Skip to main content

Full text of "Blackwood's magazine"

See other formats 


Presented  to  the 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 
LIBRARY 

by  the 

ONTARIO  LEGISLATIVE 
LIBRARY 

1980 


THE   CARSWELL    COMPANY    LIMITED 


LACKWOOD'S 

> 

JSBtnfcttrgft  EH 

MAGAZINE! 


to 


VOL.  LXX. 


JULY— DECEMBER,   1851. 


WILLIAM  BLACKWOOD  &  SONS,    EDINBURGH; 


AND 


37  PATERNOSTER  ROW,  LONDON. 
1851. 


A? 


10 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBURGH    MAGAZINE. 


No.  CCCCXXIX. 


JULY,  1851. 


VOL.  LXX. 


MY  NOVEL;  OR,  VARIETIES  IN  ENGLISH  LIFE. 

BY    PISISTRATUS    CAXTON. 
BOOK  VI. —  INITIAL  CHAPTER. 


"LIFE,"  said  my  father,  in  his 
most  dogmatical  tone,  "is  a  cer- 
tain quantity  in  time,  which  may  be 
regarded  in  two  ways — 1st,  as  life 
Integral;  2d,  as  life  Fractional.  Life 
integral  is  that  complete  whole,  ex- 
pressive of  a  certain  value,  large  or 
small,  which  each  man  possesses  in 
himself.  Life  fractional  is  that  same 
whole  seized  upon  and  invaded  by 
other  people,  and  subdivided  amongst 
them.  They  who  get  a  large  slice  of 
it  say,  '  a  very  valuable  life  this !' — 
those  who  get  but  a  small  handful 
say,  'so  so,  nothing  very  great!' — 
those  who  get  none  of  it  in  the 
scramble  exclaim,  '  Good  for  no- 
thing ! ' " 

"I  don't  understand  a  word  you 
are  saying,"  growled  Captain  Roland. 

My  father  surveyed  his  brother 
with  compassion — u  I  will  make  it  all 
clear  even  to  your  understanding. 
When  I  sit  down  by  myself  in  my 
study,  having  carefully  locked  the 
door  on  all  of  you,  alone  with  my 
books  and  thoughts,  I  am  in  full  pos- 
session of  my  integral  life.  I  am 
totus,  tere.s,  atque  rotundus — a  whole 
human  being — equivalent  in  value,  we 
will  say,  for  the  sake  of  illustration, 
to  a  fixed  round  sum— £100,  for  ex- 
ample. But  when  I  come  forth  into 
the  common  apartment,  each  of  those 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXIX. 


to  whom  I  am  of  any  worth  whatsoever 
puts  his  fingers  into  the  bag  that  con- 
tains me,  and  takes  out  of  me  what  he 
wants.  Kitty  requires  me  to  pay  a 
bill ;  Pisistratus  to  save  him  the  time 
and  trouble  of  looking  into  a  score  or 
two  of  books;  the  children  to  tell 
them  stories,  or  play  at  hide-and- 
seek  ;  the  carp  for  bread-crumbs ; 
and  so  on  throughout  the  circle  to 
which  I  have  incautiously  given 
myself  up  for  plunder  and  subdivision. 
The  £100  which  I  represented  in  my 
study  is  now  parcelled  out;  I  am 
worth  £40  or  £50  to  Kitty,  £20  to 
Pisistratus,  and  perhaps  30s.  to  the 
carp.  This  is  life  fractional.  And  I 
cease  to  be  an  integral  till  once  more 
returning  to  my  study,  and  again 
closing  the  door  on  all  existence  but 
my  own.  Meanwhile,  it  is  perfectly 
clear  that,  to  those  who,  whether  I 
am  in  the  study  or  whether  I  am  in 
the  common  sitting-room,  get  nothing 
at  all  out  of  me,  I  am  not  worth  a 
farthing.  It  must  be  wholly  indif- 
ferent to  a  native  of  Karnschatka 
whether  Austin  Caxton  be  or  be  not 
rased  out  of  the  great  account-book 
of  human  beings. 

"  Hence,"  continued  my  father — 
"  hence  it  follows  that  the  more  frac- 
tional a  life  be — id  est,  the  greater  the 
num'ber  of  persons  among  whom  it  can 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XL 


[July, 


be  subdivided — why,  the  more  there 
are  to  say, '  a  very  valuable  life  that ! '" 
Thus,  the  leader  of  a  political  party, 
a  conqueror,  a  king,  an  author  who 
is  amusing  hundreds  or  thousands,  or 
millions,  has  a  greater  number  of 
persons  whom  his  worth  interests  and 
affects  than  a  Saint  Simon  Stylites 
could  have  when  he  perched  himself 
at  the  top  of  a  column  ;  although,  re- 
garded each  in  himself,  Saint  Simon, 
in  his  grand  mortification  of  flesh,  in 
the  idea  that  he  thereby  pleased  his 
Divine  Benefactor,  might  represent  a 
larger  sum  of  moral  value  per  se  than 
Bonaparte  or  Voltaire." 

PISISTRATUS.  —  "  Perfectly  clear, 
sir,  but  I  don't  see  what  it  has  to  do 
with  My  Novel." 

MRCAXTON. — "Everything.  Your 
novel,  if  it  is  to  be  a  full  and  com- 
prehensive survey  of  the  '  Quicquid 
agunt  homines,"1  (which  it  ought  to  be, 
considering  the  length  and  breadth  to 
which  I  foresee,  from  the  slow  de- 
velopment of  your  story,  you  medi- 
tate extending  and  expanding  it,) 
will  embrace  the  two  views  of  exist- 
ence, the  integral  and  the  fractional. 
You  have  shown  us  the  former  in 
Leonard,  when  he  is  sitting  in  his 
mother's  cottage,  or  resting  from  his 
work  by  the  little  fount  in  Ricca- 
bocca's  garden.  And  in  harmony 
with  that  view  of  his  life,  you  have 
surrounded  him  with  comparative  in- 
tegrals, only  subdivided  by  the  tender 
hands  of  their  immediate  families  and 
neighbours— your  Squires  and  Par- 
sons, your  Italian  Exile  and  his  Je- 
mima. With  all  these,  life  is  more 
or  less  the  life  Natural,  and  this  is 
always  more  or  less  the  life  integral. 
Then  comes  the  life  Artificial,  which 
is  always  more  or  less  the  life  frac- 
tional. In  the  life  Natural,  wherein 
we  are  swayed  but  by  our  own  native 
impulses  and  desires,  subservient  only 
to  the  great  silent  law  of  Virtue,  (which 
has  pervaded  the  universe  since  it 
swung  out  of  chaos,)  a  man  is  of  worth 
from  what  he  is  in  himself— Newton 
was  as  worthy  before  the  apple  fell  from 
the  tree  as  when  all  Europe  applauded 
the  discoverer  of  the  Principle  of 
Gravity.  But  in  the  life  Artificial  we  are 
only  of  worth  inasmuch  as  we  affect 
others.  And,  relative  to  that  life,  New- 
ton rose  in  value  more  than  a  million 
per  cent  when  down  fell  the  apple 


from  which  ultimately  sprang  up 
his  discovery.  In  order  to  keep  civi- 
lisation going,  and  spread  over  the 
world  the  light  of  human  intellect,  we 
have  certain  desires  within  us,  ever 
swelling  beyond  the  ease  and  indepen- 
dence which  belong  to  us  as  integrals. 
Cold  man  as  Newton  might  be,  (he 
once  took  a  lady's  hand  in  his  own, 
Kitty,  and  used  her  fore-finger  for  his 
tobacco-stopper ; — great  philosopher !) 
• — cold  as  he  might  be,  he  was  yet 
moved  into  giving  his  discoveries  to 
the  world,  and  that  from  motives 
very  little  differing  in  their  quality 
from  the  motives  that  make  Dr 
Squills  communicate  articles  to  the 
Phrenological  Journal  upon  the  skulls 
of  Bushmen  and  wombats.  For  it  is 
the  property  of  light  to  travel.  When 
a  man  has  light  in  him,  forth  it  must 
go.  But  the  first  passage  of  Genius 
from  its  integral  state  (in  which  it  has 
been  reposing  on  its  own  wealth)  into 
the  fractional,  is  usually  through  a 
hard  and  vulgar  pathway.  It  leaves 
behind  it  the  reveries  of  solitude,  that 
self-contemplating  rest  which  may  be 
called  the  Visionary,  and  enters  sud- 
denly into  the  state  that  may  be  called 
the  Positive  and  Actual.  There,  it  sees 
the  operations  of  money  on  the  outer 
life — sees  all  the  ruder  and  commoner 
springs  of  action — sees  ambition  with- 
out nobleness — love  without  romance 
— is  bustled  about,  and  ordered,  and 
trampled,  and  cowed — in  short,  it 
passes  an  apprenticeship  with  some 
Richard  Avenel,  and  does  not  yet  de- 
tect what  good  and  what  grandeur, 
what  addition  even  to  the  true  poetry 
of  the  social  universe,  fractional  ex- 
istences like  Richard  Avenel's  bestow ; 
for  the  pillars  that  support  society  are 
like  those  of  the  Court  of  the  Hebrew 
Tabernacle — they  are  of  brass,  it  is 
true,  but  they  are  filleted  with  silver. 
From  such  intermediate  state  Genius 
is  expelled  and  driven  on  in  its  way, 
and  would  have  been  so  in  this  case 
had  Mrs  Fairfield  (who  is  but  the  re- 
presentative of  the  homely  natural 
affections,  strongest  ever  in  true  ge- 
nius—for light  is  warm)  never  crushed 
Mr  Avenel's  moss-rose  on  her  sisterly 
bosom.  Now,  forth  from  this  passage 
and  defile  of  transition  into  the  larger 
world,  must  Genius  go  on,  working 
out  its  natural  destiny  amidst  things 
and  forms  the  most  artificial.  Pas- 


1851.] 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XI. 


sions  that  move  and  influence  the 
world  are  at  work  around  it.  Often 
lost  sight  of  itself,  its  very  absence  is 
a  silent  contrast  to  the  agencies  pre- 
sent. Merged  and  vanished  for  a 
while  amidst  the  Practical  World,  yet 
we  ourselves  feel  all  the  while  that  it 
is  there;  is  at  work  amidst  the  work- 
ings around  it.  This  practical  world 
that  effaces  ,it,  rose  out  of  some 
genius  that  has  gone  before ;  and  so 
each  man  of  genius,  though  we  never 
come  across  him,  as  his  operations 
proceed,  in  places  remote  from  our 
thoroughfares,  is  yet  influencing  the 
practical  world  that  ignores  him,  for 
ever  and  ever.  That  is  GENIUS  !  We 
can't  describe  it  in  books — we  can  only 
hint  and  suggest  it,  by  the  accessaries 
which  we  artfully  heap  about  it.  The 
entrance  of  a  true  Probationer  into 
the  terrible  ordeal  of  Practical  Life  is 
like  that  into  the  miraculous  cavern, 
by  which,  legend  informs  us,  St  Pa- 
trick converted  Ireland." 

BLANCHE.—"  What  is  that  legend  ? 
I  never  heard  of  it." 

MR  CAXTON. — u  My  dear,  you  will 
find  it  in  a  thin  folio  at  the  right  on 
entering  my  study,  written  by  Tho- 
mas Messingham,  and  called  "  Flori- 
legium  Insulse  Sanctorum,"  &c.  The 
account  therein  is  confirmed  by  the 
relation  of  an  honest  soldier,  one 
Louis  Ennius,  who  had  actually  en- 
tered the  cavern.  In  short,  the  truth 


of  the  legend  is  undeniable,  unless 
you  mean  to  say,  which  I  can't  for  a 
moment  suppose,  that  Louis  Ennius 
was  a  liar.  Thus  it  runs  : — St  Patrick, 
finding  that  the  Irish  pagans  were  in- 
credulous as  to  his  pathetic  assurances 
of  the  pains  and  torments  destined  to 
those  who  did  not  expiate  their  sins 
in  this  world,  prayed  for  a  miracle  to 
convince  them.  His  prayer  was  heard; 
and  a  certain  cavern,  so  small  that 
a  man  could  not  stand  up  therein  at 
his  ease,  was  suddenly  converted  into 
a  Purgatory,  comprehending  tortures 
sufficient  to  convince  the  most  in- 
credulous. One  unacquainted  with 
human  nature  might  conjecture  that 
few  would  be  disposed  to  venture 
voluntarily  into  such  a  place ; — on  the 
contrary,  pilgrims  came  in  crowds. 
Now,  all  who  entered  from  vain  curio- 
sity, or  with  souls  unprepared,  perished 
miserably ;  but  those  who  entered  with 
deep  and  earnest  faith,  conscious  of 
their  faults,  and  if  bold,  yet  humble, 
not  only  came  out  safe  and  sound,  but 
purified,  as  if  from  the  waters  of  a 
second  baptism.  See  Savage  and 
Johnson,  at  night  in  Fleet  Street ; — 
and  who  shall  doubt  the  truth  of  St 
Patrick's  Purgatory ! "  Therewith  my 
father  sighed  —  closed  his  Lucian, 
which  had  lain  open  on  the  table, 
and  would  read  nothing  but  "good 
books"  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 


CHAPTER,  II. 


On  their  escape  from  the  prison  to 
which  Mr  Avenel  had  condemned 
them,  Leonard  and  his  mother  found 
their  way  to  a  small  public-house  that 
lay  at  a  little  distance  from  the  town, 
and  on  the  outskirts  of  the  high-road. 
With  his  arm  round  his  mother's 
waist,  Leonard  supported  her  steps, 
and  soothed  her  excitement.  In  fact, 
the  poor  woman's  nerves  were  greatly 
shaken,  and  she  felt  an  uneasy  re- 
morse at  the  injury  her  intrusion  had 
inflicted  on  the  young  man's  worldly 
prospects.  As  the  shrewd  reader  has 
guessed  already,  that  infamous  Tinker 
was  the  prime  agent  of  evil  in  this 
critical  turn  in  the  affairs  of  his 
quondam  customer.  For,  on  his  re- 
turn to  his  haunts  around  Hazeldean 
and  the  Casino,  the  Tinker  had  has- 
tened to  apprise  Mrs  Fairfield  of  his 


interview  with  Leonard,  and,  on  find- 
ing that  she  was  not  aware  that  the 
boy  was  under  the  roof  of  his  uncle, 
the  pestilent  vagabond  (perhaps  from 
spite  against  Mr  Avenel,  or  perhaps 
from  that  pure  love  of  mischief  by 
which  metaphysical  critics  explain 
the  character  of  lago,  and  which  cer- 
tainly formed  a  main  element  in  the 
idiosyncrasy  of  Mr  Sprott)  had  so 
impressed  on  the  widow's  mind  the 
haughty  demeanour  of  the  uncle  and 
the  refined  costume  of  the  nephew, 
that  Mrs  Fairfield  had  been  seized 
with  a  bitter  and  insupportable  jea- 
lousy. There  was  an  intention  to  rob 
her  of  her  boy ! — he  was  to  be  made 
too  fine  for  her.  His  silence  was  now 
accounted  for.  This  sort  of  jealousy, 
always  more  or  less  a  feminine  qua- 
lity, is  often  very  strong  amongst  the 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XT. 


[July, 


poor ;  and  it  was  the  more  strong 
in  Mrs  Fairfield,  because,  lone  woman 
that  she  was,  the  boy  was  all  in  all 
to  her.  And  though  she  was  recon- 
ciled to  the  loss  of  his  presence,  no- 
thing could  reconcile  her  to  the 
thought  that  his  affections  should  be 
weaned  from  her.  Moreover,  there 
were  in  her  mind  certain  impressions, 
of  the  justice  of  which  the  reader  may 
better  judge  hereafter,  as  to  the  gra- 
titude—more than  ordinarily  filial — 
which  Leonard  owed  to  her.  In 
short,  she  did  not  like,  as  she  phrased 
it,  uto  be  shaken  off;"  and  after  a 
sleepless  night  she  resolved  to  judge 
for  herself,  much  moved  thereto  by 
the  malicious  suggestions  to  that  effect 
made  by  Mr  Sprott,  who  mightily 
enjoyed  the  idea  of  mortifying  the 
gentleman  by  whom  he  had  been  so 
disrespectfully  threatened  with  the 
treadmill.  The  widow  felt  angry  with 
Parson  Dale,  and  with  the  Ricca- 
boccas  :  she  thought  they  were  in  the 
plot  against  her ;  she  communicated, 
therefore,  her  intention  to  none — and 
off  she  set,  performing  the  journey 
partly  on  the  top  of  the  coach,  partly 
on  foot.  No  wonder  that  she  was 
dusty,  poor  woman. 

"  And,  oh  boy!"  said  she,  half  sob- 
bing, "  when  I  got  through  the  lodge- 
gates,  came  on  the  lawn,  and  saw  all 
that  power  o'  fine  folk — I  said  to  my- 
self, says  I— (for  I  felt  fritted)— I'll 
just  have  a  look  at  him  and  go  back. 
But  ah,  Lenny,  when  I  saw  thee, 
looking  so  handsome — and  when  thee 
turned  and  cried  '  Mother,'  my  heart 
was  just  ready  to  leap  out  o*  my 
mouth — and  so  I  could  not  help  hug- 
ging thee,  if  I  had  died  for  it.  And 
thou  wert  so  kind,  that  I  forgot  all 
Mr  Sprott  had  said  about  Dick's 
pride,  or  thought  he  had  just  told  a 
fib  about  that,  as  he  had  wanted  me  to 
believe  a  fib  about  thee.  Then  Dick 
came  up — and  I  had  not  seen  him  for 
so  many  years — and  we  come  o'  the 
same  father  and  mother ;  and  so— and 
so" —  The  widow's  sobs  here  fairly 
choked  her.  "Ah,"  she  said,  after 
giving  vent  to  her  passion,  and  throw- 
ing her  arms  round  Leonard's  neck, 
as  they  sate  in  the  little  sanded  par- 
lour of  the  public-house — "  Ah,  and 
I've  brought  thee  to  this.  Go  back, 
go  back,  boy,  and  never  mind  me." 

With  some  difficulty  Leonard  paci- 


fied poor  Mrs  Fairfield,  and  got  her 
to  retire  to  bed  ;  for  she  was,  indeed, 
thoroughly  exhausted.  He  then 
stepped  forth  into  the  road,  musingly. 
All  the  stars  were  out ;  and  Youth,  in 
its  troubles,  instinctively  looks  up  to 
the  stars.  Folding  his  arms,  Leonard 
gazed  on  the  heavens,  and  his  lips 
murmured. 

From  this  trance,  for  so  it  might  be 
called,  he  was  awakened  by  a  voice 
in  a  decidedly  London  accent ;  and, 
turning  hastily  round,  saw  Mr  Ave- 
nel's  very  gentlemanlike  butler.  Leo- 
nard's first  idea  was  that  his  uncle 
had  repented,  and  sent  in  search  of 
him.  But  the  butler  seemed  as  much 
surprised  at  the  rencontre  as  himself: 
that  personage,  indeed,  the  fatigues  of 
the  day  being  over,  was  accompany- 
ing one  of  Mr  Gunter's  waiters  to  the 
public-house,  (at  which  the  latter  had 
secured  his  lodging,)  having  disco- 
vered an  old  friend  in  the  waiter,  and 
proposing  to  regale  himself  with  a 
cheerful  glass,  and — (that  of  course) — 
abuse  of  his  present  sitiyation. 

"  Mr  Fairfield  1"  exclaimed  the 
butler,  while  the  waiter  walked 
discreetly  on. 

Leonard  looked,  and  said  nothing. 
The  butler  began  to  think  that  some 
apology  was  due  for  leaving  his  plate 
and  his  pantry,  and  that  he  might  as 
well  secure  Leonard's  propitiatory 
influence  with  his  master — 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  he,  touching  his 
hat,  "  I  was  just  a-showing  Mr  Giles 
the  way  to  the  Blue  Bells,  where  he 
puts  up  for  the  night.  I  hope  my 
master  will  not  be  offended.  If  you 
are  a-going  back,  sir,  would  you 
kindly  mention  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  going  back,  Jarvis," 
answered  Leonard,  after  a  pause ;  "  I 
am  leaving  Mr  Avenel's  house,  to 
accompany  my  mother;  rather  sud- 
denly. I  should  be  very  much  obliged 
to  you  if  you  would  bring  some  things 
of  mine  to  me  at  the  Blue  Bells.  I 
will  give  you  the  list,  if  you  will  step 
back  with  me  to  the  inn." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  Leo- 
nard then  turned  towards  the  inn,  and 
made  his  humble  inventory ;  item,  the 
clothes  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
the  Casino ;  item,  the  knapsack  that 
had  contained  them ;  item,  a  few  books 
ditto ;  item,  Dr  Riccabocca's  watch  ; 
item,  sundry  MSS.,  on  which  the 


1851.] 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XI. 


young  student  now  built  all  his  hopes 
of  fame  and  fortune.  This  list  he  put 
into  Mr  Jarvis's  hand. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  butler,  twirling  the 
paper  between  his  finger  and  thumb, 
"  you  are  not  a-going  for  long,  I 
hope ; "  and  as  he  thought  of  the 
scene  on  the  lawn,  the  report  of  which 
had  vaguely  reached  his  ears,  he 
looked  on  the  face  of  the  young  man, 
who  had  always  been  "  civil  spoken 
to  him,"  with  as  much  curiosity  and 
as  much  compassion  as  so  apathetic 
and  princely  a  personage  could  expe- 
rience in  matters  affecting  a  family 
less  aristocratic  than  he  had  hitherto 
condescended  to  serve. 

"  Yes,"  said  Leonard,  simply  and 
briefly  ;  "  and  your  master  will  no 
doubt  excuse  you  for  rendering  me 
this  service." 

Mr  Jarvis  postponed  for  the  pre- 
sent his  glass  and  chat  with  the 
waiter,  and  went  back  at  once  to  Mr 
Avenel.  That  gentleman,  still  seated 
in  his  library,  had  not  been  aware  of 
the  butler's  absence ;  and  when  Mr 
Jarvis  entered  and  told  him  that  he 
had  met  Mr  Fail-field,  and,  communi- 
cating the  commission  with  which  he 
was  intrusted,  asked  leave  to  execute 
it,  Mr  Avenel  felt  the  man's  inquisi- 
tive eye  was  on  him,  and  conceived 
new  wrath  against  Leonard  for  a  new 
humiliation  to  his  pride.  It  was  awk- 


ward to  give  no  explanation  of  his 
nephew's  departure,  still  more  awk- 
ward to  explain. 

After  a  short  pause,  Mr  Avenel  said 
sullenly,  "  My  nephew  is  going  away 
on  business  for  some  time — do  what 
he  tells  you ; "  and  then  turned  his 
back,  and  lighted  his  cigar. 

"  That  beast  of  a  boy,"  said  he,  so- 
liloquising, "  either  means  this  as  an 
affront,  or  an  overture  :  if  an  affront, 
he  is,  indeed,  well  got  rid  of;  if  an 
overture,  he  will  soon  make  a  more 
respectful  and  proper  one.  After  all, 
I  can't  have  too  little  of  relations  till 
I  have  fairly  secured  Mrs  M'Catchly. 
An  Honourable!  I  wonder  if  that 
makes  me  an  Honourable  too?  This 
cursed  Debrett  contains  no  practical 
information  on  these  points." 

The  next  morning,  the  clothes  and 
the  watch  with  which  Mr  Avenel  had 
presented  Leonard  were  returned, 
with  a  note  meant  to  express  grati- 
tude, but  certainly  written  with  very 
little  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  so 
full  of  that  somewhat  over-resentful 
pride  which  had  in  earlier  life  made 
Leonard  fly  from  Hazeldean,  and  re- 
fuse all  apology  to  Randal,  that  it  is 
not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Mr  Ave- 
nel's  last  remorseful  feelings  evapo- 
rated in  ire.  "  I  hope  he  will  starve ! " 
said  the  uncle,  vindictively. 


CHAPTER   III. 


"  Listen  to  me,  my  dear  mother," 
said  Leonard  the  next  morning,  as, 
with  his  knapsack  on  his  shoulder  and 
Mrs  Fairfield  on  his  arm,  he  walked 
along  the  high-road;  "I  do  assure 
you,  from  my  heart,  that  I  do  not 
regret  the  loss  of  favours  which  I  see 
plainly  would  have  crushed  out  of  me 
the  very  sense  of  independence.  But 
do  not  fear  for  me ;  I  have  education 
and  energy — I  shall  do  well  for  my- 
self, trust  me.  No;  I  cannot,  it  is 
true,  go  back  to  our  cottage — I  can- 
not be  a  gardener  again.  Don't  ask 
me — I  should  be  discontented,  miser- 
able. But  I  will  go  up  to  London ! 
That's  the  place  to  make  a  fortune 
and  a  name :  I  will  make  both.  O 
yes,  trust  me,  I  will.  You  shall  soon 
be  proud  of  your  Leonard  ;  and  then 
we  will  always  live  together— always! 
Don't  cry." 


"But  what  can  you  do  in  Lunnon — 
such  a  big  place,  Lenny?" 

"  What !  Every  year  does  not  some 
lad  leave  our  village,  and  go  and  seek 
his  fortune,  taking  with  him  but  health 
and  strong  hands?  I  have  these,  and 
I  have  more :  I  have  brains,  and 
thoughts,  and  hopes,  that — again  I 
say,  No,  no — never  fear  for  me ! " 

The  boy  threw  back  his  head 
proudly ;  there  was  something  sublime 
in  his  young  trust  in  the  future. 

"  Well— But  you  will  write  to  Mr 
Dale,  or  to  me  ?  I  will  get  Mr  Dale, 
or  the  good  Mounseer  (now  I  know 
they  were  not  agin  me)  to  read  your 
letters." 

"  I  will,  indeed  ! " 

"  And,  boy,  you  have  nothing  in 
your  pockets.  We  have  paid  Dick ; 
these,  at  least,  are  my  own,  after 
paying  the  coach  fare."  And  she 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XL 


[July, 


would  thrust  a  sovereign  and  some 
shillings  into  Leonard's  waistcoat 
pocket. 

After  some  resistance,  he  was 
forced  to  consent. 

"  And  there's  a  sixpence  with  a 
hole  in  it.  Don't  part  with  that, 
Lenny;  it  will  bring  thee  good 
luck." 

Thus  talking,  they  gained  the  inn 
where  the  three  roads  met,  and  from 
which  a  coach  went  direct  to  the 
Casino.  And  here,  without  entering 
the  inn,  they  sate  on  the  green  sward 
by  the  hedge-row,  waiting  the  arrival 
of  the  coach.  Mrs  Fairfield  was 
much  subdued  in  spirits,  and  there 
was  evidently  on  her  mind  some- 
thing uneasy — some  struggle  with 
her  conscience.  She  not  only  up- 
braided herself  for  her  rash  visit; 
but  she  kept  talking  of  her  dead 
Mark.  And  what  would  he  say  of 
her,  if  he  could  see  her  in 
heaven  ? 

"  It  was  so  selfish  in  me,  Lenny." 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  Has  not  a  mother 
aright  to  her  child?" 

"  Ay,  ay,  ay !"  cried  Mrs  Fairfield. 
"  I  do  love  you  as  a  child — my  own 


child.  But  if  I  was  not  your  mother, 
after  all,  Lenny,  and  cost  you  all 
this — oh,  what  would  you  say  of  me 
then?" 

"Not  my  own  mother!"  said 
Leonard,  laughing,  as  he  kissed  her. 
"  Well,  I  don't  know  what  I  should 
say  then  differently  from  what  I  say 
now — that  you,  who  brought  me  up, 
and  nursed  and  cherished  me,  had 
a  right  to  my  home  and  my  heart, 
wherever  I  was." 

"  Bless  thee!"  cried  Mrs  Fairfield, 
as  she  pressed  him  to  her  heart. 
"  But  it  weighs  here — it  weighs" — 
she  said,  starting  up. 

At  that  instant  the  coach  appeared, 
and  Leonard  ran  forward  to  inquire 
if  there  was  an  outside  place.  Then 
there  was  a  short  bustle  while  the 
horses  were  being  changed ;  and 
Mrs  Fairfield  was  lifted  up  to  the 
roof  of  the  vehicle.  So  all  future 
private  conversation  between  her  and 
Leonard  ceased.  But  as  the  coach 
whirled  away,  and  she  waved  her 
hand  to  the  boy,  who  stood  on  the 
road-side  gazing  after  her,  she  still 
murmured  —  "  It  weighs  here  —  it 
weighs ! " 


CHAPTER   IV. 


Leonard  walked  sturdily  on  in 
the  high-road  to  the  Great  City. 
The  day  was  calm  and  sunlit,  but 
with  a  gentle  breeze  from  grey  hills 
at  the  distance ;  and  with  each  mile 
that  he  passed,  his  step  seemed  to 
grow  more  firm,  and  his  front  more 
elate.  Oh  !  it  is  such  joy  in  youth 
to  be  alone  with  one's  day-dreams. 
And  youth  feels  so  glorious  a  vigour 
in  the  sense  of  its  own  strength, 
though  the  world  be  before  and 
— against  it !  Removed  from  that 
chilling  counting-house  —  from  the 
imperious  will  of  a  patron  and 
master— all  friendless,  but  all  inde- 
pendent— the  young  adventurer  felt 
a  new  being — felt  his  grand  nature 
as  Man.  And  on  the  Man  rushed 
the  genius  long  interdicted  —  and 
thrust  aside — rushing  back,  with  the 
first  breath  of  adversity,  to  console — 
no !  the  Man  needed  not  consola- 
tion,—  to  kindle,  to  animate,  to 
rejoice  !  If  there  is  a  being  in  the 
world  worthy  of  our  envy,  after  we 


have  grown  wise  philosophers  of  the 
fireside,  it  is  not  the  palled  volup- 
tuary, nor  the  care-worn  states* 
man,  nor  even  the  great  prince  of 
arts  and  letters,  already  crowned 
with  the  laurel,  whose  leaves  are  as 
fit  for  poison  as  for  garlands  ;  it  is 
the  young  child  of  adventure  and 
hope.  Ay,  and  the  emptier  his 
purse,  ten  to  one  but  the  richer 
his  heart,  and  the  wider  the  domains 
which  his  fancy  enjoys  as  he  goes  on 
with  kingly  step  to  the  Future. 

Not  till  towards  the  evening  did 
our  adventurer  slacken  his  pace,  and 
think  of  rest  and  refreshment.  There, 
then,  lay  before  him,  on  either  side 
the  road,  those  wide  patches  of  un- 
enclosed land,  which  in  England 
often  denote  the  entrance  to  a 
village.  Presently  one  or  two  neat 
cottages  came  in  sight — then  a  small 
farm  -  house,  with  its  yard  and 
barns.  And  someway  farther  yet, 
he  saw  the  sign  swinging  before  an 
inn  of  some  pretensions' — the  sort 


1851.] 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XL 


of  inn  often  found  on  a  long  stage 
between  two  great  towns,  com- 
monly called  "  The  Half-way  House." 
But  the  inn  stood  back  from  the 
road,  having  its  own  separate  sward 
in  front,  whereon  were  a  great  beech 
tree  (from  which  the  sign  extended) 
and  a  rustic  arbour — so  that,  to  gain 
the  inn,  the  coaches  that  stopped 
there  took  a  sweep  from  the  main 
thoroughfare.  Between  our  pedes- 
trian and  the  inn  there  stood  naked 
and  alone,  on  the  common  land,  a 
church  ;  our  ancestors  never  would 
have  chosen  that  site  for  it ;  there- 
fore it  was  a  modern  church — mo- 
dern Gothic — handsome  to  an  eye 
not  versed  in  the  attributes  of 
ecclesiastical  architecture — very  bar- 
barous to  an  eye  that  was.  Some- 
how or  other  the  church  looked  cold 
and  raw  and  uninviting.  It  looked 
a  church  for  show — much  too  big  for 
the  scattered  hamlet — and  void  of 
all  the  venerable  associations  which 
give  their  peculiar  and  unspeakable 
atmosphere  of  piety  to  the  churches 
in  which  succeeding  generations  have 
knelt  and  worshipped.  Leonard 
paused  and  surveyed  the  edifice  with 
an  unlearned  but  poetical  gaze — it 
dissatisfied  him.  And  he  was  yet 
pondering  why,  when  a  young  girl 
passed  slowly  before  him,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground,  opened  the  little 
gate  that  led  into  the  churchyard, 
and  vanished.  He  did  not  see  the 
child's  face ;  but  there  was  something 
in  her  movements  so  utterly  listless, 
forlorn,  and  sad,  that  his  heart  was 
touched.  What  did  she  there  ?  He 
approached  the  low  wall  with  a 
noiseless  step,  and  looked  over  it 
wistfully. 

There,  by  a  grave  evidently 
quite  recent,  with  no  wooden  tomb 
nor  tombstone  like  the  rest,  the 
little  girl  had  thrown  herself,  and 
she  was  sobbing  loud  and  pas- 
sionately. Leonard  opened  the  gate, 
and  approached  her  with  a  soft  step. 
Mingled  with  her  sobs,  he  heard 
broken  sentences,  wild  and  vain, 


as  all  human  sorrowings  over  graves 
must  be. 

u  Father! — oh,  father  !  do  you  not 
really  hear  me  ?  I  am  so  lone — so  lone ! 
Take  me  to  you— take  me ! "  And  she 
buried  her  face  in  the  deep  grass. 

"  Poor  child!"  said  Leonard,  in 
a  half  whisper — "  he  is  not  there. 
Look  above  !" 

The  girl  did  not  heed  him — he  put 
his  arm  round  her  waist  gently — she 
made  a  gesture  of  impatience  and 
anger,  but  she  would  not  turn  her 
face — and  she  clung  to  the  grave 
with  her  hands. 

After  clear  sunny  days  the  dews 
fall  more  heavily;  and  now,  as  the 
sun  set,  the  herbage  was  bathed  in 
a  vaporous  haze — a  dim  mist  rose 
around.  The  young  man  seated  him- 
self beside  her,  and  tried  to  draw 
the  child  to  his  breast.  Then  she 
turned  eagerly,  indignantly,  and 
pushed  him  aside  with  jealous  arms. 
He  profaned  the  grave !  He  under- 
stood her  with  his  deep  poet-heart, 
and  rose.  There  was  a  pause. 

Leonard  was  the  first  to  break  it. 

"  Come  to  your  home  with  me, 
my  child,  ancl  Ave  will  talk  of  him  by 
the  way." 

"  Him !  Who  are  you  ?  You  did 
not  know  him ! " — said  the  girl,  still 
with  anger.  "  Go  away — why  do 
you  disturb  me  ?  I  do  no  one  harm. 
Go— go!" 

"  You  do  yourself  harm,  and  that 
will  grieve  him  if  he  sees  you 
yonder!  Come!" 

The  child  looked  at  him  through 
her  blinding  tears,  and  his  face 
softened  and  soothed  her. 

"Go!"  she  said  very  plaintively, 
and  in  subdued  accents.  u  I  will  but 
stay  a  minute  more.  I — I  have  so 
much  to  say  yet." 

Leonard  left  the  churchyard,  and 
waited  without ;  and  in  a  short  time 
the  child  came  forth,  waved  him 
aside  as  he  approached  her,  and 
hurried  away.  He  followed  her  at 
a  distance,  and  saw  her  disappear 
within  the  inn. 


"  HIP — HIP — HURRAH!"  Such  was  — a  sound  joyous  in  itself,  but  sadly 
the  sound  that  greeted  our  young  out  of  harmony  with  the  feelings 
traveller  as  he  reached  the  inn  door  which  the  child  sobbing  on  the  tomb- 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XL 


8 

less  grave  had  left  at  bis  heart.  The 
sound  came  from  within,  and  was 
followed  by  thumps  and  stamps,  and 
the  jingle  of  glasses.  A  strong  odour 
of  tobacco  was  wafted  to  his  olfactory 
sense.  He  hesitated  a  moment  at 
the  threshold.  Before  him,  on  benches 
under  the  beech-  tree  and  within  the 
arbour,  were  grouped  sundry  athletic 
forms  with  "  pipes  in  the  liberal  air." 
The  landlady,  as  she  passed  across  the 
passage  to  the  tap-room,  caught  sight 
of  his  form  at  the  doorway,  and  came 
forward.  Leonard  still  stood  irre- 
solute. He  would  have  gone  on 
his  way,  but  for  the  child :  she  had 
interested  him  strongly. 

44  You  seem  full,  ma'am,"  said  he. 
44  Can  I  have  accommodation  for  the 
night?" 

44  Why,  indeed,  sir,"  said  the  land- 
lady civilly,  "  I  can  give  you  a  bed- 
room, but  I  don't  know  where  to  put 
you  meanwhile.  The  two  parlours 
and  the  tap-room  and  the  kitchen  are 
all  chokeful.  There  has  been  a  great 
cattle-fair  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
I  suppose  we  have  as  many  as  fifty 
farmers  and  drovers  stopping  here." 

4'  As  to  that,  ma'am,  I  can  sit  in  the 
bedroom  you  are  kind  enough  to  give 
me ;  and  if  it  does  not  cause  you  much 
trouble  to  let  me  have  some  tea  there, 
I  should  be  glad  ;  but  I  can  wait  your 
leisure.  Do  not  put  yourself  out  of  the 
way  for  me." 

The  landlady  was  touched  by  a 
consideration  she  was  not  much 
habituated  to  receive  from  her  bluff 
customers. 

44  You  speak  very  handsome,  sir, 
and  we  will  do  our  best  to  serve  you, 
if  you  will  excuse  all  faults.  This 
way,  sir."  Leonard  lowered  his  knap- 
sack, stepped  into  the  passage,  with 
some  difficulty  forced  his  way  through 
a  knot  of  sturdy  giants  in  top-boots 
or  leathern  gaiters,  who  were  swarm- 
ing in  and  out  the  tap-room,  and  fol- 
lowed his  hostess  up  stairs  to  a  little 
bedroom  at  the  top  of  the  house. 

44  It  is  small,  sir,  and  high,"  said 
the  hostess  apologetically.  44  But 
there  be  four  gentlemen  farmers  that 
have  come  a  great  distance,  and  all 
the  first  floor  is  engaged  ;  you  will  be 
more  out  of  the  noise  here." 

44 Nothing  can  suit  me  better.  But, 
gtay — pardon  me  ; "  and  Leonard, 
glancing  at  the  garb  of  the  hostess, 


[July, 


observed  she  was  not  in  mourning. 
44  A  little  girl  whom  I  saw  in  the 
churchyard  yonder,  weeping  very 
bitterly — is  she  a  relation  of  yours  ? 
Poor  child,  she  seems  to  have  deeper 
feelings  than  are  common  at  her  age." 

44  Ah,  sir,"  said  the  landlady,  put- 
ting the  corner  of  her  apron  to  her 
eyes,  44  it  is  a  very  sad  story — I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  Her  father  was 
taken  ill  on  his  way  to  Lunnon,  and 
stopped  here,  and  has  been  buried 
four  days.  And  the  poor  little  girl 
seems  to  have  no  relations  —  and 
where  is  she  to  go?  Laryer  Jones 
says  we  must  pass  her  to  Marybone 
parish,  where  her  father  lived  last ; 
and  what's  to  become  of  her  then  ? 
My  heart  bleeds  to  think  on  it." 
Here  there  rose  such  an  uproar  from 
below,  that  it  was  evident  some  quar- 
rel had  broke  out ;  and  the  hostess, 
recalled  to  her  duties,  hastened  to  carry 
thither  her  propitiatory  influences. 

Leonard  seated  himself  pensively 
by  the  little  lattice.  Here  was  some 
'  one  more  alone  in  the  world  than  he. 
And  she,  poor  orphan,  had  no  stout 
man's  heart  to  grapple  with  fate,  and 
no  golden  manuscripts  that  were  to 
be  as  the  u  Open- Sesame"  to  the  trea- 
sures of  Aladdin.  By-and-by  the 
hostess  brought  him  up  a  tray  with 
tea  and  other  refreshments,  and  Leo- 
nard resumed  his  inquiries.  44  No 
relatives  ?"  said  he ;  44  surely  the  child 
must  have  some  kinsfolk  in  London  ? 
Did  her  father  leave  no  directions,  or 
was  he  in  possession  of  his  faculties  ?" 

44  Yes,  sir ;  he  was  quite  reasonable- 
like  to  the  last.  And  I  asked  him  if 
he  had  not  anything  on  his  mind,  and 
he  said,  4 1  have.'  And  I  said,  4  Your 
little  girl,  sir?"  And  he  answered 
me,  4  Yes,  ma'am ; '  and  laying  his 
head  on  his  pillow,  he  wept  very 
quietly.  I  could  not  say  more  myself, 
for  it  set  me  off  to  see  him  cry  so 
meekly  ;  but  my  husband  is  harder 
nor  I,  and  he  said,  4  Cheer  up,  Mr 
Digby  ;  had  not  you  better  write  to 
your  friends.'" 

444  Friends !'  said  the  gentleman,  in 
such  a  voice  !  4  Friends  I  have  but 
one,  and  I  am  going  to  Him  !  I  can- 
not take  her  there !'  Then  he  seemed 
suddenly  to  recollect  hisself,  and 
called  for  his  clothes,  and  rummaged 
in  the  pockets  as  if  looking  for  some 
address,  and  could  not  find  it.  He 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XL 


1851.] 

seemed  a  forgetful  kind  of  gentle- 
man, and  his  hands  were  what  I 
call  helpless  hands,  sir !  And  then  he 
gasped  out,  '  Stop— stop  !  I  never  had 
the  address.  Write  to  Lord  Les — ', 
something  like  Lord  Lester — but  we 
could  not  make  out  the  name.  Indeed 
he  did  not  finish  it,  for  there  was  a 
rush  of  blood  to  his  lips ;  and  though 
he  seemed  sensible  when  he  recover- 
ed, (and  knew  us  and  his  little  girl 
too,  till  he  went  off  smiling,)  he  never 
spoke  word  more." 

"  Poor  man,"  said  Leonard,  wiping 
his  eyes.  "But  his  little  girl  surely 
remembers  the  name  that  he  did  not 
finish?" 

"No.  She  says,  he  must  have 
meant  a  gentleman  whom  they  had 
met  in  the  Park  not  long  ago,  who 
was  very  kind  to  her  father,  and  was 
Lord  something ;  but  she  don't  re- 
member the  name,  for  she  never  saw 
him  before  or  since,  and  her  father 
talked  very  little  about  any  one  late- 
ly, but  thought  he  should  find  some 
kind  friends  at  Screwstpwn,  and  tra- 
velled down  there  with  her  from 
Lunnon.  But  she  supposes  he  was 
disappointed,  for  he  went  out,  came 
back,  and  merely  told  her  to  put  up 
the  things,  as  they  must  go  back  to 
Lunnon.  And  on  his  way  there  he 
— died.  Hush,  what's  that  ?  I  hope 
she  did  not  overhear  us.  No,  we 
were  talking  low.  She  has  the  next 
room  to  your'n,  sir.  I  thought  I 
heard  her  sobbing.  Hush !" 

"  In  the  next  room  ?  I  hear 
nothing.  Well,  with  your  leave,  I 
will  speak  to  her  before  I  quit  you. 
And  had  her  father  no  money  with 
him?" 

"  Yes,  a  few  sovereigns,  sir ;  they 
paid  for  his  funeral,  and  there  is  a 
little  left  still,  enough  to  take  her  to 
town ;  for  my  husband  said,  says  he, 
'  Hannah,  the  widow  gave  her  mite, 
and  we  must  not  take  the  orphan's  ; ' 
and  my.  husband  is  a  hard  man,  too, 
sir.  Bless  him !" 

"  Let  me  take  your  hand,  ma'am. 
God  reward  you  both." 

"La,  sir! — why,  even  Dr  Dose- 
well  said,  rather  grumpily  though, 
4  Never  mind  my  bill ;  but  don't  call 
me  up  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning 
again,  without  knowing  a  little  more 
about  people.'  And  I  never  afore  knew 
Dr  Dosewell  go  without  his  bill  being 


paid.     He  said  it  was  a  trick  o'  the 
other  Doctor  to  spite  him." 

*  What  other  Doctor  ?" 

"  Oh,  a  very  good  gentleman,  who 
got  out  with  Mr  Digby  when  he 
was  taken  ill,  and  stayed  till  the 
next  morning  ;  and  our  Doctor  says 
his  name  is  Morgan,  and  he  lives  in 
— Lunnon,  and  is  a  homy — something  " 

"  Homicide,"  suggested  Leonard 
ignorantly. 

"  Ah — homicide  ;  something  like 
that,  only  a  deal  longer  and  worse. 
But  he  left  some  of  the  tiniest  little 
balls  you  ever  see,  sir,  to  give  the 
child  ;  but,  bless  you,  they  did  her  no 
good — how  should  they  ?  " 

"  Tiny  balls,  oh — homoaopathist — I 
understand.  And  the  Doctor  was 
kind  to  her;  perhaps  he  may  help 
her.  Have  you  written  to  him  ?" 

"But  we  don't  know  his  address, 
and  Lunnon  is  a  vast  place,  sir." 

"  I  am  going  to  London,  and  will 
find  it  out." 

"  Ah,  sir,  you  seem  very  kind ;  and 
sin'  she  must  go  to  Lunnon,  (for  what 
can  we  do  with  her  here  ?— she's  too 
genteel  for  service,)  I  wish  she  was 
going  with  you." 

"  With  me  !"  said  Leonard  startled : 
"with  me!  Well,  why  not?" 

"  I  am  sure  she  comes  of  good 
blood,  sir.  You  would  have  known 
her  father  was  quite  the  gentleman, 
only  to  see  him  die,  sir.  He  went  off 
so  kind  and  civil  like,  as  if  he  was 
ashamed  to  give  so  much  trouble — 
quite  a  gentleman,  if  ever  there  was 
one.  And  so  are  you,  sir,  I'm  sure," 
said  the  landlady,  curtseying ;  "  I 
know  what  gentlefolk  be.  I've  been 
a  housekeeper  in  the  first  of  families  in 
this  very  shire,  sir,  though  I  can't 
say  I've  served  in  Lunnon ;  and  so,  as 
gentlefolks  know  each  other,  I've  no 
doubt  you  could  find  out  her  relations. 
Dear — dear!  Coming,  coming  !" 

Here  there  were  loud  cries  for  the 
hostess,  and  she  hurried  away.  The 
farmers  and  drovers  were  beginning 
to  depart,  and  their  bills  were  to  be 
made  out  and  paid.  Leonard  saw  his 
hostess  no  more  that  night.  The  last 
hip — hip — hurrah,  was  heard  ;  some 
toast,  perhaps  to  the  health  of  the 
county  members  ; — and  the  chamber 
of  woe,  beside  Leonard's,  rattled  with 
the  shout.  By-and-by  silence  gradu- 
ally succeeded  the  various  dissonant 


10 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XI. 


[July, 


sounds  below.  The  carts  and  gigs 
rolled  away ;  the  clatter  of  hoofs  on 
the  road  ceased  ;  there  was  then  a 
dumb  dull  sound  as  of  locking-up,  and 
low  humming  voices  below,  and  foot- 
steps mounting  the  stairs  to  bed,  with 
now  and  then  a  drunken  hiccup  or 
maudlin  laugh,  as  some  conquered 
votary  of  Bacchus  was  fairly  carried 
up  to  his  domicile. 

All,  then,  at  last  was  silent,  just  as 
the  clock  from  the  church  sounded 
the  stroke  of  eleven. 

Leonard,  meanwhile,  had  been  look- 
ing over  his  MSS.  There  was  first  a 
project  for  an  improvement  on  the 
steam-engine — a  project  that  had  long 
lain  in  his  mind,  begun  with  the  first 
knowledge  of  mechanics  that  he  had 
gleaned  from  his  purchases  of  the 
Tinker.  He  put  that  aside  now — it 
required  too  great  an  effort  of  the  rea- 
soning faculty  to  re-examine.  He 
glanced  less  hastily  over  a  collection 
of  essays  on  various  subjects,  some 
that  he  thought  indifferent,  some  that 
he  thought  good.  He  then  lingered 
over  a  collection  of  verses,  written  in 
his  best  hand  with  loving  care — verses 
first  inspired  by  his  perusal  of  Nora's 
melancholy  memorials.  These  verses 
were  as  a  diary  of  his  heart  and  his 
fancy — those  deep  unwitnessed  strug- 
gles which  the  boyhood  of  all  more 
thoughtful  natures  has  passed  in  its 
bright  yet  mirky  storm  of  the  cloud  and 
the  lightningflash ;  though  but  few  boys 
pause  to  record  the  crisis  from  which 
slowly  emerges  Man.  And  these  first 
desultory  grapplings  with  the  fugitive 
airy  images  that  flit  through  the  dim 
chambers  of  the  brain,  had  become 
with  each  effort  more  sustained  and 
vigorous,  till  the  phantoms  were 
spelled,  the  flying  ones  arrested,  the 
Immaterial  seized,  and  clothed  with 
Form.  Gazing  on  his  last  effort, 
Leonard  felt  that  there  at  length 
spoke  forth  the  Poet.  It  was  a  work 
which,  though  as  yet  but  half  com- 
pleted, came  from  a  strong  hand  ;  not 
that  shadow  trembling  on  unsteady 


waters,  which  is  but  the  pale  reflex 
and  imitation  of  some  bright  mind, 
sphered  out  of  reach  and  afar ;  but  an 
original  substance — a  life — a  thing  of 
the  Creative  Faculty — breathing  back 
already  the  breath  it  had  received. 
This  work  had  paused  during  Leo- 
nard's residence  with  Mr  Avenel,  or 
had  only  now  and  then,  in  stealth, 
and  at  night,  received  a  rare  touch. 
Now,  as  with  a  fresh  eye,  he  re- 
perused  it ;  and  with  that  strange,  in- 
nocent admiration,  not  of  self— (for 
a  man's  work  is  not,  alas  !  himself— 
it  is  the  beatified  and  idealised 
essence,  extracted  he  knows  not  how 
from  his  own  human  elements  of  clay) 
— admiration  known  but  to  poets — 
their  purest  delight,  often  their  sole 
reward.  And  then,  with  a  warmer 
and  more  earthly  beat  of  his  full 
heart,  he  rushed  in  fancy  to  the  Great 
City,  where  all  rivers  of  Fame  meet, 
but  not  to  be  merged  and  lost-*-sally- 
ing  forth  again,  individualised  and 
separate,  to  flow  through  that  one 
vast  Thought  of  God  which  we  call 
THE  WORLD. 

He  put  up  his  papers  ;  and  opened 
his  window,  as  was  his  ordinary 
custom,  before  he  retired  to  rest— for 
he  had  many  odd  habits  ;  and  he  loved 
to  look  out  into  the  night  when  he 
prayed.  His  soul  seemed  to  escape 
from  the  body — to  mount  on  the  air — 
to  gain  more  rapid  access  to  the 
far  Throne  in  the  Infinite— when  his 
breath  went  forth  among  the  winds, 
and  his  eyes  rested  fixed  on  the  stars, 
of  Heaven. 

So  the  boy  prayed  silently;  and 
after  his  prayer  he  was  about  linger- 
ingly  to  close  the  lattice,  when  he 
heard  distinctly  sobs  close  at  hand. 
He  paused,  and  held  his  breath ;  then 
looked  gently  out ;  the  casement  next 
his  own  was  also  open.  Some  one 
was  also  at  watch  by  that  casement — 
perhaps  also  praying.  He  listened 
yet  more  intently,  and  caught,  soft 
and  low,  the  words,  "  Father — father 
— do  you  hear  me  now?" 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Leonard  opened  his  door  and  stole 
towards  that  of  the  room  adjoining  ; 
for  his  first  natural  impulse  had  been 
to  enter  and  console.  But  when  his 


touch  was  on  the  handle,  he  drew 
back.  Child  though  the  mourner  was, 
her  sorrows  were  rendered  yet  more 
sacred  from  intrusion  by  her  sex. 


1851.] 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XL 


Something,  he  knew  not  what,  in  his 
young  ignorance,  withheld  him  from 
the  threshold.  To  have  crossed  it 
then  would  have  seemed  to  him  pro- 
fanation. So  he  returned,  and  for 
hours  yet  he  occasionally  heard  the 
sobs,  till  they  died  away,  and  child- 
hood wept  itself  to  sleep. 

But  the  next  morning,  when  he 
heard  his  neighbour  astir,  he  knocked 
gently  at  her  door  :  there  was  no  an- 
swer. He  entered  softly,  and  saw  her 
seated  very  listlessly  in  the  centre  of 
the  room — as  if  it  had  no  familiar  nook 
or  corner  as  the  rooms  of  home  have — 
her  hands  drooping  on  her  lap,  and  her 
eyes  gazing  desolately  on  the  floor. 
Then  he  approached  and  spoke  to 
her. 

Helen  was  very  subdued,  and  very 
silent.  Her  tears  seemed  dried  up ; 
and  it  was  long  before  she  gave  sign 
or  token  that  she  heeded  him.  At 
length,  however,  he  gradually  suc- 
ceeded in  rousing  her  interest ;  and 
the  first  symptom  of  his  success  was 
in  the  quiver  of  her  lip,  and  the  over- 
flow of  the  downcast  eyes. 

By  little  and  little  he  wormed  him- 
self into  her  confidence  ;  and  she  told 
him,  in  broken  whispers,  her  simple 
story.  But  what  moved  him  the  most 
was,  that,  beyond  her  sense  of  loneli- 
ness, she  did  not  seem  to  feel  her  own 
unprotected  state.  She  mourned  the 
object  she  had  nursed,  and  heeded, 
and  cherished;  for  she  had  been 
rather  the  protectress  than  the  pro- 
tected to  the  helpless  dead.  He 
could  not  gain  from  her  any  more 
satisfactory  information  than  the 
landlady  had  already  imparted,  as  to 
her  friends  and  prospects  ;  but  she 
permitted  him  passively  to  look  among 
the  effects  her  father  had  left — save 
only  that  if  his  hand  touched  some- 
thing that  seemed  to  her  associations 
especially  holy,  she  waved  him  back, 
or  drew  it  quickly  away.  There 
were  many  bills  receipted  in  the  name 
of  Captain  Digby — old  yellow  faded 
music- scores  for  the  flute— extracts 
of  Parts  from  Prompt  Books — gay 
parts  of  lively  comedies,  in  which 
heroes  have  so  noble  a  contempt 


11 

for  money — fit  heroes  for  a  Sheridan 
and  a  Farquhar ; — elose  by  these 
were  several  pawnbrokers'  tickets ; 
and,  not  arrayed  smoothly,  but 
crumpled  up,  as  if  with  an  indignant 
nervous  clutch  of  the  old  helpless 
hands,  some  two  or  three  letters.  He 
asked  Helen's  permission  to  glance  at 
these,  for  they  might  give  a  clue  to 
friends.  Helen  gave  the  permission  by 
a  silent  bend  of  the  head.  The  let- 
ters, however,  were  but  short  and 
freezing  answers  from  what  appeared 
to  be  distant  connections  or  former 
friends,  or  persons  to  whom  the  de- 
ceased had  applied  for  some  situation. 
They  were  all  very  disheartening  in 
their  tone.  Leonard  next  endea- 
voured to  refresh  Helen's  memory  as 
to  the  name  of  the  nobleman  which 
had  been  last  on  her  father's  lips ; 
but  there  he  failed  wholly.  For  it 
may  be  remembered  that  Lord 
L'Estrange,  when  he  pressed  his  loan 
on  Mr  Digby,  and  subsequently  told 
that  gentleman  to  address  to  him  at 
Mr  Egerton's,  had,  from  a  natural  deli- 
cacy, sent  the  child  on,  that  she  might 
not  hear  the  charity  bestowed  on  the 
father;  and  Helen  said  truly,  that  Mr 
Digby  had  sunk  into  a  habitual  silence 
on  all  his  affairs  latterly.  She  might 
have  heard  her  father  mention  the 
name,  but  she  had  not  treasured  it 
up ;  all  she  could  say  was,  that  she 
should  know  the  stranger  again  if  she 
met  him,  and  his  dog  too.  Seeing 
that  the  child  had  grown  calm,  Leo- 
nard was  then  going  to  leave  the 
room,  in  order  to  confer  with  the 
hostess ;  when  she  rose  suddenly 
though  noiselessly,  and  put  her  little 
hand  in  his,  as  if  to  detain  him.  She 
did  not  say  a  word — the  action  said 
all — said,  "  Do  not  desert  me."  And 
Leonard's  heart  rushed  to  his  lips, 
and  he  answered  to  the  action,  as  he 
bent  down  and  kissed  her  cheek, 
"  Orphan,  will  you  go  with  me  ?  We 
have  one  Father  yet  to  both  of  us, 
and  He  will  guide  us  on  earth.  I  am 
fatherless  like  you."  She  raised  her 
eyes  to  his — looked  at  him  long — and 
then  leant  her  head  confidingly  on  his 
strong  young  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


At  noon  that  same  day,  the  young 
man  and  the  child  were  on  their  road 


to  London.    The  host  had  at  first  a 
little  demurred  at  trusting  Helen  to 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XL 


12 

so  young  a  companion  ;  but  Leonard, 
in  his  happy  ignorance,  had  talked  so 
sanguinely  of  finding  out  this  lord,  or 
some  adequate  protection  for  the 
child;  and  in  so  grand  a  strain,  though 
with  all  sincerity — had  spoken  of  his 
own  great  prospects  in  the  metropolis, 
(he  did  not  say  what  they  were !) — 
that  had  he  been  the  craftiest  impostor 
he  could  not  more  have  taken  in  the 
rustic  host.  And  while  the  landlady 
still  cherished  the  illusive  fancy,  that 
all  gentlefolks  must  know  each  other 
in  London,  as  they  did  in  a  county, 
the  landlord  believed,  at  least,  that 
a  young  man  so  respectably  dressed, 
although  but  a  foot-traveller — who 
talked  in  so  confident  a  tone,  and 
who  was  so  willing  to  undertake 
what  might  be  rather  a  burthensome 
charge,  unless  he  saw  how  to  rid 
himself  of  it — would  be  sure  to  have 
friends,  older  and  wiser  than  himself, 
who  would  judge  what  could  best  be 
done  for  the  orphan. 

And  what  was  the  host  to  do 
with  her?  Better  this  volunteered 
escort,  at  least,  than  vaguely  passing 
her  on  from  parish  to  parish,  and 
leaving  her  friendless  at  last  in  the 
streets  of  London.  Helen,  too, 
smiled  for  the  first  time  on  being 
asked  her  wishes,  and  again  put  her 
hand  in  Leonard's.  In  short,  so  it 
was  settled. 

The  little  girl  made  up  a  bundle  of 
the  things  she  most  prized  or  needed. 
Leonard  did  not  feel  the  additional 
load,  as  he  slung  it  to  his  knapsack  : 
the  rest  of  the  luggage  was  to  be 
sent  to  London  as  soon  as  Leonard 
wrote,  (which  he  promised  to  do 
soon,)  and  gave  an  address. 

Helen  paid  her  last  visit  to  the 
churchyard  ;  and  she  joined  her  com- 
panion as  he  stood  on  the  road,  with- 
out the  solemn  precincts.  And  now 
they  had  gone  on  some  hours;  and 
when  he  asked  if  she  were  tired,  she 
still  answered  "  No."  But  Leonard 
was  merciful,  and  made  their  day's 
journey  short ;  and  it  took  them  some 
days  to  reach  London.  By  the  long 
lonely  way,  they  grew  so  intimate  ; 
at  the  end  of  the  second  day,  they 
called  each  other  brother  and  sister ; 
and  Leonard,  to  his  delight,  found 
that  as  her  grief,  with  the  bodily 
movement  and  the  change  of  scene, 
subsided  from  its  first  intenseness 


[July, 


and  its  insensibility  to  other  impres- 
sions, she  developed  a  quickness  of 
comprehension  far  beyond  her  years. 
Poor  child!  that  had  been  forced  upon 
her  by  Necessity.  And  she  under- 
stood him  in  his  spiritual  consolations, 
— half  poetical,  half  religious ;  and 
she  listened  to  his  own  tale,  and  the 
story  of  his  self-education  and  solitary 
struggles — those,  too,  she  understood. 
But  when  he  burst  out  with  his 
enthusiasm,  his  glorious  hopes,  his 
confidence  in  the  fate  before  them, 
then  she  would  shake  her  head  very 
quietly  and  very  sadly.  Did  she 
comprehend  them  ?  Alas  !  perhaps 
too  well.  She  knew  more  as  to  real 
life  than  he  did.  Leonard  was  at 
first  their  joint  treasurer;  but  before 
the  second  day  was  over,  Helen 
seemed  to  discover  that  he  was  too 
lavish ;  and  she  told  him  so,  with  a 
prudent  grave  look,  putting  her  hand 
on  his  arm  as  he  was  about  to  enter 
an  inn  to  dine ;  and  the  gravity 
would  have  been  comic,  but  that 
the  eyes  through  their  moisture 
were  so  meek  and  grateful.  She 
felt  he  was  about  to  incur  that 
ruinous  extravagance  on  her  account. 
Somehow  or  other,  the  purse  found 
its  way  into  her  keeping,  and  then 
she  looked  proud  and  in  her  natural 
element. 

Ah !  what  happy  meals  under  her 
care  were  provided :  so  much  more 
enjoyable  than  in  dull,  sanded  inn 
parlours,  swarming  with  flies  and 
reeking  with  stale  tobacco.  She 
would  leave  him  at  the  entrance  of  a 
village,  bound  forward,  and  cater, 
and  return  with  a  little  basket  and  a 
pretty  blue  jug  —  which  she  had 
bought  on  the  road — the  last  filled 
with  new  milk ;  the  first  with  new 
bread  and  some  special  dainty  in 
radishes  or  water-cresses.  And  she 
had  such  a  talent  for  finding  out  the 
prettiest  spot  whereon  to  halt  and 
dine :  sometimes  in  the  heart  of  a 
wood — so  still,  it  was  like  a  forest 
in  fairy  tales,  the  hare  stealing 
through  the  alleys,  or  the  squirrel 
peeping  at  them  from  the  boughs ; 
sometimes  by  a  little  brawling  stream, 
with  the  fishes  seen  under  the  clear 
wave,  and  shooting  round  the  crumbs 
thrown  to  them.  They  made  an 
Arcadia  of  the  dull  road  up  to  their 
dread  Thermopylae — the  war  against 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XI.  13 

the  million  that  waited  them  on  the  are   great?"    said   Leonard,    in   his 

other    side    of    their    pass    through  grand  simplicity. 
Tempe.  Helen  sighed,  and  the  wise  little 

u  Shall  we  be  as  happy  when  we  head  was  shaken. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


At  last  they  came  within  easy 
reach  of  London ;  but  Leonard  had 
resolved  not  to  enter  the  metropolis 
fatigued  and  exhausted,  as  a  wan- 
derer needing  refuge,  but  fresh  and 
elate,  as  a  conqueror  coming  in  tri- 
umph to  take  possession  of  the  capi- 
tal. Therefore  they  halted  early  in 
the  evening  of  the  day  preceding  this 
imperial  entry,  about  six  miles  from 
the  metropolis,  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Baling,  (for  by  that  route  lay 
their  way.)  They  were  not  tired  on 
arriving  at  their  inn.  The  weather 
was  singularly  lovely,  with  that  com- 
bination of  softness  and  brilliancy 
Avhich  is  only  known  to  the  rare  true 
summer  days  of  England :  all  below 
so  green,  above  so  blue — days  of 
which  we  have  about  six  in  the  year, 
and  recall  vaguely  when  we  read  of 
Robin  Hood  and  Maid  Marian,  of 
Damsel  and  Knight,  in  Spenser's 
golden  Summer  Song,  or  of  Jacques, 
dropped  under  the  oak  tree,  watching 
the  deer  amidst  the  dells  of  Ardennes. 
So,  after  a  little  pause  in  their  inn, 
they  strolled  forth,  not  for  travel  but 
pleasure,  towards  the  cool  of  sunset, 
passing  by  the  grounds  that  once 
belonged  to  the  l)uke  of  Kent,  and 
catching  a  glimpse  of  the  shrubs  and 
lawns  of  that  beautiful  domain 
through  the  lodge-gates ;  then  they 
crossed  into  some  fields,  and  came  to 
a  little  rivulet  called  the  Brent. 
Helen  had  been  more  sad  that  day 
than  on  any  during  their  journey. 
Perhaps  because,  on  approaching 
London,  the  memory  of  her  father 
became  more  vivid  ;  perhaps  from 
her  precocious  knowledge  of  life,  and 
her  foreboding  of  what  was  to  befall 
them,  children  that  they  both  were. 
But  Leonard  was  selfish  that  day  ; 
he  could  not  be  influenced  by  his 
companion's  sorrow,  he  was  so  full  of 
his  own  sense  of  being,  and  he  already 
caught  from  the  atmosphere  the  fever 
that  belongs  to  anxious  Capitals. 

"  Sit  here,  sister,"  said  he  impe- 
riously, throwing  himself  under  the 


shade  of  a  pollard  tree  that  overhung 
the  winding  brook,  "  sit  here  and 
talk." 

He  flung  off  his  hat,  tossed  back 
his  rich  curls,  and  sprinkled  his  brow 
from  the  stream  that  eddied  round 
the  roots  of  the  tree  that  bulged  out, 
bald  and  gnarled,  from  the  bank,  and 
delved  into  the  waves  below.  Helen 
quietly  obeyed  him,  and  nestled  close 
to  his  side. 

u  And  so  this  London  is  really  very 
vast  ? — VERY  ?  "  he  repeated  inquisi- 
tively. 

"  Very,"  answered  Helen,  as  ab- 
stractedly she  plucked  the  cowslips 
near  her,  and  let  them  fall  into  the 
running  waters.  "  See  how  the 
flowers  are  carried  down  the  stream  ! 
They  are  lost  now.  London  is  to  us 
what  the  river  is  to  the  flowers — very 
vast — very  strong;"  and  she  added, 
after  a  pause,  "  very  cruel !  " 

"  Cruel !  Ah,  it  has  been  so  to  you ; 
but  now! — now  I  will  take  care  of 
you  ! "  he  smiled  triumphantly  ;  and 
his  smile  was  beautiful  both  in  its 
pride  and  its  kindness.  It  is  aston- 
ishing how  Leonard  had  altered  since 
he  had  left  his  uncle's.  He  was  both 
younger  and  older ;  for  the  sense  of 
genius,  when  it  snaps  its  shackles, 
makes  us  both  older  and  wiser  as  to 
the  world  it  soars  to — younger  and 
blinder  as  to  the  world  it  springs 
from. 

"  And  it  is  not  a  very  handsome 
city  either,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Very  ugly,  indeed,"  said  Helen, 
with  some  fervour ;  "at  least  all  I 
have  seen  of  it." 

"  But  there  must  be  parts  that  are 
prettier  than  others  ?  You  say  there 
are  parks  ;  why  should  not  we  lodge 
near  them,  and  look  upon  the  green 
trees  ?  " 

"  That  would  be  nice,"  said  Helen, 
almost  joyously  ;  "  but — "  and  here 
the  head  was  shaken — "  there  are  no 
lodgings  for  us  except  in  courts  and 
alleys." 

«  Why?" 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XL 


U 

"  Why  ? "  echoed  Helen,  with  a 
smile,  and  she  held  up  the  purse. 

"  Pooh  !  always  that  horrid  purse  ; 
as  if,  too,  we  were  not  going  to  fill  it. 
Did  not  I  tell  you  the  story  of  For- 
tunio  ?  Well,  at  all  events,  we  will 
go  first  to  the  neighbourhood  where 
you  last  lived,  and  learn  there  all  we 
can  ;  and  then  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row, I  will  see  this  Dr  Morgan,  and 
find  out  the  Lord—" 

The  tears  started  to  Helen's  soft 
eyes.  "  You  want  to  get  rid  of  me 
soon,  brother." 

"  I !  ah,  I  feel  so  happy  to  have 
you  with  me,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I 
had  pined  for  you  all  my  life,  and  you 
had  come  at  last ;  for  I  never  had 
brother,  nor  sister,  nor  any  one  to 
love,  that  was  not  older  than  myself, 
except — " 

"  Except  the  young  lady  you  told 
me  of,"  said  Helen,  turning  away  her 
face  ;  for  children  are  very  jealous. 

"  Yes,  I  loved  her,  love  her  still. 
But  that  was  different,"  said  Leonard, 
with  a  heightened  colour.  "  I  could 
never  have  talked  to  her  as  to  you : 
to  you  I  open  my  whole  heart ;  you 
are  my  little  Muse,  Helen.  I  confess 
to  you  my  wild  whims  and  fancies  as 
frankly  as  if  I  were  writing  poetry." 
As  he  said  this,  a  step  was  heard, 
and  a  shadow  fell  over  the  stream. 
A  belated  angler  appeared  on  the 
margin,  drawing  his  line  impatiently 
across  the  water,  as  if  to  worry  some 
dozing  fish  into  a  bite  before  it  finally 
settled  itself  for  the  night.  Absorbed 
in  his  occupation,  the  angler  did  not 
observe  the  young  persons  on  the 
sward  under  the  tree,  and  he  halted 
there,  close  upon  them. 

"  Curse  that  perch ! "  said  he  aloud. 

"  Take  care,  sir,"  cried  Leonard  ; 
for  the  man,  in  stepping  back,  nearly 
trod  upon  Helen. 

The  angler  turned.  "  What's  the 
matter  ?  Hist !  you  have  frightened 
my  perch.  Keep  still,  can't  you  ?  " 

Helen  drew  herself  out  of  the  way, 
and  Leonard  remained  motionless. 
He  remembered  Jackeymo,  and  felt  a 
sympathy  for  the  angler. 

"  It  is  the  most  extraordinary  perch, 
that !  "  muttered  the  stranger,  solilo- 
quising. "  It  has  the  devil's  own 
luck.  It  must  have  been  born  with 
a  silver  spoon  in  its  mouth,  that 
damned  perch  !  I  shall  never  catch 


[July, 


it — never !  Ha ! — no — only  a  weed. 
I  give  it  up."  With  this,  he  indig- 
nantly jerked  his  rod  from  the  water, 
and  began  to  disjoint  it.  While 
leisurely  engaged  in  this  occupation, 
he  turned  to  Leonard. 

u  Humph  !  are  you  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  this  stream,  sir  ?  " 

u  No,"  answered  Leonard.  "  I 
never  saw  it  before." 

ANGLER,  (solemnly.)  —  "  Then, 
young  man,  take  my  advice,  and  do 
not  give  way  to  its  fascinations.  Sir, 
I  am  a  martyr  to  this  stream  ;  it  has 
been  the  Dalilah  of  my  existence." 

LEONARD,  (Interested,  the  last  sen- 
tence seemed  to  him  poetical.)—"  The 
Dalilah  !  Sir,  the  Dalilah  ! " 

ANGLER. — "  The  Dalilah.  Young 
man,  listen,  and  be  warned  by  ex- 
ample. When  I  was  about  your  age, 
I  first  came  to  this  stream  to  fish. 
Sir,  on  that  fatal  day,  about  3  P.  MM 
I  hooked  up  a  fish — such  a  big  one, 
it  must  have  weighed  a  pound  and  a 
half.  Sir,  it  was  that  length ;"  and 
the  angler  put  finger  to  wrist.  "  And 
just  when  I  had  got  it  nearly  ashore, 
by  the  very  place  where  you  are  sit- 
ting, on  that  shelving  bank,  young 
man,  the  line  broke,  and  the  perch 
twisted  himself  among  those  roots, 
and — caco-dasmon  that  he  was — ran 
off,  hook  and  all.  Well,  that  fish 
haunted  me  ;  never  before  had  I  seen 
such  a  fish.  Minnows  I  had  caught 
in  the  Thames  and  elsewhere,  also 
gudgeons,  and  occasionally  a  dace. 
But  a  fish  like  that— a  PERCH 
— all  his  fins  up,  like  the  sails  of  a 
man-of-war  —  a  monster  perch — a 
whale  of  a  perch  ! — No,  never  till  then 
had  I  known  what  leviathans  lie  hid 
within  the  deeps.  I  could  not  sleep 
till  I  had  returned ;  and  again,  sir, — I 
caught  that  perch.  And  this  time  I 
pulled  him  fairly  out  of  the  water. 
He  escaped  ;  and  how  did  he  escape? 
Sir,  he  left  his  eye  behind  him  on  the 
hook.  Years,  long  years,  have  pass- 
ed since  then  ;  but  never  shall  I  forget 
the  agony  of  that  moment." 

LEONARD.—"  To  the  perch,  sir  ?  " 

ANGLER. — "  Perch  !  agony  to  him  ! 
He  enjoyed  it: — agony  to  me.  I  gazed 
on  that  eye,  and  the  eye  looked  as  sly 
and  as  wicked  as  if  it  was  laughing 
in  my  face.  Well,  sir,  I  had  heard 
that  there  is  no  better  bait  for  a  perch 
than  a  perch's  eye.  I  adjusted  that 


1851.] 


My  Novel;  o?',  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XL 


eye  on  the  hook,  and  dropped  in  the 
line  gently.  The  water  was  unusually 
clear;  in  two  minutes  I  saw  that  perch 
return.  He  approached  the  hook ;  he 
recognised  his  eye — frisked  his  tail — • 
made  a  plunge — and,  as  I  live,  carried 
off  the  eye,  safe  and  sound  ;  and  I  saw 
him  digesting  it  by  the  side  of  that 
water  -  lily.  The  mocking  fiend  ! 
Seven  times  since  that  day,  in  the 
course  of  a  varied  and  eventful  life, 
have  I  caught  that  perch,  and  seven 
times  has  that  perch  escaped." 

LEONARD,  (astonished.)  —  "  It 
can't  be  the  same  perch ;  perches 
are  very  tender  fish — a  hook  inside  of 
it,  and  an  eye  hooked  out  of  it — no 
perch  could  withstand  such  havoc  in 
its  constitution." 

ANGLER,  (with  an  appearance  of 
a, we.) — u  It  does  seem  supernatural. 
But  it  is  that  perch  ;  for  harkye,  sir, 
there  is  ONLY  ONE  perch  in  the  whole 
brook !  All  the  years  I  have  fished 
here,  I  have  never  caught  another 
perch  here  ;  and  this  solitary  inmate 
of  the  watery  element  I  know  by  sight 
better  than  I  knew  my  own  lost 
father.  For  each  time  that  I  have 
raised  it  out  of  the  water,  its  profile 
has  been  turned  to  me,  and  I  have  seen, 
with  a  shudder,  that  it  has  had  only — 
One  Eye !  It  is  a  most  mysterious  and 
a  most  diabolical  phenomenon  that 
perch !  It  has  been  the  ruin  of  my 
prospects  in  life.  I  was  offered  a 
situation  in  Jamaica ;  I  could  not 
go,  with  that  perch  left  here  in  triumph. 
I  might  afterwards  have  had  an  ap- 
pointment in  India,  but  I  could  not 
put  the  ocean  between  myself  and 
that  perch  :  thus  have  I  frittered 
away  my  existence  in  the  fatal  metro- 
polis of  my  native  land.  And  once 
a- week,  from  February  to  December, 


15 

I  come  hither — Good  Heavens !  if  I 
should  catch  the  perch  at  last,  the  occu- 
pation of  my  existence  will  be  gone." 

Leonard  gazed  curiously  at  the 
angler,  as  the  last  thus  mournfully 
concluded.  The  ornate  turn  of  his 
periods  did  not  suit  with  his  costume. 
He  looked  woefully  threadbare  and 
shabby— a  genteel  sort  of  shabbiuess 
too — shabbiness  in  black.  There  was 
humour  in  the  corners  of  his  lip  ;  and 
his  hands,  though  they  did  not  seem 
very  clean — indeed  his  occupation  was 
not  friendly  to  such  niceties — were 
those  of  a  man  who  had  not  known 
manual  labour.  His  face  was  pale 
and  puffed,  but  the  tip  of  the  nose  was 
red.  He  did  not  seem  as  if  the  watery 
element  was  as  familiar  to  himself  as 
to  his  Dalilah — the  perch. 

"  Such  is  Life  !  "  recommenced  the 
angler  in  a  moralising  tone,  as  he  slid 
his  rod  into  its  canvass  case.  "  If 
a  man  knew  what  it  was  to  fish  all 
one's  life  in  a  stream  that  has  only  one 
perch  ! — to  catch  that  one  perch  nine 
times  in  all,  and  nine  times  to  see  it 
fall  back  into  the  water,  plump ; — if  a 
man  knew  what  it  was — why,  then" — 
Here  the  angler  looked  over  his 
shoulder  full  at  Leonard  —  "  why 
then,  young  sir,  he  would  know  what 
human  life  is  to  vain  ambition.  Good 
evening." 

Away  he  went,  treading  over  the 
daisies  and  king- cups.  Helen's  eyes 
followed  him  wistfully. 

"  What  a  strange  person ! "  said 
Leonard,  laughing. 

"  I  think  he  is  a  very  wise  one," 
murmured  Helen  ;  and  she  came  close 
up  to  Leonard,  and  took  his  hand  in 
both  hers,  as  if  she  felt  already  that 
he  was  in  need  of  the  Comforter — the 
line  broke,  and  the  perch  lost ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 


At  noon  the  next  day,  London  stole 
upon  them,  through  a  gloomy,  thick, 
oppressive  atmosphere.  For  where  is 
it  that  we  can  say  London  bursts  on 
the  sight  ?  It  stole  on  them  through 
one  of  its  fairest  and  most  gracious 
avenues  of  approach — by  the  stately 
gardens  of  Kensington  —  along  the 
side  of  Hyde  Park,  and  so  on  towards 
Cumberland  Gate. 

Leonard  was  not  the  least  struck. 


And  yet,  with  a  very  little  money, 
and  a  very  little  taste,  it  would  be 
easy  to  render  this  entrance  to  London 
as  grand  and  as  imposing  as  that  to 
Paris  from  the  Champs  Elysees.  As 
they  came  near  the  Edgeware  Road, 
Helen  took  her  new  brother  by  the 
hand  and  guided  him.  For  she  knew 
all  that  neighbourhood,  and  she  was 
acquainted  with  a  lodging  near  that 
occupied  by  her  father,  (to  that  lodg- 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XI. 


16 

ing  itself,  she  could  not  have  gone  for 
the  world,)  where  they  might  be 
housed  cheaply. 

But  just  then  the  sky,  so  dull  and 
overcast  since  morning,  seemed  one 
mass  of  black  cloud.  There  suddenly 
came  on  a  violent  storm  of  rain.  The 
boy  and  girl  took  refuge  in  a  covered 
mews,  in  a  street  running  out  of  the 
Edgeware  Road.  This  shelter  soon 
became  crowded  ;  the  two  young  pil- 
grims crept  close  to  the  wall,  apart 
from  the  rest ;  Leonard's  arm  round 
Helen's  waist,  sheltering  her  from  the 
rain  that  the  strong  wind  contending 
with  it  beat  in  through  the  passage. 
Presently  a  young  gentleman,  of  better 
mien  and  dress  than  the  other  refugees, 
entered,  not  hastily,  but  rather  with 
a  slow  and  proud  step,  as  if,  though  he 
deigned  to  take  shelter,  he  scorned  to 
rim  to  it.  He  glanced  somewhat 
haughtily  at  the  assembled  group- 
passed  on  through  the  midst  of  it — 
came  near  Leonard — took  off  his  hat, 
and  shook  the  rain  from  its  brim.  His 
head  thus  uncovered,  left  all  his 
features  exposed ;  and  the  village 
youth  recognised,  at  the  first  glance, 
his  old  victorious  assailant  on  the 
green  at  Hazeldean. 

Yet  Randal  Leslie  was  altered. 
His  dark  cheek  was  as  thin  as  in 
boyhood,  and  even  yet  more  wasted 
by  intense  study  and  night  vigils ;  but 
the  expression  of  his  face  was  at  once 
more  refined  and  manly,  and  there 
was  a  steady  concentrated  light  in  his 
large  eye,  like  that  of  one  who  has 
been  in  the  habit  of  bringing  all  his 
thoughts  to  one  point.  He  looked 
older  than  he  was.  He  was  dressed 
simply  in  black,  a  colour  which  be- 
came him  ;  and  altogether  his  aspect 
and  figure  were  not  showy  indeed,  but 
distinguished.  He  looked,  to  the 
common  eye,  a  gentleman  ;  and  to  the 
more  observant,  a  scholar. 

Helter-skelter  !  —  pell-mell !  the 
group  in  the  passage — now  pressed 
each  on  each — now  scattered  on  all 
sides — making  way — rushing  down 
the  mews — against  the  walls — as  a 
fiery  horse  darted  under  shelter ;  the 
rider,  a  young  man,  with  a  very 
handsome  face,  and  dressed  with 
that  peculiar  care  which  we  com- 
monly call  dandyism,  cried  out,  good 
humouredly,  "  Don't  be  afraid  ;  the 
horse  shan't  hurt  any  of  you — a  thou- 


[July, 


sand  pardons — so  ho !  so  ho  !  "  He 
patted  the  horse,  and  it  stood  as  still 
as  a  statue,  filling  up  the  centre  of 
the  passage.  The  groups  resettled — 
Randal  approached  the  rider. 

"  Frank  Hazeldean  !  " 

"  Ah— is  it  indeed  Randal  Leslie  !" 

Frank  was  off  his  horse  in  a  moment, 
and  the  bridle  was  consigned  to  the 
care  of  a  slim  prentice-boy  holding  a 
bundle. 

"My  dear  fellow,  how  glad  I  am 
to  see  you.  How  lucky  it  was  that  I 
should  turn  in  here.  Not  like  me 
either,  for  I  don't  much  care  for  a 
ducking.  Staying  in  town,  Randal  ?  " 

"  Yes,  at  your  uncle's,  Mr  Egerton. 
I  have  left  Oxford." 

"  For  good  ?  " 

"  For  good." 

"But  you  have  not  taken  your 
degree,  I  think  ?  We  Etonians  all 
considered  you  booked  for  a  double 
first.  Oh  !  we  have  been  so  proud  of 
your  fame  —  you  carried  off  all  the 
prizes." 

"  Not  all  ;  but  some,  certainly. 
Mr  Egerton  offered  me  my  choice — to 
stay  for  my  degree,  or  to  enter  at 
once  into  the  Foreign  Office.  I  pre- 
ferred the  end  to  the  means.  For, 
after  all,  what  good  are  academical 
honours  but  as  the  entrance  to  life  ? 
To  enter  now,  is  to  save  a  step  in  a 
long  way,  Frank." 

u  Ah  !  you  were  always  ambitious, 
and  you  will  make  a  great  figure,  I 
am  sure." 

"Perhaps  so  —  if  I  work  for  it. 
Knowledge  is  power !  " 

Leonard  started. 

"  And  you,"  resumed  Randal,  look- 
ing with  some  curious  attention  at  his 
old  schoolfellow.  "  You  never  came  to 
Oxford.  I  did  hear  you  were  going 
into  the  army." 

"  I  am  in  the  Guards,"  said  Frank, 
trying  hard  not  to  look  too  conceited 
as  he  made  that  acknowledgment. 
"  The  Governor  pished  a  little,  and 
would  rather  I  had  come  to  live  with 
him  in  the  old  hall,  and  take  to  farm- 
ing. Time  enough  for  that  —  eh? 
By  Jove,  Randal,  how  pleasant  a 
thing  is  life  in  London  !  Do  you  go 
to  Almack's  to-night  ?  " 

"  No  ;  Wednesday  is  a  holiday  in 
the  House  !  There  is  a  great  parlia- 
mentary dinner  at  Mr  Egerton's. 
He  is  in  the  Cabinet  now,  you  know  ; 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

but  you  don't  see  much  of  your  uncle, 
I  think." 

"  Our  sets  are  different,"  said  the 
young  gentleman,  in  a  tone  of  voice 
worthy  of  Brummell.  "  All  those 
parliamentary  fellows  are  devilish 
dull.  The  rain's  over.  I  don't  know 
whether  the  Governor  would  like 
me  to  call  at  Grosvenor  Square  ;  but, 
pray  come  and  see  me ;  here's  my 
card  to  remind  you  ;  you  must  dine 
at  our  mess.  Such  nice  fellows. 
What  day  will  you  fix?" 

"I  will  call  and  let  you  know. 
Don't  you  find  it  rather  expensive  in 
the  Guards?  I  remember  that  you 
thought  the  Governor,  as  you  call  him, 
used  to  chafe  a  little  when  you  wrote 
for  more  pocket-money  ;  and  the  only 
time  I  ever  remember  to  have  seen 
you  with  tears  in  your  eyes,  was 
when  Mr  Hazeldean,  in  sending  you 
£5,  reminded  you  that  his  estates 
were  not  entailed — were  at  his  own 
disposal,  and  they  should  never  go  to 
an  extravaganf  spendthrift.  It  was 
not  a  pleasant  threat,  that,  Frank." 

*'  Oh  !  "  cried  the  young  man, 
colouring  deeply,  u  It  was  not  the 
threat  that  pained  me,  it  was  that 
my  father  could  think  so  meanly  of 
me  as  to  fancy  that — well — well,  but 
those  were  schoolboy  days.  And  my 
father  was  always  more  generous  than 
I  deserved.  We  must  see  a  good 
deal  of  each  other,  Randal.  How 
good-natured  you  were  at  Eton,  mak- 
ing my  longs  and  shorts  for  me;  I  shall 
never  forget  it.  Do  call  soon." 

Frank  swunghimself  into  his  saddle, 
and  rewarded  the  slim  youth  with  half- 


English  Life.— Part  XI.  17 

a-  crown  ;  a  largess  four  times  more 
ample  than  his  father  would  have 
deemed  sufficient.  A  jerk  of  the 
reins  and  a  touch  of  the  heel — off 
bounded  the  fiery  horse  and  the  gay 
young  rider.  Randal  mused  ;  arid  as 
the  rain  had  now  ceased,  the  pas- 
sengers under  shelter  dispersed  and 
went  their  way.  Only  Randal,  Leo- 
nard, and  Helen  remained  behind. 
Then,  as^Randal,  still  musing,  lifted 
his  eyes,  they  fell  full  upon  Leonard's 
face.  He  started,  passed  his  hand 
quickly  over  his  brow — looked  again, 
hard  and  piercingly  ;  and  the  change 
in  his  pale  cheek  to  a  shade  still  paler 
— a  quick  compression  and  nervous 
gnawing  of  his  lip — showed  that  he 
too  recognised  an  old  foe.  Then 
his  glance  ran  over  Leonard's  dress, 
which  was  somewhat  dust-stained,  but 
far  above  the  class  amongst  which  the 
peasant  was  born.  Randal  raised  his 
brows  in  surprise,  and  with  a  smile 
slightly  supercilious — the  smile  stung 
Leonard  :  and  with  a  slow  step  Randal 
left  the  passage,  and  took  his  way 
towards  Grosvenor  Square.  The 
Entrance  of  Ambition  was  clear  to 
him. 

Then  the  little  girl  once  more  took 
Leonard  by  the  hand,  and  led  him 
through  rows  of  humble,  obscure, 
dreary  streets.  It  seemed  almost 
like  an  allegory  personified,  as  the 
sad,  silent  child  led  on  the  penniless 
and  low-born  adventurer  of  genius 
by  the  squalid  shops,  and  through 
the  •winding  lanes,  which  grew 
meaner  and  meaner,  till  both  their 
forms  vanished  from  the  view. 


CHAPTER  X. 


"  But  do  come  ;  change  your  dress, 
return  and  dine  with  me ;  you  will 
have  just  time,  Harley.  You  will  meet 
the  most  eminent  men  of  our  party  ; 
surely  they  are  worth  your  study, 
philosopher  that  you  affect  to  be." 

Thus  said  Audley  Egerton  to  Lord 
L'Estrange,  with  whom  he  had  been 
riding  (after  the  toils  of  his  office.) 
The  two  gentlemen  were  in  Audley's 
library.  Mr  Egerton,  as  usual,  but- 
toned up,  seated  in  his  chair,  in  the 
erect  posture  of  a  man  who  scorns 
"  inglorious  ease."  Harley,  as  usual, 
thrown  at  length  on  the  sofa,  his  long 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXIX. 


hair  in  careless  curls,  his  neckcloth 
loose,  his  habiliments  flo wing— simplex 
mundittis,  indeed — his  grace  all  his 
own ;  seemingly  negligent,  never 
slovenly ;  at  ease  everywhere  and 
with  every  one,  even  with  Mr  Aud- 
ley Egerton,  who  chilled  or  awed  the 
ease  out  of -most  people. 

"Nay,  my  dear  Audley,  forgive 
me.  But  your  eminent  men  are  all 
men  of  one  idea,  and  that  not  a  di- 
verting one — politics !  politics !  poli- 
tics !  The  storm  in  the  saucer." 

u  But  what  is  your  life,  Harley?-— 
the  saucer  without  the  storm  ?  " 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XL 


18 

"  Do  you  know,  that's  very  well 
said,  Audley ;  I  did  not  think  yon 
had  so  much  liveliness  of  repartee. 
Life— life  !  it  is  insipid,  it  is  shallow. 
No  launching  Argosies  in  the  saucer. 
Audley,  I  have  the  oddest  fancy — " 

"  That  of  course,"  said  Audley 
drily ;  "  you  never  have  any  other. 
What  is  the  new  one?  " 

HARLEY,  (with  great  gravity.) — 
"  Do  you  believe  in  Mesmerism  ?  " 

AUDLEY. — "  Certainly  not." 

HARLEY. — "  If  it  were  in  the 
power  of  an  animal  magnetiser  to 
get  me  out  of  my  own  skin  into 
somebody  else's  !  That's  my  fancy  ! 
I  am  so  tired  of  myself — so  tired  !  I 
have  run  through  all  my  ideas— know 
every  one  of  them  by  heart;  when 
some  pretentious  impostor  of  an  idea 
perks  itself  up  and  says,  '  Look  at 
me,  I'm  a  new  acquaintance ' — I  just 
give  it  a  nod,  and  say,  '  Not  at  all, 
you  have  only  got  a  new  coat  on  ; 
you  are  the  same  old  wretch  that  has 
bored  me  these  last  twenty  years ; 
get  away.'  But  if  one  could  be  in  a 
new  skin  !  if  I  could  be  for  half- an  - 
hour  your  tall  porter,  or  one  of  your 
eminent  matter-of-fact  men,  I  should 
then  really  travel  into  a  new  world.* 
Every  man's  brain  must  be  a  world 
in  itself,  eh  ?  If  I  could  but  make  a 
parochial  settlement  even  in  yours, 
Audley — run  over  all  your  thoughts 
and  sensations.  Upon  my  life,  I'll 
go  and  talk  to  that  French  mesmer- 
iser  about  it." 

AUDLEY,  (who  does  not  seem 
to  like  the  notion  of  having  his 
thoughts  and  sensations  rummaged, 
even  by  his  friend,  and  even  in  fancy.) 
— "  Pooh,  pooh,  pooh  !  Do  talk  like 
a  man  of  sense." 

HARLEY.  —  "  Man  of  sense  ! 
Where  shall  I  find  a  model?  I 
don't  know  a  man  of  sense  ! — never 
met  such  a  creature.  Don't  believe  it 
ever  existed.  At  one  time  I  thought 
Socrates  must  have  been  a  man  of 
sense  ;— a  delusion  ;  he  would  stand 
gazing  into  the  air,  and  talking  to 
his  Genius  from  sunrise  to-sunset.  Is 
that  like  a  man  of  sense?  Poor  Aud- 


[July, 


ley,  how  puzzled  he  looks !  Well, 
I'll  try  and  talk  sense  to  oblige  you. 
And  first,  (here  Harley  raised  himself 
on  his  elbow) — first,  is  it  true,  as  I 
have  heard  vaguely,  that  you  are 
paying  court  to  the  sister  of  that  in- 
famous Italian  traitor?" 

"Madame  di  Negra?  No;  I  am 
not  paying  court  to  her,"  answered 
Audley  with  a  cold  smile.  "  But 
she  is  very  handsome  ;  she  is  very 
clever ;  she  is  useful  to  me— I  need 
not  say  how  or  why  ;  that  belongs  to 
my  metier  as  politician.  But,  I  think, 
if  you  will  take  my  advice,  or  get 
your  friend  to  take  it,  I  could  obtain 
from  her  brother,  through  my  influ- 
ence with  her,  some  liberal  conces- 
sions to  your  exile.  She  is  very 
anxious  to  know  where  he  is." 

u  You  have  not  told  her  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  promised  you  I  would 
keep  that  secret." 

"  Be  sure  you  do  ;  it  is  only  for 
some  mischief,  some  snare,  that  she 
could  desire  such  infor/nation.  Con- 
cessions !  pooh !  This  is  no  question 
of  concessions,  but  of  rights." 

"I  think  you  should  leave  your 
friend  to  judge  of  that." 

44  Well,  I  will  write  to  him.  Mean- 
while,  beware  of  this  woman.  I  have 
heard  much  of  her  abroad,  and  she 
has  the  character  of  her  brother  for 
duplicity  and — " 

"  Beauty,"  interrupted  Audley, 
turning  the  conversation  with  prac- 
tised adroitness.  "  I  am  told  that  the 
Count  is  one  of  the  handsomest  men 
in  Europe,  much  handsomer  than  his 
sister  still,  though  nearly  twice  her 
age.  Tut — tut — Harley  !  fear  not  for 
me.  I  am  proof  against  all  feminine 
attractions.  This  heart  is  dead." 

"  Nay,  nay ;  it  is  not  for  you  to 
speak  thus— leave  that  to  me.  But 
even  /  will  not  say  it.  The  heart 
never  dies.  And  you  ;  what  have 
you  lost  ? — a  wife  ;  true  :  an  ex- 
cellent noble-hearted  woman.  But 
was  it  love  that  you  felt  for  her  ?  En- 
viable man,  have  you  ever  loved  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not,  Harley,"  said  Aud- 
ley, with  a  sombre  aspect,  and  in 


*  If,  at  the  date  in  which  Lord  L'Estrange  held  this  conversation  with  Mr  Egerton, 
Alfred  de  Musset  had  written  his  comedies,  we  should  suspect  that  his  lordship  had 
plagiarised  from  one  of  them  the  whimsical  idea  that  he  here  vents  upon  Audley. 
In  repeating  it,  the  author  at  least  cannot  escape  from  the  charge  of  obligation  to  a 
writer  whose  humour,  at  least,  is  sufficiently  opulent  to  justify  the  loan. 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XI. 


1851.] 

dejected  accents ;  "  very  few  men  ever 
have  loved,  at  least  as  you  mean  by 
the  word.  But  there  are  other  pas- 
sions than  love  that  kill  the  heart, 
and  reduce  us  to  mechanism." 

While  Egerton  spoke,  Harley 
turned  aside,  and  his  breast  heaved. 
There  was  a  short  silence ;  Audley 
was  the  lirst  to  break  it. 

"  Speaking  of  my  lost  wife,  I  am 
sorry  that  you  do  not  approve  what  I 
have  done  "for  her  young  kinsman, 
Randal  Leslie." 

HARLEY,  (recovering  himself  with 
an  effort.)—"  Is  it  true  kindness  to 
bid  him  exchange  manly  indepen- 
dence, for  the  protection  of  an  official 
patron  ?  " 

AUDLEY. — "I  did  not  bid  him.  I 
gave  him  his  choice.  At  his  age  I 
should  have  chosen  as  he  has  done." 

HARLEY. — "  I  trust  not ;  I  think 
better  of  you.  But  answer  me  one 
question  frankly,  and  then  I  will  ask 
another.  Do  you  mean  to  make  this 
young  man  your  heir  ?  " 

AUDLEY,  (with  a  slight  embarrass- 
ment.)— "  Heir,  pooh  !  I  am  young 
still.  I  may  live  as  long  as  he — time 
enough  to  think  of  that." 

HARLEY.  —  "  Then  now  to  my 
second  question.  Have  you  told  this 
youth  plainly  that  he  may  look  to 
you  for  influence,  but  not  for  wealth?" 

AUDLEY,  (firmly.)  — "I  think  I 
have  ;  but  I  shall  repeat  it  more 
emphatically." 

HARLEY.  —  "Then  I  am  satisfied 
as  to  your  conduct,  but  not  as  to  his. 
For  he  has  too  acute  an  intellect 
not  to  know  what  it  is  to  forfeit  inde- 
pendence ;  and,  depend  on  it,  he  has 
made  his  calculations,  and  would 
throw  you  into  the  bargain  in  any 
balance  that  he  could  strike  in  his 
favour.  You  go  by  your  experience 
in  judging  men  ;  I  by  my  instincts. 
Nature  warns  us  as  it  does  the  inferior 
animals — only  we  are  too  conceited, 
we  bipeds,  to  heed  her.  My  instincts 
of  soldier  and  gentleman  recoil  from 
that  old  young  man.  He  has  the  soul 
of  the  Jesuit.  I  see  it  in  his  eye — I 
hear  it  in  the  tread  of  his  foot ;  volto 
sciolto,  he  has  not ;  i  pensieri  stretti 
he  has.  Hist !  I  hear  now  his  step 
in  the  hall.  I  should  know  it  from  a 
thousand.  That's  his  very  touch  on 
the  handle  of  the  door." 

Randal  Leslie  entered.      Harley — 


19 

who,  despite  his  disregard  for  forms, 
and  his  dislike  to  Randal,  was  too 
high-bred  not  to  be  polite  to  his 
junior  in  age  or  inferior  in  rank  — 
rose  and  bowed.  But  his  bright 
piercing  eyes  did  not  soften  as  they 
caught  and  bore  down  the  deeper  and 
more  latent  fire  in  Randal's.  Harley 
then  did  not  resume  his  seat,  but 
moved  to  the  mantel-piece,  and  leant 
against  it. 

RANDAL. — "  I  have  fulfilled  your 
commissions,  Mr  Egerton.  I  went 
first  to  Maida  Hill,  and  saw  Mr 
Burley.  I  gave  him  the  cheque,  but 
he  said  k  it  was  too  much,  and  he 
should  return  half  to  the  banker ; '  he 
will  write  the  article  as  you  sug- 
gested. I  then— 

AUDLEY. — u  Enough,  Randal !  we 
will  not  fatigue  Lord  L'Estrange  with 
these  little  details  of  a  life  that  dis- 
pleases him — the  life  political." 

HARLEY. — "  But  these  details  do 
not  displease  me  ;  they  reconcile  me 
to  my  own  life.  Go  on,  pray, 
Mr  Leslie." 

Randal  had  too  much  tact  to  need 
the  cautioning  glance  of  Mr  Egerton. 
He  did  not  continue,  but  said,  with  a 
soft  voice,  "  Do  you  think,  Lord 
L'Estrange,  that  the  contemplation  of 
the  mode  of  life  pursued  by  others 
can  reconcile  a  man  to  his  own,  if  he 
had  before  thought  it  needed  a  recon- 
ciler?" 

Harley  looked  pleased,  for  the  ques- 
tion was  ironical  ;  and,  if  there  was 
a  thing  in  the  world  he  abhorred,  it 
was  flattery. 

"  Recollect  your  Lucretius,,  Mr 
Leslie,  the  Suave  mare,  &c.,  '  pleasant 
from  the  cliff  to  see  the  mariners 
tossed  on  the  ocean.'  Faith,  I  think 
that  sight  reconciles  one  to  the  cliff— 
though,  before,  one  might  have  been 
teased  by  the  splash  from  the  spray, 
and  deafened  by  the  scream  of  the 
sea-gulls.  But  I  leave  you,  Audley. 
Strange  that  I  have  heard  110  more  of 
my  soldier.  Remember  I  have  your 
promise  when  I  come  to  claim  it. 
Good-bye,  Mr  Leslie,  I  hope  that  Mr 
Burley's  article  will  be  worth  the — 
cheque." 

Lord  L'Estrange  mounted  his  horse, 
which  was  still  at  the  door,  and  rode 
through  the  Park.  But  he  was  no 
longer  now  unknown  by  sight.  Bows 
and  nods  saluted  him  on  every  side. 


20  Rly  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

"  Alas,  I  am  found  out  then,"  said 
he  to  himself.  "  That  terrible  Duchess 
of  Knaresborough,  too — I  must  fly  my 
country."  He  pushed  his  horse  into 
a  canter,  and  was  soon  out  of  the 
Park.  As  he  dismounted  at  his 
father's  sequestered  house,  you  would 
have  hardly  supposed  him  the  same 
whimsical,  fantastic,  but  deep  and 


English  Life.— Part  XL  [July, 

subtle  humourist  that  delighted  in 
perplexing  the  material  Audley.  For 
his  expressive  face  was  unutterably 
serious.  But  the  moment  he  came 
into  the  presence  of  his  parents,  the 
countenance  was  again  lighted  and 
cheerful.  It  brightened  the  whole 
room  like  sunshine. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


"  Mr  Leslie,"  said  Egerton,  when 
Harley  had  left  the  library,  "  you  did 
not  act  with  your  usual  discretion  in 
touching  upon  matters  connected  with 
politics  in  the  presence  of  a  third 
party." 

"  I  feel  that  already,  sir ;  my 
excuse  is,  that  I  held  Lord 
L'Estrange  to  be  your  most  intimate 
friend." 

"  A  public  man,  Mr  Leslie,  would 
ill  serve  his  country  if  he  were  not 
especially  reserved  towards  his  private 
friends, — when  they  do  not  belong  to 
his  party." 

"  But,  pardon  me  my  ignorance. 
Lord  Lansmere  is  so  well  known  to 
be  one  of  your  supporters,  that  I 
fancied  his  son  must  share  his  senti- 
ments, and  be  in  your  confidence." 

Egerton's  bows  slightly  contracted, 
and  gave  a  stern  expression  to  a 
countenance  always  firm  and  decided. 
He,  however,  answered  in  a  mild  tone. 

"  At  the  entrance  into  political  life, 
Mr  Leslie,  there  is  nothing  in  which 
a  young  man  of  your  talents  should 
be  more  on  his  guard  than  thinking 
for  himself;  he  will  nearly  always 
think  wrong.  And  I  believe  that  is 
one  reason  why  young  men  of  talent 
disappoint  their  friends,  and — remain 
so  long  out  of  office." 

A  haughty  flush  passed  over  Ran- 
dal's brow,  and  faded  away  quickly  ; 
he  bowed  in  silence. 

Egerton  resumed,  as  if  in  explana- 
tion, and  even  in  kindly  apology — 

"  Look  at  Lord  L'Estrange  himself. 
"What  young  man  could  come  into 
life  with  brighter  auspices?  Rank, 
wealth,  high  animal  spirits,  (a  great 
advantage  those  same  spirits,  Mr 
Leslie,)  courage,  self-possession, 
scholarship  as  brilliant  perhaps  as 
your  own  ;  and  now  see  how  his  life 
is  wasted!  Why?  He  always  thought 


fit  to  think  for  himself.  He  could 
never  be  broken  in  to  harness,  and 
never  will  be.  The  State  coach,  Mr 
Leslie,  requires  that  all  the  horses 
should  pull  together." 

"  With  submission,  sir,"  answered 
Randal,  "  I  should  think  that 
there  were  other  reasons  why  Lord 
L'Estrange,  whatever  be  his  talents— 
and  of  these  you  must  be  indeed  an 
adequate  judge — would  never  do  any- 
thing in  public  life." 

"Ay,  and  what?"  said  Egerton, 
quickly. 

"  First,"  said  Randal,  shrewdly, 
"  private  life  has  done  too  much  for 
him.  What  could  public  life  give  to 
one  who  needs  nothing  ?  Born  at  the 
top  of  the  social  ladder,  why  should 
he  put  himself  voluntarily  at  the  last 
step,  for  the  sake  of  climbing  up  again? 
And  secondly,  Lord  L'Estrange  seems 
to  me  a  man  in  whose  organisation 
sentiment  usurps  too  large  a  share  for 
practical  existence." 

"  You  have  a  keen  eye,"  said 
Audley,  with  some  admiration ;  "  keen 
for  one  so  young. — Poor  Harley !  " 

Mr  Egerton's  last  words  were  said 
to  himself.  He  resumed  quickly — 

"There  is  something  on  my  mind, 
my  young  friend.  Let  us  be  frank 
with  each  other.  I  placed  before  you 
fairly  the  advantages  and  disadvan- 
tages of  the  choice  I  gave  you.  To 
take  your  degree  with  such  honours 
as  no  doubt  you  would  have  won,  to 
obtain  your  fellowship,  to  go  to  the 
bar,  with  those  credentials  in  favour 
of  your  talents ; — this  was  one  career. 
To  come  at  once  into  public  life,  to 
profit  by  my  experience,  avail  your- 
self of  my  interest,  to  take  the  chances 
of  rise  or  fall  with  a  party  :  this  was 
another.  You  chose  the  last.  But, 
in  so  doing,  there  was  a  consideration 
which  might  weigh  with  you  ;  and  on 


1851.] 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XL 


21 


which,  in  stating  your  reasons  for  your 
option,  you  were  silent." 

"  What  is  that,  sir  ?  " 

"  You  might  have  counted  on  my 
fortune  should  the  chances  of  party 
fail  you ; — speak — and  without  shame 
if  so  ;  it  would  be  natural  in  a  young 
man,  who  comes  from  the  elder 
branch  of  the  house  whose  heiress 
was  my  wife." 

"You  wound  me,  Mr  Egerton," 
said  Randal,  turning  away. 

Mr  Egerton's  cold  glance  followed 
Randal's  movement ;  the  face  was  hid 
from  the  glance — it  rested  on  the  figure, 
which  is  often  as  self- betray  ing  as  the 
countenance  itself.  Randal  baffled 
Mr  Egerton's  penetration — the  young 
man's  emotion  might  be  honest  pride, 
and  pained  and  generous  feeling ;  or 
it  might  be  something  else.  Egerton 
continued  slowly — 

"  Once  for  all  then,  distinctly  and 
emphatically,  I  say  —  never  count 
upon  that ;  count  upon  all  else  that  I 
can  do  for  you,  and  forgive  me, 
when  I  advise  harshly  or  censure 
coldly  ;  ascribe  this  to  my  interest  in 
your  career.  Moreover,  before  deci- 
sion becomes  irrevocable,  I  wish  you 
to  know  practically  all  that  is  dis- 
agreeable or  even  humiliating  in  the 
first  subordinate  steps  of  him  who, 
without  wealth  or  station,  would  rise 
in  public  life.  I  will  not  consider 
your  choice  settled,  till  the  end  of  a 
year  at  least — your  name  will  be  kept 
on  the  college  books  till  then  ;  if,  on 
experience,  you  should  prefer  to  re- 
turn to  Oxford,  and  pursue  the  slower 
but  surer  path  to  independence  and 
distinction,  you  can.  And  now  give 
me  your  hand,  Mr  Leslie,  in  sign  that 
you  forgive  my  bluntness  ; — it  is  time 
to  dress." 

Randal,  with  his  face  still  averted, 
extended  his  hand.  Mr  Egerton  held 
it  a  moment,  then  dropping  it,  left  the 
room.  Randal  turned  as  the  door 
closed.  And  there  was  in  his  dark 
face  a  power  of  sinister  passion,  that 
justified  all  Harley's  warnings.  His 
lips  moved,  but  not  audibly ;  then,  as 


if  struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  he 
followed  Egerton  into  the  Hall. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  forgot  to  say, 
that  on  returning  from  Maida  Hill,  I 
took  shelter  from  the  rain  under  a 
covered  passage,  and  there  I  met 
unexpectedly  with  your  nephew, 
Frank  Hazeldean." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Egerton  indifferently, 
"  a  fine  young  man  ;  in  the  Guards. 
It  is  a  pity  that  my  brother  has  such 
antiquated  political  notions ;  he  should 
put  his  son  into  parliament,  and  under 
my  guidance ;  I  could  push  him. 
Well,  and  what  said  Frank  ?  " 

"•  He  invited  me  to  call  on  him.  I 
remember  that  you  once  rather  cau- 
tioned me  against  too  intimate  an 
acquaintance  with  those  who  have  not 
got  their  fortune  to  make." 

"  Because  they  are  idle,  and  idleness 
is  contagious.  Right — better  not  be 
intimate  with  a  young  Guardsman." 

"  Then  you  would  not  have  me  call 
on  him,  sir  ?  We  were  rather  friends 
at  Eton  ;  and  if  I  wholly  reject  his 
overtures,  might  he  not  think  that 
you — " 

"I !  "  interrupted  Egerton.  "  Ah, 
true  ;  my  brother  might  think  I  bore 
him  a  grudge;  absurd.  Call  then, 
and  ask  the  young  man  here.  Yet 
still,  I  do  not  advise  intimacy." 

Egerton  turned  into  his  dressing- 
room.  "  Sir,"  said  his  valet,  who 
was  in  waiting,  "  Mr  Levy  is  here — 
he  says,  by  appointment ;  and  Mr 
Grinders  is  also  just  come  from  the 
country." 

"Tell  Mr  Grinders  to  come  in 
first,"  said  Egerton,  seating  himself. 
"  You  need  not  wait ;  I  can  dress 
without  you.  Tell  Mr  Levy  I  will 
see  him  in  five  minutes." 

Mr  Grinders  was  steward  to  Audley 
Egerton. 

Mr  Levy  was  a  handsome  man, 
who  wore  a  camelia  in  his  button- 
hole— drove,  in  his  cabriolet,  a  high- 
stepping  horse  that  had  cost  £200  ; 
was  well  known  to  young  men  of 
fashion,  and  considered  by  their 
fathers  a  very  dangerous  acquaintance. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


As  the  company  assembled  in  the 
drawing-rooms,  Mr  Egerton  intro- 
duced Randal  Leslie  to  his  eminent 
friends  in  a  way  that  greatly  contrast- 


ed the  distant  and  admonitory  manner 
which  he  had  exhibited  to  him  in  pri- 
vate. The  presentation  was  made  with 
that  cordiality,  and  that  gracious  re- 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XL 


22 

spect  by  which  those  who  are  in  station 
command  notice  for  those  who  have 
their  station  yet  to  win. 

"  My  dear  Lord,  let  me  introduce 
to  you  a  kinsman  of  my  late  wife's, 
(in  a  whisper) — the  heir  to  the  elder 
branch  of  her  family.  Stanmore,  this 
is  Mr  Leslie  of  whom  I  spoke  to  you. 
You,  who  were  so  distinguished  at 
Oxford,  will  not  like  him  the  worse 
for  the  prizes  he  gained  there.  Duke, 
let  me  present  to  you,  Mr  Leslie. 
The  duchess  is  angry  with  me  for 
deserting  her  balls  ;  I  shall  hope  to 
make  my  peace,  by  providing  myself 
with  a  younger  and  livelier  substitute. 
Ah,  Mr  Howard,  here  is  a  young  gen- 
tleman just  fresh  from  Oxford,  who 
will  tell  us  all  about  the  new  sect 
springing  up  there.  He  has  not 
wasted  his  time  on  billiards  and 
horses." 

Leslie  was  received  with  all  that 
charming  courtesy  which  is  the  To 
Kalon  of  an  aristocracy. 

After  dinner,  conversation  settled 
on  politics.  Randal  listened  with 
attention,  and  in  silence,  till  Egerton 
drew  him  gently  out ;  just  enough, 
and  no  more  — just  enough  to  make 
his  intelligence  evident,  without  sub- 
jecting him  to  the  charge  of  laying 
down  the  law.  Egerton  knew  how 
to  draw  out  young  men  —  a  difficult 
art.  It  was  one  reason  why  he  was 
so  peculiarly  popular  with  the  more 
rising  members  of  his  party. 

The  party  broke  up  early. 

"  We  are  in  time  for  Almack's," 
said  Egerton,  glancing  at  the  clock, 
"  and  I  have  a  voucher  for  you  ; 
come." 

Randal  followed  his  patron  into  the 
carriage.  By  the  way,  Egerton  thus 
addressed  him : — 

"  I  shall  introduce  you  to  the  prin- 
cipal leaders  of  society ;  know  them 
and  study  them ;  I  do  not  advise  you  to 
attempt  to  do  more — that  is,  to  attempt 
to  become  the  fashion.  It  is  a  very  ex- 
pensive ambition  ;  some  men  it  helps, 
most  men  it  ruins.  On  the  whole, 

S)u  have  better  cards  in  your  hands, 
ance  or  not  as  it  pleases  you — don't 
flirt.     If  you  flirt,  people  will  inquire 
into  your  fortune — an  inquiry   that 
will  do  you  little  good  ;    and  flirting 
entangles  a  young  man  into  marrying. 
That  would  never  do.  Here  we  are." 
In  two  minutes  more  they  were  in 


[July, 


the  great  ball-room,  and  Randal's 
eyes  were  dazzled  with  the  lights, 
the  diamonds,  the  blaze  of  beauty. 
Audley  presented  him  in  quick  suc- 
cession to  some  dozen  ladies,  and 
then  disappeared  amidst  the  crowd. 
Randal  was  not  at  a  loss :  he  was 
without  shyness;  or  if  he  had  that 
disabling  infirmity,  he  concealed  it. 
He  answered  the  languid  questions 
put  to  him,  with  a  certain  spirit  that 
kept  up  talk,  and  left  a  favourable 
impression  of  his  agreeable  qualities. 
But  the  lady  with  whom  he  got  on 
the  best,  was  one  who  had  no  daugh- 
ters out,  a  handsome  and  witty  woman 
of  the  world  —  Lady  Frederick 
Coniers. 

4 '  It  is  your  first  ball  at  Almack's, 
then,  Mr  Leslie?" 

"  My  first." 

"And  you  have  not  secured  a 
partner?  Shall  I  find  you  one? 
What  do  you  think  of  that  pretty 
girl  in  pink?" 

"  I  see  her— but  I  cannot  think  of 
her." 

"  You  are  rather,  perhaps,  like  a 
diplomatist  in  a  new  court,  and  your 
first  object  is  to  know  who  is  who." 

"  I  confess  that  on  beginning  to 
study  the  history  of  my  own  day,  I 
should  like  to  distinguish  the  portraits 
that  illustrate  the  memoir." 

"  Give  me  your  arm,  then,  and  we 
will  come  into  the  next  room.  We 
shall  see  the  different  notabilites  enter 
one  by  one,  and  observe  without  being 
observed.  This  is  the  least  I  can  do 
for  a  friend  of  Mr  Egerton's." 

"  Mr  Egerton,  then,"  said  Randal, 
—  (as  they  threaded  their  way  through 
the  space  without  the  rope  that  pro- 
tected the  dancers) — "  Mr  Egerton 
has  had  the  good  fortune  to  win  your 
esteem,  even  for  his  friends,  however 
obscure?" 

41  Why,  to  say  truth,  I  think  no 
one  whom  Mr  Egerton  calls  his  friend 
need  long  remain  obscure,  if  he  has 
the  ambition  to  be  otherwise.  For  Mr 
Egerton  holds  it  a  maxim  never  to 
forget  a  friend,  nor  a  service." 

"Ah,  indeed!"  said  Randal,  sur- 
prised. 

"  And,  therefore,"  continued  Lady 
Frederick,  "  as  he  passes  through  life, 
friends  gather  round  him.  He  will 
rise  even  higher  yet.  Gratitude,  Mr 
Leslie,  is  a  very  good  policy." 


1851.] 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XI. 


"  Hem,"  muttered  Mr  Leslie. 

They  had  now  gained  the  room 
where  tea  and  bread  and  butter  were 
the  homely  refreshments  to  the 
habitues  of  what  at  that  day  was  the 
most  exclusive  assembly  in  London. 
They  ensconced  themselves  in  a  cor- 
ner by  a  window,  and  Lady  Frederick 
performed  her  task  of  cicerone  with 
lively  ease,  accompanying  each  notice 
Of  the  various  persons  who  passed 
pauoramically  before  them  with  sketch 
and  anecdote,  sometimes  good-natured, 
generally  satirical,  always  graphic  and 
amusing. 

By-and-by  Frank  Hazeldean,  hav- 
ing on  his  arm  a  young  lady  of  haughty 
air,  and  with  high  though  delicate 
features,  came  to  the  tea-table. 

"The  last  new  Guardsman,"  said 
Lady  Frederick;  "very  handsome, 
and  not  yet  quite  spoiled.  But  he 
has  got  into  a  dangerous  set." 

RANDAL. — "  The  young  lady  with 
him  is  handsome  enough  to  be  danger- 
ous." 

LADY  FREDERICK,  (laughing.) — 
"  No  danger  for  him  there, — as  yet  at 
least.  Lady  Mary  (the  Duke  of 
Knaresborough's  daughter)  is  only  in 
her  second  year.  The  first  year,  nothing 
under  an  earl ;  the  second,  nothing 
under  a  baron.  It  will  be  full  four 
years  before  she  comes  down  to  a  com- 
moner. Mr  Hazeldean's  danger  is 
of  another  kind.  He  lives  much  with 
men  who  are  not  exactly  mauvaiston, 
but  certainly  not  of  the  best  taste. 
Yet  he  is  very  young ;  he  may  extri- 
cate himself— leaving  half  his*  fortune 
behind  him.  What,  he  nods  to  you ! 
You  know  him  ?  " 

"  Very  well ;  he  is  nephew  to  Mr 
Egerton." 

"Indeed!  I  did  not  know  that. 
Hazeldean  is  a  new  name  in  London. 
I  heard  his  father  was  a  plain. country 
gentleman,  of  good  fortune,  but  not 
that  he  was  related  to  Mr  Egerton." 

"  Half-brother." 

"  Will  Mr  Egerton  pay  the  young 
gentleman's  debts  ?  He  has  no  sous 
himself." 

RANDAL.-*-"  Mr  Egerton's  fortune 
comes  from  his  wife,  from  my  family 
— from  a  Leslie,  not  from  a  Hazel  - 
dean." 

Lady  Frederick  turned  sharply, 
looked  at  Randal's  countenance  with 
more  attention  than  she  had  yet 


23 

vouchsafed  to  it,  and  tried  to  talk  of 
the  Leslies.  Randal  was  very  short 
there. 

An  hour  afterwards,  Randal,  who 
had  not  danced,  was  still  in  the  re- 
freshment room,  but  Lady  Frederick 
had  long  quitted  him.  He  was  talk- 
ing with  some  old  Etonians  who  had 
recognised  him,  when  there  entered  a 
lady  of  very  remarkable  appearance, 
and  a  murmur  passed  through  the 
room  as  she  appeared. 

She  might  be  three  or  four  and 
twenty.  She  was  dressed  in  black 
velvet,  which  contrasted  with  the 
alabaster  whiteness  of  her  throat  and 
the  clear  paleness  of  her  complexion, 
while  it  set  off  the  diamonds  with 
which  she  was  profusely  covered. 
Her  hair  was  of  the  deepest  jet,  and 
worn  simply  braided.  Her  eyes,  too, 
were  dark  and  brilliant,  her  features 
regular  and  striking;  but  their  expres- 
sion, when  in  repose,  was  not  pre- 
possessing to  such  as  love  modesty 
and  softness  in  the  looks  of  woman. 
But  when  she  spoke  and  smiled,  there 
was  so  much  spirit  and  vivacity  in 
the  countenance,  so  much  fascination 
in  the  smile,  that  all  which  might 
before  have  marred  the  effect  of  her 
beauty,  strangely  and  suddenly  dis- 
appeared. 

"  Who  is  that  very  handsome  wo- 
man ?  "  asked  Randal. 

"  An  Italian — a  Marchesa  some- 
thing," said  one  of  the  Etonians. 

"  Di  Negra,"  suggested  another, 
who  had  been  abroad ;  "she  is  a 
widow ;  her  husband  was  of  the  great 
Genoese  family  of  Negra — a  younger 
branch  of  it." 

Several  men  now  gathered  thickly 
around  the  fair  Italian.  A  few  ladies 
of  the  highest  rank  spoke  to  her,  but 
with  a  more  distant  courtesy  than 
ladies  of  high  rank  usually  show  to 
foreigners  of  such  quality  as  Madame 
di  Negra.  Ladies  of  a  rank  less  ele- 
vated seemed  rather  shy  of  her ; — that 
might  be  from  jealousy.  As  Randal 
gazed  at  the  Marchesa  with  more 
admiration  than  any  woman,  perhaps, 
had  before  excited  in  him,  he  heard  a 
voice  near  him  say — 

"  Oh,  Madame  di  Negra  is  re- 
solved to  settle  amongst  us,  and  marry 
an  Englishman." 

"  If  she  can  find  one  sufficiently 
courageous,"  returned  a  female  voice. 


24 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XI. 


[July, 


"  Well,  she  is  trying  hard  for 
Egerton,  and  he  has  courage  enough 
for  anything." 

The  female  voice  replied  with  a 
laugh,  "  Mr  Egerton  knows  the  world 
too  well,  and  has  resisted  too  many 
temptations,  to  be — " 

"  Hush  !— there  he  is." 

Egerton  came  into  the  room  with 
his  usual  firm  step  and  erect  mien. 
Randal  observed  that  a  quick  glance 
was  exchanged  between  him  and  the 
Marchesa ;  but  the  Minister  passed 
her  by  with  a  bow. 

Still  Randal  watched,  and,  ten  mi- 
nutes afterwards,  Egerton  and  the 
Marchesa  were  seated  apart  in  the 
very  same  convenient  nook  that  Ran- 
dal and  Lady  Frederick  had  occupied 
an  hour  or  so  before. 

"  Is  this  the  reason  why  Mr  Eger- 
ton so  insultingly  warns  me  against 
counting  on  his  fortune?"  muttered 
Randal.  "Does  he  mean  to  marry 
again  ?  " 

Unjust  suspicion ! — for,  at  that 
moment,  these  were  the  words  that 
Audley  Egerton  was  dropping  forth 
from  his  lips  of  bronze — 

"Nay,  dear  Madam,  do  not  ascribe 
to  my  frank  admiration  more  gallantry 
than  it  merits.  Your  conversation 
charms  me,  your  beauty  delights  me  ; 
your  society  is  as  a  holiday  that  I  look 
forward  to  in  the  fatigues  of  my  life. 
But  I  have  done  with  love,  and  I  shall 
never  marry  again." 

"  You  almost  pique  me  into  trying 
to  win,  in  order  to  reject  you,"  said 
the  Italian,  with  a  flash  from  her 
bright  eyes. 

"  I  defy  even  you,"  answered 
Audley,  with  his  cold  hard  smile. 
"  But  to  return  to  the  point :  You 
have  more  influence  at  least  over  this 
subtle  Ambassador ;  and  the  secret 
we  speak  of  I  rely  on  you  to  obtain 
me.  Ah,  Madam,  let  us  rest  friends. 
You  see  I  have  conquered  the  unjust 
prejudices  against  you ;  you  are  re- 
ceived and  fete'e  everywhere,  as  be- 
comes your  birth  and  your  attractions. 
Rely  on  me  ever,  as  I  on  you.  But  I 
shall  excite  too  much  envy  if  I  stay 


here  longer,  and  am  vain  enough  to 
think  that  I  may  injure  you  if  I  pro- 
voke the  gossip  of  the  ill-natured.  As 
the  avowed  friend,  I  can  serve  you" — 
as  the  supposed  lover,  No — "  Audley 
rose  as  he  said  this,  and,  standing 
by  the  chair,  added  carelessly, 
"  Apropos,  the  sum  you  do  me  the 
honour  to  borrow  will  be  paid  to 
your  bankers  to-morrow." 

"  A  thousand  thanks!— my  brother 
will  hasten  to  repay  you." 

Audley  bowed.  "  Your  brother,  I 
hope,  will  repay  me  in  person,  not 
before.  When  does  he  come?" 

"  Oh,  he  has  again  postponed  his 
visit  to  London ;  he  is  so  much  needed 
in  Vienna.  But  while  we  are  talking 
of  him,  allow  me  to  ask  if  your  friend, 
Lord  L'Estrange,  is  indeed  still  so  bit- 
ter against  that  poor  brother  of  mine?" 

"  Still  the  same." 

"It  is  shameful,"  cried  the  Italian 
with  warmth  ;  "  what  has  my  brother 
ever  done  to  him,  that  he  should 
actually  intrigue  against  the  Count  in 
his  own  court  ?  " 

"  Intrigue !  I  think  you  wrong 
Lord  L'Estrange  ;  he  but  represented 
what  he  believed  to  be  the  truth,  in 
defence  of  a  ruined  exile." 

"  And  you  will  not  tell  me  where 
that  exile  is,  or  if  his  daughter  still 
lives?" 

"  My  dear  Marchesa,  I  have  called 
you  friend,  therefore  I  will  not  aid 
L'Estrange  to  injure  you  or  yours. 
But  I  call  L'Estrange  a  friend  also  ; 
and  I  cannot  violate  the  trust  that — ' 
Audley  stopped  short,  and  bit  his  lip. 
"  You  understand  me,"  he  resumed, 
with  a  more  genial  smile  than  usual ; 
and  he  took  his  leave. 

The  Italian's  brows  met  as  her  eye 
followed  him  ;  then,  as  she  too  rose, 
that  eye  encountered  Randal's.  Each 
surveyed  the  other — each  felt  a  cer- 
tain strange  fascination — a  sympathy 
— not  of  affection,  but  of  intellect. 

"  That  young  man  has  the  eye  of 
an  Italian,"  said  the  Marchesa  to 
herself;  and  as  she  passed  by  him 
into  the  ball-room,  she  turned  and 
smiled.  » 


1851.] 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide-de-Camp, 


CAMPAIGNS   OF   AN   AUSTRIAN   AIDE-DE-CAMP. 


THE  one-sided  tendency  of  the 
majority  of  the  memoirs,  narratives 
of  adventure,  and  other  semi-historical 
works,  relating  to  the  Italian  and 
Hungarian  insurrections,  that  have 
appeared  within  the  last  two  years, 
can  have  escaped  none  who  have 
formed  even  a  superficial  acquaintance 
with  English  and  foreign  publications 
of  that  class.  Worsted  in  the  battle, 
the  revolutionists  have  had  it  all  their 
own  way  in  the  more  peaceable  field 
of  literature.  The  reason  of  this  is 
obvious :  compelled  to  sheathe  their 
swords,  and  to  subside,  at  least  for  a 
season,  into  comparative  inaction  and 
insignificance,  revolutionary  leaders 
and  partisans  could  hardly  do  better 
than  seize  the  pen,  and  console  them- 
selves for  defeat  or  exile  by  telling  of 
fruitless  victories,  of  reverses  which 
should  have  been  triumphs,  of  the 
treachery  of  faithless  friends,  and  the 
sanguinary  deeds  of  vindictive  foes. 
Independently  of  personal  motives, 
the  temptation  to  write  in  this  strain 
is  great  and  evident.  Not  an  histori- 
cal novelist  who  ever  expanded 
Froissart  into  post  octavos  but  will 
inform  us  how  far  more  attractive  a 
character  is  the  patriot  hero,  strug- 
gling against  tyrannical  rulers,  than 
the  commonplace  soldier,  who  merely 
does  his  duty,  and  deems  himself  re- 
warded by  his  general's  approbation, 
and  by  that  of  his  own  conscience. 
For  our  part,  amidst  the  mass  of 
works  on  recent  European  convulsions 
that  have  come  under  our  notice,  we 
confess  our  preference  of  those  limited 
to  the  impartial  narration  of  events 
which  the  authors  witnessed  or  shared 
in.  Of  this  class  are  the  spirited 
sketches  now  before  us.  Major  de 
Pimodan  doubtless  never  paused, 
when  about  to  lead  his  squadron  to 
the  charge,  to  weigh  the  rights  and 
wrongs  of  the  Hungarian  honveds  or 
Piedmontese  chasseurs,  whose  squares 
he  was  ordered  to  storm.  As  a  sol- 


dier, he  did  his  duty  without  reason- 
ing ;  as  an  author,  he  recites  facts, 
and  leaves  the  reader  to  draw  his 
inferences  and  make  his  reflections. 
We  have  rarely  read  military  me- 
moirs in  which  there  was  less  appear- 
ance of  partisanship,  and  a  greater 
apparent  desire  to  give  to  all  their  due. 

It  is  easy  to  discern,  from  M.  de 
Pimodan's  frank  and  off-hand,  but 
modest  and  unassuming  narrative, 
that  he  is  in  no  small  degree  cool- 
headed,  intelligent,  and  daring.  To 
the  recognition,  by  his  superiors,  of 
these  invaluable  military  qualities, 
we  are  doubtless  to  attribute  the 
numerous  confidential  missions  with 
which  he  was  intrusted,  as  well  as  his 
transfer,  towards  the  close  of  1 848, 
from  the  army  of  Radetsky  to  that  of 
Windischgraetz,  when  the  latter  com- 
mander, about  to  enter  Hungary, 
wrote  to  the  old  marshal  to  ask  the 
loan  of  some  staff-officers  of  talent 
and  experience.  Thanks  to  this 
transfer,  M.  de  Pimodan  had  oppor- 
tunity of  acquiring  distinction  and 
promotion  in  the  two  most  important 
of  recent  revolutionary  wars.  Having 
seen  so  much,  and  knowing  so  well 
as  he  does  how  to  narrate  his  adven- 
tures in  a  style  both  soldierly  and 
scholarly,  it  would  have  been  unpar- 
donable to  withhold  them  from  the 
public.  They  were  first  published  in 
the  Paris  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes, 
whose  pages,  of  late  somewhat  pon- 
derous, would  gain  greatly  if  more 
frequently  enriched  by  contributions 
of  equal  merit  and  interest. 

It  was  in  cantonments  in  an  ob- 
scure Styrian  village  that  M.  de 
Pimodan,  then  a  lieutenant  of  dra- 
goons, received,  in  August  1847,  the 
route  for  Italy.  On  the  9th  the 
regiment  set  out ;  on  the  5th  Septem- 
ber they  reached  Verona,  the  termi- 
nation of  their  march.  Before  opening 
the  campaign,  we  turn  to  M.  de 
Pimodan's  interesting  sketch  of  the 


Souvenirs  et  Scenes  de  la  Guerre  d'ltalie,  sous  le  Mar£clial  Radetsky.  Souvenirs 
de  la  Guerre  de  Hongrie,  sous  le  Prince  Windischgraetz  et  le  Ban  Jellachich.  Par 
le  Comte  GEORGE  DE  PIMODAN,  Major  an  Regiment  de  Banderial  Hussards. 
Paris.  1850-51. 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide-  de-  Camp. 


[July, 


history  of  his  corps,  now  known  as 
Prince  Windischgraetz's  Light  Horse. 
"  Our  standard  was  a  precious 
memorial,  given  to  the  regiment  by 
Maria  Theresa.  At  that  period,  and 
up  to  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Joseph 
II.,  the  regiment  was  recruited  in 
Flanders ;  the  soldiers  spoke  nothing 
but  French  ;  they  were  known  as  the 
Walloons.  They  it  was  who  decided 
the  victory  at  the  battle  of  Kolin,  which 
at  first  appeared  lost.  The  Imperial 
army  began  to  give  way ;  Count  de 
Thiennes,  colonel  of  the  regiment, 
received  orders  to  retire  ;  he  flew  to 
Daun:  'Marshal,'  he  said,  'I  shall 
attack,  and  if  I  perish  with  my  regi- 
ment, our  honour  at  least  will  be 
saved.'  '  What  can  you  do  with  your 
beardless  Flemings?'  replied  Daun, 
who  knew  that  the  regiment  was  then 
almost  wholly  composed  of  young 
recruits.  '  You  shall  see,'  cried  de 
Thiennes ;  and  plunged,  followed  by 
his  officers,  and  at  the  head  of  the 
whole  regiment,  into  the  thick  of  the 
Prussian  infantry.  Thirty  squadrons 
of  Prussian  hussars,  supported  by 
fifteen  of  dragoons  in  a  second  line, 
were  overthrown  by  the  Imperial 
cavalry,  and  victory  declared  for 
Austria  ;  but  de  Thiennes  was  killed, 
and  a  third  of  the  regiment  lay 
upon  the  field.  Many  of  the  officers 
were  of  Lorraine:  the  history  of 
the  regiment  has  preserved  their 
names ;  amongst  them  are  those  of 
Ficquelmont  and  Aspremont.  The 
Great  Frederick,  seeing  the  battle 
lost,  returned  to  Nymburg  at  full 
gallop,  repeating  to  the  officer  who 
accompanied  him,  and  whose  horse 
fell  dead  with  fatigue,  '  Ah !  my 
hussars,  my  brave  hussars,  are  surely 
lost!'  Maria  Theresa  loaded  Daun 
with  honours,  (it  was  the  first  victory 
gained  over  the  Prussians.)  She  went 
outside  the  walls  of  Vienna  to  meet  him, 
and  ordered  that  the  soldiers  of  this 
brave  regiment  should  thenceforward, 
in  memory  of  their  youth  and  heroism, 
wear  neither  beard  nor  mustaches  ; 
then,  with  her  own  hands,  she  em- 
broidered on  their  standard  a  rose 
surrounded  with  thorns,  and  the 
motto,  l  Qiri s'y  frotte  £y  pique?  At  a 
later  date  the  regiment  was  known 
as  Latour's  Dragoons ;  many  who 
served  in  the  great  wars  of  Napoleon 
have  met  it  and  admired  its  bravery, 


and  many  French  generals  mention 
it  in  their  memoirs.  '  Garde,  a  nous  ! 
here  are  the  Latours  I '  was  the  cry 
of  the  French  soldiers,  when,  after 
they  had  repulsed  repeated  cavalry 
charges,  they  beheld  these  intrepid 
horsemen  hurled  against  their  squares. 
The  only  Imperial  eagle  taken  in 
Napoleon's  first  German  campaign 
was  captured  in  a  charge  made  by 
these  dragoons  of  Latour  against  the 
fifteenth  regiment  of  French  dragoons, 
at  the  combat  of  Haslau." 

The  autumn  passed  quietly  at 
Verona ;  but  still  there  were  sounds 
of  mischief  in  the  air,  and  signs  of 
coming  revolution.  All  were  on  the 
qui  vive,  expecting  an  outbreak, 
which  might  take  place  at  any  mo- 
ment. "  At  the  least  noise  in  the 
streets,  the  townspeople  showed  them- 
selves at  their  doors,  and  the  wo- 
men peered  anxiously  through  their 
lattices."  Secret  meetings  were  held 
in  the  large  towns  of  Austrian  Italy. 
At  Milan,  towards  the  end  of  Feb- 
ruary, several  officers  were  insulted, 
and  Lieutenant  Count  Thun,  entering 
his  house  after  drill,  was  wounded  by 
an  assassin's  pistol.  For  some  time 
the  Latours,  and  other  troops  in  gar- 
rison at  Verona,  were  confined  to 
barracks,  with  horses  saddled,  ready 
at  an  instant's  notice  to  mount  and 
away.  Nearly  every  week  battalions 
of  Croats,  tall  fine  men,  whose  harsh 
savage  aspect  contrasted  with  the 
somewhat  effeminate  physiognomy  of 
the  Italians,  passed  through  the  town, 
pressing  forward  to  the  Po  and 
Ticino.  Early  in  March  the  insurrec- 
tion broke  out.  It  had  long  been 
foreseen  and  announced  by  Marshal 
Radetsky,  whose  orders  were  given 
beforehand  for  the  troops  in  Lom- 
bardy  to  rendezvous  at  Milan,  and 
those  in  the  Venetian  States  at 
Verona.  The  latter  city  was  quiet, 
but  all  communication  with  Lombardy 
was  cut  off.  "  Revolutionary  com- 
mittees were  organised  in  every  town 
and  village ;  the  inhabitants  made 
barricades  in  the  streets  ;  in  the  coun- 
try districts  the  peasants  cut  the 
bridges  over  the  numerous  canals, 
dug  ditches  across  the  roads,  and 
formed  abattis  of  trees.  Supplies  of 
ammunition  and  artillery,  stopped  by 
these  obstacles,  were  captured  by  the 
insurgents.  Officers  sent  with  des- 


1851.] 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide-de-Camp. 


27 


patches  did  not  return,  and  were  re- 
ported to  have  been  seen  hung  from 
trees  with  their  own  scarves.  Of 
news  there  were  none,  and  the  most 
absurd  rumours  "circulated  on  all 
sides."  Things  were  in  this  critical 
state  when  M.  de  Pimodan  was  one 
night  roused  from  his  slumbers  on  a 
bench  in  the  stables,  by  an  order  to 
repair  instantly  to  the  quarters  of 
General  Gherardi.  There  despatches 
were  given  him;  a  carriage  was  at  the 
door ;  in  five  minutes  he  was  on  the 
road  to  Trieste. 

"  The  next  day  at  noon,  as  I  entered 
Sacile,  I  saw  a  crowd  assembled  in  the 
square.  Seven  or  eight  young  men, 
with  plumes  in  their  hats,  and  armed 
like  theatrical  brigands,  stopped  my 
carriage.  I  put  my  hand  to  my  sabre  ; 
but  I  saw  by  the  gestures  they  made 
with  their  muskets  that  resistance  was 
useless.  They  desired  me  to  alight  and 
follow  them ;  they  conducted  me  to  the 
town-hall,  and  into  a  large  room, 
where  seven  or  eight  men  in  black 
coats  were  seated  round  a  table.  I 
stepped  forward  and  demanded,  in  a 
voice  rendered  menacing  by  anger, 
4  Who  dares  to  arrest  an  imperial 
courier  ? '  None  ventured  to  reply ;  all 
appeared  embarrassed  :  one  of  them, 
however,  rose  from  his  seat  and  said 
that  they  wanted  to  hear  news  from 
Milan.  I  told  them  what  I  knew,  and 
added,  that  Marshal  Radetsky  would 
destroy  the  city  if  the  revolt  continued. 
They  seemed  thunderstruck  by  the 
name  and  menace ;  but,  plucking  up 
courage — '  We  want  a  republic;'  said 
one  of  them;  '  equality  for  all."1  I  was 
uneasy  as  to  how  all  this  would  end. 
The  staircase  was  crowded  with  a 
ragged  mob,  some  of  whom  had  even 
made  their  way  into  the  room.  '  How 
now  !'  I  cried — '  equality  for  all,  and 
you  wear  fine  clothes  whilst  these  poor 
people  are  almost  naked !'  And,  turn- 
ing to  the  crowd,  I  saw  my  words 
responded  to  by  an  approving  smile. 
I  took  advantage  of  this,  and  ap- 
proached the  stairs.  The  crowd  made 
way  for  me  ;  I  jumped  into  my  car- 
riage, and  was  off  at  a  gallop." 

Thanks  to  his  prudence  and  pre- 
sence of  mind,  M.  de  Pimodan  passed 
safely  through  other  similar  perils, 
reached  Trieste  at  two  in  the  morning, 
delivered  his  despatches  to  Count 
Gjulai,  the  general  commanding,  and 


by  him  was  sent  off,  the  following 
night,  to  convey  others  to  Count 
Zichy  at  Venice.  "  The  next  morn- 
ing, when  entering  the  port,  and 
whilst  admiring  the  beautiful  spectacle 
which  Venice  presents,  I  heard  some 
one  shout  to  us  from  the  guard-ship — 
'  Fora  la  bandiera!"1  I  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  this,  thinking  it  some  cus- 
tomary formality;  but  what  was  my 
astonishment  when  I  saw  the  sailors 
haul  down  the  flag  with  the  imperial 
arras,  and  heard  an  immense  crowd, 
assembled  on  the  Piazzeta  and  the 
quay  of  the  Schiavoni,  make  the  air 
ring  with  shouts  of  '  Viva  san  Marco! 
Viva  laRepublica!  Viva  V Italia V" 
It  was  M.  de  Pimodan's  fate  to  be 
preceded  everywhere  by  revolutions. 
Venice  was  in  full  revolt,  and  a  pro- 
visional government  had  been  estab- 
lished. He  was  conveyed  in  a  gon- 
dola, by  the  smaller  canals,  to  the 
palace,  which  was  its  headquarters, 
and  made  to  wait  in  a  large  hall,  full 
of  excited  groups  in  eager  conversa- 
tion, and  traversed  every  moment  by 
secretaries  and  aides-de-camp,  girt 
with  tricoloured  scarves.  A  naval 
officer  approached  M.  de  Pimodan, 
who  addressed  him.  "  I  do  not  speak 
German,"  replied  the  officer,  in  excel- 
lent German,  turning  his  back  upon 
his  interlocutor.  Confusion  and  not 
a  little  alarm  reigned  amongst  the 
new-fledged  republicans.  So  great 
was  the  bewilderment  and  want  of 
order,  that  they  actually  read  aloud, 
within  hearing  of  the  Austrian  officer, 
a  letter  from  the  revolutionary  com- 
mittee of  Treviso,  informing  the  pro- 
visional government  that  the  impe- 
rial troops  were  still  in  the  town,  the 
republic  could  not  be  proclaimed,  and 
that  the  town  had  every  thing  to  fear 
from  Austrian  vengeance.  "  After 
waiting  about  an  hour,"  says  M.  de 
Pimodan,  u  they  took  me  toM.  Manin. 
I  beheld  a  little  man,  about  fifty  years 
of  age,  seated  before  a  desk ;  he  wore 
spectacles,  and  had  the  appearance  of 
having  passed  many  sleepless  nights  : 
his  gaze  was  dull,  and  his  countenance 
pale  with  fatigue.  He  looked  at  me 
with  an  astonished  air,  as  if  at  a  loss 
to  conjecture  what  had  brought  me 
to  Venice  at  such  a  moment;  then, 
opening  a  drawer,  in  which  I  saw  gold, 
he  put  his  hand  in,  and,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  mine :  '  You  are  come  to  join  us, 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide-de-Camp. 


[July, 


are  you  not,  to  fight  for  our  liberty  ? ' 
he  said,  stirring  the  gold  as  he  spoke. 
I  saw  what  he  meant.  '  Sir,'  I  replied, 
'  I  am  noble  by  birth,  and  an  officer 
in  the  emperor's  service  ;  I  know  no- 
thing but  my  duty.'  '  Well,  well!' 
he  replied,  in  an  ironical  tone,  *  as  you 
please ;  meanwhile,  you  will  be  kept 
here.' " 

The  insurrection  at  Venice,  un- 
known at  Trieste  when  M.  de  Pimodan 
had  left  that  port,  rendered  the  des- 
patches for  Count  Zichy  worthless. 
Nevertheless  the  -bearer  was  anxious 
to  see  the  count,  and  his  ready  wit 
suggested  the  means.  He  told  Manin 
that  he  was  on  his  way  to  join  his 
regiment  at  Verona  ;  that  his  non- 
arrival  would  make  him  suspected  of 
desertion ;  and  he  entreated  permission 
to  speak  to  General  Zichy,  whose 
testimony  might  subsequently  save 
him  from  punishment.  Manin  com- 
plied with  his  request,  and  he  was 
taken  to  Zichy's  quarters.  The  count 
was  in  bed.  "  I  had  rolled  up  my 
despatches  in  my  sleeve,  hoping  to  be 
able  to  give  them  to  him  unseen ;  but 
finding  myself  watched  by  his  guards, 
I  told  him  I  was  a  prisoner,  and  talked 
of  indifferent  things,  to  gain  time.  At 
last,  resting  my  arm  upon  his  bed- 
stead, I  tried  to  catch  his  eye,  and  to 
guide  it  to  the  movement  I  was  about 
to  make  to  drop  the  despatches  ;  but 
he  was  too  dejected  and  prostrate  to 
understand  me.  Fearing  they  would 
be  taken  by  the  Italians  in  the  room, 
I  dared  not  let  them  fall  upon  the  bed. 
I  was  taken  back  to  the  hall ;  a  mo- 
ment afterwards  a  young  man  entered 
in  great  alarm,  and  exclaimed: — 
'  The  Croats  will  not  accept  the  capi- 
tulation ;  they  refuse  to  lay  down  their 
arms,  and  declare  that,  if  attacked, 
they  will  set  fire  to  the  town,  and 
blow  up  the  powder  magazine.'— 
*  Nonsense ! '  replied  an  ill-looking 
man  there  present,  who  then  sat 
down,  wrote  a  few  lines,  and  went  out 
of  the  room.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
returned,  flourishing  the  paper  with  a 
triumphant  air.  '  Here,'  said  he, 
4  here  is  the  order  for  the  Croats  to 
lay  down  their  arms.  It  is  signed  : 
General  Count  Zichy  S  I  know  not  by 


what  means  this  fellow  procured  the 
count's  signature." 

But  negligently  guarded,  M.  de 
Pimodan  effected  his  escape,  and  after 
passing  safely  through  numerous 
perils,  once  more  reached  Verona.  He 
must  have  been  invaluable  as  a  courier, 
and  callous  to  fatigue, — for  the  very 
same  day  we  again  find  him  on  the 
road,  bearing  orders  to  General 
d'Aspre,  at  Padua,  to  concentrate  at 
Verona  all  the  troops  of  the  province 
of  Venice.  The  general  had  antici- 
pated the  order ;  the  messenger  met 
him  near  Vicenza,  and  returned  with 
him  to  Verona,  the  garrison  of  which 
was  increased  by  this  arrival  to  six- 
teen thousand  men. 

It  was  a  few  days  later,  on  the  29th 
March  1848,  that  M.  de  Pimodan, 
having  been  sent  to  Peschiera  with  a 
picket  of  cavalry,  met  in  that  fortress 
three  squadrons  of  imperial  Hulans, 
and  four  companies  of  Sluiners,*  who, 
having  been  compelled  to  abandon 
Cremona  and  Bergamo,  had  been  for 
six  days  wandering  about  Lombardy, 
repeatedly  brought  to  a  stand  by 
broken  bridges  and  barricaded  towns. 
When  fording  the  Chiesa,  above  the 
little  town  of  Montechiaro,  they  had 
had  a  skirmish  with  the  natives,  who 
had  opened  the  sluices  and  drowned 
several  men  and  horses,  and  had  slain, 
in  a  cowardly  manner,  a  captain  of 
Sluiners,  just  as  he  was  struggling  out 
of  the  current.  "  It  was  the  first 
time,"  says  M.  de  Pimodan,  u  that  I 
saw  soldiers  returning  from  a  fight ; 
their  white  cloaks  were  blood-stained, 
and  in  rear  of  the  troops  a  few 
dismounted  men  marched  proudly 
along,  leaning  on  their  broken  lances. 
At  Poussolengo,  not  far  from  Pes- 
chiera, the  Sluiners  had  forced  a  pas- 
sage, and  pillaged  some  houses  and 
shops ;  and  that  afternoon  I  saw  them, 
in  the  open  square,  bandaging  their 
black  and  weary  feet  with  pieces  of 
satin.  The  honest  Croats  had  so  little 
notion  of  even  the  most  ordinary 
luxuries  of  life,  that,  having  found 
some  gilt  china  plates,  they  broke  off 
the  edges,  and  carefully  preserved 
them,  imagining  the  gilding  to  be  of 
value." 


*  Certain  regiments  of  Austrian  infantry  take  their  names  from  the  chief  towns  of 
the  districts  in  which  they  are  raised.  Thus  the  2d  regiment  are  called  Ottochaners. 
from  Ottochacz;  the  4th,  Sluiners,  from  Sluin,  &c. 


1851.] 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide- de- Camp. 


At  Verona  the  utmost  anxiety  now- 
prevailed  for  news  of  Radetsky  and 
his  army.  It  was  known  that  the  king 
of  Sardinia  had  passed  the  Ticino  in 
force,  and  the  most  sinister  rumours 
were  in  circulation.  The  day  after 
his  arrival  at  Peschiera,  Lieutenant 
Pimodan — who  was  certainly  one  of 
the  luckiest  of  subalterns,  and  on 
whose  path  opportunities  of  distinc- 
tion, so  ardently  coveted  by  every 
young  officer,  seemed  literally  to  pour 
down — was  out  reconnoitring  with 
his  party,  when  he  perceived  and 
captured,  after  a  smart  gallop,  an  in- 
surgent Courier,  on  whose  person  was 
found  the  following  proclamation  : — 
"  To  arms !  Radetsky's  army,  driven 
from  Milan,  flies  towards  Verona !  To 
arms!  brave  Italians !  Courage!  and 
Italy  is  freel"  Radetsky  was  near 
Brescia,  so  the  prisoner  informed  his 
captors  ;  whereupon  the  adventurous 
Pimodan,  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, and  accompanied  only  by  his 
bravest  and  best-mounted  dragoon, 
galloped  oif  to  meet  the  marshal. 
The  risk  was  great ;  but  hard  riding 
and  a  bold  face  carried  him  through. 
Pistol  in  hand  he  dashed  through  the 
towns,  ordering  rations,  as  he  passed, 
for  an  imaginary  regiment  of  cavalry 
close  at  his  heels  ;  and  near  Monte- 
chiaro  he  perceived,  to  his  delight  and 
no  small  relief,  the  two  foremost  hus- 
sars of  Radetsky's  advanced-guard. 
A  river  of  men,  horses,  and  vehicles 
flowed  along  the  narrow  road,  and 
Pimodan  could  advance  bat  slowly 
against  the  stream.  He  learned  from 
the  officers  that  the  marshal  was  with- 
out news  from  Verona,  and  believed 
Mantua  and  Peschiera  in  the  hands  of 
the  insurgents.  Impatient  to  relieve 
his  anxiety,  the  bearer  of  good  tidings 
urged  on  his  horse,  and  at  last  came 
up  with  the  marshal,  who  was  halted 
on  an  open  place.  "  Springing  from 
my  horse  — '  Excellency,'  said  I, 
'  General  d'Aspre  is  at  Verona  with 
sixteen  thousand  men ;  Mantua  and 
Peschiera  are  still  ours.'  Then  the 
marshal  embraced  me  several  times, 
pressing  me  to  his  breast :  the  calm 
and  tranquillity  that  reigned  upon  his 
features  had,  until  that  moment,  been 
far  from  his  heart ;  tears  of  joy  rolled 
over  his  venerable  countenance  ;  and 
taking  my  hands  kindly  in  his,  he 
promised  that  he  would  think  of  me 


29 

for  promotion.  Generals  and  colonels 
came  to  hear  the  good  news  from 
Verona,  which  were  communicated  in 
an  instant  to  the  whole  army.  I  was 
perfectly  happy." 

To  have  earned  the  personal  and 
heartfelt  thanks  of  Father  Radetsky, 
to  have  been  embraced  by  him  and  to 
have  drawn  tears  of  joy  from  his  eyes, 
were  circumstances  to  be  treasured  in 
mind  until  a  soldier's  dying  hour ;  and 
under  the  exhilaration  they  occa- 
sioned the  young  lieutenant,  he  must 
be  pardoned  the  rather  mad  prank 
which  he  played  on  his  way  back  to 
Peschiera,  whither  he  immediately  set 
out  at  full  speed,  dropping  upon  the 
road  his  orderly,  whose  horse  was 
blown.  Scampering  through  Desen- 
zano,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that 
the  bell  of  a  small  church  on  the  right 
of  the  road  had  rung  an  alarm  on  his 
previous  passage.  A  number  of  men 
were  now  assembled  in  front  of  the 
church. 

"  I  fell  amongst  them  like  a  thun- 
derbolt, pulled  up  my  horse,  and 
pointed  my  pistol  at  one  of  their  heads. 
'  It  is  five  o'clock,'  I  said  ;  '  if  yonder 
bell  be  not  down  and  in  a  cart  in 
twenty  minutes,  I  blow  your  brains 
out.' "  To  save  their  companion's  life 
the  men  obeyed  orders,  and  the  impe- 
tuous lieutenant  bore  away  the  bell, 
and  made  a  triumphant  entry  into 
Peschiera ;  where,  however,  he  only 
remained  long  enough  to  purvey  him- 
self a  fresh  horse,  and  galloped  oif  to 
Verona  to  take  General  d'Aspre  the 
good  news  of  the  marshal's  arrival. 
His  indefatigable  activity  did  not  re- 
main unrewarded.  A  few  days  after- 
wards he  was  appointed  orderly  officer 
to  Radetsky. 

In  a  fertile  country  and  fine  climate, 
with  a  well-provided  army  and  a  chi- 
valrous foe,  war  loses  many  of  its 
horrors,  and  almost  assumes  the  aspect 
of  a  mighty  tournament.  Disease, 
short  commons,  inclement  weather, 
and  bad  quarters,  are  great  abaters  of 
military  ardour.  None  of  these  evils 
were  experienced  to  any  extent  dur- 
ing the  brief  war  in  Northern  Italy, 
which  M.  de  Pimodan  enthusiastically 
describes  as  "  a  charming  war,  an 
elegant  duel  between  courteous  and 
well-bred  people.  The  country  was 
decked  with  flowers,  whose  scent  em- 
balmed the  air;  and  in  the  evening 


30 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide- de-Camp. 


of  a  battle- day,  seated  upon  the  velvet 
cushions  of  some  luxurious  palace,  we 
inhaled  the  fresh  breezes  of  night,  lis- 
tening to  the  national  songs  of  our 
soldiers,  and  refreshing  ourselves  with 
iced  drinks  out  of  crystal  cups.  We 
lived  in  abundance  and  joy.  Play, 
wine,  love — all  were  there  for  those 
who  sought  excitement ;  our  soldiers 
were  well  fed,  well  clothed,  well  paid ; 
and  we,  gay  and  careless  as  any  lanz- 
knechts,  dreamed  but  of  battles  and 
bloody  melees:  these  were  our  plea- 
sures and  our  festivals."  Like  a  gene- 
rous, and  also  a  judicious  foe,  (for 
where  is  the  glory  of  conquering 
cowards?)  M.  de  Pimodan  does  full 
justice  to  the  valour  of  the  Italian 
troops,  and  loves  to  relate  anecdotes 
of  individual  heroism.  At  the  close 
of  the  combat  of  the  29th  April  on 
the  Adige,  when  General  Wohlge- 
muth,  after  bravely  sustaining,  for 
some  hours,  with  only  two  brigades, 
the  fierce  attack  of  far  superior  forces 
under  Charles  Albert  in  person,  was 
at  length  compelled  to  give  way,  a 
battalion  of  Croats,  covering  the  re- 
treat, was  suddenly  charged  by  a 
young  Piedmontese  officer  at  the  head 
of  only  a  score  of  horsemen.  The 
object  of  this  desperate  onslaught  was 
to  seize  the  colours  of  the  battalion ; 
but  the  gallant  leader  paid  for  his 
temerity  with  his  life.  He  fell,  riddled 
with  balls.  "  By  letters  found  upon 
him,  we  learned  that  he  was  the  Mar- 
quis of  Bevilacqua,  of  one  of  the 
noblest  families  in  Italy.  One  of  these 
letters  was  from  a  friend,  who  said 
that  he  could  not  endure  separation 
from  him,  and  would  go  to  Peschiera 
the  30th  April,  (the  morrow,)  in  hopes 
of  embracing  him  there."  The  fortune 
of  war  willed  it  otherwise.  On  the 
30th,  the  marquis  was  a  corpse,  and 
the  Austrian  banner  still  waved  over 
the  battlements  of  Peschiera.  Not 
that  the  moment  was  by  any  means 
a  favourable  one  for  the  imperial 
cause.  Verona  and  Mantua,  and  the 
two  little  fortresses  of  Peschiera  and 
Legnano,  were  all  that  Austria  then 
retained  in  Italy ;  and  six  days 
later,  on  the  night  of  the  5th  May, 
Charles  Albert  decided  to  attack  the 
Austrian  positions  in  front  of  Verona. 
That  this  attack  would  have  been  suc- 
cessful, M.  de  Pimodan  evidently 
entertains  little  doubt,  but  for  the 


tardy  communication  of  orders  to  the 
Piedmontese  army.  When  the  troops 
moved  forward,  on  the  morning  of  the 
6th  May,  none  but  a  few  generals  had 
had  time  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of 
the  plan  of  attack.  The  consequence 
was,  that  all  three  divisions  of  the 
army  came  up  either  at  the  wrong 
time  or  the  wrong  place.  "  The  bri- 
gade of  Aosta,  supported  by  the  bri- 
gade of  guards,  and  followed  by  the 
reserve  division,  alone  came  up  at  the 
appointed  hour,  commencing,  towards 
ten  of  the  forenoon,  the  attack  upon 
Santa  Lucia."  According  to  Charles 
Albert's  plan  of  operations,  these 
troops  were  to  have  advanced  against 
San  Massimo,  and  the  second  division 
was  to  have  attacked  Santa  Lucia. 
But  the  second  division  did  not  make 
its  appearance  till  one  in  the  after- 
noon, when  the  first  assailants  had 
been  repulsed,  notwithstanding  the 
valour  of  their  attack,  and  the  artil- 
lery alone  was  continuing  the  action. 
A  second  attempt  was  then  made, 
and  the  Austrians  were  driven  from 
Santa  Lucia.  But  meanwhile  General 
d'Aspre,  who  commanded  at  Croce 
Bianca,  the  village  on  the  Austrian 
right,  had  defeated  the  third  Pied- 
montese division,  and  was  conse- 
quently in  position  to  menace  the  left 
flank  of  Charles  Albert's  centre.  It 
was  three  in  the  afternoon.  Radetsky, 
seeing  his  advantage,  sent  M.  de 
Pimodan  to  General  Wratislaw  with 
orders  to  attack  Santa  Lucia  with  all 
his  forces. 

u  The  Archduke  Francis-Joseph 
was  there,  tranquil  in  the  midst  of  the 
cannon-balls  which  flew  around  him 
and  broke  the  trees  upon  the  road ; 
he  was  cheering  to  the  fight  these 
troops,  who  soon  were  to  be  his  own 
army,  when  a  hostile  battery,  hidden 
by  the  plantations  of  mulberry -trees, 
sent  us  a  volley  of  grape.  The  Arch- 
duke Albert  was  covered  with  earth 
and  broken  branches,  General  Wra- 
tislaw's  horse  was  struck  by  a  ball ; 
other  projectiles  passed  through  the 
skirt  of  my  coat,  and  flattened  the 
scabbard  of  my  sword.  Our  troops 
rushed  forward,  and  Colonel  Leitzen- 
dorf,  General  Salis,  and  I,  cantering 
at  the  head  of  a  battalion  of  the  Arch- 
duke Sigismund's  grenadiers,  and  of 
a  few  companies  of  Geppert's  regi- 
ment, and  exciting  them  by  shouts, 


1851.] 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide- de- Camp. 


our  soldiers  threw  themselves,  with 
bayonets  at  the  charge,  on  the  enemy's 
battalions.  The  balls  hailed  around  us. 
Leitzendorf  fell,  mortally  wounded, 
and  I  saw  General  Salis,  hit  in  the 
breast,  sink  upon  his  horse's  neck.  I 
rode  up  to  him ;  blood  was  flowing  from 
between  his  shoulders,  and  in  a  dying 
voice  he  told  me  to  have  him  carried — 
I  could  not  hear  whither.  Our  people 
took  him  in  their  arms.  The  bersag- 
lieri  bravely  defended  the  entrance  of 
the  village ;  the  grenadiers  and  the 
Gepperts  fell  thick  under  their  fire; 
but,  supported  by  a  battalion  of  Pro- 
haska  and  by  Colonel  Koppal's  chas- 
seurs, they  broke  the  battalions  of 
Cuneo's  brigade.  Nothing  could  check 
them  ;  the  Piedmontese  took  to  flight ; 
we  again  entered  Santa  Lucia :  the 
victory  was  ours.  .  .  .  The 
affair  had  been  bloody,  and  the  Pied- 
montese had  fought  with  great  bra- 
very ;  their  officers  had  been  seen 
everywhere  in  front,  leading  on  and 
encouraging  their  men.  Allans!  En 
avant !  en  avant !  Courage  !  la  vic- 
toire  est  a  nous !  were  the  cries  heard 
on  all  sides,  in  French.  These  in- 
trepid men  were  Savoyards  of  the 
brigade  of  Aosta,  as  I  afterwards 
ascertained  by  letters  found  upon 
their  dead  bodies.  Their  officers, 
and  those  of  ours  who  were  killed,  had 
greatly  exposed  themselves :  they 
were  all  hit  in  the  breast,  and  pierced 
with  many  balls.  I  was  astonished, 
at  the  commencement  of  the  affair,  to 
see  with  what  temerity  the  Piedmon- 
tese dragged  their  artillery  into  the 
very  midst  of  our  line  of  skirmishers, 
and  with  what  rapidity  their  sappers, 
in  spite  of  our  fire,  cut  down  the  pop- 
lars upon  the  road,  to  secure  the  guns 
from  the  attacks  of  cavalry.  For  our 
part,  we  were  all  proud  and  happy  to 
have  seen  the  Archduke  Francis- 
Joseph,  our  future  emperor,  and  the 
princes  of  the  imperial  house,  partake 
our  dangers :  the  sentiment  of  respect 
inspired  by  the  future  heir  of  so  much 
power  was  changed  into  feelings  of 
admiration,  love,  and  gratitude  when 
we  beheld  him  fighting  at  our  side. 

"The  day  after  the  battle,  as  I  passed 
before  the  cemetery  of  Santa  Lucia, 
our  soldiers  offered  me  rings  and  little 
crucifixes  taken  from  the  Piedmontese 
officers  who  had  remained  upon  the 
field.  I  bought  a  few  florins'  worth  ; 


31 

but  soon  I  felt  a  superstitious  com- 
punction that  the  bodies  of  those 
brave  fellows  should  thus  be  stripped 
of  the  last  keepsakes,  perhaps,  of  a 
mother  or  a  mistress,  and,  retracing 
my  steps,  I  threw  them  into  the 
common  grave,  which  was  still  open. 
Almost  all  the  Piedmontese  soldiers 
wore  scapularies,  and  many  had 
prayer-books  in  their  pockets  :  one 
of  them  had  a  letter  from  his  mother, 
written  in  French.  She  told  him 
'  that  she  would  pray  for  him  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin ;  and  that  he  was  to 
be  careful  of  his  health,  and  keep  his 
feet  warm  for  fear  of  taking  cold.' 
Poor  mother !" 

There  is  a  pleasant  frankness  in  M. 
de  Pimodan's  tone,  combined  with 
much  good  feeling— and  with  an  occa- 
sional tinge  of  romance,  which  serves 
as  spice  to  the  more  substantial  and 
matter-of-fact  portions  of  his  adven- 
tures. The  action  of  Santa  Lucia,  in 
which  he  evidently  played  the  part  of 
a  bold  and  efficient  officer,  was  quickly 
followed  by  his  promotion  to  a  com- 
pany in  General  d'Aspre's  regiment — 
the  1st  regiment  of  infantry.  He 
had  not,  however,  to  relinquish  his 
staff  appointment,  which  would  in 
some  degree  have  neutralised  the 
pleasure  of  his  promotion,  for  he  had 
become  greatly  attached  to  Marshal 
Radetsky,  an  attachment  shared  by 
the  entire  army.  He  sketches  the 
portrait  of  the  fine  old  commander  in 
few  words,  but  most  attractive 
colours. 

"  The  marshal  was  all  goodness  to 
his  officers,  and  his  soldiers  adored 
him  :  I  have  seen  some  into  whose 
eyes,  when  he  spoke  to  them,  emotion 
and  joy  brought  tears.  His  generosity 
was  proverbial  in  the  army — he  liked 
to  have  a  great  many  officers  at  his 
t  .ble ;  had  it  been  possible,  he  wfmld 
have  invited  the  whole  army.  Every 
morning  it  was  his  habit  to  throw  out 
money  to  the  poor  who  assembled 
under  his  windows;  and  often,  at  day- 
break, when  I  was  sleeping  on  a  sofa 
in  the  room  adjoining  his  bedchamber, 
I  was  awakened  by  the  impatient  cries 
of  these  impudent  beggars,  claiming 
their  daily  tribute.  When  I  wanted 
to  drive  them  away,  he  laughed  at  my 
indignati'on.  Although  compelled  to 
take  most  energetic  measures,  fre- 
quently he  pityingly  closed  his  eyes 


32 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide-de-Camp. 


[July, 


to  things  he  would  have  been  com- 
pelled to  punish ;  and  yet  he  was  not 
liked  by  the  Italians  of  the  town:  the 
women  especially  took  pains  to  show 
that  all  their  sympathy  was  with  the 
Piedmontese,  and  put  on  mourning 
wiien  these  were  defeated  at  Santa 
Lucia.  One  of  these  ladies,  Madame 
Palm....  (it  surprised  me  in  so  dis- 
tinguished a  person.)  wore  suspended 
to  her  neck  a  portrait  of  Pio  Nono  as 
large  as  a  hand,  and  knots  of  tri- 
coloured  ribbons  wherever  she  could 
place  them :  she  was  constantly  at 
her  window,  observing  all  our  move- 
ments, and  on  the  watch  for  bad 
news.  Other  women  surpassed  Ma- 
dame Palm....  in  their  demonstra- 
tions. The  Countess  Gr....  went  down 
from  her  balcony,  armed  with  a  dagger, 
and  spit  upon  the  uniform  of  an  officer 
of  my  regiment,  who  was  led  prisoner 
through  the  streets  of  Milan,  calling 
him  a  German  dog  and  a  hangman's 
lacquey.  A  young  person,  at  a  great 
dinner  at  Count  B...'s,  refused  a  dish 
that  was  offered  to  her  :  '  No,  thank 
you,'  she  replied,  '  I  am  no  longer 
hungry;  nevertheless,  if  it  were  a 
Croat's  heart,  I  would  eat  the  whole 
of  it.1 " 

There  is  nothing  improbable  in 
these  traits  of  vindictive  patriotism 
related  of  passionate  southerns,  al- 
though it  is  well  to  bear  in  mind  that 
such  tales  are  often  invented,  or  at 
least  exaggerated,  and  difficult  to  re- 
fute. M.  de  Pimodan  establishes  a 
contrast,  hardly  a  generous  one,  under 
all  the  circumstances,  between  his 
fair  but  unfummine  Italian  foes  and 
the  gentle  Austrian  dames  who  were 
scraping  lint,  and  praying  in  church 
corners  for  their  absent  brothers  and 
lovers.  Prayers  and  bandages,  how- 
ever, were  all  inefficacious  to  avert 
or  heal  the  terrible  wounds  inflicted 
by  Italian  bullets  and  bayonets.  As 
if  to  neutralise  the  effect  of  his 
glowing  descriptions  of  the  pleasures 
of  a  campaign  in  Northern  Italy,  M. 
de  Pimodan  is  terribly  graphic  in  his 
accounts  of  battle-fields,  and  of  the 
deaths  he  there  witnessed.  Sent 
with  despatches  to  General  Nugent, 
then  at  Conegliano,  he  reached  his 
destination  just  as  that  commander, 
whose  wounds  fatigue  had  reopened, 


had  given  up  the  command  to  Count 
Thurn,  who  had  set  out  to  attack 
Vicenza.  When  the  head  of  the 
column  arrived  at  a  quarter  of  a 
league  from  that  town,  "  the  ad- 
vanced-guard, consisting  of  two  com- 
panies of  Banater,*  and  of  a  de- 
tachment of  Hulans  commanded  by 
Lieutenant  Count  Zichy,  advanced 
to  the  first  houses  bordering  the  road. 
From  these  houses,  occupied  by  the 
enemy,  a  storm  of  bullets  swept  away 
the  foremost  ranks  of  the  Banater. 
The  men  paused,  then  retreated  before 
this  murderous  fire.  Count  Zichy, 
indignant  at  their  giving  way,  sprang 
from  his  horse,  seized  a  musket,  and 
led  them  to  the  attack;  but,  as  he 
was  getting  over  a  barricade,  he  was 
struck  above  the  left  eye  by  a  bullet, 
which  fractured  his  skull,  and  he 
rolled  in  the  trench  bordering  the 
road.  I  ran  to  him :  he  still  moved. 
I  tried  to  drag  him  out  of  the  ditch, 
but  my  feet  slipped  in  his  blood,  and 
all  my  efforts  were  in  vain.  Bullets 
flew  thick  around  us ;  we  were  on  the 
point  of  being  surrounded  by  the 
enemy's  sharpshooters ;  I  grasped 
Zichy 's  sabre  and  tore  open  his  uni- 
form to  take  the  portrait  of  his  wife, 
which  he  wore  upon  his  breast.  There 
still  was  life  in  the  wounded  man,  for 
he  crossed  his  arms  strongly  on  his 
bosom,  thinking,  perhaps,  that  it  was 
an  enemy  who  was  about  to  deprive 
him  of  the  portrait.  Poor  Zichy  !  he 
had  been  married  but  a  few  weeks." 
After  a  severe  combat  and  consider- 
able loss  of  life,  General  Thurn  aban- 
doned his  designs  upon  Vicenza,  made 
a  circuit  round  it,  and  marched  to- 
wards Verona,  according  to  orders 
received  from  Radetsky.  M.  de 
Pimodan  remained  in  the  rear,  to 
have  Zichy  buried  in  a  place  where 
his  family  might  afterwards  find  his 
remains.  "  To  my  great  surprise, 
on  approaching  the  impromptu  bed 
on  which  they  had  laid  the  lieutenant, 
I  perceived  that  he  still  lived,  al- 
though his  skull  was  fractured.  When 
he  heard  the  sounds  of  horses  and  of 
arms,  he  lifted,  with  his  dying  hand, 
the  sheet  that  covered  his  head,  and 
raised  himself  into  a  sitting  posture; 
his  eye  gleamed  for  a  moment,  then 
closed,  and  his  head  fell  back  upon  the 


*  Soldiers  of  the  12th  regiment,  raised  in  the  district  of  the  Banat  of  Temesvar. 


1851.] 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide  -de-  Camp. 


straw.  That  glance  was  his  farewell 
to  life:  he  lived  forty-eight  hours 
longer,  but  in  a  state  of  unconscious- 
ness." 

M.  de  Pimodan's  horse  had  been 
killed  under  him  in  the  bloody  and 
unprofitable  conflict  at  the  entrance 
of  Vicenza.  Mounted  upon  poor 
Zichy's  charger,  he  preceded  General 
Thurn's  column,  alone,  and  at  risk 
of  his  life  in  every  town  and  village 
he  passed  through,  but  regardless  of 
danger  in  his  desire  to  inform 
Radetsky  of  the  approach  of  the 
troops,  for  whose  arrival  he  knew  him 
to  be  anxious.  His  reception  by  the 
marshal  was  all  he  could  desire.  "  He 
was  good  enough  to  testify  joy  at 
seeing  me,  and  to  say  that  he  well 
knew  I  should  be  the  first  to  inform 
him  of  the  coming  of  Nugent's  corps. 
It  was  by  such  marks  of  interest  and 
words  of  encouragement  that  the 
marshal  won  the  hearts  of  his  officers ; 
and  not  one  of  us  but  was  ready  to 
sacrifice  himself  to  procure  him  the 
honour  of  assuring  the  triumph  of  the 
imperial  arms  at  the  close,  as  at  the 
beginning,  of  his  glorious  career." 

It  were  in  vain  to  attempt,  within 
the  limits  of  an  article,  to  give  even 
an  outline  of  all  the  events  shared  in, 
witnessed,  or  recorded  by  M.  de 
Pimodan,  who  is  an  economist  of 
words,  and  gets  a  great  deal  into  a 
small  space ;  nor  would  it  be  of  in- 
terest to  trace  the  whole  of  his  narra- 
tive, the  wars  to  which  it  refers  being 
so  recent,  and  their  main  incidents 
fresh  in  every  one's  inemoiy.  We 
prefer  confining  ourselves  to  the  more 
personal  parts  of  his  sketches,  and  to 
such  traits  and  anecdotes  as  throw 
light  upon  the  spirit  and  character  of 
the  gallant  armies  with  which  he 
served,  and  of  the  equally  gallant 
ones  against  which  he  fought.  At 
the  severe  combat  of  Montanara, 
(28th  May,)  General  Hess,  chief  of 
the  staff,  sent  him  to  the  front,  about 
two  in  the  afternoon,  to  make  a  re- 
port on  the  state  of  the  iight.  The 
village  of  Montauara,  loopholed,  for- 
tified, and  defended  by  strong  re- 
doubts, was  held  by  Tuscan  troops. 


On  the  high-road  a  furious  cannonade 
was  going  on :  to  the  right  of  the 
village  the  musketry  was  most  violent; 
and  thither  the  aide-de-camp  spurred 
his  horse,  through  fields  of  vines  and 
mulberries.  Every  military  reader, 
who  has  witnessed  similar  scenes,  will 
recognise  the  vivid  truthfulness  of  the 
following  passage : — 

"  General  Count  Clam  was  there, 
calm  and  self-possessed ;  he  had  just 
ordered  the  attack  of  the  loopholed 
houses,  and  stood  cutting  with  his 
horse- whip  the  weeds  by  the  roadside, 
whilst  the  bullets  flew  around  him  in 
showers.  Schestak,  his  aide-de- 
camp, fell  dead  by  his  side.*  Then 
Count  Clam  went  himself  to  post  a 
rocket-battery  in  the  churchyard,  to 
set  fire  to  the  village;  and,  leaping 
some  large  trenches  into  which  many 
of  the  wounded  had  crawled,  he  ad- 
vanced into  the  very  centre  of  our 
skirmishers.  Up  came  Colonel 
Reischach,  his  bloody  sabre  in  his 
hand :  at  the  head  of  his  men  he  had 
just  carried  by  assault  the  foremost 
of  the  fortified  houses.  We  were 
opposite  the  right  flank  of  the  redoubt, 
on  which  a  large  banner  was  waving. 
I  called  upon  some  thirty  men  to  fol- 
low me — I  was  bent  upon  being  the 
first  in  the  redoubt  and  seizing  the 
flag;  but  as  I  was  running  across 
the  meadow  at  their  head,  the  fire 
redoubled,  a  storm  of  bullets  flew 
through  the  air  ;  Captain  Stiller  and 
several  men  fell,  and  the  others  threw 
themselves  for  shelter  into  a  large 
trench  upon  the  left.  Colonel 
Reischach  then  came  up  with  two 
companies  of  his  regiment,  brandish- 
ing his  sabre  and  shouting  'Long 
live  the  Emperor ! '  as  he  marched  at 
their  head.  Nevertheless,  so  violent 
Avas  the  cross-fire,  that  his  soldiers 
paused,  not  daring  to  enter  the  court 
and  break  in  the  house-door  ;  seeing 
which,  the  colonel  ran  up  to  it,  and  I 
followed  him.  We  were  marks  for 
every  musket ;  but  Reischach's  men, 
encouraged  by  his  example,  rushed 
into  the  court  and  entered  the  house 
by  the  lower  windows.  There  was  a 
fight  in  the  rooms  and  on  the  stair- 


*  Lieutenant  Schestak  was  of  a  poor  family,  and  sent  his  mother  a  portion  of  his 
pay.  Before  expiring,  he  said  to  Count  Clam, "  Farewell,  general;  I  recommend  my 
mother  to  you."  Count  Clam  has  nobly  accepted  poor  Schestak's  legacy. — Note  by 
M.  de  Pimodan. 

VOL.  LXX. — NO,  CCCCXXIX.  ft 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide-de-Camp. 


[July, 


case ;  '  Reischach  is  here  ! '  was  the 
cry:  'victory  is  ours!  Down  with  the 
Tuscans ! '  Our  men,  heated  and 
furious  with  the  struggle,  struck 
down,  with  bayonet  and  musket-but, 
those  Tuscans  who  still  resisted  in 
the  midst  of  the  smoke  ;  the  others 
threw  down  their  arms  and  implored 
quarter.  Masters  of  this  house,  we 
were  able  to  take  the  redoubt  in 
rear.  The  enemy,  seeing  himself 
turned  and  exposed  to  our  fire,  fled 
in  confusion,  abandoning  his  defences : 
our  troops  entered  the  village  on  all 
sides  at  once,  the  diiferent  detach- 
ments shouting  to  eaclrother,  for  fear 
of  mistake,  '  Prohaska  for  ever  !  do 
not  fire ! '  " 

That  the  Austrian  officers,  espe- 
cially those  of  Prohaska  and  Paum- 
garten,  did  their  duty  bravely  that 
day,  was  sufficiently  proved  by  the 
returns  of  killed  and  wounded  in 
those  two  regiments,  which  bore  the 
brunt  of  the  combats  of  Curtatone 
and  Montanara.  At  the  rate  of  four 
officers  to  each  company  of  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  men,  the  proportion 
should  have  been  as  one  in  thirty. 
Instead  of  that,  in  Prohaska  it  was 
as  one  in  eight,  in  Paumgarten  as 
one  in  nine.  That  night  Captain 
Pimodan  visited  the  hospital :  it  was 
a  ghastly  sight.  In  one  room  lay 
nine  officers  of  a  battalion  of  Paum- 
garten, some  dying  of  their  wounds, 
others  awaiting  the  operator's  leisure. 
On  his  return  from  this  mournful 
visit,  and  when  about  to  seek  repose 
after  the  fatigue  and  excitement  of 
the  battle,  the  aide-de-camp  was 
sent  off  with  an  order.  He  set  out 
in  a  carriage,  but  the  road  he  had  to 
follow  was  strewed  with  dead  bodies ; 
the  horses  shied  and  refused  to  pro- 
ceed ;  he  was  obliged  to  get  out  and 
perform  his  mission  on  foot,  and  did 
not  get  back  to  Mantua  till  day- 
break. Under  Marshal  Radetsky  a 
staff  officer's  duty  was  anything  but 
a  sinecure. 

The  beginning  of  June  brought  the 
marshal  news  of  the  revolution  at 
Vienna — intelligence  which  materially 
modified  his  plans.  Feeling  that  the 


fate  of  the  Austrian  empire  might 
perhaps  depend  upon  the  preservation 
of  his  army,  he  no  longer  thought  it 
advisable  to  risk  a  battle,  nor  to  re- 
capture Peschiera,  which  had  fallen 
into  the  enemy's  hands.  But  he 
determined,  by  the  capture  of  Vicenza, 
to  keep  the  Venetian  provinces  in 
check.  None  will  have  forgotten  the 
details  of  that  admirably  planned  and 
brilliantly  executed  enterprise.  M.  de 
Pimodan,  who  had  been  detached 
with  orders,  was  late  in  the  field. 
Before  his  arrival,  Colonel  Reischach, 
the  hero  of  Moutanara,  had  been 
struck  down  by  two  severe  wounds, 
and  many  other  brave  men  had 
fallen,  amongst  them  Colonel  Koppal 
of  the  10th  Light  Infantry,  Colonel 
Kavanagh,  and  Prince  Taxis.  An 
interesting  circumstance  is  told  with 
respect  to  Koppal,  who  had  fought 
heroically,  and  in  whose  battalion 
scarcely  an  officer  remained  alive. 
"  After  the  campaign,  the  army  that 
had  fought  in  Italy  presented  the 
10th  battalion  of  Chasseurs  with  an 
enamelled  bugle,  on  which  was  a 
medallion  representing  Colonel  Kop- 
pal at  the  head  of  his  soldiers,  and 
surrounded  by  the  words,  '  Forward ! 
Koppal  calls  ! ' "  What  soldier  could 
desire  or  receive  a  more  honourable 
memorial  ?  The  idea  is  worthy  of  a 
poet,  and  might  well  inspire  one. 
Nor  were  poets  wanting  to  celebrate 
the  gallant  deeds  of  the  Austrian 
army.  "  Zedlitz  and  Grillparzer, 
who,  when  all  at  Vienna  trembled 
before  the  champions  of  anarchy,  still 
dared  to  sing  our  glorious  combats, 
had  their  share  in  our  gratitude ;  the 
army  sent  them  two  cups  of  chased 
silver.  How  many  other  names  are 
engraved  in  ineffaceable  characters 
on  our  hearts,  and  on  the  memory  of 
our  soldiers ! — Szecsen,  Thurn,  Zichy, 
Sunstenau,  and  you,  brave  Salis,* 
worthy  son  of  that  family  of  heroes 
which  bleeds  on  every  battle-field — 
you  who,  true  to  your  motto,  '  Where 
the  peril  is  great,  the  glory  is  so  much 
the  greater,'  perished  in  the  moment 
of  triumph !  How  many  regrets,  but 
also  how  many  noble  examples,  have 


*  Three  officers  of  the  Salis  family  were  slain  in  the  Italian  war.  A  cannon-ball 
having  carried  off  Colonel  Sunstenau's  right  arm,  he  took  his  hat  in  his  left  hand, 
and  waved  it  above  his  head,  crying  out  to  his  soldiers,  "  Forward — follow  me  !  " 
He  was  killed  a  few  moments  afterwards. 


1851.] 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide- de-Camp. 


those  few  months  of  war    in  Italy 
left  to  the  Austrian  army  !  " 

It  was  sundown  when  M.  de  Pimo- 
dan  reached  Vicenza,  and,  hurrying 
through  the  church  of  the  Madonna, 
which  was  full  of  wounded,  reached 
the  terrace  whereon  General  Culoz 
had  planted  his  batteries.  "  I  never 
saw,  nor  shall  ever  see,  a  finer  and 
more  terrible  spectacle.  The  town 
was  at  our  feet,  drowned  in  the 
blue  smoke  of  gunpowder,  through 
which,  here  and  there,  flared  tongues 
of  flame  from  the  burning  houses ; 
the  mountains  of  the  Tyrol  were  gilded 
by  the  last  sun-rays ;  the  waters  of 
the  Brenta  reflected  the  ardent  tints 
of  the  sky.  Near  me,  a  regimental 
band  played  the  Austrian  national  air. 
The  thickets  of  roses  and  jessamine 
upon  the  terrace  were  illuminated  by 
hundreds  of  wax- tapers  taken  from 
the  church  of  the  Madonna.  The 
soldiers,  intoxicated  by  the  ardour  of 
battle  and  the  smoke  of  powder, 
danced  amidst  the  corpses  of  their 
dead  comrades :  seventy- two  pieces 
of  cannon  thundered  against  the 
town,  tilling  the  air  with  noise,  flames, 
and  smoke,  whilst  the  cries  of  terror 
of  the  inhabitants,  and  the  loud  clang 
of  trumpets,  mingled  with  our  shouts 
of  triumph.  The  town  was  in  our 
power,  and  we  could  lay  it  in  ashes 
if  we  chose."  There  was  no  time  to 
lose ;  it  was  of  the  utmost  importance 
to  get  quickly  back  to  Verona,  threat- 
ened with  an  attack  from  the  Pied- 
montese  army.  Favourable  terms 
were  granted  to  General  Durando, 
who  capitulated  in  the  night,  and  the 
garrison  marched  out  with  the  honours 
of  war.  The  town  was  to  be  given 
up  at  noon.  At  ten  o'clock  Radetsky 
and  his  statf  were  on  horseback, 
when  M.  de  la  Tour,  commander  of 
the  two  Swiss  regiments,  who  had 
fought,  as  Swiss  generally  do  fight, 
like  heroes  in  defence  of  the  place, 
came  with  a  request  from  Durando 
that  the  Austriaus  would  not  enter 
the  town  till  three  o'clock.  "The 
marshal  courteously  granted  this  de- 
lay, and  complimented  him  on  the 
valour  of  his  soldiers.  I  heard  M.  de 
la  Tour  say,  '  For  our  part,  we  have 
done  our  duty.  I  have  lost  fourteen 
officers  and  six  hundred  men.'  "  M. 
de  Pimodan  saw  the  garrison  march 
out,  with  drums  beating  and  banners 


35 

displayed.  A  large  number  of  ele- 
gant carriages,  occupied  by  ladies, 
left  the  place  at  the  same  time. 
"  When  the  Swiss  battalions  came 
by,  murmurs  of  admiration  arose 
among  us.  They  marched  with  a 
proud  and  martial  air.  'You  are 
brave  fellows ! '  we  said  to  them  ; 
and  when  we  saw  their  officers,  (seve- 
ral of  whom,  although  wounded,  had 
refused  to  leave  their  men,  and  march- 
ed with  difficulty,  some  with  arms  in 
slings,  others  with  bandaged  heads,) 
we  went  up  to  them,  impelled  by  that 
sentiment  of  chivalrous  courtesy  which 
ennobles  war,  cordially  grasped  their 
hands,  and  begged  them  to  remember 
us  as  friends.  ...  I  entered  the 
town  with  some  other  officers.  It 
was  deserted  ;  the  doors  and  shutters 
were  all  closed  ;  in  the  square  the 
Pope's  dragoons  were  still  drawn  up. 
As  I  passed  along  the  front  of  their 
line,  making  my  horse  curvet  and 
prance,  he  slipped  upon  the  flags,  as 
if  to  punish  me  for  thus  insulting  the 
conquered,  and  I  narrowly  escaped 
breaking  my  neck." 

M.  de  Pimodan  now  discovered 
that  he  had  overtaxed  his  strength. 
Great  fatigue,  want  of  sleep,  and  irre- 
gular nourishment,  had  heated  his 
blood,  and  on  his  return  to  Verona 
he  was  attacked  by  fever.  For  seve- 
ral weeks  he  lay  in  a  state  of  extreme 
weakness,  and  of  indifference  to 
everything.  Towards  the  end  of  July 
the  army  set  out  to  attack  the  Pied- 
montese ;  he  scarce  noted  their  depar- 
ture, or  regretted  the  chance  he  lost 
of  gaining  the  cross  of  Maria  Theresa, 
long  the  prime  object  of  his  ambition. 
At  last  he  was  able  to  return  to  his 
duty ;  and,  at  the  end  of  August,  Ra- 
detsky sent  him  to  Vienna  as  bearer 
of  the  standards  captured  during  the 
campaign.  On  his  return  to  Milan, 
he  was  shocked  by  the  mournful 
aspect  of  the  city.  The  excitement 
of  battle  over,  the  survivors  had  lei- 
sure to  lament  the  slain,  and  the 
streets  were  full  of  mourning  mothers 
and  widows.  In  November  he  again 
went  to  Vienna,  reported  himself  to 
Prince  Windischgraetz,  in  whose  re- 
giment he  had  served,  and  was  at- 
tached, a  few  days  afterwards,  to  the 
staff  of  the  Ban  Jellachich.  On  the 
9th  of  December  began  the  campaign 
against  the  Hungarians,  whose  out- 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide- de- Camp. 


posts  were  then  at  but  a  few  hours' 
march  from  Vienna,  but  who  retired 
before  the  Austrian  advance.     To  all 
appearance  the    campaign   was   des- 
tined to  be  a  very  short  one.     The 
Austrian  strength  in   the  field  was 
nearly  thrice  that  of  the  Hungarians, 
whose  line,   moreover,  was  too   ex- 
tended.    On  the  16th  December  the 
Austrians  attacked :  the  action  that 
ensued  might  have  been  decisive,  (so 
M.   de  Pimodan  believes,)  had  the 
manoeuvres  been  more  prompt  and 
vigorous — or,   in  other  words,  if  the 
Austrian  leaders  had  been  as  able  as 
the  Hungarian  chiefs.     Slow  to  ac- 
knowledge his  comrades    beaten  or 
outgeneraled,   the  aide-de-camp  yet 
cannot    help   speaking   his   mind  in 
terms  almost  tantamount  to  the  ad- 
mission.    "  By   a  fatal   circumspec- 
tion," he  says,  "  we  began,  from  that 
day  forward,  to  make  our  movements 
and  operations  subordinate  to  those 
of  the  enemy:  we  lacked  intelligence 
concerning  the  marches  and  plans  of 
the   Hungarians ;    and  it  was  they 
who,  although  in  retreat,   took   the 
initiative,  forit  seemed,  thenceforward, 
as  if  we  advanced  into  the  country 
only  according  as  they  thought  proper 
to  give  it  up  to  us.     Georgey's  army 
was    composed    of  imperial    troops 
which    had  deserted   their    colours : 
this  was  the  nucleus  of  all  the  Hun- 
garian forces  ;  and  the  non-commis- 
sioned officers  we  had  drilled  turned 
out  excellent  officers  for  the  organisa- 
tion of  the  Honveds  and  other  levies. 
Fate  would  have  it  that  this  handful 
of  soldiers  should  grow  into  an  army 
of  130,000   men,   so   powerful  that, 
four  months  later,  our  fine  and  coura- 
geous troops  were  obliged  to  retire 
before  them,   without    having    been 
vanquished,    to   that   frontier   which 
they  had  passed  with  hope  and  en- 
thusiasm in   their  hearts."    All  this 
is  very   significant,    and    needs    no 
comment.     M.  de  Pimodan  is  natu- 
rally cautious  of  criticising  his  supe- 
riors.     It    is    unnecessary    that    he 
should  be  more  explicit.     The  world 
knows  well  enough,  without  his  ad- 
mission, that  but  for  Russian  inter- 
ference Hungary  was  lost  to  Austria. 
The  confidence  in  its  general  iind  in 
itself,  which  characterised  the  army  of 
Radetsky,  was  evidently  wanting  in 
that  of  \Vmdischgraetz.  This,  as  well 


[July, 

as   the    indecision   arid  tardiness    of 
many  of  the  Austrian    generals,   is 
clearly  proved  by  various  passages  of 
M.  de  Pimodan'a  narrative  ;  and  he 
shows  us  the  troops  discouraged  and 
grumbling  at  being  marched  about 
the  vast  plains  of  Hungary  in  most 
inclement  weather,  exposed  to  every 
hardship,  and  suffering  from  disease, 
with  scarce  an  attempt  to  get  at  the 
enemy,  and  warm  their  frozen  blood 
by  a  battle.     If  this  was  all  they 
came  for,  they  said,  a  better  season 
might  have  been  chosen.  These  com- 
plaints commenced  early  in  the  cam- 
paign.    A  bitter  Christmas  had  been 
passed  in  bivouac ;   but  the  soldiers 
consoled  themselves  with  hopes  of  a 
brush  with   Georgey,  then  in  posi- 
tion before  Raab.     Georgey  was  far 
too  skilful  to   allow  himself  to    be 
devoured  by  forces  that  trebled  his 
own.    His  army  gathered  strength  by 
the  retrograde  movement  which  weak- 
ened his  advancing  foe.     He  aban- 
doned his  position  and  moved  towards 
Pesth,  pursued  by  the  cavalry  brigade 
of  General  Ottinger,  who,  after  march- 
ing all  night,  overtook  his  rearguard 
at  daybreak,  and  returned  that  even- 
ing to  Raab   with   a  standard  and 
seven  hundred  prisoners.    Amongst 
these  were  seven  officers,  almost  all 
belonging  to   an  Austrian  regiment 
that  had  gone  over  to  the  Hungari- 
ans.    "  One  of  these  officers,  named 
Daiewski,   was  recognised,  notwith- 
standing the  wounds  that  disfigured 
him,  by  several  of  our  officers  who  had 
been  with  him  at  the  military  school 
of  Neustadt.     Some  pitied  him,  and 
gave  him  money,  others  reviled  and 
reproached    him    with   his    treason : 
two    parties    were    quickly  formed. 
'  No  pity  for  traitors ! '  cried  one  side. 
'  Respect  the  wounded,'  retorted  the 
other.     The  quarrel  grew  vehement. 
In  war  time,  angry  passions  are  soon 
roused ;    sabres    Avere    drawn,    and 
blood  was  about  to  flow,  when  Col. 
Schobeln  interfered  to  quell  the  tu- 
mult.    Upon  that  day  General  Ot- 
tiuger  commenced  the  foundation  of 
the  brilliant  reputation  which   soon 
drew  upon  him  the  attention  of  the 
whole  army.     His  brigade,  composed 
of  the  two  regiments  of  Hardegg  and 
Wallmoden,   was  never,  during  the 
whole  campaign,  broken  by  the  ene- 
my :   in  a  battle,   the  ground  over 


1851.] 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide- de- Camp. 


which  his  cuirassiers  passed  was 
strewed  with  corpses,  and  soon  the 
Hungarians  knew  them  only  by  the 
name  of  Ottinger's  butchers" 

This  affair,  which  occurred  at  Ba- 
bolna,  was  quickly  followed  by  the 
more  important  action  at  Moor,  a 
town  situated  on  an  open  space  in 
the  heart  of  the  great  forest  of  Ba- 
kony.  Quitting,  at  four  in  the  morn- 
ing, Count  Casimir  Bathyany's  castle 
at  Kisber,  where  the  Ban  and  his 
staff  had  passed  a  part  of  the  night 
drinking  to  the  success  of  their  enter- 
prise, at  nine  o'clock  the  head  of  the 
Austrian  column  debouched  from  the 
forest,  and  was  received  by  four  bat- 
talions of  Honveds  and  a  powerful 
battery.  The  Ban  had  with  him  only 
an  infantry  brigade  and  six  guns, 
with  which  he  promptly  replied  to  the 
enemy's  fire.  Presently  Ottinger's 
cavalry  came  up.  Some  of  the  Hon- 
ved  battalions  fell  into  disorder,'  and 
Ottinger  pressed  forward  with  a  di- 
vision of  his  cuirassiers.  "  The  bat- 
tery must  be  taken,"  he  cried.  M. 
de  Pimodan,  who  seems  to  have  had 
the  luck  or  the  talent  of  being  every- 
where at  the  right  moment,  hurried 
back  to  fetch  the  remainder  of  the 
cuirassiers,  who  were  a  little  in  the 
rear.  He  shall  tell  his  own  story, 
which  is  animated  enough,  and  his 
own  escape,  which  was  a  narrow 
one.  "  Not  finding  the  lieutenant- 
colonel  in  the  confusion  inevitable 
amongst  cavalry  marching  through 
a  wood,  and  crossing  frozen  ravines 
under  an  enemy's  fire,  I  called  to 
the  soldiers  to 'follow  me,  and  set 
off  at  their  head.  My  horse  flew 
like  lightning,  the  balls  whistled ; 
at  a  hundred  paces  from  the  battery 
two  final  discharges  of  grape  hissed 
over  our  heads  ;  the  next  moment  I 
was  amongst  the  guns,  sabreing  the 
artillerymen.  One  of  the  pieces,  al- 
ready limbered  up,  was  about  to 
escape  us ;  I  dashed  at  the  drivers, 
and  cut  at  one  of  them,  to  force  him 
to  stop  his  horses.  Suddenly  I  beheld 
before  me  a  troop  of  Hungarian  hus- 
sars; the  officer,  followed  by  his 
trumpeter,  charged  me  with  uplifted 
sabre.  I  met  him  with  a  thrust,  and 
withdrew  my  sabre,  bent  and  wet 
with  blood.  The  hussars  surrounded 
me,  pressed  upon  me,  seized  me  by 
the  arms  and  throat ;  I  still  struck  at 


37 

their  faces  with  the  hilt  of  my  sabre. 
Blows  fell  upon  my  head  and  shoul- 
ders. With  a  desperate  effort  I 
urged  on  my  vigorous  horse ;  he 
bounded  forward,  and  tore  me  from 
the  grasp  of  the  hussars.  Then 
I  raised  both  hands  to  my  head 
— there  were  deep  cuts  in  the  skull. 
I  wiped  away  the  blood  that  ran  into 
my  eyes,  and  looked  at  the  fight :  the 
cuirassiers  who  had  followed  me  were- 
taking  away  the  captured  guns. 
Three  had  escaped  ;  the  remainder  of 
the  cavalry,  coming  up  at  that  mo- 
ment, spurred  in  pursuit.  Seven  or 
eight  squadrons  of  Hungarian  hussars 
were  riding  about  the  plain — Har- 
degg's  and  Wallmoden's  cuirassiers, 
led  by  the  Ban,  galloped  at  them. 
The  hussars  defended  themselves  va- 
liantly ;  but,  shaken  by  the  shock,  and 
abandoned  by  their  infantry,  they  at 
last  fled.  Those  battalions  of  Hon- 
veds which  still  stood  their  ground 
were  broken  by  the  cavalry ;  more 
than  two  thousand  prisoners  were- 
made.  The  Ban  was  happy,  and 
thanked  his  troops  ;  fortune  had  se- 
conded his  audacity.  With  only  two- 
brigades,  (the  other  three  did  not  reach 
the  field  till  after  the  action,)  toge- 
ther five  thousand  men,  he  had  routed 
the  whole  of  Perczel's  corps,  which' 
was  twice  as  numerous." 

The  victory  at  Moor  was  a  mere 
flash  in  the  pan,  unproductive  of  any 
real  advantages.  The  Austrians  got 
to  Pesth,  and  remained  there  enjo}r- 
ing  themselves,  whilst  Georgey  was 
ably  mano3uvring  against  Schlick, 
whom  he  compelled  to  retreat,  and 
whilst  the  Hungarians  were  fortify- 
ing the  line  of  the  Theiss,  and  organ- 
ising their  new  levies.  When  M.  de 
Pimodan,  who  was  detained  for  six 
weeks  at  Moor  by  his  wounds, 
reached  Pesth  about  the  middle  of 
February,  he  found  the  Austrian 
army  still  there,  living  in  luxury  and 
abundance;  whilst  Dembinski,  who 
commanded  the  four  Hungarian  corps 
on  the  Theiss,  was  about  to  assume 
the  offensive.  The  action  of  Kapolna 
ensued,  and  then  six  weeks  were 
passed  watching  the  movements  of 
the  Hungarians,  and  protecting  Pesth. 
In  the  course  of  these  operations  (OH 
the  22d  March)  the  Ban's  army 
occupied  Czegled,  and  M.  de  Pimo- 
dan was  lodged  in  the  house  of  a  rich 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide- de~  Camp. 


[July, 


widow,  who,  being  terribly  alarmed 
for  her  handsome  furniture  and  other 
chattels,  thought  his  presence  her 
only  security  from  pillage;  and,  as  the 
best  means  of  keeping  him  within 
doors,  sent  for  her  niece  to  bear  him 
company.  "  The  niece  was  a  hand- 
some Hungarian.  '  You  intend  to  go 
to  Debreczin,'  said  she,  looking  at  me 
with  a  defiant  air ;  '  you  will  never 
get  there.'  '  Assuredly,'  I  replied, 
'  we  shall  be  there  in  less  than  three 
weeks.'  'Alas!  I  will  not  think  of 
it,'  was  her  answer.  '  My  brother  is 
with  Kossuth's  army,  a  captain  in 
the  Caroly  hussars  ;  you  will  only  get 
there  by  passing  over  his  dead  body : 
he  is  a  Hungarian,  and  will  die  for 
his  country ;  the  Hungarians  are 
heroes.'  As  she  thus  spoke,  the  eyes 
of  the  beautiful  and  enthusiastic  girl 
glistened  with  tears.  We  did  not  get 
to  Debreczin  :  her  words  often  re- 
curred to  me,  especially  when  we 
were  compelled  to  recross  the 
Danube."  The  unbounded  confidence 
of  the  Hungarians  in  their  hussars 
has  been  often  cited  and  exemplified. 
After  the  action  of  Moor,  M.  de  Pimo- 
dan  describes  the  ghastly  wounds  in- 
flicted by  their  terrible  sabres.  Their 
practice  seems  to  have  been  to  cut  at 
the  head  and  neck.  "We  had  with 
us,"  he  says  in  another  place,  "  se- 
veral hussar  officers,  whose  regiments 
had  gone  over  to  the  enemy :  they 
had  joined  us  at  the  beginning  of  the 
war,  out  of  respect  to  their  oath 
of  fidelity.  Honour  retained  them 
amongst  us;  but  their  comrades — 
their  family,  so  to  say — were  in  the 
insurgent  army.  These  officers  had 
over  us  the  advantage  of  not  being 
astonished  at  our  defeats ;  in  some  of 
them  the  pride  of  the  Hungarian 
hussar  regiments  was  admirably  per- 
sonified. '  How  is  it  possible,'  one  of 
them  once  said  to  me,  '  that  our  army 
should  stand  against  that  of  the  Hun- 
garians? We  have  no  hussars — they 
are  all  in  the  enemy's  ranks.'"  On 
more  than  one  occasion,  however, 
these  renowned  horsemen  were  found 
to  be  pretty  well  matched  by  Ottiu- 
ger's  gallant  cuirassiers.  This  was 
notably  the  case  on  the  14th  April,  on 
which  day,  towards  noon,  a  cannon- 
ade was  suddenly  heard  in  Pesth. 
The  Ban  got  upon  his  horse  and  hur- 
ried to  the  outposts  :  M.  de  Pimodan 


was  a  little  behind  him.  "  As  I  left 
the  suburbs,  I  perceived  at  a  distance 
a  woman  in  mourning,  followed  by  a 
servant ;  she  was  advancing  into  the 
country.  I  passed  near  her :  it  was 
the  Countess  C ,  one  of  those  wo- 
men in  Pesth  who  showed  most  enthu- 
siasm for  the  insurgent  cause ;  doubt- 
less she  hoped  we  should  be  repulsed, 
and  wished  to  be  the  first  to  welcome 
our  conquerors.  I  overtook  the  Ban  ; 
General  Ottinger  was  pushing  forward 
to  meet  the  enemy  with  the  cavalry 
of  our  corps  ;  the  Hungarian  hussars 
were  already  amongst  our  guns, 
sabreing  the  artillerymen.  Captain 
Edelsheim,  who  was  at  the  head  of 
the  column,  dashed  on  with  his  squad- 
ron ;  Ottinger  led  on  the  cuirassiers, 
and  the  melee  became  general.  A 
young  Hungarian  officer,  doubtless 
recognising  General  Ottinger  by  his 
uniform,  rode  at  him  with  uplifted 
sabre  ;  but  the  General's  orderly  split 
his  skull,  and  his  blood  splashed  over 
Ottinger.  In  a  few  minutes  the  hus- 
sars, routed  by  the  cuirassiers,  fled 
across  the  plain.  Ottinger  sent  a  few 
volleys  of  cannon-balls  after  them, 
and  had  them  pursued  ;  but  the  Ban 
ordered  him  to  stop,  so  he  sounded  the 
recall,  and  re-formed  the  squadrons. 
I  paused  to  look  at  the  dead,  and 
judge  how  many  men  the  enemy  had 
left  upon  the  field.  A  few  paces  off 
lay  the  corpse  of  the  officer  who  had 
attacked  General  Ottinger.  He  was  a 
fine  young  man ;  his  fair  hair  was 
blood-stained  and  clotted  to  his  face  ; 
he  still  grasped  his  sabre.  One  of 
our  cuirassiers  dismounted— I  thought 
it  was  to  see  if  he  still  lived.  '  He  is 
quite  dead,'  said  I ;  'he  was  a  brave 
soldier  !  'tis  a  pity.'  '  Pity  indeed ! ' 
replied  the  cuirassier,  who  had  turned 
the  body  over  to  examine  the  pockets  ; 
'  he  lias  not  even  a  watch ! ' " 

There  is  some  little  sameness  in  M. 
de  Pimodan's  accounts  of  the  various 
combats  during  the  spring  campaign 
of  1849  in  Hungary.  He,  not  unna- 
turally, dwells  by  preference  on  those 
favourable  to  the  Austrian  arms, 
passing  pretty  lightly  over  the  others, 
seeming  puzzled  to  account  for  dis- 
asters he  cannot  deny,  and  claiming 
the  honours  of  war  in  spite  of  fre- 
quent reverses.  It  is  not  a  pleasant 
thing  to  chronicle  one's  own  defeat, 
but  there  is  no  disgrace  in  being 


1851.] 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide- de- Camp. 


"  a  good  second  ;"  and  M.  de  Pimo- 
dan  may  venture  to  admit,  without 
tarnishing  his  Italian  laurels,  that 
this  was  exactly  the  position  of  the 
army  in  which  he  served  in  Hungary. 
They  were  fairly  beaten  and  man- 
oeuvred out  of  the  field,  in  spite  of  their 
gallant  resistance,  by  an  army  of 
which  at  least  three-fourths  were  re- 
cruited in  the  course  of  the  campaign 
itself.  Windischgraetz  left  the  com- 
mand: Welden  succeeded  him,  and 
evacuated  Hungary,  his  retreat  se- 
verely harassed  by  an  exulting  foe. 
The  corps  of  Jellachich,  reduced  to 
twelve  thousand  men,  took  post  at 
Eszek,  on  the  Lower  Danube,  with  its 
right  extended  in  the  direction  of 
Peterwardein.  "  The  narrative  of  the 
Russian  retreat,"  says  M.  de  Pimo- 
dan,  u  can  alone  give  an  idea  of  the 
sufferings  of  the  Ban's  army  during 
the  interval  between  the  campaigns. 
The  troops,  often  without  provisions, 
remained  for  several  weeks  shelterless, 
in  fields  calcined  by  the  heat,  having 
nothing  to  drink  but  the  muddy  water 
of  the  Theiss,  or  that  of  wells  in  which 
were  rotting  heaps  of  dead  bodies, 
thrown  into  them  by  the  Hungarians. 
Cholera  and  typhus  carried  off  those 
whom  the  enemy's  bullets  had  spared. 
It  was  then  that  the  Ban,  surrounded 
by  dying  soldiers,  and  deprived  of 
communication  with  the  rest  of  the 
army,  showed  what  a  great  and 
courageous  heart  can  do.  Daily  as- 
sailed, often  victorious,  he  thus 
awaited,  for  many  long  weeks,  news 
of  the  resumption  of  hostilities,  and 
of  the  offensive  march  of  General 
Haynau.  It  was  then,  with  an  army 
reduced  to  seven  thousand  men,  that 
he  marched  to  attack  fifteen  thousand 
Hungarians  in  the  plains  of  Hagyes. 
But  I  had  no  share  in  those  combats  ; 
•  and,  whilst  the  Ban's  army  set  that 
example  of  heroic  perseverance,  I  was 
no  longer  in  its  ranks." 

Upon  Avhich  hint  we  pass  on  to 
the  concluding  and  highly  interesting 
chapter,  in  which  M.  de  Pimodan 
narrates  the  incidents  of  his  captivity 
in  the  fortress  of  Peterwardein.  He 
had  been  but  ten  days  at  Eszek  when 
Jellachich  sent  him  to  reconnoitre  the 
shores  of  the  Danube  between  Bukin 
and  Palanka,  at  which  latter  place  the 
Hungarians  had  thrown  up  earthen 
redoubts,  defended  by  cannon.  Leav-' 


39 

ing  Eszek  at  nightfall,  he  arrived,  at 
ten  o'clock  the  next  morning,  at  a 
village  wrhere  he  was  to  meet  some 
pioneers,  who  were  to  row  him  across 
the  river.  They  had  not  come,  and, 
after  waiting  some  time,  he  made  the 
chief  of  the  village  give  him  a  boat, 
took  three  peasants  to  row,  and,  not- 
withstanding a  violent  wind  which 
threatened  every  moment  to  swamp 
the  skiff,  he  at  last  arrived  opposite 
Bukin.  "Having  found  a  place  where 
the  depth  of  the  Danube  would  allow 
a  steamer  to  approach  land  near 
enough  to  disembark  troops,  I  jumped 
ashore  and  went  to  a  little  mill,  erected 
on  a  boat  moored  close  to  the  bank. 
I  had  a  musket  in  my  hand.  For 
fear  of  surprise,  I  shouted  from  afar  to 
the  miller  to  come  to  me :  he  was  a 
German  :  he  appeared  well-disposed, 
and  supplied  me  with  such  informa- 
tion as  I  desired.  Returning  to  my 
boat,  I  bade  the  rowers  keep  close  in 
shore,  and  thus  descended  the  Danube 
until  I  came  within  sight  of  Palanka. 
My  three  boatmen,  afraid  to  go 
nearer,  wished  to  stop,  but  I  was 
still  too  far  off  to  ascertain  the  exact 
position  of  the  guns.  I  compelled 
them  to  pull  until  the  boat  was  only 
a  few  yards  from  the  shore;  then  I 
stood  up,  gazing  intently  at  the 
village.  At  that  moment  a  Hunga- 
rian officer  and  fifteen  men,  armed 
with  muskets,  sprang  from  behind  a 
house  :  I  seized  my  musket,  took  aim 
at  the  officer,  and  shouted  to  him  to 
halt,  for  that  I  would  fire  at  the  first 
who  advanced.  He  stood  still  and 
called  to  my  boatmen  to  pull  in-shore. 
'Pull  from  it!'  cried  I,  in  a  voice 
rendered  menacing  by  danger.  The 
cowards,  fearing  a  volley,  jumped 
out  of  the  boat  and  waded  to  shore  ; 
the  last  of  them,  however,  to  help  my 
escape,  gave  the  boat  a  shove.  Then 
I  threw  down  my  musket,  seized  the 
oars,  and  pulled  towards  the  middle 
of  the  stream ;  but  the  Hungarian 
soldiers  ran  into  the  water  up  to  their 
middles,  surrounded  me  with  their 
muskets,  grasped  a  rope  which  hung 
behind  the  boat,  and  dragged  me  to 
land.  I  trembled  with  rage.  '  They 
will  not  shoot  you ;  do  not  be 
frightened,'  said  the  officer.  He  had 
horses  put  to  three  peasants'  carts, 
and,  politely  requesting  me  to  get  into 
one  of  them,  he  seated  himself  beside 


40 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide-de-Camp. 


[July, 


me,  his  musket  between  his  knees: 
two  Pandours,  whom  he  had  just 
ordered  to  load  their  muskets,  placed 
themselves  behind  us ;  my  boatmen 
were  put  into  the  two  other  carts,  and 
we  set  off  at  a  gallop  along  the  left 
bank  of  the  Danube." 

At  Peterwardein  the  captain  was 
taken  before Perczel,  who  commamled. 
His  sneers  at  this  general  are  not  in 
the  best  of  taste ;  but  we  must  make 
allowance  for  a  prisoner's  exaspera- 
tion. A  casemate  was  assigned  to 
him  as  a  place  of  confinement.  This 
was  a  vaulted  room,  twenty  feet  long 
by  eight  wide,  entered  by  descending 
three  steps,  and  receiving  light  through 
a  window  down  to  the  ground,  four 
feet  wide  and  three  high,  serving  on 
occasion  as  the  embrasure  for  a  cannon, 
and  closed  by  a  strong  grating.  The 
window  looked  out  upon  the  ditch 
and  counterscarp.  At  noon  the  pro- 
vost in  charge  of  the  prisoners  entered 
this  dreary  cell,  followed  by  a  soldier 
bringing  M.  de  Pimodan's  dinner. 

"  The  provost,  who  still  wore  the 
imperial  uniform,  appeared  about  fifty 
years  old ;  his  hair  was  already  white, 
but  his  grey  eyes  were  full  of  fire. 
His  aspect  was  grave  and  melancholy. 
When  the  soldier  had  left  the  room, 
he  sat  down  upon  my  bed  and  con- 
versed with  me ;  he  told  me  he  had 
served  thirty  years  in  a  battalion  of 
grenadiers ;  he  spoke  of  the  emperor 
with  respect,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  he  was  striving  to  gain  my  con- 
fidence, but  I  was  on  my  guard  and 
distrusted  him.  He  wished  me  a 
good  night  and  went  out. 

"  I  passed  the  whole  afternoon  in 
planning  an  escape  :  I  examined  the 
bars  of  the  window,  and  having  found 
a  long  iron  hook  amongst  some  rub- 
bish and  broken  furniture  in  a  corner, 
I  concealed  it.  This  hook  was  strong 
enough  to  force  a  lock,  but  I  saw 
directly  that  there  was  no  chance  of 
escaping  by  way  of  the  door,  which 
opened  to  the  interior  of  the  fortress. 
I  should  have  had  to  pass  two  lines 
of  fortifications,  and  the  Hungarian 
outposts;  it  was  impossible.  I  tried 


to  wrench  out  the  bars  of  the  window — 
they  were  too  strong ;  subsequently  I 
managed  to  push  asunder  two,  so  as 
to  pass  my  head  through  them. 
Whether  by  door  or  window,  flight 
was  impossible,  and  the  walls  were 
six  feet  thick." 

Trusting  to  the  chapter  of  accidents^ 
the  captive  did  not  despond.  The 
next  day,  at  the  same  hour,  the  pro- 
vost, whose  name  was  KussmaneckT 
visited  him.  He  had  orders  to  allow 
him  an  hour's  airing  upon  the  ram- 
parts of  the  fortress.  At  their  foot 
flowed  the  Danube ;  it  was  a  chance 
for  escape — a  desperate  one,  certainly 
— to  spring  into  the  stream  and  swim 
for  liberty  and  life.  M.  de  Pimodan 
resolved  to  wait  a  few  days  and 
mature  his  plan  before  attempting  to 
execute  it.  That  day  and  the  follow- 
ing one,  Kussmaneck  continued  his 
fruitless  attempts  to  win  the  Austrian 
officer's  confidence.  At  last,  on  the 
fourth  day,  after  walking  for  some 
time  in  silence  by  his  side,  the  old 
grenadier  suddenly  said,  "  There  are 
several  of  us  here  attached  to  the 
emperor  by  feeling  and  by  our  oaths, 
which  we  have  never  violated;  we 
are  here  against  our  will."  Then  he 
stopped  short  and  looked  hard  at  M. 
de  Pimodan,  with  an  expression  of 
sincerity  that  dissipated  the  officer's 
doubts.  "  Two  non-commissioned 
officers  of  engineers,"  he  continued, 
"  a  young  Croat,  named  Gerberich, 
the  proprietor  of  the  bridge  of  boats, 
and  myself,  are  ready  to  risk  all  to 
re-establish  the  emperor's  authority  in 
the  fortress.  And  to  tell  you  every- 
thing, captain,"  added  he,  after 
a  momentary  hesitation,  "  we  have 
means  of  correspondence  with  Colone} 
Mamula;*  we  can  even  go  to  him, 
by  gliding  at  night  in  a  boat  close 
along  the  shore  of  the  Danube ;  thus- 
did  Sergeant  Braunstein  of  the  en- 
gineers agree  on  signals  by  which  to- 
warn  him  when  the  Hungarians  are 
preparing  to  attack.  Braunstein's 
house  is  visible  from  one  of  the  re- 
doubts of  the  line  of  circumvallation. 
When  the  Hungarians  arc  about  to 


*  "  This  officer  still  held  the  position  round  the  fortress  of  Peterwardein,  which 
he  had  maintained  since  the  beginning  of  the  war  ;  to  compensate  the  small  number 
of  his  troops,  he  had  traced  immense  lines  of  circumvallation.  He  had  but  two 
thousand  men,  and  all  his  energy  and  talent  were  employed  iu  preventing  the  Hun- 
garians from  forcing  his  lines." 


1851.] 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide- de-  Camp. 


attack  the  colonel,  the  sergeant  warns 
him  by  a  light  in  the  window  at  night, 
or,  in  the  daytime,  by  a  black  cloak 
hung  out  over  the  white  wall.  Cap- 
tain," continued  Kussmaneck,  "  you 
are  our  superior — you  must  be  our 
leader ;  the  moment  is  propitious  for 
an  attempt.  At  night  there  are  but 
fifteen  hundred  men  in  the  fortress ; 
the  remainder  of  the  garrison  encamps 
in  the  bridge-head  at  ISTeusatz,  and  it 
takes  more  than  two  hours  to  close 
the  bridge  of  boats  (opened  at  night 
for  fear  of  its  destruction  by  fire- 
ships)  and  re-establish  the  communi- 
cation." 

Convinced  of  Kussmaneck's  good 
faith,  Captain Pimodau  entered  readily 
into  his  plans,  and  revolved  in  his 
mind  the  best  means  of  effectually 
seconding  a  night-attack  by  Colonel 
Mamula.  In  the  casemates  adjacent 
to  his  own  were  imprisoned  ninety- 
eight'  soldiers  of  Croat  and  Sclav- 
onian  regiments,  condemned  by 
courts-martial,  previously  to  the  in- 
surrection, to  hard  labour  for  various 
terms  of  years,  for  highway  robbery, 
manslaughter,  and  assassination. 
They  were  all  Croats  and  Sclavonians, 
the  Hungarians  having  released  their 
own  countrymen,  and  incorporated 
them  in  the  Honveds.  These  men 
Kussmaneck  could  set  at  liberty ;  and 
although  few  in  number,  much  was  to 
be  expected  from  their  sudden  ap- 
pearance and  desperate  daring. 

"  The  next  day,"  continues  M.  de 
Pimodan,  "  at  one  in  the  afternoon, 
Kussmaneck  conducted  me  to  the 
ramparts.  Braunstein  and  Kraue,  the 
two  sergeants  of  engineers,  were 
strolling  carelessly  up  and  down  :  he 
made  them  a  sign,  and  they  followed 
us  into  a  narrow  road  formed  by  piles 
of  wood  arranged  as  in  a  timber-yard. 
Braunstein  was  fair  and  pale,  and 
seemed  delicate;  Kraue  had  broad 
shoulders  and  a  large  head,  thick  eye- 
brows, and  a  resolute  look.  We 
agreed  upon  our  plan.  In  the  night 
Kussmaneck  was  to  liberate  all  the 
prisoners,  who  were  to  be  told  off 
beforehand  into  four  detachments  of 
twenty-four  men  each.  The  muskets 
of  the  guard  at  the  Belgrade  gate  of 
the  fortress  were  piled  during  the 
night  opposite  the  guard-house  whilst 
the  soldiers  slept,  and  were  watched 
by  a  single  sentinel :  the  first  thing  to 


41 

be  done  was  to  overpower  this  sen- 
tinel, seize  the  thirty  muskets,  bayonet 
the  sleeping  guard,  and  obtain  pos- 
session of  the  gate.  I  was  to  lead 
this  party.  Kussmaneck,  with  twenty - 
four  more  of  the  convicts,  was  to  seize-? 
upon  three  pieces  of  cannon  which 
were  kept  all  night  in  readiness,  with- 
matches  lighted,  in  case  of  attack  :. 
once  master  of  these  guns,  he  was  to- 
turn  them;  and  his  men,  with  their 
backs  to  the  ramparts,  were  to  be 
ready  to  fire  on  the  Hungarians. 
Braunstein  and  Kraue,  with  the  two 
other  detachments,  were  to  make' 
their  way  into  the  barracks  and  seize 
the  muskets  of  the  sleeping  garrison. 
Meanwhile,  Colonel  Mamula,  warned* 
by  a  volley  of  musketry,  was  to 
send  cavalry  at  a  gallop  through  the- 
gate  in  my  possession,  and  himself 
follow  with  the  infantry.  Without 
exaggerating  our  strength  and  re- 
sources, and  even  if  part  of  the  plan> 
had  failed,  we  were  well  able  to  make 
a  fight  and  keep  the  Belgrade  gate 
open  for  half-an-hour — it  being  better 
for  our  men  to  fight  to  the  last  drop 
of  their  blood,  than  to  give  themselves 
up  to  be  massacred  or  shot.  Colonel 
Mamula  must  be  written  to  with  the- 
necessary  details,  and  to  agree  with 
him  on  the  plan  of  attack  :  Gerberich. 
had  offered  to  take  the  letter :  he  was- 
now  the  only  person  who  could  accept 
this  dangerous  mission.  On  a  former 
occasion,  when  the  Hungarians  had 
not  yet  doubled  their  outposts,  Braun- 
stein and  Kraue  had  managed  to- 
elude  their  vigilance  and  pass  out  of 
the  lines ;  now  this  appeared  im- 
possible. Gerberich,  by  pretending: 
business  between  the  fortress  and  the 
inner  line  of  outposts,  could  obtain  a< 
pass  to  go  out,  and  then  steal  through, 
the  pickets  into  the  open  country  ;  it 
was  at  risk  of  his  life,  but  he  was- 
ready." 

When  all  was  arranged,  M.  de 
Pimodan,  that  he  might  not  have  to- 
reproach  himself  with  the  death  of 
these  three  men,  who  were  all  hus- 
bands and  fathers,  warned  them 
of  the  danger  they  ran,  and  of  the 
little  they  had  to  gain  by  success.. 
For  him,  a  prisoner,  unmarried,  and- 
eager  for  distinction,  the  risk  was 
worth  running;  the  utmost  they  could' 
hope  for  was  a  medal  or  an  ensign's 
commission.  But  the  brave  fellows- 


42 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide-  de-  Camp. 


[July, 


were  firm  and  even  enthusiastic  in 
their  resolve.  "  If  we  are  shot,"  said 
Kussmaneck,  "  the  emperor  will  take 
care  of  our  wives  and  children." 
The  four  conspirators  grasped  each 
other's  hands  and  parted. 

"  I  passed  the  rest  of  the  day  in 
writing  to  Colonel  Mamula  on  a  strip 
of  thin  paper,  which,  when  rolled  up, 
was  not  thicker  than  the  little  finger, 
and  only  three  inches  long.  I  gave 
it  to  Kussmaneck  to  transmit  to  Ger- 
berich,  and  told  him  to  enjoin  him 
strictly  not  to  hide  it  in  his  boots  or 
clothes,  but  to  carry  it  in  his  hand, 
and  to  swallow  it  if  detected.  But 
Braunstein,  having  got  information 
in  the  course  of  the  evening  of  a  con- 
templated change  in  the  pickets, 
stimulated  also,  as  I  believe,  by  a 
noble  desire  to  share  all  the  danger, 
wrote  the  particulars  of  the  change  to 
Colonel  Mamula.  His  writing  was 
large,  he  neglected  to  use  thin  paper, 
and,  notwithstanding  my  injunctions, 
he  let  Gerberich  sew  the  two  letters 
between  the  cloth  and  lining  of  his 
coat,  under  the  armpit. 

"  Gerberich  had  obtained  a  pass, 
signed  by  the  commandant  of  the 
fortress,  to  go  to  one  of  his  vineyards, 
situated  on  the  line  of  the  Hungarian 
advanced  posts.  At  noon,  on  the 
27th  May,  he  left  the  fortress:  he 
was  to  return  the  same  night  with  a 
reply  from  Colonel  Mamula.  I 
crouched  down  in  the  embrasure  of 
my  prison  window,  whence  I  could 
discern,  by  pressing  my  face  against 
the  grating,  the  bridge  over  the  ditch 
at  the  Belgrade  gate.  It  was  by  this 
gate  that  Gerberich  was  to  re-enter 
the  fortress.  I  was  not  free  from  un- 
easiness, but  my  mind  was  made  up 
to  the  worst. 

u  Three  o'clock  had  just  struck, 
when  I  heard  steps  in  the  passage 
leading  to  the  casemate ;  musket-buts 
resounded  on  the  floor — the  door 
opened.  Kussmaueck  appeared  upon 
the  threshold,  an  officer  and  four 
soldiers  pushed  him  by  the  shoulders 
into  the  middle  of  my  cell ;  the  officer 
stood  for  a  moment  gazing  at  me  with 
ill-repressed  anger,  then  he  went  out, 
and  left  me  alone  with  Kussmaneck." 

No  words  were  needed  to  explain 
what  had  passed.  Nevertheless,  after 
a  long  pause,  M.  de  Pimodan  ad- 
dressed his  quondam  jailor,  now  his 


fellow- prisoner.  "Well!"  he  said, 
"  what  will  they  do  with  us?  "  "You 
know  that  very  well,  captain,"  was 
the  old  soldier's  calm  reply ;  "  we  shall 
be  shot  within  twenty-four  hours." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  the  two 
prisoners  were  separated.  They  met 
again,  the  following  morning,  before 
a  court-martial.  Their  sentence  could 
not  be  doubtful ;  erschossen  was  the 
fatal  word  that  buzzed  round  the 
court,  as  the  provost's  guard  recon- 
ducted  them  to  their  places  of  confine- 
ment. On  the  way,  they  passed  a 
balcony  on  which  stood  two  men  and 
a  young  woman.  "  When  I  went 
by,"  says  M.  de  Pimodan,  "  the  two 
men  slightly  lifted  their  hats,  and  the 
lady  put  out  her  hand,  which  held  a 
handkerchief,  as  if  to  make  me  a  sign 
of  encouragement.  I  raised  my  head 
and  smiled,  as  an  assurance  to  them 
that  our  cause  should  not  be  dis- 
honoured by  weakness  of  mine." 
With  this  manly  resolve  in  his  heart, 
he  re-entered  his  casemate,  wrote 
with  a  diamond  ring  upon  the  window- 
panes  a  brief  but  affectionate  farewell 
to  his  mother,  sat  down  upon  his  bed, 
and  tranquilly  awaited  the  summons 
to  death.  Hour  after  hour  passed, 
night  came  and  day  dawned,  and  at 
nine  o'clock  the  Hungarian  provost 
entered  his  cell  and  again  conducted 
him  before  the  assembled  court-mar- 
tial. In  his  letter  to  Colonel  Mamula, 
M.  de  Pimodan  had  mentioned  that 
he  needed  no  money,  supplies  having 
been  offered  him  by  a  person  in  the 
town.  This  was  one  Bobek,  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  bridge  of  boats,  who 
was  very  rich  and  devoted  to  the 
emperor.  Two  old  men  were  shown 
to  M.  de  Pimodan,  and  he  was  desired 
to  identify  the  one  who  had  offered 
him  money.  On  his  averring  that  he 
had  never  seen  either  of  them,  the 
president  of  the  court-martial  was 
about  to  send  for  some  other  wealthy 
or  suspected  burgesses,  when  he  put 
an  end  to  the  investigation,  by  firmly 
declaring  himself  unable  to  recognise 
the  person  in  question.  He  after- 
wards found  that  poor  Bobek,  learn- 
ing that  search  was  making  for  the 
man  who  had  offered  money  to  the 
Austrian  officer,  and  convinced  that 
he  should  be  discovered  and  shot,  had 
been  seized  with  terrible  pains  and 
had  died  the  next  day. 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide- de- Camp.  43 


1851.] 

Several  days  passed,  and  hope  re- 
vived in  the  prisoner's  breast.  He 
learned  from  the  provost  that  General 
Paul  Kiss,  who  had  replaced  Perczel 
in  command  of  the  fortress,  had  sent 
the  proceedings  of  the  court-martial 
to  Debreczin,  for  approval  by  the 
Hungarian  government.  On  the 
12th  June  a  cannonade  began  :  the 
Ban  was  before  Peterwardein ;  the 
courier  from  Debreczin  could  not 
re-enter  the  fortress  :  it  was  a  further 
respite.  But  towards  the  end  of  the 
month  the  cannonade  ceased ;  the  Ban 
must  have  marched  away.  Again 
hope  dwindled.  "  The  2d  July,  as  I 
was  slowly  pacing  my  casemate,  a 
Hungarian  captain  of  artillery  came 
to  the  door,  and  looked  me  for  a 
moment  in  the  face.  I  continued  my 
walk.  He  seized  the  sentry  by  the 
shoulder  and  said,  '  See  that  the  dog 
escape  not — you  answer  to  me  for  him.' 
Then,  as  I  passed  before  him,  he  shook 
his  fist  at  me,  his  face  glowing  with 
fury,  and  said,  '  Yes,  yes,  vile  black 
and  yellow*  dog,  I  must  see  you  shot.' 
I  thought  the  sentence  had  come  from 
Debreczin;  my  strength  left  me,  a 
violent  cramp  contracted  my  breast, 
and  I  sank  upon  my  bed."  He  re- 
covered from  an  attack  of  illness,  and 
time  dragged  on,  slowly  and  anxiously, 
till  the  21st  July,  when  the  provost 
brought  him  a  message  of  farewell 
from  Kraue,  the  sergeant  of  engineers, 
who  had  died  in  his  cell.  On  the 
27th,  the  provost  again  visited  him. 
"  His  face  was  damp  with  sweat,  and 
his  eyes  were  cast  down  ;  he  wiped 
with  a  handkerchief  some  drops  of 
blood  from  his  sleeve.  '  Captain,' 
said  he,  '  Kussmaneck,  Braunstein, 
and  Gerberich  have  just  been  shot ; 
you  are  to  remain  here,  a  prisoner.'  " 
The  presence  of  the  Ban  before  the 
fortress  had  delayed  the  transmission 
of  the  sentence  to  Debreczin,  and 
when  at  last  it  was  transmitted  to 
Georgey  for  his  sanction,  Haynau's 
army  was  advancing  into  Hungary. 
Either  from  pity,  or  because  he 
already  deemed  the  Hungarian  cause 
hopeless,  and  meditated  his  defection, 
Georgej7  had  refused  to  sign  the  Aus- 
trian officer's  death-warrant.  Indi- 
rectly, Jellachich  had  saved  his  aide- 
de-camp's  life. 


On  the  23d  August,  Captain  Pirno- 
dan  was  taken  before  the  command- 
ant of  the  fortress,  who  looked  pale 
and  gloomy.  "  '  The  chances  of  war 
have  turned  against  us,'  said  General 
Kiss  ;  '  the  cause  of  Hungary  is  lost : 
Georgey's  army  exists  no  longer.  He 
has  been  compelled  to  lay  down  his 
arms  :  here  is  a  letter  I  have  just 
received  from  him.  He  recommends 
me  to  give  up  the  fortress,  and  orders 
me,  on  the  demand  of  General  Hay- 
nau,  to  set  you  at  liberty.  You  are 
free,  but  remain  in  your  casemate ; 
my  soldiers  are  exasperated,  and  I 
answer  for  nothing.'  I  inquired  after 
the  Ban,  and  whether  his  army  had 
fought  any  battle  since  the  end  of 
May  :  he  praised  the  valour  of  our 
generals  and  troops,  and  spoke  of 
the  combat  of  Hagyes,  in  which  the 
Hungarians  had  been  victorious,  with 
a  modesty  that  surprised  me.  .  .  . 
After  a  short  pause,  he  said,  with  a 
sigh,  '  The  French  have  deserted  us  : 
we  had  reckoned  upon  them ! '  '  Had 
you  any  secret  promise?  '  I  inquired. 
1  No,'  was  his  reply ;  '  but  was  not 
the  revolutionary  attitude  France 
had  taken  in  Europe  a  pledge  to 
us,  a  promise  that  she  would  sup- 
port us?'"  In  this  respect,  it  may 
be  thought,  the  example  of  Poland 
should  have  served  as  warning  to 
Hungary. 

Before  daybreak,  the  next  morning, 
M.  de  Pimodan  was  conducted  clan- 
destinely out  of  the  fortress,  where  his 
life  could  hardly  be  considered  safe,  so 
furious  were  its  garrison  at  the  ruin 
of  their  cause.  He  would  fain  have 
at  once  proceeded  to  join  Jellachich, 
but  suffering  and  bad  nourishment 
had  weakened  him — he  could  not  bear 
the  jolting  of  a  vehicle,  and  was 
obliged  to  stop  a  while  with  Colonel 
Mamula,  who  received  him  with  open 
arms.  It  had  long  been  believed  that 
he  was  shot.  Here  he  obtained  news 
of  the  campaign.  In  some  respects 
they  were  sad  enough  to  him.  One 
of  his  dearest  comrades  had  lost  his 
head  by  a  cannon-ball;  so  many 
others  of  his  friends  were  killed  and 
wounded,  that,  at  last,  he  scarcely 
dared  continue  his  inquiries.  He 
now  learned  how  Gerberich  had  been 
taken.  That  unlucky  messenger  had 


The  Austrian  colours. 


Campaigns  of  an  Austrian  Aide-de-Camp. 


44 

managed  to  get  through  the  outposts, 
and  then  began  running  towards  the 
line  of  circumvallation  ;  but,  pursued 
by  the  Hungarians,  and  seeing  the 
Austrians  firing  on  his  pursuers,  he 
stood  still  for  a  moment,  frightened 
perhaps  by  the  whistling  of  the  bullets. 
The  Hungarians  caught  him,  took  him 
back  to  the  fortress,  and  found  the 
letters  sewn  in  his  clothes.  M.  de 
Pimodan  informs  us  that  the  ninety- 
eight  convicts  who  were  to  have  aided 
in  the  attack  upon  the  fort  received  a 
free  pardon  from  the  emperor;  the 
widows  of  Kussmaneck,  Braunstein, 
and  Krane  are  in  receipt  of  large  pen- 
sions, and  their  children  are  brought 
up  at  the  emperor's  expense ;  three 
of  Kussmaneck's  sons  are  already 
officers  in  the  imperial  army.  Ger- 
berich  was  unmarried. 

A  sad  account  is  given  by  M.  de 
Pimodan  of  the  condition  in  which 
the  war  had  left  large  districts  of  the 
Austrian  empire.  Proceeding  to 
Gratz  by  easy  stages,  to  visit  his 
family,  who  had  almost  lost  hopes  of 
ever  seeing  him  again,  he  met  upon  the 
road  ragged  multitudes  of  women 
and  young  girls — Servian  families 
from  the  Banat  and  the  Bacs,  of 
whom  all  the  males  had  perished  in 
the  war.  For  months  these  women 
had  wandered  in  the  forests,  subsist- 
ing on  sweet  acorns  and  a  little  meal; 
exhausted  by  misery  and  hunger,  they 
now  crawled  down  from  the  moun- 
tains, dragging  after  them  their  ema- 
ciated children,  to  find  their  villages 
in  ashes,  their  husbands  and  fathers 
dead.  The  Hungarian  war  was  a 
most  sanguinary  and  destructive  con- 
flict. According  to  exact  returns 
made  by  order  of  the  government 


[July 


in  the  spring  of  the  year  1850,  the 
number  of  the  widows  in  the  military 
districts  of  Croatia,  Sclavonia,  the 
Banat  and  Transylvania,  whose  hus- 
bands had  perished  during  the  war, 
exceeded  twenty-five  thousand. 

At  Semlin,  three  peasants  were 
brought  before  M.  de  Pimodan. 
They  had  been  arrested  at  Palanka 
two  months  previously,  on  suspicion 
of  belonging  to  the  party  that  took 
him  prisoner ;  and  when  reports  were 
spread  of  his  death,  they  would  have 
been  shot,  had  not  his  comrades  still 
cherished  a  hope  of  his  safety,  and 
feared  reprisals  on  his  person.  He 
recognised  one  of  them ;  but  he  was 
too  happy  to  think  of  revenge:  he 
gave  them  money,  and  had  them  set 
at  liberty. 

If  the  memory  of  evil  times  be 
pleasant  in  the  hour  of  prosperity 
and  joy,  M.  de  Pimodan  must  have 
been  much  gratified  to  find  upon  his 
table,  a  few  days  after  his  arrival  at 
Griitz,  the  pane  of  glass  from  his 
prison-window  at  Petervrardein,  on 
which  he  had  inscribed,  when  he 
believed  his  hours  numbered,  a  few 
lines  of  pious  and  affecting  farewell 
to  his  mother.  A  friend,  passing 
through  the  fortress,  had  removed 
the  fragile  record  from  its  frame. 
Restored  to  his  family,  and  distin- 
guished by  the  emperor — who  shook 
him  cordially  by  the  hand,  when  he 
presented  himself  before  him  at 
Vienna  to  return  thanks  for  his  pro- 
motion to  a  majority — he  could  well 
afford  to  think  with  complacency  on 
hardships  gone  by,  and  on  the  long- 
months  of  weariness  and  despondency 
he  had  passed  in  the  gloomy  case- 
mate at  Peterwardein. 


1851.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


45 


THE   PEACEFUL  LIEUTENANT   AND   HIS   FRIENDS. 
A   THREE   HOURS'   PLATONIC   GOSSIP. 


HOUR  III. 


CONCERNING    SUNDRY    PASSAGES   IN   THE   LIEUTENANT'S  OWN    HISTORY;    AND   THE    STRANGE 
LEGEND   OF   HIS  (SUPPOSED)   GRANDFATHER. 


LIEUT.  —  Tis    often     somewhat 
puzzling,  sir,  to  account  for  a  strong 
natural  bias  toward  particular  occu- 
pations, when  there  has  really  been 
nothing  to  give  one  any  idea  of  them, 
perhaps  everything  quite  the  contrary 
way.    An  "  injudicious  predilection" 
for  seafaring  life  is  of  all  others,  I 
must  confess,  the  most  singular,  inas- 
much as  it  may  get  hold  of  you  with- 
out the  slightest  knowledge  of  it,  like 
love  where  one  hasn't  even  seen  a 
woman's  face  ;    and    as   for  ^  people 
guarding  their  families  against  it,  why, 
it  reminds  me  of  the  story  of  the  prince 
shut  up  in  a  tower,  because  a  fairy 
predicted  he  would  be  drowned ;  and 
one  morning  he  was  found  dead,  with 
his    nose  in    his  wash-hand    basin. 
The  worst  of  it  is,  I've  known  several 
cases  of  fellows  thwarted  in  their  lik- 
ings for  salt  water,  and  instead  of 
being  drowned,  sir — still  more  unfor- 
tunately, they  were — hanged!     One 
cannot  but  attribute  it  to  a  wise  design 
of  Providence  for  great  ends,  in  the 
upholding  of  this  country — as  by  sepa- 
ration, both  in  its  interests  and  its 
destinies,  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 
And  if  there  is  actually  a  set  of  influ- 
ences at  work  on  every  side  of  us,  that 
makes  men  from  their  very  boyhood 
take  to  a  life  all  hard  knocks  and 
desperate  risks,  and  like  it  notwith- 
standing— what  can  it  be  but  igno- 
rance, mismanagement,  or  stubborn- 
ness,  that  requires  impressment  to 
make  man-o'-warsmen  out  of  sailors  ; 
a  system  which  perpetuates  the  very 
€vil  it  meets,  and  more  than  once  has 
seen  thousands  of  brave  hearts  fight- 
ing wilfully  on  the  enemy's  side — for 
the  most  part,  out  of  a  sheer  whimsi- 
calness  that   hadn't    been    properly 
humoured?    The  very  attachment  a 
sailor  forms  for  his  ship,  as  if  she 
were  a  living  being,  is  scarce  stronger 
than  the  fit  of  change  that  comes 
suddenly    upon    him    after    a    long 


cruise ;  but  more  powerful  than  either 
is  Jack's  true-blue  British  notion, 
that  when  he  makes  a  horse  of  himself 
for  the  good  of  his  country  or  his 
employers,  his  consent  ought  first  to 
be  asked,  and  certain  understood  con- 
ditions adhered  to — but,  heaven  for- 
give me !  where  am  I  driving  to  ?  The 
truth  is,  when  getting  up  my  anchor  in 
a  strong  tide-wray  like  this,  I  always 
find  I  drift  terribly  as  long  as  it  hangs 
under  the  forefoot;  but  I  meant  to 
say,  if  you  had  seen  my  father's  house 
when  I  was  a  boy,  you'd  have  thought 
there  was  just  as  little  possibility  of  a 
sea-life  being  put  in  my  head,  as  my 
subsequent  experience  seems  to  have 
shown  there  was  object  in  my  follow- 
ing it. 

We  lived  in  the  City  Road,  which 
fifty  years  ago,  from  St  Luke's  Hos- 
pital to  the  Angel  in  Islington,  was  a 
very  different  matter  to  what  it  is 
now.  You  could  see  the  fields  and 
trees  on  either  side,  one  way  getting 
thinner  and  scrubbier  into  the  smoke, 
till  the}r  looked  like  the  stock  on  so 
many  chimney-sweeps'  premises ;  the 
other  way  running  green  into  the  sky, 
so  that,  when  the  sun  rose  of  a  fine 
summer's  morning  over  Hackney  and 
Hoxton,  I  used  to  think  all  the  pol- 
lards and  hayricks  in  the  distance 
were  really  changed  for  the  time  into 
gold  and  jewels,  like  the  wonders  in  a 
fairy  tale.  Fairy  tales,  however,  or 
stories  of  any  kind,  I  neither  heard  nor 
read.  My  father,  who  was  in  the  Bank 
offices,  as  his  father  had  been  before 
him,  had  a  turn  for  books  of  contro- 
versy against  the  Papists,  and  polemi- 
cal divinity  in  general,  which  he  in- 
dulged himself  with  of  an  evening; 
and  being  a  staunch  supporter  of  the 
Church,  as  well  as  the  State,  he  not 
only  carried  on  my  education  himself, 
by  hearing  me  read  aloud  from  Stil- 
lingfleet,  Hooker,  Barrow,  and  such 
authors,  but  I  have  no  doubt  the  good 


46 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


[July, 


man  meant  me  to  become  a  clergyman 
in  the  end  —  a  contingency  which 
our  naval  authorities  have  carefully 
guarded  against  as  quite  incompatible 
with  the  receipt  of  a  commission,  by 
the  express  preamble  prefixed  to  it 
of  "you  not  being  in  holy  orders." 
Both  he  and  my  mother,  however, 
were  thorough  Londoners.  She  was 
the  very  image  of  a  woman,  an  Eng- 
lishwoman— fair  and  round,  with  a 
pleasant,  peaceful  face,  that  looked 
young  to  her  dying  day.  Always  busy, 
and  seldom  in  a  bustle,  it  was  only  on 
a  Sunday  she  was  to  be  seen  sitting 
down  without  a  stocking  to  mend  or 
a  shirt  to  make.  If  rooms  hadn't  got 
dusty,  or  spoons  dull,  or  if  she  hadn't 
had  somebody  to  give  her  trouble,  she 
couldn't  have  lived,  I  do  believe: 
with  an  income  of  twice  the  amount 
my  father  possessed,  she  certainly 
could  never  have  been  happy,  as  her 
great  delight  lay  in  what  she  called 
"  managing."  Except  regularly  to 
church,  two  or  three  times  a-year 
a-shopping,  and  on  the  bank  holidays 
to  see  the  Parks  or  public  buildings, 
and  a  rare  visit  to  a  friend,  my  mo- 
ther never  set  foot  on  pavement. 
To  reach  the  West  End  was  in  her 
eyes  a  grand  expedition ;  the  Strand 
on  Lord  Mayor's  Day  was  the  finest 
of  conceivable  earthly  sights,  except 
the  scene  inside  Guildhall,  which  she 
only  believed  in ;  and  as  for  going  on 
any  one,  the  very  smallest,  of  these 
journeys  without  my  father's  arm,  and 
if  possible  my  two  sisters  and  me,  it 
would  as  soon  have  entered  her  head 
to  go  to  the  theatre  and  the  opera,  to 
explore  the  purlieus  of  Wapping,  or 
to  run  out  of  town  when  the  "  season  " 
was  over.  Once  in  her  life,  when  she 
was  very  young,  she  had  staid  a  fort- 
night in  the  country  ;  and,  when  we 
were  children,  she  used  to  tell  us  whole 
histories  about  that  said  period.  Be- 
tween dinner  and  tea-time,  while  my 
father  had  his  nap,  to  keep  us  quiet 
she  would  get  the  whole  three  of  us 
about  her,  and  we  were  sure  to  say, 
"  Let's  hear  about  that  time  you  were 
in  the  country,  mother!"  And  an 
extraordinary  region  the  country  must 
have  been,  by  her  account  of  it,  for 
loneliness  and  discomfort,  dark  nights 
and  dangerous  places,  not  to  say  wild 
creatures  of  all  kinds  ;  for  what  with 
beetles,  earwigs,  and  spiders  creeping 


in  from  the  roses  at  the  window,  and 
cows  and  horses  in  the  green  fields, 
frogs  in  the  water,  and  snakes  in  the 
woods,  there  was  no  end  to  the  ad- 
ventures she  had  had.  Then  she  would 
mimic  the  rustic  style  of  speaking  and 
looking,  in  such  a  funny  good-natured 
way,  darning  all  the  while,  nodding* 
down  at  us,  and  half-whispering,  that 
we  burst  out  with  a  laugh,  which 
woke  up  my  father  to  tea.  Twas 
doubtless  the  sole  fund  of  a  romantic 
kind  the  dear  woman  had  to  draw 
upon.  She  contrived  to  vary  it  won- 
derfully, without  a  whit,  as  I  am  con- 
fident, of  invention ;  so  that  it  served 
my  sisters  till  they  got  admirers,  and 
me  for  a  time.  Indeed,  in  our  house, 
anything  the  least  approaching  to 
fiction  was  considered  a  sin  :  my  mo- 
ther shook  her  head  seriously  at  the 
mere  mention  of  novels  and  romances, 
and  I  question  if  she  herself  ever 
opened  a  volume,  with  the  exception 
of  the  Bible  and  Church  Service,  Dr 
Watts,  and  the  cookery-book.  About 
changing  shoes,  wrapping  well  up, 
taking  an  umbrella  whenever  you 
went  out,  and  so  on,  she  was  strict  to 
an  extreme  ;  she  took  alarm  at  a 
sore  throat,  or  a  cut  finger,  and 
wouldn't  for  the  world  have  had  a  fly 
drown  in  the  cream -pot ;  yet  she  had 
the  sense  of  a  dozen  ordinary  women, 
not  to  say  that  of  all  your  modern 
blue-stockings  put  together :  unless 
in  this  respect,  that,  probably  because 
I  gave  her  more  trouble  than  all  the 
rest  of  the  house — ay,  than  all  Lon- 
don and  the  world  combined — she  not 
only  seemed  to  be  fonder  of  me  while 
I  was  a  boy  than  of  the  whole  of 
them,  but  consequently  allowed  me 
to  become  an  idle,  good-for-nothing, 
overbearing  young  scamp  at  bottom  ; 
quiet  as  pussy,  no  doubt,  in  the  even- 
ing when  my  father  was  at  home,  but 
all  day  perhaps  playing  at  pitch-and- 
toss  with  fellows  in  back  lanes,  or 
giving  a  bloody  nose  for  a  blue  eye  to 
a  butcher's  boy,  when  not  pinching 
my  sisters'  ears  or  pulling  their  dolls 
to  pieces.  I  daresay  I  had  a  notion 
of  my  power,  sir— possibly  I  may 
have  fancied  I  was  a  sort  of  prince  of 
the  blood  in  disguise,  born  for  other 
people  to  give  in  to  all  my  whims  and 
vagaries ;  although  heaven  only  knows 
what  kind  of  conception  such  precious 
youths  form  of  the  world,  or  what 


1851.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


style  of  life  in  it  they  mark  out  to 
themselves.  The  truth  is,  I've  seen 
idlers  about  town,  with  empty  weari- 
some faces— I  have  met  fellows  with 
empty  pockets  and  red  noses  about 
taverns — I  have  eyed  ruffians  looking 
out  through  iron  grates— that  might 
have  made  heroes  and  men,  had  they 
only  known  their  own  minds,  or  had 
some  one  to  do  it  for  them  ;  but  I  de- 
clare to  you,  what  has  caused  me  a 
shudder  at  the  sight,  was  the  thought 
that,  but  for  a  mere  accident,  as  it 
were,  I  might  have  been  doing  the 
same. 

My  father  was  a  good  deal  older 
than  my  mother  ;  and  one  afternoon 
he  came  home  earlier  than  usual,  a 
little  ailing.  In  the  middle  of  the 
night — a  thick  November  night  it  had 
been,  and  London  was  drowned  in 
fog— the  whole  house  was  woke,  one 
couldn't  say  how  ;  but  suddenly  we 
all  found  ourselves  in  my  father  and 
mother's  room,  where  his  face  was  to 
be  seen  on  the  pillow,  quite  changed 
and  fixed,  his  mouth  open,  and  his 
eyes  alone  moving  anxiously,  as  if  he 
wanted  to  speak  yet  could  not.  In 
the  midst  of  it  all,  even  believing  as 
I  did  that  he  was  to  die  directly,  I 
remember  wondering  secretly  at  my 
mother — weak,  tender  woman  as  she 
was,  and  never  used  to  any  shock  or 
danger — how  her  agitation  quickly 
disappeared,  how  she  gave  her  orders 
and  was  busy  all  the  while,  soothing 
my  father  with  her  voice  and  the 
means  she  used,  and  looking  for  the 
doctor  to  come  in  at  the  door  while 
she  watched  the  pulse  with  her  finger 
— though  the  maidservant  behind  was 
helplessly  wringing  her  hands.  When 
the  doctor  had  come,  and  relieved  his 
patient — when  all  was  done  for  the 
mean  time,  and  he  was  quietly  asleep, 
my  mother  herself  fainted  away.  My 
father  had  had  a  first  stroke  of  palsy, 
and  ever  after  he  was  an  invalid — 
confined  to  his  chair  for  the  most 
part,  unable  to  do  anything,  and 
sometimes  fretful  compared  with  what 
he  used  to  be.  He  needed  constant 
care  and  attention.  The  former  ways 
of  the  house  were  altered,  and  nothing 
was  to  ruffle  him — all  was  to  be  con- 
trived for  his  comfort.  From  my 
younger  sister  to  the  cook  in  the 
kitchen,  they  even  took  pleasure  in  it, 
I  believe,  for  a  kinder  father  and 


47 

master  never  had  breathed.  As  for 
my  mother,  it  was  her  pure  delight. 
I  can  see  now,  she  went  through  all 
sorts  of  sacrifices,  trials,  and  patience, 
without  so  much  as  knowing  it,  to 
smooth  his  lot.  If  ever  there  had  been 
misunderstandings  between  them  in 
their  lives,  if  ever  they  had  differences 
of  character,  as  the  best  will  have,  it 
occurs  to  me  there  was  latterly  no- 
thing of  the  kind.  'Tis  curious  how 
circumstances  come  up  to  one  forty 
years  after,  that  one  never  noticed  at 
the  time ;  indeed,  couldn't  have  had 
the  capacity  to  perceive — one's  own 
hearth-side  sheds  back  light  on  them, 
doctor — but  now  I  remember,  my  fa- 
ther had  a  disposition  to  argue  with 
my  mother,  and  prove  a  thing  right 
or  wrong  to  her,  will  ye  nill  ye,  all 
logical  and  conclusive :  whereas  the 
more  he  argued,  the  more  she  didn't 
see  it.  She  had  a  way  of  answering 
of  her  own,  saw  the  thing  at  first 
sight,  or  never,  and  got  so  confused 
in  the  very  net  of  his  reasoning  that 
you'd  have  thought,  when  she  spoke 
next,  she  hadn't  heard  a  word  of  it. 
He  was  hot,  and  she  a  little  sharp  ; 
he  was  reserved,  and  what  he  felt 
deepest  he  said  least  of,  while  she  was 
open  as  the  day,  and  couldn't  for  the 
life  of  her  keep  a  secret.  Now,  after 
his  illness,  spite  of  the  first  bodily 
effects  of  it,  they  drew  more  and  more 
together.  Coming  earlier  in  his  life, 
as  I  now  look  on  it,  the  change  and 
the  attention  might  have  made  my 
father  selfish,  like  many  invalids  ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  though  he  didn't 
easily  speak  of  it,  I  learnt  from  my 
mother  after  his  death  that  her 
greatest  pain  for  a  time  was,  that  he 
frequently  appeared  to  feel  too  much, 
and  once  or  twice  mentioned  with 
emotion,  the  demands  which  his  help- 
lessness made  on  every  one.  The 
one  seemed  to  me  to  have  got  more 
of  the  other's  ways  every  year  I  saw 
them,  so  that  I  really  can't  recollect 
nowadays  which  it  was  said  or  did 
certain  things  I  love  to  think  upon  : 
their  very  faces  became  in  the  end 
wonderfully  similar  in  expression.  I 
could  stake  my  life  on  it,  though  no 
mortal  tongue  can  ask  them  the  ques- 
tion now,  they  would  both  say  they 
were  far  happier  after  that  day  than 
before  it. 
There  was  one  in  the  house,  though, 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


48 

that  didn't  share  in  its  spirit ;  one 
whom  it  brought  discontent  to — and 
it  was  I — /,  sir — the  same  Robert 
•Curtis  that  can  see  into  it  now,  as  a 
man  sees  through  a  ship's  glass.  For 
the  strange  thing  was — and  I  didn't 
well  understand  it — I  had  got  all  of  a 
sudden,  as  it  were,  to  be  no  more  than 
anybody  else  in  the  house ;  quite  an 
ordinary  fellow,  at  least  in  the  eyes  of 
others.  Far  from  having  my  own 
way,  as  before,  and  getting  what  I 
liked,  my  mother  now  showed  me  no 
greater  kindness  than  she  did  my 
sisters.  Instead  of  yielding  or  hu- 
mouring, she  would  sometimes  look 
calmly  into  my  face  when  I  fumed  ; 
and  if  I  sulked,  would  perhaps  eye  me 
sideways  with  as  much  surprise  as  if 
she  saw  a  monster.  Now  it  was  firm- 
ness ;  then  it  was  a  stern  check,  no 
dinner  or  a  dark  closet.  My  sisters 
left  off  giving  in  to  me ;  the  very 
maidservants  laughed  in  my  face  at 
a  peremptory  order  from  Master  Bob ; 
and  the  cook  once  slapped  my  face 
with  a  dish-cloth,  for  coming  into  the 
kitchen  when  too  late  for  dinner.  I 
couldn't  even  do  as  I  liked  out  of 
doors,  for,  as  I  fancied,  the  small 
butchers'  boys  got  bolder ;  besides 
which  I  was  expected  to  take  my  turn 
in  reading  the  newspaper,  or  a  book, 
to  my  father. 

Well,  I  was  about  nine  years  old  or 
so — for  it  was  a  few  nights  after  the 
Tower  guns  and  the  Thames  had 
announced  the  first  news  of  the  vic- 
tory of  Trafalgar,  and  the  city  bells, 
from  St  Paul's  downward,  had  tolled, 
for  many  an  hour  following,  at  the 
tidings  of  the  death  of  Nelson.  The 
candles  were  lit  in  our  parlour,  and 
the  tea-things  on  the  table  —  my 
mother  at  her  work,  my  sisters  at 
their  lessons,  my  father  leaning  back 
in  his  easy-chair ;  he  was  not  well 
enough  to  read  to  himself  at  all  yet, 
and  indeed  much  of  anything  at  a  time 
exhausted  him.  I  was  reading  aloud 
to  him  from  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs,  I 
recollect;  I  could  hear  the  distant 
noises  in  the  streets,  and  the  boys 
still  letting  off  fireworks  along  the 
City  lload,  nearer  at  hand.  That 
morning  a  fit  of  rage  had  seized  me  at 
something  or  other,  which  I  can  now 
only  compare  to  the  temper  of  a  de- 
mon, i  had  been  thwarted  and  put 
,  but  stubbornly  refused  to  take 


[July, 


my  meals,  and  all  the  time  I  read,  sat 
sullenly  listening  to  the  sounds  outside, 
and  brooding  on  my  wrongs,  till  my 
elocution  in  the  account  of  Cranmer's 
martyrdom  must  have  got  dreadful  in- 
deed. My  father  had  two  or  three  times 
told  me  to  throw  more  emphasis  into 
my  tones :  I  was  aware  of  it,  and  went 
on  drawling  and  stumbling,  more  des- 
perately listless  than  before.  4 '  Boy ! " 
said  he,  turning  impatiently  in  his 
chair,  "  the  infliction  of  listening  to 
you  is  worse  than  I  can  conceive  even 
the  pangs  of  martyrdom  itself,  which 
were  sustained  by  faith — one  would 
think  it  were  an  almanac !  Such  a 
glorious  testimony,  too — so  exulting 
a  triumph  over  temptation  and  death! 
Close  the  book,  sir! "  I  closed  it,  and 
sat  biting  my  lips,  knitting  my  brows, 
and  eyeing  a  single  figure  of  the  car- 
pet as  if  the  whole  world  was  set 
against  me  in  the  persons  of  my  two 
parents — by  heaven !  sir,  I  not  only 
see  that  figure  in  the  carpet  at  this 
moment,  -but  I  see  myself— -sitting 
opposite  me,  as  it  were  in  a  mirror, 
red  and  sulky,  awkward  and  lubberly, 
like  a  thing  I  don't  know — like  a  thing 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  in  a  calm ; 
without  eyes,  happily,  to  look  at  one, 
and  vanishing  as  it  floats  upward. 

"  But  I  tell  you,  Robert,"  my  father 
added  more  mildly,  and  he  sighed, 
"  to  conquer  one's-self  is  a  greater  vic- 
tory than  even  such  as  you  have  been 
reading  of.  Try,  try,  my  dear  boy, 
by  God's  grace,  to  vanquish  the  evil 
nature  within  us !  And  now,  my  love," 
addressing  my  mother,  "  let  us  have 
tea." 

I  don't  know  what  wild  feelings  rose 
in  me,  and  rushed  to  my  head,  as  I 
stood  up  and  leant  blindly  against  the 
mantelpiece.  I  couldn't  see,  my  heart 
seemed  to  stop.  Whom  or  what  to 
vent  the  convulsion  upon  I  didn't  know, 
but  it  was  like  a  storm  within  me  and 
without  me,  heaving,  sick,  and  giddy, 
while  something  like  blood  danced 
before  my  sight,  and,  for  aught  I  could 
say,  it  might  have  been  years  instead 
of  a  moment  that  the  thing  occupied. 
For  my  part,  I  had  scarce  more  than 
heard  Qi  the  sea,  of  ships,  or  sailors — 
our  whole  circle  of  acquaintance  aud 
domestic  habits  seemed  apart  from 
anything  of  the  kind;  so  it  was  rather 
like  a  mere  blank  plunge  into  the  dark, 
in  the  blind  passion  of  the  instant, 


1851.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends, 


that  somehow  or  other  brought  up  the 
late  naval  victory  to  my  mind — 
snatching  at  it,  as  if  it  were  the  red- 
hot  ball  which  weighed  upon  my  brain, 
till  the  very  ships  were  there,  the  fire 
and  smoke,  the  dark  land  and  dark 
water  glimmering  up — all,  all,  to  the 
very  conqueror's  death,  flashed  on  my 
mind  in  a  moment,  for  the  first  time, 
vaguely  as  I  had  heard  of  them 
through  the  Tower  guns,  the  bell  of  St 
Paul's,  the  street  songs,  the  rockets, 
or  my  father's  newspaper. 

That  idea  seemed  to  clear  my 
eyesight  —  I  drew  a  long  breath, 
raised  my  head  rather  more  proudly, 
and  looked  from  my  corner  into  the 
room,  as  if  from  somewhere  far  beyond 
it.  I  think  the  whole  contents  of  it 
must  have  been  suddenly  printed  on 
my  senses,  as  they  were  at  that  in- 
stant— my  two  sisters'  faces,  while 
they  put  away  their  school-books — 
my  father,  with  his  shrunk,  sharpened 
features,  in  his  long  dressing-gown 
and  slippers,  trying  once  more,  as  he 
used,  to  reach  the  kettle  for  my  mo- 
ther ;  who  put  him  gently  back  to  his 
cushion  with  one  hand,  while  she 
lifted  her  object  with  the  otheV— her 
work  thrown  on  the  chair-back,  the 
cat  purring  on  the  rug — every  parti- 
cular, to  the  old  fashion  of  her  cap,  the 
sprigged  pattern  of  her  gown — as  if 
left  by  some  stamp  more  than  natur- 
ally accountable.  I  made  a  step  wildly 
towards  the  table,  and  said  loud  out- 
scarce  aware  of  the  meaning  of  it, 
heaven  knows—"  I'll — I'll  go  to  sea ! " 
My  sisters  stared  at  the  sound  of 
my  voice — my  father  looked  up  un- 
consciously. "  To  see  what?"  he 
asked.  There  was  something  in  his 
misunderstanding  of  my  words,  taken 
with  the  cool  indifference  of  everything 
and  everybody,  as  it  seemed,  to  my 
feelings,  that  galled  me  to  the  heart ; 
not  a  bit  the  less,  either,  for  the  savage 
satisfaction  of  thinking  it  was  but  their 
ignorance  of  my  real  purpose  that  kept 
them  all  so  tranquil:  it  had  but  to 
enter  their  heads,  of  course,  and  there 
would  be  nothing  but  dismay,  anxiety, 
and  fondness  concerning  me,  Master 
Bob.  "  I  mean,"  repeated  I  deliber- 
ately, u  the  sea,  where — where  the 
French  are,  and  the  storms,  and 
where — " 

I  stopped,  and  as  everybody  else 
was  silent,  and  I  never  in  my  life 

VOL.  LXX NO.  CCCCXXIX. 


49 

ventured  to  look  a  parent  in  the  face 
in  anger,  it  naturally  struck  me  I  had 
made  an  impression.  Yes  —God  for- 
give me ! — at  the  bottom  of  my  soul 
I  almost  believe  there  was  a  lurking, 
skulking  notion  beyond  all  else  to 
strike  home  to  my  mother — to  terrify 
her — to  bring  her,  with  her  arms  about 
my  neck,  entreating  me  to  relent,  as 
it  were — in  fact,  to  be  master  again  ! 
Whether  I  was  to  yield  or  not  was 
another  question ;  but  out  I  burst 
with  my  climax — "  Where  Lord  Nel- 
son was  killed ! " 

However,  it  appeared  they  had 
none  of  them  near  such  a  grand  and 
terrible  conception  of  this  said  sea  as 
I  had  myself,  otherwise  'tis  quite 
possible  salt  water  might  never  have 
washed  Bob  Curtis's  face  for  him  at 
all.  As  I  glanced  up  from  under 
my  eyebrows,  my  sisters  were  actually 
next  thing  to  laughing;  my  father 
raised  himself  in  his  easy-chair,  a 
half- smile  struggling  with  his  surprise. 
I  stole  a  sullen  look  aside  at  my 
mother ;  she  had  set  down  the  teapot 
in  the  act  of  pouring  out  a  cup,  and 
was  gazing  grave  and  straight  at  me, 
the  only  one  in  the  room  who  took  it 
seriously,  yet  without  a  sign  of  agita- 
tion. Her  eye  actually  quelled  me  ; 
there  was  that  in  it  I  could  not 
fathom,  no  more  than  a  boy's  trout- 
ing-line  can  the  ocean  ;  and  I  felt  it 
then,  though  she  neither  moved  nor 
said  anything. 

"  Dear  me,  Robert,"  my  father  in- 
quired, "  what  can  have  put  this  in 
your  head !  Go  to  sea  !  Why,  you 
never  were  near  it,  nor  in  sight  of  it, 
in  your  life,  boy  !  Did  you  ever  even 
see  a  ship  ?  "  I  made  no  answer. 

"  Or  read  a  single  voyage  ?  "  I 
never  had,  and  I  was  silent. 

"  Can  you  even  swim  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  There  must  be  some  reason  for  any 
proposition  of  such  a  nature — some- 
premises—some  foundation,  in  short ! 
So  come,  tell  me  what  they  are." 

I  still  kept  scowling  at  the  floor, 
but  the  question  was  peremptory,  and 
I  at  last  made  answer.  "  I — I  hate 
— all — Frenchmen  !"  I  said,  grinding 
my  teeth  together — u  hate  them  ! — 
that's  the  reason !  "  Yet,  Lord  knows, 
I  had  just  about  as  much  conception 
of  a  Frenchman  as  of  a  captain  of  the 
foretop ;  and  for  any  personal  feeling 
towards  'em,  'twas  a  deuced  deal  less, 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


50 

lively  than  I  entertained  against 
Pharaoh,  king  of  Egypt,  or  the  pro- 
phet Moses ;  so  that,  so  far  as  hating 
was  concerned,  at  the  moment  it  pro- 
bably lay  nearer  home. 

"  Hoity  toity !  "  my  father  ex- 
claimed, "  this  is  absolutely  prepos- 
terous! Why,  some  of  the  best  of 
men  have  been  born  in  France, 
sirrah  !  I  must  have  no  more  of  such 
stuff!  Come  now,  Bob,"  and  he 
sank  back  exhausted,  "be  a  good 
boy,  and — and — you  shall — go  to 
school ! " 

If  before  this  announcement  my 
very  face  had  been  hardening  itself  in 
opposition,  there  was  nothing  more 
required  to  confirm  it ;  for  the  thought 
of  a  boarding-school  was  one  I  had 
for  some  time  begun  to  dread — it  had 
been  lately  two  or  three  times  hinted 
at.  I  had  seen  it  creeping  on  me 
like  fate  ;  and  if  there  was  anything 
my  acquaintances  outside  had  unplea- 
sant stories  about,  it  was  a  country 
boarding-school,  where,  according  to 
them,  spirited  young  fellows  were 
conveyed  some  cold  morning  in  the 
coach-boot  before  town  was  stirring, 
and  made  woeful  spectacles  of  ever 
after,  under  oppressions  unknown  to 
man.  I  made  up  my  mind  at  once — 
to  sea  I  would  go,  and  that  speedily; 
but,  far  from  continuing  to  look  it,  I 
sat  down  as  if  the  last  words  were 
magic — resolved  to  steal  a  march 
upon  them,  calculating  the  ways  and 
means,  pitching  upon  the  very  youth 
I  should  get  to  go  with  me,  and  all 
the  while  innocent  enough  to  think 
our  first  destination  should  be  the 
sea- shore,  where  I  had  some  vague 
notion  the  tide  came  in,  and  people 
bathed  and  picked  up  shells !  Bread 
and  butter  meekly  in  hand,  I  sat 
secretly  despising  the  unconsciousness 
of  my  parents — gloating,  sir,  I  shud- 
der to  think,  over  the  firm  conviction 
that  they  would  suffer  when  I  was 
found  missing  ;  that  they — ay,  she — 
would  have  the  still  more  effective 
stroke  to  meet,  of  not  knowing  at  all 
where  I  was  gone  !  I  can  but  hope, 
doctor,  that  recollection  makes  me 
exaggerate  the  actual  thing;  yet  I 
question  if  equally  diabolical  feelings 
haven't  passed  through  the  minds  of 
thousands  of  far  better  men  ere  the 
bad  got  wrought  out  of  them.  'Tis 
Adam's  fall,  as  'twere,  played  over 


[July, 


again,  but  in  as  much  space,  merely, 
as  a  boy's  cap  will  cover. 

My  father's  good-humour  returned 
as  he  stirred  his  tea.  "Go  to  sea  !  " 
said  he ;  and,  addressing  my  mother, 
he  even  indulged  in  one  of  his  old 
innocent  jokes,  which  he  scarce  ex- 
pected anybody  to  laugh  at  but  him- 
self—" I'd  much  rather  it  had  been 
to  a  bishop's  see — had  not  yow,  my 
dear  ?  " 

My  mother  laid  her  hand  gently  on 
the  arm  of  his  chair,  and  said  serious- 
ly, but  as  calmly  as  if  she  had  been 
speaking  on  the  most  indifferent 
question,  and  still  looking  at  me — "  I 
really  wish  I  could  agree  with  you  : 
you  know  how  on  any  subject  it  is 
my  most  anxious  desire  ;  but — but  I 
do  think,  Joseph—  " 

My  father  only  opened  his  eyes 
wider,  put  up  his  spectacles  higher  on 
his  forehead,  and  looked  at  her  as  she 
paused  and  turned  towards  him. 

—"That  Robert  is  right,"  con- 
cluded she. 

"  My  dear !  "  ejaculated  my  father, 
with  increased  astonishment.  My 
mother  put  her  hand  on  his,  and  their 
eyes  met.  "  At  least,"  she  added, 
"  he  has  happened  to  judge  for  him- 
self better  than  we.  I  have  been  led 
to  consider  some  things  differently  of 
late,  and,  among  others,  my  own 
errors !  Still,  my  conscience  would 
chide  me  more,  were  this  not  so 
strange  a  corroboration  of  all  that — 
that — which  we — I — was  so  inclined 
to  doubt ! " 

As  our  parents  exchanged  looks, 
indeed,  it  struck  me  there  was  a 
mutual  intelligence  between  them  on 
some  point  we  were  completely  igno- 
rant of ;  but  this  time  it  was  he  that 
tried  to  soothe  her,  as  she  faltered, 
and  seemed  to  be  reproaching  herself, 
for  my  father  shook  his  head,  saying 
something  too  low  for  us  to  overhear, 
though  evidently  with  a  view  different 
from  hers.  "  Ah,  no,"  continued  my 
mother  with  no  small  emotion,  "  you 
cannot  shut  my  eyes,  dear,  since  your 
own  recent  affliction  has  opened  them. 
My  very  fears,  my  foolish  weakness, 
in  trying  to  avoid  one  evil,  were 
making  me  bring  about  a  worse,  I 
believe.  'Twas  on  this  one  point 
only,  I  think,  that  there  was  ever 
anything  like  disagreement  between 
us ;  and  now  it  is  over  for  ever — now 


1851.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


I  have  you  to  occupy  me — indeed, 
you  know,  to  consult  at  any  moment." 
And  even  while  my  mother  was  thus 
running  counter  to  my  father's  deli- 
berate and  long- cherished  projects  for 
myself,  I  do  believe  the  dear  woman 
was  actually  not  only  persuading  him, 
but  herself,  that  it  was  all  in  perfect 
conformity  with  his  mind  on  the  sub- 
ject. There  was  a  winning,  beguiling, 
innocent  insinuatingness  in  her  voice 
whenever  she  spoke  so,  that  steals  to 
my  ear,  doctor,  yet.  My  wife  has 
coaxed  me  to  a  trip  to  Brighton,  or  a 
new  dress  for  Miss  Emma,  forsooth, 
with  tones  something  similar ;  but  I 
shouldn't  like  to  tell  her,  my  dear 
fellow,  how  much  of  it  was  owing  to 
the  echo  they  had  in  them,  as  it  were, 
of  the  accents  that  many  a  time 
drew  my  father  into  bestowing  his 
charity  in  a  doubtful  quarter,  or  to 
forgiving  a  child  sooner  than  he 
would  ;  and  which  often  cheated  him, 
later  in  the  day,  out  of  his  own  weari- 
ness or  his  pain. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said  again,  "  that 
strange  wild  history  ought  to  have 
been  spoken  of  before  him,  Joseph ! 
Dreadful  although  it  be — and  oh  !  so 
painful  for  me  to  believe  myself  in- 
volved in  it — yet,  whatever  may  be 
the  truth  in  that  respect,  might  not 
our  poor  boy  have  been  warned  by 
such  a  narrative  ?  Oh,  Joseph, 
Joseph !  should  it  really  be  inherited 
— some  woeful — woeful  disposition  in 
the  blood — "  And  here  my  mother 
gazed  earnestly  in  my  father's  face — 
"  Then,  instead  of  thwarting,  let  us 
direct  it — let  him  at  least  go  forth 
with  our  prayers,  our  blessing  and 
counsel,  oar  home  to  return  to — as 
Jacob  went  forth  from  Isaac  and 
Sarah ;  not  like  Ishmael,  a  reckless 
fugitive  in  the  great  wilderness  !  " 

As  my  father  glanced  vacantly 
round  the  room,  his  eye  perhaps 
rested  for  a  moment  on  the  great 
print  of  Hooker  which  hung  above 
the  buffet.  At  this  moment  I  can 
recall  its  solemn  face,  when  his  own  . 
look  is  blotted  out.  Yet  I  fancy  I  see 
the  pang  it  must  have  cost  him  to  give 
up  his  favourite  idea.  "  Well,  dear- 
est love,"  he  said,  after  a  minute's 
silence,  "  give  me  your  arm  to  help 
me  upstairs  to  bed.  I  leave  it  to 
you — let  the  boy  judge  for  himself!  " 
And,  without  bestowing  further  notice 


51 

on  me,  or  bidding  any  of  us  good- 
night, they  left  the  room  together. 
To  hear  them  thus  talking  over  the 
matter  aside,  in  that  grave,  anxious 
way,  as  if  my  very  fate  depended  on 
it — as  if  all  I  knew  or  felt  about  it, 
too,  were  but  a  trifle  to  what  they 
did — why,  it  had  given  me  a  strange 
indescribable  sort  of  feeling,  that  crept 
back  upon  me  with  a  chill  and  a 
shiver,  while  I  sat  stupidly  by  myself. 
My  sisters  had  quietly  disappeared ; 
the  room  felt  lonely ;  when  I  looked 
about,  it  seemed  to  me  I  didn't  know 
it,  or  the  loud  sound  of  the  clock 
ticking  in  the  passage.  But  above 
all  was  the  eagerness  to  know  what 
this  strange  history  could  be,  which  I 
had  heard  alluded  to,  and  what  it 
could  have  to  do  with  me :  the  most 
curious  thing  is,  it  strikes  me  that, 
sitting  there  with  just  the  corner  of 
my  eye  to  the  half-open  door,  not 
daring  to  turn  my  head  though  I 
should  sit  till  midnight,  'twas  because, 
at  every  beat  of  the  clock  and  my 
own  heart,  I  felt  surer  and  surer 
some  one  would  come  in,  to  tell  some 
dreadful  tale.  At  the  sudden  sound 
of  a  footstep,  in  fact,  I  started  up, 
and  saw  my  mother  enter :  she  shut 
the  door,  snuffed  Jhe  candles,  and 
stirred  the  fire,  and,  bidding  me  sit 
on  one  side  while  she  placed  herself 
on  the  other,  she  began  to  talk  to  me 
seriously  about  the  choice  of  a  pro- 
fession. My  father  and  she,  she 
said,  now  saw  the  necessity  of  this 
being  done  soon ;  in  fact,  it  now  lay 
between  some  mercantile  business  and 
what  I  had  myself  spoken  of :  in 
whichever  of  the  two  paths  I  should 
ultimately  decide  for,  they  would  be 
prepared  to  further  my  best  interests. 
I  remember  she  described  a  mer- 
chant's life,  such  as  she  was  brought 
up  amidst :  the  sober,  honest  indus- 
try, the  perseverance,  the  skill,  and 
the  enterprise ;  bringing  their  own 
reward  in  a  good  conscience,  with 
influence  and  honour  amongst  men, 
domestic  comfort,  and  a  green  old 
age  surrounded  by  affection.  Then, 
quite  on  a  sudden,  my  mother  broke 
into  an  account  of  some  one's  adven- 
tures at  sea,  and  extraordinary  indeed 
it  was.  One  time  she  grew  so  con- 
fused in  it  that  I  didn't  well  know 
how  the  next  could  have  come  ;  an- 
other time  she  seemed  to  picture  it 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


52 

to  herself  so  strongly  that  she  put 
her  hands  over  her  eyes  and  shud- 
dered— now  a  villanous  plot  and  a 
hairbreadth  escape,  now  an  awful 
storm,  and  now  some  huddled  sort  of 
idea  about  a  shipwreck  and  a  battle. 
The  part  most  clearly  to  be  made  out 
was  that  no  end  of  disasters  had 
fallen  on  this  unlucky  character  ;  and 
all  along,  something  about  a  woman, 
and  the  loss  of  a  child.  To  her  that 
told  it,  the  sea  was  a  region  where 
every  fable  and  prodigy  of  the  ancients 
still  existed :  the  briniest  old  Triton 
that  ever  gulled  the  marines,  with 
his  tongue  in  his  cheek  and  his 
weather-eye  winking,  or  the  sharpest 
young  reefer  that  ever  astonished  a 
tea  -  party  after  his  first  voyage, 
couldn't  have  strung  together  a  more 
surprising  set  of  incidents.  'Twas 
only  what  most  concerned  the  main 
characters,  no  doubt,  that  was  real — 
with  the  love  and  the  fear  which, 
God  knows,  she  must  have  set  herself 
all  the  while  to  hide  in  these  very 
high-wrought  descriptions  of  hers  ; 
for  no  inkling  had  I  of  their  utter 
simplicity ;  and  the  rest  sank  out  of 
me,  like  the  fine  grains  through  a 
sieve,  leaving  but  a  glorious  notion  of 
boundless  water  and  blowing  wind,  a 
sailing  ship,  and  strange  countries, 
and  wild  adventures  with  an  enemy. 
"  Yes,  yes,  mother !  "  said  I  eagerly, 
forgetting  my  late  mood,  and  all  that 
had  passed,  my  eyes  sparkling  as  I 
seized  her  hand,  "  what  a  man  he 
must  have  been  !  And  they  searched 
for  this  little  girl  everywhere,  and 
never  could  find  her,  you  say?  Why 
didn't  they  try  at  sea  ;  she  might 
have  been  in  some  ship,  you  know, 
or  some  island  !  But  didn't  you  say, 
mother,  it  all  happened  not  so  long 
ago?" 

"Not  very  many  years  ago,  Ro- 
bert !  "  she  said  ;  uit  is  a  true  story, 
I  can  assure  you." 

"  Then  depend  upon  it,"  answered 
I,  "  not  to  have  been  heard  of  all  this 
time,  she  must  be  living  in  some  of 
these  islands  where  I  have  heard 
people  might  live  all  their  lives  on  the 
frnits.  I'll  tell  you  what,  mother," 
and  I  suddenly  jumped  up,  "I'll  visit 
every  island  in  the  sea  to  find  her. 
Never  mind  storms  —  never  mind 
battles,  ever  so  many — I  feel  quite 
sure  I  should  discover  her  in  the  end, 


and  such  a  strange  thing  as  it  must 
be  to  see  a  little  girl  that  has  lived 
all  her  life  alone  in  an  island — how 
beautiful  she  would  be — she  would  be 
grown  up,  and  we  would — " 

*'  Robert,  Robert,"  interrupted  my 
mother,  snatching  my  arm,  and  look- 
ing strangely  into  my  face,  "  my  dear- 
est boy,  I  fear — I  have  fresh  reason 
to  be  convinced — that  this  little  girl 
has  long  ago  been  found  —  that  in 
reality,  Robert,  this  lost  child  is — 
your  own  mother ! "  I  started,  stared, 
and  did  not  at  first  comprehend  that 
it  was  herself  she  meant ;  for  who  on 
earth  would  ever  have  suspected  that 
quiet,  ordinary  woman,  with  her  fair 
hair  in  her  frilled  housewife's  cap,  her 
busy  hands  and  her  bunch  of  keys,  of 
being  any  way  concerned  with  a 
strange  story.  By  all  that's  holy  ! 
sir,  I  can  now  scarce  conceive  such 
heartlessness  to  have  been  in  a  boy — 
'tis  perfectly  unfathomable  to  me  at 
this  moment — the  sudden  gloom  that 
came  over  me,  the  bitter  disappoint- 
ment and  anger,  the  wild  wish  to 
have  the  whole  world  rolling  between 
me  and  everything  at  home.  But  so 
it  was,  and  she  sat  explaining  it  to 
me  as  I  listened  askance,  like  one 
that  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
matter ;  how  she  always  had  under- 
stood from  her  childhood  that  she  was 
an  orphan  relation,  adopted  by  the 
good  people  in  Aldersgate  Street  with 
their  own  *  children,  and  so  treated 
while  they  lived.  All  she  had  known 
till  near  her  so-called  father's  death, 
was  that  he  brought  her  over  from 
France  when  she  was  an  infant,  be- 
fore the  French  Avar,  when  he  hap- 
pened to  be  there;  more  he  would 
never  say  of  her  parents  than  that 
both  of  them  were  English.  She  had 
wondered  and  pondered  about  them 
often  when  she  was  a  girl,  till,  how- 
ever sad  might  have  been  their  fate, 
she  said  she  would  have  given  worlds 
to  hear  about  it ;  but  the  time  passed 
by  —  what  with  affection  to  those 
about  her,  and  what  with  new  pro- 
spects of  her  own,  it  got  to  be  little 
more  than  a  dream  to  her,  of  what 
had  scarce  happened  at  all.  After 
her  marriage,  it  seemed,  the  old 
sugar-merchant  who  had  brought  her 
up,  and  whose  memory  had  some- 
what failed  him,  chanced  to  be  turn- 
ing up  some  old  newspapers,  reading 


1351.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


53 


the  advertisements,  when  he  hit  upon 
one  that  struck  him,  long  although 
it  had  lain  there  unnoticed  —  long 
enough  to  turn  yellow.  The  old  man 
came  to  my  father,  and  told  him  a 
secret — my  mother  had,  in  fact,  been 
found  a  mere  infant  of  a  week  or  two 
old,  exposed  one  night  near  the  door 
of  a  French  lodging-house  where  he 
had  staid  at  Dieppe.  But  the  dates 
exactly  tallied  with  what  he  had  now 
read  in  the  newspaper,  and  there  was 
a  piece  of  the  child's  dress  that  had 
an  English  mark  on  it,  though  every 
effort  to  discover  the  parties  at  that 
time  was  vain.  It  was  out  of  a  natural 
dislike  to  the  thought  of  letting  the 
helpless  infant  be  sent  to  a  French 
foundling  hospital,  and  made  a 
Frenchwoman  of,  that  he  and  his 
wife  carried  it  to  England  with  them  ; 
then  they  could  not  reconcile  their 
minds  to  parting  with  it  at  all — it 
smiled  so  innocently,  and  seemed  to 
<;omejust  in  the  place  of  their  own 
youngest,  that  had  died. 

So,  with  my  father's  consent,  old 
Dickson,  the  merchant,  wrote  a  letter 
to  the  address  mentioned  in  the  news- 
paper ;  it  was  a  banker's  abroad  :  but, 
as  they  expected,  no  word  came  back 
in  turn,  at  least  during  the  old  man's 
life — a  year  or  more.  He  died  peace- 
fully, indeed  ;  my  mother  and  father 
amongst  those  round  his  bed,  where 
uot  only  his  children,  but  his  grand- 
children too,  stood  shedding  their 
tears  together  to  see  him  breathe  his 
last.  For  her  part,  she  had  at  that 
time  heard  nothing  of  all  this  late 
inquiry. 

