
one  in  the  Highland  dress ;  but 
now,  as,  of  course,  I  must  dance 
with  you,  I  shan't  be  able  to  make 
it  a  law  for  the  evening,  which 
would  have  been  great  fun,  wouldn't 
it?  It  is  very  provoking.  I  do 
hope  Captain  Pigott  is  not  to  be 
in  a  kilt." 

No ;  Bertrand  was  obliged  to  ad- 
mit that  his  friend  would  certainly 
be  in  pantaloons. 

"  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do, 
Miss  M'Killop.  As  soon  as  we  get 
to  Ardmartin  I'll  send  a  man  back 
with  a  trap  for  my  other  things." 

"  Oh,  please  do — oh,  thank  you ; 
yes,  that  will  be  such  fun.  Fancy 
sending  nearly  thirty  miles  !  That 
will  be  delightful ! " 

"  I  would  send  round  the  world 
to — ahem  !  " 

"  Now  I  will  tell  you  a  secret," 
Eila  interrupted,  with  great  earnest- 
ness of  eye  ; — "  I  am  going  to  wear 
mauve ! " 

"Really!" 


1871.] 

"  Yes  ;  and  not  a  single  bit  of  tar- 
tan. That  ought  to  make  them  very 
angry ! " 

Who  was  to  be  made  angry,  and 
•with  what  purpose,  Bertrand  did 
not  pause  to  investigate,  but  assented 
unhesitatingly  that  it  ought  to  rouse 
the  most  vindictive  feelings. 

"  Mamma  doesn't  know." 

"  How  lucky  ! " 

"  And  not  even  Morna  ! " 

"  What  a  triumph  of  finesse  !  " 

In  such  blissful  converse  the 
fourteen  miles  were  traversed  all 
too  rapidly ;  and  they  reached  the 
ground  where  "  the  gathering  "  was 
to  be  held  in  about  two  and  a  half 
minutes,  as  it  appeared  to  Ber- 
trand. 

The  term  "gathering,"  in  its 
technical  sense  of  a  coming  together 
of  various  clans  marshalled  in  war- 
like array  by  their  chiefs,  was  not 
strictly  applicable  to  the  meeting 
at  Ardmartin,  as  the  clans  did  not 
parade  in  this  formidable  shape,  but 
came  in  independent  units  to  take 
part  in  the  athletic  games  of  the 
Gael,  or  to  look  on  at  them,  or  to 
see  the  "country-side"  and  the  gala, 
and  fulfil  one  of  the  chief  ends  of 
(Scottish)  man  in  a  patriotic  con- 
sumption of  the  fluid  staple  of  the 
district. 

The  ground  where  the  meeting 
was  to  be  held  was  both  picturesque 
and  well  adapted  to  the  purpose.  It 
lay  in  a  small  circular  valley,  sur- 
rounded on  all  sides  by  hills  that 
sloped  gently  down  to  a  perfectly 
level  centre,  several  hundred  square 
yards  in  area.  It  was  a  natural 
amphitheatre,  with  a  natural  arena, 
affording  the  athletes  ample  space 
for  all  their  cantrips,  and  to  the 
spectators  the  best  possible  conveni- 
ence for  looking  on.  The  country- 
people  were  already  clustered  in  tier 
above  tier  on  the  hillside,  the  bright 
tartan  which  belonged  to  some  part 
of  the  dress  of  the  most  of  them, 
male  and  female,  making  the  circle 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


427 


look  like  a  gay  fringe  attached  to 
the  imperial  robe  of  purple  heather 
in  which  the  hills  were  clothed. 
On  one  side  a  certain  space  had 
been  told  off  on  the  level  for  the 
carnages  of  the  gentry,  and  in  the 
centre  of  this  was  a  flag-staff,  from 
which  floated  the  golden  banner  of 
Scotland  with  its  ruddy  ramping 
lion.  In  front  of  this  position  two 
kilted  companies  of  Rifle  Volunteers 
were  posted — as  a  guard  of  honour, 
it  was  alleged,  but  in  whose  honour 
no  one  seemed  quite  to  have  ascer- 
tained. This  mysterious  force  from 
time  to  time,  apparently  when  it 
had  nothing  else  to  do,  deployed 
into  line  on  its  leading  company, 
opened  ranks  and  vaguely  presented 
arms,  re-forming  column  again,  and 
standing  at  ease  with  a  precision 
that  must  have  satisfied  any  alarm- 
ist as  to  the  safety  of  that  part  of 
her  Majesty's  dominions.  It  was 
attended  by  its  band,  consisting  of 
a  dozen  rather  swollen-looking  Celts, 
who  did  not  spare  themselves — or 
the  audience — but  brayed  with  tre- 
mendous energy  during  the  major 
part  of  the  day ;  and  altogether  the 
Volunteers  formed  a  conspicuous 
feature  in  the  scene.  Mr  Tainsh 
was  in  command  of  them.  Mr 
Tainsh  was  one  of  those  men  about 
whom  all  local  offices  of  trust, 
emolument,  and  dignity  seem  to 
encrust  themselves  as  by  an  inevit- 
able law  of  nature;  so,  of  course, 
he  commanded  the  Riflemen  ;  and  if 
there  had  been  a  Volunteer  flotilla 
in  connection  with  Ardmartin,  no  one 
doubted  that  Mr  Tainsh  would  also 
have  been  the  admiral  or  commodore 
in  charge  of  it.  There  was  already 
a  full  muster  of  carriages  of  the 
country  aristocracy  —  indeed  there 
did  not  seem  to  be  a  niche  for  the 
Cairnarvoch  party;  and  the  postil- 
ions, demoralised  by  the  haughty 
bearing  of  the  family  coachmen 
already  on  the  ground,  made  no 
proper  effort  to  assert  themselves 


428 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


and  squeeze  into  a  place.  Thus 
they  were  in  difficulties,  but  help 
was  at  hand. 

Pushing  through  the  crowd,  with 
a  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  before 
which  and  his  local  influence  all 
gave  way,  approached  the  deliverer. 
He  looked  very  hot  and  flustered, 
and  his  uniform  gave  him  rather  the 
air  of  a  fowl  trussed  for  the  table ; 
but  he  was  a  pleasant  sight  to  the 
people  in  the  brake,  for  he  was  the 
secretary  of  the  games  and  managing 
steward  of  the  meeting — in  a  word, 
Mr  Tainsh. 

He  hailed  the  carriage  from  a  dis- 
tance with  loud  greetings,  shook 
hands  tumultuously  with  the  whole 
party  when  he  came  up,  said  they 
were  rather  late,  but  he  had  post- 
poned the  commencement  of  the 
games,  of  course  (with  his  eye  on 
Eila),  till  their  arrival,  and  had  re- 
served for  them  the  best  place  on 
the  ground.  Then  he  jumped  on 
the  back-step,  and  called  out  to  the 
postilion  with  the  black  eye  to  put 
the  spurs  in  and  fear  no  evil.  It 
was  a  great  thing  to  be  well  with 
Tainsh  on  such  a  day  as  this.  So 
they  drove  to  their  position  slowly 
past  the  line  of  carriages,  Mrs 
M'Killop  (whom,  from  her  first 
arrival  among  them,  the  county 
had  decided  to  ignore)  doing  her 
best,  with  a  tremendous  double  eye- 
glass, to  return  the  broadside  of  all 
the  eyes  in  each,  rearing  her  head 
up  like  some  terrible  sea-serpent 
about  to  spring,  in  a  manner  calcu- 
lated to  awe  the  boldest,  and  alto- 
gether running  the  gauntlet  with 
much  bravery  and  spirit. 

"  Dreadful-looking  person !" 

"  Quite  an  eyesore  !" 

"  Pretty  girls,  though." 

"  Oh  no  !  very  bold  and  pert- 
looking." 

"  Who  are  these  men  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  ask  ? " 

"  Nobody  knows  anything  about 
such  people." 


[April 

"I  am  sure  that  red  woman 
drinks." 

"  She  is  evidently  very  tipsy  at 
this  moment." 

"  How  she  stares  ! " 

"  The  termagant ! " 

"The  ogress!" 

One  can  imagine  that  the  glances 
directed  at  the  brake  by  the  utterers 
of  such  sentiments  were  not  very 
amicable,  and  so  estimate  the  weight 
of  the  guns  she  had  to  engage. 
Pigott  was  really  delighted  with 
the  sensation  they  produced,  and 
stared  in  a  pleased  wooden  way 
(acting  as  a  sort  of  auxiliary  gun- 
boat to  Mrs  M'Killop)  at  the  indig- 
nant beau-monde. 

"  HoUoa  !  here's  Bob  West !"  he 
cried  out  suddenly,  as  they  ap- 
proached, and  for  an  instant  halted 
beside  a  carriage  of  very  distin- 
guished appearance,  outside  of  which 
was  the  gentleman  in  question. 
"  How  are  you,  Bob  1 " 

"  By  George  !  it's  the  Pig  ! "  (by 
this  swinish  sobriquet  our  friend 
was  known  in  pigeon-shooting  cir- 
cles.) "You  here!  Wonderful! 
Where  have  you  dropped  from  1 
Awfully  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I'll  come  back  and  talk  to  you 
presently." 

"  Do,  my  porker  ;  "  and  they 
rolled  on  again. 

"  The  Jook's  carriage  !  "  exclaim- 
ed Mrs  M'Killop  with  bated  breath 
(she  had  struck  her  topgallants,  so 
to  speak,  on  approaching  the  gra- 
cious vehicle).  "  Who  is  your  very 
distinguished-looking  friend,  Captain 
Pigott  ? — a  nobleman,  of  course  1 " 

"  WeU,  he's  Bob  West.  No,  he's 
not  a  nobleman  ;  he  is  a  lord,  how- 
ever, his  papa  being  the  very  dilapi- 
dated Irish  Marquess  of  something 
or  other.  He's  a  capital  shot." 

"  A  most  refined  -  looking  man. 
By  the  by,  Captain  Pigott,  any 
friends  you  may  wish  to  give 
luncheon  to,  will  be  welcome  here, 
you  know.  Consider  the  brake 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


429 


your  own  home,  and  use  every 
freedom." 

"You  are  very  kind;  I'll  bring 
Lord  Robert  and  present  him.  I 
am  sure  you  will  like  him." 

"  He  looks  really  fascinating ;  does 
he  not,  girls  1 " 

The  moment  they  got  on  to  the 
ground  Bertrand  felt  a  sort  of  chill 
presentiment  that  his  good  times 
were  over  for  the  day.  His  confi- 
dential intercourse  with  Eila  abrupt- 
ly terminated,  and  he  saw  her  face 
change,  and  flush,  and  brighten  with 
excitement,  as  she  gazed  on  the  con- 
course, recognising,  no  doubt,  new 
worlds  to  conquer. 

Instantly  he  was  jealous,  furiously 
jealous,  of  everything  and  everybody; 
of  Tainsh  when  he  came  up  like 
a  conquering  hero,  swaying  crowds 
and  recalcitrant  coachmen  with  dis- 
gusting omnipotence  ;  of  a  tall, 
dark,  bearded  man,  on  a  private 
omnibus,  with  lavender  gloves  and 
a  binocular,  through  which  he  ap- 
peared (the  vampire  !)  to  feast  on 
Eila's  beauty  as  long  as  they  were 
in  sight ;  of  Bob  West,  who  teas 
a  most  insufferably  pleasant-looking 
fellow,  and  had  his  eye  on  her  at 
once  ;  in  short,  of  every  male  being 
within  eyeshot  of  the  brake.  When 
they  were  safely  ensconced  in  a  capi- 
tal place  at  the  head  of  the  line, 
Tainsh  said  "  he  would  now  go  and 
start  them,"  inviting  himself,  with 
the  easy  grace  of  an  emperor  assured 
of  his  welcome,  to  return  to  luncheon, 
when,  as  he  said  to  Eila,  he  would 
take  her  orders  as  to  any  change  in 
the  programme  she  might  like  to 
suggest  (surely  the  "  fellow "  was 
"  riding  on  the  tip-top  of  his  com- 
mission "),  and  also  bring  her  the 
list  of  dances  for  the  evening  "as 
soon  as  it  came  down  from  the 
printer."  Tainsh  was,  of  course, 
managing  steward  of  the  ball,  and 
had  all  the  arrangement  of  it  and 
everything  else — being  on  this  day 
an  embodiment  of  pluralism  and 


patronage ;  so  that  it  was  really  a 
case  of  "  Nisi  Tainsh  frustra."  Eila 
perhaps  fully  realised  this,  for  she 
was  fascination  itself  to  him,  even 
going  so  far,  apropos  of  some  talk 
about  bouquets,  as  to  promise  to 
confiscate,  for  the  use  of  this  "  beast 
of  a  factor,"  the  flowers  destined  for 
her  papa,  who,  she  said,  would  never 
miss  them ;  whereupon  Bertrand, 
unable  to  endure  this  levelling-up 
process,  cried  out,  "Mr  M'Killop 
can  have  mine  !  it  is  heartily  at  his 
service ! " 

"But  you  haven't  got  one,  Mr 
Cameron,  have  you  ] "  retorted  Eila. 
"  I  said  I  had  some  bouquets,  and 
that  perhaps  I  would  give  you  one  ; 
but  that  was  only  if  you  behaved 
very  well ; "  then,  when  Tainsh 
had  gone  away  grinning,  and  she 
saw  that  Bertrand's  face  was  furious 
and  dark,  she  added,  with  her  win- 
somest  smile,  "but  as  you  always 
behave  well,  of  course  it  will  be 
yours,  and  "  (sotto  voce)  "  I  flattered 
myself  that  you  would  not  be  so 
ready  to  part  with  a  gift  of  mine." 

Away  clouds  and  tempests !  away ! 
avaunt !  Retro  Sathanas  !  "  Part 
with  it?  I  will  wear  it  next  my 
heart  till  I  die."  But,  alas  !  this  is 
only  what  Bertrand  was  going  to 
cry  out,  when  he  was  interrupted  by 
a  shrill  exclamation  from  Eila,  in 
chorus  with  several  hundred  female 
voices,  and  due  to  the  letting-off  of 
a  field -piece,  which  had  "played 
bang  ! "  as  Hamish  expressed  it,  in 
obedience  to  a  signal  from  Tainsh 
when  he  left  the  carriage,  and  which 
meant  that  the  games  were  to  begin. 
Then  in  an  instant  all  was  stir  and 
commotion,  so  that  Bertrand  could 
get  no  further  hearing ;  and  seeing 
the  postilions  moving  off  to  stable 
their  horses  in  the  town,  he  got 
down  hastily  and  ran  after  them  to 
arrange  for  the  despatch  of  a  mes- 
senger to  Cairnarvoch  for  his  things, 
finding  on  his  return  Eila  and 
Morna  established  on  the  box-seat 


430 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


("so  cosily,"  the  former  said),  vice 
Hamish,  gone  away  to  compete  for 
something,  so  there  was  nothing  for 
him  but  to  get  inside  and  look 
gloomily  on  at  the  athletes. 

The  games  were  like  all  other 
games,  which  everybody  has  seen — 
for  where  are  they  not  held  wher- 
ever a  few  Highlanders  are  gathered 
together,  from  Braemar  to  Borneo  1 

And  a  goodly  sight  they  were, 
and  pleasant  it  was  to  see  the  flower 
of  the  flower  of  the  lusty  and  stal- 
wart manhood  of  the  world  taxing 
sinews  of  iron,  and  straining  match- 
less powers  of  endurance,  as  the 
hammer  was  hurled,  and  the  caber 
tossed,  and  the  long  stern  race  run 
up  the  rugged  mountain-side,  and 
the  measure  of  a  tall  man's  stature 
cleared  with  the  lightness  of  the 
hunted  deer, — and  the  wild  grace, 
spirit,  and  enthusiasm  of  the  glori- 
ous "  strathspey  "  ;  while  at  every 
feat  or  failure  a  wave  of  deep  sound, 
like  the  rolling  boom  of  surf  upon 
the  shore,  came  from  thousands  of 
voices  on  the  hill.  Besides  the  more 
energetic  exhibitions,  the  less  vio- 
lent part  of  the  usual  programme 
was  duly  fulfilled ;  and  the  quoit- 
ers  quoited,  and  the  "  best-dressed 
Highlanders  at  their  own  expense," 
paraded  before  often-puzzled  judges; 
and,  above  all  things,  the  pipers 
piped  in  emulation,  and  everywhere 
over  the  hillside  were  little  groups 
of  umpires,  and  in  the  centre  of  each 
a  competitor  doing  his  best  to  en- 
chant their  ears — while  in  every 
nook  and  dell  a  performer  not  yet 
"  called,"  tortured  his  yelling  instru- 
ment up  to  the  proper  pitch  of 
readiness,  so  that  the  air  quivered 
with  the  sound  of  diffused  piping, 
"  giving  a  mere  Englishman,"  as 
Pigott  said,  "the  feeling  of  spending 
his  day  on  board  a  steamer  for  ever 
in  the  act  of  making  a  temporary 
stoppage  at  a  station." 

The  luncheon  -  hour  came,  and 
Pigott,  who  had  gone  to  "  look  up  " 


[April 

Bob  West,  brought  back  that  noble 
Lord,  who  proved  to  be  exactly  as 
Bertrand  had  feared,  a  most  engag- 
ing fellow,  blind  to  Mrs  M'Killop's 
absurdities,  observant  of  M'Killop, 
frank  and  jolly  to  Bertrand  himself, 
and  oh !  so  gay,  so  easy,  so  unem- 
barrassedly  debonnair  and  delightful 
to  the  young  ladies,  especially  to  her 
upon  whom  Bertrand  felt  that  Bob 
West's  noble  eye  rested  with  much 
too  admiring  an  expression. 

"Now  you've  come,  my  Lord," 
cried  MrsM'Killop  in  delight,  "we'll 
have  luncheon.  Pray  step  in,  and 
come  up  to  this  end,  where  your 
Lordship  will  have  a  rest  for  '  his ' 
back." 

So  his  Lordship,  who  was  not  the 
least  of  a  swell,  but  rather  accused 
of  being  the  companion  of  publi- 
cans and  sinners,  got  in,  somewhat 
crushed  by  the  homage  he  received, 
and  took  up  his  position  exactly 
under  the  heavenly  elevation  on 
which  Bertrand's  angel  was  perched. 
Dashed,  moping,  miserable,  Bertrand 
himself  allowed  one  person  after 
another  to  pass  above  him,  so  that 
he  finished  in  a  seat  at  the  door, 
whence  he  could  command  a  fine 
view  of  Bob  West  handing  up 
viands  to  the  box-seat,  always  with 
some  pleasantry  which  "took,"  or 
proffering  goblets  of  champagne  with 
remarks  of  an  equivalent  sparkle, 
and  generally  compassing  the  box- 
seat  "  with  sweet  observances." 

And  yet  Bob  West  could  eat  at 
the  same  time  very  heartily,  and 
drink  really  with  spirit,  and  answer 
Mrs  M'Killop's  questions  about  the 
"  Ditchess"  whose  guest  he  was, 
and  assure  Mr  M'Killop  that  he 
was  making  a  capital  lunch,  so  cor- 
dially, that  if  the  thing  had  gone  on 
long  M'Killop  must  inevitably  have 
tackled  him  about  "wool";  and  alto- 
gether it  was  sackcloth  and  ashes 
for  Bertrand ;  and  when  Bob,  his 
luncheon  finished,  stood  up,  and 
was  begged  "as  a  favour"  by  the 


1871.] 

box-seat  to  smoke,  and  did  so  with 
his  back  to  the  company,  and  his 
face  to  her  (who  "  blazed  into  him 
eighteen  to  the  dozen,"  as  Pigott 
subsequently  reported),  the  cup 
quite  ran  over,  and  Bertrand  began 
to  think  that  a  permanent  residence 
on  the  tip-top  of  the  Cordilleras  was 
the  DOOM  to  which  he  had  better 
consign  himself  with  all  convenient 
speed.  He  selected  the  Cordilleras 
as  a  nice  desolate  sort  of  mountains, 
where  you  can  be  cosily  frozen  to 
death  without  any  sort  of  fuss  or 
trouble.  The  noble  Lord  seemed 
in  no  hurry  to  move;  and  when  he 
had  asked  for  a  third  tumbler  of 
champagne,  and  lighted  a  fresh 
cigar,  Mrs  M'Killop,  whose  foible 
it  was  to  sleep  after  meals,  fearing 
to  commit  so  grave  a  breach  of  eti- 
quette in  presence  of  a  future  Mar- 
quess, "  thought  she  would  take  a 
turn,"  and  impressed  the  wretched 
Bertrand  into  her  service  as  escort, 
who  went  with  her  mechanically, 
and  she  ran  him  right  under  the 
guns  again ;  for,  brave  at  all  times, 
Mrs  M'Killop  was  slightly  pot- 
valiant  now,  and  thirsted  for  the 
fray ;  and  so  twice  up  and  down  the 
line  of  carriages  she  passed,  tossing 
and  fleering  and  glaring  through  her 
glass,  and  explaining  to  Bertrand, 
with  very  articulate  enunciation, 
that  there  was  no  one  here  "  whom 
any  one  knew  anything  at  all  about, 
except  the  "  Ditchess,"  with  whom 
(via  Bob  West)  she  felt  herself  to 
be  in  a  sort  of  rapport.  From  the 
line  they  passed  to  a  judgment  of 
"  best  -  dressed  Highlanders,"  and 
among  the  umpires  whom  should 
they  find  but  Mr  Duncanson1? 

"You  have  never  been  near  us, 
James  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs  M'Killop, 
in  a  quasi  hurt  tone.  "  Very  polite 
of  you,  I  must  say." 

James  explained,  that  having  the 
entire  cares  of  the  meeting  on  his 
shoulders,  it  had  been  impossible 
for  him  to  get  away  as  he  could 


Fair  to  See. — Part  IV. 


431 


have  wished;  but  he  hoped  to  visit 
the  brake  before  very  long,  and  asked 
for  Miss  Morna. 

"  Oh,  Morna  is  very  well  and 
very  happy !  I  left  her  in  charge  of 
our  friend,  Lord  Robert  West — who 
is  a  monstrous  agreeable  young  man 
— making  them  all  die  of  laughing. 
You'd  better  go  soon,  or  the  lunch- 
eon will  be  all  gone.  His  Lordship 
knows  what's  what,  and  has  asked 
leave  to  bring  some  of  his  friends 
from  '  the  castle '  to  try  the  grouse- 
pie;  go  soon"-— and  Duncanson 
made  short  work  of  an  old  man, 
with  a  great  deal  of  untanned  hide 
about  his  body  (and  who  announced 
that  his  model  in  dress  was  Gilian 
Glas  of  the  seventh  century  or  so), 
and  went.  And  Mrs  M'Killop,  re- 
membering an  old  dowager  at  the 
other  end  of  the  line  who  had  looked 
spiteful,  but  whose  eye  she  had 
failed  to  catch,  took  Bertrand  up 
the  line  again,  and  having  polished 
off  the  dowager  by  remarking  under 
her  very  nose,  after  a  careful  inspec- 
tion, "  Just  as  I  thought !  Eouged, 
the  teeth  false,  and  the  left  eye 
artificial !"  marched  gaily  back  to 
her  cantonments.  Here  things  had 
by  no  means  altered  for  the  better. 
Bob  West  still  occupied  his  old  place ; 
beside  him,  talking  to  Morna,  was 
another  man  of  the  same  type,  with  a 
splendid  buccaneering  auburn  beard. 
On  the  step,  in  front  of  Eila,  stood 
Tainsh  rattling  away,  quite  un- 
abashed, and  dividing  Eila  pretty 
fairly  with  his  Lordship — just  as  the 
Lord  Mayor  of  the  day  at  a  City 
banquet  can  hold  his  own  with  all 
sorts  of  principalities  and  powers ; 
while  on  the  ground,  waiting  for  his 
innings,  but  occasionally  anticipat- 
ing them  by  a  bold  swipe,  stood 
that  horrible,  black-bearded,  laven- 
der-gloved vampire  from  the  omni- 
bus, who  made  up  for  his  disadvan- 
tageous position  by  a  far-carrying 
and  rather  plaintive  play  of  eye.  It 
was  horrible.  Duncanson  was  on 


432 


Fair  to  See. — Part  IV. 


the  off  step  with  a  tumbler  of 
champagne  in  one  hand,  trying  to 
eye  down  the  auburn  buccaneer,  in 
which  he  did  not  seem  quite  to  suc- 
ceed, perhaps  because  his  mouth 
was  so  full  of  grouse-pie,  a  plate  of 
which  delicacy  was  before  him  on 
the  foot-board. 

The  programme  for  the  evening 
had  just  reached  Tainsh  "  from  the 
printer ; "  and  as  Bertrand  came  up, 
he  heard  a  deal  of  petitioning  for 
this  dance  and  that  going  on  on  the 
part  of  Bob  West,  Tainsh,  and  the 
murky  villain  down  below. 

"  Really,  Lord  Robert,"  Eila  was 
saying,  "  you  are  too  avaricious  !  I 
have  given  you  four  already.  No, 
no ;  I  must  be  firm." 

"  Give  me  all  the  '  Hoolichans,' 
Miss  Eila,"  cried  Tainsh. 

"  Really,  Mr  Tainsh,  you  are  too 
greedy  "  (N.B.  —  A  noble  Lord 
is  "  avaricious  "  —  a  factor,  how- 
ever prosperous,  cannot  rise  above 
"  greed  ") ;  "  be  contented  with  the 
first  and  the  last :  and  then,  you 
know,  you  have  the  country-dance, 
and  you  would  insist  on  the  '  Bonny 
Dundee'  Quadrille." 

"  I  only  ask  one  favour,  Miss 
M'Killop;  I  ask  you  to  make  me  a 
sporting  promise — don't  read  the 
composers'  names,  but  promise  me 
all  the  valses  by  Strauss  in  the  pro- 
gramme. If  they  are  many,  I  shall 
be  in  Paradise  ;  if  there  are  none,  I 
shall  go  to  bed — voila."  This  (in  a 
voice  full  of  the  grand  colossal  mel- 
ancholy of  a  colossal  Alpine  horn 
wailing  among  the  Alps)  was  the 
Vampire's  contribution  to  Bertraiid's 
misery.  He  grew  sick  at  heart  — 
he  would  stay  there  no  longer — he 
would  be  off  to  the  Cordilleras  at 
once,  and  he  started  away  from  the 
carriage  in  that  sense. 

"  Mr  Cameron  ! "  He  looked 
round ;  she  was  calling  him.  "  You 
have  not  asked  me  for  a  dance  ;  how 
unkind !  and  they  are  nearly  all 
gone." 


[April 

Every  eye  in  and  about  the  car- 
riage was  turned  upon  Bertrand,  but 
his  Highland  blood  was  fairly  up, 
and  he  confronted  them  all,  even  in- 
cluding her,  with  a  fierce  and  haughty 
bearing ;  then  said,  in  a  cold,  acrid 
(as  he  imagined),  thoroughly-indif- 
ferent-to-her  [voice,  "  Please  don't 
keep  one  for  me  ;  I'm  rather  fastidi- 
ous about  floors  ;  and  I  don't  really 
think  I  should  be  quite  equal  to  get- 
ting round  on  the  kind  of  thing  we 
are  likely  to  have  to-night.  So 
sorry."  And,  impervious  to  a 
mournful,  pleading  eye,  and  a  sort 
of  coaxing,  deprecating  pout  of  the 
lips,  he  turned  and  went.  "  I  have 
made  her  feel"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  savage  exultation —  "  feel !  " 
And  so  he  had,  no  doubt,  and  all 
the  others  too ;  the  feelings  of  the 
latter  (not,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  of  the 
former)  were,  however,  mirthful  and 
derisive. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him ?" 
laughed  easy  Lord  Bob. 

"  Who  is  the  beggar  1 "  demanded 
the  buccaneer. 

"  I  think  I've  seen  him  before," 
said  the  Yampire,  still  in  his  blow- 
bugle-blow  tones ;  "  or  is  it,  tell 
me,  is  it  only  that  he's  so  like  Sid- 
ney Bancroft  in  his  most  '  walking  ' 
and  dignified  moments  1 " 

"  He's  making  a  precious  fool  of 
himself,"  cried  Tainsh,  who  was 
perhaps  a  little  jealous,  and  at  all 
events  could  not  have  impertinences 
directed  against  the  floor  which  he 
had  "arranged"  and  "managed." 

"As  he  always  does,"  gobbled 
Duncanson. 

No  voice  of  defence  came  from 
the  box-seat,  although  Morna's  face 
flushed,  and  she  looked  as  if  she 
was  going  to  speak  almost ;  but  from 
inside  came  a  still,  small,  dry,  rather 
languid  voice. 

"  His  name  is  Bertrand  Cameron, 
if  you  want  to  know,  and  he's  got 
more  sense  and  'go'  in  his  little  fin- 
ger than  all  you  fellows  have  in  your 


1871.1 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


433 


united  brains  —  except  you,  Mr 
Tainsh,  and  you,  Mr  Duncanson — 
because  I  don't  know  you  well 
enough  to  take  the  freedom  of  speak- 
ing the  truth  yet.  Poor  Bertrand 
is  awfully  seedy.  He  had  a  touch 
of  the  sun  on  the  hill  the  other  day, 
and  he  hasn't  been  right  since.  I'll  go 
and  look  after  him.  Don't  finish  all 
the  champagne,  Bob ;  you've  been 
drinking  like  a  camel  for  the  last 
hour;"  and  Pigott  followed  his 
friend. 

He  did  not  find  him,  however, 
for  he  had  turned  abruptly  off  to 
the  left  and  taken  to  the  steep  hill- 
side at  once.  And  up  it  he  tore 
with  the  energy  of  a  maniac  till  he 
was  spent  and  breathless,  and  per- 
force obliged  to  slacken  his  pace ; 
after  which,  in  a  little,  came  cooler 
reflection,  and  then  in  a  little  came 
remorse,  and  then,  in  a  little  more, 
came  repentance.  After  all,  had 
he  not  "abdicated  his  functions?" 
(like  the  Peers  when  they  don't 
happen  to  be  in  their  normal  condi- 
tion of  "exercising  an  intolerable 
oligarchical  pressure.") 

After  all,  was  it  her  fault  that  she 
was  so  attractive  that  all  the  world 
came  a- wooing  1  After  all,  had  he 
not  himself  been  a  brute,  a  maniac, 
a  ruffian  ?  And  oh  !  that  look  of 
tenderness,  sorrow,  simple,  guileless 
WOE  !  How  could  he  have  turned 
from  that  with  a  flinty  heart  and 
flintier  countenance?  Hang  the 
Cordilleras  !  he  would  go  back  to 
her ;  he  would  beg  for  forgiveness. 
And  so,  like  the  King  of  France, 
having  marched  up  the  hill,  he 
marched  down  again;  and  there  was 
Eila  (having  exchanged  seats  with 
Mrs  M'Killop)  sitting  inside,  all 
alone,  looking  desolate ;  and  he 
went  in  beside  her  and  made  his 
peace ;  saying,  in  answer  to  her  earn- 
est and  even  suggestive  inquiries, 
that  he  had  been  again  "  faint,"  and 
promptly  receiving  ea\i-de-Cologue 
from  a  glorified  phial  with  a  gold 


and  turquoise  top,  taken  from  her 
own  blessed  pocket.  And  then  he 
heard  with  rapture  that,  although 
her  card  was  filled  up,  still  for  him 
she  must  try  to  make  some  arrange- 
ment —  Anglice,  throw  some  one 
over ;  and  learned,  with  a  thrill, 
that  she  had  quite  decided  (after 
mature  thought)  that  his  bouquet  was 
to  consist  of  a  blush  rose,  supported 
by  myrtle  -  leaves,  jessamine,  and 
heliotrope  :  and  now  was  he  happy  ] 
And  he  said  he  was  happier  than 
,  but  he  had  no  words  to  ex- 
press what  he  meant ;  still  he  looked 
it  pretty  fairly,  and  they  interogled 
strenuously  in  silence  for  one  brief 
ecstatic  minute,  when  the  accursed 
posters  arrived  to  take  them  back  to 
the  town,  the  games  being  all  over, 
"  except  the  shouting,"  of  which,  by 
the  by,  they  had  soon  more  than 
enough  ;  for  presently  arrived  Ham- 
ish  M'Erracher,  furiously  drunk  and 
minus  his  bagpipes,  which,  having 
been  overcome  in  a  musical  contest, 
he  had  (with  the  sensibility  of  a  de- 
feated Celt)  obligingly  thrown  over 
a  precipice.  And  Hamish  swore, 
like  any  French  soldier,  that  he  had 
been  betrayed  and  duped  by  one 
Parlane  M'Farlane,  beguiled  by  that 
"  nestee,  powterin'  plockheed  and 
rascal "  into  inordinate  whisky,  so 
that  the  cunning  of  his  hand  and 
Hp  had  failed  him,  and  he  was  dis- 
graced ;  but  had  a  kick  or  so  left  in 
him  yet,  for  he  would  fight  then  and 
there  any  man  in  honour  of  Mr 
M'Killop  and  the  1  eddies — emphati- 
cally "  annee  man,"  not  even  except- 
ing "fechting  Geordie,"  who  was 
understood  to  be  the  postilion  whose 
honourable  scars  lent  a  sombre  dis- 
tinction to  the  M'Killop  equipage. 

Hamish  gave  much  trouble,  and 
frightened  the  ladies  a  good  deal, 
but  was  eventually  captured  and  led 
away  by  two  constables,  between 
whose  grandmothers'  maternal  aunts 
and  Mrs  M'Killop  he  was  heard  to 
draw  (in  Gaelic)  comparisons  alto- 


434 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


gether  unfavourable  to  the  former 
ladies.  This  trouble  disposed  of, 
they  drove  to  the  hotel  for  an  early 
dinner,  where  all  went  merry  as  a 
marriage-bell — no  Lord  Bob,  no  Buc- 
caneer, no  Vampire  to  cast  shadows 
over  the  banquet.  It  was  all  too 
short,  however,  to  please  Bertrand; 
for  the  ladies  had  to  rest  in  the 
middle  of  a  somewhat  formidable 
day's  work,  and  then  they  had  to 
dress,  which  would  be  a  work  of 
time;  so  Mrs  M'KUlop  withdrew 
the  young  ladies  the  moment  dinner 
was  over.  When  they  were  gone, 
M'Killop  suggested  that  perhaps  the 


[April 

two  gentlemen  might  like  to  go  to 
the  meeting  and  hear  the  candidate 
for  the  boroughs  explain  his  VIBAVS  to 
the  electors  of  Ardmartin ;  he,  M'Kil- 
lop, not  caring  to  go  himself,  think- 
ing it  unseemly,  he  said,  as  a  mere 
sojourner  in  the  district,  to  mix  him- 
self up  with  its  politics. 

"  "What  do  you  say  to  going,  Ber- 
trand ] "  asked  Pigott. 

"  Oh,  I'll  go  with  pleasure." 
Bertrand  was  again  in  spirits,  and 
would  go  anywhere  or  do  anything; 
so  off  they  went,  leaving  their  host 
to  devour  the  "  Money  Market  and 
City  Intelligence." 


CHAPTER   XII. 


The  meeting  was  held  in  a  chapel 
of  one  of  those  mysterious  and  nu- 
merous dissenting  sects,  the  shep- 
herds of  which  appear  now  to  exer- 
cise in  Scotland  that  supreme  poli- 
tical influence  formerly  enjoyed  in 
Ireland  by  the  Eoman  Catholic 
priests;  and  in  this  building  a  large 
and  noisy  assembly  was  already 
congregated  when  our  friends  en- 
tered. Much  whisky  had  been  im- 
bibed on  the  ground  during  the  day, 
and  more  still  in  the  town  by  ear- 
nest topers,  who,  regarding  time  oc- 
cupied in  visiting  the  games  as  the 
merest  misuse  of  golden  moments  di- 
verted from  the  real  business  of  the 
occasion,  had  stayed  at  home  and 
toped  earnestly.  At  the  games  the 
whisky  had  "  lain  "  very  fairly  dur- 
ing the  day,  Hamish's  escapade  being 
almost  the  only  call  upon  the  services 
of  the  force;  but  towards  evening, 
as  the  carriages  rolled  into  the  town 
afterthe  games  were  over,  their  drivers 
had  to  contend  with  a  good  deal  of 
staggering  latitudinarianism,  which 
required  the  road,  and  the  whole  road, 
not  to  mention  an  occasional  bold 
slice  out  of  an  adjacent  field  or  two, 
to  make  anything  like  a  satisfactory 
course  to  Ardmartin.  And  now 


the  saturnalia  had  begun  in  earnest, 
and  as  Pigott  and  Bertrand  passed 
down  the  street  they  found  them- 
selves in  the  midst  of  it,  as  it  raved, 
and  screeched,  and  quarrelled,  and 
danced,  and  hugged,  and  wept,  and 
sang,  and  fought  through  the  town, 
or  reposed  in  sodden  content  in  the 
gutters,  or  philosophised  in  mut- 
tered broken  apostrophes  to  lamp- 
posts, pumps,  and  such  other  objects 
as,  from  the  nature  of  things,  can 
be  button-holed  to  a  certainty.  In- 
side the  meeting  itself  there  was  to 
be  found  pretty  nearly  every  stage 
of  intoxication — the  furious,  the  im- 
becile, the  philosophic,  the  declama- 
tory, the  maudlin.  The  air  was 
loaded  with  alcoholic  fumes :  a  cubic 
foot  of  it  resolved  into  its  chemical 
elements  might  have  produced  a  gal- 
lon or  so  of  fair  Glenlivet. 

Yells  of  impatience,  political  cries, 
local  witticisms,  personal  alterca- 
tions, made  a  babel  of  strange 
sounds.  There  was  a  party  for 
smoking,  and  a  party  opposed  to  it 
— as  sacrilegious;  so  that  pipes  were 
lighted  and  smashed,  from  a  theo- 
logical point  of  view.  Then  bottles 
were  handed  about,  sucked  at,- 
fought  for,  dropped,  broken.  Songs 


1871.] 

were  called  for,  toasts  proposed, 
hissed,  cheered,  and  hooted.  Never 
was'  such  a  wild,  orgiastic  hurly- 
buily  in  any  place  of  worship,  save 
perhaps  that  of  Bacchus. 

This  was  a  specimen  section  of 
the  stratum  in  which  Mr  Disraeli 
expected  to  find  calm,  temperate, 
patriotic  Conservatism,  when  he 
leaped,  with  nine-tenths  of  his  party, 
down  the  coal-pit  to  look  for  it. 

Presently  there  was  a  lull  as  a 
procession  entered  by  a  side  door 
from  the  vestry,  and  ascended  to 
the  platform,  which  was  arranged 
round  the  desk  from  which  the 
"  leader  of  song  "  on  Sabbaths  con- 
ducted the  praises  of  the  congrega- 
tion. The  procession  was  really 
sober.  It  was  headed  (of  course) 
by  Mr  Tainsh,  who  "conducted" 
the  candidate,  and  was  composed  of 
the  respectables  of  the  town,  with 
here  and  there  a  Liberal  laird  (or 
rather  "  bonnet-laird  "),  looking  as  if 
on  that  occasion  at  least  he  rather 
regretted  his  political  creed. 

A  certain  Bailie  M'Candlish  came 
to  the  front  of  the  rostrum  and  was 
saluted  with  various  cries. 

"  See  till  Caundlish  !  "  "A  sang 
frae  Caundlish  ! "  "  Pit  on  yer 
specs,  man."  "  Stick  in,  Bylie  ! " 
"  Wha  boucht  the  deed  coo  ? "  The 
last — an  allusion  apparently  to  some 
questionable  transaction  of  the 
Bailie's  which  divided  the  sentiment 
of  the  place — produced  a  terrific  up- 
roar, in  a  slight  lull  of  which  he, 
however,  contrived  to  move  that  his 
honourable  friend  Mr  Tainsh  (of 
course)  should  take  the  chair ;  and 
a  storm  of  indiscriminate  howling 
being  assumed  as  assent,  Mr  Tainsh 
marched  into  the  precentor's  box, 
bowed  to  pandemonium,  said  (amid 
interruptions)  that  they  knew  the 
object  of  the  meeting  (which  could 
only  have  been  true  in  a  very  re- 
stricted sense),  and  that,  without 
farther  parley,  he  begged  to  intro- 
duce Mr  Platt-Crump  from  London, 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


435 


who  was  recommended  to  the  atten- 
tion of  the  boroughs  by  that  emin- 
ent friend  and  adviser  of  the  "work- 
ing man,"  Mr  John  Bright. 

Under  the  cegis  of  this  great  name 
Mr  Platt-Crump,  on  coming  forward, 
was  received  with  immense  applause. 
He  was  a  tall,  thin,  wiry,  middle- 
aged  man,  with  rather  a  hungry  face, 
understood  to  be  a  barrister,  and 
justifying  the  belief  by  a  certain 
cosy,  confidential,  and  withal  fluent 
method  of  speaking,  as  well  as  by  a 
forensic  habit  of  tucking  his  thumbs 
into  the  arm-holes  of  his  waistcoat. 
The  people  shouted  "  Bravo  !"  and 
"Go  it !"  and  thus  encouraged,  Mr 
Platt-Crump  went  it,  and  no  mis- 
take. He  began  by  saying  that  he 
was,  before  everything  else,  "  pro- 
gressive,"— which  might  have  been 
true  once,  but,  by  his  own  sub- 
sequent showing,  was  at  present 
rather  incredible,  Mr  Crump  having 
apparently  got  as  far  as  was  possible, 
until  some  one  was  kind  enough  to 
invent  a  bran-new  set  of  institutions 
for  Mr  Crump  to  "  progress"  through 
and  demolish  with  his  inexorable 
hoofs.  He  then  proceeded  to  show 
that  he  was  not  merely  a  reforming 
broom,  but  also  a  political  petard; 
and  if  only  the  good  folks  of  Ard- 
martin  wotdd  be  kind  enough  to 
place  him  in  position,  and  apply  the 
match,  he  was  prepared  to  blow 
everything,  with  one  or  two  very 
trifling  exceptions,  to  smithereens. 

If  he  was  asked,  "  Would  he  sup- 
port a  measure  for  the  abolition  of 
the  law  of  hypothec?"  Mr  Platt- 
Crump's  reply  was  that  he  would 
strain  every  sinew  and  muscle  to 
get  it  passed. 

Of  the  Game  Laws?  all  his  energy 
should  be  devoted  to  digging  up 
that  subtle  r-r-root  of  an  effete 
feudalism. 

Of  the  restrictions  upon  Trades- 
unions  1  he  would  say,  "  Erase  from 
the  statute-book  such  a  discreditable 
BLOT." 


436 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


Of  the  State  Church  1  he  would 
cry,  "  Down  with  it ! " 

Of  the  Commander-in-Chief  ?  he 
would  sign  the  death-warrant  of 
that  entirely  bloated  official. 

Of  Bishops  in  the  House  of 
Lords  1  he  would  sweep  these 
sanctimonious  dotards  from  their 
pride  of  place. 

Of  the  House  of  Peers  itself? 
that  was  a  delicate  question,  but 
Mr  Platt-Crump  was  prepared  to 
face  it  with  calm,  and  he  would  tell 
the  Peers  (frankly)  that  vitality 
having  passed  from  them,  they 
were  now  a  mere  "  excrescence " 
for  which  he  knew  of  only  one 
remedy,  and  that  was  "the  knife, 
gentlemen — the  incisive,  trenchant 
knife  of  radical  reform."  (Cheers.) 
As  to  University  Tests — but  they 
were  too  nauseous  a  subject,  and 
Mr  Platt- Cramp  turned  his  head 
aside  and  archly  feigned  a  tem- 
porary sickness,  thereby  delicately 
suggesting  the  fate  that  awaited 
them.  Then  the  army  in  its  pre- 
sent state  must  be  abolished,  and 
some  popular  substitute  provided — 
(officered,  if  possible,  by  working 
men) ;  in  its  present  state  it  was 
intolerable.  Would  any  one  kindly 
tell  him  why  the  sweat  of  toiling 
moiling  millions  should  be  squan- 
dered upon  a  sham,  a  farce,  that 
gilded  lordlings  (ever  ready  to 
batten  upon  the  inwards  of  the 
working  man)  might,  r-r-ruffle  it  in 
the  haunts  of  aristocratic  sensuality? 
(Immense  applause,  but  apparently 
a  good  deal  of  local  irritation  about 
the  chairman's  scalp.)  Yes,  he 
would  abolish  that  and  everything 
else — everything,  that  was  to  say, 
that  weighed  upon  the  working 
man,  was  distasteful  to  his  feelings 
or  repugnant  to  his  conscience.  He 
would  abolish  every  tax  that  was 
any  sort  of  restriction  upon  the 
enjoyments  to  which  the  working 
man  felt  he  had  not  merely  a  bias 
but  a  claim.  The  deficit  thence 


[April 

resulting  he  would  meet  by  dealing 
with  the  land  in  a  bold  spirit. 
(Hear,  hear.) 

If  he  (Platt-Crump)  swayed  the 
destinies  of  this  great  country,  every 
working  man  should  begin  his  day, 
to  use  the  impressive,  he  might 
say  epigrammatic,  words  of  his 
illustrious  friend  John  Bright 
(thunders  of  applause),  at  a  "  free 
breakfast-table  ; "  and — though  in 
this,  perhaps,  he  advanced  boldly — 
starting  from  the  dictum  of  that 
great  man,  he  would  extend  that 
freedom  to  every  meal  of  which 
honest  labour  partook  in  the  course 
of  the  day,  even  topping  up  at 
night  with  a  free  pipe  of  tobacco 
and  a  free  glass  of  toddy.  (Frantic 
applaxise  and  much  laughter.) 

Then,  of  course,  came  Mr  Platt- 
Crump's  peroration  that  there  was 
only  one  MAN  who  could  secure 
these  inestimable  advantages  for 
the  working  classes,  and  he  would 
do  it — ay,  he  would  do  it,  sure  as 
his  name  was  a  name  before  which 
bigots  and  oligarchs  quailed,  and 
tricksy  reactionaries  trembled  iri 
their  spangles  and  their  motley 
(sensation,  and  a  voice,  "  Jimsie, 
gie's  the  dottle  o'  yer  pipe  ! ") — sure 
as  his  name  was  WILLIAM  EWART 
GLADSTONE,  the  only  great  statesman 
with  a  brain  (John  Bright  excepted), 
the  only  great  statesman  with  a 
conscience,  the  only  great  statesman 
with  a  heart,  all,  with  every  other 
item  of  his  system,  mental  and  cor- 
poreal, entirely  devoted  to  the  people 
from  whom  he  sprang. 

Have  faith  in  Gladstone.  Give 
him  a  following,  and  he  will  do  it. 
Then  came  the  obvious  deduction, 
"  Therefore  rally  round  Platt-Crump 
and  support  first-rate  talent."  And 
Mr  Platt-Crump  sat  down  smiling 
among  the  ruins,  as  it  were,  of 
everything  except  Mr  Gladstone  and 
the  working  man,  amid  hurricanes 
of  applause.  There  was  hardly  an 
adverse  sentiment  expressed  even  by 


1871.] 

the  soberest  of  the  audience.  A 
very  mealy  baker,  indeed,  loudly 
stated  his  opinion  that  Mr  Platt- 
Crump  was  "  naething  but  a  ble- 
therin'  speldran ; "  a  view  supported 
with  a  good  many  quaint  oaths  by 
a  mason,  perhaps  from  some  hazy 
professional  feeling,  that  though  a 
first-rate  puller -down  of  edifices, 
Mr  Crump  had  contrived  to  hide 
his  light  as  a  constructor  under  a 
very  comprehensive  bushel.  These 
reactionaries  having  been  eliminated 
after  a  tough  resistance,  Mr  Crump 
was  subjected  to  the  process  of  "heck- 
ling"— that  is,  cross-examination  by 
the  more  representative  men  of  the 
meeting ;  and  here  his  success  was 
not  so  marked.  It  was  all  very  fine 
and  very  easy  to  deal  in  a  set  speech 
with  large  imperial  questions,  par- 
ticularly when  he  had  nothing  to 
suggest  but  a  saw  -  and  -  pick  -  axe 
policy ;  but  every  locality  has  its 
own  pet  political  maggot,  and  with 
a  Scotch  constituency  there  are  two 
subjects  at  all  times  tender,  sacred, 
and  ticklish  —  the  Sabbath  and 
liquor  (the  irreverence  of  the  collo- 
cation is  not  with  the  writer,  but  in 
the  deplorable  fact).  Mr  Crump 
had  either  been  badly  posted  up  on 
these  questions,  or  he  had  got  mud- 
dled by  the  row  and  the  alcoholic 
atmosphere;  for  upon  being  asked 
by  a  hoary  old  man  with  a  reverend 
quaver  in  his  voice,  what  his  views 
were  as  to  trading  on  "  the  Saw-a-a- 
bath "  (here  the  quaver  came  out 
strongly),  he  began  to  bounce  away 
about  the  working  man  being  clearly 
entitled  to  buy  his  bit  of  bacon  or 
his  bit  of  baccy  on  any  day  in  the 
week,  and  (jocularly)  the  better 
day  the  better  deed.  Similarly,  as 
to  Sunday  places  of  recreation,  Mr 
Platt-Crump  thought  that  the  work- 
ing man,  who  had  been  moiling  all 
the  week,  was  not  to  be  denied  such 
amusement  as  might  be  in  harmony 
with  his  own  conscience.  He  was 
for  perfect  freedom.  No  one  would 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


437 


deprecate  more  strongly  than  he  any 
attempt  to  coerce  the  working  man 
into  an  unwilling  visit  to  a  tea-gar- 
den of  a  Sunday ;  but  at  the  same 
time  he  would  deprecate  any  attempt 
to  shut  the  tea-garden  against  the 
working  man,  if  it  was  on  that  day 
his  pleasure  to  visit  that  tea-garden. 
Murmurs  had  symphonied  the  whole 
course  of  this  explanation,  but  at 
its  conclusion  they  came  to  a  head  ; 
the  iteration  of  the  word  tea-garden 
was  out  of  harmony  with  the  spirit 
of  the  meeting,  and  a  storm  of  dis- 
approbation burst  upon  the  bewil- 
dered Crump.  "  Eemember  the 
Saw-a-a-bath-day,  to  keep — "  began 
the  ancient  querist ;  but  his  voice 
was  drowned  by  the  tumult,  from 
which  an  occasional  shrill  cry  shot 
out  distinctly,  such  as  "  Awtheist!" 
"  Blasphaymer  !  "  "  Polly,  pit  the 
kettle  on  !  "  "  Doon  wi'  the  Pope  !  " 
"  Bash  him  on  the  heed,  Tainsh  !  " 
"  Stap  him  up  the  chumley,  By  lie !" 
and  so  on.  Mr  Tainsh  having  with 
difficulty  procured  silence,  and  ra- 
pidly consulted  with  Mr  Platt- 
Crump,  stated  that  the  candidate 
would  make  an  explanation,  which 
after  a  time  he  was  allowed  to  do  ; 
and  which  was  to  the  effect  that 
what  he  had  said  was  merely  a 
casual,  ill-considered  resume  of  the 
general  feeling  of  the  Liberal  party, 
including  Mr  Bright  (cries  of  "  No, 
no  ;  it's  a  big  lee  !  "  &c.  &c.),  on 
the  question.  For  himself,  he  had 
no  strong  bias  either  way ;  and  if  he 
became  their  Member,  would  consult 
their  views  and  vote  as  they,  in 
their  wisdom,  might  direct.  This 
appeased  the  assembly  pretty  well, 
except  the  reverend  quaverer,  who 
left  the  room  expressing  his  convic- 
tion that  Mr  Platt-Crump  was  a 
"  Laa-o-di-cayan,"  in  addition  to 
being  a  "  foolish  Galatian  "  and  "  a 
tinkling  cymbal." 

Then  a  determined-looking,  stout, 
red -faced  man  rose  and  said  that 
a  question  of  grave  interest  to  all 


438 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


thinking  men  was  involved  in  the 
proposal  to  enact  a  Permissive  Liquor 
Law.  He  (the  red-faced  man)  hoped 
Mr  Platt-Crump  was  prepared  to 
grapple  with  that  question  in  a 
"bold,  decided,  and  thoroughly  Brit- 
ish spirit. 

Here  poor  Crump  was  in  terrible 
difficulties.  The  constituent  group 
consisted  of  some  five  or  six  boroughs. 


[April 

These  all  agreed  in  the  grand  testing 
shibboleth  "  Gladstone,"  and  the 
worship  of  one  or  two  similar  fetishes 
were  matters  of  course  ;  but  in  other 
respects  they  often  differed.  An 
opinion  that  was  dogmatic  in  one, 
was  indifferent  in  another,  and  on 
some  questions  there  was  open  an- 
tagonism between  them. 


Thus  in  A  the  cry  might  be, 
ii       B 

ii       C         M          it 
ii       D 
n       E         ii         ii 


<  Down  with  the  Church  ! " 

'  Death  to  the  Rabbit ! " 

'  A  man  may  marry  his  grandmother  ! " 

'  Hypothec  no  more  ! " 

'  The  Sawbath." 


But  A  would  raze  the  Church,  and 
yet  not  marry  his  grandmother ; 
while  B,  if  you  would  only  exter- 
minate the  rabbit,  was  prepared  to 
let  both  the  Church  and  his  grand- 
mother alone  ;  and  so  on  with  infi- 
nite permutations  and  combinations, 
difficult  for  a  poor  man  to  carry 
always  in  his  head  who  was  speechi- 
fying, and  being  "heckled"  day 
after  day  and  night  after  night,  till 
he  hardly  knew  which  was  upper- 
most— his  head  or  his  feet. 

Thus  Crump  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  speciality  of  the  town  of 
Ardmartin;  and  so  he,  in  his  diffi- 
culty, thus  reasoned  with  himself: 
"To  abolish  is  liberal,  to  oppose  is  con- 
servative, but  you  can't  abolish  what 
doesn't  exist ;  whereas,  if  you  oppose 
a  new  idea,  however  fallacious,  you 
are  in  danger  of  condemnation  as  a 
Tory ; "  and  therefore,  after  vainly 
trying  to  discern  by  the  sodden  faces 
of  the  audience  what  would  be 
popular,  he  stammered  out  that  it 
was  "  a  large  question — a  very  large 
question,"  he  might  go  the  length 
of  saying  "  an  excessively  large  ques- 
tion," "  and  a  broad  question  "  into 
the  bargain.  It  was  a  question, 
he  was  free  to  confess,  which  had 
puzzled  his  head,  ay,  and  wiser 
heads  than  his — being,  in  fact,  one 
of  those  complicated  problems  which 
abound  in  a  state  of  society  result- 


ing from  an  old  civilisation,  and  a 
highly  artificial  condition  of  things 
in  general. 

But  here  the  red-faced  man  jumped 
up  and  said  that  he  was  a  plain 
man  (which  was  incontrovertible), 
and  that  he  had  no  relish  for  "hocus- 
pocus."  "  Would  Mr  Platt-Crump 
kindly  abstain  from  hocus-pocussing 
him,  and  say  "  yes  or  no  "  ?  Would 
he  or  would  he  not  support  a  Per- 
missive Liquor  Bill  1 " 

Thus  spurred  to  the  edge  of  the 
precipice,  Mr  Platt-Crump  jumped 
over  it  and  said  he  would  support 
such  a  bill. 

There  was  a  solemn  portentous 
silence  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
came  the  ringing  voice  of  the  red- 
faced  man  with  these  words  :  "In 
that  case,  sir,  I  shall  not  support 
you;  and  I  think  I  can  pledge  my- 
self that  nine-tenths  of  the  gentle- 
men here  present  will  follow  my 
example." 

Now  the  murder  was  out ;  the 
querist  was  the  leading  distiller  of 
a  district  abounding  in  distilleries  ; 
half  the  people  in  the  room  were 
somehow  or  other  connected  with 
his  trade,  and  the  entire  assembly 
tenderly  sympathised  with  it  as  con- 
sumers. 

"  I  hate  humbug  and  cant,  sir," 
added  the  red-faced  man ;  "  and  I 
move  that  this  meeting  has  no  con- 


1871.] 

fidence  in  your  political  views  ;  also, 
that  they  are  entirely  unworthy  of  a 
great  nation." 

A  hundred  seconders  rose  to  their 
feet,  and  Tainsh  was  called  upon  to 
put  the  motion  to  the  meeting.  He 
declinedupon  some  technical  ground ; 
and  immediately,  with  the  yells  of 
pandemonium,  a  rush  was  made  to 
the  platform,  and  the  last  things 
Bertrand  and  Pigott  saw,  as  they 
left  the  place,  were  Platt- Crump 
vindicating  his  character  as  a  pro- 
gressive by  a  rapid  flank  movement 
towards  the  vestry,  heavily  salivated 
by  a  mob  of  pursuers,  and  Tainsh 
besieged  in  the  pulpit,  dodging  mis- 
siles with  surprising  activity,  and 
holding  the  position  with  the  des- 
perate valour  of  a  Maori  chief,  alone, 
surrounded  in  his  "  pah,"  but  resolv- 
ed not  to  be  taken  alive. 

Yet,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Crump 
was  eventually  elected.  He  had 
been  more  successful  in  hocus-pocus- 
sing  the  other  boroughs,  probably,  so 
that  no  opposition  had  been  started ; 
and  now  it  was  too  late  for  the  good 
folks  of  Ardmartin  to  organise  one. 
So  Crump  went  to  Parliament,  and 
is  perhaps  at  this  hour  a  tractable 
member  of  that  wondrous  majority; 
and  if  so,  no  doubt  one  of  those 
poor  devils — those  dumb,  delegate 
dogs  who  are  bullied  all  round — who 
tremble  at  the  bleating  of  the  con- 


Fair  to  See.— Part  IV. 


439 


stituent  flock,  and  crouch  before  the 
awful  eye  of  the  remedial  but  acid 
shepherd-in-chief. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?" 
laughed  Bertrand,  when  they  were 
clear  of  the  meeting. 

';  Think  of  it,  my  good  fellow? 
Please  don't  let  us  think  of  it — it 
really  makes  me  feel  more  inclined 
to  cry  than  to  laugh.  We  used  to 
be  able  to  look  down  upon — laugh 
at,  if  you  please — the  political  life 
and  customs  of  most  other  countries ; 
but  is  there  in  all  Europe,  or  per- 
haps even  in  America,  to  be  seen 
any  political  exhibition  so  low,  so 
filthy,  so  degraded,  as  this  we  have 
just  .left  ?  You  blessed  Scotchmen 
shake  your  solemn  heads  over  the 
Irish  difficulty,  but,  by  George  ! 
you're  as  bad  for  old  England  as  the 
Irish  are,  or  worse ;  and  what  with 
Scotch  Radicalism  and  Irish  Fenian- 
ism  and  Ribbonism,  England  is 
between  Scylla  and  Charybdis  — 
destined,  I  fear,  to  sink.  Platt- 
Crump  ought  to  be  stewed  in  some 
of  that  red-faced  ruffian's  whisky. 
Apropos,  do  you  know  if  they  give 
any  decent  sort  of  suppers  at  these 
gathering  balls  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so." 

"  I  hope  they  do ;  it  was  a  wretch- 
ed dinner,  and  I'm  hungry  already. 
Well,  here's  the  hostel,  and  I  sup- 
pose it  is  time  to  adorn." 


VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXVI. 


2H 


440 


New  Books. 


[April 


NEW    BOOKS. 


THANK  heaven  for  peace,  such  as 
it  is  !  The  reign  of  our  Own  Cor- 
respondent is  over,  and  literature 
may  again  begin  to  breathe,  and  it 
is  possible  for  books  to  be  ! 

One  sign  that  we  are  not  so  much 
the  worse  for  the  interregnum  as 
might  have  been  feared,  is  the  ap- 
pearance of  some  books  which  take 
their  place  at  the  very  extreme  end 
of  the  scale  from  that  breathless, 
breakneck  race  of  the  historians  of 
the  moment,  which  a  month  or  two 
ago  bade  fair  to  demoralise  us  all. 
Such  are  the  thoughtful  Essays  on 
religious  and  literary  subjects  col- 
lected into  a  permanent  form  by 
Mr  Hutton,*  which  will  be  very 
welcome  to  many  who  know  his 
skill  and  power  in  that  art  of  criti- 
cism which  is  soiled  by  so  much 
ignoble  use,  and  yet  is  so  worthy 
and  noble  an  art.  At  the  first  glance 
it  would  seem  that  to  criticise  criti- 
cism was  a  somewhat  unnecessary 
proceeding ;  and  yet  there  is  no  lit- 
erary work  more  delicate,  more  dif- 
ficult, more  important ',  when  well 
done,  or  demanding  more  conscience 
and  care.  The  faculties  necessary 
for  the  critic  are  almost  more  dis- 
tinctly marked  than  those  which  are 
required  by  any  other  literary  work- 
man. He  must  have  the  power  of 
close  observation — the  eye  to  see, 
the  skill  to  analyse  ;  he  must  com- 
bine much  positive  knowledge,  and 
confidence  in  his  own  power  and 
judicial  authority,  with  so  much  in- 
tellectual modesty  as  will  make  him 
ready  to  perceive  excellence,  even 
Outside  the  laws  which  usually  reg- 
ulate its  manifestation ;  and,  above 
all,  he  must  have  true  sympathetic 
insight,  such  as  will  lay  open  to  him 
the  meanings,  not  always  clearly  ex- 


pressed, the  motif,  not  always  dis- 
tinctly indicated,  of  his  subjects. 
The  true  critic  should  see  more  than 
the  book  before  him — he  should  see 
the  mind  that  produced  it ;  he  should 
be  able  to  catch  at  full  tide  the  cur- 
rents of  thought  that  brought  it  into 
being,  the  mental  convulsion  which 
it  marks,  or  the  ripening  existence 
of  which  it  is  the  fruit.  All  those 
subtle  mental  influences,  which  are 
as  dew  and  sunshine  to  the  spiritual 
seed,  he  should  note  in  their  unseen 
courses ;  he  should  be  able  to  trace 
the  idea  which  runs  through  a  life- 
time, sometimes,  like  a  river-course, 
invisible  through  the  trees  and  rav- 
ines, yet  here  betraying  itself  by  the 
fresh  greenness,  and  there  all  of  a 
sudden  flashing  to  the  sun.  An  emi* 
nent  writer  (to  be  sure  it  was  at 
the  moment  when  he  committed  a 
great  literary  blunder,  and  the  Phil- 
istines were  upon  him)  has  lately 
delivered  the  contemptuous  judg- 
ment upon  critics,  that  they  are 
men  who  have  failed  in  their  own 
attempts  at  original  composition. 
Such  an  opinion  is  a  very  common 
one  among  painters,  though  not,  we 
think,  among  writers  generally.  But 
we  are  not  much  minded  to  resist 
the  imputation.  To  a  certain  ex- 
tent it  is  and  ought  to  be  true.  No 
man,  for  instance,  can  so  realise  the 
difficulties  of  art  as  the  man  who 
has  done  his  best  in  his  own  person 
to  overcome  them  :  and  in  the  same 
way,  he  who  would  criticise  philo- 
sophy must  be  a  philosopher ;  and  he 
alone  may  lay  a  hand  upon  the  ark 
of  poetry  who  has  a  certain  consecra- 
tion upon  him,  and  knows  at  least, 
what  is  the  divine  gift  which  he 
undertakes  to  discuss.  The  attempt 
to  do  in  one's  own  person  always 


*  Essays,  Theological  and  Literary.     By  R.  H.  Hutton.     Strahan  &  Co.,  London. 


1871.] 


Button's  Essays,  Theological  and  Literary. 


441 


increases  the  power  to  understand 
the  works  of  others.  So  that  the 
sneer  becomes  in  reality  a  declaration 
of  right. 

In  the  case  of  most  of  our  finest 
critics,  however,  the  assertion,  as  a 
matter   of  fact,  is  simply  untrue, 
though  this  and  a  great  many  other 
"spiteful  sayings  of  authors  are  much 
justified  by  the  general  want  of  high 
morality  in  criticism — a  want  which 
seriously  injures  the  weight  of  all 
judgments  of  books.     There  is  no- 
thing in  literature  to  which  a  high 
standard  of  morals  is  so  necessary, 
and  nothing  which  is  so  separated 
ordinarily  from  all  moral  consider- 
ations whatever.      The  fashion   of 
untruthfulness  at  present  prevalent 
is   that  of  personal  favour.      The 
fashion  that  used  to  be  in  highest 
acceptance  was  that  of  personal  as- 
sault ;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt 
.  that  the  most  popular  bits  of  criti- 
cism which  we  know  are  those  effu- 
sions of  clever  spite  and  brilliant 
malice,  the  "  slashing  articles  "  of  a 
former  generation,  in  which  all  the 
art  and  skill  of  the  writer  were  taxed 
to  make  his  subject  ridiculous,  and 
impart  to  the  reader  the  same  sense 
of  triumphant  mischief  which  made 
his  own  style  buoyant,  and  stirred 
the  blood  in  his  veins.     A  certain 
elan  and  go  are  required   for  this 
branch   of  the   art,  and   it   suited 
youth,  which  is   always   ready  to 
attack  the  powers  that  be.     Maga 
herself  has  many  a  sin  of  this  descrip- 
tion on  her  conscience,  committed 
in  the  heyday  of  the  blood,  of  which 
we  fear  she  is  not  at  all  ashamed  even 
now ;  though  Maga's  vehemence  of 
assault,  let  us  add,  has  always  been 
accompanied  by  generous   recogni- 
tion   of   real    merit.       But   when 
we     recollect     poor    Jeffrey     with 
his   complacent,  impatient  verdict, 
''Tnis    WILL    NEVEK    DO,"    placing 
himself  like   another    Colossus    to 
bar   the   path    of    "Wordsworth,    a 
shudder  of  terror  at  such  temerity 


comes  over  us,  and  we  cannot  but 
feel  that,  in  all  the  fulness  of  poetic 
justice,    such   operators    sometimes 
got    their    reward.      Imagine    the 
mental    anguish,    the    never-to-be- 
revealed-or-forgotten  shame,  of  the 
critic  who  had  committed  himself 
to  such  an  utterance  !     It  is  true 
that  so  vast  a   mistake   is   seldom 
made  by  any  well-qualified  writer  ; 
but  it  is  a  salutary  reminder  to  us 
of  human   imperfection.     Let  not 
the  reader,  however,  look  for  any  of 
the  malicious  amusement  to  be  de- 
rived from  slashing  articles  in  the 
scholarly  and  judicious  essays  of  Mr 
Hutton.      They   are   divided    into 
two  parts,  theological  and  literary, 
and  it  is  with  the  latter  that  we 
shall  chiefly  concern  ourselves.    The 
essays   in   this   volume    are,   with 
scarcely  an  exception,  upon  Poetry, 
which,  of  all  branches  of  literature, 
is  the  one  most  open  to,  and  most 
requiring,  the  critic's   study.     We 
say,  with  scarcely  an  exception ;  for  in 
the  two  essays  on  George  Eliot  and 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  these  writers 
are  contemplated  in  the  poetical  and 
creative  aspect  of  their  genius ;  and, 
what  is  still  more  to  the  purpose, 
those  essays  seem  to  us  (as  does  also 
the  criticism  on  Mr  Browning)  so 
far  unsuitable  to  the  dignity  of  a 
book  that  the  writers  discussed  are 
our  own  immediate  contemporaries. 
Hawthorne,  it  is  true,  is  dead ;  but 
he  is  not  long  enough  dead  to  have 
much  enlarged   our  conception   of 
him  as  an  author;  and  George  Eliot 
and  Mr  Browning  are  bo  thin  full  pos- 
session of  their  remarkable  gifts,  and 
may  yet,  and  we  trust  will  yet,  do 
much  that  will  make  Mr  Hutton's 
essays  imperfect  and  incomplete  to 
our  grandchildren,  with  an  eye  for 
whose  benefit,  criticism,  where  it  is 
made  permanent  in  a  book,  ought  to 
be  written.     It  is,  we  think,  a  mis- 
take  to  withdraw  such   essays   as 
these  from    the  pages  of  a  maga- 
zine   or    review,    in    which    they 


442 


have  a  fit  and  natural  place,  and  to 
gather  them  in  a  permanent  volume 
for  which  they  are  not  adapted.  It 
is  not  yet  three  years  since  the 
'  Ring  and  the  Book '  was  published, 
yet  how  imperfect,  how  unsatisfac- 
tory, would  be  any  criticism  on  Mr 
Browning's  productions  which  left 
out  that  wonderful  poem  !  and  we 
sincerely  trust  that  this  is  neither 
the  last  nor  the  greatest  (though  we 
hope  the  longest)  of  the  poet's  works. 
The  same  thing  is  of  course  true  of 
the  other  great  writer  whose  powers 
are  still  in  their  zenith,  and  whose 
greatest  production  may  yet,  for 
anything  we  know,  be  in  the  future. 
For  this  reason  we  object  to  the  re- 
production in  a  permanent  form  of 
criticism  upon  living  writers.  We 
might  even  go  further,  and  say,  upon 
very  recently  deceased  writers.  The 
reviews,  the  magazines,  and  journals 
of  the  day,  are  the  proper  places  for 
the  work  of  the  day  ;  the  work 
which  is  intended  to  be  placed  in  a 
library  should  be  complete.  We 
are  sure  that  in  the  case  of  such  a 
writer  as  Mr  Hutton,  the  essays  we 
have  mentioned  have  a  real  excel- 
lence which  justifies  their  preser- 
vation ;  but  Mr  Button's  example 
will  no  doubt  afford  an  excuse  to 
many  an  inferior  critic  whose  hasty 
and  crude  performances  are  thrust 
into  permanent  print,  for  no  better 
reason  than  that  thrift,  which  is 
an  excellent  thing  in  domestic 
economy — which  throws  away  no- 
thing, and  makes  use  of  every  scrap 
and  candle-end;  an  admirable  qual- 
ity for  a  housewife,  perhaps — though 
even  a  housewife  would  sometimes 
be  the  better  for  knowing  when  to 
throw  away. 

We  have  relieved  our  conscience, 
and  now  let  us  pass  on  to  our  more 
agreeable  work.  The  three  first 
essays  in  this  volume — those  on 
Goethe,  Wordsworth,  and  Shelley 
— are  models  of  sound  and  delicate 
criticism ;  and  nothing  could  more 


New  Books.  [April 

clearly  prove  the  expediency  of 
keeping  silent,  at  least  in  the  more 
important  judicial  capacity  of  a 
critic,  until  time  has  "  orbed  into 
the  perfect  star"  those  souls  and 
works  of  men  which  death  alone 
can  complete  and  make  perfect. 
How  much  more  instructive,  how 
much  more  full,  is  the  judgment 
which  can  be  passed  upon  those 
whose  lives  lie  before  us — most 
powerful  of  all  commentaries  upon 
their  works — in  the  calm  stillness 
and  accomplished  meaning  of  things 
which  are  past, — than  that  which 
has  to  be  passed  upon  the  work 
which  is  elucidated  by  no  life,  and 
which  the  modest  veil  of  natural 
reserve  and  human  modesty  still 
covers,  as  it  ought  to  cover,  the 
doings  of  the  living  ?  In  the  article 
upon  Goethe,  Mr  Hutton  enters 
fully  into  the  character  of  that 
amazing  man,  and  dwells,  as  all  who 
have  not  entirely  yielded  to  his 
fascination  must  have  dwelt  more 
or  less  consciously,  upon  the  in- 
adequacy of  his  works,  great  as  these 
are,  to  explain  the  astonishing  in- 
toxicating personal  influence  which 
even  now  he  seems  to  wield  over  his 
adorers  —  and  which  Mr  Hutton 
attributes  to  what  Goethe  himself 
calls  "  daemonic  influence."  "  It  was 
not  divine,  for  it  seemed  unin- 
tellectual ;  nor  human,  for  it  was  no 
result  of  understanding  ;  nor  dia- 
bolical, for  it  was  of  beneficent 
tendency ;  nor  angelic,  for  you 
would  often  notice  in  it  a  cer- 
tain mischievousness.  It  resembled 
chance,  inasmuch  as  it  demonstrated 
nothing  ;  but  was  like  providence, 
inasmuch  as  it  showed  symptoms 
of  continuity."  This  is  the  de- 
scription that  Goethe  himself  gives 
of  the  marvellous  personal  power 
which  there  can  be  no  doubt  some 
individuals  possess,  in  absolute  in- 
dependence of  their  own  claims  to 
regard,  or  right  to  rule  over  others. 
He  goes  on  to  say  that  it  is  not 


1871.] 


Hutton' s  Essays,  Tlieological  and  Literary. 


443 


always  "  the  first  and  best,  either  in 
moral  nature  or  abilities,"  who  pos- 
sess this  gift.  It  is  a  power  about 
which  no  man  can  reason,  which  we 
obey  or  resist  with  instinctive 
vehemence,  feeling  that  there  can 
be  no  middle  way.  To  this 
"daemonic  influence,"  this  mag- 
netic force,  Mr  Hutton  attri- 
butes the  wonderful  ascendancy 
which  Goethe  has  acquired  over  the 
minds  of  men — a  something  al- 
together irrespective  of  his  genius. 
Mr  Hutton  defines  this  special  quality 
as  "presence  of  mind  in  combination 
with  a  keen  knowledge  of  men  ;"  but 
this,  we  think,  is  an  inadequate 
description.  Is  it  not  more  truly 
the  power  of  a  severely  self-con- 
tained and  uncommunicative  nature, 
wrapping  itself  in  a  splendid  veil  of 
superficial  emotion,  and  even  pas- 
sion, such  as  lights  up  its  surface 
brilliantly,  without  ever  warming 
its  heart  over  the  simpler,  less  com- 
plex natures,  which  accept  the 
superficial  as  real,  and  are  pene- 
trated and  consumed  by  the  flame 
which  merely  illuminates  and  never 
melts  the  other?  This,  it  may  be 
said,  would  be  no  explanation  of  his 
influence  over  Schiller,  for  example, 
or,  still  more  remarkably,  over  our 
own  countryman,  Carlyle.  But  we 
are  by  no  means  prepared  to  admit 
this ;  for  absolute  Sincerity  is  always 
more  or  less  deceivable,  in  the  noble 
way  of  incapacity  to  comprehend 
the  Insincere. 

Goethe's  insincerity,  however, 
is  nothing  to  be  apologetic  about, 
as  if  it  were  the  defect  and 
weakness  of  his  character.  On 
the  contrary,  it  was  its  principle, 
and  in  one  way  its  strength.  He 
was  as  open,  perhaps  more  open,  to 
the  loves  and  sympathies  common 
to  humanity  than  other  men ;  where 
he  differed  from  other  men  was  in 
his  power  of  subduing  them,  and 
putting  them  away  from  him  when 
he  had  got  the  full  sweetness  out  of 


them,  and  felt,  with  that  diabolical 
insight  which  weak  natures  are  said 
to  admire,  that  they  could  be  of.no 
further  service  to  him.  Thus  he 
separated  himself — not  without  tugs 
at  his  own  heart-strings,  which  he 
got  rid  of  by  means  of  "the 
loveliest  lyrics,"  and  much  benefit 
to  the  poetry-reading  world — from 
one  after  another  of  the  women 
whom  he  professed  to  love,  and 
who  loved  him ;  doing  on  principle 
what  other  men  are  universally 
condemned  as  scoundrels  for  doing 
on  the  pressure  of  temptation — a 
peculiarity  which  his  biographers 
scarcely  venture  to  blame,  and 
which  it  seems  to  be  acknowledged 
is  permissible  in  a  man  whose 
mental  greatness  places  him  above 
the  sway  of  ordinary  morals. 
Goethe  was  not  unfaithful  on  the 
common  ground  of  fickle  affections, 
or  because  the  beauty  or  attractions 
of  another  love  tempted  him  from 
the  first — but  because  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  on  mature  and  philo- 
sophical reflection  that  he  had  got 
the  full  intellectual  and  spiritual 
benefit  of  his  love,  and  that  it  was 
now  expedient  to  go  on  to  "  fresh 
fields  and  pastures  new."  This 
frightful  philosophy  of  the  matter, 
and  the  total  absence  of  all  that 
modesty  and  reserve  with  which 
in  this  country  it  is  our  principle 
(however  broken  in  practice)  to 
shroud  all  interchanges  of  sentiment 
which  do  not  end  in  marriage,  have 
filled  German  literature  with  an 
innocent  seraglio  of  Goethe's  aban- 
doned loves.  Modesty  of  this  de- 
scription, it  may  be  remarked,  is  not 
a  German  attribute.  No  Teuton 
lover,  even  in  these  days  which 
have  made  us  acquainted  with  so 
many  new  attributes  in  the  Teu- 
tonic character  undreamed  of  a 
few  years  ago,  has  yet  thought  of 
inventing  for  it  the  grace  of  reserve 
in  its  love-affairs ;  and  accordingly 
everybody  knows  all  about  the 


444 


New  Books. 


[April 


Gretchens,  Lilis,  Fredrikas,  who 
helped  forward  the  development  of 
the  great  poet,  and  were  repaid  for 
their  love  by  "  the  loveliest  lyrics." 
Yet  his  love,  while  he  chose  that 
it  should  last,  was  real  enough  :  he 
had  a  certain  pain  in  getting  free 
from  it.  The  flame  which  con- 
sumed those  human  moths  who  be- 
lieved in  him,  flickered  regretfully, 
lingeringly,  about  himself,  ere  it 
went  out.  He  got  the  good  of  it  to 
its  last  moment.  Even,  we  may 
suppose,  the  great  poet  was  capable 
of  a  certain  human  sorrow  that  it 
should  be  necessary  to  buy  his 
perfection  at  such  a  cost;  but  it  was 
necessary,  and  there  was  no  more 
to  be  said.  Here  is  Mr  Hutton's 
summary  of  this  remarkable  prin- 
ciple of  his  life  : — 

"  The  thing  that  jars  upon  the  mind 
throughout  Goethe's  life,  in  his  letters, 
his  books — everything  he  said  and  did — 
is  the  absence  of  anything  like  devotion 
to  any  being  human  or  divine,  morally 
above  himself.  God  he  regarded  as  in- 
scrutable, and  as  best  left  to  reveal  Him- 
self. The  future  life  was  not  yet.  From 
all  men  he  withdrew  himself  in  a  sort 
of  kindly  isolation — sympathising  with 
them,  aiding  them,  helping  them  against 
themselves,  understanding  them,  but 
never  making  any  of  them  the  object  of 
his  life.  The  object  of  his  life,  so  far  as 
auyman  can  consciously  and  permanently 
have  one,  was  the  completion  of  that 
ground  -  plan  of  character  presented  to 
the  world  in  Johann  Wolfgang  Goethe. 
To  perfect  this  he  denied  himself  much 
both  of  enjoyment  and  real  happiness  ; 
to  keep  this  ground-plan  intact,  or  to 
build  upon  it,  he  was  always  ready  to 
sacrifice  either  himself  or  anybody  else. 
To  this  he  sacrificed  Frednka's  love, 
Lili's  love,  and  his  own  love  for  them—- 
the friendship  of  any  who  attempted  to 
interfere  with  his  own  modes  of  self- 
development  ;  to  this  he  would  at  any 
time  have  sacrificed,  had  he  supposed  it 
needful,  the  favour  of  the  Duke,  and  his 
position  at  Court;  to  this,  in  fact,  his 
life  was  one  long  offering.  There  was 
nothing  Goethe  would  not  have  given  up 
for  others,  except  any  iota  of  what  he 
considered  to  be  his  own  individuality. 
To  tend  that  was  his  idolatry — and  that 
this  self -worship  grew  upon  him  at  Wei- 
mar, no  one  can  doubt." 


Mr  Hutton  goes  on  from  Goethe 
to  Wordsworth,  without  perhaps 
perceiving,  what  seems  very  appa- 
rent to  us,  a  certain  fundamental 
resemblance  between  the  two  char- 
acters, immensely  modified  by  cir- 
cumstances, and  lessened  by  a  great 
many  equally  fundamental  diversi- 
ties. They  are  both  men  who, 
in  soul  and  spirit,  dwell  apart, 
choosing  the  isolation  as  a  means  of 
perfection ;  they  are  both  bent,  as 
upon  the  greatest  of  all  earthly  ob- 
jects, upon  the  accomplishment  of 
their  own  individual  career.  In  the 
case  of  Goethe,  it  is  "  the  ground- 
plan  of  character"  which  is  his 
primary  object,  because  Goethe  is 
full  of  that  unmoral  (to  quote  a 
good  distinction  from  Mr  Hutton) 
honesty  peculiar  to  Germans  which 
leads  them  to  follow  out  their  con- 
clusions unsparingly,  and  do  what 
their  philosophy  bids  them  do 
without  any  consideration  for  such 
foreign  and  illogical  matters  as 
right  or  wrong,  morality  or  immora- 
lity ;  whereas  Wordsworth,  being, 
for  his  part,  bound  by  all  the 
principles,  and  even  prejudices,  of 
the  English  middle  class,  was  in- 
capable, by  nature  and  education, 
of  any  declared  self-worship,  and 
could  place  only  the  perfection  of 
his  work  in  the  shrine  where  Goethe 
boldly  places  his  own  individuality. 
This  distinction  separates  broadly 
the  two  characters.  Goethe  acts  as 
a  man  absolutely  free  from  rule ; 
Wordsworth,  as  one  dutifully  and 
with  full  consent  of  his  nature  sub- 
ject to  it.  The  one  is  unmoral,  the 
other  moral  to  the  severest  height 
of  morality;  the  one  is  strong  in 
his  "  impartial  sympathy  for  good 
and  evil  alike  " — the  other  holds  by 
virtue  as  the  secret  of  all  greatness. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  this  immense 
difference — notwithstanding  the  un- 
likeness  of  that  little,  fluttering,  wor- 
shipping , sentimental,  wicked  court 
at  Weimar,  to  the  austere  purity  and 


1871.] 


Hutton's  Essays,  Theological  and  Literary. 


445 


loneliness  of  Rydal  Mount,  we  can- 
not but  believe  that  a  fundamental 
resemblance  of  character  exists  be- 
tween these  two  great  minds.  They 
are  both  intent  upon  themselves; 
to  each  the  centre  of  the  world,  and 
in  a  manner  its  raison  d'etre,  is  him- 
self; they  are  lonely  as  Lucifer  among 
the  crowds  of  lesser  creatures  that 
fill  the  earth — working  out  each  for 
himself  the  great  mournful  problem, 
burdened  by  a  weight  of  greatness 
which  neither  in  heaven  nor  earth 
is  there  one  soul  to  share. 

Mr  Hutton  does  not,  we  think, 
make  the  same  allowance  for  the 
character  of  Wordsworth  as  affect- 
ing his  works  as  he  does  for  that  of 
Goethe.  He  judges  the  English 
poet  more  from  a  purely  intellectual 
point  of  view — a  thing  so  far  natural 
that  we  are  all,  so  to  speak,  nearer 
to  Wordsworth  than  we  are  to 
Goethe,  and  that  the  reserve  of 
actual  life  still  hangs  to  a  certain 
extent  about  the  history  of  the 
former.  Yet  we  think  that  Words- 
worth's poetry  can  scarcely  be  fully 
understood  without  a  glance  at  the 
unimpassioned  nature  of  the  man. 
Full  of  grave  and  deep  affection, 
and  a  strong  sense  of  natural  duty, 
he  was,  we  think,  absolutely  with- 
out passion,  realising  it  with  diffi- 
culty, and  feeling  little  sympathy 
with  the  violence  and  completeness 
of  its  sway.  The  only  instance, 
indeed,  which  we  can  remember, 
where  he  ventures  to  treat  it  at  all, 
is  in  that  story  of  Margaret  in  the 
first  book  of  the  "  Excursion,"  where 
it  is  kept  in  so  persistent  a  mono- 
tone, and  so  deprived  of  all  the 
wild  life  and  colour  and  energy 
peculiar  to  it,  that  the  effect  upon 
the  reader  is  never  exciting,  but 
only  depressing — a  picture  of  dull 
absorption  rather  than  of  fiery  power. 
It  seems  to  us  that  this  defect  of 
nature,  rather  than  the  frugality  of 
imagination  on  which  Mr  Hutton 
loves  to  dwell,  accounts  in  a  great 


measure  for  Wordsworth's  prefer- 
ence of  the  secondary  emotions — the 
joys  of  anticipation  and  recollec- 
tion —  the  contemplative  use  of 
sorrow.  The  agency  of  passion 
annoyed  and  troubled  him  :  it 
drove  him  out  of  his  reckoning.  A 
thing  in  which  there  is  no  serenity, 
no  power  to  pause,  no  possibility  of 
reflection,  xipset — as  indeed  it  is  its 
vocation  to  do — his  conception  of 
the  world.  This  grand  use  of  pas- 
sion in  the  earth  troubled  Words- 
worth as  the  gift  of  working  miracles 
would  disturb  a  positivist  philoso- 
pher. He  did  not  want  this  wild 
spontaneity  —  this  power  whose 
movements  could  not  be  calculated. 
He  disapproved  of  it,  in  fact,  just  as, 
no  doubt,  the  positivist  (could  he 
believe  in  them)  would  disapprove 
of  miracles,  and  consider  them  as 
immoral  and  lawless  manifestations 
of  power.  It  is,  however,  more  to 
the  purpose  to  show  Mr  Hutton's 
conception  of  the  poet's  mind  than 
our  own  ;  and  whether  we  accept  it 
freely  or  not,  it  is  impossible  not 
to  admire  the  able  and  ingenious 
theory  which  he  thus  sets  forth  : — 

"  The  commonplace  modern  criticism 
on  Wordsworth  is,  that  he  is  too  tran- 
scendental. On  the  other  hand,  the 
criticism  with  which  he  was  first  assailed, 
which  Coleridge  indignantly  repelled, 
and  which  is  reflected  in  the  admirable 
parody  published  among  the  '  Rejected 
Addresses, '  was,  that  he  was  ridiculously 
simple — that  he  made  an  unintelligible 
fuss  about  common  feelings  and  common 
things.  The  reconciliation  of  these  op- 
posite criticisms  is  not  difficult.  He 
drew  uncommon  delights  from  very  com- 
mon things.  His  circle  of  interests  was, 
for  a  poet,  singularly  narrow.  He  was 
a  hardy  Cumbrian  mountaineer,  with  the 
temperament  of  a  thoroughly  frugal 
peasant,  and  a  unique  personal  gift  of 
discovering  the  deepest  secondary  springs 
of  joy  in  what  ordinary  men  either  took 
as  matter  of  course,  or  found  uninterest- 
ing, or  even  full  of  pain.  The  same  sort 
of  power  which  scientific  men  have  of 
studiously  fixing  their  minds  on  natural 
phenomena  till  they  make  these  pheno 
mena  yield  lessons  and  laws  of  which 
no  understanding  destitute  of  this  capa- 


446 


New  Books.  [April 


city  for  detaching  itself  entirely  from  the 
commonplace  train  of  intellectual  asso- 
ciations would  have  dreamt,  Wordsworth 
had  in  relation  to  objects  of  the  imagina- 
tion. He  could  detach  his  mind  from 
the  commonplace  series  of  impressions 
which  are  generated  by  commonplace 
objects  or  events,  resist  and  often  reverse 
the  current  of  emotion  to  which  ordinary 
minds  are  liable,  and  triumphantly 
justify  the  strain  of  rapture  with  which 
he  celebrated  what  excites  either  no  feel- 
ing, or  weary  feeling,  or  painful  feeling, 
in  the  mass  of  unreflecting  men.  Two 
distinct  peculiarities,  and  rare  pecu- 
liarities, of  character,  chiefly  assisted 
him  in  this — his  keen  spiritual  courage, 
and  his  stern  spiritual  frugality.  Though 
his  poetry  reads  so  transcendental,  and 
is  so  meditative,  there  never  was  a  poet 
who  was  so  little  of  a  dreamer  as  Words- 
worth. There  is  volition  and  self-gov- 
ernment in  every  line  of  his  poetry;  and 
his  best  thoughts  come  from  the  steady 
resistance  he  opposes  to  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  ordinary  desires  and  regrets.  He 
contests  the  ground  inch  by  inch  with 
all  despondent  and  indolent  humours, 
and  often,  too,  with  movements  of  in- 
considerate and  wasteful  joy — turning 
defeat  into  victory,  and  victory  into  de- 
feat. He  transmutes  sorrows  into  food 
for  lonely  rapture,  as  he  dwells  upon  the 
evidence  they  bear  of  the  depth  and  for- 
titude of  human  nature  :  he  transmutes 
the  periodic  joy  of  social  conventions 
into  melancholy  as  he  recalls  how  '  the 
wiser  mind ' 

'  Mourns  less  for  what  age  takes  away 
Than  what  it  leaves  liehind.' 

No  poet  ever  contrived  by  dint  of  '  plain 
living  and  high  thinking'  to  get  nearer 
to  the  reality  of  such  life  as  he  under- 
stood, and  to  dispel  more  thoroughly  the 
illusions  of  superficial  impression. 

"  To  this  same  result,  again,  the  rare 
spiritual  frugality  of  Wordsworth  greatly 
contributed.  Poets,  as  a  rule,  lust  for 
emotion ;  some  of  the  most  unique  poets 
—like  Shelley  and  Byron — in  their  very 
different  ways,  pant  for  an  unbroken 
succession  of  ardent  feelings.  Words- 
worth, as  I  shall  try  to  show,  was  almost 
a  miser  in  his  reluctance  to  trench  upon 
the  spiritual  capital  at  his  disposal.  He 
hoarded  his  joys,  and  lived  upon  the 
interest  which  they  paid  in  the  form  of 
hope  and  expectation.  This  is  one  of 
the  most  original  parts  of  his  poetic  cha- 
racter. It  was  only  the  windfalls,  as 
one  may  say,  of  his  imagination,  the 
accidents  on  which  he  had  never  counted 
beforehand,  the  delight  of  which  he 
dared  thoroughly  to  exhaust.  He  paused 


almost  in  awe  at  the  threshold  of  any 
promised  enjoyment,  as  if  it  were  a 
spendthrift  policy  to  exchange  the  hope 
for  the  reality.  A  delight  once  over,  he 
multiplied  it  a  thousand-fold  through  the 
vision  of  '  that  inward  eye  which  is  the 
bliss  of  solitude. '  Spiritual  thrift  was  at 
the  very  root  of  his  soul,  and  this  was 
one  of  his  most  remarkable  distinctions 
among  a  race  who  in  spiritual  things  are 
too  often  prodigals  and  spendthrifts.  In 
these  two  characteristics  lies  sufficient 
explanation  of  the  opposite  views  as  to 
his  simplicity  as  a  poet.  No  poet  ever 
drew  from  simpler  sources  than  Words- 
worth ;  but  none  ever  made  so  much  out 
of  so  little.  He  stemmed  the  common- 
place currents  of  emotion,  and  often  suc- 
ceeded in  so  reversing  them,  that  men 
were  puzzled  when  they  saw  weakness 
transformed  into  power,  and  sorrow  into 
rapture.  He  used  up  successfully  the 
waifs  and  strays  of  his  imaginative  life, 
reaped  so  much  from  opportunity,  hope, 
and  memory,  that  men  were  as  puzzled 
at  the  simplicity  of  his  delights  as  they 
are  when  they  watch  the  occasions  of  a 
child's  laughter." 

Here  is  another  very  fine  bit  of 
criticism  and  contrast,  in  which, 
though  we  cannot  quite  agree  with 
it,  the  delicate  perception  and  sym- 
pathetic insight  of  the  critic  are  well 
marked. 

"  Wordsworth  deliberately  withdraws 
his  imagination  from  the  heart  of  his 
picture,  to  contemplate  it  in  its  spiritual 
relations.  Thus,  for  instance,  Tennyson 
and  Wordsworth  start  from  the  same 
mood,  the  one  in  the  song,  '  Tears,  idle 
tears, '  the  other  in  the  poem  called  the 
'  Fountain. '  Tennyson's  exquisite  poem 
is  well-known : — 

'Tears,  idle  tears,  I  know  not  what  they 

mean ; 

Tears  from  the  depth  of  some  divine  despair 
Rise  in  the  heart,  and  gather  to  the  eyes, 
In  looking  on  the  happy  autumn  fields, 
And  thinking  of  the  days  that  are  no  more. 
Fresh  as  the  first  beam  glittering  on  a  sail, 
That  brings  our  friends  up  from  the  under 

world ; 

Sad  as  the  last  which  reddens  over  one 
That  sinks  with  all  we  love  below  the  verge  ; 
So  sad,  so  fresh,  the  days  that  are  no  more. 
Ah  !  sad  and  strange,  as  in  dark  summer 

dawns 

The  earliest  pipe  of  half-awakened  birds 
To  dying  ears,  when  unto  dying  eyes 
The   casement  slowly  grows  a  glimmering 

square ; 
So  sad,  so  strange,  the  days  that  are  no 

more. 


1871.] 


Hutton's  Easays,  Tlieological  and  Literary. 


447 


Dear  as  remembered  kisses  after  death, 
And  sweet  as  those  by  hopeless  fancy  feigned 
On  lips  that  are  for  others  ;  deep  as  love, 
Deep  as  first  love,  and  wild  with  all  regret ; 
0  death  iu  life,  the  days  that  are  no  more.' 

"Now  turn  to  Wordsworth's  treatment 
of  the  same  theme  : — 

'  My  eyes  are  dim  with  childish  tears, 

My  heart  is  idly  stirred ; 
For  the  same  sound  is  in  my  ears 

Which  in  those  days  I  heard. 

Tims  fares  it  still  in  our  decay ; 

And  yet  the  wiser  mind 
Mourns  less  for  what  age  takes  away 

Than  what  it  leaves  behind. 

The  blackbird  amid  leafy  trees, 

The  lark  above  the  hill, 
Let  loose  their  carol  when  they  please, 

Are  quiet  when  they  will. 

With  nature  never  do  they  wage 

A  foolish  strife  ;  they  see 
A  happy  youth,  and  their  old  age 

Is  beautiful  and  free. 

But  we  are  pressed  by  heavy  laws ; 

And  often,  glad  no  more, 
We  wear  a  face  of  joy  because 

We  have  been  glad  of  yore.' 

"Tennyson  continues  in  the  same  strain 
of  emotion  with  which  he  begins,  pictur- 
ing  the  profound  unspeakable  sadness 
with  which  we  survey  the  irrecoverable 
past ;  Wordsworth  no  sooner  touches  the 
same  theme  than  he  checks  the  current 
of  emotion,  and,  to  use  his  own  words, 
'  instead  of  being  restlessly  propelled ' 
by  it,  he  makes  it  the  object  of  contem- 
plation, and,'  with  no  unconquerable  sighs, 
yet  with  a  melancholy  in  the  tone,  sinks 
inward  into  himself,  from  thought  to 
thought,  to  a  steady  remonstrance  and  a 
high  resolve.'  And,  thus  meditating, 
he  wrings  from  the  temporary  sadness 
fresh  conviction  that  the  ebbing  away, 
both  in  spirit  and  in  appearance,  of  the 
brightest  past,  sad  as  it  must  ever  be, 
is  not  so  sad  a  thing  as  the  weak  yearn- 
ing which,  in  departing,  it  often  leaves 
stranded  on  the  soul,  to  cling  to  the 
appearance  when  the  spirit  is  irrecover- 
ably lost.  There  is  no  other  great  poet 
who  thus  redeems  new  ground  for  spiri- 
tual meditation  from  beneath  the  very 
sweep  of  the  tides  of  the  most  engrossing 
affections,  and  quietly  maintains  it  in 
possession  of  the  musing  intellect." 

We  have  said  that  we  do  not 
quite  agree  with  Mr  Hutton  in  this 
opinion ;  but  perhaps  it  would  he 
more  just  to  say  that  our  agreement 
in  his  judgment  comes  from  a  dif- 
ferent strain  of  thought.  To  us 


Tennyson's  poem  is  the  utterance  of 
a  mind  in  the  full  height  of  life  and 
passion,  unable,  without  a  wrench 
of  its  whole  being,  to  tear  itself 
from  the  days  that  are  no  more — 
days  so  near  that  it  can  still  snatch 
at  them,  the  deadly  line  of  separa- 
tion being  as  yet  scarce  indicated  by 
Time's  slow  finger.  On  the  other 
hand,  Wordsworth's  verses  are  those 
of  an  old  man  fallen  into  the  soft 
and  contemplative  melancholies  and 
regrets  of  age ;  his  eyes  are  only  dim 
with  a  moisture  of  regret,  which  he 
tenderly  calls  "  childish  "  —  not 
blinded  with  salt  and  bitter  tears. 
Long  years  have 'taught  him  how 
useless  it  is  to  consume  his  being 
with  an  unavailing  grief,  and  the 
philosophy  of  age  is  strengthened 
by  all  the  tendencies  of  the  unimpas- 
sioned  reasonable  nature,  which  is 
incapable  of  "  waging  a  foolish 
strife"  with  the  irrevocable.  Per- 
haps his  sadness  is  not  less  deep 
because  it  is  so  calm ;  but  it  is  not, 
cannot  be,  impassioned;  character 
and  age  alike  forbid  it — not  poetical 
principle  alone.  In  this  point  we 
are  disposed  to  think  Mr  Hutton 
has  fallen  a  victim  to  his  own  theory 
of  interpretation,  a  danger  to  which 
critics  of  the  finest  skill  and  temper 
are  especially  liable. 

We  add  his  defence  of  Words- 
worth from  the  charge  of  egotism 
brought  against  him  by  Hazlitt,  in 
which  the  pleading  is  again  perhaps 
more  skilful  than  absolutely  con- 
vincing : — 

"  Hazlitt  has  set  up  a  theory,  founded 
in  some  measure,  perhaps,  on  these  little 
personal  egotisms,  to  prove  that  Words- 
worth's poetic  power  is  born  of  egotism, 
and  is  part  and  parcel  of  his  complete 
want  of  universality.  .  .  .  He  tells  us 
further  on  that  Wordsworth's  '  strength, 
as  it  often  happens,  arises  from  excess  of 
weakness.'  This  is  but  the  sceptic's 
bitter  version  of  the  truth  that  '  weak- 
ness constantly  arises  from  excess  of 
strength' — a  form  of  the  proposition  not 
only  more  true  in  itself,  but  far  more  ap- 
plicable to  Wordsworth's  poetry.  Rare 


448 


gifts  of  mind  almost  always  tend  to  some 
overbalance  of  habit,  or  thought,  or  feel- 
ing—to some  narrowness,  pride,  or  hum- 
our that  is  in  itself  a  weakness.  But  no 
weakness  ever  of  itself  tends  to  an  oppo- 
site strength,  even  though,  as  Words- 
worth so  finely  observes  in  a  passage  I 
have  already  quoted,  the  free  and  volun- 
tary wisdom  of  man  may  transmute  it 
into  an  occasion  for  developing  the  high- 
est strength ;  but  this  is  through  the 
supernatural  life,  not  through  any  natu- 
ral gravitation  of  weakness  towards  its 
opposite.  Strong  affections  may  tend  to 
feebleness  of  purpose,  but  not  feebleness 
of  purpose  to  strong  affections.  Great 
contemplative  power  will  tend  to  self- 
occupation,  but  self-occupation  does  not 
tend  to  contemplative  power.  Hazlitt 
saw  that  the  egotism  and  the  genius  in 
Wordsworth  were  closely  related,  and 
with  half -malicious  pleasure  hastily  as- 
sumed that  the  worse  quality  had  the 
deeper  root.  When  he  says  that  Words- 
worth's poetry  is  mainly  derived  from 
'  looking  at  home  into  himself, '  he  says 
what  I  have  all  along  endeavoured  to 
establish;  but  when  he  means  by  this 
the  contradictory  of  '  looking  abroad 
into  universality,'  he  is  certainly  and 
wilfully  wrong.  There  are  two  selfs  in 
every  man — the  private  and  the  univer- 
sal— the  source  of  personal  crotchets,  and 
the  humanity  that  is  our  bond  with  our 
fellow-men,  and  gives  us  our  influence 
over  them.  Half  Wordsworth's  weak- 
ness springs  from  the  egotistical  self,  as 
he  himself  applies  when  he  says — 

'  Or  is  it  that  when  human  souls  a  journey 
long  have  had, 

And  are  returned  into  themselves,  they  can- 
not but  be  sad  ? ' 

But  all  his  power  springs  from  the  uni- 
versal self.  Nor  is  it  in  the  least  true 
that  Wordsworth's  finest  poems,  as  Haz- 
litt implies,  are  cocoons  of  arbitrary  per- 
sonal associations  spun  around  local  and 
accidental  centres.  The  worst  element 
in  Wordsworth  is  the  arbitrary  and  occa- 
sional element.  Freedom,  indeed,  enters 
into  his  very  finest  poems — but  thought- 
ful, not  arbitrary,  freedom.  He  draws 
us  out  of  the  natural  currents  of  thought 
and  emotion  ;  but  if  it  be  from  '  chance 
desires,'  if  it  be  to  have  us  '  all  to  him- 
self,' and  give  us  an  egotistic  lecture  in 
his  own  little  study — he  is  as  far  as  pos- 
sible from  his  true  poetic  mood." 

Mr  Button's  conception  of  Shelley 
is  one  in  which  we  fully  concur. 
Nothing  could  be  more  sharply  de- 
fined in  its  diversity  from  the  broad 


New  Books.  [April 

calm  natures  of  the  two  great  poets 
whom  the  critic  has  already  dis- 
cussed, than  the  restless,  feverish,  all- 
craving  being,  the  impersonation  of 
Desire,  whom  he  here  sets  before  us. 
A  painful  hurry  and  eagerness  and 
speed,  a  never-satisfied  thirst,  a  fev- 
erish hunger  for  emotion,  are  its  chief 
characteristics.  And  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  add  that  there  is  no  music 
in  the  world  more  exquisite  than 
the  music  of  those  ineffable  longings 
which,  in  their  passion  and  intensity, 
are  death  to  the  poet,  but  which  to 
more  moderate  natures — spirits  finely 
touched,  yet  not  given  over  to  that  in- 
appeasable  desire  of  joy  and  beauty — 
afford  such  a  power  of  expression  to 
the  inexpressible  as  scarcely  any  other 
poetry,  as  perhaps  nothing  else  ex- 
cept the  inarticulate  passion  of  music, 
can  give.  Nothing  can  be  finer  or 
more  true  than  the  following  sketch 
of  Shelley's  mind  and  character  : — 

"Shelley  .  .  .  was  essentially  the 
poet  of  intellectual  desire,  not  of  mere 
emotion.  The  thrill  of  some  fugitive 
feeling,  which  he  is  either  vainly  pur- 
suing or  which  has  just  slipped  through 
his  faint  intellectual  grasp,  gives  the 
key-note  to  every  one  of  his  finest  poems. 
His  wonderful  description  of  the  Hours  in 
the  'Prometheus  Unbound' — one  of  the 
few  passages  in  which  Shelley  has  given 
a  great  subject  to  any  painter  capable  of 
entering  into  him — is  a  description,  in 
fact,  of  the  two  poetic  attitudes  of  his 
own  mind : — 

'  The  rocks   are  cloven,  and  through  the 

purple  night 

I  see  cars  drawn  by  rainbow- winged  steeds, 
Which  trample  the   dim  winds  :    in   each 

there  stands 

A  wild-eyed  charioteer  urging  their  flight. 
Some  look  behind  as  fiends  pursued  them 

there, 

And  yet  I  see  no  snakes  but  the  keen  stars  ; 
Others,  with  burning  eyes,  lean  forth,  and 

drink 

With  eager  lips  the  wind  of  their  own  speed, 
As  if  the  thing  they  loved  fled  on  before, 
And  now,  even  now,  they  clasped  it.     Their 

bright  locks 

Stream  like  a  comet's  flashing  hair :  they  all 
Sweep  onward,' 

As  it  seems  to  me,  Shelley  himself,  in 
one  of  his  moods  of  wild-eyed,  breathless 
inspiration — "  1'Inglese  malincolico,"  as 


1871.] 


Hutton's  Essays,  Tlieological  and  Literary. 


449 


the  poor  people  called  him  at  Florence — 
leaning  passionately  forward  into  the 
future,  or  backwards  to  the  past,  should 
be  the  impersonation  of  these  spirit- 
charioteers  of  time.  Eager,  visionary, 
flashing  forms,  '  drinking  the  wind  of 
their  own  speed,'  they  are  wonderful 
impersonations  of  his  most  characteristic 
poetic  moods.  If  we  look  at  any  of  the 
lyrics  on  which  he  has  set  the  full  stamp 
of  his  genius,  we  find  that  it  images  one 
of  these  two  attitudes  of  intellect, — the 
keen,  exquisite  sense  of  want,  gazing 
wildly  forward  or  wildly  backward,  but 
vainly  striving  to  close  on  something 
which  eludes  its  grasp. 

'  The  desire  of  the  earth  for  the  star, 

Of  the  night  for  the  morrow, 
The  devotion  of  something  afar 
From  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow ; ' — 

that  is  the  true  burden  of  every  song. 
Sometimes  the  gaze  is  fixed  on  the 
future,  and  sometimes  on  the  past : 
sometimes  it  is — 

'  Swiftlv  walk  o'er  the  western  wave, 

Spirit  of  Night ! 
Out  of  the  misty  eastern  cave, 

Where  all  the  long  and  lone  daylight 
Thou  wovest  dreams  of  joy  and  fear, 
Which  make  thee  terrible  and  dear, — 
Swift  be  thy  flight ! ' 

and  sometimes — 

'  When  the  lamp  is  shattered, 

The  light  in  the  dust  lies  dead ; 
When  the  cloud  is  scattered, 

The  rainbow's  glory  is  shed ; 
When  the  lute  is  broken, 

Sweet  tones  are  remembered  not ; 
When  the  lips  have  spoken, 

Loved  accents  are  soon  forgot ; ' 

but  whether  forward  or  backward  gazing, 
the  attitude  of  unsatisfied  desire  is  al- 
ways the  same,  distinguishing  Shelley 
from  the  many  great  contemporaries 
who,  like  Goethe  himself,  for  instance — 
except  in  '  Faust,'  where  he  had  set  him- 
self to  delineate  the  pangs  of  an  insati- 
able heart  and  intellect — sing  out  of  the 
wealth  of  happy  possession  even  more 
melodiously  than  out  of  the  growing 
ardour  of  desire.  And  even  between 
the  animating  spirit  of  '  Faust '  and  the 
poetical  moods  of  Shelley's  poetry  there 
is  one  very  marked  distinction.  Faust's 
passion  is  a  hunger  for  experience, — 
human  experience  in  the  largest  and 
most  universal  sense;  but  the  thirst 
which  breathes  through  Shelley  is  a 
continual  thirst  for  those  rare  moments 
of  tingling  veins  and  flushing  soul,  those 
instants  when  the  whole  frame  of  nature 
and  human  life  seems  a  transparency  for 
sweet  emotion,  which  are  but  one  ele- 


ment in  Faust's  pursuit.  What  the 
passages  in  '  Faust '  were  which  fasci- 
nated Shelley  most  intensely,  he  himself 
may  tell  us.  Speaking  of  some  tine 
German  etchings  of  '  Faust, '  he  says  : 
'  I  never  perfectly  understood  the  Hartz 
Mountain  scene  until  I  saw  the  etching  ; 
and  then  Margaret  in  the  summer-house 
with  Faust.  The  artist  makes  one  envy 
his  happiness  that  he  can, sketch  such 
things  with  calmness,  which  I  only 
dared  look  upon  once,  and  which  made 
my  brain  swim  round  only  to  touch  the 
leaf  on  the  opposite  side  of  which  I 
knew  it  was  figured.'  This  is  of  the 
very  essence  of  Shelley.  He  is  the  poet, 
not  of  human  yearning  in  general,  but  of 
the  yearning  for  that  youthful  ecstasy 
which  bounds  like  fresh  life  through 
every  nerve.  He  cannot  be  satisfied 
without  a  thrill  of  his  whole  soul.  He 
knows  nothing  of  serene  joy.  He  thinks 
the  whole  universe  should  be  ever  thrill- 
ing in  every  fibre  with  mysterious  ten- 
derness." 

Mr  Hutton's  merits  as  a  theo- 
logical writer  are  less  in  our  way 
than  are  the  literary  sketches,  in 
which  we  cannot  help  feeling  he 
himself  is  more  at  home.  His 
religious  views,  as  he  announces  in 
the  preface  to  his  book,  are  founded 
upon  those  of  Mr  Maurice,  which 
will  give  the  reader  a  tolerably  clear 
indication  of  their  tendency  and 
meaning.  All  the  characteristic 
beauty  of  those  views,  their  sym- 
pathy with  and  adaptation  to  the 
confused  religious  sentiment  of  the 
age,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the 
weakness  which  we  cannot  but  con- 
sider equally  characteristic  of  them, 
will  be  found  in  these  pages — in 
which  there  is  at  the  same  time  a 
frank  and  open  avowal,  such  as 
wins  the  deepest  sympathy  of  the 
reader,  that  by  means  of  those  views 
the  writer  has  been  brought  from 
a  less  genial  region  of  religious 
thought,  into  the  light  and  comfort 
of  the  Gospel.  This  confession  is 
at  the  same  time,  there  can  be  no 
doubt,  the  highest  testimony  that 
man  can  give  to  the  efficacy  of  any 
system  of  belief,  and  throws  into 
the  scale  along  with  it  all  the  per- 


450 


New  Books.  [April 


sonal  weight  of  a  sound  judgment 
and  discriminating  intelligence. 
The  only  one  of  these  essays,  how- 
ever, to  which  our  space  will  permit 
us  to  refer,  is  the  one  on  the  Fourth 
Gospel,  which  may  be  welcome  to 
many  a  reader  who  has  unwillingly 
received  into  his  mind  some  shadow 
of  the  many  scepticisms  on  the  sub- 
ject. Those  who  have  no  special 
theological  or  philosophical  tenden- 
cies are,  perhaps,  scarcely  likely  to 
be  acquainted  with  the  elaborate 
criticisms  of  Baur,  on  which  this 
essay  is  a  commentary.  But  Kenan's 
popular  and  light-hearted  scepticism 
lias  penetrated  into  many  regions 
which  the  philosophical  German 
could  not  be  expected  to  reach ;  and 
we  do  not  doubt  that  Mr  Hutton's 
calm  and  able  treatment  of  the 
difficulties  involved  will  give  assur- 
ance and-  comfort  to  that  uneasy 
consciousness  of  possible  doubt 
which  is  so  apt  to  rise  in  the  minds 
of  readers  who  have  not  the  time 
nor  the  means  of  satisfying  them- 
selves personally  upon  matters  of 
religious  belief  thus  lightly  called  in 
question. 

It  is  with  a  certain  reluctance 
that  we  turn  from  Mr  Hutton's 
book  to  the  life  of  Hugh  Miller,*  in 
two  prodigious  volumes,  big  enough 
to  contain  the  history  of  a  country 
for  fifty  years,  much  less  the  life  of 
a  modest  man  of  science  and  letters. 
We  turn  to  it,  we  say,  with  reluc- 
tance, because  the  idea  of  adverse 
criticism  in  such  a  case  is  painful ; 
and  yet  it  is  impossible  to  refrain 
from  remonstrance  in  respect  to  the 
quite  undue  length  and  over -pre- 
tensions of  the  book.  When  will 
writers  learn  that  nothing  improves 
by  dilution — and  that  a  man  whose 
qualities  are  chiefly  personal,  and 
whose  work,  though  well  and  truly 
done,  was  not  of  a  kind  to  move 
the  world,  has  a  shade  of  absurd- 


ity rather  than  reverence  thrown 
upon  him  by  the  false  importance 
of  such  a  prolonged  narrative  ? 
Hugh  Miller  was  a  man  of  genuine 
talent,  even  of  something  which 
approached  genius — or,  at  least,  the 
humble  position  in  which  he  was 
born,  and  the  fact  that  the  first 
thirty  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in 
manual  labour,  makes  the  impulse 
which  developed  his  literary  gift, 
through  all  difficulties  and  hin- 
drances, look  very  much  like  the 
spontaneous  and  irrepressible  im- 
pulse of  genius.  But  his  works, 
though  delightful  reading,  are 
neither  so  original  nor  so  important 
as  to  claim  an  independent  place  in 
literature.  A  keen  and  lively  power 
of  observation,  and  a  wonderfully 
lucid  and  graphic  style,  were  his 
chief  literary  distinctions.  We  do 
not  pretend  to  estimate  the  weight 
of  his  contributions  to  science,  but 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  has 
done  more  to  make  science  (or  at 
least  his  own  special  branch  of  it) 
popular,  than  any  other  man  of 
his  generation.  His  '  Old  Red 
Sandstone,'  though  the  subject  to 
the  ordinary  mind  is  far  from  excit- 
ing, carries  the  reader  along  with 
as  warm  an  interest  as  if  it  were 
a  drama  of  rapid  and  unflagging 
action ;  and  still  more  interesting 
than  his  work  is  the  figure  of  the 
man  himself,  a  true  son  of  the  soil, 
rising  out  of  that  primitive  stock 
which  is  the  strength  of  the  nation, 
and  on  the  whole  very  true  and 
faithful  to  it,  with  no  cravings  after 
gentility,  or  vulgar  desire  to  rise  in 
social  rank.  It  is  our  sense  of  all 
this  natural  interest  which  makes 
us  resent  Mr  Bayne's  pretentious 
exposition  and  glorification  of  all 
the  young  mason's  boyish  intel- 
lectualisms,  and  all  the  influences 
that  attended  his  youth.  Such  a 
life  is  difficult  to  treat,  let  us  allow, 


*  Life  and  Letters  of  Hugh  Miller.     By  Peter  Bayne,  M.  A.    Strahan  &  Co.,  London. 


1871.] 


Hugh  Miller's  Life  and  Letters. 


451 


and  demands  all  the  more  modesty 
and  reticence  in  the  biographer,  be- 
cause his  hero  had,  as  was  natural, 
a  strong  sense  of  his  own  merit  in 
overcoming  so  many  obstacles,  and 
of  the  power  of  those  talents  which 
had  carried  him  triumphantly  from 
his  Cromarty  cottage  into  the  heart 
of  the  scientific  and  literary  world. 
This  personal  consciousness  of  merit 
must  always  remain  one  of  the  great- 
est drawbacks  of  the  self-made  man, 
as  one  of  the  most  solid  advan- 
tages of  education  and  breeding  is  the 
defence  they  give  against  undue  self- 
importance.  However,  the  defects 
of  this  description  in  the  book  be- 
fore us  are  very  much  less  those  of 
Hugh  Miller  than  of  his  biographer ; 
and  the  reader,  by  judicious  skip- 
ping, may  manage  to  glean  from  it  a 
very  true  idea  of  the  man.  When  Mr 
Bayne  spends  five  pages  in  trying, 
with  pleasant  superiority,  to  account 
for  the  fact  that  Hugh  at  five  years 
old  thought  he  saw  a  spectral  ap- 
parition, and  an  equal  number  to 
prove  that  he  really  followed  the 
best  models  in  choosing  to  be  a 
dunce  and  truant  at  school,  we 
may  safely  pass  on  and  acquit  Hugh 
Miller  of  all  participation  in  these 
jaunty  philosophies.  A  great  many 
of  his  letters,  written  in  the  leisure 
and  loquacity  of  youth,  have  been 
preserved,  and  are  included  in  these 
bulky  volumes.  The  letters  are  in 
proportion  as  bulky  as  the  volumes, 
and  we  ask  ourselves  in  wonder  if  any 
one  nowadays  expends  as  many  pages 
in  the  description  of  scenery  1  It  is 
usual  to  say  that  the  penny  post 
has  put  an  end  to  such  correspond- 
ences ;  but  these  were  written  in  the 
days  of  the  penny  post.  There  is  a 
little  of  Hugh  Miller  in  them,  some- 
times curiously  fine  and  important, 
sometimes  very  gentle  and  true ;  but 
a  great  deal  more  of  Cromarty  and 
the  sea  and  sky.  Hugh  Miller  was 
no  unappreciated  man  of  genius,  but 
on  the  contrary,  it  is  apparent,  a  very 


fortunate  person,  through  all  his 
career.  The  little  society  of  his 
native  town,  consisting,  as  Mr  Bayne 
quaintly  informs  us,  after  "  the 
Rev.  Mr  Stewart,  the  central  star 
in  its  social  firmament,"  of  "  a  colo- 
nel, a  captain,  both  inteDigent  be- 
yond the  average  of  their  class,  with 
ladies  to  match,  a  banker,  who  had 
been  an  officer  in  the  navy,  and 
retained  professional  enthusiasm 
enough  to  make  him  study  naval 
history  until  he  became  a  walking 
encyclopaedia  of  information  on  sea- 
battles — these,  with  a  variety  of 
studious  and  accomplished  ladies, 
eminent,  some  for  Calvinistic  meta- 
physics, some  for  geological  pre- 
dilections," received  him  into  its 
bosom  while  he  was  still  a  young 
man  of  seven  or  eight  and  twenty, 
working  as  a  stone-mason  in  the 
sight  of  all  the  community.  This 
"  group  of  notablities  circled  round 
Alexander  Stewart  and  Hugh  Miller, 
the  Duke  and  the  Goethe  of  this 
miniature  Weimar"  says  our  bio- 
grapher; and,  knowing  what  colonels, 
and  captains,  and  accomplished  and 
studious  ladies  in  small  country 
towns  usually  are,  we  cannot  but 
feel  that  the  young  mason  must 
have  fallen  upon  singularly  liberal- 
minded  specimens  of  the  class.  Th  ey 
not  only  received  him  to  their  tea- 
tables,  but  one  of  the  young  ladies 
of  the  little  community,  after  a 
very  mild  and  short-lived  opposi- 
tion, was  permitted  to  receive  him 
as  her  lover.  The  story  is  per- 
haps unique  in  social  annals — at 
least,  at  this  moment  we  can  re- 
member no  parallel  to  it — for,  be  it 
remembered,  Hugh  Miller  was  living 
in  the  midst  of  his  own  people,  and 
no  illusion  was  possible  as  to  his 
antecedents  or  surroundings ;  and  he 
was  doing  his  daily  work  with  ham- 
mer and  chisel  before  the  eyes  of 
the  gentry  who  thus  adopted  him 
into  their  sphere.  All  honour  to 
those  good  people :  they  must  have 


452 


New  Books, 


[April 


had  a  superiority  to  the  prejudices 
of  caste,  and  a  real  appreciation  of 
intellect,  which  is  very  rare  even  in 
the  widest  range  of  society,  much 
less  in  circles  so  limited. 

The  period  before  this,  however, 
the  time  in  which  Hugh  Miller  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  mason- 
lad,  apprentice  and  journeyman,  is 
the  most  curious  and  characteristic 
in  the  book.  The  determined  cer- 
tainty that  he  was  to  be  something 
of  note  in  the  world,  the  studies 
of  literary  style  and  the  best  mode 
of  expressing  himself,  which  occu- 
pied the  young  man  who  was  work- 
ing hard  all  day  at  his  rough  trade 
(which,  by  the  way,  he  always  digni- 
fies by  the  name  of  profession),  and 
had  no  retirement  at  night  but  that 
of  the  bothy,  is  very  remarkable. 
Here  is  a  description  of  the  tempo- 
rary home  of  the  working  mason : — 

"  It  consisted  of  one  large  apartment. 
Along  the  wall,  and  across  one  of  the 
gables,  there  was  a  range  of  beds  rudely 
constructed  of  outside  slab  deals,  and 
filled  with  straw,  which  bristled  from 
beneath  the  blankets,  and  from  between 
the  crevices  of  the  frame,  in  a  manner 
much  less  neat  than  picturesque.  At 
each  bedside  there  were  two  chests,  which 
served  not  only  the  purpose  originally 
intended,  but  also  for  chairs  and  tables. 
Suspended  by  ropes  from  the  rafters  above, 
there  hung,  at  the  height  of  a  man's  head 
from  the  ground,  several  bags  filled  with 
oatmeal,  which  by  this  contrivance  was 
secured  from  the  rats,  with  which  the 
place  was  infested.  Along  the  gable 
furthest  removed  from  the  door  there 
was  a  huge  wood-fire;  above  it,  there 
were  hung  several  small  pots,  enveloped 
in  smoke,  which,  for  lack  of  proper  vent, 
after  filling  the  whole  barrack,  escaped 
by  the  door.  Before  the  fire  there  was 
a  row  of  stones,  each  of  which  supported 
an  oaten  cake.  The  inmates,  who  ex- 
ceeded twenty,  had  disposed  of  them- 
selves in  every  possible  manner.  Some 
were  lounging  in  the  beds,  others  were 
seated  on  the  chests.  Two  of  them  were 
dancing  on  the  floor  to  the  whistling  of 
a  third.  There  was  one  employed  in 
baking,  another  in  making  ready  the 
bread.  The  chaos  of  sounds  which 
reigned  among  them  was  much  more 
complete  than  that  which  appalled  their 


prototypes,  the  builders  of  Babel.  There 
was  the  gabbling  of  Saxon,  the  sputtering 
of  Gaelic,  the  humming  of  church  music, 
the  whistling  of  the  musician,  and  the 
stamping  of  the  dancers.  Three  of  the 
pots  on  the  fire  began  to  boil  together, 
and  there  was  a  cry  for  the  cook.  He 
came  rushing  forward,  pushed  the  man 
engaged  in  baking  from  out  his  way  with 
one  hand,  and  drawing  the  seat  from 
under  the  one  employed  in  making  ready 
the  bread  with  the  other,  he  began  to 
shout  out,  so  as  to  drown  their  united 
voices,  for  meal  and  salt.  Both  were 
brought  him,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he 
had  completed  his  task." 

From  this  unpromising  scene  the 
following  letter,  or  rather  the  follow- 
ing scrap  from  a  letter  six  times  as 
long,  is  written.  It  is  addressed  to 
a  fellow-workman,  a  young  house- 
painter.  It  is  not  a  fine  piece  of 
writing  made  up  in  after-years,  as 
later  age  dictated,  such  as  many  of 
the  scenes  in  '  My  Schools  and 
Schoolmasters '  seem  to  have  been, 
but  the  genuine  utterance  of  the 
moment : — 

GAIRLOCH,  July  1823. 

"  You  may  expect  a  very  long  letter. 
I  was  so  unlucky,  two  days  ago,  as  to 
get  my  left  foot  crushed  in  a  quarry  by 
a  huge  stone,  and  I  am  now  completely 
chained  to  my  seat.  My  comrades  are 
all  out  at  work,  I  have  no  books,  and 
the  hours  pass  away  heavily  enough ; 
but  I  have  just  set  myself  to  try  whether 
I  cannot  beguile  them  by  conversing  with 
you.  You  are  sitting  before  me  on  a 
large  smooth  stone,  the  only  spare  seat 
in  the  barrack  (my  own — for  I  love  to 
sit  soft — I  have  cushioned  with  a  sod), 
and  I  have  to  tell  you  a  long  gossiping 
story — which,  after  all,  is  no  story — of 
my  journey  hither,  and  of  what  I  have 
been  seeing  and  doing  since  I  came. 
.  .  .  The  weather  cleared  up  as  we 
proceeded.  We  had  quitted  the  high- 
way immediately  on  leaving  the  inn,  and 
our  path,  which  seemed  to  have  been 
formed  rather  by  the  feet  of  animals  than 
the  hands  of  men,  went  winding  for 
about  seven  miles  through  a  brown  mossy 
valley,  whose  tedious  length  was  enliv- 
ened by  a  blue  oblong  lake — beautiful  in 
itself,  but  reflecting,  like  the  mirror  of  a 
homely  female,  the  tame  and  unlovely 
features  that  hung  over  it.  At  its  upper 
end  we  found  the  ruins  of  a  solitary  cot- 
tage, the  only  vestige  of  man  in  the  val- 


1871.] 


Hu'jli  Miller's  Life  and  Letters. 


453 


ley.  We  then  began  to  descend  into  a 
deep  narrow  glen  or  ravine,  through 
which  there  runs  a  little  brattling 
streamlet,  the  first  we  saw  falling  to- 
wards the  Atlantic.  The  hills  rise  to  a 
great  height  on  either  hand,  bare,  rocky, 
stripped  into  long  furrows,  mottled  over 
with  debris  and  huge  fragments  of  stone, 
and  nearly  desolate  of  even  heather. 
The  day  had  become  clear  and  pleasant, 
but  the  voice  of  a  bird  was  not  to  be 
heard  in  this  dismal  place,  nor  sheep  nor 
goat  to  be  seen  among  the  cliffs.  I  wish 
my  favourite  John  Bunyan  had  passed  a 
night  in  it  at  a  season  when  the  heather- 
fires  of  the  shepherd  are  flaming  on  the 
heights  above, — were  it  but  to  enable 
him  to  impart  more  tangibility  to  the 
hills  which  border  the  deep  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death.  Through  the  gloomy 
vista  of  the  ravine  a  little  paradise  seemed 
opening  before  us — a  paradise  like  that 
which  Mirza  contemplated  from  the 
heights  of  Bagdad,  of  smooth  water  and 
green  islands.  'There,'  said  my  com- 
rade, '  is  Loch  Marie  :  we  have  to  sail 
over  it  for  about  fourteen  miles,  as  there 
is  no  path  on  which  we  could  bring  the 
cart  with  the  luggage,  but  the  horse  and 
his  master  must  push  onward  on  foot.' 
The  carter  growled  like  an  angry  bear, 
but  said  nothing  we  could  understand. 
Emerging  from  the  ravine  our  road  ran 
through  a  little  moory  plain  bordered 
with  hills  which  seemed  to  have  at  one 
time  formed  the  shores  of  the  lake.  A 
few  patches  of  corn  and  potatoes,  that, 
surrounded  by  the  brown  heath,  reminded 
me  of  openings  in  a  dark  sky,  together 
with  half-a-dozen  miserable-looking  cot- 
tages, a  little  larger  than  ant  -  hills, 
though  not  quite  so  regularly  formed, 
showed  us  that  this  part  of  the  country 

had  its  inhabitants 

"At  the  lower  end  of  the  lake  we  en- 
countered a  large  boat  full  of  people.  A 
piper  stood  in  the  bows,  and  the  wild 
notes  of  his  bagpipe,  softened  by  distance 
and  multiplied  by  the  echoes  •  of  the 
mountains,  formed  a  music  that  suited 
well  with  the  character  of  the  scene. 
'  It  is  a  wedding-party,'  said  my  com- 
rade ;  '  they  are  going  to  that  white 
house  which  you  see  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  I  wish  you  understood  Gaelic  ;  the 
boatmen  are  telling  me  strange  stories  of 
the  loch  that  I  know  would  delight  j'ou. 
Do  you  see  that  little  green  island,  that 
lies  off  about  half  a  mile  to  the  right  ? 
The  boldest  Highlander  would  hesitate 
to  land  there  an  hour  after  sunset.  It  is 
said  to  be  haunted  by  wraiths  and  fairies, 
and  every  variety  of  land  and  water 
spirits.  Directly  in  the  middle  of  it  there 


is  a  little  lake,  in  the  lake  an  island,  and 
on  the  island  a  tree  beneath  which  the 
Queen  of  the  Fairies  holds  her  court. 
What  would  not  you  give  to  see  her?' 
Night  came  on  before  we  got  landed ;  and 
we  lost  sight  of  the  lake  while  yet  sailing 
over  it.  Is  it  not  strange  that  with  all 
its  beauty  it  should  be  so  little  known  ? 
I  never  heard  nor  met  with  so  much  as 
its  name,  until  it  opened  upon  me  with 
all  its  islands,  except  once,  in  a  copy  of 
verses  written  by  a  gentleman  of  the 
parish  of  Cromarty — a  Mr  Williamson. 
The  voyage  terminated  about  an  hour 
after  nightfall,  our  journey  an  hour  after 
midnight. 

"Good-bye.  My  companions  are  just 
coming  into  dinner.  Shall  we  not  have 
another  t£tc-d,-t3te  to-morrow  ?  " 

It  is  curious  to  realise  that  so 
refined  a  description  of  natural 
beauty  came  forth  from  a  bothy ; 
and  that  the  working  lad  had  not 
only  the  taste  to  perceive,  but 
already,  at  twenty,  the  skill  to  write 
with  so  much  vigour  and  elegance. 
The  young  stone-mason,  however, 
does  not  always  show  so  much  good 
taste.  Sometimes  he  glorifies  his 
pride  and  learning  with  an  amusing 
grandeur,  evidently  feeling,  to  the 
bottom  of  his  heart,  his  own  supe- 
riority, and  that  of  the  correspondent 
who  could  appreciate  him.  It  is  quite 
possible,  however,  that  this  innocent 
magnificence  of  self-estimation  might 
be  found  to  bulk  as  largely  in  the 
intellectual  correspondence  of  two 
youths  at  Oxford,  feeling  themselves 
immeasurably  exalted  by  their  higher 
pursuits  above  their  brainless  fellows : 
it  is  a  peculiarity  of  youth  rather 
than  of  condition.  It  is  curious,  at 
the  same  time,  to  read  the  following 
somewhat  prim  condemnation  of  the 
much  more  ordinary  strain  of  life 
which  Miller  saw  in  certain  farm- 
labourers,  sharers  of  his  bothy. 
This,  however,  was  written  some 
years  later,  in  an  autobiographical 
letter  addressed  to  Principal  Baird, 
and  did  not  come,  like  the  preceding 
one,  out  of  the  very  bothy  itself. 

"There  were  two  unmarried  farm-ser- 
vants who  lodged  with  us  in  the  barrack. 


454 


New  Books. 


[April 


They  were  both  young  men,  and  the  life 
they  were  almost  necessitated  to  lead 
was  one  of  the  most  unfriendly  possible 
to  the  formation  of  moral  character.  All 
day  they  were  employed  in  the  monot- 
onous labours  of  the  farm.  Their  even- 
ings, as  they  had  no  home,  were  spent 
either  in  neighbouring  houses,  where 
young  people  similarly  situated  with 
themselves  were  accustomed  to  meet,  or 
in  a  small  village,  about  a  mile  distant, 
where  there  was  an  alehouse.  Their  or- 
dinary pleasures  consisted  in  drinking, 
and  amusements  of  a  low  and  gross  char- 
acter :  their  principal  enjoyment  they 
derived  from  what  they  termed  a  ball,  and 
scarce  a  fortnight  passed  at  this  season 
without  one  being  held  at  the  village. 
The  effects  of  this  heartless  course  of  life 
was  apparent  in  their  dispositions  and 
conduct." 

Poor  ploughmen !  It  seems  a 
little  hard  that  their  hall  once  a- 
fortnight  should  be  characterised  as 
a  heartless  course  of  life.  "  I  could 
not  think  without  regret  that  they 
were  yet  to  become  husbands  and 
fathers  of  families,"  says  our  young 
Puritan ;  which  is  as  curious  an 
instance  as  could  be  found  of  the 
radical  difference  of  opinion  on  such 
points.  There  are  philosophers  in 
plenty  to  whom  that  "  ball  once  a- 
fortnight "  would  seem  one  of  the 
principal  gleams  of  humanity  in  the 
ploughman's  existence :  but  not  so 
thinks  the  prim  youthful  observer, 
who  knows  nothing  of  any  consola- 
tory and  inspiring  element  in  life 
which  is  not  intellectual  or  spiritual. 
No  doubt,  the  «honest  ploughboys 
themselves  had  a  certain  sheepish 
sense  of  inferiority  in  their  own  pre- 
ference for  this  homely  diversion ; 
it  must  have  felt  to  them,  too,  a 
great  deal  less  fine  than  the  mason- 
lad's  devotion  to  his  books. 

We  have  neither  space  nor  in- 
clination to  enter  upon  that  part  of 
Hugh  Miller's  life  which,  we  sup- 
pose, is  considered  to  have  been  the 
crown  and  culmination  of  his  career 
— the  time  of  his  editorship  of  the 
*  Witness'  newspaper,  and  residence 
in  Edinburgh,  where  he  died  pain- 


fully and  bitterly  in  harness,  as  most 
readers  know.  Enough  has  been 
written  about  that  dreary  controversy 
which  ended  in  the  Free  Church 
secession;  and  it  is  almost  sickening 
now,  in  the  light  of  after-events,  to 
turn  back  upon  it.  We  do  not  wish 
to  discredit  the  sacrifice  made  on 
that  occasion,  nor  the  feeling  that 
a  very  high  principle  was  involved 
which  supported  the  seceding  min- 
isters. If  less  worthy  motives  were 
also  involved,  the  price  was  dear 
which  was  paid  for  their  indulgence. 
But  the  fact  is,  that  such  a  proceed- 
ing could  only  be  justified  by  being 
broadly  national.  The  separation  of 
an  entire  Church  from  the  State  for 
the  sake  of  conscience  would  be, 
what  the  Free  Church  still  insists 
upon  considering  its  sacrifice  to  have 
been,  sublime.  But  the  secession 
of  half  a  church,  though  there  may 
be  many  instances  of  individual  hero- 
ism, cannot  be  sublime — and  indeed 
can  scarcely  be  otherwise  than  a 
mistake.  Every  new  "  Disruption," 
tearing  asunder,  is  to  be  viewed  with 
horror.  The  delusion  that  it  was 
indeed  the  whole  Church  which  was 
making  this  memorable  movement, 
was  perhaps  the  strongest  element 
in  the  excitement  and  enthusiasm 
which  it  undoubtedly  caused ;  and 
the  writer  for  one  will  never  forget 
the  sense  of  disenchantment  with 
which,  after  much  admiration  from 
a  distance  of  what  seemed  so  magna- 
nimous a  national  sacrifice,  he  was 
struck  on  actual  sight  of  the  effect 
in  Scotland.  Two  churches  where 
one  had  been,  two  rival  communities 
in  every  parish ;  a  sudden  rent  which 
tore  the  whole  country  asunder, 
and  weakened  and  embittered  both 
sides, — are  results  which  we  cannot 
venture  to  dismiss,  and  which  it  is 
strange  to  suppose  can  be  regarded 
with  any  degree  of  complacency  by 
the  performers  of  a  division  so  sad  for 
Scotland.  To  ourselves  the  subject 
is  one  of  unmixed  pain.  Hugh 


1871.] 


Diikc  of  ArgylTs  'lona' 


455 


Miller's  editorship  made  the  '  Wit- 
ness '  newspaper  memorable  in  many 
respects.  Several  of  his  most  popular 
works  were  first  published  in  its 
pages  ;  which  are  also  distinguished 
by  many  less  praiseworthy  and  valu- 
able examples  of  a  high  temper  and 
power  of  vituperation,  such  as  are 
very  serviceable  to  party  leaders  and 
in  party  quarrels,  but  are  of  no  ad- 
vantage to  the  peaceful  reputation  of 
a  man  of  letters.  Pleasanter  things 
are  still  in  his  life,  even  after  the 
time  of  the  bothies.  To  our  own 
mind  the  delightful  little  interlude  of 
the  young  man's  leisure,  when,  having 
nothing  particular  to  do,  he  turned 
to  and  "  built  a  house  "  for  his  aunt 
Jenny,  is  worth  a  hundred  '  Wit- 
nesses.' How  one  envies  the  strong 
fellow  -that  beneficent  primitive 
power ;  what  a  pleasure  it  must  have 
been  to  him — greater  surely  than  that 
of  writing  mediocre  verse,  or  even 
very  good  descriptions  of  scenery ! 
But  in  this  world  all  the  arrange- 
ments of  fate  are  perverse,  and  we 
suppose  Miller  preferred  the  article- 
writing  to  the  house-building,  which 
latter  power  had  not  to  him  the 
same  delightful  novelty  nor  sense  of 
creation  which  it  has  to  us. 

There  is  something  very  pleasant, 
however,  in  the  sober  and  chastened 
manner  of  his  love-making,  and  in 
the  delicate  and  unexpected  revolu- 
tion made  in  the  young  working 
man's  thoughts  by  the  curious  new 
sensation  of  finding  himself  sudden- 
ly enthralled  and  taken  into  closest 
union  with  a  life  belonging  to  a 
totally  different  sphere.  He  had 
intended  to  content  himself  in  his 
mason-trade  with  the  books  he  had 
collected,  and  the  new  science  which 
had  taken  hold  upon  him,  and  with 
the  modest  pride  of  knowing  himself 
to  be  considered  fit  company  for  the 
best  society  in  his  neighbourhood. 
But  this  sober  idea  of  life  ceased  to 


charm  him  after  his  engagement. 
"  The  pride  of  the  stone-mason  who 
has  been  accepted  as  lover  by  a  lady, 
forbade  him,"  says  his  biographer, 
"  to  place  her  in  any  position  in 
which  the  world  might  fail  to  recog- 
nise her  for  what  she  was ; "  which 
is  a  rather  involved  way  of  saying 
that  Miller,  unambitious  for  himself, 
was  determined  not  to  drag  down 
in  the  social  scale  the  young  gentle- 
woman who  loved  him.  The  story 
of  their  long  and  patient  wooing 
is  more  modestly  told  than  any 
other  part  of  their  history;  a  quaint 
courtship,  with  no  levity  in  it,  nor 
perhaps  much  trace  of  the  foolish 
delights  of  common  youth  :  yet  his 
many  and  constant  letters,  always 
serious  in  their  affectionateness,  give 
a  pleasant  picture  of  his  mind,  and. 
of  the  kind  of  intercourse — an  inter- 
course very  unlike  common  love- 
making — which  united  the  son  of 
the  soil  to  the  more  daintily  nurtured 
and  better-born  woman,  who  was, 
as  became  her,  as  fond  of  him  as  if 
he  had  been  a  prince. 

There  is  a  certain  link  of  con- 
nection, half  scientific,  half  natural, 
which  brings  the  Duke  of  Argyll's 
little  book  about  'lona'*  to  our 
hand  when  we  have  put  down  the 
extremely  big  book  about  Hugh 
Miller.  The  salt  and  briny  air  of 
the  northern  sea — the  glow  of  colour 
which  sunshine  wakes  over  all  those 
lonely  stretches  of  rock,  and  sky, 
and  water — the  grey  mists  and  blind- 
ing fogs  which  are  perhaps  their  most 
abiding  garments,  belong  to  both; 
and  to  both  also  belongs  that  pro- 
found religious  feeling  which  yet 
cannot  resist  a  fling  of  half-  con- 
descension, half-scorn,  at  the  priests 
of  old,  and  which  distinctly  declines 
to  understand  how  medieval  Catho- 
lics, for  instance,  might  be  as  true, 
as  good,  as  pure,  and  probably  not 
less  lively,  than  Evangelican  Pro- 


*  lona.     By  the  Duke  of  Argyll 
VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXVI. 


Strahan  &  Co.,  London. 


2i 


456 


testants.  Columba  is  far  enough 
back  to  conciliate  the  sympathies  of 
the  island-prince  who  has  succeeded 
him  as  proprietor  of  lona ;  but  it 
somewhat  troubles  the  Duke  to  have 
to  confess  that  the  remains  of  eccle- 
siastical buildings  on  the  Holy  Isle 
"are  monuments  not  of  the  fire, 
the  freshness,  and  the  comparative 
simplicity,  of  the  old  Celtic  church, 
but  of  the  dull  and  often  corrupt 
monotony  of  medieval  Eomanism." 
Now  we  are  not  concerned  to  make 
ourselves  champion  of  the  middle 
ages ;  and  if  his  Grace  of  Argyll 
prefers  a  wattled  shed  to  a  Gothic 
cathedral,  far  be  it  from  us  to  con- 
tradict him  ;  but  how  there  could  be 
"  fire  and  freshness  "  in  the  one,  and 
corrupt  "  monotony "  in  the  other, 
we  find  it  rather  hard  to  make  out. 
Perhaps  to  ducal  eyes  there  may  be 
"  fire  and  freshness  "  in  the  steepled 
barn  of  a  Scotch  parish,  but  archi- 
tecture need  not  be  polemical ;  and 
we  humbly  submit  that  the  twelfth 
century  was,  as  a  general  rule,  much 
more  gifted  in  the  art  of  building 
churches  than  we,  our  enlightened 
selves,  have  been  for  three  or  four 
centuries  past.  If  the  Duke  does 
not  think  so,  he  differs  from  most 
competent  judges.  No  doubt  there 
would  be  a  great  deal  of  "fresh- 
ness "  in  Columba's  early  edifice, 
but  we  have  very  serious  doubts 
about  the  "  fire."  This  book,  how- 
ever, is  altogether  polemical :  a 
whimsical  vein  of  irritation  against 
Count  de  Montalembert  and  his 
well-known  description  of  the  He- 
bridean  landscape  runs  all  through 
it,  and  seems  to  be  the  inspiring 
motive  of  the  little  volume ;  but 
the  Duke  of  Argyll,  though  a 
man  of  great  talent  and  literary 
power,  is  taking  an  incautious  step 
when  he  pits  himself  against  one 
of  the  greatest  modern  masters  of 
style — a  writer  whose  gifts  are  so 
transcendent  as  those  of  the  late 
historian  of  the  western  monks. 


New  Books.  [April 

Montalembert's  description  is  evi- 
dently written  under  the  influence 
of  one  of  those  grey  days  of 
wrapping  mist  and  leaden  sky, 
which  are,  at  least,  as  character- 
istic of  the  locality  as  is  the  sun- 
shine, though  that,  we  allow,  makes 
an  enormous  difference,  and  one 
which  perhaps  the  traveller  who 
has  not  beheld  its  awakening  effect 
upon  all  those  dark  headlands  and 
solemn  cliffs  might  with  difficulty 
realise.  But  why  this  simple  expla- 
nation— a  natural  accident,  which  be- 
falls, let  us  say,  at  least  fifty  tourists 
out  of  every  hundred  who  visit  these 
regions  every  summer — should  not 
be  sufficient  to  explain  the  matter, 
and  why  the  Duke  should  betake 
himself  to  spiteful  suggestions  as 
to  "  the  incapacity  of  any  French- 
man to  understand  any  form  of 
natural  beauty  except  those  to  which 
he  has  been  accustomed,"  it  is  hard 
to  tell.  Montalembert,  however, 
we  may  be  allowed  to  say,  was  not 
a  French  Philistine  of  the  epicier 
type,  but  a  man  "  accustomed  "  to 
as  "  many  forms  of  natural  beauty  " 
as  most  enlightened  men  are  in  the 
way  of  knowing.  Even  an  epicier, 
however,  though  the  lord  of  lona 
seems  to  have  forgotten  the  fact, 
might  happen  to  be  acquainted  with 
the  wild  and  mysterious  Breton 
coasts,  where  neither  wine  nor  oil 
abound,  yet  which  have  an  attrac- 
tion for  French  writers  much  greater 
than  the  attraction  generally  exer- 
cised upon  us  by  those  isles  which 
even  a  Scotch  poet  describes  as 
"  placed  far  amid  the  melancholy 
main. "  If  the  climate  of  the  West- 
ern Isles  is  not  "  one  of  continual 
mists  and  rains,  with  frequent 
storms,"  then  it  is  delightfully  un- 
like the  climate  of  the  western 
mainland  ;  and  though  we  will  not 
yield  even  to  the  Duke  of  Argyll 
in  admiration  for  the  wonderful 
transformation  produced  by  the 
brilliant  occasional  day  of  summer, 


1871.] 


Hare's  'Walks  in  Rome.1 


457 


which  is  well  worth  waiting  weeks 
for,  and  which  converts  the  gloom 
into  instant  glory — a  glory  so  bright, 
so  radiant,  so  full  at  once  of  splen- 
dour and  pathos,  that  we  know  no 
other  sunshine  effect  to  equal  it — 
yet  we  cannot  ignore  those  rains 
and  mists,  nor  the  wonderful  solemn 
semitones  of  shadow  which  are  still 
more  natural  to  the  scenery.  It  is 
fair  that  he  should  he  allowed  his  own 
little  enthusiastic  bit  of  description, 
of  which  we  must  premise,  however, 
that  though  equally  true,  it  is  much 
more  rarely  to  be  seen  than  the 
gloomier  picture  drawn  by  Monta- 
lembert — with  which,  unfortunately, 
we  have  not  space  to  compare  it. 

"  I  have  seen  from  Athena,  '  morning 
spread  upon  the  mountains,'  along  the 
opposite  range  of  Parnes,  and  the  low 
sun  streaming  up  the  Gulf  of  Corinth  upon 
the  hills  of  the  Morea.  Those  tints  are 
certainly  beyond  measure  beautiful.  But 
the  sunsets  which  are  to  be  seen  con- 
stantly among  the  Western  Isles  are  not, 
as  compared  with  those  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, 'obscurely  bright.'  It  is  true, 
the  colouring  is  darker ;  but  it  is  also 
deeper,  richer,  more  intense.  Nothing, 
indeed,  can  exceed  its  splendour.  And  so 
of  the  sea  :  its  aspects  around  lona  are 
singularly  various  and  beautiful.  On 
one  side  is  the  open  ocean,  with  nothing 
to  break  its  fetch  of  waves  from  the 
shores  of  the  New  World.  On  the  other 
side  it  is  divided  into  innumerable  creeks 
and  bays  and  inlets,  which  carry  the  eye 
round  capes  and  islands,  and  along  re- 
treating lines  of  shore,  far  in  among  the 
hills.  Its  waters  are  exquisitely  pure — 
of  a  luminous  and  transparent  green, 
shading  off  into  a  rich  purple,  where  the 
white  sandy  bottom  is  occupied  by  beds 
of  alga?.  Into  those  greens  and  purples 
on  the  opposite  side  of  a  narrow  sound, 
dip  granite  rocks  of  the  brightest,  red." 

Thus,  in  a  flash  of  light  and  col- 
our, such  as  one  does  not  always  see 
on  the  shores  of  Italy  or  Greece,  the 
patriot  Duke  hangs  up  his  compan- 
ion picture  to  that  of  the  brilliant 
Frenchman.  May  it  be  Duke's 
weather,  and  not  tourists',  when  we 


visit  lona  !  Except  this  polemical 
and  rival  sketch  of  the  beauties  of 
the  Holy  Island,  his  Grace  does  not 
seem  to  have  much  to  say  011  the 
subject,  or  at  least  not  anything 
requiring  comment  here. 

Such  an  amazing  glow  of  bright- 
ness and  sunshine  naturally  brings 
before  us  the  'Walks  in  Rome,'* 
lately  published,  by  Mr  Augustus 
Hare.  No  title  could  be  more  sug- 
gestive. Where  will  he  take  us  ?  to 
Pincio,  with  all  the  giddy  world,  to 
watch  the  carriages  in  their  dull 
habitual  circle,  and  the  red-ribboned 
Albanese  nurses  with  their  babies — 
and  yonder  in  the  west  the  great 
sun  sinking  behind  St  Peter's,  throw- 
ing up  in  a  golden  blackness  the  big 
dome  and  long  facade ;  or  out 
through  the  Flaminian  Gate  to  the 
Villa  Borghese,  to  gather  violets 
under  the  trees — or  away  through 
the  Appian  Way  to  the  wild  sweet 
edge  of  the  flowery  Campagna — or 
across  the  tawny  Tiber  to  the  vast 
colonnades  of  San  Pietro  or  the  gal- 
leries of  the  Vatican1?  What  im- 
ages throng  before  the  reader's  eyes  ! 
— how  the  streets  crowd  with  wefl- 
remembered  figures ! — how  the  foun- 
tains sparkle  in  the  sun! — how  the 
magical  skies  flash  bright,  then 
darken  over,  as  night  pursues  the 
day  !  Mr  Augustus  Hare  will  lead 
you  to  all  these  places,  dear  reader, 
but  in  no  foolish,  picturesque,  emo- 
tional way.  His  book  is  extremely 
sensible,  and  no  doubt  trustworthy ; 
but  it  pretends  to  be  nothing  more 
than  a  refined  and  gentlemanly  Mur- 
ray— a  guide-book  of  a  higher  class, 
full  of  other  people's  opinions,  from 
Ampere  to  Lady  Eastlake  —  from 
the  dreamy  sketches  of  Hawthorne 
to  the  impertinences  of  Dickens ; 
but  with  nothing  in  it  to  repay  any 
reader  who  is  not  at  the  same  time 
a  visitor  or  intending  visitor  of 
Rome.  His  sense  of  the  confusion 


*  Walks  in  Home.     By  Augustus  J.  C.  Hare.     Strahan  &  Co.,  London. 


458 


New  Boolts. 


[April 


which  attends  a  traveller  who  finds 
in  his  Murray,  Baedeker,  or  Brad- 
shaw,  "  an  appalling  list  of  churches, 
temples,  and  villas,  which  ought  to 
be  seen,"  without  any  arrangement 
which  can  make  the  inspection  easy, 
has  inspired  his  present  undertak- 
ing. 

"It  is  therefore,"  he  says,  "in  the 
hope  of  aiding  some  of  those  bewildered 
ones,  and  of  making  their  walks  in  Home 
more  easy  and  more  interesting,  that  the 
following  chapters  are  written.  They 
aim  at  nothing  original,  and  are  only  a 
gathering  up  of  the  information  of  others, 
and  a  gleaning  from  what  has  already 
been  given  to  the  world,  in  a  far  better 
and  fuller  but  less  portable  form  ;  while 
in  their  plan  they  attempt  to  guide  the 
traveller  in  his  daily  wanderings  through 
the  city  and  its  suburbs. " 

With  this  explanation  we  leave 
the  book  to  those  whom  it  concerns, 
not  doubting  that  they  will  find 
much  benefit  and  use  in  it ;  though 
we  feel  that  it  would  have  been 
more  honest  to  have  intimated  in 
the  title  the  character  of  a  book 
which  is  not  intended  for  the  read- 
ing public,  and  can  convey  to  them 
neither  amusement  nor  instruction. 
*  And  what  shall  we  say  of  '  Friend- 
ship's Garland  "I  *  Is  it  amusement 
— is  it  instruction — which  Mr  Mat- 
thew Arnold  is  minded  to  convey  to 
us  in  this  quaint  publication,  by 
which,  we  have  no  doubt,  many 
honest  brains  will  be  bewildered? 
Perhaps  his  name  is  sufficient  to 
warrant  the  supposition  that  the 
latter  is  what  is  chiefly  intended  ; 
and  we  cannot  but  in  all  humility 
venture  a  doubt  whether  Mr  Mat- 
thew Arnold —  whose  literary  powers 
we  admire,  if  not  as  much  as  he 
does  himself  (for  that  is  a  very  high 
standard),  at  least  as  much  as  a  de- 
fective education  permits — has  been 
adapted  by  nature  to  afford  any 
vivid  amusement  to  his  fellow-crea- 


tures.   When  he  does  so  to  any  high 
degree,  we  fear  it  will  not  be  wit- 
tingly or  willingly,  but  in  his  own 
despite.     The  disquisitions  of  Baron 
Arminius  von  Thunder-Ten-Tronkh, 
whose  lamentable  death  was  mourn- 
fully celebrated  not  very  long  ago 
in   the   '  Pall   Mall   Gazette,'   con- 
tain, we  believe,  a  great  many  true 
as    well   as   many  caustic   sayings. 
But  the  fun  is  very  ponderous,  to 
say  the  least  of  it,  and  has  a  heavy 
German  roll,  which  no  doubt  is  true 
to  the  character,  but  which  has  the 
terrible  defect,  worse  than  any  other 
viciousness,  of  not  being  in  the  very 
least  funny.     Fun  is  not  the  forte 
of  the  editor  of  this  interesting  col- 
lection of  papers ;  the  play  is  ele- 
phantine, the  jokes  creak  on  their 
hinges  like  doors  hard  to  open,  and 
the  central  figure,  which  is  Mr  Mat- 
thew Arnold  himself,  is  distressingly 
prominent  and  deeply  self-conscious. 
He  was  always  so,  to  be  sure,  in  or 
out  of  masquerade,  and  so  are  all  the 
personages  in  this  little  drama.    We 
have  great  doubt,  indeed,  whether  the 
effect  of  the  volume  upon  the  obtuse 
British  intelligence  to  which  it  is 
meant  to  be  so  very  cutting,  will  be 
at  all  commensurate  with  the  trouble 
taken ;  for,  oddly  enough,  Mr  Ar- 
nold does  not  seem  to  take  into  con- 
sideration  the   important,   and   we 
should  say  essential,  matter,  of  reach- 
ing the  special  audience  to  which  he 
preaches.      His   discussions  of  the 
shortcomings  of  the  British  Philis- 
tine, which  are  uttered  in  a  voice 
much   too   finely   pitched   ever    to 
reach  that  culprit's  veritable  ear,  re- 
mind us  somewhat  of  the  awaken- 
ing  sermons  aimed  at  brutal  vice 
which  evangelical  clergymen  often 
thunder  at  a  meek  score  of  innocent 
women,  guilty  of  no  enormity  great- 
er than  a  bit  of  scandal.     Does  Mr 


*  Friendship's  Garland ;  being  the  Conversations,  Letters,  and  Opinions  of  the  late 
Arminius  Baron  von  Thuuder-Ten-Tronkh.  By  Matthew  Arnold.  Smith,  Elder, 
&  Co.,  London. 


1871.] 


Arnolds  'Friendship's  Garland.' 


459 


Arnold  suppose  that  his  shadowy 
Bottles,  for  instance,  who  "  is  one 
of  our  self-made  middle-class  men — 
a  Radical  of  the  purest  water,  quite 
one  of  the  Manchester  school ;  who 
was  one  of  the  earliest  of  Free- 
traders ;  who  has  always  gone  as 
straight  as  an  arrow  about  Reform  ; 
who  is  an  ardent  voluntary  in  every 
possible  line  —  opposed  the  Ten 
Hours'  Bill,  was  one  of  the  leaders 
of  the  Dissenting  opposition  out  of 
Parliament  which  smashed  up  the 
education  clauses  of  Sir  James 
Graham's  Factory  Act ;  who  paid 
the  whole  expenses  of  a  most  im- 
portant church-rate  contest  out  of 
his  own  pocket ;  and,  finally,  who 
looks  forward  to  marrying  his  de- 
ceased wife's  sister;"  —  does  Mr 
Arnold,  we  repeat,  believe  for  a 
moment  that  this  attack  of  his  will 
ever  reach  Bottles?  Our  satirist 
stands  and  mocks  at  the  pit  in  a 
highly  -  refined  small  voice  which 
never  reaches  beyond  the  orchestra- 
stalls  ;  some  of  the  people  there,  it 
is  true,  are  much  entertained  by  the 
abuse  of  their  neighbours  ;  but  still 
it  is  wasted  zeal.  Neither  will 
Lord  Lumpington,  nor  the  sporting 
parson  whom  Mr  Arnold  sets  forth 
as  another  genuine  type  of  the  un- 
instructed  Briton  (though  we  thought 
the  species  was  nearly  extinct),  be 
likely  to  benefit  much  by  the  on- 
slaught made  upon  him. 

But  yet  they  are  all  very  fair 
game;  and  we  wish  Mr  Arnold  a 
great  deal  better  luck  than  he  is 
likely  to  have  in  persuading  the 
British  public  that  it  is  not  in  reality 
the  very  fine  thing  it  supposes  itself 
to  be.  There  is  enough  of  truth  in 
his  description  of  the  strange  changes 
English  sentiment  has  undergone 
on  many  matters,  and  enough  that 
is  alarming  in  the  national  aspect 
both  at  home  and  abroad,  to  make 
us  grieve  greatly  when  any  com- 
petent critic,  who  might  be  of  real 
service  to  his  country,  chooses  to 


put  on  the  mountebank's  cap  and 
bells  instead.  We,  for  one,  do  not 
in  the  least  undervalue  the  import- 
ance of  such  subjects,  nor  the  serious 
use  and  advantage  to  a  country  of 
hearing  the  truth  about  the  opin- 
ions its  neighbours  entertain  of  it. 
The  gift  of  seeing  ourselves  as  others 
see  us  is  of  as  much  importance  to 
a  community  as  to  an  individual ; 
and  all  the  curious  discussions  of 
recent  days — that  about  national 
honour,  for  example,  which  our  pub- 
licists never  venture  to  discuss  with- 
out a  certain  shrinking  alarm  for 
the  consequences  of  a  decided  con- 
clusion— are  very  remarkable  signs 
of  the  times  ;  as  is  also  that  univer- 
sal outburst  of  brag  and  boast  over 
our  charities,  which,  did  any  private 
individual  do  it,  would  sink  that 
individual  to  the  lowest  depths  of 
contempt.  What  is  bad  for  the 
character  of  a  man  cannot  be  very 
noble  in  the  character  of  a  nation ; 
and  we  confess  that  it  is  with  a 
sickening  sense  of  shame  that  we 
have  read  the  over-and-over-again 
repeated  paeans  of  self-applause  into 
which  the  British  press  has  burst 
over  the  recent  liberalities  of  Eng- 
land to  France.  Could  we  indivi- 
dually ever  look  our  neighbour  in 
the  face  again  after  thus  boasting  of 
our  alms  to  him?  if  that  neigh- 
bour were  our  washerwoman  instead 
of  our  equal,  we  know  very  well 
that  we  dare  not  do  it,  except  at  the 
risk  of  universal  scorn.  But  we  do 
it  nationally,  without  a  doubt  or 
hesitation.  This  is  such  a  proof  of 
the  surging  upwards  of  all  that  is 
ignoble  and  petty  in  the  public  as 
opposed  to  the  private  mind,  that 
its  importance  as  a  symptom  is  very 
grave  indeed.  And  accordingly,  of 
all  things  in  the  world  that  the 
British  public  want,  we  believe  there 
is  nothing  half  so  important  as 
sound  and  unexaggerated  public 
criticism.  And  here  is  what  we  get 
for  it.  Mr  Matthew  Arnold  astride 


460 


New  BooJcs. 


[April 


upon  his  British  Philistine,  whip- 
ping and  spurring  over  hedges  and 
ditches — alas !  as  Philistinish,  as  in- 
tent upon  his  own  beautiful  quali- 
ties, as  deliciously  unconscious  of 
his  weakness,  as  is  his  steed. 

To  those,  however,  who  take  a 
cynical  pleasure  in  seeing  a  man 
make  himself  ridiculous,  there  will 
be  good  sport  in  this  little  volume. 
iN^ver  was  there  more  loving  banter, 
more  affectionate  abuse,  more  tender 
snubbing,  than  is  apportioned  to  Mr 
Matthew  Arnold  in  every  page  of 
'  Friendship's  Garland.'  The  editor 
of  that  vohime  cannot  think  enough 
or  say  enough  of  him.  With  a 
hundred  pretty  tricks  of  love,  such 
as  an  English  Sevigne  might  employ 
in  order  to  bring  in  the  beloved  re- 
collection of  her  idol,  this  little  book 
returns,  and  again  returns,  to  the 
one  adored  name.  He  is  pelted 
with  delicious  gibes,  such  as  a  bride- 
groom employs  when  he  jeers  fond- 
ly at  his  bride  ;  in  short,  we  are 
obliged  to  exhaust  the  fondest  and 
dearest  relationships  in  order  to  ex- 
press, and  that  imperfectly,  the 
tender  devotion  of  this  book  to  its 
author,  and  its  sense  of  the  supreme 
insight,  cleverness,  wit,  genius,  and 
universal  superiority  which  are  em- 
bodied in  that  name  of  Matthew 
Arnold,  and  breathe  forth  in  it  the 
very  music  of  the  spheres. 

We  have  met  with  nothing  in 
literature  for  a  long  time  more  fresh, 
more  quaint  and  strange,  than  the 
pretty  book  entitled  '  Tales  of  Old 
Japan.'  *  The  grotesque  and  won- 
derful figures  which  animate  its  very 
boards,  are  but  an  indication  of  the 
wonders  within.  Stories  of  an  old, 
old  world,  unmoved  by  the  changes 
of  Western  thought,  pursuing  the 
same  formulas  and  the  same  feelings 
for  centuries,  with  really  little  more 
than  the  ineradicable  resemblances 


of  human  nature  to  mark  its  in- 
habitants as  of  the  same  flesh 
and  blood  as  ourselves,  these  tales 
have  something  above  novelty  to 
recommend  them.  Their  newness 
is  more  than  novel  —  it  is  unex- 
pected ;  it  reveals  to  us  not  the 
merely  elementary  life  of  an  early 
age,  in  which  we  can  trace  the  germs 
of  our  own,  but  a  life  moved  by  dif- 
ferent sentiments,  different  laws, 
unlike  at  once  in  semblance  and  in 
substance.  The  more  important 
tales  are  chiefly  devoted  to  the  de- 
scription and  eulogy  of  certain  chi- 
valric  virtues,  carried  out,  with  a 
kind  of  visionary  logic,  to  such 
lengths  of  self-devotion  as  no  clans- 
man ever  dreamt  of.  The  Highland 
veteran  who  devoted  all  his  sons, 
one  by  one — "another  for  Hector" 
— to  the  safety  of  his  chief,  becomes 
a  dull,  mediocre,  respectable  servitor, 
in  presence  of  the  forty-seven  Ron- 
ins,  who  calmly  and  cunningly  give 
themselves  up  to  the  work  of  aveng- 
ing their  dead  master,  on  the  high 
religious  principle  that  it  is  impos- 
sible to  dwell  under  the  same  sky 
with  one  who  has  injured  your  par- 
ent or  your  lord.  With  them  there 
is  no  personal  feeling  in  the  matter, 
no  hatred  nor  fiery  revenge,  but 
only  a  sense  of  duty;  duty,  let  us 
add,  which  is  fully  recognised  by  the 
whole  community,  and  which  does 
not  call  forth  a  single  word  of  moral- 
ity from  any  observer  as  to  the  wick- 
edness of  revenge.  They  go  about 
it  in  the  most  calculating  manner, 
the  chief  of  the  conspirators  giving 
himself  up  to  an  abandoned  life,  in 
order  to  lull  the  fears  of  the  mur- 
derer, and  put  him  off  his  guard. 
We  commend  to  the  reader's  atten- 
tion the  vigorous  sketch  designed 
by  a  Japanese  artist,  and  drawn  on 
the  wood  by  a  Japanese  draughts- 
man, which  immortalises  the  insult 


*  Tales  of  Old  Japan.     By  A.  B.  Mitford,  second  Secretary  to  the  British  Lega- 
tion in  Japan.     Macinillan  &  Co.,  London. 


1871.] 


MitfonTs  '  Tales  of  Old  Japan.' 


461 


done  to  this  devoted  vassal,  as  he 
lies  drunk  on  the  roadside,  by  a 
passer-by  who  is  unaware  of  the 
glorious  meaning  of  his  debauchery. 
The  forty-seven  lay  their  plans  with 
a  care  and  elaboration  worthy  of  a 
German  corps  d'armee,  and  success 
rewards  their  efforts.  And  when 
they  have  accomplished  their  re- 
venge, it  never  seems  to  occur  to 
them  to  disperse  and  escape,  or  at- 
tempt to  escape.  On  the  contrary, 
they  give  themselves  up  as  a  matter 
of  course — and  as  a  matter  of  course 
are  lauded,  blessed,  honoured,  and  ex- 
ecuted, by  an  admiring  country ;  ex- 
ecuted that  is,  as  far  as  a  well-born 
Japanese  gentleman,  entitled  to  the 
rite  of  hara-kiri,  can  be  executed — 
he  himself  being  privileged  to  give 
the  death-blow.  The  wonderful 
thing  in  the  story,  however,  is  the 
complete  acquiescence  of  all,  at  once 
in  the  justice  and  splendour  of  the 
vengeance,  and  in  the  absolute  in- 
evitableness  of  the  counter-venge- 
ance— the  award  of  the  law  which 
slays  the  slayer.  No  one  steps  in  to 
avert  the  arm  of  justice,  the  great 
lords  and  princes  never  attempt  to 
interfere,  and  not  even  a  weak- 
minded  priest  or  woman  raises  a 
cry  for  mercy.  It  is  all  rigid  as  the 
Eastern  blaze  of  light  and  heat  upon 
the  landscape,  immovable  as  the 
laws  of  a  race  older  than  Medes  and 
Persians.  They  have  committed  no 
crime — every  Japanese  honours  and 
reverences  them  for  what  they  have 
done — they  are  heroes  while  they 
live,  and  saints  when  they  are  dead — 
yet  it  never  enters  into  any  one's 
mind  to  ask  why  they  should  die, 
or  to  dream  of  the  possibility  of  sav- 
ing them.  This  fact  separates  this 
record  from  those  medieval  ro- 
mances which  might  parallel  the 
retainers'  self-devotion,  but  would 
inevitably  raise  up  some  feudal 
castle  for  them  to  take  refuge  in, 
and  some  great  baron  or  valiant 
prince  to  defend  and  reward  them. 


Had  the  forty-seven  been  men-at- 
arms  in  the  pages  of  Froissart,  or  in 
the  Morte  D' Arthur,  all  Christen- 
dom would  have  been  moved  to  in- 
terfere ;  and  if  the  tyrant  law  had 
succeeded  in  fulfilling  its  fell  sen- 
tence, judgment  and  vengeance 
would  have  followed  from  earth  and 
heaven.  The  Japanese  attains  a 
higher  height  of  chivalrous  self-de- 
votion ;  all  through  their  records  the 
same  thing  is  visible.  Sogord,  the 
brave  peasant  who  takes  it  upon 
him  to  remonstrate  with  his  lord 
against  the  exactions  by  which  a 
hundred  and  thirty-six  villages  are 
being  rendered  desperate,  counts 
the  cost  beforehand,  and  makes  up 
his  mind  that  it  must  cost  him  his 
life,  but  never  hesitates  on  that  ac- 
count. When  he  is  condemned, 
and  all  his  family  with  him,  the 
peasants  for  whom  he  has  sacrificed 
himself  petition  their  lord  that  the 
family  may  be  spared,  but  "  with 
fear  and  trembling  recognise  the 
justice  of  his  sentence,"  and  no  one 
thinks  it  wonderful  that  he  is  ready 
to  die  for  his  people.  Again,  when 
a  necessity  arises  for  getting  quit  of 
a  certain  great  lord,  his  superior 
sends  for  his  physician,  and  asks  if 
he  is  willing  to  serve  his  country  at 
the  cost  of  his  own  life  1  The  phy- 
sician does  not  hesitate  for  a  mo- 
ment. "What  he  has  to  do  is  to 
administer  a  poisonous  draught  to 
his  patient,  the  Japanese  custom  re- 
quiring him  to  drink  the  half  of 
everything  he  administers.  He  does 
it  without  another  word,  and  no- 
body is  surprised ;  it  is  too  evi- 
dent a  duty  to  merit  notice.  It 
would  be  curious  to  know  how  this 
extraordinary  height  of  self-renuncia- 
tion is  attained ;  whether  the  religion 
of  Buddhism,  with  all  its  strange 
resemblances  to  Christianity,  has 
inspired  it,  or  how  a  law.  of  self- 
sacrifice,  so  complete  and  so  desti- 
tute of  self-consciousness,  should  have 
come  into  being.  There  are  a  great 


462 


many  curious  tilings  in  the  took, 
"but  nothing  so  wonderful  as  this. 
The  calm  of  the  spectators  is  im- 
movable, but  it  never  springs  from 
want  of  sympathy  with  the  sufferer. 
It  would  seem,  on  the  contrary,  to 
bear  witness  to  a  general  greatness 
of  feeling  in  this  one  point,  and  a 
sense  of  the  pre-eminent  excellence 
of  self-sacrifice,  such  as  no  people 
we  have  ever  heard  of  attained  to 
before. 

But  yet  they  are  not,  we  suppose, 
a  very  moral  people,  and  certainly 
not  the  least  addicted  to  sentiment. 
Nothing  can  be  more  charming, 
however,  than  some  of  the  stories 
about  animals,  which  appear  to  have 
a  much  higher  place  in  the  Japanese 
imagination  than  in  ours,  even  Rey- 
nard proving  capable  of  self-renun- 
ciation (again  the  pervading  senti- 
ment of  every  elevated  character), 
as  in  the  story  of  the  Grateful 
Foxes.  The  regulations  for  the 
ceremony  of  hara-kiri,  given  in  full 
detail  in  the  appendix  from  a  for- 
mal Japanese  document,  read  like 
the  minute  regulations  of  Garter 
King-at-arms  for  some  imposing 
court  ceremony,  and  have  a  won- 
derful stately  air  in  their  minute 
directions  which  is  strangely  impos- 
ing, and  suggests  some  magnanimous 
community  of  knights  and  warriors 
solemnly  and  harmoniously  carrying 
out  an  exalted  code,  rather  than  the 
half-savage  though  wholly-civilised 
nation  which  has  for  hundreds  of 
years  been  shut  out  from  all  com- 
munication with  its  kind.  Never 
was  a  more  curious  light  thrown  into 
the  very  midst  of  a  new  commun- 
ity. The  illustrations  are  in  most 
cases  full  of  quaint  vigour  and  (in- 
tentional or  unintentional)  humour. 
Some  of  them  are  irresistibly  funny. 
The  only  drawback  of  the  book  is, 
that  while,  outside  and  in,  it  is 
such  a  book  as  children  will  natur- 
ally be  permitted  to  read  with- 
out thought  of  any  danger  or  diffi- 
culty, there  are  explanatory  chapters 


Neic  Books.  [April 

here  and  there  such  as  are  not  to 
edification,  and  surely  might  with- 
out much  disadvantage  be  modified 
or  left  out. 

It  is,  perhaps,  a  very  old-fash- 
ioned notion  on  our  part  to  think 
that  a  certain  amount  of  good  taste 
is  necessary  in  the  choice  of  sub- 
jects for  novels.  The  novels  of  the 
day  have  gone  beyond  such  rules. 
We  have  no  wish  to  be  intolerant  or 
Puritanical.  We  acknowledge  the 
claims  of  murder  either  as  a  fine  art, 
or  as  an  instrument  of  the  fine  arts, 
as  our  authors  please.  We  are 
ready  to  admit  the  necessity  of  one 
killing  at  least  in  every  three  vol- 
umes. But  there  are  limits. And 

we  submit  with  all  deference  to  the 
taste  of  the  public,  that  the  Road 
murder,  most  cold-blooded  of  recent 
crimes,  and  the  once  famous  case  of 
Madeline  Smith,  are  not  fit  sub- 
jects to  be  enshrined  in  fiction.  The 
last  of  these  is  the  model  for  '  Es- 
ther Hill's  Secret,'  a  book  which 
sets  forth  how  a  certain  pale  beau- 
tiful woman  appears  in  an  English 
village,  is  taken  notice  of  at  the 
Hall,  refuses  to  accept  that  notice, 
then  yields,  then  is  fallen  in  love 
with  by  the  squire,  and  finally  flies 
from  him,  leaving  a  confession  behind 
her  of  the  ghastly  reason  she  has 
for  keeping  out  of  the  way  of  Chris- 
tian folks — to  wit,  that  she  has 
been  tried  for  the  murder  of  her 
husband,  and  dismissed  by  a  Scotch 
jury  with  the  awful  verdict  of  Not 
Proven  overshadowing  her  for  ever. 
The  squire  is  so  dauntless  that  he 
follows,  finds,  and  marries  her  all 
the  same.  Now  this,  we  submit,  is 
a  horror  beyond  the  legitimate  range 
of  fiction.  We  recollect  at  the  time 
of  Madeline  Smith's  trial  the  curious 
rumours  that  were  afloat  as  to  the 
love-letters  (love! — the  word  is  re- 
volting in  such  a  connection)  that 
were  poured  upon  her  in  her  prison, 
and  the  proposals  of  marriage  made 
to  her  by  fools — as  if  the  likelihood 
that  she  had  killed  one  man  gave 


1871.] 


Mr  Trollops' s  '  Siren.' 


463 


her  a  charm  in  the  imagination  of 
others.  Anything  more  debasing 
and  abominable  could  scarcely  be 
conceived.  In  real  life,  such  ter- 
rible interruptions  of  the  blessed 
monotony  of  good  behaviour,  which, 
thank  heaven,  is,  after  all,  the  com- 
mon rule,  must  be  stipported  as 
best  we  can,  and  forgotten  as  soon 
as  possible.  But  what  shall  we 
say  for  the  taste  of  the  writer  who 
selects  this  frightful  story,  and  the 
critics  who  applaud,  and  the  readers 
who  like  it?  '  Six  Months  Hence' 
is  worse,  because  it  is  rather  better 
than  'Esther  Hill's  Secret.'  The 
subject  is  not  quite  so  revolting, 
since  the  murderess  of  the  child  is 
not  its  sister,  as  in  the  actual  story; 
but  there  never  was  madness  so  ab- 
surd, or  insane  motive  so  far-fetched, 
as  those  which  are  invented  to  ac- 
count for  the  crime ;  and  the  whole 
tale  is  wildly  unreal  and  unlifelike 
from  beginning  to  end.  We  protest 
in  the  name  of  art  against  this  vul- 
garest  and  most  ignoble  way  of 
finding  the  necessary  machinery  to 
hang  a  story  upon.  If  it  is  so  dif- 
ficult to  make  a  plot,  in  heaven's 
name  let  us  rather  do  without  one  ; 
but  there  are  abundance  of  plots  in 
the  world,  one  or  two  at  least  in 
every  man's  or  woman's  life,  if  our 
young  writers  will  but  take  the 
trouble  to  find  them  out.  The  law 
courts  perhaps  have  been  nearly 
worked  out  for  subjects  of  late, 
notwithstanding  the  wealth  secured 
to  them  by  the  fantastic  vagaries  of 
will-making;  but,  at  all  events,  these 
are  preferable  to  the  criminal  side, 
and  especially  to  the  murder  cases, 
of  which  we  have  enough  in  the 
newspapers.  Let  us  allow  that,  as 
strong  effects  are  required  in  all 
kinds  of  dramatic  writing,  we  must 
have  a  supply  of  murders ;  but,  at 
least,  they  might  be  original.  Studies 
might  be  made,  as  painters  make 
studies,  which  are  not  portraits  of 
their  model — the  incidents  of  two 
or  three  might  at  least  be  mixed 


together,  as  a  great  novelist  of  the 
day  mixes  up  his  dukes.  Thus  we 
would  be  saved  from  the  horrors  of 
absolute  reproduction,  a  practice  for 
which  we  cannot  find  words  strong 
enough  to  express  our  reprobation. 

Mr  Adolphus  Trollope  gives  us  a 
murder,  too,  in  the  '  Siren ' — a  mur- 
der of  a  very  melodramatic  and  un- 
likely kind — which  does  not,  how- 
ever, lessen  the  probability  that  it 
is  a  simple  matter  of  fact.  Our 
own  impression,  indeed,  is,  that 
the  things  which  look  most  unreal 
in  a  novel  are  generally  those  which 
are  copied  exactly  from  actual  life — 
a  truth  which  warrants  the  rejection 
of  "  real  life  "  by  most  good  writers 
as  material  for  fiction.  This  book 
has  some  curious  artistic  defects — 
the  most  notable  of  which  is  its 
extremely  clumsy  construction  :  the 
leading  event  in  the  tale  is  produced 
at  once,  and  the  reader  is  then  tan- 
talised and  provoked  by  being  led 
backward  for  nearly  two  volumes, 
and  made  to  trace  the  story  in  detail 
up  to  the  point  at  which  he  was  per- 
mitted to  begin — a  quite  unnecessary 
waste  of  his  interest  and  the  writer's 
powers.  But  this,  and  various  other 
faults,  are  made  up  for  by  the  perfect 
truth  and  reality  of  the  Italian  life 
which  is  here  placed  before  us.  We 
open  the  book,  and  by  our  English 
fireside,  where  we  sit  starving  or 
roasting,  as  the  case  may  be,  lo  !  we 
are  in  Italy — not  the  Italy  of  con- 
ventional description,  nor  of  his- 
torical splendour,  but  such  as  it 
is  at  the  present  moment.  The 
story  opens  with  a  narrative  of  the 
excitement  which  moved  a  whole 
town  to  its  depths  by  the  great 
question  whether  or  not  a  certain 
wonderful  singer  could  be  induced 
to  honour  the  piace  by  singing  there 
in  the  Carnival — a  terrible  perad- 
venture,  such  as  set  all  hearts  on 
flame.  The  town  itself,  so  strangely 
unlike  anything  known  to  England, 
the  little  civic  world  in  which  every 
rank  is  represented,  with  its  circolo  dei 


464 


nobili,  its  old  aristocracy,  its  artists, 
its  professors,  stands  out  before  us, 
not  under  any  eternal  brightness  of 
sunshine,  but  under  skies  that  rain, 
and  winds  that  blow  strongly  enough, 
though  they  are  Italian  breezes. 
The  hapless,  scheming,  clever,  and 
beautiful  prima  donna,  who  is  not 
without  her  virtues — the  noble  dilet- 
tante Marchese,  whose  serene  un- 
tempted  life  has  never  made  him 
aware  of  the  depths  of  passion  in 
him — the  young  noble,  living  an 
aimless  life  of  idle  occupation — the 
painter-girl  Paolina, — are  all  as  true 
to  their  country  as  it  is  possible  to 
imagine.  The  same  thing  may  be 
said  of  a  very  different  work,  '  The 
Florentines,'  by  the  Comtesse  de 
Montemerli,  an  amiable  book,  in 
which  everybody  is  made  happy,  and 
the  wicked  people  are  turned  into 
good,  or  at  least  partially  good,  with  a 
pleasant  compassion  and  reluctance 
to  leave  any  harm  unrighted  or  any 
truth  unsustained,  which  is  natural 
to  a  gentle  and  inexperienced  writer 
of  fiction.  One  is  so  sorry  to  do 
any  harm  to  the  people  whom  one 
has  brought  into  being :  a  kind  of 
moral  responsibility  is  felt  on  their 
account,  and  to  suffer  them  to  go  on 
in  their  profanity  seems  an  almost 
crime.  In  this  way  'The  Florentines' 
is  perhaps  a  little  tame,  perhaps  a 
little  too  much  disposed  to  set 
wrong  things  right ;  but  it  is  so 
sweetly,  so  truthfully  Italian,  so 
full  of  that  simple,  primitive,  old- 
world  life  which  the  stranger  some- 
times finds  out  all  at  once  with  much 
of  the  same  feeling  as  if  he  had 
found  out  an  undiscovered  country 
— -that  its  weaknesses  are  forgotten. 
The  book  surprises  us  in  the  same 
way  that  the  discovery  surprises  us. 
Is  it  possible  that  behind-backs,  in 
those  great  old  palaces  which  look 
so  princely,  people  can  be  living  lives 
so  pinched  and  chilly,  so  generous 
and  simple,  so  dutiful  to  the  last 
formality  of  devotion?  And  it  is 


New  Books.  [April 

quite  true.  The  Marchesina  Elena 
is  over  thirty;  but  she  is  bewildered, 
almost  overpowered,  by  the  liberty 
accorded  to  her  by  her  mother  of 
corresponding  with  her  long -be- 
trothed lover  without  any  surveil- 
lance of  his  letters  or  her  oAvn.  So 
great  a  concession  is  almost  too 
much  for  her ;  and  yet  Elena  is  the 
stay  of  the  house,  the  counsellor-sister 
upon  whose  help  and  advice  every 
one  relies,  even  gay  Beppo  the  sol- 
dier, who  is  a  young  man  of  advanced 
opinions ;  though,  for  that  matter, 
they  are  all  of  advanced  opinion,  and 
inlhe  van  of  the  new  world,  although 
old  duty  tender  and  filial  holds  pos- 
session of  them  thus  out  of  date.  It 
is  a  very  prepossessing,  very  attrac- 
tive picture,  though  it  is  chilly  in 
those  marble  rooms  where  there  is 
no  fire,  and  the  scaldino  is  one's  only 
comfort.  The  servants  take  their 
part  in  all  the  discussions  as  they 
serve  the  frugal  table ;  and  clever 
Giovacchino  puts  in  his  lines,  in  the 
pretty  national  poetic  play  of  impro- 
vising, as  he  serves  the  young  people 
their  coffee.  "  It  is  your  turn,  Gio- 
vacchino," his  young  mistress  says 
to  him  ;  and  Giovacchino's  lines  are 
sometimes  the  best.  This  is  such  a 
state  of  society  as  one  has  dreamt  of, 
and  which  has  been  over  and  over 
again  stigmatised  as  Utopian ;  and 
yet  it  exists,  and  is  as  real  as  are 
our  English  homes  with  good  com- 
fortable fires  and  plentiful  means, 
where  the  girls  and  the  boys  are 
extremely  independent  about  their 
letters,  and  the  servants  know  their 
own  place,  and  better  themselves 
when  occasion  serves.  The  differ- 
ence is  pleasant  to  think  of,  though 
we  might  find  it  very  difficult  to 
content  ourselves  with  the  ways  of 
the  Borgo  Santi  Apostoli.  We  re- 
commend these  two  novels  to  every- 
body who  knows  or  loves  Italy,  and 
to  all  who  can  relish  an  independent 
sketch  of  national  life. 


1871.]         The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer. 


465 


THE   CONDITION  OF  THE   SCOTCH  AGRICULTURAL  LABOURER. 


THE  Royal  Commission,  the  title 
of  which  we  give  below,*  and  which 
was  appointed  in  1867,  has  very  re- 
cently made  its  final  Report  on  the 
important  subjects  submitted  to  it 
for  investigation.  The  Commission,t 
from  having  been  in  terms  almost 
exclusively  an  educational  inquiry, 
became,  by  the  force  of  circum- 
stances, one  into  the  whole  social 
and  economical  state  of  the  agri- 
cultural class  ;  and  the  Commission- 
ers found  themselves,  in  order  effec- 
tually to  carry  out  the  wishes  of  the 
Government,  to  investigate  deeply 
the  condition  of  the  agricultural  la- 
bourer in  every  county  of  England, 
Wales,  and  Scotland,  more  especially 
in  reference  to  his  capability  to  de- 
fray out  of  his  wages  the  cost  of  the 
education  of  his  children.  The 
amount  of  his  annual  earnings, 
their  mode  of  payment,  his  mode 
of  living,  the  state  of  cottage  ac- 
commodation, the  encouragements 
or  impediments  to  marriage  which 
certain  conditions  of  agricultural  life 
imply,  and  the  disposition  to  save 
or  to  spend  money,  have  all  been 
the  subjects  of  careful  investiga- 
tion. Confining  ourselves  to  the  last 
Report  of  the  Commissioners,  which 
relates  exclusively  to  Scotland,  we 
propose  to  present  a  short  summary 
of  its  facts  and  conclusions. 

We  can  scarcely  fail  to  profit  by 
the  results  which  five  intelligent 
gentlemen,  selected  for  their  com- 


petence to  prosecute  such  an  in- 
quiry, have  arrived  at,  after  a  pa- 
tient investigation  of  the  facts  of 
our  agricultural  life ;  and  it  is, 
we  think,  an  advantage  that  the 
Commission  shoidd  have  consisted 
of  English  gentlemen  who  would 
naturally  view  any  peculiarities  in 
Scotch  customs  without  prejudice 
or  partiality. 

The  course  of  proceeding  of  the 
Assistant-Commissioners  was  to  se- 
lect, under  the  best  local  advice, 
certain  districts  in  each  county  as 
typical  of  the  whole,  to  make  their 
inquiries  as  minute  as  possible  in 
those  districts,  and  to  invite  opinions 
and  information,  by  circulars  of  in- 
quiry with  which  they  were  fur- 
nished, and  by  other  means,  from 
the  portions  of  each  county  ex- 
terior to  those  districts.  Questions 
relating  to  the  ages  of  children, 
hours  of  labour,  meal-times,  employ- 
ment of  females,  &c. ,  were  submitted 
for  consideration ;  but  attention 
was  specially  directed  to  the  edu- 
cation of  the  young  employed  in 
field-labour,  and  to  the  effect  of  that 
labour  in  limiting  its  amount  or 
abridging  its  duration. 

The  contrasts  afforded  by  the 
Scotch  parochial  system  of  educa- 
tion, which  has  been  established  by 
law  for  so  many  generations,  and 
its  results,  as  compared  with  what 
had  come  under  the  notice  of  the 
Assistant  -  Commissioners  in  Eng- 


*  Fourth  Report  of  the  Royal  Commission  on  the  Employment  of  Children,  Young 
Persons,  and  Women  in  Agriculture  (Scotland),  1871. 

+  The  Commission  was  thus  constituted :  Hugh  Seymour  Tremenheere,  Esq.  ; 
Edward  Carleton  Tufnell,  Esq., — Commissioners.  The  Assistant-Commissioners  in 
the  Scotcli  inquiry  were  as  follows:  F.  H.  Norman,  Esq.,  for  the  counties  of  Forfar, 
Kincardine,  Aberdeen,  Banff,  Moray,  and  Nairn;  G.  Culley,  Esq.,  for  the  counties 
of  Perth,  Stirling,  Clackmannan,  Kinross,  Fife,  Linlithgow,  Edinburgh,  Hadding- 
ton,  Peebles,  Berwick,  Selkirk,  and  Roxburgh  ;  J.  H.  Tremenheere,  Esq.,  for  the 
counties  of  Dumfries,  Kirkcudbright,  Wigtown,  and  Ayr;  R.  F.  Boyle,  Esq.,  for  the 
counties  of  Lanark,  Renfrew,  and  Argyll ;  and  C.  W.  Campion,  Esq.,  for  the  coun- 
ties of  Inverness,  Ross,  Sutherland,  and  Caithness. 


466 


The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer.          [April 


land  and  Wales,  were   also   made 
objects  of  attention. 

On  the  important  subject  of  com- 
pulsory education,  while  cordially 
acknowledging  that  there  exists 
among  the  labouring  classes  in  the 
rural  districts  of  Scotland  a  remark- 
ably high  tone  of  feeling  on  the 
subject  of  education,  and  a  very 
real  appreciation  among  the  parents 
of  the  benefits  of  education,  the 
Assistant -Commissioners  state  that 
there  exists  a  large  minority  even 
among  the  native  Scotch  children 
in  the  rural  districts  who  are  grow- 
ing up  with  very  imperfect  educa- 
tion, and  a  large  proportion  of  the 
children  of  the  fast-increasing  Irish 
population  who  receive  no  education 
at  all. 

Mr  Sellar  and  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Maxwell,  the  able  Assistant-Com- 
missioners in  the  Scotch  inquiry  into 
the  state  of  elementary  education 
in  the  rural  districts,  were,  in  the 
course  of  their  inquiries,  led  to  con- 
sider whether,  in  the  admitted  im- 
perfect state  of  elementary  education 
in  Scotland,  it  would  be  desirable 
and  practicable  to  apply  the  prin- 
ciple of  compulsion.  They  were  of 
opinion  that,  in  the  then  uncertain 
state  of  education,  it  would  be  haz- 
ardous to  express  any  decided  views 
on  the  subject,  and  they  added  that 
difficulties  lay  in  the  public  feeling 
against  all  restrictive  measures ;  and 
the  conclusion  they  came  to  was, 
that  if  compulsory  education  is  ul- 
timately to  be  established,  the  pro- 
cess must  be  gradual,  and  public 
opinion  must  be  first  prepared  to 
acknowledge  the  necessity  of  it. 

That  there  were  grounds  for  the 
difficulty  that  weighed  upon  the 
minds  of  Mr  Sellar  and  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Maxwell  is  proved  by  the 
evidence  collected  by  the  Assistant- 
Commissioners  in  this  inquiry.  "For 
in  some  parishes  and  districts,  where 
the  education  of  the  children  of  the 
rural  labouring  class  has  been  well 


attended  to,  a  feeling  undoubtedly 
prevails  against  legislative  interfer- 
ence ;  nevertheless,  the  greatly  pre- 
ponderating weight  of  testimony 
shows  that  public  opinion  has  consid- 
erably matured  upon  the  subject,  and 
that  it  is  now  prepared  for  some  meas- 
ure of  compulsion,  in  harmony  with 
the  habits  of  the  rural  population  and 
with  the  exigencies  of  agriculture. 

On  no  subject  is  the  difference 
between  the  Scotch  and  English 
more  clearly  marked  than  on  the 
subject  of  education.  In  the  rural 
districts  of  England  the  farmers  are 
too  often  opposed  to  education  ;  the 
labourers,  and  sometimes  the  land- 
owners themselves,  are  indifferent 
about  it ;  and  it  happens  not  unfre- 
quently  that  the  clergyman  is  the 
only  person  in  the  parish  who  takes 
any  interest  in  the  matter.  In 
Scotland  the  feelings  of  the  people 
are  totally  different.  All  classes, 
farmers  and  servants,  ministers  and 
laymen,  are  unanimous  in  their 
opinion  of  the  importance  of  edu- 
cation, and  are  willing  to  co-operate 
for  the  purpose  of  securing  it.  The 
parochial  schools  are  abundant,  al- 
though the  changes  in  the  popu- 
lation may  require  some  redistri- 
bution— the  masters  are  generally 
efficient,  and  the  subjects  of  in- 
struction are  adapted  to  the  wants 
of  all  classes ;  nevertheless,  although 
the  school-life  is  longer,  the  attend- 
ance is  proved  to  be  more  irregular 
in  Scotland  than  in  England. 

It  is  satisfactory  to  find  that  the 
practice  of  employing  children  in 
agricultural  labour  before  the  age  of 
twelve  does  not  exist  in  Scotland. 
The  only  exceptions  are  the  occasion- 
al employment,  and  for  short  periods, 
of  children  from  eight  to  twelve 
years  of  age,  in  herding,  carrot-weed- 
ing, and  turnip-thinning.  Theschool- 
returns  generally  confirm  the  impres- 
sion that  farm-labour  is  a  very  slight 
hindrance  to  education  in  Scotland 
up  to  thirteen  years  of  age.  The  pro- 


1871.]         The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer. 

portion  of  boys  employed  in  farm- 
labour  in  England  is  one  to  about 
seven  adult  males  ;  in  Scotland  it  is 
one  to  about  twenty-two  adult  males. 
This  proportion  is  in  winter  further 
reduced  till  we  find  only  one  boy 
employed  to  every  fifty-four  adult 
males.  It  follows  that  farm-labour 
need  not  prevent  a  large  propor- 
tion of  the  children  from  attend- 
ing school  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  year,  and  that  there  are  com- 
paratively few  who  cannot  attend 
during  the  winter  months.  The 
problem  of  education  for  the  rural 
population  in  Scotland  is  therefore 
reduced  to  one  of  comparatively 
narrow  limits,  and  it  is  rather  to  the 
neglect  and  indifference  of  parents 
than  to  the  prevalence  of  juvenile 
labour  that  the  pressure  of  legisla- 
tion requires  to  be  applied.  The 
Commissioners,  while  declining  to 
suggest  any  definite  plan  for  bring- 
ing all  the  children  in  the  rural  dis- 
tricts to  the  parochial  or  other  schools, 
and  for  enforcing  regularity  of  at- 
tendance, offer  as  the  conclusion  of 
their  Assistant -Commissioners,  the 
following  suggestions : — 

1st,  A  compulsory  school  attend- 
ance of  eight  months  in  the  year  for 
children  between  eight  and  ten  years 
of  age,  and  of  four  months  for  those 
between  ten  and  thirteen. 

2d,  To  release  any  child  twelve 
years  of  age  from  any  further  obli- 
gation of  school  attendance  who 
could  pass  the  fifth  standard  of  the 
Eevised  Code,  and  to  let  any  child 
of  nine  who  could  pass  in  the  fourth 
standard  rank  as  a  child  ten  years 
old. 

These  propositions  probably  re- 
quire some  modifications  to  be  ap- 
plicable to  the  Highlands,  where 
the  severe  winters  would  render 
it  very  difficult  to  obtain  the  attend- 
ances required.  It  is  almost  need- 
less to  add  that  the  provisions  of  the 
Factory  Act,  as  regards  half-time, 
alternate  days  of  labour  and  work, 


467 


and  other  regulations  suitable  to 
indoor  employment,  and  with  large 
numbers  of  children  always  at  hand 
for  relays,  have  been  found  wholly 
inapplicable  to  agricultural  industry. 
In  recording  their  final  judgment  on 
the  subject,  the  Commissioners  thus 
express  themselves : — 

"  We  have  thus  brought  into  one  view 
the  opinions  recorded  in  the  Reports  of 
the  Commissioners  on  Education  in  Scot- 
land (1866)  on  the  subject  of  irregularity 
of  school  attendance,  and  the  neglect  of 
elementary  education,  so  far  as  it  prevails 
among  the  rural  classes  in  Scotland,  to- 
gether with  the  facts  and  opinions  of  our 
Assistant-Commissioners  on  those  subjects, 
and  their  opinions  regarding  the  necessity 
and  advisableness,  or  otherwise,  of  apply- 
ing the  principle  of  compulsion  in  Scot- 
land ;  and  we  have  given  an  abstract  of 
so  much  of  the  recent  Act  for  providing 
for  elementary  education  in  England  as 
refers  to  the  subject  of  compulsory  attend- 
ance at  school.  We  have  therefore  fully 
presented  the  materials  for  forming  a 
judgment  on  those  questions.  These  ma- 
terials will  be  earnestly  examined  through- 
out the  whole  of  Scotland  by  a  vast  body 
of  persons  of  the  highest  intelligence,  to 
whom  the  whole  question  of  elementary 
education  has  been  long  familiar,  and 
who  approach  the  consideration  of  what 
further  measures  may  be  required,  with  a 
just  sense  of  patriotic  pride  in  the  benefits 
which  their  parochial  system  of  education 
has  for  so  many  generations  conferred 
upon  their  country,  and  with  an  enlight- 
ened determination  to  give  it  every  exten- 
sion that  it  may  be  capable  of,  until  sound 
elementary  education  has  pervaded  their 
whole  people.  To  the  facts  and  opinions, 
therefore,  of  our  Assistant-Commissioners, 
gathered  and  formed  upon  the  spot,  in 
the  course  of  a  very  extensive  and  careful 
inquiry,  we  do  not  think  it  necessary  or 
desirable  that  we  should  add  any  detail- 
ed conclusions  of  our  own.  The  details 
which  we  have  submitted  for  considera- 
tion will  be  best  judged  of  in  the  respec- 
tive districts  to  which  they  refer." 

It  appears  that  if  children  are 
taken  from  school  for  labour  in  the 
fields  in  the  summer  months,  be- 
fore they  have  been  able  to  pass 
the  third  standard,  the  winter  at- 
tendance, however  regular,  is  in- 
sufficient to  make  up  the  loss  which 
the  child  has  sustained  by  prolonged 


463 


The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer.         [April 


absence  from  school  during  the  sum- 
mer ;  and  that  such  children  gene- 
rally leave  the  parochial  school  very 
imperfectly  educated  —  the  greater 
number  being  unable  either  to  read 
intelligently  or  to  write  correctly. 
In  the  Lowlands,  few  children  stay 
at  school  later  than  twelve  or  thir- 
teen years  of  age ;  in  the  Highlands, 
very  few  attend  school  after  ten 
years  of  age,  those  who  do  so  com- 
ing almost  all  of  them  only  for  the 
winter  months. 

Intimately  connected  with  the 
educational  question,  which  is  now 
about  to  receive  a  legislative  solu- 
tion, is  the  general  condition  of  the 
agricultural  labourer,  which  has  na- 
turally formed  a  prominent  subject 
of  inquiry ;  and  probably  in  no 
former  Parliamentary  paper  has  so 
large  an  amount  of  information  been 
collected  bearing  upon  the  material 
condition  of  the  humble  tillers  of 
the  soil.  Into  the  details  of  the 
subject  as  respects  England  and 
Wales  it  is  not  in  our  power  to 
enter,  and  we  must  confine  our- 
selves to  the  facts  bearing  upon  the 
condition  of  the  Scotch  labourer  as 
disclosed  in  the  Reports  of  the  As- 
sistant-C  ommissioners. 

Wages. — It  is  established  by  the 
fullest  evidence  that  a  large  increase, 
amounting  in  some  districts  to  as 
much  as  100  per  cent,  has  taken 
place  in  the  wages  of  the  agricul- 
tural labourer  within  the  last  thirty 
years.  Mr  Culley,  the  Assistant- 
Commissioner  for  the  South-Eastern 
District  of  Scotland,  states  that  wages 
have  been  steadily  rising  for  the 
last  twenty-five  years,  and  that  in 
that  time  they  have  increased  nearly 
one-third.  In  Dumfriesshire  the 
rise  has  been  still  greater.  In  Ayr- 
shire, owing  chiefly  to  the  competi- 
tion of  iron-mines,  collieries,  and 
smelting  -  works  with  agriculture, 
wages  are  probably  higher  than  in 
any  other  Scotch  county,  with  the 
exception  of  Renfrewshire — the  gen- 


eral rate  being  from  12s.  to  15s. 
a-Aveek,  in  some  places  rising  to  18s. 

In  any  statement  of  an  agricul- 
tural labourer's  earnings  it  is  neces- 
sary to  bear  in  mind  the  difference 
in  Scotland  between  farm-servants 
and  day  -  labourers  —  the  former 
being  paid  by  the  year  or  half- 
year,  and  receiving  their  board  and 
lodging  as  part  of  their  wages ;  the 
latter  by  the  day  or  week,  and 
wholly  in  money.  As  the  result  of 
elaborate  calculation  and  compari- 
sons, the  Assistant  -  Commissioner 
for  the  South-Eastern  Counties 
comes  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
married  ploughman  throughout  his 
extensive  district  (hired  by  year  or 
half-year)  receives  a  wage  in  money 
and  in  kind  equal  to  about  15s. 
a- week  ;  and  the  unmarried  plough- 
man (similarly  hired  and  paid)  a 
wage  equal  to  14s.  a- week.  Ordi- 
nary labourers,  hired  by  the  day  or 
week,  receive  Is.  less. 

The  result,  in  the  case  of  the 
Scotch  labourer,  in  regard  to  his 
means  for  educating  his  children, 
and  for  commencing  married  life  in 
comfort  by  the  aid  of  previous  sav- 
ings, and  continuing  it  in  a  condi- 
tion of  ease  and  family  union  by 
means  of  the  family  purse,  is  thus 
described : — 

"  You  have,  then,  about  15s.  a- week  as 
the  available  means  of  a  Scotch  hind  to 
educate  his  childen  up  to  the  time  when 
the  elder  children  begin  to  work.  He 
may  or  may  not  have  some  assistance 
from  the  earnings  of  his  wife  ;  but  in  this 
respect  his  position  differs  very  little 
from  the  English  ploughman. 

"  There  is,  however,  one  very  important 
difference.  The  English  couple  usually 
begin  with  no  provision  to  set  up  a  house, 
and  therefore  begin  the  battle  of  life  in 
debt.  A  Scotch  couple  (save  where  the 
marriage  is  hastened  by  a  '  misfortune ' 
on  the  part  of  the  woman)  seldom  marry 
without  a  providing  of  something  like 
£40  equally  divided  between  the  man 
and  woman. 

"  As  soon  as  the  elder  children  have 
received  what  the  hind  considers  a  suffi- 
cient education,  the  position  of  the  family 
is  one  of  comparative  ease.  Under  the 


1871.]         The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer. 


469 


family  system  of  the  Lothians  and  Border 
district,  with  its  accompanying  family 
purse,  incomes  of  from  £75  to  £100  a- 
year  coming  into  a  hind's  cottage  are  by 
no  means  uncommon." — (S.  61.) 

Mr  Norman,  the  Assistant-Com- 
missioner, whose  district  included 
the  counties  of  Forfar,  Kincardine, 
Aberdeen,  Banff,  Moray,  and  Nairn, 
remarks  that  in  his  district  un- 
married servants  can  easily  save 
£10  every  year,  without  denying 
themselves  any  reasonable  gratifica- 
tion. Of  the  savings  by  agricul- 
tural labourers  many  striking  ex- 
amples are  brought  together.  We 
insert  below,  a  table  showing  the 
difference  of  agricultural  wages  in 
Dumfriesshire  in  the  years  1840 
and  1870;  and  another,  the  gene- 
ral rate  of  wages  in  the  south-east 
of  Scotland.  And  we  apprehend 
that,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Highlands,  the  rise  and  present  rate 
of  wages  in  the  other  counties  would 
be  found  to  approximate  very  nearly 
to  these  returns.* 

Is  the  agricultural  labourer  in 
Scotland  really  in  a  better  social 
position  for  this  great  addition, 


within  a  comparatively  short  period, 
to  his  means  of  subsistence  1  Con- 
sidering impartially  the  evidence 
which  these  reports  supply,  the 
answer  cannot,  we  fear,  be  alto- 
gether satisfactory,  as  is  shown  by 
the  following  extract  from  the  Re- 
port on  the  South-Eastern  Counties : 

"  The  farmers  constantly  com- 
plained of  the  unsettled  condition 
of  their  servants,  who,  they  say,  are 
always  desirous  of  'flitting,'  and 
they  seem  to  evince  no  attachment 
either  to  master  or  place.  In  this 
respect  they  differ  greatly  from  Eng- 
lish labourers."  "  It  was  consid- 
ered," says  an  old  woman  of  the 
county  of  Haddington,  "an  awfu' 
thing  for  a  family  to  flit  in  my  day, 
and  now  they're  always  flitting." 

In  the  matter  of  saving,  although, 
as  we  have  before  observed,  some 
agricultural  labourers  do  save,  the 
practice  is  exceptional.  "  I  can  only 
guess,"  says  the  experienced  agent 
for  the  Aberdeen  Town  and  County 
Bank  at  Alford,  "  what  proportion 
of  farm-servants  save,  but  I  don't 
think  that  more  than  one  in  fifty 
does  ;  many  are  very  extravagant, 


*  Ploughman's  half-yearly  wage,  with  food, 
Man's  wage  during  harvest,  with  food, 
Labourer's  wage  per  day-work,  without  food, 
Woman's  half-yearly  wage,  with  f9od, 
Woman's  wage  during  harvest,  with  fpod, 
Woman's  wage  per  day,  without  food, 

1840. 
£5,  10s.  to  £6. 
£2,  2s. 
Is.  9d. 
£2,  10s. 
£1,  10s. 
9d. 

1870. 
£10  to  £11. 
£4,  4s. 
2s.  6d.  to  3s. 
£6. 
£2,  5s. 
Is.  3d. 

Mr  M'Claren,  factor  to  Lord  Kinnaird,  gives  the  following  table  of  the  earnings  of 
different  classes  of  farm-labourers  : — 


Ist-Class 
Foreman. 

2d-Class 
Foreman. 

Ist-Class 
Married 
Ploughman. 

2d-Class 
Married 
Ploughman. 

Ist-Class 
Unmarried 
Ploughman. 

2d-Class 
Unmarried 
Ploughman. 

£     s.    d. 

£      s.    d. 

£     s.    d. 

£     s.    d. 

£     s.    d. 

£     a.    d. 

Money,  . 

30     0     0 

25     0     0 

23     0     0 

19    0     0 

24    0     0 

19    0     0 

Meal,    . 

6  10    0 

6  10    0 

6  10     0 

6  10     0 

6  10    0 

6  10     0 

Milk,     . 

540 

540 

640 

540 

540 

540 

House  and  garden, 

300 

300 

2  10    0 

2  10    0 





Bothy  lodging. 







,__ 

2  12    0 

2  12    0 

Potatoes, 

100 

100 

100 

100 





Firing  and  lights, 





___ 



100 

100 

Haulage  of  fuel,   . 

0  10    0 

0  10    0 

0  10    0 

0  10    0 



— 

Food  in  harvest,  <kc. 

100 

100 

100 

100 

100 

100 

Pig  manure,  . 

0  10    0 

0  10    0 

0  10    0 

0  10    0 





Totals,     . 

47  14    0 

42  14    0 

40    4    0 

33    4    0 

40    6    0 

35    6    0 

470 


TJie  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer.         [April 


and  anticipate  their  wages.  I  don't 
think  that  any  of  them  save  any- 
thing unless  they  begin  young.  I 
don't  recollect  any  of  them  saving 
who  began  to  save  later  than  eight- 
een or  twenty.  They  never  begin 
to  save  after  marriage." 

Whatever  may  be  the  actual  pro- 
portion of  the  persons  of  this  class 
who  save,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  desire  to  save  has  been 
diminishing  since  1844,  when  the 
new  poor-law  was  introduced.  Up 
to  that  year  it  was  a  matter  of  pride 
for  a  man  to  support  himself  and 
his  family  in  sickness  and  old  age. 
It  was  considered  disgraceful  to  de- 
pend upon  alms  for  support.  This 
feeling  of  independence  has,  accord- 
ing to  general  testimony,  been  most 
seriously  impaired,  and  men  no 
longer  hesitate  to  have  recourse  to 
those  funds  upon  which  the  law 
gives  them  a  claim  for  support. 

From  Dumfriesshire  we  have  the 
following  report  of  the  social  state 
of  the  agricultural  labouring  class  : 

"Notwithstanding  these  proofs  of  gen- 
eral education,  I  am  compelled  to  state 
that  I  heard  numerous  complaints  that  a 
sensible  deterioration  of  character  has 
taken  place  among  the  agricultural  la- 
Louring  population,  and  that  it  has  been 
in  progress  for  the  last  twenty-five  years. 
This  falling-off  is  attributed  to  the  fact  of 
farm-servants  frequently  changing  their 
places,  and  the  substitution  of  a  mere 
commercial  relationship  between  employer 
and  employed  for  the  kindly  and  paternal 
intercourse  which  formerly  existed  be- 
tween a  farmer  and  his  labourers  ;  the 
consequence  being,  as  I  was  told  by  an 
eminent  member  of  the  Dumfries  Presby- 
tery, that  there  is  now  scarcely  an  ex- 
ample to  be  found  of  what  was  not  un- 
frequent  in  former  days — viz.,  a  farmer 
gathering  his  ploughmen  together  on  the 
Sabbath  evening  for  exercises  of  religious 
devotion. 

"  To  these  causes  I  must  add  the  dis- 
continuance of  the  old  practice  in  farm- 
houses of  fanners  and  their  labourers 
taking  their  meals  in  common.  In  the 
smaller  class  of  holdings  the  custom  still 
prevails  ;  but  in  the  larger,  no  doubt  with 
some  exceptions,  an  employer  sees  little 
of  his  work-people  except  when  engaged 


in  their  occupations,  and  is  indifferent  to 
the  mode  in  which  they  pass  their  time 
after  they  have  been  released  from  the 
labours  of  the  day. " 

Nor  is  the  report  on  Ayrshire 
more  favourable. 

"Nor,  I  regret  to  state,  is  the  moral 
condition  of  the  Ayrshire  farm-servants 
and  cottars  what  it  once  was.  It  was 
impressed  upon  me,  not  only  by  fanners 
but  by  persons  who  could  not  be  suspected 
of  having  any  interests  opposed  to  those 
of  the  labouring  classes,  that  a  sensible 
deterioration  has  taken  place  within  the 
last  fifty  years  in  the  character  of  the 
peasantry. 

"The  influence  which  the  large  num- 
ber of  Irish  immigrants  who  have  settled 
in  Ayrshire,  Wigtownshire,  and  Kirkcud- 
brightshire has  had  \ipon  the  native 
Scotch  population  is  not  favourable.  In- 
stead of  the  Irish  having  been  elevated  in 
the  social  scale  by  communication  with 
the  Scotch,  the  Scotch  have  lost  some- 
thing of  their  moral  and  intellectual 
characteristics  by  intermixture  with  the 
Irish.  This  is  especially  observable  in 
the  matter  of  education  ;  for  wherever  a 
large  Irish  population  has  settled,  that 
indifference  to  the  education  of  their  chil- 
dren for  which  the  Irish  are  everywhere 
noticeable,  has  in  too  many  instances  ex- 
tended to  the  Scotch. 

"The  mode  of  living,  too,  has  changed 
even  within  the  last  twenty  years.  For- 
merly the  cottar  was  content  with  oatmeal- 
porridge  and  potatoes  and  milk  as  his  daily 
food.  Now  tea  and  wheaten  bread  form 
the  principal  part  of  his  diet,  and  add 
considerably  to  his  annual  expenditure  ; 
and  although  wages  have  risen  within  the 
last  thirty  years  100  per  cent,  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  the  labourer  is  practi- 
cally in  a  better  position  than  he  was 
when  wages  were  low.  I  have  the  autho- 
rity of  many  trustworthy  farmers  for 
stating  that  half  the  money  wages  of  cot- 
tars is  now  spent  in  superfluities,  and  that 
if  they  could  be  content  with  the  simple 
and  nutritious  diet  of  former  days,  they 
might  educate  their  children  with  ease, 
save  a  considerable  part  of  their  wages, 
and  would  be  stronger  and  more  vigorous 
men.  Tea  and  tobacco  run  away  with  a 
great  deal  of  a  labourer's  money  ;  and,  as 
a  rule,  it  must  be  said  that  the  cottar  now 
generally  lives  fully  up  to  his  wages,  and 
looks  to  the  poor-rate  as  a  final  resource." 

A  fact  which  meets  us  every- 
where in  these  reports  is  the  great 
increase  of  late  in  the  employment. 


1871.]         The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer, 


471 


of  Irish  labourers  in  agriculture 
in  Scotland,  and  its  deteriorating 
influence  upon  the  native  popu- 
lation. "Farmers,"  says  Mr  Cul- 
ley,  "  seem  every  day  to  become 
more  dependent  on  Irish  labour. 
Irish  men  and  lads  are  employed  in 
time  of  sowing  and  thinning  turnips, 
and  at  the  same  time  that  turnip-cul- 
ture is  spreading  up  the  steep  hillsides 
even  the  Irish  supply  is  failing.  The 
Scotch  labouring  population  avail- 
able for  agriculture  is  diminishing 
in  an  alarming  proportion;  and  un- 
less something  is  done  to  increase 
that  population,  and  retain  it  in  the 
interests  of  agriculture,  we  must  ex- 
pect to  see  all  field-work  in  Scotland 
given  up  to  Irish  immigrants."  Up- 
on the  remedies  for  this  state  of 
things  we  shall  have  occasion  here- 
after to  remark. 

The  three  plans  generally  adopted 
in  Scotland  for  lodging  agricultural 
labourers  are, — the  kitchen  system, 
where  the  men  and  women  servants 
take  their  meals  together,  and  sleep 
either  under  the  same  roof,  or  the 
women  in  the  house  and  the  men  in 
outhouses  or  stable-lofts;  the  bothy 
system,  in  which  the  labourers  are 
lodged  in  a  separate  house  or  cot- 
tage with  a  certain  allowance  of 
food — generally  oatmeal  and  milk 
and  potatoes  —  which  they  cook 
themselves;  and  the  cottage  system, 
in  which  married  men  and  their 
families  reside  on  the  farms,  receiv- 
ing about  a  third  of  their  wages  in 
kind  and  the  remainder  in  money. 
The  village  system,  in  which  labour- 
ers are  hired  by  the  day  or  by  the 
week  as  wanted,  only  exists  where 
hamlets  or  villages  are  found  in  the 
vicinity  of  farms — a  rare  occurrence 
in  Scotland. 

The  kitchen  system  still  exists  in 
most  of  the  counties,  but  is  in  more 
extensive  use  in  some  than  in  others ; 
it  is,  however,  said  to  be  gradually 
falling  into  disuse,  the  farmers  not 
liking  to  be  troubled  with  feeding  and 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXVl. 


lodging  labourers  in  their  own  house, 
and  naturally  preferring  to  have  their 
work-people  either  in  cottages,  where 
they  provide  for  themselves,  or  in 
bothies,  where  they  give  no  trouble 
and  receive  little  supervision.  Much 
discussion  has  arisen  between  the 
advocates  of  these  two  systems.  It 
may  be  said,  in  general,  that  those 
who  live  in  the  districts  where 
bothies  prevail  condemn  the  kitchen 
plan,  and  vice  versa.  The  advan- 
tages of  the  kitchen  plan  are,  that 
the  men  get  a  greater  variety  of 
food,  that  it  is  better  prepared  and 
more  wholesome,  and  that  they 
pass  their  evenings  in  the  farmer's 
house,  and  often  under  their  master's 
eye,  and  that  they  are  therefore 
under  a  better  supervision  than  the 
bothy-men,  who  live  out  of  the  house 
in  a  place  which  the  master  very 
seldom  enters.  The  kitchen  system, 
moreover,  affords  better  opportuni- 
ties for  study  and  self-improvement 
than  the  bothy.  On  the  other  hand 
it  is  said  that  the  men  are  far  more 
independent  than  they  used  to  be, 
are  more  particular  about  their  food, 
and  that  it  is  difficult  to  give  them 
satisfaction,  and  it  affords  them  op- 
portunities for  associating  with  the 
female  servants  which  lead  to  im- 
morality. 

The  kitchen  plan,  as  originally 
instituted,  was  well  adapted  to  small 
farms,  where  the  farmer  was  little 
raised  above  his  servant  in  the  social 
scale ;  but  he  has  since  become  much 
more  refined,  and  will  not  expose 
himself  to  the  annoyance  caused  by 
a  dirty  troop  of  field -labourers  tramp- 
ing into  his  kitchen  three  times  a- 
day,  and  with  their  loose  jokes  and 
manners  depraving  the  minds  of  his 
female  servants. 

James  Hogg,  the  Ettrick  Shep- 
herd, noticed  and  lamented  the 
change  which  even  in  his  day  had 
taken  place  in  the  character  of  the 
kitchen  system  from  what  it  had 
once  been,  in  an  admirable  paper 
2K 


472 


The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer.          [April 


which  he  contributed  to  the  '  Scottish 
Quarterly  Journal  of  Agriculture'  so 
long  ago  as  1832,  pointing  out  in 
his  graphic  style  the  great  change 
that  had  taken  place  in  regard  to 
the  intercourse  between  master  and 
servant.  Formerly,  he  said,  every 
master  sat  at  the  head  of  his  own 
table,  and  shared  the  meal  with  his 
servants ;  he  asked  a  blessing  and 
returned  thanks.  There  was  no 
badinage  or  idle  language  in  the 
farmer's  hall  in  those  days,  but  all 
was  decency  and  order.  Every 
night  the  master  performed  family 
worship,  at  which  every  member  of 
the  family  was  bound  to  be  present, 
and  the  oldest  male  servant  in  his 
absence  took  that  duty  upon  him, 
and  every  family  formed  a  little 
community  of  its  own.  Formerly 
a  master  and  his  servants  rarely 
parted ;  now  there  was  a  constant 
circulation  from  one  family  to  another 
throughout  the  whole  country.  At 
one  period  one  fanner  held  only  one 
farm,  and  his  family  were  his  princi- 
pal servants  ;  now  for  the  most  part 
every  farmer  had  three,  four,  or  ten 
farms,  which  made  the  distance  be- 
tween the  master  and  servant  wider 
and  wider.  The  gradual  advance- 
ment of  the  aristocracy  of  farming, 
district  after  district  being  thrown 
into  large  farms,  had  placed  such  a 
distance  between  master  and  servant, 
that  in  fact  they  have  no  communi- 
cation whatever,  and  very  little  in- 
terest in  common. 

Whether  from  a  change  in  the 
position  of  farmers  or  in  the  charac- 
ter of  labourers,  the  kitchen  system 
is  certainly  no  longer  what  it  once 
was — a  family  system  ;  it  is  in  the 
highest  degree  unpopular  with  far- 
mers, who  rarely  resort  to  it  if  it  can 
possibly  be  helped — and  with  the 
progress  of  agriculture  and  the  con- 
solidation of  farms,  is  probably  des- 
tined sooner  or  later  to  complete 
extinction  in  Scotland. 

The  bothy  system  is  the  general 


substitute  for  the  kitchen  system 
where  the  farms  do  not  possess  cot- 
tages enough  to  house  the  labourers 
employed  on  them.  This  system, 
for  which  certain  counties  had  ac- 
quired, whether  justly  or  not,  an 
evil  reputation,  naturally  occupied 
the  attention  of  the  Assistant-Com- 
missioners, and  their  reports  are  not 
on  the  whole  unfavourable  to  that 
system  under  proper  management. 
In  some  districts  it  is,  for  the  pre- 
sent at  least,  an  admitted  necessity. 
It  is  satisfactory  to  find  that  the 
bothy  system,  as  it  at  present  exists, 
is  no  longer  liable  to  the  charges 
which  were  brought  against  it  a 
few  years  ago  by  that  eminent  re- 
former and  philanthropist,  the  Rev. 
Harry  Stuart.  The  abuses  which 
came  to  his  knowledge  in  the  course 
of  his  investigations  produced  their 
effect,  and  doubtless  led  to  great 
improvements.  "  Whatever,"  Mr 
Culley  writes,  "  may  have  been 
the  condition  of  bothies  in  time 
past — and  according  to  all  accounts 
they  must  have  been  wretched  dwel- 
lings indeed — I  saw  little  to  com- 
plain of  in  those  I  visited.  It  was 
only  in  small  bothies,  intended  for 
two  or  three  men,  that  I  found  the 
beds  in  the  kitchen ;  and  in  this 
respect  they  are  certainly  not  worse 
than  many  cottages.  We  had  been 
told  that  we  should  find  obscene  draw- 
ings and  writings  on  the  walls  of 
bothies :  such  things  I  could  never 
discover  ;  and  whatever  may  be  the 
rough  tastes  of  the  bothy-man,  I  wish 
to  record  this  fact  to  his  credit,  mural 
adornments  or  disfigurements  there 
were  none  in  the  many  bothies  I 
visited.  I  think  the  bothy  system 
a  mistake  economically,  and  that  it 
subjects  young  men  to  many  unne- 
cessary temptations.  I  am  bound, 
however,  to  add  that,  while  the 
young  men  appear  to  like  the  system, 
I  heard  no  complaints  of  misconduct 
other  than  those  common  to  young 
men  lodged  in  their  parents'  houses." 


1871.]         The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer. 


473 


The  effect  of  the  bothy  system 
upon  the  character  of  the  men  must 
depend  greatly  upon  the  control 
exercised  by  the  master.  It  is  quite 
clear  that  when  left  to  themselves 
the  bothy-men  are  likely  to  become 
careless  and  unsteady,  and  to  lose 
their  pride  and  self-respect.  There 
can  be  no  question  but  that  a  life  in 
bothies  must  have  the  effect  of  mak- 
ing its  inmates  rude  and  boorish  ; 
and  this  appears  to  be  the  greatest 
objection  to  them,  not  that  they 
lead  necessarily  to  vice  and  immor- 
ality. 

In  the  supplement  to  the  monthly 
and  quarterly  returns  of  births,  mar- 
riages, and  deaths  in  Scotland  for 
the  year  1869,  occurs  the  following 
passage  : — 

"  Much  of  the  illegitimacy  prevailing 
in  certain  counties  was  at  one  time  attri- 
buted to  the  existence  of  what  are  called 
bothies — that  is,  houses  apart  from  the 
farmhouse,  in  which  the  male  and  female 
workers  on  the  farm  are  separately  lodged. 
These  bothies  only  exist  on  the  large 
farms,  and  if  they  had  any  influence  in 
increasing  the  illegitimacy,  the  proportion 
of  illegitimate  births  would  have  been 
found  to  be  highest  in  those  counties 
which  had  the  largest  arable  farms.  It  is 
a  known  fact  that  the  smaller  the  size  of 
the  farm  the  more  it  is  worked  with  the 
assistance  of  young  unmarried  men  and 
women,  who  are  fed  in  the  house,  and 
sleep  either  in  the  house  or  in  the  stable- 
loft  or  offices.  It  is  only  on  large  farms 
that  married  men  are  employed,  so  that 
in  many  districts,  as  soon  as  a  young  man 
marries  he  loses  his  situation  as  a  plough- 
man, and  is  forced  to  become  a  daily 
labourer  dependent  on  his  daily  work  for 
his  bread  ;  this  of  course  acts  as  a  strong 
check  ou  his  openly  marrying. 

"An  official  return  was  published  in 
1857,  which  to  a  certain  extent  enables 
us  to  trace  the  effect  of  the  size  of  the 
farm  on  the  proportion  of  illegitimate 
births  in  each  county  of  Scotland  ;  and  it 
is  instructive  to  note,  that  in  a  general 
waj'  the  illegitimacy  was  found  to  be 
highest  in  those  counties  in  which  the 
smallest  farms  occurred.  Thus  in  Banff 
the  farms  paying  £20  and  upwards  of 
annual  rent  only  averaged  64  acres  each, 
and  15.5  per  cent  of  the  births  were  ille- 


gitimate annually.  In  Aberdeen  the 
farms  paying  £20  and  upwards  of  rent 
only  averaged  66  acres  in  extent,  and  15.3 
per  cent  of  the  births  were  annually  ille- 
gitimate. In  Dumfries  the  average  size 
of  the  farms  paying  £20  and  upwards 
was  87  acres  only,  and  the  high  propor- 
tion of  14.4  per  cent  of  the  births  was 
illegitimate  annually.  In  Kirkcudbright 
the  average  size  of  the  farms  paying  £20 
and  upwards  was  88  acres,  and  13.4  per 
cent  of  the  births  were  illegitimate.  Con- 
trast these  with  a  few  counties  with  large 
farms,  where  married  men  are  employed, 
and  bothies  are  of  course  more  common. 
In  the  county  of  Edinburgh  the  average 
size  of  farms  paying  £20  and  upwards  was 
114  acres,  and  among  the  rural  population 
only  8  per  cent  of  the  births  were  illegi- 
timate. In  Fife  the  average  size  of  the 
farms  above  £20  of  yearly  rental  was  110 
acres,  and  only  7.6  per  cent  of  the  births 
were  illegitimate.  In  Haddington  the 
average  size  of  the  farms  above  £20  of 
yearly  rental  was  219  acres,  and  only  8.7 
per  cent  of  the  births  were  illegitimate. " 

The  strongest  condemnation  of  the 
bothy  system  which  we  have  met 
with  comes  from  a  minister  of  the 
Established  Church  in  Perthshire, 
a  part  of  the  country  where  it 
largely  prevails.*  He  denounces 
it  as  bad  in  every  respect,  congre- 
gating young  men  Avithout  any 
superintendence,  separating  them 
from  family  influences,  comforts, 
and  decencies,  contaminating  them 
with  vicious  examples,  leading  to 
nocturnal  roving  habits,  and  making 
them  reckless  and  given  to  change. 
.  Bothies,  in  his  opinion,  are  the 
result  of  an  avaricious  or  indolent 
neglect  of  duty  on  the  part  of  land- 
owners, who  will  not  go  to  the  ex- 
pense of  erecting  a  sufficient  number 
of  ploughmen's  cottages,  thus  often 
consigning  the  working  force  of  the 
farm  to  accommodation  inferior  to 
that  of  the  cattle.  The  discourage- 
ment to  marriage  which  this  system 
implies  is  one  of  its  greatest  blots  ; 
for  early  marriages,  where  there  is 
a  reasonable  prospect  of  supporting 
a  family,  are  the  true  sources  of 
national  strength,  and  agricultural 


*  Evidence,  p.  82. 


474: 


The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer.          [April 


life  offers  more  facilities  for  them, 
than  most  other  callings.  Children 
come  into  existence  when  the  parents 
are  in  the  prime  and  vigour  of  life. 
They  are  the  best  blood  that  can  be 
infused  into  the  community,  form- 
ing the  very  bone  and  muscle  of  the 
commonwealth,  and,  if  they  enter 
the  ranks  of  the  army,  constituting 
the  real  sinews  of  Avar. 

The  bothy  system,  it  is  said, 
may  be  seen  in  its  best  phase  and 
under  the  most  favourable  circum- 
stances that  it  admits  of  in  the  east 
coast  of  Sutherland  ;  but  even  there 
the  better  class  of  farmers  are  averse 
to  it,  accepting  it  only  as  a  neces- 
sary evil  in  default  of  proper  cottage 
accommodation  for  their  ploughmen. 
The  system  is  intrinsically  a  bad 
one,  and  it  would  be  for  the  true 
interest  of  the  country  that  it 
should  be  abandoned  as  speedily 
as  practicable. 

We  have  stated  the  average  wages 
of  the  agricultural  day-labourer  as 
contrasted  with  those  of  bothy-men 
and  farm-servants,  which  we  now 
proceed  to  state.  The  bothy-men 
in  Caithness  and  Sutherland  are 
generally  allowed  one  Scotch  pint 
of  milk  daily,  and  from  seven  to 
eight  bolls  of  meal  per  annum, 
while  their  money  wages  range 
from  £11  to  .£16  a-year.  They  are 
also  provided  with  abundance  of 
fuel,  and  having  neither  house-rent 
to  pay  nor  families  to  support,  and 
having  no  necessary  expenses  but 
clothes,  they  are  well  able,  after 
allowing  for  every  reasonable  indul- 
gence, to  save  money. 

The  amount  which  married 
ploughmen  receive  in  money  does 
not  differ  very  materially  in  the 
different  counties  to  which  these 
reports  refer :  a  grieve  or  bailiff 
receives  about  from  £24  to  £30, 
with  a  cottage  rent-free,  often  a 
cow's  grass  and  certain  perquisites, 
such  as  the  use  of  land  for 
planting  potatoes,  coals  and  fire- 


wood, and  the  profit  of  a  pig,  which 
bring  his  wages  up  to  about  £38  or 
£40  a-year.  The  portion  of  their 
wages  which  married  labourers  re- 
ceive in  kind  differs  in  different 
counties,  but  the  aggregate  amount 
of  the  yearly  wage  is  tolerably  uni- 
form. The  allowances  and  privi- 
leges vary  so  much  in  different  dis- 
tricts, and  depend  so  much  upon 
the  opinion  or  caprice  of  farmers, 
that  it  seems  impossible  to  esti- 
mate their  value  accurately.  Of  the 
advantage  of  this  system  of  pay- 
ing the  men  partly  in  money  and 
partly  in  kind  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  It  doubtless  originated  at 
a  time  when  villages  were  more  rare 
than  they  are,  although  the  normal 
condition  of  rural  Scotland  will 
probably  ever  be  that  of  a  country 
scantily  provided  with  hamlets,  and 
having  its  population  widely  dis- 
persed. It  must  always  have  been 
a  convenience  to  the  labourer,  by  sav- 
ing him  from  resorting  to  a  distant 
town  for  his  necessary  supplies ; 
and  the  part  payment  of  wages  in 
provisions  will  probably  long  endure 
in  Scotland,  to  the  mutual  advan- 
tage of  master  and  servant.  It  eco- 
nomises the  time  of  the  servant  by 
rendering  journeys  even  to  the 
nearest  market  needless,  to  pro- 
cure the  necessaries  of  life,  and 
secures  to  the  master  the  full  bene- 
fit of  the  unexhausted  strength  of 
his  labourer.  It  helps  to  prevent 
wastefulness,  and,  to  a  considera- 
ble extent,  equalises  wages  and  the 
price  of  food ;  for  it  matters  noth- 
ing to  the  ploughman  who  is  paid 
in  kind  whether  meal  is  dear  or 
cheap,  unless,  of  course,  he  exceeds 
the  stipulated  allowance.  Having 
less  cash  at  his  command,  he  is 
under  less  temptation  to  squander 
it ;  and  it  acts  as  a  wholesome 
check  upon  the  wives,  to  whom 
the  possession  of  money  too  often 
signifies  only  the  means  of  self-in- 
dulgence, and  the  power  of  buying 


1871.]         Tlie  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer. 


475 


finery  unsuited  to  their  position  in 
life.  We  observe  with  regret  that 
the  character  given  of  the  wives  of 
the  labouring  men  in  these  reports  is 
far  from  favourable.  Many  farmers 
state  that  they  have  had  to  part 
with  some  of  their  best  workmen  in 
consequence  of  their  wives  getting 
them  irremediably  into  debt. 

The  crofter  system,  as  it  exists  in 
the  Highlands  and  the  northern  coun- 
ties, naturally  engaged  the  attention 
of  the  Commissioners.  The  term  is 
applied  to  small  holdings  generally. 
Formerly  crofts  were  frequently  sub- 
let by  a  farmer  to  his  servants  in 
return  for  their  labour,  but  this  prac- 
tice has  been  generally  discontinued, 
farmers  being  commonly  precluded 
from  sub-letting  by  the  terms  of 
their  leases.  But  crofters  are  still 
often  made  use  of  for  the  purpose 
of  bringing  mountain  -  land  into 
cultivation.  Usually  a  few,  say 
from  five  to  thirty,  acres  of  land 
are  let  on  a  nineteen  years'  lease 
at  a  nominal  rent  to  some  farm- 
servant  of  good  character,  whose  in- 
dustry and  judgment  can  be  relied 
on.  He  begins  by  building  himself 
a  cottage,  the  landlord  assisting  him 
by  the  advance  of  a  few  pounds,  or 
more  frequently  by  supplying  him 
with  building  materials.  At  the 
end  of  the  term  the  lease  is  generally 
renewed  at  a  moderate  rent,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  second  term  the  land 
reclaimed  will  probably  be  of  the 
average  value  of  agricultural  land 
in  the  neighbourhood.  A  great 
deal  of  moorland  has  thus  been 
brought  into  cultivation  in  Suther- 
land and  Caithness  without  any 
outlay  on  the  part  of  the  freeholder, 
except  that  expended  in  assisting 
in  the  construction  of  the  cottages 
and  for  roads. 

The  success  of  this  system  must 
mainly  depend  on  the  crofts  or 
pendicles  not  being  too  large.  Six 
acres  are  stated  to  be  the  limit 
which  will  enable  a  crofter  to 


devote  the  greater  part  of  his 
time  to  working  as  a  servant  for 
hire.  It  is  of  importance  that  he 
should  retain  the  character  of  a 
labourer,  only  supplementing  his 
earnings  by  the  profit  derived 
from  his  croft.  The  strongest  de- 
sire exists  on  the  part  of  the  agri- 
cultural population  of  Scotland  to 
become  occupiers  of  land.  "The 
means  of  livelihood  possessed  by  a 
crofter  are  doubtless,"  writes  Mr  Cam- 
pion, the  Assistant -Commissioner 
who  has  devoted  most  attention  to 
this  subject,  "  often  precarious,  and 
the  work  he  must  perform  most 
severe ;  but  the  feeling  of  independ- 
ence which  he  enjoys  in  being  able 
to  work  for  himself  instead  of  for  a 
farmer,  seems  to  afford  an  ample 
compensation  for  all  the  difficulties 
he  has  thus  to  encounter."  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  crofters  are  gene- 
rally prosperous.  They  themselves, 
with  the  assistance  of  their  families, 
do  the  whole  work  necessary  for 
the  cultivation  of  their  land.  They 
seem  to  take  every  opportunity  of 
giving  their  children  the  best  edu- 
cation in  their  power,  allowing  no- 
thing to  interfere  with  the  regular- 
ity of  their  attendance  at  school. 
They  bring  up  large  families  in 
habits  of  industry,  and  some  of 
them  no  doubt  save  considerable 
sums  of  money.  Crofters  are  gen- 
erally favourably  looked  upon  by 
landlords;  and  although  on  parti- 
cular estates  efforts  are  being  made 
to  consolidate  the  small  holdings, 
the  tendency  to  aggregation  does 
not  appear  to  be  very  general.  To 
the  larger  farmers  the  crofters  are 
very  useful,  by  forming,  as  they 
do,  a  reserve  force  of  labourers  to 
whom  they  can  have  recourse  at 
busy  periods  of  the  year.  There 
is  no  doubt,  however,  that  crofts 
cannot  be  maintained,  after  the  land 
has  once  been  brought  into  cultiva- 
tion, without  some  sacrifice  on  the 
part  of  the  landlord.  This  does  not 


476 


The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer.         [April 


arise  from  loss  of  rent,  for  the  rents 
paid  by  crofters  are  as  high  as,  if 
not  higher  than,  those  paid  by  large 
farmers ;  but  principally  from  the 
number  of  buildings  that  have  to 
be  kept  in  repair.  Crofters  are  no 
doubt  generally  bound  to  keep  their 
houses  in  good  condition;  but  their 
means  are  small,  the  obligation  is 
often  imperfectly  discharged,  and  a 
croft  seldom  falls  in  to  the  landlord 
without  some  outlay  on  the  build- 
ings being  required. 

There  is,  however,  another  light 
in  which  the  crofter  system  must 
be  viewed.  If  the  crofts  are  just 
large  enough  to  barely  support  a 
crofter  and  his  family  without  the 
aid  of  wages,  he  is  in  danger  of  be- 
coming a  small  impoverished  farmer, 
with  barely  the  means  of  keeping 
body  and  soul  together ;  or  if  he 
depends  for  his  livelihood  mainly 
upon  the  crops  grown  by  himself, 
eking  out  his  small  means  by  work- 
ing, as  on  the  Caithness  coast,  for 
hire  in  the  fisheries,  in  which  his 
earnings  are  too  irregular  and  de- 
sultory to  reckon  upon  with  cer- 
tainty, he  is  in  imminent  danger  of 
becoming  a  pauper.  The  greatest 
discretion  ought  to  be  exercised  by 
landlords  in  adding  to  this,  in  many 
respects,  deserving  class.  The  eag- 
erness to  possess  these  holdings  is 
one  of  the  features  of  our  peasantry ; 
but  an  unrestrained  indulgence  in 
it  might  reduce  some  parts  of  Scot- 
land to  the  moral  level  of  Tipper- 
ary.  To  attain  a  croft  is,  however, 
often  the  only  means  of  obtaining 
a  cottage  by  a  young  man  who 
wishes  to  marry ;  and  he  prefers 
incurring  the  risk  of  hardship  and 
privation  in  a  home  of  his  own,  to 
continuing  a  life  of  comparative 
abundance  in  a  bothy.  Accordingly, 
whenever  a  croft  falls  vacant,  there 
seems  to  be  an  eager  competition 
for  it. 

The  practice  adopted  in  some 
parts  of  the  country,  as  on  Lord 


Lovat's  estates  in  Inverness-shire,  of 
placing  small  crofters  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  large  arable  farms,  and 
the  larger  crofters,  whose  land  is 
sufficient  for  the  support  of  them- 
selves and  their  families,  at  a 
greater  distance,  is  best  adapted  to 
develop  all  the  advantages  of  the 
system  without  its  counteracting 
evils.  We  find  it  stated  that  fifteen 
acres  of  good  land,  well  managed, 
are  considered  sufficient  to  support 
a  medium-sized  family,  independent 
of  any  extra  work.  Those  with 
crofts  under  twelve  acres  cannot,  as  a 
rule,  support  a  family  without  doing 
other  work  as  well.  The  job-labour 
required  in  the  harvest  and  turnip 
seasons  is  best  supplied  by  this 
class  when  they  have  been  judici- 
ously located.  In  judging  of  the 
means  of  subsistence  afforded  by 
a  croft,  supplementary  advantages 
require  in  some  cases  to  be  taken 
into  consideration.  Thus  a  holding 
of  even  three  or  four  acres  may  be 
sufficient  for  the  support  of  a  family 
if  it  carries  with  it,  as  it  often  does,  a 
right  of  pasture  on  the  neighbouring 
hill  for  one  or  more  cows,  with  the 
addition  of  a  few  sheep  and  a  horse 
during  the  summer.  The  mere 
possession  of  a  croft,  however,  too 
often  seems  to  convey  the  idea  that 
it  will  alone  support  a  man  and 
his  family  with  the  least  possible 
amount  of  additional  labour ;  but 
when  crofts  are  moderate  in  size,  and 
moderately  rented,  and  industrious 
habits  have  been  formed,  crofters 
may  be  considered  as  a  contented 
and  happy  portion  of  the  agricul- 
tural community  of  Scotland. 

The  Scottish  shepherds  appear  to 
have  impressed  the  Commissioners 
with  a  strong  sense  of  their  intel- 
ligence and  high  moral  character. 
Their  scrupulous  attention  to  their 
duties,  and  saving  habits,  are  highly 
commended.  Mr  Culley  states  that 
they  are  the  finest  set  of  men  he 
ever  came  in  contact  with.  Their 


1871.]         The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer. 


477 


sacrifices  to  obtain  education  for 
their  children  in  districts  where 
the  parochial  schools  are  inaccessible 
are  well  known — a  schoolmaster 
being  frequently  lodged  and  board- 
-ed  by  the  hill-shepherds  by  turns. 
A  description  of  what  takes  place 
in  Altuaharra,  in  the  wildest  part 
of  the  interior  of  Sutherland,  will 
convey  some  idea  of  the  difficulties 
under  which  education  is  sometimes 
conducted  in  the  hill-country.  This 
district  contains  an  area  of  about 
400  square  miles,  with  a  population 
of  about  150  persons,  living  for  the 
most  part  in  isolated  cottages.  The 
school  is  attended  by  fifteen  schol- 
ars, some  of  whom  have  to  walk  as 
far  as  five  miles  from  their  homes; 
but  that  distance  does  not  deter 
even  girls  nine  years  old  in  weather 
not  unusually  severe.  During  three 
months  of  the  year,  from  December 
to  February  inclusive,  the  storms 
are  so  incessant  that  the  school  is 
shut  up,  and  the  teacher  gives  les- 
sons at  home  to  each  family  in 
turn ;  but  for  the  remaining  nine 
months  it  is  open,  and  the  attend- 
ance of  the  children  is  described  as 
being  as  regular  as  the  weather  will 
permit.  The  instruction  given  in 
schools  of  this  description  is,  of 
course,  often  of  a  very  rudimentary 
character ;  for  the  number  of  chil- 
dren that  can  be  brought  together 
at  any  given  spot  is  necessarily  very 
small,  and  the  parents  cannot  afford 
to  pay  a  high-class  master  ;  but 
even  in  these  lonely  wilds  men  of 
great  teaching  power  are  occasion- 
ally to  be  met  with  who  would  do 
credit  to  more  important  employ- 
ments. 

The  life  of  a  shepherd  of  the 
upper  hill  -  ranges  is  one  of  great 
toil  and  anxiety.  He  must  be  sensi- 
tively alive  to  every  change  of  the 
weather — 

"  Hence  does  he  know  the  meaning  of  all 

winds, 
And  blasts  of  every  tone ; 


And  truly  at  all  times  the  storm  that  drives 
The  traveller  to  a  shelter,  summons  him 
Up  to  the  mountains." 

A  change,  which  we  think  is  to  be 
regretted,  is  gradually  being  effected 
in  the  mode  of  paying  this  valuable 
class  of  men.  In  Dumfriesshire  and 
on  the  slopes  of  the  Cheviots  in  the 
counties  of  Eoxburgh  and  Selkirk, 
shepherds  are  paid  chiefly  in  stock 
— that  is  to  say,  they  have  a  flock 
of  sheep  called  the  shepherd's  pack, 
numbering  from  forty-five  to  fifty,  a 
cow's  keep,  sixty-five  stones  of  oat- 
meal, 1000  yards  of  potatoes,  and  a 
free  cottage.  The  result  of  this  system 
is,  that  on  the  northern  slopes  of  the 
Cheviots  about  one -sixth  of  the 
sheep  belong  to  the  shepherds.  In 
Dumfriesshire  the  pack  seldom  ex- 
ceeds forty-five  sheep,  to  which  are 
added  pasture  and  hay  for  a  cow,  sixty 
stones  of  oatmeal,  an  acre  of  land, 
and  a  cottage  rent  -  free.  Should  a 
shepherd  not  possess  sufficient  capital 
on  entering  upon  his  place  to  pur- 
chase a  pack,  he  obtains  the  sheep  on 
credit  from  his  employer,  and  pays 
for  them  by  instalments  as  he  is 
able.  The  sheep  are  distinctively 
marked,  and  graze  with  the  master's 
flocks,  and  the  shepherd  derives  the 
profit  of  their  increase  and  of  the 
annual  clip  of  wool.  The  interest 
of  the  shepherd  in  the  preservation 
and  health  of  the  sheep  is  thus 
identical  with  his  master's,  and  his 
risks  are  the  same.  Should  the 
flock  get  out  of  condition,  and,  as  is 
not  uncommon,  cast  their  fleeces,  the 
shepherd  suffers  with  his  master, 
and  a  severe  winter  or  a  bad  lamb- 
ing season  may  subject  him  to  seri- 
ous loss.  On  the  lower  hill-ranges 
shepherds  are  somewhat  differently 
paid,  the  principal  portion  of  their 
wages  consisting  of  money  :  a  shep- 
herd of  this  class  generally  receives 
about  £20  in  money,  sixty  -  five 
stones  of  meal  per  annum,  and  the 
privilege  of  pasturing  two  or  three 
sheep  and  a  cow. 


478 


The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer.         [April 


Many  of  the  sheep-farms  in  the 
Cheviots  and  in  Dumfriesshire  are 
what  are  called  "led"  farms — i.e., 
are  held  by  men  who  live  and  farm 
in  the  lowlands,  the  shepherds 
being  left  in  undisturbed  possession, 
and  for  the  greater  part  of  the  year 
never  s'eeing  their  master's  face ;  and 
when  it  is  understood  how  many 
are  the  opportunities  of  dishonesty 
in  a  shepherd's  calling,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  such  relations  between 
employer  and  employed  could  only 
exist  among  a  thoroughly  trust- 
worthy class. 

Should  the  system  of  paying  shep- 
herds by  packs  be  abandoned,  and  a 
money  wage  be  substituted  for  it,* 
it  would  be  a  change  which  we  can- 
not but  think  would  prove  as  dis- 
advantageous to  the  master  as  to  the 
men.  It  must  necessarily  destroy 
that  community  of  interest  between 
employer  and  employed  which  is 
one  of  the  best  securities  for  faithful 
service,  and  deprive  a  most  deserv- 
ing class  of  men  of  a  means  of  bet- 
tering their  position  in  life,  and  of 
raising  themselves  above  the  aver- 
age condition  of  married  plough- 
men. The  effect  of  this  quasi  part- 
nership between  master  and  servant 
is  shown  in  the  comparatively  large 
amounts  of  deposits  in  the  savings 
banks  made  by  this  class.  The 
shepherds  are  undoubtedly  well 
paid,  but  their  life  is  one  of  great 
exertion  and  no  inconsiderable 
amount  of  hardship,  and  their 
cottages  situated  chiefly  in  wild 
regions  destitute  of  any  other 
population.  First-rate  shepherds 
receive,  in  money,  sheep,  cows, 
and  allowances,  as  much  as  is  equi- 
valent to  £60  per  annum,  and, 
including  the  usual  perquisite  of 
"  fallen  meat,"  seldom  earn  less  than 
£50  a-year. 


The  diet  of  the  Scotch  agricul- 
tural labourer  has  in  some  parts  of 
the  country  been  gradually  under- 
going a  change,  which  is  certainly 
not  to  his  advantage.  The  principal 
points  on  which  it  still  differs  from 
the  ordinary  diet  of  the  agricultural 
labourer  in  England,  is  in  the  more 
general  use  of  milk,  and  in  the  con- 
sumption of  oatmeal,  and,  in  some 
localities,  the  meal  of  peas,  barley,  or 
beans.  Milk  is  obtained  in  many 
counties  by  his  being  allowed  the  val- 
uable privilege  of  keeping  a  cow  ;  in 
others  by  a  daily  allowance  (common- 
ly a  Scotch  pint)  from  the  farmer ; 
but  sometimes  its  value  is  given  in 
money.  The  sale  of  a  portion  of  the 
allowance  of  meal  may  enable  the 
labourer,  if  he  chooses,  to  purchase 
tea,  bread,  cheese,  butter,  or  bacon  : 
butcher -meat  appears  to  be  rare- 
ly tasted  by  the  labourer,  unless 
he  is  boarded  with  the  farmer  on 
the  kitchen  system.  In  some  parts 
of  the  country  the  old  Scotch  diet- 
aries appear  to  have  given  place 
to  tea  and  wheaten  bread.  The 
use  of  tea  is  becoming  year  by  year 
more  general.  Mr  Culley  draws 
attention  to  certain  indications  of 
a  change  in  the  character  and  habits 
of  Scotch  labourers,  arising  from 
the  demand  for  increased  luxuries 
of  life  common  to  all  classes  of 
society,  but  is  of  opinion  that  in- 
creased wages  have  not  improved 
the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
agricultural  labouring  class.  The 
substitution  of  wheaten  bread,  cheese, 
butter,  and  tea,  for  porridge,  in  many 
counties,  is  believed  to  have  acted 
unfavourably  on  the  physique  of 
agricultural  labourers  ;  they  are  said 
not  to  weigh  so  heavy  as  when  oat- 
meal-porridge and  potatoes  were 
their  chief  support,  and  to  have  lost 
in  working  power.  It  is  probable 


*  "  An  old  man  who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  '  pack  '  system,  said  that  it  was 
the  usual  thing  in  former  times,  but  does  not  think  that  there  is  one  shepherd  now 
so  paid  from  Campbelltown  to  Inverary." — Mr  R.  F.  Boyle's  Report  on  the  counties 
of  Lanark,  Renfrew,  and  Argyll. 


1871.]         The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer. 


479 


that  the  smaller  quantities  of  the 
more  expensive  articles  of  diet  con- 
sumed aiford  less  nourishment  than 
the  former  abundant  meals  of  milk, 
oat  and  barley  meal,  and  potatoes. 
It  is  to  be  regretted  that  there  are 
indications  in  some  parts  of  the 
country  of  a  disinclination  to  en- 
courage labourers  to  keep  a  pig, 
with  its  double  advantage  of  improv- 
ing the  produce  of  the  garden  or 
potato-ground,  and  furnishing  the 
labourer  with  a  supply  of  home- 
raised  animal  food. 

This  tendency,  which  is  very 
marked  in  several  counties,  to  aban- 
don the  old  nourishing  diet  of  the 
Scotch  peasantry,  is  a  subject  de- 
serving of  serious  consideration. 
We  have  heard  of  agricultural  la- 
bourers, to  gratify  their  taste  for 
articles  of  food  of  modern  introduc- 
tion, walking  three  or  four  miles 
after  their  day's  work  to  bring 
home  bread  for  their  supper.  The 
meal -barrel  and  good  sweet  milk 
surely  provide  a  hard-working  man 
with  a  far  better  support  than  the 
dry,  milkless,  sophisticated  bread 
of  the  modern  baker,  especially 
when  it  is  not  supplemented  either 
with  bacon  or  butcher-meat,  but 
only  with  cheese  or  butter,  and 
is  washed  down  with  a  weak 
infusion  of  indifferent  tea,  having 
a  tendency  to  impair  the  muscular 
system  and  to  produce  nervous 
depression.  We  should  be  the 
last  to  desire  to  curtail  any  of  a 
labourer's  scanty  enjoyments ;  and 
the  use  of  tobacco  in  moderation  is 
not  for  an  instant  to  be  deprecated. 
Under  the  pressure  of  the  cares  and 
sorrows  of  our  mortal  condition,  men, 
as  Burke  long  ago  justly  remarked, 
have  at  all  times  and  in  all  countries 
called  in  some  physical  aid  to  their 
moral  consolations  —  wine,  beer, 
opium,  spirits,  or  tobacco.  The 
solace  of  the  pipe  by  his  evening 


hearth,  after  the  toils  of  the  day  are 
over,  is  probably  one  of  the  greatest 
alleviations  of  the  hard -worked 
ploughman's  lot ;  but  the  practice 
now  very  general  of  smoking  through- 
out the  day,  even  when  at  work,  ought 
to  be  strongly  condemned.  Farmers 
have  just  ground  for  their  complaints 
on  this  subject,  for  we  have  heard  of 
labourers  persisting  in  smoking  while 
thatching  corn-stacks  and  attending 
thrashing-machines.  The  expendi- 
ture on  tobacco  by  a  labouring  man 
addicted  to  its  abuse  we  have  heard 
put  as  high  as  £2  a-year. 

The  increase  in  the  means  of  sub- 
sistence with  inferior  working  power 
is  strongly  brought  out  in  the  evi- 
dence of  an  old  ploughman  in  the 
Carse  of  Gowrie. 

"I  have  worked,"  he  says,  "in  the 
Carse  all  my  days.  It  was  a  hard  place 
for  men  thirty  years  ago,  but  they  do  less 
work  and  get  more  pay,  £10  a-year  more 
nor  we  did  ;  and  they're  no  better  off. 
The  men  are  no  near  so  strong  as  they 
used  to  be,  with  all  their  wages.  They 
buy  tea,  and  white  bread,  and  fine  clothes, 
and  dinna  stick  to  the  meal  and  milk. 
They  have  ploughmen  now  would  hardly 
have  been  sent  to  look  after  the  cattle  in 
my  day.  Some  of  their  ploughmen  can 
hardly  toom  their  pokes  (empty  their  corn- 
sacks  off  their  backs).  As  for  women's 
work,  it's  no  verra  good  for  a  hantle  of 
they.  The  women's  no  so  strong  either 
now ;  I  dinna  ken  for  their  morals  being 
better  or  waur. "  * 

The  change  which  has  taken  place 
for  the  worse  in  the  habits  of  the 
agricultural  population  is  abundant- 
ly confirmed  by  facts.  Take  the 
instance  of  the  testimony  of  an  old 
parochial  schoolmaster  in  Perthshire. 

"  Ploughmen  and  other  agricultural 
labourers,  and  it  may  indeed  be  said  all 
people  of  the  working  class,  are  at  the 
present  day,  with  few  exceptions,  very 
poor,  and  not  well  able  to  pay  for  their 
children's  education  ;  but  their  poverty 
is  owing,  in  a  great  measure,  to  their  own 
present  wasteful  and  extravagant  habits. 
Wages  have  been  of  late  years  far  higher 


*  Evidence  of  John  Kempe — Appendix,  p.  57. 


480 


The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer.         [April 


than  they  were  for  a  long  time  before, 
but  these  people  have  got  into  a  more  ex- 
pensive way  of  living  than  formerly,  both 
as  regards  their  victuals  and  their  dress. 
When  I  first  knew  this  parish,  now  up- 
wards of  forty-four  years  ago,  and  long 
after  that  too,  the  almost  universal  break- 
fast of  the  peasantry  was  oatmeal -porridge, 
and  their  bread  consisted  of  oaten  cakes, 
bread  made  of  pease  or  barley  meal,  and 
very  often  of  a  mixture  of  the  last  two. 
Jvow,  tea  with  ham  and  other  accompani- 
ments is  used  twice  a-day  in  almost 
every  house,  and  given  to  children  as  well 
as  to  adults  ;  and  almost  the  only  bread 
used  by  them  now  is  the  wheaten  loaf, 
brought  to  their  doors  regularly  twice 
a-week,  in  vans,  from  the  bakers  of  the 
neighbouring  town  or  villages.  By  the 
former  way  of  victualling,  people  of  the 
class  in  question  brought  up  a  race  of 
strong  muscular  children,  and  healthier 
than  those  of  the  present  day.  The 
wives  and  daughters  of  working  men  now 
appear  at  church  and  other  public  places 
in  dresses  such  as  were  worn,  in  times 
not  long  gone  by,  only  by  ladies  of 
quality.  It  has  been  the  custom  with 
maid-servants  for  a  considerable  time 
past,  as  it  is  also  at  the  present  day, 
when  their  wages  are  higher  than  ever 
they  were  before,  to  spend  every  shilling 
they  have  on  splendid  dresses  and 
trinkets ;  and  when  they  become  wives, 
the  same  itching  for  costly  attire  for 
themselves  and  the  girls  of  their  families 
(not  for  their  boys)  continues  with  them, 
by  gratifying  which  they  keep  themselves 
and  their  husbands  not  only  in  poverty 
but  almost  always  in  debt.  The  other 
sex  cannot  be  accused  of  extravagance  in 
dress,  but  they  are  almost  all  slaves  to 
tobacco-smoking,  a  practice  which  was 
scarcely  known  among  agricultural  labour- 
ers in  this  part  of  the  country  a  quarter 
of  a  century  ago.  Almost  every  halfling 
now  carries  about  with  him  his  pipe,  his 
tobacco,  and  his  box  of  matches."  * 

We  suspect  that  it  could  not  now 
be  truthfully  said,  that  "  halesoine 
parritch  "  is  "chief  of  Scotia's  food ;  " 
but  from  the  quantity  of  oatmeal 
and  milk  received  in  part  payment 
of  wages,  it  doubtless  still  forms  part 
of  the  diet  of  agricultural  labourers. 
In  many  families  the  elder  men 
"  sup"  their  porridge  morning  and 
night ;  but  in  a  great  many  cottages 


porridge  appears  only  once  a-day, 
and  the  women  are  much  more 
given  to  "  scones  "  or  "  bannocks  " 
baked  on  the  girdle,  with  the  addi- 
tion of  coffee  or  tea. 

The  great  desideratum  in  Scot- 
land is  an  extension  of  the  farm- 
cottage  system,  in  the  interest  not 
only  of  landowners  and  farmers, 
but  of  the  community  at  large. 
The  kitchen  system,  we  have  seen, 
is  unpopular  with  farmers,  and  is 
being  given  up  in  proportion  as  farms 
are  consolidated,  and  it  is  prolific 
of  certain  moral  evils,  as  may  be 
seen  in  the  Registrar-General's  re- 
turns. The  bothy  system  is  an  un- 
natural system,  to  say  nothing  of  its 
temptations  to  vice.  By  rendering  cot- 
tages unnecessary  it  prevents  young 
labourers  from  marrying,  and  this 
unavoidable  celibacy  has  a  natural 
tendency  both  to  increase  the  rate  of 
illegitimacy  and  to  keep  the  agricul- 
tural population  below  the  require- 
ments of  the  country.  The  cottage 
or  married  system,  which  supplies 
each  farm  with  labour  on  the  spot, 
and  enables  a  farmer  to  avail  him- 
self of  the  occasional  services  of  the 
wives  and  children  of  his  workmen, 
is  that  by  which  his  own  and  the 
best  interests  of  the  community  are 
promoted.  There  are,  doubtless, 
difficulties  in  an  adequate  extension 
of  this  system  in  Scotland ;  but  in 
the  end  it  is  the  most  economical 
and  the  most  satisfactory.  The  effect 
of  having  all  the  labour  located  on 
the  farm  is,  as  Mr  Culley  states  it, 
that  where  horse-labour  is  concerned 
the  farmer  obtains  ten  hours'  work 
per  day  for  a  large  part  of  the  year, 
instead  of  eight  hours,  common 
in  England.  This  is  effected  by 
means  of  a  long  mid-day  rest,  or 
shorter  and  more  frequent  pauses. 
The  two  horses  with  which  the 
hind  works  are  considered  his 


*  Evidence  of  Mr  Robert  Stewart — Appendix,  p.  82. 


1871.]          The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer. 


481 


peculiar  charge,  and  the  hours  of 
work  are  arranged  as  much  for  his 
horses'  comfort  as  his  own,  and  rule 
the  work-hours  of  the  remainder  of 
the  farm -staff.  Exclusive  of  the 
time  spent  hefore  and  after  work 
hy  the  ploughman  in  feeding  and 
cleaning  his  horses,  he  works  with 
them  ten  hours  a-day,  and  all  ordi- 
nary farm-workers  are  employed  for 
the  same  time.  To  rest  and  feed 
the  horses  in  the  middle  of  the  day 
would  not  he  practicable,  unless  the 
hinds  lived  close  to  their  work  and 
to  their  stables ;  nor  would  such  an 
arrangement  he  convenient  to  the 
other  labourers  unless  they  too 
lived  near  at  hand. 

It  is  another  advantage  of  the 
cottage  system,  that  while  it  af- 
fords an  adequate  supply  of  labour 
it  checks  the  overgrowth  of  an  agri- 
cultural population,  and  that  accum- 
ulation of  catch  -  labourers  depend- 
ing mainly  upon  the  poor-law  for 
support  which  is  such  a  distressing 
feature  in  many  English  villages. 

"  The  farm-village  system,"  says  Mr 
Culley,  "with  its  yearly  hiring,  provides 
a  certain  income  for  regular  farm-labour- 
ers, and,  as  it  were,  dictates  how  many 
families  a  purely  agricultural  district  can 
decently  support.  Outsiders  are  warned 
off,  and  the  hint  is  not  thrown  away 
upon  men  of  such  independent  character 
and  migratory  habits  as  the  Scotch.  The 
absence  of  catch  -  labourers,  no  doubt, 
puts  a  certain  amount  of  pressure  on  the 
farmer  at  certain  seasons  ;  but  on  many 
well-conducted  farms  in  the  south  of  Scot- 
land (the  smallness  of  whose  labour-staff 
would  astonish  an  English  farmer)  the 
work  of  the  year,  with  the  exception  of 
harvest,  is  got  through  with  only  the 
occasional  assistance  of  some  members  of 
the  hinds'  families  who  are  not  usually 
employed  in  field-work." 

As  regards  the  cottages  in  the 
rural  districts,  all  the  Assistant- 
Commissioners  record  the  fact,  that 
great  efforts  have  been  made  by 
the  landowners  of  Scotland,  during 
the  last  twenty  years,  for  increas- 


ing their  number  and  improving 
their  accommodation.  The  publi- 
cation of  the  Rev.  Harry  Stuart's 
pamphlet  on  the  social  condition 
of  the  agricultural  classes,  and  the 
formation  in  Edinburgh  in  the  same 
year  (1853)  of  the  "  Association 
for  Promoting  Improvements  in  the 
Dwellings  of  Agricultural  Labour- 
ers," doubtless  gave  a  great  im- 
pulse to  the  progress  of  cottage 
improvement  throughout  Scotland. 
There  is,  nevertheless,  still  much 
room  for  improvement,  both  as  to 
the  quantity  and  quality  of  cot- 
tage accommodation.  If  few  of 
the  old  turf  cottages  thatched  with 
heather,  which  once  covered  certain 
districts  of  the  country,  are  now  to 
be  seen,  the  proportion  of  cottages 
with  only  a  single  room,  with  the 
bitt-and-ben  arrangement,  is  unhap- 
pily still  very  great,  and  cottages  with 
more  than  two  rooms  are  few  and 
far  between.  The  great  scarcity  of 
cottages  of  any  description  is,  how- 
ever, the  crying  want  of  the  coun- 
try. A  great  many  parishes  have 
absolutely  no  cottages  whatever, 
placing  farmers  under  the  greatest 
disadvantage  in  regard  to  labour. 
Cottage  improvers  have,  it  must  be 
admitted,  many  difficulties  to  con- 
tend with  in  the  habits  of  the 
people.  The  almost  universal  pro- 
pensity to  place  as  many  beds  as 
possible  in  the  kitchen,  no  matter 
what  amount  of  sleeping  accommo- 
dation the  cottage  affords,  does  not 
afford  much  encouragement  to  those 
landlords  who  wish  to  introduce 
habits  of  decency  into  the  domestic 
arrangements  of  their  people.  The 
natural  desire  for  warmth  in  our 
cold  climate,  and  the  wish  to  econo- 
mise fuel,  is  one  of  the  chief  causes 
of  this  herding  together  of  often  a 
whole  family  in  one  room  without 
reference  to  age  or  sex. 

This  deficiency  in  cottage  accom- 
modation is  more  marked  in  some 


T7ic  Condition  of  tlte  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer.         [April 


counties  than  in  others.  In  some, 
cottages  are  sufficiently  numerous, 
but  they  are  in  a  state  of  dilapi- 
dation, and  when  they  fall  down, 
no  disposition  is  shown  to  replace 
them  by  others.  Ayrshire  seems  to 
be  especially  deficient  in  cottages, 
and  those  which  it  possesses  are  for 
the  most  part  very  bad.  An  extensive 
farmer,  residing  not  far  from  May- 
bole,  stated  to  one  of  the  Assistant- 
Commissioners  that  it  was  always 
with  a  sense  of  shame  and  humilia- 
tion that  he  introduced  a  newly-en- 
gaged ploughman  to  one  of  the  hov- 
els appropriated  for  the  work-people 
on  his  farm ;  and  that  stables,  byres, 
cow-sheds,  dilapidated  farmhouses, 
and  disused  dog-kennels,  had  been 
converted  into  labourers'  cottages. 
Guano-bags  have  in  some  cases 
been  stretched  across  the  rafters  to 
prevent  the  mouldering  thatch  and 
the  rain  from  falling  upon  the  beds 
and  tables  of  the  unfortunate  occu- 
pants. 

The  Highlanders  still  cling  to 
their  old  style  of  cottage-building. 
On  the  mainland  the  practice  of 
having  the  fireplace  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  seems  to  have  been 
gradually  abandoned ;  but  in  the 
islands  it  is  still  found,  if  not  in 
the  centre,  at  least  on  one  side  of 
the  room,  but  open,  the  smoke 
escaping  through  a  hole  in  the  roof. 
One  of  these  houses,  which  was  vis- 
ited by  an  Assistant-Commissioner, 
had  two  chimneys,  one  at  each  eiid, 
and  the  tire  was  moved  according  as 
the  wind  happened  to  blow.  To 
remove  the  fireplace  was  easy,  as  it 
only  consisted  of  a  few  clods  of  peat 
and  a  large  pot  hung  from  three 
uprights.  The  argument  in  favour 
of  the  central  system,  is,  that  none 
of  the  heat  is  lost— a  large  family 
can  crowd  round ;  whereas  a  modern 
fireplace  has  but  one  side.  To  a  visi- 
tor a  house  full  of  smoke  is  very  un- 
pleasant, and  he  wonders  how  people 


can  exist  in  it ;  but  there  is  an  im- 
pression that  peat-smoke  is  whole- 
some. A  proprietor  in  Knapdale 
offered  to  put  up  a  regular  chimney 
for  his  tenant,  but  he  declined,  say- 
ing that  "  his  fire  never  smoked, 
but  that  he  feared  a  chimney 
would." 

In  an  economical  point  of  view, 
a  large  increase  in  the  number 
of  cottages  available  for  the  agri- 
cultural class  is  a  great  desider- 
atum. Heritors  too  often  misunder- 
stand their  own  interests  in  not 
providing  sufficient  cottage  accom- 
modation, for  large  numbers  of 
labourers,  having  no  settled  homes, 
become  thoughtless  and  improvi- 
dent, and  finally  have  recourse  to 
the  poor-rates  ;  whereas,  if  they  had 
been  settled  in  comfortable  cottages, 
every  inducement  would  be  afforded 
to  form  permanent  engagements, 
and  greater  efforts  would  be  made 
to  attain  independence.  The  desire 
which  everywhere  prevails  for  mar- 
ried in  preference  to  unmarried 
ploughmen  ought  to  stimulate  heri- 
tors to  provide  the  necessary  accom- 
modation, as  in  reality  adding  an 
appreciable  value  to  their  property ; 
for  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
higher  rents,  and  often  a  superior 
class  of  tenants,  can  generally  be 
obtained  if  the  number  of  cottages 
on  farms  is  equal  to  their  require- 
ments. The  yearly  improvements 
and  increasing  complication  of  agri- 
cultural implements,  too,  while  it 
will  diminish  the  amount  of  manual 
labour,  will  increase  the  demand  for 
steady  men  of  more  careful  training. 
These  can  only  be  obtained  by  hold- 
ing out  a  prospect  of  competency 
and  comfort  in  the  family  relations 
as  the  reward  of  good  conduct  and 
expertness. 

The  Commissioners,  however, 
frankly  admit  that  landed  pro- 
prietors are  not  always  to  be 
blamed  for  the  condition  of  the 


1871.]          The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer. 


483 


cottages  on  their  estates,  their 
means  of  effecting  even  the  most 
necessary  improvements  being  often 
crippled  by  heavy  encumbrances. 
With  regard  to  loans  for  cottage- 
building  by  the  Enclosure  Commis- 
sioners, the  complaint  is  general 
of  the  impolitic  stringency  of  their 
rules ;  and  frequent  suggestions  have 
been  made  for  an  extension  of  the 
duration  of  the  rent-charge,  and  a 
consequent  reduction  of  the  annual 
payments.  The  requirements  of  the 
Enclosure  Commissioners  are,  more- 
over, too  frequently  unsuitable  to 
the  habits  of  the  people,  and  to  the 
districts  requiring  their  aid,  and  the 
terms  of  repayment  are  too  high. 
If  the  Commissioners  would  be 
satisfied  with  less  expensive  plans 
than  those  upon  which  they  are  in 
the  habit  of  insisting,  many  more 
cottages,  it  is  believed,  would  be 
built  under  the  provisions  of  the  Act 
than  have  hitherto  been. 

The  most  obvious  improvement 
that  could  be  made  in  the  rural 
economy  of  Scotland,  would  be  a 
considerable  extension  of  the  capa- 
bilities for  housing  labourers  in  cot- 
tages on  the  farm,  thus  rendering 
possible  a  great  extension  of  the 
family  system ;  but  a  nearer  ap- 
proach to  that  system  can,  it  is 
obvious,  only  be  obtained  by  a 
considerable  addition  to  the  cot- 
tage accommodation  in  those  dis- 
tricts where  the  bothy  system 
already  exists.  But  if  the  farmers, 
it  is  justly  observed,  expect  their 
landlords  to  help  them  in  the  man- 
ner suggested,  they  must  make  every 
possible  effort  on  their  part  so  to 
conduct  their  operations  as  to  insure 
constant  employment  to  the  occu- 
pants of  additional  cottages.  To 
build  more  cottages  than  would  suf- 
fice for  the  accommodation  of  the 
labourers  who  can  be  regularly  em- 
ployed, would  be  to  do  away  with 
the  chief  advantages  of  the  Scotch 


system.  In  the  neighbourhood  of 
towns  and  villages,  farmers  may 
legitimately  cultivate  their  land  in 
a  manner  requiring  occasional  out- 
side help  ;  but  in  rural  districts  they 
must  not  expect  their  landlords  to  do 
anything  which  may  tend  to  create 
an  over-supply  of  the  labour-market. 
With  respect  to  the  proportion  of 
cottages  which  may  be  desirabfe  on 
a  mixed  farm,  "  it  was,"  Mr  Culley 
says,  "  stated  by  Mr  George  Hope," 
(a  high  authority  on  the  subject), 
"that  to  do  away  with  the  necessity  of 
the  bothy  system,  the  number  of  cot- 
tages attached  to  a  farm  in  high  cul- 
tivation should  be  in  the  proportion 
of  one  and  a  half  to  the  number  of 
hired  men — i.e.,  grieve,  shepherds, 
cattlemen,  and  hinds;  but  where 
cultivation  is  less  active,  and  root- 
crops  occupy  a  smaller  proportion  of 
the  land,  a  smaller  number  of  cottar- 
houses  would  be  required."  Always 
supposing  that  a  supply  of  native 
work -women  can  be  obtained,  on 
exclusively  arable  farms  it  is  sug- 
gested that  the  proper  supply  of 
cottages  should  be  in  the  propor- 
tion of  one  to  every  pair  of  horses 
employed. 

Some  difference  of  opinion  exists 
as  to  whether  it  is  desirable  that  a 
cottar  should  hold  his  cottage  direct 
from  the  farmer  or  from  the  land- 
lord. His  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Buccleuch,  who  has  devoted  large 
sums  of  money  to  the  building  and 
improvement  of  cottages  on  his  vast 
estates,  we  believe  adopts  the  prac- 
tice of  making  the  cottar  as  inde- 
pendent of  his  employer  as  possible 
for  his  house  accommodation,  be- 
lieving that  it  places  the  labourer 
in  a  more  independent  position  in 
reference  to  the  farmer  than  when 
he  is  liable  to  be  turned  out  of  his 
holding  in  a  fit  of  caprice  or  ill- 
humour  at  a  moment's  notice.  As 
a  consequence,  the  cottages  on  his 
Grace's  property  are,  as  a  rule,  held 


484 


Tlie  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer.          [April 


"by  their  occupants  direct  from  the 
landlord.*  The  objections  to  this 
system,  as  applied  to  Scotland,  are 
pointed  out  in  the  following  com- 
munication from  the  Right  Hon. 
R.  C.  Nisbet  Hamilton,  the  owner 
of  large  estates  in  England  and 
Scotland : — 

"  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that 
the  system  which  generally  prevails  in 
England  of  the  labourer  being  the  direct 
tenant  of  the  landlord,  in  so  far  as  the 
social  condition  of  the  labourer  is  con- 
cerned, is  preferable  to  that  which  exists 
in  Scotland ;  but  it  is  in  vain  to  tiy  to 
force  such  a  system  on  the  tenant-fanners 
in  Scotland,  because  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  let  any  farm  unless  you  gave  the 
tenant-farmer  an  absolute  control  over  a 
certain  number  of  cottagers. 

"The  Scottish  agricultural  labourer  is 
very  industrious,  and  manifests  a  great 
desire  to  send  his  children  to  school.  His 
wages  are  generally  higher  than  those 
which  are  offered  in  southern  English 
counties  ;  but  in  reality  he  is  less  civilised 
than  a  person  of  the  same  class  in  the 
midland  counties.  His  cottage  and  gar- 
den are  generally  neglected,  and  his  wife 
and  family  are,  with  few  exceptions,  un- 
tidy in  their  habits.  I  attribute  this 
circumstance  very  much  to  the  manner  in 
which  the  cottages  are  occupied  under  the 

Present  system  of  letting  in  Scotland, 
he  Lincolnshire  cottager,  living  as  he 
does  directly  under  the  landlord,  considers 
his  cottage  as  equivalent  to  a  freehold ;  he 
never  dreams  of  leaving  it ;  he  takes  an 
interest  in  it  and  in  his  garden  as  if  they 
•were  his  own,  and  the  same  families  oc- 
cupy their  cottages  for  many  generations. 
Unfortunately  in  East  Lothian  the  habits 
of  the  labouring  classes  are  migratory ; 
they  seldom  enter  their  cottages  with  the 
intention  of  occupying  them  long,  and 
the  consequence  is,  that,  with  few  ex- 
ceptions, they  are  kept  in  a  very  slovenly 
state. " 

We  adverted,  in  the  remarks 
Avhich  we  have  made  on  the  crofter 
system,  to  the  aid  sometimes  given 
by  landed  proprietors  in  building 


cottages  upon  lease,  the  tenant  con- 
tributing the  rude  and  paying  for  the 
skilled  labour  required  for  the  erec- 
tion of  the  buildings,  the  landlord 
providing  a  part  of  the  materials. 
This  system,  the  adoption  of  which, 
if  more  general,  would  be  one  of  the 
greatest  boons  that  could  be  con- 
ferred upon  the  agricultural  labouring 
class,  has  been  for  some  years  in 
extensive  operation  on  the  estates  of 
Mr  Hope  Johnstone  of  Annandale, 
and  has  resulted  in  the  erection  of 
nearly  two  hundred  excellent  cot- 
tages, of  which  the  tenants  were 
granted  leases  for  nineteen  years  at 
a  nominal  rent,  with  an  understand- 
ing that  at  their  expiration  they 
would  be  renewed  on  favourable 
terms. 

The  plan  has  now  been  in  success- 
ful operation  for  more  than  forty 
years,  and  is  so  eminently  adapted 
to  check  the  great  evil  of  a  con- 
stantly fluctuating  agricultural  pop- 
ulation, and  to  counteract  that  ten- 
dency to  "  flitting "  which  is  so 
annoying  to  the  farmer,  that  we 
venture  to  enter  into  a  few  details 
respecting  the  system  and  its 
working. 

One  district  in  which  it  has  been 
most  beneficially  adopted  consists  of 
the  two  parishes  of  Johnstone  and 
Kirkpatrick- Juxta,  which  form  a  por- 
tion of  the  Annandale  estate.  Fifty 
years  ago  all  the  agricultural  labour- 
ers who  possessed  cottages  held 
them  under  the  tenant-farmers  ;  but 
as  the  greater  number  had  become 
ruinous  and  uninhabitable,  a  new 
system  was  adopted  by  Mr  Hope 
Johnstone.  A  lease  for  nineteen  or 
twenty-one  years  was  given  of  the 
site  of  the  homestead,  with  a  large 
garden,  at  a  rent  of  5s.  yearly.  The 


*  The  known  liberality  of  his  Grace,  and  the  cordiality  which  exists  between  his 
numerous  tenantry  and  their  noble  landlord,  doubtless  enables  him  to  carry  out 
his  views  on  this  subject  with  a  success  which  could  not  be  generally  expected  in 
Scotland. 


1871.]          Tlie  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer. 


485 


tenant  then  erected  the  house  at  his 
own  expense,  with  the  exception  of 
the  timber,  which  was  supplied  gra- 
tuitously from  the  estate,  and  of 
stone  for  chimney-heads,  door  and 
window  joists,  jambs,  ridge-stones, 
&c.,  which  were  provided  by  the 
landlord.  The  cost  to  the  tenant, 
when  this  system  was  first  put  in 
practice,  in  the  erection  of  a  cot- 
tage, generally  amounted  to  about 
£20 ;  but  owing  to  the  progressive 
advance  in  the  price  of  skilled 
labour,  the  wages  of  the  carpenter 
and  mason  employed  would  now 
raise  the  amount  of  the  tenant's 
share  of  the  work  to  rather  over 
£40. 

The  erection  of  cottages  on  these 
terms  has,  although  somewhat 
checked  by  the  high  price  of  labour, 
been  steadily  progressing.  The  cot- 
tages have  been  built  chiefly  on  the 
sides  of  turnpike  or  other  roads,  or 
on  the  boundaries  of  farms.  They 
have  not  been  formed  into  hamlets 
and  villages,  and  are  detached  from 
each  other.  To  two-thirds  or  three- 
fourths  of  the  tenants  leases  have 
also  been  granted  of  from  two  to 
four  or  five  acres  of  coarse  land, 
which  they  bring  into  cultivation, 
and  which  serves  for  summering  and 
wintering  a  cow,  and  for  growing 
potatoes  or  oats  as  desired.  Leases 
are  granted  only  to  persons  of  thor- 
oughly good  character ;  and  the  ex- 
pectation of  their  renewal  upon  very 
favourable  terms  at  the  expiration 
of  the  tenancies  affords  a  guarantee 
for  good  conduct ;  and  the  renewal 
of  the  lease  at  a  moderate  rent  is  re- 
garded as  a  matter  of  course.  Great 
care  is  taken  not  to  grant  leases  to 
any  persons  who  have  not  a  certain 
prospect  of  regular  work  on  or  near 
the  estate,  and  the  population  in  the 
neighbourhood  is  kept  steadily  in 
view.  If  a  steady  and  deserving 
man  should  be  unable  to  pay  the 
full  proportion  of  the  cost  of  build- 


ing implied  in  the  agreement,  assist- 
ance is  given  by  the  landlord,  and 
interest  charged  upon  the  advance. 
"  From  long  experience,"  says  Mr  H. 
Tremenheere,  the  Assistant  -  Com- 
missioner to  whom  we  are  indebted 
for  these  details,  "  it  has  been  found 
that  this  system  is  most  conducive 
to  the  wellbeing,  independence,  and 
good  conduct  of  the  labouring  classes, 
offering  the  strongest  inducement  to 
young  farm-servants  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood to  save  money  to  enable 
them  to  marry  and  settle,  and  en- 
abling them  to  bring  up  their  fami- 
lies in  comfort  and  respectability. 
The  cottages,  being  generally  in  pub- 
lic view,  are  readily  distinguished 
from  the  ordinary  cottar  habitations 
by  the  neatness  of  their  appearance, 
presenting  a  marked  contrast  to  cot- 
tages occupied  by  merely  transitory 
tenants." 

"We  ought  to  add  that  the  Annan- 
dale  estate,  containing  quarries  of 
suitable  stone,  abundance  of  timber, 
and  possessing  numerous  saw-mills, 
offers  peculiar  facilities  for  carrying 
out  a  plan  of  this  kind,  and  that  it 
can  be  adopted  with  success  only  on 
estates  which  possess  similar  advan- 
tages. Such  estates,  however,  must 
be  numerous  in  Scotland,  and  we 
trust  that  Mr  Hope  Johnstone's  plan 
may  find  many  successful  imitators. 
A  landed  proprietor  can  derive  no" 
greater  satisfaction  from  his  pro- 
perty than  the  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing gathered  around  him  a  settled 
population  bound  to  him  by  the 
strongest  ties  of  gratitude  and  self- 
interest. 

The  employment  of  women  in 
agriculture,  although  gradually  dying 
out  in  England,  appears  to  be  still 
very  general  in  Scotland.  The  at- 
tention of  the  Commissioners  was 
very  properly  directed  to  this  sub- 
ject, chiefly  to  ascertain  whether 
any  tasks  are  imposed  on  women 
which  are  physically  unsuitable  to 


486 


Tlie  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer.        [April 


their  sex.  It  does  not  appear  that 
sucli  is  the  case  ;  but  the  testimony 
is  uniform  on  the  effect  of  such  em- 
ployment upon  the  moral  character 
of  women,  and  it  is  generally  ac- 
knowledged that  female  agricultural 
labourers  make  most  indifferent 
wives,  and,  as  a  general  rule,  that 
they  are  indolent  and  wasteful,  and 
their  houses  dirty,  and  their  hus- 
bands poor.  Any  legislative  inter- 
ference with  female  labour,  however 
its  moral  and  social  results  are  to  be 
deplored,  is  not  recommended.  It 
is  probably  owing  to  the  compara- 
tively lower  wages  of  women,  and 
the  extent  to  which  they  are  em- 
ployed, that  Scotch  farming  owes  a 
considerable  portion  of  its  success. 
In  Scotland,  as  in  England,  the  chief 
complaint  is  of  the  language  habitu- 
ally used  by  the  elder  women  when 
at  work.  This,  however,  as  one  of 
the  Assistant  -  Commissioners  re- 
marks, is  only  a  sign  of  naturally 
coarser  habits  and  modes  of  speech 
than  those  practised  by  their  critics. 
Very  little  change,  we  fear,  can  be 
expected  for  the  better,  until  at  least 
one  generation  has  become  accus- 
tomed to  a  greater  amount  of  re- 
serve than  the  present  imperfect 
separation  of  the  sexes  in  their  cot- 
tages will  permit. 

It  was  with  much  surprise  that 
the  Commissioners  who  visited  the 
mining  and  manufacturing  districts 
of  Scotland  found  that  there  was  so 
extensive  an  employment  of  women 
;n  agriculture.  It  has  been  ascertain- 
ed that  in  Wales  the  high  wages  of 
miners  obviated  all  necessity  for 
their  wives  or  daughters  to  work 
out ;  but  in  the  Scotch  mining  dis- 
tricts there  is  an  enormous  employ- 
ment of  women,  particularly  in  the 
large  cropping  areas  around  Glasgow 
and  elsewhere.  Many  farms  are 
there  worked,  with  the  exception  of 
ploughmen,  almost  entirely  by  wo- 
men ;  and  it  is  a  remarkable  fact 


that  the  wives  and  daughters  of 
miners  earning  from  £2  to  £3  a- 
week  should  submit  to  work  at  hce- 
ing  turnips  or  spreading  manure  for 
Is.  to  Is.  6d.  a-day.  The  miners, 
it  seems,  although  in  the  receipt  of 
very  high  wages,  find  it  necessary,  in 
order  to  meet  the  cost  of  their  ex- 
travagant mode  of  living,  to  supple- 
ment their  own  earnings  by  those  of 
their  families.  The  wives,  too,  are 
generally  such  bad  economists,  that 
the  money  earned  by  them  in  field- 
labour  is  required  to  meet  the  cur- 
rent expenses  of  the  household. 

This  relic  of  barbarism — for  such 
we  hold  to  be  the  employment  of  wo- 
men in  agricultural  labour — will  only 
disappear  under  the  refining  effect 
of  increasing  civilisation.  It  must 
be  left  to  the  gradual  influence  of 
morals,  public  opinion,  and  a  better 
education.  In  some  parts  of  Eng- 
land, girls  who  have  been  educated 
at  the  parochial  schools  show  a  de- 
cided and  increasing  aversion  to 
field-work  ;  and  in  the  border  coun- 
ty of  Cumberland  especially,  it  is 
only  by  those  who  have  lost  their 
character,  or  who  have  not  been 
sent  regularly  to  school,  that  rough 
farm-work  is  preferred  to  domestic 
service. 

We  have  thus  presented  the  sali- 
ent points  and  prominent  recom- 
mendations of  this  important  Com- 
mission, as  far  as  it  relates  to  our 
agricultural  population.  They  afford 
matter  for  serious  consideration,  and 
some  of  the  suggestions  for  the 
amelioration  of  the  condition  of  our 
peasantry,  are  well  worthy  of  at- 
tention both  by  tenant-farmers  and 
landlords.  An  intelligent  observer, 
wedded  neither  to  the  traditions  nor 
customs  of  our  country,  and  ap- 
proaching the  subjects  of  his  inves- 
tigation with  a  desire  to  do  impar- 
tial justice  to  whatever  he  sees  of 
good,  and  to  suppress  nothing  which 
he  believes  to  be  bad,  can  scarcely 


1871.]        The  Condition  of  the  Scotch  Agricultural  Labourer. 


487 


fail  to  throw  some  new  and  striking 
lights  upon  objects  which,  to  habit- 
ual observers,  exhibit  nothing  ob- 
jectionable or  wrong.  For  these 
reasons,  we  welcome  these  reports 
as  affording  valuable  suggestions  for 
practical  use,  and  giving  prominence 
to  facts  which  may  have  long  been 
overlooked  or  ignored.  On  the  im- 
portant subject  of  the  state  of  ele- 
mentary education  they  are  especially 
full.  That  the  management  of  our 
parochial  schools  requires  reconsider- 
ation, has  long  been  the  conviction 
of  those  best  acquainted  with  them  ; 
that  the  education  of  the  agricultural 
class  is  not,  on  the  whole,  what  it 
ought  to  be,  is  clearly  proved  by 
these  reports. 

It  is  gratifying  to  find  that,  what- 
ever our  shortcomings  may  be,  there 
are  many  practices  in  the  parochial 
schools  which  might,  in  the  opinion 
of  the  Commissioners,  be  adopted 
with  advantage  in  the  elementary 
schools  of  England.  Among  these 
the  system  of  requiring  lessons  to 
be  prepared  at  home,  the  pains  be- 
stowed in  making  children  under- 
stand the  derivations  and  meanings 
of  words,  and  to  exercise  their  think- 
ing faculties,  and  the  care  which  is 
taken  to  store  their  memories  with 
passages  of  prose  and  verse,  which 
may  be  sources  of  pleasure  or  of 
moral  and  religious  guidance  when 


they  grow  up,  are  the  most  promi- 
nent. 

The  general  practice  of  requiring 
lessons  to  be  learned  at  home  instead 
of  in  the  school,  as  in  England,  seems 
to  have  made  a  strong  impression 
upon  the  Commissioners,  and  the 
example  of  Scotland  has  elicited  the 
following  recommendation : — 

"  It  cannot  be  said  that  there  are  any 
greater  obstacles  in  a  Scotch  cottage  to 
the  practice  of  the  children  learning  a 
portion  of  their  school-work  for  the  next 
day  at  home,  than  there  are  in  an  English 
cottage.  On  the  contrary,  the  advantages 
in  regard  to  room  and  light  are  probably 
for  the  most  part  on  the  side  of  the  Eng- 
lish cottage.  The  English  labourer's 
child  leaves  school  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  and  does  not  return  to  it  until, 
nine  the  next  morning.  The  number  of 
hours  wasted,  for  all  purposes  of  education, 
is  thus  very  great.  It  has  been  seen  above 
that  in  Scotland  even  the  schoolroom  is, 
if  needed,  made  accessible  to  the  children 
before  the  school  hours,  to  enable  them  to 
prepare  their  lessons  in  quiet.  The  good 
effects  of  this  practice  of  home  lessons, 
both  upon  the  children  and  the  parents, 
are  manifest.  The  children  of  the  labour- 
ing classes  in  England  are  probably  the 
only  children  in  this  community  who  are 
allowed  habitually  to  throw  away,  as  re- 
gards the  purposes  of  education,  the  whole 
of  the  time  between  school  liours.  If 
schools  are  henceforward  to  be  largely 
supported  by  rates,  it  may  reasonably  be 
anticipated  that  school-boards  will  look 
to  this  point,  in  order  that  better  results 
may  be  obtained  in  a  shorter  time  than 
has  hitherto  been  the  case,  and  the  public 
funds  thereby  economised." 


VOL.  CIX. NO.  DCLXVI. 


2L 


488 


TJie  End  of  the  War. 


[April 


THE    END     OF     THE     WAE. 


FRANCE  is  at  peace.  Germany  is 
at  peace.  Europe  is  at  peace.  The 
three  expressions  are  similar ;  and 
yet  what  dissimilar  ideas  do  they 
awaken  !  Peace  means,  in  respect 
of  France,  that  she  has  at  length  a 
season  when  she  may  survey  her 
desolation,  and  understand  how  she 
is  dejected  and  punished.  To 
Germany,  peace  means  success  as- 
sured, high  fame  established,  the 
greatest  ends  achieved  by  the  wisest 
counsels  and  most  complete  execu- 
tion. But  what  ideas  will  Europe 
associate  with  the  name  of  peace? 
Eestored  confidence  1  —  a  clearer 
vision? — a  mind  elevated  by  trial] 
— or,  bitter  reflection — a  sense  of 
relapse  toward  barbarism  1 — a  dread 
that  she  may  overlie  volcanoes  ? 

France  is  at  peace.  Her  Imperial 
armies  have  been  utterly  beaten  and 
taken  prisoners  by  more  than  a 
hundred  thousand  at  a  capture ;  her 
Republican  energies  have  been  tried, 
but  the  efforts  resulting  therefrom 
have  but  prolonged  her  misery;  her 
renowned  historical  capital  has  once 
more  opened  its  gates  to  a  victorious 
enemy :  these,  and  a  hundred  smaller 
misfortunes,  have  signalised  but  too 
mournfully  the  loss  of  her  military 
prestige.  Peace  is  the  end  of  that 
excitement  which  could  postpone 
reflection,  the  full  knowledge  of 
humiliation.  With  peace  comes 
also  the  penalty  imposed  by  the 
victor — loss  of  territory,  loss  of  her 
fortresses,  a  crushing  pecuniary  fine, 
the  enemy's  occupation  of  fair 
Champagne  until  the  fine  be  paid, 
— these  are  the  price  of  peace. 
These  sacrifices  have  bought  her 
external  peace ;  but  it  would  re- 
quire the  flood  of  Lethe  to  bring 
her  peace  of  mind  ! 

Judging  between  the  two  nations 
lately  belligerent  with  the  calm  eye 


of  a  neutral,  we  in  this  country 
consider  the  demand  of  the  con- 
queror excessive.  We  think  of  the 
enormous  cost  to  France  of  her 
defeat,  independently  of  the  price 
of  peace,  and  determine  that  Ger- 
many should  have  been  more  gene- 
rous. Looking  to  the  honour  which 
Germany  has  won  upon  French 
crests,  and  to  the  spoil  already 
taken  in  the  war,  we  deprecate 
the  exaction  of  a  huge  material  fine 
at  the  moment  when  the  sword 
returns  to  its  scabbard.  We  have 
admired  so  much  Prussia's  mastery 
of  the  art  of  war,  and  her  bearing 
in  the  field,  that  we  feel  aggrieved 
because  she  forces  us  to  stint  our 
approbation,  and  because  we  may 
not  see  her  as  great  in  mind  as  she 
is  in  deed.  We  are  so  impressed 
by  her  prowess  as  to  feel  jealous 
for  her  honour.  We  cannot  bear 
that  a  nation  to  which  we  have 
involuntarily  accorded  so  much 
praise  should  in  any  wise  come  short 
of  her  great  promise.  It  seems  a 
moral  necessity  that  being,  as  she 
confessedly  is,  sans  peur,  she  should 
be  also  satis  reproche.  But  in 
truth  we  have  expected  too  much. 
The  German  mind  has  attained  to 
high  warlike  design,  and  to  most 
complete  achievement,  while  it  is 
still  far  short  of  chivalrous  eleva- 
tion. It  is  tainted  with  the  doc- 
trines of  them  of  old  time  who 
asked  an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth 
for  a  tooth.  It  is  not  yet  sufficiently 
familiar  with  greatness  to  know  the 
power  of  generosity  :  it  has  small 
acquaintance  with  the  beatitude 
which  "  droppeth  as  the  gentle  dew 
from  heaven,"  which  is  "  mighti- 
est in  the  mightiest."  The  gross 
and  palpable  booty  has  evidently 
been  as  carefully  calculated  by 
Prussia  beforehand  as  any  provi- 


1871.] 


The  End  of  the  War. 


489 


sion  of  war.  She  feels  that  she 
must  produce  a  scalp  to  gain  credit 
for  having  taken  a  life.  She  has 
but  a  glimmer  of  the  perfect  light 
of  fame. 

Plainly,  then,  we  must  put  aside 
every  high  standard  in  judging  of 
the  terms  which  Germany  has  im- 
posed. The  devout  language  of  the 
Emperor-King — "  the  mildest-man- 
nered man  that  ever  scuttled  ship 
or  cut  a  throat" — would  be  much 
misunderstood  if  it  were  taken  to 
indicate  that  the  precepts  of  Scrip- 
ture are  likely  ever  to  make  him 
forget  worldly  interests ;  and  the 
dispositions  of  his  advisers  and 
his  people  are  far  removed  from 
Quixotic  magnanimity.  They  have 
heaped  coals  of  fire  upon  the  head 
of  their  enemy,  but  they  have  done 
it  with  a  spade,  and  they  have 
called  the  spade  by  its  own  name. 
At  the  best  we  may  say  that  they 
have  paid  so  much  homage  to  virtue 
as  to  have  kept  out  of  sight  the 
word  vengeance,  and  to  have  justi- 
fied their  acts  by  the  plea  that  they 
are  dictated  by  a  regard  to  future 
safety. 

Thus,  if  we  may  not  think  their 
conduct  sublime,  we  have  no  right 
to  think  it  worse  than  the  ordinary 
conduct  of  their  fellows.  France, 
we  know,  had  long  coveted  Rhenish 
Prussia ;  and  as  to  desire  her 
neighbour's  property,  and  to  believe 
that  she  had  a  right  to  it,  were 
with  France  much  the  same  thing, 
we  need  hardly  doubt  that  had  she 
been  victorious  she  would  have  in- 
sisted on  the  cession  to  her  of  that 
territory.  Her  cries  of  a  Berlin! 
indicated  that  she  meant  to  at  least 
occupy,  if  she  could,  the  enemy's 
capital.  And  we  think  she  might 
have  been  trusted  to  indemnify  her- 
self fully  before  lifting  her  foot  from 
off  her  prostrate  foe.  Neither  may 
we  flatter  France  by  saying  that 
her  bite  would  have  been  less 
savage  than  her  bark.  We  know 


well,  and  Prussia  knows  only  too 
well,  how  France  can  behave  herself 
towards  the  vanquished.  The  treaty 
of  Tilsit  between  France  and  Prussia 
is  an  old  story  now  to  us,  but 
doubtless  it  has  been  kept  in  the 
memory  of  Prussian  hearts ;  and 
indeed  one  may  suppose  that  the 
treaty  just  concluded  is  framed  in 
imitation  of  it.  For,  let  us  recall 
for  a  moment  the  terms,  quoting 
Sir  A.  Alison  : — 

"The  losses  of  Prussia  by  this  treaty 
were  enormous.  Between  the  states 
forming  part  of  her  possessions  ceded  to 
the  Grand-Duchy  of  Warsaw  and  those 
acquired  by  the  kingdom  of  Westphalia, 
she  lost  4,236,048  inhabitants,  or  nearly 
a  half  of  her  dominions,  for  those  re- 
tained contained  only  5,034,504  souls. 
But  overwhelming  as  the  losses  were, 
they  constituted  but  a  small  part  of  the 
calamities  which  fell  on  this  ill-fated 
monarchy  by  this  disastrous  peace. 
The  fortresses  left  her,  whether  iu 
Silesia  or  on  the  Oder,  remained  in  the 
hands  of  France  nominally,  as  a  security 
for  payment  of  the  war  contributions 
which  were  to  be  levied  on  the  im- 
poverished inhabitants,  but  really  to 
overawe  its  government  and  entirely 
paralyse  its  military  resources.  A  gar- 
rison of  20,000  French  soldiers  was 
stationed  in  Dantzic— a  frontier  station 
of  immense  importance — both  as  her- 
metically closing  the  mouths  of  the 
Vistula,  giving  the  French  authorities 
the  entire  command  of  the  commerce  of 
Poland,  and  affording  an  advanced  post 
which,  in  the  event  of  future  hostilities, 
would  be  highly  serviceable  in  a  war 
with  Russia.  The  newly-established 
kingdoms  of  Westphalia  and  Saxony, 
with  the  military  road  through  Prussia 
terminating  in  the  Grand-Duchy  of  War- 
saw, gave  the  French  Emperor  the  un- 
disputed control  of  Northern  Germany ; 
in  effect,  brought  up  the  French  frontier 
to  the  Niemen,  and  enabled  him  to  com- 
mence any  future  war  with  the  same 
advantage  from  that  distant  river  as  he 
had  done  the  present  from  the  banks  of 
the  Rhine.  At  the  same  time  enormous 
contributions,  amounting  to  the  stu- 
pendous, and,  if  not  proved  by  authentic 
documents,  incredible  sum  of  six  hundred 
millions  of  francs,  or  twenty-four  mil- 
lions sterling,  were  imposed  on  the 
countries  which  had  been  the  seat  of 
war  between  the  Rhine  and  the  Niemen ; 
a  sum  at  least  equal  to  an  hundred 


490 


TJie  End  of  the  War. 


[April 


millions  sterling  in  Great  Britain,  when 
the  difference  in  the  value  of  money  and 
the  wealth  of  the  two  states  is  taken 
into  consideration.  This  grievous  exac- 
tion completely  paralysed  the  strength 
of  Prussia,  and  rendered  her  for  the  next 
five  years  totally  incapable  of  extricating 
herself  from  that  iron  net  in  which  she 
was  enveloped  by  the  continued  occupa- 
tion of  her  fortresses  by  the  French 
troops. 

"While  Napoleon  and  Alexander 
were  thus  adjusting  their  differences  at 
Tilsit  by  the  spoliation  of  all  the  weaker 
Powers  in  Europe,  partitioning  Turkey, 
and  providing  for  the  dethronement  of 
the  sovereigns  in  the  Spanish  peninsula, 
the  chains  were  drawn  yet  more  closely 
round  unhappy  Prussia.  In  the  treaty 
with  that  Power  it  had  been  provided 
that  a  subsidiary  military  convention 
should  be  concluded  regarding  the  period 
of  the  evacuation  of  the  fortresses  by  the 
French  troops,  and  the  sums  of  money 
to  be  paid  for  their  ransom.  Nomin- 
ally, it  was  provided  that  they  should 
be  evacuated  by  the  1st  October,  with 
the  exception  of  Stettin,  which  was  still 
to  be  garrisoned  by  French  troops  ;  but 
as  it  was  expressly  declared  as  a  sine  qua 
non  that  the  whole  contributions  im- 
posed should  be  paid  up  before  the  evac- 
uation commenced,  and  that  the  King 
of  Prussia  should  levy  no  revenue  in  his 
dominions  till  these  exactions  were  fully 
satisfied,  and  that  the  Prussians,  mean- 
while, should  feed,  clothe,  and  lodge  all 
the  French  troops  within  their  bounds, 
the  French  Emperor  had  in  reality  the 
means  of  retaining  possession  of  them  as 
long  as  he  chose,  which  he  accordingly 
did.  In  addition  to  the  enormous  war 
contributions  already  mentioned,  of 
which  513, 744, 000  francs,  or  £20,500,000, 
fell  on  Prussia  alone,  farther  and  most 
burdensome  commissions  were  forced  on 
Prussia  in  the  end  of  the  year,  in  virtue 
of  which  Count  Daru,  the  French  Col- 
lector-General, demanded  154,000,000 
francs,  or  £6,160,000,  more  from  that 
unhappy  and  reduced  State ;  an  exaction 
so  monstrous  and  utterly  disproportioned 
to  its  now  scanty  revenue,  which  did 
not  exceed  £3,000,000  sterling,  that  it 
never  was  or  could  be  fully  discharged  ; 
and  this  gave  the  French  a  pretence  for 
continuing  the  occupation  of  the  for- 
tresses, and  wringing  contributions  from 
the  country  till  five  years  afterwards, 


when     the     Moscow      campaign     com- 
menced."* 

If,  then,  precedent,  if  trespass 
against  them  of  equal  cruelty,  be 
justification,  Germany  and  Ger- 
many's Emperor  may  defend  their 
acts.  And  to  their  sense  it  would 
seem  that  precedent,  and  former 
injury  to  themselves  at  the  hand  of 
France,  are  all  the  justification  that 
is  needed.  "  Happy  shall  he  be 
that  rewardeth  thee  as  thou  hast 
served  us.  Blessed  shall  he  be  that 
taketh  thy  children  and  throweth 
them  against  the  stones."  This  in- 
dicates the  moral  latitude  of  Prussia. 
She  cannot  rise  a  hair's  -  breadth 
above  the  level  of  the  first  French 
Empire. 

We  hear  from  some  apologists 
that  Germany  would  have  been  less 
terrible  in  her  vengeance,  but  that 
she  has  feared,  and  has  acted  on  the 
fear,  that  what  she  did  not  do, 
boastful  France  would  hereafter  say 
that  she  could  not  do.  It  was  ne- 
cessary, therefore,  to  leave  indelible 
marks  for  history ;  to  let  proof  of 
her  triumphant  power  rest  upon 
severe,  startling  facts.  But  this  is 
surely  a  miserable  apology.  Does 
Prussia  imagine  that  it  is  in  the 
power  of  France  to  take  away  her 
reputation,  to  disguise  the  greatness 
of  her  triumph  1  Where  have  the 
eyes  of  Europe  been  that  the  whole 
Continent  should  not  be  witness  in 
the  matter  ?  Does  Prussia  remem- 
ber that  these  things  were  not  done 
in  a  corner,  and  that  her  acts  have 
impressed  the  whole  civilised  world? 
Can  she  not  trust  the  world  ]  Ap- 
parently she  cannot.  She  has  ig- 
nored too  much  the  influence  and 
the  opinion  of  Europe.  She  has 
looked  on  the  war  as  a  barbaric  feud 
of  the  middle  ages  handed  down 


*  And  yet  a  Parisian  correspondent  of  the  'Times,'  whose  letter  was  published 
on  9th  March,  would  persuade  us  that  "  the  Germans  have  converted  war  into  a 
business,  while  the  French  imagined  themselves  to  be  preserving  to  it  a  chivalrous 
aspect."  This  correspondent  must  write  for  the  marines. 


1871.] 


TJie  End  of  the  War. 


491 


from  generation  to  generation.  She 
has  thought  of  only  assuring  herself 
and  her  foe  of  the  retributive  tri- 
umph. She  has  been  insensible  to 
the  far  greater  triumph  which  she 
might  have  enjoyed.  She  might 
have  established  her  empire  over 
the  mind  of  that  Europe  in  which 
she  now  occupies  the  first  position. 
It  is  her  misfortune  that  the  voice 
of  civilisation  seems  now  to  proclaim 
her  a  destroyer  to  be  greatly  feared, 
rather  than  a  leader  by  whose  pri- 
macy the  world  will  be  improved. 

Yet,  if  Prussia  has  not  deserved 
the  highest  reputation  of  all,  she 
has  astonished  all  nations  by  the 
sagacity  of  her  plans,  and  by  the 
ability  with  Avhich  she  has  created, 
and  moved,  and  fought  her  splendid 
armies.  All  the  aims  of  a  great 
military  nation  appear  to  have  been 
achieved  by  her.  Soldiers  in  a  suc- 
cession of  countless  hosts ;  the  ma- 
terial and  accessories  of  war  profuse 
in  quantity,  and  so  efficiently  trans- 
ported as  to  be  always  available 
when  wanted;  the  highest  profes- 
sional talent  in  her  chief  leaders ; 
proficiency  in  all  her  officers ;  a  per- 
fect and  unwavering  discipline  :  suc- 
cess in  maturing  all  this  we  must 
ascribe  to  Prussia.  It  is  probable 
that,  before  the  war  had  lasted  a 
month,  Prussia  knew  certainly  that 
in  numbers,  as  in  all  else,  her  armies 
were  far  superior  to  those  of  France. 
She  was  able,  therefore,  to  take  her 
measures  at  discretion,  so  as  to  con- 
trol the  course  and  events  of  the 
campaign.  She  has  proved  to  us 
that  for  the  career  of  conquest  she 
could  not  be  excelled  ;  but  it  is  only 
in  that  course  that  we  have  seen 
her.  How  her  organism  would  have 
stood  the  test  of  reverses,  how  her 
troops  would  have  borne,  and  how 
her  generals  would  have  retrieved 
disaster,  we  have  had  no  oppor- 
tunity of  judging.  Her  foe  was  not 
worthy  of  her.  And  this  inferiority 
of  France  is  no  less  remarkable  than 


the  undoubted  excellence  of  Prussia. 
We  know  very  well  that  the  most 
glorious  of  armies  can  be  composed 
of  Frenchmen — that  the  necessary 
materials  exist  in  France ;  and  yet 
we  have  seen  an  apparently  splen- 
did French  army  not  only  unsuc- 
cessful, but  so  thoroughly  helpless 
both  in  design  and  act  as  to  be  an 
easy  prey.  The  failing  has  been 
said  by  one  critic  to  have  been  here, 
and  by  another  to  have  been  there, 
but  it  cannot  have  been  confined 
to  any  one  article.  The  more  we 
reflect  upon  the  events  of  the  cam- 
paign, the  more  convinced  we  must 
become  that  there  was  inefficiency 
from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the 
army,  and  that  the  very  gravest 
blame  attaches  to  all  who  have  been 
concerned  in  its  organisation  and 
administration.  It  is  impossible  but 
that  its  incapacity  must  have  been 
known  had  the  least  attention  been 
given  by  intelligent  persons  to  its 
condition.  There  was  neither  head 
nor  heart  in  it.  We  have  learned 
that  a  fair  military  display  may  be 
made  where  there  is  really  no  mili- 
tary force — good  stuff,  perhaps,  but, 
from  unskilful  leading  and  de- 
fective organisation,  only  food  for 
powder.  Or  is  it  right  to  say  that 
we  have  learned?  We  have  had  the 
opportunity  of  learning,  but  we  pro- 
bably have  not  learned ;  for  be  it 
remembered  that  the  largest  item  in 
Mr  Card  well's  provision  for  the  de- 
fence of  Great  Britain  this  year  is 
170,000  volunteers,  and  the  second 
largest  139,000  militia,  partly  dis- 
embodied and  partly  not  yet  levied ! 
Is  it  reasonable  to  expect  that  such 
a  force  would  make  a  better  figure 
before  Prussian  troops  than  the 
French  army  did?  There  might 
be  fewer  sound  prisoners,  and  more 
killed  and  wounded  perhaps,  but 
that  is  all  the  difference.  And  the 
mention  of  this  difference  recalls  the 
great  number  of  unwounded  French 
prisoners  that  were  taken,  which  is 


492 


The  End  of  the  War. 


[April 


a  very  notable  fact.  Independently 
of  the  huge  goings  into  captivity  at 
Sedan  and  at  Metz,  every  battle,  as 
we  were  told,  produced  its  harvest 
of  prisoners  in  most  disproportion- 
ate numbers.  JSTow  we  know  that 
Frenchmen  in  former  wars  have  had 
no  disposition  to  yield  themselves 
up,*  so  that  their  conduct  last  year 
must  be  explained  by  some  pe- 
culiarity of  the  time.  Either  the 
conscripts,  being  shamefully  led, 
found  themselves  like  sheep  without 
a  shepherd,  and,  comprehending  their 
danger,  but  not  knowing  how  to 
meet  it,  bought  their  lives  by  the 
surrender  of  their  liberty ;  or  else 
they  were  (as  some  writers  have  not 
scrupled  to  insinuate)  really  luke- 
warm about  the  fate  of  the  army  or 
the  honour  of  the  country.  In 
either  case  the  fault  was  in  the 
leaders ;  for  it  is  not  only  the  lead- 
ing and  handling  of  troops  in  pre- 
sence of  the  enemy  which  is  expected 
from  officers — on  them  depends  also 
the  tone  of  regiments.  All  sorts  of 
notions  will  spread  among  raw  lads, 
and  all  sorts  of  weaknesses  will  be 
yielded  to,  if  a  proper  spirit  be  not 
sedulously  kept  up  by  superiors 
whom  the  soldiers  respect.  This 
consideration  is  of  immense  import- 
ance, and  should  not  be  overlooked 
by.us,  who  are  at  this  time  invited 
to  tamper  with  the  officering  of  our 
army.t 

We  have  before  taken  occasion  to 
note  t  the  steadiness  of  the  German 


troops,  which  the  most  intoxicating 
success  was  unable  to  shake ;  and 
we  have  now  to  mention  in  the 
highest  terms  the  self-restraint  and 
the  unprovoking  demeanour  which 
they  exhibited  in  entering  Paris. 
Nothing  could  be  finer  than  their 
bearing  at  the  time  of  triumph,  and 
it  is  to  be  doubted  whether  any  other 
troops  in  the  world  have  ever  borne 
success  with  such  equanimity.  We 
English  are  very  boastful  about  our 
behaviour  when  in  an  enemy's 
territory ;  and  as  far  as  the  will  of 
the  nation  and  the  orders  of  our 
commanders  are  concerned,  licence 
is  utterly  discountenanced.  But 
there  are  little  chapters  in  the 
histories  of  our  wars  which  prove 
that  we  have  never  succeeded  in 
carrying  into  act  the  excellent  reg- 
ulations which  we  approve  for  the 
guidance  of  our  armies.  What  shall 
we  say,  for  instance,  of  an  occurrence 
like  the  following,  of  which  we  ex- 
tract the  account  from  Napier's 
Peninsular  War  1  The  author  has 
just  graphically  described  the  as- 
sault on  Badajos,  and  the  unparalleled 
bravery  which  our  army  displayed 
there,  when  he  goes  on  to  say : — 

"  Now  commenced  that  wild  and  des- 
perate wickedness  which  tarnished  the 
lustre  of  the  soldier's  heroism.  All  in- 
deed were  not  alike,  for  hundreds  risked, 
and  many  lost,  their  lives  in  striving  to 
stop  the  violence ;  biit  the  madness  gene- 
rally prevailed,  and  as  the  worst  men 
were  leaders  here,  all  the  dreadful  pas- 
sions of  human  nature  were  displayed. 


*  "  La  Garde  meurfc  :  elle  ne  se  rend  pas." 

t  It  is  clear  from  what  has  been  said  in  the  course  of  the  debate  on  Army 
Organisation,  that  many  of  our  legislators  either  have  no  conception  of  what  this 
tone  is,  or  else  confound  it  with  mere  bravery.  Some  of  the  speakers  on  the 
Ministerial  side,  when  speaking  scornfully  of  the  dread  that  deterioration  would 
follow  the  abolition  of  the  regimental  system,  have  taken  occasion  to  remark  that 
they  were  sure  British  soldiers,  however  combined,  would  in  the  future  per- 
form deeds  as  heroic  as  have  been  done  in  the  past.  From  which  observation  we 
dissent  altogether,  if  the  acts  of  masses  or  aggregations  of  men  are  intended.  Any 
one  acquainted  with  the  service  must  know  that  regiments  have  idiosyncrasies  like 
individuals,  and  that,  notwithstanding  the  changes  which  under  the  present  system 
occasionally  occur  without  affecting  the  separate  character,  any  general  permuta- 
tion of  officers  would  be  fatal  to  tone,  and  so  would  damage  materially  the 
efficiency  of  the  corps. 

£  See  'Blackwood's  Magazine'  for  Oct.  1870,  p.  526  ;  and  March  1871,  p.  382. 


1871.] 


The  End  of  the  War. 


Shameless  rapacity,  brutal  intemperance, 
savage  lust,  cruelty,  and  murder,  shrieks 
and  piteous  lamentations,  groans,  shouts, 
imprecations,  the  hissing  of  fires  bursting 
from  the  houses,  the  crashing  of  doors 
aud  windows,  and  the  reports  of  muskets 
used  in  violence,  resounded  for  two  days 
and  nights  in  the  streets  of  Badajos !  Ou 
the  third,  when  the  city  was  sacked, 
when  the  soldiers  were  exhausted  by 
their  own  excesses,  the  tumult  rather 
subsided  than  was  quelled.  The  wound- 
ed men  were  then  looked  to  and  the  dead 
disposed  of ! " 

The  above,  though  it  was  not 
quite  a  solitary  scandal,  was  alto- 
gether an  exceptional  outbreak.  The 
best  troops,  it  was  thought,  must  be 
carried  away  in  times  of  great  excite- 
ment. Happy  are  they  with  whom 
the  phrensy  soon  passes,  and  order 
rapidly  resumes  her  sway.  But  the 
Prussians  have  taught  us  all  a  new 
lesson  in  that  respect.  It  is  their 
surpassing  merit  that  they  have 
been  as  calm  and  steady  in  the  hour 
of  bewildering  triumph,  as  if  the 
conquest  of  huge  hosts  and  the  cap- 
ture of  cities  were  ordinary  events 
of  every  day's  experience.  In  point 
of  moderation  and  self-restraint  they 
have  shown  themselves  worthy  of 
their  leading  position — they  are  a 
light  to  lighten  the  armies  of  all 
Europe  !.! 

Germany,  if  she  has  been  hard 
and  inexorable  in  her  exactions,  has 
no  doubt  shown  a  high  degree  of 
self-possession  and  a  restraint  of 
emotion  which  are  highly  becom- 
ing. We  wish  heartily  that,  turn- 
ing to  the  other  side,  we  could  see 
France  bearing  her  reverses — her 
most  severe  trials  undoubtedly — 
with  a  corresponding  dignity.  In 
some  things  France,  let  us  admit, 
has  not  been  unworthy  of  herself 
and  her  antecedents ;  but  there 
have  been  occasions  where  she  has 
appeared  so  deficient  and  so  paltry 
as  almost  to  quell  respect  and  sym- 
pathy. What,  for  instance,  can  be 
more  an  antidote  to  admiration  than 
the  pitiful  exhibition  in  the  National 


Assembly,  made  by  no  less  a  person 
than  M.  Victor  Hugo  on  the  1st 
March?  Pistol  with  his  leek,  and 
his  threat  that  "  all  hell  shall  stir 
for  this,"  is  almost  dignified  by  com- 
parison. As  reported  in  the  London 
'Times'  of  6th  March,  M.  Hugo 
used  this  language  : — 

"Paris,  fighting  for  five  months,  was 
the  admiration  of  the  world.  In  those 
five  months  it  had  gained  more  honour 
than  it  had  lost  in  nineteen  years  of  the 
Empire.  Majestic  as  Rome,  heroic  as 
Sparta,  the  Prussians  might  sully  it, 
but  they  had  not  taken  it.  ...  He 
declared  that  Prussia  might  be  master  of 
France  at  the  present  time,  but  never  in 
the  future.  France  was  a  red-hot  iron 
which  any  foreign  hand  that  grasped  it 
would  soon  be  glad  to  drop.  All  that 
France  had  lost  the  Revolution  would 
regain.  One  day  the  France  of  1792 
would  arise  invincible,  and  at  a  bound 
would  recapture  Alsace  and  Lorraine. 
Was  that  all  ?  No ;  she  would  seize 
Trfives,  Mayence,  Cologne,  Coblentz,  all 
the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine." 

The  '  Times '  correspondent  says, 
that  when  he  spoke  of  recapturing 
Alsace  and  Lorraine  "  at  a  bound," 
he  crouched  into  the  attitude  of  a 
beast  about  to  spring  ! ! 

M.  Hugo  appears  to  have  studied 
parts  of  his  friend  the  divine  Wil- 
liam to  some  purpose,  and  he  now 
reproduces  with  amplification  one  of 
the  personce  in  "  King  Henry  V."  If 
one  were  to  borrow  the  expression 
of  Gower,  and  to  say  he  was  "a 
counterfeit  cowardly  knave,  and  dare 
not  by  his  deeds  avouch  any  of  his 
words,"  he  could  hardly  complain, 
having  so  broadly  invited  the  com- 
parison. And  if  France  has  been 
disgraced  by  her  educated  braggarts, 
so  has  Paris  been  degraded  by  her 
execrable  street  ruffians.  They  who 
were  powerless  before  an  armed  foe, 
have  been  wreaking  their  awaken- 
ing valour  on  the  helpless  and  un- 
protected. Surely  if  the  chastise- 
ment from  the  hand  of  Prussia  had 
fallen  on  these  cowardly  ragamuf- 
fins instead  of  on  the  peasantry,  the 
sense  of  mankind  would  be  better 


Tlie  End  of  the  War. 


[April 


satisfied.  Blustering  demagogues, 
without  any  resource  or  real  ability ; 
a  savage,  cowardly,  metropolitan 
rabble,  encouraged  in  its  ferocity 
and  extravagance  by  the  language 
of  its  leaders, — these  have  been  for 
many  a  day  the  bane  of  France,  and 
there  is  every  symptom  of  their  be- 
ing about  to  perpetrate  more  mis- 
chief. It  is  most  amusing  to  observe 
how  satisfied  the  Republican  speak- 
ers are,  that  by  laying  upon  the  Em- 
pire the  responsibility  of  the  war 
and  its  consequences,  they  relieve 
France  of  all  blame.  They  do  not 
explain  to  us  who  instituted  and 
maintained  the  Empire,  if  not  France. 
Neither  do  they  explain  how  it  came 
to  pass  that  as  long  as  the  Empire 
was  successful  France  never  thought 
of  repudiating  its  acts.  The  Crimean 
war  and  the  war  with  Austria  were 
Imperial  wars,  the  latter  of  them  as 
unjust  and  unprovoked  a  war  as  the 
war  with  Prussia,  and  yet  France 
uttered  no  word  of  protest  or  disap- 
proval, but  accepted  the  successes 
with  all  her  heart.  Does  any  one 
doubt  that  a  victorious  Emperor 
would  have  been  welcomed  back, 
too,  in  1870,  with  applause  and 
adulation?  Individuals  may  have 
signified  their  disapproval  or  pro- 
tested, but  the  nation  cannot  separ- 
ate itself  from  its  ruler's  act,  and  is 
guilty  of  a  crime  against  Europe  and 
against  civilisation  in  having  made 
this  ruinous  war.  It  will  be  discov- 
ered at  last  that  Europe  will  not  ac- 
cept Napoleon  as  a  scape-goat,  and 
that  the  obloquy  which  so  many 
indomitable  patriots  are  now  heap- 
ing upon  him  will  not  serve  the 
purpose  intended.  And  while  no- 
ticing this  obloquy,  which  the  Con- 
stituent Assembly  almost  with  one 
voice  has  not  been  ashamed  to  ex- 
press with  railing,  tumult,  and  every 
indecorous  circumstance,  we  ought 


not  to  pass  by  the  courageous  deport- 
ment of  the  half-dozen  Corsicans, 
who  in  the  teeth  of  the  violent 
Chamber  stood  up  to  defend  the 
prisoner  of  Wilhelmshohe.  What- 
ever judgment  France  may  pass 
upon  those  scenes  of  the  first  of 
March,  England,  we  feel  assured, 
will  see  more  real  nobility  in  the 
undaunted  devotion  of  these  two  or 
three  Imperialists  than  in  all  the 
patriotic  rant  put  forth  to  drown  the 
noise  of  chewing  the  leek.  We 
must  still  believe  that  there  are  in 
France  very  many  prominent  men, 
upon  whom  reverse  and  punishment 
have  had  no  salutary  influence ; 
who  cannot  conform  themselves  to 
their  present  condition ;  who  are  so 
far  from  being  likely  to  help  or  raise 
up  their  country,  that  the  country's 
greatest  danger  lies  in  the  possible 
acts  of  folly  to  which  these  her  in- 
flated sons  may  incite  her.* 

The  appetite  of  a  keen-witted, 
aspiring,  busy  people,  not  for  bom- 
bast only,  but  for  positive  falsehood, 
is  something  for  ethnologists  to  ex- 
plain. The  gross  falsehoods  that 
were  current  in  and  about  Paris 
during  the  last  few  weeks  of  the 
Empire,  and  from  the  commence- 
ment of  the  Eepublic  to  the  peace, 
have  been  passed  over  at  home  as 
mere  matters  of  course.  There  has 
been  no  contradiction,  no  exposure. 
While  from  the  Emperor  downward 
everybody  is  clamouring  about  frauds 
and  betrayals  from  which  alone  have 
proceeded  all  the  misfortunes  of  the 
country — these  sins  being  of  that 
foundling  kind  which  in  default  of 
parents  are  ascribed  to  Mr  Nobody 
or  the  domestic  cat  —  the  whole 
people  have  been  encouraging  such 
an  invention  of  falsehoods  as  can- 
not be  paralleled  except  perhaps  in 
Persia.  Sometimes  here  and  there 
a  misrepresentation  cleverly  put  for- 


*  This  foreboding  has  not  had  to  wait  long  for  its  fulfilment.  As  we  go  to  press,  the 
distressing  news  of  Paris  having  been  for  two  days  in  the  hands  of  insurgents  comes 
to  hand. 


1871.] 


The  End  of  the  War. 


495 


ward  may  serve  a  political  or  mili- 
tary purpose,  and  one  would  not  be 
too  severe  upon  errors  resorted  to  in 
extremities  with  such  a  view.  But 
the  enormous  lying  of  the  French 
telegrams  and  the  French  press, 
sometimes  of  the  French  Govern- 
ment, appeared  to  be  committed  for 
lying's  sake.  It  was  certain  to  be 
exposed,  and  it  worked  great  mis- 
chief by  keeping  the  people  misin- 
formed as  to  the  actual  condition  of 
the  country,  and  so  preventing  calm 
earnest  counsel  as  to  what  course 
should  have  been  followed.  This 
ready  acceptance  and  condonation 
of  untruth  in  France  will  always  be 
regarded  as  one  of  the  curiosities  of 
the  war. 

Germany  is  at  peace.  There  is 
for  the  present  no  more  for  her  to 
do  in  dealing  heavy  blows  and 
rolling  her  enemy  in  the  dust.  Her 
right  to  the  primacy  which  she  has 
attained  to  will  be  examined  shortly 
upon  moral  grounds.  She  comes  to 
this  ordeal  of  opinion  self-deprived 
of  that  on  which  she  might  have 
rested  her  chief  pretension.  She 
has  concluded  a  peace  with  her 
enemy  without  the  slightest  regard 
to  the  wishes  of  Europe.  She  has 
thought  only  of  retribution;  or, 
if  she  has  bestowed  a  secondary 
thought  on  the  nations,  it  has  been 
of  how  they  would  be  impressed  by 
witnessing  her  unsparing  wrath.  A 
golden  opportunity  has  been  ne- 
glected ;  or  perhaps  we  should  not 
say  neglected,  for  there  is  reason  to 
fear  that  she  is  unable  to  receive 
the  idea  of  such  an  opportunity. 
How,  then,  is  Europe  to  benefit  by 
Prussia  becoming  her  leading  State  1 
— a  nation  that  has  no  higher  con- 
ception of  the  uses  of  power  than 
to  mete  out  full  and  rigid  ven- 
geance, and  to  stun  mankind  by 
the  manifestation  of  physical  and 
material  strength  1  Such  principles 
can  be  heard  of  in  the  wigwam  or 
by  the  Caffre  watch-fire,  but  we 
hoped  that  we  had  got  far  beyond 


them  in  Christendom.  If  we  are 
to  be  taken  back  to  the  morality  of 
the  old  Danes  and  Picts,  what  good 
shall  the  leading  of  Prussia  do  us  ? 
And  these  conditions  of  peace  are 
but  one  among  many  ominous  signs 
that  we  are  under  deteriorating  in- 
fluences ;  that  the  supremacy  is  in 
unworthy  hands  ;  that  the  progress 
of  humanity  is  in  danger  of  being 
arrested.  The  war  itself,  the  abom- 
inable treacherous  plots  which  the 
war  brought  to  light,  the  conduct 
of  Russia  in  November  last,  the 
secret  understanding  between  Rus- 
sia and  Prussia,  all  indicate  that 
the  moral  sense  of  the  Western  na- 
tions is  being  gradually  blunted, 
that  material  force  is  resuming  its 
sway  over  the  minds  of  men,  that 
cunning  is  before  honour.  David 
has  had  his  day ;  we  must  learn  to 
reverence  Goliath.  And  perhaps 
the  merits  of  the  patriarch  Jacob 
will  cease  to  be  a  puzzle  to  theo- 
logians, when  at  every  university 
there  shall  be  a  chair  of  Dissimula- 
tion. 

Englishmen  have  plainly  ex- 
pressed their  disappointment  at  the 
low  standard  by  which  Prussia  has 
regulated  her  policy;  but  is  it  not 
incumbent  upon  them  to  do  some- 
thing more  than  that?  We  have 
pointed  out  many  a  time  during  the 
last  six  months  that  ordinary  pru- 
dence, a  regard  to  our  own  safety, 
prescribe  that  we  should  put  our- 
selves into  a  state  of  defence,  and 
that  we  should  stand  ready  to  take 
the  lead  in  any  case  where  the  lib- 
erties of  nations  may  be  threatened. 
We  do  not  intend  now  to  repeat 
the  arguments  which  we  have  in 
past  months  addressed  to  the  inter- 
ests and  the  self-esteem  of  the  na- 
tion. But  we  add  to  those  argu- 
ments this  other — viz.,  that  if  the 
moral  movement  of  Europe  be,  as 
we  have  the  strongest  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  it  is,  retrograde,  then  it 
is  no  longer  a  mere  selfish  consid- 
eration with  England  whether  she 


496 


Tlie  End  of  the  War. 


[April 


will  remain  passive  and  helpless  or 
no.  She  has  a  public  duty  to  per- 
form. She  will  not  fulfil  her  mis- 
sion if  she  refuse  to  raise  her  voice 
against  the  prevalence  of  violence, 
craft,  and  wrong — that  is,  if  she 
refuse  to  raise  her  voice  in  such 
manner  that  it  may  command  re- 
spect. She  must  show  that  she  is 
ready  to  lay  lance  in  rest,  and  to 
become  the  leader  of  all  them  who 
still  desire  to  see  right  put  before 
might.  Our  indignation  will  be  of 
no  avail  unless  we  show  ourselves 
prepared  to  take  action.  Simply 
to  stand  unarmed,  and  to  say  no 
word  good  or  bad  concerning  events 
which  so  largely  affect  the  world, 
is  to  hide  the  talent  which  God  has 
given  us  in  a  napkin.  Peace-at- 
any-price  Ministers,  such  as  we 
have  now,  are  the  strongest  allies 
of  Bismarkisin. 

Prussia  withdraws  from  the  theatre 
of  war  weakened  of  course  in  men, 
but  otherwise  not  disabled  by  the 
campaign.  The  indemnity  to  be 
paid  by  France  will  replace  all  other 
losses ;  and  so,  without  requiring 
any  breathing-time,  Germany  may 
set  fresh  enterprises  on  foot  if  she 
desires.  Russia,  the  Power  next  in 
strength,  is,  we  may  suspect,  bound 
to  Germany  and  in  her  confidence. 
The  two  together  are  unhappily 
strong  enough  to  carry  out  any 
policy  which  they  may  decide  upon. 
If  we  look  to  the  rest  of  Europe,  it 
is  utterly  disjointed.  No  two  States 
are  in  accord  as  to  action  for  the 
common  weal.  Combination  is  not 
only  possible,  but  is,  we  know,  de- 
sired by  many  of  the  States ;  but 
inasmuch  as  they  have  none  to 
lead  them,  there  is  nothing  deter- 
mined, no  clear  course  prearranged 
to  check  the  inroads  of  tyrannous 
power,  if  such  should  attempt  to 
dominate.  This  is  surely  a  very 
serious  neglect.  Statesmen  worthy 
the  name  would  take  some  step  for 
securing  a  balance  of  power,  would 
have  ready  some  plan  of  joint  action 


against  a  possible  time  of  jeopardy. 
It  will  be  too  late  to  do  this  when 
the  danger  is  imminent.  Austria 
alone  seems  to  be  fully  alive  to  the 
necessity  of  action. 

However  historically  just  may  be 
the  retribution  which  France  brought 
on  herself  by  the  rash  challenge  to 
Prussia,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
her  complete  and  sudden  fall  has 
left  a  gap  in  Europe  much  to  be 
lamented.  If  after  Sedan  her  des- 
tinies had  fallen  into  wiser  hands, 
and  peace  had  then  been  made, 
things  would  have  been  very  differ- 
ent. Her  great  exhaustion  would 
have  been  avoided,  and  the  victor's 
terms  would  have  been  less  crush- 
ing. Now  it  is  to  be  feared  that, 
even  if  her  rulers  should  institute 
the  very  wisest  course  of  reconstruc- 
tion, many  years  must  elapse  before 
she  can  exercise  any  great  influence. 
Meanwhile  the  danger  and  alarm  of 
most  of  the  States  are  likely  to  be 
great.  Without  individual  strength 
and  without  union  they  will  be  har- 
assed continually  by  suspicions  of 
what  Germany  and  Prussia  may  be 
preparing  to  do.  There  can  no 
longer  be  belief  in  assurances  or 
treaties, — 

"For  oaths  are  straws,   men's  faiths  are 

wafer  cakes, 
And  Holdfast  is  the  only  dog,  my  duck." 

These  periods  of  universal  mis- 
trust right  themselves,  it  is  true, 
sooner  or  later,  but  until  equilibrium 
is  restored  they  must  be  anxious 
and  depressing  times.  The  renais- 
sance of  France,  or  the  recovery  of 
her  senses  by  England,  will  be  the 
events  to  which  the  weak  States  will 
look  forward  with  most  hope.  The 
latter  event  seems  to  us  very  dis- 
tant, and,  judging  by  the  absence 
of  all  visible  means  of  speedy  re- 
covery, the  former  also  must  be 
years  away,  —  only  we  know  that 
Prussia  herself,  after  being  similarly 
shattered  in  1807,  was  again  in  the 
field  in  1813,  and  her  troops  entered 
Paris  in  1814  and  1815,  and  would 


1871.] 


The  End  of  the  War. 


497 


then  have  retorted  upon  France 
some  of  those  severities  which  she 
has  kept  until  now,  had  not  England 
interfered.  For  which  service  of 
interfering  England  was  thanked 
by  France  as  cordially  as  she  has 
now  been  thanked  for  her  exertions 
to  revictual  Paris.  There  is  this 
difference,  however,  between  the 
cases  :  Prussia  by  the  chances  of 
war  was  beaten  in  the  field,  and 
most  severely  mulcted  by  her  con- 
queror ;  this,  though  bad  enough, 
was  all  that  ailed  her.  Morally  and 
politically  she  was  quite  sound,  and 
she  began  at  once  to  recover  after 
her  misfortune.  France,  on  the 
contrary,  wao,  as  is  now  evident, 
internally  diseased  and  past  hope  of 
remedy  before  the  Emperor  sent  his 
rash  challenge  to  Berlin.  That 
wicked  error  precipitated  and  con- 
densed the  ruin ;  but  it  is  clear  now 
that  ruin  in  some  form  was  inev- 
itable. When  the  resources  of  the 
country  came  to  be  tested,  it  was 
found  that  she  had  absolutely  no- 
thing to  lean  upon,  that  she  was 
rotten  to  the  core,  and  wanted  but 
a  strong  thrust  to  resolve  her  into 
her  atoms.  Now  that  the  enemy  has 
left  her  robbed  and  bleeding,  she 
has  no  Government,  no  institution, 
no  framed  society  with  which  im- 
mediately to  begin  the  world  again. 
She  has  to  find  capable  statesmen 
and  generals,  to  devise  a  form  of 
government ;  to  make  a  nation  first, 
and  then  to  cherish  it  into  wisdom 
and  strength.  Nevertheless,  when 
we  reflect  that  there  are  people  alive 
to-day  to  witness  the  greatness  of 
Prussia  who  can  remember  the  time 
of  her  severe  depression  in  1807, 
we  see  that,  so  far  as  her  material 
loss  is  concerned,  the  military  case  of 
France  is  not  beyond  remedy.  Her 
danger  is  in  her  political  instability. 
Does  it  not  make  one  smile  sadly 
to  think  now  of  those  bugbears 
which  used  to  haunt  Europe,  and 
were  whispered  of  as  les  ideas  Na- 
poleoniennes?  •  Dreadful  decrees, 


fixed  as  fate,  inexorable  judgments, 
were  to  be  executed  against  the 
nations  one  after  the  other.  What 
one  Napoleon  had  ordained  but  left 
unaccomplished,  another  Napoleon, 
subtile,  powerful,  terrible  in  his  de- 
termination, would  bring  to  pass. 
The  only  question  was  when  and 
how  it  might  be  his  pleasure  to  act ; 
and  men  watched  his  words  and 
looks  as  the  issues  of  life  and  death. 
So  one  reads  in  the  newspapers, 
under  the  head  of  "  Superstition  in 
the  Nineteenth  Century,"  of  whole 
villages  kept  in  fear  of  their  lives 
by  a  virulent  witch,  who  turns  out 
to  be  a  toothless,  paralytic,  old  wo- 
man !  Perhaps  it  is  just  as  con- 
venient for  the  house  of  Buonaparte 
that  .England  has  been  left  stand- 
ing. We  don't  bear  malice  for  des 
idees,  and  we  trust  we  may  afford 
to  the  distinguished  dreamer  a  shel- 
ter where  he  may  smoke  and  rumin- 
ate to  his  heart's  content. 

If  wars  in  these  days  are  sharp, 
they  are  short.  To  the  vanquished 
this  will  always  suggest  the  regret 
that  the  time  was  too  short,  that 
the  blows  fell  too  fast  for  them  to 
rally  and  do  the  deeds  which,  but 
for  the  pace,  they  certainly  would 
have  done.  But  to  all  but  the  van- 
quished it  is  matter  of  congratula- 
tion that  wars  are  soon  fought  out. 
We  owe  it  to  the  arts  that  the  world 
is  not  kept  for  years  in  a  state  of 
distraction  because  two  unreason- 
able nations  choose  to  behave  like 
bedlamites.  Improved  means  of 
transport  and  of  communication 
have  been  the  cause  of  this.  The 
forces  on  both  sides  have  been  de- 
veloped rapidly,  and  the  war  brought 
to  issue  in  a  few  months.  We  may 
hope  that  the  course  of  future  wars 
will  be  likewise  short;  but  there 
are  two  ways  of  attending  to  this 
probability :  to  those  who  are  to  be 
only  spectators  of  a  contest  it  is  sim- 
ply a  ground  for  thankfulness ;  but 
to  every  one  who  by  possibility  may 
be  a  combatant  it  says,  "  Prepare." 


498 


TJte  End  of  the  War. 


[April 


It  is  also  well  worthy  of  remark 
that,  in  the  war  just  ended,  although 
many  fortresses  fell,  not  one  was 
taken  by  assault.  That  these  dread- 
ful operations  had  no  place  in  the 
great  contest  is  a  subject  for  satisfac- 
tion ;  but  we  may  not  hope  that  the 
omission  of  them  from  the  bloody 
tableaux  is,  like  the  short  duration 
of  the  war,  due  to  any  permanent 
influence.  It  is  to  be  accounted  for 
by  the  fact  that  Prussia  had,  and 
knew  that  she  had,  so  decided  a 
superiority  in  men  and  means  and 
science,  that  she  could  risk  the  loss 
of  time  required  to  blockade  places 
and  reduce  them  by  famine.  But 
there  is  no  reason  to  hope  that 
assaults  de  vive  force  will  be  avoided 
in  future  wars,  if  the  opposing 
armies  shall  be  at  all  equal  in 
bravery  and  talent.  Then  the  cal- 
culations will  be  so  nice,  and  the 
saving  of  time  will  be  such  an  ob- 
ject, that  fortresses  will  have  to  be 
stormed  at  any  loss.  Sad  as  were 
the  accounts  of  the  want  and  misery 
in  Paris,  there  would  have  been 
descriptions  infinitely  more  shock- 
ing had  breaches  been  opened, 
stormed,  and  defended,  in  the  forts 
and  in  the  enceinte  of  the  city.  These 
obstinate  struggles,  full  of  hair- 
breadth adventure  and  of  carnage, 
are  not  only  appalling  in  themselves, 
but  they  inflame  the  mass  of  the 
soldiery  to  such  a  demoniacal  pitch, 
that  such  frightful  excesses  as  we 
have  above  shown  to  have  occurred 
in  captured  Badajos  might  ensue. 
Persons  who  have  not  studied  the 
histories  of  sieges  can  have  but  a 


faint  idea  of  the  mortal  struggles,  the 
supreme  agonies,  the  dire  sights  and 
sounds  of  the  battle  in  the  "  im- 
minent deadly  breach."  They  are 
such  that,  after  meditating  on  them, 
one  wonders  how  those  Avho  have 
managed  to  escape  from  them  with 
life  have  ever  preserved  their  reason. 
And  now  that  we  are  delivered 
from  the  daily  dread  of  such  things 
being  done  in  our  neighbours'  terri- 
tory, it  may  perhaps  be  not  unpro- 
fitable to  understand  what  har- 
rowing of  the  feelings  we  have 
been  spared  lately,  and  what  we  may 
have  to  encounter  if  we  are  insane 
enough  to  give  an  enemy  the  chance 
of  landing  on  our  shores.  To  pic- 
ture this  we  will  refer  once  more 
to  the  last  English  siege  of  Badajos. 
We  have  before  noted  the  phrensy 
which  followed  the  assault ;  let  us 
now  think  for  a  season  of  the  deeds 
which  provoked  the  phrensy. 

Marshal  Soult  was  on  his  march 
to  relieve  Badajos.  Every  hour, 
therefore,  was  of  importance  to  Lord 
Wellington,  who  determined  to  put 
forth  all  his  strength  to  make  him- 
self immediately  master  of  the  place. 
On  the  other  side,  the  Erench  knew, 
too,  that  the  assault  would  not  be 
delayed,  and  they  employed  every 
device,  and  stood  brimful  of  courage 
to  make  the  attack  fail.  There  were 
three  great  breaches  in  the  walls  on 
the  south  of  the  town,  but  the 
French  had  retrenched  that  part  of 
the  fortification — that  is  to  say,  they 
had  made  a  temporary  ditch  and 
rampart  inside  the  wall  that  was 
broken,  thus — 


A.  B,  C,  Breaches,     a  a  a,  The  retrenchment. 


1871.] 


Tlie  End  of  the  War. 


499 


So  that  the  assailant,  after  he  should 
have  forced  the  breaches,  would  still 
have  had  an  interior  line  between 
him  and  Badajos.  "Wellington's 
plan  was  to  make  separate  attacks 
at  intervals  of  distance,  but  simul- 
taneously, nearly  all  round  the  cir- 
cuit of  the  fortifications.  He  hoped 
to  get  in  at  the  breaches,  but 
thought  it  advisable  to  distract  the 
enemy  by  assailing  him  on  all  sides  ; 
and  the  result  showed  that  he  was 
wise  in  not  trusting  to  the  assault 
on  the  breaches  alone.  North  of 
the  town  flowed  the  Guadiana,  and 
on  the  north-east,  overlooking  the 
river,  was  the  castle  of  Badajos  : 
on  this  castle  one  of  the  attacking 
parties  was  directed,  with  orders  to 
attempt  it  by  escalade.  The  breaches, 
of  course,  were  to  be  assailed  by  a 
heavy  force,  and  there  were  two 
other  attacks  on  the  east  and  west 
fronts.  The  French  expected  the 
assault,  and  were  on  the  qui  vive. 
The  English  stood  ready  to  com- 
mence a  combat,  which  was  at  last 
"  so  fiercely  fought,  so  terribly  won, 
so  dreadful  in  all  its  circumstances, 
that  posterity  can  scarcely  be  ex- 
pected to  credit  the  tale."  *  It  was 
a  cloudy  dry  night,  and  all  seemed 
to  favour  the  successful  execution 
of  the  scheme,  according  to  which 
the  attacks  were  to  be  made  together 
at  ten  o'clock.  But  an  accident  de- 
layed one  of  the  attacks,  and  a  light- 
ball  thrown  into  the  air  discovered 
the  columns  which  stood  waiting  to 
scale  the  walls  of  the  castle,  so 
that  they  had  to  rush  on  half  an 
hour  before  the  time  appointed,  and 
therefore  unassisted  by  diversions 
caused  by  the  other  storming-col- 
umns.  The  others,  however,  got  to 
their  work  as  fast  as  possible  after 
they  saw  the  troops  engaged  at  the 
castle  ;  but  in  the  latter  there  was 
already  a  melee  of  the  most  infernal 
character.  The  soldiers  had  planted 


their  ladders  and  rushed  up,  but 
were  received  with  the  greatest 
courage  by  the  French,  their  ladders 
overturned,  themselves  shot  and 
stabbed,  and  loaded  shells,  heavy 
stones,  and  logs  of  wood  rolled  on 
them  from  the  parapet — the  noiso 
of  which,  mingled  with  shouts,  the 
crash  of  breaking  ladders,  and  the 
cries  of  the  wounded,  composed  a 
horrible  discord.  With  all  their 
persistence,  and  all  their  valour,  the 
English  were  baffled  in  their  first 
attempt :  but  they  were  not  beaten. 
They  retired,  and  re-formed  behind  a 
rugged  hill;  and,  nothing  daunted 
by  the  dreadful  encounter  which 
they  had  just  essayed,  advanced 
once  more  against  the  walls,  and 
after  fighting  strenuously,  suffering 
keenly,  and  losing  many  of  their 
bravest,  at  last  got  into  the  castle. 
The  success  at  this  point  was,  how- 
ever, not  known  elsewhere  at  the 
time.  Everybody  was  too  closely 
occupied  to  be  aware  of  what  was 
done  at  a  distant  point ;  and  it  must 
be  remembered  that  it  was  night, 
when  it  was  impossible  to  display 
any  signal  that  could  be  understood. 
The  other  attacks  had  been  proceed- 
ing independently;  and  of  the  whole 
of  the  battles  which  occurred  that 
night,  that  which  occurred  at  the 
breaches  was  the  most  terrible.  The 
account  ought  to  be  given  in  the 
words  of  the  eloquent  historian  of 
the  Peninsular  War  : — 

' '  During  these  events,  the  tumult  at 
the  breaches  was  such  as  if  the  very 
earth  had  been  rent  asunder  and  its 
central  fires  were  bursting  upwards  un- 
controlled. The  two  divisions  had  reached 
the  glacis  just  as  the  firing  at  the  castle 
had  commenced,  and  the  flash  of  a  single 
musket,  discharged  from  the  covered-way 
as  a  signal,  showed  them  that  the  French 
were  ready :  yet  no  stir  was  heard,  and 
darkness  covered  the  breaches.  Some 
hay  -  packs  were  then  thrown,  some 
ladders  were  placed,  and  the  forlorn  - 
hopes  and  storniing-parties  of  the  Light 


*  Napier's  Peninsular  War. 


500 


The  End  of  the  War. 


[April 


Division,  about  five  hundred  in  all,  had 
descended  into  the  ditch  without  opposi- 
tion, when  a  bright  flame  shooting  up- 
wards displayed  all  the  terrors  of  the 
scene.  The  ramparts,  crowded  with  dark 
figures  and  glittering  arms,  were  seen  on 
the  one  side,  and  on  the  other  the  red 
columns  of  the  British,  deep  and  broad, 
were  coming  on  like  streams  of  burning 
lava  ;  it  was  the  touch  of  the  magician's 
wand,  for  a  crash  of  thunder  followed, 
and  with  incredible  violence  the  storm- 
ing-parties  were  dashed  to  pieces  by  the 
explosion  of  hundreds  of  shells  and 
powder-barrels. 

"For  an  instant  the  Light  Division 
stood  on  the  brink  of  the  ditch,  amazed 
at  the  terrific  sight,  then,  with  a  shout 
that  matched  even  the  sound  of  the  ex- 
plosion, flew  down  the  ladders,  or,  dis- 
daining their  aid,  leaped,  reckless  of  the 
depth,  into  the  gulf  below  ;  and  nearly 
at  the  same  moment,  amidst  a  blaze  of 
musketry  that  dazzled  the  eyes,  the 
Fourth  Division  came  running  in  and 
descended  with  a  like  fury." 

There  was  immense  confusion  and 
much  unavoidable  blundering.  The 
men  fell  into  a  deep  trench  filled 
with  water  in  the  ditch ;  they  mis- 
took the  part  of  the  work  on  which 
they  had  been  directed,  and  were 
exposed  to  a  deadly  fire  ;  the  troops 
destined  for  action  in  certain  pre- 
scribed points  mixed  together  in  the 
gloom,  and  made  for  two  of  the 
breaches.  "We  recur  to  Napier's 
account : — 

"  Great  was  the  confusion,  for  now  the 
ravelin  was  quite  crowded  with  men  of 
both  divisions,  and  while  some  continued 
to  fire,  others  jumped  down  and  ran  to- 
wards the  breach  ;  many  also  passed  be- 
tween the  ravelin  and  the  counterguard 
of  the  Trinidad.  The  two  divisions  got 
mixed,  and  the  reserves,  which  should 
have  remained  at  the  quarries,  also  came 
pouring  in,  until  the  ditch  was  quite 
filled,  the  rear  still  crowding  forward, 
and  all  cheering  vehemently.  The 
enemy's  shouts,  also,  were  loud  and  ter- 
rible ;  and  the  bursting  of  shells  and  of 
grenades,  the  roaring  of  the  guns  from 
the  flanks,  answered  by  the  iron  howit- 
zers from  the  battery  of  the  parallel,  the 
heavy  roll  and  horrid  explosion  of  the 
powder-barrels,  the  whizzing  flight  of  the 
blazing  splinters,  the  loud  exhortations 
of  the  officers,  and  the  continued  clatter 
of  the  muskets,  made  a  maddening  din. 


"Now  a  multitude  bounded  up  the 
great  breach  as  if  driven  by  a  whirlwind ; 
but  across  the  top  glittered  a  range  of 
sword-blades,  sharp-pointed,  keen-edged, 
on  both  sides,  and  firmly  fixed  in  pon- 
derous beams,  which  were  chained  to- 
gether and  set  deep  in  the  ruins;  and 
for  ten  feet  in  front  the  ascent  was 
covered  with  loose  planks  studded  with 
sharp  iron  points,  on  which  the  feet  of 
the  foremost  being  set  the  planks  moved, 
and  the  unhappy  soldiers,  falling  forward 
on  the  spikes,  rolled  down  upon  the  ranks 
behind.  Then  the  Frenchmen,  shouting 
at  the  success  of  their  stratagem,  and 
leaping  forward,  plied  their  shot  with 
terrible  rapidity  ;  for  every  man  had 
several  muskets,  and  each  musket,  in 
addition  to  its  ordinary  charge,  contained 
a  small  cylinder  of  wood  stuck  full  of 
leaden  slugs,  which  scattered  like  hail 
when  they  were  discharged. 

"  Again  the  assailants  rushed  up  the 
breaches,  and  again  the  sword-blades, 
immovable  and  impassable,  stopped 
their  charge,  and  the  hissing  shells  and 
thundering  powder- barrels  exploded  un- 
ceasingly. Hundreds  of  men  had  fallen, 
and  hundreds  more  were  dropping,  but 
still  the  heroic  officers  called  aloud  for 
new  trials,  and  sometimes  followed  by 
many,  sometimes  by  a  few,  ascended  the 
ruins ;  and  so  furious  were  the  men 
themselves,  that  in  one  of  these  charges 
the  rear  strove  to  push  the  foremost  on 
to  the  sword- blades,  willing  even  to  make 
a  bridge  of  their  writhing  bodies,  but  the 
others  frustrated  the  attempt  by  drop- 
ping down  ;  and  men  fell  so  fast  from 
the  shot,  that  it  was  hard  to  know 
who  went  down  voluntarily,  who  were 
stricken,  and  many  stooped  unhurt  that 
never  rose  again.  Vain  also  would  it 
have  been  to  break  through  the  sword- 
blades,  for  the  trench  and  parapet  be- 
hind the  breach  were  finished,  and  the 
assailants,  crowded  into  even  a  narrower 
space  than  the  ditch  was,  would  still  have 
been  separated  from  their  enemies,  and 
the  slaughter  would  have  continued." 

No  command  could  be  distinctly 
heard,  so  great  was  the  noise.  All 
formations  were  broken  by  the  fre- 
quent heaps  of  dead,  and  by  the 
struggles  of  the  wounded  to  avoid 
being  trodden  on ;  yet  officer  after 
officer  was  seen  to  start  forth  from 
among  the  masses  in  the  ditch,  and, 
followed  by  more  or  fewer  men,  to 
rush  up  the  breaches  till  stopped  by 
the  sword-blades.  The  great  body 


1871.] 


The  End  of  the  War. 


501 


of  the  troops,  baffled  but  not  dis- 
mayed, stood  in  the  ditch  sternly 
looking  up  at  the  ramparts,  while 
the  French,  shooting  them  down  as 
they  could  see  them,  jeered,  asking 
why  they  did  not  come  into  Badajos. 
The   dead  lay   in   heaps,   which 
every  moment  received   additions ; 
the  wounded  crawled  about  seeking 
shelter ;  and  a  sickening  stench  arose 
from  the  burnt  flesh  of  the  slain. 
But  with  all  this  the  futile  attempts 
to  pass  the  breaches  were  renewed, 
but  always  ineffectually.      And  in 
this  deadly  work  two  whole  hours 
were  spent.     Then — that  is  to  say, 
about  midnight — Lord  Wellington, 
who  had  heard  by  this  time  of  the 
taking  of  the   castle,    ordered   the 
multitude  to  retire  and  re-form,  still 
deeming  that  it  might  be  necessary 
to  force  these  formidable  breaches. 
Even  the  operation  of  getting  away 
out  of  the  ditches  was  attended  with 
much  loss.     But  the  reader  knows 
that  the  castle  was  taken,  which  was 
on  the  east;    and  he  should  learn 
how  that,  not  without  much  oppo- 
sition  and   a   display   of  gallantry 
similar  to  that  which  has  been  des- 
cribed, another  attack  by  escalade 
was  successful  also  on  the  extreme 
west.      Thus    the    assailants  were 
able  to  advance  from  both  flanks 
against  the  breaches  which  were  in 
the  south,  and  to  drive  the  defenders 
therefrom.     Then  the  British  were 
soon  masters  of  the  town,  and  the 
memorable  siege  of  Badajos  ended. 
Three  thousand  five  hundred  officers 
and  soldiers  were  killed  or  wounded 
in  these  two  hours'  work  ;  and  the 
Iron  Duke,  when  he  comprehended 
the  extent  of  the  carnage,  could  not 
suppress  a  passionate  burst  of  grief. 
If  we  have  succeeded  in  convey- 
ing an  idea  of  the  horrors  of  this 
night,  the  reader  will  perceive  that, 
great  as  were  the  calamities  of  the 
war  just  ended,  they  would  have 
been  very  far  greater  if  the  fortified 
places  had  been  taken  by  storm. 


In  reckoning  the  effects  to  Eng- 
land individually  of  the  events  of 
the  last  eight  months,  the  coinci- 
dence of  the  prostration  of  France 
with  the  ascendancy  at  home  of  a 
non-resisting  Administration  is  the 
most  important  thing  to  be  noted. 
Russia  did  not  fail  to  perceive  the 
advantage  which  it  gave  her,  and 
did  not  scruple  to  use  her  oppor- 
tunity, as  we  too  well  know.     The 
war,  therefore,  may  be  said  to  have 
brought  humiliation  to  us  as  well 
as  to   France.     And   our  disgrace 
does  not  terminate  with  the  return 
of  peace.      From    the   manner  in 
which   this    our   first   kicking   has 
been  submitted  to,  we  may  expect 
many  more  from  the  same  or  from 
other  quarters ;  and  our  rulers  are 
taking  especial  care  that,  come  what 
may  in  the  way  of  injury  or  insult, 
we  shall  have  no  means  of  vindicat- 
ing our  rights  or  our  honour.   With 
such  a  force  as  they  are  providing, 
it  would  be  folly  to  think  of  fight- 
ing any  great  Power  ;  and  as  if  to 
insure  us  every  disadvantage,  they 
choose  this  crisis  in  the  fortunes  of 
Europe  as  the  occasion  for  revolu- 
tionising our  army  —  a  proceeding 
as    imprudent    under   the   circum- 
stances as  it  would  be  for  a  general 
to  change  his  front  in  presence  of 
the  enemy.     ]S"ow,  if  the  war  has 
furnished  for  us  any  lesson  at  all 
it  is  this,  that  a  nation  which  in 
these  days  desires  to  be  safe  from 
attack,  must  be  prepared  beforehand 
to  hold  its  own.     There  will  be  no 
time  after  the  occurrence  of  a  quar- 
rel or  a  pretended  quarrel  to  see  to 
our  means  of  defence.     The  enemy 
will  give  us  no  breathing  -  space  to 
provide  or  even  to  think  after  he 
may   have    struck   his   first    blow. 
And  let  it  be  remembered  that  it 
may  not  rest  with  us  whether  we 
quarrel   or   no.      Suppose,   for   in- 
stance,   that    our    Sovereign   were 
required  to  give  a  promise  of  future 
behaviour    such    as    the    Emperor 


502 


The  End  of  the  War. 


[April 


Kapoleon  demanded  from  the  King 
of  Prussia.  England  would  cer- 
tainly not  suffer  such  a  promise  to 
be  given,  even  should  her  abject 
Ministers  offer  to  give  it ;  and  then 
there  would  be  war.  And  none 
can  undertake  that  such  a  promise 
may  not  be  exacted  for  the  purpose 
of  picking  a  quarrel.  We  have 
acquired  lately  a  little  insight  into 
the  plots  which  statesmen  are  hatch- 
ing in  all  directions.  They  stick  at 
nothing ;  and  some  of  them  may 
possibly  at  this  moment  be  throw- 
ing supine  England  in  as  a  make- 
weight to  balance  some  rascally 
bargain.  Let  those  who  will  deride 
this  as  an  absurd  idea.  It  was  ab- 
surd as  long  as  England  chose  to 
take  care  of  herself;  but  now  that 
she  prefers  to  lie  unarmed  and  help- 
less, what  is  there  to  secure  her 
from  such  treatment  as  has  been 
designed  against  Belgium,  Luxem- 
bourg, Schleswig  -  Holstein,  and 
Turkey?  Invasion  was  impossible 
only  so  long  as  England  was  true 
to  herself.  While  we  write  comes 
the  intelligence  of  a  secret  treaty, 
which  is  but  sorry  news  to  reach  us 
at  a  time  when  our  Government  is 
bent  in  spending  on  a  silly  fancy 
whatever  money  they  can  get,  and 
in  keeping  our  military  force  so 
small  that  it  would  literally  be  of 
no  account  in  a  great  war  or  against 
a  serious  attack.  While  there  is 
the  greatest  reason  to  fear  that  mis- 
chief may  be  brewing,  and  that  it 
may  be  necessary  to  put  forth  our 
full  power  at  a  week's  warning,  we 
are  devising  an  ingenious  system, 
which,  if  it  succeed  at  all,  will  only 
give  us  a  defence  in  the  next  gener- 
ation, and  the  success  of  which  at 
any  time  we  have  no  warrant  for 
predicting. 

"We  fortify  in  paper  and  in  figures, 
Using  the  names  of  men  instead  of  men ; 
Like  one  that  draws  the  model  of  a  house 
Beyond  his  power  to  build  it;   who,  half 
through, 


Gives  o'er,  and  leaves  his  part-created  cost 
A  naked  subject  to  the  weeping  clouds, 
And  waste  for  churlish  winter's  tyranny." 
— King  Henry  IV. 

It  is  refreshing  to  see  that  some 
members  of  the  Stock  Exchange 
have  displayed  a  patriotism  of  which 
the  Government  was  incapable. 
They  have  refused  to  subscribe  to 
a  Russian  loan,  feeling  justly  that 
it  may  be  Eussia's  intention  to 
employ  any  money  that  she  may 
raise  in  actively  pursuing  her  de- 
signs against  this  country.  They 
evidently  feel  alarmed,  and  are 
conscious  of  having  been  insult- 
ed ;  but,  unfortunately,  however 
much  individuals  may  deprecate  the 
course  which  Ministers  are  pursuing, 
there  does  not  seem  to  be  energy 
enough  yet  to  insist  on  proper 
security.  Our  long  purse,  however, 
ought  to  have  influence,  and  the 
rich  men  are  bound  to  think  a  little 
of  what  will  be  profitable  to  their 
country  as  well  as  of  what  will  be 
profitable  to  themselves.  Now  that 
every  State  in  Europe  is  a  borrower, 
a  stoppage  of  the  supplies  may  ex- 
ercise a  very  wholesome  influence 
over  some  of  the  lawless;  and  it  is 
quite  right  that  the  British  nation 
should  know  the  extent  of  its  own 
influence  in  this  direction.  Confi- 
dent as  we  are  that  England  ought 
to  stand  armed  and  ready,  we  have 
not  the  least  wish  that  she  should 
resort  to  physical  force  as  long  as  we 
can  maintain  our  rights  and  our 
dignity  by  any  other  honourable 
and  rational  means.  And  a  refusal 
to  lend  money  to  troublesome  un- 
just countries  would  be  a  perfectly 
legitimate,  and  possibly  an  effica- 
cious, means  of  keeping  the  peace. 

We  find  ourselves,  at  the  end  of 
this  long  war,  more  suspicious  of  all 
the  world  than  we  have  been  since 
the  wars  of  the  French  Revolution. 
It  is  a  lamentable  truth  that  force 
and  cunning  are  becoming  year  by 
year  less  and  less  reprobated,  and 


1871.] 


The  End  of  the  War. 


503 


that  the  power  of  virtue,  of  senti- 
ment even,  has  almost  disappeared 
from  the  earth.  The  great  battle 
which  is  being  continually  fought 
in  the  world  between  pure  and  ele- 
vated principles  on  the  one  part,  and 
coarse  practical  sagacity  on  the  other, 
is  inclining  dangerously  to  the  prac- 
tical side.  This  is  by  no  means  a 
consequence  of  the  war  which  has 
just  concluded ;  but  the  war  and  the 
events  connected  with  it  have 
brought  home  to  us  the  conviction 
that  there  is  hardly  any  spiritual 
influence  in  the  world — seven  thou- 
sand men,  perhaps,  keeping  up  a 
sacred  light  in  caves  and  obscure 
places,  and  destined  to  leaven  the 
human  race  some  day  when  the  tide 
shall  react,  and  then,  it  may  be,  for 
a  season  to  tyrannise  in  their  turn  ; 
but  for  the  present,  appeal  to  high 
feeling  is  in  vain.  For  a  hundred 
years  a  section  of  philosophers  has 
been  busy  in  sapping  what  it 
called  Superstition ;  but  it  is  only 
very  lately  that  leading  men  have 
dared  to  openly  disavow  a  higher 
law  than  that  of  expediency,  and 
that  the  public  of  Europe  has  toler- 
ated the  repudiation  by  word  or  act 
of  religious  or  moral  codes.  It  is 
one  thing  to  rebel  against  oppressive 
dogmas  and  the  tyranny  of  priests  ; 
it  is  another  to  sweep  away  the 
marks  which  separate  right  from 
wrong,  and  to  dethrone  conscience. 
"We  in  this  generation  appear  to 
have  cast  aside  all  restraint ;  and  it 
is  a  hard  question  whether,  being 
morally  lawless,  we  can  avoid  the 
facts  of  heavy  blows,  which  seem  to 
be  the  only  standard  by  which  we 
can  measure  our  differences. 

If,  however,  there  be  no  respect 
for  sentiment,  there  is  in  some  parts 
of  the  world  an  immense  appetite  for 
fustian.  The  bunkum  and  spread- 
eagleism  of  America  pale  before  the 
intolerable  bombast  that  is  uttered 
day  by  day  in  France.  When  M. 
Victor  Hugo  compared  his  country 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXVI. 


to  a  red-hot  iron  which  a  foreigner 
who  touched  it  would  be  glad  to 
drop,  what  could  he  possibly  mean, 
or  what  could  he  imagine  that  he 
meant?  We  hardly  see  the  pro- 
priety of  comparing  France  to  a  hot 
iron  at  all ;  but,  granting  that  to  be 
a  proper  figure,  surely  we  know,  and 
M.  Hugo  knows,  of  a  foreigner  who 
very  recently  was  not  only  in  no 
hurry  to  drop  his  hold  of  the  hot 
iron,  but  hammered  and  punched  it 
at  his  discretion.  This  style  of  rant 
is  but  a  sorry  substitute  for  words 
directed  to  the  heart.  We  only 
trust  that  the  ferocious  vows  of  ven- 
geance which  Frenchmen  utter  every 
day  may  have  no  more  meaning  than 
the  contemptible  eloquence  which  is 
so  fashionable  among  them. 

Yet  another  reflection  has  come 
with  the  peace  :  it  is  very  worthy  of 
note,  and  contains  some  comfort. 
However  profligate  foreign  Govern- 
ments may  be,  and  however  their 
subtlety  and  unscrupulousness  may 
have  been  increased  by  the  war, 
peoples  were  never  before,  except  by 
having  them  on  their  own  soil,  so 
thoroughly  instructed  as  to  what 
hostilities  mean  ;  never,  that  is  to 
say,  so  well  informed,  while  at  the 
same  time  sufficiently  calm  and  un- 
occupied to  lay  the  lesson  to  heart. 
Within  a  day  or  two  of  the  occur- 
rences they  have  read  and  pondered 
over  the  acts  and  passions  of  the 
strife,  with  feelings  agonised  by  the 
cruel  slaughters,  by  the  terrible 
sufferings  of  the  wounded,  with 
deep  compassion  for  the  bereaved, 
for  the  poor  creatures  driven  from 
their  homes  despoiled  of  all,  for  the 
miserable  troops  exposed  to  cold 
and  privation  in  a  bitter  winter,  for 
starved  and  beleaguered  cities,  for  a 
land  devastated,  for  industries  sup- 
pressed, for  a  nation  humiliated  to 
the  lowest  depths.  They  know  also, 
full  well,  how  wantonly  and  cause- 
lessly the  strife  came  to  pass  which 
has  ended  so  terribly.  So  rapid  is 

2M 


504: 


The  End  of  the  War. 


[April 


communication  in  these  days,  that 
the  neighbours  of  the  combatants 
have  been  informed  as  soon  as  the 
belligerent  Governments  of  the  events 
of  the  campaign,  have  followed  the 
course  of  the  destroyer,  had  the 
battle-fields  brought  close  home  to 
them,  shuddered  at  wounds  that 
were  yet  green,  understood  and 
imagined  in  detail  the  heavy  miseries 
that  were  endured — formed,  indeed, 
lively  pictures  of  daily  doings  dur- 
ing war.  And  surely  this  know- 
ledge, though  it  may  have  hardened 
the  hearts  of  Monarchs  and  Ministers, 
cannot  have  failed  to  raise  up  in 
homes  and  around  hearths  a  whole- 
some horror  of  quarrels,  even  for 
substantial  objects,  but  an  unspar- 
ing condemnation  and  abhorrence 
of  wars  of  ambition.  Communities 
have  resolved,  let  us  hope,  that  such 
things  as  have  been  shocking  their 

O  O 

imaginations  for  months  past  shall 
never  again  shake  the  nerves  or 
make  the  senses  reel  through  any 
aggression  or  arrogance  of  theirs. 
Defensive  warfare  cannot  be  neces- 
sary where  no  aggression  or  injury 
is  committed.  If,  therefore,  peoples 
refuse  to  abet  their  rulers  in  a  grasp- 
ing, overbearing  policy,  wars  will 
not  occur. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the 
dreadful  war  over  whose  end  we  are 
rejoicing,  was  wholly  unnecessary, 
and  therefore  criminal.  France  was 
the  actual  challenger ;  but  one  feels 
certain  now  that  Prussia  was  hardly 
less  to  blame.  The  two  nations  had 
gone  on  coveting  each  other's  terri- 
tory, and  envying  each  other's  re- 
putation, until  a  trial  of  strength  was 
inevitable.  A  paltry,  senseless 
grievance  was  the  ostensible  cause 
of  quarrel;  but  the  real  cause  was 
the  evil  passions  which  had  been 
fostered  on  both  sides.  It  is  hard 
to  suppose  that  ev.en  victorious  Ger- 
many can  look  back  on  the  struggle 
with  unalloyed  satisfaction.  There 
.must  be  widespread  mourning  and 


much  private  loss,  notwithstanding 
that  the  national  expense  is  to  be  re- 
covered from  the  vanquished.  And, 
as  we  have  just  said,  the  Germans 
have  in  this  way  been  made  so  famil- 
iar with  all  the  detail  of  horrors, 
that  they  can  scarcely  fail  to  reflect 
on  what  would  have  been  their  por- 
tion had  fortune  inclined  the  other 
way;  if  the  French  had  succeeded 
in  carrying  the  war  even  for  a  sea- 
son across  the  Rhine  or  into  the 
Rhenish  Provinces.  They  have 
enough  of  glory  to  satisfy  any  people ; 
and  they  will  do  well  now,  if,  in- 
stead of  desiring  to  pursue  conquest 
and  to  make  themselves  a  terror, 
they  turn  their  thoughts  to  the  ini- 
quities that  have  been  brought  to 
light  while  they  were  fighting,  if 
they  discountenance  and  condemn 
the  infamous  plots  by  which  the 
liberties  of  Belgium  and  Luxem- 
bourg have  been  threatened,  and 
if  they  give  some  assurance  to  other 
peoples  that  these  intrigues  shall  not 
be  repeated.  They  have  a  great 
opportunity ;  the  doubt  is  as  to 
whether  they  can  understand  and 
use  it.  They  may  not  only  remain 
now  at  peace  themselves,  but  they 
may  maintain  the  peace  of  Europe. 
Most  heartily  do  we  wish  that  peace 
and  progress  may  be  their  aim ;  but 
our  wishes  will  have  but  little  to 
do  with  the  event.  We  say  again, 
therefore,  and  it  cannot  be  repeated 
too  often,  that  great  as  is  our  desire 
for  peace,  we  think  that  England, 
for  the  sake  of  peace,  ought  to  stand 
ready  for  defence,  and  so  far  armed 
that  her  utterance  may  command 
respect  if  complications  arise.  Should 
the  sky  be  fair,  no  harm  will  have 
been  done  by  preparation ,  and 
should  storms  arise,  we  may  keep 
our  own  territory  inviolate,  and  per- 
haps be  the  means  of  averting  a  war 
from  Europe. 

Many  Englishmen  have  said  that 
it  was  the  duty  of  this  country  to 
take  part  in  the  war,  or  to  threaten 


1871.] 


THe  End  of  the  War. 


to  take  part.  Some  have  fixed  on 
one  period,  some  on  another,  as  that 
at  which  England  should  have  in- 
terfered. It  has  been  represented  as 
probable  that  if  England  had  sternly 
forbidden  the  war  it  would  not  have 
occurred.  It  has  been  said,  also, 
that  she  should  at  certain  stages  of 
the  contest  have  insisted  on  mode- 
rate terms  of  peace  being  proposed 
and  accepted,  on  pain  of  the  re- 
cusant encountering  her  hostility. 
But  we  never  have  blamed,  and  do 
not  now  blame,  our  Ministers  for 
keeping  wholly  aloof.  Had  the 
quarrel  been  of  a  different  kind  our 
duty  might  have  been  different;  but 
it  was  a  war  of  wilfulness  and 
obstinacy,  of  which  we  best  showed 
our  detestation  by  rigidly  refusing 
sympathy  to  either  side,  and  by 
letting  the  belligerents  fight  on  until 
both  parties  saw  that  the  time  had 
come  when  peace  must  be  made. 
But  although  we  think  it  was  right 
for  England  to  be  neutral,  we  think 
she  should  have  looked  on  in  her 
panoply — if  not  from  the  first,  at 
any  rate  from  the  time  when  she 
learned  how  Belgium  had  been 
threatened.  We  can  speak  only 
with  shame  of  the  attitude  which 
she  did  assume — an  attitude  indi- 
cating not  so  much  an  honourable 
desire  for  peace  as  a  craven  dread  of 
war.  The  ill-will  which  is  directed 
to  us  from  both  belligerents  would 
hardly  have  been  encountered  if  the 
nation  had  stood  armed ;  neither  in 
that  case  would  our  representatives 
have  been  driven  to  that  mean  and 
miserable  diplomacy  which  has  yet 
to  be  fully  exposed  and  censured. 
We  can  imagine  the  inward  chuckle 
with  which  Count  Bismark  heard 
Mr  Odo  Eussell's  "  oath  of  mickle 
might "  about  England  going  to' 
war  "  with  or  without  allies." 
Knowing  as  he  did  that  the  English 
Government  "  will  not  swagger  with 
a  Barbary  hen  if  her  feathers  turn 
back  with  any  show  of  resistance," 


this  pitiful  flourish  must  have  been 
infinitely  entertaining.  If  the  en- 
voy had  but  gone  a  step  further, 
and  intimated  that  Mr  Cardwell's 
first  and  second  reserves  would  turn 
out  incontinently,  the  jest  would 
have  been  complete. 

In  estimating  the  effects  of  the 
war,  we  must  not  forget  the  mo- 
mentous change  that  has  happened 
in  Italy  through  the  withdrawal 
of  the  French  troops.  In  days  to 
come,  when  the  struggle  between 
France  and  Prussia  shall  have 
shrunk  to  small  dimensions  on  the 
historic  page,  the  cessation  of  the 
temporal  power  of  the  Popes  will 
mark  a  great  epoch.  The  deposi- 
tion of  Pio  Nono  from  his  earthly 
throne  passed  without  thunderings 
or  earthquakes,  or  signs  in  the  sun, 
in  the  moon,  or  in  the  stars — nay, 
it  passed  without  that  attention 
from  mankind  which  it  certainly 
deserved  :  it  was  for  the  moment 
eclipsed  by  the  stirring  deeds  which 
were  being  done  farther  north. 
When,  however,  men's  minds  can 
lurn  from  these  matters  of  imme- 
diate interest,  it  will  be  seen  what 
a  revolution  has  been  suddenly  and 
almost  silently  wrought.  For, 
whatever  may  be  held  in  theory, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  prac- 
tically the  effect  of  the  temporal 
degradation  will  be  to  weaken  mate- 
rially the  spiritual  power — that  is, 
to  modify  the  religious  convictions 
of  a  very  large  section  of  the  world. 
The  importance  to  us -of  the  event 
lies  in  the  diminished  influence 
which  it  is  to  be  hoped  the  Catholic 
priesthood  will  henceforth  exert  in 
this  and  the  neighbouring  island. 
Looking  at  the  act  of  Victor 
Emmanuel,  we  can  characterise  it 
only  as  barefaced  robbery,  utterly 
inexcusable  according  to  the  law 
of  nations.  Remembering  that  the 
sovereignty  of  the  States  of  the 
Church  is  the  oldest,  and  has  been 
the  most  potent,  dynasty  in  Europe, 


506 


The  End  of  the  War, 


[April 


surrounded  with  a  mysterious  sanc- 
tity which  has  not  been  conceded 
to  other  thrones — a  Power  which 
has  shaped  the  opinions  and  the 
.governments  of  Christendom — we 
^cannot  unmoved  witness  its  fall ; 
but  seeing  how  in  these  latter  days 
the  influence  of  Rome  has  been 
exerted  against  the  crown  and 
dignity  of  the  Sovereign  of  these 
Islands,  the  instinct  of  self-preser- 
vation prevents  our  full  sympathy 
with  the  venerable  royalty  of  the 
Church.  We  know  that  it  is  for 
our  country's  interest  that  the 
Papacy  should  be  reduced ;  but  we 
cannot  contemplate  the  figure  which 
for  so  many  centuries  was  the  most 
prominent  in  Western  Europe,  ig- 
nobly extinguished  by  a  King  who 
is  little  better  than  a  brigand,  with- 
out indignation  and  regret. 

In  summing  up  thegainsand  losses 
of  the  war,  we  may  reckon  the  Pope's 
misfortune  as  a  public  gain.  The 
distinctness,  also,  with  which  war 
has  been  brought  before  the  imagi- 
nations of  men,  will  also,  we  hope, 
be  a  great  advantage.  On  the  other 
side,  the  unprincipled  designs  which 
have  been  developed  promise  but 
badly  for  the  future.  And,  alas  ! 
the  events  and  circumstances  of  the 
war  have  brought  England  down 
from  her  high  estate,  and  must 
make  every  genuine  Briton  feel 
crest-fallen  and  ashamed.  These 
seem  to  be  all  the  things  which 
can  as  yet  be  affirmed  concerning  the 
results  of  the  strife.  If  France  use 


her  adversity  rightly,  the  war  may 
prove  to  have  been  a  gain  to  her- 
self and  to  Europe ;  but  who  can 
pierce  the  dark  cloud-  which  now 
lowers  over  France,  and  see  beyond 
it  whether  peace  and  progress  await 
her,  or  whether,  now  that  she  is 
delivered  from  the  hand  of  her 
foreign  enemy,  she  is  to  be  given 
over  to  civil  discord,  wild  experi- 
ments, and  ruinous  changes  ]  Again, 
if  Germany  use  well  the  supremacy 
which  she  has  gained,  Europe  will 
benefit  largely  by  the  war ;  but  who 
will  be  surety  for  Germany  1 — who 
will  say  that  greater  and  longer  wars 
will  not  grow  out  of  the  war  which 
has  just  ended,  and  involve  the 
whole  Continent  in  quarrels,  arrest- 
ing civilisation  by  tumult  and  blood- 
shed once  more?  All  Europe  suf- 
fered when  France  did  violence  in 
times  past :  perhaps  all  Europe  may 
be  destined  to  suffer  again,  now 
that  her  iniquity  is  recompensed  to 
France. 

The  prospect  is  not  cheering; 
and  to  us  in  England,  governed  as 
we  now  are,  it  is  especially  gloomy. 
Nevertheless,  let  us  be  thankful 
that  we  have  for  the  present  peace. 
Let  us  hope  that,  in  spite  of  appear- 
ances and  apprehensions,  things  may 
yet  settle  themselves  quietly.  Jus- 
tice seems  clean  gone  from  the  earth ; 
but  an  overruling  Providence  may 
bring  light  out  of  all  this  darkness, 
and  vouchsafe  to  us  the  beginning 
of  prosperity  with  the  end  of  the 
war. 


1871.] 


Tiie  '  Economist '  on  Bullion. 


507 


THE  'ECONOMIST'  ON  BULLION. 


THE  'Economist,'  on  February 
25,  published  an  elaborate  article  on 
the  French  indemnity,  and  its  pro- 
bable effects  on  the  English  money 
m  arket.  It  was  thought  to  be  import- 
ant enough  to  be  reproduced  in  the 
'  Times  '  of  February  27.  It  is  not 
surprising  that  the  article  should 
have  been  thus  highly  esteemed  by 
the  '  Times.'  It  relates  to  a  subject 
of  vast  magnitude.  It  is  written 
with  extreme  care,  and  avowedly 
professes  to  give  a  complete  analy- 
sis beforehand  of  the  consequences 
which  the  payment  of  so  gigantic  a 
sum  as  two  hundred  millions  of  Eng- 
lish pounds  may  entail  on  the  whole 
trading  community  of  England.  It 
warns  merchants  and  traders  what 
they  may  expect,  and  bids  them 
make  preparations  accordingly.  It 
emanates  from  a  commercial  author- 
ity of  the  highest  order;  and  lastly, 
its  investigations  lead  it  to  an  enun- 
ciation of  the  theory  of  bullion  as 
held  by  the  City,  and  to  a  deduc- 
tion from  that  theory  of  the  finan- 
cial events  which  the  banking  world 
may  expect.  It  is  theoretical  and 
practical  at  the  same  time. 

These  reasons  more  than  suffice 
to  claim  special  attention  for  this 
paper. 

The  reading  of  this  article,  which 
is  too  long  for  insertion  here,  will 
show  that  the  pivot  both  of  the 
theory  and  of  the  effects  of  the 
French  indemnity  turns  upon  bul- 
lion. It  is  bullion  which  in  such 
cases  is  held  to  do  all  the  harm  or  the 
good.  It  is  truly  called  "international 
cash ; "  it  acts  between  foreign  na- 
tions as  coin  acts  in  a  single  coun- 
try. Its  movements,  its  abund- 
ance or  its  scarcity,  are  described  as 
forces  which  generate  disturbance 
or  wealth  for  the  whole  community 
of  traders. 


Before  examining  the  theory  here 
laid  down  before  the  commercial 
world,  it  is  of  the  utmost  import- 
ance clearly  to  understand,  and  never 
to  forget,  one  supreme  point :  bullion 
is  a  precious  metal,  which  we  will 
take  to  be  gold.  It  is  not  produced 
in  England,  but  is  purchased  and 
imported  from  abroad.  It  is  a  very 
expensive  thing  to  buy.  A  very 
large  portion  of  English  wealth  has 
to  be  given  away  and  to  be  lost  to 
England  for  its  acquisition.  The 
miners  of  America  and  Australia  do 
not  dig  this  metal  out  of  the  bowels 
of  the  earth  and  send  it  over  to 
England  except  in  exchange  for  im- 
mense quantities  of  English  goods. 
The  goods  are  gone  and  lost :  the 
food,  clothing,  tools,  and  materials 
which  were  consumed  in  producing 
them,  have  been  destroyed.  They  are 
replaced  by  the  gold  :  and  thus  the 
ever-recurring,  all  -  important  ques- 
tion has  to  be  asked,  What  is  the 
service  which  gold  renders,  which 
makes  it  worth  while  to  buy  it,  and 
which  compensates  for  the  loss  of 
the  wealth  with  which  it  has  been 
purchased  1  There  is  no  escape  from 
this  question,  either  for  the  theorist 
or  the  practical  man.  The  purchase 
of  the  gold  in  such  vast  quantities 
would  be  an  act  in  the  highest 
degree  irrational,  unless  it  is  useful 
for  some  purpose  which  is  worth  the 
sacrifice  which  it  costs  to  obtain. 

This  question,  one  and  the  same 
for  all  commodities  bought,  is  gene- 
rally of  easy  answer.  The  objects 
which  the  goods  bought  are  intend- 
ed to  serve  are  obvious,  for  the  most 
part,  at  a  glance.  It  is  eminently 
wise  to  give  away  English  iron  and 
English  yarns  in  exchange  for  food, 
of  which  England  does  not  grow 
enough  to  keep  her  people  alive. 
Equally  intelligible  is  it  that  consi- 


The  l  Economist '  on  Bullion, 


[April 


derable  portions  of  English  wealth 
should  be  given  away  in  order  to 
acquire  handsome  silks,  or  fine 
wines,  or  glorious  pictures.  These 
furnish  high  gratification  for  body 
or  mind  ;  and  one  of  the  main  ends 
of  wealth,  one  of  the  chief  reasons 
why  it  is  pursued  through  much 
Labour,  is  to  obtain  similar  plea- 
sures. Gold,  too,  for  some  portion 
of  its  quantity,  tells  an  equally  sim- 
ple tale.  It  is  useful  for  gilding, 
for  watches  and  chains,  for  orna- 
mentation of  various  kinds.  But  it 
stands  otherwise  with  bullion.  Bul- 
lion consists  of  ingots,  of  bricks  of 
gold ;  they  minister  to  no  pleasure, 
they  are  not  objects  of  final  con- 
sumption— ends  which  are  good  in 
themselves  for  their  own  sakes,  and 
for  no  ulterior  purpose  beyond  them. 
What,  then,  is  the  use  of  bullion1? 
Why  buy  it  1  Why  give  so  much 
for  it  1  What  does  it  do  for  Eng- 
land, when  England  acquires  it? 
What  does  England  lose  when  it  is 
exported?  This  is  the  vital  ques- 
tion— a  question  which  every  man 
who  lays  stress  on  the  possession  of 
bullion  is  bound  to  answer,  on  pain, 
if  he  fails  to  give  a  categorical  re- 
ply, of  being  pronounced  ignorant 
of  the  matter  that  he  talks  about. 

It  serves  as  international  cash,  re- 
plies the  Economist.  Nothing  can 
be  truer.  It  liquidates  accounts 
between  nation  and  nation,  precisely 
as  coin  settles  accounts  at  home 
between  man  and  man.  When  a 
nation  has  bought  more  goods  of  fo- 
reigners than  foreigners  have  bought 
of  it,  then  the  account  must  be 
balanced,  and  the  difference  made 
good  in  some  article  of  value  which 
the  foreigners  will  take  as  payment. 
They  will  accept  the  metal  gold,  be- 
cause they  know  its  value  in  the 
metal  market,  and  because  they  find 
that  the  same  motive  which  induces 
a  shopkeeper  to  sell  his  wares  for 
gold  coin,  will  prevail  on  their  inter- 
national creditors  to  accept  gold 


ingots  in  exchange  for  their  goods. 
The  theory  runs  smoothly  and  is 
perfectly  true.  These  metallic  in- 
gots perform  an  exceedingly  import- 
ant function.  They  enable  England 
to  buy  abroad  without  having  re- 
course to  the  clumsy  and  impeding 
process  of  barter.  The  international 
accounts  square  themselves  each  day. 
Buyers  and  sellers  of  commodities 
need  not  trouble  themselves  about 
exactly  adjusting  their  purchases  to 
their  sales  in  each  particular  country. 
If  England  buys  wines  of  France,  if 
France  is  not  willing  to  buy  goods 
of  England,  it  matters  not.  France 
will  consent  to  payment  in  ingots, 
because  she  feels  sure  that  the  Hun- 
garians, in  times  of  dearth,  will  give 
their  corn  to  her  in  exchange  for 
these  identical  ingots.  They  are 
worth  buying — as  well  worth  buy- 
ing as  the  coins  which  circulate  over 
the  country. 

We  thus  understand  why  inter- 
national cash  is  purchased  with  Eng- 
lish wealth.  It  discharges  a  most 
useful  function  ;  it  is  a  very  import- 
ant part  of  the  machinery  of  inter- 
national trade.  When,  therefore,  the 
gold,  these  ingots,  pass  away  from 
England  to  a  foreign  country,  they 
perform  the  very  work  for  which 
they  were  procured;  they  were  bought 
for  that  very  purpose,  to  be  sent 
abroad  as  international  cash.  They 
fulfil  the  end  of  their  existence : 
they  came  into  England  to  lie  in 
waiting  till  the  moment  arrived  to 
summon  them  to  render  the  service 
for  which  they  were  acquired.  What 
can  be  more  natural,  more  conveni- 
ent, or  more  useful?  But  then,  what 
means  this  wailing  of  the  'Econom- 
ist,' these  lamentations  of  the  City  ] 
These  ingots,  they  cry,  do  harm  to 
England  by  being  sent  abroad ;  their 
departure  works  mischief,  all  kinds  of 
disturbance  and  loss,  in  the  commer- 
cial community.  They  were  bought 
to  be  used  like  any  other  goods,  but, 
marvellous  to  say,  they  cannot  be 


1871.] 


The.  '  Economist '  on  Bullion.' 


509' 


used  without  inflicting  anxiety  and 
incalculable  confusion  on  the  whole 
commercial  world.  Such  is  the 
language  preached  by  its  vigilant 
intellectual  guardians,  such  as  the 
'  Economist.'  This  is  a  strange  doc- 
trine indeed  ;  something  very  won- 
derful in  Political  Economy,  and 
still  stranger  yet  for  common-sense. 
The  gold  was  bought  to  be  sent 
abroad ;  but  no  sooner  is  it  set  to 
its  appointed  task,  and  made  to  ac- 
complish the  very  object  for  which 
the  wealth  of  England  was  given 
away  to  obtain  it,  than  it  displays 
a  singular  quality  of  its  own,  and 
wounds  the  hands  which  fetched 
it  from  Australia.  It  strikes  twice 
— once  by  the  cost  at  which  it  was 
purchased ;  a  second  time  in  being 
put  to  the  work  which  was  the  spe- 
cial motive  for  buying  it.  No  other 
commodity  displays  this  astonishing 
quality.  Englishmen  purchase  corn 
from  foreigners  because  their  own 
land  fails  to  supply  them  with  a 
sufficiency  of  bread ;  but  it  was  never 
heard  that  it  did  harm  to  trade  to  eat 
the  bread  thus  purchased.  Men  may 
have  been  accused  of  waste  in  buy- 
ing French  wines  at  forty  shillings  a 
bottle  ;  but  it  has  never  yet  occurred 
to  the  mind  of  mortal  man  that  the 
wine  did  a  second  injury  to  the  buyer 
or  the  nation's  purse  by  being  drunk. 
Commodities,  it  was  always  thought, 
damaged  individual  ornational  means 
by  being  bought :  it  is  a  new  thing 
to  be  told  that  they  inflict  mischief 
by  being  used.  Gold  alone  is  thus 
made  to  occupy  a  unique  position  in 
economical  science.  It  impoverishes 
to  buy,  and  it  impoverishes  again  to 
use  it.  Wealth  has  to  be  sacrificed  to 
the  miner  to  acquire  this  amazing 
article,  and  wealth  again  is  lost  by 
the  rise  of  interest  which  the  employ- 
ment of  it  entails.  These  ingots  are 
purchased  for  the  express  purpose 
of  being  employed  in  international 
cash ;  but  the  instant  that  this  in- 
ternational cash  is  called  upon  to  do 


its  duty,  up  flies  the  rate  of  interest 
in  the  money  market,  and  the  whole 
City  falls  in  to  an  agony  of  alarm.  And 
this  is  not  held  to  be  mere  vague  panic 
—  the  misty  apprehensions  of  igno- 
rant persons  requiring  the  teaching 
of  enlightened  science — but  a  natu- 
ral and  necessary  result,  founded  on 
the  nature  of  things,  though  em- 
bodying a  mystery  known  only  to  or- 
acular authorities.  That  gold  ought 
to  be  bought  to  serve  as  international 
cash,  and  then,  when  it  is  used  as 
cash,  and  sent  abroad  on  its  destined 
mission,  that  it  should  raise  the  rate 
of  discount,  and  bring  trouble  to 
every  trader,  sums  up  the  essence  of 
this  wonderful  doctrine.  And  it  is 
called  Political  Economy,  and  its 
teachers  expect  to  be  revered  as  hav- 
ing fathomed  the  dark  depths  of 
knowledge.  If  it  is  Political  Econo- 
my, the  sooner  that  science  is  rele- 
gated to  keep  company  with  astrol- 
ogy, the  better  will  it  be  for  man- 
kind. It  surpasses  the  ordinary  un- 
derstanding to  comprehend  how  a 
thing  paid  for  can  do  harm  by  being 
applied  to  the  use  which  called  for 
its  purchase.  It  may  be  wasted,  no 
doubt,  and  require  to  be  bought  a 
second  time ;  but  then  to  waste  a 
thing  is  not  to  apply  it  to  its  destined 
use.  The  exportation  of  the  inter- 
national cash  is  not  a  waste,  for  it 
is  not  given  away  as  a  gift :  it  is 
exchanged  for  other  wealth.  No  loss 
is  incurred  ;  and  consequently  the 
conclusion,  consonant  at  once  with 
science  and  common  -  sense,  comes 
forth  clear,  that  to  purchase  interna- 
tional cash  and  to  use  it  internation- 
ally, is  an  excellent  and  beneficial 
operation  if  such  cash  is  required  as 
an  instrument  of  trade  or  payment. 
The  second  loss,  in  addition  to  the 
cost  of  purchasing  the  ingots,  is  pure 
nonsense,  unless  these  ingots  serve 
some  additional  purpose  besides  mak- 
ing international  payments.  The 
question  then  recurs  in  all  its  force, 
With  what  object  does  England  pur- 


510 


The  (  Economist '  on  Bullion. 


[April 


chase  this  costly  gold,  these  expen- 
sive ingots?  To  escape  the  absur- 
dity that  a  commodity  inflicts  a 
second  pecuniary  harm  by  being 
used,  the  'Economist'  is  bound  to 
state  to  the  world  distinctly  what 
is  the  function  which  these  ingots 
fulfil  at  home  in  England,  and  which, 
when  interrupted  by  their  exporta- 
tion, works  the  mischief  which  the 
City  dreads.  The  evil  generated  by 
the  exportation  is  very  plainly  spe- 
cified :  the  rate  of  interest  is  raised 
in  the  money  market,  and  therefore 
the  function  we  are  in  search  of  must 
be  something  connected  with  borrow- 
ing and  lending  in  the  money  mar- 
ket. The  theory  of  international 
cash  will  not  suffice  to  explain  this 
effect ;  for  the  time  when  the  rise  of 
interest  should  occur,  would,  on  this 
theory,  be  the  period  when  the  in- 
gots were  bought  with  England's 
wealth.  This  is  a  very  important 
point  to  notice.  There  is  a  loss  of 
means  suffered  by  England  when 
she  purchases  this  cash,  although 
the  loss  is  compensated,  as  in  the 
purchase  of  all  other  commodities, 
by  the  utility  which  their  consump- 
tion brings.  That  loss  tends  to  in- 
crease the  difficulty  of  borrowing  : 
there  is  less  to  lend,  not  of  currency, 
but,  as  will  be  shown  presently,  of 
goods,  of  wealth.  •  But  what  have 
these  ingots,  which  have  been  bought 
and  paid  for,  to  do  with  the  rate  of 
interest,  when  they  are  applied  to 
the  service  for  which  they  were 
needed  ?  This  is  what  we  ask  the 
'Economist'  to  tell  us  in  plain  and  in- 
telligible terms.  It  gives  us  this  in- 
formation in  the  following  sentence  : 
"  If  four  or  five  millions  sterling 
were  at  once  abstracted  from  the 
Bank  reserves,  with  a  prospect  of 
probable  demands,  the  Bank  would 
raise  its  rate  very  considerably,  and 
the  general  market  would  follow  it." 
The  words,  "  with  a  prospect  of  pro- 
bable demands,"  are  very  hazy :  they 
may  mean  demands  for  advances,  or 


demands  for  gold  for  exportation. 
The  difference  between  the  two  senses 
is  enormous  :  however,  we  will  sup- 
pose that  the  subject  remains  the 
same  in  the  writer's  mind,  and  that 
demands  for  bullion  are  the  things 
that  he  speaks  of.  Here,  then,  we 
have,  first,  an  effect  alleged  to  be 
produced  by  the  withdrawal  of  the 
bullion ;  and,  secondly,  its  cause — 
a  diminution  of  the  reserve  of  the 
Bank  of  England.  The  effect  is  a 
rise  of  interest — an  increase,  as  the 
article  expresses  it,  of  the  value  of 
money.  That  this  effect  will  follow 
a  sudden  loan  of  five  millions  of  gold 
to  Prussia  we  freely  admit  to  be 
extremely  probable  :  it  would  raise 
the  rate  of  interest,  though  it  would 
not  increase  "  the  value  of  money." 
This  is  a  most  objectionable  phrase, 
very  common  in  the  City,  but  one 
which  the  'Economist'  ought  to  know 
better  than  to  sanction.  The  value 
of  money  is  its  value  in  the  shops. 
If  a  loan  of  five  or  ten  millions  to 
Prussia  will  lower  the  price  of  a  hat 
from  a  pound  to  nineteen  shillings, 
then  the  value  of  money  will  have 
been  increased ;  but  no  one  imagines 
that  a  loan  ever  produces  any  effect 
of  this  kind.  The  value  of  money 
continues  unaltered.  What  the 
'Economist'  and  the  City  mean  by 
the  expression  is,  the  value  of  money 
offered  on  loan — the  value  of  lend- 
ing— the  price  obtained  for  granting 
a  loan.  It  is  true  that  a  large  foreign 
loan  suddenly  brought  out  and 
taken  up  in  London  would  raise 
the  rate  of  lending  considerably. 
We  turn  to  the  'Economist'  for 
the  cause  :  it  leads,  we  are  told, 
to  an  exportation  of  bullion,  and 
thereby  diminishes  the  Bank's  bank- 
ing reserve.  We  thus  obtain  a 
second  purpose  which  the  bullion  is 
bought  from  the  miner  to  fulfil.  A 
portion  of  what  is  possessed  by  the 
Bank  is  destined  to  act  as  interna- 
tional cash — to  serve  as  payment  of 
debts  due  to  foreign  countries.  This 


1871.] 


The  '  Economist '  on  Bullion. 


511 


portion  is  small — just  enough  to 
provide  for  the  ordinary  demands  to 
and  fro  of  international  trade.  Its 
exportation  produces  no  effect  as 
gold.  The  remaining  and  larger 
portion  of  the  bullion  serves  a  home 
purpose  :  it  acts  as  a  reserve  for  the 
Bank ;  and  no  considerable  part  of 
this  portion  can  be  exported,  we 
are  assured,  without  producing  a 
serious  effect  on  lending  and  the 
rate  of  discount.  That  is  the  the- 
ory. In  applying  this  theory,  the 
'  Economist '  comforts  the  City  with 
the  hope  that  the  Germans  may  soon 
send  back  this  bullion  in  exchange 
for  English  goods,  so  that  the  dis- 
turbance in  the  money  market  may 
be  but  temporary  ;  but  it  also  emits 
a  fear  that  the  King  of  Prussia  may 
imitate  the  ways  of  the  Emperor 
Napoleon,  and  store  up  all  the  bul- 
lion in  his  military  vaults  at  Berlin. 
Then  it  would  not  come  back  to 
England,  and  traders  must  be  pre- 
pared for  a  long  duration  of  a  high 
rate  of  discount. 

Of  this  theory  we  remark,  in  the 
first  place,  that  it  deals  with  bullion, 
with  ingots  of  metal,  and  not  with 
coined  sovereigns  employed  in  car- 
rying out  the  payments  of  English 
trade  at  home.  This  bullion,  by 
its  very  nature,  lies  deposited  in  a 
cellar ;  it  is  useless  for  a  single  Eng- 
lish or  trade  purpose  other  than 
what  it  performs  when  locked  up 
from  the  handling  of  men.  The 
theory  of  the  '  Economist '  is,  that 
these  imprisoned  ingots  act  very 
powerfully  up-stairs  ;  that  the  know- 
ledge of  their  existence  in  the  vaults 
is  the  source  of  increased  means  for 
lending.  Verily,  this  theory  is 
startling — it  requires  a  very  strong 
brain  to  understand  it ;  but  these 
banking  and  currency  authorities 
always  assure  the  world  that  they 
possess  Eleusinian  mysteries  utterly 
dark  to  the  common  mind.  It  is  a 
doctrine  difficult  to  grasp,  that  it  is 
a  wise  expenditure  to  send  to  the 


other  end  of  the  world  for  a  very  ex- 
pensive metal  solely  in  order  to  lock 
it  up  in  a  vault,  even  though  it  be 
called  by  the  impressive  name  of  a 
reserve.  Observe,  it  is  a  reserve,  or 
sum  which  may  be  wanted,  but  need 
not  be — nay,  and  as  fact  demon- 
strates, so  far  as  the  major  part  of 
this  bullion  is  concerned,  never  is 
wanted.  We  grant  fully  that  the  na- 
ture of  his  business  compels  a  banker 
to  keep  a  fund  ready  for  paying, 
in  order  to  guard  against  the  fluctu- 
ating and  uncertain  demands  of  his 
customers  for  repayments.  This  re- 
serve is  precisely  of  the  same  gen- 
eral nature,  mutatis  mutandis,  as 
the  spare  stock  of  shopkeepers,  who 
dare  not  run  the  risk  of  not  having 
their  goods  when  asked  for.  But 
this  reserve  does  not  enter  into  this 
discussion.  Five  millions  of  bullion 
sent  to  Berlin  would  not  diminish 
this  reserve  by  a  single  pound. 
When  that  operation  was  concluded, 
there  would  still  be  left  at  the  Bank 
of  England  a  gigantic  amount  of  gold, 
which  nothing  short  of  the  panic 
attending  an  invasion  of  the  country 
could  disturb.  Yet  it  is  this  vast 
sum  of  untouched  and  untouchable 
gold  which  the  '  Economist '  sets  a 
high  store  upon  as  governing  the 
rate  of  discount — which  it  paints  as 
worth  buying  for  the  sake  of  the 
power  it  exerts  over  the  money  mar- 
ket— and  which,  whilst  lying  out  of 
the  light  of  day  in  the  vaults,  yet 
supplies  to  the  Bank  up  above, 
magical  means  of  lending. 

The  process  which,  it  seems,  the 
'  Economist '  imagines  this  bullion 
to  carry  out,  is  to  excite  a  calcu- 
lation each  day  in  the  banker's 
mind.  So  much  reserve  to-day, 
think  the  Directors  of  the  Bank ;  so 
mueh,  therefore,  we  may  lend  if  we 
choose  —  or,  in  another  form,  so 
much  we  have  to  lend.  Now, 
whether  a  banker  may  choose  to 
lend  is  not  a  matter  of  science.  No 
two  bankers  may  think  alike  on 


512 


TJie  '  Economist '  on  Bullion. 


this  point,  and  the  same  banker 
may  have  different  feelings  on  the 
point  at  different  times.  How 
much  he  has  to  lend  is  another 
matter  altogether.  It  is  clear  that 
the  Bank  could  advance  many  mil- 
lions to  borrowers ;  it  is  equally 
clear  that  it  does  not.  What  can 
be  the  reason  of  this  keeping  back 
of  supplies  from  eager  and  trust- 
worthy borrowers'?  Why  did  not 
the  Banks  of  England  and  France 
lend  the  huge  treasures  which  they 
had  in  store  1  The  profit  on  lend- 
ing would  have  been  enormous.  The 
answer  is  easy :  because  it  was  im- 
possible to  lend  this  gold,  except  for 
exportation  ;  and  the  reason  of  this 
impossibility  to  lend  it  is  that  no  one 
would  take  it  out.  If  borrowers  had 
carried  it  away  in  loans,  those  to  whom 
they  paid  it  would  have  brought  it 
back  instantly;  and  thus,  in  actual 
practice,  the  gold  did  not  stir;  and 
whatever  loans  were  made  were 
settled  by  account  and  at  the  Clear- 
ing-House.  The  gold  was  not  lent, 
and  is  not  lent.  The  inference  is 
irresistible  that  a  thing  which  is 
never  lent  forms  no  part  of  the  lend- 
ing fund — does  not  give  the  means 
to  the  Bank  of  lending  a  single  ad- 
ditional pound.  This  gold  is  not, 
and  never  can  be,  anything  else  than 
a  security. 

Now,  what  is  a  security  1  a  guar- 
antee for  repayment — a  motive  to 
lend,  but  not  the  thing  lent.  A 
security  conies  from  the  side  of  the 
borrower,  not  from  that  of  the 
lender.  A  bank  with  a  large  de- 
posit of  gold  in  its  vaults  may  be 
willing  to  lend  more — that  is  incon- 
testable ;  but  if  it  does  make  a  loan, 
that  loan  is  shown  by  actual  fact 
not  to  consist  of  gold,  but  of  some- 
thing else.  The  gold  may  per- 
suade the  Bank  to  grant  advances, 
but  the  advances  are  not  made  in 
gold.  What  actually  occurs  is  this : 
The  Bank  grants  a  loan,  suppose, 
of  £100,000.  It  is  taken  out  by 


{April 

cheques,  given  to  sellers  of  goods  or 
to  creditors  by  the  man  who  has 
obtained  the  loan.  These  cheques 
reach  the  Clearing-House,  and  are 
there  met  by  other  cheques  drawn 
by  the  person  who  received  the 
first  cheques,  and  they  balance  each 
other.  Even  if  they  did  not  balance 
exactly,  the  gold  would  come  forth 
none  the  more.  The  bankers  who 
had  more  to  receive  than  to  pay  at 
the  Clearing-House  would  obtain 
a  cheque  for  the  difference  on  the 
Bank  of  England,  and  would  have  a 
larger  account  at  that  establishment. 
The  same  fact  occurs  universally, 
whether  there  be  a  Clearing-House 
or  not.  When  the  currency  of  a 
country  is  full — that  is,  when  there 
is  coin  enough  wherewith  to  make 
ready -money  payments — all  loans 
from  bankers  are  carried  out  by 
purchases  and  sales  of  goods  which 
balance  each  other;  and  the  real 
action  of  the  banks  consists  in  this, 
and  this  only,  that  they  interpose 
their  guarantee  to  the  lenders.  They 
lend  A. 's  money  to  B.,  being  respon- 
sible to  A.  that  he  shall  have  his 
money  returned  on  demand ;  but 
as  to  gold,  it  is  not  wanted.  A.'s 
sales  balance  B.'s  purchases.  We 
thus  reach  the  final  conclusion,  that 
the  reserve  of  a  bank,  or  rather  that 
portion  of  it  which  is  not  and  can- 
iiot  be  used  in  actual  payment,  lias 
no  connection  with  its  lending 
power,  furnishes  no  means  for  lend- 
ing. It  never  is  lent,  except  for 
exportation ;  and  that  fact  alone  is 
decisive. 

But  the  knowledge  of  currency  is 
such,  unfortunately,  in  the  commer- 
cial and  banking  worlds,  that  reason- 
ing has  little  effect  on  their  minds. 
Let  us  appeal,  then,  to  facts,  and 
see  what  they  tell  us.  Let  us  ques- 
tion figures  as  to  the  connection  of 
the  amount  of  the  reserve  with  two 
points :  first,  with  the  quantity  of 
loans  and  advances  granted  by  the 
Bank  ;  and,  secondly,  with  the  rate 


TJie  '  Economist '  on  Bullion. 


1871.] 

of  discount.  The  tables  published 
weekly  in  the  '  Economist '  will 
supply  us  with  what  we  seek.  The 
year  1866  opened  with  12£  millions 
of  gold  and  25  millions  of  securi- 
ties —  that  is,  of  loans  made  to 
traders.  In  January  and  February 
no  noticeable  change  occurred  in  the 
amount  of  the  gold,  yet  the  secu- 
rities— that  is,  the  loans  advanced 
by  the  Bank — varied  to  the  extent 
of  not  less  than  5  millions.  In  May 
the  crisis  burst  in  full  fury.  May 
opened  with  12f  millions  of  gold. 
In  the  course  of  the  month  there 
was  a  fluctuation  in  the  gold  which 
did  not  range  beyond  1£  million. 
But  now  look  at  the  securi- 
ties— that  is,  at  the  suras  lent. 
They  rose  from  20|  millions  in 
the  first  week  in  May,  to  31  mil- 
lions, in  the  third — nearly  11  mil- 
lions of  increase.  With  the  same 
reserve  practically,  the  Bank  lent 
1 1  millions  more  to  commerce. 
Where  did  these  millions  come 
from  1  Not  from  the  reserve.  And 
what  effect  had  the  amount  of  the 
reserve  on  the  loans  1  None. 

Now,  let  us  turn  to  the  figures 
presented  by  the  rates  of  discount  in 
the  same  memorable  year,  1866 — a 
year  which  seems  to  have  been  pre- 
destined to  test  the  worth  of  the 
City  theories  on  reserves  and  dis- 
counts. The  returns  of  the  '  Econo- 
mist '  tell  us  that  in  the  first  week 
of  1856,  with  10|  millions  of  gold, 
the  rate  of  discount  was  G  and  7 
per  cent.  In  the  same  week  of 
1866  the  gold  is  swollen  to  13 
millions  —  2|  millions  more  of 
reserve.  At  what  rate  is  dis- 
count ]  —  at  a  lower  figure,  in 
obedience  to  the  increase  of  gold? 
Just  the  reverse  ;  it  has  gone  up  to 
8  per  cent.  On  March  21,  1866, 
the  bullion  has  reached  1 4£  millions 
— an  additional  1J  million  —  but 
there  is  no  change  in  the  rate  of  in- 
terest. On  May  9, 1856,  the  bullion 
stood  at  9f  millions,  with  a  rate  of 


513 


6  and  7  per  cent.  In  1866,  May 
9,  on  the  famous  Black  Friday, 
there  were  3  millions  more  of  gold 
in  the  Bank  reserve ;  but,  marvel- 
lous as  the  '  Economist '  must  think 
it,  the  rate  has  run  up  to  9  per  cent. 
Look  at  the  statement  of  June  13. 
There  were  12  millions  of  gold,  with 
a  rate  of  5  per  cent,  in  1856;  in 
1866  we  find  14£  millions  of  gold 
and  a  rate  of  10  per  cent — double 
the  charge  demanded  of  traders  for 
discount  in  the  teeth  of  2|  millions 
of  additional  gold.  Again,  in  1856, 
with  the  low  discount,  14|  millions 
only  were  lent  by  the  Bank;  in 
1866,  with  double  the  rate  of  in- 
terest, the  gigantic  sum  of  31£  mil- 
lions was  advanced  to  the  commer- 
cial world.  The  statements  of  the 
whole  year  tell  the  same  tale.  They 
demonstrate  that  the  doctrine  which 
makes  the  rate  of  discount  depend 
on  the  quantity  of  gold  in  the  re- 
serve of  the  Bank  is  a  pure  fallacy 
— a  fallacy  pertinaciously  insisted 
on  by  the  practical  man  in  spite  of 
experience,  and  in  gross  contradic- 
tion with  the  most  elementary  con- 
ception of  currency.  How  can  the- 
statement  of  the  '  Economist,'  that 
"  the  Bank  would  raise  its  rate  very 
considerably"  in  consequence  of  a 
great  bullion  movement,  live  in  the 
presence  of  such  facts'?  Why  did 
not  this  "  considerable  rise  "  occur  in 
1856,  when  the  bullion  had  been 
lowered  down  to  10|  millions'?  and 
why  were  traders  visited  with  a  rate 
of  10  per  cent  in-  1866,  when  4 
additional  millions  were  lying  idle 
in  the  reserve1?  Let  the  'Econo- 
mist' tell  us,  if  it  can,  upon  any 
intelligible  principle  of  currency. 

The  idea  of  the  reserve  will  not, 
therefore,  afford  any  answer  to  the 
ever-recurring  question,  Why  Eng- 
land should  give  away  her  own. 
wealth  to  buy  a  commodity  which 
she  locks  up  in  a  cellar? 

But  let  us  look  at  the  matter  in 
another  aspect.  Let  us  suppose 


514 


TJie  '  Economist '  an  Bullion. 


[April 


these  200  millions  of  English  pounds 
to  have  been  all  sent  over  to  Berlin  : 
what  has  Prussia  gained  by  the 
acquisition  of  this  enormous  sum1? 
Vast  wealth,  cries  all  the  world. 
But  is  that  so  1  Let  us  not  be  too 
sure  of  the  fact :  it  may  be  that 
Prussia  will  have  gained  no  wealth 
at  all  by  the  operation.  All  de- 
pends upon  the  use  made  of  these 
overwhelming  streams  of  yellow 
metal.  If  they  are  all  made  to  flow 
into  the  military  vaults  at  Potsdam, 
they  are  absolutely  worthless  till 
the  day  arises  when  armies  will  have 
to  be  equipped  by  their  agency. 
They  are  as  useless  as  they  were 
previously  in  the  Californian  mine. 
But  let  these  innumerable  pounds 
see  the  light  of  day ;  what  do  they 
bring  to  Prussia?  A  quantity  of 
metal.  If  this  metal  is  converted 
into  gold  chains  and  watches,  Prus- 
sia is  clearly  so  much  the  richer ; 
she  acquires  a  larger  quantity  of 
things  fitted  to  be  enjoyed.  But 
the  '  Economist '  has  no  such  appli- 
cation of  this  metal  in  view ;  it 
thinks  of  it  as  currency,  as  bullion 
— in  a  word,  as  a  means  of  buying. 
Well,  upon  that  supposition  I  ask 
again,  What  has  Prussia  gained  ? 
Those  who  possess  the  gold  will  be 
able  to  buy  anything  they  please 
in  the  Prussian  shops.  Quite  true  ; 
but  that  is  no  gain  to  Prussia.  What 
one  Prussian  will  acquire  another 
will  lose.  Since  this  gold  is  not  a 
matter  of  enjoyment,  there  will  be  no 
increase  of  the  riches  of  the  country. 
Prussia,  as  a  whole,  clearly  is  no 
winner  by  the  payment  of  these  200 
millions.  They  can  be  used  only  as 
instruments  for  obtaining  Prussian 
goods  ;  but  those  goods  were  already 
in  Prussia  before  the  indemnity  was 
paid,  and  the  increase  of  the  instru- 
ment for  moving  them  about  from 
hand  to  hand  has  not  augmented 
the  stock  of  wealth.  The  truth  of 
this  statement  would  be  immedi- 
ately obvious  and  be  generally  re- 


cognised if  the  indemnity  was  de- 
manded in  a  million  of  locomotives 
instead  of  200  millions  of  pounds. 
Every  one  would  perceive  that  all 
but  a  few  of  these  engines  would  be 
absolutely  worthless  to  Prussia ;  yet 
a  piece  of  coin,  a  pound,  is  nothing 
else  but  a  locomotive,  carrying  the 
ownership  of  property  from  one 
man  to  another.  Whatever  Prus- 
sian gets  hold  of  these  pounds  will 
be  able  to  acquire  the  goods  of  other 
Prussians,  but  there  will  be  no  larger 
quantity  of  goods  in  Prussia  collec- 
tively. Benefit  cannot  be  obtained 
by  Prussia  out  of  this  immense  sum 
except  by  selling  it  abroad.  A  por- 
tion of  it  will  doubtless  be  ex- 
changed for  English  coal,  and  then 
clearly  Prussia  will  have  gained. 
She  will  have  acquired  an  article 
that  she  wants  and  can  consume,  and 
not  a  mere  money-carriage,  of  which 
she  has  already  plenty. 

But  it  may  be  answered  that  this 
argument  proves  too  much,  and 
thereby  refutes  itself.  It  would 
seem  to  warrant  the  inference  that 
an  increase  to  the  money,  the  me- 
tallic currency  of  the  whole  world, 
would  be  no  increase  of  real  wealth, 
and  could  enrich  neither  man  nor 
country.  We  accept  the  inference  ; 
we  affirm  that  it  is  true  ;  we  say 
that  if  the  mines  of  gold  were  more 
prolific,  and  poured  forth  additional 
millions  of  gold  coin  over  the  world, 
not  a  particle  of  benefit  would  accrue 
to  the  human  race  for  any  purpose  of 
currency.  Gold  may  become  cheap- 
er, and  then  its  abundance  would 
enable  many  people  to  have  gold 
chains  and  watches  who  now  have 
none.  But  in  respect  of  currency 
there  could  be  no  gain.  The  very 
first  rudiments  of  the  science  of  cur- 
rency show  that  there  could  be  none. 
Cheaper  gold  would  only  lead  to  an 
increased  number  of  sovereigns  for 
payment  of  the  same  goods  :  the 
more  numerous  sovereigns  would 
encounter  higher  prices  in  every 


1871.] 


Tlie  '  Economist '  on  Bullion. 


515 


shop.  Gold  coin  does  its  work  by 
means  of  its  value — that  is,  its  cost 
of  production ;  for  every  sale,  save  in 
exceptional  cases,  is  an  exchange  of 
an  equal  cost  of  production  for  the 
coin  against  an  equal  cost  of  pro- 
duction for  the  goods.  If,  there- 
fore, the  coins  cost  less,  there  must 
be  more  of  them  to  equal  the  un- 
changed cost  of  production  of  the 
same  goods.  If  a  yellow  coin,  cost 
no  more  to  procure  than  a  white 
one,  the  sovereign  would  be  valued 
as  a  shilling,  and  every  kind  of 
goods  would  sell  at  twenty  times 
the  price.  Would  any  one  be 
benefited  by  such  a  change  ?  There 
would  be  gain  and  loss  to  individuals 
in  settling  past  debts ;  but  the 
world  for  the  future  would  gain  no 
augmentation  of  wealth.  It  is  quite 
otherwise  with  ordinary  commodities. 
A  reduction  in  the  cost  of  producing 
tea  or  wine,  or  furniture,  or  houses, 
would  necessarily  bring  these  en- 
joyments within  the  reach  of  a 
larger  number  of  persons  ;  the  com- 
munity would  be  richer,  would  have 
more  to  consume,  more  to  satisfy  its 
wants  and  desires.  And  so  also  it 
would  be  with  coin  and  ingots,  if 
the  service  they  rendered  depended 
on  their  physical  qualities ;  an  in- 
crease of  their  number  would  be  com- 
pletely analogous  with  an  increase 
of  tea  or  meat.  But  their  function 
is  to  furnish  value — to  place  in  the 
hands  of  a  seller  of  goods  a  definite 
amount  of  cost  of  production;  and 
consequently,  if  they  became  ch.eaper, 
a  larger  number  would  have  to  be 
given  as  furnishing  the  same  quan- 
tity of  value,  and  no  one  would  bo 
benefited  by  the  cheapness. 

And  now  we  shall  be  asked 
whether  we  really  mean  to  deny 
that  a  sudden  demand  on  the  Bank 
of  England  of  5  millions  of  gold  to 
be  sent  by  France  to  Prussia  would 
produce  a  rise  in  the  rate  of  dis- 
count at  the  Bank.  We  do  not 
deny  the  assertion ;  we  think  such 


a  rise  in  the  rate  extremely  probable ; 
but  we  also  say  that  it  is  not  certain 
to  happen.  We  must  distinguish 
between  the  several  forms  which  the 
demand  may  assume.  The  first  case 
will  be  represented  by  a  demand  of 
a  loan  of  5  millions  in  gold  from  the 
Bank  by  the  British  Government  for 
removal  to  Malta  or  Montreal.  Here 
the  Bank  would  be  itself  the  lender. 
The  borrower  would  be  also  a  single 
person,  and  could  offer  unexception- 
able security.  This  would  be  an 
application  for  the  loan  of  a  mass  of 
absolutely  useless  metal.  It  brought 
the  Bank  no  profit,  and  gave  nothing 
to  the  money  market.  The  terms 
of  the  loan  would  be  settled  by  a 
negotiation  in  which  no  competition 
made  its  appearance,  and  in  which 
the  borrower  was  the  party  really 
that  bestowed  advantage — for  he 
would  take  nothing  away  that  was 
or  could  be  used.  It  is  quite  im- 
possible to  conceive  how  such  a 
loan  could  raise  the  rate  of  dis- 
count in  the  general  market  by 
a  single  shilling.  Such  a  fancy 
could  rest  only  on  the  notion  of 
the  reserve  of  metal  conferring  ad- 
ditional means  of  lending,  a  notion 
which  we  have  shown  to  be  false  in 
fact  and  in  theory.  We  have  seen 
that  such  a  reserve  can  act  only  as 
a  security,  not  as  a  thing  lent  or  to 
be  lent,  only  as  an  inducement  to 
the  banker  to  lend  other  and  differ- 
ent means  which  he  possesses. 

A  second  case  would  be  in  essence 
identical  with  the  first,  although 
varying  in  form.  The  gold  in  the 
Bank  does  not  belong  to  it,  but  to 
its  customers,  who  keep  accounts  in 
its  books.  Now  it  is  conceivable 
that  a  number  of  these  persons,  who 
make  no  use  of  this  gold,  should  be 
the  actual  lenders  of  it  on  a  foreign 
loan,  and  should  draw  it  out  for  ex- 
portation. In  this  case  also  no  reason 
can  be  assigned,  except  the  old  tale 
of  the  reserve,  why  there  should  be 
any  rise  of  discount  The  gold  is 


Tlie  'Economist1  on  Bullion. 


simply  transferred  from  one  place 
to  another  ;  nothing  else  is  changed. 
.  But  neither  of  these  modes  of  ex- 
porting the  gold  is  often  met  with 
in  actual  life.  The  process  which 
usually  occurs  is  either  the  introduc- 
tion of  a  foreign  loan  into  the  open 
market,  or  the  action  of  some  great 
financial  house  such  as  the  Roths- 
childs. The  conditions  of  the  loan, 
in  order  to  insure  success,  must  be 
tempting ;  an  important  profit  is 
held  up  to  the  eyes  of  the  money 
market.  Competition  then  com- 
mences its  powerful  action  ;  many 
persons  desire  to  have  a  share  of  it, 
and  call  in  the  help  of  their  bankers. 
Borrowers  at  all  the  banks  are  in- 
creased, and  the  lenders,  the  banks, 
have  at  once  an  opportunity  for  rais- 
ing their  terms  for  advances.  It  is 
the  increased  ratio  of  borrowers  to 
lenders,  the  active  competition  of 
the  applicants  for  banking  assistance, 
and  not  the  gold  exported,  which 
swells  the  rate  of  interest.  When 
the  loan  is  taken  up  and  its  allot- 
ments placed,  the  demands  of  bor- 
rowers cease,  and  the  rate  of  dis- 
count speedily  rolls  back  to  its 
former  position  :  gold  has  been  ex- 
ported, biit  then  it  was  a  useless 
article,  and  the  nation  has  been  en- 
riched by  the  operation  to  the  whole 
extent  of  the  interest,  which  is 
annually  sent  to  England  as  the  con- 
sideration for  the  loan.  England 
becomes  absolutely  the  richer  owing 
to  the  departure  of  the  gold,  by  the 
eggs,  and  wine,  and  silks  which 
France  or  any  other  country  sends 
each  year.  England  has  parted  with 
a  perfectly  unproductive  commodity, 
and  levies  an  annual  rent  from 
Prance  which  is  all  pure  profit. 

There  is  further  a  most  important 
matter,  which  cannot  be  too  firmly 
grasped.  A  sudden  loan  of  five 
millions  of  coal  or  cotton  would,  in 
the  first  place,  create  the  same  com- 
petition amongst  borrowers  as  a  loan 
.of  gold.  The  coal-owners  would 


not  lend  it  themselves — it  would 
have  to  be  purchased  of  them  by 
funds  from  the  money  market.  But 
there  would  be  this  vast  distinction 
between  the  loss  of  coals  (or  any 
other  commodity  in  use)  and  the 
loss  of  gold  :  England  would  lose 
five  millions  of  capital,  of  wealth  at 
work.  That  capital  would  migrate 
abroad  in  the  form  of  coals,  and  the 
diminution  of  means  thus  effected 
would  be  felt  over  the  hearths  and 
factories  of  the  whole  country.  The 
departed  gold  would  leave  no  gap 
behind ;  a  lump  of  useless  metal 
would  be  transferred  to  a  different 
locality ;  but  the  departed  coal  or 
cotton  would  hamper  industry — 
would  be  pro  tanto  a  direct  impover- 
ishment, a  loss  of  clothing,  and 
indirectly  of  food,  a  lessening  of 
the  national  resources  of  the  wealth 
needed  to  feed  and  clothe  the  people. 
In  both  cases  alike  the  competition 
of  the  lenders  to  the  foreigner  would 
enable  the  banks  that  supplied  them 
with  means  to  raise  the  charge  or 
discount.  But  in  the  second  case, 
the  rise  of  interest  would  last  for  a 
much  larger  period,  because,  till  the 
exported  wealth  had  been  replaced, 
the  capital  of  the  country,  and  its 
ability  to  sustain  labour,  would  have 
been  impaired.  The  City  has,  for 
the  most  part,  the  strangest  ideas 
about  capital.  Its  writers  speak  of 
money  as  capital — and  that  is  a  true 
notion  as  regards  the  coin  employed 
for  payments  throughout  the  country 
— with  a  sufficient  spare  stock  for 
fluctuations  in  its  use  ;  but  to  treat 
surplus  gold  as  capital,  especially 
pieces  of  paper,  bills,  cheques,  and 
lines  in  ledgers,  is  to  display  the 
profoundest  ignorance  of  the  first 
elements  of  political  economy. 
Banks  possess  scarcely  any  capi- 
tal, though  their  deposits  give  them 
the  power  of  determining  who 
shall  possess  capital,  the  commodi- 
ties in  the  country.  The  Bank  of 
England  can  decide  who  shall  be 


.1871.] 

the  persons  that  shall  buy  goods 
with  those  claims  for  money,  written 
on  the  pieces  of  paper  which  make 
up  some  97  parts  out  of  the  100  of 
its  receipts ;  but  it  is  only  a  decid- 
ing and  determining  machine.  It 
never  received  those  97  hundred ths 
in  capital,  and  it  never  employs 
them  itself  in  acquiring  the  capital 
which  they  can  purchase.  If  the 
City  knew  what  capital  is,  it  would 
never  bemoan  the  loss  of  idle  goods 
any  more  than  of  so  many  pebbles  ; 
nor  would  writers  like  the  '  Econo- 
mist '  propagate  such  empty  theories 
as,  that  gold  never  touched  in  a 
reserve,  and  never  lent,  gave  any 
power  of  lending,  or  exerted  any 
action  on  the  rate  of  discount  in  the 
money  market.  The  '  Economist ' 
would  never  have  uttered  deliber- 
ately such  a  climax  of  economical 
absurdity  as  to  call  "  the  aggregate 


The  Descent  of  Man. 


517 


sums  standing  to  the  credit  of  vari- 
ous persons  in  the  ledgers  of  bill- 
brokers  and  bankers  loanable  capi- 
tal." Lines  in  ledgers  capital ! ! 
According  to  that  idea  all  the  debts 
standing  in  tradesmen's  shop-books 
must  be  capital  also  ;  and  the  world 
regards  the  utterers  of  such  defini- 
tions as  oracles  on  currency !  From 
what  treatise  of  political  economy 
does  the  '  Economist '  derive  its 
definition  of  capital  1  How,  if  the 
'  Economist '  had  a  class  of  students 
to  teach,  would  it  be  able  to  define 
capital  in  such  a  way  as  to  include 
"sums  standing  to  credit  in 
ledgers'"?  It  would  surpass  our 
powers  to  accomplish  such  a  feat. 
Perhaps  the  '  Economist '  would 
say  that  capital  and  the  power  to 
buy  capital  are  the  same  thing.  If 
that  is  so,  how  much  science  is  there 
in  political  economy  1 


THE  DESCENT   OF  MAN. 

A   CONTINUATION   OF   AN  ^OLD   SONG. 

Air — "  Greensleeves. " 
(Darwin  loquitur.) 

"  Man  comes  from  a  Mammal  that  lived  up  a  tree, 
And  a  great  coat  of  hair  on  his  outside  had  he, 
Very  much  like  the  Dreadnoughts  we  frequently  see — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

"  He  had  points  to  his  ears,  and  a  tail  to  his  rump, 
To  assist  him  with  ease  through  the  branches  to  jump — 
In  some  cases  quite  long,  and  in  some  a  mere  stump — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

"  This  mammal,  abstaining  from  mischievous  pranks, 
Was  thought  worthy  in  time  to  be  raised  from  the  ranks, 
And  with  some  small  ado  came  to  stand  on  two  shanks— 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

"  Thus  planted,  his  course  he  so  prudently  steered, 
That  his  hand  soon  improved  and  his  intellect  cleared ; 
Then  his  forehead  enlarged  and  his  tail  disappeared — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 


518  The  Descent  of  Man.  [April 

"  'Tisn't  easy  to  settle  when  Man  became  Man ; 
When  the  Monkey-type  stopped  and  the  Human  began ; 
But  some  very  queer  things  were  involved  in  the  plan — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

"  Women  plainly  had  beards  and  big  whiskers  at  first ; 
While  the  man  supplied  milk  when  the  baby  was  nursed ; 
And  some  other  strong  facts  I  could  tell — if  I  durst — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

"  Our  arboreal  sire  had  a  pedigree  too  : 
The  Marsupial  system  comes  here  into  view ; 
So  we'll  trace  him,  I  think,  to  a  Great  Kangaroo — • 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

"  The  Kangaroo's  parent,  perhaps,  was  a  bird ; 
But  an  Ornithorhynchus  would  not  be  absurd  : 
Then  to  frogs  and  strange  fishes  we  back  are  referred — 
Which  nobody  can  deny." 

Thus  far  Darwin  has  said  :  But  the  root  of  the  Tree, 
Its  nature,  its  name,  and  what  caused  it  to  be, 
Seem  a  secret  to  him,  just  as  much  as  to  me — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

Did  it  always  exist  as  a  great  institution  ? 
And  what  made  it  start  on  its  first  evolution  ] 
As  to  this  our  good  friend  offers  no  contribution — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

Yet  I  think  that  if  Darwin  would  make  a  clean  breast, 
Some  Botanical  views  would  be  frankly  confessed, 
And  that  all  Flesh  is  Grass  would  stand  boldly  expressed — • 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

The  Loves  of  the  Plants,  so  deliciously  sung, 
Must  have  softened  his  heart,  when  his  bosom  was  young, 
And  the  Temple  of  Nature  has  prompted  his  tongue-  - 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

But  now  if  in  future  good  breeding  we  prize, 
To  be  cherubs  and  angels  we  some  day  may  rise ; 
And,  indeed,  some  sweet  angels  are  now  in  my  eyes — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

If  this  is  our  wish,  we  must  act  with  due  care  ; 
And  in  choosing  our  spouses  no  pains  we  should  spare, 
But  select  only  those  that  are  wise,  good,  and  fair — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

Yet  however  he  came  by  it,  Man  has  a  Soul, 
That  will  not  so  submit  to  despotic  control, 
As  to  make  Monks  and  Nuns  of  three-fourths  of  the  whole — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 


1871.]  Tlie  Descent  of  Man.  519 

Tho  Bad  may  be  pretty,  the  Good  may  be  plain ; 
And  sad  matches  are  made  from  the  lucre  of  gain ; 
So  perhaps  as  we  are  we  shall  likely  remain — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

After  all,  then,  I  ask,  what's  the  object  in  viewl 
And  what  practical  good  from  this  creed  can  ensue  ? 
I  can't  find  in  it  much  that's  both  useful  and  new—- 
Which nobody  can  deny. 

Our  old  friend  Lucretius*  explained  long  ago 
How  the  fittest  survive  and  the  weak  are  laid  low ; 
And  our  friends  of  the  Farm  must  a  thing  or  two  know — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

I  would  ne'er  take  offence  at  what's  honestly  meant, 
Or  that  truth  should  be  told  of  our  lowly  descent ; 
To  be  sprung  from  the  dust  I  am  humbly  content— 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 

But  this  groping  and  guessing  may  all  be  mistaken, 
And  in  sensitive  minds  may  much  trouble  awaken, 
JSo  I'll  shut  up  my  book,  and  go  back  to  my  Bacon\ — 
Which  nobody  can  deny. 


*  Lucretius,  v.  837-877. 

t  Certainly  the  Darwinian  theory,  though  it  may  be  interesting  as  a  theory,  is  a 
considerable  encroachment  on  Baconian  principles,  which  require  that  no  theory 
should  be  adopted  without  an  adequate  induction  from  facts  much  more  directed  and 
complete  than  any  that  the  Darwinians  have  yet  discovered — if,  indeed,  they  have 
discovered  any  fact  at  all  that  infers  the  possibility  of  the  transformations  which  they 
promulgate. 

The  '  Botanic  Garden,'  the  work  of  old  Erasmus  Darwin,  was  more  popular  in  its 
day,  and  is  less  popular  now,  than  it  deserves  to  be.  His  '  Temple  of  Nature, '  a 
posthumous  publication,  announces  in  "pompous  rhyme"  nearly  the  same  views  of 
Evolution  as  those  now  in  vogue. 


VOL.    CIX. NO.    DCLXVI. 


520 


How  can  we  Trust  Tliem  ? 


[April 


HOW   CAN  "VVE   TKTJST  THEM  ? 


A  STORY  is  told  of  Lord  Palmer- 
ston,  and  we  believe  it  to  be  in 
substance  authentic,  that  discussing 
one  day  Mr  Gladstone's  position 
and  future  prospects  as  a  statesman, 
he  made  use  of  this  expression  : 
"  Gladstone  is  a  prodigy  in  his  way ; 
nothing  can  keep  him  back  :  he 
must  become  Prime  Minister  of 
this  country  sooner  or  later,  and 
the  end  will  be  disastrous  both  to 
the  country  and  himself."  Lord 
Palmerston's  prediction,  assuming  it 
to  have  been  uttered,  has  already 
received  its  fulfilment  in  more  re- 
spects than  one.  Mr  Gladstone  is 
Prime  Minister  of  this  country. 
He  has  been  so  for  better  than  two 
years.  His  tenure  of  office  has 
thus  far  been  signalised  by  a  course 
of  legislation  the  boldest  and  most 
unconstitutional  on  record.  We  do 
not  think  that  the  most  devoted 
of  his  followers  will  contend  that 
the  results  have  been  productive  of 
unmitigated  gain  to  the  country. 
Whether  or  no  the  future  of  his 
official  life  is  to  end  in  positive  dis- 
aster to  the  country  and  to  himself, 
it  is  not  for  us  to  guess.  Certainly 
appearances  are  little  favourable  to 
a  better  conclusion.  The  country 
is  far  from  satisfied  with  the  plight 
in  which  Mr  Gladstone  has  landed 
it.  Mr  Gladstone  is  not  at  ease  in 
contemplating  either  the  past  or  the 
future  of  the  country.  How  can  he 
be?  Mr  Gladstone  is,  by  natural 
temperament,  the  most  sensitive 
man  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
Strange  as  it  may  sound  in  the  ears 
of  some  of  our  readers,  we  profess 
also  our  belief  in  his  perfect  con- 
scientiousness. His  perception  of 
the  line  which  separates  moral  right 
from  moral  wrong  is  morbidly  clear : 
his  suffering,  as  often  as  circum- 
stances constrain  him,  or  he  assumes 


that  they  constrain  him,  to  overpass 
that  line,  is  morbidly  acute.  So  far 
as  he  is  himself  concerned,  it  would 
therefore  create  in  us  no  surprise 
whatever,  if  at  any  moment  he  were 
to  break  down  under  the  combined 
pressure  of  political  failure  and 
self-reproach.  And  if  events  occur 
of  weight  enough  to  hurry  on  so 
dire  a  private  calamity,  then  we 
may  depend  upon  it  that  public 
calamity  will  have  kept  pace  with, 
perhaps  preceded  it.  Unfortun- 
ately, too,  the  tide  of  public  affairs 
seems  to  have  set  in  of  late 
with  great  violence  in  that  direc- 
tion. What  a  humiliating  session 
— to  the  country  as  well  as  to  its 
governors — has  already  been  that  on 
which  Parliament  entered  only  six 
weeks  ago  !  The  Speech  from  the 
Throne — the  longest  and  least  gram- 
matical on  record — shadowed  forth 
a  course  of  action  which,  in  its  most 
important  points,  was  at  once  de- 
parted from.  Both  positively  and 
negatively,  the  hopes  created  by  it 
are  already  falsified.  It  would  seem, 
indeed,  as  if  the  Ministerial  mind 
had  become  so  confused  by  the  many 
practical  mistakes  committed  in  the 
recess,  that  it  was  neither  compe- 
tent to  draw  up  a  programme  such  as 
it  became  the  Sovereign  to  propose, 
nor  capable  of  adhering  to  its  own 
plan  after  it  had  been  enunciated. 
For  what  is  the  spectacle  that  meets 
our  gaze?  A  promise  is  given,  in 
terms  as  explicit  as  the  reasons  as- 
signed for  it  are  clear  and  just,  that 
the  Government  will  attempt  no- 
thing in  the  way  of  legislation  for 
Ireland  this  session  which  shall  have 
a  tendency  to  provoke  party  strife. 
The  Houses  scarcely  meet  for  the 
transaction  of  business  ere  Pandora's 
box  is  opened  in  the  shape  of  a  re- 
quest that  the  Commons  will  con- 


1871.] 

cede  to  her  Majesty's  Ministers  a 
secret  committee  to  inquire  into  the 
state  of  certain  Irish  counties  where 
crime  abounds,  and  to  suggest  some 
means  of  dealing  effectually  with 
the  case.  Again,  the  announcement 
is  made  that  a  measure  is  in  pre- 
paration for  so  manipulating  the 
military  resources  of  the  country,  as 
to  lift  us  for  ever  ahove  the  reach  of 
undue  confidence  on  the  one  hand 
and  disgraceful  panic  on  the  other. 
The  mountain  labours,  and  a  mouse 
comes  forth.  All  that  as  yet  seems 
assured  to  us  comes  to  this,  that  at 
a  very  heavy  expense  to  the  country 
— at  a  cost  the  exact  amount  of 
which  nobody  appears  to  know — 
an  end  is  to  be  put  to  the  prac- 
tice of  purchasing  commissions  in 
the  army.  Meanwhile  questions 
arise,  bearing  upon  the  sayings  and 
doings  of  the  Ministers  during  the 
recess,  which  are  either  evaded  in 
a  very  awkward  and  disingenuous 
manner,  or  are  answered  by  pal- 
pable equivocation.  Nor  are  the 
Queen's  servants  careful — and  this  is 
not  the  least  curious  feature  in  the 
case — always  to  hold  the  same  tone 
and  tell  the  same  story  on  such  occa- 
sions. The  Prime  Minister,  on  the 
contrary,  has  more  than  once  said  one 
thing  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
the  Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign 
Affairs  said  another  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  when  called  upon  to  account 
for  the  same  blunder,  or  clear  up  the 
same  ground  of  perplexity. 

But  it  is  not  thus  alone  that  the 
Government  has  lost  caste  of  late, 
as  well  in  Parliament  as  out  of  it. 
There  seems  to  be  among  its  leading 
members  an  extraordinary  lack  of 
common  discretion.  Squabbles  have 
taken  place  in  more  than  one  public 
department,  which,  if  they  could  not 
be  avoided,  ought  at  least  to  have 
been  kept  secret.  The  Secretary  of 
State  for  War,  for  example,  has  fallen 
out  with  Major-General  Balfour,  to 
whom  he  looked  not  very  many 


How  can  we  Trust  Them  ? 


521 


months  ago  as  the  regenerator  of 
his  office.  Brought  in  to  dry-nurse 
Sir  Henry  Storks,  that  officer  is 
understood  to  have  reduced  to 
order  the  inorganic  atoms  out  of 
which  the  new  Central  Depart- 
ment was  to  be  formed.  Bravely 
and  frankly  he  took  upon  himself 
at  the  same  time  the  odium  of 
a  score  of  unpopular  economies ; 
and  did  in  other  respects,  and  did 
well,  what  may  be  described  as  the 
dirty  work  of  the  War  Office.  Now 
let  us  not  be  misunderstood.  Gene- 
ral Balfour  is  a  high-minded  and 
honourable  gentleman,  who  would 
not  on  any  consideration  lend  him- 
self to  a  proceeding  which,  in  his 
opinion,  partook  in  the  most  remote 
degree  of  meanness.  But,  like  his 
father-in-law,  the  late  Joseph  Hume, 
he  is  a  rigid  economist ;  and  when 
he  sees,  or  imagines  that  he  sees, 
improvidence  in  a  public  servant,  or 
waste  in  the  management  of  public 
property,  he  will  come  down  upon 
the  offender,  and  stop  at  once  the 
progress  of  the  offence,  let  the  con- 
sequences to  individuals  be  what 
they  may.  Indeed,  so  uncompro- 
misingly is  he  understood  to  have 
played  out  the  part  assigned  to  him, 
that,  as  always  happens  in  like 
cases,  he  got  himself  an  ill  name, 
besides  here  and  there  carrying  his 
zeal  for  retrenchment  beyond  the 
strict  limits  of  efficiency.  Still  it 
was  not  for  those  who  put  him  for- 
ward in  such  a  series  of  opera- 
tions to  desert,  far  less  to  turn 
round  upon  him,  as  soon  as  the 
operations  began  to  be  clamoured 
against.  We  are  told — we  cannot 
answer  for  the  truth  of  the  story — 
that  more  than  a  year  ago,  when  the 
great  work  of  cutting  down  was  in 
its  prime,  General  Balfour  received 
such  treatment  at  the  hands  of  his 
superiors  that  he  walked  out  of  the 
office,  and  announced  his  intention 
never  to  enter  it  again.  There  was,  of 
course,  a  great  hubbub.  Sir  Henry 


522 


How  can  we  Trust  Them  ? 


[April 


Storks  declared  that  if  General  Bal- 
four  quitted  the  office,  he  should  quit 
it  also.  Lord  de  Grey — so  the  story 
runs — was  called  in  to  restore  peace ; 
and  the  angry  General — proper  apo- 
logies being  tendered  to  him — re- 
sumed his  labours.  Subsequently 
he  received  the  honour  of  knight- 
hood, and  had  things  all  his  own 
way.  But  alas  for  the  ingratitude 
of  statesmen!  The  lack  of  gun- 
powder, the  deficiency  of  rifles,  the 
backward  state  of  our  forts  in  re- 
gard to  armamen — tthese,  with  the 
silence  that  prevailed  in  the  arse- 
nals, at  once  alarmed  and  offended 
the  nation,  and  on  somebody  the 
blame  must  be  thrown.  It  was 
thrown  upon  Sir  George  Balfour, 
and  he  becomes  the  scape-goat. 

They  manage  these  things  well,  in 
one  important  respect,  at  the  War 
Office.  When  they  fall  out,  they 
speak  slightingly  of  one  another,  of 
course,  and  the  weakest  goes  to  the 
wall;  but  they  take  care  to  prevent 
their  brawls,  and  the  causes  of  them, 
from  getting  into  the  newspapers. 
Not  so  in  the  other  great  spending 
department  of  the  State  :  there  we 
have  had  scandal  upon  scandal,  of 
which  the  end  is  not  yet,  nor,  as  far 
as  we  can  perceive,  is  there  any 
immediate  prospect  of  attaining  to 
it.  Thorns  in  the  side  of  our  great 
naval  administrator,  Mr  Childers, 
have  been  Sir  Spencer  Robinson 
and  Mr  Reed.  These  obstinate  in- 
dividuals persist  in  refusing  to 
accept  a  responsibility  which  the 
First  Lord,  when  it  suited  his  own 
purpose,  claimed  as  belonging  ex- 
clusively to  himself.  And  being 
censured  by  their  chief  in  a  minute 
which  makes  its  way  into  the  'Times' 
before  it  has  been  submitted  to  the 
persons  most  deeply  affected  by  it, 
they,  not  unnaturally,  insist  on 
being  allowed  to  make  use  of  the 
same  medium  through  which  to 
vindicate  their  character  with  the 
public.  We  really  do  not  recollect 


an  occurrence  in  official  life  so  dis- 
creditable to  all  concerned  as  this 
controversy.  Nor  is  it  to  the  late 
First  Lord  and  his  subordinates  ex- 
clusively that  the  discredit  arising 
out  of  a  very  unseemly  quarrel 
attaches.  Mr  Gladstone  must  needs 
thrust  his  finger  in  the  pie,  and 
defiles  it.  The  outlines  of  the  story 
are  these. 

By  the  new  constitution  of  the 
Board  of  Admiralty,  the  First  Lord 
centres  in  himself  all  the  power  and 
all  the  responsibility  which  under 
the  old  constitution  he  used  to  share 
with  the  other  members  of  the 
Board.  Mr  Childers,  energetic,  im- 
pulsive, and  self-willed,  determined 
some  time  ago,  in  opposition  to  the 
advice  of  his  naval  colleagues,  in- 
cluding the  Surveyor,  to  introduce 
a  new  class  of  vessel  into  the  fleet ; 
and  the  unfortunate  Captain  was 
in  consequence  built,  fitted,  manned, 
and  sent  to  sea.  Great  was  the  ex- 
ultation of  her  godfather  over  the 
issues  which  attended  the  first  trial 
of  this,  his  own  special  war-ship. 
She  was  a  complete  success ;  and  all 
the  merit  of  bringing  her  forward, 
and  thereby  inaugurating  a  revolu- 
tion in  naval  architecture,  belonged 
to  him.  But  by-and-by  that  ter- 
rible catastrophe  occurred  over 
which  the  nation  still  mourns,  and 
Mr  Cbilders  changed  his  tone.  The 
experiment  had  failed,  and  failed 
awfully.  Why  did  the  Surveyor  of 
the  Navy  ever  permit  it  to  be  made1? 
What  was  he  placed  at  Whitehall 
for,  except  to  provide  that  only  sea- 
worthy vessels — the  best  of  their 
class — should  be  rated  in  the  British 
fleet  1  Now  we  are  not  going  to 
defend  Sir  Spencer  Robinson,  who 
is  quite  able  to  defend  himself  ;  but 
we  must  say  that  it  was  neither 
generous  nor  just  in  the  late  First 
Lord  to  throw  upon  the  Surveyor 
that  responsibility  for  miscarriage 
in  an  experiment  which  he  had  osten- 
tatiously and  determinedly,  and  on 


1871.J 

every  possible  occasion,  claimed  for 
himself,  so  long  as  the  experiment 
promised  to  be  successful.  But  this 
is  not  all.  Mr  Childers  and  Mr 
Gladstone,  between  them,  stand 
chargeable  with  inflicting  on  Sir 
Spencer  Robinson  a  very  cruel  and 
irreparable  wrong  in  connection  with 
his  professional  prospects.  The 
absurd  regulation  which  denies  to 
service  at  the  Admiralty — where, 
more,  one  would  think,  than  any- 
where else,  officers  might  be  ex- 
pected to  become  masters  of  their 
profession — a  claim  to  be  retained 
on  the  Active  List,  compelled  Sir 
Spencer  Robinson,  in  December  last, 
to  choose  between  following  his  own 
inclinations  and  remaining  where 
he  was.  The  command  at  Sheer- 
ness  was  vacant.  He  had  all  but 
completed  his  ten  years  ashore. 
The  First  Lord  offered  him  the  com- 
mand, but  added  that  his  retirement 
from  the  Admiralty  would  be  an 
irreparable  loss  to.  himself  and  to 
the  Service.  What  could  a  gentle- 
man so  circumstanced  do?  Sir 
Spencer  Robinson  postponed  both 
personal  inclination  and  the  hon- 
ourable ambition  of  rising  in 
his  profession  to  the  public  good, 
and  accepted  a  second  tenure  of 
office  as  Surveyor  of  the  Navy,  to 
which  a  Junior  Naval  Lordship  was 
attached. 