It  was  one  afternoon,  she  told  me, 
not  long  before  my  own  birth,  she  was 
sitting  in  the  drawing-room,  waiting 
for  my  father's  return  home,  and  look- 
ing along  the  passage  to  the  open 
nursery-door,  where  she  had  hushed 
my  little  sister  asleep,  and  put  her  to 
bed.  Suddenly  a  carriage  and  pair 
came  full  speed  along  the  City  Road, 
and  drew  up  before  our  door;  she 
heard  some  voice  talking  to  the  ser- 
vant, and  asking  to  see  my  father  ; 
then  some  one  was  shown  into  the 
room  below.  It  was  a  gentleman, 
-the  girl  said,  who  would  wait  until 
her  master  returned  ;  and  my  mother 
went  back  to  her  place,  till  all  at  once, 
out  of  the  quietness  beneath,  she 
.heard  a  foot  pacing  the  floor,  hastier 


and  heavier,  as  if  the  stranger  grew 
impatient ;  then  it  ceased,  as  if  he  sat 
down,  but  still  began  again,  always 
turning  and  turning  within  the  same 
short  space.  Wherefore  she  knew 
not,  but  the  sound  of  it  made  her  un- 
easy— it  stirred  strange  thoughts  in 
her  she  could  not  account  for ;  but, 
above  all,  she  became  more  loath 
every  moment  that  the  gentleman 
should  thus  wait,  his  carriage -horses 
trampling  restlessly  before  the  door, 
he  probably  on  some  important  busi- 
ness, and  my  father  perhaps  to  return 
later  than  usual.  She  accordingly 
went  down  stairs,  and  opened  the 
dining-room  door :  he  was  sitting  al- 
most on  the  same  spot  where  I  had 
sat  some  hours  ago,  for  my  mother 
pointed  to  it — perhaps  in  the  same 
arm-chair ;  and  when  he  turned  his 
head  and  saw  her,  he  gazed  at  her  so 
earnest  and  so  sudden  that  she  started. 
But  he  rose  from  his  chair  and  bowed 
— not  an  old  man,  though  his  hair 
was  grey,  and  he  stooped  ;  for  he  was 
tall  and  strong,  his  face  dark,  and  he 
lifted  himself  up  proudly  when  he 
spoke.  He  was  a  baronet,  Sir  Kich- 
ard  Herbert.  Yet,  polite  though  his 
manners  were,  and  his  dress  a  gentle- 
man's, there  was  something  in  his 
presence  altogether,  in  every  motion, 
in  his  deep  hoarse  voice,  and  still 
more  in  the  keen,  bold  brightness  of 
his  eyes,  that  jarred  on  her  much, 
while  she  wondered  at  it.  He  held 
an  open  letter  in  one  hand,  and  when 
he  sat  down  and  began,  as  in  a  voice 
forcibly  suppressed,  to  explain  the 
business  on  which  he  came,  she  scarce 
heard  him  for  noticing  that  the  sleeve 
of  the  other  arm  hung  empty  to  his 
breast.  He  spoke  of  the  late  mer- 
chant, who,  he  found,  was  dead.  Ere 
she  well  knew,  the  stranger  was  on 
his  feet  again,  pacing  the  room  to  and 
fro  as  before ;  but  now  and  then,  at  the 
turn,  he  stood  and  looked  at  the  wall, 
straight  and  full,  as  it  had  not  been 
there,  or  should  not.  Faster  and  faster 
became  his  pace,  but  suddenly  he 
stopped  again,  and  slowly  wheeling 
till  those  restless  eyes  of  his  glided,  as 
it  were,  from  some  vast  distance  to 
her  face,  he  burst  into  a  strange  story 
of  himself — how,  for  the  sake  of  one 
he  loved,  he  had  been  driven  about  in 
storm  and  battle ;  that  villany  had 
robbed  her  of  her  child,  and  even  con- 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


[July, 


trived  to  load  herself  with  the  suspi- 
cion of  having  murdered  it ;  how  he 
had  wandered  and  followed  the  slight- 
est threads  of  likelihood  to  find  this 
child  ;  and  now,  since  the  mother  was 
long  dead,  he  rested  nowhere,  seeking 
but  for  peace,  peace — which,  from  his 
very  infancy,  he  said,  had  been  like  a 
dream  to  him,  and  yet  for  ev^r  denied. 
The  tones  of  his  voice,  that  had  grown 
loud  at  one  moment,  as  if  he  shouted 
in  a  storm,  sank  piteously  as  he  turned 
his  eyes  from  her.  He  shook  his  head, 
and  said  a  thousand  faces  in  the 
world  had  thus  reminded  him  of  his 
dead  Mary,  even  in  the  East  Indies  and 
in  the  West,  at  the  South  Cape,  or  in 
Italian  towns — ay,  in  passenger  ships 
going  by  at  sea — so  that  was  no  sign 
to  prove  her  child  by.  No — nor  the 
peaceful  looks  of  some,  that  had  to  do 
only  with  their  homes  and  their  chil- 
dren, as  the  beauty  of  others  was  for 
their  lovers.  He  must  have  proofs- 
proofs  that  could  not  be  gainsaid ;  and 
then,  were  his  long-lost  daughter  in  a 
beggar's  hut  or  a  duke's  palace,  the 
power  of  man  should  not  withhold  her 
from  him.  He  paused  in  that  strange 
movement  of  his  again,  that  always 
came  again,  she  said,  to  and  fro,  like 
the  tread  of  a  panther  in  a  cage  ;  and 
seeming  to  recollect  himself,  he  asked 
her  pardon— for  this  letter  which  he 
shook  in  his  hand,  he  told  her,  had 
wakened  up  the  desire  in  him  again 
beyond  what  he  could  bear.  And 
now  her  father,  who  had  written  it, 
was  dead,  what  could  he  do  ? — where 
should  he  learn  ?  Surely  her  husband 
might  lead  him  to  some  trace,  for 
somewhere  —  somewhere  they  must 
have  sent  her.  If  she  still  lived,  she 
must  be  sitting,  standing,  moving, 
doing  something  at  this  moment — 
somewhere ! 

All  this  while  my  mother's  agita- 
tion, as  she  said,  had  increased  :  she 
saw  and  heard  him  as  if  it  were  some 
confused  unnatural  tale  of  other 
worlds,  and  passions  she  had  nought 
to  do  with.  She  could  neither  move 
nor  speak  ;  but  with  her  eyes  fixed, 
and  following  him  against  her  will, 
she  listened  to  every  footstep  past  the 
window  for  my  father's  coming.  Sud- 
denly the  stranger  seemed  to  catch 
the  expression  of  her  features  anew  ; 
for  he  strode  forward,  gazed  silently 
into  her  face,  and,  seizing  her  arm, 


with  a  great  and  terrible  oath,  he 
poured  forth  question  upon  question 
— her  age,  name,  birthplace,  every- 
thing about  her,  in  the  same  eager 
breath,  with  those  keen  eyes  glancing 
restlessly,  as  it  Avere,  through  and 
through  her  the  while.  A  shadow  of 
his  meaning,  for  the  first  time,  fell 
upon  her — that  this  unknown  being, 
never  heard  of  by  her  before,  was, 
in  fact,  actually  claiming  her  for  his 
child — doubtless  some  distracted  man, 
she  thought,  catching  at  any  rumour 
or  chance  likeness  in  his  fancy,  with- 
out regard  to  ordinary  feeling.  All 
that  had  settled  down  in  her  memory 
rose  up  against  it,  she  said  ;  there  was 
nothing  in  her  mind  but  an  unspeak- 
able dread  and  horror.  Yet  she  col- 
lected herself  with  an  effort,  and, 
shrinking  from  his  hand,  made  some 
answer  of  an  ordinary  kind,  she  did 
not  remember  what.  But  never  would 
she  forget,  my  mother  said,  the  slow 
look  with  which  the  stranger's  eyes 
sank,  measuring  her  inch  by  inch,  as 
it  were,  from  head  to  foot,  and  flashed 
upon  her  face  again — the  large  fingers 
that  struck  next  moment  over  them, 
as  if  to  press  them  back  into  their 
sockets  —  the  smothered  groan  that 
broke  with  a  heave  from  that  broad 
breast.  When  he  looked  out  again, 
his  features  stood  as  at  his  first  corn- 
ing, and  he  spoke,  with  a  bow,  of 
some  mistake,  and  of  seeking  no  fur- 
ther ;  but  as  for  her,  an  awful  feeling 
swelled  up  within  her — she  would 
have  given  her  very  life  to  speak,  and 
knew  not  what.  She  seemed  but  to 
hear,  for  minutes  upon  minutes,  his 
last  word,  "Madam,"  mingled  with 
the  rolling  of  the  wheels  into  the  heart 
of  London  far  off;  until  my  father's 
voice  was  heard  in  the  lobby,  when 
she  ran  to  him,  and  swooned  away  in 
his  arms. 

"  Then,"  exclaimed  I  eagerly,  when 
my  mother  stopped  at  that  point — 
"  then  he  came  back  next  day !  You 
sent  to  him?"  "  No,"  she  said,  her 
face  turned  away  from  me,  "  he  did 
not  come  back — we  did  not  know 
where  to  send.  When  your  father 
heard  what  I  had  to  tell,  he  was  so 
evidently  moved  that  it  was  useless 
to  attempt  concealing  from  me  what 
he  had  been  informed  of  by  my  late 
kind  guardian.  The  name  of  Sir 
Richard  Herbert  he  soon  discovered 


1S51.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


55 


in  a  list  of  other  captains  in  the  navy ; 
he  is  now,  I  have  heard,  an  admiral 
abroad.  But,  after  all,  your  father 
said  the  supposition  started  by  him 
was  improbable ;  it  was  even  out  of 
the  power  of  either  of  us  now  to  bring 
proofs.  On  the  one  hand,  it  would 
be  unjust,  he  said,  to  accept  any  right 
to  the  fortune  of  a  man  on  such 
slender  grounds ;  on  the  other,  could 
there  be  any  question  of  affection  in 
the  case  worth  thinking  of,  between 
those  who  never  were  together — to- 
wards one  continually  at  sea  ?  Your 
father  held  my  hand  while  he  said, 
that  even  were  it  really  all  true,  Pro- 
vidence had  designed  the  separation, 
to  give  me  fonder  friends,  and  quiet- 
ness of  life ;  so  it  was  better  to  let  it 
rest  thus.  Indeed,"  said  my  mother, 
glancing  full  at  me,  "you  were  bora 
very  soon  afterwards,  Robert." 

"  Mother,  mother !"  said  I,  looking 
up  boldly,  "it  was  my  grandfather  !" 

She  made  no  answer.  "  You  said 
I  was  to  decide  for  myself,"  continued 
I,  the  whole  evening's  matter  gather- 
ing to  a  head,  as  it  seemed,  in  that 
one  point.  "  Well,  I  can  easy  enough 
choose — I'm  ready  to  do  it  at  once ! " 

"  No,  no,"  said  she  hastily,  "  take 
a  week — a  month!  There  must  be 
no  changing  afterwards,  remember ! " 
Heaven  knows  she  said  that  last  by 
way  of  sternness,  doctor — a  deep  wile, 
a  sort  of  desperate  threat,  that  melts 
my  heart  to  think  of! 

"  If  I  were  to  wait  twenty  years," 
persisted  I,  "it  wouldn't  make  a  bit 
of  difference.  I  want  to  go  to  sea ! " 

My  mother  did  not  move,  she  did 
not  raise  her  hand,  she  did  not  show 
sign  of  anger  or  surprise ;  she  only 
looked  at  me  as  I  had  never  seen  her 
look  before,  and  never  saw  woman 
look  since :  'twas  as  if  the  very  light 
in  the  midst  of  her  two  eyes  froze, 
and  spread  till  her  lips  were  pale,  and 
could  not  close.  She  seemed  not  to 
know  me  as  she  stood  upright,  eyeing 
me  from  aside;  her  voice  sounded 
strangely  cold  and  altered  when  she 
said — "  Well."  Something  pierced 
my  heart  like  ice  as  she  turned  her 
back  on  me,  and  I  still  waited  with  my 
hands  in  my  pockets,  wondering  what 
she  could  be  thinking  of  so  long  without 
stirring.  She  shivered,  drew  her  shawl 
up  about  her  shoulders,  and  looked 
round  vacantly  towards  the  door, 


when  my  being  still  there  appeared  to 
astonish  her.  "  I  think  I  told  you  I 
wished  to  be  alone,"  said  she  delibe- 
rately; "what  do  you  want?  You 
may  go."  Every  word  dropped  singly 
from  her  lips ;  there  was  that  in  her 
manner  which  I  dared  not  disobey, 
even  had  her  eye  not  driven  me,  as  it 
were,  at  each  step  where  I  hesitated, 
and  watched  me  out. 

It  was  near  midnight,  the  house 
quiet,  and  I  was  slinking  up-stairs  to 
bed  like  a  guilty  thing,  but  sullenly — 
when  a  sound  came  up  to  me  through 
the  empty  passage,  out  of  the  room. 
My  breath  stopped — I  held  by  the 
banisters  and"  listened — again  and 
again,  distincter  and  distincter,  sob 
after  sob  bursting  from  her  where  she 
was.  My  whole  soul  seemed  to  turn 
in  me — I  knew  nothing,  nothing,  but 
that,  crying  as  if  my  heart  would 
break,  and  clasping  her  very  dress 
between  my  hands,  I  was  next  mo- 
ment in  my  mother's  arms.  Never, 
never,  I  vowed  and  repeated,  would 
I  offend  her  more ;  I  would  be  humble 
and  obedient.  Whatever  course  she 
and  my  father  chose  for  me,  I  would 
follow,  even  to  turning  merchant,  or 
going  away  to  school,  or  preparing  for 
the  church  ;  and  as  for  the  sea,  I  had 
no  wish  for  it — in  fact,  I  would  hate 
it  henceforth.  My  mother  said  no- 
thing ;  she  merely  pressed  me  to  her, 
and  soothed  me  while  she  grew  com- 
posed herself.  There  was  a  sadness 
in  her  face  which  not  even  her  full 
belief  in  my  assurances  could  remove  : 
it  was  there  when  she  bade  me  good- 
night so  tenderly,  and  it  was  there 
when  she  came  down  next  morning. 
While,  for  my  part,  I  actually  longed 
to  commence  doing  something  of  the 
kind  they  wished  for  me — and  from 
that  day,  in  fact,  I  may  say,  turned 
over  a  new  leaf  at  home.  I  have  no 
doubt  she  had  a  weight  on  her  mind 
not  seen  into  by  living  soul. 

It  was  this,  doctor ! — 

The  issue  of  all  that  striving  and 
thinking,  of  course,  every  one  may 
know  who  sees  me  as  I  sit  here.  Any 
one  might  tell  it  beforehand,  that  has 
known  his  very  heart  bound  in  him, 
when  he  was  a  boy,  for  the  first  time,  at 
the  sight  of  actual  craft  in  the  small- 
est port,  the  tide  making  a  noise  about 
their  black  bottoms,  their  white  yards 
across  the  high  spars  aloft,  the  ropes 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


[July, 


and  lines,  the  anchors  and  the  song 
of  the  men — where  the  blue  light  came 
keen  through  the  street  that  wasn't 
closed  by  rigging,  and  the  white  air 
hung  wide  all  about  the  town— the 
smell  of  tar  close  by,  and  seaweed  in 
the  wind — the  network  climbing  hither 
and  thither  out  of  the  confusion, 
across  the  hanging  canvass,  and  above 
the  housetops,  clear  against  the  sky ; 
some  one  of  'em  hauling  through  the 
mess,  amidst  a  Babel  of  noises,  till 
she  slips  clear  and  sets  a  jib  and  top- 
sail to  the  breeze,  while  far  out  in  the 
roads  is  a  noble  frigate  turning  slowly 
at  her  single  anchor.  Trust  me,  doc- 
tor, certain  souls  at  the  first  sight  of  it 
swear  by  rope  and  stick,  by  mast  and 
keel,  from  the  rudder  to  the  bowsprit, 
without  knowing  the  names  of  'em — 
ay,  the  mere  green  rust  about  her 
water-line,  the  red  stains  where  she 
pins  her  finery  down  upon  her  belt, 
some  slovenly  tag- end  of  a  lace  from 
her  breast,  or  a  tassel  of  a  swab  drip- 
ping alongside — they  each  and  all 
look  like  the  finding  out  of  a  thing 
one  oughtn't  to  have  been  kept  in  the 
•dark  about.  Down  goes  your  child- 
hood into  the  hold  like  ballast,  with 
your  school-learning  on  top  of  it,  as 
so  much  cargo  you've  got  nothing  to 
do  with  all  your  lifelong  afterwards, 
but  to  hand  it  out  to  the  stevedores 
in  some  other  world,  just  as  it  was 
put  in.  From  that  moment  up  you're 
a  man.  What  care  you  for  soft  fan- 
cies, fine  thoughts,  or  good  bargains ! 
What  you've  got  to  do  is  to  take  hold 
below  and  hold  aloft,  play  your  part 
like  a  man  all  the  while,  and  never 
see  the  man's  duty  afloat  which 
you're  not  able  for.  If  there  are  fine 
sights  in  the  world,  you're  to  see  'em, 
as  'twere,  by  chance— because  it  lets 
a  man  down  to  be  gaping  and  staring 
-at  things,  like  a  boy  before  a  shop- 
window.  If  there's  a  deep  feeling  in 
the  mind,  'tis  to  be  felt  when  none 
can  possibly  say  it  was  so,  when  the 
anchors  are  in  and  the  lumber  cleared 
away,  in  the  dead  of  night  when  you 
look  sleepily  over  the  side,  as  the 
broad  sea- swell  rises  with  a  glimmer- 
ing wash  under  your  face,  and  goes 
astern  like  a  ghost  into  the  dark  hol- 
low behind  the  rudder,  that  never  was 
.before  nor  will  be  again.  If  you 
sleep,  'tis  to  be  by  snatches ;  if  you 
enjoy  yourself,  'twill  be  as  if  you 


didn't,  with  your  discontented  face  at 
home  where  everybody  looks  happy, 
and  your  drunk  one  abroad  where 
everybody  is  grave ;  and  to  the  end 
of  the  chapter  you'll  be  best  known 
by  what  you're  least  like,  most  friend- 
ly to  fellows  you  haven't  seen  a  day 
before,  who'll  shake  hands  with  you 
for  ever  when  you  get  into  port ;  you'll 
be  a  better  man  during  five  minutes' 
danger  afloat  than  throughout  five 
week's  comfort  ashore  ;  and  you  that 
didn't  deny  yourself  the  least  whim 
for  the  sake  of  those  yon  love  best  in 
the  world,  will  give  your  last  guinea 
to  a  beggar,  or  share  your  drop  of 
water  in  an  open  boat  in  the  tropics 
with  a  man  you'd  knock  on  the  head 
next  day; — for  why,  the  notion  of 
manhood  has  got  hold  of  you  ere 
you've  left  off  being  a  boy,  when  you 
swore  to  take  the  sea  for  better  or 
worse — and  by  Jove !  sir,  in  trying  to 
get  rid  of  the  one,  you're  rather  apt 
to  keep  overacting  the  part  of  the 
other ! 

My  appointment  in  the  service 
had  been  obtained,  to  the  Pallas 
frigate ;  'twas  war  time,  and  the 
spirit  of  all  Britain  had  risen  each 
year  higher,  each  port  busier  and 
noisier  than  another — for  both  in  war 
and  commerce  she  had  possession  of 
the  sea.  The  very  sight  of  it  glitter- 
ing at  a  distance  stirred  up  patriotism, 
and  the  commonest  merchant  fore- 
uiast-mau  was  looked  upon  as  a  hero  : 
to  get  into  the  navy  at  all  was  like 
having  a  miracle  worked  in  your 
favour,  seeing  that  through  the  whole 
British  fleets  there  seemed  to  be  only 
one  midshipman  wanted,  and  you 
happened  to  be  he.  You  may  fancy 
with  what  feelings  I  went  up-stairs 
and  down-stairs,  out  of  one  room  into 
another,  from  the  lobby  to  the  street, 
and  back  again,  till  my  clothes  came, 
and  my  traps  were  being  stuffed 
together,  amongst  all  sorts  of  super- 
fluities which  I  never  saw  till  I  was 
kindly  favoured  with  a  small  share  of 
'em  in  the  steerage-berth  of  the  Pallas. 
My  father  and  mother  showed  no 
signs  of  unwillingness  :  for  her  part, 
she  even  appeared  restless  and  un- 
easy till  all  was  ready,  and  the  last 
night  come.  When  my  father  went 
up  to  bed,  she  sat  alone  with  me  hour 
after  hour,  indeed,  giving  me  many 
earnest  advices  and  tender  entreaties — 


1851.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


talking  as  only  a  mother  can  talk  to 
an  only  son  going  to  sea,  but  always 
calm.  I  was  to  get  up  at  daybreak, 
which  was  not  very  far  oft',  when  we 
separated ;  so  I  did  not  wonder  that 
I  breakfasted  alone,  and  was  even 
hastening  straight  out  of  the  room  to 
the  chaise,  that  was  already  at  the 
street  door,  when  at  the  very  last 
she  came  down-stairs.  'Twas  but  a 
moment,  though  to  this  day  I  know 
not  how  I  could  have  gone  through 
that  door,  unless  she  herself  pushed 
me  forth  in  my  bewilderment— for  the 
convulsive  clasp  with  which  she 
strained  me  to  her,  the  kisses 
showered  upon  my  face,  the  tears  that 
dropped  on  it,  the  burst  of  utter 
agony  to  which  she  gave  way  in  an 
instant — they  sometimes  seem  to 
cover  me  and  touch  me  yet,  like  a 
power  from  the  other  world. 

'Twas  not  for  years  after  that  I 
learned  from  my  mother  her  firm 
belief  that  the  stranger  she  had  seen 
before  my  birth  must  actually  have 
been  her  own  father.  "  Your  unac- 
countable choice,  Robert,"  s^d  she, 
earnestly,  "  proves  it  to  me— so  does 
your  fondness  for  this  wild,  this  home- 
less and  dangerous  life — which  no- 
thing checks,  which  no  enjoyment  here 
seems  to  allure  you  from — which, 
indeed,  appears  to  be  without  an 
object  that  I  can  divine!"  "  But — 
but,"  she  added,  in  a  manner  pecu- 
liarly solemn,  "  there  is  more  than 
this.  At  that  moment,  Robert,  when 
lie  stopped — when  he  heard  my  cold 
answer — when  he  eyed  me  over  so 
reproachfully,  so  indignantly,  as  it 
were — I. saw  that  the  belief  in  his 
mind  had  in  some  way  become  con- 
viction. Oh,  my  dearest — dearest 
boy,"  she  said,  grasping  my  hand, 
and  drawing  me  nearer  to  her,  u  I 
have  a  sinful  truth  to  confess  to  my 
own  child— for,  at  that  moment,  as 
he  turned  away,  a  strange  unspeak- 
able feeling  sprang  up  instinctively 
in  my  mind  too.  I  persuaded  myself 
it  was  fear,  that  I  was  nervously 
foolish — that  he  was  insane.  Yet  oh 
how  deceitful  is  the  natural  heart! 
It  was — it  must  have  been,  Robert — 
some  response  in  myself  to  his 
appeal — my  part  of  that  divine  link 
•which  God  has  implanted  in  the 
breasts  of  parent  and  child — the 
solemn  consciousness  of  my  being 


57 

his  lost  daughter!  I  trembled  to 
think  that  if  I  should  have  a  son — 
to  hear  such  tales — to  see  the  wild 
delight  which  evidently  mingled  with 
all  that  sense  of  misfortune — in  short, 
to  be  continually  near  the  strange  in- 
fluence which  even  /  felt,  in  spite  of 
myself,  about  that  man — he  would  be 
lured  away,  and  I  should  lose  him  ! 
I  did  not  speak — I  did  not  move — 
and  he  departed !  Oh,  what  an 
awful  sin  was  this  ! "  she  continued, 
weeping  as  she  spoke,  and  hid  her 
face  with  her  hand.  "  To  what  did 
I  doom  my  own  parent ! — to  go  back 
to  that  fierce  element  once  more, 
whose  worst  affliction  is— even  its — 
that  it  separates  the  parent  from 
the  child,  and  estranges  them,  till, 
if  they  but  happened  to  be  kept  a 
little  longer  apart,  they  would  not 
know  one  another ! 

"  See,"  she  ran  on,  while  I  knew 
not  what  to  say — "  see,  Robert,  how 
the  Lord  works  punishment  to  sin ! 
For,  since  I  could  not  listen  to  other 
proof,  the  very  circumstance  which 
convinces  me,  without  any  refuge — 
which  brings  my  unnatural  feeling 
once  more  home  to  me,  Robert — 
becomes  the  penalty.  On  the  con- 
trary," she  added,  thoughtfully,  "had 
he  found  what  he  desired,  then  he 
might  have  been  at  rest — his  latter 
days  might  have  been  peaceful — his 
experience  would  perhaps  have  had 
the  effect  for  which  my  anxiety  mis- 
took the  way.  Yet  the  thought  has 
given  me  strength  to  control  myself — 
it  has  even  been  a  satisfaction,  when 
the  wind  was  loud  at  night,  to  think 
that  you  now  shared  the  same  dangers 
with  your  grandfather ! " 

And  God  knows,  sir,  she  would 
have  covered  the  whole  broad  ocean 
over  with  a  cloak,  if  she  could,  that 
ships  might  sail — heaven  save  the 
mark!— in  a  perpetual  calm.  To 
the  last  she  retained  that  belief — of 
Admiral  Sir  Richard  Herbert's  being 
my  grandfather — and  it  has  puzzled 
me  to  the  present  hour  to  know  the 
truth.  There  were  no  proofs  that 
ever  reached  me  which  might  not 
have  been  as  easily  turned  the  other 
way,  even  to  one  acquainted  with 
the  story.  Not  only  so — my  mother 
never  lost  the  idea  that  she  herself 
had  actually,  as  she  said,  resisted 
the  movement  of  her  own  mind 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


58 

towards  her  father,  and  deceived  her 
conscience,  at  the  time  described, 
through  selfish  love  for  her  child :  no 
more  than  she  could  be  persuaded 
that  the  sea  was  not  a  region  con- 
tinually full  of  the  most  frightful 
dangers — or  would  leave  off  reproach- 
ing herself  for  having  spoiled  me. 
But  bless  her — bless  her  ! — 'tis  easy 
now  to  see  that  it  was  pure  inno- 
cence got  up  this  accusation  of  itself, 
from  sheer  want,  as  it  were,  of  real 
blame !  When  she  couldn't  help 
imagining  some  cause  for  what  she 
couldn't  understand,  she  mixed  up 
later  feelings,  no  doubt,  with  her 
remembrance  of  former  ones,  till  she 
actually  fancied,  in  her  excitement, 
that  she  had  refrained  from  owning 
her  parent,  for  fear  he  might  make 
a  sailor  of  her  son.  'Twas  as  a  man 
sees  his  own  shadow  upon  the  grass 
when  he  turns  back ! 

Nevertheless,  doctor,  the  incident 
was  a  singular  one — eh  ? 

SURGEON  (bestirring  himself,  and 
looking  up,  as  from  a  not  unpleasant 
reverie.)  — Certainly,  sir.  Then,  did 
you  never  yourself  meet  with  this 
supposed  grandfather  of  yours  ? 

LIEUT. — Personally,  never  ;  but, 
so  far  as  falling  in  with  the  squadron 
which  a  man  commands,  seeing  the 
signals  of  his  flag-skip,  and  coming 
under  their  authority,  may  be  called 
meeting  with  him,  I  did — and  that 
three  times,  on  three  several  occa- 
sions. The  strange  coincidence  was, 
too,  that,  on  each  of  these  occasions, 
it  was  the  cause  of  one  of  my  "  mis- 
fortunes," as  I  may  entitle  them ; 
that  is  to  say,  our  ship  happened  in 
this  manner  to  be  kept,  put,  or  sent 
out  of  the  way  of  active  service 
afloat.  And  no  sooner  did  I  get 
clear  of  him,  by  his  finally  going 
home,  than  things  seemed  to  bid  fair 
for  a  change  to  my  advantage ;  but 
then  came  the — the  long  peace !  By 
George!  I  often  saw  cause  to  wish 
I  had  been  known  as  an  admiral's 
grandson ;  if  my  mother  really  made 
a  mistake,  it  was,  according  to  my 
notions,  a  most  fatal  one  for  me.  I 
heard  often  about  Admiral  Herbert, 
and  a  most  eccentric  being,  by  all 
accounts,  he  must  latterly  have  been ; 
yet  that  was  nothing  to  the  incidents 
of  his  earlier  life,  which  my  peculiar 
interest  in  him  enabled  me  to  collect 


[July, 


from  various  quarters.  Some  time 
ago,  my  mind  running  on  the  old 
French  war,  I  threw  them  altogether 
into  a  sort  of  connected  shape ;  for 
it  struck  me  they  might  not  only 
have  served,  in  the  hands  of  one  of 
your  sea  novelists,  for  a  romantic 
story,  but  throw  light  on  the  much- 
vexed  question  of  Rodney's  tactics 
at  the  end  of  that  war. 

But,  good  God !  what  a  thing  is 
memory !  With  a  single  thought 
you  all  at  once  plough  it  up  about 
you,  like  light  out  of  the  black 
Atlantic  at  night,  suddenly  showing 
you  are  in  the  Gulf  Stream.  That 
old  brick  house  stands  in  the  City 
Road  yet ;  some  German  optician 
has  turned  the  lower  part  into  a 
s%op,  and  a  huge  pair  of  spectacles 
sticks  out  from  a  window  above,  that 
belonged  to  their  bedroom  :  the  first 
time  I  passed  it,  I  could  scarce 
restrain  the  impulse  to  tear  the  thing 
down,  as  if  it  were  a  mockery.  But 
not  many  yards  along  is  Bunhill-fields 
bury  ing- ground  ;  and,  oh  !  doctor, 
to  go  there,  fresh  from  a  three  years' 
cruise,  looking  for  home — to  have 
to  go  there!  To  meet  that  stillness 
in  the  face — the  light,  the  heat,  upon 
the  grass,  upon  the  stones — was  it 
not  awful,  think  ye?  'Twas  hotr 
but  the  strong  man  trembled  like  a 
leaf— the  very  hush  shook  him  as  if  it 
had  been  a  'whirlwind.  Thousands 
of  graves  fallen  down  level,  and  in 
the  midst  of  the  calm,  one  long 
swelling  heap  at  my  feet — but  one — 
and  they  were  both  there;  for  she 
had  followed  him  during  these  three 
years.  One  year  more,  in  coming 
home  round  Cape  Horn,  and  touch- 
ing at  the  South  Sea  Isles,  as  our 
first  purpose  was — that  green  mound 
would  have  been  sunk  like  the  rest, 
while  winds  blew  and  waters  swelled ! 
Heavenly  mercy!  and  I  almost 
amused  myself  of  night-watches  on 
our  way  back,  at  the  old  joke  of 
her  lying  awake  listening  as  the 
windows  shook,  when  the  wind 
howled  along  the  City  Road — how 
it  was  no  use  to  say  we  had  fine 
weather  in  their  winter,  and  day 
while  they  had  night;  for  when  it 
was  day  at  home,  she  would  now 
think  the  ship  was  in  the  dark — if 
it  were  very  calm  there,  'twas 
because  a  fearful  storm  raged  far  off ; 


1851.] 


.The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


and  as  they  gathered  happier  or 
merrier  than  ordinary  about  the  fire, 
she  would  sometimes  start  at  the 
fancy  of  some  dire  misfortune  befall- 
ing the  only  one  that  was  absent. 
But  does  a  man  think  they  never  die 
at  home!  Tongue  cannot  tell  the 
dreadful  calm,  the  heave  and  swell, 
the  storm  and  deadly  struggle  that 
the  soul  suffers  thus — when  the  deep 
conies  out  of  one's  own  heart  to  meet 
him  at  home,  and  he  knows  not  if 
it  be  a  moment,  or  his  whole  life,  he 
stands  gazing  on  one  spot  of  ground 
beneath  him ! 

Now  it  is  different.  When  I  have 
stood  there  since,  I  have  felt  myself 
near  where  a  great  victory  had  been 
gained,  although  1  were  in  the  midst 
of  the  battle.  It  shed  stillness  into 
my  soul  to  read  their  names :  they 
lay  almost  side  by  side  with  John 
Bunyan,  that  wrote  the  book  about 
journeying  from  the  world  to  heaven 
long  before,  and  Dr  Watts,  who 
made  hymns  we  used  to  repeat 
when  we  were  children.  The  blades 
of  grass  were  as  thick  one-where  as 
the  other:  you  saw  them  when  you 
bowed  your  head  down,  like  bloodless 
weapons  against  the  light  far  off, 
where  those  that  had  fought  the  good 
fight  stood  up  quietly  on  all  the  hills 
— the  small  flowers  blowing  joyous 
sounds,  as  it  were  ;  only  you  couldn't 
hear  them  for  the  distance,  and  the 
noise  of  your  own  life.  Oh,  what  a 
peace  is  there,  Doctor  Randolph !  The 
smoothest  lot  upon  earth  is  a  sea  to 
thai.  What  is  the  happiest  day  of 
our  existence,  in  comparison,  but  a 
struggle,  where  we  enjoy  nothing  but 
the  chance  snatches  of  success,  and 
the  excitement  of  it?  What  your 
friends  or  your  kindred,  in  the  mean 
time,  but  beings  all  striving  to  be  away 
from  each  other  to  their  own  course 
as  soon  as  they  can?  Politeness  is 
but  the  discipline  that  makes  mutiny 
bitterer,  when  we  lie  rotting  at  our 
anchors  in  a  truce ;  for  the  devil,  sir, 
finds  us  enemies  as  soon  as  we  begin 
to  think  the  Almighty  has  none. 

They  were  good  people,  more  de- 
vout than  common.  She  even  leant 
a  little  to  the  Methodists,  or  the 
Quakers,  or  something  of  that  kind  ; 
whom  he,  on  the  other  hand,  the  more 
orthodox  he  Avas,  the  more  thoroughly 
abhorred;  hating  their  doctrines,  he 


59 

used  to  say,  but  endeavouring — heaven 
save  the  mark! — to  love  the  men. 
But  if  ever  I  trust  for  any  share  in 
the  good  part  above,  'tis  because  of 
their  prayers  for  me,  truly  "cast  upon 
the  waters"  many  a  year.  That 
thought,  the  "resurrection  of  the  just," 
would  be  more  than  a  man  like  me 
could  fathom,  much  less  endure,  were 
it  not  for  the  certain  expectation  of 
seeing  two  saints  he  knows  among 
the  blest.  A  strange  thing  once  hap- 
pened to  me  at  sea.  Do  you  believe 
in  supernatural  appearances,  Doctor 
Randolph  ? — in  guardian  angels  ? 

SURGEON  (with  surprise.) — Why 
—of  course!  At  least  in  times  of 
antiquity  and  the  dark  ages,  people 
appear  firmly  to  have  believed  in 
such  things.  In  certain  recorded 
cases,  I  suppose,  sir,  there  seems 
some  difficulty  in  getting  rid  of  the 
idea,  even  as  an  outward  fact. 

LIEUT.— Rid  of  it,  sir  !  If  I 
could  have  got  rid  of  it  on  many 
occasions,  I  tell  you  I'd  have  blown 
out  my  brains  on  the  spot.  If  I 
didn't  believe  it  more  firmly  than 
ever,  I'd  feel  I  ought  to  go  and 
knock  my  head  against  the  first  stone, 
till  the  one  was  no  better  than  the 
other.  But  neither,  sir,  is  it  a  thing 
of  course ;  and  to  call  it  so  argues 
utter  ignorance  of  the  matter,  at  the 
very  least. 

SURGEON  (explanatorily.)  —  My 
own  conception  on  the  point,  sir,  is 
that  supernatural  occurrences  really 
took  place  in  these  dark  ages,  when 
probably  required ;  which  we  have 
no  experience  of,  in  fact,  from  their 
being  rendered  needless  by  civilisa- 
tion. 

LIEUT. —  On  the  contrary,  my 
good  fellow,  'tis  as  we  rise  from  the 
Hottentot  towards  an  Admiral  Lord 
Nelson,  giving  thanks  to  God  for  a 
great  victory,  that  we  find  the  best 
and  noblest  of  men  more  sensible  of 
their  need  for  such  aid.  And  what 
was  the  worst  hour  in  my  life  but  my 
dark  age,  in  which  I  needed  an  angel 
from  God,  or  a  ghost  from  the  grave, 
a  thousand  times  more  than  the 
apostle  Paul  could  do,  or  Saul,  king 
of  Israel.  It  was  the  year  1824,  the 
mouth  of  August — I  remember  that 
night  and  next  day  well,  as  I  have 
reason.  It  was  a  ninety-gun  ship, 
of  which  I  was  fifth  lieutenant  only, 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


[July, 


after  all  my  waiting  and  toiling,  my 
anxiety,  high  hopes,  and  tantalising 
prospects  of  fame  and  glory.  Still  a 
profound  peace,  no  signs  of  any 
change.  We  were  then  in  the  weariest 
stretch  of  that  weary  ocean,  the 
Pacific ;  day  after  day  a  glittering 
swell,  a  breathing  trade-wind,  that 
used  the  line-of-battle  ship  generally 
as  a  lady's  fan  might  use  a  castle, 
while  we  were  on  our  way  all  the 
time  to — what  think  you? — to  re- 
lieve the  admiral  then  commanding 
the  China  station,  in  lying  at  anchor 
off  Macao !  I  need  not  mention  the 
chip's  name,  but  she  had  a  rear- 
admiral's  flag  at  her  topgallant-mast- 
head ;  and  it  was  considered  a  great 
thing  to  be  even  a  loblolly  boy  in  the 
flag-ship.  Nevertheless,  to  me  it 
was  no  advantage  as  yet,  rather  a 
curse,  seeing  that  at  that  time  I  had 
an  enemy  on  board.  He  was  above 
me,  though  a  younger  man  ;  and  for 
what  reasons  of  his  own  he  bore  me 
a  grudge  heaven  knows,  unless  I 
may  have  been  the  better  seaman  of 
the  two — which  I  can  believe,  for  it 
was  no  hard  matter.  At  any  rate  he 
did  so,  and  had  influence,  on  family 
grounds,  with  the  highest  quarter  on 
board  ;  so  that,  if  ever  an  eye  fell  on 
me  from  the  poop,  or  weather-side  of 
the  quarter-deck,  at  all,  it  was  with 
no  prejudice  in  my  favour. 

That  hot  night  came,  wearier  than 
€ver;  the  ninety-gun  ship  slipped 
through  the  water  in  the  sudden  dark, 
and  floated  upward  with  the  wide 
slow  swell,  as  if  blindness  had  just 
i)een  added  to  want  of  breath.  There 
was  scarce  a  ripple  or  a  wash  heard 
at  that  height,  when  the  watch  was 
set ;  and  as  many  men  besides  were 
piped  down  with  the  hammocks  as 
sleep  in  most  small  towns.  As  I 
dragged  out  my  own  watch  alone, 
where  I  had  charge  on  the  forecastle, 
nothing  to  do,  and  none  I  cared  to 
speak  with,  a  dreary  bitterness  came 
on  me— my  heart  for  the  first  time 
seemed  to  sink.  I  remembered  all 
my  ill-success.  Here  was  I  thirty, 
and  had  not  even  care  of  the  decks  at 
night — every  prospect  shut  out,  as  it 
appeared — when  I  had  all  but  missed 
being  a  midshipman  with  whiskers, 
or  an  overgrown  master's  mate :  the 
best  I  might  look  for,  t.o  command 
some  revenue-cutter,  when  my  head 


was  grey,  and  turn  sot,  with  shabbi- 
ness  and  contempt  at  the  end.  My 
desperation  reached  its  lowest,  till,  in 
the  utter  hopelessness,  the  stifling  heat, 
and  listlessness  in  and  about  me,  I 
made  an  awful  purpose.  Ay,  though 
no  vow  to  God  passed  my  lips,  the 
fixed  resolve  I  took  was  equal  to  an 
oath ;  by  myself,  and  all  that  was 
proud  in  me.  It  seems  to  me  now, 
doctor,  I  didn't  at  that  moment  be- 
lieve in  God,  if,  in  fact,  my  belief  in 
Him  before  was  different  from  a  thing 
learned  by  rote.  Was  it  /,  I  thought, 
that  twenty  years  before  left  love 
behind  me  to  go  and  be  a  great  hero, 
who  was  now  to  rust  and  rot  on  the 
very  moving  ocean,  to  truckle  and 
crouch  before  men  and  the  servants 
of  men,  if  I  would  rise  at  all  ?  No  ! 
I  looked  over,  and  saw  the  dark  swell 
come  up  softly  along  the  bows,  and  a 
light  foam  sparkle  back  from  the  cut- 
water: it  wasn't  a  notion  of  the  sea 
now  that  woke  up  thoughts  in  me, 
nor  wild  adventures,  nor  grand  battles 
with  the  enemy,  nor  the  fame  of 
history,  but  what  was  beyond  the 
sea,  deep  down  and  fathomless,  quiet 
for  ever — where  if  one  had  been  no- 
thing, done  nothing,  gained  nothing, 
he  wouldn't  know  it  !  The  very 
thought  of  fame  I  laughed  at  fiercely 
to  myself,  and  laughed  yet  more 
fiercely  at  the  thought  of  scorn.  But 
not  in  my  own  watch  would  I  have 
it.  No  :  none  should  say  I  left  a 
duty  undone ;  none  should  so  much 
as  be  aware  how  it  happened,  for  I 
would  do  it  when  the  next  watch  was 
quietly  set.  It  wouldn't  be  guessed 
at  till  the  morning,  and  then  it 
would  be  thought  he  had  slipped 
overboard  by  some  accident. 

Not  even  when  the  light  air  blew 
cooler,  and  the  sky  had  risen  out 
hollow  above  our  lofty  spread  of 
canvass,  did  this  purpose  falter. 
'Twas  wider,  the  air  aloft  that  night, 
than  usual,  even  in  the  clear  southern 
tropics  of  the  Pacific — lapping  over 
the  dusk  that  still  floated,  as  it  had 
been  a  crystal  bowl,  until  it  was  free 
on  every  side  ;  the  stars  swam  out 
like  drops  of  light  that  gathered  to 
each  other ;  the  planet  Jupiter  burned 
opposite  like  a  lamp,  with  rays  about 
it ;  and  the  Southern  Cross  hung  like 
diamonds  in  the  darkest  part  of  the 
horizon,  where  it  looked  blue  through 


1851.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


61 


an  open  port  by  the  stanchions  of  the 
poop-ladder.  The  whole  space  over- 
head, in  fact,  glittered  with  them, 
hanging  as  it  were  in  emptiness  ;  the 
smooth,  large,  noiseless  motions  of 
the  sea  below  were  to  me  like  when  a 
strong  hand  is  lifted  oif  something 
that  has  striven  to  rise,  and  we  were 
mounting  with  it ;  the  stars  were  seen 
so  plainly,  the  dull-blue  breasts  of  the 
swell  came  up  with  such  a  sweep  of 
their  images,  all  blurring  and  blending 
away  into  a  streak,  till  they  fell  down 
quenched  into  the  black  hollow.  Yet 
there  was  no  breath  and  no  life — less 
and  less  every  time  I  turned,  for  the 
sails  had  lost  all  air,  wrinkled  and 
flabby  as  they  clung  to  her  huge  joints 
and  bones,  with  every  sinew  strained 
to  reach  some  point  where  it  seemed 
to  have  to  climb,  and  cross,  and  climb 
again — one  eternal  weary  maze  get- 
ting up  to  the  bare  poles  for  no  end. 
When  a  grown  man  sees  the  stars 
over  his  head  at  sea,  and  feels  himself 
moving  before  a  breeze,  he  thinks,  no 
doubt,  of  the  dead ;  and  I  could  not 
but  think  of  them  then,  but  not  like 
one  on  his  own  way.  No  :  the  more 
transparent  all  of  it  glowed  between 
the  wide  soft  shadows  she  hung  out 
against  it,  and  the  farther  one  seemed 
to  look  beyond,  the  less  could  I  bear 
to  think  of  them  :  they  were  dead — 
dead — that  was  all.  Nothing  could 
reach  them — nothing  could  pay  that 
mother,  that  father,  for  the  love  they 
bore  me,  who  had  never  measured  it 
till  now — I  could  think  of  them  but  as 
they  used  to  be  when  they  lived  ;  and 
if  such  a  thing  as  a  heaven  existed 
for  good  spirits,  what  would  be  the 
blessing  of  it  if  a  thought  entered  it 
of  me — where  all  was  knowledge? 
They  must  have  seen  how  little  I  had 
deserved  it  all ;  and  if  they  had,  God 
only  grant  they  had  long  since  for- 
gotten both  that  and  me !  For  home, 
I  had  nothing  of  the  kind  ;  the  very 
house  had  been  given  up,  and  there 
were  strangers  living  in  it ;  both  my 
sisters  married,  with  matters  of  their 
own  to  occupy  them ;  there  wasn't  a 
living  soul  who,  at  that  moment  or 
any  other,  would  be  troubling  their 
head  about  me — who  weren't,  in  fact, 
laughing,  talking,  eating,  or  enjoying 
themselves  ;  and  who,  when  the  news 
of  anything  having  happened  to  me 
arrived,  wouldn't  content  themselves 


with  the  thought  that  it  took  place  a 
good  while  ago,  and  perhaps  have  a 
quiet  discussion  at  bedtime  about 
making  no  show  of  crape.  If  any 
one  hasn't  known  such  an  hour  in 
his  life,  all  I  say  is,  he's  a  lucky 
man,  sir.  What  cared  I  for  the  stars 
above  me? — what  was  it  to  me  that 
they  were  as  different  from  what  I 
used  to  see  every  night  out  of  my  bed- 
room window  as  Juggernaut  Pagoda 
is  from  St  Paul's  Cathedral — shining 
so  large,  and  showing,  at  a  glance, 
that  the  round  world  was  between 
us  and  home,  as  one  looked  out  to  the 
other  side — the  very  grandest  notion 
of  one's  boyhood?  Why,  one's 
thoughts  were  just  as  different  as  they 
were — there 'was  nothing  now  for  the 
world  to  come  in  between.  But  here 
I  stood:  faces  came  back  on  one,  he 
didn't  know  how  or  why,  out  of  doors 
or  going  round  the  corner  of  a  street, 
as  distinct  as  possible,  with  a  wild 
recollection  how  lovely  he  thought 
them  at  the  time.  But  all  the  while 
there  was  one  thing  I  kept  steadily  in 
mind,  as  settled  at  the  bottom  of  my 
soul  as  the  anchor  when  a  ship  is 
pitching  above  it :  in  a  single  second, 
with  one  spring,  I  would  lose  sight  of 
everything — within  me  and  without 
me :  be  they  stars  overhead  or  thoughts 
under,  they  would  flash  away  for  ever. 
I  believed  it  as  firmly  as  I  was  sure 
of  my  existence.  My  own  will  would 
do  it — I  would  wash  them  all  out 
together,  as  it  were.  'Twas  rather  like 
dying  in  the  very  moment  of  victory, 
than  being  overcome ;  and  in  the 
height  of  my  feverish  excitement,  I 
seemed  to  grind  the  whole  world  in 
my  hand  as  a  hateful  thing — only 
waiting  till  the  watch  were  called. 

Eight- bells  struck  as  the  sentry 
turned  his  sand-glass  ;  the  shrill  call 
brought  up  the  men  from  below,  the 
wheel  was  relieved,  and  I  bid  good- 
night to  my  messmates  who  took  my 
place.  I  walked  quickly  aft  to  the 
quarter-deck,  touching  my  cap  stiffly 
to  the  officer  before-mentioned,  who 
had  now  charge  of  the  ship  :  contrary 
to  his  wont,  he  returned  it  rather 
graciously,  and  made  a  remark  on  the 
weather  as  I  passed  him.  It  seemed 
to  me  as  if  he  did  it  in  sheer  self- 
complacence,  that  had  got  to  afford 
politeness  to  the  man  he  hated — I 
could  have  struck  him  to  the  deck 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


[July, 


before  me  ere  I  could  have  answered. 
If  aught  had  been  required  to  deter- 
mine me,  it  was  this ;  yet  till  his 
notice  was  turned  from  me,  or  some 
slight  occasion  occurred  to  draw  off  his 
attention,  it  was  impossible  for  me  to 
carry  out  what  he  was  the  last  man 
in  the  world  I  could  suffer  to  suspect. 
I  walked  to  the  openest  part  of  the 
bulwarks,  before  the  mizen- chains, 
put  my  foot  on  the  nearest  carronade- 
slide,  and  leant  over — looking  down 
the  side  for  the  best  way  a  man  could 
let  himself  suddenly  down,  so  as  to 
avoid  noise  or  splash.  I  was  still 
looking  over :  I  could  not  have  gone 
to  sleep,  hot  although  it  was,  and 
feverish  as  was  my  blood — for  I  saw 
the  three  tiers  of  open  port-lids,  one 
below  the  other,  and  it  struck  me  it 
was  better  to  go  down  on  the  main- 
deck  to  gain  my  object.  I  even  saw 
the  glassy  blue  of  the  slow  swells  all 
the  time,  and  it  may  have  been  no 
more  than  a  moment.  Who  knows  ? 
All  was  so  still,  that  between  each 
long  wash  gliding  to  her  bends,  one 
could  hear  the  sentries  turn  with  a 
slight  clatter — the  lieutenant  pacing 
fitfully  as  a  man  does  in  light  winds, 
and  a  few  of  the  men  speaking  in 
subdued  tones  forward  ;  then  they 
were  lost,  to  one  leaning  overboard, 
in  the  seething  volume  of  water.  All 
at  once,  then,  in  the  midst  of  this,  I 
heard  voices  outside,  as  if  some 
person  out  of  one  port  were  speaking 
to  some  one  at  another.  I  leant  down, 
listening — no,  they  were  not  there ; 
but  I  heard,  I  heard,  sir,  as  distinctly 
as  I  hear  myself  speak  now,  two 
separate  voices  far  apart  from  me, 
talking  to  each  other.  I  knew  not 
where — a' weight  was  on  my  eyes  that 
I  could  not  lift  them ;  'twas  some- 
where between  me  and  the  stars.  Ay, 
doctor,  they  were  talking  to  each 
other,  and  about  me — they  two.  I 
heard  them,  just  as  I  heard  them 
twenty  years  before,  when  they  sat  to- 
gether, looking  into  each  other's  faces, 
and  discussing  the  wild  announcement 
I  had  made  then,  when  they  reasoned 
about  it  aside  so  gravely.  I  knew 
they  were  sitting  together  now— their 
words  fell  on  my  ear  as  if  the  vast 
space  aloft  were  but  a  room,  where  I 
stood  with  my  eyes  sullenly  fixed  on 
the  floor,  hearing  them.  But  the 
strange  thing,  the  unspeakably  strange 


thing,  was,  that  what  they  were  say- 
ing was  quite  different — the  purpose 
that  had  never  passed  my  lips,  never 
been  in  my  mind  till  this  point,  never 
been  formed  in  words  even  to  myself 
—  it  was  that  they  spoke  of! — in 
accents  so  calm,  and  the  meaning  of 
all  they  said  was  so  unutterably  pure 
beyond  what  I  could  understand,  that 
for  worlds  I  could  not  have  dared  to 
look  up.  Yet,  as  I  am  a  living  man, 
doctor,  I  believed  at  that  moment,  I 
believe  now,  could  I  have  looked  up, 
I  should  have  seen  their  spirits.  Then 
far  far  off  overhead,  out  of  the  very 
uppermost  hollow  of  heaven,  as  it 
were,  it  seemed  to  me  some  one  was 
going  back  with  a  whisper  that  asked 
and  asked,  I  knew  not  what — till 
suddenly  all  was  still — I  heard  nothing 
but  the  swell  wash  to  our  counter  the 
next  moment,  with  a  start.  But,  oh 
God  !  close  by  me,  close  into  my  ear, 
from  over  the  bulwarks  at  my  side 
where  I  leant,  there  came  a  sound  as 
if  one  'had  bent  over  for  an  instant 
with  me — like  a  sigh,  like  my  own 
name  just  breathed — the  very  breath 
came  cold  upon  my  cheek.  I  turned 
round,  I  sprang  up  like  one  from  a 
trance,  I  raised  my  face,  and  saw  but 
a  dimness  rise  swiftly  up  against  the 
sails,  and  over  the  loftiest  yard 
through  the  clear  night,  softening  the 
stars  there  till  they  seemed  to  melt  as 
I  gazed.  I  could  not  see.  There  was 
something  fell  on  my  face  through  the 
utter  blindness  that  came  over  me — 
a  wet,  sudden  drop  !  Was  it  dew,  or 
rain,  or  a  tear  of  my  own  ?  At  the 
moment,  Doctor  Randolph,  that  was 
no  matter  of  question  with  me — I 
knew,  I  felt  it  was  from  no  eyes  of 
mine,  it  was  a  sign  dropped  from 
another  world.  For  it  was  not  till 
then  that  I  turned  away  again,  and 
wept  myself;  my  very  heart  was  a 
boy's  once  more,  to  know  they  could 
have  been  thinking  of  me  there ! 
Ay,  perhaps  ever  since  they  entered 
that  state — every  voyage,  in  every 
port,  day  and  night,  whatever  one 
did — never  showing  proof  until  now  ! 
And  after  that,  when  the  breeze  was 
beginning  to  come  broad  over  the 
Pacific,  bringing  up  clouds  out  of  the 
horizon,  I  went  down  to  my  berth, 
and  prayed  to  God. 

Well,  sir,  but  there  was  something 
further    to    come.      Next    morning 


1851.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


63 


watch,  when  we  relieved  the  deck,  we 
found  that  choking  weary  night,  with 
its  clear  stars,  hadn't  meant  little  : 
it  looked  angry,  and  was  blowing  in 
fits  from  all  points  of  the  compass, 
with  a  wild  irregular  sea,  doubtful 
which  way  to  run.  Just  at  daylight, 
the  ninety- gun  ship  was  suddenly 
taken  a  little  before  the  beam  by  a 
tremendous  hurricane  out  of  north- 
north-east,  that  beat  the  sea  flat  down 
before  it.  The  ship  heeled  over  to  her 
beam-ends,  the  surf  making  a  perfect 
breakwater  of  her  as  it  was  driven 
before  the  wind,  without  a  single 
swell  to  give  her  a  timely  heave. 
Port  after  port  was  forced  in;  the 
breechings  of  the  weather  guns  were 
yielding :  she  would  neither  pay  oif 
nor  part  of  her  own  accord  with  a 
mast.  It  was  an  awful  scene  for  a 
few  minutes,  as  the  old  white-haired 
admiral  clung  on  by  a  stanchion  above 
the  confusion,  blinded  with  the  spray, 
yet  unable  to  shift  his  place ;  and  all 
would  soon  have  been  over  with  His 
Majesty's  line- of-bat tie  ship,  had  not 
some  of  us  contrived  to  scramble  up, 
and  do  what  everybody  knew  after- 
wards should  have  been  done — cut 
away  the  weather  mizen- shrouds  and 
back-stays,  as  well  as  the  mast  itself. 
Officer  or  man,  there  was  little  differ- 
ence between  them,  when  the  true  char- 
acter is  brought  out.  Neither  would 
that  serve  her,  but  the  mainmast  had 
to  follow  ;  after  which  the  ship  payed 
off  suddenly  with  a  jerk,  righted, 
rolled  to  windward  on  the  first  swell 
that  came,  and  caught  the  whole 
strength  of  the  hurricane,  as  she  went 
off  before  it,  on  her  solitary  foremast. 
Next  minute  she  was  totally  dis- 
masted, save  the  bowsprit  and  her 
mainmast  stump,  on  which  we  got  up 
what  hammocks  and  such-like  odd 
canvass  as  we  could,  to  keep  her 
fairly  before  it.  As  the  sea  got  up, 
however,  she  was  quite  at  its  mercy  : 
so  deep  and  heavy  was  her  rolling, 
that  to  rig  jury-masts,  man  the 
pumps,  or  clear  away  the  wreck 
alongside,  was  impossible,  since  no 
one  could  keep  his  feet ;  while  the 
forecastle  every  now  and  then  took 
a  green  wave  over  either  bow,  which 
washed  everything  away  with  it.  The 
captain  had  two  or  three  times  pro- 
posed to  the  admiral  to  have  the  guns 
thrown  overboard  immediately,  as  the 


only  way  to  ease  the  ship:  I  was 
standing  on  the  quarter-deck  below, 
and  saw  the  old  man's  evident  reluc- 
tance ;  but  at  last  he  yielded.  The 
word  was  about  to  be  given,  when  a 
thing  came  back  to  my  mind  I  had 
never  thought  of  since  my  first  reefer- 
days,  seeing  it  was  only  connected 
with  the  story  of  my  supposed  grand- 
father, and  the  accounts  of  him  I  had 
picked  up  here  and  there  amongst  old 
sailors.  I  got  up  the  poop-stair,  took 
off  my  cap,  and  begged  respectfully  to 
be  allowed  to  mention  a  plan  for  eas- 
ing the  ship.  The  admiral,  no  doubt, 
saw  it  was  no  time  for  ceremony, 
though  he  stared  at  me;  but  every 
man  was  staggering  and  holding  on  to 
the  nearest  thing  left  about  the  bul- 
warks, so  he  told  me  to  speak  at  once ; 
and  no  sooner  had  heard  the  plan 
described,  than  he  said  eagerly  it 
should  be  tried.  By  his  request,  in- 
deed, the  captain  ordered  me  to  see  it 
done  myself— which  was  no  slight 
matter,  from  the  seas  that  broke  over 
the  forecastle.  However,  I  had  the 
rope  cable  of  the  best  bower-anchor  cut 
from  it  at  the  clinch,  and  payed  out 
overboard,  full  eighty  fathoms,  which 
was  scope  enough  to  make  the  drift  of 
the  cable  a  kind  of  breakwater  to  her 
bows,  at  the  same  time  that  it  steadied 
her  as  if  she'd  had  a  staysail  aloft : 
she  rode  easy  to  the  sea,  and  rose 
over  it  with  her  head  clear,  till  the 
wreck  was  freed,  jury-masts  rigged, 
and  the  pumps  set  a-going.  That 
night,  in  fact,  we  were  drifting  be- 
fore it  in  comparative  safety ;  and 
next  morning,  having  somewhat  like 
sticks  aloft,  we  hove  in  the  cable,  to 
steer,  as  well  as  might  be,  on  our 
course. 

It  still  blew  a  great  gale,  and  was, 
on  the  whole,  one  of  the  most  inve- 
terate storms  I  ever  knew,  even  in 
that  latitude.  It  had  been  worse,  we 
afterwards  found,  farther  west,  and 
God  only  knows  how  many  sail  of 
ships  went  down  with  their  crews  in 
that  hurricane.  On  the  third  day,  I 
think  it  was,  it  moderated ;  and  the 
men  were  busy  sending  up  more  spars 
for  a  wider  spread  of  canvass,  when, 
somewhat  to  my  surprise,  I  was  sent 
for  to  the  admiral's  cabin,  where  I 
found  him  pacing  the  deck  alone.  He 
turned  round  to  me  with  an  appear- 
ance of  some  emotion,  but  it  was  not 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


04 

that  which  struck  me  most :  I  had 
never  before  seen  him  face  to  face 
with  his  hat  off;  and  his  fine  vener- 
able features  had  something  in  them 
— a  sort  of  hovering  expression,  as  it 
were,  that  brought  to  my  mind  I 
scarce  knew  what,  but  it  was  start- 
ling. 

44  That  was  an  ingenious  expedient 
of  yours,  Mr  Curtis,"  said  he,  looking 
at  me — "  a  most  lucky  thought,  and 
shows  you  to  be  a  thorough  seaman, 
sir!" 

44  There  was  little  merit,  Sir  Hen- 
ry," I  said,  bowing,  "  in  the  mere 
carrying  it  out,  although  I  certainly 
had  never  seen  it  tried  before  !" 

44  Never  even  tried  before!"  ex- 
claimed the  admiral,  with  increased 
surprise;  "  then  your  credit  is  the 
greater,  sir!  I  confess,  myself,  that 
although  I  have  now  been  a  sailor 
from  very  early  life,  such  a  thing 
would  never  have  occurred  to  me — 
at  least  it  did  not.  Yon  have  saved 
my  guns,  Mr  Curtis,  there  is  no  doubt; 
but  not  only  so,  it  is  not  unlikely  that 
you  have  saved  His  Majesty's  ship 
and  men !  It  will  be  my  duty  to 
mention  you  with  praise  in  the  high- 
est quarter,  and — and — I  have  to 
add  " — here  the  admiral  turned  round, 
made  a  few  steps  from  me,  and  came 
back,  his  voice  trembling  a  little  as  he 
said — "Mr  Curtis,  lown  I  have  known 
too  little  of  you — I  have  even  done 
you  injustice.  Forgive  me,  sir!" 

Doctor,  one  little  minute  before, 
there  had  been  a  fiend  whispering  at 
my  heart — whispering  that  I  should 
hide  the  truth — but  he  was  gone  that 
instant.  My  own  throat  grew  husky 
— I  could  scarce  get  utterance. 

44  Sir  Henry!"  I  said  hastily,  "I 
am  as  much  surprised  as  yourself— 
believe  me,  on  my  honour,  Sir  Henry, 
when  I  say  that  had  I  dreamt  I  should 
be  thus  mistaken,  I  should  have  ven- 
tured to  interrupt  you  just  now  !  The 
occasions  are  so  few  on  which  a  plan 
of  the  kind  needs  to  be  resorted  to, 
that  I  supposed  it,  if  really  sufficient, 
a  well-known  idea  in  the  service  ! 
No,  Sir  Henry,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, it  was  derived  from  incidents 
in  the  life  of  a  singular  man  ;  I  believe 
I  first  heard  of  it  from  the  lips  of  a 
woman — of  my  own  mother!"  It 
might  have  caught  her  attention,  in 
fact,  doctor,  as  all  things  did  that 


[July, 


seemed  to  subdue  dangers  at 
from  oil  upon  the  waves  to  calms 
aloft— and  it  had  remained  in  my  me- 
mory ever  since,  though,  till  now,  I 
never  had  been  sure  how  it  worked. 

44  Strange  !  "  said  the  Admiral, 
4 'and  who  was  this?" 

"Rear-admiral  of  the  Blue,  Sir 
Richard  Herbert,  sir,"  I  replied. 

44  Good  God  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  he 
was  my  dearest  friend — my  earliest 
adventures  were  shared  with  him, 
elder  although  he  was,  and  better ! 
we  were  joined  together  by  many 
bonds,  Mr  Curtis — I  owed  all  to  him 
— my  life,  my  experience,  anything  I 
know  of  practical  seamanship ;  for 
even  while  in  obscurity,  even  while 
abhorring  the  sea,  and  avoiding  the 
navy  as  one  avoids  something  dread- 
ful, he  was  the  best  seaman  and  the 
bravest  man  I  ever  knew." 

"  Is  Sir  Richard,  then,  dead?"  I 
asked. 

44  No,"  was  the  answer,  u  he  lives 
— but  the  wreck  of  what  he  was.  He 
is  now  a  very  old  man,  though  hale 
and  strong  for  his  age,  —  but  his 
memory  is  entirely  gone,  so  far  as  his 
life  since  he  was  a  child  is  concerned. 
He  recollects  nothing  of  his  ever 
having  been  at  sea ;  he  knows  no  more 
about  the  sea,  and  has  no  more  of  it 
on  his  tongue,  than  the  youngest 
child  that  sails  a  paper  boat.  It  would 
be  dreadful,  Mr  Curtis,  did  not  a  peace- 
ful smile  sometimes  appear  to  spread 
over  his  features  as  he  sits  yonder  on 
the  lawn,  before  Herbert  Court.  The 
leaves  and  sunshine,  I  think,  make 
him  happy,  although  he  is  perfectly 
alone  in  the  house,  save  for  the  ser- 
vants—and it  has  seemed  to  make  no 
difference  when  my  own  family  have 
been  visiting  there." 

The  admiral  mused.  It  was  per- 
fectly awful  at  that  time  to  feel  the 
line-of-battle  ship  lurch  under  us, 
then  rolling  up  the  other  way  on  some 
mighty  wave — the  roar  of  the  wind 
sunk  to  one  dull  steady  groan  above 
us.  You  heard  her  creak  and  strain  to 
the  very  lashings  of  the  heavy  guns 
on  her  lower  deck  ;  then  the  full  howl 
of  the  tempest  burst  upon  her  as  she 
rose,  whistling  across  her  shelterless 
decks  in  a  way  to  keep  one  in  mind  of 
the  masts  being  gone,  even  had  her 
uneasy  behaviour  let  you  forget  it. 
Sir  Henry  clung  to  the  bulkhead  of 


1851.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


65 


the  inner  cabin  for  half  a  minute,  and 
the  same  thought  seemed  to  have 
struck  both  ;  for  as  soon  as  the  ship 
was  felt  making  her  long  plunge 
ahead,  he  looked  up  and  caught  my 
eye.  "This  is  so  extraordinary  a 
circumstance,  Lieutenant  Curtis,"  he 
said,  "  that  I  never  shall  forget  it — to 
suppose  that,  now  he  can  no  longer 
communicate  anything  to  me  on  such 
points  himself,  an  important  piece  of 
seamanship,  which  I  never  yet  heard 
him  mention,  should  thus  reach  me 
through  a  stranger  to  both.  In 
short,  sir,"  he  continued,  "  I  now  find 
the  safety  of  this  ship  at  this  moment, 
not  to  speak  of  your  life  and  mine, 
Mr  Curtis,  owing  to  no  other  than 
my  old  friend  !  Who  could  refuse  to 
believe  in  supernatural  coincidences  ! 
By  heaven !  I  could  almost  imagine 
his  former  spirit  was  with  me,  ever 
ready,  ever  skilful,  as  of  old  ;  or  that 
at  length  he  is  dead,  freed  from  the 
weight  of  years  and  infirmity,  and 
can  be  here,  in  the  midst  of  the  storm ! 
I  confess,"  said  the  admiral,  still 
steadying  himself  as  he  stood,  "it 
much  moves  me.  The  truth  is,  sir,  the 
country  itself  owes  a  debt  of  grati- 
tude to  Admiral  Herbert,  unknown 
although  he  was  at  the  time,  which 
my  own  knowledge  enables  me  to 
verify,  yet  on  which  the  seal  of  con- 
fidence rests  for — " 

"  Yes,  Sir  Henry,"  exclaimed  I, 
rashly,  "I  know  it— the  whole,  I  think; 
but  the  secret,  believe  me,  sir,  shall 
not  pass  my  lips." 

Sir  Henry  started,  being  almost 
hurled  to  leeward  as  he  let  go  his 
hold  ;  and  I  sprang  to  his  assistance. 
"  Why,  why,"  he  said,  observing  me 
intently,  "what  meant  this?  Sir 
Richard  was  of  all  men  the  most  in- 
communicative, even  to  his  nearest 
friends.  My  only  sister  he  loved,  to 
death  ;  yet  not  to  her,  or  me,  did  he 
breathe  a  word  of  what  I  mean ! 
Anything  I  know,  I  saw  myself." 

Every  incident  came  back  to  me  as 
it  was  fixed  in  my  mind,  and  I  knew 
him  while  he  spoke.  He  was  the  boy 
I  had  heard  of  so  long  before — the 
brave  boy  that  rowed  to  the  lonely 
island  alone,  through  the  dark  sea  at 
night,  to  save  his  captain  —  he  that 
took  my  fancy  more  than  even  that 
strange  captain  did,  or  she  the  cap- 
tain was  so  madly  fond  of.  But,  once 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXIX. 


for  all,  it  came  on  my  recollection  like 
a  mystery  never  to  be  solved,  the 
thought  of  that  old  man  sitting  by 
himself — everything  blotted  out  of  his 
brain :  what  could  be  asked  at  him, 
what  could  he  tell  ?  Admirals  both 
of  them,  the  blood  of  them  both  might 
run  in  me — but  would  the  sea  rise  in 
his  memory,  that  he  might  know  if  I 
was  his  grandson  or  not?  "Some 
remarkable  circumstance  must  have 
drawn  that  narrative  from  him," 
added  Sir  Henry,  earnestly,  "  to 
whomsoever  he  told  it !  " 

I  said  nothing,  but  he  seemed  to 
see  something  in  my  face.  "  Who — 
who,  fcfr God's  sake,  are  you?  "  cried 
he  loudly,  and  bending  forward. 

At  that  moment  the  fore-cabin  door 
was  swung  furiously  open  with  a 
sudden  lurch  of  the  ship,  and  the 
deafening  thunder  of  the  blast  broke 
upon  our  ears.  Never  in  my  life  did  I 
feel  anything  like  the  ghostly  sort  of 
horror  I  felt  that  instant,  sir — 'twas 
as  if  some  unearthly  being  had  flung 
it  wide  open  upon  us,  and  came  in. 

The  storm  had  again  reached  its 
height — the  white  air  full  of  scud,  the 
crests  of  the  waves  glaring  far  and 
wide  ;  while  a  heavy  sea  took  the 
line-of-battle  ship  right  abeam,  rolling 
her  to  port  till  she  rose  with  her 
deep  waist  full  of  water ;  the  men  to 
be  seen  struggling  up  to  the  topgal- 
lant forecastle,  out  of  the  way  of  a 
spar  they  had  been  at  work  with ; 
and  a  boat  had  been  washed  clean  off 
the  booms,  for  we  saw  it  rise  keel 
upwards  in  the  crest  of  a  wave  half  a 
mile  away.  It  wasn't  that  I  thought 
we  were  gone.  No ;  that  would  have 
been  nothing  to  the  strange  creeping 
dread  with  which  I  stood  holding  on 
breathless  to  the  wheel, — and  certain, 
yes,  certain  there  was  something  ter- 
rible, as  it  were,  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind.  . 

It  was  towards  afternoon,  and  as 
long  as  we  had  the  ship  under  hand, 
the  low  sail  she  carried,  added  to  the 
length  of  the  waves,  enabled  us  to 
keep  her  pretty  well  driving  with  the 
run  of  it  upon  her  beam.  As  forgoing 
before  it,  ninety-gun  ship  though  she 
was,  'twould  have  been  more  than  her 
life  was  worth  :  without  a  single  top- 
mast up  to  carry  sail  aloft,  the  third 
of  three  following  waves  would  have 
pooped  her  as  if  she  had  been  some 


66 

cock- boat ;  and  it  was  useless  to  try 
sending  up  a  single  spar  at  present. 

As  we  had  had  no  observations 
taken  for  days,  however,  about  three 
o'clock  the  captain  thought  proper, 
with  the  admiral's  approval,  to  heave 
her  to.  Till  three-bells  of  the  next 
watch,  accordingly,  did  she  keep 
rising  and  falling  there,  head  to  wind, 
safely  enough  to  all  appearance,  by 
the  help  of  her  high  poop  and  plenty 
of  hammocks  firmly  lashed  up  abaft. 
Look-out  aloft,  certainly,  we  couldn't 
have,  for  want  of,  masts  ;  so  it  was 
veiy  little  to  be  wondered  at,  though 
seldom  could  news  have  startled  men 
more,  when  three  or  four  at  the  bows 
jumped  down  together,  shouting 
hoarsely  there  was  low  land  upon  the 
lee-beam,  not  four  miles  off.  We  had 
been  steadily  drifting  upon  it  since 
they  hove  her  to.  It  was  but  a  small 
island,  the  captain  told  the  admiral 
immediately  after;  the  ship  must 
either  bear  up  and  scud  to  leeward  of 
it,  or  else  wear  quite  round  and  try 
to  weather  it — but,  in  that  case,  it  was 
absolutely  necessary  to  have  some 
heavier  spar  aloft,  and  carry  more 
sail.  For  this  there  was  little  time, 
and  it  was,  after  all,  precarious.  Both 
of  them  agreed  upon  it,  and  they 
made  their  choice  of  the  other 
together,  the  rest  of  the  officers  stand- 
ing by.  'Twas  an  awful  matter  to 
choose,  as  one  heard  them  speaking 
in  the  lee  of  the  bulwarks  there  ;  but 
I  knew  perfectly  well  it  was  the  best 
choice  :  all,  sir,  was  done,  that  man 
could  do.  But  I  felt  just  as  sure  in 
my  own  mind  when  I  heard  them, 
mark  me— just  as  sure,  that  what  we 
were  doing  was  all  useless  :  I  cannot 
explain  it,  but  I  knew  our  fate  was 
certain.  A  shadow  of  death,  as  it 
were,  crept  on  me  as  the  land  rose 
now  and  then  steady,  when  we  lifted, 
then  was  hidden  below  the  rolling 
water.  Let  no  man  say  he  has  no 
sins  to  remember — my  sins  came  back 
on  me,  and  things  I  had  thought 
lightly  of  before  appeared  horrible. 
The  very  thing  I  was  resolutely  pre- 
pared to  do  two  or  three  days  before, 
of  my  own  will,  I  was  now  terrified  to 
meet  when  it  wasn't  mine.  Strange,  too, 
when  the  one  time  there  was  no  other 
world  in  my  mind — and  the  next  it 
was  what  spirits  themselves  had  come 
whispering  to  me  was  true  1  There 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


[July, 


were  seven  hundred  and  fifty  men 
standing  on  that  ship's  decks— seven 
hundred  and  fifty  faces  that  had 
looked  on  death  before,  like  me, — I 
don't  know  if  another  heart  grew 
chill  as  the  ship  was  felt  to  fall  off 
before  the  gale,  and  make  her  first 
plunge  ahead — I  saw  no  other  man — 
but  I  own  to  you  now,  John  Ran- 
dolph, there  was  one  man  on  board 
that  was  afraid. 

The  admiral  stood  high  on  the 
poop  stair,  his  white  hair  blowing 
from  behind  his  cheek,  his  hand  over 
his  eyes ;  the  captain  himself  conned 
the  wheel  from  the  steps  below  him. 
Not  a  man  stirred  or  opened  his  lips — 
they  were  all  set  firm  together,  for 
we  saw  the  land  grow  darker  at  every 
heave.  The  breakers  shone  between 
the  hollows  of  the  waves,  rising  high 
enough  to  hide  it,  so  that,  if  we  had 
gone  upon  them  to  our  destruction, 
'twould  have  been  without  even  a 
glimpse  of  the  earth  where  we  were 
to  drift  dead  ashore.  Suddenly  the 
admiral  raised  the  glazed  cap  he 
wore,  from  his  head,  waved  it  in  his 
hand  and  looked  round — the  captain's 
eyes  met  his.  "  I  knew,  Hargrave, 
we  should  do  it !  "  shouted  he  in  tri- 
umph. We  had  cleared  the  laud. 
Every  man  let  out  his  breath  like  a 
sob,  and  there  came  a  cheer  that  was 
heard  even  above  the  wind. 

The  gale  still  blew,  however ;  but 
for  our  want  of  our  masts,  we  should 
have  felt  it  more  ;  and  the  roar  of  it 
over  that  ship's  bare  bulwarks,  out  of 
the  clear  empty  hollow  of  the  sky  to 
eastward,  was  like  a  voice  out  of  the 
mouth  of  immensity  :  it  seemed  to 
order  her  on.  To  leeward  was  the 
spray,  the  scud,  and  the  confusion, 
mixed  up  with  a  red  glare  made  by 
the  setting  sun.  There  was  a  single 
man,  the  best  look-out  in  the  ship, 
holding  on  to  the  spar  above  our 
mainmast  stump,  with  his  feet  in  the 
jags  where  it  was  broken  off.  Sud- 
denly that  man,  sir,  turned  round 
and  stared  down  at  us  with  a  face 
white  as  the  sail  behind  him — his 
voice  could  not  have  been  heard ; 
and  he  sprang  down  by  the  help  of  a 
rope,  came  reeling  aft  with  the  next 
roll  she  made,  till  he  grasped  a 
stanchion  of  the  stair  beside  the  cap- 
tain. He  pointed  with  the  other 
hand,  first  to  one  bow,  then  to 


1851.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


another,  and  yelled  into  the  captain's 
ear.  There  was  land  heaving  in 
sight  ahead,  to  leeward  and  to  wind- 
ward :  every  eye  turned  with  one 
accord,  and  the  whole  crew  was  try- 
ing to  stand  on  tiptoe,  to  watch  when 
we  swayed  over  on  the  side  of  a 
swelling  sea.  The  sun,  sir,  was 
dropping  beyond  it ;  the  shape  of 
peaks  came  out  for  a  moment  firm 
and  still — ay,  and  sharp  as  the  face 
of  death — it  was  no  cloud :  then  it  was 
hidden  by  the  mass  of  a  wave,  until 
we  rather  felt  than  saw  that  a  wall  of 
surf  reached  far  on  either  bow. 

"  The  anchors,  the  anchors  !  "  I 
heard  the  admiral  cry  as  men  pressed 
together — "  Captain  Hargrave,  the 
sheet-anchor,  sir  —  to  the  anchors, 
men ! "  The  captain  did  no  more  than 
look  anxiously  in  his  face  ;  not  a  man 
stirred  :  the  very  marines  knew  well 
we  were  in  deep  blue  water,  every  sea- 
man was  aware  it  was  a  sharp  coral 
coast.  Sir  Henry  knew  it  well  himself, 
for  the  next  moment  his  hands 
dropped  to  his  side,  his  air  of  com- 
mand was  changed  to  one  of  blank 
despair.  The  next  thing  he  said  was, 
like  one  recovering  himself,  "  In  half 
an  hour  we  shall  all  be  in  eternity — 
the  ship  is  gone !  "  The  captain  only 
turned  away  his  head,  went  down  the 
last  step,  and  leant  his  head  against 
a  cabin  door.  Some  folded  their  arms, 
and  unfolded  them  again  to  clutch  a 
rail.  For  me,  it  came  on  me  like  a 
relief— I  felt  at  last  as  if  a  load  were 
being  taken  oif  me.  Yet,  when  I  looked 
round,  I  would  have  given  worlds  upon 
worlds  to  have  been  alone,  to  have 
known  I  had  no  Hand  in  the  fate  of 
that  glorious  old  ship  with  all  her 
crew,  when  every  bound  she  made 
was  sweeping  us  together  to  de- 
struction —  without  a  chance,  sir, 
without  a  hope,  without  a  single 
thing  that  man  could  think  of,  or  do ! 
Among  the  men,  a  few  were  moving 
their  lips,  and  their  eyes  were  shut, 
as  if  they  tried  hard  to  whisper  some- 
thing over  to  themselves  ;  but  most 
were  eyeing  each  other  stealthily,  and 
looking  over  their  shoulders,  and  get- 
ting together  in  a  crowd,  as  if  a  single 
moment  more  would  send  them  in  a 
rush  towards  the  hatchway  leading 
down  to  the  spirit-room.  Suddenly 
the  first  lieutenant  rose  out  of  it  bare- 
headed, his  sword  naked  in  his  hand  : 


67 

he  planted  his  foot  on  the  combings, 
and  stood  with  a  firm  eye  fixed  on 
the  foremost  man.  There  were  three 
marines  with  drawn  bayonets  on  the 
steps  of  the  ladder  below,  and  a  sen- 
try's head  appeared  at  every  other 
hatchway.  The  captain  had  looked 
up  out  of  his  seeming  stupor  to  order 
it  quietly.  The  ringleader  of  the  gang, 
as  bold  a  seaman  as  ever  stepped, 
slunk  back  before  that  steady  glance 
of  the  first  lieutenant's  like  a  thief: 
we  were  to  die  ;  but  like  men,  not 
beasts.  The  thought  seemed  to  strike 
home  even  to  myself.  Seeing  these 
marines  so  grim  and  true  to  the  last, 
one  felt  a  sudden  shame  ;  one's  mind 
couldn't  but  wander  to  all  in  the  wide 
world  one  had  looked  upon  before 
with  a  sort  of  scorn. 

Now,  hark  ye — hark  ye,  John  Ran- 
dolph— almost  in  the  midst  of  the 
gale,  with  that  fate  rushing  on  us, 
there  came  all  at  once  a  lull.  Our 
canvass  flapped  in  it,  then  there  was 
a  stillness  more  awful,  if  possible, 
than  the  roar.  You  heard  no  man 
speak,  but  the  wash  of  the  swell 
astern,  the  rudder-chains  creaking, 
the  water  yearning  deep  down  in  the 
bowels  of  the  hold  as  it  shifted,  fol- 
lowed by  the  dull  moan  of  the  break- 
ers ashore.  We  were  expecting  till 
the  blast  should  come  on  again  more 
furious  than  ever,  and  every  man's 
breath  together  seemed  to  say 
"hush!"  The  scud  of  the  sea  it- 
self was  taking  her  in  still.  Ay, 
there  it  came  !  No — no — 'twas  but 
the  boom  of  the  surf  coming  louder  and 
distincter  as  we  neared  it — thundering 
in  our  ears !  The  very  calm  would 
destroy  her — only  there  was  a  little 
longer  agony,  wrought  up  to  despe- 
ration as  we  were,  and  longing  for 
the  first  crash  ! 

It  did  come,  Doctor  Randolph. 
There  was  the  flutter  aloft,  the  loud 
flap,  the  misty  glare  of  coming  spray, 
the  flash  of  foam,  and  the  plunge  of 
heavy  seas,  as  the  ship  heeled  groan- 
ing over  and  rose  up  without  way 
upon  her,  save  the  motion  of  the  swell, 
full  into  the  steady  sweep  of  the  gale. 
But  by  all  that's  holy,  John  Ran- 
dolph !  this  time  it  was  to  the  other 
side  she  heeled.  What  canvass  she  had 
still  spread,  and  that  consisted  of  two 
tough  storm-staysails,  had  been  taken 
flat  aback — the  gale  had  all  at  once 


68 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


[July, 


shifted  six  points  into  the  north-west! 
It  was  that  which  had  brought  us  the 
sound  of  the  breakers  as  it  began  to 
blow  off-shore,  and  the  mainmast 
staysail  was  taken  out  of  its  bolt- 
ropes  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and 
driven  away  like  a  cloud  to  leeward, 
leaving  the  ship  to  pitch  for  half  a 
minute  between  two  cross  seas  that 
were  like  breakers  themselves.  Cap- 
tain Hargrave  was  the  first  to  per- 
ceive the  true  change,  and  he  threw 
himself  all  his  might  upon  the  weather 
spokes  of  the  ship's  double  wheel, 
followed  by  all  about  him;  while  I 
and  the  man  who  had  borne  me  that 
grudge  I  spoke  of,  as  if  one  soul  had 
moved  us,  were  next  moment  strain- 
ing together  amongst  the  men  on  the 
forecastle,  to  ease  off  the  sheet  of  the 
only  sail  left.  Inch  by  inch  we  did 
it,  like  men  hanging  to  a  rope  in  the 
midst  of  surf,  for  the  spray  at  times 
took  the  deck  from  under  us;  and 
when  we  had  all  fast,  the  ship  was 
falling  off  into  the  trough:  the  wind 
swept  her  through  the  very  crest  of 
the  next  wave,  plunging  to  her  cat- 
heads, and  the  sail  still  held.  Although 
the  sea  still  hove  her  bodily  in,  yet,  at 
every  forge  she  gave  through  it,  she 
was  edging  from  the  shore.  It  had 
grown  suddenly  pitch  dark,  save  where 
the  crests  of  the  waves  curled  away 
from  us  with  a  gleaming  scatter  of 
spray.  The  ship's  heavy  bell  now  and 
then  gave  a  clang  when  she  sank  into 
their  lee;  and,  hour  after  hour  it  may 
have  been,  we  held  there  by  cleat  or 
ring-bolt — her  decks  bare  between  us, 
and  the  light  in  the  binnacle  alone 
showing  the  hands  that  grasped  her 
wheel,  or  the  face  that  looked  in  :  all 
else  in  utter  suspense— only  we  went 
the  way  of  the  wind,  till  the  longer 
send  of  the  waves  showed  how  they 
had  rolled  back,  and  we  had  cleared 
the  land.  Then,  sir,  I  turned  round 
to  see  the  man  nearest  me ;  'twas  he 
I  considered  my  enemy,  and  he  was 
doing  the  same.  Our  hands  met  and 
grasped  each  other :  without  a  word, 
from  that  day  we  were  close  friends. 
But  when  the  day  dawned,  bleak 
though  it  was,  and  showed  an  open 
horizon  on  every  side,  the  captain 
came  down  off  the  poop,  hung  up  the 
glass,  and  looked  silently  in  the 
admiral's  face.  "Thank  God!"  ex- 
claimed Sir  Henry,  drawing  a  long 


breath  —  "  thank  God!"  Then  he 
turned  his  face  away,  went  into  his 
cabin,  and  shut  the  door. 

It  was  a  Sunday  morning :  till  the 
morning  and  forenoon  watch  we  were 
hard  at  work,  all  hands  of  us,  clearing 
the  wreck  and  rigging  spars,  by 
which  time  there  was  some  sail  got 
upon  her.  Dinner  was  had,  and  the 
grog  served  out :  we  expected  to  turn 
to  again,  when  all  hands  were  piped 
to  the  quarter-deck ;  and  as  we  stood, 
the  admiral  came  out  suddenly,  fol- 
lowed by  the  chaplain  in  his  gown. 
Every  head  was  bare,  and  the  admiral 
uncovered  his.  The  chaplain's  voice 
rose:  sometimes  it  trembled,  and 
sometimes  the  hiss  of  a  following 
wave  came  in  between,  as  it  mounted 
upon  our  quarter.  At  other  times  we 
had  all  to  wait  while  she  rolled,  and  the 
round  of  the  horizon  opened  smooth, 
as  it  were,  between  two  sentences — 
the  sea  lifting  her  like  a  tower  with 
its  roof  blown  off,  her  canvass  but  a 
patch  or  two  upon  so  many  sticks,  and 
the  flag  of  England  lashed  by  its  four 
corners  under  the  poop,  to  keep  it 
spread.  A  mere  frigate  might  have 
bearded  the  grand  old  ship  then ! 

But  these  verses  of  that  psalm  will 
never  leave  my  memory,  as  I  heard 
them  that  day : — 

"  They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in 
ships,  and  occupy  their  business  in  great 
waters  : 

"  These  men  see  the  works  of  the  Lord  : 
and  his  wonders  in  the  deep. 

"  For  at  his  word  the  stormy  wind 
ariseth :  which  lifteth  up  the  waves 
thereof. 

"  They  are  carried  up  to  the  heaven, 
and  down  again  to  the  deep  :  their  soul 
melteth  away  because  of  the  trouble. 

"  They  reel  to  and  fro,  and  stagger  like 
a  drunken  man ;  and  are  at  their  wit's 
end. 

"  So  when  they  cry  unto  the  Lord  in 
their  trouble  :  he  delivereth  them  out  of 
their  distress. 

"  For  he  maketh  the  storm  to  cease  : 
so  that  the  waves  thereof  are  still. 

"  Then  are  they  glad,  because  they  are 
at  rest :  and  so  he  bringeth  them  unto 
the  haven  where  they  would  be. 

"  0  that  men  would  therefore  praise  the 
Lord  for  his  goodness  :  and  declare  the 
wonders  that  he  doeth  for  the  children 
of  men. 

"That  they  would  exalt  him  also  in 
the  congregation  of  the  people  :  and 
praise  him  in  the  seat  of  the  elder?." 


1851.] 


The  Peaceful  Lieutenant  and  his  Friends. 


It  was  a  solemn  moment,  doctor  ! 
The  chaplain  could  speak  no  longer  ; 
his  voice  broke,  and  he  turned  away 
towards  the  admiral :  rough  men,  ay, 
to  the  very  topman,  who  the  night 
before  would  have  led  his  shipmates 
to  quench  their  reason  in  liquor,  de- 
fying both  God  and  man — ay,  doctor, 
to  myself — we  were  like  children. 
The  chaplain  closed  the  book.  An- 
other minute,  and  the  men  were  piped 
down.  In  the  evening  we  were  busily 
at  work,  the  sea  falling,  and  the  ship 
headed  with  a  steady  breeze  to  her 
old  course  for  China. 

That,  sir,  I  may  say,  was  the  turn- 
ing-point of  my  life ;  I  seemed  to  be 
a  new  man,  for  things  began  to  go 
well  with  me.  No  further  word 
passed  between  Sir  Henry  and  my- 
self on  the  point  we  had  so  singularly 
raised ;  but  he  ever  afterwards 
favoured  me.  Almost  the  first  news 
we  heard  in  port  was  of  the  Burmese 
war;  and  I  obtained  an  exchange 


into  a  frigate  then  leaving  for  that 
service.  In  eighteen  months  I  made 
more  way  than  in  eight  years  before  : 
perhaps  if  I  hadn't  shifted  about  ra- 
ther hastily  to  get  into  the  various 
small  scuffles  that  arose,  I  might  have 
got  on  still  faster  ;  and  if  I  hadn't 
married,  I'm  quite  sure  I  should.  But 
that,  sir,  I  couldn't  help— I'm  not 
even  sorry  for  it !  " 

The  clock  of  St  Paul's  is  here  heard 
sending  the  first  stroke  of  four  to 
Greenwich  Hill :  the  lieutenant,  who 
with  the  late  excitement  has  risen  to 
his  feet,  speaking  faster  and  faster, 
stops  short,  and  takes  out  his  watch. 

SURGEON.  —  We  shall  be  just  in 
time  for  dinner,  I  think,  sir  ? 

LIEUT,  (slapping  his  young  friend 
on  the  shoulder  cheerfully.)  —  After 
it,  my  good  fellow,  as  soon  as  the  ladies 
are  gone,  I'll  give  you  one  toast,  at 
any  rate,  in  addition  to  her  Majesty 
and  her  Majesty's  Navy ! 


70 


What  is  Mesmerism  ? 


[July, 


WHAT   IS    MESMERISM  ? 


SIR, — I  was  invited  some  weeks 
ago  to  an  exhibition  of  Mesmerism, 
to  witness  its  extraordinary  powers 
in  the  person  of  "  Adolphe."  There 
was  a  preliminary  lecture,  in  bad 
taste  enough,  vulgarly  offensive,  in  a 
tone  of  defiance  of  the  members  of 
the  medical  profession,  whom  the 
lecturer — having  invited  all  to  be 
present  to  hear  the  vituperation — 
seemed  to  consider  as  generally  un- 
believers in  the  science. 

This  was  not  judicious,  for  medi- 
cal men  ought  to  be  more  able  than 
others  to  test  the  physical  facts  of 
Mesmerism  ;  and  it  should  have  been 
remembered  that  some  eminent  men 
of  the  profession  are,  if  not  inventors 
or  discoverers,  at  least  the  great  pro- 
moters of  the  science. 

A  shrewd  quack  doctor,  in  a  country 
town,  having  told  the  gaping  clowns 
that  some  of  them — fixing  his  eyes 
on  the  proper  objects — were  in  danger 
from  dreadful  diseases,  which  he  alone 
could  cure,  saw  an  eminent  regular 
physician  approaching  in  his  carriage. 

"  I  will  appeal,"  said  he,  "  to  Dr , 

if  it  be  not  so."  He  stopped  the  car- 
riage, and  thus  addressed  the  physi- 
cian,— "  I  have  been  telling  these 
good  men  that  they  are  labouring 
under  dreadful  diseases,"  which  he 
named  in  awful  Latin,  and  added — 
"  Qui  vult  decepi  decipiatur :  be  so 

good,  Doctor ,  to  say  if  that  be 

not  the  truth."  The  Doctor  bowed, 
and  said  "  Undoubtedly."  The  infal- 
lible-cure pills  were  soon  all  sold. 

I  confess  this  manner  of  the  lecturer 
told  with  me  thus :  He  rather  wishes 
to  keep  away  the  profession,  fearing 
their  scrutiny ;  or,  in  case  of  their 
being  sceptical,  to  cast  contempt 
upon  their  knowledge.  I  think  it 
would  have  been  wiser  to  have  con- 
ciliated them.  The  manner  was  not 
calculated  to  induce  belief;  never- 
theless, mesmerism  may  be  true :  it 
may  be  a  wonderful  secret  of  nature. 
For  my  own  part,  neither  believing 
nor  disbelieving,  but  holding  my  judg- 
ment in  abeyance,  I  desire  to  exa- 
mine the  science,  or  whatever  it  might 
be  called,  by  the  consistency  of  its 
facts.  To  do  this,  it  is  necessary  first 


to  lay  down  accurately  what  is  claimed 
for  it — not  vaguely,  as  I  find  it  in  let- 
ters and  lectures,  where  that  which  is 
asserted  at  one  time  as  its  power  is 
denied  at  another ;  but  to  speak 
clearly  of  its  congruent  powers  or 
asserted  powers,  without  vacillation  ; 
then  to  follow  these  powers  to  their 
consequences— their  necessary  con- 
sequences— if  they  be  powers  at  all ; 
and  to  draw  conclusions  arising  from 
the  two  natures  upon  which  it  works, 
or  perhaps  is  worked  upon — materi- 
ality and  spirituality. 

As  to  its  claims.  And  here  it  is 
as  well  to  make  a  preliminary  re- 
mark— that  a  scientific  vocabulary  is 
wanted ;  for  we  are  bewildered  and 
misled  by  terms  belonging  only  to  our 
organs,  which  organs  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  phenomena 
of  mesmerism.  For  instance,  if  the 
eye  be  closed  effectually,  it  would  be 
better  not  to  use  the  word  "  seeing" 
and  so  on ;  and  this  is  necessary, 
because  while  it  is  asserted  that  the 
organ  is  useless — and  if  so,  the  person 
mesmerised  may  as  well  have  the 
object  behind  as  before  him — T  gen- 
erally notice,  that  the  object  to  be 
known  is  put  as  near  to  the  eye,  as 
to  the  nose  and  mouth  :  but  of  this 
presently.  I  now  only  wish  to  la}r 
down  what  is  claimed  as  the  powers. 
We  might  almost  limit  these  to  a 
few  words,  but  fear  to  shock  the 
reader,  though  in  effect  it  must  come 
to  pretty  much  the  same  thing — that 
is,  supposing  the  science  not  to  be  yet 
advanced  to  its  extent — we  will  say 
then  only  a  kind  of 

Omnipresence, 

Omniscience, 

not  impeded  by  intervening  solid  or 
opaque  substances,  and  equally  valid 
(perhaps  more  valid)  over  the  spiritual 
as  over  the  material  world.  I  speak 
here  of  a  hind  of — aware  that  it  may 
be  said  that  there  are  limits— which  I 
am  justified  in  doing,  as  no  limits  are 
defined  ;  and  the  phenomena  which  do 
not  succeed  at  one  time  and  do  suc- 
ceed at  another,  according  to  the  ope- 
ration of  the  mesmeric  influence,  are 
really  of  the  nature  belonging  to,  and 
the  property  of  omniscience  and  om- 


1851.] 

nipresence.  And  as  this 
tant,  that  I  may  not  step  beyond  the 
ground  on  which  I  am  made  to  stand 
by  the  mesmerisers  themselves,  I 
will  state  what  was  asserted  for 
Adolphe  himself  on  the  evening 
spoken  of;  and  this  will  supersede 
the  need  of  entering  into  the  parti- 
culars of  his  exhibition. 

It  was  given  out  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  evening,  that  Adolphe  would 
be  "  at  home"— to  receive  patients — 
to  cure  their  diseases,  and  with  as 
much  infallibility  as  is  ever  claimed, 
by  a  kind  of  entering  into  the  bodies 
of  those  patients;  and  then  by  a 
knowledge — instinctive  or  mesmeric, 
for  lack  of  a  term — not  acquired  by 
study  of  medicine  or  anatomy,  of  tell- 
ing the  exact  drug  or  remedy  for  what- 
ever disease  the  patient  may  have. 

That  he  would  likewise  be  "at 
home,"  for  consultation  on  the  private 
affairs  of  persons,  to  inform  them  of 
extreme  minutiae  of  circumstances 
relating  to  them  and  their  concerns, 
whether  past,  present,  or  to  come — 
as,  for  instance,  for  the  recovery 
of  lost  papers  and  documents,  where- 
by they  may  be  enabled  to  recover 
estates,  to  retrieve  their  affairs,  and 
to  know  all  combinations  of  circum- 
stances, making  for  or  against  their 
interests.  I  do  not  think  that  any  one 
present  will  deny  that  such  is  the  sub- 
stance of  the  promises  held  out  to  all 
who  might  be  disposed  thereby  to  visit 
Adolphe  "  at  home  for  consultation." 

Now,  granting  for  a  moment  that 
he  has  this  power,  it  necessarily  fol- 
lows he  must  be  in  spirit  only,  not  in 
body,  which  is  in  the  presence  of  the 
consultor,  wherever  the  required 
documents  are  to  be  found,  or  where 
the  personages  are  who  are  acting 
and  designing  for  or  against  the  in- 
terests to  be  speculated  on.  And  here 
a  previous  knowledge  as  to  all  the 
whereabouts  must  be  supposed  ;  and 
this  is  a  power  of  being  anywhere  or 
everywhere,  and  of  knowing  every- 
thing relating  to  the  persons  or  mat- 
ters to  be  inquired  into,  which  is  in 
its  kind  and  its  degree— for  in  human 
hands  we  may  even  here  admit  de- 
grees— both  omniscience  and  omni- 
presence. 

I  asserted  that  these  powers  are 
not  impeded  by  solid  or  opaque  bodies 
intervening :  let  me  show  that  this 


What  is  Mesmerism  ?  71 

is  impor-     also  is  claimed  for  our  belief.     I  do 


so,  not  only  by  asserting  that  it  must 
necessarily  be  inferred  from  the 
nature  of  the  things  with  regard  to 
hidden  documents,  and  persons  at 
distances  from  the  operating  process — 
not  only  as  to  rooms,  but  of  towns  or 
countries  ;  but  I  will  show  it  by  this 
common  mesmeric  exhibition,  and 
such  was  shown  that  evening.  The 
mesmerised  takes  the  hand  of  a 
person,  and  by  so  doing,  as  it  is  said, 
travels  with  him  in  mind ;  but  I  shall 
show  he  does  more.  In  the  instance 
exhibited,  he  "  travelled"  to  a  foreign 
country — that  is,  he  crossed  the  sea ; 
he  entered  into  a  house,  described  its 
furniture,  its  position,  its  form,  &c. 
And  here  he  could  not  be  said  to 
travel  in  the  thought  of  the  person 
with  whom  he  was  in  "  rapport,"  for 
he  described  a  picture,  which  that 
gentleman  did  not  think  about,  nor 
knew  was  there.  This  one  fact,  there- 
fore, puts  the  affair  out  of,  and  be- 
yond the  category  of  thought- commu- 
nicative-travelling or  ubiquity.  Now, 
I  remember  a  week  or  two  ago,  seeing 
a  letter  quoted  from  Dr  Elliotson,  in 
which  he  denied  that  certain  persons 
could  see  through  solid  substances  ; 
but  did  not  Adolphe  in  this  case 
assume  to  travel  through  solid  sub- 
stances? For  there  is  one  kind  of 
solid  substance  which,  bodily  or  spirit- 
ually, must  be  passed  through — the 
solid  substance  of  this  earth  itself. 
For  you  will  observe,  here  is  a  very 
serious  obstacle,  it  being  out  of  all 
possible  rule  of  perspective  to  reach, 
say  for  instance  Edinburgh,  from 
this  place,  through  the  rotundity  of 
the  globe,  without  passing  through  a 
portion  of  its  solidity ;  that  is,  if  the 
organs,  outward  or  inward,  have  any- 
thing whatever  to  do  with  the  affair. 
If  they  have  not,  there  is  a  presence  of 
another  kind — an  ubiquity  of  spirit, 
knowing  all  and  seeing  all  at  one  and 
the  same  time ;  so  that,  as  I  said, 
solid  substances  intervening  are  no 
obstacle.  Nor  do  I  say  that  the  som- 
nambulist always  succeeds ;  the 
powers  are  said  to  be  sometimes 
weak.  All  I  require  is  to  have  the 
position  of  the  powers  established; 
and  for  that  purpose,  it  is  sufficient  if 
the  somnambulist  ever  succeeds,  and 
if  the  success  is  not  attributable  to 
coincidence  and  chance. 


72 


What  is  Mesmerism  ? 


Now  as  to  the  two  natures  engaged, 
operating  and  operated  upon,  in  Mes- 
merism, they  must  be  matter  and 
spirit ;  and  here  I  cannot  but  note  a 
very  wonderful  inconsistency  in  some 
advocates  for  mesmerism,  who  do  in 
conversation  and  in  published  works 
deny  that  there  is  any  such  thing  as 
spirit  at  all,  showing  at  the  same 
time  phenomena  that  cannot  belong 
to  matter,  and  must  belong  to  spirit. 
There  are  no  conceivable  effluvia,  or 
electric  essences,  or  anything  what- 
ever material,  however  subtle,  that 
can  foretell  events — that  can  reveal 
the  secret  of  the  "  to  come."  Pro- 
phecy must  be  a  spiritual  power  ;  so 
that  the  pure  materialists  at  once  cut 
from  under  them  the  greater  number 
and  the  greater  of  the  facts  upon 
which  the  claims  of  mesmerism  are 
built. 

Here,  then,  is  a  spiritual  power :  it 
is  either  inherent  in  the  nature  of 
man— and  if  so,  he  is  in  progression  to 
be  more  than  man  ;  or  it  is  imparted 
to  him  at  times,  and  upon  occasions, 
as  with  the  prophets  of  the  Scrip- 
tures. We  might  well  be  said  to 
shrink  from  the  former  supposition ; 
if  we  assume  the  latter,  we  must  do 
so  with  an  awe  and  reverence  not 
quite  suited  to  the  circumstances  of 
the  displays  of  the  various  exhibitions 
we  witness.  So  that,  taking  the 
claims  at  their  weakest  and  appar- 
ently least  offensive  construction,  it 
must  be  asserted  that  the  somnam- 
bulist is  an  inspired  person,  and  that, 
in  this  inspired  state,  he  is  at  once 
both  in  and  out  of  the  body— that  he 
can  make  all  his  bodily  organs  dead, 
inoperative ;  and  that  he  acquires 
from  a  new  source  all  their  powers, 
and  these  enlarged. 

Be  it  observed,  I  have  not  here 
supposed  any  cheat,  any  collusion,  or 
illusion,  trick,  or  conjuration  whatever. 
That  is  quite  out  of  the  question,  as  I 
Avould  treat  the  subject.  I  have  only 
to  specify,  to  make  clear  the  varied 
claims — to  show  what  they  are — not  to 
deny  them,  or  the  facts  on  which  they 
are  built;  but,  having  done  thus  much, 
I  think  it  will  follow  that  we  cannot 
reasonably  be  called  upon  for  so  large 
a  measure  of  faith,  without  being  al- 
lowed to  scrutinise  the  facts  in  every 
possible  way  —  and  even  strongly, 
without  offence,  to  express  doubts — 


and,  if  it  may  happen,  to  suspect  im- 
posture. 

And  I  do  think  that,  in  the  search 
after  so  great  a  truth — if  mesmerism  be 
a  truth — it  is  quite  out  of  and  below 
the  dignity  of  the  subject  to  resort  to 
any  of  those  exhibitions  which  are- 
common  with  professed  conjurors.  I 
would,  therefore,  urge  upon  the  mem- 
bers of  the  mesmeric  body  that  they 
altogether  abstain  from  cards  and 
card-playing;  and  I  would  suggest — as 
it  is  professed  that  the  somnambulist 
cannot  see — that,  instead  of  giving  him 
sealed  letters  and  books,  these  things- 
should  be  in  another  room  ;  and  that 
there  letters  should  be  written,  and 
books  opened,  of  which  passages  are 
to  be  read  :  for  it  is  quite  inconsistent 
with  the  claims  to  suppose  that  the- 
somnambulist  shall  be  able  to  see 
what  is,  and  what  is  doing,  in  a  room 
hundreds  of  miles  off,  and  not  be  able 
to  tell  what  is  read  and  what  is  doing 
in  the  next  room.  I  wish  to  see  this 
science  at  one  with  itself — mesmerists 
at  one  with  themselves.  They  must 
not  blow  hot  and  cold  ;  and  if  they  put 
down  failures  to  a  weakened  mesmeric 
influence,  they  must  suffer  their  claim, 
as  to  its  full  inflttence,  to  be  nailed 
down — to  be  an  immovable,  undeni- 
able fact  that  they  have  claimed,  and 
do  claim,  directly  and  indirectly,  a 
kind  of  omniscience  and  omnipresence 
hitherto  considered  impossible  in  man 
uninspired,  or  in  one  that  is  man  only. 

But  there  is  a  furtherstartling  claim.. 
I  have,  as  yet,  considered  the  powers 
of  mesmerism  as  operative  only  in 
congenial,  or  rather  the  same  specific 
natures  in  man  with  man. 

Its  influence  over  other  natures  is  now 
asserted.  A  rampant  bull  is  arrested 
and  fixed  in  the  very  moment  of  his 
fierce  assault.  Savage  dogs  are  in- 
stantly made  to  quail.  A  cow  in  arti- 
culo  mortis  is  cured,  which  theoperatorT 
Miss  Martineau,  thinks  conclusive 
against  the  theory  of  the  working  upon 
the  imagination.  Now,  in  these  brute 
influences,  some  of  the  old  assumptions 
must  be  either  given  up  or  extended  : 
the  brute  creation  must  be  participa- 
tors with  us  in  the  one  case ;  or  that 
peculiar  sympathy,  that  mind-com- 
munion by  rapport,  must  be  so  modi- 
fied as,  if  not  to  annihilate,  greatly 
to  reduce  its  claim.  The  human 
diseases  are  discovered  by  the  agent, 


1851.] 

mesmerically  seeing  (until  the  organ- 
power  is  given  up,  or  a  new  vocabu- 
lary established,  I  use  the  word)  the 
internal  structure  of  the  body,  and 
that  in  all  its  most  intricate  parts  ;  the 
thoughts  of  persons,  or  patients,  by  as 
intricate  a  knowledge  of  their  minds, 
propensities,  and  dispositions  —  and 
here  I  purposely  exclude  from  the 
argument  the  knowledge  of  future 
events.  The  assumption  amounts  to 
a  kind  of  identity ;  the  mesmeriser  be- 
comes another,  and  yet  retains  himself 
— at  least  he  partakes  of  the  person 
with  whom  he  is  in  rapport.  Now, 
if  this  be  the  inalienable,  the  natural 
power  of  mesmerism,  to  what  degree, 
in  what  manner,  and  with  what  result, 
as  to  any  intelligence  given,  or  to  be 
required  to  be  given,  do  the  mesme- 
risers  of  mad  bulls  and  of  savage  dogs 
enter  into  the  animus  of  the  animal 
they  make  submit  to  them  ?  I  am 
not  saying  that  brutes  have  thoughts, 
as  we  have  thoughts,  but  they  have 
intentions,  motives,  and  cognisances, 
•which,  if  mesmerism  be  a  concurrent 
congruous  consistent  power,  ought  to 
be  perceptively  identified  in  the  mes- 
meriser. 

But  there  is  a  claim  still  more 
astonishing  :  hitherto,  life  has  been 
the  great  condition  of  its  efficacy — life 
in  man  and  in  brute.  And  here,  in 
passing,  I  may  be  allowed  to  notice 
an  inconsistency.  Some  life  is  not 
subject  to  its  power,  or  weakly  so, 
arid  that,  as  mesmerists  say,  arising 
from  the  sceptical  nature  of  minds — 
that  a  certain  degree  of  faith  is  neces- 
sary ;  yet  here,  the  argument  is  nil 
with  regard  to  the  bull  and  the  dog, 
and  more  so  still  to  that  of  which  I 
now  mean  to  speak — that  is,  that  in- 
animate bodies  are  under  its  power. 
This  may  startle  the  reader,  but  so  it 
is.  I  have  seen,  as  doubtless  many 
hundreds  have,  doors  and  floors  mes- 
merised, and  the  hand  of  the  somnam- 
bulist, when  pressed  against  the 
pannel,  apparently  incapable  of  being 
removed  ;  and,  in  the  case  of  the 
floor,  (mesmerised  only  by  a  wave  of 
the  hand  over  it,)  the  somnambulist, 
when  desired  or  led  to  cross  it,  sud- 
denly arrested  by  the  power,  and  un- 
able to  lift  the  foot  at  that  particular 
part  of  the  floor.  Nor  were  those 
who  tried  their  own  force  able  there- 
with to  remove  it  from  its  position. 


What  is  Mesmerism  ? 


What  is  the  nature  of  the  sympathy— 
this  material  cognisance  of  mesmeric 
effect,  between  the  foot  and  the  floor, 
the  door-panel  and  the  hand  ?  I  do- 
not  say  here  that  there  is  none  ;  but 
if  there  be,  the  power  claimed  is  over 
the  inanimate  and  the  animate — over 
matter  and  over  mind,  and  making  for 
each  a  new  sympathy.  The  instance 
I  have  given,  it  may  be  said,  is  as  to 
surface  only,  where  an  essence  or 
effluvia  may  be  supposed  to  rest.  But 
not  so  ;  fur,  at  the  exhibition  of  that 
phenomenon,  the  somnambulist  pierced 
in  perception  the  solid  floor,  and  walls, 
and  doors,  for  she  told  what  was  pass- 
ing, or  had  immediately  taken  place, 
in  other  rooms  in  the  house — who  had 
entered,  what  they  came  for,  and  what 
they  were  doing ;  nay,  she  shortly 
went  far  beyond  the  house,  was  in  her 
own  home,  some  miles  off,  and  said 
the  postman  was  at  the  door  with 
letters,  the  contents  of  two  of  which 
she  told;  and  I  remember  they  related 
to  interesting  domestic  concerns,  which 
the  mesmeriser  afterwards  asserted, 
upon  inquiry,  were  found  to  be  as  she 
had  spoken  of  them.  I  must  observe, 
however,  that  with  this  person  there 
was  a  mixture  of  childishness,  giving 
an  impression  of  her  playing  with  her 
power,  which  took  away  from  its  im- 
portance by  fastening  on  little  facts — 
such,  for  instance,  as  that  a  man  was 
standing  by  the  fire-place  (which  was 
obstructed  from  her  view  by  many 
persons)  in  a  particular  dress,  and 
holding  an  umbrella ;  that  there  was 
a  person  in  the  room  had  "such  odd 
thoughts  ;  "  and  one  standing  near  to 
me,  in  the  part  of  the  room  to  which 
she  directed  attention,  owned  to  these 
"  odd  thoughts."  I  fancied — though 
it  may  have  been  fancy  only — that  she 
was  endeavouring  to  establish  a  belief 
in  the  power  by  these  trifling  notices. 
Another  thing  struck  me  as  worthy  a 
speculative  inquiry.  With  regard  to  the 
floor  and  door-panels,  the  power  was 
imparted  by  simply  a  wave  of  the 
hand  over  the  parts  ;  so,  by  a  wave  of 
the  hand  over  them  was  it  dissipated ; 
but  what  became  of  this  essence  or 
effluvia,  this  invisible  substance  ? 
Seemingly  it  should  have  fastened  upon 
something  else,  for  the  wave  of  the 
hand  that  took  it  off  was  over  other 
parts.  Nor  did  the  company  appear 
to  partake  of  any  of  this  floating  mes- 


What  is  Mesmerism  ? 


meric  atmosphere  :  it  emanated  from 
the  hand,  was  removed  by  the  hand  ; 
but  what  became  of  it,  or  if,  having 
once  emanated,  it  is  still  a  floating 
operating  power,  remains  a  subject  to 
be  inquired  into. 

I  did  not  intend,  when  I  took  pen 
in  hand,  to  narrate  mesmeric  anec- 
dotes, but  to  speak  of  claims,  and  to 
speculate  upon  their  nature.  Anec- 
dotes are  too  numerous,  and  every 
one  has  a  store  of  them  ;  but  the  na- 
ture, the  philosophic  conclusion  that 
must  be  reached  in  all  the  facts,  is 
pretty  much  the  same:  if  one  fact 
limits  one  power,  another  does  not,  so 
that  we  must  conclude  of  the  general 
and  full  power  as  a  thing  to  be  at- 
tained when  the  science  shall  have 
reached  its  ultimate  practical  point, 
and  have  become  an  art.  The  seve- 
ral facts  in  individual  cases,  each  per- 
fect, without  limit,  made  a  claim  on 
our  belief  to  the  full  extent  of  the 
suppositions  I  have  made.  I  will, 
however,  as  I  have  been  led  by  the 
nature  of  the  subject  to  incidents, 
mention  one  or  two  experiments  of 
which  I  was  a  witness ;  and  I  do  so 
because  they  show  a  further  claim  of 
a  most  extraordinary  nature— that  of 
a  power  of  working  upon  the  will,  of 
totally  altering  the  character,  of  demo- 
ralising the  whole  mind,  or  otherwise — 
of  turning  the  good  into  evil,  and  the 
evil  into  good,  and  of  subduing  the 
mesmerised  person  to  the  will  of  the 
mesmeriser  fearfully.  When  I  say 
fearfully,  do  not  let  it  be  understood 
that  I  am  thereby  denying  it.  It 
may  be  a  very  fearful  thing,  yet  very 
true ;  but  let  the  ground  be  well 
searched. 

I  had  met  a  professional  gentleman 
— a  great  mesmerist,  and  who  had 
published  much  upon  the  subject — 
who  spoke  of  the  new  phenomena 
which  we  would  see  exemplified  at  Dr 
Elliotson's,  phenomena  connected  with 
phrenology,  and  which  showed  how 
characters  were  convertible  by  mes- 
meric process:  for  instance,  that  by 
exciting  (and  that  without  touching 
it,  but  by  waving  the  hand  over  it) 
the  organ  of  acquisitiveness,  a  person 
would  be  induced  to  steal  anything 
that  came  in  the  way,  — "  for  in- 
stance," said  he,  "  the  "ring  off  one's 
finger;"  and  he  showed  that  on  his 
own.  Then,  by  exciting  in  the  same 


manner  other  organs,  the  thief  would 
become  a  liar,  a  proud  justifier  of  the 
deed,  and  a  combative  one ;  then 
that,  by  altering  the  process,  the  same 
thief  would  become  a  highly  moral 
character,  and  abhor  theft.  We  ar- 
rived at  Dr  Elliotson's.  There  Avas 
a  large  assembly  of  people,  so  that 
what  I  am  narrating  was  evidently 
not  intended  as  a  private  or  secret 
exhibition:  did  I  so  consider  it,  I 
should  be  silent.  Doubtless,  the 
object  was  to  show  the  phenomena; 
and  I  suppose  I  can  scarcely  be  con- 
sidered as  acting  contrary  to  that 
object,  by  simply  narrating  what  I 
saw.  Two  young  women  were  mes- 
merised by  a  single  wave  of  the  hand 
to  each.  After  this,  the  gentleman 
before  alluded  to,  who  stood  behind 
one  of  these  young  women,  influenced, 
by  a  movement  of  his  hand — yet  not 
touching — the  organ  of  acquisitive- 
ness. She  immediately  put  out,  in  all 
directions,  her  restless  fingers,  as  in 
search  of  some  object  to  lay  hold  on  ; 
finally  she  put  her  hands  a  little  over 
her  head,  and  did  actually  take  the 
hand  of  the  professional  gentleman 
who  had  previously  spoken  of  the 
phenomenon,  and  took  his  ring  from 
his  finger.  The  other  young  woman 
was  then,  by  a  similar  process,  ex- 
cited to  a  high  moral  sense ;  and  when 
told  that  her  companion  had  stolen 
the  ring,  she  gravely  lectured  her 
upon  her  criminal  conduct.  The  thief 
at  first  denied  the  fact,  which  caused 
the  remark  that  the  thief  is  necessarily 
a  liar  ;  but  after  a  while  the  organ  of 
pride  was  excited,  and  she  justified  it, 
and  defied  her  lecturing  companion  in 
a  tone  of  great  contempt.  And  now 
the  hand  was  also  over  the  organ  of 
combativeness,  upon  which  the  thief 
gave  a  sharp  slap  of  her  hand  to  her 
moralising  companion,  and  continued 
the  same  proud  bearing.  After  this 
the  whole  was  reversed:  the  young 
woman  who  had  acted  the  good  part 
of  justice,  became,  under  mesmeric 
process,  the  thief ;  and  the  thief  took 
the  part  of  justice— nor  was  there 
much  variation  in  the  manner  of  the 
transaction.  I  could  not,  however, 
but  notice  to  myself  that  the  whole 
passed  as  it  was  previously  told  me  it 
would  pass  ;  and  that  the  very  ring 
was  taken  which  had  been  shown  me 
as  a  "  for  instance"  only  ;  and  I  men- 


1851.] 

tion  this,  because,  in  the  investigation 
of  facts,  minute  truths  are  of  value  ; 
and  we  are  allowed  to  entertain  sus- 
picion where  there  is  a  possibility  of 
trick  or  acting.  Nor  is  it  necessary, 
in  suspecting,  that  we  should  throw 
any  moral  blame  on  those  high-minded 
and  gifted  men  who  take  part  in  these 
transactions.  They  may  be  persons 
deceived,  and  of  nature  liable  to  self- 
deception,  as  well  as  to  be  imposed  upon 
by  others ;  but  I  am  not  here  now, 
while  treating  upon  this  subject,  cast- 
ing suspicion — I  only  state  what  then 
passed  through  my  mind.  There  was 
another  fact  with  regard  to  one  of  these 
young  women.  Dr  Elliotson  willed 
that  she  should  come  to  him,  at  the 
same  time  telling  her  by  word  of 
mouth  not  to  come.  This"  exhibition 
was  very  beautiful,  for  the  young 
woman  assumed  most  graceful  atti- 
tudes, as  if  irresistibly,  but  slowly, 
moving  toward  him,  saying,  "Why 
do  you  tell  me  not  to  come,  while  you 
are  making  me  come?"  I  think  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  here  there  was 
an  exhibition  of  a  fearful  power.  At 
the  same  time,  there  was  another 
woman  mesmerised,  but  there  was  no 
other  exhibition  with  regard  to  her 
than  that  which  was  indeed  extraor- 
dinary enough  ;  but  it  was  a  bodily 
effect.  She  was  in  a  chair,  with  her 
legs  and  feet  extended,  and  in  such  a 
position  that  I  should  have  thought 
no  person  could  have  maintained  very 
long ;  but  as  I  sat  close  to  her,  and 
perhaps  for  two  or  three  hours,  during 
which  time  she  did  not  in  the  least 
move,  I  felt  sure  that  she  was  under 
some  cataleptic  influence.  But  with 
regard  to  her,  perhaps  the  still  more 
extraordinary  fact  was  the  manner  in 
which  she  was  awakened.  Dr  Elliot- 
son,  who  was  at  a  considerable  distance 
from  her,  made  a  rapid  movement 
with  his  fingers,  and  at  the  same 
instant  her  eyelids  shook  tremulously, 
as  in  correspondence  with  the  action 
of  Dr  Elliotson's  hand ;  and  thus  she 
was  awakened — the  stiffness  of  her 
limbs  removed  by  passing  the  hand 
along  them — and  she  arose  and  walked 
away,  apparently  unconscious  of  what 
had  taken  place.  Dr  Elliotson,  how- 
ever, j  ust  as  he  began  in  this  way  to  ope- 
rate, told  the  company  what  would  be 
the  effect,  yet  he  instantly  recollected 
that  his  so  saying  might  shake  the 


What  is  Mesmerism  f 


75 


belief  of  some,  and  regretted  doing  so 
— at  the  same  time  stating  that  the 
effect  would  have  been  exactly  the 
same. 

This  last  experiment,  however,  rests 
on  quite  different  ground  from  the 
former.  It  may  have  been  altogether 
a  nervous  influence,  and  one  admitted 
as  a  curious  physical  phenomenon  long 
before  the  days  of  mesmerism.  A 
materialist  here  may  say  matter  acts 
on  matter;  nervous  fluids,  however 
subtle,  may  combine,  and  suspend  the 
ordinary  action  of  nerves,  muscles, 
and  limbs.  But  materialism  will  not 
go  beyond  this  :  it  cannot,  on  the  in- 
stant, create  and  annihilate  a  moral 
sense,  or  mould  the  mind  as  it  would 
a  piece  of  clay.  The  power  that  can 
do  this  claims  a  spirituality ;  and  even 
if  that  be  doubted  in  this  instance, 
extend  the  experiment  to  clairvoy- 
ance and  to  prophecy,  and  the  claim 
of  spirituality  must  be  at  once  ad- 
mitted. Then  comes  the  question — 
If  spirituality,  what  kind  of  spiri- 
tuality?— and  some,  trying  to  avoid 
the  question,  will  ask,  "What  is  spiri- 
tuality?" One  may  lose  one's-self  in 
such  bewilderments.  It  may  be  quite 
enough  to  take  the  common  notion  of 
it — that  it  is  a  power  in  itself,  which, 
though  it  may  work  upon  matter,  is 
really  independent  of  it.  The  kind  of 
spirituality  which  mesmerism  claims  I 
have  already  shown  to  be  above  what 
has  hitherto  been  believed  to  be 
human,  and  is  really  a  kind  of  omni- 
science and  omnipresence.  And  yet, 
upon  consideration,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  these  words  even  fall  short  of 
its  claim ;  for  omniscience  and  omni- 
presence do  not  necessarily  imply  a 
making,  a  creating  power,  a  conver- 
sion of  substances  into  other  sub- 
stances— or,  at  least,  into  the  power 
of  other  substances.  And  I  am  led 
to  this  reflection  by  remembering 
what  Miss  Martineau  published  with 
regard  to  her  maid-servant,  a  poor 
ignorant  girl.  I  forget  with  what 
object,  or  if  any  was  stated,  Miss 
Martineau  gave  this  girl  water  to 
drink,  and  willed  that  it  should  be 
porter,  and  the  girl  spoke  of  it  as 
porter  ;  then  she  willed  it  to  be 
wine,  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  the 
girl  became  intoxicated.  It  is  long 
since  I  read  the  account.  I  do  not 
believe  that  I  am  at  all  exaggerating 


7G 


What  is  Mesmerism  ? 


her  statement ;  and,  more  than  this,  I 
think  Miss  Martineau*  questioned  the 
girl,  under  the  influence  of  mesmerism, 
as  to  some  theological  matters,  which, 
not  exactly  chiming  in  with  the  ques- 
tioner's notion,  she  challenged  the 
girl,  who  confessed  that  she  did  not 
speak  on  that  point  mesmerically,  but 
as  she  had  heard  from  the  curate  of 
the  parish  at  church.  There  appears, 
certainly,  to  be  something  ridiculous  in 
this.  But  I  speak"  not  of  it  here  with 
a  view  to  ridicule — on  the  contrary, 
I  really  admire  the  honest  and  simple 
candour  of  the  narrator ;  but  it  leads 
to  the  necessity,  as  yet,  of  limiting 
some  of  the  powers  of  mesmerism  to 
this  globe,  and  of  forbearing  to  claim 
for  them  any  higher  aspiration.  But, 
to  return  to  the  spirituality  of  mes- 
merism, there  can  be  no  need  to  argue 
that,  of  himself,  no  man  can  prophesy. 
Spiritual  discernment  must  be  a  gift. 
If  there  be  a  "  second  sight,"  it  is  a 
power  intrinsically  not  human.  A 
seer  is  one  inspired.  He  is  the  in- 
strument through  which  the  Invisible 
speaks.  What  Invisible?  Perhaps 
good,  perhaps  evil ! !  I  do  not  see 
how  mesmerists  are  to  escape  from 
this  admission  of  there  being  an  In- 
visible Power — that  is,  a  Spirit,  quite 
above  themselves,  of  a  nature  not  like 
their  own — acting  upon  them  and 
through  them  ;  and  yet  some  of  them 
question  you  thus — "  Do  you  believe 
in  spirit  ?  "  I  would  grant  a  physi- 
cal power  to  their  science ;  but  when 
they  reach  clairvoyance — a  knowledge 
of  the  past,  present,  and  future — there 
must  be  something  not  matter.  Must 
we  then  go  back  to  Demonology  for  a 
solution.  Why  not  ?  If  I  admit  the 
facts,  and  can  account  for  them  in  no 
other  way,  I  am  forced  into  it,  how- 
ever reluctantly  ;  and  I  cast  about  to 
see  what  grounds  there  are  for  it.  I 
am  only  speculating,  not  asserting — 
and  fear  to  enter  that  wide  and  wild 
field.  Yet,  it  must  be  confessed,  the 


[July, 

facts,  or  asserted  facts,  of  mesmerism 
and  of  demonology  are  very  analogous. 
What  power  inspired  the  damsel  who 
"  brought  her  masters  much  gain  by 
soothsaying,"  of  whom  it  is  said  that 
she  was  "  possessed  with  a  spirit  of 
divination?"  Paul  commanded  the 
spirit  to  "  come  out  of  her,  and  he 
came  out  the  same  hour ; "  and  her 
masters  then  saw  that  "  the  hope  of 
their  gains  was  gone."  What  did  this 
damsel  more  than  is  now  done  by 
many  such  possessed  young  women  ? 
Women  have  been  burnt  as  witches 
for  exhibiting  far  less  power,  and  for 
owning  to  it  too.  Undoubtedly,  people 
have  believed  themselves  to  have  been 
demon-aided,  and  learned,  wise,  and 
prudent  people  have  condemned  them 
to  awful  punishment  for  the  crime  ; 
and  we  may  therefore  presume  these 
grave  judges  believed  in  the  power. 
And  why  not,  after  reading  the  passage 
quoted  from  the  Acts  ? 

Remembering  the  exhibition  of  the 
irresistible  drawing  of  the  young  wo- 
man towards  the  mesmeriser — admit- 
ting it  to  be  a  truthful  exhibition — I 
cannot  but  see  a  most  fearful  power 
in  evil  hands.  And  such  power  has 
frequently  been  a  matter  of  confes- 
sion. In  the  "  Causes  Celebres"  there 
is  a  case  quite  in  point.  Louis  Gau- 
fridy,  a  priest,  is  condemned  and 
burned  for  sorcery,  having  confessed 
to  the  following  effect,— -That,  in- 
heriting some  books  from  an  uncle, 
among  them  he  found  one  on  magic, 
to  which  he  then  addicted  himself — 
that  being  well  practised,  he  made 
covenant  with  a  demon,  who  appeared 
to  him.  The  result  was,  that  a 
power  was  imparted  to  him  that,  by 
breathing  over  any  woman,  he  should 
inspire  her  with  a  passion  for  him, 
and  have  entire  control  over  her  ac- 
tions as  her  affections.  Having  made 
the  compact — u  Le  diable  nc  repond 
point ;  mais  il  lui  dit,  qu'il  reviendra. 
II  revient  effectivement  an  bout  de 


*  Since  the  above  was  written,  Miss  Martineau 's  atheistical  publication  has  passed 
through  my  hands.  It  professes  to  be  a  joint  work  by  herself  and  a  Mr  Atkinson, 
one  of  the  clique  of  infidel  phrenological  mesmerisers;  but  it  is  manifestly  the  doing 
of  Miss  Martineau  herself.  If  Mr  Atkinson  had  any  hand  in  the  production,  the  female 
atheist  ("  and  here  a  female  atheist  talks  you  dead")  must  have  manufactured  and 
cooked  much  of  his  philosophy,  as  of  his  grammar  and  diction.  A  work  more  tho- 
roughly degrading  to  character,  whether  moral  or  intellectual,  has  never  come  from 
the  press.  The  credulity  of  unbelief  is  truly  astonishing.  "  The  fool  hath  said  in  his 
is  no  God  : "  it  is  now  added  that  man  is  an  ii 


heart  there 

that  vice  and  virtue  are  mere  name 


irresponsible  creature — 


1851.] 


What  is  Mesmerism  ? 


77 


trois jours.  Alors  il  lui  promet,  que  par 
la  vertu  de  son  souffle,  il  enflamera 
d'amour  toutes  les  filles  et  femraes 
qu'il  voudra  posseder ;  mais,  qu'il  faut 
que  le  souffle  parvienne  jusqu'k 
1'odorat  des  personnes  k  qui  il  voudra 
inspirer  nne  forte  passion."  He  exer- 
cises this  power  over  one  Madeline, 
the  daughter  of  a  gentleman  ;  and  so 
influences  the  mother  by  his  "  souffle  " 
that  she  becomes  his  accomplice.  In 
the  end,  Gaufridy  is  condemned  as  a 
sorcerer — confesses,  and  is  burnt; 
and  Madeline,  bitterly  repentant,  ends 
her  days  in  a  convent.  It  is  curious 
that,  in  his  confession,  he  says  that 
he  could,  on  opening  his  window,  be 
transported  to  the  "  Sabbat"— the 
witches'  meeting.  Whoever  has  seen 
mesmerism  must  have  seen  something 
very  like  this  "  souffle"  in  appearance. 
I  would  not  in  the  least  insinuate  as 
to  its  effects,  but  every  one  has  seen 
enough  to  be  convinced  that  the  mes- 
meriser  ought,  in  all  cases,  to  be  a 
strictly  moral,  conscientious  person. 

Philosophers  have  supposed  that 
the  passion  of  love  arises  from  a  kind 
of  u  souffle," — an  emanation  of  the 
one  person  sensibly  received  through 
the  "odorat"  of  another.  Indeed, 
the  phenomena  of  love  are  extraordi- 
nary enough :  do  we  unconsciously 
mesmerise  each  other  ?  1  knew  a 
man  who,  on  a  visit  to  a  friend,  acci- 
dentally went  with  him  to  a  house  in 
the  neighbourhood,  where  was  a  lady, 
neither  very  young  nor  handsome, 
nor  did  she  enter  into  conversation 
with  him  ;  but  he  looked  at  her,  and 
she  at  him.  The  friends  did  not  re- 
main half  an  hour  in  the  house.  On 
leaving  it,  the  visitor  said  to  his  host — 
u  That  woman  will  be  my  wife ;"  and 
so  it  was.  Was  this  in  the  breathing, 
or  in  the  eye  ? — was  it  mesmeric  ? — 
does  the  serpent's  eye  fascinate? 
Dante  has  it  thatCharon,  by  the  power 
of  his  fiery  eye.  beckons  and  collects 
the  wicked : — 

"  Caron  dimonio,  con  occhi  di  bragia 
Loro  accenando,  tutte  le  raccoglie." 

Medusa's  head,  reported  to  turn  the 
gazer  into  stone— did  it  merely  fix 
the  limbs  and  whole  person  in  cata- 
lepsy? The  Rosicruciaus  seem  to 
have  anticipated  the  whole  powers  of 
the  science,  and  preserved  the  secret. 
Sir  Ke'nelm  Digby  was  no  fool,  but  a 


wise  man,  and  discreet.  What  were 
his  sympathetic  powders  to  cure 
wounds  at  a  distance  ?  And,  if  the 
story  of  him  be  true,  he  seems  not  to 
have  been  without  the  fascinating 
power.  It  is  said  an  Italian  prince, 
having  no  children,  ardently  desired 
that  his  princess  should  present  him 
with  one  whereof  so  wise  a  man 
should  be  the  father. 

What  was  Cagliostro's  art  ?  Tal- 
leyrand's interview  with  him,  told  in 
his  Memoir es,  is  at  least  interesting 
and  curious ;  for  the  female  figure  in 
black  mantle,  who  tells  him  strange 
things,  which  turn  out  to  be  true,  has 
all  the  air  of  a  clairvoyante.  Then 
we  are  told  how  Talleyrand  puts  his 
hand  to  the  forehead  of  a  countess  or 
marchioness,  and  is  not  able  to  with- 
draw it;  and  ultimately,  in  endea- 
vouring to  do  so,  tears  away  the  flesh 
from  the  forehead — by  which  he  loses 
her  friendship  for  ever.  It  is  true  we 
must  suspect  the  great  man,  who  is 
evidently  given  to  get  up  good  stories. 
Yet  the  interview  may  have  taken 
place ;  and  there  is  the  clairvoyante. 

The  wonderful  things  said  to  have 
been  done  among  us  by  Alexis,  a  few 
years  ago,  every  one  must  remember ; 
many  who  may  read  this  may  have 
witnessed  his  powers.  There  is  a 
story  told  of  him,  how  he  came  to 
leave  England  so  suddenly :  I  know 
not  if  it  be  true.  It  is  said  that  he 
and  a  clairvoyante  either  met,  or  mes- 
mericaliy,  at  a  distance,  so  affected 
each  other,  that  a  mutual  passion  was 
the  result ;  but  that  it  would  not  do, 
and  he  was  accordingly  withdrawn  to 
Paris.  No  incantations  of  the  deserted 
clairvoyante  were  able  to  bring  him 
back.  If  she  possessed  in  her  fit  the 
same  insight  into  language  and  litera- 
ture as  into  circumstances  and  futurity, 
she  might  have  quoted  the  line — 

"  O  crudelis  Alexi,  nihil  mea  carmina  curas." 

It  was  then  Adolphe  cauie  to  England. 
Is  he  not  brother  to  Alexis  ? 

The  friend  of  Adolphe,  or  partner, 
who  lectured  on  mesmerism,  as  I 
thought,  in  so  objectionable  a  manner, 
asserted  that  persons  had  received 
great  advantages  in  recovering  pro- 
perty by  means  of  Adolphe's  clair- 
voyance ;  but  would  it  not  be  better 
that  cases  should  be  well  attested  ? 
One  real  undoubted  fact  of  this  kind 


78 


What  is  Mesmerism  ? 


would  greatly  tend  to  establish  the 
truth  of  the  science,  and  it  is  of  suffi- 
cient importance  to  induce  persons  to 
make  inquiry.  Every  quack- medicine 
advertisement  asserts  these  things, 
and  supplies  names ;  but  few  trust 
to  them,  and  fewer  still  take  the 
trouble  to  pass  a  correspondence  with 
the  names.  Joseph  Ady  certainly  too 
boldly  gave  the  name  of  "  his  friend" 
Sir  Peter  Laurie,  and,  if  I  mistake 
not,  of  the  Lord  Chancellor,  as  having 
recovered  large  property  through  his 
means.  The  appeal  met  with  a  flat 
denial.  In  the  case  of  "  Adolphe  at 
home,"  there  was  every  motive  to  be 
more  particular,  because  it  was  his 
special  business  and  calling  to  give 
such  important  informations  for  the 
recovery  of  estates.  I  was  greatly  dis- 
appointed that  no  names  for  reference 
were  given.  Now,  it  may  be  thought 
that  I  am  writing  in  a  bantering 
spirit,  and  am  throwing  ridicule  on 
the  whole  subject  of  mesmerism.  By 
no  means.  If,  in  the  train  of  thought 
as  I  write,  some  suspicions  arise,  either 
on  account  of  a  seeming  suppression, 
or  from  an  ill-judged  manner  of  set- 
ting forth  an  exhibition — or  if  there 
arise  but  a  half-suspicion— a  doubt,  a 
difficulty  to  admit  all  that  is  claimed — 
it  is  in  the  very  nature  of  the  discus- 
sion that  the  stretched  cord  should  fly 
back  the  whole  length.  Had  I  been 
entirely  disposed  to  ridicule  the  science, 
I  might  have  taken  "  the  bull  by  the 
horns,"  or  have  attended  Miss  Mar- 
tineau  in  her  vaccination  ;  but  really, 
and  in  good  faith,  I  had  no  such  in- 
tention when  I  began  to  write  this 
paper  on  mesmerism.  The  fact  is,  I 
neither  believe  nor  disbelieve  it,  and 
therefore  vacillate,  and  am  now  on 
one  side,  and  now  on  the  other  ;  and 
if  I  am  treating  it  lightly  now,  accord- 
ing to  the  different  state  of  mind,  I 
have  been  through  the  greater  part 
treating  it  gravely. 

I  am  uncertain,  from  what  I  have 
seen,  if  mesmeric  influence  be  given 
more  through  the  hand  or  the  eye — 
both  are  used  ;  but  surely  the  perfect 
clairvoyant,  who  can  travel,  being  in 
"  rapport,"  with  any  one  to  any  part 
of  the  world,  might  easily,  one  would 
suppose,  converse  with,  and  if  not 
that,  be  conversant  with  the  doings 
of  the  object  of  his  affection.  The 
transmission  of  a  glove,  for  instance, 


[July, 

by  post,  might  be  enough  for  "  rap- 
port." Surely  the  electric  fluid,  if  it 
be  electric,  might  pass  tb rough  such  a 
chain.  Do  you  remember  the  strange 
correspondence  kept  up  by  two  lovers 
at  a  great  distance,  mentioned  by 
Strada,  and  quoted  from  him  by  the 
Guardian,  No.  119.  In  the  person  of 
Lucretius,  he  "  gives  an  account  of 
the  chimerical  correspondence  between 
two  friends,  by  the  help  of  a  load- 
stone, which  had  such  virtue  in  it  that 
it  touched  two  several  needles.  When 
one  of  these  needles,  so  touched,  began 
to  move,  the  other,  though  at  never 
so  great  a  distance,  began  to  move  at 
the  same  time,  and  in  the  same  man- 
ner. He  tells  us  that  the  two  friends, 
being  each  of  them  possessed  of  one  of 
these  needles,  made  a  kind  of  dial- 
plate,  inscribing  it  with  four-and- 
twenty  letters,  in  the  same  manner 
that  the  hours  of  the  day  are  marked 
upon  the  ordinary  dial- plate.  They 
then  fixed  the  needles  on  each  of  these 
plates,  in  such  a  manner  that  it  could 
move  round  without  impediment,  so 
as  to  touch  any  of  the  four-and-twenty 
letters.  Upon  separating  one  from 
another,  into  distant  countries,  they 
agreed  to  withdraw  themselves  punc- 
tually into  their  closets  at  a  certain 
hour  of  the  day,  and  to  converse  with 
one  another  by  means  of  this  their 
invention.  Accordingly,  when  they 
were  some  hundred  miles  asunder, 
each  of  them  retired  in  privacy  at 
the  time  appointed,  and  immediately 
looked  at  the  dial- plate.  If  he  had 
a  mind  to  write  anything  to  his 
friend,  he  directed  his  needle  to  every 
letter  that  formed  the  words  which 
he  had  occasion  for — making  a  little 
pause  at  the  end  of  every  word  or 
sentence,  to  avoid  confusion.  The 
friend,  at  the  same  time,  saw  his  own 
sympathetic  needle  moving  itself  to 
every  letter  which  that  of  his  corres- 
pondent pointed  at.  By  this  means 
they  talked  together  across  a  whole 
continent,  and  conveyed  their  thoughts 
to  one  another  in  an  instant,  over 
cities,  mountains,  seas,  or  deserts."  If 
any  ask,  what  this  has  to  do  with 
mesmerism  ?  the  answer  is,  that  both 
the  needle  and  the  thing  or  person 
mesmerised  may  be  under  the  same 
power — electricity ;  and  some  are  of 
that  opinion.  That  a  piece  of  metal, 
made  a  loadstone,  should,  wherever 


1851.] 


What  is  Mesmerism  f 


placed,  retain  its  power  unimpaired, 
however  frequently  it  may  impart  it 
— that  it  should  attract  and  firmly 
hold  to  it  bodies  of  great  weight,  so 
as  not  to  be  removed  from  it  without 
great  force,  offers  a  phenomenon  very 
analogous  to  that  of  mesmerism, 
whereby  the  hand  or  the  foot  is  ar- 
rested, and  so  firmly  held  to  a  panel 
of  a  door,  or  to  a  floor,  as,  without 
extreme  violence,  not  to  be  removed. 
I  have  heard,  too,  of  cases  where 
parties  have  communicated  with  each 
other,  or  have  been  asserted  so  to  have 
done,  in  a  mesmeric  state,  though  at 
the  distance  of  many  streets.  Indeed, 
what  else  was  the  seeing  the  postman 
arrive,  deliver  a  letter,  and  then  the 
telling  the  contents  of  that  letter,  as  in 
the  instance  I  spoke  of,  and  at  which  I 
was  present?  For  though,  in  this  case, 
only  one  party  was  in  a  mesmeric 
state,  it  was  equally  possible  the 
other,  though  at  miles  distant,  might 
have  been  in  the  same  state,  and 
might  have  known  what  was  going  on 
in  the  room  where  the  mesmerised 
person  spoke  of  the  contents  of  the 
letter.  She  even  described  the  ex- 
pression of  surprise  the  contents  of 
the  letter  were  producing  on  her 
friends.  And  this  telegraphic  power 
has  actually  been  assumed,  and  the 
reader  may  remember  the  description 
given,  some  few  months  since,  of  the 
condition  and  situation  of  the  Franklin 
crew  and  ships.  The  reader  cannot 
fail  to  observe  what  an  exact  descrip- 
tion this  account  from  Strada  gives  of 
the  electric  telegraph,  particularly  the 
submarine.  One  would  almost  ima- 
gine it  to  have  been  written  in  1850. 
But  supposing  the  science  of  mesmer- 
ism to  be  only  now  in  progress,  and 
to  be  a  perfectible  science,  why  should 
we  doubt  taking  individual  facts  as 
data  for  more  universal  and  invari- 
able, that  the  whole  machinery  of 
telegraph  by  wire  may  be  dispensed 
with?  Mesmerists  do  claim  powers 
quite  equal,  though  in  individuals 
only,  and  not  invariably — does  such 
power  at  any  time  exist  ?  If  it  does, 
and  the  science  is  progressive,  who  is 
to  define  its  limit?  It  is  important 
that  we  should  know  what  is  de- 
manded of  our  belief.  No  one  will 
deny  that  the  demand  is  of  a  nature 
to  warrant,  if  credited,  the  expectation 
of  such  a  future  as  I  have  laid  down. 


Many  may  remember  that,  under 
this  notion  of  electricity,  metallic 
tractors  were  in  fashion,  and  said  to 
work  great  cures — till  the  experiment 
was  tried  with  pieces  of  wood  painted 
to  resemble  them,  and  the  effects  were 
the  same.  This  took  away  the  virtue 
from  the  metallic  tractors. 

There  has  ever  been,  in  all  ages,  an 
extensive  credulity  with  regard  to  the 
power  of  charm  in  the  human  eye 
and  hand — particularly  the  latter, 
arising,  or  greatly  strengthened,  by 
its  use  in  the  act  of  blessing.  There 
is  the  touching  for  the  Evil,  hence  ac- 
quiring a  royal  name ;  and  the  super- 
stition of  the  healing  power  in  the 
dead  man's  hand.  Naaman  the  Sy- 
rian thought  that  the  prophet  would 
"  strike  his  hand  over  the  place,  and 
recover  the  leper."  This  striking  the 
hand  over  the  place  has  been  the 
adopted  means  of  the  mesmerists  also  ; 
but  it  is  not  according  to  the  rules  of 
the  science  necessary.  For  some  go 
so  far  as  to  say  they  have  only  to 
will,  and  they  effect.  "  I  will  that  a 
person  should  come  to  me,  and  he  or 
she  comes" — this  I  have  heard  as- 
serted, and  many  instances  given,  and 
some  of  very  strange  willing — and 
purposely  strange  to  test  the  power. 
You  are  told  that  you  may  make  a 
person  love  or  hate — if  under  these 
passions  you  should  will  that  they 
act,  will  they  act?  If  the  honest 
person,  as  I  have  shown,  was  made  a 
thief  by  striking  the  hand  "  over  the 
place"  of  thieving ;  and  if  a  person  is 
really  made  to  come  to  you  by  your 
willing  the  coming — though  at  the 
same  time,  by  words,  you  will  him  or 
her  not  to  come — can  you  not  will  that 
he  or  she  shall  commit  a  particular 
theft,  and  it  will  be  committed?  I 
say  not  that  any  of  our  mesmerists 
are  so  wicked  as  to  will  such  things  ; 
but  a  science  so  advantageous  to 
thieves,  who  require  instruments,  may 
fall  into  very  bad  hands. 

Viewing  this  and  the  many  dangers 
which  I  have  shown  it  comprehends, 
ought  one  not  to  desire  that  there 
may  be  in  reality  no  such  science — 
that  it  is  all  mere  delusion,  illusion, 
or  collusion — anything  rather  than  a 
truth?  And  this  honest  desire  is  right, 
and  the  honesty  of  it  should  effec- 
tually rescue  the  unconvinced  from  the 
coarseness  of  obloquy  which,  I  am 


80 


What  is  Mesmerism  ? 


[July, 


sorry  to  say,  the  advocates  for  it,  upon 
all  occasions,  cast  upon  all  who  ven- 
ture to  doubt. 

They  tell  you  tauntingly  to  believe 
your  senses  ;  yet  the  senses,  from 
experience,  one  is  inclined  to  mis- 
trust— indeed,  some  philosophers  have 
absurdly  laid  down,  that  they  arc 
only  given  to  deceive  us,  and  are  no- 
wise to  be  trusted.  Without  being 
under  such  philosophy,  I  would  ask 
which  of  our  senses  has  not  deceived 
us?  Go  to  a  common  conjuror,  put 
them  all  to  the  test,  and  question 
them.  Your  eye  will  be  positive  that 
it  saw  a  child  rammed  into  a  cannon, 
and  shot  into  or  through  a  wall — and 
the  said  child  walks  away  unhurt. 
Your  hand  will  assert  it  caught  hold 
of  a  dove,  and  grasped  at  a  snake — 
your  ear  tells  you  a  person  is  speak- 
ing to  you  from  a  box  hardly  large 
enough  to  hold  a  mouse.  Now  am  I 
not  bound,  when  so  large  demands  are 
made  on  my  credulity,  and  the  appeal 
is  to  my  senses,  to  refuse  to  bring 
them  alone  into  court  as  evidence? 
Conjurors,  aware  of  this  inroad  made 
on  their  profession,  have  very  cun- 
ningly so  imitated  mesmeric  exhibi- 
tions, that  it  is  hard  indeed  to  tell  the 
imitation  from  the  original.  Then, 
again,  there  have  been  some  very 
damaging  scrutinies  —  some  impos- 
tures discovered  and  confessed.  It  is 
said  in  reply — So  the  priestess  has 
been  suborned,  yet  the  belief  in  the 
oracles  but  little  shaken.  But  this  is 
assuming  also  the  truth  of  the  oracles 
— a  truth  in  the  inspiration  of  the 
priestess  ;  and  a  large  world  of  discus- 
sion is  laid  open  to  the  mind,  and  it 
must  travel  far  ere  it  can  come  to  a 
judgment  on  that  question.  And  after 
all,  if  the  affirmative  is  reached,  the 
mesmerist  may  decline  to  accept  or 
associate  with  the  spirits  to  which  such 
power  shall  be  ascribed.  For  the 
power,  if  it  did  exist,  was  not  human, 
unless,  says  the  mesmerist,  "  it  was 
mesmerism."  Then  we  must  reply — 
Then  mesmerism,  too,  is  not  merely 
human. 

Now  it  may  be  said,  in  answer  to 
this  deceit  of  our  senses,  that  the 
argument  would  touch  belief  in  mira- 
cles ;  and  it  might,  with  regard  to 
pretended  miracles  that  rest  on  the 
evidence  of  the  senses  only.  But,  in 
fact,  the  evidence  of  the  senses  is  only 


one  of  the  marks  necessary  to  estab- 
lish the  truth  of  a  miracle  ;  whereas 
the  conjunction  of  four  marks  are 
needed,  as  "  The  Short  Method " 
so  ingeniously  and  so  undeniably 
proves— all  which  marks  do  combine 
in  the  Scripture  miracles,  and  in  them 
only.  The  senses  are  witnesses,  not 
judges.  They  may  be  false  witnesses, 
and  even  notoriously  have  their  coun- 
terfeits in  the  imagination.  Persons 
often  imagine  they  hear,  see,  and  feel, 
what  in  fact  they  do  not.  I  want, 
therefore,  in  mesmeric  cases,  some- 
thing more,  and  of  a  nature  different 
from  that  which  a  conjuror  can  deceive 
me  in.  Mesmerism  does  put  forth 
pretensions  to  evidence  of  this  required 
character,  in  its  spiritualities — where 
matter,  however  fine  and  subtle,  is  set 
aside — as  in  this  further  claim  of  the 
power  of  the  will.  If  I  can,  without 
touch,  motion,  or  breathing,  will,  and 
by  willing,  create ;  or  if  I  can  be 
satisfied  that  any  one  has,  or  ever  has 
had,  that  power — is  in  possession  of 
that  thing  a  thousand  times  more  potent 
than  the  long  sought  "  philosopher's 
stone  " — I  must  bow  down  before  the 
science,  worship  it,  and  deprecate  its 
evil  influences.. 

I  thought,  when  I  began  this  paper, 
to  be  able  to  confine  the  mesmeric 
claims  to  two  great  attributes,  though 
still  shrouded  by  the  human  veil — 
Omnipresence  and  Omniscience  :  but, 
in  proceeding,  I  find  this  power  of  the 
will  exciting  me  boldly,  and  demand- 
ing to  be  heard.  It  says — It  is  I  that 
can  make  virtue  and  vice  ;  I  can  will 
(shall  I  write  it  down?)  water  to  be 
wine — I  can  create  love  and  hatred — 
I  can  make  to  come  and  make  to  go. 
Without  a  word  of  persuasion,  I  make 
my  will  the  sole  motive  of  another's 
action,  that  action  being  itself 
abhorrent  to  the  general  disposition  of 
the  person.  It  is  I  predestinate — 
the  fur  prcdestinatus  is  the  creature 
of  my  will.  I  demand  a  place  with 
your  "  kind  of  omnipresence  and  om- 
niscience," and  to  be  named  "  Omni- 
potence." 

There  is  another  view  of  mesmerism 
somewhat  startling—it  has  a  direct 
tendency  to  take  from  man  his  respon- 
sibility ;  for,  if  he  can,  by  the  hand 
of  influence,  be  made  virtuous  or 
criminal,  in  vulgar  speech,  there  must 
cease  to  be  virtue  or  crime  as  far  as 


1851.] 

the  actor  is  concerned.  Indeed,  some 
medical  men,  looking  to  the  brain  as 
the  material  organ  alone  actuating 
man,  do  often,  and  have  recently,  in 
our  courts  of  justice,  made  an  irresis- 
tible impulse,  incited  by  the  diseased 
organ,  the  proof  of  insanity;  and  men 
who  call  themselves  philosophers  and 
philanthropists,  adopting  this  theory, 
call  upon  the  legislature  to  annul 
punishments.  They  think,  from  the 
form  of  the  head,  the  man  must  be 
what  he  is.  And  this  is  phreno- 
mesmerism.  The  organism  of  life 
does  everything.  I  know  not  to  what 
extent  the  writers  in  the  Zoist  may  be 
imbued  with  this  notion ;  certainly  the 
title  seems  to  imply,  as  well  as  much 
in  the  contents  of  the  Zoist,  that  upon 
the  materialism  of  life  rest  the  great 
phenomena  of  what  we  were  wont  to 
call  mind.  "  Philosophists,"  says  a 
satirist,  u  endeavour  to  explode  pri- 
vate affections,  in  order  to  make  room 
for  general  philanthropy ;  the  next 
step  is,  to  remove  the  invidious  dis- 
tinction between  the  several  parts  of 
active  matter,  and  to  substitute  philo- 
zoism  (love  of  all  that  has  life)  for  phi- 
lanthropy— until  which  last  improve- 
ment in  morals  is  effected,  we  cannot 
attain  to  absolute  perfection,  which  I 
hold  to  consist  in  Philo-entity,  (love  of 
all  that  exists.)  The  murderer  of 
Kotzebue  vaunted  that  he  had  given 
more  than  taken  life,  when  he  asserted 
that  his  victim  was  then  the  world 
and  the  food  of  worms.  Whoever 
makes  the  whole  of  man  a  piece  of 
mechanism,  to  be  worked  at  will,  as 
any  other  piece  of  mechanism  — 
denying  thereby  personal  responsi- 
bility, whether  under  the  philosophy 
of  phrenology,  or  phreno-mesmerism, 
or  philozoism,  does,  in  fact,  trans- 
fer the  dignity  of  his  species  to  a 
toad  or  an  oyster,  level  all  human 
distinctions,  and  ought  to  profess  as 
much  love  (if  the  word  may  be  used 
at  all)  for  the  worms  that  feed  upon 
his  fellow-creatures  as  for  his  fellow- 
creatures  themselves. 

It  would  be  unfair  to  fasten  this 
belief  in  material  Zoism  on  all  mes- 
merists, or  on  them  in  general ;  but  it 
is  as  well  to  notice  the  tendency — and, 
to  those  who  follow  the  beginnings  of 
things  to  their  conclusions,  this  ten- 
dency must  be  very  natural ;  for  the 
man  that  can  make  another,  merely 

VOL.  LXX, — NO.  CCCCXXIX. 


What  is  Mesmerism  ? 


81 


by  the  waving  of  his  hand  over  an 
organ,  do  what  he  wills  him  to  do, 
must  look  upon  that  man  as  a  mere 
machine  in  his  hands,  and  think  of 
himself,  that  whilst  in  his  material 
form  as  a  Zoon,  he  has  brought  the 
subtle  powers  of  his  Zoe — his  life—- 
to such  a  state  of  energy  that  he  can 
communicate  with,  and  overpower,  all 
other  life. 

Now,  as  I  professed  in  commencing 
this  paper  to  hold  my  faith  in  abey- 
ance, I  must  confess  I  find  myself, 
after  these  reflections,  dropped  with 
my  whole  weight  into  the  scale  ad- 
verse to  mesmerism.  What  shall 
weigh  down  the  opposite  scale  again? 
first  making  a  vacillation,  a  suspense, 
and,  if  possible,  a  decided  preponder- 
ance on  the  other  side.  Wise  and 
learned  men  have  been  its  advocates 
— as  they  have  advocated  witchcraft, 
and  persecuted  witches.  At  the  trial 
of  Amy  Duny  and  Rose  Callender,  at 
Bury-St-Edmund's,  1664,  before  Sir 
Matthew  Hale,  Sir  Thomas  Brown, 
who  wrote  against  vulgar  errors,  is 
said  to  have  declared  in  court,  he 
"  was  clearly  of  opinion  that  the  fits 
of  the  plaintiffs  were  natural,  but 
heightened  by  the  devil  co-operating 
with  the  malice  of  the  witches,  at 
whose  instance  he  did  the  villanies." 
He  confirmed  it  by  a  similar  case  in 
Denmark,  and  so  far  influenced  the 
jury  that  the  two  women  were  hanged. 
I  begin  to  feel  the  weight  of  Sir 
Matthew  Hale,  and  the  dispenser  of 
"  Vulgar  Errors"  clinging  to  him. 

The  great  Boyle  himself  attested 
several  of  the  cures  made  by  Valentine 
Greatrakes,  in  the  time  of  Charles  II. 
— an  Irish  gentleman,  who  professed  to- 
cure  diseases  by  touching  or  stroking 
the  parts  affected,  and  who  thereby 
acquired  great  eminence.  Then  I  am 
inclined  to  throw  against  Boyle  an 
anecdote  showing  that  the  workings 
of  imagination  may  go  as  far — it  is  in 
a  note  of  Granger's  : — 

"  I  was  myself  a  witness  of  the 
powerful  workings  of  imagination  in 
the  populace.  When  the  waters  of 
Glastonbury  were  at  the  height  of 
their  reputation  in  1751,  the  following 
story,  which  scarce  exceeds  what  I 
observed  upon  the  spot,  was  told  me 
by  a  gentleman  of  character, — 'An  old 
woman  in  the  workhouse  at  Yeovil, 
who  had  long  been  a  cripple,  and 


What  is  Mesmerism  ? 


[July, 


made  use  of  crutches,  was  strongly 
inclined  to  drink  of  the  Glastonbury 
waters,  which  she  was  assured  would 
cure  her  lameness  ;  the  master  of 
the  workhouse  procured  her  several 
bottles  of  water,  which  had  such 
an  effect  that  she  soon  laid  aside 
one  crutch,  and  not  long  after 
the  other.  This  was  extolled  as  a 
miraculous  cure  ;  but  the  man  pro- 
tested to  his  friends  that  he  had  im- 
posed upon  her,  and  fetched  water 
from  an  ordinary  spring.'  I  need  not 
inform  my  reader  that  the  force  of 
imagination  had  spent  itself,  and  she 
relapsed  into  her  former  infirmity." 

As  Boyle  is  now  rising,  let  us  see 
if  Mesmer  himself  cannot  give  him  a 
further  lift,  and  show  that  one  of  his 
cures  was  as  imaginative  as  that  of 
the  old  woman  of  Yeovil.  And  here, 
too,  be  it  observed,  we  have  the 
double  weight  of  a  man  of  extraor- 
dinary learning  and  Mesmer  in  the 
scale  together. 

M.  Cornte  de  Gibelin,  son  of  a  pastor 
at  Lausanne,  and  born  there  in  1727, 
came  to  Paris  in  1763,  where,  some 
years  after,  he  put  out  proposals  for 
a  large  work,  to  be  published  by  sub- 
scription, intitled  Le  Monde  Primitif 
analyse  et  compare  avec  le  Monde 
Moderne ;  ou  Recherches  sur  VAntiquite 
du  Monde.  The  work  met  with  great 
encouragement,  and  was  extended  to 
9  vols.  in  4to  ;  when,  his  health  being 
much  impaired  by  severe  application 
to  his  studies,  he  was  forced  to  inter- 
mit them,  and  applied  to  the  celebrated 
magnetic  D.  M.  Mesmer  for  relief,  by 
whose  operations  he  flattered  himself 
he  had  received  so  much,  that  he  ad- 
dressed a  memoir  to  his  subscribers  in 
1783,  reckoned  one  of  the  ablest 
defences  of  M.  Mesmer  and  his  opera- 
tions. He  relapsed,  and,  being  re- 
moved to  Dr  Mesmer's  house,  died 
there  in  1784,  which  occasioned  the 
following  lines — 

"  Cy  git  ce  pauvre  Gibelin, 
Qui  parloit  Grec,  Hebreu,  Latin. 
Admirez  tous  son  heroisme, 
II  fut  martyr  de  magnetisme." 

Mesmerists  say  that  the  commis- 
sion in  Paris  appointed  to  examine 
into  the  science  made  a  secret  report 
to  the  king,  contradicting  their  public 
condemnation  of  it.  I  do  not  know 
that  this  secret  report  has  seen  the 
light.  Is  it,  with  the  gift  of  Constan- 


tine  to  Borne,  as  yet  in  the  moon? 
Wherever  it  be,  clairvoyance  ought 
to  discover  it. 

Whatever  mesmerism  is  now,  in  its 
beginning,  if  it  advances  as  fast  as 
other  sciences,  what  will  become  of 
us  under  its  workings?  Will  the 
laws  against  witchcraft  be  again  in 
force,  and  mesmerism  come  under 
that  denomination  ?  It  is  frightful 
to  think  how  rapidly  time  advances, 
and  brings  strange  things  to  pass. 
In  ten,  twenty  years,  what  a  confusion 
the  world  will  be  in  under  its  power — 
the  consummation  of  "knowledge  is 
power"  all  centred  in  mesmerism. 
Electricity  is  probably  its  great  agent. 
Philosophers  say  that,  if  you  shake 
hands,  there  is  an  intercommunion  of 
the  electric  fluid,  a  mutual  participa- 
tion of  sentiment  and  all  the  pheno- 
mena of  mind. 

And  here  I  call  to  mind  that,  in 
another  part  of  this  paper,  I  asked 
what  became  of  the  mesmeric  influence 
put  on  and  put  off  by  the  wave 
of  the  hand.  It  cannot  go  through 
the  floor,  a  non-conductor,  or  it  would 
not  retain  power  to  fasten  to  it  the 
foot.  Admit,  then,  that  in  its  diffused 
state  it  may  be  too  weak  to  affect 
the  company  in  the  room:  what 
becomes  of  it— is  it  floating  about, 
and  may  be  collected  ?  What  is  to 
be  said  if  the  science  shall  be  advanced 
to  the  degree  that  the  mesmeric 
electric  fluid  may  be  concentrated,  as 
in  a  "  Ley  den  jar?"  What  a  fright- 
ful power  may  be  there,  more  potent 
than  the  genie  that  the  fisherman  in 
the  Arabian  Tale  emancipated  from 
the  jar  that  came  up  in  his  net.  Mes- 
merism is  not  under  "Solomon's  seal." 
This  Ley  den  j  ar — contemplate  concen- 
trated mesmerism — what  will  it  not 
do  ?  Will  the  mesmeriser  be  enabled 
to  load  his  jar  with  any  passion- 
power  he  pleases — or  rather  direct  the 
electro-mesmeric  fluid,  by  means  of 
wires,  simultaneously  to  the  same 
phrenological  organs  in  many  people  ? 
Will  he  be  able  to  excite  universal 
devotion,  or  universal  combativeness? 

Imagination  wanders  away  to  new 
possible  camp-meetings,  that  have 
had  their  prototypes  in  ancient  legend ; 
for  we  may  now  be  but  in  a  lull  of 
sobriety,  and  awaken  to  a  new  and 
general  madness.  May  the  mesme- 
riser be  a  Bacchus  among  his  bacchana- 


1851.]                                        What  is  Mesmerism?  83 

Hans,   and  lead  the  rout  to    worse  «  Hee  nugse  seria  ducunt 

orgies  ?     Does  the  fabled  strange  tale  in  mala." 
represent  but  a  process  of  the  science 

—  a  Pentheus^  will-driven,  and  torn  If,  sir,  the  powers  be  according  to 
by  his  unconscious  mother  and  uncon-  the  demand  of  the  professors  of  mes- 
scious  sisters,  when  it  was  willed  that  merism,  I  dread  it ;  all  ought  to  dread 
they  should  see  in  him  but  a  bull  ?  it.  It  would  make  every  one  suspect 
Will  the  mesineriser  possess  a  more  his  fellow -man  to  be  a  demon.  For 
potent  Thyrsus,  or  a  more  sleep-  though  mesmerists,  in  defence,  say, 
engendering  and  awakening  Caduceus  u  the  Evil  Spirit  cannot  do  good," 
than  that  of  Hermes?  Is  there  a  may  he  not  first,  to  establish  the 
cycle  to  bring  these  things  to  pass  evil,  transform  himself  into  "  an  angel 
again  in  more  full  development?  Or,  of  light?"  for  this  is  within  the  scope 
to  descend  to  the  more  vulgar  illus-  of  his  deceptive  power.  If  it  be 
tration  of  this  transmitted  myth,  in  altogether  a  delusion,  a  falsity,  an 
the  Harlequin  of  our  stage,  will  the  imposture,  let  it  be  exposed,  con- 
adept  in  the  science  transmute  by  demned ;  and  the  mesmeriser  be,  in 
wave  of  wand,  and  Columbines  run  the  law's  eye,  a  common  fortune- 
after  him  at  pleasure  ?  teller,  and  the  craft  subjected  to  the 
Am  I  putting  the  case  ad  absurdum  same  penalties.  If  it,  however,  be 
— casting  ridicule  upon  the  science ?  otherwise,  it  will  be  the  interest  of 
Scarcely  so,  for  the  absurdum  is  all  to  look  to  consequences,  and  be  at 
apparent  in  the  demands  ;  and  could  least  cautious,  lest  "  the  prince  of  this 
these  be  carried  out,  there  may  be  world,"  and  the  powers  of  the  air,  be 
things  arise  ostensibly  ridiculous,  but  let  loose  upon  us  under  the  expansion 
tragic  in  a  sad  reality.  of  an  evil  knowledge. 


POSTSCRIPT. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  our  excellent  correspondent  has  set  forth  the 
claims  of  "  Adolphe"  and  "  Alexis,"  and  similar  interesting  abstractions, 
to  the  powers  of  omnipresence  and  omniscience,  with  great  candour  and  be- 
coming gravity.  We  are  sorry  that  we  cannot  follow  what  many  of  our 
readers  may  consider  so  excellent  an  example.  We  have  no  faith 'in  those 
dear  creatures  without  surnames :  we  have  no  faith  in  animal  magnetism, 
either  in  its  lesser  or  in  its  larger  pretensions ;  but  we  have  an  unbounded 
faith  in  the  imbecility,  infatuation,  vanity,  credulity,  and  knavery  of  which 
human  nature  is  capable.  And  we  are  of  opinion  that  there  is  not  a  single 
well- authenticated  mesmeric  phenomenon  which  is  not  fully  explicable  by  the 
operation  of  one  or  more  of  these  causes,  or  of  the  whole  of  them  taken  in 
conjunction. 

The  question  in  regard  to  mesmerism  is  twofold :  first,  how  is  the  mesmeric 
prostration  to  be  accounted  for  ?  and  secondly,  how  is  it  to  be  disposed  of?  It 
may  be  accounted  for,  we  conceive,  by  the  natural  tendencies  just  recited, 
without  its  being  necessary  to  postulate  any  new  or  unknown  agency ;  it  may 
be  disposed  of  by  the  influence  of  public  opinion,  which  would  very  soon  put 
a  stop  to  these  pitiable  exhibitions,  and  very  soon  extinguish  the  maguetiser's 
power  and  the  patient's  susceptibility,  if  it  were  but  to  visit  the  performers 
with  the  contempt  and  reprobation  they  deserve.  A  few  words  on  each  of 
these  heads  may  not  be  out  of  place,  as  a  qualifying  postscript  to  the  foregoing 
letter,  which,  in  our  opinion,  treats  the  mesmeric  superstition  with  far  too 
much  indulgence. 

I.  The  existence  of  any  physical  force  or  fluid  in  man  or  in  nature,  by 
which  the  mesmeric  phenomena  are  induced,  has  been  distinctly  disproved  by 
every  carefully  conducted  experiment.  No  person  was  ever  magnetised  when 
totally  unsuspicious  of  the  operation  of  ichich  he  was  the  subject.  This  is 
conclusive  ;  because  a  physical  agent,  which  never  does,  of  itself  and  unhe- 
ralded, produce  any  effect,  is  no  physical  agent  at  all.  Then,  again,  let  certain 
persons  be  prepared  for  the  magnetic  condition,  and  aware  of  what  is  expected 


84  What  is  Mesmerism1?  [July, 

of  them,  and  the  effects  are  equally  produced,  whether  the  pretended  influence 
be  exerted  or  not.  It  seems  simply  ridiculous  to  postulate  an  odylic  (we 
should  like  to  be  favoured  with  the  derivation  of  this  word)  fluid  to  account 
for  phenomena  which  show  themselves  just  as  conspicuously  when  no  such 
fluid  is  or  can  be  in  operation. 

But  it  is  argued  by  some  of  the  advocates  of  mesmeric  influence,  that  their 
agent,  though  perhaps  not  physical,  is  at  any  rate  moral — that  the  will,  or 
some  spiritual  energy  on  the  part  of  the  mesmerist,  is  the  power  by  which  his 
victims  are  entranced  and  rendered  obedient  to  his  bidding.  Here,  too,  all 
the  well-authenticated  cases  establish  a  totally  different  conclusion.  They 
prove  that  the  will  or  spiritual  power  of  the  mesmerist  has  of  itself 'no  ascend- 
ency or  control  whatsoever  over  the  body  or  mind  of  his  victim.  Every  well- 
guarded  series  of  experiments  has  exhibited  the  mesmerist  and  his  patient  at 
cross-purposes  with  each  other — the  patient  frequently  doing  those  things 
which  the  mesmerist  was  desirous  he  should  not  do,  and  not  doing  those  things 
which  the  operator  was  desirous  he  should  do.  As  for  the  buffoonery  begotten 
by  mesmerism  on  phrenology,  this  exhibition  can  scarcely  be  expected  to  pro- 
voke much  astonishment,  or  credence,  or  comment,  except  among  professional 
artists  themselves — 

"  Like  Katterfelto,  with  their  hair  on  end, 
At  their  own  wonders — wondering  for  their  bread  !  " 

The  true  explanation  of  mesmerism  is  to  be  found,  as  we  have  said,  in  the 
weakness  or  infatuation  of  human  nature  itself.  No  other  causes  are  at  all 
necessary  to  account  for  the  mesmeric  prostration.  There  is  far  more  crazi- 
uess,  both  physical  and  moral,  in  man  than  he  usually  gives  himself  credit  for. 
The  reservoir  of  human  folly  may  be  in  a  great  measure  occult,  but  it  is 
always  full ;  and  all  that  silliness,  whether  of  body  or  mind,  at  any  time 
wants,  is  to  get  its  cue. 

These  general  remarks  are  of  course  more  applicable  to  some  individuals 
than  they  arc  to  others.  In  soft  and  weak  natures,  where  the  nervous  system 
is  subject  to  cataleptic  seizures,  mental  and  bodily  prostration  is  frequently 
almost  the  normal  condition.  Such  of  our  readers  as  may  have  frequented 
mesmeric  exhibitions  must  have  observed  a  kind  of  semi-humanity  visible  in 
the  expression  and  demeanour  of  most  of  the  subjects  whom  the  professional 
operators  carry  about  with  them.  These  poor  creatures  are  at  all  times  ready 
to  imbibe  the  magnetic  stupefaction,  because  it  is  only  by  an  effort  that  they 
are  ever  free  from  it.  There  is  always  at  work  within  them  an  occult  ten- 
dency to  self-abandonment— an  unintentional  proclivity  to  aberration,  imita- 
tion, and  deceit,  which  only  requires  a  signal  to  precipitate  its  morbid  deposits. 
This  constitutional  infirmity  of  body  and  of  mind  furnishes  to  the  mesmerist  a 
basis  for  his  operations,  and  is  the  source  of  all  the  wonders  which  he  works. 

It  is  only  in  the  case  of  individuals  who,  Avithout  being  fatuous,  are 
hovering  on  the  verge  of  fatuity,  that  the  magnetic  phenomena  and  the 
mesmeric  prostration  can  be  admitted  to  be  in  any  considerable  degree  real. 
Real  to  a  certain  extent  they  may  be ;  marvellous  they  certainly  are  not. 
Imbecility  of  the  nervous  system,  a  ready  abandonment  of  the  will,  a 
facility  in  relinquishing  every  endowment  which  makes  man  human — these 
intelligible  causes,  eked  out  by  a  vanity  and  cunning  which  are  always  inhe- 
rent in  natures  of  an  inferior  type,  are  quite  sufficient  to  account  for  the 
effects  of  the  mesmeric  manipulations  on  subjects  of  peculiar  softness  and 
pliancy. 

In  those  persons  of  a  better  organised  structure,  who  yield  themselves  up 
to  the  mesmeric  degradation,  the  physical  causes  are  less  operative  ;  but 
the  moral  causes  are  still  more  influential.  In  all  cases  the  prostration  is 
self-induced.  But  in  the  subjects  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  it  is  mainly 
induced  by  physical  depravity,  although  moral  frailties  concur  to  bring  about 
the  condition.  In  persons  of  a  superior  type,  the  condition  is  mainly  due 
to  moral  causes,  although  physical  imbecility  has  some  share  in  facili- 
tating the  result.  These  people  have  much  vanity,  much  curiosity,  and 


1851.]  What  ii  Mesmerism?  85 

much  credulity,  together  with  a  weak  imagination — that  is  to  say,  an  imagi- 
nation which  is  easily  excited  by  circumstances  which  would  produce  no 
effect  upon  people  of  stronger  imaginative  powers.  Their  vanity  shows  itself 
in  the  desire  to  astonish  others,  and  get  themselves  talked  about.  They 
think  it  rather  creditable  to  be  susceptible  subjects.  It  is  a  point  in  their 
favour !  Their  credulity  and  curiosity  take  the  form  of  a  powerful  wish  to 
be  astonished  themselves.  Why  should  they  be  excluded  from  a  land  of 
•wonders  which  others  are  permitted  to  enter  ?  The  first  step  is  now  taken. 
They  are  ready  for  the  sacrifice,  which  various  motives  concur  to  render 
agreeable.  They  resign  themselves  passively,  mind  and  body,  into  the  hands 
of  the  manipulator ;  and  by  his  passes  and  grimaces,  they  are  cowed  plea- 
sureably,  bullied  delightfully,  into  so  much  of  the  condition  which  their  incli- 
nations are  bent  upon  attaining,  as  justifies  them,  they  think,  in  laying 
claim  to  the  whole  condition,  without  bringing  them  under  the  imputation  of 
being  downright  impostors.  Downright  impostors  they  unquestionably  are 
not.  We  believe  that  their  condition  is  frequently,  though  to  a  very  limited 
extent,  real  We  must  also  consider,  that,  in  a  matter  of  this  kind,  which 
is  so  deeply  imbued  with  the  ridiculous,  a  mesmeric  patient  may,  and  doubt- 
less often  does,  justify  to  his  own  conscience  a  considerable  deviation  from 
the  truth,  on  the  ground  of  waggery  or  hoaxing.  Why  should  an  audience, 
which  has  the  patience  to  put  up  with  such  spectacles,  not  be  fooled  to  the 
top  of  its  bent? 

II.  How,  then,  is  the  miserable  nonsense  to  be  disposed  of?  It  can 
only  be  put  a  stop  to  by  the  force  of  public  opinion,  guided  of  course  by 
reason  and  truth.  Let  it  be  announced  from  all  authoritative  quarters  that 
.  the  magnetic  sensibility  is  only  another  name  for  an  unsound  condition  of  the 
mental  and  bodily  functions — that  it  may  be  always  accepted  as  an  infal- 
lible index  of  the  position  which  an  individual  occupies  in  the  scale  of 
humanity— that  its  manifestation  (when  real)  invariably  betokens  a  physique 
and  a  morale  greatly  below  the  average,  and  a  character  to  which  no  respect 
can  be  attached.  Let  this  announcement — which  is  the  undoubted  truth — be 
made  by  all  respectable  organs  of  public  opinion,  and  by  all  who  are  in  any 
way  concerned  in  the  diffusion  of  knowledge,  or  in  the  instruction  of  the 
rising  generation,  and  the  magnetic  superstition  will  rapidly  decline.  Let 
this — the  correct  and  scientific  explanation  of  the  phenomena — be  understood 
and  considered  carefully  by  all  young  people  of  both  sexes,  and  the  mesmeric 
ranks  will  be  speedily  thinned  of  their  recruits.  Our  young  friends  who 
may  have  been  entrapped  into  this  infatuation  by  want  of  due  considera- 
tion, will  be  wiser  for  the  future.  If  they  allow  themselves  to  be  experi- 
mented upon,  they  will  at  any  rate  take  care  not  to  disgrace  themselves 
by  yielding  to  the  follies  to  which  they  may  be  solicited  both  from  within 
and  from  without ;  and  we  are  much  mistaken  if,  when  they  know  what  the 
penalty  is,  they  will  abandon  themselves  to  a  disgusting  condition  which  is 
characteristic  only  of  the  most  abject  specimens  of  our  species. 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


[July, 


WANDERINGS   HOUND   THE    WORLD. 


CIRCUMNAVIGATORS  have  become 
quite  commonplace  characters  in  this 
century  of  mighty  steam  and  universal 
travel.  As  in  the  case  of  certain  gems 
and  flowers,  the  multiplication  of  the 
species  has  destroyed  its  value — over- 
production has  been  its  bane.  Captain 
Cook,  to  whom,  in  our  boyish  days, 
we  remember  reverentially  looking  up, 
as  to  the  worthy  associate  of  Robinson 
Crusoe  and  Commodore  Anson,  would 
now,  if  resuscitated,  be  held  scarcely 
more  remarkable,  and  certainly  less 
amusing,  than  that  ingenious  Yankee, 
Herman  Melville.  You  shall  hardly 
stroll  round  a  Liverpool  dock  without 
rubbing  shoulders  with  men  who  have 
made  their  tour  of  the  globe — once  at 
least.  It  is  a  much  rarer  incident  to 
fall  in  with  a  lady  who  has  performed 
the  same  feat,  whether  wholly  by 
water,  or  by  a  combination  of  land- 
travel  and  sea- voyage.  The  book 
before  us — a  record  of  such  an  expe- 
dition—  may  fairly  claim  a  place 
amongst  the  curiosities  of  literature  ; 
less  on  account  of  its  intrinsic  pecu- 
liarities— although  these  are  not  want- 
ing— than  on  account  of  its  author, 
and  of  the  circumstances  that  led  to 
its  production. 

It  seems  no  difficult  matter  to  divine 
the  motives  that  induced  a  woman, 
verging  upon  fifty,  and  whose  life,  for 
many  years  previously,  had  glided 
tranquilly  along  in  the  education  of 
her  sons,  and  in  the  monotonous 
routine  of  domestic  life  in  a  German 
city,  suddenly  to  start,  without  other 
guide  or  companion  than  a  moderately 
garnished  purse,  upon  a  journey  round 
the  world.  We  should  have  been 
disposed  to  lay  odds  upon  guessing,  at 
a  first  attempt,  the  class  of  feelings 
that  had  stimulated  such  a  person, 
under  such  circumstances,  to  so  toil- 
some and  hazardous  an  expedition. 
There  would  seem  but  one  probable 
incentive  to  so  extraordinary  an  effort 
on  the  part  of  one  of  that  sex  and 
age — an  incentive  to  be  sought  in  the 
especially  feminine  attributes  of  ten- 
derness and  self-devotion.  The  wish 


to  find,  see,  or  serve  some  dear  friend 
or  relative,  lost,  long  absent,  or  in 
grievous  need  or  peril,  would  appear 
the  sole  solution  of  the  riddle.  Dispel 
this  hypothesis,  and  conjecture  is 
brought  to  bay.  We  pay  our  lost  bet, 
and  await,  in  perfect  puzzlement,  the 
explanation  of  the  enigma.  It  is  fur- 
nished in  Madame  Pfeiffer's  first  page. 
An  innate  love  of  wandering,  impera- 
tive as  the  impulse  that  drives  the 
painter  to  the  easel,  and  the  poet  into 
verse,  sent  her  forth — when  the  age 
of  her  children,  and  her  husband's 
death,  left  her  at  liberty  to  indulge 
her  errant  fancies — upon  a  pilgrimage 
to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth. 
Although  she  set  out  with  a  com- 
panion, she  soon  found  herself  alone. 
Economy  being  rendered  necessary,  as 
we  infer,  by  her  moderate  means 
and  inevitably  heavy  expenses,  she 
used  a  knapsack  instead  of  a  travel- 
ling-carriage, contented  herself  with 
plain  fare  and  inferior  accommodation, 
with  second-class  cabins,  and  some- 
times even  with  a  few  square  feet  of 
deck ;  roughing  it,  in  short,  with  as 
good  a  grace  as  any  travelling  student 
or  seasoned  soldier.  Cheerful  in  hard- 
ship, courageous  in  danger,  her  nature 
kindly  and  her  spirit  buoyant,  this 
enterprising  and  eccentric  German 
lady  may  serve  as  an  example  to  many 
a  male  traveller. 

Although,  during  her  married  life, 
Madame  Pfeiffer  had  had  occasional 
opportunities  of  indulging  her  mauia 
for  travelling,  these  had  been  but 
limited,  and  her  distant  journeys  be- 
gan only  with  her  widowhood.  The 
first,  undertaken  in  1842,  was  to 
Turkey,  Palestine,  and  Egypt.  Two 
small  volumes  were  the  result,  and 
they  have  reached  a  second  edition. 
Her  next  wanderings,  in  1845,  were  in 
a  very  opposite  direction — to  Scan- 
dinavia and  Iceland.  Of  these,  also, 
she  has  published  the  narrative. 
Finally,  on  the  1st  May  1846,  she 
left  Vienna  for  Hamburg,  and  took 
ship  for  the  Brazils.  We  should  fill  a 
page  with  dry  names,  did  we  enu- 


Eine  Frauenfahrt  um  die  Welt.     Von  IDA  PFEIFFER. 
Carl  Gerold  :  London,  Williams  and  Norgate,  1850. 


Three  volumes.     Vienna, 


1851.] 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


merate  those  of  the  principal  places 
she  visited  before  she  again,  on  the 
4th  November  1848,  set  foot  in  the 
Austrian  capital.  The  main  outline 
of  her  route  may  be  briefly  given. 
From  Brazil  she  went  round  the  Horn 
to  Chili,  thence  to  Tahiti,  China,  Cey- 
lon, British  India,  Persia,  Russia, 
(Asiatic  and  European,)  and  home  by 
Constantinople  and  Athens.  Her 
journal  during  these  extensive  pere- 
grinations forms  the  substance  of  the 
present  book,  for  which  she  claims  no 
other  merit  than  that  of  a  truthful 
delineation  of  what  she  herself  felt, 
saw,  and  experienced.  It  certainly 
has  not  the  novelty  and  strong  interest 
of  travels  in  regions  previously  un- 
visited  or  but  partially  explored,  such 
as  Tschudi's  Peru  and  Werne's  White 
Nile,  although  its  authoress  does  oc- 
casionally take  us  into  nooks  which 
few  have  entered  and  fewer  described 
— neither  are  its  literary  pretensions 
of  the  highest  class ;  but  there  is  a 
spirit  and  individuality  about  the 
writer  which  imparts  itself  to  her 
pages  ;  and  the  mere  circumstance  of 
finding  a  woman  in  situations  where 
we  are  unaccustomed  to  see  any  but 
hardy  men,  gives  a  pungency  to  the 
whole  work  which  is  still  unexhausted 
at  the  end  of  the  third  volume.  We 
can  read  with  little  surprise  or  emo- 
tion the  cool  account  given  by  a  Rux- 
ton,  a  Melville,  or  some  other  bold 
adventurer,  of  a  solitary  journey 
through  the  howling  wilderness,'  or  a 
hand-to-hand  scuffle  with  a  desperate 
marauder;  but  it  is  otherwise  startling 
to  find  an  elderly  lady  encountering, 
with  equal  coolness,  perils  precisely 
similar,  carrying  pistols,  and  ready  to 
use  them,  lunching  on  roast  monkeys, 
dining  on  stewed  snakes,  and  sojourn- 
ing amongst  savages.  Change  Ida 
into  John,  and  you  would  unquestion- 
ably much  diminish  the  interest  of  the 
book  ;  but,  even  then,  it  must  in  jus- 
tice be  admitted  to  an  honourable 
place  amongst  narratives  of  travel  and 
adventure. 

The  earliest  portion  of  Madame 
Pfeiifer's  book  is  the  least  interesting. 
On  the  12th  May  she  reached  Ham- 
burg, just  in  time  to  embark  on  board 
a  beautiful  brig,  a  namesake  of  her 
own,  which  was  to  sail  upon  the  13th. 
But  she  was  bound  to  wait  for  her 
travelling  companion,  a  certain  Count 


87 

Berchthold,  who  was  to  join  her  at 
Hamburg,  and  who  very  ungallantly 
made  her  wait.     They  did  not  get  off 
till  the  middle  of  June,  by  a  Danish 
brig  bound  for  Rio.     The  voyage  was 
uneventful.     Madame    Pfeiffer's   ac- 
count of  it,  and  of  the  Brazilian  capi- 
tal, presents  little  novelty.     There  is 
greater  interest  in  her  excursions  into 
the  interior  of  Brazil.     One  of  the 
first  of  these  was  to  the  new  German 
colony  of  ^Petropolis,   founded  little 
more   than   a  year  previously,    and 
situated  in  the  heart  of  an  aboriginal 
forest,  at  a  height  of  two  thousand 
five  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  sea.     The  chief  occupation  of  the 
colonists  was  intended  to  be  the  pro- 
duction of  various  kinds  of  European 
fruits  and  vegetables,  which  in  that 
climate  thrive  only  at  a  considerable 
elevation.     Hence  the  choice  of  the 
locality.       Petropolis     is     at    seven 
leagues  from  Porto  d'Estrella,  a  great 
depot  of  produce  from  the  interior, 
which  is  thence  sent  by  water  to  Rio. 
In  the  capital  the  colony  was  reported 
to  be  in  a  state  of  wonderful  progress 
and  rapid  development ;  but  Madame 
Pfeiffer  seems  to  have  been  very  sligh  tly 
impressed  by  its  prosperity,  and  mar- 
vels at  the  misery  her  poor  country- 
men must  have  endured  in  their  native 
land,  for  them  to  be  induced  to  aban- 
don it  for  the  possession  of  a  niggardly 
plot  of  land  in  the  centre  of  an  Ameri- 
can forest.     Her  excursion  to  Petro- 
polis was  chiefly  remarkable  by  the 
occurrence  of  her  first  adventure  of 
any  note.     She  and  the  Count  were 
attacked  by  a  negro,  armed  with  a 
lasso  and  a  long  knife.     Their  only 
means  of  defence  were  their  parasols, 
and   a    clasp-knife,   which   the  lady 
carried  in  her  pocket,  and  with  which 
she  valiantly  defended  herself,  being 
resolved,    she  says,   to   sell  her  life 
dearly.     She  received  two  wounds  in 
the   arm,    and  inflicted   one  on   the 
negro's  hand  ;  but  she  and  her  com- 
panion, who  showed  very  little  fight, 
would  to  all  appearance  have  got  the 
worst  of  it,   had  not  two  horsemen 
come  up.     The  end  of  the  affair  was 
that  the  brigand  was  pursued,  cap- 
tured, bound,   and,  as  he  refused  to 
walk,  so   awfully  beaten   about   the 
head,  that  Madame  Pfeiffer,  ignorant 
apparently  of  the  excessive  hardness 
of  negro  skulls,  expected  to  see  his 


88 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


[July, 


brains  knocked  out.  She  merely  got 
her  wounds  bound  up  and  prosecuted 
her  journey,  so  little  discomposed 
by  the  encounter  that  she  had 
speedily  forgotten  it  in  the  contem- 
plation of  the  enchanting  landscape. 
We  should  have  mentioned  that, 
the  better  to  enjoy  the  country,  and 
because  she  wished  to  collect  insects, 
and  the  Count  to  botanise,  they  per- 
formed the  journey  (seven  leagues) 
on  foot,  returning  in  like  manner, 
after  a  day's  stay  at  Petropolis.  No 
feather-bed  traveller,  it  must  be 
owned,  was  this  middle-aged  lady 
from  Vienna,  whose  next  expedition 
was  to  the  town  of  Novo  Friburgo,  or 
Morroqueimado,  founded  fifteen  years 
previously  by  Swiss  and  Germans, 
but  which,  at  the  time  of  her  visit, 
did  not  yet  contain  quite  a  hundred 
mason-built  houses.  Eight  leagues 
in  a  steamboat,  twenty  leagues  on 
mules,  took  the  travellers  from  Rio  to 
Novo  Friburgo.  The  twenty  leagues 
were  accomplished  slowly,  at  the  rate 
of  three  or  four  a-day,  along  a  most 
picturesque,  and  for  the  most  part 
exceedingly  mountainous  road.  Ma- 
dame Pfeiffer  was  especially  struck 
by  the  gorgeous  luxuriance  of  the 
tropical  vegetation.  "Beautiful  be- 
yond all  description,"  she  says,  "  are 
the  parasite  plants,  which  not  only 
completely  cover  the  ground,  but  are 
so  intertwined  with  the  trees,  that 
their  magnificent  flowers  hang  from 
the  topmost  boughs,  looking  like  won- 
derful blossoms  growing  on  the  trees 
•themselves.  And  trees  there  are 
whose  yellow  and  red  blossoms  re- 
semble the  choicest  flowers,  and  others 
which  bear  great  whitish  flowers  that 
gleam  like  silver  from  out  the  ocean 
of  green  leaves.  Such  forests  may 
truly  be  styled  the  giant  gardens  of 
the  world."  Novo  Friburgo  was  but 
the  half-way  house  of  this  journey, 
whence  the  travellers  proposed  going 
on  a  visit  to  the  Indian  aborigines  of 
the  country.  Unfortunately  a  wound 
in  the  hand,  which  Count  Berchthold 
had  received  in  the  skirmish  with  the 
negro,  had  become  greatly  inflamed, 
and  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  pro- 
ceed. The  lady's  wounds,  on  the  con- 
trary, were  rapidly  healing,  and  neither 
dangerous  nor  a  hindrance;  and  she  re- 
solved, rather  than  give  up  what  she 
.considered  the  most  interesting  part  of 


the  trip,  to  go  on  alone,  a  trusty  guide 
and  a  good  double-barrelled  pistol  for 
sole  protectors.  Descending  from  the 
high  ground  into  the  hot  region  of  the 
valleys,  she  pursued  her  journey  under 
a  sun  in  whose  rays  the  thermometer 
stood  at  39°  Reaum.  (120°  Fahr.,) 
passing  numerous  plantations,  for  the 
most  part  (and  with  the  exception  of 
the  coffee  and  sugar  estates)  grievously 
neglected  and  overgrown  with  weeds. 
At  various  points  on  either  side  her 
path,  she  saw  vast  clouds  of  smoke, 
arising  from  burning  forests,  this  be- 
ing the  Brazilian  mode  of  clearing  the 
ground.  Unlike  fires  in  the  prairie, 
where  the  dry  herbage  flames 
like  straw,  these  conflagrations  never 
spread  to  a  dangerous  extent,  the 
freshness  of  the  vegetation  checking 
them.  It  is  necessary  to  set  light  in 
several  places  to  the  piece  of  forest 
land  intended  to  be  cleared,  and  even 
then  the  fire  sometimes  dies  out  be- 
fore its  work  is  complete,  and  green 
oases  are  found  in  the  midst  of  the 
ash-covered  desert.  Presently  Ma- 
dame Pfeiffer,  who  had  hitherto  seen 
these  burnings  but  from  a  distance, 
and  who  longed  for  a  nearer  view, 
came  to  a  spot  where  her  road  lay 
between  a  blazing  forest  and  a  thicket 
of  low  brushwood,  also  in  flames. 
"  The  passage  between  the  two  was 
at  most  fifty  paces  wide,  and  com- 
pletely shrouded  in  smoke.  One 
heard  the  crackling  of  the  fire,  and 
saw,  through  the  volumes  of  smoke, 
vast  pillars  of  flame  twirling  and 
quivering  upwards.  Then  there  came 
reports  like  the  sound  of  cannon,  as 
the  great  forest  trees  fell  thundering 
to  the  ground.  When  I  saw  my 
guide  ride  towards  this  infernal-look- 
ing fiery  gulf,  I  felt  a  little  uneasy  ; 
but  then  I  reflected  that  he  was  not 
likely  foolishly  to  risk  his  life,  and  that 
he  must  know  from  experience  the 
possibility  of  passing  such  places.  At 
the  entrance  sat  two  negroes,  to  in- 
struct travellers  as  to  the  right  direc- 
tion to  be  taken,  and  to  recommend 
them  to  ride  at  speed.  My  guide 
translated  their  words  to  me,  gave 
his  horse  the  spur,  I  followed  his  ex  • 
ample,  and  we  dashed,  with  a  loose 
rein,  into  the  smoking  defile.  Hot 
ashes  flew  around  us,  and  the  stifling 
smoke  was  even  more  oppressive  than 
the  heat  given  out  by  the  flames. 


1851.] 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


Our  mules  seemed  to  lose  their  breath, 
and  we  had  much  difficulty  in  keeping 
them  at  a  gallop.  Fortunately,  we 
had  but  five  or  six  hundred  yards  to 
get  over,  and  this  we  accomplished 
without  injury."  The  passage  through 
fire  was  shortly  succeeded  by  one 
through  an  untrodden  forest,  the  con- 
sequence of  a  slight  deviation  from 
the  road.  Path  there  was  none  :  they 
dismounted,  and  the  guide  walked  in 
front,  lopping  off  the  branches  that 
hung  so  low  as  to  impede  their  pro- 
gress, and  hacking  at  the  dense  masses 
of  creeping  plants  that  grew  high  and 
thick  between  the  trees.  Now  they 
were  up  to  their  knees  in  the  intricate 
vegetable  web,  now  clambering  over 
fallen  tree-trunks,  or  squeezing  them- 
selves between  others  that  stood  so 
close  together  as  scarcely  to  permit 
the  passage  of  their  mules.  So  great 
were  the  difficulties  and  fatigues  that 
Madame  Pfeiffer  almost  doubted  the 
possibility  of  getting  through.  Con- 
sidering the  labour  inseparable  from 
these  wanderings  in  Brazilian  back- 
woods, and  the  intense  heat  of  the 
weather,  it  is  perhaps  rather  unrea- 
sonable of  her  to  complain  of  her 
guide  for  limiting  each  day's  march  to 
some  five  or  six  leagues,  and  to  ac- 
cuse him  of  so  doing  for  the  sake  of 
his  daily  ration  and  four  milreas. 
But  she  soon  forgets  to  grumble,  to 
expatiate  enthusiastically  on  the  beau- 
ties of  a  forest  garden,  draped  with 
garlands  of  gorgeous  flowers,  peopled 
with  birds  such  as  she  had  never  seen 
but  in  museums,  refreshed  by  the 
ripple  of  limpid  streams,  and  from 
amongst  whose  fairy  bowers  she  could 
not  help  expecting  the  appearance  of 
sylphs  and  wood-nymphs.  An  ardent 
lover  of  nature's  beauties,  she  felt 
more  than  compensated,  by  the  ride 
through  this  earthly  paradise,  for  all 
the  fatigues  (by  no  means  slight)  of 
her  trip  to  the  backwoods.  As  a 
specimen  of  her  rough  fare  amongst 
the  Indians,  we  will  extract  page  104 
of  her  first  volume.  The  said  Indians, 
we  may  premise,  are  as  real  down- 
right savages  as  any  Ojibbeway  or 
Bosjesman  who  ever  raised  a  war- 
whoop,  but  hospitable  and  obliging — 
so  far,  at  least,  as  Madame  Pfeiffer's 
experience  of  them  goes.  She  de- 
scribes them  as  uglier  than  negroes, 
of  a  light  bronze  colour,  stupid- 


looking  and  open-mouthed,  tattooed 
red  and  blue,  with  a  rag  round 
the  loins  for  sole  garment,  and 
passionate  lovers  of  brandy  and  to- 
bacco. Such  are  the  Puris  or  Bra- 
zilian aborigines,  whose  numbers  are 
estimated  at  about  half- a- million, 
scattered  through  the  forests.  They 
wander  about  in  small  groups  of  six 
or  seven  families,  and  pitch  their 
wigwams  where  the  fancy  takes  them, 
abiding  in  one  place  only  till  they 
have  consumed  all  the  game,  fruit, 
and  edible  roots  in  the  vicinity.  It  is 
extremely  difficult  to  imagine  one  of 
those  sedate  German  matrons,  whom 
we  have  so  often  seen  placidly  knit- 
ting and  coffee-drinking  in  some  well- 
kept  sommer-garten,  upon  a  friendly 
visit  to  these  nomadic  barbarians. 
However,  here  is  Madame  Pfeiffer's 
account  of  a  day  amongst  the  Puris  :— 
"  After  I  had  sufficiently  examined 
everything  in  the  huts,  I  went  with 
some  of  the  savages  to  a  parrot  and 
monkey  hunt.  We  had  not  far  to 
seek  before  finding  both,  and  I  now 
had  an  opportunity  of  admiring  the 
skill  with  which  these  people  handle 
their  bows.  They  shot  the  birds 
upon  the  wing,  and  seldom  missed 
their  mark.  When  we  had  brought 
down  three  parrots  and  a  monkey, 
we  returned  to  the  huts.  In  the  best 
of  these  the  good  people  invited  me 
to  take  up  my  quarters  for  the  night. 
I  willingly  accepted  the  offer,  for 
what  with  severe  exercise  on  foot, 
the  heat,  and  the  shooting-party,  I 
was  somewhat  weary ;  the  day  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  and  I  could  hardly 
reach  the  white  men's  settlement  that 
evening.  So  I  spread  out  my  cloak 
upon  the  ground,  put  a  log  of  wood 
for  a  pillow,  and  seated  myself  forth- 
with upon  this  famous  bed.  My  en- 
tertainers cooked  the  monkey  and  the 
parrots,  sticking  them  on  wooden 
spits,  and  roasting  them  at  the  fire. 
To  make  the  repast  right  dainty,  they 
added  some  ears  of  maize,  and  roots 
baked  in  the  ashes.  Then  they 
brought  some  fresh  leaves  from  the 
neighbouring  trees,  tore  the  roasted 
monkey  into  several  pieces  with  their 
hands,  laid  a  goodly  portion  of  it 
upon  the  leaves,  together  with  a  par- 
rot, maize,  and  roots,  and  placed  it 
before  me.  My  appetite  was  prodi- 
gious, for  I  had  eaten  nothing  since 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


90 

morning;  so  I  began  at  once  with 
the  roast  monkey,  which  I  found 
most  delicious  :  the  meat  of  the  par- 
rot was  nothing  like  so  delicate  and 
well  flavoured." 

Hunger  appeased,  Madame  Pfeiffer, 
making  herself  quite  at  home,  re- 
quested her  hosts  to  favour  her  with 
a  specimen  of  their  chorographic  ac- 
complishments. By  this  time  it  was 
dark,  so  they  brought  a  quantity  of 
wood,  erected  it  into  a  sort  of  funeral 
pile,  set  fire  to  it,  and  danced  around 
it  to  the  music  of  a  savage  guitar. 
The  first  dance — of  peace  or  rejoicing 
— was  accompanied  by  the  performers 
with  a  series  of  hideous  grimaces,  and 
an  equally  hideous  noise,  intended  for 
a  song.  If  not  very  graceful,  how- 
ever, neither  was  it  alarming.  Their 
next  performance  was  of  a  different 
character.  u  Arming  themselves  with 
bows,  arrows,  and  weighty  clubs, 
they  again  formed  a  circle ;  but  this 
time  their  movements  were  far  more 
lively  and  wild  than  in  the  first 
dance,  and  they  struck  terrible  blows 
around  them  with  their  clubs.  Then 
suddenly  scattering  themselves,  they 
bent  their  bows,  laid  arrow  to  string, 
and  went  through  the  pantomime  of 
shooting  at  a  flying  foe,  accompanying 
the  demonstration  with  frightfully 
piercing  yells,  which  re  -  echoed 
through  the  whole  forest.  I  started 
up  in  terror,  for  I  really  believed  my- 
self surrounded  by  foes,  against  whom 
I  had  no  help  or  protection.  Heartily 
glad  was  I  that  this  hideous  dance  of 
triumph  was  brought  to  a  speedy 
close,"  and  that  the  adventurous 
lady,  after  the  fatigue  and  excitement 
of  this  curious  day's  work,  was  at 
last  able  to  lie  down  beneath  the  leaf 
roof  of  a  wigwam,  open  at  the  sides, 
in  which  she  for  some  time  was  kept 
awake  by  apprehensions  of  a  visit 
from  some  noiseless  snake  or  prowling 
beast  of  prey. 

Round  the  Horn  now  went  Madame 
Ida  Pfeiffer,  in  the  fine  English  barque 
"  John  Renwick,"  Captain  Bell ;  and 
well  pleased  was  she  with  the  good 
fare  and  good-humour  of  the  said 
Bell,  and  much  amused  by  his  sea- 
man's yarns,  although  somewhat  vex- 
ed with  him  for  starting  a  fortnight 
later  than  he  had  pledged  himself  to 
do,  and  running  into  Santos  when  he 
should  have  gone  direct  to  Valparaiso. 


[July, 


She  consoled  herself  for  this  last  delay 
by  an  excursion  up  the  country,  and 
by  diligently  adding  to  her  entomolo- 
gical collection.     She  had  greater  dif- 
ficulty in  pardoning  the  captain  an 
abominable   coat  of  oil-paint  which 
he  gave  both  to  the  inside  and  outside 
of  his  ship,  during  the  last  week  of 
the  voyage,  that  the  John  Renwick 
might    look    gay  on  entering   port. 
Once  on  dry  land,  however,  she  quick- 
ly forgets  marine  disagreeables.    Of 
her  sojourn  in  Chili  she  gives  a  lively 
and  pleasant  account,  which  we  are 
obliged  to  pass  over,  in  order  to  ac- 
company her  to  more  distant  regions. 
For  two  hundred  Spanish  dollars  she 
engaged    her    passage  by   a    Dutch 
barque,  bound   to  China  via  Tahiti. 
She  was  ill  when  she  went  on  board, 
but  she  would  not  lose  her  passage- 
money,  paid  in  advance,  or  await  for 
weeks  at  Valparaiso  the  chance  of 
another  ship  for  China.      She  tried 
to  vanquish  her  complaint   by   diet 
and  abstinence,  but  in  vain ;  and  at 
last  hit  upon  the  rather  strong  re- 
medy of  taking  cold  sea-baths  in  a 
cask,   remaining  in  the  water  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  each  time.     Six  of 
these   baths  restored  her  to  health, 
and  in  spite  of  a  severe  storm,  and  of 
the  overpowering  abundance  of  onions 
in  the  Dutch   cookery,  she  reached 
Tahiti  in  good  case.     This  was  a  few 
months  after  the   settlement   of  the 
Tahitian    question :    she    found    the 
town  of  Papeiti  full  of  French  troops, 
and  several  ships  of  war  in  its  har- 
bour.    Queen  Pomaree  had  just  re- 
turned  from   her  refuge   in  another 
island,  and  was  in  full  enjoyment  of 
her  four-roomed  house,   her  French 
pension,  and  her  daily  dinner  at  the 
governor's  table.     The  place  was  so 
crowded,   that  officers  of  high  rank 
were  glad  to  content  themselves  with 
the  most  wretched  Indian  huts  for  a 
residence.      Poor    Madame    Pfeiffer 
went    from    door    to    door,   seeking 
quarters,   and  finding  none,  until  at 
last  she  managed  to  get  an  allotment 
of  floor  six  feet  long  and  four  wide, 
behind  a  door  in  a  carpenter's  cottage. 
There  were  already  four  dwellers  in 
the  same  room,  the  floor  was  unboard- 
ed,  the  walls  were  mere  palisades,  of 
chair  or  bedstead  there  was  no  sign ; 
and  for  this  execrable  accommodation 
she  was  to  pay  three  shillings  a- week 


1851.] 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


— an  exorbitant  rent  in  those  lati- 
tudes. The  humility  of  her  lodging 
was  no  obstacle  to  her  presentation 
at  court.  Her  first  sight  of  Pomaree 
was  at  a  ball  given  by  Governor 
Bruat  to  celebrate  the  birthday  of 
Louis  Philippe — a  strange  and  not 
uninteresting  ball,  where  elegant 
French  ladies,  and  staff- officers  in 
full  dress,  mingled  in  the  same  dance 
with  half-naked  Indians.  "  Queen 
Pomaree  was  wrapped  in  a  gown,  or 
rather  a  sort  of  blouse,  of  sky-blue 
velvet,  trimmed  with  double  rows  of 
expensive  black  lace.  She  wore  large 
jasmine  flowers  in  her  ears,  a  gar- 
land in  her  hair ;  in  her  hand  she 
carried  a  fine  pocket  handkerchief, 
beautifully  embroidered,  and  orna- 
mented with  broad  lace.  She  usually 
goes  barefoot,  but  for  this  evening 
she  had  forced  her  feet  into  stockings 
and  shoes.  The  entire  dress  was  a 
present  from  the  King  of  the  French." 
At  supper  Madame  Pfeiffer  had  the 
honour  to  sit  between  the  queen's 
husband,  who  was  attired  in  a  mag- 
nificent uniform,  as  a  French  general 
— and  King  Ozoume,  the  sovereign  of 
a  neighbouring  island,  who  appeared, 
for  that  particular  occasion,  in  a 
bright  sulphur-coloured  coat.  Both 
these  illustrious  persons  had  made  a 
certain  progress  in  European  breeding, 
and  were  attentive  to  fill  their  neigh- 
bour's glass,  offer  her  dishes,  and  the 
like.  It  seemed  the  great  ambition 
of  all  the  guests  to  ape  civilised 
manners  ;  and  they  were  tolerably 
successful,  although  now  and  then 
one  or  other  of  them  committed  some 
slight  incongruity.  Madame  Pfeiffer, 
a  keen  observer,  could  detect  nothing 
worse  than  an  occasional  over- 
eagerness  after  the  champagne  bottles, 
and  the  abstraction  from  the  table, 
by  Queen  Pomaree,  of  a  plate  of 
sweetmeats,  which  she  sent  home  for 
her  private  use. 

"  As  a  woman  of  advanced  age," 
says  Madame  Pfeiffer,  with  a  candour 
rare  in  her  sex,  "  I  may  well  be  per- 
mitted to  make  remarks  on  such 
matters."  The  matters  in  question 
are  the  immorality  and  dissolute 
practices  of  the  Tahitians  and  their 
French  allies  ;  with  respect  to  which 
the  lady,  casting  away  prudery,  and 
availing  herself  of  the  privilege  of 
matronhood,  treats  her  readers  to 


91 

some  curious  anecdotes  and  revela- 
tions. Having  obtained  fourteen 
days'  leave  of  absence  from  the  cap- 
tain of  her  ship,  she  was  desirous  to 
take  a  ramble  round  the  island,  and 
expected  to  obtain  the  escort  of  one 
of  the  French  officers,  many  of  whom 
were  frequently  moving  about  upon 
duty.  To  her  surprise,  however, 
every  officer  to  whom  she  applied 
made  some  excuse  or  other  for  declin- 
ing the  honour  of  her  company.  She 
was  totally  unable  to  account  for 
their  disobliging  conduct,  until  one 
of  them,  compassionating  her  per- 
plexity, divulged  its  motive.  In 
Tahiti  every  Frenchman  travels  with 
a  native  mistress.  Enlightened  as  to 
the  obstacle,  Madame  Pfeiffer  boldly 
surmounted  it,  and  accepted  her  in- 
formant's offer  to  accompany  him, 
his  fair  Tahitian  friend,  and  old  Tati, 
the  most  celebrated  chief  in  the  island, 
to  his  residence  at  Papara.  Thence 
she  made  an  expedition  on  foot  to  a 
lake  eighteen  English  miles  in  the 
interior.  The  journey  there  and 
back,  she  says,  after  mentioning  the 
distance,  may  be  conveniently  accom- 
plished in  two  days.  A  guide  had 
the  assurance  to  ask  three  dollars 
to  accompany  her,  but  by  old  Tati's 
intervention  the  demand  was  re- 
duced. Pedestrian  expeditions  in 
Tahiti  are  fatiguing,  for  the  island  is 
rich  in  streams,  and  the  traveller  has 
frequently  to  wade  through  water 
and  tracts  of  sand.  Madame  Pfeiffer 
equipped  herself  accordingly.  Her 
dress  consisted  of  strong  men's-shoes, 
no  stockings,  trousers,  and  a  blouse 
tucked  up  to  the  hips,  in  which  light 
and  convenient,  but  not  very  feminine, 
garb,  she  set  out,  accompanied  only 
by  her  Indian  guide,  on  the  morning 
of  the  7th  May.  During  the  first 
six  miles  she  reckoned  no  less  than 
thirty-two  rivulets,  through  which 
they  had  to  walk.  This  was  along 
the  coast  :  then  came  breakfast  — 
breadfruit  and  a  few  small  fish  at  an 
Indian  cottage— and  then  they  struck 
into  the  interior  through  wild  ravines. 
"  A  tolerably  wide  mountain-stream, 
which  courses  through  the  hollow 
over  a  very  stony  bed,  was,  in  many 
places,  in  consequence  of  the  recent 
rains,  more  than  three  feet  deep,  and 
very  rapid.  Through  this  we  had  to 
wade  sixty-two  times.  In  dangerous 


92 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


places,  the  Indian  grasped  my  hand, 
and  pulled  me  after  him,  often  half 
swimming.  The  water  was  repeatedly 
above  my  hips ;  and  as  to  getting  dry 
again,  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 
The  footpath  became  momentarily 
more  toilsome  and  dangerous.  We 
had  to  climb  over  rocks  and  stones, 
which  were  so  covered  with  the  broad 
leaf  of  the  oputu,  that  one  never  knew 
where  to  set  one's  foot  in  safety.  I 
wounded  my  hands  and  feet  badly, 
and  frequently  fell.  It  was  truly  a 
breakneck  journey,  which  had  then 
been  accomplished  only  by  a  few 
officers,  and  which  assuredly  no 
woman  had  ever  undertaken.  In 
two  places  the  ravine  was  so  narrow 
that  there  Avas  no  margin  to  the 
stream  ;  and  here  the  Indians,  during 
the  war  with  the  French,  had  thrown 
up  stone  parapets  five  feet  high,  as 
defences  against  their  foe,  should  he 
attack  them  on  that  side.  In  eight 
hours  we  had  got  over  the  eighteen 
miles,  and  ascended  eighteen  hundred 
feet."  The  lake  is  small — some  eight 
hundred  feet  in  diameter — but  of  very 
remarkable  appearance  ;  so  closely 
encircled  by  lofty  and  precipitous 
mountains,  that  there  is  not  even  a 
footpath  between  their  base  and  its 
waters.  Its  basin  might  be  the 
crater  of  an  extinct  volcano,  and 
•basaltic  masses  in  the  neighbourhood 
strengthen  the  supposition.  It  abounds 
in  fish.  Madame  Pfeiffer  desired  to 
cross  the  lake,  and  told  her  guide  so. 
The  Indian  instantly  tore  down  a  few 
branches,  fastened  them  together  with 
a  kind  of  long  tough  grass,  laid  leaves 
upon  them,  launched  this  apology  for 
a  raft  upon  the  water,  and  invited 
her  to  step  upon  it.  "I  certainly  felt 
a  little  frightened,"  says  the  intrepid 
Ida,  "  but  I  should  have  been 
ashamed  to  show  it ;  so  I  got  upon 
the  raft,  which  my  guide,  swimming, 
pushed  before  him.  I  got  safely 
across  and  back  again,  though,  to 
say  the  truth,  I  did  not  feel  very 
comfortable  during  the  passage.  The 
raft  was  small,  it  was  as  much  under 
the  water  as  floating  upon  it,  there  was 
nothing  to  hold  on  by,  and  one  risked 
every  moment  a  fall  overboard.  The 
mode  of  transport  is  not  to  be  recom- 
mended to  persons  who  cannot  swim." 
A  cheerful  fire,  a  scanty  meal,  and  a 
Ixed  of  leaves,  concluded  the  day ; 


Madame  Pfeiffer,  wet  and  tired, 
sleeping  soundly,  without  fear  of  man 
or  beast.  The  Tahitians  are  peace- 
loving  and  inoffensive;  their  island 
harbours  neither  beasts  of  prey  nor 
noxious  reptiles  or  insects.  Mos- 
quitos  are  the  only  evil  to  be  appre- 
hended; the  scorpions,  few  in  number, 
being  so  innocent  that  they  may 
safely  be  taken  in  the  hand. 

During  her  stay  at  Papara,  Madame 
Pfeiffer,  although,  as  already  shown, 
no  prudish  fine  lady,  was  frequently 
shocked  by  the  license  of  the  scenes 

that  occurred  in  the  house  of  Mr 

(she  gives  the  names  of  no  Europeans 
in  Tahiti,  and  claims  their  gratitude 
for  her  reserve)  when  he  received  the 
visits  of  other  officers  and  their  female 
travelling  companions.  On  such  oc- 
casions she  took  refuge  with  the 
servants,  who  certainly,  she  says, 
joked  and  laughed,  but  whose  jokes 
could  be  overheard  without  a  blush. 
Her  journey  back  to  Papeiti  was 
made,  however,  in  company  with  an 
officer  and  his  mistress,  and  the  three 
performed  the  six-and-thirty  English 
miles  in  one  day,  on  foot !  A  trip  to 
the  fastness  of  Fautana,  that  extraor- 
dinarily strong  position  which  the 
islanders  deemed  impregnable  until  it 
was  taken  by  the  French,  filled  up 
the  remainder  of  her  sojourn  in  the 
island.  Governor  Bruat,  who  cannot 
but  have  been  strongly  interested  by 
her  hardihood  and  undaunted  spirit, 
lent  her  his  horses,  and  gave  her  as  a 
guide  a  French  serjeant  who  himself 
had  been  present  in  the  action.  The 
day  after  her  return  she  sailed  for 
China,  where,  soon  after  her  arrival, 
she  met,  at  Victoria,  five  of  her  coun- 
trymen— the  celebrated  Gutzlaff  and 
four  other  German  missionaries,  who 
were  studying  Chinese,  and  who 
dressed  themselves  a  la  Chinoise, 
with  shaven  heads  and  long  tails. 
Here  her  funds  ran  short.  She 
wanted  to  get  to  Canton,  but  could 
not  afford  the  twelve  dollars  that  a 
hired  boat  or  a  passage  by  a  steamer 
costs.  So  she  made  up  her  mind  to 
go  by  a  little  Chinese  junk,  although 
strongly  dissuaded  from  snch  a  pro- 
ject by  Herr  Pustau,  a  resident  mer- 
chant', who  declared  it  dangerous  to 
trust  herself  unprotected  amongst 
Chinese,  but  who  (probably  ignorant 
of  the  state  of  her  purse)  does  not 


1851.] 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


appear  to  have  offered  her  the  neces- 
sary funds  for  the  safer  and  more  ex- 
pensive conveyance.  But  the  appear- 
ance and  manners  of  the  Chinese 
inspired  her  with  no  fear.  "  I  cleaned 
my  pistols,"  she  says,  "  and  went 
quietly  on  board  the  juuk  in  the 
evening  of  the  12th  July.  Darkness 
and  the  heavy  rain  soon  drove  me 
below,  where  I  passed  my  time  in 
observing  my  Chinese  fcllo\v  travel- 
lers. The  company  was  not  particu- 
larly select,  but  they  behaved  with 
much  propriety,  so  that  I  could 
remain  amongst  them  without  un- 
pleasantness. Someplayedatdominos, 
whilst  others  extracted  doleful  tones 
from  a  sort  of  three- stringed  mando- 
line. They  smoked,  and  chattered, 
and  drank  weak  sugarless  tea  out  of 
small  cups.  On  all  sides  I  was 
offered  this  Celestial  beverage."  Far 
from  being  molested,  the  European 
lady  experienced  both  courtesy  and 
kindness  from  the  Chinese  women  on 
board,  as  well  as  from  the  master  of 
the  junk.  On  reaching  Canton,  she 
was  puzzled  how  to  find  her  way  to 
the  house  of  Mr  Agassiz,  to  whom 
she  was  recommended.  She  suc- 
ceeded in  making  the  junk-man 
understand  by  signs  that  she  had  no 
money,  and  that  he  must  take  her  to 
the  factory,  where  he  should  be  paid. 
On  her  way  thither  she  observed  that 
old  and  young  pointed  at  and  shouted 
after  her,  that  the  people  ran  out  of 
their  shops  to  look  at  her,  and  that 
many  followed  her,  so  that  she 
reached  the  factory  with  a  crowd  at 
her  heels.  When  Mr  Agassiz  beheld 
her,  accompanied  by  the  junk- man, 
and  heard  of  the  manner  of  her 
journey,  and  of  her  walk  through  the 
streets  of  Canton,  he  was  greatly 
astonished,  and  could  hardly  believe 
she  had  not  been  injured  or  assailed. 
It  was  an  unheard-of  thing  for  a 
European  woman  to  walk  abroad  in 
Canton  with  only  a  Chinese  for  guide 
and  escort ;  and  Mr  Agassiz  declared 
her  extraordinarily  fortunate  not  to 
have  been  ill-treated  and  even  stoned, 
in  which  case  her  companion  would 
assuredly  have  taken  to  flight  and 
left  her  to  her  fate.  Since  the  war 
•with  England,  he  said,  Europeans 
were  in  worse  odour  than  ever ; 
women,  especially,  on  acccount  of  the 
old  Chinese  prophecy  that  some  day 


the   Celestial  empire   shall   be  con- 
quered by  a  woman. 

Passing  over  the  greater  part  of 
Madame  Pfeiffer's  second  volume, 
which  relates  chiefly  to  British  India, 
we  find  her  again  at  Benares,  hos- 
pitably entertained  by  a  countryman, 
Herr  Luitpold,  there  resident.  She 
was  now  travelling  in  company  with 
a  Mr  Lau,  having  parted,  some  time 
before,  from  Count  Berchtholcl,  where 
and  wherefore  does  not  exactly  ap- 
pear. Berchthold  seems  to  have 
been  a  travelling  companion  of  little 
energy  or  resource,  and  indeed  the 
lady  never  gets  on  so  well,  or  does 
such  bold  things,  as  when  alone.  Mr 
Lau  procured  her  a  presentation  to 
the  Rajah  of  Benares,  at  Ramnughur, 
who  received  her  with  great  kindness, 
asked  her  to  smoke  a  pipe,  which  she 
declined,  smoked  several  himself, 
chatted  with  her  through  an  inter- 
preter, dazzled  her  eyes  with  the 
brilliants  on  his  cap  and  fingers, 
regaled  her  with  sweetmeats  and 
sherbet,  and  with  a  native  dance, 
and  took  her  on  an  elephant  to  see 
his  garden  at  some  short  distance 
from  his  palace.  She  thought  very 
little  of  the  garden,  but  praised  it  to 
gratify  the  rajah,  who  seemed  exceed- 
ingly proud  of  it,  and  who  sent  her, 
the  next  day,  as  a  recompense,  per- 
haps, for  her  good  taste  in  horticul- 
ture, a  collection  of  choice  fruits- 
including  grapes  and  pomegranates, 
great  rarities  at  that  season,  and 
which  came  from  Cabool,  a  distance 
of  seven  hundred  English  miles.  "  In 
the  palace  inhabited  by  the  rajah," 
she  informs  us,  "no  human  being 
has  died  for  many  years  past.  The 
reason  of  this  is  the  following  :  '  One 
of  the  owners  of  this  palace  once 
asked  a  brahmin  what  would  become 
of  the  soul  of  him  who  should  die 
within  its  walls.  The  brahmin  replied 
that  it  would  ascend  to  heaven.  Ninety, 
nine  times  did  the  rajah  repeat  the 
question,  always  receiving  the  same 
answer.  But  when  he  repeated  it  for 
the  hundredth  time,  the  Brahmin  lost 
patience,  and  replied,  that  the  soul 
would  pass  into  the  body  of  an  ass. 
Since  that  day,  not  a  dweller  in  the 
palace,  from  the  prince  down  to  the 
meanest  of  his  servants,  but  hurries 
out  of  it  as  soon  as  he  feels  himself 
unwell,  in  dread  of  continuing  to  play, 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


[July, 


after  death,  the  same  part  which, 
during  his  life,  he  has  perhaps  often 
admirably  enacted.  A  sarcasm  which 
we  cannot  help  considering  a  very 
ungrateful  return,  on  the  part  of  Mrs 
Pfeiffer,  for  the  ride  on  the  elephant, 
the  nautch  girls,  and  the  pomegranates 
of  Cabool.  By  the  dancing,  however, 
she  seems  to  have  been  slightly  im- 
pressed ;  her  interest  being  much  more 
strongly  roused  by  some  jugglers  and 
snake-charmers  she  soon  afterwards 
SAW  at  Delhi.  The  conjurors  mingled 
white,  red,  yellow,  and  blue  powders 
together,  swallowed  the  mixture,  and 
immediately  spit  it  out  again,  quite 
dry  and  sorted  in  the  different  colours ; 
they  cast  down  their  eyes,  and,  on 
raising  them,  the  eyeballs  appeared 
to  be  of  gold  ;  again  they  bowed  their 
heads,  and  on  again  raising  them,  the 
eyeballs  were  of  their  natural  colour, 
and  their  teeth  were  of  gold.  Others 
made  a  small  opening  in  the  skin  of 
the  body,  and  drew  from  it  an  infinite 
number  of  ells  of  thread,  sewing  silk, 
and  narrow  ribbon.  The  snake- 
tamers  held  the  reptiles  by  their  tails, 
suffering  them  to  coil  round  their 
arms,  necks,  and  bodies,  and  allowed 
great  scorpions  to  crawl  over  their 
hands. 

At  Calcutta,  Madame  Pfeiffer  had 
been  strongly  advised  not  to  go  be- 
yond Delhi,  as  the  dangers  of  the  road 
would  then  be  much  greater  ;  and  her 
acquaintances  there  had  done  their 
best  to  inspire  her  with  a  wholesome 
terror  of  the  Thugs,  or  Tuggs,  as  she 
persists  in  calling  them.  Her  appre- 
hensions, however — if  any  she  enter- 
tained—diminished greatly  during  her 
stay  at  Delhi,  where  she  was  received 
into  the  house  of  Dr  Sprenger,  chief 
of  the  college  at  that  place,  under 
whose  roof  she  found  an  amount  of 
comfort,  kindness,  and  almost  of  lux- 
ury, which  contrasted  delightfully  with 
her  previous  rough  fare  by  land  and 
water.  At  Delhi  she  was  assured 
that  the  u  Tuggs "  were  much  less 
numerous  than  they  had  been  ;  that 
in  India,  Europeans  were  seldom  at- 
tacked upon  the  road  ;  and  that,  upon 
the  whole,  she  had  little  to  fear  for 
her  personal  safety.  Countless  hard- 
ships and  privations  they  did  not  con- 
ceal from  her  that  she  would  have  to 
encounter.  But  what  availed  it  to 
urge  these  as  impediments  to  the 


passenger  by  the  Chinese  junk,  the 
wanderer  in  Otaheitian  solitudes,  the 
guest  of  Chilian  aborigines  ?  She 
pushed  on,  in  a  baili,  (a  sort  of  ox- 
cart,)—  a  cheaper  conveyance  than 
camel  or  palanquin— attended  by  a 
trusty  servant  of  Dr  Sprenger's,  and 
carefully  jotting  down  in  her  journal 
all  that  she  saw  by  the  way.  For 
about  a  fortnight,  this  did  not  amount 
to  much  of  interest.  She  reached 
Kottah,  left  it  on  a  camel — travelling 
very  independently,  with  a  trunk, 
weighing  twenty-five  pounds,  for  sole 
baggage,  and,  two  days  afterwards, 
fell  in  with  the  tents  of  Captain  Bur- 
don,  the  British  Resident  at  Kottah, 
who  was  on  a  journey  of  inspection 
to  the  different  military  stations.  Mrs 
Burdon  had  not  seen  a  European 
woman  for  four  years  ;  it  may  be  ima- 
gined that  Madame  Pfeiffer  found  a 
hearty  welcome  both  from  her  and 
her  husband,  to  whom  Dr  Sprenger 
had  warmly  recommended  her.  Upon 
this,  and  upon  other  occasions,  she 
was  greatly  struck  by  the  mode  of 
travelling  of  the  English  officers  and 
agents  in  India.  She,  who  had 
roughed  it  for  many  thousands  of 
miles,  with  no  other  encumbrances 
than  her  little  box  and  her  double- 
barrelled  pistols— sleeping  sometimes 
in  wretched  huts,  at  others  in  the  open 
air — gazed  in  admiration  at  the  clus- 
ters of  tents  deemed  indispensable  for 
the  accommodation  of-  an  ordinary 
family;  at  the  spacious  canvass  dwell- 
ings, divided  into  several  chambers, 
and  erected  with  wonderful  rapidity 
for  a  single  night's  occupation ;  at  the 
quantities  of  portable  furniture,  car- 
pets, and  canteens ;  at  the  luxurious 
beds,  numerous  attendants,  comfort- 
able palanquins,  fine  horses,  and  deli- 
cately prepared  meals.  Not  in  the 
most  civilised  countries  of  Europe, 
she  exclaims,  is  travelling  so  luxu- 
rious and  comfortable  as  in  India.  On 
parting,  after  a  few  hours'  stay,  from 
Captain  and  Mrs  Burdon,  they  offered 
her  a  palanquin  and  bearers,  as  an 
easier  way  of  pursuing  her  journey  ; 
but  she  never  liked  palanquins — she 
had  a  European  woman's  prejudice 
against  using  human  beings  as  beasts 
of  burthen — and  she  declined  the  kind 
offer,  protesting  herself  accustomed 
to  her  camel's  abominable  jolting, 
and  that  she  enjoyed  the  more  exteii- 


1851.] 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


95 


give  view  she  obtained  from  his  back. 
So  she  jogged  on,  marching  twelve 
hours  a-day,  sleeping  in  all  manner 
of  wretched  places,  to  Indorc,  where 
she  was  most  kindly  received  by  Mr 
Hamilton,  the  British  Resident,  to 
whom  she  had  letters,  and  who  paid 
her  every  attention,  notwithstanding, 
she  says,  that  she  had  little  baggage, 
only  one  servant,  and  shabby  travel- 
faded  clothes.  At  his  house  (or  rather 
palace)  she  made  acquaintance  with 
all  the  European  population  of  Indore, 
consisting  of  three  families,  and  was 
regaled,  to  her  surprise  and  delight, 
with  German  airs  played  by  an  excel- 
lent band,  led  by  a  Tyrolese  named 
Naher,  whose  wife  shed  tears  of  joy 
on  beholding  a  countrywoman — for 
the  first  time  in  fifteen  years.  It  is 
curious  to  observe  how  steadily  Ma- 
dame Pfeiffer  pursues  her  toilsome 
journey.  She  is  evidently  keenly 
sensible  to  the  delightful  change  from 
bivouacs,  camel-back,  and  coarse  and 
often  insufficient  nourishment,  to  the 
repose  and  comforts  of  the  British  re- 
sidences ;  and  yet,  unless  there  be 
objects  of  interest  to  visit — such  as 
she  deems  it  her  duty,  as  an  observant 
and  knowledge-  seeking  traveller,  not 
to  leave  unexamined — she  never  can 
be  induced  to  linger.  She  has  a  per- 
fect mania  for  locomotion,  and  might 
have  adopted,  as  a  motto  for  her  book, 
the  line  from  the  old  German  Wan- 
derlied — 

"  Es   treibt    in    der    Ferae    mich    machtig 
hinaus." 

Indore  must  have  seemed  to  her  a 
very  Capua  in  the  wilderness.  With 
the  kindest  and  most  generous  hospi- 
tality, Mr  Hamilton  gave  her  apart- 
ments in  his  residence,  (a  spacious 
and  beautiful  building  in  the  Italian 
style,)  provided  her  with  a  female 
attendant,  presented  her  to  the  native 
queen  and  prince,  and  himself  showed 
her  whatever  was  worth  seeing  in  the 
place.  It  must  have  required  some 
resolution  to  quit  all  these  pleasant 
things  in  forty-eight  hours — the  ex- 
tent of  her  sojourn  at  Indore.  Having 
done  all  in  his  power  to  make  her 
stay  pleasant,  Mr  Hamilton,  when  he 
saw  her  resolved  to  depart,  did  his 
utmost  to  speed  her  on  her  way, 
making  a  bargain  for  her  with  a 
bullock  cart,  (which  she  took  in  pre- 


ference to  camels,  as  far  less  fatiguing,) 
sketching  out  her  route,  providing  her 
with  letters,  sending  a  servant  and  a 
sepoy  to  escort  her,  and  even  asking 
her  if  she  were  sufficiently  in  funds. 
"Doing  all  this,"  she  says,  "in  so 
amiable  a  manner,  that  I  really  knew 
not  whether  I  was  most  grateful  for 
the  services  themselves,  or  the  kindli- 
ness with  which  they  were  proffered." 
And  on  arriving  at  her  first  halting 
place,  the  village  of  Simarola,  the 
road  to  which  lay  between  beautiful 
palm  ridges,  and  through  richly  cul- 
tivated land,  she  found  a  comfortable 
and  well-provided  tent,  which  Mr 
Hamilton  had  sent  forward,  to  secure 
her  a  pleasing  surprise  and  a  good 
night's  quarters. 

Ten  days  after  this  agreeable  episode 
in  her  wanderings,  Madame  Pfeiffer 
halted  for  a  day  at  Roja,  to  visit  the 
celebrated  temples  of  Elora,  near  that 
ancient  Indian  city,  and  with  this 
object  got  on  horseback  early  in  the 
morning  after  her  arrival.  Her  day, 
however,  was  destined  to  be  spent  in 
a  more  active  manner  than  in  the 
inspection  of  pagan  altars  and  idols. 
"  Scarcely  had  I  passed  through  the 
town-gate,"  she  says,  "  when  I  saw 
several  Europeans,  sitting  upon  ele- 
phants, coming  from  the  bungalow 
outside  the  town.  We  met,  stopped, 
and  entered  into  conversation.  The 
gentlemen  were  on  their  way  to  look 
after  a  tiger,  of  whose  whereabout 
they  had  intelligence,  and  they  invited 
me,  if  the  nature  of  the  hunt  did  not 
deter  me,  to  accompany  them.  I  was 
greatly  pleased  at  this  invitation,  and 
soon  I  found  myself  perched  on  one 
of  the  elephants,  in  a  great  box,  two 
feet  high,  in  which  there  were  already 
two  gentlemen  and  a  native  —  the 
latter's  occupation  being  to  load  the 
guns.  They  gave  me  a  large  knife, 
that  I  might  defend  myself  in  case 
the  tiger  should  spring  too  high  and 
attain  the  edge  of  the  box.  Thus 
equipped,  we  moved  towards  the  line 
of  small  hills,  and  in  a  few  hours' 
time  had  arrived  within  a  short  dis- 
tance of  the  tiger's  lair,  when  sud- 
denly our  attendants  exclaimed  in  a 
low  voice,  Bach,  bach !  (tiger,)  and 
pointed  with  their  fingers  to  an  ad- 
jacent thicket.  A  pair  of  fiery  eyes 
were  gleaming  amongst  the  bushes ; 
but  I  had  scarcely  observed  them  when 


90 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


[July, 


shots  were  fired.  Struck  by  several 
balls,  and  mad  with  fnry,  the  beast 
rushed  out  upon  us  with  such  tre- 
mendous leaps,  that  I  thought  he  could 
not  fail  to  reach  our  box  and  seize 
one  of  us  as  a  victim.  It  was  a 
terrifying  spectacle,  and  my  fears 
were  still  further  excited  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  second  tiger ;  I  carried 
so  bold  a  countenance,  however,  that 
none  of  the  gentlemen  had  the  least 
suspicion  how  frightened  I  really  was. 
Shot  followed  shot ;  the  elephants 
skilfully  defended  their  trunks  by 
raising  or  contracting  them.  After 
half  an  hour's  hot  fight  we  remained 
the  conquerors,  and  the  slain  tigers 
were  triumphantly  despoiled  of  their 
beautiful  skins.  The  hunters  were  so 
kind  as  to  offer  me  one  as  a  present, 
but  I  declined  it,  as  I  could  not  post- 
pone my  journey  long  enough  for  it 
to  be  dried  and  prepared.  They 
praised  my  intrepidity,  and  added  that 
this  kind  of  sport  was  very  dangerous 
if  the  elephant  were  not  perfectly  well 
trained.  He  must  not  be  in  the  least 
afraid  of  the  tiger,  nor  stir  from  the 
spot ;  for  if  he  ran  away,  the  persons 
on  his  back  were  liable  to  be  knocked 
off  by  the  limbs  of  trees,  and  to  fall  a 
prey  to  the  bloodthirsty  brute." 

After  some  stay  at  Bombay,  Ma- 
dame Pfeiffer  was  about  to  sail  for 
Bassora  in  an  Arab  vessel,  when  she 
was  informed  that,  within  a  few  days, 
a  small  steamer  would  make  its  first 
voyage  to  that  port.  Its  departure, 
however,  was  so  long  postponed,  that 
she  began  to  think  she  should  have 
done  better  to  have  intrusted  herself 
to  the  Arabs ;  and  when  at  last,  on 
the  23d  April,  the  forty  horse-power 
boat  u  Sir  Charles  Forbes "  left  the 
harbour  of  Bombay,  it  was  with  little 
prospect  of  a  comfortable  voyage,  so 
far  as  she  was  concerned.  The  vessel 
had  but  two  cabins,  both  of  which 
had  been  long  engaged,  and  was  over- 
loaded with  crew  and  passengers,  the 
latter  chiefly  Persians,  Mahomedans, 
and  Arabs.  One  hundred  and  sixty- 
nine  persons  were  on  board  this  little 
boat,  and  it  was  scarcely  possible  to 
cross  the  deck  without  stumbling  over 
chests  and  boxes,  or  treading  upon 
hands  and  feet.  Madame  Pfeiffer, 
who  by  this  time  was  a  thorough 
good  forager,  with  as  sharp  an  eye  for 
the  material  comforts  as  any  old 


soldier,  managed  to  secure  for  herself 
the  best  place  on  the  whole  deck — 
nay,  a  better  place  even  than  the 
smaller  cabin,  where  her  only  Euro- 
pean fellow-passenger  could  hardly 
sleep  of  nights  for  heat  and  vermiu. 
She  established  herself  under  the 
captain's  dining  table,  which  was 
screwed  down  to  the  quarterdeck,  and 
thus  obtained  shelter  and  safety  from 
being,trampled  upon.  She  left  Bom- 
bay somewhat  unwell,  and  suffered 
for  five  days  of  the  voyage  with  an 
attack  of  bilious  fever,  which  rendered 
it  painful  and  irksome  to  her  to  aban- 
don at  meal-times  her  lair  beneath 
the  table,  to  make  room,  she  says,  for 
the  legs  of  the  diners.  "  I  took  no 
drugs,  indeed  I  never  carry  such 
things  with  me,  (mark  this,  ye  British 
lovers  of  periodical  pills,  who  stir  not 
without  your  medicine-chest,)  but 
left  my  cure  to  a  kind  Providence 
and  my  own  good  constitution.  A 
much  more  dangerous  disease  than 
mine  exhibited  itself  on  the  third  day 
oftthe  voyage — the  small-pox  was 
raging  in  the  chief  cabin,  which  had 
been  engaged  by  some  rich  Persians 
for  their  wives  and  children.  Eighteen 
women  and  seven  children  were  there 
crowded  together.  They  had  far  less 
room  than  negroes  in  a  slave  ship,  the 
air  they  breathed  was  in  the  highest 
degree  infected,  and  it  was  forbidden 
them  to  come  upon  deck  amongst  the 
men.  We  deck-passengers  were  very 
uneasy  lest  the  contagion  should 
spread  over  the  whole  ship.  The 
disease  had  broken  out  amongst  the 
children  before  they  came  on  board  ; 
but  nobody  could  know  that,  for  the 
women  were  brought  on  board  late  at 
night,  thickly  veiled,  and  wrapped  in 
great  mantles,  under  which  they  car- 
ried the  children.  Not  till  the  third 
day,  when  one  of  the  children  died, 
were  we  aware  of  the  risk  we  ran." 
The  disease  abated  after  three  deaths, 
and  did  not  extend  beyond  the 
crowded  harem  in  the  chief  cabin. 
Madame  Pfeiffer  gives  an  amusing 
account  of  the  landing  of  the  Persian 
women.  "  Had  they  been  beauties  of 
the  first  order,  princesses  from  the 
sultan's  harem,  greater  precautions 
could  not  have  been  taken  to  secure 
them  from  the  gaze  of  male  eyes. 
Thanks  to  my  sex,  I  had  had  several 
peeps  into  the  cabin ;  amongst  the 


1851.] 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


97 


whole  eighteen  women,  there  was 
not  one  handsome.  Their  husbands 
stationed  themselves  in  two  ranks, 
extending  from  the  cabin  stairs  to 
the  gangway,  and  held  great  cloths 
stretched  out,  forming  in  this  way 
movable  walls,  impenetrable  to  the 
view.  One  after  the  other  the  women 
ascended  from  the  cabin ;  they  were  so 
completely  shrouded  that  they  had  to 
be  led  like  blind  persons.  A9  they 
came  on  deck  they  squatted  down 
between  the  walls,  waiting  till  all 
were  assembled  ;  then  the  whole  pro- 
cession, namely,  the  movable  walls 
and  the  beauties  hidden  behind  them, 
set  itself  in  motion,  step  by  step. 
The  scrambling  down  the  narrow 
gangway  into  the  carefully-curtained 
boat  was  really  a  pitiable  sight— first 
one  stumbled,  then  another,  and  the 
whole  operation  lasted  upwards  of  an 
hour." 

In  Bagdad,  whither  Madame  Pfeitfer 
proceeded  from  Bassora,  in  an  armed 
English  steamer,  the  Nitocris,  she 
deemed  it  advisable  to  assume  the 
dress  of  the  country,  the  little  fez  and 
turban,  and  the  voluminous  isar — a 
robe  which  envelopes  the  whole  per- 
son, and  which  she,  accustomed,  as 
we  have  seen,  to  semi-masculine  attire, 
found  most  inconvenient.  In  this 
garb,  however,  she  could  ramble  un- 
impeded about  the  city.  Amongst 
other  places  into  which  she  made 
her  inquisitive  way,  was  the  pasha's 
summer  harem — a  handsome  modern 
building,  with  lofty  windows  in  the 
European  style,  standing  in  a  small 
flower-garden,  which  in  its  turn  was 
surrounded  by  a  large  fruit- garden. 
The  fifteen  odalisques  who  dwelt 
therein,  expected  her  visit,  and  had 
made  preparations  for  her  reception. 
They  were  richly  dressed,  and  had 
fine  eyes,  but  their  countenances  were 
neither  noble  nor  expressive.  They 
laughed,  gossiped,  and  romped,  till 
their  visitor  was  almost  abashed  ; 
then  came  an  excellent  meal,  whose 
cookery  Madame  Pfeiffer  highly  ap- 
proved, although,  in  lieu  of  forks,  she 
was  fain  to  use  her  fingers ;  then 
pipes  were  brought  in,  and  strong 
coffee,  in  cups  which  fitted  into  little 
golden  goblets,  enriched  with  pearls 
and  torquoises.  The  greatest  fami- 
liarity prevailed  between  the  ladies  of 
the  harem  and  their  servants ;  they 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXIX. 


all  lounged  and  smoked  together  on 
the  same  sofas  ;  the  manners  of  all 
were  the  same ;  and  the  only  differ- 
ence consisted  in  dress  and  ornament. 
They  were  little  on  their  guard  before 
their  guest,  who  departed  greatly 
scandalised  by  the  license  of  their 
conduct  and  conversation.  This  visit, 
and  another  which  she  made  to  one 
of  the  public  baths  for  women,  con- 
vinced her  that  the  strict  decorum 
observed  in  all  public  places  in  Bag- 
dad is  anything  but  a  correct  standard 
whereby  to  measure  the  morality  of 
its  inhabitants. 

The  most  remarkable  and  dangerous 
portion  of  Madame  Pfeiffer's  travels 
was  yet  to  come.  From  Bagdad  her 
proposed  route  was  to  Ispahan.  But 
a  Persian  prince,  Il-Hany-Ala-Culy- 
Mirza— a  handsome  young  man  with 
whom  she  became  acquainted  during 
her  rambles  on  the  shores  of  the 
Tigris,  who  had  for  a  wife  the  love- 
liest creature  she  had  yet  seen  in  any 
harem,  and  who  possessed  nargilehs 
so  magnificently  jewelled  that  she 
could  not  refuse  to  smoke  out  of  them 
— sent  to  his  German  friend,  on  the 
eve  of  her  departure,  intelligence  that 
modified  her  plans.  He  had  received 
bad  news  from  his  country :  the 
governor  of  Ispahan  had  been  mur- 
dered, and  the  whole  province  was  in 
a  state  of  insurrection.  Under  these 
circumstances  it  was  impossible  to 
enter  Persia  from  Bagdad,  and  she 
therefore  resolved  to  go  north  to 
Mossul,  and  thence  shape  her  course 
according  to  events.  To  get  to  Mossul 
safely  and  without  heavy  expense,  it 
was  necessary  to  join  a  caravan  ;  and 
she  requested  Svroboda,  a  Hungarian 
at  Bagdad,  to  look  out  for  a  trusty 
caravan -leader.  She  was  strongly 
advised  not  to  risk  herself  alone 
amongst  the  Arabs,,  but  to  take  at 
least  one  servant  with  her ;  but  the 
state  of  her  purse  would  not  permit 
this,  and,  moreover,  she  had  begun  to 
understand  the  Arab  character,  and 
she  felt  confidence  in  them.  The 
rate  of  travelling  was  certainly  cheap 
enough.  The  distance  is  three  hun- 
dred English  miles ;  the  time  required, 
twelve  or  fourteen  days,  on  horse 
or  muleback,  and  marching  by  night 
in  the  hot  season.  She  paid  fifteen 
shillings  for  a  mule  to  carry  herself 
and  baggage,  and  the  animal's  forage 
G 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


[July, 


was  supplied  to  her.  "  At  five  in  the 
afternoon,"  says  this  intrepid  lady, 
"  I  set  out  upon  a  fortnight's  journey 
over  deserts  and  steppes,  a  journey 
full  of  hardships  and  dangers,  without 
the  slightest  convenience,  shelter,  or 
safeguard.  I  travelled  like  the  poorest 
Arab,  and  must,  like  him,  make  up 
my  mind  to  endure  the  burning  sun, 
to  live  upon  bread  and  water,  with 
the  addition,  at  most,  of  a  handful  of 
dates  or  a  cucumber,  and  to  take  the 
parched  and  glowing  earth  for  my 
only  couch.  .  .  My  little  trunk, 
and  a  basket  with  bread  and  other 
trifles,  were  put  in  two  sacks  and 
thrown  across  the  mule's  back  ; 
my  cloak  and  cushion  made  a  soft 
and  convenient  seat ;  mounting  was 
the  worst  part  of  the  business,  as 
there  was  no  stirrup.  Our  caravan 
was  small :  six-and-twenty  mules 
and  horses,  most  of  them  laden 
with  merchandise,  and  twelve  Arabs, 
of  whom  five  went  on  foot.  At  a 
few  miles  from  the  town,  several 
other  travellers  joined  us ;  mostly 
traders  with  laden  beasts.  Our 
numbers  varied  every  evening,  as 
there  were  constantly  some  persons 
leaving  and  others  joining  us.  Often 
we  had  shocking  rabble  amongst  us, 
people  whom  I  feared  more  than  any 
robbers.  It  not  unfrequently  happens 
that  thieves  join  these  caravans,  in 
hopes  of  finding  opportunities  to 
exercise  their  calling."  The  first 
night  they  rode  ten  hours,  halting  at 
a  dirty  sort  of  chan,  in  the  middle  of 
a  small  village.  Madame  Pfeiffer  went 
out  foraging :  milk  and  three  eggs, 
and  her  leathern  bottle  full  of  water 
from  the  Tigris,  were  the  result  of 
her  perquisitions  in  the  neighbouring 
huts.  Poor  as  the  provend  was, 
after  a  hard  night's  ride,  and  uncom- 
fortable as  was  the  accommodation, 
she  would  gladly  have  had  as  good 
the  day  after,  when  she  found  her- 
self bivouacking  in  the  merciless  sun- 
rays,  in  an  open  field,  with  a  cloth 
thrown  over  two  sticks,  for  sole  and 
most  imperfect  shelter.  Various  were 
her  vicissitudes,  both  of  diet  and 
lodging,  during  this  uncomfortable 
journey.  At  one  little  village — the 
native  place  of  their  guide—  the  cara- 
van halted  two  days.  "The  first 
day  I  had  much  to  endure  ;  all  the 
women  of  the  neighbourhood  came  to 


stare  at  the  stranger.  They  began 
by  examining  my  clothes,  then  they 
wanted  to  remove  my  turban,  and  at 
last  became  so  intrusive  and  annoy- 
ing, that  I  could  only  get  rid  of  them 
by  energetic  demonstration.  Suddenly 
seizing  one  of  them  by  the  arm,  I 
turned  her  out  of  the  hut.  This  I 
did  so  quickly  that  she  was  outside 
the  door  before  she  knew  it,  and  I 
made*signs  to  the  others  that  I  should 
serve  them  in  the  same  way.  Pro- 
bably they  took  me  to  be  much 
stronger  than  I  was,  for  they  all 
retired.  Then  I  drew  a  line  upon 
the  ground,  and  forbade  them  to  cross 
it,  and  in  this  also  I  was  obeyed." 
Towards  evening,  to  her  great  de- 
light, she  saw  a  kettle  with  mutton 
in  it  set  upon  the  fire.  Bread,  dates, 
and  cucumbers  had  been  her  only 
food  for  eight  days,  and  she  rejoiced 
at  the  prospect  of  a  hot  and  nourish- 
ing meal.  The  mode  of  preparation 
considerably  damped  her  appetite. 
The  guide's  mother  soaked  a  quantity 
of  onions  and  some  small  red  grain 
in  water ;  then,  with  her  dirty  hands, 
mixed  and  crushed  them  together, 
put  some  of  the  grain  in  her  mouth, 
chewed  it  and  returned  it  to  the 
mess,  strained  the  whole  through  a 
dirty  rag,  and  poured  this  precious 
sauce  over  the  simmering  sheep. 
Madame  Pfeiffer  inwardly  vowed  to 
have  nothing  to  say  to  so  abominable 
a  brew.  But  when  the  stew  was 
taken  off  the  fire,  the  odour  emitted 
was  so  fragrant  to  her  hungry  nos- 
trils that  she  relented,  and  began  to 
think  of  how  many  messes  she  had 
partaken  that  were  not  an  iota  better 
than  this  one.  The  difference  con- 
sisted in  her  presence  at  the  cookery. 
She  shut  her  eyes  and  put  in  her 
spoon,  felt  greatly  comforted  by  the 
repast,  and  looked  anxiously  for  such 
another  upon  the  following  evening. 
But  Arabs  are  not  so  extravagant. 
Bread  and  gherkins,  without  salt,  oil 
or  vinegar,  composed  the  next  day's 
meagre  meal.  After  which  the  cara- 
van proceeded  on  its  way,  and,  cross- 
ing the  renowned  plain  of  Arbela, 
reached  Mossul  without  other  incident 
worthy  of  note.  It  was  the  beginning 
of  July.  The  heat  was  so  terrible, 
that  in  Mossul  several  persons  died 
of  it  during  her  stay;  and  it  even 
affected  domestic  fowls,  as  they 


1851.] 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


99 


testified  by  their  gaping  beaks  and 
expanded  wings.  During  the  whole 
journey  she  had  never  taken  off  her 
clothes  or  changed  her  linen,  had 
eaten  meat  but  twice,  and  passed 
half  her  time  on  the  road.  Never- 
theless, she  reached  Mossul  fresh  and 
in  good  spirits. 

"  From  Mossul  I  could  at  last  ven- 
ture— certainly  not  without  consider- 
able danger,  but  yet  with  a  possibility 
of  success — upon  the  much  desired 
journey  to  Persia.  I  sought  a  cara- 
van going  to  Tabriz.  Unfortunately 
I  found  none  going  the  whole  way, 
and  must  therefore  content  myself 
with  making  the  journey  piecemeal 
and  circuitously ;  an  arrangement 
which  was  so  much  the  more  dis- 
advantageous, that,  as  I  was  assured, 
I  should  not  meet  a  single  European 
upon  the  road.  Nevertheless  I  risked 
it.  Mr  Rassam  (the  English  vice- 
consul)  made  a  bargain  for  me  for  the 
journey  to  Ravandus,  and  provided 
me  with  letters  of  recommendation  to 
one  of  the  natives  at  that  place.  I 
wrote  down  quite  a  little  lexicon  of 
Arabic  and  Persian  words,  and  set 
out  upon  the  12th  July,  not  without 
some  apprehensions  as  to  the  fortunate 
issue  of  my  expedition.  On  this  ac- 
count I  despatched  my  papers  to 
Europe  before  starting,  so  that  if  I 
were  plundered  or  killed,  my  sons 
might  at  least  get  my  journal."  This 
precaution  delayed  the  publication  of 
the  book  before  us.  The  notes  of  the 
journey  through  Hindostan  to  Mossul 
wandered  about  the  world  for  more 
than  a  year  and  a  half  before  they 
again  reached  their  writer's  hands. 

Ali,  the  leader  of  the  caravan  to 
Ravandus,  was  a  cut-throat  looking 
Arab,  clad  in  rags.  By  this  time 
Madame  Pfeiffer  must  have  been 
pretty  well  accustomed  to  villanous 
physiognomies;  nevertheless  she  was 
staggered  by  his,  and  would  scarcely 
have  risked  herself  with  him,  but  for 
the  assurances  she  received  of  his 
trustworthiness.  The  caravan  con- 
sisted of  three  Kurds,  no  better  look- 
ing than  Ali,  a  few  traders,  and  a 
pilgrim — apparently  the  most  pros- 
perous of  the  party,  and  who  had  two 
servants.  After  a  few  hours'  march 
they  crossed  the  line  of  hillocks,  form- 
ing the  boundary  between  Mesopo- 
tamia and  Kurdistan,  and  soon  after- 


wards halted  at  a  cluster  of  ruined 
huts.  As  usual,  Madame  Pfeiffer 
showed  herself  an  old  campaigner. 
"I  hastened  immediately  into  the  best 
of  the  huts  to  get  a  good  place,  and 
was  so  fortunate  as  to  find  one  where 
the  roof  still  kept  out  the  sun ;  thjs 
place,  however,  the  pilgrim,  who 
presently  hobbled  in  after  me,  seemed 
disposed  to  dispute.  I  threw  my 
cloak  upon  the  ground,  seated  myself 
upon  it,  and  stirred  not  from  the 
spot,  well  knowing  that  no  Mussul- 
man will  use  violence  towards  a 
woman,  even  though  she  be  a  Chris- 
tian. And  so  it  proved :  he  left  me 
my  place,  and  went  grumbling  away." 
It  seems  that  at  this  period  of  her 
travels  Madame  Pfeiffer  (perhaps 
from  the  difficulty  of  receiving  re- 
mittances in  regions  so  remote  as  she 
had  now  for  some  time  been  wander- 
ing through)  was  very  much  strait- 
ened for  money.  At  any  rate  she 
left  Mossul  with  dry  bread  for  sole 
stores,  and  was  indebted  to  a  friendly 
fellow-traveller  for  some  slight  amend- 
ment of  her  fare.  Early  on  the  second 
night's  march,  there  was  an  alarm 
from  robbers.  Kurdistan  is  ill-famed 
in  this  respect.  Six  sturdy  fellows, 
armed  with  cudgels,  sprang  suddenly 
from  behind  the  corn  that  lay  cut  in 
heaps  by  the  roadside,  and  seized  the 
horses'  bridles.  "I  was  persuaded 
we  had  fallen  in  with  a  band  of 
robbers,  and  exulted  in  having  left 
behind  me  at  Mossul  my  papers  and 
the  treasures  I  had  collected  in 
Babylon  and  Nineveh.  The  baggage 
I  had  with  me  was  easy  to  replace. 
Whilst  this  passed  through  my  mind, 
however,  one  of  our  party  jumped  off 
his  horse,  collared  an  assailant,  thrust 
a  loaded  pistol  into  his  face,  and 
threatened  to  shoot  him.  The  effect 
was  miraculous  ;  the  highwaymen  let 
go  our  bridles,  and  strife  was  ex- 
changed for  a  peaceable  conversation, 
which  ended  by  their  showing  us  a 
good  camping  place  and  receiving  in 
return  a  trifling  trinkgeld."  This 
was  a  lucky  escape,  but 'they  were  in 
a  region  where  robbers  abound,  and 
had  frequent  alarms,  more  or  less 
well-founded.  On  the  14th  July  they 
started  at  two  in  the  morning,  and 
after  proceeding  a  short  distance, 
left  the  plain  and  entered  a  wildly 
magnificent  mountain  pass.  A  bril- 


100 


Wanderinqs  round  the  World. 


[July, 


liant  moon  lighted  them  on  their  way, 
or  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
advance  along  the  dangerous  path, 
which  led  them  over  loose  stones, 
amidst  fallen  masses  of  rock,  and  by 
the  brink  of  precipices,  at  whose  foot 
roared  and  splashed,  in  a  succession 
of  cascades,  a  furious  mountain  stream. 
Their  sure- footed  beasts  scrambled  for 
a  while,  like  izards,  over  the  slippery 
rocks ;  then  heavy  clouds  covered  the 
moon,  and  they  were  obliged  to  halt 
and  remain  motionless  till  daylight. 
A  few  steps,  taken  in  the  darkness, 
might  have  consigned  them  to  a 
horrible  death.  With  the  dawn 
they  pushed  forwards,  —  mountains 
on  every  side,  a  snowy  peak  in 
the  background.  They  were  in  the 
heart  of  the  pass  of  Ali-Bag.  They 
moved  on  for  three  hours  and  a 
half,  "  A  short  distance  before  reach- 
ing the  plateau,  we  remarked  in  seve- 
ral places  small  spots  of  blood,  which 
at  first  no  one  heeded,  for  they  might 
have  been  left  by  some  horse  or  mule 
that  had  injured  itself  against  a  stone. 
Soon,  however,  we  came  to  a  place 
which  was  covered  with  large  blood- 
stains. This  sight  filled  us  with 
great  horror.  With  anxious  glances 
we  sought  the  cause  of  these  ominous 
traces,  and  presently  discovered,  in 
the  depths  below,  two  human  bodies. 
One  of  these  hung  scarcely  a  hundred 
feet  below  us,  on  a  projection  of  the 
cliff;  the  other  had  rolled  further 
down,  and  was  half  hidden  by  a 
rock.  We  hurried  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible from  this  frightful  scene  of 
murder ;  many  days  elapsed  before 
I  could  prevent  my  memory  from 
dwelling  on  it."  This  tragical  inci- 
dent occurred  within  a  short  distance 
of  Ravandus,  a  little  town  on  the  top 
of  an  isolated  rock,  with  mountains 
all  around.  Madame  Pfeiflfer  had 
hoped  to  find  there  something  like 
civilisation,  and  some  of  the  comforts 
of  which  she  stood  greatly  in  need 
after  her  fatiguing  six  days1  march. 
Disappointment  awaited  her.  AH 
conducted  her  to  Mansur,  the  mer- 
chant to  whom  she  had  a  letter  of 
introduction  from  the  English  vice- 
consul.  Mansur,  who  was  the  first 
merchant  in  the  place,  was  seated  in 
a  dark  den,  and  took  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  to  read  the  few  lines  she  pre- 
sented to  him.  Then  he  said  Salam 


— meaning,  "  thou  art  welcome,"  and 
repeated  it  many  times  ;  and  gave 
her  a  breakfast  of  bread,  sheep's 
milk  cheese,  and  melons,  all  mingled 
together.  Conversation  was  impos- 
sible, save  by  signs — he  speaking  no 
European,  she  no  Asiatic  languages. 
He  made  her  understand  that,  being 
a  bachelor,  he  could  not  receive  her 
into  his  house,  but  he  would  take  her 
to  that  of  one  of  his  relatives.  There 
she  vainly  sought  a  quiet  place  for  a 
change  of  dress  and  much  needed 
ablution.  She  was  hunted  from  nook 
to  nook  by  the  inquisitive  ladies  of 
Ravandns ;  she  found  every  room 
filthy,  and  trembled  for  fear  of  scor- 
pions—her constant  bugbear,  although 
during  her  whole  travels  she  never 
saw  but  two  specimens  of  that  ob- 
noxious creeping  thing.  How  gladly 
would  she  have  taken  a  bath !  A 
woman  offered  to  prepare  one ;  boiled 
water,  and  bade  her  follow — into  the 
cowhouse.  There  she  was  to  stand 
upon  a  stone,  and  have  the  hot  water 
poured  over  her,  whilst  the  entire 
female  community  stood  around  to 
witness  the  operation.  She  preferred 
remaining  unbathed.  Poor  Mansur 
did  what  he  could,  but  that  was  not 
much  ;— Ravandus  is  a  place  of  little 
resource.  He  took  care  that  she  was 
well  fed,  according  to  the  savage 
notions  of  that  country,  where  the 
bill  of  fare  is  extremely  limited,  and 
the  cookery  far  from  delicate.  And 
he  did  his  best  to  find  a  caravan  with 
which  she  might  continue  her  journey. 
After  four  days'  waiting,  Ali  came  to 
her  with  the  joyful  intelligence  that 
he  was  going  seventy  miles  further 
with  a  load  of  goods.  Mansur  filled 
her  wallet  with  provisions,  gave  her 
a  letter  to  a  Persian  friend  of  his, 
through  whose  residence  she  was  to 
pass,  and  the  next  day  at  sunset  she 
was  again  upon  the  road. 

A  very  strong  interest  runs  through 
the  whole  of  that  portion  of  Madame 
Pfeiffer's  third  volume  which  com- 
prises her  journey  from  Mossul  to 
the  Russian  frontier.  In  every  page 
there  is  something  to  amuse  or  to 
wonder  at.  It  seems  inconceivable 
that  she  should  have  passed  safely 
through  such  a  climate  and  country, 
through  such  Avild  people  and  count- 
less perils.  Her  having  done  so  is 
attributable  to  coolness,  judgment, 


1851.] 


Wanderings  round  the  World. 


101 


and  decision,  such  as  are  rarely  found 
combined  either  in  man  or  woman, 
and  to  her  extraordinary  tact  in 
accommodating  her  conduct  to  cir- 
cumstances. She  has  an  intuitive 
perception  when  to  be  humble  and 
when  haughty  —  when  to  appeal  to 
pity,  and  when  to  carry  things  with 
the  high  hand,  and  use  pistol  and 
horsewhip.  At  Raid,  the  wretched 
remains  of  a  mouldering  fortress,  two 
days  beyond  Ravandus,  she  evaded  a 
demand  for  her  passport  by  pretend- 
ing not  to  comprehend  it,  and  fairly 
disconcerted  and  drove  away  the 
Persian  officer  and  his  armed  party. 
In  almost  every  village  on  the  road, 
the  whole  of  the  inhabitants  flocked 
around  her,  molesting  her  with  their 
curiosity.  Being  pressed  upon  at 
llaid  by  a  mob  of  women  and  chil- 
dren, she  dispersed  them,  alone  and 
unsupported,  by  a  moderate  applica- 
tion of  her  riding-whip.  Then  she 
walked  down  to  the  river  to  wash 
her  feet :  a  lad  followed  and  pelted 
her,  but  she  took  no  notice,  and  he 
presently  left  her  quiet.  It  was  an 
anxious  journey,  even  when  she  had 
escort.  But  when  Ali  left  her  for  the 
second  time,  she  rode  on  alone, 
(weary  of  waiting  for  caravans,)  with 
but  a  single  guide,  and  in  defiance 
of  prophecies  concerning  robbers  and 
cut-throats.  She  ardently  desired  to 
get  to  Onroomia,  where  she  would 
find  an  establishment  of  American 
missionaries;  and  she  was  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  arrive  there  without  acci- 
dent, although  at  one  time  she  ex- 
pected something  disagreeable,  in 
consequence  of  a  violent  dispute  with 
her  guide.  She  made  him  ride  in 
front,  however,  she  coolly  informs  us, 
kept  her  eye  upon  all  his  movements 
and  her  hand  upon  her  pistol,  and 
soon  fell  in  with  a  large  caravan, 
whose  company  relieved  her  from 
apprehensions.  At  Ouroomia,  as  at 
every  place  she  had  passed  through 
.since  Bagdad,  she  was  urged  not  to 
proceed  alone,  but  at  the  same  time 
it  was  admitted  that  she  had  got  over 
the  most  perilous  portion  of  the  jour- 
ney. The  missionaries  (of  the  result 
-of  whose  labours,  by  the  bye,  she 
gives  but  a  discouraging  account) 
prevailed  with  her  to  hire  an  escort 
when  crossing  some  mountains  of 
evil  repute  on  the  road  to  Tabriz. 


But  one  of  the  greatest  dangers  she 
had  run  awaited  her  in  the  valley 
beyond.  She  was  assailed  by  robbers, 
who  seized  her  baggage.  For  some 
time  past  she  had  assumed  the  cha- 
racter of  a  poor  pilgrim,  whose  ex- 
penses were  paid  by  missionaries  and 
consuls,  and  who  travelled  without  a 
purse.  Her  guide,  fully  convinced 
of  the  truth  of  this  story,  repeated  it 
to  the  robbers ;  she  herself,  mistrust- 
ing the  efficacy  of  her  pistol  against 
such  overpowering  numbers,  put  on 
her  most  piteous  and  beseeching  look, 
and  the  bandits  not  only  left  her 
baggage  untouched,  but  offered  her 
water — a  scarcity  in  those  valleys — 
and  wished  her  a  good  journey. 

At  Tabriz,  the  second  city  of 
Persia,  but  considered  a  finer  place 
than  the  capital,  we  shall  make  our 
last  pause  in  the  pleasant  companion- 
ship of  Madame  Pfeiffer.  She  reached 
it  at  a  rather  unfavourable  moment, 
in  August,  the  month  of  fasts,  when 
from  sunrise  to  sunset  nothing  is 
eaten,  no  one  leaves  the  house,  visits 
and  parties  are  suspended,  and  prayer 
is  the  sole  employment  of  all.  She  had 
%  thank  the  extensive  connections 
and  obliging  attention  of  Dr  Casolani, 
a  European  physician  resident  at 
Tabriz,  for  her  admission,  notwith- 
standing the  rigour  of  these  religious 
observances,  into  several  of  the 
principal  Persian  families,  and  also 
for  her  presentation  at  the  court  of 
the  viceroy  of  Aderbeidschan,  the 
eldest  son  of  the  Shah.  The  vice- 
queen  received  her  with  extraordinary 
distinction,  for  Dr  Casolani  had  de- 
scribed her  as  an  authoress,  who  pro- 
posed on  her  return  to  Europe  to 
write  an  account  of  all  she  had  seen. 
So  the  princess,  who  was  but  fifteen 
years  old,  (her  husband  was  seven- 
teen,) put  herself  in  full  dress,  and 
had  an  arm-chair  set  for  her  German 
visitor.  This  audience  over,  Madame 
Pfeiffer  was  presented  to  the  viceroy, 
who  made  a  much  less  favourable 
impression  upon  her  than  his  wife 
had  done.  According  to  her  unflat- 
tering account,  he  is  a  down -looking, 
yellow-visaged  youth,  with  a  bad 
expression  of  face,  and  seeming  much 
older  than  his  age.  He  asked  her  a 
few  commonplace  questions  about  her 
journey,  and  made  some  very  oriental 
comments  on  the  recent  revolutions 


102 


The  Lament  of  Selim. 


[July, 


in  France  and  Austria,  expressing 
his  opinion,  that  European  monarchs 
were  extraordinarily  simple  to  allow 
themselves  to  be  driven  from  their 
thrones,  and  that  things  would  go  very 
differently  if  more  frequent  use  were 
made  of  axe  and  bowstring.  He 
himself  is  a  sanguinary  and  tyran- 
nical ruler.  "  His  government,"  says 
Madame  Pfeiffer,  "  is  that  of  a  child : 
he  revokes  to-day  what  he  yesterday 
decreed."  His  power  is  unlimited 
within  the  extensive  province  he 
rules ;  his  revenue  is  enormous  ;  his 
education  very  trifling.  He  has  one 
lawful  wife,  (four  are  allowed  him,) 
and  a  large  number  of  unlawful  ones. 
Any  one  of  these  who  gave  birth  to  a 
son  would  acquire  the  rank  of  a  law- 
ful spouse,  and  take  precedence  of  the 
then  mistress  of  the  harem,  who  had 
but  a  daughter.  "  When  the  prince 
rides  abroad,  he  is  preceded  by  some 
hundred  soldiers.  These  are  followed 
by  attendants  with  great  sticks,  who 
shout  to  the  people  to  bow  themselves 
before  the  mighty  potentate.  Civil 
and  military  oflicers,  and  other  at- 
tendants, surround  the  prince,  and 
more  soldiers  bring  up  the  rear.  Tfce 
prince  alone  is  on  horseback,  all 
others  on  foot."  A  style  of  proces- 
sion such  as  one  might  expect  to  find 
described  in  some  old  Persian  tale, 
rather  than  in  a  veracious  book  of 
travels  in  the  present  day. 

"  On  my  arrival  in  Tabriz,"  says 
Madame  Pfeiffer,  u  I  had  expressed 
my  desire  to  journey  thence  by  Nat- 
schivan  and  Erivan  to  Tiflis.  At  first 
they  gave  me  slight  hope  of  my  carry- 


ing out  this  plan,  as  the  Russian 
government,  in  consequence  of  recent 
political  events  in  Europe,  had,  like 
that  of  China,  strictly  prohibited 
strangers  from  setting  foot  within  its 
territory.  Mr  Stevens  (the  English 
consul)  promised  to  do  his  best  for 
me  with  the  consul  of  Russia.  Thanks 
to  this  powerful  intercession,  and  to 
my  sex  and  age,  an  exception  was 
made  in  my  favour ;  and  I  received 
from  the  Russian  consul  not  only  the 
desired  permission,  but  several  good 
letters  of  recommendation  to  Tiflis 
and  other  places." 

The  last  three  chapters  of  Madame 
Pfeiffer's  pilgrimage  are  but  common- 
place compared  with  most  of  those 
that  precede  them.  Two  days' journey 
from  Tabriz  took  her  into  Russia, 
where  alarms  from  robbers,  and 
contentions  with  camel-drivers  and 
guides,  were  exchanged  for  wearisome 
formalities  relating  to  passports  and 
post-horses,  and  for  altercations  with 
the  most  stupid  of  all  custom-house 
oflicers — evils  less  serious,  but  which 
she  apparently  found  almost  as  annoy- 
ing. Three  months  later  she  was  back 
in  Vienna,  after  an  expedition  which, 
considering  all  its  circumstances,  we 
believe  to'be  hardly  paralleled  in  the 
annals  of  female  enterprise — an  expe- 
dition which  is  certainly  unlikely  to  be 
soon  again  attempted  by  one  of  the 
same  sex.  She  concludes  her  last 
volume  by  an  appeal  to  her  readers, 
which  few  will  disdain,  for  a  favour- 
able judgment  of  a  very  unpretending 
book. 


THE    LAMENT    OF    SELIM. 


THE  waters  of  the  Bosphorus 

Have  lost  their  crimson  glow  as  darkles 
Day's  occidental  fire,  and  thus, 
In  tearful  beauty  tremulous, 

The  radiant  Star  of  Evening  sparkles 
In  the  blue  south,  where  Stamboul  lies — 

Its  myriad  minarets  and  spires 

Forsaken  by  red  sunset's  fires 
In  darkness  grouped  against  the  skies ; — 
Around  my  path  the  cypress  trees 
Are  stirring  in  the  land-ward  breeze  ; 
The  flowers  outbreathe  beneath  my  feet, 
Rejoicing  that  the  sunny  heat 


1851.]  The  Lament  of  Selim.  103 

Hath  passed,  and  that  the  cooling  dews 

Are  on  their  journey  from  the  height 
Of  cloudless  zenith,  to  infuse 

Freshness,  and  fragrance,  and  delight, 
O'er  all  the  parched  and  panting  things 
On  which  they  fall  like  angels'  wings. 
Far  off  the  Muezzin's  voice  is  heard, 

The  watcher's  call  to  evening  prayer  : 
And  overhead  that  holy  bird, 

The  Bulbul,  charms  the  silent  air 
With  notes  alone  to  sorrow  given, 
Though  breathed  on  earth  that  speak  of  heaven, 
And  of  the  blessed  bowers  above, 
For  still  their  theme  is  love — is  love  ! 
If  aught  below  can  sooth  the  soul 
Of  him  whose  days  ungladden'd  roll 
On,  month  by  month,  and  year  by  year, 
With  naught  to  wish  for,  naught  to  fear — 
It  is  an  hour  like  this,  so  calm 
Along  the  fragrant  fields  of  balm 
Luxurious  Zephyr  roams,  and  brings 
Delicious  freshness  on  his  wings. 


But  Thou  art  gone ! — at  twilight's  gloom 
I  come  to  rest  beside  thy  tomb  ; 
O  Azza  !  thou  of  all  the  daughters 

Of  womankind,  who  wert  most  dear, 
Thy  voice  than  Zem-zem's  murmurous  waters 

Was  more  delicious  to  mine  ear ; 
Vainly  the  summer  blossom  seeks, 
Beloved,  to  emulate  thy  cheek's 
Soft  natural  peach- bloom  ;  and  thy  brow 
Outshone  in  whiteness  the  pure  snow 
(As  sings  the  Scald  in  Runic  rhymes,) 
On  the  hill-tops  of  northern  climes  : — 
Thy  tresses  were  like  black  ripe  berries 

Down-clustering  from  the  elder  tree  ; 
Thy  parting  lips  like  cloven  cherries, 

That  near  each  other  lovingly  ; 
And  oh,  thine  eyes  !  thy  melting  eyes, 

More  bright  than  Houri's  glance  of  heaven, 
A  diamond  dowry  from  the  skies 

To  thee  alone  of  mortals  given  ; 
In  their  own  depths  of  light  did  swim, 
Making  the  wild  gazelle's  look  dim. 

in. 

Still  glooms  the  night,  still  shines  the  day, 
Beneath  the  moon's  soft,  silver  ray, — 
Beneath  the  sun's  triumphant  light, 
That  seems  to  make  all  nature  bright ; 
And  thou  art  not !  — in  solitude 

The  thoughts  of  other  years  awake, 
No  marvel  that  my  heart  should  ache, 
When  on  thy  vanished  charms  I  brood. 
Oh,  Azza !  what  is  life  to  him 
Whose  star  is  quenched,  whose  day  is  dim — 
Dim  as  the  visioned  hours  of  night 
When  sorrows  frown  and  cares  affright : — 


104  The  Lament  of  Selim.  [July, 

And  Thou  art  not ! — I  look  around, 
But  thou  art  nowhere  to  be  found  ! 
I  listen  vainly  for  thy  foot— 
I  listen,  but  thy  voice  is  mute  I 
I  hear  the  night- winds  sighing  drear, 
And  all  is  misery,  gloom,  and  fear! 
This  City  of  the  Silent  far 

Transcends  for  me  the  haunts  of  men  ; 
I'd  rather  house  me  in  the  den 

Of  hungry  wolves  than  bide  their  jar : 
There  all  is  weariness,  or  strife 
That  makes  an  agony  of  life  ; 
Serenely  here  the  eye  reposes 
On  sculptured  turban-stones  and  roses. 


Dark  is  the  night  of  ruin,  dark 

As  chaos  ere  the  glorious  sun 
Awoke,  or  Eve  her  pearly  bark 

Launched  forth,  or  stars,  like  omens,  shone 
Of  blessedness  beyond  the  grave 
For  all  the  faithful  and  the  brave. 
Whither  would  roam  my  visions,  where 
Find  images  of  man's  despain? 
A  vessel  on  a  sunless  sea 
Tossing  through  mists  eternally, 
Without  an  anchor  mid  the  waste 
Of  waves,  where  shore  is  never  traced  ; 
For  ever  beating  round  and  round 
Through  endless  years  the  dim  profound  ; 
Or  like  that  bird,  without  the  power, 
Mid  winds  that  rush,  and  clouds  that  lower, 
To  light  on  earth,  a  bird  of  Thrace 
That  knows  no  human  dwelling-place. 


They  say  that  woman,  like  a  flower, 

Expands  her  beauties  to  the  day, 
Blooms  through  the  lapse  of  Time's  brief  hour, 

Then  withers  on  the  stalk  away ; 
They  say  her  span  is  short,  and  narrow 

Though  gemmed  with  flowers  her  earthly  path, 
And  that  the  barb  of  Azrael's  arrow 

To  her  brings  everlasting  death — 
A  thing  that  Beauty's  breath  indents 
Of  perishable  elements. 
But  man  has  high  hopes  they  say, 

That  powers  of  Darkness  cannot  bind  him, 
That,  bursting  from  the  tomb  away, 

He  leaves  the  realms  of  change  behind  him  ; 
That  o'er  Alsirat's  arch  he  flies, 
Until  the  shores  of  Paradise 
Are  gained,  and  Houris  with  a  kiss 
Give  welcome  to  the  bowers  of  bliss— 
Of  bliss  that  cuds  not— joy  whose  touch 

To  rapturous  ecstasies  elate  him, 
So  joy- fraught  is  his  doom,  and  such 

The  sun-bright  fortunes  that  await  him. 
And  can  it  be  that  Woman  dies, 

Like  Gul  iu  all  her  July  glory, 


1851.]  The  Lament  of  Selim.  105 

Courting  our  love  to  mock  our  eyes 

For  aye, — the  moral  of  a  story  ? — 
And  can  it  be  that  she,  who  stole 

My  heart  away,  who  was  my  trust, — 
My  hope,— of  every  wish  the  goal, 
Could  be  a  thing  without  a  soul, 

Whose  elements  were  merely  dust — 
Dust,  which  shall  sleep  for  evermore 

Within  the  silent  tomb's  domain, 
Which  he  who  framed  shall  ne'er  restore 

To  beauty,  love,  and  life  again  ? 
If  so— where  lies  my  comfort,  where  ? 
1  bow  in  silence  to  despair ! 


I  ask  not  heaven  :  there  could  not  be, 
Azza  beloved  !  at  least  for  me — 
A  paradise  that  holds  not  thee. 
Ah  no  !  my  first,  last,  only  love  ! 

Nor  in  the  amaranthine  bovvers, 
Nor  in  the  crystal  shrines  above, 

The  heart-felt  bliss  that  once  was  our's 
Could  e'er  my  spirit  hope  to  find  ; 

Nor  in  the  maids,  whose  glances  dart, 
Ever  angelically  kind, 

New  thrills  of  rapture  through  the  heart : 
To  thee  alone  my  thoughts  would  turn, 
Fraught  with  undying  love,  and  burn  ! 


I  lean  my  forehead  on  thy  stone  ; 
And  art  Thou  not?     I  dwell  alone 
In  sorrow's  cloud,  since  Thou  art  gone  ! 
Howe'er  I  turn — where'er  I  flee — 
Earth  is  a  wilderness  to  me  : 
I  pause  to  hear  thy  step  in  vain, 

Thy  timid  step  of  fairy  lightness  ; 
Ah  !  ne'er  shall  break  on  me  again, 

Like  lightning-flash,  thy  glance  of  brightness, 
Thrilling  my  heart-strings  with  the  glow 
Of  love,  in  all  its  lava  flow. 


From  men,  and  from  the  ways  of  men, 

When  twilight's  dewy  shades  descend, 

Hither  my  willing  footsteps  tend 
In  solitary  guise  ;  and  then 
While  resting  by  thy  tomb,  I  find 
Solace,  in  Doming  forth  my  mind 
Unto  the  silence  ;  for  I  ween 
Thou  still  must  be,  although  unseen, 
Circling  my  path,  until  I  flee 
To  dwell  for  evermore  with  thee  ! 
In  realms  where  anguish  is  forgot, 
And  hateful  Azrael  enters  not, 
But  where  a  future  ever  bright 

Shall  smile,  and  naught  have  power  to  sever  ; 

And  where  my  soul,  made  blest  for  ever, 
Shall  sun  itself  in  Azza's  light.  A. 


10G 


Downward  Tendencies. 


[July, 


DOWNWARD    TENDENCIES. 


TO    ROBERT   M'CORKINDALE,    ESQ.,    MANCHESTER. 


MYDEARM'CORKINDALE, — Highly 

as  I  esteem  the  privilege  of  a  commu- 
nication from  your  honoured  pen,  I 
entertain  some  doubts  as  to  the  pro- 
priety of  the  method  you  have  adopted 
in  conducting  your  epistolary  corres- 
pondence. Was  there  any  absolute 
necessity  for  confiding  your  letter  to 
the  columns  of  Blackwood  ?  It  would 
have  reached  me  quite  as  safely,  and 
a  good  deal  more  confidentially, 
through  the  usual  medium  of  the  post- 
office  ;  and  I  am  sure  that,  had  you 
trusted  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Row- 
land Hill,  you  would  have  saved  your- 
self from  some  annoyance,  and  spared 
me  considerable  trouble.  No  doubt, 
you  can  cite  numerous  authorities  in 
defence  of  the  practice.  Various 
noble  souls  appear  to  be  so  possessed 
by  the  thirst  of  fame,  or,  at  all  events, 
of  notoriety,  that  they  cannot  rest 
satisfied  with  expressing  their  ideas 
to  their  correspondents  in  language 
more  or  less  intelligible.  They  are 
not  comfortable  unless  they  can  take 
the  whole  British  public  into  their 
confidence,  by  the  help  of  some  com- 
plaisant newspaper.  No  school-girl 
can  be  vainer  of  her  earliest  completed 
sampler,  with  its  lineal  groups  of 
alphabetical  and  horticultural  em- 
blems, than  those  gentlemen  are  of 
the  firstlings  of  their  literary  fancy. 
Within  the  last  few  weeks  we  have 
had  notable  instances  of  this.  Young 
Sir  Robert  Peel,  in  particular,  has 
taken  especial  care  that  his  character 
shall  not  be  misunderstood,  nor  his 
paternal  relation  to  his  tenantry  sub- 
jected to  misrepresentation.  We  are 
now  thoroughly  in  possession  of  his 
ideas  regarding  independence  of  ac- 
tion, and  the  rights  of  private  opinion. 
His  letter  to  the  excellent  Mr  Mat- 
thews defines  beautifully  the  limits 
between  coercion  and  that  persuasive 
influence  which  is  the  legitimate  pri- 
vilege of  the  landlord ;  and  we  rise 
from  the  perusal  of  the  instructive 
document  with  an  augmented  reve- 
rence for  the  writer,  which  no  un- 
timely display  of  brick-bats  or  blud- 
geons can  efface.  Nevertheless,  I 


don't  see  why  you  should  have  adopted 
this  course.  Secrecy  between  friends 
ought  always  to  be  preserved  invio- 
late; and  although  you  are  kind 
enough  to  chalk  out  a  line  of  action 
for  my  acceptance  or  refusal,  I  know 
no  reason  whatever  why  any  one  else 
should  be  made  acquainted  with  the 
terms  which  you  offer.  However,  in 
common  courtesy,  I  must  needs  fol- 
low your  example.  You  have  thought 
fit  to  publish  your  letter  to  me,  and  I 
shall  do  the  same  by  my  reply. 

Your  epistle,  my  dear  Bob,  does 
you  infinite  credit.  For  once  in  your 
life  you  have  eschewed  humbug,  and 
written  precisely  as  you  think.  In 
doing  this  you  have  acted  wisely,  and 
have,  moreover,  paid  me  a  delicate 
but  decided  compliment.  An  agent 
of  inferior  abilities  might  have  been 
tempted,  in  conducting  such  a  nego- 
tiation as  this,  to  magnify  the  re- 
sources and  colour  the  prospects  of 
his  own  party,  and  also  to  underrate 
the  strength  of  his  opponents.  You 
have  done  nothing  of  the  kind.  So 
far  from  concealing  the  awkward 
position  of  your  Free- trading  friends, 
you  point  out  very  clearly  and  forcibly 
the  dangers  which  are  impending,  and 
do  not  disguise  your  apprehensions 
that,  before  long,  the  Protectionists 
must  carry  the  day.  You  describe 
your  cause  as  a  falling  one,  and,  in 
the  same  breath,  you  ask  me  to  come 
forward  and  champion  it. 

Now,  if  any  consideration  could 
tempt  me  to  yield  to  your  wishes,  this 
appeal  to  my  chivalry  would  have 
riveted  the  bargain.  There  is  no 
credit  in  fighting  a  battle  with  all  the 
chances  on  your  side.  A  Paladin  of 
old,  sheathed  in  impenetrable  armour, 
and  mounted  upon  a  Flanders  mare 
equally  invulnerable  to  dart  or  ar- 
row, could  expect  to  derive  little  re- 
nown from  cleaving  some  half-dozen 
naked  savages  to  the  brisket ;  and 
the  example  of  Leonidas  is  sufficient  to 
show  us  in  what  respect  heroism  is 
held  when  combating  against  deadly 
odds.  So  long  as  you  were  carrying 
everything  your  own  way,  you  could 


1851.] 

very  well  dispense  with  such  feeble 
support  as  I  might  bring  to  your  as- 
sistance. Now,  when  you  are  in  dif- 
ficulties, you  ask  me  to  come  to  the 
rescue ;  and  I  swear  to  you,  by  Mars 
and  Pollux  of  the  iron  fist,  that  you 
could  not  hold  out  to  me  a  higher  in- 
ducement than  the  plain  confession  of 
your  straits.  But  I  will  frankly 
own  to  you  that  there  is  a  prelimi- 
nary obstacle  in  the  way.  I  don't 
exactly  see  that  the  course  which  you 
and  your  party  are  pursuing  is  calcu- 
lated to  enhance  either  the  national 
greatness  or  the  national  prosperity  ; 
and  excuse  me  if  I  hint  that,  even  by 
your  own  showing,  you  are  as  cer- 
tainly booked  for  destruction  as  if 
you  had  taken  a  place  in  the  Pande- 
monium train. 