Mr  Childers  had  given  little 
satisfaction,  either  to  his  naval  col- 
leagues or  to  the  Service,  by  assum- 
ing, as  he  did,  the  command  of  the 
Channel  Fleet.  Whether  or  not 
any  criticisms  uttered  on  that  eccen- 
tric act  were  repeated  to  him,  we 
cannot  tell ;  but  not  long  after  his 
return  from  the  cruise,  the  harmony 
of  the  Office  in  Whitehall  appears 
to  have  been  disturbed.  Mr  Reed 
sent  in  his  resignation.  He  was 
prevailed  upon  to  recall  it :  he  did 
so,  serving  a  little  longer  in  his 
place,  and  by  -  and  -  by  withdrew. 
Sir  Spencer  Robinson  also  gave 


How  can  we  Trust  TJiem  ? 


523 


signs  of  impatience.  He  and  the 
First  Lord  did  not  always  see  things 
through  the  same  medium,  and  ru- 
mours of  a  second  resignation  got 
abroad.  These,  however,  Mr  Glad- 
stone eagerly  contradicted  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  assuring  the 
House  that  an  abler  and  more 
thoroughly  honest  public  servant 
than  Sir  Spencer  Robinson  never 
lived.  By-and-by  came  the  loss  of 
the  Captain ;  then  a  long  interview 
between  the  First  Lord  and  the 
Surveyor  of  the  Navy ;  then  a  mem- 
orandum of  what  had  passed  at  the 
interview,  drawn  up  by  the  First 
Lord  and  handed  to  Mr  Gladstone  ; 
and  finally,  a  minute  censuring 
the  Surveyor  in  the  strongest 
terms.  This  done,  Mr  Childers 
again  quits  England  in  search  of 
the  health  which  we  are  glad  to 
find  is  returning  to  him.  But  he 
had  not  left  his  work  incomplete. 
Mr  Gladstone  opens  a  correspond- 
ence with  the  Surveyor  of  the 
Navy,  and  announces  to  him  that 
his  resignation  has  been  accepted, 
very  considerately  leaving  Sir  Spen- 
cer to  fix  the  precise  date,  within 
reasonable  limits,  of  his  actual  re- 
tirement from  office.  It  is  to  no 
purpose  that  the  Surveyor  replies 
that  he  has  not  resigned,  that  he 
never  did  resign,  nor  had  any  inten- 
tion of  resigning.  Mr  Childers's 
written  memorandum  tells  a  dif- 
ferent tale,  and  to  that  the  Prime 
Minister  adheres.  And  here  comes, 
perhaps,  the  most  extraordinary  in- 
cident of  all.  Sir  Spencer  Robin- 
son, being  still  in  office,  asks  leave 
to  publish  a  minute  which  he  had 
drawn  up  in  reply  to  Mr  Childers's 
minute,  already  gone  the  round  of 
the  newspapers.  Mr  Gladstone  ad- 
mits that  such  a  proceeding  would 
be  fair, — indeed  that  Sir  Spencer  has 
a  right  to  avail  himself  of  pub- 
licity in  vindication  of  his  charac- 
ter. But  Mr  Gladstone  suggests 
that,  in  order  to  avoid  establishing 


524 


an  inconvenient  precedent,  Sir 
Spencer  Eobinson  will  do  well  to 
falsify  the  date  of  his  own  docu- 
ment ! !  "Whether  this  remarkable 
correspondence  is  ended,  or  what 
line  of  action,  if  any,  may  be 
expected  to  arise  out  of  it,  we  do 
not  know.  But  we  do  know  that 
Mr  Gladstone  and  the  Admiralty 
have  been  terribly  damaged,  not 
with  the  Opposition  only,  for  that 
would  go  for  little,  but  with  their 
own  friends,  by  the  whole  proceed- 
ing. Honest  Radicals — and  honest 
Radicals  there  are — cannot  bolt  such 
things  as  garbled  quotations,  secret 
memoranda,  and  invitations  to  change 
the  dates  of  semi-official  documents. 
And  we  are  very  much  mistaken  if 
the  Prime  Minister  himself,  with 
his  clear  perception  of  right  and 
wrong,  and  his  very  tender  con- 
science, be  not  more  put  out  by  this 
fracas  and  its  consequences  than 
he  cares  to  confess  even  to  the  wife 
of  his  bosom.  Meanwhile  the  Duke 
of  Somerset,  an  old  colleague  of  the 
Prime  Minister,  has  taken  the  mat- 
ter up,  and  in  spite  of  all  the  op- 
position which  the  Government 
could  offer,  has  got  his  committee 
of  inquiry  in  the  Lords.  We  anxi- 
ously await  the  report  of  that  com- 
mittee, and  the  publication  of  the 
evidence — as  yet  kept  secret.  If 
the  rumours  which  reach  us  be  true, 
it  will  prove  a  most  instructive  docu- 
ment. 

These  may  be  said  to  be  matters, 
after  all,  of  very  secondary  import- 
ance. We  do  not  so  regard  them. 
True,  they  affect  individuals  more 
than  they  affect  the  State.  But  the 
individuals  affected  by  them  are,  be 
it  remembered,  her  Majesty's  Minis- 
ters; and  if  her  Majesty's  Ministers 
be  either  incapable  of  seeing  what 
is  right  in  their  dealings  with  one 
another,  or,  seeing,  are  so  little  mas- 
ters of  themselves  as  not  to  be  able 
to  adhere  to  what  is  right  at  some 
sacrifice  of  private  feeling,  they  are 


[April 

manifestly  unfit  to  be  at  the  head 
of  affairs  in  a  great  country  like  this. 
We  will,  however,  look  beyond  these 
departmental  and  financial  mistakes, 
and  ask,  What  have  her  Majesty's 
Ministers  done  for  England  or  for 
Europe  during  a  crisis  the  most 
momentous  that  has  occurred  in  the 
world's  history "?  Let  us  see. 

It  will  be  in  the  reader's  recollec- 
tion that  ever  since  1867  a  feeling 
of  intense  uneasiness  in  regard  to 
the  future  filled  all  thoughtful  minds, 
both  in  this  country  and  on  the  Con- 
tinent. Everybody  felt  that  the 
reign  of  peace  was  at  an  end.  The 
lesser  strifes  in  which  Italy  and 
Denmark  played  their  parts  had 
opened  the  door  to  a  greater;  and 
Austria,  measuring  her  strength  with 
Prussia,  went  down.  There  remained 
after  this  only  three  great  military 
Powers,  each  jealous  of  the  other 
two,  and  all  alike  aspiring  to  give 
some  day  or  another  the  law  to 
Europe.  One  of  these  Powers — 
Russia — was  indeed  understood  to 
be  as  yet  indisposed  to  active  opera- 
tions. She  had  a  long  lee-way  of 
preparations  to  make  up;  and  her 
policy — the  same  now  that  it  has 
ever  been — indisposed  her  to  take  a 
side  openly  in  such  differences  as 
might  arise  in  the  West.  But  the 
attitude  of  France  towards  Prussia, 
and  of  Prussia  towards  France,  could 
not  be  mistaken.  Both  counted  on 
a  speedy  rupture;  and  each  in  its 
own  way  made  ready  for  a  struggle 
which  must  determine,  as  both  keen- 
ly felt,  their  relative  places  as  great 
nations  for  many  a  day  to  come. 

It  was  at  this  moment,  when  there 
was  an  ominous  lull  in  military  pre- 
parations on  the  Continent — just 
after,  through  the  skilful  manage- 
ment of  the  present  Lord  Derby, 
the  Luxembourg  misunderstanding 
had  been  got  rid  of,  that  Mr  Glad- 
stone acceded  to  office.  His  mind 
was  too  much  engrossed  with  plans 
of  domestic  legislation  to  take  any 


1871.] 

account  whatever  of  what  might  be 
going  on  abroad.  France  and  Prus- 
sia were  free,  so  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned, to  fall  out  or  to  keep  the 
peace  as  best  suited  their  private 
humours.  He  had  not  forced  his 
way  into  Downing  Street  for  any 
such  Quixotic  purpose  as  that  the 
legitimate  influence  of  England 
should  be  exercised  for  the  good  of 
mankind  at  large.  His  views  did 
not  extend  beyond  strictly  domestic 
matters.  He  had  the  Established 
Church  to  pull  down  in  Ireland; 
he  had  the  tenure  of  land — both  in 
its  ownership  and  its  occupancy — to 
revolutionise  in  that  part  of  the 
United  Kingdom;  and  he  had 
pledged  himself  to  his  would-be 
constituents  in  Lancashire  —  who, 
infatuated  men  as  they  were,  refused 
to  have  anything  to  say  to  him — 
that  his  first  official  act  would  be 
to  reduce  both  the  navy  and  army 
to  the  lowest  possible  figure,  and 
lighten  thereby  the  load  of  tax- 
ation which  the  people  carried.  He 
did  not  succeed  in  convincing  the 
electors  of  Lancashire  of  his  own 
merits,  but  he  did  succeed  in  becom- 
ing Prime  Minister.  Greenwich, 
at  the  suggestion  of  Mr  Alderman 
Salomons,  provided  him  with  a 
seat  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  she  reaped  her  reward.  Mr 
Gladstone  faithfully  redeemed  his 
pledges.  The  Irish  Church  went 
.  by  the  board  ;  the  Irish  Land  Bill 
became  law.  Dockyards  were  closed ; 
artificers  paid  off;  and  the  strength 
of  the  army  reduced  by  a  process 
which  dislocated  and  rendered  it 
thoroughly  inefficient  in  all  its 
parts.  The  two  former  triumphs 
waited  upon  Mr  Gladstone's  Parlia- 
mentary labours  during  the  ses- 
sions of  1868-69  and  1869-70,  the 
two  latter  became  consummated  in 
the  early  part  of  1870.  By  the 
month  of  June  in  that  year,  Wool- 
wich Dockyard  was  shut  up ; 
Deptford  Dockyard  was  sold ;  the 


How  can  we  Trust  TJiem  ? 


525 


Colonies  were  denuded  of  their  gar- 
risons ;  and  twenty  thousand  trained 
soldiers  were  sent  about  their  busi- 
ness, most  of  them  to  beg  their 
bread. 

From  the  dream  of  security  into 
which  his  Parliamentary  successes 
had  lulled  him,  Mr  Gladstone  was 
suddenly  awakened  by  tidings  which 
came  from  abroad.  There  was  war 
between  Prussia  and  France ;  and 
Belgium,  threatened  by  both  Powers, 
sent  urgent  messages  to  inquire 
whether,  in  the  event  of  her  neutra- 
lity being  violated,  England  would 
give  her  the  support  which  by 
treaty  she  was  bound  to  render.  Of 
what  Mr  Gladstone  and  Lord  Gran- 
ville  told  us  respecting  their  efforts 
to  prevent  the  breaking-out  of  hos- 
tilities, we  need  not  take  any  ac- 
count. Nobody  questions  the 
truth  of  their  statements :  they 
remonstrated,  they  advised,  they 
warned ;  but  they  did  not  go  a  step 
farther,  for  the  best  of  all  reasons, 
they  had  disarmed  England,  and 
were  therefore  incapable  of  forbid- 
ding what  they  idly  deprecated. 
But  their  conduct  towards  Belgium 
admits  of  no  excuse.  Mr  Gladstone, 
when  questioned  on  that  head,  de- 
clined to  answer.  We  cannot  state 
for  certainty,  because  the  occasion 
never  arose  ;  but  our  belief  is,  that, 
in  spite  of  Lord  Granville's  protes- 
tations to  the  contrary,  not  a  man 
would  have  crossed  the  sea  from 
England  had  Belgium  been  invaded 
either  by  the  French  or  the  Ger- 
mans. Be  that,  however,  as  it  may, 
the  fact  to  be  noticed  is  this,  the 
bad  practice  of  which  we  have 
elsewhere  spoken  as  peculiar  to  Mr 
Gladstone's  Administration,  whereby 
the  representative  of  the  Govern- 
ment in  the  House  of  Commons 
says  one  thing,  and  the  represen- 
tative of  the  Government  in  the 
House  of  Lords  says  another,  began' 
as  early  as  July  of  last  year.  That 
it  has  been  very  faithfully  persever- 


526 


How  can  we  Trust  Them  ? 


ed  in  ever  since,  we  shall  take  occa- 
sion to  show  as  we  go  on. 

With  the  astounding  events  that 
gave  their  character  to  the  months 
which  intervened  between  the  pro- 
rogation of  Parliament  in  July 
1870,  and  its  meeting  again  in 
February  last,  we  are  not  here  inti- 
mately concerned.  They  have  left  a 
mark  upon  the  world's  history  never 
to  be  erased.  But  to  us  their  interest 
turns  mainly  upon  the  fact,  that 
they  help  us  to  form  a  just  estimate 
of  the  characters  and  capacities  of 
the  men  by  whom  the  country  is  at 
this  moment  governed.  One  conse- 
quence of  the  great  war  was  to  make 
the  nation  impatient  of  the  unwise 
parsimony  which  had  been  applied 
to  its  military  resources.  People 
saw  so  strongly  that  a  mistake  had 
been  committed  in  weakening  the 
army  by  20,000  men,  that,  just 
before  Parliament  rose,  Mr  Card  well 
was  compelled  to  ask  for  a  supple- 
mentary grant  of  two  millions,  with 
which  to  make  good  that  deficiency. 
This  was  in  July.  In  December,  if 
we  recollect  right — at  all  events, 
some  five  months  or  more  after  the 
money  had  been  voted — Mr  Card  well 
boasted  to  his  constituents  in  Oxford 
that  the  entire  force  was  raised. 
Now,  if  Mr  Cardwell's  statements 
were  true  to  the  letter — which,  with- 
out charging  him  with  wilful  mis- 
statement  of  facts,  we  venture  to 
doubt — where  would  have  been  the 
ground  of  boasting1?  Five  or  six 
months  are  required  by  us  to  get 
20,000  recruits  together.  Why, 
the  war  between  Germany  and 
France,  counting  from  the  first  inter- 
change of  defiances  to  the  signing 
of  the  preliminaries  of  peace,  lasted 
only  seven  months.  These  are  not, 
therefore,  times  in  which  nations, 
anticipating  a  possible  and  sudden 
call  to  arms,  can  wait  five  months  or 
five  weeks  in  order  to  put  them- 
selves in  a  posture  of  defence.  But 
this  is  not  all.  Mr  Cardwell's 


[April 

20,000  recruits  were  not  brought 
under  the  colours  simultaneously. 
They  came  in  driblets,  insomuch 
that  probably  one -half  of  them  were 
only  beginning  their  preliminary 
drill  when  he  made  his  speech  at 
Oxford  ;  and  of  the  rest  not  a  tenth 
part  had  as  yet  taken  their  places 
in  the  ranks.  Now  men  so  circum- 
stanced, however  brave  and  strong, 
are  useless  as  soldiers — just  as  the 
wretched  levies  which  M.  Gambetta 
sent  against  the  Prussians  proved 
themselves  to  be.  Finally,  Mr  Card- 
well,  whether  by  design  or  otherwise, 
omitted  a  very  important  item  from 
his  statement.  He  forgot  to  take 
account  of  the  casualties  in  the  ranks 
which  five  or  six  months,  even  in 
peace  -  time,  occasion.  We  must 
therefore  deduct  from  the  20,000 
young  men  taken  on  at  least  7000 
that  were  needed  to  fill  the  gaps 
caused  by  death  and  ordinary  dis- 
charges. Hence  we  cannot  in  real- 
ity count  on  more  than  13,000  ill- 
drilled  men  as  added  to  the  force 
which  was  available  previously  to 
the  late  increase :  in  other  words, 
we  are  by  7000  men  weaker  than 
we  were  last  July,  after  expending 
it  is  hard  to  say  how  much  money 
in  tempting  13,000  raw  recruits  to 
take  the  place  of  20,000  veteran 
soldiers.  Mr  Cardwell  is  the  last 
man  among  the  members  of  the  pre- 
sent Administration  whom  we  would 
charge  with  a  deliberate  purpose  of 
falsifying  facts  in  order  to  gain  an 
object ;  but  his  language  both  at 
Oxford  and  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons is,  to  say  the  least,  disingenu- 
ous on  this  head.  He  made  a  great 
mistake,  and  he  knows  it.  Why 
should  he  hesitate  to  admit  the  fact, 
doing  his  best  at  the  same  time  to 
make  amends  for  it  1 

We  come  now  to  the  session  itself, 
which  opened,  as  our  readers  will  re- 
collect, on  the  9th  of  February  last. 
The  long,  rambling,  and  ungramma- 
tical  Speech  from  the  Throne  was  not 


1871.] 


such  as  to  challenge  opposition,  when 
the  A  ddress  in  reply  came  to  be  moved. 
It  gave,  however,  to  Mr  Disraeli  an 
opportunity,  which  he  promptly 
seized,  of  criticising  the  conduct  of 
her  Majesty's  Ministers  during  the 
recess.  Among  other  points  assailed 
was  the  attitude  assumed  "by  the 
Government  in  consequence  of  an 
announcement  from  St  Petersburg 
that  Eussia  did  not  intend  to  hold 
herself  any  longer  bound  by  that 
condition  in  the  Treaty  of  1856 
which  neutralised  the  Black  Sea. 
This,  as  Mr  Disraeli  ably  pointed 
out,  was  tantamount  to  the  abroga- 
tion of  the  Treaty  altogether ;  and 
the  English  Government,  in  consent- 
ing to  a  conference  on  the  subject, 
forgot  what  was  due  to  their  own 
honour  and  that  of  the  country. 
Mr  Gladstone  started  up  in  a  rage, 
and  after  severely  animadverting  on 
other  passages  in  Mr  Disraeli's  speech, 
proceeded  to  notice  the  charge  of 
truckling  to  Russia  in  these  words : — 

"The  right  honourable  gentleman  has 
discussed  at  great  length — perhaps  at 
greater  length  than  was  necessary  on 
an  occasion  of  this  kind — the  Crimean 
war.  He  said  that  one  valuable  result 
of  that  war  was,  the  neutralisation  of 
the  Black  Sea,  and  that  when  we  re- 
ceived the  note  of  Prince  Gortchakoff 
stating  that  in  consequence  of  what 
Russia  considered  to  be  breaches  of 
treaty,  she  was  no  longer  bound  to  ob- 
serve its  stipulations  with  reference  to 
the  Black  Sea,  we  ought  to  have  warned 
her  that  she  must  take  the  consequences; 
and  what  the  consequences  are  in  this 
case  there  can  be  no  doubt  whatever. 
But  the  right  honourable  gentleman  says 
that  the  Treaty  of  1856,  if  it  produced 
nothing  else,  produced  one  result  of  the 
iitmost  value,  and  of  the  most  vital  im- 
portance in  the  East — the  neutralisation 
of  the  Black  Sea.  That  was  never,  as 
far  as  I  know,  the  view  of  the  British 
Government.  In  this  House,  in  the 
year  1856, 1  declared  my  confident  convic- 
tion that  it  was  impossible  to  maintain 
the  neutralisation  of  the  Black  Sea.  I 
do  not  speak  from  direct  communication 
with  Lord  Clarendon,  but  I  have  been 
told,  since  his  death,  that  he  never 
attached  value  to  the  neut.  .Uisation. 


How  can  we  Trust  Them  ? 


527 


Again,  I  do  not  speak  from  direct  com- 
munication, but  I  have  been  told  that 
Lord  Palmerston  always  looked  upon 
the  neutralisation  as  an  arrangement 
which  might  be  maintained  for  a  limited 
number  of  years,  but  which,  from  its 
character,  it  was  impossible  to  maintain 
permanently. " 

There  are  two  circumstances  con- 
nected with  these  declarations  which 
gave  to  them  at  the  moment  a  pecu- 
liar character,  and  fully,  as  it  ap- 
pears to  us,  bear  out  the  opinion 
which  we  have  expressed  elsewhere 
of  the  political  immorality  of  our 
present  rulers.  In  the  first  place, 
the  Conference,  to  which  the  Eng- 
lish Government  had  weakly  agreed, 
was  then  in  progress.  The  sole 
cause  of  its  meeting  was  to  con- 
sider the  insolent  message  from  St 
Petersburg,  to  which  our  Foreign 
Minister,  in  a  moment  of  unusual 
energy,  had  sent  at  first  a  firm  and 
dignified  reply.  Now  what  could 
the  assembled  diplomatists  make  of 
Mr  Gladstone's  statement,  except 
that  the  First  Minister  of  the  English 
Crown  put  no  store  whatever  upon 
that  condition  of  the  Treaty  of  1856 
which  Russia  had  determined  to 
violate,  and  that  England  was 
ready,  at  Mr  Gladstone's  bidding, 
to  eat  dirt  in  any  quantity  ?  That 
the  members  of  the  Conference  did 
so  interpret  Mr  Gladstone's  declara- 
tions, the  event  has  proved.  There 
is  an  end  to  the  neutralisation  of 
the  Black  Sea ;  and  Lord  Granville 
boasts  that  in  yielding  that  point 
England  has  had  her  own  way  in 
the  Conference.  Bad  enough  this, 
as  far  as  the  honour  of  this  country 
is  concerned,  involving  material  con- 
sequences, the  importance  of  which 
will  appear  in  due  time.  But  just 
observe  how  it  tells  upon  the  per- 
sonal characters  of  our  rulers. 

Mr  Gladstone's  assertions  respect- 
ing the  views  of  the  Government  in 
1856,  and  the  opinions  of  Lords 
Clarendon  and  Palmerston,  in  regard 
to  the  importance  of  maintaining  the 


528 


How  can  ice  Trust  Tliem  ? 


neutrality  of  the  Black  Sea,  came 
upon  us  all  like  a  thunderclap.  We 
had  laboured  under  the  delusive  be- 
lief that  the  neutralisation  of  the 
Black  Sea  was  the  one  advantage 
gained  by  our  success  in  the  Crimean 
war,  and  that  both  Lord  Clarendon 
and  Lord  Palmerston  had  regarded 
it  as  the  key-stone  of  the  Treaty. 
Lord  Cairns,  among  others,  enter- 
tained this  opinion,  and  took  the 
earliest  opportunity  of  expressing  it 
in  the  House  of  Lords.  Mr  Glad- 
stone's Foreign  Secretary,  being  ap- 
pealed to,  admitted  that  Lord  Cairns 
was  right.  He,  Lord  Granville,  had 
never  heard  that  either  Lord  Claren- 
don or  Lord  Palmerston  thought 
lightly  of  the  neutralisation  of  the 
Black  Sea.  He  knew,  on  the  con- 
trary, that  negotiations  for  peace 
were  broken  off  at  Vienna  because 
Russia  refused  to  accept  this  partic- 
ular condition,  and  that  she  yielded 
the  point  at  last  only  when  convinced 
that  her  resources  were  unequal  to 
a  continuance  of  the  war.  Mr  Glad- 
stone had,  therefore,  gone  beyond 
the  mark  in  asserting  as  facts  matters 
of  which  he  could  have  had  no  cog- 
nisance. For  Mr  Gladstone,  when 
he  made  the  speech  in  1856  to  which 
in  1871  he  referred,  was  not  in  the 
Government  at  all.  He  had  seceded 
from  it  and  gone  into  Opposition 
soon  after  the  evil  consequences  of 
his  own  and  Sir  Charles  Trevelyan's 
mismanagement  at  the  Treasury  be- 
gan to  make  themselves  felt.  Here, 
then;  are  two  very  curious  illus- 
trations of  the  novel  views  of  public 
and  private  honour  which  are  be- 
ginning to  be  entertained  among 
Ministers  of  the  Crown.  It  suits 
the  purposes  of  the  head  of  the  Ad- 
ministration to  misstate  two  facts, 
and  he  misstates  them.  He  tries  to 
make  the  House  of  Commons  be- 
lieve that  words  spoken  by  a  private 
Member  in  1856  were  spoken  by 
a  Member  of  the  Government.  He 
attributes  to  Lords  Clarendon  and 


[April 

Palmerston  opinions  which  they 
never  held,  and  statements  which 
they  never  uttered.  But  he  does 
these  things  in  the  cause  of  peace ; 
because  the  truth  plainly  spoken 
would  disturb  the  harmony  of  the 
Conference;  nay,  might  lead  to  war. 
He  is  found  out,  it  is  true,  and 
the  consequences  are,  that  his 
own  Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs  is 
obliged  to  contradict  him.  How 
can  we  trust  a  man  whose  code  of 
morals  is  such,  that  it  offers  no  im- 
pediment to  the  postponement  of 
truth  to  convenience  ?  But  we  have 
not  yet  done  with  this  part  of  our 
subject.  Soon  after  the  receipt  of 
Count  Gortchakoff' s  despatch,  and 
while  Lord  Granville 's  spirited 
reply  was  still  on  the  road  to  St 
Petersburg,  Mr  Odo  Russell,  the 
honest  and  able  Under-Secretary  of 
State  at  the  Foreign  Office,  was  sent 
to  Versailles  to  consult  with  Count 
Bismark  in  regard  to  the  course 
which  it  might  be  necessary  under 
existing  circumstances  to  pursue. 
Why  the  Minister  of  Prussia,  which, 
when  all  is  said,  had -been  nothing 
more  than  neutral  in  the  war  of 
1854-56,  should  have  been  appealed 
to  for  advice  or  assistance  in  the 
complication,  we  have  never  heard 
a  plausible  reason  assigned.  No 
doubt  Mr  Gladstone  had  his  reasons, 
and  perhaps  we  might  make  a  good 
guess  at  them  if  we  chose ;  but  that  is 
neither  here  nor  there.  It  is  with  Mr 
Odo  Russell's  manner  of  fulfilling 
his  mission,  and  with  the  incidents 
arising  out  of  it,  that  we  are  con- 
cerned. The  Government  had  been 
requested  to  instruct  Parliament  on 
the  former  of  these  heads  ;  and 
papers  were  printed  and  laid  upon 
the  table  explanatory  of  the  mission 
and  its  objects.  Among  the  rest 
appeared  a  despatch  from  Mr  Odo 
Russell,  in  which  it  is  stated,  that 
in  conference  with  the  German  Chan- 
cellor he  had  taken  occasion  to  point 
out  "that  the  question  raised  by 


1871.] 

Eussia  was  of  such  a  nature  as,  in 
its  present  state,  would  compel  Eng- 
land, with  or  without  allies,  to  go 
to  war  with  Eussia."  We  need 
scarcely  add  that  this  particular  des- 
patch from  Mr  Eussell  had  no  busi- 
ness to  be  where  members  found  it. 
Its  insertion  among  the  documents 
prepared  for  the  edification  of  Par- 
liament was  a  lamentable  mistake. 
The  last  thing  in  the  world  which 
Lord  Granville  and  Mr  Gladstone 
desired  was  to  make  confidants  of 
the  Legislature  and  the  public  on 
any  subject  touching  a  matter  of 
such  extreme  delicacy.  It  is  easy 
to  understand,  therefore,  how  angry 
both  must  have  been  when  the  omin- 
ous terms  of  Mr  Eussell's  communi- 
cation confronted  them  in  the  Blue- 
book.  But  the  mischief  was  done, 
so  all  that  remained  for  them  was 
to  consider  how  the  unfortunate  dis- 
closure might  be  rendered  as  little 
damaging  to  themselves  as  possible. 
Their  first  impulse  was  to  deny  that 
Mr  Odo  Eussell  had  any  authority 
to  speak  as  he  did.  Hence,  when 
Sir  John  Hay  addressed  a  question 
to  Mr  Gladstone  on  the  subject,  Mr 
Gladstone  was  ready  with  his  reply  : 
"  The  argument  used  by  Mr  Odo 
Eussell  was  not  one  which  had  been 
dictated  by  her  Majesty's  Govern- 
ment." A  thoroughly  Gladstonian 
expression,  thus  vibrating,  so  to 
speak,  between  truth  and  falsehood, 
and  capable  of  being  interpreted 
with  a  leaning  in  either  direction  as 
should  best  suit  the  convenience  of 
the  speaker.  Mr  Gladstone,  how- 
ever, as  we  all  know,  finds  it  difficult 
to  reply  to  a  question  on  any  subject^ 
without  surrounding  his  answer  with 
a  multiplicity  of  words — some  relev- 
ant, others  the  reverse.  And  words 
were  not  spared  on  this  more  than 
on  other  occasions.  But  they  neither 
added  to  the  strength  of  the  denial 
just  quoted,  nor  took  away  from  it. 
He  left  the  House  to  believe  that  Mr 
Eussell  had  exceeded  his  instruc- 


How  can  ice  Trust  Tliem  ? 


529 


tions  in  speaking  to  Count  Bismark 
of  the  possible  occurrence  of  war 
between  England  and  Eussia  on  ac- 
count of  the  violation  of  the  Treaty 
of  1856. 

A  few  days  passed,  and  Mr  Dis- 
raeli returned  to  the  charge.  He 
blamed  Mr  Gladstone  for  many 
things ;  and  for  this,  among  the  rest, 
that  "  he  had  thrown  over  his  own 
agent."  Mr  Eussell,  he  observed, 
could  not  have  possibly  threatened 
war  had  not  the  Government  which 
he  represented  authorised  him  to  do 
so.  Any  other  course  of  conduct 
would  have  been  an  outrage  on  com- 
mon-sense, besides  committing  the 
Government  to  a  policy  from  fol- 
lowing up  which  it  could  not  with 
honour  escape.  What  followed  1 
Mr  Gladstone,  afraid,  as  it  seemed, 
to  repeat  his  negation,  yet  shrinking 
from  a  frank  avowal  of  the  truth, 
went  into  a  long  argument  to 
prove  that  diplomatists  are  justified 
in  exercising  their  own  discretion 
even  to  the  use  of  threats,  if  by 
threatening  they  see  reason  to  believe 
that  they  will  carry  their  point.  But 
as  to  committing  the  Government 
which  they  represent,  that  is  a' 
groundless  assertion.  No !  Threats 
used  to  gain  a  special  end  are  mere 
fulmina  bruta.  If  they  succeed, 
good  and  well ;  the  diplomatist  has 
earned  a  civic  crown.  If  they  fail,  he 
loses  caste  both  with  his  own  and 
the  rival  Government ;  but  his  own 
Government  is  not  bound  to  save  his 
credit  by  carrying  his  threats  into 
effect,  unless  circumstances  other- 
wise recommend  the  proceeding. 

Mr  Gladstone's  second  explana- 
tion only  made  matters  worse.  It 
was  torn  to  pieces,  demolished,  and 
hooted  down.  Is"  he  brought 
thereby  to  the  end  of  his  resources  ? 
Far  from  it.  The  real  fact  was, 
that  Mr  Odo  Eussell  had  never 
spoken  of  going  to  war  with  Eussia 
at  all.  He  fully  explained  to 
Count  Bismark  the  terms  of  the 


530 


How  can  ice  Trust  Them  ? 


Treaty  of  1856  ;  whereupon  Count 
Bismark,  and  not  he,  gave  to  them 
the  interpretation  which  had  so 
much  startled  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. Did  the  House  doubt  this  ] 
He  would  read  the  despatch  in 
the  hearing  of  members,  and  leave 
them  to  judge  whether  or  no  the 
views  which  he  took  of  its  purport 
were  correct.  He  read  the  despatch, 
accompanying  the  operation  with 
a  running  comment.  It  was  a  sorry 
spectacle  to  witness.  Nobody  in 
the  House  believed  him,  not  even 
his  colleagues  sitting  on  the  same 
bench  with  himself.  Not  yet,  how- 
ever, was  the  cup  of  degradation 
drunk  to  the  dregs.  A  few  days 
subsequently  there  arrived  another 
despatch  from  Mr  Odo  Russell, 
which  could  not  be  burked.  That 
gentleman,  having  read  in  Versailles 
an  account  of  the  proceedings  arising 
out  of  Sir  John  Hay's  question, 
considered  himself  bound,  as  a  man 
of  honour,  to  tell  the  truth.  Without 
waiting  to  be  asked  for  an  explana- 
tion, he  wrote  a  letter,  in  which 
he  distinctly  stated  that  the  words 
commented  on  in  the  House  of 
Commons  were  his  words,  and  that 
he  had  addressed  them  to  Count 
Bismark  in  the  name  of  her  Ma- 
jesty's Government,  because  the 
Government  had  authorised  him  so 
to  do;  and  because  any  other  form 
of  speech  on  such  an  occasion 
would  have  amounted  to  an  avowal 
that  England  would  never  again — 
be  her  engagements  what  they 
might — draw  her  sword.  How  the 
members  of  the  Liberal  party  felt 
when  Mr  Gladstone  expressed  him- 
self satisfied  with  Mr  Russell's  ex- 
planation, we  cannot  pretend  to  say. 
We  only  know  that  while  he  was 
fencing  with  Mr  Disraeli's  original 
comment  on  them,  they  looked  as  if 
they  wished  themselves  anywhere 
except  in  the  House.  When  out  of 
his  own  mouth  he  subsequently  con- 
victed himself  of  something  which 


[April 

we  do  not  care  to  specify,  they  hung 
their  heads  and  Avere  silent. 

Being  on  the  subject  of  Mr 
Odo  Russell's  sayings  and  doings, 
it  may  be  as  well  to  complete 
the  history  of  the  foreign  transac- 
tions in  which  he  bore  a  part,  be- 
fore turning  our  attention  to  the 
course  of  domestic  legislation  as 
Ministers  have  thus  far  directed  it. 
Paris,  subdued  by  famine  and  dis- 
appointed in  its  hopes  of  relief  from 
without,  was  unable  to  hold  out 
longer.  The  terms  of  a  capitulation 
were  signed,  and  an  armistice  was 
entered  into  with  a  view  of  enabling 
France  to  get  a  Constituent  Assem- 
bly together  and  treat  for  peace.  It 
had  been  the  constant  boast  of  her 
Majesty's  Ministers,  that  though  un- 
able to  stop  the  war  while  in  pro- 
gress, they  were  prepared,  as  soon 
as  an  opportunity  should  offer,  to 
step  in  and  use  their  best  efforts  to 
bring  about  peace  on  terms  honour- 
able to  both  parties.  The  French 
Government  was  no  sooner  put  in 
possession  of  the  outlines  of  the 
conditions  which  Germany  had  de- 
termined to  exact,  than  it  communi- 
cated with  the  English  Government, 
earnestly  requesting  that  her  Ma- 
jesty's Ministers  would  use  their 
good  offices  in  obtaining  some  modi- 
fication of  the  severity  of  these  con- 
ditions, especially  in  the  matter  of 
the  pecuniary  indemnity  demanded. 
What  followed  ?  It  was  well  known 
that  the  armistice  would  end  on  the 
26th  of  February.  Count  Bismark 
made  no  secret  of  his  determination 
to  resume  hostilities  after  midnight 
on  that  day  if  the  preliminaries  of 
peace  were  not  signed  before  the 
clock  struck.  All  this  was  as  per- 
fectly understood  in  London  as  at 
Versailles  or  Bordeaux.  Observe 
how  the  English  Government  acted. 
They  could  not  refuse  the  petition 
of  an  old  ally.  They  would  do  their 
best  for  France.  But  the  English 
Government  shrinks  at  the  same 


1871.] 


How  can  ice  Trust  Tliem  ? 


531 


time  from  receiving  another  rebuff 
from  the  German  Government.  It 
therefore  manages  so  to  time  the 
despatch  of  its  instructions  to  Berlin 
that  they  shall  arrive  just  one  day 
too  late.  France,  deserted  by  all  the 
world  and  incapable  of  further  re- 
sistance, accepts  the  disastrous  peace 
imposed  upon  her  at  a  late  hour  on 
the  26th.  On  the  27th,  the  applica- 
tion of  the  Cabinet  of  St  James  for 
terms  more  moderate  comes  in.  It 
comes  in  to  no  purpose.  The  nego- 
tiations are  closed ;  they  cannot  be 
reopened.  France  is  dismembered 
and  impoverished,  and  the  balance 
of  power  in  Europe  is  destroyed. 
What  a  pitiful  excuse  for  this  avoid- 
ance of  a  clear  duty  Lord  Enfield 
made  when  questioned  about  it  on 
the  10th  of  March !  Yes,  it  was 
true  that  Lord  Adolphus  Loftus  got 
no  instructions  to  act  before  the 
27th.  But  then,  Mr  Odo  Russell 
had  been  informed  on  the  25th,  by 
a  telegram  which  left  London  on 
the  24th,  of  what  Lord  Adolphus 
had  been  directed  to  urge.  Being 
further  asked  whether  Mr  Eussell 
had  received  instructions  to  act  upon 
the  information  thus  conveyed  to 
him,  Lord  Enfield  replied  that  he  did 
not  know ! !  The  Under-Secretary  of 
State,  who  himself  probably  directed 
the  telegram  to  be  sent  off,  and  dic- 
tated its  contents,  did  not  know 
what  its  contents  were  ! ! ! 

There  is  something  positively 
humiliating  in  the  contemplation  of 
official  incapacity  such  as  this, 
strongly  tinctured  as  it  is  with  a 
worse  quality.  How  can  we  trust 
those  who  act  thus,  in  any  matter, 
great  or  small  1  They  either  do 
not  know  what  is  right  in  their 
dealings  with  their  fellow-men,  or, 
knowing,  they  unscrupulously  and 
habitually  walk  apart  from  it.  Mr 
Odo  Russell  has  as  much  reason  to 
complain  of  them  as  Sir  George 
Balfour  and  Sir  Spencer  Robinson. 
The  two  latter  are  rewarded  for 


valuable  services  rendered  at  home 
— the  one  by  studied  neglect,  the 
other  by  the  ruin  of  his  profes- 
sional prospects.  The  latter,  hav- 
ing well  and  faithfully  discharged 
a  painful  duty  abroad,  is  held  up  to 
public  reprobation,  not  only  as  a 
rash  and  ill -judging  man,  but  as  one 
who  will  not  scruple  to  exceed  the 
powers  intrusted  to  him  even  at 
the  risk  of  involving  the  Govern- 
ment in  serious  difficulties.  Mr 
Russell  has  very  quietly,  but  very 
effectually,  turned  the  tables  on  his 
maligners.  How  Sir  George  Bai- 
four  and  Sir  Spencer  Robinson  are 
to  take  the  slight  put  upon  them 
remains  to  be  seen. 

Meanwhile,  every  fresh  day 
makes  more  and  more  manifest 
the  depth  of  degradation  into 
which,  under  the  management  of 
her  present  rulers,  England  is  fall- 
ing. This  Conference,  with  all  the 
circumstances  attending  it,  has  dis- 
graced us  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole 
outer  world.  Lord  Granville  in  the 
Lords,  and  Mr  Gladstone  in  the 
Commons,  may  say  what  they  will ; 
but  Russia,  Germany,  Turkey, 
France,  and  America,  alike  see  in 
it  the  rapid  development  of  that 
policy  of  "  displacement "  to  which 
they  have  consigned  us.  How  con- 
temptuous were  the  terms  in  which 
Prince  Gortchakoff  met  the  first  de- 
spatch from  our  Foreign  Office !  With 
what  a  cynical  smirk  he  accepts  the 
proposal  of  Germany  to  submit  the 
matter  in  dispute  to  arbitration ! 
Does  anybody  doubt  that  Russia  and 
Prussia  perfectly  understood  each 
other  all  along?  Will  Mr  Glad- 
stone's ignorance,  real  or  pretended, 
falsify  the  fact  that,  in  anticipation 
of  the  rupture  with  France,  Prussia 
entered  into  an  arrangement  with 
Russia  that  she  should  be  left  free 
to  pursue  her  own  designs  in  the 
East,  on  condition  that  Austria 
was  by  her  means  kept  back 
from  moving  in  the  West  ]  Oh ! 


532 


but  did  not  Lord  Granville  insist 
as  a  condition  to  the  Conference 
that  Russia  should  first  of  all  retract 
her  insolent  message?  And  when 
the  Conference  met,  was  not  Russia 
compelled,  before  her  proposals 
would  be  considered  at  all,  to  sign 
a  declaration  that  it  is  contrary 
to  the  law  of  nations  for  any  one 
Power,  having  been  a  party  with 
other  Powers  to  a  treaty,  to  with- 
draw from  it,  wholly  or  in  part,  ex- 
cept after  consultation  with  its  co- 
signitaries  1  Compelled  to  do  this  or 
any  thing  else  Russia  was  not.  We 
cannot  find  in  the  printed  minutes 
of  the  Conference  a  single  expression 
which  denotes  that  she  ever  made, 
or  thought  of  making,  any  difficulty 
at  all  about  affirming  so  obvious  a 
truism.  But  we  do  find  that,  this 
point  settled,  Russia  had  only  to 
say  what  she  desired  to  bring  about, 
and  that  the  representatives  of  the 
other  Powers,  England  among  the 
rest,  willingly  acceded  to  her  wishes. 
Turkey  expressed  herself  satisfied 
with  the  Treaty  as  it  stood.  France, 
speaking  by  her  representative,  held 
the  same  language.  Russia  and 
Germany  demanded  the  abrogation 
of  this  particular  condition,  to 
enforce  which  the  prolongation 
of  the  war  in  the  Crimea  had 
been  threatened ;  and  England, 
without  a  moment's  hesitation,  came 
into  their  views.  What  could  France 
and  Turkey  do?  The  former  had, 
as  the  Duke  de  Broglie  rightly  ob- 
served, more  pressing  matters  to 
consider;  the  latter  was  powerless 
without  her  ally.  The  results  are, 
that  the  Black  Sea  is  again  open  to 
the  fleets  of  Russia,  who  may  build 
as  many  arsenals  and  fortresses 
along  its  shores  as  she  pleases  ;  and 
Turkey  gets,  by  way  of  compensa- 
tion, the  right,  of  which  nobody 
could  deprive  her,  of  opening  the 
Dardanelles  to  the  war -ships  of 
friendly  Powers  whenever  she  con- 
ceives that  her  interests  required  it. 


[April 

If  this  be  not  a  surrender  at  dis- 
cretion, we  do  not  understand  the 
meaning  of  the  expression.  Yet  it 
was  over  this  act  that  Lord  Gran- 
ville had  the  bad  taste  to  affect  in 
the  House  of  Lords  an  air  of  satis- 
faction, or,  to  speak  more  correctly, 
of  triumph,  which  we  take  it  upon 
us  to  say  he  did  not  experience. 
Well,  Sir  Charles  -Dilke  has  given 
notice  of  inquiring  into  matters 
connected  with  this  surrender  in 
the  House  of  Commons.  A  like 
inquiry,  and  perhaps  a  more  search- 
ing one,  must  be  instituted  in  the 
House  of  Lords.  We  shall  wait 
patiently  till  the  results  of  these  in- 
vestigations appear,  expecting  no- 
thing from  them,  except  perhaps  an 
aggravation  of  our  present  bitter 
feelings. 

We  come  now  to  the  attempts  at 
domestic  legislation — for  to  this  they 
amount,  or  little  else — on  which, 
since  the  delivery  of  the  Speech  from 
the  Throne,  the  Government  has 
ventured.  Of  such  very  small  mat- 
ters as  the  repeal  of  the  Ecclesiasti- 
cal Titles  Bill,  the  BiU  for  "  settling 
Disputes  arising  out  of  Trades'  Un- 
ions," and  even  of  the  Bill  for  giv- 
ing to  Scotland  an  improved  system 
of  elementary  education,  we  need 
say  little.  This  last  may  indeed,  as 
the  session  goes  on,  develop  into  a 
source  of  some  difficulty  to  the  Gov- 
ernment ;  and  if  it  do,  we  shall  see, 
of  course,  with  what  adroitness  the 
Government  can  change  its  tactics. 
Neither  is  it  worth  while  to  linger 
over  the  University  Tests  Bill,  fur- 
ther than  by  observing  that  it  pleases 
nobody ;  how  can  it  ?  The  great  Con- 
servative party  are  opposed  to  it  be- 
cause it  is  a  measure  of  confiscation. 
The  extreme  Liberals  are  opposed  to 
it  because  it  halts  in  the  application 
of  that  principle.  The  Ministers 
propose  that  to  fellowships  in  all 
the  colleges,  not  less  than  to  offices 
of  dignity  and  emolument  in  the 
Universities,  men  of  all  religious 


1871.] 


opinions,  and  of  no  religious  opin- 
ions, shall  be  eligible.  Mr  Faw- 
cett,  and  that  large  section  of  the 
party  who  think  with  him,  say,  "This 
is  not  enough.  We  see  no  reason 
why  the  headships  of  houses  should 
be  reserved  for  the  professors  of  one 
religion  in  particular."  Surely,  as 
far  as  abstract  right  and  wrong  are 
concerned,  Mr  Fawcett  has  the  best 
of  it  in  this  argument.  There  is 
not  a  college  or  hall  in  Oxford  or 
Cambridge  which  was  not  founded, 
and  in  successive  generations  en- 
dowed, for  the  express  purpose  of 
affording  to  the  inmates  religious  in- 
struction according  to  the  tenets  of 
the  National  Church.  There  was  no 
moral  or  legal  necessity  for  placing 
any  one  of  these  colleges  or  halls  in 
university  towns.  But  the  founders 
of  the  halls  and  colleges  made  choice 
of  university  towns,  because  there 
the  inmates  of  their  hospitals  would 
be  able  to  avail  themselves  of  the 
more  extended  course  of  general 
education  which  universities  supply. 
Nor,  except  that  both  teachers  and 
pupils  are  by  custom  members  of  the 
universities  as  well  as  of  the  halls, 
is  there  any  necessary  connection  be- 
tween the  university  and  the  college. 
The  endowments  of  the  colleges  are 
distinct  from  those  of  the  universities ; 
the  offices  in  each  are  distinct;  and 
so  in  both  honours  are  distinct  one 
from  the  other.  It  may  be  just, 
we  are  not  prepared  to  deny  it,  that 
the  universities,  with  all  that  they 
can  give,  should  be  thrown  open  to 
men  of  all  religious  opinions.  But 
it  would  be  just  as  reasonable  to  re- 
quire that  a  churchman  should  be 
entitled  to  an  office  of  trust  and 
emolument  in  Stoneyhurst,  or  a 
Wesleyan  to  a  readership  in  a  Jew- 
ish synagogue,  as  that  a  Roman 
Catholic,  or  a  Wesleyan,  or  a  Jew 
should,  by  mere  literary  eminence, 
win  his  way  to  a  fellowship  in 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  or  Bal- 
iol  College,  Oxford.  In  the  name 


How  can  we  Trust  Tliem  ? 


533 


of  common-sense,  therefore,  why,  if 
you  are  going  to  commit  a  great 
wrong,  stop  short  of  doing  it  thor- 
oughly? Mr  Gladstone's  Bill  is  a 
bad  one ;  but  it  would  not  be  in 
principle  one  whit  worse  than  it  is 
if  Mr  Fawcett's  rider  were  added  to 
it.  And  so  the  extreme  section  of 
the  Liberal  party  evidently  believe. 
Mr  Fawcett's  motion  in  committee 
was  defeated  by  a  narrow  majority 
of  eighteen  only.  Had  the  Conserva- 
tives stayed  away — and  we  certainly 
should  not  have  blamed  them  for 
doing  so — the  Government  would 
have  been  defeated.  Again,  we  ask, 
who  can  trust  these  men  1  They  are 
evidently  acting,  in  many  respects, 
against  their  own  convictions  of 
right.  But  conduct  such  as  this 
sooner  or  later  destroys  those  who 
give  themselves  up  to  it,  though, 
unfortunately,  not  till  it  has  done 
irreparable  injury  to  public  morals. 
Mr  Fawcett  has  just  reason  to 
triumph  as  well  as  to  complain. 
His  nominal  leader  was  at  his  mercy, 
but  that  the  Opposition  stepped  in 
and  saved  him.  This  is  not,  surely, 
a  result  favourable  to  good  govern- 
ment. 

Of  the  question  of  elementary 
education  for  Ireland,  we  are  not,  it 
would  seem,  to  hear  anything  this 
session.  It  is  a  hard  question  for 
Mr  Gladstone  to  deal  with.  His 
Scotch  and  Dissenting  friends  regard 
it  in  one  light,  his  supporters  in 
Ireland — Cardinal  Cullen  and  the 
priests — regard  it  in  another.  He 
hopes  to  escape  from  the  difficulty, 
at  all  events  for  a  season,  by  putting 
it  in  abeyance.  Perhaps  he  might 
have  done  so  but  for  the  extraor- 
dinary demand  for  a  Secret  Commit- 
tee to  inquire  into  the  state  of  West- 
meath  and  other  disturbed  districts. 
That  move,  if  we  be  not  mistaken, 
will  operate  to  the  overthrow  of  his 
expectations.  The  priests  are  very 
angry ;  they  may  not  be  in  league 
with  Ribbonism,  however  favour- 


534 


able  to  its  continuance  the  system 
of  the  confessional  admittedly  is ; 
but  they  cannot  endure  that  a  mat- 
ter on  which  their  hearts  are  set 
should  be  postponed  on  a  pretence 
which  this  unlocked  -  for  and  ill- 
advised  procedure  demonstrates  to 
be  a  false  one.  Nor  is  his  case 
improved  by  the  turn  which  affairs 
took  in  the  course  of  the  debate. 
When  Lord  Hartington  first  got  up 
to  ask  for  what  had  not  been  granted 
since  the  dismal  days  of  1817  and 
1818,  a  thrill  of  consternation  ran 
through  the  House,  It  seemed  to 
members  on  both  sides  that  they 
had  fallen  upon  evil  times  indeed  ; 
and  the  manifest  reluctance  with 
which  the  Irish  Secretary  made  his 
appeal,  had  no  tendency  to  mitigate 
the  dismay  with  which  they  listen- 
ed. But  as  the  speech  drew  itself 
out,  and  the  speaker  admitted  that 
the  Government  was  already  in  pos- 
session of  the  fullest  measure  of  in- 
formation, the  feeling  of  pity  with 
which  members  were  at  the  outset 
disposed  to  regard  him  changed  with 
some  into  indignation,  with  others 
into  scorn,  not  unmixed  with  de- 
light. The  few  among  the  Whigs 
who  still  retain  the  traditions  of 
their  party,  felt  as  men  do  to  whom 
a  personal  wrong  has  been  offered. 
In  the  degradation  of  the  repre- 
sentative of  one  of  their  grandest 
houses  they  saw  their  own,  and  not 
less  keenly  than  their  Tory  rivals 
they  asked  one  another  how  long 
is  this  state  of  things  to  last.  The 
gentlemen  below  the  gangway  re- 
ceived the  incident  in  a  different 
spirit.  Grant  a  Secret  Committee 
for  such  a  purpose  !  No ;  that  they 
would  never  do.  But  it  gladdened 
their  hearts  to  find  the  executive 
thus  plunging  into  the  bog,  be- 
cause the  more  the  influence  of  the 
Crown  is  weakened  in  the  House 
and  in  the  country,  the  better  are 
their  purposes  served.  Observe  how 
Mr  Gladstone  deals  with  the  embar- 


[April 

rassment  which  he  had  himself  cre- 
ated. He  had  overborne  the  whole 
of  his  colleagues  in  the  Cabinet. 
There  is  no  longer  the  affectation 
of  concealment  in  the  matter,  that  he 
alone  desired  to  thro  won  the  House  of 
Commons  responsibilities  which  the 
rest  of  the  Government  were  willing 
to  take  upon  themselves  ;  and  that 
by  sheer  strength  of  determination 
he  bent  them  to  his  will.  But  no 
sooner  is  the  House  seen  to  be  against 
him  than  he  repeats  the  manoeuvre 
which  he  had  practised  in  Mr  Odo 
Eussell's  case,  and  "  throws  over  " 
his  agent.  It  is  hard  to  conceive 
how  a  gentleman  in  Lord  Harting- 
ton's  position  can  endure  a  slight  of 
this  sort  without  resenting  it.  After 
having  been  constrained  to  declare 
that  the  functions  of  government  in 
Ireland  were  paralysed  —  that  he 
could  not  be  answerable,  if  the  Secret 
Committee  were  refused,  for  life  or 
property  in  certain  districts, — he 
has  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  his 
chief  go  off  on  a  directly  opposite  tan- 
gent, and  profess  perfect  indifference 
as  to  whether  the  Committee  should 
be  secret  or  open.  Hitherto  we 
have  had  one  Minister  contradicting 
another,  but  in  different  Houses. 
Now  we  have  two  Ministers  in  the 
same  House  taking  opposite  sides  in 
a  controversy,  into  which  the  sub- 
ordinate plunged  against  his  will  to 
please  his  superior,  while  the  su- 
perior turns  round  and  coolly  stulti- 
fies all  the  arguments  of  his  sub- 
ordinate by  pronouncing  them  to  be 
worthless.  How  can  we  trust  these 
men? 

We  come  now  to  the  great  mea- 
sure of  the  session — Mr  Cardwell's 
Bill  for  the  Reorganisation  of  the 
Army,  of  which  the  second  reading 
was  carried  by  consent,  after  a  fierce 
and,  according  to  Mr  Disraeli,  an 
instructive  debate,  ranging  over  five 
sittings — instructive  to  members 
who,  perhaps,  never  before  in  their 
lives  gave  a  moment's  consideration  to 


1871.] 

the  subject.  To  us  who  have  thought 
about  it  and  written  about  it  for 
years  past,  the  debate  was  simply 
wearisome.  Not  a  word  was  said 
on  either  side  from  which  we  found 
it  possible  to  collect  what  the  scheme 
of  army  reorganisation  to  be  pro- 
posed by  the  Government  really 
is.  Mr  Cardwell  placed  on  the 
forefront  of  his  Bill  a  proposal  to 
abolish  the  practice  of  buying  and 
selling  their  commissions  by  British 
officers,  and  Colonel  Lloyd  Lindsay 
moved  an  amendment  condemnatory 
of  the  proposition,  as  if  the  fate  of 
the  army  itself  turned  on  the  main- 
tenance or  abolition  of  that  practice. 
Foolish  proceedings  these  on  both 
sides,  though  perhaps  more  foolish 
on  the  side  of  the  Opposition  than 
of  the  Government.  Foolish  on  the 
part  of  Government,  because,  whe- 
ther abolition  be  good  or  bad  in 
itself,  it  has  nothing  whatever  to 
say  for  or  against  an  improved 
scheme  of  army  organisation ;  and 
very  foolish  on  Colonel  Lindsay's 
part,  and  on  the  parts  of  those  who 
supported  him,  because  they  took  up 
a  position  which  to  outsiders  might 
easily  be  mistaken  for  a  selfish  one, 
and  which  it  admirably  served  the 
purposes  of  J^jj  Cardwell  and  his 
followers  torepresent  as  selfish. 
The  results  were  a  fiasco  to  those 
who  went  in  for  fighting  this  foolish 
battle,  the  most  humiliating  that  has 
occurred  in  the  House  of  Commons 
for  many  a  day;  and  to  Mr  Glad- 
stone an  opportunity,  of  which  with 
great  adroitness  he  availed  him- 
self, to  come  out  in  an  entirely  new 
character — that  of  a  Minister  will- 
ing to  be  advised  ;  neither  bigoted 
to  his  own  views,  nor  arrogant  in 
pressing  them,  but  meek  and  con- 
siderate, inviting  discussion,  and 
professing  perfect  readiness  to  ac- 
cept such  conclusions  as  sound  ar- 
gument might  recommend  to  him. 
But  this  is  not  all.  The  abortive 
issue,  while  it  enabled  the  Govern- 

VOL.    CIX. NO.    DCLXVI. 


535 


ment  to  achieve  an  easy  success,  ex- 
hibited the  Opposition  in  the  light 
of  a  body  swayed,  not  by  reason, 
but  by  class  prejudice,  and  there- 
fore incapable  of  fighting  a  popular 
battle.  Colonel  Lindsay  is  an  ex- 
cellent and  an  able  man.  He  acted 
on  this  occasion  under  bad  advice. 
He  mistook  the  weak  point  in  the 
enemy's  line,  and  was  defeated. 

The  success  of  the  Government 
in  the  recent  debate  is  not,  how- 
ever, conclusive,  either  of  the  wis- 
dom of  their  measure — as  far  as  we 
are  as  yet  able  to  judge  of  it — or  of 
their  ultimate  triumph  when  the 
final  division  is  taken.  They,  like 
the  Opposition,  took  up  false  ground. 
It  is  not  true  that  purchase  offers 
any  insurmountable  obstacle  what- 
ever to  the  process  of  army  reor- 
ganisation. Mr  Cardwell  is  self- 
deceived  when  he  speaks  of  it  as 
meeting  him  at  every  turn,  and 
rendering  impossible  the  reduction 
of  chaos  into  order.  Because  one 
young  man  has  paid  £450  for  an 
ensigncy,  and  another  has  got  his 
captaincy  by  purchase,  they  are  no 
more  exempt  from  the  course  of 
training  required  by  regulation  than 
their  poorer  or  more  fortunate  com- 
rades, to  whom  their  commissions 
came  gratuitously.  And  if  the 
course  of  training  now  established  be 
considered  too  perfunctory,  the  Secre- 
tary of  State  for  War  has  only  to 
lay  down  a  new  code  of  rules,  which, 
as  soon  as  her  Majesty  has  confirmed 
them,  will  become  law  to  all  classes 
of  her  officers.  So  also  in  regard  to 
what  Mr  Cardwell  calls  the  amalga- 
mation of  the  Militia  with  the  Line. 
That  arrangement,  as  far  as  it  is 
possible  to  bring  it  about,  can  just 
as  easily  be  effected  now  as  it  will  be 
when  purchase  becomes  a  thing  of 
the  past.  There  is  no  more  reason 
why  officers  of  the  Line  should  be 
prohibited  from  exchanging  with  offi- 
cers of  the  Militia,  on  the  ground  that 
in  the  Line  some  purchase  their  coni- 
2o 


536 


How  can  we  Trust  Them  ? 


missions,  while  in  the  Militia  pitrch  ase 
is  unknown,  than  that  officers  of  the 
other  regiments  of  cavalry  and  in- 
fantry should  be  prohibited  from 
exchanging  with  those  of  the  three 
regiments  of  cavalry  and  nine  regi- 
ments of  infantry  which  came  over 
to  the  Line  from  the  old  East  India 
Company's  army,  and  brought  the 
non- purchase  system  with  them. 
The  single  bar  to  such  exchanges  is, 
that  the  Militia,  as  now  constituted, 
happens  to  be  officered  by  gentle- 
men of  whom  the  majority  know 
little  or  nothing  of  the  profession ; 
while  all,  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, draw  pay  for  only  one  month 
in  the  year.  If  Mr  Cardwell  be 
statesman  enough  to  keep  a  certain 
portion  of  the  Militia  permanently 
embodied,  and  to  officer  this  perma- 
nent force  with  gentlemen  instructed 
in  their  profession,  then,  whether 
purchase  be  abolished  or  remain  as 
it  is,  exchanges  from  the  Line  into 
the  Militia,  and  back  again  from  the 
Militia  into  the  Line,  will  become 
incidents  of  daily  occurrence. 

It  appears,  then,  that  the  public 
reasons  put  forward  by  Mr  Card- 
well  for  his  determined  attack  upon 
the  purchase  system  are  absolutely 
futile.  Experience  also  proves  that, 
so  far  as  the  interests  of  individuals 
are  concerned,  officers  unable  to 
purchase  gain  more  in  the  aggre- 
gate than  they  lose  by  the  rapid 
promotion  of  their  more  wealthy 
comrades.  Individual  cases  of  hard- 
ship do  indeed  occur,  though 
neither  Mr  Cardwell  nor  Mr  Tre- 
velyan  was  happy  in  referring  to 
them  specifically.  Lord  Clyde,  whom 
both  commemorate,  purchased  every 
step  save  one  between  his  en- 
signcy  and  his  lieut. -colonelcy;  and 
Sir  Henry  Havelock  put  himself 
voluntarily  down  on  the  ladder  by 
frequent  exchanges  from  regiment 
to  regiment,  with  a  view  to  make 
money.  Still,  the  view  which  we 
take  of  the  subject  is  this,  that 
though  Mr  Cardwell  be  wrong  in 


[April 

argument,  the  defenders  of  the  pur- 
chase system  are  not  right ;  because 
they  are  seeking  to  perpetuate  a 
state  of  things  which  in  theory  is 
indefensible,  and  which  not  one 
among  them  all,  if  he  had  a  mili- 
tary system  to  create,  would  think 
of  introducing  into  it.  The  ques- 
tion, therefore,  resolves  itself  into 
this  :  Is  the  country  prepared  to  do 
justice  to  a  body  of  men  who,  on 
the  faith  of  recognised  custom,  have 
invested  large  sums  in  their  commis- 
sions, and  at  a  cost  which  is  esti- 
mated at  something  or  another  be- 
tween£8, 000,000  and  £16,000,000, 
to  give  them  back  their  purchase- 
money  year  by  year,  as  they  express 
a  wish  to  retire  from  the  Service? 
Is  it  only  in  order  to  throw  this 
sop  to  the  democracy  that  Mr  Card- 
well  has  come  out  in  the  light  of 
an  army  reformer  1  Who  can  tell  1 
As  yet  all  that  we  are  promised 
amounts  to  this — that  20,000  men 
are  to  be  added  to  the  strength  of 
the  regular  army  ;  that  the  Artillery 
is  to  be  made  capable  of  bringing 
300  guns  into  the  field;  that  Mi- 
litia recruits  are  to  undergo  twenty- 
eight  instead  of  fourteen  days'  pre- 
liminary drill ;  and  that  the  whole 
of  the  Militia,  including  the  Irish, 
is  to  be  embodied  this  year,  to  the 
amount  of  139,000,  for  twenty -eight 
days.  Not  a  hint  is  dropped  of  any 
change  in  the  normal  mode  of  rais- 
ing the  Militia  force.  It  is  still  to 
be  recruited  by  voluntary  enlistment ; 
still  to  be  paid  as  liberally  as  the 
Line ;  still  tempted  by  a  bribe  of 
five  or  six  pounds  per  man  to 
come  under  an  obligation  in  the 
event  of  war  to  serve  in  limited 
numbers  with  the  regular  army. 
And  as  to  the  Volunteers,  the  sole 
novelty  threatened,  so  far  as  they 
are  concerned,  is  this — that  when 
they  muster  in  force  for  an  Easter 
Monday  or  any  other  grand  review, 
they  are  to  be  made  subject  for  the 
nonce  to  the  Articles  of  War.  We 
should  like  to  see  the  officer,  whether 


1871.] 

of  the  Line  or  of  their  own  body, 
Avho  should  try  on  such  an  occasion 
to  enforce  military  law  upon  a  well- 
to-do  London  shop-assistant  or  a  re- 
spectable young  grocer  in  a  country 
town.  If  the  spirit  of  the  Briton 
did  not  rebel,  and  get  other  spirited 
Britons  to  support  him,  then  we 
must  profess  our  entire  ignorance  of 
the  true  Briton's  character.  Keally 
it  is  pitiable  to  find  the  expectations 
raised  by  months  of  public  discus- 
sion through  the  press  culminating 
thus.  What  Mr  Cardwell  may 
further  propose  when  the  general 
question  gets  into  committee,  we 
cannot  pretend  to  guess.  For  his 
plan  of  short  service  has  been  tried, 
and  is  a  failure  ;  and  the  hope 
which  he  expresses  of  getting  a 
large  reserve  on  hand  some  twelve 
years  hence  may  be  an  honest  hope, 
but  it  is  based  upon  a  shadow. 
Twelve  years  hence  England  may 
or  may  not  be  in  need  of  reserves 
of  any  kind ;  she  needs  them  now, 
because  she  stands  naked  in  the 
presence  of  a  world  in  arms.  What 
her  condition  will  be  at  the  period 
to  which  Mr  Card  well's  calcula- 
tions point,  whether  rich  and  fee- 
ble, as  she  is  now,  or  hardened 
by  the  disasters  of  war,  or  shorn 
of  her  transmarine  provinces,  and 
reduced  to  the  rank  of  a  third-rate 
Power,  time  and  fate  must  deter- 
mine. For  the  present,  it  is  enough 
to  know  that  her  destinies  are 
in  the  hands  of  men  who  have  no 
policy  whatever  of  their  own,  who 
seem  to  regard  themselves  as  placed 
where  they  are  for  one  purpose  only 
— viz.,  on  every  question,  whether 
it  affect  the  foreign  relations  of  the 
country  or  its  domestic  concerns,  to 
watch  which  way  the  tide  of  popular 
opinion  is  setting,  and  at  once  to 
put  themselves  on  the  crest  of  the 
wave.  Mr  Cardwell  knows  as  well 
as  we  do  that  without  compulsory 
service  he  can  never  raise  the  Militia 
force  to  a  proper  strength,  nor  give 
to  it  adequate  training.  He  does 


How  can  ice  Trust  Them  ? 


537 


not  propose  the  ballot  except  in  an 
emergency,  the  occasion  of  which 
must  render  an  appeal  to  it  worth- 
less. And  this  because,  as  he 
avows,  the  feeling  of  the  people 
is  against  it.  Positively,  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  government  in 
this  country.  Whatever  the  mob 
persistently  demand,  they  are  sure 
sooner  or  later  to  obtain.  Nobody 
stops  to  ask  whether  the  conces- 
sion be  in  itself  wise  or  otherwise. 
It  is  enough  to  know  that  "  the 
people  "  desire,  and  it  comes  as  a 
matter  of  course.  So  it  has  been  in 
France  for  these  last  sixty  years. 
The  Bourbons  endeavoured  to  gov- 
ern, and  they  were  expelled.  The 
Citizen  King,  with  all  his  cajol- 
ery, fared  no  better.  Imperialism 
had  its  day,  which  it  managed  to 
prolong  by  constant  appeals  to  the 
people.  And  now  there  has  come 
in  its  room  anarchy.  It  seems  to 
us  that  we  are  in  some  danger  of 
being  hurried,  before  we  know 
what  we  are  about,  into  a  similar 
state  of  things.  While  Paris  is 
stained  with  the  blood  of  citizens 
whom  their  fellow  -  citizens  shot 
down,  and  a  self  -  constituted  com- 
mittee within  the  walls  seems  pre- 
paring for  a  death-struggle  with  the 
Constituent  Assembly  at  Versailles, 
the  real  functions  of  government 
are  delegated,  among  us,  to  a  body 
of  private  members  sitting  under 
the  gangway  on  the  Ministerial  side 
of  the  House  of  Commons.  One  of 
these — Mr  Trevelyan — is  the  real 
author  of  the  Army  Bill,  so  far  as  it 
has  as  yet  been  carried.  Another, 
Mr  Mundella,  has  virtually  settled 
the  point  that  there  shall  be  no 
permanent  increase  to  the  military 
strength  of  the  country.  Rumours 
were  rife — no  longer  ago  than  the 
23d  of  March — that  his  motion  to 
cut  down  the  Estimates  to  the 
measure  of  1870-71  would  be 
accepted.  That,  as  the  event 
proves,  would  have  been  rather  too 
slow  a  measure  even  for  Mr  Glad- 


538 


stone.  But  observe  the  terms,  half 
apologetic,  half  deprecatory,  in 
which  he  meets  the  proposal.  "  It 
is  obvious,  although  it  is  our  duty, 
at  the  commencement  of  the  year, 
to  ask  for  the  confidence  and  en- 
lightened judgment  of  the  House 
of  Commons  what  we  think  is 
an  adequate  and  sufficient  supply 
for  the  whole  service  of  the 
year,  yet  every  improvement  that 
takes  place  in  the  condition  of  affairs 
abroad  may  undoubtedly  tend  to 
modify  the  position  that  we  had 
taken  up.  My  honourable  friend 
may  rely  upon  it  that  we  shall  be 
happy  to  take  advantage  of  every 
improvement,  and  allow  it  to  ex- 
ercise its  influence  on  the  expendi- 
ture for  our  army."  If  this  do  not 
mean,  "  Give  us  what  we  ask,  be- 
cause we  are  committed  to  the  Esti- 
mates, and  we  cannot  without  dis- 
credit go  back  from  them;  but  trust 
us  for  reducing  the  army  again  on 
the  very  first  possible  opportunity," 
it  means  nothing.  Mr  Mundella 
is  accordingly  defeated  by  a  large 
majority  in  his  direct  proposal, 
while  the  policy  which  he  advocates 
is  covertly  but  entirely  acceded  to. 

So  much  for  the  condition  of 
affairs,  foreign  and  domestic,  as  the 
vacillating  and  untrustworthy  pro- 
ceedings of  the  Government  have 
induced  it.  Xow  a  word  or  two, 
before  we  lay  down  the  pen,  to  our 
readers,  and  through  them  to  the 
British  public.  It  will  be  our  own 
faults  if  this  state  of  things  goes  on, 
and  this  great  country,  with  its 
glorious  institutions  and  old  renown, 
be  shipwrecked  in  consequence. 
The  Liberals  deceive  themselves  if 
they  imagine  that  the  people  are 
with  them.  A  noisy  clique,  under 
the  leadership  of  Mr  Odger  and  the 


[April  1871. 

Brights,  may  and  do  desire  to 
hurry  on  the  Republic ;  but  not  a 
few  among  those  who  not  long  ago 
were  prepared  to  go  with  them,  recent 
events  on  the  Continent  have  arrest- 
ed in  their  progress.  Go  where  you 
will,  and  converse  with  whom  you 
may,  in  the  clubs  and  at  the  corners 
of  the  streets,  and  the  marvellous 
change  which  is  gradually  working 
itself  out  in  public  opinion  is  made 
plain  to  you.  "  This  will  never  do. 
We  cannot  go  on  without  a  Govern- 
ment. The  roughs  have  had  it 
their  own  way  long  enough.  Let 
us  take  warning  by  France,  and  stop 
them  while  we  can."  This  is  not 
the  language,  observe,  of  hereditary 
Conservatives.  Liberals,  but  honest 
ones,  speak  out  as  plainly  as  any- 
body else,  and  heartily,  and  not 
without  a  conviction  that  when  the 
time  comes  they  will  act  as  well  as 
speak.  We  hail  the  omen.  What 
Mr  Gladstone  may  be  now,  what 
he  may  become  a  year  hence,  we 
defy  the  keenest  investigator  of  his 
peculiar  nature  to  say.  But  there 
are  statesmen  in  England  besides 
Mr  Gladstone — ay,  and  outside  the 
circle  in  which  he  moves— whom 
circumstances  may,  and  probably 
will,  bring  to  the  front  ere  worse 
things  happen.  At  all  events  our 
course  is  clear.  We  will  stand  by 
the  Constitution  while  a  shred  of  it 
remains.  We  will  do  our  best  to 
sustain  the  honour  of  the  country, 
even  if  we  be  constrained  to  live 
under  something  different  from  the 
Constitution  as  it  is.  And  we 
earnestly  advise  all  who  read  these 
pages  to  enter  into  a  similar  cove- 
nant with  themselves.  A  battle  is 
never  lost  till  one  side  in  the  con- 
test despairs.  We  do  not  despair, 
and  never  will. 


Printed  by  William  Blackwood  <L  Sons,  Edinburyf/. 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBUKGH    MAGAZINE. 


No.  DCLXVII. 


MAY  1871. 


VOL.  CIX. 


THE  BATTLE   OF  DOEKING :  REMINISCENCES   OF  A  VOLUNTEER. 


You  ask  me  to  tell  you,  my  grand- 
children, something  about  my  own 
share  in  the  great  events  that  hap- 
pened fifty  years  ago.  "Tis  sad  work 
turning  back  to  that  bitter  page  in 
our  history,  but  you  may  perhaps 
take  profit  in  your  new  homes  from 
the  lesson  it  teaches.  For  us  in 
England  it  came  too  late.  And  yet 
we  had  plenty  of  warnings,  if  we 
had  only  made  use  of  them.  The 
danger  did  not  come  on  us  un- 
awares. It  burst  on  us  suddenly, 
'tis  true,  but  its  coming  was  fore- 
shadowed plainly  enough  to  open 
our  eyes,  if  we  had  not  been  wil- 
fully blind.  We  English  have  only 
ourselves  to  blame  for  the  humilia- 
tion which  has  been  brought  on  the 
land.  Venerable  old  age !  Dis- 
honourable old  age,  I  say,  when  it 
follows  a  manhood  dishonoured  as 
ours  has  been.  I  declare,  even 
now,  though  fifty  years  have  passed, 
I  can  hardly  look  a  young  man  in 
the  face  when  I  think  I  am  one  of 
those  in  whose  youth  happened  this 
degradation  of  Old  England — one  of 
those  who  betrayed  the  trust  handed 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXVII. 


down  to  us  unstained  by  our  fore- 
fathers. 

What  a  proud  and  happy  country 
was  this  fifty  years  ago  !  Free-trade 
had  been  working  for  more  than 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  no  end  to  the  riches 
it  was  bringing  us.  London  was 
growing  bigger  and  bigger ;  you 
could  not  build  houses  fast  enough 
for  the  rich  people  who  wanted  to 
live  in  them,  the  merchants  who 
made  the  money  and  came  ficm  all 
parts  of  the  world  to  settlo  there, 
and  the  lawyers  and  doctors  and 
engineers  and  others,  and  trades- 
people who  got  their  share  out  of 
the  profits.  The  streets  reached 
down  to  Croydon  and  Wimbledon, 
which  my  father  could  remember 
quite  country  places ;  and  people 
used  to  say  that  Kingston  and  Jtei- 
gate  would  soon  be  joined  to  Lon- 
don. We  thought  we  could  go  on 
building  and  multiplying  for  ever. 
'Tis  true  that  even  then  there  was 
no  lack  of  poverty;  the  people 
who  had  no  money  went  on  increas- 
ing as  fast  as  the  rich,  and  pauperism 
2p 


540 


Tlie  Battle  of  Dorking: 


[May 


was  already  beginning  to  "be  a  diffi- 
culty ;  but  if  the  rates  were  high, 
there  was  plenty  of  money  to  pay 
them  with;  and  as  for  what  were 
called  the  middle  classes,  there  really 
seemed  no  limit  to  their  increase 
and  prosperity.  People  in  those 
days  thought  it  quite  a  matter  of 
course  to  bring  a  dozen  children 
into  the  world — or,  as  it  used  to 
be  said,  Providence  sent  them  that 
number  of  babies ;  and  if  they 
couldn't  always  marry  off  all  the 
daughters,  they  used  to  manage  to 
provide  for  the  sons,  for  there  were 
new  openings  to  be  found  in  all  the 
professions,  or  in  the  Government 
offices,  which  went  on  steadily  get- 
ting larger.  Besides,  in  those  days 
young  men  could  be  sent  out  to  India, 
or  into  the  army  or  navy ;  and  even 
then  emigration  was  not  uncommon, 
although  not  the  regular  custom  it  is 
now.  Schoolmasters,  like  all  other 
professional  classes,  drove  a  capital 
trade.  They  did  not  teach  very 
much,  to  be  sure,  but  new  schools 
with  their  four  or  five  hundred  boys 
were  springing  up  all  over  the  coun- 
try. 

Fools  that  we  were !  We  thought 
that  all  this  wealth  and  prosperity 
were  sent  us  by  Providence,  and 
could  not  stop  coming.  In  our 
blindness  we  did  not  see  that  we 
were  merely  a  big  workshop,  mak- 
ing up  the  things  which  came  from 
all  parts  of  the  world ;  and  that  if 
other  nations  stopped  sending  us 
raw  goods  to  work  up,  we  could  not 
produce  them  ourselves.  True,  we 
had  in  those  days  an  advantage 
in  our  cheap  coal  and  iron;  and 
had  we  taken  care  not  to  waste  the 
fuel,  it  might  have  lasted  us  longer. 
But  even  then  there  were  signs  that 
coal  and  iron  would  soon  become 
cheaper  in  other  parts ;  while  as  to 
food  and  other  things,  England  was 
not  better  off  than  it  is  now.  We 
were  so  rich  simply  because  other 
nations  from  all  parts  of  the  world 


were  in  the  habit  of  sending  their 
goods  to  us  to  be  sold  or  manufactur- 
ed ;  and  we  thought  that  this  would 
last  for  ever.  And  so,  perhaps,  it 
might  have  lasted,  if  we  had  only 
taken  proper  means  to  keep  it;  but, 
in  our  folly,  we  were  too  careless 
even  to  insure  our  prosperity,  and 
after  the  course  of  trade  was  turned 
away  it  would  not  come  back  again. 
And  yet,  if  ever  a  nation  had  a 
plain  warning,  we  had.  If  we  were 
the  greatest  trading  country,  our 
neighbours  were  the  leading  mili- 
tary power  in  Europe.  They  were 
driving  a  good  trade,  too,  for  this 
was  before  their  foolish  communism-" 
(about  which  you  will  hear  when 
you  are  older)  had  ruined  the  rich 
without  benefiting  the  poor,  and 
they  were  in  many  respects  the  first 
nation  in  Europe ;  but  it  was  on 
their  army  that  they  prided  them- 
selves most.  And  with  reason. 
They  had  beaten  the  Russians  and 
the  Austrians,  and  the  Prussians  too, 
in  bygone  years,  and  they  thought 
they  were  invincible.  Well  do  I 
remember  the  great  review  held  at 
Paris  by  the  Emperor  Napoleon 
during  the  great  Exhibition,  and 
how  proud  he  looked  showing  off 
his  splendid  Guards  to  the  assem- 
bled kings  and  princes.  Yet,  three 
years  afterwards,  the  force  so  long 
deemed  the  first  in  Europe  was  ig- 
nominiously  beaten,  and  the  whole 
army  taken  prisoners.  Such  a  de- 
feat had  never  happened  before  in 
the  world's  history ;  and  with  this 
proof  before  us  of  the  folly  of  dis- 
believing in  the  possibility  of  dis- 
aster merely  because  it  had  never 
happened  before,  it  might  have  been 
supposed  that  we  should  have  the 
sense  to  take  the  lesson  to  heart. 
And  the  country  was  certainly 
roused  for  a  time,  and  a  cry  was 
raised  that  the  army  ought  to  be 
reorganised,  and  our  defences 
strengthened  against  the  enormous 
power  for  sudden  attacks  which  it 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


541 


was  seen  other  nations  were  able  to 
put  forth.  But  our  Government 
had  come  into  office  on  a  cry  of  re- 
trenchment, and  could  not  bring 
themselves  to  eat  their  own  pledges. 
There  was  a  Eadical  section  of  their 
party,  too,  whose  votes  had  to  be 
secured  by  conciliation,  and  which 
blindly  demanded  a  reduction  of 
armaments  as  the  price  of  allegiance. 
This  party  always  decried  military 
establishments  as  part  of  a  fixed 
policy  for  reducing  the  influence  of 
the  Crown  and  the  aristocracy.  They 
could  not  understand  that  the  times 
had  altogether  changed,  that  the 
Crown  had  really  no  power,  and  that 
the  Government  merely  existed  at 
the  pleasure  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, and  that  even  Parliament-rule 
was  beginning  to  give  way  to  mob- 
law.  At  any  rate,  the  Ministry 
were  only  too  glad  of  this  excuse  to 
give  up  all  the  strong  points  of  a 
scheme  which  they  were  not  really 
in  earnest  about.  The  fleet  and  the 
Channel,  they  said,  were  sufficient 
protection.  So  the  army  was  kept 
down,  and  the  militia  and  volun- 
teers were  left  untrained  as  before, 
because  to  call  them  out  for  drill 
would  "  interfere  with  the  industry 
of  the  country."  We  could  have 
given  up  some  of  the  industry  of 
those  days,  forsooth,  and  yet  be 
busier  than  we  are  now.  But  why 
tell  you  a  tale  you  have  so  often 
heard  already?  The  nation,  although 
uneasy,  was  misled  by  the  false 
security  its  leaders  professed  to 
feel ;  the  warning  given  by  the  dis- 
asters that  overtook  France  was  al- 
lowed to  pass  by  unheeded.  The 
French  trusted  in  their  army  and 
its  great  reputation,  we  in  our  fleet; 
and  in  each  case  the  result  of  this 
blind  confidence  was  disaster,  such 
as  our  forefathers  in  their  hardest 
struggles  could  not  have  even  ima- 
gined. 

I  need  hardly  tell  you  how  the 
crash  came  about.     First,  the  rising 


in  India  drew  away  a  part  of  our 
small  army;  then  came  the  difficul- 
ty with  America,  which  had  been 
threatening  for  years,  and  we  sent 
off  ten  thousand  men  to  defend 
Canada — a  handful  which  did  not 
go  far  to  strengthen  the  real  de- 
fences of  that  country,  but  formed  an 
irresistible  temptation  to  the  Ameri- 
cans to  try  and  take  them  prisoners, 
especially  as  the  contingent  included 
three  battalions  of  the  Guards.  Thus 
the  regular  army  at  home  was  even 
smaller  than  usual,  and  nearly  half 
of  it  was  in  Ireland  to  check  the 
talked-of  Fenian  invasion  fitting  out 
in  the  West.  Worse  still — though  I 
do  not  know  it  would  really  have 
mattered  as  things  turned  out — the 
fleet  was  scattered  abroad :  some 
ships  to  guard  the  West  Indies, 
others  to  check  privateering  in  the 
China  seas,  and  a  large  part  to  try 
and  protect  our  colonies  on  the 
Northern  Pacific  shore  of  America, 
where,  with  incredible  folly,  we  con- 
tinued to  retain  possessions  which 
we  could  not  possibly  defend. 
America  was  not  the  great  power 
forty  years  ago  that  it  is  now ;  but 
for  us  to  try  and  hold  territory  on 
her  shores  which  could  only  be 
reached  by  sailing  round  the  Horn, 
was  as  absurd  as  if  she  had  attempt- 
ed to  take  the  Isle  of  Man  before 
the  independence  of  Ireland.  We 
see  this  plainly  enough  now,  but 
we  were  all  blind  then. 

It  was  while  we  were  in  this 
state,  with  our  ships  all  over  the 
world,  and  our  little  bit  of  an  army 
cut  up  into  detachments,  that  the 
Secret  Treaty  was  published,  and 
Holland  and  Denmark  were  an- 
nexed. People  say  now  that  we 
might  have  escaped  the  troubles 
which  came  on  us  if  we  had  at  any 
rate  kept  quiet  till  our  other  diffi- 
culties were  settled ;  but  the  English 
were  always  an  impulsive  lot :  the 
whole  country  was  boiling  over 
with  indignation,  and  the  Govern- 


542 


The  Battle  of  Dorking: 


[May 


ment,  egged  on  by  the  press,  and 
going  with  the  stream,  declared  war. 
We  had  always  got  out  of  scrapes 
before,  and  we  believed  our  old  luck 
and  pluck  would  somehow  pull  us 
through. 

Then,  of  course,  there  was  bustle 
and  hurry  all  over  the  land.  Not 
that  the  calling  up  of  the  army  re- 
serves caused  much  stir,  for  I  think 
there  were  only  about  5000  alto- 
gether, and  a  good  many  of  these 
were  not  to  be  found  when  the  time 
came ;  but  recruiting  was  going  on  all 
over  the  country,  with  a  tremendous 
high  bounty,  50,000  more  men  hav- 
ing been  voted  for  the  army.  Then 
there  was  a  Ballot  Bill  passed  for 
adding  55,000  men  to  the  militia ; 
why  a  round  number  was  not  fixed 
on  I  don't  know,  but  the  Prime 
Minister  said  that  this  was  the  exact 
quota  wanted  to  put  the  defences  of 
the  country  on  a  sound  footing. 
Then  the  shipbuilding  that  began  ! 
Ironclads,  despatch-boats,  gunboats, 
monitors, — every  building -yard  in 
the  country  got  its  job,  and  they  were 
offering  ten  shillings  a -day  wages 
for  anybody  who  could  drive  a  rivet. 
This  didn't  improve  the  recruiting, 
you  may  suppose.  I  remember,  too, 
there  was  a  squabble  in  the  House 
of  Commons  about  whether  artisans 
should  be  drawn  for  the  ballot,  as 
they  were  so  much  wanted,  and  I 
think  they  got  an  exemption.  This 
sent  numbers  to  the  yards ;  and  if 
we  had  had  a  couple  of  years  to 
prepare  instead  of  a  couple  of  weeks, 
I  daresay  we  should  have  done 
very  well. 

It  was  on  a  Monday  that  the 
declaration  of  war  was  announced, 
and  in  a  few  hours  we  got  our  first 
inkling  of  the  sort  of  preparation 
the  enemy  had  made  for  the  event 
which  they  had  really  brought  about, 
although  the  actual  declaration  was 
made  by  us.  A  pious  appeal  to  the 
God  of  battles,  whom  it  was  said  we 
had  aroused,  was  telegraphed  back; 


and  from  that  moment  all  com- 
munication with  the  north  of  Europe 
was  cut  off".  Our  embassies  and 
legations  were  packed  off"  at  an 
hour's  notice,  and  it  was  as  if  we  had 
suddenly  come  back  to  the  middle 
ages.  The  dumb  astonishment 
visible  all  over  London  the  next 
morning,  when  the  papers  came  out 
void  of  news,  merely  hinting  at 
what  had  happened,  was  one  of  the 
most  startling  things  in  this  war 
of  surprises.  But  everything  had 
been  arranged  beforehand ;  nor 
ought  we  to  have  been  surprised, 
for  we  had  seen  the  same  Power, 
only  a  few  months  before,  move 
down  half  a  million  of  men  on  a 
few  days'  notice,  to  conquer  the 
greatest  military  nation  in  Europe, 
with  no  more  fuss  than  our  War 
Office  used  to  make  over  the  trans- 
port of  a  brigade  from  Aldershot  to 
Brighton, — and  this,  too,  without  the 
allies  it  had  now.  What  happened 
now  was  not  a  bit  more  wonderful 
in  reality ;  but  people  of  this  coun- 
try could  not  bring  themselves  to 
believe  that  what  had  never  occur- 
red before  to  England  could  ever 
possibly  happen.  Like  our  neigh- 
bours, we  became  wise  when  it  was 
too  late. 

Of  course  the  papers  were  not  long 
in  getting  news — even  the  mighty  or- 
ganisation set  at  work  could  not  shut 
out  a  special  correspondent ;  and  in 
a  very  few  days,  although  the  tele- 
graphs and  railways  were  intercepted 
right  across  Europe,  the  main  facts 
oozed  out.  An  embargo  had  been 
laid  on  all  the  shipping  in  every 
port  from  the  Baltic  to  Ostend ;  the 
fleets  of  the  two  great  Powers  had 
moved  out,  and  it  was  supposed 
were  assembled  in  the  great  nor- 
thern harbour,  and  troops  were  hur- 
rying on  board  all  the  steamers 
detained  in  these  places,  most  of 
which  were  British  vessels.  It 
was  clear  that  invasion  was  intend- 
ed. Even  then  we  might  have  been 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


543 


saved,  if  the  fleet  had  been  ready. 
The  forts  which  guarded  the  flo- 
tilla were  perhaps  too  strong  for 
shipping  to  attempt ;  but  an  ironclad 
or  two,  handled  as  British  sailors 
knew  how  to  use  them,  might  have 
destroyed  or  damaged  a  part  of  the 
transports,  and  delayed  the  expedi- 
tion, giving  us  what  we  wanted, 
time.  But  then  the  best  part  of  the 
fleet  had  been  decoyed  down  to  the 
Dardanelles,  and  what  remained  of 
the  Channel  squadron  was  looking 
after  Fenian  filibusters  off  the  west 
of  Ireland  ;  so  it  was  ten  days  be- 
fore the  fleet  was  got  together,  and 
by  that  time  it  was  plain  the  enemy's 
preparations  were  too  far  advanced 
to  be  stopped  by  a  coup-de-main. 
Information,  which  came  chiefly 
through  Italy,  came  slowly,  and  was 
more  or  less  vague  and  uncertain ; 
but  this  much  was  known,  that  at 
least  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand 
men  were  embarked  or  ready  to  be 
put  on  board  ships,  and  that  the 
flotilla  was  guarded  by  more  iron- 
clads than  we  could  then  muster.  I 
suppose  it  was  the  uncertainty  as  to 
the  point  the  enemy  would  aim  at 
for  landing,  and  the  fear  lest  he 
should  give  us  the  go-by,  that  kept 
the  fleet  for  several  days  in  the 
Downs;  but  it  was  not  until  the 
Tuesday  fortnight  after  the  declara- 
tion of  war  that  it  weighed  anchor 
and  steamed  away  for  the  North 
Sea.  Of  course  you  have  read  about 
the  Queen's  visit  to  the  fleet  the  day 
before,  and  how  she  sailed  round  the 
ships  in  her  yacht,  and  went  on  board 
the  flag-ship  to  take  leave  of  the  ad- 
miral ;  how,  overcome  with  emotion, 
she  told  him  that  the  safety  of  the 
country  was  committed  to  his  keep- 
ing. You  remember,  too,  the  gallant 
old  officer's  reply,  and  how  all  the 
ships'  yards  were  manned,  and  how 
lustily  the  tars  cheered  as  her  Ma- 
jesty was  rowed  off.  The  account 
was  of  course  telegraphed  to  London, 
and  the  high  spirits  of  the  fleet  in- 


fected the  whole  town.  I  was  out- 
side the  Charing  Cross  station  when 
the  Queen's  special  train  from  Dover 
arrived,  and  from  the  cheering  and 
shouting  which  greeted  her  as  she 
drove  away,  you  might  have  sup- 
posed we  had  already  won  a  great 
victory.  The  journals  which  had 
gone  in  strongly  for  the  army  re- 
duction carried  out  during  the  ses- 
sion, and  had  been  nervous  and 
desponding  in  tone  during  the  past 
fortnight,  suggesting  all  sorts  of 
compromises  as  a  way  of  getting 
out  of  the  war,  came  out  in  a 
very  jubilant  form  next  morning. 
"Panic-stricken  inquirers,"  they 
said,  "  ask  now,  where  are  the  means 
of  meeting  the  invasion  ?  We  reply 
that  the  invasion  will  never  take 
place.  A  British  fleet,  manned  by 
British  sailors  whose  courage  and 
enthusiasm  are  reflected  in  the  peo- 
ple of  this  country,  is  already  on  the 
way  to  meet  the  presumptuous  foe. 
The  issue  of  a  contest  between  Brit- 
ish ships  and  those  of  any  other 
country,  under  anything  like  equal 
odds,  can  never  be  doubtful.  Eng- 
land awaits  with  calm  confidence  the 
issue  of  the  impending  action." 

Such  were  the  words  of  the  lead- 
ing article,  and  so  we  all  felt.  It 
was  on  Tuesday,  the  10th  of  August, 
that  the  fleet  sailed  from  the  Downs. 
It  took  with  it  a  submarine  cable  to 
lay  down  as  it  advanced,  so  that 
continuous  communication  was  kept 
up,  and  the  papers  were  publishing 
special  editions  every  few  minutes 
with  the  latest  news.  This  was  the 
first  time  such  a  thing  had  been 
done,  and  the  feat  was  accepted  as 
a  good  omen.  Whether  it  is  true 
that  the  Admiralty  made  use  of  the 
cable  to  keep  on  sending  contradic- 
tory orders,  which  took  the  command 
out  of  the  admiral's  hands,  I  can't 
say ;  but  all  that  the  admiral  sent  in 
return  was  a  few  messages  of  the 
briefest  kind,  which  neither  the  Ad- 
miralty nor  any  one  else  could  have 


544 


The  Battle  of  Dorking : 


made  any  use  of.  Such  a  ship  had 
gone  off  reconnoitring ;  such  another 
had  rejoined — fleet  was  in  latitude 
so  and  so.  This  went  on  till  the 
Thursday  morning.  I  had  just 
come  up  to  town  by  train  as  usual, 
and  was  walking  to  my  office,  when 
the  newsboys  began  to  cry,  "  !N~ew 
edition — enemy's  fleet  in  sight  \  " 
You  may  imagine  the  scene  in 
London  \  Business  still  went  on 
at  the  banks,  for  bills  matured  al- 
though the  independence  of  the 
country  was  being  fought  out  under 
our  own  eyes,  so  to  say;  and  the 
speculators  were  active  enough. 
But  even  with  the  people  who  were 
making  and  losing  their  fortunes, 
the  interest  in  the  fleet  overcame 
everything  else ;  men  who  went 
to  pay  in  or  draw  out  their  money 
stopped  to  show  the  last  bulletin  to 
the  cashier.  As  for  the  street,  you 
could  hardly  get  along  for  the  crowd 
stopping  to  buy  and  read  the  papers ; 
while  at  every  house  or  office  the 
members  sat  restlessly  in  the  com- 
mon room,  as  if  to  keep  together 
for  company,  sending  out  some  one  of 
their  number  every  few  minutes  to 
get  the  latest  edition.  At  least  this 
is  what  happened  at  our  office;  but 
to  sit  still  was  as  impossible  as  to 
do  anything,  and  most  of  us  went 
out  and  wandered  about  among  the 
crowd,  under  a  sort  of  feeling  that 
the  news  was  got  quicker  at  in  this 
way.  Bad  as  were  the  times  com- 
ing, I  think  the  sickening  suspense 
of  that  day,  and  the  shock  which 
followed,  was  almost  the  worst  that 
we  underwent.  It  was  about  ten 
o'clock  that  the  first  telegram  came  ; 
an  hour  later  the  wire  announced 
that  the  admiral  had  signalled  to 
form  line  of  battle,  and  shortly 
afterwards  that  the  order  was  given 
to  bear  down  on  the  enemy  and 
engage.  At  twelve  came  the  an- 
nouncement, "  Fleet  opened  fire 
about  three  miles  to  leeward  of  us" 
— that  is,  the  ship  with  the  cable. 


So  far  all  had  been  expectancy,  then 
came  the  first  token  of  calamity. 
"  An  ironclad  has  been  blown  up  " 
— "  the  enemy's  torpedoes  are  doing 
great  damage"  —  "the  flagship  is 
laid  aboard  the  enemy" — "  the  flag- 
ship appears  to  be  sinking  " — "  the 
vice-admiral  has  signalled  " — there 
the  cable  became  silent,  and,  as  you 
know,  we  heard  no  more  till  two 
days  afterwards.  The  solitary  iron- 
clad which  escaped  the  disaster 
steamed  into  Portsmouth. 

Then  the  whole  story  came  out 
— how  our  sailors,  gallant  as  ever, 
had  tried  to  close  with  the  enemy  ; 
how  the  latter  evaded  the  conflict  at 
close  quarters,  and,  sheering  off,  left — • 
behind  them  the  fatal  engines  which 
sent  our  ships,  one  after  the  other, 
to  the  bottom ;  how  all  this  hap- 
pened almost  in  a  few  minutes. 
The  Government,  it  appears,  had 
received  warnings  of  this  invention ; 
but  to  the  nation  this  stunning 
blow  was  utterly  unexpected.  That 
Thursday  I  had  to  go  home  early 
for  regimental  drill,  but  it  was  im- 
possible to  remain  doing  nothing,  so 
when  that  was  over  I  went  up  to 
town  again,  and  after  waiting  in 
expectation  of  news  which  never 
came,  and  missing  the  midnight 
train,  I  walked  home.  It  was  a 
hot  sultry  night,  and  I  did  not  ar- 
rive till  near  sunrise.  The  whole 
town  was  quite  still — the  lull  be- 
fore the  storm  ;  and  as  I  let  myself 
in  with  my  latch-key,  and  went 
softly  up-stairs  to  my  room  to  avoid 
waking  the  sleeping  household,  I 
could  not  but  contrast  the  peaceful- 
ness  of  the  morning — no  sound 
breaking  the  silence  but  the  singing 
of  the  birds  in  the  garden — with 
the  passionate  remorse  and  indigna- 
tion that  would  break  out  with  the 
day.  Perhaps  the  inmates  of  the 
rooms  were  as  wakeful  as  myself ; 
but  the  house  in  its  stillness  was 
just  as  it  used  to  be  when  I  came 
home  alone  from  balls  or  parties  iu 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


545 


the  happy  days  gone  by.  Tired 
though  I  was,  I  could  not  sleep,  so 
I  went  down  to  the  river  and  had 
a  swim  ;  and  on  returning  found 
the  household  was  assembling  for 
early  breakfast.  A  sorrowful  house- 
hold it  was,  although  the  burden 
pressing  on  each  was  partly  an  un- 
seen one.  My  father,  doubting 
whether  his  firm  could  last  through 
the  day ;  my  mother,  her  distress 
about  my  brother,  now  with  his 
regiment  on  the  coast,  already  ex- 
ceeding that  which  she  felt  for  the 
public  misfortune,  had  come  down, 
although  hardly  fit  to  leave  her  room. 
My  sister  Clara  was  worst  of  all,  for 
she  could  not  but  try  to  disguise 
her  special  interest  in  the  fleet ;  and 
though  we  had  all  guessed  that  her 
heart  was  given  to  the  young  lieu- 
tenant in  the  flagship — the  first  to 
go  down — a  love  unclaimed  could 
not  be  told,  nor  could  we  express 
the  sympathy  we  felt  for  the  poor 
girl.  That  breakfast,  the  last  meal 
we  ever  had  together,  was  soon 
ended,  and  my  father  and  I  went  up 
to  town  by  an  early  train,  and  got 
there  just  as  the  fatal  announce- 
ment of  the  loss  of  the  fleet  was 
telegraphed  from  Portsmouth. 

The  panic  and  excitement  of  that 
day — how  the  funds  went  down  to 
35  ;  the  run  upon  the  bank  and  its 
stoppage ;  the  fall  of  half  the  houses 
in  the  city;  how  the  Government 
issued  a  notification  suspending 
specie  payment  and  the  tendering 
of  bills — this  last  precaution  too 
late  for  most  firms,  Carter  &  Co. 
among  the  number,  which  stopped 
payment  as  soon  as  my  father  got 
to  the  office ;  the  call  to  arms,  and 
the  unanimous  response  of  the 
country — all  this  is  history  which  I 
need  not  repeat.  You  wish  to  hear 
about  my  own  share  in  the  business 
of  the  time.  Well,  volunteering 
had  increased  immensely  from  the 
day  war  was  proclaimed,  and  our 
regiment  went  up  in  a  day  or  two 


from  its  usual  strength  of  600  to 
nearly  1000.  But  the  stock  of  rifles 
was  deficient.  We  were  promised 
a  further  supply  in  a  few  days, 
which,  however,  we  never  received ; 
and  while  waiting  for  them  the  regi- 
ment had  to  be  divided  into  two 
parts,  the  recruits  drilling  with  the 
rifles  in  the  morning,  and  we  old 
hands  in  the  evening.  The  failures 
and  stoppage  of  work  on  this  black 
Friday  threw  an  immense  number 
of  young  men  out  of  employment, 
and  we  recruited  up  to  1400  strong 
by  the  next  day;  but  what  was  the 
use  of  all  these  men  without  arms  ? 
On  the  Saturday  it  was  announced 
that  a  lot  of  smooth-bore  muskets  in 
store  at  the  Tower  would  be  served 
out  to  regiments  applying  for  them, 
and  a  regular  scramble  took  place 
among  the  volunteers  for  them,  and 
our  people  got  hold  of  a  couple  of 
hundred.  But  you  might  almost  as 
well  have  tried  to  learn  rifle-drill 
with  a  broomstick  as  with  old 
brown  bess  ;  besides,  there  was  no 
smooth-bore  ammunition  in  the 
country.  A  national  subscription 
was  opened  for  the  manufacture  of 
rifles  at  Birmingham,  which  ran  up 
to  a  couple  of  millions  in  two  days, 
but,  like  everything  else,  this  came 
too  late.  To  return  to  the  volun- 
teers :  camps  had  been  formed  a 
fortnight  before  at  Dover,  Brighton, 
Harwich,  and  other  places,  of  regulars 
and  militia,  and  the  headquarters  of 
most  of  the  volunteer  regiments 
were  attached  to  one  or  other  of 
them,  and  the  volunteers  themselves 
used  to  go  down  for  drill  from  day 
to  day,  as  they  could  spare  time, 
and  on  Friday  an  order  went  out 
that  they  should  be  permanently 
embodied ;  but  the  metropolitan 
volunteers  were  still  kept  about 
London  as  a  sort  of  reserve,  till  it 
could  be  seen  at  what  point  the  in- 
vasion would  take  place.  We  were 
all  told  off  to  brigades  and  divisions. 
Our  brigade  consisted  of  the  4th 


546 


The  Battle  of  Dorking  : 


[May 


Royal  Surrey  Militia,  the  1st  Surrey 
Administrative  Battalion,  as  it  was 
called,  at  Clapham,  the  7th  Surrey 
Volunteers  at  Southwark,  and  our- 
selves; but  only  our  battalion  and 
the   militia  were  quartered  in  the 
same  place,  and  the  whole  brigade 
had  merely  two  or  three  afternoons 
together    at    brigade    exercise    in 
Bushey  Park  before  the  march  took 
place.     Our  brigadier  belonged  to  a 
line  regiment  in  Ireland,  and  did 
not  join  till  the  very  morning  the 
order  came.     Meanwhile,  during  the 
preliminary  fortnight,   the    militia 
colonel   commanded.     But   though 
we  volunteers  were  busy  with  our 
drill  and  preparations,  those  of  us 
who,  like  my  self,  belonged  to  Govern- 
ment offices,  had  more  than  enough 
of  office  work  to  do,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose.    The   volunteer   clerks   were 
,   allowed  to  leave  office  at  four  o'clock, 
but  the  rest  were  kept  hard  at  the 
desk  far  into  the  night.     Orders  to 
the  lord-lieutenants,  to  the  magis- 
trates, notifications,  all  the  arrange- 
ments for  cleaning  out  the  work- 
houses for  hospitals — these   and   a 
hundred   other  things   had   to    be 
managed  in  our  office,  and  there  was 
as  much  bustle  in -doors   as   out. 
Fortunate  we  were  to  be  so  busy — 
the  people  to  be  pitied  were  those 
who  had  nothing  to  do.     And  on 
Sunday  (that  was  the  15th  August) 
work  went  on  just  as  usual.    We  had 
an  early  parade  and  drill,  and  I  went 
up  to  town  by  the  nine  o'clock  train 
in  my  uniform,  taking  my  rifle  with 
me  in  case  of  accidents,  and  luckily 
too,  as  it  turned  out,  a  mackintosh 
overcoat.     When  I  got  to  Waterloo 
there  were  all  sorts  of  rumours  afloat. 
A  fleet  had  been  seen  off  the  Downs, 
and   some   of    the   despatch  -  boats 
which  were    hovering    about    the 
coasts  brought  news  that  there  was 
a  large  flotilla  off  Harwich,  but  no- 
thing could  be  seen  from  the  shore, 
as    the   weather  was    hazy.      The 
enemy's  light  ships  had  taken  and 


sunk  all  the  fishing -boats  they 
could  catch,  to  prevent  the  news 
of  their  whereabouts  reaching  us, 
but  a  few  escaped  during  the 
night  and  reported  that  the  In- 
constant frigate  coming  home  from 
North  America,  without  any  know- 
ledge of  what  had  taken  place,  had 
sailed  right  into  the  enemy's  fleet 
and  been  captured.  In  town  the 
troops  were  all  getting  ready  for  a 
move ;  the  Guards  in  the  Welling- 
ton Barracks  were  under  arms,  and 
their  baggage- waggons  packed  and 
drawn  up  in  the  Bird-cage  Walk. 
The  usual  guard  at  the  Horse  Guards 
had  been  withdrawn,  and  orderlies 
and  staff-officers  were  going  to  and 
fro.  All  this  I  saw  on  the  way  to 
my  office,  where  I  worked  away  till 
twelve  o'clock,  and  then  feeling 
hungry  after  my  early  breakfast,  I 
went  across  Parliament  Street  to 
my  club  to  get  some  luncheon. 
There  were  about  half-a-dozen  men 
in  the  coffee-room,  none  of  whom  I 
knew;  but  in  a  minute  or  two  Dan- 
vers  of  the  Treasury  entered  in  a 
tremendous  hurry.  From  him  I 
got  the  first  bit  of  authentic  news  I 
had  had  that  day.  The  enemy  had 
landed  in  force  near  Harwich,  and 
the  metropolitan  regiments  were 
ordered  down  there  to  reinforce  the 
troops  already  collected  in  that 
neighbourhood ;  his  regiment  was 
to  parade  at  one  o'clock,  and  he  had 
come  to  get  something  to  eat  before 
starting.  We  bolted  a  hurried  lunch, 
and  were  just  leaving  the  club  when 
a  messenger  from  the  Treasury  came 
running  into  the  halL 

"  Oh,  Mr  Danvers,"  said  he,  "  I've 
come  to  look  for  you,  sir ;  the  secre- 
tary says  that  all  the  gentlemen  are 
wanted  at  the  office,  and  that  you 
must  please  not  one  of  you  go  with 
the  regiments." 

"  The  devil ! "  cried  Danvers. 

"Do  you  know  if  that  order 
extends  to  all  the  public  offices  1 "  I 
asked. 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


547 


"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  man, 
"  but  I  believe  it  do.  I  know 
there's  messengers  gone  round  to  all 
the  clubs  and  luncheon-bars  to  look 
for  the  gentlemen;  the  secretary 
says  it's  quite  impossible  any  one 
can  be  spared  just  now,  there's  so 
much  work  to  do ;  there's  orders 
just  come  to  send  off  our  records  to 
Birmingham  to-night." 

I  did  not  wait  to  condole  with 
Danvers,  but,  just  glancing  up 
Whitehall  to  see  if  any  of  our  mes- 
sengers were  in  pursuit,  I  ran  off  as 
hard  as  I  could  for  Westminster 
Bridge,  and  so  to  the  Waterloo 
station. 

The  place  had  quite  changed  its  as- 
pect since  the  morning.  The  regular 
service  of  trains  had  ceased,  and 
the  station  and  approaches  were  full 
of  troops,  among  them  the  Guards 
and  artillery.  Everything  was  very 
orderly;  the  men  had  piled  arms, 
and  were  standing  about  in  groups. 
There  was  no  sign  of  high  spirits 
or  enthusiasm.  Matters  had  become 
too  serious.  Every  man's  face  re- 
flected the  general  feeling  that  we 
had  neglected  the  warnings  given 
us,  and  that  now  the  danger  so  long 
derided  as  impossible  and  absurd 
had  really  come  and  found  us  un- 
prepared. But  the  soldiers,  if  grave, 
looked  determined,  like  men  who 
meant  to  do  their  duty  whatever 
might  happen.  A  train  full  of 
Guardsmen  was  just  starting  for 
Guildford.  I  was  told  it  would 
stop  at  Surbiton,  and,  with  several 
other  volunteers,  hurrying  like  my- 
self to  join  our  regiment,  got  a 
place  in  it.  We  did  not  arrive  a 
moment  too  soon,  for  the  regiment 
was  marching  from  Kingston  down 
to  the  station.  The  destination  of 
our  brigade  was  the  east  coast. 
Empty  carriages  were  drawn  up  in 
the  siding,  and  our  regiment  was  to 
go  first.  A  large  crowd  was  assem- 
bled to  see  it  off,  including  the  re- 
cruits who  had  joined  during  the 


last  fortnight,  and  who  formed  by 
far  the  largest  part  of  our  strength. 
They  were  to  stay  behind,  and  were 
certainly  very  much  in  the  way 
already ;  for  as  all  the  officers  and 
sergeants  belonged  to  the  active 
part,  there  was  no  one  to  keep  dis- 
cipline among  them,  and  they  came 
crowding  around  us,  breaking  the 
ranks  and  making  it  difficult  to  get 
into  the  train.  Here  I  saw  our  new 
brigadier  for  the  first  time.  He  was 
a  soldier-like  man,  and  no  doubt 
knew  his  duty,  but  he  appeared 
new  to  volunteers,  and  did  not 
seem  to  know  how  to  deal  with 
gentlemen  privates.  I  wanted  very 
much  to  run  home  and  get  my  great- 
coat and  knapsack,  which  I  had 
bought  a  few  days  ago,  but  feared  to 
be  left  behind  ;  a  good-natured  re- 
cruit volunteered  to  fetch  them  for 
me,  but  he  had  not  returned  before 
•  we  started,  and  I  began  the  campaign 
with  a  kit  consisting  of  a  mackintosh 
and  a  small  pouch  of  tobacco. 

It  was  a  tremendous  squeeze  in 
the  train  ;  for,  besides  the  ten  men 
sitting  down,  there  were  three  or 
four  standing  up  in  every  compart- 
ment, and  the  afternoon  was  close 
and  sultry,  and  there  were  so  many 
stoppages  on  the  way  that  we  took 
nearly  an  hour  and  a  half  crawling 
up  to  Waterloo.  It  was  between 
five  and  six  in  the  afternoon  when 
we  arrived  there,  and  it  was  nearly 
seven  before  we  marched  up  to  the 
Shoreditch  station.  The  whole 
place  was  filled  up  with  stores 
and  ammunition,  to  be  sent  off  to 
the  East,  so  we  piled  arms  in  the 
street  and  scattered  about  to  get 
food  and  drink,  of  which  most  of 
us  stood  in  need,  especially  the 
latter,  for  some  were  already  feeling 
the  worse  for  the  heat  and  crush.  I 
was  just  stepping  into  a  public- 
house  with  Travers,  when  who 
should  drive  up  but  his  pretty 
wife  ?  Most  of  our  friends  had  paid 
their  adieus  at  the  Surbiton  sta- 


548 


Tlie  Battle  of  Dorking  : 


[May 


tion,  but  she  had  driven  up  by  the 
road  in  his  brougham,  bringing  their 
little  boy  to  have  a  last  look  at 
papa.  She  had  also  brought  his 
knapsack  and  greatcoat,  and,  what 
was  still  more  acceptable,  a  basket 
containing  fowls,  tongue,  bread-and- 
butter,  and  biscuits,  and  a  couple 
of  bottles  of  claret, — which  price- 
less luxuries  they  insisted  on  my 
sharing. 

Meanwhile  the  hours  went  on. 
The  4th  Surrey  Militia,  which 
had  marched  all  the  way  from 
Kingston,  had  come  up,  as  well  as 
the  other  volunteer  corps ;  the  sta- 
tion had  been  partly  cleared  of  the 
stores  that  encumbered  it ;  some 
artillery,  two  militia  regiments,  and 
a  battalion  of  the-  line,  had  been 
despatched,  and  our  turn  to  start 
had  come,  and  long  lines  of  carriages 
were  drawn  up  ready  for  us ;  but 
still  we  remained  in  the  street. 
You  may  fancy  the  scene.  There 
seemed  to  be  as  many  people  as 
ever  in  London,  and  we  could 
hardly  move  for  the  crowds  of  spec- 
tators— fellows  hawking  fruits  and 
volunteers'  comforts,  newsboys,  and 
so  forth,  to  say  nothing  of  the  cabs 
and  omnibuses ;  while  orderlies 
and  staff -officers  were  constantly 
riding  up  with  messages.  A  good 
many  of  the  militiamen,  and  some 
of  our  people,  too,  had  taken  more 
than  enough  to  drink;  perhaps  a 
hot  sun  had  told  on  empty  stom- 
achs ;  anyhow,  they  became  very 
noisy.  The  din,  dirt,  and  heat 
were  indescribable.  So  the  evening 
wore  on,  and  all  the  information 
our  officers  could  get  from  the 
brigadier,  who  appeared  to  be  act- 
ing under  another  general,  was,  that 
orders  had  come  to  stand  fast  for 
the  present.  Gradually  the  street 
became  quieter  and  cooler.  The 
brigadier,  who,  by  way  of  setting  an 
example,  had  remained  for  some 
hours  without  leaving  his  saddle, 
had  got  a  chair  out  of  a  shop,  and 


sat  nodding  in  it;  most  of  the 
men  were  lying  down  or  sitting  on 
the  pavement — some  sleeping,  some 
smoking.  In  vain  had  Travers 
begged  his  wife  to  go  home.  She 
declared  that,  having  come  so  far, 
she  would  stay  and  see  the  last  of 
us.  The  brougham  had  been  sent 
away  to  a  by-street,  as  it  blocked 
up  the  road ;  so  he  sat  on  a  door- 
step, she  by  him  on  the  knapsack. 
Little  Arthur,  who  had  been  de- 
lighted at  the  bustle  and  the  uni- 
forms, and  in  high  spirits,  became 
at  last  very  cross,  and  eventually 
cried  himself  to  sleep  in  his  father's 
arms,  his  golden  hair  and  one  little 
dimpled  arm  hanging  over  his 
shoulder.  Thus  went  on  the  weary 
hours,  till  suddenly  the  assembly 
sounded,  and  we  all  started  up. 
We  were  to  return  to  Waterloo. 
The  landing  on  the  east  was  only  a 
feint — so  ran  the  rumour — the  real 
attack  was  on  the  south.  Anything 
seemed  better  than  indecision  and 
delay,  and,  tired  though  we  were, 
the  march  back  was  gladly  hailed. 
Mrs  Travers,  who  made  us  take  the 
remains  of  the  luncheon  with  us,  we 
left  to  look  for^her  carriage ;  little 
Arthur,  who  was  awake  again,  but 
very  good  and  quiet,  in  her  arms. 

We  did  not  reach  Waterloo  till 
nearly  midnight,  and  there  was 
some  delay  in  starting  again.  Se- 
veral volunteer  and  militia  regi- 
ments had  arrived  from  the  north  ; 
the  station  and  all  its  approaches 
were  jammed  up  with  men,  and 
trains  were  being  despatched  away 
as  fast  as  they  could  be  made  up. 
All  this  time  no  news  had  reached 
us  since  the  first  announcement ; 
but  the  excitement  then  aroused  had 
now  passed  away  under  the  influ- 
ence of  fatigue  and  want  of  sleep, 
and  most  of  us  dozed  off  as  soon 
as  we  got  under  way.  I  did,  at 
any  rate,  and  was  awoke  by  the  train 
stopping  at  Leatherhead.  There 
was  an  up-train  returning  to  town, 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


549 


and  some  persons  in  it  were  bring- 
ing up  news  from  the  coast.  We 
could  not,  from  our  part  of  the  train, 
hear  what  they  said,  but  the  rumour 
was  passed  up  from  one  carriage  to 
another.  The  enemy  had  landed  in 
force  at  Worthing.  Their  position 
had  been  attacked  by  the  troops 
from  the  camp  near  Brighton,  and 
the  action  would  be  renewed  in  the 
morning.  The  volunteers  had  be- 
haved very  well.  This  was  all  the 
information  we  could  get.  So,  then, 
the  invasion  had  come  at  last.  It 
was  clear,  at  any  rate,  from  what  was 
said,  that  the  enemy  had  not  been 
driven  back  yet,  and  we  should  be 
in  time  most  likely  to  take  a  share 
in  the  defence.  It  was  sunrise  when 
the  train  crawled  into  Dorking,  for 
there  had  been  numerous  stoppages 
on  the  way;  and  here  it  was  pulled 
up  for  a  long  time,  and  we  were  told 
to  get  out  and  stretch  ourselves — an 
order  gladly  responded  to,  for  we 
had  been  very  closely  packed  all 
night.  Most  of  us,  too,  took  the 
opportunity  to  make  an  early  break- 
fast off  the  food  we  had  brought  from 
Shoreditch.  I  had  the  remains  of 
Mrs  Travers's  fowl  and  some  bread 
wrapped  up  in  my  waterproof,  which 
I  shared  with  one  or  two  less  pro- 
vident comrades.  We  could  see 
from  our  halting-place  that  the  line 
was  blocked  with  trains  beyond  and 
behind.  It  must  have  been  about 
eight  o'clock  when  we  got  orders  to 
take  our  seats  again,  and  the  train 
began  to  move  slowly  on  towards 
Horsham.  Horsham  Junction  was 
the  point  to  be  occupied — so  the  ru- 
mour went;  but  about  ten  o'clock, 
when  halting  at  a  small  station  a  few 
miles  short  of  it,  the  order  came  to 
leave  the  train,  and  our  brigade  form- 
ed in  column  on  the  highroad.  Be- 
yond us  was  some  field-artillery;  and 
further  on,  so  we  were  told  by  a  staff- 
officer,  another  brigade,  which  was  to 
make  up  a  division  with  ours.  After 
more  delays  the  line  began  to  move, 


but  not  forwards  ;  our  route  was  to- 
wards the  north-west,  and  a  sort  of 
suspicion  of  the  state  of  affairs  flashed 
across  my  mind.  Horsham  was  al- 
ready occupied  by  the  enemy's  ad- 
vanced-guard, and  we  were  to  fall 
back  on  Leith  Common,  and  take 
up  a  position  threatening  his  flank, 
should  he  advance  either  to  Guild- 
ford  or  Dorking.  This  was  soon  con- 
firmed by  what  the  colonel  was  told 
by  the  brigadier  and  passed  down 
the  ranks;  and  just  now,  for  the  first 
time,  the  boom  of  artillery  came  up 
on  the  light  south  breeze.  In  about 
an  hour  the  firing  ceased.  What 
did  it  mean1?  We  could  not  tell. 
Meanwhile  our  march  continued. 
The  day  was  very  close  and  sultry, 
and  the  clouds  of  dust  stirred  up 
by  our  feet  almost  suffocated  us.  I 
had  saved  a  soda-water-bottleful  of 
yesterday's  claret ;  but  this  went 
only  a  short  way,  for  there  were 
many  mouths  to  share  "it  with,  and 
the  thirst  soon  became  as  bad  as 
ever.  Several  of  the  regiment  fell 
out  from  faintness,  and  we  made 
frequent  halts  to  rest  and  let  the 
stragglers  come  up.  At  last  we 
reached  the  top  of  Leith  Hill.  It 
is  a  striking  spot,  being  the  highest 
point  in  the  south  of  England.  The 
view  from  it  is  splendid,  and  most 
lovely  did  the  country  look  this 
summer  day,  although  the  grass  was 
brown  from  the  long  drought.  It 
was  a  great  relief  to  get  from  the 
dusty  road  on  to  the  common,  and 
at  the  top  of  the  hill  there  was  a 
refreshing  breeze.  We  could  see 
now,  for  the  first  time,  the  whole  of 
our  division.  Our  own  regiment 
did  not  muster  more  than  500,  for 
it  contained  a  large  number  of  Gov- 
ernment office  men  who  had  been 
detained,  like  Danvers,  for  duty  in 
town,  and  others  were  not  much 
larger ;  but  the  militia  regiment  was 
very  strong,  and  the  whole  division, 
I  was  told,  mustered  nearly  5000 
rank  and  file.  We  could  see  other 


550 


Tlie  Battle  of  Dorking : 


[May 


troops  also  in  extension  of  our  divi- 
sion, and  could  count  a  couple  of 
field-batteries  of  Royal  Artillery, 
besides  some  heavy  guns,  belonging 
to  the  volunteers  apparently,  drawn 
by  cart  -  horses.  The  cooler  air, 
the  sense  of  numbers,  and  the  evi- 
dent strength  of  the  position  we 
held,  raised  our  spirits,  which,  I  am 
not  ashamed  to  say,  had  all  the 
morning  been  depressed.  It  was 
not  that  we  were  not  eager  to  close 
with  the  enemy,  but  that  the  coun- 
ter-marching and  halting  ominously 
betokened  a  vacillation  of  purpose 
in  those  who  had  the  guidance  of 
affairs.  Here  in  two  days  the  in- 
vaders had  got  more  than  twenty 
miles  inland,  and  nothing  effectual 
had  been  done  to  stop  them.  And 
the  ignorance  in  which  we  volun- 
teers, from  the  colonel  downwards, 
were  kept  of  their  movements,  filled 
us  with  uneasiness.  "We  could  not 
but  depict  to  ourselves  the  enemy 
as  carrying  out  all  the  while  firmly 
his  well-considered  scheme  of  attack, 
and  contrasting  it  with  our  own  un- 
certainty of  purpose.  The  very  silence 
with  which  his  advance  appeared  to 
be  conducted  filled  us  with  mysteri- 
ous awe.  Meanwhile  the  day  wore 
on,  and  we  became  faint  with  hun- 
ger, for  we  had  eaten  nothing  since 
daybreak.  No  provisions  came  up, 
and  there  were  no  signs  of  any 
commissariat  officers.  It  seems  that 
when  we  were  at  the  "Waterloo  sta- 
tion a  whole  trainful  of  provisions 
was  drawn  up  there,  and  our  colonel 
proposed  that  one  of  the  trucks 
should  be  taken  off  and  attached  to 
our  train,  so  that  we  might  have 
some  food  at  hand;  but.  the  officer 
in  charge,  an  assistant-controller  I 
think  they  called  him — this  control 
department  was  a  newfangled  affair 
which  did  us  almost  as  much  harm 
as  the  enemy  in  the  long-run — said 
his  orders  were  to  keep  all  the  stores 
together,  and  that  he  couldn't  issue 
any  without  authority  from  the  head 


of  his  department.  So  we  had  to 
go  without.  Those  who  had  tobacco 
smoked — indeed  there  is  no  solace 
like  a  pipe  under  such  circumstances. 
The  militia  regiment,  I  heard  after- 
wards, had  two  days'  provisions  in 
their  haversacks  ;  it  was  we  volun- 
teers who  had  no  haversacks,  and 
nothing  to  put  in  them.  All  this 
time,  I  should  tell  you,  while  we 
were  lying  on  the  grass  with  our 
arms  piled,  the  General,  with  the 
brigadiers  and  staff,  was  riding  about 
slowly  from  point  to  point  of  the 
edge  of  the  common,  looking  out 
with  his  glass  towards  the  south 
valley.  Orderlies  and  staff-officers 
were  constantly  coming,  and  about 
three  o'clock  there  arrived  up  a  road 
that  led  towards  Horsham  a  small 
body  of  lancers  and  a  regiment  of 
yeomanry,  who  had,  it  appears,  been 
out  in  advance,  and  now  drew  up  a 
short  way  in  front  of  us  in  column 
facing  to  the  south.  Whether  they 
could  see  anything  in  their  front  I 
could  not  tell,  for  we  were  behind 
the  crest  of  the  hill  ourselves,  and 
so  could  not  look  into  the  valley 
below ;  but  shortly  afterwards  the 
assembly  sounded.  Commanding 
officers  were  called  out  by  the  Gen- 
eral, and  received  some  brief  instruc- 
tions ;  and  the  column  began  to 
march  again  towards  London,  the 
militia  this  time  coming  last  in  our 
brigade.  A  rumour  regarding  the 
object  of  this  counter-march  soon 
spread  through  the  ranks.  The 
enemy  was  not  going  to  attack  us 
here,  but  was  trying  to  turn  the 
position  on  both  sides,  one  column 
pointing  to  Reigate,  the  other  to 
Aldershot ;  and  so  we  must  fall  back 
and  take  up  a  position  at  Dorking. 
The  line  of  the  great  chalk-range 
was  to  be  defended.  A  large  force 
was  concentrating  at  Guildford,  an- 
other at  Reigate,  and  we  should  find 
supports  at  Dorking.  The  enemy 
would  be  awaited  in  these  positions. 
Such,  so  far  as  we  privates  could  get 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


551 


at  the  facts,  was  to  be  the  plan  of 
operations.  Down  the  hill,  there- 
fore, we  marched.  From  one  or  two 
points  we  could  catch  a  brief  sight 
of  the  railway  in  the  valley  below 
running  from  Dorking  to  Horsham. 
Men  in  red  were  working  upon  it 
here  and  there.  They  were  the 
Royal  Engineers,  some  one  said, 
breaking  up  the  line.  On  we 
marched.  The  dust  seemed  worse 
than  ever.  In  one  village  through 
which  we  passed — I  forget  the  name 
now — there  was  a  pump  on  the 
green.  Here  we  stopped  and  had  a 
good  drink  ;  and  passing  by  a  large 
farm,  the  farmer's  wife  and  two  or 
three  of  her  maids  stood  at  the  gate 
and  handed  us  hunches  of  bread  and 
cheese  out  of  some  baskets.  I  got 
the  share  of  a  bit,  but  the  bottom 
of  the  baskets  must  soon  have  been 
reached.  Not  a  thing  else  was  to 
be  had  till  we  got  to  Dorking  about 
six  o'clock ;  indeed  most  of  the 
farmhouses  appeared  deserted  al- 
ready. On  arriving  there  we  were 
drawn  up  in  the  street,  and  just 
opposite  was  a  baker's  shop.  Our 
fellows  asked  leave  at  first  by 
twos  and  threes  to  go  in  and  buy 
some  loaves,  but  soon  others  began 
to  break  off  and  crowd  into  the 
shop,  and  at  last  a  regular  scramble 
took  place.  If  there  had  been  any 
order  preserved,  and  a  regular  dis- 
tribution arranged,  they  would  no 
doubt  have  been  steady  enough,  but 
hunger  makes  men  selfish :  each 
man  felt  that  his  stopping  behind 
would  do  no  good — he  would  simply 
lose  his  share;  so  it  ended  by  al- 
most the  whole  regiment  joining 
in  the  scrimmage,  and  the  shop  was 
cleared  out  in  a  couple  of  minutes; 
while  as  for  paying,  you  could  not 
get  your  hand  into  your  pocket  for 
the  crush.  The  colonel  tried  in 
vain  to  stop  the  row;  some  of  the 
officers  were  as  bad  as  the  men. 
Just  then  a  staff-officer  rode  by ;  he 
could  scarcely  make  way  for  the 


crowd,  and  was  pushed  against  rather 
rudely,  and  in  a  passion  he  called  out 
to  us  to  behave  properly,  like  soldiers^ 
and  not  like  a  parcel  of  roughs.  "  Oh, 
blow  it,  governor,"  says  Dick  Wake, 
"  you  arn't  agoing  to  come  between 
a  poor  cove  and  his  grub."  Wake 
was  an  articled  attorney,  and,  as  we 
used  to  say  in  those  days,  a  cheeky 
young  chap,  although  a  good-natured 
fellow  enough.  At  this  speech, 
which  was  followed  by  some  more 
remarks  of  the  sort  from  those  about 
him,  the  staff-officer  became  angrier 
still.  "  Orderly,"  cried  he  to  the 
lancer  riding  behind  him,  "  take 
that  man  to  the  provost-marshal. 
As  for  you,  sir,"  he  said,  turning  to 
our  colonel,  who  sat  on  his  horse 
silent  with  astonishment,  "if  you 
don't  want  some  of  your  men  shot 
before  their  time,  you  and  your 
precious  officers  had  better  keep  this 
rabble  in  a  little  better  order;"  and 
poor  Dick,  who  looked  crest-fallen 
enough,  would  certainly  have  been 
led  off  at  the  tail  of  the  sergeant's 
horse,  if  the  brigadier  had  not  come 
up  and  arranged  matters,  and 
marched  us  off  to  the  hill  beyond 
the  town.  This  incident  made  us 
both  angry  and  crest-fallen.  We 
were  annoyed  at  being  so  roughly 
spoken  to  :  at  the  same  time  we  felt 
we  had  deserved  it,  and  were  ashamed 
of  the  misconduct.  Then,  too,  we  had 
lost  confidence  in  our  colonel,  after 
the  poor  figure  he  cut  in  the  affair. 
He  was  a  good  fellow,  the  colonel, 
and  showed  himself  a  brave  one 
next  day;  but  he  aimed  too  much 
at  being  popular,  and  didn't  under- 
stand a  bit  how  to  command. 

To  resume  : — We  had  scarcely 
reached  the  hill  above  the  town, 
which  we  were  told  was  to  be  our 
bivouac  for  the  night,  when  the 
welcome  news  came  that  a  food- 
train  had  arrived  at  the  station ;  but 
there  were  no  carts  to  bring  the  things 
up,  so  a  fatigue-party  went  down 
and  carried  back  a  supply  to  us  in 


552 


Tlie  Battle  of  Dorking  : 


their  arms, — loaves,  a  barrel  of  rum, 
packets  of  tea,  and  joints  of  meat — 
abundance  for  all;  but  there  was 
not  a  kettle  or  a  cooking-pot  in  the 
regiment,  and  we  could  not  eat  the 
meat  raw.  The  colonel  and  officers 
were  no  better  off.  They  had 
arranged  to  have  a  regular  mess, 
with  crockery,  steward,  and  all  com- 
plete, but  the  establishment  never 
turned  up,  and  what  had  become  of  it 
no  one  knew.  Some  of  us  were  sent 
back  into  the  town  to  see  what  we 
could  procure  in  the  way  of  cooking 
utensils.  We  found  the  street  full 
of  artillery,  baggage-waggons,  and 
mounted  officers,  and  volunteers 
shopping  like  ourselves  ;  and  all  the 
houses  appeared  to  be  occupied  by 
troops.  We  succeeded  in  getting  a 
few  kettles  and  saucepans,  and  I 
obtained  for  myself  a  leather  bag, 
with  a  strap  to  go  over  the  shoulder, 
which  proved  very  handy  after- 
wards ;  and  thus  laden,  we  trudged 
back  to  our  camp  on  the  hill,  filling 
the  kettles  with  dirty  water  from  a 
little  stream  which  runs  between 
the  hill  and  the  town,  for  there  was 
none  to  be  had  above.  It  was 
nearly  a  couple  of  miles  each  way ; 
and,  exhausted  as  we  were  with 
marching  and  want  of  rest,  we 
were  almost  too  tired  to  eat.  The 
cooking  was  of  the  roughest,  as  you 
may  suppose ;  all  we  could  do  was 
to  cut  off  slices  of  the  meat  and 
boil  them  in  the  saucepans,  using 
our  fingers  for  forks.  The  tea,  how- 
ever, was  very  refreshing;  and, 
thirsty  as  we  were,  we  drank  it 
by  the  gallon.  Just  before  it  grew 
dark,  the  brigade-major  came  round, 
and,  with  the  adjutant,  showed  our 
colonel  how  to  set  a  picket  in 
advance  of  our  line  a  little  way 
down  the  face  of  the  hill.  It  was 
not  necessary  to  place  one,  I  sup- 
pose, because  the  town  in  our  front 
was  still  occupied  with  troops  ;  but 
no  doubt  the  practice  would  be 
useful.  We  had  also  a  quarter- 


guard,  and  a  line  of  sentries  in 
front  and  rear  of  our  line,  com- 
municating with  those  of  the  regi- 
ments on  our  flanks.  Firewood  was 
plentiful,  for  the  hill  was  covered 
with  beautiful  wood ;  but  it  took 
some  time  to  collect  it,  for  we  had 
nothing  but  our  pocket-knives  to 
cut  down  the  branches  with. 

So  we  lay  down  to  sleep.  My 
company  had  no  duty,  and  we  had 
the  night  undisturbed  to  ourselves  ; 
but,  tired  though  I  was,  the  excite- 
ment and  the  novelty  of  the  situ- 
ation made  sleep  difficult.  And 
although  the  night  was  still  and 
warm,  and  we  were  sheltered  by  the 
woods,  I  soon  found  it  chilly  with 
no  better  covering  than  my  thin 
dust-coat,  the  more  so  as  my  clothes, 
saturated  with  perspiration  during 
the  day,  had  never  dried;  and 
before  daylight  I  woke  from  a  short 
nap,  shivering  with  cold,  and  was 
glad  to  get  warm  with  others  by  a 
fire.  I  then  noticed  that  the  oppo- 
site hills  on  the  south  were  dotted 
with  fires ;  and  we  thought  at  first 
they  must  belong  to  the  enemy,  but 
we  were  told  that  the  ground  up 
there  was  still  held  by  a  strong 
rear-guard  of  regulars,  and  that  there 
need  be  no  fear  of  a  surprise. 

At  the  first  sign  of  dawn  the 
bugles  of  the  regiments  sounded  the 
reveille,  and  we  were  ordered  to  fall 
in,  and  the  roll  was  called.  About 
twenty  men  were  absent,  who  had 
fallen  out  sick  the  day  before ;  they 
had  been  sent  up  to  London  by 
train  during  the  night,  I  believe. 
After  standing  in  column  for  about 
half  an  hour,  the  brigade-major  came 
down  with  orders  to  pile  arms  and 
stand  easy;  and  perhaps  half  an  hour 
afterwards  we  were  told  to  get 
breakfast  as  quickly  as  possible, 
and  to  cook  a  day's  food  at  the  same 
time.  This  operation  was  managed 
pretty  much  in  the  same  way  as  the 
evening  before,  except  that  we  had 
our  cooking  pots  and  kettles  ready. 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


553 


Meantime  there  was  leisure  to  look 
around,  and  from  where  we  stood 
there  was  a  commanding  view  of  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  scenes  in  Eng- 
land. Our  regiment  was  drawn  up  on 
the  extremity  of  the  ridge  which  runs 
from  Guildford  to  Dorking.  This 
is  indeed  merely  a  part  of  the  great 
chalk -range  which  extends  from 
beyond  Aldershot  east  to  the  Med- 
way ;  but  there  is  a  gap  in  the  ridge 
just  here  where  the  little  stream 
that  runs  past  Dorking  turns  sud- 
denly to  the  north,  to  find  its  way 
to  the  Thames.  We  stood  on  the 
slope  of  the  hill,  as  it  trends  down 
eastward  towards  this  gap,  and  had 
passed  our  bivouac  in  what  appeared 
to  be  a  gentleman's  park.  A  little 
way  above  us,  and  to  our  right,  was 
a  very  fine  country-seat  to  which 
the  park  was  attached,  now  occupied 
by  the  headquarters  of  our  division. 
From  this  house  the  hill  sloped 
steeply  down  southward  to  the  val- 
ley below,  which  runs  nearly  east 
and  west  parallel  to  the  ridge,  and 
carries  the  railway  and  the  road 
from  Guildford  to  Eeigate,  and  in 
which  valley,  immediately  in  front 
of  the  chateau,  and  perhaps  a  mile 
and  a  half  distant  from  it,  was 
the  little  town  of  Dorking,  nestled 
in  the  trees,  and  rising  up  the 
foot  of  the  slopes  on  the  other 
side  of  the  valley  which  stretched 
away  to  Leith  Common,  the  scene 
of  yesterday's  march.  Thus  the 
main  part  of  the  town  of  Dorking 
wa's  on  our  right  front,  but  the 
suburbs  stretched  away  eastward 
nearly  to  our  proper  front,  culminat- 
ing in  a  small  railway  station,  from 
which  the  grassy  slopes  of  the  park 
rose  up  dotted  with  shrubs  and 
trees  to  where  we  were  standing. 
Eound  this  railway  station  was  a 
cluster  of  villas  and  one  or  two  mills, 
of  whose  gardens  we  thus  had  a 
bird's-eye  view,  their  little  orna- 
mental ponds  glistening  like  looking- 
glasses  in  the  morning  sun.  Im- 


mediately on  our  left  the  park  sloped 
steeply  down  to  the  gap  before  men- 
tioned, through  which  ran  the  little 
stream,  as  well  as  the  railway  from 
Epsom  to  Brighton,  nearly  due  north 
and  south,  meeting  the  Guildford 
and  Eeigate  line  at  right  angles. 
Close  to  the  point  of  intersection 
and  the  little  station  already  men- 
tioned, was  the  station  of  the  former 
line  where  we  had  stopped  the  day 
before.  Beyond  the  gap  on  the  east 
(our  left),  and  in  continuation  of  our 
ridge,  rose  the  chalk-hill  again.  The 
shoulder  of  this  ridge  overlooking 
the  gap  is  called  Box  Hill,  from 
the  shrubbery  of  box  -  wood  with 
which  it  was  covered.  Its  sides 
were  very  steep,  and  the  top  of  the 
ridge  was  covered  with  troops.  The 
natural  strength  of  our  position  was 
manifested  at  a  glance ;  a  high  grassy 
ridge  steep  to  the  south,  with  a 
stream  in  front,  and  but  little  cover 
up  the  sides.  It  seemed  made  for 
a  battle-field.  The  weak  point  was 
the  gap  ;  the  ground  at  the  junction 
of  the  railways  and  the  roads  im- 
mediately at  the  entrance  of  the 
gap  formed  a  little  valley,  dotted, 
as  I  have  said,  with  buildings  and 
gardens.  This,  in  one  sense,  was 
the  key  of  the  position ;  for  although 
it  would  not  be  tenable  while  we 
held  the  ridge  commanding  it,  the 
enemy  by  carrying  this  point  and 
advancing  through  the  gap  would 
cut  our  line  in  two.  But  you  must 
not  suppose  I  scanned  the  ground 
thus  critically  at  the  time.  Any- 
body, indeed,  might  have  been 
struck  with  the  natural  advantages 
of  our  position ;  but  what,  as  I  re- 
member, most  impressed  me,  was 
the  peaceful  beauty  of  the  scene — 
the  little  town  with  the  outline  of 
the  houses  obscured  by  a  blue  mist, 
the  massive  crispness  of  the  foliage, 
the  outlines  of  the  great  trees,  lighted 
up  by  the  sun,  and  relieved  by  deep 
blue  shade.  So  thick  was  the  timber 
here,  rising  up  the  southern  slopes 


554 


TJie  Battle  of  Dorking  : 


[May 


of  the  valley,  that  it  looked  almost 
as  if  it  might  have  been  a  primeval 
forest.  The  quiet  of  the  scene  was 
the  more  impressive  because  con- 
trasted in  the  mind  with  the  scenes 
we  expected  to  follow  ;  and  I  can 
remember,  as  if  it  were  yesterday, 
the  sensation  of  bitter  regret  that  it 
should  now  be  too  late  to  avert  this 
coming  desecration  of  our  country, 
which  might  so  easily  have  been 
prevented.  A  little  firmness,  a 
little  prevision  on  the  part  of  our 
rulers,  even  a  little  common-sense, 
and  this  great  calamity  would  have 
been  rendered  utterly  impossible. 
Too  late,  alas !  We  were  like  the 
foolish  virgins  in  the  parable. 

But  you  must  not  suppose  the 
scene  immediately  around  was 
gloomy :  the  camp  was  brisk  and 
bustling  enough.  We  had  got  over 
the  stress  of  weariness;  our  stomachs 
were  full ;  we  felt  a  natural  enthu- 
siasm at  the  prospect  of  having  so 
soon  to  take  a  part  as  the  real  de- 
fenders of  the  country,  and  we  were 
inspirited  at  the  sight  of  the  large 
force  that  was  now  assembled. 
Along  the  slopes  which  trended  off 
to  the  rear  of  our  ridge,  troops 
came  marching  up  —  volunteers, 
militia,  cavalry,  and  guns ;  these,  I 
heard,  had  come  down  from  the 
north  as  far  as  Leatherhead  the 
night  before,  and  had  marched  over 
at  daybreak.  Long  trains,  too,  began 
to  arrive  by  the  rail  through  the 
gap,  one  after  the  other,  containing 
militia  and  volunteers,  who  moved 
up  to  the  ridge  to  the  right  and 
left,  and  took  up  their  position, 
massed  for  the  most  part  on  the 
slopes  which  ran  up  from,  and  in 
rear  of,  where  we  stood.  We  now 
formed  part  of  an  army  corps,  we 
were  told,  consisting  of  three  divi- 
sions, but  what  regiments  composed 
the  other  two  divisions  I  never 
heard.  All  this  movement  we 
could  distinctly  see  from  our  posi- 
tion, for  we  had  hurried  over  our 


breakfast,  expecting  every  minute 
that  the  battle  would  begin,  and 
now  stood  or  sat  about  on  the 
ground  near  cur  piled  arms.  Early 
in  the  morning,  too,  we  saw  a  very 
long  train  come  along  the  valley 
from  the  direction  of  Guildford,  full 
of  redcoats.  It  halted  at  the  little 
station  at  our  feet,  and  the  troops 
alighted.  We  could  soon  make  out 
their  bear-skins.  They  were  the 
Guards,  coming  to  reinforce  this  part 
of  the  line.  Leaving  a  detachment 
of  skirmishers  to  hold  the  line  of 
the  railway  embankment,  the  main 
body  marched  up  with  a  springy 
step  and  with  the  band  playing,  and 
drew  up  across  the  gap  on  our 
left,  in  prolongation  of  our  line. 
There  appeared  to  be  three  bat- 
talions of  them,  for  they  formed  up 
in  that  number  of  columns  at  short 
intervals. 

Shortly  after  this  I  was  sent  over 
to  Box  Hill  with  a  message  from  our 
colonel  to  the  colonel  of  a  volunteer 
regiment  stationed  there,  to  know 
whether  an  ambulance-cart  was  ob- 
tainable, as  it  was  reported  this 
regiment  was  well  supplied  with 
carriage,  whereas  we  were  without 
any:  my  mission,  however,  was  fu- 
tile. Crossing  the  valley,  I  found 
a  scene  of  great  confusion  at  the 
railway  station.  Trains  were  still 
coming  in  with  stores,  ammunition, 
guns,  and  appliances  of  all  sorts, 
which  were  being  unloaded  as  fast 
as  possible;  but  there  were  scarcely 
any  means  of  getting  the  things  off. 
There  were  plenty  of  waggons  of 
all  sorts,  but  hardly  any  horses  to 
draw  them,  and  the  whole  place  was 
blocked  up;  while,  to  add  to  the 
confusion,  a  regular  exodus  had 
taken  place  of  the  people  from  the 
town,  who  had  been  warned  that  it 
was  likely  to  be  the  scene  of  fight- 
ing. Ladies  and  women  of  all  sorts 
and  ages,  and  children,  some  with 
bundles,  some  empty-handed,  were 
seeking  places  in  the  train,  but 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


555 


there  appeared  no  one  on  the  spot 
authorised  to  grant  them,  and  these 
poor  creatures  were  pushing  their 
way  up  and  down,  vainly  asking  for 
information  and  permission  to  get 
away.  In  the  crowd  I  observed  our 
surgeon,  who  likewise  was  in  search 
of  an  ambulance  of  some  sort :  his 
whole  professional  apparatus,  lie 
said,  consisted  of  a  case  of  instru- 
ments. Also  in  the  crowd  I  stum- 
bled upon  Wood,  Travers's  old  coach- 
man. He  had  been  sent  down  by 
his  mistress  to  Guildford,  because  it 
was  supposed  our  regiment  had  gone 
there,  riding  the  horse,  and  laden 
with  a  supply  of  things — food,  blan- 
kets, and,  of  course,  a  letter.  He  had 
also  brought  my  knapsack  ;  but  at 
Guildford  the  horse  was  pressed  for 
artillery  work,  and  a  receipt  for  it 
given  him  in  exchange,  so  he  had 
been  obliged  to  leave  all  the  heavy 
packages  there,  including  my  knap- 
sack ;  but  the  faithful  old  man  had 
brought  on  as  many  things  as  he 
could  carry,  and  hearing  that  we 
should  be  found  in  this  part,  had 
walked  over  thus  laden  from  Guild- 
ford.  He  said  that  place  was 
crowded  with  troops,  and  that  the 
heights  were  lined  with  them  the 
whole  way  between  the  two  towns  ; 
also,  that  some  trains  with  wound- 
ed had  passed  up  from  the  coast  in 
the  night,  through  Guildford.  I  led 
him  off  to  where  our  regiment  was, 
relieving  the  old  man  from  part  of 
the  load  he  was  staggering  under. 
The  food  sent  was  not  now  so  much 
needed,  but  the  plates,  knives,  &c., 
and  drinking -vessels,  promised  to 
be  handy — and  Travers,  you  may 
be  sure,  was  delighted  to  get  his 
letter ;  while  a  couple  of  newspapers 
the  old  man  had  brought  were 
eagerly  competed  for  by  all,  even  at 
this  critical  moment,  for  we  had 
heard  no  authentic  news  since  we 
left  London  on  Sunday.  And  even 
at  this  distance  of  time,  although  I 
only  glanced  down  the  paper,  I  can 

VOL.  CIX. — NO.  DCLXVII. 


remember  almost  the  very  words  I 
read  there.  They  were  both  copies 
of  the  same  paper :  the  first,  pub- 
lished on  Sunday  evening,  when 
the  news  had  arrived  of  the  suc- 
cessful landing  at  three  points,  was 
written  in  a  tone  of  despair.  The 
country  must  confess  that  it  had 
been  taken  by  surprise.  The  con- 
queror would  be  satisfied  with  the 
humiliation  inflicted  by  a  peace 
dictated  on  our  own  shores ;  it 
was  the  clear  duty  of  the  Govern- 
ment to  accept  the  best  terms  ob- 
tainable, and  to  avoid  further  blood- 
shed and  disaster,  and  avert  the  fall 
of  our  tottering  mercantile  credit. 
The  next  morning's  issue  was  in 
quite  a  different  tone.  Apparently 
the  enemy  had  received  a  check,  for 
we  were  here  exhorted  to  resistance. 
An  impregnable  position  was  to  be 
taken  up  along  the  Downs,  a  force 
was  concentrating  there  far  outnum- 
bering the  rash  invaders,  who,  with 
an  invincible  line  before  them,  and 
the  sea  behind,  had  no  choice  be- 
tween destruction  or  surrender. 
Let  there  be  no  pusillanimous  talk  of 
negotiation,  the  fight  must  be  fought 
out ;  and  there  could  be  but  one 
issue.  England,  expectant  but  calm, 
awaited  with  confidence  the  result 
of  the  attack  on  its  unconquerable 
volunteers.  The  writing  appeared 
to  me  eloquent,  but  rather  incon- 
sistent. The  same  paper  said  the 
Government  had  sent  off  500  work- 
men from  Woolwich,  to  open  a 
branch  arsenal  at  Birmingham. 

All  this  time  we  had  nothing  to 
do,  except  to  change  our  position, 
which  we  did  every  few  minutes, 
now  moving  up  the  hill  farther  to 
our  right,  now  taking  ground  lower 
down  to  our  left,  as  one  order  after 
another  was  brought  down  the  line  ; 
but  the  staff-officers  were  galloping 
about  perpetually  with  orders,  while 
the  rumble  of  the  artillery  as  they 
moved  about  from  one  part  of  the 
field  to  another  went  on  almost  in- 
2<J 


556 


The  Battle  of  Dorking : 


[May 


cessantly.  At  last  the  whole  line 
stood  to  arms,  the  bands  struck  up, 
and  the  general  commanding  our 
army  corps  came  riding  down  with 
his  staff.  We  had  seen  him  several 
times  before,  as  we  had  been  moving 
frequently  about  the  position  during 
the  morning ;  but  he  now  made  a 
sort  of  formal  inspection.  He  was 
a  tall  thin  man,  with  long  light 
hair,  very  well  mounted,  and  as 
he  sat  his  horse  with  an  erect  seat, 
and  came  prancing  down  the  line, 
at  a  little  distance  he  looked  as  if 
he  might  be  five  -  and  -  twenty  ; 
but  I  believe  he  had  served  more 
than  fifty  years,  and  had  been  made 
a  peer  for  services  performed  when 
quite  an  old  man.  I  remember  that 
he  had  more  decorations  than  there 
was  room  for  on  the  breast  of  his 
coat,  and  wore  them  suspended  like 
a  necklace  round  his  neck.  Like 
all  the  other  generals,  he  was  dressed 
in  blue,  with  a  cocked-hat  and  fea- 
thers— a  bad  plan,  I  thought,  for 
it  made  them  very  conspicuous. 
The  general  halted  before  our  bat- 
talion, and  after  looking  at  us  a 
while,  made  a  shoit  address :  We 
had  a  post  of  honour  next  her  Ma- 
jesty's Guards,  and  would  shoAV  our- 
selves worthy  of  it,  and  of  the  name 
of  Englishmen.  It  did  not  need, 
he  said,  to  be  a  general  to  see  the 
strength  of  our  position ;  it  was  im- 
pregnable, if  properly  held.  Let  us 
wait  till  the  enemy  was  well  pound- 
ed, and  then  the  word  would  be 
given  to  go  at  him.  Above  every- 
thing, we  must  be  steady.  He  then 
shook  hands  with  our  colonel,  we 
gave  him  a  cheer,  and  he  rode  on  to 
where  the  Guards  were  drawn  up. 

]STow  then,  we  thought,  the  battle 
will  begin.  But  still  there  were  no 
signs  of  the  enemy ;  and  the  air, 
though  hot  and  sultry,  began  to  be 
very  hazy,  so  that  you  could  scarcely 
see  the  town  below,  and  the  hills 
opposite  were  merely  a  confused 
blur,  iu  which  no  features  could  be 


distinctly  made  out.  After  a  while, 
the  tension  of  feeling  which  follow- 
ed the  general's  address  relaxed,  and 
we  began  to  feel  less  as  if  every- 
thing depended  on  keeping  our 
rifles  firmly  grasped  :  we  were  told 
to  pile  arms  again,  and  got  leave  to 
go  down  by  tens  and  twenties  to 
the  stream  below  to  drink.  This 
stream,  and  all  the  hedges  and  banks 
on  our  side  of  it,  were  held  by  our 
skirmishers,  but  the  town  had  been 
abandoned.  The  position  appeared 
an  excellent  one,  except  that  the 
enemy,  when  they  came,  would  have 
almost  better  cover  than  our  men. 
While  I  was  down  at  the  brook,  a 
column,  emerged  from  the  town, 
making  for  our  position.  We 
thought  for  a  moment  it  was  the 
enemy,  and  you  could  not  make 
out  the  colour  of  the  uniforms  for 
the  dust ;  but  it  turned  out  to  be 
our  rear-guard,  falling  back  from  the 
opposite  hills  which  they  had  oc- 
cupied the  previous  night.  One 
battalion  of  rifles  halted  for  a  few 
minutes  at  the  stream  to  let  the 
men  drink,  and  I  had  a  minute's 
talk  with  a  couple  of  the  officers. 
They  had  formed  part  of  the  force 
which  had  attacked  the  enemy  on 
their  first  landing.  They  had  it  all 
their  own  way,  they  said,  at  first, 
and  could  have  beaten  the  enemy 
back  easily  if  they  had  been  pro- 
perly supported ;  but  the  whole 
thing  was  mismanaged.  The  volun- 
teers came  on  very  pluckily,  they 
said,  but  they  got  into  confusion, 
and  so  did  the  militia,  and  the  at- 
tack failed  with  serious  loss.  It 
was  the  wounded  of  this  force  which 
had  passed  through  Guildford  in 
the  night.  The  officers  asked  us 
eagerly  about  the  arrangements  for 
the  battle,  and  when  we  said  that 
the  Guards  were  the  only  regular 
troops  in  this  part  of  the  field, 
shook  their  heads  ominously. 

While  we  were  talking  a  third 
officer  came  up ;  he  was  a  dark  man 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


557 


with  a  smooth  face  and  a  curious 
excited  manner.  "  You  are  volun- 
teers, I  suppose,"  he  said,  quickly, 
his  eye  flashing  the  while.  "  Well, 
now,  look  here ;  mind  I  don't  want 
to  hurt  your  feelings,  or  to  say  any- 
thing unpleasant,  but  I'll  tell  you 
what ;  if  all  you  gentlemen  were 
just  to  go  back,  and  leave  us  to 
fight  it  out  alone,  it  would  be  a 
devilish  good  thing.  "We  could  do 
it  a  precious  deal  better  without 
you,  I  assure  you.  We  don't  want 
your  help,  I  can  tell  you.  We 
would  much  rather  be  left  alone,  I 
assure  you.  Mind  I  don't  want  to 
say  anything  rude,  but  that's  a  fact." 
Having  blurted  out  this  passionate- 
ly, he  strode  away  before  any  one 
could  reply,  or  the  other  officers 
could  stop  him.  They  apologised 
for  his  rudeness,  saying  that  his 
brother,  also  in  the  regiment,  had 
been  killed  on  Sunday,  and  that 
this,  and  the  sun,  and  marching, 
had  affected  his  head.  The  officers 
told  us  that  the  enemy's  advanced- 
guard  was  close  behind,  but  that  he 
had  apparently  been  waiting  for  re- 
inforcements, and  would  probably 
not  attack  in  force  until  noon.  It 
was,  however,  nearly  three  o'clock 
before  the  battle  began.  We  had 
almost  worn  out  the  feeling  of  ex- 
pectancy. For  twelve  hours  had 
we  been  waiting  for  the  coming 
struggle,  till  at  last  it  seemed  almost 
as  if  the  invasion  were  but  a  bad 
dream,  and  the  enemy,  as  yet  un- 
seen by  us,  had  no  real  existence. 
So  far  things  had  not  been  very  dif- 
ferent, but  for  the  numbers  and  for 
what  we  had  been  told,  from  a  Vol- 
unteer review  on  Brighton  Downs. 
I  remember  that  these  thoughts 
were  passing  through  my  mind  as 
we  lay  down  in  groups  on  the  grass, 
some  smoking,  some  nibbling  at 
their  bread,  some  even  asleep,  when 
the  listless  state  we  had  fallen  into 
was  suddenly  disturbed  by  a  gun- 
shot fired  from  the  top  of  the  hill  on 


our  right,  close  by  the  big  house.  It 
was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  heard 
a  shotted  gun  fired,  and  although  it 
is  fifty  years  ago,  the  angry  whistle 
of  the  shot  as  it  left  the  gun  is  in 
my  ears  now.  The  sound  was  soon 
to  become  common  enough.  We 
all  jumped  up  at  the  report,  and 
fell  in  almost  without  the  word 
being  given,  grasping  our  rifles 
tightly,  and  the  leading  files  peering 
forward  to  look  for  the  approaching 
enemy.  This  gun  was  apparently 
the  signal  to  begin,  for  now  our  bat- 
teries opened  fire  all  along  the  line. 
What  they  were  firing  at  I  could 
not  see,  and  I  am  sure  the  gunners 
could  not  see  much  themselves.  I 
have  told  you  what  a  haze  had  come 
over  the  air  since  the  morning, 
and  now  the  smoke  from  the  guns 
settled  like  a  pall  over  the  hill,  and 
soon  we  could  see  little  but  the  men 
in  our  ranks,  and  the  outline  of 
some  gunners  in  the  battery  drawn 
up  next  us  on  the  slope  on  our 
right.  This  firing  went  on,  I  should 
think,  for  nearly  a  couple  of  hours, 
and  still  there  was  no  reply.  We 
could  see  the  gunners — it  was  a 
troop  of  horse -artillery — working 
away  like  fury,  ramming,  loading, 
and  running  up  with  cartridges,  the 
officer  in  command  riding  slowly  up 
and  down  just  behind  his  guns,  and 
peering  out  with  his  field-glass  into 
the  mist.  Once  or  twice  they  ceased 
firing  to  let  their  smoke  clear  away, 
but  this  did  not  do  much  good.  For 
nearly  two  hours  did  this  go  on,  and 
not  a  shot  came  in  reply.  If  a  bat- 
tle is  like  this,  said  Dick  Wake, 
who  was  my  next-hand  file,  it's  mild 
work,  to  say  the  least.  The  words 
were  hardly  uttered  when  a  rattle  of 
musketry  was  heard  in  front ;  our 
skirmishers  were  at  it,  and  very 
soon  the  bullets  began  to  sing  over 
our  heads,  and  some  struck  the 
ground  at  our  feet.  Up  to  this  time 
we  had  been  in  column ;  we  were  now 
deployed  into  line  on  the  ground  as- 


558 


The  Battle  of  Dorking  : 


[May 


signed  to  us.  From  the  valley  or 
gap  on  our  left  there  ran  a  lane  right 
up  the  hill  almost  due  west,  or  along 
our  front.  This  lane  had  a  thick 
"bank  about  four  feet  high,  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  regiment  was 
drawn  up  behind  it;  but  a  little  way 
up  the  hill  the  lane  trended  back 
out  of  the  line,  so  the  right  of  the 
regiment  here  left  it  and  occupied 
the  open  grass-land  of  the  park.  The 
bank  had  been  cut  away  at  this  point 
to  admit  of  our  going  in  and  out. 
We  had  been  told  in  the  morning 
to  cut  down  the  bushes  on  the  top 
of  the  bank,  so  as  to  make  the  space 
clear  for  firing  over,  but  we  had  no 
tools  to  work  with ;  however,  a  party 
of  sappers  had  come  down  and 
finished  the  job.  My  company  was 
on  the  right,  and  was  thus  beyond 
the  shelter  of  the  friendly  bank.  On 
our  right  again  was  the  battery  of 
artillery  already  mentioned ;  then 
came  a  battalion  of  the  line,  then 
more  guns,  then  a  great  mass  of 
militia  and  volunteers  and  a  feAV 
line  up  to  the  big  house.  At  least 
this  was  the  order  before  the  firing 
began ;  after  that  I  do  not  know 
what  changes  took  place. 

And  now  the  enemy's  artillery 
began  to  open  ;  where  their  guns 
were  posted  we  could  not  see,  but 
we  began  to  hear  the  rush  of  the 
shells  over  our  heads,  and  the  bang 
as  they  burst  just  beyond.  And 
now  what  took  place  I  can  really 
hardly  tell  you.  Sometimes  when 
I  try  and  recall  the  scene,  it  seems 
as  if  it  lasted  for  only  a  few  min- 
utes ;  yet  I  know,  as  we  lay  on  the 
ground,  I  thought  the  hours  would 
never  pass  away,  as  we  watched  the 
gunners  still  plying  their  task,  fir- 
ing at  the  invisible  enemy,  never 
stopping  for  a  moment  except  when 
now  and  again  a  dull  blow  would 
be  heard  and  a  man  fall  down,  then 
three  or  four  of  his  comrades  would 
carry  him  to  the  rear.  The  captain 
no  longer  rode  up  and  down ;  what 


had  become  of  him  I  do  not  know. 
Two  of  the  guns  ceased  firing  for  a 
time ;  they  had  got  injured  in  some 
way,  and  up  rode  an  artillery  gene- 
ral. I  think  I  see  him  now,  a  very 
handsome  man,  with  straight  fea- 
tures and  a  dark  moustache,  his 
breast  covered  with  medals.  He 
appeared  in  a  great  rage  at  the  guns 
stopping  fire. 

"  Who  commands  this  battery  1 " 
he  cried. 

"  I  do,  Sir  Henry,"  said  an  officer, 
riding  forward,  whom  I  had  not 
noticed  before. 

The  group  is  before  me  at  this 
moment,  standing  out  clear  against 
the  background  of  smoke,  Sir  Henry 
erect  on  his  splendid  charger,  his 
flashing  eye,  his  left  arm  pointing 
towards  the  enemy  to  enforce  some- 
thing he  was  going  to  say,  the 
young  officer  reining  in  his  horse 
just  beside  him,  and  saluting  with 
his  right  hand  raised  to  his  busby. 
This  for  a  moment,  then  a  dull 
thud,  and  both  horses  and  riders  are 
prostrate  on  the  ground.  A  round 
shot  had  struck  all  four  at  the 
saddle  line.  Some  of  the  gunners 
ran  up  to  help,  but  neither  officer 
could  have  lived  many  minutes. 
This  was  not  the  first  I  saw  killed. 
Some  time  before  this,  almost  im- 
mediately on  the  enemy's  artillery 
opening,  as  we  were  lying,  I  heard 
something  like  the  sound  of  steel 
striking  steel,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment Dick  Wake,  who  was  next  me 
in  the  ranks,  leaning  on  his  elbows, 
sank  forward  on  his  face.  I  looked 
round  and  saw  what  had  happened  ; 
a  shot  fired  at  a  high  elevation,  pas- 
sing over  his  head,  had  struck  the 
ground  behind,  nearly  cutting  his 
thigh  off.  It  must  have  been  the 
ball  striking  his  sheathed  bayonet 
which  made  the  noise.  Three  of 
us  carried  the  poor  fellow  to  the 
rear,  with  difficulty  for  the  shattered 
limb  ;  but  he  was  nearly  dead  from 
loss  of  blood  when  we  got  to  the 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


559 


doctor,  who  was  waiting  in  a  shel- 
tered hollow  about  two  hundred 
yards  in  rear,  with  two  other  doc- 
tors in  plain  clothes,  who  had  come 
up  to  help.  We  deposited  our 
burden  and  returned  to  the  front. 
Poor  Wake  was  sensible  when  we 
left  him,  but  apparently  too  shaken 
by  the  shock  to  be  able  to  speak. 
Wood  was  there  helping  the  doctors. 
I  paid  more  visits  to  the  rear  of  the 
same  sort  before  the  evening  was 
over. 

All  this  time  we  were  lying  there 
to  be  fired  at  without  returning  a 
shot,  for  our  skirmishers  were  hold- 
ing the  line  of  walls  and  enclosures 
below.  However,  the  bank  pro- 
tected most  of  us,  and  the  brigadier 
now  ordered  our  right  company, 
which  was  in  the  open,  to  get  be- 
hind it  also  ;  and  there  we  lay 
about  four  deep,  the  shells  crashing 
and  bullets  whistling  over  our 
heads,  but  hardly  a  man  being 
touched.  Our  colonel  was,  indeed, 
the  only  one  exposed,  for  he  rode 
up  and  down  the  lane  at  a  foot-pace 
as  steady  as  a  rock ;  but  he  made 
the  major  and  adjutant  dismount, 
and  take  shelter  behind  the  hedge, 
holding  their  horses.  We  were  all 
pleased  to  see  him  so  cool,  and  it 
restored  our  confidence  in  him,  which 
had  been  shaken  yesterday. 

The  time  seemed  interminable 
while  we  lay  thus  inactive.  We 
could  not,  of  course,  help  peering 
over  the  bank  to  try  and  see  what 
was  going  on ;  but  there  was  no- 
thing to  be  made  out,  for  now  a 
tremendous  thunderstorm,  which 
had  been  gathering  all  day,  burst 
on  us,  and  a  torrent  of  almost  blind- 
ing rain  came  down,  which  obscured 
the  view  even  more  than  the  smoke, 
while  the  crashing  of  the  thunder 
and  the  glare  of  the  lightning  could 
be  heard  and  seen  even  above  the 
roar  and  flashing  of  the  artillery. 
Once  the  mist  lifted,  and  I  saw  for 
a  minute  an  attack  on  Box  Hill,  on 


the  other  side  of  the  gap  on  our 
left.  It  was  like  the  scene  at  a 
theatre  —  a  curtain  of  smoke  all 
round  and  a  clear  gap  in  the 
centre,  with  a  sudden  gleam  of 
evening  sunshine  lighting  it  up. 
The  steep  smooth  slope  of  the  hUl 
was  crowded  with  the  dark -blue 
figures  of  the  enemy,  whom  I  now 
saw  for  the  first  time — an  irregular 
outline  in  front,  but  veiy  solid  in 
rear :  the  whole  body  was  moving 
forward  by  fits  and  starts,  the  men 
firing  and  advancing,  the  officers 
waving  their  swords,  the  columns 
closing  up  and  gradually  making 
way.  Our  people  were  almost  con- 
cealed by  the  bushes  at  the  top, 
whence  the  smoke  and  their  fire 
could  be  seen  proceeding:  presently 
from  these  bushes  on  the  crest  came 
out  a  red  line,  and  dashed  down  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  a  flame  of  fire 
belching  out  from  the  front  as  it 
advanced.  The  enemy  hesitated, 
gave  way,  and  finally  ran  back  in  a 
confused  crowd  down  the  hill.  Then 
the  mist  covered  the  scene,  but  the 
glimpse  of  this  splendid  charge  was 
inspiriting,  and  I  hoped  we  should 
show  the  same  coolness  when  it 
came  to  our  turn.  It  was  about 
this  time  that  our  skirmishers  fell 
back,  a  good  many  wounded,  some 
limping  along  by  themselves,  others 
helped.  The  main  body  retired  in 
very  fair  order,  halting  to  turn  round 
and  fire ;  we  could  see  a  mounted  offi- 
cer of  the  Guards  riding  up  and  down 
encouraging  them  to  be  steady. 
Now  came  our  turn.  For  a  few 
minutes  we  saw  nothing,  but  a  rattle 
of  bullets  came  through  the  rain  and 
mist,  mostly,  however,  passing  over 
the  bank.  We  began  to  fire  in  reply, 
stepping  up  against  the  bank  to  fire, 
and  stooping  down  to  load ;  but  our 
brigade-major  rode  up  with  an  order, 
and  the  word  was  passed  through 
the  men  to  reserve  our  fire.  In  a 
very  few  moments  it  must  have  been 
that,  when  ordered  to  stand,  we 


5GO 


TliQ  Battle  of  Dorking  : 


[May 


could  see  the  helmet  -  spikes  and 
then  the  figures  of  the  skirmishers 
as  they  came  on :  a  lot  of  them 
there  appeared  to  be,  five  or  six 
deep  I  should  say,  but  in  loose 
order,  each  man  stopping  to  aim  and 
fire,  and  then  coming  forward  a  little. 
Just  then  the  brigadier  clattered  on 
horseback  up  the  lane.  "  Now,  then, 
gentlemen,  give  it  them  hot,"  he 
cried ;  and  fire  away  we  did,  as  fast 
as  ever  we  were  able.  A  perfect 
storm  of  bullets  seemed  to  be  flying 
about  us  too,  and  I  thought  each 
moment  must  be  the  last ;  escape 
seemed  impossible,  but  I  saw  no  one 
fall,  for  I  was  too  busy,  and  so  were 
we  all,  to  look  to  the  right  or  left, 
but  loaded  and  fired  as  fast  as  I 
could.  How  long  this  went  on  I 
know  not — it  could  not  have  been 
long ;  neither  side  could  have  lasted 
many  minutes  under  such  a  fire,  but 
it  ended  by  the  enemy  gradually 
falling  back,  and  as  soon  as  we  saw 
this  we  raised  a  tremendous  shout, 
and  some  of  us  jumped  up  on  the 
bank  to  give  them  our  parting  shots. 
Suddenly  the  order  was  passed  down 
the  line  to  cease  firing,  and  we  soon 
discovered  the  cause ;  a  battalion  of 
the  Guards  was  charging  obliquely 
across  from  our  left  across  our  front. 
It  was,  I  expect,  their  flank  attack  as 
much  as  our  fire  which  had  turned 
back  the  enemy ;  and  it  was  a  splen- 
did sight  to  see  their  steady  line  as 
they  advanced  slowly  across  the 
smooth  lawn  below  us,  firing  as  they 
•went,  but  as  steady  as  if  on  parade. 
We  felt  a  great  elation  at  this  mo- 
ment ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  battle  was 
•won.  Just  then  somebody  called 
out  to  look  to  the  wounded,  and  for 
the  first  time  I  turned  to  glance 
down  the  rank  along  the  lane. 
Then  I  saw  that  we  had  not  beaten 
back  the  attack  without  loss.  Im- 
mediately before  me  lay  Lawford  of 
my  office,  dead  on  his  back  from 
a  bullet  through  his  forehead,  his 
hand  still  grasping  his  rifle.  At 


every  step  was  some  friend  or  ac- 
quaintance killed  or  wounded,  and  a 
few  paces  down  the  lane  I  found 
Travers,  sitting  with  his  back  against 
the  bank.  A  ball  had  gone  through 
his  lungs,  and  blood  was  coming 
from  his  mouth.  I  was  lifting  him, 
but  the  cry  of  agony  he  gave  stopped 
me.  I  then  saw  that  this  was  not 
his  only  wound;  his  thigh  was 
smashed  by  a  bullet  (which  must 
have  hit  him  when  standing  on  the 
bank),  and  the  blood  streaming  down 
mixed  in  a  muddy  puddle  with  the 
rain-water  under  him.  Still  he 
could  not  be  left  here,  so,  lifting 
him  up  as  well  as  I  could,  I  carried 
him  through  the  gate  which  led  out 
of  the  lane  at  the  back  to  where  our 
camp  hospital  was  in  the  rear.  The 
movement  must  have  caused  him 
awful  agony,  for  I  could  not  support 
the  broken  thigh,  and  he  could  not 
restrain  his  groans,  brave  fellow 
though  he  was ;  but  how  I  carried 
him  at  all  I  cannot  make  out, 
for  he  was  a  much  bigger  man 
than  myself;  but  I  had  not  gone 
far,  one  of  a  stream  of  our  fel- 
lows, all  on  the  same  errand,  when 
a  bandsman  and  Wood  met  me, 
bringing  a  hurdle  as  a  stretcher, 
and  on  this  we  placed  him.  Wood 
had  just  time  to  tell  me  that  he 
had  got  a  cart  down  in  the  hollow, 
and  would  endeavour  to  take  off 
his  master  at  once  to  Kingston, 
when  a  staff-officer  rode  up  to  call 
us  to  the  ranks.  "  You  really  must 
not  straggle  in  this  way,  gentle- 
men," he  said ;  "  pray  keep  your 
ranks."  "  But  we  can't  leave  our 
wounded  to  be  trodden  down  and 
die,"  cried  one  of  our  fellows.  "  Beat 
off  the  enemy  first,  sir,"  he  replied. 
"  Gentlemen,  do,  pray,  join  your 
regiments,  or  we  shall  be  a  regular 
mob."  And  no  doubt  he  did  not 
speak  too  soon ;  for  besides  our  fel- 
lows straggling  to  the  rear,  lots  of 
volunteers  from  the  regiments  in  re- 
serve were  running  forward  to  help, 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


561 


till  the  whole  ground  was  dotted 
with  groups  of  men.  I  hastened 
back  to  my  post,  but  I  had  just 
time  to  notice  that  all  the  ground 
in  our  rear  was  occupied  by  a  thick 
mass  of  troops,  much  more  numerous 
than  in  the  morning,  and  a  column 
was  moving  down  to  the  left  of  our 
line,  to  the  ground  now  held  by 
the  Guards.  All  this  time,  although 
the  musketry  had  slackened,  the 
artillery  fire  seemed  heavier  than 
ever ;  the  shells  screamed  overhead 
or  burst  around ;  and  I  confess  to 
feeling  quite  a  relief  at  getting  back 
to  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  lane. 
Looking  over  the  bank,  I  noticed 
for  the  first  time  the  frightful  exe- 
cution our  fire  had  created.  The 
space  in  front  was  thickly  strewed 
with  dead  and  badly  wounded,  and 
beyond  the  bodies  of  the  fallen 
enemy  could  just  be  seen — for  it 
was  now  getting  dusk — the  bear- 
skins and  red  coats  of  our  own  gallant 
Guards  scattered  over  the  slope,  and 
marking  the  line  of  their  victorious 
advance.  But  hardly  a  minute 
could  have  passed  in  thus  looking 
over  the  field,  when  our  brigade- 
major  came  moving  up  the  lane  on 
foot  (I  suppose  his  horse  had  been 
shot),  crying,  "  Stand  to  your  arms, 
Volunteers !  they're  coming  on 
again ;  "  and  we  found  ourselves  a 
second  time  engaged  in  a  hot  mus- 
ketry fire.  How  long  it  went  on  I 
cannot  now  remember,  but  we  could 
distinguish  clearly  the  thick  line  of 
skirmishers,  about  sixty  paces  off, 
and  mounted  officers  among  them ; 
and  we  seemed  to  be  keeping  them 
well  in  check,  for  they  were  quite 
exposed  to  our  fire,  while  we  were 
protected  nearly  up  to  our  shoul- 
ders, when — I  know  not  how — I 
became  sensible  that  something  had 
gone  wrong.  "  We  are  taken  in 
flank  !  "  called  out  some  one  ;  and 
looking  along  the  left,  sure  enough 
there  were  dark  figures  jumping 
over  the  bank  into  the  lane  and  fir- 


ing up  along  our  line.  The  volun- 
teers in  reserve,  who  had  come 
down  to  take  the  place  of  the 
Guards,  must  have  given  way  at 
this  point ;  the  enemy's  skirmishers 
had  got  through  our  line,  and  turned 
our  left  flank.  How  the  next  move 
came  about  I  cannot  recollect,  or 
whether  it  was  without  orders,  but 
in  a  short  time  we  found  ourselves 
out  of  the  lane  and  drawn  up  in  a 
straggling  line  about  thirty  yards  in 
rear  of  it — at  our  end,  that  is,  the 
other  flank  had  fallen  back  a  good 
deal  more — and  the  enemy  were 
lining  the  hedge,  and  numbers  of 
them  passing  over  and  forming  up 
on  our  side.  Beyond  our  left  a 
confused  mass  were  retreating,  firing 
as  they  went,  followed  by  the  ad- 
vancing line  of  the  enemy.  We 
stood  in  this  way  for  a  short  space, 
firing  at  random  as  fast  as  we  could. 
Our  colonel  and  major  must  have 
been  shot,  for  there  was  no  one  to 
give  an  order,  when  somebody  on 
horseback  called  out  from  behind — 
I  think  it  must  have  been  the  bri- 
gadier— "  Now,  then,  Volunteers  ! 
give  a  British  cheer,  and  go  at  them 
— charge  ! "  and,  with  a  shout,  we 
rushed  at  the  enemy.  Some  of 
them  ran,  some  stopped  to  meet  us, 
and  for  a  moment  it  was  a  real 
hand  to-hand  fight.  I  felt  a  sharp 
sting  in  my  leg,  as  I  drove  my 
bayonet  right  through  the  man 
in  front  of  me.  I  confess  I  shut 
my  eyes,  for  I  just  got  a  glimpse 
of  the  poor  wretch  as  he  fell  back, 
his  eyes  starting  out  of  his  head, 
and,  savage  though  we  were,  the 
sight  was  almost  too  horrible  to 
look  at.  But  the  struggle  was  over 
in  a  second,  and  we  had  cleared 
the  ground  again  right  up  to  the 
rear  hedge  of  the  lane.  Had  we 
gone  on,  I  believe  we  might  have 
recovered  the  lane  too,  but  we  were 
now  all  out  of  order  ;  there  was  no 
one  to  say  what  to  do  ;  the  enemy 
began  to  line  the  hedge  and  open 


562 


The  Battle  of  Dorking  : 


[May 


fire,  and  they  were  streaming  past 
our  left ;  and  how  it  carne  about  I 
know  not,  but  we  found  ourselves 
falling  back  towards  our  right  rear, 
scarce  any  semblance  of  a  line  re- 
maining, and  the  volunteers  who 
had  given  way  on  our  left  mixed 
up  with  us,  and  adding  to  the  con- 
fusion. It  was  now  nearly  dark. 
On  the  slopes  which  we  were  re- 
treating to  was  a  large  mass  of 
reserves  drawn  up  in  columns. 
Some  of  the  leading  files  of  these, 
mistaking  us  for  the  enemy,  began 
firing  at  us  ;  our  fellows,  crying  out 
to  them  to  stop,  ran  towards  their 
ranks,  and  in  a  few  moments  the 
whole  slope  of  the  hill  became  a 
scene  of  confusion  that  I  cannot 
attempt  to  describe,  regiments  and 
detachments  mixed  up  in  hopeless 
disorder.  Most  of  us,  I  believe, 
turned  towards  the  enemy  and 
fired  away  our  few  remaining  car- 
tridges ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  take 
aim,  fortunately  for  us,  or  the  guns 
which  the  enemy  had  brought  up 
through  the  gap,  and  were  firing 
point-blank,  would  have  done  more 
damage.  As  it  was,  we  could  see 
little  more  than  the  bright  flashes 
of  their  fire.  In  our  confusion  we 
had  jammed  up  a  line  regiment 
immediately  behind  us,  and  its 
colonel  and  some  staff-officers  were 
in  vain  trying  to  make  a  passage 
for  it,  and  their  shouts  to  us  to 
march  to  the  rear  and  clear  a  road 
could  be  heard  above  the  roar  of 
the  guns  and  the  confused  babel 
of  sound.  At  last  a  mounted 
officer  pushed  his  way  through, 
followed  by  a  company  in  sections, 
the  men  brushing  past  with  firm- 
set  faces,  as  if  on  a  desperate  task  ; 
and  the  battalion,  when  it  got  clear, 
appeared  to  deploy  and  advance 
down  the  slope.  I  have  also  a  dim 
recollection  of  seeing  the  Life 
Guards  trot  past  the  front,  and  push 
on  towards  the  town — a  last  des- 
perate attempt  to  save  the  day — 


before  we  left  the  field.  Our 
adjutant,  who  had  got  separated 
from  our  flank  of  the  regiment  in 
the  confusion,  now  came  up,  and 
managed  to  lead  us,  or  at  any  rate 
some  of  us,  up  to  the  crest  of  the 
hill  in  the  rear,  to  re-form,  as  he 
said ;  but  there  we  met  a  vast 
crowd  of  volunteers,  militia,  and 
waggons,  all  hurrying  rearward  from 
the  direction  of  the  big  house,  and 
we  were  borne  in  the  stream  for  a 
mile  at  least  before  it  was  possible 
to  stop.  At  last  the  adjutant  led 
us  to  an  open  space  a  little  off  the 
line  of  fugitives,  and  there  we  re- 
formed the  remains  of  the  com- 
panies. Telling  us  to  halt,  he  rode 
off  to  try  and  obtain  orders,  and 
find  out  where  the  rest  of  our  bri- 
gade was.  From  this  point,  a  spur 
of  high  ground  running  off  from 
the  main  plateau,  we  looked  down 
through  the  dim  twilight  into  the 
battle-field  below.  Artillery  fire  was 
still  going  on.  We  could  see  the 
flashes  from  the  guns  on  both  sides, 
and  now  and  then  a  stray  shell  came 
screaming  up  and  burst  near  us,  but 
we  were  beyond  the  sound  of  mus- 
ketry. This  halt  first  gave  us  time 
to  think  about  what  had  happened. 
The  long  day  of  expectancy  had 
been  succeeded  by  the  excitement  of 
battle  ;  and  when  each  minute  may 
be  your  last,  you  do  not  think  much 
about  other  people,  nor  when  you 
are  facing  another  man  with  a  rifle 
have  you  time  to  consider  whether 
he  or  you  are  the  invader,  or  that 
you  are  fighting  for  your  home  and 
hearths.  All  fighting  is  pretty 
much  alike,  I  suspect,  as  to  senti- 
ment, when  once  it  begins.  But 
noAv  we  had  time  for  reflection ;  and 
although  we  did  not  yet  quite 
understand  how  far  the  day  had 
gone  against  us,  an  uneasy  feeling 
of  self-condemnation  must  have 
come  up  in  the  minds  of  most  of 
us  ;  while,  above  all,  we  now  began 
to  realise  what  the  loss  of  this 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


563 


battle  meant  to  the  country.  Then, 
too,  we  knew  not  what  had  become 
of  all  our  wounded  comrades.  Re- 
action, too,  set  in  after  the  fatigue 
and  excitement.  For  myself,  I  had 
found  out  for  the  first  time  that 
besides  the  bayonet-wound  in  my 
leg,  a  bullet  had  gone  through 
my  left  arm,  just  below  the 
shoulder,  and  outside  the  bone. 
I  remember  feeling  something 
like  a  blow  just  when  we  lost  the 
lane,  but  the  wound  passed  unno- 
ticed till  now,  when  the  bleeding 
had  stopped  and  the  shirt  was  stick- 
ing to  the  wound. 

This  half-hour  seemed  an  age,  and 
while  we  stood  on  this  knoll  the 
endless  tramp  of  men  and  rumbling 
of  carts  along  the  downs  beside  us 
told  their  own  tale.  The  whole 
army  was  falling  back.  At  last 
we  could  discern  the  adjutant  rid- 
ing up  to  us  out  of  the  dark.  The 
army  was  to  retreat,  and  take  up 
a  position  on  Epsom  Downs,  he 
said;  we  should  join  in  the  march, 
and  try  and  find  our  brigade  in  the 
morning ;  and  so  we  turned  into  the 
throng  again,  and  made  our  way  on 
as  best  we  could.  A  few  scraps  of 
news  he  gave  us  as  he  rode  along- 
side of  our  leading  section ;  the 
army  had  held  its  position  well  for 
a  time,  but  the  enemy  had  at  last 
broken  through  the  line  between  us 
and  Guildford,  as  well  as  in  our  front, 
and  had  poured  his  men  through 
the  point  gained,  throwing  the  line 
into  confusion,  and  the  first  army 
corps  near  Guildford  were  also 
falling  back  to  avoid  being  out- 
flanked. The  regular  troops  were 
holding  the  rear ;  we  were  to  push 
on  as  fast  as  possible  to  get  out  of 
their  way,  and  allow  them  to  make 
an  orderly  retreat  in  the  morning. 
The  gallant  old  lord  commanding 
our  corps  had  been  badly  wounded 
early  in  the  day,  he  heard,  and  car- 
ried off  the  field.  The  Guards  had 
suffered  dreadfully;  the  household 


cavalry  had  ridden  down  the  cuiras- 
siers, but  had  got  into  broken  ground 
and  been  awfully  cut  up.  Such 
were  the  scraps  of  news  passed  down 
our  weary  column.  What  had  be- 
come of  our  wounded  no  one  knew, 
and  no  one  liked  to  ask.  So  we 
trudged  on.  It  must  have  been 
midnight  when  we  reached  Leather- 
head.  Here  we  left  the  open  ground 
and  took  to  the  road,  and  the  block 
became  greater.  We  pushed  our 
way  painfully  along;  several  trains 
passed  slowly  ahead  along  the  rail- 
way by  the  roadside,  containing  the 
wounded,  we  supposed — such  of 
them,  at  least,  as  were  lucky  enough 
to  be  picked  up.  It  was  daylight 
when  we  got  to  Epsom.  The  night 
had  been  bright  and  clear  after  the 
storm,  with  a  cool  air,  which,  blow- 
ing through  my  soaking  clothes, 
chilled  me  to  the  bone.  My 
wounded  leg  was  stiff  and  sore,  and 
I  was  ready  to  drop  with  exhaustion 
and  hunger.  Nor  were  my  com- 
rades in  much  better  case ;  we  had 
eaten  nothing  since  breakfast  the 
day  before,  and  the  bread  we  had 
put  by  had  been  washed  away  by  the 
storm  :  only  a  little  pulp  remained 
at  the  bottom  of  my  bag.  The  to- 
bacco was  all  too  wet  to  'smoke.  In 
this  plight  we  were  creeping  along, 
when  the  adjutant  guided  us  into  a 
field  by  theroadside  to  rest  awhile,and 
we  lay  down  exhausted  on  the  sloppy 
grass.  The  roll  was  here  taken,  and 
only  180  answered  out  of  nearly  500 
present  on  the  morning  of  the  battle. 
How  many  of  these  were  killed  and 
wounded  no  one  could  tell ;  but  it 
was  certain  many  must  have  got 
separated  in  the  confusion  of  the 
evening.  While  resting  here,  we 
saw  pass  by,  in  the  crowd  of  vehicles 
and  men,  a  cart  laden  with  commis- 
sariat stores,  driven  by  a  man  in 
uniform.  "  Food!"  cried  some  one, 
and  a  dozen  volunteers  jumped  up 
and  surrounded  the  cart.  The  driver 
tried  to  whip  them  off ;  but  he  was 


564 


TJie  Battle  of  Dorking : 


[May 


pulled  off  liis  seat,  and  the  contents 
of  the  cart  thrown  out  in  an  instant. 
They  "were  preserved  meats  in  tins, 
which  we  tore  open  Avith  our  ba\T- 
onets.  The  meat  had  been  cooked 
before,  I  think ;  at  any  rate  we 
devoured  it.  Shortly  after  this  a 
general  came  by  with  three  or  four 
staff-officers.  He  stopped  and  spoke 
to  our  adjutant,  and  then  rode  into 
the  field.  "  My  lads,"  said  he, 
"  you  shall  join  my  division  for  the 
present :  fall  in,  and  follow  the 
regiment  that  is  now  passing."  We 
rose  up,  fell  in  by  companies,  each 
about  twenty  strong,  and  turned 
once  more  into  the  stream  moving 
along  the  road ; — regiments,  detach- 
ments, single  volunteers  or  militia- 
men, country  people  making  off, 
some  with  bundles,  some  without, 
a  few  in  carts,  but  most  on  foot ; 
here  and  there  waggons  of  stores, 
with  men  sitting  wherever  there 
was  room,  others  crammed  with 
wounded  soldiers.  Many  blocks 
occurred  from  horses  falling,  or  carts 
breaking  down  and  filling  up  the 
road.  In  the  town  the  confusion 
was  even  worse,  for  all  the  houses 
seemed  full  of  volunteers  and  militia- 
men, wounded  or  resting,  or  trying 
to  find  food,  and  the  streets  were 
almost  choked  up.  Some  officers 
were  in  vain  trying  to  restore  order, 
but  the  task  seemed  a  hopeless  one. 
One  or  two  volunteer  regiments 
which  had  arrived  from  the  north 
the  previous  night,  and  had  been 
halted  here  for  orders,  were  drawn 
up  along  the  roadside  steadily 
enough,  and  some  of  the  retreating 
regiments,  including  ours,  may  have 
preserved  the  semblance  of  disci- 
pline, but  for  the  most  part  the  mass 
pushing  to  the  rear  was  a  mere  mob. 
The  regulars,  or  what  remained  of 
them,  were  now,  I  believe,  all  in  the 
rear,  to  hold  the  advancing  enemy 
in  check.  A  few  officers  among 
such  a  crowd  could  do  nothing.  To 
add  to  the  confusion,  several  houses 


were  being  emptied  of  the  wounded 
brought  here  the  night  before,  to 
prevent  their  falling  into  the  hands 
of  the  enemy,  some  in  carts,  some 
being  carried  to  the  railway  by  men. 
The  groans  of  these  poor  fellows  as 
they  were  jostled  through  the  street 
went  to  our  hearts,  selfish  though 
fatigue  and  suffering  had  made  us. 
At  last,  following  the  guidance  of 
a  staff-officer  who  was  standing  to 
show  the  way,  we  turned  off  from 
the  main  London  road  and  took 
that  towards  Kingston.  Here  the 
crush  was  less,  and  we  managed  to 
move  along  pretty  steadily.  The 
air  had  been  cooled  by  the  storm, 
and  there  was  no  dust.  "VVe  passed 
through  a  village  where  our  new 
general  had  seized  all  the  public- 
houses,  and  taken  possession  of  the 
liquor;  and  each  regiment  as  it 
came  up  was  halted,  and  each  man 
got  a  drink  of  beer,  served  out  by 
companies.  Whether  the  owner  got 
paid,  I  know  not,  but  it  was  like 
nectar.  It  must  have  been  about 
one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  that  we 
came  in  sight  of  Kingston.  We 
had  been  on  our  legs  sixteen  hours, 
and  had  got  over  about  twelve  miles 
of  ground.  There  is  a  hill  a  little 
south  of  the  Surbiton  station,  cov- 
ered then  mostly  with  villas,  but 
open  at  the  western  extremity,  where 
there  was  a  clump  of  trees  on  the 
summit.  We  had  diverged  from 
the  road  towards  this,  and  here 
the  general  halted  us  and  disposed 
the  line  of  the  division  along  his 
front,  facing  to  the  south-west,  the 
right  of  the  line  reaching  down 
to  the  Thames,  the  left  extending 
along  the  southern  slope  of  the  hill, 
in  the  direction  of  the  Epsom  road 
by  which  we  had  come.  We  were 
nearly  in  the  centre,  occupying  the 
knoll  just  in  front  of  the  general, 
who  dismounted  on  the  top  and 
tied  his  horse  to  a  tree.  It  is  not 
much  of  a  hill,  but  commands  an 
extensive  view  over  the  flat  country 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


565 


around ;  and  as  we  lay  wearily  on  the 
ground  we  could  see  the  Thames 
glistening  like  a  silver  field  in  the 
bright  sunshine,  the  palace  at  Hamp- 
ton Court,  the  bridge  at  Kingston, 
and  the  old  church  tower  rising  above 
the  haze  of  the  town,  with  the  woods 
of  Richmond  Park  behind  it.  To 
most  of  us  the  scene  could  not  but 
call  up  the  associations  of  happy 
days  of  peace — days  now  ended  and 
peace  destroyed  through  national  in- 
fatuation. We  did  not  say  this  to 
each  other,  but  a  deep  depression 
had  come  upon  ITS,  partly  due  to 
weakness  and  fatigue,  no  doubt,  but 
we  saw  that  another  stand  was  going 
to  be  made,  and  we  had  no  longer 
any  confidence  in  ourselves.  If  we 
could  not  hold  our  own  when  station- 
ary in  line,  on  a  good  position,  but 
had  been  broken  up  into  a  rabble  at 
the  first  shock,  what  chance  had  we 
now  of  manoeuvring  against  a  victori- 
ous enemy  in  this  open  ground  ?  A 
feeling  of  desperation  came  over  us, 
a  determination  to  struggle  on  against 
hope  ;  but  anxiety  for  the  future  of 
the  country,  and  our  friends,  and  all 
dear  to  us,  filled  our  thoughts  now 
that  we  had  time  for  reflection.  We 
had  had  no  news  of  any  kind  since 
Wood  joined  us  the  day  before — we 
knew  not  what  was  doing  in  London, 
or  what  the  Government  was  about, 
or  anything  else ;  and  exhausted 
though  we  were,  we  felt  an  intense 
craving  to  know  what  was  happen- 
ing in  other  parts  of  the  country. 

Our  general  had  expected  to  find 
a  supply  of  food  and  ammunition 
here,  but  nothing  turned  up.  Most 
of  us  had  hardly  a  cartridge  left,  so 
he  ordered  the  regiment  next  to  us, 
which  came  from  the  north  and  had 
not  been  engaged,  to  give  us  enough 
to  make  up  twenty  rounds  a  man, 
and  he  sent  off  a  fatigue-party  to 
Kingston  to  try  and  get  provisions, 
while  a  detachment  of  our  fellows 
was  allowed  to  go  foraging  among 
the  villas  in  our  rear ;  and  in  about 


an  hour  they  brought  back  some 
bread  and  meat,  which  gave  us  a 
slender  meal  all  round.  They  said 
most  of  the  houses  were  empty,  and 
that  many  had  been  stripped  of  all 
eatables,  and  a  good  deal  damaged 
already. 

It  must  have  been  between  three 
and  four  o'clock  when  the  sound  of 
cannonading  began  to  be  heard  in 
the  front,  and  we  could  see  the 
smoke  of  the  guns  rising  above  the 
woods  of  Esher  and  Claremont,  and 
soon  afterwards  some  troops  emerged 
from  the  fields  below  us.  It  was 
the  rear -guard  of  regular  troops. 
There  were  some  guns  also,  which 
were  driven  up  the  slope  and  took 
up  their  position  round  the  knoll. 
There  were  three  batteries,  but  they 
only  counted  eight  guns  amongst 
them.  Behind  them  was  posted  the 
line  ;  it  was  a  brigade  apparently  of 
four  regiments,  but  the  whole  did 
not  look  to  be  more  than  eight  or 
nine  hundred  men.  Our  regiment 
and  another  had  been  moved  a  little 
to  the  rear  to  make  way  for  them, 
and  presently  we  were  ordered  down 
to  occupy  the  railway  station  on  our 
right  rear.  My  leg  was  now  so  stiff 
I  could  no  longer  march  with  the 
rest,  and  my  left  arm  was  very  swol- 
len and  sore,  and  almost  useless ;  but 
anything  seemed  better  than  being 
left  behind,  so  I  limped  after  the 
battalion  as  best  I  could  down  to  the 
station.  There  was  a  goods  shed  a 
little  in  advance  of  it  down  the  line, 
a  strong  brick  building,  and  here 
my  company  was  posted.  The  rest 
of  our  men  lined  the  wall  of  the  en- 
closure. A  staff-officer  came  with  us 
to  arrange  the  distribution;  we  should 
be  supported  byline  troops;  he  said, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  a  train  full  of 
them  came  slowly  up  from  Guildford 
way.  It  was  the  last ;  the  men  got 
out,  the  train  passed  on,  and  a  party 
began  to  tear  up  the  rails,  while  the 
rest  were  distributed  among  the 
houses  on  each  side.  A  sergeant's 


566 


Tlie  Battle  of  Dorking  : 


[May 


party  joined  us  in  our  shed,  and  an 
engineer  officer  with  sappers  came 
to  knock  holes  in  the  walls  for  us  to 
fire  from ;  but  there  were  only  half- 
a-dozen  of  them,  so  progress  was  not 
rapid,  and  as  we  had  no  tools  we 
could  not  help. 

It  was  while  we  were  watching 
this  job  that  the  adjutant,  who  was 
as  active  as  ever,  looked  in,  and 
told  us  to  muster  in  the  yard.  The 
fatigue-party  had  come  back  from 
Kingston,  and  a  small  baker's  hand- 
cart of  food  was  made  over  to  us 
as  our  share.  It  contained  loaves, 
flour,  and  some  joints  of  meat.  The 
meat  and  the  flour  we  had  not  time 
or  means  to  cook.  The  loaves  we 
devoured;  and  there  was  a  tap  of 
water  in  the  yard,  so  we  felt  re- 
freshed by  the  meal.  I  should  have 
liked  to  wash  my  wounds,  which 
were  becoming  very  offensive,  but 
I  dared  not  take  off  my  coat,  feel- 
ing sure  I  should  not  be  able  to  get 
it  on  again.  It  was  while  we  were 
eating  our  bread  that  the  rumour 
first  reached  us  of  another  disaster, 
even  greater  than  that  we  had  wit- 
nessed ourselves.  Whence  it  came 
I  know  not ;  but  a  whisper  went 
down  the  ranks  that  Woolwich  had 
been  captured.  We  all  knew  that 
it  was  our  only  arsenal,  and  under- 
stood the  significance  of  the  blow. 
No  hope,  if  this  were  true,  of  saving 
the  country.  Thinking  over  this, 
we  went  back  to  the  shed. 

Although  this  was  only  our  second 
day  of  war,  I  think  we  were  already 
old  soldiers  so  far  that  we  had 
come  to  be  careless  about  fire,  and 
the  shot  and  shell  that  now  began 
to  open  on  us  made  no  sensation. 
We  felt,  indeed,  our  need  of  discip- 
line, and  we  saw  plainly  enough  the 
slender  chance  of  success  coming 
out  of  such  a  rabble  as  we  were ; 
but  I  think  we  were  all  determined 
to  fight  on  as  long  as  we  could. 
Our  gallant  adjutant  gave  his  spirit 
to  everybody ;  and  the  staff-officer 


commanding  was  a  very  cheeiy  fel- 
low, and  went  about  as  if  we  were 
certain  of  victory.  Just  as  the  firing 
began  he  looked  in  to  say  that  we 
were  as  safe  as  in  a  church,  that  we 
must  be  sure  and  pepper  the  enemy 
well,  and  that  more  cartridges  would 
soon  arrive.  There  were  some  steps 
and  benches  in  the  shed,  and  on  these 
a  part  of  our  men  were  standing,  to 
fire  through  the  upper  loop-holes, 
while  the  line  soldiers  and  others 
stood  on  the  ground,  guarding  the 
second  row.  I  sat  on  the  floor,  for 
I  could  not  now  use  my  rifle,  and 
besides,  there  were  more  men  than 
loop-holes.  The  artillery  fire  which 
had  opened  now  on  our  position 
was  from  a  longish  range ;  and  oc- 
cupation for  the  riflemen  had  hardly 
begun  when  there  was  a  crash  in 
the  shed,  and  I  was  knocked  down 
by  a  blow  on  the  head.  I  was  al- 
most stunned  for  a  time,  and  could 
not  make  out  what  had  happened. 
A  shot  or  shell  had  hit  the  shed 
without  quite  penetrating  the  wall, 
but  the  blow  had  upset  the  steps 
resting  against  it,  and  the  men 
standing  on  them,  bringing  down  a 
cloud  of  plaster  and  brickbats,  one 
of  which  had  struck  me.  I  felt 
now  past  being  of  use.  I  could  not 
use  my  rifle,  and  could  barely  stand ; 
and  after  a  time  I  thought  I  would 
make  for  my  own  house,  on  the 
chance  of  finding  some  one  still 
there.  I  got  up  therefore,  and  stag- 
gered homewards.  Musketry  fire 
had  now  commenced,  and  our  side 
were  blazing  away  from  the  win- 
dows of  the  houses,  and  from  be- 
hind walls,  and  from  the  shelter  of 
some  trucks  still  standing  in  the 
station.  A  couple  of  field-pieces  in 
the  yard  were  firing,  and  in  the 
open  space  in  rear  a  reserve  was 
drawn  up.  There,  too,  was  the  staff- 
officer  on  horseback,  watching  the 
fight  through  his  field-glass.  I  re- 
member having  still  enough  sense 
to  feel  that  the  position  was  a  hope- 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


567 


less  one.  That  straggling  line  of 
houses  and  gardens  would  surely 
be  broken  through  at  some  point, 
and  then  the  line  must  give  way 
like  a  rope  of  sand.  It  was  about  a 
mile  to  our  house,  and  I  was  think- 
ing how  I  could  possibly  drag  my- 
self so  far  when  I  suddenly  recol- 
lected that  I  was  passing  Travers's 
house, — one  of  the  first  of  a  row 
of  villas  then  leading  from,  the 
station  to  Kingston.  Had  ho  been 
brought  home,  I  wondered,  as  his 
faithful  old  servant  promised,  and 
was  his  wife  still  here  t  I  remember 
to  this  day  the  sensation  of  shame  I 
felt,  when  I  recollected  that  I  had 
not  once  given  him — my  greatest 
friend  —  a  thought  since  I  carried 
him  off  the  field  the  day  before. 
But  war  and  suffering  make  men 
selfish.  I  would  go  in  now  at  any 
rate  and  rest  awhile,  and  see  if  I 
could  be  of  use.  The  little  garden 
before  the  house  was  as  trim  as 
ever — I  used  to  pass  it  every  day 
on  my  way  to  the  train,  and  knew 
every  shrub  in  it — and  a  blaze  of 
flowers,  but  the  hall-door  stood  ajar. 
I  stepped  in  and  saw  little  Arthur 
standing  in  the  hall.  He  had  been 
dressed  as  neatly  as  ever  that  day,  and 
as  he  stood  there  in  his  pretty  blue 
frock  and  white  trousers  and  socks 
showing  his  chubby  little  legs,  with 
his  golden  locks,  fair  face,  and  large 
dark  eyes,  the  picture  of  childish 
beauty,  in  the  quiet  hall,  just  as  it 
used  to  look — the  vases  of  flowers, 
the  hat  and  coats  hanging  up,  the 
familiar  pictures  on  the  walls — this 
vision  of  peace  in  the  midst  of  war 
made  me  wonder  for  a  moment, 
faint  and  giddy  as  I  was,  if  the 
pandemonium  outside  had  any  real 
existence,  and  was  not  merely  a 
hideous  dream.  But  the  roar  of  the 
guns  making  the  house  shake,  and 
the  rushing  of  the  shot,  gave  a  ready 
answer.  The  little  fellow  appeared 
almost  unconscious  of  the  scene 
around  him,  and  was  walking  up 


the  stairs  holding  by  the  railing, 
one  step  at  a  time,  as  I  had  seen 
him  do  a  hundred  times  before, 
but  turned  round  as  I  came  in. 
My  appearance  frightened  him, 
and  staggering  as  I  did  into  the 
hall,  my  face  and  clothes  covered 
with  blood  and  dirt,  I  must  have 
looked  an  awful  object  to  the  child, 
for  he  gave  a  cry  and  turned  to  run 
toward  the  basement  stairs.  But  he 
stopped  on  hearing  my  voice  calling 
him  back  to  his  god-papa,  and  after 
a  while  came  timidly  up  to  me.  Papa 
had  been  to  the  battle,  he  said,  and 
was  very  ill :  mamma  was  with  papa : 
Wood  was  out :  Lucy  was  in  the 
cellar,  and  had  taken  him  there,  but 
he  wanted  to  go  to  mamma.  Telling 
him  to  stay  in  the  hall  for  a  minute 
till  I  called  him,  I  climbed  up-stairs 
and  opened  the  bedroom-door.  My 
poor  friend  lay  there,  his  body  rest- 
ing on  the  bed,  his  head  supported 
on  his  wife's  shoulder  as  she  sat  by 
the  bedside.  He  breathed  heavily, 
but  the  pallor  of  his  face,  the  closed 
eyes,  the  prostrate  arms,  the  clammy 
foam  she  was  wiping  from  his  mouth, 
all  spoke  of  approaching  death.  The ' 
good  old  servant  had  done  his  duty, 
at  least, — he  had  brought  his  master 
home  to  die  in  his  wife's  arms.  The 
poor  woman  was  too  intent  on  her 
charge  to  notice  the  opening  of  the 
door,  and  as  the  child  would  be 
better  away,  I  closed  it  gently  and 
went  down  to  the  hall  to  take  little 
Arthur  to  the  shelter  below,  where 
the  maid  was  hiding.  Too  late  ! 
He  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  ^>n 
his  face,  his  little  arms  stretched 
out,  his  hair  dabbled  in  blood.  I 
had  not  noticed  the  crash  among 
the  other  noises,  but  a  splinter  of  a 
shell  must  have  come  through  the 
open  doorway ;  it  had  carried  away 
the  back  of  his  head.  The  poor 
child's  death  must  have  been  instan- 
taneous. I  tried  to  lift  up  the  little 
corpse  with  my  one  arm,  but  even 
this  load  was  too  much  for  me, 


5G8 


The  Battle  of  Dorking  : 


[May 


and  while  stooping  down  I  fainted 
away. 

When  I  came  to  my  senses  again 
it  was  quite  dark,  and  for  some  time 
I  could  not  make  out  where  I  was ; 
I  lay  indeed  for  some  time  like  one 
half  asleep,  feeling  no  inclination  to 
move.  By  degrees  I  became  aware 
that  I  was  on  the  carpeted  floor  of 
a  room.  All  noise  of  tattle  had 
ceased,  but  there  was  a  sound  as  of 
many  people  close  by.  At  last  I  sat 
up  and  gradually  got  to  my  feet. 
The  movement  gave  me  intense 
pain,  for  my  wounds  were  now 
highly  inflamed,  and  my  clothes 
sticking  to  them  made  them  dread- 
fully sore.  At  last  I  got  up  and 
groped  my  way  to  the  door,  and  open- 
ing it  at  once  saw  where  I  was,  for  the 
pain  had  brought  back  my  senses. 
I  had  been  lying  in  Travers's  little 
writing-room  at  the  end  of  the  pas- 
sage, into  which  I  made  my  way. 
There  was  no  gas,  and  the  drawing- 
room  door  was  closed  ;  but  from  the 
open  dining-room  the  glimmer  of  a 
candle  feebly  lighted  up  the  hall, 
in  which  half-a-dozen  sleeping 
figures  could  be  discerned,  while 
the  room  itself  was  crowded  with 
men.  The  table  was  covered  with 
plates,  glasses,  and  bottles ;  but 
most  of  the  men  were  asleep  in  the 
chairs  or  on  the  floor,  a  few  were 
smoking  cigars,  and  one  or  two  with 
their  helmets  on  were  still  engaged  at 
supper,  occasionally  grunting  out  an 
observation  between  the  mouthfuls. 

"  Sind  wackere  Soldaten,  dieseEn- 
glischen  Freiwilligen,"  said  a  broad- 
shouldered  brute,  stuffing  a  great 
hunch  of  beef  into  his  mouth  with 
a  silver  fork,  an  implement  I  should 
think  he  must  have  been  using  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life. 

"  Ja,  ja,"  replied  a  comrade,  who 
was  lolling  back  in  his  chair  with 
a  pair  of  very  dirty  legs  on  the 
table,  and  one  of  poor  Travers's  best 
cigars  in  his  mouth ;  "  Sie  so  gut 
laufen  konnen." 


"  Ja  wohl,"  responded  the  first 
speaker ;  "  aber  sind  nicht  eben  so 
schnell  wie  die  Franzosischen  Mob- 
loten." 

"Gewiss,"  grunted  a  hulking 
lout  from  the  floor,  leaning  on  his 
elbow,  and  sending  out  a  cloud  of 
smoke  from  his  ugly  jaws  ;  "  und 
da  sind  hier  etwa  gute  Schiitzen." 

"  Hast  recht,  lange  Peter,"  answer- 
ed number  one  ;  "  wenn  die  Schur- 
ken  so  gut  exerciren  wie  schiitzen 
konnten,  so  Ava'ren  wir  heute  nicht 
hier ! " 

"  Recht !  recht !"  said  the  second ; 
"  das  exerciren  macht  den  guten 
Soldaten." 

What  more  criticisms  on  the 
shortcomings  of  our  unfortunate 
volunteers  might  have  passed  I  did 
not  stop  to  hear,  being  interrupted 
by  a  sound  on  the  stairs.  Mrs  Tra- 
vers  was  standing  on  the  landing- 
place  ;  I  limped  up  the  stairs  to 
meet  her.  Among  the  many  pic- 
tures of  those  fatal  days  engraven 
on  my  memory,  I  remember  none 
more  clearly  than  the  mournful 
aspect  of  my  poor  friend,  widowed 
and  motherless  within  a  few  mo- 
ments, as  she  stood  there  in  her 
white  dress,  coming  forth  like  a 
ghost  from  the  chamber  of  the 
dead,  the  candle  she  held  light- 
ing up  her  face,  and  contrasting 
its  pallor  with  the  dark  hair  that 
fell  disordered  round  it,  its  beauty 
radiant  even  through  features  worn 
with  fatigue  and  sorrow.  She  was 
calm  and  even  tearless,  though  the 
trembling  lip  told  of  the  effort  to 
restrain  the  emotion  she  felt.  "Dear 
friend,"  she  said,  taking  my  hand, 
"  I  was  coming  to  seek  you ;  forgive 
my  selfishness  in  neglecting  you  so 
long ;  but  you  will  understand  " — 
glancing  at  the  door  above — "how 
occupied  I  have  been."  "  Where," 

I  began,  "is" "my  boy?"  she 

answered,  anticipating  my  question. 
"  I  have  laid  him  by  his  father.  But 
now  your  wounds  must  be  cared  for; 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


569 


how  pale  and  faint  you  look  ! — rest 
here  a  moment," — and,  descending  to 
the  dining-room,  she  returned  with 
some  wine,  which  I  gratefully  drank, 
and  then,  making  me  sit  down  on 
the  top  step  of  the  stairs,  she  brought 
water  and  linen,  and,  cutting  off  the 
sleeve  of  my  coat,  bathed  and  ban- 
daged my  wounds.  'Twas  I  who 
felt  selfish  for  thus  adding  to  her 
troubles ;  but  in  truth  I  was  too 
weak  to  have  much  will  left,  and 
stood  in  need  of  the  help  which 
she  forced  me  to  accept ;  and  the 
dressing  of  my  wounds  afforded 
indescribable  relief.  While  thus 
tending  me,  she  explained  in  bro- 
ken sentences  how  matters  stood. 
Every  room  but  her  own,  and 
the  little  parlour  into  which  she 
with  Wood's  help  had  carried  me, 
was  full  of  soldiers.  Wood  had 
been  taken  away  to  work  at  repair- 
ing the  railroad,  and  Lucy  had  run 
off  from  fright;  but  the  cook  had 
stopped  at  her  .post,  and  had  served 
up  supper  and  opened  the  cellar  for 
the  soldiers'  use  :  she  did  not  under- 
stand what  they  said,  and  they 
were  rough  and  boorish,  but  not  un- 
civil. I  should  now  go,  she  said, 
when  my  wounds  were  dressed,  to 
look  after  my  own  home,  where  I 
might  be  wanted ;  for  herself,  she 
wished  only  to  be  allowed  to  remain 
watching  there — pointing  to  the  room 
where  lay  the  bodies  of  her  husband 
and  child — where  she  would  not  be 
molested.  I  felt  that  her  advice 
was  good.  I  could  be  of  no  use  as 
protection,  and  I  had  an  anxious 
longing  to  know  what  had  become 
of  my  sick  mother  and  sister ;  be- 
sides, some  arrangement  must  be 
made  for  the  burial.  I  therefore 
limped  away.  There  was  no  need 
to  express  thanks  on  either  side,  and 
the  grief  was  too  deep  to  be  reached 
by  any  outward  show  of  sympathy. 
Outside  the  house  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  movement  and  bustle ; 
many  carts  going  along,  the  wag- 


goners, from  Sussex  and  Surrey, 
evidently  impressed  and  guarded  by 
soldiers ;  and  although  no  gas  was 
burning,  the  road  towards  Kings- 
ton was  well  lighted  by  torches 
held  by  persons  standing  at  short 
intervals  in  line,  who  had  been 
seized  for  the  duty,  some  of  them 
the  tenants  of  neighbouring  villas. 
Almost  the  first  of  these  torch- 
bearers  I  came  to  was  an  old  gen- 
tleman whose  face  I  was  well 
acquainted  with,  from  having  fre- 
quently travelled  up  and  down  in 
the  same  train  with  him.  He  was 
a  senior  clerk  in  a  Government 
office,  I  believe,  and  was  a  mild- 
looking  old  man  with  a  prim  face 
and  a  long  neck,  which  he  used  to 
wrap  in  a  wide  double  neckcloth,  a 
thing  even  in  those  days  seldom 
seen.  Even  in  that  moment  of  bitter- 
ness I  could  not  help  being  amused 
by  the  absurd  figure  this  poor  old 
fellow  presented,  with  his  solemn 
face  and  long  cravat  doing  penance 
with  a  torch  in  front  of  his  own 
door,  to  light  up  the  path  of  our 
conquerors.  But  a  more  serious 
object  now  presented  itself,  a  cor- 
poral's guard  passing  by,  with  two 
English  volunteers  in  charge,  their 
hands  tied  behind  their  backs. 
They  cast  an  imploring  glance  at 
me,  and  I  stepped  into  the  road  to 
ask  the  corporal  what  was  the  mat- 
ter, and  even  ventured,  as  he  was 
passing  on,  to  lay  my  hand  on  his 
sleeve.  "Auf  dem  Wege,  Spitz- 
bube  ! "  cried  the  brute,  lifting  his 
rifle  as  if  to  knock  me  down.  "  Must 
one  prisoners  who  fire  at  us  let 
shoot,"  he  went  on  to  add ;  and  shot 
the  poor  fellows  would  have  been, 
I  suppose,  if  I  had  not  interceded 
with  an  officer  who  happened  to  be 
riding  by.  "  Herr  Hauptmann,"  I 
cried,  as  loud  as  I  could,  "  is  this 
your  discipline,  to  let  unarmed  pris- 
oners be  shot  without  orders?" 
The  officer,  thus  appealed  to,  reined 
in  his  horse,  and  halted  the  guard 


TJie  Battle  of  Dorldng: 


till  he  heard  what  I  had  to  say. 
My  knowledge  of  other  languages 
here  stood  me  in  good  stead,  for 
the  prisoners,  north-country  factory 
hands  apparently,  were  of  course 
utterly  unable  to  make  themselves 
understood,  and  did  not  even  know 
in  what  they  had  offended.  I 
therefore  interpreted  their  explan- 
ation :  they  had  been  left  "behind 
while  skirmishing  near  Ditton,  in 
a  barn,  and  coming  out  of  their  hid- 
ing-place in  the  midst  of  a  party  of 
the  enemy,  with  their  rifles  in  their 
hands,  the  latter  thought  they  were 
going  to  fire  at  them  from  behind. 
It  was  a  wonder  they  were  not  shot 
down  on  the  spot.  The  captain 
heard  the  tale,  and  then  told  the 
guard  to  let  them  go,  and  they 
slunk  off  at  once  into  a  byroad. 
He  was  a  fine  soldier-like  man,  but 
nothing  could  exceed  the  insolence 
of  his  manner,  which  was  perhaps 
all  the  greater  because  it  seemed  not 
intentional,  but  to  arise  from  a  sense 
of  immeasurable  superiority.  Be- 
tween the  lame  freiwilliger  plead- 
ing for  his  comrades,  and  the 
captain  of  the  conquering  army, 
there  was,  in  his  view,  an  infinite 
gulf.  Had  the  two  men  been  dogs, 
their  fate  could  not  have  been  de- 
cided more  contemptuously.  They 
were  let  go  simply  because  they 
were  not  worth  keeping  as  prison- 
ers, and  perhaps  to  kill  any  living 
thing  without  cause  went  against 
the  hauptmann's  sense  of  jus- 
tice. But  why  speak  of  this  in- 
sult in  particular?  Had  not  every 
man  who  lived  then  his  tale  to 
tell  of  humiliation  and  degrada- 
tion? For  it  was  the  same  story 
everywhere.  After  the  first  stand 
in  line,  and  when  once  they  had 
got  us  on  the  march,  the  enemy 
laughed  at  us.  Our  handful  of 
regular  troops  was  sacrificed  almost 
to  a  man  in  a  vain  conflict  with 
numbers ;  our  volunteers  and  militia, 
with  officers  who  did  not  know  their 


work,  without  ammunition  or  equip- 
ment, or  staff  to  superintend,  starv- 
ing in  the  midst  of  plenty,  we  had 
soon  become  a  helpless  mob,  fight- 
ing desperately  here  and  there,  but 
with  whom,  as  a  manoeuvring  army, 
the  disciplined  invaders  did  just 
what  they  pleased.  Happy  those 
whose  bones  whitened  the  fields 
of  Surrey  ;  they  at  least  were 
spared  the  disgrace  we  lived  to  en- 
dure. Even  you,  who  have  never 
known  what  it  is  to  live  otherwise 
than  on  sufferance,  even  your  cheeks 
burn  when  we  talk  of  these  days ; 
think,  then,  what  those  endured 
who,  like  your  grandfather,  had  been 
citizens  of  the  proudest  nation  on 
earth,  which  had  never  known  dis- 
grace or  defeat,  and  whose  boast  it 
used  to  be  that  they  bore  a  flag  on 
which  the  sun  never  set !  "We  had 
heard  of  generosity  in  war ;  we 
found  none :  the  war  was  made  by 
us,  it  was  said,  and  we  must  take 
the  consequences.  London  and  our 
only  arsenal  captured,  we  were  at 
the  mercy  of  our  captors,  and  right 
heavily  did  they  tread  on  our  necks. 
Need  I  tell  you  the  rest? — of  the 
ransom  we  had  to  pay,  and  the  taxes 
raised  to  cover  it,  which  keep  us 
paupers  to  this  day? — the  brutal 
frankness  that  announced  we  must 
give  place  to  a  new  naval  Power, 
and  be  made  harmless  for  revenge  ? 
— the  victorious  troops  living  at  free 
quarters,  the  yoke  they  put  on  us 
made  the  more  galling  that  their 
requisitions  had  a  semblance  of  me- 
thod and  legality?  Better  have 
been  robbed  at  first  hand  by  the 
soldiery  themselves,  than  through 
our  own  magistrates  made  the  in- 
struments for  extortion.  How  we 
lived  through  the  degradation  we 
daily  and  hourly  underwent,  I 
hardly  even  now  understand.  And 
what  was  there  left  to  us  to  live 
for  ?  Stripped  of  our  colonies ; 
Canada  and  the  West  Indies  gone 
to  America ;  Australia  forced  to 


1871.] 


Reminiscences  of  a  Volunteer. 


571 


separate;  India  lost  for  ever,  after 
the  English  there  had  all  been  de- 
stroyed, vainly  trying  to  hold  the 
country  when  cut  off  from  aid  by 
their  countrymen ;  Gibraltar  and 
Malta  ceded  to  the  new  naval  Power; 
Ireland  independent  and  in  perpet- 
ual anarchy  and  revolution.  When 
I  look  at  my  country  as  it  is  now — 
its  trade  gone,  its  factories  silent, 
its  harbours  empty,  a  prey  to  pauper- 
ism and  decay — when  I  see  all  this, 
and  think  what  Great  Britain  was 
in  my  youth,  I  ask  myself  whether 
I  have  really  a  heart  or  any  sense  of 
patriotism  that  I  should  have  wit- 
nessed such  degradation  and  still 
care  to  live  !  France  was  different. 
There,  too,  they  had  to  eat  the  bread 
of  tribulation  under  the  yoke  of 
the  conqueror;  their  fall  was  hardly 
more  sudden  or  violent  than  ours ; 
but  war  could  not  take  away  their 
rich  soil ;  they  had  no  colonies  to 
lose ;  their  broad  lands,  which  made 
their  wealth,  remained  to  them ; 
and  they  rose  again  from  the  blow. 
But  our  people  could  not  be  got  to 
see  how  artificial  our  prosperity  was 
— that  it  all  rested  on  foreign  trade 
and  financial  credit ;  that  the  course 
of  trade  once  turned  away  from  us, 
even  for  a  time,  it  might  never 
return ;  and  that  our  credit  once 
shaken  might  never  be  restored. 
To  hear  men  talk  in  those  days,  you 
would  have  thought  that  Providence 
had  ordained  that  our  Government 
should  always  borrow  at  three  per 
cent,  and  that  trade  came  to  us  be- 
cause we  lived  in  a  foggy  little 
island  set  in  a  boisterous  sea.  They 
could  not  be  got  to  see  that  the 
wealth  heaped  up  on  every  side  was 
not  created  in  the  country,  but  in 
India  and  China,  and  other  parts  of 
the  world ;  and  that  it  would  be 
quite  possible  for  the  people  who 
made  money  by  buying  and  selling 
the  natural  treasures  of  the  earth,  to 
go  and  live  in  other  places,  and  take 
their  profits  with  them.  Nor  would 

VOL.    CLX. — NO.    DCLXVH. 


men  believe  that  there  could  ever 
be  an  end  to  our  coal  and  iron,  or 
that  they  would  get  to  be  so  much 
dearer  than  the  coal  and  iron  of 
America  that  it  would  no  longer  be 
worth  while  to  work  them,  and  that 
therefore  we  ought  to  insure  against 
the  loss  of  our  artificial  position  as 
the  great  centre  of  trade,  by  making 
ourselves  secure  and  strong  and  re- 
spected. We  thought  we  were 
living  in  a  commercial  millennium, 
which  must  last  for  a  thousand 
years  at  least.  After  all,  the  bitter- 
est part  of  our  reflection  is,  that  all 
this  misery  and  decay  might  have 
been  so  easily  prevented,  and  that 
we  brought  it  about  ourselves  by 
our  own  shortsighted  recklessness. 
There,  across  the  narrow  Straits,  was 
the  writing  on  the  wall,  but  we 
would  not  choose  to  read  it.  The 
warnings  of  the  few  were  drowned 
in  the  voice  of  the  multitude. 
Power  was  then  passing  away 
from  the  class  which  had  been 
used  to  rule,  and  to  face  political 
dangers,  and  which  had  brought 
the  nation  with  honour  unsullied 
through  former  struggles,  into  the 
hands  of  the  lower  classes,  unedu- 
cated, untrained  to  the  use  of  poli- 
tical rights,  and  swayed  by  dema- 
gogues ;  and  the  few  who  were  wise 
in  their  generation  were  denounced 
as  alarmists,  or  as  aristocrats  who 
sought  their  own  aggrandisement 
by  wasting  public  money  on  bloated 
armaments.  The  rich  were  idle  and 
luxurious ;  the  poor  grudged  the 
cost  of  defence.  Politics  had  be- 
come a  mere  bidding  for  Radical 
votes,  and  those  who  should  have 
led  the  nation,  stooped  rather  to 
pander  to  the  selfishness  of  the  day, 
and  humoured  the  popular  cry 
which  denounced  those  who  would 
secure  the  defence  of  the  nation  by 
enforced  arming  of  its  manhood,  as 
interfering  with  the  liberties  of  the 
people.  Truly  the  nation  was  ripe 
for  a  fall ;  but  when  I  reflect  how 
2  R 


572 


Impressions  of  Greece. 


[May 


a  little  firmness  and  self-denial,  or 
political  courage  and  foresight,  might 
have  averted  the  disaster,  I  feel 
that  the  judgment  must  have  really 
been  deserved.  A  nation  too  selfish 
to  defend  its  liberty,  could  not  have 
been  fit  to  retain  it.  To  you,  my 
grandchildren,  who  are  now  going 
to  seek  a  new  home  in  a  more  pros- 
perous land,  let  not  this  bitter 
lesson  be  lost  upon  you  in  the 


country  of  your  adoption.  For  me, 
I  am  too  old  to  begin  life  again  in 
a  strange  country ;  and  hard  and 
evil  as  have  been  my  days,  it  is  not 
much  to  await  in  solitude  the  time 
which  cannot  now  be  far  off,  when 
my  old  bones  will  be  laid  to  rest  in 
the  soil  I  have  loved  so  well,  and 
whose  happiness  and  honour  I  have 
so  long  survived. 


IMPRESSIONS   OF  GREECE. 


LATE  events  have  given  a  sad 
celebrity  to  Greece  amongst  us. 
Great  and  terrible  as  have  been  the 
incidents  of  Europe  within  the  last 
eight  months,  the  disaster  of 
Oropus  has  not  been  erased  from 
memory  by  the  overwhelming 
slaughter  of  the  battle-field,  the  de- 
vastation of  cities,  and  the  downfall 
of  a  great  nation. 

Nothing  could  more  convincingly 
demonstrate  how  deeply  the  feeling 
of  England  has  sympathised  with 
this  dire  calamity,  than  the  fact  that 
amidst  the  crash  of  a  mighty  em- 
pire, and  a  convulsion  that  threatens 
to  change  the  condition  of  the  world, 
men  still  turn  to  the  history  of  that 
sad  morning  at  Marathon ;  while 
through  the  cares  of  a  most  event- 
ful moment  our  Foreign  Minister 
directs  his  especial  attention  to  this 
question,  and  has  within  the  last 
few  days  formally  made  the  demand 
on  Greece  to  reopen  the  inquiry, 
and  investigate  the  case  from  the 
beginning. 

The  volume  whose  title  stands  at 
the  head  of  the  present  paper  has 
its  especial  value  for  us  at  this  time. 
First  of  all,  these  are  the  "  impres- 
sions "  of  a  most  competent  and  fair- 


minded  witness.  Sir  Thomas  Wyse, 
for  years  our  Minister  in  Greece,  was 
eminently  suited  to  the  task  that 
fell  to  his  lot.  To  the  claims  of 
scholarship  and  learning  he  added 
the  gifts  of  the  practical  politician 
and  the  statesman ;  and  not  less 
than  either  was  he  a  true  philan- 
thropist, who  could  take  the  warm- 
est interest  in  the  daily  life  and 
habits  of  a  simple  people,  —  study 
their  wants,  weigh  their  ambitions, 
and  carefully  consider  how  far  their 
hopes  as  a  nation  might  reasonably 
contribute  to  their  welfare  and  pros- 
perity. 

But  there  was  another  merit, 
more  especially  his  own.  No  min- 
ister of  any  country  more  laboured 
than  Sir  Thomas  Wyse  to  eradi- 
cate from  Greece  that  spirit  of  de- 
pendence on  the  protecting  Powers 
which  has  been  at  once  the  shame 
of  all  Greek  politicians  and  the 
destruction  of  anything  like  a  na- 
tional party.  That  the  country 
should  be  the  Greece  of  the  Greeks, 
and  not  of  Eussia,  of  England,  or 
of  France,  was  his  crowning  idea. 

The  men  who  have  known  Greece 
personally,  and  through  intimate 
acquaintance  with  its  people,  are 


Impressions  of  Greece.     By  Sir  Thomas  Wyse,  K.  C.  B.   With  an  Introduction  by  his 


Niece,  Miss  Wyse;  and  Letter  to  his  Friends  at  Home  by  Dean  Stanley. 
Blackett.    1871. 


Hurst  & 


1871.] 


Impressions  of  Greece. 


573 


certainly  more  prone  to  Philhellen- 
ism,  from  this  sort  of  knowledge, 
than  statesmen  or  ministers  whose 
dealings  have  brought  them  into 
contact  with  persons  in  office  ;  and 
it  is  well  to  discriminate  between 
the  differing,  and  to  some  extent 
opposite,  judgments  of  the  two, 
and  to  bear  in  mind  how  little  of 
contradictory  may  exist  between 
them.  If  there  be  nothing  more 
common  than  to  find  panegyrists 
of  Greece  amongst  the  former,  it 
is  very  rare,  indeed,  to  meet  with 
men  who  will  speak  in  terms  of 
praise  of  the  Greek  statesmen  and 
politicians. 

If  it  was  not  easy  to  exaggerate 
the  good  qualities  of  the  peasant,  or 
to  overstate  his  temperance,  his  in- 
dustry, or  his  thrift,  no  more  could 
you  set  bounds  to  the  future  of  a 
people  constitutionally  brave  and 
courageous,  ever  ready  to  confront 
difficulty  or  danger,  eminently  alive 
to  the  appeal  of  eloquence,  and  will- 
ing to  intrust  their  fortune  wher- 
ever their  convictions  engaged  them. 
Add  to  these  qualities  a  love  and  a 
desire  for  education  which,  except 
in  the  Irish  peasantry,  has  no  rival 
in  Europe.  To  Greek  ambition 
learning  is  the  one  road  ;  he  asks  no 
other — aspires  to  no  other.  What 
Greece  has  done  in  this  respect, 
a  few  facts  will  illustrate.  In 
the  year  1835  there  were  but  71 
primary  schools,  frequented  by 
6721  scholars.  In  1866  the  return 
of  public  schools  makes  their  num- 
ber 1067,  and  the  scholars  65,363. 
There  are,  besides,  123  superior 
schools,  or  what  are  called  in  Greece 
"  Hellenic  Schools,"  attended  by 
6675  pupils,  and  presided  over  by 
964  masters,  all  of  whom  are  grad- 
uates of  a  university.  In  these  all 
the  higher  branches  of  education 
are  followed  out,  and  the  classics 
especially  cultivated. 

Over  these,  again,  are  the  Gym- 
nasia ;  and,  lastly,  the  university, 


which  numbers  62  professors  and 
1200  students. 

In  the  most  critical  moments  of 
national  history  these  numbers  have 
not  fallen  off :  a  large  number,  in- 
deed, come  from  the  Greek  provinces 
of  Turkey.  The  total  of  scholars  of 
of  both  sexes  in  the  various  educa- 
tional establishments  of  the  country 
amounts  to  75,000,  which  gives 
one  for  every  19  of  the  popu- 
lation. It  is  not  unwarrantable  to 
hope  much  from  a  people  who,  in 
all  the  pressure  of  a  deep  poverty, 
can  make  such  efforts  as  these  for  re- 
generation and  improvement;  nor  is 
it  unreasonable  that  they  who  love 
Greece,  and  feel  closely  interested  in 
her  fortunes,  would  rather  dwell  on 
these  reasons  for  hopefulness  than 
on  the  characters  of  her  public  men, 
and  the  fame  of  their  actions  be- 
fore the  world. 

The  Greece  of  which  we  read, 
however,  in  our  journals,  whose  in- 
trigues we  discuss,  whose  rogueries 
we  expose,  whose  bankruptcies  we 
deplore,  is  the  country  with  whose 
forms  we  are  more  familiar  than  this 
land  of  the  toiling  peasant.  We 
only  know  of  Greece  as  the  "politi- 
cal failure"  which  inapplicable  in- 
stitutions and  dishonest  politicians 
have  made  it ;  and  when  we  read 
of  Philhellenism,  we  ask  ourselves 
of  what  are  these  men  made  who 
see  any  ground  of  hope  in  these  kna- 
vish plotters,  in  these  unscrupulous 
jobbers]  Henri  Heine  once  said 
that  nations  were  best  known  to 
their  neighbours  through  their 
writers  of  fiction;  and  there  is  no 
disguising  how  much  the  portrait- 
ure of  domestic  manners  has  done 
for  ourselves  in  disseminating  ideas 
of  our  attachment  to  the  ties  of 
family,  the  joys  of  home,  and  that 
general  trustfulness  in  the  power  of 
affection  which  forms  the  basis  of 
our  daily  code.  Now  the  Greeks 
have  no  painters  of  their  interior 
life ;  all  we  know  of  them  is  from 


574 


Impi-essions  of  Greece. 


[May 


our  tourists  or  our  newspaper  cor- 
respondents. 

It  is  of  great  value,  on  this  account, 
to  have,  as  in  the  work  before  us, 
the  testimony  of  one  who  knew 
these  people  in  the  various  grada- 
tions of  life ;  who  had  lived  long 
amongst  them,  making  the  study  of 
them  his  pleasure  and  his  pursuit; 
and  who  in  all  the  zeal  of  the 
Philhellenist  never  lost  sight  of  the 
skill  andacuteness  of  the  politician. 

The  work  itself,  published  post- 
humously by  his  niece,  is  preceded 
by  an  introduction  by  that  lady,  so 
gracefully  written,  and  with  such 
absence  of  pretension,  that  we  would 
with  great  pleasure  loiter  over  pages 
every  one  of  which  is  full  of  know- 
ledge of  the  country  and  a  keen 
appreciation  of  the  people. 

That  same  brigandage  whose 
fearful  cruelties  we  are  now  occu- 
pied in  investigating,  engaged  Sir 
Thomas  Wyse's  attention  so  far  back 
as  1851  and  1852;  and,  as  his  niece 
tells  us,  "  Lord  Palmerston,  wishing 
to  bring  public  opinion  to  bear,  and 
hoping  to  induce  other  Governments 
to  help  him,  had  a  memorandum  of 
Sir  Thomas  Wyse's  despatches  on 
this  subject  printed  and  transmitted 
to  every  Court  of  Europe.  Soon 
a  phalanx  of  remonstrance  poured 
down  on  the  head  of  the  unlucky 
Greek  Cabinet.  Great  was  the  indig- 
nation against  the  English  Minister ; 
yet  many  of  the  instances  quoted, 
with  the  details  of  thumb-screws, 
boiling  oil,  and  other  tortures,  had 
been  copied  from  the  Greek  papers 
themselves." 

On  examination,  the  truth  of  Sir 
Thomas  Wyse's  allegation  was  pro- 
ven; but  the  Greek  Government 
consoled  itself  by  proclaiming  "that, 
at  all  events,  now,  perfect  tran- 
quillity prevails;"  and  after  such  a 
declaration  there  was  no  more  to 
be  said. 

When,  however,  shortly  after  this, 
Sir  Thomas  Wyse  proposed  to  make 


an  excursion  to  Nauplia,  round  to 
Corinth,  returning  by  Mount  Ger- 
anion,  a  general  outcry  of  dissua- 
sion arose  from  all  his  friends  against 
the  hazardous  undertaking,  eager- 
ly exclaiming,  "  Are  you  foolish 
enough  to  believe  the  Government  1 " 

There  is  an  unhappy  resemblance 
between  this  state  of  things  and 
what  we  have  seen  in  our  own  day; 
and  the  parallel  extends,  unfortun- 
ately, to  the  same  unprincipled  assur- 
ance of  security  which  lured  our  poor 
countrymen  to  their  fate.  "There  is 
not  a  brigand  in  the  province,"  was 
the  assurance  of  the  Minister  when 
Mr  Herbert  and  his  party  inquired 
as  to  the  safety  of  a  visit  to  Mara- 
thon. 

At  the  moment  this  assurance 
was  given,  Takos  and  his  followers 
were  looking  down  on  Athens  from 
the  slopes  of  Pentelicus;  and  the 
only  doubtful  part  of  this  dreary 
story  is,  how  far  they  who  spoke  so 
confidently  were,  or  were  not,  fully 
informed  on  what  they  declared. 
In  fact,  we  only  have  to  read  Miss 
Wyse's  introductory  chapter  to  see 
that  things  have  gone  back  in  Greece 
since  the  days  she  speaks  of.  "  The 
rides  around  Athens  were  perfectly 
safe,  and  no  one  felt  the  least  alarm 
when  benighted ; "  and  so  she  says, 
"  as  we  once  were,  riding  back  in 
the  evening  from  Marathon !  without 
one  gendarme  or  armed  protector  of 
any  kind."  This,  be  it  remembered, 
took  place  nigh  twenty  years  ago; 
and  it  was  but  this  time  last  year 
we  witnessed  the  surprise  at  Pik- 
ermi  and  the  massacre  at  Oropus. 
What,  then,  has  changed  in  this 
terrible  land  1  Is  it  the  brigand  ? 
has  he  grown  more  merciful  or  more 
mercenary  1  Is  he  less  disposed  to 
bloodshed,  and  more  eager  for  per- 
sonal gain  1  How  about  the  Govern- 
ment 1  Are  Ministers  more  alive  to 
the  grave  responsibilities  of  their  sta- 
tion1? are  they  more  observant  of 
the  obligations  of  their  word]  do 


1871.] 


Impressions  of  Greece. 


575 


they  believe  in  the  existence  of  a 
European  public  opinion?  and  do 
they  regard  themselves  as  amenable 
to  its  judgments  ] 

Is  the  peasant  less  under  the 
terror  of  the  brigand's  vengeance  ? 
or  is  there  a  single  social  condition 
of  the  country,  as  regards  this  pesti- 
lence of  brigandage,  different  from 
what  it  was  ?  Where  is  the  security 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Athens  at 
this  moment  ?  It  was  but  last  sum- 
mer we  ourselves  formed  portion  of 
a  party  to  dine  on  board  a  British 
ship  of  war  at  the  Pmeus ;  and  as 
we  desired  to  drive  thither  by  road 
in  preference  to  taking  the  rail,  a 
distance  of  three  English  miles,  the 
Minister  of  the  Interior  took  the 
precaution  to  order  detachments  to 
patrol  the  road,  as  the  party  in- 
cluded three  or  four  of  the  foreign 
envoys  in  Greece,  and  consequent- 
ly, if  captured  by  the  brigands, 
might  have  occasioned  the  "very 
gravest  of  complications."  This 
took  place  in  last  June.  "  The  first 
startling  event,"  says  Miss  Wyse, 
"  of  this  epoch,  occurred  soon  after 
the  armed  occupation  of  the  Piraeus, 
when  a  band  of  brigands  who  had 
gathered  on  the  hills  above  Salamis 
rushed  down  to  the  plain  beneath, 
one  evening  towards  dusk,  and  car- 
ried off  a  French  officer  from  the 
outskirts  of  his  own  camp.  They 
immediately  sent  to  the  admiral 
commanding  the  corps,  and  demand- 
ed a  ransom  of  £1200  in  English 
sovereigns,  requesting  politely  at  the 
same  time  an  English  telescope." 

Sir  Thomas  Wyse,  and  M.  Mercier, 
the  French  envoy,  went  straight  to 
M.  Boulgaris,  who  was  at  the  mo- 
ment engaged  in  a  Cabinet  Council. 
They  were  admitted,  however,  at 
once,  and  told  the  Cabinet  "  that 
they  must  look  to  this  matter,"  and 
"  that  if  the  officer  was  not  released 
forthwith  they  would  take  the 
severest  measures."  The  Ministry, 
knowing  these  to  be  no  empty 


threats,  lost  not  a  moment.  The 
Greek  Government  paid  t fie  £1200  ! 
in  English  gold,  too ;  but  with  or 
without  the  telescope,  has  not  tran- 
spired. 

What  a  lesson  might  have  been 
derived  from  this  prompt  and  de- 
cisive action  of  these  two  deter- 
mined and  sensible  men,  who  would 
accept  no  portion  of  the  details  of 
the  negotiations,  nor  any  part  in  the 
dealings  with  the  brigands  !  They 
saw  at  once  that  to  entertain  the 
question  at  all  was  to  accept  a  share 
of  that  responsibility  which  be- 
longed solely  to  the  Greek  Govern- 
ment. They  limited  themselves  to 
the  simple  demand,  which  they 
knew  how  to  enforce,  and  made  the 
Cabinet  responsible  for  what  might 
happen.  Nor  is  the  least  instruc- 
tive part  of  the  episode  the  fact,  that 
universal  report  declared  the  King 
and  the  Queen  had  both  applauded 
the  carrying  off  of  the  French  officer. 
The  King  understood  brigandage 
only  as  evidence  of  popular  discon- 
tent at  the  occupation  of  the  Allies  ! 

If,  then,  Sir  Thomas  Wyse  and 
M.  Mercier  could  in  those  days  have 
put  such  pressure  on  a  Greek  Gov- 
ernment, that  even  in  the  face  of 
popular  sympathy  they  could  oblige 
them  to  ransom  a  captive  and 
treat  with  the  brigands  themselves, 
how  much  more  likely  would  such 
a  line  of  action  be  to  succeed  in 
these  our  own  days,  when  we  are 
told  that  the  sense  of  the  "  nation 
kindles  against  brigandage,"  and 
when  we  know  that  not  a  breath  of 
scandal  can  be  breathed  against  the 
honour  of  the  Throne  ! 

We  are  not  for  a  moment  pre- 
pared to  justify  this  mode  of  pro- 
cedure, or  to  maintain  its  legality ; 
but  neither  are  we  in  possession  of 
any  argument  to  support  the  payment 
of  a  ransom  at  all,  and  the  holding 
any  dealings  whatever  with  these 
murderers.  In  point  of  fact,  the 
summary  demand  that  the  captive 


576 


Impressions  of  Greece. 


[May 


should  be  restored  uninjured,  no 
matter  how  it  should  be  done,  or 
through  what  agency  effected,  was 
in  itself  a  very  significant  avowal 
on  our  part  that,  though  we  had 
endowed  these  people  with  a  con- 
stitutional government,  and.  in- 
structed them  to  live  in  accordance 
with  law,  our  first  practical  lesson 
was  to  throw  all  legality  to  the 
winds,  and  to  fall  back  upon  ex- 
pediency in  the  hour  of  difficulty. 

This  same  Greek  kingdom  was  one 
of  those  Whig  adventures  in  state- 
craft by  which  at  the  time  this  party 
dazzled  the  world,  and  delighted 
A>vtheir  followers,  ces  messieurs  cfe-Jet, 
pave,.  If  a  people  emerging  from 
barbarism  could  stand  the  test  of  a 
government  dependent  on  universal 
suffrage,  what  a  triumph  would  that 
be  for  constitutionalism !  We  as- 
sumed that  a  Chamber  convoked 
by  free  election  would  be  a  "Parlia- 
ment" pretty  much  as  we  have  it 
at  home,  and  that  Messrs  Boulgaris 
&  Co.  would  be  as  clean-handed  in 
office,  and  as  deeply  imbued  with 
the  responsibilities  of  their  station, 
as  though  they  lived  in  Downing 
Street.  We  gave  them  the  forms  of 
our  institutions,  and  were  terribly 
disappointed  that  they  never  ac- 
quired their  commonest  meanings, 
far  less  their  animating  spirit.  As 
well  expect  that  a  Choctaw  Indian 
should  become  a  general  because 
you  dressed  him  in  a  staff  uniform  ! 
These  men  knew  nothing  of  state- 
craft but  its  duplicities.  Placed 
originally  in  a  false  position,  subject 
to  the  vote  of  a  Chamber  which,  to 
be  manageable,  must  be  packed,  and 
condemned  to  a  line  of  policy  which 
must  offend  at  least  one  of  the  pro- 
tecting Powers,  the  whole  game  of 
administration  must  depend  upon 
adroit  knavery.  There  was  a  mock 
conservatism  to  be  maintained  for 
the  Court ;  a  mock  solvency  to  the 
Powers  who  lend  money ;  a  mock 
patriotism  to  the  party  who  dream 


of  the  "  grand  idea,"  and  who,  see- 
ing how  profitable  brigandage  could 
be  to  the  few,  were  eager  to  extend 
its  benefits  to  the  whole  nation. 
These  are  not  such  easy  exploits 
that  they  can  be  done  by  the  first 
comer ;  and  many  a  change  of  ad- 
ministration shows  how  hard  it  is 
to  hit  upon  the  right  men.  In 
Greece,  besides,  there  are  few  careers 
which  a  man  of  some  education,  and 
even  moderate  ambition,  can  em- 
brace. The  State  was  come  to  be  re- 
garded as  the  best  employer ;  and  so 
rapid  are  the  transitions  from  one 
office  to  another,  so  purely  accidental 
many  of  the  changes  in  public  life, 
that  even  very  humble  capacities,  if 
allied  with  powers  for  intrigue,  need 
never  despair  of  succeeding  in  the 
game  of  politics. 

It  is  true,  official  life  is  miserably 
paid ;  but  as  in  all  countries  where 
salaries  are  small,  the  resources  from 
corruption  are  the  compensation ; 
and  the  very  gambling  element  of 
uncertainty  is  not  amongst  the  least 
of  attractions  with  a  people  who 
are  thoroughly  Oriental  in  their  love 
of  chance. 

The  power  of  dispensing  patron- 
age is,  besides,  a  great  bribe  to  men 
constitutionally  fond  of  being  looked 
up  to,  and  proud  of  the  eminence 
they  occupy.  For  these  reasons,  in 
no  country  of  Europe  where  public 
life  is  best  rewarded  is  there  the 
same  craving  for  office  or  the  same 
struggle  for  State  employment  as 
in  Greece.  All  that  we  know  of 
party  hate  or  jealousy,  all  that  we 
read  of  the  animosity  of  venal 
leaders  at  home,  is  nothing  to  what 
prevails  in  Athens,  any  more  than 
the  polished  sarcasms  of  our  news- 
papers are  to  be  compared  to  the 
barefaced  insolence  and  the  unblush- 
ing calumnies  of  the  national  press. 
The  old  Irish  House  of  Commons, 
in  its  most  fire-eating  days,  is  the 
only  parallel  for  the  Chamber  at 
Athens ;  and  the  duel  is  looked 


1871.] 


Impressions  of  Greece. 


577 


on  as  the  crowning  argument  of  a 
much-disputed  question.  These  are 
not  very  hopeful  materials ;  but  there 
are  even  worse  in  the  complete  cor- 
ruption of  public  opinion  by  a  venal 
and  dishonest  press,  and  that  low 
standard  of  public  morality  by 
which  men  of  tarnished  reputations 
are  admitted  to  the  highest  employ- 
ment of  the  State,  and  capacity  for 
business  accepted  as  a  compensation 
for  damaged  character. 

To  appeal  to  the  Cabinet  against 
brigandage  has  been  said  by  some 
one  to  be  like  suing  a  High-Church 
curate  in  the  Upper  House  of  Con- 
vocation ;  and  certainly  it  cannot 
be  questioned  that  no  Greek  landed 
proprietor  can  assume  to  act  in  open 
defiance  of  this  institution. 

Miss  Wyse,  with  much  correct- 
ness, ascribes  the  increase  of  brig- 
andage to  the  opening  of  the  prisons 
and  the  encouragement  to  lawless- 
ness in  1854,  as  also  the  renewed 
impulse  to  those  robber  excesses,  to 
the  Cretan  revolution,  of  later  date. 
That  a  "  war  of  independence" 
could  be  waged  with  such  materials, 
that  the  cause  of  a  "  regenerated 
Greece"  could  be  served  and  pro- 
moted by  men  whose  whole  lives  are 
a  practical  denial  of  all  civilisation, 
could  only  have  entered  the  brain 
of  Greek  politicians. 

And  when  we  bear  these  facts  in 
mind,  and  bethink  ourselves  how 
completely  anything  there  is  of 
public  opinion  in  Greece  has  identi- 
fied itself  with  the  cause  these  men 
fought  for,  and  never  repudiated 
their  alliance,  we  may  well  feel  cer- 
tain misgivings  as  to  the  energy 
which  the  Government  will  lend  to 
the  inquiry  we  are  now  demanding; 
and  hence  OUT  forebodings  that  no 
ray  of  light  will  fall  upon  the  sad 
tragedy  of  Oropus.  As  for  ourselves, 
we  have  given  them,  in  these  jail- 
deliveries,  our  last  discovery  in  state- 
craft ;  and  Mr  Gladstone's  Philhel- 
lenism  was  never  more  conspicuous 


than  when  he  instructed  this  people 
in  the  mystery  of  "healing  meas- 
ures." 

It  may  well  be  that  the  Greek 
Minister  is  reluctant  to  deal  harsh- 
ly with  the  "  indiscreet  patriot- 
ism "  of  the  brigand.  It  may  well 
be  that  he  can  estimate  the  party 
services  of  these  men,  and  measure 
them  by  a  gauge  which,  to  say  the 
least,  would  involve  an  awkward- 
ness if  explained  to  a  British  Minis- 
ter. What  Mr  Erskine,  in  one  of 
his  despatches,  spoke  of  as  "the 
supposed  exigencies  of  party  war- 
fare," may  have  a  claim  on  ministerial 
regard  at  Athens  which  they  could 
scarcely  possess  in  London;  and 
there  is  certainly  a  want  of  consid- 
eration in  Lord  Grauville  in  asking 
the  Cabinet  to  pursue,  with  all  the 
powers  of  the  law,  their  own  sup- 
porters and  adherents,  and  make 
victims  of  these  Greek  gentlemen 
"  below  the  gangway  "  ! 

There  have  been  three  distinct 
Administrations  in  Greece  since  the 
tragedy  of  April  last,  and  who  is  to 
say  how  many  more  will  not  inter- 
vene before  we  arrive  at  the  final 
award  of  the  Government?  Be- 
tween actual  complicity  with  the 
murderers  and  a  shrinking  reluc- 
tance to  expose  their  guilt,  no  matter 
at  what  consequences  or  with  what 
connections,  there  is  a  wide  differ- 
ence. No  reasonable  man  imagines 
that  M  Zaimis,  or  Deligiorgis,  or 
Coumandouros  is  allied  with  brigan- 
dage as  an  "  industry  " ;  but  a  great 
many  men  believe  that  these  and 
several  other  politicians  in  Greece 
would  be  slow  to  confront  the  dan- 
ger of  an  open  declaration  of  war 
with  these  people,  and  an  assurance 
that  they  would  carry  out  this  war 
to  extermination  !  Life,  and,  still 
more,  property,  is  too  much  at  the 
mercy  of  the  brigand  to  sustain  men 
in  this  bold  resolve.  The  peasantry 
are  too  reduced  by  terror,  and  the 
local  authorities  too  much  exposed 


578 


Impressions  of  Greece. 


[May 


to  danger,  to  find  supporters  for  such 
a  policy.  The  Minister  who  should 
denounce  the  brigand  must  not  only 
have  no  landed  property  of  his  own, 
but  he  must  not  have  even  a  remote 
relative  or  friend  with  any  such ; 
and  besides  this,  he  must  be  content 
to  hold  his  life  at  an  hour's  lease, 
and  resign  himself  never  to  venture 
beyond  the  streets  of  Athens,  and, 
even  there,  not  after  nightfall. 

By  what  ingenuity  Lord  Gran- 
ville  can  suggest  a  mode  of  inquiry 
at  all  likely  to  satisfy  the  ends  of 
justice  in  such  a  country,  it  is  not 
easy  to  imagine  ;  and  the  very  reluc- 
tance with  which  the  Greek  Cabinet 
accedes  to  his  demand  for  investi- 
gation savours  far  more  of  official 
reserve  than  fear  for  the  result. 
That  anything  of  real  value  or  im- 
portance will  be  elicited  by  this 
inquiry — that  the  acuteness  of  our 
consular  staff  from  Constantinople, 
with  their  I  know  not  how  many 
guineas  per  day,  will  be  rewarded 
by  a  full  disclosure  of  the  guilty 
ramifications  of  their  iniquity — is 
more  than  we  can  believe.  There 
is  no  need  of  the  tangled  intricacy 
of  a  foreign  process  of  law,  or  of  the 
trained  faculties  of  the  Athenian 
pettifogger,  to  make  Greek  cunning 
an  overmatch  for  our  own.  As  it 
is,  many  documents  have  been  flatly 
refused  us,  and  lines  of  examination, 
which  our  lawyers  have  suggested, 
expunged;  and  so  far  as  inquiry 
has  hitherto  gone,  there  has  not 
been  even  that  affectation  of  can- 
dour that  could  simulate  the  desire 
to  stand  Avell  with  us. 

It  is  abundantly  clear  that  agree- 
ments are  occasionally  come  to  be- 
tween the  Government  for  the  time 
being  and  the  brigands,  by  which 
certain  travellers  are  unmolested, 
and  certain  districts  unscathed,  for 
a  given  period.  There  is  really  no 
other  way  to  account  for  those  sus- 
pensions of  hostilities,  by  which 
tourists  are  enabled,  not  only  to  visit 


certain  regions,  but  to  report  on  the 
general  tranquillity  and  peace  of  the 
country  at  large. 

We  have  very  little  doubt  that 
the  memorable  visit  of  Smith  O'Biien, 
on  his  return  from  Australia,  was  one 
of  these.  It  is  thus  that  Miss  Wyse 
relates  the  incident  in  a  footnote 
to  p.  124:— 

"  This  refers  to  Mr  Smith  O'Brien,  who 
came  to  Athens  during  the  interval  be- 
tween his  being  permitted  to  leave  Aus- 
tralia and  to  return  to  Ireland.  Becom- 
ing violently  Philhellenic,  and  devoted 
to  the  Greek  Government,  he  would  not 
believe  in  the  existence  of  brigandage,  or 
any  of  the  evils  so  much  complained  of. 
Finally,  he  made  a  tour  in  the  interior, 
when  orders  were  sent  to  all  the  authori- 
ties to  hide  all  defects,  and  to  take  the 
utmost  precaution  to  prevent  his  being 
captured  by  robbers,  who  abounded  in 
the  districts  he  intended  to  travel  through. 
On  his  return  to  Athens  he  published  a 
letter  eulogising  the  state  of  the  country, 
and'  denying  the  grievances  alluded  to  ; 
but,  unluckily,  a  secret  report  of  the 
authorities  got  into  the  papers  at  the  same 
time,  and  revealed  the  systematic  deceit 
which  had  been  practised  upon  him." 

In  one  of  Dean  Stanley's  letters, 
which,  though  not  originally  intend- 
ed for  publication,  form  the  supple- 
ment of  tliis  volume,  and  are,  it  need 
scarcely  be  said,  a  very  attractive 
feature  of  its  contents,  there  is  a 
curious  account  of  the  last  exploit 
and  death  of  the  well-known  brig- 
and, Daveli, 

This  man,  whose  hazardous  achieve- 
ments and  daring  escapes  form  the 
subject  of  many  of  the  popular 
songs  of  the  people,  is  still  regarded 
as  a  sort  of  hero  by  the  peasantry, 
who  would  scorn  to  compare  such 
chiefs  as  the  leader  of  the  Arvani- 
taki  with  the  great  Palikar.  It  is 
thus  the  Dean  commemorates  his 
ending  : — 

"  It  was  Christmas,  now  some  five  years 
ago,  in  the  house  of  a  wealthy  merchant 
at  Chalcis,  in  Eubcea.  He  was  absent  in 
Athens  ;  but  his  wife  and  daughter  were 
at  home,  and  his  daughter's  betrothed 
lover,  a  Greek  judge.  The  family  were 
playing  at  cards,  when  the  door  was 


1871.] 


Impressions  of  Greece. 


579 


quietly  opened  by  two  strangers,  who 
asked  to  see  one  of  the  guests,  who  was 
a  physician.  The  judge  looked  hard  at 
the  two  men  and  said,  '  You  seem  to  me 
very  like  robbers.'  'You  think  so?'  they 
replied.  In  the  next  moment  the  room 
was  filled  with  a  band  of  twenty  brigands, 
Daveli  at  their  head.  Resistance  was 
impossible.  They  seized  the  plate  and 
jewels.  They  set  a  pot  of  oil  to  boil  on 
the  fire,  their  usual  process  for  extorting 
the  secret  places  of  treasure  in  the  house. 
They  set  the  judge  to  play  at  cards  with 
one  of  the  thieves.  '  If  you  win,  you  shall 
be  spared;  if  you  lose,  you  shall  die.' 
Meanwhile  a  servant  had  escaped  and 
given  the  alarm.  Just  before  the  oil 
had  boiled,  and  just  before  the  game  of 
cards  was  finished,  a  cry  arose  that  the 
soldiers  were  coming.  The  robbers  fled, 
carrying  away  with  them  the  daughter  of 
the  house,  her  brother,  and  her  brother- 
in-law.  For  two  months  she  remained 
with  them  ;  moving  to  and  fro,  over 
Helicon  and  Parnassus ;  sleeping  in  caves 
wrapped  in  sheepskins ;  living  on  roast 
lamb  and  pure  water ;  treated  with  the 
utmost  courtesy  by  Daveli,  who,  when- 
ever her  shoes  were  worn  out,  sent  to 
Livadia  for  new  ones.  Constant  negotia- 
tions were  carried  on  for  her  ransom.  In 
order  to  assure  her  friends  of  her  safety, 
and  at  the  same  time  keep  her  in  custody, 
she  was  exhibited  to  them  on  the  top  of 
inaccessible  cliffs.  Finally,  Dave'li  re- 
stored her  jewels,  and  advised  her  to  go 
home  another  way,  lest  the  more  savage 
part  of  his  band  should  intercept  her  re- 
turn. 

"  These  and  like  feats  had  made  him  the 
hero  or  the  terror  of  the  neighbouring 
mountains.  At  last  a  united  effort  was 
made  to  seize  him.  He  had  often  lodged 
by  force  in  the  convent  of  Jerusalem, 
under  the  auspices  of  Father  Joseph.  The 
tide  now  turned.  Through  the  abbot's 
shepherds  on  Parnassus,  notice  was  given 
of  the  hiding-place  of  the  band,  and  he 
and  his  monks  came  out  armed  in  pursuit. 
From  Helicon,  too,  the  great  monastery 
of  St  Luke,  which  has  given  so  many 
'  Lukes '  to  this  neighbourhood,  sent  its 
monks  in  like  manner.  The  whole  of 
Parnassus  was  surrounded,  and  the  band 
driven  down  towards  the  '  Three  Ways ' 


— the  Pass  (or  Derveni)  of  Konlia.  Each 
of  the  three  roads  was  guarded  by  the  vil- 
lagers of  the  respective  approaches.  The 
heights  of  Daulis  were  hemmed  in  by  the 
Daulians.  The  road  from  Thebes  was 
shut  in  by  the  peasants  of  Distomo.  That 
from  Delphi  was  closed  by  the  Aracho- 
vites,  who  were  led  by  one  of  their  own 
people,  Megas,  the  head  of  the  gendarmes 
or  chorophy  lakes.  He,  with  his  men,  killed 
Dave'li ;  and  twenty-six  out  of  the  band 
of  thirty  were  destroyed.  Megas  himself 
fell ;  and  on  the  top  of  the  hill — on  the 
very  spot  where,  for  fear  of  robbers,  (Edi- 
pus  committed  the  fatal  deed  of  his  life 
— a  monument  commemorates  his  death 
and  the  extirpation  of  the  band." 

This  question  of  brigandage  has  got 
such  possession  of  our  mind  that  we 
are  unable  to  turn  from  it  to  the  num- 
berless other  and  far  pleasanter  top- 
ics with  which  this  volume  abounds. 
Indeed,  a  more  charming  record  of 
an  interesting  tour  cannot  be  ima- 
gined ;  and  everything  that  a  h'ne 
scholarship,  a  cultivated  taste,  and  a 
genial  disposition  could  contribute, 
were  met  in  that  British  Minister, 
who  never  more  happily  illustrated 
the  gifts  and  graces  of  his  country 
than  by  the  traits  this  journey  has 
left  of  him. 

The  last  three  letters  of  the  vol- 
ume are  by  Dean  Stanley,  and 
highly  characteristic  of  the  refine- 
ment and  the  elegance  of  the  writer. 
The  last  sentence  of  all  is — 

"So  ends  this  interesting  week!  To 
me  it  was  quite  a  resurrection  of  varied 
delights.  It  revives  my  first  feeling,  that, 
with  the  single  exception  of  Palestine, 
there  is  no  travelling  equal  to  that  of 
Greece.  There  is  no  country  which  so 
combines  the  compactness,  the  variety, 
the  romance,  the  beauty  of  nature,  and 
a  beauty  and  a  romance  with  the  life  of 
ancient  creeds  and  ideas,  which  are  ex- 
plained by  it  at  every  turn." 


580 


An  "  O'Dowd"  Reverie. 


[May 


AN    "O'DOWD"     REVERIE. 


WHAT    IS    TO    COME    OF   IT? 


HAD  I  been  a  midshipman  on 
board  Lord  Nelson's  flag-ship,  I 
could  not  have  been  more  anti- 
Gallican  than  I  have  been  all  my 
life.  I  started  in  my  early  boyhood 
with  a  strong  dislike  to  France  and 
Frenchmen,  and  every  stage  of  my 
career  has  strengthened  the  impres- 
sion. Their  insupportable  arro- 
gance, their  pretended  superiority 
in  culture  and  civilisation,  their 
vainglorious  claim  to  military  glory, 
paraded  and  insisted  on  at  every 
occasion,  with  their  ever-ready  ridi- 
cule of  their  neighbours,  and  their 
scarcely  less  insulting  compassion 
for  all  who  were  unlike  them,  made 
tip  a  national  character  which  only 
needed  to  be  "accented"  by  their 
native  vanity  and  their  egotistical 
politeness  to  be  downright  detest- 
able. That  both  their  cookery  and 
their  causerie  was  better  than 
all  the  world's  I  could  not  deny, 
however  much  it  cost  me  to  admit 
it.  Indeed  I  am  not  sure  that  in 
my  racy  enjoyment  of  Paris  there 
did  not  mingle  with  the  pleasure 
that  sense  which  the  Duchesse 
d'Abrantes  said  heightened  all  de- 
light, "  the  suspicion  that  it  was 
wrong" — and  which  she  explained 
was  the  only  charm  that  was  want- 
ing to  "iced  water."  Whether  it 
was,  however,  that  the  fault  lay 
with  my  temperament  or  my  pocket, 
I  always  felt  that  a  few  weeks  gave 
me  enough  of  the  fascinating  capital. 
There  were  no  such  dinners  as 
Philippe's,  no  such  actors  in  Europe 
as  at  the  Fran<jais ;  no  such  dialogue 
was  or  could  be  written,  still  less 
could  it  be  given  with  that  refine- 
ment of  accent,  look,  and  gesture  as 
theirs ;  and  when  I  supped  at  the 
Cadran  Bleu  after  the  play,  where 


did  conversation  ever  range  as  it  did 
there1?  where  did  smart  criticism 
alternate  with  deep  views  of  life, 
and  the  most  graceful  flights  of 
fancy  dash  the  deeper  tone  of  a 
philosophy  not  the  less  profound 
from  its  intense  relation  to  daily 
life,  and  its  thousand  illustrations  in 
the  actual  world  1  To  be  sure,  the 
men  and  the  women  talked  in  a 
tongue  made  for  epigram,  where  even 
the  moderate  intelligences  are  witty 
and  the  brilliant  people  are  sublime. 

Where  did  men  ever  learn  to 
dress  their  sentiments,  and  the 
women  to  dress  themselves,  as  in 
Paris'?  and  where,  above  all,  was 
the  prestige  of  a  social  success  so 
high  that  the  most  brilliant  talkers 
strained  every  nerve  to  achieve  it, 
and  regarded  the  triumphs  of  con- 
versation as  amongst  the  victories  of 
life  ?  And  yet,  as  I  have  said,  once 
away  from  these — once  Paris  left 
behind  you  —  you  forgot  the  en- 
chantment in  which  you  had  lived, 
and  turned  only  to  think  of  the 
egotistical  sensuality  of  the  French- 
man, the  pernicious  spirit  of  his 
novels,  the  avowed  depravity  of  his 
drama,  and  the  heartfelt  delight  he 
avowed  in  ridiculing  what  all  others 
respect  in  morals  or  venerate  in 
religion. 

In  the  air  of  refinement  he  knew 
how  to  throw  over  vice,  in  that 
mock  civilisation  he  could  impart 
to  every  step  of  wickedness,  he  con- 
trived to  stamp  the  more  homely 
habits  of  other  nations  with  the 
impress  of  an  inveterate  vulgarity ; 
and  it  was  very  hard  not  to  feel 
that,  in  passing  out  of  France  in- 
to Germany,  you  were  descending 
from  the  drawing-room  to  the  ser- 
vants' hall.  It  was  little  good  to 


1871.] 


WJiat  is  to  come  of  it  ? 


581 


be  told  that  the  company  comprised 
the  most  distinguished  litterati  of 
Europe — that  all  that  the  Continent 
possessed  of  scholarship,  or  histori- 
cal lore,  or  critical  acumen,  were 
there;  the  philosophers  never  washed 
their  hands,  and  their  wives  wore 
dirty  stockings.  All  the  details  of 
their  daily  life — and  they  took  good 
care  you  should  see  them — were  so 
many  outrages  on  the  decencies  and 
proprieties  of  existence,  till  at  last 
the  painful  conviction  stole  over 
you  that  dirty  habits  must  have 
some  terribly  close  relation  to  sim- 
plicity of  character,  and  that  indi- 
gestible cookery,  and  a  general 
greasiness  of  living,  are  the  fitting 
concomitants  of  culture  and  deep 
thought. 

It  was  this  contrast — a  contrast 
that  Frenchmen  took  care  should 
be  palpably  felt  by  all  Europe — that 
wounded  Germany  to  the  quick- 
It  was  that  daily  sarcasm  on  their 
social  inferiority  they  could  neither 
endure  nor  forgive.  Jena,  and 
Magdeburg,  and"  even  Berlin,  in 
the  hands  of  the  Frenchman,  might, 
after  long  lapse  of  years,  be  pardoned. 
The  insults  of  the  First  Empire  were 
in  a  measure  forgotten ;  but  the 
same  grievance  which  weighs  so 
heavily  with  the  Americans  in  re- 
gard to  ourselves,  stimulated  the 
Germans  against  the  French.  There 
was  a  social  disparagement,  a  per- 
petual sneer,  at  their  ways  and 
habits,  and  a  tone  of  insolent  com- 
passion at  their  supposed  deficien- 
cies, actually  intolerable.  It  was  in 
this  way  that  Count  Bismark  util- 
ised the  imaginary  insult  to  the  king 
at  Ems,  and  proclaimed  M.  Bene- 
detti's  impertinence  throughout  the 
Vaterland. 

•  It  was  this  sentiment,  very  clev- 
erly cultivated  and  ingeniously  dis- 
seminated, gave  the  whole  spirit  to 
the  war,  and  armed  the  Germans 
with  an  amount  of  rancour  and  bit- 
terness not  to  be  expected  from  their 


national  character.  To  this  was 
owing  the  irresistible  determination 
against  which  French  impetuosity 
broke,  and  scattered  like  a  wave 
against  a  rock ;  and  without  this 
the  Red  Prince  might  have  writ- 
ten scores  of  pamphlets  "How  to 
fight  the  French  "  in  vain.  It  was 
in  wounded  national  sentiment  lay 
the  stronghold  of  those  hosts  who 
crossed  the  Rhine  resolving  never 
to  recross  it  except  as  conquerors. 

As  for  the  French,  they  no  more 
expected  this  character  of  onslaught 
than  they  were  able  to  explain  it. 
That  these  same  landwehr — whom 
they  had  been  taught  to  believe 
only  a  homely  peasantry  —  could 
storm  the  heights  of  Spichern,  or 
withstand  the  attack  of  five  times 
their  number,  as  at  Gravelotte,  was 
simply  incredible.  The  personal 
slight — for  it  had  become  such — 
made  each  soldier  a  sworn  enemy  to 
France ;  and  here  was  an  element 
of  combativeness  that  discipline 
could  not  invent,  nor  Count  Moltke 
imagine.  This  was,  then,  the  "co- 
hesion "  which  we  all  admired,  and 
this  that  indomitable  doggedness 
which  we  fancied  had  been  manu- 
factured by  drill. 

To  make  the  German  peasant  be- 
lieve that  the  Frenchman  despised 
and  derided  him  was  a  master-stroke 
of  policy,  and  possibly  few  except 
Bismark  would  ever  have  accom- 
plished it.  It  would  have  been  use- 
less to  appeal  to  him  with  the  higher 
arguments  which  the  thinkers  of 
Germany  brought  against  France. 

What  would  he  have  cared  to 
hear  that  these  people,  while  affect- 
ing to  lead  civilisation  and  show 
the  whole  world  the  road  to  true 
culture,  were  of  all  peoples  the  most 
inconsequent  and  illogical — for  ever 
oscillating  between  infidelity  and 
superstition,  just  as  they  balanced 
eternally  between  despotism  and 
democracy — submitting  servilely  to 
tyranny,  but  always  reserving  insur- 


582 


An"  O'Doicd"  Reverie. 


rection  as  a  national  right — crushing 
liberty  by  the  extravagance  of  equal- 
ity, and  sacrificing  equality  by  the 
excesses  of  liberty  1 

Assuming  to  do  all  by  the  people, 
they  did  less  for  them  than  any  na- 
tion of  Europe;  and  in  their  ardour 
for  a  universal  brotherhood,  they 
assail  what  even  the  savages  respect 
— the  rights  of  property  and  the 
family. 

More  energetic  in  their  assertion 
of  rights  than  any  people  of  Europe, 
and  more  intensely  opposed  to  their 
rulers  than  all  the  world — affecting 
to  love  the  law,  and  ever  ready  to 
dethrone  and  subvert  it — without 
prestige  and  without  force — now,  who 
is  to  rule  them,  and  how  1  I  am  not 
sure  that  M.  Bismark  himself  has 
not  his  uneasy  moments  on  this 
score,  and  that  there  are  times  when 
he  trembles  for  his  indemnity. 
After  all,  you  may  pass  your  credi- 
tor too  often  through  the  insolvent 
court — not  that  Germany  is  likely 
to  be  peculiarly  sensitive  on  that 
point,  now  at  least  that  Ger- 
many takes  her  mot  cHordre  from 
Prussia.  There  is  this  singular  re- 
semblance between  Italy  and  Ger- 
many, that  on  their  road  to  unity 
each  of  these  nations  had  to  be  led 
at  first  and  subsequently  dominated 
by  the  least  attractive  and  least 
amiable  part  of  the  population. 
What  Piedmont  was  to  Italy,  Prus- 
sia is  to  Germany.  The  men  of 
blood  and  iron  came  from  the  north. 
They  were  brave,  hardy,  temperate, 
and  enduring.  Their  poverty  had 
taught  them  thrift,  and  their  thrift 
had  taught  them  patience.  Only 
sharing  in  the  culture  of  the  south 
by  community  of  language,  their 
manners  were  not  softened  by  the 
refinements  they  affected  to  think 
national.  It  may  easily  be  imagined 
how  such  men  as  these  swayed  the 
people  over  whom  they  had  won 
supremacy,  and  what  terms  of  peace 
they  would  dictate  to  the  conquered. 


[May 

The  coarse  Piedmontese,  rough  of 
speech  and  rougher  of  manner,  did 
more  to  render  Italian  unity  un- 
popular than  all  the  intrigues  of 
Austria  and  all  the  curses  of  the 
Vatican.  The  Piedmontese  prefect 
— the  Piedmontese  official  of  the 
dogana  or  the  post-office — was  "  a 
badge  of  conquest"  in  the  south  to 
the  full  as  offensive  to  native  feeling 
as  though  he  had  come  as  a  con- 
queror. His  rugged  assertion  of 
courage  and  integrity  scarcely  con- 
ciliated the  Neapolitan,  who  had  no 
overweening  admiration  or  exagger- 
ated estimate  for  these  qualities ;  and 
the  lazzarone,  who  was  daily  bullied 
for  his  sloth,  dirt,  and  general  de- 
basement, found  it  very  hard  to  be- 
lieve that  his  condition  was  bettered 
and  his  social  status  improved  by 
the  expulsion  of  the  "  barbari." 

If  the  act  of  unification  of  Ger- 
many has  not  inflicted  the  Prussian 
on  South  Germany,  in  the  same  way 
as  was  the  Piedmontese  on  Southern 
Italy,  the  spread  of  Prussianism  in 
thought  and  sentiment  is  not  less 
complete.  It  is  said  generally,  and 
there  is  not  any  difficulty  in  believ- 
ing it,  that  no  voice  of  Saxony, 
Wurtemberg,  or  Bavaria,  was  heard 
in  discussing  the  terms  of  peace. 
Cold,  stern,  cruel  Prussia  alone 
spoke,  and  spoke  through  the  lips 
of  the  man  whose  unsympathetic 
nature  and  unrelenting  temperament 
are  emblems  of  the  worst  mood  of 
his  country. 

No  man  knew  better,  if  any  so 
well  as  himself,  that  the  severity 
of  the  terms  imposed  at  the  peace 
would  render  all  future  government 
of  France  the  more  difficult,  if  not 
impossible,  by  the  men  who  con- 
ducted the  negotiations. 

And  as  M.  Guizot,  in  his  days  of 
power  and  pre-eminence,  never  ceased 
to  be  reproached  with  his  journey  to 
Ghent,  so  would  M.  Thiers  be  sure 
to  "have  his  Versailles  experiences 
hurled  against  him  as  though  a 


1871.] 


Wliat  is  to  come  of  it  ? 


583 


shame  and  ignominy.  Is  the  French 
democracy  so  easy  of  conduct,  are 
the  populations  of  St  Antoine  and 
Belleville  and  Montmarte  so  ductile 
and  confiding,  that  the  Prussian 
statesman  could  afford  to  weaken 
the  authority  and  impair  the  in- 
fluence of  him  whose  task  must  be 
to  guide  them  ]  Had  not  personal 
rancour  and  vindictiveness  a  greater 
share  in  this  line  of  action  than 
calm  policy  and  statecraft  1 

With  the  same  deep  reasoning 
hate  he  had  impressed  the  nation  to 
crush  the  French,  he  had  impressed 
the  army  to  march  through  Paris ; 
and  he  has  turned  his  lingering 
steps  now  back  to  Berlin,  half 
sulky  lest  he  should  have  forgotten 
any  possible  humiliation  he  could 
have  inflicted  on  this  people.  It 
is  by  this  spirit,  manifested  in  so 
many  ways,  that  the  future  govern- 
ment of  France  has  been  made 
a  matter  of  such  difficulty.  What 
an  opportunity  does  this  offer  to 
that  dearly  -  loved  cry  of  treason 
and  betrayal  so  congenial  to  les 
messieurs  de  la  pave  !  The  dis- 
grace of  the  ravished  provinces  is 
especially  dear  to  those  who  cannot 
tell  where  Alsace  and  Lorraine  are  ; 
and  the  ruin  to  be  caused  by  the 
five  milliards  indemnity  is  over- 
whelmingly terrible  to  those  who 
have  nothing.  Alphonse  Karr  tells, 
that  they  who  are  most  ready  to 
die  for  the  liberty  of  the  press  are 
usually  iinable  to  read.  At  all 
events,  these  men  can  cry  out  against 
the  negotiators  who  have  agreed  to 
these  terms  of  peace  ;  and,  now  that 
the  Germans  are  retiring,  demand 
to  be  led  against  the  Prussians,  and 
die  rather  than  capitulate. 

It  would  be  understating  the 
foresight  of  M.  Bismark,  as  well 
as  to  underrate  his  malignity,  not 
to  believe  that  he  foresaw  these 
troubles — that  he  had  fully  calcu- 
lated on  the  ruffianism  of  an  unre- 
strained rabble,  and  the  licentious 


abandonment  of  a  beaten  and  de- 
moralised army.  The  man  whose 
belief  in  Force  was  a  religion,  could 
have  little  doubt  what  chances 
there  were  for  a  Government  where 
force  was  already  wanting,  and  what 
value  the  decrees  of  a  Cabinet  pos- 
sess where  the  troops  fraternise  with 
the  mob,  and  the  mob  calls  itself 
the  nation ! 

This  capital  calls  itself  the  me- 
tropolis of  Europe — that  is,  the 
centre  of  civilisation.  These  assas- 
sins of  innocent  men  are  the  civil- 
isers  of  the  age !  It  was  to  have 
the  pleasure  to  say  these  and  such 
like  that  M.  Bismark  delayed  at 
Versailles,  and  so  depreciated  the 
public  credit  of  all  Frenchmen  that 
the  people,  drunk  with  sorrow,  are 
now  maddened  by  shame  !  Not 
that  I  myself  think  that  all  this 
humiliation  —  all  the  cost  and  all 
the  suffering  —  are  not  well  paid 
to  have  got  rid  of  the  Empire.  It 
was  a  terrible  price  for  so  small  a 
humbug,  it  is  true  ;  but,  as  Sydney 
Smith  tells,  a  "  rat  may  flood  a 
province;"  and  it  is  not  only  in 
Holland  that  so  ignoble  an  animal 
may  cause  an  inundation.  That  the 
whole  mise  en  scene  has  disappeared 
at  once,  and  that  all  the  phantas- 
magoria have  moved  away  like  the 
spectres  of  a  magic  -  lantern,  is  a 
splendid  comment  on  the  solemnity 
of  a  national  vote  and  the  power  of 
a  plebiscite.  Universal  suffrage  ! 
Universal  humbug,  it  might  as  well 
be  called,  if  understood  as  the  in- 
terpretation of  the  national  will. 
These  French  Eepublicans  certainly 
do  not  do  things  by  halves.  They 
have  named  Menotti  Garibaldi  to 
the  command  of  the  National 
Guards.  Why  don't  they  look  up 
M.  Mires,  if  he  be  still  alive,  and 
make  him  Minister  of  Finance  1  In 
the  art  with  which  they  can  throw 
an  air  of  the  ridiculous  over  crime 
and  horror,  they  stand  without  rivals 
anywhere  ;  and  if  the  laughter  they 


584 


An  "O'Dowd"  Reverie. 


cause  is  tinctured  with  the  sardonic, 
the  subject  is  a  grim  one.  It  is  not 
easy  to  believe  that  any  other  people 
would  make  pasquinades  on  their 
misery,  and  caricatures  out  of  their 
degradation  !  And  yet,  turn  it  over 
how  we  will,  it  is  through  very  levity, 
Frenchmen  have  made  themselves  so 
amusing  and  so  companionable,  that 
our  selfish  thought  now  is — from 
one  end  of  Europe  to  the  other — 
How  are  we  to  get  on  without  Paris  1 

Some  of  us  there  must  be  with- 
out seats  in  Parliament,  and  where 
are  we  to  go  to  pass  April  and 
May?  To  what  quarter  are  we  to 
turn  for  spring,  richer  in  enjoyment 
than  all  Thomson's  '  Seasons '  have 
imagined  ?  where  are  the  blossoming 
trees  of  the  Tuileries  Gardens,  or 
the  flowery  alleys  of  acacia  as  in  the 
Bois  1  In  what  land  of  Europe  can 
you  begin  the  day,  as  here,  with 
your  al  fresco  breakfast,  surrounded 
by  all  that  is  bright,  brilliant,  and 
beautiful?  Where  did  any  people 
but  these  set  out  life  in  gala,  and 
give  everything  its  air  of  holiday  ? 
Where  are  we  idlers  to  betake  our- 
selves, with  the  certainty  not  to  be 
confronted  by  our  own  ennui  ?  or 
where  are  the  hard-worked  men  of  life 
to  go  to  feel  that  there  are  pleasures 
and  enjoyments  to  be  had  in  abund- 
ance without  toiling  for  millions  to 
buy  them,  or  growing  old  and  care- 
worn to  reach  them?  It  was  the 
one  city  in  Europe  in  which  the 
joyous  character  of  a  population 
acted  like  a  magnetic  power  on 
every  temperament,  and  made  an 
atmosphere  of  gaiety  which  all  could 
breathe  of. 

Where  out  of  Paris  did  any  of  us 
ever  feel  the  force  of  that  "  distrac- 
tion "  that  enabled  us  to  turn  from 
the  care  that  was  oppressing  or  the 
labour  that  was  crushing  us,  and 
feel  that  here  at  least  we  have  a 
right  to  be  happy  ? 

Where  as  here  did  all  national- 
ities give  each  other  rendezvous, 


[May 

with  the  certainty,  not  alone  that  it 
was  the  pleasantest  meeting-place 
of  the  universe,  but  that  each  was 
sure  to  bring  to  it  his  lightest  heart, 
his  most  enjoyable  temperament, 
and  his  brightest  wit?  And  now 
all  this  is  lost  to  us  !  It  is  not  on 
France  alone  M.  Bismark  has  turned 
the  dark  shade  of  the  lantern  :  he 
has  darkened  the  face  of  all  Europe, 
and  "  smudged  "  the  world.  These 
are  not  matters  of  high  politics,  nor 
do  they  soar  into  the  region  of  state- 
craft, but  they  touch  some  thousands 
who  would  rather  lounge  under  a 
blossoming  orange -tree  than  "  sit 
below  the  gangway,"  and  think  the 
ripple  of  the  Seine  at  St  Germain 
pleasanter  music  than  the  shout  of 
a  mob  at  Charing  Cross,  even  though 
Mr  Beales  led  the  chorus. 

Since  I  wrote  these  lines,  the 
conflict  has  come,  and  the  brave 
Parisians  who  would  not  meet  the 
Prussians  have  sallied  valiantly 
forth  to  fight  their  countrymen ! 
What  share  the  intrigues  of  the  Im- 
perial party  have  in  these  movements 
it  would  be  hard — perhaps,  at  the 
present  moment,  impossible — to  say. 
Communism  knows  clearly  enough 
what  it  would  fight  for,  but  it  is  by 
no  means  so  evident  that  Commun- 
ism has  not  been  "jockeyed,"  and 
that  the  Emperor  himself  may  not 
once  more  appear  on  the  scene,  in 
his  old  character  of  saviour  of  so- 
ciety and  reconstructor  of  order  and 
stability.  Anything  like  an  un- 
certain victory  over  the  canaille — 
anything  that  betrays  incomplete- 
ness or  indecision — will  open  the 
road  to  the  Bonapartists.  There 
ran  the  idea  abroad  that  the  late 
Emperor  alone  could  govern  this 
people — that  he  alone  knew  the 
trick  of  the  game ;  and  certainly,  so 
long  as  Morny  and  Walewski  lived, 
there  was  much  to  encourage  this 
belief.  That  give-and-take  which 
alternated  between  concessions  and 
pressure,  which  promoted  field-mar- 


1871.] 


What  is  to  come  of  it  ? 


585 


shals  in  the  morning  and  prosecuted 
the  press  in  the  afternoon,  and  which 
kept  the  public  on  the  qui  vive  as  to 
whether  they  are  to  be  entertained 
by  fireworks  or  a  fusillade  —  con- 
temptible as  it  all  seemed  as  a  po- 
licy, stands  out  now  as  something 
like  statecraft. 

There  is,  however,  one  cause  of 
hopelessness  as  regards  France,  and 
for  the  life  of  me  I  do  not  see  how 
it  is  to  be  encountered.  Here  are 
the  people  who  not  only  asserted 
that  they  were  the  politest  and  most 
civilised,  but  the  bravest  and  the 
boldest  of  Europe,  now  exhibiting 
themselves  not  only  as  utterly  de- 
graded and  debased,  but  actually  as 
destitute  of  courage  as  of  morals. 
How  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  dim- 
cult  are  these  people  to  emerge  from 
disorder  and  establish  order  ?  to 
build  up  credit  out  of  discredit  1  to 
create  society  from  disunion,  and 
restore  anything  with  the  name  of 
a  Government  in  a  country  where 
the  object  of  every  one  seems  to  be 
to  dishonour  the  reputation  of  public 
men,  and  make  it  appear  that  hon- 
esty and  integrity  have  deserted  the 
world  ? 

Not  that  we  ourselves  have  any 
great  reason  for  self-gratulation  as 
we  moralise  over  our  neighbours. 


We  have  much  of  the  same  sort  of 
rottenness  at  home.  If  we  have  not 
Flourens  and  Assi,  we  have  their 
counterparts ;  and  our  trades-union- 
ists and  international  humbugs 
would  be  sturdier  "  roughs  "  to  deal 
with  than  Belleville  or  Montmartre 
have  turned  out. 

The  Commune,  it  is  evident, 
would  rather  place  the  issue  be- 
tween themselves  and  Versailles, 
and  fight  it  out  where  they  stand. 
Not  so  the  Empire.  The  Bonapart- 
ists  would  rather  "  force  M.  Thiers's 
hand,"  drive  him  to  ask  aid  from 
Bismark,  and  in  this  way  discredit 
all  that  remains  to  France  of  states- 
manship and  of  the  governing  ele- 
ment. By  this  move  they  prepare 
the  way  to  a  restoration.  "Any- 
thing rather  than  this,"  would  soon 
be  the  cry  of  Paris ;  and  the  English 
press,  with  their  cant  of  "  our  faith- 
ful ally,"  is  prepared  to  help  them. 
There  are  some  who  never  think  of 
France  as  other  than  a  maison  de 
jeu,  and  say  if  there  must  be  one  in 
Europe,  let  us  be  thankful  that  it  is 
our  neighbours  that  keep  it.  These 
people  may  like  to  see  the  old 
croupier  back  in  his  chair,  and  hear 
him  once  more  in  his  familiar  ex- 
hortation— "  Faitea  votre  jeu,  mes- 
sieurs ;  rien  ne  va  plus." 


586 


Fair  to  See. — Part  V. 


[May 


FAIR   TO   SEE. — PART   V. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


WHEN  Bertrand  Cameron  reached 
his  room  in  the  hotel  at  Ardmartin, 
after  his  return  from  the  political 
meeting  described  in  the  last  chap- 
ter, he  found  to  his  joy  that  the 
black  garments  which  were  to  en- 
able him  to  look  "as  if  he  didn't 
care  "  at  the  ball,  had  arrived  from 
Cairnarvoch. 

And  oh  !  on  the  dressing-table 
there  was  the  bouquet — there  was 
the  blush  rose  with  its  promised 
supporters;  and — what  was  this? 
Could  he  believe  his  eyes  1  a  pen- 
cilled memorandum !  with  these 
ravishing  words — "The  rose  was 
a  little  shaky,  so  I  have  wired  it ; 
and  the  bouquet  is  fastened  with 
my  own  hair — are  you  pleased1? — 
E.  M." 

Too  much  happiness  !  to  wear  a 
rose,  her  gift,  was  sufficiently  in- 
toxicating ;  but  there  was  a  mad- 
dening, delirious  joy  in  wearing  a 
rose  that  she  had  actually  wired ! 
Happy,  hallowed,  sacred  flower  ! 

But  great  though  the  honour  (and 
the  bliss)  of  wearing  a  bouquet  fas- 
tened by  her  hair,  her  hair  could 
not  be  allowed  to  perform  any  such 
menial  function.  No,  no  ;  its  place 
was  obviously  next  his  heart :  and 
so  he  began  to  unwind  the  single 
silky  thread  that  bound  the  flowers 
together,  softly  singing  the  while, 
from  "  Fair  Helen  of  Kirkconnel," 
the  appropriate  verse — 

"  Oh,  Helen  [Eila],  fair  beyond  compare! 
I'll  mak'  a  garland  of  thy  hair, 
Will  bind  my  heart  for  evermair 
Until  the  day  I  dee. " 

Then,  having  unwound  it,  he  tried 
to  fondle  the  thread,  dropping  it 
often  in  that  rather  difficult  pro- 
cess, and  being  compelled  to  search 
for  it  with  a  candle  over  a  floor 


which  had  by  no  means  been  swept 
diligently ;  so  that  by  the  time  it 
was  finally  captured  and  placed  in 
an  envelope  for  enshrining  purposes, 
and  by  the  time  he  had  sufficiently 
venerated  the  bouquet,  and  mum- 
bled the  memorandum  (which  was 
eventually  consigned  to  his  purse  in 
a  somewhat  soppy  condition),  a 
good  half-hour  had  elapsed,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  make  a  desperate 
scramble  of  his  toilette,  and  des- 
cended very  doubtful  if  his  tenue 
quite  came  up  to  the  devil-may-care 
standard  it  was  expected  to  attain. 

He  found  the  party  all  assembled 
in  the  room  where  they  had  dined. 
She,  as  predicted,  was  in  mauve, 
and  without  a  scrap  of  tartan,  al- 
most without  ornament,  indeed ; 
some  white  clustering  flower  in  her 
hair,  and  bouquets  of  the  same  on 
the  skirt  of  her  dress,  being  ex- 
cepted.  Nothing  could  be  purer, 
more  ungarish,  more  faultless  in  the 
style  of  severe  simplicity. 

Morna  was  looking  very  pretty  ; 
she  was  in  white,  but  she  had  not 
escaped  her  mother's  tartanising 
touch — being  to  a  certain  extent 
"  trimmed"  with  that  material. 
Still,  she  could  bear  it  well,  and, 
with  her  type  of  looks  and  com- 
plexion, might  have  sat  for  the  por- 
trait of  an  ideal  '"  Bonnie  Lassie  of 
Scotland." 

But  what  pen  could  describe,  or 
what  pencil  limn,  or  what  brush 
do  justice  to,  the  terrible  grandeur 
of  Mrs  M'Killop  1  She  was  one  of 
those  spectacles — like  Vesuvius  in 
full  eruption,  or  the  Jung  Frau 
in  a  thunderstorm — before  which 
the  bravest  hold  their  breath  for 
a  time. 

The  folds  of  her  dress  were  bil- 


1871.] 

lowy  and  oceanic ;  white  ostrich 
plumes  surged  round  her  head ; 
gems  of  Ocean  and  of  Ind  flashed 
all  over  her  body.  Then,  as  for 
tartan,  she  had  fully  recognised  the 
claims  of  half-a-dozen  clans  to  be 
represented  in  her  attire.  Her  per- 
son was  told  off  into  cantons,  as  it 
were,  each  sacred  to  a  clan,  and  gar- 
nished with  its  colours.  Thus,  for 
example,  her  heart — the  metropo- 
litan canton,  so  to  speak  —  was 
covered  with  a  streaming  cockade  of 
the  M'Whannel  tartan,  the  colours  of 
which  not  inaptly  symbolised  the 
thunder-and-lightning  qualities  at- 
tributed by  their  descendant  to  that 
extinct  volcano ;  the  right  shoul- 
der was  occupied  in  force  by  the 
M'Cuaigs ;  the  M'Kechnies  skirmish- 
ed promiscuously  over  her  skirts, 
— and  so  on.  Nothing  but  the  roar 
and  crash  of  artillery  could  have 
adequately  heralded  the  entry  of 
such  a  being  into  any  assembly. 

The  ball  was  to  be  held  in  a  room 
attached  to  the  hotel.  The  hour 
had  arrived,  the  scraping  of  violins 
was  audible,  the  party  were  impa- 
tient to  be  gone,  but  Mrs  M'Killop 
would  not  hear  of  it  as  yet.  "  If 
we  sneaked  in  early,"  she  explain- 
ed, "  it  would  look  as  if  we  were 
ashamed  of  ourselves :  we  must  wait 
till  the  Ditchess  has  gone  in,  and 
then  no  one  can  make  any  remark." 

Nothing  could  be  more  intrepid. 
The  Duchess  was  graciously  pleased 
to  be  rather  early;  and  before  long, 
a  scout  detached  for  intelligencing 
purposes  having  brought  back  word 
that  "  her  Gress  and  a'  the  muckle 
folk  frae  the  Castle  "  were  at  that 
moment  entering  the  ball-room,  Mrs 
M'Killop  figuratively  drew  her 
sword,  called  her  troops  to  "  atten- 
tion," and  marched  them  oflf  to  the 
scene  of  action.  In  the  order  of 
march,  she  led,  supported  by  Pigott ; 
Eila  followed  with  Bertrand  ;  while 
M'Killop,  much  out  of  his  element, 
brought  up  the  rear  with  Morna. 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXVIl. 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


587 


The  Duchess  had  seated  herself 
at  the  right  side  of  the  room,  and 
at  the  end  farthest  from  the  door ; 
around  her  were  "  a'  the  muckle 
folk  frae  the  Castle  ; "  below  them 
again,  each  party  took  up  its  posi- 
tion on  entering,  no  one  having  had 
the  courage  to  occupy  the  post  vis- 
a-vis to  the  Duchess,  which,  as  well 
as  the  upper  half  of  the  seats  on  the 
same  side,  was  empty. 

Rearing  her  head  and  tossing  it 
so  that  the  ostrich  plumes  acted  as 
a  sort  of  "  punkah  "  to  the  bystand- 
ers, Mrs  M'Killop  led  her  party 
straight  up  the  centre  of  the  hall, 
stately  and  slow,  and  occupied  the 
vacant  place  of  distinction  right  op- 
posite the  Castle  party.  Much  sen- 
sation was  produced ;  every  eye  in 
the  room  was  fixed  on  the  little  de- 
tachment and  its  audacious  leader. 
There  was  a  sudden  audible  buzz, 
composed  of  low  laughter,  stifled 
giggling,  murmured  exclamations  of 
surprise,  disapprobation,  admiration, 
eager  query,  and  rapid  response. 
Mrs  M'Killop  said  to  herself,  "  Ha  ! 
ha  ! "  like  the  war  -  horse  ;  and, 
promptly  unlimbering,  opened  fire 
at  the  opposing  line  through  her 
great  gold  eye-glasses  with  a  vigour 
and  concentration  on  individual 
points  that  overbore  resistance.  One 
of  the  most  impertinent  youngsters 
in  the  Foreign  Office,  who  thought 
to  cope  with  her,  and  stared  at  her 
"  in  the  whites  of  the  eyes "  for 
half  a  minute,  discoursing  the  while 
with  a  playful  smile  on  his  face,  and 
his  head  perked  critically  awry,  to 
a  young  lady  who  was  "  laughing 
quite  furiously,  you  know,  at  the 
dreadful  creature,"  fairly  quailed 
and  cowered  before  her  scathing 
glance,  suddenly  smoothing  his  feat- 
ures into  respectful  solemnity,  and 
muttering,  "  Don't  laugh,  please, 
don't  laugh ;  don't  even  look,  or 
she'll  come  over  and  stwike  us." 

And  so  he  was  done  for  ;  and 
in  rapid  succession  Mrs  M'Killop 
2s 


588 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


mowed  down  scores  of  other  faces — 
male  and  female — sparing  neither 
age  nor  sex,  except  only  the  "Ditch- 
ess,"  partly  because  she  was  a  duch- 
ess, and  partly  as  being  the  friend 
of  Bob  West.  Many  of  the  men, 
however,  paid  little  attention  to  the 
great  woman,  for  the  two  lovely 
girls  by  her  side  were  without  any- 
thing approaching  to  a  rival  in  the 
room  ;  and  many  a  yearning  glance 
was  cast  across  to  those  sweet  hea- 
ther-bells blooming  so  exquisitely, 
albeit  in  the  shadow  of  that  volcanic 
mountain  of  a  mamma.  Xot  a  few 
wished  they  had  the  courage  to  seek 
for  an  introduction ;  but  how  cross 
the  neutral  ground  raked  by  the  fire 
of  their  own  division,  not  to  speak 
of  the  lava  pouring  from  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop's  optics?  —  and  not  a  few  re- 
gistered a  vow  that  when  the  even- 
ing had  sufficiently  advanced,  the 
supping  set  in,  and  the  dancing  be- 
come vigorous,  this  object  should 
be  achieved.  But  the  Cairnarvoch 
party  had  not  been  in  this  rather 
embarrassing  position  for  many 
minutes  when  Mr  Tainsh  rapidly 
entered  the  room.  Apparently  he 
had  escaped  uninjured  from  the 
"pah,"  and  was  again  in  uniform, 
wearing  on  his  right  breast  a  tricolor 
badge  of  universal  management  and 
stewardship,  and  pinned  ostenta- 
tiously over  his  (abominable)  heart, 
the  bouquet — her  bouquet.  Up  the 
hall  came  the  factor,  easy,  confident, 
and  smirking,  received  with  words 
and  looks  of  goodwill  by  all  and 
sundry  as  he  passed. 

He  reached  the  Duchess  ;  he  ap- 
proached her  as  if  she  had  been  a 
mere  woman  ;  spoke,  even  laughed, 
confidentially  with  her  ;  then  bow- 
ing, turned,  went  into  the  middle  of 
the  room,  and  clapped  his  hands. 
Whereupon,  just  as  if  Mr  Tainsh 
had  been  a  caliph  or  a  grand  vizier 
in  the  Arabian  Nights,  strains  of 
exquisite  music  burst  forth,  and  the 
ball  began.  Bertrand  turned  swiftly 


[May 


to  Eila  with  a  look  of  entreaty  in 
his  eyes ;  but  her  eyes  saw  him  not, 
or  "  seeing  would  not  see,"  for  they 
were  pervading  the  room,  flashing 
from  one  group  to  another  with 
lightning  rapidity.  Whom  was  she 
looking  for?  It  is  needless,  how- 
ever, to  follow  her  eyes,  or  the  in- 
vestigation, for  almost  instantly  an 
opaque  body  was  in  front  of  her, 
ambling  and  bowing,  and  neither  to 
be  looked  over  nor  looked  through 
— Mr  Tainsh. 

"  Our  dance,  I  think,  Miss  Eila," 
exclaimed  the  factor,  hooking  out 
an  arm  that  would  not  be  gainsaid. 
Eila  chased  a  cloud  no  bigger  than 
a  man's  finger-nail  from  her  face, 
and  cordially  assented  ;  but  had  Mr 
Tainsh  a  vis-a-vis?  Yes,  Mr  Tainsh 
had  arranged  all  that ;  no  less  a 
person  than  the  Earl  of  Hummums 
was  to  face  them,  along  with  Miss 
M'Corkindale  of  Collieshangie,  the 
well-known  heiress.  And  where 
were  they  to  dance  1  right  up  at 
the  top  of  the  room,  among  all  the 
grandees !  Tainsh  •  was  really  a 
jewel !  And  they  did  dance  there  ; 
and  Tainsh,  riding  on  the  top  of  his 
success — for  he  had  managed  every- 
thing for  everybody — made  every- 
thing pleasant  for  everybody,  and 
was  therefore  (for  the  day)  popular 
with  everybody — was  no  laggard  in 
his  wooing,  but  went  in  to  win,  and 
made  the  running  at  such  a  terrific 
pace  that  Eila  felt  thankful  when 
the  quadrille  was  over,  Mr  Tainsh 
having  traversed,  in  ten  minutes, 
ground  only  to  be  got  over  in  as 
many  weeks  by  ordinary  mortals, 
and  having  left  almost  nothing  to 
be  said  but  the  burning  words  of  a 
proposal  in  due  form — which  was 
not  Eila's  way  of  doing  business,  by 
any  manner  of  means.  The  next 
dance  struck  up  ;  it  was  a  valse  ;  it 
was  a  Strauss ;  and  there  was  the 
Strauss-adoring  Vampire  right  op- 
posite, lounging  beside  the  Duchess, 
apparently  as  blind  to  the  existence 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


1871.] 

of  Eila  as  lie  was  deaf  to  the  strains 
of  the  master  he  adored.  It  was 
puzzling ;  would  he  waken  up  and 
come  ?  No  ;  he  was  sitting  down 
— the  wretch  ! 

Eila  would  shoio  him.  Bertrand 
found  Eila  in  this  frame  of  mind, 
offered  himself  with  eyes  full  of 
meek  love,  was  accepted,  and  away 
they  went. 

Gliding,  drifting,  dreaming,  float- 
ing away  upon  waves  of  that  nar- 
cotic melody — so  full  of  love-pathos, 
so  full  of  the  harmonious  whispers 
that  befooled  poor  Faust — the  very 
singing  voice  of  sin  and  folly,  if  you 
will — but  oh,  so  delightful !  oh,  so 
deplorably  delightful  to  poor  fools 
and  sinners  —  the  many  that  we 
are  ! 

Bertrand,  with  his  German  edu- 
cation, his  athletic  form,  and  his 
faultless  ear,  was  an  ideal  partner  ; 
Eila  was,  it  is  needless  to  say, 
also  an  ideal  partner ;  and  there- 
fore ye  who  have  loved  and 
valsed  to  perfection,  and  have 
combined  the  two  movements,  can 
imagine  the  state  of  drivelling  be- 
atitude in  which  the  conclusion  of 
the  dance — the  first  valse  with  the 
beloved  one — left  our  poor  friend. 
Tainsh,  even  without  the  assistance 
of  all  his  men,  might  probably  have 
raised  "  Humpty-Dumpty,"  but  lie 
couldn't  take  his  partner  \ip  into 
the  seventh  heaven  ;  no,  the  factor, 
facting  never  so  wisely,  could  not  do 
that. 

Bertrand  looked  into  Eila's  eyes 
where  the  light  of  dreamland  still 
lingered,  and  felt  that  at  that  mo- 
ment it  was  twenty  to  one  against 
Mr  Tainsh  or  any  other  factor,  or 
any  other  man.  Alas!  it  was  but 
for  a  moment.  The  dance  was  over, 
and  there  was  Bob  West  expecting 
his  innings ;  so  that,  perforce,  Eila 
dropped  instantly  from  the  seventh 
heaven — and,  in  truth,  seemed  to 
console  herself  very  speedily  with 
the  noble  earth-worm  who  was  wait- 


589 


ing  to  receive  her,  "  rather  fearing 
there  might  be  a  difficulty  about  an- 
other dance  for  Bertrand,  but  she 
would  see  later  on." 

Meantime  Duncanson,  looking  in 
his  Highland  dress  really  a  fine  per- 
sonable ghillie,  had  danced  twice  with 
Morna,  and  was  rather  clamorous  in 
a  dispute  with  the  Buccaneer  (who 
had  arrived  late,  having,  very  appar- 
ently, dined)  about  the  third  dance, 
which  each  claimed ;  and  one  being 
a  snob  and  the  other  a  gentleman 
(who  had  dined),  the  discussion  was 
rather  loud  and  unpleasant  to  the 
fair  apple  of  discord ;  and  she  said 
with  considerable  spirit  and  acumen, 
"  I  think  there  is  only  one  way  of 
arranging  it ;  I  won't  dance  with 
either  of  you." 

Bertrand,   hearing   this    verdict, 
straightway  offered  himself,  was  ac- 
cepted, went  away  with  her,  folio  wed 
by  four  flaming  eyes,  and  was  as 
lugubrious  a  partner  as  could  have 
been  found  within    the  four  seas. 
And   so   the   ball   went   on.     Eila 
"  Hoolican'd  "  with  Mr  Tainsh,  and 
"Bonny-Dundee'd"  with  Mr  Tainsh, 
valsed  with  Bob  West,  quadrilled 
with   the   Buccaneer,    valsed   with 
Bob  West  again,  and  then  with  two 
very  pleasing  friends  of  his  ;  and 
whenever  Bertrand  ventured  to  offer 
himself,  with  love-sick  eyes,  he  al- 
ways found  that  there  was  a  difficulty 
which  at  some  remote  future  period 
might  be  got  over.      So  IIP,  deter- 
mined  to   show    Eila ;    and    went 
away,  resolving  to  devote  himself 
to  Morna,  over  whom  an  intermit- 
tent fight  seemed  to  smoulder  on 
the  part  of  the  Buccaneer  and  Mr 
Duncanson  during  the  entire  even- 
ing ;  but  found  that  there  are  two 
to  a  bargain,  Morna  saying  coldly 
that,  having  already  given  him  one 
dance,    and   having    already   made 
more  engagements  than  she  usually 
cared  to  make,  she  must  decline  his 
further  partnership ;  and  when  he 
had  begged  and  prayed  in  vain,  he 


590 


Fair  to  See. — Part  V. 


went  away  in  a  foaming  rage  with 
the  whole  Cairnarvoch  party. 

In  this  condition  of  mind  he  was 
hailed  by  a  splendid  county  mag- 
nate who  had  identified  him  as  the 
heir  of  Aberlorna,  and  who  fussed 
over  him,  and  was  quite  a  father 
to  him,  and  must  introduce  him  to 
his  family  (a  hungry-looking  wife 
and  five  very  hungry-looking  daugh- 
ters), and  to  all  the  rest  of  the 
county — and  did  so;  and  to  the 
Duchess,  by  whom,  as  by  them  all, 
lie  was  most  graciously  received. 
And  so  he  began  to  dance  literally 
a  series  of  war-dances  (at  Eila), 
taking  first  one  daughter  of  the 
Duchess,  and  then  another,  up  to 
the  seventh  heaven,  similarly  ac- 
commodating the  heiress  of  Collie- 
shangie,  and  many  other  young 
ladies,  and  never  casting  so  much 
as  a  glance  at  the  cruel  fair  who 
saw  all  his  doings  (though  she  never 
looked  at  him),  and  yet  persevered 
in  a  mad  career  of  Bob  West,  his 
pleasing  friends,  Mr  Tainsh,  and,  at 
last,  the  Vampire,  whose  recollec- 
tions of  Strauss  and  Eila  were  mira- 
culously revived  after  supper,  and 
whose  plaintive  eye  rested  on  her 
permanently  thereafter  with  a  look 
of  champagny  pathos. 

Meantime  Mrs  M'Killop,  not  a 
foe  being  left  unvanquished,  had 
decided  to  shift  Ler  headquarters  to 
the  card-room  (Tainsh  had  arranged 
for  a  card-room),  and  Pigott  (not  a 
dancing  man,  and  all  his  female 
friends  being  occupied  in  the  dance) 
had  taken  her  there  at  her  sugges- 
tion. There  they  had  found,  prowl- 
ing forlorn,  two  elderly  gentlemen 
wearing  the  air  of  Clubs  rather  than 
of  Courts,  and  a  rubber  was  imme- 
diately instituted,  followed  by  an- 
other and  another  and  another,  with 
pauses  for  refreshment,  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop visiting  the  supper-room  twice 
with  Pigott,  and  once  with  each  of 
the  clubby  men,  not  to  mention 
several  raids  in  the  same  direction 


under  Mr  Tainsh,  who  was  every- 
where, and  all  things  to  everybody. 
So  Mrs  M'Kiilop  ate  and  drank 
and  rose  up  to  play,  and  vice  versa, 
and  was  merry,  and  made  money, 
and  had  a  row  with  one  of  the 
clubby  old  men  about  a  revoke 
which  she  alleged  he  had  made,  but 
which  he  indignantly  repudiated, 
asking,  with  outspread  palms  and 
high  shoiilders,  "  if  it  was  likely  (as 
a  mere  matter  of  common-sense) 
that  a  man  who  played  daily  and 
nightly  at  '  The  Arlington '  should 
revoke?"  to  which  Mrs  M'Killop 
replied,  that  "  it  was  indifferent  to 
her  whether  he  played  at  Arlington, 
at  Darlington,  at  Cairo,  Copenha- 
gen, or  Kirkintilloch,  but  he  had 
revoked;"  whereupon  the  clubby 
man  caved  in,  and  altogether  Mrs 
M'Killop  thoroughly  enjoyed  her- 
self. So  much  so,  indeed,  that  the 
small  hours  passed  on,  and  the  big- 
wigs went  away,  taking  Lord  Bob, 
the  Vampire,  and  all  Eila's  admirers 
with  them ;  and  still  Mrs  M'Killop 
sat  on,  forgetful  of  her  charge.  In 
this  way  Eila  was  left  desolate  under 
care  of  her  papa,  who  (after  having 
been  mistaken  seven  times  for  a 
waiter,  and  addressed  once,  in  that 
capacity,  as  a  "  gay  old  crocodile  " 
by  a  comic  youngster)  had  lurked 
about  in  all  sorts  of  mysterious  cor- 
ners during  the  evening,  and  only 
emerged  with  the  departure  of  the 
grandees;  but  the  band  still  played 
ravishingly,  and  there  was  Bertrand 
careering  with  Miss  M'Corkindale 
(who  was  to  sleep  in  the  hotel),  and 
there  was  the  Buccaneer  (who,  being 
a  buccaneer,  had  no  notion  where  he 
was  to  sleep,  and  didn't  care)  career- 
ing with  Morna,  and  Mr  Tainsh  was 
away  seeing  the  swells  off  the  pre- 
mises, and  she,  the  Queen  of  the 
Evening,  had  no  one  left  to  do  her 
reverence.  It  was  dreadful;  she 
looked  pale,  dejected.  Bertrand  saw 
it.  For  a  second  time  that  day,  re- 
morse, pity,  wild  love,  seized  upon 


1871.] 

his  heart,  so  that  he  recklessly  aban- 
doned the  heiress  of  Collieshangie 
to  her  mamma,  and  flew  to  his 
angel. 

"  At  last,  Mr  Cameron!"  said  the 
angel,  "  when  there  is  positively  no 
one  left  to  dance  with  but  that  hid- 
eous person  you  have  just  left;  at 
last!" 

"But,  Miss  M'Killop,  I  asked 
you  six  times,  and  you  were  always 
better  engaged." 

"  Better  engaged !  oh,  Mr  Came- 
ron! when  you  knew,  too,  that  I 
was  only  trying  to  clear  off  my  en- 
gagements with  all  these  tiresome 
men,  that  we  might  have  some  nice 
long  dances  together,  one  after  an- 
other !  after  all  your  promises !  I 
shall  never  believe  in  you  again." 

'  But  I  didn't  know." 

'Oh,  Mr  Cameron!" 

'  But  how  could  I  know  1 " 

'Oh,  Mr  Cameron!" 

'  But  tell  me." 

'  Some  people  can  understand 
without  words  what  they  are  to 
do,  and  to  expect;  others  require  to 
have  everything  spelt  out  to  them. 
Now  I  am  going  to  say  no  more 
about  it.  I  do  hope  we  are  going 
immediately." 

"  Oh,  but  forgive  me  —  forgive 
me,  or  I  shall  be — so — wretched." 

"How  tragical  you  are !  Very  well, 
I  forgive  you." 

She  held  out  her  hand  playfully; 
he  took  it ;  he  squeezed  it— he  posi- 
tively did;  and  it  was  not  with- 
drawn. 

"  I  am  dreadfully  tired;  please 
take  me  to  the  supper-room — I  have 
never  been  there  yet — and  give  me 
some  champagne,"  said  the  angel, 
after  her  hand  had  been  at  length 
relinquished. 

Bertrand  took  her  away.  A  mist 
cleared  from  his  mind;  he  had  been 
under  a  misapprehension ;  to  his 
gross,  crass  intellect  some  gracious 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


591 


implication  of  a  promise  had  been 
impalpable ;  he  was  a  dolt,  a  brute, 
— almost  an  assassin.  But  he  atoned 
for  it  now,  as  they  sat  in  the  supper- 
room  together;  and  he  breathed  forth 
his  passionate  penitence,  and  made 
all  sorts  of  wild  spasmodic  approaches 
to  the  subject  which  was  madden- 
ing his  brain,  though  he  never  quite 
got  up  to  the  breach,  and  gave  her 
up  his  bouquet,  which  she  remarked 
to  be  faded,  and  took  from  him  and 
affected  to  throw  away,  but  didn't 
— he  saw  that — giving  him  instead 
(at  his  suggestion)  one  of  the  white 
bouquets  from  her  dress,  which  he 
kissed  before  her  very  eyes  and 
plunged  inside  his  waistcoat,  inti- 
mating that  on  his  death  it  would 
be  found  there,  and  might  be  re- 
claimed by  the  owner;  and,  in  fact, 
"  went  it "  at  a  perfectly  killing 
pace,  and- still  read  in  her  eyes  "  En 
avant ! "  and  "  Excelsior  ! " 

But  his  hour  was  not  as  yet;  for, 
just  as  things  were  boiling  up  very 
satisfactorily  to  a  climax,  in  came 
Mrs  M'Killop  with  much  simulated 
wrath,  and  cleared  them  off.  The 
brake  was  at  the  door,  she  said,  and 
they  had  been  looking  for  Eila  "  all 
over  the  village,  for  hours — hours." 
So  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go ; 
and,  after  a  tender  muffling  scene, 
they  went;  and  the  brake,  after 
some  little  waiting  for  Mr  Duncan- 
son  (whose  difficulty  with  the  Buc- 
caneer had  culminated  in  the  cloak- 
room, and  resulted  in  the  latter 
gentleman  t  fastening  on  Mr  D.'s 
nose  with  a  desperate  tenacity,  from 
which  he  was  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  detached  by  Mr  Tainsh), 
drove  away,  as  the  sun  was  rising 
above  the  hills,  showing  the  party 
to  be  a  little  pale  and  worn,  but 
touching  Bertrand's  prophetic  and 
poetic  soul  with  a  sense  of  analogy 
and  fitness  and  peace. 


£92 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


[May 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


The  campaign  which  Mr  Tainsh 
had  opened  with  so  much  vigour  at 
the  ball  was  prosecuted  during  the 
next  succeeding  days  at  Cairnarvoch 
in  the  same  spirit ;  yet  at  the  close 
of  each  day  Mr  Tainsh  was  surprised 
and  mortified  to  find  that,  in  point 
of  fact,  he  had  made  no  progress ; 
he  was  still  only  on  the  brink, — the 
very  position  he  had  reached  at  the 
ball  in  the  first  quadrille  with  Eila. 
Morning  after  morning  he  registered 
a  vow  that  that  day's  sun  should  not 
set  upon  his  suspense;  but  night 
found  him  still  baffled,  still  in  statu 
quo.  Yet  he  said  to  himself  that  it 
was  not  his  fault — and  indeed  he 
said  truly;  for  he  was  troubled  with 
none  of  the  sensitive,  shrinking, 
self-depreciating  tremors  which  af- 
flict lovers  of  a  more  refined  fibre ; 
he  had  pretty  nearly  convinced  him- 
self that  he  was  acceptable,  and 
would  be  accepted,  and  that  all  he 
had  to  do  was  to  bring  the  matter 
forward  in  a  formal  shape.  There 
was  a  slight  difficulty  about  that, 
of  course,  but  it  was  a  mechanical 
difficulty.  At  the  worst,  it  was  a 
question  of  aesthetics  as  to  time, 
place,  and  circumstances,  as  to  the 
phrases  to  be  adopted,  the  gesture 
employed,  and  so  forth.  As  a  man 
not  versed  in  such  matters — as  a 
man  who  had  not  considered  love 
before,  except  as  a  matter  affecting 
a  client,  and  likely  to  result  in  the 
drawing  of  a  marriage-contract  for 
"the  parties" — it  was  not  wonderful, 
perhaps,  that  Mr  Tainsh  should  be 
thus  sanguine ;  for  of  a  surety  Eila 
was  everything  that  was  delightful 
and  propitious,  blessed  him  with 
her  brightest  glances,  distinguished 
him  in  many  ways  with  her  favour, 
only  now  and  then  giving  a  whet 
to  his  appetite,  which  might  have 
been  blunted  with  too  much  saccha- 
rine matter,  in  the  shape  of  a  word 


or  a  look  to  Bertrand,  which  brought 
the  factor  up  to  an  exaggerated  state 
of  keenness  in  a  moment — for,  of 
course,  he  was  jealous  of  Bertrand  ; 
with  all  his  assurance,  he  was  even 
desperately  jealous  of  him  at  times. 

Mr  Tainsh  accounted  for  the  stag- 
nant state  of  his  suit  by  bad  luck. 
He  said  it  was  bad  luck  that  checked 
his  progress ;  and  also  "  that  spoony 
fellow  Cameron "  had  something  to 
do  with  it,  for  he  was  always  either 
in  the  way,  or  arriving  just  at  the 
critical  moment ;  but  the  real  cause 
did  not  suggest  itself  to  him :  it 
never  occurred  to  him  that  he  was 
kept  at  bay  by  Eila  herself  and  her 
wonderful  dexterity.  Poor  Ber- 
trand seemed  to  have  lost  all  the 
ground  gained  at  the  ball ;  he  hung 
about  Eila,  and  was  rebuffed  for 
doing  so  ;  he  shunned  her  presence, 
and  was  rebuked  for  that ;  he  could 
do  nothing  right,  except,  perhaps, 
once  in  the  twenty-four  hours,  when 
she  would  give  him  a  look,  or  a 
word,  or  a  flower,  that  kept  him 
true  to  his  infatuation. 

His  feelings  towards  Mr  Tainsh 
baffle  description.  To  say  that  he 
was  jealous,  is  to  use  a  ridiculously 
inadequate  expression.  The  very 
thought  of  the  man  was  becoming 
madness  to  him,  not  merely  because 
Tainsh  appeared  to  be  favoured  by 
Eila,  but  also  from  a  more  disinter- 
ested feeling  that  his  beautiful  ideal 
was  desecrated  and  outraged  by  any 
sort  of  association  with  such  a  ter- 
rible embodiment  of  the  common, 
the  prosaic,  and  the  vulgar  as  his 
rival  appeared  to  be.  Tainsh  was  a 
desperately  lucky  fellow,  Bertrand 
thought,  and  quite  ubiquitous  ;  that 
is  to  say,  he  was  desperately  sharp 
and  energetic,  so  that  he  found  time 
for  everything — to  transact  business 
in  the  neighbourhood,  to  shoot,  to 
fish,  to  commune  with  MrxM'Killop, 


1871.] 

and  yet  to  be  always  in  the  way 
when  Eila  was  visible.  All  cour- 
age and  heart  began  to  fail  Bertrand, 
and  he  was  becoming  a  mere  drift- 
ing, drivelling  idiot,  incapable  of 
spontaneous  action.  Meantime  Eila 
had  a  splendid  time  of  it  between 
her  two  victims.  She  had  got  them 
into  such  a  state  of  management 
that  there  was  no  whimsical  ab- 
surdity she  chose  to  impose  upon 
either  that  each  was  not  eager  to 
perform — eager  to  outstrip  the  other 
in  performing.  She  was  perpetually 
seized  with  a  craving  for  some  rare 
plant  or  flower,  which  could  only  be 
found  among  difficult  morasses  or 
on  the  summits  of  lofty  hills ;  she 
"  suspected  that  the  large  mussel 
found  in  the  river  Arvoch  was  really 
the  pearl-mussel,  if  one  had  only 
time  and  patience  to  examine  a  great 
number  of  the  shells ; "  she  would 
give  anything  in  the  world  for  an 
owl's  wing  for  her  hat ;  and  if  an 
eagle's  could  be  procured,  then,  in- 
deed, the  cup  of  her  happiness  would 
run  over. 

These  and  many  similar  fancies 
kept  the  two  men  perpetually  rac- 
ing up  hills,  or  hanging  over  preci- 
pices, or  wading  and  groping  in  river- 
pools,  or  stalking  imaginary  birds 
and  beasts,  that  offerings  might  be 
found  for  the  shrine  of  their  exact- 
ing goddess.  Pigott  was  immensely 
delighted,  one  evening  at  nightfall, 
to  come  upon  Mr  Tainsh,  crouching, 
with  his  gun  at  full  cock,  in  a  clump 
of  trees,  and  hooting  dismally,  under 
the  impression  that  some  sympa- 
thetic bird  of  night  might  be  so  ac- 
commodating as  to  believe  in  the 
simulation,  and  come  to  be  sacri- 
ficed. 

"She  is  admirably  cynical,  and 
quite  a  practical  satirist,  and  it 
serves  the  idiots  right,"  chuckled 
the  Captain  as  he  went  away  in 
deep  approval. 

During  these  days  Mr  Duncan- 
son  was  doing  his  possible  to  make 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


593 


himself  agreeable  to  Morna ;  he 
seemed  to  have  an  open  field — no 
rival  interposed  his  attentions  be- 
tween Morna  and  those  of  the  young 
laird  at  all  events;  and  yet  he 
did  not  appear  to  make  progress 
any  more  than  Mr  Tainsh  did. 
Morna  was  strangely  invisible  ;  she 
entirely  abandoned  the  pursuit  of 
the  gentle  art ;  she  never  went  out 
on  the  terrace  in  the  evenings,  un- 
less the  rest  of  the  party  went.  A 
tete  a-tete  with  her  seemed  to  Dun- 
canson  to  be  a  thing  unattainable. 
He  was  angry,  he  was  downcast; 
his  natural  disposition  was  intense- 
ly jealous ;  and  without  any  real 
point  whereon  his  jealousy  could 
settle  satisfactorily,  he  was  fiercely 
jealous  now.  He  spoke  to  Mrs 
M'Killop ;  he  all  but  committed 
himself  irretrievably  to  that  lady, 
and  darkly  intimated  that  he  thought 
he  was  being  humbugged,  and  found 
the  process  unpalatable.  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop did  her  best  to  soothe,  and  at 
the  same  time  stimulate,  and  watched 
all  the  moves  on  the  double  chess- 
board with  intense  anxiety. 

Matters  stood  pretty  much  in 
this  not  very  satisfactory  condition 
when  the  day  fixed  for  the  picnic 
to  Aberlorna  arrived.  "  Everybody," 
as  Pigott  put  it,  "  seemed  to  be  in 
love  with  everybody,  and  nobody 
seemed  to  like  it." 

One  would  have  said  that  he  and 
Mr  M'Killop  were  the  only  mem- 
bers of  the  party  enjoying  a  reason- 
able amount  of  tranquillity ;  and 
therefore,  when  Mr  M'Killop  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  abstaining 
from  the  picnic,  Pigott  was  strongly 
inclined  to  stay  at  home  also.  The 
rest  of  the  party,  however,  were  so 
vehement  in  their  expostulations 
against  the  decision  (an  earnestness 
which  Pigott  set  down  as  "  part  of 
the  game  "),  that  he  allowed  himself 
to  be  persuaded,  and  went,  fortify- 
ing himself,  as  he  assured  Bertrand, 
"  with  a  double  ration  of  cigars,  and 


594 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


committing  his  body  to  the  deep  in 
the  one  hope  that  everybody  else 
would  be  violently  sea-sick." 

The  weather  did  not  fall  in  with 
this  charitable  aspiration ;  and  when 
they  reached  the  sea,  after  a  drive 
of  five  miles  in  the  brake,  nothing 
could  be  more  inviting  than  its 
aspect.  A  gentle  but  steady  breeze 
was  little  more  than  rippling  its 
surface,  and  there  was  the  pretty 
schooner-yacht  "lying  off  and  on" 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
shore,  looking  so  cheery  and  invit- 
ing, with  her  snowy  sails  shining 
in  the  sun,  her  blue  pennon  flutter- 
ing gaily,  and  her  graceful  outline 
giving  such  suggestions  of  smooth 
speed,  that  even  Mrs  M'Killop, 
whose  fears  had  shaped  themselves 
in  the  direction  of  Pigott's  hopes, 
looked  upon  the  vessel  with  a 
kindly  eye. 

A  bustle  upon  deck  showed  that 
their  arrival  had  been  observed,  so 
that  the  fierce  nautical  yells  and 
dismal  shrieks  through  a  boatswain's 
whistle,  with  which  Mr  Duncanson 
saluted  the  craft,  and  which  lasted 
till  the  dingey  was  close  to  the 
shore,  were  rather  -  dramatically 
pleasing  than  strictly  necessary. 
The  dingey  was  not  nearly  large 
enough  to  convey  the  whole  party 
in  one  trip;  so  Mr  Duncanson,  in 
his  quality  of  host,  put  off  with  the 
first  batch,  consisting  of  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop, Morna,  and  part  of  the  commis- 
sariat under  Mr  Jenkinson.  Ar- 
rived at  the  yacht,  he  bounded  on 
to  the  deck  with  the  agility  of  a 
corsair,  hauled  the  elder  lady  pain- 
fully up  the  side,  and  then,  without 
relinquishing  the  hand  by  which  he 
had  brought  Morna  on  board,  he 
led  her  to  the  tafferel,  and  pointed 
out  the  name  of  the  vessel  freshly 
emblazoned  in  gold — "  The  Morna." 

"What  do  you  think  of  that, 
Miss  Grant  1 "  he  inquired. 

"  Is  that  the  yacht's  name  1 " 

"  Of  course  it  is." 


[May 

"  It  used  to  be  « The  Dream,'  I 
thought." 

"  So  it  was,  but  I  had  it  altered  ; 
my  '  Dream/  "  he  added,  with  tender 
significance,  "  has  developed  into 
'  Morna : '  do  you  know  who  it  is 
named  after  ? " 

"  Somebody  called  '  Morna,'  I 
suppose." 

"  I  only  know  one  Morna." 

"  Me,  you  mean  ?  but  your  father 
may  know  a  great  many  more ;  I 
can't  flatter  myself  that  he  would 
call  his  boat  after  me — he  scarcely 
knows  me." 

"  He  has  heard  a  great  deal  about 
you,  however ;  but  /  christened  the 
boat,  and  it  was  after  you." 

"  Does  your  father  not  object  ? " 

"  ITo,  Miss  Grant,  my  father  does 
not  object ;  he  admires  the  name 
as  much  as  I  admire  the — the — it. 
Can  you  guess  when  I  rechristened 
the  yacht  ? " 

"  No,  I  can't ;  but  it  was  very  com- 
plimentary of  you  to  call  it  after 
me." 

"  I  christened  it  after  you  said 
that  to  me." 

"  That,  Mr  Duncanson  !  What?" 

"  What  you  said  you  meant." 

"  Dear  me,  how  stupid  I  am ! 
What  did  I  say?" 

"  About  my  coming  back  this 
week,  you  know ;  it  made  me  very 
happy,  and  I " 

"Here  comes  the  dingey,"  said 
Morna. 

The  dingey  thereupon  arriving, 
Duncanson  had  to  go  and  play  wel- 
coming corsair  again ;  and  at  last 
every  one  was  on  board,  and  after 
an  immense  amount  of  rope-hauling, 
and  sail-shifting,  and  yelling,  and 
whistling,  and  screaming,  and  after 
Mrs  M'Killop  had  been  twice  nearly 
knocked  overboard  by  a  refractory 
boom,  everything  was  taut,  and  the 
yacht  under  way,  gliding  along 
with  wonderful  speed,  considering 
the  lightness  of  the  breeze.  Tainsh 
was  as  tenacious  as  a  bull-dog ;  he 


1871.] 

never  left  Eila's  side,  and  soon 
arranged  for  her  a  seat  on  the  lee- 
ward side,  and  took  up  his  position 
by  her.  But  Bertrand  was  not 
going  to  let  him  have  it  all  his  own 
way,  and  immediately  placed  him- 
self on  the  other  side  of  the  be- 
witcher.  Her  manner  between  the 
two  was  a  wonder  to  contemplate. 

At  one  moment  it  seemed  a  case 
of  "  how  happy  could  I  be  with 
either;"  the  next,  a  chance  word  of 
hers  was  making  Bertrand  tingle 
with  delight,  and  casting  shadows 
over  the  lawyer's  hard,  eager  face ; 
and  then  the  next,  vice  versa. 

Both  men  being  fiercely  in  love 
and  fiercely  jealous  for  the  first 
time  in  their  lives,  their  cards  were 
lying,  face  up,  on  the  table  before 
the  lady,  so  that  it  was  easy  enough, 
and  no  doubt  sufficiently  delightful, 
for  her  to  play  her  own  game  with 
the  two  innocents. 

An  acute  observer  might  have 
noticed  that,  while  Tainsh  was 
never  snubbed,  Bertrand  was  some- 
times not  answered  at  all,  or  an- 
swered almost  petulantly;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  he  might  have 
observed  that,  at  rare  intervals,  the 
latter  gentleman  was  favoured  with 
a  look  or  a  tone  of  a  description  su- 
perior to  anything  that  went  in  Mr 
Tainsh's  direction. 

As  an  affair  of  averages,  Tainsh 
certainly  had  it ;  but  his  maximum 
was  far  below  Bertrand's. 

Very  effectually,  by  this  disposi- 
tion of  seats,  did  these  two  gentle- 
men cancel  each  other's  efforts,  and 
that  was  to  each  the  only  consola- 
tion— cold  enough  and  scant  enough 
comfort  truly,  unless  they  were 
further  consoled  by  contemplating 
the  airy  happiness  of  the  divinity  at 
whose  feet  they  were  grovelling. 

Mr  Duncanson  being  seated  with 
Morna  on  the  other  side,  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop  was  good  enough,  in  the  first 
instance,  to  bestow  her  society  on 
Pigott.  This  appeared  to  her  gen- 


Fair  to  See. — Part  V. 


595 


eralship  the  most  that  could  be 
made  of  the  situation.  But  whe- 
ther Morna  was  silent  and  unre- 
sponsive, or  whether  Mr  Duncan- 
son  did  not  find  himself  so  fluent 
as  he  had  expected,  or  whether  he 
had  something  on  his  mind  that 
required  farther  cogitation,  or  from 
whatever  cause,  the  conversation 
did  not  go  satisfactorily ;  and  at 
last  Duncanson  said  he  would  take 
a  turn  at  the  tiller,  by  Miss  Grant's 
permission.  His  departure  leaving 
Morna  by  herself,  Pigott  transferred 
his  society  to  her ;  and  this  opening 
a  field  for  new,  if  minor,  combina- 
tions to  Mrs  M'Killop,  she  straight- 
way joined  herself  to  Eila's  group. 
And  here  Bertrand  lost  a  point  to 
his  adversary  by  his  superior  breed- 
ing, for  he  rose  and  offered  his  place 
to  Mrs  M'Killop,  while  Tainsh  re- 
mained as  he  was.  It  need  scarcely 
be  said  that  Bertrand's  offer  was 
accepted,  and  as  there  was  no  room 
for  a  fourth  person,  Mrs  M'Killop 
really  effected  his  elimination  from 
the  group.  Thus  evicted,  Bertrand 
strolled  over  to  Morna,  inwardly 
consigning  Tainsh  and  his  hostess 
to  all  sorts  of  unmentionable  retri- 
bution. 

It  had  dimly  occurred  to  Ber- 
trand, with  all  his  preoccupation, 
that  Morna's  manner  was  not  the 
same  to  him  as  it  used  to  be ;  and 
as  he  sat  down  at  her  feet  just  now 
he  was  peculiarly  struck  with  the 
change.  There  was  a  sort  of  grave 
reserve — not  exactly  the  reserve  of 
a  person  who  had  been  offended, 
but  something  rather  like  it — in 
her  manner  to  him,  which,  honestly, 
he  did  not  understand.  After  all, 
he  said  to  himself,  perhaps  she  too 
was  only,  like  him,  preoccupied ; 
but  about  whom1?  Duncanson,  of 
course.  Duncanson?  that  was  so 
odd,  though.  Ten  days  ago  she 
used  to  abuse  him  up  hill  and  down 
dale,  and  now — well,  women  were 
a  strange  incomprehensible  prob- 


596 


Fair  to  See. — Part  V. 


lem,  and  no  mistake.  She  was 
a  deal  too  good  for  Duncanson, 
though ;  no  mistake  about  that, 
either. 

"  I  hope  you  are  enjoying  the 
vo}rage,  Miss  Grant,"  he  said,  as  he 
seated  himself. 

"  Very  much  indeed ;  but  I  am 
sorry  mamma  has  been  so  cruel  as 
to  turn  you  out  of  your  seat." 

"  Oh,  I  could  not  be  better 
placed.  You  are  looking  grave : 
Captain  Pigott  has  been  boring 
you ;  he  is  a  bore.  Go  away, 
Pigott,  and  let  me  try  to  cheer 
Miss  Grant  up  a  little." 

"  I  can't  say  you  look  too  cheer- 
ful yourself,  Bertrand.  Does  he, 
Miss  Grant?" 

Miss  Grant  here  drew  their  at- 
tention, with  a  good  deal  of  anima- 
tion, to  a  porpoise  which  was  mak- 
ing merry  in  the  offing. 

"  If  you  were  to  sing  now,  Miss 
Grant,"  continued  Bertrand,  when 
the  porpoise  was  disposed  of,  "  it 
would  be  quite  perfect.  I  never 
hear  you  sing  now ;  why  is  it  ? " 

"  I  really  don't  know,  Mr  Cam- 
eron ;  perhaps  you  don't  ask  me  to 
sing ;  perhaps  I  don't  offer ;  per- 
haps we  are  all  too  much  occupied 
with  other  matters — shooting,  and 
so  on." 

"  Will  you  sing  to-day,  after  lun- 
cheon 1 " 

"  I  never  sing  in  the  open  air." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Grant !  not  even 
'The  Water-Spirit ?'" 

Morna  replied,  deeply  blushing, 
"  Never  before  an  audience,  and  not 
again  even  to  one  auditor :  it  is  bad 
for  the  voice,  you  know,"  she  added, 
after  a  pause. 

All  this  time  the  plungings  and 
buckings  of  the  little  ship  told 
that  the  steersman's  attention  was 
not  given  to  the  matter  in  his  hand ; 
and,  indeed,  Duncanson's  burning 
eyes  were  fastened  on  the  group  of 
which  Morna  was  the  centre.  He 
could  not  distinguish  what  was  being 


[May 

said  there,  but  he  could  see  by 
Morna's  face  that  something  more 
interesting  than  chalk  or  cheese  was 
the  topic  of  conversation.  "It 
must  be  stopped,"  he  said  to  him- 
self; and  blowing  a  shrill  blast 
on  his  horrible  whistle  for  relief, 
he  was  relieved  from  his  post,  and 
descended  to  stop  it  accordingly. 
Whereupon  Pigott,  whose  detesta- 
tion of  Mr  Duncanson  now  almost 
amounted  to  a  mania,  drew  off  and 
went  forward  to  the  forecastle;  and 
Bertrand,  thinking,  perhaps,  that  it 
was  hard  to  spoil  sport,  followed 
him.  Whereupon  Mrs  M'Killop, 
seeing  her  dispositions  for  the  mo- 
ment perfect,  rose  and  followed 
them.  Whereupon  Bertrand,  mag- 
netised by  love  and  jealousy,  at 
once  moved  back  to  her  vacant 
place.  Whereupon — but  it  would 
be  endless  to  follow  the  various 
permutations,  the  various  manoeu- 
vres, checks,  and  counter-checks,  of 
which  this  deck  was  the  scene  with- 
out interruption,  till  the  anchor 
dropped  in  Aberlorna  Bay.  "  If 
there  was  only  another  fellow  here 
to  bet  with  on  the  moves,  it  would 
be  jolly  enough,"  was  Pigott's  ver- 
dict. 

They  had  been  coasting  along  for 
miles  close  to  the  shore,  on  the  very 
margin  of  which  gaunt  and  treeless 
mountains  rested  their  rugged  feet, 
with  nothing  for  miles  to  break  the 
monotony  of  the  landscape  ;  and  so, 
when  they  rounded  a  point  and 
turned  into  the  sequestered  little 
bay  of  Aberlorna,  the  beauty  of  the 
scene  which  burst  upon  them  was 
enhanced  by  contrast  and  surprise. 
No  contrast  could  be  greater.  Chan- 
nelled in  a  profound  gorge  that  cleft 
the  mountains  with  its  piny  depth, 
and  revealed  far  away  back  a  vista 
of  cultivated  uplands  and  waving 
trees,  the  Lorna  came  and  delivered 
its  sparkling  waters  to  the  bay;  the 
embouchure  overlooked  on  one  side, 
as  Eila  had  described  it,  by  the 


1871.] 


weird  old  ruin,  and  on  the  other  by 
the  airy  elegance  of  the  modern 
house ;  the  one  perched  on  a  grim 
cliff  descending  sheerly  precipitous 
to  the  bay,  the  other  nestling  on 
the  highest  of  a  succession  of  ter- 
races that  sloped  down  with  gently- 
decreasing  acclivities,  and  made 
their  way  to  the  sea  amid  a  triumph 
of  flowers  and  foliage.  On  one  side, 
Nature,  all  unkempt  and  stern,  hold- 
ing in  her  brawny  arms  the  rugged 
relic  of  the  days  of  eld ;  on  the 
other,  Art  smiling  up  from  her 
achievements,  and,  as  if  half  in  awe, 
half  in  derision,  opposing  the  Beau- 
tiful to  the  Sublime,  and  the  Present 
to  the  Past.  There  was  everything 
about  it  to  touch  and  awaken  Ber- 
trand's  poetical  instincts.  He  was 
gazing  for  the  first  time  upon  the 
home  of  his  forefathers — those  he- 
roic ancestors,  those  mighty  men 
of  valour,  whose  deeds  were  en- 
graved on  his  memory,  who  lived 
in  his  day-dreams  as  "  blameless 
knights,"  whose  spotless  escutcheon 
was  to  be  a  lamp  to  his  path  and  a 
light  to  his  feet  as  he  travelled  up 
the  chivalrous  ascent  to  glory. 

There  was  a  picturesqueness  in 
his  own  situation  too,  thus  standing 
for  the  first  time  before  the  shrine 
of  his  hero-worship,  that  under 
other  circumstances  would  have 
entirely  captivated  his  romantic 
imagination;  and,  even  as  it  was, 
the  first  sight  of  that  venerable 
tower  made  his  heart  swell  and  his 
brain  begin  to  teem  with  troops  of 
thick-coming  fancies  ;  but  Eila  was 
by  his  side,  and,  at  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  his  ancestors  went  quietly 
back  to  sleep  in  their  vault  in  the 
kirk  of  Aberlorna. 

"  Did  I  describe  it  well  ?  is  it 
not  beautiful?"  said  the  enchant- 
ress. 

"  It  is  indeed  beautiful ;  but  as  I 
should  always  associate  it  with  your 
description — with  the  sound  of  your 
voice,"  he  added,  dropping  his  own, 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


597 


"  it  would  appear  perfect  to  me  with 
half  its  charms." 

"  Look,  Miss  Eila,"  said  Tainsh  ; 
"  look  at  that  lowest  terrace ;  that's 
my  doing — I  made  it  without  con- 
sulting Sir  Roland." 

"  It  must  have  looked  unfinished 
without  it,  I  think." 

"Just  that;  it  did.  I  think  I 
have  got  the  place  in  fair  order  now ; 
but  I  suspect  I'll  have  to  cut  down 
a  lot  of  these  old  trees  on  the  other 
side." 

Tainsh,  speaking  as  the  factor, 
adopted  an  especially  proprietary 
tone,  intended  to  jar  upon  and  snub 
Bertrand,  who  said — 

"  Pray  don't  cut  any  of  the  wood 
on  that  side.  I  am  sure  Sir  Roland 
would  not  approve.  It  would  spoil 
the  place." 

"Well,  you  see,  if  I  get  carte- 
blanche  I  must  use  my  own  dis- 
cretion ;  when  Sir  Roland  intrusts 
you  with  these  matters,  of  course  I 
will  listen  to  your  opinion." 

"  You  never  got  carte-blanclie  to 
the  extent  you  propose  to  go.  I  pro- 
test against  your  touching  the  wood 
on  that  side.  I  warn  you  not  to 
do  it.  And  I  shall  write  to  Sir 
Roland." 

Then  for  a  second  or  two  the  ri- 
vals glared  at  each  other  in  silence. 

"  I  vow  it  puts  me  monstrously  in 
mind  of  Tilly  wheesle — it  always  did," 
cried  Mrs  M'Killop  to  Pigott. 

"  I  would  pull  down  that  rickety 
old  ruin,"  said  Duncanson,  "and  add 
another  story  to  the  new  house ;  it 
does  not  seem  big  enough  for  a  gen- 
tleman to  live  in." 

"  You  would  make  it  look  like  a 
cotton-mill  if  you  did,"  remarked 
Pigott ;  "  which  would  be  all  very 
well  for  the  residence  of  a  cotton 
lord,  but  not  of  a  gentleman." 

And  when  every  one  had  pro- 
nounced upon  the  subject  after  his 
kind,  the  disembarkation  began ; 
and  here  matters  so  fell  out — what 
between  Tainsh's  tenacity,  and  Mrs 


598 


Fair  to  See. — Part  V. 


M'Killop's  astuteness,  and  Duncan- 
son's  control  of  the  situation — that 
the  boat,  on  its  first  trip,  conveyed 
Eila,  Tainsh,  and  the  commissariat 
to  land.  On  arriving  there,  it  was, 
according  to  arrangement,  run  ashore 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  little  stream, 
and  there  the  butler  and  the  provi- 
sions were  landed ;  but  Eila,  express- 
ing a  wish  to  get  an  upward  view  of 
the  ruin  from  the  foot  of  the  cliff, 
she  and  Mr  Tainsh  were  landed  on 
the  other  side  ;  and  the  dingey  went 
back  and  performed  its  two  other 
trips,  landing  its  passengers  succes- 
sively on  the  left  bank,  and,  that 
accomplished,  returning  to  the  yacht. 
Thus  it  came  about,  that  when  Eila 
had  satisfied  herself  with  the  view, 
and  she  and  Tainsh  returned  to  the 
bank  of  the  stream,  they  found  that 
the  party  had  gone  away  inland,  be- 
lieving them  to  be  in  front;  that  the 


[May 

dingey  had  disappeared;  and  that 
they  had  no  means  of  crossing  the 
stream  at  that  point  to  rejoin  them. 

"  It  is  most  provoking,"  said  Eila; 
"  we  shall  be  obliged  to  climb  all  the 
way  up  by  the  old  castle  and  reach 
them  by  the  bridge." 

But  Tainsh's  heart  beat  high  with 
joy  and  excitement.  He  blessed  the 
absence  of  the  dingey,  he  blessed  the 
intervening  Lorna,  he  blessed  the 
length  of  the  ascent.  He  felt  that 
his  opportunity  had  come,  and  he 
was  not  the  man  to  let  it  slip.  And 
thus  while  Bertrand  was  tearing  like 
a  maniac  up  the  ascent  on  the  other 
side,  straining  anxious  eyes  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  the  bewitcher,  behold  her 
slowly  climbing  the  reverse  bank, 
undisputedly  in  the  hands  of  the 
Philistine,  and  that  Philistine  quite 
alive  to  his  advantage  and  deter- 
mined to  make  the  best  of  it. 


CHAPTER  xv. 


The  path  which  led  up  to  the 
old  castle  proved  to  be  both  narrow 
and  steep,  circumstances  which  en- 
forced a  slow  rate  of  progress  on  the 
climbers,  and  at  the  same  time 
made  it  expedient  that  one  should 
precede  the  other.  This  was  most 
tantalising  to  Mr  Tainsh,  who  felt 
that  in  such  a  position  it  was  im- 
possible for  him  to  say  what  he  had 
to  say — what  he  had  quite  resolved 
to  say — and  that  golden  moments 
were  slipping  by,  perhaps  to  leave 
an  insufficient  margin  of  time,  when 
they  had  reached  the  summit,  before 
an  interruption  took  place.  With 
feverish  irritation,  therefore,  he  ob- 
served the  leisurely  way  in  which 
Eila  conducted  the  march,  pausing 
now  and  then  to  comment  upon  the 
scenery,  but  making  no  remark  that 
could  in  any  way  form  a  basis  for 
the  commencement  of  his  operations. 

Tainsh,  by  the  by,  had  a  vague 
notion  that  in  all  well-regulated 


proposals  a  kneeling  scene  was  de 
rigueur,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for 
this  he  might  perhaps  have  seized 
the  opportunity  of  one  of  Eila's 
halts  to  plunge  in  medias  res.  But 
how  kneel  and  employ  proper  ora- 
torical action  on  a  narrow  shelf 
overhanging  a  precipice  of  many 
hundred  feet?  It  was  not  to  be 
thought  of ;  and  so  he  plodded  after 
Eila  in  silent  impatience,  scanning 
with  anxious  eyes,  now  the  summit 
of  the  cliff,  now  the  other  side  of 
the '  glen  where  he  knew  the  party 
would  be  in  quest  of  them. 

At  length  the  ascent  was  achieved, 
and  Eila  accepted  Mr  Tainsh's  sug- 
gestion that  they  should  sit  down 
and  rest  awhile. 

Behold  them,  then,  seated  on  a 
small  tablet  of  rock,  facing  the  sea, 
shadowed  by  the  umbrage  of  the 
venerable  oaks,  and  with  ample  room 
and  verge  enough  for  Mr  Tainsh  to 
kneel,  oratorise,  stand  on  his  head, 


1871.] 

and  be  as  ridiculous  and  acrobatic 
as  he  pleased. 

"  Just  the  place  for  it,"  thought 
Tainsh;  "here  goes!"  and  then  he 
began, — "  Miss  M'Killop,  in  a  scene 
like  this — in  scenery  like  this,  the 
heart  of  man  is  naturally  elevated." 
Here  he  paused. 

"Oh  yes,  indeed  it  is,"  replied 
Eila;  "there  is  something  about  the 
antique  that  is  very  inspiring,  and 
there  is  something  in  this  grand  pros- 
pect— in  these  lights  and  shadows 
on  the  sea,  in  these  sombre  woods 
and  rugged  cliff's- — that  does,  as  you 
say,  elevate  the  heart.  The  odd 
thing  is  that  Sir  Roland  does  not 
appreciate  the  place.  I  suspect  Mr 
Cameron  will,  when  he  succeeds  to 
it;  he  will  succeed  to  it,  of  course  1 " 

"  Yes,"  stammered  Tainsh,  "  oh 
yes ;  humanly  speaking,  he  will — 
that  is,  I  suspect  so,  if  his  uncle 
doesn't  marry." 

"But  then  he  is  so  old." 

"Yes,  he  is  elderly,  of  course. 
Sitting  in  scenes  like  these,  Miss 
Eila,  with  the  heart  thus  elevated, 
my  brain  at  this  moment  becomes 
dizzy." 

"  Oh,  then,  pray  let  us  sit  farther 
back  ;  some  people,  I  know,  cannot 
bear  to  be  near  a  precipice.  I  don't 
understand  the  feeling  myself.  You 
feel  inclined  to  throw  yourself  over, 
don't  you  ? "  and  she  rose  as  if  to 
change  her  position. 

"Please  sit  still,  Miss  M'Kil- 
lop ;  it  was  of  a  mental  dizziness  I 
spoke." 

"  Oh  !  nothing  to  do  with  the 
precipice  1 " 

"  Nothing  to  do  with  that  preci- 
pice at  all.  My  brain,  as  I  was 
going  to  say,  becomes  dizzy — beauty 
thrilling  it  in  all  its  fibres — beauty 
intoxicating,  bewildering " 

"  You  are  quite  a  poet,  Mr  Tainsh ; 
if  you  are  also  an  artist,  I  wish  you 
would  sketch  the  bay  for  me.  I 
have  everything  here  ;  will  you  ? " 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot.     I  am  no 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


599 


artist — no  poet  either ;  but  certain 
feelings,  they  say,  make  poets  of  the 
dullest  of  mankind." 

"Fine  scenery  has  made  many 
poets,  I  believe." 

"  And  female  loveliness,  Miss 
M'Killop." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  and  under  the  influence 
of  the  two  combined,  as  I  am  at  this 
moment,  he  would  indeed  be  pro- 
saic who  did  not  feel  some  poetical 
inspiration." 

"  Suppose  you  write  some  verses; 
I  promise  to  keep  perfectly  quiet." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  don't 
wish.  No,  I  will  not — I  could 
never — express  in  writing  what  I 
feel  at  this  moment." 

"  What  is  that  sea-gull  about  ?  " 
exclaimed  Eila,  with  great  earnest- 
ness, pointing  to  a  bird  which  was 
fishing  in  the  bay  below.  Tainsh 
smothered  an  uncivil  remark  about 
the  gull,  and  went  on  poetically,  "  I 
sometimes  wish  I  had  the  wings  of 
a  bird." 

"  I  would  I  were  a  bird,"  hum- 
med Eila,  gaily,  adding,  "  Are  you 
fond  of  the  Christy  Minstrels  ?  " 

Her  sudden  levity  rather  baffled 
Mr  Tainsh's  earnestness. 

"No — yes — they  are  very  good 
—  sometimes.  That  bird  down 
there,"  he  continued,  "  is  happier 
than  I  am,  Miss  Eila.  He  has  his 
hunger,  and  he  satisfies  it.  I,  too, 
have  my  hunger " 

"Oh,  then,"  cried  Eila,  "pray 
don't  let  us  stay  any  longer  here !  I 
am  quite  rested ;  and  besides  I  am 
beginning  to  feel  hungry  too,  so  let 
us  go  and  look  for  the  luncheon ;  it 
won't  come  to  us,  I  suspect.  After 
all,  that  bird  has  inspired  you  with 
an  idea  much  more  useful  than  poet- 
ical images." 

"  Ah  !  do  not  misinterpret  me  ; 
I  spoke  of  a  hunger  of  the  soul." 

"Really,  Mr  Tainsh,  you  mix 
your  metaphors,  your  prose,  and 
your  poetry  so  strangely,  that  you 


COO 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


are  a  little  incomprehensible.  You 
want  to  throw  yourself  over  a  pre- 
cipice, you  want  to  fly  away  with 
the  bird's  wings,  and  then  you  want 
to  eat  his  dinner,  and  then — then — 
what  is  it  next  1 " 

The  next  step  came  unexpectedly 
enough,  for,  at  this  rather  inoppor- 
tune juncture,  Mr  Tainsh  put  an  end 
to  all  further  doubt  or  skirmishing 
by  plunging  down  upon  his  knees 
in  front  of  Eila. 

"  Eila  !  I  love,  I  adore  you!"  he 
exclaimed,  clasping  his  hands,  and 
bending  forward  in  the  attitude  ac- 
cepted on  the  stage  as  that  of  the 
shipwrecked  mariner  just  washed 
ashore  by  the  "  fer-endly  billows." 

A  quick  gleam  of  some  emotion 
passed  across  the  lady's  face,  and 
there  was  a  sudden  compression  of 
the  lips  which  might  have  indi- 
cated suppressed  mirth  under  cir- 
cumstances of  less  solemn  interest. 
In  an  instant,  however,  and  what- 
ever the  emotion  may  have  been, 
her  face  was  composed  into  an  ex- 
pression of  grief  and  compassion. 
Her  beautiful  eyes  were  opened 
wide,  and  gazed  on  her  suitor 
through  a  sudden  mist  of  impend- 
ing tears. 

"  Rise,  Mr  Tainsh  ! "  she  cried — 
"  rise  up ;  it  is  unworthy  of  you  or  of 
any  man  to  kneel  before  a  silly  girl 
like  me." 

"  I  will  not  rise,"  cried  Tainsh, 
recklessly,  "  until  you  grant  the 
prayer  of  my  heart.  Give  me,  oh, 
give  me  what  a  thousand  words,  a 
thousand  looks,  a  thousand  other 
symptoms,  lead  me  to  hope  that  I 
may — I  must — have! — give  me  the 
verbal  assurance  of  your  love." 

"  Mr  Tainsh,  is  it  possible  you 
are  in  earnest,  or  this  only  a  plea- 
santry— an  ill-judged  one,  I  must 
say?  or " 

"  I  am  as  solemnly  in  earnest  as 
a  man  can  be  whose  whole  happiness 
is  hanging  on  a  word." 

"  Why  did  I  not  see — why  did  I 


[May 

not  suspect— understand  this  before? 
You  are  the  last  person  I  should 
have  expected  to  profess  such  senti- 
ments ;  but  my  surprise  is  nothing 
to  the  pain  and  regret  I  feel  for 
having  misunderstood  you,  for  hav- 
ing perhaps  mis — — ' 

"  Say  no  more  on  that  head,  Eila 
— only  answer  me  this ;  may  I  hope 
that  my  love  is  not  utterly  unre- 
quited ? " 

Eila's  answer  was,  "  Oh  no,  no, 
Mr  Tainsh !  you  have  been  deceiving 
yourself  as  to  my  sentiments." 

N.B. — Double  negatives  ought  to 
be  avoided  when  a  clear  understand- 
ing is  really  desired. 

"  On  the  contrary,  Eila,  I  have 
read  your  heart ;  I  have  often  felt 
that  it  was  mine.  Doubts  and  fears 
have  arisen  at  times,  but  I  forget 
them  all  in  the  supreme  happiness 
of  this  avowal — all — all." 

"  Oh !  listen  to  me,  Mr  Tainsh ; 
I  can  never  forgive  myself — 

"  Banish  all  such  regrets  and 
recriminations,  adorable  Eila,  as  I 
banish  the  recollection  of  them ; 
and  now  you  know  me  in  my  true 
character  as  your  lover,  let  us  resign 
ourselves  to  the  joy  of  the  moment. 
Give  free  play  to  your  affection ; 
believe  me  it  is  requited  fourfold." 

He  showed  symptoms  of  abandon- 
ing the  attitude  of  the  mariner  for 
one  of  a  more  aggressive  description, 
but  Eila  started  back  with  so  much 
vivacity  that  he  subsided  into  his 
nautical  pose  again,  while  she  cried, 
"  If  you  will  always  interrupt  and 
misunderstand  me,  how  can  I  set 
you  right,  Mr  Tainsh  1  You  are  only 
aggravating  my  pain  and  your  own 
by  prolonging  this  scene.  Under- 
stand me  once  for  all,  when  I  say 
that  you  have  mistaken  my  senti- 
ments as  entirely  as  I  appear  to 
have  misunderstood  yours.  Mine 
have  all  along  been  those  of  sincere 
friendship  and  respect,  but  nothing 
more ;  and  my  regret,  my  deep 
regret,  is,  that  my  manner  —  too 


1871.] 

familiar  and  intimate  perhaps — may 
have  led  you  to  interpret  them 
otherwise." 

"  Which  of  us  is  dreaming?"  said 
Tainsh,  hazily,  passing  his  hand 
across  his  forehead. 

"  Ah  !  dear  Mr  Tainsh,"  said  Eila, 
in  a  tone  of  infinite  gentleness  and 
sympathy,  "  it  grieves  me  to  the 
heart  to  see  you  so  distressed,  and 
for  such  an  unworthy  cause.  Look 
on  this  —  this  fancy  for  me  as  a 
dream;  and  may  you  find  happiness 
from  some  better  and  more  sub- 
stantial cause." 

"  It  is  all  dark  and  incompre- 
hensible to  me,"  murmured  Mr 
Tainsh,  who  indeed  appeared  to  be 
in  a  state  of  complete  beAvilderment. 
"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  do 
not  love  me1?" 

"  I  greatly  like,  esteem,  respect 
you,  Mr  Tainsh,  as  a  valued  friend." 

"  But  as  a  lover  you  spurn,  reject, 
despise  me  ?" 

"  Not  so ;  you  put  harsh  words 
into  my  mouth ;  it  is  not  fair.  I 
say  nothing  of  the  sort ;  all  I  say  is 
that  our  union  is  impossible." 

"  The  feelings  you  have  named," 
cried  Tainsh,  again  lighted  up  with 
hope,  "  what  are  they  but  the 
elements  of  which  love  is  made  up  ? 
It  is  you,  believe  me,  Eila,  who 
have  deceived  yourself;  with  such 
feelings  as  you  express,  our  union 
is  not  impossible,  but  the  contrary. 
Do  not  finally  cheat  your  heart. 
Marry  me,  Eila,  and  take  my  word 
for  it  that  your  affection  will  be 
given  with  your  hand." 

"  Mr  Tainsh,  it  appears  to  me 
that  you  pretend  to  know  more  of 
my  feelings  than  I  do  myself." 

"  In  this  case  I  am  certain  that 
it  is  so.  I  am  led  to  understand 
that  the  hurry  and  surprise  attend- 
ing such  proposals  are  so  confusing 
to  the  recipient  that  they  are  often 
mechanically  refused,  and  love  and 
happiness  sacrificed  for  ever.  A 
little  self-examination  is  often  neces- 


Fair  to  See. — Part  V. 


601 


sary  to  let  the  heart  discover  how  it 
stands.  So  take  till  to-morrow,  and 
answer  me  then.  I  am  not  afraid 
to  let  you  analyse  your  feelings — to 
let  you  investigate  this  liking,  this 
esteem,  this  respect." 

"  To  -  morrow  my  answer  would 
be  exactly  the  same — that  our  union 
is  impossible." 

"  No  doubt  it  appears  so  to  you 
now ;  take  a  week,  then." 

"  It  would  be  useless." 

"  A  month — a  year." 

"  I  tell  you  once  for  all  that  a 
century  would  not  alter  my  deci- 
sion." 

"You  deceive  yourself,  you  de- 
ceive yourself,  believe  me  ! "  cried 
Mr  Tainsh,  in  the  same  tone  of  supe- 
rior intelligence.  "  Now,  before  we 
part,  let  me  hear  you  say,  'Alex- 
ander, my  feelings  are  perplexed ; 
I  will  examine  them  honestly,  how- 
ever, and  see  whether  this  liking, 
this  esteem,  this  respect,  do  not 
amount,  after  all,  to  love.  Alex- 
ander, I  will  try  to  love  you.'" 

"  Mr  Tainsh " 

"Alexander,"  substituted  the 
factor. 

Eila  was  too  angry,  by  this 
time,  to  laugh  at  the  uncouth  tena- 
city displayed  by  her  lover,  and  the 
perverse  incredulity  with  which  he 
received  all  her  assurances  of  indif- 
ference ;  and  grievous  though  it 
may  be  to  a  certain  school  of  ladies, 
of  whose  idiosyncrasies  iii  this  re- 
spect Eila  certainly  partook,  to 
abridge  the  feline  joy  of  torturing 
their  victims  with  alternations  of 
fear  and  hope,  and  to  part  finally 
with  even  an  indifferent  or  distaste- 
ful lover — grievous  though  this  may 
have  been  to  her,  her  indignation 
forced  her  to  make  the  sacrifice. 
Fortunate  for  all  parties,  for  other- 
wise the  discussion  might  have  been 
going  on  to  this  hour  ;  it  is  certain 
that  Tainsh's  kneecaps  (he  was  still 
kneeling)  would  have  given  way 
sooner  than  his  resolute  determina- 


602 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


[May 


tion  to  believe  in  Eila's  love,  or  at 
least  to  argue  her  into  a  belief  of  it. 

"  Mr  Tainsh,"  cried  the  young 
lady,  "  I  will  not  be  treated  like  a 
child;  and  as  you  will  not  bring 
this  singular  conversation  to  a  close, 
I  must  do  so  by  leaving  you.  I 
can  no  longer  endure  it.  I  think  I 
have  spoken  as  plainly  as  considera- 
tion for  your  feelings  would  allow 
me;  I  must  say  you  show  little 
delicacy  or  consideration  for  mine  ; 
and  now  I  shall  leave  you :  not 
another  word,  I  beg  "  (as  Tainsh  was 
about  to  speak) ;  "  my  answer  is  per- 
fectly final  and  distinct,  and,  if  you 
will  have  it  broadly,  it  is  'No.'" 
Hereupon  Mr  Tainsh  rose  swiftly 
to  his  feet.  He  had  been  unused 
to  failure  in  his  undertakings ;  his 
creed  was,  that  energy,  tenacity,  and 
power  of  will  are  irresistible  forces  ; 
an  admirable  creed  in  most  depart- 
ments of  human  endeavour,  but 
Tainsh  was  testing  its  soundness  in 
one  perfectly  unfamiliar  to  him — in 
one  where  axioms  are  impossible, 
where  analogy  fails,  and  where  even 
very  special  experience  is  quite  an 
unreliable  guide.  It  is  questionable 
whether  the  disappointment  of  his 
hopes  as  a  lover  was  anything  like 
so  poignant  a  feeling  as  the  convic- 
tion that  he  had  been  foiled  in  a 
purpose  which  he  had  deliberately 
set  himself  to  compass.  The  two 
combined  certainly  worked  him  into 
a  state  of  complete  exasperation ; 
and  he  now  addressed  Eila  in  a 
strain  of  vehement  recrimination, 
betraying  all  the  coarseness  of  mind 
and  vulgarity  of  manner  which  even, 
under  favourable  circumstances,  re- 
vealed themselves  through  a  veneer- 
ing of  better  things. 

"  Then,"  he  cried,  "  I  have  been 
duped  and  befooled !  What  have  all 
these  soft  looks  and  sweet  speeches 
been?  So  many  frauds  and  false- 
hoods. Don't  try  to  humbug  me 
with  this  trash  about  friendship.  It 
was  not  friendship  you  were  playing 


at.  The  game  you  have  been  play- 
ing is  not  one  a  friend  would  have 
played.  You  have  been  using  me 
— that's  about  it — for  your  own  pur- 
poses ;  and  if  they  were  gained, 
what  were  my  feelings  to  you  ?  The 
whole  thing  is  clear  to  me  now ;  I 
remember  who  has  been  dangling 
about  you.  You  have  shown  great 
skill ;  you  have  thrown  dust  in  my 
eyes  very  successfully  ;  you  must  be 
a  practised  hand  at  a  double  game. 
And  that  other  fool — his  attentions 
were  distasteful  too,  perhaps?  Oh 
no,  that  won't  do.  He  is  to  be  some- 
thing more  than  a  friend,  I  should 
say  ;  and  I  have  been  used,  to  bring 
him  up  to  the  scratch.  I  shall  feel 
shame  to  my  dying  day  that  I  have 
been  tricked  and  played  with,  all  to 
serve  the  purpose  of  a  vain  shallow- 
hearted  girL  "Well,  I  wish  you  joy 
of  Mr  Bertrand  Cameron.  Perhaps 
you  would  bike  to  get  a  little  private 
intelligence  about  the  estate  before 
you  finally  decide  whether  he  is  to 
be  a  friend  or — what  shall  I  say  ? — 
a  speculation?  One  can  never  be 
too  careful  in  money  transactions." 

Mr  Tainsh  spoke  with  so  much 
energy  that  Eila  had  not  a  chance 
of  interrupting  him  till  he  paused 
for  sheer  lack  of  breath  ;  nor  could 
she  make  her  escape,  for  he  stood 
in  front  of  her,  barring  the  path, 
with  vehement  gesticulations.  Now, 
however,  with  flashing  eyes,  in  which 
tears,  from  no  tender  fountain,  trem- 
bled, and  in  a  voice  that  shook  with 
passion,  she  replied — 

"  I,  too,  shall  feel  shame  to  my 
dying  day  that  I  have  admitted  to 
any  kind  of  intimacy  such  a — such 
a  person  as  you  are — capable  of 
using  such  language  to  a  lady — to 
any  woman.  Your  vulgarity,  of 
course,  I  have  known  all  along ;  that 
one  could  forgive,  for  it  was  your 
birthright.  But  this  dastardly  in- 
solence  •  I  wonder  you  don't 

strike  me ;  it  would  not  be  at  all 
more  insulting  or  more  unmanly 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  F. 


603 


than  your  words.  And  now  let  me 
pass,  sir.  I  presume,  since  you 
have  not  struck  me,  that  you  will 
not  venture  to  detain  me  by  force," 
for  Mr  Tainsh,  with  his  arms  ex- 
tended to  give  oratorical  action  to 
some  new  diatribe,  looked  as  though 
he  were  attempting  to  pen  her  in 
to  the  platform  where  they  had 
been  seated.  Thus  were  the  two 
confronting  each  other;  Tainsh  pale 
with  passion,  his  eyes  dilated,  his 
uncovered  head  (for  his  hat  had 
fallen  off  at  the  kneeling  scene) 
thrust  forward  as  if  to  accelerate  his 
fierce  utterance,  and  his  arms  wildly 
brandished  in  the  air ;  Eila,  on  the 
other  hand,  haughty  and  erect,  her 
beautiful  eyes  blazing  through  indig- 
nant tears,  and  one  hand  slightly 
moved  with  a  contemptuous  gesture ; 
— thus  were  they  confronting  each 
other,  when,  on  a  ledge  above, 
suddenly  appeared  four  spectators. 
These  were  Mrs  M'Killop,  Morna, 
Bertrand,  and  Duncanson.  The 
respective  attitudes  of  the  couple 
below  were  observed  by  this  group; 
and  although  it  was  but  for  an  in- 
stant, and  although  the  accents  in 
which  their  dialogue  was  being  con- 
ducted were  but  indistinctly  heard, 
Mrs  M'Killop  instantly  grasped  the 
real  state  of  the  case,  and  instantly 
raised  her  voice  to  warn  those  below 
that  they  were  observed. 

"Eila!  Eila!  Eila!" 

Eila  looked  quickly  up ;  her  self- 
possession  returned  on  the  moment; 
she  softened  her  attitude  off  at  once 
into  one  of  careless  abandon;  and, 
still  looking  up  to  the  party  above, 
rapidly  whispered  to  Tainsh,  almost 
below  her  breath, — 

"  For  your  own  sake,  I  should, 
recommend  you  to  help  me  to  pass 
this  off  as  if  there  was  nothing  in 
it."  Then  raising  her  voice:  "  Ah  ! 
you  have  found  us  at  last;  we  were 
just  on  the  point  of  starting  to  look 
for  you."  Then,  again  in  a  whis- 
per, to  Tainsh :  "  Put  your  hat 

VOL.    CIX. NO.    DCLXVII. 


on,  and  try  not  to  look  so  utterly 
ridiculous." 

Now  when  a  man  feels  himself  to 
be  looking  utterly  ridiculous,  it  does 
not  usually  mend  matters  to  assure 
him  that  such  is  the  case,  or  to  beg 
him  to  assume  a  different  appear- 
ance ;  and  the  device  was,  in  this 
instance,  decidedly  unsuccessful.  In 
his  then  exasperated  state,  nothing 
but  the  instinct  of  self-preservation 
(from  ridicule)  would  have  induced 
Mr  Tainsh  to  listen  to  any  sugges- 
tion of  Eila's;  \miit  did:  and  thus, 
being  discovered  in  the  attitude  of 
a  spread-eagle — a  peculiar  one,  to 
say  the  least  of  it,  in  which  to  carry 
on  a  quiet  tete-a-tete — his  method  of 
appearing  more  easy  and  natural  was 
to  exchange  it  for  that  of  the  gorged 
vulture  attempting  to  rise  from  the 
earth,  with  the  slow  and  solemn 
wing-flapping  action  appropriate  to 
that  bird  and  to  the  effort ;  looking 
up,  the  while,  at  the  new  arrivals 
with  what  was  intended  for  an  easy 
smile,  but  which,  if  it  could  have 
been  set  up  to  auction  as  a  dramatic 
scowl,  would  have  fetched  a  long 
price  in  the  profession.  Thus  scowl- 
ing and  flapping,  he  made  his  way 
to  his  hat,  and  put  it  on  with  a 
ferocious  jauntiness  ;  and  if  ever 
there  had  been  a  chance  of  the  scene 
passing  off  as  a  commonplace  tab- 
leau in  a  commonplace  interview, 
poor  Tainsh's  efforts  not  "to  look 
utterly  ridiculous  "  would  have  en- 
tirely annihilated  it. 

The  hat  reclaimed,  they  joined  the 
party  above,  to  whom  Eila  made  a 
statement  purporting  to  detail  their 
proceedings,  and  involving  quite  an 
interesting  precis  of  a  tale  which 
Mr  Tainsh  was  represented  (much 
to  his  surprise)  to  have  told  with 
great  spirit  and  appropriate  action, 
resulting  in  his  hatless  condition  at 
its  close.  Then  they  all  turned  in 
quest  of  the  luncheon,  which  was 
found  not  far  off  under  charge  of 
the  butler,  who,  with  Pigott's  assist- 
2  T 


604 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


[May 


ance,  was  anxiously  compounding 
some  cunning  drink  under  the  green- 
wood tree. 

The  meal  itself  could  not  be  said 
to  pass  off  cheerily.  In  addition  to 
the  gene  of  one  sullen,  silent,  un- 
happy presence  (for  Tainsh's  drama- 
tic effort  on  the  cliff  was  not  to  be 
sustained),  there  was  a  certain  awk- 
ward restraint  observable  in  the 
rest  of  the  party,  all,  save  the  un- 
conscious Pigott,  more  or  less  en- 
grossed with  the  episode  which  they 
had  interrupted.  Eila,  it  is  true,  did 
her  best,  by  more  than  usual  viva- 
city, to  keep  things  going,  but  in 
vain.  Curious,  furtive  glances,  now 
at  Tainsh,  now  at  her,  were  the  only 
reward  of  her  efforts  ;  and  the  diffi- 
culty of  coping  with  protracted  and 
recurring  pauses  made  her  and  every 
one  else  thankful  when  the  luncheon 
could,  without  absolute  outrage  to 
the  theory  that  it  was  a  convivial 
occasion,  be  pronounced  at  an  end. 

A  stroll  to  see  the  ruins  was  then 
proposed,  and  they  started  off  en. 
masse.  That  formation,  however,  did 
not  long  subsist ;  very  soon  the  party 
was  broken  up  into  couples,  of  which 
Tainsh  and  Mrs  M'Killop  naturally 
were  one,  Morn  a  and  Duncanson 
another,  while  Eila  found  herself 
under  the  escort  of  our  two  friends. 
The  adage  that  "  three  is  no  com- 
pany "  is  a  sound  one  under  certain 
circumstances.  Pigott  thought  it 
applicable  to  the  present  occasion, 
and  he  very  soon  detached  himself 
from  his  companions,  returning  to 
the  beach  to  await  the  hour  of  de- 
parture with  what  patience  he  might 
command,  and  very  thankful  for  the 
foresight  which  had  suggested  a 
double  ration  of  cigars.  We  are  not 
going  to  follow  these  several  couples, 
or  listen  to  their  conversation  as 
they  roamed  through  the  woods  and 
scrambled  among  the  rocks  and 
ruins  ;  suffice  it  for  the  present  to 
say  that  Pigott's  patience  was  sorely 
tried.  Mrs  M'Kiliop  and  Mr  Tainsh, 


indeed,  returned  in  a  reasonable 
time;  but  their  society  was  neither 
amusing  in  itself,  nor  did  their 
arrival  advance  the  moment  of  de- 
parture. As  for  the  others,  it  seemed 
as  if  they  would  never  come.  In 
vain  were  the  two  gentlemen  de- 
spatched to  seek  and  shout  through 
the  woods  ;  and  in  vain  did  Mrs 
M'Killop  querulously  call  upon  some 
invisible  power  to  explain  "  what, 
in  the  name  of  wonder,  they  could 
mean  "  by  their  prolonged  absence. 

Their  patience  was  wellnigh  ex- 
hausted, and  Pigott  was  beginning 
to  suggest  the  propriety  of  attempt- 
ing to  take  up  transport  and  proceed 
home  overland,  when  at  last  the 
loiterers  did  come,  all  together,  all 
silent,  and  all  unmoved  by  the  re- 
proachful questions  of  their  friends. 

There  was  not  much  time  for  par- 
ley, however,  as  the  hour  was  late, 
and  the  breeze  might  fail ;  so,  with- 
out any  of  the  morning's  manoeuvres, 
the  re-embarkation  was  effected  as 
quickly  as  possible.  In  the  morn- 
ing, if  the  party  had  not  been  a  very 
happy  or  harmonious  one,  at  least 
there  had  been  some  spirit  and  energy 
about  it ;  but  now  what  had  come 
over  them  all  ?  Mute  was  the  boat- 
swain's whistle  ;  vanished  the  elastic 
vigour  of  the  corsair  ;  strategy  was 
dormant;  Mrs  M'Killop  motionless, 
and  even  dumb  :  there  were  neither 
permutations  nor  combinations  ;  the 
units  of  the  party  sat  apart ;  there 
was  a  gloomy  silence.  Bertrand 
and  Eila,  indeed,  sat  together  :  why 
did  they  not  speak  ?  Why  was  Ber- 
trand throwing  away  his  chances  ] 
The  sky,  too,  had  turned  leaden  and 
sad,  the  air  cold  and  raw  ;  and  the 
breeze,  now  gusty  and  squalliferous, 
whistled  through  the  rigging  of  the 
"  Morna  "  with  shrill  and  shrewish 
tones,  as  if  interpreting  the  spirit 
that  reigned  upon  her  deck. 

All  were  relieved  when  the  triste 
passage  came  to  an  end.  It  was 
late ;  it  was  dark  ;  no  one  wanted 


1871.] 


anything  to  eat.  So  the  ladies  went 
to  bed  funereally;  Tainsh  and  Dun- 
canson  repaired  sullenly  to  the 
smoking  -room ;  while  Pigott  and 


Fair  to  See.— Part  F. 


605 


Bertrand  betook  themselves  to  their 
own  sanctum,  whither  let  us  follow 
them,  as  to  the  brightest  and  cheer- 
iest room  in  the  house. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


"  I  remarked  this  morning,"  said 
Pigott,  when  they  were  seated  by 
their  own  fireside, — "I  remarked  this 
morning,  when  we  were  outward 
bound,  that  everybody  seemed  to  be 
in  love  with  everybody,  and  nobody 
seemed  to  like  it.  To-night  I  re- 
mark of  the  homeward  voyage,  that 
everybody  seemed  to  be  out  of  love 
with  everybody,  without  any  hap- 
pier results.  What  does  it  all  mean  1 
What  has  happened  1  What  is  it, 
Bertrand  ?  Has  every  one  gone  mad 
but  old  M'Killop  and  I?  You're 
one  of  the  dramatis  persons ;  un- 
riddle me  the  mystery,  if  you  please." 

"Well,  Pigott,"  said  Bertrand, 
staring  dreamily  into  the  fire,  "  a 
good  many  things  have  happened 
to-day,  I  suspect." 

"  A  shrewd  suspicion,  and  I  share 
it ;  but  I  am  self-supporting  in  that 
line.  I  want  something  else, — ex- 
periences— facts,  at  least.  Give  me 
some." 

"  I'm  awfully  happy,  Pigott," 
murmured  Bertrand. 

"  You  must  be  own  brother  to 
Mark  Tapley,  then.  A  day  like  this 
would  have  tried  even  his  philo- 
sophy beyond  endurance,  I  should 
say." 

"Ah!  you  don't  know,"  replied 
Bertrand,  absently ;  and  then,  in  an 
undertone  to  himself,  "  Oh  !  terque, 
quaterque  beatus  !" 

Pigott  stared  at  his  friend,  and 
exclaimed,  "  Mad,  and  speaking 
with  tongues  !  What  next?" 

"  Terque,  quaterqtie  beatus  ! " 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  you  look  it. 
Are  all  the  rest  of  you  in  the  same 
state  of  death' s-head-and-cross-bones 
beatitude  ?  Tainsh,  for  instance  ? " 


"  Tainsh  !  I  should  like  to  see 
the  ruffian  hanged,  drawn,  and 
quartered,"  shouted  Bertrand,  with 
something  more  even  than  his  old 
energy. 

"  By  all  manner  of  means,"  said 
Pigott ;  "  terque  quaterque,  if  you 
please ;  and  if  you  like  to  include 
Duncanson,  I  am  with  you  there 
very  especially.  But  you'll  spare 
the  ladies,  I  hope  1" 

"Don't  be  a  fool.  I  spoke  of 
Tainsh,  the  scoundrel,  the  villain  ! " 

"  Well,  well,  granted  :  Tainsh  be 
hanged  ;  and  what  next  ?" 

"  You've  no  idea  what  a  villain 
Tainsh  is,  Pigott." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  it  doesn't 
tax  my  imaginative  powers  very 
heavily  to  form  a  conception.  But 
what  has  he  been  doing1?" 

"  I  think  I  shall  horsewhip  him  ; 
I  think  I  must  horsewhip  him." 

"  Do ;  and  when  you  are  about 
that  sort  of  thing,  perhaps,  as  a 
special  favour  to  me,  you  wouldn't 
mind  licking  Duncanson  too." 

"  I'm  not  in  joke,  I  assure  you." 

"  No  more  am  I ;  but  what  has 
Tainsh  been  about  1 " 

"  That  involves  the  whole  story." 

"  Confound  the  fellow  !  let  us 
have  the  whole  story,  then." 

"  Well,  Tainsh  has  grossly  in- 
sulted Miss  M'Killop." 

"No!" 

«  Grossly." 

"Horrible!  how?" 

"  Why,  would  you  believe  it?  he 
actually  had  the  outrageous  inso- 
lence to  propose  to  her  to-day." 

"  Good  heavens,  how  very  shock- 
ing ! — the  heart  of  man  is  desperately 
wicked,  beyond  a  question." 


606 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


"  Now,  Pigott,  I'm  not  in  the 
humour  for  trifling." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  who  is  trifling  ? 
So  Tainsh  proposed,  did  he  1  I 
thought  he  would ;  but  I'll  lay  short 
odds  she  didn't  accept  him." 

"  Pigott,  do  you  wish  to  insult 
me  ?  "  cried  Bertrand,  starting  from 
his  chair. 

"  Heaven  forbid !  if  you'll  only 
tell  me  how  to  avoid  it.  To  clear 
the  atmosphere,  I've  freely  assented 
to  every  proposition  you  have  made 
about  Tainsh ;  and  if  you'll  only 
explain  how  Miss  M'Killop's  ac- 
ceptance or  refusal  of  him  is  sup- 
posed to  insult  you,  I'll  take  un- 
common good  care  to  say  the  right 
thing." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  be  treated  like 
a  child." 

"  Oh,  this  is  getting  too  tiresome : 
if  you  don't  want  to  be  treated  like 
a  child,  try  to  speak  like  a  man, 
and  let  us  have  done  with  this 
maundering  nonsense.  Why  should 
Tainsh's  proposal  be  an  insult  to 
the  lady  1  and,  in  the  name  of  com- 
mon-sense, how  could  her  supposed 
acceptance  be  an  insult  to  you?  You 
appear  to  me  to  be  taking  leave  of 
your  senses  altogether,  Bertrand." 

"  Of  course  he  might  propose — 
although,  in  my  opinion,  it  was 
consummate  impertinence ;  but  if 
you  would,  for  once — only  for  once 
— as  a  special  favour,  allow  me  to 
speak  without  interrupting  me,  I 
would  explain." 

"  Go  on,  then." 

"  Well,  it  wasn't  so  much  the 
proposal,  as  the  way  he  received  her 
answer,  that  was  outrageous ;  and 
for  which  I  must  call  him  to  ac- 
count." 

"  You,  Bertrand  1" 

"  Yes,  /,  Pigott." 

"But,  bless  me  !  what  is  it  to 
you]  how  do  you  know  about  it? 
surely  you  weren't  present  ? " 

"  No,  nor  yet  eaves  -  dropping. 
Listen ;  before  luncheon  we  all  came 


[May 

upon  Miss  M'Killop  and  Tainsh — 
suddenly.  She  was  looking  like — 
like  what  the  poets  call  a  Python- 
ess  " 

"  Variety  of  the  sea-serpent,"  in- 
terpolated Pigott. 

"  Silence  !  she  was  looking  as  I 
say,  and  he  was  looking  like  the 
villain  he  is,  only  foiled,  and  sold, 
and  exasperated.  I  could  see  with 
half  an  eye  that  we  had  come  at 
a  serious  crisis ;  but  it  passed  oft7 
as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Eila 
showed  such  tact.  But  Tainsh  was 
as  white  as  a  sheet,  and  as  silent 
as  could  be ;  didn't  you  notice  him 
at  luncheon?  mooning,  and  giving 
crooked  answers,  and  upsetting 
things?" 

"  I  certainly  had  my  suspicions." 

"  Well,  after  luncheon,  if  you  re- 
member, you  joined  her  and  me  for 
a  bit ;  and  it  wasn't  lively,  was  it  1 " 

"  Not  strictly  speaking  lively — 
no." 

"  And  then  you  sheered  off? " 

"  I  '  saved  myself,'  -as  the  French 
express  it." 

"  But,  even  after  you  had  gone, 
she  continued  silent  and  preoccu- 
pied." 

"  I  wasn't  the  bore,  then  1 " 

"  Oh  no ;  so  I  said  to  her  frank- 
ly, after  a  while,  'You  are  silent, 
Miss  M'Killop,  and  I  fear  some- 
thing has  annoyed  you  :  can  I  be  of 
any  use?'  I  meant,  could  I  do 
anything  to — to — do  away  with  her 
annoyance.  And  she  said,  '  I  am 
annoyed  —  and  more  than  that  a 
great  deal,  for  I  have  been  grievous- 
ly insulted ;  but  you  must  not  ask 
me  about  it,  for  it  is  a  subject  that 
cannot  possibly  be  discussed  be- 
tween you  and  me.  Are  you  fond 
of  ferns  ? '  But  I  wouldn't  turn  the 
subject,  and  said,  '  You  may  tell  me 
or  not,  as  you  please,  but  I  am  cer- 
tain I  know  who  the  insulter  is,  and 
I'll  just  have  the  honour  of  going 
and  throwing  him  over  the  pre- 
cipice. She  thought  I  was  going 


1871.] 

on  the  instant,  for  she  stopped  and 
clasped  my  arm  with  both  her  hands, 
and  implored  me,  for  her  sake,  not 
to  do  so.  What  divine  eyes  she 
has,  to  be  sure  !  Do  you  remember 
Madonna  at  Dresden  ? " 

"No,  I  don't;  go  on  with  your 
story." 

"  Of  course  I  didn't  go  then;  and 
she  said,  '  I  didn't  think  you  Avere 
such  a  Don  Quixote.'  '  I  am  not  a 
Don  Quixote,'  I  replied ;  '  he  fought 
for  and  with  visions,  delusions,  and 
phantasies.'  'And  you?'  she  said. 
*  And  I,'  I  replied, '  would  fight  and 
would  die  for  you,  who  are  not  a 
vision,  nor  a  delusion,  nor  a  phan- 
tasy.' '  I  did  not  dream  that  I  was 
so  highly  honoured,'  she  answered. 
'  I  hope  you  are  not  mocking  me, 
Miss  M'Killop,'  I  said.  '  Mocking 
you  ! '  she  cried ;  '  do  you  think  I 
have  no  gratitude?  You  are  too 
good,  too  kind,  to  feel  such  interest 
in  one  who  is,  after  all,  little  more 
than  a  stranger.'  Then,"  said  Ber- 
trand,  rising  up  in  the  excitement 
of  his  narration, — "  then  I  cried  out 
to  her  that  if  she  was  a  stranger  to 
me,  so  was  the  heart  that  beat  in 
my  breast — so  was  every  thought 
that  passed  through  my  mind — so 
was  every  bright  and  beautiful  thing 
in  nature  ;  for  to  me  she  was  the 
soul,  the  divine  inspiring  principle, 
that  lent  them  all  their  life  and  all 
their  enchantment.  '  Mr  Cameron,' 
she  said,  looking  deeply  astonished 
and  almost  frightened,  for  I  was 
carried  away  with  my  excitement — 
'  what  is  this  ? '  '  It  is  what  men 
call  "Love,"'  I  cried:  'but  that 
cannot  describe  it ;  for  if  all  the  love 
that  all  mankind  have  felt  before 
were  condensed  into  one  consum- 
mate passion,  it  would  be  tame  and 
cold  indifference  compared  with 
mine  for  you.' " 

"  Not  so  bad — really  not  half  so 
bad  for  a  beginner,"  said  Pigott. 
"  Do  you  know,  Bertrand,  you 
looked  rather  like  the  picture  of 


Fair  to  See. — Part  V. 


607 


Kemble  at  '  the  Garrick  '  when  you 
said  that  just  now  ?  " 

Bertrand  was  far  too  much  rapt 
to  notice  this  calm  interruption,  and 
he  went  on  —  "I  offered  her  my 
heart,  I  offered  her  my  devotion,  I 
offered  her  my  life." 

"  And  she  took  them — all  three  ? " 

"  Silence  !  how  dare  you  ?  She 
admitted  that  I  was  not  indifferent 
to  her,  but  that  Tainsh  had  pro- 
posed to  her  that  morning,  and  that 
when  she  rejected  his  audacious  and 
insulting  proposal,  he  had  employed 
language,  reproaches,  insinuations 
that  had  almost  overwhelmed  her. 
One  of  these  insinuations  was  so 
painful,  and  at  the  same  time  so 
closely  connected  with  my  decla- 
ration, that  she  must  decline,  at 
whatever  sacrifice  of  personal  hap- 
piness, to  receive  that  declaration. 
'  What  was  it  ? '  I  inquired.  And 
then  she  told  me,  with  such  child- 
like simplicity,  that  this  monster 
had  actually  insinuated  that  she  had 
been  running  after  me,  and  playing 
him  to  bring  me  on  !  The  idea  was 
so  ludicrous  that  I  fairly  laughed 
outright  at  it :  that  reassured  her  a 
little ;  and  then  I  pointed  out  to 
her  the  wrong  that  she  would  do  to 
us  both  if  she  allowed  the  venom- 
ous words  of  a  disappointed  wretch 
like  that  to  separate  two  hearts 
which  loved  each  other  so  fondly. 
After  a  long  time  she  agreed  to 
take  this  view  of  it ;  and  we  had  an 
hour  together,  in  which  the  bliss 
of  ten  lifetimes  seemed  to  be  con- 
centrated." 

"  You're  engaged  to  her,  then  ? " 
asked  Pigott,  as  if  the  question  was 
a  most  trivial  commonplace. 

"  Completely,"  replied  his  friend. 
"  You  take  it  pretty  coolly,  I  must 
say  ;  you  don't  seem  to  be  the  least 
astonished." 

"  I  never  am,  you  know  ;  and 
even  if  I  ever  was,  I  don't  think  this 
would  be  likely  to  astonish  me." 

"  You  foresaw  it  ? " 


603 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


[May 


"  Eather." 

"Well,  I  didn't;  I  thought  I 
would  try,  of  course  ;  hut  as  to  my 
success,  that  was  all  a  matter  of 
perfect  douht.  I'm  so  utterly  un- 
worthy of  her." 

"Humph!" 

"  What  do  you  mean  hy 
'Humph'?" 

"  Incipient  hronchitis,  I  fear." 

"  You  don't  congratulate  me." 

"  I  do." 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  and  show 
a  little  heartiness.  Every  one  likes 
sympathy  in  such  cases ;  don't  be 
an  oyster." 

"  I  am  rather  an  oyster  by  na- 
ture, Bertrand,"  said  Pigott,  giv- 
ing his  hand  with,  for  him,  a  good 
deal  of  kindliness ;  "  but  depend 
upon  it,  I  am  not  so  about  your 
affairs ;  and  I  am  sure  I  wish  you 
happiness  with  all  my  heart." 

"And  don't  you  think  I'm  the 
luckiest  dog  in  the  world  1 " 

"  Ahem  !      Well — no — scarcely." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Pigott  1 " 

"  Every  man  has  a  right  to  his 
opinion,  you  know.  Now,  I  look 
on  single  blessedness  as  the  hap- 
piest state ;  and  therefore  I  can't 
look  upon  a  man  qualifying  for  the 
other  event  as  the  happiest  of  mor- 
tals." 

"Well,  but  my  choice — my  fiancee 
— is  she  not  an  angel  1 " 

"  These  are  the  kind  of  terms, 
Bertrand,  that  always  make  me  very 
ill ;  please  use  them  to-night  even 
as  sparingly  as  possible,  like  a  good 
fellow.  Your  fiancee  is  a  remark- 
ably pretty  girl,  and  both  clever 
and  agreeable.  I  know  that ;  but 
I  haven't  the  remotest  conception  of 
what  an  angel  is  like,  any  more  than 
I  have  of  the  Pythoness  you  com- 
pared her  to  before." 

"  What  a  crotchety,  prosaic  old 
bird  you  are  !  But  I've  been  for- 
getting, as  well  I  might — though  I 
have  hardly  realised  my  happiness 
yet  —  I've  been  forgetting  about 


Tainsh.  It  is  clearly  my  part  to 
call  him  to  account." 

"  Take  my  advice,  and  let  Tainsh 
alone." 

"  Oh  no ;  I  could  not  sleep  to- 
night without  settling  with  him." 

"  The  conqueror,  in  the  hour  of 
victory,  can  afford  to  be  merciful." 

"  Very  true  ;  but,  at  all  events, 
he  is  entitled  to  pi'escribe  the  con- 
ditions of  his  mercy.  Tainsh  must 
apologise,  or  come  out,  or  be  horse- 
whipped." 

"  By  heavens,  Bertrand  !  you 
should  have  been  an  Irishman. 
This  is  the  way  you  would  break 
the  news  of  your  betrothal  to  the 
lady's  parents.  Fancy  the  tableau  ! 
Hour — midnight;  scene — the  smok- 
ing-room. Yells  are  heard.  Con- 
course of  old  M'Killop  and  the  ser- 
vants. Tainsh  discovered,  weltering 
in  his  blood,  among  heaps  of  broken 
furniture  ;  you  dancing  a  war-dance 
over  him.  Father  of  fiancee  asks 
what  these  things  mean.  You 
(brandishing  leg  of  table,  dripping 
with  factor's  gore)  exclaim,  'Behold 
the  miscreant  who  insulted  your 
daughter  ! — who,  by  the  by,  is  en- 
gaged to  me — have  the  goodness  to 
have  his  carcass  flung  out  of  doors ; 
and  now,  old  man,  for  your  bless- 
ing ! '  As  a  method  of  entering  a 
family,  it  certainly  has  the  merit  of 
originality." 

"It  is  all  very  fine  to  make  a 
joke  of  serious  matters;  easy  enough, 
too,  for  those  who  have  no  feeling ; 
but  I  think  even  you  might  see 
that  this  is  a  case  where  either  an 
apology,  or  the  usual  alternative,  is 
absolutely  necessary,  and  where  I 
am  clearly  the  person  to  demand  or 
to  inflict." 

"Now,  really,  my  dear  Bertrand, 
you  are  too  childish.  Sleep  over 
the  matter,  at  all  events  ;  and  then, 
when  you  are  acknowledged  as  Miss 
M'Killop's  betrothed  publicly,  you 
may  perhaps  with  less  absurdity 
pull  up  Mr  Tainsh  !  But,  if  you 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


609 


take  my  advice,  you  will  let  the 
thing  alone,  and  not  make  a  scandal 
— which  is  always  unpleasant  for  a 
lady.  After  all,  the  man  is  a  vulgar 
snob.  He  was  bitterly  disappointed, 
and  he  lost  his  temper — you  don't 
know  what  aggravation  he  may  have 
had — and  being  angry,  he  spoke 
after  his  kind." 

"  I'll  teach  him  to  speak  after  his 
kind  to  his  own  kind  for  the  future. 
I'm  quite  resolved ;  and  I'll  go 
down  now,  and  get  it  off  my  mind. 
Though  Eila  did  not  wish  me  to 
throw  him  over  the  precipice,  she 
must  clearly  expect  me  to  take 
some  steps  in  the  matter.  No  girl 
of  spirit  could  allow  such  an  out- 
rage to  pass." 

"  You  had  better  let  me  go  for 
you,  then,"  suggested  Pigott,  "if 
you  must  act  in  the  matter." 

"  That  would  not  do  at  present. 
If  further  steps  are  necessary,  I 
shall,  of  course,  have  to  ask  for  your 
assistance  ;  and  now  I'm  off." 

"Well,"  said  Pigott,  "if  you 
will  be  an  idiot,  at  all  events  pro- 
mise me  one  thing — that  you  won't 
take  to  hammering  Tainsh  to-night, 
and  make  a  row  and  a  scene  in  this 
house." 

"  I  won't,  unless  the  course  of  the 
interview  positively  compels  me  to 
deal  with  him  on  the  spot." 

"  What,  Bertrand  !  you — a  gen- 
tleman —  a  chivalrous  high -bred 
lover  —  make  a  low  disturbance, 
and  a  scene  fit  for  a  St  Giles  pot- 
house, in  the  house  where  your 
beautiful  betrothed  is  sleeping  !  For 
shame!" 

"  You're  right,  Pigott  ;  and  I 
promise  you  I  won't  lay  a  finger  on 
him  to-night,  or  in  this  house.  If 
it  is  necessary,  I  shall  merely  warn 
him  what  is  to  happen,  and  tell 
him  in  the  mean  time  to  consider 
himself  hammered." 

"  How  well  you  are  up  in  all 
sorts  of  Paddiana  !  Bub  I  am  glad 
you  are  decided  not  to  execute  him 


on  the  spot.  Stick  to  your  deci- 
sion." 

"I  will;"  and  Bertrand  left  the 
room. 

In  the  smoking  -  room,  where 
Tainsh  and  Duncanson  sat  together, 
the  conversation  did  not  by  any 
means  flow  so  freely  as  it  had  been 
doing  in  the  room  above.  Gloom 
and  embarrassment  sat  on  the  coun- 
tenances of  both  gentlemen.  Each, 
from  time  to  time,  regarded  the 
other  with  the  furtive  air  of  a  man 
who  has  a  secret,  who  half  suspects 
that  his  neighbour  is  cognisant  of 
it,  and  who  is  in  doubt  whether  or 
not  it  would  be  better  to  abandon 
reserve  and  make  a  confidant,  as 
the  less  of  two  evils.  Tainsh,  as 
we  have  seen,  had  good  reason  for 
this  feeling.  His  exhibition  on  the 
cliff  would  not  bear  reflecting  upon ; 
the  more  he  thought  of  it  the  more 
he  feared  that  his  appearance,  ges- 
tures, and  subsequent  demeanour 
must  have  revealed  to  all  observers 
the  story  of  his  humiliation.  Tainsh 
had  good  reason ; — but  Duncanson  ? 
We  have  seen,  we  have  heard, 
nothing  of  his  day's  proceedings 
that  could  lead  us  or  Tainsh  to  sus- 
pect that  anything  very  special  had 
happened  to  him.  He  had  sulked 
and  brooded  all  the  way  home,  to 
be  sure,  but  then  he  was  always 
sulking  and  brooding — there  was 
nothing  in  that.  Tainsh  could  know 
nothing  more  about  him.  There 
are,  however,  many  men  whose  ego- 
tism would  seem  to  carry  them  the 
length  of  thinking  that  anything 
specially  affecting  themselves — par- 
ticularly to  their  detriment  —  is 
necessarily  unfolded  to  the  world  at 
large  by  some  supernatural  revela- 
tion. Duncanson  was  of  this  class; 
and  as  he  sat  smoking  and  casting 
his  queer  glances  at  Tainsh,  his 
thought  was  the  exact  counterpart 
of  the  thought  of  his  companion, 
whose  smoke  mingled  with  his,  and 
whose  queer  glances  crossed  swords, 


610 


Fair  to  See. — Part  V. 


as  it  were,  with  his  own — and  that 
thought  was,  "  Does  he  know,  does 
he  suspect,  the  grief  I  have  come 
to?" 

It  is  the  tritest  of  observations, 
that  certain  classes  of  events,  not 
merely  misfortunes,  never  come 
singly,  but  in  their  occurrences  and 
recurrences  present  themselves  in 
groups ;  and  foremost  among  such, 
as  will  probably  be  admitted,  stand 
those  connected  with  matrimony. 
"Who  has  not  in  his  recollection 
some  such  instance  as  a  family  of, 
say  four  or  five  spinster  sisters,  who 
remained  (unwillingly)  in  blessed 
celibacy  till  the  most  sanguine 
backer  shook  his  head,  and  even 
the  enemy  grew  tired  of  pointing 
the  finger  of  scorn ;  and  yet,  when 
a  turn  came  at  last,  and  one  of  the 
virgin  band  did  change  her  condi- 
tion, lo  and  behold !  all  the  rest 
almost  tripped  over  each  other  in 
the  tumultuous  rapidity  with  which 
they  followed  to  the  altar?  Who 
has  not  remarked  the  phenomenon 
of  a  matrimonial  season,  when  all 
one's  friends  appear  to  fall  in  love 
and  get  married  en  masse  ?  as  also 
the  phenomenon  of  a  celibate  season, 
when  the  market  is  absolutely  stag- 
nant, when  inexorably  there  are 
"no  takers,"  when  the  charm  of 
the  charmer  casts  its  glamour  in 
vain,  and  the  strategist's  polished 
skill  is  wasted  on  futile  combina- 
tions ? 

These  phenomena  are  as  unac- 
countable as  cholera  or  rinderpest, 
the  disease  in  grouse  or  in  potatoes  ; 
but  we  are  all  perfectly  satisfied 
of  their  existence ;  and  therefore 
no  one  need  feel  surprise  when  we 
account  for  Mr  Duncanson's  pecu- 
liar demeanour  in  the  smoking- 
room  by  announcing  that  he  too 
had  on  this  day  been  putting 
his  fate  and  his  desert  to  the  test, 
and  with  results  eminently  unsatis- 
factory to  himself.  To  make  a  long 
story  short,  Morna  had  refused  Mr 


Duncanson,  at  which  surely  all  her 
friends  must  rejoice. 

We  are  not  going  to  reproduce 
here  the  scene  as  it  occurred ;  the 
airy  self  confidence  with  which  the 
swain  addressed  himself  to  his  task  ; 
the  skill  of  fence  displayed  by  the 
lady  in  her  anxiety  to  save  him 
from  rushing  on  his  fate  ;  the  grace- 
ful rhetoric  with  which  he  urged 
his  suit,  and  the  angry  surprise  with 
which  he  received  his  rebuff.  All 
these  things  must  be  imagined.  He 
did  not  require  to  be  argued  into 
the  belief  that  he  was  refused,  like 
Mr  Tainsh.  At  the  first  hint  of 
a  negative,  his  vanity  and  temper 
rose ;  he  hastily  picked  up  the  hand- 
kerchief which  he  had  thrown,  and, 
after  briefly  assuring  Miss  Grant 
that  she  would  probably  live  to  re- 
pent her  folly,  relapsed  into  the 
sullen  silence  in  which  we  find  him 
in  the  smoking  -  room.  A  light- 
hearted  outsider  would  have  gone 
into  fits  of  laughter  admitted  to  the 
spectacle  of  these  two  men,  as  they 
sat  mute  and  scowling  among  their 
unmollifying  tobacco  -  smoke.  The 
silence  was  at  last  broken  by  Dun- 
canson, who  remarked,  tentatively — 

"  You  seem  out  of  spirits  to-night, 
Tainsh." 

"  It  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue 
to  say  the  same  of  you,  Duncanson," 
was  the  eager  reply. 

"  Really  ?  It  was  not  a  very  suc- 
cessful day,  was  it  1  deuced  slow,  I 
thought." " 

"  A  little  slow,  perhaps,"  replied 
Tainsh,  wishing  that  in  one  respect 
he  himself  had  been  a  little  slower. 

"  I  don't  think  the  women  liked 
it,"  continued  Duncanson,  with  an 
effort  to  appear  unconscious. 

"  N-n-no  !  perhaps  not." 

"  Miss  M'Killop  looked  very 
queer,  I  thought." 

"Ah?" 

"  Very;  what  were  you  two  fight- 
ing about  on  the  cliff?  I  saw  you." 

"  Fighting  on  the  cliff ! "  replied 


1871.] 

the  factor,  quite  taken  aback ;  "I — 
I— when?  " 

"  You  know  when ;  and,  by  the 
by,  it  must  have  been  rather  a 
serious  row,  for  you  never  looked 
near  her  afterwards.  All  the  way 
down,  in  the  yacht,  you  were  mono- 
polising her,  but  coming  back  you 
seemed  to  throw  up  the  cards  and 
resign  the  game  to  the  adversary. 
You  don't  suppose  I  haven't  noticed 
the  game  1  but  I  hope  you  are  not 
really  going  to  let  yourself  be  beat 
by  a  fellow  like  that ! " 

"  You  jump  very  quickly  to 
your  conclusions,  Duncanson,"  said 
Tainsh,  "  and  I  will  make  so  bold 
as  to  follow  your  lead.  Surely  you 
don't  suppose  that  I  haven't  noticed 
another  little  game?  and  also  that 
somebody  who  monopolised  some- 
body all  the  way  to  Aberlorna,  never 
went  near  somebody  all  the  way 
home?  What  could  be  the  mean- 
ing of  that  ?  The  adversary,  as  you 
call  him,  is  perhaps  attractive  in 
more  quarters  than  one.  I  can 
see  as  far  into  a  millstone  as  most 
people,  and  I  will  repeat  to  you 
what  you  have  said  to  me,  '  I  hope 
you  are  not  going  to  let  yourself 
be  beat  by  a  fellow  like  that. ' " 

Tainsh's  shot,  fired  in  self-de- 
fence, but  little  more  than  at  ran- 
dom, hit  the  target  in  the  centre  of 
the  bull's  eye,  and  roused  into  ac- 
tivity what  had  been  but  a  slum- 
bering or  unacknowledged  suspicion ; 
and  Duncanson  so  far  lost  his  self- 
control,  that  he  jumped  xip  and 
exclaimed  in  great  excitement, 
"  You  have  nothing  to  go  upon,  have 
you,  in  saying  that  ?  I  have  noticed 
nothing — hardly  even  the  slightest 
conversation — between  Morna  and 
this  infernal  Cameron ;  have  you  ? 
He  seemed  to  be  all  on  the  other 
tack — trying  to  cut  you  out — what 
do  you  mean  1 " 

"  Well,  I  only  use  my  eyes  and 
my  ears.  Mrs  M'Killop  told  me 
that,  before  Miss  M'Killop  came, 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


611 


Cameron  was  devoted  to  Morna, 
and  they  were  always  together. 
Now,  though  he  may  have  trans- 
ferred his  affections  to  the  other 
young  lady,  that  is  not  to  say  that 
she  has  been  so  fickle.  I've  noticed 
something  in  her  manner  to  him, 
too,  that — but,  after  all,  it  is  only  a 
surmise,  and  I  hope  you  have  good 
reason  to  know  that  it  is  ground- 
less?" 

"  Ko,  I  haven't,  confound  her 
and  him  and  the  whole  crew  !  I've 
done  with  them.  She  may  marry 
him,  and  be  hanged ;  and  he  may 
marry  them  both  :  I  wish  he  would, 
and  get  transported  for  bigamy." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  the  lawyer,  who  had 
thus  entirely  succeeded  in  turning 
the  tables,  "  I  see  I  was  right ; 
I  thought  it  was  a  row,  and  a  seri- 
ous one,  too  ;  but  you  are  right  not 
to  let  yourself  be  played  fast  and 
loose  with — to  be  used  as  a  cat's- 
paw — nothing  could  be  more  hu- 
miliating ;  and  I  fancy  that's  about 
the  line  you  were  taking  with  her 
to-day — asserting  yourself,  I  fancy  ? 
I'm  a  pretty  shrewd  hand  at  a  guess, 
you  see." 

"  Well,"  said  Duncanson,  "  I 
can't  say  you're  altogether  wrong.  I 
took  deuced  good  care  to  let  her 
know  that  I  wasn't  to  be  trifled 
with  ;  and  she  must  be  vainer  than 
I  think,  if  she  hopes  to  get  any 
more  attention  from  me.  I  never 
make  up  a  quarrel,  you  know ;  it's 
against  my  rules.  After  all,  it's  as 
well  I  lost  my  temper;  I  might 
have  got  into  a  scrape — proposed, 
and  got  engaged,  or  something  of 
that  sort — which  would  have  been 
a  bad  business  for  me.  A  fellow 
sometimes  gets  carried  farther  than 
he  means,  and  they  jump  at  you — 
Lord  bless  you  !  they  jump  at  you, 
and  you  are  booked  before  you  can 
say  'knife.'  I'm  well  out  of  it. 
She  may  whistle  for  me  now. 
The  cheek  of  the  thing,  though,  i 
really  too  good !  The  idea  of  Cam- 


612 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


eron  being  set  up  as  my  rival !  ha  ! 
ha  !  ha  !  "  Something  in  the  sound 
of  his  laughter,  however,  belied  the 
speaker's  insouciant  tone  almost  as 
much  as  the  short  energetic  sen- 
tence which  followed  after  a  pause. 
"  I  hate  that  fellow  worse  than 
poison — I  would  ruin  him  if  I 
could." 

"  I  have  no  love  for  him  myself," 
said  Tainsh ;  "I  can't  stand  a  man 
with  his  airs." 

"  I  wish  we  could  do  something 
to  floor  him." 

"Leave  him  to  himself — give 
him  rope  enough,  and  he'll  do  the 
trick  without  any  help  from  us. 
If  he  takes  a  step  which  I  think  he 
will  take,  I  know  of  something  that 
might  get  him  into  a  rare  mess.  I 
may  tell  you  of  it  at  another  time, 
but  not  now ;  it  would  be  prema- 
ture in  the  mean  time." 

"  Out  with  it,  Tainsh ;  I'm  as 
close  as  wax." 

"  No,  no ;  it  would  compromise 
others  unnecessarily.  You  must 
wait." 

"  Pass  the  brandy, '  and  we'll 
drink  to  his  grief." 

The  two  worthies  were  in  this 
pious  act  when  the  door  opened  and 
Bertrand  stalked  into  the  room  with 
more  than  ordinary  loftiness  of  de- 
meanour. Had  he  been  in  the  mood 
to  observe,  he  might  well  have 
noticed  the  flurried  looks  of  the  two 
men,  and  been  surprised  at  the 
nervous  empressement  with  which 
Tainsh  welcomed  him  and  invited 
him  to  join  in  their  potations. 

"  I  am  not  here  for  pleasure,  Mr 
Tainsh,"  he  replied ;  "  I  have  some- 
thing of  importance  to  say  to  you 
personally,  if  Mr  Duncanson  will 
have  the  goodness  to  retire." 

"  This  is  not  the  time  or  the  place 
for  business ;  and  I'm  not  going  to 
be  sent  to  bed  to  suit  your  con- 
venience," said  Duncanson. 

"  Oh,  Mr  Cameron,"  said  Tainsh, 


[May 

"  there  can  be  no  hurry  about  any- 
thing between  you  and  me ;  and,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  no  reason  that  I 
can  see  Avhy  it  should  not  be  said 
before  Mr  Duncanson." 

"  As  you  please,  then,"  said  Ber- 
trand, "  so  be  it.  Well,  Mr  Tainsh, 
ray  business,  in  a  word,  is  to  demand 
an  apology  of  the  most  ample  kind 
for  your  outrageously  insolent  con- 
duct to  Miss  M'Killop,  to-day." 

"  Sir  !  —  Miss  M'Killop  1  —  to- 
day 1"  stammered  Tainsh,  utterly 
staggered  by  this  direct  and  unex- 
pected charge ;  "I  don't  under- 
stand." 

"  Your  memory  must  be  very 
short,  if  you  don't ;  have  the  good- 
ness to  collect  yourself,  and  make 
the  required  apology  at  once." 

"  And  pray,  sir,  by  what  autho- 
rity do  you  come  to  me  with  such  a 
demand?" 

"  I  come  on  my  own  authority." 
"And  you  expect  me  to  obey  it1?" 
"  Most  certainly  I  shall  take  good 
care  that  you  do." 

"Oh,  you  will!  as  how?" 
"  The  methods  and  alternatives 
are  perfectly  simple." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  '  calling 
out?"' 

"  Well,  although  I  might  lose 
caste  a  little,  still,  considering  the 
circumstances,  and  that  your  local 
position  gives  you  the  entree  to 
gentlemen's  society  on  terms  of 
equality,  I  would  certainly  call  you 
out." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Tainsh  ; 
"  duelling  is  a  capital  crime ;  you 
must  have  a  small  opinion  of  my 
wits  if  you  think  that  I,  a  respect- 
able, established  man  of  business, 
am  likely  to  run  myself  into  a  hole 
like  that  to  suit  the  humour  of  a 
hectoring  young  officer,  who  has 
nothing  to  lose." 

"  You  would  not  go  out,  then?" 
"  Certainly  not ;  and  what  next  ?  " 
"  The  next  course  is  very  unplea- 


1871.J 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


613 


sant,  but  it  is  inevitable.     I  shall 
have  to  horsewhip  you." 

Bertrand  said  this  with  a  decided 
composure,  that  left  no  doubt  as 
to  the  fulfilment  of  the  intention. 
Now  Tainsh  was  no  coward,  and  he 
was  a  sturdy  fellow,  to  whom  such 
a  threat,  from  a  physical  point  of 
view,  need  have  had  no  particular 
terrors  ;  but  Tainsh  was  a  lawyer,  a 
factor,  a  man  of  business,  and  the 
idea  of  his  being  engaged  in  a  mid- 
night brawl,  in  a  client's  house, 
with  a  client's  friend,  which  would 
be  bruited  over  the  whole  district 
— for  publicity  would,  of  course,  be 
Bertrand's  object — was  not  to  be  en- 
tertained for  an  instant.  His  reputa- 
tion would  be  shaken,  his  business 
would  be  damaged,  and  last,  if  not 
least,  the  story  of  his  rejection  would 
necessarily  become  public.  Rapidly 
reviewing  these  considerations,  he 
looked  at  Bertrand  for  an  instant 
without  .replying,  and  seeing  in  his 
face  no  indication  that  he  would 
not  be  as  good  as  his  word,  he 
changed  his  tactics  accordingly,  and 
replied,  "These  are  foolish  words, 
Mr  Cameron — very;  the  idea  of  a 
duel  is  preposterous  :  and  if  you 
ventured  to  take  the  other  step 
(though  what  you  suppose  me  to  be 
made  of  I  don't  know),  it  would 
only  bring  yourself  into  trouble. 
It  would  be  my  duty  to  proceed 
against  you  legally  for  the  assault ; 
although,  of  course,  I  should  have 
to  act  at  the  moment  in  self-defence, 
and  probably  with  adequate  vigour. 
How  your  military  position  would 
be  affected  by  a  scandal  of  the  sort, 
you  best  know ;  how  it  would  af- 
fect your  position  with  your  uncle, 
no  one  knows  better  than  I  do.  So 
it  is  best  to  take  a  reasonable  view 
of  the  matter ;  and  if  I  have  said 
anything  in  a  moment  of  heat  to 
displease  Miss  M'Killop,  I  shall  be 
happy  to  apologise  for  it  to  her 
proper  representative  ;  but  I  can't 


conceive  on  what  principle  I  am  to 
look  on  you  in  that  light." 

"  The  simplest  of  all  principles  : 
Miss  M'Killop  is  my  betrothed ;  it 
concerns  me,  therefore,  more  than 
any  one  else,  to  protect  her  from 
insult." 

"  Betrothed,  Mr  Cameron  ! " 

"  I  have  said  so  ;  I  trust  you 
have  no  objection." 

"  Oh  dear  no  !  I'm  surprised,  of 
course." 

"  And  why,  sir  1  That  I  was 
preferred  to  you  7  does  that  surprise 
you!" 

"  You  are  introducing  an  irrel- 
evant supposition "  (with  a  hasty 
glance  at  Duncanson).  "  I  was 
only  surprised  at  the  rapid  transfer 
of  your  affections ;  but  these  are 
go-ahead  days." 

"  I  am  ignorant  of  what  you 
allude  to." 

"  One  has  heard  stories,  you  see, 
of  attentions  to  another  lady — only 
a  week  or  two  ago — marked  atten- 
tions, constant  companionship — 
private  interviews — romantic  walks, 
and  all  the  duetting  and  flirting 
that  make  up  a  courtship  according 
to  common  folks'  minds  ;  but  then 
there  is  so  much  gossip  going  about, 
one  never  knows  what  to  believe." 

"  On  my  authority,"  said  Bertrand, 
suddenly  recalling  the  rally  ings  of 
Pigott,  and  (somewhat  innocently) 
startled  and  indignant  to  find  that 
others  had,  in  serious  earnest,  put 
the  same  construction  on  his  free 
intercourse  with  Morna — "on  my 
authority,  you  may  assure  your 
friends,  the  gossips,  that  no  transfer 
of  affections  has  taken  place ;  and, 
let  me  add,  that  it  is  most  unseemly 
and  ungentlemanlike  to  introduce 
another  lady's  name  into  a  discus- 
sion which  in  no  way  concerns 
her." 

"  You  asked  me  why  I  was  sur- 
prised, and  I  have  answered  you 
honestly, "  said  Tainsh,  sulkily. 


614 


Fair  to  See.— Part  F. 


"  We  don't  understand  the  ha~bits 
of  professional  heart -breakers  in 
these  parts  ;  but,  of  course,  it  must 
be  part  of  their  system  to  produce 
as  strong  an  effect  on  the  victim, 
to  get  as  much  amusement  out  of 
the  conquest  as  possible,  and  still, 
at  the  end,  to  be  able  to  assure  the 
next  subject  that  she  is  not  merely 
being  favoured  with  a  transfer.  The 
feelings  of  the  last  victim "  (with 
another  glance  at  Duncanson)  "  are 
of  course  immaterial,  except  as 
affording  a  certificate  of  success  to 
the  lady-killer." 

"  I  see  you  wish  to  have  another 
quarrel,  on  an  independent  subject, 
Mr  Tainsh,  and  you  shall  have  your 
wish ;  but  one  thing  at  a  time,  if 
you  please." 

"  I  have,  and  I  desire,  no  quarrel 
with  you ;  but  I  have  a  right  to  my 
thoughts." 

"  To  your  thoughts,  yes ;  but  not 
not  to  express  them  when  they  are 
insulting.  Enough  of  this,  though ; 
will  you  give  me  the  desired  apo- 
logy 1 " 

"  I  can  have  no  objection  to  re- 
peat what  I  honestly  feel." 

"  You  will  have  the  goodness, 
then,  to  put  it  in  writing,  and  give 
it  to  me  in  the  morning.  But  re- 
member, it  must  be  ample ;  I  will 
have  no  shuffling."  And  with  this 
Bertrand  left  the  room. 

Tainsh  and  Duncanson  looked  at 
each  other  in  silence  till  the  last 
echoes  of  his  footsteps  on  the 
stairs  died  away,  and  then  Tainsh 
said,  "  There's  an  emperor  for 
you  !  His  Majesty  the  King  of 
Hearts  ! " 

"  I  don't  understand  all  these 
allusions,  Tainsh,"  said  Duncan- 
son.  "  I  don't  want  to  pry  into 
your  affairs,  although  I'll  not  pre- 
tend that  I  don't  see  how  matters 
stand  with  you  and  Miss  M'Kil- 
lop ;  but  what  is  the  real  truth 
about  the  other  affair  ]  what  is  this 


[May 

about  the  other  girl  that  made  him 
so  angry  1 " 

"  Well,  Duncanson,  I  don't  want 
to  pry  into  your  affairs,  but  I  think 
I  see  pretty  well  how  matters  stand 
with  you.  In  fact,  honestly,  we've 
both  been  cut  out  by  this  fellow." 

"  He  is  engaged  to  your  young 
lady." 

"And  yours  is  over  head  and 
ears  in  love  with  him  ;  any  fool  can 
see  that.  Propose  to  her — if  you 
have  not  done  it  already — and  I'll 
wager  a  hundred  pounds  to  a  brass 
farthing  you  are  refused." 

"  And  he  knows  it,  you  think  ? " 

"  Knows  what  1 " 

"  That  Morna  cares  for  him." 

"  Knows  it  ?  bless  you  !  I  should 
rather  think  he  did.  He's  chuck- 
ling up-stairs  now  with  that  English 
snail ;  he's  bragging  to  him,  you 
may  depend  upon  it,  and  telling  him 
how  these  poor  devils  down -stairs 
are  hanging  their  heads,  and  how  he 
has  bowled  them  both  out  in  a  fort- 
night." 

Duncanson  thundered  out  a  tre- 
mendous oath.  To  be  refused  at 
all  was  bad  enough,  but  to  be  re- 
fused by  a  girl  because  she  loved 
another  man,  who  had  won  her  in 
a  few  days,  only  for  amusement — 
only  to  brag  about — and  who  had 
tired  of  her  and  cast  her  aside  when 
his  conquest  was  complete  —  and 
that  man  the  man  he  hated  of  all 
others  —  was  exasperation  for  any 
one  indeed,  but  for  this  vain,  domi- 
neering soul,  the  very  gall  of  bitter- 
ness. 

"  What  can  be  done  to  him  ? " 
cried  Duncanson. 

"  You  can  call  him  out  and  shoot 
him  ;  you're  not  professional." 

"  I  have  no  pretext." 

"  I  should  have  thought  that 
picking  a  quarrel  would  have  come 
easy  to  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  might  be  easy 
enough ;  but  then,  you  see,  a  man 


1871.] 

only  gets  laughed  at  for  fighting 
nowadays." 

"  You're  prudent,  like  me,  I  see," 
said  Tainsh,  dryly. 

"  I  don't  funk,  if  you  mean  that." 

"  Oh  no,  I  don't  mean  that,  or  I 
should  imply  that  I  funked  myself, 
which  I  don't." 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  means  to 
marry  the  girl  1 " 

"  Of  course  he  does ;  he's  really 
wild  about  her :  I've  seen  that  all 
along." 

"  If  there  was  only  some  way  of 
running  through  the  marriage — of 
breaking  his  infernal  heart !  Do 
you  suppose  he  has  money  enough 
to  marry]" 

"  If  his  uncle  chooses,  and  M'Kil- 
lop  chooses." 

"  Will  they?" 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  I  do  know  a 
little  something  that  would  very 
soon  set  his  uncle  against  it,  but 
in  my  position,  for  many  reasons, 
I  couldn't  use  it." 

"  Tell  it  to  me !"  cried  Duncanson, 
eagerly. 


Fair  to  See.— Part  V. 


615 


"  JS"o,  no  —  better  not ;  under- 
hand games  never  pay." 

"  Tell  me,  Tainsh,  and  I'll  work 
it  on  my  own  account." 

"  It  would  be  traced  to  me." 

"  No  fear  ;  I'll  swear  secrecy." 

And,  after  a  good  deal  of  wheed- 
ling and  cajoling,  Tainsh,  being  not 
so  much  as  half-hearted  in  his  resist- 
ance, was  induced,  at  last,  to  com- 
municate something  to  Duncanson, 
which  sent  that  worthy  to  bed  with 
the  first  gleam  of  consolation  in  his 
soul  since  his  hopes  as  a  lover  had 
received  their  overthrow  that  after- 
noon. 

The  morning  post  came  in  very 
early  at  Cairnarvoch  ;  and  when  the 
party  assembled  at  breakfast  on  the 
following  day,  they  found  that  Mr 
Tainsh  and  Mr  Duncanson  had 
started  an  hour  before  ;  letters,  by  a 
strange  coincidence,  having  called 
them  both  unexpectedly  away. 

A  packet  for  Bertrand  lay  on  the 
hall  table,  addressed  in  Mr  Tainsh's 
hand ;  and  its  contents  were  all 
that  could  be  desired. 


616 


Prolixity. 


[May 


PROLIXITY. 


THIS  is  voted  an  impatient  age, 
and  we  are  proud  of  it.  People  look 
back  a  hundred  years  and  pronounce 
OUT  ancestors  prosy  and  tolerant 
of  prosing  : — long-winded  talkers, 
tedious  writers,  prolix  moralists  ; 
slow  coaches,  in  fact,  repeating  old 
truths,  harping  on  one  string, 
writing  books  of  meditations,  enter- 
taining each  other  with  old  stories, 
dull  without  minding  it  or  knowing 
it.  Yet,  to  our  thinking,  prolixity 
was  never  so  cultivated  as  it  is  now 
— never  met  with  such  distinguish- 
ed encouragement — never  presented 
such  marked  examples.  What  hours 
upon  hours  of  speeches  !  To  what 
a  length  does  history  run  !  What 
previous  age  can  present  such  a  pre- 
face asMr  Buckle's?  Who  before  Mr 
Browning  conceived  of  a  poem  telling 
the  same  tale  eleven  times  over?  We 
are  getting  such  deep  thinkers  that 
we  break  through  the  old  bounds. 
We  see  so  far,  we  embrace  so  much, 
our  comprehension  has  so  wide  a 
grasp,  that  the  limitations  set  by 
ordinary  patience  are  no  longer  to  be 
considered.  In  fact,  a  self-satisfac- 
tion at  "the  giant  pace  at  which  we 
live"  blinds  us  to  our  prosiness. 
People  talk  complacently  of  whirl- 
ing from  one  end  to  another  of  the 
country,  as  if  steam  had  accelerated 
the  processes  of  thought — though  in 
reality  we  believe  there  was  more 
dash  in  the  brain  action  of  our  in- 
tellectual fathers  than  we  can 
boast  of — that  they  worked  faster 
as  well  as  lived  faster  than  we  do. 

Human  nature  is  so  far  always 
the  same  that  prolixity  is  still 
a  gulf  —  an  impassable  barrier — 
but  the  human  nature  that  cannot 
read  Mr  Buckle  or  Mr  Browning  is 
snubbed,  as  wanting  the  analytical 
faculty,  as  immersed  in  shams,  out- 
sides,  trivialities.  Its  judgment 


has  no  weight ;  its  likes  and  dislikes 
are  vulgar ;  its  good  opinion  a  dis- 
grace. Not  that  we  would  deny  the 
charge,  or  the  assumption  of  impa- 
tience as  a  characteristic  of  our  time, 
but,  in  fact,  an  increasing  impatience 
is  perfectly  compatible  with  an  in- 
creasing prolixity.  Naturally  the 
prolix  in  his  own  person  is  impa- 
tient of  another  man's  length  of 
statement,  for  either  his  rival  is 
lengthy  in  his  own  vein,  or  out  of 
it — in  either  case  intolerable.  No 
people  are  so  soon  irritated  by  much 
talk  as  great  talkers  ;  and  those  who 
acquire  a  taste  for  the  utterly  ex- 
haustive treatment  in  the  writers 
with  whom  they  are  congenial,  are 
in  like  manner  intolerant  of  length 
in  any  other  department.  Amid 
the  infinite  subdivisions  of  our  day, 
sympathy  contracts  its  field  from 
the  universal  to  the  particular.  Great 
readers  are  not  omnivorous  as  they 
used  to  be.  We  do  not  consider 
ours  a  sympathetic  age — psychol<>  ', 
gical,  but  not  sympathetic.  "Hence 
the  universality  of  human  sympa- 
thies comes  to  be  disputed.  Men 
think  and  speak  for  classes,  and  dis- 
pute that 

"  One  touch  of  nature    makes    the  whole 
world  kin." 

The  mere  fact  that  science  dis- 
putes the  descent  of  mankind  from 
one  parent,  is  a  blow  at  the  notion 
of  an  electric  fellow-feeling.  The 
touch  is  not  relied  on  as  of  old. 
Now,  so  long  as  a  universal  kinship 
of  mind  is  taken  for  granted,  pro- 
lixity stands  a  thing  to  be  avoided. 
Sympathy  can  never  be  prolix.  It 
is  perpetually  referring  itself  to 
listener  and  reader,  measuring  its 
effects  by  their  powers,  pulling  up  in 
advance  of  their  exhausted  atten- 
tion. It  is  humble,  ready  to  blame 


1871.] 


Prolixity. 


617 


itself  for  failure.  Prolixity,  on  the 
other  hand,  starts  with  a  thing  to 
say,  irrespective  of  the  powers  of  the 
listener,  his  claims  little  regarded  or 
absolutely  forgotten.  It  is  the  ex- 
ponent of  the  ego,  having  this  for  its 
primary  object.  It  holds  its  ground, 
influenced  by  no  other  rule  than  its 
own  powers  of  continuance.  The 
thing  handled  may  be  important  or 
may  be  trivial — in  either  case  the 
listener  has  rights  which  are  tram- 
pled upon ;  the  speaker  has  been 
acting  a  presumptuous  part.  If  we 
have  ever  been  long  in  expressing 
opinion,  or  in  giving  advice,  or  in 
narrative — even  if  we  have  been 
chief  talker  in  a  morning  call — it  is 
well  to  ask  ourselves  if  we  have 
monopolised  the  talk,  leaving  no 
openings  for  others.  Could  we  have 
said  our  say  in  fewer  words,  and 
yet  said  all  that  was  needful  ]  Did 
we  grudge  our  listener  his  turn, 
viewing  him  in  the  light  of  an  in- 
terruption ?  Did  we  digress  where 
digression  was  simple  self-indul- 
gence ?  Did  we  parade  reasons 
which  must  have  been  obvious  with- 
out our  assistance  1  Have  we  talked 
because  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  our- 
selves talk,  rather  than  because  we 
were  led  on  by  the  evident  desire  of 
others  to  hear  us  1  In  that  case  we 
have  been  prolix — that  is,  we  have 
committed  a  sin  against  society  ; 
done  our  part  to  weaken  the  univer- 
sal mind  which  each  individual  mind 
goes  to  form.  For  unquestionably 
prolixity  is  the  cause  and  parent  of  a 
great  deal  of  the  inattention  of  the 
world, — that  inattention  which  re- 
laxes the  nervous  energy  of  the 
brain  and  makes  so  many  of  -us  not 
half  the  men  we  ought  to  be — inde- 
finitely lower  in  the  intellectual 
scale  than  we  might  have  been.  The 
mind  naturally  revolts  against  tedi- 
ousness  and  iteration,  and  turns  to 
its  own  internal  resources  ;  not  to 
thought  proper,  which  can  hardly 
sustain  its  strain  under  the  sound  of 


words  and  the  attitude  of  listening — 
but  to  that  ready,  aimless,  familiar 
flow  of  speculation,  guesses,  memo- 
ries, reckonings,  hopes,  possibilities, 
apprehensions,  suppositions,  which 
go  to  the  composition  of  wool-gather- 
ing. Or  if  prolixity  does  not  lead 
to  inattention — as  there  are  minds 
that  must  listen  when  others  talk, 
who  have  no  escape  into  themselves, 
but  needs  must  follow  where  they 
are  led — the  weariness  of  unreward- 
ed labour,  of  taxed  unprofitable  at- 
tention, is  a  severer  infliction,  and 
more  mischievous  under  protracted 
trial.  The  fibre  of  the  most  delicate 
part  of  our  organisation  is  tried,  worn, 
decomposed  perhaps  ;  the  whole  na- 
ture collapses;  pain,  mental  and 
bodily,  supervenes.  Too  much  of 
such  a  thing  stupefies  and  disables, 
clips  the  wings  off  imagination,  and 
leaves  Jack  a  dull  boy.  Not  but  that, 
as  all  poisons  have  their  medicinal 
side,  the  vigorous  weed  prolixity  may 
have  its  uses.  There  are  minds  so 
bent  upon  play,  so  intent  on  mere 
amusement,  that  nothing  short  of 
that  supreme  tax  on  the  powers,  un- 
willing attention,  can  teach  them  the 
vahie  of  time,  and  the  sin  and  hor- 
ror of  wasting  it.  We  can  all  waste 
time  our  own  way  without  much 
scruple — without  thinking  about  it; 
but  when  others  waste  it  for  us, 
then  we  resent  the  reckless  expense 
of  something  irrecoverable ;  we  be- 
come alive  to  a  fatal  leakage  of  what 
no  skill  can  gather  up  again,  and 
awake  to  a  new  idea — an  unthought- 
of  responsibility. 

Prolixity  and  long-windedness  is 
thus  one  of  the  heaviest  charges  that 
can  be  brought  against  a  man,  either 
as  talker,  orator,  or  writer.  To  talk- 
ers it  brings  its  own  punishment. 
Extravagant  diffuseness  has  no  lis- 
teners that  compulsion  and  necessity 
do  not  supply.  It  clogs  with  reser- 
vations, and  a  detracting  but,  men's 
praise  of  the  most  surprising  feats  of 
oratory,  and  reduces  the  number  of 


618 


Prolixity. 


[May 


even  an  able  author's  readers  beyond 
most  intellectual  shortcomings.  Peo- 
ple don't  find  themselves  making 
way ;  they  open  at  another  page  and 
hit  upon  a  digression ;  they  close  the 
book,  intending  to  return  another 
day,  and  never  do  return  :  there  is 
no  thread  to  resume.  And,  more- 
over, there  is  a  hidden  sense  of 
disrespect,  of  not  being  sufficiently 
considered.  They  are  treated  to 
soliloquy  rather  than  a  communi- 
cation of  ideas.  In  fact,  all  pro- 
lixity labours  under  this  suspi- 
cion of  want  of  respect  and  defer- 
ence. It  is  sustained  by  a  sense  of 
superiority  :  that  is,  where  it  is  not 
mere  talkativeness,  that  flux  of  the 
tongue  we  see  in  ignorant  chat- 
terers of  so  little  reflection  and  dis- 
crimination, that  with  them  it  is 
Chough's  language,  "Gabble  enough 
and  good  enough."  There  is  flattery 
in  the  proverb,  "A  word  to  the  wise ;" 
whereas  prolixity,  especially  in  its 
didactic  mood,  treats  the  hearer  as 
not  wise — as  having  neither  wit,  nor 
memory,  nor  continuity  of  thought. 
Its  method  is,  leading  a  blind  man 
step  by  step.  "  If  I  don't,"  says 
prolixity,  "  explain,  recapitulate,  and 
amplify — omitting  no  detail,  drop- 
ping no  link — my  hearer  will  lose 
the  thread."  What  a  helpless,  plas- 
tic, docile,  absorbent  animal — dull- 
eyed,  thick-witted — does  not  prosi- 
ness  take  man  t6  be ! — knowing 
nothing  he  does  not  tell ;  under- 
standing nothing  he  does  not  ex- 
plain; remembering  nothing  he  does 
not  recall  to  the  mind.  We  certainly 
note  a  touch  of  contempt  in  all  cul- 
tivated minds  open  to  this  charge. 
They  have  a  way  of  laying  a  foun- 
dation as  mistrusting  our  ground- 
ing. The  practised  eye,  mental  as 
well  as  bodily,  understands  per- 
spective, and  gives  due  weight  and 
substance  to  the  distant  speck  ;  but 
prolixity  does  not  recognise  this 
rapid  appraisement,  and  insists  on 
giving  all  the  measurements — a  pro- 


cess much  like  counting  our  steps, 
or  how  many  times  we  breathe  in  an 
hour.  Words  cannot  really  do  more 
than  throw  a  light,  to  put  us  in  the 
way  of  understanding ;  too  many 
of  them  overlay,  extinguish,  and 
smother.  "  Certainly  the  greatest 
and  the  wisest  conceptions  that 
ever  issued  from  the  mind  of  man 
have  been  couched  under  and 
delivered  in  a  few  close,  home,  sig- 
nificant words."  The  mere  habit  of 
selection  and  repression,  the  search 
for  what  is  worth  saying  evident  in 
the  terse  speaker,  is  education  to  the 
imagination — which  is  kept  in  exer- 
cise, first,  in  reading  the  mind  of 
the  listener,  then  in  selecting  those 
points  which  have  excited  and  im- 
pressed his  own.  His  sentences  are 
pictures  ;  the  utterance  of  the  proser 
is  an  inventory  or  a  catalogue. 

Though  prolixity,  where  a  habit 
of  the  mind,  exercises  itself  in  every 
field,  and  displays  itself  on  every 
occasion,  yet  each  conspicuous  ex- 
ample has  its  own  method  of  being 
prolix.  A  prominent  one  is  the  elabo- 
ration of  reasons.  Bacon  attributes 
to  mankind  a  repugance  to  a  string 
of  reasons,  "  for  reasons  plainly  de- 
livered, and  always  upon  one  man- 
ner, especially  with  fine  and  fastidi- 
ous spirits,  enter  but  heavily  and 
dully ; "  yet  many  persons  have  so 
strong  a  propensity  to  this  form  of 
tediousness,  that  acquiescence  is  not 
acquiescence  without  the  reason  why. 
This  is  done  by  dull  people  from 
mere  forgetfulness  that  much  must 
be  taken  for  granted,  or  pass  unno- 
ticed, if  social  life  is  to  be  carried  on 
in  any  fairness.  They  mingle  little 
with  others,  and  find  it  convenient 
for  every  subject  to  be  made  the  very 
most  of.  But  in  others  it  is  amark  of 
conceit — a  solicitude  to  prove  that  no 
step  in  life,  however  trivial,  is  taken 
without  thought;  it  is  a  parade  of 
judgment  and  experience,  though 
a  moment's  reflection  might  show 
them  that  their  reasons  are  obvious, 


1871.] 


Prolixity. 


619 


and  such  as  influence  all  the  world. 
Most  people  are  alive  to  the  tempta- 
tion. It  is  pleasant  to  hear  ourselves 
recapitulate  the  arguments  of  com- 
mon-sense, though  we  know  them 
familiar.  Nor  are  they  necessarily 
out  of  place.  It  is  when  the  catalogue 
checks  the  general  flow  of  talk  or 
impedes  action  that  it  is  felt  an  im- 
pertinence, as  where  Vellum  gives 
his  reasons  for  despatch  : — 

"  Sir  George. — All  I  require  of  you  is 
despatch. 

"  Vellum. — There  is  nothing  more  re- 
quisite in  business. 

"  Sir  George. — Then  hear  me. 

"  Vellum. — It  is  indeed  the  life  of 
business. 

"Sir  George. — Hear  me  then,  I  say. 

"  Vellum. — And  as  one  hath  rightly 
observed,  the  benefits  that  attend  it  are 
fourfold.  First — 

"  Sir  George. — There  is  no  bearing 
this.  Thou  art  going  to  describe  de- 
spatch when  thou  shouldst  be  practising 
it. 

"  Vellum. — But  your  honour  will  not 
give  me  a  hearing. 

"  Sir  George. — I  hope  thou  hast  not 
told  Abigail  anything  of  the  secret. 

"  Vellum. — Mrs  Abigail  is  a  woman. 
There  are  many  reasons  why  she  should 
not  be  acquainted  with  it.  I  will  only 
mention  six." 

Then  there  is  the  method  of  pre- 
face or  exordium.  We  ask  a  question, 
and  before  we  get  an  answer  have  to 
listen  to  a  hundred  antecedent  cir- 
cumstances. We  must  be  put  into 
possession  of  every  collateral  detail 
relating  to  the  subject  before  we 
are  supposed  competent  to  profit  by 
the  fact  we  require.  This  we  hold 
one  of  the  most  affronting  forms  of 
prolixity.  After  experiencing  it  a 
few  times  we  learn  to  seek  our 
information  elsewhere  :  minding  the 
prefatory  -tendency  less  as  less  in- 
sulting where  it  is  a  flagrant  trick 
of  garrulity,  which 
"  Thus  his  special  nothings  ever  prologues," 
and  cannot  tell  a  plain  tale  with- 
out a  recapitulation  of  all  that 
speaker  and  hearer  know  in  com- 

VOL.    CIX. NO.    DCLXVII. 


mon  —  "  You  know,"  "  you  also 
know."  And  again  there  is  the  pro- 
lixity of  the  epilogue,  so  trying  to 
the  patience ;  hanging  on  to  a  dis- 
cussion after  it  is  over, — lingering 
out  a  tale  beyond  the  point, — that 
way  of  protracting  a  conclusion  by 
subsidiary  comment.  This  is  a  so- 
cial as  well  as  an  individual  vice.  A 
popular  speaker  has  his  utterances 
supplemented  by  a  dozen  incapable 
ones  ;  his  arguments  are  diluted  by 
tedious  grounds  for  agreement ;  and 
himself  is  flattered  by  long-winded 
praise,  with  its  inevitable  infusion  of 
poppy.  The  propensity  for  explain- 
ing is  one  of  the  most  terrible  and 
irritating  engines  of  prolixity.  With 
this  habit  in  full  force,  a  man  sup- 
poses it  his  business  to  elucidate 
everything.  The  fact  that  the 
thing  is  self-evident,  to  begin  with, 
says  nothing  to  him  ;  he  must  exer- 
cise his  talent  for  translation  upon 
it  as  the  old  spelling-book  simpli- 
fies the  idea  of  butter  to  the  child 
in  calling  it  "  an  oily  unguent."  Re- 
gardless of  Johnson's  argument,  that 
the  easier  a  thing  is  to  understand 
in  its  own  nature,  the  more  difficult 
it  is  to  render  it  easier  by  explana- 
tions, he  victimises  his  hearer  with 
elaborate  definitions,  with  protracted 
processes  for  reaching  the  obvious 
and  familiar — 

"  Explains  a  thing  till  all  men  doubt  it, 
And  talks  about  it,  goddess,  and  about 
it." 

Prolixity  is  the  very  soul  of  ped- 
antry, whether  spoken  or  written. 
We  see  it  in  the  self-taught  man, 
who  is  apt  to  suppose  himself  the 
sole  depositary  of  the  branch  of 
knowledge  he  takes  up ;  in  the  writ- 
er who  confines  himself  to  one  topic 
of  perhaps  not  general  interest  or 
importance,  illustrated  by  that  es- 
sayist on  medals,  who  wrote  at  the 
rate  of  twelve  pages  to  ever}'  letter 
of  an  ancient  inscription.  Again, 
hobbies  are  detected  for  what 
they  are  by  the  prolixity  and  ill- 
2u 


620 


Prolixity. 


[May 


timed  persistence  with  which  they 
are  paraded.  A  thing  is  a  rational 
pursuit  or  a  hobby — a  fixed  idea — 
according  to  the  method  through 
which  it  is  entertained  and  advanced. 
What  might  have  been  a  rational 
taste  becomes  a  hobby  when  dis- 
cernment and  modesty  sleep,  and 
theories  are  dinned  into  unwilling 
ears — theories  genealogical,  archaeo- 
logical, philological — to  which  the 
hearer  listens  with  fits  of  impatience 
amounting  to  loathing.  Philan- 
thropy is  very  apt  to  betray  itself 
as  a  hobby  by  the  same  tokens, 
though  with  more  excuse,  from  the 
notion  that  good  of  our  fellow-crea- 
tures is  a  subject  which  should 
never  be  out  of  place.  We  find 
some  people  willing  to  tell  the  same 
tale  at  full  length  to  twenty  sepa- 
rate listeners — recounting  it,  still 
unabridged,  to  the  twentieth  in  the 
ears  of  the  nineteen  just  instructed 
— without  a  suspicion  that  the  re- 
capitulation may  be  irksome,  or 
that,  being  so,  the  circumstances 
should  influence  the  duration  of 
their  narrative ;  because  the  suffer- 
ings of  humanity  have  a  right  to  de- 
mand a  hearing.  Scrupulous  minds 
are  so  affected  by  this  argument 
that  they  set  down  their  inevitable 
weariness  as  a  fault  in  themselves  ; 
but  our  conscience  need  not  re- 
proach us  if  we  detect  in  the  nar- 
rator the  easy  complacency  of  a 
mind  congenially  employed.  Try 
an  experiment.  Turn  the  tables; 
become  talker  instead  of  listener ; 
seek  to  engage  your  friend's  ear 
upon  a  detailed  story  of  misfortune 
known  to  yourself,  and  ten  to 
one  he  will  make  short  work  of  it, 
and  either  get  hold  of  his  own 
thread  again,  or  beat  a  retreat. 

It  must  be  a  very  common  obser- 
vation in  those  whose  duty  as  citizens 
subjects  them  to  attendance  at  pub- 
lic meetings,  that  dulness  propagates 
itself — that  speeches  are  long  in  pro- 
portion to  their  dulness.  This  is  a 


heavy  tax  indeed  on  the  public 
patience  ;  but  candour  obliges  us  to 
allow  that  such  prolixity  need  not 
arise  from  any  enjoyment  the  speak- 
er— especially  if  he  be  an  unprac- 
tised speaker — finds  in  his  prominent 
situation.  He  probably  knows  as 
well  as  any  of  his  audience  that  he 
is  dull,  hesitating,  blundering,  pro- 
lix ;  but  no  one  willingly  accepts  a 
sense  of  failure  ;  even  eloquence,  he 
remembers,  is  sometimes  tedious  till 
it  gets  the  steam  up.  While  he  is 
on  his  legs,  while  his  voice  still 
sounds,  he  nourishes  a  hope,  un- 
shared by  his  hearers,  of  retrieving 
matters,  of  hitting  upon  the  right 
vein  of  doing  himself  justice.  And 
so  he  wanders  on,  repeating  and 
contradicting  himself — finding  the 
situation  almost  as  irksome  as  his 
audience.  A  man  will  even  gape 
in  the  midst  of  his  own  long  speech. 
"  Well,  I  grant  there  is  some  taste 
in  that,"  cries  an  impatient  listen- 
er ;  "  but  is  he  not  encroaching 
on  our  privileges?"  It  is  a  rare 
gift  to  know  when  to  own  one's  self 
beaten,  as  the  Austrians  did  after 
Sadowa,  and  as  did  that  American 
would-be  orator,  engaged  to  speak 
at  the  opening  of  a  new  bridge  in 
the  far  west.  "  My  friends,"  he 
began,  "thirty  years  ago  the  spot 
on  which  we  now  stand  was  a  waste 
howling  wilderness  " — a  pause ;  the 
words  that  should  have  followed 
failed  him,  but  he  stuck  to  his 
theme.  "My  friends,  the  spot  on 
which  we  now  stand  was  thirty 
years  ago  a  waste  howling  wilder- 
ness " — still  an  exasperating  lapse 
of  memory ;  but  he  faithfully  clung 
to  his  exordium.  "  My  friends," 
he  began  a  third  time,  "  thirty 
years  ago  the  spot  on  which  we  now 
stand  was  a  waste  howling  wilder- 
ness  and — and — I  wish  with  all 

my  heart  it  was  one  still."  What  a 
relief  to  himself  and  all  concerned 
was  the  frank  avowal,  and  the  de- 
scent from  the  temporary  rostrum 


1871.] 


Prolixity. 


621 


which  followed  quickly  upon  it. 
He  proved  himself  above  aimless 
prose.  If  he  could  not  say  what  he 
intended  to  say,  he  would  say  no- 
thing. 