I  recollect  some  years  ago,  when 
you  were  in  the  very  heyday  of  your 
statistical  enthusiasm,  holding  a  con- 
versation with  you  on  the  prospects 
of  the  Free-Trade  policy.  You  and  I 
had  both  made  a  tolerable  haul  out  of 
the  railways — what  unutterable  idiots 
we  were  to  go  afterwards  into  the 
French  lines ! — and  we  were  up  to- 
gether in  London  attending  the  deli- 
berations of  a  committee,  on  an  allow- 
ance which  I  wish  had  been  permanent. 
One  fine  Saturday  we  agreed  to  dine 
at  Thames  Ditton,  and  wiled  away 
the  forenoon  by  watching  the  gold 
fish  in  the  basins  at  Hampton  Court, 
and  holding  sweet  converse  beneath 
the  shadow  of  a  mighty  chestnut. 
Then  it  was  that  you  opened  your 
mind  to  me  fully  and  without  reserve. 
You  were  then,  as  now,  a  Cobdenite, 
slightly  intoxicated  by  the  sprinkling 
of  the  golden  shower,  which  you  be- 
lieved was  to  last  for  ever,  and  fully 
impressed  with  the  notion  that  until 
our  age  the  energies  of  mankind  had 
never  been  properly  developed. 
Premiums  you  regarded  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  you  would  as  soon  have 
anticipated  an  earthquake  as  the 
advent  of  a  commercial  panic.  We 
got,  I  remember,  into  a  discussion  on 
the  origin  of  wealth,  which  I  main- 
tained to  arise  primarily  from  the 
soil — a  proposition  which  you  scouted 
as  an  effete  and  obsolete  fallacy.  The 
outline  of  my  argument  was  this  : 
that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  real 
wealth  except  through  production — 
that  all  production  was  derived  from 


Downward  Tendencies. 


107 


or  sustained  by  the  soil — and  that 
production  must  increase  or  diminish 
according  to  its  being  remunerative  or 
the  reverse.  Consequently  I  held 
that  it  was  the  duty  of  a  good  Go- 
vernment to  stimulate  production  in 
all  its  important  branches,  and  to 
secure  its  continuance  by  protecting 
it  against  undue  competition,  to  the 
amount  at  least  of  those  burdens 
which  were  directly  levied  by  the 
State.  You  did  not,  on  that  occasion, 
meet  my  argument  very  logically. 
You  seemed  to  deny  that  production 
had  anything  to  do  with  the  soil,  and 
you  quoted  Ricardo  as  an  authority. 
You  held  that  to  buy  in  the  cheapest 
and  sell  in  the  dearest  market  was  the 
prime  law  of  humanity,  and  that  any 
infringement  or  violation  of  it  must 
be  productive  of  the  direst  conse- 
quences. You  were  of  opinion  that 
production  must  look  after  itself,  and 
that  Government  had  no  right  what- 
ever to  protect,  though  it  had  to  tax, 
the  industry  of  a  population.  Your 
ideas  on  the  subject  of  the  origin  of 
wealth  were  exceeding  hazy.  You 
had  been  reading  Mill  and  M'Culloch 
until  your  intellects  were  muddled, 
and  you  talked  about  bullion  and 
capital,  and  the  balance  of  trade,  in  a 
way  that  would  have  petrified  Crossus. 
Leaving  abstract  principles,  and  de- 
scending to  particulars,  you  averred 
that  the  best  thing  which  could  happen 
to  Great  Britain  would  be  a  total 
annihilation  of  its  agriculture,  pro- 
vided corn  could  be  grown  or  cattle 
reared  at  a  cheaper  rate  elsewhere. 
You  said  that  the  evident  destiny  of 
England  was  to  become  the  workshop 
of  the  world ;  and  you  asked  me  with 
considerable  force,  whether  it  was 
reasonable  to  expect  that  an  artisan 
should  not  only  purchase  but  also 
grow  his  victuals  ?  Your  peroration 
struck  me  as  peculiarly  fine.  "Depend 
upon  it,  Dunshunner,"  you  said, 
41  you  are  utterly  and  entirely  wrong. 
You  are  the  slave  of  antiquated  pre- 
judices— the  supporter  of  an  exploded 
system.  You  may  just  as  well  at- 
tempt to  re-enact  the  feudal  laws  as  to 
maintain  a  tax  upon  articles  of  prime 
necessity.  Independently  altogether 
of  its  injustice,  such  a  tax  is  a  most 
serious  obstacle  to  commerce.  Don't 
you  see  that,  if  we  were  to  take  all 
our  corn  from  America,  we  should 


108 


Downward  Tendencies. 


necessarily  secure  ail  enormous  in- 
crement of  customers?  What  is 
to  prevent  us  from  spinning,  weaving, 
and  forging  for  the  whole  universe? 
Nothing  save  the  continuance  of  a 
restrictive  duty,  which,  for  my  part,  I 
am  surprised  to  hear  any  man  of 
common  intellect  defend.  You  ask 
me  what  is  to  become  of  the  agricul- 
turists? I  answer,  let  them  go  to  the 
cotton- mills.  You  say  the  home 
market  will  thereby  be  ruined — I  re- 
ply that  I  don't  care  about  the  home 
market.  You  think  yourself  very 
clever  in  suggesting  that  the  national 
independence  may  be  endangered  if 
we  come  to  depend  upon  foreigners  for 
our  yearly  supplies  of  corn  and  raw 
material  —  I  answer  that,  being  a 
cosmopolite,  I  am  not  able  to  perceive 
the  advantages  of  national  indepen- 
dence." And  then  you  wound  up 
with  a  quotation  from  3'our  great 
leader,  touching  the  manifold  blessings 
which  must  ensue  from  the  Archi- 
medean feat  of  laying  Manchester 
alongside  of  the  Mississippi — a  process 
which  you  seemed  to  consider  as  easy 
as  the  construction  of  a  viaduct. 

That  conversation  made  a  strong 
impression  on  my  mind.  1  knew  that 
you  were  not  uttering  your  own  sen- 
timents only,  but  those  of  a  large 
section  of  the  manufacturing  com- 
munity ;  for,  although  you  were  not 
then,  as  now,  the  depositary  of  the 
hidden  councils  and  secret  thoughts 
of  the  League,  yon  knew  enough  of 
their  views  to  enable  you  to  speak 
with  confidence.  I  assure  you  I  have 
repeatedly,  since  then,  thought  most 
seriously  on  the  subject.  Neither  of 
us,  I  believe,  expected  that  the 
change  would  be  made  so  suddenly  ; 
arid  when  it  did  arrive,  I  could  not 
but  confess  that  you  had  gained  a 
practical  triumph. 

However,  the  proof  of  the  pudding 
undoubtedly  lies  in  the  discussion 
thereof.  Ample  time  has  elapsed  to 
enable  us  to  discover  who  was  right 
and  who  wrong  in  the  argument  we 
then  maintained  ;  and  I  cannot  read 
your  letter  without  arriving  at  the 
conclusion  that  you  have  virtually 
abandoned  as  hopeless  every  one  of 
your  former  points.  You  have  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  Free  Trade,  and, 
after  a  trial,  you  find  that  it  has  not 
answered  your  expectations.  All  of 


[July, 

you  manufacturers,  both  principals 
aud  agents,  have  been  compelled  to 
acknowledge  that.  I  put  aside  altoge- 
ther the  dreary  trash  which  is  issued 
weekly  by  your  friend  Skinflint  of  the 
Importation ist,  who,  poor  devil  1  is 
only  doing  his  best  to  keep  his  circula- 
tion and  his  place — and  I  look  to  the 
trade-circulars  for  the  last  two  years 
as  the  best  evidences  of  the  manufac- 
turing condition.  What  do  I  find 
there  ?  An  unbroken  aud  continuous 
lamentation  over  the  wretched  state 
of  trade.  Prices  are  down  to  nothing 
— demand  dwindling— no  symptoms 
of  activity  anywhere.  Short  time  is 
becoming  the  rule,  and  not  the  excep- 
tion— the  manufacturers  of  Dundee 
have  paid  off  their  hands,  and  closed 
their  factories  in  despair — and  in 
Nottingham  the  operatives  are  besieg- 
ing that  last  refuge  for  British  labour, 
the  workhouse ! 

These  are  the  results — and  you  can- 
not deny  it — of  your  practical  political 
economy.  It  is  of  no  use  attempting 
longer  to  throw  dust  in  the  eyes  of 
people  by  making  a  parade  of  increas- 
ed exports,  even  could  these  be  sup- 
ported. Of  what  advantage  are  ex- 
ports if  manufacturers  are  not  thriv- 
ing ?  How  long  will  you  continue  to 
make  them  without  profit  ?  Every- 
body knows  that  the  exports  of  the 
last  two  years,  about  which  such  a  fuss 
has  been  made,  were  occasioned  sim- 
ply by  the  decline  in  the  demand  for 
commodities  at  home,  which  forced 
the  Manchester  men  to  look  out  for  a 
speculative  market  wherever  they 
could  find  one,  and  thereby,  as  the 
natural  consequence,  to  create  a  ruinous 
glut.  You  are  feeling  it  now,  and  will 
feel  it  still  more  before  the  year  is 
over.  Do  what  you  will,  you  cannot 
make  up  for  the  deficiency  in  the 
home  trade  ;  and  even  if  you  had  that 
reciprocity  which  some  people  were 
idiots  enough  to  expect,  it  would  not 
help  you  out  of  the  dilemma.  The 
great  bulk  of  the  people  of  Great 
Britain  don't  live  by  exports.  They 
live  by  home  industry  and  production ; 
and  the  more  you  discourage  these, 
the  worse  must  it  be  for  the  nation. 

Villiers  thought  he  made  a  capital 
hit  last  year,  when  he  told  us  that  the 
nation  had  saved  upwards  of  ninety 
millions  in  the  article  of  food.  I  be- 
lieve that  statement  was  cheered  to 


1851.] 


Downward  Tendencies. 


109 


the  echo  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
Lord  Johnny  being  kind  enough  to 
act  as  fugleman  on  the  occasion. 
Heaven  help  the  ninny-hammers ! 
What  would  you  say,  M'Corkindale, 
if  your  butcher  told  you  some  fine 
morning,  as  you  entered  his  shop  to 
order  a  leg  of  mutton,  that  half-a- 
dozen  of  his  best  customers  had  got 
into  difficulties  and  were  compelled  to 
reduce  their  establishments,  and  that 
he,  Marrowbones,  was  mightily  re- 
joiced to  hear  it  ?  Of  course  you 
would  set  down  the  man  as  an  absolute 
fool.  Without  his  customers,  Marrow- 
bones is  nothing.  But  for  them,  and 
their  appetites,  and  the  multiplicity 
of  their  banquets,  the  sound  of  his 
cleaver  would  be  stilled,  and  veal  be- 
come an  obscure  tradition.  Any 
cause,  therefore,  which  leads  to  a 
diminution  of  their  custom  must 
affect  the  prosperity  of  Marrowbones, 
and  materially  diminish  his  profits. 
Now,  if  itbe  true  that  the  agriculturists 
are  losing  at  the  rate  of  ninety  millions 
by  this  precious  experiment  of  yours, 
does  it  not  follow  that  they  have  pre- 
cisely ninety  millions  less  to  spend? 
How  the  mischief  can  they  be  expect- 
ed to  pay  for  your  calicoes,  if  they  are 
making  no  profit  by  their  own  trade  ? 
By  what  hocus-pocus  are  they  to  find 
the  money  which  used  formerly  to 
make  its  way  from  their  pockets  to 
you,  in  exchange  for  your  valuable 
shirtings  ?  Do  you  really  think  there 
is  a  single  farmer  or  landowner  in  the 
country  who  is  not  reducing  his  ex- 
penditure in  a  ratio  equal  to  the 
diminution  in  his  income — or,  in  other 
words,  withdrawing  just  so  much  em- 
ployment and  custom  ?  But  why 
should  I  insist  on  those  things  to  you, 
who  know  them  as  well  as  I  do  ?  You 
frankly  confess  that  you  regret  the 
agricultural  distress,  not  on  account 
of  the  farmers  themselves,  but  because 
they  cannot  buy  from  you.  Well, 
then,  why  don't  you  agree  to  relieve 
them,  since  that  relief  would  be  a 
positive  advantage  to  your  friends ; 
and  is,  indeed,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  the 
only  method  left  of  extricating  them 
from  their  difficulties  ? 

You  say  that  it  is  impossible  to  go 
back,  and  that  most  of  you  are  com- 
mitted too  deeply.  My  dear  fellow — 
if  you  have  lost  the  art  of  backing  out 
of  a  scrape,  you  are  a  very  different 


person  indeed  from  the  Robert 
M'Corkindale  whom  I  knew  at  the 
bubble  period !  I  have  known  you 
leap  out  of  a  line,  on  the  success  and 
stability  of  which  you  had  staked 
your  whole  character  and  credit,  as 
agilely  as  a  cat  out  of  the  window  of  a 
washing-house,  and  abuse  the  Provi- 
sional Committee  afterwards  for  a 
pack  of  unprincipled  scoundrels.  And, 
between  ourselves,  I  do  not  believe 
that  you  are  a  whit  more  scrupulous 
now.  Certainly  it  is  at  no  time  agree- 
able to  confess  that  you  have  com- 
mitted an  act  of  egregious  folly. 
Cobden  cannot  be  expected  to  do  it, 
considering  the  part  he  has  played; 
and  the  pure  Ministerial  Whigs  must 
of  course  adhere  to  Free  Trade,  or 
surrender  their  places  at  once  and  for 
ever — an  alternative  which  they  dare 
not  face.  Graham  and  the  renegade 
section  are  even  worse  off  than  the 
Whigs,  for  they  would  cut  a  much 
paltrier  and  more  ridiculous  appear- 
ance if  perched  upon  the  stool  of  re- 
pentance ;  and,  therefore,  I  think  they 
may  be  classed  as  hardened  sinners, 
whose  recantation  cannot,  under  any 
circumstances,  be  looked  for.  But  I 
take  it,  that  the  bulk  of  you  Free- 
Traders  look  principally  and  primarily 
to  your  pockets.  You  expected  to 
make  a  good  thing  out  of  the  repeal 
of  the  Corn  Laws,  and  you  have  been 
most  hideously  disappointed.  You  rec- 
koned upon  getting  new  customers  by 
thousands  •  and,  in  place  of  that,  you 
find  that  you  have  beggared  your  old 
ones.  You  have  gained  nothing  by 
the  change;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
have  lost  immensely.  If  this  be  the 
case,  I  suspect  that  ere  long  the 
manufacturers  will  be  seen  dancing  as 
vigorously  as  Satyrs  in  advance  of  the 
car  of  Protection.  Unless  I  much 
mistake  their  character,  they  are  not 
the  lads  to  sacrifice  themselves  to  an 
abstract  principle,  or  to  walk  into  the 
Gazette  simply  for  the  sake  of  main- 
taining the  reputation  of  the  League. 
They  will  hark  back  at  the  first  con- 
venient opportunity,  notwithstanding 
the  utmost  efforts  of  yourself  and  the 
other  mysterious  personages  who  offi- 
ciate as  whippers-in.  As  you  are  fond 
of  classical  lore,  I  recommend  you  to 
study,  with  more  than  ordinary  atten- 
tion, the  interesting  story  of  Action, 
and,  if  possible,  to  apply  the  moral. 


110 


Downward  Tendencies. 


[July, 


You  ask  me  to  join  you,  and  you 
hold  out  the  temptation  of  a  place. 
Let  us  discuss  the  minor,  though,  I 
confess,  the  more  interesting  matter 
first.  It  would  be  affectation  in  me 
to  say  that  I  am  impervious  to  those 
kind  of  arguments ;  and,  if  I  were 
guilty  of  any  such  hypocrisy,  I  know 
you  would  not  believe  me.  But  I 
observe  you  qualify  your  proposal,  by 
putting  it  in  a  prospective  view.  Are 
you  sure,  Bob,  that  you  are  not  count- 
ing chickens  on  the  strength  of  a  nest 
of  addled  eggs  ?  Suppose  that  I  were 
to  come  into  Parliament,  and,  by  the 
exercise  of  those  talents  which  even 
modesty  finds  it  impossible  altogether 
to  repudiate,  achieve  a  senatorial  re- 
nown which  might  place  me  on  a  level 
with  the  playful  Walmsley,  or  the 
profound  and  intellectual  Kershaw, 
what  security  can  you  give  me  for 
the  permanence  of  the  present  Go- 
vernment, or  even,  what  is  more 
important,  for  the  prolonged  existence 
of  the  present  Parliament?  I  sus- 
pect, M'Corkindale,  you  would  not 
venture  to  stake  your  money  upon 
either.  Lord  John  has  played  his  last 
card — unless,  indeed,  this  new  Reform 
Bill  of  his,  which  he  keeps  in  reserve, 
should  turn  out  an  extraordinary 
trump ;  and  the  country  is  wellnigh 
weary  of  him.  Wood  has  tabled  his 
last  budget,  and,  tenacious  as  he  is, 
would  this  time  make  no  objection  to 
the  removal  of  his  furniture  from  those 
official  apartments  which  he  has  so 
long  dignified  by  his  presence.  Act- 
ing, as  he  absurdly  thinks,  upon  the 
principles  of  his  predecessors,  and 
totally  misunderstanding  the  policy 
by  which  they  were  actuated,  ho  has 
sacrificed  indirect  taxation  without 
any  beneficial  result,  until  he  has  left 
himself  no  margin  whatever ;  and  you 
and  I  are  tolerably  well  aware  that  he 
may  as  well  expect  to  distil  water 
from  stones,  as  to  lay  on  direct  taxes 
in  the  present  temper  of  the  country. 
Rely  upon  it,  old  Chicory  is  booked. 
He  never  was  worth  much,  even  in 
his  best  days ;  and  of  late  years  the 
appearances  which  he  has  made  have 
been  positively  pitiable.  He  is  get- 
ting nervous,  too  ;  and  would  as  lieve 
cross  the  course  in  front  of  the  start- 
ing-post on  the  Derby  day,  as  encoun- 
ter Lord  Naas,  who  has  several  times 
administered  a  cross-buttock.  Grey, 


poor  fellow !  ought  to  be  sick  of  it  by 
this  time ;  for,  if  all  accounts  be  true, 
he  has  been  obliged  to  let  down  his 
rents  five-and-twenty  per  cent  —  a 
step  which  must  be  as  palatable  to  a 
patriot  as  bolting  a  dose  of  ipeca- 
cuanha. Hawes  and  Wilson,  you  will 
admit,  are  no  great  pillars  of  state ; 
and  Lord  Minto,  albeit  intimate  with 
the  Pope,  is  not  exactly  the  manner  of 
man  to  inspire  the  souls  of  a  declining 
party  with  confidence.  No,  sir — you 
may  rely  upon  it  that  the  days  of  the 
present  Ministry  are  numbered.  Since 
their  own  confession  of  weakness,  and 
sham  resignation  in  the  spring,  by 
which  they  have  gained  nothing  save 
an  augmented  portion  of  contempt, 
they  have  been  living  entirely  upon 
sufferance ;  and,  in  my  opinion,  they 
owe  a  very  large  debt  of  gratitude  to 
MrPaxton,  whose  ingenious  architec- 
tural design  has  done  more  to  prolong 
their  existence  than  any  intellectual 
or  political  achievements  of  their 
own. 

Excuse  me,  therefore,  if  I  decline 
committing  myself  to  your  proffered 
patrons.  If  they  are  indeed  as 
squeezable  as  you  say  they  are,  I 
need  hardly  suggest  to  so  shrewd  an 
individual  as  yourself  the  propriety 
of  wringing  the  sponge  so  long  as  it 
contains  a  drop  of  moisture.  Your 
hand  is  ready  for  the  task;  mine 
is  yet  untried  ;  and,  to  confess  the 
plain  truth,  I  have  no  great  stomach 
for  the  service.  As  to  entering 
Parliament  at  the  present  time — 
unless,  indeed,  you  were  to  pay  my 
expenses,  which  you  won't  do — the 
act  would  be  one  of  insanity.  This 
session  is  very  nearty  over,  and  who 
can  calculate  upon  another?  I  have 
no  desire  whatever  to  join  the  ranks  of 
the  remanent  members  in  the  dog- 
days,  even  if  I  saw  my  way,  more 
clearly  than  I  do,  to  the  probability 
of  another  campaign.  No,  no, 
M'Corkindale  !  You  must  even  fight 
your  ship  as  you  best  may  with  such 
hands  as  you  can  muster,  for,  be 
assured,  this  is  not  the  time  to  be 
beating  up  for  recruits,  even  if  you 
were  to  offer  a  double  allowance  of 
bounty- money ! 

Having  said  this  much  with  regard 
to  my  own  prospects  and  intentions, 
let  us  look  a  little  more  closely  into 
yours.  Your  position  is,  to  say  the 


1851.] 


Downward  Tendencies. 


Ill 


least  of  it,  peculiar.     You  admit  that 
Free  Trade  has  not  enriched,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  impoverished  the  manu- 
facturers.    The  shopkeepers  and  re- 
tailers throughout  the  kingdom  con- 
stitute one  grand  chorus  of  grumblers, 
and  are   croaking  like  the  frogs  of 
Aristophanes.    Those  of  London,  who 
thought    they  were  to    make    their 
fortunes  by  the  great  Exhibition,  are 
perhaps  the  most  discontented  and 
decidedly  raucous  of  their  order  — 
and  no    wonder,  since    the  custom 
which  ought  to  be  theirs  is,  for  the 
most  part,  transferred  to  the  foreigners, 
who  will  have  good  reason  to  bless 
the    memorable    year    1851,    when 
Vanity  Fair  was  opened.     As  to  the 
agricultural  distress,  I  need  say  no- 
thing, since  it  has   already  reacted 
upon  you.     I  think,  by  this  time,  you 
must  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion, 
that  the  home  market  is,  after  all, 
your  surest  field,  and  that  you  cannot 
reasonably  expect  to  thrive  out  of  the 
ruin  of  your  best   customers.      So, 
then,  we  are  both  agreed  as  to  this 
practical  result,  that  manufacturers, 
agriculturists,  and  shopkeepers  have 
all  suffered  by  the  change.     Certainly 
this  is  no  light  matter,  for  the  cata- 
logue comprehends  by  far  the  most 
important  interests  of  the  nation — the 
producers,   the  converters,    and  the 
distributors  of  the  works  of  industry. 
But  here  we  separate.    I  say  that, 
having  taken  a  false  step,  we  ought  to 
retrace  it.     You  say — and  a  great 
many  more,  who  do  not  thoroughly 
comprehend  the  question  and  the  con- 
sequences, agree  with  you — that  we 
must  go  forward.     Now,  it  is  always 
wise  to  go  forward,  provided  you  are 
going  in  the  right  direction.     I  never 
could  see  any  grace  or  dignity  in  the 
retrograde  motions  of  the  crab :  in- 
deed I  think  experience  has  shown 
us  that  retrogression  never  will  be 
thought  of,  and  certainly  never  de- 
manded, unless  a  false  step  has  been 
made.      But,  having  once  mistaken 
my  path,  I  am  not  going  to  walk  over 
a  precipice  simply  for  the  sake  of  con- 
sistency— which  is  the   step  recom- 
mended to  us  at  present  by  certain 
wiseacres,  who  affect  to  lead  public 
opinion  through  the  medium  of  the 
daily  press.     But  does  the  path  which 
you  seem  bent  upon  pursuing  neces- 
sarily lead  to  a  precipice  ?    I  assure 


you,  upon  my  honour,  M'Corkindale, 
that  I  can  arrive  at  no  other  conclu- 
sion. Just  look  at  what  is  passing 
around  us.  From  every  quarter  you 
hear  an  incessant  cry  against  taxa- 
tion, not  on  account  of  its  unequal 
distribution,  which  might  be  natural 
enough,  but  because  it  is  taxation  too 
heavy  for  the  energies  of  the  people 
to  bear.  And  yet  this  amount  of 
taxation,  expressed  in  figures,  is  not 
greater  than  it  was  before,  nay,  it  is 
far  less  than  the  annual  burden  which 
was  cheerfully  sustained  during  the 
war-time,  and  it  is  distributed  over 
an  enormously  increased  population. 
Why,  then,  this  impatience  of  imposts? 
It  can,  I  think,  be  only  ascribed  to 
one  cause — the  decrease  in  the  na- 
tional wealth,  caused  by  the  cheapen- 
ing system. 

I  wonder  it  has  never  struck  you 
or  any  other  of  the  Free-Traders,  that 
your  famous  maxim  and  golden  rule 
of  buying  in  the  cheapest  and  selling 
in  the  dearest  market  is,  when  re- 
duced to  national  practice,  nothing 
short  of  absolute  nonsense.  Cheapen 
labour,  and  you  cheapen  everything 
else.  I  defy  you  to  keep  prices  up 
in  the  face  of  two  things,  which  it  is 
the  tendency  of  your  whole  system  to 
create — increase  of  competition  at 
home,  by  narrowing  the  spheres  of 
employment,  and  competition  invited 
from  abroad.  You  may  buy  cheap,  it 
is  true,  but  you  cannot  at  the  same 
time  sell  dear ;  and  therefore,  when 
you  come  to  square  your  accounts, 
you  will  find  that  you  are  a  positive 
loser.  You  may  deny  this  conse- 
quence if  you  please,  but,  neverthe- 
less, it  is  quite  inevitable.  You  are  a 
loser  in  this  way,  that,  while  the  re- 
muneration you  receive  for  your  labour 
or  produce  is  lessened,  you  have  still, 
by  favour  of  the  late  magician  of 
Tarn  worth,  to  meet  your  obligations, 
public  and  private,  in  hard  money  as 
formerly.  No  wonder  that  there  is  a 
cry  for  a  currency  reform !  It  is  the 
natural  and  necessary  result  of  cheap- 
ening, and  come  it  will  with  a  ven- 
geance, when  the  fundholders  least 
expect  it.  There  is  no  barrier  now 
between  them  and  their  assailants. 
High  taxation  and  low  prices  cannot 
possibly  coexist ;  either  the  one  must  v 
be  brought  down,  or  the  other  pro- 
portionally raised. 


112 


Downward 


You,  I  observe,  have  made  up  your 
mind  to  an  ultimate  operation  upon 
the  Funds.  I  don't  know  in  what 
shape  you  intend  to  spoliate  the  last  un- 
happy purchaser  of  consols — whether 
indirectly,  by  an  issue  of  assign  ats  of 
fluctuating  market  value,  or  directly, 
by  reducing  the  amount  of  the  divi- 
dends. But,  in  one  way  or  another, 
I  see  you  are  resolutely  determined  to 
do  it ;  and  you  will  have  plenty  of 
people  to  back  you.  Now,  I  fairly 
confess  to  you,  that  I  demur  as  to  the 
justice  of  any  such  proceeding.  No 
man  is  more  impressed  than  I  am 
with  the  enormous  injustice  of  the  act 
of  1819  ;  or  the  necessity  of  a  proper 
change  in  the  laws  which  regulate 
our  currency,  so  as  to  prevent  the 
recurrence  of  those  panics  and  shocks 
to  credit,  which  are  at  present  ren- 
dered inevitable,  whenever  the  bullion 
in  the  Bank  of  England  is  suddenly 
diminished.  That,  however,  is  a  very 
different  thing  from  the  plunder  which 
you  propose.  I  don't  see  that  you  are 
entitled,  until  every  other  means  has 
been  tried  and  exhausted,  to  attack 
the  fundholders.  It  is  all  very  well 
.to  confound  classes  with  persons,  as 
your  friends  invariably  did  when  de- 
nouncing the  agricultural  interest — 
representing  the  landowners  as  a  set 
of  griping  fiends,  who  thought  of  no- 
thing but  their  rents,  and  were  tearing 
out  the  entrails  of  the  people.  That 
is  the  way  in  which  you  Manchester 
men  chose  to  calumniate  the  squires, 
utterly  forgetting,  or  rather  inten- 
tionally concealing  the  fact,  that  land, 
like  every  other  commodity,  changes 
hands,,  and  yields,  on  the  average,  a 
smaller  return  for  the  purchase-money 
than  can  be  obtained  for  any  other 
kind  of  known  investment.  I  am  not 
going  to  follow  your  example.  I 
refuse  to  talk  of  the  fuudholdcr  as  if 
he  were  an  incarnate  individual 
Israelite,  deep  in  the  counsels  of  Peel 
and  Ricardo,  and  battening  ever  since 
upon  the  public  plunder.  I  take  the 
list  of  the  present  fundholders,  and  I 
find  that  the  great  majority  of  them 
are  persons  who,  after  a  life  of  pain- 
ful industry,  have  invested  their  earn- 
ings at  a  very  modest  rate  of  interest 
in  the  Funds,  on  the  faith  of  the 
national  security.  I  find  that  a  large 
proportion  of  these  are  women,  slen- 
derly provided  for,  and  otherwise  with- 


Tendencits.  [July, 

out  the  means  of  subsistence — that 
old  age  and  infancy  are  alike  repre- 
sented there — and  that,  in  fact,  if  you 
come  to  deal  with  the  fundholders  as 
a  body,  you  are  attacking  not  the 
strongest,  but  the  weakest  portion  of 
the  community.  Robert !  I  insist 
upon  your  sparing  them.  Abstain 
from  laying  your  impious  claws  upon 
their  dividends,  with  the  voracity  of 
a  revenue  officer  who  affects  to  scent 
smuggled  cigars  in  the  interior  of  a 
veal  pie  !  Do  not  make  their  hearts 
recoil  from  that  odious  horse-laugh 
of  yours,  which  more  than  once  has 
excruciated  my  tympanum  when  you 
talked  of  prospective  plunder!  Be 
reasonable,  and  be  just !  A  poor 
old  lady  of  my  acquaintance  lately 
succeeded  to  a  small  sum  of  money, 
which  she  was  advised  to  invest 
in  the  public  securities,  and  upon 
the  dividends  from  this  she  lives. 
How  was  she  individually  guilty 
of  a  return  to  cash  payments  ?  She 
could  not,  to  save  the  life  of  her 
cat  or  her  canary,  tell  you  the  stan- 
dard price  of  the  ounce  of  gold,  and 
I  need  hardly  say  that  she  is  quite 
guiltless  of  any  knowledge  of  the 
amount  of  bullion  in  the  Bank.  All 
she  knows  is,  that  her  brother  con- 
trived, with  great  difficulty  and 
pinching,  to  save  some  five  thousand 
pounds — that  he  left  it  to  her  in  default 
of  nearer  heirs — and  that  she  lent  it 
to  the  Government,  which  is  her 
understanding  of  the  transaction,  on 
the  distinct  assurance  that  she  would 
receive  three  per  cent  for  her  money. 
Are  you  going  to  rob  that  old  woman? 
If  such  is  your  intention,  I  shall  take 
leave  to  tell  you  that  you  richly  de- 
serve the  gallows.  Many  a  pretty 
fellow  who  was  addicted  to  the  prac- 
tice of  appearing  in  masquerade  at 
untimeous  hours,  with  a  crape  mask 
and  a  pistol,  has  suffered  the  extreme 
penalty  of  the  law  for  a  crime  of  less 
atrocity  ;  and  if  this  is  the  sort  of 
service  upon  which  you  would  have 
me  enter,  I  humbly  take  my  leave, 
and  wish  you  a  pleasaut  passage  to 
Tyburn. 

Still,  I  suppose,  you  will  answer 
me  with  the  general  cry — which  I 
believe  to  be  a  real  and  an  honest 
one — We  can't  pay  the  taxes.  I 
know  you  can't.  How  should  you 
be  able  to  do  it,  if  you  persist  in 


1851.] 


Downward  Tendencies. 


113 


beating  down  labour,  and  reducing 
the  value  of  produce,  by  every  kind 
of  competition  ?  But  where  is  your 
alternative?  You  cannot  get  rid  of 
your  army  and  navy,'  except  at  the 
immediate  sacrifice  of  your  indepen- 
dence, nationality,  and  colonies ;  and 
I  can  tell  you  that  a  vast  majority  of 
the  people  of  this  country  would 
prefer  to  see  every  demagogue  in 
Manchester  suspended  as  high  as 
Hainan  before  consenting  to  any  such 
-consummation.  If  the  soldier  knows 
"  the  reason  why  "  he  gets  his  ration, 
do  you  think  he  is  likely  to  be  pleased 
if  you  summarily  eject  him  from  the 
service  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do 
with  him  after  he  is  discharged  ?  Is 
he  also  to  swell  the  tide  of  competition, 
and  assist  in  cheapening  labour  ?  It 
would  appear  so.  And  I  presume  it 
is  intended  that  the  Jack- tars  shall 
henceforward  abandon  oakum,  and 
betake  themselves  to  spinning  cotton- 
twist.  You  political  economists  cer- 
tainly are  a  nice  set!  I  prophesy, 
however,  that  the  British  army  and 
the  British  navy  will  outlive  Mr 
Richard  Cobden  and  every  one  of  his 
confederates  ;  though  I  hardly  expect 
that  a  military  band  will  attend 
gratuitously  at  the  obsequies  of  any  of 
them,  or  that  a  farewell  discharge  of 
musketry  will  be  fired  over  their 
honoured  graves. 

How,  then,  are  you  to  get  rid  of 
your  taxes?  Clip  and  pare  as  you 
may»  you  cannot  effect  any  saving  in 
the  expenditure  which  would  be  felt 
as  a  real  benefit ;  and  I  say  that  you 
cannot,  unless  you  are  resolved  to 
break  every  law,  human  or  divine, 
attack  the  public  creditor  in  the  whole- 
sale manner  which  you  propose.  You 
may,  by  extending  the  franchise  very 
widely,  commence  a  war  upon  pro- 
perty ;  but  I  warn  you  that,  if  you 
resort  to  such  a  step,  you  and  those 
of  your  class  will  be  the  first  sufferers. 
Do  you  really  think  that  you  are 
popular  even  among  your  own  opera- 
tives? Do  you  reckon  them  as 
machines,  not  as  men  endowed  with 
sentiments  of  love,  gratitude,  hatred, 
and  revenge,  that  you  expect  them 
to  feel  attached  to  you  for  your  re- 
sistance to  the  Ten  Hours  Bill,  and 
your  uniform  efforts  to  degrade  instead 
of  bettering  their  condition?  You 
stand  upon  the  cheap  loaf,  and  you 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXIX. 


think  that,  ill  that  way,  you  have 
done  something  to  earn  their  support. 
You  never  were  more  mistaken  iu 
your  lives.  The  better  and  more 
intelligent  class  of  mechanics  see 
through  your  policy,  and  detect  the 
fallacy  of  your  principles  with  almost 
instinctive  acumen.  Not  a  man  of 
them  but  knows,  from  the  traditions 
of  his  trade,  that  labour  never  was 
so  wretchedly  remunerated  as  now, 
when  you  have  put  the  capital  on 
your  column,  and  held  your  festival, 
and  built  your  palace,  and  inaugurated 
the  reign  of  Free  Trade.  Do  you 
suppose  they  feel  any  exultation  or 
interest  in  the  vapid  harangues  of 
your  Institute  orators  touching  the 
diffusion  of  knowledge,  the  march  of 
science,  or  the  amazing  development 
of  machinery?  At  this  moment,  as 
I  write,  there  are  two  poor  crea- 
tures screaming  a  most  woeful  ditty 
in  the  street  beneath  my  windows, 
and  anxiously  looking  upwards  for 
the  apparition  of  a  charitable  hand. 
They,  I  am  ready  to  stake  my  life, 
would  feel  uncommonly  little  satisfac- 
tion on  being  assured  that  the  mira- 
culous powers  of  the  steam-engine  are 
adapted  either  for  the  rending  of  the 
oak  or  the  picking  up  of  an  ordinary 
pin.  They  are  people  of  that  class, 
now  very  numerous  iu  our  towns, 
whose  labour  has  been  utterly  de- 
stroyed by  your  grand  system  of 
competition;  and  you  may  lecture 
them  till  doomsday  on  the  superi- 
ority of  the  present  over  the  preced- 
ing age,  without  the  slightest  effect 
— except,  perhaps,  the  eliciting  of  a 
curse  on  the  inventive  genius  which 
has  made  machinery  a  substitute  for 
human  thews  and  sinews.  Did  you 
ever  try  to  ascertain  the  real  senti- 
ments of  the  working- classes  with 
regard  to  their  position  and  pros- 
pects ?  I  have  done  so  ;  and  nothing 
has  made  so  strong  an  impression  on 
my  mind  as  the  prevalence  of  the 
desire  to  emigrate.  You  are  aware 
that  emigration  is  going  on  at  an 
enormous  ratio  among  those  who 
have  capital  left.  It  is  a  natural 
effect  of  Free  Trade,  and,  in  Scotland, 
the  drain  will  soon  be  felt  most  seri- 
ously. We  are  losing  the  best  of  our 
population  ;  but  those  who  ought  to 
have  been  the' emigrants  are  unfor- 
tunately left  on  our  hands.  The  very 
B 


114 


Downward  Tendencies. 


poor  man  cannot  emigrate.  If  work 
fails  him  in  the  country,  he  must  find 
his  way  to  the  towns,  and  become  a 
candidate  for  the  rewards  of  compe- 
tition. Hence  the  misery,  squalor, 
and  vice  against  which  so  many 
Christian  voices  are  raised  —  the 
demands  for  extended  education, 
model  lodging-houses,  and  sanitary 
regulations  —  the  good  people  who 
advocate  such  excellent  measures 
forgetting  all  the  time  that  the  first 
requisites  for  the  labourer  are  work 
and  wages,  and  that  without  these 
all  their  pains  are  thrown  away  upon 
the  mere  whitewashing  of  a  sepulchre. 
No,  M'Corkindale — you  are  entirely 
mistaken  if  you  suppose  that  the 
masses  of  the  people  are  with  you. 
You  may  get  fellows  from  Walsall  or 
Stafford  to  extemporise  riots  at  Tarn- 
worth  ;  and  you  may,  in  consequence, 
hang  out  the  brickbat  and  bludgeon 
in  terrorem  to  your  political  anta- 
gonists. The  trick  is  a  venerable  one, 
but  it  will  not  answer  your  purpose 
now.  I  won't  venture  to  say  whether 
an  increase  of  the  suffrage  will  be 
popular  or  not.  I  suppose  you  re- 
gard it  simply  in  the  light  of  a  means 
towards  an  end,  the  end  proposed 
being  the  maintenance  of  the  Free- 
Trade  system.  Well,  then — suppos- 
ing the  franchise  extended,  and  placed 
upon  the  broadest  possible  basis,  what 
next?  How  are  you  to  get  out  of 
your  taxation  difficulty  ?— for  that  is 
the  real  problem  which  all  future 
statesmen  must  attempt  to  solve. 
I  suppose  you  have  no  wish  to  see 
realised  property  rated  for  the  entire 
maintenance  of  the  state,  and  the 
payment  of  the  interest  of  the  Na- 
tional Debt.  That  seems  to  be 
M'Gregor's  notion,  in  so  far  as  I  can 
penetrate  the  fog  which  obscures  that 
sublime  Boeotian's  ideas ;  but  you, 
having  some  property  of  your  own, 
arc  probably  not  disposed  entirely  to 
coincide  with  him  in  this.  The  result 
of  such  a  measure  would  be  the  im- 
mediate disappearance  of  capital. 
You  cannot  prevent  it  from  going ; 
and  go  it  will,  if  you  try  this  whole- 
sale method  of  spoliation.  So,  upon 
the  whole,  and  after  viewing  the 
question  carefully  in  all  its  bearings, 
I  cannot,  for  the  life  of  me,  perceive 
how  you  are  to  meet  the  cry  for 
reduced  taxation.  You  have  estab- 


lishments  to  maintain,  and  a  debt 
to  pay  for  ;  and  you  cannot  in  pru- 
dence or  injustice  break  up  the  one, 
or  deny  the  validity  of  the  other. 

These  are  my  objections  to  "  going 
forward,"  as  you  call  it ;  and  I  shall 
really  feel  obliged  if  you  can  remove 
them  by  any  contrary  reasoning.  If 
not,  I  must  even  remain  true  to  my 
old  faith,  and  look  to  a  return  to  pro- 
tection for  native  industry  as  the 
only  possible  and  honourable  means 
of  extricating  the  country  from  its 
dangers.  I  pray  you,  let  me  hear  no 
more  trash  about  "transition  states," 
or  other  such  unmeaning  generalities. 
We  all  know  perfectly  well  what  is 
before  us.  Low  prices  must  here- 
after rule — except,  perhaps,  when  the 
foreigners  can  avail  themselves  of  a 
short  supply  to  make  a  little  addi- 
tional pillage  ;  and  it  is  quite  evident 
that  the  low  price  of  agricultural 
produce,  caused  by  unlimited  impor- 
tations from  abroad,  has  the  imme- 
diate effect  of  lessening  demand  for 
all  other  products  of  industry,  by 
impoverishing  the  best  and  only  cer- 
tain customers  of  both  the  artisan 
and  the  manufacturer.  Your  whole 
case  was  based  upon  the  assumption 
of  reciprocity  with  foreign  nations, 
and  you  have  failed  in  getting  it. 
You  have  opened  your  market  to  the 
foreigner,  and  he,  in  return,  has  bar- 
ricaded his  against  you.  It  requires 
no  special  gift  of  prophecy  to  divine 
which  party  must,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, be  the  loser. 

Individually,  I  have  no  earthly 
motive  for  advocating  Protection. 
Whiskers  are  the  sole  crops  which  I 
cultivate,  arid  you  might  conceal  the 
whole  of  them  very  easily  under  a 
bushel.  No  Duke  ever  asks  me  to 
dinner,  and,  if  he  did,  I  should  in- 
finitely prefer  my  usual  table  at  the 
Blue  Posts.  I  regard  Protection  sim- 
ply as  a  political  necessity  imposed 
upon  us  by  the  force  of  circumstances. 
I  am  not  blind  to  the  fact  that  any  pro- 
tective system  which  can  be  devised  is 
essentially  artificial ;  but  so  are  our 
taxation  and  our  monetary  arrange- 
ments, which  originally  called  it  into 
being.  When  William  of  Orange,  in 
his  anxiety  to  bind  the  middle  and 
commercial  classes  to  his  cause  by  the 
strong  tie  of  interest,  announced  the 
first  loan  in  perpetuity  which  was 


1851.] 

ever  heard  of  in  England,  he  laid  the 
foundation-stone  of  that  gigantic 
structure,  the  national  debt,  which 
you  and  your  friends  now  propose  to 
level  with  the  ground.  I  am  one  of 
those  who  think  that  the  temple  never 
should  have  been  built.  I  hold  that, 
in  abstract  justice,  each  generation 
ought  to  provide  for  its  own  defence, 
and  not  to  leave  the  legacy  of  its  debts 
to  those  who  follow  after.  But  I  am 
not  at  all  prepared,  on  that  account, 
to  repudiate  what  has  been  done. 
Our  creditors  are  our  own  fellow- sub- 
jects, who  have  a  right  to  rely  upon 
the  distinct  pledges  of  the  national 
faith  ;  and  until  you  can  prove  to  me 
that  there  is  no  other  course  open,  I 
cannot  consent  to  repudiation.  Have 
you  proved  this  ?  Let  us  examine 
shortly  into  this  matter. 

Since  the  close  of  the  war,  and  until 
some  six  or  seven  years  ago,  I  pre- 
sume you  will  not  deny  that  very 
large  fortunes  have  been  made  by 
manufacturers  in  every  branch,  and 
by  those  engaged  in  trade  and  com- 
merce. If  we  occasionally  saw  a 
monetary  crisis,  caused  by  over- spe- 
culation, and  precipitated  by  an 
unnatural  contraction  of  the  currency, 
or  a  stagnation  in  trade  following  upon 
a  period  of  too  rapid  and  reckless 
production,  these  things  passed  away 
after  the  duration  of  a  few  months, 
and  again  the  country  exhibited  the 
spectacle  of  general  industry.  The 
increment  of  our  large  towns  during 
that  period  was  enormous.  Glasgow, 
Manchester,  Liverpool,  and  Bristol 
grew  in  strength,  in  riches,  and  in 
size ;  and  many  places  which,  thirty 
years  ago,  hardly  deserved  the  name 
of  villages,  became  the  centres  of  a 
numerous  and  busy  population.  An 
extent  of  land  equal  to  the  surface  of 
counties  has  been  reclaimed  and  culti- 
vated ;  roads,  bridges,  canals,  and 
railways  have  given  us  free  and  rapid 
communication  from  one  end  of  the 
island  to  the  other ;  we  have  gone  on, 
in  short,  steadfastly  and  strongly  in  a 
course  of  prodigious  improvement. 
Well,  sir — all  this  was  done  under 
the  system  of  Protection,  and  without 
any  sensible  augmentation  of  the 
National  Debt.  We  were  rich  enough 
to  purchase  the  freedom  of  all  the 
slaves  in  our  colonies  at  an  expenditure 
of  twenty  millions.  We  were  uni- 


Downivard  Tendencies. 


115 


versally  esteemed  the  wealthiest 
people  on  the  face  of  the  earth — and  so 
we  were,  because  our  produce  then 
commanded  remunerative  prices. 
There  was  little  or  no  murmuring 
against  taxation,  which  I  take  to  be 
the  surest  sign  of  the  true  prosperity 
of  a  nation. 

I  believe  that  this  picture  will  not 
be  considered  as  in  any  way  over- 
charged. I  have  made  allowance  for 
periods  of  temporary  distress  which 
have  occurred,  and  will  occur,  in  every 
civilised  country.  I  might  make 
allowance  also  for  times  of  political 
agitation,  which  are  never  favourable 
to  settled  industry  ;  but,  on  the  whole, 
I  am  perfectly  certain  of  this,  that  the 
nation  increased  enormously  in  wealth 
and  comfort,  and,  if  need  be,  I  shall 
cite  as  my  witness  that  oracle  of  the 
Free-Traders,  Mr  Porter.  Such  was 
the  state  of  Britain  under  the  Protec- 
tive system,  before  the  political  econo- 
mists began  to  try  their  hands  with 
the  view  of  bettering  its  condition. 
Mr  Huskisson  was  the  first  statesman 
who  moved  in  the  direction  of  Free 
Trade,  and  since  his  time  the  tendency 
has  been  decidedly  in  favour  of  com- 
petition. But  no  step  of  great  im- 
portance was  taken  until  the  late  Sir 
Robert  Peel  revised  and  reduced  our 
tariff,  and  thereby  gave  a  decided 
impetus  to  the  cousumpt  of  foreign 
manufactures. 

The  effects  of  this  very  soon  be- 
came visible  throughout  the  country. 
Small  trades  declined;  the  wages  of 
artisans  were  lowered  ;  and  the  shops 
exhibited  everywhere  a  display  of 
articles,  sent  expressly  from  abroad 
to  compete  with  the  industry  of  our 
people.  It  was  most  natural  that 
this  should  excite  discontent  among 
our  artisans.  They  were  compelled 
to  pay  taxes  indirectly  for  their  tea, 
coffee,  beer,  soap,  tobacco,  and  many 
other  articles  of  universal  consump- 
tion ;  and,  moreover,  they  saw  before 
them  what  they  considered  a  great 
monopoly  in  favour  of  the  agricultural 
interest.  From  that  time,  the  agita- 
tion for  the  repeal  of  the  Corn  Laws 
became  really  formidable.  Thompson 
might  have  written  and  Cobden  de- 
claimed for  ever,  without  influencing 
the  masses  of  the  people,  had  these 
been  in  a  prosperous  condition  ;  but 
when  men  whose  wages  have  been 


116 


Downward  Tendencies. 


reduced  are  exhorted  to  declare  them- 
selves in  favour  of  cheap  bread,  the 
instinct  of  their  nature  can  suggest 
only  one  reply.  Future  employment, 
hinging  upon  the  profits  of  other 
classes,  is  then  a  secondary  considera- 
tion. They  can  see  no  reason  why 
the  labour  of  one  man  should  be  pro- 
tected, and  that  of  another  exposed 
to  foreign  competition ;  and,  for  that 
matter,  no  more  do  I.  Sir  Robert 
Peel,  when  he  sacrificed  the  agricul- 
turists, was  acting  in  entire  conformity 
with  the  principles  of  his  sect,  though 
directly  in  antagonism  to  his  profes- 
sions. He  was  merely  doing  by  them 
what  he  had  already  done  by  others  ; 
and  the  Whigs,  by  abolishing  the 
Navigation  Laws,  took  another  step 
in  the  same  direction. 

All  these  changes  were  made  osten- 
sibly for  the  benefit  of  the  country. 
Prophets  upon  your  side  were  never 
weary  of  depicting  the  enormous  ad- 
vantages which  were  to  follow,  and  of 
reckoning  the  wealth  which  the  whole 
of  us  were  individually  and  collec- 
tively to  amass.  We  have  given  the 
system  a  fair  trial,  and  what  has  been 
the  result  ?  In  the  first  place,  the 
incomes  of  the  landowners  have  been 
diminished,  and  the  capital  of  the 
farmers  absorbed.  There  is  no  doubt 
about  that  now,  whatever  there  might 
have  been  at  the  close  of  1849.  The 
gallant  attempts  of  Messrs  Huxtable 
and  Mechi  to  show  that  cultivation 
might  be  successfully  carried  on  at 
present  prices  have  been  abandoned, 
and  it  is  to  the  credit  of  both  these 
gentlemen  that  they  have  virtually 
admitted  their  error.  In  the  second 
place,  manufactures  of  all  kinds — for 
I  don't  speak  of  cotton  only— have 
been,  and  are  in  a  state  of  extreme 
depression,  and  that  for  a  much  longer 
period  than  ever  occurred  before.  In 
the  third  place,  the  same  tale  of  mis- 
fortune reaches  us  from  every  one  of 
the  shipping  ports,  and  also  from  the 
iron  districts.  I  could  extend  this 
category  to  almost  any  length.  The 
railways  are  not  paying,  in  spite  of  the 
attractions  of  the  Exhibition  ;  stocks 
won't  move  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
shopkeepers ;  and  that  class  of  trades- 
men who  minister  to  the  luxuries  of  the 
now  wealthy  portion  of  the  commu- 
nity, complain  of  want  of  orders. 

Now,    it  is  quite    impossible    to 


[July, 

ascribe  this  general,  or  rather  uni- 
versal depression,  to  any  exceptional 
cause.  You  can't  allege  now,  as 
formerly,  that  it  arises  from  the 
pressure  of  railway  calls,  or  from  the 
potato  disease,  or  from  the  shortness 
of  the  cotton  crop  in  America.  The 
disease  is  evidently  a  chronic  one, 
and  it  must  be  dealt  with  as  such. 
Do  you  really  doubt  what  has  in- 
duced it?  Not  you.  You  know, 
quite  as  well  as  I  do,  that  it  is  the- 
direct  product  of  Free-Trade ;  and 
that,  unless  the  whole  system  is 
altered,  matters  must  get  worse  and 
worse.  And,  to  do  you  justice,  you 
want  to  alter  the  system,  not  by 
restraining  competition,  or  enlarging 
and  protecting  industry,  but  by  sac- 
rificing the  national  credit. 

If  I  am  right,  then,  in  what  I  have 
said  above,  which  is  matter  of  history 
and  not  of  speculation,  it  appears 
that,  under  Protection,  this  country 
grew  and  flourished,  augmented  its 
capital,  and  executed  all  these 
wonderful  improvements  which  are- 
the  admiration  of  the  world.  It 
appears,  also,  that  under  Free  Trade 
we  have  absolutely  retrograded,  lost 
capital,  are  arrived  at  such  a  point 
of  difficulty  that  the  people  have 
grown  impatient  of  taxation,  and 
that  our  statesmen  are  at  their  wits' 
end  to  devise  a  proper  remedy  I 
Ought  I,  then,  to  have  the  least  hesita- 
tion in  acknowledging  that  I  prefer 
the  one  system  to  the  other,  and 
that  I  will  not  join  in  any  new 
legislative  or  financial  experiments 
with  men  whose  theories  and  antici- 
pations have  been  so  utterly  and 
speedily  refuted  ?  I  say  to  you — 
go  back!  If  not  a  lion  in  the  pathr 
there  is  a  crocodile  in  the  quagmire- 
which  you  are  entering,  and  I  have 
no  wish  to  have  you  shrieking  in- 
the  jaws  of  that  obscene  monster. 
You  can  retreat  Avith  the  best  possible 
grace.  If  you  are  the  fortunate- 
possessor  of  that  most  rare  of  literary 
treasures,  a  perfect  collection  of  the- 
speeches  of  Mr  Cobdcn,  you  wilt 
find,  on  referring  to  those  delivered 
some  five  or  six  years  ago,  numerous 
laudations  of  theVorldly  wisdom  and 
extreme  acuteness  of  the  Americans. 
You  will  find  that,  in  comparison 
with  them,  Mr  liichard  esteems  his 
own  countrymen  to  be  as  innocent  as 


1851.] 

babies  in  every  matter  connected 
with  trade  or  commerce ;  and  that 
he  holds  out  their  example  to  us  as 
one  which  should  be  implicitly  fol- 
lowed. So  be  it.  I  question  not 
the  acumen  of  the  Yankees  where- 
ever  profit  is  concerned  ;  and  where, 
I  ask  you,  will  you  find  any  nation 
more  decidedly  or  energetically  pro- 
tective, both  in  their  opinions  and 
their  system?  Also,  in  the  same 
valuable  repertory,  you  will  discover 
various  encomiums  upon  France,  and 
the  spirit  entirely  hostile  to  restric- 
tions, which  was  understood  to  ani- 
mate the  population  of  the  larger 
towns.  Where  is  that  spirit  now? 
Ascertain,  if  you  can,  the  present 
address  of  M.  Cremieux,  friend  of 
Cobden,  and  he  may  perhaps  be  able 
to  enlighten  you  considerably  on  the 
point. 

Depend  upon  it,  Britain  cannot 
stand  alone  as  the  practical  exponent 
of  Free  Trade.  What  might  have 
been  the  effects  of  general  reciprocity, 
had  we  actually  obtained  it,  I  need 
hardly  stop  to  inquire.  My  humble 
opinion  is,  that  it  never  would  have 
compensated  for  the  loss  sustained  by 
the  withdrawal  of  Protection ;  and 
that  it  would  have  entirely  altered  the 
character  and  disturbed  the  occupa- 
tions of  the  English  people.  But 
with  that  we  have  nothing  to  do. 
Reciprocity,  in  the  broad  sense  of 
the  term,  is  precisely  the  last  and 
the  most  improbable  thing  which  we 
could  expect  to  have.  It  is  amazing 
to  me  that  even  a  single  man,  of  any 
tolerable  amount  of  intellect,  could 
for  one  moment  have  contemplated 
its  realisation ;  and  yet,  some  few 
years  ago,  it  was  in  the  mouths  of 
all  the  Free-Traders.  Was  it  in  the 
least  degree  likely,  M'Corkindale, 
that  America  would  sacrifice  her 
rising  cotton-factories  and  iron-foun- 
dries, which  are  rapidly  becoming  the 
sources  of  wealth,  and  extending  the 
breadth  of  her  cultivation,  simply  for 
the  sake  of  sending  us  two  or  three 
millions  of  quarters  of  grain  in  an 
ordinary  year  ?  And  yet  that  was 
precisely  what  you  gentlemen  of  the 
cheap-and -nasty  school  told  us  must 
take  place ;  and  it  would  seem  that 
you  really  induced  a  good  many 
people  to  believe  you.  I  am  not 
without  hopes  that  the  Exhibition  in 


Downward  Tendencies. 


117 


Hyde  Park  may  be  productive  of 
real  benefit  by  enlightening  the  public 
mind  as  to  the  state  of  manufactures 
on  the  Continent.  It  is  now  plain  to 
ocular  demonstration,  that  our  neigh- 
bours, even  in  the  construction  of 
textile  fabrics,  are  not  far  short  of 
ourselves  :  and  that  circumstance 
sufficiently  accounts  for  the  extreme 
care  with  which  they  watch  and  alter 
their  tariffs,  to  suit  the  precise  state 
of  the  market,  and  to  secure  at  home 
the  preference  for  their  own  manu- 
facturers. And,  most  assuredly,  if 
the  maxim,  that  the  kings  of  the  earth 
should  rather  take  tribute  from  stran- 
gers than  from  their  own  children, 
has  been  sanctioned  by  direct  Divine 
approval,  the  governments  of  those 
countries  do  well  and  wisely  to  pro- 
vide for  the  development  of  the  indus- 
try of  their  people.  For,  after  all, 
M'Corkindale,  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  national  independence,  though  we, 
in  the  flush  of  our  new  steam  power, 
may  be  willing  to  forget  it.  In  an- 
cient times,  that  independence  was 
considered  so  sacred  and  so  valuableT 
that  the  man  who  conspired  againstr 
or  devised  measures  to  weaken  it, 
was  considered  a  traitor  to  his  coun- 
try, and  dealt  with  accordingly.  It 
was  in  order  to  secure  the  national 
independence  of  England  that  the 
Edwards  and  Hemys  applied  them- 
selves to  the  improvement  of  manu- 
factures in  this  island,  by  inviting 
over  artisans  from  France  and  Flan- 
ders, and  by  highly  protecting  their 
labour.  And  so,  under  that  very  sys- 
tem which  is  now  decried,  trade  grew, 
and  commerce  increased,  until,  aided* 
by  its  natural  mineral  resources,  Eng- 
land became  the  foremost  manufac- 
turing country  of  the  world.  You* 
may  tell  me  that  the  treatment 
which  is  required  for  the  young  plant 
is  not  necessary  for  the  mature  tree  ;- 
and  tli at  you  thrive  better  for  the 
removal  of  all  protection.  It  may 
be  so,  though  I  take  leave  to  doubc 
whether  experience  will  justify  this 
assertion ;  but,  at  all  events,  you 
must  remember  that  in  most  of  the 
Continental  countries  manufactures 
still  require  protection,  and  must 
have  it,  if  they  are  to  progress.  Da 
you  think  that  Russia,  or  Prussia, 
or  France  wish  to  be  dependent  on 
England  for  any  important  article  of 


118 


Downward  Tendencies, 


supply,  if  it  can  be  produced  within 
their  own  territories?  If  that  is 
your  notion,  I  abandon  you  as  an 
incorrigible  blockhead.  So  long  as 
the  foreign  potentates  can  raise  their 
revenue  by  customs'  duties,  do  yon 
esteem  it  probable  that  they  will 
depress  the  industry  of  their  people, 
and  annihilate  the  capital  which  is 
now  actively  at  work,  by  throwing 
open  their  ports,  and  inviting  the  im- 
portation of  the  products  of  Man- 
chester and  of  Sheffield?  Anything 
more  suicidal  they  could  not  do  ;  and 
let  me  tell  you,  there  is  on  the  Con- 
tinent only  one  opinion  with  regard 
to  the  impolicy  of  Free  Trade.  Bas- 
tiat  is  now  scouted  in  France  as 
thoroughly  as  M'Gregor  in  Glasgow. 
I  presume  you  are  about  as  ignorant 
of  the  German  language  and  of  Ger- 
man economy  as  Mr  Cobden,  and 
therefore  it  would  be  waste  of  time 
to  refer  you  to  the  eminent  writers 
whose  views  have  been  practically 
carried  into  eifect  by  the  establish- 
ment of  the  famous  Zollverein.  Suf- 
fice it  to  say,  that  every  man  whose 
name  and  experience  entitle  him  to 
be  considered  as  an  authority  has 
declared  himself  in  favour  of  strict 
protection,  and  that  the  system,  so 
vigorously  pursued,  has  met  with 
the  entire  consent  and  approbation 
of  the  people.  What  they  aim  at  is 
perfect  independence,  the  position 
which,  of  all  others,  a  government 
ought  to  struggle  most  strenuously 
to  secure.  Are  we  looking  to  our 
national  independence?  Evidently 
not,  for  Free  Trade  is  precisely  the 
way  to  annihilate  it.  Already  we 
have  come  to  depend  so  much  on 
foreign  supplies  of  food,  that  the 
Prime  Minister  is  not  ashamed  to 
allude  to  that  circumstance  as  an 
additional  reason  why  we  should  be 
cautious  of  giving  offence  to  our 
neighbours ;  and,  as  time  rolls  on,  the 
caution  will  of  course  be  still  more 
stringently  required.  We  cannot,  I 
am  very  much  afraid,  expect  that  the 
clarion  of  war  will  be  silenced  for  ever 
by  the  braying  of  Elihu  Burritt.  Look 
at  it  in  what  light  you  please,  there 
is  no  security  for  the  maintenance 
of  tranquillity  on  the  Continent. 
One  other  convulsion,  and,  from  no 
fault  of  our  own,  we  may  be  inextri- 
cably entangled  in  a  war.  In  that  event, 


[July, 

where  would  be  our  independence? 
We  have  brought  ourselves  to  this 
pass,  that  we  are  now  compelled  to 
rely  on  foreigners  for  a  considerable 
portion  of  our  supplies,  and  years 
would  elapse  before  we  could  recover 
the  ground  which  we  have  lost. 
What  amount  of  land  in  Great  Britain 
has  as  yet  gone  out  of  tillage,  has  not 
been  accurately  ascertained ;  but  wo 
know  that  in  Ireland  the  calamity  has 
reached  an  alarming  point,  and  doubt- 
less the  decay  which  has  commenced 
there  will  soon  be  extended  to  the  other 
countries.  The  defalcation  of  the 
supply  from  Ireland  has  virtually  ren- 
dered us  dependant;  a  consideration  the 
more  melancholy,  because  Ireland  lias 
almost  no  manufactures,  and  her  sole 
internal  resources  were  derived  from 
the  cultivation  of  the  soil.  However, 
it  is  no  use  preaching  to  the  deaf. 
Many  of  your  friends,  I  am  aware, 
set  so  little  store  by  the  national 
independence,  that  they  would  have 
no  objection  to  see  London  in  the 
hands  of  an  invading  army  !  Pleasant 
notion  this  for  the  shopkeepers — eh, 
M'Corkindale  ?  The  bare  mention 
of  it  is  enough  to  make  the  mouth  of 
a  Frenchman  water  like  the  fountains 
of  the  Meander ;  but,  as  you  seem 
resolutely  bent  on  the  withdrawal  of 
all  Protection,  it  is  a  contingency 
which  we  are  entitled  to  contemplate ; 
and  I  only  hope  that,  when  the  hour 
arrives,  the  partition  will  be  made 
upon  principles  of  strict  cosmopolitan 
equity,  and  Briton  and  Foreigner  bo 
permitted  to  share  like  brothers. 

You  ask  me  what  I  think  of  the 
Graham  party  ?  I  answer  you  that 
I  consider  them  an  exceedingly  con- 
temptible set.  Without  the  power 
or  the  ability  to  originate  any  decided 
line  of  action  for  themselves,  they  seem 
bent  upon  maintaining  the  attitude  of 
obstructives,  and,  consequently,  they 
are  daily  losing  whatever  reputation 
they  formerly  possessed.  I  can  very 
well  understand  your  feelings  with  re- 
gard to  certain  landlords,  who  of  late 
have  done  everything  in  their  power 
to  render  themselves  and  their  order 
ridiculous.  For  example,  there  is  Mi- 
Philip  Pusey — a  gentleman  who  I 
believe  prides  himself  peculiarly  on 
his  ancestry,  and  the  deservedly  high 
position  which  he  has  achieved  as  a 
grower  of  turnips,  and  a  feeder  of  fat 


.1851.] 


Downward  Tendencies. 


119 


cattle.  He,  like  others,  has  been 
smitten  by  the  mania  of  writingletters 
to  the  newspapers  ;  and  I  must  needs 
say,  that  his  two  last  productions  are 
about  as  splendid  specimens  of  squire- 
archical  logic  and  reasoning  as  it 
was  ever  my  fortune  to  peruse.  Mr 
Pusey,  it  seems,  was  a  stanch  Protec- 
tionist up  to  a  late  period.  He  was 
not  one  of  those  who  submitted  to 
the  degradation  of  substituting  Sir 
Robert  Peel's  opinion  for  their  own  ; 
he  stood  manfully  by  the  cause  until 
Protection  was  abolished,  and  then, 
likeDugaldDalgettyofDrumthwacket, 
thought  himself  entitled  to  look  out 
for  another  service.  So  far  he  is 
blameless.  We  cannot  object,  under 
such  circumstances,  to  any  change  of 
sides,  provided  always  the  soldado 
transfers  his  convictions  as  well  as  his 
actual  aid.  But  Mr  Pusey  has  queer 
notions  on  the  score  of  political  alle- 
giance. He  tells  his  constituents  that 
he  is  now  a  supporter  of  Lord  John 
Russell,  and  in  the  same  breath  he 
ndmits  that  he  is  by  no  means  satis- 
lied  with  Free  Trade.  The  men  of 
Berkshire  are  anything  but  satisfied 
with  it ;  they  are  writhing  under  its 
operation,  are  determined  to  do  every- 
thing in  their  power  to  overturn  it, 
and  have  actually  had  the  temerity  to 
look  out  for  another  candidate  to  be 
brought  forward  at  next  election ! 
Flesh  and  blood  cannot  be  expected 
to  submit  to  such  treatment — the  ire 
of  the  Pusey  is  awakened,  and  he 
straightway  sitteth  down  and  inditeth 
a  letter  to  these  base  conspirators  of 
Berkshire.  It  is  certainly  a  wise  as 
well  as  a  valorous  epistle.  He  enters 
less  into  the  question  of  Protection 
than  into  the  presumed  policy  of  the 
leaders  of  the  Protectionist  party ; 
and,  putting  his  own  interpretation 
on  their  views,  and  chalking  out  for 
them  a  line  of  conduct  which  they 
have  never  announced,  he  proceeds  to 
declare  that  he  has  no  confidence 
either  in  Lord  Stanley  or  in  Mr  Dis- 
raeli. He  is  great  upon  the  subject  of 
a  five  shillings  fixed  duty,  which  he 
pronounces  to  be  a  mockery  and  a 
snare.  He  thinks  it  could  not  raise 
the  price  of  wheat  to  the  British 
grower  more  than  two  shillings  per 
quarter ;  and  for  such  an  insignificant 
boon  as  this  he  declares  his  aversion 
to  disturb  the  present  arrangement. 


Observe  his  words:  —  "When  the 
quarter  of  wheat  has  fallen  from  £3 
to  £2,  reducing  the  farmer's  return 
from  his  wheat  field  by  70s.  an  acre, 
a  Member  of  Parliament,  who  speaks 
of  relieving  the  farmer  substantially 
by  taking  off  a  few  pence  of  county 
rate,  or  securing  to  him  2s.  a- quarter 
out  of  the  pound  which  he  has  lost, 
seems  so  ignorant  of  your  real  circum- 
stances, and  of  farming,  that  one  can 
scarcely  keep  up  one's  attention." 
This  is  all  very  fine ;  but  it  will  na- 
turally occur  to  the  Berkshire  farmer, 
that  a  gentleman  holding  such  magni- 
ficent opinions  on  the  subject  of  re- 
muneration must  be  prepared  to  do 
something  more — that,  if  two  shillings 
per  quarter  are  too  little  for  their  ac- 
ceptance,  Mr  Pusey  must  be  ready  to 
do  battle  in  their  behalf  for  ten.  How 
can  he  ?  He  is  a  sworn  supporter  of 
Lord  John  Russell ! 

Now  it  is  quite  true  that  a  five 
shillings  duty  might  not  raise  the 
price  of  wheat  more  than  Mr  Pusey 
anticipates,  but  it  would  certainly 
have  an  effect  which  most  of  us  con- 
sider desirable.  It  would  add  very 
materially  to  the  State  revenue,  and 
en  able  us  to  get  rid  of  the  Income-Tax, 
which  every  one  detests,  and  which  is, 
of  all  possible  imposts,  the  most 
grievous  and  unjust.  It  would  be, 
moreover^  in  the  estimation  of  the 
farmers,  a  step  in  the  right  direction  ; 
for,  although  two  shillings  may  be  no 
great  matter,  it  is  as  well  to  have 
them  as  not — especially  in  these  times, 
when  silver  is  rather  scarce.  But  it 
does  amuse  me  to  hear  the  high  and 
mighty  Pusey,  now  confessedly  a 
joint  in  the  tail  of  Lord  John,  lectur- 
ing his  constituents  for  their  perfidi- 
ous conduct  in  daring  to  dream  of 
starting  another  candidate,  and  abus- 
ing Mr  Disraeli  for  remaining  true 
to  his  principles,  with  the  hearty 
scurrility  of  a  Saxon  franklin,  whose 
principal  claim  to  distinction  was 
founded  on  his  ownership  of  a  herd  of 
swine,  unrivalled  for  their  bristles  and 
their  brawn  !  No,  M'Corkindale  ! 
believe  me,  I  do  not  stand  up  for 
such  manner  of  men.  They  are  very 
poor  representatives,  indeed,  of  the 
class  to  which  they  naturally  belong. 
They  have  all  the  arrogance  and  in- 
solence of  the  feudal  times,  without  a 
spark  of  its  knightly  courtesy;  and 


120 


Downward  Tendencies. 


[July, 


they  reflect  anything  but  credit  on 
whatever  side  their  caprice  may  lead 
them  to  espouse. 

But  enough  of  this  serious  vein.  I 
did  not  intend,  when  I  commenced 
my  letter,  to  go  over  the  case  so 
minutely ;  but  somehow  or  other  I 
have  been  led  into  an  exposition  of 
my  whole  views,  which,  if  they  do  not 
convert,  can  do  you  no  harm  by  their 
perusal.  Independent  of  politics,  I 
must  own  that  I  should  rather  like  to 
have  a  seat  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons ;  and  I  will  tell  you  why.  I  have 
serious  thoughts  of  launching  into 
matrimony,  if  I  can  find  a  lady  whose 
accomplishments  are  not  inferior  to 
her  endowments  either  in  land  or  the 
funds ;  and  I  have  a  notion  that  the 
magical  letters  M.P.,  appended  to  the 
name  of  Dunshunner,  would  render 
that  illustrious  individual  nearly  irre- 
sistible. 

I  have  lately  met  with  a  remark- 
able book  upon  this  subject,  entitled 
A  Career  in  the  Commons ;  or, 
Letters  to  a  Young  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment, by  a  certain  Mr  William 
Lockey  Harle ;  and  I  intend,  if  you 
will  allow  me,  to  conclude  this  letter 
with  a  few  comments  upon  that  most 
excellent  work,  for  your  especial  edifi- 
cation. Of  Mr  Harle,  personally,  I 
know  no  more  than  I  do  of  Prester 
John ;  but,  judging  from  his  writings, 
he  must  be  a  gentleman  of  immense 
intelligence,  acuteness,  and  informa- 
tion— the  very  person,  indeed,  whom 
I  would  recommend  beyond  all  others 
as  the  Mentor  for  the  parliamentary 
Telemachus.  But  although  I  am  nut 
acquainted  with  Mr  Harle,  I  know  his 
correspondent — "  the  young  Member" 
— well.  You  should  see  him,  M'Cor- 
kindalc,  as  I  once  saw  him  at  the 
Reform  Club.  Picture  to  yourself  a 
sandy-haired  shambling  biped,  with 
immense  paws  and  feet,  red  ears,  no 
straps,  inexpressibles  baggy  at  the 
knees,  a  paletot  torn  at  the  button- 
holes, the  pockets  crammed  with 
papers,  arms  like  the  sails  of  a  wind- 
mill, and  a  voice  as  melodious  as  the 
amatory  call  of  a  corncrake !  If  you 
can  realise  my  description,  you  have 
before  you  the  faithful  portraiture  of 
that  accomplished  and  engaging  youth 
who,  according  to  Harle,  is  "  about 

to  be  united  in  wedlock  to  Miss , 

a  wealthy  heiress,  who  has  nearly  the 


whole  of  a  long  Welsh  valley  to  her 
accomplished  self!  "  And  how  do  you 
think  that  this  Caliban  has  contrived 
to  inveigle  the  Cambrian  Miranda? 
Unless  you  read  the  pages  of  Harle,  I 
will  bet  you  five  hundred  to  one  that 
you  do  not  discover  the  nature  of  his 
love-charm.  It  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  this  :  He  has  made  a 
speech  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
which  the  Times  reporter  has  gra- 
ciously consigned  to  immortality  in  a 
column  of  print ;  and  he  has,  more- 
over, diligently  served  upon  some  three 
or  four  committees ! 

Hade's  work  ought  to  be  reviewed 
for  the  benefit  of  the  rising  genera- 
tion. He  has  the  merit  of  discovering 
the  shortest  and  easiest  method  to- 
wards the  acquisition  of  a  fortune 
which  has  been  yet  promulgated  ;  and 
I  strongly  suspect  that  some  of  the 
Irish  members  are  acting  systemati- 
cally on  his  advice,  and  endeavouring 
to  ensnare  the  affections  of  some  con- 
fiding heiress  by  the  length  and  mul- 
tiplicity of  their  speeches  upon  the 
Ecclesiastical  Titles  Bill.  Do  you 
know,  I  have  more  than  half  a  mind 
to  come  in  at  next  election,  for  some 
place  or  other,  on  the  chance  of  this 
enticing  prospect?  I  will  not,  how- 
ever, pledge  myself  implicitly  to  follow 
the  advice  of  Mr  Harle;  for  I  can  see 
no  harm  in  priming  the  temperance 
band  at  my  election  with  ginger 
cordial,  or  indulging  in  a  fair  expen- 
diture in  the  article  of  banners,  pro- 
vided there  should  happen  to  be  a 
calico  manufactory  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. Neither  will  I  register  an 
oath  to  answer,  by  return  of  post,  all 
letters  which  I  may  receive  from  my 
constituents.  Next  to  habitual  in- 
toxication, I  hold  that  correspondence 
is  the  worst  vice  of  the  age.  If  a 
man  is  to  be  held  bound  to  reply  to 
every  nincompoop  who  may  choose 
to  address  him,  there  is  an  end  to 
personal  freedom,  to  leisure,  and  to 
all  the  comforts  of  life.  Out  of  twelve 
letters,  ten  answer  themselves  suffi- 
ciently, if  you  allow  a  fortnight  to 
elapse ;  and,  besides  this,  I  have  no 
idea  that  an  M.P.  should  put  himself 
at  the  mercy  of  his  correspondents. 
Am  I,  because  some  pragmatical 
dealer  in  opodeldoc  pleases  to  insist 
upon  having  my  opinion  on  matters 
in  general,  to  commit  myself  in  black 


1851.] 


Downward  Tendencies. 


121 


and  white,  so  that  next  morning  my 
letter  may  appear  in  print,  solely  for 
the  gratification  of  the  creature's 
vanity,  but  exceedingly  to  my  per- 
sonal detriment?  I  trow  not.  We 
have  had  examples  enough  already  of 
the  consequences  of  that  sort  of  im- 
prudence ;  and  I,  for  one,  should  be 
exceedingly  sorry  to  run  any  such 
hazard. 

Harle  represents  his  friend  as 
figuring  at  a  ball,  and  insinuates 
that  the  Marquis  of  Lansdowne 
took  special  notice  of  him.  It  cer- 
tainly would  be  difficult  to  abstain 
from  noticing  such  an  animal  j  and  I 
am  not  at  all  surprised  that  his 
appearance  produced  so  marked  a 
sensation.  But  I  believe  that  he  is 
altogether  romancing  when  he  states 
that  Lord  John  Russell  wished  to 
secure  the  services  of  Mr  Orson  in  an 
inferior  department  of  the  Ministry. 
Lord  John  Russell  knows  better  than 
to  be  guilty  of  any  such  transparent 
folly.  Some  years  ago  he  made  one 
or  two  experiments  of  this  nature, 
which  have  turned  out  remarkably 
ill;  and,  for  the  future,  it  seems 
extremely  improbable  that  the  stream 
of  patronage  will  be  allowed  to  over- 
flow the  limits  of  the  family  circle.  I 
think  he  is  perfectly  right.  I  can 
conceive  nothing  more  annoying  to 
the  feelings  of  a  gentleman  than  the 
chattering  of  such  a  jackanapes  in 
office,  who  is  always  ready  to  obtrude 
his  information  at  second-hand,  and 
to  enlighten  his  superiors  with  scraps 
of  political  economy  derived  from  the 
pleasant  tomes  of  Porter  or  Tooke. 
Far  less  offensive  is  the  demeanour  of 
the  staid,  stolid,  and  purely  imbecile 
official.  If  he  knows  nothing,  he  at 
least  does  not  disgust  you  with  the 
impudent  assumption  of  knowledge. 
He  takes  his  orders  quietly,  as  an 
underling  should,  and  executes  them 
according  to  the  best  of  his  small 
ability,  without  attempting  to  over- 
step his  instructions.  Such  a  man  is 
fitted  by  nature  for  a  place ;  he  is 
worth  fifty  of  your  young-members. 

After  all,  I  have  a  strong  suspicion 
that  there  was  no  Welsh  heiress  in 
the  case.  Women  are  too  sensible 
to  marry  a  man  whose  parliamentary 
duties,  according  to  the  present  sen- 


sible arrangement,  detain  him  in  the 
House  of  Commons  regularly  until 
one  or  two  o'clock  in  the  morning; 
and,  moreover,  I  can't  and  won't  be- 
lieve, unless  I  see  the  parson's  cer- 
tificate, that  the  individual  in  ques- 
tion is  actually  united  in  wedlock. 
Why,  sir,  if  he  were  engaged  in 
making  love,  I  do  not  suppose  that 
he  could  stumble  upon  a  topic  more 
akin  to  his  situation  than  the  last 
return  of  the  census,  and  the  increase 
of  the  population — he  would  regale 
the  lady  of  his  heart  by  an  account 
of  the  export  tables — and  the  nearest 
approach  he  could  make  to  poetry 
would  be  an  extract  from  some  of 
the  inspired  ditties  of  Ebenezer 
Elliott,  touching  the  price  of  the 
quartern  loaf.  This,  you  will  admit, 
is  a  sad  descent  from  the  "  Loves  of 
the  Angels,"  and  I  doubt  its  superior 
efficacy  to  the  ancient  method  of 
quotation.  On  second  thoughts, 
therefore,  I  shall  even  remain  where 
I  am,  without  becoming  a  candidate 
for  senatorial  honours.  Before  next 
election,  the  country  will  have  had 
ample  opportunity  of  deciding  on 
the  merits  of  the  recent  commercial 
policy ;  and  if,  as  I  anticipate,  it 
shall  be  discovered  that  Free  Trade 
has  enriched  none,  whilst  it  has 
impoverished  many,  there  can  be 
little  doubt  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
verdict  which  will  then  be  pro- 
nounced by  the  popular  voice.  If, 
on  the  contrary,  the  majority  shall 
declare  in  favour  of  the  cause  of 
progress,  as  you  facetiously  denomi- 
nate your  downward  movement,  it 
will  be  full  time  for  every  man  to 
look  after  his  personal  safety.  I 
have  still  a  small  balance  at  my 
credit  with  the  bank,  and  a  few 
shares  which  are  yet  saleable.  With 
these  converted  into  cash,  I  shall 
abandon  all  hopes  of  a  Welsh  heiress, 
who  after  all  might  prove  rather 
an  encumbrance  than  otherwise,  and 
make  the  best  of  my  way  to  Cali- 
fornia, where  there  is  still  room  for 
men  of  action.  So,  good-bye,  old 
fellow !  Keep  out  of  scrapes  if  you 
can,  and  expect  to  hear  of  me  from 
the  Diggings. — Yours  always, 

AUGUSTUS  R.  DUNSHUNNER. 


122  Modern  State  Trials— Note  on  Part  III.  [July,  1851 


MODEItX   STATE   TRIALS. 


NOTE  ON   PART  HI.— DUELLING CAPTAIN   HELSHAM. 

IT  may  be  recollected  that,  in  the  above  Paper,  which  appeared  in  our 
December  number,  we  cited,  among  several  trials  for  duelling,  one  whicli 
we  had  ourselves  witnessed— that  of  Captain  Helsham,  on  the  8th  October 
1830,  at  the  Old  Bailey.  It  was  shortly  afterwards  brought  to  our 
notice  that  that  gentleman  was  alive,  and  complained  of  certain  statements 
in  the  article,  as  unjustly  reflecting  upon  his  conduct  with  reference  to 
that  unfortunate  transaction.  It  seems  superfluous  to  state  that  nothing  could 
have  been  further  from  our  intention  than  to  cause  a  moment's  pain  to  any 
one,  by  referring  to  the  trial  in  question ;  and  had  it  occurred  to  us  that 
Captain  Helsham  was  alive,  assuredly  even  no  reference  at  all  would  have 
been  made  to  it.  As  it  is,  we  regret  that,  owing  to  the  lapse  of  upwards  of 
twenty  years,  we  should  have  fallen  into  any  kind  of  error  with  reference 
to  any  incident  connected  with  the  trial,  or  the  duel  which  led  to  it.  We 
regret  having  given  a  moment's  pain  to  the  gentleman  in  question,  or 
having,  however  unintentionally,  done  him  the  slightest  injustice ;  and  are 
anxious  to  make  every  reparation  in  our  power,  by  withdrawing  every 
imputation  upon  him  of  anything  like  unfairness  with  reference  to  the  duel; 
and  in  particular  to  state  that,  having  made  inquiries  relative  to  the 
expressions  attributed  to  Baron  Bayley,  and  the  statement  or  suggestion 
that  Captain  Helsham  had  practised  pistol-firing  previously  to  the  duel, 
we  believe  that  the  statements  in  the  article  relative  to  those  matters  are 
unfounded. 


Printed  l>y  William  Blucku-ood  and  Sons,  Edinburgh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBURGH    MAGAZINE. 


No.  CCCCXXX. 


AUGUST,  1851. 


VOL.  LXX. 


THE  CENSUS  AND  FREE  TRADE. 


MR  MALTHUS  says  that  the  prin- 
ciple of  population  is  u  a  spring  loaded 
with  a  variable  weight ;"  and  the  vast 
inequalities  we  observe  ia  the  rate  of 
increase  of  the  human  species,  at  dif- 
ferent times,  or  in  different  places  at 
the  same  time,  proves  incontestibly 
that  the  observation  is  well  founded. 
It  is  only  from  fixing  our  eyes  exclu- 
sively on  a  particular  country,  or 
quarter  of  the  globe,  and  remaining 
insensible  to  what  is  going  on  at  the 
same  time  in  other  quarters,  that  any 
apprehension  can  arise  either  as  to  the 
undue  multiplication,  or  the  alarming 
diminution  of  the  human  species. 
The  constant  and  steady  increase  of 
population  in  all  the  European  nations 
for  several  centuries,  joined  to  the  still 
more  rapid  augmentation  of  the 
Transatlantic  States  during  the  last 
two,  filled  the  speculative  philoso- 
phers of  Europe,  at  the  close  of  the 
last  century,  with  alarm  as  to  the 
prolific  powers  of  mankind;  and  Mr 
Maltlms  gave  currency  and  consis- 
tency to  their  apprehensions  by  the 
forces  of  learning,  reflection,  and  talent. 
The  world  forgot  that  at  the  very  time 
when  fear  of  the  inordinate  increase 
of  mankind  had  seized  possession  of 
the  thoughtful  in  Europe,  the  closest 
observers  in  the  East  were  anticipat- 
ing the  entire  destruction  of  the  human 
race  from  the  grinding  influence  of 
Mahometan  oppression  in  Asia.  The 
present  time  affords  another  example 

VOL.  LXX NO.  CCCCXXX. 


of  the  same  balance  preserved  by 
Nature  in  her  great  operations. 
Hardly  had  the  astonishment  of 
Europe,  at  the  marvellous  advance  of 
the  American  population  during  the 
last  ten  years,  subsided,  when  the 
Irish  census  was  presented,  and  the 
increase  of  3,500,000  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Atlantic  was  found  to  have 
been  simultaneous  with  a  decrease  of 
1,660,000  in  a  single  island  of  the 
British  Empire. 

If  the  lessons  of  experience  and  a 
large  view  of  human  affairs  place  in 
a  striking  light  the  balancing  principles 
which  here,  as  everywhere  else,  main- 
tain the  equilibrium  of  Nature,  they 
illustrate  not  less  clearly,  and  demon- 
strate not  less  conclusively,  another 
truth  of  still  more  practical  impor- 
tance to  mankind,  because  it  has  an 
immediate  bearing  on  the  influence  of 
good  government  on  social  felicity. 
This  is  the  all-important  truth,  that 
so  long  as  the  springs  of  industry 
are  uninjured,  there  is  no  external 
calamity  which  can  seriously  retard 
the  progress  of  population,  still  less 
occasion  any  considerable  diminution 
of  its  numbers  ;  and  that  the  only 
lasting  bar  to  the  multiplication  of  the 
human  species  is  to  be  found  in  the 
cessation  of  profitable  employment  to 
industry.  History  swarms  with  de- 
cisive proofs  of  this  all-important 
truth.  It  has  been  observed  by  the 
historians  of  all  ages — it  has  been, 


124 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


[Aug. 


noticed  with  surprise  by  the  observers 
of  all  countries.  In  vain  did  Xerxes, 
with  fifteen  hundred  thousand  men,  in- 
vade the  diminutive  States  of  Greece. 
Athens  rose  from  its  ashes  almost  as 
rapidly  as  it  had  fallen :  it  increased 
immediately  after,  alike  in  power,  po- 
pulation, and  riches ;  and  within  half 
a  century  of  the  burning  of  that  city  by 
Xerxes,  the  glories  of  the  Parthenon 
gave  token  at  once  of  its  taste  and  its 
influence,  and  the  Athenian  republic 
had  become  the  most  important  mari- 
time state  in  the  Mediterranean.  The 
disasters  of  the  second  Punic  war,  the 
slaughter  of  Cannae,  had  no  lasting 
effect  on  the  population  of  Rome.  The 
huge  void  of  seventy  thousand  in  a 
single  battle  was  speedily  filled  up ; 
and  we  are  told  by  Polybins,  that 
within  fifty-three  years  from  the 
termination  of  the  contest  with  Han- 
nibal, the  power  of  Rome  was  ex- 
tended over  not  only  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean,  but  nearly  the  whole 
extent  of  the  habitable  globe.  In  like 
manner  it  is  mentioned  by  Sismondi, 
that,  notwithstanding  the  dismal 
accounts  transmitted  to  us  by  con- 
temporary historians  of  the  dreadful 
mortality  consequent  on  the  Crusades, 
and  the  numerous  plagues  which 
devastated  Europe  during  the  middle 
ages,  there  appeared  no  lasting  decline 
in  the  population,  but  all  the  States 
which  had  been  laid  waste  appeared, 
in  a  few  years,  as  full  of  inhabitants 
as  before  the  catastrophe  took  place. 

All  these  accounts,  however,  being 
founded  on  no  accurate  census  or 
register,  and  transmitted  to  us  through 
the  dubious  channel  and  in  the  in- 
flated language  of  old  annalists,  are 
more  or  less  subject  to  suspicion.  But 
in  our  own  country,  and  our  age,  there 
has  been  afforded  the  most  decisive 
proof  on  the  greatest  possible  scale, 
and  ascertained  by  the  most  authentic 
evidence,  of  the  utter  inability  of  the 
most  dreadful  and  long- continued 
external  calamities  to  occasion  any 
diminution  of  population  when  the 
springs  of  industry  are  unaffected. 
New  wars,  which  broke  out  in 
Europe  with  the  rise  of  the  French 
revolution,  continued,  as  all  the 
world  knows,  for  two-and-twenty 


years,  with  scarcely  any  intermission, 
and  on  a  scale  of  magnitude  previously 
unprecedented  among  mankind.  In 
France  alone,  between  1792  and 
1815,  upwards  of  four  millions  of 
men,  all  in  the  prime  of  life,  perished 
during  those  sanguinary  contests  ;  * 
and  as  these  were  the  losses  of  the 
party  which,  down  to  the  last,  was 
almost  constantly  victorious,  it  may 
readily  be  believed  that  the  losses  of 
those  on  the  other  side — who,  till  the 
last  three  years,  were  almost  con- 
stantly defeated — must  have  been 
still  more  considerable.  Above  half 
a  million  of  men  perished  in  the 
Moscow  campaign ;  in  that  of  Leipsic, 
on  the  two  sides,  a  still  greater 
number.  For  seven  years,  three 
hundred  thousand  were  annually 
mowed  down  in  the  Peninsula. 
Plague,  pestilence,  and  famine,  as 
usual,  stalked  in  the  rear  of  such  un- 
precedented warfare  :  among  which, 
the  famine  in  France  in  1794,  when 
the  people  were  dying  in  the  streets — 
and  that  in  Great  Britain  in  1800, 
when  wheat  rose  to  120s.  the  quarter 
— and  the  terrible  typhus  fever,  which, 
issuing  from  the  crowds  blockaded  in 
Torgau  in  1813,  spread  over  and 
devastated  every  country  of  Europe 
for  the  three  next  years — may  be 
reckoned  the  most  remarkable.  Yet 
the  population,  not  only  of  Great  Bri- 
tain and  France,  the  principals  in  the 
fight,  but  of  every  country  in  Europe, 
increased  with  unprecedented  rapidity 
during  this  period  of  unparalleled 
effort,  bloody  warfare,  and  chequered 
achievements.  The  population  of 
old  France,  which  in  1789,  before  the 
war  began,  was  25,400,000,  had 
swelled  in  1816,  when  it  was  closed, 
to  28,500,000 :  that  of  Great  Britain 
had  advanced,  during  the  same  period, 
from  13,400,000  to  18,740,000.  f 

The  reason  of  this  steady  advance 
of  population  through  the  greatest 
external  disasters,  when  they  are 
unaccompanied  by  any  weakening  of 
the  springs  of  industry,  is  this  :  The 
destruction  of  full-grown  men,  how 
great  soever,  is  immediately  com- 
pensated, in  a  healthy  state  of  society, 
by  the  additional  impulse  commu- 
nicated to  the  principle  of  population, 


*  Alison's  Europe,  c.  89,  §  65,  note. 

t  Stat.  de  la  France,  and  Census  1 821,  Great  Britain. 


1851.] 

by  the  enhanced  demand  for  labour 
among  those  who  survive  or  remain 
at  home.  If  the  work  of  ten  men 
come  to  be  divided  among  seven,  the 
rise  in  the  wages  of  labour  will  be  so 
considerable,  that  the  amelioration  of 
their  condition  gives  an  immediate 
and  decisive  impulse  to  the  principle 
of  population.  Wages  are  so  high, 
that  marriages,  as  in  seasons  of 
plenty,  become  frequent  among  the 
working- classes  :  their  condition  is 
so  comfortable  that  they  become  pro- 
lific. The  gap  is  speedily  supplied 
by  increased  births.  At  the  close  of 
such  a  long-continued  course  of  ex- 
ternal shocks,  unaccompanied  by  in- 
ternal paralysis,  there  may  be,  and 
often  is,  a  great  diminution  in  the 
number  of  adults  or  fighting  men,  but 
there  is  never  any  absolute  decline  in 
the  entire  numbers  of  the  people ; 
and  when  the  children  grow  up,  there 
appears  a  great  increase.  Accor- 
dingly, in  France,  although  there  was 
a  very  great  deficiency  in  the  number 
of  fighting  men  during  the  latter 
years  of  the  war,  and  it  was  this 
experienced  impossibility  of  then 
recruiting  his  armies,  on  an  adequate 
scale,  which  was  the  main  cause  of 
the  ruin  of  Napoleon  ;  yet  the  num- 
ber of  children  begot  during  these 
disastrous  years  was  so  great,  that 
the  whole  inhabitants— who  in  1789 
were  only  25,400,000  —  in  1837 
amounted  to  33,500,000.* 

But  the  case  is  widely  different 
when  the  devastating  influence  of 
war,  pestilence,  or  famine  coincides 
with  a  declining  state  of  society,  with 
a  diminution  in  the  demand  for 
labour,  and  decreased  vigour  in  the 
mind,  or  activity  in  the  occupations 
of  men.  When  this  is  the  case,  the 
losses  produced  by  external  calamities 
are  never  repaired ;  on  the  contrary, 
they  become  the  signal  for  still 
greater  chasms,  which  are  never 
filled  up,  and  which  terminate  at 
length  in  the  utter  prostration  and 
ruin  of  the  state.  The  destruction  of 
one  class  in  society  thus  draws  after 
it  the  destruction  of  the  other  classes 
who  depended  upon  it :  the  ruin  of 
the  farmer  induces  the  ruin  of  the 
manufacturer;  and  the  towns  find 
themselves  oppressed  with  a  helpless 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade.  125 

multitude,  who,  flying  the  desolation 
of  the  country,  where  employment 
can  no  longer  be  found,  seek  in  cities 
the  chance  of  work,  or  the  hopes  of 
charity,  which  is  denied  them  in  their 
native  seats.  In  such  circumstances, 
the  increase  of  the  towns  is  too  often 
the  measure,  not  of  their  strength, 
but  their  weakness,  as  their  inhabit- 
ants soon  find  to  their  cost,  in  the 
enormous  increase  of  poor-rates  and 
direct  taxes  with  which  they  are 
oppressed.  Yet,  such  as  it  is,  it  is  in 
great  towns  only,  and  especially  great 
seaport  towns,  that  any  traces  of  the 
former  prosperity  of  the  state  are  to 
be  found.  Ruin  invariably  begins  in 
the  country.  It  is  in  the  decrease  of 
rural  inhabitants  and  productions 
that  the  premonitory  symptoms  of 
national  decline  and  fall  are  found. 
The  reason  is,  that  it  is  rural  industry 
which  is  first  oppressed  by  the  free 
importation  of  foreign  grain,  which 
the  clamours  and  influence  of  the 
populace,  in  great  towns,  never  fail 
to  bring  about  in  the  later  stages  of 
society,  when  their  sway  generally 
becomes  paramount.  Between  the 
importation  of  this  foreign  grain  and 
the  exportation  of  the  classes  who 
are  ruined  by  it,  the  exportation  of 
the  national  strength,  and  the  impor- 
tation of  its  weakness,  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  great  seapgrt  towns 
sometimes  contrive,  for  a  considerable 
time,  to  carry  on  a  gainful  traffic,  and 
cast  a  last  and  delusive  gleam  §of  pro- 
sperity over  the  state,  by  the  contrast 
it  exhibits  to  the  general  gloom 
by  which  it  is  surrounded.  How 
exactly  this  is  a  description  of  the 
latter  days  of  the  Roman  empire,  need 
be  told  to  no  scholar.  In  fact,  it  is 
written  from  the  recollection  of  the 
woful  descriptions  of  their  historians. 
During  the  reign  of  Justinian,  we  are 
told  by  Gibbon,  the  devastations  of 
war,  pestilence,  and  famine  were  never 
repaired,  and  it  was  disgraced  by  the 
disappearance  of  a  moiety  of  the 
whole  inhabitants  of  the  empire. 
Happy  if  it  is  not  descriptive  also 
of  another  state,  greater  than  Rome, 
but  which  has  entered  by  the  same 
gate  the  gulf  of  perdition,  and  is 
going  down  it  at  even  an  accelerated 
pace. 


*  Stat,  de  la  France,  (Population.) 


326 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


[Aug. 


There  is  another  peculiarity  which 
is  invariably  characteristic  of  a  declin- 
ing state,  and  the  certain  precursor  of 
its  ruin,  that  the  decrease  which  takes 
place  in  its  population  is  mainly  owing 
to  emigration,  not  to  pestilence,  fa- 
mine, or  violent  deaths.  It  is  the 
sinking  of  men's  minds,  from  the  ap- 
palling sight  of  ruin  around  them  in 
every  direction,  not  the  prostration  of 
their  bodies  by  war  or  disease,  which 
is  the  real  cause  of  the  decline  of  a 
state.  As  long  as  people's  spirits  are 
kept  up,  by  the  demand  for  labour 
being  considerable,  wages  being  fair 
and  industry  remunerative,  the  utmost 
disasters  arising  from  plague,  pesti- 
lence, and  famine  are  speedily  re- 
paired, and  they  make  no  durable 
impression  or  chasm  in  the  population. 
But  when,  inaddition  to  these  external 
calamities,  the  lasting  evils  of  declin- 
ing employment,  unremunerated  in- 
dustry, and  a  rapidly  increasing  pau- 
per-class, are  felt,  despair,  after  a  time, 
seizes  the  mind  of  nearly  the  whole 
middle  and  working  classes.  Every 
one  makes  haste  to  leave  the  country 
in  which  hope  is  closed,  where  despair 
is  painted  in  every  countenance. 
Sauve  qui  pent  becomes  the  universal 
principle :  it  is  like  the  rushing  of 
passengers  in  a  ship-wrecked  vessel  to 
get  into  the  life -boat.  The  indigent, 
if  they  can  only  get  away,  hasten 
in  multitudes  to  the  sea-coast  to  avoid 
the  starvation  which  awaits  them  at 
home.  The  dangers  of  an  emigrant 
vessel,  as  the  Times  well  remarks, 
"  are  forgotten  in  the  greater  horrors 
of  a  work-house."  Emigration  then 
becomes  the  great  running  sore  which 
weakens,  and  at  length  destroys,  the 
state;  for  not  only  does  it  draw  off 
numbers  doubly  greater  than  all  that 
can  be  destroyed  by  plague,  pesti- 
lence, and  famine,  but  it.  entirely 
weakens  and  paralyses  the  principle 
of  population  at  home  ; — it  not  only 
removes  a  large  portion  of  the  people, 
but  it  cuts  off  the  sources  from  which 
they  are  to  be  renewed ; — it  sweeps 
away  future  generations  with  the 
present.  The  persons  who  go  away 
are,  for  the  most  part,  men  and  women 
in  the  prime  of  life;  and  whence  is  the 
rising  generation  to  come  from  if  they 
are  removed  ?  Yet  so  universal  is  the 
despair  which,  in  a  state  that  is  visibly 
sinking,  seizes  the  whole,  especially  of 


the  rural  population,  and  such  the 
desire  to  escape  the  crushing  weight 
of  the  direct  taxes  with  which  such  a 
state  of  society  is  invariably  attended, 
that  it  is  recorded  by  the  historian  of 
the  Decline  and  Fall,  that  the  Koman 
empire  was  more  depopulated,  in  its 
later  stages,  by  the  migration  of  the 
inhabitants  of  its  frontier  provinces, 
than  by  all  the  arms  of  the  barbarians, 
and  that,  in  several  incursions,  the 
Scythian  horse  regained  their  native 
wilds  with  120,000  willing  captives  at 
their  horses'  heels. 

In  such  a  state  of  society,  emigra- 
tion which,  under  more  favourable 
circumstances,  might  have  proved  a 
relief,  is  found  to  be  the  greatest 
possible  aggravation  of  the  public 
distresses.  The  reason  is,  that  the 
only  persons  who  can  get  away  are 
those  who  have  some  capital,  and 
thus  possess  the  means  of  transport. 
The  paupers  and  destitute  are  all 
forced  to  remain  at  home,  deprived 
by  their  poverty  of  the  flebile 
remedium,  so  largely  had  recourse 
to  by  their  more  fortunate  brethren 
in  misfortune,  that  of  leaving  their 
homes,  their  country,  the  bones  of 
their  fathers.  They  dare  not  hope 
even  for  the  lot  of  the  poor  exile  of 
Erin.  As  it  is  only  the  solvent 
and  comparatively  affluent  who  can 
thus  make  their  escape,  and  the 
paupers  are  all  left,  not  only  does 
the  burden  of  their  maintenance  daily 
become  more  oppressive  upon  those 
who  remain,  but  their  means  of  meet- 
ing the  burden  are  diminished  in  the 
same  proportion.  The  productive 
industry  of  the  country  declines  in  the 
same  proportion  as  its  direct  taxes 
increase.  The  people  who  would 
maintain  that  productive  industry,  are 
not  only  gone,  but  they  have  carried 
with  them  the  seeds  of  industry  yet  to 
come.  The  condition  of  those  left  at 
home  thus  daily  becomes  worse ;  and 
as  the  public  burdens  in  such  a  state 
of  society,  as  a  matter  of  course,  so 
far  from  diminishing,  rapidly  increase, 
from  the  multitude  of  poor  who  must 
be  relieved,  the  condition  of  the 
industrious  classes  at  length  becomes 
such  that  the  state  is  stript  of  all  its 
useful  citizens,  and  falls  an  easy  prey 
to  the  first  serious  invader.  No  reader 
of  the  immortal  Decline  and  Fall,  or  of 
the  more  detailed  works  of  Sismondi, 


1851.] 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


127 


Thierry,  and  Michelet,  on  the  condi- 
tion of  the  Roman  provinces  under  the 
later  emperors,  need  be  told  how 
exactly  the  causes  now  detailed  were 
those  which  at  first  weakened  and  at 
length  destroyed  the  empire  of  the 
legions. 

Never  in  modern  times  was  so 
striking  a  demonstration  of  the  truth 
of  those  principles  afforded,  as  the 
progress  of  population  in  the  British 
Empire  for  the  last  half  century  has 
afforded.  There,  equally  as  in  France, 


the  numbers  of  the  people  continued 
steadily  and  rapidly  to  advance, 
through  all  the  impediments  of  the 
bloodiest  war  known  in  modern  times, 
and  all  the  subsequent  evils  of  scar- 
city and  pestilence,  and  frequent 
commercial  crises,  far  more  disastrous 
in  their  effects  than  all  the  three  put 
together.  The  progressive  growth  of 
population  in  Great  Britain  and  Ire- 
land, since  the  census  began  to  be 
taken  in  these  islands,  respectively 
has  been  as  follows : — 


Year. 

England,  Wales, 
Army  and  Navy. 

Scotland. 

Ireland. 

Lesser  islands. 

Total. 

1801 

9,343,578 

1,599,068 

10,942,646 

1811 

11,781,115 

1,805,688 

... 

... 

13,586,803 

Ireland  included. 

1821 

12,298,175 

2,093,456 

6,801,827 

89,508 

21,282,966 

1831 

14,174,204 

2,365,114 

7,767,401 

103,710 

24,410,429 

1841 

15,911,757 

2,620,184 

8,175,124 

124,040 

26,831,105 

1851 

17,905,831 

2,870,784 

6,515,784 

142,916 

27,435,315 

The  first  thing  which  strikes  the 
observer  in  considering  this  most 
important  and  momentous  table,  is 
the  rapid  increase  of  the  population 
during  the  war,  when  the  burdens  of 
the  nation  were  so  excessive,  and  a 
sanguinary  contest  in  every  quarter 
of  the  globe  was  apparently  mowing 
down  the  flower  of  our  population, 


and  which  was  ushered  in  with  the 
most  terrible  famine  recorded  in 
recent  times,  that  of  1799-1800.  The 
rate  of  increase  in  reference  to  the 
existing  population  was  greater  then 
than  it  has  ever  since  been.  From 
that  time,  although  the  numbers  have 
increased,  the  rate  has  declined.  It 
has  stood  thus  : — 


Year. 

England. 

Scotland. 

Ireland. 

1801-11 

144 

14 

1811-21 

m 

16 

1821-31 

16 

12 

15.6 

1831-41 

14.5 

10.7 

8.7 

1841-51 

12.5 

8 

22  decrease 

The  next  circumstance  which 
attracts  attention,  is  the  SUDDEN 
STOP  WHICH  SINCE  1840  has  been 
put  to  the  growth  of  the  population 
of  the  Empire,  which  for  the  half 
century  preceding  had  increased  so 
fast  and  so  steadily.  From  the  pre- 
ceding table,  it  appears  that  the 
increase  of  the  two  islands  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland,  taken  together, 
has  been  as  follows  : — • 

1821-31,     .        .         .        3,127,463 

1831-41,     .         .         .         2,420,676 

1841-51,     .         .         .  604,210 

But  this  sudden  change  in  the  last 

decade,  though  in  itself  sufficiently 

alarming,  is  by  no  means  the  whole 

truth.     The  change  has  all  taken  place 


since  1845,  and  from  that  period  there- 
has  been  a  decline  in  the  entire  popu- 
lation of  the  Empire.  Everybody 
knows  that  down  to  that  period  the 
Empire,'especially  from  1842  to  1845, 
was  not  only  prosperous,  but  emi- 
nently so.  It  was  the  period  of  fine 
harvests,  trifling  importation  of  food, 
railway  mania,  high  wages,  extensive 
paper  issues,  and  unbounded  pros- 
perity. We  all  recollect  how  loudly 
Sir  R.  Peel  sounded  the  note  of  tri- 
umph on  this  state  of  things,  in  his 
parliamentary  speeches  in  1845  and 
1846,  and  with  what  complacency  he 
referred  to  them,  as  proving  that  his 
Tariff  of  1842  had  been  founded  on 
right  principles.  Assuming,  then,  that 


128 


these  statements  were  well  founded, 
there  cannot  be  a  shadow  of  a  doubt, 
that  down  to  the  close  of  1845,  or  the 
middle  of  1846,  the  former  rate  of  in- 
crease in  the  two  islands  had  gone  on 
without  diminution.  The  emigration 
down  to  1845  was  a  perfect  trifle  to 
what  it  has  since  become,  as  appears 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade.  [Aug. 

from  the  table  quoted  below.*  Assum- 


ing, then,  the  increase  to  have  been  as 
great  from  1840  to  1845,  as  for  the 
half  of  the  preceding  ten  years  in  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland — and  there  can 
be  no  doubt  it  must  have  been  greater 
—  the  population  of  the  Empire  in 
June  1846  must  have  stood  thus  : — 


Great  Britain  and  Islands  in  Channel,  in  1841, 
Increase  to  1 846,  one-half  of  preceding  ten  years,  f 
Ireland,  in  1841,  .... 

Increase  to  1846,  one-half  of  preceding  ten  years,  J 


Total 


Actual  population  in  1851, 
DECREASE  since  1846, 

Here  is  a  result  sufficient  to  make 
us  hold  our  breath,  and  awaken  the 
most  serious  reflections  in  the  breast 
pf  every  person  capable  of  reflection 
in  the  country.  The  population  of 
the  Empire  has  not  only  ceased  to 
increase  since  1846,  but  it  has  receded 
since  that  time  no  less  than  810,000, 
being  at  the  average  rate  of  200,000 
a-year  ! ! !  This  in  a  country  which 
had  previously  so  steadily  and  rapidly 
increased  in  numbers,  which,  be- 
tween 1821  and  1831,  had  increased 
3,127,000,  being  at  the  rate  of  above 
300,000  a-year;  and  from  1831  to 
1841,  no  less  than  2,420,000,  being 
at  the  rate  of  240,000  a-year ! 

Population  in  1841, 
Increase  to  1846,   . 


Britain  and  Ireland  in  1846, 


18,655,981 

1,210,338 

8,175,124 

203,862 

28,245,305 
27,435,315 

809,990 


If  we  inquire  into  the  particulars 
pf  which  this  change  is  composed, 
it  appears  still  more  frightful.  It 
has  occurred,  for  the  most  part,  in 
one  part  of  the  Empire,  the  depo- 
pulation of  which  stands  forth  in 
hideous  relief  beside  the  increase 
exhibited  in  some  of  the  great  cities. 
The  total  decrease  of  inhabitants  in 
Ireland  has  been,  since  1841, 1,659,340 
souls.  But  as  the  population  unques- 
tionably went  on  increasing  at  the 
rate  of  the  preceding  decade  down  to 
1846,  the  numbers  at  the  commence- 
ment of  that  year  must  have  stood 
thus  :— 


8,175,124 
203,862 


Actual  population  in  1851, 


Decrease  since  1846,    . 

Being  a  DECREASE  at  the  rate  of 
about  372,000  a-year  ;  and  that  in  a 


8,378,986 
6,515,784 


.       .      .       .       1,863,102 
country  which,  from   1821  to  1831, 
had    increased    from    6,801,827    to 


Table  showing  the  emigration  from  the  British  islands  in  the  years 


1841 
1842 
1843 
1844 
1845 

118,592 
128,344 
57,212 
70,686 
93,501 

1846 

1847 
1848 
1849 
1850 

129,851 
258,270 
248,089 
299,498 
280,896 

468,335 

1,216,614 

t  24,410,429                         $  7,767,401 
26,831,105                           8,175,124 

2)2,420,676 
1,210,338 


2)407,723 
203,862 


1851.] 

7,767,401,  being  an  INCREASE  of 
965,574, —  at  the  rate  of  nearly 
100,000  a-year ! 

The  same  result  appears  in  all  the 
other  parts  of  the  Empire,  though  not, 
of  course,  in  such  striking  colours  as 
in  Ireland ;  which,  being  entirely  agri- 
cultural, has,  of  course,  suffered  most 


TJie  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


129 


from  the  great  change  of  measures 
which  took  place  in  1846.  Generally 
speaking,  the  great  towns  have  in- 
creased ;  and  in  the  purely  agricul- 
tural districts,  population  has  de- 
clined. The  increase  in  a  few  of  the 
greatest  towns  of  the  Empire  has  been 
as  follows : — 


London, 

Glasgow, 

Dublin, 


1841. 

1,948,369 
270,486 
232,726 


1851. 

2,363,141 
333,657 
254,850 


Increase. 

414,772 
63,171' 
22,124 


On  the  other  hand,  population  in  the 
greater  part  of  the  purely  agricul- 
tural or  pastoral  districts  has  declined. 
The  total  increase  of  Scotland,  it  has 
been  seen,  in  the  last  ten  years,  was 
250,600,  of  which  no  less  than  98,015 
has  been  in  the  single  county  of 
Lanark,  including  63,171  in  the  city 
of  Glasgow.  The  inhabitants  of  that 
city  need  not  be  told  of  what  descrip- 
tion of  persons  this  increase  has  con- 
sisted. The  enormous  and  crushing 
weight  of  the  poor-rates  serves  as  a 
perpetual  memento,  that  it  is  chiefly 
composed  of  destitute  Irish,  who 


arrived  in  four  months,  only  preceding 
April  10,  1848,  to  the  number  of 
42,680 ;  for  a  year  after,  at  the  rate  of 
1000  a-week. 

The  same  contrast  between  the 
movement  of  the  population  in  the 
cities  and  the  country,  which  forms 
the  leading  features  of  the  late  census, 
appears  in  the  most  striking  manner 
in  the  neighbouring  island.  ALL  THE 
TOWNS  IN  IRELAND  HAVE  INCREASED 
— ALL  THE  COUNTIES  HAVE  DE- 
CLINED. The  chief  towns  have  stood 
thus : — 


Number  of  Persons. 

Increase. 

Places. 

1841. 

1851. 

Numbers. 

Rate  per  Cent 

Dublin,     . 

232,726 

254,850 

22,124 

9 

Belfast,     . 

75,308 

99,660 

24.352 

32 

Cork, 

80,720 

85,485 

5,765 

7 

Limerick, 

48,391 

55,268 

6,877 

14 

Waterford, 

23,216 

26,667 

3,451 

14 

Galway, 

17,275 

24,697 

7,422 

43 

Drogheda, 

16,261 

16,876 

615 

3 

Carrickfergus, 

9,379 

8,488 

891 

9 

71,497 

On  the  other  hand,  the  decrease  in 
the  counties  has  been  universal  — 
alike  in  the  north  and  the  south,  the 
east  and  the  west,  among  the  Protes- 
tants and  the  Catholics,  the  Orange- 


men and  the  Ribbonmen,  though 
much  greater,  as  may  easily  be  be- 
lieved, among  the  latter.  The  awful 
picture  stands  thus  : — 


*  Dr  Straug's   Abstract   of  Glasgow  Census,  a  most   admirable   and   elaborate 
work. 


130 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


Number  of  Persons. 

Decrease. 

Rate  per 

Places. 

1841. 

1851. 

Nos. 

Cent  1841 
and  1851. 

Antrim, 
Wexford,    . 

276,188 
202,033 

250,353 
180,170 

25,833 
21,863 

7.6 
11.6 

Down, 

361,446 

317,778 

43,668 

10.5 

Londonderry, 

222,174 

191,744 

30,430 

13 

Donegal, 

296,448 

244,288 

42,160 

13.5 

Kildare, 

114,488 

96,627 

17,861 

14.5 

Armagh, 

232,393 

196,420 

35,973 

14.7 

Louth, 

111,979 

91,045 

20,934 

16.9 

Tyrone, 

312,956 

251,865 

61,091 

18.8 

Kerry, 

293,880 

238,241 

55,639 

28 

Carlow, 

86,228 

68,157 

18,071 

20 

Wicklow,    . 

126,143 

99,287 

26,856 

18 

Waterford,  . 

172,971 

135,836 

37,135 

20.5 

Kilkenny,    . 

183,349 

139,934 

43,415 

19.4 

King's  Co.  . 

146,857 

112,875 

33,982 

23 

Westmeath, 

141,300 

106,510 

33,790 

22 

Meath, 

183,828 

139,76 

44,122 

22 

Tipperary,  . 
Fermanagh, 

435,553 
156,481 

323,829 
115,978 

111,724 
40,503 

26.8 
24.5 

Clare, 

286,394 

212,720 

73,674 

29.8 

Monaghan,  . 

200,402 

143,410 

57,032 

26.4 

Cavan, 

243,158 

174,303 

68,855 

26.4 

Cork, 

773,398 

551,152 

222,246 

30.6 

Limerick,    . 

281,638 

201,619 

80,019 

28.5 

Longford,    . 

115,491 

83,198 

32,293 

27.8 

Queen's  Co. 

153,930 

109,747 

44,183 

24.2 

Leitrim, 

155,279 

111,808 

43,489 

26.9 

Sligo, 

180,886 

128,769 

52,117 

29.3 

Galway,      . 

422,923 

219,129 

124,794 

30.7 

Mayo,        •! 

388,887 

274,716 

114,171 

31.3 

Roscoramon, 

253,591 

173,798 

79,793 

30.6 

What  a  picture  does  this  table 
exhibit!  Cork  sunk  222,000;  Gal- 
way  124,000;  Mayo  114,000;  Tip- 
perary 111,000;  Limerick  80,000; 
Roscommon  79,000 — all  in  five  years ; 
for  up  to  1846,  as  already  shown,  all 
these  counties  had  increased  in  num- 
bers !  The  history  of  modern  Europe 
does  not  present  a  similar  instance, 
in  so  short  a  time,  of  awful  and  well- 
authenticated  decline  of  the  human 
species. 

But  this  is  not  all.  The  census  of 
Great  Britain  for  18ol,  although  it 
does  not  exhibit  the  same  appalling 
picture  of  the  decrease  of  the  human 
species  as  Ireland  affords,  yet  con- 
tniiH  unequivocal  proof  that  we  have 
attiiined  the  limits  of  our  prosperity, 
and  that,  with  the  great  change  in  our 
policy  in  184G,  the  weakness  of  age 
has  already  set  in  upon  the  yet  youth- 


ful state.  Nay,  this  appears  even  in 
the  great  manufacturing  towns,  and 
among  the  trading  and  commercial 
class,  for  whose  benefit  the  great 
change,  fraught  with  such  awful  cala- 
mities in  other  quarters,  was  ex- 
clusively intended.  Take,  as  an 
example,  Glasgow,  one  of  the  greatest 
manufacturing  and  commercial  cities 
of  the  Empire,  and  where  Free-Trade' 
principles  were  most  prevalent,  and 
were  expected  to  produce  the  most 
beneficial  results.  It  appears  from 
Dr  Strang's  tables,  compiled  with 
equal  care  and  judgment  from  the 
census  returns,  which  that  gentleman 
conducted,  that  the  movement  of  the 
population  for  the  last  fifty  years 
has  stood  thus  within  the  bills  of 
mortality  of  that  city,  which  take  in 
about  10,000  more  than  the  Parlia- 
mentary limits : — 


1851.] 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


131 


Census. 
1811, 
1821, 
1831, 
1841, 
1851, 


110,460 
147,043 
202,426 
280,682 
347,001 


Thus,  since  the  days  of  Free  Trade 
commenced  in  1842,  not  only  has  the 
absolute  increase  of  the  great  com- 
mercial city  of  Glasgow  declined 
sensibly,  but  the  rate  of  increase  has 
decreased  in  a  still  more  striking  pro- 
portion. The  absolute  increase  in 
the  last  ten  years  of  Protection  was 
78,000;  in  the  first  ten  years,  one 
half  of  which  were  those  of  Free 
Trade,  it  was  66,000  :  the  rate  of 
increase  in  the  former  period  was  38 
per  cent;  in  the  last  it  had  sunk  to  23 ! 

The  only  answer  which  the  Free- 
Traders  have  ever  attempted  to  make 
to  these  and  similar  facts,  proved  in 
all  quarters  by  the  last  census,  is, 
that  the  decline  in  Ireland  has  been 
owing  to  the  potato  rot  and  famine  in 
that  country  in  1846,  and  the  emigra- 
tion arising  from  it,  and  the  check  in 
the  manufacturing  cities  to  the  dread- 
ful monetary  crisis  of  October  1847, 
from  the  effects  of  which'few  of  them 
have  yet  recovered.  But  a  little  con- 
sideration must  be  sufficient  to  show 
that  these  are  not  the  real  causes  of 
the  decline,  but  that  it  arises  entirely 
and  exclusively  from  the  changes 
with  which  Free  Trade  is  alone  charge- 
able. 

In  the  first  place,  the  potato  rot  of 
1846 — which  has  been  the  great  stock 
in  trade  which  has  kept  the  Free- 
Traders  afloat  ever  since,  forming  at 
once,  in  their  view,  a  reason  for  their 
policy,  and  an  excuse  for  its  effects — 
occurred  five  years  ago,  and  we  have 
since  had  very  fine  harvests,  for 
which,  twice  over,  public  thanksgivings 
have  been  returned.  The  entire 
value  of  the  agricultural  produce 
which  was  deficient  was  never  esti- 
mated higher  than  £15,000,000,  not 
a  twentieth  part  of  the  entire  agricul- 
tural produce  of  the  Empire,  which 
at  -  that  period  was  estimated  at 
£300,000,000  annually.  This  was 
nothing  to  compare  to  the  failure 
of  the  entire  grain  crops  in  1799 


Increase. 
26,691 
36,563 
55,383 
78,256 
66,319 


Increase  per  cent. 
31.865 
33.11 
37.66 
38.22 
23.62* 


and  1800,  as  was  decisively  proved1 
by  the  result ;  for  in  three  years 
the  price  of  wheat  rose  to  110s.  and 
120s.  a  quarter,  and  in  1847  the 
average  price  was  only  69s.  Yet 
the  great  famine  in  these  years, 
which  affected  the  whole  Empire,  and 
extended  to  all  sorts  of  food,  instead 
of  being  confined  to  one  only,  and 
continued  for  two  years,  was  so  far 
from  producing  any  decline  in  the 
population  of  the  Empire,  that  it  co- 
existed with  the  greatest  and  most 
rapid  increase  it  ever  experienced. 

In  the  next  place,  the  least  atten- 
tion to  the  details  of  the  extraordinary 
decrease  of  the  Irish  population  of  late 
years  must  be  sufficient  to  convince 
every  reasonable  mind  to  what  cause 
this  change  has  really  been  owing, 
and  that  it  is  the  sinking  of  men's 
minds  from  despair  as  to  the  future, 
not  the  prostration  of  their  bodies  by 
the  devastation  of  pestilence  and 
famine,  which  has  really  produced  the 
calamity.  The  total  decrease  of  the 
Irish  population  during  the  last  five 
years,  supposing  it  to  have  advanced 
at  the  previous  rate  up  to  the  end 
of  1845,  it  has  been  seen,  is  about 
1,860,000  ;  but  it  is  known  that  about 
1,100,000  of  this  number  have  emi- 
grated, of  whom  at  least  four-fifths 
have  gone  during  the  last  five  years  ; 
the  total  emigration  from  the  Empire 
having  been  1,220,000  during  those 
five  years,  against  470,000  in  the  pre- 
ceding five.  There  cannot  be  a  doubt 
that,  during  the  same  period,  300,000 
or  400,000  have  passed  over  to  Great 
Britain,  and  are  now  permanently 
located  in  England  or  Scotland.  This 
estimate  will  appear  below  the  truth, 
if  we  reflect  that,  between  October 
1847  and  December  1848,  above 
100,000  Irish  made  their  apppearance 
in  Lanarkshire,  and  that  no  less  than 
64,185  Irish  were  in  Glasgow  alone  at 
the  date  of  the  last  census. f  Suppos- 
ing, then,  that  800,000 Irish  have  emi- 


*  Dr  Strang,  p.  14. 


Dr  Strang's  Report,  p.  20. 


132 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


[Ang, 


grated  during  the  last  five  years,  aud 
400,000  inundated  Great  Britain  dur- 
ing the  same  period,  there  will  remain 
660,000  unaccounted  for  during  that 
time  :  a  grievous  multitude,  doubtless, 
to  have  wasted  away  by  the  effects  of 
plague,  pestilence,  and  famine,  during 
so  short  a  period,  but  not  greater 
than  had  often  occurred  in  other 
countries,  and  even  in  that  one  on 
former  occasions,  without  occasioning 
any  permanent  decline  whatever  in 
the  number  of  the  people. 

In  the  third  place,  the  failure  of 
the  potato  crop  in  1846  was  only  a 
passing  evil,  and  if  it  had  been  unac- 
companied by  other  causes  of  depres- 
sion, must  have  given  a  stimulus  rather 
than  the  reverse  to  the  labours  of  agri- 
culture. It  immediately  and  greatly 
raised  prices.  Wheat  rose  from  54s. 
in  1845,  to  69s.  in  1847.  There  was 
no  failure  in  the  grain  crops ;  on  the 
contrary,  their  value  was  greatly  en- 
hanced ;  and  though,  doubtless,  very 
severe  local  distress  must,  under  any 
circumstances,  have  arisen  from  so 
considerable  a  failure  of  the  staple  food 
of  the  country  among  a  peasantry 
little  able  to  make  purchases  else- 
where, yet  the  immense  importation 
of  that  year,  amounting  in  fifteen 
months  to  £33,000,000  sterling,  or 
above  double  the  value  of  the  whole 
crop  which  had  failed,  much  more 
than  filled  up  the  gap,  and  the  enor- 
mous amount  levied  for  the  poor  rate, 
which  reached  in  that  year  £2,400,000, 
and  at  one  time  fed  daily  3,100,000 
persons,  furnished  the  means  of  paying 
for  the  food  which  was  required.  But 
the  decisive  circumstance  which  proves 
that  it  was  not  the  potato  famine,  but 
a  very  different  set  of  causes,  which 
have  caused  the  depopulation  of  Ire- 
land, is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  proved 
by  the  emigration  returns  already 
quoted,  that  the  great  emigration  took 
place  neither  in  the  years  1846  nor 
1847,  when  the  famine  was  raging,  but 
in  the  years  1849  and  1850,  when  un- 
commonly fine  crops,  both  in  grain  and 
potatoes,  blessed  the  land.* 

Lastly,  as  to  the  monetary  crisis  of 


1848,  and  the  devastation  still  unre- 
paired which  it  has  made  in  the 
ranks  of  manufacturing  and  com- 
mercial industry,  that  is  only  another 
way  of  stating  the  effect  of  the  Free- 
Trade  policy.  Every  one  who  has 
reflected  on  the  subject  is  aware — and 
none  more  so  in  their  secret  hearts 
than  the  authors  of  the  system — that 
it  was  our  monetary  laws,  passed  in 
order  to  carry  out  the  system  of 
cheapening  everything,  which,  and 
which  alone,  produced  the  dreadful  mo- 
netary crisis  of  October  1847,  by  which 
so  many  of  all  classes  were  ruined,  and 
from  the  effects  of  which  none  have 
by  any  means  yet  recovered.  When 
a  Government  first,  in  order  to  induce 
a  show  of  prosperity  throughout  the 
country,  to  render  popular  a  change 
of  policy,  encourage  a  railway  mania, 
and  pass  bills  requiring  an  extra  ex- 
penditure of  £200,000,000  on  them 
alone  during  the  next  four  years, 
next  pass  an  act  declaring  that  for 
every  five  sovereigns  sent  out  of  the 
country  a  £5  note  is  to  be  withdrawn 
from  the  circulation,  and  then  pass 
acts  inducing  an  importation  of  grain 
nearly  all  paid  in  sovereigns  to  the 
extent  of  £33,000,000  sterling  in  fif- 
teen months,  without  any  correspond- 
ing change  in  the  monetary  laws,  it 
needs  no  one  to  rise  from  the  dead  to 
tell  us  that  such  a  contraction  of  the 
currency  of  credit  must  take  place  as 
will  ruin  half  the  persons  engaged  in 
business  in  the  country.  With  what 
facility  such  a  catastrophe  might  have 
been  avoided  with  a  currency  capable 
of  being  expanded  instead  of  contracted 
when  the  gold  was  sent  abroad,,  may 
be  learned  from  the  examples  of  1800 
and  1810,  in  both  of  which  a  much 
greater  deficiency  in  the  general  sup- 
ply of  food  for  the  Empire  than  oc- 
curred in  1846,  was  surmounted  with- 
out any  monetary  crisis  whatever, 
and  that,  too,  although  in  both  these 
years  a  dreadful  war  was  raging  in 
every  quarter  of  the  globe,  and  the 
whole  metallic  treasures  of  the  country 
were  drained  away  to  meet  its  de- 
mands in  foreign  states. 


1846, 
1847, 


EMIGRANTS. 


129,851 
258,270 

388,121 


1849, 
1850, 


299,498 
280,896 

580,394 


1851.] 

It  is  quite  hopeless,  therefore,  to 
ascribe  the  depopulation  of  Ireland 
to  the  famine  of  1846,  or  any  of  the 
causes  to  which  the  Free-Traders  im- 
pute it.  The  cause  of  the  woful  cala- 
mity is  obviously  to  be  found  in  some 
circumstances  of  permanent  operation, 
and  which  are  operating  more  power- 
fully at  this  time,  and  have  done  so 
for  some  years  past,  than  they  did 
when  the  famine  was  at  its  height ; 
for  emigration  is  the  cause  of  two- 
thirds  of  the  decrease,  and  that  emi- 
gration is  going  on  with  more  rapidity, 
and  more  universally,  in  the  Emerald 
Isle  at  this  moment,  when  the  potato 
crop  is  unusually  fine  and  abundant — 
and  it  has  been  so  for  some  years — than 
it  was  when  a  severe  but  passing 
blight  had  destroyed  great  part  of  its 
produce.  What  this  cause  is,  is  no 
longer  a  matter  of  doubt.  It  is  known 
to  all  the  world,  and  to  none  better 
than  the  Free-Traders  themselves;  for 
hear  what  the  Times,  the  able  and  in- 
defatigable organ  of  that  party,  says 
on  the  subject,  so  late  as  July  7 
last  :— 

"It  is  very  true  that  for  nearly  two  years 
and  a  half  agricultural  prices  have  been 
below  a  remunerative  level;  and  though  a 
depression  of  this  length  is  by  no  means 
uncommon  in  agriculture  or  any  other 
trade,  it  has  never  occurred  without  pros- 
trating that  unfortunately  large  class  to 
be  found  in  every  employment,  who  are 
always  in  debt,  always  in  difficulties,  al- 
ways just  above  water,  always  paying  in- 
terest by  adding  to  debt,  always  waiting, 
in  fact,  for  the  last  ounce  ickich  is  to  break 
the  back  of  their  insolvent  estate.  Men  of 
this  sort  are  to  be  found  in  the  landlord 
as  well  as  in  the  tenant  class,  and  they 
have  constituted  the  chief  part  of  the  suf- 
ferers in  this  instance.  In  Ireland  their 
ruin  has  been  hastened,  or  their  misfor- 
tunes at  least  aggravated,  by  a  great  na- 
tural calamity,  and  by  the  consequent 
burden  of  a  social  duty  too  long  repudi- 
ated. Its  arrears  have  at  last  to  be  paid, 
with  ruinous  interest.  With  respect  to 
the  whole  United  Kingdom,  it  is  needless 
to  refer  more  particularly  to  the  well- 
known  causes  which  have  added  to  the 
cup  of  agricultural  bitterness  at  this  try- 
ing hour.  We  see  in  all  this  nothing  but 
what  has  occurred  often  before  in  all 
branches  of  industry  and  enterprise.  Mis- 
fortunes never  come  alone  ;  and  it  is  no 
new  thing,  much  less  a  condemnation  of 
a  national  policy,  that  they  who  ha\e  re- 
lied on  a  protection  v:hich  they  ought  never 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


133 


to  have  enjoyed,  on  a  prosperity  which  they 
knew  to  be  fleeting,  on  elements  which 
they  knew  to  be  changeable,  and  on  spe- 
culations which  they  knew  to  be  hazard- 
ous, should  find  all  these  chances  turn 
against  them  at  once.  No  prudent  man 
will  risk  his  all  on  one  die ;  much  less  will 
he  expose  his  whole  fortune  to  many 
simultaneous  ventures.  Yet,  that  is  what 
has  been  done  by  a  large  class  of  our 
landowners  and  farmers,  and  they  are  suf- 
fering the  usual  results  of  their  infatua- 
tion. Time,  experience,  and,  perhaps,  a 
change  of  fortune — if  we  may  use  the 
term — will  set  the  strongest  and  best  of 
them  on  their  legs  once  more.  We  look 
to  that  rather  than  to  any  measure  of  le- 
gislative relief,  though  the  agriculturists 
have  quite  as  much  interest  as  the  mer- 
cantile classes — perhaps  even  a  greater 
— in  all  measures  of  financial  and  social 
reform."—  Times,  July  7,  1851. 

Here,  then,  is  "  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth," 
come  out  at  last.  It  has  become  so 
evident  and  notorious,  that  the  Free- 
Traders  can  no  looger  conceal  it,  and 
therefore  they  pretend  to  make  a  boast 
of  it,  and  ascribe  it  as  a  fault  of  their 
opponents.  It  is  Free  Trade  which 
has  done  the  whole.  "  FOR  NEARLY 

TWO  YEARS  AND  A  HALF  AGRICULTU- 
RAL PRICES  HAVE  BEEN  BELOW  A 
REMUNERATIVE  LEVEL."  Is  this  the 

croaking  of  some  gloomy  Protection- 
ist— the  cry  in  distress  of  some  ruined 
agriculturist  ?  No  !  It  is  the  admis- 
sion of  the  Times,  the  daily  and  hourly 
advocate  of  Free  Trade,  the  great  or- 
gan of  the  monied  and  export  manu- 
facturing interest.  Is  it  surprising 
that,  when  for  two  years  and  a  half 
agricultural  prices  have  been  below  a 
remunerative  level,  Ireland,  which 
is  entirely  an  agricultural  country, 
whose  export  of  manufactures  is  only 
L.230,000  a-year,  should  be  in  the 
most  miserable  state,  and  that  its  pea- 
santry, who  are  notoriously,  for  the 
most  part,  destitute  of  capital,  should 
be  entirely  prostrated,  and  reduced  to 
utter  despair  by  so  long-continued  and 
dreadful  a  reverse  ?  Could  the  Man- 
chester cotton  lords  stand  so  long  and 
fearful  a  decline  of  prices,  even  with 
the  aid  of  their  hundreds  of  thousands 
at  their  back  ?  How,  then,  is  it  to  be 
expected  that  the  Irish  cottars,  who 
have  no  capital  in  general  but  a  stout 
pair  of  legs  and  arms,  and  a  ragged 
vesture  to  clothe  them,  should  not  be 


131 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


[Aug. 


seized  with  titter  despair  at  such  a 
state  of  things  ? — and  need  we  be  sur- 
prised that  half  a  million  of  them 
should,  in  the  midst  of  a  profound 
peace  and  manufacturing  prosperity 
in  the  neighbouring  isle,  in  two  years 
"  seek,"  in  the  eloquent  words  of  the 
same  journal,  "  the  dangers  of  the 
emigrant  ship,  to  avoid  the  horrors  of 
the  workhouse"  ?  Free  Trade,  like  a 
devouring  fire,  is  ever  in  their  rear, 
ready  to  drive  them  to  perish  on  the 
wayside,  or  rot  in  the  workhouse. 
In  five  days  in  the  first  week  of  June 
last,  with  wheat  at  38s.  a  quarter, 
ninety -nine  ships  laden  with  grain  ar- 
rived in  Cork,  bringing  to  this  woe- 
stricken  and  poverty-begirt  land,  in 
overwhelming  quantities,  the  only 
article  on  which  their  industry  could 
by  possibility  be  profitably  exerted. 
What  would  the  manufacturers  of 
Manchester  say,  if,  at  the  period  of 
their  greatest  depression,  ninety-nine 
vessels  were  to  arrive  in  the  Mersey, 
in  five  days,  laden  with  foreign  cot- 
ton goods,  all  admitted  at  a  nominal 
duty  of  a  fortieth  of  the  declared  va- 
lue, corresponding  to  the  one-shilling 
duty  on  wheat?  Accordingly,  as 
might  be  expected,  the  progress  of 
depopulation  is  now  more  rapid  than 
ever  in  Ireland,  and  carrying  off  the 
whole  solvent  and  well-doing  part  of 
the  community.  Hear  the  Limerick 
Examiner  of  July  14,  1851 : — 

"  The  Limerick  Examiner  of  yesterday 
says  he  has  never  seen  the  quays  of 
Limerick  so  crowded  with  emigrants; 
and  adds,  '  The  only  surprise  is,  where 
do  the  numbers  come  from  ?  The  rem- 
nant of  the  substantial  farming  classes 
are  evidently  those  who  are  now  on  the 
move  —  those  who  have  bravely  fought 
against  accumulating  difficulties  for  the  last 
six  years.  .  .  .  Already  we  hear, 
on  good  authority,  that  even  for  the  sav- 
ing of  the  approaching  harvest  it  will  be 
very  difficult  to  obtain  hands  in  several 
rural  districts.  What  will  it  be  next 
year  ?  What  the  year  after  ?  Where  is 
the  drain  to  stop  \ '  The  tide  of  emigra- 
tion already  remarked  in  other  seaport 
towns  continues  to  floiv  on  icithout  any 
risible  abatement." 

Indeed,  so  sensible  are  the  Free- 
Traders  that  the  frightful  depopula- 
tion of  Ireland  is  owing  to  their  own 
policy,  and  it  alone,  that  they  are  pre- 
paring men's  minds  for  a  still  greater 


decline  in  the  population  of  that  island, 
and  even  for  its  extending  to  Great 
Britain.  Hear  again  the  Times  on 
this  momentous  subject : — 

"  Ten  years  ago  a  man  would  have 
been  laughed  at  who  should  have  ven- 
tured to  foretell,  that  before  the  expira- 
tion of  that  period  a  failure  of  the  potato 
would  reduce  the  population  of  Ire- 
land to  less  than  it  was  thirty  years  ago, 
and  would  send  more  than  a  million 
across  the  Atlantic.  Less  than  ten  years 
ago  we  remember  to  have  seen  it  affirmed 
that  nothing  would  ever  induce  an  Irish- 
man to  enter  a  workhouse  or  apply  for 
public  relief.  Facts,  however,  are  some- 
times more  paradoxical  than  opinions,  and 
we  now  find  ourselves  in  the  full  tide  of 
some  of  the  most  considerable  facts  icith 
which  history  acquaints  us.  We  may, 
then,  venture  to  ask  a  question,  which 
would  have  sounded  ridiculous  ten  years 
ago.  How  far  will  Ireland  leave  Ireland, 
and  England  follow  afterher  ?  It  is  at  least 
a  question  for  the  gravest  consideration. 
A.  quarter  of  the  Irish  peasantry  is  al- 
ready on  the  opposite  shore  of  the  Atlantic, 
and  that  quarter  represents  a  much  larger 
proportion  of  youth,  strength,  energy,  and 
skill.  What  is  gone  attracts  ;  what  re- 
mains repels.  While  the  Americans  have 
received  a  far  greater  number  than  they 
ever  thought  possible  to  be  admitted, 
their  own  opportunities  and  enterprise 
have  increased  in  a  still  more  astonishing 
ratio.  This  decade,  so  marvellous  in  the 
annals  of  a  marvellous  people,  has  been 
as  fertile  in  new  territories,  new  States, 
new  cities,  new  railroads,  new  canals, 
new  lines  of  maritime,  lake,  and  inland 
navigation,  new  manufactories,  and  new 
mines,  as  it  has  been  in  its  increased  po- 
pulation. Though  the  labourers  are  many, 
the  harvest  is  still  great.  Is  it  probable 
that  this  prospect  will  soon  lose  its  fasci- 
nation in  the  eyes  of  the  Irish  peasantry  ? 
They  know  what  they  will  find  in  the 
United  States — what  is  there  in  their  own 
country  to  detain  them  at  home  ?  Even 
the  mortality  and  the  casualties  of  an 
emigrant  ship  are  trifling  compared  with 
those  of  a  workhouse.  They  are  incited 
and  assisted  by  those  who  have  gone  be- 
fore. Are  there  really  no  bounds  to  this 
emigration,  or  even  a  probability  of  its 
being  confined  to  its  present  amount  ? 
Civil  war  between  the  States  of  the  Union, 
or  a  dreadful  epidemic,  might  check  the 
emigration,  but  that  would  be  only  for  a 
time.  On  the  whole,  we  hold  it  safe  to 
reckon  on  Ireland  being  still  further  depo- 
pulated, and  the  United  States  still  fur- 
ther peopled  from  that  island. 

"  But  why  should  not  the  population  of 


1851.] 

Ireland  be  reduced,  say  to  four  or  five 
millions  ?  Should  that,  indeed,  come  to 
pass,  it  must  and  will  involve  great 
changes  in  the  social  and  political  state, 
not  only  of  Ireland,  but  of  Great  Britain 
also.  It  must  greatly  increase  the  value 
of  labour,  and  the  appreciation  of  the 
labourer  throughout  these  isles.  For  a 
whole  generation  man  has  been  a  drug  in 
this  country,  and  population  a  nuisance. 
It  has  scarcely  entered  into  the  heads  of 
economists  that  they  would  ever  have  to 
deal  with  a  deficiency  of  labour.  The 
inexhaustible  Irish  supply  has  kept  down 
the  price  of  English  labour,  whether  in 
the  field,  the  railway,  the  factory,  the 
army,  or  the  navy ;  whether  at  the  sickle, 
the  spade,  the  hod,  or  the  desk.  We 
believe  that  for  fifty  years  at  the  least, 
labour,  taking  its  quality  into  account, 
has  been  cheaper  in  this  country  than  in 
any  part  of  Europe  ;  and  that  this  cheap- 
ness of  labour  has  contributed  vastly  to 
the  improvement  and  power  of  the  coun- 
try, to  the  success  of  all  mercantile  pur- 
suits, and  to  the  enjoyment  of  those  who 
have  money  to  spend.  This  same  cheap- 
ness has  placed  the  labouring  classes  most 
effectually  under  the  hand  of  money  and 
the  heel  of  power.  But  will  there  not  be 
a  change,  and  a  beginning  of  changes, 
when  our  great  reservoirs  of  human  la- 
bour begin  to  fall  short ;  when  every 
employer  of  the  people,  from  the  authorities 
at  the  Horse  Guards  and  the  Admiralty 
to  the  occupier  of  fifty  acres, or  the  possessor 
of  half  a  dozen  lace-machines,  begins  to  call 
in  rain  for  more  hands  ?  Will  it  not  be 
a  day  of  change  when,  instead  of  two  men 
being  after  one  master,  two  masters  will 
be  after  one  man  ?  Perhaps  it  will  be 
thought  that,  at  all  events,  the  condition 
of  the  labourer  will  be  so  much  bettered 
that  there  will  be  no  English  emigration. 
Of  that  we  are  not  sure.  What  keeps  the 
English  labourer  at  home  is  his  profound 
ignorance,  his  want  of  versatility,  and  his 
habits  of  dependence.  But  these  pecu- 
liarities will  be  much  affected  by  any 
social  changes  that  shall  make  the  la- 
bourer more  actually  independent  than 
he  now  is;  and  we  can  conceive  a  great 
demand  for  labour,  skilled  or  unskilled, 
increasing  emigration  instead  of  repressing 
it.  Such  changes  will  give  the  labourer 
the  means,  the  combination,  the  self- 
management,  and  perhaps  also,  in  the 
increasing  quarrels  between  master  and 
servant,  the  provocation  necessary  for  try- 
ing a  new  country."— Times,  July  3,  1851. 


To  do  the  Free-Traders  justice, 
they  have  strong  nerves,  and  can  look 
the  consequences  of  their  acts  in  the 
face.  They  are  prepared  for  the 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade.  135 

population  of  Ireland  being  reduced 
to  four  millions,  less  than  half  of  what 
it  was  in  1841  ;  and  they  expect 
England  to  follow  the  example.  They 
are  prepared  for  our  twenty  millions 
being  reduced  to  ten  millions,  and 
that  at  a  time  when,  by  a  different 
policy,  it  might,  with  safety  and 
comfort  to  all  concerned,  be  raised  to 
thirty  millions  in  Great  Britain  alone. 
They  are  not  deterred  by  the  consider- 
ation how,  with  half  our  inhabitants, 
and  less  than  half  our  resources,  we  are 
to  pay  the  interest  of  our  whole  debt, 
rendered  doubly  oppressive  by  the 
general  effect  of  the  cheapening  sys- 
tem, and  consequent  decline  of  all  the 
incomes  from  which  its  interest  is  to 
be  extracted.  The  only  thing  which 
staggers  them  is  the  probable  rise  in 
the  wages  of  labour,  in  consequence 
of  the  millions  of  labourers  who  have 
left  the  country.  They  are  somewhat 
alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  "  every 
employer  of  the  people,  from  the 
authorities  at  the  Horse  Guards  and 
the  Admiralty  to  the  occupier  of  fifty 
acres,  or  the  possessor  of  half-a-dozen 
lace-machines,  calling  in  vain  for 
more  hands."  That  does  alarm  them ; 
for  it  threatens  to  neutralise  all  the 
advantages  expected  from  this  policy. 
The  ruling  passion  is  strong  in  death. 
They  can  contemplate,  without  dis- 
may, the  halving  of  the  population, 
power,  and  resources  of  their  country  ; 
but  the  thought  of  a  rise  in  the  wages 
of  its  labour  does  strike  them  with 
apprehension.  That  is  the  only 
black  spot  in  the  otherwise  to  them 
brilliant  prospects  of  the  decline 
in  our  numbers,  power,  resources, 
and  means  of  independence,  coupled 
with  a  constant  increase  in  the  value 
of  accumulated  capital,  from  the  gene- 
ral poverty  with  which  it  is  sur- 
rounded. They  see,  however,  that  a 
rise  in  the  wages  of  labour  is  the 
necessary  result  in  the  end  of  a  policy 
which  drives  the  labourers  out  of  the 
country ;  and  they  are  in  alarm  at 
the  prospect  of  the  final  result  of  a 
system  introduced  for  no  other  object 
but  for  their  own  profit — to  cheapen 
those  very  wages.  Should  such  a 
result,  however,  in  the  end  take 
place — as  take  place  it  will  if  the  pre- 
sent system  is  continued  many  years 
longer — it  will  not  be  the  first  instance 
in  which  the  power  of  Providence  has 


136 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


[Aug. 


been  found  to  be  stronger  than  the 
perversity  of  man  ;  and  after  a  gene- 
ration has  been  sufficiently  punished 
by  the  consequences  of  its  own  acts 
for  its  selfishness  and  its  wilful  blind- 
ness, the  benignity  of  the  Almighty 
has  interfered  to  put  a  period  to  its 
self-inflicted,  though  not  intended, 
chastisement. 

Nothing  can  put  in  a  clearer  light 
the  extraordinary  folly  and  blind  per- 
versity of  our  present  policy,  than 
what  recently  occurred  in  the  House 
of  Commons  on  occasion  of  the  dis- 
cussion of  Mr  Scully's  motion  for  the 
employment  in  profitable  labour  of 
the  able-bodied  adults  who,  to  the 
number  of  above  100,000,  crowd  the 
Irish  workhouses.  What  objection 
did  the  Government  functionaries 
make  to  the  proposal  ?  Was  it  that 
employment  could  not  be  found  for 
them — or  that  the  means  of  employing 
them  beneficially  for  themselves  and 
nsefully  for  their  country,  did  not 
exist  ?  Not  at  all.  What  was  said, 
and  all  tfiat  was  said,  was,  that  if  em- 
ployed in  useful  labour,  whereby  they 
might  do  something  for  their  own 
support,  and  lighten  the  weight  of 
poor-rates  in  the  country,  they  would 
injuriously  compete  with  the  outdoor 
labour  in  their  vicinity;  and  to  that 
argument  a  majority  of  the  House  of 
Commons  gave  effect.*  That  is  to 
say,  such  has  been  the  decay  of 
employment  in  Ireland,  owing  to 
the  importation  of  foreign  grain,  and 
the  glutting  of  the  English  market 
both  with  cattle  and  corn  from 
foreign  parts,  that  it  is  not  enough 
that  1,860,000  human  beings  have 
disappeared  in  five  years  —  labour 
is  so  much  a  drug  at  home,  from 
its  "  having  for  two  years  and  a 
half  been  unremunerative,"  as  the 
Times  tells  us,  that  the  Irish  autho- 
rities are  obliged  to  keep  from 
150,000  to  250,000  paupers  con- 
stantly shut  up  in  workhouses,  for 
the  most  part  able-bodied  but  per- 
fectly idle,  at  an  annual  cost  of  from 
£1,500,000  to  £2,500,000  a-year; 
because  if  allowed  to  work,  they  might 
throw  put  of  bread  some  of  the  un- 
pauperised  labourers  in  their  vicinity. 
And  this,  too,  although  above  200,000 
emigrants  are  annually  leaving  the 


Emerald  Isle  in  quest  of  that  employ- 
ment beyond  the  Atlantic  which 
they  can  no  longer  hope  for  in  their 
own  ruined  land  ;  and  that  in  a 
country  in  which  8,500,000  inhabit- 
ants were,  comparatively  speaking, 
in  comfortable  circumstances  six 
years  ago;  and  where  not  only  are 
there  several  millions  of  acres  of 
waste  land  capable  of  being  rendered 
arable,  awaiting  only  the  arms  of 
laborious  industry  to  convert  them 
into  smiling  fields,  but  the  agricul- 
tural resources  of  the  country  are 
such  that,  if  properly  cultivated,  it 
could,  in  comfort  and  affluence,  main- 
tain triple  its  present  number  of 
inhabitants !  What  is  the  cause  of 
this  extraordinary  and  most  melan- 
choly anomaly  ?  Simply  this  :  the 
Times  has  told  us  what  it  is :  "  Agri- 
cultural labour  for  two  years  and  a 
half  has  been  unremunerative"  and 
Ireland  is  solely  and  exclusively  an 
agricultural  country.  Othello's  occu- 
pation is  gone.  His  only  means  of 
living  is  at  an  end.  The  ninety -nine 
ships  laden  with  grain  unloading  in 
Cork  harbour  in  five  days,  with 
wheat  at  38s.  a  quarter,  explains  the 
whole.  And  if  statistics  were  want- 
ing to  prove  how  it  is  that  the  re- 
sources of  this  noble  and  fertile 
island  have  been  wasted  away  under 
the  influence  of  Free-Trade  legisla- 
tion, we  should  find  it  in  the  facts, 
that  the  total  importation  of  all  kinds 
of  grain  into  the  Empire  is  now  from 
nine  to  ten  millions  of  quarters  annu- 
ally ;  and  that  the  export  of  Irish 
grain  to  Great  Britain  has  sunk  from 
3,250,000  quarters  in  1845  to  1,426,000 
quarters  in  1849;  while  1,500,000 
quarters  of  foreign  grain  were  poured 
in  the  last  year  into  that  agricultural 
island. 

When  Free  Trade  has,  in  so  short 
a  time,  committed  such  devastation 
in  our  population,  has  it  produced  any 
beneficial  results  on  our  production, 
wealth,  resources,  or  shipping,  which 
may  serve  as  a  set-off  against  such 
appalling  and  unprecedented  evils  ? 
The  answer  is,  not  only  that  there  are 
no  such  advantages,  but  that  the  ef- 
fect has  been  just  the  reverse  ;  and  it 
is  hard  to  say  whether  the  chasm 
which  the  new  system  has  made  in 


Times,  July  9,  1851. 


1851.] 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


137 


our  wealth  and  resources,  is  not  greater 
than  that  which  it  is  proved  to  have 
effected  in  our  population.  Facts,  un- 
deniable, damning  facts,  establish  this 
beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt ;  and 
he  who  refuses  assent  to  them,  would 
not  be  convinced  though  one  rose 
from  the  dead. 

From  a  paper  lately  laid  before 
Parliament,  it  appears  that  the  pro- 
perty assessed  for  trades  and  profes- 
sions, (schedule  D,)  in  the  under-men- 
tioned years,  has  stood  as  follows  : — 


1843, 
1848, 
1850, 


L.63,021,904 
60,068,090 
54,977,566 


Decrease  since  1843,     L.9,043,338  * 

So  that  all  that  Free  Trade  has 
done  for  trades  and  professions — that 
is,  the  entire  commerce  and  manufac- 
tures of  Great  Britain — has  been  to 
reduce  its  profits  nine  millions  in  five 
years  ;  that  is,  nearly  two  millions 
a-year.  It  is  in  vain  to  say  this  was 
owing  to  the  monetary  crisis  of  1847— ^ 
not  Free  Trade ;  that  is  only  another 
way  of  stating  the  same  thing.  Every- 
body knows  the  monetary  crisis,  with 
all  its  consequent  horrors,  was  the  di- 
rect result  of  the  monetary  laws,  in- 
troduced with  no  other  view  but  to 
follow  out  the  grand  cheapening  sys- 
tem, by  augmenting  the  value  of 
money  and  diminishing  the  value  of 
everything  else. 

Then  as  to  the  returns  from  land, 
measured  by  schedule  A  in  the  income- 
tax  return,  it  was  lately  stated  by 


Lord  Granby  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, without  contradiction  from  the 
Ministerial  benches,  that  it  exhibited 
a  falling-off  of  L.20,000,000,  or  nearly 
a  fourth  of  the  entire  amount  of  that 
species  of  production  since  Free  Trade 
was  introduced.  Were  Ireland  in- 
cluded in  the  tax,  the  decline  would 
be  nearly  L.10,000,000  more,  or  a 
third  of  the  entire  revenue  of  the 
country.  We  shall  see  how  the  pro- 
duce of  the  income-tax  will  stand  in 
the  quarters  next  year,  when  this 
prodigious  defalcation  comes  to  affect 
the  sums  paid  into  Exchequer.  It  al- 
ready begins  to  appear,  although  the 
money  paid  in  the  year  ending  July 
5,  1851,  was,  of  course,  founded  on 
the  returns  made  in  the  year  ending 
April  5,  1850,  when  the  great  fall  of 
prices  had  only  recently  begun. f 
u  Coming  events  cast  their  shadows 
before."  The  property-tax  returns 
are  now  declining  at  the  rate  of 
L. 50,000  a-quarter ;  and  next  year, 
beyond  all  question,  it  will  be 
L.  100,000  a-quarter.  Need  we  won- 
der that  such  a  result  takes  place, 
when  the  Times  itself  tells  us,  that  for 
two  years  and  a  half,  agriculture,  on 
which  three-fifths  of  that  impost  de- 
pends, has  been  carried  on  without  any 
remuneration  ? 

The  decline  in  our  resources  is 
equally  clearly  evinced  in  the  general 
finances  of  the  Empire.  The  decrease 
on  the  year  ending  5th  July  1851,  as 
compared  with  the  corresponding  re- 
turns in  the  preceding  year,  has  stood 
thus : — 


Year  ending  Quarter  ending 

5th  July  1850,  L.50,414,750  5th  July  1850,  L.13,005,406 

5th  July  1851,  50,204,011  5th  July  1851,  12,910,052 


Decrease  on  the  year, 
—Return,  July  1851. 


L.210,739 


Decrease  on  the  quarter,  L. 95,354 


*  Parliamentary  paper,  20th  Feb.  1851. 
t  Property-tax,  year  ending  5th  July — 

1850,  .     '        .  L.5,459,843 

1851,  .  .  5,353,425 

Decrease  in  the  year,  L.I  06,418 

Quarter  ending  5th  July — 

1850,  .  ,  L.1,026,835 

1851,  .  -.  976,881 


"  Decrease  in  the  quarter, 


L.49,954 


138 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


[Aug. 


So  that  all  the  Free-Traders  have 
got  by  their  boasted  system,  in  which 
everything  was  to  be  sacrificed  to 
wealth,  is  a  decline  on  a  year  of  above 
L.200,000,  now  grown  into  nearly 
L.I 00,000  a-quarter. 

It  is  to  no  purpose  to  say  that  this 
decline  was  partly  owing  to  the  re- 
mission of  taxes ;  that  we  took  off  the 
tax  on  bricks  last  year  to  please  the 
builder  of  tall  chimneys,  and  on 
stamps  to  relieve  insolvent  land- 
owners who  were  disposing  of  their 
property.  That  may  be  very  true ; 
but  what  was  it  which  rendered  neces- 
sary this  reduction  of  taxation  ? 
Every  one  knows  it  was  to  the  last 
degree  impolitic  and  unstatesmau- 
like ;  on  the  one  hand,  the  national 
debt  which,  as  Sir  Charles  Wood  told 
us  last  year,  had  increased  £20,000,000 
during  the  last  twenty  years  of  pro- 
found peace,  arose  in  portentous  and 
alarming  magnitude,  loudly  calling 
for  reduction ;  on  the  other,  the  co- 
lonies and  the  parent  state — both  of 
which  were  in  evident  peril  from  the 
inadequacy  of  our  naval  and  military 
establishment  —  as  imperiously  de- 
manded not  a  reduction,  but  a  great 
increase  of  our  forces,  both  by  land  and 
sea.  With  such  pressing  calls  for 


every  shilling  of  surplus  revenue,  on 
the  one  hand  to  effect  a  reduction  in 
the  debt,  on  the  other  to  make  the 
necessary  augmentation  to  our  de- 
fences by  laud  and  sea,  how  does  it 
happen  that  any  remission  of  taxa- 
tion is  even  so  much  as  thought  of  by 
Government  ?  Simply  because  it  had 
become  unavoidable  ;  because  the 
cheapening  system,  the  fall  of  prices, 
and  consequent  decline  of  incomes, 
have  rendered  these  taxes  unbearable ; 
and  the  general  outcry  against  bur- 
dens— which  are  every  day  becoming 
more  oppressive,  from  the  diminished 
resources  of  those  who  are  to  bear  them 
— had  become  such,  that  no  Ministry 
could  venture  to  face  the  country, 
without  a  show  at  least  of  measures 
calculated  for  this  reduction. 

Again,  as  to  the  shipping  interest, 
the  country  owes  a  deep  debt  of  grati- 
tude to  the  great  leader  of  the  Pro- 
tectionists, Lord  Stanley,  now  the  Earl 
of  Derby,  for  having  brought  the  effect 
of  the  recent  measures  prominently 
before  Parliament.  From  them  it  ap- 
pears that  since  the  repeal  of  the  Navi- 
gation Laws  came  into  operation  on 
January  1st,  1849,  the  following  de- 
cline in  British,  and  increase  in  foreign, 
shipping  has  taken  place  : — 


ENTERED    INWARDS. 


Total  tonnage, 

Of  which  United  Kingdom, 

Foreign, 
Spain, 

Total  tonnage, 

Of  which  United  Kingdom, 

Foreign, 

Spain, 

Total  tonnage, 

Of  which  United  Kingdom, 

Foreign, 

Spain, 

Total  tonnage, 

Of  which  United  Kingdom, 

Foreign, 

Spain, 


To  Jan.     1849 

1850 

1851 

Increase. 

5,579,461 

6,071,269  . 

6,113,696 

42,427 

Decrense. 

4,020,415 

4,390,375 

4,078,544 

311,831 

Increase. 

1,552,046 

1,680,894 

2,035,152 

354,258 

14,672 

17,812 

23,717 

CLEARED    OUTWARDS. 

Increase. 

5,051,237 

5,429,908 

5,906,978 

477,070 

3,553,777 

3,762,182 

3,960,764 

198,582 

1,497,460 

1,667,726 

1,946,214 

278,483 

14,352 

18,897 

22,611 

FOUR   MONTHS. — INWARDS. 

1,554,960  1,409,451 

1,406,813  946,745 

598,147  462,706 

3,758  6.857 

CLEARED   OUTWARDS. 

1,724,574         1,724,315 
1,258,895 


1,690,247 

1,025,793 

664,454 

8,046 


Increase. 

280,796 

79,048 

201,748 


1,211,794 

512,780 

4,756 


Increase. 
216,138 
80,359 
135,779 


Thus  it  appears  that  the  total  ton- 
nage of  the  Empire,  which  in  the  year 
ending  5th  Jan.  1849  was  5,579,461 
tons,  had  increased,  in  the  year  end- 


1,940,453 
1.339,254 

465,420  '601,199 

6,705  9,092 

ing  5th  Jan.  1851,  to  6,113,696  tons, 
or  above  500,000  tons.  It  is  this 
increase  which  the  Times  and  the 
Free-Traders  always  rest  upon,  with- 


1851.] 

out  going  farther.  They  studiously 
keep  ont  of  view  in  what  proportions 
the  increase  is  divided^  between  our  own 
shipowners  and  foreigners.  They  for- 
get to  tell  us,  or  rather  they  remember 
very  well  and  will  not  tell  us,  that  on 
the  shipping  of  the  United  Kingdom 
there  has  been  a  decrease,  during  these 
two  years  of  free  trade  in  shipping, 
of  311,831  tons;  while  on  the  foreign 
shipping  there  has  been  an  increase, 
during  the  same  two  years,  including 
Spain,  of  354,256  tons ;  making  be- 
tween the  two,  in  two  years,  a  differ- 
ence of  666,087  tons,  or  nearly  THREE 
HUNDRED  AND  THIRTY  THOUSAND 
TONS  A- YEAR  ! !  And  this  prodi- 
gious and,  to  a  maritime  power,  most 
Eerilous  change,  so  far  from  diminish- 
ig  in  the  present  year,  is  hourly  and 
rapidly  augmenting ;  for  of  the  in- 
crease inwards  of  the  shipping  em- 
ployed in  conducting  our  trade,  which 
in  the  first  four  months  of  1851 
amounted  in  all  to  280,796  tons, 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade.  1391 

there  was  foreign,  including  Spanish,. 
201,748  tons;  British,  only  79,048, 
So  that  our  trade  is  fast  gliding 
into  the  hands  of  foreigners ;  and  its 
boasted  increase  is  adding  to  the 
strength  of  our  maritime  rivals  and 
enemies  nearly  thrice  as  fast  as  it  is 
augmenting  our  own.  And  this  is 
what  Free  Trade  has  done  for  the 
shipping  interest. 

Has,  then,  Free  Trade  in  every 
department  diminished  the  returns, 
and  has  it  nowhere  given  the  Board 
of  Trade  the  cheering  prospect  of  an 
increase?  Yes;  there  are  three  par- 
ticulars in  which  the  returns  do  exhi- 
bit a  great  and  marked  increase,, 
which  may  well  be  put  beside  the- 
extraordinary  decline  in  our  numbers,, 
income,  resources,  and  shipping. 
These  are,  in  crime,  emigration,  and 
poor-rates.  The  following  table,  taken 
from  the  Parliamentary  Returns,  will 
sufficiently  prove  this : — 


Year. 

Emigrants. 

Commitments 
in  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland. 

Poor-Rates, 
England. 

Prices  of 
wheat 
yearly. 

Poor-Rate  in 
quarters  of 
wheat. 

£ 

a.    d. 

1840 

90,743 

54,892 

4,576,965 

68     5 

1,336,340 

1841 

118,592 

52,118 

4,760,929 

65     3 

1,459,288 

1842 

128,344 

56,684 

4,911,498 

64     9 

1,534,843 

1843 

57,212 

53,332 

5,208,027 

54     4 

1,917,665 

1844 

70,686 

49,565 

4,976,093 

51     5 

1,935,595 

1845 

93,501 

44,536 

5,039,708 

50  10 

1,976,354 

1846 

129,851 

47,668 

4,954,204 

54     8 

1,801,528 

1847 

258,270 

64,677 

5,298,787 

69     9 

1,513,939 

1848 

248,089 

73,780 

6,180,764 

50     6 

2,423,436 

1849 

299,498 

74,162 

5,792,963 

44     3 

2,433,166 

1850 

280,896 

5,600,000 

40     2 

2,800,000 

The  only  figures  in  the  above  table 
not  taken  from  the  Parliamentary 
Returns  is  the  poor-rate  of  1850, 
•which  has  not  yet  been  published,  that 
we  have  seen.  But  taking  it  at 
£5,600,000,  which  is  £162,000  less 
than  the  preceding  year,  the  result  is 
that  the  poor  in  the  last  year  cost 
2,800,000  quarters  of  wheat,  being 
the  greatest  ever  yet  known;  the 
number  in  1834,  the  year  before  the 
new  poor-law  came  into  operation, 
being  2,736,717  quarters  only.  At 
any  rate,  supposing  we  stopt  short 
with  the  poor-rate  of  1849,  which  is 
the  last  yet  published,  it  is  much 
greater  measured  in  quarters  of  grain, 
the  real  test,  than  in  any  year  of  the 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXX. 


last  decade.  As  to  the  emigrants 
and  commitments,  the  former  have 
more  than  tripled,  the  last  nearly 
doubled,  since  Free  Trade  was  intro- 
duced. 

What  have  the  Free-Traders  to  set 
off  against  this  frightful  decline  in- 
the  numbers  of  the  people,  and  in 
their  resources,  income,  shipping, 
and  national  revenue,  and  the  in- 
crease in  all  the  particulars  which 
indicate  increased  suffering  or  aug- 
mented demoralisation  among  the 
people?  Nothing  but  the  increased 
exports  and  imports,  which  have 
stood  thus  during  the  four  years 
immediately  following  the  introduc- 
tion of  Free  Trade : — 


140 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


[Aug. 


IN    FIVE    YEARS   BEFORE    FREE   TRADE. 

IN   FIVE   YEARS   FOLLOWING    FREE   TRADE. 

Year. 

Exports- 
Declared  Value. 

Imports  — 
Declared  Value. 

Year. 

Exports  — 
Declared  Value. 

Imports  — 
Declared  Value. 

1841 
1842 
1843 
1844 
1845 

£51,634,623 
47,381,023 
52,279,709 
58,584,292 
60,111,082 

£64,377,962 
65,204,729 
70,093,353 
85,441,555 
85,281,958 

1846 
1847 
1848 
1849 
1850 

£58,786,876 
58,842,377 
52,849,445 
63,596,025 
65,756,032 

£75,953,875 
90,921,866 
93,547,134 
105,874,607 
103,000,000* 

£269,990,929 

£370,399,357 

£299,830,745 

£469,197,482 

So  that  the  boasted  increase  of  ex- 
ports arising  from  Free  Trade,  suppos- 
ing it  all  owing  to  that,  aud  no  part  of 
it  to  the  impulse  given  to  commerce  by 
the  pacification  of  the  Continent  and 
the  opening  of  Californian  treasures, 
comes  to  this,  that  it  has  increased 
in  five  years  after  Free  Trade  was 
introduced,  as  compared  with  five 
years  before  that  change  took  place, 
from  L.269,000,000  to  L.299,000,000, 
being  L.30,000,000  in  five  years- 
being  not  more  than  had  taken  place 
in  a  similar  time  during  every  five 
years  since  the  battle  of  Waterloo. 

But  these  tables  of  the  imports 
and  exports  suggest  another  con- 
sideration of  the  very  last  importance, 
especially  to  the  commercial  classes. 
This  is  the  enormous  and  rapidly 
increasing  amount  of  our  imports 
compared  with  our  exports.  It 
appears  that  this  difference  in  the 
five  years  of  Free  Trade  has  swollen 
to  L.170,000,000;  whereas,  in  the 
five  years  preceding  that  change,  it 
was  only  L.  100,000,000.  Mr  Wilson, 
of  Economist  celebrity,  accordingly 
boasts,  that  since  Free  Trade  was 
introduced,  our  exports  have  in- 
creased 51  per  cent,  and  our  imports 
61  per  cent.  Be  it  so,  How  is  this 
huge  and  daily  increasing  balance  to 
be  paid  V  It  can  only  be  in  cash, 
or  bills  representing  cash  ;  aud,  be- 
yond all  doubt,  it  is  this  alarming 
-.s  of  our  imports  above  our 
exports  which  is  the  cause  of  those 
terrible  monetary  crises  which  now 
periodically  devastate  the  land,  and 


spread  such  unutterable  misery 
among  all  classes.  What  can  be 
expected  from  the  continuance  of  a 
system  which,  as  the  result  proves, 
has  given  so  much  greater  an  impulse 
to  our  imports  than  our  exports — 
in  other  words,  to  the  industry  of 
foreigners  over  that  of  ourselves — 
but  a  continued  and  increasing  strain 
on  the  metallic  resources  of  the  country, 
which  must  perpetuate  the  danger, 
and  render  more  frequent  the  recur- 
rence of  these  monetary  catastrophes? 
And  thus,  while  Free  Trade  has 
made  such  hideous  chasms  in  our 
population,  and  decreased  so  sensibly 
our  national  riches,  income,  ship- 
ping, and  industry,  it  has  tended 
only  in  the  manufacturing  class,  for 
whose  benefit  it  was  introduced,  to 
render  certain,  and  hasten  the  recur- 
rence of  those  terrible  commercial 
catastrophes  which  at  once  sweep  the 
whole  gains,  ill-gotten  because  made 
at  others'  expense,  of  the  years  which 
have  intervened  since  the  last.  It  was 
reserved  for  the  Free-Traders  to  in- 
troduce a  system,  of  which  it  may  be 
truly  said,  that  it  is  the  only  one 
which,  since  the  beginning  of  the 
world,  induces  with  certainty  the  most 
terrible  calamities  from  its  greatest 
and  most  boasted  triumphs,  and  acce- 
lerates their  approach  by  the  very 
magnitude  of  those  triumphs. 

We  conclude  with  the  words, 
rendered  now  more  impressive  from 
the  entire  confirmation  they  have  re- 
ceived through  subsequent  revelations 
of  disaster,  with  which  we  ended  a 


*  Taken  at  a  guess,  as  the  return  for  that  year  of  the  total  value  of  importations 

is  not  yet  come  out.     The   above,  however,  cannot  be  far  from  the  mark,  as  the 

.-House  duties   of  1849  were  L.22,194,600;  of  1850,  L.2 1,904. 66$, 

.  10th  February  1851,  p.  10. 


1851.] 

similar  essay  two  years  ago.  "  Let  the 
Free-Traders  be  of  good  cheer  :  they 
have  done  marvellous  things.  They 
have  accomplished  what  no  British 
statesman  since  the  days  of  Alfred  has 
been  able  to  effect.  They  have  stopped 
the  growth  of  our  population,  and  for 
the  first  time  during  five  centuries  ren- 
dered it  retrograde.'1'1  *  But  the  now  as- 
certained result  has  greatly  outstrip- 
ped what  we  then  predicted  —  so 
much  have  the  real  effects  of  Free- 
Traders'  measures  gone  beyond  what 
the  most  gloomy  imagination  among 
the  Protectionists  could  then  antici- 
pate. Irrespective  of  plague,  pestilence, 
and  famine,  they  have  caused  a  chasm 
in  five  years  in  the  Irish  population  of 
1,800,000  souls,  in  the  whole  Empire 
of  900,000.  They  have  sent,  for  the 
last  three  years,  from  250,000  to 
300,000  people  yearly  out  of  the 
country  in  search  of  that  food  of  which 
they  were  deprived  at  home.  They 
have  with  one  blow  swamped  the  Poor 
Law  Amendment  Act  in  England, 
rendered  necessary  a  crushing  rate 
in  Ireland  and  Scotland,  and  made 
rates  higher  in  England  during  two 
years  of  boasted  prosperity,  when 
measured  in  grain,  their  real  standard , 
than  they  ever  were  before  in  the 
worst  years  of  deplored  misery.  They 
have  extended  crime,  during  these 
two  boasted  years,  to  an  extent  never 
before  known  in  the  gloomiest  periods 
of  disaster.  They  have,  on  the  admis- 
sion of  their  ablest  supporters,  rendered 
agricultural  industry  unremunerative 
for  two  years  and  a  half  over  the  whole 
country.  They  have  cut  £9,000,000 
annually  off  the  income  of  trades  and 
professions,  £20,000,000  off  the  rent 
of  land  in  Great  Britain.  They  have 
destroyed  all  hope — as  long  as  their 
system  is  continued— of  reducing  the 
debt ;  and  have  added  30  per  cent  to 
its  weight  by  taking  as  much  eff  the 
incomes  of  those  by  whom  it  is  to  be 
paid.  They  have  extirpated  in  a  few 
years  200,000  cultivators  in  Ireland. 
They  have  lowered,  by  their  monetary 
system,  railway  property  at  least  a 
half  over  the  whole  Empire,  and  cut 


The  Census  and  Free  Trade. 


141 


a  moiety  off  its  whole  commercial 
wealth.  They  have  rendered  the 
nation  dependent  in  three  years  for  a 
fourth  part  of  the  entire  food  of  the 
people  on  foreign  states.  They  have 
compelled  the  Government,  by  the 
cheapening  system,  and  consequent 
decline  of  the  revenue  which  it  is 
possible  to  extract  from  the  people, 
to  lower  the  national  establishments 
so  much,  that  the  occurrence  of  dis- 
aster, on  the  first  breaking  out  of  hos- 
tilities, is  a  matter  of  certainty  ;  and 
the  maintenance  of  the  national 
independence,  if  the  present  system  is 
continued  for  any  length  of  time,  has 
become  impossible.  They  have  de- 
stroyed £100,000,000  worth  of  pro- 
perty in  the  West  Indies.  They  have 
sown  the  seeds  of  separation  by  sever- 
ing the  bond  of  protection  in  Canada, 
and  diffused  such  discontent  through 
the  other  colonies,  that,  in  despair  of 
preserving,  they  are  preparing  to 
abandon  them.  They  have  repealed 
the  Navigation  Laws,  and  caused  two- 
thirds  of  the  annual  increment  of  the 
shipping  employed  in  carrying  on  our 
trade,  to  pass  into  the  hands  of  our 
enemies.  The  Peace  Congress,  headed 
by  Mr  Cobden,  has  done  that  which 
no  war  congress  in  modern  times  has 
been  able  to  effect.  They  have  caused 
the  disappearance,  in  five  years,  of  a 
million  and  a  half  of  our  people,  while 
the  most  sanguinary  war  recorded  in 
our  annals  was  attended,  in  the  same 
time,  by  an  increase  of  as  much.  They 
have  stopped  the  increase  of  the  re- 
mainder by  depriving  so  many  of  them 
of  bread.  They  have  been  worse  ene- 
mies to  human  happiness  than  either 
the  rivalry  of  kings,  or  the  ambition 
of  their  ministers:  they  have  done  that 
to  stop  the  growth  of  mankind  which 
neither  the  guillotine  of  the  Conven- 
tion nor  the  sword  of  Napoleon  had 
been  able  to  effect.  They  have  not 
only  mowed  down  the  present  gene- 
ration, but  prevented  the  possibility 
of  its  restoration;  for  they  have  de- 
prived the  majority  of  those  who  sur- 
vive, not  only  of  subsistence  for  the 
present,  but  hope  for  the  future. 


*  Blacku-ood's  Magazine,  December  1840. 


142 


Voltaire  in  the  Crystal  Palace. 


VOLTAIRE  IN  THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE. 


IT  was  impossible  to  keep  him  quiet 
— there  would  have  been  no  peace  in 
the  shadowy  regions  of  the  departed 
unless  this  energetic,  inquisitive,  self- 
willed  spirit  had  been  allowed  to  have 
his  own  way ;  and  Voltaire,  rising  to 
the  earth  in  the  city  of  Paris,  (where 
else  could  his  spirit  rise  ?)  started  by 
train  to  see  the  Great  Exhibition. 

Reports  had  reached  him  that  in  a 
Crystal  Palace,  not  far  from  the 
Thames,  were  to  be  assembled  speci- 
mens of  the  industry  of  all  nations — 
nothing  less  than  a  museum  of  the 
works  of  man.  But  it  was  not  this 
only  that  had  excited  the  curiosity  of 
the  philosopher  of  Ferney.  Rumours 
of  a  new  era  of  society,  of  unex- 
ampled advancement  or  development 
of  mankind,  had  from  time  to  time 
descended  into  the  territory  of  the 
shades,  and  had  kindled  a  desire  to 
revisit  the  earth. 

It  is  a  well-known  fact,  for  which 
our  mesmeric  and  clairvoyant  philo- 
sophers will  stand  guarantee,  that, 
when  spirits  return  to  this  world, 
they  (as  in  the  curious  case  of  a 
double  consciousness)  forget  their 
spiritual  existence,  and  re- assume 
the  mental  habits,  as  well  as  the 
corporeal  forms,  of  their  earthly  lives. 
Thus  it  is,  that  whilst  nothing  is  more 
common  than  the  apparition  of  such 
spirits,  we  never  learn  anything  from 
them  of  their  own  spiritual  world. 
They  could  not  tell  us.  They  are  at 
the  time  oblivious.  By  dint  of  cer- 
tain strong  terrestrial  sympathies  they 
have  become  invested  with  their  past 
consciousness,  and  do,  in  fact,  return 
to  their  former  selves.  This  point  has 
been  so  satisfactorily  cleared  up,  that 
a  brief  allusion  to  it  is  all  that  can  be 
necessary.  Henceforward  let  no  one 
be  surprised  that  the  ghost  of  a  man 
speaks  so  much  like  the  man  himself, 
so  much  like  a  mere  mortal  revived  ; 
for,  as  Mrs  Crowe  and  others  will 
explain  to  him,  it  is  precisely  because 
the  departed  spirit  is  absorbed  in  its 
past  thoughts  and  feelings,  that  it  has 
become  a  ghost.  This  is  the  very 
philosophy  and  the  true  scientific  ex- 
planation of  a  ghost. 

Our  spiritual  visitor,   of   course, 


made  his  appearance  upon  earth  in 
the  same  flowing  wig  and  ornate 
costume  which  he  wore  that  night  at 
the  opera,  when,  surrounded  by  beau- 
tiful Avomen,  and  almost  overwhelmed 
by  the  adulation  of  the  crowd,  he 
exclaimed  that  he  was  in  danger  of 
being  "  stifled  by  roses."  But  these 
honours  of  the  toilette  he  was  com- 
pelled to  exchange  for  the  more  simple 
costume  of  the  present  day.  Some 
disadvantage  he  felt,  from  the  neces- 
sity of  speaking  English,  in  the  con- 
versations which  ensued— a  language 
which  he  never  spoke  with  perfect 
ease ;  but,  if  his  wit  could  not  fairly 
be  displayed  in  it,  he  still  retained 
something  of  the  terseness  and  sim- 
plicity of  his  style.  The  verbose 
periods  of  our  modern  speakers  and 
writers  he  was  by  no  means  disposed 
to  imitate. 

"  Progress  !  progress  ! "  muttered 
our  returned  philosopher  to  himself, 
as  he  whirled  along  upon  the  railway. 
"  What  a  din  this  age  makes  about 
its  progress  !  It  travels  fast  enough, 
if  that  were  all.  Rapid  progress  of 
that  kind.  For  the  rest — let  us  see 
whether  the  world  is  revolving  in  any 
other  than  its  old  accustomed  circle." 

Very  soon — but  not  before  he  had 
revived  his  impressions  of  our  great 
metropolis  —  he  stood  in  the  park 
before  the  Crystal  Palace.  He  saw 
it  glittering  before  him  :  he  entered, 
and  beheld  its  dome  arching  with  ease 
the  full-grown  elm  tree  ;  and  when 
he  reflected  that  this  immense  and 
novel  structure  had  been  designed 
and  reared,  and  all  the  materials  con- 
structed for  it,  in  a  few  months,  he 
could  not  defend  himself  from  a  cer- 
tain enthusiasm.  It  was  evident  to 
his  penetrating  mind  that  there  must 
have  been  an  admirable  organisation 
of  labour  to  accomplish  all  this ;  and 
that  not  only  had  the  architect  and 
the  engineer  been  there,  with  all  their 
skill,  and  taste,  and  ready  invention, 
but  that  a  well-disciplined  army  of 
workmen  of  every  description  must 
have  been  at  hand  to  second  their 
intentions.  Here,  thought  he,  is  a  just 
triumph  for  the  political  economist. 
Out  of  the  free  labour  of  the  artisan, 


1851.] 


Voltaire  in  tie  Crystal  Palace, 


143 


to  be  got  only  by  paying  for  it,  to  be 
retained  only  so  long  as  the  workman 
is  content  with  his  bargain — out  of 
materials  apparently  so  uncontrol- 
lable as  these,  an  organisation  and 
discipline  has  been  created  for  the 
purpose  of  industry,  equal  to  any 
that  the  Grande  Monarque  could 
boast  of  for  the  purposes  of  war. 

On  every  side  of  him,  as  he  sur- 
veyed the  products  collected  in  the 
building  itself,  he  saw  proofs  of  the 
same  effective  discipline  of  the  indus- 
trial force.  A  profound  philosopher, 
and  a  countryman  of  his  own,  accosted 
him  as  he  was  revolving  this  idea. 
"  Pardon,"  he  said,  "  I  see  that,  like 
myself,  you  are  engaged  in  contem- 
plating the  principles  of  things,  the 
great  results,  not  the  petty  details,  of 
this  Exhibition.  What  do  you  sup- 
pose is  the  purpose  of  this  extraordi- 
nary display  of  the  fruits  of  human 
industry  ?  " 

"  I  am  willing  to  be  enlightened," 
was  the  courteous  reply. 

"  Sir,  our  princes  of  the  earth  have 
gathered  together  all  the  products  of 
industry,  and  they  have  called  to- 

f  ether  the  industrious  classes  to  be- 
old  them.  They  say — this  is  what 
you  have  produced — this  is  yours! 
Large-handed  industry  is  invited  to 
inspect  her  own  productions — invited 
to  inspect,  perhaps  more  than  to 
inspect,  her  own  property.  There 
are  two  words  I  see  everywhere 
written  about  the  walls  of  this  build- 
ing. They  are  not  '  Tunis,'  or 
•*  Turkey,'  or  Trance,'  or  '  Austria  ; ' 
they  are  two  little  words  addressed 
to  human  industry—'  Make  !  Take ! ' 
4  Take !  Make ! ' " 

"  True !  very  true  !  "  said  the  philo- 
sopher of  Ferney.  "  These  are  the 
products,  and,  if  you  will,  the  pro- 
perty of  industry — but  of  industry 
that  has  submitted  to  discipline,  that 
has  submitted  to  subordination.  Take ! 
But  if  the  army  of  industry  loses  its 
discipline  in  the  pillage,  it  will  only 
take  once— it  will  never  make  again. 
You  may  then  efface  both  your  little 
words  for  ever  from  the  walls." 

"Esprit  borne!'1'1  muttered  the  pro- 
found socialist,  and  turned  upon  his 
heel. 

"Ah!"  said  our  wit  and  philo- 
sopher, "  it  was  always  thus.  I  can 
remember  I  always  received  that 


compliment  whenever  I  said  anything 
indisputably  true." 

He  proceeded  to  the  department 
where  the  machinery  is  exhibited. 
Here  a  professor  of  mechanics  was  so 
courteous  as  to  explain  to  him  the 
various  processes  of  our  cotton  manu- 
facture. He  explained  the  power- 
loom,  the  mule,  and  I  know  not 
what  other  contrivances  beside  ;  and, 
pleased  with  his  intelligent  listener, 
he  launched  forth  into  the  glorious 
prospects  that  were  opening  to  human 
society  through  the  surprising  me- 
chanical inventions  that  had  illus- 
trated our  age.  To  labour  man  was 
born,  he  said,  but  we  should  take  the 
sting  out  of  the  curse  ;  it  would  cease 
to  be  toilsome,  cease  to  be  degrading, 
cease  to  be  incompatible  with  refine- 
ment of  manners  and  "Intellectual  cul- 
ture. Stepping  through  an  open  door 
into  a  neighbouring  department,  the 
professor  found  himself  in  the  presence 
of  a  gigantic  locomotive  standing  upon 
its  railway.  "  Here,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  is  one  of  our  iron  slaves ;  we  feed 
him  upon  coal ;  he  bears  us,  a  thou- 
sand at  a  time,  with  the  speed  of 
an  eagle,  from  town  to  town,  from 
county  to  county.  What  limit  can 
you  set  to  human  progress  when  you 
reflect  upon  such  an  engine  as 
this?" 

Voltaire  did  reflect.  "  Very  clever 
are  you  men,"  he  said  ;  "you  cannot 
exactly  fly — you  have  not  yet  in- 
vented wings — but  you  go  marvel- 
lously fast  by  steam.  No  spirit  need 
travel  quicker.  But  methinks  there 
is  something  hypocritical  and  decep- 
tive in  this  obedient  engine  of  yours. 
Goes  of  itself,  you  say.  Does  it? 
Your  iron  slave  wants  many  other 
slaves,  unfortunately  not  of  iron,  to 
attend  on  it ;  on  this  condition  only 
will  it  serve  you.  No  despot  travels 
with  so  obsequious  a  train,  and  so 
subservient,  as  this  quiet-looking 
engine.  Putting  my  head  out  of 
the  window  of  my  railroad  car- 
riage, whilst  we  were  yet  at  the 
station,  I  saw  an  industrious  mortal 
going  from  wheel  to  wheel  with  a 
huge  grease-pot,  greasing  the  wheels. 
He  greases  wheels  from  morning  to 
night ;  eternally  he  greases.  Another 
man  trims  lamps  incessantly ;  I  saw 
him  with  a  long  row  before  him  feed- 
ing them  with  oil ;  in  oil  he  seems 


144 


Voltaire  in  the  Crystal  Palace. 


fAug. 


himself  to  live.  Of  engineer  and  fire- 
man I  could  not  catch  a  glimpse,  but 
I  saw  a  crowd  of  men  employed  con- 
tinually in  putting  boxes  and  carpet- 
bags from  a  truck  into  a  van,  and 
from  a  van  into  a  truck.  Not  much 
intellectuality  there.  And  when  the 
shrill  whistle  was  heard,  and  we 
started,  lo !  there  was  a  living  man 
standing  on  the  bank,  acting  signal- 
post —  with  arm  outstretched  and 
motionless,  a  living  signal-post.  Most 
useful  of  men  no  doubt,  if  mortal 
necks  are  worth  preserving,  but  his 
occupation  not  such  as  could  possibly 
be  intrusted  to  one  who  might  wander 
into  reflection.  The  railroad  train  runs, 
it  seems,  not  only  upon  those  hundred 
wheels  of  iron  which  we  see  and  count, 
but  on  a  hundred  other  wheels  forged 
out  of  human  flesh  and  blood." 

"  You  are  perfectly  right,"  said  a 
pale  melancholy  Englishman  who  was 
standing  beside  them,  and  had  over- 
heard this  conversation.  "  We  are 
altogether  in  a  wrong  course ;  we  are 
making  machines  that  enslave  our- 
selves, and  bind  us  down  to  all  the 
toils  and  all  the  social  degradations  of 
slavery.  We  must  go  back  to  sim- 
plicity. We  must  learn  to  limit 
our  desires,  and  discard  fictitious 
wants.  Then  only  can  the  reign  of 
Justice  commence.  If  all  men  were 
contented  with  the  gratification  of  the 
simple  wants  of  nature,  all  men  might 
be  equal,  and  equally  enlightened. 
Our  task  ought  now  to  be  not  to  in- 
vent more  machines,  but  to  select 
from  those  already  invented  the  few 
that  are  really  worth  retaining.  For 
my  part,  I  find  only  two  that  are 
indispensable." 

"  And  what  may  they  be  ?  "  said 
the  professor  of  mechanics  with  a 
smile  of  derision. 

"The  plough  and  the  printing- 
press.  With  these  two,  and  the 
principle  of  justice,  I  would  under- 
take to  make  a  happy  community  of 
human  beings.  Bread  and  books! 
what  more  do  we  need?  Here  is 
supply  for  mind  and  body." 

"No!  no!  no!"  exclaimed  Vol- 
taire, who  retained  all  his  horror  of 
MM  return  to  primitive  simplicity. 
'  Get  as  much  civilisation  as  you 
can.  Let  as  many  enjoy  it  as  can. 
If  you  had  nothing  but  the  plough,  you 
might  dispense  with  your  printing- 


press  as  well.  What  on  earth  would 
your  rustics  have  to  write  about? 
Bread  and  books !  and  what  sort  of 
books?  Bread,  books,  and  an 
Egyptian  priestcraft — pray  complete 
your  inevitable  trio." 

"  Sir,  you  blow  hot  and  cold  with 
the  same  mouth.  Our  mechanical 
inventions  are  but  rivetting  their 
fetters  on  the  industrial  classes  :  you 
see  this ;  and  yet  when  I  would 
break  the  machine  you  interpose." 

"  He  who  talks  on  man  must  blow 
hot  and  cold  with  the  same  mouth.  He 
has  always  lived,  and  always  will 
live,  in  the  midst  of  contradictions. 
Let  us  hear  nothing  of  this  return  to 
simplicity  and  ignorance.  No  savage 
happiness  for  me.  The  Fuegans— so 
a  traveller  from  South  America  once 
told  me — when  they  are  hungry,  kill 
a  buffalo,  and,  scraping  the  flesh  from, 
off  the  bones,  make  a  fire  of  these 
bones  to  roast  the  flesh  withal. 
What  admirable  simplicity  in  this 
self- roasting  ox  !  Here  is  your  golden 
age  at  once.  I  recommend  to  you  a 
voyage  to  Terra  del  Fuego." 

"Are  we  then,"  said  the  plaintive 
idealist,  "  to  see  nothing  in  the  future 
but  the  contradictions  and  turmoils 
and  iniquities  of  the  past  ?  " 

"And  what  men  endured  in  the 
past,  why  should  not  you  also  and 
your  posterity  endure  ?  The  type  of 
civilised  society  has  been  again  and 
again  presented  upon  the  earth :  we 
may  improve,  we  cannot  materially 
alter  it." 

"There,"  said  the  professor  of 
mechanics,  "I  must  be  allowed  in 
some  measure  to  differ  from  you.  I 
observe  that  you  have  a  due  apprecia- 
tion of  the  arts  and  inventions  that 
contribute  to  civilisation ;  but  you 
do  not  sufficiently  understand  the 
enormous  progress  that  this  age  has 
made  beyond  all  others." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  "  said  his  im- 
patient auditor,  "  there  is  a  'vast 
difference  between  civilised  life  and 
savage,  but  the  progress  you  make 
afterwards  is  but  slow  and  slight. 
You  take  a  wild  country,  and  from 
a  swamp  reduce  it  to  a  cultivated 
plain.  Corn  is  growing  in  the  field. 
The  change  is  immense.  Well,  you 
may  grow  still  more  corn  in  the 
same  field,  but  you  can  never  produce 
any  other  change  like  that  which  it 


1851.] 


Voltaire  in  the  Crystal  Palace. 


has  already  undergone.  Between  the 
wild  Celt  or  Saxon  and  the  civilised 
inhabitants  of  Paris  or  London,  who 
would  not  acknowledge  the  difference? 
Bat  I  would  as  willingly  have  lived 
in  the  Paris  of  a  hundred  years  ago, 
as  in  the  Paris  of  to-day.  A  wealthy 
citizen  of  Bruges  or  of  Florence  in 
the  fifteenth  or  sixteenth  century 
passed,  I  suspect,  as  rational,  as 
agreeable,  and  as  dignified  a  life  as 
the  wealthy  citizen  of  your  own 
monster  metropolis  in  the  nineteenth 
century.  He  would  not  enjoy  quite 
such  immense  feeding — not  such  luxu- 
rious banquets  as  your  Guildhall  and 
your  Mansion  House  can  boast,  where 
you  spend  as  much  at  a  dinner  as 
would  have  built  the  Parthenon — but 
he  perhaps  found  a  compensation  in  a 
keener  zest  for  art :  at  all  events  he 
lived  in  a  city  which  had  not  quite 
blocked  out  every  charm  of  nature,  in 
which  every  green  thing  had  not 
withered,  and  where  the  sky  was  still 
visible.  At  Athens  and  Rome,  and, 
for  aught  I  know,  at  Babylon  and 
Thebes,  men  have  enjoyed  life  as 
keenly,  and  lived  as  wisely  as  they 
do  here.  Many  are  the  eras  of  the 
past  where  you  may  point  to  the 
city,  the  seat  of  government  and  the 
arts,  and  the  neighbouring  cultivated 
country  where  the  peasantry  have 
enjoyed  the  protection,  and  shared  to 
some  extent  the  mental  culture,  of  the 
town.  Such  has  been  the  type  of  civi- 
lised society  hitherto ;  nor  is  it  always 
that  the  last  instance  in  order  of  time 
presents  the  most  attractive  picture. 

"I  walk,"  he  continued,  "through 
the  spacious  streets  and  squares  of 
London.  I  see  the  residences  of  your 
wealthy  men  :  the  exterior  is  not 
pleasing ;  but  if  I  enter,  I  find  in  each 
what  deserves  to  be  called  a  domestic 
palace.  In  these  palatial  residences, 
many  a  merchant  is  living  amongst 
luxuries  which  no  Roman  emperor 
could  have  commanded.  I  lose  my 
way  amidst  the  dark,  noisome,  nar- 
row streets  and  interminable  courts 
and  alleys  of  this  same  London.  Each 
house — each  sty — swarms  with  life. 
And  oh,  heaven  !  what  life  it  is  ! 
They  are  heaped  like  vermin.  They 
prey  upon  each  other.  How  they 
suffer  !  how  they  hate !  Full  of  cor- 
roding anxieties,  they  endure  a 
wretchedness  and  torture  which  no 


145 

Roman  emperor  could  have  inflicted 
upon  his  slaves." 
"  But,  sir—" 

UI  tell  you  I  have  seen  the  beggar 
at  Naples.  He  is  a  prince.  He  lies 
in  the  sun,  on  the  earth — it  is  his 
home — and  the  open  sky  above  him, 
it  is  his.  He  rises  to  beg,  or  to  work, 
or  to  steal — he  does  either  with  a 
savage  energy — then  lies  down  again, 
no  leopard  in  the  forest  more  care- 
lessly dispread.  But  poverty  in  Eng- 
land is  steeped  to  the  lip  in  bitterness, 
in  care,  in  hatred,  in  anxiety.  When 
bread  comes,  it  is  eaten  with  fear  and 
trembling  for  the  future.  Tears  are 
still  flowing  upon  it.  Yes,  you  have 
indubitably  progressed  thus  far :  you 
have  made  hunger  reflective." 

"But,  sir,  we  are  at  present  in  a 
state  of  transition.  Say  that  hunger 
has  become  reflective:  in  the  next 
stage  of  our  progress  the  reflective 
man  will  have  protected  himself 
against  the  chance  of  hunger." 

"  A  state  of  transition  !  I  am 
charmed  with  the  expression.  What 
age  ever  existed  that  could  not  have 
accounted  for  all  its  sufferings  by  this 
happy  word,  if  they  had  but  known 
it  ?  Oh,  the  world,  I  think,  will  be 
very  long  in  a  state  of  transition  ! 
But,  gentlemen,  we  must  use  our  eyesr 
as  well  as  other  organs  —  however 
gratifyingly  employed — in  a  place  like 
this.  Pray,  what  is  that,"  he  in- 
quired, as  they  stepped  into  the  central 
avenue  of  the  building,  "  round  which 
so  eager  a  crowd  is  collected  ?" 

**  That  is  the  Great  Diamond— the 
Koh-i-noor,  as  it  is  called — once  the 
boast  of  some  Great  Mogul,  now  the 
property  of  the  Queen  of  England." 

"  Oh !  And  what  is  that  to  the 
right,  where  a  crowd  almost  as  dense 
is  congregated?" 

"  They  are  the  jewels  of  the  Queen 
of  Spain." 

"  And  on,  further  to  the  left,  I  see 
another  crowd  into  which  it  is  hope- 
less to  penetrate." 

"They  surround  the  blue  diamond, 
that  has  been  valued  at  I  know  not 
how  many  thousands  of  pounds." 

"  The  children  ! "  cried  Voltaire. 
Then  turning  to  his  professor,  he  added, 
"You  who  wilt  make  all  classes  re- 
flective, pray  begin  with  these  gentle- 
men and  ladies.  When  your  cele- 
brated navigator  Captain  Cook  visited 


146 


Voltaire  in  the 


the  savage  islanders  of  the  Pacific 
Ocean,  he  gave  them  glass  beads  in 
exchange  for  solid  provender.  We 
smile  at  the  simple  savages.  They 
were  reasoning  philosophers  compared 
with  our  lords  and  ladies.  The  glass 
bead  was  not  only  a  rarity;  it  was 
SL  novel  and  curious  production  to  the 
savage.  A  precious  stone  is  no  longer 
a  novelty  to  any  of  us ;  and  for  the 
very  important  purpose  of  personal 
ornament  it  may  be  easily  imitated  or 
substituted.  I  defy  you  to  find  another 
element  than  simple  ostentation  in 
the  extreme  value  we  put  upon  our 
glass  beads.  They  are  merely  the  in- 
signia of  wealth.  The  children ! — but 
men  always  have  been,  and  always  will 
be,  children.  I  have  frequently  said 
it  of  my  own  Parisians,  and,  between 
ourselves,  never  liked  them  any  the 
less  for  their  being  the  most  perfect 
.children  on  the  face  of  the  earth." 

Our  visitor  moved  on  to  that  end 
of  the  building  which,  to  us,  bears 
the  name  of  the  foreign  quarter.  He 
was  not  a  little  surprised  to  see  the 
extremely  tasteful  and  artist- like 
display  which  Austria  and  Bavaria 
make.  A  certain  Parisian,  thought 
.he,  once  asked  if  it  was  possible  for 
a  German  to  have  wit ;  at  all  events 
no  one  will  ever  ask  whether  it  is 
possible  for  a  German  to  have  taste. 
And  the  descendants  of  his  favourite, 
Ozar  Peter,  did  not  fail  to  attract  his 
attention.  They,  too,  are  running 
the  race  of  luxury  and  civilisation. 
He  entered  into  the  little  sculpture 
gallery  of  the  Milanese  and  other 
Italians.  There  was  the  usual  medley 
of  subjects  which  a  sculpture  gallery 
always  presents.  Eve,  the  Christian 
Venus — Venus  Repentant,  as  she 
might  be  called — here  has  a  charming 
representative.  Not  only  the  expres- 
sion of  the  face,  but  of  the  whole 
attitude,  tells  the  sad  history.  She 
sits  looking  down,  and  shrinking 
within  herself,  as  if  she  would  contract 
herself  out  of  sight,  if  it  were  possible. 
Opposite  is  a  head  of  Christ.  Our 
critic  paused  with  reverence  before  it ; 
but  an  involuntary  smile  rose  to  his 
lips,  as  he  observed  that  the  artist, 
in  his  endeavour  to  make  the  head 
more  and  more  placid  and  patient, 
had  at  length  sent  it  fairly  to  sleep. 
Near  it  were  Leda  and  her  swan,  and 
Danae  waiting  for  her  double  shower 


Crystal  Palace.  [Aug. 

of  love  and  gold.  Such  is  the  medley 
we  are  always  doomed  to  encounter 
in  any  collection  of  sculpture ! 

From  this  Milanese  gallery  he 
hastened  to  the  room  devoted  to 
English  sculpture,  that  he  might 
compare  the  genius  of  the  two  nations. 
The  sculpture  of  the  whole  Exhibition 
—that  which  is  displayed  as  pure 
art — is  but  of  a  secondary  character ; 
but  our  visitor  found  as  much  to 
please  him  in  this  room  as  amongst 
the  Italians.  Here  were  the  lost 
children  in  the  wood,  whom  the 
little  birds  covered  with  leaves.  The 
poem  is  known  throughout  Europe, 
and  the  artist  has  translated  it  most 
faithfully  into  marble.  Here  is  a 
mother  or  a- nurse  with  a  child,  the 
child  they  call  Bacchus  ;  and  Vol- 
taire recognised  with  delight  the 
Ophelia  of  Shakspeare.  Here  she 
stands,  leaning  on  the  branch  that 
will  treacherously  precipitate  her 
into  the  stream ;  and  the  artist  has, 
with  singular  felicity,  succeeded  in 
portraying,  not  only  the  beauty  and 
the  sorrow,  but  the  bewildered  mind 
of  the  love-lorn  damsel.  In  the 
corner  stood  a  head,  designated  II 
Penseroso,  which,  if  the  police  had 
not  been  so  vigilant,  our  visitor  might 
have  been  tempted  to  purloin. 

Traversing  the  building,  he  soon 
returned  to  that  part  where  his  own 
countrymen  especially  make  so  great 
a  display  with  their  jewellery,  their 
bronze  clocks,  the  gilt  ornaments  of 
every  description,  their  silks  and 
velvets,  and  every  article  of  luxury. 
He  kindled  for  a  moment  with  a 
sentiment  of  patriotic  pride,  as  he 
noticed  here  the  eminent  position  of 
his  own  France.  Seeing  so  large  a 
display  of  these  articles,  he  asked  one 
of  his  countrymen  what  could  have 
induced  him  and  others  to  bring  so 
great  a  number  of  these  costly  pro- 
ducts accross  the  Channel.  What 
could  have  been  the  motive,  he  asked 
—was  it  honour  or  was  it  profit  ? 

"Both,"  was  the  reply.  "We 
bring  to  exhibit,  and  we  bring  to 
sell.  It  is  pleasant  to  take  the  con- 
ceit out  of  our  neighbour,  and  his 
money  at  the  same  time." 

"  But  what  has  induced  your 
neighbour  to  invite  you  here,  with  all 
these  splendid  silks  and  trinkets?" 

"  Ma  foil  I  know  not.    Perhaps 


1851.] 


Voltaire  in  the  Crystal  Palace. 


he  wanted  a  lesson  in  good  taste, 
and  was  willing  to  pay  for  it.  If  you 
look  down  the  building  you  may 
-catch,  even  at  this  distance,  a  glimpse 
of  the  gewgaw  splendours  of  Bir- 
mingham. With  an  unlimited  supply 
of  tinfoil,  a  North  American  savage 
would  do  better." 

"  Ha !  monsieur,  you  must  instruct 
your  neighbour,  and  he,  as  is  just  and 
fit,  will  pay  for  his  instructions." 

Voltaire  had  no  sooner  ceased 
speaking  than  he  found  himself  re- 
volving a  more  serious  train  of 
thought.  He  sate  himself  down  on 
a  bench,  and  surveyed  as  much  as 
he  could,  at  one  glance,  of  the  whole 
building  and  its  contents.  "  The 
industry  of  all  nations ! "  thought 
he.  "  It  is  well ;  but  what  I  see 
here  most  prominent,  is  the  luxury 
of  all  nations.  Did  England  really 
need  a  lesson  in  luxury?  And  if 
her  taste  in  jewellery  and  upholstery 
has  been  defective,  is  any  very  great 
end  answered  by  highly  cultivating 
such  a  taste  ?  What  other  countries 
may  learn  from  England  I  know  not ; 
but  she  herself  can  learn  nothing 
from  this  Great  Exhibition  but  the 
lesson  my  countryman  is  so  willing 
to  teach  her  :  she  can  learn  only  how 
to  spend  her  money  in  objects  of 
luxury,  in  what  they  call  ornamental 
and  decorative  art. 

"  Pure  art  I  honour,"  thus  he  con- 
tinued his  soliloquy.  "  I  honour  all 
the  fine  arts.  From  the  man  who 
designs  a  temple  to  him  who  en- 
graves a  gem,  I  honour  all  who  con- 
tribute to  the  cultivation  of  the  mind 
through  a  love  of  the  beautiful.  Men 
must  have  emotions  for  the  soul  as 
well  as  food  for  the  body;  and  if  they 
<lo  not  find  these  in  poetry,  in  music, 
in  painting,  they  will  seek  them  ex- 
clusively in  those  gloomy  superstitions 
which  afflict  while  they  agitate,  and 
render  men  morose  and  uncharitable. 
I  honour  the  arts,  and  I  respect  also 
every  useful  manufacture  which  adds 
to  the  comfort  of  daily  existence  ;  but 
there  is  a  province  of  human  industry 
lying  between  these  two,  which  is 
neither  fine  art  nor  useful  manu- 
facture, which  I  do  not  honour,  for 
which  I  have  no  respect  whatever — 
ornamental  nonsense  for  which  I  feel 
something  very  near  akin  to  contempt. 
Men  decorate  their  houses  and  their 


147 

persons  with  costly  fooleries.  I  put 
my  elbow  on  the  mantelpiece  and  am 
in  danger  of  precipitating  some  china 
mannikin.  Huge  vases  encumber  the 
floor,  which  never  held,  and  never  will 
hold,  anything  but  the  chance  dust 
that  is  swept  into  them.  Absurd 
tables  are  set  out  to  be  covered  with 
knacks  and  toys,  that  have  not  even 
the  merit  of  amusing  a  child.  The 
fingers  are  squeezed  into  rings ;  holes 
are  made  in  the  ear  for  the  jeweller's 
trinket ;  there  is  no  end  to  the  follies 
committed  in  what  is  called  decora- 
tion and  ornament.  Say  that  such 
things  must  be,  is  it  a  purpose  worthy 
of  the  energies  of  a  great  people  to 
increase  and  spread  abroad  the  taste 
for  fantastic  upholstery  and  useless 
china,  and  all  the  very  imposing 
splendours  of  the  haberdasher  and  the 
silversmith?  Is  it  a  very  magni- 
ficent project  to  invite  competitions 
in  lace  and  embroidery,  and  or  molu, 
and  all  the  sumptuous  trivialities  of 
a  lady's  boudoir?  Art!  art!  ex- 
claims one.  Do  you  value  at  nothing 
the  art  bestowed  on  these  articles  ? 
Not  much.  If  you  model  a  human 
figure,  of  man  or  woman,  let  it  be 
done  for  its  own  sake.  A  true  work  of 
art  is  a  sufficient  end  in  itself.  Must 
I  have  the  human  figure  scattered 
everywhere,  upon  every  utensil  I 
possess?  Can  I  not  have  a  time- 
piece but  a  naked  woman  must 
sprawl  upon  it?  Is  this  doing  honour 
to  the  most  beautiful  of  forms  to 
make  it  common  as  the  crockery  or 
drinking  cup  it  is  called  in  to  orna- 
ment? Must  it  support  the  lamp 
upon  your  table,  or  be  twisted  into 
the  handle  of  a  teapot?  If  I  pour 
water  from  a  ewer  into  a  basin,  must 
I  seize  a  river-god  by  the  waist? 
Have  you  nothing  better  to  do  with 
the  head  of  a  man  than  to  model  it 
upon  every  prominence,  fasten  it  upon 
the  lid  of  your  coffee-pot,  or  squeeze 
it  under  the  spout  of  your  jug?  In 
all  this  taste  I  find  little  else  but  mere 
ostentation.  Would  you  have  sump- 
tuary laws  ?  says  one.  No  ;  but  I 
would  have  a  sumptuary  opinion  if 
there  was  any  getting  it." 

A  part  of  this  soliloquy  had  been 
unconsciously  uttered  aloud.  "  It  all 
does  good  for  trade,"  said  a  bluff 
neighbour  who  had  overheard  him  ; 
"rich  men  should  spend  their  money." 


148 


Voltaire  in  the 


"  Not  exactly  upon  absurdities,  I 
suppose." 

"  Anyhow  they  should  spend  their 
money.  I  am  a  tradesman — a  Man- 
chester man  ;  I  care  nothing  for  these 
fine  things  myself,  but  I  say,  that  rich 
men  ought  to  spend  their  money." 

"And  whether  the  articles  can  be 
of  the  least  service  to  them  or  not  ?" 

"  It  does  good  for  trade  all  the 
same." 

"Not  all  the  same.  Suppose  he 
lent  it  to  a  respectable  capitalist  like 
yourself,  a  Manchester  man,  who 
would  employ  it  in  some  useful  manu- 
facture, in  multiplying  articles  of  sub- 
stantial service  to  mankind,  of  which 
there  is  still  by  no  means  a  superfluity, 
would  not  this  be  doing  good  for  trade, 
and  in  a  better  manner?" 

"Ay,  ay!  and  bring  him  a  good 
per  centage  for  his  money.  You  are 
right  there.  Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  you 
are  not  such  a  fool  as  I  took  you  to 
be.  Let  the  nobleman  have  his  grand 
house  and  his  garden,  his  pictures  and 
statues,  but  if  he  has  more  money 
than  he  knows  what  to  do  with,  let 
him  lend  it  to  the  industrious  capital- 
ist, who  will  multiply  useful  things 
for  the  community  at  large.  Profits, 
to  be  sure,  would  be  somewhat  less, 
but  everything  would  be  cheaper.  I 
see,  sir,  you  are  no  fool." 

Voltaire,  bowing  in  acknowledg- 
ment for  the  compliment  he  had 
received,  rose  and  threaded  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  passing  the  gold 
and  velvet  of  Persia  and  Turkey  and 
India,  and  not  forgetting  to  pay  his 
respects  to  the  Chinese.  Other 
people  cultivate  the  beautiful,  or 
intend  to  do  so  ;  it  is  fit,  thought  he, 
that  there  should  be  one  people  who 
cultivate  the  ugly,  the  monstrous,  the 
deformed,  and  with  whom  the  gro- 
tesque stands  in  place  of  the  graceful. 
The  elaborate  trifling  in  their  orna- 
mental carvings  in  wood  and  ivory, 
secures  them,  however,  a  high  position 
in  this  industrial  exhibition. 

What  our  visitor  thought  of  all  the 
various  works  of  art  he  encountered, 
as  well  gigantic  as  minute  — the 
Amazon,  the  lion,  the  archangels  who 
veral  places  are  killing  Satan,  or 
tho  (moon,  with  the  utmost  calmness, 
and  with  the  least  effort  in  the  world, 
it  were  too  long  to  tell,  even  if  his 
criticisms  were  worth  preserving. 


Crystal  Palace. 

We  follow  him  into  what  is  called 
the  Mediaeval  Court.  Here  altar  and 
crucifix  and  sacred  candlestick,  and 
all  the  paraphernalia  of  Eoman  Catho- 
lic worship,  arrested  his  attention,  and 
somewhat  excited  his  surprise.  Well, 
said  the  philosopher  to  himself,  I  have 
always  remarked  that  the  SL  ,rit  of 
trad©  is  an  admirable  counterpoise  to 
the  spirit  of  bigotry.  I  have  heard 
of  the  English  people  making  idola 
for  exportation  to  heathen  countries  ; 
dealing  with  them  as  articles  of  com- 
merce. They  despatch  a  vessel  to 
some  barbarous  coast,  and  in  the 
cabin  they  carry  out  a  missionary  and 
his  tracts,  to  convert  the  inhabitants, 
and  in  the  hold  they  have  an  assort- 
ment of  idols  from  Birmingham  to 
compete  with  the  native  manufacture. 
Nothing  so  liberal  as  the  spirit  of 
trade.  Now,  here  these  English  Pro- 
testants are  making  what  they  think 
most  superstitious  implements  for  the 
benefit  of  some  Roman  Catholic 
neighbour.  "  Pray,"  said  he,  address- 
ing a  sleek  stranger,  whom  he  thought 
likely  to  give  him  the  required  infor- 
mation, "  Pray,  for  what  country 
may  these  be  intended  ?  France  can 
supply  herself;  to  what  people  do 
you  export  them  ?" 

"  Hush !  They  are  not  for  expor- 
tation," said  the  grave  gentleman, 
casting  his  eyes  down  upon  the 
ground,  and  speaking  in  a  plaintive  and 
subdued  voice.  "  They  are  for  the 
English  themselves." 

"  But  the  English  are  Protestants.'" 

"  Say  rather  Anglo-Catholics.  But 
they  are  returning,  slowly  and  dog- 
gedly, to  the  true  fold.  You,  who  are  a 
foreigner,  will  be  rejoiced  to  hear  this." 

Voltaire  took  largely  of  his  snuff. 
"  If  it  pleases  you,  I  will  be  rejoiced. 
They  will  read  my  Cyclopedia  now. 
At  last  I  shall  be  understood  in  Eng- 
land." 

"  What  is  it  you  are  remarking?" 

"  But  is  it  indeed  true,  that  the 
countrymen  of  Locke  are  resigning 
their  thoughtful  metaphysical  piety — 
for  this  ?  What  manner  of  progress 
have  we  here  ? 

"  We  think,  sir,  that  the  less  meta- 
physics we  have  in  our  piety  the 
better." 

"  You  do  !  I  tell  you  that  the  Eng- 
lish have  some  philosophy  amongst 
them,  but  they  clap  the  Bible  on  it, 


1851.] 


Voltaire  in  the  Crystal  Palace. 


149 


and  keep  it  safely  down.  Substitute 
one  of  these  candlesticks,  the  heaviest 
and  tallest  you  can  select,  and  watch 
the  issue  of  the  experiment ;  that  is, 
if  you  have  any  eyes  to  watch  with." 

"  Sir,  when  you  do  not  wish  to  be 
heard,  you  should  drop  your  voice  a 
little  lower.  I  have  eyes  as  well  as 
others." 

"No  doubt  of  it.  But  in  every 
age  there  is  a  sect — what  name  it  bears 
amongst  you  I  cannot  tell — who  indeed 
have  eyes,  but  carry  them  at  the  back 
of  their  head,  and  see  nothing  but 
the  road  that  has  been  left  behind." 

Escaping  from  this  theological 
encounter,  our  nimble  visitor  darted 
across  to  the  other  side  of  the  palace, 
and  was  again  amongst  the  machinery. 
Here  he  still  found  his  professor  of 
mechanics.  Never  weary  of  explain- 
ing, he  was  enlarging  on  the  cost  and 
ingenuity  of  an  enormous  steel  loom, 
of  most  intricate  structure,  for  the 
weaving — of  lace!  The  group  around 
him  listened  and  looked  with  the 
utmost  eagerness,  but  the  complicate 
arrangement  evidently  baffled  their 
apprehension.  "  Here  is  a  Jacquard 
loom,"  he  said,  u  of  a  somewhat 
earlier  and  simpler  construction.  Here 
perhaps  you  may  better  comprehend 
this  wonderful  invention,  by  which  we 
can  not  only  weave  our  fabric  by 
machinery,  but  weave  it  of  the  most 
varied  and  intermixed  colours,  and  in 
the  most  intricate  patterns." 

Doubtless,  thought  our  philosopher, 
the  rage  for  mechanical  invention 
which  distinguishes  this  epoch  must 
have  here  and  there  its  good  result ; 
but  it  is  plain  that  the  real  utility 
of  the  machine  is  not  always  in  pro- 
portion to  the  ingenuity  and  skill 
displayed  in  its  construction. 

At  this  moment,  for  some  inciden- 
tal purpose,  the  professor  lit  a  com- 
mon lucifer  match.  Voltaire  had 
never  seen  the  like  before.  He 
begged  the  experiment  to  be  re- 
peated. He  examined  the  simple 
apparatus  minutely;  and  asked  for 
the  old  flint  and  tinder-box,  that  he 
might  make  comparison  between 
them.  They  smiled  at  him.  Such 
a  thing  did  not  exist. 

u  Here  is  an  invention,"  he  cried, 
"  which,  as  a  real  contribution  to  the 
comfort  of  life,  far  surpasses  everything 
I  have  seen.  Oh  Lucifer!  as  they 


call  thee,  thou  son  of  the  morning, 
if  I  had  had  thee  in  a  box  by  my 
bedside,  how  many  hours  should  I 
have  saved!  how  much  anger  and 
impatience  should  I  have  escaped! 
and  Francois,  how  thy  knuckles  would 
have  been  spared !  Verily,  this  is 
the  greatest  invention  that  has  been 
made  in  the  world  since  I — "  But 
seeing  that  he  was  attracting  to  him- 
self a  degree  and  kind  of  attention 
from  a  staring  and  tittering  audience, 
that  was  by  no  means  agreeable,  he 
broke  off.  Meanwhile,  the  professor, 
who  talked  on  as  incessantly  and 
unwearedly  as  if  he  too  were  set  in 
motion  by  the  steam-engine,  had 
already  commenced  his  eulogium 
upon  another  instance  of  our  mecha- 
nical invention. 

This  time  the  machine  was  one  cal- 
culated to  interest  Voltaire.  It  was  a 
printing-press  of  the  latest  construc- 
tion, worked  of  course  by  steam.  He 
saw  it  in  full  operation.  The  type 
was  arranged  upon  a  large  upright 
cylinder  ;  four  smaller  cylinders,, 
placed  around  it,  bore  the  paper 
and  carried  off  the  impression  from 
the  types.  At  every  revolution  of 
the  large  cylinder,  four  sheets  of 
printed  paper  were  consequently  de- 
livered, for  the  edification  or  amuse- 
ment of  the  world.  Our  ex- author 
watched  the  process,  and  was  very 
much  disposed  to  call  for  pen  and 
paper,  that  he  might  give  some  copy 
to  the  machine.  The  professor  con- 
tinued his  oration.  "  By  a  machine  of 
this  description,  but  of  still  greater 
power,"  he  said,  "  the  Times  news- 
paper is  printed,  I  tremble  to  say 
how  many  thousand  in  an  hour. 
Each  paper  contains  matter  that 
would  fill  an  octavo  volume.  The 
debates  in  Parliament  that  may  have 
been  heard  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  are  that  same  morning  laid 
on  the  breakfast  table  of  the  country 
gentleman  who  is  residing  one  hun- 
dred miles  from  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. And  not  only  have  the  speeches 
been  reported  and  printed,  but  they 
are  accompanied  by  well  written 
comments  of  the  editor.  Wonderful 
celerity ! " 

"  I  hope,"  thought  our  listener, 
"  that  the  orations  are  equally  won- 
derful. They  should  be.  From 
what  I  remember  of  such  matters,  I 


150 


Voltaire  in  the 


think  I  could  wait  a  few  more  hours 
for  them  without  great  impatience  ; 
and  perhaps  the  well- written  com- 
ments would  not  suffer  by  the  delay." 

Quitting  the  lecturer  and  the  scene 
of  his  glory,  Voltaire  mounted  the 
gallery.  Here  lie  encountered  what, 
for  a  time,  entirely  subdued  the 
captious  spirit,  and  called  forth  all 
the  natural  energy  and  enthusiasm 
ef  one  who  had  been  poet,  wit,  and 
philosopher.  This  was  the  electric 
telegraph.  He  could  scarcely  con- 
tain his  enthusiasm  as  he  watched 
the  index  on  one  dial-plate,  and  saw 
the  movement  responded  to  by  the 
index  of  a  corresponding  dial,  and 
reflected  that  no  conceivable  length 
of  distance  would  render  the  operation 
less  certain  or  less  instantaneous. 
Thought  travels  here  with  its  own 
rapidity  ;  manumitted  from  the  tram- 
mels of  space  and  time.  Yet,  after 
all,  he  added,  it  can  be  but  human 
thought  that  travels  on  the  wire. 

Stepping  on  a  little  further  he 
found  himself  surrounded  by  im- 
proved fire-arms,  muskets  that  would 
kill  at  the  distance  of  five  hundred 
yards,  and  many-barrelled  pistols, 
which  promised  to  deal  half-a-dozen 
deaths  in  as  many  seconds.  The 
cynical  humour  returned.  "  They  are 
not  all  messages  of  peace  and  love," 
thought  he,  "  that  yonder  electric 
telegraph  will  be  employed  to  com- 
municate. The  old  game  of  war  is 
played  at  still,  and,  like  the  rest, 
duly  provided  with  improved  imple- 
ments. And  what  is  it  I  read  on  this 
label?  'A  pair  of  duelling  pistols.' 
Duelling  by  the  law  of  England  is 
murder.  It  must  be  a  very  dead  law, 
when  in  this  industrial  exhibition 
we  have  '  duelling  pistols,'  thus  dis- 
tinctly labelled.  'Pistols  for  com- 
mitting murder!'  would  have  been 
rather  a  startling  designation.  It 
seems,  therefore,  that,  in  the  public 
opinion,  duelling  is  just  where  it  used 
to  be,  just  the  same  honourable  cus- 
tom, where  men  contrive  to  mingle  in 
exquisite  proportions  the  foolery  of 
coxcombs,  and  the  ferocity  of  savages. 
The  progress  seems  to  be  all  in  the 
mechanical  department." 

A  member  of  the  Peace  Society, 
Uid  one  who  called  himself  a  Chris- 
tian Socialist,  was  passing  by  the 
."pot,  shaking  his  head,  and  sighing 


Crystal  Palace.  [Aug. 

lugubriously  at  sight  of  all  those  guns 
and  pistols,  swords  and  bayonets. 
Observing  that  it  was  a  foreigner 
and  a  Frenchman  that  stood  near  him, 
he  opened  his  heart  to  him  in  a 
franker  manner  than  he  would  pro- 
bably have  done  to  a  stranger  of  his 
own  country.  "Ah!"  he  cried,  "if 
France  and  England  would  but  agree 
to  disarm,  the  whole  world  might  be 
reduced  to  peace !" 

"  France  disarm !"  said  our  startled 
sage  :  "  Better  ask  her  to  walk  at 
once  out  of  the  map  of  Europe." 

"Oh  this  insane  and  destructive 
love  of  conquest !  will  it  never  end  ?  " 

u  From  what  I  gather  of  human 
affairs,  it  is  not  the  love  of  conquest 
alone  that  keeps  up  great  armaments. 
The  army  is  the  internal  police  of 
every  European  country.  Without 
it  there  is  not  a  government  that 
would  endure  an  hour.  No  magis- 
trate could  flog  a  thief  if  he  had  not 
the  bayonet  bristling  behind  him." 

"  Alas !  sir,"  sighed  the  Christian 
socialist,  "  the  whole  organisation  of 
society  is  vicious.  Men  are  taught 
each  one  to  take  care  of  himself. 
The  consequence  is,  that  some  get, 
and  others  lose ;  there  is  an  endless 
scramble,  hate,  misery,  destitution, 
pride.  The  true  Christian  doctrine 
is,  that  each  man  should  take  care  of 
others.  Thus  all  would  be  taken 
care  of,  and  all  would  be  full  of  love." 

"Ah!" 

"  Instead  of  each  man  taking 
thought  how  he  should  be  fed,  or  how 
he  should  be  clothed,  he  ought  to 
think  only  of  feeding  or  clothing 
others — the  community  at  large.  He, 
too,  as  one  of  the  community,  would 
be  fed  and  clothed  in  his  turn." 

"You  go  to  the  root  of  the  mat- 
ter." 

"This,  sir,  I  apprehend,  is  what 
Christianity  came  into  the  world  to 
teach.  It  would  relieve  each  man 
from  any  anxiety  after  his  own  wel- 
fare ;  it  would  remove  from  him  every 
cause  of  envy  or  hatred ;  he  has  but 
to  be  good,  and  he  will  be  happy." 

"  Admirable  scheme !  What  novel 
and  profound  thoughts  you  have 
amongst  you ! " 

"  Christianity  is  developing  itself. 
By  teaching  each  man  to  labour  for 
a  community,  of  which  he  is  one" 

"  Yes,  I  perfectly  understand.    Did 


1851.] 


Voltaire  in  the  Crystal  Palace. 


151 


you  ever  travel  into  the  country  of 
watches?" 

"  The  country  of  watches  !  What 
may  you  mean?" 

"I  did.  I  sojourned  some  time  in 
the  country  of  watches.  Shall  I  tell 
you  my  adventures  there  ?" 

"  By  all  means." 

"  I  had  no  sooner  installed  myself 
in  this  country  than  a  solemn  func- 
tionary of  the  State  presented  me  with 
a  watch,  and  bade  me  see  to  it  that  it 
was  kept  always  going,  and  in  as  good 
repair  as  possible.  Such  is  the  mys- 
terious condition  of  life  in  this  coun- 
try, that  each  man's  existence  is  bound 
up  with  the  watch  he  carries  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket.  Not  that  he  lives 
as  long  as  this  is  properly  attended 
to ;  the  watch  may  be  in  excellent 
repair,  and  the  man  may  die ;  but 
unless  the  watch  is  kept  going,  there 
is  no  living ;  the  moment  it  ceases  to 
tick,  the  heart  too  ceases  to  beat. 

"It  is  impossible  to  describe  to  you 
how  extremely  anxious  the  possession 
of  this  watch  at  first  made  me.  I  was 
constantly  putting  it  to  my  ear  to  be 
assured  that  it  was  going!  When  I 
walked  in  the  streets  I  was  always 
afraid  lest  the  crowd  should  press 
against  me,  and  damage  this  '  condi- 
tion of  my  existence.'  The  proper 
winding  of  it  up  was  the  subject  of 
continual  anxiety,  I  often  awoke  in 
the  night,  in  alarm  lest  the  watch 
had  gone  down.  Fear  deprived  me 
of  all  confidence  in  my  own  memory, 
and  I  could  not  recal  whether  I  had 
really  wound  it  up  or  not.  Can  you 
be  surprised?  Was  not  the  ticking 
of  that  watch  like  the  very  pulse  of 
my  own  heart  ? 

44  With  time,  or  habit,  this  anxiety 
wore  off'.  I  learned  to  wind  up  my 
watch  at  stated  intervals,  as  others 
did,  and  became  at  length  as  little 
alarmed  as  any  of  us  may  be,  at  the 
consciousness  that  we  carry  about 
with  us  our  hearts  or  our  livers, 
without  whose  going  life  would  cer- 
tainly come  to  a  pause.  Everybody 
around  me  seemed  to  be  quite  at  ease 
on  the  subject,  or  to  have  only  occa- 
sional fits  of  disquietude,  and  I  natu- 
rally fell  into  the  same  state  of  secu- 
rity. 

*'  You  will  perhaps  be  surprised  to 
hear  that  men  could  live  tranquilly 
under  such  circumstances ;  if  so,  you 


will  be  still  more  surprised  when  I 
tell  you  that  the  greater  number  of 
this  watch-bearing  community  had 
lost  their  key,  or  had  never  possessed 
one,  and  were  entirely  dependent  on 
some  neighbour  for  the  winding  up  of 
their  watch.  The  community  was 
divided  into  two  great  classes,  those- 
who  had,  and  those  who  had  not  a  key. 
Yet  I  never  discovered  any  marked 
difference  in  the  manner  in  which  these 
two  classes  endured  the  common  con- 
dition of  their  existence.  Those  who 
manifested  the  greatest  trepidation 
were  often  to  be  found  amongst  those 
who  had  keys  to  their  watches. 

44  It  cannot,  however,  be  denied 
that  the  class  who  had  no  keys  were 
very  much  in  the  power  of  those  who 
had.  To  get  his  watch  wound  up, 
many  a  man  was  compelled  to  sad 
acts  of  villany.  Sometimes  a  poot* 
girl,  who  had  nothing  but  her  chastity 
to  give,  was  told  that  she  must  sur- 
render that,  or  her  watch  would  be 
suffered  to  go  down. 

44  Now,  some  time  before  I  came 
into  the  country,  a  great  and  good 
prophet  had  appeared.  He  invited 
all  the  people  to  deliver  their  watches 
into  his  keeping.  He  came,  he  said, 
to  abolish  this  painful  and  mischie- 
vous condition  of  existence.  They 
should  build  a  temple  to  his  name  in 
each  city,  and  the  preservation  of  this 
temple  from  all  impurities  should  be 
the  new  and  far  easier  condition  oil 
which  life  should  depend. 

44  Strange!  men  believed  the  pro- 
phet, yet,  with  a  few  exceptions,  they 
kept  their  watches.  Those  who  had 
no  keys  clung  to  them  with  just  as 
much  tenacity  as  those  who  had. 
They  all  desired  to  have  a  key,  but 
none  would  part  with  the  watch. 

44  Meanwhile,  the  priests  had  built 
a  temple,  and  put  a  clock  in  the  tower 
thereof,  and  had  persuaded  the  peo- 
ple that,  unless  this  clock  also  were 
kept  going,  the  whole  city  would  be 
devoted  to  general  destruction.  What 
may  be  the  final  issue  of  events  I  can- 
not tell.  When  I  was  there  the  re- 
sult was  this— that,  instead  of  one, 
there  were  two  conditions  of  exist- 
ence ;  each  man  had  his  watch,  and 
the  whole  town  had  the  church  clock, 
to  keep  in  repair.  This  was  my  ex- 
perience in  the  country  of  watches." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  our 


152 


Voltaire  in  the  Crystal  Palace. 


[Aug. 


nimble  philosopher  retraced  his  way 
along  the  gallery.  In  his  haste  he 
entered  unawares  into  a  wooden  case, 
or  closet,  where  there  was  exhibited 
an  anatomical  model,  in  wax,  of  the 
human  figure.  It  was  the  size  of 
life,  and  stood  upright,  with  the  breast 
laid  bare,  exposing  for  convenient  in- 
spection the  heart  and  liver,  and  all 
the  other  great  viscera  of  the  human 
frame.  "Ha!  ha!"  he  cried— "  No 
change  here.  The  same  as  ever — heart, 
stomach,  and  the  rest  of  us :  the  same 
creature  they  laid  in  the  pyramids, 
and  burnt  upon  the  shore,  and  deposit 
now  in  deep  holes  in  the  earth.  No 
alteration  here.  Oh,  those  bowels ! 
how  often  did  they  afflict  me ! " 

Apropos  of  burying,  he  was  involv- 
ed soon  after  in  the  examination  of  a 
new  design  for  stowing  away  the  in- 
creasing multitude  of  our  dead.  It 
was  the  model  of  a  pyramid,  to  be 
erected  of  the  same  size  as  the  greatest 
of  the  Egyptian  pyramids,  but  to  be 
erected  after  a  very  different  fashion. 
For  whereas  the  ancient  pyramid  was 
an  encasement  of  stone  enclosing  the 
coffin  of  one  man,  in  the  modern 
pyramid  every  stone  might  be  said  to 
contain  its  dead.  The  area  would  be 
first  covered  with  vaults  built  close  to 
one  another,  on  these  a  second  area  of 
similar  vaults  would  be  constructed, 
on  these  a  third  rising  gradually  to  an 
apex.  The  project  had  something  in 
it  to  please  a  reflective  mind.  How 
the  two  structures  would  contrast— the 
despot's  pyramid  and  the  democratic 
pyramid!  What  admirable  types 
they  would  form  of  the  two  forms  of 
society,  the  memory  of  which  they 
would  severally  perpetuate!  In  the 
one  a  people  of  slaves  build  an  enor- 
mous mausoleum  for  one  man,  who  is, 
as  it  were,  a  representative  for  the 
whole ;  in  the  other,  a  nation  of  free- 
men construct  an  eternal  monument 
for  themselves,  simply  by  each  man 
lying  down  in  his  place  as  he  is 
called. 

"  But  begin  soon,  oh  ye  English- 
men!" he  exclaimed,  "or  you  may 
leave  but  a  truncated  and  incomplete 
pyramid  as  the  monument  of  your 
departed  greatness." 

"  What  bird  of  ill  omen  is  it,"  said 
a  stranger  who  overheard  him,  "  that 
prognosticates  the  downfal  of  Eng- 


uThe  Campania  is  a  desolation." 

"  Rome  built  her  greatness  upon 
conquest." 

"  And  England  upon  commerce." 

"Say  rather  upon  industry.  Our 
wealth  is  the  product  of  the  indus- 
trious classes,  of  the  active  capitalist 
and  the  indefatigable  workman — not 
the  pillage  of  provinces  by  consuls 
and  emperors." 

u  A  portion  of  your  population  de- 
pends for  subsistence  on  foreign  com- 
merce, and  foreign  commerce  cannot 
be  secured.  You  will  say  this  was 
inevitable ;  the  consequences  are  not 
the  less  inevitable.  On  this  very 
spot  you  are  hastening  the  disaster. 
You  are  inviting  other  nations  to  in- 
spect and  imitate  that  machinery  by 
which  alone  you  are  the  foremost 
traders  in  the  world.  You  are  in  the 
possession  of  much  curious  mechanism, 
skill,  and  craft,  which  have  become 
necessary  to  your  existence.  You 
would  impart  these  to  the  Turk,  to  the 
Bavarian,  to  the  Italian,  and  you 
would  take  a  few  coffee  cups,  and 
china  saucers,  and  some  fantastical 
upholstery  in  exchange." 

"Sir,  we  keep  no  secrets.  Let 
other  nations  imitate  what  they  see. 
By  the  time  they  have  imitated,  we 
shall  have  advanced  a  stage  beyond." 

"  You  are  sanguine.  You  seem  to 
think  that  the  spirit  of  industry  which 
exists  in  your  countrymen — a  spirit 
quite  unusual  in  the  history  of  the 
world — can  never  be  overtasked ;  that 
it  cannot  possibly  succumb ;  that  it 
never  will  relax.  May  you  augur 
rightly  !  Meanwhile  there  can  be  no 
harm  in  beginning  the  pyramid." 

Spirit  as  he  was,  our  visitor  began 
to  find  himself  exhausted  by  the  mul- 
titude of  objects  which  solicited  his 
attention.  He  had  seen  enough  he 
thought  for  one  visit.  But  in  quitting 
the  Crystal  Palace,  the  model  lodg- 
ing-houses erected  by  Prince  Albert 
caught  his  eye.  "This  Prince  Al- 
bert!" thought  he  ;  "  I  hear  a  great 
deal  of  this  prince,  and  from  all  I  hear 
there  has  not  been  on  or  near  a  throne, 
for  many  an  age,  so  intelligent  and 
accomplished  a  man.  One  must  go 
back  very  far  in  the  annals  of  England 
to  find  his  parallel.  This  prince  has 
equal  intelligence  and  far  more  know- 
ledge than  my  Frederick  of  Prussia, 
and  Frederick  could  be  a But 


1851.] 


Voltaire  in  the  Crystal  Palace. 


153 


I  have  forgiven  him.  Moreover,  I 
had  my  revenge ;  after  which  one 
very  sincerely  forgives.  Into  these 
lodging-houses  that  bear  the  prince's 
name  I  must  make  some  inqui- 
ries." 

He  did  so,  and  that  with  a  rapidity 
and  acuteuess  which  soon  put  him  on 
a  level,  in  point  of  information,  with 
the  rest  of  the  spectators.  A  pros- 
pectus for  the  society  for  building  a 
better  order  of  houses  for  the  work- 
man and  the  peasant  was  put  into  his 
hand.  It  did  not  fail  to  meet  with  his 
most  cordial  approbation:  it  was  a 
scheme  of  judicious  philanthropy 
worthy  of  its  royal  and  enlightened 
patron. 

As  he  was  withdrawing  his  foot 
from  the  step  of  the  model  cottage,  he 
met  for  the  third  and  last  time  the 
professor  of  mechanics,  who  here  also 
was  indefatigable  in  explaining  and 
developing.  Observing  Voltaire, 
whom  he  now  regarded  in  the  light  of 
an  old  acquaintance  and  antagonist, 
he  determined  to  push  the  advantage 
which  their  present  subject  of  exa- 
mination gave  him,  and  he  enlarged 
triumphantly  on  that  philanthropic 
desire  which  had  lately  sprung  up  in 
the  higher  and  middle  classes  of  the 
community,  to  improve  the  condition 
of  those  who  occupy  a  lower  place  in 
the  social  scale. 

"The  socialists,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  of  every  kind  are  manifestly  wrong. 
Some  expect  to  make  all  men  equally 
rich  ;  some  would  be  contented  if  all 
were  equally  poor  ;  whilst  others  trust 
to  I  know  not  what  of  religious  senti- 
ment to  remodel  society.  Society  is 
already  modelled — we  have  but  to 
complete  and  perfect  the  design. 
Peasants  and  labourers  there  must  be, 
but  they  shall  be  frugal,  and  prudent, 
and  instructed,  and,  as  an  inevitable 
consequence,  well  remunerated.  We 
shall  raise  the  standard  of  enjoyment." 

"And  the  standard  of  wages— is 
that  rising?" 

"It  has  been  lowering  because  men 
multiply  too  fast.  By  raising  the 
standard  of  enjoyment  we  shall  in- 
duce them  to  postpone  or  forego  mar- 
riage." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  the  love 
of  clean  linen  and  household  furniture 
will  compete  with  and  supplant  the 
second  great  instinct  of  our  nature  ? 


'  Canst  thou  draw  leviathan  with  a 
hook?'" 

"Don't  quote  Scripture,  sir;  it  is 
profane.  Experience  is  against  you. 
Respectable  men  do  forego  or  renounce 
marriage  rather  than" — 

"Renounce  their  social  position — 
rather  than  lose  caste.  It  is  an  ex- 
perience old  enough,  but  this  motive 
cannot  operate,  I  presume,  upon  those 
who  have  no  class  beneath  them.  I 
was  doubly  wrong  in  my  quotation. 
You  can  draw  leviathan  with  a  hook. 
Vanity  will  hold  him  fast  and  draw 
him  far.  But  I  see  nothing  in  what 
passes  under  this  title  of  '  standard  of 
enjoyment '  that  will  serve  your  pur- 
pose." 

"At  all  events,"  said  the  professor, 
"  you  will  not  deny  that  the  wealthy 
part  of  our  nation  have  shown  an  ex- 
traordinary solicitude  for  the  well- 
being  of  the  less  favoured  class." 

"Perhaps,  too,  a  little  solicitude 
for  the  common  safety.  And  very 
wise  of  them  if  they  have." 

"  We  are  all  working  for  one  com- 
mon end,  the  advancement  and  ameli- 
oration of  society.  It  is  the  peculiar 
feature  of  our  age,  and  its  golden  char- 
acteristic— this  zeal  which  one  class 
feels  for  the  happiness  of  another." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  a  very  extraordinary 
zeal.  But"— 

"  What  can  you  possibly  object 
here?" 

"Nothing  in  the  world.  I  make 
no  objections.  But" — 

"  Pray  speak  out ;  you  will  not 
offend  me." 

"  If  I  hear  on  board  ship  the  cry  of 
'  all  hands  to  the  pumps  ! '  and  see  it 
bravely  responded  to,  I  may  trust 
that  the  vessel  will  be  kept  afloat,  and 
brought  safely  into  harbour.  But  I 
cannot  precisely  congratulate  the  crew 
on  their  novel  and  extraordinary  acti- 
vity. You  do  not  sail  the  better  for 
all  this  pumping.  You  sailed  as  well 
when  you  left  all  to  the  canvass  and 
the  breeze,  as  you  will  again  leave  it 
all,  be  assured,  so  soon  as  the  leak 
is  got  under." 

The  professor  was  about  to  over- 
whelm him  with  a  burst  of  honest 
indignation,  when  he  discovered  to  his 
surprise  that  his  antagonist  had  van- 
ished from  the  scene.  Voltaire  went 
back  quite  contented  that  he  had 
lived  in  Paris  a  century  ago. 


151 


Pictures  from  St  Petersburg. 


[Aug. 


PICTURES  FROM  ST  PETERSBURG. 


IN  enlightened  Germany— so  we 
are  informed  by  Mr  Jerrmann  in  the 
preface  to  his  portfolio  of  sketches — 
extraordinary  misconceptions  and 
prejudices  exist  with  respect  to  Rus- 
sia and  its  ruler.  Enlightened  Eng- 
land, we  suspect,  is,  in  this  parti- 
cular, not  very  far  ahead  of  its  neigh- 
bour. We  may  not  be,  as  Mr  Jerr- 
mann says  his  countrymen  are,  "  more 
intimately  acquainted  with  the  state 
of  China  than  with  that  of  a  country 
which  commences  at  our  frontier," 
but  we  quite  coincide  in  his  opinion, 
that  the  majority  of  recent  publica- 
tions professing  to  describe  Russia 
and  the  Russians,  have  disseminated 
or  confirmed  erroneous  vieAvs.  Inde- 
pendently of  wilful  misrepresenta- 
tions, foreign  writers  have  contem- 
plated the  social  and  political  circum- 
stances and  institutions  of  Russia 
through  foreign  spectacles,  or,  as  Mr 
Jerrmann  teutonically  expresses  it, 
"with  the  eyes  of  their  own  nation- 
ality." This  is  neither  right  nor  just. 
Put  the  same  saddle  on  eveiy  horse, 
says  Sancho,  and  sore  backs  will  be 
plenty.  Many  things  may  be  admir- 
ably adapted  to  a  young  and  semi- 
civilised  nation,  that  would  be  griev- 
ously galling  to  an  older  and  wiser 
one.  "  I  praise  in  Russia,"  says  Mr 
Jerrmann,  "  much  that  I  should 
bitterly  blame  in  Germany.  Persons 
who  have  blamed  those  things  in 
Russia,  have  had  before  their  eyes, 
when  forming  their  judgment,  not 
Russia,  but  their  own  country,  their 
nationality,  themselves  in  short.  I 
have  done  my  utmost  to  avoid  this 
subjective  manner  of  viewing  things, 
and  have  endeavoured,  when  investi- 
gating whatever  struck  me  as  strange, 
to  make  due  allowance  for  differences 
of  climate  and  civilisation,  and  in 
the  temperament  and  character  of  the 
people.  As  for  the  rest,  I  stand  upon 
facts,  partly  historical,  partly  still 
existing,  and  therefore  incontrover- 
tible. My  views  may  possibly  be 
refuted,  but  the  facts  upon  which  they 


are  based  defy  refutation."  This  is 
confidently  and  sensibly  spoken. 
The  same  tone  pervades  the  book  to 
which  these  remarks  are  a  prelude> 
and  which  is  characterised  by  practi- 
cal sense,  and,  to  all  appearance,  by 
strict  impartiality.  Besides  these 
good  qualities,  it  possesses  others — 
less  important,  perhaps,  but  highly 
agreeable  to  the  reader — which  will 
be  apparent  as  we  proceed.  Mr 
Jerrmann  is  an  actor — so  we  learn 
from  his  seventeenth  chapter  touching 
theatricals  in  St  Petersburg,  where 
he  passed  three  years  as  member  and 
manager  of  the  German  company. 
The  present  volume  is  his  second 
appearance  in  a  literary  capacity. 
A  residence  in  France  suggested  his 
first  book.  We  should  perhaps  take 
shame  to  confess  that  we  never  heard 
of  him-  either  as  actor  or  author, 
until  his  Petersburg  pictures  reached 
us ;  but  German  theatricals  have  little 
interest  in  England,  and  the  Leipzig 
catalogue  is  a  voluminous  work.  We 
are  glad  to  have  made  his  acquaint- 
ance, for  he  is  very  interesting,  and 
we  incline  to  think  him  equally 
honest.  If  he  praises  and  justifies 
certain  things  which  public  opinion  is 
wont  to  censure  and  condemn,  on  the 
other  hand  he  also  freely  exposes  the 
rotten  places  in  the  state  of  Russia. 
Although  he  calls  his  book  "  unpoli- 
tical," there  will  not  be  wanting  per- 
sons to  tax  him  with  a  political  bias, 
because  the  facts  he  relates,  and  the 
deductions  he  makes  from  them, 
tend  upon  the  whole  rather  to  appro- 
bation than  to  blame  of  the  present 
order  of  things  in  Russia.  He  con- 
siders that  country  to  be  in  a  transi- 
tion state,  a  state  of  steady  but  slow 
improvement — the  more  satisfactory 
because  slow.  A  warm  admirer  of 
the  Emperor  Nicholas,  he  dissents 
from  those  writers  who  represent  the 
Russians  as  a  horde  of  slaves,  driven 
and  ill  treated  by  a  pitiless  tyrant  and 
taskmaster.  The  great  talents  of  the 
Czar,  his  grasp  of  mind  and  energy 


Bilder  ai<s  St  Petersburg:  Skizzcn,  nach  dem  Lcben  yczcichnet,  von 
Eduard  Jen-man  n.  Berlin,  Allgemein* De*kcke  Verlays-A nstalt ;  London,  Williams 
and  Norgiite.  1351. 


1851.]  Pictures  from 

of  purpose,  are  indisputable.  Mr 
Jerrmaim  undertakes  to  show  that  he 
has  a  heart  as  well  as  a  head,  and 
that  the  welfare  and  happiness  of  his 
people  are  his  great  object  in  life — an 
object  which  he  strives  to  attain  by 
gradual  steps,  making  freedom  wait 
upon  civilisation,  and  not  by  sweep- 
ing and  hasty  measures  dignified  with 
the  much-prostituted  name  of  reform. 
The  numerous  anecdotes  and  traits 
by  which  Mr  Jerrmann  illustrates  and 
supports  his  opinions,  are  at  least  as 
worthy  of  attention  and  credit  as  the 
exaggerated  tales  of  oppression  and 
cruelty  with  which  many  writers  on 
the  same  subject  have  freely  garnish- 
ed their  works.  Of  more  than  one  of 
such  writers  he  exhibits,  upon  occa- 
sion, with  no  sparing  pen,  the  blun- 
ders, hasty  judgments,  and  insufficient 
opportunities. 

The  name  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas 
is  of  very  frequent  occurrence  in  Mr 
Jerrmann's  book.  It  heads  his  first 
chapter,  and  is  repeatedly  to  be  found 
in  the  forty-one  that  follow.  It  were 
unjust  to  accuse  him,  on  this  account, 
of  adulation,  or  even  of  excess  of 
gratitude  for  past  favours.  For  how 
could  it  be  otherwise,  in  a  book  treat- 
ing of  the  present  state  of  Russia? 
The  name  of  Nicholas,  he  justly  says, 
is  at  this  day  as  inseparable  from  that 
of  Russia  as  is  the  notion  of  the  sun 
from  that  of  daylight.  This  premised, 
he  enunciates,  in  few  words,  his  pro- 
fession of  faith  as  regards  the  nation 
and  its  emperor.  "The  rights  of 
man,"  he  says,  "  are  trampled  under 
foot  in  Russia  !  Who  denies  it  ?  A 
nation,  still  semi-barbarous,  is  sub- 
jected to  a  semi-barbarous  rule ! 
Perfectly  true.  Laws  unworthy  of 
the  name  still  exist  there,  as  well  as 
classes  of  men  degraded  below  the 
proper  dignity  of  man.  All  this  is 
matter  of  fact ;  but  the  profound 
genius  of  the  Emperor,  who  discerns 
all  this,  his  restless  striving  to  remedy 
these  evils,  to  reconcile  these  incon- 
gruities, that  stamps  him  in  my  eyes, 
not  only  as  a  great  sovereign,  but 
also  as  a  true  friend  of  the  people." 
Mr  Jerrmann  then  instances  some  of 
the  measures  by  which  Nicholas 
advances,  slowly  and  prudently,  but 
steadily,  the  welfare  and  freedom  of 
his  subjects.  Not  the  least  remark- 
able of  these  are  the  increased  facili- 

VOL.  LXX.— NO.  CCCCXXX. 


St  Petersburg. 


155 


ties  afforded  to  serfs  for  their  eman- 
cipation. Formerly  the  male  serf's 
sole  escape  from  bondage  was  by 
military  service.  Once  under  the 
colours  he  was  serf  no  longer— but  he 
was  a  soldier  for  twenty  years,  at  the 
end  of  which  time,  unfitted  by  age 
and  habit  for  any  other  career,  he  for 
the  most  part  clung  to  the  service  till 
death  or  the  hospital  received  him. 
The  boon  of  emancipation  was  in  fact 
a  mockery,  until  Nicholas  shortened 
the  term  of  service  to  eight  years. 
These  expired,  the  soldier  is  still  a 
young  man,  able  to  begin  the  world 
on  his  own  account,  and  found  a  free, 
perhaps  a  wealthy  family.  Other 
roads  to  freedom,  more  intricate  in 
appearance,  but  equally  sure,  have 
been  opened  to  the  serf  since  the 
accession  of  Nicholas,  and  must 
gradually  but  inevitably  lead  to  the 
extinction  of  serfdom,  the  institution 
that  most  widely  separates  Russia 
from  civilisation.  These  roads  are 
indicated  and  explained  at  consider- 
able length  in  Mr  Jerrmann's  first 
chapter,  which  is  unfavourable  to 
extract  or  condensation,  but  well 
worthy  of  careful  reading  and  consi- 
deration. "  I  have  not  room,"  he  con- 
cludes, "  here  further  to  sketch  what 
the  Emperor  Nicholas  has  done,  and 
still  is  daily  doing,  for  the  true  freedom 
of  his  subjects  ;  but  what  I  have  here 
brought  forward  must  surely  suffice 
to  place  him,  in  the  eyes  of  every  un- 
prejudiced person,  in  the  light  of  a 
real  lover  of  his  people.  That  his 
care  has  created  a  paradise — that  no 
highly  criminal  abuse  of  power,  no 
shameful  neglect  prevails  in  the 
departments  of  justice  and  police — it 
is  hoped  no  reflecting  reader  will 
infer  from  this  exposition  of  facts. 
But  the  still- existing  abuses  alter 
nothing  in  my  view  of  the  Emperor's 
character,  of  his  assiduous  efforts  to 
raise  his  nation  out  of  the  deep  slough 
in  which  it  still  is  partly  sunk,  of  his 
efficacious  endeavours  to  elevate  his 
people  to  a  knowledge  and  use  of 
their  rights  as  men  —  alter  nothing 
in  my  profound  persuasion  that  Czar 
Nicholas  I.  is  the  true  father  of 
his  country." 

As  may  be  inferred  from  its  name, 
the  book  before  us  is  of  a  very  desul- 
tory nature,  and  a  notice  of  it  must 
necessarily  partake  of  the  same 


156 

character.     Taken 


Pictures  from  St  Petersburg. 


[Aug. 


IM as    a    whole,    it     over.      Letters  of  emancipation  were 

suppHes'a  most  complete  picture  of    forthwith  drawn  up,   and   the  count 
the  Russian  capital   and  its  inhabi-     -^i:— *  *'—  *-*»">  ^i;^^  fafi,<». 
tants  ;  but  no  great  pains  have  been 
bestowed    upon    the     ordering    and 
arrangement  of  the  chapters.     The 


first  that  tempts  us  to  pause  is  entitled 
"  Buildings  ;  "  and  we  turn  to  it  not 
with  intention  to  describe  the  archi- 
tectural appearance  of  St  Petersburg, 
but    because  it  contains  a  pleasing 
trait  of  the  master  of  one  of  those 
serfs  to  whose  future  prospects  we 
have  just  referred.    Amongst  the  best 
and  richest  shops  in  St  Petersburg 
are   provision  shops — somewhat  re- 
sembling our    Italian    warehouses—- 
where an  immense  variety  'of  edibles 
and  potables,  the  choicest  spices  and 
most  expensive  wines,  delicacies  of 
every  kind,  as  well  as  butter,  cheese, 
and  other  common  articles  of  con- 
sumption, are  exposed  for  sale.  Goods, 
to  the  amount  of  many  millions  of 
rubles,  are  heaped  up  in  these  shops, 
most  of  whose  keepers,   themselves 
millionaires,     are     serfs    of     Count 
Scheremetiew,    in  whose   name  the 
business    is    carried    on,     since    by 
Russian  law  no  serf  can  trade.  When 
they  began  business  they  were  aided 
by  the  count's  money  and  credit,  and 
in  return  they  pay  an   annual  poll- 
tax,   in  like  manner  with   the  serfs 
who  till  the  ground,  and  with  those 
who,    by  their  owner's    permission, 
take  service  in   the    towns.      Five 
rubles    (four  or   five   shillings)   was 
the  yearly  sum  they  paid  when  they 
first  set  up  their  shops.    They  pay 
the  same,  and  no  more— so  Mr  Jerr- 
mann  assures  us — now  that  they  roll 
in  wealth,   inhabit  sumptuous  man- 
sions, and  drive  in  elegant  carriages. 
"  By  the  Russian  laws  every  female 
serf  is  free  as  soon  as  married  to  a 
free  man  ;  on  the  other  hand,  marriage 
with  a  serf  entails  serfdom  on  a  free 
woman.      On  a  certain   day  one  of 
Count  Schereraetiew's  rich  bondsmen 
appeared  before  his  lord  to  petition  for 
the  freedom  of  a  son.  The  young  man 
was   in  love   with   a   poor  but   free 
maiden,  who  returned  his  affection,  but 
who  would  not  sacrifice  her  liberty 
to  her  love.    The  father  offered  eighty 
thousand  rubles  as  the  price  of  his 
son's  happiness.    The  count  accepted, 
and  desired  his  vassal  to  produce  the 
money.     In  an  instant  it  was  paid 


delivered  them  to  the  delighted  father, 
with  the  words,  '  You  must  let  me 
be  the  bridesman.'  When  in  this 
capacity  the  count  had  conducted 
the  bride  from  the  altar  to  her  hus- 
band's house,  and  had  handed  her, 
according  to  Russian  custom,  upon  a 
silver  waiter,  the  first  glass  of  cham- 
pagne, he  presented  to  her,  as  a 
bridal  gift,  a  bouquet  of  fresh  flowers, 
skilfully  arranged  round  a  small 
packet  containing  the  eighty  thousand 
rubles.  It  was  his  pride  to  have 
wealthy  men  as  serfs,  but  their  wealth 
had  no  attractions  for  him."  Such 
instances  of  generosity,  there  is  reason 
to  fear,  are  not  very  common 
amongst  Russian  serf- owners ;  and, 
indeed,  Mr  Jerrmann  intimates  as 
much  in  his  twenty-fourth  chapter, 
headed  "  Master  and  Slave,"  where  he 
exhibits  the  lamentable  condition  of 
those  serfs  whose  spendthrift  lords, 
in  that  frenzied  love  of  extravagance 
and  display  which  is  innate  in  the 
higher  classes  of  Russians,  squeeze^ 
the  very  marrow  from  the  bones  of 
their  miserable  vassals.  Of  such 
poor  wretches  he  describes  the  exist- 
ence as  one  of  wailing  and  despair ; 
their  dwellings  are  more  like  dens  of 
beasts  than  human  abodes  ;  their  food 
is  unwholesome  ;  their  half- starved 
bodies  are  covered  with  rags.  If 
they  contrive,  in  spite  of  still  recur- 
ring exactions,  to  accumulate  a  little 
property,  it  profits  them  not.  Fearing 
to  be  dispossessed  of  it  by  their 
tyrants,  they  bury  it  in  the  ground  ; 
and  it  has  often  happened,  after  the 
death  of  poor  wretches  who  had 
led  a  life  of  abject  poverty,  that  con- 
siderable sums  of  money  belonging  to 
them  have  been  found  concealed  in 
cellars,  barns,  and  other  hiding-places. 
As  a  contrast  to  this,  nothing  can 
surpass  the  fidelity  and  devotion  of 
the  Russian  serf,  when  his  master, 
by  humane  treatment,  and  by  some 
slight  show  of  sympathy  and  kindness, 
has  inspired  him  with  attachment  to 
his  person.  For  such  a  master  he 
readily  and  joyfully  sacrifices  all  he 
possesses,  even  to  his  own  life.  Mr 
Jerrmann  gives  instances  of  this  self- 
devotion.  "  In  the  neighbourhood  of 
Kasan,  a  landed  proprietor,  oppressed 
by  debts,  was  obliged  to  offer  some 


1851.] 


Pictures  from  St  Petersburg. 


157 


villages  for  sale.  As  soon  as  his 
vassals,  to  whom  he  had  always  been 
a  kind  master,  were  aware  of  his 
embarrassments,  they  held  a  meeting 
and  subscribed  the  greater  part  of 
their  hard-earned  savings  to  relieve 
their  beloved  lord  from  his  debts,  and 
keep  him  as  their  owner.  They  asked 
no  bond,  no  acknowledgment :  it  was 
entirely  the  effect  of  faithful  and  sincere 
attachment."  The  cruel  complica- 
tions to  which  the  system  of  serfdom, 
and  the  heartlessness  of  serf-owners, 
sometimes  lead,  are  strikingly  exem- 
plified in  the  story  of  a  Russian 
priest,  with  whom  Mr  Jerrmann  made 
acquaintance  during  an  excursion  near 
St  Petersburg.  This  priest's  father 
was  a  serf  on  an  estate  near  Kasan, 
and  was  permitted  by  the  count,  his 
master,  to  take  service  in  the  town, 
he  paying  a  yearly  abrok  or  fine,  in 
lieu  of  the  labour  he  was  bound  to 
perform.  He  obtained  employment 
in  the  household  of  a  rich  goldsmith, 
and  there  occupied  his  leisure  in 
drawing,  for  which  he  had  a  natural 
taste.  One  day  he  surprised  his 
employer  by  the  exhibition  of  a 
beautiful  arabesque  design.  The  gold- 
smith, struck  by  his  ability,  released 
him  from  his  menial  duties,  and  took 
him  as  a  pupil  into  his  workshop, 
where  his  talent,  backed  by  unweary- 
ing assiduity,  soon  converted  the  dull 
peasant  into  a  highly  skilled  artist. 
Thus  he  continued  until  he  reached 
his  five-and-twentieth  year,  when  he 
fell  in  love  with  the  goldsmith's 
daughter,  a  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen. 
She  ardently  returned  his  love,  and 
her  father  consented  to  their  union 
on  one  condition,  that  the  serf  should 
become  a  freeman.  This  condition 
could  not  be  complied  with.  The 
count  obstinately  refused  to  liberate  his 
vassal ;  all  that  entreaty  could  wring 
from  him  was  the  promise  that,  with- 
out absolute  necessity,  he  would  not 
withdraw  him  from  the  town.  This 
did  not  satisfy  the  old  goldsmith ; 
but  he  could  not  resist  his  daughter's 
tears,  and  the  lovers  were  united.  A 
year  of  perfect  happiness  flew  rapidly 
by ;  then  came  the  war  with  France ; 
the  bridegroom's  younger  brother  was 
taken  for  military  service,  his  father 
died,  and  he  himself  was  summoned 
by  his  owner  to  manage  the  now 
deserted  farm.  On  his  brother's 


return  from  the  army  he  was  to  be 
at  liberty  to  go  back  to  Kasan.  But 
his  brother  never  returned,  and  the 
poor  artist,  the  cunning  worker  in 
gold  and  silver,  was  condemned  to 
follow  the  plough,  whilst  his  free- 
born  wife  sat  beneath  a  serf's  roof, 
nursing  her  infant  son.  This  child 
was  her  only  consolation  in  her  sadly 
altered  circumstances.  She  passed 
her  time  in  dressing  and  adorning  it, 
and  the  fame  of  its  beauty  spread 
through  the  hamlet,  till  it  reached  the 
ears  of  the  countess,  who  demanded 
to  see  the  child.  The  proud  mother 
decked  it  out  like  a  lamb  for  the 
sacrifice,  and  took  it  to  the  castle. 
The  countess  was  delighted  with  its 
beauty,  as  she  might  have  been  with 
that  of  a  poodle  or  parrot,  and  de- 
clared her  intention  to  do  its  parents 
the  honour  of  adopting  it.  In  vain 
the  mother  wept,  implored,  and  raved 
in  despair  at  the  prospect  of  losing 
her  son.  The  infant  remained  upon 
the  countess's  lap,  the  mother  was 
forcibly  turned  out  of  the  castle. 

Brought  up  in  luxury,  the  boy 
thought  not  of  the  parents  he  had 
scarcely  known.  The  count  died 
soon  after  his  adoption,  leaving  his 
widow  with  two  sons  and  a  daughter, 
besides  the  adopted  son  and  two 
adopted  daughters.  The  six  children 
grew  up  together  in  perfect  equality, 
receiving  the  same  education,  sharing 
the  same  sports,  until  the  serfs  son 
reached  his  fifteenth  year.  At  that 
period  the  young  count  fell  danger- 
ously ill;  the  physicians  abandoned 
him,  and  his  despairing  mother  made 
a  vow  that  if  he  recovered  she  would 
devote  all  her  adopted  children  to  the 
church.  He  did  recover ;  she  sent  her 
two  adopted  daughters  to  a  convent ; 
one  took  the  veil ;  the  other  so 
obstinately  refused  it,  that  the  supe- 
rior of  the  convent  sent  her  back  again 
to  the  countess,  who,  furious  at  her 
refusal,  gave  her  in  marriage  to  a 
gamekeeper,  a  dissolute  fellow,  who 
took  her  away  to  Moscow.  Then 
came  the  turn  of  the  goldsmith's  son. 
He  had  no  taste  for  the  priesthood ; 
but  what  could  he  do  ?  A  serf  and 
the  son  of  a  serf,  obedience  was  his 
only  passport  to  freedom :  refusal 
would  condemn  him  to  a  life  of  toil 
and  misery.  By  consenting,  he  at 
least  secured  his  emancipation;  for 


158  Pictures  from 

no  serf  can  bo  a  priest  in  Russia.  He 
yielded,  was  received  into  the  church, 
and  it  was  during  his  residence  at  the 
St  Petersburg  seminary  that  Mr  Jerr- 
mann  fell  in  with  him,  and  heard  from 
his  own  lips  the  sad  story  of  his  life. 

Before  quitting  the  subject  of  the 
architecture  and  public  buildings  of 
the  Russian  capital,  Mr  Jerrmann 
gives  a  most  interesting  account  of 
the  burning  of  the  Winter  Palace  in 
December  1837.  The  court  were  at 
the  Michael's  Theatre,  where  the 
French  company  perform,  when  sud- 
denly an  aide-de-camp  entered  the 
imperial  box  and  whispered  to  Prince 
Wolkonsky,  one  of  the  ministers  then 
present.  The  prince  gave  him  orders, 
and  continued  to  look  quietly  on  at 
the  performance.  Half-an-hour  later 
the  aide-de-camp  returned,  and  this 
time  the  Prince  spoke  to  the  Emperor, 
who  rose,  gave  his  arm  to  his  wife 
and  conducted  her  to  her  carriage. 
The  coachman  received  orders  to 
drive  to  the  Anitchkoff  Palace  instead 
of  to  the  Winter  Palace.  The  Em- 
peror mounted  a  horse  that  was  in 
waiting  for  him,  and  gallopped  to  the 
Winter  Palace.  There  was  a  terrible 
crowd  and  crushing  in  the  streets ; 
half  St  Petersburg  was  on  foot ;  it 
was  as  light  as  day,  and  flames  were 
roaring  up  into  the  sky  :  the  Winter 
Palace  was  on  fire.  When  the  Em- 
peror got  there,  the  flames  were  burst- 
ing through  all  the  windows.  The 
massive  walls  still  stood  firm,  as  did 
the  gigantic  statues  that  surmounted 
them,  and  which  passed,  blackened  but 
uninjured,  through  that  terrible  night ; 
but  the  whole  interior  of  the  palace, 
with  its  costly  pictures,  furniture,  and 
decorations,  was  evidently  doomed. 

"  The  E\nperor  gallopped  round  the 
building  to  look  after  his  sentries. 
The  precaution  was  not  superfluous  ; 
on  the  western  side  two  soldiers  were 
near  falling  victims  to  the  fire  ;  in  the 
general  confusion  those  whose  duty  it 
was  had  forgotten  to  relieve  them, 
and  there  they  stood,  notwithstanding 
the  terrible  heat,  musket  on  shoulder 
an -I  resigned  to  their  fate.  The  Em- 
peror relieved  them  himself,  and 
pressed  forward  into  the  palace  ; 
with  a  glance  he  saw  that  the  whole 
must  soon  fall  in,  and  he  hastened 
into  the  rooms  where  the  danger 
seemed  greatest,  to  call  out  the  men 


St  Petersburg. 


[Aug. 


who  were  saving  the  furniture.  At 
his  command  everybody  fled  from  the 
building,  with  the  exception  of  four 
workmen  who  had  received  orders  to 
save  an  enormous  mirror,  and  who 
would  not  leave  the  place  without  it. 
The  Emperor  drew  his  sword,  and 
with  one  blow  of  the  hilt  shivered  the 
glass.  Scarcely  had  the  last  man 
passed  the  threshold,  when  the  roof 
fell  in  with  a  terrible  crash.  Having 
satisfied  himself  that  no  lives  were  in 
danger,  Nicholas  hurried  to  the  Em- 
press at  the  Anitchkoff  Palace. 

"  The  Empress  had  recovered  from 
her  first  alarm.  She  was  tired,  and 
asked,  with  some  uneasiness,  where 
she  was  to  pass  the  night.  Her 
secretary,  the  privy- councillor  Cham- 
beau,  begged  permission  to  conduct 
her  to  the  sleeping-room  that  had 
been  hastily  prepared  for  her.  There 
she  found,  to  her  great  astonishment, 
through  the  delicate  attention  of  an 
attached  servant — her  sleeping  apart- 
ment out  of  the  Winter  Palace,  with 
its  thousand  little  comforts  and  con- 
veniences ;  everything  in  the  same 
place  and  order  as  if  it  had  remained 
untouched  since  she  last  dressed  her- 
self. Wrhen  the  fire  had  reached  that 
wing  of  the  palace,  (and  it  spread 
with  tremendous  rapidity,)  Cham- 
beau  hastened  to  the  boudoir  with  a 
dozen  servants  and  muschiks.  *  All 
here  belongs  to  the  Empress ! '  he 
cried  ;  '  not  a  thing  must  be  broken !' 
and  in  aprons,  baskets,  pockets,  were 
carried  away  all  those  thousand-and- 
one  nicknacks — clocks,  vases,  boxes 
and  ornaments — without  which  such 
a  boudoir  could  not  be  complete. 
Without  the  slightest  injury  they 
were  conveyed  through  the  flames,  and 
for  half-a-league  through  the  heaving 
throng  that  filled  the  streets ;  and 
when  Chambeau  had  arranged  every- 
thing as  it  was  in  its  former  place,  the 
locality  alone  was  changed  ;  all  things 
seemed  to  stand  where  they  had  been 
left — not  a  ribband  was  crumpled  nor 
a  sheet  of  paper  soiled.  I  doubt 
there  being  many  masters  in  Germany 
who  are  so  well  and  quickly  served." 

The  next  day  the  Emperor  re- 
turned to  the  scene  of  destruction. 
Within  the  walls  the  fire  still  raged. 
For  some  time  he  gazed  mournfully 
at  the  blackened  remnants  of  one  of 
the  chief  ornaments  of  his  capital. 


1851.] 


Pictures  from  St  Petersburg. 


159 


At  last  he  raised  his  head,  passed  his 
hand  over  his  brow,  and  said  cheer- 
fully, "This  day  year  I  will  sleep  in. 
my  room  in  the  Winter  Palace.  Who 
undertakes  the  building?"  For  a 
moment  all  recoiled  before  an  under- 
taking that  seemed  impossible.  Then 
General  Kleinmichael,  an  aide-de- 
camp of  the  Emperor's,  stepped  for- 
ward and  said,  "I  will!"  "Arid 
the  building  is  to  be  complete  in  a 
year?1'  asked  Nicholas.  "Yes,  sire." 
"  Tis  good !  Now  set  to  work ! "  An 
hour  later  the  still  burning  ruins  were 
being  cleared  away.  The  fire  was  in 
December  1837;  by  December  1838 
the  palace  was  rebuilt.  Three  months 
afterwards  it  was  occupied  by  the 
court.  Kleinmichael  kept  his  word- 
but  at  a  heavy  price,  a  price  that 
could  be  paid  only  in  Russia,  for  it 
was  at  the  cost  of  human  life  as  well 
as  of  mountains  of  gold.  Under  the 
Empress  Elizabeth  the  palace  had 
taken  eight  years  to  build ;  Klein- 
michael completed  it  in  one.  True  it 
is  that  almost  the  whole  of  the 
masonry  resisted  the  fire,  but  the 
whole  of  the  interior  had  to  be  re- 
constructed ;  and  what  a  task  that 
was !  The  work  went  on  day  and 
night ;  there  was  no  pause  for  meals  ; 
the  gangs  of  workmen  relieved  each 
other.  Festivals  were  unheeded-;  the 
seasons  themselves  were  overcome. 
To  accelerate  the  work,  the  building 
was  kept,  the  winter  through,  at  the 
excessive  temperature  of  twenty-four 
to  twenty-six  degrees  Reaumur.  Many 
workmen  sank  under  the  heat,  and 
were  carried  out  dead  or  dying ;  a 
painter,  who  was  decorating  a  ceiling, 
fell  from  his  ladder,  struck  with  apo- 
plexy. Neither  money,  health,  nor 
life  was  spared.  The  Emperor,  who 
at  the  time  of  the  conflagration  had 
risked  his  own  life  to  save  the  lives  of 
others,  knew  nothing  of  the  means 
employed  to  carry  out  his  will.  "  In 
the  December  of  the  following  year," 
says  Mr  Jerrmann,  "  and  in  proud 
consciousness  of  his  power,  he  entered 
the  resuscitated  palace  and  rejoiced 
over  his  work.  The  whole  was  con- 
structed on  the  previous  plan,  but 
with  some  improvements  and  many 
embellishments.  With  the  Empress 
on  his  arm,  and  followed  by  his  family, 
he  traversed  the  apartments  of  this 
immense  building,  completed,  in  one 


year's  time,  by  the  labour  of  thousands 
of  men.  He  reached  the  saloon  of 
St  George,  the  largest  and  most  beauti- 
ful of  all,  and  the  royal  family  re- 
mained there  longer  than  anywhere 
else,  examining  the  costly  gold  mould- 
ings of  the  ceiling,  the  five  colossal 
bronze  chandeliers,  and  the  beautiful 
relievo  over  the  throne,  which  repre- 
sents St  George  slaying  the  dragon. 
The  Empress  was  tired,  and  would 
have  sat  down  ; — the  patron-spirit  of 
Russia  prevented  her :  as  yet  there 
was  no  furniture  in  the  hall,  so  she 
leaned  upon  the  Emperor's  arm  and 
walked  into  the  next  room,  followed 
by  the  entire  retinue.  The  last  of 
these  had  scarcely  passed  through  the 
door  when  a  thundering  crash  re- 
sounded through  the  palace,  which 
trembled  to  its  very  foundations,  and 
the  air  was  darkened  by  clouds  of 
dust.  The  timbers  of  the  ceiling  of 
the  saloon  of  St  George  had  yielded 
to  the  weight  of  the  chandeliers; 
and  the  whole  had  fallen  in,  crush- 
ing everything  beneath  its  enormous 
mass.  The  saloon,  so  brilliant  a 
moment  before,  was  a  heap  of  ruins. 
The  splendid  palace  was  again  partly 
destroyed,  but  the  genius  of  Russia 
had  watched  over  her  destiny — the 
imperial  family  were  saved!" 

Whilst  speaking  of  buildings  per- 
taining to  the  crown,  Mr  Jerraiann 
gives  an  account  of  the  various  im- 
perial establishments  for  educational 
purposes.  These  include  military  and 
civil  schools — schools  for  engineers, 
miners,  lawyers,  agriculturists — and 
are  under  the  special  protection,  and, 
indeed,  under  the  personal  superinten- 
dence, of  the  Emperor,  who  takes  tho 
strongest  interest  in  and  frequently 
visits  them.  His  visits  are  seldom 
announced  beforehand.  Sometimes 
he  rises  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
from  the  iron  camp-bed  upon  which 
he  invariably  sleeps,  gets  into  his 
one-horse  droschki,  and  makes  a  soli- 
tary tour  of  inspection  of  the  different 
public  schools.  These  investigations 
are  conducted  with  true  military 
rigour.  "  The  Emperor's  first  glance 
on  entering  the  corridor  is  at  the  ther- 
mometer ;  and  woe  betide  those  who 
are  responsible  if  it  does  not  stand  at 
the  prescribed  fourteen  degrees.  Then 
he  visits  all  the  rooms,  to  se'e  if  there 
is  everywhere  light,  and  if  the  officers 


160 


Pictures  from 


on  duty  are  vigilant.  The  beds  of 
the  scholars  are  next  examined ;  the 
Emperor  pulls  off  the  bed-clothes, 
and,  holding  a  light  in  one  hand, 
with  the  other  he  turns  the  children 
from  side  to  side,  strictly  investigating 
the  cleanliness  of  the  linen,  and  of 
their  persons."  It  seems  almost  in- 
conceivable that  idle  and  malevolent 
persons  have  taken  the  Emperor's 
nocturnal  expeditions  as  foundation 
for  the  wildest  and  most  ridiculous 
tales,  which  are  often  the  subject  of 
jest  and  laughter  in  the  family  circle 
of  the  Russian  court.  In  proof  that 
these  nonsensical  fabrications  have 
reached  the  ears  of  Nicholas  himself, 
Mr  Jerrmann  refers  to  his  having  one 
day  said  to  Viscount  de  Custine,  when 
showing  him  the  pupils  of  the  public 
schools,  whose  healthy  happy  appear- 
ance struck  every  one :  u  Here  are 
some  of  the  youths  of  whom  I  devour 
a  few  every  week;"  and  Count  Or- 
loff,  who  just  then  came  up  and  was 
presented  to  Custine,  announced  him- 
self as  "  the  famous  poisoner." 

Having  thus  incidentally  alluded 
to  M.  de  Custine,  Mr  Jerrmann 
launches  forth  into  a  diatribe  against 
his  book  on  Russia,  ridiculing  his  pre- 
tensions to  depict  the  political  and 
social  circumstances  of  a  country  to 
whose  language  and  usages  he  w'as  a 
total  stranger,  and  which  he  had  never 
visited  previously  to  that  residence  of 
three  short  months,  in  which  he  pre- 
tended to  have  collected  materials  for 
two  large  octavo  volumes.  Three 
months,  says  Mr  Jerrmann,  filled 
with  visits,  balls,  concerts,  theatres, 
parades,  court  festivals,  and  the  like. 
"  Had  the  noble  viscount  passed  his 
days  in  the  streets  and  squares,  in  the 
public  buildings,  markets,  taverns, 
and  coffee-houses;  and  if,  in  the 
evening,  instead  of  visiting  brilliant 
soirees,  he  had  sat  down  with  his 
dwornik,  (an  upper  servant,)  and 
made  him  talk  about  the  mode  of 
life,  the  joys  and  sufferings  of  the 
Russian  people,  he  would  have  learned 
much  more  that  was  true  and  worth 
knowing  than  in  the  coteries  he  fre- 
quented, and  which  took  advantage  of 
his  thoroughly  French  love  of  gossip  to 
impose  upon  him  all  sorts  of  ridiculous 
fables."  The  groat  temporary  suc- 
cess and  popularity  of  M.  de  Custine's 
book  are  attributed  by  Mr  Jerrmann 


St  Petersburg.  [Aug. 

to  the  strong  prejudices  then  existing 
in  Europe  against  Russia.  "  The 
work  reached  the  Emperor's  hands, 
and  accident  threw  a  copy  in  my  way, 
in  which  he  had  made  red  marks 
against  the  most  striking  passages. 
Whether  the  malice  of  some  of  these 
vexed  him  I  know  not ;  but  I  think  I 
can  answer,  of  my  own  knowledge, 
for  his  having  often  heartily  laughed 
at  the  nonsense  and  many  absurdities 
the  book  contains."  In  his  double 
capacity  of  a  foreign  actor  of  note, 
and  of  a  man  of  ability  and  education, 
Mr  Jerrmann  seems  to  have  made  his 
way  into  good  society  at  St  Peters- 
burg. We  do  not  mean  that  he  fre- 
quented the  balls  and  drawing-rooms 
which  he  blames  M.  de  Custine  for 
making  his  habitual  haunts,  but  that 
he  enjoyed  the  acquaintance,  and  eve.n 
the  intimacy,  of  many  persons  of  note 
and  intelligence,  whose  conversation 
must  greatly  have  aided  him  in  form- 
ing his  estimate  of  Russian  men  and 
things.  He  had  also  a  sort  of  access 
to  the  court,  with  some  of  whose  offi- 
cers he  frequently  dined  ;  and  he  gives 
an  amusing  account,  in  his  chapter 
headed  "Eating  and  Drinking,"  of 
the  arrangements  of  the  imperial 
table.  Some  years  ago,  it  appears, 
the  Empress  of  all  the  Russias  took  it 
into  her  head  to  look  into  the  state  of 
her  housekeeping.  She  ordered  the 
daily  reports  of  expenditure  to  be 
brought  to  her,  and  found,  in  the  first 
she  took  up,  the  following  rather  sin- 
gular item  : — A  bottle  of  rum  for  the 
Naslednik,  (heir  to  the  crown.)  This 
struck  her  as  strange,  and  excited  her 
curiosity  to  look  further  back ;  but 
what  was  her  astonishment  when,  for 
years  past,  she  found  a  bottle  of  rum 
set  down  every  day  to  the  account  of 
the  Naslednik.  Shocked  to  find  her 
son  such  a  confirmed  drinker,  she  con- 
tinued her  investigations,  and  found 
that,  even  in  his  infancy,  he  had  made 
the  same  enormous  consumption  of 
spirits — that  in  his  cradle,  and  on  the 
very  day  of  his  birth,  he  was  still 
charged  with  the  daily  bottle.  And 
on  referring  back  to  before  his  birth, 
the  bottle  was  still  put  down.  This 
was  inexplicable.  Continuing  her 
researches,  however,  the  Empress  at 
last  got  to  the  first  bottle.  It  was 
set  down  in  some  year  of  the  last 
century,  and  the  following  note  was 


1851.] 


Pictures  from  St  Petersburg. 


161 


on  the  margin  : — u  On  account  of  vio- 
lent toothache,  a  teaspoonful  with 
sugar  to  be  given ;  by  order  of  the 
physician  of  the  imperial  court."  So, 
because  the  Emperor  Alexander,  when 
heir-apparent,  had  taken  a  teaspoon- 
ful of  rum  for  a  toothache,  a  bottle 
had  ever  since  been  daily  drawn  from 
the  imperial  cellar,  and  nominally 
consumed  by  him  and  his  successors. 
This  was  rather  too  strong,  and  led  to 
further  investigations  ;  and  the  Em- 
press informed  her  husband  of  the 
discoveries  she  had  made.  He  read 
and  calculated  and  cyphered,  and  at 
last  exclaimed,  "  If  this  goes  on,  I 
shall  have  to  pledge  my  lands  in  order 
to  pay  for  my  table.  An  end  must 
be  put  to  this — /  will  put  myself  out 
to  board."  And  no  sooner  said  than 
done.  Next  day  the  imperial  kitchen 
existed  no  longer.  A  liberal  contract 
was  entered  into  for  the  board  of  the 
whole  imperial  household  :  a  great 
economy  was  effected,  everybody  was 
better  fed,  and  all  were  content  save 
cooks  and  butlers. 

Even  the  smallest  glimpses  of  the 
private  character  and  habits  of  so 
remarkable  a  man  as  Nicholas  of 
Russia,  cannot  but  have  their  in- 
terest. The  chapter  entitled  "The 
Imperial  Family,"  comprises  several 
pleasing  traits  of  bonhomie  and  kindly 
feeling  in  the  Emperor.  "He  con- 
siders himself,"  says  Mr  Jerrmann, 
"  as  the  first  servant  of  the  State, 
and  likes  to  make  those  around  him 
observe  this.  If  a  party  of  pleasure 
be  proposed,  he  'will  join  it  if  the 
service  permits.'  To  a  favoured  but 
weary  official,  who  asked  to  retire 
on  a  pension,  he  replied,  '  So  long 
as  I  serve,  you  also,  I  hope,  will 
not  refuse  your  services  to  your 
country.'  The  days  he  passes  in 
his  country  palace  of  Peterhof  are 
his  time  of  relaxation  from  this  '  ser- 
vice.'1 Every  hour  of  them  is  spent 
in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  Invested 
with  crown  and  sceptre,  he  inspires 
respect  and  admiration  ; — behold  him 
in  his  domestic  circle,  and  one  can- 
not help  loving  him.  ...  At 
Peterhof  I  often  met  the  Emperor 
walking  alone  in  the  park  and  gar- 
dens. There  he  puts  himself  at  his 
ease ;  lays  aside  sword,  uniform,  and 
epaulets,  and  rambles  about  in  a  sur- 
tout  and  forage-cap.  In  his  capital, 


where  he  is  'on  service,'  he  never 
appears  otherwise  than  in  uniform; 
even  in  the  coldest  weather  he  wears 
only  a  cloth  cloak,  like  any  other 
officer.  I  never  saw  him  in  a  fur 
coat,  nor  do  I  believe  that  he  has 
one.  In  the  metropolis  his  appear- 
ance is  quite  unassuming  ;  he  walks 
about  the  Newsky  unattended,  and 
his  presence  is  only  to  be  noticed  by 
the  joyful  movement  of  the  crowd. 
None  are  allowed  to  address  him  ; 
and  although  it  were  most  agreeable 
to  him  if  he  could  with  propriety 
be  left  unnoticed,  yet  he  exacts  due 
respect  from  those  by  whom  he 
knows  that  he  is  recognised.  He 
once  stopped  opposite  to  two  young 
men  belonging  to  one  of  the  imperial 
schools,  who  were  staring  him  in  the 
face,  and  asked  why  they  did  not 
salute  him.  One  of  them  maintained 
a  terrified  silence  ;  the  other  plucked 
up  courage,  and  replied,  '  We  do  not 
know  you  ! '  '  No  matter  5 '  replied 
the  Emperor,  '  you  see  that  I  wear  a 
general's  uniform ;  go,  both  of  you, 
to  the  Winter  Palace,  and  report 
yourselves  to  the  guard  as  under 
arrest.  There  you  will  find  out  who 
I  am,  and  will  know  it  for  the  future.' 
With  throbbing  hearts  the  young  men 
obeyed  orders,  and  augured  little  good 
from  the  unfriendly  reception  of  the 
officer  on  guard.  The  guard  had 
their  dinner ;  nobody  heeded  the 
prisoners.  Several  hours  passed, 
still  they  were  kept  fasting.  They 
had  just  received  a  harsh  refusal  to 
their  humble  petition  to  be  allowed 
to  send  out  for  a  loaf,  when  one  of 
the  imperial  servants  entered  with 
a  dinner  from  the  Emperor's  table, 
and  a  bottle  of  champagne.  For 
that  day,  he  told  them,  they  were 
the  guests  of  the  Emperor,  who  re- 
quested them  to  drink  his  health,  and 
not  to  forget  in  future  to  salute  when 
they  met  him,  as  he  could  not  afford 
to  invite  them  to  dinner  every  day." 
Once  the  Emperor  met  Vernet,  the 
French  comic  actor,  in  the  street,  and 
stopped  to  speak  to  him.  He  had  no 
sooner  walked  on  again  than  the 
police  came  up,  and  conveyed  Vernet 
to  the  nearest  guard-house  for  speak- 
ing to  the  Emperor.  Vernet  might 
easily  have  obtained  his  release,  by 
sending  a  line  to  the  director  of  the 
theatre,  but  he  delayed  doing  this 


162 


Pictures  from  St  Petersburg. 


[Aug. 


until  the  time  of  performance  arrived, 
and  then  took  things  so  leisurely  in 
his  dressing-room,  that  he  made  the 
audience  wait,  and  was  ill  received. 
He  acted  with  more  spirit  and 
humour  than  ever ;  so  much  so,  that 
the  Emperor,  who  had  laughed  ex- 
ceedingly at  his  performance,  and 
wished  to  console  his  favourite  for 
his  bad  reception,  went  behind  the 
scenes  between  the  acts,  spoke  to 
him  in  the  most  friendly  manner, 
and  asked  if  he  could  not  do  him  a 
pleasure  in  return  for  all  the  amuse- 
ment he  had  afforded  him.  "  Sire," 
replied  the  actor,  "the  greatest  favour 
you  can  do  me  is  never  to  accost  me 
again  in  the  street."  The  Emperor 
looked  astonished ;  General  Gedeon- 
off,  the  director  of  the  theatre,  (who 
had  just  fined  Vernet  three  hundred 
francs  for  being  too  late,)  changed 
colour.  Yernet  proceeded  to  relate, 
in  humorous  strain,  his  adventure 
with  the  police,  and  concluded  by 
pointing  to  the  General,  and  saying, 
"Sire,  to  complete  my  misfortune, 
I  am  fined  three  hundred  francs." 
The  Emperor,  convulsed  with  laugh- 
ter, hurried  back  to  his  box  to  tell 
the  story  to  the  Empress,  and  next 
day  Vernet  received  the  receipt  for 
the  fine,  paid  out  of  the  imperial 
purse,  and,  in  his  Majesty's  name, 
a  costly  diamond- ring  as  domrnages 
interets.  This  anecdote  is  one  of 
several  examples,  scattered  through 
Air  Jerrmann's  book,  of  the  absurdly 
literal  interpretation  of  the  laws  by 
the  Russian  police.  Like  the  sen- 
tinels who  would  have  perished  by 
fire  under  the  walls  of  the  Winter 
•Palace,  the  police  of  St  Petersburg 
know  nothing  but  the  letter  of  the 
law.  Terrible  consequences  have 
sometimes  ensued  from  this  blind 
respect  for  routine.  Some  years  ago 
the  performances  of  the  pantomime 
company  of  the  German  Lehman  were 
the  chief  attraction  of  the  Maslinissa, 
the  greatest  and  most  thoroughly 
national  festival  of  the  Russians, 
which  occurs  in  the  last  week  of  the 
Carnival.  There  Avas  a  perfect  rage 
for  these  pantomimes  ;  all  Petersburg 
flocked  to  see  them ;  and  although 
they  were  repeated  every  two  hours, 
the  temporary  theatre  in  which  they 
were  played,  upon  the  Admiralty 
Square,  was  continually  filled  to 


suffocation.  During  one  of  the 
morning  performances,  whilst  the 
pit  was  in  full  glee  and  uproar  of 
delight,  the  harlequin  suddenly  rushed 
upon  the  stage,  and  exclaimed, 
"Fire!  sauve  qui  peut!"  The  an- 
nouncement was  received  with  a 
general  burst  of  laughter  at  what 
was  taken  for  a  stupid  joke.  The 
misapprehension  was  fatal,  for  it 
shortened  the  brief  space  during 
which  escape  was  possible ;  in  a  few 
moments  the  flames  burst  out  from 
behind  the  scenes ;  the  wooden  build- 
ing was  in  a  blaze.  The  audience, 
wild  with  terror,  rushed  to  the  doors  ; 
unfortunately  these  opened  inwards, 
and  the  pressure  of  the  frantic  throng 
closed  them  as  effectually  as  iron  bars 
and  bolts.  Exit  was  impossible. 
Outside,  a  workman,  who  had  as- 
sisted in  the  building  of  the  theatre, 
stepped  forth  from  the  crowd  and 
called  for  an  axe,  declaring  that  he 
knew  every  joint  of  the  boards  and 
beams,  and  could  quickly  open  a 
passage  for  the  imprisoned  audience. 
But  the  budschnik  or  policeman  on 
duty  would  not  permit  this  to  be  done 
till  his  superiors  came  to  decide  upon 
the  matter.  At  last  urgent  necessity 
overcame  every  other  consideration, 
the  punctilio  us  police  agent  was  pushed 
aside,  several  men  seized  axes,  and 
soon  a  large  opening  was  made  in  the 
side  of  the  building.  A  dense  cloud 
of  smoke  made  the  crowd  recoil,  and 
when  it  had  cleared  away  a  horrible 
spectacle  presented  itself.  In  closely 
packed  masses,  sat  men,  women,  and 
children,  apparently  still  gazing  at 
the  stage,  which  was  a  sheet  of  flame. 
Rescue  had  come  too  late  ;  the  sudden 
smoke,  filling  the  crowded  building, 
had  stifled  the  entire  audience :  not 
one  was  saved. 