Le  moyen  rfennuyer  est  celui  de 
tout  dire,  said  Voltaire ;  and  cer- 
tainly the  exhaustive  treatment  of  a 
subject  is  one  notable  form  of  pro- 
lixity. Nobody  has  a  right  to  ex- 
haust a  subject,  to  leave  nothing  for 
other  people  to  add.  One  man 
can't  do  it;  he  becomes  prosy  in  the 
attempt.  It  was  Charles  II.'s  ques- 
tionable compliment,  in  the  form  of 
a  criticism,  on  Barrow,  that  he  left 
nothing  for  anybody  else  to  say — 
and  certainly  his  grasp  of  a  subject 
was  a  wide  one ;  but  also  the 
divine's  topics  were  not  such  as  his 
royal  hearer  would  care  to  amplify 
upon,  or  he  would  easily  have  hit 
on  some  pregnant  addition  which 
would  not  have  come  into  the  head  of 
the  preacher.  It  is  the  aim  at  leaving 
nothing  unsaid  that  we  quarrel  with. 
We  are  sure  to  come  upon  dregs  of 
thought  and  irrelevancies  in  the 
effort.  In  this  connection  we  would 
bring  in  hair-splitting  as  a  source 
of  irritating  tediousness ; — that  vice 
early  attributed  to  De  Quincey  by 
his  elder  brother,  who  composed  a 
vocabulary  expressly  to  define  his 
tormenting  refinements.  The  pass- 
age from  the  Autobiography  is  curi- 
ous, as  showing  how  the  child  of 
seven  was  father  to  the  man ;  how 
fatal,  we  will  add,  was  prolixity  in 
its  many  forms  to  the  full  success 
of  De  Quincey's  genius  :— 

"  Detestable  in  my  ears  was  that  word 
'  quibbling,'  by  which,  for  a  thousand 
years,  if  the  war  had  happened  to  last  so 
long,  he  would  have  fastened  upon  me 
the  imputation  of  meaning,  of  wishing  at 
least,  to  do  what  he  called  '  pettifogulis- 
ing' — that  is,  to  plead  some  distinction,  or 
verbal  demur,  in  bar  of  my  orders,  under 
some  colourable  pretence  that,  according 
to  their  literal  construction,  they  really 
did  not  admit  of  being  fulfilled,  or  per- 
haps, that  they  admitted  it  too  much  as 
being  capable  of  fulfilment  in  two  senses, 


either  of  them  a  practicable  sense.  True 
it  was  that  my  eye  was  preternaturally 
keen  for  flaws  of  language,  not  from 
pedantic  exaction  of  superfluous  accuracy, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  from  too  conscien- 
tious a  wish  to  escape  the  mistakes  which 
language  not  rigorous  is  apt  to  occasion. 
So  far  from  seeking  to  '  pettifogulise ' — 
i.e.,  to  find  evasions  for  any  purpose  in 
a  trickster's  minute  tortuosities  of  con- 
struction— exactly  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, from  mere  excess  of  sincerity,  most 
unwillingly  I  found  in  almost  everybody's 
words  an  unintentional  opening  left  for 
double  interpretations.  Undesigned  equi- 
vocation prevails  everywhere  ;  and  it  is 
not  the  cavilling  hair-splitter,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  the  single-eyed  servant  of  truth, 
that  is  most  likely  to  insist  upon  the 
limitation  of  expressions  too  wide  or  too 
vague,  and  upon  the  decisive  election 
between  meanings  potentially  double. 
Not  in  order  to  resist  or  evade  my  brother's 
directions,  but  for  the  very  opposite  pur- 
pose— viz.,  that  I  might  fulfil  them  to 
the  letter ;  thus,  and  no  otherwise,  it  hap- 
pened that  I  showed  so  much  scrupulosity 
about  the  exact  value  and  position  of  his 
words  as  finally  to  draw  upon  myself  the 
vexatious  reproach  of  being  a  '  pettifog  nl- 
iser.'" 

This  is  very  good  writing — a  most 
favourable  specimen  of  the  style  that 
takes  a  long  time  to  say  what  it  has 
to  say.  Indeed,  it  might  be  argued 
that  the  habit  of  mind  described 
could  hardly  be  represented  in  fewer 
words ;  but,  as  a  fact,  whatever 
De  Quincey  handles  cannot  be  done 
justice  to  in  any  other  method.  He 
is  prolix  from  mere  pressure  and 
redundance  of  matter.  A  man  of 
genius,  however,  must  express  him- 
self in  the  way  most  congenial  to 
him.  True,  he  cuts  off  the  num- 
ber of  his  readers  ;  a  busy  man  can- 
not wait  for  the  issue  of  devious 
narrative.  Finding  what  should 
be  continuous  a  tangle  of  reminis- 
cences— a  thicket  of  miscellaneous 
discussion — one  incident  or  train  of 
thought  rivalling  or  suggesting  an- 
other— he  puts  it  aside  for  future 
opportunity.  But  patient  leisure 
may  even  enjoy  this  freedom  from 
hurry  in  an  author  with  whom 
time  is  no  object,  whose  progress  is 


622 


Prolixity. 


[May 


perpetually  impeded  by  fulness  of 
thought  and  a  too  active  memory, 
unwilling  .to  leave  untold  what  im- 
portunes for  expression.  The  finical 
exactitude  which  is  so  common  a 
form  of  prolixity  has  none  of  this 
press  of  matter.  It  is  one  of  the 
points  of  formality  to  go  into  un- 
necessary particulars,  to  expatiate 
in  vapid  civilities,  to  leave  nothing 
unsaid,  and  to  wrap  trivialities  in 
as  many  words  as  possible. 

Digression  is  perhaps  the  crown 
of  prolixity.  A  story,  a  statement,  a 
judgment,  that  sticks  to  the  point, 
must  come  to  an  end  sometime ;  but 
digression  never  recognises  this  ne- 
cessity— the  habitual  digressor  never 
ends.  If  you  are  at  once  (which 
is  natural  to  the  digressor)  long 
in  starting  your  main  subject,  and 
perpetually  tempted,  to  stray  into 
its  collateral  bearings,  and  to  follow 
out  each  hint  and  reminder  as  it 
suggests  itself,  as  far  as  it  will 
take  you,  there  need  lbe  no  end. 
We  may  say  of  some  talkers  and 
writers,  that  there  ieino  natural  end 
of  their  thread.  It  is  cut  off  ab- 
ruptly by  circumstances,  rudely 
broken  by  impatience,  but  it  never 
concludes,  or  achieves  a  comely 
graceful  finish.  Now,  an  end — -the 
end — is  what  everything  should 
tend  to.  It  is  a  point  very  dis- 
tinctly in  the  thought  of  hearer 
or  reader;  until  his  suspicions  are 
roused  he  assumes  it  equally  a  goal 
with  him  who  engages  his  attention, 
— that  he  has  a  point  in  view  to- 
wards which  he  is  leading  him  with 
no  unnecessary  delays.  The  mo- 
ment that  weakens  this  confidence 
is  fatal  to  attention.  Even  an  en- 
tertaining digression  is  listened  to 
with  a  divided  interest ;  we  are  wait- 
ing for  a  return.  As  it  deviates  into 
sub -digressions  a  sense  of  weari- 
ness intervenes.  The  end  which  our 
soul,  being  human,  waits  for,  which 
our  ear  anticipates  as  it  does  the 
key-note,  disappears  out  of  expec- 


tation; instead  of  the  line  which  is 
progress,  we  are  involved  in  a  circle 
without  bearings  or  compass ;  we 
close  the  page  with  a  sense  of  ill- 
usage  ;  our  listening  is  perfunctory, 
or  possibly  malicious,  with  a  view  to 
an  outbreak  of  relief  when  the  pen- 
ance is  over. 

As  an  indulgence  to  this  senti- 
ment of  revenge  for  past  infliction, 
painters  of  character  and  manners 
delight  to  depict  prolixity.  How 
to  amuse,  how  to  extract  diversion 
out  of  propensities  in  themselves  so 
irksome,  tests  and  evidences  the 
skill  of  the  novelist.  Walter  Scott 
had  a  great  sympathy  for  prosy  peo- 
ple; gifted  with  unusual  patience,  he 
gathered  honey  from  many  a  flower 
which  was  but  a  burr  to  the  common 
world.  It  is  this  sympathy  which 
makes  the  deliberate  prosiness  of 
many  passages  in  '  The  Antiquary ' 
such  charming  reading,  guided  by 
the  skill  which  makes  a  specimen 
— the  single  brick — convey  an  idea 
of  walls  of  endless  continuity,  and 
infuses  change  and  variety  through 
artful  contrast  of  dulness.  Take,  for 
example,  the  three-stranded  conver- 
sation, the  piebald  jargon  of  his 
three  worthies,  each  started  on  his 
favourite  hobby :  Oldbuck  on  the 
date  of  the  ruins  of  St  Ruth's  Pri- 
ory; Sir  Arthur  on  the  glories  of  his 
ancestry ;  and  Mr  Blattergowl  on 
the  inexhaustible  subject  of  teinds 
or  tithes  : — 

"  Mr  Oldbuck  harangued,  the  ba- 
ronet declaimed,  Mr  Blattergowl 
prosed  and  laid  down  the  law,  while 
the  Latin  forms  of  feudal  grants 
were  mingled  with  the  jargon  of 
blazonry  and  the  yet  more  barbarous 
phraseology  of  the  Teind  Court  of 
Scotland. 

"  '  He  was,'  exclaimed  Oldbuck, 
speaking  of  the  Prior  Adhemar,  '  in- 
deed, an  exemplary  prelate;  and 
from  his  strictness  of  morals,  rigid 
execution  of  penance,  joined  to  the 
charitable  disposition  of  his  mind, 


1871.] 


Prolixity. 


623 


and  the  infirmities  induced  by  his 

great  age  and  ascetic  habits ' 

"  Here  he  chanced  to  cough,  and 
Sir  Arthur  burst  in,  or  rather  con- 
tinued, 'was  called  popularly  Hell- 
in-Harness ;  he  carried  a  shield,  gules 
with  a  sable  fess,  which  we  have 
since  disused,  and  was  slain  at  the 
battle  of  Vernoil,  in  France,  after 
killing  six  of  the  English  with  his 


"  'Decreet  of  certification,'  pro- 
ceeded the  clergyman,  in  that  pro- 
longed, steady,  prosing  tone,  which, 
however  overpowered  at  first  by 
the  vehemence  of  competition,  pro- 
mised in  the  long-run  to  obtain 
the  ascendancy  in  this  strife  of  nar- 
rators :  — '  Decreet  of  certification 
having  gone  out,  and  parties  being 
held  .as  confessed,  the  proof  seemed 
to  be  held  as  concluded,  when  their 
lawyer  moved  to  have  it  opened  up, 
on  the  allegation  that  they  had 
witnesses  to  bring  forward,  that 
they  had  been  in  the  habit  of  car- 
rying the  ewes  to  lamb  on  the 
teind-free  land,  which  was  a  mere 
evasion  for,' "  &c. 

Garrulity  is  not  prolixity,  or  we 
might  quote  as  a  remarkable  exam- 
ple how  tedious,  pointless  chat,  ren- 
dered with  absolute  truth  of  deli- 
neation, may  be  made  to  serve  the 
aims  and  needs  of  the  novelist, 
amuse  the  reader  whom  the  original 
would  bore  to  death,  and,  by  chance 
touches,  tell  the  author's  story,  in 
Miss  Austen's  '  Emma.'  In  the 
ordinary  novel  we  have  plenty  of 
prolixity,  but  it  elaborates  itself  in 
the  speeches  which  pass  for  con- 
versation as  it  should  be;  prolixity, 
which  loses  none  of  its  terrors  in 
the  presentment ;  so  difficult  is  it 
for  the  pen  to  stop  its  flow,  as  to 
retain  the  wholesome  consciousness 
of  the  brief  limits  of  human  patience. 
No  doubt,  great  speakers  have 
been  not  only  tolerated  but  en- 
couraged, to  their  own  hurt,  in  pro- 
lixity. We  cannot  doubt  that  Cole- 


ridge was  prolix,  though  the  fact 
was  disguised  under  such  wonderful 
fertility  and  eloquence.  People 
listened,  but  also  they  knew  they 
listened  beyond  exact  justice  and 
fair  reciprocity.  "  I  think  you  have 
heard  me  preach,"  he  said  once  to 
Charles  Lamb.  "  I  ne-ne-ver  heard 
you;  do  anything  else,"  was  the  re- 
ply. Hartley  Coleridge  inherited 
the  perilous  gift — "  he  would  hold 
forth  by  the  hour,"  says  his  brother, 
"  for  no  one  wished  to  interrupt 
him  " — and  with  it  an  added  infir- 
mity of  will  such  as  goes  with  all  pro- 
tracted utterances,  and  is  the  curse 
of  profuse  exuberant  expressions. 

There  is  no  body  of  men  to  whom 
the  charge  of  prolixity  so  constantly 
attaches  as  to  the  clergy,  often  most 
unjustly,  and  also,  where  merited, 
with  so  much  to  excuse  it.  In  the 
first  place,  that  they  weary  their 
hearers  is  no  proof  that  they  are 
prolix.  Treat  spiritual  things  as 
you  may,  they  will  certainly  weary- 
some  people,  and  sound  like  a  thrice- 
told  tale.  The  demand  for  con- 
ciseness and  brevity  from  such 
quarters  is  made  in  utter  disregard 
of  the  weight  of  the  subjects  to  be 
discussed,  or  of  the  preacher's  chance 
of  doing  them  justice  in  the  hurry 
and  trepidation  of  addressing  parad- 
ed indifference  and  clamorous  im- 
patience. Undoubtedly  the  sermon 
is  the  legitimate  field  for  many  of 
the  habits  which  go  to  the  compo- 
sition of  prolixity.  Its  business  is 
to  exhort,  explain,  to  amplify,  to 
deal  in  reservation,  to  paraphrase. 
This  especially  applies  to  the  textual 
method,  essentially  the  Protestant 
form  of  sermon.  And  we  are  far 
from  saying  that  what  tempts  to 
prolixity  does  not  too  often  bring  it 
about,  and  form  a  style  not  otherwise 
to  be  characterised.  One  thing  is 
certain,  however,  that  the  habit  of 
preaching,  the  habit  even  of  diffuse- 
ness,  does  not  mollify  the  natural 
disgust  at  length  :  has  no  influence 


624 


Prolixity. 


[May 


in  strengthening  the  endurance  of 
prolixity  in  others.  The  clergy  are 
as  impatient  as  the  laity  of  other 
people's  prosiness ;  and  we  find  no 
more  severe  reproofs  or  biting 
satires  on  tediousness  than  in  cleri- 
cal writers  of  every  age.  They  treat 
the  question  under  its  moral  aspect. 
Prolixity  is  not  only  a  weakness — 
it  rarely  escapes  being  also  a  sin. 
Thus  Jeremy  Taylor :  "Of  all  things 
in  the  world  a  prating  religion  and 
much  talk  in  holy  things  does  most 
profane  the  mysteriousness  of  it." 
Again:  "Some  men  will  never  be 
cured  of  overtalking  without  a 
cancer  or  a  quinsy;  and  such  per- 
sons are  taught  by  all  men  what 
to  do;  for  if  they  would  avoid  all 
company  as  willingly  as  company 
avoids  them,  they  might  quickly 
have  a  silence  great  as  midnight 
and  prudent  as  the  Spartan  brevity." 
Nor  is  he  less  contemptuous  in  his 
toleration — though  he  allows  that 
much  speaking  is  sometimes  neces- 
sary, sometimes  useful,  sometimes 
pleasant ;  and  when  it  is  none  of 
these,  "though  it  be  tedious  and  im- 
prudent, yet  it  is  not  always  crimi- 
nal" How  finely  caustic  is  South 
on  this  subject,  strong  in  his 
Puritan  antipathies,  and,  in  his 
sympathy  with  human  impatience, 
proposing  to  "  cashier  all  prolixity; " 
for  there  is  nothing  that  the  mind 
of  man  is  so  apt  to  kindle  and 
take  distaste  at  as  at  words ;  and 
arguing  that  "  he  whose  soul  and 
body  receive  their  activity  from,  and 
perform  all  their  functions  by,  the 
mediation  of  the  spirits,  which  ebb 
and  flow,  consume,  and  are  renewed 
again,  cannot  but  find  himself  very 
uneasy  upon  any  tedious,  verbose 
application  made  to  him."  Piety 
engages  no  man  to  be  dull,  though 
he  confesses  that  with  many  of  his 
time  dulness — the  more  if  it  be 
lengthy  dulness — passed  as  a  mask 
of  regeneration.  Nor  can  prolixity 
keep  clear  of  graver  errors. 


"  Two  whole  hours  for  one  prayer  used 
to  be  reckoned  but  a  moderate  dose,  and 
that  for  the  most  part  fraught  with  such 
irreverent  blasphemous  expressions,  that 
to  repeat  them  would  profane  the  place  I 
am  speaking  in  ;  and  indeed  they  seldom 
'  carried  on  the  work  of  such  a  day,'  as 
their  phrase  was,  but  they  left  the  church 
in  need  of  a  new  consecration.  Add  to 
this  the  incoherence  and  confusion,  the 
endless  repetitions,  and  the  insufferable 
nonsense  that  never  failed  to  hold  out, 
even  with  their  utmost  prolixity ;  so  that 
in  all  their  long  fasts,  from  first  to  last, 
from  seven  in  the  morning  to  seven  in  the 
evening  (which  was  their  measure),  the 
pulpit  was  always  the  emptiest  thing  in 
the  church." 

Bishop  Butler's  sermon  on  the 
tongue,  in  the  intense  gravity  of  its 
censures  on  much  talking  and  all 
the  forms  of  prolix  utterance,  amuses 
us  like  wit.  While  who  can  define 
a  guarded,  hedging,  dissimulating 
prolixity  of  style  better  than  Sydney 
Smith,  showing  up,  in  the  Singleton 
Letters,  Tomline,  Bishop  of  Lincoln? 
"  His  creation  has  blood  without 
heat,  bones  without  marrow,  eyes 
without  speculation.  He  has  the 
art  of  saying  nothing  in  many 
words  beyond  any  man  that  ever 
existed ;  and  when  he  seems  to 
have  made  a  proposition,  he  is  so 
dreadfully  frightened  at  it  that  he 
proceeds  as  quickly  as  possible  in 
the  ensuing  sentence  to  disconnect 
the  subject  and  the  predicate,  and 
to  avert  the  dangers  he  has  incurred." 
A  timid  style,  one  characterised  by 
reservations,  is  inevitably  tedious. 

The  general  craving  for  condensa- 
tion, for  reducing  the  world's  wisdom 
to  portable  dimensions  through  an 
exact  brevity  and  succinctness  of 
speech  —  what  in  philosophy  and 
speculation  we  call  maxim;  in  the 
counsels  and  decision  of  practical 
wisdom,  and  the  high  mysteries  of 
religion,  oracle;  and  in  matters  of  wit 
and  the  finenesses  of  the  imagina- 
tion, epigram — stands  in  singular 
contrast  with  the  disease  we  treat 
of.  In  fact,  the  tastes  and  tenden- 
cies of  mankind  incline  towards  the 


1871.] 


Prolixity. 


625 


extreme  poles  of  long  and  short,  as 
they  rank  themselves  among  hear- 
ers or  talkers,  learners  or  teachers. 
Every  one  is  familiar  with  the  di- 
dactic temper,  bent  on  all  the  ma- 
chinery of  length ;  first  statements  in 
full,  then  hedging  those  statements 
with  reservations,  strengthening 
them  by  argument,  diluting  them 
to  the  measure  of  mean  understand- 
ing, recalling,  summing  up,  anticipat- 
ing objections ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  with  the  pupil's  weakness  for 
epitomes — his  disposition  to  catch  a 
meaning  before  it  is  uttered,  to  em- 
brace a  view  at  the  first  word,  to 
see,  to  understand,  to  believe  him- 
self master  of  a  question  before 
its  difficulties  are  brought  under 
review,  and  to  hold  all  explanation 
a  mere  spinning  out,  and  an  affront 
to  his  perceptive  powers.  We  re- 
gard the  sonnet  and  the  epigram  as 
typifying  these  two  conditions  of 
mind.  The  turn  for  writing  son- 
nets curiously  contrasts  with  the 
world's  distaste  for  reading  them — 
distaste  amounting  in  many  minds 
to  antipathy.  This  at  first  sight 
seems  an  inconsistency,  for  the  son- 
net comes  next  in  brevity  to  the 
epigram ;  but  the  sonnet  is  avowedly 
exhaustive  ;  it  works  out  a  thought, 
and,  whether  that  hold  out  or  no, 
must  last  its  fourteen  lines.  Hence, 
to  short-lived  patience,  it  is  slow, 
while  the  epigram  may  be  as  short 
as  it  likes,  and  says  its  say  in  a 
flash,  the  fewer  words  the  better. 

This  is,  of  course,  one  reason  of 
the  mind's  delight  in  illustration. 
Illustration  is  only  incidentally  an 
ornament ;  its  purpose  is  to  save 
time.  It  is  the  fruit  of  a  noble  im- 
patience of  wordiness  and  detail. 
It  cuts  a  long  tale  short,  establishes 
a  common  ground,  and  trusts  the 
hearer  for  catching  the  idea,  for  com- 
prehending at  a  glance  where  the 
similitude  holds,  and  where  its  use 
and  purpose  ends.  It  is  indeed  a 
partnership  between  poet  and  audi- 


ence, their  mutual  stock  the  common 
knowledge  and  universal  sympa- 
thies, through  which  they  come  to 
an  understanding  by  an  instantane- 
ous process. 

We  by  no  means  justify  the 
common  impatience  of  length ;  we 
are  only  noticing  it.  Prolixity  is 
indeed  a  relative  term.  We  remem- 
ber a  very  unjust  comparison  of 
Lord  Brougham's  between  Dante's 
and  Gray's  descriptions  of  evening, 
to  the  disparagement  of  our  poet, 
because  Dante  in  "  Era  gia  1'Ora " 
got  through  what  he  had  to  say  in 
a  stanza  or  so,  and  Gray  spun  out 
his  over  several  verses.  Wilson 
very  justly  replied  that  Dante  was 
short  because  he  had  other  fish  to 
fry ;  Gray  was  deliberate  because 
evening  was  the  subject  he  set  be- 
fore himself  and  his  readers.  All 
elaborate  descriptions  of  scenery  and 
natural  effects  are  only  in  place 
where  the  reader's  mind  is  com- 
posed and  at  rest  from  eager  expec- 
tation. Mr  Ruskin  in  his  '  Modern 
Painters '  has  descriptive  passages  of 
cloud,  of  sky,  of  landscape,  exceed- 
ingly elaborate,  but  not  prolix  ;  and 
Uvedale  Price  on  the  Picturesque 
has  pages  running  into  delicate 
refinements  of  detail,  of  which  no 
reader  of  taste  is  impatient.  But 
we  note  in  some  novelists  of  our 
day — perhaps  the  tendency  is  espe- 
cially a  feminine  one — a  habit  of  in- 
truding minute  scenic  description 
side  by  side  with  the  action  of  their 
story,  of  which  we  do  grow  some- 
what weary.  Every  paragraph  of 
narrative  has  its  burden,  recalling 
"The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle 
wa'."  The  sky  is  lurid  or  bright, 
according  to  the  temper  of  the 
heroine ;  in  every  change  of  her 
fortune  our  attention  is  called  off 
to  some  distant  effect  of  light  and 
shade,  till  we  do  not  know  which 
most  engages  the  thoughts  of  the 
author — the  living  tragedy  or  the 
atmospheric  phenomena  under  which 


626 


Prolixity. 


[May 


it  is  acted  out ;  a  meagre  story  by 
this  method  becomes  a  striking 
example  of  modern  prolixity. 

Again,  there  are  occupations 
appropriate  to  one  sphere,  and  to 
be  done  deliberately,  but  out  of 
place  and  to  be  hurried  through 
in  another,  as  it  is  a  part  of  a 
servant's  skill  to  be  quick-handed 
in  the  parlour  and  to  take  time  in 
the  kitchen.  Thus,  in  a  prose 
treatise  on  agriculture  an  even  ex- 
haustive treatment  of  the  question 
of  manures  is  permissible ;  but  in 
a  poem,  amplification  on  such  a 
theme  may  justly  be  called  prolix; 
the  poet  aiming  at  an  audience  not 
concerned  through  their  pecuniary 
interests  :  and  certainly  Grainger, 
having,  in  his  "  Sugar-Cane,"  writ- 
ten several  pages  of  such  instructions 
as  the  following,  incurs  danger  of 
the  charge : — 

"The sacred  Mnse 
Naught  sordid  deems    but  what  i»  base, 

nought  fair 

Unless  true  Virtue  stamps  it  with  her  seal ; 
Then,  planter,  wouldst  thou  double  thine 

estate, 

Ah,  never,  never  be  ashamed  to  tread 
Thy  dung-heaps,  where  the  refuse  of  thy 

mills, 

With  all  the  ashes  all  thy  coppers  yield, 
With  weeds,  mould,  dang,  and  stale,  a  com- 
post form 
Of  force,  to  fertilise  the  poorest  soil ;" — 

and  does  not  catch  himself  up  a  line 
too  soon  when  he  suras  tip  this 
branch  of  his  subject  with 

"  Enough    of   composts,    Muse;    of    soils 
enough." 

For  the  poet  addresses  himself  not 
to  a  technical  few,  but  to  a  world 
of  readers,  of  whom  nothing  is  re- 
quired but  the  use  of  eyes  and  ears, 
sympathy,  sensibility,  and  under- 
standing. 

The  question  to  what  extent 
poetry  may  be  prolix  —  may  treat 
its  subject  in  every  aspect  ex- 
haustively—  naturally  leads  us  to 


the  consideration  of  what  so  many 
critics  regard  as  the  poem  of  the  day 
— the  'King  and  the  Book.'  Mi- 
Browning,  indeed,  directly  courts  the 
charge  of  prolixity  by  telling  his 
story,  the  facts  of  which  are  soon 
told,  in  eleven  if  not  twelve  different 
methods  of  amplification,  in  each  of 
which  a  distinct  character  is  imparted 
to  the  narration  through  the  introduc- 
tion of  matter  perfectly  irrelevant 
to  the  case  in  hand.  This  is  not 
an  occasion  for  a  critique  on  what 
is  called  by  Mr  Browning's  admirers 
that  "  wonderful  book,"  and  which 
we  allow  to  be  a  very  remarkable 
one ;  only,  while  they  call  him  the 
most  poetic  of  poets,  we  might  style 
him,  judging  from  page  upon  page, 
the  most  prosaic ;  prosaic  in  pro- 
portion to  the  prodigious  number 
of  words  he  has  taken  to  work  out 
an  idea  Poetry  pure  is  almost  in 
its  nature  much  in  little.  But 
while  to  the  great  bulk  of  the 
book  we  deny  the  title  poetry, 
we  grant  its  power ;  also,  that  the 
first  perception  of  the  story's  capa- 
bilities was  a  poet's  conception,  and 
that  throughout  he  shows  that  grasp 
of  his  subject  which  is  one  of  the 
supreme  tests  of  power.  While  we 
must  differ  from  Mr  Browning's 
eulogists,  we  at  the  same  time  allow 
weight  to  their  verdict.  The  business 
and  duty  of  poetry  is  to  instruct  by 
pleasing.  If  people  are  enthusiastic 
as  to  the  amount  of  pleasure  they 
derive  from  Mr  Browning's  num- 
bers, there  is  no  getting  over  such 
testimony.  The  merit  of  verse  can- 
not be  proved  or  disproved  by  de- 
monstration. People  are  pleased, 
their  ears  soothed,  tickled,  and  grati- 
fied —  there  is  a  fact.  We  can 
only  assert,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
Mr  Browning's  verse,  in  its  ordinary 
flow,  affects  us  as  dancing  does  if 
we  stop  our  ears ;  where  we  see  time 
marked  by  gesticulation,  the  mo- 
tive and  the  pleasure  of  the  exercise 


1871.] 


Prolixity. 


627 


alike  escaping  us.  To  our  ears  his 
lines  seem 

"Writ   to    the    rumbling    of   his    coach's 
wheels." 

and  over  very  jolting  roads  too ;  and 
this  is  a  fact  also.  After  pages  of 
this  singular  system  of  harmony  and 
rhythm,  we  should  have  settled 
down  into  the  conviction  that  there 
are  two  sets  of  ears  for  poetry,  just 
as  there  is  the  Asiatic  and  the  Euro- 
pean taste  in  music,  but  that  we 
observe,  when  Mr  Browning's  keen- 
est admirers  quote  a  line  or  a  passage 
to  prove  their  point,  they  select  the 
smoothest  and  most  finished  and  real- 
ly felicitous  examples;  and  say,  this 
is  Tennysonian, — this  Shakespeare 
might  have  written.  For  obscurity 
they  think  it  apology  enough  that 
"  his  thoughts  are  too  big  for  his 
words  " — a  plea  no  poet  would  thank 
them  for.  We  all  of  us  think  that 
we  have  thoughts  too  big  for  our 
words.  It  is  the  business,  the  all- 
in-all  of  the  poet  to  invest  thoughts 
of  all  sizes  in  appropriate  words. 

Mr  Browning  addresses  the  Brit- 
ish public  in  a  tone  of  defiance — 

"Well,   British   Public,   ye  who  like  me 
not." 

It  seems  that  a  class  of  worship- 
pers, however  devoted  and  exclusive, 
does  not  satisfy ;  so  the  poet's  coun- 
trymen get  a  snub, —  as  wanting 
acumen,  as  grocers,  Philistines,  and 
what  not.  Now,  we  think  the  Brit- 
ish public  has  something  to  say  for 
itself.  No  reasonable  man  should 
expect  persons  with  pursuits  and 
interests  of  their  own  not  to  recoil 
at  the  threshold  on  finding  a  tale 
of  murder  and  suspected  adultery 
told  over  a  dozen  times  in  blank 
verse,  and  told  with  that  air  of  rig- 
marole to  the  careless  glancing  eye, 
that  crabbedness  of  construction, 
which  keeps  the  reader  on  the  heels 
of  thought,  and  compels  a  reperusal, 
not  once,  but  three  or  four  times, 


before  the  sense  is  got  hold  of. 
Much  of  it,  too,  is  written  in  a  com- 
posite language,  one  half  the  line 
Latin,  the  other  English  ;  while  the 
tone  of  what  he  gathers  is  mostly 
selfish  and  cynical  —  Italian  prin- 
ciples of  action  and  lines  of  thought 
in  a  corrupt  period.  Not  that  he  ever 
imagines  himself  among  the  Capu- 
lets  and  Montagues  of  a  bygone  age ; 
whether  he  glances  or  gives  his  mind 
with  deliberation,  the  reader  alike 
recognises  Mr  Browning  everywhere. 
The  poet  is  indeed  absorbed  in  his 
theme,  but  never  to  the  merging  of 
his  personality  in  that  of  another. 
Whether  it  is  "  one  half  Rome,"  or 
"  the  other  half  Rome,"  or  "Tertium 
quid,"  "Guido,"or  "  Caponsacchi,"  or 
"  Dr  Hyacinthus,"  or  "Pompilia,"  or 
the  "  Pope,"  all  talk  and  think  ex- 
actly like  Mr  Browning  in  propria 
persona.  All  are  equally  prone  to 
digressions.  Their  concatenation 
of  ideas  follows  the  same  chain. 
All  are  metaphysical,  analytical, 
psychological,  down  to  poor  Pom- 
pilia, a  girl  of  seventeen,  who  can 
neither  read  nor  write.  All  speak 
in  the  thread  of  their  own  thoughts, 
without  taking  into  account  the 
court,  the  judge,  the  patron  they  ad- 
dress :  —  all  proving  that  though 
it  was  a  poet's  flash  which  took  in 
and  gave  life  to  an  old  -  forgotten 
tale  of  cruelty  and  wrong,  yet  he 
worked  it  out  in  its  multiform  as- 
pects at  his  leisure.  It  is  cleverness, 
not  fancy,  that  keeps  up  the  strain 
of  thought  once  started.  The  ideas 
evolve  themselves  calmly,  prosily, 
for  pages  at  a  time,  as  they  might 
in  any  uninspired  speculation  on 
other  people's  modes  of  thinking 
and  acting.  Mr  Browning  has  that 
craving  to  leave  nothing  unsaid  that 
comes  into  his  mind,  which  he  at- 
tributes to  one  of  his  characters  : — 

"  Sir,  how  should  I  lie  quiet  in  my  grave 
Unless  you  suffer  me  wring,  drop  by  drop, 
My  brain  dry?" 


628 


Prolixity. 


Even  in  Pompilia's  story,  adduced 
as  the  charming,  most  universally- 
pleasing  point  of  the  book,  and 
one,  too,  giving  most  striking  evi- 
dence of  the  poet's  power  of  merg- 
ing himself  in  another  being,  we 
fail  to  discern  those  delicate  femi- 
nine touches  which  compel  us  to 
forget  the  artist  in  his  creation. 
Fancy,  for  instance,  an  Italian  girl, 
two  hundred  years  ago,  talking  about 
facts,  or  entering  into  the  quirks 
or  profundities  of  the  following 
strain  of  thought.  The  passage  is 
one  often  quoted  for  its  beauties: — 

"  Even  for  my  babe,  my  boy,  there's  safety 

thence — 
From  the  sudden  death  of  me,  I  mean. 

We  poor 
Weak    souls,    how    we    endeavour    to    be 

strong ! 

I  was  already  using  up  my  life — 
This  portion  now  should  do  him  such  a 

good, 

This  other  go  to  keep  off  such  an  ill  ! 
This  great  life — see,  a  breath,  and  it  is  gone  ! 
So  is  detached,  so  left  all  by  itself, 
The  little    life,  the  fact  which  means   so 

much." 

This  sort  of  nature,  or  the  want 
of  it,  is  as  open  to  the  judgment  of 
the  common  reader  as  to  the  pro- 
fessed critic,  often  too  much  occu- 
pied by  the  beauty  or  point  of  the 
thought,  as  characteristic  of  the  poet, 
to  note  its  discordance  with  the  cha- 
racter or  circumstances  of  the  avow- 
ed speaker.  As  a  simple  member  of 
the  British  public,  he  is  more  puz- 
zled than  the  critic  seems  to  be  by 
the  leisure,  length,  and  collected- 
ness  of  all  concerned :  and  scarcely 
sees  the  relevance  of  a  vast  deal  of 
curious  speculation  supposed  to  pass 
in  the  minds  of  men  and  women  in 
the  hurry  or  extremity  of  a  tragic 
situation.  For  in  whatever  predica- 
ment the  actors  or  the  victims  of  the 
tragedy  find  themselves,  they  are 
equal  to  any  amount  of  hard  think- 
ing and  whimsical  illustration,  as 
where  Guido,  wondering  at  his  folly 
in  risking  his  life  by  killing  two  old 
people,  exclaims  : — 


"  Life ! 

How  I  could  spill  this  overplus  of  mine. 

Among  those  hoar-haired,  shrunk-shanked 
odds  and  ends 

Of  body  and  soul,  old  age  is  chewing  dry! 

Those  windle-straws  that  stare  while  pur- 
blind death 

Mows  here  and  there ;  makes  hay  of  juicy 
me ! " 


If,  however,  waiving  the  ques- 
tion of  probability,  the  ordinary 
reader  perseveres,  he  will  not  go 
unrewarded.  The  book  is  amus- 
ing reading,  whether  poetry  or  not, 
whether  prolix  or  not  —  in  fact, 
this  latter  quality  is  the  parent  of 
much  readable  matter.  The  style  is 
anecdotal.  Italian  chronicles  have 
furnished  the  author  with  many  tel- 
ling quaint  examples  of  the  cruelty, 
tyranny,  and  insolent  oppression  of 
times  prior  to  the  date  of  the  story. 
All  the  miscellanea  collected  in  a 
wide  course  of  reading  are  engrafted 
into  the  various  narratives,  and  told 
with  caustic  humour.  Here  the 
reader  may  learn  how  Pope  Stephen 
exhumed  Pope  Formosus,  who  had 
been  dead  eight  months,  clothed 
him  in  pontifical  vestments,  and 
arraigned  him  for  having  given  up 
a  lesser  see  for  that  of  Rome,  with 
all  the  grotesquely  horrible  circum- 
stances of  trial  and  condemnation ; — 
how  it  was  once  a  point  of  education 
among  gentlemen  to  learn  to  endure 
torture,  and  how  a  host  would 
exhibit  his  pluck  to  a  guest  by 
having  out  the  rack  into  the  court- 
yard before  dinner,  and  bid  his  ser- 
vants do  their  worst  upon  him ; — 
how  a  duke  guillotined  a  man 
at  his  own  door  for  taking  offence 
at  the  abduction  of  his  sister  ; — how 
Dominus  Hyacinthus  composes  an 
appetising  dish  of  liver,  minced 
herbs,  goosefoot,  cockscomb,  and 
cheese,  and,  if  it  disagrees  with  the 
old  father-in-law — "  well,  his  will 
is  made;"  with  a  thousand  other 
"facts,"  which  carry  a  reader  from 
page  to  page,  forgetting  that  he  is  read- 


1871.] 


Prolixity. 


629 


ing  verse,  and  even  that  he  is  engaged 
upon  a  tragic  incident  that  actually 
happened.  The  reader  finds  himself 
endeavouring  to  form,  with  not  much 
success,  a  picture  of  Italian  society, 
out  of  the  jesting,  diffuse,  but  clever 
delineations  of  an  able  hand,  loving 
humanity  rather  in  the  abstract  than 
as  he  anywhere  sees  it,  not  seldom 
coarse,  often  a  caricaturist,  with  now 
and  then  a  touch,  which  we  wish 
away,  of  the  revolting  and  profane. 
An  intelligent  writer  in  the  pages 
of  a  contemporary  has  recently  given 
his  experiences  as  a  reader.  Himself 
a  thorough-going  devotee,  he  seeks 
and  finds  sympathy  in  his  worship 
of  Mr  Browning.  Not  only  does 
he  carry  in  his  own  memory  long 
passages  of  Paracelsus,  but  he 
knows  somebody  else  whose  mind 
is  similarly  stored.  It  is  he  that 
pronounces  Mr  Browning  the  most 
poetical  of  poets,  and  counts  the 
hours  spent  in  reading  his  more 
mystical  and  toughest  utterances  as 
among  the  happiest  of  his  life.  But 
we  are  struck  with  an  admission 
which  accounts  in  a  material  degree 
for  the  non-universality  of  Mr  Brown- 
ing's favour.  To  read  him  with  the 
right  gust  and  appreciation,  people 
must  be  out  of  the  way  of  all 
temptation  to  do  anything  else. 
"  Thoroughly  to  enjoy  a  good  book," 
says  this  reader,  "  I  am  inclined  to 
think  we  must  be  out  of  the  way  of 
newspapers  and  periodicals,  and,  I 
might  add,  out  of  the  way  of  familiar 
society. "  In  fact,  to  do  a  book  j  ustice 
a  reader  must  be  on  shipboard  be- 
yond reach  of  the  post,  or  on  a  sick- 
bed, or  in  some  remote  inaccessible 
position.  It  was  two  thousand  miles 
from  home,  and,  as  we  gather,  with- 
out a  soul  to  speak  to,  that  he  read 
'  Pippa  Passes,'  which  "  quite  settles 
the  question  that  Browning  is  a 
great  dramatic  poet " — "the  scene  be- 
tween Sebald  and  Ottima  being  the 
very  concentrated  essence  of  tragedy, 


than  which  there  is  nothing  more 
terrible  in  any  Greek  drama  extant." 
No  doubt  books  assume  quite  a 
different — a  transcendental — aspect 
under  these  circumstances;  but  do 
they  leave  a  man  his  powers  of 
comparison?  Could,  for  example, 
this  "  reader"  have  been  caught  by 
the  lurid  tinsel  of  Mr  Bailey's  pro- 
fanity within  the  Bills  of  Mortality, 
or  have  felt  the  thrill  he  owns  to  at 
the  ghastly  heading  "Scene — Hell," 
which  graces  one  act  of  that  sul- 
phureous drama?  Was  it,  we  may 
ask,  under  "  the  abstraction  neces- 
sary to  the  enjoyment  of  a  great 
work"  that  the  Greek  dramatists 
first  established  and  have  since 
maintained  their  hold  on  men's 
minds?  Is  it  only  when  remote  from 
all  chances  of  excitement,  from  all 
the  concerns  of  the  outer  world,  that 
Shakespeare  is  recognised  for  per- 
haps the  greatest  of  poets  ?  A  poet 
of  the  highest  order  has  a  nobler 
office  than  delighting  readers  who 
have  nothing  else  to  do ;  he  neither 
asks  for  nor  requires  such  isolation 
from  all  other  interests  in  his  hearers. 
His  winged  words  make  their  way 
anywhere.  What  the  "  Header's  " 
critical  judgment  is  of  the  '  Ring  and 
the  Book'  we  have  yet  to  learn.  "  I 
am  waiting,"  he  tells  us,  "for  a  fitting 
opportunity  when  the  world  may 
not  be  too  much  with  me."  It  must 
be  owned,  however,  that  here  is  an 
excuse  for  the  British  Public.  It 
cannot  expatriate  itself  in  a  body, 
or  disperse  into  inaccessible  corners. 
The  books  it  accepts  must  endure 
the  competition  of  other  occupations 
and  interests ;  they  must  not  only 
have  thought,  but  expression.  The 
air  readily  carries  music ;  pure,  sus- 
tained, harmonious  tones  reach  far. 
We  have  called  prolixity  a  rela- 
tive as  well  as  a  positive  quality. 
Length  does  not  deserve  the  epithet 
so  long  as  it  suits  the  reader's  taste. 
We  desire  things  to  be  long  or  short 


630 


Prolixity. 


[May 


according  to  what  is  to  succeed  them, 
and  are  patient  of  length  if  we  dread 
what  is  to  come  after.  Richardson's 
merits  as  a  novelist  are  great;  but 
now  in  England,  amid  the  multipli- 
city of  books,  the  mere  length  is 
fatal.  In  a  desert  island,  as  the  soli- 
tary's only  novel,  this  amplitude  of 
detail,  here  so  tedious,  would  en- 
hance and  crown  every  other  merit. 
"When  Mr  Macaulay  produced  his 
copy  of  'Clarissa'  at  a  hill  station  in 
India,  the  whole  station  was  in  a 
passion  of  excitement.  The  gover- 
nor's wife  seized  the  book,  the 
secretary  waited  for  it,  and  the  chief- 
justice  could  not  read  it  for  tears, — 
none  would,  under  such  circum- 
stances, think  it  too  long,  but  those 
who  were  kept  waiting. 

There  is  no  stronger  external 
evidence  of  the  inspiration  of  the 
Bible  than  its  marvellous  condensa- 
tion, and  therefore  its  fitness  for  the 


humanity  of  all  time.  Man  has 
portioned  it  into  texts  to  serve  the 
prolixity,  the  diluting  processes  in- 
separable from  human  thought;  but 
it  is,  in  fact,  one  great  text,  about 
which  human  thought,  knowledge, 
and  wisdom  amplify,  pursue,  swell, 
dilate,  diverge  into  infinite  cogita- 
tions of  wit  and  infinite  cobwebs 
of  speculation.  As  men  we  cannot 
escape  from  prolixity  either  in  others 
or  ourselves.  We  must  all  prose 
sometimes,  and  tell  each  other  things 
we  know  they  know,  and  that  they 
know  that  we  know  that  they  know. 
All  that  we  must  aim  at  is  modera- 
tion in  our  own  person  and  patience 
under  the  universal  infliction  ;  ac- 
knowledging the  universal  hold  of 
prosing  upon  human  affairs :  for, 
"  to  say  the  truth,  there  seems  no 
part  of  knowledge  in  fewer  hands 
than  that  of  discerning  when  to 
have  done." 


1871.] 


Tlie  Leather  Bottil. 


631 


THE    LEATHER    BOTTEL. 

A  DARWINIAN  DITTY. 

[FOR  the  better  understanding  of  this  "  ditty,"  in  case  it  should  not 
be  self-interpreting,  we  prefix  to  it  two  Extracts,  one  from  Mr  Darwin's 
Descent  of  Man,  and  the  other  from  Dr  Alleyne  Nicholson's  Introductory 
Text -Book  of  Zoology,  with  a  relative  woodcut,  borrowed  from  Dr 
Nicholson's  work,  in  which  cut,  as  being  a  family  portrait  of  our  ancestor 
(according  to  Mr  Darwin),  our  readers  cannot  fail  to  feel  a  strong  interest. 
We  suggest  that  the  word  Ascidian,  if  not  spelled  Askidian,  ought,  at 
least,  to  be  pronounced  so.] 

"  The  most  ancient  progenitors  in  the  kingdom  of  the  Vertebrata,  at  which 
we  are  able  to  obtain  an  obscure  glance,  apparently  consisted  of  a  group  of 
marine  animals,  resembling  the  larvae  of  existing  Ascidians. 


"  These  animals  probably 
gave  rise  to  a  group  of 
fishes,  .  .  .  these  to  the 
Simiadse.  The  Simiadse 
then  branched  off  into  two 
great  stems,  the  New  World 
and  Old  World  monkeys; 
and  from  the  latter,  at  a 
remote  period,  Man,  the 
wonder  and  glory  of  the 
universe,  proceeded.  Thus 
we  have  given  to  man 
a  pedigree  of  prodigious 
length,  but  not,  it  may 
be  said,  of  noble  quality." 
— The  Descent  of  Man,  and 
Selection  in  relation  to 
Sex.  By  Charles  Darwin, 
M.A.  F.R.S.  &c.;  voL  L  p. 
212-13. 


'A  Simple  Ascidian." 


TUNICATA.  —  This  class 
includes  a  class  of  animals 
not  at  all  familiarly  known, 
and  mostly  of  small  size. 
They  are  often  called  Ascid- 
ians (Gr.  askos,  a  wine-skin), 
from  the  resemblance  which 
many  of  them  exhibit  in  shape 
to  a  two-necked  jar  or  bottle 
(see  fig.) — The  two  orifices  in 
the  outer  leathery  case  or '  test' 
of  the  Tunicata  lead  into  the 
interior  of  the  animal,  and  are 
used  for  the  admission  and  ex- 
pulsion of  sea- water ;  and  by 
their  means  the  animal  both 
breathes  and  obtains  food." 
—  Introductory  Text  -  Book 
of  Zoology.  By  H.  Alleyne 
Nicholson,  M.D.  &c. 


Air— "  The  Leather  Bottel." 
See  Chappell's  Popular  Mutic  of  the  Olden  Time,  vol.  ii.,  513. 


ma  -  ny  wond-rous  things  there  be     Of     which  we     can't  the     rea  -  son 


N -M — N— 

I^-H \J — ' 

-j— JM  •    •- 


see !  And  this     is     one,    I     used  to  think,  That  most  men  like  a   drop    of  drink.   But 
here  comes  Darwin  with  his  plan,  And  shows  the  true  Descent  of  Man :  And  that  explains  it 


HE]EiE 
,  -  i_-___-_j 


all    full  well,  For    man  —  was      —      once a  leather      bot 


tell 


632  The  Leather  Bottel  [May 

There  are  Mollusca  rather  small, 
That  Naturalists  Ascidia  call ; 
Who,  being  just  a  bag-like  skin, 
Subsist  on  water  pouring  in  : 
And  these  you'll  find,  if  you  will  seek, 
Derive  their  name  from  Heathen  Greek; 
For  Scott  and  Scapula  show  full  well 
That  As— kos— means — a  leather  bottel. 

Now  Darwin  proves  as  clear  as  mud, 
That,  endless  ages  ere  the  Flood, 
The  Coming  man's  primaeval  form 
Was  simply  an  Ascidian  worm  :  * 
And  having  then  the  habit  got 
Of  passing  liquor  down  his  throat, 
He  keeps  it  still,  and  shows  full  well 
That  Man— was-once — a  leather  bottel. 

When  Bacchus'  feasts  came  duly  round, 
Athenian  peasants  beat  the  ground; 
And  danced  and  leapt,  to  ease  their  toil, 
'Mid  leather  bottles  smeared  with  oil : 
From  which  they  slid,  with  broad  grimace, 
And  falling,  filled  with  mirth  the  place : 
And  so  they  owned  and  honoured  well 
Their  great-grand-sire — the  leather  bottel. 

The  toper  loves  to  sit  and  swill 
Of  wine,  or  grog,  or  beer,  his  fill ; 
And,  as  he  doth  but  little  eat, 
It  serves  him  both  for  drink  and  meat : 
But  don't,  I  pray,  be  too  strait-laced, 
Or  blame  this  pure  Ascidian  taste  : 
For  Darwin's  theory  shows  full  well, 
The  to— per-is — a  leather  bottel. 

The  Dean  of  Christ-Church  does  not  shrink 
To  give  five  reasons  we  should  drink  : 
"  Good  wine,  a  friend,  or  being  dry, 
Or  lest  we  should  be  by-and-by:  " 
Then  adds  the  fifth  in  humorous  sport, 
As  "  any  other  reason  "  for't : 
But  all  his  reasoning  shows  full  well, 
The  Dean— was-just — a  leather  bottel !  $ 

Nay,  those  who  fain  strong  drink  would  stop, 
Don't  say,  we  should  not  drink  a  drop ; 
But  water,  milk,  or  eau  sucree, 
We're  free  to  tipple  all  the  day : 
Sam  Johnson's  self,  as  you  may  see, 
Drank  many  myriad  cups  of  tea  : 

*  Worm  is  here  used  for  larva.  t  See  Virgil's  Georgics,  ii.  380. 

£  Dean  Aldrich's  well-known  Catch, 

"  If  all  be  true  that  I  do  think, 
There  are  five  reasons  we  should  drink," 


1871.]  Platonic  Paradoxes.  633 

And  all  this  drinking  shows  full  well 
That  man's— at-best — a  leather  bottel. 

"  The  thirsty  earth  drinks  up  the  rain," 
The  plants,  too,  drink  the  moistened  plain  : 
"  The  sea  itself,  which,  one  would  think, 
Should  have  but  little  need  for  drink, 
Drinks  twice  ten  thousand  rivers  up ; " 
While  beasts  and  fishes  share  the  cup  : 
The  Sun,  too,  drinks,  the  Moon  as  well ; 
So  Na-ture's-all — a  leather  bottel.* 

I  hope  even  Darwin  don't  say  Nay, 
When  asked  at  times  to  wet  his  clay  : 
And  1  for  one  would  drink  his  health, 
And  wish  him  sense  and  wit  and  wealth  : 
And  if  good  liquor  he  doth  brew, 
I'll  drink  to  old  Erasmus  too  : 
And  gladly  join  to  show  full  well 
That  man-is-still — a  leather  bottel.  t 


PLATONIC     PARADOXES. 

A  NEW  SONG. 
Air—"  The  tight  little  Jtland.' 

IN  how  many  strange  ways 

Human  nature  displays 
The  caprices  that  enter  her  pate,  0  ! 

To  which  view  you'll  be  led 

If  some  pages  you've  read 
In  the  Oxford  translation  of  Plato. 
What  a  wonderful  writer  is  Plato  ! 
And  how  well  Jowett's  pen  can  translate,  0  ! 

But  I  clearly  discover 

On  reading  him  over 
Some  very  odd  notions  in  Plato. 

The  fears  of  the  brave 

Make  us  always  look  grave, 
And  the  mean  little  tricks  of  the  great,  0  ! 

So  the  foolish  things  too 

That  the  wise  say  and  do 
Are  ridiculous  even  in  Plato. 

is  a  translation  of  the  following  Latin  lines,  which  Father  Sirmond,  the  Jesuit, 
"  quoique  fort  sobre,"  delighted  to  repeat : — 

"  Si  bene  commemini  can  sac  sunt  quiuqtie  bibendi : 

Hospitis  adveutus  ;  prsesens  sitis ;  atqne  futura  ; 

Et  vini  bonitas  ;  et  queelibct  altera  causa." — Menagiana,  i.  172. 

*  Altered  from  Cowley's  Anacreontics. 

t  Erasmus  Darwin,  mentioned  in  the  last  verse,  was,  we  believe,  the  grandfather  of 
the  present  distinguished  Naturalist.  The  germ  of  the  "  Darwinian  theory"  is,  we 
consider,  much  more  certainly  to  be  found  in  the  Doctor's  posthumous  ]x>em  of  the 
Temple  of  Nature,  than  the  origin  of  man  in  the  Ascidian  larva,  or  leather  bottel. 


634  Platonic  Paradoxes.  [May 

Upon  some  points  I  quite  go  with  Plato, 
In  the  same  way  as  Addison's  Cato  : 

But  some  marvellous  flaws 

As  to  justice  and  laws 
Mark  the  model  Republic  of  Plato. 

Every  honest  man  grieves 

At  the  number  of  thieves 
That  our  social  temptations  create,  0  ! 

And  our  hearts  are  all  sore 

For  the  wretchedly  poor  ; 
And  I'm  sure  the  same  feelings  had  Plato. 
But  the  system  propounded  by  Plato, 
These  deplorable  ills  to  abate,  0  ! 

"Was  to  break  off  with  Mammon, 

Have  all  things  in  common  : 
"  Private  property's  gammon  " — said  Plato. 

There  of  course  is  no  theft 

When  no  property's  left 
To  give  Meum  and  Tuum  their  weight,  0  ! 

And  when  all's  a  dead  level, 

Starvation  and  revel 
Alike  are  excluded  by  Plato. 
These  Communist  doctrines  of  Plato 
Have  again  come  in  fashion  of  late,  0  ! 

But  the  makers  of  money, 

The  hoarders  of  honey, 
Won't  be  pleased  with  these  projects  of  Plato. 

Then  the  struggles  and  strife 

That  attend  married  life, 
And  that  often  turn  love  into  hate,  0  ! 

Its  profligate  courses, 

Desertions,  Divorces, 
Must  have  hurt  the  fine  feelings  of  Plato. 
But  a  very  bad  cure  proposed  Plato 
(For  I  don't  think  him  here  the  potato], 
"  Make  the  man  and  the  woman, 

Like  property,  common  ; — 
And  the  children  as  well : "  added  Plato. 

No  folks  were  to  wed 

That  were  not  thorough-bred, 
And  each  wedding  should  last  a  short  date,  0  ! 

And  if  children  appeared 

Not  quite  fit  to  be  reared, 
They  were  never  acknowledged  by  Plato. 
'Twas  a  delicate  question  with  Plato, 
Upon  which  he  dislikes  to  dilate,  0  ! 

But  we  all  of  us  know 

Where  the  puppy-dogs  go 
When  the  litter's  too  many  for  Plato. 

On  this  question  that  vexes 
Us  as  to  the  sexes, 


1871.]  Platonic  Paradoxes.  635 

Our  author  don't  long  hesitate,  0  ! 

Women's  duties  and  rights, 

Whether  beauties  or  frights, 
Are  completely  conceded  by  Plato. 
But  the  pace  here  adopted  by  Plato 
Seems  to  move  at  too  rapid  a  rate,  0  ! 

All  must  go  to  the  wars 

And  be  servants  of  Mars, 
Both  the  women  and  men,  under  Plato. 

On  another  small  point 

He  appears  out  of  joint, 
Though  perhaps  it  admits  of  debate,  0  ! 

If  philosophers  solely 

Should  rule  o'er  us  wholly, 
Or  our  kings  be  the  pupils  of  Plato. 
Suppose  them  as  clever  as  Plato, 
How  would  Darwin  or  Mill  rule  the  state,  0  ! 

Should  you  think  Epicurus 

A  good  Palinurus, 
Or  would  England  be  governed  by  Plato  1 

A  philosopher's  schemes 

Are  made  up  of  fond  dreams 
And  of  idle  Utopian  prate,  0  ! 

For  while  Theory  preaches, 

'Tis  Practice  that  teaches, 
And  corrects  the  wild  crotchets  of  Plato. 
So  the  model  Eepublic  of  Plato 
Must  submit  to  the  general  fate,  0  ! 

Lay  the  book  on  the  shelf, 

And  each  man  make  HIMSELF 
What  a  Christian  would  wish  for  in  Plato. 

NOTE. — While  we  thus  venture,  under  the  allowed  garb  of  ridicule,  to  record  some 
plain  truths  as  to  certain  extravagant  views  suggested  by  Plato  in  his  Republic,  we 
should  do  injustice  to  our  own  feelings  if  we  did  not  at  the  same  time  express  the 
pleasure  and  admiration  which  have  been  excited  in  us  by  the  remarkable  Translation 
of  that  author  that  has  just  issued  from  the  Clarendon  Press.  This  work  by  Professor 
Jowett  is  one  of  the  most  splendid  and  valuable  gifts  to  Literature  and  Philosophy 
that  have  for  a  long  time  been  offered.  Its  first  or  most  obvious  excellence  is  the 
perfect  ease  and  grace  of  the  translation,  which  is  thoroughly  English,  and  yet  en- 
tirely exempt  from  any  phrase  or  feature  at  variance  with  the  Hellenic  character. 
Very  few  translations,  other  than  the  Bible,  read  like  an  original :  but  this  is  one  of 
them.  It  has  other  and  more  recondite  excellences.  It  is  the  work,  almost  the  life- 
labour,  we  believe,  of  a  profound  scholar,  a  thoughtful  moralist  and  metaphysician, 
and  a  most  successful  instructor  of  youth:  and  it  is  manifest  that  the  complete  success 
that  has  attended  his  execution  of  the  task  is  itself  the  means  of  concealing  the  dili- 
gence, industry,  and  ability,  with  which  philological  and  interpretative  difficulties 
must  have  been  solved  or  overcome.  It  is  a  great  matter,  even  for  the  best  scholars, 
to  possess  such  a  guide  and  help  in  the  study  of  the  original ;  and  to  others,  desirous 
of  knowing  thoroughly  and  appreciating  worthily  the  wise  thoughts  and  literary 
beauties  of  one  of  the  greatest  writers  that  ever  lived,  the  boon  is  inestimable.  The 
Introductions  to  the  several  Dialogues  seem  to  be  excellent,  and  are  appropriately 
directed  to  explain  the  point  of  view  which  the  great  Greek  philosopher  occupied, 
and  to  point  out  the  fact  that  his  very  errors — and  we  think  some  of  these  very  great — 
arose  out  of  his  keen  perception  of  evils  which  needed  a  remedy,  but  which,  we  believe, 
can  only  be  remedied  by  higher  influences  than  any  that  were  within  reach  of  a 
Pagan  Philosophy. 

YOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLZYIL  2  X 


636 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[May 


UNDEE  THE  KED  CKOSS : 


A    NARRATIVE    OF    HOSPITAL-LIFE   WITH    THE    PRUSSIANS    IN    FRANCE. 


PART    I. CHAPTER   I. 


ON  arriving  in  Munich  from  Italy, 
my  first  step  was  to  report  myself 
to  the  English  Legation — a  mere 
form,  perhaps,  as  I  knew  that  the 
German  authorities  alone  could  help 
me  to  obtain  what  I  had  come  to 
seek :  the  heing  enlisted  in  the 
corps  of  the  "  Volunteer  Nurses." 
and  obtaining  the  protection  and 
privileges  conferred  by  the  Eed 
Cross ;  still  there  is  a  general  belief 
on  the  Continent,  that  the  bearer  of 
an  English  passport  is  entitled  to 
special  respect ; —  and  although  we 
were  not  in  very  good  odour  in  the 
North  German  Confederation  (ow- 
ing to  our  being  suspected  of  a 
sneaking  and  unavowed  sympathy 
for  the  French),  there  was  never- 
theless a  certain  feeling  of  security 
in  the  possession  of  that  flimsy 
document,  with  its  rampant  and  de- 
fiant supporters  of  the  Garter,  head- 
ing "  the  request  and  demand  in  the 
name  of  her  Majesty,"  &c,  &c. 

I  had  brought  letters  to  the 
Prussian  envoy,  Baron  von  W., 
and,  in  my  interview  with  him, 
informed  him  that  I  wished  to  de- 
vote myself  to  nursing  the  sick  and 
wounded  in  the  hospitals  in  France : 
it  was  a  matter  of  perfect  indiffer- 
ence to  me  where  I  was  sent,  or 
what  work  I  had  to  do ;  but  that, 
if  a  choice  were  offered  to  me,  I 
should  select  the  work  of  fever  hos- 
pitals, as  it  required  less  surgical 
knowledge  than  the  wounded  de- 
manded, and  in  consequence  of  the 
contagion,  there  would  be  a  greater 
want  of  nurses.  Baron  von  W.'s 
answer  was :  "  Doubtless  it  is  a 
very  noble  mission  you  are  under- 
taking, and  with  your  knowledge  of 
French  and  German,  you  may  be  of 


great  use.  Where  ladies  have  been 
able  to  stand  the  work  and  privations, 
their  nursing  has  been  a  very  great 
help  and  comfort ;  but  many  don't 
know  the  hardships  of  such  an  un- 
dertaking, and  turn  out,  notwith- 
standing their  most  praiseworthy 
intentions,  helpless  and  useless. 
Therefore  I  do  not  hide  from  you 
that  it  is  by  no  means  an  easy  thing 
to  obtain  the  Eed  Cross  ;  but  I  will 
do  all  that  lies  in  my  power  to  re- 
commend you,  most  especially  to 
Graf  Castell,  the  head  of  the  Cen- 
tral Committee,  and  if  you  will 
meet  me  to-morrow  at  our  mutual 
friend's,  Madame  von  M.,  I  will  let 
you  know  the  result." 

This  "  mutual  friend  "  is  a  charm- 
ing and  clever  English  lady  (mar- 
ried to  a  Prussian  diplomate),  with  a 
"  heart  of  gold,"  and  most  original 
and  amusing.  My  visit  was  a  sur- 
prise which  elicited  the  exclama- 
tion— 

"  Good  gracious,  child  !  what  are 
you  doing  in  Munich  ? " 

"  Going  to  nurse  the  sick  and 
wounded  at  the  seat  of  war.  Come 
here  to  get  my  papers." 

"  Why,  you  don't  expect  to  get 
the  Eed  Cross,  do  you  ?  Because 
you  had  better  give  up  that  idea  at 
once.  It  is  next  to  impossible.  They 
have  refused  scores ;  and,  besides,  I 
don't  think  our  nationality  is  any 
recommendation  just  now." 

"  Why  is  there  such  a  very  great 
difficulty  1  I  thought  they  were  al- 
ways glad  to  have  nurses." 

"  Because,  my  dear,  there  has 
been  such  unwarrantable  abuse  of 
the  Eed-Cross  badge.  Lots  of  peo- 
ple have  gone — ay,  and  even  from 
England — with  the  idea  that  they 


1871.]       Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  I. 


637 


would  make  a  pleasant  trip  of  it, 
see  tlie  country,  write  paying  ar- 
ticles to  the  papers,  and  get  their 
expenses  gratis  into  the  bargain  ! 
I  know  of  a  lady  who,  under  the 
protection  of  her  badge,  went  over 
the  battle  -  fields  and  made  inter- 
esting collections  of  dead  heroes' 
bones  !  Besides,  my  dear,  it  sounds 
all  very  fine  and  praiseworthy ;  but 
women  who  have  got  '  nerves,'  are 
easily  shocked,  and  can't  understand 
what  the  poor  suffering  men  want, 
had  far  better  stay  at  home ;  there 
isn't  one  in  a  hundred  that  can  be 
of  real  use." 

"  Well,  but  I  don't  want  to  write 
articles  for  newspapers — I  should 
not  know  how  to;  nor  do  I  care 
for  relics  of  fallen  heroes ;  and  you 
know  that  I  don't  mind  privations, 
and  understand  German  thorough- 

iy." 

"  Including  their  horrible  patois  ? 
You  must  remember  that  your 
knowledge  of  hoch  Deutsch  is  not 
going  to  be  of  much  service  to  you 
when  a  half-delirious  '  Schwab  '  or 
'  Westphaler '  mutters  out  his  wail- 
ings  or  requirements  in  his  own  pe- 
culiar dialect,  and  there  would  be  a 
great  loss  of  time  in  having  to  ap- 
peal to  a  third  party  for  an  explana- 
tion." I  assented.  "  Oh  ! "  con- 
tinued my  friend,  "  I  know  you'll 
do  capitally,  but  you  can't  expect 
them  to  take  it  for  granted  ;  how- 
ever, you  may  be  certain  I'll  give 
you  every  recommendation  and  sup- 
port that  I  am  able  to ;  but  don't 
be  sanguine  about  the  Eed  Cross, 
for  I  don't  think  you  will  get  it." 

I  confess  I  did  not  feel  elated  at 
this  new  view  of  the  case ;  but,  to 
my  surprise  and  delight,  when  I 
reached  Madame  von  M.'s  house  on 
the  morrow,  I  was  greeted  with  the 
welcome  words  :— 

"  Let  me  congratulate  you,  my 
dear,  on  your  success.  It's  all  right ; 
you  are  to  have  the  Red  Cross,  and 
be  packed  off  with  the  first  hospital- 


train  which  leaves  for  France.  You 
had  better  go  and  see  Baron  von  W., 
and  thank  him  for  his  help." 

"  At  one  o'clock,  I  suppose,  is  the 
best  hour?" 

"  Bless  you,  no  such  thing  !  don't 
you  know  that  in  Germany  every 
one  dines  at  one  o'clock?  Go  be- 
fore." 

That  little  duty  performed,  my 
next  move  was  to  go  and  have  an 
interview  with  Graf  Castell,  the 
chief  (or  "  head-devil,"  as  our  Ame- 
rican cousins  call  it)  of  the  "  Bava- 
rian Society  for  the  care  and  sup- 
port in  the  field  of  wounded  and 
sick  soldiere,"  a  very  lengthy  no- 
menclature for  a  society,  but  then 
the  German  language  is  more  pre- 
cise than  concise;  also  it  is  apt 
to  get  uncommonly  rusty  for  want 
of  use,  and  I  felt  somewhat  uncer- 
tain as  to  what  amount  of  fluency 
I  could  command,  seeing  that  I 
had  been  out  of  the  habit  of  con- 
versing for  some  years ;  however, 
memory  brought  back  the  intricate 
constructions  and  proper  forms  of 
speech. 

Graf  Castell  informed  me  that  I 
should  be  supplied  with  the  neces- 
sary papers  of  "  Legitimation  "  and 
the  badge,  and  that  I  was  to  hold 
myself  in  readiness  to  start  with  the 
hospital-train,  the  exact  day  of  de- 
parture not  having  as  yet  been 
fixed.  He  also  gave  me  a  letter  of 
recommendation,  which  would  give 
me  access  to  the  Queen  -  mother's 
private  lazareth,  as  well  as  to  that 
of  the  Knights  of  St  George,  both 
out  of  town. 

Before  returning  to  my  hotel,  I 
thought  it  advisable  to  purchase  a 
small  "  conversation  book,"  and 
practise  myself  in  the  conven- 
tional Durchlauts  and  Hochwohl- 
geboreners,  which  the  Germans 
use  so  profusely  when  addressing 
grandees,  both  in  speaking  and 
writing. 

The   next   day   dawned   with   a 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[May 


snowstorm,  and  as  I  sat  at  break- 
fast in  the  "  Speise-saal,"  and  watch- 
ed the  drotchsky  horses  slipping 
about,  and  finally  sitting  in  all  sorts 
of  uncomfortable  positions  on  the 
frozen  streets,  I  began  to  foresee 
what  a  cold  journey  was  before  me, 
and  sallied  out  to  purchase  fur- 
shoes  and  warm  underclothing  ; 
then,  drove  out  through  the  town 
and  suburbs  into  a  muddy  lane,  and 
stopped  at  a  house  having  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  well-to-do  wirtlischaft 
(which  the  Queen's  Hospital  had 
really  been).  On  the  door  was 
posted  the  following  announcement : 
"  No  admittance  except  by  order 
of  the  Queen-mother's  Hofinar- 
schalL"  Ignoring  tbis  injunction,  I 
sent  in  Graf  Castell's  letter,  with 
my  card,  and  in  less  than  a  minute 
was  beckoned  in  to  the  vestibule, 
where  the  above-mentioned  Hof- 
niarschall  stood  before  me  hat  in 
hand.  How  conveniently  the  "  con- 
versation book "  served  me  at  this 
critical  and  unexpected  moment ! 
"  Seine  Excellenz"  informed  me 
that  her  Majesty  was  in  the  ward, 
and  had  sent  him  to  say  how  happy 
she  would  be  to  show  me  her  hos- 
pital herself.  I  made  an  attempt 
to  excuse  my  intrusion,  pleading 
ignorance  of  her  Majesty's  presence; 
but  the  Hofmarschall  broke  into 
French,  and  repeating,  "  Sa  Majeste 
vous  prie,"  led  the  way  up-stairs, 
and  introducing  me  first  to  the  lady 
in  waiting  at  the  door  of  the  Kran- 
kensaal,  we  walked  through  it,  and 
I  was  presented  to  the  Queen,  who 
smiled  very  affably,  saying — 

"  C'est  un  vrai  plaisir  pour  moi, 
de  vous  montrer  moi-meme  tous  mes 
inalades." 

"  Je  rends  graces  a  votre  Ma- 
jeste","  I  replied,  "  de  1'honneur 
dont  elle  me  comble,  et  la  prie  d'ac- 
cepter  ma  reconnaissance  pour  une* 
bonte"  qui  me  rend  cette  visite 
doublement  precieuse." 

Thereupon  her  Majesty, remarking 
interrogatively,  "  You  are  Eng- 


lish ? "  continued  the  conversation 
with  perfect  ease  and  fluency  in  my 
own  language,  and  led  me  round 
the  infirmary,  giving  me  the  history 
of  each  patient.  There  were  not 
more  than  twenty-five  (no  cases  of 
fever),  and  all  appeared  very  well 
cared  for  and  happy  ;  the  rooms  very 
warm,  but  thoroughly  ventilated. 
The  Queen-mother  of  Bavaria  is  a 
handsome  short  woman  of  about 
forty-five  years,  motherly  and  kind 
in  appearance,  but  dignified  and 
gracious  withal,  and  she  visited  her 
patients  every  day. 

The  "  Konig-and-Georg-Kitter 
Spitale,"  both  in  the  same  build- 
ing, are  much  grander  affairs  —  a 
very  large  building,  originally  in- 
tended for  a  "  Damenstift,"  and  con- 
taining over  two  hundred  and  fifty 
patients.  There  I  was  taken  under 
the  wing  of  the  "  Barmherzige  Sch- 
western"  (Sisters  of  Charity),  who 
had  been  administering  their  tender 
cares  since  the  first  wounded  had 
been  brought  from  Wissembourg, 
Worth,  and  Gravelotte.  The  patients 
occupied  by  twos  little  rooms  right 
and  left  off  long  passages.  The 
poor  fellows  seemed  very  glad  to 
see  visitors,  and  talk  over  all  their 
woes.  For  the  most  part  they 
were  cheerful,  and  seemingly  con- 
tented. There  were  many  who  had 
been  wounded  at  Spicheren,  Vion- 
ville,  and  Gravelotte,  and  who  did 
not  expect  to  be  on  their  crutches 
till  Easter;  others  from  Beaumont 
and  Sedan  and  the  later  engage- 
ments. The  rooms  were  kept  scru- 
pulously clean  and  tidy,  each  pa- 
tient having  by  his  bedside  a  little 
table,  with  the  inevitable  cigars  (in- 
deed they  were  all  smoking),  pipes, 
books,  writing  materials,  and  news- 
papers. The  two  worst  cases  I  saw 
were  a  Silesian  who  had  had  both 
arms  and  one  leg  amputated;  his 
face  was  wasted,  pale,  and  covered 
with  sweat,  but  he  conversed  freely, 
told  me  his  sleep  and  appetite  were 
good,  but  that  his  great  regret  was 


1871.]       Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  I. 


639 


"  that  he  could  not  now  be  vor 
Paris."  The  other  was  a  Prussian, 
whose  leg  had  been  badly  amputated 
on  the  battle-field,  and  an  abscess 
had  formed  on  the  stump ;  as  the 
Sister  dressed  the  poor  limb,  the 
hero  groaned  and  cried  like  a  child. 

One  good-looking  young  Saxon, 
.  with  a  bullet  in  his  arm,  observed, 
pointing  at  his  camara.de:  "Poor 
fellow  !  he  won't  be  able  to  go  back 
and  fight ;  but,  Gott  sei  dank,  I  shall 
be  out  again  soon  ! " 

Another  who  heard  me  say  I  was 
going  to  France  to  nurse  in  the  hos- 
pitals, remarked — 

"Ich  beneide  die  Verwundeten, 
und ich beneide auch Sie !"  ("I envy 
the  wounded,  and  I  envy  you  too!") 

The  military  hospitals  at  Munich 
are  not  nearly  so  clean  and  well 
kept  as  the  royal  ones ;  but  then 
that  could  not  be  expected,  as  the 
cost  would  be  too  great ;  but  the 


French,  of  whom  there  was  a  very 
large  proportion,  were  just  as  well 
cared  for  and  attended  to  as  their 
enemies. 

Madame  von  M.  took  me  to  the 
"  Hof-Theater,"  in  the  box  of  the 
Prussian  Embassy,  and  I  had  the 
luck  to  hear  my  favourite  opera 
"  Faust "  most  exquisitely  given  ;  in- 
deed I  believe  the  opera  in  Munich 
ranks  amongst  the  best  abroad,  for 
the  young  King  is  passionately  fond 
of  music,  and  spends  much  of  his 
private  fortune  in  having  the  best 
operas  put  magnificently  upon  the 
stage,  especially  those  of  his  friend 
Richard  Wagner. 

After  waiting  two  days  more,  dur- 
ing which  the  weather  got  still  colder 
and  the  ground  more  thoroughly 
frozen,  I  received  a  very  business- 
like-looking envelope  from  Count 
Castell,  containing  my  Legitima- 
tion's Carte,  which  ran  thus  : — 


Legitimation. 


Name 

Stand 

Wohnort 


ist  ermachtigt  zum  Tragen   des  nach  der  Genfer   Con- 
vention vorgeschriebenen  Neutralitats-Abzeichens. 


Miinchon,  den  1 


1870. 


Das  Central-Comite 

des 

Bayer.    Verein  zur  Pflege  und  Unterstiitzung  im  Fdde  verwundeter 
und  erkrankter  Krieger. 


640 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative,  of 


[May 


and  on  the  other  side  the  visa  of 
the  Royal  Bavarian  Minister  of 
War,  with  that  functionary's  seal; 
a  letter  to  Baron  von  P.,  at  Lagny ; 
and  my  badge,  consisting  of  a 
hand  of  white  calico,  stamped 
with  the  words  "Landes-Verein 
K.  Bayern,"  and  a  woollen  red  cross 
sown  on  to  it ;  also  a  note  inform- 
ing me  that  the  spital-zug  (hospital- 
train)  would  leave  the  following  day 
at  5  P.M. 

Acting  on  the  advice  of  my  friend 
Madame  von  M.,  I  provided  plenty 
of  warm  coverings,  and  took  a  small 
stock  of  tea,  coffee,  brandy,  and 
Liebig's  extract.  I  also  purchased 
a  couple  of  hundred  cigars — that 
article  being  the  most  welcome 
douceur  to  a  German  heart — and 
had  my  "  flimsy  document "  vise 
at  the  Prussian  embassy  as  fol- 
lows : — 

"  Gesehenundgut  fiir  den  Krieges, 
schaup  latz  in  Frankreich  im  Dienste 
der  freiwilligen  Kranken  pflege ; " 
("  good  for  the  seat  of  war,  in  the 
service  of  the  voluntary  care  of  sick 
and  wounded.") 

The  last  piece  of  advice  given  me 
by  Madame  von  M.  proved  of  ines- 
timable service  to  me  : — • 

"  Take  everything  you  may  re- 
quire with  you ;  don't  have  anything 
sent  after  you,  or  you  will  never  see 
it  again  ;  and — cut  your  hair  short, 
it's  healthier." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  had  thought 
of  that,  but  then  there  might  be  oc- 
casions when  I  might  want  to  wear 
a  bonnet,  and  should  wish  in  vain 
for  the  severed  locks." 


"  Nonsense,  my  dear ;  besides, 
you  can  take  your  chignon  with  you, 
and  clap  it  on  when  you  want  to 
get  yourself  up  !  " 

When  I  went  the  next  morning 
to  the  station  to  have  a  look  at  our 
hospital-train,  and  consign  my  bag- 
gage (consisting  of  one  box  and  a 
valise)  to  one  of  the  wdrter  (at- 
tendants), a  todten-zug  came  in  from 
France.  The  carriages  were  marked 
with  a  white  cross  on  a  black  ground. 

On  the  platform  were  standing 
dismounted  cavalry  soldiers,  who  re- 
moved the  coffins  and  placed  them  on 
military  hearses.  There  were  many 
people  looking  on,  and  deep-drawn 
sighs  could  be  heard  amidst  the  sad  si- 
lence which  pervaded  the  whole  scene. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  soldiers, 
with  lighted  tapers  in  their  hands, 
took  up  their  places  beside  the 
hearses,  and  the  horses  themselves 
looked  as  if  they  knew  the  lifeless 
burdens  they  were  drawing.  The 
corporal  on  horseback  at  the  head 
of  the  mournful  procession  gave  a 
half-muffled ' '  Marsch ! ' '  and  it  moved 
on  slowly  out  of  the  station. 

As  the  crowd  dispersed  I  heard  a 
woman  say — 

"  Poor  noble  fellows,  they  have 
died  a  glorious  death  and  earned 
the  "  Himmelreieh  ! " — "  Kingdom 
of  Heaven ! " 

"  Yes,"  remarked  a  bystander, 
"  so  have  the  thousands  whose  very 
resting-places  are  unknown  to  their 
families  ;  but  what  does  our  country 
gain  by  it  ]  those  Prussians  get  all 
the  glory ! " 


CHAPTER    II. 


Our  hospital-train  was  made  up 
of  forty-seven  carriages — several  first- 
class  compartments,  clean  and  com- 
fortable, and  heated  by  steam-pipes 
running  under  the  seats.  They  were 
respectively  marked  "  Command- 


ant, "  "  Aertze,"  "  Verwaltung," 
"  Schwestern,  "  "  Warter,  "  and 
"  Wacht "  ;— "  Doctors,"  "  Inten- 
dance,"  "  Sisters/'  "  Attendants," 
and  "Watch."  Then  the  engine- 
room  with  the  heating -apparatus, 


1871.]        Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  I. 


G41 


storerooms,  kitchen,  and  twelve  Tcran- 
kenwagen,  each  containing  a  small 
stove  and  five  beds  (with  mattress, 
sheets,  blankets,  and  feather-pillows), 
mounted  on  elliptic  springs.  These 
last  carriages,  as  well  as  the  kitchen, 
are  built  on  the  Swiss  and  American 
principle — that  is,  opening  on  to  a 
little  covered  platform  in  the  centre 
connecting  them  with  each  other,  so 
that  while  the  train  was  in  motion  one 
could  walk  through  all  the  carriages 
to  fetch  what  was  required  for  the 
sick  in  the  kitchen  or  store-rooms. 

As  I  entered  the  restauration  of 
the  station,  the  Herr  Major  or  com- 
mandant of  our  train  stepped  for- 
ward, saying — 

"  You  are  the  English  lady  I  am 
to  have  the  honour  of  escorting  ? " 
and  his  spurs  met  with  a  clink. 
"  Allow  me  to  present  to  you  the 
three  surgeons  who  are  going  with 
you ;  and  here  are  six  '  Barmherzige 
Schwester '  and  a  nurse  who  accom- 
pany us." 

After  a  few  minutes'  conversation, 
we  were  summoned  by  the  station- 
master  to  take  our  seats.  The  Herr 
Major  asked  me  if  I  wished  to  oc- 
cupy a  compartment  with  the  Sisters, 
but  I  feared  that  my  sleep  would  be 
disturbed  by  their  devotional  ex- 
ercises, and  preferred  sharing  a  car- 
riage with  the  "  lay  nurse." 

Our  escort  consisted  of  six  Bava- 
rian Landwehr  and  a  corporal ;  and 
we  took  with  us  several  carriages 
full  of  ammunition, -ten  artillerymen 
and  a  sergeant  going  to  Meaux. 

The  first  carriage  was  marked 
"  Bayerischer  Spital  Zug,"  and  they 
all  had  large  red  crosses  on  white 
squares  painted  on  the  panels — not 
that  this  "  Neutralitats  -  zeicheri " 
was  much  respected  in  France,  for  it 
had  occurred  more  than  once  that  the 
hospital-trains — even  those  return- 
ing loaded  with  wounded — had  been 
fired  upon  by  the  peasants  and 
franc-tireurs  as  they  passed  ;  and 


the  commandant  told  me  our  jour- 
ney to  Lagny  would  be  very  slow 
work,  for  when  once  across  the 
French  frontier  they  dared  not 
travel  by  night. 

My  companion,  a  German  widow, 
turned  out  to  be  a  nurse  de  son  etat, 
who  had  been  through  the  campaign 
of  '66  as  freiwillige  kranken  pflege- 
rin,  and,  ever  since  this  war  broke 
out,  had  been  working  gratis  in  the 
hospitals  at  home.  She  was  present 
on  the  battle-fields  of  Gravelotte  and 
Mars-la-Tour  (where  she  herself, 
unaided,  performed  an  amputation), 
and  escorted  the  first  ambulance- 
train  which  bore  the  wounded  into 
the  Grand  Duchy  of  Baden,  doing 
the  duties  of  head-nurse  until  the 
hospital  she  belonged  to  broke  up  ; 
and  now  her  intention  was,  like 
mine,  to  seek  work  in  France.  She 
proved,  as  we  travelled  on,  a  most 
pleasant  companion,  good  -  hearted 
and  full  of  fun  (a  rare  merit  for  one 
of  her  nationality !),  not  liable  to 
be  awed  or  frightened  by  anything, 
and  very  entertaining. 

When  we  reached  Ulm,  late  in 
the  evening,  there  was  an  hour's 
halt.  Supper  was  served  for  us  in 
the  restauration,  and  then  we  re- 
paired to  our  night-quarters,  the 
Sisters  occupying  two  of  the  kran- 
kenwogen,  and  Madame  Schmid  and 
I  another.  The  cold  was  intense, 
but  we  made  up  a  roaring  fire  in 
the  little  stove,  and  wrapping  our- 
selves up  in  endless  blankets  and 
rugs,  went  to  bed,  getting  up  in 
turns  every  half-hour  to  poke  the 
fire  and  to  pile  on  coals  ;  but  sleep 
would  assert  itself,  and  when  we 
woke  up  at  daylight  the  fire  was 
out,  and  the  cold  intense. 

As  I  opened  the  door  to  go  and 
find  one  of  the  icarter,  the  snow, 
which  was  piled  up  a  foot  high  on 
the  platform,  was  blown  in  like  dust 
by  the  freezing,  cutting  wind. 

The  first  person  I  met  was  the 


642 


Under  the  Red  Cross  :  A  Narrative  of 


[May 


Landwehr  corporal,  who  was  on  his 
way  to  look  after  our  fire  with  one 
of  his  men.  It  was  soon  set  a-blaz- 
ing,  and  the  soldier  having  fetched 
us  our  cafe  au  lait  from  the  kitchen, 
we  "  bivouacked,"  as  it  were,  round 
the  little  stove. 

The  "Copral"  was  a  tall  hand- 
some specimen  of  his  class,  spoke  the 
most  uncompromising  patois,  wore 
his  helmet  very  jauntily  inclined  to- 
wards his  left  ear,  and  having  ac- 
cepted the  offer  of  a  glass  of  cognac 
to  thaw  the  icicles  which  still  hung 
from  his  moustache,  proceeded  to 
enlighten  us  as  to  his  views  of  the 
Franco-German  struggle.  We  found 
that  the  man  set  a  boundless  value 
on  his  sex,  for  his  pity,  he  said, 
was  not  so  much  for  the  rela- 
tives of  fallen  heroes,  as  for  the 
poor  French  girls  who  would  find 
no  more  husbands  !  Then  he  drew 
out  a  small  gold  locket  which  he 
wore  round  his  neck,  and  showed  us 
therein  the  portrait  of  his  bride. 
At  Stuttgard  we  stopped  for  an  hour, 
and  changed  into  our  day-quarters, 
the  first-class  carriages,  which  were 
warm  and  comfortable. 

At  2  P.M.  we  reached  Carlsruhe, 
and  there  our  dinner  was  brought 
to  us,  consisting  of  black  bread 
(which  would  have  been  eatable 
enough  had  it  not  been  flavoured 
with  fennel),  a  plate  of  soup  rather 
watery  and  greasy,  some  tough 
boiled  beef  and  potatoes,  and  some 
Bavarian  beer.  This,  diversified 
with  sauer  -  kraut  and  cold  boiled 
sausages,  formed  the  staple  of  our 
dinners  and  suppers  during  the 
whole  journey.  It  was  rather  mono- 
tonous and  coarse,  but  there  was 
plenty  of  it. 

The  "  Copral,"  whose  weak  point 
was  his  gallantry,  and  who  was 
never  loath  to  accept  a  good  cigar, 
always  secured  us  white  brodchen 
and  a  bottle  of  milk  when  they 
were  to  be  got;  and  as  I  had  with  me 


a  spirit-lamp,  essence  of  coffee,  tea, 
and  sugar,  we  fared  very  well. 

When  we  crossed  the  bridge  of 
Kehl,  destroyed  during  the  bombard- 
ment of  Strassburg,  and  since  re- 
built, it  was  so  dark  that  we  could 
scarcely  distinguish  the  river  and 
town.  A  little  beyond  Strassburg 
we  were  shunted  on  to  a  side-rail 
and  there  stopped  for  the  night. 
Our  experience  of  the  previous  night, 
with  the  prospect  of  doing  "stoker" 
by  turns,  was  not  engaging.  Ma- 
dame Schmid  proposed  our  fetching 
our  pillows  and  blankets  from  our 
night-quarters,  so  we  decided  upon 
retaining  the  day-compartments,  and 
tipping  the  ivagen  -  chauffeur  to 
keep  our  pipes  hot  till  midnight, 
trusting  that  the  hot  air  shut  in 
would  prevent  our  being  congealed 
until  the  machine  was  set  agoing 
again  at  dawn.  This  proved  a  much 
better  plan. 

When  the  warier  came  the  next 
morning  to  bring  us  our  breakfast 
at  LuneVille,  we  found  ourselves 
sealed  in  by  the  frost,  for  neither 
the  door  nor  the  windows  of  our 
carriage  could  be  opened  until  some 
hot  water  had  been  fetched  from  the 
kitchen  to  thaw  the  ice,  and  release 
us.  At  this  station  I  had  my  first 
conversation  with  a  French  woman, 
who  was  sweeping  out  the  office  of 
the  Prussian  station-master — a  rough 
stern  fellow,  of  whom  she  seemed 
much  in  awe.  He  did  not  intimi- 
date me  in  the  least,  though  he  was 
infuriated  by  my  expressions  of  sym- 
pathy for  his  poor  conquered  slave. 
He  rather  guessed  than  compre- 
hended my  meaning,  his  own  know- 
ledge of  the  language  being  confined 
to  "  Debechez-fous,  fite,  allons,"  in- 
terspersed with  the  ever-recurring 
"  Conner  Wetter,  Marsch  ! " 

Our  progressive  movements  hence- 
forth became  subject  to  many  in- 
terruptions ;  for  our  line  being  the 
only  direct  communication  between 


1871.]         Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  I.          643 


France  and  Germany,  it  was  con- 
tinually encumbered  by  post,  pro- 
vision, military,  and  hospital  trains 
running  to  and  fro;  and,  to  avoid 
collisions,  no  little  prudence  was 
necessary. 

From  each  station  the  Herr  Major 
would  telegraph  on  to  the  next,  to 
know  if  the  line  were  clear,  and  thus 
our  departure  depended  on  the  an- 
swer, which  would  sometimes  keep 
us  waiting  for  hours,  sometimes 
hurry  us  off  without  a  moment's  de- 
lay; occasionally  we  went  creeping 
along  at  an  exasperatingly  slow 
pace,  and  then  again  found  ourselves 
rushing  at  express  speed. 

At  Nancy  there  were  no  less  than 
seven  trains  waiting  to  move  on,  the 
period  of  their  detention  ranging 
between  four  hours  and  four  days. 
Alongside  of  ours  was  an  endless 
cavalry  train  full  of  Uhlans  and 
their  steeds,  numbering  two  hundred 
and  eighty.  The  horses  were  placed 
by  sixes  in  vans,  three  facing  each 
other.  I  pitied  them  far  more  than 
the  men,  for  they  had  been  thus 
cramped  up  for  seven  days  already, 
and  were  not  able  to  lie  down. 

The  men  were  kind  and  caressing 
to  them,  and  thoy  were  continually 
straining  their  heads  over  the  bar 
(fixed  in  front  of  their  chests)  to 
look  out,  and  have  their  dear  soft 
noses  patted.  As  I  stretched  out 
my  hand  from  the  carriage-window 
to  give  the  horses  some  pieces  of 
bread,  two  Uhlans  said  to  me — 

"Oh,  Schwester"  (sister),  "give 
the  bread  to  us,  for  the  horses  get 
plenty  of  corn  and  straw,  but  we 
have  hardly  eaten  anything  the  last 
three  days." 

This  train  had  been  retarded  by 
a  slight  collision  at  the  commence- 
ment of  its  journey,  and  ever  since 
its  progress  had  been  of  the  slowest. 
The  men,  whose  patience  was  sorely 
tried,  vented  their  feelings  by 
scribbling  satirical  remarks  and 


weak  jokes,  in  chalk,  upon  the 
panels  of  their  vans,  such  as  "  Re- 
staurant de  la  Paix,"  "  Eilzug  nach 
Paris ; "  and  under  the  usual  "  6 
Pferde  oder  32  Mann"  they  had 
added,  " Kanonen - futter ; "  ("ex- 
press train  to  Paris,  six  horses  or 
thirty-two  men ;  and  '  food  for  pow- 
der.' " ) 

Our  chauffeur  having  assured  us 
that  our  train  could  not  possibly 
move  on  for  at  least  four  hours, 
Madame  Schmid  and  I  went  to 
luncheon  at  a  restaurant,  and .  then 
strolled  about  the  pretty  picturesque 
town;  but  it  was  sad  to  see  the  de- 
serted streets,  the  gloomy  expression 
upon  the  faces  of  the  few  stragglers 
we  met,  and  the  too  evident  cessa- 
tion of  all  business. 

Even  in  rushing  through  those 
departments  occupied  by  the  enemy, 
traces  of  the  remorseless  Juggernaut, 
war,  were  painfully  visible.  A 
thick  coating  of  snow  had  covered 
the  untilled  and  neglected  fields; 
scarcely  a  village  but  had  one  or 
more  houses  damaged  or  mined  by 
shells ;  and  the  manufactories  of 
these  once  thriving  districts  were 
closed,  and  their  tall  chimneys  smok- 
ed no  longer. 

When  we  returned  to  the  station, 
we  were  some  time  in  finding  our 
train,  notwithstanding  its  flaring  red 
crosses,  for  it  had  been  shunted  off 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond 
where  we  had  left  it — some  had 
moved  on,  and  others  arrived  with 
fresh  regiments  of  Landwehr  called 
to  "  fill  up  the  gaps  " — and  we  found 
an  addition  to  our  numbers  in  the 
shape  of  eight  convalescent  Prussians 
of  the  Garde  (or  Jarde,  as  they 
pronounce  it),  whom  we  were  to 
take  on  to  Lagny  to  join  their  regi- 
ments— picked  men,  evidently  "  the 
flower  of  the  army." 

Even  Madame  Schmid,  who  being 
a  true  Bavarian,  with  the  campaign 
of  '66  still  fresh  in  her  memory, 


644 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[May 


bore  the  Prussians  no  great  love, 
and  called  them  to  their  faces  "  die 
schwarze  Raubvogel"  (black  birds  of 
prey),  was  fain  to  admit  that  these 
fritzchen  were  not  only  handsome 
but  refined  and  well  bred,  and  we 
very  soon  became  good  friends. 
They  spoke  with  much  modesty  of 
their  victories,  owned  that  in  the 
lirst  battles  the  French  fought  with 
bravery,  and  expressed  great  pity 
for  the  country  people  whose  homes 
were  desolate,  and  crops  destroyed, 
adding :  "  Poor  people,  it  is  very 
hard ;  for  they  can' t  help  being  French 


any  more  than  we  can  help  fight- 
ing them  when  we  are  ordered  to." 

It  is  truly  touching  to  see  the 
attachment  which  the  North  Ger- 
mans especially  have  for  their  homes 
and  families.  Even  the  roughest 
and  most  uncouth  of  them,  when 
giving  a  matter-of-fact  account  of  his 
campaign  (of  the  result  of  which  he 
is  confident),  will  soften  at  once  at 
the  mention  of  die  heimath  (home), 
and  exclaim — 

"  Oh  !  if  only  my  mother  knew  : 
if  I  could  only  see  her  for  an  hour!" 


CHAPTER  in. 


Toul  was  reached  in  the  after- 
noon. Observing  an  unusual  com- 
motion on  the  platform,  I  looked 
out  and  saw  two  French  officers  on 
parole,  who  were  making  for  our 
train,  in  which  a  compartment  had 
been  assigned  to  them  to  convey 
them  to  Bar  le  Due.  They  were 
pushing  their  way  through  a  crowd 
of  soldiers,  some  of  whom  followed 
jeering  and  "  chaffing." 

"  Give  them  a  coupe  to  them- 
selves :  they  must  not  mix  with  us," 
they  shouted ;  "so  shut  them  up 
in  a  cage  alone  ! " 

We  were  indignant,  and  seeing 
no  officer  present  who  could  reprove 
the  offenders,  and  the  poor  French- 
men looking  very  angry  and  rather 
frightened,  Madame  Schmid's  blood 
was  up  in  a  second. 

"  How  dare  you  insult  prisoners'? " 
said  she,  apostrophising  the  delin- 
quents as  well  as  the  whole  crowd 
gathered  around.  "A  mean,  cow- 
ardly set  of  elende  hunde"  (miser- 
able dogs) ;  "  and  call  yourself  sol- 
diers, forsooth  !  Shame  on  you  ! " 

I  profited  by  the  moment  of  surprise 
caused  by  this  unexpected  attack  to 
get  out  of  our  carriage,  and  accosting 
the  two  officers,  said  to  them — 


"  The  conductor  does  not  seem 
to  have  shown  you  your  car- 
riage— pray  follow  me;  "  and  open- 
ing the  door  of  the  carriage  next 
to  us,  they  got  in,  and  I  contin- 
ued standing  on  the  step  talking 
to  them  through  the  window  until 
the  train  began  to  move.  In  the 
mean  time  the  soldiers,  silenced  at 
once  by  the  well-merited  reproof, 
and  hissed  at  by  our  friends  the 
Garde,  retired  discomfited. 

The  officers  came  to  thank  us  for 
our  kindly  interference  as  soon  as 
we  reached  Bar  le  Due. 

"  But  you  are  not  German?"  said 
the  Captain,  a  true  Bazaine  type. 

"  No,  English,"  I  answered. 

"  Oh,  then,  you  know  that  to- 
morrow the  Comte  de  Chambord 
is  to  land  at  Bordeaux  with  10,000 
French  refugees,  furnished  and 
armed  by  England,  and  France  will 
be  saved ! " 

I  owned  to  being  uninformed  of 
this  unexpected  move  on  the  chess- 
board, and  could  not  help  smiling 
at  the  idea  of  10,000  Messieurs  com- 
ing over  from  their  "  base  of  opera- 
tions "  in  Leicester  Square  to  chase 
the  Prussians  out  of  their  lines  ! 

But  our  attention  was  soon  called 


1871.]         Hospital-Life,  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  I.          645 


in  another  direction  :  a  huge  train 
laden  with-  wounded  French  and 
Germans  arrived  from  Beaugency ; 
there  must  have  been  more  than  four 
hundred.  It  was  a  pitiable  sight — the 
victors  with  heads,  arms,  and  legs 
bandaged,  their  uniforms  so  soiled, 
their  accoutrements  so  damaged, 
that  one  could  scarcely  tell  to  what 
regiments  they  belonged,  their  boots 
in  holes,  their  bandages  dirty  aiid 
blood-stained.  It  was  not  a  regular 
hospital-train  which  conveyed  them, 
but  a  military  train,  made  up,  as  they 
all  were,  of  carriages  of  every  class, 
description,  and  country — Prussian, 
Mecklenbiirger,  Saxon,  Badenser, 
Wurtembiirger,  Bavarian,  Hesse 
Nassauer,  and  Hanoverian,  coupled 
together  promiscuously.  Owing  to 
the  perfect  system  which  regulates 
the  Prussian  military  movements, 
the  arrival  of  this  train  had  been 
telegraphed  an  hour  before,  and 
a  large  barrack  with  long  tables 
and  benches  was  already  prepared  ; 
and  before  the  wounded  men  had 
all  alighted,  soup,  and  a  plate  of 
meat  and  bread,  had  been  laid  out 
for  them.  Those  who  were  too  ill, 
or  too  severely  wounded,  remained 
lying  on  the  mattresses  and  straw 
in  the  vans,  and  we  helped  to  carry 
their  food  to  them.  Amongst  these 
latter  were  the  French  prisoners, 
pitiable,  half-starved  wretches,  lately 
carried  from  the  battle-field,  or  from 
their  own  deserted  ambulances ;  their 
clothes  in  rags,  their  feet  frozen,  and 
most  of  them  suffering  from  typhus 
fever  and  dysentery. 

I  am  bound  in  justice  to  mention 
here,  that  every  German  pressed  for- 
ward with  as  much  empressement  as 
we  did,  to  succour  these  poor  French 
fellows  first. 

At  every  large  station  there  is 
quite  a  little  trade  carried  on  by 
Frenchwomen,  of  felt-slippers  and 
comforters ;  also  brandy,  cigars, 
sausages,  white  bread,  and  coffee; 


so  we  were  able  to  chausser  the 
sufferers  "poor  feet,"  bandaged  in 
dirty  rags,  and  comfort  their  "  inner- 
man  "  with  restoratives.  Our  doc- 
tors also  attended  them;  and  as  we 
each  of  us  had  a  little  store  of  band- 
ages and  charpie,  the  most  urgent 
cases  had  their  wounds  dressed  and 
made  "  comfortable." 

I  looked  round  expecting  to  see 
the  Sisters  (whom  we  had  asked  to 
come  with  us  and  help) ;  but  they 
chose  to  remain  in  their  carriages. 
It  was  understood  that  they  thought 
it  best  to  give  their  aid  indirectly 
as  intercessors  rather  than  helpers, 
for  they  sat  still  and  chanted  a 
litany. 

The  train  soon  hurried  off  again, 
for,  as  it  was  not  warmed,  and  the 
cold  was  intense,  the  authorities 
were  anxious  that  the  wounded 
should  reach  Nancy,  where  a 
hospital-train  was  ready  to  convey 
them  to  Germany. 

There  being  no  more  work  for 
us,  and  our  noses  and  fingers  being 
blue  with  cold,  we  retraced  our 
steps  to  reach  our  train,  which  we 
had  left  shunted  on  to  a  side-rail 
and  engineless.  What  was  our 
astonishment  on  approaching  it  to 
see  it  suddenly  propelled  in  our 
direction  (by  a  to  us  invisible  power) 
for  some  hundred  yards  !  The  line 
on  which  it  stood  was  an  acute 
curve,  and  we  soon  became  aware 
that  another  train  coming  behind  it 
at  no  great  speed  had  run  into  it. 
Our  doctors,  attendants,  and  mili- 
tary escort,  nay,  even  the  two  wo- 
men-cooks, had  all  descended  to  go 
and  help  the  wounded,  leaving  only 
the  Sisters  behind  in  the  train. 
These  good  women,  however,  were 
not  hurt,  and  only  very  much  fright- 
ened at  being  suddenly  and  violently 
thrown  into  each  other's  laps. 

Two  of  our  vans  were  slightly 
damaged,  but  not  so  as  to  render 
them  useless.  Our  Major  indulged 


646 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[May 


in  a  great  deal  of  Teutonic  swearing, 
flavoured  with  the  usual  appeal  to 
the  elements;  and  after  an  hour's 
delay  we  left  Bar  le  Due,  and  at 
evening  reached  Sermaize,  where 
we  passed  the  night.  The  sun  shone 
brightly  the  following  morning 
when  they  brought  us  our  coffee, 
but  our  bottle  of  milk  had  come  to 
grief  during  the  night;  so,  there 
being  at  the  time  every  prospect  of 
a  lengthened  halt,  Madame  Schmid 
proposed  that  we  should  scour  the 
village  in  search  of  some  more. 

The  village  seemed  quite  deserted. 
We  knocked  at  some  inhabited 
houses  to  inquire  where  milk  could 
be  bought,  but  the  answer  was, 
"  Nous  avions  de  si  belles  vaches 
avant  la  guerre,  mais  on  les  a  toutes 
requisitionnees,  et  puis  que  voulez- 
vous1?  il  n'y  a  plus  de  commerce!" 
However,  one  kindly  dame  took 
pity  upon  us,  and  leading  us  through 
several  tortuous  little  streets,  meet- 
ing not  a  soul  "  human  or  canine," 
took  us  into  a  shop  of  "  comestibles," 
and  introduced  us  to  the  bystanders 
as  "  some  ladies  from  the  ambu- 
lance train  who  wish  to  buy  milk." 
We  were  instantly  surrounded  by 
garrulous  females  sprung  up  from 
unseen  corners,  and  asking  us  a  score 
of  questions,  as  to  whence  we  came 
and  where  we  were  going,  and  if  it 
was  true  that  our  trains  were  warmed 
and  travelled  with  a  kitchen  ? 

My  companion,  whose  sympathies 
were  very  French,  but  who  neither 
understood  nor  spoke  the  language, 
made  frantic  gesticulations  of  assur- 
ance and  approval,  when  I  inter- 
preted the  appeal  of  one  woman — 

"  You  will  nurse  our  sick  too, 
won't  you  1 " 

Another  said  to  me  : — 

"  But  are  you  sure  you  are  not 
German  1 " 

"  No." 

"You  are  French?" 

"  Non-plus."    This  rather  stagger- 


ed the  questioner,  but  the  first, 
nudging  her,  remarked  : — 

"  Well,  every  one  can't  be 
French  ! " — and  to  me — "  It  is  all 
the  same  noble  mission,  and  God 
will  recompense  you." 

We  succeeded  at  last  in  getting 
our  bottle  filled  with  fresh  milk  ; 
and  after  many  farewells  and  hand- 
shakings, we  bent  our  steps  leisure- 
ly towards  our  train,  when  we  sud- 
denly became  aware  of  shouts  from 
the  station  and  waving  of  hands, 
and  saw  our  carriages  slowly  mov- 
ing on. 

We  rushed  like  mad  down  the 
hill,  and  along  the  platform,  and 
managed  to  scramble  up  on  the 
hindermost  carriage,  and,  at  the  ut- 
most peril  of  our  necks,  holding  on 
like  "  grim  death  "  to  the  brass  bars 
which  are  fixed  to  the  side  of  the 
carriages,  moved  cautiously  along 
the  steps  until  we  reached  our  com- 
partment in  safety,  and  got  in  just 
as  the  train  was  accelerating  its  mo- 
tion to  express  speed !  The  two 
military  trains  were  still  stationary, 
so  we  had  evidently  been  tele- 
graphed to  move  on  quickly,  before 
the  post-zug  left  the  next  station. 

The  Chalons  station  was  still 
more  crowded  with  trains  than  the 
one  at  Nancy,  and  the  trade  of  the 
female  itinerant  vendors  of  cognac, 
cigars,  and  coffee,  seemed  flourish- 
ing. There  were  long  lines  of  booths, 
too,  with  their  little  stoves,  cooking 
sausages,  and  other  fat  and  suspi- 
cious substances. 

The  gallant  "  Copral  "  chucked 
all  the  pretty  girls  under  their  chins, 
and  expressed  his  admiration  by 
unconnected  phrases,  such  as  "  jolies 
Franchises,"  "  dommage  la  guerre," 
"  quel  malheur  " — answering  their 
objection  with  "  Nix  comprends 
pas  "  (which,  indeed,  was  the  stan- 
dard phrase  of  the  German  soldier 
on  every  occasion) ;  and  when  I  re- 
marked to  him  that  the  bride  whose 


1871.]        Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  I. 


647 


effigy  reposed  on  his  manly  breast 
might  perhaps  object  to  such  famil- 
iarities, he  reverted  to  his  favourite 
sympathy,  saying — "  Poor  girls !  you 
see  '  they  '  will  never  find  husbands 
now!" 

We  were  very  much  tempted  to  go 
to  an  hotel,  and  indulge  in  those  ab- 
lutions of  which  we  had  been  guilt- 
less for  several  days  already,  and 
which  had  become  paramount  to 
godliness,  instead  of  secondary,  in 
our  estimation ;  but  our  morning's 
experience  prevented  any  such  rash 
adventures,  especially  as  the  Herr 
Major  assured  us  we  might  be  mov- 
ing in  ten  minutes.  As  it  turned  out, 
however,  this  period  of  detention 
was  lengthened  to  thirty-two  hours, 
during  which  none  of  us  dared  to 
venture  beyond  sight  of  the  train. 

The  day  we  left,  we  had  an  un- 
usually bad  dinner,  but  consoled 
ourselves  with  the  thought  that  we 
should  shortly  reach  Epernay,  and 
there  indulge  in  a  bottle  of  unadul- 
terated and  first-rate  champagne. 
Another  disappointment !  we  crept 
on  so  slowly  that  it  was  quite  dark 
before  we  got  to  the  station,  and 
then  received  strict  orders  not  to 
leave  our  train,  as  there  was  a  report 
of  Franc-tireurs  lurking  about.  Tea 
was  substituted,  perforza  Maggiore, 
for  the  sparkling  beverage ;  and 
in  a  not  very  contented  humour  we 
tucked  ourselves  up  in  our  blankets 
and  resigned  ourselves  to  the  com- 
forting arms  of  "  Murphy." 

Our  slumbers  were  unexpectedly 
disturbed,  about  an  hour  after  mid- 
night, by  high  words  and  abusive 
language,  and  the  ominous  clink  of 
arms.  Instinctively  seizing  my  re- 
volver, I  opened  the  window  hastily 
and  looked  out  for  the  cause  of  the 
tumult,  but  the  darkness  prevented 
my  seeing  anything  but  the  glim- 
mer of  two  rifles  and  the  shining 
scabbard  of  the  Herr  Major,  who  was 
exclaiming  : — 


"  Donnerwetter  !  what  business 
have  you  here  ]  and,  zum  Teufel ! 
what  is  the  use  of  having  you  senti- 
nels, if  you  cannot  stop  these  hounds 
from  spying  1 " 

By  this  time  every  one  in  the 
train  was  looking  out  of  their  car- 
riage-window, and  inquiring  what 
the  row  was,  excepting  the  Sisters, 
whom  we  heard  taking  instant  refuge 
in  their  beads. 

Tranquillity  was  established  along 
the  line,  and  presently  the  "  Copral " 
appeared,  with  his  helmet  less  jaunti- 
ly poised  than  usual  upon  his  hand- 
some head,  for  he  had  just  received 
a  very  severe  reprimand  from  the 
Major  for  not  attending  properly  to 
the  safety  of  the  train ;  but  he  de- 
clared it  wasn't  his  fault,  nor  that 
of  the  sentinels,  for  the  night  was 
so  dark  they  could  not  see  the  ap- 
proach of  a  "  bloused  "  countryman 
who  had  crept  up  and  was  standing 
on  the  steps  of  one  of  the  carriages, 
peering  in  through  the  drawn  cur- 
tains. 

There  was  very  little  doubt  that 
the  countryman  was  a  Franc-tireur 
spy,  sent  to  inspect  the  position 
and  report  if  an  attack  might  bring 
favourable  results;  but  although  the 
darkness  protected  him  from  the 
vigilance  of  the  sentinels,  the  spy 
had  been  perceived  by  one  of  the 
warter,  who  stole  a  march  on  him, 
and,  seizing  him  by  his  collar, 
pulled  him  down  from  the  steps  and 
called  the  watch.  What  the  fate 
of  the  unlucky  Frenchman  was  we 
never  ascertained,  as  he  was  con- 
signed to  the  mercies  of  the  "  Etap- 
pen  Commando,"  and  at  dawn  we 
had  already  moved  on  towards  La 
Ferte". 

Reasonable  hopes  were  now  enter- 
tained that  we  might  reach  our  desti- 
nation, Lagny,  by  evening  :  prepara- 
tions were  therefore  made  for  the 
reception  of  the  wounded  there.  Two 
marmites  of  soup  stood  ready  to  be 


648 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


served  at  a  moment's  notice ;  all  the 
icayonen  were  warmed  throughout, 
the  beds  ma  le,  a  little  basket  con- 
taining bandages,  charpie,  and  a  reel 
of  cotton  placed  in  each  carnage, 
and  the  krankemodrter  and  Sisters 
provided  with  scissors  and  simple 
surgical  instruments.  The  doctors 
and  attendants  became  very  fussy, 
and  on  the  panels  of  each  carriage 
was  marked  in  chalk  the  number  of 
sick  it  could  accommodate. 

The  Herr  Major,  who  had  all 
along  been  hinting  that  our  services 
would  be  very  acceptable  on  the 
journey  home,  now  tried  a  final 
effort  to  persuade  us  to  stick  to  the 
hospital-train  ;  but  we  resisted,  for 
they  had  plenty  of  doctors  and 
sisters.  Besides,  on  getting  back  to 
Munich  again,  the  sick  and  wounded 
would  be  distributed  amongst  the 
hospitals,  and  we  knew  we  should 
have,  to  wait  until  another  spital- 
zug  would  be  in  readiness  to  start, 
and  then  spend  another  week  of  dis- 
comfort, doing  no  earthly  good  to 
any  one. 

At  Meaux  we  parted  with  our 
ammunition-vans  and  artillerymen, 
and  were  telegraphed  to  from  Lagny 
that  the  line  was  so  encumbered 
with  military  trains  we  must  halt 
there  till  dawn. 

Our  fritzchen  of  the  Jarde  told 
us  they  were  to  be  einquartirt  for 
the  night,  and  then  march  on  to 
Lagny.  How  we  envied  them  being 
able  to  stretch  their  cramped  limbs, 
and  enjoy  the  benefits  of  ablution 
in  something  larger  than  a  soup- 
plate  ! 

"  Adieu,  Mutter  !  adieu,  Schwes- 
ter  !  "  said  the  brave  fellows  shaking 
our  hands,  and  one  added — 

"  If  I  am  wounded  again,  I  hope 
I  may  fall  into  your  hands  to  be 
nursed." 

"  No,"  remarked  another,  "  if  I 
am  never  to  see  die  Hebe  heimath 
again,  I  had  rather  become  kano- 
nenf utter  on  the  field." 


What  a  lovely  night  it  was !  The 
moon  shed  her  pale  silvery  light  on 
the  snow-covered  ground.  Save  the 
distant  church-bells  tolling  the  eve 
of  a  fete,  not  a  sound  was  heard  in 
the  village ;  yet  how  many  heavy 
hearts  must  have  been  beating  with 
dull  and  sad  despair !  Ah  !  if 
crowned  heads  and  subtle  diplomates 
would  reflect  how  the  innocent  are 
made  to  suffer,  their  industry  crip- 
pled, and  their  homes  made  desolate, 
perhaps  they  would  not  drag  their 
countries  so  precipitately  into  cruel 
wars. 

Poor  light-hearted  pleasure-seek- 
ing Frenchmen,  I  could  not  blame 
them  when  I  heard  them  grumble — 

"  Ah,  this  horrid  Government ! 
why  has  it  made  us  suffer  so  1 " 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock,  and 
Madame  Schmid  and  I  were  debating 
as  to  what  would  be  our  fate  when 
we  reported  ourselves  to  the  "  Dele- 
girter  "  on  the  morrow,  when  1  heard 
a  gentle  tap  at  our  window,  and 
drawing  the  curtain  we  perceived 
the  faces  of  two  of  our  fritz- 
chen. 

11  We  came  back  to  tell  you," 
quoth  the  sergeant,  "  that  we  are 
einquartirt  in  such  a  nice  hotel ;  the 
people  are  very  kind  and  respectable, 
and  there  is  plenty  of  room." 

"And,"  chimed  in  his  camarad, 
"there  is  such  a  capital  billiard- 
room.  We  have  been  playing  all 
the  evening,  and  we  felt  quite  er- 
quickt.  Do  come  !  we'll  carry  your 
bags  and  rugs." 

The  prospect,  not  so  much  of  the 
green-table  as  of  the  bedrooms,  was 
very  tempting ;  and  the  eight  days' 
comfortless  travelling  having  made 
our  appearance  somewhat  similar  to 
that  of  the  engine-driver,  we  did  not 
relish  the  prospect  of  thus  appearing 
before  the  speckless  authorities.  But 
this  shifting  of  our  quarters,  albeit 
for  a  few  hours,  would  necessitate 
the  waking  of  the  Herr  Major  to 
get  a  permission;  and  as  his  temper 


1871.]       Hospital-Life  icitli  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  I.  649 


had  been  already  roused  by  the  un- 
foreseen delay,  we  thought  it  wiser 
not  to  risk  a  refusal ;  and  thanking 


the  fritzchen  for  their  kind  atten- 
tion, we  bade  them  return  and  finish 
their  games. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


It  was  a  case  of  chacun  pour  soi, 
when,  the  following  morning  at 
nine,  we  reached  our  journey's  end, 
Lagny  being  then  the  terminus  of 
the  direct  line  between  Germany 
and  Paris.  Not  only  did  all  the 
troops,  artillery  and  ammunition,  des- 
tined for  the  east  and  south  line  of 
investment  debarquer  there,  but  it 
was  also  the  direct  communication 
with  headquarters  at  Versailles. 

The  station  was  so  crowded  with 
military  of  every  description  that  we 
had  to  wedge  our  way  to  the  Etap- 
pen  Commando  to  get  the  address  of 
the  Delegirter,  Graf  von  H. 

To  this  functionary — evidently  a 
great  "Personage,"  unusually  tall  and 
proportionally  bulky,  with  a  counte- 
nance not  enlivened  by  intelligence, 
but  with  the  white  enamelled  Jo- 
hanniter-Cross  shining  on  his  broad 
chest — I  presented  my  letter  from 
Count  Castell.  His  countenance 
remained  perfectly  impassive,  and 
his  speech  was  measured  as  he 
said — 

"  Graf  Castell  has  given  you  an 
excellent  recommendation,  and  I 
should  only  be  too  happy  to  place 
my  authority  here  at  your  command, 
but  I  fear  you  will  not  find  work  to 
suit  you.  We  have  but  scanty  ac- 
commodation for  the  wounded,  and 
as  soon  as  they  arrive  from  engage- 
ments, or  are  able  to  be  moved,  we 
send  them  home  at  once  in  the  hos- 
pital-trains. We  have  already  sent 
off  7000  sick  and  wounded  in  less 
than  a  month.  I  should  recommend 
you  to  rest  for  two  or  three  days, 
and  then  proceed  to  Corbeil,  Orleans, 
or  Versailles." 

"  I  have  letters,"  said  I,  "  for  the 


Crown  Prince  and  his  Hofmarschall, 
also  one  for  Prince  Putbus,  but  I 
doubt  if  nurses  are  really  required 
at  headquarters ;  there  are  sure  to  be 
plenty  there  already.  Officers  are 
always  well  cared  for.  But  how 
are  we  to  get  to  Corbeil?  They 
told  me  at  the  Etappen  Commando 
the  feldpost  courier  was  not  allowed 
to  take  travellers." 

"  There,"  replied  the  "great"  man, 
"I  am  powerless  to  help  you.  Had 
I  a  horse  I  should  place  it  at  your 
service  ;  but  even  if  the  King  him- 
self were  to  require  one  here  I  could 
not  procure  it  for  him.  Your  only 
chance  would  be  journeying  with  a 
colonne;  but  it's  very  slow,  and 
rather  risky." 

"  And  where  can  we  be  einquar- 
tirt?" 

"  I  regret  that  I  have  not  an  avail- 
able nook  in  this  house  to  offer  you. 
As  for  the  town,  it  is  entirely  occu- 
pied by  the  troops,  who  are  even 
driven  to  seek  shelter  in  the  unin- 
habited houses,  shops,  cellars,  and 
stables.  There  is  an  inn  called  La 
Sirene  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Marne ;  perhaps  you  might  find  ac- 
commodation there." 

And  as  the  tall  personage  walked 
to  the  door  to  inquire  if  such  a 
thing  were  possible,  my  companion 
whispered  to  me,  "  He  is  no  good  ; 
let's  shift  for  ourselves."  We 
thanked,  departed,  and  made  for  the 
Sirene  in  search  of  quarters. 

There  had  been  originally  two 
bridges  over  the  Marne,  a  fine  stone 
one  and  a  suspension-bridge,  but 
they  had  both  been  blown  up  by  the 
French  as  the  enemy  approached,  to 
retard  his  progress  towards  the  capi- 


650 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[May 


tal.  The  Germans  had  built  a 
wooden  one  for  the  passage  of  troops 
and  waggons,  and  one  end  of  the 
suspension  -  bridge  hung  into  the 
river,  which,  being  frozen  several 
feet  deep,  made  it  secure  for  foot- 
passengers  to  cross.  There  was  also 
the  carcass  of  a  dead  horse,  carried 
down  by  the  current,  firmly  wedged 
by  the  ice,  which  formed  an  extra 
support  to  the  someAvhat  unsteady 
planks.  Over  this  structure  we 
climbed,  and  reached  the  "  Sirene," 
in  the  street  beyond.  It  was  a  very 
dirty  and  uncomfortable  -  looking 
hostel,  and  the  sour-looking  landlady 
instantly  answered  our  inquiries  for 
quarters  by  the  uncivil  and  curt 
reply,  "  Nous  n'avons  pas  de  lit ;  je 
vous  dis  qu'il  n'y  a  rien  ici."  Out 
into  the  street  again :  the  houses, 
with  very  few  exceptions,  had  been 
all  abandoned  by  the  tenants,  who 
had  not  only  removed  all  their  goods 
and  chattels,  but  made  their  homes 
uninhabitable  to  the  enemy,  by 
wrenching  off  all  the  windows  and 
doors  ;  neglected  and  forsaken  shops 
had  had  their  counters  and  shelves 
torn  out  for  firewood ;  some  had  been 
turned  into  stables,  others  bore  the 
marks  of  ruthless  invasion,  and  the 
streets  were  full  of  troops,  hurrying 
to  and  fro. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  We  were 
contemplating  "bivouacking  "  in  one 
of  these  dismantled  abodes,  when 
we  heard  behind  us  some  familiar 
voices  ;  and  turning  round,  we  per- 
ceived our  fritzchen  headed  by  the 
corporal,  with  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

"  Are  you  looking  for  quarters  ?  " 
he  said ;  "  so  are  we  :  why  don't 
you  come  to  the  Mairie  with  us  ?  If 
they  can't  do  anything  for  you,  we'll 
get  some  straw  and  boards,  and 
knock  you  up  a  princely  quarter  in 
one  of  these  forsaken  shops." 

Oh,  welcome  fritzchen  to  the 
rescue  !  and  we  followed  them  hope- 
fully to  the  Mairie. 


When  we  explained  our  wishes 
to  M.  le  Maire  (a  charming  little 
old  man,  of  the  vieille  rocJie  type), 
he  clasped  his  hands  in  despair. 

"  I  have  not  one  room  to  give 
you.  Our  population  was  2000  in- 
habitants, and  we  now  lodge  more 
than  5000  soldiers;  judge  for  your- 
self how  embarrassed  I  feel." 

"  How,  M.  le  Maire !  have  you  not 
even  one  single  bed  1 " 

"  Unless  you  would  put  up  with 
a  convent;  I  think  the  Sisters  of  St 
Joseph  can  lodge  you." 

"  And  why  not  1  with  gratitude, 
M.  le  Maire;"  and  the  little  man 
handed  me  a  printed  slip  of  paper — 

"  Maire  de  la  Commune  de  Lagny. 

Billet  de  Logement. 

Les  Soeurs  du  Convent  de  St  Joseph, 

Eue  des  Jardins, 

Logeront 
'  Deux  Dames  de  1' Ambulance ; '  " 

and  calling  a  hanger-on  in  a  blouse, 
directed  him  to  take  us  to  the  con- 
vent. There  the  Sisters  showed  us 
into  a  huge  barn  of  a  room  on  the 
ground-floor,  furnished  with  eight 
hospital-beds,  a  table,  a  few  straw- 
chairs,  and  (ye  gods  be  praised !) 
a  small  white  stove  in  the  centre. 

"  For  the  moment,  ladies,"  said 
the  Sister,  "  you  are  alone ;  but  from 
one  day  to  another  you  may  have 
companions  :  yesterday  there  were 
six  ladies,  who  left  this  morning  for 
Orleans." 

The  aspect  of  the  room  was  not 
cheering,  for  the  windows  and  glass- 
door  (the  frames  of  which  had  been 
swollen  by  the  damp)  wouldn't  close 
tight,  and  the  mildew  on  the  walls 
stood  out  in  bold  relief,  half  an  inch 
thick.  However,  the  beds  were 
clean  and  comfortable,  and  the  stove 
was  a  great  boon.  We  were  only 
too  glad  to  rest  our  weary  bones, 
and  change  the  clothes  we  had  not 
taken  off  for  eight  days  and 
nights. 

Selecting  a  corner  bed,  I   man- 


1871.]       Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  I.  G51 


aged,  with  the  help  of  a  rod  I  found, 
some  strings,  shawls,  and  rugs,  to 
make  myself  a  private  compartment, 
which  Madame  Schmid  used  to  de- 
signate as  my  staats-calrinet. 

The  convent  had  been  in  time  of 
peace  a  Pensionnat  de  Demoiselles. 
The  pupils  had,  of  course,  all  been 
recalled  to  their  respective  homes 
as  soon  as  the  Prussians  showed 
signs  of  advancing,  and  most  of  the 
nuns  had  also  taken  refuge  in  other 
holy  places.  The  mother-superior, 
however,  like  a  brave  sea-captain, 
would  not  forsake  the  ship  in  the 
hour  of  danger,  and  four  of  the 
sisters  had  rallied  round  her. 

One  wing  of  the  building,  which 
contained  the  school  -  rooms,  was 
given  up  for  an  hospital ;  the  Red- 
Cross  flag  fluttered  over  the  entrance- 
gate.  None  of  the  forbidden  sex, 
save  the  doctors,  the  sick,  and  the 
dead,  crossed  the  threshold  ;  and 
thus  the  sanctuary  remained  a  per- 
fectly safe  retreat. 

Sceur  Marie-Jesus,  a  pretty  and 
charming  woman,  full  of  French 
espj'it,  and  not  devoid  of  a  certain 
coquetry  even  in  her  simple  dress, 
informed  us  that  we  might  fetch  our 
meals  in  the  ad  joining  kitchen,  where 
another  sister  cooked  for  the  hospital 
patients ;  but  that  fuel  they  had, 
helas!  none  to  give  us,  for  all  the 
store  of  wood  and  charcoal  they  had 
was  consumed,  and  that  now  the 
lazareth  provided  them  with  part  of 
the  wood  sent  for  heating  the  wards  : 
we  should  have  to  get  it  in  the  same 
way. 

In  a  corner  of  the  yard  there  were 
some  logs  heaped  up,  a  saw  and 
hatchet  were  also  found,  and  before 
evening  we  had  cut  up  quite  a  little 
provision  for  our  stove. 

The  food  we  obtained  consisted 
of  a  basin  of  watery  soup  and  a 
lump  of — what  ?  it  was  difficult  to 
define ;  but  we  ate  it,  and  gladly, 
although,  as  the  American  remarked 
when  asked  what  his  impression 

VOL.    CIX. NO.    DCLXVII. 


was  of  a  crow  he  had  eaten  for  a 
wager,  "  we  did  not  hanker  after  it." 

From  the  batteries  of  Chelles,  a 
few  miles  distant,  we  could  hear 
the  guns  firing  on  the  forts  of  Rosny, 
Nogent,  and  Noisy,  so  distinctly  that 
sleep  during  the  incessant  cannonad- 
ing was  impossible.  When  the  Pari- 
sians, not  so  long  before,  had  flocked 
out  in  thousands  to  vieAV  the  scene 
of  the  horrible  Pantin  murders,  they 
little  thought  how  soon  manslaugh- 
ter on  a  larger  scale  would  be  wit- 
nessed there ! 

Next  day  we  began  our  visits  to 
the  lazareths  in  our  building.  The 
rooms  were  warm,  but  not  well  ven- 
tilated; and  the  typhus  patients,  of 
whom  there  were  great  numbers, 
were  not  separated  from  the  wound- 
ed, but  huddled  far  too  close  to- 
gether. If  this  was  the  sort  of  ac- 
commodation Lagny  afforded,  I  did 
not  wonder  that  the  sick  and 
wounded  were  being  so  quickly 
sent  home  in  hospital-trains. 

Madame  Schmid,  whose  forte  was 
surgery,  assisted  mostly  in  the  ban- 
daging and  dressing  of  wounds;  and 
I  devoted  my  attention  chiefly  to 
the  typhus  patients,  especially  the 
Frenchmen,  who  could  not  make 
themselves  understood  by  the  Ger- 
man sisters.  One,  a  young  hand- 
some chasseur-a-pied,  was  in  a  sad 
condition,  his  large  brown  eyes  roll- 
ing restlessly  about,  his  face  emaci- 
ated, and  lips  and  tongue  parched, 
and  his  ideas  and  memory  hopelessly 
confused. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  1 " 
I  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know;  I  think  six 
days." 

"  Do  you  suffer  much  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  am  thirsty — always 
thirsty  ! " 

The  bottle  of  water  by  his  bed- 
side, and  which  he  was  constantly 
grasping  for,  evidently  did  not  slake 
his  thirst. 

"  May  I  give  this  man  some  le- 
2  Y 


652 


Under  the  Red-Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[May 


monade  1 "  I  inquired  of  the  doctor, 
as  he  came  on  his  round ;  "  I  know 
the  Germans  don't  care  for  it,  but 
he  seemed  so  eager  for  it  when  I 
mentioned  it." 

"  It  isn't  good  for  him,"  was  the 
doctor's  reply,  "  for  he  has  a  touch 
of  dysentery  too  ;  besides,  where  are 
you  going  to  find  lemons  here  ?  " 

"  I  have  with  me  some  fresh  le- 
mon-juice in  sealed  bottles,  which 
I  brought  from  Italy." 

The  doctor  took  the  poor  French- 
man's hot  hand  kindly  between  his 
own,  and  then,  as  he  left  the  bed- 
side, whispered  to  me,  "  Do  as  you 
like,  for  nothing  can  save  the  poor 
fellow  now." 

How  eagerly  he  drank  the  cool 
beverage  !  and  then  a  smile  came 
over  his  haggard  features  as  he 
said — 

"  Merci,  ma  soeur ;  ah  !  que  c'est 
bon  ! " — "  Thank  you,  sister ;  ah, 
how  good  it  is  ! " 

"  Et  maintenant,  mon  ami,"  I  re- 
sumed ;  "  comment  vous  nommez 
vous  ? "  —  "  And  now,  my  friend, 
what  is  your  name?" 

"  Mon  nom  1  ah  oui  .  .  .  atten- 
dez  .  .  .  je  crois  .  .  .  Louis  .  .  . 
non,  je  ne  le  sais  plus !" — "My  name? 
ah,  yes  .  .  .  was  ...  I  think  .  .  . 
Louis  .  .  .  no,  I  don't  know  ! "  and 
his  dilated  pupils  stared  hopelessly 
at  me,  as  if  to  ask  me  for  help. 

"  Cela  vous  ^chappe — n'importe, 
cela  reviendra ;  vous  avez  une  fa- 
mille,  uue  mere  ?  voulez  vous  que  je 
li  ecrive?" — "  You  have  forgotten — 
never  mind,  it  will  come  back  to 
you.  You  have  a  family — a  mother; 
would  you  like  me  to  write  to  her 
for  you  ? " 

"Ah,  oui,  une  mere  et  une  soeur 
.  .  ."• — "Ah,  yes,  a  mother  and  a 
sister." 

"Et  votre  pays,  s'appelle  com- 
ment?"— "And  your  native  place, 
what  is  it  called  ? " 

"  Ah  oui ;  mon  village  .  .  .  c'est 
-.  .  .  attendez  .  .  .  je  crois  .  .  . 


non,  je  ne  puis  me  le  souvenir. "- 
"  Ah,  yes,  .  .  .  my  village  ...  it 
is  ...  wait  a  bit  ...  I  think  .  .  . 
no,  I  cannot  remember  it  !  "  and 
his  eyes  rolled  restlessly,  and  his 
speech  became  inarticulate. 

"Ne  vous  tourmentez  pas,  mon 
ami ;  vous  me  le  direz  demain."  The 
two  following  days  his  condition 
got  worse.  Whenever  he  saw  me  ap- 
proach with  a  glass  of  lemonade,  the 
old  smile  flitted  across  his  face  ;  he 
even  remembered  at  lucid  intervals 
where  he  had  fought,  how  he  had 
lain  for  nights  in  trenches  full  of 
water ;  but  on  the  fourth  day  he 
died,  without  ever  having  been  able 
to  recall  either  his  own  name  or  that 
of  his  native  place. 

His  body  was  not  the  only  one 
which  was  carried  through  our 
courtyard  that  night ;  two  Mecklen- 
burgers,  also  typhus  patients,  and  a 
Saxon  whose  leg  had  gangrened, 
followed  their  quondam  foe  to  their 
last  resting-place. 

Amongst  the  severely  wounded 
was  a  Prussian  who  had  been  shot 
through  the  upper  part  of  his  left 
arm,  and  the  wound  was  in  a  very 
precarious  state.  It  must  have  made 
him  suffer  tortures,  especially  when 
being  dressed,  but  he  bore  it  all 
with  the  fortitude  of  a  hero,  was 
always  in  a  good-humour  and  full  of 
fun,  and  had  a  huge  appetite;  his 
frame  was  so  strong,  his  constitution 
so  healthy,  that  when  it  became  ne- 
cessary to  amputate  the  limb,  the 
surgeons  were  confident  the  opera- 
tion would  be  successful.  He  had 
been  so  courageous  through  all  his 
sufferings  that  they  did  not  deem 
any  special  menagement  necessary, 
and  announced  the  necessity  of  the 
operation  in  a  half-playful  way,  to 
suit  his  humour. 

"Amputate  my  arm ! "  he  shrieked ; 
"  never  !  I  had  rather  die  ten  times 
over." 

"  Come,  Frbhlich,"  said  the  head 
surgeon,  "  that  isn't  like  you — you 


1871.]         Hospital-Life  icith  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  I.          653 


bear  pain  so  bravely ;  besides,  it  is 
your  left  arm  ;  and  you  must  know 
that  if  it  were  not  absolutely  imperi- 
ous we  would  not  do  it." 

But  Frohlich  was  not  to  be  either 
cajoled  or  persuaded,  and  so  the 
matter  dropped  ;  but  on  the  morrow, 
the  surgeons,  knowing  the  case  to 
be  serious,  told  him  the  ball  would 
have  to  be  extracted  under  chloro- 
form ;  and  so  he  submitted  quietly, 
and  the  amputation  was  successfully 
completed.  When  he  came  to  him- 
self, Frohlich  had  no  idea  of  what 
had  happened,  but  stretching  forth 
his  right  hand  to  feel  if  the  opera- 
tion was  over,  he  suddenly  discov- 
ered that  the  limb  was  gone  ! 

"My  arm  !  my  arm!"  he  yelled 
out ;  "  where  is  my  arm  1  I  cannot 
live  without  my  arm ! " 

Madame  Schmid,  for  whom  he 
had  taken  a  great  liking  (for  he  said 
she  dressed  his  wounds  so  comfort- 
ably), tried  to  console  him,  and  per- 
suade him  not  to  behave  so  child- 
ishly. What  did  he  fear?  he  was 
strong  and  healthy ;  was  it  not  bet- 
ter to  lose  one's  arm  than  one's  life  1 
But  her  efforts  were  fruitless. 

"  I  want  my  arm,  my  arm ;  I  don't 
want  to  live :  I  can't  live  without 
it !  "  And,  alas !  he  kept  his  word  ; 
for  henceforth  he  would  neither  rest, 
nor  partake  of  food,  nor  listen  to 
persuasions  or  reasonings  ;  and  on 
the  fourth  day  after  the  operation 
he  died,  shrieking  with  his  last 
gasp,  "  Ach,  mein  arm !  mein 
arm ! " 

One  day,  as  we  were  out  on  a 
marketing  expedition — for  we  found 
there  was  some  excellent  butter  and 
fresh  eggs  to  be  bought — we  met 
one  of  our  Fritzchen  of  the  "  Jarde." 
He  invited  us  to  come  and  see  their 
quarters.  We  followed  him  into  a 
very  fine  large  church  strewn  with 
straw,  and  accommodating  more  than 
a  hundred  soldiers. 

"  You  see,"  said  our  friend,  "  we 
are  very  comfortable,  for  the  peAvs 


have  wooden  floorings,  and  there 
are  two  large  stoves;  in  fact,  we  shall 
be  very  sorry  to  leave  such  good 
quarters,  for  to-morrow  we  march  to 
the  vorposten,  and  it  will  be  bit- 
terly cold  out  in  the  trenches." 

"But  where  do  you  get  your 
fuel  1 "  I  asked,  "  for  ours  is  rapidly 
giving  out,  and  even  the  hospital 
has  but  little  left." 

"  Wherever  we  can  find  it ;  we'll 
go  and  annex  some  for  you  directly:" 
and  calling  two  of  his  cammaraden, 
they  led  the  way  to  a  forsaken  house 
and  shop,  and  forthwith  proceeded 
to  pull  down  shelves  and  counters, 
collect  pieces  of  broken  furniture, 
and  then  dived  into  the  cellar, 
emerging  with  a  huge  log  of  wood ; 
and  thus  we  returned  to  our  con- 
vent gate  in  triumphal  procession. 

In  the  meanwhile,  as  the  num- 
ber of  nurses  in  the  lazareth  had 
increased,  owing  to  another  hos- 
pital having  been  given  up,  and 
the  sisters  had  come  over  to  our 
establishment,  and,  moreover,  as  the 
exceeding  dampness  of  our  quarters 
had  given  us  severe  colds  and  coughs, 
we  had  decided  to  move  on  where 
we  should  find  more  regular  work  to 
do ;  and  I  had  sent  on  to  Versailles 
my  letters  to  Prince  Putbus  and  the 
Crown  Prince's  Hofmarschall,  with 
an  inquiry  as  to  where  nurses  were 
most  wanted. 

The  Mere  Supe'rieure  and  Soeur 
Marie-J6sus  would  come  and  sit 
with  us  in  the  evenings,  and  learn 
how  to  make  tea,  which  they  had 
never  tasted  !  and  then  animated 
political  discussions  would  ensue. 

"  Voyez-vous,"  said  "  ma  mere," 
a  stout  comfortable-looking  woman, 
whose  black  eyes  glowed  like  coals 
as  she  peered  over  her  blue  spec- 
tacles, and  got  excited  with  her  sub- 
ject, "peace  ought  to  have  been 
made  after  Sedan.  What  benefit 
have  we  of  all  these  battles,  in  which 
our  troops  have  got  demoralised  by 
reverses,  and  by  the  treachery  of 


654 


Under  the  Red-Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


their  chiefs'?  What  sort  of  men 
are  these  generals,  who  lose  their 
heads  and  capitulate  instead  of  fight- 
ing ]  Ah !  si  j'etais  un  homme 
moi,  voyez-vous ! "  .  .  .  and 
the  old  lady  clenched  her  fist,  and 
looked  as  if  she  might  have  teen 
tough  and  uncompromising  to  deal 
with  had  she  belonged  to  the 
stronger  sex  ! 

We  had  now  got  so  accustomed 
to  the  booming  of  the  cannons, 
which  seemed  far  more  frequent  at 
night,  and  even  made  the  house 
tremble  sometimes,  that  it  no  longer 
interfered  with  our  slumbers.  Even 
the  rats,  which  had  grown  quite  famil- 
iar with  us  (and  presumed  so  much 
upon  our  acquaintance  with  them, 
that  they  would  emerge  from  their 
holes,  run  races  with  each  other, 
and  fight,  even  before  our  candles 
were  put  out),  could  not  prevent 


exhausted  nature  from  asserting  her 
rights. 

Our  life  in  these  quarters  was 
such  a  "  bivouac,"  that  not  only  had 
we  to  cut  and  saw  our  own  wood, 
cook  our  food,  and  clean  out  our 
barn,  but  we  even  had  to  wash  and 
iron  our  clothes,  for  of  a  blan- 
cMsseuse  Lagny  could  not  boast ; 
and  thus,  when  night  came,  we  were 
far  too  fatigued  to  care  for  impudent 
rats  or  thundering  guns.  I  could 
not  help  laughing  to  myself  as  I 
thought  of  some  of  my  friends  at 
home,  who  would  "  collapse  "  at  the 
bare  idea  of  sleeping  in  a  mouse- 
haunted  chamber,  and  yet  who  en- 
vied me  my  "  mission  of  mercy." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  come  too,  it 
must  be  so  interesting  to  nurse  the 
poor  sick  soldiers  ! "  doubtless,  but 
it  wasn't  quite  a  bed  of  roses,  as  the 
reader  will  have  perceived. 


CHAPTER  v. 


In  his  answer  to  my  letter,  the 
"  Hofmarschall "  mentioned  that 
Prince  Putbus  had  written  to  tell 
me  where  nurses  were  much  requir- 
ed, for  that  hospitals  at  headquar- 
ters were  already  completely  or- 
ganised. This  information  had, 
however,  never  reached  me;  indeed, 
many  other  letters,  although  very 
carefully  and  correctly  addressed, 
had  shared  the  same  fate.  Instead 
of  losing  any  more  time  in  idle  con- 
jectures, and  fruitless  researches 
after  missing  letters,  we  deemed  it 
wiser  to  seek  the  earliest  and  best 
means  of  getting  to  Corbeil,  which 
we  knew  was  the  largest  depot  of 
hospitals  in  France. 

Travelling  with  a  Colonne  would 
have  taken  two  days  and  nights, 
and  such  locomotion,  with  the  ther- 
mometer several  degrees  below  zero, 
was  not  a  promising  exchange  for 
our  damp  quarters.  Voitures  de 
retour,  which  had  brought  German 


potentates  and  German  Jews,  were  oc- 
casionally to  be  found,  but  their  prices 
were  far  too  exorbitant  to  suit  our 
purses,  and  they  were  unwilling  to 
carry  my  luggage,  which  no  consi- 
deration would  persuade  me  to  part 
from. 

Sur  ces  entrefaites,  Sceur  Marie- 
Jesus  entered  our  room  in  the  even- 
ing, followed  by  two  French  ladies. 
They  were  two  sisters,  natives  of 
Corbeil,  had  escaped  to  Belgium 
when  the  war  broke  out,  and  were 
now  returning  to  their  foyers,  where 
their  husbands  (one  a  bookseller 
and  the  other  a  tobacconist)  were 
doing  a  thriving  business,  and  re- 
quired their  assistance.  The  book- 
seller, M.  Picard,  had  fetched  them 
from  Brussels,  whence  they  had  had 
a  very  tedious  journey,  and  now 
they  had  come  to  seek  rest  and  re- 
fuge in  our  sanctuary. 

We  bade  them  a  hearty  welcome 
(happy  thought !  perhaps  they  could 


1871.]        Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  I.  G55 


suggest  means  of  getting  to  Corbeil !), 
helped  them  to  make  their  beds, 
and  made  them  partake  of  our  tea, 
potatoes,  and  fried  eggs. 

I  observed  that  Madame  Louit, 
the  tobacconist's  wife,  spoke  little 
and  shed  many  tears.  Her  sister  soon 
explained  to  me  the  cause  of  her 
grief:  she  had  brought  with  her 
from  Belgium  six  cases  of  cigars, 
pipes,  and  other  fumigatory  articles 
for  her  husband's  commerce,  but 
at  the  Lagny  station  one  of  the 
boxes  was  found  missing.  When 
she  complained  of  her  loss,  they  had 
offered  her  another  case  similar  in 
appearance  to  her  own,  but  she 
would  not  have  it — "  and  so,"  con- 
cluded she,  "  we  would  not  bring 
away  our  own  boxes,  but,  as  it  was 
so  late,  left  everything  at  the  sta- 
tion, and  my  husband,  who  has 
found  a  bed  with  some  friend  at  the 
Mairie,  will  go  and  see  about  it  to- 
morrow." 

"And  how  do  you  propose  get- 
ting to  Corbeil  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  answered  Madame 
Picard,  "  that  we  shall  have  great 
difficulty,  for  we  must  take  our  mar- 
chandise  with  us,  but  mon  mart  is 
going  to  do  his  best." 

"  We  want  to  get  there  too,"  said 
I ;  "  and  if  by  clubbing  together  it 
could  be  easier  managed,  pray  count 
upon  us." 

Early  the  next  morning  M.  Picard 
arrived  to  greet  his  womenkind. 
He  was  a  little  man,  rather  stout, 
with  a  close  -  cut  grey  beard,  wore 
spectacles,  and  could  speak  both 
English  and  German;  he  came  to 
inform  the  ladies  that  he  had  heard 
of  a  conveyance  for  them  and 
their  baggage  to  Corbeil,  but  that 
what  the  driver  demanded  was  more 
than  his  private  financial  arrange- 
ments would  admit  of;  besides,  it 
was  one  of  the  quondam  omnibus 
de  la  gare,  capable  of  containing  six 
people,  which  was  more  than  he  re- 
quired. The  occasion  was  most 


propitious,  so  I  proposed  paying  half 
and  going  with  them. 

"  Dutout,"  said  the  little  French- 
man; "not  the  half,  but  a  third, 
because  we  are  three,  and  you  are 
two." 

"But,"  I  objected,  "that  does 
not  equalise  it." 

"  Oh  yes,"  persisted  he,  "  because 
we  have  such  a  large  amount  of 
luggage — voyons?  est-ce  convenu1? 
touchez  la ! "  and  we  shook  hands 
to  close  the  agreement.  I  took  out 
my  purse,  wishing  to  pay  down  my 
share  at  once,  but  he  wouldn't  hear 
of  it : — "  What  now  1  I  don't  know 
you,  that  is  true,  but  you  are  Eng- 
lish, and  that  is  sufficient" — and 
as  he  heard  we  were  going  to  the 
station  to  get  our  letters  at  the  Feld- 
Post  Eelais,  he  said  he  would  accom- 
pany us,  for  he  wanted  to  look  up 
his  sister-in-law's  cases. 

Now  the  Feld-Post  Commissar, 
who  was  a  native  of  Frankfort,  and 
consequently  an  "annexed"  Prus- 
sian, was  a  great  ally  of  ours. 
Whenever  we  went  in  search  of 
letters,  he  would  invite  us  inside 
his  office  to  warm  ourselves,  and 
there  we  gleaned  news  of  what  was 
going  on,  for  since  we  left  Munich 
we  had  not  seen  a  paper. 

On  this  occasion  we  went  to  in- 
form him  of  our  change  of  address, 
so  that  he  might  forward  our  cor- 
respondence, and  had  a  little  chat 
on  the  events  of  the  day.  As  we 
issued  out  on  to  the  platform,  to  my 
amazement  I  saw  my  little  French- 
man standing  between  two  Bavar- 
ian soldiers. 

"  Eh  bien,  M.  Picard,  que  faites- 
vous  done  la  1 "  I  inquired. 

"  I  am  arrested,"  said  he,  in  Eng- 
lish, his  lips  very  white,  and  his 
voice  very  tremulous. 

"Arrested!  what  for?" 

"  Because,"  he  went  on,  "  I  am 
accused  of  having  stolen  a  box  of 
merchandise,  whereas  it  is  I  who 
have  lost  one ;  moi  Picard,  mcmbre 


656 


Under  the  Red-Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[May 


de  1' Academic  et  Libraire,  voler  !  ah, 
c'est  par  trop  fort." 

I  had  not  time  to  answer  him 
before  the  two  Bavarians  cocked 
their  guns ;  the  click  made  him 
.'  tart. 

"Now  they  are  going  to  shoot 
me ! "  and  as  the  soldiers  shoul- 
dered their  arms,  and,  turning 
on  their  heels,  gave  the  order 
"  Marsch  !"  the  little  Frenchman 
answered  sturdily,  "Ya  wohl!"  and 
beating  his  chest  with  one  hand, 
he  added,  in  a  loud  tone,  to  himself, 
"  Allons,  Picard,  mon  ami ;  du 
courage  ! "  and  marched  off  firmly 
between  his  captors. 

Why  is  it  that  a  Frenchman  must 
always  be  theatrical,  even  in  the 
hour  of  danger  1 

Knowing  the  circumstances  of  the 
case,  I  could  not  stand  by  passively 
and  witness  such  injustice,  so  turned 
back  into  the  post-office,  and  ex- 
plained the  misunderstanding  about 
the  boxes  to  the  commissar,  im- 
ploring him  to  come  with  me  at 
once  to  the  authorities,  and  liberate 
the  poor  little  Frenchman. 

"  Can  you  guarantee  his  veracity?" 
asked  the  commissar.  "  How  long 
have  you  known  him  1 " 

"  Well,  only  since  this  morning, 
but  I  am  certain  that  he  is  respect- 
able." 

"  If  that's  all,  take  my  advice, 
and  don't  mix  yourself  up  in  this 
business ;  you  will  be  suspected  of 
connivance,  which  will  neither  be 
pleasant  to  yourself,  nor  serviceable 
to  your  protege.  Don't  be  in  the 
least  alarmed  ;  if  the  case  stands  as 
you  say,  he  will  be  able  to  prove  it 
very  easily,  and  will  be  liberated  at 
once." 

When  we  returned  to  our  quar- 
ters, the  two  sisters  were  providen- 
tially out,  for  I  dreaded  answering 
their  inquiries  about  the  unfortunate 
prisoner. 

In  less  than  an  hour  the  door 
was  thrown  open,  and  in  rushed  the 


little  man,  waving  his  hat  trium- 
phantly. He  had  explained  the 
misunderstanding  to  the  authorities, 
before  whom  he  had  been  so  uncere- 
moniously conducted,  had  shown 
his  papers,  and  all  had  been  even- 
tually satisfactory  explained  ;  "  mais 
j'ai  tout  de  meme  pass<$  un  bien 
mauvais  quart  d'heure,  allez  ! "  con- 
cluded he. 

"  And  were  the  authorities  rude 
to  you  1 "  I  asked. 

"  No,  not  positively  rude,  but  not 
too  polite ;  however,  it  is  all  over 
now — and  now  I  have  come  to  tell 
you  that  I  have  made  all  the  ar- 
rangements with  our  driver,  and 
that  the  carriage  will  call  for  you 
four  ladies  at  nine  o'clock  to-morrow 
morning." 

I  was  anxious,  before  leaving,  to 
go  once  more  and  see  the  patients, 
especially  one  who  by  his  gentleness 
and  truly  religious  resignation  had 
much  interested  me.  I  found  him, 
as  was  his  wont,  fingering  a  well- 
worn  little  pocket-bible,  and  trying 
feebly  to  turn  over  the  leaves. 

"  Let  me  read  to  you,"  I  said  ; 
"  it  will  tire  you  less.  What  shall 
I  select r 

"  Our  Saviour's  end,"  he  an- 
swered, knowing  his  own  was  not 
far  off,  poor  fellow  ! — "  and  a  psalm." 

Afterwards  he  spoke  of  his  home 
and  his  people,  and  taking  my  hand, 
he  stroked  it  gently,  saying  : — 

"  You  are  very  good,  very  kind, 
but  ach  sie  sind  nicht  meine  Mut- 
ter ! "  (you  are  not  my  mother !) 
and  he  turned  Ms  pale  wasted  face 
to  the  wall,  and  sighed  murmuring 
words  of  love  for  her,  who  could 
not,  alas  !  hear  that  her  memory 
was  strong  even  in  death ;  and  who 
would  soon  have  to  live  on  the  re- 
membrance of 

"  The  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 
Or  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  was  still." 

That  evening  I  sent  word  to  the 
Mere  Superieure  that  we  should  be 


1871.]         Hospital-Life  with'th-e  Prussians  in  France. — Part  I.          G57 


departing  next  day,  and  that  I 
would  like  to  take  leave  of  her,  and 
thank  her  for  her  kind  hospitality. 
She  came  at  once  to  see  us,  and  the 
conversation  having  as  usual  taken 
a  political  turn,  she  told  me  how 
every  inhabitant  save  one  old  woman 
and  two  old  men  had  fled  from  Lagny 
on  the  approach  of  the  enemy  in 
September.  It  was  entirely  owing, 
she  argued, to  the'  Presse,' which  had 
persuaded  the  people  that  if  they 
remained  their  women  would  be 
insulted,  their  children  egorges,  and 
the  men  forced  into  the  enemy's 
ranks  ;  and  thus  there  being  no  one 
left  to  protect  them,  the  houses  had 
been  broken  into,  pillaged,  and 
ruined. 

Little  by  little,  however,  those 
who  had  not  crossed  the  frontier  re- 
turned, and,  reopening  their  shops, 
had  ended  by  doing  a  thriving  com- 
merce ;  and  to  this  I  could  testify, 
for  I  never  entered  a  provision  shop 
but  I  found  it  thronged  with  mili- 
tary paying  the  exorbitant  war-prices 
demanded,  without  an  objection  or 
a  murmur.  Even  such  luxuries  as 
fatted  turkeys  at  twenty  and  thirty 
francs  a-piece  found  ready  pur- 
chasers. 

Punctual  to  his  word,  M.  Picard 
called  the  following  morning  with 
the  omnibus.  Our  boxes  were 
hoisted  on  the  top,  and  we  drove 
off — no  small  load  for  the  one  Per- 
cheron  horse,  who,  like  all  his  races, 
was  strong,  but  not  fleet.  Ferrieres, 
the  princely  seat  of  a  Rothschild 
(and,  it  was  said,  so  much  coveted  by 
King  William  that  he  would  gladly 
have  exchanged  Potsdam  for  it),  lay 
to  our  left,  and  very  soon  we  began 
to  pass  long  lines  of  covered  wag- 
gons, battalions  of  spiked  helmets, 
detachments  of  ubiquitous  Uhlans — 
whose  propinquity  made  the  French 
ladies  tremble,  and  thank  the  Fates 
that  they  were  under  the  protection 
of  the  Red-cross  badge — troops  of 
"  requisitioned  "  horses,  and  convey- 


ances of  every  description,  from  the 
Parisian  petit  coupe  to  the  meanest 
donkey-cart,  drawn  by  cattle  of  un- 
equal dimensions,  harnessed  together 
with  odd  ends  of  straps,  chains,  and 
ropes. 

M.  Picard  proved  a  most  amusing 
companion.  He  had  all  the  verve 
and  esprit  peculiar  to  his  nationality, 
was  well  informed,  well  read,  and 
unprejudiced,  and  an  Orleanist  to 
the  back -bone  into  the  bargain. 
He  "  chaffed  "  his  womenkind  un- 
sparingly about  their  terror  of  the 
Prussians,  and  flavoured  his  conver- 
sation with  many  clever  anecdotes 
and  quotations. 

At  Brie-Comte-Robert  we  stopped 
for  an  hour  to  dine  and  rest  our 
steed.  The  eating-room  of  the  inn 
was  so  crowded  with  Germans,  all 
smoking  their  huge  porcelain  pipes, 
and  blouses  wrangling  over  their 
petits  verres,  that  we  preferred  going 
into  the  kitchen  itself,  where  the 
hostess — a  big  hard-featured  woman, 
who  looked  as  if  no  number  of  Uh- 
lans could  intimidate  her — was  cook- 
ing some  savoury  cutlets,  and  an  aged 
woman,  her  mother,  washing  up 
the  dishes,  while  at  the  table  sat  a 
Prussian  officer  talking  to  a  stout 
repulsive-looking  Kaufmann  of  the 
Hebrew  persuasion. 

Since  the  German  occupation  had 
commenced,  the  door  of  this  hostelry 
had  been  rarely  darkened  by  petti- 
coats, and  it  was  a  treat  for  the 
hostess  to  have  a  confidential  talk 
with  her  own  kind.  Hearing  me 
converse  in  German  with  my  com- 
panion, she  looked  suspiciously  at 
me,  and  lowered  her  voice  to  a 
whisper;  but  Mesdames  Picard  and 
Louit  told  her  she  had  nothing  to 
fear,  and  thus  I  had  occasion  to 
learn  what  her  views  were  of  this 
invasion  of  Vandals  so  variously 
reported  in  the  papers. 

"  I  bear  them  no  love,  you  may 
be  sure,"  said  the  virago,  "  for  they 
have  trampled  unmercifully  on  our 


658 


Under  tJte  Red-Cross:  A  Narrative  of 


[May 


'  Belle  France  ; '  but,  individually,  I 
have  nothing  to  complain  of.  The 
soldiers  are  noisy  and  rough,  but  the 
officers  keep  them  in  order,  are 
well-mannered,  and  pay  for  every- 
thing on  the  spot.  Tenez,"  contin- 
ued she,  pointing  to  the  blond-beard- 
ed lieutenant  seated  at  the  table, 
"  celui-la  c'est  mon  enfant  gate;  he 
has  been  six  weeks  quartered  here, 
is  always  quiet  and  unpresuming  as 
you  see  him  now,  and  has  never 
given  me  any  trouble;  also  I  al- 
ways make  him  dine  at  our  table, 
and  make  his  coffee  first  in  the  morn- 
ing; n'est-ce  pas  camarade?"  she 
asked,  apostrophising  the  "  spoilt 
child,"  who,  removing  his  pipe, 
turned  his  gentle-looking  face  to- 
wards her  smilingly,  and  replied — 

"  Oui,  Matame,  toujours  bonne 
pour  moi." 

The  smoking  cutlets,  flavoured 
with  a  delicious  sauce  piquante, 
were  now  placed  upon  the  table,  and 
we  did  ample  justice  to  them.  The 
hostess,  standing  with  her  arms 
akimbo,  related  to  us  how  a  "  gargon 
de  cafe"  of  hers,  being  suspected  of 
decided  Franc  -  Tireur  tendencies, 
had  run  a  narrow  escape  of  being 
shot,  and  was  only  saved  by  the 
intercession  of  her  protege.  At  this 
juncture  the  kitchen -door  opened, 
and  a  blouse,  inserting  his  head, 
said,  "Six  cafes  pour  ces  messieurs, 
tout  de  suite." 

"  Qu'ils  attendent ! "  she  called 
out  after  his  receding  figure ;  "  j'ai 
autre  chose  a  faire  maintenant,"  and 
proceeded  unconcernedly  with  her 
conversation.  I  inquired  if  there 
were  not  occasionally  differences 
between  the  blouses  and  the  Ger- 
mans, and  drunken  brawls  at  late 
hours. 

"  At  first  we  had  rows,  but  the 
officers  punished  the  men  severely 
for  the  smallest  breach  of  discipline, 
and  we  are  allowed  to  close  our  inn 
at  six,  so  that  our  nights  are  undis- 
turbed; it  is  our  own  requisitwn- 


naires,  and  such  as  those  (pointing 
to  the  Jew),  whom  we  hate  most, — 
en  voila  de  la  canaille,  sans  foi,  ni 
loi ! " 

As  we  resumed  our  journey,  the 
roads  became  so  frozen  and  slippery 
that  our  stout  steed  reduced  his  jog 
to  a  walk,  and  I  foresaw  that  we 
should  not  reach  Corbeil  before 
night. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  good-na- 
tured little  Frenchman ;  "if  the 
Mairie  is  shut,  and  it  is  too  late  for 
you  to  find  quarters,  we  shall  be 
most  happy  to  give  you  a  bed." 

Passing  a  little  village,  we  were 
met  by  a  Bavarian  cavalry  captain 
and  a  surgeon,  who  asked  us  to  give 
them  room  in  our  carriage,  as  they 
had  no  means  of  getting  to  Corbeil, 
which  they  must  reach  before  night. 

"  Very  sorry,"  I  replied,  "  not  to 
be  able  to  accommodate  you,  but 
you  see  there  is  no  room:  moreover, 
we  have  a  great  deal  of  luggage,  and 
it  is  as  much  already  as  the  horse 
can  do  to  drag  us  along  on  the  slip- 
pery roads." 

The  captain,  who  was  a  tall  rough 
fellow,  with  a  skin  like  a  Malay, 
stood  up  on  the  step  of  our  carriage, 
and,  looking  in,  perceived  the  two 
Frenchwomen  in  the  opposite  cor- 
ners. "Oh,  we'll  make  room,"  he 
replied  contemptuously,  "by  turn- 
ing these  French  people  out  into  the 
gutter,  and  their  baggage  after  them 
(wir  schmeissen  sie  aus) ;  and  as  for 
the  horse,  es  geht  ja  alles  mit  dem 
Schwert "  (everything  goes  with  the 
help  of  the  sword). 

"  No,  you  won't,",,  said  Madame 
Schmid,  whose  ire  had  been  gradu- 
ally rising  since  the  commencement 
of  the  scene  ;  "  you  won't  turn  any 
one  out,  you  ill-mannered  bully : 
what  right  have  you  to  stop  our 
carriage  thus  1  so  you " 

"  And  who  are  you.  I  should  like 
to  know?"  interrupted  the  Haupt- 
mann,  getting  more  offensive. 

"I    am    a    Bavarian    Kranken- 


1871.]       Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  /.  659 


pflegerin  who  has  been  both  through 
the  campaign  of  '66  and  this  present 
one,  therefore  I  know  what  I  am 
about  when  I  say  you  have  no 
right  to  stop  us.  The  carriage  be- 
longs to  these  French  ladies  just  as 
much  as  to  us,  for  we  have  shared 
the  expense  of  it.  As  to  your  blus- 
ter about  swords,  we  have  a  revolver 
which  can  match  yours ;  and  if  you 
don't  step  off  the  carriage  this 
minute,  I'll  take  your  name  and  re- 
port your  insolence  to  your  superi- 
ors." 

The  bully  instantly  got  down,  and, 
touching  his  cap,  said  (looking  at 
me), 

"  Verzeihen  Sie,  I  was  not  aware 
the  vehicle  was  private ;  I  thought 
it  belonged  to  the  Ambulance." 

"  That's  no  excuse  either  for  your 
insolence  to  us  or  your  brutality  to 
these  French  ladies,"  and,  calling  out 
to  the  driver  to  go  on,  Madame 
Schmid  pulled  up  the  window  in 
the  Hauptmann's  face,  and  he  and 
his  companion  were  left  standing 


speechless,   if  not   contrite,  in  the 
middle  of  the  road. 

"  You  see,"  said  Madame  Picard 
to  her  husband,  "  I  was  right  to  be 
afraid  of  these  Prussians ;  what 
Avould  you  have  done  now  without 
these  ladies  and  their  badges  1 " 

The  road  very  soon  became  so 
slippery,  that  the  horse,  which  had 
not  been  rough-shod,  could  scarcely 
stand  on  his  legs.  The  driver,  there- 
fore, got  down  to  lead  him,  Mon- 
sieur Picard  and  I  descended,  and 
thus  the  weight  having  been  con- 
siderably reduced,  and  the  animal's 
confidence  restored  by  frequent  pat- 
tings  and  encouragements,  we  con- 
cluded the  rest  of  our  journey 
(about  eight  miles),  and  reached 
Corbeil  at  8  P.M.  The  Maine  was 
still  open,  and  having  shown  our 
papers,  my  companion  and  I  were 
billeted  on  to  a  young  couple,  by 
name  Herbert,  who  lodged  us  in  a 
very  comfortable  room  with  a  large 
clean  feather  bed. 

VERA. 


(To  be  continued.) 


630 


The  Scotch  Education  Bill. 


[May 


THE   SCOTCH   EDUCATION   BILL. 


THE  Lord  Advocate,  Mr  George 
Young,  is  a  logical  and  vigorous 
thinker  (as  some  of  his  anti-annuity 
tax  and  anti-game-law  friends  know 
to  their  cost) ;  and  though  we  are 
unable  to  concur  in  many  of  the 
encomiums  which  have  been  lavished 
upon  his  Education  Bill,  we  are 
ready  to  admit  that  it  is  character- 
ised by  what  its  admirers  call  an 
eminent  "  simplicity  "  of  conception. 
It  is  indeed  a  measure  of  almost 
republican  simplicity  and  severity. 
It  destroys  the  parochial  schools,  it 
abolishes  the  burgh,  "in  the  high 
Roman  fashion."  Such  measures 
are  sometimes  needed.  "When  an 
institution  has  become  ^utterly 
rotten,  or  when  an  abuse  has  at- 
tained gigantic  and  unmanageable 
proportions,  it  is  often  the  wisest 
policy  to  cut  at  the  roots.  No 
one,  however,  will  venture  to  de- 
scribe the  burgh  and  parochial 
system  of  education,  as  presently 
existing  in  Scotland,  in  such  lan- 
guage. The  burgh  schools  are  an 
interesting  and  characteristic  fea- 
ture of  the  civic  enterprise  of  Scotch- 
men; and  the  parochial  schools, 
founded  by  the  Reformers,  and  giv- 
ing visible  expression  to  the  noble 
sentiment  of  Knox— "  "We  judge 
that  in  every  parish  there  should  be 
a  schoolmaster,  such  as  is  able,  at 
least,  to  teach  the  grammar  and 
Latin  tongue  " — have  for  three  hun- 
dred years  been  the  admiration  of 
the  world.  A  measure  of  reform 
which  sagaciously  appropriated  and 
applied  to  the  altered  conditions  of 
modern  life  these  characteristic  and 
traditional  agencies  would  have  been 
a  great,  but  by  no  means  a  simple, 
measure.  Its  construction  would 
have  involved  much  patient  labour, 
and  conspicuous  sense,  tact,  and 
knowledge.  To  demolish  an  old 


feudal  dwelling-house,  and  build  a 
modern  villa  in  its  place,  does  not 
demand  architectural  genius  of  a 
high  kind — any  apprentice  can  do 
that ;  but  when  we  propose  to  con- 
vert to  modern  use  some  charming 
fragment  of  Gothic  or  baronial  life, 
we  employ  a  Pugin  or  a  Gilbert 
Scott.  The  Lord  Advocate's  villa 
is  an  extremely  simple  and  symme- 
trical piece  of  architecture ;  but  it- 
attains  simplicity  and  symmetry  at 
the  expense  of  qualities  which  are 
even  more  valuable,  and  of  institu- 
tions which  have  stood  the  test  of 
time,  all  things  considered,  in  a 
really  surprising  way. 

Don't  quite  sweep  away  the  old 
until  you  have  thoroughly  tested 
the  new,  is  a  maxim  that  commends 
itself  to  prudent  men  in  every  craft — 
state-craft  included.  The  country 
gentleman  who  cuts  down  all  the 
fine  old  timber  in  his  park,  on  the 
ground  that  it  is  not  properly  or 
harmoniously  distributed,  suffers, 
certainly  from  one,  it  may  be  from 
two,  inconveniences.  In  the  first 
place,  the  new  wood  which  he  plants 
may  refuse  to  grow  at  all ;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  even  if  it  does 
grow  with  reasonable  rapidity,  he 
has  yet  no  sort  of  shelter  about  his 
house  for  twenty  years.  And  when 
Ave  hear  that  our  venerable  parochial 
system  is  to  be  rooted  up,  and  re- 
placed by  a  bran-new  article  from 
Downing  Street,  we  cannot  help 
asking  ourselves  such  questions  as 
these :  "Will  the  exotic  root  itself 
among  us  ?  "Will  it  take  kindly  to 
the  soil  1  Is  there  not  a  chance  that 
we  may  lose  by  the  exchange  1  And 
— to  drop  metaphor — is  it  absolutely 
certain  that  under  the  new  Privy 
Council  regime  the  singular  and  ad- 
mirable properties  of  Scotch  elemen- 
tary training  will  be  preserved — its 


1871.] 


TJie  Scotch  Education  Bill. 


661" 


association  with,  the  classics,  its  fla- 
vour of  scientific  and  general  cul- 
ture? 

On  the  whole,  however,  it  may 
be  conceded  that  the  act  has  been 
drawn  by  a  fairly  skilful  draughts- 
man. We  are  unable  ourselves  to 
perceive  the  raison  d'etre  of  a  mea- 
sure so  revolutionary  in  character; 
and  the  observations,  therefore,  which 
we  purpose  to  submit  on  one  or  two 
of  its  main  provisions,  are  made,  as 
lawyers  say,  under  protest.  We  be- 
lieve that  the  Scotch  parish  school 
is  an  inheritance  of  which  we  have 
no  reason  to  be  ashamed ;  and  that, 
retaining  its  historical  basis  and  its 
distinctive  features,  it  might,  with- 
out any  considerable  difficulty,  be 
developed  and  enlarged.  Yet  even 
on  the  assumption  that  the  parochial 
system  requires  to  be  cut  away,  root 
and  branch,  it  appears  to  us  that  the 
Bill  contains  certain  provisions  of  a 
gratuitously  offensive  and  obnoxious 
nature.  The  "  religious  difficulty," 
as  it  is  called,  is  simply  evaded. 
The  local  boards  are  not  enjoined 
to  teach,  neither  are  they  prohibited 
from  teaching,  religion  —  the  fact 
that  no  payments  from  the  Privy 
Council  grant  are  to  be  made  in  re- 
spect of  religious  training  amount- 
ing at  most  to  a  discouragement. 
The  secularist,  who  says  that  reli- 
gion ought  not  to  be  taught  in  the 
national  schools,  occupies  an  intel- 
ligible position;  the  churchman, 
who  says  that  religion  ought  to  be 
taught  in  the  schools,  but  that  it 
ought  to  be  taught  according  to  the 
authorised  formularies  of  the  Church, 
occupies  an  intelligible  position : 
but  those  who  maintain  that  religion 
ought  to  be  taught,  but  that  it 
ought  to  be  taught  according  to  no 
authorised  formulary  or  creed,  occupy 


a  position  which  appears  to  us  to  be 
wholly  unintelligible.  Religion,  as 
a  matter  with  which  business-men 
and  business  -  boards  have  to  do, 
must  be  put  into  some  sort  of  intel- 
ligible propositions.  For  the  use  of 
children,  these  propositions  cannot 
be  more  conveniently  stated  than  in 
the  form  of  a  catechism  ;  and  there 
are  plenty  of  catechisms,  drawn 
with  fair  ability,  in  use  among  us. 
Select  any,  or  all,  of  these  exposi- 
tions of  Christian  Protestant  opin- 
ion— the  Shorter  Catechism,  the 
Catechism  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, the  Catechism  of  the  Lutheran 
churches  —  and  declare  that  the 
teachers  in  the  national  schools  shall 
not  be  entitled,  on  pain  of  being  de- 
prived of  office,  to  controvert  the 
doctrines  which  they  contain,  and  a 
tolerably  equitable  settlement  might 
be  attained.*  We  have  never  been 
able  to  understand  the  feeling  which 
regards  with  jealousy  the  introduc- 
tion of  a  creed  or  formulary  into 
national  schools  or  national  churches. 
A  creed  protects  the  individual  from 
the  despotic  coercion  of  the  Church, 
and  it  protects  the  Church  from  the 
fantastic  vagaries  of  the  individual. 
It  is  a  protection  against  arbitrary 
fanaticism  on  the  one  hand,  and 
against  whimsical  eccentricity  on  the 
other.  And  we  have  always  main- 
tained, in  the  interest  of  rational 
liberty,  that,  as  long  as  religion  is 
taught  in  the  schools  supported  by 
the  nation,  it  should  be  taught  accord- 
ing to  that  moderate  and  temperate 
creed — that  venerable  expression  of 
Christian  opinion — which  has  been 
sanctioned  and  supported  by  the 
State.  The  more  we  consider  the 
matter,  the  more  we  are  convinced 
that  this  is  the  sound  view,  and 
that  any  other  must  lead  in  practice 


*  We  attach  no  weight  whatever  to  the  argument,  that  the  xise  of  any  special  for- 
mulary can  possibly  exert  a  proselytising  influence  on  the  scholars.  It  is  a  gross  ab- 
surdity to  suppose  that  any  child  will  imbibe  peculiar  attachment  to  the  principle  of 
church  establishments,  while  groaning  over  the  Shorter  or  any  other  Catechism  ! 


G62 


The  Scotch  Education 


to  the  most  deplorable  confusion. 
The  experience  of  the  great  London 
Board  is  in  this  connection  far  from 
reassuring.  The  English  Education 
Act  of  last  session  provided  that 
catechisms  and  other  formularies 
should  not  be  introduced  into  the 
schools  which  it  established.  After 
considerable  debate,  this  Education 
Parliament  has  resolved, — "That,  in 
the  schools  provided  by  the  Board, 
the  Bible  shall  be  read,  and  there 
shall  be  given  such  explanations  and 
such  instruction  therefrom  in  the 
principles  of  morality  and  religion 
as  are  suited  to  the  capacities  of 
children,  provided  always  that  in 
such  explanations  and  instruction 
the  provisions  of  the  Act  in  sections 
7  and  14"  (which  prohibit  the  use 
of  catechisms  or* other  formularies) 
"  be  strictly  observed  both  in 
letter  and  spirit,  and  that  no 
attempt  be  made  in  any  such 
school  to  attach  children  to  any 
particular  denomination."  "What 
does  this  mean "?  It  means  that  the 
religion  to  be  taught  shall  be  left 
to  the  discretion  or  indiscretion 
of  the  individual  schoolmaster.  Is 
not  this  a  tremendous  power  to 
intrust  to  a  single  man  ?  The  con- 
scientious schoolmaster,  oppressed 
by  the  weight  of  too  much  liberty, 
will  shrink  from  accepting  the  bur- 
den ;  but  pragmatical  idiots  and 
narrow-minded  bigots  will  revel  in 
the  licence  which  they  will  enjoy. 
A  man  who  was  prevented  by  law 
from  wandering  beyond  the  limits 
of  the  Apostles'  Creed,  could  never 
offend  very  grossly  the  Christian 
intelligence  of  the  community  ;  but 
when  this  restraint  is  withdrawn — 
when  all  restraints  are  withdrawn — 
there  will  be  no  check  upon  fanati- 
cal caprice  or  pious  whimsicality. 
The  Lord  Advocate's  Bill  does  not 
in  so  many  words  forbid  the  intro- 
duction of  denominational  formu- 
laries into  the  schools,  but  we 
presume  that  their  use  is  virtually 


[May 

prohibited.  At  all  events,  each 
school-board  is  left  at  liberty  to 
teach  religion  according  to  the  form 
which  it  considers  most  consistent 
with  divine  truth.  Such  a  provi- 
sion cannot  fail  to  become  a  fruit- 
ful source  of  discord.  There  will 
be  a  free  fight  in  every  parish  where 
a  schoolmaster  is  to  be  elected. 
There  will  be  a  party  cry ;  a  theo- 
logical whip  ;  religious  bribery  and 
intimidation.  The  Churchmen  will 
try  to  elect  a  Churchman,  the  Dis- 
senters a  Dissenter.  The  members 
of  one  denomination  will  not  allow 
the  person  who  is  to  teach  religion 
to  their  children  to  be  taken  from 
the  ranks  of  another  without  a  fierce 
struggle.  We  cannot  blame  them  ; 
it  is  the  only  security,  if  it  be  a 
security,  which  the  Act  gives  them. 
The  beaten  party  will  sulk  or  secede 
— Scotchmen  always  do  secede  when 
they  can't  get  their  own  way.  They 
will  be  eager,  moreover,  to  mark, 
learn,  and  inwardly  digest  the  short- 
comings of  the  schoolmaster  selected 
by  the  rival  sect,  and  the  wretched 
man  (passing  rich  on  £35  a-year) 
will  lead  a  dog's  life  among  them. 
Before  long,  under  this  vigilant 
supervision,  rumours  of  heresy  and 
unsound  doctrine  will  go  abroad. 
Then  complaint  will  be  made  to  the 
Central  Board;  and  if,  as  is  pro- 
bable, the  Central  Board  decline  to 
interfere,  on  the  ground  that  hereti- 
cal teaching  is  not  an  offence  under 
the  Act,  the  evidence  in  support  of 
other  offences  will  be  discovered,  or 
— invented.  A  Scotch  local  board 
may  be  trusted  to  perform  its  duties 
as  a  whole  with  reasonable  discretion; 
but  the  moment  religion  is  intro- 
duced, it  loses  its  head,  sets  at  defi- 
ance the  plainest  rules  of  justice 
and  fair -play,  and  behaves  itself 
generally  in  the  most  preposterous 
manner.  The  profound  sagacity 
which  proposes  to  intrust  to  such 
assemblies  the  exclusive  disposal  of 
that  "religious  difficulty"  which 


1871.] 

has  perplexed  politicians  and  philo- 
sophers for  generations,  is  deserving 
surely  of  more  than  ordinary  admira- 
tion. 

On  this  religious  question,  how- 
ever, enough,  and  more  than  enough, 
has  been  already  written  and  spoken; 
and  leaving  it  without  further  com- 
ment, we  desire  to  direct  the  atten- 
tion of  our  readers  to  what  may  be 
called  the  administrative  machinery 
of  the  measure.  The  Bill  contem- 
plates the  establishment  of  local 
school  boards  (very  democratic  in 
constitution)  throughout  the  country, 
which  are  to  provide  for  the  educa- 
tional necessities  of  each  locality, 
subject  to  the  review  of  a  depart- 
ment of  the  Privy  Council  sitting 
in  London.  The  Lord  Advocate 
in  his  opening  speech  was  careful 
to  exalt  the  position  and  emphasise 
the  functions  of  the  district  autho- 
rities ;  but  no  one  can  read  the  Bill 
attentively  without  seeing  that  the 
local  boards  are  mere  dummies,  and 
that  while  the  shadow  of  power 
is  given  to  them,  its  substance  is 
left  with  the  Privy  Council.  The 
only  power  which  the  school  boards 
retain  is  the  power  of  taxing  them- 
selves (which  is  freely  and  generously 
accorded  to  them) ; — this,  and  the 
privilege  to  select  what  form  of 
theological  doctrine  shall  be  taught 
in  the  schools — a  fatal  and  disas- 
trous freedom  of  choice  that  might 
surely  with  advantage  have  been 
withheld. 

Thus  the  radical  jurisdiction  is 
vested  in  the  Privy  Council — which 
means  that  the  work  is  to  be  done 
in  London,  and  therefore  done  badly 
or  not  at  all.  We  intend,  in  saying 
this,  no  disrepect  to  the  present 
Vice-President  of  the  Council.  Mr 
Forster,  on  the  contrary,  has  always 
seemed  to  us  to  be  a  moderate, 
conciliatory,  and  eminently  reason- 
able sort  of  man,  who  unites  with 
these  really  fine  and  rare  qualities 
a  true  faculty  for  governing.  But 


The  Scotch  Education  Bill. 


Mr  Forster  is  already  overworked  ; 
Mr  Forster  knows  nothing  of  Scot- 
land ;  and  even  if  he  did,  the  time 
must  be  close  at  hand  when,  in 
obedience  to  what  may  be  called 
the  "  shuffling "  policy  of  the 
Cabinet,  Mr  Forster  must  move  to 
the  War  Office  or  the  Admiralty. 
Everybody  knows,  in  short,  that  the 
"  Scottish  Department  of  the  Privy 
Council"  means  neither  Mr  Forster 
nor  the  Lord  Advocate,  but  an  un- 
informed and  unenlightened  subor- 
dinate— an  English  or  Irish  chief- 
clerk — in  the  classical  language  of 
the  Bill  itself,  "  some  secretary  or 
assistant  -  secretary  "  at  Downing 
Street.  Were  the  control  that  is 
vested  in  the  Privy  Council  merely 
nominal  or  general,  this  arrange- 
ment, although  objectionable,  might 
not  be  utterly  intolerable.  But 
the  fundamental  conception  of  the 
Bill  is,  that  the  local  boards  cannot 
be  trusted  to  undertake  the  sim- 
plest duty,  and  that  no  act  of  ad- 
ministration, however  trifling,  can 
be  effectually  performed  without  the 
consent  and  approval  of  the  Privy 
Council — a  body,  be  it  said  in  pass- 
ing, which  excites  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  Scotland  a 
very  cordial  feeling  of  dislike.  The 
most  microscopic  matters  of  detail, 
as  well  as  the  largest  questions  of 
policy,  are  remitted  to  this  distant 
tribunal — there  being  no  fewer  than 
sixty-four  occasions  when  the  Bill 
invites  or  requires  the  legislative  or 
judicial  intervention  of  "  The  Scot- 
tish Education  Department." 

Let  us  briefly  indicate  the  extent 
and  nature  of  the  jurisdiction  which 
is  thus  conferred.  The  Act  is 
divided  into  six  parts,  and  the 
main  sections  of  each  part  refer  to 
the  constitution  and  powers  of  this 
Central  Board.  It  may  be  said 
withoxit  exaggeration  that  if  the 
provisions  as  to  the  "  Scottish  Edu- 
cation Department  "  were  with- 
drawn, the  whole  measure  would 


664 


The  Scotch  Education  Bill. 


collapse  :  apart  from  the  action  of 
the  Privy  Council  Committee,  there 
is  no  living  force  or  vitality  in  the 
Bill. 

Part  I.  provides  for  Avhat  is  called 
the  general  management,  by  assign- 
ing to  the  "  Scottish  Education 
Department,"  in  addition  to  the 
powers  and  authorities  conferred  by 
the  Act,  all  the  powers  and  autho- 
rities possessed  and  exercised  with 
respect  to  education  in  England  by 
the  Privy  Council  Committee — the 
Scottish  Education  Department 
being  denned  to  mean  "  the  Lords 
of  any  Committee  of  the  Privy 
Council  appointed  by  Her  Majesty 
on  Education  in  Scotland."  The 
officers  appointed  by  the  depart- 
ment, it  is  significantly  added,  may 
lie  the  same  officers  employed  by  the 
Education  Department  for  England  ! 

Part  II.  provides  for  what,  with 
fine  irony,  is  called  the  "  Local 
Management."  "  Local  Manage- 
ment "  consists  mainly,  it  would 
appear,  in  the  exercise  by  the  Lon- 
don department  of  the  most  com- 
plex jurisdiction.  The  London  de- 
partment is  authorised  to  determine 
the  area  of  a  parish  or  of  a  burgh  ; 
to  determine  that  a  burgh  may  be 
merged  in  a  parish  (the  determina- 
tion being  final,  and  not  to  be  ques- 
tioned on  the  ground  of  any  error 
in  estimating  the  population  of  the 
burgh,  or  on  any  other  ground) ;  to 
determine  the  numbers  of  which  a 
school  board  shall  consist ;  to  direct 
the  school  boards  as  to  the  mode 
in  which  elections  shall  be  held ; 
in  the  event  of  a  school  board  fail- 
ing to  obey  the  directions  as  to 
elections,  "  to  nominate  a  school 


[May 

board  for  the  parish  or  burgh  in 
which  the  failure  has  occurred" 
(surely  a  most  extraordinary  and 
anomalous  stretch  of  authority)  ;  to 
determine  all  questions  or  disputes 
as  to  the  validity  of  elections,  and 
in  every  case  where  there  is  an 
equality  of  votes,  to  determine  ivhich 
candidate  is  to  be  deemed  duly 
elected  ;  to  frame  all  such  additional 
rules  and  directions  as  to  elections 
as  may  be  considered  necessary  or 
expedient ;  in  case  of  invalid  elec- 
tions, "  to  nominate  and  appoint  as 
many  members  as  are  required  to 
make  up  the  full  number  of  mem- 
bers "  (another  most  despotic  pro- 
vision) ;  to  determine  the  respec- 
tive number  of  members  in  those 
cases  where  a  burgh  and  a  parish 
have  been  conjoined ;  to  combine 
parishes  wherever  they  are  of 
opinion  that  it  is  advisable  to  do 
so  ;  to  order  a  school  board  to  be 
elected  in  any  burgh  or  parish  where 
no  school  board  has  been  elected ; 
to  combine  a  burgh  school  board 
and  a  parish  school  board,  and  to 
order  that  any  burgh  or  town  shall 
cease  to  have  a  separate  school 
board;  and  in  every  case  where,  at 
the  end  of  six  months  from  the  pass- 
ing of  the  Act,  a  burgh  or  parish  is 
without  a  school  board,  "to  nomi- 
nate a  school  board  for  such  burgh 
or  parish."  With  a  provision  that 
the  school  board  shall  be  entitled  to 
appoint  a  chairman  and  to  pay  any 
election  expenses  out  of  the  rates 
(the  Privy  Council,  as  a  rule,  deals 
very  generously  with  the  money  of 
other  people),  that  part  of  the  Bill 
which  relates  to  "  Local  Manage- 
ment" closes.* 


*  Since  the  text  was  written  the  census  has  been  taken,  and  though  the  figures  are 
not  given  on  authority,  it  is  known  that  throughout  large  districts  of  rural  and 
highland  Scotland  the  population  has  decreased  since  1861.  It  is  quite  plain  that  for 
many  of  these  districts  the  existing  educational  machinery  must  be  amply  sufficient. 
This  fact  adds  force  to  tbe  suggestion  contained  in  an  able  memorandum  addressed 
to  commissioners  of  supply  by  the  Education  Committee  of  the  Church  of  Scotland. 
"  To  prevent  these  evil  consequences,"  says  Dr  Cook,  the  convener,  "  only  one 
coarse  presents  itself — viz.,  to  ask  that  Scotland  shall  be  treated  with  respect  to  the 


1871.1 

Part  III.,  entitled  "  Schools,"  vests 
all  the  existing  parish  and  burgh 
schools  in  the  school  boards  to  be  ap- 
pointed under  the  Act.  The  school 
board  is  required  to  ascertain  within 
a  limited  time  whether  there  is  a  suffi- 
cient supply  of  public  school  accom- 
modation within  its  district,  and  to 
report  to  the  London  department  its 
opinion,  in  order  that  the  London 
department  may  judge  of  the  sound- 
ness of  such  opinion.  In  the  event 
of  the  school  board  being  of  opin- 
ion that  no  additional  accommoda- 
tion is  required,  the  London  board 
may  cause  further  inquiry  to  be 
made  by  officers  or  persons  appoint- 
ed by  them,  and  may  then  direct 
that  additional  accommodation  be 
provided.  If  the  school  board  fails 
to  report  within  a  specified  time,  or 
should  their  report  be  "unsatisfac- 
tory," the  London  department  are  to 
cause  their  own  officers  to  make 
inquiry  (the  expense  to  be  paid  by 
the  school  board),  and  thereafter  to 
make  and  issue  such  directions  and 
orders  as  they  shall  see  fit.  In  con- 
ducting their  inquiry,  the  officers  of 
the  department  (taking  into  account 
every  school,  ichether  public  or  not) 
"  shall  have  power  to  call  upon  all 
public  officers,  and  upon  all  clergy- 
men, schoolmasters,  teachers,  and 
managers  of  schools,"  for  such  infor- 
mation, access  to  documents,  and 
entry  to  schools  and  school-build- 
ings, as  they  may  deem  necessary 
for  the  purposes  of  the  inquiry.  The 
London  Board  is  authorised  to  call 
for  returns,  to  draw  up  the  forms  in 
which  the  returns  are  made,  and,  in 
the  event  of  the  returns  not  being 
made,  or  not  being  made  in  the  pre- 


T/te  Scotch  Education  Bill 


CG5 


scribed  forms,  to  appoint  an  officer 
to  make  them  at  the  expense  of  the 
school  board.  The  London  Board 
is  further  authorised  to  appoint  in- 
spectors to  inquire  into  the  accuracy 
and  completeness  of  the  returns. 
With  "  the  consent  and  approba- 
tion" of  the  London  department,  old 
schools  may  be  enlarged,  new  schools 
built,  and  private  schools  acquired. 
With  "  the  consent "  of  the  London 
department,  and  subject  to  the  rules 
and  conditions  that  it  may  prescribe, 
infant,  evening,  industrial,  and 
(when  satisfied  that  a  district  is 
suffering  from  poverty)  free  schools 
may  be  established. 

We  come  next  to  that  part  of  the 
Bill  entitled  "  Finance,"  and  here  it 
is  only  fair  to  say  that  the  London 
department  is  not  brought  promin- 
ently forward.  The  rate-payers  are 
graciously  permitted  to  tax  themselves 
very  much  as  they  like  !  Nay,  the 
50th  section,  in  the  most  handsome 
manner,  provides  that "  every  school 
board  shall  be  at  liberty  to  receive 
any  property  or  funds  which  may 
from  time  to  time  be  conveyed,  be- 
queathed, or  gifted  to  it."  It  is  to 
be  regretted  that  the  clause  did  not 
end  there,  for  it  could  then  have 
been  said  that  one  distinct  and  com- 
plete act  of  administration  had  been 
confided  to  the  discretion  of  the  local 
boards.  But  it  proceeds — "  And  it 
shall  be  the  duty  of  the  board,  sub- 
ject to  the  control  of  the  Scotch  Edu- 
cation Department,  to  administer 
such  property." 

Part  V.  deals  with  the  school- 
master, and  deals  with  him,  we  are 
bound  to  say,  in  an  excessively 
shabby  and  arbitrary  fashion.  The 


supply  of  schools  in  the  same  way  as  England  is  treated  under  the  Education  Act  of 
1870  :  in  other  words,  that  it  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  Central  Department  (wherever 
located)  to  make  inquiry  as  to  educational  destitution,  and  that  Boards  of  Ratepayers 
shall  be  called  into  existence  only  wJiere  there  is  destitution  to  remedy,  and  where  that 
destitution  is  not,  after  due  notice  given,  otherwise  supplied.  If  in  any  respect  the 
statute  which  at  present  regulates  the  parochial  schools  requires  alteration,  it  is 
open  at  any  time  to  changes  which  may  amend  it  without  subverting  the  schools 
which  now  exist  under  its  protection." 


666 


The  Scotch  Education  Bill. 


remuneration,  by  salary  or  other- 
wise, of  a  schoolmaster,  shall  be,  it 
provides,  not  less  than — £50 1  £70  1 
£100?  no— not  less  than  Thirty- 
five  pounds  a-year !  Scotch  school- 
masters are  to  be  paid  at  the  rate  of 
13s.  a-week — the  wages  of  Scotch 
ploughmen  and  other  agricultural 
labourers  averaging,  we  believe,  15s. 
or  1 7s.  The  appointment  of  school- 
masters is  vested  in  the  school 
boards  ;  but  their  choice  is  limited 
to  persons  who  hold  a  "  certificate 
of  competency,"  granted  by  the 
London  Board.  The  examiners  of 
persons  desiring  to  obtain  certificates 
of  competency  are  to  be  appointed 
by  the  University  Courts  of  the 
four  Universities  of  Scotland,  but 
the  examiners  merely  "  report " 
to  the  London  Board,  which  alone 
has  the  power  to  issue  certificates, 
and  which  may,  without  cause  as- 
signed, cancel  such  certificates.  This 
extraordinary  power — the  power  to 
dismiss  a  teacher  whenever  it  sees 
fit  to  do  so,  without  reason  assigned 
or  trial  accorded  —  is  thus  curtly 
defined  : — 

"The  Scotch  Education  Department 
may  issue  an  order  cancelling  the  certifi- 
cate of  competency  of  any  teacher,  and 
every  such  teacher  whose  certificate  shall 
have  been  cancelled  shall  forthwith  cease 
to  be  a  certificated  teacher,  and  he  shall 
be  removed  from  the  office  of  school  teacher 
which  he  may  then  hold,  and  shall  vacate 
the  schoolroom  and  other  tenements  which 
he  may  hold  by  virtue  of  his  office,  and 
shall  cease  to  enjoy  the  emoluments  at- 
tached to  such  office." 

Schoolmasters  holding  office  at 
the  date  of  the  passing  of  the  Act 
are  entitled,  indeed,  to  demand  what 
is  called  "  a  public  inquiry  "  before 
being  dismissed  by  the  London 
Board ;  but  this  public  inquiry  is 
a  transparent  imposture.  On  the 
demand  being  made,  the  London 


[May 

Board  are  to  nominate  one  or  more 
fit  persons  before  whom  the  inquiry 
is  to  take  place,  and  who,  the  sec- 
tion proceeds,  "  shall  report  the  re- 
sult of  the  inquiry  to  the  Scottish 
Education  Department,  who  shall, 
on  considering  the  report,  do  in  the 
matter  as  shall  be  just,"  and  a  dis- 
missal by  the  said  Department  "shall 
be  final,  and  not  subject  to  review 
or  question  in  any  court  of  law." 
A  public  inquiry,  forsooth !  The 
evidence  is  to  be  led  in  public,  and 
there  the  publicity  ends.  The  notes 
taken  by  the  Commissioners  are  to 
be  transmitted  by  post  to  London  ; 
they  are  to  be  considered  by  "  some 
secretary  or  assistant- secretary "  in 
the  office  at  Downing  Street ;  and 
a  fortnight  afterwards  the  luckless 
schoolmaster  is  to  receive  a  letter, 
signed  by  "  some  secretary  or  assis- 
tant-secretary," informing  him  that 
he  has  been  dismissed,  and  that  the 
dismissal  is  final,  and  not  subject  to 
review  or  question  in  any  sort  of 
way.  The  Act  does  not  merely 
give  the  London  Board  the  absolute 
right  to  dismiss  the  schoolmaster, 
but  it  fails  to  indicate  any  condi- 
tions or  limitations  under  which  the 
right  is  to  be  exercised.  They  may 
dismiss  him  because  his  hair  is  red, 
or  because  he  speaks  with  a  Buchan 
accent :  from  the  first  to  the  last 
clause  there  is  nothing  whatever  to 
indicate  what  shall  be  deemed  "  an 
offence"  under  the  Act.  And  yet 
the  unfortunate  teacher,  like  the  rest 
of  us,  is  presumed  to  live  under  a 
constitutional  government,  and  the 
Bill  has  been  drawn  and  devised  by 
the  members  of  a  Liberal  Ministry  !* 
We  need  not  continue  our  ex- 
amination and  exposition  further. 
The  remainder  of  the  Act  is  con- 
ceived in  the  same  spirit;  and  it 
fitly  closes  by  providing  that  a 


*  The  difficulty  of  dismissing  a  schoolmaster  who  is  known  to  be  incompetent  is  at 
present  too  great;  but  the  right  of  the  Central  Board  to  dismiss  should  unquestion- 
ably be  placed  under  certain  statutory  limitations. 


1871.] 


The  Scotch  Education  Bill. 


GG7 


school  board  cannot  "  remit  the 
whole  or  any  part  of  the  fees  pay- 
able by  a  child  where  the  parent 
satisfies  the  school  board  that  he  is 
unable  from  poverty  to  pay  the 
same,"  without  the  approval  of  the 
Scotch  Education  Department,  "  who 
shall  cause  such  inquiry  to  be  made 
in  the  parish  or  burgh  as  they  think 
requisite."  Throughout  the  Bill 
the  school  boards  are  treated  as 
children,  to  whom  freedom  of  action 
or  choice  is  carefully  denied,  and 
over  whom  "some  secretary  or  as- 
sistant secretary"  at  the  Privy 
Council  Office  must  exercise  a  pa- 
ternal control,  and  a  constant  and 
vigilant  inquisition. 

Now  we  do  not  wish  to  be  mis- 
understood. We  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  the  organisation  and  ad- 
ministration of  national  education 
can  be  left  to  the  local  boards. 
There  must  be  some  central  tribunal. 
A  cautious,  judicious,  well-informed 
central  board,  sitting  in  Scotland,* 
composed,  let  us  say  at  a  venture, 
of  the  Principals  of  the  Universities 
(who  have  a  good  deal  of  spare  time 
on  their  hands),  with  a  legal  asses- 
sor to  advise  on  points  of  law, 
woidd  be  of  real  service.  To  such 
a  tribunal  the  nation  might  safely 
intrust  the  delicate  and  extensive 
jurisdiction  which  the  Bill  confers 
on  the  Privy  Council — part  of  it,  at 
least,  if  not  all  of  it.  The  jurisdic- 
tion is  delicate  and  extensive,  and, 
even  by  the  best  -  informed  board 
that  could  be  framed,  would  require 


to  be  exercised  with  the  utmost  care 
and  caution :  exercised  by  "  some 
secretary  or  assistant  secretary"  at 
Downing  Street  it  would  become 
oppressive,  inquisitorial,  tyrannical 
— utterly  vexatious  and  burdensome 
to  all  concerned. 

It  is  certainly  natural  that  a 
Scotch  Education  Board  should  sit 
in  Scotland,  and  be  composed  main- 
ly of  Scotsmen.  What,  then,  are  the 
reasons  which  prevent  the  Govern- 
ment from  giving  effect  to  so  rea- 
sonable a  request?  As  far  as  we 
have  observed,  only  two  have  been 
assigned — by  Mr  Gladstone  and  Mr 
Forster  respectively. 

"  You  know,"  Mr  Gladstone  told 
a  deputation  from  the  United  Pres- 
byterian Church,  "  that  your  Scotch 
members  object  to  the  Scotch 
boards  that  already  exist,  and  they 
would,  of  course,  oppose  the  crea- 
tion of  a  new  one."  "  The  Bill  pro- 
poses," said  Mr  Forster,  "that  certain 
grants  shall  be  made  by  Parliament 
in  aid  of  the  local  rates,  and  such 
grants  can  only  be  made  through 
the  Privy  Council,  which  is  respon- 
sible to  Parliament  for  their  due 
application."  Mr  Gladstone's  objec- 
tion raises  the  question  of  the  util- 
ity and  efficiency  of  the  Scotch 
boards  (which  we  thought  had  been 
settled), — Mr  Forster's  involves  the 
much  larger  question  of  Ministerial 
responsibility. 

The  history  of  the  crusade  against 
the  Scotch  administrative  boards 
is  interesting  and  instructive.  -It 


*  The  scheme  which  we  indicate  might  be  worked  out  somewhat  in  this  way : — There 
are  the  Principals  of  five  colleges  in  Scotland,  who  now  receive  salaries  of  from  £500  to 
£800  per  annum.  They  are  all  men  of  considerable  literary  and  academic  position, 
and  might,  even  apart  from  the  offices  which  they  hold,  be  fitly  selected  to  administer 
the  machinery  of  Scotch  education.  Each  of  them  would  receive  an  addition  to  his 
salary  during  the  time  that  he  continued  a  member  of  the  Board  of  Education.  To  the 
Principals,  an  experienced  lawyer  or  judge  and  school-inspector  might  be  added  ;  and 
thus,  for  a  very  moderate  yearly  sum,  a  Board  whose  decisions  would  command  general 
respect  throughout  Scotland  would  be  obtained.  The  Board  would  meet  once  a-month 
in  Edinburgh  for  the  determination  of  questions  of  principle  ;  but  the  ordinary  admin- 
istration might  be  assigned  to  committees — the  Principals  of  St  Andrews  and  Aber- 
deen to  undertake  the  supervision  of  education  in  the  northern  and  eastern  districts, 
and  the  Principals  of  Edinburgh  and  Glasgow  in  the  western  and  southern  districts. 
VOL.  CIX. NO.  DCLXVII.  2  Z 


668 


The  Scotch  Education  Bill. 


was  conducted  by  three  or  four  of 
the  Scotch  members  who  belong  to 
that  amiable  variety  of  their  coun- 
trymen which  has  been  felicitously 
described  by  the  '  Saturday  Review': 
"  What  he  likes  best  is  to  get  a 
place  for  himself,  and  what  he  likes 
second-best  is  to  prevent  some  other 
Scotsman  from  getting  it."  So  they 
charged  the  boards  with  ineffi- 
ciency, extravagance,  oppression, 
unpopularity,  and  other  grave  of- 
fences. At  their  instance  the  House 
of  Commons  appointed  a  Select 
Committee  to  try  the  Board  of  Super- 
vision. Moved  by  their  importuni- 
ties, the  Treasury  appointed  Lord 
Camperdown  and  Sir  William  Clarke 
to  inquire  at  Edinburgh  into  the 
allegations  against  the  different  de- 
partments. We  ventured  to  antici- 
pate that  the  inquiry  would  end  in 
the  confusion  and  discomfiture  of 
the  assailants.  Our  prediction  has 
been  more  than  verified.  Mr  Craw- 
furd,  the  Chairman  of  the  Select 
Committee,  and  the  ringleader  of 
the  insurgents,  having  satisfied  him- 
self that  the  Poor-Law  Board  ad- 
mirably discharges  its  onerous  duties, 
proposes  in  his  draft  report  to  in- 
crease its  numbers  and  augment  its 
authority.  Lord  Camperdown  as- 
certained that  the  charges  preferred 
against  the  Scotch  departments  in 
general  could  be  ascribed  only  to 
ignorance  or  mendacity.  When, 
after  the  Report  had  been  published 
and  laid  before  Parliament,  the  sub- 
ject was  discussed  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  (Mr  Lowe)  expressed 
himself  to  the  effect  that  the  admin- 
istration of  Scotch  affairs  had  been 
shown  to  be  "  remarkably  efficient 
and  surprisingly  economical."  These 
were  the  notorious  results  of  the 
inquiry ;  and  how  they  can  be  pre- 
sumed to  tell  against  the  proposal 
to  institute  a  Scotch  Education 
Board,  we  are  at  a  loss  to  perceive. 
It  is  easy,  indeed,  to  understand 


[May 


why,  in  the  conduct  of  Scotch 
affairs,  a  Scotch  should  be  superior 
to  an  English  board.  Sitting  in 
Scotland,  it  is  of  course  directly  and 
cheaply  accessible.  Then  it  must 
in  the  main,  moreover,  consist  of 
gentlemen  who  are  acquainted  with 
the  habits,  and  usages,  and  pecu- 
liarities of  the  country  which  they 
undertake  to  govern,  and  who  bave 
been  allowed  time  and  opportunity 
to  master  the  special  work  of  their 
department — trained  officers  con- 
versant with  the  laws  which  they 
administer,  and  habituated  to  the 
duties  which  they  discharge.  The 
local  boards  quickly  discover  that 
a  central  board  of  this  kind  is  the 
best-informed  and  cheapest  tribunal 
which  they  can  approach,  and  it 
becomes,  in  consequence,  a  board  of 
advice  and  direction  quite  as  much 
as — nay,  even  more  than — a  board  of 
control.  The  advantage  of  such 
a  system  of  administration  cannot 
be  overrated.  But  remove  the 
board  to  London,  and  put  an  English 
House  of  Commons  man  in  its 
chair,  and  it  will  forthwith  cease  to 
be  of  service,  and  become  a  nuisance 
and  an  obstruction. 

A  Scotch  board,  to  be  of  service, 
should  not  only  be  Scotch  in  com- 
position, but  it  should  sit  in  Scot- 
land. Every  one  who  knows  any- 
thing of  the  matter,  knows  that  the 
business  of  a  department  cannot  be 
conducted  by  correspondence  alone. 
To  clear  away  difficulties  and  facili- 
tate an  understanding,  a  personal 
interview  is  worth  a  dozen  letters. 
The  chairman  of  the  Poor  -  Law 
Board  told  Lord  Camperdown  that, 
besides  the  correspondence  of  his 
office  (some  6000  or  7000  letters 
annually  on  questions  of  law  and 
usage,  which  no  English  official 
could  comprehend),  deputations  from 
the  local  boards  waited  daily  upon 
the  Board,  the  chairman,  or  the 
secretary.  At  present  these  most 
useful  interviews  are  easily  arranged. 


1871.] 

The  inspector  or  chairman  of  a 
parochial  board  in  any  part  of 
Scotland  (save  the  remote  Highlands 
and  Islands)  can  reach  Edinburgh 
in  the  course  of  a  few  hours,  and 
his  return-ticket  will  cost  him  a  few 
shillings  only.  He  starts  by  an 
early  train,  transacts  his  business 
rapidly  with  men  who  can  at  once 
give  him  the  necessary  information, 
and  is  home  by  nightfall.  But  if 
the  conduct  of  Scotch  education  is 
to  be  removed  to  London,  the 
hardest  heart  must  experience  a 
sentiment  of  pity  for  the  unlucky 
schoolmaster  who  has  occasion  to 
consult  "  the  Scottish  Education 
Department."  Duncan  M'Gregor, 
schoolmaster  at  Cairndarroch,  we 
shall  say,  is  despatched  by  his 
board  to  obtain  an  interview  with 
that  august  tribunal  regarding  a 
fund  for  educational  purposes  which, 
the  Chief  of  MacCloskie  has  be- 
queathed to  the  parish  of  his  birth. 
Cairndarroch,  in  spite  of  the  railway, 
is  still  five  hundred  miles  distant 
from  the  metropolis,  and  Duncan 
finds  that  the  expense  of  the  jour- 
ney to  London — there  and  back — 
amounts  to  at  least  twenty  pounds. 
To  its  inquisitive  and  light-fingered 
gentry  the  simple  Celt,  as  he  wan- 
ders with  open  mouth  through  its 
crowded  streets,  presents  an  irre- 
sistible temptation ;  and  even  if  he 
arrive  in  safety  at  Downing  Street, 
he  has  an  Iliad  of  troubles  in  store. 
The  very  fine  gentlemen  who  con- 
descend occasionally  to  act  as  porters 
and  messengers  to  the  London 
offices  don't  understand  a  word  that 
he  says,  and  have  never  even  heard 
of  "  the  Scotch  Department,"  except 
in  connection  with  the  Limited  Mail. 
At  length,  having  in  the  interval 
overcome  with  characteristic  tenacity 
innumerable  obstacles,  Duncan  is 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  the 
assistant  secretary.  The  assistant 
secretary  shot  grouse  one  season  in 
Scotland  for  a  week,  and  of  course 


The  Scotch  Education  Bill. 


669 


understands  its  institutions  and  its 
language.  So  he  listens  attentively 
while  Duncan  explains  his  errand. 
"The  buird  hold  that  they're  in 
right  to  the  MacCloskie  Mortifica- 
tion; but  the  haill  lands  of  Mac- 
Closkie have  been  brought  before 
the  Lords  in  a  multiplepoinding. 
Now,  sir,  what  would  you  advise  us 
to  do  ? "  The  astounded  secretary 
would  probably  conclude  that  a 
multiplepoinding  was  a  kind  of 
vehicle  or  public  conveyance  used 
in  Scotland ;  but  no  amount  of 
explanation  would  enable  him  to 
comprehend  the  anxiety  of  the 
local  board  to  acquire  a  mortifica- 
tion. The  illustration  is  by  no 
means  fanciful — the  truth  being 
that  Scotch  life,  especially  the  life 
legal,  religious,  and  social  of  the 
more  remote  counties,  is  a  thing  by 
itself,  quite  distinct  from  English 
life,  and  requiring  to  be  handled 
with  a  delicate  consideration  and 
intelligent  discrimination  which  offi- 
cials resident  in  England  cannot 
possibly  acquire. 

As  regards  the  assumption  that  a 
Scotch  board  would  be  unpopular, 
we  need  only  say  that  we  have 
perused  the  reports  of  at  least  a 
hundred  meetings — lay  and  clerical 
— all  of  which,  with  hardly  an  ex- 
ception, have  insisted  on  the  neces- 
sity of  establishing  a  central  board 
in  Edinburgh,  and  have  declared 
that  rather  than  allow  their  schools 
to  be  handed  over  to  the  Privy 
Council,  they  will  use  their  best 
efforts  to  defeat  the  measure.  The 
unanimity  on  this  point,  to  those 
who  know  Scotland,  has  been  really 
astonishing. 

We  have  now,  in  the  last  place, 
to  consider  Mr  Forster's  argument 
on  Ministerial  responsibility.  The 
argument  has  never  been  stated 
with  precision,  but  it  is  based  on 
some  such  train  of  reasoning  as  this  : 
"  Every  department  of  the  execu- 
tive must  be  directly  responsible  to 


670 


The  Scotch  Education  Bill. 


[May 


the  Legislature.  But  there  can  be 
no  responsibility  unless  the  head  of 
the  department  is  a  member  of  the 
Ministry,  with  a  seat  in  Parliament, 
and  liable  to  be  removed  from  office 
by  a  Parliamentary  vote."  On  this 
proposition  we  have  one  or  two 
remarks  to  offer,  which  we  think 
are  worthy  of  being  considered  even 
by  those  who  are  only  indirectly  in- 
terested in  the  fate  of  a  Scotch  Edu- 
cation Bill. 

It  is  absurd  to  say,  in  the  year 
1871,  that  any  department  of  the 
executive,  either  in  England  or 
Scotland,  is  "  irresponsible."  Every 
public  body  in  this  country  is  now 
sensitively  alive  to  public  and  Par- 
liamentary opinion.  Even  in  the 
narrowest  technical  sense,  the  Scotch 
boards  are  responsible  to  the  House 
of  Commons  through  the  Home  Se- 
cretary (to  whom  they  report  an- 
nually), and  through  the  Lord 
Advocate.  We  are  willing,  indeed,  to 
admit  that  the  Scotch  system  of 
administration  is  different  from  that 
which  obtains  in  those  English 
offices  (and  in  those  only)  which 
are  presided  over  by  Cabinet  Min- 
isters ;  but  we  maintain,  without 
hesitation,  that  the  difference  is 
altogether  in  favour  of  Scotland. 
What  is  the  object  in  view  ?  If  the 
object  in  view  be  to  put  "the  right 
man  in  the  right  place,"  and  leave 
him  there  to  do  his  work  to  the  best 
of  his  ability,  the  Scotch  is  a  far 
sounder  system  than  the  English, 
which,  indeed,  on  any  ground  of 
reason  or  logic,  is  utterly  indefen- 
sible. For  what  do  they  do  in 
England  1  Most  of  the  great  admin- 
istrative offices  are  made  political 
and  Parliamentary  prizes,  to  be 
scrambled  for  on  the  floor  of  the 
House  of  Commons.  Whenever  a 
Cabinet  is  overturned,  the  official 
chiefs  retire,  and  make  way  for  men 
who  maybe,  and  indeed  generally  are, 
entirely  ignorant  of  the  special  duties 
of  their  departments.  Mr  Gladstone, 


more  suo,  carries  the  practice  to  the 
extreme  limit;  it  is  necessary,  he 
gravely  maintains,  to  "  educate " 
statesmen ;  if  a  youthful  politician 
is  kept  in  an  office  till  he  is  ac- 
quainted with  its  duties,  his  mind, 
becoming  cramped  and  dwarfed, 
cannot  rise  to  the  contemplation  of 
imperial  questions ;  and  thus,  under 
the  paternal  supervision  of  the  First 
Minister,  there  is  a  constant  shuffle 
of  the  cards.  Lord  Hartington 
leaves  the  Post-Office  and  goes  to 
Ireland;  Mr  Stansfeld  leaves  the 
Treasury  and  goes  to  the  Poor-Law 
Board ;  Mr  Goschen  leaves  the  Poor- 
Law  Board  and  goes  to  the  Admi- 
ralty. That  the  system  does  not 
lead  to  the  utter  demoralisation  of 
the  public  offices  is  the  highest  tri- 
bute that  can  be  paid  to  the  excel- 
lence of  the  permanent  subordinates. 
A  system  so  fundamentally  irra- 
tional, however,  cannot,  we  may  be 
assured,  survive  a  season  of  pressure. 
The  House  of  Commons  has  spent 
six  unprofitable  weeks  in  unprofit- 
able debates  upon  the  reorganisation 
of  the  army.  EveryAvhere  through- 
out the  country  people  are  asking 
to  what  cause  this  legislative  and 
administrative  paralysis  is  to  be 
ascribed.  The  time  will  come,  or 
we  are  much  'mistaken,  when  the 
administration  of  the  army  and 
navy  will  be  withdrawn  from  the 
control  of  Parliamentary  tacticians, 
and  intrusted  to  the  "  irresponsible" 
discretion  of  real  soldiers  and  sailors. 
That  time  will  come — let  us  hope 
that  it  will  come  quickly ;  else  it 
will  go  hard  with  England  when 
Moltke  and  Bismark  are  ready  to 
turn  their  big  guns  against  our 
rotten  batteries. 

Mr  Forster,  as  we  have  said,  is  an 
eminently  fair  and  reasonable  man. 
Will  he  ask  himself  what  he  truly 
means  when  he  uses  the  word 
"  responsibility  "  1  Eesponsible  for 
what?  Eesponsible,  we  presume, 
for  the  proper  application  of  the  na- 


1871.] 


tional  funds.  And  to  whom  may  that 
responsibility  most  prudently  be  in- 
trusted, and  by  whom  will  it  be  most 
efficiently  discharged1?  by  an  English 
or  Irish  secretary  sitting  at  Downing 
Street,  or  by  a  board  of  Scotch 
gentlemen  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  wants  and  idiosyncrasies  of 
Scotland,  easily  and  cheaply  acces- 
sible, and  specially  selected  for  their 
ability  to  undertake  the  duties  of 
the  department  ?  Yet,  even  assum 
ing,  as  has  been  said,  that  the  Scotch 
offices  are  comparatively  irrespon- 
sible, it  does  not  follow  that  irre- 
sponsibility is  a  bad  thing  if  it  is 
thereby  meant  that  a  body  intrusted 
with  difficult  and  delicate  functions 
is  placed  in  a  position  which  enables 
it  to  be  indifferent  to  the  passing 
agitation  of  the  moment.  .The  law 
has  anxiously  attempted  to  secure 
that,  in  this  sense,  the  judicial  office, 
for  instance,  shall  be  irresponsible. 
Looking  to  the  semi-judicial  duties 
which  administrative  boards  are 
called  upon  to  discharge,  it  is  clearly 
an  advantage  that  they  should  not 
be  filled  by  eager  political  partisans, 
fresh  from  the  Parliamentary  arena, 
and  anxious  above  all  things  to  dis- 
credit an  opponent,  or  to  catch  a  vote. 
Once  more,  Mr  Forster  is  not  only 
a  reasonable  but  a  liberal  man.  Why 
should  he  treat  Scotland  with  this 
exceptional  shabbiness  ]  The  Scotch 
have  been  historically  and  prover- 
bially a  thrifty  people,  and  it  is  not 
probable  that  at  this  late  hour  of  the 
day  they  will  all  at  once  become  ex- 
travagant and  reckless.  Scotland 
has  now  been  united  with  England 
and  Ireland  for  a  good  many  years  ; 
but  it  must  be  said  that,  financially 
speaking,  the  connection  is  not  pro- 
fitable. Ireland  pays  little,  and 
gets  much ;  Scotland  pays  much, 


The  Scotch  Education  Bill. 


671 


and  gets  little.  The  appropriation 
accounts  recently  issued  for  1869-70 
enable  us  to  compare  the  expendi- 
ture on  the  Civil  Service  in  the  three 
countries,  and  are  worth  looking 
into.  The  Home  Civil  Service  is 
divided  into  four  general  classes — 
Public  Works,  Public  Departments, 
Law  and  Justice  (exclusive  of  judi- 
cial salaries,  which  are  mostly  paid 
out  of  the  Consolidated  Fund,  and 
exhibit  the  same  disproportion),  and 
Education,  Science,  and  Art. 

The  total  estimate   for  the   year  under 
Class  I.,  "Public  Works  and  Build- 
ings," amounted  to  .         .   £1,223,806 
Of  which  Scotland  obtained 
(exclusive  of  the    special 
votes    for     sheriff-  court 
houses  and  the    Glasgow 
University  buildings)        .  20,566 

And  Ireland,  as  an   annual 

average  charge,  obtained  .         148,817 
The  total   estimate   for  the  year  under 
Class      II.,    "  Public    Departments," 
amounted  to     .         .         .     1,733,681 
Of  which  Scotland  obtained  .          51,010 
And  Ireland         .        .        .         182,183 
The  total   estimate  for  the  yenr  under 
Class  III.,  "  Law  and  Justice, "  amount- 
ed to          ....     3,712,246 
Of  which  Scotland  obtained  .        177,010 
Of  which  Ireland  obtained    .      1,317,384 
The  total  estimate  for  the  year  under 
Class  IV.,  "Education,  Science^   and 
Art,"  amounted  to    .         .     16,28,170 
Of  which  Scotland  obtained  .  98,083 

Of  which  Ireland  obtained*  .         404,000 

The  result,  on  the  whole,  was 
as  follows :  Out  of  a  total  vote 
of  £8,298,083,  Ireland  obtained 
£2,042,384,  whereas  Scotland  ob- 
tained only  £346,669,  the  balance, 
close  upon  six  millions,  going  to 
England.  The  expenses  of  the 
administrative  departments  are 
included  under  Class  II.  The 
£51,010  which  Scotland  obtained 
was  distributed  in  the  following 
proportions  : — 


*  To  this,  according  to  '  The  Irish  Teacher's  Journal,'  must  now  be  added  another 
£100,000.  That  Journal  announces  (1st  April  1871)  : — ''  We  have  much  pleasure  in 
informing  our  readers  that  the  Government  have  acceded  to  the  request  of  the  Com- 
missioners, and  have  placed  at  their  disposal  the  additional  sum  of  £100,000,  to  be 
employed  in  the  improvement  of  the  position  of  the  Irish  national  teachers. 


672 


The  Scotch  Education  Bill. 


Exchequer  and  other  offices,  .  £6,317 
Fishery  Board  (including  grants 

for  piers,  cutter  service,  &c.),  13,298 

General  Register  Office,  .  7,321 

Lunacy  Commission,  .  .  6,166 
Poor-Law  Commission  (including 

£10,000  for  medical  relief),  17,838 


The   £182,183   which    went 
Ireland  was  thus  distributed  : — 


to 


Lord-Lieutenant's  household, 
Chief  Secretary's  Office,    . 
Boundary  Survey,     . 
Charitable  Donations  Office, 
General  Register  Office,    . 
Poor-Law  Commission,    . 
Public  Record  Office, 
Public  Works  Office, 


£6,164 

23,453 

500 

2,238 
20,722 
97,328 

4,682 
27,183 


does  this  comparison  exhaust 
what  can  be  said  in  favour  of  the 
economical  administration  of  the 
Scotch  departments.  They  pay 
back  to  the  Treasury  every  year 
about  £6000  (which  has  been  re- 
ceived by  them  in  the  shape  of  fees) ; 
and  the  Comptroller-General  certi- 
fies that  their  actual  expenditure  last 
year  was  less  than  their  estimated, 
to  the  amount  of  £3000.  The  grant 


[May  1871. 

of  £10,000  for  the  medical  officers 
of  the  parochial  boards  is  simply 
distributed  by  the  Poor-Law  Board; 
and  the  same  may  be  said  of  the 
sum  of  £4800  for  piers  and  har- 
bours, and  boat  and  cutter  service, 
which  is  paid  through  the  Fishery 
Board.  Deducting  these  sums 
(amounting  together  to  close  upon 
£24,000),  it  appears  that  the  net 
cost  of  the  whole  administrative  ma- 
chinery of  Scotland  amounts  to  about 
£27,000  —  probably  the  cheapest 
governing  body  that  is  to  be  found 
in  the  world  ! 

The  '  Scotsman '  has  hinted  that 
a  good  board  in  London  would  be 
better  than  a  bad  board  in  Edin- 
burgh. We  have  proved,  we  think, 
that  from  the  nature  of  the  case  a 
good  board  in  London  is  out  of  the 
question ;  and  to  insinuate  that 
there  are  not  three  men  in  Scotland 
capable  of  organising  its  educational 
machinery,  is  surely  to  libel  a  people 
who  have  shown  throughout  their 
whole  career  a  special  aptitude  for 
the  business  of  government. 


Printed  by  William  Blackicood  <£•  Sons,  Edinburgh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBUKGH    MAGAZINE. 


No.  DCLXVIII. 


JUNE  1871. 


VOL.  CIX. 


CHARLES    DICKENS. 


"  CALL  no  man  happy  till  he  is 
dead,"  said  the  wise  old  heathens. 
It  is  still  more  important  that  we 
should  sum  up  no  man's  greatness, 
and  come  to  no  definite  conclu- 
sion as  to  his  fame,  until  that  last 
great  event  has  happened  which 
separates  him  softly  yet  suddenly 
from  all  the  secondary  influences, 
from  all  the  ephemeral  popularity 
of  common  life.  It  is  not  very  long 
since  most  sensible  people  were 
moved  with  that  curious  mixture 
of  sorrow,  shame,  and  unwilling 
amusement,  which  is  called  forth 
by  any  absurd  exhibition  of  self- 
importance  or  vanity — by  the  record 
of  the  amazing  reception  given  to 
Mr  Dickens  by  the  American  people, 
or  at  least  by  those  excitable  classes 
who  claim  to  represent  that  ill-used 
nation.  If  we  remember  rightly, 
the  fact  that  Dickens  spoke  our 
common  language  was  then  pro- 
claimed on  both  sides  of  the  Atlan- 
tic as  one  of  those  often-referred-to 
bonds  of  union  which  ought  to 
make  New  England  and  Old  Eng- 
land one.  The  sacred  mother- 

VOL.    CIX. NO.    DCLXVIII. 


tongue,  which  was  spoken  by  Sarah 
Gamp  and  Betsy  Prig,  was  to  be- 
come an  object  of  deeper  sanctity 
to  both  of  us  from  that  hallowing 
connection ;  and  not  Butler  nor 
Bunkum,  much  less  Alabama  claims 
or  Fenians  or  Filibusters,  could 
break  the  charm  which  a  Dickens 
breathed  upon  the  great  Anglo- 
Saxon  world,  which,  if  it  was  united 
in  nothing  else,  was  still  united  in 
its  worship  of  his  genius.  A  hasty 
hearer  might  have  supposed  it  was 
Shakespeare  of  whom  these  praises 
were  spoken;  but  it  was  not.  It 
was  the  author  of  '  Pickwick,'  and 
'  Copperfield,'  and  (honour  to  Yankee 
impartiality  !)  '  Chuzzlewit '  —  not 
by  any  means  a  Shakespeare,  but 
yet  a  man  exercising  much  real  and 
a  great  deal  of  false  influence  on 
the  world.  People  laughed  in  their 
sleeves  at  the  big  words  of  this  glori- 
fication ;  yet  Dickens  had  his  seat 
secure  in  the  national  "Walhalla, 
such  as  it  is,  and  nobody  dared  to 
attempt  to  dislodge  him.  When 
he  appeared,  crowds  thronged  to 
hear  and  see  him  :  when,  after  a 
3  A 


674 


Charles  Dickens. 


[June 


long  interval  of  silence,  he  conde- 
scended to  put  forth  the  beginning 
of  a  story  in  the  old  well-remember- 
ed green  covers,  everybody  rushed 
to  read,  to  praise,  and  to  admire,  if 
they  could.  There  is  something  half 
affecting,  half  ridiculous — and  which 
shows  in  the  very  best  light  the 
grateful  docility  of  the  common 
mind — in  the  eagerness  with  which 
the  public  tried  to  convince  itself 
that  it  was  charmed  by  the  open- 
ing of  the  fragment  called  '  Edwin 
Drood.'  We  all  said  to  each 
other  that  this  was  going  to  be 
a  powerful  story — one  of  his  best, 
prehaps ;  we  were  on  the  outlook 
for  the  familiar  delights,  the  true 
Dickens  vein,  which  we  knew  so 
well.  The  effect  was  flat,  no  doubt, 
and  the  effort  severe  ;  but  perhaps 
we  thought  that  was  our  own,  the 
reader's,  fault.  Thus  faithfully  does 
the  British  public,  much-maligned 
and  sorely -tried  audience,  uphold 
the  minstrel  who  has  once  got  pos- 
session of  its  ear.  It  stood  by 
him  with  a  piteous  fidelity  to  the 
last.  But  now  Dickens,  too,  has 
come,  like  so  many  more,  to  be  a  piece 
of  history,  and  may  be  judged  as 
the  rest  have  been  judged.  For 
something  between  thirty  and  forty 
years  he  has  reigned  and  had  his 
day.  He  has  been  adulated  publicly 
and  privately,  as  (it  is  said)  kings 
used  to  be  adored.  For  a  lifetime  he 
was  fed  with  praise,  as  well  as  with 
that  which  is  more  substantial  than 
praise.  The  fictitious  people  of  his 
making  were  received  into  the  world 
as  if  they  had  been  a  new  tribe,  and 
he  their  king.  Honour,  and  riches, 
and  a  kind  of  semi-royal  power,  were 
his.  This  great  position  he  un- 
doubtedly held  in  right  of  his  genius 
alone,  and  retained  it  till  he  died. 
How  he  did  this,  how  he  managed 
to  get  so  high,  and  keep  the  height 
so  long,  and  what  he  did  for  the 
world  thus  subject  to  him  during 
his  reign,  are  interesting  questions, 


to  which  we  mean  to  try  to  give 
some  satisfactory  answer. 

The  world  of  fiction — or  rather 
the  world  of  poetry  and  imagina- 
tion— in  which  the  dullest  of  us 
spend  so  many  hours,  if  not  years, 
of  our  lives,  has  many  differing 
altitudes  and  longitudes,  and 
many  variations  of  spiritual  atmo- 
sphere. It  becomes  narrow  or  large 
to  us,  low  or  lofty,  noble  or  mean, 
according  as  is  the  guide  we  choose 
or  find  most  congenial.  There  are 
some  who  lead  us  into  a  tragic  Infer- 
no, echoing  with  mortal  groans  and 
dark  with  misery ;  some  into  a 
stately  Eden,  all  novel  and  splen- 
did, with  two  fair  primeval  crea- 
tures in  the  midst ;  and  some  into 
the  scenes  we  know — the  common 
earth,  which  we  recognise,  and  yet 
which  is  not  the  less  enchanted 
ground.  Of  all  the  circles  of  ima- 
ginative creation,  that  of  Shake- 
speare is  the  widest,  as  it  is  the  most 
largely  impartial,  the  most  divinely 
calm.  It  is  a  very  world  full  of 
creatures  good  and  evil,  of  every- 
thing the  earth  contains — the  mean 
and  miserable  along  with  the  noblest 
and  highest.  All  are  there,  great 
and  small,  because  all  are  in  nature. 
But  there  was  but  one  Shakespeare, 
and  we  do  not  compare  the  mere 
children  of  men  with  that  son  of 
the  gods.  To  come  a  long  way  far- 
ther down,  there  is  much  in  the 
atmosphere  of  Scott  which  reflects 
that  of  Shakespeare.  If  there  is 
no  great  intellectual  being  towering 
over  common  men,  there  is  at  least 
a  full  and  honest  conception  of  the 
variations  in  that  gamut  of  hu- 
manity which  strikes  so  high,  and 
sinks  into  such  depths  profound. 
And  in  our  own  day  we  have  still 
that  heritage  of  truth  and  nature. 
Thackeray,  so  often  miscalled  cynic, 
though  his  pages  may  be  over-full 
of  the  easy  victims  of  social  satire, 
has  not  left  us  without  more  than 
one  noble  testimony  that  mankind 


1871.]  diaries  Dickens. 

can  be  as  good,  and  simple,  and 
honest,  and  true,  as  it  can  be  wick- 
ed, base,  designing,  and  artful.  This 
Shakespearian  tradition  has  come 
down  to  us  through  the  changes 
of  ages.  In  the  eighteenth  century 
— that  time  of  universal  crisis — there 
was  a  fluttering  and  doubtfulness  of 
standards.  Richardson,  narrow  in 
his  honest  inexperience,  would  have 
made  a  world  for  us  out  of  sublimi- 
ties and  fiends,  lifting  the  ideal  of 
humanity  to  the  last  taper-point  of 
elevation ;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
manliness  had  like  to  become  iden- 
tified with  vice,  had  not  Parson 
Adams  saved  Fielding.  But  through 
all,  the  creed  of  our  best  Makers 
has  been  that  of  our  greatest  Poet — 
which  is,  that  the  noble  are,  at  least, 
as  possible  as  the  mean ;  that  you 
are  as  likely  to  find  in  your  next 
neighbour  a  generous  friendly  An- 
tonio as  a  grasping  Shylock ;  and 
that  a  man  cannot  truly  picture  the 
world  of  fact  in  the  world  of  art, 
without  tracing  at  least  as  many 
beautiful  images  as  he  does  base 
ones — nay,  that  the  beauty,  the 
goodness,  the  nobility,  must  imprint 
themselves  on  the  record,  amid  all 
baser  chronicles,  or  the  record  can- 
not be  true. 

Now,  the  curious  thing  in  the 
works  of  Mr  Dickens  is,  that  whereas 
he  has  added  a  flood  of  people  to 
the  population  of  the  world,  he  has 
not  added  one  to  that  lofty  rank 
where  dwell  the  best  of  humanity. 
He  has  given  us  the  most  amusing 
fools  that  this  generation  knows, 
the  most  charmingly  genial  people 
in  difficulties,  the  most  intolerable 
and  engaging  of  bores.  But  he  has 
scarcely  left  us  one  character  which 
is  above  ridicule,  or  of  which 
we  think  with  a  smile  and  a  tear 
mingled,  as  it  is  the  highest  boast 
of  your  true  humorist  to  mingle 
smiles  and  tears.  Not  to  ascend  to 
any  Shakespearian  heights,  there  is 
not  even  such  a  light  as  Uncle  Toby 


675 


shining  out  of  his  pages ;  there  is 
nothing  like  Thomas  Newcoine.  He 
tries  hard,  and  strains,  and  makes 
many  an  effort  to  cover  the  deficiency; 
but  what  he  produces  is  sham,  not 
real — it  is  maudlin,  not  pathetic. 
His  highest  ideal  has  a  quiver,  as  of 
semi-intoxication,  in  its  voice ;  its 
virtue  is  smug,  self-conscious,  sur- 
rounded by  twittering  choruses  of 
praise.  There  is  not  even  a  woman 
among  the  many  in  his  books  that 
would  bear  putting  up  by  the  side  of 
the  women  who  are  to  live  for  ever; 
and  how  strangely  wanting  must  be 
the  man  of  genius  who  cannot  frame 
one  woman,  at  least,  worth  placing  in 
the  crowd  where  Una  is  !  This  is 
the  strange  drawback,  the  one  huge 
deficiency,  which  must  always  limit 
the  reputation  of  the  much-wor- 
shipped novelist.  Mrs  Gamp,  no 
doubt,  is  great;  but  she  will  not 
serve  our  turn  here.  He  has  repre- 
sented with  the  most  graphic  and 
vivid  clearness  almost  every  grade 
of  the  species  Fool.  He  has  painted 
ridiculous  people,  silly  people,  self- 
ish people,  people  occupied  with 
one  idea,  oddities,  eccentrics,  a 
thousand  varieties — but  among  all 
these  has  never  once  stumbled  upon 
the  simple,  true,  ideal  woman,  or  any 
noble  type  of  man.  Looking  at  his 
real  power,  his  undeniable  genius, 
the  wonderful  fertility  of  his  ima- 
gination, the  spectator  asks  with  a 
certain  surprise,  How  is  it  that  he 
never  fell  upon  one  such  accident- 
ally, as  we  do  in  the  world1?  The 
wonder  seems  how  he  could  miss  it. 
But  miss  it  he  did,  with  the  curious 
persistency  of  those  fate  -  directed 
steps  which  are  fain  to  enter  into 
every  path  but  one.  This  is  the 
first  characteristic  of  Dickens  among 
his  compeers  in  the  world  of  litera- 
ture. He  has  given  us  pictures  as 
powerful,  individualities  as  distinct, 
as  any  have  done.  Perhaps  he  has 
added  to  our  common  talk  a  larger 
number  of  side  reflections  from  the 


676 


Charles  Dickens, 


[June 


thoughts  and  experiences  of  ficti- 
tious persons,  than  most  writers  even 
of  equal  power.  But  he  has  not 
created  one  character  so  close  to 
us,  yet  so  much  above  us,  that  we 
can  feel  him  a  positive  gain  to  hu- 
manity. 

Now,  when  we  make  this  com- 
plaint and  accusation  against  the 
novelist,  we  are  by  no  means  set- 
ting up  the  ideal  above  the  real,  or 
demanding  of  heaven  and  earth  a 
succession  of  Grandisons.  Far  be 
the  thought  from  our  mind :  for  one 
hero  there  must  always  be,  no 
doubt,  a  hundred  valets,  with  a 
variety  and  play  of  life  among  them 
such  as  many  people  can  appreciate 
a  great  deal  better  than  they  could 
appreciate  the  bigger  nature.  Let 
us  have  the  valets  by  all  means ;  but 
the  writer  who  can  set  only  valets 
before  us  cannot  be  placed  in  the 
highest  rank.  It  must  be  under- 
stood that  the  difference  between 
the  mind  which  makes  "  the  gentle 
lady  wedded  to  the  Moor"  the  central 
light  in  a  picture,  and  the  mind 
which  places  Mrs  Gamp  in  that 
position,  is  not  a  difference  of  degree, 
but  one  of  kind.  The  latter  may 
be  amusing,  versatile,  brilliant,  and 
full  of  genius,  but  it  is  clear  that  the 
best  he  can  do  for  his  race  is  a  best 
which  is  infinitely  beneath  the  other. 
He  knows  of  no  hidden  excellence, 
no  new  glory  which  he  can  bring 
out  into  the  light  of  day ;  he  finds 
no  stars  in  the  half  -  discovered 
skies,  nor  even  the  violet  hidden  by 
the  mossy  stone.  He  can  do  a 
hundred  other  clever  and  wonderful 
things,  but  this  he  cannot  do ;  he 
has  a  bandage  upon  his  eyes,  a 
feebleness  in  his  hands.  He  can 
identify  and  realise,  and  pour  floods 
of  laughing  light  upon  all  the  lesser 
objects ;  but  the  central  figure  he 
cannot  accomplish — it  is  beyond  his 
power. 

And  we  cannot  but  think  that 
Dickens  himself  must  have  been 


aware  of  his  own  limitation  on  this 
point.  The  struggle  and  strain  of 
which  we  are  always  aware  in  the 
working  out  of  his  good  characters, 
shows  something  of  that  suppressed 
irritation  with  which  a  workman 
struggles  against  his  special  imper- 
fection. He  is  angry  that  he  cannot 
do  it  well,  as  some  others  can  ;  and 
he  works  himself  up  into  an  excite- 
ment which  he  tries  to  believe  is 
creative  passion,  and  heaps  on  ac- 
cessories and  results  with  a  hand 
which  is  almost  feverish  in  its  eager- 
ness. The  curious  artificial  cadence 
of  the  speeches  which  are  meant 
to  be  impassioned — the  explanations 
which  every  one  of  his  higher  female 
characters,  for  example,  makes  in 
measured  sentences,  each  exactly  like 
the  other,  at  what  is  supposed  the 
turning-point  of  her  existence,  and 
in  what  are  supposed  to  be  the  ac- 
cents of  lofty  and  high-pitched  feel- 
ing— are  the  most  curious  instances 
of  this  strain  and  conscious  effort. 
He  works  himself  up  to  it  under  the 
reader's  very  eyes — he  makes  enor- 
mous preparations  before  he  takes 
the  leap :  when  he  sets  himself  in 
motion  at  length,  it  is  with  clenched 
hands  and  the  veins  swelling  on  his 
forehead — and  then  he  fails.  This 
process  is  gone  through  almost  in  the 
same  monotonous  succession  when- 
ever he  attempts  to  strike  any  of 
the  higher  chords  of  life.  The  only 
thing  real  in  it  is  the  failure.  In 
all  the  rest  there  is  the  strangest 
counterfeit  air,  and  a  consciousness 
of  the  sham  which  is  as  apparent  to 
the  writer  as  to  the  reader :  the 
passion  is  stirred  up  and  foamed 
and  frothed,  with  always  some  new 
ingredient  thrown  in  at  the  last 
moment  in  very  desperation  ;  the 
pathos  is  skimmed  down,  diluted, 
sweetened  with  the  most  anxious 
care.  No  cook  nor  chemist  could 
be  more  solicitous  about  the  due 
mixture  of  every  element.  The  only 
thing  that  is  deficient  is  the  effect. 


1871.] 


Charles  Dickens. 


677 


It  is  a  curious  reflection,  that 
perhaps  the  most  popular  -writer  of 
the  period  which  is  now  closing — 
the  enchanter  who  ruled  over  the 
youth  of  most  of  us,  whose  su- 
premacy at  one  time  was  scarcely 
contested,  and  who  even  now  has  lost 
but  little  of  his  power — should  be 
thus  strangely  incapable  of  entering 
into  and  representing  the  higher 
phases  of  existence.  His  works, 
we  all  know,  are  works  of  the 
purest  morality,  inculcating  only 
benevolence,  charity,  and  virtuous 
sentiments.  Indeed,  Mr  Dickens's 
genius  is  not  even  superior  to  the 
popular  prejudice  in  favour  of  poetic 
justice  :  he  likes  to  reward  his  good 
people  substantially,  and  to  make 
the  wicked  ones  very  uncomfortable. 
But  with  all  this,  he  does  not  bring 
us  into  good  company.  The  society 
of  the  cleverest  of  Cockney  grooms 
— the  most  amusing  of  monthly 
nurses — would  not  be  considered 
edifying  in  ordinary  life.  Were  we 
condemned  to  it  by  any  freak  of 
fortune,  we  should  feel  ourselves 
deeply  injured;  and  whether  the 
large  amount  of  it  enforced  upon  us 
by  our  favourite  novelist  is  much  to 
the  advantage  of  our  taste  or  man- 
ners as  a  nation,  is  a  question  worth 
considering.  The  genius  which 
brought  such  an  unlikely  pair  to 
the  front  of  the  contemporary  stage, 
and  has  kept  them  there  for  some- 
thing like  a  quarter  of  a  century,  is 
a  very  different  matter.  The  diffi- 
culty of  the  task,  and  the  extra- 
ordinary unsuitableness  of  the  posi- 
tion, do  but  enhance  the  power  of 
the  creator  :  it  is  infinitely  clever  in 
him,  but  is  it  quite  as  good  for  us  ? 
If,  as  people  say,  society  in  many 
of  its  circles  has  taken  a  lower  and 
coarser  tone,  may  not  the  indifferent 
company  we  have  all  been  keeping 
in  books  have  something  to  do  with 
it  ?  We  think  there  is  a  great  deal 
to  be  said  on  this  point ;  but  we  are 
timorous,  and  do  not  feel  equal  to 


the  task  of  charging  upon  the  wor- 
shipped Dickens  any  such  social 
offence.  He  who  has  always  preached 
the  most  amiable  of  sentiments 
— he  who  was  the  first  to  find 
out  the  immense  spiritual  power  of 
the  Christmas  turkey — he  who  has 
given  us  so  many  wonderful  in- 
stances of  sudden  conversion  from 
cruelty  and  unkindness  to  the  most 
beaming,  not  to  say  maudlin,  amia- 
bility,— shall  we  venture  to  say  of 
him  that  his  influence  has  not  been 
of  an  elevating  order  ?  We  shrink 
from  the  undertaking.  But  still 
we  venture  to  repeat,  it  is  a  curi- 
ous fact  that  this  most  influential 
writer  has  brought  his  readers  into 
a  great  deal  of  very  indifferent 
company,  and  has  not  left  to  us 
to  neutralise  it  a  single  potential 
image  of  the  elevated  or  the  great 
— nay,  has  left  us  nothing  but  the 
weakest,  sloppiest,  maudlin  exhi- 
bitions of  goodness,  big  in  com- 
placency, but  poor  in  every  other 
point. 

This,  however,  which  is  the  worst 
we  can  say  of  Dickens  in  one  par- 
ticular, is  the  very  highest  in  an- 
other. Those  beings  whom  he  has 
invented  or  brought  out  of  obscurity 
have  no  natural  claim  to  our  in- 
terest, no  attraction  to  bring  them 
to  us,  not  even  any  force  of  natural 
sympathy  to  give  them  power.  By 
what  strange  gift  is  it  that  he  cap- 
tivates us  to  Sam  Weller,  and  calls 
up  a  gleam  upon  the  gravest  coun- 
tenance at  the  very  name  of  Mrs 
Gamp  ?  Their  truth  to  nature,  some 
critics  will  answer :  but  this  nature 
has  nothing  that  is  delightful  in  it ; 
it  is  repulsive,  not  attractive.  Mrs 
Gamp  in  real  life  would  be  hateful, 
tedious,  and  disgusting — yet  there 
is  not  a  beautiful  lady  in  creation 
whose  company  we  like  better  in 
print.  How  is  it  1  Even  when,  as 
a  question  of  art,  we  disapprove, 
the  furtive  smile  steals  to  the  corner 
of  our  mouth.  This  can  be  nothing 


678 


Charles  Dickens. 


[June 


"but  genius,  that  vivifying  and  crea- 
tive principle  which  not  only  makes 
something  out  of  nothing,  but  which 
communicates  qualities  to  a  bit  of 
dull  clay  of  which  in  itself  it  is 
utterly  unconscious — genius  which 
we  are  always  labouring  to  define 
without  growing  much  the  wiser, 
but  which  we  can  no  more  refuse  to 
be  influenced  by,  than  we  can  deny 
the  evidence  of  our  senses.  In  this 
power  of  interesting  his  readers, 
Dickens  does  not  even  take  such 
help  of  nature  as  other  great  artists 
have  been  glad  to  use.  There  is  no 
story,  no  touch  of  natural  emotion, 
to  dispel  our  prejudices  and  bring 
near  to  us  the  strangely-chosen  crea- 
ture of  our  author's  predilections. 
What  he  does,  he  does  by  sheer 
force  of  genius,  scorning  all  auxili- 
aries, and  his  success  is  complete. 
His  conception  of  the  keen  illiterate 
Cockney  mind,  sharpened  by  contact 
with  that  life  which  abounds  in  the 
London  streets,  is  as  clear  and  sure 
as  are  those  streets  themselves  which 
he  can  see  ;  his  glance  goes  through 
and  through  it  with  a  divination 
more  full  than  knowledge.  Per- 
haps his  consciousness  of  the  in- 
fluences which  widen  and  light  it 
up,  is  more  vivid  than  that  of  those 
which  cramp  and  limit  such  an 
intelligence ;  he  never  ventures  to 
go  deep  enough  to  bring  it  face  to 
face  with  any  problem  beyond  the 
reach  of  its  philosophy ;  and  he  is 
apt  to  endow  it  with  a  preternatural 
cleverness  which  makes  all  training 
and  instruction  unnecessary;  but 
with  what  certainty,  swiftness,  and 
freedom  does  he  play  its  quaint 
original  light  over  the  surface  of 
men  and  things  !  what  a  command 
he  has  of  its  odd  reflective  power, 
its  curious  scraps  of  knowledge,  its 
easy  good-nature  and  tolerance — a 
tolerance  which  means  close  acquaint- 
ance with  many  kinds  of  evil !  The 
fulness  and  clearness  of  this  know- 
ledge nobody  can  doubt ;  though,  on 


the  other  hand,  it  is  less  apparent 
how  conventional  and  superficial 
it  is :  even  here  Dickens  does  not 
go  deep.  His  instinct  leads  him  to 
keep  on  the  surface.  There  is  more 
true  insight  in  half-a-dozen  lines 
which  we  could  select  here  and 
there  from  other  writers  as  to  the 
effects  of  street  education  than  in 
all  Sam  Weller. 

Nevertheless,  Sam  Weller  is  not 
only  true,  but  original.  There  is  no 
tragic  side  to  him.  There  is  no  real 
tragic  side,  indeed,  to  any  of  the 
Dickens  characters.  And  Dickens, 
perhaps,  is  the  only  great  artist  of 
whom  this  can  be  said  ;  for  to  most 
creative  minds  there  is  a  charm 
indescribable  in  the  contact  of  hu- 
man character  with  the  profounder 
difficulties  of  life.  An  instinctive 
sense  of  his  own  weakness,  however, 
keeps  him  as  far  as  possible  from 
these  problems.  And  his  Sam  is 
the  most  light-hearted  hero,  perhaps, 
that  has  ever  been  put  upon  canvas. 
He  is  the  very  impersonation  of  easy 
conscious  skill  and  cleverness.  He 
has  never  met  with  anything  in  his 
career  that  he  could  not  give  a  good 
account  of.  Life  is  all  above-board 
with  him,  straightforward,  jovial,  on 
the  surface.  He  stands  in  the  midst 
of  the  confusion  of  the  picture  in 
very  much  the  same  position  which 
the  author  himself  assumes.  He  is 
the  Deus  ex  machind,  the  spectator  of 
everybody's  mistakes  and  failures — 
a  kind  of  laughing  providence  to  set 
everything  right.  Sam's  position 
in  the  '  Pickwick  Papers '  is  one  of 
the  great  marvels  in  English  art.  It 
is  the  first  act  of  the  revolution 
which  Mr  Dickens  accomplished 
in  his  literary  sphere  —  the  new 
system  which  has  brought  those 
uppermost  who  were  subordinate 
according  to  the  old  canons.  This 
ostler  from  the  City,  this  groom 
picked  up  from  the  pavement,  is, 
without  doubt  or  controversy,  every- 
body's master  in  the  story  of  which 


1871-1 


Charles  Dickens. 


679 


he  is  the  centre.  When  the  whole 
little  community  in  the  book  is  puz- 
zled, Sam's  cleverness  cuts  the  knot. 
It  is  he  who  always  sees  what  to  do, 
who  keeps  everybody  else  in  order. 
He  even  combines  with  his  role  of  all- 
accomplished  serving-man  the  other 
role  of  jeune  premier,  and  retains  his 
superiority  all  through  the  book,  at 
once  in  philosophy  and  practical  in- 
sight, in  love  and  war. 

The  '  Pickwick  Papers '  stands  by 
itself  among  its  author's  works  ;  and 
as  the  first  work  of  a  young  man,  it  is, 
we  think,  unique  in  literature.  Other 
writers  have  professed  to  write  novels 
without  a  hero :  Dickens,  so  far  as 
we  are  aware,  is  the  only  one  who, 
without  making  any  profession,  has 
accomplished  that  same.  To  be  sure, 
'  Pickwick '  is  not,  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  the  word,  a  novel,  and  yet  it 
would  be  hard  to  classify  it  in  any 
other  list.  Strangest  of  books ! 
which  introduces  us  to  a  set  of 
people,  young  men  and  old,  women 
and  girls,  figures  intended  to  repre- 
sent the  usual  strain  of  flesh  and 
blood — in  order  that  we  may  laugh  at 
them  all !  There  is  a  horrible  impar- 
tiality, a  good-humoured  universal 
malice,  running  through  the  whole. 
The  author  stands  in  the  midst, 
half  himself,  half  revealed  in  the 
person  of  his  favourite  Sam,  and 
looks  at  the  world  he  has  created, 
and  holds  his  sides.  He  does 
not  even  feel  contempt,  to  speak 
of — he  feels  nothing  but  what 
fun  it  is  to  see  so  many  fools  dis- 
porting themselves  according  to  their 
folly.  There  is,  as  we  have  said,  a 
horrible  impartiality  in  it.  Other 
writers  have  preserved  a  little  re- 
spect, a  little  sympathy,  for  the 
lovers,  at  least — a  little  feeling  that 
youth  must  have  something  fine  in 
it,  and  that  the  gallant  and  the 
maiden  have  a  right  to  their  pedes- 
tal. But  not  so  Dickens :  the 
delight  with  which  in  this  book  he 
displays  all  the  ridiculousness  and 


inherent  absurdity  which  he  finds 
in  life,  is  like  the  indiscriminate  fun 
of  a  schoolboy  who  shouts  with 
mirth  at  everything  which  can  by 
any  means  be  made  an  occasion 
of  laughter,  without  acknowledging 
any  restraint  of  natural  reverence  or 
decorum.  In  '  Pickwick',  the  work 
is  that  of  a  man  of  genius,  but  the 
spirit  is  almost  always  that  of  a  mis- 
chievous innocent  schoolboy.  When 
the  great  contemporary  and  rival  of 
Dickens  produced  his  first  great 
work,  all  the  virtuous  world  rose  up 
and  condemned  the  cynicism  of 
'  Vanity  Fair';  but  nobody  has  ever 
said  a  word  about  the  cynicism  of 
'Pickwick';  and  yet,  to  our  thinking, 
the  one  is  a  hundred  times  more 
apparent  than  the  other.  '  Vanity 
Fair'  is  a  book  full  of  deep  and  tragic 
meaning,  of  profound  feeling  and 
sentiment,  which  crop  up  through  the 
fun,  and  are  ever  present,  though 
so  seldom  expressed.  The  histo- 
rian, story-teller,  social  philosopher, 
laughs,  it  is  true,  but  he  has  a 
great  mind  to  weep :  he  sneers 
sometimes,  but  it  is  because  his  heart 
grows  hot  as  he  watches  the  pranks 
that  men  play  before  high  heaven. 
But  the  author  of  '  Pickwick '  cares 
not  a  straw  what  fools  his  puppets 
make  of  themselves ;  the  more 
foolish  they  are,  the  more  he 
laughs  at  their  absurdity.  He  is  too 
good-humoured,  too  full  of  cheer- 
ful levity  and  the  sense  of  mischief, 
to  think  of  their  lies  and  brags  and 
vanity  as  anything  vile  and  blam- 
able ;  they  are  so  funny,  that  he 
forgets  everything  else.  His  charac- 
ters go  tumbling  about  the  world  as 
the  clown  and  pantaloon  do  in  the 
midst  of  those  immemorial  immoral- 
ties  of  the  pantomime  —  the  ever- 
successful  tricks  and  cheats  in 
which  we  all  find  once  a-year  an  un- 
sophisticated pleasure.  In  short,  the 
atmosphere  of  '  Pickwick '  is  more 
like  that  of  a  pantomime  than  of 
any  other  region  we  know.  Mr 


680 


Jingle,  who  is  the  villain,  and  has 
to  be  punished  and  reformed  after  a 
fashion  in  Mr  Dickens's  favourite 
harlequin  -  wand  manner  of  refor- 
mation, is  a  respectable  character, 
with  a  purpose,  beside  Mr  Winkle, 
who  is  the  veriest  braggart,  cheat, 
and  sneak  that  ever  was  introduced 
into  fiction.  Yet  the  very  funniest 
scenes  in  the  book,  those  which  the 
chance  reader  turns  to  by  instinct, 
are  the  narratives  of  Mr  Winkle's 
exploits,  though  he  is  one  of  the 
foremost  walking  gentlemen,  lover, 
and  in  a  manner  hero  of  the  piece. 
Sam  Weller,  who  picks  him  up  with 
his  unlucky  skates  on,  and  takes 
care  of  his  equally  unlucky  gun, 
is,  like  the  author,  too  merry  over 
it,  to  feel  any  sort  of  indignation 
against  Mr  Winkle.  The  two  burst 
with  private  laughter  aside,  and  find 
it  the  best  fun ! 

The  extreme  youthfulness  of  this 
treatment  is  visible  even  in  the 
more  serious  parts  of  the  book,  if 
anything  in  it  can  be  called  seri- 
ous. Mr  Pickwick  himself  is  just 
the  kind  of  bland  old  gentleman, 
with  money  always  ready  in  his 
old-fashioned  breeches  -  pocket  to 
make  up  for  all  deficiencies,  and 
an  everlasting  disposition  to  meddle 
and  set  everything  -right,  who  is  too 
apt  to  be  a  schoolboy's  ideal :  an  old 
fellow  who  may  be  freely  laughed 
at,  but  whose  credulity  is  as  un- 
bounded as  the  funds  at  his  dis- 
posal, and  who  is  delightfully  ready 
to  be  hoaxed,  and  falls  by  himself, 
almost  too  naturally,  into  the  pit- 
falls of  practical  joking.  It  is,  per- 
haps, the  perfect  good-humour  of 
this  view  of  life  which  keeps  it 
from  being  assailed  as  cynical. 
For  it  is  thoroughly  good-humoured, 
by  dint  of  being  absolutely  indiffer- 
ent. There  is  the  same  large  toler- 
ation in  it  which  we  have  of  the 
tyrannies,  and  extortions,  and  ava- 
rices of  an  ant-hill,  when  we  take 
upon  ourselves  to  observe  the  busy 


Charles  Dickens.  [June 

community  there.  When  the  weak 
one  is  overpowered  and  trodden 
upon,  no  indignation  fills  our  supe- 
rior bosom ;  we  look  on  and  smile, 
and  watch  without  interference — 
without  anything  that  can  be  called 
sympathy,  but  with  a  great  deal  of 
amusement.  In  the  same  way,  there 
is  no  doubt,  though  with  a  curious  re- 
volution of  circumstances,  our  school- 
boys, our  servants,  contemplate  us. 
Were  our  grooms  habitually  set  to 
produce  a  picture  of  the  existence  of 
their  masters,  there  is  little  chance 
that  it  would  be  so  amusing  as 
'  Pickwick,'  but  it  would  be  in  the 
same  vein.  The  keenest,  lively, 
sharp-eyed  observation  of  the  out- 
side, without  any  sympathy  or  re- 
spect, or  desire  to  understand  the 
unseen  —  a  lively  apprehension  of 
the  folly  of  those  who  act  as  we 
ourselves  would  not  think  of  acting, 
and  by  the  guidance  of  principles 
which  we  don't  care  to  fathom — lies 
at  the  bottom  of  the  whole.  It  is 
the  life  of  one  class  as  it  appears  to 
a  member  of  another ;  the  commen- 
tary of  a  spectator  who  never  iden- 
tifies himself  with  the  actors,  who 
has  no  sense  of  community  of  in- 
terests or  character,  who  is  as  in- 
different to  their  right  and  wrong  as 
we  are  to  the  Ants — but  who  notes 
everything,  and  has  an  instinctive 
perception  of  the  fun,  the  ridicul- 
ousness, the  absurdity  inalienable 
from  humanity.  One  touch  of  sym- 
pathy would  change  the  whole — 
would  bring  in  shame  and  moral 
sentiment,  would  probably  give  bit- 
terness to  the  laugh,  and  modify 
the  fun  with  meaning.  But  this 
idea  had  not  occurred  to  Dickens 
at  the  time  of  *  Pickwick.'  His  is 
the  very  triumph  of  youthful  pro- 
fanity, of  superficial  insight,  of 
bright-eyed,  unsympathetic  vision. 
The  light  of  his  laughing  eyes  throws 
a  certain  gleam  of  amused  expec- 
tancy over  the  landscape — or  rather 
stage,  which  is  a  better  word.  And 


1871.]  Charles  Dickens. 

how  thoroughly  we  are  repaid  for 
our  anticipations  of  fun! — how  de- 
lightfully does  everybody  commit 
himself,  make  a  fool  of  himself, 
exhibit  his  vanities,  his  absurdities, 
in  unconscious  candour  before  us. 
Never  was  there  such  a  big,  full, 
crowded  pantomime  stage — never  so 
many  lively  changes  of  scene  and 
character.  There  is  scarcely  more 
art  or  skill  in  the  situations  than  is 
necessary  to  please  the  most  indul- 
gent holiday  audience.  Mr  Pick- 
wick's memorable  mistake  about  his 
bedroom — the  troubles  to  which  Mr 
Winkle  was  subjected  in  conse- 
quence of  his  good-nature  in  opening 
the  door  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
to  a  lady  coming  home  from  a  ball 
— are  incidents  for  the  planning  of 
which  the  very  minimum  of  inven- 
tion has  been  employed;  and  yet 
how  they  amuse  us  !  We  laugh  as 
we  laugh  at  the  preposterous  inno- 
cent blunders  which  sometimes  oc- 
cur in  our  own  life.  They  have  the 
same  spontaneous  unintentional  air, 
the  same  want  of  meaning.  For 
absence  of  meaning  is  a  positive  ad- 
vantage in  the  circumstances.  It 
improves  the  fun,  and  increases  its 
resemblance  to  the  fragmentary 
humours  of  ordinary  existence. 
Thus  our  author  moves  us  at  the 
very  smallest  cost,  so  far  as  construc- 
tion is  concerned.  But  the  pano- 
rama which  he  unfolds  before  us 
trembles  with  light  and  movement 
and  variety.  There  is  nothing  dead, 
stagnant,  or  dull  in  the  whole  ex- 
hibition— in  every  corner  it  is  alive; 
something  is  going  on  wherever  we 
turn.  We  feel  that  it  is  out  of  his 
own  inexhaustible  being  that  he  is 
pouring  all  those  crowds  upon  us, 
and  that  as  many  more  are  ready  to 
follow,  all  as  full  of  eccentricity,  ab- 
surdity, nonsense,  and  fun  as  their 
predecessors.  It  is  the  life,  the  flow 
and  fulness  of  vitality,  the  easy  wealth 
of  witty  comment,  the  constant 
succession  of  amusing  scenes,  which 


681 


insure  the  popularity  of  '  Pickwick.' 
It  is  of  its  nature  delightful  to 
the  very  young — to  the  schoolboy 
mind  yet  unawakened  to  anything 
beyond  the  fun  of  existence  ;  and 
at  the  very  other  end  of  the  so- 
cial scale,  it  is  full  of  amusement 
to  the  wearied  man,  who  has  enough 
of  serious  life,  and  to  whom  it  is  a 
relief  to  escape  into  this  curious 
world,  where  all  is  fun,  and  nothing 
serious.  But  of  all  the  revelations 
of  mind  made  by  the  first  works  of 
great  artists,  '  Pickwick  '  is  perhaps 
the  most  incomprehensible.  With 
all  its  charming  gaiety  and  good- 
humour,  with  its  bits  of  fine  moral 
reflection  and  demonstrative  wor- 
ship of  benevolence,  it  is  without 
heart  and  without  sympathy — super- 
ficial and  profane. 

We  do  jao^_use_jtlie_Jatter  word, 
however,  in  a  religious  sense;  for 
Dickens  has  always  persistently  and 
most  benevolently  countenanced  and 
patronised  religion.  He  is  humanly, 
not  sacredly,  profane  in  the  first  great 
effort  of  his  genius — not  bitterly 
sceptical  of,  but  light-heartedly  in- 
different to,  human  excellence.  This 
will,  we  fear,  be  considered  strange 
doctrine  by  those  who  have  taken 
for  granted  all  his  subsequent  moral- 
ities on  the  subject,  and  the  very 
great  use  he  has  made  of  moral 
transformations.  But  in  '  Pickwick' 
there  is  absolutely  no  moral  sense. 
It  either  does  not  exist,  or  has  not 
been  awakened;  and  there  is  the 
deepest  profanity — a  profanity  which 
scorns  all  the  traditions  of  poetry 
and  romance,  as  well  as  all  the 
higher  necessities  of  nature — in  the 
total  absence  of  any  sentiment  or 
grace  in  the  heroes  and  heroines, 
the  lovers,  the  one  class  of  human- 
ity on  whose  behalf  there  exists  a 
lingering  universal  prejudice.  It  is 
true  that  this  criticism  refers  in  its 
fullest  sense  to  'Pickwick'  alone 
— but  'Pickwick'  is  Dickens  pur 
et  simple  in  his  first  freshness,  be- 


682 


Charles  Dickens. 


[June 


fore  the  age  of  conventionality  had 
begun.  And  the  defect  is  closely 
connected  with  one  of  his  best  qua- 
lities— the  genuine  kindness  of  feel- 
ing which  mingles  with  all  his  ridi- 
cule. He  is  never  harsh,  never  un- 
genial,  and  much  more  disposed  to 
put  a  good  than  an  evil  interpreta- 
tion upon  the  motives  of  human 
folly.  He  does  not  permit  us  either 
to  hate  or  to  despise  our  fellow- 
creatures  in  their  weaknesses;  but 
yet  he  enjoys  the  contemplation  of 
those  weaknesses.  He  is  cruel 
without  intending  it;  but  in  his 
very  cruelty  he  is  kind. 

The  distinction,  however,  between 
this  one  book  and  all  the  others,  is 
as  curious  as  anything  in  literature. 
It  is  the  same  hand  which  works ; 
for  who  else  could  fill  his  canvas  so 
lavishly? — who  else  has  such  un- 
bounded stores  to  draw  upon]  The 
life  and  brightness  are  the  same, 
the  boundless  variety  and  animation ; 
and  the  same  also  is  that  power  of 
natural  selection  which  brings  to 
the  author's  hand  those  odd  and 
unusual  and  unelevated  figures 
which  suit  him  best ;  but  in  every- 
thing else  the  whole  fictitious 
world  is  changed.  '  Pickwick '  was 
full  of  the  most  genial,  natural, 
easy  indifference  to  the  higher 
morality  ;  but  every  subsequent 
work  is  heavy  with  meaning,  and 
has  an  almost  polemical  moral.  In 
'  Pickwick '  everybody's  aim  was  to 
make  himself  as  charmingly  absurd 
as  possible  for  our  delight  and  plea- 
sure ;  for  this  end  they  roamed 
about  the  world  seeking  adventures 
which  meant  nothing  but  fun,  and 
generally  conducting  themselves  like 
men  without  any  social  bonds  of  duty 
upon  them,  with  no  responsibilities 
to  the  world,  nor  necessity  to  make 
their  living  or  advance  their  fortunes. 
"We  even  defy  any  one  to  make  out 
to  what  social  class  these  personages 
are  intended  to  belong.  Were  we 
to  describe  Mr  Pickwick  as  a  retired 


tradesman,  and  his  young  friends 
as  sons  of  well-to-do  persons  in  the 
same  class,  we  should  convey  the 
impression  made  by  their  manners 
and  habits  upon  ourselves  person- 
ally ;  but  there  is  no  evidence  that 
Dickens  meant  this.  In  all  his 
other  books,  however,  the  social  de- 
tails are  fully  expressed,  and  the 
bondage  of  ordinary  circumstances 
acknowledged.  Many  of  these  works 
have  not  only  an  individual  moral, 
but  are  weighted  besides  with  an 
attack  upon  some  one  national  in- 
stitution or  public  wrong,  as  if  Mr 
Dickens's  sense  of  responsibility  to 
the  world  for  his  great  gift,  and  the 
manner  in  which  he  should  use  it, 
had  developed  all  at  once,  and,  hav- 
ing once  developed,  would  not  be 
trifled  with.  The  Yorkshire  cheap 
schools ;  the  land  speculations  of 
America;  the  Court  of  Chancery, 
and  other  objectionable  institutions 
— have  each  a  book  devoted  to 
them;  while  the  advantages  of 
benevolence,  and  the  drawbacks  of 
selfishness,  are  developed  in  every 
new  group  of  characters,  to  the  edi- 
fication of  the  world.  This  change 
is  an  odd  one,  and  one  for  which  we 
know  no  explanation.  But  however 
it  came  about,  the  fact  is  beyond 
doubt.  The  group  of  works  which  fol- 
lowed— 'Nicholas  Nickleby,"  'Oliver 
Twist,'  'Martin  Chuzzlewit,'  'Dom- 
bey' — are  all  books  with  a  purpose. 
They  are  books,  too,  in  which  the  old 
traditions  of  construction  are  parti- 
ally followed,  and  the  love  tale  is  re- 
stored to  a  certain  prominence.  They 
have  a  beginning,  and  a  middle,  and 
an  end,  the  due  amount  of  ortho- 
dox difficulties,  and  the  "  lived  very 
happy  ever  after"  of  primeval  ro- 
mance. Thus  their  character  is 
altered.  There  is  no  longer  the 
delightful  Pickwickian  muddle,  the 
story  without  an  end,  which  might 
go  on  for  ever.  The  orthodox 
machinery  of  the  novel  places  a 
certain  limit  upon  the  book ;  it  re- 


1871.] 


diaries  Dickens. 


683 


stricts  it  within  conditions,  and  de- 
mands a  certain  exercise  of  those 
qualities  of  foresight  and  economy 
which  are  equally  necessary,  whether 
we  are  about  to  marry  ourselves,  or 
to  arrange  for  the  marriage  of  our 
hero  and  heroine.  But  notwith- 
standing this  change  of  circum- 
stances, the  charm  of  'Nickleby '  and 
'  Chuzzlewit '  is  the  same  as  the 
charm  of  '  Pickwick.'  It  lies  in  the 
wealth  and  fulness  and  lavish  life, 
in  the  odd  exhibitions  of  ignoble 
and  unelevated  humanity,  in  the 
gay  malice  (not  maliciousness)  with 
which  all  that  is  ridiculous  is  pur- 
sued and  dwelt  upon.  Nothing  can 
be  worse  than  the  bits  of  melodrama 
which  now  and  then,  in  the  exigencies 
of  the  story,  the  author  is  driven 
to  indulge  in  ;  and  the  good  people 
and  gentlefolks  are  as  a  rule  ex- 
tremely feeble  and  uninteresting; 
but  all  the  teeming  wealth  of  lower 
life  which  makes  the  other  rich 
abounds  and  overflows  in  these.  The 
grim  group  of  the  Squeerses,  the 
genial  bigness  of  John  Browdie,  the 
Crummies  and  their  troupe,  Peck- 
sniff, Mark  Tapley,  and  Mrs  Gamp, 
Toots  and  Miss  Nipper,  are  all  per- 
fect in  their  way.  With  them  the 
author  is  at  his  ease.  His  artificial 
goodness  and  maudlin  virtue  fade 
out  of  our  sight.  When  he  is  out 
of  the  benumbing  presence  of  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  who  are  com- 
pelled to  talk  good  English,  and  be- 
have themselves  accordingly,  he  ex- 
pands like  a  flower.  His  foot  is  on 
his  native  heath,  he  is  among  the 
people  and  the  scenes  with  which 
he  is  fully  acquainted,  and  he  can 
give  himself  his  full  swing.  Some- 
times he  even  rises  into  a  strain 
higher  than  that  of  his  old  light- 
hearted,  cynical,  and  amused  tolera- 
tion. The  picture  of  Dotheboys 
Hall  has  a  certain  fierce  reality  in  its 
fun,  of  which  nothing  in  '  Pickwick ' 
gives  promise;  and  the  drama  of 
Bill  Sykes's  vengeance  and  punish- 


ment is  most  effective  and  even 
terrible.  His  knot  of  criminals  is 
revolting,  but  it  is  one  of  the  most 
powerful  pictures  he  has  overdrawn; 
and  it  is  all  the  more  powerful  in 
comparison  with  the  insipid  frame- 
work of  goodness  and  prettiness  in 
which  this  trenchant  villany  and 
gloom  are  enclosed.  Here  his  utter 
failure  and  his  highest  success  are  put 
together  so  closely  that  it  is  impos- 
sible not  to  see  the  full  force  of  the 
contrast.  Fagin,  the  Artful  Dodger, 
and  Bumble,  are  all  full  of  reality  ; 
and  even  such  a  miserable  concep- 
tion as  that  of  Noah  Claypole  gives 
strange  involuntary  evidence  that  the 
very  lowest  type  is  more  conceivable 
to  our  author's  imagination  than 
the  gentle  uniformity  of  civilised 
existence,  into  which  he  can  put 
neither  character  nor  spirit. 

The  same  fact  is  apparent  less  un- 
pleasantly in  the  '  Old  Curiosity 
Shop,'  where  the  false  sentiment 
and  mawkish  pathos  of  little  Nell, 
with  all  that  exaggerated  and  foolish 
devotion  which  Mr  Dickens  is  so 
fond  of  representing,  forms  a  husk 
and  envelope  for  the  delightful  figure  v 
of  Dick  Swiveller,  one  of  his  greatest 
creations.  We  are  not  sure  that  we 
do  not,  as  a  matter  of  individual 
opinion,  place  Dick  on  a  pinnacle 
above  all  the  rest — a  pinnacle  which, 
perhaps,  he  may  divide  with  the 
Micawbers,  inimitable  pair !  but 
which  not  even  Sam  Weller  could 
reach.  Sam  is  a  saucy  fellow,  whom 
we  all  know  we  would  not  tolerate 
in  our  service  for  a  day,  useful  as  he 
was  to  Mr  Pickwick ;  but  Dick 
Swiveller  we  take  to  our  bosom. 
His  very  dissipatedness,  his  indebt- 
edness, "  the  rosy  "  which  he  passes 
so  much  too  often,  the  idle  ways 
which  we  cannot  help  seeing — we 
look  upon  all  with  indulgent  eyes. 
He  is  never  a  blackguard  in  his  low- 
est days ;  even  the  people  in  those 
streets,  which  he  shut  up  gradually 
by  buying  a  pair  of  gloves  in  one 


684 


and  a  pot  of  pomade  in  another, 
must  have  missed  him,  when  he  no 
longer  went  by  in  his  checked  trou- 
sers swinging  his  cane.  He  is  an 
indifferent  memher  of  society,  and 
likely  to  break  his  aunt's  heart ;  but 
there  is  no  harm  in  Dick.  The  poor 
little  Marchioness,  in  her  big  cap 
and  bib,  is  as  safe  in  his  hands  as  if 
she  possessed  the  rank  her  name  im- 
plies, and  he  were  her  ladyship's 
most  decorous  chamberlain.  He 
may  beat  her  at  cribbage,  and  teach 
her  how  egg-flip  tastes,  but  no  harm. 
In  the  chapters  which  discuss  and 
describe  Dick  Swiveller  there  is 
more  true  humour  than  in  all  the 
rest  of  Dickens  ;  for  he,  perhaps, 
alone  of  all  the  many  personages 
of  his  family,  has  got  the  love  of 
his  author.  He  is  treated  fondly, 
with  a  gentle  touch;  he  is  made  fun 
of  tenderly ;  he  is  cunningly  recom- 
mended to  our  affections,  as  a  man 
recommends  the  truant  boy  who  is 
the  light  of  his  eyes,  in  all  manner 
of  soft  pretended  reproaches  and  fond 
abuse.  He  is  almost  the  only  man 
disabled,  and  incapable  of  helping 
himself,  of  whom  Dickens  makes 
a  favourite.  Most  of  his  pet  char- 
acters are  particularly  clever  and 
handy,  and  most  of  them  find  some 
way  of  turning  the  tide  of  fortune, 
and  working  themselves  clear.  But 
it  is  very  certain  that  nature  never 
meant  our  beloved  Dick  to  do  any- 
thing for  himself.  He  would  have 
gone  stumbling  on  till  doomsday, 
shutting  up  one  street  after  another 
with  his  little  purchases,  making 
ineffectual  appeals  to  his  aunt,  and 
taking  the  failure  of  them  quite 
good  -  humouredly,  in  the  most 
genial  undiscourageable  way,  had  not 
Mr  Dickens  at  last  made  up  his 
mind  to  interfere.  Perhaps  that 
is  why  we  like  him  so  ;  he  is  so 
dependent  upon  our  liking  and  our 
sympathies.  Then  he  is  so  friendly, 
so  willing  to  be  of  use,  so  anxious 
to  conciliate,  and  so  charmingly  un- 


Charles  Dickens.  [June 

conscious  of  the  harm  he  is  doing  by 
his  good-natured  efforts ;  so  easily 
moved  to  one  thing  or  another ; 
so  elastic  and  versatile  in  those 
innocent  plans  of  his,  which  are 
always  ready  to  be  changed  at  a 
moment's  notice.  "l^o  man  knocks 
himself  down  ;  if  his  destiny  knocks 
him  down,  his  destiny  must  pick 
him  up  again.  Then  I'm  very  glad 
that  mine  has  brought  all  this  upon 
itself,  and  I  shall  be  as  careless  as 
I  can,  and  make  myself  quite  at 
home  to  spite  it.  So  go  on,  my 
brick,"  said  Mr  Swiveller,  "and 
let  us  see  which  of  us  will  be  tired 
first." 

Such  is  the  cheerful  philosophy 
with  which  he  beguiles  his  woes. 
But  if  Mr  Swiveller  struggling  with 
fate  is  a  fine  spectacle,  Dick  in  the 
pangs  of  disappointed  love  is  finer 
still.  When  he  contemplates  gloom- 
ily the  indigestible  wedding-cake — 
when  he  binds  his  hat  with  crape 
instead  of  the  traditionary  willow — 
when  he  takes  comfort,  and  bids 
the  faithless  Sophy  know  that  a 
young  lady  is  saving  up  for  him — 
he  is  inimitable.  Pure  comedy,  as 
good  almost  as  Falstaff  in  its  way, 
is  the  entire  episode.  It  wants  the 
breadth  which  the  greater  artist 
gives  to  all  his  work ;  and  the  sur- 
roundings are  not  equal  to  the  cen- 
tral figure,  and  take  off  from  its  fine 
proportion.  Such  an  artificial  pair, 
for  instance,  as  Sally  Brass  and  her 
brother — such  a  mere  monster  as 
Quilp — have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  more  refined  and  true  concep- 
tion, and  balk  Dick  of  his  due 
development.  But  even  these  can- 
not prevent  the  scenes,  in  which  he  is 
the  principal  actor,  from  taking  the 
highest  place  in  English  comedy. 
When  the  Marchioness  comes  upon 
the  stage  the  picture  is  perfect.  It 
is  hard  to  understand  how  so  many 
inferior  episodes  have  been  drama- 
tised, and  this,  which  is  as  fine  as 
Moliere,  should  have  been  neglect- 


ia71.]  Charles  Dickens. 

ed.  The  honest  fellow's  goodness 
to  the  forlorn  child,  the  perfect 
ease  with  which  he  adapts  himself 
to  her  society,  the  little  fiction — so 
quaintly  nonsensical,  yet  after  a 
while  so  real — which  he  weaves 
about  her, — to  all  this  we  know 
scarcely  any  match  in  the  language, 
and  certainly  nothing  more  humor- 
ous and  more  captivating.  For  the 
first  time  Mr  Dickens  goes  direct 
to  the  heart ;  and  he  does  so  in 
one  of  the  highest  and  most  diffi- 
cult ways, — not  by  tears,  but  by 
laughter.  The  humanity  and  in- 
nocent-heartedness  of  this  irregular, 
disorderly,  dissipated  young  man, 
overcome  all  the  defences  which 
we  erect  unawares  against  the  sickly 
sentimentality  of  little  Nell.  We 
defy  her  to  move  us,  but  we  suc- 
cumb to  him  without  a  struggle. 
The  two  playing  cribbage  in  the 
damp  kitchen,  of  which  Dick  re- 
marks that  "  the  marble  floor  is — 
if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression 
— sloppy,"  has  just  that  mixture  of 
the  pathetic  which  true  humour  de- 
mands. The  miserable  scene — the 
small,  squalid,  desolate  child,  who  is 
one  of  the  actors — the  careless  good 
heart,  touched  with  a  hundred  gen- 
tle movements  of  pity  and  kindness, 
of  the  other — bring  out  the  genuine 
comic  nature  of  the  intercourse,  the 
quaint  originality  and  fun,  with 
double  force.  So  vivid  is  the  pic- 
ture, that  the  present  writer,  turn- 
ing to  the  book  with  the  feeling 
that  the  cribbage  -  playing  below 
stairs  must  have  gone  on  for  a  con- 
siderable period,  is  struck  with 
amazement  to  find  that  it  only 
happened  once.  So  reticent  and 
modest  is  real  power  whenever  it 
feels  its  strength,  and  so  genuine  is 
the  impression  made  by  the  true 
humour,  the  happy  tender  natural- 
ness, of  this  strange  and  touching 
scene. 

We  have  said  that  the  Micawbers 
may  claim  a  place  on  the  same  plat- 


685 


form  with  Dick;  but  we  are  not 
sure  whether  we  can  fully  justify 
the  claim.  The  Micawbers  are 
great,  but  they  are  not  pathetic : 
there  is  not  in  them  that  deeper 
touch  which  dignifies  the  laughter. 
Nothing  like  a  tear  starts  at  their 
bidding ;  and  consequently  they 
do  not  attain  to  the  same  perfec- 
tion as  their  wonderful  predecessor. 
But  if  the  humour  is  less  deep  and 
true,  the  wonderful  energy  and  life 
of  the  picture — its  truth  to  nature, 
its  whimsical  reality  and  force — are 
above  all  praise.  Mr  Micawber  is 
as  genuine  an  addition  to  the  world's 
population  as  if  we  knew  where  to 
find  his  mark  in  the  parish  register, 
and  were  acquainted  with  all  the 
beginnings  of  his  career, — how  he  fell 
in  love  with  Mrs  Micawber,  and 
how  that  lady's  family  permitted  a 
union  which  was  to  give  them  so 
much  trouble.  His  genteel  air,  his 
frankness  on  the  subject  of  his  difficul- 
ties, his  delightful  readiness  to  give 
his  attention  to  anything  that  may 
turn  up,  the  way  in  which  his  impe- 
cuniosity  serves  him  as  a  profession, 
are  all  set  before  us  with  an  unfail- 
ing spirit.  Mr  Micawber  never 
flags;  there  is  never  a  moment  at 
which  we  can  feel  that  the  author 
has  forgotten  what  went  before,  or 
lost  the  thread.  Even  his  concern 
in  one  of  those  wonderful  plots 
which  are  so  dear  to  Dickens,  his 
connection  with  Uriah  Heep's  dis- 
gusting villany,  does  not  harm  him. 
On  the  contrary,  we  feel  disposed 
for  once  to  welcome  the  plot  which 
makes  apparent  to  us  Mrs  Micaw- 
ber's  distress  of  mind  over  her  hus- 
band's new  -  born  mysteriousness, 
the  delightful  power  of  racy  letter- 
writing  which  she  exhibits,  and  the 
beautiful  devotion  which  she  does 
not  attempt  to  conceal.  Mrs  Micaw- 
ber is  almost  as  good  as  her  husband. 
The  intrepid  courage  with  which 
she  keeps  up  that  imaginary  strug- 
gle with  her  family,  scorning  every 


686 


temptation  to  leave  Mr  Micawber, 
her  occasional  despair  and  beautiful 
power  of  overcoming  it  as  a  wife 
and  a  mother,  and  making  herself 
as  comfortable  as  circumstances  per- 
mit ;  her  anxiety  that  Mr  Micawber 
should  have  occupation  worthy  of  his 
talents,  and  be  appreciated  at  last; 
her  never-failing  gentility  and  sense 
of  what  is  due  to  her  position, — are 
all  kept  up  with  the  same  perfect 
spirit  and  reality.  As  we  read,  we 
too  feel  the  exhilarating  effect  of  a 
meal  procured  by  the  sale  of  a  bed- 
stead ;  we  too  are  aware  of  that 
sensation  of  having  settled  a  serious 
point  of  business,  which  possesses 
Mr  Micawber  when  he  has  put  his 
name  to  a  bill.  We  scorn  the 
worldling  who  hesitates  at  that 
security ;  we  understand  the  roll 
in  our  friend's  voice,  his  conscious- 
ness that  he  has  come  into  his  pro- 
perty, and  paid  off  all  the  charges 
with  a  liberal  hand  when  he  writes 
his  name  to  that  bit  of  paper.  Per- 
haps none  of  us  have  ever  encoun- 
tered in  the  world  the  full-blown 
perfection  of  a  Mr  Micawber — per- 
haps, as  revealed  by  the  inspiration 
of  the  poet,  nothing  so  consistent 
and  complete  ever  existed ;  for  it  is 
the  mission  of  art  to  fill  out  the  frag- 
mentary types  of  human  character, 
and  give  them  form  and  substance. 
But  how  many  hints  and  suggestions 
of  Mr  Micawber  has  the  ordinary 
observer  met !  and  how  kindly, 
how  genially,  with  what  a  friendly 
insight,  has  the  author  combined 
those  suggestions,  and  made  them 
into  one  consistent  being  !  A  less 
friendly  interpretation,  an  eye  less 
kind  or  less  enlightened  by  laughter, 
might  have  made  a  miserable  Jere- 
my Diddler  out  of  our  hero — and 
the  difference  is  very  notable ;  for 
Micawber  is  no  doubt  as  great  a 
nuisance  to  his  friends  as  Diddler 
was,  and  has  quite  as  little  sense 
of  the  sanctity  of  money,  that  one 
fundamental  principle  which  most 


Charles  DicJcem.  [June 

of  us  hold  so  strenuously.  Nor  is 
Dickens  without  the  power  of  treat- 
ing this  view  of  the  character,  as 
many  slighter  sketches,  and  the 
elaborate  and  cruel  one  of  Harold 
Skimpole,  which  the  reader  will 
recollect  in  another  book,  abun- 
dantly testify.  We  do  not  know 
that  in  reality  Micawber  is  more 
virtuous  than  Skimpole.  The  dif- 
ference is  too  delicate  to  be  defined; 
but  of  this  we  have  no  doubt,  that 
humour  has  helped  humanity  in  the 
picture  of  the  former,  and  that  the 
author's  sense  of  the  unbounded 
fun  of  the  situations  in  which  such 
a  man  places  himself  by  nature,  has 
actually  helped  us  to  realise  a  moral 
difference.  For  Mr  Micawber's 
sense  of  honour  and  generosity  is 
strong,  though  it  is  not  perhaps 
so  effectual  upon  his  character 
as  might  be  desired.  It  is  true 
that  the  signature  of  the  bill  is  to 
him  as  it  were  a  receipt  in  full, 
clearing  him  of  all  further  respon- 
sibility; but  still  how  charmingly 
ready  he  is  to  sign  it !  how  incap- 
able of  taking  advantage  of  any 
one's  generosity  without  that  pre- 
caution !  He  fortifies  his  friends 
against  the  indiscretion  of  their  own 
liberal  impulses  by  those  bits  of 
stamped  paper.  He  mortgages  that 
grand  estate — the  future  which  no- 
body can  alienate  from  him — with 
the  readiness  of  a  prince,  believing 
in  it  all  the  while  with  greater  and 
more  perfect  faith  than  perhaps 
nowadays  any  prince  would  be  justi- 
fied in  entertaining.  And  then  how 
hospitable,  how  liberal,  how  ready 
to  share  what  they  have,  be  it  pasty 
or  crust,  sirloin  or  bread  and  cheese, 
are  this  most  amiable  couple  !  Not 
only  do  they  hold  themselves  ready 
to  sell  their  bedstead  at  a  moment's 
notice  on  their  own  account,  but 
they  are  equally  ready  to  enter- 
tain you  on  the  proceeds,  giving 
you  the  genteelest  yet  cheerfulest 
of  welcomes,  a  lavish  portion,  and 


1871.]  CJiarlcs  Dickens. 

the  most  charming  talk  to  help  it 
down.  Their  hearts  are  as  open,  as 
if  they  had  ten  thousand  a-year, — and 
so  in  fact  they  have,  or  as  near  it  as 
circumstances  allow,  having  a  blithe 
unfailing  faith  in  the  something 
which  is  to  turn  up,  and  in  their  fel- 
low-creatures and  their  good  fortune. 
It  is  astonishing  in  what  good  stead 
this  same  faith  in  fortune  stands 
even  the  commoner  adventurers  of 
ordinary  life.  And  as  for  the  Mi- 
cawbers,  we  do  not  pretend  to  be 
capable  of  any  morality  on  the  sub- 
ject. Had  their  difficulties  been 
fewer — had  something  turned  up  at 
an  earlier  period,  equally  genteel 
and  lucrative,  in  which  Mr  Micaw- 
ber's  talents  would  have  found 
scope — had  he  been  above  the  neces- 
sity of  selling  bedsteads  or  signing 
bills — the  chances  are  we  should 
have  known  nothing  about  him:" 
and  this  possible  deprivation  is  one 
which  we  cannot  contemplate  philo- 
sophically. 

Mr  Micawber  even  reconciles  us 
in  part  to  one  of  those  wonderful 
and  terrible  explanation  -  scenes 
which  are  Mr  Dickens's  delight.  "We 
tolerate  it  because  of  the  high  crisis 
of  feeling  which  it  brings  about  in 
the  Micawber  household.  The  mys- 
tery with  which  it  is  introduced; 
the  terrible  sense  of  estrangement 
which  prompts  his  devoted  wife 
to  appeal  to  the  sympathy  of  her 
friends,  "  though  harrowing  to  my- 
self to  mention ;  "  Mr  Micawber's 
own  tragic  consciousness  that  with 
such  a  secret  as  weighs  down  his 
being,  it  is  not  with  him  as  in  for- 
mer times,  when  "  I  could  look  my 
fellow-man  in  the  face,  and  punch 
his  head  if  he  offended  me :  my 
fellow-man  and  myself  are  no  longer 
on  such  glorious  terms  !" — all  these 
preparations  work  us  up  into  real 
excitement ;  and  when  the  crisis  is 
over,  we  turn  from  the  villain  and 
the  victim  with  equal  indifference, 
to  be  present  at  the  reconciliation, 


687 


or  rather,  as  Mr  Micawber  more 
eloquently  expresses  it,  "the  re- 
establishment  of  mutual  confidence 
between  myself  and  Mrs  Micawber." 
It  is  with  the  most  delighted  readi- 
ness that  we  hasten  to  assist  at  this 
explanation. 

"  '  The  evil  that  has  been  interposed 
between  Mrs  Micawber  and  myself  is  now 
withdrawn,'  said  Mr  Micawber,  'and  my 
children  and  the  Author  of  their  Being 
can  now  once  more  come  in  contact  on 
equal  terms.'  His  house  was  not  far  off : 
and  as  the  street-door  opened  into  the 
sitting-room,  and  he  bolted  in  with  a  pre- 
cipitation quite  his  own,  we  found  our- 
selves at  once  in  the  bosom  of  his  family. 
Mr  Micawber,  exclaiming  'Emma,  my 
life  ! '  rushed  into  Mrs  Micawber's  arms. 
Mrs  Micawber  shrieked,  and  folded  Mr 
Micawber  in  her  embrace.  .  .  . 
'  Emma, '  said  Mr  Micawber,  '  the  cloud  ia 
past  from  my  mind.  Mutual  confidence, 
so  long  promised  between  us  once,  is  in- 
deed to  know  no  further  interruption. 
Now,  welcome  poverty,'  said  Mr  Micaw- 
ber, shedding  tears,  'welcome  misery, 
welcome  houselessness,  welcome  hunger, 
rags,  tempest,  and  beggary.  Mutual  con- 
fidence will  sustain  us  to  the  end ! '  With 
these  expressions,  Mr  Micawber  placed 
Mrs  Micawber  in  a  chair,  and  embraced 
the  family  all  round  :  welcoming  a  variety 
of  bleak  prospects  which  appeared  to  my 
judgment  to  be  anything  but  welcome  to 
them  :  and  calling  upon  them  to  come  out 
into  Canterbury  and  sing  a  chorus,  as 
nothing  else  was  left  for  their  support." 

Still  grander  and  more  imposing 
is  the  last  appearance  of  the  Micaw- 
bers  upon  the  stage.  "We  pause, 
however,  to  say  that  we  are  morally 
certain  Mr  Micawber,  left  to  himself, 
would  never  have  emigrated;  and 
that  only  the  delicious  temptation 
of  the  novelty,  and  the  sense  of  an 
opportunity  for  distinguishing  him- 
self as  the  typical  emigrant,  could 
have  moved  him  to  such  a  step. 
The  tears  with  which  he  has  been 
welcoming  ruin  are  scarcely  dry,  and 
Mrs  Micawber  has  but  newly  re- 
covered from  the  faint  produced  by 
the  reconciliation. 

"My  aunt  mused  a  little  while,  and 
then  said  : 

"  'Mr  Micawber,  I  wonder  you  have 
never  turned  your  thoughts  to  emigration.' 


688 


Charles  Dickens. 


[June 


"  'Madam,'  returned  Mr  Micawber,  'it 
was  the  dream  of  my  youth,  and  the  fal- 
lacious aspiration  of  my  riper  years.'  I 
am  thoroughly  persuaded,  by  the  by,  that 
he  never  thought  of  it  in  his  life.  .  .  . 

"  'There  is  but  one  question,  my  dear 
ma'am,  I  would  wish  to  ask,'  said  Mrs 
Micawber.  'The  climate,  I  believe,  is 
healthy  ? ' 

"  '  Finest  in  the  world,'  said  my  aunt. 

"'Just  so,'  returned  Mrs  Micawber. 
'  Then  my  question  arises.  Now,  are  the 
circumstances  of  the  country  such  that  a 
man  of  Mr  Micawber's  abilities  would 
have  a  fair  chance  of  rising  in  the  social 
scale  ?  I  will  not  say  at  present  might 
he  aspire  to  be  governor,  or  anything  of 
that  sort  ;  but  would  there  be  a  reason- 
able opening  for  his  talents  to  develop 
themselves — that  would  be  amply  suffi- 
cient— and  find  their  own  expansion  ? ' 

"'No  better  opening  anywhere,"  said 
my  aunt,  '  for  a  man  who  conducts  him- 
self well,  and  is  industrious. ' 

"Tor  a  man  who  conducts  himself 
well,'  repeated  Mrs  Micawber,  with  her 
clearest  business  manner,  '  and  is  indus- 
trious. -  Precisely.  It  is  evident  to  me 
that  Australia  is  the  legitimate  sphere  of 
action  for  Mr  Micawber.' 

"  '  I  entertain  the  conviction,  my  dear 
madam,'  said  Mr  Micawber,  'that  it  is, 
tinder  existing  circumstances,  the  land, 
the  only  land,  for  myself  and  family,  and 
that  something  of  an  extraordinary  nature 
will  turn  up  on  that  shore.  It  is  no 
distance,  comparatively  speaking ;  and 
though  consideration  is  due  to  the  kind- 
ness of  your  proposal,  I  assure  you  that 
it  is  a  mere  matter  of  form.' 

"  Shall  I  ever  forget  how,  in  a  moment, 
he  was  the  most  sanguine  of  men,  looking 
on  to  fortune  ;  or  how  Mrs  Micawber  pre- 
sently discoursed  about  the  habits  of  the 
kangaroos  ?  Shall  I  ever  recall  that  street 
of  Canterbury  on  a  market-day  as  he 
walked  back  with  us,  expressing,  in  the 
hardy  roving  manner  he  assumed,  the  un- 
settled habits  of  a  temporary  sojourner  in 
the  land,  and  looking  at  the  bullocks  as 
they  came  by  with  the  eye  of  an  Austra- 
lian farmer  ? " 

When  he  is  found  later,  "  with  a 
bold,  buccaneering  air,  not  absolutely 
lawless,  but  defensive  and  prompt," 
we  feel  that  it  requires  all  the 
comfort  we  can  derive  from  the 
spectacle  of  his  preparation  for 
every  emergency,  and  all  our  sense 
of  the  infinite  satisfaction  it  gives 
him,  to  console  us  for  the  parting 
with  our  friend  and  his  family. 


"He  had  provided  himself,  among 
other  things,  with  a  complete  suit  of 
oilskin,  and  a  straw-hat  with  a  very  low 
crown,  pitched  or  caulked  on  the  outside. 
In  this  rough  clothing,  with  a  common 
mariner's  telescope  under  his  arm,  and  a 
shrewd  trick  of  casting  up  his  eye  at  the 
sky  as  looking  out  for  dirty  weather,  he 
was  far  more  nautical  after  his  manner 
than  Mr  Peggotty.  His  whole  family, 
if  I  may  so  express  it,  were  cleared  for 
action.  I  found  Mrs  Micawber  in  the 
closest  and  most  uncompromising  of 
bonnets,  made  fast  under  the  chin,  and  in  a 
shawl  which  tied  her  up  (as  I  had  been  tied 
up  when  my  aunt  first  received  me)  like 
a  bundle,  and  was  secured  behind  at  the 
waist  in  a  strong  knot.  Miss  Micawber 
I  found  made  snug  for  stormy  weather  in 
the  same  way,  with  nothing  superfluous 
about  her.  Master  Micawber  was  hardly 
visible  in  a  Guernsey  shirt  and  the  shag- 
giest suit  of  slops  I  ever  saw ;  and  the 
children  were  done  up  like  preserved 
meats  in  impervious  cases.  Both  Mr 
Micawber  and  his  eldest  son  wore  their 
sleeves  loosely  turned  back  at  their  wrists, 
as  being  ready  to  lend  a  hand  in  any 
direction,  and  to  tumble  up,  or  sing  out, 
'  Yeo  —  heave  —  yeo  ! '  on  the  shortest 
notice." 

Thus  our  friends  disappear  from 
the  scene,  and  we  sympathise  with 
the  author  in  making  them  prosper- 
ous and  magnificent  in  that  future 
which  they  were  always  so  comfort- 
able about.  We  do  not  much  be- 
lieve in  it,  but  still  he  is  only  yield- 
ing to  a  natural  impulse,  and  com- 
mands our  sympathy,  if  not  the  con- 
currence of  our  judgment.  In  all 
his  works  there  is  nothing  better, 
and  not  much  that  is  half  so  good. 
From  beginning  to  end  he  never 
flags  in  carrying  out  his  conception — 
the  Micawbers  are  as  good  the  first 
day  as  the  last,  and  the  last  as  the 
first;  they  are  always  themselves, 
ready  for  any  emergency,  and  acting 
nobly  up  to  it.  We  will  not  say 
that  the  humour  is  as  high  and  fine 
as  that  which  produced  Dick  Swi- 
veller,  but  it  closely  approaches 
the  proportion  of  that  inimitable 
sketch;  and  as  time  goes  on,  and 
all  that  is  to  die  of  Dickens  dies  as 
it  must — a  process  which  seems  to 
us  to  be  progressing  quickly  at  the 


1871.]  Charles  Dickens. 

present  moment  —  his  real  fame, 
which,  depends  upon  a  very  much 
smaller  foundation  than  that  which 
has  been  given  him  by  contemporary 
opinion,  will  be  found  to  rest  more 
upon  these  two  pictures  than  on 
anything  else  he  has  done. 

We  may  say  here  that  of  all  his 
books  'Copperfield'  is  the  one  which 
the  reader  has  most  satisfaction  in. 
It  has,  besides  this  matchless  group, 
many  of  Dickens's  pleasantest 
sketches  and  best  characters.  Even 
the  hero  himself  is  capable  of  at- 
tracting us  in  a  way  not  usually 
achieved  by  a  jeune  premier,  and 
there  is  actually  an  interest  apart 
from  any  drollery  in  the  story  of 
his  childish  life,  the  curious  loneli- 
ness and  independence  of  its  intro- 
ductory chapter,  and  the  pleasant 
reality  of  growing  up  and  youthful 
experience  which  marks  the  boy's 
progress  into  manhood.  Miss  Betsy 
Trotwood,  too,  is  an  admirable 
sketch,  the  very  best  of  Dickens's 
women;  and  though  the  touch  of 
melodrama  in  her  is  quite  unneces- 
sary, it  is  not  sufficiently  offensive 
to  demand  any  strong  protest;  every- 
thing (let  us  add  as  a  general  axiom) 
that  can  be  skipped,  and  does  not 
thrust  itself  into  the  complications 
of  the  tale,  may  be  forgiven.  The 
episode  of  poor  little  foolish  Dora  is 
both  amusing  and  touching,  though 
after  the  marriage  the  child-wife  is 
often  on  the  point  of  growing  tedious. 
Simple  silliness  is  one  of  the  most 
difficult  things  in  the  world  to  ma- 
nage at  length,  and  the  author  is 
prevented  from  adding  anything  to 
make  it  piquant  by  all  the  circum- 
stances of  the  story,  and  the  human 
prejudice  which  protects  the  little 
bride;  but  barring  this  touch  of 
tediousness,  there  is  truth  enough  in 
the  picture  to  make  it  very  amusing; 
and  there  is  an  amount  of  natural 
pathos  involved  in  the  very  idea  of 
the  fading  and  death  of  the  young 
which  Dickens  has  taken  much 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXVIII. 


689 


advantage  of  on  other  occasions, 
with  a  tendency  to  false  senti- 
ment, and  the  easy  effects  of  con- 
ventional melancholy.  Dora,  how- 
ever, is  better  than  little  JSTell  and 
Paul  Dombey,  both  highly  artificial 
pictures,  relying  for  their  effect  upon 
the  far  deeper  and  more  real  picture 
which  most  people  carry  in  their 
hearts  of  something  sufficiently 
like  to  blind  the  reader's  eyes  with 
tears,  and  overpower  his  judgment. 
Before  their  marriage,  David  and 
his  lovemaking  are  charming;  and 
all  through,  the  puzzled,  troubled, 
saddened,  but  always  loyal  young 
husband,  retains  our  sympathy — 
as  he  does,  indeed,  on  most  occa- 
sions when  he  is  personally  promi- 
nent. Perhaps,  however,  it  is  by 
contrast  with  the  superior  excel- 
lence of  the  story  otherwise  that  the 
melodramatic  part  of  'David  Copper- 
field  '  is  more  repulsive  than  usual. 
Steerforth  and  his  mother,  and  the 
monstrous  imagination  called  Rosa 
Dartle,  are  the  nightmare  of  the 
book,  and  even  the  despair  of  little 
Emily  and  the  virtuousness  of  Peg- 
gotty  are  tiresome.  "  Skip  the 
pathos,"  was  the  earnest  injunction 
which  we  lately  heard  addressed  to 
a  benevolent  reader  who  was  read- 
ing 'Copperfield'  aloud.  Perhaps 
this  is  too  much  to  say,  but  yet  the 
reader  will  find  it  safe  to  pass  over 
a  great  deal  of  the  more  touching 
portions;  the  strength  of  Dickens 
did  not  lie  there. 

This  is  specially  true  of  the 
short  stories  published  on  suc- 
cessive Christmases,  the  first  of 
which  produced  an  effect  which 
at  this  distance  we  find  it  very 
difficult  to  account  for.  Dickens 
was  then  at  the  highest  pinnacle  of 
his  fame,  and  everything  that  fell 
from  his  lips  was  eagerly  received 
by  an  admiring  public;  and  the 
'Christmas  Carol,'  the  apotheosis 
of  turkey  and  plum -pudding,  ad- 
dressed perhaps  the  widest  audi- 

3B 


690 


ence  that  is  capable  of  being  moved 
by  literature.  The  story  of  how 
Scrooge  was  converted  from  avarice 
and  misery  into  the  very  jovialest 
of  Pickwickian  old  gentlemen, 
moved  us  all  in  those  days  as  if  it 
had  been  a  new  gospel.  There  was 
nothing  recondite  about  it,  no  finer 
meaning  that  escaped  the  common 
eye ;  everybody  understood  the 
moral,  and  perceived  at  a  glance  how 
beneficent  was  the  training  which 
prompted  an  old  Skinflint  to  send 
a  prize  turkey  for  his  poor  clerk's 
Christmas  dinner,  and  poke  him  in 
the  ribs  and  raise  his  salary  next 
day.  The  '  Christmas  Carol '  was 
the  beginning  of  the  flood  of  terrible 
joviality  and  sentimentality  which 
since  that  time  has  poured  upon  us 
with  every  Christmas,  which  detracts 
from  our  gratitude  ;  but  its  effect  at 
the  time  of  its  publication  was  ex- 
traordinary, and  it  must,  we  pre- 
sume, have  been  attended  by  good 
practical  results.  It  is  seldom  that 
the  teacher  of  charity  can  lay  hold 
upon  so  vast  an  audience ;  and  the 
kindly  moral  was  perhaps  all  the 
more  generally  acceptable,  that  it 
required  no  great  elevation  of  sen- 
timent or  spiritual  discrimination. 
This,  however,  is  the  only  one  of  these 
smaller  productions  which  will  re- 
tain its  position.  The  succeeding 
stories,  though  all  bearing  the  same 
good  meaning,  dwindled  by  degrees 
into  the  maudlin  vein.  'Scrooge' 
retains  a  certain  vigour  still,  but 
not  by  right  of  any  vivid  char- 
acter or  striking  scene.  Its  interest 
is  almost  entirely  forced,  and  its 
power  quite  artificial.  Goose  and 
stuffing  are  its  most  ethereal  influ- 
ences ;  and  the  episode  of  Tiny  Tim 
is  like  the  others  we  have  instanced, 
only  touching  because  of  the  per- 
sonal recollections  which  any  allu- 
sion to  a  feeble  or  dying  child  in- 
evitably recall  The  episode,  how- 
ever, must  have  been  a  favourite 
with  the  author,  since  it  remained 


Charles  Dickens.  [June 

one  of  his  selected  passages  in  his 
readings  till  the  end  of  his  career. 

It  is  perhaps  too  early  as  yet  to 
decide  which  of  the  later  books 
are  likely  to  retain  any  permanent 
place  in  English  literature ;  nor  do 
we  recollect  sufficiently  the  order  in 
which  they  were  published  (which, 
by  the  way,  is  not  retained  in  any 
printed  list  we  can  lay  our  hands 
on),  to  say  when  it  was  that  the 
current  slackened,  that  the  indica- 
tions of  genius  began  to  grow  less 
frequent,  and  the  creative  impulse 
to  fail.  Our  own  impression  is, 
that  in  '  Copperfield '  Mr  Dickens' s 
genius  culminated,  and  that  every- 
thing after  gives  symptoms  of  de- 
cay. 'Bleak  House'  and  'Little 
Dorrit '  stand  on  a  much  lower  ele- 
vation, and  'Our  Mutual  Friend' 
on  a  humbler  level  still  The  im- 
pulse and  spontaneity  are  gone ;  by 
times  a  gleam  of  the  original  energy 
comes  back,  but  as  a  rule  the  work 
is  a  manufacture,  bearing  painful 
marks  of  the  hammer,  and  brought 
into  being  by  an  act  of  will,  not  by 
the  spontaneous  movement  of  life. 
Even  the  type  of  character  deterio- 
rates. The  smug,  self-conscious,  pro- 
fessional goodness  of  the  heroine  of 
'Bleak  House,'  which  it  always 
astonishes  her  so  much  to  find 
appreciated  and  applauded,  takes 
up  a  great  deal  more  room  than  it 
has  any  right  to  do,  and  irritates 
and  wearies  the  reader.  What  fun 
Mr  Dickens,  in  his  earlier  vigour, 
could  have  made  of  Esther  Summer- 
ing's  consciousness,  and  her  well- 
feigned  surprise  at  everybody's  good 
opinion  of  her  !  but  by  this  time  he 
is  too  languid  for  such  an  effort,  and 
is  compelled  to  take,  as  it  were,  to 
a  kind  of  imaginative  dram-drinking 
to  rouse  him  up,  in  the  shape  of 
spontaneous  combustion  and  other 
horrors.  Little  Miss  Flite,  who  has 
been  crazed  by  the  Court  of  Chan- 
cery, is  a  fantastic  figure,  worthy  of 
a  place  in  the  permanent  collection 


1871.]  diaries  Dickens, 

of  oddities  which  this  author  has 
added  to  his  more  important  pic- 
tures ;  and  there  is  a  languid  sketch 
of  one  of  the  many  prodigals  of  fic- 
tion, with  some  novelty  in  it,  in  the 
person  of  Richard,  who  considers 
himself  to  have  saved  the  money 
which  he  is  prevented  from  throw- 
ing away,  and  consequently  throws 
it  away  the  second  time,  with  the 
clearest  conscience  and  a  gentle 
sense  of  duty.  Perhaps,  however, 
the  only  real  hold  which  this  book 
ever  had  upon  the  popular  imagi- 
nation was  through  Mrs  Jellyby 
and  Mrs  Pardiggle,  who  belong  to 
that  class  of  female  philanthropists 
whom  the  English  public  has  a  cer- 
tain savage  delight  in  annihilating. 
Mrs  Jellyby's  pleasant  placidity  in 
the  midst  of  all  the  miseries  of 
her  household,  her  perfect  temper 
and  good-humoured  indifference  to 
everybody's  sufferings,  are  very 
much  more  true  and  amusing,  how- 
ever, than  the  strained  fun  of  Borrio- 
boola-gha,  and  it  is  a  phase  of  cha- 
racter the  author  is  fond  of.  '  Little 
Dorrit '  is,  again,  a  step  lower  down 
in  the  scale  than  'Bleak  House.' 
There  is  an  effective  situation,  that 
of  the  Marshalsea  prison,  and  the 
strange  squalid  life  of  the  family, 
which  has  no  other  home;  but  Mr 
Dorrit  is  but  the  Diddler  develop- 
ment of  Mr  Dickens's  favourite  char- 
acter; his  grandeur  and  his  meanness 
are  all  gleaned  from  previous  sket- 
ches, and  the  result  is  neither  in- 
teresting nor  agreeable ;  whereas 
the  heroine  is  one  of  those  incon- 
ceivably and  foolishly  devoted  lit- 
tle persons,  mawkishly  fond  of 
some  disagreeable  relation,  and  de- 
lighting in  making  victims  and 
sacrifices  of  themselves,  who  repre- 
sent the  highest  type  of  female  char- 
acter to  the  author.  The  best  thing 
in  the  book  is  the  Circumlocution 
Office,  there  set  forth  at  full  length ; 
and  the  talk  of  the  retainers  and 
poor  relations  of  the  Barnacle  and 


691 


Stiltstalking  families,  the  two  states- 
men races,  which  is  a  not  unmean- 
ing though  feeble  echo  of  the  talk 
which  may  be  heard  every  day 
among  the  decayed  members  of  the 
governing  classes. 

To  'Our  Mutual  Friend'  and 
'The  Tale  of  Two  Cities'  we 
can  give  no  place  at  alL  The 
latter  might  have  been  written 
by  any  new  author,  so  little  of 
Dickens  there  is  in  it.  In  short, 
we  believe  there  are  at  least  half-a- 
dozen  writers  extant  who  could  have 
produced  a  piece  a  great  deal  more 
like  the  master,  and  with  much 
more  credible  marks  of  authenticity. 
'EdwinDrood'  has  been  supposed  by 
many  a  kind  of  resurrection,  or  at 
least  the  forerunner  of  a  resurrection, 
of  his  characteristic  force.  But  we 
cannot  say  that  such  is  the  impres- 
sion produced  upon  our  own  mind. 
Of  all  undesirable  things  to  be  de- 
precated by  an  admirer  of  Dickens, 
we  should  say  that  the  resurrection 
of  his  peculiar  style  of  tragedy  would 
be  about  the  greatest — and  this  is 
all  which  could  be  hoped  from  the 
opening  of  '  Edwin  Drood/  Jasper 
did  indeed  give  promise  of  being 
one  of  the  blackest  of  the  impossible 
scoundrels  whom  from  time  to  time 
he  has  brought  into  being  for  our 
gratification;  but  Durdles  is  one 
of  the  weakest  ghosts  of  the  past, 
and  the  Deputy  a  most  pitiful  sha- 
dow of  those  gamins  who  were  ever  so 
full  of  life  and  spirit.  This  fire,  we 
think,  there  can  be  little  doubt,  had 
died  out.  Fun  and  high  spirits  are 
perhaps  of  all  other  qualities  of  the 
mind  the  ones  which  do  rub  out 
most  easily.  "We  do  not  doubt  that 
Dickens  was  as  strong  as  ever  in 
constructive  power,  in  pathos,  and 
in  philosophy ;  but  then  these  are 
precisely  the  points  at  which  our 
understanding  leaves  him.  So  far 
as  we  are  concerned,  we  could  dis- 
pense with  all,  or  almost  all,  he  has 
done  in  these  particulars.  The 


692 


higher  fount  of  humour,  from  which, 
indeed,  at  the  best  of  times,  he  drew 
but  sparingly,  was  dry ;  and  even 
the  abundant  flood  of  cheerful  wit, 
and  large,  laugliing,  though  superfi- 
cial, observation,  had  failed  :  never, 
we  think,  has  there  been  a  more 
distinct  decadence.  But  natural 
decadence  is  no  shame  to  any  man  : 
the  only  thing  that  can  give  it  a 
sting  is  the  desperate  effort  some 
men  are  compelled  to  make  to  keep 
up  lost  fame  and  do  impossible 
work  after  the  fiat  has  gone  out 
against  them.  And  this  Dickens 
was  not  called  upon  to  do. 

There  is  a  gleam,  however,  of 
departing  energy  in  the  curious 
book  called  '  Great  Expectations,' 
which  is  worth  noticing.  It  is  not 
in  the  old  strain,  nor  specially 
characteristic  of  Dickens,  but  there 
is  a  certain  power  in  the  conception. 
The  horror  of  the  young  hero,  who 
has  been  adopted  and  "made  a 
gentleman  of"  by  a  convict,  when 
he  finds  out  who  his  benefactor  is — 
the  strange  wild  love  and  pride  of 
the  man  in  the  "  gentleman  "  whom 
he  has  made — the  faithfulness  with 
which,  when  his  loathed  and  feared 
patron  is  in  danger,  the  young  fellow 
holds  by  him  and  schemes  to  save 
him — have  considerable  impressive- 
ness  and  power.  The  book  is  pain- 
ful in  the  highest  degree ;  and 
nothing  could  be  imagined  more 
artificial  and  false  than  the  picture 
of  Miss  Havisham,  the  vindictive 
deserted  bride,  who  has  shut  herself 
up  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  in  her 
dressing-room,  where  she  sits  in  her 
wedding-dress,  which  apparently 
has  lasted  all  that  time  too,  with 
but  one  shoe  on,  exactly  as  she  was 
when  the  news  of  her  lover's  false- 
hood reached  her.  This  mad  figure, 
seated  with  a  still  madder  disregard 
of  possibility  amid  her  absurd  sur- 
roundings, is  neither  tragical,  as  she 
is  meant  to  be,  nor  amusing,  but 
simply  foolish:  but  the  story  of 


Charles  Dicker.  [June 

Pip's  horror  at  the  sudden  appari- 
tion of  his  benefactor,  the  sense  of 
repulsion  with  which  he  struggles, 
while  he  tries  to  be  kind  to  him, 
and  his  exertions  to  get  him  free  at 
the  last,  are  boldly  conceived  and 
well  told.  Had  another  man  done 
it,  the  likelihood  is  that  the  new 
author  would  have  been  much  ap- 
plauded for  an  effective  and  power- 
ful bit  of  work ;  but  all  that  was 
characteristic  in  Dickens,  all  that 
was  best  in  him,  had  faded  off  the 
scene  before  we  received  this  with 
the  applause  which  attends  a  popu- 
lar actor's  best  performance.  How 
changed  he  is  from  what  we  have 
known  him  !  we  say  to  each  other, 
as  we  fling  our  bouquets  on  the 
stage  :  we  withdraw  behind  the  cur- 
tains of  our  box  that  he  may  not  see 
us,  and  shake  our  heads  as  he  raises, 
with  tremulous  loudness,  that  voice 
which  once  rang  easily  through  the 
house  without  labour  or  effort. 
Poor  old  fellow,  how  he  has  gone  off! 
we  say — and  applaud  all  the  more. 
And  when  we  look  back  upon 
the  works  of  Dickens,  they  divide 
themselves  at  once  into  these  two 
classes — the  works  of  his  heyday 
and  prime,  and  the  works  of  his 
decadence.  The  natural  vigour  of 
the  one  contrasts  in  the  most 
singular  manner  with  the  strain 
and  effort  of  the  other ;  and  yet,  if 
we  examine  into  the  matter,  the 
change  is  very  natural  and  explain- 
able. The  great  source  of  his  popu- 
larity is  the  immense  flow  of  spirits, 
the  abundant  tide  of  life,  which 
runs  through  his  early  works.  He 
never  spares  himself  in  this  respect, 
but  pours  forth  crowds  of  super- 
numeraries upon  his  stage,  like  an 
enterprising  manager  at  Christmas 
time,  sparing  no  expense,  as  it  were, 
and  giving  himself  infinite  trouble 
merely  to  provide  a  rich  and  varied 
background  for  his  principal  figures. 
He  leaves  upon  our  minds  an  im- 
pression of  unbounded  wealth  and 


1871.] 


Charles  Dickens. 


693 


illimitable  resources.  We  know 
that  it  will  be  no  trouble  to  him 
to  fill  up  any  vacant  corner  with 
a  group;  and  even  while  the 
thought  crosses  our  mind,  his 
eye  has  caught  the  vacancy,  and 
a  half-dozen  of  li ving  creatures  are 
tossed  into  the  gap  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye.  This  overflowing 
abundance  has  a  wonderful  effect 
upon  the  public  mind.  A  sense  of 
something  like  infinity  grows  upon 
us  as  we  see  the  new  forms  appear 
out  of  the  void  without  even  a  word, 
at  a  glance  from  the  painter's  eye. 
And  then  his  creative  energy  was 
such  that  a  stream  of  fun  passed 
into  the  dulness  along  with  this 
strain  of  life.  These  new  people 
amused  their  author.  He  dressed 
them  in  the  first  fantastic  garb  that 
might  come  to  his  hand,  and  set 
them  free  to  dance  through  their 
eccentric  circle  as  they  chose.  This 
immense  energy,  fertility,  and  plen- 
tifulness  is,  however,  one  of  the  gifts 
that  can  least  be  warranted  to  last. 
It  belongs  to  the  first  half  of  life, 
and  could  scarcely  be  expected  to 
survive  beyond  that  period.  "When 
the  intellectual  pulse  began  to  beat 
slower,  and  the  tide  of  •  existence 
to  run  less  full,  this  power  abated, 
as  was  natural.  Though  there  were 
still  as  many  people  on  the  canvas, 
these  people  were  but  the  ghosts 
of  the  lusty  crowds  of  old ;  and  even 
the  numbers  got  reduced ;  the  su- 
pers began  to  be  dismissed ;  and 
economy  stole  in  where  prodigality 
had  once  ruled  the  day.  If  the 
reader  will  look  at  the  later  works,  he 
will  perceive  at  once  this  lessened 
fulness.  When  the  author  himself 
became  aware  of  it,  the  knowledge 
roused  him  to  preternatural  exer- 
tions. The  absurder  oddities  of 
Dickens  are  crowded  into  these  later 
books  in  a  forlorn  attempt  to  make 
extravagance  do  the  work  of  energy. 
Such  weird  and  grotesque  figures, 
for  instance,  as  the  doll's  dress- 


maker, and  Mr  Venus,  the  maker  of 
skeletons,  could  not  have  existed  in 
the  earlier  and  brighter  period.  They 
are  the  offspring  of  exaggeration — 
strange  evidences  of  the  wild  and 
almost  despairing  attempt  to  keep 
on  a  level  with  himself.  This  ex- 
treme strain  and  effort  to  prolong 
the  prodigality  of  early  work  is  at 
the  same  time,  no  doubt,  one  of  the 
reasons  why  he  never  attains  in  any 
solitary  instance  to  the  vigour  and 
originality  of  his  beginning.  It 
might  have  been  supposed  that  the 
very  narrowing  of  the  sphere  would 
intensify  the  individual  conceptions ; 
but  Dickens  would  not  consent  to 
narrow  his  sphere,  and  did  not  give 
his  powers  fair-play.  Thus  the  tide 
of  his  genius  fell,  as  the  tide  of  life 
falls.  That  elaboration  which  experi- 
ence and  study  make  natural  to  the 
mature  mind,  struck  at  the  very  roots 
of  his  success,  for  his  success  had 
never  been  due  to  art.  It  had  been 
the  spontaneity,  the  ease  and  free- 
dom, the  mirrored  life,  versatile  and 
rich  and  ever-moving  as  life  itself, 
though  seldom  more  profound  than 
the  surface  picture  which  a  glass 
reflects  and  brightens,  which  had 
been  his  grand  charm.  The 
"  thoughts  which  sometimes  lie 
too  deep  for  tears ; "  the  "  richer 
colouring  "  given  by  the  deep  glance 
of  those  eyes  "  which  have  kept 
watch  o'er  man's  mortality,"  did 
not  lie  within  his  range.  There- 
fore, as  he  grew  older,  he  waned, 
and  his  power  went  from  his  hands. 
For  this  reason,  and  many  other 
reasons  already  indicated,  it  appears 
to  us  that  Dickens's  place  and  fame 
in  the  future  are  likely  to  shrink 
much  from  their  present  proportions. 
When  all  its  adventitious  helps  are 
gone,  and  he  comes  to  be  judged 
simply  on  his  merits,  the  importance 
of  his  position  will  be  greatly  less- 
ened. Perhaps  he  may  even  be  the 
victim  of  an  unjust  revulsion  from 
all  the  false  emotion  and  claptrap 


694 


Charles  Dickens. 


[June 


sentiment  surrounded  by  which  it 
has  been  his  unfortunate  fate  to 
leave  the  world.  He  has  had  so 
much  false  reputation,  that  it  is 
but  too  possible  his  true  reputation 
may  suffer  temporary  eclipse  by 
one  of  those  revenges  which  time 
brings  about  so  surely.  Unjust 
depreciation,  however,  is  as  much 
to  be  avoided  as  the  false  glory 
which  so  many  injudicious  ap- 
plauses have  raised  about  his  name. 
He  was  not,  as  he  is  said  to  be,  a 
writer  of  the  highest  moral  ten- 
dency, because  the  company  he 
introduces  to  us,  par  predilection, 
is  not  by  any  means  good  company ; 
and  the  virtue  which  he  makes  a 
point  of  recommending  is  very  poor 
and  mawkish  in  its  pretended  ex- 
cellence. But,  at  the  same  time,  he 
never  introduces  one  scene,  and 
scarcely  a  thought,  which  trangresses 
the  severest  laws  of  modesty ;  and 
this,  though  negative,  is  praise  of 
the  very  highest  description.  His 
weight  is  always  thrown  into  the 
scale  of  goodness ;  nor  does  he  ever 
lend  a  grace  of  sentiment  to  vice, 
or  even  attempt  to  excuse  the  in- 
excusable. Had  he  indulged  in  the 
propensities  of  the  'Guy  Livingston' 
type  of  novelists,  it  is  impossible  to 
calculate  the  harm  he  might  have 
done,  or  the  floods  of  debasing  influ- 
ences he  might  have  poured  forth 
upon  the  world.  But  in  this  point 
even  Mrs  Gamp  is  as  blameless  as 
Mrs  Grundy — nay,  infinitely  more 
innocent ;  for  Mrs  Grundy's  social 
heroine  is  seldom  anything  so  re- 
spectable as  the  mother  of  six. 

Mr  Dickens's  claims  as  a  humorist, 
in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word,  are 
limited,  chiefly  by  the  absence  of 
that  fine  sense  of  moral  excellence, 
apart  from  all  conventionalities, 
which  is  like  an  ear  for  music,  an 
unexplainable  gift,  which  no  amount 
of  genius  or  understanding  can  confer 
upon  a  man  if  nature  has  withheld  it. 
The  want  is  by  times  scarcely  ap- 


parent ;  and  once,  at  least,  he  over- 
comes it  altogether  with  a  bound, 
as  Wordsworth  is  said  for  one 
wonderful  moment  to  have  gained 
the  sense  of  smell  of  which  nature 
had  deprived  him  ;  but,  as  a  rule, 
this  absence  of  the  highest  order  of 
perceptions  limits  his  capacity  for 
producing  the  highest  kind  of  work. 
He  cannot  get  above  himself.  By 
times  he  has  glimpses  of  a  purer  air, 
and  strives  and  strains  to  get  into 
that  better  atmosphere — but  the 
strain  does  but  tighten  the  halter 
about  his  neck,  beyond  the  length  of 
which  he  cannot  go.  The  period  in 
which  he  is  most  natural  is  the 
'  Pickwick '  period,  in  which  his 
high  spirits  and  sense  of  power  carry 
him  quite  out  of  the  range  of  sym- 
pathy, and  he  laughs  at  everybody 
indiscriminately  with  a  good  -  hu- 
moured and  easy  fulness  of  laughter 
which  disarms  all  our  censures,  and 
yet  is  essentially  cynical,  though 
so  unlike  the  ordinary  conception  of 
that  word.  But  after  '  Pickwick,' 
when  the  first  fulness  of  fancy  had 
been  sobered  by  practical  know- 
ledge of  the  difficulties  and  dan- 
gers of  actual  production,  Dickens's 
virtue  develops  with  a  suddenness 
and  loftiness  which  is  very  remark- 
able. It  is  as  if  he  had  surveyed 
his  mimic  world,  found  out  in  it 
the  deficiency  we  have  remarked, 
and  had  vowed  to  himself  that  he 
would  be  moral,  and  would  be  sym- 
pathetic, and  that  this  deficiency 
should  be  seen  no  more.  If  such 
was  his  resolution,  he  carried  it  out 
nobly,  there  can  be  no  doubt ;  but 
yet  his  morals,  like  all  his  higher 
sentiments,  are  artificial ;  they  are 
even  polemical,  standing  on  their ' 
defence,  calling  heaven  and  earth 
to  witness  how  genuine  they  are. 
This  want  of  spontaneous  moral  feel- 
ing takes,  at  the  same  time,  the  point  i 
out  of  his  satire.  He  is  shocked 
conventionally  by  social  evil,  but 
his  heart  is  not  wrung,  nor  his  sense 


1871.]  Charles  Dickens. 

of  harmony  outraged.  He  is  never 
bitter ;  sometimes  he  lashes  himself 
into  a  rage,  getting  it  up  with  grind- 
ing of  teeth  and  gathering  of  brows  ; 
but  the  gall  which  is  in  that  man's 
own  soul  who  is  hurt  and  stung, 
and  made  to  bleed  by  wrong,  is 
never  visible  in  Dickens.  He  shoots 
fiery  darts  at  an  abuse,  because  his 
attention  has  been  directed  to  it  as 
something  which  ought  to  be  as- 
sailed, a  fit  object  for  his  artillery  ; 
he  does  not  fall  upon  it  with  sharp 
disdain  and  loathing,  as  a  thing 
ruinous  and  pernicious  within.  It 
is  the  absence  of  this  warm  moral 
sentiment  which  limits  him  both  as 
satirist  and  humorist,  giving  him 
admission  but  to  the  threshold  of 
the  highest  circle.  In  both  these 
branches  of  art  his  old  rival, 
Thackeray,  takes  place  infinitely 
above  him,  notwithstanding  that 
the  common  verdict  of  the  world  in 
their  day  set  down  Thackeray  as  a 
cynic  and  sceptic,  with  no  belief  in 
virtue,  and  held  up  Dickens  as  a  kind 
of  apostle  of  human  goodness.  In 
this  point,  as  in  many  others,  distance 
clears  away  the  mists,  and  makes 
objects  which  were  confused  and  in- 
distinct when  close  at  hand,  clear 
and  apparent  to  the  further  view. 

Yet  with  all  his  limitations  and 
deficiencies  the  genius  of  Dick- 
ens was  one  of  which  England  has 
reason  to  be  proud.  When  he  held 
the  mirror  up  to  Nature,  he  never 
showed,  it  is  true,  anything  heroic, 
or  of  the  highest  strain  of  virtue  and 
nobleness :  but  he  showed  such  a  pic- 
ture of  the  teeming  animated  world 
as  few  men  have  been  able  to  do — 
he  expounded  and  cleared  to  us 
some  unseen  corners  of  the  soul,  so 


695 


as  to  make  them  great  in  the  perfect- 
ness  of  the  revelation ;  and  here  and 
there  he  cleared  away  the  rubbish 
from  some  genial  sunshiny  spots 
where  the  flowers  can  grow.  We 
may  apply  to  him,  without  doubt, 
the  surest  test  to  which  the  Maker 
can  be  subject ;  were  all  his  books 
swept  by  some  intellectual  catas- 
trophe out  of  the  world,  there  would 
still  exist  in  the  world  some  score 
at  least  of  people,  with  all  whose 
ways  and  sayings  we  are  more  in- 
timately acquainted  than  with  those 
of  our  brothers  and  sisters,  who 
would  owe  to  him  their  being.  While 
we  live,  and  while  our  children  live, 
Sam  Weller  and  Dick  Swiveller, 
Mr  Pecksniff  and  Mrs  Gamp,  the 
Micawbers  and  the  Squeerses,  can 
never  die.  They  are  not  lofty  per- 
sonages, perhaps,  nor  can  they  do 
us  much  good  now  that  they  are 
here.  But  here  they  are,  and  no- 
thing can  destroy  them.  They  are 
more  real  than  we  are  ourselves,  and 
will  outlive  and  outlast  us  as  they 
have  outlived  their  creator.  This  is 
the  one  proof  of  genius  which  no 
critic,  not  the  most  carping  or  dis- 
satisfied, can  gainsay.  Would  there 
had  been  among  them  even  one  soul 
of  higher  pretensions  to  give  dignity 
to  the  group  !  but  such  as  they  are, 
they  are  indestructible  and  beyond 
the  power  of  decay.  These  are 
Dickens's  evidences  of  the  reality  of 
his  vocation,  and  they  are  such  as 
even  the  devil's  advocate  could  not 
assail.  Vain  would  be  the  hand 
and  futile  the  attempt  of  the  critic 
who  strove  to  shut  upon  a  spirit 
thus  attended  the  doors  of  the  tem- 
ple of  fame  ! 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[June 


UNDEE    THE    BED    CROSS : 
A   NARRATIVE   OP   HOSPITAL-LIFE   WITH   THE   PRUS^ANS   IN   FRANCE. 


PART    II. CHAPTER   VI. 


CORBEIL  is  a  much  larger  place 
than  Lagiiy ;  the  houses,  too,  and 
shops,  had  not  been  abandoned,  the 
inhabitants  having  had  the  sense  to 
see  that  it  was  just  as  safe,  and  far 
more  profitable,  to  have  soldiers 
billeted  on  to  them  (for  which  they 
received  a  fixed  rate  of  payment  from 
the  commune),  and  to  stand  behind 
their  counters,  than  to  leave  their 
houses  to  be  demolished,  and  wan- 
der homeless  in  distant  departments. 

When  the  Prussians  arrived,  they 
found,  as  was  to  be  expected,  the 
bridge  over  the  Seine  minus  an  arch, 
so  they  ordered  the  French  authori- 
ties to  rebuild  it  at  their  own  ex- 
pense within  a  given  number  of 
days,  imposing  a  penalty  of  1000 
francs  for  every  day  beyond  the 
fixed  term. 

Almost  every  other  house  had  a 
red-cross  flag  over  it — indeed,  we 
found  that  every  available  establish- 
ment, including  the  theatre,  had  been 
turned  into  a  lazareth,  and  that  the 
adjacent  chateaux  (for  Corbeil,  ow- 
ing to  its  picturesque  situation,  was 
a  favourite  summer  resort  of  the 
Parisians),  abandoned  by  the  pro- 
prietors, had  been  made  into  either 
schwerkranken  or  reconvalescent  spi- 
tdler  (severely  wounded  and  conva- 
lescent hospitals). 

The  streets  were  crowded  with 
soldiers  and  a  goodly  sprinkling  of 
natives,  and  having  got  the  ad- 
dress of  the  head-surgeon,  Von  Grau- 
vogel,  at  the  Etappen-Commando, 
we  were  hurrying  off  to  report  to 
him  our  arrival,  and  offer  our  ser- 
vices, when  we  heard  a  voice  behind 
us  calling  out — 

"  Meine  Damen!"  (my  ladies  !) 


Turning  round,  we  faced  a  very 
gentlemanly -looking  individual  cloth- 
ed in  a  grey  overcoat  with  a  green 
collar,  and  the  Johanniter-cross  in 
his  button-hole. 

"  Have  you  been  long  in  Corbeil, 
and  do  you  belong  to  a  hospital 
here  1"  he  inquired. 

"No,"  we  made  answer;  "we 
only  arrived  last  night,  and  are  on 
our  way  to  the  head-surgeon  to  ask 
for  work." 

"  Because,"  he  resumed,  "  I  am 
the  Delegirter  of  the  Freiwilligen 
Krankenpflege  here,  and  if  you  will 
step  into  my  office  close  by,  I  have 
something  to  propose  to  you." 

We  followed  him  in,  and  he,  hav- 
ing looked  over  our  papers,  asked 
Madame  Schmid  if  she  would  under- 
take the  supervision  of  the  culinary 
department  in  a  convalescent  hos- 
pital. 

She  told  him  she  had  never  done 
such  a  thing  before ;  but  as  she  had 
a  long  experience  of  what  the  sick 
and  wounded  required,  and  was 
willing  to  make  herself  useful  in 
any  way,  she  would  try. 

I  was  very  glad  he  did  not  ask 
me ;  for  though  I  rather  pride  myself 
upon  being  able  to  cook  good  honest 
English  dishes,  and  even  some 
French  entrees,  I  should  have  had 
to  confess  to  my  ignorance  of  Ger- 
man "messes." 

"  And  you,"  said  the  Delegirter 
to  me,  "  as  you  know  French  well, 
and  are  doubtless  acquainted  with  the 
decimal  coinage  and  weight,  will 
you  undertake  the  direction  and 
Jiaushaltung  (housekeeping)  of  two 
lazaretfis?  This  is  how  the  case 
stands  :  we  have  turned  two  cha- 


1871.]        Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  II.         697 


teaux,  lying  close  to  each  other  about 
four  miles  out  of  town,  into  two 
convalescent  hospitals  for  the  sick 
only — that  is,  for  fever  and  dysen- 
tery patients  who  leave  the  schtcer- 
kranken  lazareths  to  recruit  their 
health  before  returning  to  their 
regiments — and  there  is  a  verwalter 
(intendant)  and  some  Freiwilligen 
Krankenpfleger ;  but  the  surgeon 
complains  of  the  way  the  food  is 
prepared  for  his  patients,  and  the 
hospitals  are  sadly  in  want  of  female 
influence  to  establish  system,  order, 
and  cleanliness ;  will  you  undertake 
this?" 

"  Certainly,"  I  answered ;  "  at 
least,  I  will  do  my  very  best." 

"  You  both  seem,"  added  he, 
"  to  have  fallen  providentially  from 
heaven ;  for  I  have  been  at  my 
wits'  end  for  days  to  find  the  right 
sort  of  ladies,  and  this  morning 
telegraphed  in  my  despair  to  Ber- 
lin for  some  one;  so  it  is  all  settled, 
and  to-morrow  the  verwalter  will 
fetch  you  at  your  lodgings,  and  drive 
you  out  to  the  Chateau  de  Belle- 
garde,  where  I  will  come  and  visit 
you  next  day,  and  see  that  you 
are  properly  and  comfortably  in- 
stalled." 

On  leaving  the  Delegirter's  office 
we  went  to  pay  a  visit  to  our  travel- 
ling companions,  who  had  already 
taken  their  places  behind  their 
counters,  doing  a  brisk  trade,  and — 
now  that  the  danger  was  past — were 
laughing  over  the  adventures  of  the 
previous  day.  As  we  were  relating 
to  M.  Louit  the  rencontre  with  the 
insolent  captain,  I  became  aware  of 
the  presence  of  a  Prussian  officer 
sipping  his  coffee  in  the  back  par- 
lour. 

"  Oh,  n'y  faites  pas  attention," 
said  M.  Louit ;  "  c'est  un  artilleur 
qui  est  log£  chez  moi  depuis  long- 
temps  :  il  ne  comprend  pas  un  mot 
de  Francais,  ni  moi  un  mot  d'Alle- 
mand,  mais  nous  sommes  de  lie's 
bons  amis,  et  c'est  un  bon  enfant 


qui  ne  se  mele  de  rien,allez  toujours." 
"  Oh,  don't  mind  him ;  he  is  an 
artilleryman  who  has  been  lodged 
here  a  long  time :  he  does  not  un- 
derstand one  word  of  French,  nor 
I  one  word  of  German,  but  we  are 
very  good  friends,  and  he  never 
bothers,  so  you  can  speak  freely." 

Mesdames  Picard  and  Louit 
made  us  promise  that  whenever 
pleasure  or  business  brought  us  to 
town,  we  would  go  and  share  their 
pot-au-feu,  and  so  we  parted. 

As  we  made  our  way  throxigh  the 
thronged  market-place,  lined  with 
booths  innumerable,  whom  should  we 
see  but  the  ruffianly  Bavarian,  who 
either  did  not  or  pretended  not  to  re- 
cognise us.  Madame  Schmid  was 
for  attacking  him  on  the  spot  for 
his  ungentlemanly  behaviour,  but 
I  persuaded  her  the  brute  was  not 
worth  it,  and  she  desisted, — very 
soon,  however,  finding  a  new  vent 
for  her  ire  in  the  direction  of  a 
landwehr  man,  who  accosted  me  on 
the  bridge  with  the  remark  that 
my  badge  had  not  the  stempel  on 
it.  I  was  about  to  draw  out  of 
my  pocket-book  the  stamped  one, 
and  explain  that  I  preferred  not 
soiling  it  by  wearing  it  on  my  arm, 
when  Madame  Schmid  stopped  me 
short. 

"  Don't  take  the  trouble  to  give 
him  any  explanation  whatsoever," 
said  she  ;  "  a  feld-gendarme  is  the 
only  person  who  has  the  authority 
to  ask  you  any  questions.  As  for 
you,"  turning  to  the  Bavarian,  "  you 
are  nothing  but  a  gemeiner  commiss- 
soldat  (common  private  soldier),  and 
you  had  better  march  off  at  once,  or 
I'll  have  you  put  under  arrest  for 
breach  of  duty." 

The  man  had  probably  passed  as 
a  "lord  of  creation"  until  he  en- 
countered Madame  Schmid ;  but 
what  now  happened  was,  that  he 
instantly  did  as  he  was  bid,  with- 
out uttering  a  word. 

Our  hosts,  M.  and  Madame  Her- 


698 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[June 


bert,  were  a  newly-married  couple, 
whose  honeymoon  had  been  arrested 
in  its  first  quarter  by  the  arrival  de 
ces  brigands  de  Prussiens.  The  hus- 
band, huissier  de  son  etat,  thinking 
the  occupation  would  be  short,  re- 
mained at  his  post ;  but,  believing 
in  the  reports  of  the  newspapers, 
had  sent  off  his  young  wife  to  her 
mother,  living  in  some  far-distant 
village,  which  the  Prussians  were 
never  supposed  to  reach.  However, 
the  out-of-the-way  district  was  not 
spared  the  visit  of  the  ubiquitous 
Uhlans.  "I  should  have  done 
much  better  to  have  stayed  at  home," 
said  Madame  Herbert ;  "  for  my 
husband,  who  had  officers  billeted 
on  to  him,  had  to  hire  a  woman  to 
cook  and  to  clean  the  house;  and 
my  mother  and  I  lived  in  a  constant 
state  of  terror,  for  we  were  quite 
alone  in  her  little  house." 

"  And  how  did  the  '  brigands  ' 
behave  1 "  I  asked. 

"  The  night  they  arrived,  forty  of 
them  took  possession  of  our  kitchen : 
we  sat  trembling  with  fear  in  an 
tipper  room.  Presently  a  non-com- 
missioned officer  came  up,  and, 
knocking  at  our  door,  put  his  head 
-  in,  remarking,  '  Nix  avoir  peur, 
matame,'  and  then  disappeared ;  but 
they  made  such  a  dreadful  racket 
below  that  we  did  not  dare  go  to 
bed.  The  following  morning  the 
corporal  again  appeared,  and  per- 
ceiving my  photograph  on  the  chim- 
ney, stalked  across  the  room,  took 
possession  of  it,  and  putting  it 
calmly  into  his  pocket  with  the 
words  '  Soufenir,  matame,  merci ! ' 
walked  out  again,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  they  were  all  gone." 

"  And  did  they  steal  anything  1 " 

"No;  but  they  cooked  their 
food,  and  broke  up  the  chairs  for 
fuel,  and  made  a  dreadful  mess." 

"  Oh,  pour  c.a,"  added  the  hus- 
band, "  il  faut  etre  juste  :  ils  gaspil- 
lent,  salissent,  et  cassent  tout,  mais 
au-moins,  il  vous  respectent  les  fem- 


mes,  et  payent  comptant  pour  tout 
ce  qu'ils  boivent  et  mangent." 
"  Oh,  for  that  matter,  we  must 
do  them  the  justice  to  say,  that  al- 
though they  soil  and  break  and 
waste  everything,  at  least  they  re- 
spect women,  and  pay  for  everything 
they  eat  and  drink." 

"  And  how  about  your  customers 
here?" 

"Well,  some  of  them  are  rude 
and  overbearing,  and  swear  and  use 
bad  language  if  they  don't  get  their 
meals  punctually,  but  on  the  whole 
they  behave  very  decently.  Now  the 
captain  who  left  us  yesterday  had 
been  billeted  on  to  us  for  ten  days, 
but  he  was  always  well-mannered 
and  gentlemanly,  bought  all  his  own 
and  his  orderly's  food,  and  begged 
us  to  give  him  his  meals  when- 
ever it  was  most  convenient  to  us  ; 
the  Prussians  are  much  the  best 
amongst  them." 

"Then  all  I  hope  is  that  you 
won't  have  a  certain  Bavarian  caval- 
ry captain  of  my  acquaintance  quar- 
tered on  to  you  "  (and  what  is  more, 
I  am  sorry  I  don't  know  his  name, 
or  I  would  print  it  here  in  large 
letters  for  the  benefit  of  the  public !) 
We  drove  the  next  day  to  our  hos- 
pital, in  the  staff-surgeon's  clarence 
brougham,  driven  by  a  military 
coachman,  and  escorted  by  a  mil- 
itary groom,  and  entered  at  once 
upon  our  functions. 

The  chateau  was  "  pleasantly 
situate  "  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine, 
a  large  modern  house,  having  no 
architectural  beauty,  but  built  for  a 
comfortable  and  roomy  summer  resi- 
dence, and  yet  capable  of  being 
thoroughly  warmed  by  two  huge 
caloriferes.  The  drawing  -  rooms 
on  the  ground  and  first  floor,  num- 
bering seven,  had  been  made  into 
Ttrankensaale ;  the  rooms  on  the  se- 
cond floor  distributed  amongst  the 
verwalter,  the  pfleger,  and  soldiers; 
and  the  offices,  store-rooms,  and 
kitchens,  were  built  underground. 


1871.]      Hospital-Life  icith  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  II. 


699 


The  confusion,  dirt,  and  disorder 
which  here  met  our  eyes  were  truly 
appalling. 

I  must  here  digress  for  a  few 
minutes  to  explain,  that  when  the 
war  broke  out,  a  large  number 
of  young  men  belonging  to  turn- 
vereins,  and  suchlike — artists,  stu- 
dents, apothecaries,  barbers,  con- 
fectioners, innkeepers,  carpenters, 
and  engineers — formed  themselves 
into  various  corps,  and,  placing 
themselves  under  the  direction  of  a 
ftihrer  or  leader,  offered  their  servi- 
ces as  Freiwillige  Krankenpfleger, 
and  were  distributed  amongst  the 
many  hundred  ambulances,  lazar- 
etJis,  and  hospitals  which  sprang  up 
in  France  as  the  invasion  advanced, 
and  the  numberless  engagements 
kept  filling  them  with  sick  and 
wounded. 

Many  members  of  these  corps 
were  not  only  invaluable  on  the 
battle-fields,  but  of  great  help  in 
the  hospitals,  and  these  deserved 
well  of  their  country;  but  many, 
again,  gave  far  more  trouble  than 
their  occasional  services  were  worth 
— looked  upon  their  mission  as  a 
tour  of  pleasure,  which  would  end 
in  a  triumphal  entry  into  Paris — 
and  lived  on  the  fat  of  the  land. 

To  these  worthless  members  our 
Freiwilligen,  alas!  belonged,  with 
very  few  exceptions.  They  had  di- 
vided the  work  of  the  establishment 
amongst  themselves,  according  to 
their  several  tastes  :  thus,  one  un- 
dertook the  kitchen,  another  the 
stables,  a  third  the  marketing,  a 
fourth  the  store-rooms  and  cellar, 
and  the  others  were  "supposed" 
to  be  required  to  look  after  the 
patients. 

The  chef,  who  had  two  hired 
Frenchwomen  under  him,  passed 
his  mornings  riding  the  venvalter's 
horses,  and  came  into  the  kitchen, 
with  his  jack-boots  and  spurs  on, 
only  to  eat  his  meals.  The  store 
and  cellar  keepers  chose  the  best  of 


everything  for  their  own  especial 
consumption ;  the  others  strutted 
about  in  their  costumes  (red  shirt 
and  grey  trousers  stuck  into  high 
boots),  and  made  their  appearance  at 
meal-time;  and  the  patients,  who 
seemed  quite  a  secondary  considera- 
tion in  their  estimation,  were  left  to 
the  care  of  the  few  exceptions  which 
I  have  mentioned.  That  the  "  bad 
hats  "  must  be  removed,  if  system 
and  order  were  to  be  introduced, 
was  evident ;  but  I  foresaw  that 
much  diplomacy  and  menagement 
would  be  required  to  effect  this  re- 
form; for  if  there  is  one  thing 
that  men  hate  more  than  another,  it 
is  to  be  "jostled  "  out  of  what  they 
consider  their  rights  by  the  feebler 
sex. 

Our  verwalter,  Herr  Miiller,  look- 
ed like  anything  but  what  he  was — 
a  Prussian, — young,  tall,  and  very 
thin,  his  hair  and  eyes  as  black  as  a 
Spaniard's,  his  features  very  regular, 
and  his  complexion  colourless ;  a 
nervous  delicate  constitution,  upon 
whom  the  hard  work  he  had  chosen 
to  undertake,  and  the  occasional 
"  passage  of  arms  "  with  the  Frei- 
willigen, had  evidently  told. 

When  he  had  assigned  to  my  com- 
panion her  duties  and  responsibili- 
ties in  the  lower  regions,  and  con- 
signed to  us  the  keys  of  the  store- 
rooms, he  thus  enlightened  me  as  to 
my  own  work  : — • 

"  Every  morning  the  meat  and 
bread  required  for  the  hospital  is 
brought  from  the  village ; — you  will 
see  that  it  is  of  the  best  quality,  and 
fairly  weighed,  and  give  a  receipt 
in  French,  keeping  copies  of  the 
same  in  German  for  the  books :  you 
will  also  receive  and  note  down  all 
other  provisions,  such  as  groceries, 
vegetables,  salted  meats,  flour,  and 
the  wine  brought  for  the  patients, 
to  whom  you  will  distribute  the  lat- 
ter according  to  instructions  received 
from  the  staff-surgeon :  you  will 
twice  a-day  have  to  carve  the  por- 


700 


Under  the  Red  Cross  :  A  Narrative  of 


[June 


tions  of  meat  for  the  patients,  and 
see  that  the  food  is  properly  and 
fairly  divided  in  the  various  wards  : 
you  will  take  charge  of  all  the 
linen,  see  that  the  chauffage  and 
edairage  of  the  whole  establish- 
ment is  properly  attended  to,  and 
that  the  night-watches  do  their  duty. 
As  far  as  regards  the  krankensaale, 
and  all  that  is  concerned  with  the 
patients  as  well  as  the  soldiers,  your 
only  authority  is  the  staff-surgeon. 
For  the  rest,  if  any  one  gives  you  any 
trouble,  you  may  always  count  upon 
my  help  and  support." 

The  stabsarzt,  who  occupied  two 
rooms  on  the  first  floor,  was  a  man 
of  sixty  years,  very  tall  and  very  thin 
also  (the  authorities  had  evidently  not 
lived  on  the  fat  of  the  land  !),  clever, 
polished,  well-read,  and  a  good 
linguist,  but  a  rigid  disciplinarian, 
whose  very  wink  was  law,  yet  the 
patients  were  fond  of  him,  for  he 
was  very  kind  and  sympathising  to 
them. 

The  first  few  days  of  my  new 
life  was  very  up-hill  work,  but  as 
one  of  our  Freiwilligen  (the  best 
of  them)  had  fallen  ill  of  typhus, 
and  died,  we  did  not  wish  to  intro- 
duce any  reforms  until  the  funeral 
was  over. 

Poor  young  man  !  he  was  the  only 
son  of  a  widow,  and  it  was  very 
hard  that  he  should  thus  have  to 
sacrifice  the  life  he  had  devoted  to 
the  care  of  others.  It  was  the  rule 
with  us,  that  whenever  fresh  cases 
of  typhus  or  small -pox  occurred, 
they  were  to  be  removed  in  the 
very  first  stage  to  the  Schwerkran- 
ken  lazareths,  not  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  distant ;  but  Heinzman  had 
only  been  ill  four  days,  and  his  end 
was  very  sudden  and  unexpected. 

On  the  evening  after  the  funeral, 
the  stabsarzt  and  ver  waiter  came 
up  to  our  sitting-room,  and  we 
held  a  "council  of  war"  on  the 
subject  of  reorganisation.  I  sug- 
gested that  the  two  French  females 


who  were  paid  six  francs  a-day, 
and  who  added  to  their  total  ignor- 
ance of  cooking  the  faults  of  lazi- 
ness, dirt,  and  dishonesty,  should  at 
once  receive  warning,  and  be  re- 
placed by  two  convalescent  soldiers 
under  Madame  Schmid's  surveil- 
lance, and  a  hard-working  honest 
femme  de  peine  hired  at  two 
francs  a-day,  to  act  as  charwoman ; 
also,  that  all  superfluous  Freiwilligen 
should  be  persuaded  that  their 
services  were  required  in  other 
ambulances,  and  removed  thither 
by  order  of  the  Delegirter. 

The  "  vote  of  confidence "  was 
passed,  and  the  following  day  the 
fiat  was  issued,  and  thenceforth  the 
work  of  the  establishment  went  on 
smoothly ;  but  my  occupations  and 
work  redoubled,  for  Herr  Miiller  got 
intermittent  fever,  took  to  his  bed, 
and  kept  it  for  many  weeks,  so  that 
I  had  his  work  to  do,  and  him  to 
nurse  into  the  bargain. 

This  of  course  prevented  my 
taking  any  of  the  duties  at  our 
other  hospital  at  the  Chateau 
Bruyeres,  beyond  portioning  out 
the  wine  and  provisions  which  were 
fetched  from  our  store-rooms. 

Our  patients  numbered  an  aver- 
age of  sixty,  and,  with  few  excep- 
tions, were  well  enough  to  crawl 
about  the  house,  and  sun  them- 
selves at  mid-day  hours  on  the  ter- 
race. They  were  distributed  in  the 
rooms  proportionately  to  the  size 
thereof;  each  Saal  was  numbered, 
and  the  inmates  placed  under  the 
authority  of  a  zimmer-commandant 
(generally  a  non  -  commissioned 
officer),  who  was  responsible  for 
their  cleanliness,  order,  and  obedi- 
ence to  rules,  and  for  any  such 
offences  as  the  breaking  open  of 
locked-up  cupboards  or  spoiling  of 
furniture. 

The  patients'  meals  numbered 
five  a-day.  At  8  A.M.  cafe  au  lait 
and  bread;  at  10  A.M.  a  slice  of  bread, 
either  buttered  or  with  a  slice  of 


1871.]      Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  II.  701 


ham,  sausage,  or  herring,  and  a  glass 
of  port-wine.  At  mid- day,  dinner, 
consisting  of  thick  soup  (either 
erbstcurst,  rice,  sago,  or  barley),  a 
good-sized  portion  of  meat  (beef, 
mutton,  veal,  or  lamb),  and  vege- 
tables. At  4  P.M.  another  edition 
of  bread  and  cold  meat,  and  more 
port-wine  ;  and  in  the  evening  soup, 
and  meat  hashed  and  warmed  up  in 
thick  sauces,  higlily  flavoured  with 
vinegar  and  onions,  so  dear  to  the 
German  palate. 

The  erbswurst  or  pease-sausage, 
prepared  with  a  large  proportion  of 
meat  and  fat,  for  making  soup,  had 
been  invented  since  the  commence- 
ment of  the  war  by  a  native  of  Ber- 
lin, who  received  from  the  Prussian 
Government  20,000  thalers  for  his 
patent.  Its  excessive  cheapness  and 
simplicity  of  preparation  proved 
of  inestimable  value  to  the  army. 
Each  sausage  is  about  9  inches  long, 
and  weighs  sixteen  ounces  ;  the  cost 
is  nine  kreutzer  or  six  sous  ;  and  as 
three  good  portions  of  thick  soup 
can  be  made  out  of  it  (by  merely 
stirring  it  for  ten  minutes  in  boiling 
water),  each  portion  comes  to  a  penny. 
The  terms  I  was  on  with  the  stafl- 
surgeon,  Dr  Meyer,  were  a  curious 
compromise  between  perfect  polite- 
ness and  strict  discipline.  When- 
ever business  took  me  into  his  study, 
if  I  was  accompanied  by  any  mem- 
ber of  the  establishment,  he  would 
not  rise  from  his  seat  or  writing- 
table,  but  merely  turn  round  and 


give  his  orders,  or  answer  my  in- 
quiries in  a  curt,  business-like  way; 
but  if  I  appeared  alone,  he  seemed  to 
set  aside  the  fact  of  my  being  "  only 
a  nurse,"  and,  therefore,  subject  to 
military  discipline — would  rise  in- 
stantly and  bring  his  heels  together, 
and,  in  the  most  polished  manner, 
request  to  know  how  he  could  serve 
me. 

Being  summoned  one  morning 
into  his  presence,  he  thus  spoke  : 

"  Fraulein,  although  your  duties 
do  not  strictly  oblige  you  to  be  in 
the  wards,  I  know  that  the  inter- 
est you  take  in  the  welfare  of  my 
patients  makes  your  visits  frequent 
to  them,  and  both  I  and  they  are 
grateful  for  the  beneficial  change 
they  have  brought;  therefore  it  is 
my  duty  to  tell  you  that  this  morn- 
ing a  case  of  small-pox  has  broken 
out  in  Saal  No.  5." 

"You  need  not  have  the  least 
anxiety  about  me,  Herr  Stabsarzt," 
I  answered,  "for  I  have  not  the 
slightest  fear  of  infection,  and  have 
often  nursed  people  through  small- 
pox." 

"So,  so,"  said  the  stern  man, 
stroking  his  moustache;  "you  are 
not  a  bit  afraid  1 " 

"  Not  a  bit." 

"  Very  good  then.  I  have  given 
orders  that  the  man  is  to  be  removed 
to  Vitry  within  an  hour ;  see  that 
his  blankets  go  with  him,  and  do 
not  return,  and  that  his  straw  mat- 
tress is  burnt  at  once. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


During  the  first  three  weeks  of 
my  life  at  Bellegarde,  my  time  was 
so  much  occupied  from  early  morn- 
ing till  the  distribution  of  candles 
to  the  nachtwach,  which  closed  my 
day's  work,  that  I  often  had  to  eat 
my  meals  standing,  and  never  had 
leisure  to  go  out  of  doors  and  inspect 
the  premises ;  indeed,  if  it  had  not 


been  for  a  new  moon,  spied  (luckily 
over  my  right  shoulder)  as  I  looked 
out  of  a  window  one  evening,  I 
should  not  have  been  aware  that  we 
had  entered  another  month. 

Letters  from  home  did  not  reach 
me,  but  helped  doubtless  to  build 
up  that  heap  of  correspondence 
known  as  the  "  Dead  Letter  Office," 


702 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[June 


which  must  have  become  gigantic 
during  the  war ;  and  there  being  a 
like  failure  in  the  arrival  of  news- 
papers, I  remained  in  utter  ignor- 
ance of  passing  events,  though  the 
distinct  booming  of  the  guns  proved 
that  the  bombardment  was  still 
doing  its  murderous  work. 

One  sunny  afternoon  I  contrived 
to  get  out  for  an  hour,  and  got  hold 
of  the  gardener,  from  whom  I  glean- 
ed information  respecting  the  pro- 
prietor of  our  chateau — for  the  park 
and  gardens,  though  sadly  neglected 
now,  had  evidently  been  laid  out 
with  much  taste,  and  in  imitation 
of  an  English  country -place  ;  also 
the  long  line  of  green  and  hot 
houses  showed  that  floriculture  was 
a  favourite  occupation. 

Nor  was  I  wrong  in  my  conjec- 
tures, for  the  proprietor,  Monsieur 
Perrier,  was  a  wealthy  man,  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Imperialist  Government, 
and  an  "  Anglo  -  mane "  into  the 
bargain ;  his  household  was  English, 
from  the  butler  to  the  groom,  and 
his  children  had  an  English  gover- 
ness. Of  this  latter  fact  I  had  been 
long  aware ;  for  in  my  sitting-room, 
which  evidently  had  been  occupied 
by  some  "  Mees"  of  the  family,  I 
found  various  copy-books  scribbled 
over  in  more  or  less  grammatical 
English,  and  corrected  by  an  uncom- 
promisingly Anglo-Saxon  "  scratch." 

"  Ah  !  if  you  could  have  seen  the 
park  and  gardens,  Mademoiselle," 
said  the  gardener,  "  comme  c'etait 
tenu  !  I  had  fifteen  men  under  me ; 
the  lawns  were  like  velvet,  and  I 
would  have  defied  you  to  pick  up  a 
dead  leaf  anywhere.  And  the  serres 
always  full  of  exotics  and  ferns — 
now  I  have  no  more  coals,  and 
cannot  heat  them;  cela  me  fend  le 
coeur  de  voir  mourir  de  froid  ces 
pauvres  plantes!" 

"  And  what  has  become  of  the 
Perrier  family  1 " 

"Helasf  voila  le  malheur,  they 
did  as  almost  every  one  else — they 


fled ;  the  ladies  and  children  to  Bel- 
gium, and  le  Patron  to  Paris,  where 
he  is  shut  up  now.  He  thought,  as 
we  all  did,  it  would  only  last  three 
weeks,  and  now  it  is  three  months. 
I  have  been  obliged  to  send  away 
all  the  gardeners  and  labourers,  for 
there  was  neither  work  nor  pay; 
and,  good  heavens !  where  is  it 
all  going  to  end? — for  when  the  siege 
is  raised  and  the  Prussians  gone, 
the  real  miseries  of  France  will  begin 
with  civil  war  !  "  I  little  thought 
then  how  true  his  prophecy  would 
turn  out. 

"And  as  no  one  was  left  in  charge 
of  this  chateau,  I  presume  M.  Perrier 
took  with  him  his  servants  1 " 

"  Yes,  his  French  cook  and  a 
valet,  seven  horses  and  a  cow." 

"  Well,  they  won't  be  starved  out 
— that's  a  comfort ! " 

No  matter  how  unbiassed  in  opin- 
ion and  impartial  in  judgment  one 
tries  to  be,  I  don't  think  any  one  is 
free  from  the  weakness  of  having 
favourites,  and  thus  it  was  that  some 
of  our  patients  were  to  me  objects 
of  special  interest  and  care.  It  was 
not  only  the  gratitude  and  pleasure 
which  beamed  in  their  eyes,  when- 
ever I  appeared  for  the  distribution 
of  cigars,  or  "  titbits,"  in  the  shape 
of  an  extra  cup  of  afternoon  coffee 
and  biscuits,  which  gratified  my 
vanity,  but  the  refinement  and  in- 
telligence displayed  in  their  con- 
versation, when  I  went  to  have  a 
friendly  "  chat  "  by  their  bedsides, 
which  made  me  like  them — and  yet 
discipline  forbade  familiarity.  One 
of  their  chief  amusements  was  card- 
playing  ;  but  no  matter  how  inter- 
ested they  might  be  in  the  game,  I 
never  passed  through  the  wards  that 
they  did  not  instantly  remove  their 
pipes  or  cigars  from  their  lips  and 
stand  at  "  attention,"  unless  beckon- 
ed by  me  to  remain  seated.  There 
was  one  Saal  (No.  7),  however,  occu- 
pied by  a  rough  set  of  Bavarians, 
and  an  uncouth  zimmer-command- 


1871.]      Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  II.  703 


ant,  which  I  rarely  entered ;  the 
inmates  had  been  often  severely  re- 
primanded by  the  staff-surgeon  for 
wilful  damaging  of  trees  and  shrubs. 

Herr  Miiller  continuing  to  be 
arbeitsunfdhig  (incapable  of  duty), 
it  became  necessary  for  me  to  drive 
into  Corbeil  about  once  a-week  on 
hospital  business  with  Dr  Meyer; 
and  although  he  would  only  give  me 
about  twenty-five  minutes,  I  con- 
trived occasionally  to  get  in  a  hasty 
visit  to  our  friends,  and  glean  some 
news  of  the  sorties  from  Paris. 

One  evening,  as  we  returned  rather 
late  from  town,  I  observed  an  un- 
usual commotion  around  our  house. 
The  line  of  railway  from  Paris  to 
Orleans  cut  the  park  in  two,  passing 
close  to  the  building ;  a  train  was 
now  stationary  before  it,  the  engine 
hissing  angrily  in  the  dark,  and  all 
the  inmates  of  the  establishment, 
including  the  patients,  who  had 
rushed  out  of  the  wards  to  see  what 
was  going  on,  were  huddling  round 
the  engine-driver  and  stoker  asking 
questions. 

What  had  happened  ? 

A  malicious  but  invisible  hand 
had  taken  a  long  heavy  bar  of  iron 
(probably  from  the  neighbouring 
iron-foundry),  and  placed  it  across 
the  rails,  just  before  a  train  laden 
with  wounded  and  French  prison- 
ers was  to  pass. 

Luckily  the  engine-driver,  who 
knew  the  propensity  of  French 
peasants  for  thus  proving  their 
"  patriotism,"  and  was  always  on 
the  look-out  for  "  rocks  ahead,"  was 
going  at  slow  speed,  and  perceived 
the  dark  object  across  the  lines  just 
in  time  to  put  on  the  break,  and  the 
train  had  only  been  thrown  off  the 
rails  for  a  few  yards.  Who  was  the 
culprit  ?  Nobody  had  been  seen  ; 
no  one  could  tell.  There  were  no 
bones  broken,  and  no  damage  done, 
or  the  commune  would  have  had  to 
pay  a  heavy  fine. 

Every  one  turned  out  to  help  ;  in 


a  few  hours  the  train  was  in  motion 
again  (the  wounded  and  prisoners 
having  been  cared  for  and  fed),  and 
henceforth  the  whole  line  to  the 
next  station  was  guarded  by  senti- 
nels day  and  night. 

Our  military  doctor,  who  always 
tasted  the  food  himself  before  it 
was  served  out  to  the  patients, 
expressed  himself  highly  gratified 
with  the  reform  worked  by  Ma- 
dame Schmid.  Indeed,  I  could 
not  help  observing  how  some  men, 
who  had  just  come  out  of  the 
typhus  hospitals,  and  arrived  pale, 
wan,  and  hardly  able  to  crawl, 
while  others'  complexions  showed 
signs  of  very  recent  small-pox,  soon 
became  strong  and  healthy ;  and 
the  drafting  of  men,  well  enough  to 
return  to  their  regiments,  occurred 
much  more  frequently  than  at  first. 

It  was  so  arranged  that  the 
covered  waggons  which  brought 
fresh  convalescents  were  used  to 
convey  those  who  left  part  of  their 
way,  so  that  they  should  not  be 
exposed  to  cold,  or  to  a  fatiguing 
march  at  once.  It  occurred  one 
day  that  the  arrival  of  the  waggons 
having  been  announced  for  a  certain 
hour,  a  draft  of  twenty-two  men, 
who  were  to  leave  with  them,  re- 
ceived orders  to  prepare  for  the 
journey,  and  came  to  me  to  get 
such  articles  of  underclothing  as 
they  were  in  want  of  (and  of  which 
we  kept  a  store),  such  as  socks, 
drawers,  woollen  shirts  and  jackets  ; 
also  to  have  their  bread-bags  filled, 
their  feld-flaschen  replenished  with 
wine  or  brandy,  and  (the  favourites 
especially)  their  pockets  stuffed  with 
cigars,  tobacco,  lump -sugar,  and 
toasted  coffee-beans.  But  some 
delay  occurred,  the  waggons  did 
not  arrive,  and  the  departure  had 
to  be  postponed  for  several  days. 
That  night,  as  I  was  descending  to 
the  lower  regions  to  see  that  all  the 
lights  were  extinguished,  I  met  one 
of  the  soldiers  in  ghost-like  attire 


704 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[Jl 


standing  irresolute  on  the  stairs ;  he 
looked  deathly  pale,  and  quite  un- 
conscious as  to  his  whereabouts.  I 
took  no  notice,  and  continued  going 
down.  When  I  came  up  again,  my 
friend  was  still  standing  on  the 
same  step. 

"What  do  you  want,  my  good 
fellow  1 "  No  answer. 

"Do  you  feel  HI?"  Same 
silence.  Was  he  walking  in  his 
sleep  1  It  looked  rather  like  it ; 
so  I  took  him  by  the  hand,  and, 
leading  him  up  to  the  landing  (he 
following  passively),  I  faced  him 
down  the  passage  which  led  to  his 
ward,  and  said — 

"  There,  now,  go  back  to  your 
room  ; "  but  the  man  did  not  stir. 

"  Do  you  want  the  doctor  1 "  still 
no  reply. 

Night-watches  seemed  to  me  like 
policemen,  never  at  hand  when 
most  wanted;  therefore  I  knocked 
at  the  surgeon's  door,  and,  inform- 
ing him  of  what  had  occurred,  went 
my  ways  up-stairs  to  Herr  Miiller, 
who  was  very  restless  and  feverish, 
and  with  whom  I  sat  up  part  of 
the  night,  without  hearing  anything 
more  of  the  nocturnal  wanderer. 

The  following  morning  I  was 
sent  for  by  Dr  Meyer. 

"  You  distributed  brandy  amongst 
the  twenty-two  men  who  were  to 
have  left  last  evening  ] "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Herr  Stabsarzt,  according 
to  your  instructions." 

"  True,  but  I  did  not  contemplate 
what  has  resulted :  it  appears  that 
several  of  the  men  emptied  the  con- 
tents of  their  feld-flaschen  yester- 
day evening,  and  made  themselves 
intoxicated.  The  man  you  met  last 
night  was  not  walking  in  his  sleep, 
but  was  in  a  state  of  idiotic  drunk- 
enness ;  in  fact,  he  has  made  him- 
self so  ill,  that  he  will  have  to  keep 
to  his  bed  for  a  week  at  least ;  but 
the  others  must  be  punished." 

"Howl" 

"  They  are  to  have  no  wine  and 


no  cigars  for  three  days ;  and  when 
they  do  leave,  you  may  fill  their 
flasks — with  water." 

The  culprits  belonged  to  Saal 
No.  7,  and  were  dealt  with  accord- 
ingly. 

The  Delegirter's  visits  of  inspec- 
tion had  no  fixed  period,  and  it  was  a 
subject  of  gratification  to  our  amour 
prqpre  that  he  always  expressed 
himself  so  satisfied  with  our  estab- 
lishment, and  called  it  his  "  model 
hospital."  Madame  Schmid  well  de- 
served the  praises  lavished  upon  the 
lower  regions  under  her  charge, 
for  they  were,  indeed,  a  marvel  of 
cleanliness  and  order.  The  two  mil- 
itary cooks  were  capital  fellows, 
though  they  sometimes  tried  their 
chefesse's  temper.  Indeed  the  char- 
woman remarked  to  me  once : — 
"  C'est  une  excellente  femme,  mais 
elle  s'emporte  comme  une  soupe  au 
lait!" 

On  Sunday  afternoons  a  military 
chaplain  (one  of  the  most  eloquent 
men  it  has  been  my  good  fortune 
to  hear)  performed  divine  service 
in  the  largest  ward.  The  service 
lasted  about  half  an  hour,  and  con- 
sisted of  a  hymn  sung  very  cor- 
rectly without  accompaniment,  an 
extempore  prayer,  and  sermon  to 
suit  the  occasion.  The  patients 
from  the  hospital  at  Chateau  Bruy- 
eres  came  over,  and  all  attended  the 
service  indiscriminately,  both  Cath- 
olics and  Protestants.  Those  who 
were  not  strong  enough  to  do  other- 
wise sat  on  their  beds  ;  the  others 
stood  in  a  compact  circle  round  the 
table  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
where  the  chaplain  placed  his  Bible, 
the  only  book  he  referred  to.  It 
was  touching  to  see  the  rapt  at- 
tention of  all  these  men,  with  their 
hands  crossed  and  their  eyes  riveted 
on  the  ground. 

On  one  occasion,  foremost  amongst 
them  stood  a  fine  tall  Uhlan,  who 
had  arrived  lately,  and  was  still 
very  pale  and  delicate-looking^  ow- 


1871.]        Hospital-Life,  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  II.          705 


ing  to  a  severe  attack  of  typhus  and 
dysentry.  As  the  chaplain  dilat- 
ed upon  the  gratitude  which  they 
ought  all  to  feel,  not  only  for  the 
success  which  it  had  pleased  God 
to  give  their  armies,  but  for  His 
especial  blessing  which  had  spared 
them  the  cruel  end  of  so  many  of 
their  comrades,  and  expressed  the 
hope  that  an  armistice  and  a  peace 
would  soon  be  concluded,  whereby 
they  would  be  able  to  return  to 
their  Vaterland  and  their  families — 
many  a  subdued  sob  was  heard. 

As  I  looked  up  to  watch  the 
scene,  so  simple  and  yet  so  impos- 
ing, I  observed  the  tall  Uhlan  get- 
ting gradually  whiter,  and  the  blue 
rings  under  his  eyes  darker ;  in  a 
moment  more  he  staggered  forward, 
and,  by  the  help  of  two  Jcranken- 
pfleger  who  were  present,  was  led  in- 
to the  next  ward.  By  the  time  I  had 
reached  his  bedside  with  a  basin 
of  ice  and  cloths  for  his  head,  he 
had  quite  swooned  away  and  lost 
all  consciousness ;  the  eloquence  of 
the  chaplain  and  the  mention  of  his 
Jieimath  had  been  too  much  for 
him — and  yet  he  was  one  of  those 
Uhlans  of  whom  it  had  been  said, 
"  qu'il  n'y  avait  rien  de  sacre"  pour 
ces  gens  la  !  " 

The  number  of  our  patients, 
which  had  diminished  to  an  aver- 
age of  fifty,  was  suddenly  increased 
one  week  owing  to  the  lazareth  in 
the  theatre  at  Corbeil  having  been 
burnt  down.  The  pit  and  stage, 
which  were  lined  with  beds,  were 
warmed  by  a  calorifere  built  for  the 
purpose,  and  this  was  managed 
by  a  Frenchman.  One  morning 
the  surgeon,  finding  the  chauffeur 
had  arrived  much  later  than  was 
his  wont,  and  that  the  patients 
were  complaining  of  the  cold,  se- 
verely reprimanded  the  culprit  for 
his  inattention ;  in  less  than  an  hour 
the  building  was  discovered  to  be 
on  fire,  the  calorifere  having  been 
overheated.  The  scene  which  en- 

VOL.    CIX. — NO.    DCLXV1II. 


sued  was  described  to  me  by  Ma- 
dame Louit,  who  lived  close  by,  as 
horrible  :  the  sick,  urged  by  the  fear 
of  being  burnt  alive,  rushing  wildly 
out  into  the  street— the  screams  of 
the  wounded,  who  were  not  able  to 
stir — the  roaring  of  the  flames,  and 
cracking  of  timber,  would  have 
struck  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the 
bravest.  Yet  all  was  so  promptly 
and  well  managed  that  not  one  life 
was  lost ;  and  as  the  last  wounded 
man  was  carried  out  in  a  blanket, 
the  stage  gave  way  completely,  and 
in  a  few  moments  the  wooden  build- 
ing was  a  black  smoking  mass. 
Some  one  had  even  had  the  pre- 
sence of  mind  to  think  of  saving 
the  caisse;  but  all  the  beds,  linen, 
instruments,  and  medicaments  had 
been  destroyed. 

Some  people  declared  that  the 
chaujfeur  had  expressly  overheated 
the  furnace  out  of  spite,  because  he 
had  been  severely  handled  by  the 
surgeon ;  but  many,  like  me,  were  of 
opinion  that  it  had  rather  been  done 
par  surcroit  de  zele,  wishing  to 
make  up  for  lost  time — for  surely 
none  but  a  fiend  would  take  such 
means  to  vindicate  himself.  This 
view  of  the  case  was  taken  by  his 
judges  when  the  trial  came  on,  and 
the  Frenchman  was  acquitted  of  all 
evil  intentions. 

There  is  nothing  like  a  catastrophe 
to  make  one  specially  prudent  and 
mindful  of  accidents :  this  confla- 
gration immediately  suggested  to 
me  the  necessity  of  having  all  the 
chimneys  swept  in  our  establish- 
ment, for  I  had  ascertained  that  it 
had  not  been  done  since  the  winter 
began,  and  I  knew  that  roaring  fires 
had  been  kept  up  constantly. 

The  fumiste,  from  a  village  a 
few  miles  distant,  was  sent  for,  and 
came  with  the  indispensable  little 
Savoyards  (there  must  be  very  few 
Savoyards  left  on  their  native  soil, 
for  they  seem  to  be  all  chimney- 
sweeps and  organ-grinders  abroad). 
3c 


706 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[June 


The  little  imps,  as  they  descended 
from  their  dusky  regions,  reported 
that  it  was  high  time  the  operation 
was  performed,  especially  in  the 
upper  stories.  But  the  following 
day  it  was  found  impossible  to  use 
the  kitchen-range :  the  flue  had  many 
angles  before  it  reached  the  outer 
world,  and  in  cleaning  it  out,  the  soot 
had  evidently  accumulated  in  one 
corner,  and  thus  the  smoke,  not  find- 
ing sufficient  exit,  returned  and  filled 
all  the  kitchen  and  offices  to  suffo- 
cation. The  fumiste  was  again 
sent  for,  but  did  not  come.  On  the 
morrow  the  surgeon  complained  the 
food  was  smoked  —  no  wonder  ! 
Another  messenger  was  despatched 
for  the  unwilling  sweep,  who  pro- 
mised immediate  attendance,  but 
with  no  better  result.  At  last  I 
went  to  the  surgeon  : — "  The  posi- 
tion below  is  untenable,"  said  I; 
"  we  are  obliged  to  keep  the  win- 


dows open  :  the  fumiste  does  not 
appear ;  Madame  Schmid  and  her 
acolytes  have  '  struck  ; '  and  if  some- 
thing is  not  done  at  once,  the  pa- 
tients will  not  get  any  supper." 

"  Go,"  replied  the  surgeon,  "  and 
tell  two  of  the  soldiers  below,  who 
are  sawing  wood,  to  put  on  their 
uniforms,  take  their  guns,  and  fetch 
the  fellow  down  instantly." 

In  less  than  an  hour  the  prisoner 
appeared  between  his  two  guards, 
looking  very  much  frightened,  and 
the  two  little  sweeps'  faces  behind 
him  were  almost  white  with  terror. 

As  they  entered  the  kitchen  the 
soldiers  remained  on  guard  at  the 
door,  until  not  only  the  flue  was 
taken  to  pieces,  cleaned  out,  and 
remounted,  but  until  the  fire  had 
been  lit  in  the  range,  and  found  to 
draw  perfectly ;  then  they  accom- 
panied the  culprits  to  the  gate  and 
released  them. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


When  the  armistice  was  declared, 
and  the  entrance  of  the  German 
troops  into  the  forts  made  known, 
it  was  a  source  of  great  delight  to 
the  inmates  of  Bellegarde.  The 
Landwehr  men  already  began  to 
look  forward  to  going  back  to  their 
wives  and  children ;  those  of  the 
regular  army  had  been  sorely  tried 
by  hard  fighting  and  sickness,  and 
contemplated  with  joy  the  return  to 
their  Vaterland ;  and  the  doctors 
and  Ttranltenpfleger  had  had  six 
months  of  very  hard  work,  and 
were  not  sorry  that  their  labours 
were  going  to  cease. 

That  peace  would  ultimately  be 
made,  without  any  more  fighting, 
was  fully  expected.  The  patients, 
who  were  very  fond  of  talking 
politics,  were  always  very  anxious 
to  know  what  opinion  the  foreign 
press  had  of  the  Franco-German 
war,  and  what  they  dared  say  about 


the  politics  of  that  "  schlau  Iwpf 
(sly-head)  Bismark." 

As  I  now  received  my  English 
papers  regularly,  they  would  all  flock 
eagerly  around  me  to  hear  the  trans- 
lation of  some  good  and  impartial 
"leader"  in  the  'Pall  Mall;'  and 
the  '  Graphic '  was  a  great  source  of 
amusement  to  them — Mr  Sydney 
Hall's  bold  sketches  of  the  incidents 
of  the  war  being  greatly  appreciated. 

There  was  a  little  dark-haired 
Bavarian,  by  name  Frick,  who  had 
a  beloved  camarade  in  a  Hlond  Prus- 
sian, and  who  never  seemed  to  enjoy 
anything  without  he  shared  his  de- 
light. As  he  saw  me  enter  the 
ward  with  the  '  Graphic '  in  my 
hand,  he  would  rush  to  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs,  and  sing  out  to  the 
young  one  above,  "Kloana,  komm 
geschwind  runna,  und  betrocht  d' 
scheme  Bilder ; "  which  in  hoch- 
deutsch  meant, — "  Little  one,  come 


1871.]        Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  II.         707 


down  quickly,  and  look  at  the 
beautiful  engravings !  " 

When  the  time  came  for  these 
two  inseparables  to  be  parted,  it 
was  truly  touching.  They  fell  upon 
each  other's  necks,  and  cried  like 
women  ;  and  for  days  after  Frick 
had  left,  we  could  with  difficulty 
persuade  his  friend  to  eat. 

I  was  sent  for  one  morning  to  the 
staff-surgeon's  sanctum,  and  when  I 
entered,  found  him  studying  a  huge 
and  detailed  map  of  a  small  portion 
of  France. 

"  Fraulein,"  quoth  he,  "I  propose, 
now  that  our  patients  are  getting  on 
so  nicely,  and  that  my  assistant- 
surgeon  from  Bruyeres  can  look 
after  them  in  my  absence,  to  give 
myself  a  day  or  two's  leave,  paying 
a  visit  to  Versailles  and  some  of  the 
batteries  around  Paris.  As  you 
have  letters  for  headquarters,  would 
you  not  like  to  accompany  me?" 

"  Of  all  things,  Herr  Stabsarzt,  I 
should  enjoy  it  immensely ;  but  can 
I  get  two  days'  leave  also  ? 

"  Well,  Herr  Muller  is  getting  on 
much  better,  and  I  think  that  in  a 
few  days  you  can  be  spared.  See, 
here  is  the  map,  and  our  route  dis- 
tinctly marked :  my  little  German 
horses  will  manage  the  journey  very 
easily  in  two  days,  and  it  will  give 
me  great  pleasure  to  escort  you." 

I  thanked  the  kind  old  gentle- 
man, and  went  on  my  way  rejoic- 
ing, but  that  week  passed  and  the 
next,  Herr  Muller  did  not  get  strong- 
er, and  the  Versailles  plan  seemed 
to  vanish  from  the  horizon  of  pos- 
sibility. Ever  since  the  armistice 
had  been  declared,  it  seemed  a  sig- 
nal for  the  French  about  us  to  brag, 
and  to  defy  regulations  and  con- 
tracts. Before,  they  had  been  hum- 
ble and  cringing  enough — indeed, 
some  of  them  had  filled  their  coffers 
meanwhile;  but  now  our  butcher, 
who  had  delivered  daily  an  average  of 
a  hundred  and  sixty  pounds  of  meat, 
at  a  franc  and  a  half  per  pound,  be- 


gan to  bring  bad  or  inferior  meat ; 
and  the  baker  would  suddenly  stop 
his  supply  for  a  day  or  two  without 
giving  any  reason,  save  that  now  he 
could  sell  it  elsewhere,  or  send  it  to 
Paris.  Our  staff-surgeon,  however, 
did  not  allow  these  defaults  to  con- 
tinue, and  threatened  military  inter- 
ference, armistice  or  no  armistice. 
So  the  Frenchmen  thought  better 
of  it,  and  mended  their  ways. 

M.  Lefort,  the  butcher,  thought 
himself,  like  all  his  class,  "  tres  fort 
sur  la  politique,"  and  never  lost  an 
opportunity  of  giving  his  views  of 
the  "situation."  When  I  remarked 
upon  how  distinctly  the  bombard- 
ment was  heard  from  Bellegarde,  he 
would  say,  "  Tout  cela  ce  n'est  rien, 
voyez-vous;  cela  couteun  argent  fou 
aux  Prussiens,  et  cela  ne  fait  aucun 
mal  a  nos  forts.  Ah  !  Trochu  c'est 
1'homme  du  peuple,  et  il  ne  les 
ce"dera  jamais."  "  Oh,  that  is  noth- 
ing !  it  costs  the  Prussians  a  heap  of 
money,  and  does  not  damage  our 
forts  a  bit.  Ah !  Trochu  is  the  man 
of  the  people,  and  he  will  never 
surrender !" 

After  the  armistice  had  been  de- 
clared, and  the  forts  (almost  knocked 
to  pieces)  had  surrendered  to  the 
Germans,  M.  Lefort  was  nowise  sub- 
dued by  the  fact,  but  explained  it 
by,  "  Vendu-sJ  trahisl  c'est  cet  ani- 
mal de  Trochu  qui  a  tout  vendu  a 
Guillaume;  the  forts  are  nothing, 
it  is  in  the  town  itself  that  the 
Prussians  will  never  dare  to  enter, 
for  not  one  of  them  would  come  out 
alive  !" 

Amongst  the  Prussian  soldiers 
whose  duty  it  was  to  saw  wood  and 
carry  water  was  a  Pole,  by  name 
Jetzoreck,  a  quiet,  taciturn,  sedate 
young  Landwehr  man,  who  was 
looked  upon  as  the  steadiest  and 
most  hardworking  of  the  lot ;  what 
was  my  astonishment,  therefore,  one 
evening  to  hear  high  words  between 
him  and  Madame  Schmid,  and  on 
descending  to  inquire  the  cause  of 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[Jl 


the  tumult,  to  find  the  Pole  (who  had 
had  half  a  day's  leave)  in  a  hopeless 
state  of  drunkenness.  Now  he  had 
often  earned  from  me,  by  his  good 
behaviour,  and  little  services,  such 
as  carrying  wood  up  to  my  room,  an 
extra  glass  of  schnaps,  or  an  extra 
good  cigar,  and  I  flattered  myself 
that  a  soft  word  would  turn  away 
wrath ;  but  I  was  mistaken,  and 
finding  that  no  persuasion  availed, 
he  had  to  be  led  away  by  two  of 
his  comrades  and  put  to  bed. 

On  the  morrow  there  was  a  gentle 
tap  at  my  door,  and  Jetzoreck  ap- 
peared pale  and  contrite. 

"  Oh,  Fraulein,"  said  he,  "  I  am 
going  to  be  put  under  arrest  for 
three  days,  but  I  wanted  to  come 
first  and  ask  you  to  forgive  me  for 
my  rudeness  last  night." 

"  But  how  comes  it,"  I  asked, 
"  that  you,  of  all  others,  could  have 
got  intoxicated  ? " 

"  WeD,"  he  answered,  twisting 
his  cap  around  in  his  ringers,  and 
looking  ruefully  at  his  toes,  "  the 
fact  is,  when  I  went  to  town  yester- 
day morning,  I  found  a 'letter  from 
my  wife  announcing/the  birth  of  a 
fifth  child,  so  I  went,  to  the  wine- 
shop and  had  a  bottlej.pf  schnaps." 

"Well,  I'm  very  .sorry ; -for  you, 
Jetzoreck,  and  I  hope  neither  case 
•will  happen  again  ; "  but  I  did  not 
inquire  if  joy  or  despair  had  driven 
this  young  father  of  a  family  to  the 
companionship  of  the  bottle  ! 

Within  a  few  days  we  had  an- 
other culprit  brought  to  trial.  The 
gardener  came  to  complain  to  me 
that  one  of  the  patients  had  broken 
the  valve  of  one  of  the  ponds  in  the 
park,  whereby  all  the  water  had  run 
off. 

"  Did  you  see  any  one  do  it  1 "  I 
inquired. 

"  No  ;  but  shortly  after  I  had 
found  it  out,  I  saw  two  of  them 
standing  at  the  edge  of  the  pond — it 
must  have  been  the  same." 

"  Who  were  they,  can  you  tell  1 " 


"  The  tall,  fair  man,  with  the  blue 
coat  and  white  facings,  and  the 
young  Bavarian  with  the  scar  under 
his  eye." 

Two  of  my  favourites,  one  of 
them  my  Uhlan  !  I  followed  the 
gardener  to  see  what  mischief  had 
been  done,  and  then  with  a  heavy 
heart  proceeded  to  find  the  two  men. 

As  I  entered  the  ward.  I  first 
called  the  zimmer-commandant :  he 
had  not  heard  anything  about  it;  but 
would  I  interrogate  the  men  myself? 

"  One  of  you  has  damaged  one  of 
the  ponds,  and  caused  all  the  water 
to  run  off,"  I  said ;  "  it  is  a  wilful 
spoiling  of  property  which  does  not 
belong  to  you,  and  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  to  give  the  French  the 
right  to  complain  of  your  Vandalism, 
even  in  the  last  days  of  your  inva- 
sion ;  who  of  you  did  it  ] "  The  men 
looked  at  each  other,  the  Uhlan 
turned  a  shade  paler,  but  no  one 
spoke. 

"Was  it  you?"  I  asked  the  Ba- 
varian. 

"  Nein,  Fraulein,"  in  a  very  de- 
cided voice  ; — then  to  the  Uhlan  : 

"Was  it  you?" 

"  Nein,  Fraulein  !" 

"  Think  again,"  I  added ;  "  you 
were  both  seen  near  the  pond  while 
the  water  was  running  out." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Uhlan,  "  Kraft 
and  I  were  both  up  there  this  morn- 
ing, but  the  mischief  was  already 
done;  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour 
as  a  soldier  that  we  did  not  do  it." 
And  the  tall  fellow  drew  himself  up, 
and  looked  fearlessly  out  of  his 
bright  blue  eyes,  like  the  gentleman 
that  he  was. 

"  Very  well,"  I  said,  "  and  I  give 
you  my  word  of  honour,  that  if 
within  twenty-four  hours  the  man 
who  did  the  mischief  is  not  found, 
you  shall  none  of  you  have  cigars 
for  three  days,"  and  therewith  I  re- 
tired. 

Before  the  evening  I  heard  a 
knock  at  my  door  :  "  Herein  !" 


1871.]      Hospital-Life  with  the  Pmssians  in  France. — Part  II. 


709 


The  Uhlan  stood  before  me,  his 
right  hand  up  to  his  forehead — 
"  Entschuldigen  Sie,  Fraulein  (ex- 
cuse me),  we  have  found  out  who 
broke  the  pipe  ;  it  was  Henkel,  one 
of  the  Prussian  orderlies." 

"  Gut,"  I  said ;  "  the  staff-surgeon 
will  settle  that  matter.  I  am  very 
glad  it  was  not  you."  "  And  so  am 
I,"  he  replied ;  saluted,  turned  on 
his  heel,  and  I  heard  the  ring  of  his 
heavy  spurs  down  the  passage. 

When  the  Delegirter  paid  us  his 
next  visit,  he  brought  with  him  the 
head-surgeon,  and  inspector  of  all 
the  hospitals;  luckily  it  was  on 
a  Saturday  —  everything  had  been 
scoured,  the  day  was  very  bright, 
and  the  whole  place  was  radiant 
with  well-scrubbed  marble  floors 
and  polished  metal.  The  Prussian 
official  was  lavish  of  his  praises,  and 
aired  his  best  English  for  my  edifi- 
cation. He  also  informed  us  that 
the  armistice  had  been  prolonged  for 
five  days,  and  that  as  peace  would 
probably  follow,  our  hospitals  would 
take  in  no  more  patients,  but  in  the 
course  of  a  fortnight  we  should  have 
to  send  home  the  men,  and  close  the 
establishments. 

On  the  same  evening,  as  I  was 
carving  the  meat  for  the  patients, 
the  staff-surgeon  came  into  the  kit- 
chen, and  thus  spoke  to  me  : — 

"  The  number  of  our  men  having 
now  considerably  diminished,  and 
Herr  Muller  being  able  to  get  about 
a  little,  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  have  the  couple  of  days' 
leave  you  have  so  well  earned,  there- 
fore we  will  now  put  into  execution 
the  little  trip  to  Versailles  which  I 
planned  three  weeks  ago,  and  start 
to-morrow  morning.  The  carriage  will 
be  ready  at  4.30  A.M.,  for  we  have  a 
long  journey  before  us,  and  must 
start  betimes  ;  please  to  see  that  we 
have  some  provisions  with  us,  for 
ourselves,* and  the  coachman  and 
groom." 

The  notice  was  short,  especially  as 


I  had  several  orders  to  leave,  papers 
to  write  out,  and  my  "Sunday  best" 
to  pack  up  in  a  small  bag,  but  I  was 
too  elated  to  care  about  much  sleep ; 
and  at  half-past  four  next  morning, 
we  had  had  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  were 
seated  in  the  carriage.  Of  course  it 
was  quite  dark,  but  by  the  time  we 
reached  Sceaux  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly.  The  large  map  I  had  seen 
in  the  surgeon's  study  was  referred 
to  whenever  the  coachman  was 
doubtful  what  road  to  take ;  it  was 
evidently  one  of  those  wonderfully 
detailed  maps  which  the  Prussians 
possessed  of  the  enemy's  country,  of 
which  one  had  heard  so  much,  and 
it  was  so  accurate  that  it  indicated 
side-roads  unknown  to  the  very  in- 
habitants. 

At  Sceaux  we  descended,  and,  fol- 
io wed  by  the  carriage,  walked  through 
Bagneux  to  "Fontenay  aux  Roses." 
These  were  the  vorposten  (advanced- 
posts)  of  the  Bavarian  artillery  dur- 
ing the  siege,  and  more  ruined,  for- 
sakenvillages  cannotbeimagined;the 
batteries  built  all  along  the  heights 
(all  silent  now),  with  the  trenches 
and  casemates,  showing  the  marks 
where  the  French  shells,  which  re- 
sponded from  the  Forts  of  Issy  and 
Vanvres,  ploughed  up  the  ground. 
The  pavements  in  the  streets  had 
been  torn  down,  and  some  of  the 
houses  demolished  from  the  roof  to 
the  cellar.  Even  the  Maine,  the 
tallest  and  most  conspicuous  build- 
ing, turned  into  a  hospital  and  with 
a  red -cross  flag  flying  over  it,  had 
not  been  spared ;  and  so  the  wound- 
ed who  were  saved  had  been  re- 
moved to  more  distant  places. 

At  Chatillon  the  devastation  was 
rather  less  ;  it  was  evident  that  be- 
fore they  found  themselves  bom- 
barded by  their  own  guns,  and  had 
to  "fly,"  the  French  had  discovered 
the  truth  of  the  Prussians  respecting 
all  houses  and  property  not  aban- 
doned by  the  owners ;  for  whereas 
on  some  doors  was  chalked,  "  II 


710 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[June 


Compagnie  I  Offizier  9  Mann,"  or 
"I  Jager  Bataillon  18  Mann,"  or 
"  Feld-Commando,"  on  others  was 
scrawled  in  large  letters  the  informa- 
tion that  they  were  "  Maison  habi- 
ted," or,  with  small  regard  to  ortho- 
graphy, "  Maison  a  bittez  par  le  Pro- 
prietaire."  Here  we  picked  up 
several  pieces  of  shell,  which  were 
heaped  up  in  the  corners  of  the 
streets  with  the  sweepings.  From 
Chatillon  to  the  Fort  of  Issy  the 
famous  map  indicated  a  road  lead- 
ing straight  across  the  fields,  and  the 
surgeon  decided  upon  taking  it,  in 
preference  to  the  longer  highroad 
round  Vanvres. 

We  passed  (the  carriage  still  fol- 
lowing) close  to  this  last  fort,  with 
its  new  earthworks  so  peppered  by 
ball  and  shell  that  it  looked  like  a 
huge  ant-hill  against  which  gravel 
had  been  thrown. 

As  we  approached  Issy,  we  sud- 
denly came  upon  an  unexpected 
obstruction  in  the  shape  of  a  wide 
deep  ditch  filled  with  empty  gabions, 
and  the  bank  formed  by  the  fresh 
earth  thrown  up.  We  could  manage 
to  clear  the  ditch  and  scramble  up 
the  bank,  and  so  doubtless  could  the 
horses  had  we  been  on  their  backs, 
but  with  a  heavy  brougham  at  their 
heels  it  became  a  serious  dilemma. 

As  we  were  making  up  our  minds 
to  retrace  our  steps,  an  artillery 
officer,  who  had  perceived  us  from 
afar,  came  galloping  up,  and  having 
ascertained  our  wishes,  he  assured 
us  the  evil  would  be  remedied  di- 
rectly, cleared  the  ditch  (sitting  his 
steed  remarkably  well),  careered  in 
the  direction  of  some  earthworks,  and 
reappeared  with  eight  pioneers  and 
their  spades,  who  set  to,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  had  filled  the  ditch  and 
levelled  the  ground  for  the  distance 
of  a  few  yards,  to  enable  the  carriage 
to  drive  easily  over  it  on  to  the  road 
again. 

During  this  process  a  lively  con- 
versation was  kept  up  between  the 


two  gentlemen,  after  reciprocal  self- 
introductions. 

"  But,"  remarked  the  officer,  how 
did  you  come  to  take  this  road  1 " 

"  Because,"  said  the  surgeon,  "  I 
found  it  marked  out  on  my  map." 

"  Excuse  me,"  rejoined  the  other, 
"  I  think  you  must  be  mistaken,  for 
we  haven't  this  road  marked  on 
ours." 

"Allow  me,"  said  the  surgeon, 
fetching  his  map  from  the  brougham ; 
"  you  see  here,  '  Eoute  strategique,' 
supposed  to  be  used  for  gun-car- 
riages." 

"  Ganz  riclitig"  replied  the  officer; 
"  I  congratulate  you  on  the  perfect 
accuracy  of  your  map,  which  must 
be  more  recent  even  than  ours." 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  leading  up 
to  Issy,  we  left  the  carriage  and 
walked  up.  The  staff-surgeon  pre- 
sented himself  and  me  to  the  major 
in  command,  who  gave  us  two  Prus- 
sian Engineer  officers  to  show  us 
over  the  fort.  What  a  mass  of  ruins 
the  place  presented !  and  it  had  been 
said  that  the  bombardment  had  not 
injured  the  fortresses!  No  wonder 
they  capitulated !  the  three  barracks 
entirely  destroyed,  nothing  but  some 
of  the  outer  walls  as  high  as  the 
first  story  left;  one  side  of  the 
bastions,  notwithstanding  the  new 
earthworks  thrown  up,  literally  torn 
asunder,  and  an  enormous  breach 
made,  more  than  a  hundred  feet  in 
diameter,  and  reaching  to  the  second 
wall  of  the  powder  magazine — and 
on  the  same  side,  some  of  the  case- 
mates even  had  been  shattered  to 
pieces. 

The  German  flag  (red,  gold,  and 
black)  was  flying  from  the  northern 
bastion;  and  in  the  inner  square 
hundreds  of  Prussians  were  occu- 
pied moving  the  materiel,  and  clear- 
ing the  mountains  of  broken  shells, 
hand-grenades,  and  ziicker  hute  (su- 
gar-loaves, or  shrapnell  shot)  with 
which  it  was  strewn.  I  could  not 
account  for  the  presence  of  an  enor- 


1871.]       Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  II.          711 


mous  coil  of  wire-rope,  which  looked 
like  a  cable,  and  on  inquiring,  was 
informed  that  it  had  heen  used  by 
the  marines  for  bringing  up  the 
guns ;  nor  could  I  help  wondering 
whether  the  bragging  and  sanguine 
M.  Lefort  would  still  hold  to  his 
opinion  that  the  forts  had  been 
"sold,"  had  he  witnessed  the  ruin 
and  desolation  around  us. 

Returning  to  our  carriage,  we 
drove  through  Clamart  and  Meudon 
to  Sevres,  which  we  reached  at  mid- 
day, and  where  we  gave  the  stout 
little  German  horses  the  two  hours' 
rest  they  richly  deserved. 

The  bridge  over  the  Seine,  of 
which  one  arch  had  been  blown  up 
and  repaired,  was  then  the  line  of 
demarcation  between  the  French  and 
German  dominion,  and  a  wooden 
barrier  in  the  shape  of  an  X  was 
placed  up  at  the  entrance.  Here  Ger- 
man and  French  authorities  stood 
to  examine  the  passes  of  the  thou- 
sands of  people  hurrying  to  and  fro 
with  provisions.  Perfect  good-feel- 
ing seemed  already  to  have  been 
established  between  the  enemies, 
who  cracked  endless  jokes  together 
over  the  exhibition  of  papers. 

We  then  walked  to  St  Cloud, 
that  beautiful  royal  residence,  now 
burnt  and  mutilated  out  of  all  shape 
by  the  big  gun  of  Mont  Yalerien 
in  its  attempt  to  sweep  out  the 
enemy,  who  held  too  commanding  a 
position  over  Paris. 

When  the  Germans  at  first  occu- 
pied St  Cloud,  many  of  the  works 
of  art  the  palace  contained  (as  well 
as  the  valuable  collection  of  porce- 
lains at  Sevres)  had  been,  by  the 
order  of  the  Crown  Prince,  removed 


and  consigned  to  the  French  autho- 
rities, but  still  a  great  many  pic- 
tures and  rare  fixtures  remained. 
As  soon  as  the  shells  began  to  fall 
with  such  deadly  precision  that 
conflagration  was  inevitable,  orders 
were  issued  to  save  the  valuables; 
but  "Mother  Valerie's  Chickens" 
had  no  consideration  for  art,  and 
two  soldiers  having  already  lost 
their  lives  in  the  attempt,  the  palace 
had  to  be  abandoned  a  prey  to  the 
roaring  flames,  which  soon  left  no- 
thing but  a  heap  of  blackened  walls, 
crumbled  masonry,  molten  metal, 
and  crushed  glass.  The  fountains 
played  still,  exemplifying  the  say- 
ing of  the  brook,  "  Men  may  come 
and  men  may  go,  but  I  go  on  for 
ever ;"  but  the  famous  orange- walk, 
with  the  southern  trees  all  killed 
by  the  frost  and  neglect,  was  a  sad 
sight. 

From  the  top  of  the  hill,  where 
now  the  "  Lanterne  de  Diogene " 
was  a  shapeless  heap  of  stones,  we 
had  a  glorious  view  of  Paris.  The 
golden  dome  of  the  Invalides  shone 
brightly  in  the  sun ;  the  sky  was  so 
cloudless,  the  atmosphere  so  clear, 
that  the  towers  of  "  Notre  Dame," 
the  "  Arc  de  Triomphe  "  (so  soon  to 
become  triumphal  for  the  victors), 
and  the  Column  of  the  Bastille, 
stood  out  in  bold  relief 

As  we  sat  gazing  at  the  huge  be- 
sieged city,  with  its  distinct  line  of 
enceinte  at  our  feet,  a  regiment 
singing  the  "Wacht  am  Rhein" 
passed  below  us,  the  rich  stirring 
notes  of  the  men's  voices  bringing 
up  the  refrain, — 

"Fest  bleibt    und    treu,    die  Wacht   am 
Rhein!" 


CHAPTER    IX. 


We  arrived  at  Versailles  at  4  P.M., 
and  at  the  Etappen-Commando  re- 
ceived a  printed  order,  which,  at  the 
Mairie,  was  exchanged  for  a  "  billet 


de  logement"  for  "un  officier,  une 
dame,  deux  domestiques,  et  deux 
chevaux,"  at  a  hotel  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Paroisse.  What  a  contrast  Versailles 


712 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[June 


presented,  with  its  neatly  -  swept 
broad  streets  and  fine  shops,  to 
other  French  towns  occupied  by  the 
enemy  !  The  streets  were  full  of 
life,  and  thronged  with  military  of 
every  kind;  not  even  at  a  review 
had  I  seen  such  a  variety  of  uniforms, 
and  it  appeared  to  me  there  were 
far  more  officers  than  men. 

The  Emperor  had  never  establish- 
ed his  court  in  the  chateau  of  the 
Louis's,  nor  inhabited  the  palace 
raised,  "A  toutes  les  gloires  de  la 
France,"  as  I  had  been  led  to  believe, 
but  from  the  first  had  taken  up  his 
quarters  at  the  Prefecture,  where  we 
now  went  to  hear  five  military  bands 
perform  his  tafel-musik. 

The  Crown  Prince  lived  in  a  villa 
call  Les  Ombrages,  situated  on  a 
hill  beyond  the  railway  station,  and 
the  schlau  kopf,  Bismark,  worked 
out  his  political  web  in  a  house 
of  modest  appearance  in  a  side 
street. 

On  the  following  morning  we 
went  to  breakfast  at  a  cafe,  and 
then  visited  the  chateau.  There  had 
been  the  previous  day  an  "  evacua- 
tion "  of  the  sick  and  wounded  to- 
wards Germany,  so  that  only  fifty- 
three  now  remained  to  occupy  the 
spacious  saloons,  hung  with  huge 
pictures  of  Napoleon's  victories.  I 
inquired  of  the  surgeon  who  escorted 
us  through  the  "royal  wards"  if  they 
had  not  found  the  chateau  a  con- 
venient building  to  transform  into 
an  hospital ;  his  answer  was — 

"Yes,  as  far  as  space  was  con- 
cerned, for  we  have  had  as  many  as 
800  beds  occupied  at  a  time,  but 
many  conveniences  for  such  an  es- 
tablishment were  wanting,  and  our 
great  difficulty  was  to  heat  the 
galleries  during  the  rigid  winter  we 
have  had." 

I  noticed  that  the  difficulty  had 
been  overcome  by  placing  an  iron 
stove  in  the  centre  of  the  rooms,  upon 
an  iron  flooring,  and  running  the 
flue  through  the  top  of  the  window, 


where  an  iron  plate  had  been  sub- 
stituted for  the  pane  of  glass. 

The  patients  (all  officers)  were 
mostly  very  dangerous  cases,  and 
many  of  them  looked  as  if  the 
French  chateau  would  be  their  last 
earthly  residence.  I  was  very  anxious 
to  see  the  Galerie  des  Glaces,  where, 
a  few  days  previously,  King  William 
had  been  proclaimed  Emperor,  and 
which  so  lately  had  been  the  scene 
of  a  theatrical  pageant,  on  a  grand 
scale,  with  real  kings  and  princes  on 
the  stage,  and  now  reflected  in  its 
mirrors  sick  and  dying  men,  and 
nurses  gliding  noiselessly  from  bed 
to  bed.  The  gildings  and  frescoes 
of  the  gorgeous  ceiling,  which  had 
crowned  the  great  historical  play, 
looked  down  now  upon  a  sadly  real 
drama. 

Leaving  my  staff  -  surgeon  to 
wander  through  the  Park  to  the 
Trianons,  and  settling  to  meet  him 
at  our  quarters,  where  we  were  to 
dine  at  two  o'clock,  I  did  some  shop- 
ping in  the  town,  and  then,  crossing 
the  station,  passed  several  Prussian 
and  Bavarian  sentinels,  placed  at 
intervals  along  the  garden  of  Les 
Ombrages,  and,  reaching  the  house, 
inquired  if  I  could  see  H.RH's 
Hofmarschall,  Count  von  Eulenberg. 
I  had  sometime  previously,  while  at 
Corbeil,  received  another  letter  from 
this  gentleman,  requesting  me  to 
send  on  by  post  the  letter  of  intro- 
duction I  had  for  H.E.H.,  and  this 
I  had  done. 

A  very  military  butler  took  in 
my  card,  and  in  a  few  seconds  I 
followed  him  into  a  comfortable 
but  simply-furnished  room,  with  an 
alcove  occupied  by  the  Graf,  who 
informed  me  he  regretted  not  being 
able  to  present  me  to  the  Prince,  as 
H.R.H.  was  then  visiting  his  impe- 
rial father  at  the  Prefecture. 

In  my  interview  I  inquired  of 
the  Graf  if  Versailles  harboured 
such  a  luxury  as  an  English  banker, 
and  he  advised  me  to  apply  for 


1871.]      Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  II.          713 


correct  information  to  our  reprfaen- 
iant,  Mr  Odo  Eussell,  who  inhabited 
the  same  house  as  the  '  Times ' 
Correspondent,  at  No.  6  Place  Hoche. 
To  our  representant's  abode  I 
therefore  bent  my  steps,  and  was 
fortunate  enough  to  find  him  at 
home.  I  don't  know  whether  it  is 
yet  true  that,  in  recognition  of  his 
peculiarly  distinguished  and  con- 
spicuous services,  Mr  Odo  Eussell 

lias  been  offered  the Embassy, 

but  at  least — and  of  such  things  a 
woman  without  any  "  rights  "  may, 
perhaps,  be  suifered  to  speak — he 
has  a  terse  yet  lucid  diction  sin- 
gularly expressive  of  intellectual 
power,  and  that  thoughtful  high- 
bred courtesy  which  is  the  fitting 
ornament  of  a  statesman  represent- 
ing our  gracious  Sovereign  at  a 
foreign  court.  He  told  me  that 
M.  Thiers  was  to  have  an  inter- 
view with  the  Emperor  that  day 
on  the  subject  of  the  preliminaries 
of  peace,  and  that  afterwards  his 
Majesty  would  probably  take  his 
daily  drive.  As  I  was  very  anxious 
to  get  a  sight  of  this  royal  person- 
age who  had  become  such  a  "point 
de  mire  "  for  the  universe,  I  hurried 
back  to  our  hotel  to  inform  the 
staff-surgeon  of  the  chance  in  pros- 
pect ;  and  as  soon  as  we  had  dined 
we  set  forth  for  the  Prefecture, 
where  we  were  told  by  a  sentinel  that 
the  Kaiser's  carriage  and  escort  were 
waiting  for  him  under  the  portico, 
whence  he  would  shortly  drive 
out. 

In  a  few  minutes  there  was  a 
slight  stir  in  the  courtyard,  and  we 
stepped  up  close  to  the  gates,  when 
a  sergeant  of  f  eld -gendarme  (who 
seemed  to  have  sprung  up  out  of  a 
trap-door,  so  sudden  was  his  appear- 
ance) begged  us  to  stand  back  a  few 
paces.  Did  he  take  me  for  a  female 
regicide,  or  think  I  kept  revolvers 
or  Orsini  bombs  hidden  in  the  folds 
of  my  skirt1?  I  had  not  time  to 
propound  this  question  before  the 


clatter  of  horses'  feet  was  heard,  and 
the  Kaiser  emerged  wrapped  up  in 
a  fur  cloak,  seated  in  a  very  shabby 
"victoria"  drawn  by  four  mean- 
looking  black  horses,  ridden  by  two 
sorry-looking  postilions. 

It  doubtless  was  incumbent  on  me 
to  look  with  awe,  or  respect  at  least, 
upon  the  mighty  king;  but  suddenly 
the  words  in  'Alice's  Adventures  in 
Wonderland' — "You  are  old,  Father 
William,  and  your  hair  is  very  grey  " 
— occurred  to  me,  and  it  may  be  that 
this  sudden  recollection  of  once 
familiar  words  a  little  disturbed  my 
solemnity,  for  I  felt  the  f  eld-gen- 
darme scowling  at  me  while  he  sal- 
uted his  Kaiser  as  he  passed  out  of 
the  gate. 

The  interview  with  M.  Thiers 
must  have  been  unsatisfactory,  for 
the  face  so  often  described  as  bearing 
une  empreinte  de  bonhommie  mili- 
taire  looked  very  black  under  the 
military  visor,  and  the  snowy  mous- 
tache was  decidement  herissee. 

We  had  a  long  drive  home  through 
Bievres,  Palaiseau,  Longjumeau,  and 
Morangis,  but  the  stout  little  horses 
accomplished  it  in  four  hours,  and 
before  eight  o'clock  that  evening  we 
had  returned  to  Bellegarde. 

The  armistice  was  to  end  on  Sun- 
day night,  the  26th  of  February ;  but 
rumours  were  already  current  that 
the  entry  of  the  German  troops  into 
Paris  had  been  the  rock  on  which 
the  vessel  of  peace  had  struck — and 
sunk  ;  and  it  was  generally  believed 
that  on  the  Monday  morning  hostil- 
ities would  recommence.  Our  hos- 
pital at  Bruyeres  had  already  been 
broken  up,  and  our  own  patients 
reduced  to  a  very  small  number, 
and  these  were  to  be  sent  off  in  a 
few  days.  Our  staff -surgeon  was 
also  to  depart  on  the  same  day,  but 
he  informed  me  I  should  be  required 
to  stay  on  for  about  a  week  with 
Herr  Miiller  and  our  three  freiicil- 
ligen,  for  the  purpose  of  taking  care 
that  the  chateau,  when  given  up, 


714 


Under  the  Red  Cross :  A  Narrative  of 


[June 


should  be  left  in  as  orderly  and 
cleanly  a  state  as  possible. 

"  If  peace  is  not  signed,"  he  added, 
"  and  hostilities  recommence,  I  shall, 
of  course,  have  to  take  the  direction 
of  another  hospital.  Are  you  tired 
of  your  work  ?  or  may  I  send  for  you 
to  occupy  the  same  post  with  me 
again  1 " 

"  Certainly,"  I  answered ;  "  you 
may  count  upon  me.  I  have  not  the 
least  wish  to  give  up  work  as  long 
as  I  can  be  useful." 

The  first  train  which  passed  our 
house  on  Monday  morning  was 
adorned  with  laurel-branches,  and 
the  soldiers  it  conveyed  waved  their 
hands  out  of  the  carriage-windows, 
and  shouted  "  Friede  !  Friede  !  " 
(peace),  so  that  we  knew  the  storm 
had  been  weathered,  though,  per- 
haps, at  the  sacrifice  of  Parisian 
amour  propre. 

And  now  active  preparations  were 
made  for  the  departure  of  the  last 
batch  of  patients,  who  all  came  to 
bid  me  farewell.  I  did  not  observe 
my  friend  the  Uhlan  among  them, 
but  he  arrived  soon  after  alone,  and 
having  expressed  his  gratitude  for 
the  kindness  and  attention  he  had 
received  during  his  convalescence, 
he  added — 

"  Fraulein,  you  have  got  a  brother 
in  the  army,  have  you  not  ] " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied ;  "  warnm  1 " 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  leave  you 
a  little  token  of  gratitude ;  but,  as 
it  is  a  thing  unsuited  to  a  lady,  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  give  it  to 
your  brother  as  an  errinerung  des 
feldzucfs "  (a  souvenir  of  the  cam- 
paign) ;  and  he  drew  from  under  his 
coat  a  wooden  pipe,  which  he  had 
cleverly  fashioned  and  carved  out  of 
the  branches  of  a  tree. 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said ;  "  you  are 
right.  It  is  certainly  not  suited  to 
a  lady ;  but  I  shall  keep  it  with 
pride,  as  a  remembrance  of  one  of 
my  favourite  patients." 

The  chateau  looked  quite  sad  and 


unheimUch  when  the  wards  were 
all  empty,  and  we  seemed  to  wander 
like  des  dmes  enpeine  about  the  long 
passages  and  deserted  saloons ;  but 
there  was  plenty  of  work  left  to  do. 

What  remained  of  provisions, 
groceries,  and  candles,  we  distri- 
buted amongst  the  poor  French 
about  us,  as  well  as  some  sheeting 
and  blankets ;  but  the  bulk  of  the 
linen  had  to  be  packed  up  in  ticketed 
bags,  and,  with  the  bedding,  sent  to 
the  central  depot  in  Corbeil,  whence 
they  would  be  forwarded  to  the 
hospitals  in  Germany.  The  account- 
books  had  to  be  balanced,  the  house 
thoroughly  cleansed,  the  furniture 
replaced  in  the  rooms  from  whence 
it  had  been  removed,  and  the  porce- 
lain returned  to  its  cupboards. 

The  entry  into  Paris  was  now 
free ;  and  having  heard  from  my 
brother  that  he  had  arrived  from 
England  to  fetch  me,  I  decided,  in- 
stead of  writing  (for  letters  took 
four  days  to  reach  the  capital,  not 
more  than  sixteen  miles  distant),  to 
go  myself  and  ask  him  to  wait  a 
few  days  more  for  me,  if  his  leave 
permitted  it.  One  of  our  freiwil- 
ligen,  who  had  the  stable  depart- 
ment under  his  care,  and  who  was 
delighted  at  this  chance  of  seeing 
Paris  before  he  returned  home,  of- 
fered to  drive  me  there  and  back 
in  an  open  victoria.  I  explained 
to  him  how  hazardous  to  him  the 
journey  would  be,  for  the  exaspera- 
tion of  the  mob  against  all  Ger- 
mans would  place  him  in  a  very 
dangerous  position  should  his 
nationality  be  suspected ;  but  he 
begged  so  hard  to  be  allowed  to  go 
that  I  gave  in,  though  not  with- 
out serious  misgivings. 

The  next  morning,  provided  with 
a  map  of  Paris,  my  English  passport, 
and  a  French  and  German  laisser- 
passer  signed  by  the  prefect  of  Cor- 
beil, we  started  for  the  capital.  On 
leaving  Villejuif  we  crossed  the 
Prussian  barrier,  and  descending  the 


1871.]       Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  II.  715 


hill  which  runs  under  Fort  Bicgtre 
to  the  Porte  d' Italic,  we  entered 
Paris  proper.  An  octroi  guard 
asked  if  I  had  anything  liable 
to  duty;  but  neither  he  nor  the 
Mobiles  at  the  barriere  seemed  to 
notice  my  Prussian  driver. 

Proceeding  at  a  brisk  trot  along 
the  Boulevard  de  1'Hopital  to  the 
guai,  we  continued  along  the  river 
across  the  Pont  Neuf,  then  the 
Place  de  1'Hotel  de  Ville,  and  fol- 
lowed the  Eue  de  Eivoli  until  we 
turned  into  the  familiar  cour  of 
Hotel  Meurice.  It  being  a  Sunday, 
the  streets  were  thronged ;  all  the 
men  seemed  to  be  in  uniform,  and 
every  one  bent  upon  seeking  amuse- 
ment ;  and  to  this  fact  I  attributed 
my  having  been  allowed  to  pass  un- 
molested. I  cannot  say  that  I  felt 
at  all  comfortable,  for  carriages  be- 
ing then  a  very  rare  article,  I  knew 
that  we  did  not  pass  unobserved ; 
and  though  I  pretended  to  be  in- 
tently absorbed  in  a  number  of  the 
'  Mot  d'Ordre,'  for  the  life  of  me  I 
could  not  have  repeated  one  word 
that  was  printed  thereon. 

Once  under  the  shelter  of  Meu- 
rice's,  I  breathed  again  freely.  I 
inquired  if  my  brother  were  in. 

"  He  went  off  not  an  hour  ago 
for  Calais,"  answered  the  manager. 
"  Having  vainly  waited  for  days  for 
an  answer  to  his  letter,  he  concluded 
you  were  no  longer  at  the  hospital, 
and,  his  leave  being  over,  he  had  to 
return." 

This  put  me  out  sadly,  but  it 
could  not  be  helped.  Where  could 
I  put  my  horse  up  for  a  couple  of 
hours,  as  I  had  another  drive  of 
sixteen  miles  before  me  1 

"We  have  no  stables  in  the 
hotel,"  was  the  answer.  "  There  is 
one  two  streets  off;  but  I  don't  ad- 
vise you  to  send  the  carriage  there 
with  your  German  coachman — you 
may  never  see  them  again." 

So  we  drew  the  vehicle  up  into  a 
remote  corner  of  the  seconde  cour, 


covering  the  horse  with  blankets,  and 
stuffing  his  nose  into  a  bag  full  of 
oats.  At  four  o'clock  the  manager 
— whose  feelings  were  divided  be- 
tween sympathy  for  an  old  customer 
and  fellow-member  of  the  Red  Cross 
Society  (for  thehotel  had  been  turned 
into  an  ambulance  during  the  siege), 
and  regard  for  his  own  safety  in  dar- 
ing to  harbour  a  Prussian — advised 
me  to  leave  the  town  while  it  was 
yet  daylight,  and  most  of  the  people 
were  bent  in  the  direction  of  the 
Champs  Elysees,  and  because  the 
exit  of  the  town  was  far  more 
hazardous  than  the  entry. 

"  If  you  get  into  any  difficulty," 
was  his  last  piece  of  advice,  "  show 
your  English  passport — that  may 
save  you ;  but  if  the  canaille  get 
hold  of  your  coachman,  nothing  will 
save  him  from  their  fury;  so  tell 
him  on  no  account  to  speak  a  word, 
or  he  might  betray  himself." 

We  took  the  same  streets  again  ; 
and  I  was  congratulating  myself  on 
our  good  luck,  as  we  trotted  through 
the  Barriere  d'ltalie,  when  a  very 
repulsive-looking  Red  in  a  blouse 
caught  sight  of  my  driver,  and  shak- 
ing his  fist  at  him,  approached  the 
carriage,  shouting  out — "  Tiens  ! 
voila  celui  qui  est  pass4  ce  matin — 
fallait  pas  le  laisser  sortir;  c'est  un 
Prussien,  ce  n'est  pas  un  cocher,  faut 
1'arracher  du  siege  !  "  "  Here's  the 
fellow  who  passed  this  morning  ; 
he  is  no  coachman,  but  a  Prussian 
— let's  pull  him  off  his  seat." 

I  once  met  a  mad  dog  in  a  narrow 
country  lane  many  years  ago,  and 
remember  distinctly  that  though  I 
collected  presence  of  mind  sufficient 
to  scramble  over  a  friendly  hedge, 
and  thus  get  out  of  his  track,  my 
teeth  and  knees  knocked  audibly 
against  each  other  in  genuine  and 
uncontrollable  terror !  But  this 
critical  moment  by  the  Paris  bar- 
riere was  yet  more  terrible  to 
me ;  and  visions  of  what  my 
poor  little  German's  fate  would  be 


716 


Under  the  Red  Cross  :  A  Narrative  of 


[June 


in  the  hands  of  these  bloodthirsty 
ruffians  must  have  given  my  face 
the  expression  of  blank  and  smil- 
ing idiocy  which  I  felt  it  suddenly 
assuming,  and  prevented^,  me  from 
uttering  a  single  syllable  ;  indeed, 
I  felt  my  tongue  cleaving  helplessly 
to  my  clenched  teeth. 

The  German,  who  had  heard  and 
understood  every  word,  saved  us  by 
sheer  sang  froid  and  pluck.  Put- 
ting his  horses  at  a  walk,  he  took 
no  more  heed  of  the  half-dozen 
"blouses"  which  had  now  ap- 
proached the  carriage  than  if  they 
had  been  so  many  flies.  The  ruf- 
fians followed  the  carriage  up  the 
hill  for  a  few  yards,  and  then,  con- 
cluding they  had  been  mistaken, 
fell  back.  What  a  relief  it  was 
when  we  recrossed  the  Prussian 
lines,  and  once  more  found  our- 
selves amongst  friendly  faces  ;  and 
I  think  I  may  safely  say  that  no- 
thing could  make  me  forget  that 
memorable  drive  into  Paris  ! 

Madame  Schmid  and  I  went  to 
pay  a  farewell  visit  to  our  friends 
in  Corbeil,  which,  from  its  vicinity 
to  Paris,  was  now  driving  a  brisk 
trade  in  provisions,  and  seemed  in 
a  constant  state  of  "  market-day." 
The  Picards  were  in  great  spirits. 
Their  only  son,  who  had  remained 
shut  up  in  Paris  as  a  garde  mobile, 
and  whom,  hearing  no  news  of  for 
five  months,  they  had  believed 
killed,  wounded,  or  taken  prisoner, 
had  weathered  all  the  disastrous 
sorties ;  and  although  he  may  have 
made,  I  daresay,  a  great  many  of 
those  "  pacts  with  death,"  which  at 
one  time  were  much  in  vogue,  he 
returned  safe  and  sound  to  his 
family. 

The  caisse  behind  the  counter 
had  been  well  filled,  peace  was 
made,  commerce  would  prosper, 
"and,"  said  the  little  Frenchman, 
"  when  they  are  tired  of  playing 
this  little  farce  of  the  republic,  the 
throne  will  be  replaced  on  the  stage, 


and  occupied,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  by 
its  legitimate  possessors :  apropos" 
he  added,  "do  you  know  I  have 
been  arrested  again  since  I  last  saw 
you?" 

"Arrested  again!  for  what?" 

"  I  had  brought  from  Paris  some 
caricatures  of  Trochu  vendant  les 
clefs  de  Paris  a  Guillaume,  and  had 
already  sold  several  copies  to  Prus- 
sian officers,  when  one  day  one  of 
'ces  messieurs/  seeing  it  in  my  win- 
dow asked  me  how  I  dare  '  trainer 
ainsi  des  grands  honimes  dans  la 
boue '"  (thus  drag  great  men  through 
the  mire),  "and  made  me  follow  him 
to  the  commando,  where  I  was  de- 
tained for  several  hours,  until  it  was 
proved  that  I  had  no  intention  of 
personally  insulting  the  Kaiser,  and 
then  they  let  me  off  again." 

As  I  took  leave  of  the  gardener 
of  Bellegarde,  and  returned  several 
beautiful  foliage  plants  with  which 
he  had  adorned  my  sitting-room, 
I  inquired  about  the  fate  of  the 
Patron,  and  the  animals  he  had 
taken  with  him  to  Paris. 

"M.  Perrier,"  he  replied,  "had 
now  gone  to  Belgium  to  join  his 
family.  He  had  lost  two  servants 
through  small-pox,  and  the  seven 
horses  had  all  been  killed  and  eaten ; 
but  the  cow,  whose  milk  had  been 
an  inestimable  resource,  and  who 
had  been  kept  concealed  in  a  cellar, 
and  thus  saved,  was  to  return  to 
Bellegarde  in  a  few  days." 

On  the  morning  of  the  8th  of 
March  the  remnant  of  our  freiioil- 
ligen  society  was  disbanded.  Madame 
Schmid  and  the  three  kranken- 
pfleger  returned  to  Germany,  Herr 
Muller  joined  his  brother  at  Rheims, 
and  I  took  the  train  at  Juvissy. 
Thus  closed  our  task.  My  work 
during  nearly  three  months  had 
been  hard,  it  is  true,  but  always 
interesting  and  satisfactory. 

I  parted  affectionately  from  Ma- 
dame Schmid,  and  shall  always  re- 
member with  interest  that  superb 


1871.]       Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in  France. — Part  II.          717 


firmness  and  strong  personal  ascend- 
ancy by  which  she  reduced  the 
much  -  disciplined  officers  and  sol- 
diers of  Germany  to  a  yet  higher 
state  of  obedience. 

On  landing  at  the  Chemin  de  Fer 
d' Orleans  with  my  baggage,  I  secured 
a  coupe  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
to  take  me  to  Meurice's.  The  only 
train  which  conveyed  passengers  and 
their  luggage  started  at  9  P.M.  ;  so, 
having*  some  shopping  to  do,  and 
knowing  that  cabs  were  not  to  be 
hired,  I  sallied  forth  on  foot  without 
taking  off  my  badge,  and  sauntered 
xip  and  down  the  Eue  de  Eivoli,  Eue 
Castiglione,  Place  Ven dome,  and  Eue 
de  la  Paix,  as  far  as  the  opera-house 
and  back  again.  The  streets  were 
thronged  with  men  dressed  in  uni- 
form (I  can't  call  them  soldiers), 
hurrying  up  and  down  without 
seeming  to  have  any  fixed  idea  of 
where  they  were  wanted,  or  what 
they  would  do  when  they  got  there ; 
many  ladies,  all  dressed  in  black,  and 
plenty  of  the  inevitable  "  gamins  " — 
from  these  I  occasionally  caught  the 
ungrammatical  remark  as  I  passed, 
"  Voild  une  ambulance!"  further, 
no  one  took  the  slightest  notice  of 
me,  perhaps  because  I  also  was 
clothed  in  black.  In  every  shop  I 
went  into  it  was  the  same  story — 
no  work  had  been  done  since  the 
siege  had  begun,  and  now  there  was 
no  hope  for  a  change,  as  strangers 
did  not  arrive. 

As  I  passed  the  well-known  porte- 
cochere  in  the  Eue  de  la  Paix,  with 
the  metal  plate  on  one  side  engraved 
"  Worth  au  premier,"  I  wondered 
how  much  the  "great  man"  had 
suffered  from  the  siege  ;  and  I  was 
astonished  to  see  that  Guerlain  had 


not  removed  from  his  labels  "  Four- 
nisseur  de  S.  M.  1'Imperatrice. " 
What  struck  me  most  was  the  com- 
plete security  and  facility  of  crossing 
these  once  crowded  streets,  owing  to 
the  absence  of  omnibuses  and  ve- 
hicles of  any  kind.  In  a  modiste 
shop  the  "demoiselle"  who  served 
me  remarked — "Ah,  vous  etes  bien 
bonne,  madame,  d'avoir  soigne*  les 
blesse's  ! "  I  smiled,  and  shrugged 
my  shoulders  deprecatingly.  "  Etiez 
vous  dans  Paris  pendant  le  siege  1 " 
added  my  interlocutor. 

"Non,"  I  answered;  "hors  de 
Paris  ; "  and  deeming  prudence  the 
better  part  of  valour,  I  changed  the 
subject  back  to  tulles  and  feathers, 
and  soon  left  the  shop.  I  did  not 
contemplate  with  any  satisfaction 
the  probability  of  the  modiste  dis- 
covering me  to  be  not  a  French 
nurse,  as  she  supposed,  but  a  Prus- 
sian one,  and  in  a  patriotic  fit 
handing  me  over  to  an  exasperat- 
ed crowd  of  Eeds.  There  was  alto- 
gether such  a  feeling  of  complete 
insecurity  in  the  atmosphere,  and  a 
vacillating  sort  of  motion  in  one's 
limbs  as  one  walked  along,  as  if 
stepping  on  the  edge  of  a  crater 
which  might  burst  out  at  any  mo- 
ment and  annihilate  you,  that  I  was 
not  at  all  sorry  when  I  found  my- 
self closely  packed  that  night  (al- 
though in  a  very  slow  train),  and 
safe  on  my  way  to  Calais.  The 
journey  took  eighteen  hours  instead 
of  five,  and  the  Channel  was  even 
more  than  usually  rough ;  but  at 
last  I  stood  on  the  land  of  peace, 
police,  and  express  trains,  and  could 
not  refrain  from  uttering  the  hack- 
neyed exclamation,  "England,  with 
all  thy  faults  I  love  thee  still !" 
VEBA. 


718 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


[June 


OLD   AND   NEW  ANNALISTS   OF  OXFORD. 


IT  was  once  our  lot  to  assist — in 
the  French  sense  only — at  one  of 
those  rural  entertainments  known 
as  Penny  Readings.  In  the  course 
of  the  evening  a  young  gentleman 
came  forward  and  sang  a  song,  which 
was  listened  to,  on  the  whole,  with 
respectful  attention.  Two  young 
farmers,  who  sat  with  ourselves  in 
the  front  row,  were  among  the  most 
interested  listeners,  only  interchang- 
ing from  time  to  time  an  earnest 
whisper.  When  the  performance 
was  concluded,  and  the  usual  amount 
of  decorous  applause  had  subsided, 
one  of  them  rose,  and,  leaning  for- 
ward to  the  platform,  addressed  the 
performer  in  a  confidential  aside. — 

"  Mr  D ,  if  you  please,  sir,  wor 

that   comic?"      Mr  D ,   with 

much  modesty,  confessed  that  it 
was  so  intended.  The  questioner 
turned  round  to  his  friend  and  said 
triumphantly,  "  There  now,  Jim !  I 
told  you  as  'twere  comic." 

We  have  not  had  the  opportunity 
of  putting  such  a  question  confiden- 
tially to  Mr  JeafFreson  as  to  the  hook 
which  he  calls  the  '  Annals  of  Ox- 
ford.' The  title,  certainly,  gives  no 
hint  of  facetiousness.  But  this, 
so  far  as  we  can  judge  from  a  very 
limited  acquaintance  with  that 
branch  of  literature,  is  the  case 
with  a  good  many  popular  effusions, 
which  are  nevertheless  distinctly  in- 
tended by  their  authors  to  be,  and 
held  by  their  admirers  to  be,  im- 
mensely comic.  Nor,  again,  can  we 
conscientiously  say  that  we  have 
found  any  sort  of  fun  in  the  book — 
far  from  it;  but  this,  again,  as  all 
of  us  know  from  dismal  experience, 
is  no  disproof  whatever  of  an  inten- 
tion to  be  funny.  If  a  liberal  use 
of  slang,  and  a  preference,  in  most 


cases,  for  a  kind  of  circumlocutory 
banter  rather  than  plain  English 
terminology,  are  proof  presumptive 
of  comic  intention — as  they  would 
seem  to  be,  judging  from  the  prac- 
tice of  the  confessedly  facetious 
writers  of  the  day — then  we  should 
be  doing  the  author  no  wrong  if  we 
called  his  book  the  '  Comic  Annals 
of  Oxford.'  When  we  find  Oxford 
itself  spoken  of  as  the  " '  Varsity  "- 
an  undergraduate  vulgarism,  against 
which  even  '  Bell's  Life,'  no  very 
stern  sesthetic  censor,  has  vain- 
ly protested ;  when,  in  an  account 
of  the  secession  of  the  scholars  in 
King  John's  time,  we  are  told  that 
the  whole  body  "  skedaddled ; " 
when  a  birch-rod  is  translated  by 
"the flagrant  besom ;" — and  these  are 
merely  isolated  flowers  of  language, 
for,  as  we  may  hare  occasion  to 
show  hereafter,  there  are  whole  pas- 
sages written  in  this  style, — we  feel 
sure  that  we  are  reading  a  history  of 
Oxford  written  down  to  the  modern 
fast  undergraduate's  point  of  view. 
These  flowers  of  language  are  not 
amusing,  of  course ;  but  they  are 
meant  to  be  comic. 

If  the  author  had  been  content 
to  adopt  for  these  flimsy  volumes  a 
title  corresponding  to  those  which 
designate  some  other  works  of  his  ; 
if  he  had  called  this  '  A  Book 
about  Oxford,'  instead  of  the  '  An- 
nals of  Oxford,'  he  would  have 
found  quite  as  many  readers  for  his 
collection  of  extracts  and  anecdotes, 
without  assuming  for  them  a  char- 
acter to  which  they  were  wholly 
unentitled.  Or  again,  if  he  had  left 
the  extracts  and  anecdotes  to  tell 
their  own  story,  without  overlaying 
them  with  the  slang  and  vulgarity 
which  are  his  own  especial  contribu- 


The  Annals  of  Oxford.     By  J.  C.  Jeaffreson,  B.A.  Oxon.    Hurst  &  Blackett :  1871. 


1871.] 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


719 


tion,  the  volumes  might  have  amused 
an  idle  and  not  over-critical  reader, 
without  irritating  him  as  they  do 
now.  As  it  is,  he  has  achieved  the 
exploit  of  having  spoilt  a  good  sub- 
ject. For  a  history  of  the  Univer- 
sity, not  too  learned  to  be  generally 
readable,  and  not  too  popular  to  be 
accurate,  is  somewhat  of  a  desider- 
atum. There  is  not  much  really 
worth  reading  on  the  general  subject 
except  the  old  volumes  of  Anthony  a 
Wood;  and  Anthony,  though  abun- 
dantly painstaking  and  amusing,  is 
not  always  honest.  Some  good  ma- 
terials for  such  a  work  have  been 
lately  published,  under  the  editor- 
ship of  the  Rev.  Henry  Anstey,  in 
the  series  of  '  Chronicles  and  Me- 
morials '  issued  by  authority  of  the 
Master  of  the  Rolls.*  Of  these  Mr 
Jeaffreson  has  made  very  imperfect 
use.  These  volumes  comprise  the 
Chancellors'  and  Proctors'  Books 
from  about  1350  to  1460  (but  which 
contain  copies  of  earlier  documents), 
together  with  certain  University  re- 
gisters, and  records  of  the  Chancel- 
lor's court.  No  records  of  the  early 
halls  are  known  to  exist ;  but  mat- 
ter equally  important  and  interest- 
ing must  lie  buried  in  the  archives 
of  individual  colleges,  which  would 
probably  not  be  inaccessible  to  a 
duly-accredited  inquirer. 

Of  the  history  of  Oxford,  before 
the  thirteenth  century,  we  can  be 
said  to  know  positively  nothing. 
The  University  itself  possesses  no 
earlier  records  of  any  kind.  That 
schools  of  some  kind  existed  there 
long  before  that  date,  there  seems 
to  be  no  reasonable  doubt.  But 
such  traditions  as  have  come  down 
to  us  on  this  subject  have  all  the 
character  of  fable.  Even  of  the 
thirteenth  century  the  authentic 
records  are  but  few.  It  is  not  until 
the  establishment  of  colleges  in  the 


latter  half  of  that  century — corporate 
foundations,  which  have  maintained 
until  now  a  continuous  existence 
and  a  fixed  domicile — that  any  such 
records  were  likely  to  have  been 
preserved.  The  earlier  students, 
whatever  their  numbers  or  their 
character,  were  either  scattered  in 
lodgings  throughout  the  town,  or 
boarded  together  in  certain  tene- 
ments which  were  rented  from  the 
citizens  by  some  professional  scholar 
of  maturer  age,  who  commonly  act- 
ed both  as  teacher  and  boarding- 
house  keeper,  and  made  his  living 
thereby.  Public  schools  came  after- 
wards to  be  built,  for  the  greater 
convenience  of  teaching  in  classes, 
the  use  of  which,  upon  making 
a  certain  payment,  each  "master" 
could  have  for  his  lectures.  Such, 
very  briefly,  seems  to  have  been  the 
nucleus  of  the  colleges  and  of  the 
University  respectively.  But  what- 
ever records  or  books  might  have 
been  kept  by  the  governors  of  these 
earlier  academic  halls  (and  no  doubt 
they  did  keep  such),  not  having 
been  handed  down  to  hereditary 
custodians,  have  perished,  as  has 
been  said,  so  far  as  all  present  in- 
quiry can  ascertain,  and  with  them 
all  trustworthy  data  for  Oxford's 
early  history. 

Mr  Jeaffreson  is  highly  facetious 
as  to  these  dark  ages,  and  indulges 
his  powers  of  imaginary  description 
rather  largely.  As  in  this  particu- 
lar chapter  he  is  only  facetious,  and 
not  offensive,  the  reader  must  take 
the  following  as  a  somewhat  favour- 
able specimen  of  his  vein  : — 

"  In  the  almost  total  absence  of  perti- 
nent evidence  to  enlighten  my  ignorance 
or  expose  my  blunders,  I  have  no  inten- 
tion to  imitate  the  conscientious  reticence 
and  timorous  moderation  of  scribes,  whose 
account  of  the  University's  earlier  years 
is  little  more  than  a  confession  of  their 
uncertainty  about  them.  On  the  contrary, 


*Munimenta  Academica;  or,  Documents  illustrative  of  Academical  Life  and  Studies 
at  Oxford.     1868. 


720 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


[June 


I  have  much  pleasure  in  stating  precisely 
how  the  original  schools  of  Oxford  were 
planted,  how  they  took  root,  and  how  they 
grew  into  the  imposing,  and  august,  and 
complicated  affair  which,  in  compliance 
with  an  antiquated  and  highly  absurd 
fashion,  Oxonians  are  wont  to  call  their 
Alma  Mater.  .  .  . 

"  Towards  the  last  year  of  the  eleventh 
century,  there  might  have  been  seen  wend- 
ing their  tardy  way  towards  the  walls  of 
Oxford,  a  party  consisting  of  seven  ped- 
estrians, whose  rusty  habiliments  and 
thoughtful  countenances  betokened  their 
possession  of  learning  and  their  want  of 
money.  Each  of  the  wayfarers  bore, 
slung  from  his  neck,  a  wallet,  of  which 
the  chief  contents  were  a  slenderly-pro- 
vided purse  and  the  materials  for  a  frugal 
meal.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  in  a  position  to  state  the  exact 
considerations  which  decided  these  dealers 
in  learning  to  select  Oxford  as  the  scene 
of  their  future  labours ;  but  as  it  would 
not  answer  my  purpose  to  render  the  pub- 
lic altogether  as  knowing  as  myself,  I  shall 
not  record  the  auspicious  motives,  until 
some  critic  has  demonstrated  to  my  satis- 
faction that  the  adventurers  would  have 
done  better  for  themselves  and  society  at 
large  had  they  settled  in  Stoke  Pogis, 
Mudfog-in-the-West,  or  Blathering-by- 
the-Sea.  ...  It  might  be  imagined 
that  these  founders  of  Oxford  University, 
before  announcing  their  readiness  to  in- 
struct pupils,  built  or  hired  houses  in 
which  to  receive  their  little  friends  ;  but 
they  did  no  such  thing.  .  .  .  One  of 
the  adventurers  acquired  for  a  few  pence, 
paid  half-yearly,  a  spacious  and  cobwebby 
garret  at  the  top  of  a  cordwainer's  dwell- 
ing ;  another  was  so  fortunate  as  to  secure 
a  room  over  a  beer-shop ;  a  third,  the 
most  successful  of  the  party,  contrived  to 
get  possession  of  a  disused  stable,  a  loft, 
an  old  hen-house,  and  a  small  court  con- 
taining a  large  water-butt,  on  the  under- 
standing that  he  would  teach  reading, 
writing,  and  arithmetic  to  his  landlord's 
three  sons." 

If  any  reader  cares  to  have  the 
'  Annals '  of  Oxford  written  in  this 
fashion,  he  will  find  his  taste  fully 
gratified  in  these  volumes. 

The  halls  or  inns,  in  which  the 
students  of  the  twelfth  and  thir- 


teenth centuries  lived,  probably  num- 
bered from  three  to  four  hundred 
when  the  University  was  full.  They 
bore  in  many  cases,  like  the  present 
colleges,  the  names  of  popular 
saints.  Besides  two  or  three  St 
Marys,  St  Edmunds,  and  St  Johns, 
— whose  representatives  are  still  to 
be  recognised — there  were  St  Paul, 
St  James,  Si  Thomas,  St  William, 
St  George,  St  Martin,  St  Cuthbert, 
St  Michael,  St  Lawrence,  and  St 
Mildred's  Halls.  Others  were 
named  after  the  original  occupier, 
or  some  succeeding  teacher  who  had 
made  for  himself  an  academical  re- 
putation. Such  names  as  Newell's 
Inn,  Takley's  Inn,  Trillock's  Inn 
(now  New  Inn  Hall),  Willough- 
by's  Hall,  Perry's  Hall,  and  Bos- 
tar's  Hall,  represent  all  that  sur- 
vives of  the  fame  of  their  sometime 
occupiers.  Some  again  took  their 
designation  from  their  locality,  or 
from  some  outward  feature, — as,  for 
instance,  Corner  Hall,  Broadgates 
Hall  (merged  in  Pembroke  Col- 
lege), Elm  Hall,  Ivy  HaU,  Deep 
Hall,  two  White  Halls,  and  Great 
and  Little  Black  Hall.  Cabbage 
Hall,  at  the  foot  of  Headington  Hill, 
was  said  to  have  been  founded  by  a 
tailor.*  "Glass"  Hall,  "Tiled" 
HaU,  and  "  Chimney  "  Hall,  most 
likely  commemorate  the  first  intro- 
duction of  those  modern  conveni- 
ences into  academic  architecture. 
A  great  many  of  the  scholars'  tene- 
ments had  some  distinctive  sign 
over  their  doorways,  like  the  shops 
and  taverns  (indeed  some  of  them 
had  very  possibly  once  been  occu- 
pied as  such),  and  by  these  devices 
they  were  known.  The  Lion,  the 
Bull,  the  Eagle,  the  Hawk,  the  Cat, 
the  Hare,  the  Vine,  the  Shield,  the 
Feathers,  the  Saracen's  Head, — all 


*  ' '  Caterpillar  Hall,  the  name  of  the  house  higher  up  the  hill,  was  no  doubt  a 
complimentary  appellation,  intimating  to  posterity  that,  on  account  of  its  better 
commons,  it  had  drawn  away  a  great  number  of  students  from  the  inferior  society  ; 
or,  in  other  words,  that  the  caterpillar  had  eat  up  the  cabbage." — Huddesford's 
Notes  to  Wood. 


1871.] 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


721 


appear  from  time  to  time  in  the  list 
of  halls  on  the  University  register. 
Hart  Hall  survived  until  it  was 
merged  in  the  short-lived  foundation 
of  Hertford  College  by  Dr  Newton 
in  1740.  Brasenose  College,  still 
displaying  the  well-known  symbol 
over  its  entrance-gates,  is  the  only 
existing  foundation  which  retains  its 
ancient  sign.  Some  authorities  have 
discovered  a  somewhat  more  refined 
derivation  for  the  name,  asserting 
that  it  means  the  Erasing  or  Brew- 
ing House,  from  the  low  Latin 
brasinium;  but  there  can  be  little 
doubt  but  that  the  Brasen  Nose, 
whatever  its  origin,  gave  its  name 
to  the  hall  which  appears  under 
that  designation  early  in  the  thir- 
teenth century.  The  colony  which 
migrated  to  Stamford  in  1334  were 
so  far  from  being  ashamed  of  the 
homely  symbol,  that  they  set  up  a 
rival  brasen  nose  (which  is  still,  or 
was  very  lately,  existing)  over  their 
gates  in  their  new  locality.  There 
was  an  old  University  tradition  — 
due  probably  to  the  inventive  genius 
of  some  undergraduate  of  the  day — 
that  the  original  sign  was  a  conven- 
tional portrait  of  the  nose  of  the 
famous  John  Duns  (Scotus),  and  set 
up  in  affectionate  remembrance  of 
the  great  lecturer. 

The  earliest  benefactions  to  the 
University,  for  the  encouragement 
of  poor  scholars,  were  in  the  form 
of  sums  of  money,  which  were  de- 
posited in  separate  "  chests,"  bearing 
the  names  of  the  respective  donors, 
kept  under  the  special  guardianship 
of  the  university  authorities,  and 
usually  deposited  for  safety,  as  it 
would  appear,  in  the  university 
church.  From  these,  grants  were 
made  from  time  to  time  to  deserving 
applicants,  in  the  way  of  loan — never, 
originally,  as  gifts.  The  recipient 
had  to  deposit  some  valuable  article 
by  way  of  pledge,  and  this  was  al- 
ways to  be  of  greater  sworn  value 
than  the  sum  received  as  a  loan. 

VOL.  CIX. — NO.  DCLXVIII. 


He  was  also  bound  to  repeat  a  cer- 
tain number  of  "  Aves  "  and  "Pater- 
nosters" for  the  souls  of  his  particular 
benefactor ;  an  ordinance  of  which 
the  traces  yet  remain  in  the  official 
thanksgiving  (for  it  has  been  modi- 
fied into  that  shape),  introduced  into 
the  "  bidding  "  prayer  before  every 
University  sermon,  in  which  the 
names  of  special  founders  and  bene- 
factors are  still  commemorated,  on 
some  special  occasions  forming  a  list 
of  considerable  length.  It  was  a 
very  curious  arrangement,  to  our 
modern  notions;  in  fact,  as  Mr 
Anstey  calls  it,  a  "pawnbroking 
department,"  neither  more  nor  less. 
Precious  manuscripts,  jewelled  dag- 
gers, silver  cups,  famed  garments, 
were  among  the  iisual  deposits  made 
by  the  students  who  required  a  loan 
of  money  from  one  of  these  public 
banks  to  pay  his  battels,  or  settle 
accounts  with  some  importunate 
tradesman.  The  difficulty  which  at 
once  strikes  us  is,  how  the  really 
needy  student  could  be  in  possession 
of  such  valuables ;  and  the  disagree- 
able impression  is  left  upon  the 
mind  that,  in  those  times  as  now, 
the  well-to-do  borrower  could  be 
easily  accommodated,  while  the  poor 
had  too  often  to  go  empty  away. 