Nothing  that  he  saw  in  Russia 
more  strongly  excited  Mr  Jerrmann's 
indignation  than  the  gross  abuses  in 
the  administration  of  justice,  and  in 
the  department  of  police.  "Justice 
and  police,"  he  says,  "  are  the  scan- 
dal of  the  Russian  empire."  Shame- 
ful corruption  prevails  amongst  ofli- 
cials  of  every  grade.  The  laws  them- 
selves he  considers  not  only  well 
adapted  to  the  spirit  and  character 
of  the  people,  but  also  for  the  most 
part,  humane — far  more  so  than  ac- 
cords with  popular  notions  of  Russian 


1851.]  Picturesfrom 

laws.  Justice  is  cheap.  Stamps  ex- 
cepted,  a  lawsuit  may  be  carried 
through  and  decided  without  costing 
a  farthing  to  the  parties  concerned — 
might  be  so,  at  least,  but  for  the  in- 
genious devices  of  secretaries  and  of- 
ficials, who,  under  one  pretext  or 
another,  extract  heavy  bribes  and 
fees  from  pleaders'  pockets.  And, 
when  judgment  is  obtained,  innume- 
rable difficulties  are  put  in  the  way  of 
its  execution — difficulties  that  gold 
alone  can  remove.  In  police  matters 
the  state  of  things  is  still  worse.  The 
Kussian  police  are  extremely  shrewd 
and  active ;  but  so  great  is  their 
faculty  of  retention,  that  a  person 
who  has  been  robbed  never  considers 
his  chance  of  recovering  his  property 
so  small  as  when  the  police  have  de- 
tected the  thief.  So  strong  is  this 
feeling,  that  robberies  would  seldom 
be  reported,  did  not  the  laws,  in  the 
interest  of  public  security,  render 
such  report  compulsory.  According 
to  Mr  Jerrmanu's  account,  (and  the 
general  tenor  of  his  book  is  too 
favourable  to  Russia  to  admit  a 
suspicion  of  his  exaggerating  the 
darker  shades  of  his  pictures,)  the 
police  are  by  far  the  greatest  robbers 
in  St  Petersburg.  Accomplices  after 
the  crime,  they  take  the  stolen  goods, 
punish  the  thieves,  but  restore  nothing 
to  the  owners.  A  Courland  noble- 
man, Mr  Von  H.,  lost  some  silver 
spoons,  knives,  and  forks,  stolen  out 
of  his  plate-chest.  Some  weeks  after- 
wards one  of  his  servants  came  re- 
joicing to  him :  he  had  found  the 
stolen  goods ;  they  were  openly  ex- 
posed for  sale  in  a  silversmith's  shop- 
window.  Mr  H.  Avent  to  the  window, 
recognised  his  property,  took  a  police 
officer  with  him,  and  made  the  silver- 
smith show  them  the  plate.  His 
arms  and  initials  were  upon  it;  the 
dealer  admitted  he  had  bought  it  of  a 
stranger,  and  offered  to  restore  it  to 
its  rightful  owner.  Mr  H.  would 
have  taken  away  his  property,  but 
the  lieutenant  of  police  forbade  that, 
drew  up  a  formal  statement  of  the 
aflFair,  and  requested  Mr  H.,  as  a 
proof  that  the  plate  was  his,  to  send 
to  the  police  some  other  article  out  of 
the  chest  to  which  he  affirmed  it  to 
belong.  Mr  H.  sent  the  whole  case, 
with  its  contents,  to  the  police  bureau. 
He  never  saw  either  of  them  again. 


St  Petersburg.  163 

Mr  Jerrmann  had  the  story  from  the 
victim's  own  lips,  and  soon  afterwards 
told  it  to  a  friend,  a  physician  in  St 
Petersburg,  thinking  he  should  greatly 
astonish  him.  Astonished  the  phy- 
sician certainly  was ;  not,  however, 
at  the  rascality  of  the  police,  but  at 
the  simplicity  of  Mr  H.,  who  ought 
to  have  known  them  far  too  well  to 
have  trusted  them  with  his  plate- 
chest.  The  St  Petersburg  thieves  are 
exceedingly  skilful  and  daring.  The 
doctor,  too,  had  his  tale  to  tell.  He 
wanted  a  coachman :  one  applied  for 
the  place  just  as  his  drochski  happened 
to  be  at  the  door,  and,  by  the  doctor's 
desire,  he  drove  up  and  down  the 
street,  to  give  a  specimen  of  his  skill, 
which  was  satisfactory.  The  doctor 
called  to  him  to  come  up  stairs,  and 
sat  down  to  dinner.  The  man  did  not 
appear ;  inquiry  was  made ;  he  had 
driven  away  the  horse  and  carriage, 
and  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  The 
doctor  made  his  report  to  the  police, 
as  in  duty  bound,  but  at  the  same 
time  made  a  formal  declaration  that 
he  renounced  all  claim  to  the  stolen, 
property,  and  declined  taking  it  back 
again.  The  precaution  was  most 
judicious.  He  could  not  do  without 
a  vehicle,  so  bought  another  the  same 
day,  and  when  the  police,  six  weeks 
afterwards,  brought  him  back  horse 
and  droschki,  they  were  in  so  wretched 
a  state,  and  the  charges  so  enormous, 
that  he  was  heartily  glad  to  have  it 
in  his  power  to  decline  receiving  his 
property,  or  paying  the  costs.  Mr 
Jerrmann  himself  had  some  plate 
stolen — of  no  great  value,  but,  as  a 
christening-gift  to  his  child,  he  was 
anxious  to  get  it  back.  The  police 
soon  found  it,  but  put  a  thousand  dif- 
ficulties in  the  way  of  giving  it  up, 
and  the  commissary  to  whom  Mr 
Jerrmann  applied  almost  laughed  in 
his  face  at  the  idea  of  its  restitution. 
This  time,  however,  the  policeman 
was  outwitted  by  the  actor.  "  I  hap- 
pen to  dine  to-day  with  Perowsky," 
said  the  latter,  "  and  I  will  just  men- 
tion this  incident  to  him,  as  a  curious 
example  of  the  facility  with  which 
one  recovers  stolen  goods  in  St  Peters- 
burg when  once  they  are  in  the  hands 
of  the  police."  The  commissary  af- 
fected to  laugh,  but  it  was  with  an 
ill  grace.  The  spoons  were  speedily 
forthcoming.  Perowsky,  whose  name 


164  Pictures  from 

had  so  talismauic  an  effect,  and  with 
whom  Mr  Jerrraann  had  invented  an 
intimacy  for  the  sake  of  his  plate- 
chest,  is  the  minister  of  the  home 
department,  appointed  by  Nicholas 
with  the  express  aim  of  checking  the 
corruption  prevalent  amongst  Russian 
officials.  Mr  Jerrmann  declares  him 
admirably  qualified  for  the  Herculean 
labour,  but  fears  to  speak  too  confi- 
dently of  his  chances  of  success,  even 
if  he  should  escape  the  countless  in- 
trigues and  cabals  organised  against 
him  by  the  thousand- headed  monster 
he  has  to  combat.  He  has  the  sup- 
port of  the  Emperor,  however,  and 
the  cordial  good  wishes  of  the  people, 
who  are  the  gainers  by  his  zealous 
labours.  His  personal  exertions  are 
described  by  Mr  Jerrmann  as  extra- 
ordinary and  unremitting.  "  Dis- 
.guised,  and  with  a  long  false  beard, 
he  went  about  to  shops  and  stalls, 
purchasing  sugar,  meat,  and  butter, 
and  checking  the  weight  of  his  pur- 
chases. Many  shops  were  closed,  but 
the  housewives  of  St  Petersburg  re- 
joiced at  the  augmentation  of  weight 
and  measure.  To  prove  to  the  admi- 
nistration of  the  police  what  venal 
officers  were  to  be  found  in  its  ranks, 
he  once  sent  for  its  chief,  and  commu- 
nicated to  him  information  he  had 
received,  that  every  night,  in  a  par- 
ticular house,  prohibited  games  of 
chance  were  played.  He  asked  for 
two  of  the  most  trustworthy  officers, 
and  sent  them  at  night  to  the  house 
in  question.  It  was  surrounded,  and 
the  two  agents  went  up  stairs  to  the 
apartment  that  had  been  indicated  to 
them.  There  they  found  a  party  of 
six  or  eight  gentlemen,  seated  at  a 
round  table,  in  the  full  enjoyment  of 
a  game  at  /arc,  and  with  heaps  of 
gold  before  them.  Caught  inflagranti, 
the  disconcerted  gamblers  were  about 
to  be  conveyed  to  the  guard-house, 
when  one  of  them  managed  to  make 
the  two  police  tyrants  understand  that 
"  ecarte,"  which  they  had  just  been 
playing,  was  a  very  harmless  amuse- 
ment ;  that  the  pile  of  gold  upon  the 
table  was  no  evidence  against  them  ; 
that  they  were  in  the  habit  of  p'aying 
this  game— which  was  one  of  skill, 
not  of  chance— for  very  high  sums  ; 
and,  to  prove  this  assertion,  he  offered 
to  play  a  game  at  ecarte  with  each 
of  the  police  agents,  at  a  thousand 


St  Petersburg.  '[Aug. 

rubles  a  game.  The  agents  accepted 
the  offer,  as  well  as  the  thousand 
rubles,  took  themselves  off,  and  next 
morning  the  chief  of  the  district  re- 
ported to  the  minister  that  the  visit 
to  the  suspected  house  had  produced 
no  other  result  than  the  discovery  of 
a  party  of  gentlemen  harmlessly 
amusing  themselves  with  a  friendly 
game  at  cards.  Perowsky  sent  for 
the  two  police  agents,  heard  their  re- 
port from  their  own  mouths,  and 
then,  turning  to  their  chief,  who  was 
present,  "Learn,"  he  said,  "what 
dependence  you  can  place  on  the 
men  in  whom  you  confide,  and  who 
should  be  the  guardians  of  the 
public  welfare."  And,  opening  a 
side  door,  he  disclosed  to  the  as- 
tonished officials  the  gamblers  of 
the  night  before,  sitting  round  the 
same  green  table,  in  the  same  order, 
and  engaged  in  the  same  prohibited 
game. 

The  entire  system  of  public  service 
and  administration  in  Russia  is  based 
upon  the  principle  of  responsibility, 
pushed  to  its  very  utmost  limits,  and 
to  an  extent  that  is  at  once  cruel  and 
demoralising.  The  advantage  of  the 
State  is  preferred  to  every  other  con- 
sideration $  and  so  long  as  the  end  is 
attained,  the  means  are  too  often  dis- 
regarded. Every  official  is  an  abso- 
lute sovereign  so  far  as  his  responsi- 
bility extends.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  faults  of  his  subordinates  are 
visited  upon  him.  A  mutiny  in  a 
company  dishonours  its  captain ;  a 
nail  in  a  horse's  foot  may  lose  an 
equerry  his  place  ;  the  defalcation  of 
a  clerk  is  the  ruin  of  the  chief  of  his 
division.  "  A  groom  in  Germany, 
no  matter  in  how  good  condition  were 
his  horses,  would  be  severely  blamed 
or  punished  if  convicted  of  having 
made  away  with  even  the  smallest 
portion  of  their  corn,  or  of  having 
neglected  to  litter  them  well  down  ; 
on  the  other  hand,  he  is  not  answer- 
able for  their  sickness  or  death  if  he 
can  show  that  it  has  not  arisen  from 
neglect  of  his.  In  Russia  it  is  very 
different :  there  he  may  give  his 
horses  brick-bats  for  straw,  and  May- 
flies instead  of  oats,  so  long  as  they 
look  and  work  well ;  on  the  other 
hand,  their  sickness  or  death  are 
/«'*  fault,  though  twenty  physicians 
certified  the  contrary.  How  far  this 


1851.] 


Pictures  from  St  Petersburg. 


principle  is  a  good  one  I  will  not  in- 
vestigate ;  what  is  certain  is,  that  it 
leads  to  the  desired  end.  An  officer 
of  my  acquaintance  was  travelling  in 
charge  of  horses  belonging  to  the 
Emperor.  The  man  has  one  of  the 
best  and  kindest  hearts  under  the  sun, 
and  yet  he  confessed  to  me  that  often, 
in  bad  weather,  when  he  took  up  his 
night's  quarters  in  a  village,  and  no 
straw  was  to  be  obtained,  he  had  the 
thatch  taken  off  the  peasants' cottages. 
*  It  grieved  me,'  he  said,  '  to  see  the 
rain  pouring  into  the  people's  beds, 
but  my  horses  must  have  dry  litter  ; 
rny  responsibility  was  at  stake.'  I 
was  glad  the  houses  were  covered 
with  straw  instead  of  tiles,  for  I  firmly 
believe  that,  in  the  latter  case,  he 
would  have  taken  the  villagers'  bed- 
ding to  lay  under  his  horses.  Yet,  I 
repeat  it,  this  was  an  excellent  man  ; 
but  he  was  a  Eussian,  and  the  Rus- 
sian knows  nothing  superior  to  the 
word  '  SERVICE.'  The  same  officer 
assured  me,  that,  during  his  whole 
journey,  so  long  as  he  was  on  Russian 
ground,  he  never  paid  a  kopeck  for 
anything.  Every  morning  the  mayor 
or  burgomaster  of  the  place  brought 
him  a  receipt  for  what  he  had  con- 
sumed, but  steadfastly  refused  the 
money.  This  was  assuredly  out  of 
no  love  for  either  the  Emperor's 
horses  or  the  officer;  it  was  out  of 
fear  of  the  consequences  of  accepting 
payment.  In  like  manner,  in  all 
Russia,  no  postmaster  will  take 
money  from  a  cabinet  courier.  He 
prefers  losing  the  posting  to  risk- 
ing having  his  horses  driven  to  death. 
The  government  will  never  think  of 
calling  officer  or  courier  to  account 
for  non-payment ;  their  responsibility 
extends  only  to  the  safe  and  punctual 
delivery  of  horses  and  dispatches." 
The  atrocious  evils  of  such  a  system 
are  too  obvious  to  require  comment. 
One  of  its  most  curious  and  harmless 
exemplifications  is  to  be  found  in  the 
mode  of  remounting  the  cavalry. 
The  Russian  cavalry,  at  the  present 
day,  is  said  to  be  some  of  the  finest 
in  the  world.  A  glowing  euloginm  on 
its  admirable  qualities  is  contained  in 
one  of  Mr  Jerrmann's  earliest  chap- 
ters, entitled,  "  A  Military  Review," 
where  he  particularly  notices  the 
beauty  and  uniformity  of  the  horses. 
It  is  usual,  every  spring,  for  the 


165 

Emperor  to  review  some  eighty  thou- 
sand men  upon  the  Champ  de  Mars 
at  St  Petersburg.  "  One  sees  whole 
regiments  of  dragoons  mounted  on 
great  strong  black  horses,  all  exactly 
the  same  height,  without  a  single 
white  hair,  and  so  much  alike  as  to  be 
scarcely  distinguishable  from  each 
other.  The  same  is  the  case  with 
other  regiments,  which  ride  all  brown 
or  all  chestnut  horses ;  and  I  saw  the 
same  in  a  hussar  regiment,  mounted, 
to  a  man,  on  dapple  greys."  Where 
such  exact  uniformity  of  colour  and 
height,  and  such  perfection  of  form, 
are  required — and  even  in  the  line 
regiments,  where  they  are  less  parti- 
cular—it is  no  easy  matter  to  purchase 
horses  at  regulation  prices,  which  in 
Russia  are  very  low.  "  For  a  hussar 
horse  I  think  the  allowance  is  four 
hundred  rubles  banco,  and  for  a  dra- 
goon horse  five  hundred;  but  I  am 
not  sure  of  these  figures,  nor  are  they 
of  the  least  importance,  for  whatever 
is  paid  is  notoriously  not  a  third  of 
the  real  value.  Colonels  of  regi- 
ments set  their  pride  upon  their 
troop  horses,  and  yet  do  not  contri- 
bute a  doit  from  their  own  pockets 
towards  purveying  good  ones.  The 
way  the  thing  is  done  is  this :  The 
richest  and  most  ambitious  of  the 
young  officers  are  sent  upon  remount- 
duty.  These  young  men  make  it  a 
point  of  honour  to  execute  this  duty  in 
a  brilliant  manner,  and  to  earn  the 
favour  and  good  opinion  of  their 
chiefs  ;  and  so  it  often  happens  that  a 
young  subaltern  expends,  out  of  his 
pocket,  a  sum  equivalent  to  a  small 
fortune,  paying  fifteen  hundred,  in- 
stead of  five  hundred  rubles,  for  every 
horse — sacrificing  forty  or  fifty  thou- 
sand rubles,  and  half  ruining  himself 
to  enjoy  the  fame  of  having  brought  a 
good  remount.  If  he  be  so  rich  that 
he  can  afford  to  despise  the  govern- 
ment allowance,  he  throws  the  helve 
after  the  hatchet,  and  pays  the  whole 
price  himself;  the  colonel  recompenses 
him  with  his  esteem,  and  has  made  an 
'  economy.'  "  Economy,  in  Russia, 
be  it  observed,  is  the  classical  term 
for  embezzlement.  The  insufficient 
allowance,  despised  by  the  wealthy 
subaltern,  goes  into  the  colonel's 
pocket ;  the  said  colonel  being  not 
unfrequently  in  the  habit  of  consum- 
ing a  portion  of  his  troopers'  forage  in 


1G6 

the  shape  of  hard  cash.  No  matter ; 
he  has  fine  horses  in  his  ranks,  and 
they  are  in  excellent  condition  ;  fur- 
ther than  that,  no  one  troubles  him- 
self to  inquire.  All  these  are  un- 
questionably gross  abuses,  but  they 
are  part  of  a  system  which  it  would 
be  not  only  hazardous,  but  impossible 
to  upset  in  a  day.  It  is  Mr  Jerrmann's 
opinion,  that  none  of  its  vices  escape 
the  penetrating  eye  of  Russia's  pre- 
sent ruler,  and  that  he  unremittingly 
toils  at  the  great  task  of  its  amend- 
ment. 

For  a  specimen  of  the  singular 
action  of  the  "  responsibility  "  system 
upon  the  minds  and  moral  perceptions 
•even  of  upright  and  honourable  men 
— showing  how  it  perverts  their  views 
of  true  justice,  and  makes  them  pre- 
fer the  profit  of  the  State  to  every 
other  consideration,  we  turn  to  the 
fourteenth  chapter  of  this  most  desul- 
tory book  for  an  anecdote  of  Cancrin, 
the  famous  Russian  finance-minister. 
'One  of  his  spies — no  branch  of  the 
Russian  administration  is  without 
these — brought  him  intelligence  that  a 
receiver-general  of  the  revenue  had 
misappropriated  large  sums  of  money. 
In  most  countries  the  natural  conse- 
quence of  such  a  denunciation  would 
be  an  immediate  investigation  of  the 
accused  person's  accounts.  Cancrin 
did  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  went 
into  his  office,  and  called  out  aloud 
to  a  secretary,  who  sat  at  the  further 
end  of  the  hall,  "  to  give  notice  to 
those  officials  whom  it  concerned,  that 
upon  that  day  week  there  would  be 
a  general  inspection  of  all  the  public 
money-chests  of  the  metropolis."  Of 
course  the  defaulter  was  informed  of 
this  within  the  hour.  Off  he  ran  to 
Jew  and  Turk,  and  borrowed  for  a 
few  days  the  amount  of  his  deficiencies. 
The  week  elapsed,  and  the  inspection 
began.  The  finance- minister  came 
Himself  to  the  accused  person  ;  his 
books  were  checked,  and  the  balance 
•they  exhibited  was  compared  with 
the  state  of  the  treasury.  Thanks  to 
his  money-lending  friends,  the  amounts 
coincided  to  a  kopeck.  With  a  well- 
pleased  glance  Cancrin  had  the 
money  restored  to  its  iron  coffer, 
locked  it  with  his  own  hand,  and— put 
the  key  into  his  pocket.  An  hour 
afterwards  the  receiver- general  re- 
ceived his  dismissal.  Thus  he  escaped 


Pictures  f i  om  St  Petersburg. 


[Aug. 


Siberia,  justice  was  cheated,  and  seve- 
ral innocent  persons — perhaps  honest 
men,  who  had  been  eager  to  oblige 
and  serve  him— were  defrauded  of 
their  money.  But  the  State  lost  no- 
thing, and  the  minister  saved  his 
"  responsibility." 

On  the  banks  of  the  Neva,  hard- 
bound with  ice,  the  winter- traveller 
to  St  Petersburg  is  greeted,  at  its 
entrance,  by  the  merry  songs  of  a 
crowd  of  washerwomen,  pursuing  their 
chilly  avocation  through  holes  cut  in 
the  iron  covering  of  the  stream.  There 
they  are,  the  year  round,  in  the 
parching  summer  (hotter  at  St  Peters- 
burg than  in  many  southern  lands)  as 
in  the  depth  of  winter,  gay  and  light- 
hearted  at  their  often  painful  toil. 
But  Russian  cheerfulness  strikes  every 
traveller.  Mr  Jerrmann  particularly 
notices  it.  The  Russian  of  the  lower 
class  is  decidedly  a  singing  animal. 
Aided  by  his  song  and  his  wodka  (Rus- 
sian brandy)  he  gaily  supports  in- 
credible hardships  and  fatigues. 
Naturally  lazy,  he  would  gladly  pass 
his  life  singing,  drinking,  and  sleep- 
ing. But,  when  spurred  by  necessity, 
nothing  can  exceed  his  fortitude  and 
powers  of  endurance.  As  an  illustra- 
tion of  this  view  of  the  Russian  cha- 
racter, Mr  Jerrmann  glides  off  into  a 
characteristic  and  clever  sketch  of  a 
most  important  personage  in  the  im- 
perial household. 

"  Observe,"  he  says,  "  yonder 
stately,  six-foot  high,  comfortably 
full-bodied  man,  with  his  round  face 
and  still  rounder  beard,  in  the  kaftan 
of  fine  green  cloth,  and  the  square 
cap  of  red  velvet  trimmed  with  fur. 
The  man's  habitual  mode  of  life  is 
the  most  comfortable  imaginable ;  the 
dolce  far  niente  is  his  profession,  and 
only  from  time  to  time  has  he  to  make 
certain  superhuman  exertions.  That 
is  the  Emperor's  body-coachman  ! 
Off  duty,  he  lives  like  a  lord  of  the 
land.  You  probably  imagine  that 
the  coachman's  natural  residence  is 
the  stable !  but — to  err  is  human  ! — 
our  charioteer  has  never  seen  the 
stable  since  he  received  his  last  ap- 
pointment. Whether  the  carriages 
be  in  good  condition,  the  horses  fat 
or  lean,  the  harness  suitable  —  he 
troubles  not  his  head.  Even  as  a 
chamberlain  approaches  the  Emperor 
with  the  words,  '  Sire,  the  carriage 


3851.] 


Pictures  from  St  Petersburg. 


1<J7. 


is  at  the  door ! '  so  does  a  coachman 
of  the  second  class  present  himself 
before  the  great  chief  of  the  stable- 
department  and  say,  'Alexei  Iwan- 
owitsch,  the  horses  are  put  to  ! '  Then 
the  comely  man  with  the  beard  rises 
from  his  chair,  empties  his  glass,  and 
descends  deliberately  into  the  court- 
yard ;  there  a  groom  offers  him  his 
arm,  leaning  upon  which  he  gently 
attains  the  coach  box,  settles  himself 
comfortably,  and  nods.  At  that  nod 
the  reins  are  handed  to  him,  he  winds 
them  round  his  hands,  stretches  out 
both  arms  straight  before  him,  settles 
himself  firmly  against  the  box — he 
neither  can  nor  will  sit — and,  proud 
as  the  Emperor  on  his  throne,  he 
drives  off.  It  might  really  be  said 
that  he  does  his  work  wkithout  mov- 
ing hands  or  feet  ;  the  latter  he 
hardly  can  move,  for  he  is  firmly 
planted  upon  them,  and  of  the  motion 
of  the  former  you  are  not  aware,  for 
he  guides  the  fiery  horses  with  the 
pressure  of  the  little  finger.  It  is 
only  out  of  affectation  that,  when  he 
suddenly  pulls  up,  he  throws  his  body 
backwards,  clasping  both  arms  to  bis 
breast,  like  a  person  swimming. 
After  a  half-hour's  drive  he  returns 
home ;  the  Emperor  alights,  and  he 
drives  to  the  courtyard.  A  groom 
runs  to  the  horses'  heads,  another 
helps  him  off  the  box,  he  throws  the 
reins  to  a  coachman,  and  walks  away. 
His  day's  work  is  done.  He  has 
driven  the  Emperor,  that  is  the  whole 
of  his  duty.  For  that  he  has  officer's 
rank,  several  thousand  rubles  of 
salary,  and  lives  in  clover.  But  the 
medal  has  its  reverse ;  for  it  may 
happen  that  the  Emperor,  on  getting 
into  his  carriage,  instead  of  bidding 
him  drive  to  Kamina-Ostrow,  gives 
the  word  '  to  Moscow  ; '  and,  just  as 
he  would  have  driven  seven  versts, 
in  the  one  case,  so  he  drives  726^ 
versts  in  the  other,  without  pause  or 
refreshment,  without  closing  an  eye 
or  leaving  his  box.  At  certain  dis- 
tances along  the  whole  road  there  are 
little  houses  built  as  halting -places 
for  the  Emperor  Alexander ;  but 
Nicholas  does  not  use  them;  he  seldom 
alights  till  he  reaches  Moscow,  and, 
the  changes  of  horses  being  effected 
with  lightning- swiftness,  the  coach- 
man has  hardly  time  to  toss  off  a 
glass  of  wodka.  At  every  post  a 


fresh  postillion  gets  upon  the  box 
with  him  ;  but  the  most  the  postillion 
is  allowed  to  do  is  to  urge  on  the 
horses  ;  the  reins  never  leave  the 
coachman's  hand,  and  thus  he  gets 
over  the  one  hundred  and  four  Ger- 
man miles,  standing,  with  outstretched 
arms,  without  food,  his  attention  un- 
ceasingly upon  the  strain,  exposed  to- 
every  possible  variety  of  temperature — 
on  the  box  of  the  carriage  with  twenty- 
four  degrees  of  heat,  and  on  that  of 
the  sledge  with  as  many  of  cold.  It 
has  happened  that,  on  his  arrival  in 
Moscow,  he  was  unable  to  leave  his 
box  ;  four  men  lifted  him  off,  he  was 
perfectly  stiff,  his  eyes  were  starting, 
from  his  head,  he  had  to  be  bled  and 
put  in  a  bath,  before  his  stiffened 
limbs  and  strained  nerves  resumed 
life  and  suppleness.  No  German 
could  endure  such  enormous  fatigue  ; 
the  Russian  endures  it  with  ease, 
when  he  must,  he  who  would  do 
nothing  his  whole  life  long  if  he 
might." 

A  minute  and  curious  observer,  Mr 
Jerrmann  has  the  faculty  that  would 
enable  him  to  write  interesting 
sketches  of  any  country  in  which  he 
were  for  some  time  resident.  We 
will  now  follow  him  to  his  own  parti- 
cular ground— the  stage.  He  devotes 
a  long  chapter  to  the  St  Petersburg 
theatres,  a  shorter  one  to  "concerts," 
and  a  third  to  "Henrietta  Sontag." 
Towards  the  close  of  September  the 
St  Petersburgers  flock  into  town  from 
their  summer  retreats  ;  in  the  course 
of  October  the  court  and  highest 
aristocracy  also  return  to  the  capital, 
and  then  begins  the  theatrical  season. 
The  Emperor  goes  almost  every  day 
to  one  theatre  or  another,  and  espe- 
cially to  the  French  theatre.  This 
stands  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  oppo- 
site the  Michael's  Palace,  and  was  a 
birthday  surprise  of  the  Emperor's 
to  the  grandduchess  Helena.  Its  ex- 
terior differing  in  no  respect  from  that 
of  the  adjacent  buildings,  she  had  no 
notion  of  the  existence  of  a  theatre 
in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  her 
palace,  until  the  Emperor  conducted 
her  thither  to  witness  the  first  per- 
formance. It  is  small  compared  to 
the  other  theatres,  but  very  comfort- 
able and  elegantly-simple  in  the  style 
of  its  decoration,  and  is  more  fashion- 
able and  better  attended  than  any  of 


168 


Pictures  from  St  Petersburg. 


[Aug. 


the  others.  The  German  company 
perform  in  it  on  o/f-nights,  but  with 
much  less  success,  as  Mr  Jerrmaun 
regretfully  acknowledges,  than  their 
French  rivals.  On  the  occasion  of 
his  benefit  the  court  was  present ;  the 
theatre,  he  assures  us,  was  in  a  better 
state  at  that  time  than  it  had  been 
for  years  previously;  the  Emperor 
expressed  his  satisfaction,  and  sent 
him  civil  messages  and  a  diamond 
ring,  but  he  did  not  revisit  the 
theatre.  The  same  thing  occurred 
when  Emile  Devrient,  an  actor  justly 
celebrated  in  Germany,  went  to  per- 
form at  St  Petersburg.  He  performed 
at  the  palace  at  Peterhof— once,  and 
no  more.  The  French  company  per- 
formed there  every  week.  In  like 
manner  the  Italian  opera  has  com- 
pletely eclipsed  that  of  Germany.  In 
the  spring  of  1842  General  Gedeonoff 
was  appointed  director  of  the  imperial 
theatres.  This  was  the  death-war- 
rant of  the  German  opera.  In  the 
autumn  of  the  same  year  he  inducted 
a  brilliant  Italian  company  into  the 
spacious  Camino-Theatro,  the  largest 
theatre  in  St  Petersburg,  previously 
occupied  by  the  Russian  and  German 
operas.  To  make  room  for  the 
southern  intruders,  the  Germans  were 
sent  to  Moscow.  They  never  re- 
covered the  blow,  nor  returned  to  St 
Petersburg,  where  the  Italians,  after 
acting  experimentally  for  two  years, 
were  finally  installed  for  a  per- 
manency. Their  immense  success 
endures  to  the  present  day,  and 
Mr  Jerrmann  predicts  their  long  and 
brilliant  popularity.  The  triumphs 
of  some  of  the  great  singers  can  hard- 
ly, he  says,  be  described  with  mere 
words.  "  Only  those  persons  who 
have  witnessed  the  enthusiasm  of 
Spanish  and  Italian  audiences,  can 
form  an  idea  of  them.  Above  all, 
Rubini,  although  he  then  possessed 
but  the  tradition  of  his  voice,  and  the 
admirable  Viardot  Garcia,  were  the 
heroes  of  the  day.  The  first  was 
appointed  singer  to  the  imperial 
chamber,  and  Prince  Wolkonsky  him- 
self was  present  in  the  Winter  Palace 
at  the  ceremony  of  his  investiture 
with  the  uniform  of  that  post.  At  his 
benefit  a  golden  laurel-wreath  was 
thrown  upon  the  stage,  and  at 
(i  ux'hi's  benefit  such  a  rain  of  flowers 
fell  around  her  that  she  literally 


waded  through  them,  and  they  had 
to  be  carried  off  the  stage  in  great 
wash-baskets.  Bearing  in  mind  that 
this  was  in  February,  when  in  St 
Petersburg  a  rose  costs  twenty  rubles, 
and  a  handsome  garland  or  bouquet 
eighty  to  a  hundred  rubles,  I  shall 
not  be  exceeding  the  truth  if  I  say 
that  on  that  day  a  fortune  faded 
on  the  singer's  bosom.  Could  there 
be  a  more  characteristic  trait  of  the 
luxury  and  extravagance  of  the 
Petersburgers  ?  "  The  uproar  of  ap- 
plause lasted  half-an-hour,  during 
which  time  Madame  Viardot  had  to 
appear  at  least  twenty  times  upon 
the  stage  ;  and  Mr  Jerrmann  declares, 
from  actual  observation,  that  at  the 
end  of  this  almost  unparalleled 
theatrical  triumph,  many  of  the  great 
singer's  frantic  admirers,  who  had 
shouted  lustily  and  sonorously  at 
the  fall  of  the  curtain,  were  unable  to 
raise  their  voices  above  a  whisper. 
After  exciting  such  enthusiasm  as 
this,  no  wonder  that  foreign  musicians 
complain  of  the  apathetic  and  dis- 
couraging coldness  of  English  audi- 
ences, which  they  attribute  to  the 
want  of  a  taste  for  music,  whereas  in 
reality  there  are  few  countries  where 
good  music  will  obtain  more  eager 
listeners  and  such  high  prices.  St 
Petersburg,  however,  is  notoriously 
the  paradise  of  opera-singers.  There 
the  Italian  opera  is  still  a  novelty, 
and  lavish  generosity  to  those  who 
minister  to  their  pleasures  is  a  Rus- 
sian characteristic.  In  the  year  1 840, 
General  Gedeonoff,  on  the  recom- 
mendation of  Countess  Rossi,  sent  for 
Madame  Czecca,  who  had  formerly 
given  instruction  in  singing  to  that 
distinguished  artist,  and  installed  her 
as  chief  of  the  singing  department  in 
the  great  theatrical  school  at  St 
Petersburg,  with  a  salary  of  four 
thousand  rubles.  For  St  Petersburg 
this  appeared  very  poor  pa}r.  But  it 
was  the  least  part  of  the  value  of  the 
appointment.  All  the  wealthy  Rus- 
sian aristocracy  desired  to  have 
their  daughters  taught  by  her  who 
had  taught  Sontag,  and  her  lessons 
were  sought  at  extravagant  prices. 
Once  she  went  to  the  house  of  the 
Countess  Scheremetiew  rather  after 
the  appointed  time,  and  pleaded,  by 
way  of  apology,  that  owing  to  the 
very  bad  weather,  she  had  had  to  wait 


1851.] 


Pictures  from  St  Petersburg, 


for  a  hackney  coach.  Upon  the  day 
fixed  for  the  next  lesson  an  elegant 
carriage  went  to  fetch  her,  and  when 
it  had  taken  her  home  again,  the  coach- 
man begged  to  know  where  he  should 
put  it  up.  Two  lines  from  Countess 
Scheremetiew  begged  her  kind  accep- 
tance of  "  this  little  present."  Who 
would  not  give  singing  lessons  in  St 
Petersburg?  But  not  every  music 
mistress  is  as  fortunate  as  Madame 
Czecca,  She  was  indebted  for  her 
favourable  reception  to  the  gratitude  of 
the  amiable  ambassadress,  her  former 
pupil,  who  not  only  recommended  her, 
but  sang  at  a  public  concert  for  her 
benefit.  "  This  would  have  been 
nothing  for  Mademoiselle  Sontag  ;  for 
the  Countess  Rossi,  in  the  midst  of 
the  high  Russian  aristocracy,  and  of 
their  haughty  prejudices,  it  was  an 
incredible  deal.  The  concert  was  the 
most  brilliant  of  the  season,  and  its 
net  receipts  were  fourteen  thousand 
rubles."  Mr  Jerrmann  proceeds  to 
sketch  an  interview  that  occurred  after 
this  concert  between  the  Countess 
and  Madame  Czecca,  and  another 
scene  between  Madame  de  Rossi 
and  an  Armenian  merchant,  a  pas- 
sionate lover  of  music,  who  had  come 
all  the  way  from  Charkow  to  hear  her 
sing.  This,  the  eighteenth  chapter  of 
the  Bilder,  has  little  to  do  with  St 
Petersburg.  Its  chief  object  seems 
to  be  to  prove,  what  has  been  often 
hinted,  that  Madame  Sontag  was 
never  quite  consoled  by  rank  and  high 
station  for  the  cessation  of  her  theatri- 
cal triumphs,  and  that  it  cost  her  less 
than  might  have  been  supposed  to 
replace  for  a  while  the  countess's 
coronet  by  that  artist's  wreath,  which 
to  her,  almost  from  her  infancy,  has 
ever  been  a  crown  of  laurel. 

Concerts  in  St  Petersburg  have  a 
short  but  busy  season.  Throughout 
the  whole  winter  a  concert  is  a  thing 
almost  unheard  of,  until  Lent  arrives. 
Then  the  theatres  are  closed,  danc- 
ing-music is  forbidden,  and  concerts 
are  the  rage.  There  are  often  half-a- 
dozen  in  a  day.  They  begin  at  noon, 
and  last  till  late  at  night.  It  is 
nothing  unusual  for  a  person  to  go  to 
two  or  three  in  one  day.  In  January 
1842  Liszt  visited  St  Petersburg, 
travelling  more  like  a  prince  than  a 
pianist,  with  two  carriages  and  four, 
secretary,  valet,  chasseur,  and  other 


169 

attendants.  All  Petersburg  was  up  at 
arms.  Count  Wilhorsky,  one  of  the 
first  and  most  liberal  patrons  of  music 
in  the  Russian  capital,  sent  a  courier 
to  meet  him  and  offer  him  quarters  at 
his  hotel.  The  unassuming  musician 
declined,  preferring  solitude  and  seclu- 
sion. Apartments  were  engaged  for 
him  at  an  hotel ;  for  three  days  previ- 
ously to  his  arrival,  the  streets  leading 
to  it  were  blockaded  by  the  concourse 
of  his  admirers.  At  last  he  came,  and 
gave  twelve  concerts,  which  yielded 
him  some  twenty  thousand  rubles 
each.  When  he  left  St  Petersburg, 
his  popularity  was  as  great  as  ever ; 
the  whole  town  raved  in  his  praise. 
He  should  never  have  returned.  The 
public  of  St  Petersburg  is  the  most 
capricious  in  the  world.  Doubt- 
less ignorant  of  this,  or  confident  in 
his  genius,  he  revisited  the  Russian 
capital  the  following  year.  He  played 
as  well  as  the  year  before — if  anything, 
with  still  greater  perfection ;  but,  for 
some  inexplicable  reason,  none  cared 
about  him.  As  Mr  Jerrmann  expresses 
it,  "  ce  rietoit  qu'un  artiste  deplus."1"1 
But  Russians  are  always  in  extremes. 
Like  their  climate  they  are  all  fire  or 
all  ice.  The  quality  in  which  they 
(at  least  the  higher  classes)  appear 
most  consistent,  is  their  unbounded 
extravagance.  The  twenty-ruble 
roses  showered  upon  Viardot  were 
but  a  trifling  example  of  this,  un- 
worthy to  be  named  in  the  same  day 
with  other  instances  scattered  through 
the  Sketches.  Some  of  these  instances 
are  cited  apropos  of  the  foundling  hos- 
pital, the  most  magnificent  and  richly 
endowed  of  the  public  institutions 
of  St  Petersburg.  Amongst  other 
sources  of  revenue,  it  enjoys  the  mo- 
nopoly of  playing  cards.  The  duty  on 
these  is  very  high ;  their  consumption 
is  enormous,  and  attributable  partly 
to  the  long  winter  evenings— nearly 
nine  months  out  of  the  twelve — partly 
to  Russian  fondness  for  play,  but 
chiefly  to  luxury  and  waste.  "  In 
the  higher  circles,  a  pack  of  cards 
serves  but  for  one  game  of  ombre, 
whist,  &c.;  and  even  in  the  better 
sort  of  clubs,  new  cards  are  taken 
after  every  third  game.  In  Germany 
such  extravagance  would  astonish  ; 
it  gives  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  luxury 
prevailing  in  Russia — although  this  is 
but  a  pale  shadow  of  that  which 


170  Pictures  from 

formerly  reigned.  About  eight  years 
ago  the  charming  Countess  Woronzow 
Daschkow  took  into  her  head  to  give 
a  grand  fete  in  the  old  French  styte. 
For  that  evening  the  whole  house 
and  its  appurtenances  were  trans- 
formed, by  the  magic  of  her  com- 
mand, into  a  mansion  of  Louis  XIY.'s 
time ;  corridors,  staircases,  saloons, 
boudoirs,  all  wore  the  character  of 
that  period;  walls  and  ceilings, floors 
and  windows,  the  furniture,  the 
services,  even  the  liveries  of  the 
laced  footmen,  with  their  long 
powdered  perukes— all  was  rococo. 
The  entertainment  lasted  four  hours, 
cost  many  hundred  thousand  rubles, 
and  early  the  next  morning  every 
thing  was  destroyed  and  torn  down, 
in  order  to  restore  the  house  as 
quickly  as  possible  to  its  former  con- 
dition. The  houses  of  all  persons 
of  quality  are  annually  thoroughly 
iiew-furnished,  that  they  may  not  be 
a  single  season  behind  the  latest 
Paris  fashions  ;  and  yet  what  is  all 
this  compared  to  the  mad  prodigality 
of  an  earlier  period  ?  Previously  to 
the  accession  of  Alexander,  a  high- 
born Russian  would  have  thought  it 
a  profanation  of  hospitality  to  use  the 
same  service  for  two  feasts.  The 
guests  gone,  the  servants  took  every 
thing  that  had  been  used  at  the 
repast  —  bottles,  glasses,  covers, 
plates,  candlesticks,  linen — the  whole 
furniture  of  the  table,  in  short  —  and 
tossed  it  all  out  upon  the  heads  of  the 
rejoicing  mob  assembled  in  the  street 
below.  What  would  now  be  deemed 
madness,  was  then  good  taste."  Under 
the  heading,  "  A  merchant  of  the  first 
guild,  and  a  spendthrift  of  the  first 
magnitude,"  Mr  Jerrmaun  gives  an 
account  of  old  Jacobleff,  considered 
the  wealthiest  man  in  Russia,  after 
Prince  Demidoff,  and  of  his  extrava- 
gant son  and  heir,  Jacobleff  the 
younger.  Imbued  with  the  true 
mercantile  spirit,  old  Jacobleff  would 
rather  give  away  thousands  than 
abate  a  farthing  of  his  rights.  When 
the  Winter  Palace  was  burned,  the 
new  building  was  to  be  covered  with 
iron  plates,  and  General  Kleinmichael 
invited  tenders  for  the  metal.  Jacob- 
leff sent  in  his  ;  he  was  told  in  reply 
that  another  person  offered  to  supply 
the  iron  a  kopeck  a  pound  cheaper,  but 
that  if  he  would  supply  it  at  the  same 


St  Petersburg.  [Aug. 

price  the  general  would  recommend  the 
Emperor  to  give  him  the  preference. 
The  contract  was  for  a  sum  of  several 
hundred  thousand  rubles,  arid  worth 
bargaining  for  ;  Jacobleff,  however, 
told  the  general  that  he  did  not  drive 
bargains  with  his  sovereign  ;  that  he 
could  not  give  up  the  kopeck,  but 
that  if  his  Majesty  would  graciously 
honour  him  by  accepting  the  roof  of 
the  palace  as  a  present,  it  would  be  his 
pride  to  supply  it  as  solid  and  as  beau- 
tiful as  possible.  The  old  merchant  got 
the  contract,  without  abatement.  An- 
other time  the  Emperor  was  informed 
that  Jacobleff 's  only  son,  a  lieutenant 
in  the  guards,  and  a  most  unparalleled 
scapegrace,  had  gambled  away  at 
skittles,  in  a  single  afternoon,  one 
million  rubles  banco.  Indignant  at 
such  scandalous  prodigality,  the  Em- 
peror ordered  the  young  man's  name 
to  be  struck  out  of  the  army  list. 
Feeling  sorry  for  the  father,  he  sent 
an  aide-de-camp  to  break  the  news  to 
him  tenderly,  and  to  assure  him  of 
his  imperial  favour.  The  aide-de- 
camp found  him  working  in  his  room, 
and,  after  acquitting  himself  of  his 
commission,  handed  him  his  son's 
dismissal.  The  old  man  sank  back 
in  his  arm-chair  as  if  stunned.  At 
last  he  recovered  himself,  and,  trem- 
bling, with  the  sweat  of  anxiety  upon 
his  face,  he  stammered  out  the  words, 
"  In  God's  name!  what  crime  has  he 
committed  ?  "  The  officer  told  him  of 
the  lost  million.  Jacobleff  drew  a 
deep  breath,  wiped  his  brow,  rose 
from  his  chair,  and  said  in  a  firm 
tone,  but  evidently  deeply  wounded, 
"Thank  heaven  that  it  is  only  that! 
I  thought  he  had  done  something 
terrible !  I  cannot  but  feel  hurt  that 
for  such  a  trifle  my  son  should  be  so 
severely  punished  ! "  Even  this  long- 
suffering  father,  however,  was  at  last 
wearied  by  his  son's  extravagance, 
and  refused  to  discharge  any  fresh 
debts  of  his  contracting;  but  young 
Jacobleff' s  signature  continued  to  be 
current  paper  on  the  Petersburg  ex- 
change, and  found  ready  discounters 
at  forty  or  fifty  per  cent,  on  the  chance 
of  his  outliving  his  father. 

This  notice  of  Mr  Jernnaun's  very 
pleasant  book  cannot  be  better  con- 
cluded than  by  a  glance  at  its  tenth 
chapter,  bearing  the  appropriate  title 
of  "  Curiosa."  and  consisting  of  a 


1851.]  Pictures  from 

medley  of  facts,  anecdotes,  and  tra- 
ditions. After  visiting  three  palaces, 
and  dismissing  them  with  brief  notice, 
he  enters  an  unpretending  little  house 
which  Russian  veneration  for  a  great 
sovereign  has  covered  with  a  wooden 
casket,  to  protect  it  from  decay. 
There  dwelt  Peter  the  Great,  when 
superintending  the  building  of  his 
capital.  His  chamber  is  scrupulously 
preserved  in  the  same  state  as  during 
his  life.  There  are  his  bedstead, 
some  of  his  tools,  his  iron  ruler,  his 
writing  materials,  and  some  fragments 
of  his  clothing.  Everything  that  be- 
longed to  him  is  held  sacred  by  his 
descendants,  in  grateful  memory  of 
the  benefits  he  conferred  on  his 
country.  His  room  has  been 
converted  into  a  chapel.  At  an 
altar,  whose  plainness  accords  with 
the  simplicity  of  the  apartment,  two 
masses  are  daily  said.  An  old  inn  is 
shown  in  the  neighbourhood,  built 
upon  the  same  spot  where  formerly 
stood  the  little  tavern  in  which  Peter 
and  Meuaikoff  drank  the  Dutch  am- 
bassador under  the  table.  Hard  by 
stands  a  monument  of  Peter's  energy 
and  skill;  the  citadel,  built  of  granite, 
after  a  plan  of  his  drawing.  In  the 
church  pertaining  to  it  are  preserved 
the  banners  and  keys  of  conquered 
towns ;  those  of  Warsaw,  Oczakoff, 
Ismael,  and  Derbent,  taking  the  first 
places;  and  there  are  also  kept  the 
bread  and  salt  which  the  chief  magis- 
trate of  Warsaw  presented,  with  the 
city  keys,  to  Suwarrow,  in  token  of 
the  entire  subjection  of  Poland.  In 
a  casemate  of  the  fortress,  converted 
into  a  state  prison,  prince  Alexis, 
son  of  Peter  L,  ended  his  days,  after 
his  condemnation  as  a  rebel.  And 
there,  in  1771,  perished  the  princess 
Tarakauoff,  and  all  the  other  state 
prisoners  there  confined,  in  conse- 
quence of  an  overflow  of  the  Neva. 
*'  Since  those  days  the  state  of  morals 
in  llussia  has  greatly  improved,  even 
amongst  the  very  lowest  classes, 
and  manners  and  habits  have  become 
milder  and  more  humane.  In  the 
year  1776,  out  of  4369  deaths  in  St 
Petersburg,  113  persons  were  found 
dead — murdered,  there  could  be  no 
doubt.  What  a  difference  between 
tlnen  and  now.  Modern  writers  cer- 
tainly warn  us  of  the  insecurity  of 
the  streets  in  the  long  winter  evenings ; 

VOL.  LXX. — XO.  CCCCXXX. 


St  Petersburg. 


171 


even  Kohl,  who  wrote  only  eleven 
years  ago  about  St  Petersburg,  sees 
a  candidate  for  the  cemetery  in  every 
sledge  that  crosses  the  Neva  after 
nightfall ;  but  such  expressions  are 
the  mere  results  of  preconceived 
notions  or  exaggerated  apprehensions. 
It  has  happened  to  me  to  return 
home  from  Waasilije-Ostrow  at  every 
hour  of  the  night,  and  in  every  season 
of  the  year,  and  I  never  found  cause 
for  the  least  uneasiness."  St  Peters- 
burg, Mr  Jerrmann  thinks,  is  nearly 
or  quite  as  safe  of  nights  as  Berlin 
itself.  Of  the  corpses  occasionally 
found  in  the  streets  of  the  former 
capital,  many  are  erroneously  sup- 
posed to  be  the  result  of  violence, 
when  in  reality  drunkenness  was  the 
cause  of  the  deaths.  A  nap  in  the 
streets  on  a  December  night  is  inevita- 
bly fatal,  in  a  climate  where  sentries, 
enveloped  in  thick  furs,  and  relieved 
every  hour,  sometimes  die  upon  their 
posts,  as  happens  nearly  every  winter 
at  Kronstadt.  Occasionally,  too,  a 
loiterer  may  be  attacked  by  wolves, 
although  Mr  Jerrmann  protests 
against  those  highly-coloured  de- 
scriptions of  Mr  Kohl's,  "  according 
to  which  one  might  be  led  to  suppose 
that  in  every  summer-house  round  St 
Petersburg,  the  bears  and  wolves  run 
about  as  plentifully  as  puppies  and 
poodles  in  German  country  places. 
All  this  belongs  to  the  class  of  ex- 
ceptions— nay,  so  great  is  the  scarcity 
of  wolves  at  St  Petersburg,  that  when 
the  court  on  one  occasion,  to  pleasure 
a  foreign  prince,  got  up  a  wolf-hunt, 
the  witty  prince,  when  the  chase  was 
ended,  expressed  great  surprise  at  the 
singular  breed  of  the  slain  savage, 
round  whose  neck  the  hair  was  rubbed 
off,  exactly  as  if  he  had  worn  a  collar.'1'1 
If,  in  llussia,  the  poor  are  more  ex- 
posed than  the  rich  to  death  from 
frost,  this  is  only  an  indirect  con- 
sequence of  the  cold — a  more  direct 
one  of  their  love  of  brandy — for  even 
the  very  poorest  has  at  least  a  sheep- 
skin. The  better  classes  wear  furs 
that  resist  a  cold  of  twenty  or  more 
degrees  in  the  open  country.  They 
are  costly — Mr  Jerrmann  paid  nearly 
fifty  pounds  for  one— but  they  last  a 
long  time ;  and  when  he  left  St 
Petersburg,  the  farrier  willingly  took 
his  back,  after  three  years'  wear,  at  a 
very  trifling  reduction  of  price. 


172 

"  A  sort  of  fur  that  is  much  prized 
in  Russia,  but  not  very  universally 
worn,  perhaps  on  account  of  its  great 
costliness,  is  called  baranken,  and  is 
composed  of  theskins  of  unborn  lambs. 
The  mother  has  to  be  killed  shortly 
before  lambing  time,  when  the  wool 
of  the  lamb  should  be  silky,  and  have 
a  silvery  lustre.  Thus  it  often 
happens  that  a  great  many  ewes  are 
sacrificed  before  enough  lambskins 
are  got  together  (of  sufficiently  fine 
quality)  to  make  a  fur  coat.  This 
explains  the  high  price.  These  skins 
come  from  Persia,  Bucharest,  and  the 
land  of  the  Calmuck.  Formerly  they 
were  believed  to  be  a  vegetable  pro- 
duct— the  Scythian  sheep,  as  it  was 
called,  concerning  which  so  many 
fables  were  current.  The  Tartars,  who 
deal  in  these  skins,  still  vouch  for  the 
story,  and  demand  enormous  prices  on 
account  of  the  scarcity  of  their  growth. 
The  legend  of  this  plant  is  current  all 
over  Russia.  Its  origin  may  be 
traced  to  Bell  Von  Antermony,  who 
discovered,  in  the  steppes  of  Astra- 
can,  certain  dry  shrubs,  with  stems 
eighteen  inches  high,  surmounted  by 
a  cluster  of  sharp  thorny  leaves,  in 
whose  shade  neither  plants  nor  grass 
would  grow.  Hereupon  was  founded 
the  legend  of  an  animal-plant,  with 
seeds  like  those  of  a  melon,  and  with 
fruit  in  the  likeness  of  a  lamb,  grow- 
ing upon  a  stem  five  spans  from  the 
ground.  The  taste  of  this  lamb's 
flesh  was  like  that  of  a  crab.  It  was 
fixed  firmly  to  the  stem  at  the  navel 
or  middle  of  the  belly ;  it  had  head, 
eyes,  and  all  the  other  parts  of  a 
lamb,  and  lived  until  the  root  had 
consumed  all  the  surrounding  grass  and 
plants,  when  it  dried  up  for  want  of 
nourishment.  Wolves  and  other 
blasts  of  prey  sought  it  as  a  great 
delicacy.  From  its  skin  were  made 
1  turbans,  caps,  muffs,  &c.  All 
the  writers  of  travels  in  Russia  during 
the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centu- 


Pictures  from  St  Petersburg. 


[Aug. 


ries  relate  these  fables ;  even  botanists, 
like  Reutenfels,  Strays,  and  others, 
Kiimpfer  and  Bruce  first  discovered, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  that  the  baranken  are  the 
skins  of  unborn  lambs,  and  were  not 
a  little  surprised  to  find,  at  that  date, 
the  belief  in  the  lamb -plant  general 
throughout  Russia,  a  belief  which 
even  at  the  present  day  is  not  quite 
extinct  in  some  parts  of  the  empire. 
The  pretended  plant  was  called  Bar- 
anez,  (a  lamb,)  whence  the  name  of 
the  fur,  baranken." 

Persons  familiar  with  Mr  Shaw's 
translation  of  that  singular  Russian 
novel,  The  Heretic,  will  remember  the 
effective  use  there  made  of  the  fable 
of  the  mandrake.  These  wild  legends 
of  strange  animals  appear  to  have 
formerly  been  very  prevalent  in  Russia. 
Mr  Jen-maim  mentions  another  con- 
cerning a  great  fish  called  morff 
or  mors. 

"  The  naturalist  Mihow  first  related 
that  this  fish  was  wont  to  leave  the 
Northern  Ocean  and  ascend  the  moun- 
tains in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
Arctic,  working  his  way  up  by  dig- 
ging his  great  teeth  into  the  earth. 
When  he  reached  the  top  of  the 
mountains,  he  rolled  down  the  other 
side.  Of  the  teeth  of  this  pretended 
fish  were  made  knife  and  dagger  hafts, 
sword  hilts,  &c.,  which  were  sold  at 
very  high  prices  to  the  Turks  and 
Tartars.  The  belief  in  this  fable  was 
supported  in  Russia  by  writers  till 
the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
Negebaner  describes  the  sea-monster 
mors  in  such  a  manner  that,  notwith- 
standing the  walk  up  the  mountains, 
there  is  no  difficulty  in  recognising 
the  sea-horse  of  the  icy  ocean." 

We  close  Mr  Jerrmann's  picture- 
book  without  further  comment,  but 
with  warm  commendation  of  one  of 
the  most  amusing  German  volumes 
that  for  some  time  past  has  come  in 
our  way. 


1851  ]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XII. 


173 


MY  NOVEL ;    OR,    VARIETIES    IN    ENGLISH    LIFE. 


BY    PISISTRATUS    CAXTON. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


LEONARD  and  Helen  settled  them- 
selves in  two  little  chambers  in  a 
small  lane.  The  neighbourhood  was 
dull  enough  —  the  accommodation 
humble ;  but  their  landlady  had  a 
smile.  That  was  the  reason,  perhaps, 
why  Helen  chose  the  lodgings :  a 
smile  is  not  always  found  on  the  face 
of  a  landlady  when  the  lodger  is 
poor.  And  out  of  their  windows 
they  caught  sight  of  a  green  tree,  an 
elm,  that  grew  up  fair  and  tall  in  a 
carpenter's  yard  at  the  rear.  That 
tree  was  like  another  smile  to  the 
place.  They  saw  the  birds  come  and 
go  to  its  shelter ;  and  they  even  heard, 
when  a  breeze  arose,  the  pleasant 
murmur  of  its  boughs. 

Leonard  went  the  same  evening  to 
Captain  Digby's  old  lodgings,  but  he 
could  learn  there  no  intelligence  of 
friends  or  protectors  for  Helen.  The 
people  were  rude  and  surly,  and 
said  that  the  Captain  still  owed  them 
£1,  17s.  The  claim,  however,  seemed 
very  disputable,  and  was  stoutly 
denied  by  Helen.  The  next  morning 
Leonard  set  off  in  search  of  Dr  Mor- 
gan. He  thought  his  best  plan  was  to 
inquire  the  address  of  the  Doctor  at 
the  nearest  chemist's,  and  the  chem- 
ist civilly  looked  into  the  Court  Guide, 
and  referred  him  to  a  house  in  Bui- 
strode  Street,  Manchester  Square. 
To  this  street  Leonard  contrived  to 
find  his  way,  much  marvelling  at  the 
meanness  of  London  :  Screwstown 
seemed  to  him  the  handsomer  town 
of  the  two. 

A  shabby  man-servant  opened  the 
door,  and  Leonard  remarked  that  the 
narrow  passage  was  choked  with 
boxes,  trunks,  and  various  articles  of 
furniture.  He  was  shown  into  a  small 
room,  containing  a  very  large  round 
table,  whereon  were  sundry  works  on 
homoeopathy,  Parry's  Cymbrian  Plu- 
tarch, Davies'  Celtic  Researches,  and  a 
Sunday  newspaper.  An  en  graved  por- 
trait of  the  illustrious  Hahnemann 


occupied  the  place  of  honour  over  the 
chimneypiece.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
door  to  an  inner  room  opened,  and 
Dr  Morgan  appeared,  and  said  politely, 
"  Come  in,  sir." 

The  Doctor  seated  himself  at  a 
desk,  looked  hastily  at  Leonard,  and 
then  at  a  great  chronometer  lying  on 
the  table.  "  My  time's  short,  sir — 
going  abroad ;  and  now  that  I  am 
going,  patients  flock  to  me.  Too 
late.  London  will  repent  its  apathy. 
Let  it ! " 

The  Doctor  paused  majestically, 
and,  not  remarking  on  Leonard's 
face  the  consternation  he  had  anti- 
cipated, he  repeated  peevishly  — 
"  I  am  going  abroad,  sir,  but  I  will 
make  a  synopsis  of  your  case,  and 
leave  it  to  my  successor.  Hum !  Hair 
chestnut  ;  eyes — what  colour  ?  Look 
this  way — blue,  dark  blue.  Hem  ! 
Constitution  nervous.  What  are  the 
symptoms  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  began  Leonard,  "  a  little 
girl—" 

DR  MORGAN,  (impatiently.)  — 
"  Little  girl !  Never  mind  the  history 
of  your  sufferings  ;  stick  to  the  symp- 
toms— stick  to  the  symptoms." 

LEONARD.  —  "  You  mistake  me, 
Doctor ;  I  have  nothing  the  matter 
with  me.  A  little  girl—" 

DR  MORGAN. — "  Girl  again  !  I  un- 
derstand !  it  is  she  who  is  ill.  Shall  I 
go  to  her?  She  must  describe  her 
own  symptoms— I  can't  judge  from 
your  talk.  You'll  be  teliing  me  she 
has  consumption,  or  dyspepsia,  or  some 
such  disease  that  don't  exist:  mere 
allopathic  inventions  —  symptoms, 
sir,  symptoms." 

LEONARD,  (forcing  his  way.)  — 
u  You  attended  her  poor  father,  Cap- 
tain Digby,  when  he  was  taken  ill  in 
the  coach  with  you.  He  is  dead,  and 
his  child  is  an  orphan." 

DR  MORGAN,  (fumbling  in  his 
medical  pocket-book.)  —  "  Orphan  ! 
nothing  for  orphans,  especially  if 


174  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XII. 


[Aug. 


inconsolable,  like  aconite  and  c/iamo- 
milla."  * 

With  so*me  difficulty  Leonard  suc- 
ceeded in  bringing  Helen  to  the  recol- 
lection of  the  homo20pathist,  stating 
how  he  came  in  charge  of  her,  and 
why  he  sought  Dr  Morgan. 

The  Doctor  was  much  moved. 

"  But  really,"  said  he  after  a  pause, 
"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  help  the  poor 
<;hild.  I  know  nothing  of  her  relations. 
This  Lord  Les — whatever  his  name  is 
— I  know  of  no  lords  in  London.  I 
knew  lords,  and  physicked  them  too, 
when  I  was  a  blundering  allopathist. 
There  was  the  Earl  of  Lansmere — has 
had  many  a  blue  pill  from  me,  sinner 
that  I  was.  His  son  was  wiser;  never 
would  take  physic.  Very  clever  boy 
was  Lord  L'Estrange — I  don't  know  if 
he  was  as  good  as  he  was  clever — " 

"  Lord  L'Estrange  !  —that  name 
begins  with  Les—" 

" Stuff!  He's  always  abroad — shows 
his  sense.  I'm  going  abroad  too. 
No  development  for  science  in  this 
horrid  city ;  full  of  prejudices,  sir, 
.and  given  up  to  the  most  barbarous 
allopathical  and  phlebotomical  pro- 
pensities. I  am  going  to  the  land  of 
Hahnemaiin,  sir, — sold  my  good- will, 
'lease,' and  furniture,  and  have  bought 
in  on  the  Rhine.  Natural  life  there, 
sir — homoeopathy  needs  nature :  dine 
at  one  o'clock,  get  up  at  four — tea 
little  known,  and  science  appreciated. 
But  I  forget.  Cott !  what  can  I  do 
for  the  orphan?" 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Leonard  rising, 
"  Heaven  will  give  me  strength  to 
support  her." 

The  Doctor  looked  at  the  young 
man  attentively.  "And  yet,"  said 
he,  in  a  gentler  voice,  "  you,  young 
man,  are,  by  your  account,  a  perfect 
stranger  to  her,  or  were  so  when  you 
undertook  to  bring  her  to  London. 
You  have  a  good  heart— always  keep 
it.  Very  healthy  thing,  sir,  a  good 
heart — that  is,  when  not  carried  to 
excess.  But  you  have  friends  of  your 
own  in  town  V  " 

LEONARD.—"  Not  yet,  sir  ;  I  hope 
to  make  them." 

DOCTOR.  —  "  Pless  me,  you  do  ? 
How?— I  can't  make  any." 


Leonard  coloured  and  hung  his 
head.  He  longed  to  say  "  Authors  find 
friends  in  their  readers — I  am  going  to 
be  an  author."  But  he  felt  that  the 
reply  would  savour  of  presumption, 
and  held  his  tongue. 

The  Doctor  continued  to  examine 
him,  and  with  friendly  interest.  "You 
say  you  walked  up  to  London — was 
that  from  choice  or  economy  ?  " 

LEONARD.— "  Both,  sir." 

DOCTOR. — "Sit  down  again,  and 
let  us  talk.  I  can  give  you  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  and  I'll  see  if  I  can  help 
either  of  you,  provided  you  tell  me 
all  the  symptoms — I  mean  all  the 
particulars." 

Then,  with  that  peculiar  adroitness 
which  belongs  to  experience  in  the 
medical  profession,  Dr  Morgan, 
who  was  really  an  acute  and  able 
man,  proceeded  to  put  his  questions, 
and  soon  extracted  from  Leonard  the 
boy's  history  and  hopes.  But  when 
the  Doctor,  in  admiration  at  a  sim- 
plicity which  contrasted  so  evident  an 
intelligence,  finally  asked  him  his 
name  and  connections,  and  Leonard 
told  them,  the  homceopathist  actually 
started.  "  Leonard  Fairfield,  grand- 
son of  my  old  friend,  John  Avenel  of 
Lansmere  !  I  must  shake  you  by  the 
hand.  Brought  up  by  Mrs  Fairfield ! — 
Ah,  now  I  look,  strong  family  like- 
ness—very strong !  " 

The  tears  stood  in  the  Doctor's 
eyes.  "  Poor  Nora ! "  said  he. 

"Nora!  Did  you  knoAv  my  aunt?" 

"  Your  aunt !  Ah — ah  !  yes — yes  ! 
Poor  Nora ! — she  died  almost  in  these 
arms  —  so  young,  so  beautiful.  I  re- 
member it  as  if  yesterday." 

The  Doctor  brushed  his  hand  across 
his  eyes,  and  swallowed  a  globule ;  and, 
before  the  boy  knew  what  he  was  about, 
had  in  his  benevolence  thrust  another 
between  Leonard's  quivering  lips. 

A  knock  was  heard  at  the  door. 

"  Ha  !  that's  my  great  patient," 
cried  the  Doctor,  recovering  his  self- 
possession  — "  must  see  him.  A 
chronic  case— excellent  patient — tic, 
sir,  tic.  Puzzling  and  interesting. 
If  I  could  take  that  tic  with  me,  I 
should  ask  nothing  more  from 
Heaven.  Call  again  on  Monday  ;  I 


l 
sorre 


nccessa[yto  ?fcserve,  that  homoeopathy  professes  to  deal  with  our 
US  WCU  a3  WItU  °Ur  Physical  mladies>  aud  has  a  Slobule 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XII. 


may  have  something  to  tell  you  then 
as  to  yourself.  The  little  girl  can't 
stay  with  you — wrong  and  nonsensi- 
cal. I  will  see  after  her.  Leave  me 
yonr  address — write  it  here.  I  think 
I  know  a  lady  who  will  take  charge 
of  her.  Good-bye.  Monday  next, 
ten  o'clock." 

With  this,  the  Doctor  thrust  out 
Leonard,  and  ushered  in  his  grand 
patient,  whom  he  was  very  anxious 
to  take  with  him  to  the  banks  of  the 
Rhine. 

Leonard  had  now  only  to  discover 
the  nobleman  whose  name  had  been 
so  vaguely  uttered  by  poor  Captain 
Digby.  He  had  again  recourse  to  the 
Court  Guide ;  and  finding  the  ad- 
dress of  two  or  three  lords  the  first 
syllable  of  whose  titles  seemed  similar 
to  that  repeated  to  him,  and  all  living 
pretty  near  to  each  other,  in  the 
regions  of  May  Fair,  he  ascertained  his 
way  to  that  quarter,  and,  exercising 
his  mother- wit,  inquired  at  the  neigh- 
bouring shops  as  to  the  personal 
appearance  of  these  noblemen.  Out 
of  consideration  for  his  rusticity,  he 
got  very  civil  and  clear  answers ;  but 
none  of  the  lords  in  question  corre- 
sponded with  the  description  given 
by  Helen.  One  was  old,  another 
was  exceedingly  corpulent,  a  third 
was  bedridden  —  none  of  them  was 
known  to  keep  a  great  dog.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  the  name  of 
L'Estrange  (no  habitant  of  London) 
was  not  in  the  Court  Guide.  And 
Dr  Morgan's  assertion  that  that  per- 
son was  always  abroad  unluckily 
dismissed  from  Leonard's  mind  the 
name  the  homoeopathist  had  so  casu- 
ally mentioned.  But  Helen  was  not 
disappointed  when  her  young  protec- 
tor returned  late  in  the  day,  and  told 
her  of  his  ill  success.  Poor  child !  she 
was  so  pleased  in  her  heart  not  to  be 
separated  from  her  new  brother ;  and 
Leonard  was  touched  to  see  how  she 
had  contrived,  in  his  absence,  to  give 
a  certain  comfort  and  cheerful  grace 
to  the  bare  room  devoted  to  himself. 
She  had  arranged  his  few  books  and 
papers  so  neatly,  near  the  window, 
in  sight  of  the  one  green  elm.  She 


175 

had  coaxed  the  smiling  landlady  out 
of  one  or  two  extra  articles  of  furni- 
ture, especially  a  walnut-tree  bureau, 
and  some  odds  and  ends  of  ribbon — 
with  which  last  she  had  looped  up 
the  curtains.  Even  the  old  rush-bot- 
tom chairs  had  a  strange  air  of  ele- 
gance, from  the  mode  in  which  they 
were  placed.  The  fairies  had  given 
sweet  Helen  the  art  that  adorns 
a  home,  and  brings  out  a  smile  from 
the  dingiest  corner  of  hut  and  attic. 

Leonard  wondered  and  praised.  He 
kissed  his  blushing  ministrant  grate- 
fully, and  they  sate  down  in  joy  to 
their  abstemious  meal;  when  sud- 
denly his  face  was  overclouded  — 
there  shot  through  him  the  remem- 
brance of  Dr  Morgan's  words — "  The- 
little  girl  can't  stay  with  you — wrong 
and  nonsensical.  I  think  I  know  a 
lady  who  will  take  charge  of  her." 

"  Ah,"  cried  Leonard,  sorrowfully, 
"  how  could  I  forget  ?"  And  he  told 
Helen  Avhat  grieved  him.  Helen  at 
first  exclaimed  that  "  she  would  not 
go."  Leonard,  rejoiced,  then  began 
to  talk  as  usual  of  his  great  prospects  ; 
and,  hastily  finishing  his  meal,  as  if 
there  were  no  time  to  lose,  sate  down 
at  once  to  his  papers.  Then  Helen 
contemplated  him  sadly,  as  he  bent 
over  his  delighted  work.  And  wljenr 
lifting  his  radiant  eyes  from  his  MS., 
he  exclaimed,  "  No,  no,  you  shall 
not  go.  This  must  succeed — and  we 
shall  live  together  in  some  pretty 
cottage,  where  we  can  see  more  than 
one  tree  "  —  then  Helen  sighed,  and 
did  not  answer  this  time,  "No,  I 
will  not  go." 

Shortly  after  she  stole  from  the 
room,  and  into  her  own  ;  and  there, 
kneeling  down,  she  prayed,  and  her 
prayer  was  somewhat  this — "  Guard 
me  against  my  own  selfish  heart  : 
may  I  never  be  a  burden  to  him  who 
has  shielded  me." 

Perhaps,  as  the  Creator  looks  down 
on  this  world,  whose  wondrous  beauty 
beams  on  us  more  an'd  more,  in  pro- 
portion as  our  science  would  take  it 
from  poetry  into  law — perhaps  He 
beholds  nothing  so  beautiful  as  the 
pure  heart  of  a  simple  loving  child. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Leonard  went  out  the  next  day 
with  his  precious  MSS.     He  had  read 


sufficient  of  modern  literature  to  know 
the  names  of  the  principal  London 


170  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XII. 


publishers ;  and  to  these  he  took  his 
way  with  a  bold  step,  though  a  beat- 
ing heart. 

That  day  he  was  out  longer  than 
the  last ;  and  when  he  returned,  and 
came  into  the  little  room,  Helen 
uttered  a  cry,  for  she  scarcely  recog- 
nised him.  There  was  on  his  face  so 
deep,  so  silent,  and  so  concentrated  a 
despondency.  He  sate  down  list- 
lessly, and  did  not  kiss  her  this  time, 
as  she  stole  towards  him.  He  felt  so 
humbled.  He  was  a  king  deposed. 
He  take  charge  of  another  life  !  He  ! 

She  coaxed  him  at  last  into  com- 
municating his  day's  chronicle.  The 
reader  beforehand  knows  too  well 
what  it  must  be,  to  need  detailed 
repetition.  Most  of  the  publishers 
had  absolutely  refused  to  look  at  his 
MSS. ;  one  or  two  had  good-naturedly 
glanced  over  and  returned  them  at 
once,  with  a  civil  word  or  two  of  flat 
rejection.  One  publisher  alone— him- 
self a  man  of  letters,  and  who  in 
youth  had  gone  through  the  same 
bitter  process  of  dis-illusion  that  now 
awaited  the  village  genius  —  volun- 
teered some  kindly  though  stern  ex- 
planation and  counsel  to  the  unhappy 
boy.  -This  gentleman  read  a  portion 
of  Leonard's  principal  poem  with  at- 
tention, and  even  with  frank  admira- 
tion. He  could  appreciate  the  rare 


[Aug. 

nals.  You  will  read  these,  find 
yourself  proclaimed  a  poet,  will  cry 
'  I  am  on  the  road  to  fame.'  You 
will  come  to  me,  '  And  my  poem, 
how  does  it  sell  ? '  I  shall  point  to 
some  groaning  shelf,  and  say,  'Not 
twenty  copies  ! '  The  journals  may 
praise,  but  the  public  will  not  buy 
it.  '  But  you  will  have  got  a  name,' 
you  say.  Yes,  a  name  as  a  poet 
just  sufficiently  known  to  make  every 
man  in  practical  business  disinclined 
to  give  fair  trial  to  your  talents  in  a 
single  department  of  positive  life  ; — 
none  like  to  employ  poets  ; — a  name 
that  will  not  put  a  penny  in  your 
purse — worse  still,  that  will  operate 
as  a  barrier  against  every  escape  into 
the  ways  whereby  men  get  to  fortune. 
But,  having  once  tasted  praise,  you 
will  continue  to  sigh  for  it :  you  will 
perhaps  never  again  get  a  publisher 
to  bring  forth  a  poem,  but  you  will 
hanker  round  the  purlieus  of  the 
Muses,  scribble  for  periodicals,  fall 
at  last  into  a  bookseller's  drudge. 
Profits  will  be  so  precarious  and  un- 
certain, that  to  avoid  debt  may  be 
impossible  ;  then,  you  who  now  seem 
so  ingenuous  and  so  proud,  will  sink 
deeper  still  into  the  literary  mendi- 
cant— begging,  borrowing — : 

"  Never  —  never  —  never !  "    cried 
Leonard,   veiling  his  face  with  his 


promise  that  it  manifested.    He  sym- ,  hands. 

pathised  with  the  boy's  history,  and*      "  Such  would  have  been  my  career, 
and   then  he     continued  the  publisher. 

ily  had    a    rich 

whose  calling  I 


evrn  with   his  hopes 

said,  in  bidding  him  farewell— 

"  If  I  publish  this  poem  for  you, 
speaking  as  a  trader,  I  shall  be  a  con- 
siderable loser.  Did  I  publish  all  I 
admire,  out  of  sympathy  with  the 
author,  I  should  be  a  ruined  man. 
But  suppose  that,  impressed  as  I 
really  am  with  the  evidence  of  no 
K.nnnon  poetic  gifts  in  this  MS., 
I  publish  it,  not  as  a  trader,  but  a 

-          -     /»  !•    A 


But  I  luck- 
relative,  a  trader, 
despised  as  a  boy, 
who  kindly  forgave  my  folly,  bound 
me  as  an  apprentice,  and  here  I  am  ; 
and  now  I  can  afford  to  write  books 
as  well  as  sell  them. 

"  Young  man,  you  must  have  re- 
spectable relations — go  by  their  advice 
and  counsel ;  cling  fast  to  some  posi- 
tive calling.  Be  anything  in  this 


lover  of  literature,  I  shall  in  reality,     city  rather  than  poet  by  profession." 
E  fear,  raider  you  a  great  disservice.         "And  how,  sir,  have  there  ever 

been  poets?      Had  they  other  call- 
ings ?  " 

"Read  their  biography,  and  then 
envy  them  !  " 

Leonard  was  silent  a  moment ;  but, 
lifting  his  head,  answered  loud  and 


you  a  great  disservice, 
and  perhaps  unfit  your  whole  life  for 
the  exertions  on  which  you  must  rely 
I'-r  independence." 

•;  II-.w,  sir?"  cried  Leonard.— 
"Not  that  I  would  ask  you  to  injure 
yoanetf  for  i,ie,"  he  added,  with 
proud  tears  in  his  eyes. 

•lllow,  my  young  friend?  I  will 
explain.  There  is  enough  talent  in 
ItafM  v,  i-scs  to  induce  very  flattering 
n.- views  in  some  of  the  literary  jour- 


quickly,  — "  I  have  read  their  bio- 
graphy. True,  their  lot  poverty — 
perhaps  hunger.  Sir,  I  envy  them ! " 
"  Poverty  and  hunger  are  small 
evils,"  answered  the  bookseller,  with 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

a  grave  kind  smile.   "There  are  worse, 
—debt  and  degradation,  and— despair." 

"  No,  sir,  110 — you  exaggerate  ; 
these  last  are  not  the  lot  of  all  poets." 

"  Right,  for  most  of  our  greatest 
poets  had  some  private  means  of  their 
own.  And  for  others,  why,  all  who 
have  put  into  a  lottery  have  not 
drawn  blanks.  But  who  could  advise 
another  man  to  set  his  whole  hope  of 
fortune  on  the  chance  of  a  prize  in 
a  lottery  ?  And  such  a  lottery  !  " 
groaned  the  publisher,  glancing  to- 
wards sheets  and  reams  of  dead  au- 
thors lying  like  lead  upon  his  shelves. 

Leonard  clutched  his  MSS.  to  his 
heart,  and  liurried  away. 

"  Yes,"  he  muttered,  as  Helen 
clung  to  him  and  tried  to  console — 
"  Jed5  vou  were  right :  London  is  very 
vast,  very  strong,  and  very  cruel," 
and  his  head  sank  lower  and  lower 
yet  upon  his  bosom. 

The  door  was  Hung  widely  open, 
and  in,  unannounced,  walked  Dr 
Morgan. 

The  child  turned  to  him,  and  at  the 
•sight  of  his  face  she  remembered  her 
father ;  and  the  tears  that,  for 
Leonard's  sake,  she  had  been  trying 
to  suppress,  found  way. 

The  good  Doctor  soon  gained  all 
the  confidence  of  these  two  young 
hearts.  And  after  listening  to 
Leonard's  story  of  his  paradise  lost  in 
a  day,  he  patted  him  on  the  shoulder 
and  said,  u  Well,  you  will  call  on  me 
on  Monday,  and  we  will  see.  Mean- 
while, borrow  these  of  me," — and  he 
tried  to  slip  three  sovereigns  into  the 
boy's  hand.  Leonard  was  indignant. 
The  bookseller's  warning  flashed  on 
him.  Mendicancy !  Oh  no,  he  had  not 
yet  come  to  that !  He  was  almost  rude 
and  savage  in  his  rejection  ;  and  the 
Doctor  did  not  like  him  the  less  for  it. 
u  You  are  an  obstinate  mule," 
said  the  homoeopathist,  reluctantly 
putting  up  his  sovereigns.  "  Will 
you  work  at  something  practical  and 
prosy,  and  let  the  poetry  rest  awhile?" 
"  Yes,"  said  Leonard  doggedly, 
"  I  will  work." 

"  Very  well,  then.  I  know  an 
honest  bookseller,  and  he  shall  give 
you  some  employment ;  and  mean- 
while, at  all  events,  you  will  be 
among  books,  and  that  will  be  some 
comfort." 

Leonard's    eyes    brightened — "  A 


English  Life.— Part  XII.  177 

great  comfort,  sir."  He  pressed  the 
hand  he  had  before  put  aside  to  his 
grateful  heart. 

"But,"  resumed  the  Doctor  seri- 
ously, "  you  really  feel  a  strong  pre- 
disposition to  make  verses  ?  " 

"I  did,  sir." 

"Very  bad  symptom  indeed,  and 
must  be  stopped  before  a  relapse! 
Here,  I  have  cured  three  prophets  and 
ten  poets  with  this  novel  specific." 

While  thus  speaking  he  had  got  out 
his  book  and  a  globule.  "  Agaricus 
muscarius  dissolved  in  a  tumbler  of 
distilled  water  —  tea- spoonful  when- 
ever the  fit  comes  on.  Sir,  it  would 
have  cured  Milton  himself. 

"  And  now  for  you,  my  child,"  turn- 
ing to  Helen — "  I  have  found  a  lady 
who  will  be  very  kind  to  you.  Not  a 
menial  situation.  She  wants  some  one 
to  read  to  her,  and  tend  on  her — she  is 
old  and  has  no  children.  She  wants  a 
companion,  and  prefers  a  girl  of  your 
age  to  one  older.  Will  this  suit  you  ?  " 

Leonard  walked  away. 

Helen  got  close  to  the  Doctor's  ear, 
and  whispered,  "  No,  I  cannot  leave 
him  now — he  is  so  sad." 

"  Cott !"  grunted  the  Doctor,  "  you 
two  must  have  been  reading  Paul  and 
Virginia.  If  I  could  but  stay  in  Eng- 
land, I  would  try  what  ignatia  would 
do  in  this  case — interesting  experi- 
ment !  Listen  to  me — little  girl ;  and 
go  out  of  the  room,  you,  sir." 

Leonard,  averting  his  face,  obeyed. 
Helen  made  an  involuntary  step  after 
him — the  Doctor  detained  and  drew 
her  on  his  knee. 

"  What's  your  Christian  name? — I 
forget." 

"  Helen." 

"  Helen,  listen.  In  a  year  or  two 
you  will  be  a  young  woman,  and  it 
would  be  very  wrong  then  to  live 
alone  with  that  young  man.  Mean- 
while, you  have  no  right  to  cripple  all 
his  energies.  He  must  not  have  you 
leaning  on  his  right  arm — you  wo'uld 
weigh  it  down.  I  am  going  away, 
and  when  I  am  gone  there  will  be  no 
one  to  help  you,  if  you  reject  the 
friend  I  offer  you.  Do  as  I  tell  you, 
for  a  little  girl  so  peculiarly  suscepti- 
ble (a  thorough  pulsatilla  constitution) 
cannot  be  obstinate  and  egotistical." 

"  Let  me  see  him  cared  for  and 
happy,  sir,"  said  she  firmly,  "  and  I 
will  go  where  you  wish." 


178 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 


"  He  shall  be  so ;  and  to-morrow, 
while  he  is  out,  I  will  come  and  fetch 
you.  Nothing  so  painful  as  leave-tak- 
ing  shakes  the  nervous  system, 

and  is  a  mere  waste  of  the  animal 
economy." 

Helen  sobbed  aloud  ;  then,  writhing 
from  the  Doctor,  she  exclaimed,  "  But 
he  may  know  where  I  am  ?  We  may 
see  each  other  sometimes  ?  Ah,  sir, 
it  was  at  my  father's  grave  that  we 


English  Life.— Part  XII.  [Aug-. 

first  met,  and  I  think  Heaven  sent 
him  to  me.  Do  not  part  us  for  ever." 
I  should  have  a  heart  of  stone  if  I 
did,"  cried  the  Doctor  vehemently, 
"  and  Miss  Starke  shall  let  him  come 
and  visit  you  once  a-week.  I'll  give 
her  something  to  make  her.  She  is 
naturally  indifferent  to  others.  I  will 
alter  her  whole  constitution,  and  melfc 
her  into  sympathy — with  rhododen- 
dron and  arsenic  !" 


CHAPTER  xv. 


Before  he  went,  the  Doctor  wrote 
a  line  to  Mr  Prickett,  bookseller, 
Holborn,  and  told  Leonard  to  take 
it,  the  next  morning,  as  addressed. 
"  I  will  call  on  Prickett  myself  to- 
night, and  prepare  him  for  your 
visit.  But  I  hope  and  trust  you 
will  only  have  to  stay  there  a  few 
days." 

He  then  turned  the  conversation,  to 
commnnicate  his  plans  for  Helen. 
Miss  Starke  lived  at  Highgate— a 
worthy  woman,  stiff  and  prim,  as 
old  maids  sometimes  are.  But  just 
the  place  for  a  little  girl  like  Helen, 
and  Leonard  should  certainly  be 
allowed  to  call  and  see  her. 

Leonard  listened  and  made  no  op- 
position;— now  that  his  day-dream 
was  dispelled,  he  had  no  right  to 
pretend  to  be  Helen's  protector.  He 
could  have  bade  her  share  his  wealth 


and  his  fame  ;  his  penury  and  his 
drudgery — no. 

It  was  a  very  sorrowful  evening — 
that  between  the  adventurer  and  the 
child.  They  sate  up  late,  till  their 
candle  had  burned  down  to  the  socket; 
neither  did  they  talk  much ;  but  his 
hand  clasped  hers  all  the  time,  and 
her  head  pillowed  itself  on  his 
shoulder.  I  fear,  when  they  parted,  it 
was  not  for  sleep. 

And  when  Leonard  went  forth  the 
next  morning,  Helen  stood  at  the 
street  door,  watching  him  depart — 
slowly,  slowly.  No  doubt,  in  that 
humble  lane  there  were  many  sad 
hearts  ;  but  no  heart  so  heavy  as  that 
of  the  still  quiet  child,  when  the  form 
she  had  watched  was  to  be  seen  no- 
more,  and,  still  standing  on  the  deso- 
late threshold,  she  gazed  into  space — 
and  all  was  vacant. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


Mr  Prickett  was  a  believer  in  homoe- 
opathy, and  declared,  to  the  indigna- 
tion of  all  the  apothecaries  round 
Holborn,  that  he  had  been  cured  of  a 
chronic  rheumatism  by  Dr  Morgan. 
The  good  Doctor  had,  as  he  promised, 
seen  Mr  Prickett  when  he  left 
Leonard,  and  asked  him  as  a  favour 
to  find  some  light  occupation  for  the 
boy,  that  would  serve  as  an  excuse 
for  a  modest  weekly  salary.  "It 
will  not  be  for  long,"  said  the  Doctor  ; 
"his  relations  arc  respectable  and 
well  off.  I  will  write  to  his  grand- 
parents, and  in  a  few  days  I  hope  to 
relieve  you  of  the  charge.  Of  course, 
if  you  don't  want  him,  I  will  repay 
what  he  costs  meanwhile." 

Mr    Prickett,    thus    prepared    for 


Leonard,  received  him  very  gra- 
ciously, and,  after  a  few  questions, 
said  Leonard  was  just  the  person  he 
wanted  to  assist  him  in  cataloguing  his 
books,  and  offered  him  most  hand- 
somely £1  a-week  for  the  task. 

Plunged  at  once  into  a  world  of 
books  vaster  than  he  had  ever  before 
won  admission  to,  that  old  divine 
dream  of  knowledge,  out  of  which 
poetry  had  sprung,  returned  to  the 
village  student  at  the  very  sight  of 
the  venerable  volumes.  The  collec- 
tion of  Mr  Prickett  was,  however,  in- 
reality  by  no  means  large ;  but  ife 
comprised  not  only  the  ordinary 
standard  works,  but  several  curious 
and  rare  ones.  And  Leonard  paused 
in  making  the  catalogue,  and  took 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XII. 


many  a  hasty  snatch  of  the  con- 
tents of  each  tome,  as  it  passed 
through  his  hands.  The  bookseller, 
who  was  an  enthusiast  for  old  books, 
was  pleased  to  see  a  kindred  feeling 
(which  his  shop-boy  had  never  ex- 
hibited) in  his  new  assistant ;  and 
he  talked  about  rare  editions  and 
scarce  copies,  and  initiated  Leonard 
into  many  of  the  mysteries  of  the 
bibliographist. 

Nothing  could  be  more  dark  and 
dingy  than  the  shop.  There  was  a 
booth  outside,  containing  cheap  books 
and  odd  volumes,  round  which  there 
was  always  an  attentive  group  ; 
within,  a  gas-lamp  burned  night  and 
day. 

But  time  passed  quickly  to  Leonard. 
He  missed  not  the  green  fields,  he 
forgot  his  disappointments,  he  ceased 
to  remember  even  Helen.  O  strange 
passion  of  knowledge!  nothing  like 
thee  for  strength  and  devotion. 

Mr  Prickett  was  a  bachelor,  and 
asked  Leonard  to  dine  with  him  on  a 
coldshoulderof  mutton.  During  dinner 
the  shop- boy  kept  the  shop,  and  Mr 
Prickett  was  really  pleasant  as  well 
as  loquacious.  He  took  a  liking  to 
Leonard — and  Leonard  told  him  his 
adventures  with  the  publishers,  at 
which  Mr  Prickett  rubbed  his  hands 
and  laughed  as  at  a  capital  joke. 
"  Oh  give  up  poetry,  and  stick  to  a 
shop,"  cried  he ;  "  and,  to  cure  you 
for  ever  of  the  mad  whim  to  be  an 
author,  I'll  just  lend  you  the  Life  and 
Works  of  Chatterton.  You  may  take 
it  home  with  you  and  read  before  you 
go  to  bed.  You'll  come  back  quite  a 
new  man  to-morrow." 

Not  till  night,  when  the  shop  was 
closed,  did  Leonard  return  to  his 
lodging.  And  when  he  entered  the 
room,  he  was  struck  to  the  soul  by  the 
silence,  by  the  void.  Helen  was 
gone ! 

There  was  a  rose-tree  in  its  pot  on 
the  table  at  which  he  wrote,  and  by 
it  a  scrap  of  paper,  on  which  was 
written — 

"  Dear,  dear  Brother  Leonard, 
God  bless  you.  I  will  let  you  know 
when  we  can  meet  again.  Take  care 
of  this  rose,  Brother,  and  don't  forget 
poor  HELEN." 

Over  the  word  "  forget"  there  was 


179 

a  big  round  blistered  spot  that  nearly 
effaced  the  word. 

Leonard  leant  his  face  on  his  hands, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt 
what  solitude  really  is.  He  could  not 
stay  long  in  the  room.  He  walked  out 
again,  and  wandered  objectless  to  and 
fro  the  streets.  He  passed  that  stiller 
and  humbler  neighbourhood,  he  mixed 
with  the  throng  that  swarmed  in  the 
more  populous  thoroughfares.  Hun- 
dreds and  thousands  passed  him  by, 
and  still— still  such  solitude. 

He  came  back,  lighted  his  candle, 
and  resolutely  drew  forth  the  '  Chat- 
terton' which  the  bookseller  had  lent 
him.  It  was  an  old  edition  in  one- 
thick  volume.  It  had  evidently  be- 
longed to  some  contemporary  of  the 
Poet's — apparently  an  inhabitant  of 
Bristol — some  one  who  had  gathered 
up  many  anecdotes  respecting  Chat- 
terton's  habits,  and  who  appeared 
even  to  have  seen  him,  nay,  been  in 
his  company  ;  for  the  book  was 
interleaved,  and  the  leaves  covered 
with  notes  and  remarks  in  a  stiff 
clear  hand  —  all  evincing  personal 
knowledge  of  the  mournful  immortal 
dead.  At  first,  Leonard  read  with 
an  effort ;  then  the  strange  and  fierce 
spell  of  that  dread  life  seized  upon 
him — seized  with  pain,  and  gloom, 
and  terror — this  boy  dying  by  his 
own  hand,  about  the  age  Leonard 
had  attained  himself.  This  wonder- 
ous  boy,  of  a  genius  beyond  all  com- 
parison— the  greatest  that  ever  yet 
was  developed  and  extinguished  at 
the  age  of  eighteen — self-taught — 
self-struggling— self-immolated.  No- 
thing in  literature  like  that  life  and 
that  death ! 

With  intense  interest  Leonard  per- 
used the  tale  of  the  brilliant  impos- 
ture, which  had  been  so  harshly  and 
so  absurdly  construed  into  the  crime- 
of  a  forgery,  and  which  was  (if  nofe 
wholly  innocent)  so  akin  to  the 
literary  devices  always  in  other  cases 
viewed  with  indulgence,  and  exhibit- 
ing, in  this,  intellectual  qualities  in* 
themselves  so  amazing  —  such  pa- 
tience, such  forethought,  such  labour, 
such  courage,  such  ingenuity — the 
qualities  that,  well  directed,  make 
men  great,  not  only  in  books,  but 
action.  And,  turning  from  the  his- 
tory of  the  imposture  to  the  poems 
themselves,  the  young  reader  bent 


180  MyNavd;  or,  Varieties  in 

before  their  beauty,  literally  awed  and 
breathless.  How  had  this  strange 
Bristol  boy  tamed  and  mastered 
his  rude  and  motley  materials  into  a 
music  that  comprehended  every  tune 
and  key,  from  the  simplest  to  the 
sublimest?  He  turned  back  to  the 
biography — he  read  on — he  saw  the 
proud,  daring,  mournful  spirit,  alone 
iii  the  Great  City  like  himself.  He 
followed  its  dismal  career,  he  saw  it 
falling  with  bruised  and  soiled  wings 
into  the  mire.  He  turned  again  to  the 
later  works,  wrung  forth  as  tasks  for 
bread, — the  satires  without  moral 
grandeur,  the  politics  without  honest 
faith.  He  shuddered  and  sickened  as 
he  read.  True,  even  here  his  poet 
mind  appreciated  (what  perhaps  only 
poets  can)  the  divine  fire  that  burned 
fitfully  through  that  meaner  and 


English  Life.— Part  XII.  [Aug. 

more  sordid  fuel — he  still  traced  in 
those  crude,  hasty,  bitter  offerings  to 
dire  Necessity,  the  hand  of  the  young 
giant  who  had  built  up  the  stately 
verse  of  Rowley.  But,  alas!  how 
different  from  that  "  mighty  line." 
How  all  serenity  and  joy  had  fled 
from  these  later  exercises  of  art 
degraded  into  journey-work.  Then 
rapidly  came  on  the  catastrophe — 
the  closed  doors— the  poison — the 
suicide — the  manuscripts  torn  by  the 
hands  of  despairing  wrath,  and 
strewed  round  the  corpse  upon  the 
funeral  floors.  It  was  terrible !  The 
spectre  of  the  Titan  boy,  (as  de- 
scribed in  the  notes  written  on  the 
margin,)  with  his  haughty  brow, 
his  cynic  smile,  his  lustrous  eyes, 
haunted  all  the  night  the  baffled  and 
solitary  child  of  song. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


It  will  often  happen  that  what  ought 
to  turn  the  human  mind  from  some 
peculiar  tendency  produces  the  oppo- 
site effect.  One  would  think  that  the 
perusal  in  the  newspaper  of  some 
crime  and  capital  punishment  would 
warn  away  all  who  had  ever  medi- 
tated the  crime,  or  dreaded  the 
chance  of  detection.  Yet  it  is  well 
known  to  us  that  many  a  criminal  is 
made  by  pondering  over  the  fate  of 
some  predecessor  in  guilt.  There  is  a 
fascination  in  the  Dark  andForbidden, 
which,  strange  to  say,  is  only  lost  in 
fiction.  No  man  is  more  inclined  to 
murder  his  nephews,  or  stifle  his  wife, 
after  reading  Richard  the  Third  or 
Othello.  It  is  the  reality  that  is 
necessary  to  constitute  the  danger  of 
contagion.  Now,  it  was  this  reality 
in  the  fate,  and  life,  and  crowning 
suicide  of  Chatterton,  that  forced  itself 
upon  Leonard's  thoughts,  and  sate 
there  like  a  visible  evil  thing,  gather- 
ing evil  like  cloud  around  it.  There 
was  much  in  the  dead  poet's  character, 
his  trials,  and  his  doom,  that  stood  out 


to  Leonard  like  a  bold  and  colossal 
shadow  of  himself  and  his  fate.  Alas ! 
the  bookseller,  in  one  respect,  had 
said  truly.  Leonard  came  back  to  him 
the  next  day  a  new  man ;  and  it 
seemed  even  to  himself  as  if  he  had 
lost  a  good  angel  in  losing  Helen. 
"  Oh  that  she  had  been  by  my  side," 
thought  he.  u  Oh  that  I  could  have 
felt  the  touch  of  her  confiding  hand — 
that,  looking  up  from  the  scathed  and 
dreary  ruin  of  this  life,  that  had  sub- 
limely lifted  itself  from  the  plain,  and 
sought  to  tower  aloft  from  a  deluge, 
her  mild  look  had  spoken  to  me  of 
innocent,  humble,  unaspiring  child- 
hood !  Ah !  If  indeed  I  were  still 
necessary  to  her — still  the  sole  guar- 
dian and  protector — then  could  I  say 
to  myself,  '  Thou  must  not  despair 
and  die !  Thou  hast  her  to  live  and 
to  strive  for.'  But  no,  no  !  Only 
this  vast  and  terrible  London — the 
solitude  of  the  dreary  garret,  and 
those  lustrous  eyes  glaring  alike 
through  the  throng  and  through  the 
solitude." 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


On  the  following  Monday,  DrMor-     A  few  days  before,  embrowned  with 


gan's  shabby  man-servant  opened  the 
door  to  a  young  man  in  whom  he  did 
not  at  first  remember  a  former  visitor. 


healthful  travel — serene  light  in  his 
eye,  simple  trust  in  his  careless  lip — 
Leonard  Fairfield  had  stood  at  that 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XII. 


threshold.  Xow  again  he  stood  there, 
pale  and  haggard,  with  a  cheek  already 
hollowed  into  those  deep  anxious  lines 
that  speak  of  working  thoughts  and 
sleepless  nights ;  and  a  settled  sullen 
gloom  resting  heavily  on  his  whole 
aspect. 

"  I  call  by  appointment,"  said  the 
boy  testily,  as  the  servant  stood  ir- 
resolute. The  man  gave  way.  "  Mas- 
ter is  just  called  out  to  a  patient: 
please  to  wait,  sir;"  and  he  showed 
him  into  the  little  parlour.  In  a  few 
moments  two  other  patients  were  ad- 
mitted. These  were  women,  and  they 
began  talking  very  loud.  They  dis- 
turbed Leonard's  unsocial  thoughts. 
He  saw  that  the  door  into  the  Doctor's 
receiving- room  was  half  open,  and, 
ignorant  of  the  etiquette  which  holds 
such  penetralia  as  sacred,  he  walked 
in  to  escape  from  the  gossips.  He 
threw  himself  into  the  Doctor's  own 
well-worn  chair,  and  muttered  to  him- 
self, "  Why  did  he  tell  me  to  come?— 
What  new  can  he  think  of  for  me? 
And  if  a  favour,  should  I  take  it  ?  He 
has  given  me  the  means  of  bread  by 
work :  that  is  all  I  have  a  right  to 
ask  from  him,  from  any  man — all  I 
should  accept." 

While  thus  soliloquising,  his  eye 
fell  on  a  letter  lying  open  on  the 
table.  He  started.  He  recognised 
the  handwriting  —  the  same  as  the 
letter  which  had  inclosed  £50  to 
his  mother — the  letter  of  his  grand- 
parents. He  saw  his  own  name  :  he 
saw  something  more  —  words  that 
made  his  heart  stand  still,  and  his 
blood  seem  like  ice  in  his  veins.  As 
he  thus  stood  aghast,  a  hand  was  laid 
on  the  letter,  and  a  voice,  in  an  angry 
growl,  muttered,  "  How  dare  you 
come  into  my  room,  and  pe  reading 
my  letters  ?  Er — r — r ! " 

Leonard  placed  his  own  hand  on  the 
Doctor's  firmly,  and  said  in  a  fierce 
tone,  "  This  letter  relates  to  me — 
belongs  to  me— crushes  me.  I  have 
seen  enough  to  know  that.  I  demand 
to  read  all— learn  all." 

The  Doctor  looked  round,  and  see- 
ing the  door  into  the  waiting-room 
still  open,  kicked  it  to  with  his  foot,  and 
then  said,  under  his  breath,  "  What 
have  you  read  ?  Tell  me  the  truth." 

"  Two  lines  only,  and  I  am  called — 
I  am  called" — Leonard's  frame  shook 
from  head  to  foot,  and  the  veins  on 


181 

his  forehead  swelled  like  cords.  He 
could  not  complete  the  sentence.  It 
seemed  as  if  an  ocean  was  rolling  up 
through  his  brain,  and  roaring  in  his 
ears.  The  Doctor  saw,  at  a  glance, 
that  there  was  physical  danger  in  his 
state,  and  hastily  and  soothingly  an- 
swered,— "  Sit  down,  sit  down— calm 
yourself— you  shall  know  all— read  all 
—  drink  this  water  ; "  and  he  poured 
into  a  tumbler  of  the  pure  liquid  a 
drop  or  two  from  a  tiny  phial. 

Leonard  obeyed  mechanically,  for 
indeed  he  was  no  longer  able  to  stand. 
He  closed  his  eyes,  and  for  a  minute 
or  two  life  seemed  to  pass  from  him  ; 
then  he  recovered,  and  saw  the  good 
Doctor's  gaze  fixed  on  him  with  great 
compassion.  He  silently  stretched 
forth  his  hand  towards 'the  letter. 
"  Wait  a  few  moments,"  said  the  phy- 
sician judiciously,  "and  hear  me  mean- 
while. It  is  very  unfortunate  you  should 
have  seen  a  letter  never  meant  for  your 
eye,  and  containing  allusions  to  a  secret 
you  were  never  to  have  known.  But, 
if  I  tell  you  more,  will  you  promise  me, 
on  your  word  of  honour,  that  you  will 
hold  the  confidence  sacred  from  Mrs 
Fairfield,  the  Avenels — from  all  ?  I 
myself  am  pledged  to  conceal  a  secret, 
which  I  can  only  share  with  you  on 
the  same  condition." 

"  There  is  nothing,"  announced 
Leonard  indistinctly,  and  with  a  bitter 
smile  on  his  lip, — "  nothing,  it  seems, 
that  I  should  be  proud  to  boast  of. 
Yes,  I  promise — the  letter,  the  let- 
ter!" 

The  Doctor  placed  it  in  Leonard's 
right  hand,  and  quietly  slipped  to  the 
wrist  of  the  left  his  forefinger  and 
thumb,  as  physicians  are  said  to  do 
when  a  victim  is  stretched  on  the 
rack.  "Pulse  decreasing,"  he  mut- 
tered; "wonderful  thing,  Aconite!" 
Meanwhile  Leonard  read  as  follows, 
faults  in  spelling  and  all : — 

"  Dr  MORGAN. 

"  Sir, — I  received  your  favur 
duly,  and  am  glad  to  hear  that  the 
pore  boy  is  safe  and  Well.  But  he 
has  been  behaving  ill,  and  ungrateful 
to  my  good  son  Richard,  who  is  a 
credit  to  the  whole  Famuly,  arid  has 
made  himself  a  Gentleman,  and  Was 
very  kind  and  good  to  the  boy,  not 
knowing  who  and  What  he  is — God 
forbid !  I  don't  want  never  to  see 


My  Novel;  o?-,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XII.          [Aug. 


182 

him  again— the  boy.    Pore  John  was 
ill  and  Restless  for  days  afterwards. 
John  is  a  pore  cretur  now,  and  has 
had  paralytiks.     And  he  Talked  of 
nothing  but  Nora — the  boy's  eyes 
were  so  like  his  Mother's.    I  cannot, 
cannot  see  the  Child  of  Shame.    He 
can't  cum  here — for  our  Lord's  sake, 
sir,  don't  ask  it — he  can't,  so  Respect- 
able as  we've  always  been!  —  and 
such    disgrace !    Base    born  —  base 
born.    Keep  him  where  he  is,  bind 
him    prentis,   I'll  pay  anything  for 
That.    You  says,  sir,  he's  clever,  and 
quick    at  learning;    so  did   Parson 
Dale,  and, wanted  him  to  go  to  Collidge 
and  make  a  Figur — then  all  would 
cum  out.     It  would  be  my  death,  sir; 
I  could  not  sleep  in  my  grave,  sir. 
Nora  that  we  were  all  so  proud  of. 
Sinful  creturs  that  we  are!    Nora's 
good  name  that  we've  saved  now, 
gone,  gone.    And  Richard,  who  is 
so  grand,  and  who  was  so  fond  of 
pore,  pore  Nora !    He  would  not  hold 
up  his  Head  again.     Don't  let  him 
make  a  Figur  in.the  world — let  him  be 
a  tradesman,  as  we  were  afore  him — 
any  trade  he  Takes  to — and  not  cross 
us  no  more  while  he  lives.    Then  I 
shall  pray  for  him,  and   wish  him 
happy.    And  have  not  we  had  enufF 
of  bringing  up  children  to  be  above 
their  birth?    Nora,   that  I  used  to 
say  was  like  the  first  lady  o'  the  land 
— oh,  but  we  were  rightly  punished ! 
So  now,  sir,  I  leave  all  to  you,  and 
will  Pay  all  you  want  for  the  boy. 
And  be  Sure  that  the  secret's  kep. 
For  we  have  never  heard  from  the 
father,  and,  at  leest,  no  one  knows 
that  Nora  has  a  living  son  but  I  and 
my  daughter  Jane,  and  Parson  Dale 
and  you— and  you    Two   are   good 
Gentlemen— and  Jane  will  keep  her 
word,  and  I  am  old,  and  shall  be  in 
my  grave  Soon,  but  I  hope  it  won't  be 
while  pore  John  needs  me.      WThat 
could  he   do  without  me?     And  if 
that  got  wind,  it  would  kill  me  straght, 
sir.     Pore  John  is  a  helpless  cretur, 
God  bliss  him.      So  no  more  from 
your  servant  in  all  dooty, 

"M.  AVEXEL." 

Leonard  laid  down  this  letter  very 
calmly,  and,  except  by  a  slight  heaving 
at  his  breast,  and  a  deathlike  white- 
ness of  his  lips,  the  emotions  he  felt 
were  undetected.  And  it  is  a  proof 


how  much  exquisite  goodness  there 
was  in  his  heart  that  the  first  words 
he  spoke  were,  "  Thank  Heaven !" 

The  Doctor  did  not  expect  that 
thanksgiving,  and  he  was  so  startled 
that  he  exclaimed,  "  For  what?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  pity  or  excuse 
in  the  woman  I  knew  and  honoured 
as  a  mother.  I  am  not  her  son — 
her—" 

He  stopped  short. 
"No;  but  don't  be  hard  on  your 
true  mother — poor  Nora ! " 

Leonard  staggered,  and  then  burst 
into  a  sudden  paroxysm  of  tears. 

"  Oh,  my  own  mother ! — my  dead 
mother!  Thou  for  whom  I  felt  so 
mysterious  a  love — thou,  from  whom 
I  took  this  poet  soul — pardon  me, 
pardon  me !  Hard  on  thee !  Would 
that  thou  wert  living  yet,  that  I 
might  comfort  thee!  What  thou 
must  have  suffered ! " 

These  words  were  sobbed  forth  in 
broken  gasps  from  the  depth  of  his 
heart.  Then  he  caught  up  the 
letter  again,  and  his  thoughts  were 
changed  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  the 
writer's  shame  and  fear,  as  it  were, 
of  his  very  existence.  All  his  native 
haughtiness  returned  to  him.  His 
crest  rose,  his  tears  dried.  "Tell 
her,"  he  said,  with  a  stern  unfaltering 
voice — "  tell  Mrs  Avenel  that  she  is 
obeyed — that  I  will  never  seek  her 
roof,  never  cross  her  path,  never 
disgrace  her  wealthy  son.  But  tell 
her,  also,  that  I  will  choose  my  own 
way  in  life — that  I  will  not  take  from 
her  a  bribe  for  concealment.  Tell 
her  that  I  am  nameless,  and  will  yet 
make  a  name." 

A  name !  Was  this  but  an  idle 
boast,  or  was  it  one  of  those  flashes 
of  conviction  which  are  never  belied, 
lighting  up  our  future  for  one  lurid 
instant,  and  then  fading  into  dark- 
ness? 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  my  prave  poy,'* 
said  Dr  Morgan,  growing  exceedingly 
Welsh  in  his  excitement  ;  "  and 
perhaps  you  may  find  a  father, 
who — " 

"  Father — who  is  he— what  is  he? 
He  lives,  then !  But  he  has  deserted 
me— he  must  have  betrayed  her  !  I 
need  him  not.  The  law  gives  me  no 
father." 

The  last  words  were  said  with  a 
return  of  bitter  anguish;  then,  in  a 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XII. 


calmer  tone,  he  resumed,  "But  I 
should  know  who  he  is — as  another 
one  whose  path  I  may  not  cross." 

Dr  Morgan  looked  embarrassed, 
and  paused  in  deliberation.  "  Nay," 
said  he  at  length,  "  as  you  know  so 
much,  it  is  surely  best  that  you  should 
know  all." 

The  Doctor  then  proceeded  to  de- 
tail, with  some  circumlocution,  what 
we  will  here  repeat  from  his  account 
more  succinctly. 

Nora  Avenel,  while  yet  very  young, 
left  her  native  village,  or  rather  the 
house  of  Lady  Lansmere,  by  whom 
she  had  been  educated  and  brought 
up,  in  order  to  accept  the  place  of 
governess  or  companion  in  London. 
One  evening  she  suddenly  presented 
herself  at  her  father's  house,  and  at 
the  first  sight  of  her  mother's  face  she 
fell  down  insensible.  She  was  carried 
to  bed.  Dr  Morgan  (then  the  chief 
medical  practitioner  of  the  town)  was 
sent  for.  That  night  Leonard  came 
into  the  world,  and  his  mother  died. 
She  never  recovered  her  senses,  never 
spoke  intelligibly  from  the  time  she 
entered  the  house.  "And  never, 
therefore,  named  your  father,"  said 
Dr  Morgan.  "We  knew  not  who 
he  was." 

"  And  how,"  cried  Leonard,  fiercely 
— "  how  have  they  dared  to  slander 
this  dead  mother  ?  How  knew  they 
that  I — was — was — was  not  the  child 
of  wedlock?" 

"  There  was  no  wedding-ring  on 
Nora's  finger  —  never  any  rumour  of 
her  marriage — her  strange  and  sud- 
den appearance  at  her  father's  house 
— her  emotions  on  entrance,  so  un- 
like those  natural  to  a  wife  returning 
to  a  parent's  home :  these  are  all  the 
evidence  against  her.  But  Mr  Avenel 
deemed  them  strong,  and  so  did  I. 
You  have  a  light  to  think  we  judged 
too  harshly — perhaps  we  did." 

"And  no  inquires  were  ever  made?" 
said  Leonard  mournfully,  and  after 
long  silence — "no  inquiries  to  learn 
who  was  the  father  of  the  motherless 
child?" 

"Inquiries!  —  Mrs  Avenel  would 
have  died  first.  Your  grandmother's 
nature  is  very  rigid.  Had  she  come 
from  princes,  from  Cadwallader  him- 
self," said  the  Welshman,  "  she  could 
notmore  have  shrunk  from  the  thought 
of  dishonour.  Even  over  her  dead 


183 

child,  the  child  she  had  loved  the  best, 
she  thought  but  how  to  save  that 
child's  name  and  memory  from  suspi- 
cion. There  was  luckily  no  servant 
in  the  house,  only  Mark  Fairfield  and 
his  wife  (Nora's  sister)  :  they  had 
arrived  the  same  day  on  a  visit. 

"Mrs  Fairfield  was  nursing  her  own 
infant,  two  or  three  months  old  ;  she 
took  charge  of  you ;  Nora  was  buried, 
and  the  secret  kept.  None  out  of  the 
family  knew  of  it,  but  myself  and  the 
curate  of  the  town — Mr  Dale.  The 
day  after  your  birth,  Mrs  Fairfield,  to 
prevent  discovery,  moved  to  a  village 
at  some  distance.  There  her  child 
died ;  and  when  she  returned  to 
Hazeldean,  where  her  husband  was 
settled,  you  passed  as  the  son  she  had 
lost.  Mark,  I  know,  was  as  a  father 
to  you,  for  he  had  loved  Nora  :  they 
had  been  children  together." 

"  And  she  came  to  London — Lon- 
don is  strong  and  cruel,"  muttered 
Leonard.  "  She  was  friendless  and 
deceived.  I  see  all — I  desire  to  know 
no  more.  This  father,  he  must  in- 
deed have  been  like  those  whom  I 
have  read  of  in  books.  To  love,  to 
wrong  her — that  I  can  conceive  ;  but 
then  to  leave,  to  abandon  ;  no  visit  to 
her  grave — no  remorse — no  search 
for  his  own  child.  Well,  well ;  Mrs 
Avenel  was  right.  Let  us  think  of 
him  no  more." 

The  man-servant  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  then  put  in  his  head.  "  Sir, 
the  ladies  are  getting  very  impatient, 
and  say  they'll  go." 

"  Sir,"  said  Leonard,  with  a  strange 
calm  return  to  the  things  about  him, 
"J  ask  your  pardon  for  taking  up 
your  time  so  long.  I  go  now.  I  will 
never  mention  to  my  moth — I  mean 
to  Mrs  Fairfield — what  I  have  learned, 
nor  to  any  one.  I  will  work  my 
way  somehow.  If  Mr  Prickett  will 
keep  me,  I  will  stay  with  him  at 
present ;  but  I  repeat,  I  cannot  take 
Mrs  Avenel's  money  and  be  bound 
apprentice.  Sir,  you  have  been  good 
and  patient  with  me — Heaven  re- 
ward you." 

The  Doctor  was  too  moved  to  an- 
swer. He  wrung  Leonard's  hand, 
and  in  another  minute  the  door  closed 
upon  the  nameless  boy.  He  stood 
alone  in  the  streets  of  London  ;  and 
the  sun  flashed  on  him,  red  and  me- 
nacing, like  the  eye  of  a  foe  ! 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XII.  [Au< 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


Leonard  did  not  appear  at  tlie  shop 
of  Mr  Prickett  that  day.  Needless 
it  is  to  say  where  he  wandered — -what 
he  suffered  —  what  thought  —  what 
felt.  All  within  was  storm.  Late  at 
night  he  returned  to  his  solitary  lodg- 
ing. On  his  table,  neglected  since 
the  morning,  was  Helen's  rose-tree. 
It  looked  parched  and  fading.  His 
heart  smote  him  :  he  watered  the 
poor  plant — perhaps  with  his  tears. 

Meanwhile  Dr  Morgan,  after  some 
debate  with  himself  whether  or  not  to 
apprise  Mrs  Avenel  of  Leonard's  dis- 
covery and  message,  resolved  to 
spare  her  an  uneasiness  and  alarm 
that  might  be  dangerous  to  her  health, 
and  unnecessary  in  itself.  He  replied 
shortly,  that  she  need  not  fear  Leo- 
nard's coming  to  her  house — that  he 
was  disinclined  to  bind  himself  an 
apprentice,  but  that  he  was  provided 
for  at  present ;  and  in  a  few  weeks, 
when  Dr  Morgan  heard  more  of  him 
through  the  tradesman  by  whom  he 
was  employed,  the  Doctor  would 
write  to  her  from  Germany.  He  then 
went  to  Mr  Prickett's — told  the  will- 
ing bookseller  to  keep  the  young  man 
for  the  present — to  be  kind  to  him, 
watch  over  his  habits  and  conduct, 
and  report  to  the  Doctor  in  his  new 
home,  on  the  Rhine,  what  avocation 
he  thought  Leonard  would  be  best 
suited  for,  and  most  inclined  to  adopt. 
The  charitable  Welshman  divided 
with  the  bookseller  the  salary  given 
to  Leonard,  and  left  a  quarter  of  his 
moiety  in  advance.  It  is  true  that  he 
knew  he  should  be  repaid  on  applying 
t;>  Mrs  Avenel;  but,  being  a  man  of 
independent  spirit  himself,  he  so  sym- 
pathised with  Leonard's  present  feel- 
ing, that  he  felt  as  if  he  should  degrade 
the  boy  did  he  maintain  him,  even 
secretly,  out  of  Mrs  Avenel's  money 
— money  intended  not  to  raise,  but 
keep  him  down  in  life.  At  the  worst, 
it  was  a  sum  the  Doctor  could  afford, 
and  he  had  brought  the  boy  into  the 
world. 

II;iving  thus,  as  he  thought,  safely 
provided  for  his  two  young  charges, 
Helen  and  Leonard,  the  Doctor  then 
himself  up  to  his  final  prepara- 
tions for  departure.     He  left  a  short 


note  for  Leonard  with  Mr  Prickett, 
containing  some  brief  advice,  some 
kind  cheering;  a  postscript  to  the 
effect  that  he  had  not  communicated 
to  Mrs  Avenel  the  information  Leo- 
nard had  acquired,  and  that  it  were 
best  to  leave  her  in  that  ignorance  ; 
and  six  small  powders  to  be  dissolved 
in  water,  and  a  tea- spoonful  every 
fourth  hour — "  Sovereign  against  rage 
and  sombre  thoughts,"  wrote  the 
Doctor. 

By  the  evening  of  the  next  day  Dr 
Morgan,  accompanied  by  his  pet 
patient  with  the  chronic  tic,  whom  he 
had  talked  into  exile,  was  on  the 
steamboat  on  his  way  to  Ostend. 

Leonard  resumed  his  life  at  Mr 
Prickett's ;  but  the  change  in  him 
did  not  escape  the  bookseller.  All 
his  ingenuous  simplicity  had  de- 
serted him.  He  was  very  distant,  and 
very  taciturn  ;  he  seemed  to  have 
grown  much  older.  I  shall  not 
attempt  to  analyse  metaphysically 
this  change.  By  the  help  of  such 
words  as  Leonard  may  himself  occa- 
sionally let  fall,  the  reader  will  dive 
into  the  boy's  heart,  and  see  how 
there  the  change  had  worked,  and  is 
working  still.  The  happy  dreamy 
peasant-genius,  gazing  on  Glory  with 
inebriate,  undazzled  eyes,  is  no  more. 
It  is  a  man,  suddenly  cut  off  from  the 
old  household  holy  ties — conscious  of 
great  powers,  and  confronted  on  all 
sides  by  barriers  of  iron — alone  with 
hard  Reality,  and  scornful  London ;  and 
if  he  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  lost  Heli- 
con, he  sees,  where  he  saw  the  Muse, 
a  pale  melancholy  spirit  veiling  its 
face  in  shame  —  the  ghost  of  the 
mournful  mother,  whose  child  has  no 
name,  not  even  the  humblest,  among 
the  family  of  men. 

On  the  second  evening  after  Dr 
Morgan's  departure,  as  Leonard  was 
just  about  to  leave  the  shop,  a  cus- 
tomer stepped  in  with  a  book  in  his 
hand  which  he  had  snatched  from  the 
shop-boy,  who  was  removing  the 
volumes  for  the  night  from  the  booth 
without. 

u  Mr  Prickett,  Mr  Prickett!" 
said  the  customer,  u  I  am  ashamed 
of  you.  You  presume  to  put  upon 


185 L]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XII. 


this  work,  in  two  volumes,  the  sum 
of  eight  shillings." 

Mr  Prickett  stepped  forth  from  the 
Cimmerian  gloom  of  some  recess,  and 
cried,  "What!  Mr  Barley,  is  that 
yon  ?  But  for  your  voice,  I  shonld 
not  have  known  you." 

"  Man  is  like  a  book,  Mr  Prickett ; 
the  commonalty  only  look  to  his 
binding.  I  am  better  bound,  it  is  very 
true." 

Leonard  glanced  towards  the 
speaker,  who  now  stood  under  the 
gas-lamp,  and  thought  he  recognised 
his  face.  He  looked  again.  Yes  ;  it 
was  the  perch-fisher  whom  he  had 
met  on  the  banks  of  the  Brent,  and 
who  had  warned  him  of  the  lost  fish 
and  the  broken  line. 

MR  BURLEY,  (continuing.) — "  But 
the  '  Art  of  Thinking  ! ' — you  charge 
eight  shillings  for  the  '  Art  of  Think- 
ing.' " 

MR  PRICKETT. —  "Cheap  enough, 
Mr  Burley.  A  very  clean  copy." 

MR  BURLEY. — "  Usurer !  I  sold  it 
to  you  for  three  shillings.  It  is  more 
than  150  per  cent  you  propose  to  gain 
from  my  '  Art  of  Thinking.' " 

MR  PRICKETT,  (stuttering  and 
taken  aback.) — "  You  sold  it  to  me  ! 
Ah,  now  I  remember.  But  it  was  more 
than  three  shiillings  I  gave.  You  forget 
— two  glasses  of  brandy  and  water." 

MR  BURLEY. — "  Hospitality,  sir, 
is  not  to  be  priced.  If  you  sell  your 
hospitality,  you  are  not  worthy  to 
possess  my  '  Art  of  Thinking.'  I 
resume  it.  There  are  three  shillings, 
and  a  shilling  more  for  interest.  No  : 
on  second  thoughts,  instead  of  that 
shilling,  I  will  return  your  hospitality; 
and  the  first  time  you  come  my  way 
you  shall  have  two  glasses  of  brandy 
and  water." 

Mr  Prickett  did  not  look  pleased, 
but  he  made  no  objection ;  and  Mr 
Burley  put  the  book  into  his  pocket, 
and  turned  to  examine  the  shelves. 
He  bought  an  old  jest-book,  a  stray 
volume  of  the  Comedies  of  Destouches 


185 

— paid  for  them — put  them  also  into 
his  pocket,  and  was  sauntering  out, 
when  he  perceived  Leonard,  who  was 
now  standing  at  the  doorway. 

"  Hem  !  who  is  that  ?  "  he  askedr 
whispering  Mr  Prickett. 

"  A  young  assistant  of  mine,  and 
very  clever." 

Mr  Burley  scanned  Leonard  from 
top  to  toe. 

"We  have  met  before,  sir.  But 
you  look  as  if  you  had  returned  to  the 
Brent,  and  been  fishing  for  my 
perch." 

"  Possibly,  sir,"  answered  Leonard. 
"  But  my  line  is  tough,  and  is  not  yet 
broken,  though  the  fish  drags  it 
amongst  the  weeds,  and  buries  itself 
in  the  mud." 

He  lifted  his  hat,  bowed  slightly, 
and  walked  on. 

"  He  is  clever,"  said  Mr  Burley  to 
the  bookseller :  "he  understands 
allegory." 

MR  PRICKETT.  —  "  Poor  youth  ! 
He  came  to  town  with  the  idea  of 
turning  author  :  you  know  what  that 
is,  Mr  Burley." 

MR  BURLEY,  (with  an  air  of  superb 
dignity.)  —  "  Bibliopole,  yes !  An 
author  is  a  being  between  gods  and 
men,  who  ought  to  be  lodged  in  a 
palace,  and  entertained  at  the  public 
charge  upon  Ortolans  and  Tokay. 
He  should  be  kept  lapped  in  down, 
and  curtained  with  silken  awnings 
from  the  cares  of  life — have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  write  books  upon  tables 
of  cedar,  and  fish  for  perch  from  a 
gilded  galley.  And  that's  what  will 
come  to  pass  when  the  ages  lose  their 
barbarism,  and  know  their  benefac- 
tors. Meanwhile,  sir,  I  invite  you  to 
my  rooms,  and  will  regale  you  upon 
brandy  and  water  as  long  as  I  can 
pay  for  it ;  and  when  I  cannot,  you 
shall  regale  me." 

Mr  Prickett  muttered,  "  A  very 
bad  bargain,  indeed,"  as  Mr  Burley, 
with  his  chin  in  the  air,  stepped 
into  the  street. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


At  first,  Leonard  had  always  re- 
turned home  through  the  crowded 
thoroughfares — the  contact  of  num- 
bers had  animated  his  spirits.  But  the 
last  two  days,  since  his  discovery  of 


his  birth,  he  had  taken  his  way  down 
the  comparatively  unpeopled  path  of 
the  New  Road. 

He  had  just  gained  that  part  of  this 
outskirt  in  which  the  statuaries  and 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIL  [Aug. 


18G 

tomb-makers  exhibit  their  gloomy 
wares — furniture  alike  for  gardens 
and  for  graves— and,  pausing,  con- 
templated a  column,  on  which  was 
placed  an  urn  half  covered  with  a 
funeral  mantle,  when  his  shoulder 
was  lightly  tapped,  and,  turning 
quickly,  he  saw  Mr  Burley  standing 
behind  him. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  you  under- 
stand perch-fishing ;  and  since  we 
find  ourselves  on  the  same  road,  I 
should  like  to  be  better  acquainted 
with  you.  I  hear  you  once  wished  to 
be  an  author.  I  am  one." 

Leonard  had  never  before,  to  his 
knowledge,  seen  an  author,  and  a 
mournful  smile  passed  his  lips  as  he 
surveyed  the  perch-fisher. 

Mr  Burley  was  indeed  very  dif- 
ferently attired  since  the  first  inter- 
view by  the  brooklet.  He  looked 
much  less  like  an  author — but  more 
perhaps  like  a  perch-fisher.  He  had 
a  new  white  hat,  stuck  on  one  side  of 
his  head— a  new  green  overcoat — new 
grey  trousers,  and  new  boots.  In  his 
hand  was  a  whalebone  stick,  with  a 
silver  handle.  Nothing  could  be 
more  vagrant,  devil-me-carish,  and, 
to  use  a  slang  word,  tigrish,  than 
his  whole  air.  Yet,  vulgar  as  was 
his  costume,  he  did  not  himself  seem 
vulgar,  but  rather  eccentric — lawless 
—something  out  of  the  pale  of  con- 
vention. His  face  looked  more  pale 
and  more  puffed  than  before,  the  tip 
of  his  nose  redder ;  but  the  spark  in 
his  eye  was  of  livelier  light,  and 
there  was  self-enjoyment  in  the  cor- 
ners of  his  sensual  humorous  lip. 

"  You  are  an  author,  sir,"  repeated 
Leonard.  "  Well.  And  what  is 
your  report  of  the  calling  ?  Yonder 
column  props  an  urn.  The  column 
is  tall,  and  the  urn  is  graceful.  But 
it  looks  out  of  place  by  the  roadside  : 
what  say  you  ?  " 

Mr  BURLEY.—"  It  would  look 
better  in  the  churchyard." 

LEONARD.—"  So  I  was  thinking. 
And  you  are  an  author  ! " 

Mr  BURLEY.—"  Ah,  I  said  you 
had  a  quick  sense  of  allegory.  And 
so  you  think  an  author  looks  better  in 
a  churchyard,  when  you  see  him  but 
as  a  muffled  urn  under  the  moonshine, 
than  standing  beneath  the  gas-lamp 
in  a  white  hat,  and  with  a  red  tip  to 
his  nose.  Abstractedly,  you  are 


right.  But,  with  your  leave,  the 
author  would  rather  be  where  he  is. 
Let  us  walk  on."  The  two  men  felt 
an  interest  in  each  other,  and  they 
walked  some  yards  in  silence. 

"  To  return  to  the  urn,"  said  Mr 
Burley — "  you  think  of  fame  and 
churchyards.  Natural  enough,  before 
illusion  dies ;  but  I  think  of  the 
moment,  of  existence — and  I  laugh 
at  fame.  Fame,  sir — not  worth  a  glass 
of  cold  without !  And  as  for  a  glass 
of  warm,  with  sugar — and  five  shil- 
lings in  one's  pocket  to  spend  as  one 
pleases — what  is  there  in  West- 
minster Abbey  to  compare  with  it  ?" 

"  Talk  on,  sir— I  should  like  to 
hear  you  talk.  Let  me  listen  and 
hold  my  tongue."  Leonard  pulled 
his  hat  over  his  brows,  and  gave 
up  his  moody,  questioning,  turbulent 
mind  to  his  new  acquaintance. 

And  John  Burley  talked  on.  A 
dangerous  and  a  fascinating  talk  it 
was — the  talk  of  a  great  intellect 
fallen.  A  serpent  trailing  its  length 
on  the  ground,  and  showing  bright, 
shifting,  glorious  hues,  as  it  grovelled. 
A  serpent,  yet  without  the  serpent's 
guile.  If  John  Burley  deceived  and 
tempted,  he  meant  it  not— he  crawled 
and  glittered  alike  honestly.  No  dove 
could  be  more  simple. 

Laughing  at  fame,  he  yet  dwelt 
with  an  eloquent  enthusiasm  on  the 
joy  of  composition.  "  What  do  I 
care  what  men  without  are  to  say  and 
think  of  the  words  that  gush  forth  on 
niy  page?"  cried  he.  "  If  you  think  of 
the  public,  of  urns,  and  laurels,  while 
you  write,  you  are  no  genius;  you 
are  not  fit  to  be  an  author.  I  write 
because  it  rejoices  me — because  it  is 
my  nature.  Written,  I  care  no  more 
what  becomes  of  it  than  the  lark  for 
the  effect  that  the  song  has  on  the 
peasant  it  wakes  to  the  plough.  The 
poet,  like  the  lark,  sings  "from  his 
watch-tower  in  the  skies."  Is  this 
true  ? 

"  Yes,  very  true!" 
"  What  can  rob  us  of  this  joy  ! 
The  bookseller  will  not  buy,  the  pub- 
lic will  not  read.  Let  them  sleep 
at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  of  the  angels 
— we  climb  it  all  the  same.  And  then 
one  settles  down  into  such  good- 
tempered  Lucianic  contempt  for  men. 
One  wants  so  little  from  them,  when 
one  knows  what  one's -self  is  worth, 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XI I. 


187 


and  what  they  are.  They  are  just 
worth  the  coin  one  can  extract  from 
them,  in  order  to  live.  Our  life — 
that  is  worth  so  much  to  us.  And 
then  their  joys,  so  vulgar  to  them, 
we  can  make  them  golden  and  kingly. 
Do  you  suppose  Burns  drinking  at 
the  ale-house,  with  his  boors  around 
him,  was  drinking,  like  them,  only 
beer  and  whisky  ?  No,  he  was  drink- 
ing nectar — he  was  imbibing  his  own 
ambrosial  thoughts  —  shaking  with 
the  laughter  of  the  gods.  The  coarse 
human  liquid  was  just  needed  to  un- 
lock his  spirit  from  the  clay — take  it 
from  jerkin  and  corduroys,  and  wrap 
it  in  the  '  singing  robes'  that  floated 
wide  in  the  skies :  the  beer  or  the 
whisky  needed  but  for  that,  and  then 
it  changed  at  once  into  the  drink  of 
Hebe.  But  come,  you  have  not  known 
this  life — you  have  not  seen  it.  Come, 


give  me  this  night.  I  have  moneys 
about  me— I  will  fling  them  abroad  as 
liberally  as  Alexander  himself,  when  he 
left  to  his  share  but  hope.  Come ! " 

"  Whither  V  " 

"  To  my  throne.  On  that  throne 
last  sate  Edmund  Kean  —  mighty 
mime.  I  am  his  successor.  We  will 
see  whether  in  truth  these  wild  sons 
of  genius,  who  are  cited  but  '  to  poinfc 
a  moral  and  adorn  a  tale,'  were 
objects  of  compassion.  Sober-suited 
cits  to  lament  over  a  Savage  and  a 
Morland — a  Person  and  a  Burns ! — " 

"  Or  a  Chatterton,"  said  Leonard, 
gloomily. 

"  Chatterton  was  an  impostor  in 
all  things ;  he  feigned  excesses  that 
he  never  knew.  He  a  bacchanalian — 
a  royster !  HE  !— No.  We  will  talk 
of  him.  Come!" 

Leonard  went. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


THE  ROOM!  And  the  smoke- 
reek,  and  the  gas  glare  of  it.  The 
whitewash  of  the  walls,  and  the 
prints  thereon  of  the  actors  in  their 
mime-robes,  and  stage  postures ; 
actors  as  far  back  as  their  own  lost 
Augustan  era,  when  the  stage  was  a 
real  living  influence  on  the  manners 
and  the  age.  There  was  Betterton 
in  wig  and  gown — as  Cato,  moralis- 
ing on  the  soul's  eternity,  and  halt- 
ing between  Plato  and  the  dagger. 
There  was  Woodward  as  "  The  Fine 
Gentleman,"  with  the  inimitable 
rake-hell  air  in  which  the  heroes 
of  Wycherly  and  Congreve  and 
Farquhar  live  again.  There  was 
jovial  Quin  as  Falstaff,  with  round 
buckler  and  "  fair  round  belly." 
There  was  Colly  Cibber  in  brocade — 
taking  snuff  as  with  "  his -Lord," 
the  thumb  and  forefinger  raised  in 
air — and  looking  at  you  for  applause. 
There  was  Macklin  as  Shylock,  with 
knife  in  hand  ;  and  Kemble,  in  the 
solemn  weeds  of  the  Dane  ;  and 
Kean  in  the  place  of  honour  over  the 
chimney-piece. 

When  we  are  suddenly  taken  from 
practical  life,  with  its  real  workday 
men,  and  presented  to  the  portraits  of 
those  sole  heroes  of  a  World — Phan- 
tastic  and  Phantasmal,  in  the  gar- 
ments wherein  they  did  "strut  and 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXX. 


fret  their  hour  upon  the  stage,"  verily 
there  is  something  in  the  sight  that 
moves  an  inner  sense  within  ourselves 
— for  all  of  us  have  an  inner  sense  of 
some  existence,  apart  from  the  one 
that  wears  away  our  days :  an  exis- 
tence that,  afar  from  St  James's 
and  St  Giles's,  the  Law  Courts  and 
Exchange,  goes  its  way  in  terror  or 
mirth,  in  smiles  or  in  tears,  through 
a  vague  magic  land  of  the  poets. 
There,  see  those  actors  !  They  are 
the  men  who  lived  it — to  whom  our 
world  was  the  false  one,  to  whom  the 
Imaginary  was  the  Actual.  And  did 
Shakspeare  himself,  in  his  life,  ever 
hearken  to  the  applause  that  thun- 
dered round  the  Personators  of  his 
airy  images  ?  Vague  children  of  the 
most  transient  of  the  arts,  fleet 
shadows  on  running  waters,  though 
thrown  down  from  the  steadfast  stars, 
were  ye  not  happier  than  we  who 
live  in  the  Real  ?  How  strange  you 
must  feel  in  the  great  circuit  that  ye 
now  take  through  eternity !  No 
prompt-books,  no  lamps,  no  acting 
Congreve  and  Shakspeare  there !  For 
what  parts  in  the  skies  have  your 
studies  on  the  earth  fitted  you  ? 
Your  ultimate  destinies  are  very 
puzzling.  Hail  to  your  effigies,  and 
pass  we  on  ! 
There,  too,  on  the  whitewashed 

N 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XII.  [Aug. 


188 

walls,  were  admitted  the  portraits  of 
ruder  rivals  in  the  arena  of  fame — yet 
they,  too,  had  known  an  applause 
warmer  than  his  age  gave  to  Shak- 
speare ;  the  champions  of  the  ring — 
Cribb,  andMolyneux,  and  Dutch  Sam. 
Interspersed  with  these  was  an  old 
print  of  Newmarket  in  the  early  part 
of  the  last  century,  and  sundry  en- 
gravings from  Hogarth.  But  poets, 
oh  !  they  were  there  too :  poets  who 
might  be  supposed  to  have  been 
sufficiently  good  fellows  to  be  at 
home  with  such  companions.  Shak- 
speare,  of  course,  with  his  placid 
forehead  ;  Ben  Jonson,  with  his 
heavy  scowl ;  Burns  and  Byron  cheek 
by  jowl.  But  the  strangest  of  all 
these  heterogeneous  specimens  of 
graphic  art  was  a  full-length  print  of 
William  Pitt !— William  Pitt,  the 
austere  and  imperious.  What  the 
deuce  did  he  do  there  amongst  prize- 
fighters, and  actors,  and  poets?  It 
seemed  an  insult  to  his  grand  memory. 
Nevertheless  there  he  was,  very 
erect,  and  with  a  look  of  ineffable 
disgust  in  his  upturned  nostrils.  The 
portraits  on  the  sordid  walls  were 
very  like  the  crambo  in  the  minds  of 
ordinary  men — very  like  the  motley 
pictures  of  the  FAMOUS  hung  up  in 
your  parlour,  O  my  Public !  Actors 
and  prize-fighters,  poets  and  states- 
men, all  without  congruity  and  fitness, 
all  whom  you  have  been  to  see  or  to 
hear  for  a  moment,  and  whose  names 
have  stared  out  in  your  newspapers, 
O  my  Public ! 

And  the  company?  Indescribable ! 
Comedians,  from  small  theatres,  out 
of  employ  ;  pale  haggard -looking 
boys,  probably  the  sons  of  worthy 
traders,  trying  their  best  to  break 
their  fathers'  hearts ;  here  and  there 
the  marked  features  of  a  Jew.  Now 
and  then  you  might  see  the  curious 
puzzled  face  of  some  greenhorn  about 
town,  or  perhaps  a  Cantab ;  and  men 
of  grave  age,  and  greyhaired,  were 
there,  and  amongst  them  a  wondrous 
proportion  of  carbuncled  faces  and 
bottle  noses.  And  when  John  Burley 
entered,  there  was  a  shout  that  made 
William  Pitt  shake  in  his  frame.  Such 
stamping  and  hallooing,  and  such 
hurrahs  for  u  Burly  John."  And  the 
t^ntlcman  who  had  filled  the  great 
hiyh  leathern  chair  in  his  absence 
gave  it  up  to  John  Burley;  and 


Leonard,  with  his  grave  observant 
eye,  and  lip  half  sad  and  half  scorn- 
ful, placed  himself  by  the  side  of  his 
introducer.  There  was  a  nameless 
expectant  stir  through  the  assembly, 
as  there  is  in  the  pit  of  the  opera 
when  some  great  singer  advances  to 
the  lamps,  and  begins  "  Di  tanti 
palpiti."  Time  flies.  Look  at  the 
Dutch  clock  over  the  door.  Half- 
an-hour !  John  Burley  begins  to 
warm.  A  yet  quicker  light  begins 
to  break  from  his  eye ;  his  voice  has 
a  mellow  luscious  roll  in  it. 

"He  will  be  grand  to-night," 
whispered  a  thin  man,  who  looked 
like  a  tailor,  seated  on  the  other  side 
of  Leonard. 

Time  flies — an  hour !  Look  again 
at  the  Dutch  clock.  John  Burley  is 
grand,  he  is  in  his  zenith,  at  his 
culminating  point.  What  magnificent 
drollery! — what  luxuriant  humour! 
How  the  Rabelais  shakes  in  his  easy 
chair !  Under  the  rush  and  the  roar 
of  this  fun,  (what  word  else  shall 
describe  it,)  the  man's  intellect  is  as 
clear  as  a  gold  sand  under  a  river. 
Such  wit  and  such  truth,  and,  at 
times,  such  a  flood  of  quick  eloquence. 
All  now  are  listeners,  silent,  save 
in  applause.  And  Leonard  listened 
too.  Not,  as  he  would  some  nights 

r,  in  innocent  unquestioning  delight. 
;  his  mind  has  passed  through  great 
sorrow,  great  passion,  and  it  comes 
out  unsettled,  inquiring,  eager,  brood- 
ing overjoy  itself  as  over  a  problem. 
And  the  drink  circulates,  and  faces 
change ;  and  there  are  gabbling  and 
babbling ;  and  Burley 's  head  sinks  in 
his  bosom,  and  he  is  silent.  And 
up  starts  a  wild,  dissolute  baccha- 
nalian glee  for  seven  voices.  And 
the  smoke- reek  grows  denser  and 
thicker,  and  the  gas-light  looks  dizzy 
through  the  haze.  And  John  Burley's 
eyes  reel. 

Look  again  at  the  Dutch  clock. 
Two  hours  have  gone.  John  Burley 
has  broken  out  again  from  his  silence, 
his  voice  thick  and  husky,  and  his 
laugh  cracked  ;  and  he  talks,  O  ye 
gods!  such  rubbish  and  ribaldry;  and 
the  listeners  roar  aloud,  and  think  it 
finer  than  before.  And  Leonard, 
who  had  hitherto  been  measuring  him- 
self, in  his  mind,  against  the  giant, 
and  saying  inly,  "  He  soars  out  of  my 
reach,"  finds  the  giant  shrink  smaller 


1851.] 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XI 7. 


and  smaller,  and  saith  to  himself, 
"He  is  but  of  man's  common  standard, 
after  all ! " 

Look  again  at  the  Dutch  clock. 
Three  hours  have  passed.  Is  John 
Burley  now  of  man's  common  stan- 
dard? Man  himself  seems  to  have 
vanished  from  the  scene :  his  soul 
stolen  from  him,  his  form  gone  away 
with  the  fumes  of  the  smoke,  and  the 
nauseous  steam  from  that  fiery  bowl. 
And  Leonard  looked  round,  and  saw 
but  the  swine  of  Circe — some  on 
the  floor,  some  staggering  against  the 
walls,  some  hugging  each  other  on 
the  tables,  some  fighting,  some  bawl- 
ing, some  weeping.  The  divine  spark 
had  fled  from  the  human  face;  the 
beast  is  everywhere  growing  more 
and  more  out  of  the  thing  that  had 
been  Man.  And  John  Burley,  still 


189 

unconquered,  but  clean  lost  to  his 
senses,  fancies  himself  a  preacher,  and 
drawls  forth  the  most  lugubrious 
sermon  upon  the  brevity  of  life  that 
mortal  ever  heard,  accompanied  with 
unctuous  sobs  ;  and  now  and  then,  in 
the  midst  of  balderdash,  gleams  out  a 
gorgeous  sentence,  that  Jeremy  Taylor 
might  have  envied;  drivelling  away 
again  into  a  cadence  below  the  rhetoric 
of  a  Muggletonian.  And  the  waiters 
choked  up  the  doorway,  listening  and 
laughing,  and  prepared  to  call  cabs 
and  coaches ;  and  suddenly  some  one 
turned  off  the  gas-light,  and  all  was 
dark  as  pitch — howls  and  laughter,  as 
of  the  damned,  ringing  through  the 
Pandemonium.  Out  from  the  black 
atmosphere  stept  the  boy-poet;  and 
the  still  stars  rushed  on  his  sight,  as 
they  looked  over  the  grimy  roof-tops. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


Well,  Leonard,  this  is  the  first  time 
thou  hast  shown  that  thou  hast  in  thee 
the  iron  out  of  which  true  manhood  is 
forged  and  shaped.  Thou  hast  the 
power  to  resist.  Forth,  unebriate,  un- 
polluted, he  came  from  the  orgy,  as  yon 
star  above  him  came  from  the  cloud. 

He  had  a  latch-key  to  his  lodging. 
He  let  himself  in,  and  walked  noise- 
lessly up  the  creaking  wooden  stair.  It 
was  dawn.  He  passed  on  to  his  win- 
dow, and  threw  it  open.  The  green 
elm-tree  from  the  carpenter's  yard 
looked  as  fresh  and  fair  as  if  rooted  in 
solitudes,  leagues  away  from  the  smoke 
of  Babylon. 

"Nature,  Nature!"  murmured  Leo- 
nard, "I  hear  thy  voice  now.  This  stills 
— this  strengthens.  But  the  struggle 
is  very  dread.  Here,  despair  of  life — 
there,  faith  in  life.  Nature  thinks  of 
neither,  and  lives  serenely  on." 

By- and- by  a  bird  slid  softly  from 
the  heart  of  the  tree,  and  dropped  on 
the  ground  below  out  of  sight.  But 
Leonard  heard  its  carol.  It  awoke  its 
companions — wings  began  to  glance 
in  the  air,  and  the  clouds  grew  red 
towards  the  east. 

Leonard  sighed  and  left  the  window. 
On  the  table,  near  Helen's  rose-tree, 
which  he  bent  over  wistfully,  lay  a 
letter.  He  had  not  observed  it  be- 
fore. It  was  in  Helen's  hand.  He 
took  it  to  the  light,  and  read  it  by  the 
pure  healthful  gleams  of  morn  : — 


"  Oh  my  dear  brother  Leonard, 
will  this  find  you  well,  and  (more 
happy  I  dare  not  say,  but)  less  sad 
than  when  we  parted  ?  I  write  kneel- 
ing, so  that  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I 
wrote  and  prayed  at  the  same  time. 
You  may  come  and  see  me  to-morrow 
evening,  Leonard.  Do  come,  do — we 
shall  walk  together  in  this  pretty*gar- 
den;  and  there  is  an  arbour  all  covered 
with  jessamine  and  honeysuckle,  from 
which  we  can  look  down  on  London. 
I  have  looked  from  it  so  many  times 
— so  many— trying  if  I  can  guess  the 
roofs  in  our  poor  little  street,  and  fan- 
cying that  I  do  see  the  dear  elm- tree. 

"  Miss  Starke  is  very  kind  to  me  ; 
and  I  think,  after  I  have  seen  you, 
that  I  shall  be  happy  here — that  is,  if 
you  are  happy. 

"  Your  own  grateful  sister, 

44  HELEN. 

"  Ivy  Lodge." 

"  P.S. — Any  one  will  direct  you  to 
our  house ;  it  lies  to  the  left,  near  the 
top  of  the  hill,  a  little  way  down  a 
lane  that  is  overhung  on  one  side  with 
chestnut  trees  and  lilies.  I  shall  be 
watching  for  you  at  the  gate." 

Leonard's  brow  softened,  he  looked 
again  like  his  former  self.  Up  from 
the  dark  sea  at  his  heart  smiled  the 
meek  face  of  a  child,  and  the  waves 
lay  still  as  at  the  charm  of  a  spirit. 


190 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XII.  [Aug. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


"  And  what  is  Mr  Barley,  and  what 
has  he  written?"  asked  Leonard  of  Mr 
Prickett  when  he  returned  to  the 
shop. 

Let  us  reply  to  that  question  in  our 
own  words,  for  we  know  more  about 
Mr  Burley  than  Mr  Prickett  does. 

John  Burley  was  the  only  son  of  a 
poor  clergyman,  in  a  village  near 
Baling,  who  had  scraped,  and  saved, 
and  pinched,  to  send  his  son  to  an 
excellent  provincial  school  in  a  nor- 
thern county,  and  thence  to  college. 
At  the  latter,  during  his  first  year, 
young  Burley  was  remarked  by  the 
undergraduates  for  his  thick  shoes 
and  coarse  linen,  and  remarkable  to 
the  authorities  for  his  assiduity  and 
learning.  The  highest  hopes  were 
entertained  of  him  by  the  tutors  and 
examiners.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
second  year  his  high  animal  spirits, 
before  kept  down  by  study,  broke 
out.  Reading  had  become  easy  to 
him.  He  knocked  off  his  tasks  with 
a  facile  stroke,  as  it  were.  He  gave 
up  his  leisure  hours  to  symposia  by 
no  means  Socratical.  He  fell  into  an 
idle  Tiard-drinking  set.  He  got  into 
all  kinds  of  scrapes.  The  authorities 
were  at  first  kind  and  forbearing  in 
their  admonitions,  for  they  respected 
his  abilities,  and  still  hoped  he  might 
become  an  honour  to  the  university. 
But  at  last  he  went  drunk  into  a 
formal  examination,  and  sent  in 
papers,  after  the  manner  of  Aris- 
tophanes, containing  capital  jokes 
upon  the  Dons  and  Big- wigs  them- 
selves. The  offence  was  the  greater, 
and  seemed  the  more  premeditated, 
for  being  clothed  in  Greek.  John 
Burley  was  expelled.  He  went  home 
to  his  father's  a  miserable  man, 
for,  with  all  his  follies,  he  had  a  good 
heart.  Removed  from  ill  example, 
his  life  for  a  year  was  blameless.  He 
got  admitted  as  usher  into  the  school 
in  which  he  had  received  instruction 
as  a  pupil.  This  school  was  in  a 
large  town.  John  Burley  became 
member  of  a  club  formed  among  the 
tradesmen,  and  spent  three  evenings 
a-week  there.  His  astonishing  con- 
vivial and  conversational  powers  be- 
gan to  declare  themselves.  He  grew 


the  oracle  of  the  club  ;  and,  from  being 
the  most  sober  peaceful  assembly  in 
which  grave  fathers  of  a  family  ever 
smoked  a  pipe  or  sipped  a  glass,  it 
grew  under  Mr  Burley's  auspices  the 
parent  of  revels  as  frolicking  and 
frantic  as  those  out  of  which  the  old 
Greek  Goat  Song  ever  tipsily  rose. 
This  would  not  do.  There  was  a 
great  riot  in  the  streets  one  night,  and 
the  next  morning  the  usher  was  dis- 
missed. Fortunately  for  John  Burley's 
conscience,  his  father  had  died  before 
this  happened — died  believing  in  the 
reform  of  his  son.  During  his  usher- 
ship,  Mr  Burley  had  scraped  acquain- 
tance with  the  editor  of  the  county 
newspaper,  and  given  him  some  capi- 
tal political  articles  ;  for  Burley 
was,  like  Parr  and  Person,  a  notable 
politician.  The  editor  furnished  him 
with  letters  to  the  journalists  in  Lon- 
don, and  John  came  to  the  metropolis 
and  got  employed  on  a  very  respect- 
able newspaper.  At  college  he  had 
known  Audley  Egerton,  though  but 
slightly:  that  gentleman  was  then  just 
rising  into  repute  in  Parliament.  Bur- 
ley  sympathised  with  some  question  on 
which  Audley  had  distinguished  him- 
self, and  wrote  a  very  good  article 
thereon  —  an  article  so  good  that 
Egerton  inquired  into  the  authorship, 
found  out  Burley,  and  resolved  in  his 
own  mind  to  provide  for  him  when- 
ever he  himself  came  into  office.  But 
Burley  was  a  man  whom  it  was  impos- 
sible to  provide  for.  He  soon  lost 
his  connection  with  the  newspaper. 
First,  he  was  so  irregular  that  ho 
could  never  be  depended  upon.  Se- 
condly, he  had  strange  honest  eccen- 
tric twists  of  thinking,  that  could 
coalesce  with  the  thoughts  of  no  party 
in  the  long  run.  An  article  of  his, 
inadvertently  admitted,  had  horrified 
all  the  proprietors,  staff,  and  readers 
of  the  paper.  It  was  diametrically 
opposite  to  the  principles  the  paper 
advocated,  and  compared  its  pet  poli- 
tician to  Catiline.  Then  John  Burley 
shut  himself  up  and  wrote  books.  He 
wrote  two  or  three  books,  very  clever, 
but  not  at  all  to  the  popular  taste — 
abstract  and  learned,  full  of  whims 
that  were  caviare  to  the  multitude. 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

and  larded  with  Greek.  Neverthe- 
less they  obtained  for  him  a  little 
money,  and  among  literary  men 
some  reputation.  Now  Audley 
Egerton  came  into  power,  and  got 
him,  though  with  great  difficulty — for 
there  were  many  prejudices  against 
this  scampish  harum-scarum  son  of 
the  Muses  —  a  place  in  a  public 
office.  He  kept  it  about  a  month, 
and  then  voluntarily  resigned  it. 
*4  My  crust  of  bread  and  liberty!" 
quoth  John  Burley,  and  he  vanished 
into  a  garret.  From  that  time  to  the 
present  he  lived — Heaven  knows  how. 
Literature  is  a  business,  like  every- 
thing else;  John  Burley  grew  more 
and  more  incapable  of  business.  "  He 
could  not  do  task-work,"  he  said ; 
he  wrote  when  the  whim  seized 
him,  or  when  the  last  penny  was  in 
his  pouch,  or  when  he  was  actually 
in  the  spunging-house  or  the  Fleet — 
migrations  which  occurred  to  him,  on 
an  average,  twice  a-year.  He  could 
generally  sell  what  he  had  positively 
written,  but  no  one  would  engage 
him  beforehand.  Magazines  and 
other  periodicals  were  very  glad  to 
have  his  articles,  on  the  condition 
that  they  were  anonymous ;  and  his 
style  was  not  necessarily  detected, 
for  he  could  vary  it  with  the  facility 
of  a  practised  pen.  Audley  Egerton 
continued  his  best  supporter,  for  there 
were  certain  questions  on  which  no 
one  wrote  with  such  force  as  John 
Burley — questions  connected  with  the 
metaphysics  of  politics,  such  as  law 
reform  and  economical  science.  And 
Audley  Egerton  was  the  only  man 
John  Burley  put  himself  out  of  the 
way  to  serve,  and  for  whom  he  would 
give  up  a  drinking  bout  and  do  task- 
work ;  for  John  Burley  was  grateful 
by  nature,  and  he  felt  that  Egerton 
had  really  tried  to  befriend  him.  In- 
deed, it  was  true,  as  he  had  stated  to 
Leonard  by  the  Brent,  that,  even 
after  he  had  resigned  his  desk  in  the 
London  office,  he  had  had  the  offer  of 
an  appointment  in  Jamaica,  and  a 
place  in  India  from  the  Minister. 
But  probably  there  were  other  charms 
then  than  those  exercised  by  the  one- 
eyed  perch  that  kept  him  to  the 
neighbourhood  of  London.  With  all 
his  grave  faults  of  character  and  con- 
duct, John  Burley  was  not  without 
the  fine  qualities  of  a  large  nature. 


English  Life.— Part  XII.  191 

He  was  most  resolutely  his  own 
enemy,  it  is  true,  but  he  could  hardly 
be  said  to  be  any  one  else's.  Even 
when  he  criticised  some  more  fortu- 
nate writer,  he  was  good-humoured 
in  his  very  satire :  he  had  no  bile, 
no  envy.  And  as  for  freedom  from 
malignant  personalities,  he  might 
have  been  a  model  to  all  critics.  I 
must  except  politics,  however,  for  in 
these  he  could  be  rabid  and  savage. 
He  had  a  passion  for  independence, 
which,  though  pushed  to  excess,  was 
not  without  grandeur.  No  lick- 
platter,  no  parasite,  no  toadeater,  no 
literary  beggar,  no  hunter  after 
patronage  and  subscriptions  ;  even  in 
his  dealings  with  Audley  Egerton,  he 
insisted  on  naming  the  price  for  his 
labours.  He  took  a  price,  because,  as 
the  papers  required  by  Audley  de- 
manded much  reading  and  detail, 
which  was  not  at  all  to  his  taste,  he 
considered  himself  entitled  fairly  to 
something  more  than  the  editor  of  the 
journal,  wherein  the  papers  appeared, 
was  in  the  habit  of  giving.  But  he 
assessed  this  extra  price  himself,  and 
as  he  would  have  done  to  a  bookseller. 
And  when  in  debt  and  in  prison, 
though  he  knew  a  line  to  Egerton 
would  have  extricated  him,  he  never 
wrote  that  line.  He  would  depend 
alone  on  his  pen — dipped  it  hastily  in 
the  ink,  and  scrawled  himself  free. 
The  most  debased  point  about  him 
was  certainly  the  incorrigible  vice  of 
drinking,  and  with  it  the  usual  con- 
comitant of  that  vice — the  love  of  low 
company.  To  be  King  of  the  Bohe- 
mians—to dazzle  by  his  wild  humour, 
and  sometimes  to  exalt  by  his  fanciful 
eloquence,  the  rude  gross  natures  that 
gathered  round  him  —  this  was  a 
royalty  that  repaid  him  for  all  sacri- 
fice of  solid  dignity;  a  foolscap 
crown  that  he  would  not  have  changed 
for  an  emperor's  diadem.  Indeed,  to 
appreciate  rightly  the  talents  of  John 
Burley,  it  was  necessary  to  hear  him 
talk  on  such  occasions.  As  a  writer, 
after  all,  he  was  only  capable  now 
of  unequal  desultory  efforts.  But  as 
a  talker,  in  his  own  wild  way,  he  was 
original  and  matchless.  And  the  gift 
of  talk  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous 
gifts  a  man  can  possess  for  his  own 
sake — the  applause  is  so  immediate, 
and  gained  with  so  little  labour. 
Lower,  and  lower,  and  lower  had  sunk 


192  My  Novel;  oi\  Varieties  in 

John  Barley,  not  only  in  the  opinion 
of  all  who  knew  his  name,  but  in  the 
habitual  exercise  of  his  talents.  And 
this  seemed  wilfully  —  from  choice. 
He  would  write  for  some  unstamped 
journal  of  the  populace,  out  of  the 
pale  of  the  law,  for  pence,  when  he 
could  have  got  pounds  from  journals 
of  high  repute.  He  was  very  fond  of 
scribbling  off  penny  ballads,  and  then 
standing  in  the  street  to  hear  them 
sung.  He  actually  once  made  himself 
the  poet  of  an  advertising  tailor,  and 
enjoyed  it  excessively.  But  that  did 
not  last  long,  for  John  Burley  was  a 
Pittite— not  a  Tory,  he  used  to  say, 
but  a  Pittite.  And  if  you  had  heard 
him  talk  of  Pitt,  you  would  never 
have  known  what  to  make  of  that 
great  statesman.  He  treated  him 
as  the  German  commentators  do 
Shakspeare,  and  invested  him  with 
all  imaginary  meanings  and  objects, 
that  would  have  turned  the  grand 
practical  man  into  a  sybil.  Well,  he 
was  a  Pittite ;  the  tailor  a  fanatic  for 
Thelwall  and  Cobbett.  Mr  Burley 
wrote  a  poem,  wherein  Britannia 
appeared  to  the  tailor,  complimented 
him  highly  on  the  art  he  exhibited 
in  adorning  the  persons  of  her  sons  ; 
and,  bestowing  upon  him  a  gigantic 
mantle,  said  that  he,  and  he  alone, 
might  be  enabled  to  fit  it  to  the 
shoulders  of  living  men.  The  rest  of 
the  poem  was  occupied  in  Mr  Snip's 
unavailing  attempts  to  adjust  this 
mantle  to  the  eminent  politicians  of 
the  day,  when,  just  as  he  had  sunk 
down  in  despair,  Britannia  reappeared 
to  him,  and  consoled  him  with  the 
information  that  he  had  done  all 
mortal  man  could  do,  and  that  she 
had  only  desired  to  convince  pigmies 
that  no  human  art  could  adjust  to 
their  proportions  the  mantle  of  Wil- 
liam Pitt.  Sic  itur  ad  astra.  She 
went  back  to  the  stars,  mantle  and 
all.  Mr  Snip  was  exceedingly  indig- 
nant at  this  allegorical  effusion,  and 
with  wrathful  shears  cut  the  tie  be- 
tween himself  and  his  poet. 


English  Life,— Part  XII.  [Aug. 

Thus,  then,  the  reader  has,  we 
trust,  a  pretty  good  idea  of  John 
Burley — a  specimen  of  his  genus,  not 
very  common  in  any  age,  and 
now  happily  almost  extinct,  since 
authors  of  all  degrees  share  in  the 
general  improvement  in  order,  eco- 
nomy, and  sober  decorum,  which  has 
obtained  in  the  national  manners. 
Mr  Prickett,  though  entering  into 
less  historical  detail  than  we  have 
done,  conveyed  to  Leonard  a  tolerably 
accurate  notion  of  the  man,  represent- 
ing him  as  a  person  of  great  powers 
and  learning,  who  had  thoroughly 
thrown  himself  away. 

Leonard  did  not,  however,  see  how 
much  Mr  Burley  himself  was  to  be 
blamed  for  his  waste  of  life  ;  he  could 
not  conceive  a  man  of  genius  volun- 
tarily seating  himself  at  the  lowest 
step  in  the  social  ladder.  He  rather 
supposed  he  had  been  thrust  down 
there  by  Necessity. 

And  when  Mr  Prickett,  concluding, 
said,  "  Well,  I  should  think  Burley 
would  cure  you  of  the  desire  to  be  an 
author  even  more  than  Chatterton," 
the  young  man  answered  gloomily, 
u  Perhaps,"  and  turned  to  the  book- 
shelves. 

With  Mr  Prickett's  consent,  Leo- 
nard was  released  earlier  than  usual 
from  his  task,  and  a  little  before  sunset 
he  took  his  way  to  Highgate.  He  was 
fortunately  directed  to  take  the  new 
road  by  the  Regent's  Park,  and  so  on 
through  a  very  green  and  smiling 
country.  The  walk,  the  freshness  of 
the  air,  the  songs  of  the  birds,  and, 
above  all,  when  he  had  got  half-way, 
the  solitude  of  the  road,  served  to  rouse 
him  from  his  stern  and  sombre  medi- 
tations. And  when  he  came  into  the 
lane  overhung  with  chestnut  trees, 
and  suddenly  caught  sight  of  Helen's 
watchful  and  then  brightening  face, 
as  she  stood  by  the  wicket,  and  under 
the  shadow  of  cool  murmurous  boughs, 
the  blood  rushed  gaily  through  his 
veins,  and  his  heart  beat  loud  and 
gratefully. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


She  drew  him  into  the  garden  with 
such  true  childlike  joy  ! 

Now  behold  them  seated  in  the 
arbour— a  perfect  bower  of  sweets  and 


blossoms  ;  the  wilderness  of  roof-  tops 
and  spires  stretching  below,  broad  and 
far  ;  London  seen  dim  and  silent,  as 
in  a  dream. 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XII.  193 


She  took  his  hat  from  his  brows 
gently,  and  looked  him  in  the  face 
with  tearful  penetrating  eyes. 

Shedidnotsay,  u  You  are  changed." 
She  said,  "Why,  why  did  Heave  you?" 
and  then  turned  away. 

"  Never  mind  me,  Helen.  I  am 
man,  and  rudely  born  —  speak  of 
yourself.  This  lady  is  kind  to  you, 
then?" 

"  Does  she  not  let  me  see  you  ? 
Oh  !  very  kind — and  look  here." 

Helen  pointed  to  fruits  and  cakes 
set  out  on  the  table.  "A  feast, 
brother." 

And  she  began  to  press  her  hospi- 
tality with  pretty  winning  ways,  more 
playful  than  was  usual  to  her,  and 
talking  very  fast,  and  with  forced  but 
silvery  laughter. 

By  degrees  she  stole  him  from  his 
gloom  and  reserve  ;  and,  though  he 
could  not  reveal  to  her  the  cause  of 
his  bitterest  sorrow,  he  owned  that  he 
had  suffered  much.  He  would  not 
have  owned  that  to  another  living 
being.  And  then,  quickly  turning  from 
this  brief  confession,  with  assurances 
that  the  worst  was  over,  he  sought  to 
amuse  her  by  speaking  of  his  new 
acquaintance  with  the  perch-fisher. 
But  when  he  spoke  of  this  man  with 
a  kind  of  reluctant  admiration,  mixed 
with  compassionate  yet  gloomy  in- 
terest, and  drew  a  grotesque  though 
subdued  sketch  of  the  wild  scene  in 
which  he  had  been  spectator,  Helen 
grew  alarmed  and  grave. 

uOh,  brother,  do  not  go  there 
again — do  not  see  more  of  this  bad 
man." 

"Bad! — no!  Hopeless  and  unhappy, 
he  has  stooped  to  stimulants  and 
oblivion ; — but  you  cannot  understand 
these  things,  my  pretty  preacher." 

"  Yes  I  do,  Leonard.  What  is  the 
difference  between  being  good  and 
bad  ?  The  good  do  not  yield  to  temp- 
tations, and  the  bad  do." 

The  definition  was  so  simple  and  so 
wise  that  Leonard  was  more  struck 
with  it  than  he  might  have  been  by 
the  most  elaborate  sermon  by  Parson 
Dale. 

"  I  have  often  murmured  to  myself 
since  I  lost  you,  *  Helen  was  my  good 
angel ;' — say  on.  For  my  heart  is  dark 
to  myself,  and  while  you  speak  light 
seems  to  dawn  on  it." 
This  praise  so  confused  Helen  that 


she  was  long  before  she  could  obey 
the  command  annexed  to  it.  But,  by 
little  and  little,  words  came  to  both 
more  frankly.  And  then  he  told  her 
the  sad  tale  of  Chatterton,  and  waited, 
anxious  to  hear  her  comments. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  seeing  that  she 
remained  silent,  "  how  can  /  hope, 
when  this  mighty  genius  laboured  and 
despaired  ?  What  did  he  want,  save 
birth  and  fortune,  and  friends,  and 
human  justice." 

"  Did  he  pray  to  God?"  said  Helen, 
drying  her  tears. 

Again  Leonard  was  startled.  In 
reading  the  life  of  Chatterton,  he  had 
not  much  noted  the  scepticism,  as- 
sumed or  real,  of  the  ill-fated  aspirer 
to  earthly  immortality.  At  Helen's 
question,  that  scepticism  struck  him 
forcibly. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that,  Helen  ?  n 
"  Because,  when  we  pray  often,  we 
grow  so  very,  very  patient,"  answered 
the  child.  "Perhaps,  had  he  been 
patient  a  few  months  more,  all  would 
have  been  won  by  him,  as  it  will  be 
by  you,  brother ;  for  you  pray,  and  you 
will  be  patient." 

Leonard  bowed  his  head  in  deep 
thought,  and  this  time  the  thought 
was  not  gloomy.  Then  out  from  that 
awful  life  there  glowed  another  pas- 
sage, which  before  he  had  not  heeded 
duly,  but  regarded  rather  as  one  of 
the  darkest  mysteries  in  the  fate  of 
Chatterton. 

At  the  very  time  the  despairing 
poet  had  locked  himself  up  in  his 
garret,  to  dismiss  his  soul  from  its 
earthly  ordeal,  his  genius  had  just 
found  its  way  into  the  light  of  renown. 
Good  and  learned  and  powerful  men 
were  preparing  to  serve  and  save  him. 
Another  year— nay,  perchance  an- 
other month — and  he  might  have 
stood  acknowledged  and  sublime  in 
the  foremost  front  of  his  age. 

"  Oh  Helen!"  cried  Leonard,  raising 
his  brows  from  which  the  cloud  had 
passed,  "  why,  indeed,  did  you  leave 
me?" 

Helen  started  in  her  turn  as  he 
repeated  this  regret,  and  in  her  turn 
grew  thoughtful.  At  length  she  asked 
him  if  he  had  written  for  the  box 
which  had  belonged  to  her  father,  and 
been  left  at  the  inn. 

And  Leonard,  though  a  little  chafed 
at  what  he  thought  a  childish  inter- 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XII.  [Aug. 


194 

ruption  to  themes  of  graver  interest, 
owned  with  self-reproach  that  he  had 
forgotten  to  do  so.  Should  he  not  write 
now  to  order  the  box  to  be  sent  to  her 
at  Miss  Starke's. 

"  No  ;  let  it  be  sent  to  you.  Take 
care  of  it.  I  should  like  to  know  that 
something  of  mine  is  with  you ;  and 
perhaps  I  may  not  stay  here  long." 

"  Not  stay  here  ?  That  you  must, 
my  dear  Helen— at  least  as  long  as 
Miss  Starke  will  keep  you,  and  is 
.kind.  By-and-by  (added  Leonard, 
•with  something  of  his  former  sanguine 
•tone)  I  may  yet  make  my  way,  and 
we  shall  have  our  cottage  to  our- 


selves. But— Oh  Helen!— I  forgot 
— you  wounded  me;  you  left  your 
money  with  me.  I  only  found  it  in  my 
drawers  the  other  day.  Fie  ! — I  have 
brought  it  back." 

"  It  was  not  mine — it  is  yours.  We 
were  to  share  together — you  paid  all ; 
and  how  can  I  want  it  here,  too  ?" 

But  Leonard  was  obstinate  ;  and  as 
Helen  mournfully  received  back  all 
that  of  fortune  her  father  had  be- 
queathed to  her,  a  tall  female  figure 
stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  arbour, 
and  said,  in  a  voice  that  scattered  all 
sentiment  to  the  winds  —  "Young 
man,  it  is  time  to  go." 


CHAPTER   XXV. 


"  Already  !"  said  Helen,  with  fal- 
tering accents,  as  she  crept  to  Miss 
Starke's  side  while  Leonard  rose  and 
bowed.  "  I  am  very  grateful  to  you, 
madam,"  said  he,  with  the  grace  that 
-comes  from  all  refinement  of  idea, 
41  for  allowing  me  to  see  Miss  Helen. 
Do  not  let  me  abuse  your  kindness." 
Miss  Starke  seemed  struck  with  his 
look  and  manner,  and  made  a  stiff 
half  curtsey. 

A  form  more  rigid  than  Miss  Starke's 
it  was  hard  to  conceive.  She  was  like 
the  grim  white  woman  in  the  nursery 
ballads.  Yet,  apparently,  there  was 
a  good  nature  in  allowing  the  stranger 
to  enter  her  trim  garden,  and  provid- 
ing for  him  and  her  little  charge  those 
fruits  and  cakes,  which  belied  her  as- 
pect. "  May  I  go  with  him  to  the 
gate?  "  whispered  Helen,  as  Leonard 
had  already  passed  up  the  path. 

"You  may,  child;  but  do  not 
loiter.  And  then  come  back,  and 
lock  up  the  cakes  and  cherries,  or 
Patty  will  get  at  them." 

Helen  ran  after  Leonard. 

"  Write  to  me,  brother— write  to 


me ;  and  do  not,  do  not  be  friends  with 
this  man,  who  took  you  to  that  wicked, 
wicked  place." 

"Oh,  Helen,  I  go  from  you  strong 
enough  to  brave  worse  dangers  than 
that,"  said  Leonard  almost  gaily. 

They  kissed  each  other  at  the  little 
wicket  gate,  and  parted. 

Leonard  walked  home  under  the 
summer  moonlight,  and  on  entering 
his  chamber,  looked  first  at  his  rose- 
tree.  The  leaves  of  yesterday's  flowers 
lay  strewn  round  it ;  but  the  tree  had 
put  forth  new  buds. 

"Nature  ever  restores,"  said  the 
young  man.  He  paused  a  moment, 
and  added,  "  Is  it  that  Nature  is  very 
patient  ?" 

His  sleep  that  night  was  not  broken 
by  the  fearful  dreams  he  had  lately 
known.  He  rose  refreshed,  and  went 
his  way  to  his  day's  work — not  stealing 
along  the  less  crowded  paths,  but, 
with  a  firm  step,  through  the  throng 
of  men.  Be  bold,  adventurer— thou 
hast  more  to  suifer !  Wilt  thou  sink  ? 
I  look  into  thy  heart,  and  I  cannot 
answer. 


1851.] 


Paris  in  1851. 


195 


PARIS   IN   1851. 


THE  celebrated  Laurence  Sterne  was 
provoked  to  a  journey,  which  extended 
from  France  to  Italy,  and  might  have 
extended  to  the  circumnavigation  of 
the  world,  by  the  snappish  remark  of 
a  travelled  coxcomb. 

"  They  order  this  matter  better  in 
France,"  said  Sterne. 

"'You  have  been  in  France,'  said 
my  gentleman,  turning  quick  upon 
me,  with  the  most  civil  triumph  in  the 
world. 

"'Strange,'  said  I,  debating  the 
matter  with  myself,  'that  oue-and- 
twenty  miles'  sailing — for  'tis  abso- 
lutely no  further  from  Dover  to  Calais 
— should  give  a  man  those  rights.  I'll 
look  into  them.'  So,  giving  up  the 
argument,  I  went  straight  to  my  lodg- 
ings, put  up  half-a-dozen  shirts,"  &c. 

So,  Sterne  was  provoked  into  cross- 
ing the  Channel. 

The  difference  between  1762,  when 
Sterne  performed  this  feat,  and  1851, 
is  prodigious  in  point  of  travelling 
facilities,  but  is  tolerably  near  in  point 
of  provocation.  "  You  have  been  in 
France,"  is  still  a  quiet  insult,  not  to 
be  endured  by  any  man  capable  of 
steaming  down  the  Thames ;  with  the 
addition  that  a  thousand  might  use  the 
taunt  now,  for  one  that  used  it  then. 
In  the  days  of  our  fathers  a  voyage 
to  France  was  what  a  trip  up  the 
Mediterranean  is  now ;  a  thing  to  be 
seriously  considered,  carefully  pro- 
vided for,  a  matter  of  cost,  and  an 
affair  of  consultation  with  the  elder 
'branches  of  the  family.  The  lawyer 
was  sometimes  called  into  the  family 
council ;  and  the  making  of  a  will  was 
considered  a  becoming  preliminary. 
Men  of  ten  thousand  a-year  were  re- 
garded as  the  only  class  entitled  by 
their  station  in  society  to  travel, 
which  adventure  was  not  to  be  under- 
taken by  any  heir  to  an  estate  under 
twenty,  without  the  accompaniment  of 
a  tutor,  generally  a  fellow  of  a  college, 
who  knew  no  more  of  life  than  Simeon 
Stylites ;  and  for  the  same  reason,  his 
having  stood  apart  from  all  mankind 
for  the  last  fifty  years  of  his  existence, 
and  perhaps  also  for  his  looking  down 
from  his  pillar  on  all  who  looked  up  to 
kirn. 


The  rest  of  the  travelled  world  was 
made  up  of  Dutch  smugglers,  French 
spies,  English  milliners,  who  travelled 
to  purloin  the  fashions  of  Paris ;  and 
kings'  messengers  carrying  the  cor- 
respondence between  the  managers  of 
the  opera  and  the  danseuses  of  Europe. 

But  all  this  is  now  changed.  The 
multitude  visit  Paris  once  a-year  as 
regularly  as  the  cholera.  Twelve 
hours  from  London  drop  them  in 
Paris,  twenty-four  carry  them  to  the 
Alps,  and  there  the  course  lies  before 
them,  whether  to  Rome  or  Constanti- 
nople, Cairo  or  the  Kremlin,  the 
Euxine  or  Egypt,  the  Straits  of  Babel- 
mandel  or  the  world's  end.  Puck's 
offer  to  "  put  a  girdle  round  the  earth 
in  forty  minutes "  is  thus  beaten 
out  of  the  field,  and  a  whisper  may 
be  carried  to  the  antipodes  in  the  time 
that  it  takes  the  postman  to  knock  at 
the  door. 

Another  facility  of  English  modern 
travel  is  the  change  of  the  old  intoler- 
able system  of  passports  ;  once  an 
affair  of  running  about  to  all  the  am- 
bassadors in  the  red  book,  and  their 
secretaries,  who  handed  the  applicant 
over  to  their  clerks,  who  sent  them  to 
the  consul,  who  consigned  them  to 
the  vice-consul,  who,  having  nobody 
else  to  send  them  to  for  their  consign- 
ation, perhaps  granted  the  permission 
to  pass  the  Channel.  And  this  oper- 
ation implied  a  tax  at  every  step.  The 
passport  from  the  foreign  office  was 
£2,  7s.,  and  required  as  much  attend- 
ance, levying,  and  "  previous  inquiry" 
into  characters,  as  a  commission  in  the 
Dragoons. 

But  all  those  fooleries  are  at  end,  so 
far  as  France  is  concerned.  The  fo- 
reign office  now  charges  only  seven 
shillings  and  sixpence,  and  the  French 
consul  simply  five — the  most  conve- 
nient of  all.  For  those  five  shillings 
he  gives  you  the  right  to  dispense 
with  all  the  frivolous  formalities  which 
trifled  with  time,  patience,  and  purse. 
You  may  go  to  Paris  without  five  mi- 
nutes' pause  at  landing  at  Dover  or 
Boulogne.  You  have  no  fear  of  the 
gendarme  before  your  eyes  in  Paris ; 
you  dispense  with  all  permission  to  go 
where  you  will  in  the  "  City  of  th& 


196 


Paris  in  1851. 


[Aug. 


Graces  ;"  and,  best  of  all,  on  j'our  re- 
turn, you  are  not  compelled  to  go 
from  the  British  ambassador  to  the 
French,  to  oscillate  for  half  a  day  be- 
tween them,  then  to  walk  through  the 
miserable  dens  of  the  passport-office, 
as  in  the  old  time,  undergoing  the 
supervision  of  a  generation  of  su- 
percilious subalterns,  who  thought 
themselves  entitled,  on  an  income  of 
eighteenpence  a-day,  to  look  down  on 
all  that  large  and  unlucky  portion  of 
mankind  who  are  born  out  of  Paris. 
"  Mais,  nous  avons  change  tout  cela" 
as  Moliere's  Doctor  says ;  and  the 
only  task  now  is  to  go  to  the  French 
consul's  office  in  King  William  Street, 
sit  for  your  portrait,  pay  your  five 
shillings,  be  treated  with  civility,  and 
take  your  privilege  to  peregrinate  the 
globe. 

This  new  arrangement  is  partly  the 
work  of  Louis  Napoleon.  He  ought 
to  go  farther,  if  he  is  to  be  immortal 
in  England.  "  Les  passeports  sont 
abolis"  is  a  motto  which  would  be 
worth  the  best  jewel  in  the  Garde 
Meuble  to  him.  It  would  be  fitted 
for  his  diadem,  if  he  is  to  have  one, 
and  would  make  a  capital  inscription 
for  his  tomb. 

The  Railway!  What  a  scene  of 
bustle,  what  a  confusion  of  tongues, 
what  a  compilation  of  strange,  sallow, 
cigar-dyed  faces,  so  far  as  the  human 
features  can  be  discerned  in  their 
mask  of  beard  and  whisker,  which 
equally  covers  the  visages  of  the 
field-marshal  and  the  man-milliner  in 
France.  At  length  the  bell  rings  its 
last,  the  whistle  screams,  and  the 
great  train  is  in  motion,  the  platform- 
porters  moving  back  from  the  levia- 
than, like  whalers  afraid  of  a  flap  of 
the  whale's  tail. 

The  journalists  of  their  own  travels 
sometimes  record  the  u  Conversa- 
tions" which,  they  tell  us,  occur  on 
the  way.  I  have  no  faith  in  the  re- 
cord. I  have  never  heard  a  conversa- 
tion on  the  road  worth  the  paper  on 
which  it  was  written.  The  discovery 
of  a  new  idea  in  a  railroad  carriage 
might  rank  with  the  discovery  of  a 
new  planet.  I  toss  these  records  to 
the  winds,  as  so  many  "  impromptus 
a  laisir,"  written  impositions  on  the 
public,  "  weak  inventions  of  the 
enemy "  of  common-sense,  roadside 
hallucinations,  and  locomotive  fables. 


How  is  it  possible  to  converse  in  a 
machine  containing  three  thousand 
parts,  of  which  a  single  screw  loose,  a 
strap  deranged,  or  the  link  of  a  chain 
broken,  may  send  you  where  all  the 
"  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world"  would 
not  soften  the  consequences?  Who 
can  reciprocate  your  sentiments,  rush- 
ing on  at  the  rate  of  fifty  miles  an 
hour,  when  your  next  rush  may  be 
into  the  elements ;  when  a  drunken 
•  stoker  is  the  master  of  your  fate ;  and 
when  the  slipping  of  a  pebble  under 
your  wheel  may  project  and  pulverise 
you  into  a  thousand  fragments  ?  For 
my  part,  the  utterance  of  a  word  in 
one  of  those  tremendous  machines  is 
equivalent  to  a  moderate  strangula- 
tion. 

Kent,  beautiful  at  all  seasons,  i» 
still  more  beautiful  in  summer.  Its 
perpetual  undulations  of  surface,  the 
exquisite  greenness  of  its  pastures,  fed 
by  the  vapours  of  the  Thames  and  the 
clouds  of  the  ocean  ;  its  hop-grounds, 
ten  times  worth  the  French  vine- 
yards for  the  picturesque;  the  richness 
of  its  plantations  fencing  the  fields, 
and  covering  the  sides  of  the  hills  ; 
and  the  general  impression  of  opulent 
fertility, — make  it  fit  to  be  the  frontier 
province  of  England.  It  is,  perhaps, 
the  most  English-looking  province  of 
its  eastern  division,  and  is  worthy  of 
the  bold  bowmen  who  once  formed  the 
strength  of  the  English  armies. 

Now  and  then,  too,  from  a  grove 
which  looks  as  old  as  the  days  of  those 
gallant  bowmen,  start  up  the  towers 
of  some  noble  mansion  of  some  noble 
family,  raised  on  the  confiscation  of 
some  fat  monastery.  Then  we  see 
the  contrast,  in  a  village  church,  peep- 
ing out  from  among  its  poplars, — so  old, 
that  our  astonishment  is,  its  standing 
at  all,  and  yet  with  its  patched  and 
restored  buttresses  covered  with  ivy, 
until  it  seems  a  pillar  of  vegetation  ; 
and  the  whole  as  pathetic  and  pic- 
turesque as  if  it  had  been  placed  by 
the  hand  of  a  painter. 

And  thus  we  fly  along.  The  rapi- 
dity of  the  railroad  produces  a  new 
effect  on  the  landscape.  It  is  not 
pictorial  ;  for  there  is  no  time  to 
penetrate  the  mysteries  of  the  scene, 
to  feel  the  combined  beauties,  nor  the 
effect  of  the  shadows,  nor  the  meanings 
which  the  clumps  of  the  trees,  and  the 
thick  vegetation  of  the  hedges,  give  to 


1851.] 


Pans  in  1851. 


197 


the  painter's  vision.  Nor  is  it  thea- 
trical, even  with  the  quick  succession 
of  scenery,  the  sudden  change  from 
the  sunny  to  the  shadowy,  from  the 
highly  cultivated  to  the  rough  and 
neglected,  and  from  the  level,  dotted 
with  sheep  and  carpeted  with  wild- 
flowers,  to  the  abrupt  heights  and 
projecting  chalk-cliffs,  which  show 
only  the  broad  bare  surface,  coloured 
with  the  thousand  stains  of  the  shower, 
or  the  natural  sculpture  of  the  storm. 
It  gives  me  more  the  idea  of  the 
passing  of  objects  in  dreams,  the 
unbroken  connection,  the  grotesque 
variety,  and  the  general  vanishing  into 
"  thin  air." 

At  length  a  fresher  air  begins  to 
blow,  a  saline  smell  mingles  with  the 
breath  of  the  vegetation ;  the  pea- 
santry have  the  strong  features  that 
always  belong  to  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  sea;  now  and  then  a  tarred  hat 
is  seen,  or  a  woollen  cap ;  and  the 
sounds  of  hammers,  and  the  sight  of 
smoke,  tell  us  that  we  are  approaching 
a  town.  The  stoker  puts  on  additional 
steam,  that  we  may  make  our  entre 
with  additional  honours.  We  have 
hitherto  lingered  on  at  the  rate  of 
five-and-twenty  miles  an  hour — we 
now  move  at  the  rate  of  forty.  Within 
a  couple  of  miles  of  Polkstone,  we,/?// 
at  the  rate  of  a  carrier-pigeon,  and 
are  at  a  speed  of  fifty.  In  two  minutes 
we  dart  into  Folkstone. 

This  town  is  a  populous  place  :  a 
range  of  bold  heights  protect  it  from 
the  sea — a  protection  required  by 
every  cottage  on  the  coast ;  for  the 
Atlantic  is  not  more  stormy,  nor 
thunders  with  greater  majesty,  in 
winter  nights,  on  the  west  of  Ireland, 
than  the  Channel.  It  is  the  work  of 
generations  of  fishermen,  who  for- 
merly exercised  a  variety  of  trades — 
a  race  of  strong-built,  bold,  and  skilful 
fellows,  who  would  face  the  Bay  of 
Biscay  in  an  open  boat  "  for  a  consi- 
deration ;"  who  once  had  no  particular 
respect  for  the  laws  of  Customs  and 
Excise ;  and  in  the  great  war  were 
prime  conveyancers  of  intelligence 
from  France. 

But  other  times,  and  fortunately 
other  habits,  have  succeeded.  The 
conveyance  of  bulletins  and  brandy 
has  subsided — the  former  from  the 
change  of  circumstances,  the  latter 
from  the  improvement  in  the  manners 


of  the  people.  Those  fishermen  and 
boatmen  make  prime  sailors,  and  are 
of  that  class  which  forms  the  strength 
of  the  navy.  In  the  mean  time,  they 
employ  their  superfluous  vigour  in 
running  out  to  the  assistance  of 
wrecks,  which  the  neighbouring  Good- 
win Sands  so  fearfully  supply  from 
winter  to  winter. 

The  only  disadvantage  of  the  passage 
by  Folkstone  is,  that  the  packet  must 
wait  for  the  tides  at  Boulogne;  the  head- 
quarters of  Napoleon's  invasion  being 
a  basin  of  mud  during  three-fourths  of 
the  twenty-four  hours.  Without  ac- 
tually saying  that  this  was  an  original 
security,  in  the  providential  designs 
for  the  defence  of  England,  it  unques- 
tionably must  always  operate  as  a 
formidable  difficulty  in  the  way  of  an 
assault  on  the  eastern  coast  of  Eng- 
land. It  must  be  folly  to  attempt  the 
invasion  of  a  country  so  powerful  and 
so  populous,  with  a  force  of  less  than 
100,000  men— I  believe  that  ten  times 
the  number  would  not  accomplish  it ; 
but  this  force  cannot  be  embarked  in 
fighting  ships  :  our  frigates  would  not 
suffer  steamers  to  collect  in  the  French 
harbours ;  and  the  only  resource  must 
be  boats.  Those  boats,  if  gathered 
outside  the  harbour,  are  liable  to  be 
attacked,  and  would  undoubtedly  be 
attacked ;  while,  if  inside  the  har- 
bours, they  are  imbedded  in  the 
mud  for  fifteen  hours  out  of  the 
twenty-four.  And  all  the  harbours 
on  the  French  coast  in  this  quarter 
are  in  the  same  condition.  Even 
Cherbourg  is  but  a  bungle  after  all, 
and  the  millions  of  French  money, 
and  the  ages  of  French  labour,  ex- 
pended on  it  will  never  make  it  worth 
a  tenth  of  Portsmouth  or  Plymouth. 
So,  the  invasion  must  be  headed  by  a 
line  of  battle  ships,  and  their  first 
work  must  be  to  clear  the  Channel, 
if  they  can ;  then,  and  only  then,  the 
small  fry  of  France  may  follow. 

The  harbour  of  Folkstone  is  admir- 
ably adapted  for  the  packet  service  ; 
it  is  small,  but  perfectly  sheltered. 
The  packet  can  get  out  with  any  turn 
of  the  tide,  and  I  believe  with  any 
wind  ;  the  mouth  of  the  harbour  once 
passed  —  and  it  might  be  shut  by 
a  five-bar  gate — the  sea  opens  at 
once,  and  nothing  lies  between  it  and 
the  coast  of  France,  or  the  world.  It 
is  also  one  of  the  points  of  refuge  in 


198 


Paris  in  1851. 


[Aug. 


'the  storms  of  winter.  How  many 
hearts  of  mariners,  in  the  winter,  when 
the  Channel  is  a  sheet  of  foam,  the  wind 
dead  on  shore,  and  the  night  doubly 
darkened  with  tempest,  must  have 
danced  at  the  glimpse  of  the  little 
lighthouse  quivering  on  the  end  of  its 
Mole. 

Times  are  changed  since  the  only 
conveyance  from  Folkstone  was  a 
fishing-boat.  The  Princess  Helena 
mail-packet  is  worthy  of  her  name- 
sake ;  a  small  steamer,  the  perfection 
of  neatness,  noiselessness,  and  speed. 
The  furniture  of  the  cabins  gave  in- 
dications of  the  short  passage,  and 
also  of  the  customary  nature  of  the 
Channel.  No  beds,  for  the  passage 
of  two  hours  must  always  be  in  day- 
light ;  but  everything  compact,  no 
loose  furniture— everything  fastened 
to  the  floor — and  here  and  there  those 
handles  affixed  to  the  sides,  which 
are  essential  to  safe  walking  in  a  high 
•wind  at  sea ;  the  windows,  little 
circular  holes,  with  glass  so  solid  as 
to  defy  the  dash  of  the  heaviest  surge  ; 
and  everything  made  to  resist  the 
roughest  weather. 

The  view  on  leaving  the  harbour 
>was  striking  ;  the  town  was  soon  lost, 
and  nothing  but  the  little  lighthouse 
remained,  to  tell  us  that  we  were  not 
on  the  shore  of  an  unknown  land. 
High,  grey,  sullen  cliffs  ranged  on 
either  side ;  the  day  was  sunless, 
though  fine,  the  wind  fair  though 
rough  ;  and  the  majority  of  the  pas- 
sengers staid  on  deck.  My  experience 
told  me  that  the  cabin  was  the  true 
place  of  refuge ;  and  leaving  heroism 
to  find  out  its  mistake,  and  giving  a 
•parting  glance  at  the  shore,  which 
looked  a  gigantic  wall  of  granite,  and 
to  the  sea,  which  looked  fierce  and 
gloomy,  I  flung  myself  on  a  sofa,  and 
prepared  for  extremities. 

I  was,  however,  soon  followed — 
first  descended  the  ladies,  then  came 
the  gentlemen  ;  the  sea  was  rough 
without  being  stormy,  and  the  wind 
sharp  and  loud  without  being  a  gale. 
The  English  bore  their  calamities  in 
silence;  but  the  foreigners  uttered 
their  sensations  with  a  succession  of 
groans— as  Hudibras  remarks  on  the 
vocalisation  of  foreigners  in  all  dis- 
tresses— 

"  Your  Frenchman's  like  a  sucking  pig, 
Though  little,  yet  his  woes  are  l>g. 


You  cannot  pluck  a  hair  ofs  tail 
But  all  the  parish  hears  his  wail. 
Your  German's  like  an  ass  i'  the  pound, 
You  know  his  sorrows  by  his  sound." 

At  last  the  voyage  was  over,  and 
the  passengers,  gathering  up  their 
trunks  and  portmanteaus,  prepared  to 
face  the  Douane.  All  the  "fashion"  of 
Boulogne  were  assembled  to  witness 
our  arrival.  The  experiment  is  uni- 
versal on  the  French  shore,  and  as 
unfair  as  it  is  universal ;  for  what  is 
the  contrast  between  a  whole  cargo  of 
miserables,  flung  out  with  dishevelled 
locks  and  sallow  faces,  and  the 
spruce  and  ringleted,  flounced  and 
furbelowed  dwellers  on  terra  firma. ; 
a  race  who  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
dress;  to  whom  the  exhibition  of  their 
dress  is  a  matter  of  daily  routine ; 
who  without  this  routine  would  die 
the  death  of  ennui,  perish  of  the  stag- 
nation of  life,  be  the  rapid  victims 
of  that  diseased  and  decrepid  condi- 
tion, which  calls  itself  existence  at  a 
watering-place. 

After  having  passed  the  inspection 
of  the  two  lines  of  those  farnientes, 
we  entered  the  Douane,  and  there  felt 
the  advantages  of  the  London  pass- 
port. We  were  rapidly  passed,  and 
our  carpet  bags  passed  along  with  us. 

Of  old  time  we  might  have  waited 
half  the  day  for  this  operation  ;  we 
might  have  had  our  shirts  and  night- 
caps overhauled  by  a  whole  tribe  of 
officials;  our  slippers  voted  suspicious, 
and  our  best  coat  sent  a  prisoner  of 
state  to  Paris.  "  They  now  order 
this  matter  better  in  France." 

But  the  remaining  blotches  of  this 
system  must  be  removed  from  the 
body  corporate.  European  civilisa- 
tion, as  well  as  European  good  sense, 
is  disgraced  by  the  continuance  of  a 
system  which,  as  was  said  of  the 
Athenian  law,  "  lets  all  the  big  flies 
escape,  while  it  entangles  all  the 
little;"  which  never  catches  a  smuggler, 
a  thief,  or  a  traitor ;  but  vexes  the  soul 
of  honest  John  Bull,  with  a  clear 
estate,  and  as  clear  a  conscience, 
travelling  in  his  own  post-chaise  at 
the  rate  of  thirty  miles  a- day,  willing  to 
take  the  world  as  it  goes,  and  dream- 
ing no  more  of  plundering  the  revenue 
than  of  subverting  the  throne. 

Boulogne  has  nothing  to  detain  the 
traveller,  even  the  novice  in  travelling 
who  first  sets  his  foot  on  the  French 


1851.]  Pans  in 

soil.  One  glance  is  enough  :  it  can 
show  only  the  same  succession  of  old 
streets. 

"  Grim,  gloomy,  grey,  each  has  a  brother, 
And  one  dim  den  is  like  the  other." 

But  it  abounds  in  hotels  ;  some  mean 
and  minute ;  some  enormous,  and  built 
on  a  scale  for  which  it  is  impossible 
to  form  an  idea  of  the  intention,  unless 
it  were  for  the  future  conversion  of  the 
building  into  a  barrack.  The  hotel  in 
which  I  took  up  my  quarters  would 
have  housed  a  regiment  of  Life  Guards, 
horses  and  all. 

The  Table  d'hote.  The  most  com- 
fortless of  all  contrivances  for  indulg- 
ing the  most  agreeable  necessity  of  our 
being  —  a  long,  scrambling,  dreary 
dinner,  yet  by  no  means  stinted.  The 
custom  rather  is  superfluity,  but  a 
clumsy  superfluity  ;  the  company  all 
strangers,  ready  to  flit  to  the  different 
points  of  the  compass  within  the  next 
hour. 

Boulogne  does  not  seem  to  thrive. 
English  gold  has  lost  its  usual  power 
of  working  miracles  on  the  faces, 
clothes,  and  manners  of  the  popula- 
tion who  lie  under  its  droppings. 
Except  a  few  circulating  libraries  and 
painted  bathing-houses,  which  have 
been  planted  by  English  hands,  the 
town  seems  as  haggard,  heavy,  and 
heartbroken  as  when  I  saw  it  five- 
and-twenty  years  ago.  The  same 
hideous  costume  of  the  women,  the 
same  narrow  escape  from  rags  of  the 
men,  the  same  dilapidated  look  of  the 
houses,  the  same  rough  pavement  for 
the  pedestrians.  Progress  is  here 
anything  but  progressive.  France  is 
content  with  the  hour;  it  seldom 
looks  forward  to  the  week ;  a  month 
is  the  limit  of  its  view  of  the  future  ; 
a  year  to  come,  is  beyond  the  dreams 
of  France. 

The  railroad.  At  length,  in  the  fever 
of  hearing  the  bell  ring — for  somehow 
or  other  every  one  has  something  to 
do  at  the  last  moment,  which  he  ought 
to  have  done  an  hour  before— seeing 
cabs  flying  to  the  station,  porters 
breathless,  and  women  wringing  their 
hands— I  reached  the  carriage,  flung 
myself  into  it,  and  had  the  comfortable 
sensation  of  feeling  that  my  first 
troubles  on  a  foreign  shore  were  over, 
and  that  no  hungering  and  thirsting  at 
ill- kept  inns,  no  slumbering  in  intoler- 


1851. 


199" 


able  beds,  no  dreary  tables  d'hote, 
and  no  custom-house  vexations,  lay 
between  me  and  the  "  Metropole  du 
monde,"  (as  the  French  modestly  call 
their  capital :)  in  short,  that  I  was  to 
complete,  in  the  five  hours  between- 
breakfast  and  dinner,  the  distance 
which,  by  the  old  style  of  public 
travel,  took  thirty-six. 

Willing  to  do  justice  to  every  man, 
I  shall  not  deny  to  the  Frenchman 
the  merit  of  having  meritoriously 
followed  English  example  in  the 
matter  of  railroads.  His  first- class 
carriages  are  equal  to  ours,  and  his 
second-class  are  superior.  I  wish  I 
could  excite  the  passion  of  shame  Ui 
some  of  our  railway  directors,  on  the 
subject  of  their  second-class  carriages. 
Instead  of  the  naked  seats,  naked 
partitions,  narrow  space,  and  lampless 
divisions  of  the  English  carriages, 
the  French  have  stuffed  seats  and 
backs,  width,  and  lamps ;  the  last  a 
matter  of  decency  and  necessity  for 
the  passage  of  the  tunnels.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  a  sense  of  common  pro- 
priety will  induce  a  reform  in  those 
things,  and  that  a  contrast  so  degrad- 
ing to  the  estimation  of  England  in 
the  European  eye,  will  be  suffered  to 
exist  no  longer.  There  are  few  things 
which  mark  the  state  of  civilisation 
in  any  country  of  Europe  more  imme- 
diately than  the  condition  of  its  pub- 
lic carriages.  Railroads  have  now  a 
monopoly  of  the  travelling  means  of 
England,  and  it  should  be  the  busi- 
ness of  those  great  companies  to  make 
the  care,  comfort,  and  rates  of  tra- 
velling superior  to  those  of  any  other 
part  of  the  world. 

The  route  from  Boulogne  to  Paris 
shows  an  unfortunate  specimen  of 
France ;  three-fourths  of  it  are  through 
a  succession  of  swamps  and  sands. 
The  eye  may  rest  on  rising  grounds 
from  time  to  time,  or  be  refreshed  by 
groups  of  trees ;  but  the  trees  are 
willows,  and  the  train  moves  on 
through  a  bed  of  sand,  or  by  the  side 
of  a  marsh  ;  and  this  continues  to 
Amiens. 

The  station  at  Amiens  is  on  the 
plan  of  the  English.  The  station  is 
large,  the  refreshment-rooms  are  spa- 
cious and  showy,  the  supply  ample, 
and  the  attendance  well  ordered. 

Amiens  is  remarkable  in  later  his- 
tory only  for  the  abortive  treaty,  or 


200  Paris  in 

rather  for  the  absurd  truce,  which 
lasted  just  long  enough  for  us  to  dis- 
mantle our  fleets  and  disband  our 
armies,  and  for  Napoleon  to  recruit 
his  Legions  and  take  possession  of 
Switzerland  and  Piedmont. 

But  the  carriages  were  in  motion 
once  more,  and  we  flew  through  a 
country  in  some  degree  relieved  from 
the  meagre  monotony  of  the  landscape 
through  which  we  had  passed  from 
Boulogne.  Near  Paris  we  passed  by 
the  burnt  station,  which  seems  likely 
to  be  the  only  permanent  memorial 
of  the  Revolution  of  1848.  There  it 
still  stands,  with  its  broken  walls  and 
bettered  roof,  being  set  on  fire  by  a 
mob,  who,  having  nothing  to  do, 
and  requiring  a  stimulant,  paid  their 
tribute  to  the  national  feeling  by  a 
conflagration.  The  fate  of  the  Orleans 
dynasty  probably  never  drew  tear  or 
sigh  from  any  human  being  but 
themselves :  their  fall  was  the  natural 
fate  of  the  Over-cunning;  but  there 
stands  the  emblem  of  the  Revolution, 
blazing  for  nothing,  and  naked,  empty, 
now  tottering  to  its  fall. 

The  increased  speed  of  the  train — 
the  usual  symptom  of  our  approach 
to  a  town,  a  sprinkling  of  villas  on 
the  roadside,  and  long  gloomy  ranges 
of  hill  surrounding  a  huge  valley,  told 
us  that  we  were  near  the  end  of  our 
journey.  Then  appeared  the  dome  of 
the  Invalides,  the  bold  roof  of  the 
Pantheon,  and  the  great  mass  of  the 
Tuilleries,  in  the  valley.  We  now 
rushed  along,  and  in  another  moment 
we  had  finished  the  five  hours,  and 
"  Nous  voila  a  Paris.'1'1 

The  Boulevard.  One  thing  for 
which  London  might  envy  Paris  is 
the  Boulevard.  If  I  had  the  power 
of  the  old  magicians,  who  whisked 
cities  away  in  a  night,  I  would  trans- 
port the  Boulevard  to  London,  and 
plant  it  on  the  ruins  of  the  thousand 
mean  and  miserable  streets,  which  the 
avarice  of  builders  and  the  tasteless- 
ness  of  bricklayers  are  multiplying  on 
every  side  of  our  capital.  I  should 
make  it  a  protecting  circle  against  the 
invasions  of  this  pecuniary  vandalism 
for  all  time  to  come,  and  secure  for 
the  citizens  at  least  one  street  worthy 
of  their  city — a  broad,  healthy,  and 
cheerful  belt  round  the  metropolis ;  in 
its  magnitude  and  in  its  magnificence 
worthy  of  England. 


1851.  [Aug. 

Not  that  the  Boulevard  owes  its 
origin  to  either  the  taste  of  the 
monarch  or  the  liberality  of  the 
people :  it  was  the  work  of  hard  times 
and  rude  necessities.  It  was  the 
rampart  of  Paris,  which  had  screened 
the  little  city  of  a  little  monarchy 
from  many  an  assault.  But  the  ces- 
sation of  European  war,  for  a  time, 
by  the  peace  of  Westphalia,  suifered 
the  towers  and  gates  of  this  rampart 
to  fall  into  decay.  Louis  XIV.,  the 
only  redeeming  point  of  whose  char- 
acter was,  that  he  loved  stately 
buildings  and  public  ornament,  cleared 
away  the  ruins  ;  he  planted  the  high- 
road— for  then  it  was  nothing  more — 
with  trees,  which  now  form  its  prin- 
cipal and  most  fortunate  charac- 
teristic; erected  the  triumphal  arch 
of  St  Denis,  to  his  own  honour  and 
glory — the  only  thing  which  this  king 
of  Fops  had  ever  at  heart ;  and  left 
it  to  time  to  fulfil  the  rest.  As  Paris 
swelled,  in  the  course  of  years,  the 
Boulevard  became  lined  with  the 
mansions  of  the  nobles ;  with  those 
gradually  mingled  the  shops  of  the 
leading  traders  ;  then  came  the 
theatres;  then  came  the  coffee-houses ; 
and  then  came  the  lounger,  the  looker- 
on,  the  mendicant,  the  mountebank, 
the  printseller,  and  the  mime — the 
miscellany  of  life  which_  makes  the 
Boulevard  a  picture  of"  Paris,  an 
epitome  of  France,  and  a  haunt  of  all 
the  ramblers  of  Europe. 

It  now  partakes  in  all  the  fashions, 
follies,  oddities,  and  tumults  of  the  day. 
The  omnibus — an  English  invention  of 
fifty  years  ago,  which  then  failed  in 
London,  which  prospered  a  quarter  of 
a  century  ago  in  Paris,  and  which  has 
returned  to  London  to  encumber  the 
streets,  but  greatly  to  compensate 
for  the  intolerable  length  and  breadth 
of  the  monster  metropolis — finds  its 
headquarters  in  the  Boulevard.  It 
is  calculated  that  twenty  thousand 
public  vehicles  of  all  shapes  and  sizes 
are  employed  in  Paris,  and  there  is 
not  one  of  those  which  does  not  make 
its  tour  of  the  Boulevard  daily,  or 
perhaps  many  times  a-day.  From 
this  we  may  conceive  the  constant 
rush  of  wheels,  the  whirl  of  life,  the 
incessant  rattle  of  hoofs,  feet,  and 
tongues,  which,  from  morn  till  night, 
pours  through  this  fine  line  of  com- 
munication. It  has  long  since  eclipsed 


1851.]  Pans  w  1851. 

every  other  street  in  Paris.  The 
Rue  Richelieu,  where  the  nobles  of  the 
monarchy  once  fluttered  in  em- 
broidered doublets  and  feathered 
caps ;  the  St  Honore,  where  the  court 
ladies  drove  in  their  handsomest  equi- 
pages, and  spent  their  husbands' rent- 
rolls  on  lace  and  confectionary;  even 
the  Palais  Royal,  once  the  heart  of 
Paris,  the  pride  of  the  French 
monarchy,  and  the  centre  of  more 
polish  and  profligacy,  more  beauty 
and  brawls,  than  any  spot  of  its  size 
on  the  globe  ;  all  bow  the  head  before 
the  Boulevard! 

But  I  once  saw  it  under  circum- 
stances of  a  wholly  different  nature. 
It  was  the  year  of  Napoleon's  second 
expulsion,  and  of  the  second  triumph 
of  the  Allied  arms.  The  Boulevard 
was  then  crowded  with  the  soldiery 
of  every  nation  of  Europe,  but  the 
French.  Even  Tartary  furnished  its 
quota  to  this  superb  reunion  of  the 
masters  of  the  world.  I  saw  visages 
that  were  certainly  born  in  the  sha- 
dow of  the  Chinese  wall,  and  costumes 
which  had  bleached  in  the  snows  of 
the  Great  Desert.  I  saw  the  Cos- 
sack of  the  Don,  with  his  weather- 
beaten  physiognomy,  his  little  hardy 
horse,  and  the  spear  which  had  pro- 
bably done  savage  execution  in  the 
march  from  Moscow.  The  Emperors 
of  Russia  and  Austria,  and  the  King 
of  Prussia,  had  brought  detachments 
of  their  Guards  along  with  them — of 
course,  the  most  soldierlike  and  showy 
of  their  troops;  and  those  formed 
the  loungers  of  the  public  works,  pro- 
menading everywhere,  very  much  at 
their  ease,  and  with  the  air  of  men 
who  had  done  their  business  com- 
pletely. 

Among  those  the  English  soldiery 
were  the  most  conspicuous,  and  the 
quietest,  and  ever  the  most  at  their 
ease.  When  the  foreign  officers  hap- 
pened to  see  in  the  windows  of  the 
printshops  any  print  reflecting  on 
their  country,  (and  the  shops  were 
foolishly  full  of  such,  the  last  revenge 
of  the  vanquished,)  they  entered  the 
shop  and  tore  the  prints,  or  broke 
the  windows  of  the  impertinent 
dealer.  But  nothing  was  so  common 
as  to  see  the  English  officers  grouped 
round  a  caricature  of  their  country- 
men, and  laughing  heartily  at  the 
burlesque. 


201 

In  this  spirit,  too,  they  saw  all  the 
sights  of  Paris.  Their  patience  in- 
duced the  French  managers  to  repre- 
sent frequently  "  Les  Anglaises  pour 
rire"  a  violent,  yet  very  dull,  carica- 
ture of  the  habits  and  manners  of 
Englishwomen  ;  for  the  French  think 
everything  that  is  not  their  own, 
barbare.  With  the  greatest  propensity 
to  adopt  whatever  is  graceless,  with 
the  most  exaggerated  taste  in  the 
world — a  taste  which,  in  twenty-four 
hours,  makes  a  milliner's  monstrosity 
the  fashion  of  all  the  beau  monde  of 
Paris — they  are  all  astonishment  at  a 
cap  or  a  ribbon  not  of  the  reigning 
shape  or  colour.  France  is  par  excel' 
fence  the  nation  in  which  the  milli- 
ners are  a  dynasty  and  the  tailors  a 
despotism ;  in  which  the  cut  of  a  coat 
raises  or  sinks  a  man  through  all  the 
grades  of  society  ;  and  the  colour  of  a 
culotte  determines  his  condition  for 
life.  This  is  the  inventive  and  taste- 
ful supremacy,  to  which  Europe  owes 
hoop  petticoats,  the  curled  wig,  rouge 
and  hair-powder — though  the  origin 
of  the  two  latter  is  claimed  by  a 
company  of  Italian  mummers  who 
descended  the  Alps  in  the  time  of 
Mazarin,  to  reinforce  the  failing  in- 
genuity of  the  nation. 

But,  with  all  this  apparent  ease 
among  the  foreign  soldiery,  there  was 
no  laxity  of  precaution.  Cannon 
were  kept  in  readiness  for  the  first 
symptom  of  riot ;  troops  were  on  the 
watch  ;  vigilant  eyes  were  exploring 
the  corners  of  the  city ;  and  the  first 
tap  of  the  drum  would  have  answered 
the  first  clamour  of  the  Sections,  by  a 
brigade  of  a  hundred  thousand  men ! 

But  the  Boulevard,  in  those  days, 
was  a  most  amusing  sight,  as  well  as 
a  most  warlike  one.  It  was  thoroughly 
French — ten  times  more  Gallic  than 
it  ever  has  been  since. 

For  the  preservation  of  national 
manners,  good  or  bad,  every  country 
should  be  separated  from  the  rest 
every  half  century.  France  had  been 
separated  by  the  war  from  England — 
the  only  country  which  it  always 
hates,  and  which  it  always  imitates — 
for  nearly  five  -  and  -  twenty  years. 
The  period  before  the  war  was  the 
era  of  Anglomanie  in  France.  From 
the  throne  to  the  theatre,  and  from 
the  coterie  of  the  Fauxbourg  St 
Germain  to  the  cobbler's  stall,  the 


202 

fashion  of  the  time  was  English — 
English  jockeys  and  jockey -boots, 
English  horses  and  hats,  English 
equipages,  and  even  English  stable- 
talk  were  the  etiquette  ;  the  Duke  of 
Orleans  (father  of  Louis  Philippe) 
came  over  with  a  cloud  of  courtiers 
to  visit  George,  Prince  of  Wales,  and 
returned  to  France  with  an  English 
postchaise,  English  grooms,  and  an 
English  redingote.  The  English 
tourists — they  were  then  not  of  the 
same  class  which  now  deluges  the 
Continent,  but  the  milors,  who  could 
afford  to  throw  away  a  thousand 
pounds  at  a  sitting,  and  who  asto- 
nished the  quivering  and  nervous 
Frenchman  at  the  equanimity  with 
which  they  paid  the  loss,  however 
the  next  morning  the  pistol  or  the  pond 
might  be  their  resource — then  learned 
things  not  much  more  conducive  to 
their  morals  or  their  rent-roll,  in  Paris ; 
and  the  two  countries  were  likely 
soon  to  have  exhibited  a  fusion  of  all 
that  was  absurd,  frivolous,  and  frip- 
pery in  both.  When  suddenly  the 
war  interposed,  and  raised  the  bar- 
rier between  them  ;  and,  like  a  plant 
excited  into  floridness  by  the  green- 
house, and  restored  to  its  original 
vigour  by  the  roughness  of  the  open 
air,  the  Englishman  recovered  his 
native  character,  and  abandoned  the 
affectations  and  effeminacy  of  ContU 
nental  life. 

But,  to  the  Boulevard  :  it  was  then 
a  perpetual  "  Exhibition."  All  the 
shows,  trickeries,  fopperies,  and  mum- 
meries of  foreign  life  were  there  in 
full  performance,  all  day  and  every 
day.  Monkeys,  booths,  barrel-organs, 
itinerant  showmen,  fortune-tellers,  lot- 
teries, mountebanks,  popular  orators 
— in  short,  everything  that  could 
attract  the  idlers  of  an  idle  popula- 
tion, bordered  both  sides  of  this  im- 
mense street.  And  the  night  was  like 
the  day,  but  more  crowded,  more 
noisy,  and  more  laughable,  illumi- 
nated by  ten  thousand  paper  lamps, 
bougies,  and  torches. 

But  the  return  of  the  Bourbons  was 
a  sad  interruption.  Louis  XVIII., 
though  not  suspected  of  any  severity 
in  his  principles,  was  determined  to 
draw  a  line  between  the  past  and 
present  in  the  good  city  of  Paris,  and 
the  morals  of  royalty  swept  away 
all  the  mimes.  Gendarmes  took  the 


Paris  in  1851.  [Aug. 

place  of  the  travelling  showmen.  Pro- 
cessions of  police-officers  were  fatal 
to  the  festivities  of  the  pavement;  and 
the  accession  of  Charles  X.,  the  king 
of  the  priests,  completed  the  havoc  of 
merriment  and  mummery,  and  the 
street  muses  fled  for  ever. 

Louis  Philippe,  with  his  usual  atten- 
tion to  the  principles  of  popularity  in 
France,  endeavoured  to  make  the 
Boulevard  again  the  grand  promenade 
of  Paris.  In  this  he  perfectly  suc- 
ceeded. He  laid  the  sides  down  with 
asphalte,  which,  if  it  sticks  to  every 
pedestrian  in  hot  weather,  and  gives 
the  whole  population  the  appearance 
of  walking  with  iron  soles  on  a  pave- 
ment of  magnets,  is  prodigiously  bet- 
ter than  the  sand,  which  at  one  time 
rose  in  hurricanes  upon  its  surface, 
and  the  mire  which  in  winter  threat- 
ened to  swamp  the  traveller.  As  it 
is,  the  Boulevard  is  the  great  orna- 
ment, the  great  characteristic,  and 
the  great  emporium  of  Paris. 

The  Legislative  Assembly.  —  This 
successor  of  the  National  Assembly, 
of  the  Convention,  of  the  Council  of 
Five  Hundred,  of  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies,  and  of  the  Constituent 
Assembly,  is  by  far  the  most  curious 
display  in  Paris.  It  is  not  easy  of 
access  to  strangers,  and  a  ticket  is 
necessary.  To  those  who  are  not 
familiar  with  the  French  capital,  it 
may  be  interesting  to  know  that  this 
palace  of  the  French  Parliament 
is  entered  from  the  stately  square 
which  has  been  the  scene  of  some  of 
the  most  startling  events  of  French 
modern  history,  and  which,  like  all 
the  memorable  places  of  Paris,  has 
changed  its  name  with  every  memor- 
able era  of  the  city.  Once  a  mere 
suburb  common,  it  was  enclosed  in  the 
reign  of  Louis  XV.,  and  called  after 
that  easy  personage,  to  whom  France, 
however,  ultimately  owed  her  Revo- 
lution. When  his  throne  fell,  his 
statue  fell  with  it,  and  the  ground 
was  dedicated  to  the  new  ruler  of 
France,  the  Guillotine,  by  which 
the  innocent  and  unfortunate  Louis 
XVI.  lost  his  head  ;  a  few  years  after, 
the  square  was  called  Place  de  la 
Revolution ;  on  the  return  of  the 
Bourbons  it  was  called  Place  Louis 
Quinze  once  more ;  on  the  accession 
of  Charles  X.  it  was  determined  that 
the  statue  of  Louis  XVI.  should  be 


1851.]  Pans  in 

•erected  in  the  place  where  he  \\as  so 
foully  murdered,  and  that  the  name 
should  be  changed  to  Place  Louis 
Seize.  But  kings  in  France  are  tran- 
sitory things  ;  Charles  himself  was 
expelled ;  and  Louis  Philippe,  saga- 
cious of  consequences,  and  probably 
wishing  that  it  should  be  no  longer 
a  record  of  the  fall  of  thrones,  named 
it  Place  de  la  Concorde,  a  childish 
title,  and  wholly  without  an  intelli- 
gible meaning,  except  it  be  the  one  of 
avoiding  all  memorial  of  the  past,  and 
all  anticipation  of  the  future. 

To  the  French  Parliament  the  Seine 
is  crossed  by  a  bridge,  from  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde,  which  has  adopted  all 
its  successive  names,  and  has  been 
Pont  Louis  Seize,  &c.  It  is  now 
Pont  de  la  Concorde,  and  is  a  very 
showy  structure,  from  the  middle  of 
which  the  spectator  sees  one  of  the 
handsomest  squares  in  Europe. 

The  House  of  the  French  Parlia- 
ment, like  everything  in  Paris,  has  a 
history  of  its  own,  and  has  belonged 
successively  to  the  family  of  Conde, 
the  Council  of  Five  Hundred,  the 
Corps  Legislatif,  and  the  new  Na- 
tional Assembly.  It  had  previ- 
ously belonged  to  the  unfortunate 
Due  de  Bourbon,  who  was  found 
hanging  from  the  bolt  of  his  bedroom 
window  in  the  chateau  of  St  Leu — 
an  event  which  has  never  been  cleared 
up ;  for,  at  his  age  of  seventy-four,  and 
in  a  state  of  great  bodily  infirmity,  it 
was  conceived  that  suicide  was  impos- 
sible. By  his  will  it  descended  to  the 
son  of  the  King,  the  Due  d'Aumale, 
and  by  him  was  sold  to  the  nation. 

The  entrances  are  guarded  by  in- 
fantry and  dragoons :  a  company  of 
infantry  were  lounging  over  the  para- 
pet in  front,  and  groups  of  police  and 
soldiery  were  scattered  through  the 
courtyard.  The  soldier  is  everywhere 
in  Paris. 

The  present  hall  of  assemblage  is 
merely  a  temporary  appendage  to  the 
palace,  and  more  resembles  a  country 
theatre,  on  a  large  scale,  than  a  place 
for  the  representatives  of  a  nation. 
But  even  this  rude  structure  has  its 
history,  and  is  memorable  as  the  scene 
of  the  great  Socialist  emeute  of  May 
1848.  The  Faction,  under  the  pre- 
tence of  presenting  a  petition  for  Po- 
land, mustered  to  the  amount  of  many 
thousand  men  —  some  say  80,000. 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXX. 


1851. 


203 


They  marshalled  themselves  like  regu- 
lar troops,  and  thus  marching  through 
the  streets,  with  banners  at  the  head 
of  each  detachment,  and  with  cries 
of  "Vive  la  Pologne!  vive  la  llepub- 
lique  !  vive  Louis  Blanc  !  "  suddenly 
took  possession  of  the  court  of  the 
palace.  The  Assembly  were  then 
sitting  ;  but,  as  they  were  totally 
unprotected,  the  Socialists  rushed  into 
the  hall,  and  began  a  debate  of  their 
own.  The  Assembly,  imitating  — 
rather  unwisely  imitating — the  Ro- 
man Senate,  on  the  irruption  of  the 
Gauls,  prepared  for  a  political  mar- 
tyrdom, and  kept  their  seats,  to  frown 
down  the  barbarians  of  the  Faux- 
bourgs.  Some  of  their  orators  ad- 
dressed the  multitude,  but  they 
instantly  found  the  established  effect 
of  an  attempt  to  reason  with  the 
rabble.  They  were  roared  down; 
and  the  leading  demagogues,  Blanqui, 
Barbes,  and  Raspail,  were  the  only 
haranguers  listened  to  for  a  moment. 
After  a  terrifying  tumult  of  some 
hours — employed  in  equally  furious 
and  foolish  haranguing — a  Socialist 
mounted  the  President's  table,  de- 
clared "  the  legislature  was  at  an 
end,"  and  demanded  the  "establish- 
ment of  a  Provisional  Government." 

The  tumult  was  now  at  its  height; 
the  Roman  recollections  of  the  repre- 
sentatives gave  way  to  the  formidable 
necessities  of  the  moment,  and  they 
were  driven  from  the  hall  amid  a 
shower  of  personal  insults.  Theleaders 
of  the  emeute  had,  in  the  mean  time, 
gone  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  where  they 
formed  a  revolutionary  cabinet,  under 
Barbes,  &c. 

But  here  the  patriots  committed  a 
capital  error:  they  forgot  their  friends, 
the  dungeon  and  sabre.  Deliberation 
requiring  delay,  and  delay  being  fatal 
to  the  success  of  riot,  while  their 
new  Cabinet  were  deliberating  the 
representatives  were  recovering  from 
their  fright.  By  giving  them  time 
for  the  restoration  of  their  senses, 
instead  of  imprisoning  them  one  and 
all,  (if,  in  the  old  Revolutionary  style, 
they  did  not  massacre  them,)  they 
found  the  National  and  Mobile  Guards 
suddenly  in  arms,  and  marching 
against  them.  The  mob  were  driven 
out  of  the  hall ;  the  National  Guard 
soon  mustered  in  great  numbers. 
They  are  the  shopkeepers  of  Paris, 


204 


Paris  in  1851. 


[Aug. 


and  a  government  of  plunder  by  no 
means  suited  their  notions  of  pro- 
perty ;  and  though  the  maxim  of  the 
Renovators  of  Nations  was  propa- 
gated pretty  largely,  "  La  propriete— 
Jest  le  wZ,"  the  National  Guard  em- 
ployed itself  promptly  in  sending  the 
Cabinet  to  prison,  and  reconducting 
the  representatives  to  their  Salle  ! 

It  was  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies 
that  the  Drame  of  the  extinction  of 
the  Monarchy  was  finally  performed 
on  the  24th  of  February  1848,  a  period 
which  will  henceforth  figure  in  the  his- 
tory of  revolutions.  Here,  while  Louis 
Philippe  was  flying  to  St  Cloud,  the 
Duchess  of  Orleans  presented  herself 
with  her  two  sons.  M.  Dupin  an- 
nounced to  the  Chamber  that  the 
King  had  abdicated,  and  proposed  to 
proclaim  the  Count  de  Paris  King, 
under  the  Regency  of  the  Duchess. 
Lamartine  moved  that  the  discussion 
should  not  take  place  in  the  presence 
of  any  member  of  the  royal  family. 
But  there  were  authorities  outside  the 
walls  who  knew  nothing  of  the  for- 
malities of  legislation.  The  mob 
were  roaring  for  an  entrance  ;  the 
Duchess,  with  her  children,  attempted 
to  escape ;  they  were  driven  back  by 
the  rabble.  Another  debate  now 
commenced  on  the  subject  of  commit- 
ting the  Regency  to  the  Due  de  Ne- 
mours; another  followed  on  the  propo- 
sal of  a  Provisional  Government.  The 
hall  was  now  crowded  with  armed 
men.  Ledru  Rollin  then  ascended 
the  tribune,  and  argued  that,  Lotas 
Philippe  having  abdicated,  the  Crown 
could  not  be  transferred  without  an 
appeal  to  the  people.  There  seemed 
now  every  probability  of  a  sanguinary 
termination  to  the  scene,  and  eiforts 
were  made  by  the  friends  of  the 
royal  family  again  to  extricate  the 
Duchess ;  but  in  vain. 

The  conduct  of  the  Duchess  cer- 
tainly showed  great  intrepidity  on 
this  occasion.  While  muskets  were 
pointed  at  individuals  in  the  Assem- 
bly, and  in  the  hands  of  men  abso- 
lutely without  restraint,  her  own  life, 
and  the  lives  of  her  children,  might 
be  the  sacrifice  of  the  instant.  She, 
poor  thing,  now  attempted  to  speak. 
But  the  French  mob  were  not  Hun- 
garian nobles,  and  the  «'  Moriamur 
pro  rege  nostro,  Maria  Theresa,"  was 
in  a  different  style  from  the  sentiment 


of  the  reformers  of  Paris.     She  was 
bellowed  down. 

The  armed  mob  now  proceeded 
to  make  a  government.  One  of 
their  orators  mounted  the  tribune, 
and  declared  that  Louis  Philippe, 
having  abdicated,  could  not  leave  a 
legacy  of  the  throne  without  the 
choice  of  the  people.  This  hor- 
rible scene  of  confusion,  blundering, 
threatening,  and  terror,  lasted  for  three 
full  hours  ;  during  which  the  Duchess 
and  the  children  fortunately  effected 
their  escape,  retiring  to  the  Hotel  of 
the  Invalides,  and  quitted  Paris  like 
the  rest  of  the  royal  family  next 
morning. 

The  whole  scene  concluded,  not 
unaptly,  in  the  formation  of  a  Provi- 
sional Government,  itself  the  com- 
mencement of  a  series  of  provisional 
governments,  each  more  temporary 
and  trifling  than  the  one  that  fell 
before  it,  and  finishing  at  last,  if  in 
France  anything  can  be  said  to  finish, 
by  a  Republic,  excluding  Monarchy 
for  ever,  though  that  eternity  may 
mean  a  restoration  within  six  months  ; 
but  especially  providing  for  public 
confusion,  by  abolishing  the  essential 
principle  of  public  order — a  hereditary 
throne ! 

The  aspect  of  the  present  Chamber 
gives  the  idea,  not  merely  of  a  build- 
ing erected  in  popular  haste,  but  of  a 
building  erected  in  such  antiquity  as 
to  have  become  long  dilapidated.  I 
never  saw  any  place  of  public  meet- 
ing that  looked  more  squalid.  It  has 
completely  the  aspect  of  the  shabbiest 
and  most  melancholy  of  all  possible 
things,  a  theatre  by  daylight,  to  which 
I  have  compared  it  already,  for  the 
similitude  is  constant  and  irresistible. 
At  one  end  of  the  hall  is  the  Pre- 
sident's chair,  with  a  table  in  front, 
on  which  rests  a  bell  and  a  little 
stick,  both  which  are  important  instru- 
ments of  the  Presidential  authority, 
though  neither  much  comporting  with 
the  presumed  dignity  of  debate.  In 
front  of  this  table  is  the  Tribune,  a 
species  of  square  pulpit,  with  steps  at 
the  sides,  where  the  orators  of  the 
Assembly  successively  lay  their  papers 
on  a  shelf  before  them,  and  read,  or 
recite,  according  to  their  capacity  of 
using  the  native  language.  The  shape 
of  the  hall  is  nearly  semicircular ;  the 
area  is  surrounded  with  benches  for 


1851.]  Paris  in  1851. 

the  members,  before  each  of  whom  is 
a  desk  with  pen  and  ink,  so  that  a 
member  may  be  writing  his  speech 
while  the  debate  is  going  on,  and  the 
product  of  the  desk  may  be  read  at 
the  tribune  within  the  next  half-hour. 
The  whole  of  this  preparation  for 
scribbling  looked  to  me  like  the 
arrangement  of  a  large  banking- 
house,  or  a  merchant's  office ;  and  the 
seats  seem  to  be  appropriated  per- 
sonally to  individuals,  for  there  are 
lists  of  the  members,  in  a  programme 
sold  at  the  entrance  to  the  galleries, 
which  mark  the  names  of  those  pos- 
sessors en  permanence. 

At  the  corner  of  those  ranges,  to  the 
left  of  the  President,  sit  the  "  Ex- 
treme Gauche,"  or  "  Montagnards" 
the  ultra- liberals.  At  the  opposite 
corner,  and  on  the  right  of  the  chair, 
sit  the  Extreme  Droit,  the  nltra-royal- 
ists  ;  and  the  circle  is  filled  up  by  the 
diversities  of  party — all  shapes  and 
shades  of  opinion — the  refugees  from 
the  extreme  points  on  both  sides,  the 
quiet  waiters  upon  chance,  and  the 
swimmers  upon  the  turn  of  the  tide. 

All  this  is  new,  and  very  amusing 
to  the  spectator;  and  not  less  new  is 
the  appearance  of  the  writers  for  the 
journals,  as  an  authenticated  body,  in 
the  house.  In  front  of  the  President 
sit  the  writers  who  detail  the  debates 
for  the  Moniteur.  In  boxes  in  the 
gallery,  on  the  left  side  of  the  Presi- 
dent, are  the  allotted  places  of  the 
other  writers  for  the  journals ;  and 
on  the  right  of  the  chair,  also  in  the 
gallery,  are  boxes  for  the  Foreign 
Ambassadors  and  the  families  of  the 
members.  In  the  remaining  gallery 
are  seats  for  the  public. 

The  debates  generally  begin  at  two 
in  the  afternoon,  and  in  general,  of 
course,  close  early.  The  doors  are 
open  for  about  an  hour  before.  In 
France  there  is  a  foolish  affectation 
of  gallantry  on  all  occasions,  and  the 
front  seats  in  the  public  galleries  are 
exclusively  devoted  to  the  fair,  mak- 
ing a  privilege  for  them  in  a  place 
where  they  can  have  but  little  amuse- 
ment, and  no  business.  I,  in  my  in- 
advertence to  the  national  custom, 
having  taken  a  vacant  seat  in  the 
front,  was  ordered  out  of  it  by  an 
officer  of  the  house,  with  "  Place  aux 
dames,"  and  surrendered  it  accord- 
ingly. My  fair  substitute  had  the 


205 


look  of  a  poissarde,  or  an  alewife ; 
wore  her  bonnet — which  all  the  wo- 
men in  France  do  everywhere,  even 
at  the  theatre,  except  when  they  pin 
it  up  to  the  pillars  —  and  made  it 
somewhat  difficult  for  those  behind 
her  to  see  or  hear.  I  doubt  whether 
she  was  much  edified  by  the  discus- 
sion. 

The  Debate.  The  subject  of  the  day 
was  the  National  Guard.  It  is  a 
delicate  question  for  all  parties.  The 
Liberals,  of  course,  are  loud  in  its 
laudation  ;  but  still  even  they  may  feel 
a  lurking  sentiment  that  the  National 
Guard,  being  chiefly  shopkeepers — at 
least  in  Paris,  and  Paris  being  France 
— have  a  sense  of  the  integrity 
of  their  plate-glass,  and  the  pro- 
fits of  their  trade,  and  (having  had 
sufficient  experience  that  revolutions 
are  beneficial  to  neither)  may  not  be 
of  that  reliable  order  which  is  neces- 
sary to  the  advocates  of  perpetual 
confusion. 

The  military  have  no  hesitation  in 
speaking  the  usual  opinions  which  all 
the  soldiers  in  the  world  entertain  of 
citizens,  with  drums  and  trumpets,  and 
beards  and  muskets,  parading  in  holi- 
days— much  at  the  counter,  and  never 
in  the  camp. 

The  financiers,  in  the  matter  of  tax- 
ation comprehending  all  the  grumblers 
of  the  community,  which  amount  to 
all  France,  look  at  the  expenditure 
for  the  fifers  and  drummers,  the  staff, 
and  the  shoes  of  the  legions,  as  so 
much  thrown  away ;  while  the  Royal- 
ists regard  them  as  unfit  to  meddle 
with  such  questions  as  either  republics 
or  restorations. 

To  those  must  be  added  the  sub- 
stantial objections  of  the  shopkeepers 
themselves,  to  be  taken  from  their 
trades  to  drill,  to  stand  a  parade  in  wet 
weather  or  snow  (and  winter  shows 
no  mercy  to  civic  heroism  in  Paris 
more  than  in  other  capitals  of  Europe,) 
and,  finally,  to  shoulder  the  musket 
during  the  six  hours  of  a  review  in 
the  Champ  de  Mars.  I  say  nothing 
of  the  final  chance  of  being  under 
arms  for  thirty-six  hours  together,  in 
the  recurrence  of  another  entente,  a 
24th  of  February,  or  even  a  "  three 
glorious  days  of  July ; "  for  a 
Frenchman  scoffs  at  the  idea  of  his 
having  any  dislike  to  being  shot  in 
the  streets,  the  amputation  of  a  limb. 


306 


Pans  in  1851. 


[Aug. 


or  a  deposit  in  Pere  la  Chaise.  And 
it  must  be  acknowledged  tliat  the 
shopkeepers  turned  out  stoutly  on 
these  memorable  occasions. 

I  am  not  sufficiently  acquainted 
with  that  curious  anomaly  which 
forms  the  French  mind,  to  say, 
whether  the  mass  of  the  national 
feeling  would  not  be  sufficiently 
pleased  to  hear  the  drum  of  the 
Guard  for  the  last  time;  but  the 
feeling  has  some  plausibility  even  in 
this  lively  nation,  where  everything 
is  beard  and  belligerency — besides 
having  Nature  on  its  side  in  every 
other  country  of  Europe. 

The  debate  on  this  subject  always 
draws.  The  people  are  prepared  to 
attach  a  prodigious  interest  to  any- 
thing that  can  be  said,  old  or  new, 
clever  or  commonplace,  on  the  topic; 
and  the  popular  orators  are  never  in 
such  plumage  as  when  they  take  a 
flight  in  honour  of  the  "  Garde 
National,  les  grands  defenseurs  de  la 
.patrie." 

The  commencement  of  the  sitting 
was  rather  irregular.    There  was  no 
prayer,  or  other  form  of  religion,  that 
I  could  perceive;  but  the  members 
sauntered  in,   wandered    about  the 
floor,  or  lounged  in  their  seats,  for 
the   first  half-hour.     The  time  was 
chiefly  occupied  in  presenting  peti- 
tions, which  the  presenter    merely 
handed  up  to  the  President,  with  a 
few   words.     Those  petitions  were 
chiefly  for  a  revision  of  the  constitu- 
tion, which  prohibits  the  re-election 
of  a  President  after  his  four  years' 
apprenticeship.    This  law  was  in  the 
genuine  style  of  republicanism,  which 
is  always  jealous  and  distrustful — 
substantially  the  spirit  of  despotism, 
confiding  in  no  man  unless  he  is  in 
chains !    Or,  as  was  said  by  the  cele- 
.brated  Burke,  characterising  the  simi- 
lar law  by  which  no  representative  of 
the  Convention  could  be  re-elected — 
"This  reminds  me  of  the  chimney- 
sweepers,  forced  to   abandon  their 
trade    by  the  time  that  they  have 
learned    it."      The    only  difference 
being,  that  the  abandonment,  in  the 
one  case,  was  the  work  of  nature, 
and  in  the  other  the    absurdity  of 
legislation. 

But  even  in  this  stage  I  had  a  speci- 
men of  French  debating.  General  Ba- 
raguay  d'Hilliers,  on  presenting  one  of 


those  petitions,  having  mounted  the 
tribune,  and  turning,  perhaps  acciden- 
tally, towards  the  Extreme  Gauche, 
one  of  them  cried  out,  without  pre- 
face or  apology,  "  Why  do  you 
address  us  ?  Speak  to  the  Assembly." 
Another  member  met  a  similar  rebuiT 
immediately  after.  On  presenting  a 
petition  from  the  municipality  of 
Havre,  a  member,  sitting  on  his 
bench,  cried  out — "  Municipal  coun- 
cils have  no  right  of  petition ;  on 
which  the  presenter  explained  "that 
it  came  from  the  individual  members 
of  the  council." 

At  length  the  order  of  the  day 
was  read,  for  the  consideration  of 
the  law  relative  to  the  National 
Guard.  On  this,  "  Napoleon  Buona- 
parte" was  announced  as  the  speaker. 
I  felt  a  strange  sensation  at  the  sound 
of  the  name,  which  had  so  long  pro- 
duced sensations  of  all  kinds  in  the 
world.  It  is  true,  it  now  could  affect 
nothing  but  memory  ;  but  what  a 
memory  had  that  sound  left  behind ! 
I  looked  with  no  ordinary  curiosity 
on  the  bearer  of  that  renowned  and 
formidable  name. 

The  orator  is  the  son  of  Jerome, 
formerly  King  of  Westphalia,  and  is 
said  to  resemble  the  Emperor  more 
than  any  of  the  living  family.  His 
stature  is  short  and  full,  his  counte- 
nance dark,  but  expressive  of  intelli- 
gence ;  and  altogether  he  is  a  striking 
personage. 

He  spoke,  of  course,  in  high  praise 
of  the  National  Guard,  and  spoke 
with  spirit  and  fluency. 

But,  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger,  the 
effect  was  greatly  impaired  by  the 
unfortunate  habit  of  the  country, 
which  makes  all  speeches  in  the 
Assembly  resemble  the  speech  of  a 
lawyer  from  his  brief.  His  papers 
were  laid  on  the  front  of  the  tribune, 
and  in  the  lapses  of  his  memory  he 
constantly  returned  to  them,  took  a 
glance  to  reinforce  his  argument,  and, 
having  thus  dipt  into  the  subject,  was 
on  the  wing  again.  In  this  style  he 
alternated  from  his  papers  to  his 
audience  for  nearly  half-an-hour — 
continually  interrupted,  however,  and 
bearing  the  interruptions  with  the 
reverse  of  philosophy.  He  began  by 
moving,  "That  the  National  Guard 
is  instituted  for  the  defence  of  the 
Constitution,  the  Republic,  and  the 


1851.]  Paris  in  1851. 

sovereignty  of  the  people  ;  to  main- 
tain obedience  to  the  laws ;  to  pre- 
serve or  re-establish  public  peace  in 
the  country ;  to  assure  the  indepen- 
•dence  of  France,  and  the  integrity  of 
its  territory  against  foreigners." 

He  contended  that  "  it  was  neces- 
sary to  proclaim  the  rights  and  wrongs 
of  the  Guard,  because  there  was  an 
evident  desire  to  dispense  with  their 
employment,  and,  of  course,  with 
their  public  existence  —  a  proposi- 
tion to  that  effect  having  been 
entertained.  The  result  of  refus- 
ing the  right  to  nominate  their 
officers  was  a  prestige  of  other  con- 
sequences, too  formidable  yet  to  be 
ventured  on." 

But  the  interruptions  were  perpe- 
tual, and  most  provoking.  u  Speak 
to  the  question  !  "  broke  off  the  most 
showy  sentiments ;  and  he  grew  more 
and  more  angry.  He  charged  his 
opponents  with  wishing  to  arm  none 
but  their  partisans — "  It  was  a  mon- 
strosity, an  enormity!"  Still  arose 
the  cry,  "  Speak  to  the  question!" 
He  now  said,  ( '  It  is  an  attempt  to 
organise  civil  war  for  the  profit  of  a 
party."  (Roars  of  order.)  M.  Faucher, 
the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  exclaimed, 
44  Monsieur,  you  cannot  affirm  that  we 
are  organising  civil  war." 

To  this  the  reply  was,  44  One  may 
organise  it  without  intention."  This 
rather  exculpatory  reply  was  followed 
by  a  long  paragraph  on  the  crime  of 
conspirators  attempting  to  overthrow 
all  the  principles  of  liberty !  Then 
followed  renewed  cries  of  order  from 
the  right,  and  the  bell  of  the  Pre- 
sident now  began  to  ring  loudly. 

The  three  degrees  of  keeping  the 
peace  seemed  to  be,  first,  the  beating 
of  the  little  stick  or  paper-knife  (I 
could  not,  with  all  my  curiosity,  tell 
which)  on  the  table  ;  then  came  the 
ringing  of  the  bell,  (about  the  size  of 
the  dustman's  ;)  and  then  the  Presi- 
dent, exhausted  of  all  direct  means 
of  control,  threw  himself  back  in  the 
chair  with  a  pathetic  expression, 
which  was  responded  to  by  cries  of 
4i  La  cloture,  la  cloture ! " 

The  President  (who  was  not  M. 
Dupiu)  now  made  the  most  perplex- 
ing of  all  demands.  4'  J'invite  1'ora- 
teur  dexpliquer  sa  pensee."  Then 
ensued  a  scene  which  I  shall  not 
attempt  to  describe.  The  orator 


207 


grew  mystical,  thundered  out  his- 
denunciation  of  the  "  secret  transac- 
tions of  a  certain  party,"  and  professed 
his  resolution,  at  all  hazards,  to  resist 
violence,  from  whatever  quarter  it 
should  come.  This  was  followed  by 
laughter  from  the  right ;  and  a  voice 
was  heard  from  the  same  sider 
"  Then  you  should  not  set  the 
example." 

Napoleon  finished  this  legislative 
Waterloo  by  moving  his  amendment 
and  making  his  retreat  from  the 
tribune. 

A  M.  Biancey  then  prepared  to 
mount  the  tribune.  I  presume  that 
he  was  about  to  advert  to  Napoleon's 
speech,  for  he  was  met  by  a  cry  from 
the  right — "  Don't  reply ;  it  is  not 
worth  the  while.  Question,  ques- 
tion ! " — on  which  M.  Biancey  calmly 
returned  to  his  seat. 

A  M.  Duprat  then  mounted  the 
tribune,  and  said  "  he  was  sorry  that 
the  preceding  member  had  not  as- 
signed his  reasons  for  the  conduct  of 
the  commission."  This  taunt  was  met 
by  a  cry  from  the  right — "  What  is  that 
to  you?  You  are  no  judge  whether  he 
ought  or  ought  not  to  reply."  M.  Du- 
prat on  this  said  "  that  the  question 
was  of  great  public  interest,  and  he 
wished  to  speak  on  it."  "  Hold  your 
tongue,"  says  a  member  on  the  left. 
"To  whom  do  you  say  that?  —  is- 
it  to  us?"  cries  one  of  the  right. 
"I  use  the  privilege  of  demanding 
silence,"  says  the  former.  "  No  one 
disturbed  it  on  this  side  till  you 
meddled  with  it,"  says  another.  Thus 
the  debate  proceeded,  with  perpetual 
interruptions,  until  M.  Faucher  clever- 
ly reconciled  all  disputants  by  an  old 
but  popular  phrase. 

44  You  are  speaking,"  said  he,  "  of 
raising  volunteer  corps.  In  reply  to 
that  suggestion,  I  say,  when  the  path 
of  duty  is  clearly  laid  down,  and 
when  the  danger  is  plainly  before  us, 
every  man  in  France  is  a  volunteer ! " 
(Huzza !  Bravo !  an  acclamation  of 
applause  from  all  parts  of  the  Assem- 
bly ;  and  when  M.  Faucher  went  to 
his  seat,  the  members  crowded  round 
him  with  congratulations  on  this 
heroic  defence  of  the  courage  of  theic 
country.) 

The  debate  was  prolonged,  and  the 
President  again  used  his  little  stick 
and  his  bell;  but  nothing  was  worth 


208 


Paris  in  1851. 


[Aug. 


listening  to  after  the  vindication  of 
France,  and,  rather  tired,  I  came 
away. 

Qf  course  different  nations  will 
have  different  manners  ;  but  I  could 
not  comprehend,  then  or  now,  how  it 
is  possible  to  debate  anything  in  those 
perpetual  interruptions.  The  inter- 
rupting members,  too,  did  not  rise  to 
call  to  order,  and  thus  rise  under  the 
penalty  of  having  to  prove  their 
point ;  they  kept  their  seats,  with  the 
air  of  men  who  sat  merely  to  criticise. 
It  was,  on  the  whole,  a  conversation 
very  amusing  to  strangers,  but  a  con- 
versation  which,  on  any  given  subject, 
I  should  conceive  renewable  for  these 
fifty  years. 

But  while  we  in  England  are 
safe  from  borrowing  this  style  of  de- 
bate, let  us  not  quarrel  with  it.  It 
is  a  pledge  of  the  peace  of  Europe. 
I  should  be  infinitely  sorry  that  the 
Legislative  Assembly,  or  by  whatever 
name  France  may,  next  month, 
choose  to  call  it,  were  closed.  There 
the  vivacite  Franqaise  finds  its  fair 
channel ;  there  is  the  safety-  valve  of 
her  politics ;  there  is  the  quiet  drain 
of  that  superfluity  of  tongue,  and  that 
restlessness  of  thought,  which  the 
Frenchman  must  employ  in  the  field, 
if  he  cannot  employ  it  in  the  legisla- 
ture. France  was  never  Republican 
until  she  lost  her  old  Parliaments. 
Then,  the  talkers  of  Gascony  and 
Poitou  and  Picardy  had  no  means  of 
getting  rid  of  their  extra  animation, 
and  rushed  to  Paris  with  revolution 
as  a  relief  to  their  tongues;  and 
rushed  over  Europe,  to  be  able  to  sit 
down  quiet  in  their  old  age. 

But  I  must  not  intrude  on  your 
space  any  further  at  present.  I  shall 
probably  trouble  you  with  another 
letter,  for  Paris  is  fuller  of  topics  than 
i  Hemisphere  besides.  Of  course  I  do 


not  allude  to  the  mere  sights,  which 
are  before  every  eye,  and  which  are 
undoubtedly  well  worth  seeing.  But, 
the  people  are,  with  me,  the  true 
sight.  Life  in  London  is  to  life  in 
Paris  what  a  hive  with  wooden  paii- 
nels  is  to  a  hive  of  glass.  Even  the 
whole  working  of  the  bees  is  trans- 
parent. The  Frenchman  must  live  in 
public — his  existence  is  an  open-air 
existence,  his  thoughts  perish,  or 
choke  himself,  without  ventilation. 

For  instance,  I  cannot  conceive  the 
completion  of  a  conspiracy  in  Paris. 
A  Gunpowder  Plot  would  be  divulged 
at  once.  The  silent  labour,  the  stern 
determination,  the  patient  perseve- 
rance, and  the  solemn  courage  of  that 
hideous  and  far-seeing  conspiracy 
would  be  impossible  in  France.  In 
twenty-four  hours,  or  in  a  twenty- 
fourth  part  of  the  time,  a  French 
Guy  Fawkes  would  have  whispered 
it  at  the  bar  of  his  coffee-house,  or 
told  it  to  his  wife,  or  announced  it  to 
his  mistress,  or  talked  the  matter 
over  with  the  gendarme  of  his  neigh- 
bourhood ;  or  written  a  feuilleton  in 
the  Journal  des  Debats,  detailing  the 
resources  of  the  plotters,  with  hints 
at  their  names.  He  would  have 
found  himself  bursting  with  the  in- 
telligence, and  got  rid  of  it  as  a  relief 
to  nature. 

-  And  this  is  the  true  reason  why 
conspiracy  never  succeeds  in  France 
— why  the  police  instantly  know  all 
the  projects  for  overturning  thrones, 
or  shooting  monarchs,  or  changing 
religions,  or  constructing  adventures 
on  the  highway.  The  people  must 
talk,  and  this  it  is  which  makes 
them  at  once  so  safe  to  be  handled 
by  a  vigorous  government,  and  so 
infinitely  amusing  to  the  stranger, 
who  cares  not  whom  they  have  for 
governor. 


1851.] 


The  London  Diary  of  a  German  Authoress. 


209 


THE  LONDON  DIARY  OF  A  GERMAN  AUTHORESS. 


WITH  rare  exceptions,  those  recent 
foreign  writers  who  have  taken  upon 
themselves  to  criticise  the  condition 
and  institutions  of  this  country,  and 
its  inhabitants,  have  not  been  persons 
'on  whose  opinions  we  could  set  a  high 
value,  by  whose  censure  we  could  feel 
annoyed,  or  whose  praise  could  add 
greatly  to  our  self-esteem.  The  stand- 
ing and  character  of  a  judge  are  all- 
important  :  if  his  judgment  is  to  be 
respected,  he  himself  must  be  both 
competent  and  respectable.  The  ver- 
dict of  a  dull  book-maker  like  Mr 
Kohl,  or  of  a  shallow  and  mischievous 
demagogue  of  M.  Ledru  Rollin's 
stamp,  are  alike  indifferent  to  us. 
Their  writings  are  unheeded  by  the 
British  public,  scarcely  noticed  by  the 
British  press.  Of  French  books 
concerning  England,  Englishmen  are 
particularly  careless;  for,  strange  as  it 
may  appear,  our  nearest  neighbours 
are  amongst  our  worst  appreciators, 
and  deal,  for  the  most  part,  in  a  set  of 
stereotyped  prejudices  with  respect 
to  this  country  which  were  amusing 
until  they  grew  stale.  Although  Ger- 
mans understand  us  better,  it  was  not 
from  the  pen  of  a  German  Jewess,  a 
Republican  and  Socialist,  a  disciple, 
of  the  new  school  of  female  emanci- 
pation, a  devoted  admirer  of  George 
Sand,  Arnold  Ruge,  Mazzini,  and 
other  subversives,  that  we  expected 
any  very  judicious  comments  upon  the 
people  and  things  of  England.  Mrs 
Fanny  Lewald,  to  whom  the  above 
description  exactly  applies,  has  really 
surprised  us  by  the  moderate  tone  of 
the  first  volume  of  her  letters.  Re- 
garding the  present  generation  of 
German  female  writers  as  particularly 
wearisome  and  unpleasant,  and  not 
being  very  favourably  impressed  by 
some  of  her  previous  publications,  we 
took  up  Mrs  Lewald's  English  Diary 
with  most  limited  anticipations  as  to 
the  amount  of  interest  and  merit  it 
might  contain.  Its  perusal,  we  must  in 
justice  confess,  somewhat  amended 
our  estimate  of  the  lady's  common 
sense. 


Wholesome  recreation  and  relax- 
ation of  mind  were  Mrs  Lewald's 
avowed  objects  in  visiting  England. 
It  does  not  concern  us  to  inquire 
whether  the  idea  of  a  book  glimmered 
in  the  background,  and  further  stimu- 
lated her  to  the  journey.  The  volume 
before  us  comprises  but  a  portion  of 
her  short  stay  in  this  island  ; — eight 
weeks,  spent  in  London,  during  which, 
although  whirled  in  a  busy  round  of 
sight-seeing  and  amusement,  she  ma- 
naged to  write  letters  to  a  friend, 
sufficient  to  fill  a  printed  volume  of 
five  hundred  pages.  Such  letters  are 
often  written  by  returned  travellers, 
at  their  own  firesides,  and  addressed 
to  the  printer.  This  is  not  the  case 
with  Mrs  Lewald's  published  corre- 
spondence, which  we  have  reason 
to  believe  actually  went  through  the 
post-office  in  the  manner  she  repre- 
sents. Indeed,  there  have  been  ru- 
moured complaints  of  her  not  having 
sufficiently  revised  her  correspon- 
dence ;  and  accusations  against  her  of 
committing  to  type  certain  things 
which  had  better  have  remained  in 
the  privacy  of  an  intimate  epistle. 
Initials  are  an  insufficient  disguise, 
when  the  context  enables  readers  to 
fill  up  the  blanks  ;  and  should  she 
again  visit  England,  she  may  probably 
find  some  of  her  acquaintances  more 
upon  their  guard.  Others  will  doubt- 
less approve  her  indiscretions,  and 
thank  her  for  having  contributed  to 
make  known  the  opinions  in  which 
they  glory.  There  is  a  Mr  H., 
for  instance,  whose  entire  name  she 
sometimes  suifers  to  escape  her,  a 
German  Socialist  and  Democrat  of  the 
most  offensive  and  outrageous  class, 
who  has  been  implicated  in  sundry  of 
the  insurrections  of  which  Germany 
has  been  the  theatre  since  1848, 
who  was  in  this  country  at  the 
time  of  her  visit,  and  whose  ravings 
against  monarchy  and  Christianity 
she  now  and  then  quotes,  and  might 
as  well  have  omitted.  She  is  not 
without  occasional  irreverence  and 
levity  of  her  own  to  answer  for, 


England  und  Schottland.     Reisetagebuch  von  FANNY  LEWALD.      Erster   Band. 
Brunswick  :  Vieweg.     London  :  Williams  &  Norgate.     1851. 


210 


The  London  Diary  of  a  German  Authoress. 


[Aug. 


which  it  would  have  been  better  taste 
to  avoid,  considering  that  only  a  mi- 
nority of  her  readers  are  likely  to 
consist  of  Jews,  infidels,  and  Red 
Republicans.  But  the  form  of  "  Let- 
ters," we  suppose,  is  to  be  accepted 
as  a  plea  for  indulgent  criticism.  The 
lady  starts  with  the  declaration  that 
she  makes  no  pretensions  to  the  pro- 
duction of  a  profound  or  complete 
work  upon  Great  Britain,  although 
she  believes  that,  even  during  her 
brief  residence,  she  gathered  much 
valuable  knowledge  and  instruction, 
which  she  hopes  her  German  admirers 
will  feel  obliged  to  her  for  imparting. 
Until  our  esteemed  collaborates, 
Pisistratus  Caxton,  shall  have  shown 
the  particularly  obtuse  department  of 
the  Woods  and  Forests  how  to  render 
the  western  entrance  to  London  as 
grand  and  imposing  as  that  to  Paris 
from  the  Champs  Elyse"es,  we  shall  per- 
sist in  considering  the  Thames  as  the 
only  worthy  avenue  to  the  great  city, 
and  as  that  through  which  every 
foreigner  should  for  the  first  time 
approach  it.  By  the  Thames  came 
Mrs  Lewald ;  but  the  impression  made 
upon  her  was  not  very  strong,  or 
rather  it  was  weakened  by  that  which 
should  have  heightened  it.  The  mul- 
titude of  vessels,  the  forests  of  masts, 
the  stir  and  bustle,  confused  and 
bewildered  her.  Some  other  Ger- 
mans, passengers  by  the  same  boat, 
were  in  raptures  of  wonderment ;  it 
was  with  a  sort  of  apathetic  indiffe- 
rence that  she  observed  herself  to  be 
in  the  midst  of  innumerable  ships  and 
a  vast  city.  Moreover,  the  good 
lady  inclines  to  the  Cobden  doctrine  ; 
and  the  pleasurable  feelings  inspired 
by  the  sight  of  fleets  of  merchantmen, 
suggesting  imposing  ideas  of  alliance 
and  traffic  between  all  the  nations  of 
the  world,  were  neutralised  to  her  by 
the  frowning  batteries  of  men-of-war 
and  the  warlike  equipage  accumu- 
lated in  Woolwich  arsenal.  She 
could  feel  no  joy  in  wealth  and  civi- 
lisation based  upon  the  downfall  of 
other  nations,  nor  sympathise  in  a 
prosperity  coupled  with  the  barbarism 
of  war;  although,  at  a  few  pages' 
interval,  we  find  her  proclaiming  her 
advocacy  of  systems  and  institutions 
whose  adoption  in  Europe — impos- 
sible, as  we  believe  —  could  never 
be  but  at  the  cost  of  rivers  of 


blood,  and  in  the  projects  of  whoso 
partisans  wholesale  slaughter  is  a 
primary  ingredient.  The  utmost  she 
could  do  was  to  view  such  a  state  of 
things — the  great  guns  and  military 
stores,  we  mean — with  melancholy 
resignation,  as  inevitable,  and,  as  she 
fears,  not  yet  ripe  for  change.  At 
the  Custom-House  she  was  struck  by 
the  democratic  practice  of  giving  pre- 
cedence to  the  examination  of  single 
packages,  so  that  the  man  of  much 
luggage  has  the  longest  to  wait.  She 
was  delighted  at  the  little  trouble 
given  in  the  matter  of  passports ;  and 
in  the  best  of  humours,  well  disposed 
to  be  pleased,  she  reached  the  modest 
lodgings  that  had  been  engaged  for 
her,  on  a  second  floor  in  a  street  near 
Hyde  Park.  It  was  on  Whitsuntide 
eve ;  the  weather  was  fine,  and  her 
friends  advised  her  to  delay  her  ex- 
amination of  London,  and  to  take 
advantage  of  the  sunshine  for  excur- 
sions out  of  town.  For  the  Sunday- 
she  had  already  an  invitation  to  visit 
a  German  family  in  Surrey.  During 
her  drive  from  the  far  west  of  London 
to  the  South  Eastern  Railway,  her 
attention  was  attracted  by  the  great 
number  of  monuments  she  passed — 
attracted,  however,  by  their  number 
rather  than  by  their  good  taste.  Her 
comments  are  by  no  means  uniformly 
judicious.  The  National  Gallery,  the 
most  abortive,  ill-planned,  and  con- 
temptible public  building  ever  destined 
for  so  ambitious  a  purpose  as  the- 
receptacle  of  a  great  nation's  artistic 
wealth,  she  designates  as  grandiose 
(grossartig.}  The  same  person  who 
is  guilty  of  this  misapplication  of 
praise  very  sensibly  criticises  the- 
practice  of  elevating  statues  on  the 
summit  of  lofty  columns.  "  Between- 
two  great  fountains  rises  a  monument 
to  Nelson.  He  stands  in  military 
uniform  upon  the  top  of  a  pillar, 
looking  just  as  little  and  doll-like  aa 
Napoleon  on  the  Vendome  column. 
So  the  absurdity  of  placing  portrait- 
statues  of  great  men  at  such  an  eleva- 
tion that,  dwindled  into  dwarfs,  they 
lose  all  interest  for  the  spectator,  is 
domiciled  also  in  England  1  The 
Duke  of  York's  statue  is  another 
example  of  this.  He  is  represented- 
enveloped  in  a  long  mantle,  above 
which  only  the  uncovered  head  ap- 
pears; and  this  is  surmounted  by  thG 


1851.] 


The  London  Diary  of  a  German  Authoress. 


iron  rod  of  a  lightning  conductor, 
which  seems  to  go  through  the  head. 
Even  my  sharp  ej'es  could  discern 
little  more  than  a  sack-like  mass, 
with  a  knob  and  along  spike ;  and  yet 
this  may  be  a  good  statue,  rendered 
unprofitable  only  by  its  senseless 
position."  She  hopes  rather  than 
believes  in  the  possible  goodness  of 
the  too -exalted  statue,  for  she  else- 
where expresses  herself  in  anything 
but  favourable  terms  with  respect  to 
those  monuments  of  this  class  in 
London,  whose  humbler  position  per- 
mitted her  to  examine  them.  She  is 
an  advocate  for  dressing  statues  in 
the  costume  of  their  time,  and  ridi- 
cules classic  drapery  upon  modern 
warriors  and  statesmen.  Upon  this 
ground  she  considers  the  statue  of 
Huskisson,  in  the  commercial  room  at 
Lloyd's,  as  the  most  remarkable  thing 
in  the  whole  building.  "It  is  so 
tasteless,"  she  says,  "  that  it  is  actu- 
ally comical.  The  English  minister 
of  commerce,  who  lost  his  life  in  the 
nineteenth  century  at  the  opening  of 
a  Manchester  railway,  is  depicted 
with  naked  breast,  and  draped  in  a 
toga,  like  some  ancient  Greek  or 
Roman.  In  addition  to  this,  he  wears 
great  boots,  but  of  so  thin  a  texture 
that  the  whole  foot,  with  its  toes  and 
joints,  shows  through  it.  To  me  it  is 
matter  of  daily  recurring  astonish- 
ment that  in  England,  where  the  first 
works  of  art  of  antiquity  are  to  be 
found — where  so  strong  a  love  for  art 
prevails  that  the  English  pass  for  the 
best  purchasers  of  modern  sculpture — 
and  where  in  the  exhibition  one  sees 
so  many  beautiful  busts — most  of 
the  statues  upon  public  places  are 
so  remarkably  bad."  She  makes 
but  few  exemptions  from  this  cen- 
sure ;  and  one  of  these  is  in  favour  of 
the  Duke  of  Wellington's  statue  in 
front  of  the  Exchange.  She  was 
struck  and  interested  by  what  she 
terms  the  "  worship"  of  the  Duke  in 
this  country.  "  Praiseworthy  as  a 
sign  of  gratitude,  pleasing,  as  show- 
ing respect  for  the  venerable  hero,  I 
yet  could  not  help  being  reminded  by 
it  of  the  adoration  paid  by  the  Ro- 
mans to  their  emperors,  before  they 
raised  them  to  the  rank  of  gods.  I 
have  already  seen  three  statues  and  a 
monument  in  his  honour."  She  finds 
fault  with  the  Achilles,  considers 


211 

the  equestrian  statue  opposite  Apsley 
House  a  failure,  "  the  Duke  sitting 
on  his  horse  as  stiff  as  the  ghost  of 
the  commander  in  Don  Juan,"  but 
praises  the  statue  in  the  city  for  its- 
truth  to  nature,  the  rider  sitting 
easily,  on  a  motionless  horse,  as  if  a- 
regiment  were  defiling  before  him. 
"  His  steed  is  an  English  blood-horse, 
fine-limbed,  with  small  hoof,  small 
head,  and  veins  starting  through  its- 
skin,  and  stands  on  all  four  feet,  firm 
and  immovable,  like  a  well- trained 
manege  horse.  This  plan  of  repre- 
senting a  slender  blood-horse,  the 
individual  portrait  of  a  horse,  in  op- 
position to  the  typical  war-horse, 
whose  abstract  idea  has  hitherto  been 
conventionally  adopted  for  equestrian 
statues,  struck  me  as  novel,  but  not 
ungraceful."  Whilst  on  the  subject 
of  art,  and  as  we  have  no  intention 
of  accompanying  Mrs  Lewald  day  by 
day  through  her  rambles  in  and 
around  London,  we  will  pass  on  to 
her  visit  to  the  exhibition  of  the- 
Royal  Academy.  Except  to  a  few 
artists  and  enthusiastic  amateurs,  a 
last  year's  exhibition  of  pictures, 
when  this  year's  is  open,  is  almost  as 
stale  and  uninteresting  a  thing  as  one 
of  last  week's  daily  papers.  We 
revert  to  it,  nevertheless ;  because 
there  is  interest  in  the  impression  it 
made  on  a  foreigner  of  at  least  ave- 
rage intelligence,  who  loves  art,  and 
has  seen  and  studied  many  of  the- 
artistic  treasures  contained  in  the  gal- 
leries of  Italy  and  Germany.  Mrs 
Lewald's  first  and  strong  impression, 
on  her  visit  to  the  exhibition  of  the 
Academy,  was  twofold.  She  found 
that  the  English  were  better  sculptors- 
than  painters,  and  that,  amongst  the 
painters,  the  higher  the  style  selected 
the  less  was  the  talent  shown.  As- 
she  visited  the  exhibition  in  company 
with  two  German  artists,  who  had 
frequently  been  there  before,  we  may 
presume  that  her  impressions  were  in* 
some  measure  controlled  and  corro- 
borated by  their  maturer  examina- 
tion and  more  experienced  judg- 
ment. However  this  may  have  been, 
many  of  her  views  on  the  subject  of 
the  present  school  of  British  art  are 
exceedingly  just.  She  is  struck  with 
admiration  by  the  perfection  of  the 
miniature  painting,  warmly  admires 
the  water-colour  drawings,  whether 


212  The  London  Diary  of 

landscapes,  portraits,  interiors,  or  still 
life.  In  oils,  she  speaks  highly  of  the 
simplicity  and  truth  to  nature  of 
landscapes  and  marine  views,  finds  the 
portraits  often  equally  good,  and  some 
of  the  genre  pictures  very  graceful 
and  gay ;  but  with  a  few  notable 
exceptions  she  utterly  condemns  the 
historical  pictures.  At  the  same 
time  she  remarks  that,  of  late,  Ger- 
many has  produced  few  good  histori- 
cal pictures,  Italy  none,  and  that 
only  the  French — to  whom  their 
revolutions  and  their  African  wars 
have  suggested  incomparable  subjects 
— have  done  much  that  is  great  in 
that  high  walk  of  art.  Her  criti- 
cisms, however,  it  is  easy  to  discern, 
attach  themselves  especially  to  the 
subject  and  general  conception  of  a 
picture — less  particularly  to  its  mere 
technical  merits.  She  allots  the 
palm  to  Landseer's  painting  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  and  his  daughter- 
in-law.  "  Two  simply  composed, 
and  very  sweetly  executed  pictures 
by  Eastlake,  especially  a  '  Good 
Samaritan,'  had  almost  a  German 
stamp,  and  made  me  understand  the 
predilection  which  Peter  Von  Corne- 
lius cherishes  for  that  painter."  After 
criticising  at  some  length,  as  power- 
ful, but  most  unpleasing,  Armitage's 
picture  of  Aholibah,  she  gives  us,  in 
a  few  lines,  her  appreciation  of  the 
pre-Raphaelite  school.  "  As  ludi- 
crously bad  as  Aholibah  was  for- 
bidding, was  a  biblical  genre-pictui'Q 
by  Millais.  It  is  as  coarsely  comic 
as  a  Capuchin  friar's  sermon.  St 
Joseph  and  his  man  are  at  work  in 
their  carpenter's  shop.  The  saint  is 
on  the  right,  his  assistant  at  the  other 
extremity  of  their  joiner's-bench,  and 
in  the  middle  is  an  old  woman  who 
may  perhaps  be  intended  for  St  Anna. 
In  the  foreground  stands  the  child 
Jesus  in  his  little  shirt,  crying 
bitterly,  because  he  has  torn  his 
hands  with  a  nail,  in  the  very  place 
where,  at  a  future  day,  he  is  to  bear 
the  stigmata.  The  future  wounds 
upon  the  feet  are  indicated  by  drops 
of  blood  that  have  fallen  upon  them. 
The  Virgin  kneels  beside  him,  also 
with  a  weeping  countenance,  and 
offers  him  her  cheek  to  kiss,  whilst 
she  breathes  upon  the  wounds  in  his 
hands.  St  Anna  resolutely  grasps 
the  pincers,  to  extract  the  offending 


a  German  Authoress. 


[Aug. 


nail,  which  sticks  out  of  the  carpen- 
ter's bench  like  a  clove.  Wood- 
shavings  of  various  sizes  constitute 
the  simple  decorations  of  the  fore- 
ground." An  unprejudiced  piece  of 
criticism,  which  we  recommend  to  the 
notice  of  Mr  Ruskin  and  the  other 
supporters  of  a  small  and  conceited 
clique  of  pretentious  innovators  in  art. 
We  left  Mrs  Lewald  on  her  way  to 
visit  a  family  in  Surrey.  She  met  a 
kind  reception,  and  was  prepossessed 
in  favour  of  her  hostess  by  her  like- 
ness to  George  Sand  ;  ate  "  pepper- 
mint sauce"  to  her  lamb;  discussed 
phrenology,  a  favourite  study  of  the 
mistress  of  the  house — who  also  had 
a  pet  theory  concerning  the  necessity 
of  changing  air,  in  virtue  of  which 
her  guest  passed  the  day  in  a  thorough 
draught ;  read  with  great  satisfaction  a 
glowing  eulogium  of  the  aforesaid  Mrs 
Sand  in  an  English  weekly  paper, 
defending  her  private  life,  and  exalt- 
ing her  literary  fame ;  strolled  across 
meadows  and  corn-fields  in  the  warm 
May  sunshine  ;  and  so  home,  as  Mr 
Pepys  would  say,  well  pleased  with 
her  first  Sunday  in  England.  Next 
day,  Whit-Monday,  she  was  off  to 
Windsor,  escorted  by  three  of  her 
countrymen.  She  is  eloquent  on  the 
discomforts  of  the  excursion  train  by 
which  they  incautiously  embarked, 
and  on  the  misery  of  being  hurried 
through  the  castle  with  a  mob,  far 
faster  than  she  could  have  wished,  or 
than  permitted  her  to  enjoy  her  visit. 
And  how  terribly  "  police-less"  was 
the  railway  train  that  took  her  home, 
with  second-class  passengers  in  first- 
class  carriages,  drunken  men  in 
abundance,  and  confusion  every- 
where. Still  more  policdess  did  she 
find  things  next  day,  upon  her  visit 
to  Greenwich  fair,  where  she  was 
greatly  struck  with  the  profusion  of 
gingerbread,  and  rather  startled  by 
the  application  to  her  shoulders  of 
what  she  terms  u  scretches,  the  con- 
fetti of  Greenwich ; "  where  she  im- 
bibed, with  much  satisfaction,  a  flow- 
ing tumbler  of  u  pale-ale  draught," 
and,  but  for  the  multitude  of  drunken 
people,  would  have  been  strongly 
reminded  by  the  whole  scene  of  an 
Italian  popular  festival.  Strangely 
enough,  she  is  frequently  reminded  of 
Italy  by  England.  The  general  no- 
tion is,  that  few  countries  are  more 


1851.] 


The  London  Diary  of  a  German  Authoress. 


213 


dissimilar.  She  is  struck,  too,  by  the 
independent  mode  of  living  in  the 
open  air,  by  the  numbers  of  persons 
frequenting  the  public  parks  and 
gardens,  and  there  pursuing  their 
occupations  of  reading,  sewing,  &c. 
This  seems  odd  to  us,  accustomed  as 
we  are  to  consider  ourselves,  in  con- 
sequence of  our  climate,  one  of  the 
nations  of  Europe  who  best  like  to 
do  everything  with  a  roof  overhead. 
To  be  sure,  Mrs  Lewald  was  here  in 
the  very  finest  part  of  the  year  ;  but 
still  she  must  have  noticed  the  ab- 
sence of  those  out- door  resources 
which  abound  in  France,  Germany, 
and  the  south — of  the  al-fresco  coffee- 
houses, concerts,  reading-rooms,  and 
ice- saloons,  so  abundant  on  the  Con- 
tinent, but  which  here  we  have  not, 
because  they  would  be  available  but 
for  a  very  few  weeks — often  only  for 
a  few  days — in  the  whole  year. 

Greenwich  fair  concluded  Mrs  Le- 
wald's  Whitsun  excursions,  and  she 
began  to  look  about  her  in  the  streets 
of  London,  to  visit  old  acquaintances, 
and  make  new  ones.  Although  she 
here  and  there  got  a  glimpse  of  the 
better  classes  of  English  society,  and 
received  an  invitation  to  breakfast  or 
to  an  evening  party  in  houses  both 
Christian  and  correct,  the  most  of  her 
time  appears  to  have  been  passed 
amongst  her  co-religionists,  English 
and  foreign,  some  of  whom  usually 
acted  as  her  ciceroni  when  she  went 
out  to  see  the  town ;  and  some  of 
whom,  as  is  often  the  case,  took  upon 
themselves  to  make  her  do  as  they 
liked,  rather  than  as  she  liked.  The 
poor  woman — who  felt  quite  bewil- 
dered on  looking  over  the  London 
guide-book  and  discovering  how  much 
she  had  to  see  in  a  very  short  time — 
and  who,  moreover,  soon  found,  by 
unpleasant  experience,  that  the  balmy 
sunshine,  which  had  greeted  her  ar- 
rival in  England,  was  not  very  con- 
stant even  in  the  month  of  May — 
would  gladly  have  abandoned  her 
side- street  to  establish  herself  on  a 
line  of  omnibuses.  But  it  was  ungen- 
teel,  her  friends  assured  her,  to  live 
over  a  shop,  even  in  a  broad  hand- 
some street — people  who  saw  her  go 
in,  might  think  she  went  to  visit  the 
shopkeeper's  wife — she  must  remem- 
ber she  was  in  London,  not  in  Berlin  ! 
So,  to  gratify  the  "  gentility  "  of  her 


friends,  she  had  many  a  walk  through 
the  rain,  caught  a  cold,  and  was 
menaced  with  mustard  plasters,  and 
nearly  poisoned  with  bad  beef-tea. 
But  she  was  active  and  resolute,  and 
did  not  let  indisposition  long  detain 
her  from  her  persevering  pursuit  of 
novelty.  Sunday,  when  sight-seeing 
was  impossible,  was  her  day  of  repose 
and  letter- writing. 

"It  is  Sunday,  and  on  Sunday 
London  ceases  to  live,  like  Rome  in 
rainy  weather.  All  the  shops  are 
shut,  no  fresh  bread  or  piece  of  meat 
are  to  be  had,  no  postmen  pass  along 
the  streets — the  stillness  is  striking, 
the  church  bells  lift  to  heaven  their 
voices  of  mournful  entreaty.  And,  as 
yonder  the  monopolised  lottery  offices 
and  tobacco  shops  are  kept  open,  so 
are  here  the  tobacconists  and  public- 
houses.  Brandy  and  tobacco  seem 
here  to  be  considered  more  necessary 
than  bread  and  meat." 

Mrs  Lewald,  who  is  a  Prussian  sub- 
ject, was  asked  to  breakfast  at  her 
ambassador's,  to  whom  she  had  a 
letter  of  recommendation  from  Baron 
Huinboldt.  "Invitations  to  break- 
fast," she  says,  "are  a  custom  pecu- 
liar to  England.  What  we  in  Ger- 
many understand  thereby,  are  dinner- 
breakfasts,  beginning  at  twelve  or 
one  o'clock,  and  whose  sole  difference 
from  a  regular  dinner  consists  in  eat- 
ing your  soup  out  of  cups  instead  of 
off  plates.  Here  you  go  to  breakfast 
between  nine  and  ten  o'clock,  and  it 
is  really  the  first  meal  of  the  day. 
You  are  not  expected  to  dress,  which 
gives  an  easy  unceremonious  aspect 
to  the  meeting ;  an  hour  is  passed  in 
conversation,  and  the  party  breaks  up 
early  enough  not  to  interfere  with  the 
daily  occupations  of  the  men."  It  is 
due  to  Mrs  Lewald  to  say  that  she 
brought  to  this  country  a  strong  dis- 
position to  be  pleased  with  all  its 
customs,  and  to  look  on  the  brightest 
side  of  everything.  At  the  Prussian 
ambassador's  she  met  Mr  Monckton 
Milnes — one  of  the  first  living  lyric 
poets  of  England,  she  informs  us  ;  and 
at  a  breakfast  to  which  he  invited 
her,  she  was  greatly  gratified  by 
meeting  the  talented  author  of  Vanity 
Fair,  and  other  literary  notabilities. 
Herself  an  authoress,  she  was,  not 
unnaturally,  eager  to  make  acquain- 
tances amongst  her  English  cotem- 


214 


The  London  Diary  of  a  German  Authoress. 


[Augv 


porarics  of  the  same  order ;  and  she 
was  successful  in  obtaining  an  intro- 
duction to  many  of  them,  although  in 
very  few  instances  does  her  intercourse 
with  them  appear  to  have  extended 
beyond  one  brief  interview.  The  no- 
tice that  was  taken  of  her  seems  to 
have  proceeded  rather  from  hospitali- 
ty towards  a  foreigner,  and  from  the 
recommendations  of  third  persons, 
than  from  the  sympathy  or  interest 
she  herself  inspired  ;  and  one  cannot 
get  rid  of  a  notion,  derived  from  her 
own  account  of  her  stay  in  London, 
that  there  was  a  something  in  the 
tone  of  mind  and  conversation  of 
the  bold -spoken  German  Jewess 
that  was  uncongenial  to  Eng- 
lish feelings  and  ideas.  She  had 
greater  success  amongst  those  of  her 
own  creed,  by  whom  she  was  made 
much  of,  as  a  shining  light,  and 
amongst  the  chiefs  of  the  democratic 
emigration  then  assembled  in  Eng- 
land. She  gives  a  graphic  and  amus- 
ing account  of  an  evening  visit  which 
she  paid,  in  company  with  two  other 
ladies,  an  Englishwoman  and  a  Ger- 
man, to  a  haunt  of  French  Socialists, 
in  a  back  street  at  the  west  end  of 
London.  The  object  of  the  visit  was 
to  hear  M.  Louis  Blanc's  last  lecture 
(of  a  course  which  he  had  been  giving) 
upon  the  history  of  Socialism.  "  The 
house  was  of  insignificant  appearance, 
and  Miss  B.  only  recognised  it,  al- 
though she  had  been  there  before,  by 
a  group  of  bearded  men  in  caps  and 
Calabrian  hats  standing  before  the 
door.  The  lectures  took  place  once 
every  fortnight,  from  nine  till  ten 
o'clock  in  the  evening;  and  as  M. 
Louis  Blanc  wished  to  guard  against 
too  great  a  concourse  of  people — an 
apprehension  which  proved  ground- 
less— admission  was  obtainable  only 
by  tickets,  distributed  gratis. 

"  Passing  through  a  whole  gloomy 
floor  of  the  house,  and  a  long,  narrow, 
dark  corridor,  we  reached  a  building 
in  a  yard,  which  was  used  as  a  school 
for  the  poor.  The  style  of  the  building 
differed  from  anything  I  had  as  yet 
seen  on  this  side  the  Channel.  A  lamp 
hung  from  the  low  ceiling  of  the 
apartment,  at  whose  further  extremity 
red  flags,  with  the  words  '  fraternite, 
cfjalite,  liberte^  inscribed  upon  them, 
were  fixed  against  the  wall.  Above 
these,  between  two  red  Phrygian  caps, 


was  a  smaller  banner,  with  the  in- 
scription— Second  anniversaire  de  la 
revolution  du  24  Fevrier.  But  the  ban- 
ner was  torn  or  twisted,  so  that  one 
had  to    guess    part  of   the    words. 
Ragged,  full  of  stains,  and  adorned 
with    withered    laurels,    the    whole 
trophy  had   a    painfully   unpleasing 
effect  in  that  desolate  and  (according 
to  English  notions)    unclean  apart- 
ment, from  whose  walls  and  ceiling 
the  paper  hung  in  tatters.     In  front 
of  the  flags  stood  a  table  covered  with 
green  cloth,    on  which  were  sewing 
apparatus  and  children's  toys,  care- 
fully collected  together,  and  evidently 
belonging  to  the  school.   Beside  these 
things  stood  a  broken  earthenware  jug 
and  a  glass  of  water.    The  room  had 
a  damp  and  musty  smell  when  we- 
entered  it.   Gradually  it  filled.  There 
were  about  fifteen  ladies,  and  sixty 
or  seventy  men.   At  an  earlier  period 
of  the  lectures  the  number  of  the  for- 
mer had  been  much  greater.  None  of  the 
men  had  that  varnish  of  elegance  which 
one  rarely  fails  to  find  in  Frenchmen. 
They  were  all  wild-looking  and  ne- 
gligently dressed.    There  were  some 
fine  heads  amongst  them,  however, 
and  hardly  one  commonplace  or  in- 
expressive countenance.      The  group 
would  have  delighted  a  painter.  They 
were  all  frightfully  determined  phy- 
siognomies."     A    most    cut -throat 
looking  assemblage,  we  have  not  the 
slightest  doubt,  and  very  well  suited 
to  the  dirty  den  so  vividly  described 
by  Mrs  Lewald.    We  pass  over  her 
sketches  of  one  or  two  of  these  "  fine 
heads,"  counterparts  to  which  she  and 
her  artist-friends,  if  curious  of  such 
studies,  would  find  in  abundance  in 
the  bagnes  of  Toulon  or  Brest,  and 
proceed  to  her  account  of  the  apostle 
of  the  gang.      "At  last  came  Louis 
Blanc.     I  had  seen  him  in  his  day  of 
power  at  the  Luxemburg,  in  March 
1848.      It  was  the  same  remarkably 
small,  neat  figure,  the  same  minute 
attention  to  dress.      He  wore  a  blue 
coat  with  metal  buttons,  a  high  black 
cravat,  such  as  little  men  often  affect, 
and  dark  gloves.     His  hair  is  brown, 
and  his  profile,  as  well  as  his  whole 
physiognomy,  especially  the  movement 
of  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  has,  to 
my  eyes,  something  Jewish,  although 
he  is  said  to  be  no  Jew,  nor  even  of 
Jewish  family."    Mrs  Lewald  then, 


The  London  Diary  of  a  German  Authoress. 


1851.] 

gives  an  outline  of  M.  Blanc's  oration, 
which  was  in  the  usual  style  of  people 
of  his  description,  and  further  thinks 
this  a  favourable  opportunity  to  pro- 
claim her  political  creed,  and  to  de- 
clare her  conviction  that  the  welfare 
of  mankind  is  to  be  achieved  only 
through  the  principles  of  Socialism. 
However  strong  her  conviction,  her 
enthusiasm  is  evidently  abated  since 
those  happy  days  when  she  wit- 
nessed the  glories  of  the  revolution 
of  1848,  and  she  makes  doleful  com- 
parisons between  the  club  meet- 
ings she  had  then  attended  in  the 
Conservatory  at  Paris,  and  the  hole- 
and-corner  ravings  of  the  fallen  dema- 
gogue and  convicted  charlatan  in 
the  charity  school-room  near  Oxford 
Street.  Do  what  she  would,  the 
ludicrous  side  of  the  picture  presented 
itself,  and  the  passionate  pathos  and 
revolutionary  fulminations  of  M. 
Blanc,  expended  for  the  benefit  of  five 
or  six  dozen  seedy  exiles  in  bandit- 
hats,  seemed  to  her  like  taking  the 
trumpets  of  Jericho  to  blow  the 
kitchen-fire.  We  are  really  at  times 
tempted  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  Mrs 
Lewald's  Socialism ;  so  prone  is  she, 
whilst  lauding  its  partisans,  to  turn 
them  quietly  into  ridicule,  or  indicate 
the  weak  points  of  their  position.  In 
the  most  friendly  manner  possible,  she 
repeatedly  gibbets  her  companion  and 
cicerone  Mr  H.  This,  to  be  sure,  is 
almost  unavoidable,  if  she  speaks  of 
him  at  all.  She  has  merely  to  repeat 
his  words,  to  show  him  up  in  an  odious 
light,  as  the  supporter  of  all  that 
honest  men  are  wont  to  consider 
irrational  and  abominable.  She  went 
to  visit  Queen's  College,  the  establish- 
ment for  the  higher  branches  of  female 
education  —  heard  an  interesting  lec- 
ture, and  inquired  into  the  system 
there  pursued,  which  completely 
chimed  in  with  her  views  for  the  in- 
struction and  elevation  of  her  sex. 

"  When,  in  the  evening,  I  gave  H. 
an  account  of  what  I  had  seen,  he 
declared  himself  unable  to  sympathise 
in  my  approval  of  the  institution, 
since,  judging  from  what  I  had  there 
heard,  it  appeared  probable  to  him 
that  it  was  only  an  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  the  hierarchy  or  monarchy. 
It  was  intended  to  impart  just  so  much 
knowledge  as  should  suffice  to  prove 
that  there  was  no  salvation  save  in 


215 

Christianity  and  constitutional  mo- 
narchy. In  all  such  endeavours  in 
England,  he  saw  only  the  consequence 
of  the  hierarchy,  and  he  could  no  more 
admire  this  than  he  could  admire  the 
energy  of  the  Jesuits." 