The  poverty  of  the  medieval  stu- 
dents comes  out  very  strongly  in 
these  University  records.  The  whole 
nation  was  poor,  comparatively ;  but 
in  many  cases  the  life  of  the  young 
scholar,  far  removed  from  home  and 
friends,  and  to  whom  the  fatal  facil- 
ities of  credit,  the  bane  of  modern 
university  life,  were  unknown,  must 
have  been  a  hard  and  pinching 
struggle.  The  furniture  of  the 
chamber  which  he  shared  with  three 
or  four  companions  was  probably 
worse  than  he  would  have  found  in 
his  own  home ;  his  meals  were 
coarse  and  badly  cooked  ;  his  best 
cloak  in  winter-time  might  too  pro- 
bably be  in  pawn  in  one  of  the  pub- 
lic loan-chests.  Sometimes,  as  a  fa- 

3D 


722 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


[June 


vour  from  the  University  authorities, 
he  obtained  during  vacation  a  licence 
to  beg.  There  is  at  least  more  ex- 
cuse for  him  than  there  would  be 
for  the  modern  undergraduate,  if  we 
find  him,  as  we  do  occasionally,  in 
these  black  books  of  the  proctors, 
committing  highway  robbery  in  Bag- 
ley  Wood.  Considering  the  great 
difficulties  of  locomotion  in  those 
days,  the  length  of  the  journey  home, 
and  the  probable  poverty  of  the 
criminals,  one  would  be  half  inclin- 
ed to  condone  the  offence  of  the 
"  two  Welsh  scholars  "  who  in  1461, 
according  to  the  records  of  the  Chan- 
cellor's Court,  stole  a  horse  out  of 
the  stable  of  the  "  Cardinal's  Hat," 
and  rode  off  into  Wales  on  it.  After 
all,  it  was  only  the  host's  story  :  the 
horse  had  undoubtedly  disappeared, 
and  he  had  to  pay  for  it.* 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  this  pov- 
erty there  were  wealthy  members 
of  the  University  even  in  these 
medieval  times.  There  was  a  far 
broader  distinction  of  ranks,  both 
in  and  out  of  academic  society. 
While  the  son  of  the  yeoman  was 
painfully  husbanding  his  slender  re- 
sources, the  student  of  high  degree 
was  to  be  seen  spending  his  money 
freely  within  the  same  walls.  Some 
of  these  latter  brought  with  them  to 
the  University  a  retinue  of  serving- 
men  such  as  would  astonish  the 
most  extravagant  modern  under- 
graduate. The  feasts  which  they 
were  in  the  habit  of  giving  at  their 
"inception"  for  the  M.A.  degree 
were  carried  to  such  an  excess  of 
expenditure,  that  they  had  to  be 
limited  by  special  statute.  George 
Neville,  younger  brother  to  the 
great  Earl  of  Warwick,  feasted  six 
hundred  guests  in  Balliol  College  on 
the  day  of  his  inception.  If  a  stu- 
dent claimed  noble  birth — and  the 
claim  seems  to  have  extended  wider 
than  in  later  days — he  became  the 


table  companion  of  the  head  of  his 
college ;  if  his  social  rank  did  not 
amount  to  this,  he  dined  at  the  table 
of  the  fellows  as  a  "  fellow-com- 
moner "  or  "gentleman-commoner." 
The  same  gradations  of  position  are 
found  in  the  records  of  our  oldest 
public  schools  —  Winchester  and 
Eton.  The  outward  distinctions  of 
rank,  the  gold  tufts  and  the  silk 
gowns  which  we  are  rather  inclined 
to  smile  at  in  these  days,  and  which 
rouse  Mr  Jeaffreson's  ire  so  need- 
lessly, were  quite  in  harmony  with 
the  differences  in  ordinary  costume 
which  formerly  prevailed  in  the 
various  ranks  of  society.  The  gold- 
lace  on  the  young  nobleman's  dress- 
gown,  seen  rarely  in  our  own  times 
at  commemoration,  presented  no- 
thing strange  to  eyes  which,  like 
those  of  Anthony  a  Wood  in  much 
later  times  than  we  are  just  now 
speaking  of,  had  seen  even  in  so 
small  a  society  as  Gloucester  Hall, 
"  the  worst  rented  "  of  all,  "  twenty 
or  more  gentlemen-commoners  clad 
either  in  doublets  of  cloth  of  silver 
or  gold."  It  is  possible  that  the 
"  levelling  up  "  which  prevails  in  all 
such  matters  in  our  own  times,  when, 
so  far  as  dress  goes,  no  one  can  tell 
the  mistress  from  the  lady's-maid 
except  by  the  more  quiet  tone  and 
subdued  colours,  and  when  no  one 
wears  gold-lace  except  a  beadle,  may 
be  an  improvement  in  society  to  all 
eyes  but  those  of  an  artist.  The 
colleges  have  now,  with  but  few  ex- 
ceptions, seen  fit  to  obliterate  all 
distinctions  in  rank,  and  status,  and 
academic  dress,  amongst  their  under- 
graduate members.  If  this  has  the 
effect  of  educating  the  young  noble- 
man and  the  future  territorial  lord 
in  the  simple  habits  and  tastes 
which  befit  the  scholar,  well  and 
good.  But  how,  if  it  teaches  the 
son  of  the  country  parson,  and  the 
half-pay  officer,  and  the  hard-work- 


*  Anstey's  Munimenta,  p.  684. 


1871.] 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


723 


ing  professional  man,  that  he  stands 
exactly  upon  the  same  social  level 
as  the  heir  of  half  a  county,  and 
has  therefore  a  right  to  adopt  the 
same  ways  of  life,  the  same  amuse- 
ments, and,  as  a  consequence,  some- 
thing like  the  same  scale  of  expen- 
diture ? 

Mr  Jeaffreson  is  fiercely  indignant 
at  what  he  considers  the  servile 
adulation  shown  by  the  University 
at  all  times  to  rank,  and  more  espe- 
cially to  royalty.  He  condones  the 
flatteries  which  the  gownsmen  be- 
stowed upon  Queen  Elizabeth  at  her 
visits,  probably  on  the  ground  that 
she  was  a  woman ;  but  he  has  very 
little  patience  with  their  reception  of 
her  successor,  James — "Solomon," 
as  he  facetiously  calls  him;  and 
when  he  has  to  record  how  "  Solo- 
mon delivered  himself  of  a  Latin 
speech,"  he  fancies  that  even  at  this 
distance  of  time  he  "  can  hear  the 
pompous  intonations  of  the  Scotch 
Latin."  We  cannot  pretend  to  so 
fine  an  ear  as  the  writer,  nor  can  we 
reproduce,  even  in  fancy,  the  exact 
accentuation  of  King  James  ;  but 
it  is  most  probable  that  its  broad 
vowels  came  much  more  near  the 
Roman  intonation  than  the  emas- 
culated and  corrupt  pronunciation 
which  has  so  long  prevailed  in  our 
English  universities,  and  which  our 
best  scholars  are  now  combining  to 
reform.  Here  is  the  annalist's  pic- 
ture of  what  he  conceives  to  have 
been  the  state  of  social  feeling  in 
Oxford  in  "  the  feudal  times  ;"  the 
witty  form  of  expression  must  at 
least  be  Mr  Jeaffreson' s  own,  for  we 
cannot  think  the  medieval  under- 
graduate was  capable  of  it : — 

" '  Universitas'  was  supposed  to  derive 
dignity  and  virtue  from  every  patrician 
lad  who  stayed  for  a  few  terms  in  one  of 
her  hotels  ;  and  in  order  that  students  of 
noble  degree  on  leaving  Alma  Mater  might 
report  favourably  of  Oxford  as  '  an  awfully 
jolly  place,  where  f'lers  were  deuced  civil 
and  pleasant,  you  know,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  you  know,' — they  were  surfeited 


with  slavish  homage  by  chancellor,  proc- 
tors, principals,  tutors,  and  ever}'  order 
of  academicians  from  doctors  to  freshmen. 
When  they  showed  themselves  in  High 
Street,  graduates  of  divinity  bowed  low  be- 
fore, physicians  fell  cringingly  backwards 
into  the  gutter  so  that  their  highnesses 
should  have  room  to  pass,  and  artists 
showed  their  delight  in  noble  beings  by 
going  through  the  ocular  practice  known 
to  cynics  by  a  disdainful  phrase,  which 
declares  the  possibility  of  kissing  with  the 
eyes.  These  favoured  youths  were  im- 
plored to  wear  brilliant  garments,  and  to 
soften  the  severity  of  their  geometrical 
caps  with  tassels  of  auriferous  lace — fop- 
pish excesses  which  would  have  brought 
undergraduates  of  ordinary  clay  to  the 
birching-block.  They  were  provided  with 
softer  beds,  and  sustained  with  choicer 
meats,  than  those  prepared  for  common 
scholars." 

The  outward  homage  paid  to  rank 
was,  as  we  all  know,  a  very  different 
thing  two  or  three  centuries  ago 
from  what  it  would  be  now ;  in 
point  of  fact,  it  is  a  social  custom 
which  has  almost  entirely  disap- 
peared. "Whether  honoured  more 
in  the  breach  than  in  the  obser- 
vance is  a  question  on  which  we 
might  perhaps  find  ourselves  at  issue 
with  Mr  Jeaffreson;  who,  we  are 
sure,  never  allows  a  servant  to  touch 
his  hat  to  him,  always  asks  John  to 
take  a  chair  when  he  comes  into  the 
study,  wears  that  individual's  livery 
turn  and  turn  about  while  he  gets 
into  his  master's  best  dress  suit,  and 
never  has  "  choicer  meats "  served 
at  his  own  table  than  are  supplied 
for  the  kitchen  dinner.  Less  than 
this,  we  feel  convinced,  could  never 
satisfy  so  stout  a  champion  of  equal- 
ity and  fraternity. 

The  distinctions  of  rank  were  very 
marked  indeed,  both  in  the  Univer- 
sity and  elsewhere,  in  the  times  of 
which  the  annalist  is  speaking.  But 
it  should  always  be  remembered  that 
the  same  homage  which  the  com- 
moner paid  to  the  noble  was  exacted, 
by  the  statutes  of  the  University, 
from  the  bachelor  of  arts  to  the  mas- 
ter, from  the  master  to  the  doctor. 


724 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


[June 


The  scholars  of  Queen's  College  were 
to  answer  the  questions  put  by  the 
fellows  '''upon  their  knees;"  the 
undergraduates  of  Jesus  were  to  go 
bareheaded  in  the  quadrangle  when 
one  of  the  seniors  was  in  sight.  Yet 
without  affecting  such  an  intimate 
and  intuitive  acquaintance  with  the 
sayings  and  doings  of  those  times  as 
Mr  Jeaffreson  has  assured  us  he  pos- 
sesses, we  think  he  has  a  little  over- 
drawn his  portrait;  and  for  this 
reason.  He  gives  us,  in  a  few  words, 
a  companion  picture — though  he 
confesses  that  its  shadows  are  not  so 
dark — of  the  Oxford  of  the  present ; 
he  speaks  of  "  the  fulsome  flatteries 
and  servile  compliments  with  which 
the  collegiate  dons  and  plebeian  un- 
dergraduates, known  in  Victorian 
England  as  tufthunters,  make  life 
pleasant  and  poisonous  to  the  '  tufts' 
of  Christ  Church  and  other  fashion- 
able colleges."  We  know  this  last 
to  be  a  fancy  sketch ;  and  therefore 
we  doubt  whether  Alma  Mater,  at 
any  period  of  her  existence,  ever 
really  sat  for  the  other. 

But  our  censor  reserves  his  prin- 
cipal vial  of  wrath  to  pour  upon  the 
University  when  she  received  George 
IV.  (then  Regent)  at  Christ  Church, 
and  when  the  royal  guest  "  won  by 
postprandial  eloquence  the  enthusi- 
astic plaudits  of  a  noisy  gathering 
of  aristocratic  dignitaries,  hilarious 
gownsmen,  and  academic  syco- 
phants." (It  is  a  fine  sentence;  but 
we  fear  Mr  Jeaffreson  has  forgotten 
his  logic,  and  made  what  Aldrich 
would  have  called  a  "cross division;" 
does  he  mean  that  none  of  the  gowns- 
men were  sycophants,  and  that  none 
of  the  dignitaries  were  gownsmen  ?) 
Oxford  did  go  rather  mad,  no  doubt, 
upon  that  occasion.  Those  were 
the  glorious  days  of  England,  when 
she  had  done  more  than  hold  her 
own.  The  great  sovereigns  of  Eu- 
rope had  come  to  pay  a  special  visit 
of  honour  to  the  gallant  nation  who 
had  spared  neither  its  blood  nor  its 


money  to  maintain  the  liberties  of 
the  world.  It  was  an  honour  to  the 
University  to  receive  such  guests  at 
such  a  time,  and  the  academic  autho- 
rities were  right  in  so  esteeming  it. 
The  official  "account  of  the  visit," 
against  which  Mr  Jeaffreson  inveighs 
so  bitterly  as  "  steeped  in  flunky- 
ism,"  was  certainly  not  drawn  up  in 
the  best  possible  taste.  He  is  espe- 
cially hard  upon  the  frequent  use  of 
the  word  "  condescension."  It  was 
not  much  more,  we  suppose,  than  a 
fagon  de  parler  of  the  day.  But 
that  the  Regent  should  be  spoken  of 
as  "  condescending "  to  put  on  a 
doctor's  red  gown,  and  "  more  than 
once  to  express  his  approbation  of 
the  arrangements,"  strikes  the  inde- 
pendent mind  of  our  annalist  with 
horror.  The  general  abuse  of  the 
Prince  which  he  takes  occasion  there- 
upon to  introduce,  we  may  pass  over 
with  the  remark  that  its  taste  is  at 
least  as  questionable  as  that  of  the 
academic  courtiers.  Whatever  the 
Regent  was  in  his  private  character, 
he  represented  there  the  majesty  of 
England,  and  in  many  points  repre- 
sented it  with  dignity  and  grace. 
But  the  animus  of  Mr  Jeaffreson's 
strictures  may  be  fairly  judged  of 
from  the  following  passage,  which 
he  quotes  with  a  sneer,  and  with 
italics  of  his  own,  from  Dr  Ingram's 
Memorials — an  author  of  whom  he 
is  good  enough  otherwise  to  speak 
with  patronising  approval  :  —  "I 
don't  like  to  laugh  at  the  worthy 
doctor,"  he  says,  parenthetically,  "for 
his  '  Memorials  of  Oxford '  is  a  capi- 
tal book."  (One  would  have  liked 
to  have  had  poor  Dr  Ingram's  opin- 
ion, had  he  been  living,  of  Mr 
Jeaffreson's  publication.) 

"  The  room  was  filled  with  men  of  rank 
and  eminence  ;  but  among  them  all,  at- 
tention was  particularly  directed  to  the 
veteran  Blucher,  who,  sensible  of  the 
feeling,  rose  and  addressed  the  company 
in  his  native  German  :  which  was  imme- 
diately and  eloquently  translated  into 
English  by  the  Prince  Regent,  omitting 


1871.] 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


725 


only  (with  that  exquisite  good  taste  which 
distinguished  him)  those  parts  which  were 
complimentary  to  himself." 

The  italics,  as  we  have  said,  are 
Mr  Jeaffreson's,  and  we  are  much 
obliged  to  him  for  them — otherwise 
we  might  certainly  have  missed  the 
point  of  the  quotation.  There  are, 
we  dare  to  say,  other  delicate  touches 
of  satire  in  those  Annals  which 
have  been  lost  upon  us  in  the  per- 
usal, merely  for  the  want  of  these 
useful  literary  finger-posts.  Even 
with  their  help,  we  fail  to  see  any- 
thing especially  ludicrous  either  as 
regards  the  Prince  or  Dr  Ingram. 
But  the  undergraduates  of  that  day 
come  in  for  their  share  of  the  lash 
of  this  modern  Diogenes,  for  their 
servility  on  this  occasion. 

'  "The  undergraduates  occupied  their 
crowded  loft  in  full  force,  and  cheered  till 
they  were  hoarse,  when  the  Prince  Re- 
gent, after  walking  on  crimson  cloth  from 
the  Divinity  School  to  the  Theatre,  con- 
descended to  ascend  the  dai's  provided  for 
the  proper  elevation  of  royalty." 

The  class  of  undergraduates  for 
whom  these  volumes  appear  to  have 
been  written,  would  no  doubt  have 
behaved  very  differently,  and  in  a 
manner  to  insure  the  author's  entire 
approbation.  They  would  probably 
have  stopped  the  whole  proceedings 
of  the  day  by  a  storm  of  discordant 
clamour,  mostly  inarticulate,  but, 
whenever  intelligible,  resonant  of 
what  the  London  "gents"  call 
"  chaff,"  and  enlivened  with  bril- 
liant flashes  of  slang  witticism,  such 
as  would  remind  us  of  Mr  Jeaffre- 
son's best  manner.  They  would 
most  likely  have  shown  their  noble 
contempt  for  dignities,  royal  or  aca- 
demic, by  asking  the  Emperor  of 
Russia  for  a  song,  by  making  strong 
personal  remarks  upon  Blucher's 
boots,  and  by  insisting  on  the  ex- 
pulsion from  the  Sheldonian  The- 
atre of  some  foreign  member  of  their 
staff  who  wore  what  they  were 
pleased  to  consider  a  remarkable 


head-dress.  They  would  have  been 
very  far  indeed  from  displaying 
anything  like  servility  towards 
royalty.  They  had  the  hereditary 
successor  of  the  Prince  Regent 
among  them  not  very  long  ago,  and 
Mr  Jeaffreson  must  be  gratified  to 
know  that  some  of  them  were  so 
truly  independent  as  to  call  him 
"  Wales."  Does  it  never  strike  such 
people  that  there  may  be  two  dis- 
tinct developments  of  "  flunkyism  " 
— the  servile  and  the  familiar ;  and 
that  to  some  minds  the  latter  is  the 
infinitely  more  offensive  of  the  two  ? 
When  the  young  shopman  in  your 
own  town  is  so  remarkably  obse- 
quious to  you  behind  his  counter, 
you  don't  think  much  the  worse  of 
him,  and  certainly  not  a  bit  the 
better  of  yourself;  but  if  the  same 
"  gent "  were  to  clap  you  on  the 
back  in  the  street,  and  salute  you  as 
"  old  f 'lar  "  (we  borrow  our  author's 
spelling  of  the  word),  your  personal 
disgust  would  be  very  apt  to  take 
the  form  of  kicking  him. 

But  let  us  return  to  the  earlier 
annals,  and  see  how  Mr  Jeaffreson 
deals  with  that  curious  account  which 
Anthony  a  Wood  (translating  freely 
from  Matthew  of  Paris  and  Thomas 
de  Wyke)  gives  us  of  the  great  riot 
which  took  place  in  the  year  1238, 
between  the  Oxford  scholars  and 
the  retainers  of  Cardinal  Otho,  the 
Pope's  Italian  legate,  who  had  come 
to  make  an  ecclesiastical  visitation  of 
the  University.  The  story  has  been 
so  often  reproduced  that  we  should 
not  trouble  our  readers  with  it,  but 
for  the  opportunity  of  contrasting 
the  old  annalist  with  the  new. 

Otho  and  his  company  lay  at 
Oseney  Abbey,  some  five  miles  off. 
A  deputation  of  the  scholars  waited 
upon  him,  bearing  presents,  after 
the  custom  of  the  day. 

"  But  when  they  came  (not  without 
solemn  procession)  to  the  door  of  the 
Guests'  Hall,  the  porter,  who  was  an  Ita- 
lian belonging  to  the  Cardinal,  spake  with 


726 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


[June 


a  loud  voice  after  the  Roman  fashion  (by 
no  means  fit  and  opportune  in  this  so- 
lemnity), and  rudely  asked  them  their 
business,  what  they  would  have,  what 
they  came  for,  &c.  To  which  the  clerks 
gave  answer,  '  that  they  might  approach 
the  presence  of  the  Lord  Legate,  and  offer 
him  their  devoirs  ;  for  they  confidently 
believed  that  they  should  be  received 
with  honour,  forasmuch  as  they  had  be- 
fore sent  in  their  presents.  But  the  said 
porter,  speaking  tauntingly  to  them,  de- 
nied entrance  with  great  haughtiness  and 
scorn.  The  clerks,  taking  this  for  a  great 
affront,  forcibly  rushed  in  ;  and  those 
Italians,  the  Legate's  servants,  that  would 
have  thrusted  them  back,  and  were  ready 
to  oppose  them  with  their  swords,  they 
beat  with  their  fists  and  their  staves  that 
they  then  had.  While  these  things  were 
in  doing,  it  happened  that  a  certain  poor 
chaplain  of  Ireland,  at  this  time  a  student 
in  the  University,  was  standing  at  the 
kitchen-door,  and,  after  the  manner  of  a 
poor  hunger-starved  wretch,  was  begging 
for  God's  love  some  boon  to  relieve  his 
hungry  stomach;  but  him  when  the 
master  of  the  Legate's  cooks  (brother  to 
the  said  Legate,  whom  he  had  appointed 
in  that  office  lest  poison  should  be  min- 
gled with  his  meat)  heard,  and  not  able 
any  longer,  or  at  least  would  not,  endure 
his  solicitations,  being  at  the  same  time 
or  soon  after  that  the  scholars  had  beaten 
the  Italians,  took  scalding  liquor  out  of  a 
caldron  wherein  some  fat  meat  had  been 
newly  boiled,  and  cast  it  into  his  face. 
A  Welsh  clerk,  who  stood  by  and  beheld 
this  injury,  cried  out — '  Fie  for  shame  ! 
shall  we  suffer  this  ? '  And  so  being  not 
able  to  endure  that  affront  given  to  his 
fellow-academian,  bent  his  bow  which 
he  had  with  him  (for  it  was  now  the 
fashion  for  secular  academians  to  carry 
arms  about  them),  and  shot  the  said 
master  or  clerk  (whom  they  satirically 
called  Nabuzaradan — i.e.,  Magister  Co- 
quorum)  through  the  body  dead  in  the 
place." 

Thus  Wood  tells  the  story — not 
so  well  or  so  simply  as  his  authori- 
ties, yet  well  enough.  And  now 
let  us  hear  Mr  Jeaffreson.  (It  should 
be  remembered  that  Wood  had  a 
fancy  for  Latinising  his  name  into 
"Antonius  a  Bosco,"  which  the  mo- 
dern annalist  turns  to  great  comic 
account.) 

"  The  incidents  to  which  Antonius  a 
Bosco  thus  points  in  language  befitting 
the  historian's  dignity,  I  imagine  to  have 


been  just  these.  To  the  knocking  and 
kicking  against  the  door  of  the  Guests' 
Hall,  whereby  the  peaceful  scholars  pro- 
claimed their  desire  to  enter,  the  porter, 
on  opening  the  wicket,  and  speaking  in  the 
Roman  fashion,  demanded,  'Well,  now, 
what  are  you  doing  here  ? '  '  Doing  ? ' 
answered  the  students,  '  we  have  come 
out  to  Oseney  to  call  on  the  Lord  Legate. ' 
'Have  you?'  retorted  the  official;  'then 
you  may  go  back  again  without  seeing  the 
Lord  Legate.'  '  What !  you  have  taken  our 
presents,'  cried  the  students,  'and  treat 
us  in  this  way!  Your  Lord  Legate  is  a  nice 
fellow.  He  has  housed  the  grub,  and 
won't  give  us  a  crust  in  return.  That  is 
just  like  an  Italian.'  To  which — -still 
speaking  in  the  Roman  fashion — the  por- 
ter responded,  '  Bless  your  imperence ; 
my  Lord  Legate  take  your  trash  !  not  a  bit 
of  it.  The  abbot's  swineherd  gave  your 
presents  to  his  pigs.  There,  get  out  with 
you!  You  are  a  low  lot.'  .  .  . 

"  For  a  few  minutes  the  shindy  was 
universal  and  sanguinary.  Claret  was 
tapped,  eyes  were  blackened,  heads  were 
broken  in  every  direction.  The  Italian 
soldiers  of  the  Legate's  guard  wished  them- 
selves safe  back  in  the  south,  when  the 
storming- party  raised  the  cry  of '  On  to  the 
kitchen !  we'll  see  what  our  Lord's  Legate 
is  going  to  have  for  dinner.'  Whereupon 
the  struggle  was  transferred  to  the  culin- 
ary chambers  of  the  religious  house,  and 
some  smart  fighting  came  off  amongst  the 
pots  and  pans.  But  the  chief  cook, — 
Otho's  own  brother, — was  a  terrible  and 
unscrupulous  adversary.  .  .  .  Irritated 
by  the  jeering  voice  of  an  Irish  scholar, 
who  with  polite  importunity  asked  him 
for  a  warm  plate  of  soup  and  a  mug  of 
wine,  the  satanic  miscreant,  instead  of 
bestirring  himself  to  minister  to  the  phy- 
sical comfort  of  the  Hibernian  chaplain, 
'  took  scalding  liquor  out  of  a  caldron 
wherein  some  fat  meat  had  been  newly 
boiled,  and  cast  it  into  his  face.'  A  cry 
for  vengeance  arose  from  the  scholars  of 
'  Down  with  him !  Up  with  him  !  Fling 
him  in  the  big  copper,  and  boil  him 
into  soup  ! '  In  another  instant  a  Welsh 
scholar,  sympathising  with  his  cousin 
from  the  Emerald  Isle,  drew  his  bow,  and 
shot  the  superlative  cook  dead  as  a  door- 
nail. It  is  not  said  whether  the  scholars 
proceeded  to  boil  him;  but  the  total  si- 
lence of  history  respecting  the  Italian  cai- 
tiffs sepulture  is  circumstantial  evidence 
in  favour  of  the  suggestion  that  the  fero- 
cious Oxonians  cooked  the  cook  and  then 
ate  him." 

The  results  of  the  fray  were  seri- 
ous.    The  Legate,  alarmed  for  his 


1871.] 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


727 


personal  safety,  took  refuge  in  the 
abbey  church  until  nightfall ;  when 
he  "  mounted  the  best  horse  he 
had  " — or,  as  our  comic  annalist  has 
it,  "  threw  his  legs  over  pig-skin" ! — 
and  rode  off  to  King  Henry  III., 
who  was  then  at  Abingdon,  with 
his  complaint.  It  ended  in  an  in- 
terdict being  laid  upon  the  Univer- 
sity, which  the  excellent  Bishop 
Grossteste  had  great  difficulty  in 
getting  removed. 

In  those  earlier  centuries  blows 
were  readily  struck,  and  it  may  be 
easily  conceived  that  the  youth  of 
England  gathered  in  the  University, 
whether  their  numbers  were  nearer 
3000  or  30,000  (the  larger  figures 
have  their  advocates),  were  never 
slow  to  strike  them. 

The  feuds  between  "  Town  and 
Gown"  are  as  ancient  as  the  Uni- 
versity itself.  To  some  extent,  no 
doubt,  the  antagonism  has  its  root 
in  the  nature  of  things.  The  scholar 
and  the  clerk  looked  down  with  a 
certain  contempt  on  the  unlettered 
laic.  He  in  his  turn  could  not  but 
entertain  a  jealousy  of  those  who 
were  not  only  initiated  into  mys- 
teries from  which  he  was  himself 
excluded,  but  were  also  protected  by 
privileges  and  immunities.  The 
life  of  a  cleric,  in  the  days  when  all 
lives  had  their  price,  was  valued  at 
double  that  of  a  layman.  The  homi- 
cide, for  which  in  later  days  the  un- 
educated Englishman  went  to  the 
gallows,  was  condoned  in  the  crimi- 
nal of  whom  it  could  be  said,  when 
the  text  of  the  black-lettered  volume 
was  put  into  his  hands  by  the  of- 
ficer of  the  court — "  Legit  ut  deri- 
cus"  There  was  little  real  attach- 
ment at  any  time  in  England  be- 
tween the  priestly  caste  and  the 
commons.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  ignorant  awe  on  the  part  of  the 
latter  towards  the  former,  and  abun- 
dant hatred,  open  and  concealed, 
but  very  little  love.  And  the  gowns- 
men in  the  University  town,  though 


not  identical  with  the  clergy,  shared 
their  privileges,  and,  in  consequence, 
their  unpopularity.  There  was  also 
the  unavoidable  clashing  of  interests ; 
in  early  times  as  between  landlords 
and  tenants — always  as  between 
sellers  and  buyers.  So  long  as  the 
occupiers  of  the  Halls  rented  them 
from  the  townsmen,  it  was  natural 
for  the  latter  to  seek  to  raise  their 
terms  as  the  demand  for  lodgings 
grew  with  the  growing  University ; 
while  the  tenants  quite  as  naturally 
looked  upon  such  a  process  as  ex- 
tortion. Mr  JeafFreson  is  satirically 
indignant  because  some  kind  of  legal 
tariff  in  such  matters  was  at  last 
enacted,  at  the  instance  of  the  Uni- 
versity authorities,  by  King  Henry 
III.  Though  he  is  very  far  from 
Tory  proclivities  in  general,  he  is 
strongly  of  opinion  that  every  Eng- 
lish landlord  should  be  allowed  to 
do  what  he  will  with  his  own. 
He  tells  us  (drawing  here  entirely, 
it  must  be  remembered,  out  of  the 
wealth  of  his  own  imagination)  that 
when  the  town  landlords  demanded 
an  increase  of  rent,  "  The  prin- 
cipals answered  that,  though  rent 
was  by  its  very  nature  a  thing  ob- 
noxious to  the  philosophic  mind, 
and  scarcely  to  be  endured,  they 
would  consent  to  pay  the  rent 
fixed  in  days  when  house  property 
was  comparatively  valueless,  but 
would  neither  vacate  their  habita- 
tions nor  pay  a  groat  more  for  the 
occupancy  of  them ; "  while  the 
undergraduates  of  those  days,  we 
are  told  (on  the  same  authority), 
"  thought  that,  unless  the  extor- 
tioners would  listen  to  reason  and 
justice,  it  would  be  necessary  to  cut 
the  throat  of  every  landlord  in  Ox- 
ford." Happily  no  such  desperate 
remedy  was  required.  The  King 
was  pleased  to  appoint  four  commis- 
sioners or  taxors,  two  of  the  town 
and  two  of  the  University,  with 
power  to  fix  the  rents,  from  time  to 
time,  at  which  the  halls  or  inns 


723 


Old  and  Neio  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


[June 


should  be  let  to  their  occupants. 
That  these  officers  "discharged  their 
invidious  duties  with  honesty,"  Mr 
Jeaffreson thinks,  "is probable;"  but 
nevertheless  he  looks  upon  the 
royal  decree  as  "  certainly  savouring 
of  spoliation."  It  would  seem  to 
most  persons  as  fair  and  equitable 
an  arrangement  as  could  well  be 
made. 

The  question  of  the  market  price 
of  commodities  was  also  one  upon 
which,  as  buyers  and  sellers,  the 
citizens  and  the  gownsmen  were 
likely  to  disagree.  Demand  and 
supply  could  not  find  their  natural 
level  in  days  when  the  means  of 
communication  were  limited,  and 
when  the  local  merchant  had  a  vir- 
tual monopoly.  Laws  in  restraint  of 
trade,  which  political  economists  now 
laugh  at,  were  then  almost  a  neces- 
sary of  legislation.  The  price  of 
wine,  of  beer,  of  butcher's  meat,  and 
such  necessaries  of  life,  had  to  be 
fixed  by  law,  not  always  to  the  satis- 
faction of  the  purveyors  ;  and  even 
the  tailors'  bills  were  subject  to  sta- 
tutory regulations  as  to  price.  Thus 
the  University  from  the  beginning 
took  up  a  position  of  antagonism, 
which,  however  necessary  in  self- 
defence,  helped  to  separate  still 
wider  the  interests  of  the  town 
and  the  gown.  It  might  have 
been  supposed  that,  inasmuch  as 
the  wealth  and  prosperity  of  the 
city  arose  out  of  and  depended 
upon  the  presence  of  the  University 
within  its  walls,  the  citizens  would 
have  regarded  the  gownsmen  as 
their  most  substantial  friends.  But 
it  has  never  been  so  at  any  period. 
Class  jealousy  has  been  stronger 
even  than  self-interest;  and  not 
even  the  danger,  more  than  once 
imminent,  of  the  whole  scholastic 
body  migrating  to  Northampton  or 
to  Stamford,  and  condemning  the 
streets  of  Oxford  to  a  perpetual 
long  vacation,  could  suffice  to  make 
the  municipal  body  regard  their 


guests  in  any  other  light  than  as 
an  alien  army  of  occupation,  whose 
money  it  was  good  to  take,  and 
whose  presence,  therefore,  must  be 
endured.  Not  that  the  fault  lay 
altogether  with  the  citizens.  There 
is  an  insolence  inherent,  it  would 
seem,  in  the  student-life,  whether 
English,  Spanish,  or  German,  in- 
separable from  it  at  all  periods  of 
its  history.  The  German  bursch 
terms  the  whole  non-academic  world 
Philistines,  and  his  fellows  at  Ox- 
ford or  Cambridge  regard  it  in  much 
the  same  light ;  a  feeling  which  the 
other  party  is  not  slow  to  detect, 
and  does  not  fail  to  return  in  its 
own  fashion.  For  this  reason,  per- 
haps, more  than  any  other,  when 
the  University  of  Oxford  clung  to 
what  was  left  of  Romanism,  the 
town  was  Puritan  ;  when  the  Uni- 
versity was  in  arms  for  the  King, 
the  townsmen  were  almost  unani- 
mously Roundheads ;  when  the 
University  pronounces  for  Conser- 
vatism, the  town  feels  it  a  point  of 
honour  to  return  two  Radicals. 

In  our  peaceful  times,  the  strug- 
gles between  these  two  bodies — so 
closely  united,  and  yet  so  widely 
separated — are  confined  chiefly  to 
politics,  national  or  local;  a  fight 
of  words,  in  the  matter  of  parochial 
rates,  or  the  election  of  a  school 
board — that  new  apple  of  discord 
thrown  down  by  a  provident  Legis- 
lature. But  in  the  earlier  days  of 
Oxford  the  fighting  was  in  bloody 
earnest — commonly  arising  out  of 
some  trifling  incident,  but  which 
the  perpetual  jealousy  easily  made 
cause  of  quarrel.  The  weapons,  too, 
were  always  at  hand.  In  spite 
of  statutes  enacted  and  re-enacted 
against  the  carrying  arms  by  the 
members  of  the  University,  it  was  a 
scholar  of  a  very  poor  spirit  who  did 
not  wear  his  dagger  somewhere  about 
him ;  or  who,  even  if,  out  of  fear  of 
the  Chancellor,  he  did  not  carry  his 
cross-bow  openly  in  the  High  Street, 


1871.] 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


729 


failed  to  have  it  handy  in  his  cham- 
ber. In  days  when  the  fashion  of 
going  armed  was  common  to  men  of 
every  social  rank  but  the  lowest, 
it  was  to  be  expected  that  the  Uni- 
versity student  should  chafe  against 
the  prohibition  in  his  own  excep- 
tional case.  The  students  at  King's 
College,  Aberdeen,  appear  to  have 
been  specially  ingenious  in  the 
variety  of  the  weapons  which  they 
adopted,  in  order  to  evade  the  let- 
ter of  the  prohibition ;  so  that  the 
statute  had  to  recite  in  detail  a 
list  of  forbidden  implements  under 
names,  many  of  which  are  quite 
incomprehensible  to  an  English 
reader.*  An  inventory  which  Mr 
Anstey  gives  us  of  the  goods  and 
chattels  of  a  scholar  of  the  fifteenth 
century  might  shock  the  luxurious 
tastes  of  a  modern  Oxonian.  One 
chair,  a  couple  of  tables,  and  a  few 
three-legged  stools,  comprise  the 
furniture;  the  library  is  what  a 
clever  auctioneer  might  call  "  small 
but  well  selected ; "  two  books  of 
homilies,  Boethius'  Commentaries 
on  Aristotle  and  Porphyry,  a  book 
of  geometry,  and  Ovid's  '  Remedium 
Amoris  ; '  an  "  ancient  gittern  "  and 
"  a  broken  lute "  are  an  almost 
pathetic  record  of  tastes — never  too 
common  in  the  University — which 
the  owner  for  some  reason  seems 
to  have  neglected ;  but  we  find 
there  the  indispensable  "  sword," 
the  pair  of  daggers,  and  the  "  bow 
with  twenty  arrows.''  Our  annalist 
describes  the  state  of  things  in  a 
style  which  we  think  we  are  justi- 
fied in  considering  highly  "  comic." 

"  Even  the  chubby-cheeked  boy  of  an 
Oxford  grammar-hall  had  his  bit  of  steel, 
which  in  times  of  riot  he  dreamed  of 
plunging  into  the  fat  body  of  the  vendor 
of  sweetmeats  who  had  impudently  de- 
clined to  supply  him  with  toffy  on  tick. " 


Mr  Jeaffreson,  as  we  have  been 
already  assured  by  himself,  has  a 
mysterious  insight  into  the  thoughts 
of  medieval  Oxford  which  is  de- 
nied to  other  men;  otherwise  we 
might  have  hoped  that  a  love  of 
toffy  was  inconsistent  with  such 
bloody-minded  aspirations.  School- 
boys, however,  both  in  and  out  of 
Oxford,  did  carry  swords  occasion- 
ally, even  down  to  a  much  later 
date.  When  the  future  Earl  of 
Mansfield  entered  "Westminster 
School  in  1716,  he  bought  a  sword 
amongst  other  articles  of  his  outfit. 
But  such  weapons  were  as  innocent 
of  slaughter  as  those  which  the  upper 
boys  at  Eton,  within  our  own  recol- 
lection, wore  on  the  '  Montem '  day, 
and  with  which  they  dealt  destruc- 
tion to  the  flowers  in  Botham's  gar- 
dens at  Salt-hill. 

But  swords  were  drawn  in  earnest, 
and  blood  shed  too  often,  in  the 
fifteenth  century,  between  the  citi- 
zens and  the  scholars  of  Oxford. 
The  first  great  quarrel  of  which  we 
have  any  trustworthy  record,  arose, 
as  more  than  one  such  disturbance 
has  in  later  times,  out  of  the  exuber- 
ant loyalty  of  the  "  gown."  Prince 
Edward,  son  of  Henry  III.,  was 
returning  from  France,  and  passed 
through  Oxford  on  his  route  towards 
the  "Welsh  marches.  The  townsmen, 
whose  sympathies  were  on  the  side 
of  the  barons,  shut  the  gates  against 
him,  and  he  had  to  make  his  way 
through  the  northern  suburbs  to  the 
King's  Hall,  in  St  Mary  Magdalen 
parish,  where  he  was  to  take  up  his 
quarters  for  the  night.  The  scholars, 
shut  within  the  city,  were  thus  "  de- 
nied a  sight  of  their  prince,"  which 
was  more  than  loyal  blood  could 
bear.  They  came  in  force  to  Smith- 
gate,  and  demanded  leave  to  pass 
out.  One  of  the  city  bailiffs,  on 


*  Gladios  pugiones  sicas  machseras  rhomphaeas  acinaces  fustes,  prsesertim  si  prse- 
ferrati  vel  plumbati  sint,  veruta  missilia  tela  sclopos  tormenta  bombardas  balistas." 
— '  Fasti  Aberdonenses,'  quoted  in  Burton's  '  Scot  Abroad,'  p.  262. 


730 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


[June 


duty  there,  refused.  The  gownsmen 
retired,  but  only  to  come  again  in 
greater  force  armed  with  axes,  sledge- 
hammers, and  bows  and  arrows  seiz- 
ed from  the  shops  of  the  fletchers. 
They  began  to  break  upon  the  gates ; 
until  the  mayor  arrived  upon  the 
scene  with  the  town-guard,  arrested 
the  ringleaders,  and  put  them  in 
prison.  The  Chancellor  of  the  Uni- 
versity demanded  that  they  should 
be  set  at  liberty.  But  in  reply,  the 
mayor  and  his  fellow-townsmen  ap- 
peared in  the  High  Street  under  arms 
and  with  banners  flying, — intending, 
as  they  probably  would  have  said, 
to  maintain  their  privilege  of  shut- 
ting or  opening  their  own  gates ;  or, 
as  the  scholars  said,  to  attack  their 
inns  and  halls,  and  "  to  beat,  wound, 
and  despitefully  use"  the  inmates, 
who  were  all  at  that  hour  sitting 
quietly  at  dinner.  As  the  scholars 
naturally  had  the  writing  of  the 
history  of  the  affray,  we  are  obliged 
to  follow,  perhaps  rather  too  blindly, 
their  version  of  it.  Fortunately  a 
certain  clerk  espied  the  town  force 
near  All  Saints  Church,  and  rang  the 
"scholar's  bell"  of  St  Mary's  to  sum- 
mon his  fellows.  It  had  not  rung 
a  minute,  says  the  chronicler,  when 
the  rush  of  students  from  all  quarters 
—  "leaving  their  meat,"  and  arm- 
ing themselves  hastily  with  bows, 
swords,  bills,  and  slings  —  over- 
powered the  mayor  and  his  follow- 
ers, and  drove  them  back  into  their 
quarters  sore  wounded  and  discom- 
fited. Then  the  victors  proceeded  to 
retaliate.  They  scoured  the  streets, 
sacked  the  houses  of  obnoxious 
townsmen,  and  "  did  what  pleased 
them  without  any  opposition ;"  and 
what  it  pleases  a  body  of  riotous  aca- 
demics, mostly  young,  and  flushed 
with  victory  over  their  opponents,  is 
much  the  same,  allowing  for  specific 
differences,  in  all  times.  They  burnt 
the  house  of  one  of  the  provosts 
down  to  the  ground.  "  Then  to  the 
house  of  William  le  Espycer,  the 


other  provost,  which  being  situated 
in  the  Spycery,  they  broke  it  up  with 
all  the  spicery  itself  from  one  end 
to  the  other."  The  mayor  fared  no 
better :  he  was  a  vintner  by  trade, 
and  lived  in  the  Vintry — "which 
place  also  they  brake  up,  drank  as 
much  wine  as  they  could,  and 
wasted  the  rest." 

It  must  have  been  long  before 
the  memory  of  such  a  scene  would 
have  died  out  among  the  citizens  of 
Oxford.  As  it  was,  the  feud  awoke 
again  within  the  same  generation. 
A  citizen  of  some  mark,  John  Mete- 
scharpe,  had  been  killed  by  some 
gownsmen  in  one  of  the  many  brawls 
that  were  continually  occurring, 
and  the  homicides  escaped  by  flight. 
The  vengeance  of  the  townsmen 
smouldered  for  some  days,  breaking 
out  only  here  and  there  in  sundry 
personal  assaults.  At  last  both 
parties,  as  if  by  preconcerted  arrange- 
ment, turned  out  into  the  streets  in 
armed  force,  and  were  only  separated 
for  the  time  by  the  exertions  of  the 
Chancellor  of  the  University.  This 
was  on  a  Friday :  on  the  Sunday 
evening,  the  townsmen,  headed  by 
their  aldermen,  attacked  some  of  the 
collegiate  halls,  destroyed  the  furni- 
ture, and  burnt  the  books.  On  the 
Monday  morning  the  battle  was  re- 
newed in  earnest.  The  bell  of  St 
Martin's  rang  at  dawn  to  call  the 
townsmen  to  arms ;  the  bell  of  St 
Mary's,  the  tocsin  of  the  gown, 
speedily  answered  it.  The  rustics 
from  the  villages  round  flocked  in 
to  help  the  citizens  against  the  de- 
tested scholars,  who  were  already 
parading  the  streets,  fully  armed,  in 
that  defiant  fashion  which  even  in 
our  more  peaceful  days  is  character- 
istic of  their  order.  The  proctors 
succeeded  for  a  while  in  procuring 
an  armistice  between  the  parties,  but 
at  nine  o'clock  the  fight  began  in 
the  High  Street,  and  continued  for 
many  hours.  The  gown  were  led  by 
a  warlike  priest,  Fulke  de  Kermite, 


1871.] 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


731 


rector  of  Pightlesthorne  in  Berk- 
shire, and  for  some  time  had  the 
best  of  the  fray.  But  as  they  were 
storming  the  house  of  one  of  the 
citizens,  the  owner  drew  a  bow  from 
an  upper  window,  and  the  fighting 
churchman  received  an  arrow  through 
the  eye  into  his  brain.  He  was 
carried  off  the  field  only  to  die,  and 
the  gownsmen  seem  to  have  lost 
their  courage  with  the  loss  of  their 
leader.  They  were  beaten  back  into 
their  halls  and  inns,  and  many  took 
sanctuary  in  the  churches,  only  to  be 
dragged  out  and  maltreated  by  their 
infuriated  enemies.  Again  we  must 
remember  that  the  men  and  not  the 
lions  are  the  painters :  we  have  only 
the  gown's  version  of  the  matter, 
because  only  the  gown  had  clerkly 
skill  to  record  it ;  and  when  we 
read  that  the  Eoyal  Commission 
which  sat  to  inquire  into  the  matter 
decided  that  the  town  were  alto- 
gether in  the  wrong,  and  that  the 
Bishop  of  Lincoln  excommunicated 
such  of  the  citizens  as  were  proved 
to  have  taken  part  in  the  fray,  and 
that  the  city  was  compelled  to  pay 
a  priest  to  sing  for  the  soul  of  Fulke 
de  Nermite,  we  so  far  agree  with  Mr 
Jeaffreson  as  to  think  it  possible 
that,  if  we  could  have  the  towns- 
men's annals  before  us,  we  might 
see  justice  was  in  those  days  rather 
one-sided  when  the  University  was 
concerned. 

But  the  great  fight,  whose  bitter 
memories  have  never  wholly  died 
away  in  the  city  of  Oxford,  was  half 
a  century  later,  on  St  Scholastica's 
Day  (February  10th),  1355.  The 
results  of  this  are  perhaps  more  gen- 
erally known,  and  the  details  may 
be  found  in  the  pages  of  Anthony 
Wood,  or  may  be  read  (with  a  comic 
introduction)  in  those  of  Mr  Jeaffre- 
son. Again  the  country-folk,  against 
whose  entrance  a  party  of  the  gown 
in  vain  tried  to  keep  the  west  gates, 


burst  into  the  city  carrying  a  black 
flag,  with  the  war-cry  of — "  Slay, 
slay!  Havoc,  havoc  !"  The  towns- 
men had  the  best  of  it,  and  there  is 
little  doubt  but  that  they  abused 
their  victory  unmercifully.  Forty 
scholars  are  said  to  have  lost  their 
lives.  Some  of  those  taken  pris- 
oners are  said  to  have  been  scalped, 
in  mockery  of  the  clerical  tonsure. 
Crucifixes  and  holy  vessels  were 
torn  from  the  churches,  and  pro- 
faned by  a  drunken  mob.  On  this 
last  occasion,  at  least,  the  better 
part  of  the  citizens  were  ashamed  of 
the  excesses  which  had  been  com- 
mitted, and  shocked  at  the  num- 
ber of  the  victims.  The  Sheriff  of 
Oxfordshire  was  dismissed  from  his 
office.  An  interdict  laid  upon  the 
city  was  only  removed  by  the  con- 
sent of  the  authorities  to  an  inden- 
ture under  the  University  and  city 
seals,  by  which  the  mayor,  bailiffs, 
and  chief  citizens  to  the  number  of 
sixty-two,  bound  themselves  to  ap- 
pear annually  at  mass  in  St  Mary's 
Church  on  the  fatal  day  of  St 
Scholastica,  and  offer  there  each  a 
penny,  and  also  to  pay  a  yearly 
fine  of  a  hundred  marks,  which 
latter  obligation  was  subsequently 
relaxed  on  condition  of  the  due  ful- 
filment of  the  former.*  The  citizens 
always  chafed  sorely  against  this 
ordinance,  under  whatever  modifica- 
tion. (It  came  at  last  to  a  simple 
attendance  at  the  reading  of  the 
Litany.)  But  though  thus  modi- 
fied by  consent  of  the  University 
from  time  to  time,  it  continued 
actually  in  force  within  the  memory 
of  this  present  generation.  In  1800, 
the  hundred  marks  were  sued  for 
and  recovered  from  the  Mayor  of 
Oxford  for  making  default.  At 
last,  in  1825,  the  University,  at 
the  request  of  the  Town  Council, 
gracefully  consented  to  waive  a 
ceremony  which  only  served  to 


See  the  documents  printed  in  Anstey's  Munimenta,  p.  194-202. 


732 


Old  and  Neio  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


[June 


keep  up  the  memory  of  an  unhappy 
feud  of  ages  past,  and  could  not  but 
be  regarded  by  the  citizens  in  the 
light  of  a  humiliation.  It  was  far 
better  that  St  Scholastica  should 
be  forgotten,  instead  of  being  kept 
in  this  anything  but  pious  remem- 
brance, both  by  gown  and  town. 
Let  us  hope  that  the  latter  will  not 
also  think  it  necessary  to  forget  the 
warm  acknowledgments  which  they 
then  formally  made  for  an  "  act  of 
grace  and  favour." 

The  spirit  of  pugnacity  showed 
itself  quite  as  strongly  amongst  the 
medieval  scholars  in  their  feuds 
between  themselves,  as  in  those 
which  they  carried  on  with  the 
citizens.  The  original  cause  of 
these  internal  wars  lay,  as  has  been 
the  case  with  most  of  the  wars  of 
history,  in  differences  of  race.  One 
explanation  of  the  term  "  Univer- 
sity," as  applied  to  these  seats  of 
learning,  is,  that  it  denoted  their 
cosmopolitan  character.  They  were 
open  to  all  comers,  from  all  parts  of 
the  earth.  The  love  of  letters  was 
to  be  the  sole  and  sufficient  bond  of 
\inion.  It  was  found  by  no  means 
sufficient,  however,  in  practice  ;  and 
in  the  great  University  of  Paris, 
which  was  the  original  and  mother 
of  most  others  in  Europe,  the 
students  who  flocked  in  from  all 
quarters  soon  ranged  themselves 
into  "  Nations,"  bound  together  by 
common  habits  of  life  and  a  com- 
mon language,  which  the  use  of  the 
scholastic  Latin,  enjoined  upon  all 
the  body  in  order  to  fuse  such  dis- 
cordant elements,  could  never  prac- 
tically supersede.  Similar  lines  of 
demarcation  existed  both  at  Bologna 
and  at  Prague.  The  Nations  at 
Paris  were  four  :  the  French,  which 
comprised  under  it,  as  "  Provinces," 
the  Spaniards,  the  Greeks,  and  the 
Italians ;  the  English,  under  which 
were  ranked  as  Provinces  the  Bri- 
tons, the  Irish,  the  Germans,  and  the 
Scandinavians ;  the  Normans  ;  and 


thePicardins.  This  division  into  Na- 
tions passed  from  the  University  of 
Paris  to  those  of  Scotland  and  Eng- 
land. At  Aberdeen  and  Glasgow, 
which  followed  the  French  model 
more  closely  than  their  English  sis- 
ters, the  Nations  still  survive — 
nations  in  name,  though  really  pro- 
vincial divisions.  Aberdeen  has 
its  Mar,  Angus,  Buchan,  and  Moray ; 
Glasgow  students  are  divided  into 
the  Natio  Glottiana  (Clydesdale), 
Transforthiana  (or  Albana),  Lou- 
doniana,  and  Rothseiana;  and  the 
University  of  St  Andrews  recog- 
nises somewhat  similar  divisions. 
These  local  names  serve  to  designate, 
more  or  less  strictly,  the  different 
parts  of  Scotland  in  which  the 
students  happen  to  be  born;  but 
the  authorities  of  Glasgow  are 
liberal  enough  to  admit  into  the 
Loudoniana  all  England  and  the 
colonies,  while  the  Angusiani  at 
Aberdeen  include  the  whole  world 
south  of  the  Grampians.  Mr  Jeaf- 
freson  is  pleased  to  sneer  at  what 
he  calls  the  "piquant  pomposity" 
of  Professor  Huber  in  applying  the 
term  "  Nations  "  to  the  Oxford  fac- 
tions ;  but  if  he  had  taken  the  trouble 
to  refer  to  the  University  records,  as 
published  by  Mr  Anstey,  he  would 
find  that  such  is  their  official  and 
historical  designation.  At  Oxford 
and  at  Cambridge  the  recognised 
Nations  seem  never  to  have  been 
more  than  two,  "Australes"  and 
"  Boreales  "  —  Northernmen  and 
Southernmen  —  the  river  Trent 
being  the  line  of  demarcation.  But 
there  were  also  provincial  bodies, 
ranging  under  one  of  these  two 
Nations,  and  not  always  under  the 
same.  The  Scotch  students,  when 
it  came  to  fighting,  usually  joined 
the  Northern  Englishmen,  as  we 
should  naturally  suppose,  while  the 
Irish  and  Welsh  did  battle  for  the 
Southerns.  Not  that  these  last  seem 
to  have  been  over-scrupulous  as  to 
which  side  they  took;  they  were  in 


1871.] 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


733 


the  habit  of  attacking  each  other 
quite  as  furiously  upon  occasion  as 
the  common  and  traditional  enemy. 
Both  Irish  and  Welsh  scholars  bore 
but  an  indifferent  reputation  in  the 
medieval  University.  They  were 
poor,  and  they  were  quarrelsome. 
Of  the  Irish  there  appear  to  have 
been  great  numbers  at  Oxford,  in- 
somuch that  it  was  called  "  Gym- 
nasium Hibernorum."  They  lived 
for  the  most  part,  for  the  sake  of 
cheapness  probably,  in  private  lodg- 
ings —  the  "  unattached  "  students 
of  their  day — and  thus  were  little 
subject  to  academical  rule  and  dis- 
cipline. To  such  an  extent  did  the 
evil  of  this  loose  and  independent 
way  of  life  affect  the  University, 
that  in  the  time  of  Henry  V.  an 
edict  was  issued,  that,  "  for  the 
quietness  and  peace  within  the 
realm  of  England,"  "all  Irishmen 
and  Irish  clerks  beggars,  called 
chamberdekyns,  be  voyded  out  the 
realm."  The  "Welsh  were  also  a 
troublesome  element,  though  not  so 
many  in  number ;  but  the  hot  Cam- 
brian blood  showed  always  very 
prominently  iu  a  riot.  It  was  a  Welsh 
and  an  Irish  scholar — though  their 
names  are  unhappily  lost  to  fame — 
who  had  shot  the  Legate's  cook. 
"  Madoc  of  Wales "  is  one  of  the 
two  clerks  whose  violence  gave  rise 
to  the  great  riot  of  1297  ;  and  in  the 
fight  on  the  Beaumont,  a  hundred 
years  later,  between  the  old  factions 
of  North  and  South  (which  took 
place,  strange  to  say,  on  a  day  fixed 
for  the  purpose,  if  we  may  trust 
the  chronicler  *  ),  it  is  the  Welsh- 
men who  suffer  especially  from  the 
vengeance  of  the  conquerors,  as  no 
doubt  they  had  been  foremost  in  the 
fray.  "  Sley  the  Walsh  doggys  and 
her  whelyps  !"  shouted  the  North- 
erners, as  they  hunted  them  out  of 
their  inns  and  halls,  drove  them 


beyond  the  city  walls,  and  treated 
such  as  they  could  catch  with  bar- 
barous indignities.  The  spirit  of 
faction  divided  also  the  Cambro- 
Britons  amongst  themselves,  and 
the  men  of  North  and  South  Wales 
were  ready  to  fight  each  other  when 
they  were  not  summoned  to  make 
common  causeagainst  the  "Saesneg." 
They  herded  together  in  separate 
halls;  and  when  Dr  Hugh  Price, 
by  grace  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  at 
last  gathered  them  together  in 
Jesus  College,  the  old  wall  of  par- 
tition was  by  no  means  effectually 
thrown  down.  The  North  Wales 
men  continued,  down  to  a  time  quite 
within  living  memory,  to  look  up- 
on their  southern  fellow-collegians 
as  little  better  than  half  English, 
not  of  the  true  Cymry — mere  Sama- 
ritans, in  short.  This  feeling  was  by 
no  means  confined  to  the  younger 
members  of  the  body;  fellowships, 
scholarships,  and  exhibitions  were 
founded  from  time  to  time  by  Welsh- 
men for  Welshmen,  but  carefully 
limited  to  the  counties  of  North  or 
South  Wales,  according  to  the  ante- 
cedents of  the  founder.  The  Scots 
at  Oxford  were  feAver — for  they  soon 
had  universities  of  their  own — and 
were,  it  would  appear,  less  turbulent 
and  demonstrative.  But  they  were 
hardly  less  unpopular  there  in  the 
fifteenth  century,  if  we  may  judge 
from  a  record  of  the  Vice-Chancellor's 
Court,  by  which  it  appears  that  the 
then  Principal  of  White  Hall  had  to 
appear  and  clear  himself  of  the  ter- 
rible imputation  that  he  was  a  Scots- 
man— making  oath  (and  bringing 
three  Masters  of  Arts  as  witnesses  to 
prove)  that  both  he  and  his  parents 
were  of  true  English  descent,  t  The 
chronic  state  of  war  between  Eng- 
land and  Scotland  at  this  period  is 
quite  sufficient  to  account  for  this 
antipathy. 


*  Knyghton  De  Event.  Angl.  v.  (p.  2375,  Twysden). 
t  Austey's  Munimenta  Univ.  Oxon.,  p.  587. 


734 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


[June 


The  effects  of  the  same  limited 
form  of  patriotism  remain  to  this 
day  in  such  of  the  close  fellowships, 
as  they  are  called,  as  have  survived 
the  sweeping  reforms  of  the  late 
University  Commission.  The  early 
founders  and  henefactors  limited 
their  bounty  in  most  cases  to  their 
own  diocese,  or  their  own  district, 
or  their  own  county.  These  limita- 
tions had  a  natural  tendency  to  re- 
produce themselves.  The  original 
founder  of  Queen's  College  thought 
his  northern  countrymen  ill  provided 
for  in  the  way  of  endowments,  and 
he  accordingly  enjoined  the  special 
choice  of  men  from  Cumberland  and 
"Westmoreland  to  fill  his  fellowships. 
Whereupon  a  subsequent  benefac- 
tor limits  his  "exhibitions"  to  those 
born  within  the  diocese  of  Canter- 
bury. Patriotic  Welshmen,  observ- 
ing that  their  brethren  were  excluded 
by  the  accident  of  birth  from  many 
of  the  good  things  of  the  University, 
endowed  the  new  college  of  Jesus 
from  time  to  time  with  benefactions 
in  which  none  but  Welshmen  were 
to  share,  and  gradually  contrived  so 
to  narrow  the  original  foundation 
that  only  one  fellowship  out  of  the 
nineteen  remained  open  to  an  Eng- 
lishman. 

The  rival  interests  of  North  and 
South  within  the  University  were 
the  original  cause  of  existence  of 
those  well-known  academic  autho- 
rities, the  Proctors.  The  four  Na- 
tions at  Paris,  and  the  two  Na- 
tions of  Oxford,  were  accustomed 
to  appoint  each  their  Procurator, 
for  the  due  maintenance  of  their  re- 
spective rights,  privileges,  and  inter- 
ests. These  officers  had  the  charge 
of  the  moneys  belonging  to  the  Uni- 
versity, and  especially  of  such  as 
were  left  in  trust  by  benefactors  for 
the  purpose  of  being  lent  out  to 
poor  scholars  in  order  to  assist  them 
in  the  prosecution  of  their  studies. 


It  was  their  business  to  see  that  in 
the  distribution  of  these  North  and 
South  had  each  their  due.  To  this 
guardianship  of  the  public  rights  of 
the  Nation,  and  the  duty  of  seeing 
the  same  rights  impartially  main- 
tained at  all  University  elections, 
which  seems  to  have  been  their  ori- 
ginal function,  there  was  added  by 
degrees  a  sort  of  general  public  cen- 
sorship. They  were  to  see  that  the 
scholars  came  in  good  time  to  the 
public  lectures,  and  wore  the  pro- 
per scholastic  habit  and  tonsure ;  fea- 
tures of  their  office  which  still  sur- 
vive in  an  occasional  reprimand  ad- 
ministered to  an  undergraduate  who 
may  be  met  on  a  Sunday  morning 
going  distinctly  not  the  right  way  to 
the  University  sermon  at  St  Mary's, 
or  wearing  "  beaver "  in  the  High 
Street  at  hours  when  he  is  supposed 
to  be  at  lecture.  They  were  also 
charged  to  see  that  no  scholar  paid 
exorbitant  charges  either  to  college 
manciples  or  to  his  tailor ;  a  branch 
of  their  duty  which,  it  is  quite  need- 
less to  say,  has  fallen  wholly  into 
disuse,  and  is  far  too  practical  and 
rational  a  point  of  reform  to  be  taken 
up  by  our  modern  university  reform- 
ers. The  Proctors  also  became  the 
guardians  of  the  public  peace  of  the 
University.  It  was  their  business  to 
see  that  there  were  no  deadly  wea- 
pons worn,  and  no  street  rows  in- 
dulged in.  This  was  originally  a 
distinct  duty  intrusted  to  a  certain 
number  of  Masters  of  Arts,  who 
were  called  "Begents  of  the  Streets," 
and  had  their  separate  districts  as- 
signed them.*  There  were  thirty- 
one  of  these  appointed  in  1278. 
In  those  turbulent  days,  the  pair  of 
Proctors,  even  with  their  four  Pro- 
proctors  and  four  "bull-dogs,"  would 
have  been  a  wholly  insufficient 
force  to  keep  order.  It  was  a  very 
dangerous  business  for  these  officials 
to  walk  the  streets  at  night  when 


*  Anstey,  p.  38. 


1871.] 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


735 


either  gown  or  town  were  in  a  pug- 
nacious  mood,  as   they  very  com- 
monly were.     A  shot  at  the  Proctor 
(as  in  some  sort  a  common  enemy) 
seems  to  have  been  by  no  means  an 
unusual  mode  of  displaying  spirit  on 
the  part  of  the  roisterers  who  were 
out  for  the  evening ;  much  as  "  beat- 
ing the  watch"  was  a  popular  amuse- 
ment with  their  successors  not  a  hun- 
dred years  ago.     As    in  the    more 
modern  case,  it  was  held  to  be  an  of- 
fence more  or  less  venial,  sufficiently 
punished  by  fine  and  imprisonment 
in  the  case  of  a  scholar,  or  banish- 
ment from  the  University  precincts 
in  the  case  of  a  citizen.     In  1314, 
according  to  Anthony  a  "Wood,  the 
men  of  Merton,  who  were  South- 
erners, turned  the  Northern  Proctor 
out  of  the  University,  and  elected 
a   Chancellor  by  force.     In  1540, 
after  a  riot  in  which  the  Principal 
of  Hart  Hall  was  killed,  a  special 
statute  empowered  the  Senior  Proc- 
tor to  carry  a  dagger  for  his  own 
personal  protection,  all  University 
statutes  notwithstanding.    When  se- 
riously wounded,  as  the   Southern 
Proctor  was  in  1452,  in  trying  to  me- 
diate in  a  fray  between  the  men  of 
Peckwater   and   St   Edward   Hall, 
he  had  his  expenses    paid  by  the 
University:   which  indeed  was   so 
liberal   as   to   engage   to    pay   the 
same  to   "his   heirs  and  assigns" 
if  he  died  (we  find  no  record  of. 
any  Proctor  being  actually  killed). 
When  by  degrees  the  spirit  of  pro- 
vincial rivalry  died   out,  the   two 
Proctors  were  still  elected  by  vote 
from  the  whole  University ;  and  the 
canvass  was  as  lively,  and  the  elec- 
tion as  uproarious,  as  any  that  ever 
took  place  for  members  of  Parlia- 
ment.    The  successful  candidates  in 
1594  enjoyed  the  perilous  honour 
of  being  carried  home  to  their  col- 
leges in  chairs  on  the  shoulders  of 
the  Masters  of  Arts.   Not  until  1 629, 
in   order  probably  to   avoid    such 
scenes,  was  what  is  known  as  the 


Caroline  Cycle  introduced,  by  which 
the  appointment  to  the  Proctor's  office 
was  assigned  to  the  different  colleges 
in  rotation,  according  to  their  respec- 
tive numbers  at  the  time. 

It  would  be  quite  a  mistake  to 
suppose   that   the   scholars   of  the 
medieval  universities  devoted  them- 
selves   exclusively   to    study,    any 
more   than   they   do  at  present, — 
which  latter  supposition  is  not  so 
likely  to  be  entertained.     Then,  as 
now,  there  were  studious  members, 
who  made  the  most  of  their  oppor- 
tunities, and  whose  learning,  though 
of  a  different  type  from  ours,  was 
the   result    of    at   least    as    much 
honest   and   painful  labour.     And 
then,  as  now,  there  were  so-called 
students   whose   habits   were    any- 
thing   but    studious,    and    whose 
tastes   were    more    barbarous,   and 
whose    ignorance    was    necessarily 
greater  than  that  of  the  idlest  of 
our  modern  "  fast "  undergraduates. 
The  frequent    faction  -  fights    have 
been  already  noticed  as  a  remark- 
able   feature    of    medieval   Oxford 
life.     The  drinking,  the  gambling, 
and,  above  all,  the  poaching  which 
went  on,  leave  us  little  to  regret  in 
those  "  good  old  times."     The  men 
of  Magdalen  College  (who  retained 
something  of  a  sporting  reputation 
down  to  modern  days)  made  very 
free  with  the  deer  in  the  forest  of 
Shotover.      When    the    lieutenant 
of  the   county,   Lord   Norreys,   in 
Elizabeth's   later  days,  imprisoned 
some  of  them  who  had  been  taken 
in  the  fact,  their  fellow-collegians 
attacked  him  in  his  lodgings  at  the 
Bear  Inn  during  the  sessions  ;  and 
when  the  riot  was  with  difficulty 
appeased  by  the  University  autho- 
rities,  the   Magdalen  men   carried 
stones  up  into  their  college  tower, 
and  hurled  them  down  upon  their 
enemy  and  his  retinue  as  they  were 
passing   over  the  bridge   on   their 
way  home  to  Ricot ;  and  "  if  my 
lord  had  not  been  in  his  coach,"  says 


736 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


[June 


the  narrator,  "he  would  certainly 
have  been  killed."  The  poaching 
was  not  confined  to  the  younger 
members  of  the  University.  In  the 
previous  century  we  find  the  vicar 
of  St  Peter' s-in-the-East  obliged  to 
enter  in  recognisances  to  abstain 
from  it  in  future ;  but  this  was 
not  the  only  scandal  which  he 
caused  the  gown.  In  point  of 
fact,  partly  because  the  residence  of 
the  Masters  of  Arts  within  the  Uni- 
versity was  much  longer  continued 
in  those  earlier  times,  and  partly 
because  of  the  rude  temper  of  the 
age,  and,  it  must  be  added,  the 
lax  morality  of  the  clergy,  we  find 
the  most  troublesome  disturbers  of 
academic  peace  among  those  who 
wore  the  graduate's  hood  and  the 
priest's  tonsure.  A  disorderly 
Master  of  Arts,  whether  lay  or 
clerical,  is  happily  a  rare  pheno- 
menon now  in  Oxford ;  he  was  by 
no  means  so  in  those  centuries. 
The  vicars  of  St  Mary's  and  St 
Giles's  appear  as  disorderlies  in  the 
Chancellor's  court  in  the  very  same 
year  (1457)  as  their  brother  of  St 
Peter's.  The  Warden  of  Canterbury 
College  has  to  submit  to  the  correc- 
tion of  the  Chancellor's  Commissary 
for  having  instigated  his  servant  to 
steal,  in  the  public  street,  the  beer 
of  certain  scholars  of  another  college 
who  were  carrying  it  home  to  their 
rooms.  When  the  students  of 
Broadgates  Hall  break  into  the 
house  of  a  citizen  at  night,  and 
abuse  him,  they  are  headed  by 
"  Master  "  Hay  wood.  A  doctor  of 
canon  law  has  to  find  securities  to 
keep  the  peace  towards  a  tavern- 
keeper  and  an  apothecary.* 

The  University  authorities  did 
all  they  could,  in  the  case  of  lesser 
scandals,  to  make  peace  between 
the  parties,  and  to  keep  them  from 


proceeding  to  extremities.  Some 
of  the  proceedings  in  the  Chancel- 
lor's court  betoken  a  primitive  and 
patriarchal  administration  of  justice, 
which  makes  us  regret  that  with 
medieval  rudeness  we  have  also 
lost  much  of  medieval  simplicity. 
When  the  Principals  of  Broadgates 
and  Pauline  Halls  quarrelled  in 
1446,  they  were  formally  ordered 
by  the  Commissary  to  kiss  (lite- 
rally) and  make  friends,  and  to 
swear  upon  the  Gospels  that  they 
would  "  keep  peace  as  brethren " 
for  the  future,  under  a  bond  of  a 
hundred  shillings, — all  which  they 
apparently  did.  So,  again,  when 
the  "  venerable "  Richard  Layces- 
ter,  prior  of  the  canons  regular,  has 
a  feud  with  John  Merton,  school- 
master, and  his  wife,  a  few  years 
later,  the  parties  agree  to  go  for 
arbitration  in  the  matter  to  Dr 
Chandler,  the  Commissary.  His 
award  is,  first — that  neither  of 
the  parties  shall  hereafter  threat- 
en, abuse,  defame,  or  make  grim- 
aces at  the  other  :  moreover,  that 
they  shall  each  freely  forgive  all 
such  offences  as  may  have  occurred 
on  either  side  in  times  past ;  also, 
that  within  fifteen  days  from  the 
date  of  the  award  they  shall  pro- 
vide an  entertainment  at  their  joint 
charges  in  St  Mary's  College  ;  Mr 
and  Mrs  Merton  to  contribute  a 
goose  and  a  "  pottle  "  of  wine  for 
the  occasion,  and  the  venerable 
canon  to  supply  bread  and  beer, 
and  such  other  et-ceteras  as  his 
liberality  may  suggest.  To  this 
award  both  parties  agreed,  and, 
we  may  hope,  did  not  omit  to  in- 
vite so  good  a  fellow  as  Dr  Chandler 
must  evidently  have  been,  to  sit 
down  with  them  to  the  goose  and 
its  accompaniments,  t  There  is 
a  charming  old  -  world  simplicity 


*  The  proper  status  and  title  of  this  latter  party  seems  to  have  puzzled  the  Chan- 
cellor or  his  clerk:  "Thomani  Halle,  '  potygare '  alias  chirurgicum,  '  gentylman  '  ut 
dicitur." — Anstey,  p.  523. 

t  Anstey,  p.  713. 


1871.] 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


737 


about  the  whole  affair,  which,  as 
we  said  before,  ought  to  make  us 
pause  before  we  congratulate  our- 
selves too  confidently  on  the  im- 
mense progress  we  have  made  in 
morals  and  manners  since  that 
fifteenth  century.  It  is  quite  true 
that  it  is  not  found  necessary  to 
bind  over  any  two  heads  of  col- 
leges nowadays  to  keep  the  peace, 
or  to  abstain  from  making  faces  at 
each  other,  however  bitterly  they 
may  be  opposed  in  University 
politics ;  but  it  would  be  quite  out 
of  the  power,  we  suspect,  of  any 
official  of  the  Vice-Chancellor  in 
some  cases  to  make  them  kiss  and 
be  friends.  And  we  certainly 
should  not  envy  any  modern  canon, 
regular  or  irregular,  who  had  to  sit 
down  to  a  reconciliation  supper 
with  any  academic  Mrs  Merton, 
whose  husband  had  been  sum- 
moned by  him  before  the  court. 

It  has  been  said  that  Latin  was 
supposed  to  be  the  common  lan- 
guage of  the  scholars  of  the  "  Uni- 
versity." It  is  enjoined  in  the 
statutes  of  most  of  the  colleges  that 
the  vulgar  tongue  was  never  to  be 
heard  within  collegiate  walls.  The 
undergraduates  might  use  Greek 
as  a  means  of  communication,  if 
they  preferred  it.  The  statutes  of 
Jesus  College  extended  the  permis- 
sion to  Hebrew — an  exceptional* 
colloquial  indulgence  of  which  we 
cannot  conceive  that  many  Welsh- 
men availed  themselves,  though  it 
has  been  their  pride  to  affirm  that 
their  own  language  very  much  re- 
sembles it — if,  indeed,  the  Cymry 
be  not  the  original  stock  from  which 
the  Hebrew  is  a  comparatively 
modern  offshoot.  It  is  difficult  to 
ascertain  how  far  the  use  of  collo- 
quial Latin  really  prevailed  at  any 


time  in  academic  life  ;  probably  to 
a  much  greater  extent  than  we 
should  be  apt,  at  first  thought,  to 
fancy.  In  the  ordinances  of  many 
of  the  old  grammar-schools  there  are 
distinct  penalties  for  the  speaking 
of  English,  at  any  rate  during  school 
hours.  The  restriction  continued 
in  use  in  some  of  the  more  conser- 
vative schools  down  to  a  time  almost 
within  present  memory.  Dr  Vin- 
cent, the  well-known  head-master  of 
Westminster,  who  only  resigned  his 
office  in  1801,  always  used  it  him- 
self, and  insisted  on  its  use,  when 
his  form  was  up  at  lesson.  And 
there  is  no  doubt  but  that  the 
Oxford  men  of  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries  possessed  a 
facility  in  conversational  Latin 
which  their  modern  successors  have 
never  aspired  to.  It  was  not  only 
that  they  held  the  necessary  aca- 
demic disputations  in  Latin,  and 
attacked  each  other  in  convocation 
with  a  fluent  acerbity  to  which  the 
language  easily  lent  itself,  and  which 
could  find  vent  with  less  restraint 
under  the  convenient  veil  of  a 
learned  tongue ;  but  the  traditionary 
jokes  handed  down  in  Oxford  jest- 
books  mostly  have  their  point — 
such  as  it  is — in  Latin.  It  was  not 
good  Latin  that  they  spoke,  per- 
haps ;  but  at  least  it  was  so  far  in 
accordance  with  the  obligation  of 
the  statute,  that  it  was  not  English. 
But  the  conversational  atmosphere 
in  which  the  Scottish  student  lived 
and  breathed  must  have  been  still 
more  strongly  impregnated  with 
classical  learning,  if  the  visitors' 
regulations  issued  at  Aberdeen  in 
1546  were  ever  enforced.  The  very 
scouts  (garciones  is  the  Franco- 
Scottish  term  for  them)  were  obliged 
to  be  "  expert  in  the  use  of  Latin, 


*  Exceptional,  so  far  as  Oxford  is  concerned  ;  the  same  alternative  is  allowed 
in  the  statutes  of  King's  College,  Aberdeen,  with  a  special  extension  of  the 
licence  also  to  the  French  language — "  Propter  antiquum  inter  Scotos  et  Gallos 
fcedus." — 'Fasti  Aberdonenses,'  241. 

VOL.  CIX. — NO.  DCLXVIII.  3  E 


738 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


[June 


lest  they  should  give  occasion  to 
their  masters  to  use  the  vernacular 
tongue."  *  We  are  not  aware  that 
any  such  compulsory  education  was 
attempted  for  the  same  class  at 
Oxford  ;  but  the  social  line  between 
the  poor  scholar  and  the  serving- 
man  was  very  slight  in  former  times  ; 
and  many  a  man  "worked  his 
passage,"  as  one  might  say,  through 
the  University,  until  he  landed  in  a 
degree,  and  possibly  a  fellowship. 
The  "  Battelers "  (a  lower  grade  of 
commoner),  the  "Poor  Scholars," 
the  Famuli,  and  the  Servientes,  are 
all  classed  together  in  the  books  of 
some  colleges  in  1612,  and  probably 
all  shared  the  same  education.  But 
the  present  race  of  Oxford  scouts 
may  be  safely  pronounced  to  be  "  no 
Latiners ; "  though  we  had,  in  our 
own  student  days,  a  personal  ac- 
quaintance with  a  college  cook  who 
took  private  pupils  in  logic. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the 
proficiency  of  graduates  or  under- 
graduates in  Latin  during  the  cen- 
turies we  are  speaking  of,  it  is 
certain  that  they  did  not  speak 
Greek,  and  knew  very  little  about 
it.  For  a  long  time  it  was  held  to 
be  something  not  only  very  difficult 
to  learn,  but  rather  wicked — a  sort 
of  black  art,  which  honest  men 
were  better  without.  When  Linacre 
gave  his  first  lectures  in  the  lan- 
guage at  Oxford  in  1519,  a  party 
of  stout  conservatives,  who  called 
themselves  "  Trojans,"  arrayed  them- 
selves in  protest  against  this  Greek 
invasion.  The  very  name  was  a 
sound  of  horror.  It  gives  the  point 
to  the  well-known  story  of  the 
scholar  of  Queen's  College,  who, 
wandering  alone  in  Shotover  forest, 
armed  only  with  his  copy  of  Aris- 
totle, was  attacked  by  a  wild  boar ; 
he  thrust  the  volume  down  the 
brute's  throat,  with  the  words, 


"  Grcecum  est," — as  if  that  were  sure 
to  choke  him.  Does  not  the  boar's 
head,  served  in  the  college  hall 
every  Christmas,  vouch  for  the  fact? 
But  the  abstruseness  of  the  study 
was  confessed  in  serious  earnest  not 
only  in  the  Queensman's  jest. 
"  Grcecum  est — non  potest  legi" — 
"It  is  Greek — no  man  can  read 
it," — passed  into  a  University  pro- 
verb. And  it  had  a  good  deal  of 
truth  in  it,  down  to  so  late  a  period 
as  the  visit  of  King  James  I.  to 
the  University  in  1605,  when  the 
contemporary  chronicler,  in  record- 
ing the  oration  made  by  the  Greek 
reader,  Dr  Perin,  before  the  King 
at  the  Quater-vois  (better  known 
to  us  as  Carfax),  assures  us  that 
it  was  done  "  with  good  action  and 
elocution,  and  in  good  familiar  Greek 
(as  Dr  Hammond  said),"-—  that 
excellent  divine  being  apparently 
the  sole  University  critic  in  such 
matters. 

We  have  remarked  the  tendency 
of  Mr  Jeaffreson  in  his  volumes  to 
speak  slightingly  of  dignities,  and 
to  strip  the  majesty  of  Oxford  of  its 
externals,  to  make  sport  for  the 
audience  to  which  he  appeals.  He 
seems  to  us  to  have  emulated  the 
worst  taste  and  spirit  of  the  "  Terras 
Filius  "  of  old  academic  memory,  to 
whom  nothing  in  university  life  was 
sacred,  if  he  could  but  hang  upon  it 
a  jest  for  the  day.  One  notable  ex- 
ception has  struck  us  in  his  pages  : 
a  passage,  the  style  and  tone  of 
which  stands  out  in  such  favourable 
contrast  with  too  much  that  he  has 
written,  that  we  can  but  regret  that 
one  who  can  write  well  when  he 
writes  to  please  himself,  should  think 
it  necessary  to  write  ill  to  please  his 
public.  We  have  kept  the  passage 
to  conclude  with,  that  we  may  part 
from  him  in  peace.  He  is  speaking 
of  Dr  Jeune,  some  time  Master  of 


Burton's  '  Scot  Abroad,'  p.  267. 


1871.] 


Old  and  New  Annalists  of  Oxford. 


739 


Pembroke  College,  and  late  Bishop 
of  Peterborough. 

"To  raise  his  comparatively  small  and 
scantily- endowed  house  to  pre-eminence 
over  greater  and  wealthier  colleges  was 
beyond  Francis  Jeune's  power,  but  he 
effected  wonders  for  the  society  of  which 
he  was  for  several  years  the  chief  ruler. 
He  gave  it  honourable  status  in  the  class- 
lists,  procured  the  enlargement  of  its 
buildings,  reformed  its  economy  for  the 
benefit  of  students  of  narrow  means,  and 
was  no  less  judicious  than  indefatigable  in 
his  endeavours  to  inspire  its  members 
with  manliness  of  purpose  and  contempt 
of  frivolity.  A  vigilant  and  firm  disciplin- 
arian, he  was  prompt  in  correcting  the 
excesses  of  his  undergraduates,  exhibiting 
no  leniency  to  those  whose  misconduct  was 
all  the  more  likely  to  prejudice  the  disci- 
pline of  the  house  because  they  were  young 
men  of  superior  birth,  affluence,  or  personal 
style.  But  though  properly  stern  to  insolent 
offenders,he  overflowed  with  compassionate 
considerateness  and  Christian  concern  for 
collegiate  '  black  sheep, '  to  whom  a  sen- 
tence of  expulsion  would  have  involved 
life-long  degradation.  To  wean  scape- 
graces of  this  unattractive  sort  from  their 
vicious  propensities,  to  restore  them  to 
physical  and  moral  health,  and  to  send 
them  out  into  the  world  unscarred  in 
fame,  he  deemed  no  care  excessive,  no 
condescension  derogatory  to  his  dignity. 
More  than  two  or  three  men,  whose  social 
usefulness  equals  their  considerable  social 
prosperity,  gratefully  attribute  their  suc- 
cess in  life  to  the  '  Master,'  who  conquered 
them  with  manly  kindness,  and  reinstated 
them  in  righteous  principles  and  self- 


respect,  when  a  harsher  disciplinarian 
would  have  crushed  them  for  ever.  Nor 
was  he  less  abounding  in  sympathy  for 
students  who  had  no  need  of  his  forbear- 
ance and  tenderness.  That  his  college 
should  achieve  the  main  purpose  of  its 
foundation,  by  swelling  the  ranks  of  the 
intelligent,  cultivated,  and  zealous  clergy, 
he  was  especially  desirous.  But  none  of 
his  men — or  'boys,'  as  he  used  to  speak 
of  them  in  his  loud,  hearty,  shouting 
voice — ever  started  off  from  college  on 
manhood's  journey,  by  some  track  not 
usually  chosen  by  University  graduates, 
without  words  of  pleasant  encouragement 
and  serviceable  counsel  from  the  shrewd 
and  unconventional  'Master.'  If  Dr 
Jeune  were  still  living,  I  should  not  ven- 
ture thus  to  speak  of  his  excellences,  for 
which  during  his  life  he  desired  no  man's 
praise,  though  they  commanded  the  ad- 
miration of  all  who  knew  him." 


Many  who  read  these  words  will 
know  that  they  were  true,  not  only 
of  the  Master  of  Pembroke,  but  of 
the  Bishop  of  Peterborough.  Dr 
Jeune  was  an  ardent  Oxford  re- 
former— at  least  in  his  early  days  of 
office.  It  is  probable  that  he  lived 
to  feel  that  the  real  reformation 
which  Oxford  required,  was  that 
which  he  conscientiously  strove  to 
effect  in  his  own  college.  When 
shall  we  have  a  school  of  university 
reformers  who  will  tread  in  his 
steps  ? 


740 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


[June 


FAIR  TO   SEE. — PART  VI. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


BERTRAND'S  eventful  day  had 
come  to  a  conclusion  at  last ;  and 
now,  alone  in  his  own  room,  he  con- 
templated all  that  it  had  brought 
forth.  The  stormy  episode  in  the 
smoking-room  had  closed,  for  the 
present,  the  period  of  storms ;  and  a 
rapture  of  peace  came  upon  his  spirit, 
like  "  slumber's  anodyne  to  fevered 
frames,"  or  that  calmest  of  all  calms 
that  lies  so  softly  on  the  summer  sea 
at  dawn,  when  a  tempest's  ruffian 
winds  have  folded  their  dark  wings, 
and  hushed  the  faintest  accent  of 
all  their  myriad,  sinister  voices. 

Deep  and  perfect  peace  was  on  his 
spirit ;  and  indeed  if  there  be  a  mo- 
ment when  that  is  possible  to  us  mor- 
tals here  below,  it  is  then — surely  it 
is  then — when  Love,  that  has  come 
to  the  heart  still  fresh  and  pure  with 
the  dew  of  life's  morning,  catches 
the  first  low  tremulous  harmonies  of 
Requital's  voice, — those  utterances 
sounding  like  some  music  astray  from 
Paradise, — that  never,  never  can  be 
all  forgotten,  but  will,  and  must, 
come  back  to  us  ;  ever  plaintive  be- 
cause from  the  past,  yet  strangely 
clear  for  all  the  distance  they  may 
come,  yet  strangely  sweet  for  all  the 
passionate  sadness  they  may  express. 
Clear  and  sweet  these  echoes  come, 
falling  into  the  minor  key,  when,  as 
they  sweep  over  the  dreary  steppes 
of  our  ruined  lives,  they  pass  the 
graves  of  our  fairest  hopes,  and 
reach  us  across  the  ashes  of  that  First 
Love  that  gave  them  voice.  Deep 
and  perfect  peace,  therefore,  was  on 
Bertrand's  spirit ;  for  this  was  first 
love,  this  was  true  love — fully  ac- 
cepted, with  every  assurance  of  re- 
quital. It  had  struck  Pigott,  who 
knew  him  well,  as  strange  that 
Cupid's  torch  had  not  been  earlier 


applied  to  that  exaltedly-imaginative 
spirit ;  and  so  it  may  appear  to 
others  who  are  less  intimate  with 
him ;  but,  in  truth,  the  very  exag- 
geration of  those  qualities  which 
might  have  been  supposed  to  render 
him  susceptible,  had  hitherto  kept 
him  heart-whole.  It  was  no  absorp- 
tion in  the  pursuits  and  pleasures 
of  his  age  and  profession  ;  it  was  no 
lack  of  opportunity ;  nor  yet  was  it 
that  his  mind  was  averted  from  the 
subject  in  that  affected  scepticism 
with  which  certain  of  our  youth 
ape  the  tone  of  cynical  models.  On 
the  contrary,  the  beauty,  the  poetry, 
the  romance,  so  inextricably  inter- 
woven with  the  belle  passion,  had 
produced  the  profoundest  impres- 
sion on  a  mind  extraordinarily  im- 
pressionable by  such  influences. 
But  the  result  was  not  that  he 
recognised  a  goddess  in  every  garri- 
son Dulcinea,  or  erected  a  new  altar, 
and  called  upon  a  new  divinity,  with 
every  change  of  quarters.  Deeply 
fastidious  in  all  things,  he  had  long 
ago  evolved  for  himself  an  ideal, 
endowed  with  exquisite  purity  and 
refinement,  warmed  with  all  gracious 
womanly  tenderness,  quickened  with 
bright  intelligence,  and  wrapped  in 
the  bewitching  mantle  of  that  beauty 
in  which  his  soul  delighted.  In 
the  contemplation  of  this  ideal — in 
this  shadow-worship — he  had  been 
content  to  wait,  till,  clothed  in 
reality,  his  ideal  should  descend 
from  the  realm  of  dreams  and  vi- 
sions, and  into  his  calm  adoration 
breathe  the  warm  breath  of  passion's 
ecstatic  life.  He  had  not  surren- 
dered his  heart  to  the  guidance  of 
a  succession  of  "  summer  pilots  unto 
the  shores  of  nothing."  He  had 
been  content  to  wait,  and  he  had 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


1871.] 

waited,  unswerving  from  his  allegi- 
ance, true  to  his  ideal.  But  now 
he  told  himself  that  she  had  come 
— his  goddess — his  very  own  ;  and, 
with  the  rapture  of  a  devotee,  he 
had  laid  his  offering — the  best  a 
man  can  offer — his  true  fresh  heart, 
upon  her  altar.  It  was  accepted, 
and  he  was  at  peace.  Was  she  in 
very  truth  the  realisation  of  his 
ideal?  Were  all  these  fair  attri- 
butes hers  indeed  1  No  matter.  No 
ideal  can  be  realised ;  approxima- 
tion is  all  that  can  be  hoped  for. 
Suffice  it  that  Bertrand  believed  he 
had  found  what  he  had  waited  for  ; 
and  even  supposing  that  he  was 
congratulating  himself  and  finding 
peace  in  a  fool's  paradise,  perhaps 
in  such  matters  that  is  better  (since 
a  paradise  of  some  sort  is  essential) 
than  no  paradise  at  alL 

And  so  his  day  finished,  and  the 
night  was  light  about  him ;  for  in 
the  pageantry  of  his  happy  dreams 
moved,  amid  myrtles  and  roses,  one 
constant  vision,  in  whose  presence 
clouds  and  darkness  were  impos- 
sible. 

We  fear  we  may  seem  to  have 
been  guilty  of  a  rather  ungallant 
partiality  in  dwelling  thus  upon 
Bertrand' s  feelings,  and  postponing 
those  of  the  fair  being  who  inspired 
them. 

But  it  is  a  more  difficult  and  a 
more  delicate  task  to  deal  with  the 
subtler  movements  of  the  female 
heart ;  and,  after  all,  "  in  love,  if 
love  be  love,  if  love  be  ours,"  there 
must  be  a  sufficiently  strong  resem- 
blance between  the  male  and  female 
edition  of  the  passion  to  excuse  us 
from  again  traversing  the  ground 
we  have  got  over  in  speaking  of 
Bertrand.  Shall  we  therefore  sim- 
ply credit  Eila  with  the  same  feelings 
we  have  ascribed  to  him,  making 
due  allowance  for  the  difference  of 
sex  and  temperament,  and  remem- 
bering that  she  is  betrothed  to 
him?  Perhaps,  on  the  whole,  it 


741 


will  be  better  to  let  her  speak  for 
herself. 

If  there  be  a  time  when  the  heart, 
whether  male  or  female,  craves  the 
sympathy  of  another  heart,  it  is 
at  such  crisises  when  it  is  filled  to 
overflowing  with  thoughts  which 
the  poet  describes  as  too  sweet  for 
utterance,  but  which,  in  practice, 
are  uttered  with  a  freedom  which 
often  makes  their  sweetness  not  a 
little  cloying  to  the  confidential 
recipient.  Even  Bertrand  had  ven- 
tured his  sweet  tale  to  Pigott,  un- 
deterred by  the  uncongeniality  of 
his  friend ;  and  it  is  not  surprising 
that  Eila  should  have  seized  an 
early  opportunity  of  unbosoming 
herself  to  some  one ;  and  who  more 
appropriate  than  her  warm-hearted 
step-sister  ? 

It  was  by  no  means  a  final 
"good-night,"  therefore,  which  she 
wished  that  young  lady  when  they 
separated  in  the  hall,  on  leaving 
the  drawing-room  ;  for,  not  many 
minutes  after,  arrayed  in  a  bewitch- 
ing dressing-gown,  over  which 
floated  loose  her  beautiful  wealth  of 
hair,  and  wearing  the  air  of  a  young 
lady  who  has  come  prepared  for, 
and  bent  upon,  a  protracted  session, 
she  entered  Morna's  room. 

Morna  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
tormentor — that  is,  she  was  having 
her  hair  brushed  by  an  extremely 
acid  maid  (colleague  of  the  spec- 
tral M'Kenzie),  who  contrived, 
when  her  temper  was;  as  at  present, 
and  as  it  generally  was,  out  of 
order,  to  make  the  process  not  a 
painless  one.  Morna  was  tired,  out 
of  spirits — shall  we  say  even  cross  ? 
— and  the  Abigail's  operations  were 
not  at  all  acting  sedatively,  so  it  was 
scarcely  in  a  tone  of  welcome  that 
she  greeted  her  visitor. 

"Is  that  you,  Eila?" 

"  Yes,  dearest  Morna,  it  is  ;  I 
have  come  to  have  a  little  talk 
with  you.  Is  that  tiresome  hair 
nearly  done  ? " 


742 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


[June 


"  It  will  take  ten  minutes,  at  the 
least,  to  do  it  justice,  after  this  day's 
work,"  snorted  the  maid,  who  felt 
all  "  pleasuring  "  to  be  a  personal 
injury,  and  now  saw  an  opportunity 
of  avenging  herself. 

"  Oh  !  never  mind,"  cried  Eila ; 
"  do  send  her  away,  Morna  dear  ; 
it  is  so  tiresome  to  be  kept  wait- 
ing, and  I  have  so  much  to  say ; 
do  send  her  away,  and  I'll  brush  it 
for  you  myself." 

Morna  did  not  seem  to  share  her 
step-sister's  impatience. 

"  It  is  so  comfortable,"  she  re- 
plied, "  when  one  is  tired ;  and 
surely  what  you  have  to  say  can 
keep  for  ten  minutes." 

The  maid's  exasperation  on  per- 
ceiving that  there  was  something 
"particular"  to  be  talked  about  after 
her  departure — some  joyous  con- 
fidence, some  possible  fun  and  mer- 
riment— converted  her  unwittingly 
into  Eila's  ally  ;  for  she  so  tweak- 
ed and  twisted  her  patient's  hair 
that  Morna  fairly  rebelled,  ordering 
her  peremptorily  to  desist  and  leave 
the  room. 

"Well,  Eila?"  she  said,  when 
the  woman  had  gone  — "  well, 
Eila  ?  "  Her  tone  implied,  "  please 
say  what  you  have  to  say  as  quickly 
as  possible,  and  then  leave  me." 

Eila  made  no  reply  in  words,  but 
fixed  her  beautiful  eyes  for  an 
instant  on  her  step-sister,  with  a 
bright  and  meaning  smile,  then 
threw  her  arms  round  her  neck, 
and  covered  her  with  kisses. 

When  this  had  gone  on  for  a  little, 
without  any  reasonable  prospect  of 
release,  Morna  disengaged  herself 
firmly,  and,  as  if  in  answer  to  a  ver- 
bal communication,  quietly  remark- 
ed, "  You  refused  him,  I  suppose  1 " 

"Eefused  him,  Morna]  What? 
How  ?  Do  you  know  ?  Who  could 
have " 

"  No  one  has  spoken  to  me  about 
the  matter ;  but  of  course  Mr  Tainsh 
proposed  to  you  to-day  ? " 


"  Mr  Tainsh  ? " 

"Yes;  did  he  not?" 

"Oh!  of  course  he  did." 

"  Of  course.  I  knew  that ;  and 
you  refused  him  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  did — the  abomin- 
able, presumptuous  creature  ! " 

"  Poor  Mr  Tainsh  ! " 

"Not  'poor  Mr  Tainsh'  at  all; 
he  has  only  got  his  desert." 

"  He  could  not  have  expected  it, 
though;  it  must  have  been  a  sur- 
prise to  him — a  painful  one." 

"  Morna  ! " 

"  Eila  ! " 

"  You  are  cross  and  disagreeable, 
and  I  have  a  great  mind  to  tell  you 
no  more." 

"  You  must  do  exactly  as  you 
please." 

"  Well  then,  I  will  tell  you." 

"  Very  well ;  do." 

"  There  was  more  than  one  pro- 
posal to-day." 

"  Ah  !  you  know  that  ? " 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  but  only  one  re- 
fusal;" and  again  Eila  flung  her 
arms  round  Morna's  neck. 

"  Stop,  stop  ! "  cried  the  latter. 
"  You  are  all  wrong — you  are  mis- 
taken— I  did  refuse  him." 

"  What  ? "  cried  Eila,  uncoiling 
herself  with  a  start. 

"  I  refused  him." 

"  Refused  whom  ?  " 

"  Mr  Duncanson,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  cried  Eila— "oh, 
indeed  !  I  wasn't  thinking  of — of 
him "  ("  or  you,"  she  might  have 
added).  "  And  you  refused  him  ? 
Very  imprudent,  was  it  not?  I  should 
say  very  imprudent ;  but  that  is  not 
what  I  was  going  to  speak  about ; — 
fancy  what  a  curious  coincidence  ! 
two  proposals  in  one  day  !  That 
makes  four  altogether,  and  I  am 
only  nineteen  !  but  this  is  the  last, 
for  I  have  taken  him.  I  am  engaged, 
Morna — engaged  to  Bertrand  Cam- 
eron." 

One  would  say  that  the  announce- 
ment need  not  have  occasioned  great 


1871.] 

surprise  to  Morna ;  and  indeed,  if  it 
did,  she  concealed  the  emotion  pretty 
successfully.  A  flush,  a  slight  quiver, 
and  the  sudden  tightening  of  her 
hand  upon  a  book  she  held — these 
were  the  few  external  signs  that 
Ella's  words  conveyed  to  her  intel- 
ligence that  strongly  affected  her, 
and  in  an  instant  she  replied  gravely, 
but  kindly,  as  she  kissed  her  step- 
sister— 

"I  congratulate  you,  dear  Eila. 
I  hope  you  will  be  very,  very  happy 
— I  think  you  ought  to  be." 

"  I  think  so,  dearest;  yes,  indeed, 
I  am  sure  of  it  :  for  you  know  he 
is  charming — and  the  silly  creature 
is  so  devoted  to  me ;  quite  absurd 
and  childish,  in  fact ;  and — and  I — 
well,  I  suppose  I  do  like  him  a  good 
deal — although,  of  course,  I  have 
only  told  him  that  I  like  him  a 
little;  and  if  papa  does  not  object,  I 
think  we  ought  to  be  very  happy 
indeed.  I  must  tell  you  all  about 
it,  though,  and  how  it  came  about. 
You  see,  Mr  Tainsh,  &c.  &c.  &c." 

But  we  know  all  about  it  already, 
so  we  shall  let  the  conversation  go 
on  unreported  till  the  point  where 
Eila,  having  exhausted  all  her  con- 
fidences, and  said  all  that  is  usually 
said  in  such  interviews,  about  her- 
self and  her  lover,  felt  inclined  to 
satisfy  her  curiosity  and  her  interest 
in  Morna's  affairs  by  reverting  to 
what  had  been  said  about  Mr  Dun- 
canson. 

"  Now,  Morna,"  she  said,  "  after 
all  these  confessions,  you  must  give 
me  some  in  return.  You  refused 
him,  you  said — and  I  think  it  was 
very  imprudent.  Of  course  it  was 
only  a  temporary  refusal,  and  the 
temptation  to  snub  him  would  of 
course  be  great ;  but  you  know  his 
temper  is  so  very  high.  It  was  not 
wise  to  risk  it.  I  really  don't  know 
but  what  you  may  have  a  great  deal 
of  trouble  to  get  him  back.  It  will 
be  a  difficult  matter,  I  am  sure " 
(Eila  spoke  with  all  the  earnestness 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


743 


of  an  enthusiastic  expert  in  the  art 
of  man-taming)  ;  "  but  I'll  tell  you 
what  you  ought  to  do,  Morna  dear; 
you  ought  to  go  straight  to  your 
mother — she  will  not  be  in  bed  yet 
— tell  her  the  whole  truth,  and  make 
her  send  a  note  to  Mr  Duncanson 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  ask- 
ing him  to  speak  to  her  before  he 
goes,  or  the  chances  are  he  will  be 
off  before  daylight,  and  then  you 
may  never  get  him  back  again." 

"  An  excellent  plan,  Eila,  if  I 
wanted  to  get  him  back  ;  but  you 
see,  as  it  happens,  I  do  not." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you 
can  be  waiting  for,  then,  Morna. 
Here  is  ten  thousand — fifteen  thou- 
sand— perhaps  twenty  thousand  a- 
year;  is  that  not  enough  ?  Of  course 
a  poor  soldier  is  good  enough  for  a 
humble  person  like  me,  and  I  am 
thankful  that  I  am  not  so  hard  to 
please ;  but  I  suppose  nothing  under 
a  duke  would  be  good  enough  for  the 
descendant  of  all  the  M'Whannels 
and  M'Cuaigs." 

"  Don't  be  cross,  Eila  dear  ;  you 
are  very  kind  to  take  such  an  in- 
terest in  my  affairs  ;  but  I  assure 
you  I  have  no  such  high  notions. 
I  simply  refused  Mr  Duncanson  be- 
cause I  don't  like  him ;  besides,  as 
I  have  often  told  you,  I  have  quite 
resolved  never  to  marry." 

"  Never  to  marry  !  my  dear  girl, 
this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  of 
it ;  and  this  is  about  the  last  occa- 
sion on  which  you  could  expect  me 
to  believe  in,  or  sympathise  with, 
any  such  nonsense.  Ah,  Morna  ! 
if  you  knew,  if  you  only  knew, 
what  it  is  to  love  ! " 

"  Well,  Eila,  I  think  even  you 
will  admit  that  Mr  Duncanson  is 
scarcely  the  man  to  teach  me  ;  but 
I  daresay  it  is  very  true  what  you 
say,  that  love  would  make  a  great 
difference  in  one's  views  of  matri- 
mony; but  you  see  it  does  not  fall 
to  the  lot  of  every  one  ;  and  I  must 
end  off  where  I  began,  by  saying 


Fair  to  See. — Part  VI. 


[June 


that  I  hope  you  will  be  as  happy  as 
you  ought  to  be,  when  the  course  of 
true  love  runs  so  smooth ; — and  now 
I  think  we  had  better  say  '  Good- 
night.' " 

And  so  Morna  brought  the  con- 
versation to  a  close,  kissing  and  dis- 
missing her  step-sister  ;  and  before 
she  went  to  bed  she  wrote  a  letter 


to  her  aunt,  now  staying  in  Scot- 
land, and  at  no  great  distance  from 
Cairnarvoch,  but  about  to  return 
to  their  home  in  the  south  of  Eng- 
land, begging  to  be  allowed  to  join 
them  at  once,  although  the  cus- 
tomary period  of  her  residence 
with  her  mother  had  still  a  month 
to  run. 


CHAPTER  xvm. 


The  breakfast  -  table  at  Cairn- 
arvoch, on  the  morning  after  all 
these  exciting  events,  was  unusually 
quiet.  The  only  two  members  of 
the  party  not  thoroughly  preoccu- 
pied were  Pigott  and  M'Killop, 
neither  of  whom  contributed  much, 
as  a  rule,  to  the  conversation ;  and 
this  morning  they  had  it  all  to 
themselves,  an  opportunity  which 
they  "improved"  by  a  frugal  use 
of  monosyllables. 

One  result,  however,  was  satis- 
factory to  all  parties — that  the  meal 
was  soon  over. 

Poor  Mrs  M'Killop  was  in  a 
terrible  state  of  mystification  ; — she 
feared  much,  she  suspected  much, 
but  she  was  certain  of  nothing. 
The  night  before,  she  had  con- 
fidently expected  a  communication 
from  her  daughter  or  her  step- 
daughter— perhaps  from  both — but 
she  had  been  disappointed ;  and  as 
it  concerned  her  dignity  not  to 
initiate  the  subjects  which  gnawed 
her  heart  with  anxious  curiosity, 
by  a  superhuman  effort  of  self- 
denial  she  had  refrained  from  ex- 
torting by  question  the  confidence 
she  had  expected  to  be  spontaneous. 
But  this  could  not  last  for  ever ; 
and  this  morning  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  If  they  don't  speak  at  once, 
/must;  it  is  my  solemn  duty  as  a 
parent ; "  in  pursuance  of  which 
determination  she  signalled  the 
young  ladies,  as  they  left  the 
breakfast-room,  to  come  to  her 


boudoir.  Neither  of  them,  how- 
ever, thought  fit  to  understand  the 
signal — Morna  rapidly  making  her 
escape  in  another  direction,  and 
Eila  sauntering  carelessly  out  of  the 
hall-door  on  to  the  terrace,  where 
she  was  immediately  joined  by 
Bertrand. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  you,  Eila," 
cried  her  step- dame  from  the  door- 
way. 

"I  shall  be  with  you  immediately, 
dear  mamma,"  was  the  reply;  "only 
let  me  have  five  minutes  of  this 
delightful  morning  sun  on  the  ter- 
race first." 

It  is  not  difficult  to  conceive 
what,  under  such  circumstances, 
"  five  minutes  of  the  morning  sun 
upon  the  terrace "  became.  Very 
rapidly  the  terrace  itself  was  aban- 
doned for  a  retreat  more  appropriate 
to  the  interview, — where,  among 
thick,  shadowy  foliage,  the  morn- 
ing sun  could  only  contribute  in  a 
very  minor  degree  to  the  delight  of 
the  occasion,  and  where,  indeed,  the 
noontide  sun,  suddenly  blazing 
through  the  branches  overhead, 
found  the  lovers  with  the  five 
minutes  still  unexhausted.  But 
Eila  might  have  been  pardoned 
for  her  want  of  punctuality  by  the 
strictest  martinet;  on  such  occasions 
it  is,  if  it  ever  is,  excusable ;  for 
where  a  conversation  has  a  tendency 
to  go  round  and  round  in  a  circle 
of  iteration,  the  progress  of  the 
dialogue  to  any  special  conclusion, 


1871.] 

however  fast  the  words  may  flow, 
can  neither  be  marked  nor  rapid. 
Far  be  it  from  us  to  follow  that  dia- 
logue in  its  details.  It  certainly 
would  not  read  well.  Accompanied 
by  illustrative  diagrams,  it  might 
be  more  amusing ;  but  as  it  is,  it  is 
better  left  to  the  imagination.  Ber- 
trand  would  inevitably  bore  \is  with 
his  imagery  and  his  raptures,  for  a 
very  little  of  that  sort  of  thing  goes 
a  very  long  way  when  one  is  not 
personally  alluded  to.  "  And  al- 
ways, always  you  will  love  me — 
me  only — and  always  thus?"  the 
sweetest  temper  would  give  way 
under  a  score  of  repetitions  of  this 
and  similar  questions,  so  we  shall 
be  as  general  as  possible.  For  all 
that  is  said  to  the  contrary  about 
women,  perhaps  their  views  on  such 
occasions  are,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
more  practical  than  those  of  men. 

To  a  certain  extent,  the  pleasur- 
able excitement  of  the  aifair  has 
been  on  their  side  all  along;  they 
have  had  observances,  homage,  wor- 
ship, and  only  such  an  infinitesimal 
amount  of  uncertainty  as  to  season 
what  might  otherwise  have  become 
insipid ;  and  therefore,  when  the 
proposal  is  made,  the  sport  of  the 
thing  is  over,  and  its  business  aspect 
begins  at  once  to  present  itself. 
The  male  being,  on  the  other  hand, 
only  begins  to  have  his  innings  when 
his  suit  is  accepted.  It  is  only 
natural  that  he  should  like  to  have 
his  little  share  of  ante-nuptial  wor- 
ship ;  that  he  should  like  to  be  told 
in  words  what  maidenly  reserve 
should  not  (theoretically)  have  al- 
lowed even  a  look  hitherto  to  re- 
veal; that  he  should  like  to  expa- 
tiate a  little  in  the  blissful  regions 
of  romance — just  a  very  little — be- 
fore betaking  himself  to  the  prose 
of  figures  and  dates,  and  the  fateful 
tribunal  of  earthy  parents.  Eila 
justified  our  theory  on  this  occasion; 
and,  though  satisfactorily  recipro- 
cating her  lover's  protestations,  en- 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


745 


deavoured,  every  now  and  then,  to 
insinuate  between  his  raptures  the 
thin  edge  of  the  practical  considera- 
tion. As,  for  example,  thus :  "  We 
shall  be  horribly  poor,  shan't  we, 
dear  Bertrand  1 " 

"  Horribly,  I  suppose.  I  don't 
know,  though — I  have  four  hundred 
a-year;  my  uncle  might  double  it,  I 
should  think.  He  certainly  ought 
to,  for  he  says  I  want  steadying ; 
and  if  anything  can  steady  a  man, 
of  course,  marriage  must.  Oh  !  we 
shall  be  all  right  somehow.  Mar- 
ried to  such  an  angel,  such  an  &c. 
&c." 

"We  shall  have  prospects,  though, 
shan't  we,  dearest!"  insinuates  the 
practical  angel. 

"  Oh  yes !  we  shall  get  Aber- 
lorna,  I  suppose,  if  my  uncle  doesn't 
marry  —  and  he  won't,  especially 
when  he  sees  what  an  angel,  what 
an  &c.  &c."  (Diagram.) 

"  You  must  speak  to  papa  at  once, 
Bertrand ;  you  had  better  come  and 
do  it  now." 

"  Oh!  there's  no  hurry;  I'll  make 
it  all  right  with  him,  presently." 

"  But  it  ought  to  be  done  at  once ; 
it  ought  to  have  been  done  before 
we  came  out  here.  I  can't  bear  con- 
cealments— they  are  so  wrong ;  and 
we  have  no  right  to  be  so  happy  till 
we  have  his  consent." 

"  You  dear,  delightful,  dutiful 
little  angel !  but  let  us  have  five 
minutes  more — only  five  minutes — 
and  then  I  promise  to  go  to  him. 
Will  he  be  difficult?" 

"It  is  impossible  to  say :  he  is 
devoted  to  me,  but  then  who  could 
resist  you  ?  "  (Diagram . ) 

After  a  great  many  renewals,  Ber- 
trand's  five  minutes'  lease  of  beati- 
tude was  at  last  brought  finally  to  a 
close,  and  he  suffered  himself  to  be 
led  back  to  the  house  to  have  his 
mauvais  quart  cCheure  with  Mr 
M'Killop.  Once  in  that  -gentleman's 
presence,  he  did  not  waste  much 
time  in  preliminary  flourishes,  or  in 


746 


Fair  to  See. — Part  VI. 


those  ghastly  attempts  to  lead  neatly 
up  to  the  subject,  as  usual  on  such 
occasions,  as  they  are  invariably  abor- 
tive. Being  frank  and  ardent,  he 
plunged  into  the  business  at  once. 

"  Can  I  speak  to  you  for  half  a 
minute,  Mr  M'Killop?" 

"  Certainly." 

"Thanks;  I've  just  come  to  say 
— I  daresay  you'll  be  awfully  sur- 
prised, and  perhaps  angry,  but  it 
can't  be  helped — I've  just  come  to 
say  that  I  hope  you'll  allow  me  to 
marry  your  daughter  Eila,  for  I  never 
loved  any  one  before,  and  I'll  never 
love  any  one  again,  as  I  love  her; 

and  I've  told  her  so ;  and  she 

and  it's  all  right." 

Mr  M'Killop  rose  hastily  from 
his  chair ;  he  was,  as  we  all  know, 
singularly  taciturn  and  apparently 
phlegmatic  ;  but  he  rose  hastily  from 
his  chair,  and  his  face  flushed,  and 
his  eyes  brightened,  and  for  an  in- 
stant he  allowed  himself  to  betray 
that  Bertrand's  abrupt  communica- 
tion had  powerfully  moved  him  in 
some  way  or  another :  for  an  in- 
stant, too,  it  seemed  that  he  was 
going  to  express  himself  with  cor- 
responding animation ;  but  that  im- 
pulse was  checked,  and,  recovering 
himself,  he  said  quietly,  and  with  a 
half-smile,  "By  'all  right,'  you  mean 
that  my  daughter  reciprocates  your 
feelings  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  Bertrand,  "she  has 
accepted  me  ;  and  we  only  want  your 
consent  to  be  perfectly  happy :  you 
won't  refuse  it,  I  hope  1 " 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  said 
M'Killop,  resuming  his  seat  and 
speaking  with  averted  eyes,  "the 
question  you  put  is  a  very  grave 
question.  Young  hearts  leap  to  their 
conclusions,  but  grey  heads  reach 
them  slowly  and  carefully — slowly, 
my  dear  young  friend,  and  care- 
fully." 

"But,  after  all,"  said  Bertrand, 
"it  doesn't  require  much  reflection. 
Here  are  two  people  determined  to 


[June 

marry  each  other,  and  no  one  else  ; 
they're  both  eligible  for  each  other, 
and — and  what  more  has  to  be 
said?" 

"That  is — excuse  me  for  saying 
so — a  very  superficial  view  of  the 
matter.  There  are  many  considera- 
tions to  be  taken  into  account  when 
marriage  is  the  question.  Person- 
ally, no  sort  of  objection  to  you 
could  be  brought  by  the  most  fas- 
tidious. I  like  you — I  like  you 
much.  You  are  a  fine  young  fellow, 
Mr  Cameron ;  any  girl  might  be 
proud  of  your  attachment,  and  so, 
I  make  no  doubt,  is  my  daughter  ; 
but  there  is  the  old  story — the  sor- 
did part  of  the  business.  We  can't 
live  on  love,  and  we  can't  marry 
without  the  prospect  of  something 
more  substantial  than  love — you 
must  see  that  yourself." 

"  Of  course,  of  course ;  but  that 
would  be  all  right  somehow." 

"  '  Somehow '  is  a  bad  source  of 
income  for  a  young  couple  to  begin 
life  on,  Mr  Cameron,"  said  M'Killop, 
with  a  good-humoured  laugh. 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  sure  it  could  be 
contrived — enough  could  be  got  to- 
gether." 

M'Killop  did  not  reply  at  once, 
but  rose  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room,  apparently  plunged  in 
profoundmeditation,Bertrand  watch- 
ing his  face  with  the  anxiety  of  one 
who  strives  to  read  his  fate.  At 
last  Mr  M'Killop  stopped,  and 
asked — 

"Would  your  uncle  approve  of 
this  marriage,  do  you  think  1 " 

"Approve  of  it?  of  course  he 
would.  He  is  always  saying  that 
he  wishes  to  see  me  '  steadier '  and 
'  more  settled ; '  and  I  suppose  every 
one  will  admit  that  marriage  is  the 
direct  road  to  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  He  is  a  proud  man,  I  believe." 

"  I  daresay  he  is — and  will  be 
prouder  still  when  his  nephew  is 
married  to  the  most  perfect  woman 
in  the  world." 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


747 


"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  M'Killop; 
"  you  must  first  of  all  get  him  to 
look  at  her  through  your  spectacles." 
Then,  after  relapsing  into  his  ab- 
straction for  a  little,  he  continued  : 
"The  property  is  at  his  own  disposal, 
I  think?" 

"  Well,  yes — that  is,  with  condi- 
tions. I  believe  it  is  not  exactly 
entailed,  but  destined,  or  settled,  or 
something,  on  me,  if  he  has  no  chil- 
dren, and  I  do  nothing  very  diabol- 
ical— nothing  that  he  disapproves 
of." 

"And  you  don't  think  Sir  Eoland 
would  consider  this  marriage  very 
diabolical]"  laughed  M'Killop. 

"  My  dear  sir,  can  you  doubt  that 
he  will  be  enchanted  1  He  is  a  cold 
man,  but  I  am  sure  that,  at  heart, 
he  is  really  kind.  Then  he  will 
simply  adore  Eila — every  one  must ; 
and  there  is  no  saying  how  gene- 
rous he  may  be !"  cried  Bertrand,  led 
away,  for  the  moment,  by  his  special 
pleading,  but  salving  his  conscience 
at  once  by  adding,  "  Provided  he  is 
pleased,  which  is  a  matter  of  course." 

Again  M'Killop  paced  the  room 
in  deep  thought,  betraying  now  and 
then,  in  his  appearance,  symptoms  of 
the  agitation  which  had  marked  the 
opening  of  their  interview. 

"  What  on  earth  can  the  man  be 
thinking  about?  The  thing  is  as 
simple  as  the  alphabet.  He's  not 
against  it,  however — that's  clear," 
thought  Bertrand. 

After  some  time  M'Killop  spoke 
again. 

"  I  can  only  repeat,  my  dear  young 
friend,  what  I  have  said  before,  that 
I  like  you  much  personally,  and 
that  I  do  not  conceal  from  myself 
that  such  a  marriage  would  have 
many  advantages  for  my  daughter; 
but— but — there  is  always  a  '  but,' 
Mr  Cameron,  in  these  things — there 
are  considerations  that  must  be  con- 
sidered, and  calculations  that  must 
be  made ;  and  on  the  whole,  per- 
haps, if  you  would  let  me  think  the 


matter  over  for  an  hour  or  so,  I 
should  be  able  to  discuss  it  with 
you  more  satisfactorily." 

Hereupon  Bertrand  withdrew, 
and  remained  alone,  and  in  feverish 
excitement,  till,  in  about  the  time 
named,  a  servant  announced  that 
Mr  M'Killop  would  be  glad  to  see 
him  in  his  business-room.  Bertrand 
found  his  host  much  more  alive  and 
awake  than  usual,  with  an  unclouded 
brow,  and  a  manner  that  was  for 
him  quite  gay  and  lively.  "  Well, 
Mr  Cameron,"  he  said,  "I  have  been 
thinking  over  our  little  difficulty, 
and,  I  assure  you,  with  hearty  good- 
will ;  and  I  hope,  by  making  some 
sacrifice — which  I  shall  be  glad  to 
make,  mind  you — that  I  can  put 
matters  in  a  satisfactory  train." 

"  You  are  far  too  kind  and  good !" 
cried  Bertrand. 

"  Wait,  wait.  First  of  all  I  make 
it  a  positive  condition  that  you  get 
your  uncle's  consent.  I  could  not 
hear  of  the  marriage  without  that. 
Apart  altogether  from  money  consi- 
derations, I  could  not  allow  it.  We 
may  or  may  not  be  people  of  ex- 
traction, but  we  have  our  feelings 
of  self-respect.  You  understand  me, 
I  am  sure?" 

"  Certainly,  sir ;  and  I  know  what 
an  excellent  right  you  have  to  re- 
spect yourself!"  cried  Bertrand,  with 
pardonable  enthusiasm. 

"Very  well;  Sir  Roland's  con- 
sent must  precede  the  marriage,  and 
something  more;  but,  first  of  all, 
let  me  tell  you  what  I  propose  to  do 
for  you  pecuniarily  myself.  I  have 
the  reputation  of  being  rich,  and  I 
do  not  pretend  that  it  is  unfounded ; 
but  one  portion  of  my  fortune  is 
embarked  in  trade,  subject  to  its 
vicissitudes  and  uncertainties.  The 
other  half  is  now  being  invested  in 
land  in  Scotland  ;  and  that,  as  you 
are  aware,  impairs  the  income  of  a 
capital  hitherto  invested  in  carefully 
selected  securities,  paying  a  high 
rate  of  interest.  Ahem  ? " 


748 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


"Yes,"  said  Bertrand,  not  quite 
knowing  what  was  expected  of  him. 

"  Very  good  ;  my  present  income 
will  thus  be  reduced,  and  the  land 
to  be  invested  in  is,  and  always  has 
been,  intended  to  pass,  after  me,  to 
my  son — a  deserving  son,  sir,  who 
has  never  given  me  a  moment's 
anxiety,  and  whom  I  shall  feel  it 
my  duty  to  assist  otherwise  to  the 
utmost  of  my  power,  so  that  his 
position  after  me,  as  a  landowner, 
may  be  as  good  a  one  as  he  is  en- 
titled to  expect.  Ahem?" 

"  Clearly,"  said  Bertrand,  not 
quite  seeing,  however,  how  these 
noble  views  for  the  son  tended  to 
the  provision  of  the  daughter. 

"  Very  well ;  let  us  say  that,  in- 
dependent of  the  land,  my  capital, 
subject  to  risks  as  above,  might 
realise  a  hundred  thousand  pounds 
at  the  least." 

"  An  immense  sum  ! "  cried  Ber- 
trand. 

"  Very  well ;  one  half  of  this — 
subject  as  above  —  shall  be  my 
daughter's  after  my  decease,  if  she 
marries  you,  on  the  condition  that 
Sir  Eoland  sanctions  the  marriage, 
and  settles  the  reversion  of  Aber- 
lorna  irrevocably  on  you  and  your 
heirs.  Ahem  1 " 

"  You  are  far  too  generous,  Mr 
M'Killop." 

"  Listen  ;  I  will  also  undertake 
during  my  lifetime  to  add  an  annual 
equivalent  to  any  sum  he  may  an- 
nually allow  you,  subject  to  the 
above  conditions." 

"  I  never  dreamt  of  such  munifi- 
cence!" cried  Bertrand ;  "  and  pray 
believe  me  that  I  had  no  thought 
of  fortune,  or  even  that  Eila  would 
have  any  money  at  all,  when  I  pro- 
posed to  her :  you  are  really  too 
generous." 

""Well,  Mr  Cameron,  I  daresay 
you  can  understand  that  I  have  a 
partiality  for  my  daughter ;  and  I 
don't  really  see  that  I  could  make  a 
better  use  of  my  money ; — do  you  1 


[June 

ha  !  ha  !  But,  to  return  to  the  prac- 
tical, we  must,  first  of  all,  get  Sir 
Roland's  consent ;  and  meantime 
we  must  exercise  a  little  patience. 
The  time  will  pass  quickly  enough. 
You  had  better  write  to  your  uncle 
at  once  ;  offer  my  respects,  and  say 
that,  after  mature  and  anxious  con- 
sideration, I  have  given  my  pro- 
visional sanction,  and  that  I  am 
prepared  to  do  so-and-so,  subject  to 
so-and-so,  as  stated  before ;  and  that 
we  await  his  reply — anxiously.  You 
incline  to  think  he  will  consent  1 " 

"  I  haven't  a  doubt  of  it ;  your 
munificence  would  alone  be  suffi- 
cient to  secure  that." 

"  That  is  good  ;  I  sincerely  hope 
so ;  and  now  go  away  and  be  happy 
with  Eila." 

So  Bertrand  went  away,  treading 
upon  air.  Probably  M'Killop  had 
talked  more  in  the  last  hour  than  he 
had  done  altogether  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  shooting  season  ;  and 
Bertrand  was  satisfied  that  in  all  his 
previous  life  he  had  never  talked  to 
better  purpose.  Nothing  could  well 
be  more  satisfactory  and  agreeable. 
Fortune  seemed  to  be  literally  pelt- 
ing Bertrand  with  her  favours.  His 
rival  distanced,  his  lady-love  won, 
and,  on  the  top  of  it  all,  a  practical 
parent  blessing  him  with  the  unc- 
tion of  the  old  stage  -  uncle,  and 
hurling  golden  promises  of  fortune 
at  him  with  the  same  dramatic  gen- 
erosity ! 

The  course  of  true  love  was  run- 
ning smooth,  deep,  and  rapid,  the 
sound  of  wedding  -  bells  mingling 
with  its  soothing  song — surely  glid- 
ing to  some  peaceful  summer  sea? 
surely  never  to  mingle  with  tempes- 
tuous billows,  and  lose  its  sweet  life 
in  a  wilderness  of  storms  1 

While  matters  had  been  progress- 
ing thus  happily  in  the  business- 
room,  Mrs  M'Killop,  smarting  with 
a  considerable  sense  of  wrong,  and 
with  her  curiosity  piqued  to  the 
uttermost,  had  vainly  waited  all  the 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI, 


749 


morning  for  Eila,  and  as  vainly 
searched  for  her  own  daughter.  We 
know  how  Eila  had  been  occupied. 
As  for  Morna,  she  had  felt  herself 
by  no  means  in  the  humour  for  the 
maternal  cross  -  examination.  She 
knew  that  what  she  had  to  announce 
would  occasion  to  her  mother  both 
anger  and  disappointment  ;  and 
never  in  all  her  life  had  she  felt  less 
able  to  bear  the  coarse  outbreaks  of 
that  lady's  sometimes  violent  tem- 
per. To  be  put  to  the  question  as 
to  minute  facts ;  to  have  her  mo- 
tives ruthlessly  probed]  to  have  all 
the  delicate  workings  of  her  heart 
—  many  of  them  not  consciously 
admitted  by  herself — paraded  and 
reviewed  by  so  unsympathetic  an 
agency,  would  have  been  just  then 
intolerable  to  her.  The  very  vital- 
ity of  her  mother's  manner  was  ter- 
ribly antipathetic  to  her  present 
feelings.  So  she  had  avoided  her, 
and  gone  away  out  among  the  silent 
woods,  instinctively  seeking  from 
Nature,  who  never  yet  deceived  the 
heart  that  loved  her,  that  tender, 
placid  sympathy  which  her  heart 
craved.  Mrs  M'Killop  meantime 
had  waited  and  sought  in  vain; 
and  the  mystery  that  shrouded  the 
proceedings  of  yesterday  became 
more  mysterious  as  she  felt  that 
the  two  young  ladies  were  avoiding 
her  for  a  purpose ;  so  that  she  met 
them  at  luncheon  bristling  with 
curiosity  and  wrath.  During  that 
meal  she  conducted  herself  with 
silent  dignity,  and  at  its  conclusion 
remarked  to  the  two  culprits — 
"Morna,  I  desire  that  you  will 
come  with  me  to  the  boudoir;  as 
for  you,  Eila,  I  will  not  trouble 
you  to  break  another  engagement 
with  me." 

"  Dear  mamma,  I'll  come  at 
once  ! "  cried  Eila. 

"  You  are  very  good,  I'm  sure, 
but  I  could  not  think  of  troubling 
you ;  and,  for  the  present,  I  am 
engaged  with  my  own  daughter,  if 


I  can  hope  that  she  will  condescend 
so  far." 

Mrs  M'Killop  was  evidently  in 
the  most  abominable  of  tempers ; 
so  neither  young  lady  made  any 
further  controversy  ;  Eila  going 
away  by  herself,  and  Morna  follow- 
ing her  mother  to  the  inevitable 
interview. 

"  I  think,"  began  Mrs  M'Killop, 
as  soon  as  they  were  seated  in  the 
chamber  of  inquisition — "  I  think, 
Morna,,!  have  a  right  to  feel  that 
you  are  treating  me  ill." 

"  I  am  sure,  mamma,  I  would 
never  do  so  willingly,''  was  the 
reply. 

"  You  have  avoided  me  ever  since 
our  return  from  the  picnic.  I  am 
not  blind,  child  ;  I  know  that 
something  which  you  are  anxious 
to  conceal  from  me  happened 
yesterday." 

"  No,  indeed,  mamma ;  I  have 
nothing  to  conceal  from  you;  but 
somehow  I  did  not  feel  able  last 
night,  or  even  this  morning,  to  tell 
you  of  what  happened  yesterday." 

"  I  was  right,  then ;  something 
did  happen  ? " 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  Please  go  on,  then  ;  I  detest  all 
this  sentimental  mystery  and  fuss." 

"  I  wish  to  make  no  fuss  about 
it,  but— 

"  I  declare  you  would  try  the 
temper  of  a  saint :  did  James  Dun- 
canson  propose  to  you  ? " 

'  Yes  ;  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  did." 

'  Sony !  " 

'  Sincerely." 

'Why?" 

'  Because  I  was  compelled  to  do 
what  may  have  pained  him  a  little ; 
and  what,  I  fear,  will  disappoint 
you." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
you  actually  ventured  to  refuse 
him?" 

Mrs  M'Killop  was  of  course  mo- 
rally certain  that  she  had  ;  but  the 
question  was  dramatically  necessary 


750 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


to   justify    surprise,   which    always 
runs  so  well  with  indignation. 

"  I  did  refuse  him,  mamma,  and 
my  principal  regret  in  doing  so  was 
that  I  felt  it  would  vex  you ;  but  I 
really  couldn't  help  it." 

"  Oh !  you  couldn't  help  it, 
couldn't  you  ? "  sneered  her  mother, 
in  a  white  heat. 

"  No,  mamma,  I  could  not." 

"  I  presume,  then,  you  have 
other  secrets  from  me ;  perhaps  you 
are  engaged  to  some  parte,  wor- 
thier of  you — a  duke,  or  a  prince, 
or"  (which  was  probably  Mrs 
M'Killop's  highest  idea  of  distinc- 
tion) "  a  nobleman  in  disguise  ? " 

"  No,  mother,  there  is  nothing  of 
that  sort  in  the  way." 

"  Then,  in  the  name  of  wonder, 
girl,  what  is  it  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Morna,  in  a  sad 
and  weary  tone. 

"  Nothing  !  you  had  best  go  to  a 
nunnery,  or  a  poor's-house,  or  the 
infirmary  at  once,"  snarled  her  mo- 
ther. "  I've  had  trouble  enough 
with  you  and  your  up-bringing  ;  I've 
given  you  the  chance  of  an  estab- 
lishment, and  you  throw  it  away 
for  some  crotchet,  as  if  it  was — as 
if  it  was  ditch-water.  Fifteen  thou- 
sand a-year  !  and  a  fine  young  man  ! 
And  you — what  are  you  but  a  pau- 
per, or  next  thing  to  it1?  A  posi- 
tion like  what  we  used  to  have  long 
ago  !  Thousands  of  acres  !  Part  of 
the  old  M'Cuaig  property  too  !  Oh  ! 
you  ungrateful — undutiful — artful 
— obstinate  ;  and  Eila 

But  this  last  consideration  was 
too  poignant,  and  here  the  angry 
mother  burst  into  a  torrent  of  tears, 
accompanied  by  gusts  of  maledic- 
tory sobbing,  and  spasmodic  invoca- 
tions of  unutterable  ancestors  to  rise 
from  their  tombs  and  testify  against 
their  worthless  descendant.  Morna 
bore  it  all  with  silent  fortitude,  and 
when  the  tempest  had  lulled  a  little, 
said — 

"  It  grieves  me  sincerely,  mamma, 


[June 

to  vex  you  so  ;  but  our  views  about 
marriage  are  evidently  altogether 
different,  and  we  need  not  argue 
about  it.  I  would  do  anything  I 
possibly  could  to  please  you,  but 
this  I  really  could  not — could  not 
do." 

"  Go  away  out  of  my  sight,  you 
sly  hypocrite  !  "  roared  the  matron, 
with  renewed  vigour.  "  I  hope  the 
deluded  young  man  will  not  give 
you  another  chance,  when  you  come 
to  your  senses.  You're — you're — 
not  fit  to  be  a  good  man's  wife.  I 
don't  doubt  but  you've  got  some 
low,  beggarly  attachment  —  that's 
the  secret  of  it.  Well,  go  away 
and  be  married  to  any  of  the  ghil- 
lies  you  please,  or  perhaps  you 
would  prefer  a  shepherd,  or  the 
postman,  or — well,  I've  done  with 
you." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  speak  so 
to  me,  mother,"  said  Morna,  roused 
to  anger  at  last.  "  If  '  the  deluded 
young  man,'  as  you  call  him,  ever 
ventures  to  mention  the  subject 
to  me  again,  I  shall  let  him  know 
my  real  reason  for  refusing  him — 
that  I  loathe  and  despise  him.  I 
don't  know  how  you  dare  to  say  that 
I  am  unfit  to  be  a  good  man's  wife. 
I  never  wish  to  be,  and  never  shall 
be,  any  man's  wife — good  or  bad; 
but  I  will  not  stay  here  to  be  so 
cruelly  treated  and  spoken  to,  even 
by  you,  mother.  I  have  already 
offered  to  go  to  my  aunt's  before  the 
time,  and  to-morrow  I  shall  go  to 
them.  When  you  come  to  your 
senses,  I  may  come  back  to  you." 
Morna  marched  to  the  door,  tragic 
and  indignant,  but,  turning  there, 
looked  back  at  her  mother,  whose 
wrath,  half  paralysed  by  astonish- 
ment and  a  rising  fear  of  having 
gone  too  far,  was  now  oozing  away 
in  quiet  tears. 

Morna  looked  at  her  mother  for  a 
moment  or  two  without  speaking, 
then  came  back  to  her  side,  and 
said,  "Mother,  forgive  me;  I  was 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


1871.] 

wrong — we  were  "both  wrong.  You 
were  angry  and  did  not  know  what 
you  said;  and  I — oh  !  if  you  only 
knew  how  sad  my  heart  is,  and  how 
really  it  grieves  me  to  vex  you,  you 
would  not  drive  me  away  with  such 
words.  I  aui  sure  you  might  be- 
lieve that  I  would  do  anything  that 
it  was  possible  for  me  to  do  to  please 
you;  but  this  was  not  possible — it 
really  was  not." 

Mrs  M'Killop  was  somewhat  im- 
pressed with  Morna's  speech,  and 
replied  in  querulous  but  no  longer 
insulting  tones,  "  Yes,  yes ;  that  is 
always  the  way  with  young  people 
nowadays.  Ask  them  to  do  any- 
thing but  what  you  particularly  wish 
them  to  do,  and  what  it  is  their 
duty  to  do,  and  they  will  obey  you 
cheerfully." 

"  Well,  mamma,  I  am  quite  cer- 
tain that,  with  my  feelings,  it  could 
not  be  my  duty  to  do  this;  but  it 
can  do  no  good  to  argue  about  it." 
And  hereupon  Morna,  seizing  a 
moment  of  comparative  peace  to 
bring  the  interview  to  a  close,  kissed 
her  mother  and  left  the  room.  Be- 
fore the  perturbation  of  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop's  spirit  had  altogether  calmed 
down,  a  gentle  tap  came  to  her  door, 
and  before  she  could  either  refuse  or 
grant  admittance,  there  entered  to 
her,  with  graceful  undulating  mo- 
tions, and  a  bright,  but  withal  de- 
precating smile  on  her  lovely  face — 
Eila.  No  visitor  could  have  been 
more  unwelcome  at  the  moment. 
Mrs  M'Killop's  aversion  to  Eila,  at 
all  times  sincere,  was  at  this  moment 
intensified  by  her  daughter's  refusal 
to  play  the  only  card  which  Eila 
appeared  unable  to  trump;  and,  be- 
sides this,  she  was  certain  that  Eila 
now  came  to  announce  to  her  the 
collapse  of  her  own  scheme,  which 
would  have  removed  that  young  lady 
from  a  trumping  position  for  the 
future.  Poor  Mrs  M'Killop !  it 
was  very  hard  upon  her,  to  be  sure, 
that  her  natural  ally  and  her  natural 


751 


foe — in  her  mind,  natural  antagon- 
ists to  each  other — should  both  seem 
perversely  determined  to  sacrifice 
even  their  own  interests  (as  she  read 
it)  for  the  sake  of  thwarting  her  ; 
that  both  strings  to  her  bow  should 
snap,  both  barrels  miss  fire.  If 
either  had  been  successful,  the  fail- 
ure of  the  other  would  not  have 
been  so  grievous.  If  Eila  had 
"  gone  off,"  the  ground  would  have 
been  clear  for  Morna,  for  the  future ; 
and  if  Morna  had  accepted  Mr 
Duncanson,  that  would  have  con- 
soled her  mother  for  the  continued 
misfortune  of  Eila's  society.  But 
both  had  failed,  and  the  detestable 
status  quo  was  all  before  her  again. 
It  was  well,  perhaps,  that  so  much 
of  her  wrath  had  already  found  such 
free  vent,  or  she  might  have  been 
unable  to  exercise  even  a  semblance 
of  the  control  over  herself  which 
hitherto  she  had  achieved,  even  in 
her  keenest  passages  with  the  ene- 
my. As  it  was,  she  rose  from  her 
seat  with  an  angry  flounce,  and, 
though  her  manner  was  meant  to 
express  calm  dignity,  it  was  the 
intermittent  flustering  dignity  of  the 
turkey-cock.  In  this  way  she  in- 
timated that,  as  Eila  had  found  it 
inconvenient  to  come  to  her  in  the 
morning,  sfie  now  found  it  incon- 
venient to  receive  her,  and  begged  to 
be  left  alone.  If  Morna's  tale  had 
been  a  different  one,  she  could  have 
afforded  to  listen  with  patience — 
perhaps  even  with  interest — to  the 
details  of  Mr  Tainsh's  discomfiture  ; 
but,  as  it  was,  she  had  no  patience 
for  anything  that  her  step-daughter 
could  say.  Eila,  altogether  ignoring 
the  conge,  and  the  stormy  symptoms 
which  accompanied  it,  continued  to 
advance  upon  her  step-mother  with 
smiles  of  archest  significance,  and 
— like  a  regiment  reserving  its  fire 
till  at  close  quarters — spoke  not  a 
word  till  she  threw  her  arms  round 
the  astonished  matron's  neck,  and 
kissed  her  ardently. 


752 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


11  Eila  !  Miss  M'Killop  !  wh— 
what  is  the  meaning  of  this — this 
exhibition  ?  "  gasped  the  step-dame, 
attempting  to  extricate  herself  from 
Eila's  arms,  who,  however,  only 
varied  the  caress  by  burying  her 
head  in  her  victim's  ample  bosom, 
with  a  sort  of  "  rock-me-to-sleep- 
niother "  pose,  delightfully  in  con- 
trast with  the  elder  lady's  attitude 
and  expression.  "  I  desire  you — 
madam — I  cannot — I  will  not — — " 
gasped  Mrs  M'Killop,  morally,  if 
not  physically,  suffocated  by  the  de- 
monstration. 

"  Dearest  mamma,"  murmured 
Eila,  withdrawing  a  little — "  dear- 
est mamma,  I  am  so,  so  happy  ! " 

"  What !  "  shouted  the  dame, 
plunging  back  so  violently  as  to  be 
in  danger  of  turning  a  back  somer- 
sault over  the  sofa  behind  her ; 
"  so  happy,  so  exquisitely  happy  ! 
And  fine  cause  you  have  for  it, 
no  doubt ! "  snorted  Mrs  M'Killop. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  dear  mamma  ;  and 
lie  is  quite  pleased." 

"  Oh  !  he  is  quite  pleased,  is  he  ? 
that  is  delightful.  If  he  knew  you 
as  well  as  I  do,  he  might  well  be 
pleased." 

"Thanks!  thanks!  you "  (closing) 
"dear,  good,  kind"  (kiss),  "flatter- 
ing mamma." 

"  I  pro-test  I  won't  stand  this 
impertinence  any  longer  ! "  cried  Mrs 
M'Killop,  disengaging  herself,  and 
staring  fiercely  at  Eila,  who  regarded 
her  with  meek  astonishment.  "  Are 
you  mad,  Miss  M'Killop  1 " 

"  If  I  am,  it  is  only  with  too 
much  happiness;  but  what  is  the 
matter  with  you? 

"  The  matter  with  me  !  the  mat- 
ter !  the  matter  1  Is  this  a  seemly 
spirit  to  be  in  after  what  has  occur- 
red ? " 

"Why  not ?" 

"Oh!  to  be  sure,  'why  not?' 
miss.  This  is  the  modern  school,  I 
suppose  ;  this  is  '  the  period ' — 
this  is  quite  correct,  nowadays,  of 


[June 

course.  I'm  an  antediloovyan,  I 
know.  I  had  better  go  to  the  mu- 
seums at  once — among  the  ichsor- 
uses,  and  the  mammals,  and  the 
camels,  or " 

"  What  can  you  mean,  mamma  ? " 
cried  Eila,  with  the  widest  eyes. 

"  All  I  can  say  is,  if  your  father 
approves  of  it,  I  don't :  if  you  are 
to  make  game  of  his  friends,  I 
don't.  I  am  a  plain  woman,  but 
I  am  a  lady  by  birth,  and  this  is 
not  our  way,  and  I  don't.  My  grand- 
mother  " 

"  Mamma,  what  are  you  talking 
of?"  and  indeed  the  question  was 
not  uncalled  for. 

"If  you  choose  to  refuse  a  decent 
man's  honourable  proposals  —  to 
throw  away  chances  you'll  never  get 
again,  that's  your  affair;  but  you 
shan't  come  to  giggle  and  triumph 
like — like — a  mulatto,  over  him,  to 
me,  in  my  room  ;  and  so  I  tell  you, 
miss.  Perhaps  it  may  amuse  your 
maid — you  can  try  her ;  it  disgusts 
me,  and  so  I  tell  you  :  and  this  is 
my  boodoor,  and  that  is  the  door, 
and  so  I  tell  you." 

"Dear  mamma,  I  wasn't  triumph- 
ing over  a  refusal  —  it  is  just  the 
opposite.  I  was  going  to  tell  you 
of  my  engagement." 

"  Your  engagement !"  sneered  Mrs 
M'Killop,  with  lofty  incredulity. 
"  Now,  with  my  antediloovyan  no- 
tions, do  you  know  I  actually  sup- 
posed you  had  refused  Mr  Tainsh — 
I'm  really  quite  behind  the  age." 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  did  refuse  him." 

"  Oh  !  you  did  ?  —  I  see  —  and 
you've  repented,  and  called  him 
back  ;  of  course,  with  your  over- 
whelming  charms,  you  have  no  doubt 
he  will  come ;  but  some  men  have 
their  foolish  pride,  and,  do  you 
know,  I  think  it  would  be  more 
delicate,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  if 
you  didn't  give  out  your  engagement 
to  Mr  Tainsh  till  you  were  quite 
certain  you  were  to  get  him.  It's 
ahtays  unlucky  to  count  your  chick- 


1871.] 

ens  before  they  are  hatched,  but  we 
must  hope  for  the  best." 

Eila  laughed  merrily,  and  said, 
"  We  are  all  at  cross  purposes,  mam- 
ma ;  how  very,  very  droll !  Mr 
Tainsh  is  a  worthy  man,  but  he  en- 
tirely forgot  his  place  when  he  pro- 
posed to  me  ;  and  really  I'm  afraid 
I  can't  give  him  another  chance,  for 
I'm  engaged  to  Mr  Bertrand  Camer- 
on, mamma." 

Such  a  possibility  had,  of  course, 
been  from  time  to  time  before  Mrs 
M'Killop's  mind,  but  it  had  not 
materially  entered  into  her  calcula- 
tions ;  and  now  the  full  light  of  the 
actual  fact  suddenly  bursting  upon 
her  had  a  bewildering  eifect,  and 
she  plumped  down  upon  the  sofa, 
only  able  to  ejaculate  "Mr  Cam- 
eron ! " 

Her  brain  was  not  very  quick,  so 
the  advantages  and  disadvantages  of 
the  affair  were  not  at  once  clearly 
before  her;  but  in  her  present  frame 
of  mind  anything  that  was  pleasant 
to  Eila  was  painful  to  her,  and 
therefore  the  intelligence  was  de- 
cidedly disagreeable  on  a  first  hear- 
ing. JN"or  did  it  improve  on  con- 
sideration; for  then  she  remembered 
that  Bertrand  had  been,  in  a  sort  of 
secondary  way,  designed  for  Morna ; 
and,  now  that  he  might  have  been 
utilised,  here  was  this  eternal  mar- 
plot pouncing  upon  him. 

"  Of  course !  as  a  matter  of 
course!"  she  said  to  herself,  bit- 
terly. 

Then,  as  she  sat  silent,  and  Eila 
ran  on  with  her  story  of  how  Ber- 
trand had  spoken  to  papa,  and  how 
pleased  papa  had  been,  and  what 
" handsome,  noble  promises"  papa 
had  made,  it  dawned  upon  her  that 
the  financial  aspect  of  the  affair  was 
far  from  satisfactory.  "  Hamper- 
ing our  income,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "with  a  large  allowance  just 
now,  and  half  his  fortune  to  go  to 
the  minx  after  his  death  !  I  should 
like  to  know  what  he  means  to  do 

VOL.  CIX. NO.  DCLXVIII. 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


753 


for  hie.  I'm  to  be  put  off  with  a 
trumpery  jointure,  I  suppose;  no 
ready  money,  no  capital — nothing 
to  leave  to  my  family." 

Such  was  the  current  of  her 
thoughts,  the  only  offset  against 
the  disadvantages  of  Eila's  engage- 
ment— that  Eila  would  no  longer  be 
an  inmate  of  the  house — seeming, 
for  the  moment,  not  at  all  adequate. 
It  was  not  to  be  expected,  there- 
fore, that  her  congratulations  should 
"be  very  cordial. 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  wish  you  well 
in  your  new  life,  Eila,"  she  said, 
"but  I  cannot  say  you  deserve 
well.  Anything  worse  than  your 
conduct  to  Mr  Tainsh  I  do  not  re- 
member. If  /  was  your  own  mo- 
ther, I  would  let  you  know  my 
mind  freely,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  And  as  you  are  not,  dear  mam- 
ma, suppose  we  say  no  more  about 
it?" 

"  I  would  let  you  know  how  I 
despise  double  games,  and  false  en- 
couragements, and  idle  heartless 
flirtings ;  and  that  I  think  eyes 
that  roll  always  for  admiration,  are 
not  the  eyes  "  (rather  losing  herself 
in  her  metaphor)  "to  be  helpmeets 
to  husbands,  or  take  up  and  bear 
a  share  of  life's  trials,  and  so 
forth.  As  to  Mr  Cameron,  I  have 
nothing  to  say  against  him ;  but  he 
is  young,  he  is  very  young,  he  is 
far  too  young.  Men  are  all  fickle, 
especially  very  young  men.  Pro- 
bably he  will  repent;  if  he  jilts 
you,  you  will  regret  Mr  Tainsh. 
People  will  tell  him  it  is  a  bad 
match — plebeian  (you  know,  Eila, 
your  origin  is  not  like  Morna's  and 
mine) — and  that  will  set  his  pride 
up,  or  his  uncle's  pride — they  are  a 
proud  race — and  then  where  will 
you  be  ?  Take  friendly  advice,  and 
don't  be  sanguine ;  say  nothing  to 
any  one  about  it  at  present,  and 
then  the  fall  won't  be  so  deep." 

"  Now,  mamma,  what  more  could 
you  have  said  if  I  had  been  your 


754 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VL 


own  child  1  Your  kindness  is  really 
more  than  I  had  any  right  to  ex- 
pect." 

"  Act  on  my  advice,  Eila,  and  you 
will  always  find  me  glad  to  advise 
you." 


[June 

"I know  I  shall— I  knowlshall !" 
cried  Eila,  leaving  the  room;  adding, 
outside  the  room,  "  and  I  shall  al- 
ways be  happy  to  receive  it  when 
it  is  as  spiteful,  for  that  tells  me 
how  bitterly  you  feel  my  happiness." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


As  yesterday  had  been  a  day  of 
proposals,  so  to-day  had  been  one 
of  interviews  ;  and  there  was  that 
sort  of  mystery  and  hush  in  the 
establishment  which  seems  percep- 
tible and  communicable  even  to  out- 
siders during  a  domestic  crisis,  when 
the  servants  lower  their  voices  and 
move  stealthily  about  the  house, 
when  the  closing  of  a  door  is  fraught 
with  mystery,  and  the  jangling  of 
a  bell  suggests  a  denouement.  It 
had  been  a  day  of  interviews,  and 
the  list  of  them  was  brought  to  a 
close  when  Mrs  M'Killop  had  "  in- 
terviewed" her  lord  and  master. 
That  he  was  her  lord  and  master  in . 
any  other  than  a  poetical  and  hon- 
orary sense  of  the  term,  Mrs  M'Kil- 
lop did  not  believe,  and  would  have 
denied  with  indignation,  convinced 
as  she  was  that  all  things  in  the 
family  commonwealth  were  regulat- 
ed according  to  her  ordinances.  Her 
husband's  quietness  and  self-absorp- 
tion fostered  this  delusion,  as  did 
his  avoidance  of  dispute  with  regard 
to  unimportant  matters.  And,  after 
all,  a  fussy,  violent  disposition  is 
very  apt  to  carry  its  point  in  non- 
essentials.  Common-sense  weighs 
the  value  of  time  and  tissue,  in  com- 
bating for  it,  against  the  worth  of 
a  trifling  victory.  In  ninety-nine 
cases  out  of  a  hundred,  such  vic- 
tories are  not  worth  the  trouble  of 
achieving  them ;  and  as  the  fussy 
and  violent  temperament,  which  is 
fussy  and  violent  upon  every  sub- 
ject, loses  all  sense  of  proportion, 
and  values  the  fact  of  conquest  far 
more  than  the  point  gained,  the  one- 
per-cent  of  defeat,  when  common- 


sense  does  show  fight  on  an  import- 
ant point,  seems  no  more  than  the 
exception  proving  the  rule.  Hence 
Mrs  M'Killop  considered  her  sway 
absolute,  and  flattered  herself  that 
if  she  determined  to  make  her  hus- 
band withdraw  his  consent  to  his 
daughter's  marriage,  there  would  be 
no  difficulty  in  carrying  her  point. 
She  had  thought  the  matter  well 
over,  however,  and  had  eventually 
decided  that  it  would  be  rather  like 
cutting  off  her  nose  to  spite  her 
face,  if  she  ran  through  the  arrange- 
ment. "  I  will  allow  it  to  go  on, 
but  I  will  frighten  him  in  the  first 
place,"  was  the  decision  which  she 
carried  to  her  husband's  business- 
room. 

The  expression  of  majestic  gloom 
with  which,  in  fulfilment  of  this 
programme,  she  confronted  Mr 
M'Killop,  seemed,  however,  to  be 
strangely  lost  upon  him.  He  met 
it,  to  her  astonishment,  with  a  look 
of  tranquil,  cheerful  brightness,  per- 
fectly unusual  to  him  ;  and  at  once, 
with  an  equally  unusual  volubility, 
proceeded  to  unfold  to  her  what  he 
called  "  the  good  news."  To  this 
expression  his  wife  took  immediate 
exception  ;  considered  the  news  very 
bad — even  deplorable;  and  indicated 
that  she  had  by  no  means  decided 
upon  giving  her  sanction  to  the 
match.  And  here  she  found,  like 
many  other  sovereigns,  that  there  is 
some  point  where  the  will  of  the 
subject  cannot  be  overridden.  In  the 
quietest  way  possible,  her  husband 
pointed  out  that  it  was  no  affair  of 
hers,  and  that  his  decision  was  per- 
fectly independent  and  final. 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


755 


"  I  am  sorry,"  he  added,  "  that 
you  don't  see  the  matter  as  I  do, 
but  that  is  my  only  regret  in  the 
matter.  If  you  only  knew  what  a 
happiness  it  is  to  me — what  a  bur- 
den it  lifts  off  my  mind — what  a 

burden  of ,"  here  he  checked 

himself  for  a  moment,  and  went  on : 
"you  would  be  glad,  I  think,  to 
further  it." 

No  argument  could  have  been 
less  telling  upon  Mrs  M'Killop;  with 
any  little  advantage  as  to  comfort 
which  it  might  bring  to  her  per- 
sonally, the  marriage  brought  her 
a  world  of  immediate  chagrin  and 
vexation,  not  to  speak  of  possible  dis- 
advantages in  the  future;  and  to  be 
told  that  it  made  her  husband  hap- 
pier than  he  had  been  for  years,  was 
not,  under  the  circumstances,  a  fea- 
ture in  the  project  likely  to  move 
such  a  nature  to  zealous  co-operation, 
altogether  apart  from  the  unseemly 
and  unwonted  refusal  to  recognise 
her  sovereign  rights  which  had  gone 
before.  She  was,  moreover,  not  at 
all  certain  that  M'Killop  had  any 
right  to  independent  sources  of  hap- 
piness ;  and  as  to  lifting  a  burden 
from  his  mind — what  burden  was 
it?  and  what  business  had  he  to 
have  a  burden  without  her  sanction  ? 
Altogether,  she  was  exasperated, 
and  set  herself  to  undermine,  by 
every  unpleasant  suggestion,  the 
rebellious  satisfaction  in  which  her 
husband  was  indulging.  In  this 
way  she  dwelt  upon  the  youth  of 
the  suitor ;  the  short  acquaintance 
between  him  and  his  betrothed ;  the 
fickleness  of  unripe  manhood ;  the 
folly  of  rash  engagements;  the  al- 
most certain  misery  of  marriages 
entered  into  before  the  contracting 
parties  "knew  their  own  minds;" 
the  extreme  improbability  of  its  ever 
coming  to  anything ;  the  probable 
opposition  of  his  family,  and  their 
reasonable  suspicion  that  Bertrand 
had  been  entrapped  for  the  sake  of 
his  prospects. 

M'Killop  was  not  to  be  moved 


by  all  these  stock  considerations, 
and  parried  the  last  by  remark- 
ing that,  when  the  fortune  he 
designed  for  Eila  was  considered, 
mercenary  motives  could  hardly  be 
attributed  to  him ;  and  on  Mrs 
M'Killop  disinterestedly  remarking 
that  she  thought  the  destined  pro- 
vision excessive  and  unfair  to — to 
others — she  meant  his  son,  of  course 
— he  cried  out,  with  inexplicable 
energy,  that  he  would  double  it 
rather  than  see  the  marriage  fall 
through. 

The  tormentor  was  nonplussed ; 
and  setting  this  flight  down  to  the 
rampagiousness  of  obstinacy  glorying 
in  a  first  success,  she  resolved  that 
her  husband  should  find,  by  a  hun- 
dred petty  discomfitures,  that  a 
second  would  be  dearly  bought. 
She  had  all  but  emptied  her  quiver 
of  annoyances,  and  shot  the  last 
shaft  without  expecting  it  to  telL 
It  did  so,  however,  and,  to  her  sur- 
prise, with  marvellous  eifect ;  and 
was  delivered  on  this  wise  : — 

"All  I  can  say  is,  that  Eila's 
conduct  has  been  most  improper 
throughout ;  I  don't  know  what  the 
neighbourhood  will  say." 

"  I  can't  say  I  have  noticed  the 
impropriety ;  and  I  don't  think  the 
neighbours  are  likely  to  interest 
themselves  in  the  matter,  one  way 
or  other,  considering  we  know  no 
one  in  the  neighbourhood." 

"  I  alluded  to  this  sad  business 
with  Mr  Tainsh." 

"  Mr  Tainsh  !  what  sad  busi- 
ness ? " 

"  Oh  !  you  may  pretend  not  to 
know,  but  it  won't  do ;  and  Mr 
Tainsh  is  not  the  man  to  conceal 
his  wrongs  —  his  cruel  injuries  ; 
Eila's  name  will  be  blasted  — 
blasted." 

"  Good  gracious  !  Mrs  M'Killop," 
cried  her  husband,  starting  up  in 
visible  agitation;  "what  do  you 
mean1?  No  more  riddles,  if  you 
please." 

"No  riddles,    M'Killop;    plain, 


756 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


[Ji 


sad  truth,  seen  by  all  the  world. 
Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  didn't 
see  that  Mr  Tainsh  was  in  love  with 


"  I  did  not  ;  he  never  told  me  ; 
I  never  noticed  it." 

"He  told  me,  however,  M'Kil- 
lop." 

"Well?" 

"  'Well  V  you  take  it  coolly,  upon 
my  word  !  Yes,  M'Killop,  he  was 
in  love  with  her  ;  she  did  all  in  her 
power,  used  every  device  and  art, 
to  make  him  love  her,  under  my 
eyes,  and  I  saw  it;  under  your  nose, 
and  it  seems  you  didn't  even  sus- 
pect it  !  " 

"Well]" 

"  '  Well  '  again  !  Is  that  conduct 
worthy  of  a  Christian  female,  M'Kil- 
lop?" 

"  She  couldn't  propose  to  him, 
you  know,  Elisabeth." 

"  Oh  !  I  wouldn't  be  too  sure  of 
that,  if  it  had  suited  her;  but  it 
didn't  suit  her,  and  it  wasn't  neces- 
sary, for  she  made  him  propose  to 
her." 

"  No  !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  just  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  refusing  him,  insulting 
him,  telling  him  that  he  was  too 
low  for  her  notice;  ridiculing  his 
honest  love,  M'Killop,  as  an  offering 
only  fit  for  a  dairymaid,  and  an  out- 
rage to  her.  Her  father's  friend  had 
a  right  to  expect  different  treatment. 
When  we  came  upon  the  scene  of 
the  refusal,  it  was  plain  to  me  that 
she  was  violently  insulting  Mr 
Tainsh." 

"  Good  heavens  !  I  had  no  idea 
of  all  this;  'it  is  very  bad  —  very 
painful.  I  would  give  anything 
that  it  had  not  happened." 

"  No  man  can  forgive  such  an  in- 
sult," continued  Mrs  M'Killop,  in 
solemn  didactic  tones;  "  and  no  man 
can  forget  the  shocking  way  she 
threw  herself  at  young  Cameron. 
Mr  Tainsh  will  have  his  revenge. 
He  has  gone  away  in  wrath  —  in  fury 
—  in  madness,"  she  continued,  her 


imagination  warming  to  the  work, 
"  and  he  is  now  telling  all  the  world 
how  things  are  carried  on  here — how 
sensible  men  are  insulted  and  be- 
fooled, and  young  fools  entrapped 
by  designing  minxes.  A  nice  char- 
acter we  shall  have  !  and  my  poor 
dear  Morna  will  suffer.  There,  M'Kil- 
lop, you  needn't  be  so  very  trium- 
phant about  your  fine  marriage.  It 
won't  sound  so  well,  reported  by  that 
injured  man." 

"  Good  God !"  repeated  M'Killop, 
pacing  the  room  in  great  agitation, 
"  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  Tainsh 
was  offended  or  hurt  in  any  way. 

There's  no  saying he  might 

I  like  Tainsh 1  owe  him  kind- 
nesses, you  see.  I  wouldn't  have 
Tainsh  made  unfriendly — that  is,  I 
would  not  be  unfriendly  to  Tainsh 
for  any  consideration.  Are  you  sure 
he  is  feeling  it  in  this  way  ? " 

"Certain;  he  is  simply  mad- 
dened." 

"Then  we  must  make  it  up  to 
him.  I  must  write — you  must  write 
— Eila  shall  write — we'll  all  write, 
and  apologise ;  or  I'll  go  and  see 
him  this  very  day.  I'll  follow  him, 
and  tell  him  it  was  beyond  my  con- 
trol— that  I  knew  nothing  of  it. 
You  know  that ;  you  can  tell  him 
that.  I  can  swear  it  with  a  safe 
conscience.  Tainsh  has  reason  — 
Tainsh  has  common  -  sense.  He 
can't  resent  it  on  me.  No,  no ;  but 
something  must  be  done  at  once." 

All  the  brightness  had  faded  from 
M'Killop's  face,  and  a  look  of  anxiety 
and  distress  had  replaced  it,  as  he 
moved  about  the  room  in  short, 
quick,  uncertain  strides,  betraying 
extreme  nervous  agitation  in  every 
gesture.  His  wife  looked  at  him 
in  astonishment ;  the  symptoms  he 
betrayed  appeared  to  her  to  be  out 
of  all  proportion  to  their  cause, 
especially  in  so  phlegmatic  a  man. 
She  felt  that  she  had  overdone  her 
part.  Having  merely  meant  to  vex 
and  irritate  him,  she  found  that  she 
had  roused  him  into  a  kind  of 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


757 


frenzy  —  a  frenzy  perfectly  unac- 
countable to  her,  but  there  it  was  ; 
and  it  was  now  necessary  for  her, 
having  roused  it,  to  undo  the  work 
she  had  done,  and  to  prevent  action 
being  taken,  which,  as  she  knew, 
would  only  place  them  all  in  a 
ridiculous  and  humiliating  light 
before  Mr  Tainsh. 

To  soothe  her  lord  she  found  no 
easy  task,  even  with  the  half-ad- 
mission that  her  feelings  had  carried 
her  away  into  exaggeration;  and  all 
the  success  she  achieved  before  leav- 
ing was  the  extortion  of  a  promise 
to  suspend  action  for  the  moment — 
and  with  this  she  was  fain  to  be 
content.  Her  interview  had  been 
altogether  a  failure — it  had  left  her 
entirely  baffled;  and  there  was  a 
mystery  about  her  husband's  whole 
conduct  in.  the  matter  from  first  to 
last  which  piqued  her  with  the  idea 
of  a  secret  motive — secret  from  her. 
If  she  had  had  any  doubt  on  the 
subject,  it  was  set  at  rest  a  few 
minutes  after  the  close  of  their  con- 
versation, when,  going  quietly  into 
his  room  to  look  for  something 
which  she  had  left  behind,  she 
found  him  standing  with  his  back 
to  the  door,  still  in  the  same  atti- 
tude, and  heard  him  mutter  to  him- 
self— 

"  Good  God !  have  I  found  the 
chance,  after  all  these  years  ?  Have 
I  found  the  means  —  simple  and 
harmless — of  setting  all  to  rights — 
and  only  to  lose  it  ? " 

"  What  chance  1  setting  what  to 
rights,  M'KillopT'  cried  his  wife, 
unable  to  restrain  herself. 

Her  husband  turned  fiercely  upon 
her,  with  a  look  she  had  never  seen 
in  his  face  before,  and,  quivering 
with  rage,  ordered  her  from  his 
sight,  with  a  torrent  of  imprecations 
that  came  with  startling  effect  from 
so  unlikely  a  source,  and  revealed 
to  her,  for  the  first  time,  that  under 
that  quiet  and  almost  sanctimonious 
exterior  there  lay,  unknown  and  un- 
guessed  by  her,  a  second  life,  from 


which  these  utterances  came.  She 
fled  from  the  room  in  real  terror — 
and  from  that  date  her  theory  of 
government  was  revolutionised.  If 
yesterday — the  feast  of  'proposals — 
had  terminated  in  general  discom- 
fiture and  gloom,  so  to-day  the 
resulting  interviews  had,  after  all, 
left  matters  in  no  more  satisfactory 
condition.  As  there  had  been  only 
two  in  the  dramatis  personce  of 
yesterday  for  whom  the  action  of 
the  piece  went  smoothly,  so  to-day 
there  were  still  only  two.  Tainsh 
and  Duncauson,  indeed,  had  with- 
drawn their  contributions  to  the 
dismal  department,  but  their  places 
had  been  supplied  by  Mr  and  Mrs 
M'Killop,  who  were  now  looking 
their  parts  to  a  marvel.  Such  were 
Pigott's  sentiments,  as  he  surveyed 
the  party  at  dinner,  not  without 
disapprobation. 

"As  for  these  two  idiots,"  he  said 
to  himself,  alluding  to  Eila  and 
Bertrand,  "  of  course  they  are  too 
ineffably  happy  not  to  be  silent ;  and 
although  the  consciousness  that 
there  are  two  people  ineffably  happy 
in  a  room  has  a  depressing  effect, 
still  it  needn't  be  so  bad  as  this. 
One  would  have  thought  the  parent- 
birds  would  have  liked  it,  but  it 
doesn't  seem  so.  What's  the  mat- 
ter with  old  M'Killop  1  he's  piano 
enough  iu  general,  but  to-day  he 
looks  as  if  he  was  going  to  be 
knouted.  And  the  other  old  mis- 
creant— even  her  voice  would  be  a 
relief  How  red  her  face  is !  per- 
haps she's  been  drinking,  and 
daren't  trust  herself  to  speak.  And 
Morna  too — looking  as  if  she  was  at 
a  funeral.  Upon  my  life,  it  is  rather 
too  hard  upon  me  :  conversation  is 
not  my  line,  but  one  has  a  right  to 
expect  it  from  others." 

It  certainly  was  not  a  convivial 
occasion.  Eila  and  Bertrand  found 
it  satisfactory  enough,  but  it  did 
strike  even  their  preoccupation  that 
M'Killop  was  not  quite  the  ideal  of 
the  delighted  parent  he  had  repre- 


758 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


sented  himself  in  the  morning  to 
be.  Bertrand  had  feared  that  there 
might  be  some  demonstrative  con- 
gratulations when  the  party  met  at 
dinner — slynesses  and  vulgar  rally- 
ings  on  the  part  of  Mrs  M'Killop — 
a  speech,  perhaps,  from  M'Killop 
(in  the  morning  he  had  appeared 
capable  of  anything),  and,  at  all 
events,  a  pretty  exuberant  marking 
of  the  auspicious  occasion.  But 
there  was  not  an  allusion  made  to 
the  subject  which  must  have  been 
uppermost  in  the  mind  of  every 
one ;  and,  as  Pigott  noted  with  in- 
tense disapprobation,  "  the  old  cur- 
mudgeon didn't  even  pull  out  his 
champagne."  As  the  dinner  passed, 
so  passed  the  rest  of  the  evening. 
Morna  was  in  her  own  room,  making 
preparations  for  her  journey  of  the 
morrow,  and  did  not  appear  in  the 
drawing-room  till  the  party  were 
about  to  break  up  for  the  night. 
M'Killop  sat  silent,  staring  at  the 
newspaper,  and  Pigott  found  Mrs 
M'Killop  so  wild  in  her  play  at 
their  habitual  ecarte,  that  he  pock- 
eted his  winnings  with  a  recurrence 
of  the  suspicion  which  had  crossed 
his  mind  at  dinner.  As  for  the 
lovers — Bertrand  had  left  the  din- 
ing-room immediately  after  the  ladies, 
and  very  soon  he  and  Eila  were  out 
across  the  terrace  and  away  among 
the  woods,  where  time,  place,  and 
circumstance  were  all  forgotten,  and 
whence  they  did  not  return  till  the 
darkness  had  long  fallen,  when  they 
crept  guiltily  back,  anticipating  a  do- 
mestic storm.  The  storm-fiend  was 
contemptuously  quiescent,  however,, 
merely  remarking,  "  Since  you  have 
returned,"  as  if  the  contingency 
was  but  remotely  probable,  "  and 
as  Morna  makes  a  very  early  start 
to-morrow,  perhaps  we  had  better  go 
to  bed." 

"An  early  start,  Miss  Grant!" 
cried  Bertrand;  "are  you  going  away  1 
Where  to  ?  not  for  long,  I  hope  1 " 

"  Three  questions  !  "  said  Morna. 
"  Yes,  Mr  Cameron,  I  am  going 


[June 

away  to-morroAv  morning.  I  am 
going  to  join  my  aunts  at  Dunfail ; 
how  long  I  shall  be  away  I  don't 
quite  know,  but  I  don't  think  it  is 
at  all  likely  that  I  shall  be  back 
before  you  leave;  so  it  is  good- 
night and  gaod-bye ; "  and  she  held 
out  her  hand. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Bertrand, 
warmly — "  very  sorry  indeed  ;  but 
perhaps  we  shall  meet  in  England ; 
in  any  case " 

He  wished  to  make  some  allusion 
to  their  future  connection,  but 
paused,  and  she  finished  his  sen- 
tence for  him : — 

"  In  any  case  we  shall  perhaps 
meet  some  time  or  other.  Good- 
bye." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Bertrand, 
feeling  some  disappointment  that 
one  whom  he  regarded  with  such 
friendly  feelings  should  have  made 
no  allusion  to  present  circum- 
stances ;  but  so  it  was,  and  so 
the  party  broke  up.  That  night 
Bertrand  indited  the  momentous 
letter  to  his  uncle,  asking  that 
potentate  to  sanction  his  happiness 
— a  mere  formal  compliment,  he 
felt  it  to  be,  for  the  veriest  sim- 
pleton, he  assured  himself,  would 
at  once  recognise  the  advantages 
of  such  an  alliance ;  and  his 
uncle  was  no  simpleton — far  from 
it.  So  the  letter  was  written,  and 
Bertrand  sat  down  with  his  friend 
to  be  jolly,  feeling  that  all  he  had 
now  to  do  was  to  exercise  a  little 
patience  for  the  consummation  of 
his  happiness.  His  friend  was  not 
in  the  best  of  tempers,  and,  indeed, 
much  the  reverse  of  sympathetic, 
entirely  declining  to  believe  in  the 
rapture  with  which  Sir  Roland  was 
expected  to  receive  the  intelligence. 

"  Nobody  in  his  senses,"  he  said, 
"  could  think  it  anything  but  fool- 
ish. The  young  lady  of  course  is 
— don't  look  so  fierce,  Bertrand — 
an  angel;  but  the  parents — well,  it 
is  as  well  that  Sir  Roland  is  not 
to  have  a  photograph  of  them  and 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


759 


their  manners  when  he  sits  in  judg- 
ment on  the  case.  I  always  told  you 
you  would  make  a  fool  of  yourself." 

"  You  forget  yourself,  Pigott." 

"  No  disparagement  to  the  beaitx 
yeux,  my  dear  fellow — quite  the 
reverse ;  and,  after  all,  if  you  like 
to  put  your  neck  in  a  halter  at 
twenty -two  —  ce  n'est  pas  mon 
affaire.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  is 
my  affair  ;  and  that  is,  that  this  is 
all  deuced  slow  for  me.  If  I  had 
only  foreseen  what  was  to  turn  up, 
you  wouldn't  have  caught  me  going 
partners  with  you,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  I  think  it's  as  jolly  as  possible." 

"  Of  course  you  do,  you  imbecile; 
but  do  you  think  it's  jolly  for  me — 
all  this  mystery,  and  love-making, 
and  glum  looks  ? — hang  me !  if  one 
mightn't  as  well  be  at  Colney 
Hatch,  in  the  melancholy  depart- 
ment. It's  simply  infernal — that's 
what  it  is  —  and  I  think  you've 
used  me  abominably  ill." 

Bertrand  laughed  good-humour- 
edly  at  his  friend's  vigorous  sally, 
and  answered,  "But  even  to  look 
at  the  matter  from  your  own 
prosaic,  practical  point  of  view,  Eila 
is  to  have  fifty  thousand  pounds." 

"  There  you  go — self,  self,  self. 
Fifty  thousand  pounds  !  fifty  thou- 
sand angels  of  darkness,  or  of  light. 
That  doesn't  make  my  billet  here 
the  pleasanter ;  that  doesn't  give 
me  a  sane  companion  to  speak  to 
and  shoot  with ;  it  doesn't  make 
Mrs  M'Killop's  vulgarity  less  offen- 
sive to  me;  and  she's  almost  my 
only  resource  left  now,  now  Morna 
is  going  away,  who  was  by  far  the 
best  of  the  whole  party." 

"  With  an  exception,"  interpo- 
lated Bertrand. 

"  Oh,  hang  it  !  I  have  no  patience 
with  you  or  anybody  or  anything," 
vociferated  Pigott.  "  I've  lost  an 
autumn ;  the  same  money  would 
have  paid  for  a  share  in  the  yacht, 
and  the  Norway  fishing  with  Ridley ; 
and  here  I  am,  shut  up  in  a  con- 
founded prison,  surrounded  with 


moping  lunatics  and  detestable 
old  harridans  ;  and  the  grub  isn't 
so  good  as  it  was  ;  and  I  am  some- 
times thirsty  at  dinner  for  ten 
minutes — (perhaps,  now  you're  in 
the  firm,  you'll  speak  about  that) — 
and  because  old  Blowhard  happens 
to  be  in  the  blues,  that's  no  reason 
why  he  shouldn't  pass  the  wine. 
And  just  look  at  that  wood — green 
and  smoky !  By  George  !  I'll  be  off, 
and  claim  half  the  money  back  ! " 

"  I  never  saw  you  in  such  a  vile 
temper,  Pigott.  I'm  sorry  you're 
annoyed.  I  daresay  it  is  slow  for 
you,  but  I'll  try  to  be  more  amusing. 
As  for  the  other  grievance,  I  think 
that  is  only  the  suggestion  of  an 
evil  temper.  It  is  a  bore,  Morna's 
going  away  ;  she  would  have  kept 
you  alive." 

"  She  was  getting  as  bad  as  the 
rest;  and  no  wonder,  in  such  a  hole 
as  this." 

"By  the  by,  I  did  notice  that 
she  wasn't  so  cheery  latterly." 

"  Oh !  you  noticed  that,  did  you?" 

"Yes — she  was  almost  cross  some- 
times,! thought ;  and  she  didn't  even 
congratulate  me — odd,  wasn't  it  ? " 

'  Perhaps." 

'  What  do  you  mean  1 " 

'  Perhaps  she  had  her  reasons." 

'  You're  very  mysterious." 

'Ami?" 

'  To  change  the  subject,  Tainsh 
apologised." 

1  Without  a  thrashing?" 
Yes." 
And  Duncanson?" 

'  I  had  no  quarrel  with  him." 

'  He  had  with  you,  though." 
I  can't  make  out  why." 
No?" 

'Can  you?" 

'Ha!  ha!" 

As  you  can't  take  the  trouble 
to  speak  like  a  reasonable  being,  I'll 
go  to  bed.  Good-night,  and  a  better 
temper  to  you." 

"  Whispers  of  angels  make  music 
in  your  dreams,  oh  unconscionable 
dolt ! " 


760 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


[June 


CHAPTER   XX. 


Morna's  room  adjoined  the  busi- 
ness-room of  Mr  M'Killop,  and 
when  the  party  broke  up  this  even- 
ing, she  was  siirprised  to  hear  that, 
contrary  to  his  wont,  he  came  thither 
instead  of  going  straight  up  to  bed. 
Her  attention  was  specially  drawn 
to  this  by  the  fact  that  apparently 
he  had  come  neither  to  read  nor  to 
write,  but  to  occupy  himself — sin- 
gularly enough  at  that  hour  of  the 
night— in  walking  up  and  down  the 
apartment.  The  house  was  badly 
deafened,  so  that  sounds  from  the 
next  room  came  to  Morna's  very 
distinctly,  and  in  this  way  she  was 
able  to  remark  that  M'Killop  was 
walking  up  and  down,  in  the  man- 
ner of  a  man  who  debates  some 
subject  with  himself,  with  a  good 
deal  of  agitation  and  hesitancy,  his 
steps  being  now  quick,  short,  and 
undecided,  now  long,  slow,  and 
steady. 

This  was  continued  so  long  that 
Morna's  attention  was  withdrawn 
from  it  until  the  footsteps  ceased 
to  sound,  and  she  heard  the  doors 
of  a  large  cabinet  unlocked,  and  the 
hinges  creak  as  they  were  opened. 
The  rustling  of  papers  was  then 
audible,  and  even  some  muttered 
ejaculations  of  her  step-father's — 
the  sense  of  which,  however,  she 
did  not,  as  she  did  not  wish  to, 
catch.  At  last  he  spoke  out  — 
quite  loud — louder  than  in  ordinary 
conversation,  so  that  to  overhear 
him  became  unavoidable. 

"  No,  no  :  it  cannot  be  wrong. 
Where  is  the  harm?  Simply  to 
postpone — that  is  not  to  defeat  jus- 
tice. Not  at  all.  It  will  be  all  for 
the  best.  I  will  keep  the  paper  in 
case;  while  it  exists,  no  eventual 
harm  can  be  done.  The  letter  may 
be  destroyed,  though — and' here  it 

Morna  heard  the  sound  of  a  paper 


being  torn  up,  and  almost  at  the 
same  instant  there  was  a  sort  of 
choking  cry  and  the  noise  of  a 
heavy  fall ;  and,  running  in,  she 
found  Mr  M'Killop  lying  insensible 
on  the  floor.  She  obtained  assistance 
without  alarming  her  mother,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  he  sufficiently 
regained  consciousness  to  enable 
him  to  forbid  a  doctor,  or  even  his 
wife,  being  sent  for.  When  he  was 
so  far  recovered,  and  had  been  re- 
moved to  his  own  dressing-room, 
which  was  at  hand,  Morna  left  him ; 
and  noticing,  as  she  passed  the 
business-room,  that  the  doors  of  the 
cabinet  stood  open,  she  went  in, 
locked  them,  took  the  key,  and  was 
about  to  extinguish  the  light  when 
her  eye  fell  on  a  letter  torn  in 
half,  lying  near  the  spot  where  Mr 
M'Killop  had  fallen. 

"  This,"  she  thought  to  herself, 
"  must  be  what  I  heard  him  tear.; 
and  it  certainly  was  some  agitation 
connected  with  this  letter  that 
brought  on  his  illness.  Perhaps 
he  didn't  know  what  he  was  doing 
when  he  tore  it  up  ;  he  was  seized 
at  the  very  moment ;  in  any  case, 
it  can  do  no  harm  if  I  take  it,  and 
send  it  back  to  him  with  his  keys." 
She  took  it  accordingly,  and  went 
to  her  room,  resolving,  since  she  was 
to  start  early,  to  enclose  it  to  him 
with  a  note  explaining  under  what 
circumstances  she  had  found  it.  In 
the  process  of  folding  the  torn  letter, 
however,  her  eye  was  involuntarily 
attracted,  as  eyes — even  the  honest- 
est — may  be,  by  an  expression  in 
it ;  an  expression  of  such  interest, 
that  under  the  influence,  as  it  were, 
of  an  irresistible  fascination,  she 
read  on,  and  before  reflection  on  the 
impropriety  of  what  she  was  doing 
came  back  to  her,  she  shared  with 
Mr  M'Killop  a  secret  which  it 
deeply  distressed  her  to  possess,  and 


1871.] 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


761 


which  it  would  no  doubt  still  more 
shock  him  to  find  her  in  possession 
of. 

"What  am  I  to  do  1"  she  exclaim- 
ed, in  desperation ;  but  she  was 
spared  the  trouble  of  further  Deflec- 
tion, for  at  this  moment  a  message 
came  from  Mr  M'Killop  requesting 
her  to  come  to  him  at  once. 

She  found  him  lying  on  his  bed  : 
he  had  quite  recovered  conscious- 
ness, but  was  looking  prostrate,  and 
spoke  in  a  feeble  voice.  "I  am  very 
sorry,  Morna,"  he  said,  "  to  trouble 
you  at  this  late  hour,  but  I  under- 
stand you  were  the  first  to  come  to 
me  when  I  was  taken  ill  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  was." 

"  Did  you  notice  if  the  doors  of 
my  cabinet  were  open  ?" 

"  Yes,  they  were." 

"  I  am  still  too  giddy  to  move 
without  danger  of  bringing  on  an- 
other attack,  and  I  don't  like  to 
trust  a  servant ;  will  you  kindly  go 
and  lock  it,  and  bring  me  the  keys  ?" 

"  I  have  locked  it  already  ;  and  I 
have  the  keys  :  here  they  are." 

"  Many  thanks  to  you,  Morna  ; 
this  is  most  prudent,  and  like  your- 
self. I  rather  fancy  I  was  destroying 
a  paper  at  the  time  I  was  taken  ill ; 
whether  I  had  quite  destroyed  it  or 
not,  I  don't  know  :  did  yo\i  happen 
to  see  anything  of  the  sort  lying 
about  the  floor  1 " 

"  Yes,  Mr  M'Kfflop,  I  did." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  take  the 
trouble  to  pick  up  the  fragments 
and  bring  them  to  me  ?  It  is  an 
important  letter,  and  should  be 
thoroughly  destroyed." 

"  I  have  the  letter  all  here,  Mr 
M'Killop." 

"  You  really  are  the  most  sensible 
girl  in  the  world."  . 

"  Stay  a  moment  before  you  com- 
pliment me  ;  I  have  read  it." 

"  Eead  it ! "  cried  M'Killop,  in  a 
voice  of  horror  and  amazement ;  "  do 
you  call  that  honour  1" 

After  this  no  word  of  anger  or 


reproach  escaped  him  ;  he  lay  still, 
pale,  with  a  look  of  collapse ;  and 
it  was  with  difficulty  that  his  trem- 
bling lips  faltered  the  few  words  he 
wished  to  say. 

"  No,"  replied  Morna,  "I  do  not; 
and  even  now  I  cannot  understand 
how  I  came  to  read  it.  Some  words 
which  caught  my  eye  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  letter  so  startled 
me,  that  I  began  in  voluntarily;  and 
what  I  read  so  absorbed  me,  that  I 
went  on  to  the  end — almost,  I  may 
say,  unconsciously." 

"  You  are  conscious  of  the  secret 
it  contains,  however  1 " 

"  I  am  ;  and  however  I  may  re- 
gret the  means  by  which  I  obtained 
possession  of  it,  I  cannot  regret  that 
I  am ;  because  it  would  seem  that 
you  were  abandoning  an  act  of  jus- 
tice you  had  once  intended  to  per- 
form." 

"  No,  no;  you  must  not  go  by 
appearances  in  this  case ;  and  surely 
you  would  not  make  use  of  infor- 
mation so  obtained?" 

"Why  not  r' 

"  It  would  be  dishonourable." 

"  Is  it  honourable  to  screen  dis- 
honour 1  My  morals  may  be  all 
wrong;  but  I  can't  bring  myself  to 
see  that." 

"  Morna,  I  have  been  kind  to  you ; 
I  have  wished  always  to  be  very 
kind  to  you." 

"  Yes,  Mr  M'Killop,  you  have — 
and  I  am  grateful ;  but  that  cannot 
affect  this  matter.  In  a  question 
of  right  or  wrong  I  cannot  let  my 
judgment  be  influenced  by  considera- 
tions of  feeling  merely ;  and  as  to  the 
means  by  which  I  have  become  pos- 
sessed of  your  secret, — if  I  heard — 
overheard  —  one  man  confiding  to 
another  the  scheme  of  some  terrible 
wickedness  he  meant  to  commit — a 
murder,  for  instance — would  it  be 
dishonourable  in  me  to  make  use  of 
the  intelligence  I  had  obtained  by 
involuntary  eavesdropping  to  save 
a  man's  life  ? " 


762 


Fair  to  See.— Part  VI. 


[June 


"  This  has  nothing  to  do  with  a 
murder." 

"  No,  but  the  same  principle  ap- 
plies to  it.  I  am  a  thousand  times 
sorry,  as  I  have  said,  for  the  way  I 
got  the  information,  but,  having  got 
it,  I  will  use  it,  unless  you  act  your- 
self ;  I  could  not  do  otherwise." 

"  Listen,  Morna ;  it  is  a  very  in- 
tricate story  ;  I  promise  you  I  will 
put  all  to  rights;  I  swear  to  you 
that  it  is  my  most  anxious  wish  to 
do  so  ;  but  unreasonable  haste  may 
ruin  all — all ;  involve  innocent  people 
in  the  consequences  of  guilt,  and  even 
compromise  my  character.  You  would 
be  both  rash  and  unfair  in  acting 
without  me ;  and  though  you  might 
fancy  that  you  were  doing  an  act  of 
justice,  you  would  in  reality  be  do- 
ing injustice  ten  times  greater.  You 
cannot  doubt,  under  the  circum- 
stances in  which  I  am  placed,  that 
it  is  my  interest  as  well  as  my  duty 
to  see  justice  done." 

"  I  certainly  cannot  see  that  your 
interest  and  your  duty  are  opposed 
to  each  other;  but  what  interest 
you  can  have  had  all  along " 

"  That  is  nothing  to  the  purpose. 
Leave  it  to  me  ;  it  will  take  a  little 
time,  but  right  shall  be  done,  you 
may  depend  upon  it.  One  thing — 
it  must  not  transpire  before  Eila's 
marriage  with  Mr  Cameron  ;  that  is 
indispensable.  Allow  me  "  (as  she 
was  going  to  interrupt'  him)  "  to  be 
the  best  judge  of  my  own  plans  and 
ideas,  and  to  add  that  I  see  no  rea- 
son why  you  should  threaten  an 
honest  man  with  pressure  to  be 
honest." 

"Pardon  me,  Mr  M'Killop—  I 
only  see  a  wrong  existing  ;  and  if 
you  tell  me  that  a  little  delay  is  ne- 
cessary that  full  justice  should  be 
done,  I  am  satisfied." 

"Till  after  the  marriage,  Morna." 

"  Very  well ;  but  if — supposing — 
that  is — well,  I  miist  say  it — sup- 


posing you  should  die  in  the  mean 
time?"' 

"  In  that  case  you  are  at  liberty 
to  disclose  what  you  have  discovered, 
and  you  will  find  full  proof  of  what 
that  letter  stated,  in  the  top  drawer, 
on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  cabinet ; 
there  it  shall  remain  in  the  mean 
time." 

"  I  shall  never  be  easy  till  it  is 
off  my  mind." 

"Nevertheless,  having  possessed 
yourself  of  my  secret — only  to  a  cer- 
tain extent — you  are  bound  not  to 
use  it  so  as  to  hurt  me  while  others' 
interests  are  on  the  way  to  be  estab- 
lished." 

"  I  will  not ;  but  I  hope  there 
will  not  be  much  delay.  Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye.  Do  not  think  ill  of 
me  ;  believe  that  any  bad  impression 
of  me  which  this  affair  may  produce 
will  be  absolutely  removed  when  the 
truth  is  fully  made  known.  Ah, 
Morna!  you  don't  know  how  much 
I  am  to  be  pitied." 

"  Any  one  with  such  a  secret  is  to 
be  pitied."  And  then  she  added, 
touched  by  the  forlorn  aspect  of  the 
man — "  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  Mr 
M'Killop.  I  cannot  believe  that 
you  would  do  anything  wrong  or 
unjust,  voluntarily  and  wittingly. 
Good-bye.  I  hope  you  will  take 
care  of  yourself.  It  is  the  agitation 
of  this  miserable  affair  that  has  made 
you  ill."  And  so  they  separated. 

"  She  will  require  management," 
muttered  M'Killop,  when  he  was 
again  alone. 

"  Surely  I  must  be  right  in  be- 
lieving that  he  is  honest,"  thought 
Morna. 

Thus  ended  the  last  of  all  the 
day's  interviews — a  pretty  mysteri- 
ous one  too ;  and  perhaps  after  this 
some  of  us  would  be  inclined  in 
meeting  M'Killop  to  button  our 
pockets  in  case — only  in  case — of 
accidents. 


1871.] 


A  Century  of  Ch-eat  Poets. 


763 


A  CENTURY   OF  GREAT  POETS,  FROM   1750  DOWNWARDS. 


NO.     I. WILLIAM     COWPER. 


THERE  is  no  art  which  has  suffer- 
ed so  many  fluctuations,  or  which 
shows  more  exactly  how  the  tide  of 
genius  ebbs  and  flows,  than  the  art  of 
Poetry.  Within  the  last  two  hun- 
dred years  there  have  been  some 
score  of  interregnums  during  which 
the  world  has  mournfully  declared, 
as  with  one  voice,  that  its  power 
of  appreciating  verse  was  over,  and 
the  fountain  dried  from  which  that 
stream  should  come.  One  of  these 
grand  crises  had  arrived  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  eighteenth  century.  In 
the  interval  between  the  end  of 
Milton  and  the  beginning  of  Pope 
the  art  of  song  had  suffered  one  of 
its  many  metamorphoses.  It  had 
changed  from  an  inspired  message 
into  an  elaborate  chime  of  words. 
Milton,  grand,  harmonious,  and  musi- 
cal as  is  his  utterance  at  all  times, 
was  a  man  overflowing  with  high 
thought  and  lofty  meaning;  with  so 
much  to  say  to  his  generation  that 
the  mode  of  saying  it  might  almost 
have  been  expected  to  become  in- 
different to  him.  It  never  did  so, 
because  of  the  inborn  music  of 
the  man  —  that  wonderful  sense 
of  melody  in  which  he  has  never 
been  surpassed,  if  indeed  ever 
equalled,  in  the  English  tongue.  But 
notwithstanding  this  great  natural 
gift,  his  subject  was  the  thing  pre- 
eminent with  him ;  and  as  his  subject 
was  of  the  highest  importance  and 
solemnity,  so  his  verse  rose  into  organ- 
floods  of  severest  sweetness.  Dryden, 
who  succeeded  him,  did  not  possess 
a  similar  inspiration.  He  had  no 
message  to  the  world  to  speak  of, 
and  yet  he  had  a  great  deal  to  say. 
Accordingly  with  him  the  subject  be- 
gan to  lower  and  the  verse  to  increase 
in  importance.  And  in  Pope  this 


phase  of  poetry  attained  its  highest 
development.  With  him  everything 
gave  way  to  beauty  of  expression. 
No  prophetic  burden  was  his  to  de- 
liver. The  music  of  the  spheres  had 
never  caught  his  ear.  Verse  was  the 
trade  in  which  he  was  skilled,  not 
the  mere  mode  of  utterance  by  which 
a  mind  overflowing  with  thoughts  of 
heaven  or  earth  communicated  these 
thoughts  to  its  fellows.  He  was  an 
admirable  performer  upon  an  instru- 
ment the  most  delicate  and  finest- 
toned  which  humanity  possessed. 
His  power  on  it  was  such  that  the 
most  trivial  motif,  the  most  mean 
topic,  became  in  his  hands  an  occa- 
sion, of  harmony.  We  confess  with- 
out hesitation  that  the  music  of 
Pope's  verse  does  not  enchant  and  en- 
thral our  particular  ear,  but  it  did  that 
of  his  own  generation.  It  belonged, 
as  does  so  much  of  the  poetry  of 
France,  to  an  age  more  moved  by 
culture  than  by  nature;  building 
upon  certain  doctrines  and  tenets  of 
literary  belief;  trusting  in  style  as 
in  a  confession  of  faith,  and  estab- 
lishing as  strict  a  severance  between 
the  orthodox  and  heterodox  in  litera- 
ture, as  ever  a  community  of  ec- 
clesiastics has  done  in  a  religious 
creed.  Perhaps  that  was  the  only 
period  of  English  literature  in 
which  an  Academy  would  have  been 
possible.  Pope  made  himself  the 
poetic  standard  of  the  age.  His  con- 
temporaries were  measured  by  it  as 
by  a  rule ;  and  no  one  came  up  to 
the  height  of  the  great  master.  He 
gave  to  his  generation  a  stream  of 
melodious  words  such  as  might  have 
made  the  whole  country  sweet,  but 
which,  unfortunately,  being  often 
employed  to  set  forth  nauseous  or 
trifling  subjects,  gave  no  nobility  to 


764 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[Jt 


the  mind  of  his  period,  but  only 
a  mathematical  music  —  something 
which  touched  the  ear  rather  than 
the  heart. 

But  in  Pope  his  school  came  to  a 
close.  It  was  impossible  to  do  any- 
thing finer,  more  subtle,  or  more 
perfect  in  the  art  of  combining 
words.  If  there  had  been  given  to 
him  a  message  to  deliver,  probably 
he  would  not  have  reached  to  such 
perfection  in  the  mode  of  delivering 
it;  but  as  it  was,  he  brought  to  its 
highest  fulfilment  and  completion 
the  poetical  style  of  which  he  was 
capable.  And  the  time  had  come 
for  a  new  melody,  something  which 
should  rouse  up  the  jaded  world 
from  the  slumber  into  which  it  had 
fallen  after  all  that  monotony  of 
sweetness  which  had  lulled  its  brain 
into  insensibility.  The  man  who, 
in  the  silence  of  the  age,  was  being 
prepared  for  this  work,  was  about 
the  last  man  whom  we  would  have 
chosen  for  it  had  we  been  admitted 
to  the  councils  of  Providence.  He 
was  a  man  of  weak  yet  tenacious 
character,  unsteady  mind,  and  melan- 
choly temperament;  a  pensive  being 
born  to  be  a  recluse,  without  any  of 
the  bolder  manly  gifts  which  please 
our  national  taste;  without  acquain- 
tance with  men,  or  experience  in 
life;  a  hypochondriac,  a  man  sick  in 
body  and  in  soul.  Had  he  himself 
been  aware  of  the  effect  he  should 
have  upon  the  literature  of  his 
country,  no  doubt  he  would  have  con- 
sidered it  a  triumph  of  that  goodness 
of  God  which  chooses  the  weak  things 
of  the  world  to  confound  the  strong. 
Such,  more  than  any  other,  is  the 
first  impression  produced  upon  us 
by  the  life  of  Cowper ;  that  mournful 
life  over  which  so  many  a  reader  has 
mused  with  wonder  and  awe,  mar- 
velling no  less  at  the  undeserved 
and  needless  sufferings  of  the  man, 
than  at  the  curious  vigour  and  vital- 
ity of  the  poet.  In  the  one  point  of 
view,  weak,  helpless,  unreasoning, 
and  most  miserable;  in  the  other, 


full  of  the  sunshine  of  cheerful  yet 
solemn  thought,  good  sense,  and  that 
genial  universal  sympathy  which 
helps  so  many  men  to  bear  the  bur- 
den of  their  troubles  all  the  easier 
for  the  help  they  afford  to  others. 
So  many  have  asked  the  question, 
How  this  could  be?  that  it  seems 
vain  to  reiterate  an  inquiry  which 
no  new  information  helps  us  to  an- 
swer; but  it  is  impossible  to  arrive 
at  any  just  view  of  English  poetry 
and  poets  without  fully  taking  into 
consideration  the  timid,  sad,  half- 
feminine  figure  which  was  the  first 
to  triumph  over  the  artificial  bound- 
aries which  had  been  raised  about 
his  art,  and  to  found  in  nature  and 
freedom  the  greatest  school  of  poets 
which  has  been  known  in  England 
since  the  Elizabethan  age. 

That  Cowper  did  this  there  can 
be  no  doubt :  he  was  timid,  not  only 
as  a  woman,  but  as  a  cloistered  wo- 
man, from  whom  the  world  has  been 
entirely  shut  out — and  prejudiced  as 
every  sectarian  is  by  nature :  his  being 
was  given  up  to  the  pettiest  occupa- 
tions, and  a  life  such  as  even  a  girl 
or  an  old  woman  might  be  pardoned 
for  finding  dreary  and  monotonous : 
he  was  used  to  dependence,  and  con- 
tent with  it,  feeble  of  purpose,  capri- 
cious, and  obstinate ;  yet  in  his  way 
he  turned  the  world  upside  down, 
scorned  models  alike  and  trammels, 
and,  defying  all  precedents,  threw 
open  the  doors  of  poetry  to  all  the 
world  and  to  a  new  generation. 
These  two  characters  are  far  from 
agreeing,  and  yet  they  united  in  one 
person.  His  life  and  his  works  are 
two  things  as  distinct  as  light  and 
darkness.  Never  was  there  a  clearer 
example  of  the  distinction  so  often 
lost  sight  of  between  personal  and 
intellectual  character — a  distinction 
which  we  are  forced  to  recognise 
and  accept  without  being  able  either 
to  harmonise  or  to  explain. 

William  Cowper  was  born  in  Great 
Berkhamstead,  Hertfordshire,  in 
November  1731,  a  few  years  be- 


1871.] 


Ac.  I. — William  Cowpcr. 


765 


fore  the  death  of  the  potentate 
whom  he  succeeded,  after  a  long  in- 
terval, upon  the  throne  of  English 
poetry.  Pope  was  lingering  out  his 
last  days  on  his  river-side  when  the 
delicate  child  of  the  Hertfordshire 
parson  was  being  "  drawn  to  school 
along  the  public  way  "  in  that  bright 
early  morning  of  his  childhood  when 
he  had  still  a  mother.  This  period 
did  not  last  long.  The  poor  little 
sickly  boy  was  left  without  the  guar- 
dianship most  needful  to  a  child 
when  he  was  but  six  years  old. 
He  protested  at  fifty,  with  a  vehe- 
mence which  it  is  difficult  to  give  a 
literal  credence  to,  that  his  mother 
had  never  been  out  of  his  thoughts 
for  a  week  altogether  during  that 
long  half-century — a  filial  fidelity 
in  which  surely  he  never  had  a  rival. 
His  father  married  again,  we  are 
not  told  how  soon;  but  the  child 
scarcely  seems  to  have  ever  lived  at 
home  after  this  first  great  loss  of  his 
life.  He  was  sent  off,  probably,  in 
the  first  sting  of  it,  to  school,  to  a 
certain  Dr  Pitman's,  where  the  timid 
little  fellow  was  badly  used  by  a 
cruel  big  boy :  then  passed  two  years 
iinder  the  charge  of  an  oculist,  his 
eyes  having  shown  symptoms  of 
weakness — and  at  ten  entered  West- 
minster School.  Unfortunately,  our 
only  knowledge  of  his  childhood 
and  youth  is  derived  from  the  gloomy 
account  given  by  himself  in  after 
life  of  his  early  unregenerate  days, 
an  account  clouded  in  every  detail 
with  the  gloom  of  ideas  which  be- 
long to  a  later  period  of  his  life,  and 
were  very  unlikely  to  have  entered 
the  heart  of  a  child.  From  this  ac- 
count it  would  be  inferred  that  the 
poor  little  timid  Cowper  was  a  child 
of  remarkable  depravity,  brought  up 
by  a  succession  of  extremely  wicked 
people,  all  conspiring  to  heighten 
the  natural  blackness  of  his  charac- 
ter, and  thus  put  him  beyond  the 
reach  of  ordinary  means  of  amend- 
ment. He  grew  wickeder  and  wick- 
eder in  his  schoolboy  days — he  be- 


came an  adept  in  "  the  infernal  art 
of  lying,"  he  had  no  "  sentiments  of 
contrition,  nor  thought  of  God  or 
eternity."  About  all  this  there  is 
a  curious  but  very  evident  self-de- 
lusion. Poet  though  he  was,  Cow- 
per had  forgotten  the  child  that 
once  played  in  the  shadow  of  the 
old  Abbey  and  stormed  through 
Dean's  Yard;  for  it  is  easy  to  see 
that  the  poor  little  man  was  nei- 
ther very  sad  nor  very  wicked. 
He  excelled  at  cricket  and  foot- 
ball, it  is  allowed.  He  formed 
a  number  of  friendships  which 
lasted  into  mature  life,  and  to  all 
appearance  led  his  little  existence 
in  a  very  harmless  gentle  way, 
liked  by  everybody,  and  sufficiently 
happy  in  himself.  Even  the  horror 
for  public  schools  which  he  after- 
wards expressed  in  his  poems  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  drawn  from 
his  own  experience  of  them.  "  We 
love  the  play-place  of  our  infant 
days,"  he  is  betrayed  into  saying, 
even  in  the  midst  of  his  denuncia- 
tions— and  beguiled  from  theory  into 
recollection,  lets  his  fond  fancy  stray 
to  that  charming  picture  of  "  the 
little  ones  unbuttoned,  glowing  hot," 
who  play  the  games  he  once  played 
before  it  had  occurred  to  him  that 
he  was  depraved  and  miserable. 

"The  pleasing  spectacle  at  once  excites 
Such  recollection  of  our  own  delights, 
That,  viewing  it,  we  seem  almost  to  attain 
Our  innocent  sweet  simple  years  again." 

Thus  poetry  rights  the  balance 
against  the  gloomy  theory  of  life 
which  swallowed  up  all  Cowper's 
gladness ;  and  the  man  who  has  just 
maligned  his  childhood  in  prose  in- 
advertently vindicates  it  in  verse. 

When  he  left  Westminster  he 
entered  an  attorney's  office,  and  here 
again  it  becomes  necessary  to  be 
cautious  of  his  own  jaundiced 
account  of  himself,  and  take  his 
unintentional  descriptions  as  well 
as  his  formal  one.  The  latter 
still  continues  to  give  a  gloomy 
sketch  of  a  disagreeable  young  man, 


766 


A  Century  of  Great  Pods. 


[June 


speaking  evil  of  his  employer  and  of 
himself,  insinuating  blame  in  the 
matter  of  church-going,  and  repre- 
senting everybody  around  him  as 
conspiring  against  his  soul.  But 
the  unintentional  revelation  gives  us 
a  very  different  picture.  It  shows 
him  to  us  as  idle,  as  foolish,  as 
happy,  and  as  gay  as  most  boys  of 
nineteen  are,  shirking  his  work, 
which  was  naughty,  to  be  sure,  and 
hanging  about  the  cheerful  pleasant 
house  of  his  uncle,  in  which  there 
were  girls  and  diversions.  "  I  did 
actually  live  three  years  with  Mr 
Chapman,  a  solicitor,"  he  wrote 
afterwards  in  a  letter  to  Lady 
Hesketh;  "that  is  to  say,  I  slept 
three  years  in  his  house;  but  I  lived, 
that  is  to  say,  I  spent  my  days,  in 
Southampton  Row,  as  you  very  well 
remember.  There  was  I  and  the 
future  Lord  Chancellor  constantly 
employed  from  morning  to  night  in 
giggling  and  making  giggle  instead 
of  following  the  law.  Oh  fie !  cousin, 
how  could  you  do  so  1 "  This  little 
indication  of  his  pursuits  is  infinite- 
ly more  trustworthy  than  the  after- 
record.  And  it  proves,  at  the  same 
time,  the  futility  of  the  attempt, 
unconsciously  made  by  Cowper  him- 
self, and  with  the  sincerest  meaning 
by  his  friend  Hayley,  to  make  his 
entire  life  of  a  piece,  and  to  impress 
upon  it  a  melancholy  consistency 
such  as,  thank  Heaven,  is  rarely 
found  in  nature.  It  was  "as  if  des- 
tiny had  determined  that  all  his 
early  situations  in  life  should  be 
particularly  irksome  to  his  delicate 
feelings,  and  tend  rather  to  promote 
than  to  counteract  his  constitutional 
turn  for  melancholy  " — Hayley  tells 
us —  "  that  he  was  removed  from  a 
public  school  to  the  office  of  an 
attorney."  But  we  do  not  believe 
that  the  boy  was  at  all  melancholy 
in  either  place.  "  His  innocent 
sweet  simple  years"  lay  under  no 
such  shadow  as  later  life  invented 
for  them;  and  the  house  in  South- 
ampton Row,  it  is  evident,  more 


than  counteracted  the  irksomeness 
of  the  attorney's  office.  Thus  it  is 
a  youth  much  like  the  youth  of  other 
men  which  the  biographer  has  to 
record,  with  no  precocious  sense  in 
it  of  sorrow  to  come,  but  such 
dreams  as  make  the  beginning  of  ex- 
istence sweet.  One  would  naturally 
imagine  that  the  companionship  of 
such  a  youth  as  Thuiiow  would  have 
planted  some  gentle  seed  of  ambition 
in  his  comrade's  mind.  But  though 
this  does  not  seem  to  have  been  the 
case,  Cowper  had  influential  connec- 
tions, and  in  all  probability  felt  his 
future  sure.  He  was  free  to  dally 
upon  the  primrose  paths,  and  he 
did  so.  He  helped  to  keep  his 
uncle's  house  full  of  gentle  mirth 
and  frolic ;  and  he  fell  in  love,  as 
Avas  natural,  with  his  uncle's  daugh- 
ter. When  his  apprenticeship  was 
over,  and  he  began  to  live  alone  in 
chambers  in  the  Temple,  his  bio- 
graphers seem  to  agree  that  the  com- 
ing cloud  threw  its  first  shadow  over 
him;  but  then  they  are  all  pain- 
fully on  the  outlook  for  this  coming 
cloud ;  and  it  is  hard  to  believe  that 
a  man  could  live  a  very  gloomy  life 
who  was  a  member  of  "the  Non- 
sense Club,  consisting  of  seven 
Westminster  men  who  dined  to- 
gether every  Thursday,"  and  who 
was  distinguished  by  what  was  then 
called  "  restlessness,"  but  which  we 
should  now  call  love  of  change  and 
variety.  His  letters  of  this  period 
represent  him  in  anything  but  a 
dismal  light.  We  find  him  now 
making  his  appearance  at  Bright- 
helmstone,  where  he  means  to 
spend  the  winter,  now  at  South- 
ampton, where,  as  he  relates  with 
rueful  mirth,  "  I  was  also  a  sailor, 
being  of  Sir  Thomas  Hesketh's  party ; 
but  though  I  gave  myself  an  air  and 
wore  trousers,  I  had  no  genuine 
right  to  that  honour,  disliking  much 
to  be  occupied  in  great  waters  unless 
in  the  finest  weather."  The  senti- 
ment with  which  he  concludes  the 
record  of  his  amateur  seafaring,  is 


1871.] 


No.  I. — William  Cowper. 


767 


curious  enough  in  the  light  of  after- 
events.  "  How  they  contrive  to 
elude  the  wearisomeness  that  at- 
tends a  sea  life  who  take  long  voy- 
ages you  know  better  than  I,"  he 
says.  Yet  in  what  long  stretches 
of  monotony  and  confinement  was 
his  later  life  cast ! 

His  residence  in  the  Temple  lasted 
for  twelve  years,  and  none  of  these, 
except  the  last,  seem  to  show  any 
material  signs  of  the  mental  disease 
which  was  to  work  such  havoc  upon 
him.  He  tells  us,  indeed,  that  he 
was  "  struck  with  dejection  of 
spirit " — that  he  "  lay  down  in  hor- 
ror and  rose  up  in  despair;"  state- 
ments, however,  all  given  after  the 
sad  conclusion  of  his  youthful  in- 
dependence. We  are  told  at  the 
same  time  that  he  lived  a  life  of  dis- 
sipation during  these  twelve  years ; 
they  were  "spent  in  an  uninterrupted 
course  of  sinful  indulgence;"  but 
as  these  words  are  written  with  the 
same  intention  as  the  others  which 
represented  him  as  "  an  adept  in 
the  infernal  art  of  lying  "  at  school, 
it  is  wise  to  take  them  in  their  most 
limited  meaning.  He  did  not  evi- 
dently think  himself  very  wicked  at 
the  time.  But  he  was  not  a  model 
young  man,  it  is  apparent.  He  was 
idle,  incurably  idle — not  accident- 
ally, but  by  disposition — "  I,  who 
take  neither  pains  nor  hope  for  pro- 
fit, am  leading  an  idle,  and  therefore 
what  is  to  me  a  most  agreeable,  life," 
he  says  in  one  of  his  letters  of  this 
period.  He  "  spent  his  money  free," 
without  taking  any  thought  of  the 
morrow.  And  we  doubt  much 
whether  the  impression  we  derive 
of  him  during  this  interval  is  half  so 
good  as  if  we  could  believe  that  the 
foundations  of  his  mind  were  being 
sapped,  and  madness  coming  on. 
He  loved  a  beautiful  and  charming 
woman,  his  cousin  Theodora  Cow- 
per, but  his  love  does  not  seem  to 
have  been  vigorous  enough  to  stir 
him  up  to  exertion.  She,  on  the 
other  hand,  was,  it  would  seem, 


ready  to  share  his  poor  means,  and 
had  no  fear  of  his  character.  "  If 
you  marry  William  Cowper,  what 
will  you  do?"  asked  the  father. 
"  Do,  sir  V  she  cried  with  the 
saucy  exaggeration  of  a  high- 
spirited  girl;  "wash  all  day,  and 
ride  out  on  the  great  dog  at  night ! " 
The  prudent  father,  however,  would 
sanction  no  such  madness;  and  a 
woman  who  might  have  made  a 
very  different  future  for  the  poet, 
was  lost  to  him — she  and  all  that 
she  might  have  done.  She  was 
faithful  to  him  all  her  life ;  but  he 
— was  not  faithful  to  her.  In  short, 
the  only  token  that  he  felt  this  dis- 
appointment as  a  man  honoured 
with  such  a  profound  and  faithful 
attachment  ought  to  have  done,  is 
contained  in  the  verses  addressed  to 
Lady  Hesketh,  her  sister,  which  are 
so  well  known  to  all  readers  of 
poetry — 

"  Doomed  as  I  am  in  solitude  to  waste 
The  present  moments,  and  regret  the  past ; 
Deprived  of  every  joy  I  valued  most, 
My  friend  torn  from  me,  and  my  mistress 

lost, 
Call  not  this  gloom  I  wear,  this  anxious 

mien, 

The  dull  effect  of  humour,  or  of  spleen  ! 
Still,  still  I  mourn,  with  each  returning  day, 
Him  snatched  by  fate  in  early  youth  away, 
And  her,  through  tedious  years  of  doubt  and 

pain, 
Fixed  in  her  choice,  and  faithful,  but  in 

vain  ! 

0  prone  to  pity,  generous,  and  sincere, 
Whose  eye  ne'er  yet  refused  the  wretch  a 

tear; 
Whose  heart  the  real  claim  of  friendship 

knows, 

Nor  thinks  a  lover's  are  but  fancied  woes ; 
See  me,  ere  yet  my  destined  course  half 

done, 

Cast  forth  a  wanderer  on  a  world  unknown  ! 
See  me  neglected  on  the  world's  rude  coast, 
Each  dear  companion  of  my  voyage  lost ! 
Nor  ask  why  clouds  of  sorrow  shade  my 

brow, 

And  ready  tears  wait  only  leave  to  flow  ! 
Why  all  that  soothes  a  heart  from  anguish 

free, 
All  that  delights  the  happy  —palls  on  me !" 

This  is  almost  the  only  occasion,  so 
far  as  we  are  aware,  on  which  Cowper 
refers  at  all  to  the  loss  of  his  love. 
His  first  biographer,  Hayley,  could 
not  perhaps,  with  good  taste,  as  Miss 


768 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[June 


Cowper  was  still  living  at  the  time 
his  book  was  published,  take  any 
notice  of  it;  and  Southey  entirely 
refuses  to  allow  the  affecting  plea 
for  indulgence  which  the  poet  him- 
self thus  makes.  "  Cowper's  mor- 
bid feelings,  when  he  began  to  brood 
over  them,  were  of  a  totally  different 
kind,"  says  his  biographer,  "  and 
there  is  not  the  slightest  allusion  to 
this  disappointment  in  his  account 
of  his  own  mental  sufferings."  "We 
would  much  rather  believe  that  the 
disappointment  had  something  to  do 
with  those  sufferings  ;  but  it  is  very 
difficult  to  do  so,  especially  as,  a 
short  time  after,  Cowper  writes  to 
a  friend  of  having  "  lately  passed 
three  days  at  Greenwich — a  bless- 
ed three  days ;  and  if  they  had 
been  three  years,  I  should  not  have 
envied  the  gods  their  immortality. 
There  I  found  that  lovely  and  be- 
loved little  girl  of  whom  I  have 
often  talked  to  you;  she  is  at 
that  age,  sixteen,  at  which  every 
day  brings  with  it  some  new  beauty." 
Poor  Theodora !  giving  him  her  life 
in  loneliness  and  solitude,  since  she 
could  not  bestow  it  upon  him  other- 
wise ;  this  was  all  the  reward  of  her 
sacrifice. 

This  early  incident,  and  the  small 
effect  it  had  upon  his  existence,  is  one 
of  the  many  proofs  that  a  great  deal  of 
pity  has  been  lavished  without  reason 
upon  the  tenderness  of  Cowper's  dis- 
position, and  the  extreme  suscepti- 
bility of  his  character.  Beautiful  and 
amiable  and  gentle  as  that  character 
was,  the  capacity  of  strenuous  loving 
would  have  been  the  salvation  of  it. 
A  man  who  is  able  to  throw  him- 
self into  the  existence  of  another, 
to  seek  with  passion  and  vehemence 
the  welfare  of  another,  has  the  strong- 
est safeguard  ever  invented  by  God 
against  all  the  evils  that  result  from 
brooding  over  and  becoming  ab- 
sorbed in  the  sufferings  of  self.  In 
all  the  combinations  of  human  cir- 
cumstance and  complications  of 
human  feeling,  true  love  is  the  only 


combatant  strong  enough  to  over- 
throw that  last  and  subtlest  enemy 
of  man.  There  is  no  proof  in  his 
life  that  Cowper  was  capable  of  this 
primitive  faculty  of  loving  at  all. 
He  was  affectionate.  He  clung  to 
the  people  whom  he  liked,  who  were 
near  to  him,  and  ministered  to  him, 
with  the  faithfulest  tenacity;  but 
no  other  emotion  than  that  of  mild 
and  quiet  domestic  affection  ever 
entered  his  mind.  The  attachment 
of  a  child  to  its  nurse  is  strong  within 
him;  and  his  friends  are  all  more  or 
less  his  nurses,  shielding,  protecting, 
and  providing  for  him.  But  had  he 
not  developed  into  a  great  poet,  he 
would  have  been  a  very  troublesome 
dependant ;  for,  amiable,  gentle,  and 
kind  as  he  was,  love  and  its  self- 
abnegations  were  simply  unknown 
to  him :  he  received  its  sacrifices  even 
without  recognising  them.  There  is 
nothing  in  him  that  is  of  kin  to  that 
grand  principle.  The  central  thought 
in  his  mind,  the  pivot  upon  which 
everything  turns,  is  himself.  It  is 
so  sad,  so  gentle,  so  distrustful  a  self, 
that  we  feel  that  it  is  cruel  to  make 
such  an  accusation;  and  yet  we  be- 
lieve it  is  true. 

But  there  are  other  scattered  evi- 
dences that  this  life  in  the  Temple, 
up  to  his  thirtieth  year  at  least,  was 
a  very  pleasant  sort  of  life.  His 
friends  were  literary  men,  running  in 
their  inexperience  a-tilt  against  all 
the  world,  and  enjoying  it  as  only 
young  critics,  delighted  with  their 
own  prowess  and  power  of  slaugh- 
tering their  natural  opponents,  the 
established  powers  of  literature,  can. 
He  joined  them  to  a  small  extent 
in  their  work,  and  wrote  poetical 
epistles  to  them,  and  patriotic  bal- 
lads. He  "  glowed  with  patriotic 
enthusiasm,"  he  tells  us.  "  When 
poor  Bob  White  brought  in  the  news 
of  Boscawen's  success  off  the  coast 
of  Portugal,  how  did  I  leap  for  joy! 
when  Hawke  demolished  Conflans, 
I  was  still  more  transported."  Be- 
sides these  literary  and  patriotic  ex- 


1871.] 


No.  I. — William  Cowper. 


769 


citements,  he  devoted  himself  to 
classical  studies,  and  went  through 
the  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  compar- 
ing Pope's  translation  (to  its  great 
disadvantage)  with  the  original. 
These  are  all  the  amusements  of  an 
idle  and  desultory  mind ;  but  they 
point  to  a  life  largely  enjoyed  and 
not  endured  in  gloom  and  patience. 
The  following  letter,  written  in  the 
year  1762,  gives  a  still  clearer  view 
of  his  state  of  mind  at  that  period. 
By  this  time  he  was  thirty-one. 

"  I  could  be  as  splenetick  as  you,  and 
with  reason,  if  I  thought  proper  to  in- 
dulge that  humour ;  but  my  resolution  is 
(and  I  would  advise  you  to  adopt  it)  never 
to  be  melancholy  while  I  have  a  hundred 
pounds  in  the  world  to  keep  up  my 
spirits.  God  knows  how  long  that  will 
be;  but  in  the  mean  time,  lo  Triumphe! 

.  .  .  If  my  resolution  to  be  a  great 
man  was  half  as  strong  as  it  is  to  despise 
the  shame  of  being  a  little  one,  I  should 
not  despair  of  a  house  in  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields,  with  all  its  appurtenances ;  for 
there  is  nothing  more  certain,  and  I 
could  prove  it  by  a  thousand  instances, 
than  that  every  man  may  be  rich  if  he 
will.  What  is  the  industry  of  half  the 
industrious  men  in  the  world  but  avarice  ? 
and  call  it  by  which  name  you  will,  it 
almost  always  succeeds.  But  this  pro- 
vokes me,  that  a  covetous  dog  who  will 
work  by  candle-light  in  a  morning  to  get 
what  he  does  not  want  shall  be  praised 
for  his  thriftiness,  while  a  gentleman 
shall  be  abused  for  submitting  to  his 
wants  rather  than  work  like  an  ass  to 
relieve  them.  Did  you  ever  in  your  life 
know  a  man  who  was  guided  in  the 
general  course  of  his  actions  by  any- 
thing but  his  natural  temper  ?  And  yet 
we  blame  each  other's  conduct  as  freely 
as  if  that  temper  was  the  most  tractable 
beast  in  the  world,  and  we  had  nothing 
to  do  but  to  twitch  the  rein  to  the  right 
or  the  left,  and  go  just  as  we  are  directed 
by  others  !  All  this  is  nonsense,  and 
nothing  better. " 

These  calm  poco- cur  ante  senti- 
ments are  as  unlike  as  it  is  possible 
to  imagine  to  anything  which  we 
are  in  the  habit  of  associating  with 
the  name  of  Cowper.  Yet  these 
are  Cowper's  sentiments,  uttered,  to 
all  appearance,  soberly  enough,  and 
at  an  age  beyond  that  which  loves 

VOL.  CIX. NO.  DCLXV1II. 


to  trick  itself  in  cynicisms  to  shock 
or  puzzle  its  friends.  It  is  clear, 
by  all  the  facts  of  his  history  with 
which  we  are  acquainted,  that  he 
was  carrying  out  in  a  very  literal 
way  this  theory  of  life.  Neither 
love  nor  ambition  had  stirred  him 
to  present  exertion.  He  lived 
for  his  own  amusement,  letting  his 
money  scatter  out  of  his  hands  in 
a  thriftless  way;  and  taking  no 
further  heed  of  the  morrow  than 
what  was  necessary  to  calculate  that 
his  funds  were  enough  to  provide 
for  its  wants. 

Upon  this  listless  selfish  life, 
however,  there  now  arose  such  a 
storm  as  drove  the  sufferer  into  the 
very  heart  of  human  pity.  There 
is  not,  we  believe,  one  reader  in  a 
thousand  who  does  not  recognise  in 
the  great  misfortune  which  now 
overshadowed  Cowper's  life  an  ex- 
cuse, and  more  than  excuse,  for  all 
its  imperfections.  The  time  came 
for  which  he  had  been  waiting  all 
these  years,  and  at  last  an  official 
appointment  was  found  for  him, 
which  would  have  established  him 
in  life.  It  does  not  appear  that  he 
had  ever  exerted  himself  actively  to 
seek  such  an  appointment ;  but  in 
those  days  men  who  possessed  poli- 
tical influence  were  men  of  strong 
domestic  affections,  and  never  failed 
to  provide  for  their  friends.  One 
day,  however,  "  while  discussing 
his  affairs  with  a  friend,  Cowper 
expressed  his  hope  that  if  the  clerk 
of  the  journals  of  the  House  of  Lords 
should  die,  his  kinsman,  Major 
Cowper,  who  had  the  place  in  his 
disposal,  would  give  him  the  ap- 
pointment." The  poet  goes  on,  with 
his  usual  exaggerated  sense  of  per- 
sonal wickedness  and  boastfulness 
of  his  depravity,  to  say,  "  "We  both 
agreed  that  the  business  of  the  place, 
being  transacted  in  private,  would 
exactly  suit  me ;  and  both  expressed 
an  earnest  wish  for  his  death,  that 
I  might  be  provided  for.  Thus  did 
3o 


770 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[June 


I  covet  what  God  had  commanded 
me  not  to  covet ;  and  involved  my- 
self in  still  deeper  guilt  by  doing  it 
in  the  spirit  of  a  murder.  It  pleased 
the  Lord  "  (he  adds)  "  to  give  me  my 
heart's  desire,  and  in  it  immediate 
punishment  of  my  crime." 

This  exaggerated  remorse  was  per- 
haps not  fictitious,  but  it  is  evi- 
dently more  or  less  artificial,  especi- 
ally as,  Southey  justly  points  out, 
Cowper  expresses  no  particular  peni- 
tence for  the  real  fault  of  which  he 
had  been  guilty — his  utter  neglect 
to  qualify  himself  for  any  such 
appointment.  The  clerk  of  the 
journals  did  die  very  shortly  after, 
but  not,  let  us  hope,  by  means  of 
Cowper's  murderous  wish.  Two 
other  offices  of  greater  value  which 
were  held  together,  "  the  offices 
of  reading  clerk  and  clerk  of  the 
committees,"  fell  vacant  at  the  same 
time ;  and  these,  as  most  worthy 
of  his  acceptance,  were  at  once 
offered  to  Cowper.  They,  how- 
ever, involved  so  many  public  ap- 
pearances, that,  after  worrying  him- 
self for  a  week  with  deliberations  on 
the  question,  he  at  length  wrote  to  his 
friend,  begging  to  have  the  least  im- 
portant appointment,  which  might 
be  held  without  the  fearful  penalty 
of  showing  himself  in  public.  His 
kind  patron  consented,  and  for  a 
short  interval  all  went  well.  In  a 
letter  to  his  cousin,  Lady  Hesketh, 
he  even  writes  playfully  of  the  pro- 
cess of  preparation  he  was  going 
through.  He  describes  it  aa  "an 
employment  not  very  agreeable  to  a 
head  that  has  long  been  habituated 
to  the  luxury  of  choosing  its  subject, 
and  has  been  as  little  employed  upon 
business  as  if  it  had  grown  upon  the 
shoulders  of  a  much  wealthier  gentle- 
man." He  adds,  however,  "If  I 
succeed  in  this  doubtful  piece  of 
promotion  I  shall  have  at  least  this 
satisfaction  to  reflect  upon,  that  the 
volumes  I  write  will  be  treasured  up 
with  the  utmost  care  for  ages,  and 
will  last  as  long  as  the  English  con- 


stitution— a  character  which  ought 
to  satisfy  the  vanity  of  any  author 
who  has  a  spark  of  love  for  his 
country."  Nothing  can  be  more 
unlike  the  elaborate  confessions  in 
which  afterwards  he  unfolded  the 
history  of  this  miserable  time,  than 
the  touching  and  sudden  appeal  to 
his  cousin's  sympathy  with  which 
this  letter  concludes.  He  lifts  the 
veil  a  moment  with  a  brief  reference 
to  the  hope  of  the  past  and  that 
blank  in  the  future  which  is  made 
by  the  conviction  that  change  comes 
too  late.  "Oh  my  good  cousin," 
he  cries,  "  if  I  was  to  open  my  heart 
to  you  I  could  show  you  strange 
sights ;  nothing,  I  flatter  myself, 
that  would  shock  you,  but  a  great 
deal  that  would  make  you  wonder. 
.  .  .  Certainly  I  am  not  an  absolute 
fool,  but  I  have  more  weakness  than 
the  greatest  of  all  the  fools  I  can 
recollect  at  present.  In  short,  if  I 
was  as  fit  for  the  next  world  as  I 
am  unfit  for  this — and  God  forbid 
I  should  speak  it  in  vanity — I  would 
not  change  conditions  with  any 
saint  in  Christendom.  .  .  .  Ever 
since  I  was  born  I  have  been  good 
at  disappointing  the  most  natural 
expectations.  Many  years  ago,  cou- 
sin, there  was  a  possibility  I  might 
prove  a  very  different  thing  from 
what  I  am  at  present.  My  charac- 
ter is  now  fixed  and  riveted  fast 
upon  me,  and,  between  friends,  is  not 
a  very  splendid  one." 