Nothing  Christian  or  monarchical 
had  savour  in  the  nostrils  of  this 
pleasant  fellow  and  amiable  philan- 
thropist. His  self- expos  ure  as  a  sul- 
len infidel  and  anarchist  is  the  less 
to  be  regretted  that  it  elicits  from 
Mrs  Lewald  one  of  those  sensible  pas- 
sages sprinkled  here  and  there  through 
her  book,  which  help  to  redeem  its 
objectionable  portions.  "  Of  late 
years,"  she  says,  "  I  have  conceived 
such  an  aversion  to  all  disorganisation, 
to  the  senseless  breaking  up  of  power 
and  means  of  action,  that  an  exam  pie  of 
active,  solid  co-operation  invariably 
inspires  me  with  respect,  especially 
when,  as  here,  it  is  directed  to  a  good 
and  right  end.  It  often  appears  to 
me  as  if  the  English  exercised  their 
practical  self-government  so  rigidly, 
that  they  refuse  to  allow  their  theories 
to  outstrip  their  practice.  Their  in- 
stitutions are,  almost  without  excep- 
tion, more  liberal  than  the  theories 
one  hears  developed  in  conversation. 
They  are  strict  Churchmen,  but  they 
would  not  refuse  a  Mahomedan  or 
heathen  congregation,  or  the  strangest 
sect  of  Christian  dissenters,  a  place 
of  worship  on  English  ground,  and  the 
free  exercise  of  their  religion.  They 
abhor  the  republican  form  of  govern- 
ment, but  the  exiled  republicans  of 
all  countries  find  secure  refuge  under 
the  protection  of  the  English  sceptre. 
They  have  stringent  laws  against 
offences  of  the  press ;  and  yet  the  press 
is  perfectly  free,  because  the  public 
feeling  is  opposed  to  press-prosecu- 
tions. Thus  is  it  in  England  with 
most  things,  whilst  in  Germany 
theories  are  developed  to  their  very 
ultimate  consequences  in  the  minds  of 
a  great  number  of  men ;  but  when  it 
comes  to  the  practical  carrying  of  them 
out,  energy  of  action  lags  far  behind 
the  mental  conviction.  Germans 
have  much  to  learn  from  this  country 
in  every  respect,  and  especially  the 
quality  of  active  patience.  In  Germany, 
many  understand  by  the  words 
patience  and  waiting,  when  political 
interests  are  at  stake,  laying  their 
hands  in  their  lap  and  being  contented 


216 


The  London  Diary  of  a  German  Authoress. 


[An*. 


with  everything.   Here,  being  patient 
means  to  strive  restlessly  for  a  given 
object,  and  never  to  cease  one's  efforts 
until,   step  by  step,   it   is   attained. 
And  that  is  the  right  sort  of  patience, 
hard  as  it  may  be  to  possess  it." 
Allowing  for  slight  inaccuracies,  has 
not  Mrs  Lewald  here  put  her  pen  upon 
the  secret  of  the  tranquillity  that  has 
reigned  in  England,  and  of  the  anarchy 
that  has  rent  Germany,  since  the  be- 
ginning of  1818,  that  fatal  year  of  folly 
and  revolution?      It  is   curious    to 
remark  in  the  course  of  her  book  how, 
during  her  stay  in  England — whither, 
as  she  says  in  her  preface,  she  came 
with  both  mind  and  eyes  open  to 
impressions— convictions  steal   upon 
her,    diametrically   opposed    to    the 
nonsensical  theories  she  had  previously 
cherished,  and  which  she  still  is  loath 
to  abandon.     She  somewhere  says, 
whilst    praising    this    country,    and 
expressing  gratitude   for  the   kind- 
ness she  met  with,  that  she  could, 
with  pleasure,  take  up  her  abode  in 
England.     We  suspect  that  it  would 
need  no  very  long  residence  to  wean 
her  from  the  most  obnoxious  of  those 
delusions  which  at  present  hold  her 
captive.    It  is  with  no    good  will, 
however,  that  we  find  ourselves  com- 
pelled to  censure  the  tenets  or  writings 
of  a  lady  who  says  so  many  civil  things 
about  this  country,  and  who  so  re- 
peatedly and  earnestly  praises   the 
hospitality,  benevolence,  good  sense, 
and    tolerant    spirit    of  its    people. 
Many  of  the  comparisons  she  estab- 
lishes between  England  and  Germany 
are  by  no  means  favourable  to  the 
latter.      We  know  not  how  far  the 
following    shrewd    remarks  will    be 
acceptable  to  her  countrywomen. 

uOf  that  artificial  infancy  and 
purposely  -  prolonged  childhood  in 
which  we  in  Germany  strive  to 
detain  our  women  and  children,  there 
is  here  no  trace.  An  Englishman 
would  take  it  for  a  very  bad  compli- 
ment if  you  vaunted  to  him  that  the 
girl  he  proposed  to  marry  was  '  quite 
a  child,'  a  kind  of  praise  at  which 
many  Germans  would  be  delighted  : — 
the  delight  of  a  petty  vanity,  which 
often  enough  is  converted  into  bitter 
sorrow,  when  life  presents  itself  in 
its  more  serious  aspects,  and  the  hus- 
band, instead  of  finding  himself  with 
an  earnest  courageous  helpmate,  be- 


holds at  his  side  a  faint-hearted  help- 
less creature,  whom  he  has  to  sustain 
and  support  though  he  himself  need 
assistance.     A  very  sensible  English- 
woman, whom  I  often  see,  and  who  has 
long  resided  upon  the  Continent,  re- 
cently expressed  herself  very  severely 
with  respect  to  the  majority  of  Ger- 
man marriages,  the  ineptitude  of  the 
women  and  the  consequent  absence 
of  respect  towards  them  on  the  part 
of  the  men.     '  Your  countrywomen,' 
she    said,    '  are  children    or  house- 
keepers ;  they  know  not  how  to  help 
themselves,  or,  when  they  do,  they  dare 
not.  One  sees  evidence  of  that  even  in 
theirpersonal  appearance.  Hardly  any 
of  them  can  stand  or  walk  tolerably, 
and  yet  the  men  let  them  ramble  about 
the  streets  alone   and  unsupported. 
We  in  England  can  stand  and  walk, 
and  ride  and  drive  also,  and  no  Eng- 
lishman would  walk  beside  a  woman 
without   offering  her  his    arm    and 
his  support.'     How  much  of  this  is 
exaggeration,  how  much  the  truth, 
we  know  only  too  well.  I  was  obliged 
to  admit  a  great  deal,  whilst,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  Englishwoman  was 
compelled  to  acknowledge  numerous 
and    honourable     exceptions.        A 
recently    published    romance,     The 
Initials,    whose    scene    is    laid    in 
Munich,  and  which  is  written  by  a 
lady  who   must    have    derived    her 
knowledge  of  German  life  from  obser- 
vation of  the  middle  classes  of  society, 
judges    and  lashes   German  women 
with  satirical  bitterness.     Like  most 
satirists,  she  runs  into  exaggeration 
and  often  overshoots  her  mark ;  but 
yet  there  is  truth  in  her  delineations. 
It  were  no  bad  thing  to  translate 
the  book,  and  show  the  women  of 
Germany  in  what  light  they  appear 
to  the  eyes  of  Englishwomen. 
As  we  lately,  whilst  discussing  this 
subject,   got  upon  the  question    of 
education,   and  I  observed   that  in 
Germany  it  was  considered  good  to 
let  boys  and  girls  be  children  as  long 
as  possible,   she  asked  me,   *  Is  it, 
then,  such  happiness  to  play  with  a 
leathern   doll   or  a  wooden    horse? 
Keep    them    young    and    fresh    by 
bodily  exercise  in  the  open  air,  but 
give  to  them,  as   soon  as  possible, 
that  which    you   yourselves  esteem 
your    chief   treasures  —  the    use    of 
their  mental  faculties,  and  a  love  for 


1851.] 


The  London  Diary  of  a  German  Authoress. 


217 


the  great  and  the  beautiful.  At  the 
same  time  they  may  ride,  and  play  at 
cricket,  dance  and  sing,  and  enjoy  a 
far  higher  degree  of  cheerfulness 
than  they  could  derive  from  unneces- 
sarily prolonged  trifling  with  tasteless 
toys.' 

"  Besides  the  above  explained  view 
of  the  dependence  of  German  women, 
there  exists  in  England  a  second 
notion  concerning  them,  to  which 
have  given  rise  the  few  German  imi- 
tators of  George  Sand's  youthful 
exaggerations.  Very  sensible  Eng- 
lishwomen have  gravely  asked  me 
whether  it  were  true  that  in  Germany 
the  female  partisans  of  the  Socialist 
theories  went  about  in  men's  clothes, 
spoke  at  public  meetings,  and  shared 
in  the  orgies  of  their  husbands  and 
friends  ?  and  many  more  such  whim- 
sical questions.  In  some  cases  I  was 
able  to  trace  the  origin  of  these 
fancies  back  to  a  source  casually 
known  to  me,  but  not  to  be  relied 
upon,  and  so  could  authoritatively 
exculpate  our  poor  countrywomen 
from  the  reproach  of  such  absurdity. 
It  really  often  seemed  as  if  they 
thought  we  had  a  race  of  Amazons 
living  amongst  us.  When  I  corrected 
the  misapprehension,  and  affirmed 
that,  to  my  knowledge,  only  two 
women  in  Germany  had  worn  men's 
clothes — the  one  out  of  mistaken  ideas 
of  emancipation,  the  other,  to  accom- 
pany her  husband  in  a  campaign — 
they  believed  so  much  the  more 
readily  that  the  other  stories  of  the 
kind  which  had  been  repeated  to 
them  had  contained  downright  lies, 
or  at  least  great  exaggeration.  It  is 
never  difficult  to  convince  the  English 
of  actual  truths ;  for  as  they  them- 
selves are  truthful  and  positive — they 
call  it  matter-of-fact — so  have  they 
also  a  quick  feeling  for  truth  in  others. 
I  esteem  them  more  every  day,  and 
already  I  could  easily  make  up  my 
mind  to  remain  permanently  in  Eng- 
land." 

Mrs  Lewald's  visits  to  London 
theatres  were  not  numerous.  She 
attended  some  morning  concerts,  and 
exclaims  against  their  too  great  dura- 
tion. One  comprised  seven-and- 
twenty  pieces  of  music,  another  four- 
and-thirty.  She  declares  herself  con- 
tented with  half  the  quantity.  The 
performances  at  the  Opera- House 


she  also  finds,  not  without  reason, 
enormously  lengthy.  "A  German 
lover  of  music  leaves  the  opera  quite 
satisfied  when  he  has  heard  Lucia  di 
Lammermoor ;  the  English  public 
expects  much  more.  To-day,  at 
Her  Majesty's  Theatre,  the  smallest 
of  the  two  Italian  opera-houses,  they 
gave  first  Lucia,  then  &  divertissement, 
in  which  Ferraris  danced,  then  seve- 
ral scenes  out  of  the  Elisir  d'Amore, 
and  finally  a  ballet.  I  only  remained 
for  Lucia  and  the  little  divertissement." 
She  is  no  admirer  of  the  present  style 
of  dancing,  and  denounces  as  bar- 
barous and  graceless  what  she  calls 
"  the  fakeer-like  muscle-torture, " 
which  draws  down  thunders  of  ap- 
plause from  indiscriminating  audi- 
ences. "  Beautiful  it  neither  is,  nor 
ever  can  be,  to  see  a  dancer  rise  upon 
the  point  of  her  toe,  till  her  foot  looks 
like  a  crippled  horse's  foot,  her  whole 
body  quivering  with  the  strain  upon 
the  muscles,  the  stereotyped  smile 
converted  into  a  painful  grin,  and 
then  elevate  her  other  foot  into  a 
horizontal  position,  and  spin  franti- 
cally round  upon  the  point  of  the  toe. 
As  often  as  I  have  heard  bravo 
shouted  at  such  an  exhibition,  and 
witnessed  the  rapture  of  the  men, 
and  the  admiring  wonder  of  the 
women,  so  often  have  I  trembled  for 
our  condition  and  civilisation."  Mrs 
Lewald  treats  the  matter  rather  too 
seriously,  and  wastes  her  virtuous 
indignation,  as  well  as  her  alarm,  at 
the  possible  evil  effect  upon  our  civi- 
lisation of  those  feats  of  supple  dis- 
tortion by  which  a  Ferraris  or  a 
Taglioni  win  the  hearts  of  the 
stalls,  and  draw  bouquets  from 
the  boxes.  Descending  from  the 
opera  to  the  minor  theatres,  we  pre- 
sently find  her  hugely  diverted  at 
what  she  calls  "  a  capital  buffoonery," 
an  Adelphi  burlesque,  from  whose 
facetious  rhymes  she  makes  extracts 
in  her  book ;  but  as  she  pays  the 
same  compliment,  at  equal  length  and 
with  seemingly  equal  gusto,  to  the 
effusions  of  an  advertising  tailor's 
tame  poet,  her  approbation  can  hardly 
be  esteemed  very  valuable.  She  is 
not  so  well  pleased  at  the  Haymarket, 
where,  she  says,  "  the  costumes, 
scenery,  and  machinery  left  nothing 
to  desire;  but  the  men  played  so  badly 
in  their  fine  clothes,  that  I  fancied 


The  London  Diary  of  a  German  Authoress. 


218 

I  saw  before  me  the  veterans  of  the 
Berlin  theatre."  Amongst  other 
more  or  less  valid  reasons  for  the 
decline  of  the  British  stage,  she  in- 
cludes the  enormously  high  prices  of 
the  two  Italian  Operas.  "  It  ensues 
from  the  peculiar  organisation  of 
English  society,  that  all  desire  to 
be  thought  rich,  or  at  least  well 
off,  and  therefore  love  to  show  them- 
selves at  such  places  as  are  acces- 
sible only  to  the  wealthy.  To  visit 
the  Italian  Opera  once  in  the  year 
is  a  point  of  honour  with  persons 
of  small  income,  just  as  it  is  a  satis- 
faction to  the  rich  to  have  a  box 
there  for  the  whole  season.  Instead 
of  going  thrice  a-year  to  the  Eng- 
lish theatre,  people  go  out  of  vanity 
once  to  the  Italian  Opera ;  and  the 
visits  to  the  national  drama,  and 
therewith  all  sympathy  in  its  pro- 
ductions, are  sacrificed  to  fashion. 
Were  it  possible  to  compel  the  opera- 
house  managers  to  reduce  their  prices 
to  the  level  of  the  other  theatres,  it 
is  my  belief  that  many  persons,  who 
know  little  about  music  and  not  a 
word  of  Italian,  would  abandon 
foreignperformances  for  those  theatres 
where  English  plays  are  performed  in 
the  English  tongue."  It  will  not 
escape  our  readers  that  Mrs  Lewald 
has  a  sharp  eye  for  the  foibles  of  the 
English  character,  as  well  as  a  pen 
always  ready  to  extol  its  good  quali- 
ties. Many  of  her  strictures  are  just 
enough  in  the  main;  but,  shrewd 
though  she  unquestionably  is,  she 
was  hardly  long  enough  in  the  coun- 
try to  be  always  correct  in  details ; 
and  it  is  easy  to  discern  that  her 
imperfect  knowledge  of  the  language, 
or  the  imperfect  German  of  her  Eng- 
lish acquaintances,  has  occasionally 
led  her  astray.  When  citing  the 
evils  of  what  she  calls  "  the  mon- 
archical centralisation  system,"  she 
gives  a  concise  but  highly-coloured 
sketch  of  a  London  season.  "  It  is 
the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  every  one," 
she  says,  "to  pass  the  season  in 
London  and  push  themselves  up  a 
step  higher  upon  the  ladder.  It  is 
with  reason  that  the  English  speak 
scoffingly  of  this  '  tip-top'  system. 
Tli e  angels  could  not  swarm  morebusi- 
ly  up  Jacob's  ladder,  than  does  every 
one  here  squeeze  his  way  upwards. 
To  be  seen  in  this  or  that  house,  to 


[Aug. 


be  able  to  say  that  you  know  this  or 
that  person — meaning  perhaps  that 
you  saw  him  across  a  room  in  a  third 
person's  house— to  have  one's  car- 
riage standing  at  this  or  that  door — 
for  the  great  routs  are  so  crowded 
that  one  half  the  guests  never  reach 
the  drawing-rooms,  or  even  get  into 
the  house  at  all — all  these  are  points 
of  the  greatest  importance.  Of  course 
there  are  some  Englishmen  above  all 
this,  who  join  me  in  smiling  when  we 
hear  tell  of  such  things.  The  richest 
bankers  covet  an  invitation  from  a 
lord  or  a  presentation  at  court ; 
every  one  is  eager  after  the  acquain- 
tance of  celebrated  persons.  This 
eagerness  often  springs  not  from  a 
wish  for  actual  intercourse  with  per- 
sons whose  acts  or  writings  have 
made  them  interesting,  but  from  a 
desire  for  that  sort  of  distinction  con- 
ferred by  acquaintance  with  those 
with  whom  it  is  perhaps  not  easy  to 
become  acquainted.  People  strive 
after  it  as  they  do  after  an  order, 
because  it  is  a  distinction.  Never- 
theless I  have  not  feared  to  confess  to 
many  of  my  acquaintances,  how  much 
I  should  like  to  know  Dickens ; 
neither  did  I  hesitate  to-day  to  ac- 
company Mr  G.  and  Miss  S.  on  a  visit 
to  old  Lady  Morgan,  because  her 
romance,  The  Begums,  was  long  ago  a 
great  favourite  of  mine.  It  was  the  first 
of  that  class  of  English  novels  which 
I  ever  read.  And  Lady  Morgan 
most  completely  represents  her  works. 
She  still  lives  and  moves  in  the  little 
affairs  of  the  great  world  which  she 
used  to  portray,  and  takes  the  same 
warm  interest  in  it  at  her  advanced 
age  as  in  her  earlier  years.  She 
inhabits  a  pretty  house  beyond  Hyde 
Park — of  course  in  a  fashionable  part 
of  town.  We  were  conducted  through 
three  rooms,  full  of  oil-paintings, 
portraits,  statues,  and  curiosities. 
Amongst  these  were  busts  and  pic- 
tures of  the  lady  at  various  periods 
of  her  life,  and  in  the  most  various 
fancy- dresses,  in  which  it  was  once 
the  fashion  to  have  one's -self 
painted,  now  as  a  muse,  then  as 
Sappho,  &c.,  &c.  According  to  these 
portraits,  Lady  Morgan  must  have 
been  handsome."  A  gossipping 
description  follows,  of  her  ladyship's 
balcony  and  bonnet,  flowers  and  rings. 
"  She  sat  in  a  comfortable  arm- chair, 


1851.]  The  London  Diary  of 

with  cushions  around  her,  told  us 
about  a  soiree  she  had  been  at  a  few 
days  before,  and  of  other  soirees  and 
parties,  speaking  in  a  lively  manner, 
now  in  English,  now  in  French, 
talking  of  a  whole  catalogue  of  lords 
and  ladies,  and  telling  us  various 
little  facts  and  current  anecdotes  of 
society.  She  also  spoke  of  Pasta, 
now  here,  and  who  is  to  perform  once 
more — for  the  benefit  of  the  Italian 
refugees,  as  I  believe  ;  remarked  how 
she  herself  was  sought  after  in 
society,  notwithstanding  the  retire- 
ment in  which  she  lived  ;  advised  me 
to  translate  certain  English  romances ; 
received  the  visit  of  an  attache  to 
the  Turkish  embassy  ;  and  when  we 
took  our  leave  of  her,  I  felt  as  if  I 
had  been  transported  for  a  while  into 
that  world  which  Lady  Morgan  once 
was  wont  so  skilfully  to  describe." 
Apropos  of  translations,  and  of  a 
visit  to  Mr  and  Mrs  Pulsky,  whom 
she  found  busily  compiling,  and 
rendering  into  English,  works  relat- 
ing to  Hungary,  its  history,  tradi- 
tions, and  revolutions,  Mrs  Lewald 
sets  down  her  notions  concerning 
English  appreciation  of  German 
literature.  Considering  the  short 
time  she  had  to  ascertain  the  here- 
prevailing  taste  in  that  respect,  her 
views  are  tolerably  correct.  She  had 
had,  it  is  true,  by  this  time,  the  advan- 
tage of  a  conversation  with  Mrs  Austen 
and  other  competent  authorities,  by 
whom  any  delusions  she  may  have 
cherished  as  to  the  popularity  in  this 
country  of  what  she  styles  the  Litera- 
ture of  the  Revolution,  had  doubtless 
been  pretty  thoroughly  dispelled. 
She  remarks  how  small  a  portion  of 
German  literature  is  known  in  Eng- 
land, except  to  the  exceedingly  small 
number  of  Englishmen  who  have 
made  the  language  and  literature  of 
Germany  their  especial  study,  and  that 
the  portion  that  is  known  does  not  in- 
clude the  works  of  recent  writers. 

"Thomas  Carlyle,  the  translator 
of  Wilhelm  Meister,  and  of  some  of 
Jean  Paul's  works,  has  done  much 
towards  making  German  authors 
known.  The  Wahhencandtschaften 
are  not  translated,  and  would  be 
disapproved  in  England,  even  as 
Goethe  in  general,  with  his  pan- 
theistic this-sidedness,  and  his  uni- 
versal toleration,  cannot  be  very 

VOL.  LXX NO.  CCCCXXX. 


a  German  Authoress.  219 

accessible  to  the  English.  They 
wonder  when  we  exalt  him  above 
Schiller,  or  when  we  say  that  he  has 
yet  to  be  fully  appreciated,  whilst 
Jean  Paul  and  his  tendencies  already 
belong,  in  Germany,  to  a  bygone 
epoch.  They  think  Schiller  and  Jean 
Paul  must  be  better  adapted  than 
Goethe  to  the  German  character. 
They  have  a  knowledge  of  the  roman- 
tic school ;  but  of  young  Germany, 
and  its  undeniable  influence  on  a  cer- 
tain phase  of  our  development,  they 
know  nothing— or  at  least  only  a 
very  few  know  something  about  it. 
So  far  as  I  could  ascertain,  none  of 
the  writings  of  that  school  have  been 
translated.  Several  persons  asked 
me  what  there  was  good  to  translate 
amongst  the  German  novels  and 
belles-lettres  of  the  present  day, 
and  I  was  always  embarrassed  what 
answer  to  give,  because  the  opinions 
and  taste  of  the  English  are  so  fixed. 
I  believe  that  any  of  the  literature  of 
the  first  ten  years  of  this  century — the 
works  of  Tieck,  Novalis,  even  of 
Hoffmann —  must  here  stfcceed  better 
than  the  creations  of  the  last  five- 
and-twenty,  or  especially  of  the  last 
ten  years.  Only  Stifter's,  Auerbach'sr 
and  the  like  novels,  have  been  here 
translated  and  approved,  because 
they  keep  aloof  from  all  polemics  and 
scepticism,  and  properly  belong,  or 
make  near  approach,  to  the  old  ro- 
mantic school.  Even  scientific  works 
are  only  adopted  here,  in  so  far  as 
they  are  not  inspired  by  and  satu- 
rated with  the  spirit  of  our  newest 
philosophy." 

Mrs  Lewald  is  in  error,  if  she 
imagines  that  the  tendencies  of  the 
modern  school  of  German  novels  and 
light  literature  have  been  the  only 
cause  that  has  kept  them  out  of  the 
hands  of  English  readers,  and  still 
more  of  English  translators.  We 
have  seen  the  works  of  a  far  more 
vicious  and  dangerous  school  of 
French  writers  eagerly  sought  after 
in  this  country,  both  in  the  original 
language  and  in  innumerable  transla- 
tions, and  read  by  all  classes.  The 
fact  that  far  more  English  persons 
have  a  reading  knowledge  of  French 
than  of  German  docs  not  suffice  to 
explain  the  difference.  The  French 
books  in  question,  however  bad  in 
tendency  and  tone,  did  not  lack 


220 

talent  ;  their  authors  were  men  of 
originality,  and  some  of  them  even  of 
genius,  however  misdirected.  The 
German  school  referred  to  by  Mrs 
Lewald,  is,  in  our  opinion,  not  only 
perverse,  but  particularly  dull  and  ta- 
lentless ;  and,  accordingly,  it  has  found 
here — as  she  quite  correctly  opines — 
few  readers  and  no  translators. 

The  most  charitable  way  of  esti- 
mating a  book  like  Mrs  Lewald's — 
a  German  author's  account  of  a  visit 
to  England — is  to  put  one's-self  in  the 
place  of  the  readers  for  whom  it  is 
intended.  Were  our  knowledge  of 
Vienna  or  Berlin,  of  the  habits  and 
feelings  of  their  inhabitants,  as  limited 
as  we  have  some  reason  to  believe  is 
the  acquaintance  of  a  very  large 
majority  of  Germans  with  London 


The  Raid  qf  Arnaboll. 


[Aug. 


and  its  people,  we  should  certainly 
feel  indebted  to  any  intelligent  Eng- 
lishwoman who  should  put  before  us, 
in  the  form  of  animated  and  plea- 
santly written  letters,  the  results  of 
her  investigations  and  observations 
during  a  two  months'  visit  to  either 
of  those  capitals.  And  we  have 
little  doubt  that  this,  the  first  half 
of  the  "  Travelling  Diary  of  Fanny 
Lewald,"  will  be  relished  in  Germany, 
although  English  readers  will  find  in 
it  little  to  interest  them  beyond  those 
passages  which  we  have  here  pointed 
out.  The  shortly -expected  publication 
of  the  second  volume  will  enable  us  to 
judge  whether  or  not  she  found  her 
ramble  in  the  provinces  and  in  Scot- 
land more  suggestive  than  her  stay  in 
the  metropolis. 


THE    RAID   OF  ARNABOLL. 

A    TALE    OF     THE    BYGONE    YEAR. 


CHAPTER  I. 


ONE  day  about  the  beginning  of 
August  last,  I  was  sauntering  along 
Princes  Street  in  anything  but  a  cheer- 
ful mood  of  mind.  The  truth  is,  that 
I  did  not  very  well 'know  what  to 
make  of  myself  for  the  next  two 
months.  I  was  exceedingly  anxious 
to  be  off  to  the  moors  as  usual ;  but  I 
had  no  spare  cash  to  rent  one,  and  no 
grouse-shooter  of  my  acquaintance 
had  been  thoughtful  enough  to  make 
tender  of  his  hospitalities.  To  expend 
the  whole  season  in  Edinburgh  was 
clearly  out  of  the  question.  True — I 
might  shut  myself  up  in  my  rooms, 
post  a  notice  outside  the  door  that  I 
would  be  back  in  time  for  the  box- 
day,  and  devote  the  interval  to  the 
completion  of  an  historical  romance 
which  I  had  commenced  eighteen 
months  before,  and  conducted  as  far 
as  the  single  combat  in  the  middle  of 
the  second  volume,  where  I  stuck  for 
want  of  incidents.  But  not  even  Sir 
Walter  could  have  submitted  to  such 
a  penance  at  such  a  time ;  and,  be- 
sides, I  was  not  at  all  assured  that 
any  publisher  would  adequately  re- 
compense me  for  my  trouble.  I  began 
to  ponder  upon  the  respective  merits 
of  different  watering-places,  princi- 


pally on  the  west  coast,  "  with 
angling  at  an  easy  distance,  and  every 
convenience  for  bathing  at  hand;" 
but  these  cogitations  summoned  up 
no  more  cheerful  visions  than"  the  re- 
miniscence of  a  row  of  unpicturesque 
two-storied  houses,  fronting  the  sea, 
in  which  certain  Glaswegian  nereids, 
in  long  night-gowns,  were  perpetually 
floundering — of  a  hard  truckle  bed 
with  clammy  sheets — of  iron-pronged 
forks,  and  of  marvellously  ill-flavoured 
mutton.  It  will,  therefore,  be  easy  to 
comprehend  why  I  glared  malignantly 
at  the  travelling-carriages,  as  each, 
with  its  appropriate  load  of  luggage, 
drove  away  from  the  doors  of  the 
hotels,  conveying  some  delighted  party 
to  their  residence  in  the  far  Highlands. 
There  are  certain  moments  in  every 
man's  life,  when  he  succumbs  to  the 
original  sin  of  radicalism. 

There  were  not  many  men  in  town. 
On  the  previous  week  the  Toxophi- 
lites  had  departed,  relieving  the  streets 
of  Edinburgh  from  the  unwonted 
ravages  of  Robin  Hood  and  his  merry 
men,  attired  with  classical  propriety 
in  a  sort  of  spurious  tartan.  To  them 
had  succeeded  the  philosophers,  who 
were  now  occupied  as  usual  with  their 


1851.] 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


everlasting  discussions  about  the 
action  of  icebergs  and  glaciers,  boul- 
der-stones, striated  rocks,  and  the 
antiquity  of  the  sea- levels.  I,  being 
supremely  indifferent  to  such  matters, 
and  infinitely  preferring  a  grouse  to  a 
pterodactyle,  or  a  cut  of  fresh  salmon 
to  a  section  of  a  petrified  ichthyosau- 
rus, had  hitherto  abstained  altogether 
from  participating  in,  or  listening  to, 
the  controversy ;  and  in  all  human  pro- 
bability should  never  have  attended  a 
single  meeting  of  the  British  Associa- 
tion, but  for  the  following  incident. 

In  the  course  of  my  walk  I  hap- 
pened to  encounter  Anthony  Whaup, 
who,  being  of  a  naval  turn  of  mind, 

Erofessed  to  feel  a  deep  interest  in  the 
iw  of  storms,  and  was  accordingly  in 
daily  attendance  at  the  meteorological 
section. 

"  The  very  man  I  was  looking  for ! " 
said  Anthony.  "  I  say — don't  you 
remember  three  or  four  years  ago,  at 
Cork,  meeting  a  very  pleasant  fellow, 
a  Captain  Stanley,  who  was  quartered 
there?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  do.  He  was  by  far 
the  most  agreeable  member  of  the 
mess,  and  might  have  sat  for  his  por- 
trait to  Lever.  But  what  of  him  ?" 

"  Why,  I  am  strongly  of  opinion 
that  he  is  in  Edinburgh  at  this  pre- 
sent moment." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it.  Do 
you  know  where  he  puts  up?  We 
must  try  to  get  one  or  two  good  fel- 
lows together,  and  give  him  a  dinner 
at  Granton." 

"  If  he  be  the  man  I  take  him  for," 
said  Anthony  mysteriously,  u  that 
sort  of  entertainment  will  hardly  suit 
him." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Anthony?" 

"Simply  this — that,  unless  I  am 
altogether  mistaken  as  to  the  identity 
of  the  individual,  your  conversation 
would  be  somewhat  too  frivolous  for 
his  taste,  judging  from  his  present 
pursuits.  Where  do  you  think  I  saw 
him?" 

"How  should  I  know?  Possibly 
in  a  billiard-room,  or  not  at  all  impro- 
bably eating  ices  at  Stewart's." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  left  him 
delivering  a  lecture  on  the  centrifugal 
qualities  of  light  at  the  British  Asso- 
ciation." 

"  Why,  you  must  be  mad,  Anthony ! 
The  thing  is  perfectly  impossible. 


Stanley  knows  as  much  about  science 
as  I  do  of  the  Chinese  alphabet !" 

"  I  certainly  should  not  have  con- 
ceived that  his  range  was  remarkably 
wide,"  replied  Anthony.  "  Neverthe- 
less I  repeat,  that  if  Stanley  is  in, 
life,  I  saw  him  lecturing  not  half-an- 
hour  ago.  He  did  it  remarkably  well, 
too,  judging  from  the  interest  which 
the  ladies  took  in  the  discourse ;  and 
no  wonder,  for  he  contrived  to  mix  up 
science  and  compliments  in  a  way 
which  was  positively  astounding. 
After  all,  who  knows  but  that  we  may 
have  seen  only  the  physical  side  of 
him  at  Cork  ?  He  may  be  a  second 
edition  of  the  Admirable  Crichton  ! " 

"  So  may  you,  for  that  matter,  An- 
thony ;  but  I  take  leave  to  doubt  it. 
Did  you  hear  his  name  mentioned?" 

"  No — and  that  is  what  puzzles  me. 
There  is  no  such  an  entry  as  Captain 
Stanley  in  the  list." 

"  Then  depend  upon  it  you  are 
entirely  wrong.  You  must  have  been 
misled  by  some  strong  resemblance." 

"  I  shall  believe  that,"  quoth  An- 
thony, "when  it  is  demonstratively 
proved  to  me  that  mankind  is  like  a 
bushel  of  peas.  I  tell  you  that  I  knew 
him  at  the  first  glance,  though  he  has 
shaved  off  his  mustache.  But  you 
may  easily  satisfy  yourself,  by  becom- 
ing a  member  of  the  Association. 
You  will  be  sure  to  see  him  the  day 
after  to-morrow,  when  we  expect  to 
have  a  most  interesting  discussion.  I 
shall  probably  read  a  paper  on  the 
theory  of  the  rudder,  illustrated  by 
diagrams." 

"Thank  you!"  said  I.  And  we 
parted. 

On  the  following  morning,  I  was 
giving  my  setter  an  airing  on  the 
Pentlands.  The  poor  beast  seemed 
to  think  the  period  for  the  exercise  of 
his  talents  was  approaching,  for  he 
raced  away  at  full  speed  through  the 
furze,  made  long  semicircles  on  the 
face  of  the  hill,  and  finally  returning 
to  my  feet,  rolled  himself  over  and 
over  again  on  the  dewy  grass  in  an 
agony  of  animal  delight.  I  should 
think  meanly  of  the  man  who  could 
complain  of  solitude,  if  allowed  the 
company  of  his  dog.  Yes,  Sweep  !  I 
know  several  bipeds  in  breeches  who 
are  idiots  compared  with  thee ! 

Rounding  the  shoulder  of  a  hill,  I 
came  suddenly  upon  a  group  whom  I 


222 


The  Raid  of  ArnabolL 


[Aug-, 


knew  to  be  savans  and  geologists. 
They  were  almost  all  foreigners,  and 
one  old  gentleman,  who  spoke  a  lan- 
guage that  I  presumed  to  be  Dutch, 
was  pointing,  with  great  enthusiasm, 
to  certain  marks  on  the  surface  of  a 
stone  by  the  road-side,  which  seemed 
to  have  been  inflicted  by  a  pickaxe. 
I  was  about  to  pass  on,  when  my  eye 
was  rivetted  by  the  sight  of  a  figure 
a  little  way  apart  from  the  others. 
Apparently  he  took  no  vivid  interest 
in  the  investigation,  whatever  it  might 
be,  for  he  was  smoking  a  cigar,  with 
an  exceeding  distrait  air,  and  practis- 
ing the  sword  exercise  with  a  small 
chipping  hammer.  I  felt  assured  that 
Anthony  was  in  the  right. 

"Captain  Stanley!"  said  I. 

"Ha!  Hush,  hush!  my  dear  fellow," 
cried  he,  starting  up.  "Don't  men- 
tion my  name  here,  if  you  please! 
These  men  don't  know  me — at  least 
they  don't  know  who  I  am.  Not  a 
word  about  the  army,  or  I  am  ruined ! 
Well,  Dr  Zunder,  what  have  you  dis- 
covered ?  " 

"  Dass  ist  merhwurdig !"  said  one  of 
the  geologists  who  now  approached. 
"  Mann  sieht  hier  gewiss  die  gletscher- 
streiche." 

"  Potz  tauseud!  nein,"  exclaimed  an- 
other, "  die  sint  eisbergische  hicsel!" 
and  a  perfect  Babel  of  tongues  arose 
in  support  of  either  theory.  So  keen 
was  the  encounter  that  Stanley  had 
time  to  say — 

"  Excuse  me  for  the  present ;  there 
is  a  mystery  in  this  which  I  shall 
clear  up  shortly.  Call  for  me  this 
evening  at  nine,  at  Douglas's  Hotel, 
and  you  shall  know  more.  Ask  for 
Mr  Larkins." 

I  took  the  hint,  and  made  off,  leav- 
ing the  scientific  Larkins  to  excite  or 
calm  the  dispute  as  appeared  best  to 
himself.  It  is  strange  what  pleasure 
all  of  us  attach  to  mystery.  Listless 
as  I  had  felt  that  morning,  I  was  now 
as  excited  as  the  third  conspirator  in 
a  melodrama.  Here  was  a  real  bond 
fide  romance,  or  something  decidedly 
like  one,  enacting  before  my  very 
eyes,  for  a  sight  of  which  G.  P.  K. 
James  would  have  given  a  trifle.  It 
was  evident  that  no  vulgar  cause,  no 
mean  occasion,  no  wretched  embar- 
rassments of  debt  could  have  trans- 
formed the  dashing  dragoon  into  a 
savant,  or  caused  him  to  conceal  the 


hereditary  splendour  of  his  name.  I 
burned  with  anxiety  to  become  the 
depository  of  the  promised  secret. 

At  nine  o'clock  punctually  I  kept 
my  appointment.  The  waiter  ushered 
me  into  a  handsome  parlour,  where  I 
found  the  philosopher,  in  a  flowered 
dressing-gown  and  slippers,  stretched 
upon  the  sofa,  looking  the  very  reverse 
of  a  pupil  of  Buckland  or  Agassiz. 

"Ah,  Cameron,  my  dear  friend! 
delighted  to  see  you ! "  cried  he,  ele- 
vating himself  on  his  elbow.  "  Waiter! 
bring  up  the  tray  with  the  lobster  and 
iced  champagne,  and  then  make  your- 
self scarce  as  soon  as  possible.  And 
how  have  you  been  for  this  long  time  ? 
'Gad,  I  hardly  knew  you  when  yon 
plumped  upon  us  this  morning  like  a 
hawk  on  a  brood  of  wild-ducks  !" 

"  You  were  certainly  not  more 
astonished  than  I  was.  Our  old 
friend  Whaup  told  me  that  he  had 
recognised  you  at  the  Association, 
but  I  thought  he  must  have  been 
dreaming." 

"So! — Whaup  knew  me  then?" 
said  Stanley,  evidently  a  little  put 
out.  "  That  may  be  awkward  if  it 
goes  further.  Do  you  think  he  is 
likely  to  peach?" 

"  Why,  no — especially  if  you  have 
no  acquaintance  here  in  common. 
He  only  mentioned  it  to  me  as  a 
singular  circumstance." 

"  Ah,  well !  You  must  manage  to 
make  him  believe  he  was  mistaken.  I 
would  not  for  a  thousand  pounds  that 
it  were  generally  known  who  I  am." 

"In  which  capacity?  Stanley  or 
Larkins?" 

"  O !  as  Stanley  to  be  sure.  Lar- 
kins can  answer  for  himself;  and  I 
am  glad  to  observe  from  the  news- 
papers that  he  is  making  such  a  sen- 
sation in  the  learned  circles.  I  vow 
to  you  that  I  would  as  soon  have 
thought  of  appearing  in  the  character 
of  a  field- preacher!" 

"  But,  Stanley,  what  does  all  this 
mean?  I  own  to  you  that  I  was 
never  so  thoroughly  puzzled  in  my 
life." 

"  So  much  the  better.  The  con- 
fession does  credit  to  your  candour, 
and  infinite  honour  to  my  ingenuity. 
Help  yourself  to  a  glass  of  champagne, 
and  I  shall  tell  you  the  whole  story. 
You  take  me  for  a  philosopher,  doubt- 
less?" 


1851.] 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


223 


"  Of  course  I  do." 

"  Then,  for  your  comfort  be  it  known 
to  you,  that  if  the  waiter  who  showed 
you  in  is  not  better  acquainted  with 
natural  philosophy  than  I  am,  he  is  a 
disgrace  to  your  enlightened  city." 

"  But  you  read  a  paper  yesterday 
at  the  Association?" 

"To  be  sure  I  did ;  and  devilish  hard 
work  it  was  too  !  A  duller  affair  than 
it  was,  before  I  inserted  the  elegant 
allusions  to  the  ladies,  never  emerged 
from  a  cloister;  and  even  my  impu- 
dence, which  is  supposed  to  be  toler- 
ably developed,  hardly  sufficed  to  carry 
me  through  the  string  of  polysyllables 
with  which  the  learned  author  had 
chosen  to  garnish  his  discourse." 

"  Is  it  possible,"  said  I,  "  that  you 
attempted  to  palm  upon  the  British 
Association,  adorned  as  it  is  with 
the  eminent  names  of  Brewster  and 
others,  a  paper  which  was  not  your 
own?" 

"  By  no  manner  of  means,"  replied 
Stanley,  coolly  lighting  a  cigar.  "  It 
was  mine,  in  virtue  of  twenty  guineas 
which  I  paid  for  it ;  and  it  strikes  me 
that  it  was  a  confoundedly  dear  bar- 
gain." 

I  suppose  that  my  countenance 
must  have  betrayed  my  astonish- 
ment at  this  unblushing  avowal  of 
unparalleled  imposture,  for  Stanley 
threw  himself  back  upon  the  sofa  in  a 
convulsion  of  laughter. 

"Do  forgive  me,  Cameron!"  he 
said  at  last ;  "  but  I  really  could  not 
help  it !  You  looked  as  woe-begone 
as  a  priest  receiving  a  confession  of 
murder." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  may 
think  of  it,  Captain  Stanley,"  I  re- 
plied, "but  I  own  this  does  appear  to 
me  to  pass  the  limits  of  a  jest.  What 
conceivable  object  you  could  have  in 
passing  yourself  off  to  the  most  emi- 
nent men  of  Europe  as  one  of  their 
own  body — " 

"  Is  precisely  the  very  thing  I  in- 
tend to  tell  you,  if  you  will  only  have 
a  little  patience,"  said  the  fictitious 
Larkins.  "  You  may  be  sure  I  did  not 
run  the  risk  without  a  strong  motive. 
In  brief,  then,  I  am  in  love." 

"  And,  pray,  what  has  love  to  do 
with  the  meetings  of  the  British  As- 
sociation ?  " 

"  O,  far  more  than  you  think.  It 
is  a  vulgar  error  to  suppose  that  Cupid 


has  any  abstract  objection  to  spec- 
tacles. But  I  see  I  must  relate  my 
whole  story.  Last  winter  we  were 
quartered  at  Bolton,  as  disgusting  a 
manufacturing  place  as  you  ever  hap- 
pened to  see — full  of  chimney- stalks, 
factories,  and  all  manner  of  abomina- 
tions, but  sanctified  henceforward  in 
my  imagination  as  the  birthplace  of 
Lucy  Hawkins— a  very  handsome 
and  a  very  delightful  girl,  I  assure  you. 
Her  father  is  a  great  millowner ;  and 
Lucy,  his  only  child,  was  educated  in 
London,  and  returned  to  the  parental 
home,  like  a  lily  transplanted  to  a — 
to  a—" 

"  To  a  barrack-yard  ?  "  I  suggested, 
observing  that  the  gallant  captain 
halted  somewhat  in  his  simile. 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Stanley  ; 
"however,  let  that  pass.  I  saw  her, 
and  fell  in  love  with  her.  Upon  my 
honour,  Cameron,  my  affection  was 
as  disinterested  as  that  of  any  poor 
devil  of  a  younger  brother  can  be. 
I  liked  her  well  enough  to  have 
married  her,  before  I  knew  anything 
about  her  prospects  ;  and  if  I  liked  her 
still  better  afterwards,  surely  there 
was  no  harm  in  that?" 

"  None  in  the  world,"  said  I.  "  In 
short,  you  were  a  disinterested  dra- 
goon." 

"I  claim  no  merit  for  being  so," 
said  Stanley,  modestly;  "as  I  am 
sure  you  will  acknowledge  when  you 
see  Lucy.  Well,  I  seized  every 
opportunity  of  meeting  her,  which 
occurred  the  more  often  as  she 
visited  at  several  houses  in  the 
neighbourhood  to  which  I  had  intro- 
ductions ;  made  love  to  her  in  my  own 
fashion  ;  and  at  length  was  fortunate 
enough  to  discover  that  I  was  not 
altogether  an  object  of  indifference. 
But  still  there  were  objections.  Lucy 
frankly  told  me  that  my  intellect 
was  hardly  enough  cultivated  to 
enable  me  to  aspire  to  more  than 
her  esteem.  Between  ourselves, 
Cameron,  she  is  a  good  deal  of  a  blue! " 

"  The  devil  she  is  !  " 

"I  am  sorry  to  acknowledge  the 
fact,  but  it  is  undeniable.  Probably 
it  was  the  fault  of  her  education. 
Those  infernal  chemists,  geologists, 
and  mesmerists  are  the  curse  of  the 
present  generation  ;  and  a  plain  fellow 
like  myself,  who  stuck  at  the  second 
aorist,  and  never  crossed  the  pons 


224. 

asinorum,  has  no  chance  if  lie  cannot 
patter  their  jargon.  For  my  part  I 
wish  they  were  all  banished  to 
Siberia  !  That,  however,  might  have 
been  got  over  ;  but  her  father,  when 
he  learned  what  was  going  on,  behaved 
like  a  positive  brute.  Would  you 
believe  it,  Cameron?  he  had  the 
insolence  to  swear  that  no  locust  of  a 
tax- eater,  as  he  politely  chooses  to 
designate  the  gentlemen  who  bear 
her  Majesty's  commission,  should  ever 
enter  his  family  ;  and,  in  short,  there 
was  a  regular  blow-up." 

"  And  what  followed  ?  " 

"  The  usual  thing.  I  was  deter- 
mined not  to  give  up  Lucy,  and 
Lucy's  inclination  towards  me  was 
naturally  increased  by  her  father's 
opposition.  We  corresponded.  I 
ventured  to  describe  the  charming 
nature  of  the  scenery  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Gretna  Green,  with  a 
view  to  induce  Lucy  to  visit  that 
enchanting  retreat;  but  she  was  as 
obstinate  as  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
in  reply  to  an  application  for  further 
leave  of  absence.  She  declared, 
moreover,  that  she  would  never  marry 
me,  even  with  her  father's  consent, 
unless  I  won  a  name  either  in  litera- 
ture or  science,  which,  in  my  qase, 
seemed  as  hopeless  a  task  as  though 
she  had  required  me  to  ascend  to  the 
top  of  the  Himalaya  Mountains.  I 
tried  to  convince  her  that  such  pur- 
suits were  utterly  incompatible  with 
my  profession  ;  whereupon  she  desired 
me  to  achieve  fame  under  any  name 
I  chose  ;  but  that,  unless  I  achieved  it, 
I  must  give  up  hopes  of  her  for  ever." 

"  I  begin  now  to  see  my  way. 
That  accounts  for  Larkins?  " 

"  Partially.  Hearing  of  this  scien- 
tific meeting,  as  they  call  it,  I  got  an 
old  schoolfellow  of  mine — an  Oxford 
man — who  is  rather  out  at  elbows, 
to  write  a  paper  upon  some  out-of- 
the-way  subject ;  came  down  here ; 
enrolled  myself  as  a  member;  and 
actually  read  it !  I  should  tell  you, 
though,  that  I  knew  Lucy  was  to  be 
here.  Her  father,  who  is  now,  by 
purchase,  a  Highland  proprietor,  is 
to  arrive  in  Edinburgh  to-morrow  or 
next  day  :  Lucy  took  advantage  of  a 
friend's  invitation  to  be  a  witness  of 
my  scientific  debut." 

"  How  did  you  acquit  yourself  under 
these  trying  circumstances  ?  " 


The  Raid  ofArnaboll  [Aug. 

"  Decently,  I  think  —  the  papers 
say  admirably.  I  went  at  it  as  I 
would  go  at  a  five- bar  gate,  for  I 
knew  that  it  was  neck-or-nothing. 
You  can't  conceive  the  agony  I  have 
been  in  for  this  last  week !  All  sorts 
of  fellows,  foreign  and  domestic,  fancy 
me  a  prodigy  of  learning  ;  and  I  have 
actually  been  asked  to  state  my 
opinion  as  to  the  probable  origin  of 
the  moon !  " 

"  Did  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  My  better  angel  prevented  me 
from  committing  myself  to  the  green- 
cheese  hypothesis!  But  seriously, 
Cameron,  my  meeting  with  you  is  the 
most  fortunate  accident  of  my  life. 
If  you  do  not  help  me  now,  all  that 
I  have  gone  through  is  worse  than 
labour  lost." 

"Tell  me  how  I  can  assist  you. 
But  at  present  it  baffles  my  compre- 
hension to  understand  how  I  can  be  of 
the  slightest  use." 

"Touch  the  bell,  like  a  good 
fellow,  will  you?  We  shall  talk 
this  matter  over  a  glass  of  cold 
brandy-and-water.  You  see  old 
Hawkins — Macduff  Hawkins  as  he 
calls  himself,  in  right  of  his  grand- 
mother— is  going  north  presently  to 
take  possession  of  a  Highland  pro- 
perty which  he  has  just  purchased. 
Free  Trade  knocked  the  last  proprie- 
tor on  the  head.  Well,  sir,  it  is 
indispensable  for  my  plans  that  some 
one  should  accompany  him  thither ; 
and  you  are  the  identical  individual 
whom  I  wish  to  enlist  in  the  service." 

•"  My  dear  Stanley !  what  can  I  do?  '* 

"  Everything.  In  the  first  place, 
you  will  have  sublime  shooting — fur 
so  they  tell  me — and  as  much  liquor 
as  you  can  set  your  face  to.  In  the 
second  place,  you  will  go  along  with 
Lucy,  which  is  a  privilege  that  I 
would  not  accord  to  every  one.  In 
the  third  place,  I  want  you  to  be 
there,  for,  unless  you  are,  the  whole 
of  my  scheme  will  miscarry." 

"  But  you  forget— I  never  saw  this 
Mr  MacdufF  Hawkins  !  " 

u  That  is  no  obstacle,  if  you  will  be 
guided  by  me.  To-morrow  you  shall 
enrol  yourself  as  a  member  of  the 
British  Association.  On  the  next 
day  you  shall  rend  a  statistical  paper 
in  one  of  the  sections.  Hawkins  will 
be  there  ;  and  if  you  act  according  to 
my  suggestions,  you  will  not  only 


1851.] 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll 


225 


gain  immortal  renown,  but  have  a 
couple  of  months'  stupendous  fun, 
and  eternally  oblige  your  humble 
servant  into  the  bargain." 

I  need  hardly  detail  the  rest  of  our 
conversation.  My  weakness,  from 
boyhood,  has  always  been  a  yielding 
to  the  impulses  of  eccentricity,  and 
before  the  gallant  captain  and  I  parted 
that  evening,  he  entirely  succeeded  in 
gaining  me  over.  On  explanation,  it 
turned  out  that  he  and  half-a-dozen 
of  his  Mends  had  taken  an  extensive 
shooting  in  the  vicinity  of  the  estate 
which  Mr  Macduff  Hawkins  had  pur- 
chased, in  the  remotest  part  of  Ross- 
shire,  and  that  they  intended  per- 
petrating a  jest,  for  the  sake  of  Stanley, 
which  I  could  not  but  acknowledge  as 
singularly  facetious,  provided  it  could 
be  put  into  execution.  What  remorse 
of  conscience  I  felt  in  becoming  a 
party  to  the  conspiracy — for  such  it 
undoubtedly  was — was  partly  stifled 
by  the  consideration  that  everything 
is  fair  in  love ;  partly  by  the  assurance 
that  old  Hawkins  was  a  thorough 
democrat  and  Free-Trader,  a  repre- 
sentation which  made  me  feel  the  less 
compunction  for  aiding  and  abetting 


in  any  scheme  which  might  defeat  his 
declared  intention  of  marrying  his 
daughter  to  a  notorious  bill-broker, 
who  was  supposed  to  have  an  eye  to 
Parliament ;  partly  by  a  natural  and 
national  disgust  that  a  millowner, 
who  had  been  party  to  the  intrigues 
which  have  resulted  in  the  ruin  of 
many  of  our  old  Scottish  families, 
should  take  advantage  of  that  political 
error  by  superseding  an  ancient  and 
an  honoured  name  ;  and  partly  by 
the  mixture  of  flattery  and  fluids 
which  the  Captain  adroitly  adminis- 
tered. I  can  understand  a  man 
offering  resistance  to  the  single,  but 
not  to  the  combined  influence.  Be- 
sides, I  liked  Stanley,  who  was,  in 
reality,  as  fine  a  fellow  as  ever  mount- 
ed epaulettes  ;  and  before  I  left  him, 
I  had  entered  heart  and  soul  into  the 
business ;  and  was  as  ready  to  aid  him 
in  carrying  off  his  ladye-love,  as 
though  he  had  been  a  Christian 
Spanish  knight,  old  Hawkins  an  un- 
believing Moor,  his  daughter  a  Xara 
or  Xariffa,  with  a  secret  hankering 
for  baptism,  and  I  myself  a  Palmer, 
sworn  to  do  my  utmost  towards  assist- 
ing all  secessions  from  Heathenesse. 


CHAPTER  II. 


When  you  step  into  a  shower-bath, 
it  is  the  wisest  course  to  pull  the 
string  immediately.  If  you  hesitate, 
imagination,  which  is  rather  a  coward- 
ly faculty,  rushes  upon  you  with  a 
whole  army  of  horrors,  magnifying 
the  passing  shower  to  the  dimensions 
of  a  perfect  deluge ;  whereas,  by  adopt- 
ing the  contrary  method,  the  shock  is 
over  in  an  instant. 

Acting  upon  this  principle,  I  lost 
no  time  in  preparing  my  paper  for 
the  Association.  I  flatter  myself  that 
it  was  a  remarkably  good  one.  I 
selected  for  my  subject  the  intem- 
perate habits  of  the  people ;  and  by 
referring  to  the  revenue  returns,  and 
the  tables  of  excise,  I  procured  a 
tolerably  accurate  account  of  the 
number  of  gallons  of  every  kind  of 
liquor  annually  distilled  and  con- 
sumed. To  divide  the  ascertained 
quantity  among  the  population  as 
given  by  the  last  census,  was  a  simple 
calculation,  and  the  result  was  har- 
rowing in  the  extreme.  Next  I  pro- 
ceeded to  calculate  the  outlay  which 


was  occasioned  thereby,  and  an- 
nounced the  startling  proposition,  that 
if  no  fluid  of  any  kind  except  water 
should  be  consumed  within  this  or 
any  other  country,  the  savings  of  the 
people  would  be  very  materially  aug- 
mented. I  blinked,  of  course,  the 
revenue  question  altogether,  for  there 
really  was  no  call  upon  me  to  assist 
Sir  Charles  Wood  by  contributing  the 
materials  for  a  budget ;  and  I  said 
nothing  whatever  regarding  the  future 
prospects  of  the  brewers.  Papers  of 
this  kind  are  very  valuable.  Take 
for  example  the  article  of  tobacco — 
divide  the  quantity  imported  among 
the  existing  population,  and  you  have 
no  idea  what  an  immense  deal  of 
precocious  depravity  will  be  evolved. 
The  result  will  show  that  even  children 
under  five  years  of  age  smoke  pigtail 
and  snuff  inacabaa,  with  a  persever- 
ance which  is  truly  bewildering.  Even 
the  ladies  are  accused  of  contributing 
to  the  revenue  by  the  consumption  of 
the  narcotic  weed. 
I  took  care  to  infuse  the  proper 


226 

proportion  of  pathos  into  the  perora- 
tion, which  was  composed  in  a  melan- 
choly and  martyr-like  tone,  with  long- 
drawn  cadences  suggestive  of  the 
fruitless  struggles  of  the  writer  against 
the  surrounding  tide  of  indifference 
and  iniquity.  I  was  very  well  re- 
ceived by  my  audience.  Several 
ladies  were  observed  to  have  recourse 
to  their  handkerchiefs ;  and  one  stout, 
pudgy,  bald-headed  individual,  who 
sate  on  a  bench  immediately  in  front 
of  me,  honoured  my  remarks  with  a 
series  of  approving  bows,  which  might 
have  done  honour  to  a  Chinese  man- 
darin. When  the  seance  was  over, 
he  requested  the  honour  of  an  intro- 
duction to  the  gifted  lecturer,  and  I 
presently  found  myself  engaged  in  con- 
versation with  Mr  Macduff  Hawkins. 

Profiting  by  the  opportunity,  I 
offered  my  services  as  a  cicerone,  in 
case  Mr  Hawkins  should  desire  to 
inspect  any  of  the  objects  of  interest 
in  the  city,  among  which  I  casually 
mentioned  Queen  Mary's  apartments 
at  Holyrood,  Moray  House,  and  the 
llegalia ;  but  I  was  instantly  apprised 
of  my  error. 

"  No,  no  !  none  of  that  rubbish  for 
me,  young  gentleman  !  "  said  Mi- 
Hawkins.  "  What  good  can  any 
one  get  from  looking  at  a  parcel  of 
fusty  rooms,  or  a  few  trashy  pebbles 
exhibited  in  a  glass-case?  Thank 
heaven!  there  is  no  nonsense  of  ro- 
mance about  me — I  like  to  stick  to 
realities." 

"  Iaskyourpardon,Mr  Hawkins — " 

"  Macduff  Hawkins,  if  you  please. 
I  am  not  in  the  least  ashamed  of  my 
name.  Believe  it  has  been  rather 
creditably  known  in  this  part  of  the 
world,  even  before  you  or  I  were  born 
—eh  ?  " 

"  Unquestionably,"  I  replied.  "  The 
name  you  bear  is  dear  to  the  heart  of 
every  Scotsman.  We  have  not  for- 
gotten the  stroke  that  freed  us  from 
•the  thraldom  of  Macbeth,  nor  the 
privileges  of  the  clan  Macduff." 

"  Upon  my  word,  sir,  I  am  infinitely 
delighted  to  hear  you  say  so.  I 
always  liked  the  Scotch  people.  They 
are  thrifty,  shrewd,  and  industrious ; 
though,  as  you  very  properly  re- 
marked, too  much  addicted  to  the 
use  of  ardent  spirits.  After  all,  I 
think  we  may  as  well  have  a  look  at 
the  llegalia.  Are  they  very  old?  " 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


[An; 


"The  diadem,"  said  I,  with  a 
slight,  but  I  hope  pardonable  devia- 
tion from  historical  fidelity,  "  is  the 
same  which  your  great  ancestor 
placed  upon  the  brows  of  Malcolm 
Ganmore  at  the  memorable  corona- 
tion of  Scone." 

"  Bless  my  soul,  you  don't  say  so ! 
I  really  must  make  a  point  of  seeing 
it.  I  would  rather  have  asked  you 
to  take  me  through  the  prisons  and 
the  poor-house,  as  being  more  in  my 
line  ;  but  since  yon  say  that  these 
things  are  worth  looking  at,  we'll  go 
there  at  once.  I  trust  you  will  dine 
Avith  us  to-day  ;  and  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  introducing  you  to  Miss 
Macduff  Hawkins." 

It  soon  became  evident  to  me  that 
Hawkins  was  in  that  peculiar  position 
which  the  Free-Trade  papers  persist 
in  attributing  to  agriculture — viz.,  a 
state  of  transition.  He  was  still 
under  the  influence  of  his  old  habits 
and  notions,  which  inclined  him  to 
attach  no  importance  whatever  to 
birth,  rank,  or  indeed  anything  be- 
yond the  possession  of  actual  wealth, 
and  to  treat  with  ridicule  all  associ- 
ations connected  with  the  glory  of 
bygone  ages.  At  the  same  time, 
the  discovery  that  he  was  a  Macduff, 
and  the  knowledge  that  he  was  a 
Highland  proprietor,  and  perhaps  a 
chief,  began  insensibly  to  affect  his 
views,  and  to  give  his  mind  a  con- 
trary bias.  How  was  it  possible  for 
any  man,  with  the  blood  of  Macduff 
in  his  veins,  "  the  real  genuine  article, 
and  no  mistake,"  as  Mr  Hawkins 
confidentially  remarked,  not  to  glory 
in  the  fame  of  his  ancestor  ?  I  verily 
believe  that  if  any  one  had  asked 
him  at  that  time  for  a  subscription 
towards  repairing  Shakspeare's  house 
at  Stratford,  he  would  willingly  have 
loosened  his  purse-strings,  in  gratitude 
to  the  author  of  Macbeth.  We  all 
know  how  rapidly  individual  feelings 
are  generalised,  how  tolerant  we 
become  to  others,  in  respect  of  weak- 
nesses which  beset  ourselves.  It  is 
therefore  no  wonder  if  Mr  Macduff 
Hawkins  was  already  on  the  high 
way  to  becoming  an  aristocrat. 

For  my  part,  I  had  no  intention 
whatever  of  standing  between  him 
and  reformation.  I  prefer  a  feudal 
baron  to  a  modern  millocrat,  and  I 
don't  care  who  knows  it.  Not  that 


1851.] 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


Mcrcurius  Trismegistus  himself  could 
have  made  a  decent  baron  out  of 
Hawkins,  unless  he  had  boiled  him 
down  altogether,  like  JSson  or  Lord 
Soulis,  but  it  is  always  something  to 
excite  a  pendency ;  and  surely  it  is 
infinitely  better  for  a  fifteen-stone 
manufacturer,  with  no  end  of  credit 
at  his  banker's,  to  cultivate  a  decent 
respect  for  antiquity,  than  to  counte- 
nance doctrines  which,  if  practically 
applied,  would  inevitably  lead,  at 
some  time  or  other,  to  his  forcible 
elevation  to  a  lamp-post.  I  therefore 
considered  it  my  bounden  duty,  as  a 
Christian  and  a  philanthropist,  to 
elevate  the  notions  of  Mr  Hawkins, 
which  I  did  through  the  agreeable 
medium  of  most  unhomceopathic 
doses  of  homage  to  the  glories  of  Mac- 
duff.  In  my  hands  that  venerable 
stem  sent  forth  buds,  and  leaves, 
and  flowers,  with  a  rapidity  and 
luxuriance  which  might  have  excited 
the  envy  of  a  Hindoo  conjuror,  when 
attempting  to  rear  an  extempore 
mango-tree  ;  and  I  trust  that  Messrs 
Meyer  and  Mortimer  have  a  grateful 
remembrance  of  the  magnificent  order 
for  Macduif  tartan  which  I  was  the 
means  of  procuring.  A  slight  tinge 
of  native  modesty  made  Mr  Hawkins 
hesitate  in  his  choice  between  the 
trews  and  the  kilt ;  but  the  sight  of  a 
magnificent  sporran,  silver-mounted, 
with  immense  cairngorms,  decided 
the  question  in  favour  of  the  primitive 
garb,  which  is  presumed  to  have  been 
the  favourite  of  Gaul.  I  next  in- 
quired into  the  state  of  his  prepara- 
tion for  the  moors,  which  I  found 
unsatisfactory  in  the  extreme  ;  in 
fact,  Hawkins'  sporting  experiences 
had  been  limited  to  a  single  day's 
shooting  in  a  rabbit-warren,  and  he 
had  no  idea  whatever  of  any  other 
kind  of  field  exercise.  Of  course,  I 
put  him  into  the  hands  of  Dickson, 
who,  with  his  usual  promptitude, 
supplied  him  with  first-rate  artillery  ; 
and  through  the  mediation  of  the 
same  excellent  individual,  Mr  Haw- 
kins became  the  possessor  of  three 
undeniable  pointers.  An  invitation 
to  Ross -shire  followed  as  a  matter  of 
course ;  indeed,  by  this  time,  Hawkins 
evidently  regarded  me,  notwithstand- 
ing the  disparity  of  our  ages,  as  a  kind 
of  Caledonian  Mentor,  without  whose 
advice  and  assistance  he  would  in- 


227 

evitably  be  precipitated  into  a  sea  of 
troubles ;  and  I  had  not  the  heart  to 
decline  his  offer. 

The  dinner  went  off  very  well.  The 
two  philosophers,  who  were  my  fellow- 
guests,  said  little,  but  eat  a  great  deal ; 
their  taciturnity  being  possibly  attri- 
butable to  the  fact  that  they  were  not 
extremely  conversant  with  any  other 
languages  than  their  own,  which, 
being  respectively  the  dialects  of  Fin- 
land and  Bessarabia,  were  not  quite 
so  intelligible  to  us  as  Mr  Dickens' 
Household  Words.  Lucy  Hawkins  I 
liked  extremely.  Her  cerulean  tinge 
was  of  a  kind  which  would  easily 
wear  off  after  marriage,  especially  if 
she  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  united 
to  a  man  like  Stanley ;  and  even  as 
it  was,  I  cannot  say  that  I  found  her 
conversation  at  all  disagreeable.  In 
botany,  indeed,  she  bothered  me  a 
little,  by  designating  certain  vege- 
table productions  by  those  names 
which  one  finds  elaborately  inscribed 
on  slips  of  zinc  in  conservatories ; 
but  two  can  play  at  that  game;  and  I 
flatter  myself  that  the  Homeric  heroes 
figured  as  much  to  their  advantage  in 
my  discourse  upon  the  Linnzean  sys- 
tem, as  they  ever  did  when  rushing 
about  in  chariots  on  the  plain  of  the 
Troad.  I  said  little  or  nothing  about 
Larkins,  considering  it  wise  in  the 
mean  time  to  preserve  the  appearance 
of  total  ignorance  as  to  that  transac- 
tion ;  but  I  came  out  strong  upon  the 
Highlands,  quoted  at  least  one-half 
of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  and  told  as 
many  original  anecdotes  about  Rob 
Roy  as  would  have  made  the  fortune 
of  a  Sennachie.  We  parted  great 
friends. 

I  looked  in  on  my  way  home  upon 
Stanley,  and  to  my  surprise,  found 
him  in  close  confabulation  with  a 
couple  of  Celtic  chairmen,  whom  I 
had  known  from  my  youth  upwards. 
They  were  excellent  specimens  of  that 
invaluable  class  of  men,  whose  ser- 
vices may  be  procured  at  a  reason- 
able rate  in  every  case  of  emergency, 
and  who  Avill,  at  a  pinch,  permit  rail- 
way shares  to  be  transferred  in  their 
names  as  readily  as  they  would  shoulder 
a  portmanteau.  The  pair  whom  I 
now  beheld  were  leading  characters 
in  their  line.  One  of  them  had  been 
known  to  enact  the  Dugald  Creature, 
when  the  usual  representative  of  that 


228 

character  was  suffering  from  a  ner- 
vous affection ;  and  the  other  had  for 
several  years  carried  off  the  principal 
prizes  at  the  Northern  Meeting,  for 
his  unpai-alleled  displays  of  agility  in 
dancing  over  a  couple  of  claymores. 

"  Now,  my  lads — I  hope  you  per- 
fectly understand  me  ?  "  said  Stanley, 
as  I  entered. 

"A'  richt,  your  honour,"  replied 
the  Dngald  Creature  with  a  leer  of 
extreme  intelligence.  "  We'se  do 
your  bidding  weel.  I'll  see  to  the 
dirks  and  sporrans,  and  Sandie  will 
look  after  the  rest." 

"  Dirks  and  sporrans !  "  said  I, 
when  the  Gaels  had  departed  after  the 
usual  propitiatory  caulker.  "Why,  my 
dear  Stanley,  are  you  going  to  get  up 
Bob  Roy  on  your  own  account ?  " 

"  Something  like  it,  I  confess,  as 
you  may  afterwards  have  reason  to 
acknowledge.  But  tell  me — how  did 
you  get  on  with  Hawkins  ?  " 

"  Nothing  could  be  better.  I  have 
just  left  him,  and  on  Wednesday  we 
start  for  the  north." 

"  On  Wednesday  !  Then  I  have 
no  time  to  lose.  And  Lucy — what 
do  you  think  of  her?" 

"The  most  fascinating  creature  I 
ever  saw ! " 

"  I  say,  Cameron— I  hope  you  will 
recollect  your  are  on  honour  with  me. 
No  flirtation,  if  you  please,  in  that 
quarter." 

"You  may  consider  yourself  per- 
fectly safe  :  I  am  more  than  half  en- 
gaged already.  Besides,  what  chance 
could  I  have  against  a  dashing  cap- 
tain of  dragoons  ?  " 

"  That's  true,"  remarked  Stanley. 

It  may  appear  rather  odd,  but  if 
anything  could  have  tempted  me  to 
enter  the  lists  of  love  against  this  son 
of  Mars,  it  would  have  been  the  en- 
tirely acquiescent  tone  in  which  he 
confirmed  my  last  suggestion.  How- 
ever, I  dismissed  the  impulse. 

"  You  must  prepare  yourself  to  find 
old  Hawkins  an  altered  man,"  said  I. 
"  He  is  already  wild  about  the  clans, 
and  as  patriarchal  in  his  notions  as 
the  venerable  Parr.  I  shall  not  be 
in  the  least  surprised  if,  before  the 
year  is  out,  he  should  be  put  upon  his 
trial  for  an  attempt  to  subvert  the 
House  of  Hanover." 

"What!— does  he  take  to  it  so 
readily  ?  " 


The  Raid  of  ArnabolL 


[Aug. 


"  I  wish  you  heard  him  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Philiphaugh!"  said  I.  "He 
woke  this  morning  in  blissful  uncon- 
sciousness of  the  existence  of  any  such 
locality,  but  I  left  him  about  an  hour 
ago,  raging  at  the  Covenanters  like  a 
wild  boar.  Bless  your  heart — before 
he's  a  week  older,  he'll  believe  in  the 
authenticity  of  Ossian ! " 

"  First-rate !  I  only  hope  he  may 
not  descend  too  soon  to  realities." 

"  Keep  your  mind  quite  easy.  He 
knows  no  more  about  the  Highlands 
than  did  George  IV.  He  has  some 
vague  notions  touching  tartans,  and 
gatherings,  and  pibrochs ;  nothing 
more.  At  the  same  time,  I  don't  think 
he  would  be  at  all  astonished  if,  some 
fine  morning,-  the  M'Intoshes  and 
M'Tavishes  were  to  take  a  fancy  for 
holding  a  pitched  battle  on  his  estate." 

"  Faith,  he  might  find  himself  in  an 
awkward  fix  could  such  a  circum- 
stance really  occur ! " 

"Not  a  whit  of  it!  He  has  im- 
plicit confidence  in  the  privileges  of 
the  clan  Macduff." 

"The  deuce  he  has !  Really,  Came- 
ron, you  have  a  great  deal  to  answer 
for." 

"My  conscience  is  quite  easy  on 
that  score — I  am  only  obeying  orders. 
And  that  reminds  me  that  if  you  have 
anything  further  to  say,  or  any  in- 
structions to  give,  you  had  better  be 
quick  about  it.  In  three  days  from 
the  present  time,  his  foot  will  be  on 
his  native  heath,  and  his  name  will 
be  Macduff!" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  have 
anything  further  of  importance  to 
communicate.  You  know  the  lead- 
ing features  of  our  plan.  We  reserve 
actual  operations  until  we  meet  upon 
the  Macduff  territory.  However,  if 
you  should  chance  on  your  way  thither 
to  fall  in  with  any  singular  specimens 
of  the  Gael,  whose  countenances  may 
seem  to  resemble  those  of  the  two 
respectable  individuals  who  have  just 
left  this  apartment,  you  need  not  give 
way  to  any  bursts  of  ecstatic  surprise. 
I  believe  there  is  usually  an  emigra- 
tion of  the  chairmen  to  the  northwards 
about  this  season  of  the  year." 

"  I  understand.  Then  I  may  ex- 
pect the  apparition  of  Dngald  or  his 
friend  Sandie  to  cross  our  path." 

"  I  look  upon  such  a  phenomenon 
as  far  from  improbable,"  replied  the 


1851.] 


The  Raid  of  Arnabott. 


Captain.     *'  And  now,  if  you  please, 
let  us  drink  success  to  the  conspiracy." 

Two  days  afterwards,  the  Hawkins 
family  and  I  were  in  Glasgow.  I  had 
anticipated  a  relapse  on  the  part  of 
the  worthy  Thane  as  he  approached 
this  busy  mart  of  industry,  and  was 
not  quite  easy  in  my  mind  as  to  the 
effect  which  the  stupendous  spectacle 
of  the  St  Rollox  stalk  might  have  in 
dispelling  his  dreams  of  feudalism.  I 
remembered  the  history  of  the  French 
emigrant  baron,  who,  when  restored 
to  his  paternal  estates,  could  find  no 
peace  of  mind  unless  he  occupied 
himself  several  hours  each  day  in  the 
pungent  task  of  twisting  tobacco,  the 
occupation  which  had  cheered  his 
exile ;  and  I  half  expected  that  Mr 
Hawkins  would  inhale  from  the  thick 
atmosphere  of  the  western  metropolis 
certain  atomic  particles  of  his  old 
inspiration.  For  once  I  was  entirely 
wrong.  On  the  shrine  of  St  Rollox 
he  offered  no  incense,  neither  did  he 
condescend  to  honour  a  single  manu- 
factory by  a  visit.  He  expressed, 
however,  a  wish  to  inspect  the  vener- 
able cathedral  of  St  Mungo;  and 
Lucy,  who  was  then  romantically 
disposed,  would  have  had  no  objection 
to  a  stroll  through  the  dreary  shrubs 
of  the  Necropolis  ;  but  as  the  hour 
was  late,  I  gave  my  vote  against 
archaeology  and  sentiment,  and  my 
friends  acquiesced  in  the  decision. 

Of  our  voyage  next  day  I  need  say 
nothing.  Every  one  who  has  sailed 
down  the  Clyde  knows  the  magnifi- 
cent scenery  which  renders  this,  per- 
haps, the  finest  estuary  of  Britain  ; 
and  old  Hawkins  began  to  distend  his 
nostrils,  and  assume  an  aspect  of 
savage  pride,  as,  below  Dumbarton, 
he  caught  the  first  glimpse  of  the 
Highland  mountains,  which  rise  up  to 
meet  the  clouds  from  the  beautiful 
shores  of  Loch  Lomond.  Then  came 
Rothesay  with  its  lovely  bay,  Loch 
Riddan,  and  the  Kyles  of  Bute  ;  and 
towards  mid -day  we  were  gliding 
along  the  Crinan  Canal,  which  tra- 
verses the  isthmus  dividing  Loch  Fine 
from  the  western  seas.  Again  we 
got  on  board  the  steamer,  and  ploughed 
our  way  along  the  verge  of  Corry- 
vreckan,  (at  that  time  peculiarly  spirit- 
less, as  the  weather  was  very  calm ;) 
and  so  on,  through  the  channels  and 
sounds  of  the  Hebrides— a  route  which 


220 

should  be  followed  by  every  tourist 
who  has  really  a  mind  to  explore  the 
most  sublime  and  least  hackneyed 
portions  of  the  Highland  scenery. 
The  steamer  was,  of  course,  tolerably 
well  filled  with  sportsmen,  drovers, 
and  scenery-hunters — the  latter  of  all 
nations,  from  the  inquisitive  Yankee 
to  the  phlegmatic  German  ;  and,  alto- 
gether, the  voyage  was  far  from  disa- 
greeable. We  dropped  most  of  our 
travelling  companions  at  the  ports 
where  the  vessel  touched,  and  on  the 
second  morning  (rather -a  drizzly  and 
uncomfortable  one,  by  the  way)  the 
steam  was  let  off  opposite  Portna- 
creesh,  which  was  the  appointed 
haven  of  our  destiny.  A  bullheaded 
boat,  pitching  awfully  in  the  swell, 
and  manned  by  two  unintelligible 
natives,  came  alongside,  and  into  this 
Mr  and  Miss  Hawkins,  along  with 
myself,  the  pointers,  luggage,  and 
Hawkins'  valet-de-chambre,  an  elder- 
ly and  comatose  individual,  who  an- 
swered to  the  name  of  Cager,  were 
lowered,  fortunately  with  less  than 
the  usual  complement  of  accidents. 
The  steam  was  shut  off,  the  boatmen 
resumed  their  oars,  and,  after  receiv- 
ing a  thorough  aspersion  from  the 
waves,  against  which  the  boat  per- 
sisted in  bumping  in  the  most  obsti- 
nate manner,  we  were  all  transferred 
to  the  slippery  heap  of  rocks,  over- 
grown with  tangle  and  studded  with 
limpets,  which  constitutes  the  jetty  of 
Portnacreesh.  I  managed  to  convey 
Lucy  in  safety  over  this  treacherous 
path,  which  resembled  a  submarine 
causeway  heaved  up  by  the  effect  of 
an  earthquake ;  but  Hawkins,  who 
was  taking  a  somewhat  premature 
topographical  survey,  instead  of  look- 
ing to  his  feet,  chanced  to  tread  upon 
one  of  those  masses  of  maritime  jelly 
which  the  philosophers  designate  Me- 
dusa, and  in  consequence  performed 
the  antique  custom  of  saluting  the 
new-found  shore.  I  presume  he  ac- 
cepted the  omen,  though  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  kerseymeres,  which  were 
split  across  at  either  knee. 

Scarcely  had  he  recovered  from  this 
accident,  when  the  voice  of  Cager, 
who  had  been  left  in  charge  of  the 
luggage,  was  heard  entreating  for 
assistance.  I  hurried  back,  and  found 
him  in  deep  debate  with  the  Gael, 
who  peremptorily  refused  to  allow  a 


230 

single  portmanteau  to  be  lifted  ashore 
until  their  demands,  amounting  to  "  a 
Idnua,"  were  satisfied.  Although  a 
.conscientious  appraiser  would  scarcely 
have  valued  the  fee-simple  of  their 
boat  at  the  money,  it  did  not  appear 
to  me,  judging  from  the  rarity  of  the 
traffic  at  Portnacreesh,  that  they  were 


The  Raid  of  Arnaloll. 


[Aug. 


demanding  much  more  than  double 
their  proper  fare ;  so,  after  a  protracted 
wrangle,  I  compromised  matters  by 
the  surrender  of  four  half-crowns,  and 
left  Cager  to  follow  us  to  the  inn — 
which,  with  two  fishers'  cottages, 
constitutes  the  whole  of  the  Claehaii — 
at  his  leisure. 


CHAPTER   III. 


The  landlord  of  the  inn  at  Portna- 
sreesh  may  be  a  very  agreeable  fel- 
low, but  I  never  saw  him;  and  I 
xloubt  much  whether  any  person  else 
*vas  ever  admitted  to  an  interview. 
The  superintending  genius  of  the 
place  was  a  small  smoke-dried  wo- 
man, who  uttered  her  few  Saxon 
vocables  with  a  shrill  scream;  and 
under  her  orders  was  a  biped  with 
bleached  hair,  from  the  length  of 
whose  petticoat  it  was  to  be  presumed 
that  she  appertained  to  the  gentler 
sex.  Out  of  doors  there  wandered 
an  individual  who  might  possibly, 
upon  occasion,  be  intrusted  with  the 
custody  of  a  shelty,  but  at  present  his 
mind  seemed  to  be  occupied  with  only 
•one  idea ;  for,  in  answer  to  the  in- 
quiries made  by  Mr  Hawkins  and 
myself  as  to  the  possibility  of  our 
procuring  a  vehicle  to  continue  our 
route,  only  one  response  was  vouch- 
safed— "  A  penny  to  puy  tobacco  !  " 

"Well!"  said  Mr  Hawkins,  "I 
must  confess  that  this  is  not  a  very 
agreeable  introduction  to  the  laud  of 
the  Gael.  Sublime  scenery,  no  doubt ; 
only  I  wish  it  would  not  rain  so,  and 
that  one  could  get  a  glimpse  of  the 
mountains  !  I  want  breakfast  too, 
and  I  wish  to  know  how  we  are  to  get 
it." 

To  say  the  truth,  the  same  idea  was 
painfully  preying  on  my  vitals.  From 
the  appearance  of  the  place,  and  the 
total  absence  of  any  vestiges  of  poultry, 
I  concluded  iu  my  own  mind  that 
oat  cakes  and  whisky  were  the  only 
-probable  refreshments  at  hand  ;  and  a 
conference  with  Mrs  M'lvor,  the  land- 
lady, settled  all  doubts  on  the  subject. 

"  Three  muckle  brutes  o'  Sassen'achs 
had  eaten  them  out  o'  house  and  haine 
yesterday.  Naething  less  wad  serve 
them  than  the  end  of  a  braw  mutton- 
ham,  and  that  they  had  pykit  to  the 
bane.  They  gaed  aff  this  morning 


afore  the  steamer  cam,  and  took  the 
hail  o'  the  bannocks  wi'  them  1" 

"  But,  my  good  woman,  we  posi- 
tively must  have  something  to  eat." 

"  Weel !  I'm  no  forbidding  ye,  but 
whare  am  I  to  find  it  ?  There's  no  a 
herring  in  the  loch,  and  a'  the  lads  are 
casting  peats." 

"  But,  my  dear  lady,"  interposed 
Mr  Hawkins  in  a  conciliatory  tone, 
rather  interrupted  by  a  cough  engen- 
dered by  the  eddies  of  smoke  which 
somehow  or  other  would  not  ascend 
the  chimney,  "  don't  you  think  you 
could  get  us  a  nice  mutton  chop,  or 
something  of  the  sort  ?  I  assure  you 
we  are  not  at  all  particular." 

"Muttin?"  vociferated  Mrs  M'lvor, 
"  and  whare  am  I  to  get  muttin  ? 
There's  nane  nearer  than  Obaii  that 
hasna  the  wool  on't.  Gin  ye  wanted 
muttin,  ye  suld  hae  bided  at  Glasco." 

"  Good  heavens  !  Mr  Cameron," 
said  Hawkins,  "  what  is  to  become  of 
us?  I  thought  this  was  a  country 
chokeful  of  grouse,  venison,  and  sal- 
mon, not  to  mention  snipes  and  other 
wildfowls,  and  it  appears  absolutely 
inevitable  that  we  are  to  perish  of 
hunger ! " 

I  was  fortunately  relieved  from  tho 
necessity  of  entering  my  protest 
against  the  recognition  of  Portna- 
creesh as  the  proper  sample  of  High- 
land hospitality  and  comfort,  by  the 
appearance  of  Mr  Cager,  who,  in  the 
extremity  of  his  famine,  had  been 
prowling  through  the  outhouses,  and 
had  discovered  a  jaunting  car,  strong 
enough,  as  he  averred,  to  carry  us  to 
our  journey's  end,  provided  a  pony  was 
attainable.  Moreover,  the  said  Cager 
had  descried,  under  the  body  of  the 
vehicle,  a  brood  of  well-grown  duck- 
lings, two  of  which  he  had  incontinently 
seized,  notwithstanding  the  frantic 
struggles  of  their  foster-mother  the 
hen,  and  he  now  exhibited  their  bodies 


1851.] 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


231 


as  lawful  spoil.  Mrs  M'lvor  was  at 
first  inclined  to  cry  the  coronach  over 
her  perished  pouts,  but  yielding  ulti- 
mately to  the  force  of  circumstances, 
and  Mr  Hawkins'  liberal  offers  of 
reimbursement,  she  carried  them  off 
to  the  brander.  Cager  then  assured 
us  that  the  house  was  not  quite  so 
unfrequented  as  we  supposed,  seeing 
that  a  Highland  gentleman,  with  a 
very  odd  name,  which  he  could  not 
venture  to  repeat,  was  at  that  mo- 
ment refreshing  himself  in  an  upper 
chamber ;  at  least  so  he  conjectured, 
from  the  circumstance  that  three 
several  pewter  measures  had  been 
carried  up  stairs  by  the  Hebe  since 
our  arrival. 

Mr  Hawkins  immediately  proposed 
that  we  should  wait  upon  this  myste- 
rious gentleman  ;  and,  as  the  case  was 
one  of  urgency,  I  agreed.  Ascending 
the  stair,  we  knocked  at  an  unpainted 
door,  and  received  a  guttural  permis- 
sion to  enter.  At  a  deal  table,  gar- 
nished with  a  glass  and  sundry  nog- 
gins, sate  a  brawny  Celt,  arrayed  from 
head  to  foot  in  a  suit  of  resplendent 
tartans,  the  colour  of  which  matched 
perfectly  with  the  fiery  tinge  of  his 
hair.  Though  alone,  he  had  stuck  his 
dirk  into  the  table,  seemingly  as  a 
precaution  against  any  disagreement 
with  himself;  and  as  we  entered,  he 
saluted  us  very  courteously. 

"  Coot  morning  to  you,  sirs !  You 
will  have  come  by  the  steamer,  I  sup- 
pose ?  Will  you  take  a  little  bitters  ?  " 

Mr  Hawkins  declined  the  proffered 
hospitality. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  sir,  for  this 
intrusion  ;  but  the  fact  is,  that  being 
a  proprietor  in  this  neighbourhood, 
though  till  now  quite  a  stranger  to  it, 
I  am  anxious  to  procure  some  further 
information  regarding  the  means  of 
conveyance  than  the  good  folks  here 
seem  able  to  give  us." 

"A  proprietor!"  said  our  new 
acquaintance ;  "  that  is  fery  pleasant. 
I  am  a  proprietor  myself,  in  a  small 
way,  and  it  gives  me  the  greatest 
satisfaction  to  meet  with  you  in  this 
agreeable  manner.  You  will  not  be 
Sir  Lauchlan  M'Tavish,  or  Dalfosaig, 
come  down  for  the  crouse  ?  " 

"By  no  means,  sir.  My  name  is 
Hawkins — Macduff  Hawkins  of  Arna- 
boll, at  your  service." 

"Arnaboll!"    shouted    the    Celt, 


"  are  ye  Arnaboll  ?  Give  me  your 
hand.  As  I  live  by  pread,  sir,  I  am 
proud  to  see  your  father's  son  among 
us  ;  and  I  can  tell  you  what  it  is,  that 
I  am  not  distantly  related  to  your- 
self. My  creat-crandmother  was  a 
Macduff  of  the  Dallnaglattan,  and  I 
am  not  fery  far  wrong  if  I  think  that 
you  reckon  kindred  with  their  honour- 
able house.  You  must  take  a  little 
bitters!" 

"Indeed,  my  dear  sir,  you  must 
excuse  me — I  have  not  yet  break- 
fasted !  The  people  here  are  rather 
dilatory." 

"  Not  preakfasted  !  "  cried  the 
kinsman  of  the  Macduff;  "  I  will  put 
that  to  rights,  or  my  name  is  not 
Angus  M'Craw  of  Dalnavardoch  1 
Do  you  hear,  you  Mistress  M'lvor  ? 
You  will  bring  up  the  salmons  and 
the  eggs,  and  the  roe- deer  pie,  and 
all  you  have  in  the  house,  in  two 
snaps  of  your  fingers,  or  I  will  be 
down  upon  you  some  of  these  nights 
in  a  manner  that  will  not  be  re- 
lished." 

A  sudden  shuffling  below,  and  a 
jingling  of  crockery,  intimated  that 
the  threat  of  the  M'Craw  was  heard 
and  not  unheeded. 

"Really,  Mr  M'Craw,"  said  Haw- 
kins, "  I  am  quite  ashamed — " 

"  You  will  forkive  me,  Arnaboll," 
said  the  other,  "  but  it  is  not  usual 
to  call  gentlemens  Mr ;  I  answer  to 
the  name  of  M'Craw,  or  Dalnavar- 
doch ;  but  I  do  not  like  to  be  spoken 
to  as  you  would  speak  to  a  pagman, 
or  a  person  who  makes  cottons." 

"  I  am  sure  I  ask  your  pardon  a 
thousand  times,  M'Roe,"  replied 
Hawkins,  rather  abashed.  "  You 
must  recollect  I  am  a  stranger  here. 
Perhaps  you  would  allow  me  to  intro- 
duce my  daughter." 

"  I  have  not  been  prute  enough  to 
be  sitting  here,  and  a  leddy  down  pe- 
low  !  "  cried  Dalnavardoch  ;  "  I  will 
go  to  her  myself  directly,  and  perform 
my  excuses." 

"  Oh,  pray  don't,"  said  Hawkins, 
perhaps  a  little  apprehensive  of  the 
effect  which  the  sudden  apparition  of 
the  Gael  might  have  upon  the  nerves 
of  Lucy.  "  I  shall  fetch  her  myself." 
And  so  saying,  he  disappeared. 

A  hideous  grin  distorted  the  coun- 
tenance of  Dalnavardoch,  as  he  winked 
to  me  over  his  pewter.  I  knew  the 


232 

fellow  at  once.    It  was  the  Dugald 

Creature  iii  a  new  phase  of  existence. 

"Perhaps,  Mr  Angus  M'Craw  of 
Dalnavardoch,"  said  I,  "  you  will  be 
kind  enough  to  enlighten  me  as  to 
the  next  stage  of  your  proceedings  ? 
At  present,  I  must  say,  I  am  rather 
in  the  dark." 

"  I've  to  tak'  the  auld  man  to  Ar- 
naboll,"  replied  M'Craw,  descending 
to  a  more  colloquial  dialect,  "but  I 
mamma  make  it  ower  easy.  I  ken 
naething  mair.  The  Captain's  ower 
yonder ;"  and  he  pointed  perspicuously 
over  his  shoulder,  leaving  me  to  form 
my  own  conclusions  as  to  the  actual 
distance. 

Further  communication  was  ren- 
dered impossible  by  the  entrance  of 
Hawkins  and  Lucy,  towards  whom 
M'Craw  of  Dalnavardoch  demeaned 
himself  with  the  courtesy  of  a  Paladin. 
Mrs  M'lvor  did  her  best  to  redeem 
her  character  by  the  production,  from 
some  hidden  nooks,  of  the  materials 
for  an  excellent  breakfast,  to  which, 
I  need  hardly  say,  we  all  did  ample 
justice.  The  conversation  then  turned 
upon  the  route  to  Arnaboll,  from 
which  place,  it  appeared,  we  were 
only  twenty  miles  distant. 

"  You  will  have  gotten  your  pass,  of 
course,  Arnaboll,"  said  Dalnavardoch. 
"  It  may  not  be  needful  to  make  ex- 
hibition of  it ;  but  I  would  have  it 
not  far  from  hand  as  you  go  up  the 
glen  of  Kiluathurl." 

"  My  pass  ?  Dear  me !  I  don't 
understand,"  said  Hawkins.  "  I  was 
not  aware  that  Government  issued 
anything  of  the  sort  in  Scotland." 

"  I  was  not  confersing  of  Govern- 
ment," said  M'Craw,  "  regarding  the 
measures  of  which  I  fenture  no  opi- 
nion, except  as  relating  to  small  stills, 
which  is  a  griefous  oppression.  I 
meaned  the  pass  which  you  must  have 
gotten  with  you  from  Ian  Dhu  of 
Achufnfurigal." 

"  Doo  of  Ackuforgle  !  "  cried 
Hawkins,  in  amaze ;  "  pray  explain 
yourself,  my  dear  sir!  Who  and 
what  is  this  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Are  ye  serious,  Arnaboll  ?  "  said 
the  other,  with  a  look  of  inimitable 
gravity.  "Have  you  really  come 
into  this  country  without  the  leave 
of  Black  John  of  Achufufurigal  ?  Ye 
are  a  bold  man,  sir,  and  a  fenture- 
some,  and  I  honour  ye  for  it ;  but  it's 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


[Aug. 


no  every  one  of  us  that  dare  do  the 
like,  even  though  he  could  count  on 
fifty  clansmen  at  the  lift  of  the  Fiery 
Cross." 

"  But  I  assure  you,  on  my  honour, 
Mr  M'Roe — I  beg  pardon,  Dalna- 
verack — that  I  never  heard  of  this 
person  before  in  my  life.  Is  he  a 
magistrate  ?  " 

"  Magistrate !  "  echoed  M'Craw, 
in  a  tone  of  deep  solemnity.  "  There's 
no  a  justice  in  the  laud,  nor  a  shirra' 
neither,  that  daur  make  or  mell  with 
Ian  Dhu.  Have  ye  never  heard 
tell  of  the  murder  of  Kilspiudie's 
baillie?" 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  cried  Lucy, 
looking  very  frightened  ;  "  what  does 
all  this  mean  ?  " 

"  Compose  yourself,  my  dear  Miss 
Hawkins,"  said  I.  "  This  is  a  strange 
country,  and  you  must  expect  to  hear 
of  strange  things.  I  must  beg,  Dal- 
navardoch,that  you  will  explain  your- 
self more  distinctly." 

"  Indeed,  I  wish  you  would,"  said 
Hawkins.  "  Somehow  or  other  I 
don't  feel  quite  easy  in  my  mind 
about  this  personage.  Where  does 
he  reside  ?  " 

"  Ye  may  as  weel  ask  me  to  show 
the  caferns  of  the  east  wind,"  an- 
swered M'Craw,  with  a  touch  of 
national  poetry.  "  Nane  kens  where 
Ian  Dhu  bides.  On  the  bent,  or  on 
the  heather — in  the  wood,  or  by  the 
linn — men  find  him  when  they  seek 
him  not,  and  maist  would  as  soon 
forgather  with  the  Lamh-dearg  of 
Kothiemurchus !  " 

"  In  short,"  said  I,  "  I  suppose  you 
mean  to  insinuate  that  this  person  is 
an  outlaw  ?  " 

"  Ye  have  said  it,  yonng  man  !  " 
replied  M'Craw. 

"  Bless  me !  this  is  very  perplexing 
— very  annoying,  indeed,"  said  Mr 
Hawkins.  "  Surely  the  magistrates 
are  greatly  to  blame  in  allowing  such 
persons  to  remain  at  large.  In  Eng- 
land we  should  have  them  up  under 
the  Vagrant  Act  immediately.  But, 
after  all,  what  ground  of  apprehen- 
sion can  there  be  from  a  single  dis- 
orderly character  ?  " 

"  Count  the  cattle  on  yonder  hill," 
said  M'Craw,  pointing  through  the 
window  to  a  mass  of  vapour  opposite; 
"  and  when  you  have  done  that,  add 
twenty  to  the  number,  and  ye  may 


1851.] 


The  Raid  ofArnaboll. 


form,  some  judgment  of  the  following 
of  Ian  Dim.  Last  year,  when  he 
harried  the  lands  of  Craigandrouthie, 
they  tried  to  count  the  footmarks 
pehind  him,  and  it  was  as  if  a  herd 
of  deer  had  been  driven  by  the  tim- 
chioll ! " 

"  And  will  this  person — this  Mr 
Doo,  as  you  call  him — venture  to 
interfere  with  us  on  the  Queen's 
highway  ?  " 

"  Not  if  ye  pay  him  black-mail," 
replied  Dalnavardoch.  "  Come,  come, 
Arnaboll,  and  you,  my  bonny  leddy, 
you  must  not  be  frightened.  A 
reasonable  man  is  Ian  Dhu,  if  you 
treat  him  reasonably ;  and  indeed  it 
is  not  to  be  expected  that  you  should 
ken  all  that  is  done  in  this  wild 
country  of  ours.  But  as  ye  have  no 
pass,  I  must  efen  go  with  you  as  far 
as  Arnaboll.  Ian  Dhu  would  like  ill 
to  make  a  feud  with  me ;  for  cateran 
as  he  is,  he  has  a  kind  heart,  and  he 
kens  brawly  that  he  was  never  steered 
in  the  woods  of  Dalnavardoch." 

"  But  don't  you  think,"  said  Lucy 
to  her  father,  "that,  if  any  real  danger 
is  to  be  apprehended,  we  ought  to 
apply  for  a  military  escort?  Such 
things  are  constantly  done  in  the 
Appenines." 

"  There's  none  of  the  redcoats 
nearer  than  the  garrison  at  Fort 
Albert,"  remarked  M'Craw,  "and 
that's  ten  miles  on  the  other  side  of 
Arnaboll.  I  heard  yestreen  that 
there  is  a  new  officer  come  there, 
with  orders  to  take  Ian  Dhu ;  but 
he'll  be  a  cleferer  man  than  I  reckon 
him,  if  he  manages  to  lay  salt  on  his 
tail." 

"It  is  a  great  comfort,  however, 
to  know  that  we  can  have  assistance 
in  case  of  need,"  said  Mr  Hawkins. 
"  Pray,  do  you  happen  to  remember 
the  name  of  the  commanding  officer  ? 
So  soon  as  we  reach  Arnaboll,  I 
shall  write  to  him  with  my  compli- 
ments." 

"  I  ken  him  not,"  replied  M'Craw 
of  Dalnavardoch.  "  Southland  names 
tarry  on  my  memory  like  whey  on  an 
empty  stamach.  But  he's  a  tall  man, 
with  a  hawk's  eye,  and  his  name 
begins  with  an  S." 

"Ah,  well!  I  daresay  there  will 
be  no  difficulty  in  finding  him,"  said 
Hawkins.  "  I  must  own  that  Cobden 
has  written  a  great  deal  of  nonsense 


233 

about  the  army,  which  seems  to  me 
a  most  valuable  institution,  especially 
in  these  remote  districts.  Don't  you 
agree  with  me,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  Entirely,  papa." 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  Mr  Haw- 
kins, "I  shall  feel  most  deeply  obliged 
by  your  giving  us  your  valuable 
escort  to  Arnaboll,  M'Roe.  I  cannot 
express  to  you  the  pleasure  which  I 
feel  at  having  madeyour  acquaintance, 
and  I  trust  that  your  arrangements 
at  home  will  admit  of  your  remaining 
with  us  for  several  days." 

M'Craw  heaved  a  sigh. 

"  Mine's  but  a  cauld  hearthstane 
at  Dalnavardoch,"  he  said.  "Fire 
and  feud  have  done  their  wark.  But 
it's  ill  speaking  of  thae  things  ;  so 
I'll  even  step  down,  and  see  about 
the  car,  and  a  cart  for  the  pock- 
mantles,  and  we'll  take  doch-an- 
dorruis,  and  pe  coing,  for  I'd  like  to 
clear  the  glen  of  Kilnathurl  pefore 
nightfall." 

"  Remarkably  intelligent  person 
that,"  said  Mr  Hawkins,  as  M'Craw 
retreated.  "  Quite  a  mine  of  infor- 
mation, I  declare.  Really  I  do  not 
know  how  we  should  have  managed 
without  him." 

"And  so  interesting,  papa,"  re- 
marked Lucy.  "Do  you  know,  I 
thought  I  saw  a  tear  in  his  eye  as  he 
mentioned  his  desolate  hearthstone." 

I  could  stand  this  no  longer ;  so  I 
withdrew,  under  the  pretext  of  looking 
after  the  pointers. 

"  May  I  be  allowed  to  inquire,  Mr 
M'Craw,"  said  I,  "  if  you  are  really 
going  to  Arnaboll  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am,  Mr  Cameron. 
Hasn't  the  laird  asked  me,  and  wud 
it  be  for  me  to  disappoint  him  ?  " 

"  Very  well,"  said  I.  "Of  course 
it  is  no  business  of  mine.  I  presume 
also  you  intend  to  turn  out  on  the 
twelfth?" 

"Even  sae,  weather  permitting," 
replied  the  Celt. 

"  You  rascal !  if  you  dare  to  fire  a 
shot,  I'll  have  you  up  for  poaching." 

"  I'm  leecensed,"  said  M'Craw 
coolly,  "  as  gamekeeper,  in  terms  of 
the  act.  But  ye  need  not  be  feared  for 
me,  Mr  Cameron.  I  ken  my  part; 
and  if  Sandie  kens  his  as  weel,  there 
will  be  a  braw  wedding  afore  long ; 
and  you'll  find  me  in  October  at  the 
auld  stance." 


234 


The  Raid  of  Arnabott. 


[An-. 


"  Well,  I  suppose  you  must  have 
your  own  way.  But  tell  ine,  what  is 
the  establishment  at  Arnaboll?  " 

"  Twa  English  servant  lasses,  that 
are  just  clean  daft  about  the  kilt ; 
Jamie  Welsh,  the  gamekeeper,  frae 
Ettrick,  that  Captain  Stanley  kens  o' ; 
and  a  lad  that's  no'  over  wise." 

"  And  where  may  your  friend 
Sandie  be  at  this  moment?  " 

"  Waiting  in  Kilnathurl,  with  a 
bottle  of  whisky  jb^y  him,  till  he  hears 
the  gig  wheels." 

"Now,  Dugald,"  said  I,  "I  don't 
know  what  your  orders  may  be,  but 
I  warn  you  of  this,  that  if  you  or 
Mr  Sandie  do  anything  that  may 
seriously  alarm  Miss  Hawkins,  I  shall 
feel  no  scruple  in  dealing  with  you 
as  if  you  were  a  couple  of  footpads." 

"  Nae  fears,  nae  fears  !  "  said 
Dngald.  "There  will  be  naething 
done  worth  speaking  o'  till  the  Cap- 
tain comes  himsel'." 

Comforted  with  this  assurance,  I 
exerted  myself  to  expedite  the  pre- 
parations, and  in  a  short  time  we 
were  ready  to  set  forth.  Lucy,  Mi- 
Hawkins,  and  Cager,  were  disposed 
of  in  the  car,  and  I  had  the  honour 
of  performing  the  journey  on  foot  by 
the  side  of  Mr  Angus  M'Craw  of 
Dalnavardoch.  That  truly  gifted 
individual  beguiled  the  tedium  of  our 
way,  by  pouring  forth  a  stock  of  infor- 
mation of  the  most  original  and  mis- 
cellaneous kind.  At  first  he  prin- 
cipally dwelt  upon  the  daring  deeds 
and  lawless  achievements  of  Ian  Dhu, 
whom  he  represented  as  a  sort  of 
Highland  Esau,  ready  at  all  times  to 
do  battle  against  odds  however  over- 
whelming. I  cannot  take  upon  me 
to  state  exactly  the  number  of  excise- 
men, soldiers,  and  messengers'  con- 
currents who  had  perished  by  the 
hands  of  him  of  Achufufurigal,  but  it 
was  something  quite  enough  to  make 
a  considerable  difference  on  the  census. 
Also  he  had  captured  or  surprised 
castles,  carried  oif  brides  from  wed- 
dings, harried  straths,  and  committed 
divers  other  delinquencies  too  nume- 
rous to  mention  ;  so  that  the  fear  of 
him,  according  to  M'Craw,  was  as 
generally  disseminated  over  the  coun- 
try as  was  the  potato  disease.  Pass- 
ing from  this  topic,  he  then  regaled 
us  with  a  lecture  upon  agriculture,  to 
which  Mr  Hawkins,  who  had  various 


schemes  for  improvement  in  his  head,, 
did  seriously  incline.  Turnips,  iit 
M' Craw's  opinion,  could  never  be 
made  a  profitable  crop,  owing  to  the 
innumerable  herds  of  deer  which  came 
down  on  the  moonlight  nights  to 
devour  them;  but  he  asserted  that 
tobacco  of  the  very  finest  quality  and 
flavour  might  be  grown  at  a  vast 
profit,  without  the  Government  hear- 
ing anything  about  it.  He  was  like- 
wise in  favour  of  the  erection  of 
sundry  distilleries,  which,  by  creating 
a  demand  for  barley,  might  give  a 
vast  impulse  to  the  cultivation  of  the 
soil ;  but  he  deprecated  the  notion  of 
the  establishment  of  cotton  manu- 
factories, principally  on  the  ground  of 
the  exceedingly  limited  nature  of  the 
local  demand  for  shirtings. 

Conversing  on  these  and  similar 
topics,  we  reached  the  bottom  of  the 
pass  of  Kilnathurl,  a  spot  peculiarly 
well  suited  by  nature  for  the  purposes 
of  surprise  or  ambuscade.  The  valley 
here  narrowed  itself  into  a  glen,  down 
which  ran  a  brawling  brook,  sweeping 
around  the  base  of  enormous  moun- 
tain masses,  which  appeared  by  some 
convulsion  of  nature  to  have  been 
hurled  down  from  the  steep  precipices, 
but  were  now  feathered  with  a  copse 
of  oak,  hazel,  and  birch  to  their  very 
summits.  As  I  anticipated,  a  shrill 
whistle  rang  above  from  one  of  these 
natural  fortalices,  and  a  Highlander, 
bearded  like  a  goat,  appeared  upon  a 
ledge  of  rock.  M'Craw  had  not  per- 
formed the  Dugald  Creature  in  vain : 
he  remembered  the  effect  produced  by 
the  apparition  of  Helen  M'Gregor. 

"  Who  and  what  are  ye  that  travel 
through  my  country?"  asked  the 
cateran  in  a  husky  tone. 

"  Has  the  mist  settled  on  the  eyes 
of  Ian  Dim,  that  he  knows  not  Angus 
M'Craw  of  Dalnavardoch  ?  " 

"  Welcome  as  the  rain  of  summer 
to  the  parched^earth  is  the  voice  of 
Angus  of  Dalnavardoch  toj-he  ears  of 
Ian  Dhu !  But  who  are  those  Avith 
him?  Arc  they  children  of  the 
Gael?" 

"  The  blood  of  the  Macduff  flows 
in  the  veins  of  the  chief  of  Arnaboll," 
replied  M'Craw,  indicating  Hawkins, 
whose  blood  was  at  that  moment  cer- 
tainly not  visible  on  the  surface  of 
his  cheeks. 

"Arnaboll!"  repeated  the  outlaw 


1851.] 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


gloomily.  "  Was  it  not  by  the  hands 
of  one  of  that  race  that  my  foster- 
father  died?  Who  was  it  that  at 
Stirling  Bridge  gave  the  body  of  Red 
Evan  to  the  crows,  when  the  black 
eddies  of  the  Forth  boiled  below,  and 
the  lightning  leaped  on  Benlomond  ? 
Was  it  not  a  Macduff  that  made 
wastery  of — "  Here  the  feelings  of 
the  outlaw  appeared  to  overcome  his 
speech,  or  at  all  events  his  memory ; 
for,  after  an  abortive  effort  to  continue 
the  wrongs  of  his  deceased  relative 
in  the  same  figurative  strain,  he 
scratched  the  back  of  his  head,  and 
wound  up  his  oration  as  follows: 
"  And  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Angus 
M'Craw  ;  I  would  not  feel  at  all  easy 
in  my  own  mind,  if  I  was  to  allow 
the  indifidual  you  mention  to  pass  by 
without  making  some  further  inquisi- 
tion!" 

"The  dark  shadow  is  upon  him!" 
said  Angus  M'Craw  hastily — u  that 
is,  he  is  efidently  out  of  spirits.  It 
will  be  best  if  I  go  and  talk  with  him 
myself;"  and  so  saying,  he  plunged 
into  the  copsewood. 

"Don't  you  think,  my  dear  sir," 
said  Mr  Hawkins,  drawing  forth  his 
pocket-book  with  a  shaking  hand, 
44  that  we  could  compromise  this  mat- 
ter? I  do  not  understand  what  the 
gentleman  meant  by  referring  to  that 
shocking  occurrence  at  Stirling,  with 
which  I  had  no  connection  whatever ; 
but  if  it  really  is  the  custom  to  pay 
him  for  permission  to  pass  along  the 
road,  pray  let  it  be  explained  to  him 
that  it  is  my  wish  to  settle  everything 
in  the  most  handsome  and  amicable 
manner." 

44  Hush !  my  dear  Mr  Hawkins," 
said  I;  "pray  put  up  your  pocket- 
book.  We  do  not  know  how  many 
eyes  may  be  watching  us  from  these 
heights,  and  it  is  never  wise  to  throw 
temptation  unnecessarily  in  the  way 
of  people.  Mr  M'Craw  will,  no 
doubt,  effect  the  best  negotiation  in 
his  power." 

44  You  do  not  think,"  said  Mr  Haw- 
kins, "  that  they  will  attempt  to  carry 
us  up  into  the  mountains,  or  anything 
of  that  sort?  Surely  they  will  not 
venture  upon  any  such  atrocity ! " 

"I  am  certain  they  will  not,  Mr 
Hawkins.  They  dare  not  commit 
such  a  violation  of  the  privileges  of 
the  clan  Macduff.  The  worst  they 

VOL.  LXX.—NO.  CCCCXXX. 


235 

can  do  is  to  detain  one  of  us — pro- 
bably Mr  Cager — as  an  hostage." 

"If  they  do,  I'm  a  dead  man!" 
cried  Cager,  his  teeth  chattering  with 
terror.  "  I'd  sooner  be  twelve  months 
in  Bolton  jail  than  a  week  with  those 
Highland  savages  who  wear  no 
breeches,  and  carry  knives  in  their 
belts.  Pray  don't  let  them  make  a 
ostridge  of  me,  sir,  else  I  shall  inevi- 
tably give  up  the  ghost !" 

44  Hush,  Mr  Cager,"  said  I,  "  you 
must  learn,  if  necessary,  to  suffer  for 
your  master.  But  here  comes  Dalna- 
vardoch.  Well,  what  news?" 

44  Off,  as  hard  as  ye  can!"  cried 
the  M4Craw.  "  Ian  Dim  is  in  a  fit- 
that  is,  he  is  fery  far  from  well  with 
the  second  sight,  and  in  a  state  of 
visions,  which  may  leave  us  time  to 
get  to  Arnaboll  pefore  he  awakens.  He 
is  fery  much  incensed  at  you,  Arna- 
boll, and  it  is  better  to  get  out  of  the 
way  while  the  dwam  is  upon  him !" 

As  a  matter  of  course,  no  further 
exhortation  was  required.  Cager, 
who  acted  as  charioteer,  plied  his 
whip  with  a  diligence  which  gave 
unwonted  stimulus  to  the  activity  of 
the  pony,  and  in  a  very  short  time  we 
cleared  the  pass  of  Kilnathurl,  and 
looked  down  from  a  rising  ground 
upon  the  present  possessions  of  the 
Macduff. 

The  house  of  Arnaboll,  an  old  for- 
talice  in  only  tolerable  repair,  was 
pleasantly  situated  upon  a  peninsula 
which  ran  into  a  large  freshwater 
lake,  and  the  garden  below  it  was 
carried  down  quite  to  the  edge  of  the 
water.  The  loch  itself  was  beauti- 
fully fringed  with  copsewood,  above 
which  rose  a  range  of  purple  hills, 
broken  here  and  there  by  green  cor- 
ries — as  likely  ground  for  game  as 
ever  blest  the  eye  of  a  sportsman. 
There  was  not  much  demonstration 
of  joy  at  our  arrival.  We  drove 
rapidly  and  recklessly  down  a  steep 
incline,  made  a  short  turn  into  the 
pleasure  -  ground,  the  entrance  to 
which  was  marked  by  two  shattered 
posts  unconscious  of  a  gate  ;  and, 
after  whisking  through  a  wilderness 
of  bushes,  which  almost  concealed  the 
path,  we  pulled  up  at  an  oaken  door 
studded  with  enormous  nails.  Bell, 
of  course,  there  was  none;  but  the 
furious  assaults  of  Cager  on  the  door 
were  in  time  answered  by  a  loud 


236 

barking  within,  and,  in  a  little  while, 
a  gentleman  in  velveteen,  who  an- 
nounced himself  as  James  Welsh,  the 
gamekeeper,  appeared  to  receive  us. 
Disappointed  as  Mr  Hawkins  must 
have  been  at  the  paucity  of  homage 
vouchsafed  him  on  his  first  entry  into 
his  domain,  he  was  yet  too  delighted  at 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll 


[Aug. 


reaching  any  haven  of  safety  to  in- 
dulge in  premature  strictures.  His 
first  impulse,  after  getting  the  bag- 
gage fairly  into  the  house,  was  to 
examine  the  state  of  the  bolts,  and 
his  second  to  desire  a  messenger  to 
be  ready  to  start,  by  the  gray  of  the 
morning,  for  Fort- Albert. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


"  It  is  my  opinion,  Arnaboll,"  said 
the  M'Craw,  as  we  sate  next  morning 
at  breakfast,  "that  it  will  not  be 
confenient  for  your  credit  to  have  in 
the  red-coats.  It  is  a  kind  of  affront 
upon  the  country  side ;  and  Ian  Dim 
will  not  take  it  well  at  your  hands." 

"  You  surprise  me,  M'Roe,"  said 
Mr  Macduff  Hawkins,  who  by  this 
time  had  greatly  recovered  from  his 
terror.  "  Do  you  think  that  after 
what  took  place  yesterday,  it  would 
be  proper  for  me  to  have  any  con- 
sideration for  the  feelings  of  a  person 
such  as  that,  who,  by  your  own 
account,  is  no  better  than  a  thief  and 
a  highwayman  ?  Sir,  I  have  the 
honour  to  be  a  magistrate,  and  I  am 
determined  to  do  my  duty." 

"Fery  goot,"  said  M'Craw,  "you 
know  pest.  But,  if  you  have  any 
regard  for  your  cattle,  among  which 
I  have  observed  from  the  window 
some  superior  stots,  you  will  not  be 
in  a  hurry  to  provoke  a  creachadh." 

"Sir,"  replied  Mr  Hawkins,  "what- 
ever may  be  the  case  elsewhere,  I  am 
resolved  that  here  at  least,  upon  my 
own  ground,  sir,  the  law  shall  be 
respected.  If  other  gentlemen  have 
chosen  to  wink  at  similar  outrages,  I 
at  least  shall  perform  my  part  fear- 
lessly, and  as  beseems  a  British  sub- 
ject. If  the  military  should  refuse 
their  assistance,  which  I  do  not  anti- 
cipate, I  shall  certainly  exercise  those 
feudal  powers  which  are  vested  in 
me,  and  proceed  to  summon  my  clan 
to  hunt  down  this  atrocious  robber. 
1  half  suspect  he  is  lurking  somewhere 
in  the  neighbourhood.  I  hoard  the 
sound  of  a  bagpipe  most  distinctly 
during  the  night." 

M'Craw  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  Excuse  me,  Arnaboll,"  said  he, 
"  but  have  ye  counted  the  clan,  as  ye 
call  them  V  Four  years  back,  when 


that  weaving  body,  Peel,  began  his 
tricks,  there  were  eight- and -twenty 
men,  or  thereabouts,  on  the  estate ;  but 
ye  may  look  long  now  ere  ye  can  find 
a  chield  fit  to  drive  a  beast  to  market. 
They're  a'  gone  to  America,  sir  ;  and 
the  Lord  be  wi'  them,  for  little  temp- 
tation they  had  to  bide  in  a  country 
like  this,  where  weavers  and  suchlike 
manufacturing  persons  have  gotten 
the  upper  hand.  If  Montrose  himsel' 
were  to  speed  the  fiery  cross  up  the 
braes  of  Arnaboll,  he  wadna  bring 
six  men  together ;  and  the  odds  are, 
that  three  of  the  six  wad  be  spies  of 
Ian  Dim." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  "  cried  Mr 
Hawkins.  "  Why,  the  agent  from 
whom  I  purchased  the  estate — a  most 
respectable  writer  to  the  signet — as- 
sured me  that  I  should  find  a  steady 
population  upon  it." 

"And  I  said  nothing  to  the  con- 
trary, Arnaboll,"  replied  M'Craw. 
"  Ye'll  find  the  population  steady  as 
a  rock  when  ye  come  to  pay  the 
poor-rates.  This  is  a  grand  age  of 
reform.  They  drive  away  the  strong 
men  who  were  the  tillers  of  the  soil, 
and  the  farmers  who  paid  the  rents, 
and  leave  the  lamiters,  and  the 
bauldies,  and  the  bedrid,  to  the  lairds, 
who  must  find  them  in  meat  and 
drink,  whether  they  get  a  plack  from 
their  properties  or  no.  It's  a  beauti- 
ful system,  and  will  have  a  braw 
end  !  Mark  my  words,  Laird  of 
Arnaboll  !  In  twenty  years  there 
will  either  be  not  a  single  man  of  auld 
and  honourable  lineage  in  Scotland, 
or  the  Sassenach  will  hear  tell  of 
another  Repeal  more  dangerous  than 
that  of  the  Eireannach."" 

"It  appears  to  me,  however,  M'Roe, 
that  if  what  you  say  be  correct,  there 
is  the  more  reason  for  having  the 
assistance  of  the  military." 


1851.] 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


237 


"It's  a  weak  hand  that  canna  stand 
up  for  its  ain !  "  replied  he  of  Dalna- 
vardoch. We  are  five  able-bodied 
men  in  the  house,  besides  the  piper  ; 
and,  with  the  help  of  the  stone  walls, 
which  are  of  the  thickest,  we  are 
enough  to  keep  Arnaboll  against  any 
comers." 

"  Good  gracious,  Mr  M'Crow!" 
said  Lucy,  "  you  don't  anticipate  a 
siege?" 

"  I  have  seen  ower  mony  strange 
things  in  my  day,  my  leddy,  to  be 
surprised  at  anything,"  said  M'Craw. 
"  But  Ian  Dhu,  bating  his  faults,  is  a 
gentleman;  and  if  he  intends  an  iom- 
druideadh— that  is,  what  you  call  an 
investment — we  shall  doubtless  receive 
due  intimation  thereof." 

"  I  shall  certainly  have  no  commu- 
nication with  this  person  Doo,  on  the 
subject  of  any  kind  of  investment," 
said  Mr  Hawkins ;  "  and  as  far  as 
regards  the  military,  I  think  it  right 
to  mention,  that  I  have  sent  off  this 
morning  a  letter  to  the  officer  in  com- 
mand at  Fort  Albert,  informing  him 
of  our  danger.  Lucy,  my  dear,  what 
was  the  name  of  that  military  gentle- 
man whose  acquaintance  we  had  the 
pleasure  of  making  at  Bolton?" 

Lucy  coloured  like  a  rose.  "  Do 
you  mean  Captain  Stanley,  Papa?  " 

"  Precisely.  A  very  intelligent, 
agreeable  young  man.  Singularly 
enough,  I  find  that  the  officer  at  Fort 
Albert  is  of  the  same  name  :  possibly 
he  may  be  a  relation.  At  all  events, 
I  have  requested  the  pleasure  of  his 
company  here  to-morrow." 

"  Then  you  will  be  excusing  me, 
Arnaboll,  if  I  take  my  departure  this 
night,"  said  M'Craw.  "  There's  a 
little  matter  between  me  and  the 
Feachdan-ruaidhe,  which  is  not  just 
settled — about  some  stills,  or  nonsense 
of  the  kind — and  it  would  be  fery 
inconvenient  to  be  put  to  any  trouble 
on  that  score.  So  I  will  just  take  my 
plaid  about  me,  and  step  over  the 
hills." 

"  My  dear  sir!  "  said  Mr  Hawkins, 
"  surely  you  are  not  in  earnest !  I 
had  calculated  on  the  pleasure  of  your 
company  for  at  least  a  week.  Recol- 
lect, to-morrow  is  the  twelfth,  and  I 
hope  to  have  the  advantage  of  your 
opinion  of  the  merits  of  the  gro'use- 
shooting  here,  which  is  said  to  be 
first-rate." 


"  Muckle  obliged  to  ye,  all  the 
same,  Arnaboll,"  said  the  Celt. 
"  Later  in  the  year  we  may  forgather. 
In  the  mean  time,  I  have  my  own  pri- 
vate reasons,  which  are  fery  forcible." 

To  this  determination  Dalnavardach 
adhered  inflexibly.  Nothing  would 
tempt  him  to  hazard  an  interview 
with  the  Saxon  captain ;  and  at  length 
Hawkins  was  compelled  to  give  up  the 
contest,  which  he  did  the  more  readily, 
on  being  assured  that  no  attempt 
would  be  made  upon  the  house  by 
Ian  Dhu,  without  proper  intimation, 
— that  being  a  point  of  Highland 
etiquette  most  rigorously  observed 
even  by  the  most  abandoned  of 
marauders.  At  the  same  time,  he 
warned  Mr  Hawkins  not  to  expose 
himself  unnecessarily  out  of  doors  at 
any  distance  from  Arnaboll,  as  the 
same  exemption  which  was  applied  to 
his  residence  was  by  no  means  under- 
stood to  extend  to  his  person.  With 
this  caution,  Dalnavardoch  took  his 
departure,  and  I  accompanied  him  a 
short  way  on  his  road. 

"Well,  Dugald,"  said  I,  as  soon  as 
we  were  out  of  hearing,  "  I  must 
confess  you  have  managed  matters 
rather  cleverly.  I  suppose  we  may 
expect  to  see  Captain  Stanley  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  He'll  be  here  the  nicht,"  replied 
the  spurious  M'Craw;  "  Sandy  took 
the  letter  to  him  by  skriech  of  day," 

"  So  that  Ian  Dhu  had  the  honour 
of  performing  the  part  of  messenger  to 
his  intended  captor  !  Where  did  you 
find  him?" 

"  He  sleepit  in  the  house.  Did  ye 
no  ken  that  he  was  Arnaboll's  piper  ? 
A  merry  nicht  we  had  of  it  after  ye 
gaed  to  bed." 

"  That  accounts  for  the  pibroch 
which  disturbed  Mr  Hawkins'  slum- 
ber. And  pray  what  may  be  your 
next  proceeding  ?  " 

"  Ian  Dhu  is  rather  scarce  of  fol- 
lowing," replied  Dalnavardoch,  with 
a  grin.  "  I'm  thinking  I'll  be  wanted 
to  give  him  a  helping  hand  the  morn." 

"  Not  by  way  of  fray,  I  trust,  or 
any  attempt  at  house-breaking?" 

"  Oo  na !  just  a  wee  bit  of  abduc- 
tion, ye  ken ! " 

"  Impossible !  Captain  Stanley 
never  would  sanction  any  such  pro- 
ceeding. Have  a  care  what  you  do  !  " 

"  I  didna  say  icha  was  to  be  lifted," 


238 


TJte  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


[Aug. 


replied  Dugald  sedately.     Ye  mind 
the  ballad  of  Christie's  Will— 

"  '  O  raony  a  time,  my  lord  !  he  said, 

I've  stown  the  horse  frae  the  sleeping 

loun  ; 

But  for  you  I'll  steal  a  beast  as  braid, 
For  I'll  steal  Lord  Durie  frae  Edin- 
burgh town.' " 

"  Dugald  !  is  it  possible  that  you 
would  venture  to  violate  the  privileges 
oftheclanMacduff?" 

"  The  privileges  of  a  snuff  of  to- 
"bacco! "  cried  Dugald  contemptuously. 
"  Set  him  up  for  a  laird !  If  the  auld 
body  hadna  been  daft,  I'd  hae  tellt 
•him  a  bit  o'  my  mind.  But  bide  ye 
•easy,  Mr  Cameron,  and  ye'll  see  some 
sport.  And  now  I  think  ye  had  better 
gang  back  and  keep  the  leddy  frae 
wearying.  If  ye  want  sport,  there's 
a  good  breeze  on  the  loch,  and  the 
trout  will  be  rising  at  the  red  heckle, 
or  ye  can  take  a  pluff  at  the  flappers 
among  the  reeds." 

Finding  Lucy  seated  on  the  lawn 
busily  engaged  in  sketching  the  lead- 
ing features  of  Arnaboll,  I  followed 
Dugald's  advice ;  and  having  taken  my 
rod  with  me,  rowed  up  the  lake,  de- 
clining the  proffered  services  of  Jamie 
Welsh.  I  had  fished  for  several  hours 
with  considerable  success,  and  was 
just  meditating  on  the  propriety  of 
returning,  when  I  was  hailed  from  the 
shore ;  and,  on  looking  round, perceived 
to  my  delight  that  the  new  comer  was 
Stanley.  He  had  observed  me  from 
the  road,  and,  sending  on  his  servant 
with  the  buggy  to  Arnaboll,  had 
taken  this  short  cut  to  learn  the  pre- 
cise state  of  affairs. 

I  told  him  everything  that  had  oc- 
curred, whereat  he  manifested  ex- 
ceeding delight. 

"  That  fellow  M'Craw,  as  you  call 
him,  is  really  a  treasure.  And  so  old 
Hawkins  has  no  suspicion  of  any 
trick  ?  " 

"  None  in  the  world,"  said  I.  u  He 
is  as  fully  convinced  of  the  reality  of 
Ian  Dim  of  Achufufurigal  as  you  can 
be  of  your  own  existence.  But  why 
in  a  shooting-jacket,  Stanley?  I  ex- 
pected to  see  you  as  radiant  as  the 
God  of  War.  And  how  many  men 
do  you  propose  bringing  over  from 
Fort- Albert?" 

"  The  whole  garrison,"  replied  Stan- 
ley. "  You  are  aware  that  Fort- 
Albert  owes  its  existence  to  the  bril- 


liant imagination  of  your  friend 
M'Craw.  The  fact  is,  I  have  a  shoot- 
ing-box in  the  neighbourhood,  not 
six  miles  off;  but,  without  some  such 
ruse  as  this,  I  could  never  have  got 
admittance  to  Arnaboll.  But  Lucy 
— how  does  she  take  all  this  mum- 
mery ?  " 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Stanley,  I 
don't  think  that  she  half  believes  it. 
Ian  Dhu  very  nearly  broke  down  at 
the  pass  yesterday,  having  pitched  his 
style  of  language  somewhat  too  high  ; 
and  since  then  I  can  see  she  has  mis- 
givings." 

"  Then  my  first  business  must  be 
to  disclose  the  whole  plot  to  her.  She 
cannot  possibly  be  angry  if  I  appear 
in  my  own  character,  after  having 
submitted  to  disguise  myself  as  a 
philosopher  at  her  request ;  as,  as  to 
stratagems,  they  are  universally  con- 
sidered to  be  as  fair  in  love  as  in 
war." 

"Especially,"  added  I,  "  when  fa- 
thers have  flinty  hearts,  and  prepos- 
terous prejudices  against  the  army. 
I  must,  however,  do  Hawkins  the 
justice  to  admit  that  he  is  consider- 
ably improved  in  that  respect." 

"  One  other  act,  then,"  said  Stan- 
ley, "  and  the  drama  is  over.  But 
where  shall  I  find  Lucy  ?  I  must  see 
her  before  I  encounter  the  terrible 
Macduff." 

"  You  observe  that  clump  of  lilacs 
near  the  water's  edge?  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  parasol  on  the  other  side, 
and  I  think  you  are  certain  to  find 
her  there.  I  shall  pull  ashore  in  this 
bay,  and  leave  you  for  half-an-hour 
to  make  the  necessary  explanations." 

"No  fear  of  interruption,  eh?" 

"  None  in  the  world.  Hawkins  is 
looking  over  plans  for  a  piggery  on  a 
gigantic  scale." 

Half-an-hour  is  but  a  short  pe- 
riod for  an  interview  between  lovers, 
so  I  kept  out  of  the  way  until  dinner- 
time. I  could  see  by  the  faces  of 
every  one,  as  I  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  that  the  most  perfect  satisfac- 
tion prevailed.  Mr  Hawkins  was  not 
only  civil,  but  particularly  courteous 
to  Stanley,  who,  on  the  other  hand, 
comported  himself  with  an  appearance 
of  marked  respect  for  his  host.  Lucy 
looked  positively  bewitching.  She 
had  been  let  into  the  secret,  and  was 
not  going  to  betray  it. 


1851.] 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


"  I  take  it  very  kind  of  you,  Cap- 
tain Stanley,"  said  Mr  Hawkins,  after 
we  were  seated  at  table,  u  to  have 
come  over  here  so  early.  I  must  own, 
however,  that  I  should  have  been 
well  pleased  had  you  brought  with 
you  some  of  your  men,  as  an  accession 
to  our  garrison." 

"  Why,  you  see,  my  dear  sir,"  said 
Stanley,  "  we  have  a  very  limited 
number  of  men  at  the  fort.  There 
has  been  such  an  outcry  lately  for  re- 
duction, that  the  Government  have 
been  compelled  to  clip  and  pare  as 
much  as  they  can ;  and,  of  course,  the 
smaller  stations  are  the  first  to  be  re- 
duced. I  understand  that,  next  year, 
it  is  proposed  to  withdraw  the  whole 
force  from  Fort-Albert." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  so,  Cap- 
tain Stanley ! "  cried  Hawkins,  im- 
petuously. "  Why,  Lord  John  Bus- 
sell  must  have  lost  his  senses.  Do 
they  intend  to  leave  property  abso- 
lutely without  any  protection  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  profess  to  understand  the 
theory,  sir,"  said  Stanley,  modestly; 
"  but  I  believe  Mr  Cobden,  and  other 
eminent  politicians,  are  of  opinion  that 
universal  peace  can  be  best  s'ecured 
by  the  total  suppression  of  the 
army." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said 
Hawkins,  "  that  man  Cobden  has 
become  a  thorough  humbug.  What 
with  his  Peace-Congresses,  and  the 
like,  he  is  making  himself  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  Europe.  I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  our  member,  Walmsley,  is 
almost  as  bad.  No,  no!  let  them 
meddle  with  what  else  they  please, 
the  army  must  be  let  alone  ! " 

"  I  am  sure,  sir,  the  British  army 
feel  deeply  obliged  to  you  for  the  sen- 
timent," said  Stanley. 

u  They  deserve  it,  sir — they  de- 
serve it,"  said  Hawkins.  "And  so 
they  have  reduced  the  number  of  men 
here,  have  they?  That  must  be 
looked  to  in  the  next  session  of  Par- 
liament. All  the  kinder  in  you  com- 
ing to  us,  Captain  Stanley." 

"  Why,  to  say  the  truth,  sir,  the 
moment  I  heard  you  were  expected 
in  the  neighbourhood,  I  was  most 
anxious  to  pay  my  respects ;  and  it 
is  very  gratifying  to  me  to  think  that 
I  can  render  you  the  slightest  service. 
I  should  certainly  have  brought  over 
some  of  my  men,  but  the  fact  is,  that 


239 

most  of  them  are  employed  just  now 
in  a  service  of  a  peculiar  nature." 

"  What— are  there  more  Mr  Doos 
than  one  in  the  neighbourhood?" 

"  Not  exactly  that.  We  have  dis- 
covered that  smuggling  and  illicit  dis- 
tillation have  been  going  on  on  a  large- 
scale  lately ;  and  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  a  landed  proprietor  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood is  implicated.  Most  of  our 
men  are  out  in  search,  and  I  hope  he 
will  be  soon  apprehended." 

"  What  a  rascal  he  must  be ! "  said 
Hawkins.  "  Pray,  what  may  be  his- 
name  ?  " 

"  Mr  M'Craw  of  Dalnavardoch." 

"  The  Lord  preserve  us !"  cried 
Cager,  dropping  a  pile  of  crockery 
on  the  floor  with  a  smash. 

"  Cager — are  you  mad,  sir?"  cried 
his  master  quickly.  "  Take  away 
those  broken  dishes,  and  hand  round 
the  champagne.  And  do  you  think, 
Captain,  you  will  be  able  to  appre- 
hend this  person  ?" 

"I  hope  so;  though  he  is  a  very 
cunning  fellow,  and  has  some  curious 
hiding-places.  We  tracked  him  last 
to  Portnacreesh,  but  have  since  lost 
the  trace.  I  hardly  think  he  can  be 
lurking  with  any  of  his  friends  in  this 
part  of  the  country,  for  nobody  would 
be  mad  enough  to  incur  the  risk  of  the 
penalty,  if  detected  in  giving  him 
shelter." 

"What  penalty?"  said  Hawkins, 
tremulously. 

"  I  believe  it  is  very  severe,"  said" 
Stanley  —  "more  severe,  probably,, 
than  it  ought  to  be,  seeing  that  it 
attaches  even  to  those  who  may  give 
him  a  night's  lodging  without  being 
acquainted  with  his  guilt.  A  fine  of 
three  thousand  pounds,  and  imprison- 
ment for  twelve  months  in  the  jail  of 
Inverness.  Miss  Hawkins,  may  I  have 
the  honour  of  taking  wine  with  you  ?  'r 

"And  pray,  Captain  Stanley,  are 
you  empowered  to  apprehend  any 
gentleman  who  ma}r  have  had  the 
misfortune  fo  meet  this  person  in  the 
way  you  describe  ?  " 

"  Such  are  my  orders,  sir,"  said 
Stanley.  "  But  it  is  no  use  talking 
further  of  this  fellow.  We  shall  have 
him  in  custody  soon  enough,  I  war- 
rant, as  well  as  his  accomplices  ;  and 
I  own  it  will  be  a  great  relief  to  me, 
for  these  expeditions  through  the 
mountains  are  remarkably  fatiguing- 


210 

By  the  way,  Mr  Hawkins,  you  intend, 
of  course,  to  take  the  moors  to-mor- 
row?" 

"Certainly;  and  I  hope  you  will 
join  us." 

"  Why,  to  say  the  truth,  I  brought 
over  my  gun  for  that  purpose.  Ar- 
naboll  is  too  famous  for  its  grouse  to 
be  neglected." 

Whether  it  was  that  a  cloud  rested 
upon  the  mind  of  Mr  Hawkins,  owing 
to  the  startling  disclosure  of  the  pur- 
suits of  his  recent  guest,  or  whether 
the  thoughts  of  the  morrow  occupied 
us  all,  I  cannot  exactly  say ;  but  the 
evening  did  not  pass  away  with  as 
much  hilarity  as  I  expected.  After 
we  left  the  dining-room,  I  was  doomed, 
for  an  hour  at  least,  to  be  the  reci- 
pient of  the  terrors  of  Arnaboll,  a 
penance  which  I  endured  with  forti- 
tude, simply  because  I  presumed  that 
Stanley  was  advancing  his  cause  else- 
where. That  night  the  pibroch  was 
not  heard. 

Next  morning  we  started  for  the 
moors.  As  the  range  was  extensive, 
it  was  agreed  that  we  should  divide 
our  party,  Mr  Hawkins  being  accom- 
panied by  Welsh  the  gamekeeper,  and 
Cager,  who  implored  most  earnestly 
to  be  allowed  to  look  upon  a  live 
grouse.  Stanley  and  I  had  the  bene- 
fit of  the  services  of  the  "  lad,"  who 
justified  Dugald's  character  of  him, 
by  proving  to  be  an  absolute  idiot. 
We  arranged  to  meet  about  two 
o'clock,  at  a  spot  denominated  the 
Fairy's  Well. 

Stanley  was  a  first-rate  shot,  and 
I  was  in  tolerable  practice  ;  the  dogs 
were  steady,  and  the  birds  strong  and 
plentiful.  I  presume  I  need  say  no- 
thing more  upon  the  subject  of  our 
exploits,  which  are,  indeed,  beyond 
the  scope  of  this  history  ;  and  there- 
fore I  shall  simply  state,  that,  by  the 
time  we  reached  the  Fairy's  Well,  the 
"  lad"  was  staggering  under  his  bur- 
den. Stanley  had  not  thought  proper 
to  communicate  to  me  tl&  nature  of 
his  further  programme  ;  nor  did  I 
care  much  to  inquire  about  it,  being 
iti.-iied  that  the  denouement  would 
do  credit  to  the  skill  of  the  accom- 
plished artist.  The  Fairy's  Well  was 
situated  in  a  beautiful  'little  hollow 
among  the  hills,  not  discernible  until 
you  were  close  upon  it ;  and  it  was 
only  by  shouting  Tobar-nan-sithcan, 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


[Aug. 


and  making  vigorous  gestures  expres- 
sive of  eating,  that  I  could  make  our 
guide  comprehend  whither  he  was  de- 
sired to  lead  us.  As  we  were  the 
first-comers,  we  stretched  ourselves 
on  the  heather  by  the  side  of  the  well, 
which  rose  in  pellucid  clearness  be- 
neath a  rock,  and  then  filtered  itself 
away  through  a  bed  of  emerald  ver- 
dure. 

"  I  trust  nothing  has  befallen  Mr 
Hawkins,"  said  I.  u  Pray  heaven 
he  has  not  fallen  in  with  the  myrmi- 
dons of  Ian  Dhu." 

"  Keep  your  mind  quite  easy,"  said 
Stanley.  "  I  heard  a  double  shot  go 
off  about  ten  minutes  ago,  and,  I 
think,  in  this  direction.  He  will  be 
here  presently,  unless  he  has  bagged 
a  brace  of  Caterans." 

Still  we  waited,  and  no  Hawkins. 
At  last  we  heard  a  prolonged  shout 
on  the  gale,  which  we  answered  with 
a  similar  salvo,  and  in  two  or  three 
minutes  the  chief  of  Arnaboll  ap- 
peared on  the  summit  of  the  brae, 
alone,  without  hat  or  gun,  and  pant- 
ing as  fiercely  as  a  steam-engine.  Al- 
most before  we  could  rise,  he  had 
rushed  down  to  the  well,  and  flung 
himself  prostrate  on  the  heather. 

"  Bless  me,  Mr  Hawkins,"  said  I, 
"  what  is  the  matter?  Where  are  the 
gamekeeper  and  Cager  ?" 

"  A  drop  of  brandy,  if  you  love 
me,"  gasped  Hawkins.  "  O  what  an 
infernal  country  !" 

"Nothing  wrong,  I  hope?"  said 
Stanley  ;  "  nothing  serious  ?" 

"  Cager — poor  Cager — is  gone!" 

"  Gone !  where  to  ?  "  "  Not  dead, 
I  trust  ?  "  asked  Stanley  and  I  in  the 
same  breath. 

"  Worse !  he  has  been  carried  off 
by  that  murdering  miscreant,  Doo  of 
Acknafurgle!" 

"  This  is  most  extraordinary  !"  said 
Stanley.  "  If  the  scoundrels  had  car- 
ried you  off,  sir,  I  could  have  under- 
stood their  object  from  the  value  of 
the  prize  ;  but  why  they  should  have 
seized  upon  your  servant  baffles  my 
comprehension." 

"  And  the  gamekeeper  ?"  said  I, 
"  have  they  also  spirited  him  away?" 

"  Give  me  another  drop  of  brandy, 
with  a  little  water  in  it,  for  I  feel  quite 
faint,"  said  Mr  Hawkins,  "  and  I  will 
tell  you  the  whole  story.  You  see 
we  had  gone  on  shooting  for  some 


1851.] 


The  Raid  of  ArnabolL 


time,  not  very  successfully,  I  allow  ; 
for  the  whirring  of  the  birds  made  me 
somewhat  nervous,  and  I  did  not  kill 
as  usual.  However,  I  wounded  a  con- 
siderable number,  as  Welsh  can  tes- 
tify." 

"  Yes — he  is  an  excellent  keeper, 
and  understands  his  business,"  mut- 
tered Stanley. 

"  Well,  sirs,  the  day  was  confound- 
edly hot,  and  Cager  began  to  lag  be- 
hind. I  almost  suspect  he  was  drink- 
ing, for  I  rather  imprudently  gave  him 
the  flask  to  carry  ;  —but  that  does  not 
matter  now.  However,  in  order  to 
bring  him  on,  I  was  obliged  some- 
times to  call  out  his  name,  which 
Welsh  objected  to,  though  he  could 
not  assign  any  intelligible  reason. 
We  were  then  at  a  wild  part  of  the 
moor, — broken  into  pieces,  like  no- 
thing else  I  ever  saw  in  my  life. 
Welsh  told  me  that  he  saw  a  cock- 
grouse  sitting  on  the  ground ;  but  he 
could  not  make  me  see  it ;  however, 
he  desired  me  to  aim  at  a  tuft  of  hea- 
ther, fire  both  barrels,  and  I  would  be 
sure  to  kill  it.  I  did  so,  and  killed 
the  bird." 

"  Did  you  pick  it  up  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  thought  it  might  be 
wounded,  and  in  order  to  make  sure 
of  it,  I  rushed  forward  without  load- 
ing my  gun.  All  at  once  I  heard  a 
terrible  halloo,  and  two  prodigious 
Highlanders — one  of  whom  I  am  cer- 
tain I  have  seen  before,  if  not  both — 
rose  up  from  a  hollow  in  the  moss, 
and  rushed  upon  us.  What  they  said, 
I  cannot  distinctly  specify ;  but  they 
vociferated  something.  One  of  them 
seized  upon  Cager,  while  the  other 
overpowered  the  gamekeeper,  and  tied 
him  hand  and  foot  with  his  own  shot- 
belts.  What  followed  afterwards,  I 
really  do  not  know.  I  fled  as  fast  as 
my  legs  could  carry  me ;  and  very  glad 
I  was  when  I  heard  you  answering 
my  call." 

"  How  long  ago  was  it  since  this 
happened,  Mr  Hawkins  ? "  asked 
Stanley. 

"  Not  much  above  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  I  should  think ;  though  I  certainly 
must  have  run  a  couple  of  miles." 

"  Then  we  surely  are  in  time  to  in- 
tercept the  villains.  We  are  four  in 
all,  and  two  of  us  with  loaded  wea- 
pons. Do  you  think,  Mr  Hawkins, 
you  could  lead  us  to  the  spot?" 


"  If  you  wish  to  go,  gentlemen, 
don't  waste  time  in  waiting  for  me.  I 
am  as  useless  as  a  ripped- up  pair  of 
bellows.  I  will  follow  you  as  fast  as 
I  can." 

"  Nay,  but,  Mr  Hawkins,"  said 
Stanley,  "  your  presence  as  a  magis- 
trate is  indispensable ;  besides,  we 
never  should  be  able  to  find  the  place 
without  you.  Lean  on  me,  my  dear 
sir,  and  pray  endeavour  to  make  the 
exertion." 

With  the  groan  of  a  stranded 
grampus,  Hawkins  gathered  himself 
upon  his  legs ;  and,  availing  himself 
of  our  assistance,  went  on.  We  were 
so  much  excited  by  the  adventure, 
that  we  did  not  perceive  that  the 
"lad"  tarried  behind — an  instance  of 
sloth  and  indifference  which,  for  the 
credit  of  human  nature,  I  attribute 
rather  to  the  attraction  of  sundry 
ribs  of  cold  roast  lamb,  which  were 
contained  in  his  wallets,  than  to 
any  abstract  deficiency  in  animal 
courage. 

In  a  short  time  we  reached  the 
place  where  the  assault  had  been 
committed.  It  was  a  wild  tract  of 
broken  peat-hags,  capable  of  giving 
covert  to  a  whole  army— or,  in  wet 
weather,  of  engulphing  it — as  was  said 
to  be  the  case  with  the  Serbonian  bog, 
of  which  honourable  mention  is  made 
in  Milton's  Paradise  Lost.  Here, 
indeed,  we  found  Welsh— not  bound 
hand  and  foot,  as  Mr  Hawkins  had 
asserted — though  his  shot- belts  were 
ingeniously  twisted  and  buckled  across 
his  ankles — but  seated  upon  his  rump, 
and  fostering  with  affectionate  care 
the  infant  existence  of  his  pipe.  He 
did  not  appear  to  have  suffered  greatly 
either  in  mind  or  body. 

His  account  of  the  transaction 
tallied  precisely  with  that  of  Mr 
Hawkins.  One  of  the  ruffians,  whom 
he  described  as  endowed  with  preter- 
natural strength,  tripped  up  his  heels, 
and  laid  him  prostrate  on  the  heather ; 
whilst  the  other  detained  Cager,  whom 
terror  had  paralysed,  by  the  throat. 
Welsh  being  bound,  they  lifted  the 
unhappy  Cager  on  a  horse;  and,  after 
making  sundry  demonstrations  with 
their  dirks,  expressive  of  instant  death 
to  the  gamekeeper  should  he  attempt 
to  follow  them,  or  free  himself  from 
his  bonds,  they  set  off  at  a  round  gal- 
lop across  the  moor,  and  disappeared 


242 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


[Aug. 


over  an  adjoining  hill.  Such  was  the 
sum-total  of  Welsh's  evidence. 

"  Can  you  form  no  idea  of  their 
object  in  carrying  off  the  man?" 
asked  Stanley. 

"  Weel  I  wat,  I  can  do  that!"  re- 
plied Welsh  ;  "  it's  no  ill  to  ken  what 
put  up  the  dander  o'  thae  Hieland 
deevils." 

"  Explain  yourself." 

"Arnaboll,  there,  aye  keepit  crying 
out  for  his  man — who,  pair  body,  was 
sooking  at  the  flask;  and,  for  a'  I 
could  say,  he  wadna  leave  aff.  It  was 
aye  'Cager!'  here,  and  'Cager!' 
there  ;  and  ye  ken  weel  eneuch  what 
eager  means  to  the  north  o'  the  Hie- 
land line." 

"  Why,  what  does  it  mean?  "  cried 
Hawkins  in  amazement. 

"  Just  ganger — that  is,  exciseman. 
Ye  cried  loud  eneuch  to  be  heard  three 
mile  aff,  and  ye  wadna  stop,  though 
I  telled  ye  to  be  quiet,  for  I  kenned 
there  were  a  hantle  of  sma'  stills  up 
hereawa' ;  and  I  thought,  mair  nor 
ance,  that  I  got  a  glisk  of  the  tartan. 
Weel,  it's  my  persuasion  that  the 
worm  was  at  wark  no  far  from  this  ; 
and  when  the  folks  heard  ye  crying 
oot  on  the  ganger,  what  else  could 
they  think  but  that  ye  had  come  up 
wi'  a  search  warrant  ?  Nae  wonder 
they  gruppit  him.  I  wad  ha'e  done  the 
same  mysel' ;  and  it  will  be  a  mercy 
and  a  special  providence  if  he  is  not  by 
this  time  at  the  bottom  of  a  loch ! " 

"  Dear,  dear !  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 
cried  Hawkins  in  utter  perplexity. 
41  What  can  they  possibly  have  done 
with  the  poor  fellow?  It  is  very  re- 
markable, though,  that  I  can  see  no 
marks  of  a  horse's  hoofs." 

"  Fient  a  trace  will  ye  find,"  re- 
plied Welsh.  "  They  aye  put  brogues 
on  their  beasts,  as  they  did  on  the 
Border  langsyne." 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  recognise 
either  of  the  fellows?  "  asked  Stanley. 

u  I  ken  ane  of  them  weel,  and  sae 
does  your  honour.  It  was  Angus 
M'Craw  of  Dalnavardoch." 

"  M'Roe  !  Impossible! "  said  Haw- 
kins. 

"  'Deed  was  it.  I  kenned  him 
brawly  afore,  and  I  seed  him  at  Arna- 
boll yestreen." 

"  At  Arnaboll  ?  "  cried  Stanley. 

"  Ay.  He  came  there  wi'  the  laird," 
said  Welsh. 


"  Mr  Hawkins,  can  it  be  possible 
that  this  is  true?"  said  Stanley  grave- 
ly. "  Have  you  actually  been  guilt}' 
of  contravention  of  an  express  Act  of 
Sedcrunt,  by  giving  shelter  to  a  per- 
son so  notorious  as  this  M'Craw,  who 
has  defrauded  the  Government  to  an 
enormous  extent,  and  is  well  known 
as  the  head  and  director  of  all  the 
illicit  distillers  in  the  county  ?  " 

"  Captain  Stanley,"  said  Hawkins, 
looking  as  though  he  would  willingly 
have  exchanged  places  with  Cager, 
"  it  is  no  use  denying  that  this  person 
slept  for  one  night  in  my  house  ;  but 
I  kne\v  no  more  of  his  character  than 
the  child  unborn.  We  met  him  by 
the  merest  accident  at  Portnacreesh, 
as  Mr  Cameron  can  testify ;  and  as 
he  saved  us  from  an  attack  on  the 
part  of  the  robber  Doo,  who  met  us 
on  the  road,  and  further  claimed  rela- 
tionship with  me,  I  could  not,  as  you 
must  see,  do  less  than  invite  him  to 
Arnaboll." 

"  This  makes  the  case  even  more 
perplexing,"  said  Stanley  gravely. 
"  Are  you  not  aware,  Mr  Hawkins, 
that,  by  aji  act  of  the  Scottish  Parlia- 
ment, as  yet  unrepealed,  the  clan  of 
M'Craw,  as  well  as  that  of  M'Gregor, 
is  proscribed,  and  that  the  penalties 
extend  to  those  who  are  connected 
with  them,  however  distantly,  by  in- 
termarriage ?  " 

"  You  don't  ?ay  so?" 

"  It  is  not  more  than  two  months 
since,  in  pursuance  of  that  act,  the 
house  of  Dalnavardoch  was  burned  to 
the  ground.  Observe,  Mr  Hawkins, 
how  the  case  stands.  You  admit 
having  trafficked  with  the  notorious 
outlaw  Ian  Dhu  of  Achufufurigal  for 
your  personal  protection — a  serious 
offence  in  a  country  where  the  payment 
of  black-mail  is  punished  as  severely 
as  its  exaction.  Then  you  are  found 
at  Portnacreesh,  the  well-known  ren- 
dezvous of  the  illicit  distillers,  in  com- 
munication with  the  marked  head  of 
that  formidable  gang,  who  is,  more- 
over, a  hereditary  outlaw.  You  admit 
relationship  with  him,  which  brings 
you  at  once  within  the  scope  of  the 
same  penalties;  and  you  give  him 
shelter,  which  of  itself  is  an  indictable 
crime.  These  things,  or  some  of  them, 
might  perhaps  be  explained  or  ex- 
tenuated ;  but  it  is  a  remarkable 
circumstance,  that,  on  the  very  day 


1851.] 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll. 


243 


after  this  occurs,  Angus  M'Craw 
should  be  found  evidently  engaged  in 
illicit  distillation  upon  your  property — 
a  coincidence  upon  which  it  does  not 
become  me,  as  an  officer,  to  comment. 
Mr  Hawkins,  it  gives  me  the  deepest 
pain  to  find  you  in  this  predicament." 

Had  the  earth  yawned  beneath  the 
feet  of  the  unfortunate  Hawkins,  I  do 
not  think  he  could  have  been  more 
horrified  than  at  finding  himself  trans- 
formed at  once  into  an  outlaw,  a  re- 
bel, and  a  malefactor.  He  looked 
from  one  to  other  of  us  in  sore  dis- 
may. 

u  It's  a'  true  what  the  Captain  says 
about  the  wild  M'Craws,"  asseverated 
Jamie  Welsh  ;  "  and  oh,  it  is  beauti- 
ful to  hear  the  law  sae  preceesely  ex- 
pounded ! " 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  said  the 
luckless  chief  of  Arnaboll.  "  What 
is  to  become  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  neither  your  judge,  your 
accuser,  nor  your  legal  adviser,  Mr 
Hawkins,"  said  Stanley  mildly.  "You 
cannot  but  be  aware  of  the  interest 
which  I  feel  for  you  and  your  family ; 
indeed,  I  may  safely  say,  that  I  would 
rather  my  commission  was  forfeited 
than  be  personally  instrumental  in 
surrendering  you  to  the  severities  of 
the  law.  But  you  must  be  aware  I 
have  no  option." 

"  Will  you  really  inform  against 
me,  Captain  Stanley,  and  I  as  inno- 
cent of  evil  as  a  factory  child  ?  " 

"  My  heart  bleeds  for  you,  Mr 
Hawkins,  and  for  your  lovely  daugh- 
ter ;  but  the  demands  of  duty  are 
paramount.  Welsh!  you  must  pre- 
pare to  go  home  with  me  immediate- 
ly, in  order  that  your  precognition 
may  be  reduced  to  writing." 

u  Stay  a  moment,  Captain  Stan- 
ley," said  I ;  "  an  idea  has  occurred 
to  me.  Mr  Hawkins,"  said  I,  draw- 
ing him  aside,  "  this  is,  no  doubt,  a 
very  ugly  scrape;  and  although  every- 
thing must  be  satisfactorily  explained 
at  last,  I  presume  you  would  not 
wish  to  run  the  risk  of  incarceration  ?" 

"  Not  if  ten  thousand  pounds 
would  suffice  to  hush  the  matter  up." 

"  Well,  I  am  sure  that  Stanley 
would  rather  undergo  any  reasonable 
sacrifice  than  appear  in  this  business. 
You  see  he  has  a  chivalrous  sense  of 
duty,  and  it  would  be  hopeless  to  per- 
suade him  to  conceal  what  has  taken 


place  so  long  as  he  continues  in  the 
service  ;  but  if  you  could  advance  such 
reasons  as  might  induce  him  to  resign 
his  commission  at  once — " 

"  Say  no  more,  my  dear  friend!" 
cried  Hawkins.  "  Daniel  could  not 
have  counselled  more  wisely.  Cap- 
tain Stanley — "  and  the  two  drew 
apart  in  deep  conference. 

"  Welsh,"  said  I,  "  it  strikes  me- 
that  you  and  I  are  rather  in  the  way 
just  now ;  so,  if  you  have  no  objec- 
tion, and  are  not  afraid  of  encounter- 
ing any  more  Highlanders,  we  shall 
take  a  beat  round  the  hill,  and  see  if 
we  cannot  fall  in  with  another  covey." 

Jamie  agreed  without  scruple ;  and 
after  we  had  gone  a  little  way,  he 
drew  my  attention  to  a  thin  spiral 
column  of  smoke  arising  from  the 
bank  of  a  burn. 

"  The  fule  body  they  ca'  Cager  is 
there  down  by,"  said  he,  in  a  mys- 
terious whisper  ;  u  and  I  wad  like  no 
that  ill  to  be  there  mysel'.  The 
speerits  they  make  hereabout  is  just 
prime." 

"  And  I  suppose  he  is  in  very  good 
company  ?  "  said  I. 

"  It  will  be  his  ain  fault  if  he's  no- 
happy.  There's  Dugald  and  Sandier 
and  twa  mair,  and  they've  gotten  the 
pipes,  and  walth  o'  salted  mutton  -r 
and  if  that  disna  gar  him  drink,  I 
dinna  ken  what  will.  'Od,  there's 
waur  places  for  fun  than  a  sma'  still !  " 

"  Then  I  suppose  he  will  be  forth- 
coming when  he  is  wanted  ?  " 

"  In  twal  hours  after  notice,  at  ony 
rate,"  replied  Welsh.  "  It's  just 
astonishing  how  the  bees  get  into 
ane's  head  amang  the  heather." 

"  Very  good.  But  there  is  Sweep 
drawing  on  game  ;  let  us  see  what  it 
is." 

When  I  rejoined  the  party,  I  found 
that  Hawkins  and  Stanley  had  come 
to  a  distinct  and  amicable  under- 
standing, upon  terms  proposed  by 
the  latter.  I  did  not  inquire  into- 
the  secret  ramifications  of  the  treaty,, 
though  I  could  form  a  shrewd  guess 
as  to  their  nature,  from  the  evident 
satisfaction  which  beamed  on  the 
countenance  of  my  friend  the  Cap- 
tain. It  was  now  only  necessary  to 
bind  over  Welsh  to  secresy  ;  and  as 
he  expressed  his  entire  readiness  to 
take  an  oath,  upon  powder  and  shot,, 
never  to  reveal  any  circumstance 


The  Raid  of  Arnaboll 


[Aug. 


which  might  identify  his  master  with 
the  doings  of  the  clan  M'Craw,  and, 
moreover,  accepted  a  douceur  of  ten 
pounds  by  way  of  rivetting  the  bar- 
gain, we  considered  that  matter  satis- 
factorily arranged.  As  for  the  "lad," 
it  was  not  thought  requisite  to  take 
any  steps  to  insure  his  silence,  as  we 
found  him,  on  our  return,  fast  asleep 
by  the  Fairy's  Well,  surrounded  by  a 
pile  of  bones  from  which  every  morsel 
of  animal  fibre  had  disappeared. 

F.or  the  few  remaining  days  that  I 
tarried  at  Aruaboll,  I  had  the  shoot- 
ing entirely  to  myself.  Mr  Hawkins 
would  not  venture  out  again;  and 
Stanley  was  too  much  engaged  in 
rowing  Lucy  about  the  lake,  sketch- 
ing cataracts,  and  making  verses,  to 
take  any  interest  in  field  sports.  I 
should  not  omit  to  mention,  that,  two 
days  after  our  adventure  on  the 
moor,  Cager  was  discovered,  by  an 
exploring  party  headed  by  Welsh, 
fast  asleep  upon  the  heather.  As 
there  were  no  traces  of  any  human 
habitation  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
no  marks  of  any  other  footsteps 
except  his  own,  the  Highlanders 
arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  he  had 
been  carried  off  by  the  Queen  of 
Faerie,  and  detained  for  a  space  of 
time  within  her  subterranean  bowers. 
Much  support  was  given  in  this  theory 
by  the  account  of  Cager  himself,  who 
remembered  nothing  distinctly  be- 
yond being  hurried  into  what  seemed 
to  him  to  be  a  hillock,  where  he  was 
supplied  with  a  strange  but  delicious 
liquor,  by  a  crew  of  beings  whom  he 
described  as  peculiarly  hairy.  Here 
he  saw  neither  the  rays  of  the  sun 
nor  the  glimmering  of  the  moon ;  his 
food  was  a  curious  viand,  such  as  he 
never  tasted  before ;  and  at  times  a 
wild  and  ravishing  music  rang  in  his 
ears.  At  length  he  became  uncon- 
scious, and  only  awoke  to  his  senses 
when  roused  by  Jamie  Welsh.  Pos- 
sibly he  might  have  received  a  con- 
tusion on  his  way  from  the  lower  to 
the  upper  world,  for  he  complained 


several  days  afterwards  of  a  racking 
pain  in  his  head.  It  was  also  re- 
markable that,  about  this  time,  Ian 
Dhu  of  Achufufurigal  and  Angus 
M'Craw  of  Daluavardoch  vanished 
from  this  district  of  country,  and 
the  people  thereof  saw  them  no 
more. 

In  the  month  of  October  following, 
I  was  summoned  to  Bolton  to  attend 
the  celebration  of  the  nuptials  of  my 
friend  Stanley  and  Miss  Lucy  Haw- 
kins. After  the  happy  pair  had 
driven  off,  and  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany retired,  Mr  Hawkins  took  me 
into  his  study. 

"1  wish  to  mention  to  you,  Mr 
Cameron,  a  circumstance  wrhich 
strikes  me  as  truly  remarkable.  You 
remember,  of  course,  Doo  of  Acku- 
forgle,  and  that  very  mysterious  per- 
sonage, M'Roe  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  them," 
said  I. 

"  Well,  sir,  about  six  weeks  ago,  as 
I  was  coming  south,  I  entered  the  sta- 
tion of  the  Caledonian  Railway  at 
Edinburgh,  and  who  do  you  think  I 
saw  there  acting  in  the  capacity  of 
porters  ?  " 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  concep- 
tion." 

"  May  I  never  make  another  bar- 
gain, sir,  if  there  were  not  Doo  and 
M'Roe  with  my  luggage  upon  their 
shoulders !  I  was  paralysed,  sir — per- 
fectly paralysed  ;  but  before  I  could 
recover  myself  they  had  put  every- 
thing into  the  van,  the  bell  rang  for 
starting,  and  MkRoe,  putting  his  head 
into  the  window  of  the  carriage  where 
I  was  sitting,  said  in  the  gravest 
manner  possible — 'You'll  find  all 
right,  Arnaboll,  when  you  get  to 
Carlisle ! '  Sir,  I  have  often  heard 
strange  things  of  your  countrymen, 
but  this  seems  to  me  the  most  ex- 
traordinary adventure  that  was  ever 
recounted  in  history." 

As  such,  I  dedicate  it  to  the  excel- 
lent class  of  men  who  are  entitled  to 
the  whole  merit  of  the  Raid. 


1851.] 


The  Scarborough  Elect  tun. 


245- 


THE  SCARBOROUGH  ELECTION. 


THE  result  of  the  last  two  elections 
which  have  occurred  towards  the  close 
of  the  Parliamentary  Session  is  too 
significant  to  be  passed  over  without 
notice.  By  the  death  of  Mr  Lascelles, 
the  late  Comptroller  of  her  Majesty's 
Household,  a  vacancy  occurred  in 
the  representation  of  Knaresborough. 
The  Comptrollership  was  tendered  to 
and  accepted  by  the  Earl  of  Mul- 
grave,  eldest  son  of  the  Marquis  of 
Nornianby ;  and,  in  consequence,  his 
lordship  had  again  to  offer  himself 
for  the  acceptance  of  the  electors  of 
Scarborough.  At  Knaresborough  the 
Protectionist  candidate  may  be  said 
almost  to  have  walked  the  course. 
At  Scarborough  the  Whig  and  Free- 
trading  Earl  has  been  defeated  by  a 
large  majority,  and  Mr  George  Frede- 
rick Young,  the  able,  zealous,  and  in- 
defatigable chairman  of  the  National 
Association,  is  now  the  sitting  member. 

No  one  who  is  conversant  with  the 
state  of  the  public  mind,  not  as  re- 
presented in  certain  public  journals, 
but  as  actually  exhibited  throughout 
the  country,  can  feel  any  surprise  at 
the  result.  The  disastrous  conse- 
quences of  Free  Trade  have  been  felt 
and  acknowledged,  not  only  in  agri- 
cultural districts,  but  in  the  towns. 
The  total  failure  of  every  prophecy 
which  was  hazarded  by  its  advocates, 
and,  still  more,  the  impudent  but 
most  senseless  manner  in  which  they 
have  persisted,  in  defiance  of  expe- 
rience and  of  facts,  in  vindicating  their 
absurd  policy,  and  to  represent  it  as 
conducive  to  the  national  welfare, 
have,  as  was  most  natural,  materially 
increased  the  strength  and  power  of  the 
reaction,  Gullible  as  John  Bull  may 
be  on  matters  of  abstract  sentiment, 
he  is  yet  feelingly  alive  to  any  process 
which  curtails  the  amount  of  his  cus- 
tom, or  diminishes  the  weight  of  his 
purse.  It  may  not  be  impossible  to 
persuade  him  that  Free  Trade  is  an 
excellent  thing  in  theory ;  but  once 
reduce  that  theory  to  practice,  and  you 
will  never  get  him  to  return  a  ver- 
dict contrary  to  his  own  experience. 
Hostile  verdicts  have  of  late  become 
so  frequent,  that  the  Free -Traders  are 
in  the  utmost  consternation.  We  hear 
nothing  now,  as  we  did  some  time  ago, 
of  the  total  decease  of  Protection— of 


its  obsequies,  its  mourners,  and  such- 
like facetice,  which  the  dismal  jesters 
of  the  League — the  clumsiest  mounte- 
banks that  ever  assumed  the  motley 
garb — were  wont  to  repeat  for  the 
delectation  of  their  gaping  audiences. 
That  Free  Trade  is  now  in  great  and 
imminent  danger  is  allowed  by  all  of 
them;  and  they  are  also  well  aware 
that  the  danger  does  not  arise  from 
any  factious  machinations  of  their 
adversaries,  but  from  the  general 
conviction  of  the  people. 

Let  us  take  the  case  of  Scarborough. 
Here  is  a  town  with  a  constituency  of 
from  seven  to  eight  hundred — rather 
more,  by  the  way,  than  are  enrolled 
for  the  important  county  of  Hadding- 
ton,  and  about  four  times  as  many  as 
stand  on  the  register  for  Sutherland- 
shire.  The  Normanby  estates  are 
situated  in  the  immediate  vicinity, 
and,  for  upwards  of  a  hundred  years, 
the  family  influence  has  predominated 
in  the  borough.  No  personal  objection 
could  be  taken  to  the  Earl  of  Mul- 
grave,  who  is,  by  all  accounts,  a  most 
amiable  and  estimable  young  man, 
not  requiring  to  borrow  any  adventi- 
tious recommendation  from  his  fa- 
ther's popularity.  He  was  no  stranger 
to  the  electors.  Pie  was  not  address- 
ing them  for  the  first  time.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  simply  asking  a  re- 
newal of  their  confidence ;  and,  as  a 
high  officer  in  the  Royal  Household,  he 
was  backed  by  the  whole  of  the  Minis- 
terial influence.  Mr  Young  was  an 
entire  stranger  in  the  borough.  He 
had  nothing  to  recommend  him  but 
his  principles  and  his  well-earned 
reputation  —  a  reputation  not  un- 
assailed,  indeed,  but  infinitely  beyond 
the  reach  of  such  miserable  missiles  as 
were  directed  against  him  by  those 
whose  mean  tergiversation  made  them 
the  natural  foes  of  honesty.  His 
address  was  not  issued  until  the  can- 
vass of  his  opponent  was  nearly  com- 
pleted. With  every  apparent  disad- 
vantage he  took  the  field,  and  won 
the  victory — first  carrying  the  show  of 
hands  at  the  nomination,  and  then 
establishing  his  majority  on  the  poll. 

To  deny  reaction  in  the  face  of 
these  facts  is  obviously  impossible. 
The  only  open  question  is,  whether 
the  reaction  is  general  or  merely  par- 


246 

tial— whether  Scarborough  is  to  be 
considered  as  an  exponent  of  the 
sentiments  of  the  country  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Protection,  or  whether  it  is  to 
be  regarded  as  an  exception,  and  the 
issue  of  the  late  contest  to  be  attri- 
buted to  some  purely  local  motive. 

The  Times,  which  has  dedicated  a 
leader  to  the  subject,  does  not  very 
well  know  how  to  handle  it.  How- 
ever, as  it  is  necessary  to  assign  a 
reason  for  everything,  whether  that 
reason  be  satisfactory  or  not,  we  are 
favoured  with  the  following  explana- 
tion, to  which  we  beg  to  draw  the 
attention  of  our  readers  : — 

"  Scarborough  belongs  to  a  large  class 
of  small  ports,  that  are  likely  enough  to 
be  out  of  humour  just  now.  All  the 
looser  class  of  sailors,  all  crimps,  all  the 
less  respectable  publicans  and  keepers  of 
houses  of  accommodation  for  sailors,  are 
naturally  disgusted  with  the  Mercantile 
Marine  Act,  which  was  expressly  framed 
to  get  the  poor  sailor  out  of  the  clutch  of 
these  harpies;  and  we  have  no  doubt  that 
they  did  their  duty  in  Mr  G.  F.  Young's 
grand  nautical  procession.  There  is, 
however,  a  more  respectable  class  in  all 
our  smaller  ports,  which  is  suffering,  not 
by  Free  Trade,  nor  by  any  political  act, 
but  by  the  vast  changes  taking  place  in 
our  system  of  internal  communications. 
A  few  years  ago,  in  every  port  on  the 
east  and  south  coast,  and  at  every  beach 
where  a  small  ship  could  be  grounded 
with  safety  at  high  water,  there  were 
always  several  colliers  from  Newcastle 
and  other  ports  of  the  northern  coal- 
trade.  That  is  almost  gone  by.  Our 
eastern  and  southern  counties  are  now 
supplied  with  coal  by  the  railway;  and 
when  we  are  assured,  on  respectable 
authority,  that  a  Ion  of  coal  can  be  car- 
ried a  hundred  miles  for  a  shilling,  with 
profit,  it  is  evident  the  inland  traffic  must 
gain  the  day  over  the  maritime.  Again, 
the  grain  which  used  to  be  shipped  at 
Scarborough,  Bridlington,  and  Hull,  for 
perhaps  a  ten,  or  even  a  twenty  days' 
voyage  to  London,  with  risk  of  shipwreck, 
heating,  wetting,  and  other  damages,  can 
now  be  put  on  the  train  and  delivered 
in  London  within  twelve  hours.  All  this 
Us  on  our  small  ports;  and  we  are  sorry 
they  should  be  so  affected  by  the  change, 
t  has  nothing  to  do  with  Free  Trade. 
But  people  in  a  difficulty  are  proverbially 
blind  to  the  true  causes  and  authors  of 
their  distress.  At  Scarborough,  the 
victims  of  a  merely  social  change  wanted 
somebody  to  wreak  their  vengeance  upon, 
and  Lord  Mulgrave  has  kindly  found 
them  a  victim." 


The  Scarborough  Election. 


[Aug. 


Great  are  the  mysteries  of  journal- 
ism !  A  stranger  unacquainted  with 
the  real  locality  would  naturally,  on 
perusing  the  foregoing  paragraph, 
conclude  that  Scarborough  is  a  mere 
paltry  sea-port,  depending  for  its  ex- 
istence on  stranded  coal-vessels,  and 
on  a  coasting  trade  in  grain ; — also 
that  it  is  a  perfect  nest  of  iniquity, 
a  nucleus  of  crimps,  semi-smugglers, 
debauched  ruffians,  harlots,  and  pub- 
licans, who  by  some  means  or  other 
hold  the  representation  of  the  town 
in  their  own  hands,  to  the  exclusion 
of  such  few  respectable  beings  as 
may,  for  the  sins  of  their  .ancestors, 
be  doomed  to  a  residence  there. 
Whereas  Scarborough  happens  to  be 
in  reality  the  most  important,  popular, 
and  agreeable  watering- place  in  the 
north  of  England,  attracting  annually 
crowds  of  visitors,  who  repair  thither 
on  account  of  the  beauty  of  its  scenery, 
the  excellence  of  its  mineral  spring's, 
and  its  total  freedom  from  those 
annoyances  which  are  to  be  found  in 
most  busy  sea-ports.  Such  at  least 
was  Scarborough  when  we  visited  it 
last ;  nor  have  we  any  reason  to  sup- 
pose that,  since  then,  its  leading  fea- 
tures have  been  changed.  But  even 
supposing  that  the  case  were  other- 
wise, it  still  remains  inexplicable  to 
us  why,  on  these  grounds,  the  elec- 
tors should  have  rejected  Lord  Mul- 
grave.  The  noble  lord  was  clearly 
not  answerable  for  the  establish- 
ment of  trunk  lines  throughout  the 
kingdom ;  nor  have  we  ever  heard  it 
alleged  that,  through  his  senatorial 
efforts,  the  number  of  cargoes  of 
Wallsend  coal  has  been  materially 
diminished.  It  does  therefore  appear  to 
us  a  most  unaccountable  circumstance, 
that  the  electors  of  Scarborough  should 
have  avenged  themselves,  for  "a 
merely  social  change,"  which  "  has 
nothing  to  do  with  Free  Trade,"  upon 
their  innocent  representative,  and 
selected  in  his  place  a  gentleman  who 
certainly  never  professed  to  raise  the 
wind  in  such  a  manner  as  to  drive 
distressed  vessels  to  their  shores. 

We  presume,  also,  there  exist 
special  reasons,  if  they  could  only  bo 
discovered,  why  the  electors  of 
Knaresborough  have  preferred  a 
Protectionist  candidate-  As  Kuares- 
borough  is  situated  in  the  interior  of 
Yorkshire,  it  can  hardly  be  main- 
tained that  this  victory  was  won  by 


1851.J 


The  Scarborough  Election. 


247 


the  aid  of  the  crimps,  slopsellers,  and 
loose  seamen,  who  behaved  so  ill  to 
Lord  Mulgrave  ;  and  perhaps  it  may 
turn  out,  upon  investigation,  that 
some  "  merely  social  change,"  uncon- 
nected, of  course,  with  Free  Trade, 
has  being  going  on  there  also,  and 
that  the  worthy  electors  have  acted 
upon  the  same  extraordinary  prin- 
ciple which  has  been  adopted  by  their 
brethren  on  the  sea-coast !  Some 
time  ago  we  were  told  by  the  same 
authority  that  we  were  "  in  a  state 
of  transition,"  which,  however,  was 
not  deemed  to  be  the  effect  of  Free 
Trade.  Now  it  seems  that  matters 
have  altered  somewhat,  and  that  the 
smaller  towns  are  merely  the  victims 
of  "  social  change,"  without  any  re- 
ference to  Free  Trade  at  all !  This 
is  pleasant.  However,  if  the  Times 
is  right  in  its  estimate  of  the  general 
prosperity  of  the  country,  the  result 
of  these  two  elections  need  not  dis- 
turb the  equanimity  of  Ministers. 
Let  us  see  what  the  Times  says  fur- 
ther with  regard  to  Scarborough. 
"  All  the  reaction,  then,  in  this  frac- 
tion of  a  borough,  the  thirtieth  part  of 
Marylebone,  is  probably  confined  to 
a  few  crimps,  whose  unholy  gains 
are  threatened  by  the  Mercantile 
Marine  Act,  and  to  a  few  owners  of 
coal-ships,  whose  business  is  super- 
seded by  railways."  If  so,  what  line 
of  conduct  suggests  itself?  Silent 
contempt  and  sorrow  for  the  delusion 
under  which  the  men  of  Scarborough 
are  labouring  ?  Not  at  all.  The  Times 
propounds  as  a  remedy  a  large  and 
immediate  measure  of  Parliamentary 
reform,  WHICH  SHALL  SWAMP  THE 

WHOLE  OF  THE  SMALLER  CONSTITUEN- 
CIES THROUGHOUT  THE  KINGDOM  ! 

Great  events  certainly  may  spring 
from  little  causes.  Social  changes  in 
Scarborough,  which  have  nothing  to 
do  with  Free  Trade — the  rancour  of 
a  few  crimps,  and  the  disappointment 
of  a  few  owners  of  coal- vessels  in  this 
northern  Yorkshire  borough,  are  to  be 
made  the  foundations  for  a  change 
which,  if  any  equity  is  to  be  observed, 
must  disfranchise  atleast  nine  counties 
in  Scotland !  The  number  of  the 
electors  in  Scarborough  is  greater 
than  the  number  on  the  roll,  respec- 
tively, for  the  shires  of  Bute,  Caith- 
ness, Elgin,  Haddington,  Linlithgow, 
Orkney  and  Shetland,  Peebles,  Sel- 
kirk, and  Sutherland ;  and  if,  as  the 


Times  proposes,  no  constituency  is  to 
be  allowed  to  return  a  member  unless 
it  reaches  a  certain  considerable 
numerical  point,  we  must  prepare  for 
even  more  important  changes.  Scar- 
borough has  seven  hundred  and  thirty- 
nine  electors  ;  and  as  it  is  selected  as 
the  type  of  "  stupid  and  corrupt  little 
constituencies,"  and  described  as  "  a 
wretched  little  borough,"  and  a 
"  morbid,  or  moribund  little  constitu- 
ency," we  must  needs  conclude  that 
the  standard  approved  of  by  the  Times 
must  be  rather  high.  Let  us,  how- 
ever, be  reasonable,  and  assume  that 
no  county  or  borough  should  be  al- 
lowed to  return  a  member  unless  there 
are  a  thousand  electors  on  the  roll. 
In  that  case,  the  shires  of  Banff, 
Inverness,  Kincardine,  Ross,  and 
Cromarty  would  also  be  put  into 
schedule  A ;  whilst  no  less  than  eight 
Scottish  burghs  and  sets  of  burghs 
would  lose  the  right  of  returning  a 
representative  to  Parliament !  We 
can  hardly  afford  this :  out  of  fifty- 
three  representatives,  we  cannot  con- 
sent to  lose  twenty-one. 

But  is  the  constituency  of  Scar- 
borough so  very  paltry,  after  all  ?  We 
should  like,  on  that  subject,  to  hear 
the  opinion  of  Lord  Palmerston,  who 
sits  for  Tiverton,  with  an  electoral 
roll  of  443  ;— of  Mr  Hay  ter,  who  does 
the  like  good  office  for  the  381  of 
Wells  ; — of  Mr  James  Wilson,  who 
represents  the  combined  wisdom  of 
310  men  of  Westbury  !  Then  there  is 
Tavistock,  not  unknown  to  the  house 
of  Russell,  with  its  two  members  for 
336  electors ;  and  Tamworth,  simi- 
larly furnished  for  the  Peel  interest,  in 
virtue  of  396.  If  Scarborough,  with 
739,  is  so  utterly  mean  and  contempti- 
ble, what  terms  shall  we  apply  to  Calne, 
the  Lansdowne  borough,  for  which 
Lord  Shelburne  is  returned  by  159 
electors?  The  town  of  Berwick-upon- 
Tweed  is  not  much  better  garnished 
with  electors  than  Scarborough,— is  it 
also  to  be  swept  .into  the  general  pit  of 
disfranchisement  ?  This,  at  all  events, 
is  clear,  that  there  can  be  no  mercy  for 
Windsor.  If  there  be  any  truth  in 
arithmetic,  it  is  more  contemptible 
than  Scarborough. 

But  why  this  sudden  outburst  of  in- 
dignant feeling  against  moderately- 
sized  boroughs  ?  Not  long  ago  they 
used  to  be  considered  as  the  strong- 
holds of  Liberal  opinions, — as  the 


248 


The  Scarborough  Election. 


[Aug. 


places  which  stood  boldly  forth  in  op- 
position to  the  tardy  Conservatism  of 
the  counties.  Has  all  this  altered  ? 
If  not,  it  is  a  very  extraordinary  cir- 
cumstance, that  the  Liberal  press 
should  be  demanding  the  dismantle- 
ment of  its  own  fortresses,  simply  be- 
cause a  few  crimps  in  Scarborough 
have  taken  offence  at  the  measures  of 
Mr  Labouchere.  But  if,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  mind  of  the  boroughs  has 
altered,  are  we  to  seek  for  an  expla- 
nation of  this  change  in  purely  local 
causes  and  social  alterations,  without 
reference  to  the  great  questions  which 
affect  the  industry  of  the  country  ? 
Have  those  spectral  ogres  of  the 
Times,  "  the  crimps,"  secured  a  mas- 
tery in  all  the  boroughs  ?  It  would 
seem  so.  These  "  social  changes," 
which  have  nothing  to  do  with  Free 
Trade,  appear  to  be  tolerably  wide- 
spread. Here  is  the  prophesied  result : 

"  It  iff,  however,  a  most  important 
consideration,that  with  first  one  wretched 
little  borough  changing  sides,  and  then 
another,  for  reasons  too  ridiculous  to  be 
appreciated,  and  too  small  to  be  weighed, 
there  may  at  last  be  a  Protectionist  ma- 
jority large  enough,  in  the  present  state 
of  parties,  to  render  government  impos- 
sible. There  is  the  Irish  brigade  ;  and 
there  is  the  not  less  formidable  body  of 
private  malcontents,  always  increasing  in 
the  fourth  or  fifth  session.  Next  year 
Lord  John  Russell  may  find  himself  half- 
a-dozen  times  in  the  same  scrape  as  that 
which  sent  him  to  the  Queen  last  April, 
and  it  is  worth  considering  whether  he  will 
get  out  of  it  as  easily  as  he  did  then." 

And  in  order  to  prevent  this  awful 
catastrophe  —  the  bare  thought  of 
which  is  enough  to  make  the  flesh 
creep,  and  the  hair  stand  on  end  —  the 
remedy  is  at  once  propounded. 

"  With  such  a  prospect  before  us,  with 
unknown  struggles  and  unprecedented 
collisions  within  the  bounds  of  possibility, 
there  is  only  one  resource — and  we  must  say 
that  her  Majesty's  present  advisers  will 
be  answerable  for  the  consequences  if  they 
do  not  adopt  it — they  must  lay  the  foun- 
dations of  an  appeal  to  the  people  with  a 
large  and  liberal  measure  of  Parliamen- 
tary reform.  It  is  high  time  that  this 
great  country  should  cease  to  quake  and 
to  quail  at  the  decisions  of  stupid  and 
corrupt  little  constituencies,  of  whom,  as 
in  the  case  before  us,  it  would  take  thirty 
to  make  one  metropolitan  borough." 

Put  this  into  plain  language,  and  it 
amounts  simply  to  an  admission  that 
the  sentimerts  of  the  electoral  body, 


as  at  present  constituted,  are  opposed 
to  the  longer  continuance  of  the  Free 
Trade  experiment,  and  that,  in  the 
event  of  a  general  election,  the  Whigs 
would  be  found  in  a  minority.  If  this 
be  so,  can  the  country  really  have 
benefited  by  a  measure  which  it  seems 
so  desirous  to  repudiate?  We  aro 
told  so,  in  as  many  words ;  and  we 
are  next  informed  that,  because  the 
electors  are  so  very  stupid  as  not  to 
appreciate  the  vast  blessings  which 
they  at  present  enjoy,  and  never 
enjoyed  before,  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  reconstruct  the  whole  frame- 
work of  the  representative  system  ! 

Howthis  scheme  is  to  be  carried  into 
effect,  we  shall  not  pause  to  inquire. 
We  presume  that  a  main  element  of  it 
is  centralisation,  whereby  the  rights 
and  privileges  of  the  boroughs  may  be 
transferred  to  the  larger  towns,  and  the 
voice  of  half  England  stifled  by  the 
roar  of  London.  The  tyranny  of  de- 
mocracy is  boundless.  Constituencies 
of  some  seven,  eight,  or  nine  hundred 
electors  will  no  longer  suit  its  turn. 
They  are  "  wretched,"  .  "  stupid," 
"  contemptible,"  because  they  exer- 
cise their  own  judgment  upon  matters 
politic,  and  refuse  to  vote  that  black 
is  white  at  the  bidding  of  the  Ministry, 
and  of  the  soi-disant  Liberal  press. 
Therefore  theiroffence  is  rank,  and  their 
power  must  be  taken  from  them.  Scar- 
borough and  Knaresborough  must  be 
suppressed,  because  they  have  chosen  to 
return  Protectionists:  had  they  return- 
ed Radicals  to  Parliament,  there  would 
have  been  no  necessity  for  a  change. 

Let  the  men  of  the  boroughs  look 
to  it  I  They  are  openly  threatened 
with  the  extinction  of  their  legislative 
existence — insulted,  defied,  and  ma- 
ligned— because  they  will  not  submit 
any  longer  to  be  yoked  to  the  Jugger- 
naut chariot  of  Free  Trade.  So  long 
as  they  were  useful  to  the  Whigs,  they 
were  cajoled,  flattered,  and  caressed  ; 
now,  they  must  either  make  up  their 
minds  to  vote  against  their  conscience 
and  their  convictions,  or  run  the  risk 
of  virtual  extinction.  Let  them  look  to 
it  1  Next  year  there  is  to  be  a  new  Re- 
form Bill,  and  we  shall  then  know  what 
is  proposed  to  be  done  with  the  mass 
of  the  refractory  boroughs.  It  is  time 
to  take  the  alarm,  when  the  leading 
organ  of  the  Ministry  has  threatened 
such  a  place  as  Scarborough  with  the 
penalties  of  political  deprivation. 


1851.]  The  Late  D.  M.  Moir.  249 


THE   LATE    D.    M.    MOIR. 

IT  is  our  melancholy  duty  to  pay  a  last  tribute  of  respect  and  affection  to  the 
memory  of  one  of  our  earlier  and  most  esteemed  contributors,  who,  since  the 
publication  of  the  last  Number  of  the  Magazine,  has  been  called  away  from 
amongst  us.  Those  who  were  the  personal  friends  of  the  late  David  Mac- 
beth Moir,  as  well  as  the  still  more  numerous  body  of  the  public  who  were 
the  admirers  of  his  literary  genius,  are,  by  this  time,  aware  that  the  kind, 
gentle,  and  tender- hearted  Delta  is  no  more.  He  died  at  Dumfries,  at  the 
age  of  fifty-three  years,  after  a  short  but  severe  illness,  upon  Sunday  the  6th 
of  July  ;  and,  on  Thursday  following,  his  mortal  remains  were  laid  in  the 
churchyard  of  Inveresk,  beside  those  of  three  of  his  children,  with  such  honour 
as  can  be  given  to  the  dead,  by  the  tribute  of  a  public  funeral. 

To  comment  upon  his  genius,  or  to  characterise  the  nature  of  the  works 
upon  which  his  fame  must  ultimately  rest,  is  a  task  which  we  never  could  un- 
dertake, even  if  the  lapse  of  time  would  allow  us  to  approach  it  with  sufficient 
impartiality.  In  this  Magazine — almost  in  the  earliest  Number  of  it — Delta 
w.on  his  first  poetical  laurels  ;  and  ever  since  then,  down  to  the  very  last,  he 
continued  to  enrich  its  pages  with  the  varied  products  of  his  cultivated  and 
accomplished  mind.  To  us,  therefore,  the  exercise  of  the  critical  function  is 
forbidden  ;  no  less  by  feelings  of  reverence  than  by  those  of  duty.  Inseparable 
as  the  characters  may  be,  we  must  yet  regard  our  late  lamented  friend  rather 
as  the  man  than  as  the  poet. 

Rarely,  indeed,  does  it  happen  that  the  life  of  a  man  of  genius  closes  with- 
out exciting,  with  regard  to  some  part  of  his  career,  a  hostile  or  an  envious 
commentary.  It  may  be  that  the  errors  from  which  none  of  the  human  race 
are  free,  the  passions  which  sway  the  conduct,  and  the  peculiarities  which 
colour  the  disposition,  are  more  readily  remarked  and  more  keenly  observed  in 
men  of  high  attainments  and  intellectual  superiority  than  in  others.  Where 
many  are  led  to  admire,  there  are  usually  some  to  blame  ;  and  seldom  does 
the  grave  close  over  a  departed  brother,  before  the  voice  of  censure  is  heard 
commenting  upon  his  faults  or  his  frailties.  Such  has  not  been  the  case 
with  David  Moir.  As  a  citizen,  a  friend,  a  husband,  a  father,  and  a 
Christian,  his  life  and  conversation  were  blameless ;  or,  if  that  expression 
be  too  strong  to  apply  to  the  conduct  of  any  mortal  man,  this,  at  least, 
we  can  say  with  sincerity,  that  he  has  left  none  better  behind.  He  was 
a  man  who,  we  verily  believe,  never  had  an  enemy,  and  never  harboured 
an  angry  or  vindictive  thought  against  a  human  being.  Nor  was  this 
owing  in  any  degree  to  a  want  of  that  determination  of  character  which  leads 
men  to  form  strong  opinions,  and  to  vindicate  them  when  assailed.  Mr 
Moir  was,  as  those  who  knew  him  best  can  testify,  resolute  in  his  principles, 
and  strong  in  their  assertion ;  but  never  for  a  moment  did  he  forget  to 
temper  his  zeal  with  that  true  Christian  charity  which  is,  of  all  virtues,  that 
most  apt  to  be  overlooked  by  the  controversialist,  but  nevertheless  is  the  most 
unerring  sign  of  a  sweet  and  saintly  spirit.  An  attached  adherent  of  the 
Established  Church  of  Scotland,  in  which  he  was  an  honoured  office-bearer, 
and  ever  ready  to  resist  encroachment  upon  its  rights  and  privileges,  he 
was  tolerant  of  the  opinions  of  those  who  adhered  to  other  forms,  respectful 
even  of  their  prejudices,  and  always  the  foremost  to  do  justice  to  the  purity 


250  The  Late  D.  M.  Moir.  [Aug.  1851. 

of  their  motives.  A  strong  Conservative  and  supporter  of  the  constitution 
of  this  country,  he  carried  with  him  to  party  debate  a  courtesy  and  forbear- 
ance which  very  few  can  imitate,  but  which  is  not  the  less  admirable  because 
it  is  so  rarely  observed.  His  humour,  of  which  he  had  a  rich  fund,  was 
always  genial ;  his  satire  never  personal ;  nor  do  we  believe  there  is  a  single 
instance  on  record  of  his  having  given  offence,  even  unintentionally,  either  by 
his  writings  or  his  conversation. 

In  his  profession  he  ranked  deservedly  high.  He  might,  at  any  time,  have 
commanded  auextensive  and  lucrative  practice  in  Edinburgh  ;  but  his  attach- 
ment to  Musselburgh,  the  place  of  his  birth,  was  so  strong,  that  he  never 
could  be  induced  to  make  a  change  of  residence.  This,  at  least,  was  his  own 
assigned  reason  ;  but  we  have  strong  grounds  for  believing  that  a  higher  and 
better  motive  induced  him  to  refrain  from  abandoning  the  scene  of  his  early 
labours,  and  permanently  joining,  in  the  metropolis  of  Scotland,  that  social 
circle  which  contained  many  of  his  dearest  friends.  He  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  forsake  his  practice  in  a  locality  where  the  poor  had  a  claim  upon  him. 
During  the  terrible  visitations  of  the  cholera,  which  were  unusually,  and, 
indeed,  unprecedentediy  severe  in  the  parish  to  which  he  belonged,  Moir  was 
night  and  day  in  attendance  upon  the  sufferers.  He  undertook,  with  more 
than  the  enthusiasm  of  youth,  a  toil  and  risk  which  he  might  well  have 
been  excused  delegating  to  other  hands ;  and  often  has  the  morning  found 
him  watching  by  the  bed  of  some  poor  inmate  of  a  cottage  whom  the  arrow 
of  the  pestilence  had  stricken.  That  any  man  with  the  brilliant  prospects 
which  were  undoubtedly  presented  to  Moir,  and  certainly  within  his  reach, 
should  nevertheless  have  preferred  the  hard  and  laborious  life  of  a  country 
practitioner,  must  appear  inexplicable  to  those  who  did  not  know  the  tender- 
ness of  his  heart  and  the  exquisite  sympathy  of  his  nature.  Of  his  profes- 
sion he  took  a  high  estimate.  He  regarded  it  less  as  the  means  for  securing 
a  competency  for  himself,  than  as  an  art  which  he  was  privileged  to  practise 
for  the  good  of  his  fellow- men,  and  for  the  alleviation  of  their  sufferings  ;  and 
numerous  are  the  instances  which  might  be  cited,  though  untold  by  himself, 
of  sacrifices  which  he  made,  and  dangers  which  he  incurred,  in  carrying  aid 
and  consolation  to  those  who  had  no  other  claim  upon  him  except  their 
common  humanity.  His,  indeed,  was  a  life  far  more  devoted  to  the  service 
of  others  than  to  his  own  personal  aggrandisement — a  life  whose  value  can 
only  be  appreciated  now,  when  he  has  been  called  to  receive  his  reward  in 
that  better  world,  the  passport  to  which  he  sought  so  diligently — in  youth  as 
in  manhood,  in  happiness  as  in  sorrow — to  obtain. 

Bright  as  the  flowers  may  be  which  are  twined  for  the  coronal  of  the  poet, 
thQy  have  no  glory  when  placed  beside  the  wreath  which  belongs  to  the 
departed  Christian.  We  have  represented  Delta  as  he  was — as  he  must 
remain  ever  in  the  affectionate  memory  of  his  friends  ;  and,  with  this  brief  and 
unequal  tribute  to  his  surpassing  worth,  we  take  farewell  of  the  gentlest  and 
kindest  being,  of  the  most  true  and  single-hearted  man,  whom  we  may  ever 
hope  to  meet  with  in  the  course  of  this  earthly  pilgrimage. 


Printed  by  William  Blacku-ood  <§'  Sons,  EdinlurjJi. 


BLACKWOOD'S. 
EDINBURGH    MAGAZINE. 


No.  CCCCXXXI.  SEPTEMBER,  1851. 


VOL.  LXX. 


A   CAMPAIGN  IN  TAKA. 


AFRICA,  the  least  explored  division 
of  the  globe's  surface,  and  the  best 
field  for  travellers  of  bold  and  enter- 
prising character,  has  been  the  scene 
of  three  of  the  most  remarkable  books 
of  their  class  that  have  appeared 
within  the  last  ten  years.  We  refer 
to  Major  Harris's  narrative  of  his 
Ethiopian  expedition — to  the  marvel- 
lous adventures  of  that  modern  Nina- 
rod,  Mr  Gordon  Gumming — to  Mr 
Ferdinand  Werne's  strange  and  ex- 
citing account  of  his  voyage  up  the 
White  Nile.  In  our  review  of  the 
last-named  interesting  and  valuable 
work,*  we  mentioned  that  Mr  Werne, 
previously  to  his  expedition  up  the 
Nile,  had  been  for  several  months  in 
the  Taka  country,  a  region  previously 
untrodden  by  Europeans,  with  an 
army  commanded  by  Achmet  Bascha, 
governor-general  of  the  Egyptian  pro- 
vince of  Bellad-Sudan,  who  was  ope- 
rating against  refractory  tributaries. 
He  has  just  published  an  account  of 
this  campaign,  which  afforded  him, 
however,  little  opportunity  of  expa- 
tiating on  well- contested  battles, 
signal  victories,  or  feats  of  heroic 
valour.  On  the  other  hand,  his 


narrative  abounds  in  striking  inci- 
dents, in  curious  details  of  tribes 
and  localities  that  have  never  before 
been  described,  and  in  perils  and 
hardships  not  the  less  real  and  pain- 
ful that  they  proceeded  from  no 
efforts  of  a  resolute  and  formidable 
foe,  but  from  the  effects  of  a  perni- 
cious climate,  and  the  caprice  and 
negligence  of  a  wilful  and  indolent 
commander. 

It  was  early  in  1840.  and  Mr  Werne 
and  his  youngest  brother  Joseph  had 
been  resident  for  a  whole  year  at 
Chartnm,  chief  town  of  the  province 
of  Sudan,  in  the  country  of  Sennaar. 
Chartum,  it  will  be  remembered  by 
the  readers  of  the  "  Expedition  for 
the  Discovery  of  the  Sources  of  the 
White  Nile,"  is  situated  at  the  con- 
fluence of  the  White  and  Blue  streams, 
which,  there  uniting,  flow  northwards 
through  Nubia  and  Egypt  Proper  to 
Cairo  and  the  Mediterranean  ;  and  at 
Chartum  it  was  that  the  two  Wernes 
had  beheld,  in  the  previous  Novem- 
ber, the  departure  of  the  first  expedi- 
tion up  Nile,  which  they  were  for- 
bidden to  join,  and  which  met  with 
little  success.  The  elder  Werne, 


Feldzuff  von  Sennaar  nach  Taka,  Basa,  und  Beni-Amer,  mit  besonderem  Hinblick 
auf  die  Volker  von  Bellad-Sudan. — [Campaign  from  Sennaar  to  Taka,  Basa,  and 
Beui-Amer  ;  with  a  particular  Glance  at  the  Nations  of  Bellad-Sudan.] — Von  FERDI- 
NAND WERNE.  Stuttgart  :  Kb'nigl.  Hof  buchdruckerei.  London  :  Williams  and 
Norgate.  1851. 

*  Blaokwood's  Magazine,  No.  CCCXCIX.,  for  January  1849. 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXI.  K 


252 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


[Sept. 


whose  portrait — that  of  a  very  deter- 
mined-looking man,  bearded,  and  in 
Oriental  costume — is  appended  to  the 
present  volume,  appears  to  have  been 
adventurous  and  a  rambler  from  his 
youth  upwards.  In  1822  he  had 
served  in  Greece,  and  had  now  been 
for  many  years  id  Eastern  lands. 
Joseph  Werne,  his  youngest  and  fa- 
vourite brother,  had  come  to  Egypt 
at  his  instigation,  after  taking  at  Ber- 
lin his  degree  as  Doctor  of  Medicine, 
to  study,  before  commencing  practice, 
some  of  the  extraordinary  diseases 
indigenous  in  that  noxious  climate. 
Unfortunately,  as  recorded  in  Mr 
Werue's  former  work,  this  promising 
young  man,  who  seems  to  have  pos- 
sessed in  no  small  degree  the  enter- 
prise, perseverance,  and  fortitude  so 
remarkable  in  his  brother,  ultimately 
fell  a  victim  to  one  of  those  fatal  ma- 
ladies whose  investigation  was  the 
principal  motive  of  his  visit  to  Africa. 
The  first  meeting  in  Egypt  of  the  two 
brothers  was  at  Cairo ;  and  of  it  a 
characteristic  account  is  given  by  the 
elder,  an  impetuous,  we  might  almost 
say  a  pugnacious  man,  tolerably 
prompt  to  take  offence,  and  upon 
whom,  as  he  himself  says  at  page  67, 
the  Egyptian  climate  had  a  violently 
irritating  effect. 

"  Our  meeting,  at  Guerra's  tavern 
in  Cairo,  was  so  far  remarkable,  that 
my  brother  knew  me  immediately, 
whilst  I  took  him  for  some  imperti- 
nent Frenchman,  disposed  to  make 
game  of  me,  inasmuch  as  he,  in  the 
petulance  of  his  joy,  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  me,  measuring  me  from  top  to 
toe,  and  then  laughed  at  the  fury 
with  which  I  rushed  upon  him,  to 
call  him  to  an  account,  and,  if  neces- 
sary, to  have  him  out.  We  had  not 
seen  each  other  for  eight  years,  dur- 
ing which  he  had  grown  into  a  man, 
and,  moreover,  his  countenance  had 
undergone  a  change,  for,  by  a  terrible 
cur,  received  in  a  duel,  the  muscle  of 
risibility  had  been  divided  on  one 
side,  and  the  poor  fellow  could  laugh 
only  with  half  his  face.  In  the  first 
overpowering  joy  of  our  meeting  in 
this  distant  quarter  of  the  globe,  we 
could  not  get  the  wine  over  our 
tongues,  often  as  my  Swiss  friend  De 
Salis  (over  whose  cheeks  the  tears 
were  chasing  each  other)  and  other 
acquaintances  struck  their  glasses 


against  ours,  encouraging  us  to  drink. 
....  I  now  abandoned  the  hamlet 
of  Tura — situated  in  the  desert,  but 
near  the  Nile,  about  three  leagues 
above  Cairo,  and  whither  I  had 
retreated  to  do  penance  and  to  work 
at  my  travels — as  well  as  my  good 
friend  Dr  Sehledehaus  of  Osnabruck, 
(then  holding  an  appointment  at  the 
military  school,  now  director  of  the 
marine  hospital  of  Alexandria,)  with 
whom  my  brother  had  studied  at 
Bonn,  and  I  hired  a  little  house  in 
the  Esbekie  Square  in  Cairo.  After 
half  an  hour's  examination,  Joseph 
was  appointed  surgeon-major,  with 
the  rank  of  a  Sakulagassi  or  captain, 
in  the  central  hospital  of  Kasr-el- 
Ain,  with  a  thousand  piastres  a 
month,  and  rations  for  a  horse  and 
four  servants.  Our  views  constantly 
directed  to  the  interior  of  Africa,  we 
suffered  a  few  months  to  glide  by  in 
the  old  city  of  the  Khalifs,  dwelling 
together  in  delightful  brotherly  har- 
mony. But  our  thirst  for  travelling 
was  unslaked  ;  to  it  I  had  sacrificed 
my  appointment  as  chancellor  of  the 
Prussian  Consulate  at  Alexandria ; 
Joseph  received  his  nomination  as 
regimental  surgeon  to  the  1st  regi- 
ment in  Sennaar,  including  that  of 
physician  to  the  central  hospital  at 
Chartum.  Our  friends  were  con- 
cerned for  us  on  account  of  the 
dangerous  climate,  but,  nevertheless, 
we  sailed  with  good  courage  up  the 
Nile,  happy  to  escape  from  the  noise 
of  the  city,  and  to  be  on  our  way  to 
new  scenes." 

A  stroke  of  the  sun,  received  near 
the  cataract  of  Ariman  in  Upper 
Nubia,  and  followed  by  ten  days' 
delirium,  soon  convinced  the  younger 
Werne  that  his  friends'  anxiety  on 
his  behalf  was  not  groundless.  Dur- 
ing the  whole  of  their  twelvemonth's 
stay  at  Chartum,  they  were  merci- 
lessly persecuted  by  intermittent 
fever,  there  most  malignant,  and 
under  whose  torturing  and  lowering 
attacks  their  sole  consolation  was 
that,  as  they  never  chanced  both  to 
be  ill  together,  they  were  able 
alternately  to  nurse  each  other.  At 
last,  fearing  that  body  or  mind  would 
succumb  to  these  reiterated  fever- 
fits,  and  the  first  expedition  up  the 
White  Nile  having,  to  their  great 
disgust  and  disappointment,  sailed 


1851.] 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


253 


without  them,  they  made  up  their 
minds  to  quit  for  ever  the  pestiferous 
Chartum  and  the  burning  steppes  of 
Bellad-Sudan.  Whilst  preparing  for 
departure,  they  received  a  visit  from 
the  chief  Cadi,  who  told  them,  over 
a  glass  of  cardinal — administered  by 
Dr  Werne  as  medicine,  to  evade  his 
Mahomedan  scruples — that  Effendina 
(Excellency)  Achmet  Bascha  was 
well  pleased  with  the  brotherly  love 
they  manifested,  taking  care  of  each 
other  in  sickness,  and  that  they  would 
do  well  to  pay  their  respects  occa- 
sionally at  the  Divan.  This  commu- 
nication was  almost  immediately 
followed  by  the  arrival  at  Chartum  of 
Dr  Gand,  physician  to  Abbas  Bascha. 
This  gentleman  had  been  a  comrade 
of  Ferdinand  Werne's  in  Greece,  and 
he  recommended  the  two  brothers  to 
Achmet,  with  whom  he  was  intimate, 
in  true  Oriental  style,  as  men  of  uni- 
versal genius  and  perfect  integrity,  to 
whom  he  might  intrust  both  his  body 
and  his  soul.  The  consequence  of  this 
liberal  encomium  was,  that  Achmet 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  them  to  accompany 
him,  in  the  capacity  of  confidential 
advisers,  upon  a  projected  campaign. 
Informed  of  this  plan  and  of  the 
advantages  it  included,  the  Wernes 
joyfully  abandoned  their  proposed 
departure.  Joseph  was  to  be  made 
house-physician  to  Achmet  and  his 
harem,  as  well  as  medical  inspector 
of  the  whole  province,  in  place  of 
Spliman  Effendi,  (the  renegade  Baron 
di  Pasquali  of  Palermo,)  a  notorious 
poisoner,  in  whose  hands  the  Bascha 
did  not  consider  himself  safe.  Ferdi- 
nand Werne,  who  had  held  the  rank  of 
captain  in  Greece,  was  made  bim- 
baschi  or  major,  and  was  attached,  as 
engineer,  to  Achmet's  person,  with 
good  pay  and  many  privileges.  "  At 
a  later  period  he  would  have  made 
me  bey,  if  I — not  on  his  account, 
for  he  was  an  enlightened  Circassian, 
but  on  that  of  the  Turkish  jackasses — 
would  have  turned  Mussulman.  I 
laughed  at  this,  and  he  said  no  more 
about  it."  Delighted  to  have  secured 
the  services  of  the  two  Germans, 
Achmet  ordered  it  to  be  reported 
to  his  father-in-law,  Mehemet  Ali, 
for  his  approval,  and  took  counsel 
with  his  new  officers  concerning  the 
approaching  campaign.  Turk- like, 
he  proposed  commencing  it  in  the 


rainy  season.  Mr  Werne  opposed 
this  as  likely  to  cost  him  half  his 
army,  the  soldiers  being  exceedingly 
susceptible  to  rain,  and  advised  the 
erection  of  blockhouses  at  certain 
points  along  the  line  of  march  where 
springs  were  to  be  found,  to  secure 
water  for  the  troops.  The  Bascha 
thought  this  rather  a  roundabout 
mode  of  proceeding,  held  his  men's 
lives  very  cheap,  and  boasted  of  his 
seven  hundred  dromedaries,  every  one 
of  which,  in  case  of  need,  could  carry 
three  soldiers.  His  counsellors  were 
dismissed,  with  injunctions  to  secresy, 
and  on  their  return  home  they  found 
at  their  door,  as  a  present  from  the 
Bascha,  two  beautiful  dromedaries, 
tall,  powerful,  ready  saddled  for  a 
march,  and  particularly  adapted  for  a 
campaign,  inasmuch  as  they  started 
not  when  muskets  were  fired  between 
their  ears.  A  few  days  later,  Mr 
Werne  was  sent  for  by  Achmet,  who, 
when  the  customary  coffee  had  been 
taken,  dismissed  his  attendants  by  a 
sign,  and  informed  him,  with  a  gloomy 
countenance,  that  the  people  of  Taka 
refused  to  pay  their  tulba,  or  tribute. 
His  predecessor,  Churdschid  Bascha, 
having  marched  into  that  country, 
had  been  totally  defeated  in  a  chaaba, 
or  tract  of  forest.  Since  that  time, 
Achmet  mournfully  declared,  the 
tribes  had  not  paid  a  single  piastre, 
and  he  found  himself  grievously  in 
want  of  money.  So,  instead  of  march- 
ing south-westward  to  Darfour,  as  he 
had  intended,  he  would  move  north- 
eastward to  Taka,  chastise  the  stub- 
born insolvents,  and  replenish  the 
coffers  of  the  state.  "  Come  with 
me,"  said  he,  to  Mr  Werne ;  "  upon 
the  march  we  shall  all  recover  our 
health,"  (he  also  suffered  from  fre- 
quent and  violent  attacks  of  fever;) 
"yonder  are  water  and  forests,  as  in 
Germany  and  Circassia,  and  very 
high  mountains."  It  mattered  little 
to  so  restless  and  rambling  a  spirit  as 
Mr  Ferdinand  Werne  whether  his 
route  lay  inland  towards  the  Moun- 
tains of  the  Moon,  or  coastwards  to 
the  Red  Sea.  His  brother  was  again 
sick,  and  spoke  of  leaving  the  coun- 
try ;  but  Mr  Werne  cheered  him  up, 
pointed  out  to  him  upon  the  map  an 
imaginary  duchy  which  he  was  to 
conquer  in  the  approaching  war,  and 
revived  an  old  plan  of  going  to  settle 


254 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


{Sept. 


at  Bagdad,  there  to  practise  as  physi- 
cian and  apothecary.  "We  resolved, 
therefore,  to  take  our  passports  with 
us,  so  that,  if  we  chose,  we  might 
embark  on  the  Red  Sea.  By  this 
time  I  had  seen  through  the  Bascha, 
and  I  resolved  to  communicate  to  him 
an  idea  which  I  often,  in  the  interest 
of  these  oppressed  tribes,  had  revolved 
in  my  mind,  namely,  that  he  should 
place  himself  at  their  head,  and  re- 
nounce obedience  to  the  Egyptian 
vampire.  I  did  subsequently  speak 
to  him  of  the  plan,  and  it  might  have 
been  well  and  permanently  carried 
out,  had  he  not,  instead  of  striving  to 
*viii  the  confidence  of  the  chiefs, 
tyrannised  over  them  in  every  pos- 
sible manner.  Gold  and  regiments ! 
was  his  motto." 

Meanwhile  the  influential  Dr  Gand 
had  fallen  seriously  ill,  and  was  so 
afflicted  with  the  irritability  already 
referred  to  as  a  consequence  of  the 
climate,  that  no  one  could  go  near 
him  but  the  two  Wernes.  He  ne- 
glected Joseph's  good  advice  to  quit 
>Chartum  at  once,  put  it  off  till  it  wras 
too  late,  and  died  on  his  journey 
northwards.  His  body  lay  buried  for 
a  whole  year  in  the  sand  of  the  desert ; 
then  his  family,  who  were  going  to 
France,  dug  it  up  to  take  with  them. 
Always  a  very  thin  man,  little  more 
than  skin  and  bone,  the  burning  sand 
had  preserved  him  like  a  mummy. 
There  was  no  change  in  his  appear- 
ance ;  not  a  hair  gone  from  his  mus- 
taches. Strange  is  the  confusion  and 
alternation  of  life  and  death  in  that 
ardent  and  unwholesome  land  of 
Nubia.  To-day  in  full  health,  to- 
morrow prostrate  with  fever,  from 
which  you  recover  only  to  be  again 
attacked.  Dead,  in  twenty -four 
hours  or  less  corruption  is  busy  on 
the  corpse ;  bury  it  promptly  in  the 
sand,  and  in  twelve  months  you  may 
disinter  it,  perfect  as  if  embalmed. 
At  Chartum,  the  very  focus  of  dis- 
ease, death,  it  might  be  thought,  is 
sufficiently  supplied  by  fever  to  need 
no  other  purveyors.  Nevertheless 
poisoning  seems  a  pretty  common 
practice  there.  Life  in  Chartum  is 
altogether,  by  Mr  Werne's  account, 
a  most  curious  thing.  During  the 
preparations  for  the  campaign,  a 
Wurtemberg  prince,  Duke  Paul  Wil- 
liam of  Mergeutheim,  arrived  in  the 


place,  and  was  received  with  much 
pomp.  "  For  the  first  time  I  saw  the 
Bascha  sit  upon  a  chair ;  he  was  in 
full  uniform,  a  red  jacket  adorned 
with  gold,  a  great  diamond  crescent, 
and  three  brilliant  stars  upon  his  left 
breast,  his  sabre  by  his  side."  The 
prince,  a  fat  good-humoured  German, 
was  considerably  impressed  by  the 
state  displayed,  and  left  the  presence 
with  many  obeisances.  The  next 
day  he  dined  with  the  Bascha,  whom 
he  and  the  Wernes  hoped  to  see 
squatted  on  the  ground,  and  feeding 
with  his  fingers.  They  were  disap- 
pointed ;  the  table  was  arranged  in 
European  fashion  ;  wine  of  various 
kinds  was  there,  especially  cham- 
pagne, (which  the  servants,  notwith- 
standing Werue's  remonstrances,  in- 
sisted on  shaking  before  opening,  and 
which  consequently  flew  about  the 
room  in  foaming  fountains ;)  bumper- 
toasts  were  drunk  ;  and  the  whole 
party,  Franks  and  Turks,  seem  to 
have  gradually  risen  into  a  glorious 
state  of  intoxication,  during  which 
they  vowed  eternal  friendship  to  eacli 
other  in  all  imaginable  tongues  ;  and 
the  German  prince  declared  he  would 
make  the  campaign  to  Taka  with  the 
Bascha,  draw  out  the  plan,  and  over- 
whelm the  enemy.  This  jovial  meet- 
ing was  followed  by  a  quieter  enter- 
tainment given  by  the  Wernes  to  the 
prince,  who  declared  he  was  travel- 
ling as  a  private  gentleman,  and 
wished  to  be  treated  accordingly  ; 
and  then  Soliman  Effendi,  the  Sicilian 
renegade,  made  a  respectful  applica- 
tion for  permission  to  invite  the 
"  Altezza  Tedesca"  for  whom  he  had 
conceived  a  great  liking.  A  passage 
from  Mr  Werue  is  here  worth  quoting, 
as  showing  the  state  of  society  at 
Chartum.  "  I  communicated  the 
invitation,  with  the  remark  that  the 
Sicilian  was  notorious  for  his  poison- 
ings, but  that  I  had  less  fear  on  his 
highness'  account  than  on  that  of  my 
brother,  who  was  already  designated 
to  replace  him  in  his  post.  The 
prince  did  not  heed  the  danger  ; 
moreover,  I  had  put  myself  on  a 
peculiar  footing  with  Soliman  Effendi, 
and  now  told  him  plainly  that  he  had 
better  keep  his  vindictive  manoeuvres 
for  others  than  us,  for  that  my  brother 
and  I  should  go  to  dinner  with  loaded 
pistols  in  our  pockets,  and  would 


1851.] 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


255 


shoot  him  through  the  head  (brucciare 
it  cervello)  if  one  of  us  three  felt  as 
much  as  a  belly- ache  at  his  table. 
The  dinner  was  served  in  the  German 
fashion  ;  all  the  guests  came,  except 
Vaissiere  (formerly  a  French  captain, 
now  a  slave- dealer,  with  the  cross  of 
the  legion  of  honour.)  He  would  not 
trust  Soliman,  who  was  believed  to 
have  poisoned  a  favourite  female- 
slave  of  his  after  a  dispute  they  had 
about  money  matters.  The  dinner 
went  off  merrily  and  well.  The  duke 
changed  his  mind  about  going  to  Taka, 
but  promised  to  join  in  the  campaign 
on  his  return  from  Faszogl,  and  bade 
me  promise  the  Bascha  in  his  name 
a  crocodile-rifle  and  a  hundred  bottles 
of  champagne." 

Long  and  costly  were  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  march  ;  the  more  so  that 
Mr  Werne  and  his  brother,  who  saw 
gleaming  in  the  distance  the  golden 
cupolas  of  Bagdad,  desired  to  take  all 
their  baggage  with  them,  and  also 
sufficient  stores  for  the  campaign — 
not  implicitly  trusting  to  the  Bascha's 
promise  that  his  kitchen  and  table 
should  be  always  at  their  service. 
Ten  camels  were  needed  to  carry  the 
brothers'  baggage.  One  of  their 
greatest  troubles  was  to  know  how  to 
dispose  of  their  collection  of  beasts 
and  birds.  "The  young  maneless 
lion,  our  greatest  joy,  was  dead — 
Soliman  Effendi,  who  was  afraid  of 
him,  having  dared  to  poison  him,  as 
I  learned,  after  the  renegade's  death, 
from  one  of  our  own  people."  But  of 
birds  there  were  a  host ;  eagles,  vul- 
tures, king-cranes,  (grus  pavonina, 
Linn. ;)  a  snake-killing  secretary,  with 
his  beautiful  eagle  head,  long  tail,  and 
heron  legs;  strange  varieties  of  water- 
fowl, many  of  which  had  been  shot, 
but  had  had  the  pellets  extracted  and 
the  wounds  healed  by  the  skill  of  Dr 
Werne  ;  and  last,  but  most  beloved, 
"  a  pet  black  horn-bird,  (buceros 
abyss.  L.,)  who  hopped  up  to  us  when 
we  called  out  '  Jack !' — who  picked  up 
with  his  long  curved  beak  the  pieces  of 
meat  that  were  thrown  to  him,  tossed 


them  into  the  air  and  caught  them 
again,  (whereat  the  Prince  of  Wurtem- 
berg  laughed  till  he  held  his  sides,) 
because  nature  has  provided  him  with 
too  short  a  tongue  :  but  who  did  not 
despise  frogs  and  lizards,  and  who 
called  us  at  daybreak  with  his  perse- 
vering '  Hum,  hum,'1  until  we  roused 
ourselves  and  answered  '  Jack.'  " 
Their  anxiety  on  account  of  their 
aviary  was  relieved  by  the  Bascha's 
wife,  who  condescendingly  offered  to 
take  charge  of  it  during  their  absence* 
Mehemet  Ali's  daughter  suffered 
dreadfully  from  ennui  in  dull,  un- 
wholesome Chartum,  and  reckoned 
on  the  birds  and  beasts  as  pastime 
and  diversion.  Thus,  little  by  little, 
difficulties  were  overcome,  and  all 
was  made  ready  for  the  march.  A 
Bolognese  doctor  of  medicine,  named 
Bellotti,  and  Dumout,  a  French  apo- 
thecary, arrived  at  Chartum.  They 
belonged  to  an  Egyptian  regiment, 
and  must  accompany  it  on  the  chasua.* 
Troops  assembled  in  and  around 
Chartum,  the  greater  part  of  whose 
garrison,  destined  also  to  share  in  the 
campaign,  were  boated  over  to  tha 
right  bank  of  the  Blue  Nile.  .Thence 
they  were  to  march  northwards  to 
Darner — once  a  town,  now  a  village 
amidst  ruins  —  situated  about  three 
leagues  above  the  place  where  the- 
Atbara,  a  river  that  rises  in  Abyssinia, 
and  flows  north-westward  through 
Sennaar,  falls  into  the  Nile.  There 
the  line  of  march  changed  its  direc- 
tion to  the  right,  and  took  a  tolerably 
straight  route,  but  inclining  a  little  to 
the  south,  in  the  direction  of  the  Red 
Sea.  The  Bascha  went  by  water 
down  the  Nile  the  greater  part  of  the 
way  to  Darner,  and  was  of  course^ 
attended  by  his  physician.  Mr  Werne, 
finding  himself  unwell,  followed  his 
example,  sending  their  twelve  camels 
by  land,  and  accompanied  by  Bellotti, 
Dumont,  and  a  Savoyard  merchant 
from  Chartum,  Bruno  Rollet  by  name. 
There  was  great  difficulty  in  getting- 
a  vessel,  all  having  been  taken  for  the 
transport  of  provisions  and  military 


"  The  word  chasua  signifies  an  expedition  along  the  frontier,  or  rather  across 
the  frontier,  for  the  capture  of  men  and  beasts.  These  slave-hunts  are  paid  to  have 
been  first  introduced  here  by  the  Turks,  and  the  word  chasua  is  not  believed  to  be 
indigenous,  since  for  war  and  battle  are  otherwise  used  harba  (properly  a  lance) 
and  schammata.  Chasua  and  razzia  appear  to  be  synonymous,  corrupted  from  tha 
Italian  caszla,  in  French  chasse" — Feldzug  von  Sennaar,  &c.,  p.  17. 


25G 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


[Sept. 


stores;  but  at  last  one  was  discovered, 
sunk  by  its  owner  to  save  it  from  the 
commissariat,  and  after  eleven  days 
of  sickness,  suffering,  and  peril  — 
during  which  Mr  Werne,  when  burn- 
ing with  fever,  had  been  compelled  to 
jump  overboard  to  push  the  heavy 
laden  boat  off  the  reef  on  which  the 
stupid  lle'is  had  run  it— the  party 
rejoined  headquarters.  There  Mr 
Werne  was  kindly  received  by  Achmet, 
and  most  joyfully  by  his  brother. 
Long  and  dolorous  was  the  tale  Dr 
Joseph  had  to  tell  of  his  sufferings 
with  the  wild-riding  Bascha.  Three 
days  before  reaching  Darner,  that  im- 
patient chieftain  left  his  ship  and 
ordered  out  the  dromedaries.  The 
Berlin  doctor  of  medicine  felt  his  heart 
sink  within  him  ;  he  had  never  yet 
ascended  a  dromedary's  saddle,  and  the 
desperate  riding  of  the  Bascha  made 
his  own  Turkish  retinue  fear  to  follow 
him.  His  forebodings  were  well- 
founded.  Two  hours'  rough  trot  shook 
up  his  interior  to  such  an  extent,  and 
so  stripped  bis  exterior  of  skin,  that 
he  was  compelled  to  dismount  and  lie 
down  upon  some  brushwood  near  the 
Nile,  exposed  to  the  burning  sun,  and 
with  a  compassionate  Bedouin  for  sole 
attendant,  until  the  servants  and 
baggage  came  up.  Headache,  vomit- 
ing, terrible  heat  and  parching  thirst 
— for  he  had  no  drinking  vessel,  and 
the  Bedouin  would  not  leave  him — 
were  his  portion  the  whole  day,  fol- 
lowed by  fever  and  delirium  during 
the  night.  At  two  o'clock  the  next 
day  (the  hottest  time)  the  Bascha 
was  again  in  the  saddle,  as  if  desirous 
to  try  to  the  utmost  his  own  endur- 
ance and  that  of  his  suite.  By  this 
time  the  doctor  had  come  up  with 
him,  (having  felt  himself  better  in  the 
morning,)  after  a  six  hours'  ride,  and 
terrible  loss  of  leather,  the  blood  run- 
ning down  into  his  stockings.  Partly 
on  his  dromedary,  partly  on  foot,  he 
managed  to  follow  his  leader  through 
this  second  day's  march,  at  the  cost 
of  another  night's  fever,  but  in  the 
morning  he  was  so  weak  that  he  was 
obliged  to  take  boat  and  complete  his 
journey  to  Darner  by  water.  Of  more 
slender  frame  and  delicate  complexion 
than  his  brother,  the  poor  doctor  was 
evidently  ill-adapted  for  roughing  it 
in  African  deserts,  although  his  pluck 
and  fortitude  went  far  towards  sup- 


plying his  physical  deficiencies.  Most 
painful  are  the  accounts  of  his  con- 
stantly recurring  sufferings  during 
that  arduous  expedition ;  and  one 
cannot  but  admire  and  wonder  at  the 
zeal  for  science,  or  ardent  thirst  for 
novelty,  that  supported  him,  and 
induced  him  to  persevere  in  the  teeth 
of  such  hardship  and  ill-health.  At 
Darner  he  purchased  a  small  drome- 
dary of  easy  paces,  and  left  the 
Bascha's  rough-trotting  gift  for  his 
brother's  riding. 

At  three  in  the  afternoon  of  the 
20th  March,  a  cannon-shot  gave  the 
signal  for  departure.  The  Wernes' 
water-skins  were  already  filled  and 
their  baggage  packed ;  in  an  instant 
their  tents  were  struck  and  camels 
loaded ;  with  baggage  and  servants 
they  took  their  place  at  the  head  of 
the  column  and  rode  up  to  the  Bascha, 
who  was  halted  to  the  east  of  Darner, 
with  his  beautiful  horses  and  drome- 
daries standing  saddled  behind  him. 
He  complained  of  the  great  disorder 
in  the  camp,  but  consoled  himself 
with  the  reflection  that  things  would 
go  better  by-and-by.  "  It  was  truly 
a  motley  scene,"  says  Mr  Werne. 
"  The  Turkish  cavalry  in  their  na- 
tional costume  of  many  colours,  with 
yellow  and  green  banners  and  small 
kettle-drums;  the  Schaigie  and  Mo- 
grabin  horsemen  ;  Bedouins  on  horse- 
back, on  camels,  and  on  foot ;  the 
Schechs  and  Moluks  (little  king)  with 
their  armour-bearers  behind  them  on 
the  dromedaries,  carrying  pikes  and 
lances,  straight  swords  and  leather 
shields ;  the  countless  donkeys  and 
camels — the  former  led  by  a  great 
portion  of  the  infantry,  to  ride  in 
turn  —  drums  and  an  ear-splitting 
band  of  music.  The  Chabir  (caravan- 
leader)  was  seen  in  the  distance 
mounted  on  his  dromedary,  and  armed 
with  a  lance  and  round  shield;  the 
Bascha  bestrode  his  horse,  and  we 
accompanied  him  in  that  direction, 
whilst  gradually,  and  in  picturesque 
disorder,  the  detachments  emerged 
from  the  monstrous  confusion  and  fol- 
lowed us.  The  artillery  consisted  of 
two  field-pieces,  drawn  by  camels, 
which  the  Bascha  had  had  broken  to 
the  work,  that  in  the  desert  they 
might  relieve  the  customary  team  of 
mules. 

"  Abd-el-Kader,  the  jovial  Topschi 


1851.] 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


257 


Baschi,  (chief  of  the  artillery,)  com- 
manded them,  and  rode  a  mule.  The 
Turks,  (that  is  to  say,  chiefly  Circas- 
sians, Kurds,  and  Arnauts  or  Alba- 
nians,) who  shortly  before  could  hardly 
put  one  leg  before  the  other,  seemed 
transformed  into  new  men,  as  they 
once  more  found  themselves  at  home 
in  their  saddles.  They  galloped 
round  the  Bascha  like  madmen,  riding 
their  horses  as  mercilessly  as  if  they 
had  been  drunk  with  opium.  This 
was  a  sort  of  honorary  demonstration, 
intended  to  indicate  to  their  chief  their 
untameable  valour.  The  road  led 
through  the  desert,  and  was  tolera- 
bly well  beaten.  Towards  evening 
the  Bascha  rode  forwards  with  the 
Chabir.  We  did  not  follow,  for  I 
felt  myself  unwell.  It  was  dark 
night  when  we  reached  the  left  bank 
of  the  Atbara,  where  we  threw 
ourselves  down  amongst  the  bushes, 
and  went  to  sleep,  without  taking 
supper." 

The  campaign  might  now  be  said 
to  be  beginning;  at  least  the  army 
was  close  upon  tribes  whose  disposi- 
tion, if  not  avowedly  hostile,  was  very 
equivocal,  and  the  Bascha  placed  a 
picket  of  forty  men  at  the  only  ford 
over  the  Atbara,  a  clear  stream  of 
tolerable  depth,  and  with  lofty  banks, 
covered  with  rich  grass,  with  mimosas 
and  lofty  fruit-laden  palm-trees.  The 
next  day's  march  was  a  severe  one — 
ten  hours  without  a  halt — and  was 
attended,  after  nightfall,  with  some 
danger,  arising  partly  from  the  route 
lying  through  trees  with  barbed 
thorns,  strong  enough  to  tear  the 
clothes  off  men's  bodies  and  the  eyes 
out  of  their  heads,  and  partly  from  the 
crowding  and  pressure  in  the  disor- 
derly column  during  its  progress 
amongst  holes  and  chasms  occasioned 
by  the  overflowing  of  the  river.  Upon 
halting,  at  midnight,  a  fire  was 
lighted  for  the  Bascha,  and  one  of  his 
attendants  brought  coffee  to  Mr 
Werne ;  but  he,  sick  and  weary,  re- 
jected it,  and  would  have  preferred, 
he  says,  so  thoroughly  exhausted  did 
he  feel,  a  nap  under  a  bush  to  a  sup- 
per upon  a  roasted  angel.  They  were 
still  ascending  the  bank  of  the  Atbara, 
a  winding  stream,  with  wildly  beau- 
tiful tree-fringed  banks,  containing 
few  fish,  but  giving  shelter,  in  its 
deep  places,  to  the  crocodile  and  hip- 


popotamus. From  the  clefts  of  its 
sandstone  bed,  then  partially  exposed 
by  the  decline  of  the  waters,  sprang 
a  lovely  species  of  willow,  with  beau- 
tiful green  foliage  and  white  umbelli- 
ferous flowers,  having  a  perfume  sur- 
passing that  of  jasmine.  The  Wernes 
would  gladly  have  explored  the 
neighbourhood ;  but  the  tremendous 
heat,  and  a  warm  wind  which  played 
round  their  temples  with  a  sickening 
effect,  drove  them  into  camp.  Gun- 
fire was  at  noon  upon  that  day;  but 
it  was  Mr  Werne's  turn  to  be  on  the 
sick-list.  Suddenly  he  felt  himself  so 
ill,  that  it  was  with  a  sort  of  despair- 
ing horror  he  saw  the  tent  struck  from 
over  him,  loaded  upon  a  camel,  and 
driven  off.  In  vain  he  endeavoured 
to  rise  ;  the  sun  seemed  to  dart  coals 
of  fire  upon  his  head.  His  brother  and 
servant  carried  him  into  the  shadow 
of  a  neighbouring  palm-tree,  and  he 
sank  half- dead  upon  the  glowing  sand. 
It  would  suffice  to  abide  there  during 
the  heat  of  the  day,  as  they  thought, 
but  instead  of  that,  they  were  com- 
pelled to  remain  till  next  morning, 
Werne  suffering  terribly  from  dysen- 
tery. "  Never  in  my  life,"  he  says, 
"  did  I  more  ardently  long  for  the  set- 
ting of  the  sun  than  on  that  day ;  even 
its  last  rays  exercised  the  same  painful 
power  on  my  hair,  which  seemed  to 
be  in  a  sort  of  electric  connection 
with  just  as  many  sunbeams,  and  to 
bristle  up  upon  my  head.  And  no 
sooner  had  the  luminary  which  in- 
spired me  with  such  horror  sunk  be- 
low the  horizon,  than  I  felt  myself 
better,  and  was  able  to  get  on  my 
legs  and  crawl  slowly  about.  Some 
good-natured  Arab  shepherd-lads  ap- 
proached our  fire,  pitied  me,  and 
brought  me  milk  and  durra-bread. 
It  was  a  lovely  evening  ;  the  full  moon 
was  reflected  in  the  Atbara,  as  were 
also  the  dark  crowns  of  the  palm- 
trees  ;  wild  geese  shrieked  around  us  ; 
otherwise  the  stillness  was  unbroken, 
save  at  intervals  by  the  cooing  of 
doves.  There  is  something  beautiful 
in  sleeping  in  the  open  air,  when 
weather  and  climate  are  suitable. 
We  awoke  before  sunrise,  comforted, 
and  got  upon  our  dromedaries ;  but 
after  a  couple  of  hours'  ride  we  mis- 
trusted the  sun,  and  halted  with  some 
wandering  Arabs  belonging  to  the 
Kabyle  of  the  Kammarabs.  We 


258 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


[Sept. 


were  hospitably  received,  and  regaled 
with  milk  and  bread."* 

When  our  two  Germans  rejoined 
headquarters,  after  four  days1  absence, 
they  found  Achmet  Bascha  seated  in 
the  shade  upon  the  ground  in  front  of 
his  tent,  much  burned  bythe  sun,  and 
looking  fagged  and  suffering— as  well 
he  might  be  after  the  heat  and  expo- 
sure he  had  voluntarily  undergone. 
Nothing  could  cure  him,  however,  at 
least  as  yet,  of  his  fancy  for  marching 
in  the  heat  of  the  day.  Although 
obstinate  and  despotic,  the  Bascha 
was  evidently  a  dashing  sort  of  fellow, 
well  calculated  to  win  the  respect  and 
admiration  of  his  wild  and  hetero- 
geneous army.  Weary  as  were  the 
two  Wernes,  (they  reached  the  camp 
at  noon,)  at  two  o'clock  they  had  to 
be  again  in  the  saddle.  "  A  number 
of  gazelles  were  started ;  the  Bascha 
seized  a  gun  and  dashed  after  them 
upon  his  Arabian  stallion,  almost  the 
whole  of  the  cavalry  scouring  after 
him  like  a  wild  mob,  and  we  ourselves 
riding  a  sharp  trot  to  witness  the 
chase.  We  thought  he  had  fallen 
from  his  horse,  so  suddenly  did  he 
swing  himself  from  saddle  to  ground, 
killing  three  gazelles  with  three  shots, 
of  which  animals  we  consumed  a  con- 
siderable portion  roasted  for  that 
night's  supper."  The  river  here 
widened,  and  crocodiles  showed  them- 
selves upon  the  opposite  shore.  The 
day  was  terribly  warm ;  the  poor 
medico  was  ill  again,  suffering  griev- 
ously from  his  head,  and  complaining 
of  his  hair  being  so  hot ;  and  as  the 
SalamanderBaschapersistedin  march- 
ing under  a  sun  which,  through  the 
canvass  of  the  tents,  heated  sabres 
and  musket-barrels  till  it  was  scarcely 
possible  to  grasp  them,  the  brothers 
again  lingered  behind  and  followed  in 
the  cool  of  the  evening,  Joseph  being 
mounted  upon  an  easy-going  mule 
lent  him  by  TopschiBaschi,  the  good- 
huraonred  but  dissolute  captain  of. 
the  guns.  They  were  now  divided 


but  by  the  river's  breadth  from  the 
hostile  tribe  of  the  Haddenda,  and 
might  at  any  moment  be  assailed  ; 
so  two  hours  after  sunset  a  halt  was 
called  and  numerous  camp-fires  were 
lighted,  producing  a  most  picturesque 
effect  amongst  the  trees,  and  by  their 
illumination  of  the  diversified  cos- 
tumes of  the  soldiery,  and  attracting 
a  whole  regiment  of  scorpions,  "  some 
of  them  remarkably  fine  specimens," 
says  Mr  Werne,  who  looks  upon  these 
unpleasant  fireside  companions  with  a 
scientific  e}re,  "  a  finger  and  a  half 
long,  of  a  light  colour,  half  of  the  tail 
of  a  brown  black  and  covered  with 
hair."  It  is  a  thousand  pities  that 
the  adventurous  Mrs  Ida  Pfeiffer  did 
not  accompany  Mr  Werne  upon  this 
expedition.  She  would  have  had  the 
finest  possible  opportunities  of  curing 
herself  of  the  prejudice  which  it  will 
be  remembered  she  was  so  weak  as 
to  entertain  against  the  scorpion 
tribe.  These  pleasant  reptiles  were 
as  plentiful  all  along  Mr  Werne's  line 
of  march  as  are  cockchafers  on  a 
summer  evening  in  an  English  oak- 
copse.  Their  visitations  were  plea- 
santly varied  by  those  of  snakes  of 
all  sizes,  and  of  various  degrees  of 
venom.  "  At  last,"  says  Mr  Werne, 
"one  gets  somewhat  indifferent  about 
scorpions  and  other  wild  animals." 
He  had  greater  difficulty  in  accustom- 
ing himself  to  the  sociable  habits  of 
the  snakes,  who  used  to  glide  about 
amongst  tents  and  baggage,  and  by 
whom,  in  the  course  of  the  expedition, 
a  great  number  of  persons  were 
bitten.  On  the  12th  April  "  Mo- 
hammed Ladham  sent  us  a  remark- 
able scorpion — pity  that  it  is  so  much 
injured  < —  almost  two  fingers  long, 
black-brown,  tail  and  feet  covered 
with  prickly  hair,  claws  as  large  as 
those  of  a  small  crab.  .  .  .  We 
had  laid  us  down  under  a  green  trea 
beside  a  cotton  plantation,  whilst  our 
servants  unloaded  the  camels  and 
pitched  the  tents,  when  a  snake,  six 


"  These  Kammarabs  possess  a  tract  on  the  left  or  south  bank  of  the  Atbara. 
The  distribution  of  the  different  tribes,  as  well  as  the  line  of  march  and  other  parti- 
culars, are  very  clearly  displayed  in  the  appropriate  little  map  accompanying  Mr 
Werne's  volume.  Opposite  to  the  Kammarabs,  "  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Atbara, 
are  the  Anafidabs,  of  the  race  or  family  of  the  Bischari.  They  form  a  Kabyle  (band 
or  community)  under  a  Schech  of  their  own.  How  it  is  that  the  French  in  Algiers 
persist  in  using  Kabyle  as  the  proper  name  of  a  nation  and  a  country,  I  cannot  under- 
stand."— Feldzuy  row  Sennaar,  p.  32. 


1851.] 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


253 


feet  long,  darted  from  under  our  car- 
pet, passed  over  my  leg,  and  close 
before  my  brother's  face.  But  we 
were  so  exhausted  that  we  lay  still, 
and  some  time  afterwards  the  snake 
was  brought  to  us,  one  of  Schech 
Defalla's  people  having  killed*  it." 
About  noon  next  day  a  similar  snake 
sprang  out  of  the  said  Defalla's  own 
tent ;  it  was  killed  also,  and  found  to 
measure  six  feet  two  inches.  The 
soldiers  perceiving  that  the  German 
physician  and  his  brother  were  cu- 
rious in  the  matter  of  reptiles,  brought 
them  masses  of  serpents  ;  but  they 
had  got  a  notion  that  the  flesh  was 
the  part  coveted  (not  the  skin)  to 
make  medicine,  and  most  of  the  speci- 
mens were  so  defaced  as  to  be  value- 
less. Early  in  May  "  some  soldiers 
assured  us  they  had  seen  in  the 
thicket  a  serpent  twenty  feet  long, 
and  as  thick  as  a  man's  leg ;  probably 
a  species  of  boa — a  pity  that  they 
could  not  kill  it.  The  great  number 
of  serpents  with  dangerous  bites 
makes  our  bivouac  very  unsafe,  and 
we  cannot  encamp  with  any  feeling 
of  security  near  bushes  or  'amongst 
brushwood ;  the  prick  of  a  blade  of 
straw,  the  sting  of  the  smallest 
insect,  causes  a  hasty  movement,  for 
one  immediately  fancies  it  is  a  snake 
or  scorpion  ;  and  when  out  shooting, 
one's  second  glance  is  for  the  game, 
one's  first  on  the  ground  at  his  feet, 
for  fear  of  trampling  and  irritating 
some  venomous  reptile."  As  we  pro- 
ceed through  the  volume  we  shall 
come  to  other  accounts  of  beasts  and 
reptiles,  so  remarkable  as  really 
almost  to  reconcile  us  to  the  possi- 
bility of  some  of  the  zoological  mar- 
vels narrated  by  the  Yankee  Doctor 
Mayo  in  his  rhapsody  of  Kaloolah.* 
For  the  present  we  must  revert  to 
the  business  of  this  curiously- con- 
ducted campaign.  As  the  army 
advanced,  various  chiefs  presented 
themselves,  with  retinues  more  or 
less  numerous.  The  first  of  these 
was  the  Grand- Shech  Mohammed 
Defalla,  already  named,  Avho  came 
up,  with  a  great  following,  on  the 
28th  March.  He  was  a  man  of 
herculean  frame  ;  and  assuredly  such 
was  very  necessary  to  enable  him  to 
endure  in  that  climate  the  weight  of 


his  defensive  arms.  He  wore  a 
double  shirt  of  mail  over  a  quilted 
doublet,  arm-plates  and  beautifully 
wrought  steel  gauntlets ;  his  casque 
fitted  like  a  shell  to  the  upper  part  of 
his  head,  and  had  in  front,  in  lieu  of 
a  visor,  an  iron  bar  coming  down: 
over  the  nose — behind,  for  the  pro- 
tection of  the  nape,  a  fringe  composed 
of  small  rings.  His  straight-bhided 
sword  had  a  golden  hilt.  The  whole 
equipment,  which  seems  to  corres- 
pond very  closely  with  that  of  some 
of  the  Sikhs  or  other  warlike  Indian 
tribes,  proceeded  from  India,  and 
Defalla  had  forty  or  fifty  such  suits 
of  arms.  About  the  same  time  with 
him,  arrived  two  Schechs  from  the 
refractory  land  of  Taka,  tall  hand- 
some men  ;  whilst,  from  the  environs 
of  the  neighbouring  town  of  Gos- 
Rajeb,  a  number  of  people  rode  out  on 
dromedaries  to  meet  the  Bascha,  their 
hair  quite  white  with  camel-fat,  which 
melted  in  the  sun  and  streamed  over 
their  backs.  Gos-Rajeb,  situated  at 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
left  bank  of  the  Atbara,  consists  of 
some  two  hundred  tokul  (huts)  and 
clay-built  houses,  and  in  those  parts- 
is  considered  an  important  commer- 
cial depot,  Indian  goods  being  trans- 
ported thither  on  camels  from  the 
port  of  Souakim,  on  the  Red  Sea. 
The  inhabitants  are  of  various  tribes, 
more  of  them  red  than  black  or  brown  -r 
but  few  were  visible,  many  having 
fled  at  the  approach  of  Achmet's 
army,  which  passed  the  town  in  im- 
posing array — the  infantry  in  double 
column  in  the  centre,  the  Turkish 
cavalry  on  the  right,  the  Schaigies  and 
Mograbins  on  the  left,  the  artillery,, 
with  kettledrums,  cymbals,  and  other 
music,  in  the  van — marched  through 
the  Atbara,  there  very  shallow,  and 
encamped  on  the  right  bank,  in  a 
stony  and  almost  treeless  plain,  at 
the  foot  of  two  rocky  hills.  The 
Bascha  ordered  the  Shech  of  Gos- 
Rajeb  to  act  as  guide  to  the  Wernes 
in  their  examination  of  the  vicinity, 
and  to  afford  them  all  the  information 
in  his  power.  The  most  remarkable 
spot  to  which  '  he  conducted  them 
was  to  the  site  of  an  ancient  city, 
which  once,  according  to  tradition, 
had  been  as  large  as  Cairo,  and 


BlacJcwood's  Magazine,  No.  CCCCIV.,  for  June  1849. 


260 

inhabited  by  Christians.  The  date 
of  its  existence  must  be  very  re- 
mote, for  the  ground  was  smooth, 
and  the  sole  trace  of  buildings 
consisted  in  a  few  heaps  of  broken 
bricks.  There  were  indications  of  a 
terrible  conflagration,  the  bricks  in 
one  place  being  melted  together  into 
a  black  glazed  mass.  Mr  Werne 
could  trace  nothing  satisfactory  with 
respect  to  former  Christian  occupants, 
and  seems  disposed  to  think  that 
Burckhardt,  who  speaks  of  Christian 
monuments  at  that  spot,  (in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  hill  of  Herrerem,) 
may  have  been  misled  by  certain 
peculiarly  formed  rocks. 

The  most  renowned  chief  of  the 
mutinous  tribes  of  Taka,  the  con- 
queror of  the  Turks  under  Churdschid 
Bascha,  was  Mohammed  Din,  Grand- 
Schech  of  the  Haddenda.  This  per- 
sonage, awed  by  the  approach  of 
Achmet's  formidable  force,  sent  his 
son  to  the  advancing  Bascha,  as  a 
hostage  for  his  loyalty  and  sub- 
mission. Achmet  sent  the  young 
man  back  to  his  father  as  bearer 
of  his  commands.  The  next  day 
the  army  crossed  the  frontier  of 
Taka,  which  is  not  very  exactly  de- 
fined, left  the  Atbara  in  their  rear, 
and,  moving  still  eastwards,  beheld 
before  them,  in  the  far  distance,  the 
blue  mountains  of  Abyssinia.  The 
Bascha's  suite  was  now  swelled  by 
the  arrival  of  numerous  Schecbs,  great 
and  small,  with  their  esquires  and  at- 
tendants. The  route  lay  through  a 
thick  forest,  interwoven  with  creep- 
ing plants  and  underwood,  and  with 
thorny  mimosas,  which  grew  to  a 
great  height.  The  path  was  narrow, 
the  confusion  of  the  march  inconceiv- 
ably great  and  perilous,  and  if  the 
enemy  had  made  a  vigorous  attack 
with  their  javelins,  which  they  are 
skilled  in  throwing,  the  army  must 
have  endured  great  loss,  with  scarcely 
a  possibility  of  inflicting  any.  At  last 
the  scattered  column  reached  an  open 
space,  covered  with  grass,  and  inter- 
sected with  deep  narrow  rills  of 
water.  The  Bascha,  who  had  out- 
stripped his  troops,  was  comfortably 
encamped,  heedless  of  their  fate, 
whilst  they  continued  for  a  long  time 
to  emerge  in  broken  parties  from  the 
wood.  Mr  Werne's  good  opinion  of 
his  generalship  had  been  already  much 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


[Sept. 


impaired,  and  this  example  of  true 
Turkish  indolence,  and  of  the  absence 
of  any  sort  of  military  dispositions 
under  such  critical  circumstances, 
completely  destroyed  it.  The  next 
day  there  was  some  appearance  of 
establishing  camp- guards,  and  of  tak- 
ing due  precautions  against  the  fierce 
and  numerous  foe,  who  on  former 
occasions  had  thrice  defeated  Turkish 
armies,  and  from  whom  an  attack  might 
at  any  moment  be  expected.  In  the 
afternoon  an  alarm  was  given;  the 
Bascha,  a  good  soldier,  although  a 
bad  general,  was  in  the  saddle  in  an 
instant,  and  gallopping  to  the  spot, 
followed  by  all  his  cavalry,  whilst  the 
infantry  rushed  confusedly  in  the 
same  direction.  The  uproar  had 
arisen,  however,  not  from  Arab  as- 
sailants, but  from  some  soldiers  who 
had  discovered  extensive  corn  maga- 
zines— silos,  as  they  are  called  in  Al- 
geria— holes  in  the  ground,  filled  with 
grain,  and  carefully  covered  over. 
By  the  Bascha's  permission,  the  sol- 
diers helped  themselves  from  these 
abundant  granaries,  and  thus  the 
army  found  itself  provided  with  corn 
for  the  next  two  months.  In  the 
course  of  the  disorderly  distribution, 
or  rather  scramble,  occurred  a  little 
fight  between  the  Schaigie,  a  quarrel- 
some set  of  irregulars,  and  some  of 
the  Turks.  Nothing  could  be  worse 
than  the  discipline  of  Achmet's  host. 
The  Schaigies  were  active  and  daring 
horsemen,  and  were  the  first  to  draw 
blood  in  the  campaign,  in  a  skirmish 
upon  the  following  day  with  some 
ambushed  Arabs.  The  neighbouring 
woods  swarmed  with  these  javelin- 
bearing  gentry,  although  they  lay 
close,  and  rarely  showed  themselves, 
save  when  they  could  inflict  injury 
at  small  risk.  Mr  Werne  began  to 
doubt  the  possibility  of  any  exten- 
sive or  effectual  operations  against 
these  wild  and  wandering  tribes, 
who,  on  the  approach  of  the  army, 
loaded  their  goods  on  camels,  and 
fled  into  the  Chaaba,  or  forest  dis- 
trict, whither  it  was  impossible  to 
follow  them.  Where  was  the  Bascha 
to  find  money  and  food  for  the  sup- 
port of  his  numerous  army  ? — where 
was  he  to  quarter  it  during  the  dan- 
gerous Chariff,  or  rainy  season  ?  He 
was  very  reserved  as  to  his  plans ; 
probably,  according  to  Mr  Werne, 


1851.] 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


261 


because  he  had  none.  The  Schechs 
who  had  joined  and  marched  with 
him  could  hardly  be  depended  upon, 
when  it  was  borne  in  mind  that  they, 
formerly  the  independent  rulers  of  a 
free  people,  had  been  despoiled  of 
their  power  and  privileges,  and  were 
now  the  ill-used  vassals  of  the  haughty 
and  stupid  Turks,  who  overwhelmed 
them  with  imposts,  treated  them  con- 
temptuously, and  even  subjected  them 
to  the  bastinado.  "  Mohammed  Din, 
seeing  the  hard  lot  of  these  gentle- 
men, seems  disposed  to  preserve  his 
freedom  as  long  as  possible,  or  to  sell 
it  as  dearly  as  may  be.  Should  it 
come  to  a  war,  there  is,  upon  our  side, 
a  total  want  of  efficient  leaders,  at 
any  rate  if  we  except  the  Bascha. 
Abdin  Aga,  chief  of  the  Turkish  ca- 
valry, a  bloated  Arnaut ;  Sorop  Ef- 
fendi,  a  model  of  stupidity  and  covet- 
ousness;  Hassan  Effendi  Bimbaschi, 
a  quiet  sot;  Soliman  Aga,  greedy, 
and  without  the  slightest  education  of 
any  kind ;  Hassan  Effendi  of  Sennaar, 
a  Turk  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word 
(these  four  are  infantry  commanders)  ; 
Mohammed  Ladjam,  a  good-natured 
but  inexperienced  fellow,  chief  of  the 
Mograbin  cavalry  :  amongst  all  these 
officers,  the  only  difference  is,  that 
each  is  more  ignorant  than  his  neigh- 
bour. With  such  leaders,  what  can 
be  expected  from  an  army  that,  for 
the  most  part,  knows  no  discipline — 
the  Scha'igies,  for  instance,  doing  just 
what  they  please,  and  being  in  a  fail- 
way  to  corrupt  all  the  rest— and  that 
is  encumbered  with  an  endless  train 
of  dangerous  rabble,  idlers,  slaves, 
and  women  of  pleasure,  serving  as 
a  burthen  and  hindrance?  Let  us 
console  ourselves  with  the  AllaJi 
kerim !  (God  is  merciful.)"  Mr 
Werne  had  not  long  to  wait  for  a 
specimen  of  Turkish  military  skill. 
On  the  night  of  the  7th  April  he  was 
watching  in  his  tent  beside  his  griev- 
ously sick  brother,  when  there  sud- 
denly arose  an  uproar  in  the  camp, 
followed  by  firing.  "  I  remained  by 
our  tent,  for  my  brother  was  scarcely 
able  to  stir,  and  the  infantry  also 
remained  quiet,  trusting  to  their 
mounted  comrades.  But  when  I  saw 
Bimbaschi  Hassan  Effendi  lead  a 
company  past  us,  and  madly  begin  to 
fire  over  the  powder-waggons,  as  if 
these  were  meant  to  serve  as  bar- 


ricades against  the  hostile  lances,  I 
ran  up  to  him  with  my  sabre  drawn, 
and  threatened  him  with  the  Bascha, 
as  well  as  with  the  weapon,  where- 
upon he  came  to  his  senses,  and 
begged  me  not  to  betray  him.  The 
whole  proved  to  be  mere  noise,  but 
the  harassed  Bascha  was  again  up 
and  active.  He  seemed  to  make  no 
use  of  his  aides-de-camp,  and  only 
his  own  presence  could  inspire  his 
troops  with  courage.  Some  of  the 
enemy  were  killed,  and  there  were 
many  tracks  of  blood  leading  into  the 
wood,  although  the  firing  had  been  at 
random  in  the  darkness.  As  a  speci- 
men of  the  tactics  of  our  Napoleon- 
worshipping  Bascha,  he  allowed  the 
wells,  which  were  at  two  hundred 
yards  from  camp,  to  remain  un- 
guarded at  night,  so  that  they  might 
easily  have  been  filled  up  by  the 
enemy.  Truly  fortunate  was  it  that 
there  were  no  great  stones  in  the 
neighbourhood  to  choke  them  up,  for 
we  were  totally  without  implements 
wherewith  to  have  cleared  them  out 
again."  Luckily  for  this  most  care- 
less general  and  helpless  army,  the 
Arabs  neglected  to  profit  by  their 
shortcomings,  and  on  the  14th  April, 
after  many  negotiations,  the  renowned 
Mohammed  Din  himself,  awed,  we 
must  suppose,  by  the  numerical 
strength  of  Achmet's  troops,  and 
over-estimating  their  real  value,  com- 
mitted the  fatal  blunder  of  presenting 
himself  in  the  Turkish  camp.  Great 
was  the  curiosity  to  see  this  redoubted 
chief,  who  alighted  at  Schech  Defalla's 
tent,  into  which  the  soldiers  impu- 
dently crowded,  to  get  a  view  of  the 
man  before  whom  many  of  them  had 
formerly  trembled  and  fled.  "  Mo- 
hammed Din  is  of  middle  stature, 
and  of  a  black- brown  colour,  like  all 
his  people ;  his  countenance  at  first 
says  little,  but,  on  longer  inspec- 
tion, its  expression  is  one  of  great 
cunning ;  his  bald  head  is  bare  ;  his 
dress  Arabian,  with  drawers  of  a  fiery 
red  colour.  His  retinue  consists, 
without  exception,  of  most  ill-looking 
fellows,  on  whose  countenances  Na- 
ture seems  to  have  done  her  best  to 
express  the  faithless  character  attri- 
buted to  the  Haddenda.  They  are 
all  above  the  middle  height,  and 
armed  with  shields  and  lances,  or 
swords."  Next  morning  Mr  Werne 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


262 

saw  the  Bascha  seated  on  his  angareb, 
(a  sort  of  bedstead,  composed  of 
plaited  strips  of  cam  el- hide,  which, 
upon  the  march,  served  as  a  throne,) 
with  a  number  of  Shechs  squatted 
npon  the  ground  on  either  side  of 
him,  amongst  them  Mohammed  Din, 
looking  humbled,  and  as  if  half-re- 
pentant of  his  rash  step.  The  Bascha 
appeared  disposed  to  let  him  feel  that 
he  was  now  no  better  than  a  caged 
lion,  whose  claws  the  captor  can  cut 
at  will.  Pie  showed  him,  however, 
marks  of  favour,  gave  him  a  red 
shawl  for  a  turban,  and  a  purple 
mantle  with  gold  tassels,  but  no 
sabre,  which  Mr  Werne  thought  a 
bad  omen.  The  Schech  was  suffered 
to  go  to  and  fro  between  the  camp 
and  his  own  people,  but  under  certain 
control  —  now  with  an  escort  of 
Schaigies,  then  leaving  his  son  as 
hostage.  He  sent  in  some  cattle  and 
sheep  as  a  present,  and  promised  to 
bring  the  tribute  due ;  this  he  failed 
to  do,  and  a  time  was  fixed  to  him 
and  the  other  Shechs  within  which  to 
pay  up  arrears.  Notwithstanding  the 
subjection  of  their  chiefs,  the  Arabs 
continued  their  predatory  practices, 
stealing  camels  from  the  camp,  or 
taking  them  by  force  from  the  grooms 
who  drove  them  out  to  pasture. 

Mr  Werne's  book  is  a  journal, 
written  daily  during  the  campaign ; 
but,  owing  to  the  long  interval  be- 
tween its  writing  and  publication,  he 
has  found  it  necessary  to  make  fre- 
quent parenthetical  additions,  correc- 
tive or  explanatory.  Towards  the 
end  of  April,  during  great  sickness  in 
camp,  he  writes  as  follows  : — u  My 
brother's  medical  observations  and 
experiments  begin  to  excite  in  me  a 
strong  interest.  He  has  promised  me 
that  he  will  keep  a  medical  journal ; 
but  he  must  first  get  into  better  health, 
for  now  it  is  always  with  sickening 
disgust  that  he  returns  from  visiting 
his  patients  ;  he  complains  of  the  in- 
supportable effluvia  from  these  people, 
sinks  upon  his  angareb  with  depression 
depicted  in  his  ^features,  and  falls 
asleep  with  open  eyes,  so  that  I  often 
feel  quite  uneasy."  Then  comes  the 
parenthesis  of  ten  years'  later  date. 
"  Subsequently,  when  I  had  joined  the 
expedition  for  the  navigation  of  the 
White  Nile,  he  wrote  to  me  from  the 
camp  of  Kassela-el-Lus  to  Chart  urn, 


[Sept. 


that,  with  great  diligence  and  indus- 
try, he  had  written  some  valuable 
papers  on  African  diseases,  and  wns 
inconsolable  at  having  lost  them.  He 
had  been  for  ten  days  dangerously 
ill,  had  missed  me  sadly,  and,  in  a  fit 
of  delirium,  when  his  servant  asked 
him  for  paper  to  light  the  fire,  had 
handed  him  his  manuscript,  which  the 
stupid  fellow  had  forthwith  burned. 
At  the  same  time,  he  lamented  that, 
during  his  illness,  our  little  menagerie 
had  been  starved  to  death.  The 
Bascha  had  been  to  see  him,  and  by 
his  order  Topschi  Baschi  had  taken 
charge  of  his  money,  that  he  might  not 
be  robbed,  giving  the  servants  what 
was  needful  for  their  keep,  and  for  the 
purchase  of  flesh  for  the  animals.  The 
servants  had  drunk  the  money  in- 
tended for  the  beasts'  food.  When  my 
brother  recovered  his  health,  he  had 
the  fagged,  (a  sort  of  lynx,)  which  had 
held  out  longest,  and  was  only  just 
dead,  cut  open,  and  so  convinced  him- 
self that  it  had  died  of  hunger.  The 
annoyance  one  has  to  endure  from 
these  people  is  beyond  conception, 
and  the  very  mildest-tempered  man — 
as,  for  instance,  my  late  brother — is 
compelled  at  times  to  make  use  of  the 
whip." 

Whilst  Mohammed  Din  and  the 
other  Shechs,  accompanied  by  detach- 
ments of  Turkish  troops,  intended 
partly  to  support  them  in  their  de- 
mands, and  partly  to  reconnoitre  the 
country,  endeavoured  to  get  together 
the  stipulated  tribute,  the  army  re- 
mained stationary.  But  repose  did 
not  entail  monotony ;  strange  incidents 
were  of  daily  occurrence  in  this  sin- 
gular camp.  The  Wernes,  always 
anxious  for  the  increase  of  their  ca- 
binet of  stuffed  birds  and  beasts,  sent 
their  huntsman  Abdallah  with  one  of 
the  detachments,  remaining  them- 
selves, for  the  present  at  least,  at  head- 
quarters, to  collect  whatever  might 
come  in  their  way.  The  commander 
of  the  Mograbins  sent  them  an  ante- 
lope as  big  as  a  donkey,  having  legs 
like  a  cow,  and  black  twisted  horns. 
From  the  natives  little  was  to  be 
obtained.  They  were  very  shy  and 
ill-disposed,  and  could  not  be  pre- 
vailed upon,  even  by  tenfold  payment, 
to  supply  the  things  most  abundant 
with  them,  as  for  instance  milk  and 
honey.  In  hopes  of  alluring  and 


1851.]  A  Campaign 

conciliating  them,  the  Bascha  ordered 
those  traders  who  had  accompanied 
the  army  to  establish  a  bazaar  outside 
the  fence  enclosing  the  camp.  The 
little  mirrors  that  were  there  sold 
proved  a  great  attraction.  The  Arabs 
would  sit  for  whole  days  looking  in 
them,  and  pulling  faces.  Bat  no 
amount  of  reflection  could  render  them 
amicable  or  honest :  they  continued  to 
steal  camels  and  asses  whenever  they 
could,  and  one  of  them  caught  a 
Schaiigie's  horse,  led  him  up  to  the 
camp,  and  stabbed  him  to  death.  So 
great  was  the  hatred  of  these  tribes  to 
their  oppressors  —  a  hatred  which 
would  have  shown  itself  by  graver 
aggressions,  but  for  Achmet's  large 
force,  and  above  all,  for  their  dread 
of  firearms.  Within  the  camp  there 
was  wild  work  enough  at  times.  The 
good-hearted,  hot-headed  Werne  was 
horribly  scandalised  by  the  ill-treat- 
ment of  the  slaves.  Dumont,  the 
French  apothecary,  had  a  poor  lad 
named  Amber,  a  mere  boy,  willing 
and  industrious,  whom  he  continually 
beat  and  kicked,  until  at  last  Mr 
Werne  challenged  him  to  a  duel  with 
sabres,  and  threatened  to  take  away 
the  slave,  which  he,  as  a  Frenchman, 
had  no  legal  right  to  possess.  But 
this  was  nothing  compared  to  the 
cruelties  practised  by  other  Euro- 
peans, and  especially  at  Chartum  by 
one  Vigoureux,  (a  French  corporal 
who  had  served  under  Napoleon,  and 
was  now  adjutant  of  an  Egyptian 
battalion,)  and  his  wife,  upon  a  poor 
black  girl,  only  ten  years  of  age, 
whom  they  first  barbarously  flogged, 
and  then  tied  to  a  post,  with  her 
bleeding  back  exposed  to  the  broiling 
sun.  Informed  of  this  atrocity  by  his 
brother,  who  had  witnessed  it,  Mr 
Werne  sprang  from  his  sickbed,  and 
flew  to  the  rescue,  armed  with  his 
sabre,  and  with  a  well-known  iron 
stick,  ten  pounds  in  weight,  which 
had  earned  him  the  nickname  of  Abu- 
Nabut,  or  Father  of  the  Stick.  A 
distant  view  of  his  incensed  counte- 
nance sufficed,  and  the  Frenchman, 
cowardly  as  cruel,  hastened  to  release 
his  victim,  and  to 'humble  himself 
before  her  humane  champion.  Con- 
cerning this  corporal  and  his  dame, 
whom  he  had  been  to  France  to  fetch, 
and  who  was  brought  to  bed  on  camel- 
back,  under  a  burning  sun,  in  the 


in  Taka. 


263 


midst  of  the  desert,  some  curious 
reminiscences  are  set  down  in  the 
Feldzug,  as  are  also  some  diverting 
details  of  the  improprieties  of  the  dis- 
sipated gunner  Topschi  Baschi,  who, 
on  the  1st  May,  brought  dancing- 
girls  into  the  hut  occupied  by  the  two 
Germans,  and  assembled  a  mob  round 
it  by  the  indecorous  nature  of  his 
proceedings.  Regulations  for  the  in- 
ternal order  and  security  of  the  camp 
were  unheard  of.  After  a  time",  tents 
were  pitched  over  the  ammunition  ;  a 
ditch  was  dug  around  it,  and  strict 
orders  were  given  to  light  no  fire  in  its 
vicinity.  All  fires,  too,  by  command 
of  the  Bascha,  were  to  be  extinguished 
when  the  evening  gun  was  fired.  For 
a  short  time  the  orders  were  obeyed ; 
then  they  were  forgotten ;  fires  were 
seen  blazing  late  at  night,  and  within 
fifteen  paces  of  the  powder.  Nothing 
but  the  bastinado  could  give  memory 
to  these  reckless  fatalists.  "  I  have 
often  met  ships  upon  the  Nile,  so  laden 
with  straw  that  there  was  scarcely 
room  for  the  sailors  to  work  the  vessel. 
No  matter  for  that ;  in  the  midst  of 
the  straw  a  mighty  kitchen-fire  was 
merrily  blazing." 

On  the  6th  of  May,  the  two  Wernes 
mounted  their  dromedaries  and  set  off, 
attended  by  one  servant,  and  with  a 
guide  provided  by  Mohammed  Defalla, 
for  the  village  of  El  Soffra,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  two  and  a  half  leagues,  where 
they  expected  to  find  Mohammed  Din 
and  a  large  assemblage  of  his  tribe. 
It  was  rather  a  daring  thing  to  ad- 
vance thus  unescorted  into  the  land 
of  the  treacherous  Haddendas,  and  the 
Bascha  gave  his  consent  unwillingly ; 
but  Mussa,  (Moses,)  the  Din's  only 
son,  was  hostage  in  the  camp,  and 
they  deemed  themselves  safer  alone 
than  with  the  half  company  of  soldiers 
Achmet  wanted  to  send  with  them. 
Their  routelay  due  east,  at  first  through 
fields  of  durra,  (a  sort  of  grain,) 
afterwards  through  forests  of  sap- 
lings. The  natives  they  met  greeted 
them  courteously,  and  they  reached 
El  Soffra  without  molestation,  but 
there  learned,  to  their  considerable 
annoyance,  that  Mohammed  Din 
had  gone  two  leagues  and  a  half 
farther,  to  the  camp  of  his  nephew 
Shech  Mussa,  at  Mitkenab.  So,  after 
a  short  pause,  they  again  mounted 
their  camels,  and  rode  off,  loaded  with 


264 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


[Sept, 


maledictions  by  the  Arabs,  because 
they  would  not  remain  and  supply 
them  with  medicine,  although  the  same 
Arabs  refused  to  requite  the  drugs 
with  so  much  as  a  cup  of  milk.  They 
rode  for  more  than  half  an  hour  before 
emerging  from  the  straggling  village, 
which  was  composed  of  wretched  huts 
made  of  palm-mats,  having  an  earthen 
cooking-vessel,  a  leathern  water-bot- 
tle, and  two  stones  for  bruising  corn, 
for  sole  furniture.  The  scanty  dress 
of  the  people — some  of  the  men  had 
nothing  but  a  leathern  apron  round 
their  hips,  and  a  sheep-skin,  with  the 
wool  inwards,  over  their  shoulders — 
their  long  hair  and  wild  countenances, 
gave  them  the  appearance  of  thorough 
savages.  In  the  middle  of  every  vil- 
lage was  an  open  place,  where  the 
children  played  stark  naked  in  the 
burning  sun,  their  colour  and  their 
extraordinarily  nimble  movements 
combining,  says  Mr  Werne,  to  give 
them  the  appearance  of  a  troop  of 
young  imps.  Infants,  which  in  Europe 
would  lie  helpless  in  the  cradle,  are 
there  seen  rolling  in  the  sand,  with  none 
to  mind  them,  and  playing  with  the 
young  goats  and  other  domestic 
animals.  In  that  torrid  climate,  the 
development  of  the  human  frame  is 
wonderfully  rapid.  Those  women  of 
whom  the  travellers  caught  a  sight  in 
this  large  village,  which  consisted  of 
upwards  of  two  thousand  huts  and 
tents,  were  nearly  all  old  and  ugly. 
The  young  ones,  when  they  by  chance 
encountered  the  strangers,  covered 
their  faces,  and  ran  away.  On  the 
road  to  Mitkenab,  however,  some 
young  and  rather  handsome  girls 
showed  themselves.  u  They  all  looked 
at  us  with  great  wonder,"  says  Mr 
Werne,  "  and  took  us  for  Turks,  for 
we  are  the  first  Franks  who  have  come 
into  this  country." 

Mitkenab,  pleasantly  situated 
amongst  lofty  trees,  seemed  to  invite 
the  wanderers  to  cool  shelter  from 
the  mid-day  sun.  They  were  parched 
with  thirst  when  they  entered  it,  but 
not  one  of  the  inquisitive  Arabs  who 
crowded  around  them  would  attend  to 
their  request  for  a  draught  of  milk  or 
water.  Here,  however,  was  Moham- 
med Din,  and  with  him  a  party  of 
Scha'igies  under  Melek  Mahmud, 
whom  they  found  encamped  under  a 
great  old  tree,  with  his  fifty  horse- 


men around  him.  After  they  had 
taken  some  refreshment,  the  Din 
came  to  pay  them  a  visit.  He  refused 
to  take  the  place  offered  him  on  an 
angareb,  but  sat  down  upon  the 
ground,  giving  them  to  understand, 
with  a  sneering  smile,  that  that 
was  now  the  proper  place  for  him. 
"  We  had  excellent  opportunity  to 
examine  the  physiognomy  of  this 
Schech,  who  is  venerated  like  a 
demigod  by  all  the  Arabs  between 
the  Atbara  and  the  Red  Sea.  '  He 
is  a  brave  man,'  they  say,  '  full  of 
courage  ;  there  is  no  other' like  him !' 
His  face  is  fat  and  round,  with  small 
grey-brown,  piercing,  treacherous- 
looking  eyes,  expressing  both  the 
cunning  and  the  obstinacy  of  his 
character ;  his  nose  is  well-propor- 
tioned and  slightly  flattened ;  his 
small  mouth  constantly  wears  a 
satirical  scornful  smile.  But  for  this 
expression  and  his  thievish  glance, 
his  bald  crown  and  well-fed  middle- 
sized  person  would  become  a  monk's 
hood.  He  goes  with  his  head  bare, 
wears  a  white  cotton  shirt  andferda, 
and  sandals  on  his  feet.  .  .  We 
told  him  that  he  was  well  known  to 
the  Franks  as  a  great  hero ;  he  shook 
his  head  and  said  that  on  the  salt 
lake,  at  Souakim,  he  had  seen  great 
ships  with  cannon,  but  that  he  did 
not  wish  the  help  of  the  Ingleb  (Eng- 
lish ;)  then  he  said  something  else, 
which  was  not  translated  to  us.  I 
incautiously  asked  him,  how  nume- 
rous his  nation  was.  *  Count  the  trees,' 
he  replied,  glancing  ironically  around 
him;  (a  poll-tax  constituted  a  portion 
of  the  tribute.)  Conversation  through 
an  interpreter  was  so  wearisome  that 
we  soon  took  our  leave."  At  Mit- 
kenab they  were  upon  the  borders  of 
the  great  forest  (Chaaba)  that  extends 
from  the  banks  of  the  Atbara  to  the 
shores  of  the  Red  Sea.  It  contains 
comparatively  few  lofty  trees — most 
of  these  getting  uprooted  by  hurri- 
canes, when  the  rainy  season  has 
softened  the  ground  round  their  roots 
— but  a  vast  deal  of  thicket  and  dense 
brushwood,  affording  shelter  to  legions 
of  wild  beasts ;  innumerable  herds  of 
elephants,  rhinoceroses,  lions,  tigers, 
giraffes,  various  inferior  beasts,  and 
multitudes  of  serpents  of  the  most 
venomous  description.  For  fear  of 
these  unpleasant  neighbours,  no  Arab 


1851.] 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


265 


at  Mitkenab  quits  his  dwelling  after 
nightfall.  "  When  we  returned  to 
the  wells,  a  little  before  sundown,  we 
found  all  the  Schaiigies  on  the  move, 
to  take  up  their  quarters  in  an  en- 
closure outside  the  village,  partly  on 
account  of  the  beasts  of  prey,  espe- 
cially the  lions,  which  come  down  to 
drink  of  a  night,  partly  for  safety 
from  the  unfriendly  Arabs.  We  went 
with  them  and  encamped  with  Mam- 
mud  in  the  middle  of  the  enclosure. 
We  slept  soundly  the  night  through, 
only  once  aroused  by  the  hoarse  cries 
of  the  hyenas,  which  were  sneaking 
about  the  village,  setting  all  the 
dogs  barking.  To  insure  our  safety, 
Mohammed  Din  himself  slept  at  our 
door  —  so  well-disposed  were  his 
people  towards  us."  A  rumour  had 
gained  credit  amongst  the  Arabs,  that 
the  two  mysterious  strangers  were 
sent  by  Achmet  to  reconnoitre  the 
country  for  the  Bascha's  own  advance ; 
and  so  incensed  were  they  at  this, 
that,  although  their  beloved  chief's 
son  was  a  hostage  in  the  Turkish 
camp,  it  was  only  by  taking  by- 
paths, under  guidance  of  a  young 
relative  of  Schech  Mussa's,  that  the 
Wernes  were  able  to  regain  their 
camp  in  safety.  A  few  days  after 
their  return  they  were  both  attacked 
by  bad  fever,  which  for  some  time 
prevented  them  from  writing.  They 
lost  their  reckoning,  and  thencefor- 
ward the  journal  is  continued  without 
dates. 

The  Bascha  grew  weary  of  life  in 
camp,  and  pined  after  action.  In  vain 
did  the  Schaigies  toss  the  djereed,  and 
go  through  irregular  tournaments  and 
sham  fights  for  his  diversion ;  in  vain 
did  he  rattle  the  dice  with  Topschi 
Baschi ;  vain  were  the  blandishments 
of  an  Abyssinian  beauty  whom  he 
had  quartered  in  a  hut  surrounded 
with  a  high  fence,  and  for  whose 
amusement  he  not  unfrequently  had 
nocturnal  serenades  performed  by  the 
band  of  the  8th  regiment ;  to  which 
brassy  and  inharmonious  challenge 
the  six  thousand  donkeys  assembled 
in  camp  never  failed  to  respond  by  an 
ear-splitting  bray,  whilst  the  numerous 
camels  bellowed  a  bass :  despite  all 
these  amusements,  the  Bascha  suffered 
from  ennui.  He  was  furious  when 
he  saw  how  slowly  and  scantily  came 
in  the  tribute  for  which  he  had  made 


this  long  halt.  Some  three  hundred 
cows  were  all  that  had  yet  been  deli- 
vered ;  a  ridiculously  small  number 
contrasted  with  the  vast  herds  pos- 
sessed by  those  tribes.  Achmet  foamed 
with  rage  at  this  ungrateful  return 
for  his  patience  and  consideration. 
He  reproached  the  Schechs  who  were 
with  him,  and  sent  for  Mohammed 
Din,  Shech  Mussa,  and  the  two 
Shechs  of  Mitkenab.  Although  their 
people,  foreboding  evil,  endeavoured  to 
dissuade  them  from  obedience,  they 
all  four  came  and  were  forthwith  put 
in  irons  and  chained  together.  With 
all  his  cunning  Mohammed  Din  had 
fallen  into  the  snare.  His  plan  had 
been,  so  Mr  Werne  believes,  to  cajole 
and  detain  the  Turks  by  fair  words 
and  promises  until  the  rainy  season, 
when  hunger  and  sickness  would  have 
proved  his  best  allies.  The  Bascha 
had  been  beforehand  with  him,  and 
the  old  marauder  might  now  repent  at 
leisure  that  he  had  not  trusted  to  his 
impenetrable  forests  and  to  the  javelins 
of  his  people,  rather  than  to  the  word 
of  a  Turk.  On  the  day  of  his  arrest 
the  usual  evening  gun  was  loaded 
with  canister,  and  fired  into  the 
woods  in  the  direction  of  the  Hadden- 
das,  the  sound  of  cannon  inspiring 
the  Arab  and  negro  tribes  with  a 
panic  fear.  Firearms — to  them  in- 
comprehensible weapons— have  served 
more  than  anything  else  to  daunt 
their  courage.  "When  the  Turks 
attacked  a  large  and  populous  moun- 
tain near  Faszogl,  the  blacks  sent  out 
spies  to  see  how  strong  was  the  foe, 
and  how  armed.  The  spies  came 
back  laughing,  and  reported  that 
there  was  no  great  number  of  men  ; 
that  their  sole  arms  were  shining  sticks 
upon  their  shoulders,  and  that  they 
had  neither  swords,  lances,  nor  shields. 
The  poor  fellows  soon  found  how 
terrible  an  effect  had  the  sticks  they 
deemed  so  harmless.  As  they  could 
not  understand  how  it  was  that  small 
pieces  of  lead  should  wound  and  kill, 
a  belief  got  abroad  amongst  them, 
that  the  Afrite,  Scheitan,  (the  devil  or 
evil  spirit,)  dwelt  in  the  musket- 
barrels.  With  this  conviction,  a 
negro,  grasping  a  soldier's  musket, 
put  his  hand  over  the  mouth  of  the 
barrel,  that  the  afrite  might  not  get 
out.  The  soldier  pulled  the  trigger, 
and  the  leaden  devil  pierced  the  poor 


2G6 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


[Sept. 


black's  hand  and  breast.  After  an 
action,  a  negro  collected  the  muskets 
of  six  or  seven  slain  soldiers,  and  joy- 
fully carried  them  home,  there  to 
forge  them  into  lances  in  the  presence 
of  a  party  of  his  friends.  But  it 
happened  that  some  of  them  were 
loaded,  and  soon  getting  heated  in 
the  fire,  they  went  off,  scattering 
death  and  destruction  around  them." 
Most  of  the  people  in  Taka  run  from 
the  mere  report  of  a  musket,  but  the 
Arabs  of  Hedjas,  a  mountainous 
district  near  the  Ked  Sea,  possess 
firearms,  and  are  slow  but  very  good 
shots. 

In  the  way  of  tribute,  nothing  was 
gained  by  the  imprisonment  of  Ma- 
hommed  Din  and  his  companions. 
No  more  contributions  came  in,  and 
not  an  Arab  showed  himself  upon 
the  market-place  outside  the  camp. 
Mohammed  Din  asked  why  his  cap- 
tors did  not  kill  rather  than  confine 
him  ;  he  preferred  death  to  captivity, 
and  keeping  him  prisoner  would  lead, 
he  said,  to  no  result.  The  Arab 
chiefs  in  camp  did  not  conceal  their 
disgust  at  the  Bascha's  treatment  of 
their  Grand-Shech,  and  taxed  Achmet 
with  having  broken  his  word,  since 
he  had  given  him  the  Amahn  —  pro- 
mise of  pardon.  Any  possibility  of 
conciliating  the  Arabs  was  destroyed 
by  the  step  that  had  been  taken.  At 
night  they  swarmed  round  the  camp, 
shrieking  their  war-cry.  The  utmost 
vigilance  was  necessary ;  a  third  of 
the  infantry  was  under  arms  all  night, 
the  consequent  fatigue  increasing  the 
amount  of  sickness.  The  general 
aspect  of  things  was  anything  but 
cheering.  The  Wernes  had  their 
private  causes  of  annoyance.  Six  of 
their  camels,  including  the  two  excel- 
lent dromedaries  given  to  them  by  the 
Bascha  before  quitting  Chartum,  were 
stolen  whilst  their  camel-driver  slept, 
and  could  not  be  recovered.  They 
were  compelled  to  buy  others,  and 
Mr  Werne  complains  bitterly  of  the 
heavy  expenses  of  the  campaign — 
expenses  greatly  augmented  by  the 
sloth  and  dishonesty  of  their  servants. 
The  camel- driver,  fearing  to  face  his 
justly-incensed  employers,  disappeared 
and  was  no  more  heard  of.  Upon 
this  and  other  occasions,  Mr  Werne 
was  struck  by  the  extraordinary  skill 
of  the  Turks  in  tracing  animals  and 


men  by  their  footsteps.  In  this  manner 
his  servants  tracked  his  camels  to  an 
Arab  village,  although  the  road  had 
been  trampled  by  hundreds  of  beasts 
of  the  same  sort.  "  If  these  people 
have  once  seen  the  footprint  of  a  man, 
camel,  horse,  or  ass,  they  are  sure  to 
recognise  it  amongst  thousands  of 
such  impressions,  and  will  follow  the 
trail  any  distance,  so  long  as  the 
ground  is  tolerably  favourable,  and 
wind  or  rain  has  not  obliterated  the 
marks.  In  cases  of  loss,  people  send 
for  a  man  who  makes  this  kind  of 
search  his  profession  ;  they  show  him 
a  footprint  of  the  lost  animal,  and 
immediately,  without  asking  any 
other  indication,  he  follows  the  track 
through  the  streets  of  a  town,  daily 
trodden  by  thousands,  and  seldom 
fails  to  hunt  out  the  game.  He  does 
not  proceed  slowly,  or  stoop  to  exa- 
mine the  ground,  but  his  sharp  eye 
follows  the  trail  at  a  run.  We  our- 
selves saw  the  footstep  of  a  runaway 
slave  shown  to  one  of  these  men,  who 
caught  the  fugitive  at  the  distance  of 
three  days'  journey  from  that  spot. 
My  brother  once  went  out  of  the 
Bascha's  house  at  Chartum,  to  visit  a 
patient  who  lived  far  off  in  the  town. 
He  had  been  gone  an  hour  when  the 
Bascha  desired  to  see  him,  and  the 
tschausch  (orderly)  traced  him  at 
once  by  his  footmarks  on  the  unpaved 
streets  in  which  crowds  had  left 
similar  signs.  When,  in  consequence 
of  my  sickness,  we  lingered  for  some 
days  on  the  Atbara,and  then  marched 
to  overtake  the  army,  the  Schaigies 
who  escorted  us  detected,  amidst  the 
hoof-marks  of  the  seven  or  eight 
thousand  donkeys  accompanying  the 
troops,  those  of  a  particular  jackass 
belonging  to  one  of  their  friends,  and 
the  event  proved  that  they  were 
right."  Mr  Werne  fills  his  journal, 
during  his  long  sojourn  in  camp,  with 
a  great  deal  of  curious  information 
concerning  the  habits  and  peculiarities 
of  both  Turks  and  Arabs,  as  well  as 
with  the  interesting  results  of  his 
observations  on  the  brute  creation. 
The  soldiers  continued  to  bring  to 
him  and  his  brother  all  manner  of 
animals  and  reptiles — frogs,  whole 
coils  of  snakes,  and  chameleons,  which 
there  abound,  but  whose  changes  of 
colour  Mr  Werne  found  to  be  much  less 
numerous  than  is  commonly  believed. 


1851.] 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


267 


For  two  months  he  watched  the 
variations  of  hue  of  these  cnrious 
lizards,  and  found  them  limited  to 
different  shades  of  grey  and  green, 
with  yellow  stripes  and  spots.  He 
made  a  great  pet  of  a  young  wild  cat, 
which  was  perfectly  tame,  and  extra- 
ordinarily handsome.  Its  colour  was 
grey,  beautifully  spotted  with  black, 
like  a  panther ;  its  head  was  smaller 
and  more  pointed  than  that  of  Euro- 
pean cats ;  its  ears,  of  unusual  size, 
were  black,  with  white  stripes. 
Many  of  the  people  in  camp  took  it 
to  be  a  young  tiger,  but  the  natives 
called  it  a  fagged,  and  said  it  was  a 
sort  of  cat,  in  which  Mr  Werne 
agreed  with  them.  "  Its  companion 
and  playfellow  is  a  rat,  about  the 
size  of  a  squirrel,  with  a  long  silvery 
tail,  which,  when  angry,  it  swells  out, 
and  sets  up  over  its  back.  This  poor 
little  beast  was  brought  to  us  with 
two  broken  legs,  and  we  gave  it  to 
the  cat,  thinking  it  was  near  death. 
But  the  cat,  not  recognising  her 
natural  prey  —  and  moreover  feeling 
the  want  of  a  companion  —  and  the 
rat,  tamed  by  pain  and  cured  by 
splints,  became  inseparable  friends, 
ate  together,  and  slept  arm  in  arm. 
The  rat,  which  was  not  ugly  like  our 
house  rats,  but  was  rather  to  be  con- 
sidered handsome,  by  reason  of  its 
long  frizzled  tail,  never  made  use  of 
its  liberty  to  escape."  Notwithstand- 
ing the  numerous  devices  put  in  prac- 
tice by  the  Wernes  to  pass  their 
time,  it  at  last  began  to  hang  heavy, 
and  their  pipes  were  almost  their  sole 
resource  and  consolation.  Smoking 
is  little  customary  in  Egypt,  except 
amongst  the  Turks  and  Arabs.  The 
Mograbins  prefer  chewing.  The  blacks 
of  the  Gesira  make  a  concentrated 
infusion  of  this  weed,  which  they  call 
bucca;  take  a  mouthful  of  it,  and  roll 
the  savoury  liquor  round  their  teeth 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  eject- 
ing it.  They  are  so  addicted  to  this 
practice,  that  they  invite  their  friends 
to  "bucca"  as  Europeans  do  to 
dinner.  The  vessel  containing  the 
tobacco  juice  makes  the  round  of  the 
party,  and  a  profound  silence  ensues, 
broken  only  by  the  harmonious  gurgle 
of  the  delectable  fluid.  Conversation 
is  carried  on  by  signs. 

"We  shall  march  to-morrow,"  had 
long  been  the  daily  assurance  of  those 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXI. 


wiseacres,  to  be  found  in  every  army, 
who  always  know  what  the  general 
means  to  do  better  than  the  general 
himself.  At  last  the  much-desired 
order  was  issued  —  of  course  when 
everybody  least  expected  it  —  and, 
after  a  night  of  bustle  and  confusion, 
the  army  got  into  motion,  in  its  usual 
disorderly  array.  Its  destination  was 
a  mountain  called  Kassela-el-Lus,  in 
the  heart  of  the  Taka  country,  whither 
the  Bascha  had  sent  stores  of  grain, 
and  where  he  proposed  passing  the 
rainy  season  and  founding  a  new 
town.  The  distance  was  about  four- 
teen hours'  march.  The  route  led 
south-eastwards,  at  first  through  a 
level  country,  covered  with  boundless 
fields  of  tall  durra.  At  the  horizon, 
like  a  great  blue  cloud,  rose  the 
mountain  of  Kassela,  a  blessed  sight 
to  eyes  that  had  long  been  weary  of 
the  monotonous  level  country.  After 
a  while  the  army  got  out  of  the  durra- 
fielcls,  and  proceeded  over  a  large 
plain  scantily  overgrown  with  grass, 
observing  a  certain  degree  of  military 
order  and  discipline,  in  anticipation 
of  an  attempt,  on  the  part  of  the 
angry  Arabs,  to  rescue  Mohammed 
Din  and  his  companions  in  captivity. 
Numerous  hares  and  jackals  were 
started  and  ridden  down.  Even 
gazelles,  swift  as  they  are,  were  some- 
times overtaken  by  the  excellent 
Turkish  horses.  Presently  the  grass 
grew  thicker  and  tall  enough  to  con- 
ceal a  small  donkey,  and  they  came 
to  wooded  tracts  and  jungles,  and 
upon  marks  of  elephants  and  other 
wild  beasts.  The  foot- prints  of  the 
elephants,  in  places  where  the  ground 
had  been  slightly  softened  by  the 
rain,  were  often  a  foot  deep,  and  from 
a  foot  and  a  half  to  two  feet  in  length 
and  breadth.  Mr  Werne  regrets  not 
obtaining  a  view  of  one  of  these  giant 
brutes.  The  two-horned  rhinoceros 
is  also  common  in  that  region,  and  is 
said  to  be  of  extraordinary  ferocity 
in  its  attacks  upon  men  and  beasts, 
and  not  unfrequently  to  come  off  con- 
queror in  single  combat  with  the  ele- 
phant. "  Suddenly  the  little  Schai'gie 
cavalry  set  up  a  great  shouting,  and 
every  one  handled  his  arms,  antici- 
pating an  attack  from  the  Arabs. 
But  soon  the  cry  of  '  Asset !  Asset !' 
(lion)  was  heard,  and  we  gazed  eagerly 
on  every  side,  curious  for  the  lion's 


268 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


[Sept. 


appearance.  The  Bascha  had  already 
warned  his  chase  -  loving  cavalry, 
under  penalty  of  a  thousand  blows,  not 
to  quit  their  ranks  on  the  appearance 
of  wild  beasts,  for  in  that  broken 
ground  he  feared  disorder  in  the  army 
and  an  attack  from  the  enemy.  I 
and  my  brother  were  at  that  moment 
with  Melek  Mahmud  at  the  outward 
extremity  of  the  left  wing ;  suddenly 
a  tolerably  large  lioness  trotted  out  of 
a  thicket  beside  us,  not  a  hundred 
paces  off.  She  seemed  quite  fearless, 
for  she  did  not  quicken  her  pace  at 
sight  of  the  army.  The  next  minute 
a  monstrous  lion  showed  himself  at 
the  same  spot,  roaring  frightfully,  and 
apparently  in  great  fury ;  his  motions 
were  still  slower  than  those  of  his 
female ;  now  and  then  he  stood  still 
to  look  at  us,  and  after  coming  to 
within  sixty  or  seventy  paces — we  all 
standing  with  our  guns  cocked,  ready 
to  receive  him — he  gave  us  a  parting 
scowl,  and  darted  away,  with  great 
bounds,  in  the  track  of  his  wife.  In 
a  moment  both  had  disappeared." 
Soon  after  this  encounter,  which 
startled  and  delighted  Dr  Werne,  and 
made  his  brother's  little  dromedary 
dance  with  alarm,  they  reached  the 
banks  of  the  great  gohr,  (the  bed  of 
a  river,  filled  only  in  the  rainy  sea- 
son,) known  as  El  Gasch,  which 
intersects  the  countries  of  Taka  and 
Basa.  With  very  little  daring  and 
still  less  risk,  the  Haddendas,  who 
are  said  to  muster  eighty  thousand 
fighting  men,  might  have  annihilated 
the  Bascha's  army,  as  it  wound  its 
toilsome  way  for  nearly  a  league 
along  the  dry  water-course,  (whose 
high  banks  were  crowned  with  trees 
and  thick  bushes,)  the  camels  stum- 
bling and  occasionally  breaking  their 
legs  in  the  deep  holes  left  by  the  feet 
of  the  elephants,  where  the  cavalry 
could  not  have  acted,  and  where 
every  javelin  must  have  told  upon 
the  disorderly  groups  of  weary  in- 
fantry. The  Arabs  either  feared  the 
firearms,  or  dreaded  lest  their  at- 
tack should  be  the  signal  for  the 
instant  slaughter  of  their  Grand- 
Shech,  who  rode,  in  the  midst  of  the 
infantry,  upon  a  donkey,  which  had 
been  given  him  out  of  consideration 
lor  bis  age,  whilst  the  three  other 
prisoners  were  cruelly  forced  to  per- 
form the  whole  march  on  foot,  with 


heavy  chains  on  their  necks  and  feet, 
and  exposed  to  the  jibes  of  the 
pitiless  soldiery.  On  quitting  the 
Gohr,  the  march  was  through  trees 
and  brushwood,  and  then  through  a 
sort  of  labyrinthine  swamp,  where 
horses  and  camels  stumbled  at  every 
step,  and  where  the  Arabs  again  had 
a  glorious  opportunity,  which  they 
again  neglected,  of  giving  Achmet 
such  a  lesson  as  they  had  given  to  his 
predecessor  in  the  Baschalik.  The 
army  now  entered  the  country  of  the 
Hallengas,  and  a  six  days'  halt  suc- 
ceeded to  their  long  and  painful 
march. 

It  would  be  of  very  little  interest 
to  trace  the  military  operations  of 
Achmet  Bascha,  which  were  alto- 
gether of  the  most  contemptible 
description — consisting  in  the  chasuas, 
or  razzias  already  noticed,  sudden 
and  secret  expeditions  of  bodies  of 
armed  men  against  defenceless  tribes, 
whom  they  despoiled  of  their  cattle 
and  women.  From  his  camp  at  the 
foot  of  Kassela-et-Lus,  the  Bascha 
directed  many  of  these  marauding 
parties,  remaining  himself  safely  in  a 
large  hut,  which  Mr  Werne  had  had 
constructed  for  him,  and  usually 
cheating  the  men  and  officers,  who  had 
borne  the  fatigue  and  run  the  risk, 
out  of  their  promised  share  of  the 
booty.  Sometimes  the  unfortunate 
natives,  driven  to  the  wall  and  ren- 
dered desperate  by  the  cruelties  of 
their  oppressors,  found  courage  for  a 
stout  resistance. 

"  An  expedition  took  place  to  the 
mountains  of  Basa,  and  the  troops 
brought  back  a  large  number  of 
prisoners  of  both  sexes.  The  men 
were  almost  all  wounded,  and  showed 
great  fortitude  under  the  painful 
operation  of  extracting  the  balls. 
Even  the  Turks  confessed  that  these 
mountaineers  had  made  a  gallant 
defence  with  lances  and  stones.  Of 
our  soldiers  several  had  musket-shot 
wounds,  inflicted  by  their  comrades' 
disorderly  fire.  The  Turks  asserted 
that  the  Mograbins  and  Schaigies 
sometimes  fired  intentionally  at  the 
soldiers,  to  drive  them  from  their 
booty.  It  was  a  piteous  sight  to  see 
the  prisoners — especially  the  women 
and  children  —  brought  into  camp 
bound  upon  camels,  and  with  despair 
in  their  countenances.  Before  they 


1851.] 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


269 


were  sold  or  allotted,  they  were  taken 
near  the  tent  of  Topschi  Baschi, 
where  a  fire  was  kept  burning,  and 
were  all,  even  to  the  smallest  children, 
branded  on  the  shoulder  with  a  red- 
hot  iron  in  the  form  of  a  star. 
When  their  moans  and  lamenta- 
tions reached  our  hut,  we  took  our 
guns  and  hastened  away  out  shooting 
with  three  servants.  These,  notwith- 
standing our  exhortations,  would 
ramble  from  us,  and  we  had  got 
exceedingly  angry  with  them  for  so 
doing,  when  suddenly  we  heard  three 
shots,  and  proceeded  in  that  direc- 
tion, thinking  it  was  they  who  had 
fired.  Instead  of  them,  we  found 
three  soldiers,  lying  upon  the 
ground,  bathed  in  their  blood  and 
terribly  torn.  Two  were  already 
dead,  and  the  third,  whose  whole 
belly  was  ripped  up,  told  us  they  had 
been  attacked  by  a  lion.  The  three 
shots  brought  up  our  servants,  whom 
we  made  carry  the  survivor  into  camp, 
although  my  brother  entertained 
slight  hopes  of  saving  him.  The 
Bascha  no  sooner  heard  of  the  inci- 
dent than  he  got  on  horseback  with 
Soliman  Kaschef  and  his  people,  to 
hunt  the  lion,  and  I  accompanied  him 
with  my  huntsman  Sale,  a  bold  fellow, 
who  afterwards  went  with  me  up  the 
White  Nile.  On  reaching  the  spot 
where  the  lion  had  been,  the  Turks 
galloped  off  to  seek  him,  and  I  and 
Sale  alone  remained  behind.  Sud- 
denly I  heard  a  heavy  trampling,  and 
a  crashing  amongst  the  bushes,  and  I 
saw  close  beside  me  an  elephant  with 
its  calf.  Sale,  who  was  at  some  dis- 
tance, and  had  just  shot  a  parrot, 
called  out  to  know  if  he  should  fire  at 
the  elephant,  which  I  loudly  forbade 
him  to  do.  The  beast  broke  its  way 
through  the  brushwood  just  at  hand. 
I  saw  its  high  back,  and  took  up  a 
safe  position  amongst  several  palm- 
trees,  which  all  grew  from  one  root, 
and  were  so  close  together  that  the 
elephant  could  not  get  at  me.  Sale 
was  already  up  a  tree,  and  told  me 
the  elephant  had  turned  round,  and 
was  going  back  into  the  chaaba.  The 
brute  seemed  angry  or  anxious  about 
its  young  one,  for  we  found  the 
ground  dug  up  for  a  long  distance  by 
its  tusk  as  by  a  plough.  Some  shots 
were  fired,  and  we  thought  the  Bascha 
and  his  horsemen  were  on  the  track 


of  the  lion,  but  they  had  seen  the  ele- 
phant, and  formed  a  circle  round  it. 
A  messenger  galloped  into  camp, 
and  in  a  twinkling  the  Arnaut  Abdin 
Bey  came  up  with  part  of  his  people. 
The  elephant,  assailed  on  all  sides  by 
a  rain  of  bullets,  charged  first  one 
horseman,  then  another  ;  they  de- 
livered their  fire  and  galloped  off. 
The  eyes  were  the  point  chiefly  aimed 
at,  and  it  soon  was  evident  that  he 
was  blinded  by  the  bullets,  for  when 
pursuing  his  foes  he  ran  against  the 
trees,  the  shock  of  his  unwieldy  mass 
shaking  the  fruit  from  the  palms. 
The  horsemen  dismounted  and 
formed  a  smaller  circle  around  him. 
He  must  already  have  received  some 
hundred  bullets,  and  the  ground  over 
which  he  staggered  was  dyed  red, 
when  the  Bascha  crept  quite  near 
him,  knelt  down  and  sent  a  shot  into 
his  left  eye,  whereupon  the  colossus 
sank  down  upon  his  hinder  end  and 
died.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  of  the 
calf  or  of  the  lion,  but  a  few  days 
later  a  large  male  lion  was  killed  by 
Soliman  Kaschef 's  men,  close  to  camp, 
where  we  often  in  the  night-time 
heard  the  roaring  of  those  brutes." 

Just  about  this  time  bad  news 
reached  the  Wernes.  Their  hunts- 
man Abdallah,  to  whom  they  were 
much  attached  by  reason  of  his  gal- 
lantry and  fidelity,  had  gone  a  long 
time  before  to  the  country  of  the  Beni- 
Amers,  eastward  from  Taka,  in  com- 
pany of  a  Scha'igie  chief,  mounted 
on  one  of  their  best  camels,  armed 
with  a  double-barrelled  gun,  and  pro- 
vided with  a  considerable  sum  of 
money  for  the  purchase  of  giraffes. 
On  his  way  back  to  his  employers, 
with  a  valuable  collection  of  stuffed 
birds  and  other  curiosities,  he  was 
barbarously  murdered,  when  travel- 
ling, unescorted,  through  the  Hallenga 
country,  and  plundered  of  all  his  bag- 
gage. Sale,  who  went  to  identify  his 
friend's  mutilated  corpse,  attributed 
the  crime  to  the  Hallengas.  Mr 
Werne  was  disposed  to  suspect  Mo- 
hammed Ehle,  a  great  villain,  whom 
the  Bascha  at  times  employed  as  a 
secret  stabber  and  assassin.  This 
Ehle  had  been  appointed  Schech  of 
the  Hallengas  by  the  Divan,  in  lieu 
of  the  rightful  Schech,  who  had  re- 
fused submission  to  the  Turks.  Three 
nephews  of  Mohammed  Din  (one  of 


270 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


[Sept. 


them  the  same  youth  who  had  escort- 
ed the  Wernes  safely  back  to  camp 
when  they  were  in  peril  of  their 
lives  in  the  Haddenda  country)  came 
to  visit  their  unfortunate  relative,  who 
was  still  a  prisoner,  cruelly  treated, 
lying  upon  the  damp  earth,  chained  to 
two  posts,  and  awaiting  with  fortitude 
the  cruel  death  by  impalement  with 
which  the  Bascha  threatened  him. 
Achmet  received  the  young  men  very 
coldly,  and  towards  evening  they  set 
out,  greatly  depressed  by  their  uncle's 
sad  condition,  upon  their  return  home- 
wards. Early  next  morning  the 
Wernes,  when  out  shooting,  found 
the  dead  bodies  of  their  three  friends. 
They  had  been  set  upon  and  slain 
after  a  gallant  defence,  as  was  testi- 
fied by  their  bloody  lances,  and  by 
other  signs  of  a  severe  struggle.  The 
birds  of  prey  had  already  picked  out 
their  eyes,  and  their  corpses  presented 
a  frightful  spectacle.  The  Wernes, 
convinced  that  this  assassination  had 
taken  place  by  the  Bascha's  order, 
loaded  the  bodies  on  a  camel,  took 
them  to  Achmet,  and  preferred  an 
accusation  against  the  Hallengas  for 
this  shameful  breach  of  hospitality. 
The  Bascha's  indifference  confirmed 
their  suspicions.  He  testified  no  in- 
dignation, but  there  was  great  excite- 
ment amongst  his  officers  ;  and  when 
they  left  the  Divan,  Mr  Werne  vio- 
lently reproached  Mohammed  Ehle, 
whom  he  was  well  assured  was  the 
murderer,  and  who  endured  his  anger 
in  silence.  "The  Albanian  Abdin 
Bey  was  so  enraged  that  he  was  only 
withheld  by  the  united  persuasions  of 
the  other  officers  from  mounting  his 
horse  and  charging  Mohammed  Ehle 
with  his  wild  Albanians,  the  conse- 
quence of  which  would  inevitably 
have  been  a  general  mutiny  against 
the  Bascha,  for  the  soldiers  had  long 
been  murmuring  at  their  bad  food  and 
ill  treatment."  The  last  hundred 
pages  of  Mr  Werne's  very  closely 
printed  and  compendious  volume 
abound  in  instances  of  the  Bascha's 
treachery  and  cruelty,  and  of  the  re- 
taliation exercised  by  the  Arabs.  On 
one  occasion  a  party  of  fifty  Turkish 
cavalry  were  murdered  by  the  Had- 
dendas,  who  had  invited  them  to  a 
feast.  The  town  of  Gos-Rajeb  was 
burned,  twenty  of  the  merchants  there 
resident  were  killed,  and  the  corn, 


stored  there  for  the  use  of  the  army 
on  its  homeward  march,  was  plun- 
dered. The  Bascha  had  a  long- cher- 
ished plan  of  cutting  off  the  supply  of 
water  from  the  country  of  the  Had- 
dendas.  This  was  to  be  done  by 
damming  up  the  Gohr-el-Gasch,  and 
diverting  the  abundant  stream  which, 
in  the  rainy  season,  rushed  along  its 
deep  gully,  overflowing  the  tall 
banks  and  fertilising  fields  and  forests. 
As  the  Bascha's  engineer  and  con- 
fidential adviser,  Mr  Werne  was 
compelled  to  direct  this  work.  By  the 
labour  of  thousands  of  men,  extensive 
embankments  were  made,  and  the 
Haddendas  began  to  feel  the  want  of 
water,  which  had  come  down  from 
the  Abyssinian  mountains,  and  al- 
ready stood  eight  feet  deep  in  the 
Gohr.  Mr  Werne  repented  his  share 
in  the  cruel  work,  and  purposely 
abstained  from  pressing  the  formation 
of  a  canal  which  was  to  carry  off  the 
superfluous  water  to  the  Atbara,  there 
about  three  leagues  distant  from  the 
Gohr.  And  one  morning  he  was 
awakened  by  a  great  uproar  in  the 
camp,  and  by  the  shouts  of  the  Bas- 
cha, who  was  on  horseback  before  his 
hut,  and  he  found  that  a  party  of  Had- 
dendas had  thrashed  a  picket  and 
made  an  opening  in  the  dykes,  which 
was  the  deathblow  to  Achmet' s  mag- 
nificent project  of  extracting  an  exor- 
bitant tribute  from  Mohammed  Din's 
tribe  as  the  price  of  the  supply  of 
water  essential  to  their  very  exist- 
ence. The  sole  results  of  the  cruel 
attempt  were  a  fever  to  the  Bascha, 
who  had  got  wet,  and  the  sickness  of 
half  the  army,  who  had  been  com- 
pelled to  work  like  galley-slaves  under 
a  burning  sun  and  upon  bad  rations. 

The  vicinity  of  Kassela  is  rich  in 
curious  birds  and  beasts.  The  moun- 
tain itself  swarms  with  apes,  and  Mr 
Werne  frequently  saw  groups  of  two 
or  three  hundred  of  them  seated  upon 
the  cliffs.  They  are  about  the  size 
of  a  large  dog,  with  dark  brown  hair 
and  hideous  countenances.  Awful 
was  the  screaming  and  howling  they 
set  up  of  a  night,  when  they  received 
the  unwelcome  visit  of  some  hungry 
leopard  or  prowling  panther.  Once 
the  Wernes  went  out  with  their  guns 
for  a  day's  sport  amongst  the  monkeys, 
but  were  soon  glad  to  beat  a  retreat 
under  a  tremendous  shower  of  stones. 


1851.] 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


271 


Hassan,  a  Turk,  who  purveyed  the 
brothers  with  hares,  gazelles,  and 
other  savoury  morsels,  and  who  was 
a  very  good  shot,  promised  to  bring 
in — of  course  for  good  payment — not 
only  a  male  and  female  monkey,  but 
a  whole  camel-load  if  desired.  He 
started  oif  with  this  object,  but  did 
not  again  show  himself  for  some  days, 
and  tried  to  sneak  out  of  the  Wernes' 
way  when  they  at  last  met  him  in  the 
bazaar.  He  had  a  hole  in  his  head, 
and  his  shoulder  badly  hurt,  and  de- 
clared he  would  have  nothing  more 
to  say  to  those  transformed  men  upon 
the  mountain.  Mr  Werne  was  very 
desirous  to  catch  a  monkey  alive,  but 
was  unsuccessful,  and  Mohammed 
Ehle  refused  to  sell  a  tame  one  which 
he  owned,  and  which  usually  sat  upon 
his  hut.  Mr  Werne  thinks  them  a 
variety  of  the  Chimpanzee.  They 
fight  amongst  themselves  with  sticks, 
and  defend  themselves  fiercely  with 
stones  against  the  attacks  of  men. 
Upon  the  whole  the  Wernes  were 
highly  fortunate  in  collecting  zoolo- 
gical and  ornithological  specimens,  of 
which  they  subsequently  sent  a  large 
number,  stuifed,  to  the  Berlin  museum. 
They  also  secured  several  birds  and 
animals  alive  ;  amongst  these  a  young 
lion  and  a  civet  cat.  Regarding  reptiles 
they  were  very  curious,  and  nothing  of 
that  kind  was  too  long  or  too  large 
for  them.  As  Ferdinand  Werne  was 
sitting  one  day  upon  his  dromedary,  in 
company  with  the  Bascha,  on  the  left 
bank  of  the  Gasch,  the  animals  shied 
at  a  large  serpent  which  suddenly 
darted  by.  The  Bascha  ordered  the 
men  who  were  working  at  the  dykes 
to  capture  it,  which  they  at  once  pro- 
ceeded to  do,  as  unconcernedly  as  an 
English  haymaker  would  assail  a 
•hedge  snake.  "Pursued  by  several 
men,  the  serpent  plunged  into  the 
water,  out  of  which  it  then  boldly 
reared  its  head,  and  confronted  an 
Arab  who  had  jumped  in  after  it, 
armed  with  a  hassaie.  With  extra- 
ordinary skill  and  daring  the  Arab 
approached  it,  his  club  uplifted,  and 
struck  it  over  the  head,  so  that  the 
serpent  fell  down  stunned  and  writh- 
ing mightily ;  whereupon  another 
Arab  came  up  with  a  cord ;  the  club- 
bearer,  without  further  ceremony, 
griped  the  reptile  by  the  throat,  just 
below  the  head  ;  the  noose  was  made 


fast,  and  the  pair  of  them  dragged 
their  prize  on  shore.  There  it  lay  for 
a  moment  motionless,  and  we  con- 
templated the  terribly  beautiful  crea- 
ture, which  was  more  than  eleven 
feet  long  and  half-a-foot  in  diameter. 
But  when  they  began  to  drag  it  away, 
by  which  the  skin  would  of  course  be 
completely  spoiled,  orders  were  given 
to  carry  it  to  camp.  A  jacket  was 
tied  over  its  head,  and  three  men  set 
to  work  to  get  it  upon  their  shoulders  ; 
but  the  serpent  made  such  violent 
convulsive  movements  that  all  three 
fell  to  the  ground  with  it,  and  the 
same  thing  occurred  again  when 
several  others  had  gone  to  their 
assistance.  I  accompanied  them  into 
camp,  drove  a  big  nail  into  the  fore- 
most great  beam  of  our  recuba,  (hut,) 
and  had  the  monster  suspended  from 
it.  He  hung  down  quite  limp,  as  did 
also  several  other  snakes,  which  were 
still  alive,  and  which  our  servants  had 
suspended  inside  our  hut,  intending 
to  skin  them  the  next  morning,  as 
it  was  now  nearly  dark.  In  the 
night  I  felt  a  most  uncomfortable 
sensation.  One  of  the  snakes,  which 
was  hung  up  at  the  head  of  my 
bed,  had  smeared  his  cold  tail  over 
my  face.  But  I  sprang  to  my  feet  in 
real  alarm,  and  thought  I  had  been 
struck  over  the  shin  with  a  club,  when 
the  big  serpent,  now  in  the  death 
agony,  gave  me  a  Avipe  with  its  tail 
through  the  open  door,  in  front  of 
which  our  servants  were  squatted, 
telling  each  other  ghost  stories  of 

snake-kings  and  the  like 

They  called  this  serpent  assala,  which, 
however,  is  a  name  they  give  to  all 
large  serpents.  Soon  afterwards  we 
caught  another,  as  thick,  but  only 
nine  feet  long,  and  with  a  short  tail, 
like  the  Vipera  cerastes;  and  this  was 
said  to  be  of  that  breed  of  short,  thick 
snakes  which  can  devour  a  man."  In 
the  mountains  of  Basa,  two  days' 
journey  from  the  Gohr-el- Gasch,  and 
on  the  road  thither,  snakes  are  said 
to  exist,  of  no  great  length,  but  as 
thick  as  a  crocodile,  and  which  can 
conveniently  swallow  a  man ;  and 
instances  were  related  to  Mr  Werne 
of  these  monsters  having  swallowed 
persons  when  they  lay  sleeping  on 
their  angarebs.  Sometimes  the  vic- 
tims had  been  rescued  when  only  half 
gorged!  Of  course  travellers  hear 


272 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


[Sept. 


strange  stories,  and  some  of  those 
related  by  Mr  Werne  are  tolerably 
astounding;  but  these  are  derived 
from  his  Turkish,  Egyptian,  or  Ara- 
bian acquaintances,  and  there  is  no 
appearance  of  exaggeration  or  roman- 
cing in  anything  which  he  narrates  as 
having  occurred  to  or  been  witnessed 
by  himself.  A  wild  tradition  was 
told  him  of  a  country  called  Bellad- 
el-Kelb,  which  signifies  the  Country 
of  Dogs,  where  the  women  were  in  all 
respects  human,  but  where  the  men 
had  faces  like  dogs,  claws  on  their  feet, 
and  tails  like  monkeys.  They  could 
not  speak,  but  carried  on  conversation 
by  wagging  their  tails.  This  ludi- 
crous account  appeared  explicable  by 
the  fact,  that  the  men  of  Bellad-el- 
Kelb  are  great  robbers,  living  by 

Slunder,  and,  like  fierce  and  hungry 
ogs,  never  relinquishing  their  prey. 
The  Hallengas,  amongst  whom  the 
expedition  now  found  itself,  were  far 
more  frank  and  friendly,  and  much 
less  wild,  than  the  Haddeudas  and 
some  other  tribes,  and  they  might 
probably  have  been  converted  into 
useful  allies  by  a  less  cruel  and  capri- 
cious invader  than  the  Bascha.  But 
conciliation  was  no  part  of  his  scheme ; 
if  he  one  day  caressed  a  tribe  or  a 
chief,  it  was  only  to  betray  them  the 
next.  Mr  Werne  was  on  good  terms 
with  some  of  the  Hallenga  sheiks,  and 
went  to  visit  the  village  of  Hauathi, 
about  three  miles  from  camp,  to  see 
the  birds  of  paradise  which  abounded 
there.  On  his  road  he  saw  from  afar 
a  great  tree  covered  with  those  beau- 
tiful birds,  and  which  glistened  in  the 
sunshine  with  all  the  colours  of  the 
rainbow.  Some  days  later  he  and 
his  brother  went  to  drink  merissa,  a 
slightly  intoxicating  liquor,  with  one 
of  the  Fakis  or  priests  of  the  country. 
The  two  Germans  got  very  jovial, 
drinking  to  each  other,  student- 
fashion  ;  and  the  faki,  attempting  to 
keep  pace  with  them,  got  crying- 
drunk,  and  disclosed  a  well-matured 
plan  for  blowing  up  their  powder- 
magazine.  The  ammunition  had  been 
stored  in  the  village  of  Kadmin,  which 
was  a  holy  village,  entirely  inhabited 
by  fakis.  The  Bascha  had  made  sure 
that  none  of  the  natives  would  risk 
blowing  up  these  holy  men,  even  for 
the  sake  of  destroying  his  ammuni- 
tion, and  he  was  unwilling  to  keep  so 


large  a  quantity  of  powder  amidst 
his  numerous  camp-fires  and  reck- 
less soldiery.  But  the  fakis  had 
made  their  arrangements.  On  a  cer- 
tain night  they  were  to  depart,  carry- 
ing away  all  their  property  into  the 
great  caverns  of  Mount  Kassela,  and 
fire  was  to  be  applied  to  the  house 
that  held  the  powder.  Had  the  plot 
succeeded,  the  whole  army  was  lost, 
isolated  as  it  was  in  the  midst  of 
unfriendly  tribes,  embittered  by  its 
excesses,  and  by  the  aggressions  and 
treachery  of  its  chief,  and  who,  stimu- 
lated by  their  priests,  would  in  all 
probability  have  exterminated  it  to 
the  last  man,  when  it  no  longer  had 
cartridges  for  its  defence.  The  drunken 
faki's  indiscretion  saved  Achmet  and 
his  troops ;  the  village  was  forthwith 
surrounded,  and  the  next  day  the 
ammunition  was  transferred  to  camp. 
Not  to  rouse  the  whole  population 
against  him,  the  Bascha  abstained  for 
the  moment  from  punishing  the  con- 
spirators, but  he  was  not  the  man  to 
let  them  escape  altogether ;  and  some 
time  afterwards,  Mr  Werne,  who  had 
returned  to  Chartum,  received  a  letter 
from  his  brother,  informing  him  that 
nine  fakis  had  been  hung  on  palm- 
trees  just  outside  the  camp,  and  that 
the  magnanimous  Achmet  proposed 
treating  forty  more  in  the  same 
way. 

A  mighty  liar  was  Effenclina  Ach- 
met Bascha,  as  ever  ensnared  a  foe 
or  broke  faith  with  a  friend.  Greedy 
and  cruel  was  he  also,  as  only  a 
Turkish  despot  can  be.  One  of  his 
most  active  and  unscrupulous  agents 
was  a  bloodsucker  named  Hassan 
Effendi,  whom  he  sent  to  the  country 
of  the  Beni-Amers  to  collect  three 
thousand  five  hundred  cows  and  thir- 
teen hundred  camels,  the  complement 
of  their  tribute.  Although  this  tribe 
had  upon  the  whole  behaved  very 
peaceably,  Hassan's  first  act  was  to 
shoot  down  a  couple  of  hundred  of 
them  like  wild  beasts.  Then  he  seized 
a  large  number  of  camels  belonging  to 
the  Haddendas,  although  the  tribe 
was  at  that  very  time  in  friendly  ne- 
gotiation with  the  Bascha.  The  Had- 
dendas revenged  themselves  by  burn- 
ing Gos-Rajeb.  In  proof  of  their 
valour,  Hassan's  men  cut  off  the  ears 
of  the  murdered  Beni-Amers,  and  took 
them  to  Achmet,  who  gave  them 


1851.] 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


273 


money  for  the  trophies.  "  They  had 
forced  a  slave  to  cut  off  the  ears ; 
yonder  now  lies  the  man — raving 
mad,  and  bound  with  cords.  Camel- 
thieves,  too — no  matter  to  what  tribe 
they  belong — if  caught  in  flagranti, 
lose  their  ears,  for  which  the  Bascha 
gives  a  reward.  That  many  a  man 
who  never  dreamed  of  committing  a 
theft  loses  his  ears  in  this  way,  is 
easy  to  understand,  for  the  operation 
is  performed  on  the  spot."  Dawson 
Borrer,  in  his  Campaign  in  the  Ka- 
bylie,  mentions  a  very  similar  practice 
as  prevailing  in  Marshal  Bugeaud's 
camp,  where  ten  francs  was  the  fixed 
price  for  the  head  of  a  horse-stealer, 
it  being  left  to  the  soldiers  who  severed 
the  heads  and  received  the  money  to 
discriminate  between  horse- stealers 
and  honest  men.  Whether  Bugeaud 
took  a  hint  from  the  Bascha,  or  the 
Bascha  was  an  admiring  imitator  of 
Bugeaud,  remains  a  matter  of  doubt. 
"  Besides  many  handsome  women  and 
children,  Hassan  Effendi  brought  in 
two  thousand  nine  hundred  cows,  and 
seven  thousand  sheep."  He  might 
have  been  a  French  prince  returning 
from  a  razzia.  "  For  himself  he  kept 
eighty  camels,  which  he  said  he  had 
bought."  A  droll  dog,  this  Hassan 
Effendi,  but  withal  rather  covetous — 
given  to  sell  his  soldier's  rations,  and 
to  starve  his  servants,  a  single  piastre 
— about  twopence  halfpenny — being 
his  whole  daily  outlay  for  meat  for 
his  entire  household,  who  lived  for 
the  most  part  upon  durra  and  water. 
If  his  servants  asked  for  wages,  they 
received  the  bastinado.  "  The  Bascha 
had  given  the  poor  camel-drivers 
sixteen  cows.  The  vampire  (Hassan) 
took  upon  himself  to  appropriate  thir- 
teen of  them."  Mr  Werne  reported 
this  robbery  to  the  Bascha,  but  Ach- 
met  merely  replied  "  malluck"  —  sig- 
nifying, "it  matters  not."  When 
inferior  officers  received  horses  as 
their  share  of  booty,  Hassan  bought 
them  of  them,  but  always  forgot  to 
pay,  and  the  poor  subalterns  feared 
to  complain  to  the  Bascha,  who  fa- 
voured the  rogue,  and  recommended 
him  to  the  authorities  at  Cairo  for 
promotion  to  the  rank  of  Bey,  be- 
cause, as  he  told  Mr  Werne  with  an 
ironical  smile,  Hassan  was  getting 
very  old  and  infirm,  and  when  he 
died  the  Divan  would  bring  charges 


against  him,  and  inherit  his  wealth. 
Thus  are  things  managed  in  Egypt. 
No  wonder  that,  where  such  injustice 
and  rascality  prevail,  many  are  found 
to  rejoice  at  the  prospect  of  a  change 
of  rulers.  "  News  from  Souakim  (on 
the  Red  Sea)  of  the  probable  landing 
of  the  English,  excite  great  interest 
in  camp  ;  from  all  sides  they  come  to 
ask  questions  of  us,  thinking  that  we, 
as  Franks,  must  know  the  intentions 
of  the  invaders.  Upon  the  whole, 
they  would  not  be  displeased  at  such 
a  change  of  government,  particularly 
when  we  tell  them  of  the  good  pay 
and  treatment  customary  amongst  the 
English ;  and  that  with  them  no  offi- 
cer has  to  endure  indignities  from  his 
superiors  in  rank." 

"  I  have  now,"  says  Mr  Werne, 
(page  256,)  "  been  more  than  half 
a  year  away  from  Chartum,  continu- 
ally in  the  field,  and  not  once  have  I 
enjoyed  the  great  comfort  of  reposing, 
undressed,  between  clean  white  sheets, 
but  have  invariably  slept  inmyclothes, 
on  the  ground,  or  on  the  short  but 
practical  angareb.  All  clean  linen 
disappears,  for  the  constant  perspira- 
tion and  chalky  dust  burns  every- 
thing ;  and  the  servants  do  not  un- 
derstand washing,  inasmuch  as,  con- 
trasted with  their  black  hides,  every- 
thing appears  white  to  them,  and  for 
the  last  three  months  no  soap  has 
been  obtainable.  And  in  the  midst 
of  this  dirty  existence,  which  drags 
itself  along  like  a  slow  fever,  sud- 
denly '  Julia  ! '  is  the  word,  and  one 
hangs  for  four  or  five  days,  eighty  or 
a  hundred  leagues,  upon  the  camel's 
back,  every  bone  bruised  by  the  rough 
motion, — the  broiling  sun,  thirst,  hun- 
ger, and  cold,  for  constant  compa- 
nions. Man  can  endure  much  :  I  have 
gone  through  far  more  than  I  ever 
thought  I  could, — vomiting  and  in  a 
raging  fever  on  the  back  of  a  drome- 
dary, under  a  midday  sun,  more  dead 
than  alive,  held  upon  my  saddle  by 
others,  and  yet  I  recovered.  To  have 
remained  behind  would  have  been  to 
encounter  certain  death  from  the  ene- 
my, or  from  wild  beasts.  We  have 
seen  what  a  man  can  bear,  under  the 
pressure  of  necessity  ;  in  my  present 
uniform  and  monotonous  life  I  com- 
pare myself  to  the  camels  tied  before 
my  tent,  which  sometimes  stand  up, 
sometimes  slowly  stretch  themselves 


274 


A  Campaign  in  Taka. 


[Sept. 


on  the  ground,  careless  whether  crows 
or  ravens  walk  over  their  backs,  con- 
stantly moving  their  jaws,  looking  up 
at  the  suri,  and  then,  by  way  of  a 
change,  taking  a  mouthful  of  grass, 
but  giving  no  signs  of  joy  or  curio- 
sity." 

From  this  state  of  languid  indiffe- 
rence Mr  Werne  was  suddenly  and 
pleasurably  roused  by  intelligence 
that  a  second  expedition  was  fitting 
out  for  the  White  Nile.  He  and  his 
brother  immediately  petitioned  the 
Bascha  for  leave  to  accompany  it. 
The  desired  permission  was  granted 
to  him,  but  refused  to  his  brother. 
There  was  too  much  sickness  in  the 
-camp,  the  Bascha  said  ;  he  could  not 
spare  his  doctor,  and  lacked  confi- 
dence in  the  Italian,  Bellotti.  The 
fondly- attached  brothers  were  thus 
placed  in  a  painful  dilemma  :  they 
had  hoped  to  pursue  their  wanderings 
hand  in  hand,  and  to  pass  their 
lives  together,  and  loth  indeed  were 
they  to  sunder  in  those  sickly  and 
perilous  regions.  At  last  they  made 
up  their  minds  to  the  parting.  It  has 
been  already  recorded  in  Mr  Werne's 
former  work,  how,  within  ten  days 
of  their  next  meeting,  his  beloved 
brother's  eyes  were  closed  in  death. 

In  various  respects,  Mr  Werne's 
Feldzug  is  one  of  the  most  curious 
books  of  travel  and  adventure  that, 
for  a  very  long  time,  has  appeared. 
It  has  three  points  of  particular  at- 
traction and  originality.  In  the  first 
place,  the  author  wanders  in  a  region 
previously  unexplored  by  Christian 
and  educated  travellers,  and  amongst 
tribes  whose  bare- names  have  reached 
the  ears  of  but  few  Europeans.  Se- 
condly, he  campaigns  as  officer  in 
such  an  army  as  we  can  hardly  realise 


in  these  days  of  high  civilisation  and 
strict  military  discipline, — so  wild, 
motley,  and  grotesque  are  its  customs, 
composition,  and  equipment,  —  an 
army  whose  savage  warriors,  strange 
practices,  and  barbarous  cruelties, 
make  us  fancy  ourselves  in  presence 
of  some  fierce  Moslem  horde  of  the 
middle  ages,  marching  to  the  assault 
of  Italy  or  Hungary.  Thirdly,  dur- 
ing his  long  sojourn  in  camp  he 
had  opportunities  such  as  few  ordi- 
nary travellers  enjoy,  and  of  which 
he  diligently  profited,  to  study  and 
note  down  the  characteristics  and 
social  habits  of  many  of  the  races  of 
men  that  make  up  the  heterogeneous 
population  of  the  Ottoman  empire. 
Some  of  the  physiological  and  medi- 
cal details  with  which  he  favours  us, 
would  certainly  have  been  more  in 
their  place  in  his  brother's  professional 
journal,  than  in  a  book  intended  for 
the  public  at  large ;  and  passages 
are  not  wanting  at  which  the  squeam- 
ish will  be  apt  to  lay  down  the  vo- 
lume in  disgust.  For  such  persons 
Mr  Werne  does  not  write ;  and  his 
occasional  indelicacy  and  too  crude 
details  are  compensated,  to  our  think- 
ing, by  his  manly  honest  tone,  and  by 
the  extraordinary  amount  of  useful 
and  curious  information  he  has  ma- 
naged to  pack  into  two  hundred  and 
seventy  pages.  As  a  whole,  the  Ex- 
pedition to  the  White  Nile,  which  con- 
tains a  vast  deal  of  dry  meteorologi- 
cal and  geographical  detail,  is  decid- 
edly far  less  attractive  than  the  pre- 
sent book,  which  is  as  amusing  as 
any  romance.  We  have  read  it  with 
absorbing  interest,  well  pleased  with 
the  hint  its  author  throws  out  at  its 
close,  that  the  records  of  his,  African 
wanderings  are  not  yet  all  exhausted. 


1851.]         My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XIII. 


275 


MY  NOVEL;  OR,  VARIETIES  IN  ENGLISH  LIFE. 

BY    PISISTRATUS    CAXTON. 


BOOK    VII. — INITIAL    CHAPTER. 


*'  WHAT  is  courage  ?  "  said  my  uncle 
Roland,  rousing  himself  from  a  reverie 
into  which  he  had  fallen  after  the 
Sixth  Book  in  this  history  had  been 
read  to  our  family  circle. 

"What  is  courage?"  he  repeated 
more  earnestly.  "  Is  it  insensibility 
to  fear?  That  may  be  the  mere 
accident  of  constitution ;  and,  if  so, 
there  is  no  more  merit  in  being  coura- 
geous than  in  being  this  table." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  speak 
thus,"  observed  Mr  Caxton,  "for  I 
should  not  like  to  consider  myself  a 
toward ;  yet  I  am  very  sensible  to 
fear  in  all  dangers,  bodily  and  moral." 

"  La,  Austin,  ho\v  can  you  say  so?  " 
oried  my  mother,  firing  up  ;  "  was  it 
not  only  last  week  that  you  faced  the 
great  bull  that  was  rushing  after 
Blanche  and  the  children?  " 

Blanche  at  that  recollection  stole  to 
my  father's  chair,  and,  hanging  over 
his  shoulder,  kissed  his  forehead. 

MR  CAXTON,  (sublimely  unmoved 
by  these  flatteries.)— "  I  don't  deny 
that  I  faced  the  bull,  but  I  assert  that 
I  was  horribly  frightened." 

ROLAND.  —  "The  sense  of  honour 
which  conquers  fear  is  the  true  courage 
of  chivalry :  you  could'not  run  away 
when  others  were  looking  on — no 
gentleman  could." 

MR  CAXTON.  —  "  Fiddledee  !  It 
was  not  on  my  gentility  that  I  stood, 
Captain.  I  should  have  run  fast 
-enough,  if  it  had  done  any  good.  I 
stood  upon  my  understanding.  As 
the  bull  could  run  faster  than  I  could, 
the  only  chance  of  escape  was  to  make 
the  brute  as  frightened  as  myself." 

BLANCHE.  —  "  Ah,  you  did  not 
think  of  that ;  your  only  thought  was 
to  save  me  and  the  children." 

MR  CAXTON.  —  "  Possibly,  my 
dear — very  possibly  I  might  have 
T>een  afraid  for  you  too ; — but  I  was, 
very  much  afraid  for  myself.  How- 
ever, luckily  I  had  the  umbrella,  and 
I  sprang  it  up  and  spread  it  forth  in 
the  animal's  stupid  eyes,  hurling  at 
him  simultaneously  the  biggest  lines 


I  could  think  of  in  the  First  Chorus  of 
the  '  Seven  against  Thebes.'  I  began 
with  ELEDEMNAS  PEDIOPLOKTUPOS  ; 
and  when  I  came  to  the  grand  howl  of 
'lo),  to),  i«,  to) — the  beast  stood  appal- 
led as  at  the  roar  of  a  lion.  I  shall 
never  forget  his  amazed  snort  at  the 
Greek.  Then  he  kicked  up  his  hind 
legs,  and  went  bolt  through  the  gap  in 
the  hedge.  Thus,  armed  withJSschylus 
and  the  umbrella,  I  remained  master 
of  the  field  ;  but  (continued  Mr  Cax- 
ton, ingenuously,)  I  should  not  like 
to  go  through  that  half  minute  again." 

"No  man  would,"  said  the  Captain 
kindly.  "  I  should  be  very  sorry  to 
face  a  bull  myself,  even  with  a  bigger 
umbrella  than  yours,  and  even 
though  I  had  JEschylus,  and  Homer 
to  boot,  at  my  fingers'  ends." 

MR  CAXTON.  —  "You  would  not 
have  minded  if  it  had  been  a  French- 
man with  a  sword  in  his  hand?" 

CAPTAIN. — "Of  course  not.  Rather 
liked  it  than  otherwise,"  he  added 
grimly. 

MR  CAXTON.  —  "  Yet  many  a 
Spanish  matador,  who  doesn't  care  a 
button  for  a  bull,  would  take  to  his 
heels  at  the  first  lunge  en  carte  from 
a  Frenchman.  Therefore,  in  fact,  if 
courage  be  a  matter  of  constitution,  it 
is  also  a  matter  of  custom.  We  face 
calmly  the  dangers  we  are  habituated 
to,  and  recoil  from  those  of  which  we 
have  no  familiar  experience.  I  doubt 
if  Marshal  Tureune  himself  would 
have  been  quite  at  his  ease  on  the 
tight- rope ;  and  a  rope-dancer,  who 
seems  disposed  to  scale  the  heavens 
with  Titanic  temerity,  might  possibly 
object  to  charge  on  a  cannon." 

CAPTAIN  ROLAND. — "  Still,  either 
this  is  not  the  courage  I  mean,  or 
there  is  another  kind  of  it.  I  mean 
by  courage  that  which  is  the  especial 
force  and  dignity  of  the  human  cha- 
racter, without  which  there  is  no 
reliance  on  principle,  no  constancy  in 
virtue  —  a  something,"  continued  my 
uncle  gallantly,  and  with  a  half  bow 
towards  my  mother,  "which  your 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIII.  [Sept. 


276 

sex  shares  with  our  own.  When  the 
lover,  for  instance,  clasps  the  hand 
of  his  betrothed,  and  says,  '  Wilt  thou 
be  true  to  me,  in  spite  of  absence  and 
time,  in  spite  of  hazard  and  fortune, 
though  my  foes  malign  me,  though  thy 
friends  may  dissuade  thee,  and  our  lot 
in  life  may  be  rough  and  rude  ? '  and 
when  the  betrothed  answers,  '  I  will 
be  true,'  does  not  the  lover  trust  to 
her  courage  as  well  as  her  love  ?  " 

"  Admirably  put,  Roland,"  said  my 
father.  "  But  apropos  of  what  do 
you  puzzle  us  with  these  queries  on 
courage  ?" 

CAPTAIN  ROLAND,  (with  a  slight 
blush.)—"  I  was  led  to  the  inquiry 
(though,  perhaps,  it  may  be  frivolous 
to  take  so  much  thought  of  what,  no 
doubt,  costs  Pisistratus  so  little)  by 
the  last  chapters  in  my  nephew's 
story.  I  see  this  poor  boy,  Leonard, 
alone  with  his  fallen  hopes,  (though 
very  irrational  they  were,)  and  his 
sense  of  shame.  And  I  read  his  heart, 
I  dare  say,  better  than  Pisistratus 
does,  for  I  could  feel  like  that  boy  if 
I  had  been  in  the  same  position ;  and, 
conjecturing  what  he  and  thousands 
like  him  must  go  through,  I  asked 
myself,  'What  can  save  him  and 
them? '  I  answered,  as  a  soldier  would 
answer,  '  Courage!'  Very  well.  But 
pray,  Austin,  what  is  courage  ?  " 

MR  CAXTON,  (prudently  backing 
out  of  a  reply.)—"  Papce!  Brother, 
since  you  have  just  complimented  the 
ladies  on  that  quality,  you  had  better 
address  your  question  to  them." 

Blanche  here  leant  both  hands  on 
my  father's  chair,  and  said,  looking 
down  at  first  bashfully,  but  after- 
wards warming  with  the  subject, 
"  Do  you  not  think,  sir,  that  little 
Helen  has  already  suggested,  if  not 
what  is  courage,  what  at  least  is  the 
real  essence  of  alT'  courage  that  en- 
dures and  conquers,  that  ennobles, 
and  hallows,  and  redeems  ?  Is  it  not 
PATIENCE,  father?— and  that  is  why 
we  women  have  a  courage  of  our  own. 
Patience  does  not  affect  to  be  supe- 


rior to  fear,  but  at  least  it  never 
admits  despair." 

PISISTRATUS.  —  "  Kiss  me,  my 
Blanche,  for  you  have  come  near  to 
the  truth  which  perplexed  the  soldier 
and  puzzled  the  sage." 

MR  CAXTON,  (tartly.)  —  "  If  you 
mean  me  by  the  sage,  I  was  not 
puzzled  at  all.  Heaven  knows  you 
do  right  to  inculcate  patience — it  is  a 
virtue  very  much  required  in  your 
readers.  Nevertheless,"  added  my 
father,  softening  with  the  enjoyment 
of  his  joke — "nevertheless  Blanche 
and  Helen  are  quite  right.  Patience 
is  the  courage  of  the  conqueror ;  it  is 
the  virtue,  par  excellence,  of  Man 
against  Destiny — of  the  One  against 
the  World,  and  of  the  Soul  against 
Matter.  Therefore  this  is  the  courage 
of  the  Gospel ;  and  its  importance,  in 
a  social  view — its  importance  to  races 
and  institutions  —  cannot  be  too 
earnestly  inculcated.  What  is  it  that 
distinguishes  the  Anglo-Saxon  from 
all  other  branches  of  the  human 
family,  peoples  deserts  with  his  child- 
ren, and  consigns  to  them  the  heritage 
of  rising  worlds?  What  but  his 
faculty  to  brave,  to  suffer,  to  endure 
— the  patience  that  resists  firmly,  and 
innovates  slowly.  Compare  him  with 
the  Frenchman.  The  Frenchman  has 
plenty  of  valour— that  there  is  no 
denying  ;  but  as  for  fortitude,  he  has 
not  enough  to  cover  the  point  of  a 
pin.  He  is  ready  to  rush  out  of  the 
world  if  he  is  bit  by  a  flea." 

CAPTAIN  ROLAND.  —  "There  was 
a  case  in  the  papers  the  other  day, 
Austin,  of  a  Frenchman  who  actually 
did  destroy  himself  because  he  was  so 
teased  by  the  little  creatures  you 
speak  of.  He  left  a  paper  on  his 
table,  saying  that  '  life  was  not  worth 
having  at  the  price  of  such  tor- 
ments.' "  * 

MR  CAXTON,  (solemnly.)  —  "  Sir, 
their  whole  political  history,  since  the 
great  meeting  of  the  Tiers  Etat,  has 
been  the  history  of  men  who  would 
rather  go  to  the  devil  than  be  bit  by  a 


Fact.     In  a  work  by  M.  GIBEUT,  a  celebrated  French  physician,  on  diseases  of 

the  skin,  he  states  that  that  minute  troublesome  kind  of  rash,  known  by  the  name 

of  prurljo,  though  not  dangerous  in  itself,  has  often  driven  the  individual  afflicted 

it  to— suicide.     I  believe  that  our  more  varying  climate,  and  our  more  heating 

drinks  and  aliments,  render  this  skin  complaint  more  common  in  England  than  in 

1  rauce,  yet  I  doubt  if  any  English  physician  could  state  that  it  had  ever  driven  one 

of  his  English  patients  to  suicide. 


1851.]         My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

flea.  It  is  the  record  of  human  im- 
patience, that  seeks  to  force  time,  and 
expects  to  grow  forests  from  the 
spawn  of  a  mushroom.  Wherefore, 
running  through  all  extremes  of  con- 
stitutional experiment,  when  they  are 
nearest  to  democracy  they  are  next 
door  to  a  despot ;  and  all  they  have 
really  done  is  to  destroy  whatever 
constitutes  the  foundation  of  every 
tolerable  government.  A  constitu- 
tional monarchy  cannot  exist  without 
aristocracy,  nor  a  healthful  republic 
endure  with  corruption  of  manners. 
The  cry  of  Equality  is  incompatible 
with  Civilisation,  which,  of  necessity, 
contrasts  poverty  with  wealth — and, 
in  short,  whether  it  be  an  emperor  or 


English  Life.— Part  XIII.  277 

a  mob  that  is  to  rule,  Force  is  the 
sole  hope  of  order,  and  the  govern- 
ment is  but  an  army. 

"Impress,  O  Pisistratus!  impress 
the  value  of  patience  as  regards  man 
and  men.  You  touch  there  on  the 
kernel  of  the  social  system — the  secret 
that  fortifies  the  individual  and  dis- 
ciplines the  million.  I  care  not,  for 
my  part,  if  you  are  tedious  so  long  as 
you  are  earnest.  •  Be  minute  and 
detailed.  Let  the  real  human  life,  in 
its  war  with  Circumstance,  stand  out. 
Never  mind  if  one  can  read  you  but 
slowly — better  chance  of  being  less 
quickly  forgotten.  Patience,  patience ! 
By  the  soul  of  Epictetus,  your%eaders 
shall  set  you  an  example !" 


CHAPTER   II. 


Leonard  had  written  twice  to  Mrs 
Fairfield,  twice  to  Riccabocca,  and 
once  to  Mr  Dale ;  and  the  poor  proud 
boy  could  not  bear  to  betray  his  humi- 
liation. He  wrote  as  with  cheerful 
spirits — as  if  perfectly  satisfied  with 
his  prospects.  He  said  that  he  was 
well  employed,  in  the  midst  of  books, 
and  that  he  had  found  kind  friends. 
Then  he  turned  from  himself  to  write 
about  those  whom  he  addressed,  and 
the  affairs  and  interests  of  the  quiet 
world  wherein  they  lived.  He  did 
not  give  his  own  address,  nor  that  of 
Mr  Prickett.  He  dated  his  letters 
from  a  small  coffeehouse  near  the 
bookseller,  to  which  he  occasionally 
went  for  his  simple  meals.  He  had  a 
motive  in  this.  He  did  not  desire  to 
be  found  out.  Mr  Dale  replied  for 
himself  and  for  Mrs  Fairfield,  to  the 
epistles  addressed  to  these  two.  Ric- 
cabocca wrote  also.  Nothing  could 
be  more  kind  than  the  replies  of  both. 
They  came  to  Leonard  in  a  very  dark 
period  in  his  life,  and  they  strength- 
ened him  in  the  noiseless  battle  with 
despair. 

If  there  be  a  good  in  the  world  that 
we  do  without  knowing  it,  without 
conjecturing  the  effect  it  may  have 
upon  a  human  soul,  it  is  when  we  show 
kindness  to  the  young  in  the  first 
barren  footpath  up  the  mountain  of  life. 


Leonard's  face  resumed  its  serenity 
in  his  intercourse  with  his  employer  ; 
but  he  did  not  recover  his  boyish 
ingenuous  frankness.  The  under-cur- 
rents  flowed  again  pure  from  the  turbid 
soil  and  the  splintered  fragments 
uptorn  from  the  deep ;  but  they  were 
still  too  strong  and  too  rapid  to  allow 
transparency  to  the  surface.  And  now 
he  stood  in  the  sublime  world  of  books, 
still  and  earnest  as  a  seer  who  invokes 
the  dead.  And  thus,  face  to  face  with 
knowledge,  hourly  he  discovered  how 
little  he  knew.  Mr  Prickett  lent  him 
such  works  as  he  selected  and  asked 
to  take  home  with  him.  He  spent 
whole  nights  in  reading ;  and  no  longer 
desultorily.  He  read  no  more  poetry, 
no  more  Lives  of  Poets.  He  read  what 
poets  must  read  if  they  desire  to  be 
great  —  Sapere  principium  et  fons — 
strict  reasonings  on  the  human  mind ; 
the  relations  between  motive  and  con- 
duct, thought  and  action  ;  the  grave 
and  solemn  truths  of  the  past  world ; 
antiquities,  history,  philosophy.  He 
was  taken  out  of  himself.  He  was 
carried  along  the  ocean  of  the  universe. 
In  that  ocean,  O  seeker,  study  the  law 
of  the  tides  ;  and  seeing  Chance  no- 
where-^Thought  presiding  over  all — 
Fate,  that  dread  phantom,  shall  vanish 
from  creation,  and  Providence  alone 
be  visible  in  heaven  and  on  earth  ! 


CHAPTER     III. 


There  was  to    be  a  considerable 
book-sale  at  a  country  house  one  day's 


journey  from   London.     Mr  Prickett 
meant  to  have  attended  it  on  his  own 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XIII.  [Sept. 


278 

behalf,  and  that  of  several  gentlemen 
who  had  given  him  commissions  for 
purchase ;  but,  on  the  morning  fixed 
for  his  departure,  he  was  seized  with 
a  severe  return  of  his  old  foe  the 
rheumatism.  He  requested  Leonard 
to  attend  instead  of  himself.  Leonard 
went,  and  was  absent  for  the  three 
days  during  which  the  sale  lasted. 
He  returned  late  in  the  evening,  and 
went  at  once  to  Mr  Prickett's  house. 
The  shop  was  closed;  he  knocked  at 
the  private  entrance ;  a  strange  person 
opened  the  door  to  him,  and,  in  reply 
to  his  question  if  Mr  Prickett  was  at 
home,  said  with  a  long  and  funereal 
face  — *'  Young  man,  Mr  Prickett 
senior  is  gone  to  his  long  home,  but 
Mr  Richard  Prickett  will  see  you." 

At  this  moment  a  very  grave -looking 
man,  with  lank  hair,  looked  forth 
from  the  side- door  communicating 
between  the  shop  and  the  passage, 
and  then  stepped  forward — u  Come 
in,  sir  ;  you  are  my  late  uncle's  assis- 
tant, Mr  Fairfield,  I  suppose?" 

"  Your  late  uncle!  Heavens,  sir,  do 
I  understand  aright — can  Mr  Prickett 
be  dead  since  I  left  London  ?  " 

"  Died,  sir,  suddenly  last  night.  It 
was  an  affection  of  the  heart;  the 
Doctor  thinks  the  rheumatism  attacked 
that  organ.  He  had  small  time  to 
provide  for  his  departure,  and  his 
account-books  seem  in  sad  disorder : 
I  am  his  nephew  and  executor." 

Leonard  had  now  followed  the 
nephew  into  the  shop.  There,  still 
burned  the  gas-lamp.  The  place 
Deemed  more  dingy  and  cavernous 
than  before.  Death  always  makes  its 
presence  felt  in  the  house  it  visits. 


Leonard  was  greatly  affected — and 
yet  more,  perhaps,  by  the  utter  want 
of  feeling  which  the  nephew  exhibited. 
In  fact,  the  deceased  had  not  been  on 
friendly  terms  with  this  person,  his 
nearest  relative  and  heir-at-law,  who 
was  also  a  bookseller. 

"  You  were  engaged  but  by  the 
week  I  find,  young  man,  on  reference 
to  my  late  uncle's  papers.  He  gave 
you  £1  a  week — a  monstrous  sum !  I 
shall  not  require  your  services  any 
further.  I  shall  move  these  books 
to  my  own  house.  You  will  be  good 
enough  to  send  me  a  list  of  those  you 
bought  at  the  sale,  and  your  account 
of  travelling-expenses,  &c.  What  may 
be  due  to  you  shall  be  sent  to  your 
address.  Good  evening." 

Leonard  went  home,  shocked  and 
saddened  at  the  sudden  death  of  his 
kind  employer.  He  did  not  think 
much  of  himself  that  night ;  but,  when 
he  rose  the  next  day,  he  suddenly  felt 
that  the  world  of  London  lay  before 
him,  without  a  friend,  without  a  call- 
ing, without  an  occupation  for  bread. 

This  time  it  was  no  fancied  sorrow, 
no  poetic  dream  disappointed.  Be- 
fore him,  gaunt  and  palpable,  stood 
Famine. 

Escape  ! — yes.  Back  to  the  village  ; 
his  mother's  cottage  ;  the  exile's  gar- 
den ;  the  radishes  and  the  fount.  Why 
could  he  not  escape  ?  Ask  why  civi- 
lisation cannot  escape  its  ills,  and  fly 
back  to  the  wild  and  the  wigwam  ? 

Leonard  could  not  have  returned  to 
the  cottage,  even  if  the  Famine  that 
faced  had  already  seized  him  with  her 
skeleton  hand.  London  releases  not 
so  readily  her  fated  stepsons. 


CHAPTER     IV. 


One  day  three  persons  were  stand- 
ing before  an  old  book-stall  in  a 
passage  leading  from  Oxford  Street 
into  Tottenham  Court  Road.  Two 
were  gentlemen ;  the  third,  of  the  class 
and  appearance  of  those  who  more 
•habitually  halt  at  old  book-stalls. 

11  Look,"  said  one  of  the  gentlemen 
to  the  other,  "I have  discovered  here 
what  I  have  searched  for  in  vain  the 
last  ten  years— the  Horace  of  1580, 
the  Horace  of  the  Forty  Commenta- 
tors— a  perfect  treasury  of  learning, 
and  marked  only  fourteen  shillings  !" 


"  Hush,  Norreys,"  said  the  other, 
"  and  observe  what  is  yet  more 
worth  your  study ;"  and  he  pointed  to 
the  third  bystander,  whose  face, 
sharp  and  attenuated,  was  bent  Avith 
aii  absorbed,  and,  as  it  were,  with 
a  hungering  attention  over  an  old 
worm-eaten  volume. 

"  What  is  the  book,  my  lord?" 
whispered  Mr  Norreys. 

His  companion  smiled,  and  re- 
plied by  another  question,  "  What 
is  the  man  who  reads  the  book?" 

Mr  Norreys  moved  a  few  paces, 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

and  looked  over  the  student's  shoulder. 
"  Preston's  translation  of  BOETHIUS, 
The  Consolations  of  Philosophy"  he 
said,  coming  back  to  his  friend. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he  wanted  all  the 
consolations  Philosophy  can  give  him, 
poor  boy." 

At  this  moment  a  fourth  passenger 
paused  at  the  book-stall,  and,  recog- 
nising the  pale  student,  placed  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder  and  said,  "  Aha, 
young  sir,  we  meet  again.  So  poor 
Prickett  is  dead.  But  you  are  still 
haunted  by  associations.  Books — 
books — magnets  to  which  all  iron 
minds  move  insensibly.  What  is 
this  ?  BOETHIUS  !  Ah,  a  book  writ- 
ten in  prison,  but  a  little  time  before 
the  advent  of  the  only  philosopher 
who  solves  to  the  simplest  under- 
standing every  mystery  of  life — " 

"And  that  philosopher?" 

"Is  Death!"  said  Mr  Burley. 
"How  can  you  be  dull  enough  to 
ask?  Poor  Boethius,  rich,  nobly 
born,  a  consul,  his  sons  consuls — the 
world  one  smile  to  the  Last  Philoso- 
pher of  Rome.  Then  suddenly,  against 
this  type  of  the  old  world's  departing 
WISDOM,  stands  frowning  the  new 
world's  grim  genius,  FORCE — Theo- 
doric  the  Ostrogoth  condemning  Boe- 
thius the  Schoolman  ;  and  Boethius, 
in  his  Pavian  dungeon,  holding  a 
dialogue  with  the  shade  of  Athenian 
Philosophy.  It  is  the  finest  picture 
upon  which  lingers  the  glimmering 
of  the  Western  golden  day,  before 
night  rushes  over  time." 

"  And,"  said  Mr  Norreys  abruptly, 
"Boethius  comes  back  to  us  with  the 
faint  gleam  of  returning  light,  trans- 
lated by  Alfred  the  Great.  And, 
again,  as  the  sun  of  knowledge  bursts 
forth  in  all  its  splendour,  by  Queen 
Elizabeth.  Boethius  influences  us  as 
we  stand  in  this  passage  ;  and  that  is 
the  best  of  all  the  Consolations  of 
Philosophy— eh,  Mr  Burley?" 

Mr  Burley  turned  and  bowed. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other ; 
you  could  not  see  a  greater  contrast. 
Mr  Burley,  his  gay  green  dress 
already  shabby  and  soiled,  with  a  rent 
in  the  skirts,  and  his  face  speaking  of 
habitual  night-cups.  Mr  Norreys, 
neat  and  somewhat  precise  in  dress, 
with  firm  lean  figure,  and  quiet,  coL- 
lected,  vigorous  energy  in  his  eye  aucl 
aspect. 


English  Life.— Part  X1IL  279 

"  If,"  replied  Mr  Burley,  "  a  poor 
devil  like  me  may  argue  with  a 
gentleman  who  may  command  his 
own  price  with  the  booksellers,  I 
should  say  it  is  no  consolation  at  all, 
Mr  Norreys.  And  I  should  like  to 
see  any  man  of  sense  accept  the  con- 
dition of  Boethius  in  his  prison,  with 
some  strangler  or  headsman  waiting 
behind  the  door,  upon  the  promised 
proviso  that  he  should  be  translated, 
centuries  afterwards,  by  Kings  and 
Queens,  and  help  indirectly  to  influ- 
ence the  minds  of  Northern  barbarians, 
babbling  about  him  in  an  alley,  jostled 
by  passers-by  who  never  heard  the 
name  of  Boethius,  and  who  don't  care 
a  fig  for  philosophy.  Your  servant, 
sir — young  man,  come  and  talk." 

Burley  hooked  his  arm  within  Leon- 
ard's, and  led  the  boy  passively  away. 

"  That  is  a  clever  man,"  said 
Harley  L'Estrange.  "  But  I  am  sorry 
to  see  yon  young  student,  with  his 
bright  earnest  eyes,  and  his  lip  that 
has  the  quiver  of  passion  and  enthu- 
siasm, leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  guide 
who  seems  disenchanted  of  all  that 
gives  purpose  to  learning  and  links 
philosophy  with  use  to  the  world. 
Who,  and  what  is  this  clever  man 
whom  you  call  Burley  ?  " 

"A  man  who  might  have  been 
famous,  if  he  had  condescended  to  be 
respectable !  The  boy  listening  to 
us  both  so  attentively  interested  me 
too — I  should  like  to  have  the  making 
of  him.  But  I  must  buy  this  Horace." 

The  shopman,  lurking  within  his 
hole  like  a  spider  for  flies,  was  now 
called  out.  And  when  Mr  Norreys 
had  bought  the  Horace,  and  given  an 
address  where  to  send  it,  Harley 
asked  the  shopman  if  he  knew  the 
young  man  who  had  been  reading 
Boethius. 

"  Only  by  sight.  He  has  come 
here  every  day  the  last  week,  and 
spends  hours  at  the  stall.  When  once 
he  fastens  on  a  book,  he  reads  it 
through." 

"  And  never  buys  ?  "  said  Mr  Nor- 
reys. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  shopman  with  a 
good-natured  smile,  "  they  who  buy 
seldom  read.  The  poor  boy  pays  me 
twopence  a-day  to  read  as  long  as  he 
pleases.  I  would  not  take  it,  but  he 
is  proud." 

"I  have  known  men  amass  great 


280  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIII.  [Sept. 


learning  in  that  way,"  said  Mr 
Norreys.  "Yes,  I  should  like  to 
have  that  boy  in  my  hands.  And 
now,  my  lord,  I  am  at  your  service, 
and  we  will  go  to  the  studio  of  your 
artist." 

The  two  gentlemen  walked  on 
towards  one  of  the  streets  out  of 
Fitzroy  Square. 

In  a  few  minutes  more  Harley 
L'Estrange  was  in  his  element, 
seated  carelessly  on  a  deal  table, 
smoking  his  cigar,  and  discussing  art 


with  the  gusto  of  a  man  who  honestly 
loved,  and  the  taste  of  a  man  who 
thoroughly  understood  it.  The  young 
artist,  in  his  dressing  robe,  adding 
slow  touch  upon  touch,  paused  often 
to  listen  the  better.  And  Henry 
Norreys,  enjoying  the  brief  respite 
from  a  life  of  great  labour,  was  gladly 
reminded  of  idle  hours  under  rosy 
skies  ;  for  these  three  men  had 
formed  their  friendship  in  Italy,  where 
the  bands  of  friendship  are  woven 
by  the  hands  of  the  Graces. 


CHAPTER   V. 


Leonard  and  Mr  Burley  walked  on 
into  the  suburbs  round  the  north 
road  from  London,  and  Mr  Burley 
offered  to  find  literary  employment 
for  Leonard — an  offer  eagerly  ac- 
cepted. 

Then  they  went  into  a  public  house 
by  the  wayside.  Burley  demanded  a 
private  room,  called  for  pen,  ink,  and 
paper ;  and,  placing  these  implements 
before  Leonard,  said,  "  Write  what 
you  please  in  prose,  five  sheets  of 
letter  paper,  twenty-two  lines  to  a 
page — neither  more  nor  less." 

"I  cannot  write  so." 

"Tut,  'tis  for  bread." 

The  boy's  face  crimsoned. 

"  I  must  forget  that,"  said  he. 

"  There  is  an  arbour  in  the  gar- 
den under  a  weeping  ash,"  returned 
Burley.  "  Go  there,  and  fancy  yourself 
in  Arcadia." 

Leonard  was  too  pleased  to  obey. 
He  found  out  the  little  arbour  at  one 
end  of  a  deserted  bowling-green.  All 
was  still — the  hedgerow  shut  out  the 
sight  of  the  inn.  The  sun  lay  warm 
on  the  grass,  and  glinted  pleasantly 
through  the  leaves  of  the  ash.  And 
Leonard  there  wrote  the  first  essay 
from  his  hand  as  Author  by  profes- 
sion. What  was  it  that  he  wrote? 
His  dreamy  impressions  of  London  ? 
an  anathema  on  its  streets,  and  its 
hearts  of  stone?  murmurs  against 
poverty  ?  dark  elegies  on  fate  ? 

Oh,  no  1  little  knowest  thou  true 
genius,  if  thou  askest  such  ques- 
tions, or  thinkest  that  there,  under 
the  weeping  ash,  the  taskwork  for 
bread  was  remembered ;  or  that  the 
sunbeam  glinted  but  over  the  practi- 
cal world,  which,  vulgar  and  sordid, 


lay  around.  Leonard  wrote  a  fairy 
tale — one  of  the  loveliest  you  can 
conceive,  with  a  delicate  touch  of 
playful  humour — in  a  style  all  flowered 
over  with  happy  fancies.  He  smiled 
as  he  wrote  the  last  word — he  was 
happy.  In  rather  more  than  an  hour 
Mr  Burley  came  to  him,  and  found 
him  with  that  smile  on  his  lips. 

Mr  Burley  had  a  glass  of  brandy 
and  water  in  his  hand;  it  was  his 
third.  He  too  smiled — he  too  looked 
happy.  He  read  the  paper  aloud, 
and  well.  He  was  very  complimen- 
tary. "  You  will  do !"  said  he,  clap- 
ping Leonard  on  the  back.  "  Per- 
haps some  day  you  will  catch  my 
one-eyed  perch."  Then  he  folded  up 
the  MS.,  scribbled  off  a  note,  put 
the  whole  in  one  envelope — and  they 
returned  to  London. 

Mr  Burley  disappeared  within  a 
dingy  office  near  Fleet  Street,  on 
which  was  inscribed  —  "  Office  of 
the  Beehive"  and  soon  came  forth 
with  a  golden  sovereign  in  his  hand 
—  Leonard's  first-fruits.  Leonard 
thought  Peru  lay  before  him.  He  ac- 
companied Mr  Burley  to  that  gentle- 
man's lodging  in  Maida  Hill.  The 
walk  had  been  very  long;  Leonard 
was  not  fatigued.  He  listened 
with  a  livelier  attention  than  before 
to  Burley's  talk.  And  when  they 
reached  the  apartments  of  the  latter, 
and  Mr  Burley  sent  to  the  cookshop, 
and  their  joint  supper  was  taken  out 
of  the  golden  sovereign,  Leonard 
felt  proud,  and  for  the  first  time  for 
weeks  he  laughed  the  heart's  laugh. 
The  two  writers  grew  more  and  more 
intimate  and  cordial.  And  there  was 
a  vast  deal  in  Burley  by  which  any 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIII. 


young  man  might  be  made  the  wiser. 
There  was  no  apparent  evidence  of 
poverty  in  the  apartments  — clean, 
new,  well  furnished ;  but  all  things 
in,  the  most  horrible  litter — all  speak- 
ing of  the  huge  literary  sloven. 

For  several  days  Leonard  almost 
lived  in  those  rooms.  He  wrote  con- 
tinuously— save  when  Burley's  con- 
versation fascinated  him  into  idleness. 
Nay,  it  was  not  idleness — his  know- 
ledge grew  larger  as  he  listened  ;  but 
the  cynicism  of  the  talker  began  slowly 
to  work  its  way.  That  cynicism  in 
which  there  was  no  faith,  no  hope, 
no  vivifying  breath  from  Glory— from 
Religion.  The  cynicism  of  the  Epicu- 


281 


rean,  more  degraded  in  his  stye  than 
ever  was  Diogenes  in  his  tub ;  and 
yet  presented  with  such  ease  and 
such  eloquence — with  such  art  and 
such  mirth — so  adorned  with  illustra- 
tion and  anecdote,  so  unconscious  of 
debasement. 

Strange  and  dread  philosophy — 
that  made  it  a  maxim  to  squander  the 
gifts  of  mind  on  the  mere  care  for 
matter,  and  fit  the  soul  to  live  but  as 
from  day  to  day,  with  its  scornful 
cry,  "  A  fig  for  immortality  and 
laurels ! "  An  author  for  bread !  Oh, 
miserable  calling!  was  there  some- 
thing grand  and  holy,  after  all,  even 
in  Chatterton's  despair ! 


CHAPTER   VI. 


The  villanous  Beehive !  Bread  was 
worked  out  of  it,  certainly;  but 
fame,  but  hope  for  the  future— cer- 
tainly not.  Milton's  Paradise  Lost 
would  have  perished  without  a  sound, 
had  it  appeared  in  the  Beehive. 

Fine  things  were  there  in  a  frag- 
mentary crude  state,  composed  by 
Burley  himself.  At  the  end  of  a 
week  they  were  dead  and  forgotten — 
never  read  by  one  man  of  education 
and  taste  ;  taken  simultaneously  and 
indifferently  with  shallow  politics  and 
wretched  essays,  yet  selling,  perhaps, 
twenty  or  thirty  thousand  copies — an 
immense  sale ; — and  nothing  got  out 
of  them  but  bread  and  brandy ! 

"What  more  would  you  have?" 
cried  John  Burley.  "  Did  not  stern 
old  Sam  Johnson  say  he  could  never 
write  but  from  want  ?  " 

"  He  might  say  it,"  answered 
Leonard  ;  "  but  he  never  meant  pos- 
terity to  believe  him.  And  he  would 
have  died  of  want,  I  suspect,  rather 
than  have  written  Rasselas  for  the 
Beehive  !  Want  is  a  grand  thing,"  con- 
tinued the  boy,  thoughtfully.  "  A 


parent  of  grand  things.  Necessity  is 
strong,  and  should  give  us  its  own 
strength  ;  but  Want  should  shatter 
asunder,  with  its  very  writhings,  the 
walls  of  our  prison-house,  and  not 
sit  contented  with  the  allowance 
the  jail  gives  us  in  exchange  for  our 
work." 

"  There  is  no  prison-house  to  a 
man  who  calls  upon  Bacchus — stay — 
I  will  translate  to  you  Schiller's 
Dithyramb.  '  Then  see  I  Bacchus — 
then  up  come  Cupid  and  Phoebus,  and 
all  the  Celestials  are  filling  my  dwell- 
ing.' " 

Breaking  into  impromptu  careless 
rhymes,  Burley  threw  off  a  rude  but 
spirited  translation  of  that  divine 
lyric. 

"O  materialist!"  cried  the  boy, 
with  his  bright  eyes  suffused. 
"  Schiller  calls  on  the  gods  to  take 
him  to  their  heaven  with  him;  and 
you  would  debase  the  gods  to  a  gin 
palace." 

"  Ho,  ho  !"  cried  Burley,  with  his 
giant  laugh.  "  Drink,  and  you  will 
understand  the  Dithyramb." 


CHAPTER   VII. 


Suddenly  one  morning,  as  Leonard 
sate  with  Burley,  a  fashionable  cab- 
riolet, with  a  very  handsome  horse, 
stopped  at  the  door — a  loud  knock — 
a  quick  step  on  the  stairs,  and  Randal 
Leslie  entered.  Leonard  recognised 
him,  and  started,  Randal  glanced  at 


him  in  surprise,  and  then,  with  a  tact 
that  showed  he  had  already  learned 
to  profit  by  London  life,  after  shak- 
ing hands  with  Burley,  approached, 
and  said  with  some  successful  at- 
tempt at  ease,  "  Unless  I  am  not 
mistaken,  sir,  we  have  met  before. 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XI IT. 


282 

If  you  remember  me,  I  hope  all  boyish 
quarrels  are  forgotten  ?  " 

Leonard  bowed,  and  his  heart  was 
still  good  enough  to  be  softened. 

"  Where  could  you  two  ever  have 
met?"  asked  Burley. 

u  In  a  village  green,  and  in  single 
combat,"  answered  Randal,  smiling  ; 
and  he  told  the  story  of  the  Battle  of 
the  Stocks,  with  a  well-bred  jest  on 
himself.  Burley  laughed  at  the  story. 
u  But,"  said  he,  when  this  laugh  was 
over,  "  my  young  friend  had  better 
have  remained  guardian  of  the  village 
stocks,  than  come  to  London  in  search 
of  such  fortune  as  lies  at  the  bottom 
of  an  inkhorn." 

"  Ah,"  said  Randal,  with  the  secret 
contempt  which  men  elaborately 
cultivated  are  apt  to  feel  for  those 
who  seek  to  educate  themselves — 
41  ah,  you  make  literature  your  call- 
ing, sir?  At  what  school  did  you 
conceive  a  taste  for  letters? — not  very 
common  at  our  great  public  schools." 

"  I  am  at  school  now  for  the  first 
time,"  answered  Leonard,  drily. 

"  Experience  is  the  best  school- 
mistress," said  Burley  ;  "  and  that 
was  the  maxim  of  Goethe,  who  had 
book-learning  enough,  in  all  con- 
science." 

Randal  slightly  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and,  without  wasting  an- 
other thought  on  Leonard,  peasant- 
born  and  self-taught,  took  his  seat, 
and  began  to  talk  to  Burley  upon  a 
political  question,  which  made  then 
the  war-cry  between  the  two  great 
Parliamentary  parties.  It  was  a 
subject  in  which  Barley  showed  much 
general  knowledge ;  and  Randal,  seem- 
ing to  differ  from  him,  drew  forth 
alike  his  information  and  his  argu- 
mentative powers.  The  conversation 
lasted  more  than  an  hour. 

"  I  can't  quite  agree  with  you," 
said  Randal,  taking  his  leave ;  u  but 
you  must  allow  me  to  call  again — 
will  the  same  hour  to-morrow  suit 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Burley. 

Away  went  the  young  man  in  his 
cabriolet.  Leonard  watched  him  from 
the  window. 

For  five  days,  consecutively,  did 
Randal  call  and  discuss  the  question 
in  all  its  bearings ;  and  Barley,  afcer 
the  second  day,  got  interested  in  the 
matter,  looked  up  his  authorities— 


[Sept. 


refreshed  his  memory — and  even  spent 
an  hour  or  two  in  the  Library  of  the 
British  Museum. 

By  the  fifth  day,  Burley  had  really 
exhausted  all  that  could  well  be  said 
on  his  side  of  the  question. 

Leonard,  during  these  colloquies, 
had  sate  apart,  seemingly  absorbed 
in  reading,  and  secretly  stung  by 
Randal's  disregard  of  his  presence. 
For  indeed  that  young  man,  in  his 
superb  self-esteem,  and  in  the  absorp- 
tion of  his  ambitious  projects,  scarce 
felt  even  curiosity  as  to  Leonard's 
rise  above  his  earlier  station,  and 
looked  on  him  as  a  mere  journeyman 
of  Barley's.  But  the  self-taught  are 
keen  and  quick  observers.  And 
Leonard  had  remarked,  that  Randal 
seemed  more  as  one  playing  a  part 
for  some  private  purpose,  than  arguing 
in  earnest ;  and  that,  when  he  rose 
and  said,  "  Mr  Burley,  you  have  con- 
vinced me,"  it  was  not  with  the 
modesty  of  a  sincere  reasoner,  but  the 
triumph  of  one  who  has  gained  his 
end.  But  so  struck,  meanwhile,  was 
our  unheeded  and  silent  listener,  with 
Burley's  power  of  generalisation,  and 
the  wide  surface  over  which  his  in- 
formation extended,  that  when  Ran- 
dal left  the  room  the  boy  looked  at 
the  slovenly  purposeless  man,  and 
said  aloud—"  True  ;  knowledge  is  not 
power." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Burley,  drily 
— "  the  weakest  thing  in  the  world." 

"  Knowledge  is  power,"  muttered 
Randal  Leslie,  as,  with  a  smile  on  his 
lip,  he  drove  from  the  door. 

Not  many  days  after  this  last 
interview  there  appeared  a  short 
pamphlet ;  anonymous,  but  one  which 
made  a  great  impression  on  the  town. 
It  was  on  the  subject  discussed 
between  Randal  and  Burley.  It  was 
quoted  at  great  length  in  the  news- 
papers. And  Burley  started  to  his 
feet  one  morning,  and  exclaimed, 
u  My  own  thoughts  1  my  very 
words !  Who  the  devil  is  this  pam- 
phleteer?" 

Leonard  took  the  newspaper  from 
Burley's  hand.  The  most  flattering 
encomiums  preceded  the  extracts, 
and  the  extracts  were  as  stereotypes 
of  Burley's  talk. 

"  Can  you  doubt  the  author?"  cried 
Leonard,  in  deep  disgust  and  in- 
genuous scorn.  "The  young  man 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XIIT. 


1851.] 

who  came  to  steal  your  brains,  and 
turn  your  knowledge — " 

"  Into  power,"  interrupted  Burley, 
with  a  laugh,  but  it  was  a  laugh  of 
pain.  "  Well,  this  was  very  mean  ;  I 
shall  tell  him  so  when  he  comes." 

"  He  will  come  no  more,"  said 
Leonard.  Nor  did  Randal  come 
again.  But  he  sent  Mr  Burley  a  copy 
of  the  pamphlet  with  a  polite  note, 
saying,  with  candid  but  careless  ac- 
knowledgment, that  "  he  had  profited 
much  by  Mr  Burley 's  hints  and 
remarks." 

And  now  it  was  in  all  the  papers, 
that  the  pamphlet  which  had  made  so 
great  a  noise  was  by  a  very  young 
man,  Mr  Audley  Egerton's  relation. 
And  high  hopes  were  .  expressed  of 
the  future  career  of  Mr  Randal 
Leslie. 

Burley  still  attempted  to  laugh,  and 
still  his  pain  was  visible.  Leonard 
most  cordially  despised  and  hated 
Randal  Leslie,  and  his  heart  moved 
to  Burley  with  noble  but  perilous 
compassion.  In  his  desire  to  soothe 
and  comfort  the  man  whom  he  deemed 
cheated  out  of  fame,  he  forgot  the 
caution  he  had  hitherto  imposed  on 
himself,  and  yielded  more  and  more 
to  the  charm  of  that  wasted  intellect. 
He  accompanied  Burley  now  where 
he  went  to  spent  his  evenings,  and 
more  and  more — though  gradually, 
and  with  many  a  recoil  and  self- 
rebuke — there  crept  over  him  the 
cynic's  contempt  for  glory,  and  miser- 
able philosophy  of  debased  content. 

Randal  had  risen  into  grave  repute 
upon  the  strength  of  Burley's  know- 
ledge. But,  had  Burley  written  the 
pamphlet,  would  the  same  repute 
have  attended  him?  Certainly  not. 
Randal  Leslie  brought  to  that  know- 
ledge qualities  all  his  own — a  style 
simple,  strong,  and  logical ;  a  certain 
tone  of  good  society,  and  allusions  to 
men  and  to  parties  that  showed  his 
connection  with  a  cabinet  minister, 
and  proved  that  he  had  profited  no 
less  by  Egerton's  talk  than  Burley's. 


283" 


Had  Burley  written  the  pamphlet, 
it  would  have  showed  more  genius, 
it  would  have  had  humour  and  wit, 
but  have  been  so  full  of  whims  and 
quips,  sins  against  taste,  and  defects 
in  earnestness,  that  it  would  have 
failed  to  create  any  serious  sensa- 
tion. Here,  then,  there  was  some- 
thing else  besides  knowledge,  by  which 
knowledge  became  power.  Know- 
ledge must  not  smell  of  the  brandy 
bottle. 

Randal  Leslie  might  be  mean  in 
his  plagiarism,  but  he  turned  the 
useless  into  use.  And  so  far  he  was 
original. 

But  one's  admiration,  after  all,  rests 
where  Leonard's  rested — with  the 
poor,  shabby,  riotous,  lawless,  big' 
fallen  man. 

Burley  took  himself  off  to  the  Brent, 
and  fished  again  for  the  one-eyed; 
perch.  Leonard  accompanied  him. 
His  feelings  were  indeed  different? 
from  what  they  had  been  when  he 
had  reclined  under  the  old  tree,  and 
talked  with  Helen  of  the  future.  But 
it  was  almost  pathetic  to  see  how 
Burley's  nature  seemed  to  alter,  as  he 
strayed  along  the  banks  of  the  rivulet, 
and  talked  of  his  own  boyhood.  The 
man  then  seemed  restored  to  some- 
thing of  the  innocence  of  the  child. 
He  cared,  in  truth,  little  for  the  perch, 
which  continued  intractable,  but  he 
enjoyed  the  air  and  the  sky,  the 
rustling  grass  and  the  murmuring 
waters.  These  excursions  to  the 
haunts  of  youth  seemed  to  rebaptise 
him,  and  then  his  eloquence  took  a 
pastoral  character,  and  Isaac  Walton 
himself  would  have  loved  to  hear 
him.  But  as  he  got  back  into  the 
smoke  of  the  metropolis,  and  the  gas- 
lamps  made  him  forget  the  ruddy 
sunset,  and  the  soft  evening  star,  the 
gross  habits  reassumed  their  sway ; 
and  on  he  went  with  his  swaggering 
reckless  step  to  the  orgies  in  which 
his  abused  -intellect  flamed  forth,  and 
then  sank  into  the  socket  quenched 
and  rayless. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Helen  was  seized  with  profound 
and  anxious  sadness.  Leonard  had 
been  three  or  four  times  to  see  her, 
and  each  time  she  saw  a  change  in 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXI. 


him  that  excited  all  her  fears.  He 
seemed,  it  is  true,  more  shrewd, 
more  worldly-wise,  more  fitted,  it 
might  be,  for  coarse  daily  life  ;  butr  on. 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIII.         [Sept. 


284 

the  other  hand,  the  freshness  and  glory 
of  his  youth  were  waning  slowly. 
His  aspirings  drooped  earthward. 
He  had  not  mastered  the  Practical, 
and  moulded  its  uses  with  the 
strong  hand  of  the  Spiritual  Architect, 
of  the  Ideal  Builder :  the  Practical  was 
overpowering  himself.  She  grew  pale 
when  he  talked  of  Burley,  and  shud- 
dered, poor  little  Helen !  when  she 
found  he  was  daily  and  almost  nightly 
in  a  companionship  which,  with  her 
native  honest  prudence,  she  saw  so  un- 
suited  to  strengthen  him  in  his  s  truggles% 
and  aid  him  against  temptation.  She 
almost  groaned  when,  pressing  him  as 
to  his  pecuniary  means,  she  found  his 
old  terror  of  debt  seemed  fading  away, 
and  the  solid  healthful  principles  he 
had  taken  from  his  village  were 
loosening  fast.  Under  all,  it  is  true, 
there  was  what  a  wiser  and  older 
person  than  Helen  would  have  hailed 
as  the  redeeming  promise.  But  that 
something  was  grief— &  sublime  grief 
in  his  own  sense  of  falling — in  his  own 
impotence  against  the  Fate  he  had 
provoked  and  coveted.  The  sublimity 
of  that  grief  Helen  could  not  detect : 
she  saw  only  that  it  was  grief,  and  she 
grieved  with  it,  letting  it  excuse  every 
fault — making  her  more  anxious  to 
comfort,  in  order  that  she  might  save. 
Even  from  the  first,  when  Leonard 
had  exclaimed,  "Ah,  Helen,  why  did 
you  ever  leave  me  ?  "  she  had  re- 
volved the  idea  of  return  to  him  ;  and 
when  in  the  boy's  last  visit  he  told  her 
that  Burley,  persecuted  by  duns,  was 
about  to  fly  from  his  present  lodgings, 
and  take  his  abode  with  Leonard  in 
the  room  she  had  left  vacant,  all  doubt 
was  over.  She  resolved  to  sacrifice 
the  safety  and  shelter  of  the  home 
assured  her.  She  resolved  to  come  back 
and  share  Leonard's  penury  and 
struggles,  and  save  the  old  room, 
wherein  she  had  prayed  for  him,  from 
the  tempter's  dangerous  presence. 
Should  she  burden  him  ?  No ;  she 
had  assisted  her  father  by  many  little 
female  arts  in  needle  and  fancy  work. 
She  had  improved  herself  in  these 
during  her  sojourn  with  Miss  Starke. 
She  could  bring  her  share  to  the  com- 
mon stock.  Possessed  with  this  idea, 
she  determined  to  realise  it  before  the 
day  on  which  Leonard  had  told  her 
Burley  was  to  move  his  quarters. 
Accordingly  she  rose  very  early  one 


morning;  she  wrote  a  pretty  and 
grateful  note  to  Miss  Starke,  who 
was  fast  asleep,  left  it  on  the  table, 
and,  before  any  one  was  astir,  stole 
from  the  house,  her  little  bundle  on 
her  arm.  She  lingered  an  instant  at 
the  garden- gate,  with  a  remorseful 
sentiment— a  feeling  that  she  had  ill- 
repaid  the  cold  and  prim  protection 
that  Miss  Starke  had  shown  her.  But 
sisterly  love  carried  all  before  it.  She 
closed  the  gate  with  a  sigh,  and 
went  on. 

She  arrived  at  the  lodging-house 
before  Leonard  was  up,  took  posses- 
sion of  her  old  chamber,  and,  present- 
ing herself  to  Leonard  as  he  was 
about  to  go  forth,  said,  (story-teller 
that  she  was,) — "I  am  sent  away, 
brother,  and  I  have  come  to  you  to 
take  care  of  me.  Do  not  let  us  part 
again.  But  you  must  be  very  cheer- 
ful and  very  happy,  or  I  shall  think 
that  I  am  sadly  in  your  way." 

Leonard  at  first  did  look  cheerful, 
and  even  happy  ;  but  then  he  thought 
of  Burley,  and  then  of  his  own  means 
of  supporting  her,  and  was  embar- 
rassed, and  began  questioning  Helen 
as  to  the  possibility  of  reconciliation 
with  Miss  Starke.  And  Helen  said 
gravely,  "  Impossible— do  not  ask  it, 
and  do  not  go  near  her." 

Then  'Leonard  thought  she  had 
been  humbled  and  insulted,  and  re- 
membered that  she  was  a  gentleman's 
child,  and  felt  for  her  wounded  pride 
— he  was  so  proud  himself.  Yet  still 
he  was  embarrassed. 

"Shall  I  keep  the  purse  again, 
Leonard?"  said  Helen  coaxingly. 

"  Alas  !  "  replied  Leonard,  "  the 
purse  is  empty." 

"That  is  very  naughty  in  the 
purse,"  said  Helen,  "  since  you  put 
so  much  into  it." 

"I?" 

"  Did  not  you  say  that  you  made, 
at  least,  a  guinea  a- week  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  Burley  takes  the  money ; 
and  then,  poor  fellow  !  as  I  owe  all  to 
him,  I  have  not  the  heart  to  prevent 
his  spending  it  as  he  likes." 

"Please,  I  wish  you  could  settle 
the  month's  rent,"  said  the  landlady, 
suddenly  showing  herself.  She  said 
it  civilly,  but  with  firmness. 

Leonard  coloured.  "It  shall  be 
paid  to-day." 

Then  he  pressed  his  hat  on  his 


1851.]         My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIII.  285 


head,  and,  putting  Helen  gently  aside, 
went  forth. 

"  Speak  to  me  in  future,  kind  Mrs 
Smedley,"  said  Helen  with  the  air  of 
a  housewife.  "  He  is  always  in  study, 
and  must  not  be  disturbed." 

The  landlady  —  a  good  woman, 
though  she  liked  her  rent — smiled 
benignly.  She  was  fond  of  Helen^ 
whom  she  had  known  of  old. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come  back  ; 
and  perhaps  now  the  young  man  will 
not  keep  such  late  hours.  I  meant  to 
give  him  warning,  but — " 

"  But  he  will  be  a  great  man  one 
of  these  days,  and  you  must  bear  with 
him  now."  And  Helen  kissed  Mrs 


Smedley,  and  sent  her  away  half  in- 
clined to  cry. 

Then  Helen  busied  herself  in  the 
rooms.  She  found  her  father's  box, 
which  had  been  duly  forwarded.  She 
re-examined  its  contents,  and  wept  as 
she  touched  each  humble  and  pious 
relic.  But  her  father's  memory  itself 
thus  seemed  to  give  this  home  a  sanc- 
tion which  the  former  had  not ;  and  she 
rose  quietly  and  began  mechanically 
to  put  things  in  order,  sighing  as  she 
saw  all  so  neglected,  till  she  came  to 
the  rose-tree,  and  that  alone  showed 
heed  and  care.  "Dear  Leonard!" 
she  murmured,  and  the  smile  resettled 
on  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Nothing,  perhaps,  could  have 
severed  Leonard  from  Burley  but 
Helen's  return  to  his  care.  It  was 
impossible  for  him,  even  had  there 
been  another  room  in  the  house 
vacant,  (which  there  was  not,)  to  in- 
stall this  noisy  riotous  son  of  the 
Muse  by  Bacchus,  talking  at  random, 
and  smelling  of  spirits,  in  the  same 
dwelling  with  an  innocent,  delicate, 
timid,  female  child.  And  Leonard 
could  not  leave  her  alone  all  the 
twenty-four  hours.  She  restored  a 
home  to  him,  and  imposed  its  duties. 
He  therefore  told  Mr  Burley  that  in 
future  he  should  write  and  study  in 
his  own  room,  and  hinted  with  many 
a  blush,  and  as  delicately  as  he  could, 
that  it  seemed  to  him  that  whatever 
he  obtained  from  his  pen  ought  to  be 
halved  with  Burley,  to  whose  interest 
he  owed  the  employment,  and  from 
whose  books  or  whose  knowledge  he 
took  what  helped  to  maintain  it ;  but 
that  the  other  half,  if  his,  he  could  no 
longer  afford  to  spend  upon  feasts  or 
libations.  He  had  another  to  provide 
for. 

Burley  pooh-poohed  the  notion 
of  taking  half  his  coadjutor's  earn- 
ing, with  much  grandeur,  but  spoke 
very  fretfully  of  Leonard's  sober 
appropriation  of  the  other  half ;  and, 
though  a  good-natured  warm-hearted 
man,  felt  extremely  indignant  against 
the  sudden  interposition  of  poor 
Helen.  However,  Leonard  was  firm ; 


and  then  Burley  grew  sullen,  and 
so  they  parted.  But  the  rent  was 
still  to  be  paid.  How?  Leonard 
for  the  first  time  thought  of  the  pawn- 
broker. He  had  clothes  to  spare, 
and  Blccabocca's  watch.  No ;  that 
last  he  shrank  from  applying  to  such 
base  uses. 

He  went  home  at  noon,  and  met 
Helen  at  the  street  door.  She  too 
had  been  out,  and  her  soft  cheek  was 
rosy  red  with  unwonted  exercise  and 
the  sense  of  joy.  She  had  still  pre- 
served the  few  gold  pieces  which 
Leonard  had  taken  back  to  her  on 
his  first  visit  to  Miss  Starke's.  She 
had  now  gone  out  and  bought  wools 
and  implements  for  work ;  and  mean- 
while she  had  paid  the  rent. 

Leonard  did  not  object  to  the  work, 
but  he  blushed  deeply  when  he  knew 
about  the  rent,  and  was  very  angry. 
He  payed  back  to  her  that  night 
what  she  had  advanced ;  and  Helen 
wept  silently  at  his  pride,  and  wept 
more  when  she  saw  the  next  day  a 
woeful  hiatus  in  his  wardrobe. 

But  Leonard  now  worked  at  home, 
and  worked  resolutely;  and  Helen 
sate  by  his  side,  working  too ;  so 
that  next  day,  and  the  next,  slipped 
peacefully  away,  and  in  the  evening  of 
the  second  he  asked  her  to  walk  out 
in  the  fields.  She  sprang  up  joyously 
at  the  invitation,  when  bang  went  the 
door,  and  in  reeled  John  Burley — 
drunk : — And  so  drunk  1 


286 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XIII .          [Sept. 


CHAPTER  X. 


And  with  Barley  there  reeled  in 
another  man — a  friend  of  his — a  man 
who  had  been  a  wealthy  trader  and 
once  well  to  do,  but  who,  unluckily, 
had  literary  tastes,  and  was  fond  of 
hearing  Burley  talk.  So,  since  he  had 
known  the  wit,  his  business  had  fallen 
from  him,  and  he  had  passed  through 
the  Bankrupt  Court.  A  very  shabby- 
looking  dog  he  was,  indeed,  and  his 
nose  was  redder  than  Burley's. 

John  made  a  drunken  dash  at  poor 
Helen.  "  So  you  are  the  Pentheus  in 
petticoats  who  defies  Bacchus,"  cried 
he ;  and  therewith  he  roared  out  a 
verse  from  Euripides.  Helen  ran 
away,  and  Leonard  interposed. 

"  For  shame,  Burley  ! " 

"  He's  drunk,"  said  Mr  Douce  the 
bankrupt  trader — "very  drunk — don't 
mind — him.  I  say,  sir,  I  hope  we 
don't  intrude.  Sit  still,  Burley,  sit 
still,  and  talk,  do — that's  a  good  man. 
You  should  hear  him — ta — ta — talk, 
sir." 

Leonard  meanwhile  had  got  Helen 
out  of  the  room,  into  her  own,  and 
begged  her  not  to  be  alarmed,  and 
keep  the  door  locked.  He  then  re- 
turned to  Burley,  who  had  seated 
himself  on  the  bed,  trying  wondrous 
hard  to  keep  himself  upright ;  while 
Mr  Douce  was  striving  to  light  a  short 
pipe  that  he  earned  in  his  button- 
hole— without  having  filled  it — and, 
naturally  failing  in  that  attempt,  was 
now  beginning  to  weep. 

Leonard  was  deeply  shocked  and 
revolted  for  Helen's  sake  ;  but  it  was 
hopeless  to  make  Burley  listen  to 
reason.  And  how  could  the  boy  turn 
out  of  his  room  the  man  to  whom  he 
was  under  obligations? 

Meanwhile  there  smote  upon  Helen's 
shrinking  cars  loud  jarring  talk  and 
maudlin  laughter,  and  cracked  at- 
tempts at  jovial  songs.  Then  she 
heard  Mrs  Smedley  in  Leonard's 
room,  remonstrating,  and  Burley's 
laugh  was  louder  than  before,  and  Mrs 
Smedley,  who  was  a  meek  woman, 
evidently  got  frightened,  and  was  heard 
in  precipitate  retreat.  Long  and  loud 
talk  recommenced,  Burley's  great 
voice  predominant,  Mr  Douce  chim- 
ing in  with  Inccupy  broken  treble. 
Hour  after  hour  this  lasted,  for  want 


of  the  drink  that  would  have  brought 
it  ta  a  premature  close.  And  Burley 
gradually  began  to  talk  himself  some- 
what sober.  Then  Mr  Douce  was 
heard  descending  the  stairs,  and 
silence  followed.  At  dawn,  Leonard 
knocked  at  Helen's  door.  She  opened 
it  at  once,  for  she  had  not  gone  to 
bed. 

"  Helen,"  said  he  very  sadly,  "  you 
cannot  continue  here.  I  must  find 
out  some  proper  home  for  you.  This 
man  has  served  me  when  all  London 
was  friendless,  and  he  tells  me  that  he 
has  nowhere  else  to  go  —  that  the 
bailiffs  are  after  him.  He  has  now 
fallen  asleep.  I  will  go  and  find  you 
some  lodging  close  at  hand — for  I  can- 
not expel  him  who  has  protected  me ; 
and  yet  you  cannot  be  under  the  same 
roof  with  him.  My  own  good  augel, 
I  must  lose  you." 

He  did  not  wait  for  her  answer, 
but  hurried  down  the  stairs. 

The  morning  looked  through  the 
shutterless  panes  in  Leonard's  garret, 
and  the  birds  began  to  chirp  from  the 
elm-tree,  when  Burley  rose  and  shook 
himself,  and  stared  round.  He  could 
not  quite  make  out  where  he  was. 
He  got  hold  of  the  water-jug  which  he 
emptied  at  three  draughts,  and  felt 
greatly  refreshed.  He  then  began  to 
reconnoitre  the  chamber — looked  at 
Leonard's  MSS.  —  peeped  into  the 
drawers — wondered  where  the  devil 
Leonard  himself  had  gone  to — and 
finally  amused  himself  by  throwing 
down  the  fire-irons,  ringing  the  bell, 
and  making  all  the  noise  he  could,  in 
the  hopes  of  attracting  the  attention 
of  somebody  or  other,  and  procuring 
himself  his  morning  dram. 

In  the  midst  of  this  charivari  the  door 
opened  softly,  but  as  if  with  a  resolute 
hand,  and  the  small  quiet  form  of 
Helen  stood  before  the  threshold. 
Burley  turned  round,  and  the  two 
looked  at  each  other  for  some  moments 
with  silent  scrutiny. 

BURLEY,  (composing  his  features 
into  their  most  friendly  expression.) — 
"  Come  hither,  my  dear.  So  you  are 
the  little  girl  whom  I  saw  with  Leonard 
on  the  banks  of  the  Brent,  and  you 
have  come  back  to  live  with  him — and 
I  have  come  to  live  with  him  too.  You 


1851.]  My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XIII. 


shall  be  our  little  housekeeper,  and  I 
will  tell  you  the  story  of  Prince 
Frettyman,  and  a  great  many  others 
not  to  be  found  in  Mother  Goose. 
Meanwhile,  my  dear  little  girl,  here's 
sixpence— just  run  out  and  change  this 
for  its  worth  in  runi." 

HELEN,  (coming  slowly  up  to  Mr 
Burley,  and  still  gazing  earnestly  into 
his  face.) — "  Ah,  sir,  Leonard  says 
you  have  a  kind  heart,  and  that  you 
have  served  him — he  cannot  ask  you 
to  leave  the  house ;  and  so  I,  who  have 
never  served  him,  am  to  go  hence  and 
live  alone." 

BURLEY,  (moved.)—"  You  go,  my 
little  lady  ? — and  why  ?  Can  we  not 
all  live  together  ?  " 

HELEN. — "No,  sir.  I  left  every- 
thing to  come  to  Leonard,  for  we  had 
met  first  at  my  father's  grave.  But 
you  rob  me  of  him,  and  I  have  no 
other  friend  on  earth." 

BURLEY,  (discomposed.)  —  "  Ex- 
plain yourself.  Why  must  you  leave 
him  because  I  come  ?  " 

Helen  looks  at  Mr  Burley  again,  long 
and  wistfully,  but  makes  no  answer. 

BURLEY,  (with  a  gulp.) — "Is  it 
because  he  thinks  I  am  not  fit  com- 
pany for  you?" 

Helen  bowed  her  head. 

Burley  winced,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause  said, — "  He  is  right." 

HELEN,  (obeying  the  impulse  at  her 
heart,  springs  forward  and  takes 
Burley's  hand.)  — "  Ah,  sir,"  she 
cried,  "  before  he  knew  you  he  was  so 
different — then  he  was  cheerful— then, 
even  when  his  first  disappointment 
came,  I  grieved  and  wept ;  but  I  felt 
he  would  conquer  still — for  his  heart 
was  so  good  and  pure.  Oh,  sir,  don't 
think  I  reproach  you  ;  but  what  is  to 
become  of  him  if — if — No,  it  is  not  for 
myself  I  speak.  I  know  that  if  I 
was  here,  that  if  he  had  me  to  care 
for,  he  would  come  home  early — and 
work  patiently — and  —  and  —  that  I 
might  save  him.  But  now  when  I  am 
gone,  and  you  with  him — you  to  whom 
he  is  grateful,  you  whom  he  would 
follow  against  his  own  conscience, 
(you  must  see  that,  sir) — what  is  to 
become  of  him  ?  " 

Helen's  voice  died  in  sobs. 

Burley  took  three  or  four  long 
strides  through  the  room  —  he  was 
greatly  agitated.  "I  am  a  demon," 
he  murmured.  "  I  never  saw  it  before 


237 

— but  it  is  true — I  should  be  this  boy's 
ruin."  Tears  stood  in  his  eyes,  he 
paused  abruptly,  made  a  clutch  at  his 
hat,  and  turned  to  the  door. 

Helen  stopped  the  way,  and,  taking 
him  gently  by  the  arm,  said, — "  Oh,  sir, 
forgive  me — I  have  pained  you  ;"  and 
looked  up  at  him  with  a  compassion- 
ate expression,  that  indeed  made  the 
child's  sweet  face  as  that  of  an 
angel. 

Burley  bent  down  as  if  to  kiss  her, 
and  then  drew  back — perhaps  with  a 
sentiment  that  his  lips  were  not  worthy 
to  touch  that  innocent  brow. 

"If  I  had  had  a  sister — a  child 
like  you,  little  one,"  he  muttered, 
"perhaps  I  too  might  have  been 
saved  in  time.  Now — " 

"  Ah,  now  you  may  stay,  sir ;  I 
don't  fear  you  any  more." 

"  No,  no ;  you  would  fear  me  again 
ere  night-time,  and  I  might  not  be 
always  in  the  right  mood  to  listen  to 
a  voice  like  yours,  child.  Your 
Leonard  has  a  noble  heart  and  rare 
gifts.  He  should  rise  yet,  and  he 
shall.  I  will  not  drag  him  into  the 
mire.  Good-bye — you  will  see  me  no 
more."  He  broke  from  Helen,  cleared 
the  stairs  with  a  bound,  and  was  out 
of  the  house. 

When  Leonard  returned  he  was 
surprised  to  hear  his  unwelcome  guest 
wras  gone — but  Helen  did  not  venture 
to  tell  him  of  her  interposition.  She 
knew  instinctively  how  such  offici- 
ousness  would  mortify  and  offend 
the  pride  of  man — but  she  never 
again  spoke  harshly  of  poor  Burley. 
Leonard  supposed  that  he  should 
either  see  or  hear  of  the  humourist 
in  the  course  of  the  day.  Finding 
he  did  not,  he  went  in  search  of 
him  at  his  old  haunts  ;  but  no  trace. 
He  inquired  at  the  Beehive  if  they 
knew  there  of  his  new  address,  but  no 
tidings  of  Burley  could  be  obtained. 

As  he  came  home  disappointed 
and  anxious,  for  he  felt  uneasy  as 
to  the  disappearance  of  his  wild 
friend,  Mrs  Smedley  met  him  at  the 
door. 

"Please,  sir,  suit  yourself  with 
another  lodging,"  said  she.  "  I  can 
have  no  such  singings  and  shoutings 
going  on  at  night  in  my  house.  And 
that  poor  little  girl,  too  ! — you  should 
be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

Leonard  frowned,  and  passed  by. 


288  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIII. 


[Sept. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


Meanwhile,  onleaving  Helen,  Burley 
strode  on ;  and,  as  if  by  some  better 
instinct,  for  he  was  unconscious  of  his 
own  steps,  he  took  the  way  towards 
the  still  green  haunts  of  his  youth. 
When  he  paused  at  length,  he  was 
already  before  the  door  of  a  rural 
cottage,  standing  alone  in  the  midst 
of  fields,  with  a  little  farm-yard  at 
the  back ;  and  far  through  the  trees 
in  front  was  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
winding  Brent. 

With  this  cottage  Burley  was  fami- 
liar ;  it  was  inhabited  by  a  good  old 
couple  who  had  known  him  from  a 
boy.  There  he  habitually  left  his 
rods  and  fishing-tackle ;  there,  for 
intervals  in  his  turbid  riotous  life,  he 
had  sojourned  for  two  or  three  days 
together  —  fancying  the  first  day 
that  the  country  was  a  heaven,  and 
convinced  before  the  third  that  it  was 
a  purgatory. 

An  old  woman,  of  neat  and  tidy 
exterior,  came  forth  to  greet  him. 

"  Ah,  Master  John,"  said  she  clasp- 
ing his  nerveless  hand — "  well,  the 
fields  be  pleasant  now — I  hope  you 
are  come  to  stay  a  bit  ?  Do ;  it  will 
freshen  you:  you  lose  all  the  fine 
colour  you  had  once,  in  Lunnon 
town."  ' 

"I  will  stay  with  you,  my  kind 
friend,"  said  Burley  with  unusual 
meekness — "  I  can  have  the  old  room, 
then?" 

"  Oh  yes,  come  and  look  at  it.  I 
never  let  it  now  to  any  one  but  you — 
never  have  let  it  since  the  dear 
beautiful  lady  with  the  angel's  face 
went  away.  Poor  thing,  what  could 
have  become  of  her  ?  " 

Thus  speaking,  while  Burley  lis- 
tened not,  the  old  woman  drew  him 
within  the  cottage,  and  led  him  up 
the  stairs  into  a  room  that  might 
have  well  become  a  better  house,  for 
it  was  furnished  with  taste,  and  even 
elegance.  A  small  cabinet  pianoforte 
stood  opposite  the  fireplace,  and  the 
window  looked  upon  pleasant  meads 
and  tangled  hedgerows,  and  the  nar- 
row windings  of  the  blue  rivulet. 
Burley  sank  down  exhausted,  and 
gazed  wistfully  from  the  casement. 

"  You  have  not  breakfasted  ?"  said 
the  hostess  anxiously. 


"No." 

"  Well,  the  eggs  are  fresh  laid,  and 
you  would  like  a  rasher  of  bacon,  Mas- 
ter John?  And  if  you  will  have  brandy 
in  your  tea,  I  have  some  that  you  left 
long  ago  in  your  own  bottle." 

Burley  shook  his  head.  "  No 
brandy,  Mrs  Goodyer ;  only  fresh 
milk.  I  will  see  whether  I  can  yet 
coax  Nature." 

Mrs  Goodyer  did  not  know  what 
was  meant  by  coaxing  Nature,  but 
she  said,  "Pray  do,  Master  John," 
and  vanished. 

That  day  Burley  went  out  with  his 
rod,  and  he  fished  hard  for  the  one- 
eyed  perch :  but  in  vain.  Then  he 
roved  along  the  stream  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  whistling.  He 
returned  to  the  cottage  at  sunset, 
partook  of  the  fare  provided  for  him, 
abstained  from  the  brandy,  and  felt 
dreadfully  low.  He  called  for  pen, 
ink,  and  paper,  and  sought  to  write, 
but  could  not  achieve  two  lines.  He 
summoned  Mrs  Goodyer,  "  Tell  your 
husband  to  come  and  sit  and  talk." 

Up  came  old  Jacob  Goodyer,  and 
the  great  wit  bade  him  tell  him  all 
the  news  of  the  village.  Jacob 
obeyed  willingly,  and  Burley  at  last 
fell  asleep.  The  next  day  it  was 
much  the  same,  only  at  dinner  he  had 
up  the  brandy  bottle,  and  finished  it ; 
and  he  did  not  have  up  Jacob,  but 
he  contrived  to  write. 

The  third  day  it  rained  incessantly. 
"  Have  you  no  books,  Mrs  Goodyer?" 
asked  poor  John  Burley. 

"  Oh,  yes,  some  that  the  dear  lady 
left  behind  her  ;  and  perhaps  you 
would-  like  to  look  at  some  papers  in 
her  own  writing?" 

"No,  not  the  papers — all  women 
scribble,  and  all  scribble  the  same 
things.  Get  me  the  books." 

The  books  were  brought  up— poetry 
and  essays— John  knew  them  by 
heart.  He  looked  out  on  the  rain, 
and  at  evening  the  rain  had  ceased. 
He  rushed  to  his  hat  and  fled. 

"  Nature,  Nature  !  "  he  exclaimed 
when  he  was  out  in  the  air  and  hur- 
rying by  the  dripping  hedgerows, 
"  you  are  not  to  be  coaxed  by  me ! 
I  have  jilted  you  shamefully,  I  own 
it ;  you  are  a  female  and  unfor- 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

giving.  I  don't  complain.  You  may 
be  very  pretty,  but  you  are  the  stu- 
pidest and  most  tiresome  companion 
that  ever  I  met  with.  Thank  heaven, 
I  am  not  married  to  you !" 

Thus  John  Burley  made  his  way 
into  town,  and  paused  at  the  first 
public- house.  Out  of  that  house  he 
came  with  a  jovial  air,  and  on  he 
strode  towards  the  heart  of  London. 
Now  he  is  in  Leicester  Square,  and 
he  gazes  on  the  foreigners  who  stalk 
that  region,  and  hums  a  tune ;  and 
now  from  yonder  alley  two  forms 
emerge,  and  dog  his  careless  footsteps ; 
now  through  the  maze  of  passages 
towards  St  Martin's  he  threads  his 
path,  and,  anticipating  an  orgy  as  he 
nears  his  favourite  haunts,  jingles  the 
silver  in  his  pockets  ;  and  now  the 
two  forms  are  at  his  heels. 

"  Hail  to  thee,  O  Freedom  !  "  mut- 
tered John  Barley,  "  thy  dwelling  is 
in  cities,  and  thy  palace  is  the 
tavern." 

"In  the  king's  name,"    quoth   a 


English  Life.— Part  XIII.  289 

gruff  voice  ;  and  John  Burley  feels 
the  horrid  and  familiar  tap  on  the 
shoulder. 

The  two  bailiffs  who  dogged  have 
seized  their  prey. 

"At  whose  suit?"  asked  John 
Burley  falteringly. 

"  Mr  Cox,  the  wine-merchant." 

"  Cox  !  A  man  to  whom  I  gave  a 
cheque  on  my  bankers,  not  three 
months  ago ! " 

"  But  it  warn't  cashed." 

"What  does  that  signify?— the 
intention  was  the  same.  A  good 
heart  takes  the  will  for  the  deed. 
Cox  is  a  monster  of  ingratitude ;  and 
I  withdraw  my  custom." 

"Sarve  him  right.  Would  your 
honour  like  a  jarvey?  " 

"  I  would  rather  spend  the  money 
on  something  else,"  said  John  Burley. 
"  Give  me  your  arm,  I  am  not  proud. 
After  all,  thank  heaven,  I  shall  not 
sleep  in  the  country." 

And  John  Burley  made  a  night  of 
it  in  the  Fleet. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Miss  Starke  was  one  of  those  ladies 
who  pass  their  lives  in  the  direst  of 
all  civil  strife — war  Avith  their  ser- 
vants. She  looked  upon  the  mem- 
bers of  that  class  as  the  unrelenting 
and  sleepless  enemies  of  the  unfor- 
tunate householders  condemned  to 
employ  them.  She  thought  they  ate 
and  drank  to  their  villanous  utmost, 
in  order  to  ruin  their  benefactors 
—  that  they  lived  in  one  constant 
conspiracy  with  one  another  and  the 
tradesmen,  the  object  of  which  was 
to  cheat  and  pilfer.  Miss  Starke 
was  a  miserable  woman.  As  she 
had  no  relations  or  friends  who 
cared  enough  for  her  to  share  her 
solitary  struggle  against  her  domestic 
foes  ;  and  her  income,  though  easy, 
was  an  annuity  that  died  with  herself, 
thereby  reducing  various  nephews, 
nieces,  or  cousins,  to  the  strict  bounds 
of  a  natural  affection— that  did  not 
exist ;  and  as  she  felt  the  want  of 
some  friendly  face  amidst  this  world 
of  distrust  and  hate,  so  she  had  tried 
the  resource  of  venal  companions. 
But  the  venal  companions  had  never 
staid  long— either  they  disliked  Miss 
Starke,  or  Miss  Starke  disliked  them. 


Therefore  the  poor  woman  had  re- 
solved upon  bringing  up  some  little 
girl  whose  heart,  as  she  said  to  her- 
self, would  be  fresh  and  uncorrupted, 
and  from  whom  she  might  expect 
gratitude.  She  had  been  contented, 
on  the  whole,  with  Helen,  and  had 
meant  to  keep  that  child  in  her  house 
as  long  as  she  ("Miss  Starke)  remained 
upon  the  earth — perhaps  some  thirty 
years  longer ;  and  then,  having  care- 
fully secluded  her  from  marriage,  and 
other  friendship,  to  leave  her  nothing 
but  the  regret  of  having  lost  so  kind 
a  benefactress.  Agreeably  with  this 
notion,  and  in  order  to  secure  the 
affections  of  the  child,  Miss  Starke 
had  relaxed  the  frigid  austerity  natu- 
ral to  her  manner  and  mode  of 
thought,  and  been  kind  to  Helen  in 
an  iron  way.  She  had  neither  slapped, 
nor  pinched  her,  neither  had  she 
starved.  She  had  allowed  her  to 
see  Leonard,  according  to  the  agree- 
ment made  with  Dr  Morgan,  and  had 
laid  out  tenpence  on  cakes,  besides 
contributing  fruit  from  her  garden  for 
the  first  interview — a  hospitality  she 
did  not  think  it  fit  to  renew  on  subse- 
quent occasions.  In  return  for  this, 


My  Novel;  o?-,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XIII.  [Sept. 


290 

she  conceived  she  had  purchased  the 
right  to  Helen  bodily  and  spiritually, 
and  nothing  could  exceed  her  indig- 
nation when  she  rose  one  morning 
and  found  the  child  had  gone.  As  it 
never  had  occurred  to  her  to  ask 
Leonard's  address,  though  she  sus- 
pected Helen  had  gone  to  him,  she 
was  at  a  loss  what  to  do,  and  re- 
mained for  twenty-four  hours  in  a 
state  of  inane  depression.  But  then 
she  began  to  miss  the  child  so  much 
that  her  energies  woke,  and  she  per- 
suaded herself  that  she  was  actuated 
by  the  purest  benevolence  in  trying 
to  reclaim  this  poor  creature  from  the 
world  into  which  Helen  had  thus 
rashly  plunged. 

Accordingly,  she  put  an  adver- 
tisement into  the  Times,  to  the  fol- 
Jowing  effect,  liberally  imitated  from 
one  by  which,  in  former  years,  she  had 
.recovered  a  favourite  Blenheim. 

TWO    GUINEAS    REWARD. 

CTRAYED,  from  Ivy  Cottage,  High- 
O  gate,  a  Little  Girl,  answers  to  the 
name  of  Helen  ;  with  blue  eyes  and 
brown  hair  ;  white  muslin  frock,  and 
straw  hat  with  blue  ribbons.  Whoever 
will  bring  the  same  to  Ivy  Cottage,  shall 
receive  the  above  Reward. 

N.B. — Nothing  more  will  be  offered. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  Mrs 
Smedley  had  put  an  advertisement  in 
the  Times  on  her  own  account,  rela- 
tive to  a  niece  of  hers  who  was  coming 
from  the  country,  and  for  whom  she 
desired  to  find  a  situation.  So,  con- 
trary to  her  usual  habit,  she  sent  for 
the  newspaper,  and,  close  by  her 
own  advertisement,  she  saw  Miss 
.Starke's. 

It  was  impossible  that  she  could 
mistake  the  description  of  Helen ; 


and,  as  this  advertisement  caught  her 
eye  the  very  day  after  the  whole 
house  had  been  disturbed  and  scan- 
dalised by  Burley's  noisy  visit,  and 
on  which  she  had  resolved  to  get  rid 
of  a  lodger  who  received  such  visitors, 
the  goodhearted  woman  was  delighted 
to  think  that  she  could  restore  Helen 
to  some  safe  home.  While  thus 
thinking,  Helen  herself  entered  the 
kitchen  where  Mrs  Smedley  sate, 
and  the  landlady  had  the  imprudence 
to  point  out  the  advertisement,  and 
talk,  as  she  called  it,  "  seriously"  to 
the  little  girl. 

Helen  in  vain  and  with  tears  en- 
treated her  to  take  no  step  inreply  to  the 
advertisement.  Mrs  Smedley  felt  it 
was  an  affair  of  duty,  and  was  obdu- 
rate, and  shortly  afterwards  put  on  her 
bonnet  and  left  the  house.  Helen  con- 
jectured that  she  was  on  her  way  to 
Miss  Starke's,  and  her  whole  soul  was 
bent  on  flight.  Leonard  had  gone  to 
the  office  of  the  Beehive  with  his  MSS. ; 
but  she  packed  up  all  their  joint 
effects,  and,  just  as  she  had  done  so,  he 
returned.  She  communicated  the 
news  of  the  advertisement,  and  said 
she  should  be  so  miserable  if  com-, 
pelled  to  go  back  to  Miss  Starke's, 
and  implored  him  so  pathetically  to 
save  her  from  such  sorrow  that  he  at 
once  assented  to  her  proposal  of  flight. 
Luckily,  little  was  owing  to  the  land- 
lady—that little  was  left  with  the 
maid-servant ;  and,  profiting  by  Mrs 
Smedley's  absence,  they  escaped 
without  scene  or  conflict.  Their 
effects  were  taken  by  Leonard  to  a 
stand  of  hackney  vehicles,  and  then 
left  at  a  coach-oflice,  while  they  went 
in  search  of  lodgings.  It  was  wise  to 
choose  an  entirely  new  and  remote 
district ;  and  before  night  they  were 
settled  in  an  attic  in  Lambeth. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


As  the  reader  will  expect,  no 
trace  of  Burley  could  Leonard  find  : 
the  humourist  had  ceased  to  com- 
municate with  the  Beehive.  But  Leo- 
nurd  grieved  for  Burley's  sake;  and 
indeed,  he  missed  the  intercourse  of 
the  large  wrong  mind.  But  he  settled 
down  by  degrees  to  the  simple  loving 
society  of  his  child  companion,  and  in 
that  presence  grew  more  tranquil. 


The  hours  in  the  daytime  that  he  did 
not  pass  at  work  he  spent  as  before, 
picking  up  knowledge  at  bookstalls  ; 
and  at  dusk  he  and  Helen  would 
stroll  out  —  sometimes  striving  to 
escape  from  the  long  suburb  into 
fresh  rural  air  ;  more  often  wandering 
to  and  fro  the  bridge  that  led 
to  glorious*  Westminster  —  London's 
classic  laud — and  watching  the  vague 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

lamps  reflected  on  the  river.  This 
haunt  suited  the  musing  melancholy 
boy.  He  would  stand  long  and  with 
wistful  silence  by  the  balustrade — 
seating  Helen  thereon,  that  she  too 
might  look  along  the  dark  mournful 
waters  which,  dark  though  they  be, 


English  Life.— Part  XIII.  291 

still  have  their  charm  of  mysterious 
repose. 

As  the  river  flowed  between  the 
world  of  roofs,  and  the  roar  of  human 
passions  on  either  side,  so  in  those 
two  hearts  flowed  Thought — and  all 
they  knew  of  London  was  its  shadow. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


There  appeared  in  the  Beehive  cer- 
tain very  truculent  political  papers — 
papers  very  like  the  tracts  in  the 
Tinker's  bag.  Leonard  did  not  heed 
them  much,  but  they  made  far  more 
sensation  in  the  public  that  read  the 
Beehive  than  Leonard's  papers,  full 
of  rare  promise  though  the  last  were. 
They  greatly  increased  the  sale  of  the 
periodical  in  the  manufacturing  towns, 
and  began  to  awake  the  drowsy  vigi- 
lance of  the  Home  Office.  Suddenly 
a  descent  was  made  upon  the  Bee- 
hive, and  all  its  papers  and  plant. 
The  editor  saw  himself  threatened 
with  a  criminal  prosecution,  and  the 
certainty  of  two  years'  imprisonment : 
he  did  not  like  the  prospect,  and  dis- 
appeared. One  evening,  when  Leonard, 
unconscious  of  these  mischances, 
arrived  at  the  door  of  the  office,  he 
found  it  closed.  An  agitated  mob  was 
before  it,  and  a  voice  that  was  not 
new  to  his  ear  was  haranguing  the 
bystanders,  with  many  imprecations 
against  "  tyrans."  He  looked,  and, 
to  his  amaze,  recognised  in  the  orator 
Mr  Sprott  the  Tinker. 

The  police  came  in  numbers  to  dis- 
perse the  crowd,  and  Mr  Sprott 
prudently  vanished.  Leonard  learn- 
ed then  what  had  befallen,  and  again 
saw  himself  without  employment 
and  the  means  of  bread. 

Slowly  he  walked  back.  "  O, 
knowledge,  knowledge ! — powerless 
indeed  !  "  he  murmured. 

As  he  thus  spoke,  a  handbill  in 
large  capitals  met  his  eyes  on  a  dead 
•wall — "  Wanted,  a  few  smart  young 
men  for  India." 

A  crimp  accosted  him — "You 
would  make  a  fine  soldier,  my  man. 
You  have  stout  limbs  of  your  own." 
Leonard  moved  on. 

"  It  has  come  back,  then,  to  this. 
Brute  physical  force  after  all !  O 
Mind,  despair!  O  Peasant,  be  a 
•machine  again." 


He  entered  his  attic  noiselessly, 
and  gazed  upon  Helen  as  she  sate  at 
work,  straining  her  eyes  by  the  open 
window — with  tender  and  deep  com- 
passion. She  had  not  heard  him 
enter,  nor  was  she  aware  of  his  pre- 
sence. Patient  and  still  she  sate, 
and  the  small  fingers  plied  busily. 
He  gazed,  and  saw  that  her  cheek 
was  pale  and  hollow,  and  the  hands 
looked  so  thin !  His  heart  was  deeply 
touched,  and  at  that  moment  he  had 
not  one  memory  of  the  baffled  Poet, 
one  thought  that  proclaimed  the 
Egotist. 

He  approached  her  gently,  laid  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder — "  Helen,  put 
on  your  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  walk 
out — I  have  much  to  say." 

In  a  few  moments  she  was  ready, 
and  they  took  their  way  to  their 
favourite  haunt  upon  the  bridge. 
Pausing  in  one  of  the  recesses  or 
nooks,  Leonard  then  began, — "Helen, 
we  must  part." 

"  Part  ?— Oh,  brother!  " 

"Listen.  All  work  that  depends 
on  mind  is  over  for  me ;  nothing  re- 
mains but  the  labour  of  thews  and 
sinews.  I  cannot  go  back  to  my  vil- 
lage and  say  to  all,  '  My  hopes  were 
self-conceit,  and  my  intellect  a  delu- 
sion ! '  I  cannot.  Neither  in  this  sor- 
did city  can  I  turn  menial  or  porter. 
I  might  be  born  to  that  drudgery, 
but  my  mind  has,  it  may  be  unhappily, 
raised  me  above  my  birth.  What, 
then,  shall  I  do  ?  I  know  not  yet— 
serve  as  a  soldier,  or  push  my  way 
to  some  wilderness  afar,  as  an  emi- 
grant, perhaps.  But  whatever  my 
choice,  I  must  henceforth  be  alone ; 
I  have  a  home  no  more.  But  there 
is  a  home  for  you,  Helen,  a  very 
humble  one,  (for  you,  too,  so  well 
born,)  but  very  safe — the  roof  of — of 
— my  peasant  mother.  She  will  love 
you  for  my  sake,  and— and — " 

Helen  clung  to  him  trembling,  and 


292 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIII.  [Sept. 


sobbed  out,  "Anything,  anything 
you  will.  But  I  can  work ;  I  can 
make  money,  Leonard.  I  do,  indeed, 
make  money — you  do  not  know  how 
much — but  enough  for  us  both  till 
better  times  come  to  you.  Do  not  let 
.us  part." 

"And  I — a  man,  and  born  to 
labour,  to  be  maintained  by  the  work 
of  an  infant !  No,  Helen,  do  not  so 
degrade  me." 

She  drew  back  as  she  looked  on  his 
flushed  brow,  bowed  her  head  submis- 
sively, and  murmured,  "  Pardon." 

"  Ah,"  said  Helen,  after  a  pause, 
"  if  now  we  could  but  find  my  poor 
father's  friend!  I  never  so  much 
cared  for  it  before." 

"  Yes,  he  would  surely  provide  for 
you." 

"For  we/"  repeated  Helen,  in  a 
tone  of  soft  deep  reproach,  and  she 
turned  away  her  head  to  conceal  her 
tears. 

"  You  are  sure  you  would  remember 
him,  if  we  met  him  by  chance  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes.  He  was  so  different 
from  all  we  see  in  this  terrible  city, 
and  his  eyes  were  like  yonder  stars, 
so  clear  and  so  bright ;  yet  the  light 
seemed  to  come  from  afar  off,  as  the 
light  does  in  yours,  when  your 
thoughts  are  away  from  all  things 
round  you.  And  then,  too,  his  dog 
whom  he  called  Nero — I  could  not 
forget  that." 

"  But  his  dog  may  not  be  always 
with  him." 

"  But  the  bright  clear  eyes  are ! 
Ah,  now  you  look  up  to  heaven, 
and  yours  seem  to  dreamlike  his." 

Leonard  did  not  answer,  for  his 
thoughts  were  indeed  less  on  earth 
than  struggling  to  pierce  into  that 
remote  and  mysterious  heaven. 

Both  were  silent  long ;  the  crowd 
passed  them  by  unheedingly.  Night 
deepened  over  the  river,  but  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  lamplights  on  its  waves 
was  more  visible  than  that  of  the 
stars.  The  beams  showed  the  dark- 
ness of  the  strong  current,  and  the 


craft  that  lay  eastward  on  the  tide, 
with  sail-less  spectral  masts  and  black 
dismal  hulks,  looked  deathlike  in  their 
stillness. 

Leonard  looked  down,  and  the 
thought  of  Chatterton's  grim  suicide 
came  back  to  his  soul,  and  a  pale 
scornful  face  with  luminous  haunting 
eyes  seemed  to  look  up  from  the  stream, 
and  murmur  from  livid  lips, — 
"  Struggle  no  more  against  the  tides 
on  the  surface — all  is  calm  and  rest 
within  the  deep." 

Starting  in  terror  from  the  gloom 
of  his  reverie,  the  boy  began  to  talk 
fast  to  Helen,  and  tried  to  soothe  her 
with  descriptions  of  the  lowly  home 
which  he  had  offered. 

He  spoke  of  the  light  cares  which 
she  would  participate  with  his 
mother — for  by  that  name  he  still 
called  the  widow — and  dwelt,  with 
an  eloquence  that  the  contrast  round 
him  made  sincere  and  strong,  on 
the  happy  rural  life,  the  shadowy 
woodlands,  the  rippling  cornfields, 
the  solemn  lone  church- spire  soaring 
from  the  tranquil  landscape.  Flatter- 
ingly he  painted  the  flowery  terraces 
of  the  Italian  exile,  and  the  playful 
fountain  that,  even  as  he  spoke,  was 
flinging  up  its  spray  to  the  stars, 
through  serene  air  untroubled  by  the 
smoke  of  cities,  and  untainted  by  the 
sinful  sighs  of  men.  He  promised  her 
the  love  and  protection  of  natures 
akin  to  the  happy  scene :  the  simple 
affectionate  mother — the  gentle  pas- 
tor— the  exile  wise  and  kind — Vio- 
lante,  with  dark  eyes  full  of  the 
mystic  thoughts  that  solitude  calls 
from  childhood, — Violante  should  be 
her  companion. 

"  And  oh  !  "  cried  Helen,  "  if  life 
be  thus  happy  there,  return  with  me, 
return — return  !  " 

"Alas!"  murmured  the  boy,  "if 
the  hammer  once  strike  the  spark 
from  the  anvil,  the  spark  must  fly 
upward ;  it  cannot  fall  back  to  earth 
until  light  has  left  it.  Upward  still, 
Helen— let  me  go  upward  still  1" 


CHAPTER  XV. 


The  next  morning  Helen  was  very 
ill— so  ill  that,  shortly  after  rising, 
she  was  forced  to  creep  back  to  bed. 
Her  frame  shivered— her  eyes  were 


heavy  —  her  hand  burned  like  fire. 
Fever  had  set  in.  Perhaps  she  might 
have  caught  cold  on  the  bridge — per- 
haps her  emotions  had  proved  too 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIII. 


much  for  her  frame.  Leonard,  in 
great  alarm,  called  on  the  nearest 
apothecary.  The  apothecary  looked 
grave,  and  said  there  was  danger. 
And  danger  soon  declared  itself— 
Helen  became  delirious.  For  several 
days  she  lay  in  this  state,  between 
life  and  death.  Leonard  then  felt 
that  all  the  sorrows  of  earth  are 
light,  compared  with  the  fear  of 
losing  what  we  love.  How  valueless 
the  envied  laurel  seemed  beside  the 
dying  rose. 

Thanks,  perhaps,  more  to  his  heed 
and  tending  than  to  medical  skill,  she 
recovered  sense  at  last — immediate 
peril  was  over.  But  she  was  very 
weak  and  reduced — her  ultimate  re- 
covery doubtful  —  convalescence,  at 
best,  likely  to  be  very  slow. 

But  when  she  learned  how  long  she 
had  been  thus  ill,  she  looked  anxious- 
ly at  Leonard's  face  as  he  bent  over 
her,  and  faltered  forth — "  Give  me  my 
work ;  I  am  strong  enough  for  that 
now — it  would  amuse  me." 

Leonard  burst  into  tears. 

Alas  !  he  had  no  work  himself ;  all 
their  joint  money  had  melted  away ; 
the  apothecary  was  not  like  good  Dr 
Morgan :  the  medicines  were  to  be 
paid  for,  and  the  rent.  Two  days 
before,  Leonard  had  pawned  Ricca- 
bocca's  watch  ;  and  when  the  last 
shilling  thus  raised  was  gone,  how 
should  he  support  Helen  ?  Neverthe- 
less he  conquered  his  tears,  and  assured 
her  that  he  had  employment;  and 
that  so  earnestly  that  she  believed 
him,  and  sank  into  soft  sleep.  He 
listened  to  her  breathing,  kissed  her 
forehead,  and  left  the  room.  He 
turned  into  his  own  neighbouring 
garret,  arid,  leaning  his  face  on  his 
hands,  collected  all  his  thoughts. 

He  must  be  a  beggar  at  last.  He 
must  write  to  Mr  Dale  for  money — 
Mr  Dale,  too,  who  knew  the  secret 
of  his  birth.  He  would  rather  have 
begged  of  a  stranger — it  seemed  to 
add  a  new  dishonour  to  his  mother's 
memory  for  the  child  to  beg  of  one 
who  was  acquainted  with  her  shame. 
Had  he  himself  been  the  only  one  to  want 
and  to  starve,  he  would  have  sunk  inch 
by  inch  in  to  the  grave  of  famine,  before 
he  would  have  so  subdued  his  pride. 
But  Helen,  there  on  that  bed— Helen 
needing,  for  weeks  perhaps,  all  sup- 
port, and  illness  making  luxuries 


293 

themselves  like  necessaries !  Beg  he 
must.  And  when  he  so  resolved,  had 
you  but  seen  the  proud  bitter  soul  he 
conquered,  you  would  have  said— 
"  This  which  he  thinks  is  degradation — 
this  is  heroism.  Oh  strange  human 
heart ! — no  epic  ever  written  achieves 
the  Sublime  and  the  Beautiful  which 
are  graven,  unread  by  human  eye, 
in  thy  secret  leaves."  Of  whom  else 
should  he  beg  ?  His  mother  had  no- 
thing, Kiccabocca  was  poor,  and  the 
stately  Violante,  who  had  exclaimed, 
"  Would  that  I  were  a  man  !" — he 
could  not  endure  the  thought  that  she 
should  pity  him,  and  despise.  The 
Avenels !  No — thrice  No.  He  drew 
towards  him  hastily  ink  and  paper, 
and  wrote  rapid  lines,  that  were 
wrung  from  him  as  from  the  bleeding 
strings  of  life. 

But  the  hour  for  the  post  had 
passed — the  letter  must  wait  till  the 
next  day ;  and  three  days  at  least 
would  elapse  before  he  could  receive 
an  answer.  He  left  the  letter  on  the 
table,  and,  stifling  as  for  air,  went 
forth.  He  crossed  the  bridge— he 
passed  on  mechanically — and  was 
borne  along  by  a  crowd  pressing 
towards  the  doors  of  Parliament. 
A  debate  that  excited  popular  interest 
was  fixed  for  that  evening,  and  many 
bystanders  collected  in  the  street  to 
see  the  members  pass  to  and  fro, 
or  hear  what  speakers  had  yet  risen  to 
take  part  in  the  debate,  or  try  to  get 
orders  for  the  gallery. 

He  halted  amidst  these  loiterers,  with 
no  interest,  indeed,  in  common  with 
them,  but  looking  over  their  heads 
abstractedly  towards  the  tall  Funeral 
Abbey — Imperial  Golgotha  of  Poets, 
and  Chiefs,  and  Kings. 

Suddenly  his  attention  was  diverted 
to  those  around  by  the  sound  of  a 
name — displeasingly  known  to  him. 
"  How  are  you,  Randal  Leslie  ? 
coming  to  hear  the  debate  ? "  said  a 
member  who  was  passing  through 
the  street. 

"  Yes ;  Mr  Egerton  promised  to  get 
me  under  the  gallery.  He  is  to  speak 
himself  to-night,  and  I  have  never 
heard  him.  As  you  are  going  into 
the  House,  will  you  remind  him  ?  " 

"  I  can't  now,  for  he  is  speaking 
already—  and  well  too.  I  hurried  from 
the  Athenaeum,  where  I  was  dining, 
on  purpose  to  be  in  time,  as  I  heard 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIII.  [Sept 


204 

that  his  speech  was  making  a  great 
effect." 

"  This  is  very  unlucky,"  said  Kan- 
dal.  "  I  had  no  idea  he  would  speak 
so  early." 

"  M brought  him  up  by  a  direct 

personal  attack.  But  follow  me ;  per- 
haps I  can  get  you  into  the  House ; 
and  a  man  like  you,  Leslie,  of  whom 
we  expect  great  things  some  day,  I 
can  tell  you,  should  not  miss  any 
such  opportunity  of  knowing  what 
this  House  of  ours  is  on  a  field  night. 
Come  on!" 

The  member  hurried  towards  the 
door ;  and  as  Kandal  followed  him,  a 
bystander  cried — "  That  is  the  young 
man  who  Avrote  the  famous  pamphlet 
— Egertou's  relation." 

"  Oh,  indeed!"  said  another. 
"  Clever  man,  Egerton — I  am  waiting 
for  him." 

"  So  am  I." 

"  Why,  you  are  not  a  constituent, 
as  I  am." 

"  No ;  but  he  has  been  very  kind  to 
my  nephew,  and  I  must  thank  him. 
You  are  a  constituent  —  he  is  an 
honour  to  your  town." 

u  So  he  is  :  Enlightened  man  !" 

"And  so  generous !" 

"  Brings  forward  really  good  mea- 
sures," quoth  the  politician. 

u  And  clever  young  men,"  said  the 
uncle. 

Therewith  one  or  two  others  joined 
in  the  praise  of  Audley  Egerton,  and 
many  anecdotes  of  his  liberality  were 
told. 

Leonard  listened  at  first  listlessly, 
at  last  with  thoughtful  attention.  He 
had  heard  Burley,  too,  speak  highly 
of  this  generous  statesman,  who, 
without  pretending  to  genius  himself, 
•appreciated  it  in  others.  He  suddenly 
remembered,  too,  that  Egerton  was 
half-brother  to  the  Squire.  Vague 
notions  of  some  appeal  to  this  eminent 
person,  not  for  charity,  but  employ 
to  his  mind,  gleamed  across  him — in- 
experienced boy  that  he  yet  was !  And, 
while  thus  meditating,  the  door  of  the 
House  opened,  and  out  came  Audley 
Egerton  himself.  A  partial  cheering, 
followed  by  a  general  murmur,  ap- 
prised Leonard  of  the  presence  of  the 
popular  statesman.  Egerton  was 
•caught  hold  of  by  some  five  or  six 
persons  in  succession  ;  a  shake  of  the 
hand,  a  nod,  a  brief  whispered  word 


or  two,  sufficed  the  practised  member 
for  graceful  escape ;  and  soon,  free 
from  the  crowd,  his  tall  erect  figure 
passed  on,  and  turned  towards  the 
bridge.  He  paused  at  the  angle  and 
took  out  his  watch,  looking  at  it  by 
the  lamp-light. 

"  Harley  will  be  here  soon,"  he 
muttered — "he  is  always  punctual; 
and  now  that  I  have  spoken,  I  can 
give  him  an  hour  or  so.  That  is  well." 

As  he  replaced  his  watch  in  his 
pocket,  and  re-buttoned  his  coat  over 
his  firm  broad  chest,  he  lifted  his  eyes, 
and  saw  a  young  man  standing  before 
him. 

"  Do  you  want  me  ?"  asked  the 
statesman,  with  the  direct  brevity  of 
his  practical  character. 

"Mr  Egerton,"  said  the  young 
man,  with  a  voice  that  slightly  trem- 
bled, and  yet  was  manly  amidst 
emotion,  "  you  have  a  great  name, 
and  great  power — I  stand  here  in 
these  streets  of  London  without  a 
friend,  and  without  employ.  I  be- 
lieve that  I  have  it  in  me  to  do  some 
nobler  work  than  that  of  bodily  labour, 
had  I  but  one  friend — one  opening  for 
my  thoughts.  And  now  I  have  said 
this,  I  scarcely  know  how,  or  why, 
but  from  despair,  and  the  sudden  im- 
pulse which  that  despair  took  from  the 
praise  that  follows  your  success,  I 
have  nothing  more  to  add." 

Audley  Egerton  was  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment, struck  by  the  tone  and  address 
of  the  stranger ;  but  the  consummate 
and  wary  man  of  the  world,  accus- 
tomed to  all  manner  of  strange  appli- 
cations, and  all  varieties  of  impos- 
ture, quickly  recovered  from  a  pass- 
ing and  slight  effect. 

*'  Are  you  a  native  of ?  "  (nam- 
ing the  town  he  represented  as  mem- 
ber.) 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  young  man,  I  am  very 
sorry  for  you ;  but  the  good  sense  you 
must  possess  (for  I  judge  of  that  by  the 
education  you  have  evidently  received) 
must  tell  you  that  a  public  man, 
whatever  be  his  patronage,  has  it  too 
fully  absorbed  by  claimants  who  have 
a  right  to  demand  it,  to  be  able  to 
listen  to  strangers." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and,  as 
Leonard  stood  silent,  added,  with 
more  kindness  than  most  public  men, 
so  accosted  would  have  showed — 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

"  You  say  you  are  friendless — poor 
fellow.  In  early  life  that  happens  to 
many  of  us,  who  find  friends  enough 
before  the  close.  Be  honest,  and 
well-conducted;  lean  on  yourself,  not 
on  strangers ;  work  with  the  body  if 
you  can't  with  the  mind ;  and,  believe 
me,  that  advice  is  all  I  can  give  you, 
unless  this  trifle," — and  the  minister 
held  out  a  crown  piece. 

Leonard  bowed,  shook  his  head 
sadly,  and  walked  away.  Egerton 
looked  after  him  with  a  slight 
pang. 

"  Pooh ! "  said  he  to  himself,  "  there 
must  be  thousands  in  the  same  state 
in  these  streets  of  London.  I  cannot 
redress  the  necessities  of  civilisation. 
Well  educated  !  It  is  not  from  igno- 
rance henceforth  that  society  will  suf- 
fer—it is  from  over- educating  the 
hungry  thousands  who,  thus  unfitted 
for  manual  toil,  and  with  no  career 
for  mental,  will  some  day  or  other 
stand  like  that  boy  in  our  streets, 
and  puzzle  wiser  ministers  than  I 
am." 

As  Egerton  thus  mused,  and  passed 
on  to  the  bridge,  a  bugle-horn  rang 
merrily  from  the  box  of  a  gay  four- 
in-hand.  A  drag-coach  with  superb 
blood-horses  rattled  over  the  cause- 
way, and  in  the  driver  Egerton  re- 
cognised his  nephew — Frank  Hazel- 
dean. 

The  young  Guardsman  was  return- 
ing, with  a  lively  party  of  men,  from 
dining  at  Greenwich  ;  and  the  careless 
laughter  of  these  children  of  pleasure 
floated  far  over  the  still  river. 

It  vexed  the  ear  of  the  careworn 


English  Life.— Part  XIII.  295 

statesman— sad,  perhaps,  with  all  his 
greatness,  lonely  amidst  all  his  crowd 
of  friends.  It  reminded  him,  perhaps, 
of  his  own  youth,  when  such  parties 
and  companionships  were  familiar  to 
him,  though  through  them  all  he  bore 
an  ambitious  aspiring  soul — "  Lejeu, 
vaut-il  la  chandelle  ?  "  said  he,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders. 

The  coach  rolled  rapidly  past  Leo- 
nard, as  he  stood  leaning  against  the 
corner  of  the  bridge,  and  the  mire  of 
the  kennel  splashed  over  him  from  the 
hoofs  of  the  fiery  horses.  The  laugh- 
ter smote  on  his  ear  more  discordantly 
than  on  the  minister's,  but  it  begot  no< 
envy. 

"Life  is  a  dark  riddle,"  said  hey 
smiting  his  breast. 

And  he  walked  slowly  on,  gained 
the  recess  where  he  had  stood  several 
nights  before  with  Helen ;  and  dizzy 
with  want  of  food,  and  worn  out  for 
want  of  sleep,  he  sank  down  inta 
the  dark  corner ;  while  the  river  that 
rolled  under  the  arch  of  stone  mut- 
tered dirge-like  in  his  ear; — as  under 
the  social  key-stone  wails  and  rolls 
on  for  ever  the  mystery  of  Human 
Discontent.  Take  comfort,  O  Thinker 
by  the  stream  !  'Tis  the  river  that 
founded  and  gave  pomp  to  the  city ; 
and  without  the  discontent,  where 
were  progress  —  what  were  Man? 
Take  comfort,  O  THINKER  !  where- 
ever  the  stream  over  which  thou 
bendest,  or  beside  which  thou  sinkest, 
weary  and  desolate,  frets  the  arch 
that  supports  thee  ;  —  never  dream 
that,  by  destroying  the  bridge,  thou 
canst  silence  the  moan  of  the  wave ! 


296 


Disfranchisement  of  the  Boroughs. 


[Sept. 


DISFRANCHISEMENT  OF  THE   BOROUGHS. 


TO  WALTER  BINKIE,  ESQ.,   PROVOST  OF   DREEPDAILY. 


MY  DEAR  PROVOST, — In  the  course 
of  your  commnnings  with  nature  on 
the  uplands  of  Dreepdaily,  you  must 
doubtless  have  observed  that  the 
advent  of  a  storm  is  usually  preceded 
by  the  appearance  of  a  flight  of  sea- 
maws,  who,  by  their  discordant 
screams,  give  notice  of  the  approach- 
ing change  of  weather.  For  some 
time  past  it  has  been  the  opinion  of 
those  who  are  in  the  habit  of  watch- 
ing the  political  horizon,  that  we 
should  do  well  to  prepare  ourselves 
for  a  squall,  and  already  the  premo- 
nitory symptoms  are  distinctly  audible. 
The  Liberal  press,  headed  by  the 
Times,  is  clamorous  for  some  sweep- 
ing change  in  the  method  of  Parlia- 
mentary representation;  and  Lord 
John  Russell,  as  you  are  well  aware, 
proposes  in  the  course  of  next  Session 
to  take  up  the  subject.  This  is  no 
mere  brutum  fulmen,  or  dodge  to 
secure  a  little  temporary  popularity 
— it  is  a  distinct  party  move  for  a 
very  intelligible  purpose ;  and  is 
fraught,  I  think,  with  much  danger 
and  injustice  to  many  of  the  consti- 
tuencies which  are  now  intrusted  with 
the  right  of  franchise.  As  you,  my 
dear  Provost,  are  a  Liberal  both  by 
principle  and  profession,  and  more- 
over chief  magistrate  of  a  very  old 
Scottish  burgh,  your  opinion  upon 
this  matter  must  have  great  weight 
in  determining  the  judgment  of  others ; 
and,  therefore,  you  will  not,  I  trust, 
consider  it  too  great  a  liberty,  if,  at 
this  dull  season  of  the  year,  I  call 
your  attention  to  one  or  two  points 
which  appear  well  worthy  of  consider- 
ation. 

In  the  first  place,  I  think  you  will 
admit  that  extensive  organic  changes 
in  the  Constitution  ought  never  to  be 
attempted  except  in  cases  of  strong 
necessity.  The  real  interests  of  the 
country  are  never  promoted  by  inter- 
nal political  agitation,  which  unsettles 
men's  minds,  is  injurious  to  regular 
industry,  and  too  often  leaves  behind 
it  the  seeds  of  jealousy  and  discord 
between  different  classes  of  the  com- 
munity, ready  on  some  future  occa- 


sion to  burst  into  noxious  existence. 
You  would  not,  I  think,  wish  to  see 
annually  renewed  that  sort  of  strife 
which  characterised  the  era  of  the 
Reform  Bill.  I  venture  to  pass  no 
opinion  whatever  on  the  abstract 
merits  of  that  measure.  I  accept  it 
as  a  fact,  just  as  I  accept  other  changes 
in  the  Constitution  of  this  country 
which  took  place  before  I  was  bora ; 
and  I  hope  I  shall  ever  comport  my- 
self as  a  loyal  and  independent 
elector.  But  I  am  sure  you  have  far 
too  lively  a  recollection  of  the  ferment 
which  that  event  created,  to  wish  to 
see  it  renewed,  without  at  least  some 
urgent  cause.  You  were  consistently 
anxious  for  the  suppression  of  rotten 
boroughs,  and  for  the  enlargement  of 
the  constituency  upon  a  broad  and 
popular  basis;  and  you  considered 
that  the  advantages  to  be  gained  by 
the  adoption  of  the  new  system,  justi- 
fied the  social  risks  which  were  in- 
curred in  the  endeavour  to  supersede 
the  old  one.  I  do  not  say  that  you 
were  wrong  in  this.  The  agitation 
for  Parliamentary  Reform  had  been 
going  on  for  a  great  number  of  years ; 
the  voice  of  the  majority  of  the  coun- 
try was  undeniably  in  your  favour, 
and  you  finally  carried  your  point. 
Still,  in  consequence  of  that  struggle, 
years  elapsed  before  the  heart-burn- 
ings and  jealousies  which  were  occa- 
sioned by  it  were  allayed.  Even  now 
it  is  not  uncommon  to  hear  the  remin- 
iscences of  the  Reform  Bill  appealed 
to  on  the  hustings  by  candidates  who 
have  little  else  to  say  for  themselves 
by  way  of  personal  recommendation. 
A  most  ludicrous  instance  of  this 
occurred  very  lately  in  the  case  of  a 
young  gentleman,  who,  being  desirous 
of  Parliamentary  honours,  actually 
requested  the  support  of  the  electors 
on  the  ground  that  his  father  or  grand- 
father— I  forget  which — had  voted  for 
the  Reform  Bill;  a  ceremony  which 
he  could  not  very  well  have  performed 
in  his  own  person,  as  at  that  time 
he  had  not  been  released  from  the 
bondage  of  swaddling-clothes  !  I 
need  hardly  add  that  he  was  rejected; 


1851.] 


Disfranchisement  of  the  Boroughs. 


297 


but  the  anecdote  is  curious  and  in- 
structive. 

In  a  country  such  as  this,  changes 
must  be  looked  for  in  the  course  of 
years.  One  system  dies  out,  or  be- 
comes unpopular,  and  is  replaced  by 
a  new  one.  But  I  cannot  charge  my 
memory  with  any  historical  instance 
where  a  great  change  was  attempted 
without  some  powerful  or  cogent 
reason.  Still  less  can  I  recollect  any 
great  change  being  proposed,  unless  a 
large  and  powerful  section  of  the 
community  had  unequivocally  declared 
in  its  favour.  The  reason  of  this  is 
quite  obvious.  The  middle  classes  of 
Great  Britain,  however  liberal  they 
may  be  in  their  sentiments,  have  a 
just  horror  of  revolutions.  They 
know  very  well  that  organic  changes 
are  never  effected  without  enormous 
loss  and  individual  deprivation,  and 
they  will  not  move  unless  they  are 
assured  that  the  value  of  the  object  to 
be  gained  is  commensurate  with  the 
extent  of  the  sacrifice.  In  defence  of 
their  liberties,  when  these  are  at- 
tacked, the  British  people  are  ever 
ready  to  stand  forward ;  but  I  mis- 
take them  much,  if  they  will  at  any 
time  allow  themselves  to  be  made  the 
tools  of  a  faction.  The  attempt  to 
get  up  organic  changes  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  perpetuating  the  existence 
of  a  particular  Ministry,  or  of  main- 
taining the  supremacy  of  a  particular 
?arty,  is  a  new  feature  in  our  history, 
t  is  an  experiment  which  the  nation 
ought  not  to  tolerate  for  a  single 
moment ;  and  which  I  am  satisfied  it 
will  not  tolerate,  when  the  schemes 
of  its  authors  are  laid  bare. 

I  believe,  Provost,  I  am  right  in 
assuming  that  there  has  been  no  de- 
cided movement  in  favour  of  a  New 
Parliamentary  Reform  Bill,  either  in 
Dreepdaily  or  in  any  of  the  other 
burghs  with  which  you  are  connected. 
The  electors  are  well  satisfied  with 
the  operation  of  the  ten-pound  clause, 
which  excludes  from  the  franchise  no 
man  of  decent  ability  and  industry, 
whilst  it  secures  property  from  those 
direct  inroads  which  would  be  the 
inevitable  result  of  a  system  of  uni- 
versal suffrage.  Also,  I  suppose,  you 
are  reasonably  indifferent  on  the  sub- 
jects of  Vote  by  Ballot  and  Triennial 
Parliaments,  and  that  you  view  the 
idea  of  annual  ones  with  undisguised 


reprobation.     Difference  of  opinion 
undoubtedly  may  exist  on  some  of 
these  points:  an  eight-pound  quali- 
fication may  have  its  advocates,  and 
the  right  of  secret  voting  may  be  con- 
venient for  members  of  the  clique; 
but,  on  the  whole,  you  are  satisfied 
with  matters  as  they  are  ;  and,  cer- 
tainly, I  do  not  see  that  you  have  any 
grievance  to  complain  of.    If  I  were 
a  member  of  the  Liberal  party,  I 
should    be  very   sorry  to    see    any 
change  of  the  representation  made  in 
Scotland.      Just    observe   how   the 
matter  stands.    At  the  commence- 
ment of  the  present  year  the  whole 
representation  of  the  Scottish  burghs 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  Liberal  party. 
Since  then,  it  is  true,  Falkirk  has 
changed  sides ;  but  you  are  still  re- 
markably well  off;  and  I  think  that 
out  of  thirty  county  members,  eighteen 
may  be  set  down  as  supporters  of  the 
Free-trade  policy.    Remember,  I  do 
not  guarantee    the    continuance    of 
these  proportions :  I  wish  you  simply 
to  observe  how  you  stand  at  present, 
under  the  working  of  your  own  Re- 
form Bill ;  and  really  it  appears  to  me 
that  nothing  could  be  more  satisfac- 
tory.    The  Liberal  who  wishes  to 
have  more  men  of  his  own  kidney 
from  Scotland  must  indeed  be  an  un- 
conscionable glutton ;  and  if,  in  the 
face  of  these  facts,  he  asks  for  a  re- 
form in  the  representation,  I  cannot 
set  him  down  as  other  than  a  con- 
summate ass.    He  must  needs  admit 
that  the  system    has  worked  well. 
Scotland  sends  to  the  support  of  the 
Whig  Ministry,  and  the  maintenance 
of   progressive  opinions,   a  brilliant 
phalanx  of  senators ;  amongst  whom 
we  point,  with  justifiable  pride,  to 
the  distinguished  names  of  Anderson, 
Bouverie,     Ewart,    Hume,    Smith, 
M'Taggart,    and   M'Gregor.       Are 
these  gentlemen  not  liberal  enough 
for  the  wants  of  the  present  age? 
Why,  unless  I  am  most  egregiously 
mistaken — and  not  I  only,  but  the 
whole  of  the  Liberal  press  in  Scot- 
land— they  are  generally  regarded  as 
decidedly  ahead  even  of  my  Lord  John 
Russell.      Why,  then,   should  your 
representation  be  reformed,  while  it 
bears  such  admirable  fruit?     With 
such  a  growth  of  golden  pippins  on 
its  boughs,  would  it  not  be  madness 
to  cut  down  the  tree,  on  the  mere 


293 


Disfranchisement 


chance  of  another  arising  from  the 
stump,  more  especially  when  you 
cannot  hope  to  gather  from  it  a  more 
abundant  harvest  ?  I  am  quite  sure, 
Provost,  that  you  agree  with  me  in 
this.  You  have  nothing  to  gain,  but 
possibly  a  good  deal  to  lose,  by  any 
alteration  which  may  be  made  ;  and 
therefore  it  is,  I  presume,  that  in  this 
part  of  the  world  not  the  slightest 
wish  has  been  manifested  for  a  radi- 
cal change  of  the  system.  That  very 
conceited  and  shallow  individual,  Sir 
Joshua  Walmsley,  made  not  long 
ago  a  kind  of  agitating  tour  through 
Scotland,  for  the  purpose  of  getting 
up  the  steam  ;  but  except  from  a  few 
unhappy  Chartists,  whose  sentiments 
on  the  subject  of  property  are  iden- 
tically the  same  with  those  professed 
by  the  gentlemen  who  plundered  the 
Glasgow  tradesmen's  shops  in  1818, 
he  met  with  no  manner  of  encourage- 
ment. The  electors  laughed  in  the 
face  of  this  ridiculous  caricature  of 
Peter  the  Hermit,  and  advised  him, 
instead  of  exposing  his  ignorance  in 
the  north,  to  go  back  to  Bolton 
and  occupy  himself  with  his  own 
affairs. 

This  much  I  have  said  touching 
the  necessity  or  call  for  a  new  Re- 
form Bill,  which  is  likely  enough  to 
involve  us,  for  a  considerable  period 
at  least,  in  unfortunate  political  strife. 
I  have  put  it  to  you  as  a  Liberal,  but 
at  the  same  time  as  a  man  of  common 
sense  and  honesty,  whether  there  are 
any  circumstances,  under  your  know- 
ledge, which  can  justify  such  an 
attempt ;  and  in  the  absence  of  these, 
you  cannot  but  admit  that  such  an 
experiment  is  eminently  dangerous 
at  the  present  time,  and  ought  to  be 
strongly  discountenanced  by  all  men, 
whatever  may  be  their  kind  of  political 
opinions.  I  speak  now  without  any 
reference  whatever  to  the  details.  It 
may  certainly  be  possible  to  discover 
a  better  system  of  representation  than 
that  which  afpresent^exists.  I  never 
regarded  Lord  John  "Russell  as  the 
living  incarnation  of  Minerva,  nor 
can  I  consider  any  measure  originated 
by  him  as  conveying  an  assurance 
that  the  highest  amount  of  human 
wisdom  has  been  exhausted  in  its 
preparation.  But  what  I  do  say  is 
this,  that  in  the  absence  of  anything 
like  general  demand,  and  failing  the 


of  the  Boroughs.  [Sept, 

allegation  of  any  marked  grievance 
to  be  redressed,  no  Ministry  is  en- 
titled to  propose  an  extensive  or 
organic  change  in  the  representation 
of  the  country ;  and  the  men  who 
shall  venture  upon  such  a  step  must 
render  themselves  liable  to  the  impu- 
tation of  being  actuated  by  other 
motives  than  regard  to  the  public 
welfare. 

You  will,  however,  be  slow  to 
believe  that  Lord  John  Russell  is 
moving  in  this  matter  without  some 
special  reason.  In  this  you  are  per- 
fectly right.  He  has  a  reason,  and  a 
very  cogent  one,  but  not  such  a  rea- 
son as  you,  if  you  are  truly  a  Liberal, 
and  not  a  mere  partisan,  can  accept. 
I  presume  it  is  the  wish  of  the  Liberal 
party — at  least  it  used  to  be  their 
watchword — that  public  opinion  in 
this  country  is  not  to  be  slighted 
or  suppressed.  With  the  view  of 
giving  full  effect  to  that  public  opinion, 
not  of  securing  the  supremacy  of  this 
or  that  political  alliance,  the  Reform 
Act  was  framed  ;  it  being  the  declared 
object  and  intention  of  its  founders  that 
a  full,  fair,  and  free  representation 
should  be  secured  to  the  people  of 
this  country.  The  property  qualifica- 
tion was  fixed  at  a  low  rate ;  the 
balance  of  power  as  between  counties 
and  boroughs  was  carefully  adjusted; 
and  every  precaution  was  taken — at 
least  so  we  were  told  at  the  time — that 
no  one  great  interest  of  the  State 
should  be  allowed  unduly  to  predomi- 
nate over  another.  Many,  however, 
were  of  opinion  at  the  time,  and  have 
since  seen  no  reason  to  alter  it,  that 
the  adjustment  then  made,  as  between 
counties  and  boroughs,  was  by  no 
means  equitable,  and  that  an  undue 
share  in  the  representation  was  given 
to  the  latter,  more  especially  in  Eng- 
land. That,  you  will  observe,  was  a. 
Conservative,  not  a  Liberal  objection  ; 
and  it  was  over-ruled.  Well,  thenr 
did  the  Representation,  as  fixed  by 
the  Reform  Bill,  fulfil  its  primary 
condition  ?  You  thought  so  ;  and  so 
did  my  Lord  John  Russell,  until  some 
twelve  months  ago,  when  a  new  light 
dawned  upon  him.  That  light  has 
since  increased  in  intensity,  and  he 
now  sees  his  way,  clearly  enough,  to 
a  new  organic  measure.  Why  is 
this?  Simply,  my  dear  Provost, 
because  the  English  boroughs  will  no- 


1851.] 


Disfranchiscment  of  the  Boroughs. 


longer  support  him  in  his  bungling 
legislation,  or  countenance  his  un- 
uational  policy ! 

Public  opinion,  as  represented 
through  the  operation  of  the  Reform 
Act,  is  no  longer  favourable  to  Lord 
John  Russell.  The  result  of  recent 
elections,  in  places  which  were  for- 
merly considered  as  the  strongholds 
of  Whiggery,  have  demonstrated  to 
him  that  the  Free -trade  policy,  to 
which  he  is  irretrievably  pledged,  has 
become  obnoxious  to  the  bulk  of  the 
electors,  and  that  they  will  no  longer 
accord  their  support  to  any  Ministry 
which  is  bent  upon  depressing  British 
labour  and  sapping  the  foundations  of 
national  prosperity.  So  Lord  John 
Russell,  finding  himself  in  this  position, 
that  he  must  either  get  rid  of  public 
opinion  or  resign  his  place,  sets  about 
the  concoction  of  a  new  Reform  Bill, 
by  means  of  which  he  hopes  to  swamp 
the  present  electoral  body!  This  is 
Whig  liberty  iirits  pure  and  original 
form.  It  implies,  of  course,  that  the 
Reform  Bill  did  not  give  a  full,  fair, 
and  free  representation  to  the  country, 
else  there  can  be  no  excuse  for  alter- 
ing its  provisions.  If  we  really  have 
a  fair  representation  ;  and  if,  notwith- 
standing, the  majority  of  the  electors 
are  convinced  that  Free  Trade  is  not 
for  their  benefit,  it  does  appear  to  me 
a  most  monstrous  thing  that  they  are 
to  be  coerced  into  receiving  it  by 
the  infusion  of  a  new  element  into  the 
Constitution,  or  a  forcible  change  in 
the  distribution  of  the  electoral  power, 
to  suit  the  commercial  views  which 
are  in  favour  with  the  Whig  party. 
It  is,  in  short,  a  most  circuitous 
method  of  exercising  despotic  power ; 
and  I,  for  one,  having  the  interests  of 
the  country  at  heart,  would  much 
prefer  the  institution  at  once  of  a  pure 
despotism,  and  submit  to  be  ruled  and 
taxed  henceforward  at  the  sweet  will 
of  the  scion  of  the  house  of  Russell. 

I  do  not  know  what  your  individual 
sentiments  may  be  on  the  subject  of 
Free  Trade  ;  but  whether  you  are  for 
it  or  against  it,  my  argument  remains 
the  same.  It  is  essentially  a  question 
for  the  solution  of  the  electoral  body ; 
and  if  the  Whigs  are  right  in  their 
averment  that  its  operation  hitherto 
has  been  attended  with  marked  suc- 
cess, and  has  even  transcended  the 
expectation  of  its  promoters,  you 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXI. 


299 

may  rely  upon  it  that  there  is  no 
power  in  the  British  Empire  which  can 
overthrow  it.  No  Protectionist  ra- 
vings can  damage  a  system  which  has 
been  productive  of  real  advantage  to 
the  great  bulk  of  the  people.  But  if, 
on  the  contrary,  it  is  a  bad  system,  is 
it  to  be  endured  that  any  man  or 
body  of  men  shall  attempt  to  perpe- 
tuate it  against  the  will  of  the  majo- 
rity of  the  electors,  by  a  change  in 
the  representation  of  the  country  ? 
I  ask  you  this  as  a  Liberal.  Without 
having  any  undue  diffidence  in  the 
soundness  of  your  OAVH  judgment,  I 
presume  you  dp  not,  like  his  Holiness 
the  Pope,  consider  yourself  infallible, 
or  entitled  to  coerce  others  who  may 
differ  from  you  in  opinion.  Yet  this 
is  precisely  what  Lord  John  Russell 
is  now  attempting  to  do  ;  and  I  warn 
you  and  others  who  are  similarly 
situated,  to  be  wise  in  time,  and  to 
take  care  lest,  under  the  operation  of 
this  new  Reform  Bill,  you  are  not 
stripped  of  that  political  power  and 
those  political  privileges  which  at 
present  you  enjoy. 

Don't  suppose  that  I  am  speaking 
rashly  or  without  consideration.  All 
I  know  touching  this  new  Reform 
Bill,  is  derived  from  the  arguments 
and  proposals  which  have  been  ad- 
vanced and  made  by  the  Liberal  press 
in  consequence  of  the  late  indications 
of  public  feeling,  as  manifested  by 
the  result  of  recent  elections.  It  is 
rather  remarkable  that  we  heard  few 
or  no  proposals  for  an  alteration  in 
the  electoral  system,  until  it  became 
apparent  that  the  voice  of  the  boroughs 
could  no  longer  be  depended  on  for 
the  maintenance  of  the  present  com- 
mercial policy.  You  may  recollect 
that  the  earliest  of  the  victories  which 
were  achieved  by  the  Protectionists, 
with  respect  to  vacant  seats  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  were  treated 
lightly  by  their  opponents  as  mere 
casualties ;  but  when  borough  after 
borough  deliberately  renounced  its 
adherence  to  the  cause  of  the  League, 
and,  not  unfrequently  under  circum- 
stances of  very  marked  significance, 
declared  openly  in  favour  of  Protec- 
tion, the  matter  became  serious.  It 
was  then,  and  then  only,  that  we 
heard  the  necessity  for  some  new  and 
sweeping  change  in  the  representation 
of  this  country  broadly  asserted  ;  and, 


Disf ranch  isement  of  the  Boroughs. 


300 

singularly  enough,  the  advocates  of 
that  change  do  not  attempt  to  dis- 
guise their  motives.  They  do  not 
venture  to  say  that  the  intelligence  of 
the  country  is  not  adequately  repre- 
sented at  present — what  they  complain 
of  is,  that  the  intelligence  of  the 
country  is  becoming  every  day  more 
hostile  to  their  commercial  theories. 
In  short,  they  want  to  get  rid  of  that 
intelligence,  and  must  get  rid  of  it 
speedily,  unless  their  system  is  to 
crumble  to  pieces.  Such  is  their  aim 
and  declared  object ;  and  if  you  en- 
tertain any  doubts  on  the  matter,  I 
beg  leave  to  refer  you  to  the  recorded 
sentiments  of  the  leading  Ministerial 
and  Free -trade  organ — the  Times.  It 
is  always  instructive  to  notice  the 
hints  of  the  Thunderer.  The  writers 
in  that  journal  are  fully  alive  to  the 
nature  of  the  coming  crisis.  They 
have  been  long  aware  of  the  reaction 
which  has  taken  place  throughout  the 
country  on  the  subject  of  Free  Trade, 
and  they  recognise  distinctly  the  peril 
in  which  their  favourite  principle  is 
placed,  if  some  violent  means  are  not 
used  to  counteract  the  conviction  of 
the  electoral  body.  They  see  that, 
in  the  event  of  a  general  election,  the 
constituencies  of  the  Empire  are  not 
likely  to  return  a  verdict  hostile  to 
the  domestic  interests  of  the  country. 
They  have  watched  with  careful  and 
anxious  eyes  the  turning  tide  of 
opinion ;  and  they  can  devise  no 
means  of  arresting  it,  without  having 
recourse  to  that  peculiar  mode  of 
manipulation,  which  is  dignified  by  the 
name  of  Burking.  Let  us  hear  what 
they  say  so  late  as  the  21st  of  July 
last. 

"  With  such  a  prospect  before  us,  with 
unknown  struggles  and  unprecedented 
collisions  within  the  bounds  of  possibility, 
there  is  only  one  resource,  and  we  must 
say  that  Her  Majesty's  present  advisers 
will  be  answerable  for  the  consequences 
if  they  do  not  adopt  it.  They  must  lay 
the  foundation  of  an  appeal  to  the  people 
with  a  large  and  liberal  measure  of 
Parliamentary  reform.  It  is  high  time 
that  this  great  country  should  cease  to 
quake  and  to  quail  at  the  decisions  of  stupid 
and  corrupt  little  constituencies,  of  whom, 
as  in  the  case  before  us,  it  would  take 
thirty  to  make  one  metropolitan  borough. 
The  great  question  always  before  the 
nation  in  one  shape  or  another  is — 
whether  the  people  are  as  happy  as  laws 


[Sept. 


can  make  them  ?  To  what  sort  of  consti- 
tuencies shall  we  appeal  for  the  answer 
to  this  question  ?  To  Harwich  with  its 
population  of  3370;  to  St  Albans  with 
its  population  of  6246;  to  Scarborough 
with  its  population  of  9953  ;  to  Knares- 
borough  with  its  population  of  5382;  and 
to  a  score  other  places  still  more  insigni- 
ficant ?  Or  shall  we  insist  on  the  appeal 
being  made  to  much  larger  bodies  1  The 
average  population  of  boroughs  and 
counties  is  more  than  60,000.  Is  it  not 
high  time  to  require  that  no  single 
borough  shall  fall  below  half  or  a  third 
of  that  number  ?  " 

The  meaning  of  this  is  clear  enough. 
It  points,  if  not  to  the  absolute  an- 
nihilation, most  certainly  to  the  con- 
cretion of  the  smaller  boroughs 
throughout  England  —  to  an  entire 
remarshalling  of  the  electoral  ranks — 
and,  above  all,  to  an  enormous  in- 
crease in  the  representation  of  the 
larger  cities.  In  this  way,  you  see, 
local  interests  will  be  made  almost 
entirely  to  disappear ;  and  London 
alone  will  secure  almost  as  many 
representatives  in  Parliament  as  are 
at  the  present  time  returned  for  the 
whole  kingdom  of  Scotland.  Now,  I 
confess  to  you,  Provost,  that  I  do  not 
feel  greatly  exhilarated  at  the  pro- 
spect of  any  such  change.  I  believe 
that  the  prosperity  of  Great  Britain 
depends  upon  the  maintenance  of 
many  interests,  and  I  cannot  see  how 
that  can  be  secured  if  we  are  to  de- 
liver over  the  whole  political  power 
to  the  masses  congregated  within  the 
towns.  Moreover,  I  would  very 
humbly  remark,  that  past  experience 
is  little  calculated  to  increase  the 
measure  of  our  faith  in  the  wisdom  or 
judgment  of  large  constituencies.  I 
may  be  wrong  in  my  estimate  of  the 
talent  and  abilities  of  the  several 
honourable  members  who  at  present 
sit  for  London  and  the  adjacent  dis- 
tricts ;  but,  if  so,  I  am  only  one  out 
of  many  who  labour  under  a  similar 
delusion.  We  are  told  by  the  Times 
to  look  to  Marylebone  as  an  example 
of  a  large  and  enlightened  constitu- 
ency. I  obey  the  mandate  ;  and  on 
referring  to  the  Parliamentary  Com- 
panion, I  find  that  Marylebone 
is  represented  by  Lord  Dudley  Stuart 
and  Sir  Benjamin  Hall.  That  fact 
does  not,  in  my  humble  opinion, 
furnish  a  conclusive  argument  in 
favour  of  large  constituencies.  As  I 


1851.] 


Disfranchisement  of  the  Boroughs. 


•wish  to  avoid  the  Jew  question,  I 
shall  say  nothing  about  Baron  Roths- 
child ;  but  passing  over  to  the  Tower 
Hamlets,  I  find  them  in  possession  of 
Thomson  and  Clay ;  Lambeth  re- 
joicing in  d'Eyncourt  and  Williams  ; 
and  Southwark  in  Humphrey  and 
Molesworth.  Capable  senators  though 
these  may  be,  I  should  not  like  to 
see  a  Parliament  composed  entirely 
of  men  of  their  kidney  ;  nor  do  I  think 
that  they  afford  undoubted  materials 
for  the  construction  of  a  new  Cabinet. 
But  perhaps  I  am  undervaluing  the 
abilities  of  these  gentlemen  ;  perhaps 
I  am  doing  injustice  to  the  discretion 
and  wisdom  of  the  metropolitan  con- 
stituencies. Anxious  to  avoid  any 
such  imputation,  I  shall  again  invoke 
the  assistance  of  the  Times,  whom  I 
now  cite  as  a  witness,  and  a  very 
powerful  one,  upon  my  side  of  the 
question.  Let  us  hear  the  Thunderer 
on  the  subject  of  these  same  metro- 
politan constituencies,  just  twelve 
months  ago,  before  Scarborough  and 
Knaresborough  had  disgraced  them- 
selves by  returning  Protectionists  to 
Parliament.  I  quote  from  a  leader  in 
the  Times  of  8th  August  1850,  refer- 
ring to  the  Lambeth  election,  when 
Mr  Williams  was  returned. 

"  When  it  was  proposed  some  twenty 
years  ago  to  extend  the  franchise  to  the 
metropolitan  boroughs,  the  presumption 
was,  that  the  quality  of  the  representa- 
tives would  bear  something  like  a  pro- 
portion to  the  importance  of  the  consti- 
tuencies called  into  play.  In  other  words, 
if  the  political  axioms  from  which  the 
principle  of  an  extended  representation  is 
deduced  have  any  foundation  in  reality, 
it  should  follow  that  the  most  numerous 
and  most  intelligent  bodies  of  electors 
would  return  to  Parliament  members  of 
the  highest  mark  for  character  and  capa- 
city. Now,  looking  at  the  condition  of 
the  metropolitan  representation  as  it 
stands  at  present,  or  as  it  has  stood  any 
time  since  the  passing  of  the  Reform  Bill, 
has  this  expectation  been  fulfilled  ?  Lord 
John  Russell,  the  First  Minister  of  the 
Crown,  sits,  indeed,  as  member  for  the 
city  of  London,  and  so  far  it  is  well. 
Whatever  difference  of  opinion  may  exist 
as  to  the  noble  lord's  capacity  for  go- 
vernment, or  whatever  may  be  the  views 
of  this  or  that  political  party,  it  is  beyond 
all  dispute  that,  in  such  a  case  as  this, 
there  is  dignity  and  fitness  in  the  relation 
between  the  member  and  the  constituency. 
But,  setting  aside  this  one  solitary  in- 


301 


stance,  with  what  metropolitan  borough 
is  the  name  of  any  very  eminent  English- 
man associated  at  the  present  time  ?  It  is 
of  course  as  contrary  to  our  inclination 
as  it  would  be  unnecessary  for  the  pur- 
poses of  the  argument,  to  quote  this  or  that 
man's  name  as  an  actual  illustration  of  the 
failure  of  a  system,  or  of  the  decadence 
of  a  constituency.  We  would,  however, 
without  any  invidious  or  offensive  person- 
ality, invite  attention  to  the  present  list 
of  metropolitan  members,  and  ask  what 
name  is  to  be  found  among  them,  with 
the  single  exception  we  have  named, 
which  is  borne  by  a  man  with  a  shadow 
of  a  pretension  to  be  reckoned  as  among 
the  leading  Englishmen  of  the  age  ?  " 

You  see,  Provost,  I  am  by  no 
means  singular  in  my  estimate  of  the 
quality  of  the  metropolitan  represen- 
tatives. The  Times  is  with  me,  or 
was  with  me  twelve  months  ago ;  and 
I  suppose  it  will  hardly  be  averred 
that,  since  that  time,  any  enormous 
increase  of  wisdom  or  of  ability  has 
been  manifested  by  the  gentlemen  re- 
ferred to.  But  there  is  rather  more 
than  this.  In  the  article  from  which 
I  am  quoting,  the  writer  does  not  con- 
fine his  strictures  simply  to  the  metro- 
politan boroughs.  He  goes  a  great  deal 
further,  for  he  attacks  large  constitu- 
encies in  the  mass,  and  points  out 
very  well  and  forcibly  the  evils  which 
must  inevitably  follow  should  these 
obtain  an  accession  to  their  power. 
Read,  mark,  and  perpend  the  follow- 
ing paragraphs,  and  then  reconcile 
their  tenor — if  you  can — with  the  later 
proposals  from  the  same  quarter  for 
the  general  suppression  of  small  con- 
stituencies, and  the  establishment  of 
larger  tribunals  of  public  opinion. 

"  Lambeth,  then,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
present  election,  is  likely  to  become  an- 
other illustration  of  the  downward  ten- 
dencies of  the  metropolitan  constituencies. 
We  use  the  word  e  tendency'  advisedly, 
for  matters  are  worse  than  they  have 
been,  and  we  can  perceive  no  symptom  of 
a  turning  tide.  Let  us  leave  the  names 
of  individuals  aside,  and  simply  consider 
the  metropolitan  members  as  a  body,  and 
what  is  their  main  employment  in  the 
House  of  Commons  ?  Is  it  not  mainly  to 
represent  the  selfish  interests  and  blind  pre- 
judices of  the  less  patriotic  or  less  enlight- 
ened portion  of  their  constituents  whenever 
any  change  is  proposed  manifestly  for  the 
public  benefit  ?  Looking  at  their  votes, 
one  would  suppose  a  metropolitan  mem- 


DisfrancMsement  of  the  Boroughs. 


302 


her  to  be  rather  a  Parliamentary  agent 
of  the  drovers,  and  sextons,  and  under- 
takers, than  a  representative  of  one  of 
the  most  important  constituencies  in  the 
kingdom.  Is  this  downward  progress  of 
the  metropplitan  representation  to  re- 
main unchanged  ?  Will  it  be  extended  to 
other  constituencies  as  soon  as  they  shall 
be  brought  under  conditions  analogous  to 
those  under  which  the  metropolitan  elec- 
tors exercise  the  franchise  ?  The  ques- 
tion is  of  no  small  interest.  Whether  the 
fault  be  with  the  electors,  or  with  those 
who  should  have  the  nerve  to  come  for- 
ward and  demand  their  suffrages,  matters 
not  for  the  purposes  of  the  argument. 
The  fact  remains  unaltered.  Supposing 
England  throughout  its  area  were  repre- 
sented as  the  various  boroughs  of  the  me- 
tropolis are  represented  at  the  present 
time,  what  would  be  the  effect  ?  That  is 
the  point  for  consideration.  It  may  well 
be  that  men  of  higher  character,  and  of 
more  distinguished  intellectual  qualifica- 
tions, would  readily  attract  the  sympathies 
und  secure  the  votes  of  these  constituen- 
cies ;  but  what  does  their  absence  prove  ? 
Simply  that  the  same  feeling  ofumvilling- 
ness  to  face  large  electoral  bodies,  which  is 
said  to  prevail  in  the  United  titates,is  gra- 
dually rising  up  in  this  country.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  we  are  told  by 
all  who  know  the  country  best,  that  the 
most  distinguished  citizens  shrink  from 
stepping  forward  on  the  arena  of  public 
life,  lest  they  be  made  the  mark  for  ca- 
lumny and  abuse.  It  would  require  more 
space  than  we  can  devote  to  the  subject 
to  point  out  the  correlative  shortcomings 
of  the  constituencies  and  the  candidates  ; 
but,  leaving  these  aside,  we  cannot  but  ar- 
rive at  the  conclusion  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  the  constitution  of  these  great  elec- 
toral masses  which  renders  a  peaceful  ma- 
jority little  better  than  a  passive  instrument 
in  the  hands  of  a  turbulent  minority,  and 
affords  an  explanation  of  the  fact  that 
such  a  person  as  Mr  Williams  should 
aspire  to  represent  the  borough  of  Lam- 
beth." 

What  do  you  think  of  that,  Pro- 
vost, by  way  of  an  argument  in  fa- 
vour of  large  constituencies  ?  I  agree 
with  every  word  of  it.  I  believe,  in 
common  with  the  eloquent  writer, 
that  matters  are  growing  worse  in- 
stead of  better,  and  that  there  is 
something  radically  wrong  in  the  con- 
stitution of  these  great  electoral 
masses.  I  believe  that  they  do  not 
represent  the  real  intelligence  of  the 
Hectors,  and  that  they  are  liable  to 
all  those  objections  which  are  here 
so  well  and  forcibly  urged.  It  is 


[Sept. 


not  necessary  to  travel  quite  so  far 
as  London  for  an  illustration.  Look 
at  Glasgow.  Have  the  twelve  thou- 
sand and  odd  electors  of  that  great 
commercial  and  manufacturing  city 
covered  themselves  with  undying 
glory  by  their  choice  of  their  present 
representatives?  Is  the  intelligence 
of  the  first  commercial  city  in  Scot- 
land really  embodied  in  the  person  of 
Mr  M'Gregor  ?  I  should  be  very  loth 
to  think  so.  Far  be  it  from  me  to 
impugn  the  propriety  of  any  parti- 
cular choice,  or  to  speculate  upon 
coming  events;  but  I  cannot  help 
wondering  whether,  in  the  event  of 
the  suppression  of  some  of  the  smaller 
burghs,  and  the  transference  of  their 
power  to  the  larger  cities,  it  may  come 
to  pass  that  the  city  of  St  Mungo 
shall  be  represented  by  the  wisdom 
of  six  M'Gregors?  I  repeat,  that  I 
wish  to  say  nothing  in  disparagement 
of  large  urban  constituencies,  or  of 
their  choice  in  any  one  particular 
case — I  simply  desire  to  draw  your 
attention  to  the  fact,  that  we  are  not 
indebted  to  such  constituencies  for 
returning  the  men  who,  by  common 
consent,  are  admitted  to  be  the  most 
valuable  members,  in  point  of  talent, 
ability,  and  business  habits,  in  the 
House  of  Commons.  How  far  we 
should  improve  the  character  of  our 
legislative  assembly,  by  disfranchising 
smaller  constituencies,  and  transfer- 
ring their  privileges  to  the  larger  ones, 
— open  to  such  serious  objections  as 
have  been  urged  against  them  by  the 
Times,  a  journal  not  likely  to  err  on  the 
side  of  undervaluing  popular  opinion — 
appears  to  me  a  question  decidedly 
open  to  discussion  ;  and  I  hope  that 
it  will  be  discussed,  pretty  broadly 
and  extensively,  before  any  active 
steps  are  taken  for  suppressing 
boroughs  which  are  not  open  to  the 
charge  of  rank  venality  and  corrup- 
tion. 

The  Times,  you  observe,  talks  in 
its  more  recent  article,  in  which 
totally  opposite  views  are  advocated, 
of  "  stupid  and  corrupt  little  consti- 
tuencies." This  is  a  clever  way  of 
mixing  up  two  distinct  and  separate 
matters.  We  all  know  what  is  meant 
by  corruption,  and  I  hope  none  of  us 
are  in  favour  of  it.  It  means  the 
purchase,  either  by  money  or  pro- 
mises, of  the  suffrages  of  those  who 


1851.]  Disfranchisement 

are  intrusted  with  the  electoral 
franchise  ;  and  I  am  quite  ready  to 
join  with  the  Times  in  the  most 
hearty  denunciation  of  such  villauous 
practices,  whether  used  by  Jew  or 
Gentile.  It  may  be,  and  probably  is, 
impossible  to  prevent  bribery  alto- 
gether, for  there  are  scoundrels  in  all 
constituencies;  and  if  a  candidate 
with  a  long  purse  is  so  lax  in  his 
morals  as  to  hint  at  the  purchase  of 
votes,  he  is  tolerably  certain  to  find  a 
market  in  which  these  commodities 
are  sold.  But  if,  in  any  case,  gene- 
ral corruption  can  be  proved  against 
a  borough,  it  ought  to  be  forthwith 
disfranchised,  and  declared  unworthy 
of  exercising  so  important  a  public 
privilege.  But  of  the  "stupidity"  of 
constituencies,  who  are  to  be  the 
judges?  Not,  I  hope,  the  Areo- 
pagites  of  the  Times,  else  we  may 
expect  to  see  every  constituency 
which  does  not  pronounce  in  favour 
of  Free  Trade,  placed  under  the 
general  extinguisher!  Scarborough, 
with  some  seven  or  eight  hundred 
electors — a  good  many  more,  by  the 
way,  than  are  on  the  roll  for  the 
Dreepdaily  burghs  —  has,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  Times,  stultified  itself 
for  ever  by  returning  Mr  George  F. 
Young  to  Parliament,  instead  of  a 
Whig  lordling,  who  possessed  great 
local  influence.  Therefore  Scar- 
borough is  put  down  in  the  black  list, 
not  because  it  is  "  corrupt,"  but  be- 
cause it  is  "  stupid,"  in  having  elected 
a  gentleman  of  the  highest  political 
celebrity,  who  is  at  the  same  time 
one  of  the  most  extensive  shipowners 
of  Great  Britain  !  I  put  it  to  you, 
Provost,  whether  this  is  not  as  cool 
an  instance  of  audacity  as  you  ever 
heard  of.  What  would  you  think 
if  it  were  openly  proposed,  upon 
our  side,  to  disfranchise  Green- 
wich, because  the  tea-and- shrimp 
population  of  that  virtuous  town  has 
committed  the  stupid  act  of  returning 
a  Jew  to  Parliament  ?  If  stupidity  is 
to  go  for  anything  in  the  way  of  can- 
celling privileges,  I  think  I  could 
name  to  you  some  half-dozen  places 
on  this  side  of  the  border  which  are 
in  evident  danger,  at  least  if  we  are 
to  accept  the  attainments  of  the 
representatives  as  any  test  of  the 
mental  acquirements  of  the  electors; 
but  perhaps  it  is  better  to  avoid 


of  the  Boroughs.  303- 

particulars  in  a  matter  so  personal 
and  delicate. 

I  am  not  in  the  least  degree  sur- 
prised to  find  the  Free-Traders  turn- 
ing round  against  the  boroughs.  Four 
years  ago,  you  would  certainly  have 
laughed  in  the  face  of  any  one  who 
might  have  prophesied  such  a  result ; 
but  since  then,  times  have  altered. 
The  grand  experiment  upon  native 
industry  has  been  made,  and  allowed 
to  go  on  without  check  or  impedi- 
ment. The  Free-Traders  have  had 
it  all  their  own  way;  and  if  there  had 
been  one  iota  of  truth  in  their  state- 
ments, or  if  their  calculations  had- 
been  based  upon  secure  and  rational 
data,  they  must  long  ago  have 
achieved  a  complete  moral  triumph. 
Pray,  remember  what  they  told  us. 
They  said  that  Free  Trade  in  corn 
and  in  cattle  would  not  permanently 
lower  the  value  of  agricultural  pro- 
duce in  Britain — it  would  only  steady 
prices,  and  prevent  extreme  fluctu- 
ations. Then,  again,  we  were  assured- 
that  large  imports  from  any  part  of 
the  world  could  not  by  possibility 
be  obtained ;  and  those  consummate 
blockheads,  the  statists,  oifered  to 
prove  by  figures,  that  a  deluge  of 
foreign  grain  was  as  impossible  as  an 
overflow  of  the  Mediterranean.  I 
need  not  tell  you  that  the  results  have- 
entirely  falsified  such  predictions, 
and  that  the  agricultural  interest  has- 
ever  since  been  suffering  under  the 
effects  of  unexampled  depression.. 
No  man  denies  that.  The  stiffest 
stickler  for  the  cheap  loaf  does  not 
venture  now  to  assert  that  agricul- 
ture is  a  profitable  profession  in 
Britain;  all  he  can  do  is  to  recommend 
economy,  and  to  utter  a  hypocritical* 
prayer,  that  the  prosperity  which  he 
assumes  to  exist  in  other  quarters 
may,  at  no  distant  date,  and  through 
some  mysterious  process  which  he 
cannot  specify,  extend  itself  to  the 
suffering  millions  who  depend  for 
their  subsistence  on  the  produce  of  the 
soil  of  Britain,  and  who  pay  by  far 
the  largest  share  of  the  taxes  and' 
burdens  of  the  kingdom. 

Now,  it  is  perfectly  obvious  that 
agricultural  distress,  by  which  I  mean 
the  continuance  of  a  range  of  un re- 
munerative prices,  cannot  long  prevail 
in  any  district,  without  affecting  the 
traffic  of  the  towns.  You,  who  arc. 


Disfranchisement  of  the  Boroughs. 


00  i 

an  extensive  retail  -mercharitin  Dreep- 
daily,  know  well  that  the  business  of 
your  own  trade  depends  in  a  great 
degree  upon  the  state  of  the  produce 
markets.  So  long  as  the  farmer  is 
thriving,  he  buys  from  you  and  your 
neighbours  liberally,  and  you  find 
him,  I  have  no  doubt,  your  best  and 
steadiest  customer.  But  if  you  re- 
verse his  circumstances,  you  must 
look  for  a  corresponding  change  in 
his  dealings.  He  cannot  afford  to 
purchase  silks  for  his  wife  and 
daughters,  as  formerly;  he  grows 
penurious  in  his  own  personal  expen- 
diture, and  denies  himself  every  un- 
necessary luxury;  he  does  nothing 
for  the  good  of  trade,  and  is  impas- 
sable to  all  the  temptations  which 
you  endeavour  to  throw  in  his  way. 
To  post  your  ledger  is  now  no  very 
difficult  task.  You  find  last  year's 
stock  remaining  steadily  on  your 
hands ;  and  when  the  season  for  the 
annual  visit  of  the  bagmen  comes 
round,  you  dismiss  them  from  your  pre- 
mises without  gratifying  their  avidity 
by  an  order.  This  is  a  faithful  picture 
of  what  has  been  going  on  for  two 
years,  at  least,  in  the  smaller  inland 
boroughs.  No  doubt  you  are  getting 
your  bread  cheap;  but  those  whose 
importations  have  brought  about  that 
cheapness,  never  were,  and  never  can 
be,  customers  of  yours.  Even  sup- 
posing that  they  were  to  take  goods 
in  exchange  for  their  imported  grain, 
no  profit  or  custom  could  accrue  to 
the  retail  shopkeeper,  who  must 
necessarily  look  to  the  people  around 
him  for  the  consumption  of  his  wares. 
In  this  way  trade  has  been  made  to 
stagnate,  and  profits  have  of  course 
declined,  until  the  tradesmen,  weary 
of  awaiting  the  advent  of  a  prosperity 
which  never  arrives,  have  come  to 
the  conclusion,  that  they  will  best 
consult  their  interest  by  giving  their 
support  to  a  policy  the  reverse  of  that 
which  has  crippled  the  great  body  of 
their  customers. 

Watering- places,  and  towns  of 
fashionable  resort,  have  suffered  in  a 
like  degree.  The  gentry,  whose  rents 
have  been  most  seriously  affected  by 
the  unnatural  diminution  of  prices, 
are  compelled  to  curtail  their  expen- 
diture, and  to  deny  themselves  many 
things  which  formerly  would  have 
been  esteemed  legitimate  indulgences. 


[Sept. 

Economy  is  the  order  of  the  day  : 
equipages  are  given  up,  servants  dis- 
missed, and  old  furniture  made  to  last 
beyond  its  appointed  time.  These 
things,  I  most  freely  admit,  are  no 
great  hardships  to  the  gentry  ;  nor  do 
I  intend  to  awaken  your  compassion 
in  behalf  of  the  squire,  who,  by  reason 
of  his  contracted  rent-roll,  has  been 
compelled  to  part  with  his  carriage  and 
a  couple  of  footmen,  and  to  refuse  his 
wife  and  daughters  the  pleasure  of  a 
trip  to  Cheltenham.  The  hardship 
lies  elsewhere.  I  pity  the  footmen, 
the  coach-builder,  the  upholsterer, 
the  house  proprietor  in  Cheltenham, 
and  all  the  other  people  to  whom  the 
surplus  of  the  squire's  revenue  found 
its  way,  much  more  than  the  old 
gentleman  himself.  I  daresay  he  is 
quite  as  happy  at  home — perhaps  far 
happier — than  if  he  were  compelled 
to  racket  elsewhere ;  and  sure  I  am 
that  he  will  not  consume  his  dinner 
with  less  appetite  because  he  lacks 
the  attendance  of  a  couple  of  knaves, 
with  heads  like  full-blown  cauliflowers. 
But  is  it  consistent  with  the  workings 
of  human  nature  to  expect  that  the 
people  to  whom  he  formerly  gave 
employment  and  custom,  let  us  say 
to  the  extent  of  a  couple  of  thousand 
pounds,  can  be  gratified  by  the  cessa- 
tion of  that  expenditure? — or  is  it 
possible  to  suppose  that  they  will 
remain  enamoured  of  a  system  which 
has  caused  them  so  heavy  a  loss? 
View  the  subject  in  this  light,  and 
you  can  have  no  difficulty  in  under- 
standing why  this  formidable  reaction 
has  taken  place  in  the  English 
boroughs.  It  is  simply  a  question  of 
the  pocket  ;  and  the  electors  now 
see,  that  unless  the  boroughs  are  to 
be  left  to  rapid  decay,  something  must 
be  done  to  protect  and  foster  that 
industry  upon  which  they  all  depend. 
Such  facts,  which  are  open  and  patent 
to  every  man's  experience,  and  tell 
upon  his  income  and  expenditure,  are 
worth  whole  cargoes  of  theory.  What 
reason  has  the  trader,  whose  stock  is 
remaining  unsold  upon  his  hands,  to 
plume  himself,  because  he  is  assured 
by  Mr  Porter,  or  some  other  similar 
authority,  that  some  hundred  thousand 
additional  yards  of  flimsy  calico  have 
been  shipped  from  the  British  shores 
in  the  course  of  the  last  twelvemonths? 
So  far  as  the  shopkeeper  is  concerned, 


1851.]  Disfrandiisement 

the  author  of  the  Progress  of  the  Nation 
might  as  well  have  been  reporting  upon 
the  traffic-tables  of  Tyre  and  Sidon. 
He  is  not  even  assured  that  all  this 
export  has  been  accompanied  with  a 
profit  to  the  manufacturer.  If  he 
reads  the  Economist,  he  will  find  that 
exhilarating  print  filled  with  com- 
plaints of  general  distress  and  want 
of  demand  ;  he  will  be  startled  from 
time  to  time  by  the  announcement 
that  in  some  places,  such  as  Dundee, 
trade  has  experienced  a  most  decided 
check ;  or  that  in  others,  such  as 
Nottingham  and  Leicester,  the  opera- 
tives are  applying  by  hundreds  for 
admission  to  the  workhouse  !  Com- 
fortable intelligence  this,  alongside  of 
increasing  exports  !  But  he  has  been 
taught,  to  borrow  a  phrase  from  the 
writings  of  the  late  John  Gait,  to 
look  upon  your  political  arithmetician 
as  "  a  mystery  shrouded  by  a  halo ;" 
and  he  supposes  that,  somehow  or 
other,  somebody  must  be  the  gainer 
by  all  these  exports,  though  it  seems 
clearly  impossible  to  specify  the 
fortunate  individual.  However,  this 
he  knows,  to  his  cost  any  time  these 
three  years  back,  that  he  has  not  been 
the  gainer ;  and,  as  he  opines  very 
justly  that  charity  begins  at  home, 
and  that  the  man  who  neglects  the 
interest  of  his  own  family  is  rather 
worse  than  a  heathen,  he  has  made 
up  his  mind  to  support  such  candi- 
dates only  as  will  stand  by  British 
industry,  and  protect  him  by  means 
of  protecting  others.  As  for  the  men 
of  the  maritime  boroughs — a  large  and 
influential  class — I  need  not  touch 
upon  their  feelings  or  sentiments 
with  regard  to  Free  Trade.  I  observe 
that  the  Liberal  press,  with  peculiar 
taste  and  felicity  of  expression,  de- 
signates them  by  the  generic  term  of 
"  crimps,"  just  as  it  used  to  compli- 
ment the  whole  agriculturists  of 
Britain  by  the  comprehensive  appella- 
tion of  "  chawbacons."  I  trust  they 
feel  the  compliment  so  delicately  con- 
veyed ;  but,  after  all,  it  matters  little. 
Hard  words  break  no  bones  ;  and,  in 
the  mean  time  at  least,  the  vote  of  a 
u  crimp"  is  quite  as  good  as  that  of 
the  concocter  of  a  paragraph. 

Perhaps  now  you  understand  why 
the  Free-Traders  are  so  wroth  against 
the  boroughs.  They  expected  to 
play  off  the  latter  against  the  county 


of  the  Boroughs.  305 

constituencies;  and,  being  disap- 
pointed in  that,  they  want  to  swamp 
them  altogether.  This,  I  must  own, 
strikes  me  as  particularly  unfair.  Let 
it  be  granted  that  a  large  number  of 
the  smaller  boroughs  did,  at  the  last 
general  election,  manifest  a  decided 
wish  that  the  Free  Trade  experiment, 
then  begun,  should  be  allowed  a  fair 
trial ;  are  they  to  be  held  so  pledged 
to  that  commercial  system,  that, 
however  disastrous  may  have  been 
its  results,  they  are  not  entitled  to 
alter  their  minds  ?  Are  all  the  repre- 
sentations, promises,  and  prophecies 
of  the  leading  advocates  of  Free 
Trade,  to  be  set  aside  as  if  these 
were  never  uttered  or  written  ?  Who 
were  the  cozeners  in  this  case? 
Clearly  the  men  who  boasted  of  the 
enormous  advantages  which  were 
immediately  to  arise  from  their  policy 
— advantages  whereof,  up  to  the  pre- 
sent moment,  not  a  single  glimpse  has 
been  vouchsafed.  Free  Trade,  we 
were  distinctly  told,  was  to  benefit 
the  boroughs.  Free  Trade  has  done 
nothing  of  the  kind  ;  on  the  contrary, 
it  has  reduced  their  business  and 
loAvered  their  importance.  And  now, 
when  this  effect  has  become  so  plain 
and  undeniable  that  the  very  men 
who  subscribed  to  the  funds  of  the 
League,  and  who  were  foremost  in 
defending  the  conduct  of  the  late  Sir 
Robert  Peel,  are  sending  Protec- 
tionists to  Parliament,  it  is  calmly 
proposed  to  neutralise  their  conver- 
sion by  depriving  them  of  political 
power ! 

Under  the  circumstances,  I  do  not 
know  that  the  Free-Traders  could  have 
hit  upon  a  happier  scheme.  The  grand 
tendency  of  their  system  is  centralisa- 
tion. They  want  to  drive  everything 
— paupers  alone  excepted,  if  they 
could  by  possibility  compass  that  for- 
tunate immunity  —  into  the  larger 
towns,  which  are  the  seats  of  export 
manufacture,  and  to  leave  the  rest  of 
the  population  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves. You  see  how  they  have  suc- 
ceeded in  Ireland,  by  the  reports  of 
the  last  census.  They  are  doing  the 
same  thing  in  Scotland,  as  we  shall 
ere  long  discover  to  our  cost;  and, 
indeed,  the  process  is  going  on  slowly, 
but  surely,  throughout  the  whole  of  the 
British  islands.  I  chanced  the  other 
day  to  light  upon  a  passage  in  a  very 


SO  6  Disfranchisement 

dreary  article  in  the  last  number  of 
the  Edinburgh  Review,  which  seems  to 
me  to  embody  the  chief  economical 
doctrines  of  the  gentlemen  to  whom 
we  are  indebted  for  the  present  pos- 
ture of  affairs.  It  is  as  follows  :  — 

"  The  common  watchword,  or  cuckoo- 
note  of  the  advocates  of  restriction  in 
affah's  of  trade  is,  '  Protection  to  Native 
Industry.'  In  the  principle  fairly  in- 
volved in  this  motto  we  cordially  agree. 
We  are  as  anxious  as  the  most  vehement 
advocate  for  high  import  duties  on  foreign 
products  can  be,  that  the  industry  of  our 
fellow-countrymen  should  be  protected(I) 
We  only  differ  as  to  the  means.  Their 
theory  of  protection  is  to  guard  against 
competition  those  branches  of  industry 
which,  without  such  extraneous  help, 
could  never  be  successfully  pursued  : 
ours,  is  that  of  enlarging,  to  the  uttermost, 
those  other  branches  for  the  prosecution 
of  which  our  countrymen  possess  the 
greatest  aptitude,  and  of  thereby  secur- 
ing for  their  skill  and  capital  the  greatest 
return.  This  protection  is  best  afforded 
by  governments  when  they  leave,  with- 
out interference,  the  productive  industry 
of  the  country  to  find  its  true  level  ;  for 
we  may  be  certain  that  the  interest  of 
individuals  will  alwayslead  them  to  prefer 
those  pursuits  which  they  find  most  gain- 
ful. There  is,  in  fact,  no  mode  of  inter- 
ference with  entire  freedom  of  action 
which  must  not  be,  in  some  degree,  hurt- 
ful ;  but  the  mischief  which  folloics  upon 
legislation  in  a/airs  of  trade,  in  any  yiven 
country,  is  then  most  noxious  when  it  tends 
to  foster  branches  of  industry  for  ivhich 
other  countries  have  a  greater  aptitude." 


^  will,  I  think,  find  some  diffi- 
culty in  discovering  the  protective 
principle  enunciated  by  this  sagacious 
scribe,  who,  like  many  others  of  his 
limited  calibre,  is  fain  to  take  refuge 
in  nonsense  when  he  cannot  extricate 
his  meaning.  You  may  also,  very 
reasonably,  entertain  doubts  whether 
the  protective  theory,  which  our  friend 
of  the  Blue  and  Yellow  puts  into  the 
mouth  of  his  opponents,  was  ever 
entertained  or  promulgated  by  any 
rational  being,  at  least  in  the  broad 
sense  which  he  wishes  to  imply.  The 
true  protective  theory  has  reference  to 
the  State  burdens,  which,  in  so  far  as 
they  are  exacted  from  the  produce  of 
native  industry,  or,  in  other  words, 
from  labour,  we  wish  to  sec  counter- 
balanced by  a  fair  import-duty,  which 
shall  reduce  the  foreign  and  the  native 
producer  to  an  equality  in  the  home 


of  the  Boroughs.  [Sept. 

market.  When  the  reviewer  talks  of 
the  non-interference  of  Government 
with  regard  to  the  productive  industry 
of  the  country,  he  altogether  omits 
mention  of  that  most  stringent  inter- 
ference which  is  the  direct  result  of 
taxation.  If  the  farmer  were  allowed 
to  till  the  ground,  to  sow  the  seed, 
and  to  reap  the  harvest,  without  any 
interference  from  Government,  then  I 
admit  at  once  that  a  demand  for  pro- 
tection would  be  preposterous.  But 
when  Government  requires  him  to  pay 
income-tax,  assessed  taxes,  church  and 
poor-rates,  besides  other  direct  bur- 
dens, out  of  the  fruit  of  his  industry — 
when  it  prevents  him  from  growing  on 
his  own  land  several  kinds  of  crop, 
in  order  that  the  customs  revenue 
may  be  maintained — when  it  taxes 
indirectly  his  tea,  coffee,  wines,  spirits, 
tobacco,  soap,  and  spiceries — then  I 
say  that  Government  does  interfere, 
and  that  most  unmercifully,  with  the 
productive  industry  of  the  country. 
Just  suppose  that,  by  recurring  to  a 
primitive  method  of  taxation,  the 
Government  should  lay  claim  to  one- 
third  of  the  proceeds  of  every  crop, 
and  instruct  its  emissaries  to  remove 
it  from  the  ground  before  another  acre 
should  be  reaped — would  that  not 
constitute  interference  in  the  eyes  of 
the  sapient  reviewer?  Well,  then, 
since  all  taxes  must  ultimately  be  paid 
out  of  produce,  what  difference  does 
the  mere  method  of  levying  the  bur- 
den make  with  regard  to  the  burden 
itself?  I  call  your  attention  to  this 
point,  because  the  Free-Traders  in- 
variably, but  I  fear  wilfully,  omit  all 
mention  of  artificial  taxation  when 
they  talk  of  artificial  restrictions. 
They  want  you  to  believe  that  we, 
who  maintain  the  opposite  view,  seek 
to  establish  an  entire  monopoly  in- 
Great  Britain  of  all  kinds  of  possible 
produce  ;  and  they  are  in  the  habit  of 
putting  asinine  queries  as  to  the  pro- 
priety of  raising  the  duties  on  foreign 
wine,  so  as  to  encourage  the  establish- 
ment of  vineyards  in  Kent  and  Sus- 
sex, and  also' as  to  the  proper  protec- 
tive duty  which  should  be  levied  on 
pine-apples,  in  order  that  a  due  stimu- 
lus may  be  given  to  the  cultivation  of 
that  luscious  fruit.  But  these  funny  fel- 
lows take  especial  care  never  to  hint  to- 
you  that  protection  is  anchvas  demand- 
ed simply  on  account  of  the  enormous 


1851.] 


Dlsfranchisement  of  the  Boroughs. 


307 


nature  of  our  imposts,  which  have  the 
effect  of  raising  the  rates  of  labour. 
It  is  in  this  way,  and  no  other,  that 
agriculture,  deprived  of  protection, 
but  still  subjected  to  taxation,  has 
become  an  unremunerative  branch  of 
industry;  and  you  observe  how  calmly 
the  disciple  of  Ricardo  condemns  it  to 
destruction.  "  The  mischief,"  quoth 
he,  "  which  follows  upon  legislation 
in  affairs  of  trade,  in  any  given 
country,  is  then  most  noxious  when 
it  tends  to  foster  branches  of  industry 
for  which  other  countries  have  a 
greater  aptitude."  So,  then,  having 
taxed  agriculture  to  that  point  when 
it  can  no  longer  bear  the  burden,  we 
are,  for  the  future,  to  draw  our  sup- 
plies from  "  other  countries  which 
have  a  greater  aptitude  "  for  growing 
corn  ;  that  aptitude  consisting  in  their 
comparative  immunity  from  taxation, 
and  in  the  degraded  moral  and  social 
condition  of  the  serfs  who  constitute 
the  tillers  of  the  soil !  We  are  to 
give  up  cultivation,  and  apply  our- 
selves to  the  task  "  of  enlarging  to 
the  uttermost  those  other  branches, 
for  the  prosecution  of  which  our 
countrymen  possess  the  greatest  apti- 
tude " — by  which,  I  presume,  is  meant 
the  manufacture  of  cotton-twist ! 

Now,  then,  consider  for  a  moment 
what  is  the  natural,  nay,  the  inevi- 
table effect  of  this  narrowing  of  the 
range  of  employment.  I  shall  not 
start  the  important  point  whether  the 
concentration  of  labour  does  not  tend 
to  lower  wages— Ishall  merely  assume, 
what  is  indeed  already  abundantly  es- 
tablished by  facts,  that  the  depression 
of  agriculture  in  any  district  leads  al- 
most immediately  to  a  large  increase 
in  the  population  of  the  greater  towns. 
Places  like  Dreepdaily  may  remain  sta- 
tionary, but  they  do  not  receive  any 
material  increment  to  their  population. 
You  have,  I  believe,  no  export  trade, 
at  least  very  little,  beyond  the  manu- 
facture of  an  ingenious  description  of 
snuff-box,  justly  prized  by  those  who 
are  in  the  habit  of  stimulating  their 
nostrils.  The  displaced  stream  of 
labour  passes  through  you,  but  does 
not  tarry  with  you— it  rolls  on  towards 
Paisley  and  Glasgow,  where  it  is 
absorbed  in  the  living  ocean.  Year 
after  year  the  same  process  is  carried 
on.  The  older  people,  probably  be- 
cause it  is  not  worth  while  at  their 


years  to  attempt  a  change,  tarry  in 
their  little  villages  and  cots,  and  gra- 
dually acquire  that  appearance  of 
utter  apathy,  which  is  perhaps  the 
saddest  aspect  of  humanity.  The 
younger  people,  finding  no  employ- 
ment at  home,  repair  to  the  towns, 
marry  or  do  worse,  and  propa- 
gate children  for  the  service  of  the 
factories  which  are  dedicated  to  the 
export  trade.  Of  education  they  re- 
ceive little  or  nothing ;  for  they  must 
be  in  attendance  on  their  gaunt  iron 
master  during  the  whole  of  their 
waking  hours ;  and  religion  seeks  after 
them  in  vain.  What  wonder,  then, 
if  the  condition  of  our  operatives 
should  be  such  as  to  suggest  to- 
thinking  minds  very  serious  doubts 
whether  our  boasted  civilisation  can 
be  regarded  in  the  light  of  a  blessing? 
Certain  it  is  that  the  bulk  of  these 
classes  are  neither  better  nor  happier 
than  their  forefathers.  Nay,  if  there 
be  any  truth  in  evidence — any  reality 
in  the  appalling  accounts  which  reach 
us  from  the  heart  of  the  towns,  there 
exists  an  amount  of  crime,  misery, 
drunkenness,  and  profligacy,  which  is- 
unknown  even  among  savages  and 
heathen  nations.  Were  we  to  recall 
from  the  four  ends  of  the  earth  all 
the  missionaries  who  have  been  des- 
patched from  the  various  churches, 
they  would  find  more  than  sufficient 
work  ready  for  them  at  home.  Well- 
meaning  men  project  sanitary  im- 
provements, as  if  these  could  avail  to 
counteract  the  moral  poison.  New 
churches  are  built ;  new  schools  are 
founded  ;  public  baths  are  subscribed 
for,  and  public  washing-houses  are- 
opened  ;  the  old  rookeries  are  pulled 
down,  and  light  and  air  admitted  to 
the  heart  of  the  cities — but  the  heart 
of  the  people  is  not  changed  ;  and 
neither  air  nor  water,  nor  religious 
warning,  has  the  effect  of  checking 
crime,  eradicating  intemperance,  or 
teaching  man  the  duty  which  he  owes! 
to  himself,  his  brethren,  and  his  God 
This  is  an  awful  picture,  but  it  is  a 
true  one  ;  and  it  well  becomes  us  to 
consider  why  these  things  should  be. 
There  is  no  lukewarmness  on  the  sub- 
ject exhibited  in  any  quarter.  The- 
evil  is  universally  acknowledged,  and 
every  one  would  be  ready  to  contri- 
bute to  alleviate  it,  could  a  proper 
remedy  be  suggested.  It  is  not  ray 


Disfranchisement  of  the  Boroughs. 


308 

province  to  suggest  remedies  ;  but  it 
does  appear  to  me  that  the  original 
fault  is  to  be  found  in  the  system 
which  has  caused  this  unnatural  pres- 
sure of  our  population  into  the  towns. 
I  am  aware  that  in  saying  this,  I  am 
impugning  the  leading  doctrines  of 
modern  political  economy.  I  am 
aware  that  I  am  uttering  what  will 
be  considered  by  many  as  a  rank 
political  heresy  ;  still,  not  having  the 
fear  of  fire  and  fagot  before  my  eyes, 
I  shall  use  the  liberty  of  speech.  It 
appears  to  me  that  the  system  which 
has  been  more  or  less  adopted  since 
the  days  of  MrHuskisson,  of  suppress- 
ing small  trades  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  foreign  importation,  and  of 
stimulating  export  manufactures  to 
the  uttermost,  has  proved  very  per- 
nicious to  the  morals  and  the  social 
condition  of  the  people.  The  termi- 
nation of  the  war  found  us  with  a 
large  population,  and.  with  an  enor- 
mous debt.  If,  on  the  one  hand,  it 
was  for  the  advantage  of  the  coun- 
try that  commerce  should  progress 
with  rapid  strides,  and  that  our 
foreign  trade  should  be  augmented, 
it  was,  on  the  other,  no  less  necessary 
that  due  regard  should  be  had  for  the 
former  occupations  of  the  people,  and 
that  no  great  and  violent  displace- 
ments of  labour  should  be  occasioned, 
by  fiscal  relaxations  which  might 
have  the  effect  of  supplanting  home 
industry  by  foreign  produce  in  the 
British  market.  The  mistake  of  the 
political  economists  lies  in  their  ob- 
stinate determination  to  enforce  a 
principle,  which  in  the  abstract  is 
not  only  unobjectionable  but  unchal- 
lenged, without  any  regard  whatever 
to  the  peculiar  and  pecuniary  circum- 
stances of  the  country.  They  will 
not  look  at  what  has  gone  before,  in 
order  to  determine  their  line  of  con- 
duct in  any  particular  case.  They 
admit  of  no  exceptions.  They  start 
with  their  axiom  that  trade  ought  to 
be- free,  and  they  will  not  listen  to 
any  argument  founded  upon  special 
circumstances  in  opposition  to  that 
doctrine.  Xow,  this  is  not  the  way 
in  which  men  have  been,  or  ever  can 
be,  governed.  They  must  be  dealt 
with  as  rational  beings,  not  regarded 
as  mere  senseless  machinery,  which 
may  be  treated  as  lumber,  and  cast 
aside  to  make  way  for  some  new 


[Sept. 


improvement.  Look  at  the  case  of 
our  own  Highlanders.  We  know 
very  well  that,  from  the  commence- 
ment of  the  American  war,  it  was 
considered  by  the  British  Govern- 
ment an  important  object  to  maintain 
the  population  of  the  Highlands,  as 
the  source  from  which  they  drew 
their  hardiest  and  most  serviceable 
recruits.  So  long  as  the  manufacture 
of  kelp  existed,  and  the  breeding  of 
cattle  was  profitable,  there  was  little 
difficulty  in  doing  this ;  now,  under 
this  new  commercial  system,  we  are 
told  that  the  population  is  infinitely 
too  large  for  the  natural  resources  of 
the  country ;  we  are  shocked  by 
accounts  of  periodical  famine,  and  of 
deaths  occurring  from  starvation ; 
and  our  economists  declare  that  there 
is  no  remedy  except  a  general  emi- 
gration of  the  inhabitants.  This  is 
the  extreme  case  in  Great  Britain ; 
but  extreme  cases  often  furnish  us 
with  the  best  tests  of  the  operation 
of  a  particular  system.  Here  you 
have  a  population  fostered  for  an 
especial  purpose,  and  abandoned  so 
soon  as  that  special  purpose  has  been 
served.  Without  maintaining  that 
the  Gael  is  the  most  industrious  of 
mankind,  it  strikes  me  forcibly  that 
it  would  be  a  better  national  policy 
to  give  every  reasonable  encourag- 
ment  to  the  development  of  the 
natural  resources  of  that  portion  of 
the  British  islands,  than  to  pursue  the 
opposite  system,  and  to  reduce  the 
Highlands  to  a  wilderness.  Not  so 
think  the  political  economists.  They 
can  derive  their  supplies  cheaper 
from  elsewhere,  at  the  hands  of 
strangers  who  contribute  no  share 
whatever  to  the  national  revenue ; 
and  for  the  sake  of  that  cheapness 
they  are  content  to  reduce  thousands 
of  their  countrymen  to  beggary. 
But  emigration  cannot,  and  will  not, 
be  carried  out  to  an  extent  at  all 
equal  to  the  necessity  which  is  en- 
gendered by  the  cessation  of  employ- 
ment. The  towns  become  the  great 
centre-points  and  recipients  of  the 
displaced  population  ;  and  so  cen- 
tralisation goes  on,  and,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  pauperism  and  crime  increase. 
To  render  this  system  perpetual, 
without  any  regard  to  ultimate  con- 
sequences, is  the  leading  object  of  the 
Free- Traders.  Not  converted,  but 


1851.]  Disfranchisement 

on  the  contrary  rendered  more  invete- 
rate by  the  failure  of  their  schemes, 
they  are  determined  to  allow  no  con- 
sideration whatever  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  their  purpose ;  and  of  this  you 
have  a  splendid  instance  in  their  late 
denunciation  of  the  boroughs.  They 
think— whether  rightfully  or  wrong- 
fully, it  is  not  now  necessary  to 
inquire — that,  by  altering  the  pro- 
portions of  Parliamentary  power  as 
established  by  the  Reform  Act — 
by  taking  away  from  the  smaller 
boroughs,  and  by  adding  to  the 
urban  constituencies,  they  will  still 
be  able  to  command  a  majority  in 
the  House  of  Commons.  In  the  pre- 
sent temper  of  the  nation,  and  so 
long  as  its  voice  is  expressed  as  here- 
tofore, they  know,  feel,  and  admit 
that  their  policy  is  not  secure.  And 
why  is  it  not  secure  ?  Simply  because 
it  has  undergone  the  test  of  experi- 
ence— because  it  has  had  a  fair  trial 
in  the  sight  of  the  nation — and  be- 
cause it  has  not  succeeded  in  realising 
the  expectations  of  its  founders. 

I  have  ventured  to  throw  together 
these  few  crude  remarks  for  your  con- 
sideration during  the  recess,  being 
quite  satisfied  that  you  will  not  feel 
indifferent  upon  any  subject  which 
touches  the  dignity,  status,  or  privi- 
leges of  the  boroughs.  Whether  Lord 
John  Russell  agrees  with  the  Times  as 
to  the  mode  of  effecting  the  threatened 


of  the  Boroughs.  309 

Parliamentary  change,  or  whether 
he  has  some  separate  scheme  of  his 
own,  is  a  question  which  I  cannot 
solve.  Possibly  he  has  not  yet  made 
up  his  mind  as  to  the  course  which  it 
may  be  most  advisable  to  pursue ; 
for,  in  the  absence  of  anything  like 
general  excitement  or  agitation,  it  is 
not  easy  to  predict  in  what  manner 
the  proposal  for  any  sweeping  or 
organic  change  may  be  received  by 
the  constituencies  of  the  Empire. 
There  is  far  too  much  truth  in  the 
observations  which  I  have  already 
quoted  from  the  great  leading  journal, 
relative  to  the  dangers  which  must 
attend  an  increase  of  constituencies 
already  too  large,  or  a  further  exten- 
sion of  their  power,  to  permit  of  our 
considering  this  as  a  light  and  unim- 
portant matter.  I  view  it  as  a  very 
serious  one  indeed ;  and  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  Lord  John  Russell  has 
committed  an  act  of  gross  and  unjus- 
tifiable rashness,  in  pledging  himself, 
at  the  present  time,  to  undertake  a  re- 
modelment  of  the  constitution.  But 
whatever  he  does,  I  hope,  for  his  own 
sake,  and  for  the  credit  of  the  Liberal 
party,  that  he  will  be  able  to  assign 
some  better  and  more  constitutional 
reason  for  the  change,  than  the  refusal 
of  the  English  boroughs  to  bear  arms 
in  the  crusade  which  is  directed 
against  the  interests  of  Native  Indus- 
try. 


310 


Pan's  in  1851. 


[Sept. 


PARIS  IN  1851. — (Continued.) 


THE  OPERA.  —  In  the  evening  I 
•went  to  the  French  Operar  which  is 
still  one  of  the  lions  of  Paris.  It  was 
once  in  the  Rue  Richelieu ;  but  the 
atrocious  assassination  of  the  Due  tie 
Berri,  who  was  stabbed  in  its  porch, 
threw  a  kind  of  horror  over  the  spot : 
the  theatre  was  closed,  and  the  per- 
formance moved  to  its  present  site  in 
the  Rue  Lspelleticr,  a  street  diverging 
from  the  Boulevard. 

Fond  as  the  French  are  of  decora- 
tion, the  architecture  of  this  building 
possesses  no  peculiar  beauty,  and 
would  answer  equally  well  for  a  sub- 
stantial public  hospital,  a  workhouse, 
or  a  barrack,  if  the  latter  were  not  the 
more  readily  suggested  by  the  gen- 
darmerie loitering  about  the  doors, 
and  the  mounted  dragoons  at  either 
end  of  the  street. 

The  passages  of  the  interior  are  of 
the  same  character — spacious  and 
substantial ;  but  the  door  of  the  salie 
opens,  and  the  stranger,  at  a  single 
step,  enters  from  those  murky  pas- 
sages into  all  the  magic  of  a  crowded 
theatre.  The  French  have,  within 
these  few  years,  borrowed  from  us  the 
art  of  lighting  theatres.  I  recollect 
the  French  theatre  lighted  only  by 
a  few  lamps  scattered  round  the 
house,  or  a  chandelier  in  the  middle, 
which  might  have  figured  in  the  crypt 
of  a  cathedral.  This  they  excused, 
as  giving  greater  effect  to  the  stage  ; 
but  it  threw  the  audience  into  utter 
gloom.  They  have  now  made  the 
audience  a  part  of  the  picture,  and 
an  indispensable  part.  The  opera- 
house  now  shows  the  audience  ;  and 
if  not  very  dressy,  or  rather  as  dowdy, 
odd,  and  dishevelled  a  crowd  as  I  ever 
recollect  to  have  seen  within  thea- 
trical walls,  yet  they  are  evidently 
human  beings,  which  is  much  more 
picturesque  than  masses  of  spectres, 
seen  oidy  by  an  occasional  Hash  from 
the  stage. 

The  French  architects  certainly 
have  not  made  this  national  edifice 
grand  ;  but  they  have  made  it  a  much 
better  thing, — lively,  showy,  and  rich. 
Neither  majestic  and  monotonous, 
nor  grand  and  Gothic,  they  have 
made  it  riant  and  racy,  like  a  place 


where  men  and  women  come  to  be 
happy,  where  beautiful  dancers  are 
to  be  seen,  and  where  sweet  songs  are 
to  be  heard,  and  where  the  mind  is 
for  three  or  four  hours  to  forget  all 
its  cares,  and  to  carry  away  pleasant 
recollections  for  the  time  being.  From 
pit  to  ceiling  it  is  covered  with  paint- 
ings— all  sorts  of  cupids,  nymphs,  and 
flower-garlands,  and  Greek  urns — 
none  of  them  wonders  of  the  pencil, 
but  all  exhibiting  that  showy  me- 
diocrity of  which  every  Frenchman 
is  capable,  and  with  which  every 
Frenchman  is  in  raptures.  All  looks 
rich,  warm,  and  operatic. 

One  characteristic  change  has 
struck  me  everywhere  in  Paris — the 
men  dress  better,  and  the  women 
worse.  When  I  was  last  here,  the 
men  dressed  half  bandit  and  half  Hot- 
tentot. The  revolutionary  mystery 
was  at  work,  and  the  hatred  of  the 
Bourbons  was  emblematised  in  a  co- 
nical hat,  a  loose  neckcloth,  tremen- 
dous trousers,  and  the  scowl  of  a  stage 
conspirator.  The  Parisian  men  have 
since  learned  the  decencies  of  dress. 

As  I  entered  the  house  before  the 
rising  of  the  curtain,  I  had  leisure  to 
look  about  me,  and  I  found  even  in 
the  audience  a  strong  contrast  to 
those  of  London.  By  that  kind  of 
contradiction  to  everything  rational 
and  English  which  governs  the  Pari- 
sian, the  women  seem  to  choose  dis- 
habille for  the  Opera. 

As  the  house  was  crowded,  and  the 
boxes  are  let  high,  and  the  perform- 
ance of  the  night  was  popular,  I 
might  presume  that  some  of  the  elite 
were  present,  yet  I  never  saw  so 
many  ill-dressed  women  under  one 
roof.  Bonnets,  shawls,  muffles  of  all 
kinds,  were  the  costume.  How  differ- 
ent from  the  finish,  the  splendour, 
and  the  fashion  of  the  English  opera- 
box.  I  saw  hundreds  of  women  who 
appeared,  by  their  dress,  scarcely 
above  the  rank  of  shopkeepers,  yet 
who  probably  were  among  the  Pari- 
sian leaders  of  fashion,  if  in  repub- 
lican Paris  there  are  any  leaders  of 
fashion. 

But  I  came  to  be  interested,  to  en- 
joy, to  indulge  in  a  feast  of  music  and 


1851.]  Paris  in 

acting;  with  no  fastidiousness  of  cri- 
ticism, and  with  every  inclination  to 
be  gratified.  In  the  opera  itself  I  was 
utterly  disappointed.  The  Opera  was 
Zerline,  or,  The  Basket  of  Oranges. 
The  composer  was  the  first  living 
musician  of  France,  Auber  ;  the  writer 
was  the  most  popular  dramatist  of  his 
day,  Scribe ;  the  Piima  Donna  wras 
Alboni,  to  whom  the  manager  of  the 
Opera  in  London  had  not  thought  it 
too  much  to  give  £4000  for  a  single 
season.  I  never  paid  my  francs  with 
more  willing  expectation :  and  I  never 
saw  a  performance  of  which  I  so  soon 
got  weary. 

The  plot  is  singularly  trifling.  Zer- 
line, an  orange-girl  of  Palermo,  has 
had  a  daughter  by  Boccanera,  a  man 
of  rank,  who  afterwards  becomes 
Viceroy  of  Sicily.  Zerline  is  captured 
by  pirates,  and  carried  to  Algiers. 
The  opera  opens  with  her  return  to 
Palermo,  after  so  many  years  that 
her  daughter  is  grown  up  to  woman- 
hood ;  and  Boccanera  is  emerged  into 
public  life,  and  has  gradually  became 
an  officer  of  state. 

The  commencing  scene  has  all  the 
animation  of  the  French  picturesque. 
The  Port  of  Palermo  is  before  the 
spectator  ;  the  location  is  the  Fruit 
Market.  Masses  of  fruits,  with  smart 
peasantry  to  take  care  of  them,  cover 
the  front  of  the  stage.  The  back- 
ground is  filled  up  with  Lazzaroui 
tying  on  the  ground,  sleeping,  or  eat- 
ing macaroni.  The  Prince  Boccanera 
comes  from  the  palace ;  the  crowd 
observe  '  Son  air  sombre  ; '  the  Prince 
sings — 

"  On  a  most  unlucky  day, 
Satan  threw  her  in  my  way  ; 
I  the  princess  took  to  wife, 
Now  the  torture  of  my  life,"  &c. 

After  this  matrimonial  confession, 
which  extends  to  details,  the  prime 
minister  tells  us  of  his  love  still  exist- 
ing for  Zerline,  whose  daughter  he 
has  educated  under  the  name  of  niece, 
and  who  is  now  the  Princess  Gemma, 
and  about  to  be  married  to  a  court 
noble. 

A  ship  approaches  the  harbour; 
Boccanera  disappears ;  the  Lazzaroni 
hasten  to  discharge  the  cargo.  Zer- 
line lands  from  the  vessel,  and  sings  a 
cavatina  in  praise  of  Palermo  : — 

"  O  Palerme  !  O  Sicile  ! 
Beau  ciel,  plaine  fertile  !" 


1851. 


311 


Zerline  is  a  dealer  in  oranges,  and 
she  lands  her  cargo,  placing  it  in  the 
market.  The  original  tenants  of  the 
place  dispute  her  right  to  come  among 
them,  and  are  about  to  expel  her  by 
force,  when  a  marine  officer,  Rodolf, 
takes  her  part,  and,  drawing  his 
sword,  puts  the  whole  crowd  to  flight. 
Zerliiie,  moved  by  this  instance  of  he- 
roism, tells  him  her  stoiy,  that  she 
was  coming  "  un  beau  matin  "  to  the 
city  to  sell  oranges,  when  a  pitiless 
corsair  captured  her,  and  carried  her 
to  Africa,  separating  her  from  her 
child,  whom  she  had  not  seen  for  fif- 
teen years  ;  that  she  escaped  to 
Malta,  laid  in  a  stock  of  oranges  there; 
— and  thus  the  events  of  the  day  occur- 
red. Rodolf,  this  young  hero,  is  cos- 
tumed in  a  tie-wig  with  powder,  stiff 
skirts,  and  the  dress  of  a  century  ago. 
What  tempted  the  author  to  put  not 
merely  his  hero,  but  all  his  court  cha- 
racters, into  the  costume  of  Queen 
Anne,  is  not  easily  conceivable,  as 
there  is  nothing  in  the  story  which 
limits  it  in  point  of  time. 

Zcrlme  looks  after  him  with  sudden 
sympathy,  says  that  she  heard  him 
sigh,  that  he  must  be  unhappy,  and 
that,  if  her  daughter  lives,  he  is  just 
the  husband  for  her, — Zerline  not  hav- 
ing been  particular  as  to  marriage 
herself.  She  then  rambles  about  the 
streets,  singing, 

"  Achetez  mes  belles  oranges, 
Des  fruits  divins,  des  fruits  exquis  ; 
Des  oranges  comme  les  anges 
N'en  goutent  pas  en  Paradis."1"1 

After  this  "  hommage  aux  oranges ! " 
to  the  discredit  of  Paradise,  on  Avhich 
turns  the  plot  of  the  play,  a  succes- 
sion of  maids  of  honour  appear,  clad 
in  the  same  unfortunate  livery  of  far- 
dingales,  enormous  flat  hats,  pow- 
dered wigs,  and  stomachers.  The 
Princess  follows  them,  apparently 
armed  by  her  costume  against  all  the 
assaults  of  Cupid.  But  she,  too,  has  an 
"  affaire  du  coeur"  upon  her  hands.  In 
fact,  from  the  Orangewoman  up  to 
the  Throne,  Cupid  is  the  Lord  of  Pa- 
lermo, with  its  "  beau  ciel,  plaine  fer- 
tile." The  object  of  the  Princess's 
love  is  the  Marquis  de  Buttura,  the 
suitor  of  her  husband's  supposed 
niece.  Here  is  a  complication !  The 
enamoured  wife  receives  a  billet-doux 
from  the  suitor,  proposing  a  meeting 
on  his  return  from  hunting.  She  tears 


312 


Paris  in  1851. 


[Sept. 


the  billet  for  the  purpose  of  conceal- 
ment, and  in  her  emotion  drops  the  frag- 
ments on  the  floor.  That  billet  performs 
an  important  part  in  the  end.  The 
enamoured  lady  buys  an  orange,  and 
gives  a  gold  piece  for  it.  Zerline,  not 
accustomed  to  be  so  well  paid  for  her 
fruit,  begins  to  suspect  this  outrageous 
liberality  ;  and  having  had  experience 
in  these  matters,  picks  up  the  frag- 
ments of  the  letter,  and  gets  into  the 
whole  secret. 

The  plot  proceeds  :  the  daughter 
of  the  orangewoman  now  appears. 
She  is  clad  in  the  same  preposterous 
habiliments.  As  the  niece  of  the  mini- 
ster, she  is  created  a  princess,  (those 
things  are  cheap  in  Italy,)  and  she, 
too,  is  in  love  with  the  officer  in  the 
tie-wig.  She  recognises  the  song  of 
Zerline,"  Achetez  mes  belles  oranges," 
and  sings  the  half  of  it.  On  this,  the 
mother  and  daughter  now  recognise 
each  other.  It  is  impossible  to  go 
further  in  such  a  denouement.  If 
Italian  operas  are  proverbially  silly, 
we  are  to  recollect  that  this  is  not  an 
Italian,  but  a  French  one  ;  and  that 
it  is  by  the  most  popular  comic  writer 
of  France. 

The  marriage  of  Gemma  and  Ro- 
dolf  is  forbidden  by  the  pride  of  the 
King's  sister,  the  wife  of  Boccanera, 
but  Zerline  interposes,  reminds  her  of 
the  orange  affair,  threatens  her  with 
the  discovery  of  the  billet-doux,  and 
finally  makes  her  give  her  consent ; 
and  thus  the  curtain  drops.  I  grew 
tired  of  all  this  insipidity,  and  left 
the  theatre  before  the  catastrophe. 
The  music  seemed  to  me  fitting  for 
the  plot — neither  better  nor  worse  ; 
and  I  made  my  escape  with  right 
good- will  from  the  clamour  and  crash 
of  the  orchestra,  and  from  the  loves 
and  faux  pas  of  the  belles  of  Pa- 
lermo. 

The  Obelisk.— I  strayed  into  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde,  beyond  com- 
parison the  finest  space  in  Paris. 
I  cannot  call  it  a  square,  nor  does 
it  equal  in  animation  the  Boulevard ; 
but  in  the  profusion  of  noble  archi- 
tecture it  has  no  rival  in  Paris,  nor 
in  Europe.  Vive  la  Despotisms ! 
every  inch  of  it  is  owing  to  Monarchy. 
Republics  build  nothing,  if  we  except 
prisons  and  workhouses.  They  are  pro- 
verbially squalid,  bitter,  and  beggarly. 
What  has  America,  with  all  her  boast- 


ing, ever  built,  but  a  warehouse  or  a 
conventicle?  The  Roman  Republic, 
after  seven  hundred  years'  existence, 
remained  a  collection  of  hovels  till  an 
Emperor  faced  them  with  marble.  If 
Athens  exhibited  her  universal  talents 
in  the  splendour  of  her  architecture, 
we  must  recollect  that  Pericles  was 
her  master  through  life  —  as  sub- 
stantially despotic,  by  the  aid  of  the 
populace,  as  an  Asiatic  king  by 
his  guards ;  and  recollect,  also,  that 
an  action  of  damages  was  brought 
against  him  for  "  wasting  the  public 
money  on  the  Parthenon,"  the  glory 
of  Athens  in  every  succeeding  age. 
Louis  Quatorze,  Napoleon,  and  Louis 
Philippe — two  openly,  and  the  third 
secretly,  as  despotic  as  the  Sultan — 
were  the  true  builders  of  Paris. 

As  I  stood  in  the  centre  of  this 
vast  enclosure,  I  was  fully  struck 
with  the  effect  of  scene.  The  sun 
was  sinking  into  a  bed  of  gold  and 
crimson  clouds,  that  threw  their  hue 
over  the  long  line  of  the  Champs 
Elysees.  Before  me  were  the  two 

E-eat  fountains,  and  the  Obelisk  of 
uxor.  The  fountains  had  ceased  to 
play,  from  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
but  still  looked  massive  and  gigantic  ; 
the  obelisk  looked  shapely  and  superb. 
The  gardens  of  the  Tuilleries  were  on 
my  left — deep  dense  masses  of  foliage, 
surmounted  in  the  distance  by  the  tall 
roofs  of  the  old  Palace ;  on  my  right, 
the  verdure  of  the  Champs  Elyse'es, 
with  the  Arc  de  1'Etoile  rising  above 
it,  at  the  end  of  its  long  and  noble 
avenue ;  in  my  front  the  Palace  of 
the  Legislature,  a  chaste  and  elegant 
structure ;  and  behind  me,  glowing 
in  the  sunbeams,  the  Madeleine,  the 
noblest  church — I  think  the  noblest 
edifice,  in  Paris,  and  perhaps  not  sur- 
passed in  beauty  and  grandeur,  for 
its  size,  by  any  place  of  worship  in 
Europe.  The  air  cool  and  sweet  from 
the  foliage,  the  vast  place  almost 
solitary,  and  undisturbed  by  the  cries 
which  are  incessant  in  this  babel 
during  the  day,  yet  with  that  gen- 
tle confusion  of  sounds  which  makes 
the  murmur  and  the  music  of  a  great 
city.  All  was  calm,  noble,  and 
soothing. 

The  obelisk  of  Luxor  which  stands 
in  the  centre  of  the  "  Place,"  is  one 
of  two  Monoliths,  or  pillars  of  a 
single  stone,  which,  with  Cleopatra's 


1851.]  Paris  in  1851. 

Needle,  were  given  by  Mehemet  All 
to  the  French,  at  the  time  when,  by 
their  alliance,  he  expected  to  have 
made  himself  independent.  All  the 
dates  of  Egyptian  antiquities  are  un- 
certain— notwithstanding  Young  and 
his  imitator  Champollion — but  the 
date  assigned  to  this  pillar  is  1550 
years  before  the  Christian  era.  The 
two  obelisks  stood  in  front  of  the 
great  temple  of  Thebes,  now  named 
Luxor,  and  the  hieroglyphics  which 
cover  this  one,  from  top  to  bottom,  are 
supposed  to  relate  the  exploits  and 
incidents  of  the  reign  of  Sesostris. 

It  is  of  red  Syenite  ;  but,  from  time 
and  weather,  it  is  almost  the  colour  of 
limestone.  It  has  an  original  flaw  up 
a  third  of  its  height,  for  which  the 
Egyptian  masons  provided  a  remedy 
by  wedges,  and  the  summit  is  slightly 
broken.  The  height  of  the  monolith 
is  seventy-two  feet  three  inches, 
which  would  look  insignificant,  fixed 
as  it  is  in  the  centre  of  lofty  build- 
ings, but  for  its  being  raised  on  a 
plinth  of  granite,  and  that  again 
raised  on  a  pedestal  of  immense 
blocks  of  granite — the  height  of  the 
plinth  and  the  pedestal  together  being 
twenty-seven  feet,  making  the  entire 
height  nearly  one  hundred.  The  weight 
of  the  monolith  is  five  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds ;  the  weight  of  the  pedes- 
talishalfthat  amount,  and  the  weightof 
the  blocks  probably  makes  the  whole 
amount  to  nine  hundred  thousand, 
which  is  the  weight  of  the  obelisk  at 
Eome.  It  was  erected  in  1836,  by 
drawing  it  up  an  inclined  plane  of  ma- 
sonry, and  then  raising  it  by  cables  and 
capstans  to  the  perpendicular.  The 
operation  was  tedious,  difficult,  and 
expensive;  but  it  was  worth  the 
labour;  and  the  monolith  now  forms 
a  remarkable  monument  of  the  zeal 
of  the  king,  and  of  the  liberality  of 
his  government. 

There  is,  I  understand,  an  obelisk 
remaining  in  Egypt,  which  was  given 
by  the  Turkish  government  to  the 
British  army,  on  the  expulsion  of  the 
French  from  Egypt,  but  which  has 
been  unclaimed,  from  the  difficulty  of 
carrying  it  to  England. 

That  difficulty,  it  must  be  acknow- 
ledged, is  considerable.  In  transport- 
ing and  erecting  the  obelisk  of  Luxor 
six  years  were  employed.  I  have  not 
heard  the  expense,  but  it  must  have 


313 


been  large.  A  vessel  was  especially 
constructed  at  Toulon,  for  its  con- 
veyance down  the  Nile.  A  long 
road  was  to  be  made  from  the  Nile  to 
the  Temple.  Then  the  obelisk  re- 
quired to  be  protected  from  the  acci- 
dents of  carriage,  which  was  done  by 
enclosing  it  in  a  wooden  case.  It  was 
then  drawn  by  manual  force  to 
the  river — and  this  employed  three 
months.  Then  came  the  trouble  of 
embarking  it,  for  which  the  vessel 
had  to  be  nearly  sawn  through ;  then 
came  the  crossing  of  the  bar  at 
Rosetta — a  most  difficult  operation  at 
the  season  of  the  year;  then  the 
voyage  down  the  Mediterranean,  the 
vessel  being  towed  by  a  steamer ;  then 
the  landing  at  Cherbourg,  in  1833 ; 
and,  lastly,  the  passage  up  the  Seine, 
which  .occupied  nearly  four  months, 
reaching  Paris  in  December ;  thence- 
forth its  finishing  and  erection,  which 
was  completed  only  in  three  years 
after. 

This  detail  may  have  some  interest, 
as  we  have  a  similar  project  before 
us.  But  the  whole  question  isr 
whether  the  transport  of  the  obelisk 
which  remains  in  Egypt  for  us  is 
worth  the  expense.  We,  without 
hesitation,  say  that  it  is.  The  French 
have  shown  that  it  is  practicable,  and 
it  is  a  matter  of  rational  desire  to 
show  that  we  are  not  behind  the 
French  either  in  power,  in  ability,  or 
in  zeal,  to  adorn  our  cities.  The 
obelisk  transported  to  England  would 
be  a  proud  monument,  without  being 
an  offensive  one,  of  a  great  achieve- 
ment of  our  armies ;  it  would  present 
to  our  eyes,  and  those  of  our  children, 
a  relic  of  the  most  civilised  kingdom  of 
the  early  ages ;  it  would  sustain  the 
recollections  of  the  scholar  by  its 
record,  and  might  kindle  the  energy 
of  the  people  by  the  sight  of  what 
had  been  accomplished  by  the  prowess 
of  Englishmen. 

If  it  be  replied  that  such  views  are 
Utopian,  may  we  not  ask,  what  is 
the  use  of  all  antiquity,  since  we  can 
eat  and  drink  as  well  without  it  ? 
But  we  cannot  feel  as  loftily  without 
it :  many  a  lesson  of  vigour,  liberality, 
and  virtue  would  be  lost  to  us  without 
it ;  we  should  lose  the  noblest  ex- 
amples of  the  arts,  some  of  the  finest 
displays  of  human  genius  in  architec- 
ture, a  large  portion  of  the  teaching  of 


314 

the  public  mind  in  all  things  great,  and 
an  equally  large  portion  of  the  incen- 
tives to  public  virtue  in  all  things 
self-denying.  The  labour,  it  is  true, 
of  conveying  the  obelisk  would  be 
serious,  the  expense  considerable,  and 
we  might  not  see  it  erected  before  the 
gate  of  Buckingham  Palace  these  ten 
years.  But  it  would  be  erected  at 
last.  It  would  be  a  trophy — it  would 
be  an  abiding  memorial  of  the  extra- 
ordinary country  from  which  civilisa- 
tion spread  to  the  whole  world. 

But  the  two  grand  fountains  ought 
especially  to  stimulate  our  emulation. 
Those  we  can  have  without  a  voyage 
from  Alexandria  to  Portsmouth,  or  a 
six  years'  delay. 

The  fountains  of  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde  would  deserve  praise  if  it 
were  only  for  their  beauty.  At  a 
distance  sufficient  for  the  picturesque, 
and  with  the  sun  shining  on  them, 
they  actually  look  like  domes  and 
cataracts  of  molten  silver ;  and  a 
nearer  view  does  not  dimmish  their 
right  to  admiration.  They  are  both 
lofty,  perhaps'  fifty  feet  high,  both 
consisting  of  three  basins,  lessening 
in  size  in  proportion  to  their  height, 
and  all  pouring  out  sheets  of  water 
from  the  trumpets  of  Tritons,  from 
the  mouths  of  dolphins,  and  from 
allegorical  figures.  One  of  those 
fountains  is  in  honour  of  Maritime 
Navigation,  and  the  other  of  the 
Navigation  of  Rivers.  In  the  former 
the  figures  represent  the  Ocean  and 
the  Mediterranean,  with  the  Genii 
of  the  fisheries;  and  in  the  upper 
basin  are  Commerce,  Astronomy, 
Navigation,  &c.,  all  capital  bronzes, 
and  all  spouting  out  floods  of  water. 
The  fountain  of  lliver  Navigation  is 
not  behind  its  rival  in  bronze  or 
water.  It  exhibits  the  Rhine  and  the 
Rhone,  with  the  Genii  of  fruits  and 
flowers,  of  the  vintage  and  the  har- 
vest, with  the  usual  attendance  of 
Tritons.  Why  the  artist  had  no  room 
for  the  Seine  and  the  Garonne,  while 
he  introduced  the  llhine,  which  is  not 
a  French  river  in  any  part  of  its 
course,  must  be  left  for  his  explana- 
tion ;  but  the  whole  constitutes  a 
beautiful  and  magnificent  object,  and, 
with  the  sister  fountain,  perhaps 
forms  the  finest  display  of  the  kind  in 
Europe.  I  did  not  venture,  while 
looking  at  those  stately  monuments 


Para  in  1851.  [Sept. 

of  French  art,  to  turn  my  thoughts  to 
our  own  unhappy  performances  in 
Trafalgar  Square  —  the  rival  of  a 
soda-water  bottle,  yet  the  work  of  a 
people  of  boundless  wealth,  and  the 
first  machinists  in  the  world. 

The  Jardin  des  Plantes. — I  found 
this  fine  establishment  crowded  with 
the  lower  orders — fathers  and  mothers, 
nurses,  old  women,  and  soldiers.  As 
it  includes  the  popular  attractions  of  a 
zoological  garden,  as  well  as  a  botani- 
cal, every  day  sees  its  visitants,  and 
every  holiday  its  crowds.  The  plants 
are  for  science,  and  for  that  I  had  no 
time,  even  had  I  possessed  other 
qualifications ;  but  the  zoological  col- 
lection were  for  curiosity,  and  of  that 
the  spectators  had  abundance.  Yet 
the  animals  of  pasture  appeared  to  be 
languid,  possibly  tired  of  the  perpe- 
tual bustle  round  them — for  all  animals 
love  quiet  at  certain  times,  and  escape 
from  the  eye  of  man,  when  escape  is 
in  their  power.  Possibly  the  heat  of 
the  weather,  for  the  day  was  remark- 
ably sultry,  might  have  contributed 
to  their  exhaustion.  But  if  they  have 
memory — and  why  should,  they  not  ? 
— they  must  have  strangely  felt  the 
contrast  of  their  free  pastures,  shady 
woods,  and  fresh  streams,  with  the 
little  patch  of  ground,  the  parched 
soil,  and  the  clamour  of  ten  thousand 
tongues  round  them.  I  could  imagine 
the  antelope's  intelligent  eye,  as  he 
lay  panting  before  us  on  his  brown 
patch  of  soil,  comparing  it  with  the 
ravines  of  the  Cape,  or  the  eternal 
forests  clothing  the  hills  of  his  native 
Abyssinia. 

But  the  object  of  all  popular  in- 
terest was  the  pit  of  the  bears  ; 
there  the  crowd  was  incessant  and 
delighted.  But  the  bears,  three  or 
four  huge  brown  beasts,  by  no  means 
reciprocated  the  popular  feeling.  They 
sat  quietly  on  their  hind-quarters, 
gazing  grimly  at  the  groups  which 
lined  their  rails,  and  tossed  cakes  and 
apples  to  them  from  above.  They 
had  probably  been  saturated  with 
sweets,  for  they  scarcely  noticed  any- 
thing but  by  a  growl.  They  were 
insensible  to  apples  —  even  oranges 
could  not  make  them  move,  and  cakes 
they  seemed  to  treat  with  scorn.  It 
was  difficult  to  conceive  that  those 
heavy  and  unwieldy-looking  animals 
could  be  ferocious;  but  the  Alpine 


1851.]  Paris  in  1851. 

hunter  knows  that  they  are  as  fierce 
as  the  tiger,  and  nearly  as  quick  and 
dangerous  in  their  spring. 

The  carnivorous  beasts  were  few, 
and,  except  in  the  instance  of  one 
lion,  of  no  remarkable  size  or  beauty. 
As  they  naturally  doze   during  the 
day,  their  languor  was  no  proof  of 
their  weariness;   but  I  have  never 
seen  an  exhibition  of  this  kind  with- 
out some  degree  of  regret.    The  plea 
of  the  promotion  of  science  is  nothing. 
Even  if  it  were  important  to  science 
to  be  acquainted  with  the  habits  of 
the  lion  and  tiger,  which  it  is  not, 
their   native    habits  are  not  to  be 
learned  from  the  animal  shut  up  in  a 
cage.      The  chief  exertion  of  their 
sagacity  and  their  strength  in  the 
native  state  is  in  the  pursuit  of  prey ; 
yet  what  of  these  can  be  learned  from 
the  condition  in  which  the  animal 
dines  as  regularly  as  his  keeper,  and 
divides  his  time  between  feeding  and 
sleep  ?   Half-a-dozen  lions  let  loose  in 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne  would  let  the 
naturalist  into  more  knowledge  of  their 
nature  than  a  menagerie  for  fifty  years. 
The    present    system    is    merely 
cruel ;  and  the  animals,  without  exer- 
cise, without  air,  without  the  common 
excitement  of  free  motion,  which  all 
animals    enjoy    so   highly  —  perhaps 
much    more  highly  than  the  human 
race — fall  into   disease  and  die,  no 
doubt  miserably,  though  they  cannot 
draw  up  a  rationale  of  their  suffer- 
ings.    I  have  been  told  that  the  lions 
in  confinement  die  chiefly  of  consump- 
tion— a  singularly  sentimental  disease 
for  this  proud  ravager  of  the  desert. 
But    the  whole  purpose  of  display 
would  be  answered  as  effectually  by 
exhibiting    half-a-dozen    lions'  skins 
stuffed,  in  the  different  attitudes  of 
seizing    their  prey,    or  ranging  the 
forest,   or  feeding.     At  present  no- 
thing is  seen  but  a  great  beast  asleep, 
or  restlessly  moving  in  a  space  of 
half-a-dozen  square  feet,  and  pining 
away  in  his  confinement.    An  eagle 
on  his  perch  and  with  a  chain  on  his 
leg,  in  a  menagerie,  always  appears 
to  me  like  a  dethroned  monarch ;  and 
I  have  never  seen  him  thus  cast  down 
from  his  "  high  estate  "  without  long- 
ing to  break  his  chain,  and  let  him 
spread    his    wing,    and    delight    his 
splendid  eye  witli  the  full  view  of  his 
kingdom  of  the  Air. 
VOL.  LXX.— NO.  ccccxxxr. 


315 

The  Jardin  dates  its  origin  as  far 
back  as  Louis  XI EL,  when  the  king's 
physician  recommended  its  founda- 
tion for  science.  The  French  are 
fond  of  gardening,  and  are  good  gar- 
deners ;  and  the  climate  is  peculiarly 
favourable  to  flowers,  as  is  evident 
from  the  market  held  every  morning 
in  summer  by  the  side  of  the  Made- 
leine, where  the  greatest  abundance 
of  the  richest  flowers  I  ever  saw  is 
laid  out  for  the  luxury  of  the  Pari- 
sians. 

The  Jardin,  patronised  by  kings 
and  nobles,  flourished  through  suc- 
cessive reigns;  but  the  appointment 
of  Buffon,  about  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  suddenly  raised  it 
to  the  pinnacle  of  European  celebrity. 
The  most  eloquent  writer  of  his  time, 
(in  the  style  which  the  French  call 
eloquence,)  a  man  of  family,  and  a 
man  of  opulence,  he  made  Natural 
History  the  fashion,  and  in  France 
that  word  is  magic.  It  accomplishes 
everything  —  it  includes  everything. 
All  France  was  frantic  with  the  study 
of  plants,  animals,  poultry-yards,  and 
projects  for  driving  tigers  in  cabrio- 
lets, and  harnessing  lions  a  la  Cybele. 
But  Buffon  mixed  good  sense  with 
his  inevitable  charlatanrie — he  se- 
lected the  ablest  men  whom  he  could 
find  for  his  professors ;  and  in  France 
there  is  an  extraordinary  quantity  of 
"  ordinary"  cleverness— they  gave 
amusing  lectures,  and  they  won  the 
hearts  of  the  nation. 

But  the  Ilevolution  came,  and 
crushed  all  institutions  alike.  Buffon, 
fortunate  in  every  way,  had  died  in. 
the  year  before,  in  1788,  and  was  thus 
spared  the  sight  of  the  general  ruin. 
The  Jardin  escaped,  through  some 
plea  of  its  being  national  property ; 
but  the  professors  had  fled,  and  were 
starving,  or  starved. 

The  Consulate,  and  still  more  the 
Empire,  restored  the  establishment. 
Napoleon  was  ambitious  of  the  cha- 
racter of  a  man  of  science,  he  was  a 
member  of  the  Institute,  he  knew  the 
French  character,  and  he  flattered  the 
national  vanity,  by  indulging  it  with 
the  prospect  of  being  at  the  head  of 
human  knowledge. 

The  institution  had  by  this  time 
been  so  long  regarded  as  a  public 
show  that  it  was    beginning  to  be 
regarded  as  nothing  else.    Gratuitous 
x 


316 


Paris  in  1851. 


[Sept. 


lectures,  which  are  always  good  for 
nothing,  and  to  which  all  kinds  of 
people  crowd  with  corresponding  pro- 
fit, were  gradually  reducing  the  cha- 
racter of  the  Jardin;  when  Cuvier, 
a  man  of  talent,  was  appointed  to  one 
of  the  departments  of  the  institution, 
and  he  instantly  revived  its  popu- 
larity ;  and,  what  was  of  more  im- 
portance, its  public  use. 

Cuvier  devoted  himself  to  compa- 
rative anatomy  and  geology.  The 
former  was  a  study  within  human 
means,  of  which  he  had  the  materials 
round  him,  and  which,  being  intended 
for  the  instruction  of  man,  is  evi- 
dently intended  for  his  investigation. 
The  latter,  in  attempting  to  fix  the 
age  of  the  world,  to  decide  on  the 
process  of  creation,  and  to  contradict 
Scripture  by  the  ignorance  of  man, 
is  merely  an  instance  of  the  presump- 
tion of  Sciolism.  Cuyier  exhibited 
remarkable  dexterity  in  discovering 
the  species  of  the  fossil  fishes,  rep- 
tiles, and  animals.  The  science  was 
not  new,  but  he  threw  it  into  a  new 
form — he  made  it  interesting,  and  he 
made  it  probable.  If  a  large  propor- 
tion of  his  supposed  discoveries  were 
merely  ingenious  guesses,  they  were 
at  least  guesses  which  there  was  no- 
body to  refute,  and  they  were  inge- 
nious— that  was  enough.  Fame  fol- 
lowed him,  and  the  lectures  of  the 
ingenious  theorist  were  a  popular 
novelty.  The  "  Cabinet  of  Compa- 
rative Anatomy  "  in  the  Jardin  is  the 
monument  of  his  diligence,  and  it 
does  honour  to  the  sagacity  of  his 
investigation. 

One  remark,  however,  must  be 
made.  On  a  former  visit  to  the 
Cabinet  of  Comparative  Anatomy, 
among  the  collection  of  skeletons,  I 
was  surprised  and  disgusted  with  the 
sight  of  the  skeleton  of  the  Arab  who 
killed  General  Kleber  in  Egypt.  The 
Arab  was  impaled,  and  the  iron  spike 
was  shown  still  sticking  in  the  spine ! 
I  do  not  know  whether  this  hideous 
object  is  still  to  be  seen,  for  I  have  not 
lately  visited  the  apartment ;  but,  if 
existing  still,  it  ought  to  remain  no 
longer  in  a  museum  of  science.  Of 
course,  the  assassin  deserved  death  ; 
but,  in  all  probability,  the  murder 
which  made  him  guilty,  was  of  the 
same  order  as  that  which  made  Char- 
lotte Corday  famous.  How  many  of  his 


countrymen  had  died  by  the  soldiery 
of  France !  In  the  eye  of  Christianity, 
this  is  no  palliation  ;  though  in  the 
eye  of  Mahometanism  it  might  con- 
stitute a  patriot  and  a  hero.  At  all 
events,  so  frightful  a  spectacle  ought 
not  to  meet  the  public  eye. 

Hotel  des  Invalides. — The  deposi- 
tory of  all  that  remains  of  Napoleon, 
the  monument  of  almost  two  hun- 
dred years  of  war,  and  the  burial- 
place  of  a  whole  host  of  celebrated 
names,  is  well  worth  the  visit  of 
strangers ;  and  I  entered  the  esplanade 
of  the  famous  hotel  with  due  venera- 
tion, and  some  slight  curiosity  to  see 
the  changes  of  time.  I  had  visited 
this  noble  pile  immediately  after  the 
fall  of  Napoleon,  and  while  it  still 
retained  the  honours  of  an  imperial 
edifice.  Its  courts  now  appeared  to 
me  comparatively  desolate ;  this,  how- 
ever, may  be  accounted  for  by  the 
cessation  of  those  wars  which  peopled 
them  with  military  mutilation.  The 
establishment  was  calculated  to  pro- 
vide for  five  thousand  men ;  and,  at 
that  period,  probably,  it  was  always 
full.  At  present,  scarcely  more  than 
half  the  number  are  under  its  roof;  and, 
as  even  the  Algerine  war  is  reduced 
to  skirmishes  with  the  mountaineers 
of  the  Atlas,  that  number  must  be 
further  diminishing  from  year  to  year. 

The  Cupola  then  shone  with  gilding. 
This  was  the  work  of  Napoleon,  who 
had  a  stately  eye  for  the  ornament  of 
his  imperial  city.  The  cupola  of  the 
Invalides  thus  glittered  above  all  the 
roofs  of  Paris,  and  was  seen  glitter- 
ing to  an  immense  distance.  It  might 
be  taken  for  the  dedication  of  the 
French  capital  to  the  genius  of  War. 
This  gilding  is  now  worn  off  practi- 
cally, as  well  as  metaphorically,  and 
the  prestige  is  lost. 

The  celebrated  Edmund  Burke,  all 
whose  ideas  were  grand,  is  said  to 
have  proposed  gilding  the  cupola  of 
St  Paul's,  which  certainly  would  have 
been  a  splendid  sight,  and  would 
have  thrown  a  look  of  stateliness  over 
that  city  to  which  the  ends  of  the 
earth  turn  their  eyes.  But  the  civic 
spirit  was  not  equal  to  the  idea,  and 
it  has  since  gone  on  lavishing  ten 
times  the  money  on  the  embellishment 
of  lanes. 

The  Chapel  of  the  Invalides  looked 
gloomy,  and  even  neglected ;  the  great 


1851.]  Pans  in  1851. 

Magician  was  gone.  Some  service  was 
performing,  as  it  is  in  the  Romish 
chapels  at  most  hours  of  the  day  : 
some  poor  people  were  kneeling  in 
different  parts  of  the  area  ;  and  some 
strangers  were,  like  myself,  wander- 
ing along  the  nave,  looking  at  the 
monuments  to  the  fallen  military 
names  of  France.  On  the  pillars  in 
the  nave  are  inscriptions  to  the 
memory  of  Jourdan,  Lobau,  and 
Oudinot.  There  is  a  bronze  tablet  to 
the  memory  of  Marshal  Mortier,  who 
was  killed  by  Fieschi's  infernal  ma- 
chine, beside  Louis  Philippe  ;  and  to 
Damremont,  who  fell  in  Algiers. 

But  the  chapel  is  destined  to  exhibit 
a  more  superb  instance  of  national 
recollection — the  tomb  of  Napoleon, 
which  is  to  be  finished  in  1852.  A 
large  circular  crypt,  dug  in  the  centre 
of  the  second  chapel  (which  is  to  be 
united  with  the  first,)  is  the  site  of  the 
sarcophagus  in  which  the  remains  of 
Napoleon  lie.  Coryatides,  columns, 
and  bas-reliefs,  commemorative  of  his 
battles,  are  to  surround  the  sarco- 
phagus. The  coryatides  are  to  repre- 
sent War,  Legislation,  Art,  and 
Science ;  and  in  front  is  to  be  raised 
an  altar  of  black  marble.  The  archi- 
tect is  Visconti,  and  the  best  statuaries 
in  Paris  are  to  contribute  the  deco- 
rations. The  expense  will  be  enor- 
mous. In  the  time  of  Louis  Philippe 
it  had  already  amounted  to  nearly 
four  millions  of  francs.  About  three 
millions  more  are  now  demanded  for 
the  completion,  including  an  eques- 
trian statue.  On  the  whole,  the 
expense  will  be  not  much  less  than 
seven  millions  of  francs  ! 

The  original  folly  of  the  nation,  and 
of  Napoleon,  in  plundering  the  Con- 
tinent of  statues  and  pictures,  inevi- 
tably led  to  retribution,  on  the  first 
reverse  of  fortune.  The  plunder  of 
money,  or  of  arms,  or  of  anything 
consumable,  would  have  been  exempt 
from  this  mortification ;  but  pictures 
and  statues  are  permanent  things, 
and  always  capable  of  being  re- 
demanded.  Their  plunder  was  an 
extension  of  the  law  of  spoil  unknown 
in  European  hostilities,  or  in  history, 
except  perhaps  in  the  old  Roman 
ravage  of  Greece.  Napoleon,  in 
adopting  the  practice  of  heathenism 
for  his  model,  and  the  French  nation — 
in  their  assumed  love  of  the  arts 


317 

violating  the  sanctities  of  art,  by 
removing  the  noblest  works  from  the 
edifices  for  which  they  were  created, 
and  from  the  lights  and  positions  for 
which  the  great  artists  of  Italy  de- 
signed them — fully  deserved  the  vexa- 
tion of  seeing  them  thus  carried  back 
to  their  original  cities.  The  moral  will, 
it  is  to  be  presumed,  be  learned  from 
this  signal  example,  that  the  works 
of  genius  are  naturally  exempt  from 
the  sweep  of  plunder ;  that  even  the 
violences  of  war  must  not  be  extended 
beyond  the  necessities  of  conquest ; 
and  that  an  act  of  injustice  is  sure  to 
bring  down  its  punishment  in  the 
most  painful  form  of  retribution. 

The  Artesian  Well.— Near  the  HOtel 
des  Invalides  is  the  celebrated  well 
which  has  given  the  name  to  all  the 
modern  experiments  of  boring  to  great 
depths  for  water.  The  name  of 
Artesian  is  said  to  be  taken  from  the 
province  of  Artois,  in  which  the  prac- 
tice has  been  long  known.  The  want 
of  water  in  Paris  induced  a  M.  Mulot 
to  commence  the  work  in  1834. 

The  history  of  the  process  is  instruc- 
tive. For  six  years  there  was  no  pros- 
pect of  success;  yet  M.  Mulot  gallantly 
persevered.  All  was  inexorable  chalk ; 
the  boring  instrument  had  broken 
several  times,  and  the  difficulty  thus 
occasioned  may  be  imagined  from  its 
requiring  a  length  of  thirteen  hun- 
dred feet !  even  in  an  early  period  of 
the  operation.  However,  early  in 
1841  the  chalk  gave  signs  of  change, 
and  a  greenish  sand  was  drawn  up. 
On  the  26th  of  February  this  was 
followed  by  a  slight  effusion  of  water, 
and  before  night  the  stream  burst  up 
to  the  mouth  of  the  excavation, 
which  was  now  eighteen  hundred  feet 
in  depth.  Yet  the  water  rapidly  rose 
to  a  height  of  one  hundred  and  twelve 
feet  above  the  mouth  of  the  well  by  a 
pipe,  which  is  now  supported  by  scaf- 
folding, giving  about  six  hundred  gal- 
lons of  water  a  minute. 

Even  the  memorable  experiment 
confutes,  so  far  as  it  goes,  the  geologi- 
cal notion  of  strata  laid  under  each 
other  in  their  proportions  of  gravity. 
The  section  of  the  boring  shows  chalk, 
sand,  gravel,  shells,  &c.,  and  this 
order  sometimes  reversed,  in  the  most 
casual  manner,  down  to  a  depth  five 
times  the  height  of  the  cupola  of  the 
Invalides. 


318 

The  heat  of  the  water  was  83°  of 
Fahrenheit.  In  the  theories  with 
which  the  philosophers  of  the  Conti- 
nent have  to  feed  their  imaginations 
is  that  of  a  central  fire,  which  is  felt 
through  all  the  strata,  and  which 
warms  everything  in  proportion  to  its 
nearness  to  the  centre.  Thus,  it  was 
proposed  to  dig  an  Artesian  well  of 
three  thousand  feet,  for  the  supply  of 
hot  water  to  the  Jardin  des  Plautes 
and  the  neighbouring  hospitals.  It 
was  supposed  that,  at  this  depth,  the 
heat  would  range  to  upwards  of  100° 
of  Fahrenheit.  But  nothing  has  been 
done.  Even  the  Well  of  Greuelle 
has  rather  disappointed  the  public 
expectation ;  of  late  the  supply  has 
been  less  constant,  and  the  boring  is 
to  be  renewed  to  a  depth  of  two  thou- 
sand feet. 

The  Napoleon  Column. — This  is  the 
grand  feature  of  the  Place  de  Ven- 
dome,  once  the  site  of  the  Hotel  Ven- 
dome,  built  by  the  son  of  Henry  IY. 
and  Gabriel  le  d'Estrees ;  afterwards 
pulled  down  by  Louis  XLV.,  after- 
wards abandoned  to  the  citizens,  and 
afterwards  surrounded,  as  it  is  at  this 
day,  with  the  formal  and  heavy  archi- 
tecture of  Mansard.  The  "  Place  " 
has,  like  everything  in  Paris,  changed 
its  name  from  time  to  time.  It  was 
once  the  "  Place  des  Conquetes  ;  " 
then  it  changed  to  "Louis  le  Grand ;" 
and  then  it  returned  to  the  name  of  its 
original  proprietor.  An  old  figure  of 
the  "  Great  King,"  in  all  the  glories 
of  wig  and  feathers,  stood  in  the 
centre,  till  justice  and  the  rabble  of 
the  Revolution  broke  it  down,  in  the 
first  "energies"  of  Republicanism. 
But  the  German  campaign  of  1805 
put  all  the  nation  in  good  humour, 
and  the  Napoleon  Column  was  raised 
on  the  site  of  the  dilapidated  mon- ' 
arch. 

The  design  of  the  column  is  not 
original,  for  it  is  taken  from  the 
Trajan  Column  at  Rome ;  but  it  is 
enlarged,  and  makes  a  very  handsome 
object.  When  I  first  saw  it,  its  de- 
corations were  in  peril;  for  the  Aus- 
trian soldiery  were  loud  for  its  de- 
molition, or  at  least  for  stripping  off 
its  bronze  bas-reliefs,  they  represent- 
ing their  successive  defeats  in  that 
ignominious  campaign  which,  in  three 
months  from  Boulogne,  finished  by 
the  capture  of  Vienna,  The  Austrian 


Paris  in  1851.  [Sept. 

troops,  however,  stoutly  retrieved 
their  disasters,  and,  as  the  proof,  were 
then  masters  of  Paris.  It  was  pos- 
sibly this  effective  feeling  that  pre- 
vailed at  last  to  spare  the  column, 
which  the  practice  of  the  French 
armies  would  have  entitled  them  to 
strip  without  mercy. 

In  the  first  instance,  a  statue  of 
Napoleon,  as  emperor,  stood  on  the 
summit  of  the  pillar.  This  statue 
had  its  revolutions  too,  for  it  was 
melted  down  at  the  restoration  of  the 
Bourbons,  to  make  a  part  of  the 
equestrian  statue  of  Henry  IV.  erected 
on  the  Pont  Neuf.  A  fleur-de-lis  and 
flagstaff  then  took  its  place.  The 
Revolution  of  1830,  which  elevated 
Louis  Philippe  to  a  temporary  throne, 
raised  the  statue  of  Napoleon  to  an 
elevation  perhaps  as  temporary. 

It  was  the  shortsighted  policy  of 
the  new  monarch  to  mingle  royal 
power  with  "  republican  institutions." 
He  thus  introduced  the  tricolor  once 
more,  sent  for  Napoleon's  remains  to 
St  Helena  by  permission  of  England, 
and  erected  his  statue  in  the  old 
"  chapeau  et  redingote  gris,"  the 
characteristics  of  his  soldiership.  The 
statue  was  inaugurated  on  one  of  the 
"  three  glorious  days,"  in  July  1833, 
in  all  the  pomp  of  royalty,' — princes, 
ministers,  and  troops.  So  much  for 
the  consistency  of  a  brother  of  the 
Bourbon.  The  pageant  passed  away, 
and  the  sacrifice  to  popularity  was 
made  without  obtaining  the  fruits. 
Louis  Philippe  disappeared  from  the 
scene  before  the  fall  of  the  curtain  ; 
and,  as  if  to  render  his  catastrophe 
more  complete,  he  not  merely  left  a 
republic  behind  him,  but  he  lived  to 
see  the  "  prisoner  of  Ham"  the  pre- 
sident of  that  republic. 

How  does  it  happen  that  an  Eng- 
lishman in  France  cannot  stir  a  single 
step,  hear  a  single  word,  or  see  a 
single  face,  without  the  conviction 
that  he  has  landed  among  a  people  as 
far  from  him  in  all  their  feelings, 
habits,  and  nature,  as  if  they  were 
engendered  in  the  moon?  The  feelings 
with  which  the  Briton  looks  on  the 
statue  of  Buonaparte  may  be  mixed 
enough  :  he  may  acknowledge  him  for 
a  great  soldier,  as  well  as  a  great 
knave — a  great  monarch,  as  well  as  a 
little  intriguer — a  mighty  ruler  of 
men,  who  would  have  made  an  adroit 


1851.] 

•waiter  at  a  table  d'hote  in  the  Palais 
Royal.  But  he  never  would  have 
imagined  him  into  a  sentimentalist,  a 
shepherd,  a  Corydon,  to  be  hung 
round  with  pastoral  garlands ;  an 
opera  hero,  to  delight  in  the  six- 
penny tribute  of  bouquets  from  the 
galleries. 

Yet  I  found  the  image  of  this  man 
of  terror  and  mystery — this  ravager 
of  Europe — this  stern,  fierce,  and 
subtle  master  of  havoc,  decorated  like 
a  milliner's  shop,  or  the  tombs  of  the 
citizen  shopkeepers  in  the  cemeteries, 
with  garlands  of  all  sizes ! — the  large 
to  express  copious  sorrow,  the  smaller 
to  express  diminished  anguish,  and 
the  smallest,  like  a  visiting  card,  for 
simply  leaving  their  compliments ; 
and  all  this  in  the  face  of  the  people 
who  once  feared  to  look  in  his  face, 
and  followed  his  car  as  if  it  bore  the 
Thunder ! 

To  this  spot  came  the  people  to  offer 
up  their  sixpenny  homage — to  this 
spot  came  processions  of  all  kinds,  to 
declare  their  republican  love  for  the 
darkest  despot  of  European  memory, 
to  sing  a  stave,  to  walk  heroically 
round  the  railing,  hang  np  their  gar- 
lands, and  then,  having  done  their 
duty  in  the  presence  of  their  own 
grisettes,  in  the  face  of  Paris,  and  to 
the  admiration  of  Europe,  march 
home,  and  ponder  upon  the  glories  of 
the  day  ! 

As  a  work  of  imperial  magnificence, 
the  column  is  worthy  of  its  founder, 
and  of  the  only  redeeming  point  of 
his  character — his  zeal  for  the  orna- 
ment of  Paris.  It  is  a  monument  to 
the  military  successes  of  the  Empire  ; 
a  trophy  one  hundred  and  thirty-five 
feet  high,  covered  with  the  represen- 
tations of  French  victory  over  the 
Anstrians  and  Russians  in  the  cam- 
paign of  1805.  The  bas-reliefs  are  in. 
bronze,  rising  in  a  continued  spiral 
round  the  column.  Yet  this  is  an 
unfortunate  sacrifice  to  the  imitation 
of  the  Roman  column.  The  spiral, 
a  few  feet  above  the  head  of  the 
spectator,  offers  nothing  to  the  eye 
but  a  roll  of  rough  bronze  ;  the 
figures  arc  wholly  and  necessarily 
undistinguishable.  The  only  portion 
of  those  castings  which  directly  meets 
the  eye  is  unfortunately  given  up  to 
the  mere  uniforms,  caps,  and  arms  of 
the  combatants.  This  is  the  pedestal, 


Paris  in  1851.  319 

and  it  would  make  a  showy  decora- 
tion for  a  tailor's  window.  It  is  a 
clever  work  of  the  furnace,  but  a 
miserable  one  of  invention. 

The  bronze  is  said  to  ha*ve  been  the 
captured  cannon  of  the  enemy.  On 
the  massive  bronze  door  is  the  inscrip- 
tion in  Latin: — "Napoleon,  Emperor, 
Augustus,  dedicated  to  the  glory  of 
the  Grand  Army  this  memorial  of  the 
German  War,  finished  in  three  months, 
in  the  year  1805,  under  his  com- 
mand." 

On  the  summit  stands  the  statue  of 
Napoleon,  to  which,  and  its  changes,  I 
have  adverted  already.  But  the  ques- 
tion has  arisen,  whether  there  is  not 
an  error  in  taste  in  placing  the  statue 
of  an  individual  at  a  height  which 
precludes  the  view  of  his  features. 
This  has  been  made  an  objection  to 
the  handsome  Nelson  Pillar  in  Tra- 
falgar Square.  But  the  obvious  an- 
swer in  both  instances  is,  that  the 
object  is  not  merely  the  sight  of  the 
features,  but  the  perfection  of  the 
memorial ;  that  the  pillar  is  the  true 
monument,  and  the  statue  only  an 
accessory,  though  the  most  suitable 
accessory.  But  even  then  the  statue 
is  not  altogether  inexpressive.  We 
can  see  the  figure  and  the  costume  of 
Napoleon  nearly  as  well  as  they  could 
be  seen  from  the  balcony  of  the  Tuil- 
leries,  where  all  Paris  assembled  in 
the  Carousel  to  worship  him  on  Sun- 
days, at  the  parade  of  u  La  Garde." 
In  the  spirited  statue  of  Nelson  we 
can  recognise  the  figure  as  well  as  if 
we  were  gazing  at  him  within  a  hun- 
dred yards  in  any  other  direction.  It 
is  true  that  pillars  are  not  painters' 
easels,  nor  is  Trafalgar  Square  a 
sculptor's  yard  ;  but  the  real  question 
turns  on  the  effect  of  the  whole.  If 
the  pillar  makes  the  monument,  we 
will  not  quarrel  with  the  sculptor  for 
its  not  making  a  miniature.  It  an- 
swers its  purpose — it  is  a  noble  one  ; 
it  gives  a  national  record  of  great 
events,  and  it  realises,  invigorates, 
and  consecrates  them  by  the  images 
of  the  men  by  whom  they  were 
achieved. 

Arc  de  Triomphe  de  VEtoile. — It  is 
no  small  adventure,  in  a  burning  day 
of  a  French  summer,  to  walk  the 
length  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  even 
to  see  the  arch  of  the  Star,  (Napoleon's 
Star,}  and  clirnb  to  its  summit.  Yet 


320 


Paris  in  1851 . 


[Sept. 


this  labour  I  accomplished  with  the 
fervour  and  the  fatigue  of  a  pilgrim- 
age. 

Why  should  the  name  of  Republic 
be  ever  heard  in  the  mouth  of  a 
Frenchman?  All  the  objects  of  his 
glory  in  the  Capital  of  which  he 
glories,  everything  that  he  can  show 
to  the  stranger — everything  that  he 
recounts,  standing  on  tip-toe,  and 
looking  down  on  the  whole  world 
besides — is  the  work  of  monarchy  ! 
The  grand  Republic  left  nothing  be- 
hind but  the  guillotine.  The  Bour- 
bons and  Buonapartes  were  the  crea- 
tors of  all  to  which  he  points,  with  an 
exaltation  that  throws  earth  into  the 
shade  from  the  Alps  to  the  Andes. 
The  Louvre,  the  Madeleine,  the  Tuil- 
leries,  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  (now  mag- 
nified and  renovated  into  the  most 
stately  of  town-houses,)  the  H6"tel 
des  Invalides,  Notre  Dame,  &c.  &c. 
are  all  the  work  of  Kings.  If  Napo- 
leon had  lived  half  a  century  longer, 
he  would  have  made  Paris  a  second 
Babylon.  If  the  very  clever  Presi- 
dent, who  has  hitherto  managed 
France  so  dexterously,  and  whose 
name  so  curiously  combines  the  mo- 
narchy and  the  despotism, — if  Louis 
Napoleon  (a  name  which  an  old 
Roman  would  have  pronounced  an 
omen)  should  manage  it  into  a  Mo- 
narchy, we  shall  probably  see  Paris 
crowded  with  superb  public  edifices. 

The  kings  of  France  were  peculiarly 
magnificent  in  the  decoration  of  the 
entrances  to  their  city.  As  no  power 
on  earth  can  prevent  the  French  from 
crowding  into  hovels,  from  living  ten 
families  in  one  house,  and  from  ap- 
pending to  their  cities  the  most 
miserable,  ragged,  and  forlorn-look- 
ing suburbs  on  the  globe,  the 
monarchs  wisely  let  the  national 
habits  alone ;  and  resolved,  if  the 
suburbs  must  be  abandoned  to  the 
popular  fondness  for  the  wigwam,  to 
impress  strangers  with  the  stateliness 
of  their  gates.  The  Arc  de  St  Denis, 
once  conducting  from  the  most  dis- 
mal of  suburbs,  is  one  of  the  finest 
portals  in  Paris,  or  in  any  European 
city  ;  it  is  worthy  of  the  Boulevard, 
and  that  is  panegyric  at  once.  Every 
one  knows  that  it  was  erected  in 
honour  of  the  short-lived  inroad  of 
Louis  XLV.  into  Holland  in  1672, 
and  the  taking  of  whole  muster-rolls 


of  forts  and  villages,  left  at  his  mercy, 
ungarrisoned  and  unprovisioned,  by 
the  Republican  parsimony  of  the 
Dutch,  till  a  princely  defender  arose, 
and  the  young  Stadtholder  sent  back 
the  coxcomb  monarch  faster  than  he 
came.  But  the  Arc  is  a  noble  work, 
and  its  architecture  might  well  set  a 
redeeming  example  to  the  London 
improvers.  Why  not  erect  an  arch  in 
Southwark?  Why  not  at  all  the 
great  avenues  to  the  capital  ?  Why 
not,  instead  of  leaving  this  task  to 
the  caprices,  or  even  to  the  bad  taste 
of  the  railway  companies,  make  it  a 
branch  of  the  operations  of  the 
Woods  and  Forests,  and  ennoble 
all  the  entrances  of  the  mightiest 
capital  of  earthly  empire  ? 

The  Arch  of  St  Denis  is  now  shin- 
ing in  all  the  novelty  of  reparation, 
for  it  was  restored  so  lately  as  last 
year.  In  this  quarter,  which  has 
been  always  of  a  stormy  temperature, 
the  insurrection  of  1848  raged  with 
especial  fury ;  and  if  the  spirits  of  the 
great  ever"  hover  about  their  monu- 
ments, Louis  XIV.  may  have  seen 
from  its  summit  a  more  desperate 
confliet  than  ever  figured  on  its  bas- 
reliefs. 

On  the  Arch  of  the  Porte  St  Martin 
is  a  minor  monument  to  minor  tri- 
umphs, but  a  handsome  one.  Louis 
XIV.  is  still  the  hero.  The  "  Grand 
Monarque  "  is  exhibited  as  Hercules 
with  his  club  ;  but  as  even  a  monarch 
in  those  days  was  nothing  without 
his  wig,  Hercules  exhibits  a  huge 
mass  of  curls  of  the  most  courtly 
dimensions — he  might  pass  for  the 
presiding  deity  of  perruquiers. 

The  Arc  de  Triomphe  du  Carousel, 
erected  in  honour  of  the  German 
campaign  in  1805,  is  a  costly  perfor- 
mance, yet  poor  -  looking,  from  its 
position  in  the  centre  of  lofty  buildings. 
What  effect  can  an  isolated  arch,  of 
but  five-and-forty  feet  high,  have 
in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  masses 
of  building,  perhaps  a  hundred  feet 
high  ?  Its  aspect  is  consequently 
meagre ;  an-d  its  being  placed  in  the 
centre  of  a  court  makes  it  look  useless, 
and,  of  course,  ridiculous.  On  the 
summit  is  a  figure  of  War,  or  Victory, 
in  a  chariot,  with  four  bronze  horses — 
the  horses  modelled  from  the  four 
Coustantinopolitan  horses  brought 
by  the  French  from  Venice,  as  part 


1851.] 


Paris  in  1851. 


321 


f  the  plunder  of  that  luckless  city,  but 
ent  back  to  Venice  by  the  Allies  in 


o 

sent  back  to  Venice  by 

1815.    The  design  of  the  archwasfroin 

that  of  Severus,  in  Rome:  this  secured, 

at  least,  elegance  in  its  construction  ; 

but  the  position  is  fatal  to  dignity. 

The  Arc  de  VEtoile  is  the  finest 
work  of  the  kind  in  Paris.  It  has 
the  advantage  of  being  built  on  an 
elevation,  from  which  it  overlooks  the 
whole  city,  with  no  building  of  any 
magnitude  in  its  vicinity  ;  and  is  seen 
from  a  considerable  distance  on  all  the 
roads  leading  to  the  capital.  Its  cost 
was  excessive  for  a  work  of  mere  orna- 
ment, and  is  said  to  have  amounted 
to  nearly  half  a  million  sterling  ! 

As  I  stood  glancing  over  the  groups 
on  the  friezes  and  faces  of  this  great 
monument,  which  exhibit  war  in 
every  form  of  conflict,  havoc,  and 
victory,  the  homely  thought  of  "  cui 
bono  ?  "  struck  me  irresistibly.  Who 
was  the  better  for  all  this  havoc?  — 
Napoleon,  whom  it  sent  to  a  dungeon  ! 
or  the  miserable  thousands  and  tens 
of  thousands  whom  it  crushed  in  the 
field?  —  or  the  perhaps  more  unfortu- 
nate hundreds  of  thousands  whom 
it  sent  to  the  hospital,  to  die  the 
slow  death  of  exhaustion  and  pain, 
or  to  live  the  protracted  life  of  muti- 
lation ?  I  have  no  affectation  of 
sentiment  at  the  sight  of  the  soldier's 
grave  ;  he  has  but  taken  his  share 
of  the  common  lot,  with  perhaps  the 
advantage,  which  so  few  men  possess, 
of  having  "  done  the  state  some 
service."  But,  to  see  this  vast  monu- 
ment covered  with  the  emblems  of 
hostilities,  continued  through  almost 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  (for  the  groups 
commence  with  1792  ;)  to  think  of  the 
devastation  of  the  fairest  countries  of 
Europe,  of  which  these  hostilities 
were  the  cause;  and  to  know  the  utter 
fruitlessness  and  failure  of  the  result, 
the  short-lived  nature  of  the  triumph, 
and  the  frightful  depth  of  the  defeat— 
Napoleon  in  ignominious  bondage  and 
hopeless  banishment—  Napoleon,  after 
having  lorded  it  over  Europe,  sent  to 
linger  out  life  on  a  rock  in  the  centre 
of  the  ocean  —  the  leader  of  military 
millions  kept  under  the  eye  of  a  Bri- 
tish sentinel,  and  no  more  suffered  to 
stray  beyond  his  bounds  than  a  caged 
tiger—  I  felt  as  if  the  object  before  me 
was  less  a  trophy  than  a  tomb,  less  a 
monument  of  glory  than  of  retribution, 


less  the  record  of  national  triumph 
than  of  national  frenzy. 

I  had  full  liberty  for  reflection,  for 
there  was  scarcely  a  human  being  to 
interrupt  me.  The  bustle  of  the  capi- 
tal did  not  reach  so  far,  the  prome- 
naders  in  the  Champs  Elysdes  did 
not  venture  here  ;  the  showy  equi- 
pages of  the  Parisian  "  nouveaux 
riches'"  remained  where  the  crowd 
was  to  be  seen ;  and  except  a  few 
peasants  going  on  their  avocations, 
and  a  bench  full  of  soldiers,  sleeping 
or  smoking  away  the  weariness  of  the 
hour,  the  Arc  de  Trwmphe,  which 
had  cost  so  much  treasure,  and  was 
the  record  of  so  much  blood,  seemed 
to  be  totally  forgotten.  I  question,  if 
there  had  been  a  decree  of  the  Legis- 
lature to  sell  the  stones,  whether  it 
would  have  occasioned  more  than  a 
paragraph  in  the  Journal  des  Debats. 