This  is  the  last  sane  speech  that 
comes  from  him  in  the  gathering 
darkness.  Some  time  before  he  had 
been  made  aware  that  the  office  which 
he  had  chosen  for  its  obscurity  could 
not  be  entered  upon  until  after  one 
public  attendance  at  the  bar  of  the 
House.  This  fact  drove  his  agitated 
mind  into  an  instant  turmoil.  He 
attended  the  office  daily  in  order  to 
ascertain  what  the  duties  were ;  but, 
either  rightly  or  wrongly,  fancied 
all  the  clerks  to  be  against  him,  and 
vainly,  without  help  or  guide,  en- 
deavoured to  get  the  necessary  infor- 


1871.] 


No.  I. — William  Coicp&r. 


771 


mation  into  his  confused  brain.  A 
man  of  timid  temperament  and  mind 
quite  undisciplined,  unused  to  work, 
and  accustomed  to  unbounded  self- 
indulgence,  however  virtuous  that 
indulgence  may  have  been,  it  may 
be  easily  supposed  that  this  sudden 
trial  was  not  a  light  one.  He  had 
never  forced  himself  to  do  anything 
all  his  life,  and  now  here  was  some- 
thing which  he  was  compelled  to 
do.  He  had  not  accustomed  him- 
self to  make  any  sacrifice  of  his 
personal  likings.  Sooner  than  do 
so  he  had  let  his  love  and  his  best 
hope  for  life  slip  through  his  nerve- 
less fingers.  And  now,  how  was  he 
to  meet  this  first  stern  call  of  neces- 
sity ?  It  was  the  sort  of  crisis  which 
above  all  others  tests  a  man's  strength 
or  weakness — whether  he  is  fit  to 
live  the  life  of  a  man  in  the  world, 
or  to  be  thrown  out  of  sight  as  use- 
less. It  is  evident  that  he  made  a 
great,  and  even  violent,  effort  to  re- 
spond to  the  call.  For  months  to- 
gether he  went  on  confusing  more 
and  more  his  bewildered  brain  with 
technicalities  which,  in  his  mingled 
ignorance  and  agitation,  he  could 
not  understand }  and  more  and  more 
figuring  to  himself,  in  his  excited 
imagination,  the  scene  of  which  he 
should  be  the  centre,  the  lines  of 
cold  unsympathetic  faces  staring  at 
him,  the  solemn  audience,  the  sound 
of  his  own  frightened  voice  in  the 
midst.  If  that  moment  ever  came, 
he  felt  that  every  perception,  every 
gleam  of  understanding  would  for- 
sake him.  There  is  something  half 
contemptible,  wholly  pitiful  in  such 
a  position.  The  spectator  feels  a 
painful  movement  of  shame  which  he 
can  only  forget  in  the  keen  sense 
of  compassion  with  which  he  looks 
on  at  sufferings  so  artificial  yet  so 
true.  But  to  the  unhappy  object  of 
this  struggle  it  was  nothing  less  than 
tragical.  He  went  on  trying  to  con- 
ceal his  misery,  hoping  the  earth 
would  open  and  swallow  him  up 
before  the  awful  moment.  Then  in 


the  stress  and  strain  of  this  fantas- 
tic wretchedness  the  brain  itself  be- 
gan to  give  way.  The  earth  would 
not  swallow  him — neither  God  nor 
man  would  save  him.  This  anguish 
was  to  himself  the  deepest  abyss  of 
pain,  but  he  felt  that  it  would  be 
ludicrous  to  any  stranger.  Then 
oame  that  novel  and  burning  sense 
of  the  intolerable  which  so  soon 
rises  in  a  weak  nature ;  and  the  feel- 
ing that  he  could  not  bear  it  soon 
ripened  into  the  wild  certainty  that 
he  would  not.  He  hoped  that  he 
would  go  mad  or  die  by  way  of  being 
saved  from  this  bugbear ;  and  then, 
by  one  of  those  wild  tricks  of  nature 
which  we  understand  so  imperfectly, 
in  the  very  act  of  going  mad  he 
chose  the  other  alternative  and  made 
up  his  mind  to  die. 

We  need  not  enter  into  the  miser- 
able story  of  his  attempts  at  suicide. 
Southey  quotes  them  in  full  from 
his  own  narrative.  The  wild  deter- 
mination to  accomplish  his  own  de- 
struction and  the  equally  wild  reluc- 
tance which  accompanied  it,  drive 
him  from  place  to  place,  from  ex- 
pedient to  expedient.  One  time  he 
will  drown  himself,  but  finds  some 
one  in  the  way  who  prevents  him. 
Another  time  he  has  the  poison  at 
his  very  lips  to  drink,  and  is  inter- 
rupted. At  another  he  tries  to  stab 
himself  with  his  penknife ;  and  he 
does  actually  succeed  in  hanging 
himself,  the  last  of  his  attempts, 
which  is  only  rendered  ineffectual 
by  the  breaking  of  the  garter  he  had 
used.  This  last  incident  seems  for 
the  moment  to  have  brought  him  to 
his  senses.  He  sent  for  his  relation, 
and  pointed  (no  doubt  it  was  enough) 
to  the  broken  garter  which  lay 
on  the  floor.  Major  Cowper  was 
shocked,  as  it  is  natural  to  suppose, 
and  yet  more  grieved  than  shocked. 
"  You  terrify  me  ! "  he  cried.  "  To 
be  sure  you  cannot  hold  the  office  at 
this  rate."  And  thus  in  a  moment 
the  struggle  was  over;  but  not  the 
madness  nor  the  pain. 


772 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[June 


It  was  only,  however,  when  this 
tangible  cause  of  his  sufferings  was 
removed,  that  his  growing  insanity 
found  an  excuse  and  motive  in  re- 
ligion. It  was  not  any  religious 
question  which  first  upset  his  mental 
balance ;  but  now  the  balance  being 
upset,  and  all  the  elements  stirred 
into  wild  tempest  and  confusion, 
something  else  became  necessary  to 
give  a  centre  to  his  feverish  fan- 
cies, and  to  the  whirl  of  despair 
and  wretchedness  in  which  he  found 
himself  involved.  Nothing  could 
be  more  likely  to  supply  this  than 
remorse,  in  the  first  place,  for  the 
dreadful  crime  which  he  had  all  but 
committed.  "  To  this  moment  I 
had  felt  no  concern  of  a  spiritual 
kind,"  he  says.  But  when  the 
demons  had  once  been  let  loose, 
what  more  likely  as  a  means  of 
torment  than  this  which  lay  ready 
for  their  use]  N"o  doubt  his  friends, 
incredulous  of  the  effect  which  so 
simple  a  difficulty  had  produced, 
left  him  to  himself  when  the  ob- 
noxious necessity  had  been  removed, 
hoping  to  hear  no  more  of  it.  Men- 
tal disease  was  not  so  much  stud- 
ied in  those  days,  and  it  is  easy  to 
imagine  that  men  in  their  right 
senses  must  have  felt  a  certain 
mixture  of  irritation  and  contempt 
which  would  moderate  their  pity. 
He  had  ruined  his  own  prospects  and 
brought  them  into  a  disagreeable  and 
embarrassing  position  by  his  folly  ; 
and  if  they  did  not  to  some  degree 
resent  it,  they  must  have  been  more 
than  men.  Not  a  word  is  said  to 
this  effect,  but  yet  it  seems  natural 
that  it  should  have  been  so,  especi- 
ally as  Cowper's  own  narrative  gives 
us  the  impression  that  he  was  left 
at  first  to  battle  with  his  own 
misery  as  he  could.  He  describes 
himself  as  walking  "  to  and  fro 
in  my  chamber,  saying  within 
myself,  there  never  was  so  aban- 
doned a  wretch,  so  great  a  sinner." 
He  studies  his  Bible,  now  thinking 
that  the  curse  upon  the  barren  fig- 


tree  was  meant  for  him,  now  that 
the  sword  of  the  Spirit  flamed  against 
him  in  every  avenue  of  mercy;  he 
turned  over  sermons,  and  found  only 
condemnation  in  them;  he  opened 
a  book  of  plays,  and  out  of  that  re- 
ceived a  dart  as  of  fire.  He 
was  sleepless  by  night,  and  spent 
the  day  in  one  unbroken  fever- 
ish dream  of  misery.  When  he 
went  into  the  street,  the  people 
seemed  to  stare  and  laugh,  or  even 
sang  ballads  at  him.  He  dined 
alone  at  a  tavern,  hiding  himself  in 
the  darkest  corner  of  the  room ; 
there  he  would  fall  asleep  after  his 
meal,  and  waking  in  a  terror  of 
hideous  dreams,  would  reel  and 
stagger  like  a  drunken  man.  Thus 
his  misery  strengthened  its  hold 
upon  him  in  his  solitude,  and  when 
his  brother  came  he  was  past  help. 
"  I  felt  a  sense  of  burning  in  my 
heart  like  that  of  real  fire,  and  con- 
cluded it  was  an  earnest  of  those 
eternal  flames  which  would  soon 
receive  me.  I  laid  myself  down 
howling  with  horror  while  my  knees 
smote  against  each  other.  In  this 
condition  my  brother  found  me,  and 
the  first  words  I  spoke  to  him  were, 
"  Oh,  brother,  I  am  damned  !  think 
of  eternity,  and  then  think  what  it 
is  to  be  damned  ! " 

It  would  be  a  curious  question, 
could  we  in  pity  for  the  woeful 
spectacle  thus  placed  before  us  have 
the  heart  to  investigate  it,  how  much 
the  sense  of  personal  importance 
and  the  habit  of  continual  self- 
reference  has  to  do  with  this  pecu- 
liar form  of  mental  disease.  Our 
own  impression  is,  that  individual 
character  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with 
mental  alienation  of  all  kinds,  and 
that  self-love  and  self-will  will 
always  be  found  involved  more  or 
less  in  every  failure  of  the  brain. 
A  man  of  generous  temper  and  large 
heart — a  man  habitually  more  occu- 
pied with  the  happiness  and  com- 
fort of  others  than  his  own — has, 
we  believe,  an  armour  of  proof 


1871.] 


No.  I. — William  Cowper. 


773 


against  this  mysterious  and  terrible 
disease.  But  Cowper  had  laid 
himself  open  to  its  attacks;  he  had 
lived  the  life  of  an  egotist  for  years ; 
he  had  found  all  his  strength  in- 
sufficient to  overcome  personal  timid- 
ity, that  wild  and  exaggerated  self- 
consciousness  which  in  itself  is  the 
offspring  of  egotism — and,  accord- 
ingly, he  was  quite  defenceless  when 
the  strain  came.  And  it  was  all  the 
more  miserable  for  him  that  his 
malady  should  have  taken  a  reli- 
gious form,  from  the  fact  that  the 
newly-awakened  religious  feeling  of 
his  age  was  almost  entirely  intro- 
spective. Wesley  had  awakened  the 
England  of  his  time  to  a  conscious- 
ness that  this  world  was  not  every- 
thing— that  the  unseen  and  eternal 
were  not  only  of  some  importance, 
but  of  supreme  importance,  far 
exceeding  the  seen  and  temporal; 
but  he  had  not  stopped  there.  He 
had  turned  the  current  of  profound 
religious  feeling,  both  within  and 
without  his  own  community,  into 
the  channel  of  severe  and  constant 
self-examination.  He  had  taught 
his  disciples  —  and  almost  every 
pious  person  of  his  age  was  more  or 
less  his  disciple — to  weigh  every 
individual  feeling  and  impulse  which 
arose  in  their  minds,  and  to  allow 
no  movement  of  the  affections  or 
fancy  to  escape  their  scrutiny.  They 
were  intent  (in  theory)  upon  them- 
selves as  a  surgeon  is  on  the  subject 
he  is  dissecting.  The  simile  is  un- 
savoury, but  we  know  no  other  so 
exact.  Such  a  theory  is  by  nature 
injurious  only  to  the  few  individuals 
who  are  predisposed  to  enter  into  its 
full  meaning.  Most  men  (thank 
heaven!)  have  too  many  clogs  of 
flesh  and  blood  about  them — too 
many  sympathies  and  emotions — 
too  much  instinctive  and  unreasoning 
confidence  in  the  God  that  made 
them,  to  be  driven  frantic  by  it ; 
and,  accordingly,  the  good  it  does 
to  the  mass  by  teaching  them  the 
profound  importance  of  right  feel- 


ings, motives,  and  wishes,  and 
putting  spiritual  religion  in  its  true 
place,  as  something  above  all  ex- 
ternal observance,  is  probably  tenfold 
more  than  the  harm  it  has  done  in 
creating  the  sin  of  spiritual  selfish- 
ness. But  Cowper  had  not  the 
safeguards  which  protect  the  mass  of 
humanity.  This  form  of  religion 
tended  to  increase  by  every  means, 
and  as  it  were  to  legitimatise  and 
give  a  heavenly  sanction  to,  those 
habits  of  mind  from  which  his  mad- 
ness came.  To  cure  him  of  that 
tragic  self-importance  which  made 
him  perceive  in  himself  a  kind  of 
equal  antagonist  to  God,  pursued 
implacably  by  divine  wrath  and 
contended  for  by  all  the  powers  of 
darkness — an  enemy  so  important 
that  heaven  departed  from  all  its 
common  rules,  and  made  war  against 
him  a  outrance — the  religion  of  his 
day  set  him  to  self-examination.  It 
taught  him  to  regard  God  as  per- 
petually watchful  of  his  smallest 
movements,  noting  everything  with 
a  vigilant  eye,  more  easily  angered 
than  a  jealous  woman,  insisting 
upon  a  share  in  every  thought. 
Instead  of  the  "larger,  other  eyes 
than  ours,"  with  which  the  gentler 
philosophy  of  to-day  endows  even 
the  departed  spirits  of  human  race, 
the  sign  of  God's  greatness  to  Wes- 
ley and  Newton  was  the  minuteness 
of  His  all-inspection — the  ceaseless, 
breathless  watch  he  kept  upon  every 
word  and  every  thought.  And 
whenever  it  is  fully  realised  what 
this  means — when  the  reader  repre- 
sents to  himself  the  effect  upon 
a  sensitive  mind  of  such  a  con- 
stant, unintermitting  inspection  — 
when  he  thinks  of  the  one  poor 
solitary  half-insane  human  creature 
feeling  himself  surrounded  by  the 
austere  light  of  eyes  which  watch 
him  waking  and  sleeping,  watch 
him  in  his  weakness,  in  his  dreams, 
at  his  table,  at  his  books,  whatever 
he  does  or  thinks  or  says,  making 
account  of  everything  and  laying  up 


774 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[June 


an  awful  score  of  unconsidered  sins 
against  hinar — can  he  wonder  that 
Cowper's  madness  came  back  again 
and  again,  and  was  the  persistent 
shadow  of  his  entire  life  ?  This  was 
how  the  most  pious  men  of  the  time 
regarded  God.  It  is  how  human 
nature  at  all  times  is  most  apt  to 
regard  Him,  being  so  seldom  able  to 
divest  itself  of  its  deep  consciousness 
of  wrong  towards  Him.  These  men 
spoke  much  of  the  Saviour  and  of 
spiritual  joy ;  but  it  did  not  occur 
to  them  that  God's  loving  and  large 
comprehension  of  all  our  confused 
ways  and  works,  must  be  not  less, 
but  infinitely  more,  indulgent  and 
tender  than  that  of  any  man  :  yet 
this  was  the  theory  of  existence 
which  such  a  mind  as  Cowper's 
wanted,  and  in  which  was  its  only 
hope. 

We  linger,  however,  too  long  over 
these  opening  scenes.  Cowper's  first 
fit  of  madness  did  not  last  quite  a 
year,  and  he  was  delivered  from  it, 
or  rather  believed  that  he  was  de- 
livered from  it,  by  that  sudden  per- 
ception of  the  salvation  offered  by  the 
Gospel  which  is  the  turning-point 
in  so  many  religious  biographies. 
Almost  all  at  once  the  light  from 
heaven  burst- into  his  mind,  and  he 
was  delivered  ;  and  had  his  history 
ended  there,  it  would  scarcely  have 
been  more  remarkable  than  that  of 
a  host  of  converts  whose  transition 
from  a  profane  and  secular  to  a  re- 
ligious life  has  been  marked  by  not 
unsimilar  agonies.  He  was  two 
years  at  St  Alban's  under  the  charge 
of  Dr  Cotton — and  when  he  leaves 
that  scene  of  his  sufferings  and  recov- 
ery, there  is  an  air  of  subdued  tran- 
quillity about  him  which  reminds  us 
touchingly  of  the  state  of  convales- 
cence from  bodily  illness.  He  came 
to  Huntingdon  in  the  year  1765, 
with  a  tremulous  sense  of  the  beauty 
and  goodness  of  everything  in  his 
mind,  and  a  heart  open  to  every 
gentle  solace  that  might  fall  in  his 
way.  It  had  been  found  impossible 


to  get  lodgings  for  him  in  or  near 
Cambridge  where  his  brother  lived, 
and  Huntingdon,  oddly  enough, 
seems  to  have  been  chosen  as  with- 
in reach.  Probably  John  Cowper, 
though  he  was  a  kind  brother,  was 
yet  not  prepared  to  take  upon  him 
the  entire  charge  of  such  an  invalid, 
or  to  wear  out  his  own  heart  with 
the  constant  sight  of  one  who  had 
become  an  embarrassment  to  all  his 
friends.  S  uch  an  expedient  is  known 
and  practised  wherever  family  trou- 
bles exist ;  and  where  is  it  that  they 
do  not  exist?  But  here  Cowper 
found  what  he  might  have  sought 
over  a  whole  world  without  find- 
ing, had  he  sought  it  of  set  purpose 
— the  one  friend  in  the  world  from 
whom  he  was  never  to  be  separated 
more. 

A  great  deal  has  been  said  about 
the  poet's  connection  with  Mrs 
TJnwin,  and  we  believe  that  the 
great  bulk  of  the  readers  of  Cowper, 
from  his  own  day  to  this,  have  more 
or  less  openly  entertained  the  notion 
that  the  love  between  them  was,  to 
some  extent,  the  love  of  lovers,  and 
that  it  might  (and,  indeed,  as  some 
people  think,  ought  to)  have  led  to 
marriage.  Except  the  mere  fact  that 
he  was  a  man  and  she  a  woman,  we 
do  not  know  one  other  morsel  of 
evidence  to  prove  such  a  theory. 
The  relations  between  them  were 
evidently  as  calm,  as  sober,  and  as 
purely  affectionate  as  if  their  bond 
had  been  one,  not  of  choice,  but  of 
nature ;  and  in  all  the  revelations 
which  he  poured  forth  during  their 
long  companionship — revelations  in 
which  the  most  secret  things  of  life 
mingle  with  the  most  frivolous — 
there  is  not  one  word  which  could 
lend  the  most  far-away  or  vague  sup- 
port to  the  notion.  Not  the  least 
shade  of  shyness  or  self-conscious- 
ness is  upon  either  of  the  friends ; 
their  connection  was  so  simple  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  so  clearly  recognised  by 
all  who  belonged  to  them  on  both 
sides,  that  nothing  but  the  inalien- 


1871.] 


I. — William  Cowper. 


775 


able  human  inclination  to  find  some- 
thing amiss  could  have  suggested 
such  a  thought.  It  is  the  most  per- 
fect example  on  record  of  a  relation- 
ship so  difficult,  yet  so  beautiful ;  and 
perhaps  only  under  circumstances  so 
peculiar — circumstances  in  which  the 
man  owed  everything  to  the  woman, 
received  all,  and  gave  nothing  or 
next  to  nothing — could  it  be  pos- 
sible to  maintain  it.  In  the  mean 
time,  for  these  hundred  years  past 
critics  have  done  all  that  in  them 
lay  to  discover  anything  that  was  to 
be  discovered  about  this  frequent  sub- 
ject of  gossip.  Yet  in  all  that  time 
not  one  fact,  or  even  inference,  to 
the  injury  of  Mary  Tin  win  has  been 

so  much  as  hinted  at 

We  had  written  thus  far  when 
the  last  of  all  the  examinations  of 
Cowper's  life — the  biography  affixed 
to  the  Globe  edition  of  his  works, 
by  the  Eev.  W.  Benham — came  into 
our  hands.  It  contains  a  statement 
so  distinct  and  so  startling  that  we 
pause  with  a  certain  consternation, 
and  look  back  upon  what  we  have 
just  said.  Yes,  it  is  perfectly  true; 
Cowper  has  never  himself  uttered  a 
word  to  lead  to  the  supposition  that 
Mrs  Unwin  was  to  have  been  his 
wife — neither  has  his  friend  Hay- 
ley,  who,  it  is  to  be  supposed,  must 
have  been  in  possession  of  all  the 
circumstances.  Southey  treats  the 
suggestion  with  the  contempt  which 
an  hour  ago  we  should  have  said 
it  deserved.  In  the  face  of  all  these 
testimonies,  we  are  compelled  to  al- 
low Mr  Benham  introduces  a  piece 
of  evidence  which  it  is  very  hard  to 
deny  weight  to.  In  our  own  opin- 
ion, it  is  confuted  by  every  circum- 
stance of  the  story,  and  by  the  ab- 
solute silence  of  both  parties  most 
closely  concerned  ;  yet,  nevertheless, 
it  cannot  be  passed  over.  Here  is 
the  new  evidence  adduced.  It  is 
drawn  from  a  recent  and  little-known 
publication : — 

' '  Mr  Bull,  in  his  '  Memorials  of  New- 
ton,' declares  that  again  and  again  he 


had  heard  his  father  say  that  they  were 
about  to  be  married,  when  Cowper's 
malady  returned  in  1773,  and  that  Bull 
knewthisfrom  Mrs  Unwin  herself."  And 
then  he  adds  the  following  extract  from 
Newton's  hitherto  unpublished  diary  : — 
"  '  They  were  congenial  spirits  united 
in  the  faith  aud  hope  of  the  Gospel ;  and 
their  intimate  and  growing  friendship  led 
them,  in  the  course  of  four  or  five  years, 
to  an  engagement  of  marriage,  which  was 
well  known  to  me  and  to  most  of  their 
and  my  friends,  and  was  to  have  taken 
place  in  a  few  months,  but  was  prevented 
by  the  terrible  malady  which  seized 
him  about  that  time.'  " 

"  This,"  says  Mr  Benham,  "settles 
the  question."  Does  it  do  so  1  "We 
confess  that  for  the  first  moment  we 
are  staggered  by  the  uncompromis- 
ing character  of  the  assertion.  But 
at  the  second  glance  it  does  but  con- 
fuse the  whole  situation,  adding  to 
it  a  hundred  difficulties.  Here  is 
a  man  most  voluminous  in  letter- 
writing  who  has  babbled  (charmingly, 
touchingly,  in  such  a  way  as  few 
men  could  have  done,  yet  the  word 
is  not  unjust)  about  everything  that 
happened  to  him,  great  and  small. 
Yet  we  have  to  wait  a  century  until 
somebody  chooses  to  print  an  extract 
from  a  friend's  diary  for  information 
of  what  might  have  been  the  most 
important  step  in  his  life.  This 
step,  too,  was  one  which  it  was  so 
natural  to  expect  from  without.  It 
is  an  idea  which  must  have  crossed 
the  imagination  of  every  individual 
who  met  for  the  first  time  and  noted 
with  wonder  a  man  of  thirty-six  and 
a  woman  of  forty-three  living  toge- 
ther in  so  unusual  a  union.  Yet 
according  to  every  reasonable  indi- 
cation nothing  could  be  more  un- 
likely and  unsuitable  when  we  take 
all  the  circumstances  into  considera- 
tion, from  within.  The  very  idea  of 
two  people  thus  living  together  and 
contemplating  marriage  is  of  itself 
monstrous.  Two  lovers  alone  in  a 
house  waiting  (why  ?)  for  a  marriage- 
day  which  is  never  referred  to  by 
the  one  who  is  the  spokesman  of  the 
pair — then  giving  up  the  thought 


776 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[June 


because  the  woman  had  become 
a  thousand  times  more  than  ever 
necessary  to  the  man — and  going 
placidly  on  again  in  the  old  way 
when  that  crisis  was  over  without 
the  most  distant  reference  to  the 
purpose,  which,  if  they  entertained 
it  at  all,  must  certainly  have  borne 
a  most  important  part  in  their 
thoughts  !  The  story  seems  to  us 
utterly  incredible.  If  Mrs  Unwin 
had  been  disposed  to  marry  the  ail- 
ing man,  whose  miserable  previous 
story  she  knew  in  all  its  details  be- 
fore his  second  illness,  why  should 
that  illness  have  prevented  her  1 
She  rendered  him  all  the  services 
which  could  be  rendered  by  the 
nearest  female  relative  for  years 
after ;  and  if  she  had  been  his  be- 
trothed, her  position  would  have 
been  without  doubt  most  painful 
and  equivocal,  whereas  the  form  of 
marriage  would  have  made  all  her 
cares  at  once  legitimate.  In  our 
own  opinion,  the  mere  suggestion  of 
marriage  between  two  people  so  sit- 
uated made  its  instant  carrying  out, 
or  their  separation,  at  once  impera- 
tive. But,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
relations  of  friendship,  or  of  that 
domestic  love  which  is  not  the  love 
of  man  and  wife,  were  attended  by 
no  impossibility.  The  position 
might  be  difficult,  but  it  was  prac- 
ticable. The  two  had  grown  into 
the  habit  of  life  together  before  any 
other  relation  was  possible ;  and 
their  peculiar  religious  views,  though 
they  might  lay  them  open  to  the 
gossip  of  the  vulgar,  built  sevenfold 
walls  of  defence  round  them  with 
those  whose  opinions  they  cared  for. 
Not  only  was  the  moral  character 
of  both  above  suspicion,  but  their 
semi-monastic  life  afforded  them  a 
double  safeguard. 

It  is  quite  possible,  however,  that 
Newton,  who  ruled  both  with  a  rod 
of  iron,  might  have  thought  it  better 
for  them  to  be  married,  or  even  have 
ordained  that  it  should  be  so,  some 
time  or  other,  in  his  autocratic  way. 


He  occupied  with  both  a  position 
almost  more  absolute  than  that  held 
by  a  confessor  under  the  strictest 
Roman  Catholic  regime;  and  no- 
thing can  be  more  likely  than  that 
he  should  have  made  up  his  mind 
as  to  the  expediency  of  such  a  step, 
— marriage,  oddly  enough,  which  is 
the  grand  stumbling-block  to  the 
Catholic,  being  the  one  carnal  insti- 
tution for  which  Evangelicalism  has 
always  manifested  a  marked  partial- 
ity. With  this  suggestion  we  can 
but  leave  the  matter  to  the  reader's 
own  decision,  hoping  that  he  may 
agree  with  us  in  the  belief  that  this 
project  was  Newton's,  not  Cowper's; 
and  that  there  is  no  real  foundation, 
so  far  as  the  friends  themselves  are 
concerned,  for  this  meaningless  com- 
plication which  throws  confusion  in- 
to the  records  of  their  blameless  life. 

Cowper's  connection  with  the 
Unwins  commenced  almost  imme- 
diately after  his  arrival  in  Hunt- 
ingdon. By  this  time  he  had  not 
only  become  very  poor,  but  was 
deeply  in  debt  to  Dr  Cotton,  the 
kind  physician  who  had  done  so 
much  for  him.  Yet  he  brought  a 
man-servant  with  him  from  St  Al- 
bans,  and  apparently  a  poor  boy 
whose  education  he  had  undertaken 
— a  double  burden,  which  his  rela- 
tions, who  seem  to  have  by  this  time 
begun  to  contribute  regularly  to  his 
support,  strenuously  and  not  un- 
naturally objected  to.  His  first  at- 
tempt to  maintain  himself  in  his 
lodging  on  his  allowance  does  not 
seem  to  have  been  a  success,  and 
after  a  few  weeks  he  went  to  board 
with  the  Unwins.  He  describes  his 
life  under  their  roof  as  follows  : — 

"  We  breakfast  commonly  between 
eight  and  nine;  till  eleven  we  read 
either  the  Scriptures  or  the  sermons 
of  some  faithful  preacher  of  these  holy 
mysteries ;  at  eleven  we  attend  divine 
service,  which  is  performed  twice  every 
day ;  and  from  twelve  to  three  we  sepa- 
rate and  amuse  ourselves  as  we  please. 
During  that  interval  I  either  read  in  my 
own  apartment,  or  walk  or  ride  or  work 
in  the  garden.  We  seldom  sit  an  hour 


1871.] 


No.  I. — William  Coivper. 


777 


after  dinner,  but,  if  the  weather  permits, 
adjourn  to  the  garden,  where,  with  Mrs 
Unwin  and  her  son,  I  have  generally  the 
pleasure  of  religious  conversation  till  tea- 
time.  If  it  rains  or  is  too  windy  for 
walking,  we  either  converse  within  doors 
or  sing  some  hymns,  and  by  the  help  of 
Mrs  Unwin's  harpsichord  make  up  a 
tolerable  concert,  in  which  our  hearts 
are,  I  hope,  the  best  and  most  musical 
performers.  After  tea  we  sally  forth  to 
walk  in  good  earnest.  Mrs  Unwin  is 
a  good  walker,  and  we  have  generally 
travelled  about  four  miles  before  we  see 
home  again.  When  the  days  are  short, 
we  make  this  excursion  in  the  former 
part  of  the  day  between  church-time  and 
dinner.  At  night  we  read  and  converse 
as  before  till  supper,  and  commonly  fin- 
ish the  evening  either  with  hymns  or  a 
sermon,  and,  last  of  all,  the  family  are 
called  to  prayers.  I  need  not  tell  you 
that  such  a  life  is  consistent  with  the  ut- 
most cheerfulness." 

The  reader  will  observe  that 
"  such  a  life  "  differs  only  from  a 
severe  monastic  rule  in  being  ab- 
solutely without  motive.  Monks 
and  nuns  give  themselves  up  to 
such  an  existence  as  a  proof  of  their 
absolute  self-sacrifice  to  God,  and  as 
part  of  a  prolonged  vicarious  offer- 
ing, in  imitation  of  Christ,  for  the 
sins  of  men.  But  Cowper  gave 
himself  up  to  it  without  any  pur- 
pose except  his  own  happiness  and 
comfort,  yet  believed  this  course 
of  idle  routine  and  religious  busi- 
ness to  be  something  far  more  ele- 
vated than  the  common  labours  of 
other  men.  It  is  scarcely  possible, 
indeed,  to  avoid  noting  the  gentle 
complacency  of  the  narrative.  The 
poet  has  got,  out  of  his  despair,  to 
be  one  of  the  salt  of  the  earth,  liv- 
ing an  ideal  life  of  holiness  and 
piety ;  and  he  records  it  with  gentle 
satisfaction.  This  routine,  however, 
was  broken  by  the  death  of  Mr  Un- 
win. Before  that  event  occurred  the 
son  had  got  a  living,  and  the  daughter 
married  soon  after.  There  were  but 
two  left  of  the  pious  circle — the 
widow  and  her  boarder  and  patient. 
It  is  said  that  the  master  of  the  house 
in  dying  had  expressed  a  hope  that 
Cowper  would  continue  with  his 


wife.  And  so  he  did.  She  had 
become  necessary  to  him — the  most 
untiring  of  nurses  and  kindest 
of  companions ;  and  probably  at 
that  moment  of  grief  it  did  not 
occur  to  either  of  them  to  recollect 
that  the  woman  whom  he  looked 
upon  as  a  mother  was  in  reality 
only  seven  years  older  than  himself. 
Hay  ley  considers  that  "  her  age  and 
her  virtues  were  sufficient  securities 
to  insure  her  reputation."  And  in 
that  dim  religious  atmosphere,  where 
common  motives  did  not  exist, 
where  everything  was  referred  to 
the  guidance  of  the  Spirit,  and  where, 
besides,  the  presence  of  sorrow  must 
have  softened  and  sanctified  the 
whole,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that 
this  infraction  of  common  rules  was 
never  thought  of  upon  either  side, 
but  that  the  arrangement  seemed 
the  most  natural  one  possible  to  all. 
Both  then  and  afterwards  Cowper 
writes  of  his  companion  as  of  a 
mother,  in  a  way  which  was  no 
doubt  absurd  when  their  relative 
ages  are  considered,  but  which 
would  not  only  have  been  absurd, 
but  a  piece  of  most  transparent  and 
contemptible  hypocrisy  and  humbug, 
had  he  entertained  towards  her  the 
sentiments  of  a  lover. 

And  here  began  a  darker  chapter 
of  his  life.  When  Cowper  and  Mrs 
Unwin  changed  their  residence  from 
Huntingdon  to  Olney,it  was  in  order 
to  be  near,  and  to  benefit  by  the 
ministrations  of,  the  well-known  John 
Newton,  then  vicar  of  that  place. 
Had  the  poet  been  a  Eoman  Catho- 
lic, transferred  from  some  gentle- 
souled  director  to  an  imperious  bigot, 
who  bound  him  hand  and  foot  in 
spiritual  chains,  we  could  use  no 
other  words  than  those  which  are 
drawn  from  us  by  this  new  influence. 
Yet  Newton  was  one  of  the  men  who 
considered  Eome  as  Antichrist,  and 
would  have  shuddered,  as  if  at  the 
most  heinous  accusation  which  could 
be  brought  against  a  man,  had  he 
found  himself  compared  to  a  Popish 


778 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[Jv 


priest.  Thus  it  is  that  human  nature 
continually  proves  its  own  identity. 
Newton  became  the  spiritual  direc- 
tor of  both  Cowper  and  Mrs  Unwin. 
He  was  their  near  neighbour,  and, 
according  to  his  lights,  their  devot- 
ed friend  ;  but  he  Avas  one  of  the 
greatest  apostles  of  that  new  gospel 
of  self-examination  which  a  real 
Christian  impulse  had  tacked  to  the 
real  Gospel,  and  which  a  great  many 
simple  folk  received  without  doubt 
as  a  revelation  from  heaven.  Both 
his  new  parishioners  put  themselves 
entirely  into  his  hands.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  he  meant  nothing 
but  good  to  his  friends,  and  that  the 
life  into  which  his  example  and  in- 
fluence drew  Cowper  was  to  himself 
the  very  highest  ideal  of  existence. 
Once,  and  only  once,  he  seems  to 
have  been  struck  by  the  idea  that 
his  treatment  of  his  penitents  might 
be  supposed  by  the  worldly-minded 
to  have  an  injurious  effect.  "  I  be- 
lieve my  name  is  up  for  preaching 
people  mad.  .  .  .  Whatever  may 
be  the  cause,  I  suppose  we  have 
near  a  dozen  in  different  degrees 
disordered  in  their  heads,  and  most 
of  them,  I  believe,  truly  gracious 
people,"  he  says,  with  curious  mo- 
mentary surprise.  But  no  doubt 
was  in  his  own  mind  that  his  course 
of  action  was  the  best  and  holiest. 
Cowper  was  plunged  into  all  the  re- 
ligious occupations  of  the  parish.  If 
he  had  lived  the  life  of  a  monk  at 
Huntingdon,  at  Olney  he  lived  the 
life  of  a  home  missionary.  He  who 
had  gone  mad  in  his  struggle  to 
face  a  public  assembly  once,  had 
now  to  lead  the  devotions  of  the 
people  at  periodical  prayer -meet- 
ings whenever  his  pastor  called 
upon  him.  "  I  have  heard  him 
say,"  said  Mr  Greathead,  who 
preached  his  funeral  sermon,  "  that 
when  he  expected  to  take  the  lead 
in  your  social  worship,  his  mind 
was  always  greatly  agitated  for  some 
hours  preceding.  But  his  trepida- 
tion wholly  subsided  as  soon  as  he 


began  to  speak  in  prayer."  "  Mr 
Newton,"  says  another  witness, 
"  used  to  consider  him  as  a  sort  of 
curate,  from  his  constant  attendance 
on  the  sick  and  afflicted  in  that 
large  and  necessitous  parish."  These 
occupations,  however,  might  not 
have  been  radically  injurious,  for 
occupation  was  most  needful  for 
him ;  but  for  the  perpetual  en- 
forcing of  that  grand  duty  of  self- 
observation,  which  was  by  nature 
Cowper's  greatest  danger.  Through 
all  his  labours  this  was  the  ac- 
companiment of  every  exertion.  To 
scrutinise  himself — to  learn  the  will 
of  God  from  vague  intimations  in  his 
own  mind — to  examine  every  feeling 
lest  perhaps  something  wicked  might 
be  in  it — to  dwell  iipon  every  pass- 
ing mood — to  detect  every  difference 
of  spiritual  temperament, — such  was 
the  one  great  course  recommended 
above  everything  else.  It  was  his 
besetting  sin,  the  temptation  which 
had  most  power  over  him  :  and  it 
was  urged  upon  him  as  his  highest 
spiritual  duty. 

This  time  of  ripening  misery  is 
described  by  Cowper's  friends  at 
Olney  as  "a  course  of  decided 
Christian  happiness."  It  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  death  of  his  only 
brother,  which  was  for  a  long  time 
his  last  occasion  of  communication 
with  his  friends  in  the  outer  world. 
After  that  an  ominous  silence  falls 
upon  him ;  one  or  two  curt,  cold 
letters  are  all  that  come  out  of  the 
gloom  of  monotonous  preaching, 
teaching,  self -scrutiny,  which  had 
swallowed  up  his  life.  It  was  then 
(they  say)  he  was  to  have  married. 
He  had  time  enough  to  do  it,  for  six 
years  had  elapsed  from  the  time  of 
his  settlement  in  Olney  before  the 
gathering  storm  broke  all  at  once. 
He  was  in  the  vicarage,  which 
communicated  with  his  own  house 
through  their  respective  gardens, 
when  the  outburst  came ;  and  such 
was  the  obstinacy  of  the  attack  that 
nearly  eighteen  months  passed  be- 


1871.] 


No.  I. — William  Cowper. 


779 


fore  lie  left  his  friend's  house.  "We 
have  no  particular  account  of  the 
secrets  of  this  terrible  time.  Newton 
was  overwhelmed  with  sorrow  and 
sympathy,  it  is  evident — a  sympathy 
which,  however,  was  naturally  soon 
tinctured  by  a  sense  of  the  extra- 
ordinary burden  thus  cast  upon  him. 
Mrs  Unwin  alone  stood  by  the  man 
who  had  thrown  himself  like  a  child 
upon  her  compassion,  as  never  wo- 
man, except  a  mother,  did  ;  uttering 
no  word  out  of  the  terrible  vigil, 
making  no  attempt  to  deli ver  herself ; 
wearing  her  life  out  in  attendance 
upon  him,  in  humouring  all  his  sick 
fancies,  and  watching  all  his  troub- 
lous ways.  To  speak  or  think  of 
any  love  but  that  of  motherhood 
and  friendship,  carried  to  the  point 
of  heroism,  in  presence  of  such  a  terri- 
ble trial,  strikes  the  writer,  and  we 
cannot  but  believe  will  strike  the 
reader  also,  with  a  sense  of  absolute 
desecration  and  profanity.  The  ima- 
gination refuses  to  carry  such  a 
thought  into  the  gloom  :  these  two 
are  not  man  and  woman,  they  are 
nurse  and  patient  —  mother  and 
child. 

We  are  not  disposed  to  consider 
the  hymn-writing  in  which  Newton 
engaged  his  friend  as  having  helped, 
as  some  think,  to  produce  this  miser- 
able result.  Verse  was  Cowper's 
natural  mode  of  expression;  and  it 
must  even  have  acted  as  a  kind  of 
curb  upon  his  exaggerated  feelings, 
since  he  could  not  express  black 
despair  or  absolute  failure  of  God's 
mercy  in  verses  which  were  to  be 
used  by  ordinary  Christians.  Many 
of  the  hymns,  no  doubt,  are  sad 
enough,  but  they  generally  end  with 
expressions  of  hope  and  comfort ; 
and  so  far  as  we  can  see,  there  was 
nothing  in  them  to  injure  his  mind. 
Indeed  it  is  rather  a  certain  blank  of 
evangelical  religious  sentiment — the 
staple  subjects  of  the  hymns  of  the 
period — than  any  revelation  of  his 
own  feelings  which  we  find  in  these 
productions.  There  is  nothing  which 


we  can  identify  absolutely  with  him- 
self, as,  for  instance,  we  can  identify 
that  hymn  of  Dr  Newman's,  "  Lead, 
kindly  Light,"  in  which  a  certain, 
tender  and  touching  shadow  of  the 
original  singer  always  dwells.  For 
anything  we  could  say  to  the  con- 
trary, Cowper's  share  of  the  '  Olney 
Hymns'  might  have  been  contri- 
buted by  any  of  the  ministers  round. 
The  only  verses  which  strike  us  as 
possessing  any  special  individuality 
are  those  entitled  the  "  Contrite 
Heart." 

"  I  hear,  but  seem  to  hear  in  vain, 

Insensible  as  steel ; 
If  aught  is  felt,  'tis  only  pain 

To  find  I  cannot  feel. 
I  sometimes  think  myself  inclined 

To  love  Thee,  if  I  could, 
But  often  feel  another  mind 

Averse  to  all  that's  good. 

Thy  saints  are  comforted,  I  know, 
And  love  Thy  house  of  prayer ; 

I  therefore  go  where  others  go, 
But  find  no  comfort  there. 

Oh  make  this  heart  rejoice  or  ache ; 

Decide  this  doubt  for  me ; 
And  if  it  be  not  broken,  break, 

And  heal  it  if  it  be." 

These  hymns,  however,  are  on 
a  low  level  in  every  way ;  they 
abound,  as  hymns  so  often  do,  in 
strong  expressions,  but  there  is  no 
corresponding  warmth  of  feeling. 
The  dull  smoothness  of  the  stanza 
is  never  broken  through  by  any  ex- 
uberance of  personal  emotion.  They 
belong  to  the  blank  period  —  the 
darkest  portion  of  his  life.  And 
even  his  malady  itself  is  scarcely  so 
pitiful  as  is  the  dull  gathering  of 
gloom  which  preceded  it,  the  gradual 
cutting  off  of  all  pleasant  communion 
with  the  world  outside,  and  renuncia- 
tion of  all  intellectual  pursuits.  As 
friend  after  friend  is  lost  in  the 
silence,  and  as  everything  slowly 
concentrates  into  Olney,  its  prayer- 
meetings,  its  experiences,  its  daily 
sermons,  which  occupy  even  the 
summer  evenings  and  supersede  the 
habitual  walk  which  kept  up  still 
a  certain  communion  between  him 


780 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[June 


and  nature — his  last  remaining  friend 
out  of  the  coterie — the  expectation 
of  the  reader  grows  painfully  strained 
as  by  the  pause  before  a  tempest. 
And  such  it  was. 

Cowper  recovered  from  this  second 
attack  as  a  child  might  have  done 
from  a  severe  illness;  and  his  re- 
covery alone  might  have  taught  his 
friends  the  true  origin  of  the  evil  and 
the  manner  in  which  to  deal  with  it. 
He  came  slowly  to  life  out  of  doors. 
The  spiritual  and  intellectual  man, 
which  had  been  strained  to  death, 
dropped  from  him,  as  it  were;  and 
a  harmless  creature,  with  the  tastes 
of  a  child,  came  out  into  the  silent 
soft  sunshine  instead.  He  pruned 
the  trees,  he  fed  the  fowls,  smiling 
for  the  first  time  for  sixteen  months 
at  some  touch  of  nature  among  them. 
When  he  at  last  consented  to  go 
home,  the  nickering  life  grew  a  little 
stronger.  He  became  a  carpenter, 
made  bird  -  cages  and  tables,  and 
built  himself  a  greenhouse,  like  a 
boy  come  home  for  his  holidays. 
.Then  his  famous  hares  were  given 
him,  and  he  tamed  them.  In  short, 
nature  took  the  case  in  her  own 
hands,  and  cured  him  in  her  gentle 
way.  "  As  long  as  he  is  employed," 
said  Newton,  "  he  is  tolerably  easy." 
As  the  process  advanced  he  tried  a 
little  drawing,  and  when  it  began 
to  make  an  approach  to  complete 
amendment,  books.  But  he  was 
not  fully  restored  (if,  indeed,  he  can 
ever  be  said  to  have  been  fully  re- 
stored), until  his  spiritual  director 
was  removed  from  Olney.  It  seems 
almost  cruel  to  the  real  friendship 
and  affection  which  subsisted  be- 
tween them  to  note  the  new  spring 
which  came  to  Cowper  as  soon  as 
he  was  left  to  himself.  Probably 
he  was  quite  unconscious  of  it,  and 
Mrs  Unwin  never  utters  a  word 
out  of  the  silence  to  let  us  know 
what  her  impressions  .were.  But 
the  fact  is  certain,  that  Newton  was 
no  sooner  out  of  the  way  than  the 
very  first  break  appeared  in  the  in- 


tellectual sky  of  the  poet.  In  the 
end  of  1779  Newton  left  Olney, 
and  in  May  1780  Cowper  sent  to 
his  friend  Hill,  whom  he  had  re- 
sumed his  correspondence  with,  a 
copy  of  the  pleasant  verses  entitled, 
"  Eeport  of  an  Adjudged  Case  not  to 
be  found  in  any  of  the  Books,"  the 
case  of  "  Nose  versus  Eyes."  The 
coincidence  is  singular,  if  it  is  no 
more.  And  it  is  singular,  too,  to 
note  the  innocent,  unconscious  hy- 
pocrisy with  which  he  keeps  up 
to  Newton  the  semblance  of  entire 
darkness  after  the  invasion  of  this 
spark  of  light.  The  interposition  of 
"  a  sportive  thought,"  is,  he  says, 
"  as  if  harlequin  should  intrude  him- 
self into  the  ghastly  chamber  where 
a  corpse  is  deposited  in  state," — 
a  saying  which  all  his  biographers 
take  for  a  proof  of  the  continuance 
of  his  "  darker  mood,"  but  which 
looks  much  more  like  that  mainten- 
ance of  the  habitual  gloom  expect- 
ed from  a  sufferer,  which  is  one  of 
the  commonest  and  most  excusable 
tricks  of  humanity.  "  You  think  I 
am  merry,  and  have  forgotten,"  we 
all  say,  when  we  are  surprised  by 
our  first  laugh  ;  "  but  if  you  only 
knew  how  my  outward  appearance 
mocks  the  woe  within  I"  Thus  Cow- 
per kept  up  his  sables,  his  melan- 
choly countenance,  knowing  that 
these  glooms  would  gain  him  a  cer- 
tain credit  in  his  companion's  eyes, 
which  a  laugh  would  dissipate  in  a 
moment — but  all  the  same  felt  the 
warm  tide  of  renewed  life  stealing 
into  his  heart. 

And  now  there  dawned  upon  him 
brighter  days — the  brightest  days 
of  his  life,  his  time  at  once  of  blos- 
som and  of  harvest.  He  begins  not 
only  to  write  to  his  friends,  but  to 
send  verses  to  them,  now  sportive, 
now  moralising,  but  all  disclosing 
the  new  tide  that  is  rising  in  his 
life.  His  letters  to  Newton  still  dis- 
play, with  a  certain  half-sad,  half- 
amusing  persistency,  the  black  mask 
of  woe  unutterable,  in  which  that 


1871.] 


No.  I. — William  Cowper. 


781 


friend  had  been  accustomed  to  see 
him;  but  he  puts  it  on  to  no  other 
of  his  correspondents.  Thus,  while 
he  writes  to  Unwin  of  his  various 
pursuits,  assuring  him  that  "  I  never 
received  a  little  pleasure  in  my  life ; 
if  I  am  delighted,  it  is  in  the  ex- 
treme," he  recurs  to  the  fictitious 
solemnity  habitual  to  their  inter- 
course, when  he  tells  Newton  of 
the  very  same  pleasures,  and  assures 
him  that  when  he  has  paid  his 
greenhouse,  his  pet  toy,  "  the  accus- 
tomed visit,  and  watered  it,  and 
given  it  air,  I  say  to  myself — This 
is  not  mine;  it  is  a  plaything  lent 
me  for  the  present;  I  must  leave  it 
soon."  The  solemnity  here  is  ludi- 
crous, for  he  could  not  have  spoken 
more  seriously  had  "the  plaything 
lent  him "  been  a  favourite  child. 
But  it  becomes  amusing  to  note 
this  entire  change  of  tone  accord- 
ing to  the  correspondent.  It  is 
as  if  Newton  and  Cowper  were 
compelled  to  speak  a  different  lan- 
guage from  that  of  ordinary  men, 
and  kept  up  their  proficiency  in  it, 
as  a  man  might  do  with  a  foreign 
tongue,  by  practising  it  between 
themselves. 

It  was  in  the  period  of  this  new 
birth  and  revival  of  life  that  his 
career  as  a  poet  really  began.  It 
seems  to  have  been  one  of  the 
peculiarities  of  Cowper's  mind  that 
he  did  nothing  entirely  by  his 
own  initiative.  His  powers  of  in- 
vention were  small.  The  tiniest  seed, 
if  of  congenial  kind,  germinated  in 
him;  but  without  that  seed,  nothing 
grew  except  the  merest  trifles.  The 
hymns  and  "copies  of  verses"  which 
up  to  this  time  were  all  that  he  had 
produced,  could  scarcely  have  gained 
him  more  than  the  mild  poetical 
reputation  so  easily  accorded  by  a 
limited  local  society ;  and  it  is  diffi- 
cult even  to  tell  whether  Mrs  Un- 
win had  divined  his  capacity  for 
greater  things  and  the  latent  power 
he  possessed,  or  whether  it  was 
merely  her  affectionate  desire  to  se- 


cure occupation  for  him,  which  in- 
duced her  to  suggest  the  composi- 
tion of  his  first  poem.  He  took 
up  the  new  idea,  however,  with  so 
much  eagerness,  and  carried  it  out 
so  energetically,  that  in  the  inter- 
val between  December  and  March 
almost  all  the  poems  which  com- 
posed his  first  published  volume 
were  written.  These  poems  had 
all  a  religious  purpose  and  mean- 
ing. The  "Progress  of  Error" 
was  the  first  subject;  the  other 
pieces  were  entitled  "  Truth," 
"  Hope,"  "  Eetirement,"  "  Conversa- 
tion," and  all  aimed  at  the  reforma- 
tion and  amendment  of  man.  It 
seems  useless  to  pause  to  make  any 
formal  criticism  of  these  works. 
They  contain  many  passages  worthy 
of  Cowper's  genius,  but  in  them- 
selves the  interest  is  not  strong. 
They  would  probably,  had  they  been 
his  only  works,  have  attracted  little 
more  attention  than  fell  to  the  lot 
of  such  poets  as  Hayley  and  Hur- 
dis,  both  twinkling  tapers  in  their 
day.  These  first  flights  of  serious 
song,  in  which  the  poet  did  little 
more  than  try  his  wings,  bore 
the  trace  of  ancient  models  still 
faithfully  followed,  and  chains  of 
habit  and  tradition  still  willingly 
worn;  yet  there  is  great  vigour  in 
the  strain,  and  an  enlightened  critic 
would  no  doubt  have  discerned  in 
them  the  reality  of  meaning  and  force 
of  treatment  which  marked  a  new 
power  arisen  in  the  poetic  world. 
Nothing  could,  however,  be  more 
quaintly  unlike  the  first  produc- 
tion which  might  have  been  ex- 
pected from  a  man  in  Cowper's  posi- 
tion than,  for  instance,  the  first  of 
these  poems,  the  "Progress  of  Error." 
He,  the  recluse,  the  pietist,  the  man 
who  for  ten  years  had  not  breathed 
the  ordinary  air  of  the  world,  nor 
seen  its  follies,  plunges  suddenly 
into  criticism  of  that  world  with  an 
energy  which  startles  the  reader. 
It  is  not  theoretic  error  he  assails, 
but  the  practical  sins  of  his  age. 


782 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[June 


The  foxhunter,  the  dilettante  priest, 
the  polite  gamblers  and  revellers  of 
society,  the  drunkard  and  the  fop, 
are  the  objects  of  his  onslaught.  He 
goes  out  of  his  way  to  aim  an  ar- 
row of  censure  at  Chesterfield,  and 
to  describe  with  sorrowful  distinct- 
ness the  effect  of  the  grand  tour 
upon  the  hopeful  youth  of  England, 
or  as  he  himself  expresses  it, — 

"  How  much  a  dunce  that  has  been  set  to 

roam 
Excels    a    dunce  that   has    been   kept   at 

home." 

This  curious  flight  from  his  own 
standing-ground  to  that  of  the  world 
he  had  so  long  forsaken  is  very  sig- 
nificant. It  proves  that  he  had 
not  yet  fairly  grasped  the  reality  of 
his  powers,  and  was  still  following 
in  the  conventional  path ;  but  it 
shows  also  a  characteristic  defect 
which  always  clung  to  Cowper. 
He  delights  at  all  times  in  the 
contrast  between  his  own  retired 
and  blameless  life,  and  the  tur- 
moils and  passions  of  society.  No 
man  had  better  proof  that  the  tran- 
quillity of  the  country,  and  the  ap- 
parent calm  of  a  recluse  existence, 
were  not  always  evidences  of  real 
peace  within;  but  notwithstanding 
he  goes  on  asserting  them  to  be  so 
with  a  wilful  self-delusion.  The 
reader  may  well  believe  that  he 
could  have  found  abundant  topics 
nearer  home,  and  which  came  more 
within  his  own  range  of  vision,  and 
that  there  is  something  of  the  pro- 
verbial facility  for  "  damning  sins 
he  has  no  mind  to  "  in  his  attacks 
upon  the  vices  of  the  outside  world ; 
but  then  he  had  been  taught  to 
fear  and  hate  that  world.  The  in- 
junction to  "come  out  of  it"  was  at 
that  time  the  epitome  of  Gospel 
teaching;  and  preachers  on  every 
side  denounced  its  amusements,  its 
occupations,  and  its  anxieties,  as 
if  they,  apart  from  the  abuse  of 
them,  were  actual  vice. 

The  publication  of  this  volume 
stirred  the  poet  to  a  great  many 


most  human  anxieties  and  wishes. 
Nothing  could  be  more  unlike  the 
silence  of  his  former  life  than  the 
abundance  of  communications  that 
pour  from  him  now.  There  is  a 
momentary  awkwardness  about  the 
publication  consequent  on  the  fact 
that  he  has  two  very  dear  friends, 
Newton  and  Unwin,  each  of  whom 
are  likely  to  be  displeased  and  a 
little  jealous,  should  the  other  have, 
more  than  he,  a  finger  in  the  pie. 
The  object  of  their  common  affection 
has  to  offend  one  in  order  to  please 
the  other,  and  accordingly  does  so 
by  employing  Newton  as  his  agent 
with  his  publisher.  By  way  of  set- 
ting the  balance  even,  however,  it 
is  amusing  to  note  that  when  "  The 
Task "  was  ready  for  publication, 
Cowper,  with  a  certain  simple  cun- 
ning, gives  the  preference  to  Unwin, 
whose  turn  it  was,  and  leaves  New- 
ton in  the  lurch,  a  device  most  char- 
acteristic of  him.  His  excuses  to 
each  offended  party  in  his  turn  are 
amusingly  anxious  and  conciliatory, 
and  in  neither  case  did  the  ire 
of  the  offended  friend  withstand 
the  apology,  for  Cowper's  friends 
were  like  charity  itself,  suffered 
long  and  were  kind.  As  the  mo- 
ment of  publication  approaches, 
however,  he  grows  anxious ;  and 
as  he  grows  anxious,  he  puts  on 
more  and  more,  with  the  simplest 
belief  in  his  power  of  deceiving 
others,  that  specious  pretence  at 
indifference  to  criticism,  which  is  one 
of  the  favourite  devices  of  author- 
ship :  "  You  ask  me  how  I  feel  on 
the  occasion  of  my  approaching  pub- 
lication 1  Perfectly  at  my  ease," 
he  says,  with  that  forced  smile  and 
the  subdued  little  quiver  about  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  "which  we  all 
know  so  well ;  but  at  the  same  time 
this  excitement,  which  was  of  so 
much  more  wholesome  a  kind  than 
those  he  had  been  involved  in  for 
years  past,  makes  him  so  frisky,  that 
we  find  him  even  venturing  to  ad- 
dress a  written  letter  in  rhymed  prose 


1871.] 


No.  I. — William  Cowper. 


F83 


(if  the  phrase  is  allowable),  to  the 
great  Newton  himself,  to  whom  also 
it  is  that  he  says  with  splendid  but 
always  simple  complacency,  "  Tf 
they  condemn  my  poetry,  I  must 
even  say  with  Cervantes,  '  Let  them 
do  better  if  they  can  ! '"  He  sent 
copies  of  his  book  to  his  old  friends 
Thurlow  and  Coleman,  with  the 
same  admirable  pretence  of  indiffer- 
ence to  their  reception  of  it.  Speak- 
ing of  the  former,  he  says  :  "  He  can 
do  me  no  good.  If  I  should  hap- 
pen to  do  him  a  little,  I  shall  be  a 
greater  man  than  he."  But  when 
the  present  he  made  of  this  first-born 
child  of  his  genius  was  unnoticed 
by  his  old  friends,  Cowper's  morti- 
fied and  wounded  feelings  were  in- 
capable of  maintaining  that  height 
of  philosophy.  Warm  indignation 
and  wrath  take  the  place  of  his  in- 
tended magnanimity;  and  his  dis- 
appointment and  anger  burst  forth 
in  a  poem  called  "  The  Valediction," 
which  we  have  not  room  to  quote,  but 
which  quivers  with  angry  force  and 
passion.  It  is  very  apparent  from 
such  an  altogether  unintentional 
piece  of  evidence  as  this  that  there 
was  no  apathy  whatever  in  his  mind 
in  respect  to  his  own  claims.  He  is 
candid  enough  to  confess  this  after 
a  while  as  time  goes  on,  in  a  humor- 
ous way,  which  takes  its  sting  from 
the  confession.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind,  he  says,  that  he  would  not  care ; 
but  "  having  once  sent  out  my  wits 
for  a  venture,  soon  became  anxious 
about  the  issue." 

"The  'Monthly  Review,'"  he  adds, 
' '  the  most  formidable  of  all  my  judges, 
is  still  behind.  What  will  that  critical 
Rhadamanthus  say  when  my  striving 
genius  shall  appear  before  him  ?  .  .  . 
Alas  !  when  I  wish  for  a  favourable  sen- 
tence from  that  quarter  (to  confess  a 
•weakness  that  I  should  not  confess  to  all), 
I  feel  myself  not  a  little  influenced  by  a 
tender  regard  to  my  reputation  here,  even 
among  my  neighbours  at  Olney.  Here 
are  watchmakers  who  themselves  are  wits, 
and  who  at  present  perhaps  think  me  one. 
Here  is  a  carpenter  and  a  baker,  and,  not 
to  mention  others,  here  is  your  idol  Mr 


Teudon,  whose  smile  is  fame.  All  these 
read  the  '  Monthly  Review,'  and  all  these 
will  set  me  down  for  a  dunce  if  those  ter- 
rible critics  should  show  them  the  exam- 
ple. But  oh  !  by  whoever  else  I  am  ac- 
counted dull,  dear  Mr  Griffiths,  let  me 
pass  for  a  genius  at  Olney." 

The  charming  skill  with  which 
he  here  eludes  his  own  vanity,  as 
it  were,  and  makes  fun  of  his  sus- 
pense, is  delightful ;  but  the  anxiety 
was  quite  real  all  the  same. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  all  the  com- 
motion and  excitement  of  this  pub- 
lication that  the  incident  occurred 
which  has  puzzled  all  the  commenta- 
tors upon  Cowper's  life,  and  which 
probably  affected  that  life  more  than 
any  other  event  in  it.  He  was  not 
a  famous  poet,  but  a  poor  invalid 
recluse,  with  a  shadow  of  mad- 
ness and  misery  about  him,  whose 
story  was  inevitably  known  to  the 
whole  country-side,  and  about  whom 
there  could  be  no  delusion  possible 
when  he  first  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Lady  Austen.  Nothing  could 
be  more  humble  or  more  sad  than 
the  circumstances  which  everybody 
knew,  and  all  his  reputation  as  yet 
lay  in  the  future,  when  this  brilliant, 
lively,  charming,  and  very  likely 
fanciful  woman  paid  her  summer 
visit  to  the  dull  neighbourhood  of 
Olney.  The  story  is  that  Cowper 
saw  her  with  her  sister  entering  a 
shop  opposite  his  house,  and  was 
so  much  charmed  by  her  appearance 
that  he  persuaded  Mrs  Unwin  to 
invite  the  ladies  to  tea.  What  he 
himself  says  of  the  matter,  however, 
is,  that  Lady  Austen  had  kindly 
waived  ceremony  and  paid  the  first 
visit,  which  he  and  Mrs  Unwin, 
with  all  due  state  and  ceremony, 
returned.  They  "  fell  in  love  "  with 
each  other  immediately,  in  the  most 
simple  form  of  these  words.  No 
doubt  the  new-comer,  paying  her 
duty  visit  in  the  house  of  her  sister, 
was  delighted  to  lay  her  hands 
upon  such  material  for  social  enjoy- 
ment, and  Cowper's  position  was 
one  especially  calculated  to  attract 


784 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[June 


a  woman's  interest.  For  one  thing, 
he  was  already  the  object  of  a 
singularly  strong  and  faithful  female 
friendship,  of  itself  a  provocation  to 
another.  He  was  the  victim  of 
melancholy.  He  was  so  circum- 
stanced that  no  woman  in  her 
senses  could  be  suspected  of  an 
inclination  to  marry  him.  He  was, 
it  was  evident,  when  the  crust  of 
shyness  was  broken,  a  delightful 
companion,  and  he  made  an  instant 
and  flattering  response  to  the  kind 
exertions  which  the  woman,  accus- 
tomed to  society,  made  for  his  amuse- 
ment. Cowper  himself  was  like  a 
boy  to  whom  the  charms  of  society 
were  new.  He  had  been  so  long 
shut  out  from  them,  so  surrounded 
with  gloom  and  commonplace,  and 
that  middle -class  country-town  life 
which  is  so  respectable  and  so 
limited  and  unlovely  in  its  details, 
that  the  delightful  novelty  carried 
him  away.  One  of  those  sudden 
intimacies  which  are  so  charming 
while  they  last,  but  which  the  ex- 
perience of  human  nature  always 
distrusts,  sprang  up  between  them. 
Ere  they  had  been  many  weeks 
acquainted,  the  project  of  settling 
in  Olney  had  entered  Lady  Austen's 
mind,  and  had  been  received  with 
enthusiasm  by  her  two  friends. 
The  first  notion  seems  to  have  been 
that  they  should  all  take  up  house  to- 
gether, Cowper  and  Mrs  Unwin  re- 
moving into  a  larger  habitation  which 
would  have  space  enough  for  all,  and 
for  all  the  visitors  whom  they  might 
choose  to  invite — a  Utopian  idea  (af- 
terwards partially  carried  out,  how- 
ever, by  Lady  Hesketh)  which  seems 
to  have  been  speedily  abandoned, 
and  which  was  then  modified  into  the 
proposed  tenancy  of  the  vicarage  by 
Lady  Austen.  In  less  than  three 
months  their  intimacy  had  sprung  to 
such  a  height  that  they  were  Anna, 
Mary,  and  William  to  each  other,  with 
still  fonder  additions.  My  Anna  and 
her  William  were  epithets  which 
the  taste  of  the  time,  as  well  as  the 


maudlin  affectionateness  of  the  re- 
ligious circle,  made  perfectly  simple. 
His  new  friend  was  the  "  sister,"  as 
his  old  friend  was  the  "  mother,"  of 
the  poet.  He  was  precisely  the 
kind  of  man  with  whom  such  re- 
lations are  practicable.  He  was 
affectionate,  without  a  touch  of  pas- 
sion. He  was  utterly  disabled  by 
the  misfortunes  of  his  life  for  any 
independent  personal  step  in  it. 
He  was  fifty.  The  mere  notion 
of  a  man  so  circumstanced  being 
thought  of  in  connection  with  the 
word  marriage  at  all,  seems  to 
us  inconceivable.  Strange  must 
have  been  the  humility,  wonderful 
the  self-devotion  of  the  woman  who 
could  entertain  such  an  idea;  and 
the  gay,  high-spirited,  capricious 
woman,  who  is  supposed  to  be 
the  second  who  thus  formed  designs 
upon  the  valetudinarian,  shows  no 
symptoms  of  being  either  humble  or 
self-devoted.  She  liked,  no  doubt, 
to  have  a  man  of  unusual  gifts 
under  her  influence,  and  to  move  him 
hither  and  thither  as  she  would — 
a  liking  in  which  she  is  by  no  means 
singular,  and  which  is  not  confined 
to  women;  but  that  she  would  have 
made  the  sacrifice  of  her  life  to 
him  is  a  suggestion  of  which  there 
is  not  the  slightest  evidence — and 
one  which  all  the  facts  of  the  case 
go  to  disprove. 

A  slight  tiff  arose  even  in  the 
first  blush  of  this  sudden  friendship, 
which  Cowper  himself  describes  in 
a  way  which  shows  him  not  at  all 
above  the  petty  importances  of  a 
rural  quarrel.  Lady  Austen  wrote 
in  an  exaggerated  way,  he  says,  of  her 
friends  and  their  merits ;  and  "built 
such  expectations  of  felicity  upon 
our  friendship  as,  we  were  sure, 
that  nothing  human  could  possibly 
answer."  To  this  Cowper  sent  a  cold 
reply,  combating  her  views  with  that 
chilly  voice  of  reason  which  is 
always  so  detestable  to  the  excited 
mind  when  kindled  to  enthusiasm. 
This  letter  offended  the  warm-heart- 


1871.]  No.  L— William 

ed  woman  deeply,  and  the  corres]  ><  m- 
dence  was  broken  off.  A  year  later, 
however,  when  she  returned  to  visit 
her  sister,  the  intercourse  was  re- 
newed ;  and  a  short  time  after,  in 
the  autumn  of  1782,  she  took  posses- 
sion of  the  vicarage.  The  social  life 
which  the  three  then  lived  together 
is  too  well  known  to  need  re-descrip- 
tion. "  Lady  Austen  and  we  pass 
our  days  alternately  at  each  other's 
chateaux.  In  the  morning  I  walk 
with  one  or  other  of  the  ladies, 
and  in  the  afternoon  wind  thread." 
Cowper  has  given  a  .hundred  other 
little  sketches  of  this  conjoint  life. 
He  went  every  day  at  eleven  to  pay 
ibis  respects  to  his  neighbour ;  and 
.they  always  dined  together,  and 
•spent  the  rest  of  the  day  after  that 
early  meal  in  each  other's  society. 
There  can  be  little  doubt  that  it  was 
the  happiest  time  of  Cowper's  life. 
She  talked  to  him,  sang  to  him,  told 
him  stories,  threw  into  his  monoto- 
nous existence  all  the  variety  of  her 
cheerful  experiences  and  superior 
knowledge  of  life.  She  had  "  infinite 
vivacity,"  he  says  at  one  place;  and 
at  another,  describes  an  exquisite  sus- 
ceptibility of  feeling  which  makes 
her  altogether  charming.  He  quotes 
and  refers  to  her  in  his  letters  with  a 
mingled  pride  and  admiration.  It  was 
as  if  some  brilliant  southern  bird  of 
brightest  plumage  and  sweetest  song 
had  suddenly  alighted  between  those 
two  brown  old  sparrows  in  their 
narrow  cage.  They  were  dazzled, 
delighted,  proud  of  her  fashion, 
her  accomplishments,  her  affection. 
When  he  was  sad,  she  told  him  the 
story  of  John  Gilpin,  which  amused 
him  so  much  that  he  could  not 
sleep  all  night  for  laughing.  When 
his  work  had  all  come  to  an  end, 
and  he  was  as  usual  waiting  for 
some  suggestion  to  work  upon,  she 
gave  that  of  the  Sofa ;  and  thus 
laughingly,  gently,  launched  "The 
Task"  into  being.  All  the  chains 
of  ice  that  had  been  bound  about 

VOL.  CIX. NO.  DCLXVIII. 


785 


the  poet's  mind  and  faculties  seem 
to  have  been  loosed  under  her  in- 
fluence. He  ran  over  all  the  gamut 
of  composition  from  grave  to  gay  at 
her  touch ;  now  writing  the  lament- 
able yet  merry  episode  of  "  Poor 
Mary  and  Me  in  the  Mud,"  now 
knelling  that  dirge  for  the  brave 
which  has  made  many  a  nineteenth- 
century  reader  aware  of  the  tragic 
fate  of  the  Royal  George.  In  short, 
Lady  Austen  seems  to  have  played 
upon  the  poet  as  upon  her  harp- 
sichord, swaying  his  fancy,  and 
moving  his  genius  almost  as  she 
pleased. 

How  did  all  this  come  to  an  end  1 
Hayley  had  seen  Lady  Austen,  and 
it  is  clear  he  thinks  she  meant  to 
marry  Cowper;  or,  as  he  says  in  his 
grandiloquent  way,  "she  was  willing 
to  devote  her  life  and  fortune  to  his 
service  and  protection."  Nobody 
ventures  to  say  plainly  that  she 
made  this  proposal  to  him,  and  that 
it  was  rejected :  and  though  Hayley 
undoubtedly  infers  this,  yet  he  at  the 
same  time  ascribes  the  breach  to  a 
"  trifling  feminine  discord"  and  jeal- 
ousy on  the  part  of  Mrs  Unwin. 
The  matter  is  one  which  probably 
will  never  be  cleared  up.  Lady 
Austen,  seems  to  have  had  the  im- 
pression that  Mrs  Unwin  was  to 
blame.  Hayley  had  the  impression 
that  Lady  Austen  loved  Cowper, 
and  that  it  had  been  necessary  for 
him  to  bring  her  to  her  senses. 
Both  impressions  are  worth  some- 
thing, as  being  the  result  of  actual 
observation ;  though  how  fur  they 
may  have  been  biassed  by  mortified 
feeling  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  fore- 
gone conclusion  on  the  other,  it  is 
impossible  to  tell.  Neither  can  we 
assert  absolutely  that  Cowper's  own 
statement  of  the  matter  may  not  be 
concocted  with  a  view  to  shield  one 
or  both  of  his  friends.  He  is,  how- 
ever, the  oidy  one  who  has  left  a 
clear  account  of  it ;  he  has  indeed 
given  two  accounts,  one  to  Mr  LTn- 
3n 


786 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[June- 


win,  the  other  to  Lady  Hesketh. 
To  Unwin  he  had  already  reported 
the  previous  quarrel.  Of  the  second 
he  writes  as  follows : — 

' '  You  are  going  to  Bristol.  A  lady  n  ot 
long  since  oar  very  near  neighbour  is 
probably  there.  If  you  should  chance  to 
fall  into  her  company,  remember,  if  you 
please,  that  we  found  the  connection,  on 
some  accounts,  an  inconvenient  one ;  that 
we  do  not  wish  to  renew  it ;  and  con- 
duct yourself  accordingly.  A  character 
with  which  we  spend  all  our  time  should 
be  made  on  purpose  for  us ;  too  much  or 
too  little  of  any  single  ingredient  spoils 
all.  In  the  instance  in  question  the  dis- 
similitude was  too  great  not  to  be  felt 
continually,  and  consequently  made  our 
intercourse  unpleasant." 

To  Lady  Hesketh  his  explanation 
is  more  precise : — 

' '  On  her  first  settlement  in  our  neigh- 
bourhood I  made  it  my  particular  busi- 
ness (for  at  that  time  I  was  not  employ- 
ed in  writing,  having  published  my  first 
volume,  and  not  begun  my  second)  to 
pay  my  devoirs  to  her  ladyship  every 
morning  at  eleven.  Customs  very  soon 
become  laws.  I  began  'The  Task,'  for 
she  was  the  lady  who  gave  me  The  Sofa 
for  a  subject.  Being  once  engaged  in 
the  work  I  began  to  feel  the  inconve- 
nience of  my  morning  attendance.  We 
had  seldom  breakfasted  ourselves  till 
ten  ;  and  the  intervening  hour  was  all 
the  time  that  I  could  find  in  the  whole 
day  for  writing ;  and  occasionally  it 
would  happen  that  the  half  of  that  hour 
was  all  I  could  secure  for  the  purpose. 
But  there  was  no  remedy.  Long  usage 
had  made  that  which  at  first  was  op- 
tional a  point  of  good  manners,  and  con- 
sequently of  necessity ;  and  I  was  forced 
to  neglect  '  The  Task '  to  attend  upon  the 
Muse  who  had  inspired  the  subject." 

These  narratives,  whatever  amount 
of  truth  there  may  be  in  them,  do 
not  show  the  poet  to  us  in  his  best. 
There  is  a  feebleness  about  them  more 
like  the  narrow  village  circle  in  which 
he  lived — the  gossipy  small  world 
where  everybody  is  on  his  guard 
against  everybody  else,  and  where 
every  disagreement  brings  out  a 
host  of  petty  grievances,  than  it 
is  like  the  elevated  mind  and  ten- 
der nature  with  which  the  popular 
verdict  has  credited  him.  To  take 
it,  however,  on  his  own  showing,  is, 


in  reality,  we  believe,  the  best  way 
of  arriving  at  the  truth ;  for  Cow- 
per  in  reality  always  required  more 
love  and  service  than  he  gave  ;  and  it 
is  quite  in  keeping  with  his  charac- 
ter that  he  should  have  grown  impa- 
tient of  a  friendship  which  demanded 
much  return.  But  howsoever  the 
case  may  be,  here  this  last  episode 
ended — this  little  break  among  the 
clouds.  The  bright  and  light-giving 
creature  who  had  made  his  path  so 
suddenly  radiant,  departed  out  of 
his  life  as  suddenly  as  she  came. 
In  1781  the  friendship  began — in 
1784  it  was  ended.  She  went, 
whatever  her  cause  for  going  might 
be,  with  nothing  but  gentle  thoughts, 
of  him,  full  of  regret  and  kind- 
ness. He  threw  an  ungenerous 
handful  of  mud  at  her  withdrawing 
figure.  He  had  the  greater  reason 
for  regret,  and  lost  more  than  she 
did ;  and  perhaps  because  he  did 
so,  was  the  more  willing  to  show 
that  he  had  dismissed  her,  and  not 
she  him.  But,  anyhow,  in  levity 
or  in  sorrow,  in  wounded  love 
or  more  ordinary  displeasure,  she 
withdrew,  and  with  her  went  the 
last  hopes  of  Cowper's  life.  The 
abruptness  with  which  it  all  ended 
— no  point  of  transition  being  ap- 
parent between  the  pretty  domestic 
scenes  in  which  she  figures  so  large- 
ly, and  the  valedictory  words  of  the 
poet — points  to  some  sudden  quarrel. 
And  it  appears  much  more  likely 
to  us  that  Lady  Austen  retired  in 
rasentment  at  some  misconception 
of  what  it  seems  absurd  to  call  "her 
intentions,"  than  that  Cowper,  per- 
ceiving these,  found  it  necessary  to 
dismiss  her.  Probably  some  village 
gossip  raised  the  report  of  a  coming 
marriage.  Probably  his  Anna  caught 
some  sudden  gleam  of  complacency 
in  her  William's  eye,  which  showed 
her  that  he  too  thought  he  had  made 
a  conquest.  It  is  all  guess-work, 
and  this  is  as  likely  a  guess  as  any 
of  the  others.  Anyhow,  the  fact 
remains  that  she  went  away,  and 


1871.] 


No.  I. — William  Cotter. 


787 


that  a  sore,  solitary,  wounded  feeling 
of  loneliness  remained  with  those 
who  stayed  behind,  mingled  with 
a  forlorn  boast,  repeated  dismally 
and  often,  that  "the  cause  of  the 
many  interruptions  was  removed, 
and  now  .  .  .  we  have  seldom 
any  company  at  all." 

"  The  Task,"  which  Lady  Austen 
suggested  to  him — which  was  in- 
terrupted in  its  composition,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  account,  by  the  for- 
malities of  politeness  towards  her — 
and  which  is  full  of  the  natural 
tranquillity  and  domestic  pleasure  to 
which  she  lent  a  double  zest,  pro- 
gressed during  this  storm,  and  in 
the  autumn  of  1784,  the  year  of  the 
quarrel,  was  completed  and  sent  to 
the  press.  It  was  the  re-birth  of 
poetry  in  England — the  first  bold 
departure  from  the  well-worn  chan- 
nel in  which  all  poetical  compo- 
sitions had  flowed  for  many  years. 
Cowper.  in  this  new  work,  served 
himself  suddenly  heir  to  the  old 
poets  of  the  greater  ages,  and  to  the 
homely  vigorous  English  which  they 
had  not  found  too  common  for  their 
handling.  He  cast  aside  the  worn- 
out  moulds,  threw  the  traditions 
of  Pope's,  and  even  Dryden's,  era 
to  the  winds,  and  caught  the  old 
perennial  stream  from  the  fountain 
at  which  it  flowed  brightest  and 
most  full.  "When  we  think  of  it,  it 
is  impossible  to  over-estimate  the 
courage  and  even  hardihood  of  this 
step.  Every  poetical  influence  had 
been  setting  one  way  during  the 
entire  century.  Cowper,  at  the  end 
of  that  century,  a  man  with  no  im- 
pulse of  youth  to  help  him,  no  new 
enthusiasm  to  animate,  deliberately 
set  his  face  against  it  and  turned 
the  tide.  All  the  smoothness  of 
versification,  the  artificial  melody 
of  rhythm  in  which  his  generation 
had  delighted,  and  in  which  he  too 
himself  had  imitated  the  other 
songsters  of  the  age,  he  put  aside  to 
make  his  new  venture.  It  was 
entirely  new  though  it  was  so  old. 


England  had  fancied  herself  to  have 
outlived  the  lofty  melody  of  blank 
verse.  She  discovered  now  that  the 
old  strain  was  her  favourite — that 
it  could  charm  her  ear  as  well  as 
rouse  her  soul.  She  found  out  that 
nature  was  as  sweet  as  it  had  been 
in  the  days  of  Milton,  the  English 
fields  as  fair,  the  rural  sights  and 
sounds  as  fresh  and  tender.  This 
worn-out  sick  man  growing  old, 
half  fanatic,  half  madman,  half 
recluse,  drew  the  veil  from  her  eyes, 
and  threw  open  to  her  a  new,  sweet, 
dewy,  fragrant  world.  It  is  diffi- 
cult for  us  even  to  imagine  the 
surprised  delight  with  which  the 
nation  felt  the  sweetness  of  this  new 
voice,  which  was  so  familiar,  so 
homelike,  so  unpretending.  After 
all,  the  shade  of  the  Throckmorton 
elms,  the  woodman  on  his  way  to 
the  forest,  the  peasant's  nest  perch- 
ed on  the  hillside,  the  postboy, 
light-hearted  wretch !  twanging  his 
horn  across  the  bridge,  were  a  thou- 
sand times  more  near  the  heart  than 
the  outpourings  of  a  poet's  malice, 
the  impalation  of  a  Sporus  or  a 
Sappho.  Nobody  had  thought  of  it 
up  to  that  moment ;  but  when  the 
moment  came,  all  England  saw  it 
with  that  sudden  enlightenment 
which  is  like  inspiration.  All 
through  the  conventional  age — the 
period  in  which  poetry  had  been  a 
thing  of  the  wits  and  coffee-houses, 
the  production  of  a  class,  full  of 
allusions  and  assaults  which  only 
that  class  could  fully  appreciate — 
Shakespeare  and  Milton  had  still 
been  read  in  the  silent  corners,  in 
those  depths  of  the  national  heart 
which  criticism  and  its  artificial 
standard  did  not  reach ;  and  lo,  these 
secret  worshippers  of  the  old  gods 
rose  up  with  a  thrill  of  delight  to 
greet  the  new  light  which  carried  in 
it  all  the  marks  of  divinity  which 
they  could  not  recognise  in  its  pre- 
decessors. Thus  Cowper  sprang  at 
a  bound  into  a  place  far  more  firmly 
established,  nK.ro  deeply  set  in  the 


788 


A  Century  of  Great  Pods. 


[June 


popular  heart,  than  Pope  had  ever 
attained.  He  had  been  the  poet  of 
the  wits — his  successor  was  the  poet 
of  the  nation. 

Could  it  be  possible  for  us  to 
ignore  facts  and  history,  and,  tak- 
ing the  different  poetic  productions 
of  that  age  simply  on  their  merits, 
endeavour  to  predict  of  each  of 
them  what  effect  it  would  have 
on  the  popular  mind,  we  scarcely 
think  that  we  should  be  disposed 
to  expect  so  great  a  result  from 
"  The  Task  "  as  that  which  followed 
its  appearance.  It  is  full  of  a 
sweet  and  real  humanity,  but  it  is 
entirely  destitute  of  passion,  that 
first  and  strongest  element  of  power. 
It  is  not  even  emotional,  but  only 
reflective  and  observant.  The  nature 
which  it  reveals  is  nature  at  its 
calmest,  the  surface  and  exterior 
of  things — not  any  of  those  deep 
thoughts  that  move  a  man's  soul, 
but  the  external  landscape  through 
which  he  wanders,  the  sights  that 
meet  his  eye,  the  homely  domestic 
scene  in  which  he  finds  rest  when 
his  meditative  cheerful  walk  is  over. 
All  this,  so  calm,  so  unexaggerated, 
so  like  the  scenes  and  thoughts  of 
the  ordinary  Englishman,  no  one 
had  ever  attempted  to  set  to  music 
before.  Thomson,  indeed,  had  given 
a  certain  voice  to  the  operations  of 
nature ;  but  it  was  by  a  very  dif- 
ferent method  from  that  which  put 
the  woodman  and  his  pipe  and  his 
dog  bodily  into  the  picture — not 
shaped  into  a  sentimental  Damon 
or  love-sick  Strephon,  but  just  such 
as  a  hundred  eyes  had  seen  him, 
with  heavy  tread  and  homely  looks. 
Cowper  does  not  even  avail  himself 
of  those  episodes  of  story  with  Avhich 
"  bards "  were  accustomed  to  lure 
their  readers  on  from  page  to  page. 
He  seeks  no  adventitious  aid  from 
sentiment  or  romance.  He  trusts  to 
simplest  nature,  barest  truth  alone, 
as  seen  through  the  lucid  magnify- 
ing of  poetic  eye?.  And  with  one  cry 


of  sympathy  and  delight  and  re- 
cognition his  country  received  the 
voice  which  spoke  not  only  to  her, 
but  for  her,  expressing  those  broad- 
est, simplest  forms  of  feeling  which 
comprehend  the  beautiful  and  true 
without  being  elevated  to  any 
height  of  tragic  vehemence  or  pas- 
sionate sentiment.  Thus  it  is  that 
the*  perfectly  real  and  unexagger- 
ated expression  by  genius  of  an  un- 
complicated and  comparatively  low 
level  of  true  feeling  may  strike 
even  a  wider  range  of  sympathetic 
hearts  than  when  the  sentiment  is 
more  elevated  and  necessarily  con- 
fined to  the  few.  Cowper  did  this 
as  perhaps  no  other  poet  has  ever 
done  before  or  since  ;  it  may  be  even 
a  matter  of  doubt  whether  any 
poet  has  ever  so  mastered  the  Eng- 
lish mind  as  a  whole.  Many  have 
moved  it  more  deeply,  but  few  have 
had  so  prevailing  an  influence.  He 
gave  an  undreamed-of  emancipation 
to  the  sober-minded,  the  religious, 
the  serious ;  a  whole  Avorld  of  peo- 
ple who  were  not  aware  that  they 
knew  anything  about  poetry,  sud- 
denly felt  themselves  surprised  by 
it,  and  glowed  with  a  novel  soft- 
ness, an  intellectual  awakening.  If 
this  was  poetry,  then  they  too, 
hard-working  folk,  common  people 
of  the  soil,  understood  and  felt  it 
like  their  betters ;  and  thus,  like  a 
new  revelation,  the  new  poet  glad- 
dened the  universal  heart. 

It  is  very  difficult  for  us  to.  put 
aside  the  familiar  fondness  with 
which  we  have  been  accustomed  to 
regard  such  a  poem  as  "The  Task," 
and  to  subject  it  to  actual  criticism — 
more  difficult  than  it  is  to  criticise 
the  more  supreme  and  impassioned 
creations  of  genius.  For,  in  fact,  it 
is  not  a  creation :  it  is,  if  anything,  a 
revelation;  the  opening  up  of  things 
which  are — not  the  making  of  things 
which  were  not,  until  the  poet  willed 
it.  Even  the  revelation  is  not  al- 
ways a  lofty  one.  Cowper's  ideal 


1871.] 


No.  I. — William  Gowper. 


789 


of  life  is,  we  cannot  but  feel,  a  low 
ideal.  There  are  no  great  aspira- 
tions, no  lofty  duties  in  it.  The 
curtains  drawn,  the  sofa  wheeled 
round,  the  tea-urn  hissing  on  the 
table,  and  the  recluse  with  his  news- 
paper, congratulating  himself  no  less 
on  his  exemption  from  all  the  toils 
and  commotions  of  life,  than  on  his 
cosy  shelter  from  the  storm-blast,  or 
silent  penetrating  snow  without,  is 
not  an  elevated  picture  when  we 
come  to  think  of  it.  When  he  peeps 
at  the  world  from  his  loopholes  of 
retreat,  he  does  it  not  only  with 
a  sense  of  snugness  and  comfort 
which  is  excusable,  but  with — what 
is  much  more  curious — an  unques- 
tionable sense  of  superiority  : — 

"  Thus  sitting  and  surveying  at  my  ease 
The  globe  and  its  concerns,  I  feel  advanced 
To  soar  serene  'mid  more  than  mortal  heights 
That  liberates  and  exempts  me,  from  them  all ; 
It  turns  submitted  to  my  view,  turns  round 
With  all  its  generations  :  I  behold 
The  tumult  and  am  still.    The  sound  of  war 
Has  lost  its  terrors  ere  it  reaches  me — 
Grieves  but  alarms  me  not.  I  mourn  the  pride 
And  avarice  that  make  man  a  wolf  to  man ; 
Hear  the  faint  echo  of  those  brazen  throats 
By  which  he  speaks  the  language  of  his  heart, 
And  sigh,  but  never  tremble  at  the  sound." 

As  he  sits  thus  upon  the  sofa  and 
reads  his  newspaper  and  watches  the 
needle  ply  its  busy  task,  and  "  the 
well-depicted  flower"  unfold  itself  on 
the  sunny  lawn,  he  throws  a  half- 
contemptuous  glance  upon  the  dis- 
tant and  great  world,  and  sings  a 
complacent  hymn  of  worship  and 
praise  to  that  smug  goddess  Com- 
fort, the  queen  of  British  firesides. 
He  does  not  so  much  as  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  grim  shadow  of  self- 
ishness which  lurks  behind  her, 
and  still  less  is  he  aware  of  the 
yawning  dulness  at  her  side.  On 
the  contrary,  this  picture  of  a  useless, 
aimless,  comfortable  existence  is  the 
highest  he  can  conceive.  And  the  pic- 
ture, as  he  paints  it,  is  charming,  we 
cannot  deny ;  yet  it  is  impossible  to 
imagine  any  ideal  of  existence  less 
noble  or  less  satisfactory.  This  is 


its  effect  upon  us  who  have  had  our 
fill  of  the  domestic  ideal;  but  it  was 
new  to  the  England  which  had  been 
trained  to  find  in  a  community  of 
wits  the  highest  development  of  hu- 
manity. "When  it  is  day,  and  he  is 
abroad  among  the  fields,  we  find  it 
easier  to  forget  that  his  pursuits  are 
still  those  of  an  idler.  Here  he  is 
in  his  element  revealing  the  face  and 
by  times  the  heart  of  nature  to  his 
listeners.  What,  for  example,  could 
be  sweeter,  what  more  true  and  life- 
like and  melodious,  than  the  follow- 
ing sketch  ? — 

"  The  night  was  winter  in  his  roughest  mood  ; 
The  morning  sharp  and  clear.  But  now  at  noon, 
Upon  the  southern  side  of  the  slant  hills, 
And  where  the  woods  fence  off  the  northern 

blast, 

The  season  smiles,  resigning  all  its  rage, 
And  has  the  warmth  of  May.  The  vault  is  blue, 
Without  a  cloud,  and  white  without  a  speck 
The  dazzling  splendour  of  the  scene  below. 
Again  the  harmony  comes  o'er  the  vale  ; 
And  through  the  trees  I  view  th'  embattled 

tower, 

Whence  all  the  music.     I  again  perceive 
The  soothing  influence  of  the  wafted  strains, 
And  settle  in  soft  musings  as  I  tread 
The  walk,  still  verdant,  under  oaks  and  elms, 
Whose    outspread    branches    overarch   the 


The  roof,  though  movable  through  all  its 

length 

As  the  wind  sways  it,  has  yet  well  sufficed, 
And,  intercepting  in  their  silent  fall 
The  frequent  flakes,  has  kept  a  path  for  me. 
No  noise  is  here  or  none  that  hinders  thought. 
The  redbreast  warbles  still,  but  is  content 
With  slender  notes,  and  more  than  half  sup- 
pressed ; 

Pleased  with  his  solitude,  and  flitting  light 
From  spray  to  spray,  where'er  he  rests  he 

shakes 

From  many  a  twig  the  pendent  drops  of  ice, 
That  tinkle  in  the  withered  leaves  below. 
Stillness,  accompanied  with  sounds  so  soft, 
Charms  more  than  silence.    Meditation  here 
May  think  down  hours  to  moments.     Here 

the  heart 

May  give  a  useful  lesson  to  the  head, 
And  learning  wiser  grertrwithout  his  books." 

But  yet  those  lovely  lines,  for 
which  the  whole  world  is  his  debt- 
or, have  scarcely  died  from  his  lips, 
when  the  poet  erects  himself  once 
more  to  his  full  height,  and  magni- 
fies the  leisure,  which  is  a  necessity 
with  him,  and  the  obscure  quietism, 
which  is  best  for  his  shattered  con- 


790 


A  Century  of  Great  Poet*. 


[June 


stitution,  into  the  highest  of  human 
blessings.  The  work  which  keeps 
the  world  going  is  either  condemned 
as  wicked  or  scorned  as  frivolous. 
The  moment  his  glance  falls  upon 
human  life,  it  grows  narrow  and 
intolerant.  He  sees  the  earth  with 
heaven's  own  eyes  of  tender  and 
wide  appreciation,  but  man  he 
judges  by  a  narrower  standard,  see- 
ing only  temptation  and  evil  in  all 
his  loftier  occupations,  and,  for  his 
own  part,  finding  nothing  better  or 
sweeter  than  the  sofa  by  the  fire. 

Thus  Cowper's  weakness  and  his 
strength  mingle  and  interlace  in  his 
great  work.  "  The  stricken  deer 
who  left  the  herd"  takes  it  upon 
him  to  make  his  narrow  and  bare 
existence  a  model  for  the  strong, 
the  brave,  and  the  wise,  and  fails, 
as  fail  he  must.  But  very  different 
is  the  result  when  he  takes  upon 
him  his  noble  and  natural  office,  and 
lifts  to  the  common  eye  that  veil 
which  hangs  upon  the  face  of  na- 
ture. He  shows  her  smiling,  weep- 
ing, bearing  her  patient  burden — 
every  year  dying,  every  year  coming 
to  life  again,  fulfilling  in  dumb 
faithfulness  and  steadfastness  her 
Master's  will.  He  makes  us  see  the 
silent  river  flowing  through  those 
wealthy,  homely,  unpretending  fields. 
He  shows  us  how,  while  men  fret 
out  their  little  day,  the  great  uni- 
verse goes  on ;  how  God  is  faithful, 
and  all  His  mighty  laws  stand  fast. 
His  eyes  grow  luminous,  his  voice 
expands,  he  rises  to  a  prophetic 
fulness  and  noble  force  of  speech. 
Small  satire  and  personality,  indi- 
vidual spite  and  cleverness,  the  bab- 
ble of  society,  the  keen  encounters 
of  wit,  had  made  the  world  forget 
all  higher  objects  of  admiration ; 
but  now  it  recovered  the  power  of 
vision  with  a  surprised  delight. 
Thus  Cowper  took  his  stand  by 
himself  in  his  humility  in  the  lite- 
rature of  his  country — not  a  maker, 
but  a  revealer,  creating  nothing, 


showing  a  new  universe  which  was 
yet  our  oldest  immemorial  world. 

His  work  kept  him.  up  as  long  as 
it  was  in  hand;  but  the  last  shad- 
ows were  already  beginning  to 
creep  up  from  the  autumnal  fields. 
Out  of  the  sudden  light  that  had 
fallen  upon  his  life  he  went  back 
into  his  old  monotony  with  a  sad- 
dened, half-fretful,  half-proud  sub- 
mission. "We  have  seldom  any 
company  at  all,"  he  says;  and  his 
letters  to  Newton,  at  least,  sink 
deeper  and  deeper  in  the  sadness 
of  their  tone.  All  through  his 
halcyon  time  they  had,  however, 
been  sad,  and  he  had  gone  on 
speaking  of  his  despair  with  little 
intermission ;  but  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  in  the  despair  of  the  man 
who  spent  his  cheerful  days  by 
Lady  Austen's  side,  who  stuck  in 
the  mud  with  his  Mary,  who  wrote 
"  John  Gilpin  "  after  a  night  sleep- 
less with  laughter.  Fortunately  the 
blank  left  by  Lady  Austen's  de- 
parture did  not  long  remain  unfilled. 
His  cousin,  Lady  Hesketh,  whom  he 
had  not  corresponded  with  for  years, 
one  day  wrote  to  him,  moved  by 
some  sudden  impulse  of  kindness ; 
and  with  the  eagerness  of  a  man 
who  was  starving  for  friendship  and 
society  he  flung  himself  upon  her. 
"  "We  are  all  growing  young  again, 
and  the  days  that  I  thought  I  should 
see  no  more  are  actually  returned," 
he  cries.  Lady  Hesketh,  however, 
did  not  confine  herself  to  letter- 
Avriting ;  she  offered  him  help  should 
his  circumstances  require  it :  and  he 
accepted  the  help  with  a  frankness 
and  simplicity  which,  no  doubt, 
made  the  matter  easier  at  once  to  him 
and  to  her;  but  which  startles  the 
reader,  who  perhaps  has  forgotten 
that  all  this  time  the  poet  had  been 
the  stipendiary  of  his  family,  living 
a  life  of  contented  dependence.  In 
his  explanations  also  on  the  subject, 
he  tells  his  cousin  that  Mrs  Un- 
win's  income  had  been  nearly  double 


1871.] 


No.  I. — William  Cowper. 


791 


his  own  during  their  earlier  residence 
at  Olney,  although  "we  have  had  but 
one  purse;"  so  that  he  had  accepted 
not  only  her  perpetual  and  devoted 
service,  but  even  part  of  her  living 
ironi  his  companion.  These  are 
facts  which  throw  a  strange  and  not 
very  pleasant  light  upon  the  char- 
.acter  of  this  man  whom  everybody 
served,  and  who  accepted  so  amiably 
•everybody's  service.  Lady  Hesketh 
brought  him  into  renewed  inter- 
course with  several  members  of  his 
family,  and  his  life  seemed  once 
more  to  brighten.  Before  a  week 
liad  elapsed  from  his  conclusion  of 
the  poem  entitled  "  Tirocinium," 
which  he  added  to  "The  Task"  to 
make  up  the  volume,  he  had  begun 
his  translation  of  Homer ;  driven 
thereto  by  a  wise  instinct  of  self-pre- 
servation and  sense  that  occupation 
was  his  only  or  at  least  greatest 
safety. 

These  two  facts,  however,  which 
one  would  have  thought  would 
have  rejoiced  all  interested  in  him 
— his  reunion  with  his  friends,  and 
Ms  voluntary  commencement  of 
an  important  piece  of  work — seem 
to  have  alarmed  and  provoked  the 
interference  of  Newton,  who  could 
not,  it  appears,  give  up  his  supreme 
spiritual  authority  over  his  whilom 
penitent.  It  was  thought  that 
Homer,  a  pagan,  was  "greatly  be- 
neath the  attention",  of  a  Christian 
poet,  and  not  a  becoming  occupation 
for  him ;  and  also  that  the  society  of 
his  carnal -minded  relations  would 
do  him  harm.  Cowper.  however, 
is  not  so  humble  but  that  he  takes 
up  arms  for  himself  at  this  inter- 
ference, though  in  a  very  gentle  way. 
He  cannot  amuse  himself  now,  he 
says,  as  he  once  could,  with  carpen- 
ters' or  gardeners'  tools,  squirrels 
and  guinea-pigs.  A  man's  mind  has 
been  restored  to  him,  and  it  must  be 
occupied  accordingly.  Neither  has 
he  any  connections  at  which  any 
who  love  him  or  wish  him  well  have 


occasion  to  feel  alarm.  So  unwarrant- 
able a  pretension  does  not  make  the 
gentle  poet  angry,  but  still  he  repels 
the  blame.  A  still  more  unwarrant- 
able interference  was  attempted  a 
little  later,  when  Lady  Hesketh  had 
in  her  turn  fixed  her  residence  tem- 
porarily at  Olney,  in  order  to  be 
near  the  lonely  pair.  She  was 
Cowper's  cousin,  warranted  by  family 
ties  and  superior  fortune  to  look 
after  him,  without  fear  of  any  mis- 
interpretation of  her  conduct ;  and 
she  soon  perceived  that  "  the  cruel 
solitude"  of  the  dreary  little  town, 
in  which  he  had  not  only  no  con- 
genial society,  but  was  kept  at  a 
distance  from  the  scenes  of  natural 
beauty  which  might  have  made  him 
some  amends,  had  the  worst  possible 
effect  upon  him.  Accordingly  she 
lost  no  time  in  renting  for  him  a 
house  in  the  neighbouring  village 
of  Weston,  from  which  immediate 
access  could  be  obtained  to  the 
Throckmorton  grounds,  which  were 
his  delight.  Cowper's  exultation 
over  this  new  dwelling  -  place,  its 
"  genteel "  aspect,  its  roominess, 
and  airiness,  and  manifold  attrac- 
tions, is  like  the  boundless  satis- 
faction of  a  child;  and  he  writes 
to  Newton  about  it  with  a  certain 
deprecatory  explanatory  fulness, 
as  if  to  disarm  comment.  13ut 
his  simple  wiles  were  unavailing. 
Some  weeks  after,  Newton  let 
loose  his  thunderbolt :  this  time 
it  was  addressed  to  Mrs  Unwin, 
and  it  seems  to  have  plunged 
them  both  into  trouble.  "  The 
purport  of  it,"  Cowper  says,  "is 
a  direct  accusation  of  me,  and  of 
her  an  accusation  implied,  that  we 
have  both  diverged  into  forbidden 
paths,  and  led  a  life  unbecom- 
ing the  Gospel — that  many  of  my 
friends  in  London  are  grieved, 
and  the  simple  people  of  Olney 
astonished;  that  he  never  so  much 
doubted  my  restoration  to  Cliri*- 
tian  privileges  as  now, — in  short, 


792 


A  Century  of  Great  Poets. 


[Juno1 


that  I  converse  too  much  with  people 
of  the  world,  and  find  too  much 
pleasure  in  doing  so."  This  cruel 
accusation  was  founded  on  the  fact 
that  Cowper  had  got  to  be  on 
friendly  terms  with  the  Throckmor- 
tons — and  that  Lady  Hesketh  took 
him  and  Mrs  Uiiwin  frequently  with 
her  in  her  carriage  when  she  drove 
out !  The  poet  condescends  to  go 
over  all  this  ground  again  in  another 
letter  to  his  spiritual  guide,  which 
is  full  of  explanation  and  proof  that 
he  does  not  deserve  the  chastise- 
ment bestowed  upon  him,  but  even 
now  he  does  not  assert  his  freedom 
of  action,  or  do  more  than  defend 
his  "consistency"  against  an  im- 
pertinent and  cruel  attack,  which 
he  never  ventures  to  qualify  by  its 
right  title. 

The  house  at  Weston  did  not 
long  continue  cheerful.  Another 
short  fit  of  insanity  assailed  him 
ere  he  had  been  long  settled  there  ; 
but  again  there  was  a  rally,  and 
things  went  well.  He  received  two 
or  three  periodical  visits  from  Lady 
Hesketh,  which  kept  up  his  heart, 
and  he  made  the  acquaintance  of 
several  new  friends,  especially  two 
youths  whose  enthusiasm  was  sweet 
to  him,  his  relation  John  Johnson, 
and  Samuel  Rose.  Hayley,  too, 
his  (as  everybody  then  thought) 
brother  poet  and  future  biographer, 
came  to  "Weston ;  and,  what  was 
still  more  wonderful,  Cowper  re- 
turned his  visit  with  his  insepar- 
able Mary,  now  falling  herself  into 
the  exhaustion  of  age,  and  en- 
feebled by  some  premonitory  at- 
tacks of  paralysis.  This  was  the 
last  gleam  of  sunshine  that  re- 
mained to  him.  Nothing  could  be 
more  enthusiastic  than  Hayley's 
description  of  the  pair  who  were 
thus  tottering  on  the  last  verge  of 
happiness.  "  Here  is  a  Muse  of 
seventy  that  I  perfectly  idolise,"  he 
says ;  and  he  describes  the  manners 
and  conversation  of  Cowper  as 


"  resembling  his  poetry,  charming 
by  unaffected  elegance  and  the  graces 
of  a  benevolent  spirit."  With  such 
guests  coming  and  going  about  them, 
the  two  invalids  kept  up,  propped 
by  the  love  of  their  friends ;  and 
it  was  in  this  last  glimmering  of 
evening  light  that  Cowper  wrote  two 
of  the  most  exquisite  poems  in  the 
language — his  own  most  perfect 
productions — poems,  every  line  of 
which  is  instinct  with  a  profound 
and  chastened  feeling  to  which 
it  would  be  difficult  to  find  a 
parallel.  These  are  the  lines  ad- 
.  dressed  to  his  mother's  picture,  and 
those  entitled  "  My  Mary."  Poetry 
has  never  produced  any  utterances 
more  gently  deep  and  true.  They 
are  without  passion,  for  passion  does 
not  belong  to  filial  love.  And 
there  is  not  a  phrase  in  them,  not 
a  word,  which  jars  upon  the  most 
susceptible  ear,  not  a  tinge  of  ex- 
aggeration, not  a  touch  that  is  ex- 
cessive. This  was  the  love  he 
knew.  Other  affections  had  skim- 
med over  him,  calling  forth  here  and 
there  "a  swallow-flight  of  song." 
This  one  love  alone  was  fully 
possible  to  him, — the  love  half 
reverential,  half  protecting,  without 
fear,  or  doubt,  or  possibility  of  de- 
lusion in  it,  which  a  son  bears 
to  his  mother.  The  fact  that  he 
who  gave  fprth  these  supreme 
utterances  of  filial  love  was  him- 
self old  when  he  did  it,  brings  into 
the  relationship  a  strange  tender 
equality  which  is  marvellously  touch- 
ing. The  two  women  whom  he 
celebrates  are  above  him,  yet  on 
his  level,  his  companions,  his  saints, 
his  servants.  Gratitude  in  the  one 
case  visionary,  in  the  other  how 
real,  a  sense  of  dependence,  a  sense 
of  superiority,  mingle  and  blend 
as  poetry  never  blended  them 
before.  Any  true  lover  of  Cowper 
who  was  asked  to  select  his  poet's 
best,  would  reply  with  one  of  these 
two  poems.  They  are  the  expres- 


1871.] 


No.  I. — Willictln  Cowpcr. 


793 


sion  of  the  master  -  feeling   of  his 
life. 

But  now  his  faithful  guardian,  his 
tenclerest  friend,  was  no  longer  able 
to  lend  her  supporting  arm  or  stand 
l)y  him  in  his  trouble.  Love  gave 
him  a  little  strength  to  repay  some 
of  his  obligations  to  her ;  but  when 
helplessness  fell  upon  Mary  Unwin, 
Cowper's  days  of  possible  comfort 
had  come  to  an  end.  In  1 786  they 
went  to  Weston.  It  was  in  '94  that 
the  final  break-down  came.  Lady 
Hesketh  arrived  to  find  the  house- 
hold in  wild  disorder,  the  woman 
who  had  so  long  swayed  it  fallen  into 
dotage,  and  the  carefully  -  guarded 
master  of  the  pleasant  home,  he 
whom  everybody  had  concurred  in 
watching  over  and  keeping  from  all 
harm,  acting  as  nurse  in  his  turn, 
though  himself  hovering  on  the  verge 
of  madness.  It  is  needless  to  follow 
to  its  end  the  sad  and  lingering 
story.  "When  the  circumstances 
were  known,  his  cousin  and  all  his 
friends  gathered  round  him,  each 
ready  to  help  and  serve.  Some  im- 
patient bitter  words  fell  from  Lady 
Hesketh's  lips  in  regard  to  the  now 
helpless  and  burdensome  companion 
from  whom  gratitude  and  decency 
alike  made  it  impossible  to  sever  the 
poet ;  but  these  were,  no  doubt,  the 
mere  petulant  utterances  of  grief  in 
sight  of  so  sad  a  spectacle.  One  im- 
becile, babbling  and  laughing  in  her 
weakness,  the  other  sitting  "still 
and  silent  as  death,"  speaking  to  no 
one,  asking  nothing,  dwelling  in  an 
awful  visionary  world  of  his  own 
diseased  and  morbid  fancies, — such 
were  the  terrible  charges  whom  Lady 
Hesketh  undertook  to  guard.  After 
a  while  a  younger  guardian  stepped 
in  and  beguiled  the  poet  and  his 
helpless  mate  away  from  Weston, 
hoping  as  people  always  hope  in 
vain  for  the  benefit  to  be  derived 
from  change  of  air.  But  no  benefit 
remained  in  this  world  for  Cowper. 
When  his  Mary  died  he  made  no 


sign  of  feeling,  being  lost  in  the  stu- 
por of  his  own  gathering  malady. 
He  sat  silent  with  wild  sad  eyes  in 
the  Norfolk  parsonage,  to  which  he 
had  been  taken,  and  had  novels  read 
to  him  the  livelong  day,  finding  in 
them  heaven  knows  what  pitiful 
solace  for  woes  that  were  never  to 
be  cured  in  this  world.  Sometimes 
the  moaning  of  the  sea  would  soothe 
him,  sometimes  he  would  rouse  up 
to  make  a  mechanical  correction  of  his 
Homer ;  sometimes,  even,  he  would 
write  a  cold  and  gloomy  letter  with- 
out beginning  or  end — for  one  of  his 
delusions  was  that  he  had  ceased  to 
be  capable  of  affection  for  any  one — 
to  his  cousin.  All  that  tender  care 
and  affection  could  do  for  him  was 
done.  His  kind  cousins  the  Johnsons 
gave  themselves  and  their  home  up 
to  his  service,  and  no  doubt  hoped 
that  when  Mi's  Unwin's  death  had 
been  got  over,  new  life  might  come 
back.  But  the  only  life  that  re- 
mained for  him  was  a  better  than 
this.  He  survived  his  faithful  com- 
panion more  than  three  years,  but 
they  were  years  of  darkness,  with- 
out hope  or  consolation.  A  year 
before  his  death  he  wrote  the  "Cast- 
away," the  last  of  his  poems,  and 
perhaps  the  saddest.  And  there  was 
not  even  reserved  for  him  that  gleam 
of  light  at  the  last  which  so  often 
gives  a  pathetic  gladness  to  a  death- 
bed. He  went  down  unconsoled  into 
the  dark  valley.  The  last  words  he 
said  were,  when  he  was  offered  a 
cordial,  "What  can  it  signify?" 
What  did  it  matter?  one  hour  of 
weakness  more  or  less,  a  pain  the 
greater.  By  that  time  the  gloom  had 
reached  its  blackest,  the  light  was 
near.  What  did  it  signify  ?  Who 
can  doubt  that  all  the  ceaseless  suffer- 
ings of  his  life,  all  his  miseries,  some 
hours  thereafter,  had  become  as 
dreams  to  him  in  the  great  and  new 
revelation  which  awaited  him  at  the 
gates  of  heaven  ? 


794 


Burton's  History  of  Scotland  : 


[June 


BURTON'S  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND  :  CONCLUDING  VOLUMES. 


MB  BURTON  has  concluded  in  these 
volumes  a  worthy  and  noble  labour. 
A  spirit  of  indomitable  and  thorough- 
ly  honest    research,    an    impartial 
judicial  temper,  and  a  bold,  if  some- 
what   rough,   vigour   of    narrative, 
have  distinguished  his  work  through- 
out; but  to  those  qualities  are  added, 
in  the  volumes  now  before  us,  an 
intenser  interest,  a  more  vivid  and 
animated  comprehension  of  historic 
data  in  themselves  richer  and  more 
full  of  significance,  and  a  style  more 
fluent,  easy,  and  accurate, — present- 
ing in  higher  form  the  higher  and 
more    varied    materials   which    he 
handles.     In  Mr  Burton's  volumes 
we  possess  at  length  a  History  of 
Scotland  deserving  the  name,  and, 
upon  the  whole,  adequate  to  the  sub- 
ject.    He  makes  no  pretensions  to 
rival   the  picturesqueness   and   en- 
thusiasm of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  nor 
the  patient  analysis  and  elaboration 
with  which   Mr   Tytler   expatiates 
over  certain  details  of  Scottish  his- 
tory, disentangling  with  unwearying 
pertinacity  what  appears  to  him  to 
be  the  thread  of  its  involved  and  fre- 
quently obscure  narrative  ;  but  he 
treats  his  subject  as  a  whole  with  a 
deeper  insight,  a  broader  and  more 
critical  appreciation,    and    a  freer, 
manlier,  wider,  and  more  penetrat- 
ing intelligence  than  either  of  these 
writers.     Sir  Walter  Scott,  by  the 
mere  force  of  his  genius,  and  the 
marvellous  range  of  his  dramatic  in- 
sight into  all  the  phases  of  Scottish 
character,  has  got  in  some  respects 
nearer  to  the  heart  of  his  subject 
than  any  other  writer ;  yet  with  all 
his  genius  and  charm  as  a  narrator, 
he  was  not  an  historical  student  in 
the  modern  sense :  Mr  Tytler,  while 


nothing  could  exceed  his  industry 
and  accuracy  as  a  reader,   and  in 
some  degree  an  interpreter,  of  State 
documents,   yet    lacked    depth    of 
historic  feeling,  and  the  capacity  of 
finding  beneath  the  mere  letter  of 
such  documents  all  that  they  some- 
times  meant.      Moreover,   he   was 
signally  deficient  in  sympathy  with 
the   later  religious   aspects   of   his 
narrative.     In  all  these  respects  Mi- 
Burton  is  greatly  superior.     He  is, 
by  natural  gift  and  the  consistent 
persevering  consecration  of  the  in- 
dustries of  a  lifetime,  an  historical 
student  of  the  highest  class,  fitted 
to  rank  with  the  most  distinguished 
of  our  recent  historical  school :  he 
has  looked  with  fresh  and  keen  eyes, 
if  not   always    with   the    requisite 
patience,   at  documentary  sources  ; 
but,  above  all,  he  shows  a  living  in- 
terest in  almost  every  phase  of  Ms 
subject — an   interest    not    bred   of 
mere  antiquarianism  or  literary  re- 
search, but  of  hearty  intelligence. 
On  the  political  side,  he  recognises 
and  brings  into  light,  far  more  clearly 
than  any  one  before  him,  the  play 
both  of  national  feeling  and  of  so- 
cial and  constitutional  forces  work- 
ing beneath  the  superficial  current 
of  events.     On  the  religious  side — 
to  which  so  much  in  the  history  of 
Scotland  in  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth century  turns — he  has  brought 
to  his  task  a  comprehensive  know- 
ledge and  power  of  critical  yet  sym- 
pathetic judgment  far  beyond  either 
of  his  predecessors,  and  even   the 
most  successful  of  those  writers  who 
have  specially  devoted  themselves 
to  this  part  of  the  subject.     It  is 
not    too    much    to    say   that    the 
volumes  before  us  contain  so  far  the 


The  History  of  Scotland,  from  Agricola's  Invasion  to  the  Revolution  of  1688.     Vols. 
V.  VI.  VII.     By  John  Hill  Burton.     William  Blackwood  and  Sons  :  1870. 


1871.] 


Concluding  Volumes. 


795 


best  history  of  the  Church  of  Scot- 
land which  has  yet  been  written. 

In  the  fourth  volume,  which  con- 
cluded the  first  issue  of  his  work, 
Mr  Burton  had  brought  the  reign  of 
the  hapless  Mary  to  a  close.  In  the 
course  of  six  brief  years,  this  reign,  so 
marvellous  in  romantic  excitement, 
had  come  and  gone.  Mary  reached 
Scotland  in  the  autumn  (August)  of 
1561 ;  before  the  end  of  June  1567 
she  was  shut  up  in  Lochleven  Castle. 
All  the  brightness  of  her  early  pop- 
ularity had  gone  out  in  darkness  and 
disaster  unexampled.  Her  marriage 
with  Darnley;  Darnley's  murder; 
her  marriage  and  flight  with  Both- 
well;  her  surrender  and  return  to 
Edinburgh,  amidst  the  insults  of 
the  streets  crowded  with  indignant 
women  and  angry  men, — had  all 
passed  in  less  than  two  years  (July 
29th,  1565— June  15th,  1567).  It 
is  impossible  to  conceive  any  succes- 
sion of  events  more  wildly  tragical, 
or  a  fate  more  piteously  urged  to  its 
doom.  Whatever  view  we  may  take 
of  Mary's  character,  or  of  her  con- 
nection with  her  husband's  death, 
the  picture  of  her  life  during  these 
years  is  equally  pathetic.  Guilty  or 
innocent — schemer  or  victim — it  is  a 
direful  story,  only  the  more  intense  in 
its  woefulness  if  we  can  believe  her 
innocent  of  the  charges  imputed  to 
her.  Mr  Burton's  treatment  of  this 
problem  of  paramount  interest  in 
Scottish  history  is  throughout  in 
good  taste  as  well  as  masterly.  If  we 
are  not  left  in  any  doubt  as  to  the 
conclusions  he  has  reached,  we  are 
yet  never  pained  by  the  bitterness 
of  the  polemic  nor  the  coarseness  of 
the  partisan.  He  is  dignified  in  his 
severity,  and  points  his  moral  with- 
out blackening  his  portrait  or  raising 
the  finger  of  insult  at  the  prostrate 
figure.  We  miss,  perhaps,  here 
more  than  elsewhere,  the  charm  of 
the  story-teller — those  graces  of  style 
and  bits  of  living  colouring  which 
another  pen  has  lavished  upon  the 


subject ;  but  then  we  never  miss  a 
pervading  sense  of  fairness,  and  the 
presence  of  that  natural  feeling 
which  softens  while  it  condemns, 
and  drops  a  tear  of  sympathy  for 
the  fallen  one,  even  while  weighing 
her  life  in  the  balance  of  an  unspar- 
ing judgment. 

In  the  first  volume  of  the  con- 
cluding series — the  fifth  of  his  work 
— Mr  Burton  carries  on  the  thread 
of  the  history  with  somewhat  elabo- 
rate detail  through  the  succession  of 
regencies  which  followed  the  im- 
prisonment of  Mary  and  her  final 
flight  into  England.  With  the 
withdrawal  of  the  chief  actor  from 
the  scene,  Scottish  national  life  sinks 
once  more  back  into  the  confused 
obscurity  from  which  it  had  emerged. 
Mary's  six  years  of  reign  stand  pro- 
minently betwixt  two  periods  of 
nearly  twenty  years  of  regency,  dur- 
ing which  the  events  transacted  are 
of  great  influence  for  the  country, 
but  involved  and  wearisome  to  the 
reader.  The  fluctuations  of  party 
movement  are  incessant  but  ignoble. 
It  requires  all  the  gravity  of  the  in- 
terests at  stake  to  redeem  the  pic- 
ture from  meanness,  and  cast  over  it 
any  degree  of  attractive  light.  The 
latter  period  is,  upon  the  whole,  the 
least  attractive  of  the  two — for  the 
great  figure  of  Knox,  although  still 
present,  is  no  longer  prominent ;  and 
the  "  good "  Regent,  who,  Mr  Bur- 
ton thinks,  would  have  been  the 
greatest  king  Scotland  had  seen 
since  the  days  of  Robert  Bruce,  is 
soon  removed  from  the  scene.  The 
figures  which  remain  and  occupy 
the  foreground  are  not  destitute  of 
picturesqueness,  but  they  are  alto- 
gether wanting  in  moral  elevation 
and  consistency  of  character.  Len- 
nox, Mar,  and  Morton  in  no  degree 
rise  above  the  ordinary  level  of 
Scottish  nobles  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury;  and  this  level  is  not  a  high  one. 
Seldom,  indeed,  has  a  country  suf- 
fered more  from  the  selfishness  and 


796 


Burton's  History  of  Scotland  : 


[June 


A'iolence,  the  mean  rivalries  and  law- 
lessness, of  its  feudal  nobility.  They 
produced  but  few  great  characters, 
and  their  interminable  plots  and 
counterplots  are  relieved  by  few 
touches  of  genuine  heroism  or  public 
devotion.  At  times  the  course  of  the 
national  history  is  little  else  than 
a  succession  of  their  family  broils. 
The  period  which  succeeded  the 
reign  of  Mary  was  one  of  the  most 
marked  of  these  periods  of  feudal 
turbulence.  The  low  revenge  of  the 
Hamiltons  in  the  murder  of  Mur- 
ray ;  the  return  -  vengeance  of  the 
King's  party  in  the  execution  of 
John  Hamilton,  Archbishop  of  St 
Andrews,  captured  with  Dumbarton 
Castle  two  years  later  (1571),  and 
ignominiously  hung  on  the  common 
gibbet  in  the  market-place  of  Stir- 
ling ;  the  murder  of  Lennox  in  the 
same  year, — present  a  picture  of  de- 
plorable anarchy.  It  was  only  four 
years  since  Lennox's  son  had  been 
miserably  killed  in  the  Kirk- of  - 
Field,  and  now  he  himself  was  a 
victim  to  the  lawlessness  of  a  coun- 
try which  he  had  better  never  en- 
tered. There  seems  to  have  been 
something  amiable  though  weak  in 
Lennox's  character.  Mr  Burton  has 
evidently  a  tenderness  for  him ;  and 
the  dying  words  of  the  wounded 
man,  as  he  recalled  his  "  poor  wife 
Meg,"  surprise  him  into  one  of  those 
snatches  of  genuine  feeling  which 
come  out  now  and  then  in  the 
course  of  his  narrative,  only  the 
more  touching  that  they  are  so  rare, 
and  evidently  so  sincere.  JS'o  his- 
torian ever  went  less  out  of  his  way 
to  foist  in  bits  of  sentiment.  Len- 
nox's wife  was  a  daughter  of  Angus 
and  Henry  VIII.'s  sister — the  widoAv 
of  James  IV.,  and  therefore  the 
grandmother  of  Mary  as  well  as  of 
Darnley.  "  Some  thirty  years  ear- 
lier," says  our  historian,  "  the  love 
which  Lennox  and  the  high-born 


maiden  bore  to  each  other  was  an 
element  of  purity  and  gentleness- 
in  a  household  credited  with  darlc 
political  intrigues.  In  the  after- 
life, which  was  so  closely  mixed 
with  the  horrible  story  of  their  son's 
career,  this  light  still  burned,  and 
it  brightened  the  last  scene  of  all." 

After  Lennox's  death  the  chief 
interest  for  a  time  centres  round 
Kirkcaldy  of  Grange  and  the 
Secretary  Lethington.  It  was  a 
singular  fate  which  in  the  end 
separated  these  two  men  from  their 
old  colleagues  on  the  side  of  the 
people  and  the  Reformation,  and 
arrayed  them  in  the  interest  of 
the  Queen  and  the  French  party, 
against  which  the  former,  at  least. 
had  so  long  struggled.  Kirkcaldy 
was  a  brilliant  and  noble  character, 
"  humble,  gentle,  and  meek,  like  a 
lamb  in  the  house,  but  like  a  lion 
in  the  field."  *  He  was  amongst 
the  first  to  see  the  advantages  of 
the  English  alliance,  and  one  of 
the  few  laymen,  according  to  Mr 
Burton,  who  had  more  than  a  self- 
interested  attachment  to  the  Re- 
formed Church.  His  beautiful 
courtesy  was  conspicuous  in  a  rude 
age.  At  Carberry,  Mary  selected  to 
surrender  to  him  when  Bothwell 
retreated  to  Dunbar,  and  left  her 
helpless  in  front  of  the  Confederate 
Lords.  From  that  day  some  have 
supposed  his  heart  to  have  been 
touched,  and  Mary  to  have  won  a 
champion;  but  from  whatever  cause, 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he 
had  begun  to  waver  in  his  old  al- 
legiance even  before  Murray's  assas- 
sination. He  certainly  gave  the 
Regent  ground  to  distrust  him .  And 
no  sooner  had  the  Hamiltons  accom- 
plished their  murderous  purpose, 
and  the  country  been  once  more 
reduced  to  anarchy  by  the  removal 
of  the  strong  hand  which  had  been 
laid  upon  its  elements  of  misrule, 


*  Sir  James  Melville's  Memoirs,  p.  258. 


1871.] 


Concluding 


797 


than  Kirkcaldy's  attitude  became 
unmistakable.  Appointed  Gover- 
nor of  Edinburgh  Castle  in  room  of 
the  "  dubious  Balfour,"  he  disap- 
pointed all  the  trust  reposed  in  him, 
and  declared  on  the  side  of  the 
Queen.  His  manner  of  announcing 
his  change  of  mind  was  "  emphatic 
and  picturesque.  Morton  was  by 
force  of  circumstances  the  leader  of 
the  King's  party.  As  he  was  riding 
with  a  train  of  followers  along  the 
fields  under  the  Castle  rock,  a  gun 
was  fired,  and  a  ball  came  bound- 
ing into  the  cavalcade.  This  was 
Grange's  announcement  that  Morton 
and  he  were  enemies." 

No  doubt  there  were  deeper  causes 
at  work.  Maitland  had  been  re- 
ceived into  the  Castle  in  the  previ- 
ous year,  when  conveyed  as  a  criminal 
to  Edinburgh  in  connection  with 
Darnley's  murder,  and  his  scheming 
brain  seemed  to  see  in  the  confusion 
following  Murray's  death  an  oppor- 
tunity for  a  new  movement.  Many 
things  looked  favourable  to  such  a 
movement — sympathy  with  Mary's 
misfortunes;  the  still unextinguished 
probability  of  her  succession  to  the 
throne  of  England;  and,  above  all, 
a  new  burst  of  patriotic  feeling  aris- 
ing out  of  Elizabeth's  Fabian  and 
dictatorial  policy.  She  had  sent 
English  forces  across  the  Border  pro- 
fessedly in  search  of  the  Earl  of 
Northumberland  and  other  leaders 
of  the  northern  rebellion ;  but  these 
forces  had  laid  waste  a  great  part  of 
the  country  as  far  north  as  the  Forth 
and  the  Clyde.  This  outrage  stirred 
intensely  the  national  pride  and  bit- 
terness against  the  "  auld  enemy." 
"  There  were  men,"  says  Mr  Burton, 
"  still  able  to  carry  a  pike,  who  had 
fought  in  the  last  war  of  extermina- 
tion with  the  invader.  Men  yet  in 
the  prune  of  life  remembered  when 
the  Scots  bought  English  captives 
from  the  French  for  the  sheer  satis- 
faction of  putting  them  to  death. 
Hitherto  the  Queen's  party  had  con- 


sisted of  leaders  without  followers. 
It  was  said  that  among  her  supporters 
there  were  eighteen  standing  in  pre- 
cedence as  nobles  of  the  realm  higher 
than  the  highest  of  the  King's  party. 
The  strength  of  the  King's  party  lay 
in  the  popular  feeling,  which  had 
taken  the  shape  of  aversion  to  the 
Queen.  But  there  was  another  and 
deeper-seated  fountain  of  national 
feeling  in  hatred  of  England.  The 
political  conditions  of  the  time  en- 
rolled those  who  felt  this  passion 
as  supporters  of  Queen  Mary :  and 
thus,  as  it  has  appeared  to  some,  a 
large  body  of  the  Scottish  people  had 
suddenly  repented  of  their  disloyalty 
and  returned  to  their  duty." 

It  was  in  such  troubled  waters 
that  Maitland  delighted  to  angle. 
He  had  never  cared  much  for  the 
Reformation,  at  least  on  its  spiritual 
side.  There  is  reason  to  doubt 
whether  he  cherished  any  positive 
belief  at  all.  It  was  whispered  that 
he  had  even  spoken  of  God  as  "  ane 
bogill  of  the  nursery."  Certainly 
he  possessed  no  reverence  for  the 
Reformers,  and  the  special  claims  to 
national  influence  which  they  put 
forward ;  and  in  the  old  days  he 
had  often  encountered  Knox  on  this 
and  kindred  subjects.  His  was  a  sub- 
tile, delicate,  Machiavellian  brain, 
without  equal  in  Scotland ;  but  he 
lacked  any  higher  or  generous  prin- 
ciple which  might  have  lifted  him 
above  the  distractions  of  his  time, 
and  given  his  schemes  of  policy 
soundness  and  grandeur  as  well  as 
cleverness  and  daring.  He  never 
more  miscalculated  than  now,  when 
the  great  idea  of  his  life — to  unite 
the  two  crowns  under  one  monarch 
— seemed  to  him  once  more  pos- 
sible, and  he  had  bent  the  brave 
and  gallant  Kirkcaldy  to  his  pur- 
pose. Neither  of  these  men  realised, 
in  fact,  how  much  the  Reformation 
had  done  for  Scotland.  A  new 
power  had  arisen  which  was  not  to 
be  manipulated  by  the  most  ingeni- 


798 


Burton's  History  of  Scotland  : 


[June 


ous  intrigue — which  was  to  prove 
stronger  than  the  old  factious  feudal 
spirit,  and  make  itself  felt  above  all 
the  plotting  of  the  great  families 
•whose  struggles  had  so  long  rent 
the  country. 

Knox  was  the  representative  of 
this  power,  and  Morton  for  the 
time  its  political  leader.  The  Ee- 
fornier's  days  were  drawing  to  a 
close,  "but  his  spirit  was  still  high  ; 
and,  mourning  as  he  did  over  Kirk- 
caldy's  defection,  he  never  wavered 
in  his  conviction  as  to  the  madness 
of  the  enterprise  in  which  he  had 
engaged.  After  various  altercations 
with  the  holder  of  the  Castle,  it  was 
judged  expedient  that  he  should 
seek  safety  out  of  Edinburgh  for  a 
time ;  but  before  his  departure  he 
held  a  solemn  conference  with  both 
Maitland  and  his  old  friend.  The 
conference,  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, led  to  nothing,  "and  the 
discussion  ended  in  a  contest  of 
wits  between  Lethington  and  Knox 
in  the  old  way."  "There  is 
something  deeply  interesting,"  says 
Mr  Burton,  "  in  the  glimpse  afforded 
to  us  of  the  scene  in  which  these 
two  men  stand  face  to  face  for  the 
last  time.  On  former  occasions,  if 
there  was  a  little  dialectic  skirmish- 
ing between  them,  yet  they  were  in 
substance  fighting  together  through 
common  dangers  for  an  honest 
cause.  To  both  the  danger  had 
deepened ;  but  it  was  not  the  dan- 
ger of  a  common  fate.  To  the  one 
it  was  the  question  whether  the 
cause  he  had  in  constancy  main- 
tained was  strong  enough  to  protect 
him;  to  the  other  it  was  the  fear 
that  in  his  desertion  he  had  made  a 
grand  mistake,  and  all  his  subtle 
devices  had  gone  to  the  creation  of 
an  engine  destined  to  crush  him. 
The  two  might  almost  be  said  to  be 
in  the  balance,  where  the  safety  of 
the  one  was  the  destruction  of  the 
other.  Both  had  given  the  days  of 
their  vigorous  life  to  that  common 


cause.  Now  both  were,  so  far.  as 
the  body  went,  decrepit,  exhausted 
men,  lingering  on  the  edge  of  the 
grave.  Knox  had  but  a  year  be- 
fore been  prostrated  by  a  fit  of  apo- 
plexy; and  the  other  was  stricken 
with  paralysis  so  deplorably,  that 
even  if  we  make  large  deductions 
from  contemporary  accounts  of  his 
state,  his  retention  of  his  vivacious 
Avit  in  so  frail  a  tenement  of  clay 
must  be  ranked  among  marvels  in 
physiology."  They  closed  their  dis- 
cussion with  some  sharp  fencing  as 
to  the  comparative  advantages  of  the 
English  and  the  French  alliance, 
and  parted  never  to  meet  again. 
Knox  retired  for  a  time  to  St  An- 
drews. Morton  fortified  Leith,  and 
the  siege  of  Edinburgh  began.  A 
civil  war,  one  of  the  bitterest  on 
record,  raged  from  the  beginning  of 
October  1571  to  the  midsummer  of 
the  following  year,  when  a  cessation 
of  hostilities  took  place.  Knox's 
congregation  longed  to  hear  his 
voice  once  more,  and  he  returned, 
after  more  than  a  year's  absence,  to 
Edinburgh  in  the  end  of  August 
1572.  Any  strength  that  the 
Queen's  party  had  possessed  was 
then  effectually  broken;  but  Grange 
and  Lethington  still  held  the  Castle. 
The  heart  of  the  dying  Reformer 
yearned  towards  his  friend  Kirk- 
caldy  as  he  saw  the  hopelessness  of 
his  position,  and  could  not  help  fore- 
casting his  doom.  From  his  death- 
bed he  sent  him  a  last  message. 
"  Go  to  the  Castle,"  he  said,  "  and 
tell  him,  'John  Knox  remains  the 
same  man  now  when  he  is  about  to 
die  that  ever  he  knew  him  when 
able  in  body,  and  wills  him  to  con- 
sider what  he  was,  and  the  estate 
in  which  he  now  stands,  which  is  a 
great  part  of  his  trouble.  Neither 
the  craggy  rock  in  which  he  miser- 
ably confides,  nor  the  carnal  pru- 
dence of  that  man  [Maitland]  whom 
he  esteems  a  demi-god,  nor  the  as- 
sistance of  strangers,  shall  preserve 


1871.] 


Concluding  Volinn<'»: 


799 


him;  but  he  shall  be  disgracefully 
dragged  from  his  nest  to  punish- 
ment, and  hung  on  a  gallows  before 
the  face  of  the  sun,  unless  he  speedily 
amend  his  life  and  nee  to  the  mercy 
of.  God.'  That  man's  soul,"  he  said, 
"is  dear  to  me;  and  I  would  not 
have  it  perish  if  I  could  save  it." 
Knox's  prophecy  was  remembered 
eight  months  later,  when  the  Castle 
at  last  yielded  to  assault,  and  Grange 
and  Lethington  met  their  inevitable 
fate.  The  former,  notwithstanding 
a  someAvhat  pitifid  appeal  to  Eliza- 
beth, was  hanged  at  the  market- 
cross  of  Edinburgh  on  the  3d  of 
August  1573.  Lethington  was 
found  dead  after  the  surrender :  it 
was  supposed  that  he  had  poisoned 
himself,  or,  as  Sir  James  Melville 
says,  that  "  he  took  a  drink,  thd 
died  as  the  old  Romans  were  wont 
to  do." 

Following  the  surrender  of  Edin- 
burgh Castle,  the  country  enjoyed 
peace  for  a  time.  Morton,  as  Re- 
gent, did  not  possess  the  character 
or  prestige  of  Murray;  he  was  much 
less  liked  by  the  clergy,  and  gave  them 
continued  cause  for  disquiet;  but  he 
was  courageous,  powerful,  and  tena- 
cious of  purpose;  and  so  for  five 
years  "  the  land  was  ruled  with  such 
a  steady  firmness  as  it  had  scarcely 
felt  since  the  best  days  of  James  V." 
The  nation  in  conseqxience  pros- 
pered. Elizabeth  desisted  from  in- 
terference in  its  internal  affairs; 
Mary,  in  her  English  prison,  was 
beginning  to  be  forgotten;  and 
even  the  dreadful  days  of  Bartho- 
lomew, the  news  of  which  had  given 
such  an  impetus  to  the  Reformed 
party,  were  dying,  if  not  out  of  me- 
mory, yet  out  of  the  waking  con- 
sciousness of  the  alarmed  Protestants. 
But  all  this  proved  but  a  temporary 
lull.  The  slumbering  jealousies  and 
rude  violence  of  the  Scottish  nobles 
were  destined  to  be  soon  stirred  into 
as  lively  an  activity  as  ever. 

In  the  mean  time  Mary's  son  was 


growing  up  in  quiet  seclusion  under 
the  guardianship  of  Sir  Alexander 
Erskine,  the  late  Regent  Mar's  bro- 
ther, and  the  tutorial  care  of  the 
famous  George  Buchanan.  There 
were  three  others  who  shared  the 
office  of  tutor  with  Buchanan,  but 
in  the  lustre  of  his  name  the  rest 
are  forgotten.  Sir  James  Melville's 
Memoirs  have  bequeathed  a  pleasant 
picture  of  the  royal  pupil  and  his 
teacher,  who  held  the  King,  we  are 
told,  "in  great  awe."  "Mr  Peter 
Young "  (one  of  Buchanan's  col- 
leagues) "  was  more  gentle,  and  was 
loath  to  offend  the  King  at  any 
time,  carrying  himself  warily  as  a 
man  who  had  a  mind  to  his  own 
weal  by  keeping  of  his  Majesty's 
favour.  But  Mr  George  was  a  stoic 
philosopher  who  looked  not  far 
before  the  hand;  a  man  of  notable 
endowments  for  his  learning  and 
knowledge  of  Latin  poesy;  much 
honoured  in  other  countries ;  pleas- 
ant in  conversation;  rehearsing  at 
all  occasions  moralities  short  and 
instructive,  whereof  he  had  abun- 
dance, inventing  when  he  wanted. 
He  was  also  of  good  religion  for  a 
poet" — (whatever  this  may  mean). 
According  to  all  stories,  Buchanan 
did  not  spare  the  rod  even  in  its 
most  ignominious  inflictions  on  the 
person  of  the  Lord's  anointed  ;  and 
it  is  not  unlikely  that  the  bitterness 
with  which  James  afterwards  spoke 
in  his  jSaffi^ixov  AS^ov  of  Buchanan's 
opinions  may  have  been  in  some 
degree  due  to  the  remembrance  of 
what  Mr  Burton  calls  the  "  dorsal 
discipline "  which  he  underwent 
at  the  hands  of  the  great  scholar. 
With  all  his  stoic  severity  he  cer- 
tainly failed  to  imbue  James  with 
any  conception  of  his  own  ideas  of 
political  justice  and  fair  government, 
as  eloquently  depicted  in  his  re- 
markable work  'De  Jure  Regni 
apud  Scotos,'  which  was  dedicated 
to  the  King.  So  far,  like  many  a 
good  tutor  before  and  after  him,  he 


soo 


Barton's  History  of  Scotland  : 


[June 


failed  in  liis  task,  but  to  a  certain 
extent  he  succeeded.  He  made  liis 
pupil  a  ready  scholar,  with  abundant 
Latin  always  at  his  command.  It 
is  not  right,  according  to  Mr  Burton, 
to  call  James  a  mere  pedant.  He 
was  really  a  scholar — "a  ripe  and 
good  one;"  and  the  authority  of 
Dr  Parr,  "  the  man  who  in  later 
times  has  had  the  greatest  name  for 
pure  scholarship,"  is  quoted  in  tes- 
timony of  the  extent  of  his  learning 
and  acquirements. 

Morton's  vigorous  rule  began  to 
fail  as  King  James  grew  into  boy- 
hood. The  retention  of  the  royal 
person  became,  as  in  former  times,  a 
source  of  constant  intrigue  and  con- 
flict. The  royal  will,  moreover, 
began  to  show  itself  in  the  encour- 
agement of  favourites.  Two  men, 
both  of  the  name  of  Stewart,  rapidly 
rose  to  favour  and  power.  The  first, 
Esme  Stewart,  Lord  of  Aubigne  in 
France,  was  the  son  of  a  brother  of 
old  Lennox,  the  father  of  Henry 
Darnley.  For  him  the  earldom  of 
Lennox  was  converted  into  a  duke- 
dom, and  he  is  henceforth  known 
under  this  title.  The  second  was  a 
son  of  Lord  Ochiltree,  and  there- 
fore brother  of  John  Knox's  widow. 
He  soon  became  Earl  of  Arran,  and 
is  henceforth  known  as  such.  As 
Mr  Burton  truly  says,  "  The  rapid 
fluctuation  of  titles  at  this  period  is 
apt  to  perplex  the  reader,  unless  he 
is  careful  to  keep  the  individuality  of 
their  owners  in  remembrance.  We 
have  had  two  conspicuous  Lennoxes ; 
here  is  another  Arran,  and  presently 
there  will  come  another  Both  well." 
James  resigned  himself  to  the  in- 
fluence of  these  favourites ;  and  to 
their  intrigues  was  due  the  final  fall 
of  Morton,  whose  power  had  been 
for  some  time  tottering.  He  was 
accused  before  the  King  and  Council 
of  having  been  accessory  to  the 
murder  of  Darnley,  seized  and  im- 
prisoned, and  at  last,  on  the  2d  of 


June,  beheaded.  We  confess  to  a 
sincere  regret  for  Morton's  fate. 
Harsh  as  had  been  his  own  exercise 
of  power,  and  uninteresting  as  his 
character  is  in  some  respects,  he  had 
been  of  real  service  to  Scotland  in 
quelling  its  disturbances,  if  nothing 
else.  He  had  followed  up  the 
strong,  and,  on  the  whole,  the  just 
policy  of  Murray,  and  deserved  bet- 
ter of  his  country  than  to  be  put 
to  death  as  a  malefactor.  Murray, 
Lennox,  Morton — all  within  twelve 
years — had  come  to  a  violent  end. 
Of  the  succession  of  Regents,  Mai- 
alone  had  died  in  his  bed.  Xo 
wonder  that  the  English  ambassa- 
dor,* somewhat  in  apprehensions  of 
his  own  life,  should  write  to  AVal- 
singham  :  "  Your  honour  knoweth 
what  a  barbarous  nation  this  is. 
It  is  an  easy  matter  to  kill 
one  out  of  a  window  or  door,  and 
no  man  able  to  discover  who  did  it. 
Even  their  regents  and  kings  have 
been  subject  to  their  violence." 

At  Morton's  death  James  was 
only  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  little 
qualified  to  assume  the  reins  of  gov- 
ernment. There  was  an  alarm  in 
England  as  well  as  Scotland  as  to 
the  influence  of  Lennox.  Elizabeth 
sent  not  only  Bowes  but  Randolph 
to  inquire  and  report  as  to  the  state 
of  affairs.  But  the  Scottish  nobles 
took  matters  into  their  own  hands 
after  their  usual  fashion.  They 
possessed  themselves,  by  the  Raid  of 
Ruthven,  of  the  person  of  the  King, 
and  drove  Lennox  from  the  country. 
For  ten  months  the  "Ruthven  lords" 
held  possession  of  the  King  and 
supremacy  in  the  nation,  when  a 
counter-revolution  swept  them  away. 
Of  this  counter-revolution  Arran 
was  the  moving  spirit ;  and  James, 
having  passed  under  his  control, 
took  vengeance  against  those  who 
had  roughly  handled  his  anointed, 
person,  by  expatriating  them,  and 
confiscating  their  estates.  A  little 


*  Wotton. 


1871.] 


Concluding  Volumes. 


801 


while  afterwards,  and  the  "banished 
lords,"  by  the  help  of  England,  had 
their  turn,  and  Arran  fled  "  with  a 
follower  or  two  "  towards  the  High- 
lands. This  secondary  period  of 
revolution  may  be  said  to  close  with 
the  formation  of  the  league  with 
England,  which  received  the  ratifi- 
cation of  the  Estates  in  1585.  Such 
a  compact  was  the  natural  termina- 
tion of  the  turn  which  Scotch  poli- 
tics had  taken  since  the  Reforma- 
tion, and  the  growing  influence  of 
England  in  directing  them.  Still, 
however,  the  ancient  alliance  with 
France  remained  not  only  fresh  in 
the  mind  of  the  nation,  but  a  source 
of  proud  recollection ;  and  security 
was  taken,  in  contracting  the  new 
alliance,  that  the  old  should  not  be 
forgotten.  The  league  with  Eng- 
land was  to  "  be  without  infringing 
or  prejudice  in  any  sort  to  any  for- 
mer league  or  alliance  betwixt  this 
realm  and  any  other  auld  friends 
and  confederates  thereof,  except  only 
in  matters  of  religion,  whereanent 
we  do  fully  consent  the  league  be 
defensive  and  offensive."* 

During  the  next  three  years  the 
historical  narrative  finds  all  its  in- 
terest beyond  Scotland  in  the  great 
events  of  Mary's  trial  and  execution, 
and  the  loss  of  the  Spanish  Armada. 
Mr  Burton  wisely  veils  the  last  sad 
scene  of  the  tragedy  at  Fotheringhay, 
which  must  ever  excite  deep  feeling. 
The  event  itself  belongs  to  English 
rather  than  Scottish  history,  and  had 
less  influence  upon  Scotland  than 
has  been  generally  supposed.  There 
is  no  evidence  of  the  often-repeated 
assertion  that  a  reaction  had  taken 
place  there  in  favour  of  Mary  Stuart, 
and  that  the  news  of  her  death 
awakened  a  desire  of  vengeance 
against  England.  According  to  Mr 
Burton,  "  Her  partisans,  a  feeble 
minority,  had  been  dropping  into  the 
grave,  and  their  cause  was  not  of  a 


kind  that  gains  recruits.  No  doubt, 
of  her  old,  faithful,  and  assured  par- 
tisans, many  there  were  to  whom 
her  death  was  an  event  full  of  bit- 
terness and  grief;  but  for  the  bulk 
of  the  nation  to  demand  that  she 
should  be  succoured,  or,  when  that 
had  become  impossible,  avenged, 
would  have  been  to  quarrel  with 
Elizabeth  for  doing  in  her  own  quar- 
rel what  they  would  have  done  in 
theirs  had  the  opportunity  fallen  to 
them." 

When,  eighteen  months  after  Queen 
Mary's  execution,  the  Spanish  Ar- 
mada entered  the  Channel,  there 
was  far  more  excitement  in  Scot- 
land. "  The  Presbyterian  clergy 
were  in  a  state  of  intense  activ- 
ity, holding  numerous  meetings  and 
passing  resolutions.  The  Band  or 
Covenant  of  1581  was  renewed,  and 
signed  all  over  the  land,  receiving 
in  many  instances  the  names  of  un- 
willing subscribers.  A  survey  or 
census  was  taken  of  the  amount  of 
Popery  still  in  Scotland ;  it  brought 
out  alarming  results  in  the  north- 
eastern district  under  the  influence 
of  the  Gordons.  A  general  fast  was 
appointed  for  the  purpose  of  averting 
the  sufferings  and  dangers  of  the 
land  from  the  following  causes : — 
'The  universal  conspiracies  of  the 
enemies  of  the  truth  against  Christ's 
Kirk,  to  put  in  execution  the  bloody 
determination  of  the  Council  of  Trent; 
2.  The  flocking  home  of  Jesuits  and 
Papists  to  subvert  the  Kirk  within 
this  country;  3.  The  defection  of  a 
great  number  from  the  truth ;  4.  The 
conspiracies  intended  against  the 
same  by  great  men,  entertainers  of 
Jesuits  and  Papists;  5.  The  cold- 
ness of  professors ;  6.  The  wreck  of 
the  patrimony  of  the  Kirk,  abun- 
dance of  bloodshed,  adulteries,  in- 
cest, and  all  kinds  of  iniquity.' " 
There  was  a  natural  fear  that 
some  of  the  dreaded  fleet  might 


Act.  Parl.,  vol.  iii.  p.  381. 


VOL.  CIX. NO.  DCLXVI1T. 


3  i 


802 


Burton's  History  of  Scotland  : 


[June 


find  their  way  to  the  Scottish 
coast,  and  land  troops,  to  which  no 
effective  resistance  could  be  made. 
As  it  turned  out,  a  vessel,  not  of  the 
great  fleet  itself,  but  containing  some 
of  its  crew  who  had  been  wrecked 
among  the  Orkney  Islands,  was  cast 
on  the  Fife  coast  at  Anstruther ; 
but  as  James  Melville,  then  min- 
ister of  this  ancient  burgh,  signifi- 
cantly says  in  his  diary,  they  came 
not  "  to  give  mercy,  but  to  ask." 
Melville's  account  of  the  reception 
of  the  Spaniards  is  very  quaint  and 
interesting,  and  has  been  more  or 
less  utilised  by  all  historians  of  the 
event.  He  describes  the  captain  as 
"  a  very  reverend  man,  of  big  stature 
and  grave  and  stout  countenance, 
grey-bearded,  and  very  humble-like, 
after  meikle  and  very  low  courtesy, 
bowing  down  with  his  face  near  the 
ground,  and  touching  my  shoe  with 
his  hand."  He  made  known  his  sad 
plight,  and  was  with  his  crew  hos- 
pitably entertained.  As  yet  he  knew 
nothing  of  the  general  calamity  which 
had  befallen  the  Armada ;  but  one 
day  Melville  brought  him  a  news- 
sheet  from  St  Andrews,  "  with  the 
names  of  the  principal  men,  and  how 
they  were  used  in  Ireland  and  our 
Highlands,  in  Wales  and  other  parts 
of  England ;  the  whilk  when  I  re- 
corded to  Jan  Gomez  (the  captain) 
by  particular  and  special  names,  oh, 
then  he  cried  out  for  grief,  bursted, 
and  grat." 

In  1587  James  attained  his  ma- 
jority, and  his  thoughts  began  to 
turn  to  marriage.  He  entertained 
the  matter  very  gravely,  and  even 
made  it  a  subject  of  "  advising  and 
praying  with  God  the  space  of 
fifteen  days,"  after  which  he  inform- 
ed his  Council  that  "he  was  resolved 
to  marry  in  Denmark."  *  He  not 
only  made  this  resolution,  but  he 
carried  it  out,  by  sailing  himself  in 
search  of  the  Danish  princess,  who, 
after  being  married  by  proxy,  and 


setting  out  to  join  her  husband,  had 
been  obliged  by  stress  of  weather 
to  take  refuge  in  a  Norwegian  port. 
He  accomplished  his  purpose,  and 
overtook  his  bride  at  TJpsala  on  the 
19th  of  November,  t  when  we  are 
told  that  "his  majesty  minded  to 
give  the  Queen  a  kiss,  after  the 
Scots  fashion,  at  meeting,  whilk  she 
refused,  as  not  being  the  form  of 
her  country.  After  a  few  words 
privily  spoken  betwixt  his  majesty 
and  her,  there  passed  familiarity  and 
kisses."  This  was  the  single  romance 
of  James's  life,  and  deserves  all  the 
prominence  which  its  gallant  eccen- 
tricity claims  for  it. 

It  is  unnecessary  for  us  to  trace 
in  detail  the  remaining  political 
incidents  of  James's  reign  in  Scot- 
land. From  about  this  time,  in  fact, 
political  interest  may  be  said  to 
merge  in  the  ecclesiastical  life  of  the 
country.  Notwithstanding  the  in- 
tense force  and  influence  of  the  Be- 
formation  in  1560,  the  question  of 
the  Church  had  not  been  hitherto 
all-engrossing.  N"ot  a  little  of  the 
old  feudal  activity  had  remained, 
crossed  and  modified  by  powerful 
currents  of  religious  enthusiasm,  yet 
still  surviving  in  its  distinctive 
features.  But  onwards  from  the 
establishment  of  Presbytery  in  1592, 
Scottish  history  for  a  hundred  years 
becomes  almost  entirely  ecclesias- 
tical. The  influence  of  the  nobil- 
ity is  inextricably  mingled  up  with 
that  of  the  Kirk,  which  takes  the 
lead,  and  gives  the  colour  of  its 
own  thought  and  character  to  the 
national  life.  It  is  a  great  merit  of 
Mr  Burton's  History,  as  we  have 
already  stated,  that  he  has  so  clear- 
ly apprehended  this,  and  taken  the 
most  earnest  pains  to  understand 
the  real  spirit  of  the  religious  con- 
flicts which  henceforth  moved  Scot- 
land, and  the  stern  enthusiasm  bred 
of  which  in  the  next  century  not 
only  dominated  it,  but  was  destined 


*  Sir  James  Melville's  Memoirs. 


t  1589. 


1871.] 


Concluding  Volumes. 


803 


for  a  time  to  exercise  such  a  decisive 
•effect  upon  England.  We  must 
glance  at  his  way  of  dealing  with  this 
part  of  his  subject ;  but  before  pass- 
ing to  it,  it  is  due  to  him  to  give  in 
some  detail  the  sketch  of  King  James 
•which  closes  the  narrative  of  his 
'Scottish  reign,  and  ushers  him  upon 
the  scene  of  his  English  sovereignty. 
It  is  a  very  good  specimen  of  the 
broad  humorous  sense  and  manly 
feeling  with  which  Mr  Burton  seizes 
and  presents  character  throughout 
his  work.  The  lines  might  perhaps 
be  more  finely  drawn,  and  the  whole 
picture  more  skilfully  compacted; 
but  faithfulness  and  veracity  of  out- 
line, with  the  expressiveness  of  a 
real  if  rough  insight,  are,  after  all, 
better  in  an  historian  than  mere 
finish  of  art. 

"  The  nature  of  the  man  [James]  is  one 
•that  can  best  be  described  after  the  Plu- 
tarchian  method,  hy  contrast,  and  the  con- 
trast shall  be  in  this  case  with  his  mother. 
She  has  been  renowned  over  the  world  for 
her  wondrous  beauty ;  and  if  it  were  not 
that  the  world,  in  the  things  it  dwells  on 
and  celebrates,  prefers  grace  to  deformity, 
the  son's  ugliness  might  have  been  as 
widely  renowned.  It  was  a  common  tra- 
dition that  Rizzio  was  uncomely  and  mis- 
shapen ;  and  the  recollection  of  this  gave 
emphasis  to  the  taunt  that  he  was  '  the 
son  of  the  Senior  Davie' — a  taunt  so 
much  on  the  lips  of  that  numerous  body 
in  Scotland  who  disliked  their  King,  that 
it  cannot  but  sometimes  have  come  to  his 
ear.  His  mother's  beauty  was  adorned 
by  natural  dignity ;  she  was  fully  en- 
dowed with  the  repose  and  self-assurance 
•which  are  in  becoming  harmony  with 
rank  and  power.  The  son,  on  the  other 
hand,  seemed  ever  to  find  it  necessary  to 
remind  the  world  by  word  or  deed  that  he 
was  every  inch  a  king ;  he  was  as  fussy 
and  pompous  in  expanding  his  rank  and 
power  before  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar  as  the 
bourgeois  gentllhomtnc  of  Moliere.  Queen 
Mary  had  learning  and  accomplishments, 
but  they  lay  stored  aside  for  important  use. 
As  she  drew  on  them  for  help  when  she 
was  throwing  the  bondage  of  her  fascina- 
tions over  any  victim,  pedantic  display 
was  not  the  shape  in  which  they  would 
serve  her  ;  and  for  the  more  serious  busi- 
ness of  a  sovereign  it  was  her  policy  not 
to  seem  learned  above  the  usage  of  her 
sex,  but  yet  to  have  the  knowledge  by 


which  she  could  defend  herself  at  hand  in 
case  of  need.  All  the  world  knows  what 
a  bragging  pedant  the  son  was,  and  how 
he  held  his  learning  ever  on  his  tongue, 
as  one  whose  mind  had  been  fed  with 
meats  too  strong  for  its  digestion.  So  it 
was  in  the  use  of  duplicity.  Perhaps  no 
one  in  that  age  could  handle  it  with 
such  easy  subtlety  as  Queen  Mary,  and 
that  because  she  kept  it  for  important 
occasions,  and  even  then  concealed  it 
under  that  genial  frankness  which  seemed 
to  be  not  a  mask  but  the  natural  face 
of  her  life.  The  son,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  ever  playing  tricks,  by  way 
of  exercising  himself  in  that  chronic 
system  of  mendacity  and  deception 
which  he  chose  to  nourish  as  kingcraft. 
Even  iu.  the  evil  repute  that  haunted 
both,  there  was  the  antithesis  of  the 
sublime  and  the  ridiculous.  The  charges 
against  the  mother  were  of  those  great 
appalling  crimes  which  frighten  man- 
kind ;  yet  they  had  to  be  sought  out 
under  a  covering  of  calm  decorum  and 
gentle  elegance,  such  as  might  become 
unsullied  virtue.  Her  son,  on  the  other 
hand,  wallowed  in  filth,  moral  and  physi- 
cal. His  Court  was  the  crew  of  Momus, 
without  the  seductive  cup  of  Circe,  that 
was  employed  to  sink  better  natures  to 
the  level  of  its  degradation.  To  whoever 
approached  it,  the  eye  and  nostrils  told 
of  the  abomination  before  he  entered  ; 
and  he  made  his  election  in  full  con- 
sciousness of  what  it  was.  The  meanness 
of  those  about  him,  his  loathsome  famili- 
arities with  them,  his  diseased  curiosity 
about  the  things  that  rightly-tempered 
minds  only  approach  at  the  bidding  of 
necessity  and  duty,  his  propensity  to 
touch  and  stir  whatever  was  rank  and 
offensive,  afforded  to  his  malignant  ene- 
mies the  range  over  the  whole  scale  of 
sensual  vices  as  their  armoury.  And  yet 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  not 
an  unfaithful  husband,  and  that  his  only 
personal  vice  was  in  the  bottle.  Yet, 
although  his  indulgence  in  drinking  was, 
like  the  other  offences  of  his  habits,  not 
only  undraped  by  any  outward  cover  of 
decorum,  but  in  a  manner  profusely 
thrust  on  the  gaze  of  all  men,  it  appears 
to  have  been  superficial  rather  than  deep ; 
he  seems  to  have  indulged  in  continuous 
soaking,  after  the  German  fashion,  rather 
than,  after  the  manner  of  his  own  coun- 
trymen, to  have  reserved  his  powers  for 
deep  drinking-bouts.  Scotland,  as  a 
poorer  and  ruder  country  than  England, 
was  naturally  more  tolerant  of  so  grotesque 
a  figure.  His  oddities,  too,  had  grown 
up  among  the  Scots  ;  and  as  they  were  to 
some  extent  moulded  on  national  char- 
acteristics, they  were  naturally  not  so 


804 


Burton's  History  of  Scotland  : 


[June- 


obvious  and  offensive  to  his  own  country- 
men as  to  the  people  of  his  new  dominion. 
Thus,  although  he  had  many  enemies 
among  his  Scottish  subjects,  it  is  not 
until  his  oddities  passed  under  the  eye  of 
the  English  wits  of  the  day  that  we  find 
them  described  with  sarcastic  picturesque- 
ness.  Among  the  many  sketches  of  these, 
perhaps  the  most  powerful  is  the  follow- 
ing from  the  stinging  pen  of  Sir  Anthony 
Weldon.  It  may  be  doubted  if  there  is 
in  the  English  language  a  more  thoroughly 
finished  picture  of  a  shambling  lout  : — 
'  He  was  of  a  middle  stature,  more  corpu- 
lent through  his  clothes  than  in  his  body, 
yet  fat  enough  ;  his  clothes  ever  being 
made  large  and  easy,  the  doublets  quilted 
for  stiletto-proof;  his  breeches  in  great 
plaits  and  full  stuffed.  He  was  naturally 
of  a  timid  disposition,  which  was  the 
greatest  reason  of  his  quilted  doublets. 
His  eyes  large,  ever  rolling  after  any 
stranger  came  in  his  presence,  inasmuch  as 
many  for  shame  have  left  the  room,  being 
out  of  countenance.  His  beard  was  very 
thin  ;  his  tongue  too  large  for  his  mouth, 
which  ever  made  him  speak  full  in  the 
mouth,  and  made  him  drink  very  uncome- 
ly, as  if  eating  his  drink,  which  came  out 
into  the  cup  on  each  side  of  his  mouth. 
His  skin  was  as  soft  as  taffeta  sarcenet, 
which  felt  so  because  he  never  washed  his 
hands — only  rubbed  his  finger-ends  slight- 
ly with  the  wet  end  of  a  napkin.  His 
legs  were  very  weak,  having  had,  as  was 
thought,  some  foul  play  in  his  youth,  or 
rather  before  he  was  born,  that  he  was 
not  able  to  stand  at  seven  years  of  age — 
that  weakness  made  him  ever  leaning  on 
other  men's  shoulders.  His  walk  was 
ever  circular,  his  fingers  ever  in  that  walk 
fiddling  about  his  codpiece.  He  was  very 
temperate  in  his  exercises  and  in  his  diet, 
and  not  intemperate  in  his  drinking  : 
however,  in  his  old  age,  and  Bucking- 
ham's jovial  suppers,  when  he  had  any 
turn  to  do  with  him,  made  him  sometimes 
overtaken,  which  he  would  the  veiy  next 
day  remember  and  repent  with  tears.  It 
is  true  he  drank  very  often,  which  was 
rather  out  of  a  custom  than  any  delight ; 
and  his  drinks  were  of  that  kind  for 
strength,  as  frontenac,  canary,  high- 
country  wine,  tent,  and  strong  ale,  that 
had  he  not  had  a  very  strong  brain  might 
have  daily  been  overtaken,  although  he 
seldom  drank  at  any  time  above  four 
spoonfuls,  many  times  not  above  one  or 
'  two.  ...  In  his  diet,  apparel,  and 
journeys  he  was  very  constant.  In  his 
apparel  so  constant,  as  by  his  goodwill 
he  would  never  change  his  clothes  till  al- 
most worn  out  to  rags — his  fashion  never ; 


insomuch  as  one  bringing  to  him  a  hat  of 
a  Spanish  block,  he  cast  it  from  him,, 
swearing  he  neither  loved  them  nor  their 
fashions. ' "  * 

The  foundations  of  the  Church 
of  Scotland  were  laid  as  it  were  in 
one  day.  On  the  morning  of  the 
25th  of  August  1560  the  Roman 
hierarchy  was  supreme  ;  in  the  even- 
ing of  the  same  day  Calvinistic  Pro- 
testantism was  established  in  its- 
stead.  This  result,  however,  wa&- 
the  issue  of  a  series  of  events  which 
had  been  advancing  for  some  years. 
The  Eeformed  party,  known  as  the 
Congregation,  had  been  gradually 
gaining  ground  ;  and  when  the 
Queen-Dowager,  Mary  of  Lorraine, 
who  had  headed  the  opposition  to 
them,  sickened  and  died  at  Leith 
on  the  10th  of  June  of  the  same 
year — "wearied  with  anxieties" — 
there  was  no  life  left  in  the  Papal 
cause,  and  the  whole  fabric  perished 
at  a  stroke.  The  Estates  met  in 
August ;  a  Confession  of  Faith  was 
prepared  at  their  request  in  the  space 
of  four  days,  considered  by  the  Lords 
of  the  Articles,  and  finally  approved 
of  on  the  17th  as  "hailsorne  and 
sound  doctrine,  grounded  upon  the 
infallible  truth  of  God's  Word."  Of 
all  present  there  were  only  three 
temporal  lords — Atholl,  Sornerville, 
and  Borthwick — who  expressed  any 
dissent.  "  They  would  believe," 
they  said,  "  as  their  forefathers  had 
believed."  "  The  Bischopis  spak  na- 
thing."  On  the  25th  the  Papal 
system  was  formally  overthrown, 
and  the  administration  of  the  mass 
made  punishable,  in  the  last  resort, 
by  death. 

But  while  the  old  Church  was  thus 
destroyed,  and  the  Reformed  doctrine 
approved  and  legalised,  there  was 
as  yet,  properly  speaking,  no  new 
Church  set  up  or  established.  The 
Protestants  had  presented  to  Parlia- 
ment a  new  ecclesiastical  policy  and 
discipline,  as  well  as  a  new  creed. 


Vol.  vl  p.  159-163. 


1871.] 


Concluding  Volumes. 


805 


They  desired  that  the  one  as  well  as 
the  other  should  become  the  law  of 
the  land.  But  the  '  First  Book  of 
Discipline '  encountered  a  very  dif- 
ferent reception  from  the  'Confes- 
sion of  Faith  and  Doctrine.'  The 
Protestant  nobles  and  lairds  were 
ready  enough  to  denounce  Popery, 
and  even  to  accept  the  Calvinistic 
doctrines.  But  those  who  were  most 
willing  to  co-operate  in  the  work  of 
destruction,  and  who  made  little 
scruple  in  subscribing  "propositions 
of  theological  metaphysics,"  were  by 
no  means  forward  to  assist  in  the 
erection  of  a  new  ecclesiastical  sys- 
tem. A  Confession  of  Faith  was 
one  thing ;  a  policy  which  affected 
not  only  their  faith  but  their  prac- 
tice was  quite  a  different  thing. 
Accordingly,  the  '  First  Book  of 
Discipline' never  became  law.  Some 
approved  of  it,  and  would  have  glad- 
ly seen  it  made  legal ;  but  Maitland 
was  ready  with  a  sneer,  and  others 
stood  aloof,  and  even  denounced  the 
proposals  which  it  contained  as 
"devout imaginations."  Knox him- 
self relates  this  in  his  characteristic 
style,  with  some  caustic  hits  at  the 
greed  of  the  nobles,  especially  Lord 
Erskine,  "the  chief  great  man  that 
had  professed  Jesus  Christ  and  re- 
fused to  subscribe  the  '  Book  of  Dis- 
cipline.' "  But  "no  wonder,"  he  adds, 
savagely  ;  "  for,  besides  that  he  has 
a  very  Jezebel  to  his  wife,  if  the 
poor,  the  schools,  and  the  ministry 
of  the  Kirk  had  their  own,  his  reckin 
wauld  lose  two  parts  and  more  of 
that  which  he  unjustly  now  pos- 
sesses."* The  '  Book  of  Discipline ' 
had  assumed  the  necessity  of  en- 
dowing not  only  the  Protestant 
clergy,  but  the  schools  and  univer- 
sities— a  necessity  which  involved 
the  restitution  of  at  least  a  portion 
of  the  Church's  property.  This  was 
deemed  something  too  preposterous 
•even  to  be  reasoned  about  by  those 
who  had  laid  hands  on  that  property. 


To  do  the  Scottish  nobles  justice, 
they  made  no  hypocritical  pretences. 
Their  selfish  rapacity  stands  forth 
undisguised.  They  would  keep 
what  they  had  got.  And  so  the 
scheme  was  indefinitely  postponed; 
and  Knox's  wise  designs  for  the 
good  of  the  Church  and  of  educa- 
tion were  unhappily  frustrated. 

JSTor  was  any  progress  made  for 
years  in  the  establishment  of  a  defi- 
nite Church  policy.  During  Mary's 
reign  the  Acts  legalising  the  Re- 
formed doctrine  remained  without 
royal  sanction ;  and  the  new  order 
of  things  held  its  ground,  not  so 
much  by  legitimate  authority  as  by 
the  strength  of  its  supporters.  In 
the  crisis  of  her  fate — the  spring  of 
1567 — she  gave  her  ratification  to 
the  state  of  religion  which  she  found 
in  Scotland  on  her  arrival.  And  on 
Murray's  acceptance  of  the  Eegency, 
and  the  crowning  of  the  infant 
James  in  the  same  year,  the  royal 
assent  was  formally  extended  to  the 
Reformation  in  a  remarkable  oath 
which  the  Earl  of  Morton  as  sponsor 
for  the  infant  took  in  his  name. 
From  this  time  only  can  the  Protes- 
tant religion  be  said  to  have  been 
fairly  established  in  Scotland,  while 
a  legally  -  recognised  Presbyterian 
Church  was  still  in  the  distance. 
The  Protestant  clergy  had  hitherto 
exercised  authority  rather  in  virtue 
of  their  character  and  political  posi- 
tion than  as  functionaries  of  an  Es- 
tablished Church.  But  hencefor- 
wards  they  extended  and  organised 
their  social  and  religious  as  well  as 
political  activity.  Witches  began 
to  be  looked  after ;  a  censorship 
was  put  upon  the  press  ;  and  offend- 
ers against  the  laws  of  morality  and 
the  Church  were  exposed  to  public 
penance  "bare-headed  and  bare- 
footed in  linen  clothes,"  as  a  con- 
dition of  readmission  to  its  bosom. 
With  one  class  of  offenders,  however, 
all  the  power  of  the  Protestant 


History,  vol.  ii.  p.  128. 


806 


Burton's  History  of  Scotland  : 


[June- 


spirituality  was  still  ineffectual. 
Although  the  Privy  Council,  in  the 
autumn  of  1566,  had  authorised  the 
claims  of  the  ministers  to  the  "Thirds 
of  Benefices,"  and  the  Parliament  of 
1567  had  acknowledged,  and  even 
proposed  to  take  means  to  enforce, 
their  rights,  they  continued  in  great 
part  defrauded  of  them.  Even  with 
the  law  on  their  side,  the  clergy  pos- 
sessed no  practical  means  for  carry- 
ing it  into  effect.  For  any  zeal  in 
the  Befornied  cause  the  powerful 
appropriators  of  the  ecclesiastical 
funds  might  be  reckoned  on  (for 
where  otherwise  would  have  been 
their  interest  in  these  funds  1) — but 
when  it  was  seriously  proposed  "  to 
deliver  over  to  the  true  Church 
what  had  been  taken  from  idolaters," 
they  were  firm  as  fate.  And  this 
notwithstanding  the  extent  to  which 
the  "  lay  interest,"  as  it  has  been 
called,  was  represented  in  the  Scot- 
tish Church.  From  the  beginning 
certain  persons  of  reputed  charac- 
ter and  position,  but  without  any 
clerical  function,  were  associated 
with  the  clergy,  and  exercised  co- 
ordinate powers  with  them  in  their 
Assemblies.  This  appears  on  the 
face  of  it  a  highly  popular  and 
liberal  feature  in  the  ecclesiastical 
constitution  of  Scotland,  and  is  to 
this  day  often  exhibited  in  this 
light.  But  when  more  closely 
looked  at,  the  liberal  character  of 
the  arrangement  disappears,  as  Mr 
Burton  points  out  in  one  of  those 
passages  which  show  his  higher  in- 
sight into  the  meaning  of  Church 
affairs  in  Scotland,  and  places  him 
above  mere  official  or  Church  his- 
torians. "No  doubt,"  he  says, 
"  ruling  elders  are  laymen  elected 
by  laymen ;  but  all  who  are  elected 
in  the  higher  courts  must  belong  to 
the  guild  of  eldership,  and  that 
guild  is  created  by  the  clergy. 
Every  one  who  sits  at  the  table  of 


the  kirk-session — the  fundamental 
Presbyterian  court — has  been  or- 
dained to  the  eldership  by  a  clergy- 
man ;  and  whatever  he  may  turn 
afterwards  to  be,  he  must  have  en- 
tertained principles  acceptable  to 
his  ordainer.  Those  so  ordained, 
too,  have  subscribed  the  articles  of 
faith  and  discipline  peculiar  to  the 
Church.  All  this  is  something  very 
different  from  the  election  of  lay- 
men at  large  to  sit  in  ecclesiastical 
courts,  as  the  constituencies  elect 
members  of  Parliament  or  of  a  cor- 
poration. As  of  other  institutions- 
connected  with  the  Church,  the 
features  of  this  may  be  traced  in 
the  institutions  of  the  French 
Huguenots,  who  guarded  it  even 
more  strictly  than  the  Scots  from 
any  disturbing  element." 

Deprived  as  the  Church  was  of 
its  temporal  rights,  it  made  steady 
progress  during  all  the  revolutions 
which  filled  up  the  space  betwixt 
the  close  of  Morton's  Eegency  and 
the  marriage  of  James.  There  were 
still  complaints  that  the  "  preaching 
pastors  "  were  left  without  adequate 
provision,  while  such  funds  as  fell  to- 
the  Church  found  their  way  into 
the  hands  of  "  dumb  dogs,"  as  Mor- 
ton's titular  bishops,  known  deris- 
ively as  "  Tulchans,"  *  were  called. 
But  amidst  poverty  and  turmoil  the 
cause  of  Presbytery  upon  the  whole 
advanced,  and  its  form  of  worship 
and  government  became  more  set- 
tled. Our  author  has  sketched  the 
"organisation  of  the  Church  "in  the 
opening  of  his  fifth  volume ;  and 
although  the  chapter  contains  noth- 
ing absolutely  new,  it  sets  the  sub- 
ject, at  least  in  some  of  its  features, 
in  a  more  interesting  light  than  it 
has  ever  yet  been  presented  to  the 
general  reader.  He  explains  every- 
where the  close  historical  connection 
between  the  Scottish  Church  and 
the  type  of  "  Eeformed,"  or,  as  he 


*  "  Tulchan,"  an  old  Scotch  word,  of  unknown  origin,  was  applied  to  a  stuffed  calf's 
skin  set  before  a  recently- calved  cow,  in  order,  as  it  was  supposed,  that  she  might  give 
her  milk  more  freely. 


1871.] 


Concluding  Volumes. 


807 


calls  it,  "Huguenot"  Protestantism, 
from  which  it  sprang.  Its  worship 
was  in  the  main  liturgical,  just  like 
that  of  the  Genevan  or  the  Protest- 
ant Church  of  France  at  the  present 
day.  "When  the  Lords  of  the  Con- 
gregation were  first  able  to  indulge 
their  wishes  as  to  a  new  mode  of 
worship,  they  agreed  "  that  the  com- 
mon prayer  be  read  in  the  parish 
churches  on  the  Sunday,  with  the 
lessons  of  the  New  and  Old  Testa- 
ment, conform  to  the  order  of  the 
'  Book  of  Common  Prayer.' "  There 
can  be  no  reasonable  doubt  that  this 
'  Book  of  Common  Prayer '  was  the 
English  Liturgy  of  Edward  VI. 
But  as  soon  as  the  Eeformation  was 
completed,  the  English  Liturgy  was 
superseded  by  the  adoption  of  '  The 
Book  of  Common  Ordour,  called 
the  Ordour  of  Geneva,'  commonly 
known  as  John  Knox's  Liturgy — 
the  curious  history  of  which  at 
Frankfort  and  Geneva  is  known 
to  all  students  of  the  Reformation. 
This  book  is  in  some  respects — the 
Confession  of  Sins,  for  example,  with 
which  it  opens — a  literal  translation 
of  the  Huguenot  Prayer-Book,  and 
in  other  respects  closely  resembles 
it.  One  particular  of  similarity, 
which  later  practice  has  entirely 
departed  from,  may  be  mentioned. 
Not  only  were  Baptism  and  the 
Lord's  Supper  to  be  administered  in 
public  before  the  congregation,  but 
marriage  evidently  was  also  esteemed 
in  both  Churches  a  part  of  public 
worship.  In  the  Scots  form  of 
marriage  it  is  directed  that  "the 
parties  assemble  at  the  beginning  of 
the  sermon,"  and  marriages  as  well  as 
baptisms  were  to  be  celebrated  only 
on  Sundays;*  and  even  after  per- 
mission was  given  to  many  on  a 


"  ferial "  or  ordinary  week-day,  it  was 
required  that  a  sufficient  number  be 
present,  and  "preaching  joined  there- 
to." The  '  Book  of  Common  Order ' 
maintained  its  ground  till  the 
troublesome  times  when  Charles 
and  Laud  sought  to  enforce  a 
new  service-book  upon  Scotland. 
It  may  be  too  much  to  say  that 
its  use  was  invariable,  but  there 
can  be  no  doubt  whatever  that 
the  reading  of  prayers  was  not 
only  authorised  but  generally  prac- 
tised in  Scotland  till  nearly  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
when  an  extreme  party,  known  from 
another  cause  as  the  Protesters,  began 
to  "  discountenance  read  prayers," 
and  to  "  scunner  at  the  Lord's  Prayer 
and  Belief."t 

Scottish  Protestantism  recalls  its 
French  origin  in  some  minor  matters 
of  interest  described  by  Mr  Burton. 
The  significant  symbol  of  the  burn- 
ing bush,  in  allusion  to  the  bush 
which  Moses  beheld  burning  but 
unconsumed,  was  a  favourite  among 
the  early  Huguenots.  Farther  he 
says,  "The  term  Moderator  was 
peculiar  to  the  French  Protestant 
Churches,  as  applied  to  the  chair- 
man or  president  selected  by  each 
ecclesiastical  assembly  or  meeting, 
whether  great  or  small.  The  term 
is  familiar  to  every  one  in  Scotland 
as  of  time-honoured  use  for  the  same 
purpose.  J  Any  piece  of  business  of 
the  General  Assembly  and  the  other 
Presbyterian  courts  in  Scotland  is 
opened  by  an  '  overture,'  the  direct 
descendant  of  a  solemn  form  in 
the  French  Parliaments.  On  the 
occasion  of  the  administration  of  the 
sacrament,  there  is  to  this  day,  in 
each  of  our  Presbyterian  communi- 
ties, an  address,  which  is  called  the 


*  Booke  of  the  Universal  Kirk,  vol.  i.  p.  114. 

t  Baillie  —  quoted  in  the  Introduction  to  the  'Book  of  Common  Order  of  the 
Church  of  Scotland,'  &c.,  by  the  Rev.  George  W.  Sprott,  B.A. — an  admirable  volume, 
deserving  the  attention  of  all  students  of  Scottish  ecclesiastical  history. 

£  A  Moderator  seems  to  have  been  first  formally  appointed  in  the  sixth  General 
Assembly,  25th  December — "for  avoiding  confusion  in  reasoning." — Booke  of  the 
Universal  Kirk,  p.  7. 


808 


Burton's  History  of  Scotland  : 


[June 


'  Action  Sermon.'  The  name  stands 
by  itself,  unconnected  with  anything 
in  our  own  language  or  customs  that 
can  explain  it.  Its  origin  will 
not  easily  occur  except  to  one  famil- 
iar with  the  Huguenot  prayer-books, 
in  which  he  will  find,  occupying  a 
similar  position,  the  'Action  des 
Graces  (de  Grace) '  or  thanksgiving." 
The  main  distinction  between 
the  Scottish  and  French  Eeformed 
Churches  in  their  first  formation 
relates  to  a  point  which  the  sub- 
sequent history  of  the  religious 
struggles  in  Scotland  would  hardly 
lead  us  to  expect.  The  Church  of 
the  Scottish  Reformation  preserved 
at  least  a  semblance  of  Episcopacy. 
This  much  must  be  admitted  by  all 
parties  without  stirring  the  embers 
of  an  old  controversy.  The  office 
of  superintendent  recognised  by 
the  '  First  Book  of  Discipline,'  and 
the  frequent  appointment  by  the 
first  Assemblies  of  commissioners 
and  visitors  "to  preach  and  plant 
kirks "  in  definite  districts,  proves 
beyond  question  that  there  was 
nothing  obnoxious  to  the  first  Re- 
formers in  the  essential  idea  of 
provincial  supervision  which  Epis- 
copacy involves.  In  the  face  of 
the  Convention  at  Leith,*  where 
the  Church  was  represented  by  such 
men  as  Erskine  of  Dun,  and  John 
Craig,  Knox's  colleague  in  Edin- 
burgh, it  is  hard  indeed  to  believe 
that  even  a  definite  Episcopal  gov- 
ernment would  have  been  unac- 
ceptable to  a  large  portion  of  the 
Scottish  ministers.  No  doubt,  how- 
ever, there  were  also  those,  and 
Knox  among  the  number,  who 
were  strongly  opposed  to  it.  And 
the  Presbyterian  party  was  greatly 
strengthened  in  1574  by  the  arrival 
of  Andrew  Melville,  the  best-known 
name,  after  that  of  Knox,  in  con- 
nection with  the  early  history  of 
the  Church  of  Scotland.  Melville 
was  at  once  a  great  scholar  and  a 


religious  enthusiast.  He  had  been 
trained  in  the  Paris  schools ;  lived 
with  Beza  and  Joseph  Scaliger 
at  Geneva ;  and  to  something  of 
"  the  fierce  fanaticism  of  the  Hu- 
guenots he  added  the  stern  clas- 
sical republicanism  of  Buchanan." 
He  was,  moreover,  a  man  of  ardent 
and  determined  spirit;  and  no 
sooner  had  he  reached  Scotland, 
and  been  appointed  Principal  of 
the  University  of  Glasgow,  than  his 
influence  began  to  tell  decisively 
upon  the  course  of  Church  affairs. 
He  was  in  the  main  the  author  of 
the  'Second  Book  of  Discipline,' 
and  the  real  founder  of  the  Pres- 
byterian Church  of  Scotland.  From 
him  until  the  present  day  may 
be  traced  a  succession  of  "  High 
Church"  Scottish  presbyters,  who 
have  stamped  their  influence  upon 
the  country,  and  given,  if  not  always 
the  predominating,  yet  the  most 
distinctive  character  to  its  ecclesi- 
astical activity.  The  '  Second  Book 
of  Discipline '  is  the  charter  of  this 
school.  It  contains  in  full  develop- 
ment all  those  principles  of  ecclesias- 
tical power,  "  different  and  distinct 
from  what  is  called  the  civil  power," 
which  lie  at  the  basis  of  all  High 
Church  theories,  whether  Prelatical 
or  Presbyterian.  The  book  itself 
is  a  singular  specimen  of  logical 
completeness,  in  strict  harmony 
with  the  principles  of  the  Huguenot 
discipline  adopted  at  the  first  na- 
tional synod  of  the  Reformed  Church, 
held  at  Paris  in  1559.  It  shows 
in  a  high  degree  that  love  of  sys- 
tem -  making  and  theoretical  con- 
clusiveness — which  so  often  breaks 
down  in  practice — in  which  the 
French  and  Scottish  intellects  re- 
semble each  other.  The  '  Second 
Book  of  Discipline'  was  finally 
adopted  by  the  Church  in  the 
spring  of  1581,  and  entered  in  its 
Acts,  to  remain  there  ad  perpetuam 
rei  memoriam.  And  after  various 


*  January  12,  1571. 


1871.] 


Concluding  Volumes. 


809 


changes,  and  even  a  reversion  in 
1584 — at  the  climax  of  Arran's 
power  —  to  a  distinct  Episcopal 
jurisdiction,  it  was  in  its  main  parts 
incorporated  in  the  great  Parlia- 
mentary enactment  of  1592,  by 
which  the  Presbyterian  Church  was 
established,  and  its  government  in 
assemblies,  general  and  provincial, 
presbyteries  and  sessions,  formally 
ratified  and  approved. 

From  this  epoch,  triumphant  as 
it  was,  the  course  of  Scottish  Pres- 
bytery was  far  from  smooth.  All 
its  sternest  struggles,  indeed,  were 
still  awaiting  it.  But  henceforth 
it  had  the  strength  of  deliber- 
ate law  on  its  side.  The  Act  of 
1592,  in  form  at  least,  was  a  very 
grave  and  well-considered  piece  of 
legislation,  as  it  remains  to  this  day 
the  Magna  Charta  of  the  Church  of 
Scotland,  and  the  fountain-head  of 
all  its  legislative  powers.  Yet,  ac- 
cording to  Mr  Burton,  this  great 
event  in  the  history  of  Presbytery 
is  not  very  intelligible  to  the  gen- 
eral reader.  It  stands,  he  says, 
"  in  an  isolated  shape,  without  suf- 
ficient preparation,  in  a  contest 
gained  by  the  one  party  and  lost 
by  the  other ;  while  it  is  equally 
without  result  —  the  progress  of 
events  and  the  condition  of  the 
country  showing  no  signs  of  so 
radical  a  •  religious  revolution." 
This  is  true,  looking  at  the  ex- 
ternal course  of  events,  but  hardly 
so  if  we  look  deeper.  The  legis- 
lative triumph  of  Presbytery  was 
but  of  short  duration,  and  the  series 
of  revolutions,  in  which  now  the 
Court  party  and  now  the  Presby- 
terian party  have  the  best  of  it, 
appear  very  much  the  same  after 
as  before  1592;  but  with  all 
this  there  is  a  marked  difference 
in  the  subsequent  period.  The  tri- 
Timph  of  Melville  and  his  party, 


although  short-lived,  gave  a  con- 
sistency and  vigour,  and,  so  to 
speak,  a  national  consciousness,  to 
Presbyterianism  which  it  never  af- 
terwards lost,  however  oppressed 
and  overborne.  It  gave  it,  in  short, 
a  standing  in  the  country,  to  which 
it  always  looked  back  with  pride, 
and  the  patriotic  recollection  of 
which  made  its  subsequent  triumphs 
practicable.  1638  becomes  intelli- 
gible in  the  light  of  1592  ;  and  the 
later  revolution  could  scarcely  have 
been  the  national  movement  it  was 
without  the  preceding  legislation. 
It  was  possible  to  get  rid  of  Andrew 
Melville,  and  leave  him  to  end  his 
days  in  lonely  yet  learned  seclusion 
at  Sedan ;  but  the  spirit  which  he 
•implanted,  and  the  principles  for 
which  he  may  be  said  to  have  gained 
legal  sanction,  could  not  be  extin- 
guished ;  and  men  like  Calderwood, 
and  Henderson,  and  Samuel  Ruther- 
ford, were  the  legitimate  offspring  of 
a  Presbyterianism.  which  was  not 
only  enthusiastic  in  its  convictions, 
but  which  had  known  national 
existence  and  had  enjoyed  civil 
sanction.* 

It  is  curious  from  the  beginning 
of  the  Reform  atipn  to  contemplate 
the  incessant  ecclesiastical  changes 
of  Scotland.  Even  during  the  in- 
choate period  now  reviewed  there 
are  no  fewer  than  five  ecclesiastical 
transformations.  There  is,  first  of 
all,  the  Reformation  itself,  accom- 
plished at  a  stroke,  but  in  a  state  of 
fusion  for  seven  years  (1560-67); 
then  there  is  Morton's  degraded 
"  Tulchan  "  Episcopacy ;  then  Mel- 
villian  Presbyterianism,  which  had 
triumphed  in  the  Church  as  early 
as  1581 ;  then  a  reversion  to  Epis- 
copacy under  the  influence  of  Arran 
in  1584;  and,  lastly,  Established 
Presbyterianism  in  1592.  This  last, 
and,  as  it  might  have  been  supposed 


*  See  in  evidence  the  famous  '  Protestation '  (in  the  preparation  of  which  Calderwood 
had  probably  the  chief  share)  given  in  to  the  Parliament  of  1617,  when  King  James 
revisited  his  native  country,  chiefly  with  the  design  of  advancing  changes  toward  a 
more  developed  Episcopal  and  ritual  form  of  worship. 


810 


Burton's  History  of  Scotland  : 


[June 


by  those  ignorant  of  the  real  mo- 
tives at  work,  final  adjustment  of 
the  ecclesiastical  relations  of  Scot- 
land, only  continued  in  its  full  form 
and  efficacy  for  four  years.  But 
these  are  halcyon  years  to  the  Pres- 
byterian historian,  to  which  "  all 
true  Presbyterians  look  back  as  the 
era  of  the  greatest  purity  which  the 
national  Church  ever  attained."  * 
It  is  sad  to  think  that,  according  to 
the  Church's  own  confession,  this 
period  of  Presbyterian  lustre  was  by 
no  means  equally  conspicuous  as  a 
period  of  religious  zeal  and  purity. 
The  Assembly  of  1596  prepared, 
with  a  view  to  reformation,  certain 
statements  as  to  offences  in  the 
ministry,  in  his  Majesty's  house, 
and  even  all  the  estates  of  the  realm, 
in  which  the  general  "  coldness 
and  decay  of  zeal,"  along  with  "  ig- 
norance and  contempt "  of  the  divine 
Word  and  Sacraments,  are  loudly 
lamented.  One  must  indulgently 
believe  that  the  picture  set  before 
us  in  these  statements  of  the  clergy 
is  overdrawn,  and  that  there  were 
but  few  to  whom  the  description 
could  apply  of  "  being  found  swear- 
ers or  banners,  profaners  of  the 
Sabbath  -  day,  drunkards,  fighters, 
lyers,  detractors,"  &c.  We  can 
more  credit  the  somewhat  amusing 
picture  as  to  King  James's  own 
habits  of  "  hearing  of  speeches  in 
time  of  sermon;"  his  being  "  blottid 
with  banning  and  swearing,  which 
is  too  common  in  courteours  also  ; " 
and,  further,  as  to  the  Queen's  not 
"  repairing  to  the  Word  and  Sacra- 
ments, night-waking  and  balling," 
&c. 

Probably  King  James  was  not 
unaffected  by  the  General  Assem- 
bly's proposals  to  reform  himself 
and  his  Court  in  the  resolve  which 
he  made  from  about  this  tune  to 
subvert  the  Presbyterian  polity.  It 
is  unnecessary  to  trace  in  detail  the 


steps  by  which  he  proceeded  in  his 
design,  from  the  Convention  at  Perth 
in  1597,  to  the  Assemblies  at  Dun- 
dee and  Montrose  in  1598  and  1600, 
from  whose  meetings  he  managed  to 
exclude  Melville,  on  the  ground  of 
his  not  being  a  pastor  of  any  con- 
gregation ;  and  then  again,  after  his 
succession  to  the  English  throne, 
from  the  Parliament  at  Perth  in 
1606,  which  restored  the  estate  of 
the  Bishops  as  it  was  before  1587, 
to  the  Parliament  of  1617,  and  the 
famous  Five  Articles  in  the  Perth 
Assembly  of  the  following  year. 
There  is  much  in  all  this  course  of 
royal  intrigue  which  must  be  con- 
demned on  every  consideration  of 
sound  policy  and  patriotic  principle. 
But  here,  as  everywhere  throughout 
this  strange  history,  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  there  were  two  sides 
even  within  the  Church  itself.  It 
is  a  great  mistake  of  many  writers 
to  suppose  that  the  spirit  of  Scottish 
Presbytery  has  been  entirely  uni- 
form, and  that  its  representatives 
are  only  to  be  found  in  such  men 
as  Knox,  and  Melville,  and  Samuel 
Eutherford.  The  truth  is,  that, 
even  from  the  beginning,  the  Scot- 
tish Church  has  contained  a  line  of 
able  men  of  moderate  and  liberal 
tendency.  Among  Knox's  own 
contemporaries,  Erskine  of  Dun 
and  John  Craig  —  both  of  whom 
may  fairly  rank  with  Knox  in  per- 
sonal repute,  although  not  in  genius 
— were  men  of  this  stamp.  So  in 
the  succeeding  period  were  men  like 
Adamson  of  St  Andrews,  and  Eol- 
lock,  the  first  Principal  of  Edinburgh 
University,  a  man  of  distinguished 
learning  and  piety,  t  The  latter 
presided  over  the  Dundee  Assembly 
in  1597,  which  may  be  said  to  have 
initiated  the  subversion  of  the  Pres- 
byterian government.  Henderson 
himself,  in  the  very  crisis  of  Pres- 
byterian ascendancy,  was  a  man  of 


*  Principal   Lee's   Lectures  on  the  History  of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii. 
p.  121.  t  Ibid.,  vol.  ii.  p.  142. 


1871.] 


Concluding  Volumes. 


811 


statesman-like  moderation,  without 
any  of  the  extreme  views  of  some  of 
his  colleagues,  if  he  is  rightly  sup- 
posed to  be  the  author  of  the  '  Gov- 
ernment and  Order  of  the  Church 
of  Scotland,'  published  in  1641.  In 
later  times,  long  before  the  rise  of 
what  is  called  Moderation,  it  is 
needless  to  point  to  such  men  as 
Carstairs,  one  of  the  few  great  states- 
men, at  once  of  wide  and  patriotic 
intelligence,  which  Scotland  has  pro- 
duced. It  was  under  Carstairs's  in- 
spiration and  guidance  that  Presby- 
terianism  was  once  more  established 
at  the  Revolution,  when  its  founda- 
tions, let  it  be  remembered,  were 
expressly  laid,  not  on  any  dogmatic 
theory,  but  on  a  ground  of  practical 
compromise.  So,  in  reference  to 
the  changes  introduced  by  James, 
it  cannot  be  denied  that  up  to  a  cer- 
tain point  they  received  the  approval 
of  many  of  the  clergy  by  no  means 
the  least  pious  and  enlightened. 
Among  the  Commissioners  of  As- 
sembly of  1597  and  subsequent 
years,  who  bore  the  chief  part  in  the 
commencement  of  the  new  system, 
were  the  names  both  of  Bollock  and 
of  James  Melville ;  and  Rollock  at 
least,  probably  the  wisest  and  best 
man  of  them  all,  was  no  unwilling 
coadjutor  with  the  King.  What- 
ever may  have  been  the  intrigues 
accompanying  its  institution,  the 
Episcopacy  of  which  Rollock  may 
be  said  to  have  been  one  of  the 
founders,  and  of  which  Spottiswood 
and  Lambe*  were  bishops,  and 
Forbes  of  Corse  and  Ban-on  theo- 
logians, was  not  in  any  sense  an 
imposture.  And  there  is  some  rea- 
son to  believe  that,  if  it  had  been 
only  let  alone,  it  might  have  gradu- 
ally consolidated  itself.  It  is  evi- 
dent that  even  men  like  Lord  Ken- 
mure,  Rutherford's  friend  and  pat- 
ron, were  inclined  to  a  compromise 
until  Charles's  designs  in  1633  be- 
came unmistakable ;  and  adminis- 


tered, as  the  system  was  in  the  south 
and  west,  where  it  had  little  natural 
root,  with  leniency  and  good  sense, 
it  does  not  seem  even  there  to  have 
met  with  any  active  opposition; 
while  in  Aberdeen,  Angus,  and  Fife 
it  acquired  a  strong  hold,  the  traces 
of  which  remain  to  this  day. 

But  the  policy  of  Charles  and 
Laud  was  destined  to  overturn  not 
only  the  Episcopacy  which  his  father 
had  laboured  to  establish,  but  many 
goodly  institutions  besides.  We 
have  left  ourselves  no  room  at  all  to 
review  Mr  Burton's  treatment  of  the 
great  Revolution  of  1638 ;  but  there 
is  no  part  of  his  History  which  is 
more  fair,  enlightened,  and  exhaust- 
ive. He  brings  out  more  clearly 
than  we  have  seen  elsewhere  the 
complex  series  of  influences — polit- 
ical, religious,  and,  not  least,  pecu- 
niary—  which  contributed  to  give 
such  comparative  unity  and  energy 
to  that  great  insurrection,  and  make 
the  "  Solemn  League  and  Covenant " 
a  national  power,  not  only  in  Scot- 
land, but  in  England.  For  Laud's 
Liturgy  was,  after  all,  only  the  ex- 
citing cause  of  a  long -slumbering 
volcano ;  and  it  is  melancholy  to 
reflect,  that  Jenny  Geddes  and  her 
famous  stool  disappear  before  the 
careful  research  of  the  historian. 
Among  the  most  powerful  causes  of 
the  movement — that  which  in  the 
beginning  more  than  any  other 
banded  the  Scottish  nobles  together 
—  was  undoubtedly  Charles's  re- 
sumption of  the  Church  revenues, 
and  the  indications  which  he  gave, 
even  after  the  Parliament  of  1633, 
that  he  was  determined  that  the 
Scottish  hierarchy  should  have 
something  of  its  old  wealth  re- 
stored. So  that  here  again,  in  this 
famous  crisis  of  Scottish  history,  the 
greed  of  the  nobles,  no  less  than  the 
religious  enthusiasm  of  the  people, 
became  one  of  its  moving  factors. 

But  we  must  refer  our  readers  to 


Bishop  of  Galloway — a  friend,  as  well  as  Rutherford,  of  Lord  Kenmure. 


812 


Bui-toil's  History  of  Scotland. 


[June  1871. 


Mr  Burton's  pages  for  his  account 
of  all  this,  and  of  the  important  part 
played  by  Scotland  in  the  turmoil 
of  the  century ;  and  finally  to  his 
narrative  of  the  Second  or  Eestora- 
tion  Episcopacy,  and  the  "  killing 
times  "  which  followed.  Here  he 
not  only  traces  his  way  with  his 
usual  strong  intelligence  through 
complications  of  fact  and  character 
previously  hut  ill  understood,  but 
by  the  mere  force  of  his  broad  saga- 
city and  his  keen  semi -humorous 
perception  of  the  national  life  in  all 
its  aspects,  throws  light  upon  vari- 
ous points  which  had  become  ob- 
scured by  the  contests  of  narrow 
polemics  011  one  side  and  the  other. 
Some  may  desiderate  a  more  cordial 
enthusiasm  or  noisier  patriotism  in 
the  account  which  he  gives  of  the 
religious  struggles  of  the  century ; 
but  Mr  Burton  is  a  man  of  sense  as 
well  as  of  patriotic  feeling,  and  he 
is  eminently  right  in  the  discrimi- 
nating and  cool  judgment  which  he 
applies  to  this  part  of  his  subject. 
We  could  have  wished,  perhaps,  a 
more  softened  and  pathetic,  but  cer- 
tainly not  more  righteous,  feeling  in 
depicting  the  sufferings  of  the  Cove- 
nanters. Everywhere  his  sense  of 
right  and  strength  of  manly  feeling 
come  forth  in  this  part  of  his  sub- 
ject, and  preserve  him  from  the  per- 
versions to  which  some  writers  of 
great  ability  have  yielded  in  dealing 
with  it.  It  also  would  have  been 
better,  even  for  the  comprehension 
of  his  narrative,  if  some  of  the  pro- 
minent figures  which  represent  at 
this  time  the  religious  thought  and 
activity  of  Scotland  had  stood  out 
more  fully — in  more  graphic  and 
intelligible  outline — on  his  pages ; 
such  figures  as  those  of  Henderson, 
Argyle,  and  Eutherford;  and  again 
of  Lauderdale  and  Archbishop  Sharp. 
Henderson  was  in  some  respects  a 
truly  great  man,  in  whom  the  higher 
religious  elements  of  the  struggle 
were  embodied  with  a  measure  of 


sense  and  governing  capacity  which 
place  him  far  above  the  crowd  of 
enthusiasts  which  surrounded  him. 
He  appears  once  or  twice  conspicu- 
ously in  Mr  Burton's  concluding 
volume,  but  his  personality  is,  after 
all,  dimly  revealed.  We  gather  in- 
distinctly Avhat  the  man  really  was, 
and  how  he  came  almost  as  a  matter 
of  course  to  take  the  lead  in  the 
great  national  movement.  The  sin- 
gularly mixed  character  of  Argyle 
and  Eutherford — the  union  of  craft 
and  piety  in  the  former,  and  in  the 
latter  of  morbid  sensibility,  half 
sensuous,  half  spiritual,  with  an 
immense  but  arid  _  erudition,  and  a 
coarse  moroseness  of  temper  towards 
his  opponents  —  are  but  slightly 
sketched.  Sharp  receives  more  at- 
tention, but  scarcely  more  explana- 
tion. He  comes  forth  from  our 
author's  analysis  very  much  the  same 
traditionary  traitor — false  and  vul- 
gar in  spirit — which  Bishop  Burnet 
has  embalmed  in  his  pages.  Bur- 
net's  estimate  of  him,  in  fact,  is 
quoted  as  upon  the  whole  accurate. 
Such  a  combination  of  historical 
judgment  is  probably  right;  but 
looking  at  the  result  merely  as  a 
study  of  character  and  of  evidence, 
we  cannot  say  that  we  feel  sure  that 
it  is. 

Mr  Burton  might  have  lightened 
his  narrative,  and  made  it  more 
attractive  to  a  large  class  of  readers, 
by  giving  more  scope  to  such  por- 
traiture, and  generally  to  that  power 
of  graphic  delineation  which  he  has 
shown  elsewhere  that  he  possesses. 
But  such  criticism  is,  after  all,  not 
much  to  the  point.  He  has  fully 
and  admirably  carried  out  his  own 
idea  of  his  historic  task,  and  brought 
to  it  at  once  such  stores  of  knoAV- 
ledge  and  such  masterliness  of  intel- 
lect, as  no  contemporary  writer  on 
the  subject  coidd  have  brought.  It 
is  a  great  work  well  done  ;  and  we 
venture  to  congratulate  him  heartily 
on  its  close. 


INDEX  TO   VOL.  CIX. 


Adrian  IV. ,  Pope,  execution  of  Aruoldo 

di  Brescia  by,  341. 
AGRICULTURAL  LABOURER,  THE  SCOTCH, 

HIS  CONDITION,  465. 
Amicable  relations,  a  new-year's  musing, 

242. 

Anstey's  Monumenta  Academica,  719. 
Argyle,  the  Duke  of,  '  lona '  by,  455. 
ARMY,  THE  SICK,  AND  ITS  DOCTORS,  389. 
Army,  suggestions  for  its  improvement 

from  the  late  war,  135  ct  seq. 
Army  system,  the,  and  intended  changes 

in  it,  118 — the  Prussian,  119  ct  seq. 
Arnold's  '  Friendship's  Garland,'  458. 
Arnoldo  di  Brescia,  the  career  of,  340 

—his  death,  341. 
Audacious  man-of-war,  the,  362. 
Aurelles   de   Paladine,    General  d',  his 

operations,  &c.,  385. 
Avrou  Fort,  its  capture,  388. 
Ayrshire,  the  agricultural  population  in, 

470. 
Badajos,  atrocities  after  the  storming  of, 

492  —  picture  of    the  storming,   498 

et  scq.  i 

Barham,  R.  H.,  the  Life  of,  reviewed,  38. 
Bayne's  Life  of  Hugh  Miller,  review  of, 

450. 
Bazaine,  Marshal,  becomes  commander- 

in-chief,  379 — the  battles  before  Metz, 

and  he  is  shut  up  there,  ib. — his  capi- 
tulation, 385. 

Before  Paris,  a  new-year's  musing,  251. 
Bellerophon  ironclad,  the,  363. 
Benedict  IX.,  his  character  as  Pope,  336. 
Blackmore,  R.  D.,  'Lorna  Doone  '  by,  43. 
'  Bleak  House,'  remarks  on,  690. 
Boniface  VIII.,  the  papacy  of,  344. 
Boniface  IX.,  the  papacy  of,  351,  352. 
Bothy  system  in  Scotland,  the,  472. 
Bourbaki,    General,    operations    under, 

386,  387. 

Brancaleone,  rule  of,  in  Rome,  343. 
Brasenose  College,  its  origin,  721. 
Brigandage  in  Greece,  574  et  seq. 
British  army,  the,  its  present  state,  &c., 

128  ct  scq. 
BRITISH  NAVY,  THE,  what  we  have  and 

what  we  want,  357. 


Browning's   'The  Ring  and  the  Book,r 

notices  of,  442,  627. 
BULLION,  THE  '  ECONOMIST  '  ON,  507. 
BULWER'S  LIFE  OF  LORD  PALMERSTON 

reviewed,  1. 

BURTON'S  HISTORY  OF   SCOTLAND,  con- 
cluding volumes,  review  of,  794. 
Campion,  Mr,   on  the  Scotch  crofters, 

475. 
Canning,  his  conduct  as  a  member  of  the 

Liverpool  ministry,  5 — and  in  relation 

to  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  6  et  seq. 
Castlereagh,   Lord,    his  condiict    as    a 

member  of  the  Liverpool  ministry  on 

the  Catholic  question,  5. 
Catholic  question,  conduct  of  Canning 

with  regard  to  it,  5. 
Cencius,  seizure  of  Pope  Hildebrand  by, 

337. 
CENTURY  OF  GREAT  POETS,  A — William 

Cowper,  763. 

Chanzy,  General,  operations  under,  387. 
CHARLES  DICKENS,  673. 
Cheape,  Douglas,  111. 
Childers,  Mr,  as  head  of  the  Admiralty, 

522  et  scq. 

1  Christmas  Carol,'  the,  689. 
Church,  the,  as  a  teacher  of  morality, 

Professor  Seeley  on,  24. 
Clement  III.,  the  opponent  of  Hikle- 

brand,  338,  339. 

Clergyman,  present  position  of  the,  24. 
Colonna,  struggle  between,  and  Rienzi, 

346,  347. 
Coloured  Glass,    a  new-year's  musing, 

238. 

Compulsory  education,  report  for  Scot- 
land regarding  its  introduction,  466. 
Conscription,    the,    its   impossibility  in 

England,  135. 

Corduroy  road,  a,  in  the  backwoods,  57. 
Cottage  system  for  farm-labourers,   its 

advantages,  &c.,  480,  481. 
COWFER,  WILLIAM,  763. 
Crofter  system  in  Scotland,  the,  475. 
Crown  Prince,  the,  his  victory  at  Weis- 

sembourg,  376 — and  at  Woerth,  377. 
Culley,  Mr,  on  the  Scotch  agricultural 

population,  471. 


814 


Index. 


Daveli,  a  Greek  brigand,  578. 

'David  Copperfield,'  remarks  on,  685 
et  seq. 

Dead  Sea  fruit,  a  new-year's  musing, 
248. 

De  la  Motte  Rouge,  General,  his  defeat 
at  Orleans,  385. 

DESCENT  OF  MAN,  THE,  517. 

Dick  Swiveller,  the  character  of,  683. 

DICKENS,  CHARLES,  review  of  his  works, 
673 — his  reception  in  America,  ib. — 
general  characteristics,  677  —  the 
'Pickwick  Papers,'  679 — 'Nicholas 
Nickleby,'  &c.,  682  — the  'Old  Curio- 
sity Shop,'  683—'  David  Copperfield,' 
685— the  '  Christmas  Carol,'  &c.,  689 
— '  Bleak  House  '  and  '  Little  Dorrit,' 
690— 'Our  Mutual  Friend,'  &c.,  691 
— 'Edwin  Drood,'  ib. 

DORKING,  THE  BATTLE  OF  —  REMINIS- 
CENCES OF  A  VOLUNTEER,  539. 

Douay,  General,  his  defeat  and  death  at 
Weissembourg,  376. 

Dryden,  the  poetry  of,  763. 

Ducrot,  General,  the  sally  from  Paris 
under,  388. 

Dumfriesshire,  the  agricultural  popu- 
lation in,  470. 

Ecce  Homo,  remarks  on,  23. 

'ECONOMIST,'  THE,  ON  BULLION,  507. 

Education,  state  of,  in  Greece,  573. 

Education  in  Scotland,  the  Commission- 
ers' report  on,  466. 

EDUCATION  BILL,  THE  SCOTCH,  660. 

'  Edwin  Drood,'  remarks  on,  691. 

'  Esther  Hill's  Secret,'  462. 

Eugenie,  the  Empress,  after  the  first  dis- 
asters of  the  war,  378. 

Eugenius  IV.,  the  papacy  of,  355. 

Faidherbe,  General,  the  operations  of, 
387. 

FAIR  TO  SEE— Parti.,  74— Part  II.,  195 
—Part  III.,  277  — Part  IV.,  407  — 
Part  V.,  586— Part  VI.,  740. 

France,  causes  of  her  failure  in  the  Ger- 
man war,  131 — contrast  between  her 
military  system  and  the  German,  132 
— her  position  after  the  war,  488 — her 
former  exactions  from  Prussia,  489 — 
her  failure  in  the  war,  491. 

FRANK  MARSHALL — Part  I.,  145 — Part 
II.,  315. 

Frederick,  the  Emperor,  capture  of 
Rome  by,  341. 

Froissart,  General,  his  defeat  at  Spich- 
ern,  378. 

Gambetta,  his  balloon-flight  from  Paris, 
&c. ,  384. 

Garibaldi,  General,  his  arrival,  &c.,  in 
France,  384 — his  operations,  386. 

Garry,  Fort,  177. 

Garth's  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  301. 

{Jelasius  II.,  Pope,  cruel  treatment  of, 
340. 


George  IV. ,  his  reception  at  Oxford,  724. 
Germany,  results  of  the  war  to  her,  488, 

495. 

"Germany,  France,  and  England,"  re- 
marks on,  238. 

Gladstone,  Mr,  review  of  his  career,  520. 
Goethe,  Mr  Hutton  on,  442. 
Gortschakoff,  Prince,  who  primed  him  ? 

(O'Dowd),  230. 

GOVERNMENT,  THE  POSITION  OF  THE,  258. 
'  Great  Expectations, '  Dickens's,  692. 
GREECE,  IMPRESSIONS  OF,  572. 
GREEK,  LORD  LYTTELTON'S  LETTER  ON 

THE  STUDY  OF,  182. 
Greek  massacre,  interest  excited  by  it, 

572. 
Gregory  VII.  (Hildebrand),  the  papacy 

of,  336  et  seq. 
H.  C.  M.,    "Wake,  England,  Wake!" 

by,  257. 
Hamilton,  Sir  William,  and  George  Moir, 

109. 

Hare's  'Walks  in  Rome,'  457. 
Healing  Measure,  the,  233. 
Henry,  the  Emperor,   his   contest  with 

Hildebrand,  337. 
Henry  VII.,    the  Emperor,    attack   on 

Rome  by,  344. 
Herbert,  Lady, '  Life  of  Madame  de  Mir- 

amion  '  by,  34. 
Hercules  ironclad,  the,  361. 
Hildebrand,  the  papacy  of,  336  et  seq. 
Honorius,  Pope,  336. 

HOSPITAL-LIFE  WITH   THE  PRUSSIANS  IN 

FRANCE,  636— Part  II.,  696. 

HOW  CAN  WE  TRUST  THEM  ?    520. 

Hugo,  Victor,  extravagant  speech  of,  493. 

Button's  '  Essays,  Theological  and  Liter- 
ary,' review  of,  440. 

IMPRESSIONS  OF  GREECE,  572. 

'  Ingoldsby  Legends,'  the,  38. 

Ingrain's  '  Memorials  of  Oxford,'  724. 

Innocent  III.,  power  of  the  papacy  un- 
der, 343. 

Innocent  VII.,  the  papacy  of,  352. 

'  lona,'  by  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  455. 

Irish  farm  -  labourers,  increasing  num- 
bers of,  in  Scotland,  471. 

Ironclad  fleet,  list  and  classification  of 
our,  358  et  scq. 

JEAFFRESON'S  ANNALS  OF  OXFORD,  re- 
view of,  718. 

Japan,  Mitford's  Tales  of,  reviewed,  460. 

Kaministiquia,  the — the  Red  River  Ex- 
pedition on,  52. 

KING'S  TRANSLATION  OF  OVID'S  META- 
MORPHOSES, review  of,  301. 

Kitchen  system  for  farm-servants,  the, 
471. 

Ladislaus,  King,  his  struggles  against 
the  Romans,  352  ct  seq. 

LEATHER  BorrfeL,  THE,  with  music,  631. 

Lindsay,  General,  the  Red  River  Ex- 
pedition under,  49  et  scq. 


Index. 


815 


*  Little  Don-it,'  remarks  on,  690. 

Liverpool,  Lord,  his  administration,  4. 

Lord  Warden  and  Lord  Clyde  ironclads, 
the,  363. 

'Lorna  Doone,'  review  of,  43. 

Lucius  II.,  Pope,  340— his  death,  341. 

LYTTELTON,  LORD,  HIS  LETTER  ON  THE 
STUDY  OF  GREEK,  182. 

Macleod's  'Christus  Consolator,'  review 
of,  32. 

M'Mahon,  Marshal,  his  defeat  at  Woerth, 
377 — his  retreat,  379 — his  movement 
on  Sedan,  380  ct  seq. — his  capitulation 
there,  381. 

MAN,  THE  DESCENT  OF,  517. 

'  Martin  Chuzzlewit,'  on,  682,  683. 

Matilda,  the  Countess,  her  support  of 
Hildebrand,  337. 

Metz,  the  capitulation  of,  385. 

Micawbers,  the,  in  'David  Copperfield,' 
685. 

Military  system,  suggestions  for  its  im- 
provement from  the  war,  135  et  seq. 

Military  system,  the  Prussian,  119  ct  seq. 

Militia,  necessity  for  the  ballot  for  it, 
135. 

Miller,  Hugh,  the  Life  and  Letters  of, 
450. 

Milton,  the  poetry  of,  763. 

Miramion,  Madame  de,  the  Life  of,  re- 
viewed, 34. 

Mitford's  '  Tales  of  Old  Japan,'  review 
of,  460. 

MOIR,  THE  LATE  GEORGE,  109. 

Morality,  the  Church  as  a  teacher  of, 
Professor  Seeley  on,  24. 

MORNING'S  '  TIMES  '  IN  CHAMBERS,  THE, 
104. 

Napier,  his  account  of  the  storming  of 
Badajos,  499 — and  of  the  atrocities 
that  followed,  492. 

Napoleon,  the  Emperor,  his  errors,  &c. , 
during  the  campaign,  376,  377 — his 
retreat  after  Woerth,  &c.,  378— the 
capitulation  at  Sedan,  381. 

Navies,  change  in,  118. 

NAVY,  THE  BRITISH,  357. 

New  Brisach,  the  surrender  of,  386. 

NEW  BOOKS:  Seeley's  'Lectures  and  Es- 
says,' 22 — Macleod's  '  Christus  Consol- 
ator,' 32 — '  Life  of  Madame  de  Miram- 
ion,' 34—'  Life  of  R.  H.  Barham,'  38— 
'  Lorna  Doone,'  43. 

NEW  BOOKS  :  Button's  Essays,  440— 
Hugh  Miller's  Life  and  Letters,  450— 
Duke  of  Argyll's  '  lona,'  455— Hare's 
'Walks  in  Rome,'  457  —  Arnold's 
'  Friendship's  Garland,'  458  —  Mit- 
ford's '  Tales  of  Old  Japan.'  460—*  Es- 
ther Hill's  Secret,'  462— 'Six  Months 
Hence,'  463— Mr  Trollope's  'Siren,'  ib. 

NEW-YEAR'S  MUSINGS  :  Coloured  Glass, 
238— Amicable  Relations,  242— Dead 
Sea  Fruit,  248— Before  Paris,  251. 


'  Nicholas  Nickleby,'  remarks  on,  682, 
683. 

Norman,  M.,  his  report  on  agricultural 
wages  in  Scotland,  469. 

North  American  Indians,  the,  65. 

"  Nursery  Reminiscences,"  40. 

O'Dowo,  CORNELIUS  :  Gortschakoff — 
who  primed  him?  230 — the  Healing 
Measure,  233  —  the  Shadows  before 
,  236. 

O'DowD  REVERIE,  AN — what  is  to  come 
of  it  ?  580. 

'  Old  Curiosity  Shop,'  the,  683. 

'Oliver Twist,'  on,  682,  683. 

Orleans,  its  capture  by  the  Germans,  385. 

Otho  IV.,  defeat  of,  in  Rome,  342. 

Otho,  Cardinal,  his  visitation  of  Oxford, 
725. 

'  Our  Mutual  Friend,'  remarks  on,  691. 

OVID'S  METAMORPHOSES,  KING'S  TRANS- 
LATION OF,  reviewed,  301. 

OXFORD,  OLD  AND  NEW  ANNALISTS  OF, 
718. 

Palliser  shell,  the,  364. 

PALMERSTON,  LORD,  THE  LIFE  OF,  1 — his 
parentage  and  early  life,  3  —  first  ap- 
pearance in  Parliament,  ib. — his  early 
adherence  to  Canning,  5 — the  quarrel 
between  the  latter  and  Wellington,  7 
et  seq. — in  the  Canning  ministry,  13  et 
seq. — his  character  of  Gladstone,  520. 

Paris,  before,  a  new-year's  musing,  251 
—arrival  of  the  Prussians  before,  382 
— its  siege,  383 — conduct  during  the 
siege,  387. 

Paschal  II.,  Pope,  struggle  of,  with  the 
Emperor,  339. 

Penelope  man-of-war,  the,  363. 

Perceval,  Mr,  his  high  estimate  of  Pal- 
merston,  4. 

Phalsburg,  the  capitulation  of,  386. 

Philip  the  Fair,  his  struggle  with  the 
Pope,  344. 

'  Pickwick  Papers,'  the,  679  et  seq. 

PLATONIC  PARADOXES,  633. 

Pope,  the  poetry  of,  763. 

Popes  and  papacy,  notices  of  the,  in  con- 
nection with  the  Castle  St  Angelo, 
336  ct  seq. 

Portland  ministry,  Palmerston  a  member 
of  it,  3. 

POSITION  OF  THE  GOVERNMENT,  THE, 
258. 

PROLIXITY,  616. 

Prussia,  her  military  system,  and  causes 
of  her  success  in  the  war,  132  et  seq. — 
exactions  of  France  from,  at  the  peace 
of  Tilsit,  489— her  position,  &c.,  in  the 
present  war,  491. 

Prussian  military  system,  the,  119  et  seq. 

PRUSSIANS  IN  FRANCE,  A  NARRATIVE  OF 
HOSPITAL-LIFE  WITH  THE,  636,  696. 

Purchase  system  in  the  army,  the,  394. 

Rainy  River,  voyage  down  the,  164. 


816 


Index. 


Rat  Portage,  Hudson  Bay  Company's 
post  at,  167. 

RED  RIVER  EXPEDITION,  NARRATIVE  OF 
THE,  Part  II.,  48 — the  force,  and  diffi- 
culties at  starting,  ib.  et  seq.  — on  Lake 
Superior,  50 — landing  at  Thunder  Bay, 
51— river  voyage,  52 — portages,  &c., 
53  et  seq. — Indians,  57 — lake  voyage, 
62 — Part  III.,  164— journey  from  Fort 
Francis,  ib.  et  seq. — on  the  Lake  of  the 
Woods,  166— the  Winnipeg  river,  169 
— arrival  at  Fort  Alexander,  172 — ar- 
rival at  Fort  Garry,  and  flight  of  the 
rebels,  175. 

RED  CROSS,  UNDER  THE  :  a  Narrative  of 
Hospital-Life  with  the  Prussians  in 
France,  636,  696. 

Riel,  flight  of,  from  Fort  Garry,  177. 

Rienzi,  sketch  of  the  career  of,  346  et  seq. 

ROBA  DI  ROMA,  MORE  :  the  Mausoleum 
of  Hadrian,  or  the  Castle  St  Angel o, 
—Chap.  III.,  336-Chap.  IV.,  345— 
Chap.  V.,  350. 

Robert  Gniscard,  sack  of  Rome  by,  338. 

Robertson,  Patrick,  112. 

Roman  nobility,  their  cruelties,  &c.,  342 
et  seq. 

Rome,  Hare's  Walks  in,  457. 

Russian  difficulty,  O'Dowd  on  the,  230. 

St  Angelo,  the  Castle,  sketches  of  its 
history,  336  et  seq. 

St  Scholastica's  Day,  the  great  fight  in 
Oxford  on,  730. 

Ste  Marie  Canal,  the,  48. 

Sam  Weller,  the  character  of,  678. 

SCOTCH  AGRICULTURAL  LABOURER,  THE 
CONDITION  OF  THE,  465. 

SCOTCH  EDUCATION  BILL,  THE,  660. 

SCOTLAND,  BURTON'S  HISTORY  OF,  con- 
cluding volumes,  review  of,  794. 

Sedan,  the  battle  and  capitulation  of, 
381. 

Seeley 's  '  Lectiires  and  Essays, '  review  of, 
22. 

Seniority  system  in  the  army,  the,  397. 

Shadows  before ,  the,  236. 

Shebandowan  Lake,  the,  52,  54  ft  seq., 62. 

Shelley,  Mr  Hutton  on,  448. 

Shepherds,  the  Scottish,  their  position, 
character,  &c.,  476. 

SICK  ARMY  AND  ITS  DOCTORS,  THE,  389. 

Silver  Falls,  the,  171. 

'Six  Months  Hence,'  463. 

Slave  Falls,  the,  170,  171. 


Spichern,  the  battle  of,  378. 
Strasbourg,   the  siege  of,  380— its  sur- 
render, 384. 
Sullivan,    Lawrence,   brother-in-law  of 

Palmerston,  4. 
Superior,  Lake,  the  Red  River  Expedition 

on,  48  et  seq. 

'  Tale  of  Two  Cities,'  on  the,  691. 
Thackeray's  '  Vanity  Fair,'  remarks  on, 

679. 
Tilsit,  the  treaty  of,  losses  of  Prussia  by 

it,  489. 

Trollope,  Adolphus,  the  '  Siren'  by,  463. 
Turret-ships,  the,  360  ct  seq. 
Two  SYSTEMS,  THE,  118. 
Tyther,  Patrick  Eraser,  111. 
UNDER  THE  RED  CROSS,  or  Hospital-Life 

with  the  Prussians  in  France,  Part  I. , 

636— Part  II.,  696. 
United  States,  the,  difficulties  thrown  in 

the  way  of  the  Red  River  Expedition 

by,  48. 

Urban  VI. ,  the  papacy  of,  350  et  seq. 
'Vanity  Fair,'  remarks  on,  679. 
Verdun,  the  capture  of,  386. 
Victor  III.,  Pope,  339. 
VOLUNTEER,  KEMINISCENCES  OF  A—  THE 

BATTLE  OF  DORKING,  539. 
Volunteers,  proposed  changes  regarding, 

137. 
Von  der  Tann,  General,  his  operations  in 

France,  385. 

Wages,  agricultural,  report  on,  for  Scot- 
land, 468. 

WAKE,  ENGLAND,  WAKE  !  257. 
WAR,  A  RETROSPECT  OF  THE,  375. 
WAR,  THE  END  OF  THE,  488. 
War,  lessons  from  the,  131. 
War  Office,  Palmerston's  administration 

of,  4. 

Weissembourg,  the  battle  of,  376. 
Wellington,  the  breach  between  him  and 

Canning,  6  et  seq. 

WHAT  is  TO  COME  OF  IT?  (O'Dowd),  580. 
WHAT  WE  MAY  LEARN,  131. 
Winnipeg  River,  voyage  down  it,  168  et 

seq. — lake,  172. 
Woerth,  the  battle  of,  377. 
Woods,  Lake  of  the,  166. 
Wordsworth,  Mr  Hutton  on,  444. 
WYSE,  SIR  THOMAS,  HIS  '  IMPRESSIONS  OF 

GREECE  '  reviewed,  572. 
Yeomanry,  proposed  changes  regcrding 

the,  137. 


Printed  ly  William  Blacl-wood  &  Sons,  Edinburgh. 


/ 

AP       Blackwood's  magazine 

B6 
v.109 


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