The  ascent  to  the  summit  is  by  a 
long  succession  of  dark  and  winding 
steps,  for  which  a  lamp  is  lighted  by 
the  porter;  but  the  view  from  the 
parapet  repays  the  trouble  of  the 
ascent.  The  whole  basin  in  which 
Paris  lies  is  spread  out  before  the 
eye.  The  city  is  seen  in  the  centre 
of  a  valley,  surrounded  on  every  side 
by  a  circle  of  low  hills,  sheeted  with 
dark  masses  of  wood.  It  was  pro- 
bably once  the  bed  of  a  lake,  in  which 
the  site  of  the  city  was  an  island. 
All  the  suburb  villages  came  within 
the  view,  with  the  fortifications,  which 
to  a  more  scientific  eye  might  appear 
formidable,  but  which  to  mine  appeared 
mere  dots  in  the  vast  landscape. 

This  parapet  is  unhappily  sometimes 
used  for  other  purposes  than  the  indul- 
gence of  the  spectacle.  A  short  time 
since,  a  determined  suicide  sprang  from 
it,  after  making  a  speech  to  the  soldiery 
below,  assigning  his  reason  for  this 
tremendous  act' — if  reason  has  any- 
thing to  do  in  such  a  desperate  deter- 
mination to  defy  common  sense.  He 
acted  with  the  quietest  appearance  of 
deliberation  :  let  himself  down  on  the 
coping  of  the  battlement,  from  this 
made  his  speech,  as  if  he  had  been  in  the 
tribune  ;  and,  having  finished  it,  flung 
himself  down  a  height  of  ninety  feet, 
and  was  in  an  instant  a  crushed  and 
lifeless  heap  on  the  pavement  below. 

It  is  remarkable  that,  even  in  these 
crimes,  there  exists  the  distinction 
which  seems  to  divide  France  from 


322 


Pans  in  1851. 


[Sept. 


England  in  every  better  thing.  In 
England,  a  wretch  undone  by  poverty, 
broken  down  by  incurable  pain,  af- 
flicted by  the  stings  of  a  conscience 
which  she  neither  knows  how  to  heal 
nor  cares  how  to  cure,  woman,  help- 
less, wretched,  and  desolate,  takes  her 
walk  under  cover  of  night  by  the 
nearest  river,  and,  without  a  witness, 

§  lunges  in.  But,  in  France,  the  last 
read ful  scene  is  imperfect  without  its 
publicity;  the  suicide  must  exhibit 
before  the  people.  There  must  be 
the  valete  et  plaudite.  The  curtain 
must  fall  with  dramatic  effect,  and 
the  actor  must  make  his  exit  with  the 
cries  of  the  audience,  in  admiration  or 
terror,  ringing  in  the  ear. 

In  other  cases,  however  varied,  the 
passion  for  publicity  is  still  the  same. 
No  man  can  bear  to  perish  in  silence. 
If  the  atheist  resolves  on  self-destruc- 
tion, he  writes  a  treatise  for  his  pub- 
lisher, or  a  letter  to  the  journals.  If  he 
is  a  man  of  science,  he  takes  his  lau- 
danum after  supper,  and,  pen  in  hand, 
notes  the  gradual  effects  of  the  poison 
for  the  benefit  of  science ;  or  he  pre- 
pares a  fire  of  charcoal,  quietly  inhales 
the  vapour,  and  from  his  sofa  con- 
tinues to  scribble  the  symptoms  of 
dissolution,  until  the  pen  grows  un- 
steady, the  brain  wanders,  and  half- 
a-dozen  blots  close  the  scene ;  the 
writing,  however,  being  dedicated  to 
posterity,  and  circulated  next  day  in 
every  journal  of  Paris,  till  it  finally 
permeates  through  the  provinces,  and 
from  thence  through  the  European 
world. 

The  number  of  suicides  in  Paris 
annually,  of  late  years,  has  been  about 
three  hundred, — out  of  a  population 
of  a  million,  notwithstanding  the  sup- 
pression of  the  gaming-houses,  which 
unquestionably  had  a  large  share  in 
the  temptation  to  this  horrible  and 
unatonable  crime. 

The  sculptures  on  the  Arc  are  in 
the  best  style.  They  form  a  history 
of  the  Consulate  and  of  the  Empire. 
Napoleon,  of  course,  is  a  prominent 
figure ;  but  in  the  fine  bas-relief 
which  is  peculiarly  devoted  to  him- 
self, in  which  he  stands  of  colossal 
size,  with  Fame  flying  over  his  head, 
History  writing  the  record  of  his  ex- 
ploits, and  Victory  crowning  him, 
the  artist  has  left  his  work  liable  to 
the  sly  sarcasm  of  a  spectator  of  a 


similar  design  for  the  statue  of  Louis 
XIV.  Victory  was  there  holding 
the  laurel  at  a  slight  distance  from 
his  head.  An  Englishman  asked 
"  whether  she  was  putting  it  on  or 
taking  it  off?"  But  another  of  the 
sculptures  is  still  more  unfortunate, 
for  it  has  the  unintentional  effect  of 
commemorating  the  Allied  conquest 
of  France  in  1814.  A  young  French- 
man is  seen  defending  his  family  ;  and 
a  soldier  behind  him  is  seen  falling 
from  his  horse,  and  the  Genius  of 
i\\Q  future  flutters  over  them  all.  We 
know  what  that  future  was. 

The  building  of  this  noble  memorial 
occupied,  at  intervals,  no  less  than- 
thirty  years,  beginning  in  1806,  when 
Napoleon  issued  a  decree  for  its  erec- 
tion. The  invasion  in  1814  put  a  stop 
to  everything  in  France,  and  the  build- 
ing was  suspended.  The  fruitless  and 
foolish  campaign  of  the  Due  d'  Angou- 
leme,  in  Spain,  was  regarded  by 
the  Bourbons  as  a  title  to  national 
glories,  and  the  building  was  resumed 
as  a  trophy  to  the  renown  of  the  Due. 
It  was  again  interrupted  by  the  ex- 
pulsion of  the  Bourbons  in  1830 ;  but 
was  resumed  under  Louis  Philippe, 
and  finished  in  1836.  It  is  altogether 
a  very  stately  and  very  handsome 
tribute  to  the  French  armies. 

But,  without  affecting  unnecessary 
severity  of  remark,  may  not  the 
wisdom  of  such  a  tribute  be  justly 
doubted  ?  The  Romans,  though  the 
principle  of  their  power  was  conquest, 
and  though  their  security  was  almost 
incompatible  with  peace,  yet  are  said 
to  have  never  repaired  a  triumphal 
arch.  It  is  true  that  they  built  those 
arches  (in  the  latter  period  of  the 
Empire)  so  solidly  as  to  want  no 
repairs.  But  we  have  no  triumphal 
monuments  of  the  Republic  surviving. 
Why  should  it  be  the  constant  policy 
of  Continental  governments  to  pamper 
their  people  with  the  food  of  that  most 
dangerous  and  diseased  of  all  vanities, 
the  passion  for  war  ?  And  this  is  not 
said  in  the  declamatory  spirit  of  the 
"  Peace  Congress,"  which  seems  to- 
be  nothing  more  than  a  pretext  for 
a  Continental  ramble,  an  expedient 
for  a  little  vulgar  notoriety  among 
foreigners,  and  an  opportunity  of  get- 
ting rid  of  the  greatest  quantity  of 
common-place  in  the  shortest  time. 
But,  why  should  not  France  learn? 


1851.]  Parts  in  1851. 

common  sense  from  the  experience  of 
England  ?  It  is  calculated  that,  of  the 
last  five  hundred  years  of  French  his- 
tory, two  hundred  and  fifty  have  been 
spent  in  hostilities.  In  consequence, 
France  has  been  invaded,  trampled, 
and  impoverished  by  war ;  while  Eng- 
land, during  the  last  three  hundred 
years,  has  never  seen  the  foot  of  a 
foreign  invader. 

Let  the  people  of  France  abolish 
the  Conscription,  and  they  will  have 
made  one  advance  to  liberty.  Till 
cabinets  are  deprived  of  that  ma- 
terial of  aggressive  war,  they  will 
leave  war  at  the  caprice  of  a  weak 
monarch,  an  ambitious  minister,  or  a 
vainglorious  people.  It  is  remarkable 
that,  among  all  the  attempts  at  re- 
forming the  constitution  of  France, 
her  reformers  have  never  touched  upon 
the  ulcer  of  the  land,  the  Conscrip- 
tion, the  legacy  of  a  frantic  Kepublic, 
taking  the  children  of  the  country 
from  their  industry,  to  plunge  them 
into  the  vices  of  idleness  or  the  havoc 
of  war,  and  at  all  times  to  furnish 
the  means,  as  well  as  afford  the 
temptation,  to  aggressive  war.  There 
is  not  at  this  hour  a  soldier  of  Eng- 
land who  has  been  forced  into  the 
service  !  Let  the  French,  let  all  the 
Continental  nations,  abolish  the  Con- 
scription, thus  depriving  their  govern- 
ments of  the  means  of  making  war 
upon  each  other;  and  what  an  infi- 
nite security  would  not  this  illustrious 
abolition  give  to  the  whole  of  Europe ! 
— what  an  infinite  saving  in  the  taxes 
which  are  now  wrung  from  nations  by 
the  fear  of  each  other ! — and  what  an 
infinite  triumph  to  the  spirit  of  peace, 
industry,  and  mutual  good- will ! 

The  Theatres. — In  the  evening  I 
wandered  along  the  Boulevard,  the 
great  centre  of  the  theatres,  and  was 
surprised  at  the  crowds  which,  in  a 
hot  summer  night,  could  venture  to 
be  stewed  alive,  amid  the  smell  of 
lamps,  the  effluvia  of  orange-peel,  the 
glare  of  lights,  and  the  breathing  of 
hundreds  or  thousands  of  human 
beings,  I  preferred  the  fresh  air,  the 
lively  movement  of  the  Boulevard, 
the  glitter  of  the  Cafes,  and  the 
glow,  then  tempered,  of  the  declin- 
ing sun — one  of  the  prettiest  moving 
panoramas  of  Paris. 

The  French  Government  take  a 
great  interest  in  the  popularity  of  the 


323 

theatres,  and  exert  that  species  of 
superintendence  which  is  implied  in 
a  considerable  supply  of  the  theatri- 
cal expenditure.  The  French  Opera 
receives  annually  from  the  National 
Treasury  no  less  than  750,000  francs, 
besides  130,000  for  retiring  pensions. 
To  the  Theatre  Fran^ais,  the  allow- 
ance from  the  Treasury  is  240,000' 
francs  a-year.  To  the  Italian  Opera 
the  sum  granted  was  formerly  70,000, 
but  is  now  50,000.  Allowances  are 
made  to  the  Opera  Comique,  a  most 
amusing  theatre,  to  the  Odeon,  and 
perhaps  to  some  others — the  whole 
demanding  of  the  budget  a  sum  of 
more  than  a  million  of  francs. 

It  is  curious  that  the  drama  in 
France  began  with  the  clergy.  In 
the  time  of  Charles  VI.,  a  company, 
named  u  Confreres  de  la  Passion," 
performed  plays  founded  on  the  events 
of  Scripture,  though  grossly  disfigured 
by  the  traditions  of  Monachism.  The 
originals  were  probably  the  "Mys- 
teries," or  plays  in  the  Convents,  a 
species  of  absurd  and  fantastic  repre- 
sentation common  in  all  Popish  coun- 
tries. At  length  the  life  of  Man- 
ners was  added  to  the  life  of  Super- 
stition, and  singers  and  grimacers 
were  added  to  the  "  Confreres." 

In  the  sixteenth  century  an  Italian 
company  appeared  in  Paris,  and 
brought  with  them  their  opera,  the 
invention  of  the  Florentines  fifty 
years  before.  The  cessation  of  the 
civil  wars  allowed  France  for  a  while 
to  cultivate  the  arts  of  peace ;  and 
Richelieu,  a  man  who,  if  it  could  be 
said  of  any  statesman  that  he  formed 
the  mind  of  the  nation,  impressed  his 
image  and  superscription  upon  his 
country,  gave  the  highest  encourage- 
ment to  the  drama  by  making  it  the 
fashion.  He  even  wrote,  or  assisted 
in  writing,  popular  dramas.  Corneille 
now  began  to  flourish,  and  French, 
Tragedy  was  established. 

Mazarin,  when  minister,  and,  like 
Richelieu,  master  of  the  nation,  in- 
vited or  admitted  the  Italian  Opera 
once  more  into  France  ;  and  Moliere, 
at  the  head  of  a  new  company,  ob- 
tained leave  to  perform  before  Louis 
XIV.,  who  thenceforth  patronised  the 
great  comic  writer,  and  gave  his  com- 
pany a  theatre.  The  Tragedy,  Co- 
medy, and  Opera  of  France  now  led 
the  way  in  Europe. 


324 

In  France,  the  Great  Revolution, 
while  it  multiplied  the  theatres  with 
the  natural  extravagance  of  the  time, 
yet,  by  a  consequence  equally  inevit- 
able, degraded  the  taste  of  the  na- 
tion. For  a  long  period  the  legiti- 
mate drama  was  almost  extinguished : 
it  was  unexciting  to  a  people  trained 
day  by  day  to  revolutionary  convul- 
sion ;  the  pageants  on  the  stage  were 
tame  to  the  processions  in  the  streets ; 
and  the  struggles  of  kings  and  nobles 
were  ridiculous  to  the  men  who  had 
been  employed  in  destroying  a 
dynasty. 

Napoleon  at  once  perceived  the 
evil,  and  adopted  the  only  remedy. 
He  found  no  less  than  thirty  theatres 
in  Paris.  He  was  not  a  man  to 
pause  where  he  saw  his  way  clearly 
before  him  ;  he  closed  twenty- two  of 
those  theatres,  leaving  but  eight,  and 
those  chiefly  of  the  old  establishments, 
making  a  species  of  compensation  to 
the  closed  houses. 

On  the  return  of  the  Bourbons  the 
civil  list,  as  in  the  old  times,  assisted 
in  the  support  of  the  theatres.  On 
the  accession  of  Louis  Philippe,  the 
popular  triumph  infused  its  extrava- 
gance even  into  the  system  of  the 
drama.  The  number  of  the  theatres 
increased,  and  a  succession  of  writers 
of  the  "New  School"  filled  the 
theatres  with  abomination.  Gallantry 
became  the  spirit  of  the  drama — every- 
thing before  the  scene  was  intrigue ; 
married  life  was  the  perpetual  bur- 
lesque. Wives  were  the  habitual 
heroines  of  the  intrigue,  and  husbands 
the  habitual  dupes  I  To  keep  faith 
with  a  husband  was  a  standing  jest 
on  the  stage,  to  keep  it  with  a  seducer 
was  the  height  of  human  character. 
The  former  was  always  described  as 
brutal,  gross,  dull,  and  born  to  be 
duped  ;  the  latter  was  captivating, 
generous,  and  irresistible  by  any 
matron  alive.  In  fact,  wives  and 
widows  were  made  for  nothing  else 
but  to  give  way  to  the  fascinations  of 
this  class  of  professors  of  the  arts  of 
*'  good  society."  The  captivator  was 
substantially  described  as  a  scoundrel, 
a  gambler,  and  a  vagabond  of  the 
basest  kind,  but  withal  so  honourable, 
so  tender,  and  so  susceptible,  that  his 
atrocities  disappeared,  or  rather  were 
transmuted  into  virtues,  by  the  bril- 
liancy of  his  qualifications  for  seducing 


Paris  in  1851.  [Sept. 

the  wife  of  his  friend.  Perjury,  pro- 
fligacy, and  the  betrayal  of  confidence 
in  the  most  essential  tie  of  human 
nature,  were  supreme  in  popularity  in 
the  Novel  and  on  the  Stage. 

The  direct  consequence  is,  that 
the  crime  of  adultery  is  lightly  consi- 
dered in  France ;  even  the  pure  speak 
of  it  without  the  abhorrence  which, 
for  every  reason,  it  deserves.  Its 
notoriety  is  rather  thought  of  as  an 
anecdote  of  the  day,  or  the  gossiping 
of  the  soiree ;  and  the  most  acknow- 
ledged licentiousness  does  not  exclude 
a  man  of  a  certain  rank  from  general 
reception  in  good  society. 

One  thing  may  be  observed  on  the 
most  casual  intercourse  with  French- 
men— that  the  vices  which,  in  our 
country,  create  disgust  and  offence  in 
grave  society,  and  laughter  and  levity 
in  the  more  careless,  seldom  produce 
either  the  one  or  the  other  in  France. 
The  topic  is  alluded  to  with  neither  a 
frown  nor  a  smile ;  it  is  treated,  in 
general,  as  a  matter  of  course,  either 
too  natural  to  deserve  censure,  or  too 
common  to  excite  ridicule.  It  is  sel- 
dom peculiarly  alluded  to,  for  the  gene- 
ral conversation  of  "  Good  Society"  is 
decorous  ;  but  to  denounce  it  would  be 
unmannered.  The  result  is  an  extent 
of  illegitimacy  enough  to  corrupt  the 
whole  rising  population.  By  the  re- 
gisters of  1848,  of  30,000  children 
born  in  Paris  in  that  year,  there  were 
10,000  illegitimate,  of  which  but 
1700  were  acknowledged  by  their 
parents ! 

The  theatrical  profession  forms  an 
important  element  in  the  population. 
The  actors  and  actresses  amount  to 
about  5000.  In  England  they  are 
probably  not  as  many  hundreds. 
And  though  the  French  population  is 
35,000,000,  while  Great  Britain  has 
little  more  than  twenty,  yet  the  dis- 
proportion is  enormous,  and  forms  a 
characteristic  difference  of  the  two 
countries.  The  persons  occupied  in 
the  "  working"  of  the  theatrical  sys- 
tem amount  perhaps  to  10,000,  and 
the  families  dependent  on  the  whole 
form  a  very  large  and  very  influential 
class  among  the  general  orders  of 
society. 

But  if  the  Treasury  assists  in  their 
general  support,  it  compels  them  to 
pay  eight  per  cent  of  their  receipts 
as  a  contribution  to  the  hospitals. 


1851.]  Paris  in  1851. 

This  sum  averages  annually  a  million 
of  francs,  or  £40,000  sterling. 

In  England  we  might  learn  some- 
thing from  the  theatrical  regulations 
of  France.  The  trampling  of  our 
crowds  at  the  doors  of  theatres,  the 
occasional  losses  of  life  and  limb,  and 
the  general  inconvenience  and  confu- 
sion of  the  entrance  on  crowded  nights, 
might  be  avoided  by  the  mere  adoption 
of  French  order. 

But  why  should  not  higher  objects 
be  held  in  view?  The  drama  is  a 
public  necessity ;  the  people  will  have 
it,  whether  good  or  bad.  Why  should 
not  Government  offer  prizes  to  the 
best  drama,  tragic  or  comic?  Why 
should  the  most  distinguished  work 
of  poetic  genius  find  no  encourage- 
ment from  the  Government  of  a  nation 
boasting  of  its  love  of  letters  ?  Why 
shall  that  encouragement  be  left  to 
the  caprice  of  managers,  to  the 
finances  of  struggling  establishments, 
or  to  the  tastes  of  theatres,  forced  by 
their  poverty  to  pander  to  the  rabble. 
Why  should  not  the  mischievous  per- 
formances of  those  theatres  be  put 
down,  and  dramas,  founded  on  the 
higher  principles  of  our  nature,  be  the 
instruments  of  putting  them  down? 
Why  should  not  heroism,  honour,  and 
patriotism,  be  taught  on  the  national 
stage,  as  well  as  the  triumphs  of  the 
highroad,  laxity  among  the  higher 
ranks,  and  vice  among  all?  The 
drama  has  been  charged  with  corrup- 
tion. Is  that  corruption  essential  ?  It 
has  been  charged  with  being  a  nucleus 
of  the  loose  principles,  as  its  places  of 
representation  have  been  haunted  by 
the  loose  characters,  of  society.  But 
what  are  these  but  excrescences,  gene- 
rated by  the  carelessness  of  society, 
by  the  indolence  of  magistracy,  and 
by  the  general  misconception  of  the 
real  purposes  and  possible  power  of 
the  stage?  That  power  is  magnifi- 
cent. It  takes  human  nature  in  her 
most  impressible  form,  in  the  time  of 
the  glowing  heart  and  the  ready  tear, 
Of  the  senses  animated  by  scenery, 
melted  by  music,  and  spelled  by  the 
living  realities  of  representation. 
Why  should  not  impressions  be 
made  in  that  hour  which  the  man 


325 


would  carry  with  him  through  all  the 
contingencies  of  life,  and  which  would 
throw  a  light  on  every  period  of  his 
being? 

The  conditions  of  recompense  to 
authors  in  France  make  some  advance 
to  justice.  The  author  of  a  Drama  is 
entitled  to  a  profit  on  its  performance 
in  every  theatre  of  France  during  his 
life,  with  a  continuance  for  ten  years 
after  to  his  heirs.  For  a  piece  of 
three  or  five  acts,  the  remuneration  is 
one  twelfth  part  of  the  gross  receipts, 
and  for  a  piece  in  one  act,  one  twenty- 
fourth.  A  similar  compensation  has 
been  adopted  in  the  English  theatre, 
but  seems  to  have  become  completely 
nugatory,  from  the  managers'  purchas- 
ing the  author's  rights — the  transac- 
tion here  being  made  a  private  one, 
and  the  remuneration  being  at  the 
mercy  of  the  manager.  But  in  France 
it  is  a  public  matter,  an  affair  of  law, 
and  looked  to  by  an  agent  in  Paris, 
who  registers  the  performance  of  the 
piece  at  all  the  theatres  in  the  city, 
and  in  the  provinces. 

Still,  this  is  injustice.  Why  should 
the  labour  of  the  intellect  be  less 
permanent  than  the  labour  of  the 
hands  ?  Why  should  not  the  author 
be  entitled  to  make  his  full  demand 
instead  of  this  pittance  ?  If  his  play 
is  worth  acting,  why  is  it  not  worth 
paying  for  ? — and  why  should  he  be 
prohibited  from  having  the  fruit  of  his 
brain  as  an  inheritance  to  his  family, 
as  well  as  the  fruit  of  any  other  toil  ? 

If,  instead  of  being  a  man  of  genius, 
delighting  and  elevating  the  mind  of 
a  nation,  he  were  a  blacksmith,  he 
might  leave  his  tools  and  his  trade  to 
his  children  without  any  limit ;  or  if, 
with  the  produce  of  his  play,  he  pur- 
chased a  cow,  or  a  cabin,  no  man 
could  lay  a  claim  upon  either.  But 
he  must  be  taxed  for  being  a  man  of 
talent ;  and  men  of  no  talent  must  be 
entitled,  by  an  absurd  law  and  a  pal- 
pable injustice,  to  tear  the  fruit  of  his 
intellectual  supremacy  from  his  chil- 
dren after  ten  short  years  of  pos- 
session. 

No  man  leaves  Paris  without  re- 
gret, and  without  a  wish  for  the 
liberty  and  peace  of  its  people. 


326 


Mr  Rushes  Works. 


[Sept. 


MR  RUSKIN'S  WORKS. 


ON  the  publication  of  the  first 
volume  of  Mr  Ruskin's  work  on 
Modern  Painters,  a  notice  appeared 
of  it  in  this  Magazine.  Since  that 
time  a  second  volume  has  been  pub- 
lished of  the  same  work,  with  two 
other  works  on  architecture.  It  is 
the  second  volume  of  his  Modern 
Painters  which  will  at  present  chiefly 
engage  our  attention.  His  architec- 
tural works  can  only  receive  a  slight 
and  casual  notice ;  on  some  future 
occasion  they  may  tempt  us  into  a 
fuller  examination. 

Although  the  second  volume  of  the 
Modern  Painters  will  be  the  imme- 
diate subject  of  our  review,  we  must 
permit  ourselves  to  glance  back  upon 
the  first,  in  order  to  connect  together 
the  topics  treated  by  the  two,  and  to 
prevent  our  paper  from  wearing  quite 
the  aspect  of  a  metaphysical  essay  ; 
for  it  is  the  nature  of  the  sentiment 
of  the  beautiful,  and  its  sources  in 
the  human  mind,  which  is  the  main 
subject  of  this  second  volume.  In 
the  first,  ho  had  entered  at  once  into 
the  arena  of  criticism,  elevating  the 
modern  artists,  and  one  amongst  them 
in  particular,  at  the  expense  of  the  old 
masters,  who,  with  some  few  excep- 
tions, find  themselves  very  rudely 
handled. 

As  we  have  already  intimated,  we 
do  not  hold  Mr  Ruskin  to  be  a  safe 
guide  in  matters  of  art,  and  the  pre- 
sent volume  demonstrates  that  he  is 
no  safe  guide  in  matters  of  philosophy. 
He  is  a  man  of  undoubted  power  and 
vigour  of  mind  ;  he  feels  strongly, 
and  he  thinks  independently  :  but  he 
is  hasty  and  impetuous  ;  can  very 
rarely,  on  any  subject,  deliver  a  calm 
and  temperate  judgment ;  and,  when 
he  enters  on  the  discussion  of  general 
principles,  shows  an  utter  inability  to 
seize  on,  or  to  appreciate,  the  wide 
generalisations  of  philosophy.  He  is 
not,  therefore,  one  of  those  men  who 
can  ever  become  an  authority  to  be 
appealed  to  by  the  less  instructed  in 
any  of  the  fine  arts,  or  on  any  topic 


whatever ;  and  this  we  say  with  the 
utmost  confidence,  because,  although 
we  may  be  unable  in  many  cases  to 
dispute  his  judgment — as  where  he 
speaks  of  paintings  we  have  not  seen, 
or  technicalities  of  art  we  do  not 
affect  to  understand — yet  he  so  fre- 
quently stands  forth  on  the  broad 
arena  where  general  and  familiar 
principles  are  discussed,  that  it  is 
utterly  impossible  to  be  mistaken  in 
the  man.  On  all  these  occasions  he 
displays  a  very  marked  and  rather 
peculiar  combination  of  power  and 
weakness— of  power,  the  result  of 
natural  strength  of  mind ;  of  weak- 
ness, the  inevitable  consequence  of  a 
passionate  haste,  and  an  overweening 
confidence.  When  we  hear  a  person 
of  this  intellectual  character  throwing 
all  but  unmitigated  abuse  upon  works 
which  men  have  long  consented  to 
admire,  and  lavishing  upon  some  other 
works  encomiums  which  no  conceiv- 
able perfection  of  human  art  could 
justify,  it  is  utterly  impossible  to 
attach  any  weight  to  his  opinion,  on 
the  ground  that  he  has  made  an  espe- 
cial study  of  any  one  branch  of  art. 
Such  a  man  we  cannot  trust  out  of 
our  sight  a  moment ;  we  cannot  give 
him  one  inch  of  ground  more  than  his 
reasoning  covers,  or  our  own  expe- 
rience would  grant  to  him. 

We  shall  not  here  revive  the  con- 
troversy on  the  comparative  merits  of 
the  ancient  and  modern  landscape- 
painters,  nor  on  the  later  productions 
of  Mr  Turner,  whether  they  are  the 
eccentricities  of  genius  or  its  fullest 
development ;  we  have  said  enough 
on  these  subjects  before.  It  is  Mr 
Ruskin's  book,  and  not  the  pictures  of 
Claude  or  Turner,  that  we  have  to 
criticise  ;  it  is  his  style,  and  his  man- 
ner of  thinking,  that  we  have  to  pass 
judgment  on. 

In  all  Mr  Ruskin's  works,  and  in 
almost  every  page  of  them,  whether 
on  painting,  or  architecture,  or  philo- 
sophy, or  ecclesiastical  controversy, 
two  characteristics  invariably  prevail: 


Modern  Painters,  vol.  i.      Second   edition. Modern  Painters,  vol.   ii. The 

Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture. The  Stones  of  Venice. Notes  on  the  Construction 

of  Sheepfulds.     By  JOHN  RUSKIN,  M.A. 


1851.] 

an  extreme  dogmatism,  and  a  passion 
for  singularity.  Every  man  who 
thinks  earnestly  would  convert  all  the 
world  to  his  own  opinions  ;  but  while 
Mr  Ruskin  would  convert  all  the 
world  to  his  own  tastes  as  well  as 
opinions,  he  manifests  the  greatest 
repugnance  to  think  for  a  moment 
like  any  one  else.  He  has  a  mortal 
aversion  to  mingle  with  a  crowd.  It 
is  quite  enough  for  an  opinion  to  be 
commonplace  to  insure  it  his  con- 
tempt :  if  it  has  passed  out  of  fashion, 
he  may  revive  it ;  but  to  think  with 
the  existing  multitude  would  be  im- 
possible. Yet  that  multitude  are  to 
think  with  him.  He  is  as  bent  on 
unity  in  matters  of  taste  as  others 
are  on  unity  in  matters  of  religion  ; 
and  he  sets  the  example  by  diverging, 
wherever  he  can,  from  the  tastes  of 
others. 

Between  these  two  characteristics 
there  is  no  real  contradiction ;  or 
rather  the  contradiction  is  quite  fami- 
liar. The  man  who  most  affects 
singularity  is  generally  the  most 
dogmatic :  he  is  the  very  man  who 
expresses  most  surprise  that  others 
should  differ  from  him.  No  one  is  so 
impatient  of  contradiction  as  he  who 
is  perpetually  contradicting  others  5 
and  on  the  gravest  matters  of  religion 
those  are  often  found  to  be  most 
zealous  for  unity  of  belief  who  have 
some  pet  heresy  of  their  own,  for 
which  they  are  battling  all  their  lives. 
The  same  overweening  confidence  lies, 
in  fact,  at  the  basis  of  both  these 
characteristics.  In  Mr  Ruskin  they 
are  both  seen  in  great  force.  No 
matter  what  the  subject  he  discusses, 
— taste  or  ecclesiastical  government — 
we  always  find  the  same  combination 
of  singularity,  with  a  dogmatism  ap- 
proaching to  intolerance.  Thus,  the 
Ionic  pillar  is  universally  admired. 
Mr  Ruskin  finds  that  the  fluted  shaft 
gives  an  appearance  of  weakness. 
No  one  ever  felt  this,  so  long  as  the 
fluted  column  is  manifestly  of  suffi- 
cient diameter  to  sustain  the  weight 
imposed  on  it.  But  this  objection  of 
apparent  insecurity  has  been  very 
commonly  made  to  the  spiral  or 
twisted  column.  Here,  therefore,  Mr 
Ruskin  abruptly  dismisses  the  objec- 
tion. He  was  at  liberty  to  defend 
the  spiral  column :  we  should  say 
here,  also,  that  if  the  weight  imposed 


Mr  Ruskirfs  Works.  827 

was  evidently  not  too  great  for  even  a 
spiral  column  to  support,  this  objec- 
tion has  no  place  ;  but  why  cast  the 
same  objection,  (which  perhaps  in  all 
cases  was  a  mere  after-thought) 
against  the  Ionic  shaft,  when  it  had 
never  been  felt  at  all  ?  It  has  been  a 
general  remark,  that,  amongst  other 
results  of  the  railway,  it  has  given  a 
new  field  to  the  architect,  as  well  as 
to  the  engineer.  Therefore  Mr 
Ruskin  resolves  that  our  railroad 
stations  ought  to  have  no  architecture 
at  all.  Of  course,  if  he  limited  his 
objections  to  inappropriate  ornament, 
he  would  be  agreeing  with  all  the 
world :  he  decides  there  should  be  no 
architecture  whatever  ;  merely  build- 
ings more  or  less  spacious,  to  protect 
men  and  goods  from  the  weather. 
He  has  never  been  so  unfortunate,  we 
suppose,  as  to  come  an  hour  too  soon, 
or  the  unlucky  five  minutes  too  late, 
to  a  railway  station,  or  he  would 
have  been  glad  enough  to  find  himself 
in  something  better  than  the  large 
shed  he  proposes.  On  the  grave  sub- 
ject of  ecclesiastical  government  he 
has  stepped  forward  into  controversy; 
and  here  lie  shows  both  his  usual 
propensities  in  high  relief.  He  has 
some  quite  peculiar  projects  of  his 
own ;  the  appointment  of  some  hun- 
dreds of  bishops — we  know  not  what 
— and  a  Church  discipline  to  be  carried 
out  by  trial  by  jury.  Desirable  or 
not,  they  are  manifestly  as  imprac- 
ticable as  the  revival  of  chivalry. 
But  let  that  pass.  Let  every  man 
think  and  propose  his  best.  But  his 
dogmatism  amounts  to  a  disease, 
when,  turning  from  his  own  novelties, 
he  can  speak  in  the  flippant  intolerant 
manner  that  he  does  of  the  national 
and  now  time-honoured  Church  of 
Scotland. 

It  will  be  worth  while  to  make,  in 
passing,  a  single  quotation  from  this 
pamphlet,  Notes  on  the  Construction 
of  Sheepfolds.  He  tells  us,  in  one 
place,  that  in  the  New  Testament  the 
ministers  of  the  Church  "  are  called, 
and  call  themselves,  with  absolute 
indifference,  Deacons,  Bishops,  Elders, 
Evangelists,  according  to  what  they 
are  doing  at  the  time  of  speaking." 
With  such  a  writer  one  might,  at  all 
events,  have  hoped  to  live  in  peace. 
But  no.  He  discovers,  nevertheless, 
that  Episcopacy  is  the  Scriptural  form 


328 


Mr  Raskin's  Works. 


of  Church  government ;  and,  having 
satisfied  his  own  mind  of  this,  no 
opposition  or  diversity  of  opinion  is 
for  a  moment  to  be  tolerated. 

"  But  how,"  he  says,  "  unite  the  two 
great  sects  of  paralysed  Protestants? 
By  keeping  simply  to  Scripture.  The 
members  of  the  Scottish  Church  have  not  a 
shadow  of  excuse  for  refusing  Episcopacy: 
it  has  indeed  been  abused  among  them, 
grievously  abused  ;  but  it  is  in  the  Bible, 
and  that  is  all  they  have  a  right  to  ask. 

"  They  have  also  no  shadow  of  excuse 
for  refusing  to  employ  a  written  form  of 
prayer.  It  may  not  be  to  their  taste — it 
may  not  be  the  way  in  which  they  like 
to  pray  ;  but  it  is  no  question,  at  present, 
of  likes  or  dislikes,  but  of  duties  ;  and 
the  acceptance  of  such  a  form  on  their 
part  would  go  half  way  to  reconcile  them 
with  their  brethren.  Let  them  allege 
such  objections  as  they  can  reasonably 
advance  against  the  English  form,  and 
let  these  be  carefully  and  humbly  weighed 
by  the  pastors  of  both  Churches  :  some  of 
them  ought  to  be  at  once  forestalled. 
For  the  Euglish  Church,  on  the  other 
hand,  must,"  &c. 

Into  Mr  Raskin's  own  religious 
tenets,  further  than  he  has  chosen  to 
reveal  them  in  his  works,  we  have  no 
wish  to  pry.  But  he  must  cease 
to  Mr  Ruskin  if  they  do  not  ex- 
hibit some  salient  peculiarity,  coupled 
with  a  confidence,  unusual  even 
amongst  zealots,  that  his  peculiar 
views  will  speedily  triumph.  If  he 
can  be  presumed  to  belong  to  any 
sect,  it  must  be  the  last  and  smallest 
one  amongst  us — some  sect  as  exclu- 
sive as  German  mysticism,  with  pre- 
tensions as  great  as  those  of  the 
Church  of  Rome. 

One  word  on  the  style  of  Mr 
Ruskin :  it  will  save  the  trouble  of 
alluding  to  it  on  particular  ocasions. 
It  is  very  unequal.  In  both  his 
architectural  works  he  writes  gene- 
rally with  great  ease,  spirit,  and 
clearness.  There  is  a  racy  vigour  in 
the  page.  But  when  he  would  be 
very  eloquent,  as  he  is  disposed  to  be 
in  the  Modern  Painters,  he  becomes 
very  verbose,  tedious,  obscure,  extra- 
vagant. There  is  no  discipline  in  his 
style,  no  moderation,  no  repose. 
Those  qualities  which  he  has  known 
how  to  praise  in  art  he  has  not  aimed 
at  in  his  own  writing.  A  rank  luxu- 
riance of  a  semi-poetical  diction  lies 
about,  perfectly  unrestrained;  meta- 


[Sept. 

phorical  language  comes  before  us  in 
every  species  of  disorder ;  and  hyper- 
bolical expressions  are  used  till  they 
become  commonplace.  Verbal  criti- 
cism he  would  probably  look  upon  as 
a  very  puerile  business :  he  need  fear 
nothing  of  the  kind  from  us;  we 
should  as  soon  think  of  criticising  or 
pruning  a  jungle.  To  add  to  the  con- 
fusion, he  appears  at  times  to  have 
proposed  to  himself  the  imitation  of 
some  of  our  older  writers  :  pages  are 
written  in  the  rhythm  of  Jeremy 
Taylor ;  sometimes  it  is  the  venerable 
Hooker  who  seems  to  be  his  type; 
and  he  has  even  succeeded  in  com- 
bining whatever  is  most  tedious  and 
prolix  in  both  these  great  writers.  If 
the  reader  wishes  a  specimen  of  this 
sort  of  modern  antique,  he  may  turn 
to  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  the  second 
volume  of  the  Modern  Painters. 

Coupled  with  this  matter  of  style, 
and  almost  inseparable  from  it,  is  the 
violence  of  his  manner  on  subjects 
which  cannot  possibly  justify  so  vehe- 
ment a  zeal.  We  like  a  generous 
enthusiasm  on  any  art — we  delight  in 
it ;  but  who  can  travel  in  sympathy 
with  a  writer  who  exhausts  on  so 
much  paint  and  canvass  every  term 
of  rapture  that  the  Alps  themselves 
could  have  called  forth?  One  need 
not  be  a  utilitarian  philosopher — or 
what  Mr  Ruskin  describes  as  such — 
to  smile  at  the  lofty  position  on  which 
he  puts  the  landscape-painter,  and 
the  egregious  and  impossible  demands 
he  makes  upon  the  art  itself.  And  the 
condemnation  and  opprobrium  with 
which  he  overwhelms  the  luckless 
artist  who  has  offended  him  is  quite 
as  violent.  The  bough  of  a  tree,  "  in 
the  left  hand  upper  corner  "  of  a  land- 
scape of  Poussin's,  calls  forth  this 
terrible  denunciation : — 

"  This  latter  is  a  representation  of  an 
ornamental  group  of  elephants'  tusks, 
with  feathers  tied  to  the  ends  of  them. 
Not  the  wildest  imagination  could  ever 
conjure  up  in  it  the  remotest  resemblance 
to  the  bough  of  a  tree.  It  might  be  the 
claws  of  a  witch — the  talons  of  an  eagle 
— the  horns  of  a  fiend ;  but  it  is  a  full 
assemblage  of  every  conceivable  falsehood 
which  can  be  told  respecting  foliage — a 
piece  of  work  so  barbarous  in  every  way 
that  one  glance  at  it  ought  to  prote  the 
complete  charlatanism  and  trickery  of  the 
whole  system  of  the  old  landscape-painters. 
.  .  .  I  will  say  here  at  once,  that  such 


1851.] 


Mr  Ruskin's  Works. 


drawing  as  this  is  as  ugly  as  it  is  childish, 
and  as  painful  as  it  is  false ;  and  that  the 
man  who  could  tolerate,  much  more,  who 
could  deliberately  set  down  such  a  thing 
on  his  canvass,  had  neither  eye  nor  feeling 
for  one  single  attribute  or  excellence  of 
God's  works.  He  might  have  drawn  the 
other  stem  in  excusable  ignorance,  or  under 
some  false  impression  of  being  able  to 
improve  upon  nature,  but  this  is  conclu- 
sive and  unpardonable."— (P.  382.) 

The  great  redeeming  quality  of  Mr 
Ruskin — and  we  wish  to  give  it  con- 
spicuous and  honourable  mention — is 
his  love  of  nature.  Here  lies  the 
charm  of  his  works ;  to  this  may  be 
traced  whatever  virtue  is  in  them,  or 
whatever  utility  they  may  possess. 
They  will  send  the  painter  more  than 
ever  to  the  study  of  nature,  and  per- 
haps they  will  have  a  still  more  bene- 
ficial effect  on  the  art,  by  sending  the 
critic  of  painting  to  the  same  school. 
It  would  be  almost  an  insult  to  the 
landscape-painter  to  suppose  that  he 
needed  this  lesson ;  the  very  love  of 
his  art  must  lead  him  perpetually,  one 
would  think,  to  his  great  and  delight- 
ful study  amongst  the  fields,  under  the 
open  skies,  before  the  rivers  and  the 
hills.  But  the  critic  of  the  picture- 
gallery  is  often  one  who  goes  from 
picture  to  picture,  and  very  little  from 
nature  to  the  painting.  Consequently, 
where  an  artist  succeeds  in  imitating 
some  effect  in  nature  which  had  not 
been  before  represented  on  the  can- 
vass, such  a  critic  is  more  likely  to  be 
displeased  than  gratified ;  and  the 
artist,  having  to  paint  for  a  conven- 
tional taste,  is  in  danger  of  sacrificing 
to  it  his  own  higher  aspirations.  Now 
it  is  most  true  that  no  man  should 
pretend  to  be  a  critic  upon  pictures 
unless  he  understands  the  art  itself  of 
painting;  he  ought,  we  suspect,  to 
have  handled  the  pencil  or  the  brush 
himself;  at  all  events,  he  ought  in 
some  way  to  have  been  initiated  into 
the  mysteries  of  the  pallet  and  the 
easel.  Otherwise,  not  knowing  the 
difficulties  to  be  overcome,  nor  the 
means  at  hand  for  encountering  them, 
he  cannot  possibly  estimate  the  degree 
of  merit  due  to  the  artist  for  the  pro- 
duction of  this  or  that  effect.  He  may 
be  loud  in  applause  where  nothing  has 
been  displayed  but  the  old  traditions 
of  the  art.  But  still  this  is  only  one- 
half  the  knowledge  he  ought  to  pos- 


329 

sess.  He  ought  to  have  studied 
nature,  and  to  have  loved  the  study, 
or  he  can  never  estimate,  and  never 
feel,  that  truth  of  effect  which  is  the 
great  aim  of  the  artist.  Mr  Ruskin's 
works  will  help  to  shame  out  of  the 
field  all  such  half-informed  and  con- 
ventional criticism,  the  mere  connois- 
seurship  of  the  picture  gallery.  On 
the  other  hand,  they  will  train  men 
who  have  always  been  delighted  spec- 
tators of  nature  to  be  also  attentive 
observers.  Our  critics  will  learn  how 
to  admire,  and  mere  admirers  will  learn 
how  to  criticise.  Thus  a  public  will 
be  educated  ;  and  here,  if  anywhere, 
we  may  confidently  assert  that  the 
art  will  prosper  in  proportion  as  there 
is  an  intelligent  public  to  reward  it. 

We  like  that  bold  enterprise  of  Mr 
Euskin's  which  distinguishes  the  first 
volume,  that  daring  enumeration  of 
the  great  palpable  facts  of  nature — 
the  sky,  the  sea,  the  earth,  the  foliage 
— which  the  painter  has  to  represent. 
His  descriptions  are  often  made  indis- 
tinct by  a  multitude  of  words;  but 
there  is  light  in  the  haze — there  is  a 
genuine  love  of  nature  felt  through 
them.  This  is  almost  the  only  point 
of  sympathy  we  feel  with  Mr  Ruskin ; 
it  is  the  only  hold  his  volumes  have 
had  over  us  whilst  perusing  them  ;  we 
may  be,  therefore,  excused  if  we  pre- 
sent here  to  our  readers  a  specimen  or 
two  of  his  happier  descriptions  of 
nature.  We  will  give  them  the  Cloud 
and  the  Torrent.  They  will  confess  that, 
after  reading  Mr  Ruskin's  description 
of  the  clouds,  their  first  feeling  will  be 
an  irresistible  impulse  to  throw  open 
the  window,  and  look  upon  them  again 
as  they  roll  through  the  sky.  The 
torrent  may  not  be  so  near  at  hand, 
to  make  renewed  acquaintance  with. 
We  must  premise  that  he  has  been 
enforcing  his  favourite  precept,  the 
minute,  and  faithful,  and  perpetual 
study  of  nature.  He  very  justly  scouts 
the  absurd  idea  that  trees  and  rocks 
and  clouds  are,  under  any  circum- 
stances, to  be  generalised— &Q  that  a 
tree  is  not  to  stand  for  an  oak  or  a 
poplar,  a  birch  or  an  elm,  but  for  a 
general  tree.  If  a  tree  is  at  so  great 
a  distance  that  you  cannot  distinguish 
what  it  is,  as  you  cannot  paint  more 
than  you  see,  you  must  paint  it  in- 
distinctly. But  to  make  a  purposed 
indistinctness  where  the  kind  of  tree 


330 


Mr  Ruskin's  Works. 


[Sept. 


would  be  very  plainly  seen  is  a  mani- 
fest absurdity.  So,  too,  the  forms  of 
clouds  should  be  studied,  and  as  much 
as  possible  taken  from  nature,  and  not 
certain  general  clouds  substituted  at 
the  artist's  pleasure. 

"  But  it  is  not  the  outline  only  which 
is  thus  systematically  false.     The  draw- 
ing of  the  solid  form  is  worse  still ;  for  it 
is  to  be  remembered  that,  although  clouds 
of  course  arrange  themselves  more  or  less 
into  broad  masses,  with  a  light  side  and 
a  dark  side,  both  their  light  and  shade  are 
invariably  composed  of  a  series  of  divided 
masses,  each  of  which  has  in  its  outline 
as  much  variety  and   character  as   the 
great  outline  of  the   cloud  ;  presenting, 
therefore,  a  thousand  times  repeated,  all 
that  I  have  described  as  the  general  form. 
Nor  are  these  multitudinous  divisions  a 
truth  of  slight  importance  in  the  character 
of  sky,  for  they  are  dependent  on,  and 
illustrative  of,  a  quality  which  is  usually 
in  a  great  degree  overlooked — the  enor- 
mous retiring  spaces  of  solid  clouds.    Be- 
tween the  illumined  edge  of  a  heaped 
cloud  and  that  part  of  its   body  which 
turns  into  shadow,  there  will  generally  be 
a  clear  distance  of  several  miles — more  or 
less,  of  course,  according  to  the  general 
size  of  the  cloud ;  but  in  such  large  masses 
as  Poussin  and  others  of  the  old  masters, 
which  occupy  the  fourth  or  fifth  of  the 
visible  sky,  the  clear  illumined  breadth  of 
vapour,  from   the   edge   to  the  shadow, 
involves  at  least  a  distance  of  five  or  six 
miles.     We   are   little  apt,  in  watching 
the  changes  of  a  mountainous  range  of 
cloud,  to  reflect  that  the  masses  of  vapour 
which  compose  it  are  huger  and  higher 
than  any  mountain-range  of  the  earth  ; 
and  the  distances  between  mass  and  mass 
are   not  yards  of  air,  traversed   in   an 
instant  by  the  flying  form,  but  valleys  of 
changing  atmosphere  leagues  over  ;  that 
the    slow    motion    of  ascending  curves, 
which  we  can  scarcely  trace,  is  a  boiling 
energy  of  exulting  vapour  rushing  into  the 
heaven  a  thousand  feet  in  a  minute;  and 
that  the  topling  angle,  whose  sharp  edge 
almost  escapes  notice  in  the  multitudinous 
forms  around  it,  is  a  nodding  precipice  of 
storms,  three  thousand  feet  from  base  to 
summit.    It  is  not  until  we  have  actually 
compared  the  forms  of  the  sky  with  the 
hill-ranges   of  the   earth,  and   seen   the 
soaring  alp  overtopped  and  buried  in  one 
surge  of  the  sky,  that  we  begin  to  con- 
ceive or  appreciate  the  colossal  scale  of 
the  phenomena  of  the  latter.     But  of  this 
there  can  be  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  any 
one   accustomed   to   trace   the   forms  of 
cloud  among  hill-ranges — as  it  is  there  a 
demonstrable  and  evident  fact— that  the 


space  of  vapour  visibly  extended  over  an 
ordinarily  clouded  sky  is  not  less,  from 
the  point  nearest  to  the  observer  to  the 
horizon,  than  twenty  leagues  ;  that  the 
size  of  every  mass  of  separate  form,  if  it 
be  at  all  largely  divided,  is  to  be  expressed 
in  terms  of  miles  ;  and  that  every  boiling 
heap  of  illuminated  mist  in  the  nearer 
sky  is  an  enormous  mountain,  fifteen  or 
twenty  thousand  feet  in  height,  six  or 
seven  miles  over  in  illuminated  surface, 
furrowed  by  a  thousand  colossal  ravines, 
torn  by  local  tempests  into  peaks  and 
promontories,  and  changing  its  features 
with  the  majestic  velocity  of  a  volcano." 
—(Vol.  i.  p.  228.) 

The  forms  of  clouds,  it  seems,  are 
worth  studying :  after  reading  this, 
no  landscape-painter  will  be  disposed, 
Avith  hasty  slight  invention,  to  sketcli 
in  these  "  mountains"  of  the  sky.  Here 
is  his  description,  or  part  of  it,  first  of 
falling,  then  of  running  water.  With 
the  incidental  criticism  upon  painters 
we  are  not  at  present  concerned  : — 

"  A  little  crumbling  white  or  lightly- 
rubbed  paper  will  soon  give  the  effect  of 
indiscriminate  foam ;  but  nature  gives 
more  than  foam — she  shows  beneath  it, 
and  through  it,  a  peculiar  character  of 
exquisitely  studied  form,  bestowed  on 
every  wave  and  line  of  fall;  and  it  is  this 
variety  of  definite  character  which  Turner 
always  aims  at,  rejecting  as  much  as  pos- 
sible everything  that  conceals  or  over- 
whelms it.  Thus,  in  the  Upper  Fall  of 
the  Tees,  though  the  whole  basin  of  the 
fall  is  blue,  and  dim  with  the  rising 
vapour,  yet  the  attention  of  the  spectator 
is  chiefly  directed  to  the  concentric  zones 
and  delicate  curves  of  the  falling  water 
itself ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  express 
with  what  exquisite  accuracy  these  are 
given.  They  are  the  characteristic  of  a 
powerful  stream  descending  without  im- 
pediment or  break,  but  from  a  narrow 
channel,  so  as  to  expand  as  it  falls.  They 
are  the  constant  form  which  such  a  stream 
assumes  as  it  descends  ;  and  yet  I  think 
it  would  be  difficult  to  point  to  another 
instance  of  their  being  rendered  in  art. 
You  will  find  nothing  in  the  waterfalls, 
even  of  our  best  painters,  but  springing 
lines  of  parabolic  descent,  and  splashing 
and  shapeless  foam;  and,  in  consequence, 
though  they  may  make  you  understand 
the  swiftness  of  the  water,  they  never  let 
you  feel  the  weight  of  it :  the  stream,  iu 
their  hands,  looks  active,  not  supine,  as  if 
it  leaped,  not  as  if  it  fell.  Now,  water 
will  leap  a  little  way— it  will  leap  down 
a  weir  or  over  a  stone — but  it  tumbles 
over  a  high  fall  like  this;  and  it  is  when 


1851.] 

we  have  lost  the  parabolic  line,  and  ar- 
rived at  the  catenary — when  we  have 
lost  the  spring  of  the  fall,  and  arrived  at 
the  plunqe  of  it — that  we  begin  really  to 
feel  its  weight  and  wildness.  Where 
water  takes  its  first  leap  from  the  top,  it 
is  cool  and  collected,  and  uninteresting 
and  mathematical;  but  it  is  when  it  finds 
that  it  has  got  into  a  scrape,  and  has 
further  to  go  than  it  thought  for,  that  its 
character  comes  out  ;  it  is  then  that  it 
begins  to  writhe  and  twist,  and  sweep 
out,  zone  after  zone,  in  \vilder  stretching 
as  it  falls,  and  to  send  down  the  rocket- 
like,  lance-pointed,  whizzing  shafts  at  its 
sides  sounding  for  the  bottom.  And  it  is 
this  prostration,  the  hopeless  abandon- 
ment of  its  ponderous  power  to  the  air, 
which  is  always  peculiarly  expressed  by 
Turner. 

"  When  water,  not  in  very  great  body, 
runs  in  a  rocky  bed  much  interrupted  by 
hollows,  so  that  it  can  rest  every  now  and 
then  in  a  pool  as  it  goes  along,  it  does 
not  acquire  a  continuous  velocity  of  mo- 
tion. It  pauses  after  every  leap,  and 
curdles  about,  and  rests  a  little,  and  then 
goes  on  again ;  and  if,  in  this  compara- 
tively tranquil  and  rational  state  of  mind, 
it  meets  with  any  obstacle,  as  a  rock  or 
stone,  it  parts  on  each  side  of  it  with  a 
little  bubbling  foam,  and  goes  round  :  if  it 
comes  to  a  step  in  its  bed,  it  leaps  it 
lightly,  and  then,  after  a  little  splashing 
at  the  bottom,  stops  again  to  take  breath. 
But  if  its  bed  be  on  a  continuous  slope, 
not  much  interrupted  by  hollows,  so  that 
it  cannot  rest — or  if  its  own  mass  be  so 
increased  by  flood  that  its  usual  resting* 
places  are  not  sufficient  for  it,  but  that  it 
is  perpetually  pushed  out  of  them  by  the 
following  current  before  it  has  had  time 
to  tranquillise  itself — it  of  course  gains 
velocity  with  every  yard  that  it  runs; 
the  impetus  got  at  one  leap  is  carried  to 
the  credit  of  the  next,  until  the  whole 
stream  becomes  one  mass  of  unchecked 
accelerating  motion.  Now,  when  water 
in  this  state  comes  to  an  obstacle,  it  does 
not  part  at  it,  but  clears  it  like  a  race- 
horse; and  when  it  comes  to  a  hollow,  it 
does  not  fill  it  up,  and  run  out  leisurely  at 
the  other  side,  but  it  rushes  down  into  it, 
and  comes  up  again  on  the  other  side,  as 
a  ship  into  the  hollow  of  the  sea.  Hence 
the  whole  appearance  of  the  bed  of  the 
stream  is  changed,  and  all  the  lines  of  the 
water  altered  in  their  nature.  The  quiet 
stream  is  a  succession  of  leaps  and  pools; 
the  leaps  are  light  and  springy  and  para- 
bolic, and  make  a  great  deal  of  splashing 
when  they  tumble  into  the  pool;  then  we 
have  a  space  of  quiet  curdling  water,  and 
another  similar  leap  below.  But  the 
stream,  when  it  has  gained  an  impetus, 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXI. 


Mr  Raskin's  Works. 


331 


takes  the  shape  of  its  bed,  never  stops,  is- 
equally  deep  and  equally  swift  every- 
where, goes  down  into  every  hollow,  not 
with  a  leap,  but  with  a  swing— not  foam- 
ing nor  splashing,  but  in  the  bending 
line  of  a  strong  sea-wave,  and  comes  up 
again  on  the  other  side,  over  rock  and 
ridge,  with  the  ease  of  a  bounding  leo- 
pard. If  it  meet  a  rock  three  or  four 
feet  above  the  level  of  its  bed,  it  will 
neither  part  nor  foam,  nor  express  any 
concern  about  the  matter,  but  clear  it  in 
a  smooth  dome  of  water  without  apparent 
exertion,  coming  down  again  as  smoothly 
on  the  other  side,  the  whole  surface  of 
the  surge  being  drawn  into  parallel  lines 
by  its  extreme  velocity,  but  foamless, 
except  in  places  where  the  form  of  the 
bed  opposes  itself  at  some  direct  angle  to- 
such  a  line  of  fall,  and  causes  a  breaker  j 
so  that  the  whole  river  has  the  appear- 
ance of  a  deep  and  raging  sea,  with  this 
only  difference,  that  the  torrent  waves 
always  break  backwards,  and  sea-waves 
forwards.  Thus,  then,  in  the  water  which 
has  gained  an  impetus,  we  have  the  most 
exquisite  arrangement  of  curved  lines, 
perpetually  changing  from  convex  to  con- 
cave, following  every  swell  and  hollow  of 
the  bed  with  their  modulating  grace,  and 
all  in  unison  of  motion,  presenting  per- 
haps the  most  beautiful  series  of  inor- 
ganic forms  which  nature  can  possibly 
produce."— (Vol.  i.  p.  363.) 

It  is  the  object  of  Mr  Ruskin,  in  his 
first  volume  of  Modern  Painters,  to- 
show  what  the  artist  lias  to  do  in  his 
imitation  of  nature.  We  have  no 
material  controversy  to  raise  with  him 
on  this  subject ;  but  we  cannot  help- 
expressing  our  surprise  that  he  should 
have  thought  it  necessary  to  combat, 
with  so  much  energy,  so  very  primi- 
tive a  notion  that  the  imitation  of  the 
artist  partakes  of  the  nature  of  a  de- 
ception, and  that  the  highest  excel- 
lence is  obtained  when  the  represen- 
tation of  any  object  is  taken  for  the 
object  itself/  We  thought  this  matter 
had  been  long  ago  settled.  In  a  page 
or  two  of  Qnatremere  de  Quiucy's 
treatise  on  Imitation  in  the  Fine  Arts, 
the  reader,  if  he  has  still  to  seek  on  this 
subject,  will  find  it  very  briefly  and 
lucidly  treated.  The  aim  of  the  artist 
is  not  to  produce  such  a  representation 
as  shall  be  taken,  even  for  a  moment, 
for  a  real  object.  His  aim  is,  by 
imitating  certain  qualities  or  attri- 
butes of  the  object,  to  reproduce  for 
us  those  pleasing  or  elevating  impres- 
sions which  it  is  the  nature  of  such 


332 


Mr  Ruskirfs  Works. 


qualities  or  attributes  to  excite.  We 
have  stated  very  briefly  the  accepted 
doctrine  on  this  subject— so  generally 
accepted  and  understood  that  Mr 
Ruskin  was  under  no  necessity  to 
avoid  the  use  of  the  word  imitation, 
as  he  appears  to  have  done,  under  the 
apprehension  that  it  was  incurably 
infected  with  this  notion  of  an  at- 
tempted deception.  Hardly  any  reader 
of  his  book,  even  without  a  word  of 
explanation,  would  have  attached  any 
other  meaning  to  it  than  what  he  him- 
self expresses  by  representation  of 
certain  u  truths"  of  nature. 

With  respect  to  the  imitations  of 
the  landscape-painter,  the  notion  of  a 
deception  cannot  occur.  His  trees 
and  rivers  cannot  be  mistaken,  for  an 
instant,  for  real  trees  and  rivers,  and 
certainly  not  while  they  stand  there 
in  the  gilt  frame,  and  the  gilt  frame 
itself  against  the  papered  wall.  His 
only  chance  of  deception  is  to  get  rid 
of  the  frame,  convert  his  picture  into 
a  transparency,  and  place  it  in  the 
space  which  a  window  should  occupy. 
In  almost  all  cases,  deception  is  ob- 
tained, not  by  painting  well,  but  by 
those  artifices  which  disguise  that 
what  we  see  is  a  painting.  At  the 
same  time,  we  are  not  satisfied  with  an 
expression  which  several  writers,  we 
remark,  have  lately  used,  and  which 
Mr  Ruskin  very  explicitly  adopts.  The 
imitations  of  the  landscape-painter  are 
not  a  "  language"  which  he  uses;  they 
are  not  mere  "  signs,"  analogous  to 
those  which  the  poet  or  the  orator 
employs.  There  is  no  analogy  between 
them.  Let  us  analyse  our  impressions 
as  we  stand  before  the  artist's  land- 
scape, not  thinking  of  the  artist,  or 
his  dexterity,  but  simply  absorbed  in 
the  pleasure  which  he  procures  us — 
we  do  not  find  ourselves  reverting,  in 
imagination,  to  other  trees  or  other 
rivers  than  those  he  has  depicted. 
We  certainly  do  not  believe  them  to 
be  real  trees,  but  neither  are  they 
mere  signs,  or  a  language  to  recall  such 
objects  ;  but  what  there  is  of  tree  there 
we  enjoy.  There  is  the  coolness  and 
the  quiet  of  the  shaded  avenue,  and 
we  feel  them ;  there  is  the  sunlight  on 
that  bank,  and  we  feel  its  cheerful- 
ness ;  we  feel  the  serenity  of  his  river. 
He  has  brought  the  spirit  of  the  trees 
around  us  ;  the  imagination  rests  in 
the  picture.  In  other  departments  of 


[Sept. 

art  the  effect  is  the  same.  If  we 
stand  before  a  head  of  Rembrandt  or 
Vandyke,  we  do  not  think  that  it 
lives ;  but  neither  do  we  think  of  some 
other  head,  of  which  that  is  the  type. 
But  there  is  majesty,  there  is  thought, 
there  is  calm  repose,  there  is  some 
phase  of  humanity  expressed  before 
us,  and  we  are  occupied  with  so  much 
of  human  life,  or  human  character,  as 
is  then  and  there  given  us. 

Imitate  as  many  qualities  of  the 
real  object  as  you  please,  but  always 
the  highest,  never  sacrificing  a  truth 
of  the  mind,  or  the  heart,  for  one  only 
of  the  sense.  Truth,  as  Mr  Ruskin 
most  justly  says—  truth  always.  When 
it  is  said  that  truth  should  not  be 
always  expressed,  the  maxim,  if  pro- 
perly understood,  resolves  into  this — 
that  the  higher  truth  is  not  to  be 
sacrificed  to  the  lower.  In  a  land- 
scape, the  gradation  of  light  and  shade 
is  a  more  important  truth  than  the 
exact  brilliancy  (supposing  it  to  be 
attainable,)  of  any  individual  object. 
The  painter  must  calculate  what 
means  he  has  at  his  disposal  for  repre- 
senting this  gradation  of  light,  and 
he  must  pitch  his  tone  accordingly. 
Say  he  pitches  it  far  below  reality,  he 
is  still  in  search  of  truth— of  contrast 
and  degree. 

Sometimes  it  may  happen  that,  by 
rendering  one  detail  faithfully,  an 
artist  may  give  a  false  impression, 
simply  because  he  cannot  render  other 
details  or  facts  by  which  it  is  accom- 
panied in  nature.  Here,  too,  he  would 
only  sacrifice  truth  in  the  cause  of 
truth.  The  admirers  of  Constable 
will  perhaps  dispute  the  aptness  of  our 
illustration.  Nevertheless  his  works 
appear  to  us  to  afford  a  curious  ex- 
ample of  a  scrupulous  accuracy  of 
detail  producing  a  false  impression. 
Constable,  looking  at  foliage  under 
the  sunlight,  and  noting  that  the  leaf, 
especially  after  a  shower,  will  reflect 
so  much  light  that  the  tree  will  seem 
more  white  than  green,  determined  to 
paint  all  the  white  he  saw.  Constable 
could  paint  white  leaves.  So  far  so 
well.  But  then  these  leaves  in  nature 
are  almost  always  in  motion:  they 
are  white  at  one  moment  and  green 
the  next.  We  never  have  the  im- 
pression of  a  white  leaf ;  for  it  is  seen 
playing  with  the  light — its  mirror,  for 
one  instant,  and  glancing  from  it  the 


1851.] 


Mr  Ruskin's  Works. 


333 


next.  Constable  could  not  paint 
motion.  He  could  not  imitate  this 
shower  of  light  in  the  living  tree.  He 
must  leave  his  white  paint  where  he 
has  once  put  it.  Other  artists  before 
him  had  seen  the  same  light,  but, 
knowing  that  they  could  not  bring 
the  breeze  into  their  canvass,  they 
wisely  concluded  that  less  white  paint 
than  Constable  uses  would  produce  a 
more  truthful  impression. 

But  we  must  no  longer  be  detained 
from  the  more  immediate  task  before 
us.  We  must  now  follow  Mr  Ruskin 
to  his  second  volume  of  Modern 
Painters,  where  he  explains  his  theory 
of  the  beautiful ;  and  although  this 
will  not  be  to  readers  in  general  the 
most  attractive  portion  of  his  writ- 
ings, and  we  ourselves  have  to  prac- 
tise some  sort  of  self-denial  in  fixing 
pur  attention  upon  it,  yet  manifestly 
it  is  here  that  we  must  look  for  the 
basis  or  fundamental  principles  of  all 
his  criticisms  in  art.  The  order  in 
which  his  works  have  been  published 
was  apparently  deranged  by  a  gener- 
ous zeal,  which  could  brook  no  delay, 
to  defend  Mr  Turner  from  the  censures 
of  the  undiscerning  public.  If  the 
natural  or  systematic  order  had  been 
preserved,  the  materials  of  this  second 
volume  would  have  formed  the  first 
preliminary  treatise,  determining 
those  broad  principles  of  taste,  or 
that  philosophical  theory  of  the  beau- 
tiful, on  which  the  whole  of  the  sub- 
sequent works  were  to  be  modelled. 
Perhaps  this  broken  and  reversed  order 
of  publication  has  not  been  unfortu- 
nate for  the  success  of  the  author — 
perhaps  it  was  dimly  foreseen  to  be 
not  altogether  impolitic  ;  for  the  popu- 
lar ear  was  gained  by  the  bold  and 
enthusiastic  defence  of  a  great  painter; 
and  the  ear  of  the  public,  once  caught, 
may  be  detained  by  matter  which,  in 
the  first  instance,  would  have  appeal- 
ed to  it  in  vain.  Whether  the  effect  of 
chance  or  design,  we  may  certainly 
congratulate  Mr  Ruskin  on  the  fortu- 
nate succession,  and  the  fortunate 
rapidity  with  which  his  publications 
have  struck  on  the  public  ear.  The 
popular  feeling,  won  by  the  zeal  and 
intrepidity  of  the  first  volume  of 
Modern  Painters,  was  no  doubt  a  little 
tried  by  the  graver  discussions  of  the 
second.  It  was  soon,  however,  to  be 
again  caught,  and  pleased  by  a  bold 


and  agreeable  miscellany  under  the 
magical  name  of  "  The  Seven  Lamps ;" 
and  these  Seven  Lamps  could  hardly 
fail  to  throw  some  portion  of  their 
pleasant  and  bewildering  light  over  a 
certain  rudimentary  treatise  upon 
building,  which  was  to  appear  under 
the  title  of  "  The  Stones  of  Venice." 

We  cannot,  however,  congratulate 
Mr  Ruskin  on  the  manner  in  which  he 
has  acquitted  himself  in  this  arena  of 
philosophical  inquiry,  nor  on  the  sort 
of  theory  of  the  Beautiful  which  he 
has  contrived  to  construct.  The  least 
metaphysical  of  our  readers  is  aware 
that  there  is  a  controversy  of  long 
standing  upon  this  subject,  between 
two  different  schools  of  philosophy. 
With  the  one  the  beautiful  is  described 
as  a  great  "  idea"  of  the  reason,  or  an 
intellectual  intuition,  or  a  simple  in- 
tuitive perception ;  different  expres- 
sions are  made  use  of,  but  all  imply 
that  it  is  a  great  primary  feeling,  or 
sentiment,  or  idea  of  the  human  mind, 
and  as  incapable  of  further  analysis 
as  the  idea  of  space,  or  the  simplest 
of  our  sensations.  The  rival  school 
of  theorists  maintain,  on  the  contrary, 
that  no  sentiment  yields  more  readily 
to  analysis;  and  that  thebeautiful,  ex- 
cept in  those  rare  cases  where  the 
whole  charm  lies  in  one  sensation,  as  in 
that  of  colour,  is  a  complex  sentiment. 
They  describe  it  as  a  pleasure  result- 
ing from  the  presence  of  the  visible 
object,  but  of  which  the  visible  object 
is  only  in  part  the  immediate  cause. 
Of  a  great  portion  of  the  pleasure  it 
is  merely  the  vehicle ;  and  they  say 
that  blended  reminiscences,  gathered 
from  every  sense,  and  every  human 
affection,  from  the  softness  of  touch 
of  an  infant's  finger  to  the  highest 
contemplations  of  a  devotional  spirit, 
have  contributed,  in  their  turn,  to  this 
delightful  sentiment. 

Mr  Ruskin  was  not  bound  to  belong 
to  either  of  these  schools  of  philoso- 
phy ;  he  was  at  liberty  to  construct 
an  eclectic  system  of  his  own  ; — and 
he  has  done  so.  We  shall  take  the 
precaution,  in  so  delicate  a  matter,  of 
quoting  Mr  Ruskin's  own  words  for 
the  exposition  of  his  own  theory. 
Meanwhile,  as  some  clue  to  the  reader, 
we  may  venture  to  say  that  he  agrees 
with  the  first  of  these  schools  in 
adopting  a  primary  intuitive  senti- 
ment of  the  beautiful ;  but  then  this 


334  Mr  Ruskirfs  Works. 

primary  intuition  is  only  of  a  sensa- 
tional or  "  animal"  nature— a  subor- 
dinate species  of  the  beautiful,  which 
is  chiefly  valuable  as  the  necessary 
condition  of  the  higher  and  truly 
beautiful;  and  this  last  he  agrees 
with  the  opposite  school  in  regarding 
as  a  derived  sentiment — derived  by 
contemplating  the  objects  of  external 
nature  as  types  of  the  Divine  attri- 
butes. This  is  a  brief  summary  of  the 
theory;  for  a  fuller  exposition  we 
shall  have  recourse  to  his  own  words. 
The  term  /Esthetic^  which  has  been 
applied  to  this  branch  of  philosophy, 
Mr  Ruskin  discards ;  he  offers  as  a 
substitute  Theoria,  or  The  Theoretic 
Faculty,  the  meaning  of  which  he 
thus  explains : — 


[Sept. 


"  I  proceed,  therefore,  first  to  examine 
the  nature  of  what  I  have  called  the 
theoretic  faculty,  and  to  justify  my  sub- 
stitution of  the  term  'Theoretic'  for 
'  Esthetic,'  which  is  the  one  commonly 
employed  with  reference  to  it. 

"  Now  the  term  '  aesthesis'  properly 
signifies  mere  sensual  perception  of  the 
outward  qualities  and  necessary  effects 
of  bodies  ;  in  which  sense  only,  if  we 
would  arrive  at  any  accurate  conclusions 
on  this  difficult  subject,  it  should  always 
be  used.  But  I  wholly  deny  that  the 
impressions  of  beauty  are  in  any  way  sen- 
sual;—they  are  neither  sensual  nor  in- 
tellectual, but  moral ;  and  for  the  faculty 
receiving  them,  whose  difference  from 
mere  perception  I  shall  immediately  en- 
deavour to  explain,  no  terms  can  be  more 
accurate  or  convenient  than  that  em- 
ployed by  the  Greeks, '  Theoretic,'  which 
I  pray  permission,  therefore,  always  to 
use,  and  to  call  the  operation  of  the 
faculty  itself,  Theoria."— (P.  11.) 

We  are  introduced  to  anew  faculty 
of  the  human  mind  ;  let  us  see  what 
new  or  especial  sphere  of  operation  is 
assigned  to  it.  After  some  remarks 
on  the  superiority  of  the  mere  sensual 
pleasures  of  the  eye  and  the  ear,  but 
particularly  of  the  eye,  to  those  de- 
rived from  other  organs  of  sense,  he 
continues : — 

"  Herein,  then,  we  find  very  sufficient 
ground  for  the  higher  estimation  of  these 
delights  :  first,  in  their  being  eternal  and 
inexhaustible;  and,sccondly,intheirbeing 
evidently  no  meaner  instrument  of  life, 
but  an  object  of  life.  Now,  in  whatever 
is  an  object  of  life,  in  whatever  may  be 
infinitely  and  for  itself  desired,  we  may 
be  sure  there  is  something  of  divine  :  for 


God  will  not  make  anything  an  object  of 
life  to  his  creatures  which  does  not  point 
to,  or  partake  of  himself," — [a  bold  asser- 
tion.] "  And  so,  though  we  were  to  re- 
gard the  pleasures  of  sight  merely  as  the 
highest  of  sensual  pleasures,  and  though 
they  were  of  rare  occurrence — and,  when 
occurring,  isolated  and  imperfect — there 
would  still  be  a  supernatural  character 
about  them,  owing  to  their  self-suffi- 
ciency. But  when,  instead  of  being  scat- 
tered, interrupted,  or  chance-distributed,, 
they  are  gathered  together  and  so  ar- 
ranged to  enhance  each  other,  as  by 
chance  they  could  not  be,  there  is  caused 
by  them,  not  only  a  feeling  of  strong 
affection  towards  the  object  in  which 
they  exist,  but  a  perception  of  purpose 
and  adaptation  of  it  to  our  desires  ;  a 
perception,  therefore,  of  the  immediate 
operation  of  the  Intelligence  which  so 
formed  us  and  so  feeds  us. 

"  Out  of  what  perception  arise  Joy, 
Admiration,  and  Gratitude  ? 

"  Now,  the  mere  animal  consciousness 
of  the  pleasantness  I  call  ^Esthesis  ;  but 
the  exulting,  reverent,  and  grateful  per- 
ception of  it  I  call  Theoria.  For  this, 
and  this  only,  is  the  full  comprehension 
and  contemplation  of  the  beautiful  as  a 
gift  of  God  ;  a  gift  not  necessary  to  our 
being,  but  adding  to  and  elevating  it, 
and  twofold — first,  of  the  desire  ;  and, 
secondly,  of  the  thing  desired." 

We  find,  then,  that  in  the  produc- 
tion of  the  full  sentiment  of  the  beau- 
tiful two  faculties  are  employed,  or 
two  distinct  operationsdenoted.  First, 
there  is  the  u  animal  pleasantness 
which  we  call  JEsthesis,"  —  which 
sometimes  appears  confounded  with 
the  mere  pleasures  of  sense,  but  which 
the  whole  current  of  his  speculations 
obliges  us  to  conclude  is  some  separate, 
intuition  of  a  sensational  character  ; 
and,  secondly,  there  is  "  the  exulting, 
reverent,  and  grateful  perception  of 
it,  which  we  call  Theoria,"  which 
alone  is  the  truly  beautiful,  and  which 
it  is  the  function  of  the  Theoretic  Fa- 
culty to  reveal  to  us.  But  this  new 
Theoretic  Faculty — what  can  it  be  but 
the  old  faculty  of  Human  Reason, 
exercised  upon  the  great  subject  of 
Divine  beneficence  ? 

Mr  Ruskin,  as  we  shall  see,  disco- 
vers that  external  objects  are  beauti- 
ful because  they  are  types  of  Divine 
attributes  ;  but  he  admits,  and  is  soli- 
citous to  impress  upon  our  minds, 
that  the  "  moaning"  of  these  types  is 
"  learnt."  When,  in  a  subsequent 


Mr  Ruskin's  Worhs.  335 

work,  he  feels  himself    and  that  theory  of  association  of  ideas, 


1851.] 

part  of  his 

pressed  by  the  objection  that  many 
celebrated  artists,  who  have  shown  a 
vivid  appreciation  and  a  great  pas- 
sion for  the  beautiful,  have  manifest- 
ed no  peculiar  piety,  have  been  rather 
deficient  in  spiritual-mindedness,  he 
gives  them  over  to  that  instinctive 
sense  he  has  called  JEsthesis,  and 
says — "  It  will  be  remembered  that  I 
have,  throughout  the  examination  of 
typical  beauty,  asserted  our  instinctive 
sense  of  it ;  the  moral  meaning  of  it 
being  only  discoverable  by  reflection," 
(p.  127.)  Now,  there  is  no  other  con- 
ceivable manner  in  which  the  mean- 
ing of  the  type  can  be  learnt  than  by 
the  usual  exercise  of  the  human  rea- 
son, detecting  traces  of  the  Divine 
power,  and  wisdom,  and  benevolence, 
in  the  external  world,  and  then  asso- 
ciating with  the  various  objects  of  the 
external  world  the  ideas  we  have  thus 
acquired  of  the  Divine  wisdom  and 
goodness.  The  rapid  and  habitual 
regard  of  certain  facts  or  appearances 
in  the  visible  world,  as  types  of  the 
attributes  of  God,  can  be  nothing  else 
but  one  great  instance  (or  class  of 
instances)  of  that  law  of  association 
of  ideas  on  which  the  second  school 
of  philosophy  we  have  alluded  to  so 
largely  insist.  And  thus,  whether 
Mr  Raskin  chooses  to  acquiesce  in  it 
or  not,  his  "  Theoria"  resolves  itself 
into  a  portion,  or  fragment,  of  that 
theory  of  association  of  ideas,  to  which 
he  declares,  and  perhaps  believes, 
himself  to  be  violently  opposed. 

In  a  very  curious  manner,  there- 
fore, has  Mr  Ruskin  selected  his  ma- 
terials from  the  two  rival  schools  of 
metaphysics.  His  ^Esthesis  is  an  in- 
tuitive perception,  but  of  a  mere  sen- 
sual or  animal  nature— sometimes  al- 
most confounded  with  the  mere  plea- 
sure of  sense,  at  other  times  advanced 
into  considerable  importance,  as  where 
he  has  to  explain  the  fact  that  men 
of  very  little  piety  have  a  very  acute 
perception  of  beauty.  His  Theoria  is, 
and  can  be,  nothing  more  than  the 
results  of  human  reason  in  its  highest 
and  noblest  exercise,  rapidly  brought 
before  the  mind  by  a  habitual  asso- 
ciation of  ideas.  For  the  lowest  ele- 
ment of  the  beautiful  he  runs  to  the 
school  of  intuitions  ;— they  will  not 
thank  him  for  the  compliment ; — for 
the  higher  to  that  analytic  school, 


to  which  throughout  he  is  ostensibly 
opposed. 

This  Theoria  divides  itself  into  two 
parts.  We  shall  quote  Mr  Ruskin's 
own  words,  and  take  care  to  quote 
from  them  passages  where  he  seems 
most  solicitous  to  be  accurate  and 
explanatory : — 

"  The  first  thing,  then,  we  have  to  do," 
he  says,  "  is  accurately  to  discriminate 
and  define  those  appearances  from  which 
we  are  about  to  reason  as  belonging  to 
beauty,  properly  so  called,  and  to  clear 
the  ground  of  all  the  confused  ideas  and 
erroneous  theories  with  which  the  misap- 
prehension, or  metaphorical  use  of  the 
term  has  encumbered  it. 

"  By  the  term  Beauty,  then,  properly 
are  signified  two  things  :  first,  that  ex- 
ternal quality  of  bodies,  already  so  often 
spoken  of,  and  which,  whether  it  occur 
in  a  stone,  flower,  beast,  or  in  man,  is 
absolutely  identical — which,  as  I  have* 
already  asserted,  may  be  shown  to  be  in 
some  sort  typical  of  the  Divine  attributes, 
and  which,  therefore,  I  shall,  for  distinc- 
tion's sake,  call  Typical  Beauty  ;  and, 
secondarily,  the  appearance  of  felicitous 
fulfilment  of  functions  in  living  things, 
more  especially  of  the  joyful  and  right 
exertion  of  perfect  life  in  man— and  this 
kind  of  beauty  I  shall  call  Vital  Beauty." 
-(P.  26.) 

The  Vital  Beauty,  as  well  as  the 
Typical,  partakes  essentially,  as  far 
as  we  can  understand  our  author,  of 
a  religious  character.  On  turning  to 
that  part  of  the  volume  where  it  is 
treated  of  at  length,  we  lind  a  univer- 
sal sympathy  and  spirit  of  kindliness 
very  properly  insisted  on,  as  one  great 
element  of  the  sentiment  of  beauty ;  but 
we  are  not  permitted  to  dwell  upon  this 
element,  or  rest  upon  it  a  moment, 
without  some  reference  to  our  relation 
to  God.  Even  the  animals  themselves 
seem  to  be  turned  into  types  for  us 
of  our  moral  feelings  or  duties.  We 
are  expressly  told  that  we  cannot 
have  this  sympathy  with  life  and 
enjoyment  in  other  creatures,  unless 
it  takes  the  form  of,  or  comes  accom- 
panied with,  a  sentiment  of  piety.  In 
all  cases  where  the  beautiful  is  any- 
thing higher  than  a  certain  "  animal 
pleasantness,"  we  are  to  understand 
that  it  has  a  religious  character. 
"  In  all  cases,"  he  snys,  summing  up 
the  functions  of  the  Theoretic  Faculty, 
"  it  is  something  Divine;  either  the 


336 


Mr  RuskMs  Works. 


[Sept. 


approving  voice  of  God,  the  glorious 
symbol  of  Him,  the  evidence  of  His 
kind  presence,  or  the  obedience  to  His 
will  by  Him  induced  and  supported," 
—(p.  126.)  Now  it  is  a  delicate  task, 
when  a  man  errs  by  the  exaggeration 
of  a  great  truth  or  a  noble  sentiment, 
to  combat  his  error ;  and  yet  as  much 
mischief  may  ultimately  arise  from 
an  error  of  this  description  as  from 
any  other.  The  thoughts  and  feelings 
which  Mr  Kuskin  has  described,  form 
the  noblest  part  of  our  sentiment  of 
the  beautiful,  as  they  form  the  noblest 
phase  of  the  human  reason.  But  they 
are  not  the  whole  of  it.  The  visible 
object,  to  adopt  his  phraseology,  does 
become  a  type  to  the  contemplative 
and  pious  mind  of  the  attribute  of 
God,  and  is  thus  exalted  to  our  ap- 
prehension. But  it  is  not  beautiful 
solely  or  originally  on  this  account. 
To  assert  this,  is  simply  to  falsify  our 
human  nature. 

Before,  however,  we  enter  into  these 
types,  or  this  typical  beauty,  it  will  be 
well  to  notice  how  Mr  Ruskin  deals 
with  previous  and  opposing  theories. 
It  will  be  well  also  to  remind  our 
readers  of  the  outline  of  that  theory 
of  association  of  ideas  which  is  here 
presented  to  us  in  so  very  confused  a 
manner.  We  shall  then  be  better 
able  to  understand  the  very  curious 
position  our  author  has  taken  up  in 
this  domain  of  speculative  philosophy. 

Mr  Ruskin  gives  us  the  following 
summary  of  the  "  errors"  which  he 
thinks  it  necessary  in  the  first  place 
to  clear  from  his  path  : — 

"  Those  erring  or  inconsistent  positions 
which  I  would  at  once  dismiss  are,  the 
first,  that  the  beautiful  is  the  true  ;  the 
second,  that  the  beautiful  is  the  useful  ; 
the  third,  that  it  is  dependent  on  custom  ; 
and  the  fourth,  that  it  is  dependent  on 
the  association  of  ideas." 

The  first  of  these  theories,  that  the 
beautiful  is  the  true,  we  leave  entirely 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  Mr  Ruskin  ; 
we  cannot  gather  from  his  refutation 
to  what  class  of  theorists  he  is  allud- 
ing. The  remaining  three  are,  as  we 
understand  the  matter,  substantially 
one  and  the  same  theory.  We  believe 
that  no  one,  in  these  days,  would  define 
beauty  as  solely  resulting  either  from 
the  apprehension  of  Utility,  (that  is, 
the  adjustment  of  parts  to  a  whole,  or 
the  application  of  the  object  to  an 


ulterior  purpose,)  or  to  Familiarity 
and  the  affection  which  custom  en- 
genders ;  but  they  would  regard  both 
Utility  and  Familiarity  as  amongst  the 
sources  of  those  agreeable  ideas  or 
impressions,  which,  by  the  great  law 
of  association,  became  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  visible  object.  We 
must  listen,  however,  to  Mr  Ruskin's 
refutation  of  them : — 

"  That  the  beautiful  is  the  useful  is  an 
assertion  evidently  based  on  that  limited 
and  false  sense  of  the  latter  term  which  I 
have  already  deprecated.  As  it  is  the 
most  degrading  and  dangerous  supposi- 
tion which  can  be  advanced  on  the  sub- 
ject, so,  fortunately,  it  is  the  most  pal- 
pably absurd.  It  is  to  confound  admira- 
tion with  hunger,  love  with  lust,  and  life 
with  sensation;  it  is  to  assert  that  the 
human  creature  has  no  ideas  and  no  feel- 
ings, except  those  ultimately  referable  to 
its  brutal  appetites.  It  has  not  a  single 
fact,  nor  appearance  of  fact,  to  support  it, 
and  needs  no  combating — at  least  until  its 
advocates  have  obtained  the  consent  of 
the  majority  of  mankind  that  the  most 
beautiful  productions  of  nature  are  seeds 
and  roots  ;  and  of  art,  spades  and  mill- 
stones. 

"  Somewhat  more  rational  grounds 
appear  for  the  assertion  that  the  sense  of 
the  beautiful  arises  from  familiarity  with 
the  object,  though  even  this  could  not 
long  be  maintained  by  a  thinking  person. 
For  all  that  can  be  alleged  in  defence  of 
such  a  supposition  is,  that  familiarity 
deprives  some  objects  which  at  first  ap- 
peared ugly  of  much  of  their  repulsive- 
ness  ;  whence  it  is  as  rational  to  conclude 
that  familiarity  is  the  cause  of  beauty,  as 
it  would  be  to  argue  that,  because  it  is 
possible  to  acquire  a  taste  for  olives, 
therefore  custom  is  the  cause  of  luscious- 
ness  in  grapes 

"  I  pass  to  the  last  and  most  weighty 
theory,  that  the  agreeableness  in  objects 
which  we  call  beauty  is  the  result  of  the 
association  with  them  of  agreeable  or 
interesting  ideas. 

"  Frequent  has  been  the  support  and 
wide  the  acceptance  of  this  supposition, 
and  yet  I  suppose  that  no  two  consecu- 
tive sentences  were  ever  written  in 
defence  of  it,  without  involving  either  a 
contradiction  or  a  confusion  of  terms. 
Thus  Alison,  '  There  are  scenes  undoubt- 
edly more  beautiful  than  Runnymede, 
yet,  to  those  who  recollect  the  great 
event  that  passed  there,  there  is  no  scene 
perhaps  which  so  strongly  seizes  on  the 
imagination,' — where  we  are  wonder- 
struck  at  the  bold  obtuseness  which 
would  prove  the  power  of  imagination  by 


1851.]  Mr  PMskin's  Works. 

its  overcoming  that  very  other  power  (of 
inherent  beauty)  whose  existence  the 
arguer  desires  ;  for  the  only  logical  con- 
clusion which  can  possibly  be  drawn 
from  the  above  sentence  is,  that  imagina- 
tion is  not  the  source  of  beauty — for, 
although  no  scene  seizes  so  strongly  on 
the  imagination,  yet  there  are  scenes 
*  more  beautiful  than  Runnymede.'  And 
though  instances  of  self-contradiction  as 
laconic  and  complete  as  this  are  rare,  yet, 
if  the  arguments  on  the  subject  be  fairly 
sifted  from  the  mass  of  confused  language 
with  which  they  are  always  encumbered, 
they  will  be  found  invariably  to  fall  into 
one  of  these  two  forms  :  either  associa- 
tion gives  pleasure,  and  beauty  gives 
pleasure,  therefore  association  is  beauty  ; 
or  the  power  of  association  is  stronger 
than  the  power  of  beauty,  therefore  the 
power  of  association  is  the  power  of 
beauty." 

Now  this  last  sentence  is  sheer 
nonsense,  and  only  proves  that  the 
author  had  never  given  himself  the 
trouble  to  understand  the  theory  he 
so  flippantly  discards.  No  one  ever 
said  that  "association gives  pleasure;" 
but  very  many,  and  Mr  Ruskin 
amongst  the  rest,  have  said  that 
associated  thought  adds  its  pleasure 
to  an  object  pleasing  in  itself,  and 
thus  increases  the  complex  sentiment 
of  beauty.  That  it  is  a  complex 
sentiment  in  all  its  higher  forms,  Mr 
Ruskin  himself  will  tell  us.  As  to 
the  manner  in  which  he  deals  with 
Alison,  it  is  in  the  worst  possible 
spirit  of  controversy.  Alison  was 
an  elegant,  but  not  a  very  precise 
writer;  it  was  the  easiest  thing  in 
the  world  to  select  an  unfortunate 
illustration,  arid  to  convict  that  of 
absurdity.  Yet  he  might  with  equal 
ease  have  selected  many  other  illu- 
strations from  Alison,  which  would 
have  done  justice  to  the  theory  he 
expounds.  A  hundred  such  will 
immediately  occur  to  the  reader.  If, 
instead  of  a  historical  recollection  of 
this  kind,  which  could  hardly  make 
the  stream  itself  of  Runnymede  look 
more  beautiful,  Alison  had  confined 
himself  to  those  impressions  which 
the  generality  of  mankind  receive 
from  river  scenery,  he  would  have 
had  no  difficulty  in  showing  (as  we 
believe  he  has  elsewhere  done)  how, 
in  this  case,  ideas  gathered  from 
different  sources  flow  into  one  har- 
monious and  apparently  simple  feel- 


337 

ing.  That  sentiment  of  beauty  which 
arises  as  we  look  upon  a  river  will  be 
acknowledged  by  most  persons  to  be 
composed  of  many  associated  thoughts, 
combining  with  the  object  before  them. 
Its  form  and  colour,  its  bright  surface 
and  its  green  banks,  are  all  that  the 
eye  immediately  gives  us ;  but  with 
these  are  combined  the  remembered 
coolness  of  the  fluent  stream,  and  of 
the  breeze  above  it,  and  of  the 
pleasant  shade  of  its  banks ;  and 
beside  all  this — as  there  are  few  per- 
sons who  have  not  escaped  with 
delight  from  town  or  village,  to 
wander  by  the  quiet  banks  of  some 
neighbouring  stream,  so  there  are 
few  persons  who  do  not  associate 
with  river  scenery  ideas  of  peace  and 
serenity.  Now  many  of  these 
thoughts  or  facts  are  such  as  the  eye 
does  not  take  cognisance  of,  yet  they 
present  themselves  as  instantaneously 
as  the  visible  form,  and  so  blended  as 
to  seem,  for  the  moment,  to  belong  to  it. 

Why  not  have  selected  some  such 
illustration  as  this,  instead  of  the  un- 
fortunate Runnymede,  from  a  work 
where  so  many  abound  as  apt  as  they 
are  elegantly  expressed  ?  As  to  Mr 
Ruskin's  utilitarian  philosopher,  it  is  a 
fabulous  creature— no  such  being  ex- 
ists. Nor  need  we  detain  ourselves 
with  the  quite  departmental  subject  of 
Familiarity.  But  let  us  endeavour — 
without  desiring  to  pledge  ourselves 
or  our  readers  to  its  final  adoption — 
to  relieve  the  theory  of  association  of 
ideas  from  the  obscurity  our  author 
has  thrown  around  it.  Our  readers 
will  not  find  that  this  is  altogether  a 
wasted  labour. 

With  Mr  Ruskin  we  are  of  opinion 
that,  in  a  discussion  of  this  kind,  the 
term  Beauty  ought  to  be  limited  to 
the  impression  derived,  mediately  or 
immediately,  from  the  visible  object. 
It  would  be  useless  affectation  to 
attempt  to  restrict  the  use  of  the  word, 
in  general,  to  this  application.  We 
can  have  no  objection  to  the  term 
Beautiful  being  applied  to  a  piece  of 
music,  or  to  an  eloquent  composition, 
prose  or  verse,  or  even  to  our  moral 
feelings  and  heroic  actions  ;  the  word 
has  received  this  general  application, 
and  there  is,  at  basis,  a  great  deal  in 
common  between  all  these  and  the 
sentiment  of  beauty  attendant  on  the 
visible  object.  For  music,  or  sweet 


338 


sounds,  and  poetry,  and  our  moral 
feelings,  have  much  to  do  (through  the 
law  of  association)  with  our  senti- 
ment of  the  Beautiful.  It  is  quite 
enough  if,  speaking  of  the  subject  of 
our  analysis,  we  limit  it  to  those  im- 
pressions, however  originated,  which 
attend  upon  the  visible  object. 

One  preliminary  word  on  this  asso- 
ciation of  ideas.  It  is  from  its  very 
nature,  and  the  nature  of  human  life, 
of  all  degrees  of  intimacy — from  the 
casual  suggestion,  or  the  case  where 
the  two  ideas  are  at  all  times  felt  to 
be  distinct,  to  those  close  combina- 
tions where  the  two  ideas  have  ap- 
parently coalesced  into  one,  or  require 
an  attentive  analysis  to  separate 
them.  You  see  a  mass  of  iron  ;  you 
may  be  said  to  see  its  weight,  the  im- 
pression of  its  weight  is  so  intimately 
combined  with  its  form.  The  light 
of  the  sun,  and  the  heat  of  the  sun 
are  learnt  from  different  senses,  yet 
we  never  see  the  one  without  thinking 
•of  the  other,  and  the  reflection  of  the 
sunbeam  seen  upon  a  bank  imme- 
diately suggests  the  idea  of  warmth. 
But  it  is  not  necessary  that  the  com- 
bination should  be  always  so  perfect 
as  in  this  instance,  in  order  to  produce 
the  effect  we  speak  of  under  the 
name  of  Association  of  Ideas.  It  is 
hardly  possible  for  us  to  abstract  the 
glow  of  the  sunbeam  from  its  light ; 
but  the  fertility  which  follows  upon 
the  presence  of  the  sun,  though  a 
suggestion  which  habitually  occurs  to 
reflective  minds,  is  an  association  of  a 
far  less  intimate  nature.  It  is  suffi- 
ciently intimate,  however,  to  blend 
with  that  feeling  of  admiration  we 
have  when  we  speak  of  the  beauty  of 
the  sun.  There  is  the  golden  harvest 
in  its  summer  beams.  Again,  the 
contemplative  spirit  in  all  ages  has 
formed  an  association  between  the 
sun  and  the  Deity,  whether  as  the 
fittest  symbol  of  God,  or  as  being  His 
greatest  gift  to  man.  Here  we  have 
an  association  still  more  refined,  and 
of  a  somewhat  less  frequent  character, 
but  one  which  will  be  found  to  enter, 
in  a  very  subtle  manner,  into  that  im- 
pression we  receive  from  the  great 
luminary. 

And  thus  it  is  that,  in  different 
minds,  the  same  materials  of  thought 
may  be  combined  in  a  closer  or  laxer 
relationship.  This  should  be  borne  in 


Mr  Ruskins  Works.  [Sept. 

mind  by  the  candid  inquirer.  That 
in  many  instances  ideas  from  dif- 
ferent sources  do  coalesce,  in  the  man- 
ner we  have  been  describing,  he  cannot 
for  an  instant  doubt.  He  seems  to 
see  the  coolness  of  that  river;  he  seems 
to  see  the  warmth  on  that  sunny  bank. 
In  many  instances,  however,  he  must 
make  allowance  for  the  different  habi- 
tudes of  life.  The  same  illustration 
will  not  always  have  the  same  force 
to  all  men.  Those  who  have  culti- 
vated their  minds  by  different  pur- 
suits, or  lived  amongst  scenery  of  a  dif- 
ferent character,  cannot  have  formed 
exactly  the  same  moral  association 
with  external  nature. 

These  preliminaries  being  adjusted, 
what,  we  ask,  is  that  first  original 
charm  of  the  visible  object  which  serves 
as  the  foundation  for  this  wonderful 
superstructure  of  the  Beautiful,  to 
which  almost  every  department  of 
feeling  and  of  thought  will  be  found 
to  bring  its  contribution?  What  is 
it  so  pleasurable  that  the  eye  at  once 
receives  from  the  external  world,  that 
round  it  should  have  gathered  all 
these  tributary  pleasures?  Light — 


discussion,  pre-eminently  the  exqui- 
site pleasure  derived  from  the  sense 
of  light,  pure  or  coloured.  Colour, 
from  infancy  to  old  age,  is  one  origi- 
nal, universal,  perpetual  source  of 
delight,  the  first  and  constant  element 
of  the  Beautiful. 

We  are  far  from  thinking  that  the 
eye  does  not  at  once  take  cognisance 
of  form  as  well  as  colour.  Some 
ingenious  analysts  have  supposed  that 
the  sensation  of  colour  is,  in  its  origin, 
a  mere  mental  affection,  having  no 
reference  to  space  or  external  objects, 
and  that  it  obtains  this  reference 
through  the  contemporaneous  acqui- 
sition of  the  sense  of  touch.  But  there 
can  be  no  more  reason  for  supposing 
that  the  sense  of  touch  informs  us  im- 
mediately of  an  external  world  than 
that  the  sense  of  colour  does.  If  we  do 
not  allow  to  all  the  senses  an  intuitive 
reference  to  the  external  world,  we 
shall  get  it  from  none  of  them.  Dr 
Brown,  who  paid  particular  attention 
to  this  subject,  and  who  was  desirous 
to  limit  the  first  intimation  of  the 
sense  of  sight  to  an  abstract  sensa- 
tion of  imlocjilised  colour,  failed  en- 
tirely in  his  attempt  to  obtain  from 


1851.] 

any  other  source  the  idea  of  space  or 
outness;  Kant  would  have  given  him 
certain  subjective  forms  of  the  sensitive 
faculty,  space  and  time.  These  he 
did  not  like :  he  saw  that,  if  he  denied 
to  the  eye  an  immediate  perception  of 
the  external  world,  he  must  also  deny 
it  to  the  touch ;  he  therefore  prayed 
in  aid  certain  muscular  sensations 
from  which  the  idea  of  resistance  would 
be  obtained.  But  it  seems  to  us  evi- 
dent that  not  till  after  we  have 
acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  external 
world  can  we  connect  volition  with 
muscular  movement,  and  that,  until 
that  connection  is  made,  the  muscular 
sensations  stand  in  the  same  predica- 
ment as  other  sensations,  and  could 
give  him  no  aid  in  solving  his  pro- 
blem. We  cannot  go  further  into  this 
matter  at  present.*  The  mere  flash 
of  light  which  follows  the  touch  upon 
the  optic  nerve  represents  itself  as 
something  without;  nor  was  colour, 
we  imagine,  ever  felt,  but  under  some 
form  more  or  less  distinct ;  although 
in  the  human  being  the  eye  seems  to 
depend  on  the  touch  far  more  than  in 
other  animals,  for  its  further  instruc- 
tion. 

But  although  the  eye  is  cognisant 
of  form  as  well  as  colour,  it  is  in  the 
sensation  of  colour  that  we  must  seek 
the  primitive  pleasure  derived  from 
this  organ.  And  probably  the  first 
reason  why  form  pleases  is  this,  that 
the  boundaries  of  form  are  also  the 
lines  of  contrast  of  colour.  It  is  a 
general  law  of  all  sensation  that,  if  it 
be  continued,  our  susceptibility  to  it 
-declines.  It  was  necessary  that  .the  eye 
should  be  always  open.  Its  suscepti- 
bility is  sustained  by  the  perpetual 
contrast  of  colours.  Whether  the 
contrast  is  sudden,  or  whether  one 
hue  shades  gradually  into  another, 


Mr  Rus/iin's  Works.  339 

we  see  here  an  original  and  primary 
source  of  pleasure.  A  constant 
variety,  in  some  way  produced,  is 
essential  to  the  maintenance  of  the 
pleasure  derived  from  colour. 

It  is  not  incumbent  on  us  to  inquire 
how  far  the  beauty  of  form  may  be 
traceable  to  the  sensation  of  touch  ; — 
a  very  small  portion  of  it  we  suspect. 
In  the  human  countenance,  and  in 
sculpture,  the  beauty  of  form  is  almost 
resolvable  into  expression ;  though 
possibly  the  soft  and  rounded  outline 
may  in  some  measure  be  associated 
with  the  sense  of  smoothness  to  the 
touch.  All  that  we  are  concerned  to 
show  is,  that  there  is  here  in  colour, 
diffused  as  it  is  over  the  whole  world, 
and  perpetually  varied,  a  beauty  at 
once  showered  upon  the  visible  object. 
We  hear  it  said,  if  you  resolve  all  into 
association,  where  will  you  begin  ? 
You  have  but  a  circle  of  feelings.  If 
moral  sentiment,  for  instance,  be  not 
itself  the  beautiful,  why  should  it  be- 
come so  by  association.  There  must 
be  something  else  that  is  the  beautiful, 
by  association  with  which  it  passes 
for  such.  We  answer,  that  we  do  not 
resolve  all  into  association  ;  that  we 
have  in  this  one  gift  of  colour,  shed 
so  bountifully  over  the  whole  world, 
an  original  beauty,  a  delight  which 
makes  the  external  object  pleasant 
and  beloved  ;  for  how  can  we  fail,  in 
some  sort,  to  love  what  produces  so 
much  pleasure  ? 

We  are  at  a  loss  to  understand  how 
any  one  can  speak  with  disparage- 
ment of  colour  as  a  source  of  the 
beautiful.  The  sculptor  may,  perhaps, 
by  his  peculiar  education,  grow  com- 
paratively indifferent  to  it :  we  know 
not  how  this  may  be ;  but  let  any 
man,  of  the  most  refined  taste  imagin- 
able, think  what  he  owes  to  this 


*  It  is  seldom  any  action  of  a  limb  is  performed  without  the  concurrence  of  several 
muscles;  and,  if  the  action  is  at  all  energetic,  a  number  of  muscles  are  brought  into 
play  as  an  equipoise  or  balance  ;  the  infant,  therefore,  would  be  sadly  puzzled 
amongst  its  muscular  sensations,  supposing  that  it  had  them.  Besides,  it  seems  clear 
that  those  movements  we  see  an  infant  make  with  its  arms  and  legs  are,  in  the  first 
instance,  as  little  voluntary  as  the  muscular  movements  it  makes  for  the  purpose  of 
respiration.  There  is  an  animal  life  within  us,  dependent  on  its  own  laws  of  irrita- 
bility. Over  a  portion  of  this  the  developed  thought  or  reason  gains  dominion  ; 
over  a  large  portion  the  will  never  has  any  hold  ;  over  another  portion,  as  in  the 
organs  of  respiration,  it  has  an  intermittent  and  divided  empire.  We  learn  voluntary 
movement  by  doing  that  instinctively  and  spontaneously  which  we  afterwards  do 
from  forethought.  We  have  moved  our  arm;  we  wish  to  do  the  like  again,  (and  to 
-our  wonder,  if  we  then  had  intelligence  enough  to  wonder,)  we  do  it. 


340  Mr  Rushirfs  Works. 

source,  when  he  walks  out  at  even-  flowers, 
ing,  and  sees  the  sun  set  amongst  the 
hills.  The  same  concave  sky,  the  same 
scene,  so  far  as  its  form  is  concerned, 
was  there  a  few  hours  before,  and  sad- 
dened him  with  its  gloom  ;  one  leaden 
hue  prevailed  over  all ;  and  now  in  a 
clear  sky  the  sun  is  setting,  and  the 
hills  are  purple,  and  the  clouds  are 
radiant  with  every  colour  that  can  be 
extracted  from  the  sunbeam.  He 
can  hardly  believe  that  it  is  the  same 
scene,  or  he  the  same  man.  Here 
the  grown-up  man  and  the  child  stand 
always  on  the  same  level.  As  to  the 
infant,  note  how  its  eye  feeds  upon  a 
brilliant  colour,  or  the  living  flame. 
If  it  had  wings,  it  would  assuredly  do 
as  the  moth  does.  And  take  the 
most  untutored  rustic,  let  him  be  old, 
and  dull,  and  stupid,  yet,  as  long  as 
the  eye  has  vitality  in  it,  will  he  look 
up  with  long  untiring  gaze  at  this 
blue  vault  of  the  sky,  traversed  by  its 
glittering  clouds,  and  pierced  by  the 
tall  green  trees  around  him. 

Is  it  any  marvel  now  that  round 
the  visible  object  should  associate 
tributary  feelings  of  pleasure  ?  How 
many  pleasing  and  tender  sentiments 
gather  round  the  rose !  Yet  the  rose 
is  beautiful  in  itself.  It  was  beautiful 
to  the  child  by  its  colour,  its  texture, 
its  softly-shaded  leaf,  and  the  contrast 
between  the  flower  and  the  foliage. 
Love,  and  poetry,  and  the  tender  re- 
grets of  advanced  life,  have  contri- 
buted a  second  dower  of  beauty. 
The  rose  is  more  to  the  youth  and  to 
the  old  man  than  it  was  to  the  child ; 
but  still  to  the  last  they  both  feel  the 
pleasure  of  the  child. 

The  more  commonplace  the  illus- 
tration, the  more  suited  it  is  to  our 
purpose.  If  any  one  will  reflect  on 
the  many  ideas  that  cluster  round  this 
beautiful  flower,  he  will  not  fail  to 
see  how  numerous  and  subtle  may  be 
the  association  formed  with  the  visible 
object.  Even  an  idea  painful  in 
itself  may,  by  way  of  contrast,  serve 
to  heighten  the  pleasure  of  others  with 
which  it  is  associated.  Here  the 
thought  of  decay  and  fragility,  like  a 
discord  amongst  harmonies,  increases 
our  sentiment  of  tenderness.  We 
express,  we  believe,  the  prevailing 
taste  when  we  say  that  there  is  no- 
thing, in  the  shape  of  art,  so  disa- 
greeable and  repulsive  as  artificial 


[Sept. 

The  waxen  flower  may  be 
an  admirable  imitation,  but  it  is  a 
detestable  thing.  This  partly  results 
from  the  nature  of  the  imitation ;  a 
vulgar  deception  is  often  practised 
upon  us :  what  is  not  a  flower  is  in- 
tended to  pass  for  one.  But  it  is 
owing  still  more,  we  think,  to  the 
contradiction  that  is  immediately 
afterwards  felt  between  this  preserved 
and  imperishable  waxen  flower,  and 
the  transitory  and  perishable  rose. 
It  is  the  nature  of  the  rose  to  bud,  and 
blossom,  and  decay ;  it  gives  its 
beauty  to  the  breeze  and  to  the 
shower  ;  it  is  mortal ;  it  is  ours ;  it 
bears  our  hopes,  our  loves,  our  re- 
grets. This  waxen  substitute,  that 
cannot  change  or  decay,  is  a  contra- 
diction and  a  disgust. 

Amongst  objects  of  man's  contri- 
vance, the  sail  seen  upon  the  calm 
waters  of  a  lake  or  a  river  is  univer- 
sally felt  to  be  beautiful.  The  form 
is  graceful,  and  the  movement  gentle, 
and  its  colour  contrasts  well  either 
with  the  shore  or  the  water.  But 
perhaps  the  chief  element  of  our  plea- 
sure is  an  association  with  human  life, 
with  peaceful  enjoyment — 

"  This  quiet  sail  is  as  a  noiseless  wing, 
To  waft  me  from  distraction." 

Or  take  one  of  the  noblest  objects 
in  nature — the  mountain.  There  is 
no  object  except  the  sea  and  the  sky 
that  reflects  to  the  sight  colours  so 
beautiful,  and  in  such  masses.  But 
colour,  and  form,  and  magnitude, 
constitute  but  a  part  of  the  beauty  or 
the  sublimity  of  the  mountain.  Not 
only  do  the  clouds  encircle  or  rest 
upon  it,  but  men  have  laid  on  it  their 
grandest  thoughts :  we  have  associ- 
ated with  it  our  moral  fortitude,  and 
all  we  understand  of  greatness  or 
elevation  of  mind  ;  our  phraseology 
seems  half  reflected  from  the  moun- 
tain. Still  more,  we  have  made  it 
holy  ground.  Has  not  God  himself  de- 
scended on  the  mountain  ?  Are  not 
the  hills,  once  and  for  ever,  "the 


unwalled  temples  of  our  earth  ? " 
And  still  there  is  another  circumstance 
attendant  upon  mountain  scenery, 
which  adds  a  solemnity  of  its  own, 
and  is  a  condition  of  the' enjoyment  of 
other  sources  of  the  sublime— solitude. 
It  seems  to  us  that  the  feeling  of  soli- 
tude almost  always  associates  itself 
with  mountain  scenery.  Mrs  Somer- 


1851.] 


Mr  Buskin's  Works. 


341 


ville,  in  the  description  which  she 
gives  or  quotes,  in  her  Physical  Geo- 
graphy, of  the  Himalayas,  says — 

"  The  loftiest  peaks  being  bare  of  snow 
gives  great  variety  of  colour  and  beauty 
to  the  scenery,  which  in  these  passes  is 
at  all  times  magnificent.  During  the 
day,  the  stupendous  size  of  the  mountains, 
their  interminable  extent,  the  variety  and 
the  sharpness  of  their  forms,  and,  above 
all,  the  tender  clearness  of  their  distant 
outline  melting  into  the  pale  blue  sky, 
contrasted  with  the  deep  azure  above,  is 
described  as  a  scene  of  wild  and  wonder- 
ful beauty.  At  midnight,  when  myriads 
of  stars  sparkle  in  the  black  sky,  and 
the  pure  blue  of  the  mountains  looks 
deeper  still  below  the  pale  white  gleam 
of  the  earth  and  snow-light,  the  effect  is 
of  unparalleled  sublimity,  and  no  lan- 
guage can  describe  the  splendour  of  the 
sunbeams  at  daybreak,  streaming  be- 
tween the  high  peaks,  and  throwing  their 
gigantic  shadows  on  the  mountains  be- 
low. There,  far  above  the  habitation  of 
man,  no  living  thing  exists,  no  sound  is 
heard  ;  the  very  echo  of  the  traveller's 
footsteps  startles  him  in  the  awful  soli- 
tude and  silence  that  reigns  in  those 
august  dwellings  of  everlasting  snow." 

No  one  can  fail  to  recognise  the 
effect  of  the  last  circumstance  men- 
tioned. Let  those  mountains  be  the 
scene  of  a  gathering  of  any  human 
multitude,  and  they  would  be  more 
desecrated  than  if  their  peaks  had 
been  levelled  to  the  ground.  We 
have  also  quoted  this  description  to 
show  how  large  a  share  colour  takes 
in  beautifying  such  a  scene.  Colour, 
either  in  large  fields  of  it,  or  in  sharp 
contrasts,  or  in  gradual  shading — the 
play  of  light,  in  short,  upon  this  world 
— is  the  first  element  of  beauty. 

Here  would  be  the  place,  were  we 
writing  a  formal  treatise  upon  this 
subject,  after  showing  that  there  is 
in  the  sense  of  sight  itself  a  sufficient 
elementary  beauty,  whereto  other 
pleasurable  reminiscences  may  attach 
themselves,  to  point  out  some  of  these 
tributaries.  Each  sense — the  touch, 
the  ear,  the  smell,  the  taste — blend 
their  several  remembered  pleasures 
with  the  object  of  vision.  Even  taste, 
we  say,  although  Mr  Ruskin  will 
scorn  the  gross  alliance.  And  we 
would  allude  to  the  fact  to  show  the 
extreme  subtilty  of  these  mental  pro- 
cesses. The  fruit  which  you  think  of 
eating  has  lost  its  beauty  from  that 


moment — it  assumes  to  you  a  quite 
different  relation  ;  but  the  reminis- 
cence that  there  is  sweetness  in  the 
peach  or  the  grape,  whilst  it  remains 
quite  subordinate  to  the  pleasure  de- 
rived from  the  sense  of  sight,  mingles 
with  and  increases  that  pleasure. 
Whilst  the  cluster  of  ripe  grapes  is 
looked  at  only  for  its  beauty,  the  idea 
that  they  are  pleasant  to  the  taste  as 
well  steals  in  unobserved,  and  adds 
to  the  complex  sentiment.  If  this 
idea  grow  distinct  and  prominent, 
the  beauty  of  the  grape  is  gone — you 
eat  it.  Here,  too,  would  be  the  place 
to  take  notice  of  such  sources  of  plea- 
sure as  are  derived  from  adaptation 
of  parts,  or  the  adaptation  of  the 
whole  to  ulterior  purposes  ;  but  here 
especially  should  we  insist  on  human 
affections,  human  loves,  human  sym- 
pathies. Here,  in  the  heart  of  man, 
his  hopes,  his  regrets,  his  affections, 
do  we  find  the  great  source  of  the 
beautiful — tributaries  which  take  their 
name  from  the  stream  they  join, 
but  which  often  form  the  main  cur- 
rent. On  that  sympathy  with  which 
nature  has  so  wonderfully  endowed 
us,  which  makes  the  pain  and  plea- 
sure of  all  other  living  things  our  own 
pain  and  pleasure,  which  binds  us 
not  only  to  our  fellow-men,  but  to 
every  moving  creature  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  we  should  have  much  to 
say.  How  much,  for  instance,  does 
its  life  add  to  the  beauty  of  the  swan  ! 
— how  much  more  its  calm  and  placid 
life  !  Here,  and  on  what  would  fol- 
low on  the  still  more  exalted  mood  of 
pious  contemplation — when  all  nature 
seems  as  a  hymn  or  song  of  praise  to 
the  Creator — we  should  be  happy  to 
borrow  aid  from  Mr  Ruskin ;  his 
essay  supplying  admirable  materials 
for  certain  chapters  in  a  treatise  on 
the  beautiful  which  should  embrace 
the  whole  subject. 

No  such  treatise,  however,  is  it  our 
object  to  compose.  We  have  said 
enough  to  show  the  true  nature  of 
that  theory  of  association,  as  a  branch 
of  which  alone  is  it  possible  to  take 
any  intelligible  view  of  Mr  Ruskin's 
Theoria,  or  "  Theoretic  Faculty." 
His  flagrant  error  is,  that  he  will  re- 
present a  part  for  the  whole,  and  will 
distort  and  confuse  everything  for  the 
sake  of  this  representation.  Viewed 
in  their  proper  limitation,  his  remarks 


3-1*2 


Mr  RuskMs  Works. 


[Sept. 


are  often  such  as  every  wise  and  good 
man  will  approve  of.  Here  and  there 
too,  there  are  shrewd  intimations 
which  the  psychological  student  may 
profit  by.  He  has  pointed  out  seve- 
ral instances  where  the  associations 
insisted  upon  by  writers  of  the  school 
of  Alison  have  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  the  sentiment  of  beauty  ;  and 
neither  harmonise  with,  nor  exalt  it. 
Not  all  that  may,  in  any  way,  interest 
us  in  an  object,  adds  to  its  beauty. 
"  Thus,"  as  Mr  Ruskin  we  think  very 
justly  says,  u  where  we  are  told 
that  the  leaves  of  a  plant  are  occu- 
pied in  decomposing  carbonic  acid, 
and  preparing  oxygen  for  us,  we 
begin  to  look  upon  it  with  some  such 
indifference  as  upon  a  gasometer.  It 
has  become  a  machine  ;  some  of  our 
sense  of  its  happiness  is  gone ;  its 
emanation  of  inherent  life  is  no  longer 
pure."  The  knowledge  of  the  anato- 
mical structure  of  the  limb  is  very 
interesting,  but  it  adds  nothing  to  the 
beauty  of  its  outline.  Scientific  asso- 
ciations, however,  of  this  kind,  will 
have  a  different  aesthetic  effect,  ac- 
cording to  the  degree  or  the  enthu- 
siasm with  which  the  science  has 
been  studied. 

It  is  not  our  business  to  advocate 
•this  theory  of  association  of  ideas,  but 
briefly  to  expound  it.  But  we  may 
remark  that  those  who  adopt  (as  Mr 
Ruskin  has  done  in  one  branch  of  his 
subject— his  SEsthesis)  the  rival  theory 
of  an  intuitive  perception  of  the 
beautiful,  must  find  a  difficulty  where 
to  insert  this  intuitive  perception. 
The  beauty  of  any  one  object  is  gene- 
rally composed  of  several  qualities 
and  accessories — to  which  of  these 
are  we  to  connect  this  intuition? 
And  if  to  the  whole  assemblage  of 
them,  then,  as  each  of  these  qualities 
has  been  shown  by  its  own  virtue  to 
administer  to  the  general  effect,  we 
shall  be  explaining  again  by  this  new 
perception  what  has  been  already 
explained.  Select  any  notorious 
instance  of  the  beautiful— say  the 
swan.  How  many  qualities  and  ac- 
cessories immediately  occur  to  us  as 
intimately  blended  in  our  minds  with 
the  form  and  white  plumage  of  the 
bird  !  What  were  its  arched  neck  and 
mantling  wings  if  it  were  not  living? 
And  how  the  calm  and  inoffensive, 
and  somewhat  majestic  life  it  leads, 


carries  away  our  sympathies  !  Added 
to  which,  the  snow-white  form  of  the 
swan  is  imaged  in  clear  waters,  and 
is  relieved  by  green  foliage ;  and  if 
the  bird  makes  the  river  more  beauti- 
ful, the  river,  in  return,  reflects  its 
serenity  and  peacefulness  upon  the 
bird.  Now  all  this  we  seem  to  see 
as  we  look  upon  the  swan.  To  which 
of  these  facts  separately  will  you 
attach  this  new  intuition  ?  And  if 
you  wait  till  all  are  assembled,  the 
bird  is  already  beautiful. 

We  are  all  in  the  habit  of  reason- 
ing on  the  beautiful,  of  defending  our 
own  tastes,  and  this  just  in  propor- 
tion as  the  beauty  in  question  is  of  a 
high  order.  And  why  do  we  do  this  ? 
Because,  just  in  proportion  as  the 
beauty  is  of  an  elevated  character, 
does  it  depend  on  some  moral  associ- 
ation. Every  argument  of  this  kind 
will  be  found  to  consist  of  an  analysis 
of  the  sentiment.  Nor  is  there  any- 
thing derogatory,  as  some  have  sup- 
posed, in  this  analysis  of  the  senti- 
ment ;  for  we  learn  from  it,  at  every 
step,  that  in  the  same  degree  as  men 
become  more  refined,  more  humane, 
more  kind,  equitable,  and  pious,  will 
the  visible  world  become  more  richly 
clad  with  beauty.  We  see  here  an 
admirable  arrangement,  whereby  the 
external  world  grows  in  beauty,  as 
men  grow  in  goodness. 

We  must  now  follow  Mr  Ruskin  a 
step  farther  into  the  development  of 
his  Theoria.  All  beauty,  he  tell  us, 
is  suck,  in  its  high  and  only  true  cha- 
racter, because  it  is  a  type  of  one  or 
more  of  God's  attributes.  This,  as 
we  have  shown,  is  to  represent  one 
class  of  associated  thought  as  absorb- 
ing and  displacing  all  the  rest.  We 
protest  against  this  egregious  exagge- 
ration of  a  great  and  sacred  source  of 
our  emotions.  With  Mr  Ruskin's 
own  piety  we  can  have  no  quarrel ; 
but  we  enter  a  firm  and  calm  protest 
against  a  falsification  of  our  human 
nature,  in  obedience  to  one  sentiment, 
however  sublime.  No  good  can  come 
of  it — no  good,  we  mean,  to  religion 
itself.  It  is  substantially  the  same 
error,  though  assuming  a  very  dif- 
ferent garb,  which  the  Puritans  com- 
mitted. They  disgusted  men  with 
religion,  by  introducing  it  into  every 
law  and  custom,  and  detail  of  human 
life.  Mr  Ruokin  would  commit  the 


1851.] 

same  error  in  the  department  of  taste, 
over  which  he  would  rule  so  despoti- 
cally :  he  is  not  content  that  the 
highest  beauty  shall  be  religious  ;  he 
will  permit  nothing  to  be  beautiful, 
except  as  it  partakes  of  a  religions 
character.  But  there  is  a  vast  region 
lying  between  the  "  animal  pleasant- 
ness" of  his  vEsthesis  and  the  pious 
contemplation  of  his  Theoria.  There 
is  much  between  the  human  animal 
and  the  saint ;  there  are  the  domestic 
affections  and  the  love  they  spring 
from,  and  hopes,  and  regrets,  and 
aspirations,  and  the  hour  of  peace  and 
the  hour  of  repose— in  short,  there  is 
human  life.  From  all  human  life,  as 
we  have  seen,  come  contributions  to 
the  sentiment  of  the  beautiful,  quite 
as  distinctly  traced  as  the  peculiar 
class  on  which  Mr  Ruskin  insists. 

If  any  one  descanting  upon  music 
should  affirm,  that,  in  the  first  place, 
there  was  a  certain  animal  pleasant- 
ness in  harmony  or  melody,  or  both, 
but  that  the  real  essence  of  music, 
that  by  which  it  truly  becomes  music, 
was  the  perception  in  harmony  or 
melody  of  types  of  the  Divine  attri- 
butes, he  would  reason  exactly  in 
the  same  manner  on  music  as  Mr 
Ruskin  does  on  beauty.  Neverthe- 
less, although  sacred  music  is  the 
highest,  it  is  very  plain  that  there  is 
other  music  than  the  sacred,  and  that 
all  songs  are  not  hymns. 

Chapter  v.  of  the  present  volume 
bears  this  title—  Of  Typical  Beauty. 
First,  of  Infinity,  or  the  type  of  the 
Divine  Incomprehensibility. — A  bound- 
less space  will  occur  directly  to  the 
reader  as  a  type  of  the  infinite  ;  per- 
haps it  should  be  rather  described  as 
itself  the  infinite  under  one  form. 
But  Mr  R-uskin  finds  the  infinite  in 
everything.  That  idea  which  he 
justly  describes  as  the  incomprehen- 
sible, and  which  is  so  profound  and 
baffling  a  mystery  to  the  finite  being, 
is  supposed  to  be  thrust  upon  the 
mind  on  every  occasion.  Every  in- 
stance of  variety  is  made  the  type  of 
the  infinite,  as  well  as  every  indica- 
tion of  space.  We  remember  that,  in 
the  first  volume  of  the  Modern  Painters, 
we  were  not  a  little  startled  at  being 
told  that  the  distinguishing  character 
of  every  good  artist  was,  that  "  he 
painted  the  infinite."  Good  or  bad, 
we  now  see  that  he  could  scarcely 


Mr  Ruskin's  Works.  343 

fail  to  paint  the  infinite :  it  must  be 
by  some  curious  chance  that  the  feat 
is  not  accomplished. 

"  Now,  not  only,"  writes  Mr  Ruskin, 
"  is  this  expression  of  infinity  in  distance 
most  precious  wherever  we  find  it,  how- 
ever solitary  it  may  be,  and  however  un- 
assisted by  other  forms  and  kinds  of 
beauty  ;  but  it  is  of  such  value  that  no 
such  other  forms  will  altogether  recom- 
pense us  for  its  loss;  and  much  as  I  dread 
the  enunciation  of  anything  that  may 
seem  like  a  conventional  rule,  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  asserting  that  no  work  of 
any  art,  in  which  this  expression  of  infi- 
nity is  possible,can  be  perfect  or  supremely 
elevated  without  it;  and  that,  in  propor- 
tion to  its  presence,  it  mil  exalt  and  ren- 
der impressive  even  the  most  tame  and  tri- 
vial themes.  And  I  think  if  there  be  any 
one  grand  division,  by  which  it  is  at  all 
possible  to  set  the  productions  of  paint- 
ing, so  far  as  their  mere  plan  or  system 
is  concerned,  on  our  right  and  left  hands, 
it  is  this  of  light  and  dark  background, 

of  heaven-light  and  of  object-light 

There  is  a  spectral  etching  of  Rembrandt, 
a  presentation  of  Christ  in  the  Temple, 
where  the  figure  of  a  robed  priest  stands 
glaring  by  its  gems  out  of  the  gloom, 
holding  a  crosier.  Behind  it  there  is  a 
subdued  window-light  seen  in  the  open- 
ing, between  two  columns,  without  which 
the  impressiveness  of  the  whole  subject 
would,  I  think,  be  incalculably  dimi- 
nished. I  cannot  tell  whether  I  am  at 
present  allowing  too  much  weight  to  my 
own  fancies  and  predilections;  but,  with- 
out so  much  escape  into  the  outer  air  and 
open  heaven  as  this,  I  can  take  permanent 
pleasure  in  no  picture. 

"  And  I  think  I  am  supported  in  this 
feeling  by  the  unanimous  practice,  if  not 
the  confessed  opinion,  of  all  artists.  The 
painter  of  portrait  is  unhappy  icithout  his 
conventional  white  stroke  under  the  sleeve, 
or  beside  the  arm-chair ;  the  painter  of 
interiors  feels  like  a  caged  bird  unless  he 
can  throw  a  window  open,  or  set  the  door 
ajar;  the  landscapist  dares  not  lose  him- 
self in  forest  without  a  gleam  of  light 
under  its  farthest  branches,  nor  ventures 
out  in  rain  unless  he  may  somewhere 
pierce  to  a  better  promise  in  the  distance, 
or  cling  to  some  closing  gap  of  variable 
blue  above."— (P.  39.) 

But  if  an  open  window,  or  "  that 
conventional  white  stroke  under  the 
sleeve,"  is  sufficient  to  indicate  the 
Infinite,  how  few  pictures  there  must 
be  in  which  it  is  not  indicated  !  and 
how  many  "  a  tame  and  trivial 
theme"  must  have  been,  by  this  indi- 


344  Mr  Ruskm's  Works. 

cation,  exalted  and  rendered  impres- 
sive! And  yet  it  seems  that  some 
very  celebrated  paintings  want  this 
open-window  or  conventional  white 
stroke.  The  Madonna  della  Sediola 
of  Raphael  is  known  over  all  Europe ; 
some  print  of  it  may  be  seen  in  every 
village  ;  that  virgin-mother,  in  her 
antique  chair,  embracing  her  child 
with  so  sweet  and  maternal  an  em- 
brace, has  found  its  way  to  the  heart 
of  every  woman,  Catholic  or  Protes- 
tant. But  unfortunately  it  has  a 
dark  background,  and  there  is  no 
open  window — nothing  to  typify  infi- 
nity. To  us  it  seemed  that  there  was 
"  heaven's  light"  over  the  whole  pic- 
ture. Though  there  is  the  chamber 
wall  seen  behind  the  chair,  there  is 
nothing  to  intimate  that  the  door  or 
the  window  is  closed.  One  might  in 
charity  have  imagined  that  the  light 
came  directly  through  an  open  door 
or  window.  However,  Mr  Ruskin  is 
inexorable.  "  Raphael,"  he  says, 
u  in  his  fall,  betrayed  the  faith  he  had 
received  from  his  father  and  his  mas- 
ter, and  substituted  for  the  radiant 
sky  of  the  Madonna  del  Cardellino 
the  chamber  wall  of  the  Madonna 
della  Sediola,  and  the  brown  wainscot 
of  the  Baldacchino." 

Of  other  modes  in  which  the  Infinite 
is  represented,  we  have  an  instance  in 
"  The  Beauty  of  Curvature." 

"  The  first  of  these  is  the  curvature  of 
lines  and  surfaces,  wherein  it  at  first  ap- 
pears futile  to  insist  upon  any  resem- 
blance or  suggestion  of  infinity,  since 
there  is  certainly,  in  our  ordinary  con- 
templation of  it,  no  sensation  of  the  kind. 
But  I  have  repeated  again  and  again  that 
the  ideas  of  beauty  are  instinctive,  and 
that  it  is  only  upon  consideration,  and 
even  then  in  doubtful  and  disputable 


[Sept. 

would  have  been  delighted  with  this 
Theoria.  But  we  must  pass  on  to 
other  types.  Chapter  vi.  treats  of 
Unity,  or  the  Type  of  the  Divine  Com- 
prehensiveness. 

"  Of  the  appearances  of  Unity,  or  of 
Unity  itself,  there  are  several  kinds,  which 
it  will  be  found  hereafter  convenient  to 
consider  separately.  Thus  there  is  the 
unity  of  different  and  separate  things, 
subjected  to  one  and  the  same  influence, 
which  may  be  called  Subjectional  Unity ; 
and  this  is  the  unity  of  the  clouds,  as  they 
are  driven  by  the  parallel  winds,  or  as 
they  are  ordered  by  the  electric  currents; 
this  is  the  unity  of  the  sea  waves;  this,  of 
the  bending  and  undulation  of  the  forest 
masses;  and  in  creatures  capable  of  Will 
it  is  the  Unity  of  Will,  or  of  Impulse. 
And  there  is  Unity  of  Origin,  which  we 
may  call  Original  Unity,  which  is  of 
things  arising  from  one  spring  or  source, 
and  speaking  always  of  this  their  brother- 
hood ;  and  this  in  matter  is  the  unity  of 
the  branches  of  the  trees,  and  of  the  pe- 
tals and  starry  rays  of  flowers,  and  of  the 
beams  of  light;  and  in  spiritual  creatures 
it  is  their  filial  relation  to  Him  from  whom 
they  have  their  being.  And  there  is 
Unity  of  Sequence,"  &c. — 


down  another  half  page, 
think. 


way,  that  they  appear  in  their  typical 
character  ;  neither  do  I  intend  at  all  to 
insist  upon  the  particular  meaning  which 
they  appear  to  myself  to  bear,  but  merely 
on  their  actual  and  demonstrable  agree- 
ableness;  so  that  in  the  present  case, 
which  I  assert  positively,  and  have  no 
fear  of  being  able  to  prove — that  a  curve 
of  any  kind  is  more  beautiful  than  a  right 
line — I  leave  it  to  the  reader  to  accept  or 
not,  as  he  pleases,  that  reason  of  its  agree- 
ableness  which  is  the  only  one  that  I  can  at 
all  trace :  namely,  that  every  curve  divides 
itself  infinitely  by  its  changes  of  direc- 
tion."—(P.  63.) 

Our   old  friend   Jacob    Boehmen 


Very  little 

to  be  got  here,  we  think.  Let  us  ad- 
vance to  the  next  chapter.  This  is 
entitled,  Of  Repose,  or  the  Type  of 
Divine  Permanence. 

It  will  be  admitted  on  all  hands 
that  nothing  adds  more  frequently  to 
the  charms  of  the  visible  object  than 
the  associated  feeling  of  repose.  The 
hour  of  sunset  is  the  hour  of  repose. 
Most  beautiful  things  are  enhanced 
by  some  reflected  feeling  of  this  kind. 
But  surely  one  need  not  go  farther 
than  to  human  labour,  and  human 
restlessness,  anxiety,  and  passion,  to 
understand  the  charm  of  repose.  Mr 
Ruskin  carries  us  at  once  into  the 
third  heaven  : — 

"  As  opposed  to  passion,  changefulness, 
or  laborious  exertion,  Repose  is  the  espe- 
cial and  separating  characteristic  of  the 
eternal  mind  and  power;  it  is  the  '  I  am' 
of  the  Creator,  opposed  to  the  '  I  become' 
of  all  creatures  ;  it  is  the  sign  alike  of  the 
supreme  knowledge  which  is  incapable  of 
surprise,  the  supreme  power  which  is  in- 
capable of  labour,  the  supreme  volition 
which  is  incapable  of  change;  it  is  the 
stillness  of  the  beams  of  the  eternal 
chambers  laid  upon  the  variable  waters 
of  ministering  creatures." 


Mr  Ruskin's  Works. 


1851.] 

We  must  proceed.  Chapter  viii. 
treats  Of  Symmetry,  or  the  Type  of 
Divine  Justice.  Perhaps  the  nature  of 
this  chapter  will  be  sufficiently  indi- 
cated to  the  reader,  now  somewhat  in- 
formed of  Mr  Ruskin's  mode  of  think- 
ing, by  the  title  itself.  At  all  events, 
we  shall  pass  on  to  the  next  chapter, 
ix. — Of  Purity,  or  the  Type  of  Divine 
Energy.  Here  the  reader  will  per- 
haps expect  to  find  himself  somewhat 
more  at  home.  One  type,  at  all 
events,  of  Divine  Purity  has  often 
been  presented  to  his  mind.  Light 
has  generally  been  considered  as  the 
fittest  emblem  or  manifestation  of  the 
Divine  Presence, 

"  That  never  but  in  uuapproached  light 
Dwelt  from  eternity." 

"But  if  the  reader  has  formed  any  such 
agreeable  expectation  he  will  be  dis- 
appointed. Mr  Ruskin  travels  on  no 
beaten  track.  He  finds  some  reasons, 
partly  theological,  partly  gathered 
from  his  own  theory  of  the  Beautiful, 
for  discarding  this  ancient  association 
of  Light  with  Purity.  As  the  Divine 
attributes  are  those  which  the  visible 
object  typifies,  and  by  no  means  the 
human,  and  as  Purity,  which  is  "  sin- 
lessness,"  cannot,  he  thinks,  be  pre- 
dicted of  the  Divine  nature,  it  follows 
that  he  cannot  admit  Light  to  be  a 
type  of  Purity.  We  quote  the  pas- 
sage, as  it  will  display  the  working 
of  his  theory  : — 

"  It  may  seem  strange  to  many  readers 
that  I  have  not  spoken  of  purity  in  that 
sense  in  which  it  is  most  frequently  used, 
as  a  type  of  sinlessness.  I  do  not  deny 
that  the  frequent  metaphorical  use  of  it 
in  Scripture  may  have,  and  ought  to  have, 
much  influence  on  the  sympathies  with 
which  we  regard  it ;  and  that  probably 
the  immediate  agreeableness  of  it  to  most 
minds  arises  far  more  from  this  source 
than  from  that  to  which  I  have  chosen  to 
attribute  it.  But,  in  the  first  place,  if  it 
be  indeed  in  the  signs  of  Divine  and  not  of 
human  attributes  that  beauty  consists,  I  see 
not  how  the  idea  of  sin  can  be  formed 
with  respect  to  the  Deity ;  for  it  is  the 
idea  of  a  relation  borne  by  us  to  Him, 
and  not  in  any  way  to  be  attached  to  His 
abstract  nature  ;  while  the  Love,  Merci- 
fulness, and  Justice  of  God  I  have  sup- 
posed to  be  symbolised  by  other  qualities 
of  beauty:  and  I  cannot  trace  any  rational 
connection  between  them  and  the  idea  of 
Spotlessness  in  matter,  nor  between  this 
idea  nor  any  of  the  virtues  which  make 


345 


up  the  righteousness  of  man,  except  per- 
haps those  of  truth  and  openness,  which 
have  been  above  spoken  of  as  more  ex- 
pressed by  the  transparency  than  the 
mere  purity  of  matter.  So  that  I  con- 
ceive the  use  of  the  terms  purity,  spotless- 
ness,  &c.,  on  moral  subjects,  to  be  merely 
metaphorical  ;  and  that  it  is  rather  that 
we  illustrate  these  virtues  by  the  desir- 
ableness of  material  purity,  than  that  we 
desire  material  purity  because  it  is  illus- 
trative of  those  virtues.  I  repeat,  then, 
that  the  only  idea  which  I  think  can  be 
legitimately  connected  with  purity  of 
matter  is  this  of  vital  and  energetic  con- 
nection among  its  particles." 

We  have  been  compelled  to  quote 
some  strange  passages,  of  most  diffi- 
cult and  laborious  perusal ;  but  our 
task  is  drawing  to  an  end.  The  last 
of  these  types  we  have  to  mention  is 
that  Of  Moderation,  or  the  Type  of 
Government  by  Law.  We  suspect 
there  are  many  persons  who  have 
rapidly  perused  Mr  Ruskin's  works 
(probably  skipping  where  the  obscu- 
rity grew  very  thick)  who  would  be 
very  much  surprised,  if  they  gave  a 
closer  attention  to  them,  at  the  strange 
conceits  and  absurdities  which  they 
had  passed  over  without  examination. 
Indeed,  his  very  loose  and  declama- 
tory style,  and  the  habit  of  saying  ex- 
travagant things,  set  all  examination 
at  defiance.  But  let  any  one  pause  a 
moment  on  the  last  title  we  have 
quoted  from  Mr  Ruskin — let  him  read 
the  chapter  itself — let  him  reflect  that 
he  has  been  told  in  it  that  **  what  we 
express  by  the  terms  chasteness,  re- 
finement, and  elegance,"  in  any  work 
of  art,  and  more  particularly  "  that 
finish"  so  dear  to  the  intelligent  critic, 
owe  their  attractiveness  to  being  types 
of  God's  government  by  law! — we 
think  he  will  confess  that  never  in  any 
book,  ancient  or  modern,  did  he  meet 
with  an  absurdity  to  outrival  it. 

We  have  seen  why  the  curve  in 
general  is  beautiful ;  we  have  here 
the  reason  given  us  why  one  curve  is 
more  beautiful  than  another : — 

"  And  herein  we  at  last  find  the  rea- 
son of  that  which  has  been  so  often  noted 
respecting  the  subtilty  and  almost  invisi- 
bility of  natural  curves  and  colours,  and 
why  it  is  that  we  look  on  those  lines  as 
least  beautiful  which  fall  into  wide  and 
far  license  of  curvature,  and  as  most 
beautiful  which  approach  nearest  (so  that 
the  curvilinear  character  be  distinctly 


34G 


Mr  Rushes  Works. 


asserted)  to  the  government  of  the  right 
line,  as  in  the  pure  and  severe  curves 
of  the  draperies  of  the  religious 
painters." 

There  is  still  the  subject  of  "  vital 
beauty  "  before  us,  but  we  shall  pro- 
bably be  excused  from  entering 
further  into  the  development  of 
"Theoria."  It  must  be  quite  clear 
by  this  time  to  our  readers,  that, 
whatever  there  is  in  it  really  wise 
and  intelligible,  resolves  itself  into 
one  branch  of  that  general  theory 
of  association  of  ideas,  of  which 
Alison  and  others  have  treated. 
But  we  are  now  in  a  condition  to 
understand  more  clearly  that 'peculiar 
style  of  language  which  startled  us  so 
much  in  the  first  volume  of  the  Mo- 
dern Painters.  There  we  frequently 
heard  of  the  Divine  mission  of  the 
artist,  of  the  religious  office  of  the 
painter,  and  how  Mr  Turner  was 
delivering  God's  message  to  man. 
What  seemed  an  oratorical  climax, 
much  too  frequently  repeated,  proves 
to  be  a  logical  sequence  of  his  theo- 
retical principles.  All  true  beauty  is 
religious  ;  therefore  all  true  art,  which 
is  the  reproduction  of  the  beautiful, 
must  be  religious  also.  Every  pic- 
ture gallery  is  a  sort  of  temple,  every 
great  painter  a  sort  of  prophet.  If 
Mr  Raskin  is  conscious  that  he  never 
admires  anything  beautiful  in  nature 
or  art,  without  a  reference  to  some 
attribute  of  God,  or  some  sentiment 
of  piety,  he  may  be  a  very  exalted 
person,  but  he  is  no  type  of  humanity. 
If  he  asserts  this,  we  must  be  suffi- 
ciently courteous  to  believe  him  ;  we 
must  not  suspect  that  he  is  hardly 
candid  with  us,  or  with  himself;  but 
we  shall  certainly  not  accept  him  as 
a  representative  of  the  genus  homo. 
He  finds  u  sermons  in  stones,"  and 
sermons  always  ;  "  books  in  the  run- 
ning brooks,"  and  always  books  of 
divinity.  Other  men  not  deficient  in 
reflection  or  piety  do  not  find  it  thus. 
Let  us  hear  the  poet  who,  more  than 
any  other,  has  made  a  religion  of  the 
beauty  of  nature.  Wordsworth,  in  a 
passage  familiar  to  every  one  of  his 
readers,  runs  his  hand,  as  it  were, 
over  all  the  chords  of  the  lyre.  He 
finds  other  sources  of  the  beautiful 
not  unworthy  his  song,  besides  that 
high  contemplative  piety  which  he 
introduces  as  a  noble  and  fit  climax. 


[Sept. 

He  recalls  the  first  ardours  of  his 
youth,  when  the  beautiful  object 
itself  of  nature  seemed  to  him  all 
in  all : — 

"  I  cannot  paint 

What  then  I  was.  The  sounding  cataract 
Haunted  me  like  a  passion;  the  tall  rock, 
The  mountain,  and  the  deep  and  gloomy 

wood. 

Their  colours  and  their  forms  were  thus  to  me 
An  appetite;  a  feeling  and  a  love 
That  had  no  need  of  a  remoter  charm 
By  thought  supplied,  nor  any  interest 
Unborrowed  from    the  eye.      That  time  is 

past, 

And  all  its  aching  joys  are  now  no  more, 
And  all  its  dizzy  raptures.     Not  for  this 
Faint   I,   nor   mourn,   nor   murmur  ;    other 

gifts 

Have  followed.     I  have  learned 
To  look  on  nature  not  as  in  the  hour 
Of  thoughtless  youth  ;   but  hearing   often- 
times 

The  still  sad  music  of  humanity, 
Nor  harsh   nor  grating,   though    of  ample 

power 

To  chasten  and  subdue.     And  I  have  felt 
A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts ;  a  sense  sublime 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living  air, 
And  the   blue   sky,   and  in    the    mind    of 
man." 

Our  poet  sounds  all  the  chords. 
He  does  not  muffle  any ;  he  honours 
Nature  in  her  own  simple  loveliness, 
and  in  the  beauty  she  wins  from  the 
human  heart,  as  well  as  when  she  is 
informed  with  that  sublime  spirit 

"  that  impels 

All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things." 

Sit  down,  by  all  means,  amongst 
the  fern  and  the  wild- flowers,  and 
look  out  upon  the  blue  hills,  or  near 
you  at  the  flowing  brook,  and  thank 
God,  the  giver  of  all  this  beauty. 
But  what  manner  of  good  will  you  do 
by  endeavouring  to  persuade  yourself 
that  these  objects  are  only  beautiful 
because  you  give  thanks  for  them  ? — 
for  to  this  strange  logical  inversion 
will  you  find  yourself  reduced.  And 
surely  you  learned  to  esteem  and  love 
this  benevolence  itself,  first  as  a 
human  attribute,  before  you  became 
cognisant  of  it  as  a  Divine  attribute. 
What  other  course  can  the  mind  take 
but  to  travel  through  humanity  up  to 
God? 

There  is  much  more  of  metaphysics 
in  the  volume  before  us  ;  there  is,  in 
particular,  an  elaborate  investigation 


1851.] 

of  the  faculty  of  imagination  ;  but  we 
have  no  inducement  to  proceed  further 
with  Mr  Ruskin  in  these  psycholo- 
gical inquiries.  We  have  given  some 
attention  to  his  theory  of  the  Beauti- 
ful, because  it  lay  at  the  basis  of  a 
series  of  critical  works  which,  partly 
from  their  boldness,  and  partly  from 
the  talent  of  a  certain  kind  which  is 
manifestly  displayed  in  them,  have 
attained  to  considerable  popularity. 
But  we  have  not  the  same  object  for 
prolonging  our  examination  into  his 
theory  of  the  Imaginative  Faculty. 
"  We  say  it  advisedly,"  (as  Mr  Rus- 
kin always  adds  when  he  is  asserting 
anything  particularly  rash,)  we  say  it 
advisedly,  and  with  no  rashness  what- 
ever, that  though  our  author  is  a  man 
of  great  natural  ability,  and  enunciates 
boldly  many  an  independent  isolated 
truth,  yet  of  the  spirit  of  philosophy 
he  is  utterly  destitute.  The  calm, 
patient,  prolonged  thinking,  which 
Dugald  Stewart  somewhere  describes 
as  the  one  essential  characteristic  of 
the  successful  student  of  philosophy, 
he  knows  nothing  of.  He  wastes  his 
ingenuity  in  making  knots  where 
others  had  long  since  untied  them. 
He  rushes  at  a  definition,  makes  a 
parade  of  classification ;  but  for  any 
great  and  wide  generalisation  he  has 
no  appreciation  whatever.  He  appears 
to  have  no  taste,  but  rather  an  an- 
tipathy for  it ;  when  it  lies  in  his  way 
he  avoids  it.  On  this  subject  of  the 
Imaginative  Faculty  he  writes  and  he 
raves,  defines  and  poetises  by  turns  ; 
makes  laborious  distinctions  where 
there  is  no  essential  difference ;  has 
his  u  Imagination  Associative,"  and 
his  "Imagination  Penetrative  ;  "  and 
will  not,  or  cannot,  see  those  broad 
general  principles  which  with  most 
educated  men  have  become  familiar 
truths,  or  truisms.  But  what  clear 
thinking  can  we  expect  of  a  writer 
who  thus  describes  his  "  Imagination 
Penetrative  ?  " — 

"  It  may  seem  to  the  reader  that  I  ain 
incorrect  in  calling  this  penetrating  pos- 
session-taking faculty  Imagination.  Be 
it  so  :  the  name  is  of  little  consequence; 
the  Faculty  itself,  called  by  what  name 
it  will,  I  insist  upon  as  the  highest 
intellectual  power  of  man.  There  is  no 
reasoning  in  it ;  it  works  not  by  algebra, 
nor  by  integral  calculus;  it  is  a  piercing 
Pholas-like  mind's  tongue,  that  works 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXI. 


Mr  Ruskin's  Works. 


347 


and  tastes  into  tlie  very  rock-heart.  No 
matter  what  be  tlie  subject  submitted  to 
it,  substance  or  spirit  —  all  is  alike 
divided  asunder,  joint  and  marrow,  what- 
ever utmost  truth,  life,  principle,  it  has 
laid  bare;  and  that  which  has  no  truth, 
life,  nor  principle,  dissipated  into  its 
original  smoke  at  a  touch.  The  whispers 
at  men's  ears  it  lifts  into  visible  angels. 
Vials  that  have  lain  sealed  in  the  deep 
sea  a  thousand  years  it  unseals,  and 
brings  out  of  them  Genii."— (P.  156.) 

With  such  a  wonder  -  working 
faculty  man  ought  to  do  much.  In- 
deed, unless  it  has  been  asleep  all 
this  time,  it  is  difficult  to  understand 
why  there  should  remain  anything 
for  him  to  do. 

Surveying  Mr  Ruskin's  works  on- 
art,  with  the  knowledge  we  have  here 
acquired  of  his  intellectual  character 
and  philosophical  theory,  we  are  at  no 
loss  to  comprehend  that  mixture  of 
shrewd  and  penetrating  remark,  of 
bold  and  well-placed  censure,  and  of 
utter  nonsense  in  the  shape  of  general 
principles,  with  which  they  abound. 
In  his  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture, 
which  is  a  very  entertaining  book, 
and  in  his  Stones  of  Venice,  the  reader 
will  find  many  single  observations 
which  will  delight  him,  as  well  by 
their  justice,  as  by  the  zeal  and 
vigour  with  which  they  are  expressed. 
But  from  neither  work  will  he  derive 
any  satisfaction  if  he  wishes  to  carry 
away  with  him  broad  general  views* 
on  architecture. 

There  is  no  subject  Mr  Ruskin  haff 
treated  more  largely  than  that  of 
architectural  ornament ;  there  is  none 
on  which  he  has  said  more  good  things, 
or  delivered  juster  criticisms ;  and 
there  is  none  on  which  he  has  uttered 
more  indisputable  nonsense.  Every 
reader  of  taste  will  be  grateful  to  Mr 
Ruskin  if  he  can  pull  down  from  St 
Paul's  Cathedral,  or  wherever  else' 
they  are  to  be  found,  those  wreaths  or 
festoons  of  carved  flowers — "  that 
mass  of  all  manner  of  fruit  and  flowers- 
tied  heavily  into  a  long  bunch,  thick- 
est in  the  middle,  and  pinned  up  by 
both  ends  against  a  dead  Avail." 
Urns  with  pocket-handkerchiefs  upon 
them,  or  a  sturdy  thick  flame  for 
ever  issuing  from  the  top,  he  will 
receive  our  thanks  for  utterly  demo- 
lishing. But  when  Mr  Ruskiii  ex- 
pounds his  principles — and  he  always. 


348 


Mr  Ruskirfs  Works. 


[Sept. 


has  principles  to  expound — when  he 
lays  down  rules  for  the  government  of 
our  taste  in  this  matter,  he  soon  in- 
volves us  in  hopeless  bewilderment. 
Our  ornaments,  he  tells  us,  are  to  be 
taken  from  the  works  of  nature,  not 
of  man ;  and,  from  some  passages  of 
his  writings,  we  should  infer  that  Mr 
Ruskin  would  cover  the  walls  of  our 
public  buildings  with  representations 
botanical  and  geological.  But  in  this 
we  must  be  mistaken.  At  all  events, 
nothing  is  to  be  admitted  that  is  taken 
from  the  works  of  man. 

"  I  conclude,  then,  with  the  reader's 
leave,  that  all  ornament  is  base  which 
takes  for  its  subject  human  work  ;  that  it 
is  utterly  base — painful  to  every  rightly 
toned  mind,  without,  perhaps,  immediate 
sense  of  the  reason,  but  for  a  reason  pal- 
pable enough  when  we  do  think  of  it. 
For  to  carve  our  own  work,  and  set  it  up 
for  admiration,  is  a  miserable  self-com- 
placency, a  contentment  in  our  wretched 
doings,  when  we  might  have  been  look- 
ing at  God's  doings." 

After  this,  can  we  venture  to  admire 
the  building  itself,  which  is,  of  neces- 
sity, man's  own  "  wretched  doing  ?  " 

Perplexed  by  his  own  rules,  he  will 
sometimes  break  loose  from  the  en- 
tanglement in  some  such  strange  man- 
ner as  this : — "  I  believe  the  right 
question  to  ask,  with  respect  to  all 
ornament,  is  simply  this :  Was  it  done 
with  enjoyment — was  the  carver  happy 
while  he  was  about  it?"  Happy  art ! 
where  the  workman  is  sure  to  give 
happiness  if  he  is  but  happy  at  his 
work.  Would  that  the  same  could  be 
said  of  literature ! 

How  far  colour  should  be  introduced 
into  architecture  is  a  question  with 
men  of  taste,  and  a  question  which  of 
late  has  been  more  than  usually  dis- 
cussed. Mr  Ruskin  leans  to  the  in- 
troduction of  colour.  His  taste  may 
be  correct;  but  the  fanciful  reasoning 
which  he  brings  to  bear  upon  the  sub- 
ject will  assist  no  one  else  in  forming 
'his  own  taste.  Because  there  is  no 
connection  "  between  the  spots  of  an 
animal's  skin  and  its  anatomical 
system,"  he  lays  it  down  as  the  first 
great  principle  which  is  to  guide  us 
in  the  use  of  colour  in  architecture — 

"  That  it  be  visibly  independent  of 
form.  Never  paiut  a  column  with  verti- 
cal lines,  but  always  cross  it.  Never 
give  separate  mouldings  separate  colours," 


&c.  "  In  certain  places,"  he  continues, 
"  you  may  run  your  two  systems  closer, 
and  here  and  there  let  them  be  parallel 
for  a  note  or  two,  but  see  that  the  colours 
and  the  forms  coincide  only  as  two 
orders  of  mouldings  do;  the  same  for  an 
instant,  but  each  holding  its  own  course. 
So  single  members  may  sometimes  have 
single  colours;  as  a  bird's  head  is  some- 
times of  one  colour,  and  its  shoulders 
another,  you  may  make  your  capital  one 
colour,  and  your  shaft  another ;  but,  in 
general,  the  best  place  for  colour  is  on 
bi-oad  surfaces,  not  on  the  points  of  inte- 
rest in  form.  An  animal  is  mottled  on 
its  breast  and  back,  and  rarely  on  itspaws 
and  about  its  eyes ;  so  put  your  variegation 
boldly  on  the  flat  wall  and  broad  shaft, 
but  be  shy  of  it  on  the  capital  and  mould- 
ing."— (Lamps  of  Architecture,  p.  127.) 

We  do  not  quite  see  what  we  have 
to  do  at  all  with  the  "  anatomical 
system  "  of  the  animal,  which  is  kept 
out  of  sight ;  but,  in  general,  we 
apprehend  there  is,  both  in  the  animal 
and  vegetable  kingdom,  considerable 
harmony  betwixt  colour  and  external 
form.  Such  fantastic  reasoning  as 
this,  it  is  evident,  will  do  little  to- 
wards establishing  that  one  standard 
of  taste,  or  that  "one  school  of  archi- 
tecture," which  Mr  Ruskin  so  strenu- 
ously insists  upon.  All  architects  are 
to  resign  their  individual  tastes  and 
predilections,  and  enrol  themselves  in 
one  school, which  shall  adopt  one  style. 
We  need  not  say  that  the  very  first 
question — what  that  style  should  be, 
Greek  or  Gothic — would  never  be 
decided.  Mr  Ruskin  decides  it  in 
favour  of  the  "  earliest  English  deco- 
rated Gothic ; "  but  seems,  in  this 
case,  to  suspect  that  his  decision  will 
not  carry  us  far  towards  unanimity. 
The  scheme  is  utterly  impossible ; 
but  he  does  his  duty,  he  tells  us,  by 
proposing  the  impossibility. 

As  a  climax  to  his  inconsistency 
and  his  abnormal  ways  of  thinking, 
he  concludes  his  Seven  Lamps  of 
Architecture  with  a  most  ominous 
paragraph,  implying  that  the  time  is 
at  hand  when  no  architecture  of  any 
kind  will  be  wanted:  man  and  his 
works  will  be  both  swept  away  from 
the  face  of  the  earth.  How,  with  this 
impression  on  his  mind,  could  he  have 
the  heart  to  tell  us  to  build  for  pos- 
terity? Will  it  be  a  commentary 
on  the  Apocalypse  that  we  shall  next 
receive  from  the  pen  of  Mr  Ruskin  ? 


1851.] 


Portuguese  Politics. 


349 


PORTUGUESE    POLITICS. 


THE  dramatic  and  singular  revolu- 
tion of  which  Portugal  has  recently 
been  the  theatre,  the  strange  fluctua- 
tions and  ultimate  success  of  Marshal 
Saldanha's  insurrection,  the  narrow 
escape  of  Donna  Maria  from  at  least 
a  temporary  expulsion  from  her  domi- 
nions, have  attracted  in  this  country 
more  attention  than  is  usually  bestowed 
upon  the  oft-recurring  convulsions  of 
the  Peninsula.  Busy  as  the  present 
year  has  been,  and  abounding  in 
events  of  exciting  interest  nearer 
home,  the  English  public  has  yet 
found  time  to  deplore  the  anarchy 
to  which  Portugal  is  a  prey,  and  to 
marvel  once  more,  as  it  many  times 
before  has  marvelled,  at  the  tardy 
realisation  of  those  brilliant  promises 
of  order,  prosperity,  and  good  govern- 
ment, so  long  held  out  to  the  two 
Peninsular  nations  by  the  promoters 
of  the  Quadruple  Alliance.  The 
statesmen  who,  for  nearly  a  score  of 
years,  have  assiduously  guided  Por- 
tugal and  Spain  in  the  seductive  paths 
of  modern  Liberalism,  can  hardly  feel 
much  gratification  at  the  results  of 
their  well-intended  but  most  unpros- 
perous  endeavours.  It  is  difficult 
to  imagine  them  contemplating  with 
pride  and  exultation,  or  even  without 
a  certain  degree  of  self-reproach,  the 
fruits  of  their  officious  exertions. 
Repudiating  partisan  views  of  Penin- 
sular politics,  putting  persons  entirely 
out  of  the  question,  declaring  our  ab- 
solute indifference  as  to  who  occupies 
the  thrones  of  Spain  and  Portugal,  so 
long  as  those  countries  are  well- 
governed,  casting  no  imputations 
upon  the  motives  of  those  foreign 
governments  and  statesmen  who 
were  chiefly  instrumental  in  bringing 
about  the  present  state  of  things 
south  of  the  Pyrenees,  we  would  look 
only  to  facts,  and  crave  an  honest 
answer  to  a  plain  question.  The 
question  is  this :  After  the  lapse  of 
seventeen  years,  what  is  the  condi- 
tion of  the  two  nations  upon  which 
have  been  conferred,  at  grievous  ex- 
pense of  blood  and  treasure,  the  much 
vaunted  blessings  of  rulers  nominally 
Liberal,  and  professedly  patriotic? 
For  the  present  we  will  confine  this 


inquiry  to  Portugal,  for  the  reason 
that  the  War  of  Succession  terminated 
in  that  country  when  it  was  but  be- 
ginning in  the  neighbouring  kingdom, 
since  which  time  the  vanquished  party, 
unlike  the  Carlists  in  Spain,  have 
uniformly  abstained — with  the  single 
exception  of  the  rising  in  1846-7 — 
from  armed  aggression,  and  have  ob- 
served a  patient  and  peaceful  polic}r. 
So  that  the  Portuguese  Liberals  have 
had  seventeen  years'  fair  trial  of  their 
governing  capacity,  and  cannot  allege 
that  their  efforts  for  their  country's 
welfare  have  been  impeded  or  retarded 
by  the  acts  of  that  party  whom  they 
denounced  as  incapable  of  achieving 
it, — however  they  may  have  been 
neutralised  by  dissensions  and  anarchy 
in  their  own  ranks.  . 

At  this  particular  juncture  of  Por- 
tuguese affairs,  and  as  no  inappropriate 
preface  to  the  only  reply  that  can 
veraciously  be  given  to  the  question 
we  have  proposed,  it  will  not  be  amiss 
to  take  a  brief  retrospective  glance  at 
some  of  the  events  that  preceded  and 
led  to  the  reign  of  Donna  Maria.  It 
will  be  remembered  that  from  the  year 
1828  to  1834,  the  Liberals  in  both 
houses  of  the  British  Parliament,  sup- 
ported by  an  overwhelming  majority 
of  the  British  press,  fiercely  and  per- 
tinaciously assailed  the  government 
and  person  of  Don  Miguel,  then  de 
facto  King  of  Portugal,  king  de  jure 
in  the  eyes  of  the  Portuguese  Legiti- 
mists and  by  the  vote  of  the  Legiti- 
mate Cortes  of  1828,  and  recognised 
(in  1829)  by  Spain,  by  the  United 
States,  and  by  various  inferior  powers. 
Twenty  years  ago  political  passions 
ran  high  in  this  country  :  public  men 
were,  perhaps,  less  guarded  in  their 
language  ;  newspapers  were  certainly 
far  more  intemperate  in  theirs  ;  and 
we  may  safely  say,  that  upon  no 
foreign  prince,  potentate,  or  politi- 
cian, has  virulent  abuse— proceeding 
from  such  respectable  sources — ever 
since  been  showered  in  England,  in 
one  half  the  quantity  in  which  it  then 
descended  upon  the  head  of  the  un- 
lucky Miguel.  Unquestionably  Don 
Miguel  had  acted,  in  many  respects, 
neither  well  nor  "wisely:  his  early 


350 


Portuguese  Politics. 


[Sept. 


education  had  been  ill- adapted  to  the 
high  position  he  was  one  day  to  fill — 
at  a  later  period  of  his  life  he  was 
destined  to  take  lessons  of  wisdom 
and  moderation  in  the  stern  but 
wholesome  school  of  adversity.  But 
it  is  also  beyond  a  doubt,  now  that 
time  has  cleared  up  much  which  then 
was  purposely  garbled  and  distorted, 
that  the  object  of  all  this  invective 
was  by  no  means  so  black  as  he  was 
painted,  and  that  his  character  suf- 
fered in  England  from  the  malicious 
calumnies  of  Pedroite  refugees,  and 
from  the  exaggerated  and  easily- ac- 
cepted statements  of  the  Portuguese 
correspondents  of  English  newspapers. 
The  Portuguese  nation,  removed  from 
such  influence,  formed  its  own  opinions 
from  what  it  saw  and  observed  ;  and 
the  respect  and  affection  testified,  even 
at  the  present  day,  to  their  dethroned 
sovereign,  by  a  large  number  of  its 
most  distinguished  and  respectable 
members,  are  the  best  refutation  of 
the  more  odious  of  the  charges  so 
abundantly  brought  against  him,  and 
so  lightly  credited  in  those  days  of 
rampant  revolution.  It  is  unneces- 
sary, therefore,  to  argue  that  point, 
even  were  personal  vindication  or 
attack  the  objects  of  this  article, 
instead  of  being  entirely  without  its 
scope.  Against  the  insupportable 
oppression  exercised  by  the  monster 
in  human  form,  as  which  Don  Miguel 
was  then  commonly  depicted  in  Eng- 
land and  France,  innumerable  engines 
were  directed  by  the  governments  and 
press  of  those  two  countries.  Insur- 
rections were  stirred  up  in  Portugal, 
volunteers  were  recruited  abroad, 
irregular  military  expeditions  were 
encouraged,  loans  were  fomented ; 
money-lenders  and  stock-jobbers  were 
all  agog  for  Pedro,  patriotism,  and 
profit.  Orators  and  newspapers  fore- 
told, in  glowing  speeches  and  enthu- 
siastic paragraphs,  unbounded  pro- 
sperity to  Portugal  as  the  sure  con- 
sequence of  the  triumph  of  the  revo- 
lutionary party.  Rapid  progress  of 
civilisation,  impartial  and  economical 
administration,  increase  of  commerce, 
development  of  the  country's  re- 
sources, a  perfect  avalanche  of  social 
and  political  blessings,  were  to  de- 
scend, like  manna  from  heaven,  upon 
the  fortunate  nation,  so  soon  as  the 
Liberals  obtained  the  sway  of  its 


destinies.  It  were  beside  our  pur- 
pose here  to  investigate  how  it  was 
that,  with  such  alluring  prospects 
held  out  to  them,  the  people  of  Por- 
tugal were  so  blind  to  their  interests 
as  to  supply  Don  Miguel  with  men 
and  money,  wherewith  to  defend  him- 
self for  five  years  against  the  assaults 
and  intrigues  of  foreign  and  domestic 
enemies.  Deprived  of  support  and 
encouragement  from  without,  he  still 
held  his  ground ;  and  the  formation  of 
a  quadruple  alliance,  including  the 
two  most  powerful  countries  in  Europe, 
the  enlistment  of  foreign  mercenaries 
of  a  dozen  different  nations,  the 
entrance  of  a  numerous  Spanish  army, 
were  requisite  finally  to  dispossess 
him  of  his  crown.  The  anomaly  of 
the  abhorred  persecutor  and  tyrant 
receiving  so  much  support  from  his 
ill-used  subjects,  even  then  struck 
certain  men  in  this  country  whose 
names  stand  pretty  high  upon  the  list 
of  clear-headed  and  experienced  poli- 
ticians, and  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
Lord  Aberdeen,  Sir  Robert  Peel, 
Lord  Lyndhurst,  and  others,  defended 
Miguel;  but  their  arguments, however 
cogent,  were  of  little  avail  against  the 
fierce  tide  of  popular  prejudice,  un- 
remittingly stimulated  by  the  decla- 
mations of  the  press.  To  be  brief, 
in  1834  Don  Miguel  was  driven 
from  Portugal;  and  his  enemies,  put 
in  possession  of  the  kingdom  and 
all  its  resources,  were  at  full  liberty 
to  realise  the  salutary  reforms  they 
had  announced  and  promised,  and  for 
which  they  had  professed  to  fight. 
On  taking  the  reins  of  government, 
they  had  everything  in  their  favour ; 
their  position  was  advantageous  and 
brilliant  in  the  highest  degree.  They 
enjoyed  the  prestige  of  a  triumph, 
undisputed  authority,  powerful  foreign 
protection  and  influence.  At  their 
disposal  was  an  immense  mass  of 
property  taken  from  the  church,  as 
well  as  the  produce  of  large  foreign 
loans.  Their  credit,  too,  was  then  un- 
limited. Lastly — and  this  was  far 
from  the  least  of  their  advantages — 
they  had  in  their  favour  the  great 
discouragement  and  discontent  en- 
gendered amongst  the  partisans  of  the 
Miguelitc  government,  by  the  nume- 
rous and  gross  blunders  which  that 
government  had  committed — blunders 
which  contributed  even  more  to  its 


1851.]  Portuguese 

downfall  than  did  the  attacks  of  its 
foes,  or  the  effects  of  foreign  hostility. 
In  short,  the  Liberals  were  complete 
and  undisputed  masters  of  the  situa- 
tion. But,  notwithstanding  all  the 
facilities  and  advantages  they  enjoyed, 
what  has  been  the  condition  of  Por- 
tugal since  they  assumed  the  reins? 
What  is  its  condition  at  the  present 
day  ?  We  need  not  go  far  to  ascer- 
tain it.  The  wretched  plight  of  that 
once  prosperous  little  kingdom  is  de- 
posed to  by  every  traveller  who  visits 
it,  and  by  every  English  journal  that 
has  a  correspondent  there  ;  it  is  to  be 
traced  in  the  columns  of  every  Por- 
tuguese newspaper,  and  is  admitted 
and  deplored  by  thousands  who  once 
were  strenuous  and  influential  sup- 
porters of  the  party  who  promised  so 
much,  and  who  have  performed  so 
little  that  is  good.  The  reign  of  that 
party  whose  battle-cry  is,  or  was, 
Donna  Maria  and  the  Constitution, 
has  been  an  unbroken  series  of  revo- 
lutions, illegalities,  peculations,  cor- 
ruptions, and  dilapidations.  The 
immense  amount  of  misnamed  "  na- 
tional property"  (the  Infantado  and 
church  estates,)  which  was  part  of 
their  capital  on  their  accession  to 
power,  has  disappeared  without  bene- 
fit either  to  the  country  or  to  its 
creditors.  The  treasury  is  empty ; 
the  public  revenues  are  eaten  up  by 
anticipation ;  civil  and  military  officers, 
the  court  itself,  are  all  in  constant  and 
considerable  arrears  of  salaries  and 
pay.  The  discipline  of  the  troops  is 
destroyed,  the  soldiers  being  de- 
moralised by  the  bad  example  of 
their  chiefs,  including  that  of  Marshal 
Saldanha  himself;  for  it  is  one  of  the 
great  misfortunes  of  the  Peninsula, 
that  there  most  officers  of  a  certain 
rank  consider  their  political  predilec- 
tions before  their  military  duty.  The 
"  Liberal "  party,  divided  and  sub- 
divided, and  split  into  fractions,  whose 
numbers  fluctuate  at  the  dictates  of 
interest  or  caprice,  presents  a  lament- 


Politics. 


351 


able  spectacle  of  anarchy  and  incon- 
sistency; whilst  the  Queen  herself, 
whose  good  intentions  we  by  no  means 
impugn,  has  completely  forfeited,  as 
a  necessary  consequence  of  the  mis- 
conduct of  her  counsellors,  and  of  the 
sufferings  the  country  has  endured 
under  her  reign,  whatever  amount  of 
respect,  affection,  and  influence  the 
Portuguese  nation  may  once  have 
been  disposed  to  accord  her.  Such  is 
the  sad  picture  now  presented  by 
Portugal;  and  none  whose  acquain- 
tance with  facts  renders  them  compe- 
tent to  judge,  will  say  that  it  is  over- 
charged or  highly  coloured. 

The  party  in  Portugal  who  advo- 
cate a  return  to  the  ancient  consti- 
tution,* under  which  the  country 
flourished — which  fell  into  abeyance 
towards  the  close  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  but  which  it  is  now  proposed 
to  revive,  as  preferable  to,  and  prac- 
tically more  liberal  than,  the  present 
system — and  who  adopt  as  a  banner, 
and  couple  with  this  scheme,  the 
name  of  Don  Miguel  de  Bragan9a, 
have  not  unnaturally  derived  great 
accession  of  strength,  both  moral  and 
numerical,  from  the  faults  and  dis- 
sensions of  their  adversaries.  At  the 
present  day  there  are  few  things 
which  the  European  public,  and  espe- 
cially that  of  this  country,  sooner 
becomes  indifferent  to,  and  loses 
sight  of,  than  the  person  and  pre- 
tensions of  a  dethroned  king;  and 
owing  to  the  lapse  of  years,  to 
his  unobtrusive  manner  of  life,  and 
to  the  storm  of  accusations  amidst 
which  he  made  his  exit  from  power, 
Don  Miguel  would  probably  be  con- 
sidered, by  those  persons  in  this 
country  who  remember  his  existence, 
as  the  least  likely  member  of  the 
royal  triumvirate,  now  assembled  in 
Germany,  to  exchange  his  exile  for  a 
crown.  But  if  we  would  take  a  fair 
and  impartial  view  of  the  condition  of 
Portugal,  and  calculate,  as  far  as  is 
possible  in  the  case  of  either  of  the 


*  It  is  desirable  here  to  explain  tliat  the  old  constitution  of  Portugal,  whose 
restoration  is  the  main  feature  of  the  scheme  of  the  National  or  Royalist  party,  (it 
assumes  both  names,)  gave  the  right  of  voting  at  the  election  of  members  of  the 
popular  assembly  to  every  man  who  had  a  hearth  of  his  own — whether  he  occupied 
a  whole  house  or  a  single  room — in  fact,  to  all  heads  of  families  and  self-supporting 
persons.  Such  extent  of  suffrage  ought  surely  to  content  the  most  democratic,  and 
certainly  presents  a  strong  contrast  to  the  farce  of  national  representation  which  has 
been  so  long  enacting  in  the  Peninsula. 


852 


Portuguese  Politics. 


[Sept. 


two  Peninsular  nations,  the  proba- 
bilities and  chances  of  the  future,  we 
must  not  suffer  ourselves  to  be  run 
away  with  by  preconceived  preju- 
dices, or  to  be  influenced  by  the  popu- 
lar odium  attached  to  a  name.  After 
beholding  the  most  insignificant  and 
unpromising  of  modern  pretenders 
suddenly  elevated  to  the  virtual 
sovereignty  —  however  transitory  it 
may  prove — of  one  of  the  most  power- 
ful and  civilised  of  European  nations, 
it  were  rash  to  denounce  as  impossi- 
ble any  restoration  or  enthronement. 
And  it  were  especially  rash  so  to  do 
when  with  the  person  of  the  aspirant 
to  the  throne  a  nation  is  able  to  con- 
nect a  reasonable  hope  of  improve- 
ment in  its  condition.  Of  the  princi- 
ple of  legitimacy  we  here  say  nothing, 
for  it  were  vain  to  deny  that  in 
Europe  it  is  daily  less  regarded, 
whilst  it  sinks  into  insignificance 
when  put  in  competition  with  the 
rights  and  wellbeing  of  the  people. 

As  far  back  as  the  period  of  its 
emigration,  the  Pedroite  or  Liberal 
party  split  into  two  fractions.  One 
of  these  believed  in  the  possible  reali- 
sation of  those  ultra- liberal  theories  so 
abundantly  promulgated  in  the  pro- 
clamations, manifestoes,  preambles  of 
laws,  &c.,  which  Don  Pedro  issued 
from  the  Brazils,  from  England  and 
France,  and  afterwards  from  Terceira 
and  Oporto.  The  other  fraction  of 
the  party  had  sanctioned  the  promul- 
gation of  these  Utopian  theories  as  a 
means  of  delusion,  and  as  leading  to 
their  own  triumph  ;  but  they  deemed 
their  realisation  impossible,  and  were 
quite  decided,  when  the  revolutionary 
tide  should  have  borne  them  into 
power,  to  oppose  to  the  unruly  flood 
the  barrier  of  a  gradual  but  steady 
reaction.  At  a  later  period  these 
divisions  of  the  Liberal  party  became 
more  distinctly  defined,  and  resulted, 
in  1836,  in  their  nominal  classification 
as  Septembrists  and  Chartists— the 
latter  of  whom  (numerically  very 
weak,  but  comprising  Costa  Cabral, 
and  other  men  of  talent  and  energy) 
may  be  compared  to  the  Moderados 


of  Spain— the  former  to  the  Pro- 
gresistas,  but  with  tendencies  more 
decidedly  republican.  It  is  the  ambi- 
tious pretensions,  the  struggles  for 
power  and  constant  dissensions  of 
these  two  sets  of  men,  and  of  the 
minor  fractions  into  which  they  have 
subdivided  themselves,  that  have  kept 
Portugal  for  seventeen  years  in  a 
state  of  anarchy,  and  have  ended  by 
reducing  her  to  her  present  pitiable 
condition.  So  numerous  are  the  divi- 
sions, so  violent  the  quarrels  of  the 
two  parties,  that  their  utter  dissolu- 
tion appears  inevitable ;  and  it  is  in 
view  of  this  that  the  National  party, 
as  it  styles  itself,  which  inscribes 
upon  its  flag  the  name  of  Don  Miguel 
— not  as  an  absolute  sovereign,  but 
with  powers  limited  by  legitimate 
constitutional  forms,  to  whose  strict 
observance  they  bind  him  as  a  con- 
dition of  their  support,  and  of  his 
continuance  upon  the  throne  upon 
which  they  hope  to  place  him— uplifts 
its  head,  reorganises  its  hosts,  and 
more  clearly  defines  its  political  prin- 
ciples. Whilst  Chartists  and  Septem- 
brists  tear  each  other  to  pieces,  the 
Miguelites  not  only  maintain  their 
numerical  importance,  but,  closing 
their  ranks  and  acting  in  strict 
unity,  they  give  constant  proofs  of 
adhesion  to  Don  Miguel  as  personi- 
fying a  national  principle,  and  at  the 
same  time  give  evidence  of  political 
vitality  by  the  activity  and  progress 
of  their  ideas,  which  are  adapting 
themselves  to  the  Liberal  sentiments 
and  theories  of  the  times.*  And  it 
were  flying  in  the  face  of  facts  to  deny 
that  this  party  comprehends  a  very 
important  portion  of  the  intelligence 
and  respectability  of  the  nation.  It 
ascribes  to  itself  an  overwhelming 
majority  in  the  country,  and  asserts 
that  five-sixths  of  the  population  of 
Portugal  would  joyfully  hail  its  advent 
to  power.  This  of  course  must  be 
viewed  as  an  ex-parte  statement,  diffi- 
cult for  foreigners  to  verify  or  refute. 
But  of  late  there  have  been  no  lack  of 
proofs  that  a  large  proportion  of  the 
higher  orders  of  Portuguese  are  stead - 


*  The  principal  Mignelite  papers,  A  Nacdo  (Lisbon,)  and  0  Portugal  (Oporto,) 
both  of  them  highly  respectable  journals,  conducted  with  much  ability  and  moderation, 
unceasingly  reiterate,  whilst  exposing  the  vices  and  corruption  of  the  present  system, 
their  aversion  to  despotism,  and  their  desire  for  a  truly  liberal  and  constitutional 
government. 


1851.]  Portuguese 

fast  in  their  aversion  to  the  govern- 
ment of  the  "  Liberals,"  and  in  their 
adherence  to  him  whom  they  still, 
after  his  seventeen  years'  dethrone- 
ment, persist  in  calling  their  king,  and 
whom  they  have  supported,  during 
his  long  exile,  by  their  willing  contri- 
butions. It  is  fresh  in  every  one's 
memory  that,  only  the  other  day, 
twenty  five  peers,  or  successors  of 
peers,  who  had  been  excluded  by  Don 
Pedro  from  the  peerage  for  having 
sworn  allegiance  to  his  brother,  hav- 
ing been  reinstated  and  invited  to 
take  their  seats  in  the  Chamber,  signed 
and  published  a  document  utterly  re- 
jecting the  boon.  Some  hundreds  of 
officers  of  the  old  army  of  Don  Miguel, 
who  are  living  for  the  most  part  in 
penury  and  privation,  were  invited  to 
demand  from  Saldanha  the  restitution 
of  their  grades,  which  would  have 
entitled  them  to  the  corresponding 
pay.  To  a  man  they  refused,  and 
protested  their  devotion  to  their 
former  sovereign.  A  new  law  of 
elections,  with  a  very  extended  fran- 
chise— nearly  amounting,  it  is  said,  to 
universal  suffrage — having  been  the 
other  day  arbitrarily  decreed  by  the 
Saldanha  cabinet  (certainly  a  most 
unconstitutional  proceeding,)  and  the 
government  having  expressed  a  wish 
that  all  parties  in  the  kingdom  should 
exercise  the  electoral  right,  and 
give  their  votes  for  representatives 
in  the  new  parliament,  a  numerous 
and  highly  respectable  meeting  of  the 
Miguelites  was  convened  at  Lisbon. 
This  meeting  voted,  with  but  two 
dissentient  voices,  a  resolution  of 
abstaining  from  all  share  in  the 
elections,  declaring  their  determination 
not  to  sanction,  by  coming  forward 
either  as  voters  or  candidates,  a  sys- 
tem and  an  order  of  things  which  they 
utterly  repudiated  as  illegal,  oppres- 
sive, and  forced  upon  the  nation  by 
forejgn  interference.  The  same  reso- 
lution was  adopted  by  large  assem- 
blages in  every  province  of  the  king- 
dom. At  various  periods,  during  the 
last  seventeen  years,  the  Portuguese 
government  has  endeavoured  to  in- 
veigle the  Miguelites  into  the  repre- 
sentative assembly,  doubtless  hoping 
that  upon  its  benches  they  would  be 
more  accessible  to  seduction,  or  easier 
to  intimidate.  It  is  a  remarkable 
and  significant  circumstance,  that  only 


Politics, 


353 


in  one  instance  (in  the  year  1842) 
have  their  efforts  been  successful,  and 
that  the  person  who  was  then  induced 
so  to  deviate  from  the  policy  of  his 
party,  speedily  gave  unmistakable 
signs  of  shame  and  regret.  Bearing 
in  mind  the  undoubted  and  easily 
proved  fact  that  the  Miguelites,  whe- 
ther their  numerical  strength  be  or  be 
not  as  great  as  they  assert,  comprise 
a  large  majority  of  the  clergy,  of  the 
old  nobility,  and  of  the  most  highly 
educated  classes  of  the  nation,  their 
steady  and  consistent  refusal  to  sanc- 
tion the  present  order  of  things,  by 
their  presence  in  its  legislative  as- 
sembly, shows  a  unity  of  purpose  and 
action,  and  a  staunch  and  dogged 
conviction,  which  cannot  but  be  dis- 
quieting to  their  adversaries,  and 
over  which  it  is  impossible  lightly  to 
pass  in  an  impartial  review  of  the 
condition  and  prospects  of  Portugal. 
We  have  already  declared  our  de- 
termination here  to  attach  importance 
to  the  persons  of  none  of  the  four 
princes  and  princesses  who  claim  or 
occupy  the  thrones  of  Spain  and  Por- 
tugal, except  in  so  far  as  they  may 
respectively  unite  the  greatest  amount 
of  the  national  suffrage  and  adhe- 
sion. As  regards  Don  Miguel,  we 
are  far  from  exaggerating  his  personal 
claims — the  question  of  legitimacy 
being  here  waived.  His  prestige  out 
of  Portugal  is  of  the  smallest,  and 
certainly  he  has  never  given  proofs  of 
great  talents,  although  he  is  not  al- 
together without  kingly  qualities,  nor 
wanting  in  resolution  and  energy; 
whilst  his  friends  assert,  and  it  is  fair 
to  admit  as  probable,  that  he  has  long 
since  repented  and  abjured  the  follies 
and  errors  of  his  youth.  But  we 
cannot  be  blind  to  the  fact  of  the 
strong  sympathy  and  regard  enter- 
tained for  him  by  a  very  large  number 
of  Portuguese.  His  presence  in 
London  during  some  weeks  of  the 
present  summer  was  the  signal  for  a 
pilgrimage  of  Portuguese  noblemen 
and  gentlemen  of  the  best  and  most 
influential  families  in  the  country, 
many  of  whom  openly  declared  the 
sole  object  of  their  journey  to  be 
to  pay  their  respects  to  their  exiled 
sovereign ;  whilst  others,  the  chief 
motive  of  whose  visit  was  the  attrac- 
tion of  the  Industrial  Exhibition, 
gladly  seized  the  opportunity  to 


354 


Portuguese  Politics. 


[Sept. 


reiterate  the  assurances  of  their 
fidelity  and  allegiance.  Strangely 
enough,  the  person  who  opened  the 
procession  was  a  nephew  of  Marshal 
Saldanha,  Don  Antonio  C.  de  Seabra, 
a  staunch  and  intelligent  royalist, 
whose  visit  to  London  coincided,  as 
nearly  as  might  be,  with  his  uncle's 
flight  into  Galicia,  and  with  his  trium- 
phant return  to  Oporto  after  the 
victory  gained  for  him  as  he  was 
decamping.  Senhor  Seabra  was  fol- 
lowed by  two  of  the  Freires,  nephew 
.and  grand-nephew  of  the  Freire  who 
was  minister-plenipotentiary  in  Lon- 
don some 'thirty  years  ago  ;  by  the 
Marquis  and  Marchioness  of  Vianna, 
and  the  Countess  of  Lapa — all  of  the 
first  nobility  of  Portugal ;  by  the 
Marquis  of  Abrantes,  a  relative  of 
the  royal  family  of  Portugal;  by  a 
host  of  gentlemen  of  the  first  families 
in  the  provinces  of  Beira,  Minho, 
Tras-os-Montes,  &c.  — Albuquerques, 
Mellos,  Taveiras,  Pachecos,  Alberga- 
rias,  Cunhas,  Correa-de-Sas,  Bedui- 
dos,  San  Martinhos,  Pereiras,  and 
scores  of  other  names,  which  per- 
sons acquainted  with  Portugal  will 
recognise  as  comprehending  much 
of  the  best  blood  and  highest  in- 
telligence in  the  country.  Such 
demonstrations  are  not  to  be  over- 
looked, or  regarded  as  trivial  and 
unimportant.  Men  like  the  Marquis 
of  Abrantes,  for  instance,  not  less  dis- 
tinguished for  mental  accomplishment 
and  elevation  of  character  than  for 
illustrious  descent,*  men  of  large  pos- 
sessions and  extensive  influence,  can- 
not be  assumed  to  represent  only 
theiriudividual  opinions.  The  remark- 
able step  lately  taken  by  a  number 
of  Portuguese  of  this  class,  must  be 
regarded  as  an  indication  of  the  state 
of  feeling  of  a  large  portion  of  the 
nation;  as  an  indication,  too,  of  some- 
thing grievously  faulty  in  the  con- 
duct or  constitution  of  a  government 
which,  after  seventeen  years'  sway, 
has  been  unable  to  rally,  reconcile,  or 
even  to  appease  the  animosity  of  any 
portion  of  its  original  opponents. 
Between  the  state  of  Portugal  and 


that  of  Spain  there  are,  at  the  present 
moment,  points  of  strong  contrast, 
and  others  of  striking  similarity.  The 
similarity  is  in  the  actual  condition  of 
the  two  countries— in  their  sufferings, 
misgovernment,  and  degradation ;  the 
contrast  is  in  the  state  and  prospects 
of  the  political  parties  they  contain. 
What  we  have  said  of  the  wretched 
plight  of  Portugal  applies,  with  few 
and  unimportant  differences,  to  the 
condition  of  Spain.  If  there  has  lately 
been  somewhat  less  of  open  anarchy  in 
the  latter  country  than  in  the  dominions 
of  DonnaMaria,  there  has  not  been  one 
iota  less  of  tyrannical  government  and 
scandalous  malversation.  The  public 
revenue  is  still  squandered  and  robbed, 
the  heavy  taxes  extorted  from  the 
millions  still  flow  into  the  pockets  of 
a  few  thousand  corrupt  officials,  minis- 
ters are  still  stock-jobbers,  the  liberty 
of  the  press  is  still  a  farce,f  and  the 
national  representation  an  obscene 
tomedy.  A  change  of  ministry  in 
Spain  is  undoubtedly  a  most  interest- 
ing event  to  those  who  go  out  and 
those  who  come  in — far  more  so  in 
Spain  than  in  any  other  country,  since 
in  no  other  countiy  does  the  possession 
of  office  enable  a  beggar  so  speedily  to 
transform  himself  into  a  millionaire. 
In  Portugal  the  will  is  not  wanting,  but 
the  means  are  less  ample.  More  may 
be  safely  pilfered  out  of  a  sack  of  corn 
than  out  of  a  sieveful,  and  poor 
little  Portugal's  revenue  does  not 
afford  such  scope  to  the  itching  palms 
of  Liberal  statesmen  as  does  the  more 
ample  one  of  Spain,  which  of  late 
years  has  materially  increased — with- 
out, however,  the  tax-payer  and  pub- 
lic creditor  experiencing  one  crumb  of 
the  benefit  they  might  fairly  expect  in 
the  shape  of  reduced  imposts  and 
augmented  dividends.  But,  however 
interesting  to  the  governing  fraction, 
a  change  of  administration  in  Spain 
is  contemplated  by  the  governed 
masses  with  supreme  apathy  and 
indifference.  They  used  once  to  be 
excited  by  such  changes  ;  but  they 
have  long  ago  got  over  that  weakness, 
and  suffer  their  pockets  to  be  picked 


*  The  Marquis  of  Abrantes  is  descended  from  the  Dukes  of  Lancaster,  through 
Fhilippa  of  Lancaster,  Queen  of  John  I.,  one  of  the  greatest  kings  Portugal  ever 
possessed. 

t  This  remark,  (regarding  the  press,)  literally  true  in  Spain,  does  not  apply  to 
Portugal. 


1851.] 


Portuguese  Politics. 


355 


and  their  bodies  to  be  trampled 
with  a  placidity  bordering  on  the 
sublime.  As  long  as  things  do  not 
get  icorse,  they  remain  quiet ;  they 
have  little  hope  of  their  getting  better. 
Here,  again,  in  this  fertile  and  beauti- 
ful and  once  rich  and  powerful  country 
of  Spain,  a  most  gratifying  picture  is 
presented  to  the  instigators  of  the 
Quadruple  Alliance,  to  the  upholders 
of  the  virtuous  Christina  and  the  in- 
nocent Isabel !  Pity  that  it  is  painted 
with  so  ensanguined  a  brush,  and  that 
strife  and  discord  should  be  the  main 
features  of  the  composition !  Upon 
the  first  panel  is  exhibited  a  civil 
war  of  seven  years'  duration,  vying, 
for  cold-blooded  barbarity  and  gratui- 1 
tons  slaughter,  \vith  the  fiercest  and 
most  fanatical  contests  that  modern 
times  have  witnessed.  Terminated 
by  a  strange  act  of  treachery,  even 
yet  imperfectly  understood,  the  war 
was  succeeded  by  a  brief  period  of 
well-meaning  but  inefficient  govern- 
ment. By  the  daring  and  unscrupu- 
lous manoeuvres  of  Louis  Philippe 
and  Christina  this  was  upset  —  by 
means  so  extraordinary  and  so  dis- 
graceful to  all  concerned  that  scan- 
dalised Europe  stood  aghast,  and  al- 
most refused  to  credit  the  proofs 
(which  history  will  record)  of  the 
social  degradation  of  Spaniards.  For 
a  moment  Spain  again  stood  divided 
and  in  arms,  and  on  the  brink  of  civil 
war.  This  danger  over,  the  blood 
that  had  not  been  shed  in  the  field 
flowed  upon  the  scaffold :  an  iron 
hand  and  a  pampered  army  crushed 
and  silenced  the  disaffection  and 
murmurs  of  the  great  body  of  the 
nation;  and  thus  commenced  a  system 
of  despotic  and  unscrupulous  misrule 
.and  corruption,  which  still  endures 
without  symptom  of  improvement. 
As  for  the  observance  of  the  constitu- 
tion, it  is  a  mockery  to  speak  of  it, 
and  has  been  so  any  time  these  eight 
years.  In  June  1850,  Lord  Palmer- 
ston,  in  the  course  of  his  celebrated 
•defence  of  his  foreign  policy,  de- 
clared himself  happy  to  state  that  the 
government  of  Spain  was  at  that 
time  carried  on  more  in  accordance 
with  the  constitution  than  it  had  been 
two  years  previously.  As  ear-wit- 
nesses upon  the  occasion,  we  can  do 
•his  lordship  the  justice  to  say  that  the 
assurance  was  less  confidently  and 


unhesitatingly  spoken  than  were  most 
other  parts  of  his  eloquent  oration. 
It  was  duly  cheered,  however,  by  the 
Commons  House  —  or  at  least  by 
those  Hispanophilists  and  philanthro- 
pists upon  its  benches  who  accepted 
the  Foreign  Secretary's  assurance  in 
lieu  of  any  positive  knowledge  of  their 
own.  The  grounds  for  applause  and 
gratulation  were  really  of  the  slen- 
derest. In  1 848,  the  ^-constitutional 
period  referred  to  by  Lord  Palmerston, 
the  Narvaez  and  Christina  govern- 
ment were  in  the  full  vigour  of  their 
repressive  measures,  shooting  the  dis- 
affected by  the  dozen,  and  exporting 
hundreds  to  the  Philippines  or  immur- 
ing them  in  dungeons.  This,  of  course, 
could  not  go  on  for  ever ;  the  power 
was  theirs,  the  malcontents  were  com- 
pelled to  succumb ;  the  paternal  and 
constitutional  government  made  a 
desert,  and  called  it  peace.  Short 
time  was  necessary,  when  such  violent 
means  were  employed,  to  crush  Spain 
into  obedience,  and  in  1850  she  lay 
supine,  still  bleeding  from  many  an 
inward  wound,  at  her  tyrants'  feet. 
This  morbid  tranquillity  might  possibly 
be  mistaken  for  an  indication  of  an 
improved  mode  of  government.  As 
for  any  other  sign  of  constitutional 
rule,  we  are  utterly  unable  to  discern 
it  in  either  the  past  or  the  present 
year.  The  admirable  observance  of 
the  constitution  was  certainly  in  pro- 
cess of  proof,  at  the  very  time  of 
Lord  Palmerston's  speech,  by  the 
almost  daily  violation  of  the  liberty 
of  the  press,  by  the  seizure  of  journals 
whose  offending  articles  the  authori- 
ties rarely  condescended  to  designate, 
and  whose  incriminated  editors  were 
seldom  allowed  opportunity  of  excul- 
pation before  a  fair  tribunal.  It  was 
further  testified  to,  less  than  four 
months  later,  by  a  general  election, 
at  which  such  effectual  use  was  made 
of  those  means  of  intimidation  and 
corruption  which  are  manifold  in 
Spain,  that,  when  the  popular  Cham- 
ber assembled,  the  government  was 
actually  alarmed  at  the  smallness  of 
the  opposition — limited,  as  it  was,  to 
about  a  dozen  stray  Progresistas, 
who,  like  the  sleeping  beauty  in  the 
fairy  tale,  rubbed  their  eyes  in  won- 
derment at  finding  themselves  there. 
Nor  were  the  ministerial  forebodings 
groundless  in  the  case  of  the  unscru- 


356 


Portuguese  Politics. 


[Sept, 


pulous  and  tyrannical  Narvaez,  who, 
within  a  few  months,  when  seemingly 
more  puissant  than  ever,  and  with  an 
overwhelming  majority  in  the  Cham- 
ber obedient  to  his  nod,  was  cast 
down  by  the  wily  hand  that  had  set 
him  up,  and  driven  to  seek  safety  in 
France  from  the  vengeance  of  his  in- 
numerable enemies.  The  causes  of 
this  sudden  and  singular  downfall  are 
still  a  puzzle  and  a  mystery  to  the 
world  ;  but  persons  there  are,  claim- 
ing to  see  further  than  their  neigh- 
bours into  political  millstones,  who 
pretend  that  a  distinguished  diplo- 
matist, of  no  very  long  standing  at 
Madrid,  had  more  to  do  than  was 
patent  to  the  world  with  the  disgrace 
of  the  Spanish  dictator,  whom  the 
wags  of  the  Puerta  del  Sol  declare  to 
have  exclaimed,  as  his  carriage  whirl- 
ed him  northwards  through  the  gates 
of  Madrid,  "  Comme  Henri Bulwer!" 
Passing  from  the  misgovernment 
and  sufferings  of  Spain  to  its  political 
state,  we  experience  some  difficulty  in 
clearly  defining  and  exhibiting  this, 
inasmuch  as  the  various  parties  that 
have  hitherto  acted  under  distinct 
names  are  gradually  blending  and 
disappearing  like  the  figures  in  dis- 
solving views.  In  Portugal,  as  we 
have  already  shown,  whilst  Chartists 
and  Septembrists  distract  the  coun- 
try, and  damage  themselves  by  con- 
stant quarrels  and  collisions,  a 
third  party,  unanimous  and  deter- 
mined in  its  opposition  to  those  two, 
grows  in  strength,  influence,  and 
prestige.  In  Spain,  no  party  shows 
signs  of  healthy  condition.  In  all 
three — Moderados,  Progresistas,  and 
Carlists — symptoms  of  dissolution  are 
manifest.  In  the  two  countries, 
Chartists  and  Septembrists,  Modera- 
dos and  Progresistas,  have  alike  split 
into  two  or  more  factions  hostile  to 
each  other;  but  whilst,  in  Portugal, 
the  Miguelites  improve  their  position, 


in  Spain  the  Carlist  party  is  reduced 
to  a  mere  shadow  of  its  former  self. 
Without  recognised  chiefs  or  able 
leaders,  without  political  theory  of 
government,  it  bases  its  pretensions 
solely  upon  the  hereditary  right  of  its 
head.  For  whilst  Don  Miguel,  on 
several  occasions,*  has  declared  his 
adhesion  to  the  liberal  programme 
advocated  by  his  party  for  the  security 
of  the  national  liberties,  the  Count  de 
Montemolin,  either  from  indecision  of 
character,  or  influenced  by  evil  coun- 
sels, has  hitherto  made  no  precise, 
public,  and  satisfactory  declaration  of 
his  views  in  this  particular,!  and  by 
such  injudicious  reserve  has  lost  the 
suffrages  of  many  whom  a  distinct 
pledge  would  have  gathered  round  his 
banner.  Thus  has  he  partially  neu- 
tralised the  object  of  his  father's  abdi- 
cation in  his  favour.  Don  Carlos  was 
too  completely  identified  with  the  old 
absolutist  party,  composed  of  intole- 
rant bigots  both  in  temporal  and  spi- 
ritual matters,  ever  to  have  reconciled 
himself  with  the  progressive  spirit  of 
the  century,  or  to  have  become  ac- 
ceptable to  the  present  generation  of 
Spaniards.  Discerning  or  advised  of 
this,  he  transferred  his  claims  to  his 
son,  thus  placing  in  his  hands  an 
excellent  card,  which  the  young  prince 
has  not  known  how  to  play.  If,  in- 
stead of  encouraging  a  sullen  and 
unprofitable  emigration,  fomenting 
useless  insurrections,  draining  his  ad- 
herents' purses,  and  squandering  their 
blood,  he  had  husbanded  the  resources 
of  the  party,  clearly  and  publicly  de- 
fined his  plan  of  government — if  ever 
seated  upon  the  throne  he  claims — and 
awaited  in  dignified  retirement  the  pro- 
gress of  events,  he  would  not  have  sup- 
plied the  present  rulers  of  Spain  with 
pretexts,  eagerly  taken  advantage  of, 
for  shameful  tyranny  and  persecu- 
tion ;  and  he  would  have  spared  himself 
the  mortification  of  seeing  his  party 


*  Particularly  by  his  "declaration"  of  the  24th  June  1843,  by  his  autograph 
letter  of  instructions  of  the  15th  August  of  the  same  year,  and  by  his  "royal  letter  " 
of  the  6th  April  1847,  which  was  widely  circulated  in  Portugal. 

t  We  cannot  attach  value  to  the  vague  and  most  unsatisfactory  manifesto  signed 
"Carlos  Luis,"  and  issued  from  Bourges  in  May  1845,  or  consider  it  as  in  the 
slightest  degree  disproving  what  we  have  advanced.  It  contains  no  distinct  pledge  or 
guarantee  of  constitutional  government,  but  deals  in  frothy  generalities  and  magnilo- 
quent protestations,  binding  to  nothing  the  prince  who  signed  it,  and  bearing  more 
traces  of  the  pen  of  a  Jesuit  priest  than  of  that  of  a  competent  and  statesmanlike 
adviser  of  a  youthful  aspirant  to  a  throne. 


1851.] 


Portuguese  Politics, 


357 


dwindle,  and  his  oldest  and  most 
trusted  friends  and  adherents,  with  few 
exceptions,  accept  pardon  and  place 
from  the  enemies  against  whom  they 
had  long  and  bravely  contended.  But 
vacillation,  incapacity,  and  treachery 
presided  at  his  counsels.  He  had  none 
to  point  out  to  him — or  if  any  did, 
they  were  unheeded  or  overruled — 
the  fact,  of  which  experience  and  re- 
peated disappointments  have  probably 
at  last  convinced  him,  that  it  is  not 
by  the  armed  hand  alone — not  by  the 
sword  of  Cabrera,  or  by  Catalonian 
guerilla  risings— that  he  can  reason- 
ably hope  ever  to  reach  Madrid,  but 
by  aid  of  the  moral  force  of  public 
opinion,  as  a  result  of  the  misgovern- 
ment  of  Spain's  present  rulers,  of  an 
increasing  confidence  in  his  own  merits 
and  good  intentions,  and  perhaps  of 
such  possible  contingencies  as  a 
Bourbon  restoration  in  France,  or 
the  triumph  of  the  Miguelites  in 
Portugal.  This  last  -  named  event 
will  very  likely  be  considered,  by  that 
numerous  class  of  persons  who  base 
their  opinions  of  foreign  politics  upon 
hearsay  and  general  impressions 
rather  than  upon  accurate  know- 
ledge and  investigation  of  facts,  as 
one  of  the  most  improbable  of  pos- 
sibilities. A  careful  and  dispas- 
sionate examination  of  the  present 
state  of  the  Peninsula  does  not  enable 
ns  to  regard  it  as  a  case  of  such  utter 
improbability.  But  for  the  intimate 
and  intricate  connection  between  the 
Spanish  and  Portuguese  questions,  it 
would  by  no  means  surprise  us  — 
bearing  in  mind  all  that  Portugal  has 
suffered  and  still  suffers  under  her 
present  rulers — to  see  the  Miguelite 
party  openly  assume  the  preponder- 
ance in  the  country.  England  would 
not  allow  it,  will  be  the  reply.  Let  us 
try  the  exact  value  of  this  assertion. 
England  has  two  reasons  for  hostility 
to  Don  Miguel — one  founded  on  cer- 
tain considerations  connected  with  his 
conduct  when  formerly  on  the  throne 
of  Portugal,  the  other  on  the  dynastic 
alliance  between  the  two  countries. 
The  government  of  Donna  Maria  may 
reckon  upon  the  sympathy,  advice, 
and  even  upon  the  direct  naval  assis- 
tance of  England  — up  to  a  certain 
point.  That  is  to  say,  that  the  Eng- 
lish government  will  do  what  it  con- 
veniently and  suitably  can,  in  favour 


of  the  Portuguese  queen  and  her 
husband;  but  there  is  room  for  a 
strong  doubt  that  it  would  seri- 
ously compromise  itself  to  maintain 
them  upon  the  throne.  Setting  aside 
Donna  Maria's  matrimonial  connec- 
tion, Don  Miguel,  as  a  constitutional 
king,  and  with  certain  mercantile  and 
financial  arrangements,  would  suit 
English  interests  every  bit  as  well. 
But  the  case  is  very  different  as  re- 
gards Spain.  The  restoration  of  Don 
Miguel  would  be  a  terrible  if  not  a 
fatal  shock  to  the  throne  of  Isabella  II. 
and  to  the  Moderado  party,  to  whom 
the  revival  of  the  legitimist  principle 
in  Portugal  would  be  so  much  the 
more  dangerous  if  experience  proved 
it  to  be  compatible  with  the  interests 
created  by  the  Revolution.  For  the 
Spanish  government,  therefore,  inter- 
vention against  Don  Miguel  is  an 
absolute  necessity — we  might  per- 
haps say  a  condition  of  its  existence ; 
and  thus  is  Spain  the  great  stum- 
bling-block in  the  way  of  his  restora- 
tion, whereas  England's  objections 
might  be  found  less  invincible.  So, 
in  the  civil  war  in  Portugal,  this 
country  only  co-operated  indirectly 
against  Don  Miguel,  and  it  is  by  no 
means  certain  he  would  have  been 
overcome,  but  for  the  entrance  of 
Rodil's  Spaniards,  which  was  the  de- 
cisive blow  to  his  cause.  And  so,  the 
other  day,  the  English  government 
was  seen  patiently  looking  on  at  the 
progress  of  events,  when  it  is  well 
known  that  the  question  of  imme- 
diate intervention  was  warmly  de- 
bated in  the  Madrid  cabinet,  and 
might  possibly  have  been  carried,  but 
for  the  moderating  influence  of  Eng- 
lish counsels. 

If  we  consider  the  critical  and 
hazardous  position  of  Marshal  Sal- 
danha,  wavering  as  he  is  between 
Chartists  and  Septembrists — threat- 
ened to-day  with  a  Cabralist  insur- 
rection, to-morrow  with  a  Septembrist 
pronunciamiento — it  is  easy  to  foresee 
that  the  Miguelite  party  may  soon 
find  tempting  opportunities  of  an 
active  demonstration  in  the  field. 
Such  a  movement,  however,  would  be 
decidedly  premature.  Their  game 
manifestly  is  to  await  with  patience 
the  development  of  the  ultimate  con- 
sequences of  Saldanha's  insurrection. 
It  requires  no  great  amount  of  judg- 


358 


Portuguese  Politics. 


[Sept. 


ment  and  experience  in  political  mat- 
ters to  foresee  that  he  will  be  the 
victim  of  his  own  ill-considered  move- 
ment, and  that  no  long  period  will 
-elapse  before  some  new  event — be  it 
a  Cabralist  reaction  or  a  Septembrist 
.revolt — will  prove  the  instability  of 
the  present  order  of  things.  With 
•this  certainty  in  view,  the  Miguelites 
are  playing  upon  velvet.  They  have 
only  to  hold  themselves  in  readi- 
ness to  profit  by  the  struggle  be- 
•tween  the  two  great  divisions  of  the 
Liberal  party.  From  this  struggle 
•they  are  not  unlikely  to  derive  an 
important  accession  of  strength,  if,  as 
is  by  no  means  improbable,  the 
Ohartists  should  be  routed  and  the 
Septembrists  remain  temporary  mas- 
ters of  the  field.  To  understand  the 
possible  coalition  of  a  portion  of  the 
Chartists  with  the  adherents  of  Don 
Miguel,  it  siiffices  to  bear  in  mind 
that  the  former  are  supporters  of  con- 
stitutional monarchy,  which  principle 
would  be  endangered  by  the  triumph 
of  the  Septembrists,  whose  republican 
tendencies  are  notorious,  as  is  also — 
notwithstanding  the  momentary  truce 
they  have  made  with  her — their  hatred 
to  Donna  Maria. 

The  first  consequences  of  a  Septem- 
brist pronunciamiento  would  probably 
be  the  deposition  of  the  Queen  and 
the  scattering  of  the  Chartists ;  and  in 
this  case  it  is  easy  to  conceive  the 
latter  beholding  in  an  alliance  with 
-the  Miguelite  party  their  sole  chance 
of  escape  from  democracy,  and  from  a 
destruction  of  the  numerous  interests 
they  have  acquired  during  their  many 
years  of  power.  It  is  no  unfair  infe- 
rence that  Costa  Cabral,  when  he 
caused  himself,  shortly  after  his  arri- 
val in  London,  to  be  presented  to  Don 
Miguel  in  a  particularly  public  place, 
anticipated  the  probability  of  some 
such  events  as  we  have  just  sketched, 
and  thus  indicated,  to  his  friends  and 
enemies,  the  new  service  to  which  he 
might  one  day  be  disposed  to  devote 
liis  political  talents. 

The  intricate  and  suggestive  com- 
plications of  Peninsular  politics  offer  a 
wide  field  for  speculation  ;  but  of  this 
we  are  not  at  present  disposed  further 


to  avail  ourselves,  our  object  being  to 
elucidate  facts  rather  than  to  theorise 
orindulge  in  predictions  withrespect  to 
two  countries  by  whose  political  ec- 
centricities more  competent  prophets 
than  ourselves  have,  upon  so  many 
occasions  during  the  last  twenty 
years,  been  puzzled  and  led  astray. 
We  sincerely  wish  that  the  govern- 
ments of  Spain  and  Portugal  were 
now  in  the  hands  of  men  capable  of 
conciliating  all  parties,  and  of  avert- 
ing future  convulsions — of  men  suffi- 
ciently able  and  patriotic  to  conceive 
and  carry  out  measures  adapted  to  tho 
character,  temper,  and  wants  of  the 
two  nations.  If,  by  what  we  should 
be  compelled  to  look  upon  almost  as  a 
miracle,  such  a  state  of  things  came 
about  in  the  Peninsula,  we  should  be 
far  indeed  from  desiring  to  see  it  dis- 
turbed, and  discord  again  introduced 
into  the  land,  for  the  vindication  of 
the  principle  of  legitimacy,  respectable 
though  we  hold  that  to  be.  But  if 
Spain  and  Portugal  are  to  continue  a 
byword  among  the  nations,  the  focus 
of  administrative  abuses  and  oligar- 
chical tyranny ;  if  the  lower  classes  of 
society  in  those  countries,  by  nature 
brave  and  generous,  are  to  remain 
degraded  into  the  playthings  of  ego- 
tistical adventurers,  whilst  the  more 
respectable  and  intelligent  portion  of 
the  higher  orders  stands  aloof  in  dis- 
gust from  the  orgies  of  misgovern- 
ment ;  if  this  state  of  things  is  to 
endure,  without  prospect  of  amend- 
ment, until  the  masses  throw  them- 
selves into  the  arms  of  the  apostles  of 
democracy — who,  it  were  vain  to  deny, 
gain  ground  in  the  Peninsula — then,  we 
ask,  before  it  conies  to  that,  would  it 
not  be  well  to  give  a  chance  to  parties 
and  to  men  whose  character  and 
principles  at  least  unite  some  elements 
of  stability,  and  who,  whatever  reli- 
ance may  be  placed  on  their  promises 
for  the  future,  candidly  admit  their 
past  faults  and  errors?  Assuredly 
those  nations  incur  a  heavy  respon- 
sibility, and  but  poorly  prove  their 
attachment  to  the  cause  of  constitu- 
tional freedom,  who  avail  themselves 
of  superior  force  to  detain  feeble  allies 
beneath  the  yoke  of  intolerable  abuses. 


1851.] 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


359- 


THE    CONGRESS   AND   THE   AGAPEDOME. 
A    TALE   OF   PEACE   AND    LOVE. 


CHAPTER   I. 


IF  I  were  to  commence  my  story 
by  stating,  in  the  manner  of  the  mili- 
tary biographers,  that  Jack  Wilkinson 
was  as  brave  a  man  as  ever  pushed  a 
bayonet  into  the  brisket  of  a  French- 
man, I  should  be  telling  a  confounded 
lie,  seeing  that,  to  the  best  of  my  know- 
ledge, Jack  never  had  the  opportunity 
of  attempting  practical  phlebotomy. 
I  shall  content  myself  with  describing 
him  as  one  of  the  finest  and  best- 
hearted  fellows  that  ever  held  her 
Majesty's  commission  ;  and  no  one 
who  is  acquainted  with  the  general 
character  of  the  officers  of  the  British 
army,  will  require  a  higher  eulogium. 

Jack  and  I  were  early  cronies  at 
school;  but  we  soon  separated,  having 
been  born  under  the  influence  of 
different  planets.  Mars,  who  had 
the  charge  of  Jack,  of  course  devoted 
him  to  the  army;  Jupiter,  who  was 
bound  to  look  after  my  interests, 
could  find  nothing  better  for  me  than 
a  situation  in  the  Woods  and  Forests, 
with  a  faint  chance  of  becoming  in 
time  a  subordinate  Commissioner — 
that  is,  provided  the  wrongs  of  Ann 
Hicks  do  not  precipitate  the  abolition 
of  the  whole  department.  Ten  years 
elapsed  before  we  met ;  and  I  regret 
to  say  that,  during  that  interval, 
neither  of  us  had  ascended  many 
rounds  of  the  ladder  of  promotion. 
As  was  most  natural,  I  considered 
my  own  case  as  peculiarly  hard,  and 
yet  Jack's  was  perhaps  harder.  He 
had  visited  with  his  regiment,  in  the 
course  of  duty,  the  Cape,  the  Ionian 
Islands,  Gibraltar,  and  the  West 
Indies.  He  had  caught  an  ague  in 
Canada,  and  had  been  transplanted 
to  the  north  of  Ireland  by  way  of  a 
cure  ;  and  yet  he  had  not  gained  a 
higher  rank  in  the  service  than  that 
of  Lieutenant.  The  fact  is,  that  Jack 
was  poor,  and  his  brother  officers  as 
tough  as  though  they  had  been  made  of 
caoutchouc.  Despite  the  varieties  of 
climate  to  which  they  were  exposed, 
not  one  of  them  would  give  up  the 
ghost ;  even  the  old  colonel,  who  had 


been  twice  despaired  of,  recovered 
from  the  yellow  fever,  and  within  a 
week  after  was  lapping  his  claret  at 
the  mess-table  as  jollily  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  The  regiment  had  a 
bad  name  in  the  service  :  they  called 
it,  I  believe,  "  the  Immortals." 

Jack  Wilkinson,  as  I  have  said, 
was  poor,  but  he  had  an  uncle  who 
was  enormously  rich.  This  uncle, 
Mr  Peter  Pettigrew  by  name,  was 
an  old  bachelor  and  retired  merchant, 
not  likely,  according  to  the  ordinary 
calculation  of  chances,  to  marry;  and 
as  he  had  no  other  near  relative  save 
Jack,  to  whom,  moreover,  he  was 
sincerely  attached,  my  friend  was 
generally  regarded  in  the  light  of  a 
prospective  proprietor,  and  might 
doubtless,  had  he  been  so  inclined, 
have  negotiated  a  loan,  at  or  under 
seventy  per  cent,  with  one  of  those 
respectable  gentlemen  who  are  mak- 
ing such  violent  efforts  to  abolish 
Christian  legislation.  But  Pettigrew 
also  was  tough  as  one  of  "  the  Immor- 
tals," and  Jack  was  too  prudent  a 
fellow  to  intrust  himself  to  hands  so 
eminently  accomplished  in  the  art  of 
wringing  the  last  drop  of  moisture 
from  a  sponge.  His  uncle,  he  said, 
had  always  behaved  handsomely  to 
him,  and  he  would  see  the  whole  tribe 
of  Issachar  drowned  in  the  Darda- 
nelles rather  than  abuse  his  kindness 
by  raising  money  on  a  post-obit. 
Pettigrew,  indeed,  had  paid  for  his 
commission,  and,  moreover,  given  him 
a  fair  allowance  whilst  he  was  quar- 
tered abroad — circumstances  which 
rendered  it  extremely  probable  that 
he  would  come  forward  to  assist  his 
nephew  so  soon  as  the  latter  had  any 
prospect  of  purchasing  his  company. 

Happening  by  accident  to  be  in 
Hull,  where  the  regiment  was  quar- 
tered, I  encountered  Wilkinson,  whom 
I  found  not  a  whit  altered  for  the 
worse,  either  in  mind  or  body,  since  the 
days  when  we  were  at  school  together ; 
and  at  his  instance  I  agreed  to  pro- 
long my  stay,  and  partake  of  the 


360 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


[Sept. 


hospitality  of  the  Immortals.  A 
merry  set  they  were !  The  major  told 
a  capital  story,  the  senior  captain 
sung  like  Incledon,  the  cuisine  was 
beyond  reproach,  and  the  liquor  only 
too  alluring.  But  all  things  must 
have  an  end.  It  is  wise  to  quit  even 
the  most  delightful  society  before  it 
palls  upon  you,  and  before  it  is  ac- 
curately ascertained  that  you,  clever 
fellow  as  you  are,  can  be,  on  occasion, 
quite  as  prosy  and  ridiculous  as  your 
neighbours ;  "therefore  on  the  third 
day  I  declined  a  renewal  of  the  am- 
brosial banquet,  and  succeeded  in  per- 
suading Wilkinson  to  take  a  quiet 
dinner  with  me  at  my  own  hotel. 
He  assented — the  more  readily,  per- 
haps, that  he  appeared  slightly  de- 
pressed in  spirits,  a  phenomenon  not 
altogether  unknown  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances. 

After  the  cloth  was  removed,  we 
began  to  discourse  upon  our  respec- 
tive fortunes,  not  omitting  the  usual 
complimentary  remarks  which,  in 
such  moments  of  confidence,  are  ap- 
plied to  one's  superiors,  who  may  be 
very  thankful  that  they  do  not  possess 
a  preternatural  power  of  hearing.  Jack 
informed  me  that  at  length  a  vacancy 
had  occurred  in  his  regiment,  and  that 
he  had  now  an  opportunity,  could  he 
deposit  the  money,  of  getting  his  cap- 
taincy. But  there  was  evidently  a 
screw  loose  somewhere. 

"  I  must  own,"  said  Jack,  "  that  it 
is  hard,  after  having  waited  so  long, 
to  lose  a  chance  which  may  not  occur 
again  for  years ;  but  what  can  I  do  ? 
You  see  I  haven't  got  the  money  ;  so 
I  suppose  I  must  just  bend  to  my 
luck,  and  wait  in  patience  for  my 
company  until  my  head  is  as  bare  as 
a  billiard-ball ! " 

"  But,  Jack,"  said  I,  "  excuse  me 
for  making  the  remark  —  but  won't 
your  uncle,  Mr  Pettigrew,  assist 
you?" 

"Not  the  slightest  chance  of  it." 

u  You  surprise  me,"  said  I ;  "  I  am 
very  sorry  to  hear  you  say  so.  I 
always  understood  that  you  were  a 
prime  favourite  of  his." 

"  So  I  was ;  and  so,  perhaps,  I  am," 
replied  Wilkinson ;  "  but  that  don't 
alter  the  matter." 

"  Why,  surely,"  said  I,  "  if  he  is 
inclined  to  help  you  at  all,  he  will  not 
be  backward  at  a  time  like  this.  I 


am  afraid,  Jack,  you  allow  your  mo- 
desty to  wrong  you." 

"  I  shall  permit  my  modesty,"  said 
Jack,  "  to  take  no  such  impertinent 
liberty.  But  I  see  you  don't  know  my 
uncle  Peter." 

"  I  have  not  that  pleasure,  cer- 
tainly; but  he  bears  the  character 
of  a  good  honest  fellow,  and  every- 
body believes  that  you  are  to  be  his 
heir." 

"  That  may  be,  or  may  not,  accord- 
ing to  circumstances,"  said  Wilkin- 
son. "  You  are  quite  right  as  to  his 
character,  which  I  would  advise  no 
one  to  challenge  in  my  presence ;  for, 
though  I  should  never  get  another 
stiver  from  him,  or  see  a  farthing  of 
his  property,  I  am  bound  to  acknow- 
ledge that  he  has  acted  towards  me  in 
the  most  generous  manner.  But  I 
repeat  that  you  don't  understand  my 
uncle." 

"  Nor  ever  shall,"  said  I,  "  unless 
you  condescend  to  enlighten  me." 

"Well,  then,  listen.  Old  Peter 
would  be  a  regular  trump,  but  for  one 
besetting  foible.  He  cannot  resist  a 
crotchet.  The  more  palpably  absurd 
and  idiotical  any  scheme  may  be,  the 
more  eagerly  he  adopts  it ;  nay,  un- 
less it  is  absurd  and  idiotical,  such  as 
no  man  of  common  sense  would  listen, 
to  for  a  moment,  he  will  have  nothing 
to  say  to  it.  He  is  quite  shrewd 
enough  with  regard  to  commercial 
matters.  During  the  railway  mania, 
he  is  supposed  to  have  doubled  his 
capital.  Never  having  had  any  faith 
in  the  stability  of  the  system,  he  sold 
out  just  at  the  right  moment,  alleging 
that  it  was  full  time  to  do  so,  when 
Sir  Robert  Peel  introduced  a  bill 
giving  the  Government  the  right  of 
purchasing  any  line  when  its  dividends 
amounted  to  ten  per  cent.  The  result 
proved  that  he  was  correct." 

"  It  did,  undoubtedly.  But  surely 
that  is  no  evidence  of  his  ex- 
treme tendency  to  be  led  astray  by 
crotchets  ?  " 

"  Quite  the  reverse :  the  scheme 
was  not  sufficiently  absurd  for  him. 
Besides,  I  must  tell  you,  that  in  pure 
commercial  matters  it  would  be  very 
difficult  to  overreach  or  deceive  my 
uncle.  He  has  a  clear  eye  for  pounds, 
shillings,  and  pence  —  principal  and 
interest — and  can  look  very  well  after 
himself  when  his  purse  is  directly 


1851.] 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


361 


assailed.     His  real  weakness  lies  in 
sentiment." 

"  Not,  I  trust,  towards  the  feminine 
gender  ?  That  might  be  awkward  for 
you  in  a  gentleman  of  his  years  ! " 

"Not  precisely — though  I  would 
not  like  to  trust  him  in  the  hands  of 
a  designing  female.  His  besetting 
weakness  turns  on  the  point  of  the 
regeneration  of  mankind.  Forty  or 
fifty  years  ago  he  would  have  been  a 
follower  of  Johanna  Southcote.  He 
subscribed  liberally  to  Owen's  schemes, 
and  was  within  an  ace  of  turning  out 
with  Thorn  of  Canterbury.  Incre- 
dible as  it  may  appear,  he  actually 
was  for  a  time  a  regular  and  accepted 
Mormonite." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  so  ?  " 

u  Fact,  I  assure  you,  upon  my 
honour !  But  for  a  swindle  that  Joe 
Smith  tried  to  perpetrate  about  the 
discounting  of  a  bill,  Peter  Pettigrew 
might  at  this  moment  have  been  a 
leading  saint  in  the  temple  of  Nauvoo, 
or  whatever  else  they  call  the  capital 
of  that  polygamous  and  promiscuous 
persuasion." 

"  You  amaze  me.  How  any  man 
of  common  sense—" 

"  That's  just  the  point.  Where 
common  sense  ends,  Uncle  Pettigrew 
begins.  Give  him  a  mere  thread  of 
practicability,  and  he  will  arrive  at  a 
sound  conclusion.  Envelope  him  in 
the  mist  of  theory,  and  he  will  walk 
headlong  over  a  precipice." 

"  Why,  Jack,"  said  I,  "  you  seem 
to  have  improved  in  your  figures  of 
speech  since  you  joined  the  army. 
That  last  sentence  was  worth  preser- 
vation. But  I  don't  clearly  under- 
stand you  yet.  What  is  his  present^ 
phase,  which  seems  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  your  prospects  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?  What  is  the 
most  absurd  feature  of  the  present 
time  ?  " 

"  That,"  said  I,  "  is  a  very  difiicult 
question.  There's  Free  Trade,  and 
the  proposed  Exhibition  —  both  of 
them  absurd  enough,  if  you  look  to 
their  ultimate  tendency.  Then  there 
are  Sir  Charles  Wood's  Budget,  and 
the  new  Reform  Bill,  and  the  Encum- 
bered Estates  Act,  and  the  whole 
rubbish  of  the  Cabinet,  which  they 
have  neither  sense  to  suppress  nor 
courage  to  carry  through.  Upon  my 
word,  Jack,  it  would  be  impossible 


for  me  to  answer  your  question  satis- 
factorily." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  Peace 
Congress  ?  "  asked  Wilkinson. 

"  As  Palmerston  does,"  said  I ; 
"  remarkably  meanly.  But  why  do 
you  put  that  point  ?  Surely  Mr  Petti- 
grew has  not  become  a  disciple  of  the 
blatant  blacksmith  ?  " 

"  Read  that,  and  judge  for  your- 
self," said  Wilkinson,  handing  me  over 
a  letter. 

I  read  as  follows  : — 

"  MY  DEAR  NEPHEW, — I  have  your 
letter  of  the  15th,  apprising  me  of 
your  wish  to  obtain  what  you  term  a 
step  in  the  service.  I  am  aware  that 
I  am  not  entitled  to  blame  you  for  a 
misguided  and  lamentably  mistaken 
zeal,  which,  to  my  shame  be  it 
said,  I  was  the  means  of  originally 
kindling  ;  still,  you  must  excuse  me  if, 
with  the  new  lights  which  have  been 
vouchsafed  to  me,  I  decline  to  assist 
your  progress  towards  wholesale  homi- 
cide, or  lend  any  further  countenance 
to  a  profession  which  is  subversive  of 
that  universal  brotherhood  and  entire 
fraternity  which  ought  to  prevail 
among  the  nations.  The  fact  is,  Jack, 
that,  up  to  the  present  time,  I  have 
entertained  ideas  which  were  totally 
false  regarding  the  greatness  of  my 
country.  I  used  to  think  that  England 
was  quite  as  glorious  from  her  renown 
in  arms  as  from  her  skill  in  arts — that 
she  had  reason  to  plume  herself  upon 
her  ancient  and  modern  victories,  and 
that  patriotism  was  a  virtue  which  it 
was  incumbent  upon  freemen  to  view 
with  respect  and  veneration.  Led 
astray  by  these  wretched  prejudices, 
I  gave  my  consent  to  your  enrolling 
yourself  in  the  ranks  of  the  British 
army,  little  thinking  that,  by  such  a 
step,  I  was  doing  a  material  injury  to 
the  cause  of  general  pacification,  and, 
in  fact,  retarding  the  advent  of  that 
millennium  which  will  commence  so 
soon  as  the  military  profession  is  en- 
tirely suppressed  throughout  Europe. 
I  am  now  also  painfully  aware  that, 
towards  you  individually,  I  have  failed 
in  performing  my  duty.  I  have  been 
the  means  of  inoculating  you  with  a 
thirst  for  human  blood,  and  of  de- 
priving you  of  that  opportunity  of 
adding  to  the  resources  of  your  coun- 
try, which  you  might  have  enjoyed 


362 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


[Sept, 


had  I  placed  you  early  in  one  of  those 
establishments  which,  by  sending  ex- 
ports to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth,  have  contributed  so  magnifi- 
cently to  the  diffusion  of  British  pat- 
terns, and  the  growth  of  American 
cotton  under  a  mild  system  of  servi- 
tude, which  none,  save  the  minions 
of  royalty,  dare  denominate  as  actual 
slavery. 

41  In  short,  Jack,  I  have  wronged 
you ;  but  I  should  wrong  you  still 
more  were  I  to  furnish  you  with  the 
means  of  advancing  one  other  step  in 
your  bloody  and  inhuman  profession. 
It  is  full  time  that  we  should  discard 
all  national  recollections.  We  have 
already  given  a  glorious  example  to 
Europe  and  the  world,  by  throwing 
open  our  ports  to  their  produce 
without  requiring  the  assurance  of 
reciprocity — let  us  take  another  step 
ia  the  same  direction,  and,  by  a 
complete  disarmament,  convince  them 
that  for  the  future  we  rely  upon 
moral  reason,  instead  of  physical  force, 
as  the  means  of  deciding  differences. 
I  shall  be  glad,  my  dear  boy,  to 
repair  the  injury  which  I  have  unfor- 
tunately done  you,  by  contribut- 
ing a  sum,  equal  to  three  times  the 
amount  required  for  the  purchase  of 
a  company,  towards  your  establish- 
ment as  a  partner  in  an  exporting 
house,  if  you  can  hear  of  an  eligible 
offer.  Pray  keep  an  eye  on  the  ad- 
vertising columns  of  the  Economist. 
That  journal  is  in  every  way  trust- 
worthy, except,  perhaps,  when  it 
deals  in  quotation.  I  must  now  con- 
clude, as  I  have  to  attend  a  meeting 
for  the  purpose  of  denouncing  the 
policy  of  Russia,  and  of  warning 
the  misguided  capitalists  of  London 
against  the  perils  of  an  Austrian  loan. 
You  cannot,  I  am  sure,  doubt  my 
affection,  but  you  must  not  expect  me 
to  advance  my  money  towards  keep- 
ing up  a  herd  of  locusts,  without 
which  there  would  be  a  general  con- 
A-ersion  of  swords  and  bayonets  into 
machinery — ploughshares,  spades,  and 
priming-hooks  being,  for  the  present, 
rather  at  a  discount. — I  remain  always 
your  affectionate  uncle, 

"  PETER  PETTIGREW. 

"  P.  S.— Address  to  me  at  Hesse 
Homberg,  whither  I  am  going  as  a 
delegate  to  the  Peace  Congress." 


"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of 
that?"  said  Wilkinson,  when  I  had 
finished  this  comfortable  epistle.  u  I 
presume  you  agree  with  me,  that  I 
have  no  chance  whatever  of  receiv- 
ing assistance  from  that  quarter." 

"  Why,  not  much  I  should  say, 
unless  3rou  can  succeed  in  convincing 
Mr  Pettigrew  of  the  error  of  his  ways. 
It  seems  to  me  a  regular  case  of  mo- 
nomania." 

**  Would  you  not  suppose,  after 
reading  that  letter,  that  I  was  a  sort 
of  sucking  tiger,  or  at  best  an  ogre, 
who  never  could  sleep  comfortably 
unless  he  had  finished  off  the  evening 
with  a  cup  of  gore?"  said  Wilkinson. 
"I  like  that  coming  from  old  Uncle 
Peter,  who  used  to  sing  Rule  Britannia 
till  he  was  hoarse,  and  always  dedi- 
cated his  second  glass  of  port  to  the 
health  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  !" 

"  But  what  do  you  intend  to  do?" 
said  I.  "  Will  you  accept  his  offer, 
and  become  a  fabricator  of  calicoes?" 

"I'd  as  soon  become  a  field  preacher, 
and  hold  forth  on  an  inverted  tub! 
But  the  matter  is  really  very  serious. 
In  his  present  mood  of  mind,  Uncle 
Peter  will  disinherit  me  to  a  certainty 
if  I  remain  in  the  army." 

"Does  he  usually  adhere  long  to 
any  particular  crotchet?"  said  I. 

"  Why,  no ;  and  therein  lies  my 
hope.  Judging  from  past  experience, 
I  should  say  that  this  fit  is  not  likely 
to  last  above  a  month  or  two ;  still 
you  see  there  may  be  danger  in  treat- 
ing the  matter  too  lightly:  besides, 
there  is  no  saying  when  such  another 
opportunity  of  getting  a  step  may 
occur.  What  would  you  advise  under 
the  circumstances?" 

u  If  I  were  in  your  place,"  said  I, 
"  I  think  I  should  go  over  to  Hesse 
Homberg  at  once.  You  need  not 
identify  yourself  entirely  with  the 
Peace  gentry  ;  you  will  be  near  your 
uncle,  and  ready  to  act  as  circum- 
stances may  suggest." 

"  That  is  just  my  own  notion  ;  and 
I  think  I  can  obtain  leave  of  absence. 
I  say — could  you  not  manage  to  go 
along  with  me  ?  It  would  be  a  real 
act  of  friendship ;  for,  to  say  the 
truth,  I  don't  think  I  could  trust  any 
of  our  fellows  in  the  company  of  the 
Quakers." 

"  Well— I  believe  they  can  spare 
me  for  a  little  longer  from  my  official 


1851.] 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


363 


duties ;  and  as  the  weather  is  fine,  I 
don't  mind  if  I  go." 

"  That's  a  good  fellow !  I  shall 
make  my  arrangements  this  evening  ; 
for  the  sooner  we  are  off  the  better." 

Two  days  afterwards  we  were 
steaming  up  the  Rhine,  a  river  which, 
I  trust,  may  persevere  in  its  attempt 
to  redeem  its  ancient  character.  In 
1848,  when  I  visited  Germany  last, 
you  might  just  as  well  have  navigated 
the  Fhlegethon  in  so  far  as  pleasure 
was  concerned.  Those  were  the  days 
of  barricades  and  of  Frankfort  murders 
— of  the  obscene  German  Parliament, 
as  the  junta  of  rogues,  fanatics,  and 
imbeciles,  who  were  assembled  in  St 
Paul's  Church,  denominated  them- 
selves ;  and  of  every  phase  and  form 
of  political  quackery  and  insurrection. 
Now,  however,  matters  were  some- 
what mended.  The  star  of  Gagern 
had  waned.  The  popularity  of  the 
Archduke  John  had  exhaled  like  the 
fume  of  a  farthing  candle.  Hecker 
and  Struve  were  hanged,  shot,  or 
expatriated ;  and  the  peaceably  dis- 
posed traveller  could  once  more  retire 
to  rest  in  his  hotel,  without  being 
haunted  by  a  horrid  suspicion  that 
ere  morning  some  truculent  waiter 
might  experiment  upon  the  tough- 
ness of  his  larynx.  I  was  glad  to 
observe  that  the  Frankforters  appeared 
a  good  deal  humbled.  They  were 
always  a  pestilent  set ;  but  during 
the  revolutionary  year  their  insolence 
rose  to  such  a  pitch  that  it  was 
hardly  safe  for  a  man  of  warm  tem- 
perament to  enter  a  shop,  lest  he 
should  be  provoked  by  the  airs  and 
impertinence  of  the  owner  to  commit 
an  assault  upon  Freedom  in  the  per- 
son of  her  democratic  votary.  I  sus- 
pect the  Fraukforters  are  now  tolera- 
bly aware  that  revolutions  are  the 
reverse  of  profitable.  They  escaped 
•sack  and  pillage  by  a  sheer  miracle, 
and  probably  they  will  not  again 
exert  themselves,  at  least  for  a  con- 
siderable number  of  years,  to  hasten 
the  approach  of  a  similar  crisis. 

Everybody  knows  Homberg.  On 
one  pretext  or  another — whether  the 
mineral  springs,  the  baths,  the  gaiety, 
or  the  gambling — the  integral  por- 
tions of  that  tide  of  voyagers  which 
annually  fluctuates  through  the  Rhein- 
gau,  find  their  way  to  that  pleasant 
little  pandemonium,  and  contribute, 

VOL.  LXX, — NO.  CCCCXXXI. 


I  have  no  doubt,  very  largely  to  the 
revenues  of  that  high  and  puissant 
monarch  who  rules  over  a  population 
not  quite  so  large  as  that  compre- 
hended within  the  boundaries  of 
Clackmannan.  But  various  as  its 
visitors  always  are,  and  diverse  in 
language,  habits,  and  morals,  I 
question  whether  Homberg  ever  ex- 
hibited on  any  previous  occasion  so 
queer  and  incongruous  a  mixture. 
Doubtful  counts,  apocryphal  barons, 
and  chevaliers  of  the  extremest  in- 
dustry, mingled  with  sleek  Quakers, 
Manchester  reformers,  and  clerical 
agitators  of  every  imaginable  species 
of  dissent.  Then  there  were  women, 
for  the  most  part  of  a  middle  age, 
who,  although  their  complexions 
would  certainly  have  been  improved 
by  a  course  of  the  medicinal  waters, 
had  evidently  come  to  Homberg  on  a 
higher  and  holier  mission.  There  was 
also  a  sprinkling  of  French  deputies — 
Red  Republicans  by  principle,  who, 
if  not  the  most  ardent  friends  of  paci- 
fication, are  at  least  the  loudest  in 
their  denunciation  of  standing  armies 
— a  fair  proportion  of  political  exiles, 
who  found  their  own  countries  too 
hot  to  hold  them  in  consequence  of 
the  caloric  which  they  had  been 
the  means  of  evoking — and  one  or  two 
of  those  unhappy  personages,  whose 
itch  for  notoriety  is  greater  than 
their  modicum  of  sense.  We  were 
not  long  in  finding  Mr  Peter  Pet- 
tigrew.  He  was  solacing  himself 
in  the  gardens,  previous  to  the  table- 
d'hote,  by  listening  to  the  exhilarat- 
ing strains  of  the  brass  band  which 
was  performing  a  military  march ; 
and  by  his  side  was  a  lady  attired,  not 
in  the  usual  costume  of  her  sex,  but  in 
a  polka  jacket  and  wide  trousers, 
which  gave  her  all  the  appearance  of 
a  veteran  duenna  of  a  seraglio.  Uncle 
Peter,  however,  beamed  upon  her  as 
tenderly  as  though  she  were  a  Circas- 
sian captive.  To  this  lady,  by  name 
Miss  Lavinia  Latchley,  an  American 
authoress  of  much  renown,  and  a 
decided  champion  of  the  rights  of 
woman,  we  were  presented  in  due 
form.  After  the  first  greetings  wero 
over,  Mr  Pettigrew  opened  the 
trenches. 

"So  Jack,  my  boy,  you  have  come 
to  Homberg  to  see  how  we  carry  on 
the  war,  eh  ?    No— Lord  forgive  me 
2  A 


364 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


[Sept. 


— that's  not  what  I  mean.  We  don't 
intend  to  carry  on  any  kind  of  war  : 
we  mean  to  pnt  it  down — clap  the 
extinguisher  upon  it,  you  know  ;  and 
have  done  with  all  kinds  of  cannons. 
Bad  thing,  gunpowder  !  I  once  sus- 
tained a  heavy  loss  by  sending  out  a 
cargo  of  it  to  Sierra  Leone." 

"I  should  have  thought  that  a 
paying  speculation,"  observed  Jack. 

"  Not  a  whit  of  it !  The  cruisers 
spoiled  the  trade ;  and  the  mission- 
aries— confound  them  for  meddling 
with  matters  which  they  did  not 
understand ! — had  patched  up  a  peace 
among  the  chiefs  of  the  cannibals ; 
so  that  for  two  years  there  was 
not  a  slave  to  be  had  for  love  or 
money,  and  powder  went  down  a 
hundred  and  seventy  per  cent." 

"  Such  are  the  eifects,"  remarked 
Miss  Latchley  with  a  sarcastic  smile, 
which  disclosed  a  row  of  teeth  as 
yellow  as  the  buds  of  the  crocus — 
"  such  are  the  effects  of  an  ill  regulated 
and  unphilosophical  yearning  after 
the  visionary  theories  of  an  unoppor- 
tnne  emancipation !  Oh  that  men, 
instead  of  squandering  their  sympa- 
thies upon  the  lower  grades  of  crea- 
tion, would  emancipate  themselves 
from  that  network  of  error  and  pre- 
judice which  reticulates  over  the  whole 
surface  of  society,  and  by  acknow- 
ledging the  divine  mission  and  here- 
ditary claims  of  woman,  construct  a 
new,  a  fairer"  Eden  than  any  which 
was  fabled  to  exist  within  the  con- 
fines of  the  primitive  Chaldaea !  " 

"  Very  true,  indeed,  ma'am  ! " 
replied  Mr  Pettigrew;  "there  is  a 
great  deal  of  sound  sense  and  obser- 
vation in  what  you  say.  But  Jack — 
I  hope  you  intend  to  become  a  mem- 
ber of  Congress  at  once.  I  shall 
be  glad  to  present  you  at  our  after- 
noon meeting  in  the  character  of  a 
converted  officer." 

"  You  are  very  good,  uncle,  I  am 
sure,"  said  Wilkinson,  "  but  I  would 
rather  wait  a  little.  I  am  certain 
you  would  not  wish  me  to  take  so 
serious  a  step  without  mature  deli- 
beration ;  and  I  hope  that  my 
attendance  here,  in  answer  to  your 
summons,  will  convince  you  that  I  am 
at  least  open  to  conviction.  In  fact, 
I  wish  to  hear  the  argument  of  your 
friends  before  I  come  to  a  definite 
decision." 


"Very  right,  Jack;  very  right!" 
said  Mr  Pettigrew.  "  I  don't  like 
converts  at  a  minute's  notice,  as  I 
remarked  to  a  certain  M.P.  when  he 
followed  in  the  wake  of  Peel.  Take 
your  time,  and  form  your  own  judg- 
ment ;  I  cannot  doubt  of  the  result,  if 
you  only  listen  to  the  arguments  of 
the  leading  men  of  Europe." 

"  And  do  you  reckon  America  as 
nothing,  dear  Mr  Pettigrew?"  said 
Miss  Latchley.  "  Columbia  may  not 
be  able  to  contribute  to  the  task  so 
practical  and  masculine  an  intellect  as 
yours,  yet  still  within  many  a  Trans- 
atlantic bosom  burns  a  hate  of  tyranny 
not  less  intense,  though  perhaps  less 
corruscating,  than  your  own." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,  dear  Miss 
Latchley ! "  replied  the  infatuated 
Peter.  "  A  word  from  you  is  at  any 
time  worth  a  lecture,  at  least  if  I  may 
judge  from  the  effects  which  your 
magnificent  eloquence  has  produced 
on  my  own  mind.  Jack,  I  suppose 
you  have  never  had  the  privilege  of 
listening  to  the  lectures  of  Miss 
Latchley  ?  " 

Jack  modestly  acknowledged  the 
gap  which  had  been  left  in  his  educa- 
tion ;  stating,  at  the  same  time,  his 
intense  desire  to  have  it  filled  up 
at  the  first  convenient  opportunity. 
Miss  Latchley  heaved  a  sigh. 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  flatter  me,"  she 
said,  "as  is  too  much  the  case  with 
men  whose  thoughts  have  been  led 
habitually  to  deviate  from  sincerity. 
The  worst  symptom  of  the  present 
age  lies  in  its  acquiescence  with  axioms. 
Free  us  from  that,  and  we  are  free 
indeed ;  perpetuate  its  thraldom,  and 
Truth,  which  is  the  daughter  of  Inno- 
cence and  Liberty,  imps  its  wings 
in  vain,  and  cannot  emancipate  itself 
from  the  pressure  of  that  raiment 
which  was  devised  to  impede  its 
glorious  walk  among  the  nations." 

Jack  made  no  reply  beyond  a  glance 
at  the  terminations  of  the  lady,  which 
showed  that  she  at  all  events  was  re- 
solved that  no  extra  raiment  should 
trammel  her  onward  progress. 

As  the  customary  hour  of  the  table- 
d'hote  was  approaching,  we  separated, 
Jack  and  I  pledging  ourselves  to 
attend  the  afternoon  meeting  of  the 
Peace .  Congress,  for  the  purpose  of 
receiving  our  first  lesson  in  the 
mysteries  of  pacification. 


1851.] 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?" 
said  Jack,  as  Mr  Pettigrew  and  the 
Latchley  walked  off  together.  "  Hang 
me  if  I  don't  suspect  that  old  harpy 
in  the  breeches  has  a  design  on  Uncle 
Peter!" 

"  Small  doubt  of  that,"  saidl ;  "and 
you  will  find  it  rather  a  difficult  job 
to  get  him  out  of  her  clutches.  Your 
female  philosopher  adheres  to  her  vic- 
tim with  all  the  tenacity  of  a  polecat." 

"  Here  is  a  pretty  business !"  groaned 
Jack.  "I'll  tell  you  what  it  is — I 


365 

have  more  than  half  a  mind  to  put  an 
end  to  it,  by  telling  my  uncle  what  I 
think  of  his  conduct,  and  then  leaving 
him  to  marry  this  harridan,  and  make 
a  further  fool  of  himself  in  any  way  he 
pleases ! " 

"Don't  be  silly,  Jack!"  said  I; 
"It  will  be  time  enough  to  do  that 
after  everything  else  has  failed ;  and, 
for  my  own  part,  I  see  no  reason  to 
despair.  In  the  mean  time,  if  you 
please,  let  us  secure  places  at  the 
dinner-table." 


CHAPTER  II. 


"  Dear  friends  and  well-beloved 
brothers  !  I  wish  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart  that  there  was  but  one 
universal  language,  so  that  the  general 
sentiments  of  love,  equality,  and  fra- 
ternity, which  animate  the  bosoms  of 
all  the  pacificators  and  detesters  of 
tyranny  throughout  the  world,  might 
find  a  simultaneous  echo  in  your  ears, 
by  the  medium  of  a  common  speech. 
The  diversity  of  dialects,  which  now 
unfortunately  prevails,  was  originally 
invented  under  cover  of  the  feudal 
system,  by  the  minions  of  despotism, 
who  thought,  by  such  despicable  means, 
for  ever  to  perpetuate  their  power. 
It  is  part  of  the  same  system  which 
decrees  that  in  different  countries 
alien  to  each  other  in  speech,  those 
unhappy  persons  who  have  sold  them- 
selves to  do  the  bidding  of  tyrants 
shall  be  distinguished  by  different 
uniforms.  O  my  brothers  !  see  what 
a  hellish  and  deep-laid  system  is  here  ! 
English  and  French — scarlet  against 
blue — different  tongues  invented,  and 
different  garments  prescribed,  to  in- 
flame the  passions  of  mankind  against 
each  other,  and  to  stifle  their  common 
fraternity ! 

"Take  down,  I  say,  from  your  halls 
and  churches  those  wretched  tatters 
of  silk  which  you  designate  as  national 
colours!  Bring  hither,  from  all  parts 
of  the  earth,  the  butt  of  the  gun  and 
the  shaft  of  the  spear,  and  all  com- 
bustible implements  of  destruction — 
your  fascines,  your  scaling-ladders, 
and  your  terrible  pontoons,  that  have 
made  so  many  mothers  childless ! 
Heap  them  into  one  enormous  pile — 
yea,  heap  them  to  the  very  stars — 
and  on  that  blazing  altar  let  there  be 
thrown  the  Union  Jack  of  Britain, 


the  tricolor  of  France,  the  eagles  of 
Russia,  Austria,  and  Prussia,  the 
American  stripes  and  stars,  and  every 
other  banner  and  emblem  of  that  ac- 
cursed nationality,  through  which  alone 
mankind  is  defrauded  of  his  birthright. 
Then  let  all  men  join  hands  together, 
and  as  they  dance  around  the  reeking 
pile,  let  them  in  one  common  speech 
chaunt  a  simultaneous  hymn  in  honour 
of  their  universal  deliverance,  and  in 
commemoration  of  their  cosmopolitan 
triumph ! 

"  O  my  brothers,  O  my  brothers ! 
what  shall  I  say  further?  Ha!  I 
will  not  address  myself  to  you  whose 
hearts  are  already  kindled  within  you 
by  the  purest  of  spiritual  flames.  I 
will  uplift  my  voice,  and  in  words  of 
thunder  exhort  the  debased  minions  of 
tyranny  to  arouse  themselves  ere  it 
be  too  late,  and  to  shake  off  those 
fetters  which  they  wear  for  the  pnr- 
pose  of  enslaving  others.  Hear  me, 
then,  ye  soldiers  !  —  hear  me,  ye 
degraded  serfs! — hear  me,  ye  monsters 
of  iniquity !  Oh,  if  the  earth  could 
speak,  what  a  voice  would  arise  out 
of  its  desolate  battle-fields,  to  testify 
against  you  and  yours !  Tell  us  not 
that  you  have  fought  for  freedom. 
Was  freedom  ever  won  by  the  sword  ? 
Tell  us  not  that  you  have  defended 
your  country's  rights,  for  in  the  eye 
of  the  true  philosopher  there  is  no 
country  save  one,  and  that  is  the 
universal  earth,  to  which  all  have  an 
equal  claim.  Shelter  not  yourselves, 
night- prowling  hyenas  as  you  are, 
under  such  miserable  pretexts  as 
these !  Hie  ye  to  the  charnel-houses, 
ye  bats,  ye  vampires,  ye  ravens,  ye 
birds  of  the  foulest  omen  !  Strive,  if 
you  can,  in  their  dark  recesses,  to 


366 


The  Congress  and  the  Agaptdome. 


[Sept. 


liitle  yourselves  from  the  glare  of  that 
light  which  is  now  permeating  the 
world.  O  the  dawn  !  O  the  glory !  O 
the  universal  illumination!  See,  my 
brothers,  how  they  shrink,  how  they 
flee  from  its  cheering  influence ! 
Tremble,  minions  of  despotism !  Your 
race  is  run,  your  very  empires  are 
tottering  around  you.  See — with  one 
grasp  I  crush  them  all,  as  I  crush 
this  flimsy  scroll !  " 

Here  the  eloquent  gentleman,  hav- 
ing made  a  paper  ball  of  the  last 
number  of  the  Allgemdne  Zeitung, 
sate  down  amidst  the  vociferous 
applause  of  the  assembly.  He  was 
•the  first  orator  who  had  spoken,  and 
I  believe  had  been  selected  to  lead 
the  van  on  account  of  his  platform 
experience,  which  was  very  great.  I 
•cannot  say,  however,  that  his  argu- 
ments produced  entire  conviction  upon 
my  mind,  or  that  of  my  companion, 
judging  from  certain  muttered  adjura- 
tions which  fell  from  Wilkinson,  to 
the  effect  that  on  the  first  convenient 
opportunity  he  would  take  means  to 
make  the  crumpler-up  of  nations 
atone  for  his  scurrilous  abuse  of  the 
army.  We  were  next  favoured  with 
addresses  in  Sclavonian,  German,  and 
French  ;  and  then  another  British 
orator  came  forward  to  enlighten  the 
public.  This  last  was  a  fellow  of 
some  fancy.  Avoiding  all  stale 
topics  about  despotism,  aristocracies, 
and  standing  armies,  he  went  to  the 
root  of  the  matter,  by  asserting  that 
in  Vegetarianism  alone  lay  the  true 
escape  from  the  horrors  and  miseries 
of  war.  Mr  Belcher — for  such  was 
the  name  of  this  distinguished  philan- 
thropist— opined  that  without  beef  and 
mutton  there  never  could  be  a  battle. 

"  Had  Napoleon,"  said  he,  "  been 
dieted  from  his  youth  upwards  upon 
turnips,  the  world  would  have  been 
spared  those  scenes  of  butchery, 
which  must  ever  remain  a  blot  upon 
the  history  of  the  present  century. 
One  of  our  oldest  English  annalists 
.assures  us  that  Jack  Cade,  than  whom, 
perhaps,  there  never  breathed  a  more 
uncompromising  enemy  of  tyranny, 
subsisted  entirely  upon  spinach.  This 
fact  has  been  beautifully  treated  by 
Shakspcare,  whose  passion  for  onions 
was  proverbial,  in  his  play  of  Henry 
VI.,  wherein  he  represents  Cade,  im- 
mediately before  his  death,  as  engnged 


in  the  preparation  of  a  salad.  I  my- 
self," continued  Mr  Belcher  in  a 
slightly  flatulent  tone,  "  can  assure 
this  honourable  company,  that  for  more 
than  six  mouths  I  have  cautiously 
abstained  from  using  any  other  kind 
of  food,  except  broccoli,  which  I  find 
at  once  refreshing  and  laxative,  light, 
airy,  and  digestible  ! " 

MrBelcher  having  ended,  a  bearded 
gentleman,  who  enjoyed  the  reputation 
of  being  the  most  notorious  duellist  in 
Europe,  rose  up  for  the  purpose  of 
addressing  the  audience  ;  but  by  this 
time  the  afternoon  was  considerably 
advanced,  and  a  large  number  of  the 
Congress  had  silently  seceded  to 
the  roulette  and  rouge-et-noir  tables. 
Among  these,  to  my  great  surprise, 
were  Miss  Latchley  and  Mr  Petti- 
grew  :  it  being,  as  I  afterwards  under- 
stood, the  invariable  practice  of  this 
gifted  lady,  whenever  she  could  secure 
a  victim,  to  avail  herself  of  his  pecu- 
niary resources ;  so  that  if  fortune 
declared  against  her,  the  gentleman 
stood  the  loss,  whilst,  in  the  opposite 
event,  she  retained  possession  of  the 
spoil.  I  daresay  some  of  my  readers 
may  have  been  witnesses  to  a  similar 
arrangement. 

As  it  was  no  use  remaining  after 
the  departure  of  Mr  Pettigrew,  Wil- 
kinson and  I  sallied  forth  for  a  stroll, 
not,  as  you  may  well  conceive,  in  a 
high  state  of  enthusiasm  01:  rapture. 

"  I  would  not  have  believed,"  said 
Wilkinson,  "  unless  I  had  seen  it  with 
my  own  eyes,  that  it  was  possible  to 
collect  in  one  room  so  many  samples 
of  absolute  idiocy.  What  a  pleasant 
companion  that  Belcher  follow,  who 
eats  nothing  but  broccoli,  must  be  !  " 

"A  little  variety  in  the  way  of 
peas  would  probably  render  him  per- 
fect. But  what  do  you  say  to  the 
first  orator?" 

"I  shall  reserve  the  expression  of 
my  opinion,"  replied  Jack,  "  until  I 
have  the  satisfaction  of  meeting  that 
gentleman  in  private.  But  how  are 
we  to  proceed  ?  With  this  woman  in 
the  way,  it  entirely  baffles  my  compre- 
hension." 

'"  Do  you  know,  Jack,  I  was  think- 
ing of  that  during  the  whole  time  of 
the  meeting;  and  it  does  appear ^ to 
me  that  there  is  a  way  open  by  which 
we  may  precipitate  the  crisis.  Mind 
— I  don't  answer  for  the  success  of 


1851.] 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


my  scheme,  but  it  has  at  least  the 
merit  of  simplicity." 

"Out  with  it,  my  dear  fellow  !  I 
am  all  impatience,"  cried  Jack. 

"Well,  then,"  said  I,  "did  you 
remark  the  queer  and  heterogeneous 
nature  of  the  company?  I  don't 
think,  if  you  except  the  Quakers,  who 
have  the  generic  similarity  of  eels, 
that  you  could  have  picked  out  any 
two  individuals  with  a  tolerable  re- 
semblance to  each  other." 

"That's  likely  enough,  for  they 
are  a  most  seedy  set.  But  what  of 
it?" 

"  Why,  simply  this  :  I  suspect  the 
majority  of  them  are  political  re- 
fugees. No  person,  who  is  not  an 
absurd  fanatic  or  a  designing  dema- 
gogue, can  have  any  sympathy 
with  the  nonsense  which  is  talked 
against  governments  and  standing 
armies.  The  Red  Republicans,  of 
whom  lean  assure  you  there  are  plenty 
in  every  state  in  Europe,  are  naturally 
most  desirous  to  get  rid  of  the  latter, 
by  whom  they  are  held  in  check  ;  and 
if  that  were  once  accomplished,  no 
kind  of  government  could  stand  for 
a  single  day.  They  are  now  appeal- 
ing, as  they  call  it,  to  public  opinion, 
by  means  of  these  congresses  and 
gatherings  ;  and  they  have  contrived, 
under  cover  of  a  zeal  for  universal 
peace,  to  induce  a  considerable  number 
of  weak  and  foolish  people  to  join  with 
them  in  a  cry  which  is  simply  the 
forerunner  of  revolution." 

"  All  that  I  understand ;  but  I 
don't  quite  see  your  drift." 

"  Every  one  of  these  bearded 
vagabonds  hates  the  other  like  poison. 
Talk  of  fraternity,  indeed  !  They  want 
to  have  revolution  first ;  and  if  they 
could  get  it,  you  would  see  them 
flying  at  each  other's  throats  like  a 
pack  of  wild  dogs  that  have  pulled 
down  a  deer.  Now,  my  plan  is  this  : 
Let  us  have  a  supper-party,  and 
invite  a  deputy  from  each  nation. 
My  life  upon  it,  that  before  they  have 
been  half- an-hour  together,  there  will 
be  such  a  row  among  the  fraternisers 
as  will  frighten  your  uncle  Peter  out 
of  his  senses,  or,  still  better,  out  of 
his  present  crotchet." 

"  A  capital  idea !  But  how  shall 
we  get  hold  of  the  fellows  ?  " 

"That's  not  very  difficult.  They 
are  at  this  moment  hard  at  work  at 


3G7 

roulette,  and  they  will  come  readily 
enough  to  the  call  if  you  promise  them 
lots  of  Niersteiuer." 

"By  George!  they  shall  have  it 
in  bucketfuls,  if  that  can  produce  the 
desired  effect.  I  say — we  must  posi- 
tively have  that  chap  who  abused 
the  army." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  advisable  to- 
let  him  alone.  I  would  rather  stick 
to  the  foreigners." 

"  O,  by  Jove,  we  must  have  him. 
I  have  a  slight  score  to  settle,  for 
the  credit  of  the  service  !  " 

"  Well,  but  be  cautious.  Recollect 
the  great  matter  is  to  leave  our  guests- 
to  themselves." 

"  Never  fear  me.  I  shall  take  care- 
to  keep  within  due  bounds.  Now 
let  us  look  after  Uncle  Peter." 

We  found  that  respected  indivi- 
dual in  a  state  of  high  glee.  His  own 
run  of  luck  had  not  been  extra- 
ordinary ;  but  the  Latchley,  who- 
appeared  to  possess  a  sort  of  second- 
sight  in  fixing  on  the  fortunate 
numbers,  had  contrived  to  accumulate- 
a  perfect  mountain  of  dollars,  to  the 
manifest  disgust  of  a  profane  Quaker 
opposite,  who,  judging  from  the 
violence  of  his  language,  had  been- 
thoroughly  cleaned  out.  Mr  Pettigrew 
agreed  at  once  to  the  proposal  for  a 
supper-party,  which  Jack  excused 
himself  for  making,  on  the  ground 
that  he  had  a  strong  wish  to  cultivate 
the  personal  acquaintance  of  the 
gentlemen,  who,  in  the  event  of  his- 
joining  the  Peace  Society,  would 
become  his  brethren.  After  some- 
pressing,  Mr  Pettigrew  agreed  to  take 
the  chair,  his  nephew  officiating  aa 
croupier.  Miss  Lavinia  Latchley,  so- 
soon  as  she  learned  what  was  in  con- 
templation, made  a  strong  effort  to 
be  allowed  to  join  the  party ;  butr 
notwithstanding  her  assertion  of  the 
un alienable  rights  of  woman  to  be 
present  on  all  occasions  of  social- 
hilarity,  Jack  would  not  yield  ;  and 
even  Pettigrew  seemed  to  think  that 
there  were  times  and  seasons  when 
the  female  countenance  might  be  with- 
held with  advantage.  We  found  no- 
difficulty  whatever  in  furnishing  the 
complement  of  the  guests.  There 
were  seventeen  of  us  in  all — four 
Britons,  two  Frenchmen,  a  Hunga- 
rian, a  Lombard,  a  Piedmontese,  a 
Sicilian,  a  Neapolitan,  a  Roman,  an. 


368 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


[Sept. 


Austrian,  a  Prussian,  a  Dane,  a 
Dutchman,  and  a  Yankee.  The  ma- 
jority exhibited  beards  of  startling 
dimension,  and  few  of  them  appeared 
to  regard  soap  in  the  light  of  a  justi- 
fiable luxury. 

Pettigrew  made  an  admirable  chair- 
man. Although  not  conversant  with 
any  language  save  his  own,  he  con- 
trived, by  means  of  altering  the  ter- 
minations of  his  words,  to  carry  on  a 
very  animated  conversation  with  all 
his  neighbours.  His  Italian  was 
superb,  his  Danish  above  par,  and 
his  Sclavonic,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
passable.  The  viands  were  good, 
and  the  wine  abundant ;  so  that,  by 
the  time  pipes  were  produced,  we 
were  all  tolerably  hilarious.  The 
conversation,  which  at  first  was  gene- 
ral, now  took  a  political  turn ;  and 
very  grievous  it  was  to  listen  to  the 
tales  of  the  outrages  which  some  of 
the  company  had  sustained  at  the 
hands  of  tyrannical  governments. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  gentle- 
men," said  one  of  the  Frenchmen, 
"  republics  are  not  a  whit  better  than 
monarchies,  in  so  far  as  the  liberty  of 
the  people  is  concerned.  Here  am  I 
obliged  to  leave  France,  because  I  was 
a  friend  of  that  gallant  fellow,  Ledru 
Eollin,  whom  I  hope  one  day  to  see 
at  the  head  of  a  real  Socialist  govern- 
ment. Ah,  won't  we  set  the  guillo- 
tine once  more  in  motion  then ! " 

"  Property  is  theft,"  remarked  the 
Neapolitan,  sententiously. 

"  I  calculate,  my  fine  chap,  that 
you  han't  many  dollars  of  your  own, 
if  you're  of  that  way  of  thinking !  " 
said  the  Yankee,  considerably  scan- 
dalised at  this  indifference  to  the  rule 
of  meum  and  tuum. 

"  O  Roma !  "  sighed  the  gentleman 
from  the  eternal  city,  who  was  rather 
intoxicated. 

"  Peste !  What  is  the  matter  with 
it?"  asked  one  of  the  Frenchmen. 
"  I  presume  it  stands  where  it  always 
did.  Gargon — un  petit  verre  de  rhom ! " 

"  How  can  Rome  be  what  it  was, 
when  it  is  profaned  by  the  foot  of  the 
stranger?"  replied  he  of  the  Papal 
States. 

"  Ah,  lali!  You  never  were  better 
off  than  under  the  rule  of  Oudinot." 

"  You  are  a  German,"  said  the 
Hungarian  to  the  Austrian ;  "  what 
think  you  of  our  brave  Kossuth  ?  " 


"  I  consider  him  a  pragmatical  ass," 
replied  the  Austrian  curtly. 

"  Perhaps  in  that  case,"  interposed 
the  Lombard,  with  a  sneer  that  might 
have  done  credit  to  Mephistopheles, 
"  the  gentleman  may  feel  inclined  to 
palliate  the  conduct  of  that  satrap  of 
tyranny,  Radetski?" 

"  What  .'—old  father  Radetski !  the 
victor  in  a  hundred  fights ! "  cried  the 
Austrian,  "  That  will  I ;  and  spit  in 
the  face  of  any  cowardly  Italian  who 
dares  to  breathe  a  word  against  his 
honour ! " 

The  Italian  clutched  his  knife. 

"Hold  there!"  cried  the  Pied- 
montese,  who  seemed  really  a  decent 
sort  of  fellow.  "  None  of  your  stiletto 
work  here !  Had  you  Lombards 
trusted  more  to  the  bayonet  and  less 
to  the  knife,  we  might  have  given 
another  account  of  the  Austrian  in 
that  campaign,  which  cost  Piedmont 
its  king !  " 

"  Carlo  Alberto!"  hissed  the  Lom- 
bard, "  sceleratissimo  traditore!" 

The  reply  of  the  Piedmontese  was 
a  pie- dish,  which  prostrated  the  Lom- 
bard on  the  floor. 

"  Gentlemen  !  gentlemen  !  for 
Heaven's  sake  be  calm  ! "  screamed 
Pettigrew;  "  remember  we  are  all 
brothers!" 

"  Brothers  !  "  roared  the  Dane, 
"  do  ye  think  I  would  fraternise  with 
a  Prussian?  Remember  Schleswig 
Holstein ! " 

"  I  am  perfectly  calm,"  said  the 
Prussian,  with  the  stiff  formality  of 
his  nation  ;  "I  never  quarrel  over  the 
generous  vintage  of  my  fatherland. 
Come — let  me  give  you  a  song — 

'  Sie  sollen  ihm  nicht  haben 
Den  Deutschen  freien  Rhcin/  " 

"  You  never  were  more  mistaken 
in  your  life,  mon  cher,"  said  one  of 
the  Frenchmen,  brusquely.  "  Before 
twelve  months  are  over  v?e  shall  see 
who  has  right  to  the  Rhine  !" 

"  Ay,  that  is  true  !  "  remarked  the 
Dutchman;  "confound  these  Germans 
—  they  wanted  to  annex  Luxem- 
bourg." 

"  What  says  the  frog  ?  "  asked  the 
Prussian  contemptuously. 

The  frog  said  nothing,  but  he  hit 
the  Prussian  on  the  teeth. 

I  despair  of  giving  even  a  feeble 
impression  of  the  scene  which  took 


1851.] 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


369 


place.  No  single  pair  of  ears  was 
sufficient  to  catch  one  fourth  of  the 
general  discord.  There  was  first  an 
interchange  of  angry  words  ;  then  an 
interchange  of  blows ;  and  imme- 
diately after,  the  guests  were  rolling, 
in  groups  of  twos  and  threes,  as 
suited  their  fancy,  or  the  adjustment 
of  national  animosities,  on  the  ground. 
The  Lombard  rose  not  again ;  the 
pie-dish  had  quieted  him  for  the 
night.  But  the  Sicilian  and  Neapo- 
litan lay  locked  in  deadly  combat, 
each  attempting  with  intense  ani- 
mosity to  bite  off  the  other's  nose. 
The  Austrian  caught  the  Hungarian 
by  the  throat,  and  held  him  till  he 
was  black  in  the  face.  The  Dane 
pommelled  the  Prussian.  One  of  the 
Frenchmen  broke  a  bottle  over  the 
head  of  the  subject  of  the  Pope; 
whilst  his  friend,  thirsting  for  the 
combat,  attempted  in  vain  to  insult 
the  remaining  non- belligerents.  The 
Dutchman  having  done  all  that  hon- 
our required,  smoked  in  mute  tran- 
quillity. Meanwhile  the  cries  of 
Uncle  Peter  were  heard  above  the 
din  of  battle,  entreating  a  cessation 
of  hostilities.  He  might  as  well  have 
preached  to  the  storm — the  row  grew 
fiercer  every  moment. 

u  This  is  a  disgusting  spectacle  !  " 
said  the  orator  from  Manchester. 
"  These  men  cannot  be  true  pacifica- 
tors—they must  have  served  in  the 
army." 

"That  reminds  me,  old  fellow!" 
said  Jack,  turning  up  the  cuffs  of  his 
coat  with  a  very  ominous  expression 
of  countenance,  "  that  you  were 
pleased  this  morning  to  use  some 
impertinent  expressions  with  regard 
to  the  British  army.  Do  you  adhere 
to  what  you  said  then  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Then  up  with  your  mauleys ; 
for,  by  the  Lord  Harry !  I  intend  to 
have  satisfaction  out  of  your  car- 
case!" 

And  in  less  than  a  minute  the 
Manchester  apostle  dropped  with 
both  his  eyes  bunged  up,  and  did  not 
come  to  time. 

"  Stranger !  "  said  the  Yankee  to 
the  Piedmontese,  "  are  you  inclined 
for  a  turn  at  gouging  ?  This  child 
feels  wolfish  to  raise  hair  !  "  But,  to 
his  credit  be  it  said,  the  Piedmon- 
tese declined  the  proposal  with  a 


polite  bow.  Meanwhile  the  uproar 
had  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
neighbourhood.  Six  or  seven  men  in 
uniform,  whom  I  strongly  suspect 
to  have  been  members  of  the  brass 
band,  entered  the  apartment  armed 
with  bayonets,  and  carried  off  the 
more  obstreperous  of  the  party  to  the 
guard-house.  The  others  imme- 
diately retired,  and  at  last  Jack  and 
I  were  left  alone  with  Mr  Pettigrew. 

"  And  this,"  said  he,  after  a  con- 
siderable pause,  "  is  fraternity  and 
peace !  These  are  the  men  who 
intended  to  commence  the  reign  of  the 
millennium  in  Europe  !  Give  me  your 
hand,  Jack,  my  dear  boy — you  shan't 
leave  the  army — nay,  if  you  do,  rely 
upon  it  I  shall  cut  you  off  with  a 
shilling,  and  mortify  my  fortune  to 
the  Woolwich  hospital.  I  begin  to 
see  that  I  am  an  old  fool.  Stop  a 
moment.  Here  is  a  bottle  of  wine 
that  has  fortunately  escaped  the  de- 
vastation— fill  your  glasses,  and  let 
us  dedicate  a  full  bumper  to  the 
health  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington." 

I  need  hardly  say  that  the  toast 
was  responded  to  with  enthusiasm. 
We  finished  not  only  that  bottle,  but 
another ;  and  I  had  the  satisfaction 
of  hearing  Mr  Pettigrew  announce  to 
my  friend  Wilkinson  that  the  pur- 
chase-money for  his  company  would 
be  forthcoming  at  Coutts's  before  he 
was  a  fortnight  older. 

"  I  won't  affect  to  deny,"  said 
Uncle  Peter,  "  that  this  is  a  great  dis- 
appointment to  me.  I  had  hoped 
better  things  of  human  nature  ;  but  I 
now  perceive  that  I  was  wrong. 
Good  night,  my  dear  boys  !  I  am  a 
good  deal  agitated,  as  you  may  see  ; 
and  perhaps  this  sour  wine  has  not 
altogether  agreed  with  me  — I  had 
better  have  taken  brandy  and  water. 
I  shall  seek  refuge  on  my  pillow,  and 
I  trust  we  may  soon  meet  again  !  " 

"  What  did  the  venerable  Peter 
mean  by  that  impressive  farewell?" 
said  I,  after  the  excellent  old  man 
had  departed,  shaking  his  head 
mournfully  as  he  went. 

"O,  nothing  at  all,"  said  Jack; 
"  only  the  Niersteiner  has  been 
rather  too  potent  for  him.  Have  you. 
any  sticking-plaster  about  you?  I 
have  damaged  my  knuckles  a  little 
on  the  os  frontis  of  that  eloquent 
pacificator." 


370 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


[Sept, 


Next  morning  I  was  awoke  about 
ten  o'clock  by  Jack,  who  came  rush- 
ing into  my  room. 

"He's  off!  "he  cried. 

"Who's  off?  "said  I. 

"  Uncle  Peter ;   and,  what  is  far 


worse,  he  has  taken  Miss  Latchley 
with  him ! " 

"  Impossible ! " 

However,  it  was  perfectly  true.  On 
inquiry  we  found  that  the  enamoured 
pair  had  left  at  six  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER    III. 


"  Well,  Jack,"  said  I,  "any  tidings 
of  Uncle  Peter?"  as  Wilkinson  entered 
my  official  apartment  in  London,  six 
weeks  after  the  dissolution  of  the 
Congress. 

"  Why,  yes — and  the  case  is  rather 
worse  than  I  supposed,"  replied  Jack 
despondingly. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  he 
has  married  that  infernal  woman  in 
pantaloons  ?  " 

"Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  but  very 
nearly.  She  has  carried  him  off  to 
her  den  ;  and  what  she  may  make  of 
him  there,  it  is  quite  impossible  to 
predict." 

"  Her  den?  Has  she  actually  in- 
veigled him  to  America  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  These  kind  of  women 
have  stations  established  over  the 
whole  face  of  the  earth." 

"  Where,  then,  is  he  located  ?" 

"  I  shall  tell  you.  In  the  course  of 
my  inquiries,  which,  you  are  aware, 
were  rather  extensive,  I  chanced  to 
fall  in  with  a  Yarmouth  Bloater." 

"  A  what  ?  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon — I  meant  to 
say  a  Plymouth  Brother.  Now,  these 
fellows  are  a  sort  of  regular  kidnap- 
pers, who  lie  in  wait  to  catch  up  any 
person  of  means  and  substance :  they 
don't  meddle  with  paupers,  for,  as 
you  are  aware,  they  share  their  pro- 
perty in  common  :  and  it  occurred  to 
me  rather  forcibly,  that  by  means  of 
my  friend,  who  was  a  regular  trapping 
missionary,  I  might  learn  something 
about  my  uncle.  It  cost  me  an  im- 
mensity of  brandy  to  elicit  the  infor- 
mation ;  but  at  last  I  succeeded  in 
bringing  out  the  fact,  that  my  uncle 
is  at  this  moment  the  inmate  of  an 
Agapedome  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Southampton,  and  that  the  Latchley 
is  his  appointed  keeper." 

"  An  Agapedome! — what  the  mis- 
chief is  that?" 

"  You  may  well  ask,"  said  Jack ; 
"  but  I  won't  give  it  a  coarser  name. 
However,  from  all  I  can  learn,  it  is 


as  bad  as  a  Mormonite  institu- 
tion." 

"And  what  the  deuce  may  they 
intend  to  do  with  him,  now  they  have 
him  in  their  power?" 

"  Fleece  him  out  of  every  sixpence 
of  property  which  he  possesses  in  the 
world,"  replied  Jack. 

"  That  won't  do,  Jack !  We  must 
get  him  out  by  some  means  or  other." 

"  I  suspect  it  would  be  an  easier 
job  to  scale  a  nunnery.  So  far  as  I 
can  learn,  they  admit  no  one  into 
their  premises,  unless  they  have  hopes 
of  catching  him  as  a  convert ;  and  I 
am  afraid  that  neither  you  nor  I  have 
the  look  of  likely  pupils.  Besides, 
the  Latchley  could  not  fail  to  recog- 
nise me  in  a"  moment." 

"  That's  true  enough,"  said  I.  "  I 
think,  however,  that  I  might  escape 
detection  by  a  slight  alteration  of 
attire.  The  lady  did  not  honour  me 
with  much  notice  during  the  half-hour 
we  spent  in  her  company.  I  must 
own,  however,  that  I  should  not  like 
to  go  alone." 

"  My  dear  friend !"  cried  Jack,  "  if 
you  will  really  be  kind  enough  to 
oblige  me  in  this  matter,  I  know  the 
very  man  to  accompany  you.  Rogers 
of  ours  is  in  town  just  now.  He  is 
a  famous  fellow — rather  fast,  perhaps, 
and  given  to  larking — but  as  true  as 
steel.  You  shall  meet  him  to-day  at 
dinner,  and  then  we  can  arrange  our 
plans." 

I  must  own  that  I  did  not  feel  very 
sanguine  of  success  this  time.  Your 
genuine  rogue  is  the  most  suspicious 
character  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
wide  awake  to  a  thousand  little  dis- 
crepancies which  would  escape  the 
observation  of  the  honest ;  and  I  felt 
perfectly  convinced  that  the  super- 
intendent of  the  Agapedome  was 
likely  to  prove  a  rogue  of  the  first 
water.  Then  I  did  not  see  my  way 
clearly  to  the  characters  which  we 
ought  to  assume.  Of  course  it  was 
no  use  for  me  to  present  myself  as  a 


1851.] 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


371 


scion  of  the  Woods  and  Forests ;  I 
should  be  treated  as  a  Government 
spy,  and  have  the  door  slapped  in 
my  face.  To  appear  as  an  emissary 
of  the  Jesuits  would  be  dangerous ; 
that  body  being  well  known  for  their 
skill  in  annexing  property.  In 
short,  I  came  to  the  conclusion,  that 
unless  I  could  work  upon  the  cupidity 
of  the  head  Agapedomian,  there  was 
no  chance  whatever  of  effecting  Mr 
Pettigrew's  release.  To  this  point, 
therefore,  I  resolved  to  turn  my  at- 
tention. 

At  dinner,  according  to  agreement, 
I  met  Rogers  of  ours.  Rogers  was  not 
gifted  with  any  powerful  inventive 
faculties ;  but  he  was  a  fine  specimen  of 
the  British  breed,  ready  to  take  a  hand 
at  anything  which  offered  a  prospect 
of  fun.  You  would  not  probably 
Lave  selected  him  as  a  leading  con- 
spirator; but,  though  no  Macchiavelli, 
he  appeared  most  valuable  as  an 
accomplice. 

Our  great  difficulty  was  to  pitch 
upon  proper  characters.  After  much 
discussion,  it  was  resolved  that  Rogers 
of  ours  should  appear  as  a  young 
nobleman  of  immense  wealth,  but 
exceedingly  eccentric  habits,  and  that 
I  should  act  as  bear-leader,  with  an 
eye  to  my  own  interest.  What  we 
were  to  do  when  we  should  succeed 
in  getting  admission  to  the  establish- 
ment, was  not  very  clear  to  the  per- 
ception of  any  of  us.  We  resolved 
to  be  regulated  entirely  by  circum- 
stances, the  great  point  being  the 
rescue  of  Mr  Peter  Pettigrew. 

Accordingly,  we  all  started  for 
Southampton  on  the  folio  wing  morning. 
On  arriving  there,  we  were  informed 
that  the  Agapedome  was  situated 
some  three  miles  from  the  town,  and 
that  the  most  extraordinary  legends 
of  the  habits  and  pursuits  of  its  in- 
mates were  current  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. Nobody  seemed  to  know  ex- 
actly what  the  Agapedomians  were. 
They  seemed  to  constitute  a  tolerably 
large  society  of  persons,  both  male 
and  female ;  but  whether  they  were 
Christians,  Turks,  Jews,  or  Maho- 
metans, was  matter  of  exceeding  dis- 
putation. They  were  known,  how- 
ever to  be  rich,  and  occasionally  went 
out  airing  in  carriages- and-four — the 
women  all  wearing  pantaloons,  to 
the  infinite  scandal  of  the  peasantry. 


So  far  as  we  could  learn,  no  gentleman 
answering  to  the  description  of  Mr 
Pettigrew  had  been  seen  among  them. 

After  agreeing  to  open  communica- 
tions with  Jack  as  speedily  as  pos- 
sible, and  emptying  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne towards  the  success  of  our 
expedition,  Rogers  and  I  started  in 
a  postchaise  for  the  Agapedome. 
Rogers  was  curiously  arrayed  in  gar- 
ments of  chequered  plaid,  a  mere 
glance  at  which  would  have  gone  far 
to  impress  any  spectator  with  a  strong 
notion  of  his  eccentricity  ;  whilst,  for 
my  part,  I  had  donned  a  suit  of  black, 
and  assumed  a  massive  pair  of  gold 
spectacles,  and  a  beaver  with  a  por- 
tentous rim. 

This  Agapedome  was  a  large  build- 
ing surrounded  by  a  high  wall,  and 
looked,  upon  the  whole,  like  a  con- 
vent. Deeming  it  prudent  to  ascertain 
how  the  land  lay  before  introducing 
the  eccentric  Rogers,  I  requested  that 
gallant  individual  to  remain  in  the 
postchaise,  whilst  I  solicited  an  inter- 
view with  Mr  Aaron  B.  Hyams,  the 
reputed  chief  of  the  establishment. 
The  card  I  sent  in  was  inscribed  with 
the  name  of  Dr  Hiram  Smith,  which 
appeared  to  me  a  sufficiently  in- 
nocuous appellation.  After  some  de- 
lay, I  was  admitted  through  a  very 
strong  gateway  into  the  courtyard  ; 
and  was  then  conducted  by  a  servant 
in  a  handsome  livery  to  a  library, 
where  I  was  received  by  Mr  Hyams. 

As  the  Agapedome  has  since  been 
broken  up,  and  its  members  dispersed, 
it  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  put  on 
record  a  slight  sketch  of  its  founder. 
Judging  from  his  countenance,  the  pro- 
genitors of  Mr  Aaron  B.  Hyams  must 
have  been  educated  in  the  Jewish 
persuasion.  His  nose  and  lip  possessed 
that  graceful  curve  which  is  so  char- 
acteristic of  the  Hebrew  race ;  and 
his  eye,  if  not  altogether  of  that  kind 
which  the  poets  designate  as  "  eagle," 
might  not  unaptly  be  compared  to 
that  of  the  turkey-buzzard.  In  cer- 
tain circles  of  society  Mr  Hyams 
would  have  been  esteemed  a  hand- 
some man.  In  the  doorway  of  a  ware- 
house in  Holyvvell  Street  he  would 
have  committed  large  havoc  on  the 
hearts  of  the  passing  Leahs  and 
Dalilahs— for  he  was  a  square-built 
powerful  man,  with  broad  shoulders 
and  bandy  legs,  and  displayed  on  his 


372 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


[Sept. 


person  as  much  ostentatious  jewellery 
as  though  he  had  been  concerned  in 
a  new  spoiling  of  the  Egyptians. 
Apparently  he  was  in  a  cheerful 
mood ;  for  before  him  stood  a  half- 
emptied  decanter  of  wine,  and  an 
odour  as  of  recently  extinguished 
Cubas  was  agreeably  disseminated 
through  the  apartment. 

"Dr  Hiram  Smith,  I  presume?" 
said  he.  "  Well,  Dr  Hiram  Smith, 
to  what  fortunate  circumstance  am 
I  indebted  for  the  honour  of  this 
visit?" 

"  Simply,  sir,  to  this,"  said  I,  "  that 
I  want  to  know  you,  and  know  about 
you.  Nobody  without  can  tell  me 
precisely  what  your  Agapedome  is, 
so  I  have  come  for  information  to 
headquarters.  I  have  formed  my 
own  conclusion.  If  1  am  wrong,  there 
is  no  harm  done ;  if  I  am  right,  we 
may  be  able  to  make  a  bargain." 

"  Hallo ! "  cried  Hyaras,  taken 
rather  aback  by  this  curt  style  of 
exordium,  "you  are  a  rum  customer, 
I  reckon.  So  you  want  to  deal,  do 
ye  ?  Well  then,  tell  us  what  sort  of 
doctor  you  may  be  ?  No  use  stand- 
ing on  ceremony  with  a  chap  like  you. 
Is  it  M.D.  or  LL.D.  or  D.D.,  or  a 
mere  walking-stick  title  ?" 

"The  title,"  said  I,  "is  conven- 
tional; so  you  may  attribute  it  to  any 
origin  you  please.  In  brief,  I  want 
to  know  if  I  can  board  a  pupil  here?" 

"  That  depends  entirely  upon  cir- 
cumstances," replied  Hyams.  "  Who 
and  what  is  the  subject?" 

"  A  young  nobleman  of  the  highest 
distinction,  but  of  slightly  eccentric 
habits."  Here  Hyams  pricked  up  his 
ears.  "  I  am  not  authorised  to  tell 
his  name ;  but  otherwise,  you  shall 
have  the  most  satisfactory  refer- 
ences.1' 

"  There  is  only  one  kind  of  refer- 
ence I  care  about,"  interrupted 
Hyams,  imitating  at  the  same  time 
the  counting  out  of  imaginary  sove- 
reigns into  his  palm. 

"  So  much  the  better — there  will 
be  trouble  saved,"  said  I.  "  I  per- 
ceive, Mr  Hyams,  you  are  a  thorough 
man  of  business.  In  a  word,  then, 
my  pupil  has  been  going  it  too  fast." 

"  Flying  kites  and  post-obits?" 

"  And  all  the  rest  of  it,"  said  I ; 
"  black-legs  innumerable,  and  no  end 
of  scrapes  in  the  green-room.  Things 


have  come  to  such  a  pass  that  his 
father,  the  Duke,  insists  on  his  being 
kept  out  of  the  way  at  present ;  and, 
as  taking  him  to  Paris  would  only 
make  matters  worse,  it  occurred  to 
me  that  I  might  locate  him  for  a 
time  in  some  quiet  but  cheerful  esta- 
blishment, where  he  could  have  his 
reasonable  swing,  and  no  questions 
asked." 

"  Dr  Hiram  Smith  !  "  cried  Hyams 
with  enthusiasm,  "  you're  a  regular 
trump  !  I  wish  all  the  noblemen 
in  England  would  look  out  for  tutors 
like  you." 

"  You  are  exceedingly  complimen- 
tary, Mr  Hyams.  And  now  that  you 
know  my  errand,  may  I  ask  what  the 
Agapedome  is  ?  " 

"The  Home  of  Love,"  replied 
Hyams  ;  "  at  least  so  I  was  told  by 
the  Oxford  gent,  to  whom  I  gave 
half-a-guinea  for  the  title." 

"  And  your  object?  " 

"  A  pleasant  retreat — comfortable 
home — no  sort  of  bother  of  ceremony 
— innocent  attachments  encouraged — • 
and,  in  the  general  case,  community 
of  goods." 

"  Of  which  latter,  I  presume,  Mr 
Hyams  is  the  sole  administrator  ?  " 

"  Right  again,  Doctor  ! "  said 
Hyarns  with  a  leer  of  intelligence ; 
"  no  use  beating  about  the  bush  with 
you,  I  perceive.  A  single  cashier  for 
the  whole  concern  saves  a  world  of 
unnecessary  trouble.  Then,  you  see, 
we  have  our  little  matrimonial  ar- 
rangements. A  young  lady  in  search 
of  an  eligible  domicile  comes  here 
and  deposits  her  fortune.  We  pro- 
vide her  by-and-by  with  a  husband  of 
suitable  tastes,  so  that  all  matters  are 
arranged  comfortably.  No  luxury  or 
enjoyment  is  denied  to  the  inmates  of 
the  establishment,  which  may  be 
compared,  in  short,  to  a  perfect 
aviary,  in  which  you  hear  nothing 
from  morning  to  evening  save  one 
continuous  sound  of  billing  and  coo- 
ing." 

"  You  draw  a  fascinating  picture, 
Mr  Hyams,"  said  I:  "  too  fascinating, 
in  fact ;  for,  after  what  you  have 
said,  I  doubt  whether  I  should  be  ful- 
filling my  duty  to  my  noble  patron 
the  Duke,  were  I  to  expose  his  heir 
to  the  influence  of  such  powerful 
temptations." 

"Don't  be    in   the    least    degree 


1851.] 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


373 


alarmed  about  that,"  said  Hyams. 
"  I  shall  take  care  that  in  this  case 
there  is  no  chance  of  marriage. 
Harkye,  Doctor,  it  is  rather  against 
our  rules  to  admit  parlour  boarders ; 
but  I  don't  mind  doing  it  in  this  case, 
if  you  agree  to  my  terms,  which  are 
one  hundred  and  twenty  guineas  per 
month." 

"  On  the  part  of  the  Duke,"  said  I, 
"  I  anticipate  no  objection  ;  nor  shall 
I  refuse  your  stamped  receipts  at  that 
rate.  But  as  I  happen  to  be  pay- 
master, I  shall  certainly  not  give  you 
in  exchange  for  each  of  them  more 
than  seventy  guineas,  which  will  leave 
you  a  very  pretty  profit  over  and 
above  your  expenses." 

"  What  a  screw  you  are,  Doctor!" 
cried  Hyams.  "  Would  you  have  the 
conscience  to  pocket  fifty  for  nothing? 
Come,  come — make  it  eighty  and  it's 
a  bargain." 

"  Seventy  is  my  last  word.  Beard 
of  Mordecai,  man  !  do  you  think  I  am 
going  to  surrender  this  pigeon  to  your 
hands  gratis  ?  Have  I  not  told  you 
already  that  he  has  a  natural  turn  for 
ecarte!" 

"Ah,  Doctor,  Doctor!  you  must 
be  one  of  our  people — you  must  in- 
deed!"  said  Hyams.  "  Well,  is  it  a 
bargain  ?  " 

u  Not  yet,"  said  I.  "  In  common 
decency,  and  for  the  sake  of  appear- 
ances, I  must  stay  for  a  couple  of 
days  in  the  house,  in  order  that  I  may 
be  able  to  give  a  satisfactory  report 
to  the  Duke.  By  the  way,  I  hope 
everything  is  quite  orthodox  here — 
nothing  contrary  to  the  tenets  of  the 
church  ?  " 

"  O  quite,"  replied  Hyams ;  "  it  is 
a  beautiful  establishment  in  point  of 
order.  The  bell  rings  every  day 
punctually  at  four  o'clock." 

"For  prayers?" 

"No,  sir — for  hockey.  We  find 
that  a  little  lively  exercise  gives  a 
cheerful  tone  to  the  mind,  and  pro- 
motes those  animal  spirits  which  are 
the  peculiar  boast  of  the  Agape- 
dome." 

"  I  am  quite  satisfied,"  said  I. 
"  So  now,  if  you  please,  I  shall  intro- 
duce my  pupil." 

I  need  not  dwell  minutely  upon  the 
particulars  of  the  interview  which 
took  place  between  Rogers  of  ours 
and  the  superintendent  of  the  Aga- 


pedome. Indeed  there  is  little  to 
record.  Rogers  received  the  intima- 
tion that  this  was  to  be  his  residence 
for  a  season  with  the  utmost  non- 
chalance, simply  remarking  that  he 
thought  it  would  be  rather  slow ;  and 
then,  by  way  of  keeping  up  his  cha- 
racter, filled  himself  a  bumper  of 
sherry.  Mr  Hyams  regarded  him  as 
a  spider  might  do  when  some  un- 
known but  rather  powerful  insect 
comes  within  the  precincts  of  his  net. 

"Well,"  said  Rogers,  "since  it 
seems  I  am  to  be  quartered  here, 
what  sort  of  fun  is  to  be  had  ?  Any 
racket-court,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  my  Lord,  ours 
is  not  built  as  yet.  But  at  four 
o'clock  we  shall  have  hockey — " 

"  Hang  hockey !  I  have  no  fancy 
for  getting  my  shins  bruised.  Any 
body  in  the  house  except  myself?" 

"  If  your  Lordship  would  like  to 
visit  the  ladies — " 

"Say  no  more!"  cried  Rogers  im- 
petuously. "I  shall  manage  to  kill 
time  now !  Hallo,  you  fellow  with 
the  shoulder-knot !  show  me  the  way 
to  the  drawing-room;"  and  Rogers 
straightway  disappeared. 

"  Doctor  Hiram  Smith  !  "  said 
Hyams,  looking  rather  discomposed, 
"  this  is  most  extraordinary  conduct 
on  the  part  of  your  pupil."  ' 

"  Not  at  all  extraordinary,  I  assure 
you,"  I  replied  ;  "  I  told  you  he  was 
rather  eccentric,  but  at  present  he  is 
in  a  peculiarly  quiet  mood.  Wait 
till  you  see  his  animal  spirits  up  !  " 

"  Why,  he'll  be  the  ruin  of  the 
Agapedome  !  "  cried  Hyams  ;  "  I  can- 
not possibly  permit  this." 

"  It  will  rather  puzzle  you  to  stop 
it,"  said  I. 

Here  a  faint  squall,  followed  by  a 
sound  of  suppressed  giggling,  was 
heard  in  the  passage  without. 

"  Holy  Moses  !  "  cried  the  Agape- 
domian,  starting  up,  "  if  Mrs  Hyarns 
should  happen  to  be  there  !  " 

"  You  may  rely  upon  it  she  will 
very  soon  become  accustomed  to  his 
Lordship's  eccentricities.  Why,  you 
told  me  you  admitted  of  no  sort  of 
bother  or  ceremony." 

"Yes — but  a  joke  may  be  carried 
too  far.  As  I  live,  he  is  pursuing  one 
of  the  ladies  down  stairs  into  the 
courtyard  ! " 

"Is  he ?  "  said  I ;  "  then  you  may 


374 

be  tolerably  certain  he  will  overtake 
her." 

"Surely  some  of  the  servants  will 
stop  him !  "  cried  Hyams,  rushing  to 
the  window.  "  Yes — here  comes  one 
of  them.  Father  Abraham  !  is  it  pos- 
sible? He  has  knocked  Adoiiiram 
down ! " 

*) Nothing  more  likely,"  said  I; 
"  his  Lordship  had  lessons  from  Men- 
doza." 

"  I  must  look  to  this  myself,"  cried 
Hyaras. 

"  Then  I'll  follow  and  see  fair 
play,"  said  I. 

We  rushed  into  the  court ;  but  by 
this  time  it  was  empty.  The  pursued 
and  the  pursuer — Daphne  and  Apollo 
— had  taken  flight  into  the  garden. 
Thither  we  followed  them,  Hyams 
red  with  ire ;  but  no  trace  was  seen 
of  the  fugitives.  At  last  in  an  acacia 
bower  we  heard  murmurs.  Hyams 
dashed  on ;  I  followed  ;  and  there,  to 
my  unutterable  surprise,  I  beheld 
Rogers  of  ours  kneeling  at  the  feet  of 
the  Latchley ! 

"  Beautiful  Lavinia !  "  he  was  say- 
ing, just  as  we  turned  the  corner. 

"Sister  Latchley!"  cried  Hyams, 
"  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  " 

"Rather  let  me  ask,  brother  Hy- 
ams," said  the  Latchley  in  unabashed 
serenity,"  what  means  this  intrusion, 
so  foreign  to  the  time,  and  so  subver- 
sive of  the  laws  of  our  society  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  pound  him,  Lavinia?"  said 
Rogers,  evidently  anxious  to  discharge 
a  slight  modicum  of  the  debt  which  he 
owed  to  the  Jewish  fraternity. 

"I  command— I  beseech  you,  no  ! 
Speak,  brother  Hyams  !  I  again  re- 
quire of  you  to  state  why  and  where- 
fore you  have  chosen  to  violate  the 
fundamental  rules  of  the  Agape- 
dome?" 

"  Sister  Latchley,  you  will  drive  me 
mad  !  This  young  man  has  not  been 
ten  minutes  in  the  house,  and  yet  I 
find  him  scampering  after  you  like  a 
tom-cat,  and  knocking  down  Adoni- 
ram  because  he  came  in  his  way,  and 
you  are  apparently  quite  pleased  !  " 

"  Is  the  influence  of  love  measured 
by  hours?"  asked  the  Latchley  in  a 
tone  of  deep  sentiment.  "  Count  we 
electricity  by  time — do  we  mete  out 
sympathy  by  the  dial  ?  Brother 
Hyams,  were  not  your  intellectual 
vision  obscured  by  a  dull  and  earthly 


The  Congress  and  the  Ayapcdome. 


[Sept. 


film,  you  would  know  that  the  pas- 
sage of  the  lightning  is  not  more  rapid 
than  the  flash  of  kindled  love." 

"  That  sounds  all  very  fine,"  said 
Hyams,  "  but  I  shall  allow  no  such 
doings  here  ;  and  you,  in  particular, 
Sister  Latchley,  considering  how  you 
are  situated,  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself  1 " 

"  Aaron,  my  man,"  said  Rogers  of 
ours,  "  will  you  be  good  enough  to 
explain  what  you  mean  by  making 
such  insinuations?  " 

"  Stay,  my  Lord,"  said  I ;  "  I  realty 
must  interpose.  Mr  Hyams  is  about 
to  explain." 

"May  I  never  discount  bill  again,'* 
cried  the  Jew,  "  if  this  is  not  enough 
to  make  a  man  forswear  the  faith  of 
his  fathers!  Look  you  here,  Miss 
Latchley ;  you  are  part  of  the  esta- 
blishment, and  I  expect  you  to  obey 
orders." 

"  I  was  not  aware,  sir,  until  this 
moment,"  said  Miss  Latchley,  loftily, 
"  that  I  was  subject  to  the  orders  of 
any  one." 

"  Now,  don't  be  a  fool ;  there's  a 
dear!"  said  Hyams.  "You  know 
well  enough  what  I  mean.  Haven't 
you  enough  on  hand  with  Pettigrew, 
without  encumbering  yourself — ?" 
and  he  stopped  short. 

"  It  is  a  pity,  sir,"  said  Miss 
Latchley,  still  more  magnificently, 
"  it  is  a  vast  pity,  that  since  you  have 
the  meanness  to  invent  falsehoods, 
you  cannot  at  the  same  time  com- 
mand the  courage  to  utter  them. 
Why  am  I  thus  insulted  ?  Who  is 
this  Pettigrew  you  speak  of?" 

"  Pettigrew  —  Pettigrew  ?  "  re- 
marked Rogers  ;  "I  say,  DrSmith,  was 
not  that  the  name  of  the  man  who  is 
gone  amissing,  and  for  whose  disco  very 
his  friends  are  offering  a  reward?" 

Hyams  started  as  if  stung  by  an 
adder.  "  Sister  Latchley,"  he  said, 
"  I  fear  I  was  in  the  wrong." 

"  You  have  made  the  discovery 
rather  too  late,  Mr  Hyams,"  replied 
the  irate  Lavinia.  "  After  the  insults 
you  have  heaped  upon  me,  it  is  full 
time  we  should  part.  Perhaps  these 
gentlemen  will  be  kind  enough  to 
conduct  an  unprotected  female  to  a 
temporary  home." 

"  If  you  will  go,  you  go  alone, 
madam,"  said  Hyams  ;  "  his  Lord- 
ship intends  to  remain  here." 


1851.] 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


375 


"  His  Lordship  intends  to  do  no- 
thing of  the  sort,  you  rascal,"  said 
Rogers.  "  Hockey  don't  agree  with 
iny  constitution." 

u  Before  I  depart,  Mr  Hyams," 
said  Miss  Latchley,  "  let  me  remark 
that  you  are  indebted  to  me  in  the 
sum  of  two  thousand  pounds  as  my 
share  of  the  profits  of  the  establish- 
ment. Will  you  pay  it  now,  or  would 
you  prefer  to  wait  till  you  hear  from 
my  solicitor  ?  " 

"Anything  more?"  asked  the 
Agapedomian. 

"  Merely  this,"  said  I  :  "I  am 
now  fully  aware  that  Mr  Peter  Petti- 
grew  is  detained  within  these  walls. 
Surrender  him  instantly,  or  prepare 
yourself  for  the  worst  penalties  of  the 
law." 

I  made  a  fearful  blunder  in  betray- 
ing my  secret  before  I  was  clear  of 
the  premises,  and  the  words  had 
scarcely  passed  my  lips  before  I  was 
aware  of  my  mistake.  With  the  look 
of  a  detected  demon  Hyams  con- 
fronted us. 

"  Ho,  ho  !  this  is  a  conspiracy,  is 
it?  But  you  have  reckoned  without 
your  host.  Ho,  there  !  Jonathan — 
Asahel !  close  the  doors,  ring  the 
great  bell,  and  let  no  man  pass  on 
your  lives !  And  now  let's  see  what 
stuff  you  are  made  of ! " 

So  saying,  the  ruffian  drew  a  life- 
preserver  from  his  pocket,  and  struck 
furiously  at  my  head  before  I  had 
time  to  guard  myself.  But  quick  as 
he  was,  Rogers  of  ours  was  quicker. 
With  his  left  hand  he  caught  the  arm 
of  Hyams  as  the  blow  descended, 
whilst  with  the  right  he  dealt  him  a 
fearful  blow  on  the  temple,  which 
made  the  Hebrew  stagger.  But 
Hyams,  amongst  his  other  accomplish- 
ments, had  practised  in  the  ring.  He 


recovered  himself  almost  immediately, 
and  rushed  upon  Rogers.  Several 
heavy  hits  were  interchanged ;  and 
there  is  no  saying  how  the  combat 
might  have  terminated,  but  for  the 
presence  of  mind  of  the  Latchley. 
That  gifted  female,  superior  to  the 
weakness  of  her  sex,  caught  up  the 
life-preserver  from  the  ground,  and 
applied  it  so  effectually  to  the  back  of 
Plyams'  skull,  that  he  dropped  like  an 
ox  in  the  slaughter-house. 

Meanwhile  the  alarum  bell  was 
ringing — women  were  screaming  at 
the  windows,  from  which  also  several 
crazy-looking  gentlemen  were  gesti- 
culating ;  and  three  or  four  truculent 
Israelites  were  rushing  through  the 
courtyard.  The  whole  Agapedome 
was  in  an  uproar. 

"Keep  together  anctfear  nothing!" 
cried  Rogers.  "  I  never  stir  on  these 
kind  of  expeditions  without  my 
pistols.  Smith  —  give  your  arm  to 
Miss  Latchley,  who  has  behaved  like 
the  heroine  of  Saragossa  ;  and  now 
let  us  see  if  any  of  these  scoundrels 
will  venture  to  dispute  our  way !  " 

But  for  the  firearms  which  Rogers 
carried,  I  suspect  our  egress  would 
have  been  disputed.  Jonathan  and 
Asahel,  red  -  headed  ruffians  both, 
stood  ready  with  iron  bars  in  their 
hands  to  oppose  our  exit  ;  but  a 
glimpse  of  the  bright  glittering 
barrel  caused  them  to  change  their 
purpose.  Rogers  commanded  them, 
on  pain  of  instant  death,  to  open  the 
door.  They  obeyed  ;  and  we  emerged 
from  the  Agapedome  as  joyfully  as 
the  Ithacans  from  the  cave  of  Poly- 
phemus. Fortunately  the  chaise  was 
still  in  waiting :  we  assisted  Miss 
Latchley  in,  and  drove  off,  as  fast  as 
the  horses  could  gallop,  to  South- 
ampton. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


"Is  it  possible  they  can  have 
murdered  him?  "  said  Jack. 

"That,  I  think,"  said  I,  "  is  highly 
improbable.  I  rather  imagine  that 
he  has  refused  to  conform  to  some  of 
the  rules  of  the  association,  and  has 
been  committed  to  the  custody  of 
Messrs  Jonathan  and  Asahel." 

"Shall  I  ask  Lavinia?"  said 
Rogers.  "  I  daresay  she  would  tell 
me  all  about  it." 


"Better  not,"  said  I,  "in  the 
mean  time.  Poor  thing !  her  nerves 
must  be  shaken." 

"Not  a  whit  of  them,"  replied 
Rogers.  "I  saw  no  symptom  of 
nerves  about  her.  She  was  as  cool 
as  a  cucumber  when  she  floored  that 
infernal  Jew  ;  and  if  she  should  be  a 
little  agitated  or  so,  she  is  calming 
herself  at  this  moment  with  a  glass 
of  brandy  and  water.  I  mixed  it  for 


376 


The  Congress 


her.  Do  you  know  she's  a  capital  fel- 
low, only  'tis  a  pity  she's  so  very  plain." 
"  I  wish  the  police  would  arrive  !  " 
said  Jack.  "  We  have  really  not 
a  minute  to  lose.  Poor  Uncle  Peter  I 
I  devoutly  trust  this  may  be  the 
last  of  his  freaks." 

"I  hope  so  too,  Jack,  for  your 
sake :  it  is  no  joke  rummaging  him 
out  of  such  company.  But  for  Rogers 
there,  we  should  all  of  us  have  been 
as  dead  as  pickled  herrings." 

"I  bear  a  charmed  life,"  said 
Rogers.  "  Remember  I  belong  to 
'  the  Immortals.'  But  there  come  the 
blue- coats  in  a  couple  of  carriages. 
'Gad,  Wilkinson,  I  wish  it  were  our 
luck  to  storm  the  Agapedome  with  a 
score  of  our  own  fellows  !  " 

During  our  drive,  Rogers  enlight- 
ened us  as  to  his  encounter  with  the 
Latchley.  It  appeared  that  he  had 
bestowed  considerable  attention  to 
our  conversation  in  London ;  and 
that,  when  he  hurried  to  the  draw- 
ing-room in  the  Agapedome,  as 
already  related,  he  thought  he  recog- 
nised the  Latchley  at  once,  in  the 
midst  of  half-a-dozen  more  juvenile 
and  blooming  sisters. 

"  Of  course,  I  never  read  a  word 
of  the  woman's  works,"  said  Rogers, 
"  and  I  hope  I  never  shall ;  but  I  know 
that  female  vanity  will  stand  any 
amount  of  butter.  So  I  bolted  into 
the  room,  without  caring  for  the  rest 
— though,  by  the  way,  there  was 
one  little  girl  with  fair  hair  and  blue 
eyes,  who,  I  hope,  has  not  left  the 
Agapedome — threw  myself  at  the  feet 
of  Lavinia;  declared  that  I  was  a 
young  nobleman,  enamoured  of  her 
writings,  who  was  resolved  to  force 
my  way  through  iron  bars  to  gain  a 
glimpse  of  the  bright  original :  and, 
upon  the  whole,  I  think  you  must 
allow  that  I  managed  matters  rather 
successfully." 

There  could  be  but  one  opinion  as 
to  that.  In  fact,  without  Rogers, 
the  whole  scheme  must  have  mis- 
carried. It  was  Kellermann's  charge, 
unexpected  and  unauthorised  —  but 
altogether  triumphant. 

On  arriving  at  the  Agapedome  we 
found  the  door  open,  and  three  or 
four  peasants  loitering  round  the 
gateway. 

"Are  they  here  still?"  cried  Jack, 
springing  from  the  chaise. 


and  the  Ayapedome.  [Sept. 

"  Noa,  measter,"  replied  one  of  the 
bystanders  ;  "  they  be  gone  an  hour 
past  in  four  carrutches,  wi'  all  their 
goods  and  chuckles." 

"  Did  they  carry  any  one  with 
them  by  force  ?  " 

"  Noa,  not  by  force,  as  I  seed ;  but 
there  wore  one  chap  among  them 
woundily  raddled  on  the  sconce." 

"  Hyams  to  wit,  I  suppose.  Come, 
gentlemen ;  as  we  have  a  search- 
warrant,  let  us  in  and  examine  the 
premises  thoroughly." 

Short  as  was  the  interval  which  had 
elapsed  between  our  exit  and  return, 
Messrs  Jonathan,  Asahel,  and  Co. 
had  availed  themselves  of  it  to  the 
utmost.  Every  portable  article  of 
any  value  had  been  removed.  Draw- 
ers were  open,  and  papers  scattered 
over  the  floors,  along  with  a  good 
many  pairs  of  bloomers  rather  the 
worse  for  the  wear :  in  short,  every 
thing  seemed  to  indicate  that  the 
nest  was  finally  abandoned.  What 
curious  discoveries  we  made  during 
the  course  of  our  researches,  as  to  the 
social  habits  and  domestic  economy 
of  this  happy  family,  I  shall  not  ven- 
ture to  recount ;  we  came  there  not 
to  gratify  either  private  or  public 
curiosity,  but  to  perform  a  sacred  duty 
by  emancipating  Mr  Peter  Pettigrew. 
Neither  in  the  cellars  nor  the 
closets,  nor  even  in  the  garrets,  could 
we  find  any  trace  of  the  lost  one. 
The  contents  of  one  bedroom,  indeed, 
showed  that  it  had  been  formerly 
tenanted  by  Mr  Pettigrew,  for  there 
were  his  portmanteaus  with  his  name 
engraved  upon  them  ;  his  razors,  and 
his  wearing  apparel,  all  seemingly  un- 
touched :  but  there  were  no  marks  of 
any  recent  occupancy  ;  the  dust  was 
gathering  on  the  table,  and  the  ewer 
perfectly  dry.  It  was  the  opinion  of 
the  detective  officer  that  at  least  ten 
days  had  elapsed  since  any  one  had 
slept  in  the  room.  Jack  became 
greatly  alarmed. 

"I  suppose,"  said  he,  "there  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  proceed  imme- 
diately in  pursuit  of  Hyams  :  do  you 
think  you  will  be  able  to  apprehend 
him  ?  " 

"I  doubt  it  very  much,  sir," 
replied  the  detective  officer.  "  These 
sort  of  fellows  are  wide  awake,  and 
are  always  prepared  for  accidents.  I 
expect  that,  by  this  time,  he  is  on  his 


1851.] 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapedome. 


377 


way  to  France.    But  hush  ! — what 
was  that  ?  " 

A  dull  sound  as  of  the  clapper  of  a 
large  bell  boomed  overhead.  There 
was  silence  for  about  a  minute,  and 
again  it  was  repeated. 

"  Here  is  a  clue,  at  all  events  ! " 
cried  the  officer.  "  My  life  on  it, 
there  is  some  one  in  the  belfry." 

We  hastened  up  the  narrow  stairs 
which  led  to  the  tower.  Half  way 
up,  the  passage  was  barred  by  a  stout 
door,  double  locked,  which  the  officers 
had  some  difficulty  in  forcing  with  the 
aid  of  a  crow-bar.  This  obstacle  re- 
moved, we  reached  the  lofty  room 
where  the  bell  was  suspended ;  and 
there,  right  under  the  clapper,  on  a 
miserable  truckle  bed,  lay  the  ema- 
ciated form  of  Mr  Pettigrew. 

"  My  poor  uncle  !  "  said  Jack, 
stooping  tenderly  to  embrace  his 
relative,  "  what  can  have  brought  you 
here  ?  " 

"  Speak  louder,  Jack  !  "  said  Mr 
Pettigrew  ;  "  I  can't  hear  you.  For 
twelve  long  days  that  infernal  bell 
has  been  tolling  just  above  my  head 
for  hockey  and  other  villanous  pur- 
poses. I  am  as  deaf  as  a  door- 
nail ! " 

"  And  so  thin,  dear  uncle !  You 
must  have  been  most  shamefully 
abused." 

"  Simply  starved ;  that's  all." 

"  What !  starved  ?  The  monsters  ! 
Did  they  give  you  nothing  to  eat  ?  " 

"  Yes — broccoli.  I  wish  you  would 
try  it  for  a  week  :  it  is  a  rare  thing  to 
bring  out  the  bones." 

"And  why  did  they  commit  this 
outrage  upon  you  ?  " 

"  For  two  especial  reasons,  I  sup- 
pose— first,  because  I  would  not  sur- 
render my  whole  property;  and, 
secondly,  because  I  would  not  marry 
Miss  Latchley." 

"  My  dear  uncle  !  when  I  saw  you 
last,  it  appeared  to  me  that  you  would 
have  had  no  objections  to  perform  the 
latter  ceremony." 

"  Not  on  compulsion,  Jack — not  on 
compulsion ! "  said  Mr  Pettigrew,  with 
a  touch  of  his  old  humour.  "  I  won't 
deny  that  I  was  humbugged  by  her  at 
first,  but  this  was  over  long  ago." 

"Indeed!  Pray,  may  I  venture 
to  ask  what  changed  your  opinion  of 
the  lady?" 

"  Her  works,  Jack — her  own  works ! " 


replied  Uncle  Peter.  "She  gave  me 
them  to  read  as  soon  as  I  was  fairly 
trapped  into  the  Agapedome,  and 
such  an  awful  collection  of  impiety 
and  presumption  I  never  saw  before. 
She  is  ten  thousand  times  worse  than 
the  deceased  Thomas  Paine." 

"Was  she,  then,  party  to  your 
incarceration  ?  " 

"  I  won't  say  that.  I  hardly  think 
she  would  have  consented  to  let  them 
harm  me,  or  that  she  knew  exactly 
how  I  was  used ;  but  that  fellow 
Hyams  is  wicked  enough  to  have  been 
an  officer  under  King  Herod.  Now, 
pray  help  me  up,  and  lift  me  down 
stairs,  for  my  legs  are  so  cramped 
that  I  can't  walk,  and  my  head  is  as 
dizzy  as  a  wheel.  That  confounded 
broccoli,  too,  has  disagreed  with  my 
constitution,  and  I  shall  feel  particu- 
larly obliged  to  any  one  who  can 
assist  me  to  a  drop  of  brandy." 

After  having  ministered  to  the  im- 
mediate wants  of  Mr  Pettigrew,  and 
secured  his  effects,  we  returned  to 
Southampton,  leaving  the  deserted 
Agapedome  in  the  charge  of  a  couple 
of  police.  In  spite  of  every  entreaty 
Mr  Pettigrew  would  not  hear  of  enter- 
ing a  prosecution  against  Hyams. 

"I  feel,"  said  he,  "that  I  have 
made  a  thorough  ass  of  myself;  and 
I  should  not  be  able  to  stand  the  ridi- 
cule that  must  follow  a  disclosure  of 
the  consequences.  In  fact,  I  begin  to 
think  that  I  am  not  fit  to  look  after 
my  own  affairs.  The  man  who  has 
spent  twelve  days,  as  I  have,  under 
the  clapper  of  a  bell,  without  any 
other  sustenance  than  broccoli  —  is 
there  any  more  brandy  in  the  flask  ? 
I  should  like  the  merest  drop — the 
man,  I  say,  who  has  undergone  these 
trials,  has  ample  time  for  meditation 
upon  the  past.  I  see  my  weakness, 
and  I  acknowledge  it.  So  Jack,  my 
dear  boy,  as  you  have  always  behaved 
to  me  more  like  a  son  than  a  nephew, 
I  intend,  immediately  on  my  return 
to  London,  to  settle  my  whole  pro- 
perty upon  you,  merely  reserving  an 
annuity.  Don't  say  a  word  on  the 
subject.  My  mind  is  made  up,  and 
nothing  can  alter  my  resolution." 

On  arriving  at  Southampton  we 
considered  it  our  duty  to  communi- 
cate immediately  with  Miss  Latchley, 
for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  if  we 
could  render  her  any  temporary  assist- 


378 


The  Congress  and  the  Agapcdome. 


[Sept,  1851. 


ance.  Perhaps  it  was  more  than  she 
deserved  ;  but  we  could  not  forget  her 
sex,  though  she  had  done  everything 
in  her  power  to  disguise  it;  and, 
besides,  the  lucky  blpw  with  the  life- 

Seserver,  which  she  administered  to 
yams,  was  a  service  for  which  we 
could  not  be  otherwise  than  grateful. 
Jack  Wilkinson  was  selected  as  the 
medium  of  communication.  He  found 
the  strong  Lavinia  alone,  and  per- 
fectly composed. 

"  I  wish  never  more,"  said  she,  "  to 
hear  the  name  of  Pettigrew.  It  is 
associated  in  my  mind  with  weakness, 
fanaticism,  and  vacillation;  and  I 
shall  ever  feel  humbled  at  the  reflec- 
tion that  I  bowed  my  woman's  pride 
to  gaze  on  the  surface  of  so  shallow 
and  opaque  a  pool !  And  yet,  why 
regret  ?  The  image  of  the  sun  is  re- 
flected equally  from  the  Boeotian 
marsh  and  the  mirror  of  the  clear 
Ontario !  Tell  your  uncle,"  continued 
she,  after  a  pause,  "  that  as  he  is  no- 
thing to  me,  so  I  wish  to  be  nothing 
to  him.  Let  us  mutually  extinguish 
memory.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! — so  they  fed 
him,  you  say,  upon  broccoli? 

"  But  I  have  one  message  to  give, 
though  not  to  him.  The  youth  who, 
in  the  nobility  of  his  soul,  declared 
his  passion  for  my  intellect — where  is 
he  ?  I  tarry  beneath  this  roof  but  for 
him.  Do  my  message  fairly,  and  say 
to  him  that  if  he  seeks  a  communion 
of  soul  —  no !  that  is  the  common 
phrase  of  the  slaves  of  antiquated 
superstition — if  he  yearns  for  a  grand 
amalgamation  of  essential  passion 
and  power,  let  him  hasten  hither,  and 
Lavinia  Latchley  is  ready  to  accom- 
pany him  to  the  prairie  or  the  forest, 


to  the  torrid  zone,  or  to  the  confines 
of  the  arctic  seas !  " 

"  I  shall  deliver  your  message, 
ma'am,"  said  Jack,  "  as  accurately  as 
my  abilities  will  allow."  And  he 
did  so. 

Rogers  of  ours  writhed  uneasily  in 
his  seat.  ' 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  fine 
fellows,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  look  upon 
this  quite  as  a  laughing  matter.  I 
am  really  sorry  to  have  taken  in  the 
old  woman,  though  I  don't  see  how 
we  could  well  have  helped  it ;  and  I 
would  far  rather,  Jack,  that  she  had 
fixed  her  affections  upon  you  than 
on  me.  I  shall  get  infernally  roast- 
ed at  the  mess  if  this  story  should 
transpire.  However,  I  suppose 
there's  only  one  answer  to  be  given. 
Pray,  present  my  most  humble  re- 
spects, and  say  how  exceedingly  dis- 
tressed I  feel  that  my  professional 
engagements  will  not  permit  me  to 
accompany  her  in  her  proposed  expe- 
dition." 

Jack  reported  the  answer  in  due 
form. 

"  Then,"  said  Lavinia,  drawing 
herself  up  to  her  full  height,  and 
shrouding  her  visage  in  a  black  veil, 
"  tell  him  that  for  his  sake  I  am  re- 
solved to  die  a  virgin ! " 

I  presume  she  will  keep  her  word  ; 
at  least  I  have  not  yet  heard  that  any 
one  has  been  courageous  enough  to 
request  her  to  change  her  situation. 
She  has  since  returned  to  America, 
and  is  now,  I  believe,  the  president 
of  a  female  college,  the  students  of 
which  may  be  distinguished  from  the 
rest  of  their  sex,  by  their  uniform 
adoption  of  bloomers. 


Printed  by  William  Blackwood  <$•  Sons,  Edinburgh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBURGH    MAGAZINE. 


No.  CCCCXXXH.  OCTOBER,  1851. 


VOL.  LXX. 


THE    ESSAYS   OF   MR   HELPS. 


THE  writings  which  we  have  set 
down  at  the  foot  of  our  page  have 
been  so  generally  attributed  to  a 
gentleman  of  the  name  of  Helps, 
that,. although  even  the  latest  of  the 
series  is  published  anonymously,  we 
have  ventured  to  ascribe  them  to 
him.  Why  the  author  should  with- 
hold his  name  from  the  title-page 
when  it  has  become  so  currently  as- 
sociated with  his  works,  is  a  matter 
of  personal  taste  with  which,  it  may 
be  said,  .we  have  nothing  to  do.  It 
may  be  genuine  modesty,  or  whim, 
or  caprice,  or  something  bordering  on 
affectation.  "  It  is  his  pleasure." 
We  would  simply  suggest  that,  if  we 
are  to  talk  about  books,  it  is  pleasant 
to  have  some  name  to  which  to  ascribe 
them,  although  it  may  teach  us  no- 
thing more  of  the  author  than  he  had 
chosen  to  reveal  in  his  works :  it  is 
pleasant  to  have  a  name,  and  it  is 
pleasant  also  to  feel  that  we  have  the 
right  one,  to  feel  that  we  speak  with 
certainty  and  security.  If  a  writer 
has  a  motive  for  keeping  his  author- 
ship a  secret,  by  all  means  let  him 
keep  the  secret ;  but  if  publicity  and 
renown  are  not  avoided,  why  may  we 


not  have  that  feeling  of  certainty 
which  the  name  on  the  title-page  can 
alone  give  to  perfect  strangers  ? 

To  us  the  name  gives  no  further 
information  than  the  books  them- 
selves. From  these  we  gather  that  the 
earlier  essays  were  written  by  some 
gentleman  in  office,  who  occupied  the 
intervals  of  business  in  literary  com- 
position ;  and  that  the  later  series 
are  the  production  of  the  same  gen- 
tleman, retired  from  official  cares,  and 
enjoying  in  some  country  retreat  that 
combination — surely  the  most  delight- 
ful which  human  life  presents — of  do- 
mestic joys  with  literary  pursuits. 
We  hope  this  part  of  the  picture  is 
not  merely  a  dramatic  artifice  of  com- 
position. The  retirement  from  official 
duties  has  certainly  been  favourable 
to  the  cultivation  of  literature ;  the 
later  series  are  far  superior  to  the 
former.  His  last  work,  Companions 
of  my  Solitude,  is  a  very  charming 
little  book;  and  its  perusal,  by  in- 
ducing us  to  revert  to  its  predecessors, 
has  led  us  to  this  general  notice  of 
his  writings. 

Mr  Helps  has,  in  his  quiet  way, 
been  somewhat  severe  upon  the  pre- 


1.  Essays  written  in  the  Intervals  of  Business. 

2.  The  Claims  of  Labour ;  an  Essay  on  the  Duties  of  the  Employers  to  the  Employed. 
To  which  is  added  an  Essay  on  the  Means  of  Improving  the  Health,  ^c.,  of  the  Labour- 
ing Classes. 

3.  Friends  in  Council;  a  series  of  Readings,  and  Discourse  thereon. 

4.  Companions  of  my  Solitude. 

5.  The  Conquerors  of  the  New  World  and  their  Bondsmen. 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXII.  2  B 


380 


The  Essays  of  Mr  Helps. 


[Oct. 


sumption  of  the  critics ;  we  hope  we 
shall  not  be  manifesting  any  undue 
or  ungracious  presumption  if  we  take 
notice,  at  the  outset,  of  the  very 
marked  improvement  his  works  ex- 
hibit. There  is  a  steady  progressive 
movement  displayed  in  each  succes- 
sive effort  of  his  pen.  In  the  list 
which  the  reader  has  before  him,  and 
in  which  the  works  are  set  down  in 
their  order  of  publication,  each  one  is 
conspicuously  in  advance  of  its  pre- 
decessor. The  second  is  better  than 
the  first,  the  third  better  than  the 
second,  and  the  fourth  best  of  all. 
There  has  been  a  still  later  publica- 
tion, The  Conquerors  of  the  New 
World  and  their  Bondsmen;  but  of 
this  only  one  volume  has  hitherto 
appeared.  It  is  a  historical  work,  and 
does  not  run  on  the  same  line  with 
the  others.  So  far  as  we  can  at  pre- 
sent judge  of  it,  we  are  afraid  that  it 
would  form  something  like  an  anti- 
climax. We  shall  therefore  take  ad- 
vantage of  its  unfinished  state  to  dis- 
miss it  at  once  out  of  court.  This 
steady  progress  we  have  noticed  is  a 
rather  unusual  characteristic.  At 
least  in  our  own  epoch,  men  have 
more  frequently  given  us  of  their 
abundance  in  their  first  or  their 
second  work,  and  have  put  us  off 
with  scantier  measure  in  their  subse- 
quent dealings  with  the  public.  With 
Mr  Helps  it  has  been  otherwise  :  his 
last  work  is  the  most  thoughtful ;  and 
if  he  retains  the  habits  of  a  student, 
and  is  disposed  to  literary  labour,  we 
may  confidently  expect  from  him  pro- 
ductions still  more  excellent  than 
anything  he  has  given  us.  We  do 
not  think,  however,  that  he  will  sur- 
pass himself  by  turning  to  history. 
We  should  petition  for  a  second  series 
of  Companions  of  my  Solitude. 

The  first  work  on  our  list,  the 
Essays  written  in  Intervals  of  Business, 
has  no  attractions  for  us  whatever. 
It  is  full  of  good  advice,  which  no 
one  will  gainsay,  and  no  one  will  ever 
think  of  applying;  and  of  general 
truths,  so  very  true,  and  so  very  ge- 
neral, that  they  are  worth  nothing. 
These  essays  seemed  to  be  written  for 
no  definite  purpose;  they  have  the 
air  of  themes,  very  carefully  com- 
posed out  of  pure  love,  and  for  the 
practice,  of  composition.  Very  cor- 
rect is  our  official  author,  very  formal 


and  precise,  and  has  an  excessive 
love  for  giving  good  counsels.  He 
says,  shrewdly  enough,  that  "it  is 
with  advice  as  with  taxation ;  we  can 
endure  very  little  of  either,  if  they 
come  to  us  in  a  direct  way."  But 
this  does  not  check  him  for  a  moment ; 
he  goes  on  to  give  advice  about  this 
very  matter  of  advice,  telling  folks 
where  and  how  they  may  get  it. 
Throughout  this  little  volume  there 
does  not  seem  to  be  a  single  sentence 
that  would  provoke  dispute,  and,  as  a 
consequence,  not  a  single  sentence  of 
any  real  utility.  As  we  are  passing 
in  review  the  whole  of  Mr  Helps' 
works,  we  are  compelled  to  say  thus 
much  of  his  earliest  production.  But 
we  say  it  without  the  least  asperity. 
We  should  not  have  gone  out  of  our 
way  to  speak  a  word  in  disparagement 
of  these  essays.  Mr  Helps  has  writ- 
ten and  thought  in  so  much  more 
effective  manner  since  their  publica- 
tion, that  he  would  probably  now 
agree  with  us  that  many  of  them 
should  have  been  treated  as  college 
exercises — themes  that  we  turn  into 
Johnsonian  English,  or  Ciceronian 
Latin,  and  there  leave.  Practice  is 
an  excellent  thing  in  composition,  as 
well  as  in  music  ;  but  it  is  not  agree- 
able to  listen  to  the  do,  re,  mi,  fa  of 
the  finest  voice  in  the  world. 

The  Claims  of  Labour,  and  the  ac- 
companying essay  on  the  improve- 
ment of  the  condition  of  the  poor, 
have  a  direct  and  serious  object,  and 
this  at  once  raises  them  into  a  far 
higher  character  than  their  predeces- 
sors. Here  the  author  writes  for  a 
purpose,  and  a  very  excellent  purpose. 
If  we  do  not  dwell  long  on  these 
essays,  it  is  because  the  subjects  of 
them  have  at  other  times  occupied 
our  attention,  and  will  again  be  fre- 
quently discussed  in  our  pages.  Mr 
Helps,  however,  has  the  merit  of  call- 
ing public  attention  to  the  condition 
of  the  poor,  and  especially  to  the  state 
of  their  dwelling-houses,  at  a  time 
when  the  subject  had  not  become 
quite  so  familiar  to  men's  minds  as  it 
is  at  present.  The  Report  upon  the 
Health  of  Towns  had  been  lately 
published,  and  he  was  amongst  the 
first  to  extend  -the  information  col- 
lected by  it,  and  to  insist  upon  the 
measures  which  it  pointed  out.  The 
relation,  too,  which  the  employers 


1851.]  The  Essays 

bear  to  those  they  employ,  whether 
as  domestic  servants  or  paid  artisans, 
is  a  subject  which  has  lately  risen  up 
before  us  in  all  its  vital  importance ; 
and  even  a  little  "  moral  preachment" 
on  the  topic  was  not  altogether  out  of 
place.  We  like  that  fine  sense  which 
Mr  Helps,  on  more  than  one  occasion, 
displays,  of  the  consideration  dne  to 
the  domestic  servant  who  is  living 
under  your  roof.  A  very  galling 
tyranny  may  be  exercised  by  ladies 
and  gentlemen. 

"  Only  think,"  he  says,  "  what  it  must 
be  to  share  one's  home  with  one's  op- 
pressor ;  to  have  no  recurring  time  when 
one  is  certain  to  be  free  from  those  harsh 
words  and  unjust  censures,  which  are  al- 
most more  than  blows,  ay,  even  to  those 
natures  we  are  apt  to  fancy  so  hardened 
to  rebuke.  Imagine  the  deadness  of  heart 
ihat  must  prevail  in  that  poor  wretch 
who  never  hears  the  sweet  words  of 
praise  or  of  encouragement.  Many  mas- 
ters of  families,  men  living  in  the  rapid 
current  of  the  world,  who  are  subject  to 
a  variety  of  impressions  which,  in  their 
busy  minds,  are  made  and  effaced  even 
in  the  course  of  a  single  day,  can  with 
difficulty  estimate  the  force  of  unkind 
words  upon  those  whose  monotonous  life 
leaves  few  opportunities  of  effacing  any 
unwelcome  impressions." 

Still  more  important  is  it  that  the 
capitalist,  the  great  employer  of  la- 
bour, should  understand  how  great  a 
power,  and,  with  it,  how  great  a  trust 
is  confided  into  his  hands. 

"  Can  a  man,"  says  our  author,  "  who 
has  this  destiny  intrusted  to  him,  imagine 
that  his  vocation  consists  merely  in  get- 
ting together  a  large  lump  of  gold,  and 
then  being  off  with  it  to  enjoy  it,  as  he 
fancies,  in  some  other  place ;  as  if,  indeed, 
the  parable  of  the  talents  were  to  be  taken 
literally,  and  that  a  man  should  think 
that  he  has  done  his  part  when  he  has 
made  much  gold  and  silver  out  of  little  ? " 

And  he  adds,  that  men  in  this 
position  of  life  would,  in  the  skilful 
direction  and  humane  supervision  of 
labour,  "find  room  for  the  exercise 
of  all  the  powers  of  their  minds,  of 
their  best  affections,  and  of  whatever 
was  worthy  in  their  ambition." 

Nor  do  those  who  indirectly  em- 
ploy labour  by  purchasing  articles, 
and  giving  commissions,  escape  from 
all  responsibility  in  this  matter ;  nor 
does  our  author  fail  to  visit  them  with 
a  due  measure  of  reproof. 


of  Mr  Helps. 


381 


"  What  a  striking  instance,"  he  says, 
"  the  treatment  of  these  poor  milliner 
girls  is  of  the  neglect  of  duty  on  the  part 
of  employers  !  I  mean  of  those  who  im- 
mediately superintend  this  branch  of 
labour,  and  of  those  who  cause  it.  Had 
the  former  been  the  least  aware  of  their 
responsibility,  would  they  have  hesitated 
to  remonstrate  against  the  unreasonable 
orders  of  their  customers  ?  And  as  for 
the  latter,  for  the  ladies  who  expect  such 
orders  to  be  complied  with,  how  sublimely 
inconsiderate  of  the  comfort  of  those 
beneath  them  they  must  have  become. 
I  repeat  it  again  :  The  careless  cruelty  in 
the  world  almost  outweighs  the  rest." 

The  subject  of  the  second  essay  is 
of  a  practical  importance  that  scarcely 
admits  of  exaggeration.  When  mul- 
titudes are  crowded  together,  the 
dwelling-houses  of  the  poor,  the  ven- 
tilation and  drainage  of  the  city,  be- 
come matters  of  the  most  momentous 
consequence.  Foul  air,  foul  habits  of 
living,  have  been  the  source  of  all  our 
plagues,  our  choleras,  our  typhus 
fevers,  our  pestilences  of  every  de- 
scription. There  never  was  any  other 
source  for  these  scourges  of  man's 
indolence  or  cupidity.  There  never 
was  a  plague  that  had  any  other 
origin  than  dirt  and  idleness,  and  the 
injustice  that  treads  down  into  the 
dirt.  However  such  plagues  have 
been  propagated  when  they  have 
once  reached  their  dreadful  maturity, 
this  is  their  only  origin.  You  must 
look  into  the  alleys  and  wynds  of 
Constantinople  if  you  would  know 
why  the  plague  has  ever  travelled  to 
us  from  the  East :  it  originated  there, 
just  as  the  British  cholera  rises  upon 
us,  the  natural  exhalation  of  filth  and 
impurity.  Mr  Helps  seems  to  be 
occasionally  embarrassed  by  some 
presumed  objection  to  the  interference 
of  Government  in  these  sanitary  mea- 
sures. We  have  heard  some  outcries, 
more  or  less  sincere,  against  the  cen- 
tralisation which  certain  measures 
adopted  by  the  Legislature  have  been 
thought  to  favour.  The  machinery 
which  the  Legislature  had  employed 
has  been  objected  to ;  and  it  has  been 
said  that  our  local  or  municipal  go- 
vernments ought  to  be  more  largely 
intrusted  or  empowered.  But  we 
never  heard  that  any  sane  man  had 
objected  to  the  fact  of  legislation 
itself  being  applied  to  what  is  really 
a  matter  of  life  or  death  to  the  com- 


382 


The  Essays  of  Mr  Helps. 


[Oct. 


munity.  We  can  hardly  believe  that 
anj' one  could  be  so  utterly  witless  and 
besotted  as  to  think  this  a  properocca- 
sionfor  exercising  his  jealousy  against 
the  interference  of  Government.  It  is 
quite  true  that  there  is  a  class  of  cases 
where  the  end  is  most  desirable,  and 
where  yet  that  interference  is  depre- 
cated. And  why  ?  Because  legisla- 
tion cannot  accomplish  the  end  pro- 
posed.  To  secure  to  each  man  a  fair 
remuneration  for  his  labour  would 
be  infinitely  desirable.  Government 
ought  to  do  it — if  it  could.  But  it 
cannot ;  and  therefore  it  is  we 
oppose  any  legislative  attempt  to 
regulate  the  rate  of  wages.  The 
attempt  would  only  aggravate  the 
mischief  it  sought  to  remedy. 

Where  there  is  a  good  end  to  be 
attained,  which  cannot  be  secured  by 
separate  and  individual  effort,  and 
which  can  be  attained  by  an  effort  of 
the  national  will  through  the  organs 
of  Government,  there  you  have  made 
out  an  indisputable  case  for  the  inter- 
ference of  the  Legislature.  It  is  not  a 
good  end  if  it  be  not  worth  the  costly 
or  cumbrous  machinery  }rou  put  in 
motion  to  accomplish  it.  In  that  case 
it  is  a  slight  and  trivial  object.  Now, 
great  sanitary  measures  answer  en- 
tirely to  the  criterion  we  have  given ; 
they  are  of  indisputable  utility,  worth 
any  conceivable  cost.  The  object  to  be 
attained  is  one  which  requires  co- 
operation, which  cannot  be  attained 
by  separate  and  voluntary  efforts; 
and  it  is  one  within  the  scope  and 
power  of  legislation.  u  The  Athenian 
in  the  comedy,"  writes  Mr  Helps, 
"  wearied  of  Avar,  concludes  a  sepa- 
rate peace  with  the  enemy  for  himself, 
his  wife,  his  children,  and  his  ser- 
vant." But  it  is  only  in  the  comedy 
that  such  a  separate  peace  is  possible. 
And  it  would  be  a  still  grosser  fiction 
that  would  represent  any  one  of  our 
citizens,  buried  in  the  living  mass  of 
a  town  population,  making  a  private 
treaty  against  foul  air  and  filthy 
drainage,  for  himself,  his  wife,  his 
children,  and  his  servant.  If  his 
neighbour  can  make  money  by  poison- 
ing the  air,  or  if  he  has  but  a  sense- 
less or  depraved  nostril,  the  whole 
district  must  suffer. 

Friends  in  Council,  a  Series  of 
Headings  and  Discourse  thereon, 
lias  more  of  original  matter  than 


either  of  its  predecessors ;  and  the 
device  adopted  of  interspersing  ficti- 
tious conversation  with  the  essays, 
gives  relief  and  variety  to  the  com- 
position. The  author,  who  takes  the 
name  of  Milverton,  is  supposed  to 
read  his  several  papers  before  his 
friends — Dunsford,  a  clergyman — and 
Ellesmere,  a  barrister.  After  the  essay 
a  conversation  ensues  either  on  the 
subject  of  it,  or  on  some  other  topic 
which  it  may  have  suggested,  and 
which  is  not  always  very  closely  con- 
nected with  the  essay.  We  notice 
that,  when  the  "  Reading  "  has  been 
rather  dull,  the  "Discourse,"  by  a 
just  compensation,  is  more  sprightly 
than  usual.  Thus  the  attention  of 
the  reader  is  never  allowed  to  flag  for 
any  length  of  time ;  although  here 
also  it  is  sometimes  tried  by  that 
theme-like  writing  we  have  spoken* 
of  before.  Essays  on  "  Truth,"  on 
"  Greatness,"  have  a  very  formidable 
aspect.  He  who  has  anything  of  his 
own  on  topics  like  these  should  tell  it 
us  at  once,  and  with  as  little  prefa- 
tory or  formal  matter  as  possible. 
We  do  not  want  the  whole  skeleton 
of  an  essay  for  one  single  pound  of 
flesh.  Here  is  "  An  Essay  upon 
History,"  which  does  not  occupy  a 
very  long  space,  but  where  we  have 
the  subject  laid  out  in  regular  sec- 
tions. 1 .  Why  History  should  be  read ; 
2.  How  History  should  be  read ;  3.  By 
whom  History  should  be  written ;  and 
so  forth.  Why,  it  is  dreary  as  land- 
measuring.  All  this  superficial  mea- 
surement, so  many  acres  of  bog,  so 
many  of  pasture,  we  could  willingly 
dispense  with.  If  you  have  any  edible 
root,  or  but  a  wild-flower  gathered 
from  a  hedge,  give  us  that,  and  give 
it  at  once.  One  is  not  to  survey  a 
whole  district  every  time  one  digs  out 
a  potato. 

The  character  of  Ellesmere  is  well 
sustained  throughout  the  conversa- 
tions ;  it  is  quite  a  life-like  and 
dramatic  sketch.  He  talks  neither 
better  nor  worse  than  many  a  clear- 
headed barrister  of  Westminster 
Hall.  Under  a  glittering  hardness 
of  manner  he  retains  kind  feelings  and 
genuine  convictions.  Such  men  as 
Ellesmere  every  one  has  encountered. 
They  repel  you  at  first  by  their  flip- 
pancy, their  boundless  impudence  of 
assertion,  and  their  perpetual  air  of 


1851.] 


The  Essays  of  Mr  Helps. 


383 


mockery  and  derision :  you  think 
they  have  neither  love  for  anything, 
nor  faith  in  anything  ;  but,  on  closer 
acquaintance,  they  are  found  really 
to  have  a  heart  under  that  jingling 
coat  of  mail  which  they  carry  over  it. 
Let  us  give  a  specimen  of  the  lighter 
manner  of  Ellesmere.  An  Essay  on 
Education  has  been  read. 

"  Ellesmere. — You  have  been  unex- 
pectedly merciful  to  us.  The  moment  I 
heard  the  essay  given  out,  there  flitted 
before  my  frightened  mind  volumes  of 
reports,  Battersea  schools,  Bell,  Wilder- 
spin,  normal  farms,  National  Society, 
British  schools,  interminable  questions 
about  how  religion  might  be  separated 
altogether  from  secular  education,  or  so 
much  religion  taught  as  all  religious 
sects  could  agree  in.  These  are  all  very 
good  things  for  people  to  discuss,  I  dare 
say;  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  whole 
subject  sits  heavy  on  my  soul.  I  meet  a 
man  of  inexhaustible  dulness,  and  he 
talks  to  me  for  three  hours  upon  same 
great  subject — this  very  one  of  education, 
for  instance — till  I  sit  entranced  by  stu- 
pidity, thinking  the  while,  '  And  this  is 
what  we  are  to  become  by  education — 
to  be  like  you  \ '  Then  I  see  a  man  like 
D ,  a  judicious,  reasonable,  conver- 
sable being,  knowing  how  to  be  silent 
too — a  man  to  go  through  a  campaign 
with — and  I  find  he  cannot  read  or  write. 

"  Milverton,— This  sort  of  contrast  is 
just  the  thing  to  strike  you,  Ellesmere  ; 
and  yet  you  know  as  well  as  any  of  us, 
that  to  bring  forward  such  contrasts  by 
way  of  depreciating  education  would  be 
most  unreasonable.  .  ,  . 

"  Ellesmere. — I  wanted  to  tell  you 
that  I  think  you  are  quite  right,  Milver- 
ton, in  saying  a  good  deal  about  multi- 
fariousness  of  pursuit.  Yon  see  a  wretch 
of  a  pedant,  who  knows  all  about  tetra- 
meter?, cr  statutes  of  uses,  but  who  can 
hardly  answer  his  child  a  question  as 
they  walk  about  the  garden  together. 
The  man  has  never  given  a  good  thought 
or  look  to  nature.  Well  then,  again, 
what  a  stupid  thing  it  is  that  we  are  not 
all  taught  music.  Why  learn  the  lan- 
guage of  many  portions  of  mankind,  and 
leave  the  universal  language  of  the  feel- 
ings, as  you  would  call  it,  unlearnt  ! 

"Milverton. — I  quite  agree  with  you; 
but  I  thought  you  always  set  your  face, 
or  rather  your  ears,  against  music. 

"  Dunsford.—So  did  I. 

"Ellesmere. — I  should  like  to  know 
all  about  it.  It  is  not  to  my  mind  that 
a  cultivated  man  should  be  quite  thrown 
out  by  any  topic  of  conversation,  or  that 
there  should  be  any  form  of  human  en- 


deavour or  accomplishment  which  he  has 
no  conception  of." 

In  the  quotation  we  shall  next 
give,  it  is  the  good  sense  of  Milver- 
ton which  perhaps  takes  the  lead. 
The  Essay  has  been  on  Public  Im- 
provements, and  this  is  part  of  the 
conversation  which  ensues  : — 

"  Ellesmere. — Another  very  merciful 
essay  !  When  we  had  once  got  upon  the 
subject  of  sanitary  improvements,!  thought 
we  should  soon  be  five-fathom  deep  in 
blue  books,  reports,  interminable  ques- 
tions of  sewerage,  and  horrors  of  all 
kinds. 

"  Milverton  .—It  would  be  diflScult  to 
say  too  much  about  sanitary  matters — 
that  is,  if  by  saying  much  one  could  gain 
attention.  I  am  convinced  that  the  most 
fruitful  source  of  physical  evil  to  man- 
kind has  been  impure  air,  arising  from 
circumstances  which  might  have  been 
obviated.  Plague  and  pestilence  of  all 
kinds — cretinism,  too,  and  all  scrofulous 
disorders— are  probably  mere  questions- 
of  ventilation. 

"  Ellesmere.  —  Seriously  speaking,  I 
quite  agree  with  you.  And  what  de- 
lights me  in  sanitary  improvements  is, 
that  they  can  hardly  do  harm.  Give  a 
poor  man  good  air,  and  you  do  not  dimi- 
nish his  self-reliance.  You  only  add  to 
his  health  and  vigour — make  more  of  a 
man  of  him.  ....  There  is  an 
immensity  of  nonsense  uttered  about 
making  people  happy,  which  is  to  be 
done,  according  to  happiness-mongers, 
by  quantities  of  sugar  and  tea,  and  such- 
like things.  One  knows  the  importance 
of  food,  but  there  is  no  Elysium  to  be 
got  out  of  it. 

" Milcerton. — I  know  what  you  mean. 
Suppose  you  could  give  them  oceans  of 
tea  and  mountains  of  sugar,  and  abun- 
dance of  any  luxury  that  you  choose  to 
imagine,  but  at  the  same  time  you  in- 
serted a  hungry,  envious  spirit ;  and  then 
what  have  you  done?  .  .  .  You  do 
not  know  what  injury  you  may  do  a  man, 
when  you  destroy  all  reverence  in  him. 
It  icill  be  found  out  some  day  that  men 
derive  more  pleasure  and  profit  from  hav- 
ing superiors  than  from  having  inferiors. 

To  come  to  minor  matters. 

It  is  a  great  pity  that  the  system  of 
building  upon  leases  should  be  so  com- 
monly adopted.  Nobody  expects  to  live 
out  the  leasehold  term  Avhich  he  takes  to 
build  upon.  C.  always  says  that  the 
modern  lath-and-plaster  system  is  a 
wickedness;  and  upon  my  word  I  think 
he  is  right.  It  is  inconceivable  to  me 
how  a  man  can  make  up  his  mind  to 
build,  or  do  anything  else,  in  a  temporary, 


384 


The  Essays 


slight,  insincere  fashion.  What  has  a 
man  to  say  for  himself  who  must  sum  up 
the  doings  of  his  life  in  this  way,  'I 
chiefly  employed  myself  in  making  and 
selling  things  which  seemed  to  be  good, 
and  were  not,  and  nobody  has  occasion 
to  bless  me  for  anything  I  have  done '  ? 

" Ellesmere. — Humph!  you  put  it  mild- 
ly. But  the  man  has  made,  perhaps,  seven 
per  cent  of  his  money;  or,  if  he  has  made 
no  per  cent,  he  has  ruined  several  men  of 
his  own  trade,  which  is  not  to  go  for 
nothing  when  a  man  is  taking  stock  of 
his  good  deeds." 

Recreation  is  a  favourite  subject 
with  our  author.  We  have  an  essay 
on  it  here.  He  is  very  solicitous 
that  amusement  should  be  found  for 
the  people :  our  own  notion  is  that 
people  will  best  amuse  themselves, 
and  that  it  would  be  the  hardest  thing 
in  the  world  to  attempt  to  do  this 
for  them.  However,  there  are  many 
good  things  on  this  subject  in  Mr 
Helps's  Essay. 

"  If  ever  a  people,"  he  says,  "  required 
to  be  amused,  it  is  we  sad-hearted  Anglo- 
Saxons.  Heavy  eaters,  hard  thinkers, 
often  given  up  to  a  peculiar  melancholy 
of  our  own,  with  a  climate  that,  for 
months  together,  would  frown  away 
mirth  if  it  could— many  of  us  with 
very  gloomy  thoughts  about  our  here- 
after :  if  ever  there  were  a  people  who 
should  avoid  increasing  their  dulness 
by  all  work  and  no  play,  we  are  that 
people.  <  They  took  their  pleasure 
sadly,'  says  Froissart,  '  after  their 
fashion.'  We  need  not  ask  of  what 
nation  Froissart  was  speaking." 

See  that  Dutchman,  how  lumpish, 
how  very  fat  he  gets— he  is  the  very 
person  who  ought  to  dance,  and 
he  stands  looking  on.  But  your 
Dutchman  does  not  want  to  dance. 
Foreigners  marvel  how  Englishmen 
can  spend  their  Sunday  as  they  do — 
so  very  monotonously,  as  it  seems — 
they  have  no  idea  how  very  agree- 
able mere  rest  is  to  the  man  who 
has  been  energetically  occupied  the 
whole  week.  "  All  work,  and  no 
play,"  sounds  very  terrible ;  but  ask 
any  man  when  he  has  been  most 
happy,  and  he  will  tell  you,  when 
he  was  absorbed  in  his  work,  when 
play  would  have  been  a  mere 
hindrance,  when  the  mere  pleasure 
of  ^  relieved  attention,  or  of  quick 
animal  movement  after  one  con- 


ofMr  Helps.  [Oct. 

strained  position,  was  all  the  amuse- 
ment he  could  have  welcomed.  Work 
is  the  greatest  pleasure  we  have — 
while  it  is  the  predominant  habit, 
and  no  longer.  Remember  this, 
you  busy  philanthropists. 

The  subject  of  slavery  occupies  a 
very  prominent  place  ;  several  conse- 
cutive Readings  are  devoted  to  it. 
The  whole  is  brought  to  bear  upon 
the  existence  of  negro  slavery  in  the 
southern  states  of  America.  Mr 
Helps  combats  every  excuse  that  has 
been  brought  forward  in  its  defence, 
and  argues  that  it  is  as  needless  as  it 
is  cruel  and  unjust. 

We  ourselves  will  not  for  a  moment 
attempt  to  justify  what  is  plainly 
opposed  to  the  fundamental  laws  of 
morality.  We  would  beg  leave 
simply  to  suggest  that  these  great 
laws  of  morality  present  us  with  a 
model  of  human  conduct  to  which  it 
is  to  be  hoped  human  societies  will 
one  day  attain.  But  human  societies, 
in  the  course  of  this  progress,  cannot 
be  altogether  governed  by  such  rules. 
A  perfect  morality  is  the  last  thing  to 
be  realised.  The  law  of  progress 
being  assumed,  it  is  necessary  that 
humanity  should  pass  through  many 
phases  by  no  means  reconcilable  to 
the  pure  laws  of  morality.  Such  are 
all  Roman  empires,  all  Indian  con- 
quests, all  colonisations  where  the 
hunting- field  of  the  aborigines  is  con- 
verted into  a  corn-field,  and  the 
native  inhabitants  driven  back  and 
exterminated,  and  perhaps  many 
other  achievements  and  institutions 
of  human  societies  which  are  not  even 
suspected  at  present  of  having  any 
taint  of  immorality. 

Touching  this  very  subject  of 
slavery,  we  see  that  in  early  and  pa- 
triarchal times  it  was  the  necessary 
form  which  the  relation  took  between 
the  owner  of  land  or  flocks  and  his 
labourer.  It  is  here  the  natural 
predecessor  of  our  present  system  of 
payment  by  wages.  Money  payment 
of  wages,  it  is  plain,  could  have  no 
place  till  money  was  in  general  use — 
till  markets  had  been  formed  —  till 
something  of  trade  and  commerce 
had  been  established.  In  earliest 
times  the  landlord  must  pay  his 
labourer  by  supplying  him  with  food 
and  clothing.  But  the  labourer  could 
not  save  up  his  food  for  the  period 


1851.] 


The  Essays  of  Mr  Helps. 


385 


of  old  age  or  the  days  of  sickness. 
Presuming,  therefore,  that  the  owner 
of  land  or  flocks  was  to  keep  posses- 
sion of  his  property,  that  arrange- 
ment which  we  denominate  slavery 
was  the  only  equitable  one  which 
could  be  made.  If  the  wealthy 
patriarch  were  to  say  to  his  labourer, 
I  will  feed  and  clothe  you  so  long  as 
you  are  willing  to  serve  me,  and  do 
serve  me,  the  result  would  be,  that  in 
sickness  and  in  old  age  the  labourer 
would  be  utterly  destitute.  The  only 
fair  bargain  that  could  be  made  was 
just  this,  to  buy  the  labour  of  the 
man  for  his  whole  life,  by  sustaining 
him  for  his  whole  life.  The  labourer 
must  become  his  bondsman. 

There  is  also  another  origin  of 
slavery  odious  enough — that  of  war. 
Here  the  captive  is  only  spared  from 
death  to  be  made  an  unwilling  drudge 
for  life.  Slavery  may  then  become 
one  of  the  most  terrible  curses  and 
crimes  of  a  community.  We  merely 
point  out  that  there  is  a  state  of 
society  in  which  it  is  inevitable. 
With  the  introduction  of  commerce 
better  forms  of  relationship  between 
landlord  and  labourer  become  pos- 
sible, and  are,  or  ought  to  be, 
adopted. 

Now,  reverting  to  the  case  before 
us  of  the  southern  states  of  America, 
we  presume  that  an  advocate  of  their 
cause  would  urge  that,  owing  to  the 
simplicity  and  ignorance  of  the  black 
population,  and  their  careless  and 
improvident  character,  the  system  of 
paying  for  labour  by  wages  would  be 
as  inapplicable  here  as  in  those  early 
and  patriarchal  times  we  have  been 
alluding  to.  Here,  also,  the  best 
forms  of  the  bargain  for  both  parties 
would  be  to  buy  the  labour  of  the 
man  for  his  whole  life,  by  taking  care 
of  him  for  his  whole  life.' 

We  do  not  acquiesce  in  this  rea- 
soning ;  at  the  same  time  we  are 
ready  to  admit  that  it  requires  a 
more  intimate  knowledge  of  the  negro 
population  than  we  can  possibly  pos- 
sess, to  determine  how  far  it  ought  to 
carry  conviction.  But  presuming 
that  it  is  a  fair  defence,  there  can  be 
surely  no  doubt  that  it  would  be  most 
desirable  to  cultivate  a  provident  and 
reflective  character  in  the  negro,  so  far 
as  this  can  be  done  during  the  con- 
tinuance of  slavery,  in  order  that  a 


better  system  may  be  introduced. 
That  slavery  brings  with  it  a  terrible 
abuse  of  power,  must  be  admitted  by 
every  one.  Granting,  therefore,  that 
no  better  form  of  relationship  could 
at  present  be  established  between 
landlord  and  labourer,  it  must  be 
infinitely  desirable  to  prepare  the 
way  for  a  better.  Here  it  is  that  we 
take  up  the  controversy  against  the 
planters.  Instead  of  doing  their  best 
to  prepare  the  negro  population  for  a 
better  system,  (which,  if  once  esta- 
blished, would  be  to  their  own  advan- 
tage as  well,)  they  do  their  utmost  to 
oppose  the  education  of  the  slave, 
which  is  the  only  means  of  prepara- 
tion they  have  in  their  power.  In 
some  provinces  to  educate  a  slave  is 
treated  as  a  criminal  act ;  but  doubt- 
less there  are  very  different  laws  and 
customs  amongst  different  states  and 
different  masters.  It  is  here,  how- 
ever, that  we  join  issue  with  the 
planters.  We  do  not  like,  and  do 
not  call  for,  sudden  changes ;  we  have 
always  sought  to  allay  rather  than 
to  excite  the  popular  agitation  of  this 
topic.  If  the  existing  system  is  the 
only  one  at  present  practicable,  we 
m  list,  of  force,  accept  it.  We  shall 
not  tell  the  planter,  in  the  high  vein 
of  certain  moralists — if  you  and  your 
white  brethren  cannot  cultivate  this 
soil  without  slave-labour,  go  to  some 
other  soil  and  to  some  other  climate. 
Such  high  heroic  maxims  of  moral- 
ity, which  we  have  not  to  practise 
ourselves,  it  is  of  very  little  use  to 
preach  to  others.  But  we  do  say 
that,  by  opposing  the  education  of 
the  slave,  the  planters  are  render- 
ing all  but  impossible  that  gradual 
change  from  one  system  to  the 
other,  which  would  be  so  much  for 
the  benefit  of  both  parties.  The 
ignorance  of  the  slave  may  keep  him 
unfit  for  manumission,  but  it  will  not 
secure  him  from  the  access  of  passion, 
and  from  sudden  or  violent  attempts 
to  obtain  his  liberty. 

Mr  Helps  takes  some  pains  to 
show  that  the  negro  is  of  the  same 
species  as  the  white  man.  What  if 
he  were  not?  What  if  the  black 
population  of  Africa  sprang  originally 
from  a  different  stock — their  resem- 
blance to  ourselves  would  not  be  the 
less  on  this  account.  We  are  far 
from  wishing  to  throw  the  least  doubt 


386 


The  Essays  of  Mr  Helps. 


[Oct. 


upon  the  question ;  we  would  merely 
observe,  that  the  advocate  of  per- 
manent slavery,  if  such  there  be, 
would  gain  nothing  by  his  doctrine  of 
races.  The  negro  is  a  man,  just  as 
certainly  whether  you  call  him  a 
variety  or  a  new  species.  The  differ- 
ence between  him  and  ourselves  is 
neither  greater  nor  less  ;  the  bond  of 
brotherhood  is  the  same. 

We  pass  on  somewhat  rapidly,  that 
we  may  reserve  space  for  the  last, 
and  in  our  opinion  the  far  most  in- 
teresting, of  Mr  Helps's  essays.  In 
the  Companions  of  my  Solitude,  we  at 
length  take  leave  entirely  of  that 
formal,  precept-giving  manner,  which 
we  cannot  but  think  must  have  had 
some  connection  with  the  official 
state  and  character  of  our  author. 
He  now  comes  before  us  as  the 
retired  student  and  meditative  man. 
He  saunters  through  the  woods  or  over 
the  downs,  revolving  the  hard  pro- 
blems of  social  philosophy.  He  is 
accompanied  only  by  his  thoughts  ; 
and  these,  which  are  the  companions 
of  his  solitude,  he  gives  us  in  an  easy 
unrestrained  manner.  He  has  be- 
come an  erring  and  perplexed  mortal, 
like  one  of  ourselves,  and  therefore 
has  become  instructive ;  he  is  open 
to  dispute,  and  therefore  suggests  and 
teaches  something.  There  is  but  one 
way  of  being  always  correct,  and 
agreeing  with  everybody ;  itc  is  to 
say  nothing  that  can  be  of  possible 
use  to  any  one.  Mr  Helps  closes  his 
volume  with  a  chapter  on  the  "  art  of 
leaving  off,"  and  evidently  flatters 
himself  that  he  has  practised  the  art 
to  perfection  in  the  present  instance. 
But  if  there  be  such  a  thing  as  leav- 
ing off  too  soon,  Mr  Helps  has  not 
been  so  successful  as  he  imagines.  He 
leaves  off  here  a  great  deal  too  soon. 

"  When  in  the  country,"  it  is  thus  the 
book  opens,  "I  live  much  alone  ;  and  as 
I  wander  over  downs  and  commons,  and 
through  lanes  with  lofty  hedges,  many 
thoughts  come  into  my  mind.  I  find,  too, 
the  same  ones  come  again  and  again, 
and  are  spiritual  companions.  At  times 
they  insist  upon  being  with  me,  and  are 
resolutely  intrusive.  I  think  I  will  de- 
scribe them,  that  so  I  may  have  more 
mastery  over  them 

"  I  think  often  of  the  hopes  of  the  race 
here,  of  what  is  to  become  of  our  western 
civilisation,  and  what  can  be  made  of  it. 
Others  may  pursue  science  or  art,  and  I 


long  to  do  so  too  ;  but  I  cannot  help 
thinking  of  the  state  and  fortune  of 
large  masses  of  mankind,  and  hoping 
that  thought  may  do  something  for  them. 
After  all  my  cogitations,  my  mind  gene- 
rally returns  to  one  thing,  the  education 
of  the  people.  For  want  of  general  cul- 
tivation, Jioio  much  individual  excellence 
is  crippled.  Of  what  avail,  for  example, 
is  it  for  any  one  of  us  to  have  surmounted 
any  social  terror,  or  any  superstition, 
while  his  neighbours  lie  sunk  in  it.  His 
conduct  in  reference  to  them  becomes  a 
constant  care  and  burden. 

"  Meditating  upon  general  improve- 
ment, I  often  think  a  great  deal  about 
the  climate  in  these  parts  of  the  world  ; 
and  I  see  that  without  much  husbandry 
of  our  means  and  resources,  it  is  diffi- 
cult for  us  to  be  anything  but  low  bar- 
barians. The  difficulty  of  living  at  all 
in  a  cold,  damp,  destructive  climate  is 
great.  Socrates  went  about  with  very 
scanty  clothing,  and  men  praise  his  wis- 
dom in  caring  so  little  for  the  goods  of 
this  life.  He  ate  sparingly  and  of  mean 
food.  That  is  not  the  way,  I  suspect,  that 
tee  can  make  a  philosopher  here.  Here  we 
must  make  prudence  one  of  the  substantial 
virtues. 

"  One  thing,  though,  I  see,  and  that  is, 
that  there  is  a  quantity  of  misplaced 
labour — of  labour  which  does  not  go  in 
stern  contest  with  the  rugged  world 
around  us,  in  the  endeavour  to  compel 
nature  to  give  us  our  birthright,  but  in 
fighting  with  *  strong  delusions'  of  all 
kinds,  or  rather  of  putting  up  obstacles 
which  we  laboriously  knock  down  again. 
Law,  for  example — what  a  loss  is  there  ; 
of  time,  of  heart,  of  love,  of  leisure  ! 
There  are  good  men  whose  minds  are  set 
upon  improving  the  law  ;  but  I  doubt 
whether  any  of  them  are  prepared  to  go 
far  enough 

"  There  are  many  things  done  now  in 
the  law  at  great  expense  by  private  indi- 
viduals, ichich  ought  to  be  done  for  all  by 
officers  of  the  State.  It  is  as  if  each 
individual  had  to  make  a  road  for  him- 
self whenever  he  went  out,  instead  of 
using  the  King's  highway." 

The  whole  passage  is  studded  with 
thought.  If  we  have  abridged  it  in 
our  extract,  it  has  been  only  to  save 
space  :  we  would  more  willingly  have 
quoted  without  any  omission  or  inter- 
ruption. We  pause  in  the  last 
paragraph  to  carry  out  a  little  further 
the  observation  it  contains.  Govern- 
ment pays  the  judges,  but  leaves  the 
suitor  to  pay  for  all  the  preparatory 
services  necessary  to  bring  his  cause 
before  him  to  be  adjudicated.  Even 


1851.] 


The  Essays  of  Mr  Helps. 


387 


officers  of  the  court  are  paid  by  fees. 
One  of  the  commissions  for  inquiring 
into  the  law  has  recommended  the 
substitution  of  a  salary  from  Govern- 
ment instead  of  this  mode  of  re- 
muneration. The  recommendation, 
we  believe,  in  some  cases,  has  been 
already  attended  to.  But,  as  Mr 
Helps  suggests,  much  more  might  be 
done  for  the  relief  of  the  suitor.  There 
is  a  well-known  passage  in  Black- 
stone^  wherein  he  tells  us  that  kings, 
lords,  and  commons,  army  and  navy, 
customs  and  taxes,  have  all  for  their 
great  ultimate  object,  to  seat  a  judge 
upon  the  bench,  and  put  twelve  jury- 
men in  the  jury-box.  But  kings, 
lords  and  commons,  and  the  rest  of 
these  imposing  powers  have  accom- 
plished their  task  very  inefficiently, 
if,  before  the  suitor  can  have  the  bene- 
fit of  judge  and  jury,  he  must  pay  the 
doorkeepers  most  exorbitantly. 

It  has  at  first  a  certain  air  of  plau- 
sibility, to  say,  that  he  who  wants  to 
go  to  law  must  pay  the  expenses  of  it. 
But,  in  reality,  those  reap  most  com- 
pletely the  benefit  of  an  established 
system  of  jurisprudence  who  never  have 
occasion  to  go  to  law.  To  throw  the 
expenses  of  justice  on  the  hapless 
suitor  is  by  no  means  equitable.  As 
far  as  possible  the  whole  society  ought 
to  take  upon  itself  the  burden  and  the 
costs  of  administering  justice.  We 
say  as  far  as  possible,  because  there 
are  certain  services  which  an  attorney 
renders  to  his  client,  which  it  would 
not  be  well  for  the  client  himself  to 
transfer  to  a  salaried  functionary. 
They  would  not  be  so  effectually  per- 
formed. 

Of  course  we  know  that  we  are 
laying  down  general  principles,  out 
of  hearing  of  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  ;  and  we  confess  that  there 
is  little  pleasure  or  profit  in  contem- 
plating schemes  to  which  he  has  so 
decisive  an  answer  at  hand — no  funds, 
no  ways  and  means.  Nevertheless, 
in  the  course  of  our  reading  on  this 
subject  of  law  reform,  we  remember 
to  have  fallen  in  with  a  scheme  or 
proposition  which— setting  aside  the 
fiscal  objections  —  won  considerably 
upon  us.  Of  all  impracticable  schemes 
it  seemed  to  us  the  least  unreasonable. 
It  was  this— to  leave  the  function  of 
the  attorney  at  present  untouched, 
but  to  join  the  barrister  with  the 


judge — having  a  bar  appointed  and 
paid  by  Government.  A  blow  at  the 
independence  of  the  bar,  it  will  be 
said,  in  the  first  place.  But  in  these 
days  of  a  free  press  and  a  repre- 
sentative Parliament,  no  political 
mischief  can  ensue  from  such  a  mea- 
sure. We  may  proceed  to  discuss  it 
as  it  would  simply  affect  our  juris- 
prudence. 

The  anonymous  author  of  this  pro- 
posal looks  upon  the  saving  of  the  fee 
paid  to  the  counsel  as  the  least  part 
of  the  benefit  to  result  from  it.  He 
is  of  opinion  that  it  would  ultimately 
lead  to  the  framing  of  a  simple  in- 
telligible code,  both  of  substantial- 
law  and  of  procedure,  and  thus,  in- 
directly, sweep  away  the  causes  of 
delay  and  of  expenditure.  The  bar, 
under  this  system,  would  consist  of 
a  body  of  men  who  had  thoroughly 
studied  the  law,  and  from  whom  the 
judges  would  be  selected,  who  would 
act  as  assistants  to  justice,  not  as 
engaged  partisans  of  the  client.  Some 
system  of  advocacy  is  required,  be- 
cause the  suitors  can  very  rarely  state 
their  own  case,  and  the  law  bearing 
on  it,  with  distinctness,  nor  marshal 
the  evidence  they  have  to  bring  into 
court.  But  this  is  the  utmost  duty 
of  an  advocate,  if  the  administration- 
of  justice  is  the  true  end  to  be  sought 
for.  Zeal  for  the  client  which  carries 
him  farther  than  this,  is  zeal  for  in- 
justice. The  existing  system  of  ad- 
vocacy presents  us  with  the  very 
immoral  practice,  and  the  altogether 
most  anomalous  proceeding,  of  a  highly 
cultivated  lawyer  not  only  stating 
the  truth  and  the  evidence  on  one 
side,  (which  is  all  that  justice  requires 
or  admits,)  but  exercising  his  utmost 
ingenuity  to  disguise  the  truth,  to 
distort  the  law,  and  to  shut  out  the 
evidence  upon  the  opposite  side.  All 
this  leads  to  a  perpetual  entanglement 
of  the  law  itself;  whereas  the  bar 
ought,  in  reality,  to  present  to  us  a 
cultivated  and  laborious  class  of  men, 
who  had  made  jurisprudence  their 
great  study,  and  who  were  there  to 
expound  the  law  to  such  as  needed 
advice,  to  conduct  the  causes  of  such 
as  had  causes  to  try,  to  be  the  great 
depositaries  of  the  learning  and  science 
of  jurisprudence,  and  have  it  for  their 
object  and  ambition  to  advance  the 
jurisprudence  of  their  country.  The 


388 

publicity  with  which  their  functions 
would  be  performed,  the  intellectual 
nature  of  those  functions,  and  the  fact 
that  the  judges  would  be  chosen  from 
their  body,  our  author  argues,  would 
be  sufficient  security  that  they  would 
not  grow  sluggish  or  neglectful  in  the 
discharge  of  their  duties.  As  to  dis- 
plays of  oratory — if  oratory  be  re- 
garded as  an  appeal  to  passion — he 
boldly  asserts  that  a  court  of  justice 
is  not  a  fit  arena  for  it.  Such  elo- 
quence may  be  carried  into  Parlia- 
ment, into  public  meetings  of  a  hun- 
dred descriptions;  and  there  is  the 
pulpit  and  the  lecture-room  for  the 
display  of  oratory  of  a  reflective  and 
imaginative  cast.  But  there  is  an 
eloquence  which  consists  in  lucid, 
succinct  statement  of  law  and  of  facts ; 
this,  which  has  been  often  described 
as  the  eloquence  of  the  bench,  in  con- 
tradistinction to  that  of  the  bar,  is 
the  only  species  which  it  is  at  all 
desirable  to  cultivate  in  a  court  of 
justice.  Such  are  the  outlines  of  our 
author's  scheme,  and  his  reasons  for 
it.  But  we  have  no  wish  to  enter 
further  into  what  bears  so  evidently 
the  character  of  a  quite  imaginary 
reform. 

From  the  law  Mr  Helps  takes  us 
to  the  church,  and  to  some  of  the 
delicate  questions  which  are  now 
agitated  with  respect  to  it.  This  is  a 
topic  on  which  he  both  interests  and 
tantalises  us.  Whether  from  a  pru- 
dent restraint,  or  a  timidity  not  in- 
excusable, there  is  evidently  much 
in  his  thoughts  on  this  subject  which 
he  withholds.  When  we  express  a 
wish  that  such  a  man  as  Mr  Helps 
would  speak  out  fully  on  this  topic,  it 
is  not  because  we  expect,  or  ought 
rationally  to  expect,  any  novelty  upon 
questions  so  long  agitated,  but  be- 
cause, if  we  mistake  not,  he  is  one  of 
a  party  amongst  English  laymen  who 
have  become  important  by  their  num- 
bers, their  intelligence,  and  their 
piety.  They  belong  to  the  national 
church ;  they  do  not  desire  to  quit  it ; 
but  they  desire,  in  some  way  which 
we  do  not  clearly  understand,  to  ren- 
der its  ritual  and  its  discipline  more 
effective.  We  should  wish  persons 
of  this  description  to  explain  them- 
selves distinctly.  The  following  in- 
timations of  opinion  we  ourselves 
read  with  interest,  and,  as  we  have 


The  Essays  of  Mr  Helps. 


[Oct. 


said,  felt  a  little  tantalised  that  they 
were  not  more  than  intimations : — 

"  As  I  went  along,  I  thought  of  the 
Church  of  England  and  of  what  might  be 
its  future  fortunes.  One's  acquaintances 
who  meet  one  in  the  streets  shrug  their 
shoulders  and  exclaim, '  What  a  state  the 
Church  is  in  !  Oh  that  these  questions 
that  divide  it  had  never  been  raised  !'  I 
do  not  agree  with  them,  and  sometimes  I 
tell  them  so.  If  there  are  these  great 
differences  amongst  thoughtful  men  about 
great  subjects,  why  should  they  (the  dif- 
ferences) be  stifled  ?  Are  we  always  to 
be  walking  about  as  masked  figures  ? 

"  For  my  own  part,  it  has  long  appear- 
ed to  me  that  our  Church  stands  upon 
foundations  which  need  more  breadth  and 
solidity,  both  as  it  regards  the  hold  it 
ought  to  have  on  the  reason,  and  on  the 
affection  of  its  members 

"  As  regards  affection,  how  can  any  but 
those  who  are  naturally  devout  and  affec- 
tionate, which  is  not  the  largest  class, 
have  an  affectionate  regard  for  anything 
which  presents  so  cold  and  formal  an 
appearance  as  the  Church  of  England! 
The  services  are  too  long  ;  and,  for  the 
most  part,  are  surrounded  by  the  most 
prosaic  circumstances.  Too  many  sermons 
are  preached  ;  and  yet,  after  all,  too 
little  is  made  by  preaching.  Order,  de- 
cency, cleanliness,  propriety,  and  very 
often  good  sense,  are  to  be  seen  in  full 
force  in  Anglican  Churches  once  a-week  j 
but  there  is  a  deficiency  of  heartiness. 

"  The  perfection  to  be  aimed  at,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  and  so  I  have  said  before, 
would  be  a  Church  with  a  very  simple 
creed,  and  very  grand  ritual)  and  a  use- 
ful and  devoted  priesthood.  But  these 
combinations  are  only  in  Utopias,  blessed 
islands,  and  other  fabulous  places  :  no 
vessel  enters  their  ports,  for  they  are  as 
yet  only  in  the  minds  of  thoughtful  men. 

"  In  forming  such  an  imaginary  Church, 
there  certainly  are  some  things  that  might 
be  adopted  from  the  Roman  Catholics. 
The  other  day  I  was  at  Rouen.  I  went 
to  see  the  grand  old  cathedral.  The  great 
western  doors  were  thrown  wide  open. 
Right  upon  the  market  place  filled  with 
flowers,  and  in  the  centre  aisle,  not  before 
any  image,  a  poor  woman  and  her  child 
were  praying.  I  was  only  there  a  few 
minutes,  and  these  two  figures  remain 
impressed  upon  my  mind.  It  is  surely 
very  good  that  the  poor  should  have  some 
place  free  from  the  restraints,  interrup- 
tions, the  familiarity  and  the  squalidness 
of  home,  where  they  may  think  a  great 
thought,  utter  a  lonely  sigh,  a  fervent 
prayer,  an  inward  wail.  And  the  rich 
need  the  same  thing  too 


1851.] 


The  Essays  of  Mr  Helps. 


389 


"  People  say  to  themselves  if  we  touch 
this  or  that  thing  which  they  disapprove 
of,  we  do  not  know  what  harm  we  may 
be  doing  to  people  of  less  insight  or 
less  caution  than  ourselves,  and  so  they 
go  on,  content  with  a  very  rude  attempt 
indeed  at  communion  in  spiritual  matters, 
provided  they  do  not,  as  they  would  say, 
unsettle  their  neighbours.  There  is  some- 
thing good  and  humble  in  this  ;  there  is 
something  also  of  indifference  :  if  our 
ancestors  had  always  been  content  with 
silent  protests  against  the  thing  they  dis- 
approved of,  we  might  have  been  in  a 
worse  position  than  we  are  now. 

l(  The  intellectual  energies  of  cultivated 
men  want  directing  to  the  great  ques- 
tion. "  If  there  is  doubt  in  any  matter, 
shall  we  not  examiue  ?  Instead  of  that, 
men  shut  their  thoughts  up,  and  pretend 
to  be  orthodox — play  at  being  orthodox." 

"  A  simple  creed  and  a  grand  ri- 
tual"— Are  they  not  incompatible  ?  In 
all  the  instances  we  can  call  to  mind 
the  ritual  has  a  spiritual  meaning,  and 
this  spiritual  meaning  becomes  a  por- 
tion of  the  creed.  For  our  own  part, 
we  are  like  those  acquaintances  of  Mi- 
Helps,  who  deeply  regret  that  any 
divisions  should  exist  in  the  Church. 
At  the  same  time  we  quite  agree  with 
Mr  Helps  himself  in  recognising  the 
impossibility  of  preventing  those  divi- 
sions, by  imposing  silence  on  any  con- 
siderable number  of  its  genuine  mem- 
bers. 

A  National  Church  can  exist  no 
longer  than  it  represents  a  certain 
amount  of  the  national  piety.  Those 
who  conform  to  it  from  policy,  or  in- 
difference, or  love  of  ease  and  tran- 
quillity, lend  to  it  a  secondary  support 
of  unquestionable  importance.  But 
the  least  reflection  will  tell  us  that 
this  support  is  most  truly  of  a  second- 
ary character.  If  the  spirit  of  piety 
has  deserted  it,  and  gone  elsewhere, 
the  institution  may  be  said  to  be  de- 
funct. Now,  whilst  only  a  few  sincere 
and  pious  members  of  the  Church  feel 
a  desire  for  any  change  in  its  ritual, 
they  will  do  well  to  remain  silent ; 
but  if  the  numbers  of  such  men  in- 
crease, it  becomes  of  importance  that 
they  should  be  heard,  and,  if  possible, 
their  wishes  attended  to.  It  is  for 
such  men,  and  by  such  men,  that  the 
Church  really  exists.  As  for  the 
politician,  or  the  worldling,  or  the 
mere  formalist,  they  may  buttress 
round  a  church  when  it  is  once  erect- 


ed, but  not  for  them  was  it  built,  nor 
by  them  alone  could  it  possibly  be 
sustained.  When  a  man  of  the  world, 
for  instance,  complains  that  the 
Church  services  are  too  long,  we  pass 
by  the  murmur  unheeded.  Long  or 
short,  he  cares  in  his  heart  very  little 
about  them  ;  perhaps  finds  in  their 
acknowledged  length  a  convenient 
excuse  for  not  attending  them  at  all. 
It  is  quite  a  different  matter  when  the 
sincere  pietist,  for  whom  these  ser- 
vices are  framed,  expresses  the  same 
opinion,  and  laments  that  by  the  time 
the  sermon  commences,  from  which  he 
would  desire  to  profit,  his  attention 
has  been  quite  exhausted.  We  re- 
peat that  we  should  prefer  that  such 
men  as  Mr  Helps  should  explain  to 
us  distinctly  what  changes  they  would 
effect.  If  they  are  such  as  are  not 
adverse  to  the  broad  principles  of 
Protestantism,  it  is  of  moment  that 
their  wishes  should  be  consulted.  If 
they  are,  indeed,  such  as  would  tend 
to  efface  the  great  landmarks  of  our 
Protestant  faith,  let  us  know  them — 
that  we  may  resist  them  to  the  ut- 
most. 

No  small  portion  of  the  volume  be- 
fore us  is  occupied  by  a  subject  as  im- 
portant as  it  is  delicate  and  difficult 
to  treat.  Mr  Helps  calls  it  "  the  sin 
of  great  cities."  The  appellation  is 
very  correct,  and  of  itself  gives  rise 
to  one  consolatory  reflection.  There 
may  be  illicit  pleasure  in  the  village 
or  the  hamlet,  but  it  is  only  in  great 
towns  that  the  degrading  trade  of  the 
prostitute  is  known.  Human  society 
can  therefore  exist  without  this  foul 
and  shameful  species  of  commerce. 

Our  author  has  been  meditating  on 
the  sad  waste  of  youth  and  beauty 
which  the  streets  of  a  great  city  reveal 
to  us,  and  on  the  many  women  who 
might  have  made  a  home  happy,  who 
are  left  to  corrupt  and  to  be  corrupted 
in  the  highways  of  life  ;  and  he  thus 
prettily  introduces  his  subject : — 

"  It  was  a  bright  winter's  day  ;  and  I 
sat  upon  a  garden  seat  in  a  sheltered 
nook  towards  the  south,  having  come  out 
of  my  study  to  enjoy  the  warmth,  like  a 
fly  that  has  left  some  snug  crevice  to 
stretch  his  legs  upon  the  unwontedly 
sunny  pane  in  December.  My  little 
daughter  (she  is  a  very  little  thing,  about 
four  years  old)  came  running  up  to  me, 
aud  when  she  had  arrived  at  my  knees, 


390 


The  Essays 


held  up  a  straggling  but  pretty  weed. 
Thus,  with  great  earnestness,  as  if  fresh 
from  some  controversy  on  the  subject,  she 
exclaimed, ( Is  this  a  weed,  papa  ?  is  this 
a  weed  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  a  weed,'  I  replied. 

"  With  a  look  of  disappointment  she 
moved  off  to  the  one  she  loved  best 
amongst  us  ;  and  asking  the  same  ques- 
tion, received  the  same  answer. 

"'But  it  has  flowers,'  the  child  re- 
plied. 

" '  That  does  not  signify  ;  it  is  a  weed,' 
was  the  inexorable  answer. 

"Presently  after  a  moment's  consi- 
deration, the  child  ran  off  again,  and 
meeting  the  gardener  just  near  my  nook, 
though  out  of  sight  from  where  I  sat,  she 
coaxingly  addressed  him. 

"'Nicholas  dear,  is  this  a  weed  ? ' 

"'Yes,  Miss;  they  call  it  shepherds' 
purse.' 

"  A  pause  ensued.  I  thought  the 
child  was  now  fairly  silenced  by  autho- 
rity, when  all  at  once  the  little  voice 
began  again, '  Will  you  plant  it  in  my 
garden,  Nicholas  dear  ?  Do  plant  it  in 
my  garden.' 

"  There  was  no  resisting  the  anxious 
entreaty  of  the  child  ;  and  man  and  child 
moved  off  together  to  plant  the  weed  in 
one  of  those  plots  of  ground  which  the 
children  walk  about  upon  a  good  deal, 
and  put  branches  of  trees  in  and  grown- 
up flowers,  and  which  they  call  their 
garden. 

"But  the  child's  words,  'Will  you 
plant  it  in  my  garden  ? '  remained  upon 
my  mind.  That  is  what  I  have  always 
been  thinking,  I  exclaimed  ;  and  it  is 
what  I  will  begin  by  saying." 

Mr  Helps  asserts,  with  perfect 
truth,  that  there  is  no  hope  for  any 
great  reform  here,  whilst  the  moral 
opinion  of  men  remains  what  it  is 
upon  the  subject.  The  religious 
world  are  sufficiently  stringent  upon 
every  breach  of  chastity ;  but  men  in 
general  have  very  inadequate  notions 
of  the  evil  they  do,  when  they  en- 
conrage  the  polluting  and  pestilential 
commerce  of  the  prostitute.  It  used 
to  be  the  fashion  —  and  perhaps  is 
still  in  some  quarters— to  defend  this 
corruption  on  the  plea  that  it  draws 
off  the  libertine  from  the  modest  and 
virtuous  woman.  A  very  poor  argu- 
ment. It  makes  the  libertine.  Those 
who  corrupt  or  invade  the  chastity 
of  women,  are  the  same  persons  who 
have  been  themselves  corrupted  by 
association  with  a  class  of  the  oppo- 
site sex,  whose  very  business  it  has 


of  Mr  Helps.  [Oct. 

become  to  break  down  all  the  re- 
straints of  modesty.  It  is  here  that 
a  Lovelace  receives  his  first  instruc- 
tions ;  and  the  annals  of  Newgate 
will  tell  us  that  those  who  have  com- 
mitted still  more  violent  crimes,  are 
not  men  who  have  lived  chaste  up  to 
the  time  of  their  offence.  It  makes 
the  libertine.  Still,  if  we  had  Elks- 
mere  amongst  us,  we  should  hear  him 
replying,  we  suspect,  in  some  such 
manner  as  this : — I  know  that  it  is 
not  the  maiden  knight  who  practises 
the  arts  of  the  seducer.  I  know  very 
well  that  he  who  is  tried  at  the  Old 
Bailey  has  not  rushed  from  a  life  of 
innocence  and  purity  to  the  foul  vio- 
lence he  has  committed.  But  this,  too, 
I  know,  that  if  men  become,  in  their 
moral  opinion,  more  strict  against  one 
form  of  unconjugal  pleasure,  they  will 
become  more  indulgent  in  regard  to 
some  other  form.  There  will  be  more 
intrigue.  I  detest  this  Venus  of  the 
market-place  as  much  as  you  ;  but  I 
cannot  help  seeing  that,  if  you  banish 
her,  you  must  expect  more  love- 
making  to  go  on  in  the  private  dwell- 
ing-house. I  do  not  say,  however, 
that  upon  the  whole  this  might  not 
be  a  good  bargain. 

But  we  have  not  Ellesmere  with 
us,  and  we  shall  attend  to  Milverton. 
As  one  part  of  his  subject  he  touches 
on  the  cruel  indifference  which  some 
men,  who  would  still  be  thought  very 
moral,  can  be  guilty  of  towards  their 
illegitimate  children.  We  should  have 
hesitated  to  draw  the  following  pic- 
ture ;  we  should  have  doubted  whe- 
ther so  flagrant  a  hypocrisy  existed 
in  the  world.  Mr  Helps,  however,  is 
a  cautious  man,  and  probably  drew 
from  real  life. 

"  I  suppose  there  are  few  things 
clearer  to  the  human  mind  than  that  a 
father  owes  duties  to  his  child.  The 
dullest  savages  have  seen  that.  How 
can  a  man  tor  a  moment  imagine  that 
any  difference  of  rank  between  the 
mother  of  his  child  and  himself  can  ab- 
solve him  from  paternal  duties  ?  I  am 
lost  in  astonishment  at  the  notion.  And 
then  imagine  a  man  performing  all  man- 
ner of  minor  duties,  neglecting  this  first 
one  the  while.  I  always  fancy  that  we 
may  be  surrounded  by  spiritual  powers. 
Now,  think  what  a  horrible  mockery  it 
must  seem  to  them,  when  they  behold  a 
man  going  to  charity  dinners,  busying 
himself  about  flannel  for  the  poor,  jab- 


1.851.] 


bering  about  education  at  public  meet- 
ings, immersed  in  indifferent  forms  and 
ceremonies  of  religion,  or  raging  against 
such  things,  because  it  is  his  duty,  as  he 
tells  you  ;  and  at  the  door,  holding  a 
link,  or  perhaps  at  that  moment  bringing 
home  the  produce  of  small  thefts  in  a 
neighbouring  narrow  alley — is  his  own 
child,  a  pinched-up,  haggard,  outcast, 
cunning-looking  little  thing.  Throw 
down,  man,  the  flannel  and  the  soap,  and 
the  education,  and  the  Popery,  and  the 
Protestantism,  and  go  up  that  narrow 
alley  and  tend  your  child.  Do  not  heap 
that  palpably  unjust  burden  on  the  back 
of  a  world  which  has  enough  at  all  times 
of  its  own  to  bear.  If  you  cannot  find 
your  own  child,  adopt  two  others  in  its 
place,  and  let  your  care  for  them  be  a 
sort  of  sin-offering." 

We  have  extended  our  extracts 
very  far,  but  we  do  not  like  exactly 
to  leave  off  with  this  melancholy 
topic.  At  the  same  time  it  is  by  no 
means  our  wish  to  spoil  the  perusal 
of  this  little  book  to  such  as  have  not 
yet  read  it,  by  being  too  liberal  in  our 
quotations.  From  the  number  of 
passages  against  which  we  find  our 
pencil-mark,  we  will  extract  one  more. 
Mr  Helps  makes  some  observations 
worth  giving  reflection  to,  on  the 
power  which  the  weak  have  over  the 


The  Essays  of  Mr  Helps.  391 

strong  —  in    what    he     calls    "  the 
tyranny  of  the  weak." 


"  I  venture  to  say  that  there  is  no 
observant  man  of  the  world  who  has 
lived  to  the  age  of  thirty,  who  has  not 
seen  numerous  instances  of  severe  tyranny 
exercised  by  persons  belonging  to  one  or 
other  of  these  classes  —  (the  sick,  the 
aged,  the  spoilt,  the  pious  but  weak- 
minded)  ;  and  which  tyranny  has  been 
established,  continued  and  endured,  solely 
by  reason  of  the  weakness,  real  or  sup- 
posed, of  the  persons  exercising  it.  Talk- 
ing once  with  a  thoughtful  man  on  this 
subjectjhe  remarked  to  me,  that,of  course, 
the  generous  suffered  much  from  the 
tyranny  I  was  speaking  of,  as  the  strength 
of  it  was  drawn  from  their  strength. 

"If  you  come  to  analyse  it,  it  is  a 
tyranny  exercised  by  playing  upon  the 
good-nature,  the  fear  of  responsibility, 
the  dread  of  acting  selfishly,  the  horror 
of  giving  pain,  prevalent  among  good  and 
kind  people.  They  often  know  that  it  is 
a  tremendous  tyranny  they  are  suffering 
under,  but  they  do  not  feel  it  the  less 
because  they  are  consenting  parties." 

We  must  now  bid  adieu  to  Mr 
Helps,  again  expressing  our  hope 
that  he  will  give  us  more  of  these 
thoughts,  which  we  promise  him  shall 
be  the  "  Companions  of  our  Solitude" 
as  well  as  of  his  own. 


392 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIV. 


[Oct. 


MY  NOVEL;  OR,  VARIETIES  IN  ENGLISH  LIFE. 

BY    PISISTRATUS    CAXTON. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


BEFORE  a  table,  in  the  apartments 
appropriated  to  him  in  his  father's 
house  at  Knightsbridge,  sate  Lord 
L'Estrange,  .sorting  or  destroying  let- 
ters and  papers— an  ordinary  symp- 
tom of  change  of  residence.    There 
are  certain  trifles  by  which  a  shrewd 
observer  may  judge  of  a  man's  dispo- 
sition.   Thus,  ranged  on  the  table, 
with  some  elegance,  but  with  soldier- 
like precision,  were  sundry  little  re- 
lics of  former  days,  hallowed  by  some 
sentiment  of  memory,  or  perhaps  en- 
deared   solely   by    custom;    which, 
whether  he  was  in  Egypt,  Italy,  or 
England,  always  made  part  of  the 
furniture  of  Harley's  room.     Even 
the  small,  old-fashioned,  and  some- 
what inconvenient  inkstand  in  which 
he  dipped  the  pen  as  he  labelled  the 
letters  he  put  aside,  belonged  to  the 
writing-desk    which    had    been    his 
pride  as  a  school-boy.     Even    the 
books  that  lay  scattered  round  were 
not  new  works,  not  those  to  which 
we  turn  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  an 
hour,    or    to    distract    our    graver 
thoughts:    they  were  chiefly  either 
Latin  or  Italian  poets,  with  many  a 
pencil-mark  on  the  margin  ;  or  books 
which,  making    severe    demand   on 
thought,  require  slow  and  frequent 
perusal,    and    become    companions. 
Somehow  or  other,  in  remarking  that 
even  in  dumb  inanimate  things  the 
man  was  averse  to  change,  and  had 
the  habit    of   attaching  himself   to 
whatever  was  connected  with  old  as- 
sociations, you  might  guess  that  he 
clung  with  pertinacity  to  affections 
more  important,  and  you  could  bet- 
ter comprehend  the  freshness  of  his 
friendship  for  one  so  dissimilar   in 
pursuits  and    character    as    Audley 
Egerton.    An  affection  once  admitted 
into  the  heart  of  Harley  L'Estrange, 
seemed  never  to  be  questioned  or 
reasoned    with:    it    became    tacitly 
fixed,  as  it  were,  into  his  own  nature ; 
and  little  less  than  a  revolution  of  his 
whole  system  could  dislodge  or  dis- 
turb it. 


Lord  L'Estrange's  hand  rested  now 
upon  a  letter  in  a  stiff  legible  Italian 
character ;  and  instead  of  disposing  of 
it  at  once,  as  he  had  done  with  the 
rest,  he  spread  it  before  him,  and  re- 
read the  contents.  It  was  a  letter 
from  Riccabocca,  received  a  few  weeks 
since,  and  ran  thus  : — 

Letter  from  Signior  Riccabocca  to 
Lord  L1  Estrange. 

"  I  thank  you,  my  noble  friend,  for 
judging  of  me  with  faith  in  my  ho- 
nour, and  respect  for  my  reverses. 

"  No,  and  thrice  no,  to  all  conces- 
sions, all  overtures,  all  treaty  with 
Giulio  Franzini.  I  write  the  name, 
and  my  emotions  choke  me.  I  must 
pause,  and  cool  back  into  disdain.  It 
is  over.  Pass  from  that  subject.  But 
you  have  alarmed  me.  This  sister ! 
I  have  not  seen  her  since  her  child- 
hood ;  but  she  was  brought  up  under 
his  influence — she  can  but  work  as  his 
agent.  She  wish  to  learn  my  resi- 
dence !  It  can  be  but  for  some  hos- 
tile and  malignant  purpose.  I  may 
trust  in  you — I  know  that.  You  say 
I  may  trust  equally  in  the  discretion 
of  your  friend.  Pardon  me — my  con- 
fidence is  not  so  elastic.  A  word 
may  give  the  clue  to  my  retreat. 
But,  if  discovered,  what  harm  can 
ensue  ?  An  English  roof  protects  me 
from  Austrian  despotism  :  true  ;  but 
not  the  brazen  tower  of  Danae  could 
protect  me  from  Italian  craft.  And, 
were  there  nothing  worse,  it  would 
be  intolerable  to  me  to  live  under  the 
eyes  of  a  relentless  spy.  Truly  saith 
our  proverb,  '  He  sleeps  ill  for  whom 
the  enemy  wakes.'  Look  you,  my 
friend,  I  have  done  with  my  old  life — 
I  wish  to  cast  it  from  me  as  a  snake 
its  skin.  I  have  denied  myself  all 
that  exiles  deem  consolation.  No 
pity  for  misfortune,  no  messages  from 
sympathising  friendship,  no  news  from 
a  lost  and  bereaved  country  follow 
me  to  my  hearth  under  the  skies  of 
the  stranger.  From  all  these  I  have 
voluntarily  cut  myself  off.  I  am  as 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIV. 


393 


dead  to  the  life  I  once  lived  as  if  the 
Styx  rolled  between  it  and  me.  With 
that  sternness  which  is  admissible 
only  to  the  afflicted,  I  have  denied 
myself  even  the  consolation  of  your 
visits.  I  have  told  you  fairly  and 
simply  that  your  presence  would  un- 
settle all  my  enforced  and  infirm 
philosophy,  and  remind  me  only  of 
the  past,  which  I  seek  to  blot  from 
remembrance.  You  have  complied 
on  the  one  condition,  that  whenever 
I  really  want  your  aid  I  will  ask  it ; 
and,  meanwhile,  you  have  generously 
sought  to  obtain  me  justice  from  the 
cabinets  of  ministers  and  in  the  courts 
of  kings.  I  did  not  refuse  your  heart 
this  luxury ;  for  I  have  a  child — (Ah! 
I  have  taught  that  child  already  to 
revere  your  name,  and  in  her  prayers 
it  is  not  forgotten.)  But  now  that 
you  are  convinced  that  even  your  zeal 
is  unavailing,  I  ask  you  to  discontinue 
attempts  that  may  but  bring  the  spy 
upon  my  track,  and  involve  me  in 
new  misfortunes.  Believe  me,  O 
brilliant  Englishman,  that  I  am  satis- 
fied and  contented  with  my  lot.  I 
am  sure  it  would  not  be  for  my  hap- 
piness to  change  it.  '  Chi  non  ha 
provato  il  male  non  conosce  il  bene.' 
('  One  does  not  know  when  one  is 
well  off  till  one  has  known  misfor- 
tune.') You  ask  me  how  I  live — I 
answer,  alia  giornata — to  the  day — 
not  for  the  morrow,  as  I  did  once.  I 
have  accustomed  myself  to  the  calm 
existence  of  a  village.  I  take  inte- 
rest in  its  details.  There  is  my  wife, 
good  creature,  sitting  opposite  to  me, 
never  asking  what  I  write,  or  to 
whom,  but  ready  to  throw  aside  her 
work  and  talk  the  moment  the  pen  is 
out  of  my  hand.  Talk — and  what 
about  ?  Heaven  knows !  But  I  would 
rather  hear  that  talk,  though  on 
the  affairs  of  a  hamlet,  than  babble 
again  with  recreant  nobles  and  blun- 
dering professors  about  common- 
wealths and  constitutions.  When  I 
want  to  see  how  little  those  last  in- 
fluence the  happiness  of  wise  men, 
have  I  notMachiaveland  Thucydides? 
Then,  by-and-by,  the  Parson  will 
drop  in,  and  we  argue.  He  never 
knows  when  he  is  beaten,  so  the  argu- 
ment is  everlasting.  On  fine  days  I 
ramble  out  by  a  winding  rill  with  my 
Violante,  or  stroll  to  my  friend  the 
Squire's,  and  see  how  healthful  a  thing 


is  true  pleasure  ;  and  on  wet  days  I 
shut  myself  up,  and  mope,  perhaps, 
till,  hark  !  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door, 
and  in  comes  Violante,  with  her  dark 
eyes,  that  shine  out  through  reproach- 
ful tears — reproachful  that  L  should 
mourn  alone,  while  she  is  under  my 
roof— so  she  puts  her  arms  round  me, 
and  in  five  minutes  all  is  sunshine 
within.  What  care  we  for  your  Eng- 
lish grey  clouds  without  ? 

"  Leave  me,  my  dear  Lord — leave 
me  to  this  quiet  happy  passage  to- 
wards old  age,  serener  than  the  youth 
that  I  wasted  so  wildly ;  and  guard 
well  the  secret  on  which  my  happi- 
ness depends. 

"  Now  to  yourself,  before  I  close. 
Of  that  same  yourself  you  speak  too 
little,  as  of  me  too  much.  But  I  so 
well  comprehend  the  profound  melan- 
choly that  lies  underneath  the  wild 
and  fanciful  humour  with  which  you 
but  suggest,  as  in  sport,  what  you 
feel  so  in  earnest.  The  laborious  so- 
litude of  cities  weighs  on  you.  You 
are  flying  back  to  the  dolce  far  niente 
— to  friends  few,  but  intimate;  to 
life  monotonous,  but  unrestrained; 
and  even  there  the  sense  of  loneliness 
will  again  seize  upon  you ;  and  you 
do  not  seek,  as  I  do,  the  annihilation 
of  memory ;  your  dead  passions  are 
turned  to  ghosts  that  haunt  you,  and 
unfit  you  for  the  living  world.  I  see 
it  all — I  see  it  still,  in  your  hurried 
fantastic  lines,  as  I  saw  it  when  we 
two  sat  amidst  the  pines  and  beheld 
the  blue  lake  stretched  below.  I 
troubled  by  the  shadow  of  the  Future, 
you  disturbed  by  that  of  the  Past. 

"  Well,  but  you  say,  half-seriously, 
half  in  jest,  'I  will  escape  from  this 
prison-house  of  memory  ;  I  will  form 
new  ties,  like  other  men,  and  before  it 
be  too  late  ;  I  will  marry — ay,  but  I 
must  love — there  is  the  difficulty ' — 
difficulty — yes,  and  heaven  be  thanked 
for  it !  Recall  all  the  unhappy  mar- 
riages that  have  come  to  your  know- 
ledge— pray  have  not  eighteen  out  of 
twenty  been  marriages  for  love  ?  It 
always  has  been  so,  and  it  always 
will.  Because,  whenever  we  love 
deeply,  we  exact  so  much  and  forgive 
so  little.  Be  content  to  find  some  one 
with  whom  your  hearth  and  your  ho- 
nour are  safe.  You  will  grow  to  love 
what  never  wounds  your  heart — you 
will  soon  grow  out  of  love  with  what 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  Enylisli  Life. — Part  XIV. 


[Oct. 


•must  always  disappoint  your  imagina- 
tion. Cospetto !  I  wish  my  Jemima 
had  a  younger  sister  for  you.  Yet  it 
was  with  a  deep  groan  that  I  settled 
myself  to  a — Jemima. 

"  Now,  I  have  written  you  a  long 
letter,  to  prove  how  little  I  need  of 
your  compassion  or  your  zeal.  Once 
more  let  there  be  long  silence  between 
us.  It  is  not  easy  for  me  to  corre- 
spond with  a  man  of  your  rank,  and 
not  incur  the  curious  gossip  of  my 
still  little  pool  of  a  world  which  the 
splash  of  a  pebble  can  break  into 
-circles.  I  must  take  this  over  to  a 
post-town  some  ten  miles  off,  and 
drop  it  into  the  box  by  stealth. 

"  Adieu,  dear  and  noble  friend, 
•gentlest  heart  and  subtlest  fancy  that 
I  have  met  in  my  walk  through  life. 
Adieu — write  me  word  when  you 
have  abandoned  a  day-dream  and 
found  a  Jemima.  ALPHONSO. 

"  P.S. — For  heaven's  sake,  caution 
and  recaution  your  friend  the  minister, 
not  to  drop  a  word  to  this  woman  that 
may  betray  my  hiding-place." 

"  Is  he  really  happy  ?  "  murmured 
Harley,  as  he  closed  the  letter  ;  and 
he  sank  for  a  few  moments  into  a 
reverie. 

"  This  life  in  a  village— this  wife  in 
a  lady  who  puts  down  her  work  to  talk 
about  villagers — what  a  contrast  to 
Audley's  full  existence.  And  I  can 
never  envy  nor  comprehend  either — 
yet  my  own — what  is  it  ?" 

He  rose,  and  moved  towards  the 
window,  from  which  a  rustic  stair 
descended  to  a  green  lawn — studded 
with  larger  trees  than  are  often  found 
in  the  grounds  of  a  suburban  resi- 
dence. There  were  calm  and  cool- 
ness in  the  sight,  and  one  could 
scarcely  have  supposed  that  London 
•lay  so  near. 

The  door  opened  sofcly,  and  a  lady, 
past  middle  age,  entered ;  and,  ap- 
proaching Harley,  as  he  still  stood 
musing  by  the  window,  laid  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  What  character 
there  is  in  a  hand!  Hers  was  a  hand 
that  Titian  would  have  painted  with 
elaborate  care !  Thin,  white,  and  deli- 
cate—with the  blue  veins  raised  from 
the  surface.  Yet  there  was  something 
more  than  mere  patrician  elegance 
in  the  form  anil  texture.  A  true 


physiologist  would  have  said  at  once, 
"  there  are  intellect  and  pride  in  that 
hand,  which  seems  to  fix  ahold  where 
it  rests ;  and,  lying  so  lightly,  yet 
will  not  be  as  lightly  shaken  off." 

"  Harley,"  said  the  lady  —  and 
Harley  turned — "  you  do  not  deceive 
me  by  that  smile,"  she  continued 
sadly ;  "  you  were  not  smiling  when  I 
entered." 

"It  is  rarely  that  we  smile  to  our- 
selves, my  dear  mother  ;  and  I  have 
done  nothing  lately  so  foolish  as  to 
cause  me  to  smile  at  myself." 

"  My  son,"  said  Lady  Lansmere, 
somewhat  abruptly,  but  with  great 
earnestness,  "  you  come  from  a  line 
of  illustrious  ancestors ;  and  methinks 
they  ask  from  their  tombs  why  the 
last  of  their  race  has  no  aim  and  no 
object— no  interest— no  home  in  the 
land  which  they  served,  and  which 
rewarded  them  with  its  honours." 

"Mother,"  said  the  soldier  simply, 
"  when  the  land  was  in  danger  I 
served  it  as  my  forefathers  served — 
and  my  answer  would  be  the  scars  on 
my  breast." 

"Is  it  only  in  danger  that  a  coun- 
try is  served — only  in  war  that  duty 
is  fulfilled?  Do  you  think  that  your 
father,  in  his  plain  manly  life  of 
country  gentleman,  does  not  fulfil, 
though  obscurely,  the  objects  for  which 
aristocracy  is  created  and  wealth  is 
bestowed?" 

"  Doubtless  he  does,  ma'am — and 
better  than  his  vagrant  son  ever  can." 

"  Yet  his  vagrant  son  has  received 
such  gifts  from  nature — his  youth  was 
so  rich  in  promise — his  boyhood  so 
glowed  at  the  dream  of  glory !— " 

"  Ay,"  said  Harley  very  softly,  "  it 
is  possible — and  all  to  be  buried  in  a 
single  grave ! " 

The  Countess  started,  and  with- 
drew her  hand  from  Harley 's  shoulder. 

Lady  Lansmere's  countenance  was 
not  one  that  much  varied  in  expres- 
sion. She  had  in  this,  as  in  her  cast  of 
feature,  little  resemblance  to  her  son. 

Her  features  were  slightly  aquiline 
— the  eyebrows  of  that  arch  which 
gives  a  certain  majesty  to  the  aspect : 
the  lines  round  the  mouth  were 
habitually  rigid  and  compressed.  Her 
face  was  that  of  one  who  had  gone 
through  great  emotion  and  subdued 
it.  There  was  something  formal,  and 
even  ascetic,  in  the  character  of  her 


1851.] 


Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.—  Part  XIV.  895 


beauty,  which  was  still  considerable ; — 
in  her  air  and  in  her  dress.  She  might 
have  suggested  to  you  the  idea  of 
some  Gothic  baroness  of  old,  half 
chatelaine,  half  abbess ;  you  would  see 
at  a  glance  that  she  did  not  live  in 
the  light  world  round  her,  and  dis- 
dained its  fashion  and  its  mode  of 
thought ;  yet  with  all  this  rigidity  it 
was  still  the  face  of  the  woman  who 
has  known  human  ties  and  human 
affections.  And  now,  as  she  gazed 
long  on  Harley's  quiet,  saddened 
brow,  it  was  the  face  of  a  mother. 

"  A  single  grave,"  she  said,  after  a 
long  pause.  "And  you  were  then  but 
a  boy,  Harley  !  Can  such  a  memory 
influence  you  even  to  this  day  ?  It  is 
scarcely  possible  :  it  does  not  seem  to 
me  within  the  realities  of  man's  life — 
though  it  might  be  of  woman's." 

"  I  believe,"  said  Harley,  half  soli- 
loquising, "  that  I  have  a  great  deal 
of  the  woman  in  me.  Perhaps  men 
who  live  much  alone,  and  care  not 
for  men's  objects,  do  grow  tenacious 
of  impressions,  as  your  sex  does. 
But  oh,"  he  cried  aloud,  and  with  a 
sudden  change  of  countenance,  "  oh, 
the  hardest  and  the  coldest  man 
would  have  felt  as  I  do,  had  he 
known  her — had  he  loved  her.  She 
was  like  no  other  woman  I  have  ever 
met.  Bright  and  glorious  creature  of 
another  sphere !  She  descended  on 
this  earth,  and  darkened  it  when  she 
passed  away.  It  is  no  use  striving. 
Mother,  I  have  as  much  courage  as 
our  steel-clad  fathers  ever  had.  I 
have  dared  in  battle  and  in  deserts — 
against  man  and  the  wild  beast — 
against  the  storm  and  the  ocean — 
against  the  rude  powers  of  Nature — 
dangers  as  dread  as  ever  pilgrim  or 
Crusader  rejoiced  to  brave.  But 
courage  against  that  one  memory !  no, 
I  have  none !" 

"  Harley,  Harley,  you  break  my 
hear!:,"  cried  the  Countess,  clasping 
her  hands. 

"  It  is  astonishing,"  continued  her 
son,  so  wrapped  in  his  own  thoughts 
that  he  did  not  perhaps  hear  her  out- 
cry. u  Yea,  verily,  it  is  astonishing, 
that  considering  the  thousands  of  wo- 
men I  have  seen  and  spoken  with,  I 
never  see  a  face  like  hers— never  hear 
a  voice  so  sweet.  And  all  this  universe 
of  life  cannot  afford  me  one  look  and 
one  tone  that  can  restore  me  to  man's 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXII. 


privilege— love.  Well,  well,  well, 
life  has  other  things  yet — Poetry  and 
Art  live  still— still  smiles  the  heaven, 
and  still  wave  the  trees.  Leave  me 
to  happiness  in  my  own  way." 

The  Countess  was  about  to  reply, 
when  the  door  was  thrown  hastily 
open,  and  Lord  Lansmere  walked  in. 

The  Earl  was  some  years  older  than 
the  Countess ,  but  his  placid  face  showed 
less  wear  and  tear ;  abenevolent,  kindly 
face — without  any  evidence  of  com- 
manding intellect,  but  with  no  lack  of 
sense  in  its  pleasant  lines.  His  form 
not  tall,  but  upright,  and  with  an  air 
of  consequence — a  little  pompous,  but 
good-humonredly  so.  The  pomposity 
of  the  Grand  Seigneur,  who  has  lived 
much  in  provinces— whose  will  has 
been  rarely  disputed,  and  whose  im- 
portance has  been  so  felt  and  acknow- 
ledged as  to  react  insensibly  on  him- 
self;— an  excellent  man ;  but  when  you 
glanced  towards  the  high  brow  and 
dark  eye  of  the  Countess,  you  mar- 
velled a  little  how  the  two  had  come 
together,  and,  according  to  common 
report,  lived  so  happily  in  the  union. 

u  Ho,  ho !  my  dear  Harley,"  cried 
Lord  Lausmere,  rubbing  his  hands- 
with  an  appearance  of  much  satisfac- 
tion, "  I  have  just  been  paying  a  visit 
to  the  Duchess." 

"  What  Duchess,  my  dear  father  ?  " 

"Why,  your  mother's  first  cousin, 
to  be  sure — the  Duchess  of  Kuares- 
borough,  whom,  to  oblige  me,  you 
condescended  to  call  upon;  and  de- 
lighted I  am  to  hear  that  you  admire 
Lady  Mary—" 

"  She  is  very  high-bred,  and  rather 
—  high-nosed, "  answered  Harley. 
Then  observing  that  his  mother 
looked  pained,  and  his  father  discon- 
certed, he  added  seriously,  "  But 
handsome  certainly." 

"  Well,  Harley,"  said  the  Earl, 
recovering  himself,  "  the  Duchess, 
taking  advantage  of  our  connection  to- 
speak  freely,  has  intimated  to  me  that 
Lady  Mary  has  been  no  less  struck 
with  yourself;  and,  to  come  to  the 
point,  since  you  allow  that  it  is  time 
you  should  think  of  marrying,  I  do 
not  know  a  more  desirable  alliance. 
What  do  you  say,  Catherine?" 

"  The  Duke  is  of  a  family  that  ranks 

in  history  before  the  Wars  of  the 

Rose?,"  said  Lady  Lansmere,  with  an 

air  of  deference  to  her  husband ;  "  and 

2c 


396 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in 


there  has  never  been  one  scandal  in 
its  annals,  or  one  blot  in  its  scutcheon. 
But  I  am  sure  my  dear  Lord  must 
think  that  the  Duchess  should  not 
have  made  the  first  overture — even  to 
a  friend  and  a  kinsman? " 

"  Why,  we  are  old-fashioned 
people,"  said  the  Earl,  rather  embar- 
rassed, "  and  the  Duchess  is  a  woman 
of  the  world." 

"  Let  us  hope,"  said  the  Countess 
mildly,  "  that  her  daughter  is  not." 

"  I  would  not  marry  Lady  Mary,  if 
all  the  rest  of  the  female  sex  were 
turned  into  apes,"  said  Lord  L'Es- 
trange,  with  deliberate  fervour. 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  the  Earl, 
u  what  extraordinary  language  is 
this  !  And  pray  why,  sir  ?" 

HARLEY. — "I can't  say — there  is  no 
why  in  these  cases.  But,  my  dear  father, 
you  are  not  keeping  faith  with  me." 

LORD  LANSMERE. — "  How?" 

HARLEY. — "  You,  and  my  Lady 
here,  entreat  me  to  marry — I  promise 
to  do  my  best  to  obey  you ;  but  on 
one  condition— that  I  choose  for  my- 
self, and  take  my  time  about  it. 
Agreed  on  both  sides.  Whereon,  off 
goes  your  Lordship — actually  before 
noon,  at  an  hour  when  no  lady  with- 
out a  shudder  could  think  of  cold 
blonde  and  damp  orange  flowers  — 
off  goes  your  Lordship,  I  say,  and 
commits  poor  Lady  Mary  and  your 
unworthy  son  to  a  mutual  admiration 
— which  neither  of  us  ever  felt.  Par- 
don me,  my  father — but  this  is  grave. 
Again  let  me  claim  your  promise — full 
choice  for  myself,  and  no  reference  to 
the  Wars  of  the  Roses.  What  war  of 
the  roses  like  that  between  Modesty  and 
Love  upon  the  cheek  of  the  virgin  !" 

LADY  LANSMERE. — "  Full  choice 
for  yourself,  Harley;— so  be  it.  But 
we,  too,  named  a  condition— Did  we 
not,  Lansmere  ?" 

The  EARL,  (puzzled J— "  Eh— did 
we  ?  Certainly  we  did." 

HARLEY.—"  What  was  it  ?" 

LADY  LANSMERE. — "  The  son  of 
Lord  Lansmere  can  only  marry  the 
daughter  of  a  gentleman." 

The  EARL.—  "  Of  course  — of 
course." 

The  blood  rushed  over  Harley's  fail- 
face,  and  then  as  suddenly  left  it  pale. 

He  walked  away  to  the  window — 
his  mother  followed  him,  and  again 
laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 


English  Life.— Part  XIV.  [Oct. 

"  You  were  cruel,"  said  he,  gently 
and  in  a  whisper,  as  he  winced  under 
the  touch  of  the  hand.  Then  turning 
to  the  Earl,  who  was  gazing  at  him 
in  blank  surprise — (it  never  occurred 
to  Lord  Lansmere  that  there  could  be 
a  doubt  of  his  son's  marrying  beneath 
the  rank  modestly  stated  by  the  Coun- 
tess) —  Harley  stretched  forth  his 
hand,  and  said,  in  his  soft  winning 
tone,  "  You  have  ever  been  most  gra- 
cious to  me,  and  most  forbearing ;  it 
is  but  just  that  I  should  sacrifice  the 
habits  of  an  egotist,  to  gratify  a  wish 
which  you  so  warmly  entertain.  I  agree 
with  you,  too,  that  our  race  should 
not  close  in  me— Noblesse  oblige.  But 
you  know  I  was  ever  romantic ;  and 
I  must  love  where  I  marry — or,  if  not 
love,  I  must  feel  that  my  wife  is 
worthy  of  all  the  love  I  could  once 
have  bestowed.  Now,  as  to  the  vague 
word  'gentleman'  that  my  mother 
employs — word  that  means  so  differ- 
ently on  different  lips — I  confess  that 
I  have  a  prejudice  against  young 
ladies  brought  up  in  the  '  excellent 
foppery  of  the  world,'  as  the  daugh- 
ters of  gentlemen  of  our  rank  mostly 
are.  I  crave,  therefore,  the  most 
liberal  interpretation  of  this  word 
*  gentleman.'  And  so  long  as  there 
be  nothing  mean  or  sordid  in  the  birth, 
habits,  and  education  of  the  father  of 
this  bride  to  be,  I  trust  you  will  both 
agree  to  demand  nothing  more  — 
neither  titles  nor  pedigree." 

"Titles,  no — assuredly,"  said  Lady 
Lansmere ;  "  they  do  not  make  gen- 
tlemen." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  Earl. 
"  Many  of  our  best  families  are  un- 
titled." 

"  Titles— no,"  repeated  Lady  Lans- 
mere ;  "  but  ancestors — yes." 

"Ah,  my  mother,"  said  Harley, 
with  his  most  sad  and  quiet  smile, 
"  it  is  fated  that  we  shall  never  agree. 
The  first  of  our  race  is  ever  the  one 
we  are  most  proud  of;  and  pray,  what 
ancestors  had  he?  Beauty,  virtue, 
modesty,  intellect — if  these  are  not 
nobility  enough  for  a  man,  he  is  a 
slave  to  the  dead." 

With  these  words  Harley  took  up 
his  hat  and  made  towards  the  door. 

"You  said  yourself,  Noblesse  oblige" 
said  the  Countess,  following  him  to 
the  threshold ;  "  we  have  nothing 
more  to  add." 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XIV. 


1851.] 

Harley  slightly  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, kissed  his  mother's  hand, 
whistled  to  Nero,  who  started  up  from 
a  doze  by  the  window,  and  went  his 
way. 

"  Does  he  really  go  abroad  next 
week  ?"  said  the  Earl. 

"  So  he  says." 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  chance  for 
Lady  Mary,"  resumed  Lord  Lans- 
mere,  with  a  slight  but  melancholy 
smile. 

"She  has  not  intellect  enough  to 
charm  him.  She  is  not  worthy  of 
Harley,"  said  the  proud  mother. 

"  Between  you  and  me,"  rejoined 
the  Earl,  rather  timidly,  u  I  don't  see 
what  good  his  intellect  does  him.  He 
could  not  be  more  unsettled  and  use- 


397 


less  if  he  were  the  merest  dunce  in  the 
three  kingdoms.  And  so  ambitious 
as  he  was  when  a  boy !  Katherine,  I 
sometimes  fancy  that  you  know  what 
changed  him." 

*'  I !  Nay,  my  dear  Lord,  it  is  a 
common  change  enough  with  the 
young,  when  of  such  fortunes ;  who 
find,  when  they  enter  life,  that  there 
is  really  little  left  for  them  to  strive 
for.  Had  Harley  been  a  poor  man's 
son,  it  might  have  been  different." 

"  I  was  born  to  the  same  fortunes 
as  Harley,"  said  the  Earl,  shrewdly, 
"  and  yet  I  flatter  myself  I  am  of 
some  use  to  old  England." 

The  Countess  seized  upon  the  occa- 
sion, complimented  her  Lord,  and 
turned  the  subject. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 


Harley  spent  his  day  in  his  usual 
desultory,  lounging  manner — dined  in 
his  quiet  corner  at  his  favourite  club 
— Nero,  not  admitted  into  the  club, 
patiently  waited  for  him  outside  the 
door.  The  dinner  over,  dog  and  man, 
equally  indifferent  to  the  crowd,  saun- 
tered down  that  thoroughfare  which, 
to  the  few  who  can  comprehend  the 
Poetry  of  London,  has  associations  of 
glory  and  of  woe  sublime  as  any  that 
the  ruins  of  the  dead  elder  world  can 
furnish — thoroughfare  that  traverses 
what  was  once  the  courtyard  of  White- 
hall, having  to  its  left  the  site  of  the 
palace  that  lodged  the  royalty  of 
Scotland  —  gains,  through  a  narrow 
strait,  that  old  isle  of  Thorney,  in 
which  Edward  the  Confessor  received 
the  ominous  visit  of  the  Conqueror — 
and,  widening  once  more  by  the  Abbey 
and  the  Hall  of  Westminster,  then 
loses  itself,  like  all  memories  of  earthly 
grandeur,  amidst  humble  passages  and 
mean  defiles. 

Thus  thought  Harley  L'Estrange — 
ever  less  amidst  the  actual  world 
around  him,  than  the  images  invoked 
by  his  own  solitary  soul— as  he  gained 
the  Bridge,  and  saw  the  dull  lifeless 
craft  sleeping  on  the  'J  Silent  Way," 
once  loud  and  glittering  with  the 
gilded  barks  of  the  antique  Seignorie 
of  England. 

It  was  on  that  bridge  that  Audley 
Egerton  had  appointed  to  meet  L'Es- 
trange, at  an  hour  when  he  calculated 


he  could  best  steal  a  respite  from 
debate.  For  Harley,  with  his  fasti- 
dious dislike  to  all  the  resorts  of  his 
equals,  had  declined  to  seek  his  friend 
in  the  crowded  regions  of  Bellamy's. 

Harley's  eye,  as  he  passed  along  the 
bridge,  was  attracted  by  a  still  form, 
seated  on  the  stones  in  one  of  the 
nooks,  with  its  face  covered  by  its 
hands.  "  If  I  were  a  sculptor,"  said 
he  to  himself,  I  should  remember  that 
image  whenever  I  wished  to  convey 
the  idea  of  Despondency  ! "  He  lifted 
his  looks  and  saw,  a  little  before  him 
in  the  midst  of  the  causeway,  the  firm 
erect  figure  of  Audley  Egerton.  The 
moonlight  was  full  on  the  bronzed 
countenance  of  the  strong  public  man, 
— with  its  lines  of  thought  and  care, 
and  its  vigorous  but  cold  expression 
of  intense  self-control. 

"  And  looking  yonder,"  continued 
Harley's  soliloquy,  "  I  should  re- 
member that  form,  when  I  wished  to 
hew  out  from  the  granite  the  idea  of 
Endurance" 

**  So  you  are  come,  and  punctually," 
said  Egerton,  linking  his  arm  in  Har- 
ley's. 

HARLEY. — "Punctually,  of  course, 
for  I  respect  your  time,  and  I  will 
.not  detain  you  long.  I  presume  you 
will  speak  to-night." 

EGERTON. — "  I  have  spoken." 

HARLEY,  (with  interest.)— "  And 
well,  I  hope." 

EGERTON.—"  With  effect,  I  sup-t 


398 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIV. 


[Oct. 


pose,  for  I  have  been  loudly  cheered, 
which  does  not  always  happen  to 
me." 

HARLEY.  —  "And  that  gave  you 
pleasure  ?  " 

EGERTON,  ( after  a  moment's 
thought.) — "  No,  not  the  least." 

HARLEY. — "  What,  then,  attaches 
you  so  much  to  this  life — constant 
drudgery,  constant  warfare— the  more 
pleasurable  faculties  dormant,  all  the 
harsher  ones  aroused,  if  even  its  re- 
wards (and  I  take  the  best  of  those  to 
be  applause)  do  not  please  you  ?  " 

EGERTON. — "  What  ?— custom." 

HARLEY.—"  Martyr ! " 

EGERTON.  — "  You  say  it.  But 
turn  to  yourself;  you  have  decided, 
then,  to  leave  England  next  week." 

HARLEY,  (moodily.)— "Yes.  This 
life  in  a  capital,  where  all  are  so 
active,  myself  so  objectless,  preys  on 
me  like  a  low  fever.  Nothing  here 
amuses  me,  nothing  interests,  nothing 
comforts  and  consoles.  But  I  am 
resolved,  before  it  be  too  late,  to  make 
one  great  struggle  out  of  the  Past, 
and  into  the  natural  world  of  men. 
In  a  word,  I  have  resolved  to  marry." 

EGERTON.—"  Whom  ?  " 

HARLEY,  (seriously.) — "  Upon  my 
life,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are  a  great 
philosopher.  You  have  hit  the  exact 
question.  You  see  I  cannot  marry  a 
dream  ;  and  where,  out  of  dreams, 
shall  I  find  this  '  whom  ?  '  " 

EGERTON.  —  "You  do  not  search 
for  her." 

HARLEY. — "  Do  we  ever  search  for 
love?  Does  it  not  flash  upon  us 
when  we  least  expect  it  ?  Is  it  not 
like  the  inspiration  to  the  muse  ? 
What  poet  sits  down  and  says,  'I 
will  write  a  poem  ?  '  What  man 
looks  out  and  says,  'I  will  fall  in 
love.'  No  !  Happiness,  as  the  great 
German  tells  us, 4  falls  suddenly  from 
the  bosom  of  the  gods  ; '  so  does 
love." 

EGERTON. — "  You  remember  the 
old  line  in  Horace  :  l  Life's  tide  flows 
away,  while  the  boor  sits  on  the 
margin  and  waits  for  the  ford.' " 

HARLEY. — "  An  idea  which  inci- 
dentally dropped  from  you  some 
weeks  ago,  and  which  I  had  before 
half-meditated,  has  since  haunted  me. 
If  I  could  but  find  some  child  with 
s-.vect  dispositions  and  fair  intellect 
not  yet  formed,  and  train  her  up, 


according  to  my  ideal.  I  am  still 
young  enough  to  wait  a  few  years. 
And  meanwhile  I  shall  have  gained 
what  I  so  sadly  want — an  object  in  life. 
EGERTON.  —  "  You  are  ever  the 
child  of  romance.  But  what " — 

Here  the  minister  was  interrupted 
by  a  messenger  from  the  House 
of  Commons,  whom  Audley  had  in- 
structed to  seek  him  on  the  bridge 
should  his  presence  be  required — 
"  Sir,  the  Opposition  are  taking  ad- 
vantage of  the  thinness  of  the  House 

to  call  for   a   division.       Mr  

is  put  up  to  speak  for  time,  but  they 
won't  hear  him." 

Egerton  turned  hastily  to  Lord 
L'Estrange,  "  You  see  you  must  ex- 
cuse me  now.  To-morrow  I  must 
go  to  Windsor  for  two  days  ;  but  we 
shall  meet  on  my  return." 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  answered 
Harley  ;  "  I  stand  out  of  the  pale  of 
your  advice,  O  practical  man  of  sense. 
And  if,"  added  Harley,  with  affec- 
tionate and  mournful  sweetness — "  If 
I  worry  you  with  complaints  which 
you  cannot  understand,  it  is  only  be- 
cause of  old  schoolboy  habits.  I  can 
have  no  trouble  that  I  do  not  confide 
in  you." 

Egerton's  hand  trembled  as  it 
pressed  his  friend's  ;  and,  without  a 
word,  he  hurried  away  abruptly. 
Harley  remained  motionless  for  some 
seconds,  in  deep  and  quiet  reverie ; 
then  he  called  to  his  dog,  and  turned 
back  towards  Westminster. 

He  passed  the  nook  in  which  had 
sate  the  still  figure  of  Despondency. 
But  the  figure  had  now  risen,  and 
was  leaning  against  the  balustrade. 
The  dog  who  preceded  his  master 
paused  by  the  solitary  form,  and 
sniffed  it  suspiciously. 

"Nero,  sir,  come  here,"  said  Har- 
ley. 

"Nero,"  that  was  the  name  by 
which  Helen  had  said  that  her  father's 
friend  had  called  his  dog.  And  the 
sound  startled  Leonard  as  he  leant, 
sick  at  heart,  against  the  stone.  He 
lifted  his  head  and  looked  wistfully, 
eagerly,  into  Hurley's  face.  Those 
eyes,  bright,  clear,  yet  so  strangely 
deep  and  absent,  which  Helen  had 
described,  met  his  own,  and  chained 
them.  For  L'Estrange  halted  also ; 
the  boy's  countenance  was  not  un- 
familiar to  him.  lie  returned  the 


1851.]  My  Novel;  o;1,  Varieties  in 

inquiring  look  fixed  on  his  own,  and 
recognised  the  student  by  the  book- 
stall. 

"  The  dog  is  quite  harmless,  sir," 
said  L'Estrange,  with  a  smile. 

"  And  you  called  him  Nero  ?  "  said 
Leonard,  still  gazing  on  the  stranger. 

Harley  mistook  the  drift  of  the 
question. 

"  Nero,  sir  ;  but  he  is  free  from  the 
sanguinary  propensities  of  his  Roman, 
namesake."  Harley  was  about  to 
pass  on,  when  Leonard  said  falter- 
ingly, — 

"  Pardon  me,  but  can  it  be  possible 
that  you  are  one  whom  I  have  sought 
in  vain,  on  behalf  of  the  child  of 
Captain  Digby  ?  " 

Harley  stopped  short.  "Digby!" 
he  exclaimed,  "  where  is  he  ?  He 
should  have  found  me  easily.  I  gave 
him  an  address." 


English  Life —Part  XIV.  390 

"Ah,  Heaven  be  thanked,"  cried 
Leonard.  "  Helen  is  saved  ;  sis ; 
will  not  die  ; "  and  he  burst  into 
tears. 

A  very  few  moments,  and  a  very 
few  words  sufficed  to  explain  to  Har- 
ley the  state  of  his  old  fellow-soldier's 
orphan.  And  Harley  himself  soon 
stood  in  the  young  sufferer's  room, 
supporting  her  burning  temples  on  his 
breast,  and  whispering,  into  ears  that 
heard  him,  as  in  a  happy  dream, 
"  Comfort,  comfort ;  your  father  yet 
lives  in  me." 

And  then  Helen,  raising  her  eyes, 
said,  "  But  Leonard  is  my  brother — 
more  than  brother— and  he  needs  a 
father's  care  more  than  I  do." 

"  Hush,  hush,  Helen.  I  need  no 
one — nothing  now !  "  cried  Leonard  ; 
and  his  tears  gushed  over  the  little 
hand  that  clasped  his  own. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


Harley  L'Estrauge  was  a  man 
whom  all  things  that  belong  to  the 
romantic  and  poetic  side  of  our  human 
life  deeply  impressed.  When  he  came 
to  learn  "the  ties  between  these  two 
children  of  nature,  standing  side  by 
side,  alone  amidst  the  storms  of  fate, 
his  heart  was  more  deeply  moved 
than  it  had  been  for  many  years.  In 
those  dreary  attics,  overshadowed  by 
the  smoke  and  reek  of  the  humble 
suburb — the  workday  world  in  its 
harshest  and  tritest  forms  below  and 
around  them  —  he  recognised  that 
divine  poem  which  comes  out  from  all 
union  between  the  mind  and  the  heart. 
Here,  on  the  rough  deal  table,  (the 
ink  scarcely  dry,)  lay  the  writings  of 
the  young  wrestler  for  fame  and 
bread ;  there,  on  the  other  side  the 
partition,  on  that  mean  pallet,  lay 
the  boy's  sole  comforter — the  all  that 
warmed  his  heart  with  living  mortal 
affection.  On  one  side  the  wall,  the 
world  of  imagination  ;  on  the  other 
this  world  of  grief  and  of  love.  And 
in  both,  a  spirit  equally  sublime — 
unselfish  Devotion — "  the  something 
afar  from  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow." 

He  looked  round  the  room  into 
which  he  had  followed  Leonard,  on 
quitting  Helen's  bedside.  He  noted 
the  MSS.  on  the  table,  and,  pointing 
to  them,  said  gently,  "  And  these  are 


the  labours  by  which  you  supported 
the  soldier's  orphan? — soldier  your- 
self, in  a  hard  battle!" 

"The  battle  waslost— Icouldnotsup- 
port  her,"  replied  Leonard  mournfully. 

"  But  you  did  not  desert  her. 
When  Pandora's  box  was  opened, 
they  say  Hope  lingered  last " 

"  False,  false,"  said  Leonard ;  "  a 
heathen's  notion.  There  are  deities 
that  linger  behind  Hope; — Gratitude, 
Love,  and  Duty." 

"  Yours  is  no  common  nature," 
exclaimed  Harley  admiringly,  "  but 
I  must  sound  it  more  deeply  here- 
after; at  present  I  hasten  for  the 
physician;  I  shall  return  with  him. 
We  must  move  that  poor  child  from 
this  low  close  air  as  soon  as  possible. 
Meanwhile,  let  me  qualify  your  re- 
jection of  the  old  fable.  Wherever 
Gratitude,  Love,  and  Duty  remain  to 
man,  believe  me  that  Hope  is  there 
too,  though  she  may  be  oft  invisible, 
hidden  behind  the  sheltering  wings 
of  the  nobler  deities." 

Harley  said  this  with  that  wondrous 
smile  of  his,  which  cast  a  brightness 
over  the  whole  room — and  went  away. 

Leonard  stole  softly  towards  the 
grimy  window;  and  looking  up  to- 
wards the  stars  that  shone  pale  over 
the  roof-tops,  he  murmured,  "  O  thou, 
the  All-  seeing  and  All-merciful ! — how 


400 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in 


it '  comforts  me  now  to  think  that 
though  my  dreams  of  knowledge  may 
have  sometimes  obscured  the  Heaven, 
I  never  doubted  that  Thou  wert  there ! 
— as  luminous  and  everlasting,  though 
behind  the  cloud ! "  So,  for  a  few  mi- 
nutes, he  prayed  silently — then  passed 
into  Helen's  room,  and  sate  beside  her 
motionless,  for  she  slept.  She  woke 
just  as  Harley  returned  with  a  physi- 
cian, and  then  Leonard,  returning  to 
his  own  room,  saw  amongst  his  papers 
the  letter  he  had  written  to  Mr  Dale ; 
and  muttering,  "  I  need  not  disgrace 


English  Life.— Part  XIV.  [Oct. 

my  calling — I  need  not  be  the  mendi- 
cant now" — held  the  letter  to  the 
flame  of  the  candle.  And  while  he 
said  this,  and  as  the  burning  tinder 
dropped  on  the  floor,  the  sharp 
hunger,  unfelt  during  his  late  anxious 
emotions,  gnawed  at  his  entrails.  Still, 
even  hunger  could  not  reach  that 
noble  pride  which  had  yielded  to  a 
sentiment  nobler  than  itself— and  he 
smiled  as  he  repeated,  "  No  mendi- 
cant!—the  life  that  I  was  sworn  to 
guard  is  saved.  I  can  raise  against 
Fate  the  front  of  the  Man  once  more." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


A  few  days  afterwards,  and  Helen, 
removed  to  a  pure  air,  and  under  the 
advice  of  the  first  physicians,  was  out 
of  all  danger. 

It  was  a  pretty  detached  cottage, 
with  its  windows  looking  over  the 
wild  heaths  of  Norwood,  to  which 
Harley  rode  daily  to  watch  the  con- 
valescence of  his  young  charge— an 
object  in  life  was  already  found.  As 
she  grew  better  and  stronger,  he 
coaxed  her  easily  into  talking,  and 
listened  to  her  with  pleased  surprise. 
The  heart  so  infantine,  and  the  sense 
so  womanly,  struck  him  much  by  its 
rare  contrast  and  combination.  Leo- 
nard, whom  he  had  insisted  on  placing 
also  in  the  cottage,  had  stayed  there 
willingly  till  Helen's  recovery  was 
beyond  question.  Then  he  came  to 
Lord  L'Estrange,  as  the  latter  was 
about  one  day  to  leave  the  cottage, 
and  said  quietly,  "  Now,  my  Lord, 
that  Helen  is  safe,  and  now  that  she 
will  need  me  no  more,  I  can  no  longer 
be  a  pensioner  on  your  bounty.  I 
return  to  London." 

"  You  are  my  visitor — not  my  pen- 
sioner, foolish  boy,"  said  Harley,  who 
had  already  noticed  the  pride  which 
spoke  in  that  farewell;  "  come  into 
the  garden,  and  let  us  talk." 

Harley  seated  himself  on  a  bench 
on  the  little  lawn  ;  Nero  crouched  at 
his  feet ;  Leonard  stood  beside  him. 

"  So,"  said  Lord  L'Estrange,  "you 
would  return  to  London! — What  to 
do?" 

"  Fulfil  my  fate." 

"And  that?" 

"  I  cannot  guess.  Fate  is  the  Isis 
whose  veil  no  mortal  can  ever  raise." 


"  You  should  be  born  for  great 
things,"  said  Harley  abruptly.  "I 
am  sure  that  you  write  well.  I 
have  seen  that  you  study  with  passion. 
Better  than  writing  and  better  than 
study,  you  have  a  noble  heart,  and 
the  proud  desire  of  independence. 
Let  me  see  your  MSS.,  or  any  copies 
of  what  you  have  already  printed. 
Do  not  hesitate — I  ask  but  to  be  a 
reader.  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a 
patron  ;  it  is  a  word  I  hate." 

Leonard's  eyes  sparkled  through 
their  sudden  moisture.  He  brought 
out  his  portfolio,  placed  it  on  the 
bench  beside  Harley,  and  then  went 
softly  to  the  further  part  of  the  gar- 
den. Nero  looked  after  him,  and 
then  rose  and  followed  him  slowly. 
The  boy  seated  himself  on  the  turf, 
and  Nero  rested  his  dull  head  on  the 
loud  heart  of  the  poet. 

Harley  took  up  the  various  papers 
before  him  and  read  them  through 
leisurely.  Certainly  he  was  no  critic. 
He  was  not  accustomed  to  analyse 
what  pleased  or  displeased  him ;  but 
his  perceptions  were  quick,  and  his 
taste  exquisite.  As  he  read,  his 
countenance,  always  so  genuinely 
expressive,  exhibited  now  doubt  and 
now  admiration.  He  was  soon  struck 
by  the  contrast  in  the  boy's  writings ; 
between  the  pieces  that  sported  with 
fancy,  and  those  that  grappled  with 
thought.  In  the  first,  the  young  poet 
seemed  so  unconscious  of  his  own 
individuality.  His  imagination,  afar 
and  aloft  from  the  scenes  of  his  suffer- 
ing, ran  riot  amidst  a  paradise  of 
happy  golden  creations.  But  in  the 
last,  the  THINKER  stood  out  alone  and 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIV.  401 

questioning,  in  troubled  repay  to  the  government  whatever 
the  government  bestows  on  him ; '  and 
you  will  rise  to-morrow  indepen- 
dent in  means,  and  with  fair  occa- 
sions to  attain  to  fortune  and  distinc- 
tion. This  is  one  offer,  what  say  you 
to  it?" 

Leonard  thought  bitterly  of  his 
interview  with  Audley  Egerton,  and 
the  minister's  proffered  crown-piec.e. 
He  shook  his  head,  and  replied — 

"  Oh,  my  Lord,  how  have  I  de- 
served such  kindness  ?  Do  with  me 
what  you  will ;  but  if  I  have  the 
option,  I  would  rather  follow  my  own 
calling.  This  is  not  the  ambition 
that  inflames  me." 

"  Hear,  then,  the  other  offer.  I 
have  a  friend  with  whom  I  am  less 
intimate  than  Egerton,  and  who  has 
nothing  in  his  gift  to  bestow.  I 
speak  of  a  man  of  letters— Henry  Nor- 
reyS_of  whom  you  have  doubtless 
heard,  who,  I  should  say,  conceived 
an  interest  in  you  when  he  observed 
you  reading  at  the  book-stall.  I  have 
often  heard  him  say,  that  literature 
as  a  profession  is  misunderstood,  and 
that  rightly  followed,  with  the  same 
pains  and  the  same  prudence  which 
are  brought  to  bear  on  other  profes- 
sions, a  competence  at  least  can  be 
always  ultimately  obtained.  But  the 
way  may  be  long  and  tedious — and  it 
leads  to  no  power  but  over  thought ; 
it  rarely  attains  to  wealth ;  and, 
though  reputation  may  be  certain, 
Fame,  such  as  poets  dream  of,  is  the 
lot  of  few.  What  say  you  to  this 
course?  " 

"  My  Lord,  I  decide,"  said  Leonard 
firmly ;  and  then  his  young  face 
lighting  up  with  enthusiasm,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Yes,  if,  as  you  say,  there 
be  two  men  within  me,  I  feel,  that 
were  I  condemned  wholly  to  the 
mechanical  and  practical  world,  one 
would  indeed  destroy  the  other.  And 
the  conqueror  would  be  the  ruder  and 
the  coarser.  Let  me  pursue  those 
ideas  that,  though  they  have  but 
flitted  across  me,  vague  and  form- 
less— have  ever  soared  towards  the 
sunlight.  No  matter  whether  or  not 
they  lead  to  fortune  or  to  fame,  at 
least  they  will  lead  me  upward ! 
Knowledge  for  itself  I  desire — what 
care  I,  if  it  be  not  power !  " 

"  Enough,"  said  Harley,  with  a 
pleased  smile  at  his  young  com- 


1851.] 

mournful, 

sorrow,  the  hard  world  on  which  he 
gazed*  .All  in  the  thought  was  un- 
settled, tumultuous ;  all  in  the  fancy 
serene  and  peaceful.  The  genius 
seemed  divided  into  twain  shapes ; 
the  one  bathing  its  wings  amidst  the 
starry  dews  of  heaven ;  the  other  wan- 
dering "melancholy,  slow,"  amidst 
desolate  and  boundless  sands.  Harley 
gently  laid  down  the  paper  and  mused 
a  little  while.  Then  he  rose  and  walked 
to  Leonard,  gazing  on  his  counten- 
ance as  he  neared  the  boy,  with  a 
new  and  a  deeper  interest. 

"I  have  read  your  papers,"  he  said, 
"  and  recognise  in  them  two  men, 
belonging  to  two  worlds,  essentially 
distinct." 

Leonard  started,  and  murmured, 
"True,  true!" 

"I  apprehend,"  resumed  Harley, 
M  that  one  of  these  men  must  either 
destroy  the  other,  or  that  the  two  must 
become  fused  and  harmonised  into  a 
single  existence.  Get  your  hat,  mount 
my  groom's  horse,  and  come  with  me 
to  London ;  we  will  converse  by  the 
way.  Look  you,  I  believe  you  and  I 
agree  in  this,  that  the  first  object  of 
every  nobler  spirit  is  independence. 
It  is  towards  this  independence  that 
I  alone  presume  to  assist  you ;  and 
this  is  a  service  which  the  proudest 
man  can  receive  without  a  blush." 

Leonard  lifted  his  eyes  towards 
Harley's,  and  those  eyes  swam  with 
grateful  tears ;  but  his  heart  was  too 
full  to  answer. 

"I  am  not  one  of  those,"  said 
Harley,  when  they  were  on  the 
road,  "  who  think  that  because  a 
young  man  writes  poetry  he  is  fit 
for  nothing  else,  and  that  he  must 
be  a  poet  or  a  pauper.  I  have  said 
that  in  you  there  seem  to  me  to 
be  two  men,  the  man  of  the  Ideal 
world,  the  man  of  the  Actual.  To 
each  of  these  men  I  can  offer  a  sepa- 
rate career.  The  first  is  perhaps 
the  more  tempting.  It  is  the  interest 
of  the  state  to  draw  into  its  service 
all  the  talent  and  industry  it  can 
obtain  ;  and  under  his  native  state 
every  citizen  of  a  free  country  should 
be  proud  to  take  service.  I  have  a 
friend  who  is  a  minister,  and  who  is 
known  to  encourage  talent — Audley 
Egerton.  I  have  but  to  say  to  him, 
*  There  is  a  young  man  who  will  well 


402 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XIV. 


[Oct. 


panion's  outburst.  "  As  you  decide 
so  shall  it  be  settled.  And  now  per- 
mit me,  if  not  impertinent,  to  ask 
you  a  few  questions.  Your  name  is 
Leonard  Fail-field?" 

The  boy  blushed  deeply,  and  bowed 
his  head  as  if  in  assent. 

"  Helen  says  you  are  self-taught; 
for  the  rest  she  refers  me  to  you — 
thinking,  perhaps,  that  I  should 
esteem  you  less— rather  than  yet  more 
highly — if  she  said  you  were,  as  I 
presume  to  conjecture,  of  humble 
birth." 

"  My  birth,"  said  Leonard,  slowly, 
"  is  very — very — humble." 

"  The  name  of  Fairfield  is  not  un- 
known to  me.  There  was  one  of 
that  name  who  married  into  a  family 
in  Lansmere — married  an  Avenel — " 
continued  Harley  —  and  his  voice 
quivered.  "  You  change  countenance. 
Oh,  could  your  mother's  name  have 
been  Avenel  ?  " 

u  Yes,"  said  Leonard,  between  his 
set  teeth.  Harley  laid  his  hand  on 
the  boy's  shoulder.  u  Then,  indeed, 
I  have  a  claim  on  you — then,  indeed, 
we  are  friends.  I  have  a  right  to 
serve  any  of  that  family." 

Leonard  looked  at  him  in  sur- 
prise— u  For,"  continued  Harley, 
recovering  himself,  "  they  always 
served  my  family  ;  and  my  recollec- 
tions of  Lansmere,  though  boyish,  are 
indelible."  He  spurred  on  his  horse 
as  the  words  closed — and  again  there 
was  a  long  pause ;  but  from  that 
time  Harley  always  spoke  to  Leonard 
in  a  soft  voice,  and  often  gazed  on 
him  with  earnest  and  kindly  eyes. 

They  reached  a  house  in  a  central, 
though  not  fashionable  street.  A 
man-servant  of  a  singularly  grave 
and  awful  aspect  opened  the  door ;  a 
man  who  had  lived  all  his  life  with 
authors.  Poor  devil,  he  was  indeed 
prematurely  old !  The  care  on  his 
lip  and  the  pomp  on  his  brow — no 
mortal's  pen  can  describe  ! 

"  Is  Mr  Norreys  at  home  ?  "  asked 
Harley. 

"  He  is  at  home — to  his  friends,  my 
Lord,"  answered  the  man  majesti- 
cally ;  and  he  stalked  across  the  hall 
with  the  step  of  a  Dangeau  ushering 
some  Montmorenci  to  the  presence  of 
Louis  le  Grand. 

"  Stay — show  this  gentleman  into 
another  room.  I  will  go  first  into  the 


library;  Avait  for  me,  Leonard."  The 
man  nodded,  and  ushered  Leonard 
into  the  dining-room.  Then  pausing 
before  the  door  of  the  library,  and 
listening  an  instant,  as  if  fearful  to 
disturb  some  mood  of  inspiration, 
opened  it  very  softly.  To  his  ineffable 
disgust,  Harley  pushed  before,  and 
entered  abruptly.  It  was  a  large 
room,  lined  with  books  from  the  floor 
to  the  ceiling.  Books  were  on  all  the 
tables — books  were  on  all  the  chairs. 
Harley  seated  himself  on  a  folio  of 
Raleigh's  History  of  the  World,  and 
cried — 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  treasure  !  " 

"  What  is  it?"  said  Norreys,  good- 
humouredly,  looking  up  from  his  desk. 

"  A  mind  !  " 

"  A  mind  ! "  echoed  Norreys, 
vaguely.  "  Your  own  ?  " 

"  Pooh — I  have  none — I  have  only 
a  heart  and  a  fancy.  Listen.  You 
remember  the  boy  we  saw  reading  at 
the  book-stall.  I  have  caught  him 
for  you,  and  you  shall  train  him  into 
a  man.  I  have  the  warmest  interest 
in  his  future — for  I  knew  some  of  his 
family — and  one  of  that  family  was 
very  dear  to  me.  As  for  money,  he 
has  not  a  shilling,  and  not  a  shilling 
would  he  accept  gratis  from  you  or 
me  either.  But  he  comes  Avith  bold 
heart  to  work — and  work  you  must 
find  him."  Harley  then  rapidly  told 
his  friend  of  the  two  offers  he  had 
made  to  Leonard — and  Leonard's 
choice, 

"  This  promises  very  well ;  for 
letters  a  man  must  haA-e  a  strong 
vocation  as  he  should  have  for  law — 
I  Avill  do  all  that  you  wish." 

Harley  rose  with  alertness — shook 
Norreys  cordially  by  the  hand — hur- 
ried out  of  the  room,  and  returned 
with  Leonard. 

Mr  Norreys  e}red  the  young  man 
with  attention.  He  was  naturally 
rather  severe  than  cordial  in  his  man- 
ner to  strangers — contrasting  in  this, 
as  in  most  things,  the  poor  vagabond 
Burley.  But  he  was  a  good  judge  of 
the  human  countenance,  and  he  liked 
Leonard's.  After  a  pause  he  held  out 
his  hand. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  Lord  L'Estrange 
tells  me  that  you  wish  to  enter  litera- 
ture as  a  calling,  and  no  doubt  to 
study  it  as  an  art.  I  may  help  you  in 
this,  and  you  meanwhile  can  help  me. 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

I  want  an  amanuensis — I  offer  you 
that  place.  The  salary  will  be  pro- 
portioned to  the  services  you  will 
render  me.  I  have  a  room  in  my 
house  at  your  disposal.  When  I  first 
came  up  to  London,  I  made  the  same 
choice  that  I  hear  you  have  done.  I 
have  no  cause,  even  in  a  worldly 
point  of  view,  to  repent  my  choice. 
It  gave  me  an  income  larger  than  my 
wants.  I  trace  my  success  to  these 
maxims,  which  are  applicable  to  all 
professions — 1st,  Never  to  trust  to 
genius — for  what  can  be  obtained  by 
labour;  2dly,  Never  to  profess  to 
teach  what  we  have  not  studied  to 
understand  ;  3dly,  Never  to  engage 
our  word  to  what  we  do  not  do  our 


English  Life.— Part  XIV. 


403 


best  to  execute.  With  these  rules, 
literature,  provided  a  man  does  not 
mistake  his  vocation  for  it,  and  will, 
under  good  advice,  go  through  the  pre- 
liminary discipline  of  natural  power?, 
which  all  vocations  require,  is  as  good 
a  calling  as  any  other.  Without  them 
a  shoeblack's  is  infinitely  better." 

u  Possible  enough,"  muttered  Har- 
ley ;  "  but  there  have  been  great 
writers  wrho  observed  none  of  your 
maxims." 

"  Great  writers,  probably,  but  very 
unenviable  men.  My  Lord,  my  Lord, 
don't  corrupt  the  pupil  you  bring  to 
me."  Harley  smiled  and  took  his 
departure,  and  left  Genius  at  school 
with  Common  Sense  and  Experience. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


While  Leonard  Fail-field  had  been 
obscurely  wrestling  against  poverty, 
neglect,  hunger,  and  dread  tempta- 
tion, bright  had  been  the  opening  day, 
and  smooth  the  upward  path,  of 
Kandal  Leslie.  Certainly  no  young 
man,  able  and  ambitious,  could  enter 
life  under  fairer  auspices ;  the  con- 
nection and  avowed  favourite  of  a 
popular  and  energetic  statesman,  the 
brilliant  writer  of  a  political  work, 
that  had  lifted  him  at  once  into  a 
station  of  his  own  —  received  and 
courted  in  those  highest  circles,  to 
which  neither  rank  nor  fortune  alone 
suffices  for  a  familiar  passport — the 
circles  above  fashion  itself— the  circles 
of  power — with  every  facility  of  aug- 
menting information,  and  learning 
the  world  betimes  through  the  talk  of 
its  acknowledged  masters, — Randal 
had  but  to  move  straight  onward,  and 
success  was  sure.  But  his  tortuous 
spirit  delighted  in  scheme  and  intrigue 
for  their  own  sake.  In  scheme  and 
intrigue  he  saw  shorter  paths  to  for- 
tune, if  not  to  fame.  His  besetting  sin 
was  also  his  besetting  weakness.  He 
did  not  aspire — he  coveted.  Though  in 
a  far  higher  social  position  than  Frank 
Hazeldean,  despite  the  worldly  pro- 
spects of  his  old  school-fellow,  he 
coveted  the  very  things  that  kept 
Frank  Hazeldean  below  him— coveted 
his  idle  gaieties,  his  careless  pleasures, 
his  very  waste  of  youth.  Thus,  also, 
Randal  less  aspired  to  Audley  Eger- 
ton's  repute  than  he  coveted  Audley 


Egerton's  wealth  and  pomp,  his 
princely  expenditure,  and  his  Castle 
Rackrent  in  Grosvenor  Square.  It 
was  the  misfortune  of  his  birth  to  be 
so  near  to  both  these  fortunes — near  to 
that  of  Leslie,  as  the  future  head  of 
that  fallen  house, — near  even  to  that 
of  Hazeldean,  since,  as  we  have  seen 
before,  if  the  Squire  had  had  110 
son,  Randal's  descent  from  the 
Hazeldeans  suggested  himself  as  the 
one  on  whom  these  broad  lands 
should  devolve.  Most  young  men, 
brought  into  intimate  contact  with 
Audley  Egerton,  would  have  felt  for 
that  personage  a  certain  loyal  and 
admiring,  if  not  very  affectionate, 
respect.  For  there  was  something 
grand  in  Egerton— something  that 
commands  and  fascinates  the  young. 
His  determined  courage,  his  energetic 
will,  his  almost  regal  liberality,  con- 
trasting a  simplicity  in  personal  tastes 
and  habits  that  was  almost  austere 
— his  rare  and  seemingly  uncon- 
scious power  of  charming  even  the 
women  most  wearied  of  homage,  and 
persuading  even  the  men  most  obdu- 
rate to  counsel — all  served  to  invest 
the  practical  man  with  those  spells 
which  are  usually  confined  to  the 
ideal  one.  But,  indeed,  Audley  Eger- 
ton was  an  Ideal — the  ideal  of  the 
Practical.  Not  the  mere  vulgar, 
plodding,  red-tape  machine  of  petty 
business,  but  the  man  of  strong  sense, 
inspired  by  inflexible  energy,  and 
guided  to  definite  earthly  objects.  In 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XIV. 


404 

a  dissolute  and  corrupt  form  of  govern- 
ment, under  a  decrepit  monarchy,  or 
a  vitiated  republic,  Audley  Egerton 
might  have  been  a  most  dangerous 
citizen ;  for  his  ambition  was  so  reso- 
lute, and  his  sight  to  its  ends  was  so 
clear.  But  there  is  something  in 
public  life  in  England  which  compels 
the  really  ambitious  man  to  honour, 
unless  his  eyes  are  jaundiced  and 
oblique  like  Randal  Leslie's.  It  is  so 
necessary  in  England  to  be  a  gentle- 
man. And  thus  Egerton  was 
emphatically  considered  a  gentleman. 
Without  the  least  pride  in  other 
matters,  with  little  apparent  sensi- 
tiveness, touch  him  on  the  point  of 
gentleman,  and  no  one  so  sensitive 
and  so  proud.  As  Randal  saw  more 
of  him,  and  watched  his  moods  with 
the  lynx  -eyes  of  the  household  spy, 
he  could  perceive  that  this  hard  me- 
chanical man  was  subject  to  fits  of 
melancholy,  even  of  gloom ;  and  though 
they  did  not  last  long,  there  was  even 
in  his  habitual  coldness  an  evidence 
of  something  comprest,  latent,  pain- 
ful, lying  deep  within  his  memory. 
This  would  have  interested  the  kindly 
feelings  of  a  grateful  heart.  But 
Randal  detected  and  watched  it  only 
as  a  clue  to  some  secret  it  might  pro- 
fit him  to  gain.  For  Randal  Leslie 
hated  Egerton;  and  hated  him  the 
more  because,  with  all  his  book  know- 
ledge and  his  conceit  in  his  own 
talents,  he  could  not  despise  his 
patron — because  he  had  not  yet  suc- 
ceeded in  making  his  patron  the  mere 
tool  or  stepping-stone  —  because  he 
thought  that  Egerton's  keen  eye  saw 
through  his  wily  heart,  even  while, 
as  if  in  profound  disdain,  the  minister 
helped  the  protege.  But  this  last 
suspicion  was  unsound.  Egerton  had 
not  detected  Leslie's  corrupt  and 
treacherous  nature.  He  might  have 
other  reasons  for  keeping  him  at  a 
certain  distance,  but  he  inquired  too 
little  into  Randal's  feelings  towards 
himself  to  question  the  attachment,  or 
doubt  the  sincerity,  of  one  who  owed 
to  him  so  much.  But  that  which  more 
than  all  embittered  Randal's  feelings 
towards  Egerton,  was  the  careful  and 
deliberate  frankness  with  which  the 
latter  had,  more  than  once,  repeated 
and  enforced  the  odious  announce- 
ment, that  Randal  had  nothing  to 
expect  from  the  minister's — WILL, 


[Oct. 


nothing  to  expect  from  that  wealth 
which  glared  in  the  hungry  eyes  of 
the  pauper  heir  to  the  Leslies  of  Rood. 
To  whom,  then,  could  Egerton  mean 
to  devise  his  fortune  ?  To  whom  but 
Frank  Hazeldean.  Yet  Audley  took 
so  little  notice  of  his  nephew— seemed 
so  indifferent  to  him,  that  that  suppo- 
sition, however  natural,  seemed  ex- 
posed to  doubt.  The  astuteness  of 
Randal  was  perplexed.  Meanwhile, 
however,  the  less  he  himself  could 
rely  upon  Egerton  for  fortune,  the 
more  he  revolved  the  possible  chances 
of  ousting  Frank  from  the  inheritance 
of  Hazeldean — in  part,  at  least,  if  not 
wholly.  To  one  less  scheming,  crafty, 
and  remorseless  than  Randal  Leslie 
with  every  day  became  more  and 
more,  such  aproject  would  have  seemed 
the  wildest  delusion.  But  there  was 
something  fearful  in  the  manner  in 
which  this  young  man  sought  to  turn 
knowledge  into  power,  and  make  the 
study  of  all  weakness  in  others  sub- 
servient to  his  own  ends.  He  wormed 
himself  thoroughly  into  Frank's  con- 
fidence. He  learned  through  Frank 
all  the  Squire's  peculiarities  of  thought 
and  temper,  and  thoroughly  pon- 
dered over  each  word  in  the  father's 
letters,  which  the  son  gradually 
got  into  the  habit  of  showing  to 
the  perfidious  eyes  of  his  friend. 
Randal  saw  that  the  Squire  had  two 
characteristics,  which  are  very  com- 
mon amongst  proprietors,  and  which 
might  be  invoked  as  antagonists  to 
his  warm  fatherly  love.  First,  the 
Squire  was  as  fond  of  his  estate  as  if 
it  were  a  living  thing,  and  part  of  his 
own  flesh  and  blood;  and  in  his 
lectures  to  Frank  upon  the  sin  of  extra- 
vagance, the  Squire  always  let  out 
this  foible :— "  What  was  to  become 
of  the  estate  if  it  fell  into  the  hands 
of  a  spendthrift?  No  man  should 
make  ducks  and  drakes  of  Hazel- 
dean  ;  let  Frank  beware  of  that"  &c. 
Secondly,  the  Squire  was  not  only 
fond  of  his  lands,  but  he  was  jealous 
of  them — that  jealousy  which  even 
the  tenderest  fathers  sometimes  en- 
tertain towards  their  natural  heirs. 
He  could  not  bear  the  notion  that 
Frank  should  count  on  his  death ;  and 
he  seldom  closed  an  admonitory  letter 
without  repeating  the  information  that 
Hazeldean  was  not  entailed;  that  it 
was  his  to  do  with  as  he  pleased 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIV. 


through  life  and  in  death.  Indirect 
menace  of  this  nature  rather  wounded 
and  galled  than  intimidated  Frank ; 
for  the  young  man  was  extremely 
generous  and  high-spirited  by  nature, 
and  was  always  more  disposed  to 
some  indiscretion  after  such  warnings 
to  his  self-interest,  as  if  to  show  that 
those  were  the  last  kinds  of  appeal 
likely  to  influence  him.  By  the  help 
of  such  insights  into  the  character  of 
father  and  son,  Randal  thought  he 
saw  gleams  of  daylight  illumining  his 
own  chance  of  the  lands  of  Hazel- 
dean.  Meanwhile  it  appeared  to  him 
obvious  that,  come  what  might  of  it, 
his  own  interests  could  not  lose,  and 
might  most  probably  gain,  by  what- 
ever could  alienate  the  Squire  from 
his  natural  heir.  Accordingly,  though 
with  consummate  tact,  he  instigated 
Frank  towards  the  very  excesses  most 
calculated  to  irritate  the  Squire,  all 
the  while  appearing  rather  to  give  the 
counter  advice,  and  never  sharing  in 
any  of  the  follies  to  which  he  con- 
ducted his  thoughtless  friend.  In 
this  he  worked  chiefly  through  others, 
introducing  Frank  to  every  acquaint- 
ance most  dangerous  to  youth,  either 
from  the  wit  that  laughs  at  prudence, 
or  the  spurious  magnificence  that 
subsists  so  handsomely  upon  bills 
endorsed  by  friends  of  "  great  ex- 
pectations." 

The  minister  and  his  protege  were 
seated  at  breakfast,  the  first  reading 
the  newspaper,  the  last  glancing  over 
his  letters  ;  for  Randal  had  arrived  to 
the  dignity  of  receiving  many  letters 
— ay,  and  notes  too,  three-cornered, 
and  fantastically  embossed.  Egerton 
uttered  an  exclamation,  and  laid  down 
the  paper.  Randal  looked  up  from  his 
correspondence.  The  minister  had 
sunk  into  one  of  his  absent  reveries. 

After  a  long  silence,  observing  that 
Egerton  did  not  return  to  the  news- 
paper, Randal  said,  "Ehem — sir,  I 
have  a  note  from  Frank  Hazeldean, 
who  wants  much  to  see  me ;  his 
father  has  arrived  in  town  unex- 
pectedly." 

"  AVhat  brings  him  here?"  asked 
Egerton,  still  abstractedly. 

"  Why,  it  seems  that  he  has  heard 
some  vague  reports  of  poor  Frank's 
extravagance,  and  Frank  is  rather 
afraid  or  ashamed  to  meet  him." 

"Ay — a  very  great  fault  extra- 


405 

vagance  in  the  young!  —  destroys 
independence;  ruins  or  enslaves  the 
future.  Great  fault  —  very!  And 
what  does  youth  want  that  it  should 
be  extravagant  ?  Has  it  not  every- 
thing in  itself,  merely  because  it  is? 
Youth  is  youth — what  needs  it  more?" 

Egerton  rose  as  he  said  this,  and 
retired  to  his  writing-table,  and  in 
his  turn  opened  his  correspondence. 
Randal  took  up  the  newspaper,  and 
endeavoured,  but  in  vain,  to  conjecture 
what  had  excited  the  minister's  ex- 
clamation, and  the  reverie  that  suc- 
ceeded it. 

Egerton  suddenly  and  sharply  turned 
round  in  his  chair — "  If  you  have 
done  with  the  Times,  have  the  good- 
ness to  place  it  here." 

Randal  had  just  obeyed,  when  a 
knock  at  the  street-door  was  heard, 
and  presently  Lord  L'Estrange  came 
into  the  room,  with  somewhat  a 
quicker  step,  and  somewhat  a  gayer 
mien  than  usual. 

Audley's  hand,  as  if  mechanically, 
fell  upon  the  newspaper — fell  upon 
that  part  of  the  columns  devoted  to 
births,  deaths,  and  marriages.  Ran- 
dal stood  by,  and  noted ;  then,  bowing 
to  L'Estrange,  left  the  room. 

"Audley,"  said  L'Estrange,  "I 
have  had  an  adventure  since  I  saw 
you — an  adventure  that  reopened  the 
Past,  and  may  influence  my  future." 

"  How?" 

"In  the  first  place,  I  have  met 
with  a  relation  of— of — the  Avenels." 

' '  Indeed !  Whom— Richard  Ave- 
nel?" 

"Richard  — Richard — who  is  he? 
Oh,  I  remember;  the  wild  lad  who 
went  off  to  America ;  but  that  was 
when  I  was  a  mere  child." 

"That  Richard  Avenel  is  now  a 
rich  thriving  trader,  and  his  marriage 
is  in  this  newspaper — married  to  an 
honourable  Mrs  M'Catchley.  Well 
— in  this  country — who  should  plume 
himself  on  birth?" 

"  You  did  not  say  so  always, 
Egerton,"  replied  Harley,  with  a  tone 
of  mournful  reproach. 

"  And  I  say  so  now,  pertinently  to 
a  Mrs  M'Catchley,  not  to  the  heir 
of  the  L'Estranges.  But  no  more  of 
these — these  Avenels." 

"  Yes,  more  of  them.  I  tell  you  I 
have  met  a  relation  of  theirs  —  a 
nephew  of— of  " — 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XIV. 


406 

"  Of  Richard  Avenelrs?"  inter- 
rupted Egerton ;  and  then  added  in 
the  slow,  deliberate,  argumentative 
tone  in  which  he  was  wont  to  speak 
in  public,  "  Richard  Avenel  the 
trader  !  I  saw  him  once — a  presum- 
ing and  intolerable  man!" 

"The  nephew  has  not  those  sins. 
He  is  full  of  promise,  of  modesty,  yet 
of  pride.  And  his  countenance — oh, 
Egerton,  he  has  her  eyes." 

Egerton  made  no  answer.  And 
Harley  resumed — 

"I  had  thought  of  placing  him 
under  your  care.  I  knew  you  would 
provide  for  him." 

"  I  will.  Bring  him  hither,"  cried 
Egerton  eagerly.  "  All  that  I  can  do 
to  prove  my — regard  for  a  wish  of 
yours." 

Harley  pressed  his  friend's  hand 
warmly. 

"  I  thank  you  from  my  heart ;  the 
Audley  of  my  boyhood  speaks  now. 
But  the  young  man  has  decided  other- 
wise ;  and  I  do  not  blame  him.  Nay, 
I  rejoice  that  he  chooses  a  career  in 
which,  if  he  find  hardship,  he  may 
escape  dependence." 

"  And  that  career  is — " 

"Letters?" 

"  Letters — Literature!"  exclaimed 
the  statesman.  "  Beggary  !  No, 
no,  Harley,  this  is  your  absurd  ro- 
mance." 

"  It  will  not  be  beggary,  and  it  is 
not  my  romance :  it  is  the  boy's. 
Leave  him  alone,  he  is  my  care  and 
my  charge  henceforth.  He  is  of  her 
blood,  and  I  said  that  he  had  her 
eyes." 

"  But  you  are  going  abroad ;  let 
me  know  where  he  is  ;  I  will  watch 
over  him." 

"  And  unsettle  a  right  ambition  for 
a  wrong  one?  No — you  shall  know 
nothing  of  him  till  he  can  proclaim 
himself.  I  think  that  day  will 
some." 

Audley  mused  a  moment,  and  then 
said,  "  Well,  perhaps  you  are  right. 
After  all,  as  you  say,  independence  is 
a  great  blessing,  and  my  ambition  has 
not  rendered  myself  the  better  or  the 
happier." 

"Yet,  my  poor  Audley,  you  ask 
me  to  be  ambitious." 

"  I  only  wish  you  to  be  consoled," 
•cried  Egerton  with  passion. 

"I  will  try  to  be  so;  and  by  the 


[Oct. 


help  of  a  milder  remedy  than  yours. 
I  said  that  my  adventure  might  in- 
fluence my  future;  it  brought  me 
acquainted  not  only  with  the  young 
man  I  speak  of,  but  the  most  winning 
affectionate  child  —  a  girl." 

"  Is  this  child  an  Avenel  too?  " 

"  No,  she  is  of  gentle  blood—  a 
soldier's  daughter  ;  the  daughter  of 
that  Captain  Digby,  on  whose  behalf 
I  was  a  petitioner  to  your  patronage. 
He  is  dead,  and  in  dying,  my  name 
was  on  his  lips.  He  meant  me,  doubt- 
less, to  be  the  guardian  to  his  orphan. 
I  shall  be  so.  I  have  at  last  an  object 
in  life." 

"But  can  you  seriously  mean  to 
take  this  child  with  you  abroad  ?  " 

"  Seriously,  I  do." 

"And  lodge  her  in  your  own 
house?" 

"  For  a  year  or  so  while  she  is  yet 
a  child.  Then,  as  she  approaches 
youth,  I  shall  place  her  elsewhere." 

"  You  may  grow  to  love  her.  Is 
it  clear  that  she  will  love  you  ?  —  not 
mistake  gratitude  for  love?  It  is  a 
very  hazardous  experiment." 

"  So  was  William  the  Norman's  — 
still  he  was  William  the  Conqueror. 
Thou  biddest  me  move  on  from  the 
past,  and  be  consoled,  yet  thoti 
wouldst  make  me  as  inapt  to  progress 
as  the  mule  in  Slawkenbergius's 
tale,  with  thy  cursed  interlocutions, 
4  Stumbling,  by  St  Nicholas,  every 
step.  Why,  at  this  rate,  we  shall 
be  all  night  getting  into  —  '  Hap- 
piness! Listen,"  continued  Harley, 
setting  off,  full  pelt,  into  one  of  his 
wild  whimsical  humours.  "  One 
of  the  sons  of  the  prophets  in  Israel, 
felling  wood  near  the  River  Jordan 
his  hatchet  forsook  the  helve,  and  fell 
to  the  bottom  of  the  river;  so  he 
prayed  to  have  it  again,  (it  was  but 
a  small  request,  mark  you;)  and  hav- 
ing a  strong  faith,  he  did  not  throw 
the  hatchet  after  the  helve,  but  the 
helve  after  the  hatchet.  Presently 
two  great  miracles  were  seen.  Up 
springs  the  hatchet  from  the  bottom 
of  the  water,  and  fixes  itself  to  its 
old  acquaintance,  the  helve.  Now, 
had  he  wished  to  coach  it  to  Heaven 
in  a  fiery  chariot  like  Elias,  be  as 
rich  as  Job,  strong  as  Samson,  and 
beautiful  as  Absalom,  would  he  have 
obtained  it,  do  you  think  ?  In  truth, 
my  friend,  I  question  it  very  much." 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIV.  407 


u  I  cannot  comprehend  what  you 
mean.  Sad  stuff  you  are  talking." 

"  I  can't  help  that ;  Rabelais  is  to 
be  blamed  for  it.  I  am  quoting  him, 
and  it  is  to  be  found  in  his  prologue 
to  the  chapters  on  the  Moderation  of 
Wishes.  And  apropos  of  '  moderate 
wishes  in  point  of  hatchet,'  I  want 
you  to  understand  that  I  ask  but 
little  from  Heaven.  I  fling  but  the 
helve  after  the  hatchet  that  has  sunk 
into  the  silent  stream.  I  want  the 
other  half  of  the  weapon  that  is 
buried  fathom  deep,  and  for  want  of 


which  the  thick  woods  darken  round 
me  by  the  Sacred  River,  and  I  can 
catch  not  a  glimpse  of  the  stars." 

"In  plain  English,"  said  Audley 
Egerton,  "you  want" — he  stopped 
short,  puzzled. 

u  I  want  my  purpose  and  my  will, 
and  my  old  character,  and  the  nature 
God  gave  me.  I  want  the  half  of  my 
soul  which  has  fallen  from  me.  I 
want  such  love  as  may  replace  to  me 
the  vanished  affections.  Reason 
not — I  throw  the  helve  after  the 
hatchet." 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


Randal  Leslie,  on  leaving  Audley, 
repaired  to  Frank's  lodgings,  and 
after  being  closeted  with  the  young 
guardsman  an  hour  or  so,  took  his  way 
to  Limmer's  hotel,  and  asked  for 
Mr  Hazeldean.  He  was  shown  into 
the  coffee-room,  while  the  waiter  went 
up  stairs  with  his  card,  to  see  if  the 
Squire  was  within,  and  disengaged. 
The  Times  newspaper  lay  sprawling 
on  one  of  the  tables,  and  Randal, 
leaning  over  it,  looked  with  atten- 
tion into  the  column  containing 
births,  deaths,  and  marriages.  But 
in  that  long  and  miscellaneous  list, 
he  could  not  conjecture  the  name 
which  had  so  excited  Mr  Egerton's 
interest. 

"Vexatious  !"  he  muttered;  "there 
is  no  knowledge  which  has  power 
more  useful  than  that  of  the  secrets  of 
men." 

He  turned  as  the  waiter  entered 
and  said  that  Mr  Hazeldean  would  be 
glad  to  see  him. 

As  Randal  entered  the  draw- 
ing-room, the  Squire,  shaking  hands 
with  him,  looked  towards  the  door  as 
if  expecting  some  one  else,  and  his 
honest  face  assumed  a  blank  expres- 
sion of  disappointment  when  the 
door  closed,  and  he  found  that  Ran- 
dal was  unaccompanied. 

"  Well,"  said  he  bluntly,  "  I 
thought  your  old  school-fellow,  Frank, 
might  have  been  with  you." 

"  Have  not  you  seen  him  yet, 
sir?" 

"  No,  I  came  to  town  this  morn- 
ing ;  travelled  outside  the  mail ;  sent 
to  his  barracks,  but  the  young  gentle- 
man does  not  sleep  there — has  an 


apartment  of  his  own ;  he  never  told 
me  that.  We  are  a  plain  family,  the 
Hazeldeans — young  sir ;  and  I  hate 
being  kept  in  the  dark,  by  my  own 
son  too." 

Randal  made  no  answer,  but  look- 
ed sorrowful.  The  Squire,  who  had 
never  before  seen  his  kinsman,  had  a 
vague  idea  that  it  was  not  polite  to 
entertain  a  stranger,  though  a  con- 
nection to  himself,  with  his  family 
troubles,  and  so  resumed  good- 
naturedly. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  make  your 
acquaintance  at  last,  Mr  Leslie.  You 
know,  I  hope,  that  you  have  good 
Hazeldean  blood  in  your  veins?" 

RANDAL,  (smiling.) — "I  am  not 
likely  to  forget  that ;  it  is  the  boast 
of  our  pedigree." 

SQUIRE,  (heartily.) — "Shake  hands 
again  on  it,  my  boy.  You  don't 
want  a  friend,  since  my  grandee  of  a 
half-brother  has  taken  you  up ;  but 
if  ever  you  should,  Hazeldean  is  not 
very  far  from  Rood.  Can't  get  on 
with  your  father  at  all,  my  lad — 
more's  the  pity,  for  I  think  I  could 
have  given  him  a  hint  or  two  as  to 
the  improvement  of  his  property.  If 
he  would  plant  those  ugly  commons — 
larch  and  fir  soon  come  into  profit, 
sir ;  and  there  are  some  low  lands 
about  Rood  that  would  take  mighty 
kindly  to  draining." 

RANDAL. — "My  poor  father  lives  a 
life  so  retired,  and  you  cannot  won- 
der at  it.  Fallen  trees  lie  still,  and 
so  do  fallen  families." 

SQUIRE. — "  Fallen  families  can  get 
up  again,  which  fallen  trees  can't." 
RANDAL. — "Ah,  sir,  it  often  takes 


408 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIV. 


[Oct. 


the  energy  of  generations  to  repair 
the  thriftlessness  and  extravagance  of 
a  single  owner." 

SQUIRE,  (his  brow  lowering.) — 
"That's  very  true.  Frank  is  d— d 
extravagant ;  treats  me  very  coolly, 
too — not  coming  ;  near  three  o'clock. 
By  the  by,  I  suppose  he  told  you 
where  I  was,  otherwise  how  did  you 
find  me  out  ?  " 

RANDAL,  (reluctantly.) — "  Sir,  he 
did  ;  and,  to  speak  frankly,  I  am  not 
surprised  that  he  has  not  yet  ap- 
peared." 

"  SQUIRE.—"  Eh  !  " 

RANDAL. — "  We  have  grown  very 
intimate." 

SQUIRE.  —  "  So  he  writes  me 
word — and  I  am  glad  of  it.  Our 
member,  Sir  John,  tells  me  you  are 
a  very  clever  fellow,  and  a  very 
steady  one.  And  Frank  says  that  he 
wishes  he  had  your  prudence,  if  he 
can't  have  your  talents.  He  has  a 
good  heart,  Frank,"  added  the  father, 
relentingly.  "  But,  zounds,  sir,  you 
say  you  are  not  surprised  he  has  not 
come  to  welcome  his  own  father ! " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Randal,  "  you 
wrote  word  to  Frank  that  you  had 
heard  from  Sir  John  and  others,  of 
his  goings-on,  and  that  you  were  not 
satisfied  with  his  replies  to  your 
letters." 

"  Well." 

"  And  then  you  suddenly  come  up 
to  town." 

"  Well." 

"  Weil.  And  Frank  is  ashamed  to 
meet  you.  For,  as  you  say,  he  has 
been  extravagant,  and  he  has  ex- 
ceeded his  allowance;  and,  knowing 
my  respect  for  }rou,  and  my  great 
affection  for  himself,  he  has  asked  me 
to  prepare  you  to  receive  his  con- 
fession and  forgive  him.  I  know  I 
am  taking  a  great  liberty.  I  have  no 
right  to  interfere  between  father  and 
son;  but  pray — pray  think  I  mean 
for  the  best." 

"  Humph ! "  said  the  Squire,  re- 
covering himself  very  slowly,  and 
showing  evident  pain,  "  I  knew 
already  that  Frank  had  spent  more 
than  he  ought  ;  but  I  think  he 
should  not  have  employed  a  third 
person  to  prepare  me  to  forgive  him. 
(Excuse  me — no  offence.)  And  if 
he  wanted  a  third  person,  was  not 
there  his  own  mother?  What  the 


devil ! — (firing  up) — am  I  a  tyrant — 
a  bashaw — that  my  own  son  is  afraid 
to  speak  to  me?  Gad,  I'll  give  it 
him ! " 

u  Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  Randal, 
assuming  at  once  that  air  of  autho- 
rity which  superior  intellect  so  well 
carries  off  and  excuses.  "  But  I 
strongly  advise  you  not  to  express 
any  anger  at  Frank's  confidence  in 
me.  At  present  I  have  .influence 
over  him.  Whatever  you  may  think 
of  his  extravagance,  I  have  saved 
him  from  many  an  indiscretion,  and 
many  a  debt  —  a  young  man  will 
listen  to  one  of  his  own  age  so  much 
more  readily  than  even  to  the  kindest 
friend  of  graver  years.  Indeed,  sir, 
I  speak  for  your  sake  as  well  as  for 
Frank's.  Let  me  keep  this  influence 
over  him ;  and  don't  reproach  him 
for  the  confidence  he  placed  in  me. 
Nay,  let  him  rather  think  that  I 
have  softened  any  displeasure  you 
might  otherwise  have  felt." 

There  seemed  so  much  good  sense 
in  what  Randal  said,  and  the  kind- 
ness of  it  seemed  so  disinterested, 
that  the  Squire's  native  shrewdness 
was  deceived. 

"  You  are  a  fine  young  fellow," 
said  he,  "  and  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you.  Well,  I  suppose 
there  is  no  putting  old  heads  upon 
young  shoulders ;  and  I  promise  you 
I'll  not  say  an  angry  word  to  Frank. 
I  dare  say,  poor  boy,  he  is  very 
much  afflicted,  and  I  long  to  shake 
hands  with  him.  So,  set  his  mind  at 
ease." 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  Randal,  with  much 
apparent  emotion,  "  your  son  may 
well  love  you  ;  and  it  seems  to  be  a 
hard  matter  for  so  kind  a  heart  as 
yours  to  preserve  the  proper  firmness 
with  him." 

"  Oh,  I  can  be  firm  enough," 
quoth  the  Squire — "  especially  when 
I  don't  see  him — handsome  dog  that 
he  is — very  like  his  mother — don't 
you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  his  mother,  sir." 

u  Gad  !  Not  seen  my  Harry?  No 
more  you  have  ;  you  must  come  and 
pay  us  a  visit.  We  have  your  grand- 
mother's picture,  when  she  was  a 
girl,  with  a  crook  in  one  hand  and  a 
bunch  of  lilies  in  the  other.  I  sup- 
pose my  half-brother  will  let  you 
come?" 


1851.] 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIV. 


"To  be  sure,  sir.  Will  you  not 
call  on  him  while  you  are  in  town  ?  " 

"  Not  I.  He  would  think  I  ex- 
pected to  get  something  from  the 
Government.  Tell  him  the  ministers 
must  go  on  a  little  better,  if  they  want 
my  vote  for  their  member.  But  go. 
I  see  you  are  impatient  to  tell  Frank 
that  all's  forgot  and  forgiven.  Come 
and  dine  with  him  here  at  six,  and 
let  him  bring  his  bills  in  his  pocket. 
Oh,  I  shan't  scold  him." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  said  Randal, 
smiling,  "  I  think  (forgive  me  still) 
that  you  should  not  take  it  too 
easily ;  just  as  I  think  that  you 
had  better  not  blame  him  for  his 
very  natural  and  praiseworthy  shame 
in  approaching  you,  so  I  think,  also, 
that  you  should  do  nothing  that 
would  tend  to  diminish  that  shame- 
it  is  such  a  check  on  him.  And 
therefore,  if  you  can  contrive  to 
affect  to  be  angry  with  him  for  his 
extravagance,  it  will  do  good." 

"  You  speak  like  a  book,  and  I'll 
try  my  best." 

"  If  you  threaten,  for  instance, 
to  take  him  out  of  the  army,  and 
settle  him  in  the  country,  it  would 
have  a  very  good  effect." 

"What!  would  he  think  it  so 
great  a  punishment  to  come  home 
and  live  with  his  parents  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  that ;  but  he  is  natu- 
rally so  fond  of  London.  At  his  age, 
and  with  his  large  inheritance,  that 
is  natural." 

"Inheritance!"  said  the  Squire, 
moodily — "  inheritance !  he  is  not 
thinking  of  that,  I  trust?  Zounds, 
sir,  I  have  as  good  a  life  as  his  own. 
Inheritance ! — to  be  sure  the  Casino 
property  is  entailed  on  him  ;  but,  as 
for  the  rest,  sir,  I  am  no  tenant  for 
life.  I  could  leave  the  Hazeldean 
lands  to  my  ploughman,  if  I  chose  it. 
Inheritance,  indeed !" 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  did  not  mean  to 
imply  that  Frank  would  entertain  the 
unnatural  and  monstrous  idea  of 
calculating  on  your  death ;  and  all 
we  have  to  do  is  to  get  him  to  sow 
his  wild  oats  as  soon  as  possible — 
marry,  and  settle  down  into  the 
country.  For  it  would  be  a  thousand 
pities  if  his  town  habits  and  tastes 
grew  permanent — a  bad  thing  for 
the  Hazeldean  property,  that.  And," 
added  Randal,  laughing,  "  I  feel  an 


409 

interest  in  the  old  place,  since  my 
grandmother  comes  of  the  stock. 
So,  just  force  yourself  to  seem  angry, 
and  grumble  a  little  when  you  pay 
the  bills." 

"  Ah,  ah,  trust  me,"  said  the 
Squire,  doggedly,  and  with  a  very 
altered  air.  "  I  am  much  obliged 
to  you  for  these  hints,  my  young 
kinsman."  And  his  stout  hand 
trembled  a  little  as  he  extended  it 
to  Randal. 

Leaving  Limmer's,  Randal  hasten- 
ed to  Frank's  rooms  in  St  James's 
Street.  "  My  dear  fellow,"  said  he, 
when  he  entered,  "  it  is  very  fortu- 
nate that  I  persuaded  you  to  let  me 
break  matters  to  your  father.  You 
might  well  say  he  was  rather  pas- 
sionate ;  but  I  have  contrived  to 
soothe  him.  You  need  not  fear  that 
he  will  not  pay  your  debts." 

"  I  never  feared  that,"  said  Frank, 
changing  colour  ;  "  I  only  feared  his 
anger.  But,  indeed,  I  fear  his  kind- 
ness still  more.  What  a  reckless 
hound  I  have  been!  However,  it 
shall  be  a  lesson  to  me.  And  my 
debts  once  paid,  I  will  turn  as  econo- 
mical as  yourself." 

"  Quite  right,  Frank.  And,  in- 
deed, I  am  a  little  afraid  that,  when 
your  father  knows  the  total,  he  may 
execute  a  threat  that  would  be  very 
unpleasant  to  you." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Make  you  sell  out,  and  give  up 
London." 

"The  devil!"  exclaimed  Frank, 
with  fervent  emphasis  ;  "  that  would 
be  treating  me  like  a  child." 

"  Why,  it  would  make  you  seem 
rather  ridiculous  to  your  set,  which 
is  not  a  very  rural  one.  And  you, 
who  like  London  so  much,  and  are 
so  much  the  fashion." 

"  Don't  talk  of  it,"  cried  Frank, 
walking  to  and  fro  the  room  in  great 
disorder. 

"  Perhaps,  on  the  whole,  it  might 
be  well  not  to  say  all  you  owe,  at 
once.  If  you  named  half  the  sum, 
your  father  would  let  you  off  with  a 
lecture  ;  and  really  I  tremble  at  the 
effect  of  the  total." 

"  But  how  shall  I  pay  the  other 
half?" 

"  Oh,  you  must  save  from  your 
allowance  ;  it  is  a  very  liberal  one  ; 
and  the  tradesmen  are  not  pressing." 


410  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties 

«  No  —  but     the     cursed     bill- 
brokers" — 

"  Always  renew  to  a  young  man 
of  your  expectations.  And  if  I  get 
into  an  office,  I  can  always  help  you, 
my  dear  Frank." 

"  Ah,  Randal,  I  am  not  so  bad  as 
to  take  advantage  of  your  friend- 
ship," said  Frank  warmly.  "  But  it 
seems  to  me  mean,  after  all,  and  a 
sort  of  a  lie,  indeed,  disguising  the 
real  state  of  my  affairs.  I  should 
not  have  listened  to  the  idea  from 
any  one  else.  But  you  are  such  a 
sensible,  kind,  honourable  fellow." 

"After  epithets  so  flattering,  I 
shrink  from  the  responsibility  of 
advice.  But  apart  from  your  own 
interests,  I  should  be  glad  to  save 
your  father  the  pain  he  would  feel  at 
knowing  the  whole  extent  of  the 
scrape  you  have  got  into.  And  if  it 
entailed  on  you  the  necessity  to  lay 
by — and  give  up  hazard,  and  not  be 
security  for  other  men — why  it  would 
be  the  best  thing  that  could  happen. 
Really,  too,  it  seems  hard  upon  Mr 
Hazeldean,  that  he  should  be  the 
only  sufferer,  and  quite  just  that  you 
should  bear  half  your  own  burdens." 

"So  it  is,  Randal;  that  did  not 
strike  me  before.  I  will  take  your 
counsel ;  and  now  I  will  go  at  once  to 
Limmer's.  My  dear  father !  I  hope 
he  is  looking  well  ?" 

"  Oh,  very.  Such  a  contrast  to  the 
sallow  Londoners  !  But  I  think  you 
had  better  not  go  till  dinner.  He  has 
asked  me  to  meet  you  at  six.  I  will 
call  for  you  a  little  before,  and  we  can 
go  together.  This  will  prevent  a  great 
deal  of  gene  and  constraint.  Good- 
bye till  then. — Ha ! — by  the  way,  I 
think  if  I  were  you,  I  would  not  take 
the  matter  too  seriously  and  peniten- 
tially.  You  see  the  best  of  fathers 
like  to  keep  their  sons  under  their 
thumb,  as  the  saying  is.  And  if  you 
want  at  your  age  to  preserve  your 
independence,  and  not  be  hurried  off 
and  buried  in  the  country,  like  a 
schoolboy  in  disgrace,  a  little  manli- 
ness of  bearing  would  not  be  amiss. 
You  can  think  over  it." 

The  dinner  at  Limmer's  went  off 
very  differently  from  what  it  ought  to 
have  done.  Randal's  words  had  sunk 
deep,  and  rankled  sorely  in  the  Squire's 
mind ;  and  that  impression  imparted  a 
certain  coldness  to  his  manner  which 


in  English  Life.— Part  XIV.  [Oct. 

belied  the  hearty,  forgiving,  generous 
impulse  with  which  he  had  come  up 
to  London,  and  which  even  Randal 
had  not  yet  altogether  whispered 
away.  On  the  other  hand,  Frank, 
embarrassed  both  by  the  sense  of 
disingenuousness,  and  a  desire  "not 
to  take  the  thing  too  seriously," 
seemed  to  the  Squire  ungracious  and 
thankless. 

After  dinner,  the  Squire  began  to 
hum  and  haw,  and  Frank  to  colour  up 
and  shrink.  Both  felt  discomposed 
by  the  presence  of  a  third  person  ;  till, 
with  an  art  and  address  worthy  of  a 
better  cause,  Randal  himself  broke 
the  ice,  and  so  contrived  to  remove 
the  restraint  he  had  before  imposed, 
that  at  length  each  was  heartily  glad 
to  have  matters  made  clear  and  brief 
by  his  dexterity  and  tact. 

Frank's  debts  were  not,  in  reality, 
large  ;  and  when  he  named  the  half  of 
them — looking  down  in  shame— the 
Squire,  agreeably  surprised,  was  about 
to  express  himself  with  a  liberal 
heartiness  that  would  have  opened 
his  son's  excellent  heart  at  once  to 
him.  But  a  warning  look  from  Ran- 
dal checked  the  impulse;  and  the 
Squire  thought  it  right,  as  he  had 
promised,  to  affect  an  anger  he  did 
not  feel,  and  let  fall  the  unlucky 
threat,  "  that  it  was  all  very  well  once 
in  a  way  to  exceed  his  allowance  ;  but 
if  Frank  did  not,  in  future,  show  more 
sense  than  to  be  led  away  by  a  set  of 
London  sharks  and  coxcombs,  he  must 
cut  the  army,  come  home,  and  take  to 
farming." 

Frank  imprudently  exclaimed, 
"Oh,  sir,  I  have  no  taste  for  farm- 
ing. And  after  London,  at  my  age, 
the  country  would  be  so  horribly  dull." 

"Aha!"  said  the  Squire,  very 
grimly — and  he  thrust  back  into  his 
pocket-book  some  extra  bank-notes 
which  his  fingers  had  itched  to  add 
to  those  he  had  already  counted  out. 
"  The  country  is  terribly  dull,  is  it  ? 
Money  goes  there  not  upon  follies  and 
vices,  but  upon  employing  honest 
labourers,  and  increasing  the  wealth 
of  the  nation.  It  does  not  please  you 
to  spend  money  in  that  way :  it  is  a 
pity  yon  should  ever  be  plagued  with 
such  duties." 

"  My  dear  father—" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  puppy. 
Oh,  I  dare  say,  if  you  were  in  my 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XIV. 


411 


shoes,  you  would  cut  down  the  oaks, 
and  mortgage  the  property — sell  it,  for 
what  I  know — all  go  on  a  cast  of  the 
dice  I  Aha,  sir — very  well,  very  well 
— the  country  is  horribly  dull,  is  it  ? 
Pray,  stay  in  town." 

"  My  dear  Mr  Hazeldean,"  said 
Randal  blandly,  and  as  if  with  the 
wish  to  turn  off  into  a  joke  what 
threatened  to  be  serious,  **  you  must 
not  interpret  a  hasty  expression  so 
literally.  Why,  you  would  make 

Frank  as  bad  as  Lord  A ,  who 

wrote  word  to  his  steward  to  cut  down 
more  timber  ;  and  when  the  steward 
replied,  '  There  are  only  three  sign- 
posts left  on  the  whole  estate,'  wrote 
back,  '  They've,  done  growing,  at  all 
events — down  with  them.'  You  ought 

to  know  Lord  A ,  sir  ;  so  witty  ; 

and — Frank's  particular  friend." 

"  Your  particular  friend,  Master 
Frank?  Pretty  friends  I  "—and  the 
squire  buttoned  up  the  pocket,  to 
which  he  had  transferred  his  note- 
book, with  a  determined  air. 

"  But  I'm  his  friend,  too,"  said 
Randal,  kindly ;  "  and  I  preach  to 
him  properly,  I  can  tell  you."  Then, 
as  if  delicately  anxious  to  change  the 
subject,  he  began  to  ask  questions 
upon  crops,  and  the  experiment  of 
bone  manure.  He  spoke  earnestly, 
and  with  gusto,  yet  with  the  deference 
of  one  listening  to  a  great  practical 
authority.  Randal  had  spent  the  af- 
ternoon in  cramming  the  subject  from 
agricultural  journals  and  Parliamen- 
tary reports  ;  and,  like  all  practised 
readers,  had  really  learned  in  a  few 
hours  more  than  many  a  man,  unac- 
customed to  study,  could  gain  from 
books  in  a  year.  The  Squire  was  sur- 
prised and  pleased  at  the  young  scho- 
lar's information  and  taste  for  such 
subjects. 

"  But,  to  be  sure,"  quoth  he,  with 
an  angry  look  at  poor  Frank,  "  you 
have  good  Hazeldean  blood  in  you, 
and  know  a  bean  from  a  turnip." 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Randal,  ingenu- 
ously, "  I  am  training  myself  for  pub- 
lic life ;  and  what  is  a  public  man 
worth  if  he  do  not  study  the  agricul- 
ture of  his  country  V" 

"  Right— what  is  he  worth?  Put 
that  question,  with  my  compliments, 
to  my  half-brother.  What  stuff  he 
did  talk,  the  other  night,  on  the  malt- 
tax,  to  be  sure!  " 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXII. 


"  Mr  Egerton  has  had  so  many 
other  things  to  think  of,  that  we  must 
excuse  his  want  of  information  upon 
one  topic,  however  important.  With 
his  strong  sense,  he  must  acquire  that 
information,  sooner  or  later  ;  for  he  is 
fond  of  power;  and,  sir, — knowledge  is 
power  1" 

"  Very  true; — very  fine  saying," 
quoth  the  poor  Squire  unsuspiciously, 
as  Randal's  eye  rested  upon  Mr 
Hazeldean's  open  face,  and  then 
glanced  towards  Frank,  who  looked 
sad  and  bored. 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Randal,  "  know- 
ledge is  power;"  and  he  shook  his 
head  wisely,  as  he  passed  the  bottle 
to  his  host. 

Still,  when  the  Squire,  who  meant  to 
return  to  the  Hall  next  morning,  took 
leave  of  Frank,  his  heart  warmed  to 
his  son  ;  and  still  more  for  Frank's 
dejected  looks.  It  was  not  Randal's 
policy  to  push  estrangement  too  far 
at  first,  and  in  his  own  presence. 

"  Speak  to  poor  Frank— kindly 
now,  sir — do  ;"  whispered  he,  observ- 
ing the  Squire's  watery  eyes,  as  he 
moved  to  the  window. 

The  Squire  rejoiced  to  obey — thrust 
out  his  hand  to  his  son — u  My  dear 
boy,"  said  he,  "  there,  don't  fret- 
pshaw  ! — it  was  but  a  trifle  after  all. 
Think  no  more  of  it" 

Frank  took  the  hand,  and  suddenly 
threw  his  arm  round  his  father's  broad 
shoulder. 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  are  too  good — too 
good."  His  voice  trembled  so,  that 
Randal  took  alarm,  passed  by  him, 
and  touched  him  meaningly. 

The  Squire  pressed  his  son  to  his 
heart — heart  so  large,  that  it  seemed 
to  fill  the  whole  width  under  his 
broadcloth. 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  said  he,  half 
blubbering,  "it  is  not  the  money; 
but,  you  see,  it  so  vexes  your  poor 
mother;  you  must  be  careful  in  future ; 
and,  zounds,  boy,  it  will  be  all 
yours  one  day  ;  only  don't  calculate 
on  it ;  I  could  not  bear  that  —  I 
could  not,  indeed." 

"  Calculate!"  cried  Frank.  Oh, 
sir,  can  you  think  it  ?  " 

"I  am  so  delighted  that  I  had 
some  slight  hand  in  your  complete  re- 
conciliation with  Mr  Hazeldean," 
said  Randal,  as  the  young  men  walked 


412  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XIV. 


from  the  hotel.  "  I  saw  that  you 
were  disheartened,  and  I  told  him 
to  speak  to  you  kindly." 

"  Did  you  ?  Ah — I  am  sorry  he 
needed  telling." 

"  I  know  his  character  so  well  al- 
ready," said  Randal,  "  that  I  flatter 
myself  I  can  always  keep  things  be- 
tween you  as  they  ought  to  be.  What 
an  excellent  man  I" 

"  The  best  man  in  the  world," 
cried  Frank,  heartily  ;  and  then,  as 
his  accents  drooped,  "  yet  I  have 
deceived  him.  I  have  a  great  mind 
to  go  back — " 

u  And  tell  him  to  give  you  twice  as 
much  money  as  you  had  asked  for. 
He  would  think  you  had  only  seemed 
so  affectionate  in  order  to  take  him 
in.  No,  no,  Frank— save — lay  by — 
economise ;  and  then  tell  him  that 
you  have  paid  half  your  own  debts. 
Something  high-minded  in  that." 

"  So  there  is.  Your  heart  is  as 
good  as  your  head.  Good  night." 

"  Are  you  going  home  so  early  ? 
Have  you  no  engagements  ?" 

"  None  that  I  shall  keep." 

"  Good  night,  then." 

They  parted,  and  Randal  walked 
into  one  of  the  fashionable  clubs.  He 
neared  a  table,  where  three  or  four 
young  men  (younger  sons,  who  lived 
in  the  most  splendid  style,  heaven 
knew  how)  were  still  over  their 
wine. 

Leslie  had  little  in  common  with 
these  gentlemen;  but  he  forced  his 
nature  to  be  agreeable  to  them,  in 
consequence  of  a  very  excellent  piece 


[Oct. 

of  worldly  advice  given  to  him  by 
Audley  Egerton.  u  Never  let  the 
dandies  call  you  a  prig,"  said  the 
statesman.  "Many  a  clever  fellow 
fails  through  life,  because  the  silly 
fellows,  whom  half  a  word  well  spoken 
could  make  his  claqueurs,  turn  him 
into  ridicule.  Whatever  you  are, 
avoid  the  fault  of  most  reading  men  : 
in  a  word,  don't  be  a  prig !" 

"  I  have  just  left  Hazeldean,"  said 
Randal— "what  a  good  fellow  he  is ! " 

"Capital,"  said  the  honourable 
George  Borrowwell.  "  Where  is 
he?" 

"Why,  he  is  gone  to  his  rooms. 
He  has  had  a  little  scene  with  his 
father,  a  thorough,  rough  country 
squire.  It  would  be  an  act  of  charity 
if  you  would  go  and  keep  him  com- 
pany, or  take  him  with  you  to  some 
place  a  little  more  lively  than  his 
own  lodgings." 

"  What !  the  old  gentleman  has 
been  teasing  him? — a  horrid  shame  ! 
Why,  Frank  is  not  expensive,  and  he 
will  be  very  rich — eh  ?  " 

"  An  immense  property,"  said 
Randal,  "  and  not  a  mortgage  on  it ; 
an  only  son,"  he  added,  turning 
away. 

Among  these  young  gentlemen 
there  was  a  kindly  and  most  bene- 
volent whisper,  and  presently  they 
all  rose,  and  walked  away  towards 
Frank's  lodgings. 

"  The  wedge  is  in  the  tree,"  said 
Randal  to  himself,  "  and  there  is  a 
gap  already  between  the  bark  and 
the  wood. " 


CHAPTEE   XXII. 


Harley  L'Estrange  is  seated  be- 
side Helen  at  the  lattice-window  in 
the  cottage  at  Norwood.  The  bloom 
of  reviving  health  is  on  the  child's 
face,  and  she  is  listening  with  a  smile, 
for  Harley  is  speaking  of  Leonard 
with  praise,  and  of  Leonard's  future 
with  hope.  "  And  thus,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  secure  from  his  former  trials, 
happy  in  his  occupation,  and  pursuing 
the  career  he  has  chosen,  we  must 
be  content,  my  dear  child,  to  leave 
him." 

"Leave  him!"  exclaimed  Helen, 
and  the  rose  on  her  cheek  faded. 

Harley  was  not  displeased  to  see 


her  emotion.  He  would  have  been 
disappointed  in  her  heart  if  it  had 
been  less  susceptible  to  affection. 

"  It  is  hard  on  you,  Helen,"  said 
he,  "to  separate  you  from  one  who 
has  been  to  you  as  a  brother.  Do 
not  hate  me  for  doing  so.  But  I 
consider  myself  your  guardian,  and 
your  home  as  yet  must  be  mine. 
We  are  going  from  this  land  of  cloud 
and  mist,  going  as  into  the  world  of 
summer.  Well,  that  does  not  content 
you.  You  weep,  my  child  ;  you 
mourn  your  own  friend,  but  do  not 
forget  your  father's.  I  am  alone,  and 
often  sad,  Helen;  will  you  not  comfort 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

me?  You  press  my  hand,  but  you 
must  learn  to  smile  on  me  also.  You 
are  born  to  be  the  Comforter.  Com- 
forters are  not  egotists  :  they  are 
always  cheerful  when  they  con- 
sole." 

The  voice  of  Harley  was  so  sweet, 
and  his  words  went  so  home  to  the 
child's  heart,  that  she  looked  up 
and  smiled  in  his  face  as  he  kissed 
her  ingenuous  brow.  But  then  she 
thought  of  Leonard,  and  felt  so 
solitary — so  bereft — that  tears  burst 
forth  again.  Before  these  were 
dried,  Leonard  himself  entered,  and, 
obeying  an  irresistible  impulse,  she 
sprang  to  his  arms,  and,  leaning  her 
head  on  his  shoulder,  sobbed  out, 
"  I  am  going  from  you,  brother — do 
not  grieve— do  not  miss  me." 

Harley  was  much  moved :  he  fold- 
ed his  arms,  and  contemplated  them 
both  silently  —  and  his  own  eyes 
were  moist.  "  This  heart,"  thought 
he,  "  will  be  worth  the  winning ! " 

He  drew  aside  Leonard,  and  whis- 
pered, "  Soothe,  but  encourage  and 
support  her.  I  leave  you  together  ; 
come  to  me  in  the  garden  later." 

It  was  nearly  an  hour  before 
Leonard  joined  Harley. 

"  She  was  not  weeping  when  you 
left  her  ?  "  asked  L'Estrange. 

"  No  ;  she  has  more  fortitude  than 
we  might  suppose.  Heaven  knows 
how  that  fortitude  has  supported 
mine.  I  have  promised  to  write  to 
her  often." 

Harley  took  two  strides  across  the 
lawn,  and  then,  coming  back  to 
Leonard,  said,  "  Keep  your  promise, 
and  write  often  for  the  first  year. 
I  would  then  ask  you  to  let  the  cor- 
respondence drop  gradually." 

"  Drop  !— Ah,  my  lord ! " 

"  Look  you,  my  young  friend,  I 
wish  to  lead  this  fair  mind  wholly  from 
the  sorrows  of  the  Past.  I  wish  Helen 
to  enter,  not  abruptly,  but  step  by 
step,  into  a  new  life.  You  love  each 
other  now,  as  do  two  children— as 
brother  and  sister.  But  later,  if  en- 
couraged, would  the  love  be  the 
same  ?  And  is  it  not  better  for  both 
of  you,  that  youth  should  open  upon 
the  world  with  youth's  natural  affec- 
tions free  and  unforestalled  ?  " 

"  True !  And  she  is  so  above  me," 
said  Leonard  mournfully. 

"  No  one  is  above  him  who  suc- 


English  Life.— Part  XIV.  413 

ceeds  in  your  ambition,  Leonard.  It 
is  not  that,  believe  me  !" 

Leonard  shook  his  head. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Harley,  with  a 
smile,  "  I  rather  feel  that  you  are 
above  me.  For  what  vantage-ground 
is  so  high  as  youth  ?  Perhaps  I  may- 
become  jealous  of  you.  It  is  well 
that  she  should  learn  to  like  one  who 
is  to  be  henceforth  her  guardian  and 
protector.  Yet,  how  can  she  like  me 
as  she  ought,  if  her  heart  is  to  be  full 
of  you?" 

The  boy  bowed  his  head;  and 
Harley  hastened  to  change  the  sub- 
ject, and  speak  of  letters  and  of  glory. 
His  words  were  eloquent,  and  his 
voice  kindling ;  for  he  had  been  an 
enthusiast  for  fame  in  his  boyhood  ; 
and  in  Leonard's,  his  own  seemed  to 
him  to  revive.  But  the  poet's  heart 
gave  back  no  echo  —  suddenly  it 
seemed  void  and  desolate.  Yet  when 
Leonard  walked  back  by  the  moon- 
light, he  muttered  to  himself,  "'Strange 
— strange — so  mere  a  child,  this  can- 
not be  love  !  Still  what  else  to  love  is 
there  left  to  me  ?  " 

And  so  he  paused  upon  the  bridge 
where  he  had  so  often  stood  with 
Helen,  and  on  which  he  had  found 
the  protector  that  had  given  to  her 
a  home — to  himself  a  career.  And 
life  seemed  very  long,  and  fame  but 
a  dreary  phantom.  Courage,  still, 
Leonard !  These  are  the  sorrows  of 
the  heart  that  teach  thee  more  than 
all  the  precepts  of  sage  and  critic. 

Another  day,  and  Helen  had  left 
the  shores  of  England,  with  her  fan- 
ciful and  dreaming  guardian.  Years 
will  pass  before  our  tale  reopens. 
Life  in  all  the  forms  we  have  seen  it 
travels  on.  And  the  Squire  farms 
and  hunts  ;  and  the  Parson  preaches 
and  chides  and  soothes.  And  Ric- 
cabocca  reads  his  Machiavelli,  and 
sighs  and  smiles  as  he  moralises  on 
Men  and  States.  And  Violante's  dark 
eyes  grow  deeper  and  more  spiritual 
in  their  lustre ;  and  her  beauty  takes 
thought  from  solitary  dreams.  And 
Mr  Richard  Avenel  has  his  house  in 
London,  and  the  honourable  Mrs 
Avenel  her  opera  box  ;  and  hard  and 
dire  is  their  struggle  into  fashion, 
and  hotly  does  the  new  man,  scorn- 
ing the  aristocracy,  pant  to  become 
aristocrat.  And  Audley  Egertpn  goes 
from  the  office  to  the  Parliament, 


The  New  Zealanders. 


[Oct. 


and  drudges,  and  debates,  and  helps 
to  govern  the  empire  in  which  the 
sun  never  sets.  Poor  Sun,  how  tired 
he  must  be — but  not  more  tired  than 
the  Government !  And  Randal  Les- 
lie has  an  excellent  place  in  the 
bureau  of  a  minister,  and  is  looking 
to  the  time  when  he  shall  resign  it 
to  come  into  Parliament,  and  on  that 
large  arena  turn  knowledge  into  power. 
And  meanwhile,  he  is  much  where  he 
was  with  Audley  Egerton ;  but  he 
has  established  intimacy  with  the 
Squire,  and  visited  Hazeldean  twice, 
and  examined  the  house  and  the  map 
of  the  property — and  very  nearly  fallen 
a  second  time  into  the  Ha-ha,  and 
the  Squire  believes  that  Randal  Les- 
lie alone  can  keep  Frank  out  of  mis- 
chief, and  has  spoken  rough  words  to 


his  Harry  about  Frank's  continued 
extravagance.  And  Frank  does  con- 
tinue to  pursue  pleasure,  and  is  very 
miserable,  and  horribly  in  debt.  And 
Madame  di  Negra  has  gone  from, 
London  to  Paris,  and  taken  a  tour 
into  Switzerland,  and  come  back  to 
London  again,  and  has  grown  very 
intimate  with  Randal  Leslie;  and 
Randal  has  introduced  Frank  to  her ; 
and  Frank  thinks  her  the  loveliest 
woman  in  the  world,  and  grossly 
slandered  by  certain  evil  tongues. 
And  the  brother  of  Madame  di  Negra 
is  expected  in  England  at  last ;  and 
what  with  his  repute  for  beauty  and 
for  wealth,  people  anticipate  a  sensa- 
tion ;  and  Leonard,  and  Harley,  and 
Helen?  Patience— they  will  all  re- 
appear. 


THE   NEW   ZEALANDERS. 


WE  were  listening  one  evening, 
rather  listlessly,  as  people  sometimes 
do  to  an  old  friend's  narrative  of 
business  and  family  arrangements, 
when  the  equal  current  of  such  talk  was 
somewhat  disturbed  by  the  words — 
"My  brother's  new  partner  in  the 
business  at  Wellington,  Hoani  Riri 
Tamihana,  a  very  respectable  man, 
and  well  connected  in  the  Ngatiawa." 
This  nomenclature  was  out  of  the 
usual  way,  and  was  suggestive  of 
inquiry.  Our  friend  was  quite  open 
and  communicative  at  first,  though 
some  of  the  company  did  at  last  drive 
him  into  disagreeable  corners.  He 
remembered  Hoani  Riri  when  he  and 
his  brother  became  first  acquainted 
with  him ;  he  wore  a  cakahoo  or  mat 
dress,  had  his  patoo-patoo  in  his 
hand,  and  was  distinguished  by  seve- 
ral rows  of  beads  made  of  the  bones 
of  fingers  and  toes,  highly  polished, 
and  arranged  row  after  row  with  a 
graduated  symmetry  which  indicated 
a  very  accurate  taste.  There  was  no 
reason  why  a  New  Zealander  might 
not  get  rid  of  such  decorations,  and 
sit  on  a  three-legged  stool  as  com- 
posedly as  our  own  countrymen  when 
they  have  cast  off  their  scarlet  coats 
and  white  cords ;  but  there  was  a 
feature  of  his  early  independent  life 
which  still  stuck  to  Hoani  Riri,  and 
our  friend  was  rather  annoyed  in 


having  to  admit  it.  He  was  tatooed. 
It  was  clear  that  this  incurable  relic 
of  the  state  of  society  in  which  he  had 
spent  his  youth  was  considered  by 
his  partner's  brother  a  great  incon- 
venience to  him.  It  prevented  him — 
with  all  his  acuteness,  said  to  be 
remarkable,  and  his  business  habits, 
pronounced  as  steady  and  imperturb- 
able— from  being  able  effectively  to 
represent."  the  house"  in  this  country. 
Among  Parsees,  and  other  Orientals, 
we  have  odd  enough  names  put'io 
very  discountable  and  acceptable 
paper.  Moreover,  heads  of  houses 
and  directors  of  companies  will  re- 
spectfully meet  occasionally  with  a 
dusky,  stately,  bearded  and  turbaned 
worshipper  of  the  Prophet,  or  of  any- 
thing else ;  but  a  man  whose  skin 
people  have  taken  the  liberty  of 
tatooing ! — it  would  not  be  easy  to  get 
clerks  and  cashkeepers  to  admit  his 
superiority  and  importance.  There 
would  be  a  difficulty  in  cashing  his 
check,  even  though  his  presence  of- 
fered the  best  possible  means  of  show- 
ing its  genuineness,  since  the  signa- 
ture is  a  tracing  of  the  pattern  of  the 
tatoo. 

But  there  was  another  little  matter 
in  Hoani  Riri's  personal  history,  to 
which  fastidious  people  would  find  it 
still  more  difficult  to  reconcile  them- 
selves, and  which  indeed  might  be 


1851.] 


The  New  Zealanders. 


415 


counted  an  insurmountable  bar  to  his 
ever  being  received  in  good  society  in 
this  country,  or  making  an  eligible 
matrimonial  connection.  He  had  in 
his  younger  days  been  addicted  to 
human  flesh ;  and,  being  a  very  can- 
did and  really  high-minded  man,  he  ad- 
mits that,  though  he  has  now  acquired 
totally  different  tastes,  the  relish  with 
which  he  partook  in  cannibal  feasts — 
especially  when  the  fleshy  part  of  a 
young  female  was  served  up — is  still 
a  matter  of  by  no  means  disagreeable 
recollection  to  him. 

In  this  part  of  the  conversation  we 
•were  slightly  startled  by  a  physio- 
logical friend,  who  broke  into  it  some- 
what vehemently,  maintaining  that  he 
considered  the  cannibalism  of  the  New 
Zealanders — now  authenticated  be- 
yond all  question — to  be  a  remarkable 
indication  of  their  capacity  to  become 
a  great  civilised  people.  As  this  was 
by  no  means  a  self-evident  proposi- 
tion, the  physiologist  was  asked  for 
his  reasons,  which  we  shall  abbre- 
viate thus  :  Take  a  map  of  the  world, 
and  see  how  distant  New  Zealand  is 
from  the  rest  of  society — if  it  may  so 
be  termed — from  the  clustering  conti- 
nents and  islands  of  the  world  over 
which  man  and  the  brute  and  vege- 
table creation  have  gradually  spread. 
If  we  suppose  it  to  be  from  Central 
Asia,  or  from  any  other  specified  part  of 
the  world,  that  the  present  forms  of 
animal  and  vegetable  life  first  radiated, 
we  may  trace  their  dispersal,  by  easy 
gradations,  to  the  extremities  of  the 
rest  of  the  known  portions  of  the 
globe — to  the  southern  capes  of  Africa 
and  America — to  Borneo  and  Guinea, 
and  even  to  Australia.  But  the  New 
Zealand  islands  are  twelve  hundred 
miles  distant  from  the  nearest  shore, 
and  that  nearest  shore  is  the  thinly 
peopled  and  almost  sterile  Australia. 
Now  we  can  imagine  that,  while  an 
adventurous  race  of  men — the  New 
Zealanders  are  believed  to  be  of 
Malay  origin  —  might  overcome  so 
great  a  difficulty,  and  establish  them- 
selves in  these  beautiful  islands,  they 
would  not  be  accompanied  by  a  like 
infusion  of  the  animal  and  the  vege- 
table world.  Accordingly,  we  find 
the  fact  precisely  in  accordance  with 
the  supposition.  Of  indigenous  quad- 
rupeds there  is  scarcely  one  in  New 
Zealand  so  large  as  a  house  rat.  The 


very  few  birds  found  by  the  earliest 
European  explorers,  though  some  of 
them  had  fine  plumage,  presented 
no  more  edible  substantiality  than  a 
street  sparrow.  The  fruit  and  vege- 
table department  was  equally  meagre 
— there  was  really  almost  nothing  to 
support  life  but  an  edible  fern.  Now 
observe  how  the  poor,  abject,  in  every 
way  inferior  race,  found  scattered 
round  the  edge  of  the  great  Australian 
continent,  acted  in  circumstances 
nearly  similar — for  there,  also,  indi- 
genous animals  and  vegetables  suitable 
for  food  are  rare.  They  lived  on  fern 
roots  and  cobra  worms,  with  an  occa- 
sional opossum ;  and  all  travellers 
have  remarked,  that  they  manage  to 
preserve  themselves  from  such  sources 
merely  in  existence,  on  the  border  of 
annihilation,  and  are  consequently  a 
wretched  and  spiritless  race.  But 
your  New  Zealander,  determined  to 
keep  up  his  physical  condition,  and 
finding  that  there  was  nothing  else  for 
it,  made  a  virtue  of  the  necessity  of 
eating  his  kind — "  and  in  fact,"  con- 
tinues our  friend,  who  seemed  to  have 
got  on  a  strange  hobby,  "  the  cannibal 
propensity  is  deeper  in  the  highest 
conditioned  races  of  man  than  most 
people  imagine.  Why  was  pork,  for 
instance,  prohibited  to  the  Jews  and 
other  Orientainations,  of  strong  physi- 
cal temperament  and  appetite  ?  Why, 
but  that  it  so  closely  resembles  human 
flesh  that  people  in  a  state  of  semi- 
barbarism  might  get  into  the  habife 
of  overlooking  the  distinction,  and 
lapse  into  cannibalism.  It  was  as  well 
to  have  a  barrier  against  a  system  of 
living  which  would  be  so  obviously 
deleterious  a  feature  in  society,  and 
the  obsta  principiis  principle  was 
adopted." 

But,  without  acceding  to  our 
physiological  friend's  peculiar  specu- 
lations, there  seems  to  be  something 
extremely  curious  and  interesting  in 
finding  that  our  colonists  have  for  the 
first  time  come  in  contact  with  ele- 
ments of  progressive  civilisation 
capable  of  keeping  pace  with  our  own ; 
in  hearing  of  savages  with  whom  our 
blood  may  mix  without  deterioration, 
and  detecting  in  very  cannibalism  a 
people  destined  to  so  proud  a  destiny 
as  to  share,  with  the  heirs  of  the 
highest  civilisation,  one  of  the  fairest 
portions  of  the  surface  of  the  earth, 


416 


The  New  Zealanders. 


[Oct. 


The  New  Zealander  is,  in  fact,  the 
first  savage  who,  after  giving  battle 
to  the  civilised  man,  and  being  beaten 
— as  the  savage  must  ever  be — has 
frankly  offered  to  sit  down  beside  us, 
and  enjoy  with  us  the  fruits  of  mutual 
civilisation.  A  temperate  healthy 
climate,  suitable  to  a  highly  con- 
ditioned race,  was  necessary  to  the 
development  of  such  a  phenomenon. 
The  British  race  do  not  spread  at 
all,  or  spread  very  scantily,  in  tropical 
countries,  where  the  question  of 
superiority  of  race  is  at  once  settled 
by  the  hardy  European  degenerating 
so  as  to  be  in  a  generation  or  two 
inferior  to  the  aboriginal  inhabitant. 
In  North  America,  however,  we  found 
a  race  inhabiting  territories  where  our 
own  people  are  capable  of  the  fullest 
development,  yet  where  the  aborigines 
have  baffled  all  efforts  at  civilisation 
and  improvement!  It  is  the  same  in 
the  temperate  territories  of  Northern 
Africa  ;  Hottentots,  Kaffirs,  Zoolus — 
all  were  capable  of  making  some  slight 
advance ;  but  all  stopped  short,  and 
showed  themselves  unfit  to  partake 
in  the  great  destinies  of  the  British 
race.  The  aborigines  of  Australia, 
though  there  may  be  some  differ- 
ences between  tribes  a  thousand  or 
two  miles  from  each  other — as  be- 
tween those  of  Moreton  Bay  and  the 
Swan  River — are  all  of  an  extremely 
degraded  type,  both  physically  and 
intellectually ;  and  even  the  most 
conscientious  efforts  which  have  been 
made,  on  rare  occasions  unfortunately, 
to  improve  their  condition,  have  ever 
signally  failed.  If  possible,  the  nations 
of  Van  Diemen's  Island  were  still  a 
lower  type  of  humanity  than  those  of 
the  Australian  continent.  There  is 
no  reason  to  suppose  that  these  repre- 
sentatives of  almost  the  lowest  type  of 
humanity  were  cannibals,  but  we  have 
the  cannibalism  of  the  bush-ranger 
convicts  attested  beyond  all  doubt  to 
Parliamentary  committees.  These 
desperate  men,  the  essence  of  British 
criminality,  threatened  at  one  time  to 
overpower  the  law,  and  establish  an 
independent  community  in  the  rocky 
island  to  which  they  were  transported. 
In  their  cunning  and  capacity,  in 
their  endurance  under  calamity,  and 
ruthlessness  in  victory,  they  had 
some  resemblance  to  the  New  Zea- 
landers, whom  also  they  resembled  in 


having  recourse  to  cannibalism.  It  is 
not  easy  to  imagine  anything  more 
horrible  than  the  description  of  two 
of  these  monsters  of  degenerate  civi- 
lisation, Greenhill  and  Pierce,  who 
wandered  together  day  after  day,  each 
watching  his  moment  for  plunging 
his  axe  into  the  skull  of  the  other, 
while,  though  each  knew  his  comrade's 
murderous  intention,  they  were  re- 
spectively prevented  from  separating 
by  the  hope  of  a  victory  and  a  feast. 
It  is  singular  enough  that  thus,  at 
the  antipodes,  we  should  have,  next 
door  as  it  were  to  each  other,  the 
barbarism  following  the  departed 
civilisation  of  part  of  an  energetic 
race,  bearing  so  close  a  resemblance 
to  the  barbarism  which  is  evidently, 
in  another  race,  but  the  precedent  of  a 
state  of  high  civilisation. 

Nothing  has  been  more  bandied 
about,  between  scepticism  and  credu- 
lity, than  cannibalism  or  anthropo- 
phagy. Besides  what  Herodotus  says 
of  theMassagetae  and  other  tribes,  who 
ate  their  relatives  by  way  of  burial, 
there  have  been  through  all  ages 
charges  of  this  kind,  which  are  purely 
fabulous  ;  and  few  believe  Purchas's 
account  of  those  Africans  who  exposed 
human  flesh  ready  for  sale  at  all 
times,  in  well-kept  booths  or  shambles, 
though  he  gives  it  on  the  credit  of 
"  John  Battell  of  Essex,  a  near 
neighbour  of  mine,  and  a  man  worthy 
of  credit."  The  discredit  found  to 
attach  to  the  old  traveller's  stories 
about  the  Peruvians  rearing  offspring 
for  the  table,  and  the  Saracens,  who 
paid  large  sums  for  sucking  Christian 
babes,  made  people  disbelieve  in  any 
such  practice  as  systematic  anthro- 
pophagy, though  it  was  generally 
admitted  that  miserable  beings,  half 
maddened  by  starvation  and  hard- 
ship, had  sometimes  forgotten  their 
nature,  and  devoured  their  kind,  under 
impulses  that  rendered  them  no  more 
accountable  for  what  they  did  than 
the  most  confirmed  madman. 

The  history  of  New  Zealand,  how- 
ever, places  on  record  the  fact  of  a 
people  indulging  in  systematic  canni- 
balism, accompanied  in  recent  times 
with  the  interesting  fact,  that  the 
systematic  cannibal  has  been  found 
capable  of  a  high  civilisation.  Cooke 
took  pains  to  prove  the  existence  of 
the  practice,  both  by  inquiry  and 


1851.] 

experiment.  Not  content  with  turn- 
ing over  the  remains  of  cannibal 
feasts,  he  got  a  New  Zealand  boy  to 
exhibit  the  propensity  on  his  own 
deck.  The  many  notices  and  state- 
ments which  other  travellers  have 
preserved  are  but  a  general  acknow- 
ledgment of  what  Cooke  so  distinctly 
proved.  But  it  is  in  a  now  forgotten 
book,  called  "  A  Narrative  of  a  Nine 
Months'  Residence  in  New  Zealand  in 
1827,  by  Augustus  Earle,"  that  we 
find  the  most  succinct,  clear,  unvar- 
nished narrative  of  such  a  banquet. 
Mr  Earle  was  an  artist,  and  a 
wanderer  in  several  unfrequented 
countries.  Although  he  had  thus 
many  things  to  relate,  which  could 
only  be  taken  at  his  own  word,  his 
unquestioned  character  for  truthful- 
ness obtained  credence  for  them.  The 
cannibal  feast  of  which  he  gives  a 
minute  description  —  too  minute  to 
be  pleasant — took  place  on  the  body 
of  a  female  slave,  killed  under  cir- 
cumstances which,  in  this  country, 
and  without  looking  on  the  act  as 
merely  supplying  the  market  with 
butcher- meat,  we  would  consider 
gross  treachery.  We  shall  spare  our 
readers  the  more  minute  parts  of  the 
description,  which,  in  their  intense 
truthfulness,  are  really  an  unpleasant 
piece  of  reading.  But  we  are  desirous 
to  resuscitate  a  portion  of  the  account 
which  shows  the  spirit  in  which  the 
perpetrators  acted — a  spirit  of  utilita- 
rian coolness  and  system,  exhibiting 
no  ebullitions  of  the  unrestrained 
savage  nature,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
accompanied,  as  we  shall  see,  with 
great  self-restraint,  shown  under  cir- 
cumstances of  provocation  and  dis- 
appointment. 

"  Here  stood  Captain  Duke  and  my- 
self, both  witnesses  of  a  scene  which 
many  travellers  have  related,  and  their 
relations  have  invariably  been  treated 
with  contempt ;  indeed,  the  veracity  of 
those  who  had  the  temerity  to  relate  such 
incredible  events  has  been  everywhere 
questioned.  In  this  instance  it  was  no 
warrior's  flesh  to  be  eaten;  there  was  no 
enemy's  blood  to  drink,  in  order  to  infu- 
riate them.  They  had  no  revenge  to 
gratify;  no  plea  could  they  make  of  their 
passions  having  been  roused  by  battle, 
nor  the  excuse  that  they  eat  their  enemies 
to  perfect  their  triumph.  This  was  an 
action  of  unjustifiable  cannibalism.  Atoi, 
the  chief,  who  had  given  orders  for  thia 


The  New  Zealanders.  417 

cruel  feast,  had  only  the  night  before  sold 


us  four  pigs  for  a  few  pounds  of  powder; 
so  he  had  not  even  the  excuse  of  want  of 
food.  After  Captain  Duke  and  myself 
had  consulted  with  each  other,  we 
walked  into  the  village,  determining  to 
charge  Atoi  with  his  brutality. 

"  Atoi  received  us  in  his  usual  manner; 
and  his  handsome  open  countenance 
could  not  be  imagined  to  belong  to  so 
savage  a  monster  as  he  had  proved  him- 
self to  be.  I  shuddered  at  beholding  the 
unusual  quantity  of  potatoes  his  slaves 
were  preparing  to  eat  with  this  infernal 
banquet.  We  talked  coolly  with  him  on: 
the  subject;  for,  as  we  could  not  prevent 
what  had  taken  place,  we  were  resolved 
to  learn  (if  possible)  the  whole  particu- 
lars. Atoi  at  first  tried  to  make  us  be- 
lieve he  knew  nothing  about  it,  and  that 
it  was  only  a  meal  for  his  slaves;  but  we 
had  ascertained  it  was  for  himself  and 
his  favourite  companions.  After  various 
endeavours  to  conceal  the  fact,  Atoi 
frankly  owned  that  he  was  only  waiting 
till  the  cooking  was  completed  to  par- 
take of  it.  He  added  that,  knowing  the 
horror  we  Europeans  held  these  feasts  in, 
the  natives  were  always  most  anxious  to 
conceal  them  from  us,  and  he  was  very 
angry  that  it  had  come  to  our  know- 
ledge ;  but,  as  he  had  acknowledged  the 
fact,  he  had  no  objection  to  talk  about  it. 
He  told  us  that  human  flesh  required  a 
greater  number  of  hours  to  cook  than 
any  other;  that,  if  not  done  enough,  it 
was  very  tough,  but  when  sufficiently 
cooked  it  was  as  tender  as  paper.  He 
held  in  his  hand  a  piece  of  paper,  which 
he  tore  in  illustration  of  his  remark.  He 
said  the  flesh  then  preparing  would  not 
be  ready  till  next  morning  ;  but  one  of 
his  sisters  whispered  in  my  ear  that  her 
brother  was  deceiving  us,  as  they  intended 
feasting  at  sunset. 

"  We  inquired  why  and  how  he  had 
murdered  the  poor  girl.  He  replied,  that 
running  away  from  him  to  her  own  rela- 
tions was  her  only  crime.  He  then  took 
us  outside  his  village,  and  showed  us  the 
post  to  which  she  had  been  tied,  and 
laughed  to  think  how  he  had  cheated  her : 
'  For,'  said  he,  '  I  told  her  I  only  intend- 
ed to  give  her  a  flogging  ;  but  I  fired,  and 
shot  her  through  the  heart ! '  My  blood 
ran  cold  at  this  relation,  and  I  looked 
with  feelings  of  horror  at  the  savage 
while  he  related  it.  Shall  I  be  credited 
when  I  again  affirm,  that  he  was  not  only 
a  handsome  young  man,  but  mild  and 
genteel  in  his  demeanour  ?  He  was  a  man 
we  had  admitted  to  our  table,  and  was  a 
general  favourite  with  us  all ;  and  the 
poor  victim  to  his  bloody  cruelty  was  a 
pretty  girl  of  about  sixteen  years  of 
age  !  .  .  .  . 


418 


TJie  Neiv  Zealanders. 


"  After  some  time  spent  in  contem- 
plating the  miserable  scene  before  us, 
during  which  we  gave  full  vent  to  the 
most  passionate  exclamations  of  disgust, 
we  determined  to  spoil  this  intended 
feast  :  this  resolution  formed,  we  rose  to 
execute  it.  I  ran  off  to  our  beach,  leav- 
ing Duke  on  guard,  and,  collecting  all 
the  white  men  I  could,  I  informed  them 
of  what  had  happened,  and  asked  them 
if  they  would  assist  in  destroying  the 
oven,  and  burying  the  remains  of  the 
girl  :  they  consented,  and  each  having 
provided  himself  with  a  shovel  or  a  pick- 
axe, we  repaired  in  a  body  to  the  spot. 
Atoi  and  his  friends  had  by  some  means 
been  informed  of  our  intention,  and  they 
came  out  to  prevent  it.  He  used  various 
threats  to  deter  us,  and  seemed  highly 
indignant ;  but  as  none  of  his  followers 
appeared  willing  to  come  to  blows,  and 
seemed  ashamed  that  such  a  transaction 
should  have  been  discovered  by  us,  we 
were  permitted  by  them  to  do  as  we 
chose.  We  accordingly  dug  a  tolerably 
deep  grave  ;  then  we  resolutely  attacked 
the  oven.  On  removing  the  earth  and 
leaves,  the  shocking  spectacle  was  pre- 
sented to  our  view — the  four  quarters  of 
a  human  body  half-roasted.  During  our 
work,  clouds  of  steam  enveloped  us,  and 
the  disgust  created  by  our  task  was  al- 
most overpowering.  We  collected  all 
the  parts  we  could  recognise  ;  the  heart 
was  placed  separately,  we  supposed  as  a 
savoury  morsel  for  the  chief  himself. 
We  placed  the  whole  in  the  grave,  which 
we  filled  up  as  well  as  we  could,  and  then 
broke  and  scattered  the  oven. 

"  By  this  time  the  natives  from  both 
villages  had  assembled  ;  and  a  scene 
similar  to  this  was  never  before  witnessed 
in  New  Zealand.  Six  unarmed  men, 
quite  unprotected,  (for  there  was  not  a 
single  vessel  in  the  harbour,  nor  had 
there  been  for  a  month,)  had  attacked 
and  destroyed  all  the  preparations  of  the 
natives  for  what  they  consider  a  national 
feast  ;  and  this  was  done  in  the  presence 
of  a  great  body  of  armed  chiefs,  who  had 
assembled  to  partake  of  it.  After  having 
finished  this  exploit,  and  our  passion  and 
disgust  had  somewhat  subsided,  I  could 
not  help  feeling  that  we  had  acted  very 
imprudently  in  thus  tempting  the  fury  of 
these  savages,  and  interfering  in  an  affair 
that  certainly  was  no  concern  of  ours  ; 
but"  as  no  harm  accrued  to  any  of  our 
party,  it  plainly  shows  the  influence  *  the 
white  men '  have  already  obtained  over 
them  :  had  the  offence  we  committed 
been  done  by  any  hostile  tribe,  hundreds 
of  lives  would  have  been  sacrificed. 

"  The  next  day  our  old  friend  King 
George  paid  us  a  long  visit,  and  we  talked 
over  the  affair  very  calmly.  He  highly 


[Oct. 

disapproved  of  our  conduct.  '  In  the  first 
place,'  said  he,  '  you  did  a  foolish  thing, 
which  might  have  cost  you  your  lives  ; 
and  yet  did  not  accomplish  your  purpose 
after  all,  as  you  merely  succeeded  in 
burying  the  flesh  near  the  spot  on  which 
you  found  it.  After  you  went  away,  it 
was  again  taken  up,  and  every  bit  was1, 
eaten  ;' — a  fact  I  afterwards  ascertained 
by  examining  the  grave,  and  finding  ife 
empty.  King  George  further  said,  '  It* 
was  an  old  custom,  which  their  fathers- 
practised  before  them  ;  and  you  had  no- 
right  to  interfere  with  their  ceremonies,. 
I  myself,'  added  he,  *  have  left  off  eating 
human  flesh,  out  of  compliment  to  you 
white  men  ;  but  you  have  no  reason  to- 
expect  the  same  compliance  from  all  the 
other  chiefs.  What  punishment  have  you 
in  England  for  thieves  and  runaways  ! ' 
We  answered,  '  After  trial,  flogging  or 
hanging.'  '.Then,'  he  replied,  'the  only 
difference  in  our  laws  is,  you  flog  and 
hang,  but  we  shoot  and  eat.' " 

What  renders  the  rapid  civilisation 
of  the  New  Zealanders  the  more 
remarkable  is,  that  the  practice  of 
eating  human  flesh  appears  to  have 
continued  for  several  years  after  Mr 
Earle's  visit.  Among  other  instances- 
which  might  be  cited,  the  following 
occurs  in  the  Lords'  Report  on  New 
Zealand  in  1844.  Mr  Francis  Moles- 
worth  is  examined. 

Q.  "  Do  any  of  the  tribes  in  the  interior 
practise  cannibalism  1" 

A.  "  Yes,  and  they  do  so  on  the  coast. 
There  was  a  case  about  eighteen  months 
before  I  came  away." 

Q.  "  What  were  the  circumstances  of 
that  case  ?" 

A.  "It  was  the  case  of  Rangihaeata,  at 
some  festival  or  other  ;  he  took  a  slava 
girl,  and  murdered  her  and  ate  her.  I. 
knew  the  particulars  of  that  case  from  a 
man  of  the  name  of  Jenkins.  He  was 
there  at  the  time,  and  offered  to  buy  the 
girl  from  Rangihaeata,  but  he  would  not 
agree  to  it  ;  he  offered  pigs  for  her,  but 
Rangihaeata  said,  *  A  piece  of  Maori  flesh' 
is  much  better  than  pork,'  and  he  killed 
her  and  ate  her.  It  is  not  very  long  since 
an  encounter  took  place  between  two 
tribes  near  Auckland,  and  a  number  of 
prisoners  were  taken,  and  they  were  all 
eaten." 

Mr  Angaa  went  through  the  coun- 
try about  two  years  after  this  testi- 
mony was  given,  but  perhaps  about 
five  years  after  the  state  of  matters- 
to  which  it  refers.  He  was  collecting 
the  materials  for  his  magnificent  ill  us- 


1851.] 

trations  of  New  Zealand 
scenery,  where  he  gives  a  very  pleas- 
ing portrait  of  a  young  lady,  Kaloki, 
with  this  memorandum  attached  to 
it:— 

"  I  met  her  on  a  visit  to  her  friends  at 
Te  Aroh  Pah,  'near  Wellington,  in  com- 
pany with  Kutia,  the  wife  of  Rauparaha, 
and  a  large  party  of  her  attendants  from 
the  Roturua  lakes,  whither  she  oifered  to 
accompany  me,  for  the  purpose  of  sketch- 
ing and  obtaining  portraits  of  the  prin- 
cipal chiefs,  adding  that  her  introducton 
would  he  an  immediate  passport  through- 
out the  entire  district." 

There  is  something  in  this  very 
different  in  tone  from  the  description 
of  the  cannibal  feast.  But  we  cannot 
turn  even  Mr  Angas's  fine  illustra- 
tions, without  feeling  that  they  repre- 
sent a  state  of  matters  in  rapid 
transition ;  that  a  few  years  will 
have  swept  away  what  they  embody 
of  the  past  state  of  the  country ;  and 
that  the  civilised  descendants  of  the 
mingled  race,  who  seem  destined  to 
people  these  beautiful  islands,  will 
turn  to  them  with  a  strange  interest, 
as  an  embodiment  of  customs  and 
manners  that,  in  the  antipodes,  have 
grown  older  in  a  generation  than,  in 
this  country  of  unassisted  self- effected 
civilisation,  the  usages  of  our  Saxon 
ancestors  have  grown  in  a  thousand 
years.  Even  after  going  beyond 
these  thousand  years,  we  find  no 
proof  that  there  was  cannibalism  in 
this  country.  The  New  Zealand  gentle- 
men of  the  next  generation  will  have 
their  after-dinner  jokes  about  who 
had  eaten  whose  uncle  or  grand- 
father, as  Scottish  gentlemen  have 
had  their  talk  about  old  family  feuds. 
Here,  among  the  most  curious  of  Mr 
Angas's  pictures,  is  a  representation 
of  the  mansion-house  of  that  Rau- 
paraha, whose  wife  was  the  friend 
of  the  interesting  Kaloki.  It  has 
an  Egyptian-shaped  door  elaborately 
carved.  At  either  side,  the  extremi- 
ties of  the  roof-beams  are  supported  by 
square  pillars,  covered  with  hideous 
representations  of  animal  life.  The 
name  of  the  mansion — a  name  which 
it  will  probably  long  preserve  — 
is  "  Eat -man- house  :"  probably 
its  mother -of -pearl -eyed  monsters 
have  gazed  on  many  a  jolly  feast 
beneath  its  roof.  We  turn  over  Mr 
Angas's  pages,  and  next  find  a  por- 


The  New  Zealanders. 
life    and 


419 


trait  of  a  gentleman  in  an  easy  atti- 
tude, and  in  a  good  modern  English 
dress,  which  does  his  tailor  credit. 
He  has  just  one  anachronism,  as  the 
French  would  call  it — like  our  friend's 
partner,  he  is  tatooed ;  and  there  is 
no  denying  the  grotesqueness  pro- 
duced by  the  immediate  contact  of 
the  artificiality  of  savage  with  that 
of  civilised  life. 

The  evidence  collected  by  Cooke 
and  Bankes,  of  the  extent  to  which 
civilisation  had  grown  among  these- 
people,  unaided  from  without,  mighu 
have  been  expected  to  create  more 
astonishment  than  it  did.  The  siza 
of  their  war  canoes,  the  number  of 
men  accommodated  and  disciplined  to- 
formidable  manoeuvres  in  them,  the 
knowledge  of  navigation  which  they 
displayed,  and,  above  all,  the  elaborate 
and  in  many  respects  symmetrical 
decoration  of  their  war  vessels,  their 
weapons,  their  houses,  their  public 
monuments  and  their  burial-places, 
must  have  all  from  the  first  indicated 
them  as  a  remarkable  people.  Their 
profuse  decorations  in  wood  and 
stone  seem,  when  compared  with 
those  of  other  nations  moving  onward 
to  civilisation,'  to  indicate  that  the 
human  intellect  in  its  struggles  after 
symmetry,  beauty,  harmony  of  form, 
or  whatever  artistic  perfection  may  be 
called,  must  pass  through  endeavours 
having  a  'generic  resemblance.  In 
the  sculptured  stones  of  Scotland,  to> 
which  we  lately  referred,  in  the 
older  Egyptian  monuments,  in  the 
alabaster  carvings  of  upper  Asia,  in 
the  ornaments  of  the  lately  discovered 
cities  of  Central  America, — there  is  a 
common  characteristic  resemblance  to 
the  artistic  labours  of  the  New  Zea- 
lander. 

The  obdurate  ferocity  of  the  inha- 
bitants, which  made  our  navigators 
shun  their  shores  for  upwards  of  half 
a  century,  was  of  a  kind,  when  exa- 
mined, to  contain  promise  of  civilisa- 
tion. However  deep  their  hatred 
and  unextinguishable  their  pugnacity, 
they  were  not  capricious  emanations 
of  mere  savage  passions ;  both  had 
their  causes,  and  were  kept  alive  to 
produce  effects ;  and  had  we,  in  our 
intercourse  with  them,  looked  on  them 
and  treated  them  as  reasoning  and 
in  many  respects  able  men,  we  would 
have  fared  better.  All  the  foreign 


420 


The  New  Zealanders. 


blood  they  shed,  whether  openly  or 
treacherously,  was  with  the  one  de- 
sign of  protection — of  saving  their 
liberties  and  their  possessions  from 
invasion ;  and  when  looking  back  from 
the  dawn  of  peace  and  progress  which 
has  now  brightened  over  this  singular 
people,  the  white  man  is  bound  to 
confess  that  they  had  reason  in  their 
suspicions,  and  that  they  showed  wis- 
dom and  courage  in  their  conduct. 
The  war  which  lasted  in  New  Zea- 
land from  1843,  when  the  land  dis- 
putes began,  to  1848,  though  produc- 
tive of  little  bloodshed,  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  in  the  world's  his- 
tory. Since  the  invasion  of  Britain 
by  the  Romans,  it  was  unknown  that 
the  natives,  thinly  scattered  over  a 
large  territory  (the  islands  cover  the 
same  area  with  Britain,  and  were 
supposed  to  be  peopled  by  about 
150,000  inhabitants)  should  for  years 
keep  a  civilised  force  at  defiance. 
The  equality  of  the  contest  involved 
no  reproach  to  the  civilised  troops, 
since  they  found  that,  in  the  persons 
of  tatooed  savages,  they  met  an  army 
under  consummate  commanders  dis- 
ciplined to  the  highest  point,  and 
trained  to  partisan  warfare.  They 
were  expert  at  the  use  of  the  rifle, 
knew  well  the  art  of  stockade  fortifi- 
cation, and  were  in  all  respects  a 
match  for  their  adversaries,  with  the 
addition  of  knowing  the  country  and 
its  resources.  Were  there  a  popula- 
tion such  as  these  New  Zealanders  in 
Southern  Africa,  the  prospect  of  our 
retaining  our  possessions  near  the 
Cape  would  be  quite  hopeless.  Ex- 
perienced military  men  noticed  a 
generic  difference  between  the  New 
Zealand  war  and  other  conflicts  with 
aborigines.  The  bravest  savages  can 
generally  do  no  more  than  fight  hand 
to  hand;  the  New  Zealanders  con- 
ducted campaigns.  Barbarians  ge- 
nerally see  the  result  of  successful 
operations  in  extensive  bloodshed ; 
but  the  New  Zealanders  saw  it 
only  in  success,  and,  while  they 
were  parsimonious  of  the  lives  of 
their  own  followers,  did  not  spill 
uselessly  the  blood  of  their  opponents. 
The  usual  difficulty  in  bringing  civi- 
lised troops  to  deal  with  savages 
arises  from  the  former  always  ope- 
rating with  and  against  masses,  and 
being  unprepared  for  the  peculiar  in- 


[Oct. 

dividual  machinations  of  combatants 
who  do  not  work  gregariously  and 
for  effective  results,  but  individually, 
for  bloodshed  and  plunder.  In  indi- 
vidual strategy  the  American  Indians 
have  excelled  all  the  world ;  and  it 
was  long  ere  our  troops,  through  the 
solemn,  stiff,  unadaptable  movements 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  were  taught 
to  protect  themselves  from  the  untir- 
ing inexhaustible  cunning  of  the 
scalper.  Much  provoking  and  useless 
slaughter  took  place  ere  they  were 
prepared  for  this  mode  of  warfare ; 
but,  though  frightful  and  formidable 
in  appearance,  it  was  easily  dealt 
with.  Those  who  had  experienced 
Indian  warfare  found  that  totally 
different  resources  were  required  in 
New  Zealand.  The  individual  cun- 
ning and  ferocity,  and  the  corre- 
sponding danger,  were  wanting ;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  an  enemy  was 
found  capable  of  conducting  a  war 
patiently  and  scientifically,  with  an 
end  beyond  mere  slaughter  or  mo- 
mentary triumph.  We  take  this 
view  from  the  occasional  expressions 
in  the  military  despatches,  and  still 
more  from  their  general  tone,  which 
assumes  that  of  men  dealing  with 
enemies  on  a  level  with  themselves. 
The  following,  which  is  a  specimen 
taken  from  the  miscellaneous  mass  of 
despatches  in  the  Parliamentary 
papers,  is  evidently  not  written 
about  a  parcel  of  wretched  sa- 
vages :— 

"  On  examining  the  pah,  I  found  it  to 
be  built  on  a  very  strong  post,  protected 
by  a  row  of  timber  palisades,  with 
trenches  and  traverses  across  ;  about  80 
paces  long,  and  85  broad  ;  in  the  shape 
of  a  parallelogram,  with  flanking  de- 
fences. 

"  There  was  also  a  bank  of  earth 
thrown  up  on  the  scarp  side  of  the 
trenches,  which,  owing  to  the  heavy 
rain,  were  full  of  water.  The  position 
altogether  is  a  very  strong  one,  and 
would  have  been  almost  impregnable 
without  artillery  ;  but  a  hill,  about  500 
yards  distant,  opposite  the  front  face, 
commanded  it  completely.  Therefore, 
had  the  enemy  remained,  we  might  soon 
have  dislodged  them  with  our  guns, 
which  were  in  readiness  at  Porirua,  in 
command  of  Captain  Henderson,  R.A. 

"  The  pah  stands  on  a  very  high 
ground,  fronting  the  harbour;  at  the  foot 
of  it  runs  a  deep  narrow  creek,  fordable 


1851.] 


The  New  Zealanders. 


421 


at  low  water  ;  the  ground  about  it  is 
excessively  swampy,  which  the  troops 
had  to  pass  over.  On  the  side  the  pah 
stands  on,  rises  a  very  steep  bank,  which, 
even  without  opposition,  the  men  had 
difficulty  in  mounting.  And  on  the  pro- 
per left  of  the  position  is  a  very  deep 
ravine,  the  side  of  which  is  thickly 
wooded.  The  right  face  is  also  thickly 
wooded,  and  the  ground  gradually  slopes 
away  into  the  valley. 

"  The  rear  was  the  weakest  part  as  to 
its  defence;  the  ground  covered  with 
thick  scrub  ;  but,  from  its  locality,  I  do 
not  consider  a  position  could  have  been 
taken  up  by  us  on  that  side.  The 
defences  on  the  front  face  were  of  a 
stronger  description  than  any  other." 

"  On  the  morning  of  the  3d  instant,  a 
combined  movement  was  made  from  the 
pah  at  Pauhatanui  and  Porirua,  consist- 
ing of  6  officers  and  120  men  of  the  58th, 
€5th,  and  99th  regiments,  and  30  militia, 
followed  by  150  native  allies,  from  the 
former;  and  4  officers,  100  men  of  the 
Royal  Artillery,  58th  and  65th  regiments, 
with  80  native  allies,  under  command  of 
Major  Arney,  from  the  latter  place,  for 
the  purpose  of  attacking  the  rebel  chief, 
and  preventing  his  escape  from  the  Horo- 
kiwi  valley.  We  proceeded  about  four 
miles  into  the  woods,  covering  our  ad- 
vance with  the  usual  precautions.  The 
enemy  soon  discovered  our  approach,  and 
quickly  retired;  but,  from  his  fires  being 
still  alight,  it  was  evident  he  had  fled 
into  the  bush  that  morning. 

"  Night  coming  on,  and  being  uncertain 
as  to  the  direction  of  the  enemy,  or  the 
route  they  had  taken,  I  deemed  it  then 
unadvisable  to  proceed  farther. 

"  Although  our  efforts  have  only  led  to 
the  dispersion,  and  not  to  the  total  des- 
truction of  the  rebels,  which  was  my 
anxious  wish  to  have  accomplished,  yet, 
by  gaining  possession  of  the  stronghold 
of  the  enemy,  we  are  enabled  to  complete 
the  line  of  outposts  at  Porirua,  so  as 
effectually  to  prevent  any  return  of  the 
rebels  to  the  district  of  the  Hutt. 

"  I  beg  to  assure  your  Excellency  that 
all  under  my  command  have  well  earned 
from  their  superiors  every  credit  and  ap- 
probation, for  the  zeal  and  cheerfulness 
they  have  exhibited  under  the  severe 
trials  and  privations  to  which  they  have 
been  subjected  for  a  long  time  past." 

The  Governor,  in  a  despatch  of  the 
9th  of  July  1849,  says— 

"  I  have  been  assured  by  many  excel- 
lent and  experienced  officers,  well  ac- 
quainted with  America  and  this  country, 
that  there  is,  in  a  military  point  of  view, 
no  analogy  at  all  between  the  natives  of 


the  two  countries ;  the  Maories,  both  in 
weapons  and  knowledge  of  the  art  of  war, 
a  skill  in  planning,  and  perseverance  in 
carrying  out  the  operations  of  a  length- 
ened campaign,  being  infinitely  superior 
to  the  American  Indians.  In  fact,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  they  are,  for  war- 
fare in  this  country,  even  better  equipped 
than  our  own  troops." 

He  states  that — 

"  They  have  repeatedly,  in  encounters 
with  our  troops,  been  reported  by  our 
own  officers  to  be  equal  to  any  European 
troops;  and  are  such  good  tacticians  that 
we  have  never  yet  succeeded  in  bringing 
them  to  a  decisive  encounter,  they  hav- 
ing always  availed  themselves  of  the  ad- 
vantage afforded  by  their  wilds  and  fast- 
nesses. Their  armed  bodies  move  without 
any  baggage,  and  are  attended  by  the 
women,  who  carry  potatoes  on  their  backs 
for  the  warriors,  or  subsist  them  by  dig- 
ging fern  root,  so  that  they  are  wholly 
independent  of  supplies,  and  can  move 
and  subsist  their  forces  in  countries  where 
our  troops  cannot  live." 

And  then,  after  describing  the  ra- 
pidity and  secrecy  with  which  they 
can  move  their  forces  to  great  dis- 
tances, and  concentrate  them  on  any 
selected  point,  we  have  the  other  and 
more  pleasing  side  of  the  picture,  in- 
dicating that  these  formidable  quali- 
fications may,  under  judicious  ma- 
nagement, give  us  able  coadjutors, 
instead  of  deadly  enemies,  in  our 
efforts  to  turn  to  good  purpose  the 
material  advantages  of  their  fine 
country. 

"  They  are  fond  of  agriculture ;  take 
great  pleasure  in  cattle  and  horses;  like 
the  sea,  and  form  good  sailors;  are  at- 
tached to  Europeans;  admire  their  cus- 
toms and  manners;  are  extremely  ambi- 
tious of  rising  in  civilisation,  and  of  be- 
coming skilled  in  European  arts.  They 
are  apt  at  learning;  in  many  respects 
extremely  conscientious  and  observant  of 
their  word;  are  ambitious  of  honour,  and 
are  probably  the  most  covetous  race  in 
the  world.  They  are  also  agreeable  in 
manners,  and  attachments  of  a  lasting 
character  readily  and  frequently  spring 
up  between  them  and  the  Europeans." 

Since  the  conclusion  of  the  war 
these  useful  qualities — covetousness 
included — have,  out  of  formidable 
enemies,  been  making  apparently  ex- 
cellent subjects.  Instead  of  the  no- 
minal submission  of  savages,  with  an 
underground  of  treachery,  ready  to 


422 


The  New  Zealanders. 


[Oct. 


come  forth  in  ineffective  but  mis- 
chievous outbreaks,  they  appear  to 
have  made  their  terms  of  peace  as 
sincerely  as  any  civilised  nation  has 
ever  treated,  determining  to  reap  the 
fruits  of  tranquil  co-operation.  Not 
that  we  believe  they  would  have  done 
so  had  they  seen  a  clear  prospect  of 
defying  the  British  arms,  and  driving 
the  civilised  settlers  out  of  the  coun- 
try :  this  they  would  have  preferred  ; 
but,  finding  it  impracticable,  they 
made  up  their  minds,  like  wise  men, 
to  that  next  best  course,  which  they 
are  now  learning  to  believe  is  the  best 
of  all.  By  the  time  when  peace  was 
renewed,  we  had  also  learned  our  les- 
son. We  had  become  acquainted 
with  their  nature,  and  seen  that  it  was 
different  from  that  of  the  ordinary  sa- 
vage. Many  social  blunders  and  ab- 
surdities arise  from  mistaking  a  wise 
man  for  a  fool,  and  humouring  him 
accordingly.  So,  almost  from  the 
beginning,  there  was  a  series  of  blun- 
ders committed,  in  treating  these 
clever  barbarians  as  it  had  been  found 
necessary  to  treat  other  aborigines. 
In  fact,  under  the  form  of  treaties, 
agreements,  sales,  or  any  other  no- 
menclature of  civilised  and  complex 
life  which  our  transactions  with  ordi- 
nary savages  may  assume,  the  end  of 
all  is  that  they  are  at  the  mercy  of 
the  civilised  man,  and  hold  their  own 
side  of  the  bargain  by  the  tenure  of 
his  justice  and  mercy.  What  he  calls 
a  reciprocal  treaty,  an  equitable  ad- 
justment, a  fair  sale  for  a  just  price, 
they  must  e'en  be  content  to  hold  so 
to  be ;  they  do  not  know  the  meaning 
of  what  is  said  or  done,  but  they  know 
that  they  must  submit.  Now,  the 
difficulty  with  the  New  Zealanders 
was,  that  they  knew  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent what  they  were  about,  and 
wanted  to  know  more.  They  saw  the 
object  of  some  of  the  transactions  with 
them,  but  they  had  sense  enough  to 
know  that  there  were  other  objects 
beyond  what  their  limited  knowledge 
of  the  world  enabled  them  to  see,  and 
they  must  be  at  the  bottom  of  all  ere 
they  would  rest  content.  Hence  that 
fearful  inextricable  land-sale  question, 
filling  its  hundredweights  of  blue 
books.  Had  the  natives  possessed 
neither  knowledge  nor  sense,  they 
would  have  been  easily  disposed  of  by 
the  sic  volo  sicjubeo.  Had  they  pos- 


sessed both,  there  would  have  been 
hard  bargains  struck  and  kept ;  but 
possessing,  as  they  did,  much  sense, 
but  little  knowledge,  transactions 
about  matters  which  they  could  not 
at  first  comprehend,  yet  were  deter- 
mined to  comprehend  ere  they  gave 
way  and  were  satisfied,  seemed  inter- 
minable. 

We  must  not  be  understood  as 
entering  on  the  controversy  between 
the  New  Zealand  Company  and  either 
the  past  or  the  present  Government, 
in  making  a  passing  reference  to  the 
events  in  New  Zealand  during  the 
last  twenty  years,  as  they  appeared 
to  the  natives.  When  the  first 
colonists  settled  in  the  country,  the 
Government  left  them  to  make  what 
they  could  of  it.  New  Zealand  was 
an  independent  country — they  might 
buy  land  of  those  who  could  sell  it, 
and  take  their  chance ;  but  they  were 
not  to  expect  that,  if  they  bought  the 
land  at  their  own  price — perhaps  a 
kettle,  a  hatchet,  or  a  string  of  beads — 
and  took  such  a  title  as  they  could  get, 
they  were  to  be  backed  as  absolute 
owners  by  the  whole  power  of  the 
British  e'mpire.  The  Government 
would  send  a  consul,  as  to  any  other 
independent  territory  to  which  British 
subjects  resorted,  but  would  do 
nothing  more.  But  emigration  to  the 
new  territory  took  such  an  impulse, 
that  it  was  necessary  to  alter  this 
policy.  Besides  the  missionaries  and 
other  individual  settlers,  the  great 
corporation  which  first  appeared  as 
the  New  Zealand  Association,  and 
merged  into  the  New  Zealand  Com- 
pany, was  formed.  A  deep  ambition 
burned  in  the  bosom  of  those  who 
devised  this  project.  Looking  beyond 
mere  wealth,  or  nominal  rank,  or 
temporary  notoriety,  they  saw  a  pos- 
sible vista  of  future  greatness  in  being 
the  humble  exiles  whose  names  would 
afterwards  be  echoed  as  those  of  the 
founders  of  a  great  empire.  Nor  was 
the  notion  quite  preposterous.  No 
fairer  field  for  colonial  enterprise  had 
ever  presented  itself  to  the  world. 
Beyond  doubt,  the  energetic  British 
race,  moderately  filling  these  delightful 
islands,  and  carrying  with  them  all  our 
constitutional  privileges  and  advan- 
tages, without  the  hereditary  evils  in 
pauperism  and  degradation  that  weigh 
them  down,  would  form  an  empire  to. 


1851.] 

predominate  more  powerfully  in  the 
southern  hemisphere  than  ours  does 
in  the  northern.  It  was  the  ambition 
of  these  schemers,  many  of  them  able 
men,  to  be  the  planters  of  this  empire. 
It  was  a  bold  and  brilliant  project. 
Let  us,  since  it  has  departed  with  the 
shadows  of  other  great  forgotten  pro- 


The  New  Zealanders.  423 

the  United  Tribes  of  New  Zealand. 
They  knew  as  much  about  the  nature 
of  a  treaty,  in  the  diplomatic  sense  in 
which  civilised  nations  understand  it, 
and  insist  on  its  being  kept  when  they 
can,  as  about  the  predicaments  and 
the  antinomies.  But  their  sagacity 
taught  them  that  it  was  something  in 


jects,  though  we  say  but  little  of  itv    itself  not  dangerous  or    formidable. 


say  that  little  kindly.  The  empire  on 
which  their  hopes  were  founded  may 
hereafter  arise ;  but  neither  its  reality, 
nor  the  fame  of  being  its  fabricator, 
is  now  for  them.  They  had  scarcely 
even  gone  far  enough  to  bear  the 
magni  nominis  umbra. 

Well,  to  return  to  the  natives.  The 
British  Government  found  reasons  for 
changing  its  policy  of  inaction.  Not 
only  was  a  powerful  body  of  British 
subjects  making  an  independent  set- 
tlement on  the  islands,  but  the  French 
were  proposing,  as  no  other  Govern- 
ment wanted  them,  to  take  possession 
of  them  for  a  convict  settlement.  To 
be  in  a  position  to  protect  its  own 
subjects  who  had  gone  there,  and  to 
assert  a  priority  to  France,  the  British 
sovereignty  was  proclaimed  on  30th 
January  1840.  It  is  said  that  the 
French  proclamation  was  thus  antici- 

Sated  by  barely  four  days.  The  in- 
ependence  of  New  Zealand  having, 
however,  been  previously  acknow- 
ledged, it  would  seem  scarcely  logical, 
if  it  were  otherwise  right,  to  supersede 
the  native  chiefs  in  their  authority, 
without  their  consent.  Accordingly, 
on  the  5th  of  February,  the  celebrated 
treaty  of  Wanganui  was  negotiated 
with  the  chiefs.  The  principle  of 
this  document  was,  that  the  sove- 
reignty of  the  British  crown  was 
acknowledged  to  extend  over  the 
islands,  the  inhabitants  receiving  the 
privileges  of  British  subjects.  The 
right  of  property  in  the  soil  was 
reserved  to  the  respective  chiefs  and 
tribes,  subject  only  to  a  right  of  pre- 
emption by  the  Crown  when  they 
sold  land,  and  an  adjustment  of  such 
equitable  claims  as  might  arise  out  of 
the  previous  land  transactions. 

Now,  whether  this  may  or  may  not 
have  been  a  wise  method  of  managing 
a  difficult  piece  of  business,  the  treaty, 
so  far  as  the  natives  were  concerned, 
was  a  solemn  farce.  The  chiefs  had 
first  to  be  united  into  a  fictitious 
oligarchy,  called  the  Confederation  of 


The  piece  of  paper  could  not  bombard 
their  pahs,  or  sink  their  war-canoes  ; 
and  as  to  anything  it  might  impart  to 
their  prejudice,  they  were  as  strong  as 
ever  to  resist  its  enforcement.  Here 
lay  the  difference  between  such  a 
treaty  with  New  Zealanders  and  with 
ordinary  savages.  These  would  have 
been  bound  to  submit,  scarcely  able  to 
comprehend  how  or  wherefore,  unless 
in  a  moment  of  heedless  treachery 
they  attempted  to  repudiate  the  whole. 
The  New  Zealanders  were,  for  their 
own  sakes,  pretty  good  bargain-keep- 
ers, when  they  knew  fully  the  extent 
to  which  they  had  practically  com- 
mitted themselves;  but  were  very 
jealous  of  admitting  rights  which  they 
were  not  conscious  of  having  know- 
ingly conceded. 

At  the  root  of  all  the  complex  dis- 
putes that  followed  was  their  igno- 
rance of  the  nature  of  a  sale  of  land. 
They  did  not  individually  possess  any 
— scarcely  any  uncivilised  people  do ; 
and  they  could  not  comprehend  the 
bartering  it  like  a  mat  or  a  bunch  of 
arrows.  Still  they  were  ready  to 
make  bargains,  giving  in  exchange 
what  they  might  be  found  empowered 
to  give,  without  any  warranty  of  title, 
as  lawyers  say.  What  each  chief 
appears  to  have  bargained  for  was, 
that,  in  consideration  of  the  present 
given  to  him,  he  should  abstain  per- 
sonally from  disturbing  the  purchaser 
over  so  much  land — an  engagement 
he  would  come  to  the  more  readily 
the  less  right  he  had  to  it.  When  the 
rights  so  acquired  had  to  be  officially 
investigated,  under  the  sanction  of  the 
British  Government,  a  whole  shoal  of 
land -sharks  appeared.  One  man 
claimed  a  territory  about  the  size  of 
a  medium  English  county,  which  he 
had  bought  with  a  keg  of  gunpowder. 
A  company  claimed  the  middle  island, 
about  the  size  of  Ireland,  having  given 
for  it  a  few  hundred  pounds'  worth  of 
merchandise,  with  an  annuity  of  £100 
a-year  to  a  chief.  Among  the  tempt- 


424 


The  New  Zealanders. 


ing  goods  sent  out  to  make  a  large 
purchase,  by  a  benevolent  association 
in  London,  were  enumerated  "  200 
muskets  ;  1 6  single-barrelled  guns  ; 
8  double  do. ;  15  fowling-pieces ;  8t 
kegs  of  gunpowder ;  2  casks  of  ball- 
cartridge;  4  kegs  lead  slabs ;  24  bullet- 
moulds;  11  quires  cartridge  paper; 
200  cartouche  boxes  ;  1500  flints,  and 
200  tomahawks."  In  some  instances 
there  were  no  less  than  eight  pur- 
chasers of  the  same  territory,  all  pos- 
sessing titles  equally  satisfactory,  and 
each  demanding  that  the  law  should 
secure  to  him  the  estate  he  had  bought 
with  a  bundle  of  red  cloth,  or  a  musket, 
as  if  it  had  been  a  bargain  for  a  piece 
of  property  in  Middlesex. 

The  natives  had  reasons  for  form- 
ing some  strange  conclusions  from  the 
scene  of  confusion  which  followed. 
Where,  they  asked,  was  the  source  of 
law  and  authority  among  these  stran- 
gers ?  First  there  came  among  them 
the  captains  of  whaling  vessels — 
noisy,  imperative,  and  exercising  all 
the  visible  authority  of  great  chiefs. 
Then  came  the  missionaries — men 
whose  bearing  and  conversation  were 
totally  different  from  those  of  the 
whaling  captains.  Their  voice  was 
mild  and  their  manner  subdued,  and 
instead  of  pea-jackets  they  wore  black 
coats,  descending  in  two  long  tapering 
strips  behind ;  yet,  withal,  they  had 
a  command  in  their  quiet  manner,  and 
seemed  to  consider  themselves  rather 
the  masters  than  the  slaves  of  the 
boisterous  sea  captains.  Thirdly, 
there  came  the  representatives  of  the 
New  Zealand  Company — men  of  for- 
tune and  station  in  society,  some  of 
them  bearing  military  titles.  The 
New  Zealanders  see  at  once  that  they 
are  gentlemen — worshipful  men,  who 
have  authority  in  their  air  and  man- 
ner. What,  then,  is  their  astonish- 
ment when  some  shabby-looking  and 
coarse-mannered  personages  come, 
and  snub  these  worshipful  gentlemen 
with  impunity,  and  tell  them  to  desist 
from  this,  and  to  do  that — and  ac- 
tually apprehend  one  of  them,  and 
lock  him  up  ;  and  they  submit  to  the 
indignity  without  drawing  a  trigger  ? 
The  gentlemen  of  the  New  Zealand 
Company,  in  fact,  wished  to  establish 
a  sort  of  local  organisation,  partaking 
of  the  nature  of  a  legislative  and  an 
executive,  to  preserve  order  among 


[Oct. 

the  newly- arrived  settlers,  and  pro- 
bably to  keep  the  natives  in  awe  with 
the  show  of  something  like  a  govern- 
ment. So  was  formed  the  "  Com- 
mittee of  Colonists,"  with  rules  drawn 
up  to  serve  a  very  laudable  purpose, 
if  nothing  more  was  intended  than  the 
preservation  of  order  until  sufficient 
Government  official  service  was  sup- 
plied. In  among  these  gentlemen, 
however,  march  such  subordinate 
officers  as  the  Government  can  afford 
for  an  embryo  settlement.  Possibly 
these  individuals  were  not  the  less 
consequential  and  rigid  that  their 
original  social  condition  was  humble. 
They  managed,  at  all  events,  to  excite 
the  wrath  and  ridicule  of  the  gentle- 
men colonists ;  but  what  could  these 
do  ?  After  having  formed  their  own 
organisation,  any  resistance  to  the  law 
would  have  had  a  very  ugly  appear- 
ance, and  they  immediately  gave  way 
to  the  "  constituted  authorities." 
Here  was  matter  of  wonder  to  the 
natives,  and  it  was  not  reduced  when 
they  saw  a  young  man,  of  aristocratic 
birth  and  condition,  taken  to  jail  by  a 
policeman  for  some  breach  of  regula- 
tion. The  natural  order  of  society 
seemed  inverted  among  these  haughty 
foreigners.  But  this  was  not  enough. 
After  the  successive  authority  of  the 
ship  captains,  the  missionaries,  the 
New  Zealand  Company,  and  the  go- 
vernor with  his  subordinates,  comes 
Mr  Commissioner  Spain,  with  autho- 
rity from  the  Queen  of  Britain  to  hold 
a  Court  of  Inquiry  as  to  the  land 
claims — to  examine  witnesses,  Maori 
and  English — the  former  being  ques- 
tioned through  an  interpreter.  They 
ask  what  this  new  chief  or  king  is  to 
do.  They  are  told  that  he  is  "to 
report;"  and  when  they  ask  the 
meaning  of  report,  their  attention  is 
directed  to  the  sound  made  by  the 
discharge  of  a  cannon.  And  so  they 
are  left  to  make  the  best  of  it. 

They  did,  in  some  measure,  make 
"  the  best  "  of  it,  since  the  multipli- 
city of  apparent  rulers  found  them  a 
ready  excuse  for  resisting  whatever 
they  did  not  like,  and  thought  they 
were  strong  enough  to  resist.  Though 
they  saw  the  English  gentlemen  called 
colonels,  captains,  and  so  forth,  sub- 
mitting to  the  ''constituted  authori- 
ties," they  were  not  to  follow  the 
example  ;  and  the  chief,  with  arms  in 


1851.] 


The  New  Zealanders. 


425 


his  hand,  was  not  to  be  spell-bound  by 
a  dirty  bit  of  paper  presented  to  him 
by  a  disreputable-looking  bailiff,  es- 
pecially if  it  affected  the  right  to  some 
large  tract  of  territory.  The  massacre 
of  Wairau,  which  created  so  much 
alarm  and  sympathy  in  this  country 
in  1843,  arose  out  of  an  attempt  to 
enforce  a  title  to  a  large  district,  as  if 
it  had  been  an  estate  in  Yorkshire, 
first  by  surveying  and  marking  it  off, 
and  next  by  apprehending,  in  due 
form,  the  chiefs  who  offered  interrup- 
tion. The  persons  who  were  to  be 
ejected,  like  impertinent  trespassers, 
were  two  chiefs,  whose  power  and  im- 
portance are  known  even  in  this  coun- 
try— Rauparaha  and  Rangihaeata.  Mr 
Tucket,  one  of  the  few  who  escaped 
from  the  massacre,  during  the  inquiry 
which  ensued,  gave  the  following 
rather  amusing  account  of  the  pre- 
liminary discussion  with  the  chiefs  : — 

"  These  chiefs  were  aware  that  we  had 
already,  more  than  once,  explored  the 
Wairau,  and  that  we  were  about  to  com- 
mence surveying  it.  They  came  to 
Nelson,  on  this  occasion,  to  forbid  our 
doing  so,  and  they  soon  entered  on  the 
discussion  of  the  subject  ;  Rauparaha 
spoke  with  all  the  blandness  and  suavity 
of  an  artful  woman. 

"  Rangihaeata,  in  the  other  extreme, 
at  once  denied  our  right,  and  defied  us, 
and  never  opened  his  mouth  but  to 
breathe  forth  threats  and  defiance.  They 
both  asserted  that  the  Wairau  was  not 
mentioned,  nor  intended  to  be  included 
in  the  sale  of  lands  made  by  Rauparaha 
to  Colonel  Wakefield  ;  the  places  which 
he  acknowledged  he  had  sold  he  enume- 
rated successively,  again  and  again.  He 
professed  to  be  reluctant,  yet  disposed  to 
negotiate  the  sale  of  the  Wairau,  but 
said  that  the  cask  of  gold  must  be  a  very 
big  one. 

"Rangihaeata  said  they  would  not  sell 
it,  that  they  wanted  it  for  themselves, 
and  thought  of  removing  there  from  the 
Northern  Island,  and  occupying  it.  He 
declared  that,  if  we  went  there,  he  would 
meet  us  and  drive  us  away  ;  and  that  we 
should  not  have  the  Wairau  until  we 
had  killed  him. 

"  Nothing  would  please  him  ;  he  left 
the  house  in  a  rage,  harangued  the  na- 
tives on  the  beach,  repeating  his  threats 
that  he  would  kill  us  if  we  went  ta  the 
Wairau.  He  afterwards  met  Mr  Cot- 
terell,  accosted  him  angrily  for  having 
gone  to  the  Wairau,  and  informed  him 
he  would  kill  him  if  he  caught  him  there. 
Mr  Cotterell,  that  he  might  not  be  mis- 


taken, called  to  him  a  very  competent 
interpreter,and  requested  him  to  explain 
to  him  tlie  speech,  on  which  this  ferocious 
chief  again  repeated  the  threat.  Rau- 
paraha subsequently  addressed  to  Mr 
Cotterell  a  similar  threat. 

"  With  great  reluctance  Rauparaha 
was  prevailed  on  to  proceed,  after  the 
talk  at  Dr  Wilson's  house,  to  the  survey 
office  ;  we  wished  to  show  him  the  na- 
tive reserves  on  the  plans,  and  to  con- 
vince him  that  we  desired  to  benefit  the 
condition  of  the  resident  natives  in  each 
district  of  the  settlement.  He  listened  to 
the  explanation  with  equal  contempt  and 
impatience  ;  would  not  glance  a  second 
time  at  the  plan ;  said  that  our  profession 
of  reserving  lands  for  the  Maories  was 
all  gammon,  humbug,  and  lies,  accom- 
panying this  expressive  phraseology  with 
fit  manipulations,  placing  his  thumb  on 
the  tip  of  his  nose,  pulling  down  his  eye- 
lid, and  such  like  approved  acts  of  incre- 
dulity and  derision,  which  association 
with  whalers  had  made  familiar  to  him. 
He  then  said  in  earnest  that  he  had 
sold  us  all  that  land,  alluding  to  the 
reserves  ;  if  the  resident  Maories  would 
not  give  it  up,  we  might  kill  them,  re- 
peating it, '  Kill  them,  kill  them  :'  there 
was  no  occasion  for  us  to  make  reserves ; 
the  Maories  could  remove  ;  all  that  land 
should  be  ours,  and  then  we  should  not 
want  the  Wairau.  Then  he  dropped  the 
subject,  and  began  begging  again,  urging 
on  the  agent  that  the  casks  must  be  very 
big  ones  ;  then  resuming  the  subject,  he 
said  with  a  most  honied  voice,  *  Do  not 
let  your  people  go  just  yet  to  the  Wairau;' 
adding  presently,  *  But  if  they  do  go, 
there  shall  be  no  harm.'  Next  morning 
another  interview  took  place  at  the 
agent's  office  ;  Rangihaeata  equally  vio- 
lent and  intractable  as  before ;  Raupa- 
raha less  complaisant,  having  no  further 
presents  to  hope  for.  The  agent,  firm  to 
his  purpose,  calmly  replied  to  his  threats 
by  informing  them  that,  if  they  did  molest 
or  interrupt  the  surveyors,  he  would  take 
three  hundred  constables  with  him  to  the 
Wairau,  and  make  them  prisoners.  They 
parted,  Rauparaha  affecting  courtesy  ; 
Rangihaeata,  sincere,  but  implacable, 
refused,  with  contempt,  all  the  presents 
which  were  carried  out  of  the  store  for 
him." — Returns  regarding  New  Zealand 
— Commons  Papers,  1845. 

The  putting  the  finger  to  the  nose 
is  very  characteristic  of  some  of  the 
manifestations  of  New  Zealand  civil- 
isation. They  are  a  very  jocular 
people,  with  many  set  phrases  and 
gestures  of  raillery.  The  chiefs  who 
disputed  the  sale  of  the  Wairau  valley 


426 


The  New  Zealanders. 


might  well  think  that  they  were  made 
the  objects  of  jocularity  when  a  bailiff 
presented  himself  with  a  writ — called 
an  ejectment,  a  Bill  of  Middlesex,  or 
something  of  that  sort — and  set  about 
arresting  them.  Rauparaha's  testi- 
mony was  taken  in  the  inquixy,  and 
he  described  the  attempt  to  apprehend 
him  thus : — 

"Mr  Thompson  said,  'Will  you  not 
go?'  I  said,  'No;'  and  Rangihaeata, 
who  had  been  called  for,  and  had  been 
speaking,  said  so  too.  Mr  Thompson 
then  called  for  the  handcuffs,  and  held  up 
the  warrant,  saying,  'See,  this  is  the 
Queen  to  make  a  tie,  Rauparaha  ! '  I 
said, '  I  will  not  listen  either  to  you  or  to 
your  book.'  He  was  in  a  great  passion  ; 
his  eyes  rolled  about,  and  he  stamped  his 
foot.  I  said, '  I  had  rather  be  killed  than 
submit  to  be  bound.'  He  then  called  for 
the  constable,  who  began  opening  the 
handcuffs,  and  to  advance  towards  me. 
Mr  Thompson  laid  hold  of  my  hand  ;  I 
pushed  him  away,  saying,  '  What  are 
you  doing  that  for  ? ' " 

It  was  immediately  on  this  that  the 
scuffle  which  the  natives  drove  to  so 
cruel  an  extremity  began.  It  might 
have  been  known,  from  previous  ex- 
perience in  New  Zealand,  that  such 
contumelious  treatment  towards  a 
chief  was  highly  dangerous.  The 
massacre  of  the  crew  of  the  Boyd 
arose  from  a  chief's  son  having  been 
flogged  by  a  shipmaster,  who,  in 
bringing  him  over  from  Europe  to 
restore  him  to  his  friends,  chose  to 
treat  the  young  savage  aristocrat  as  a 
working  sailor. 

The  letters  of  the  native  chiefs 
during  the  wars  and  negotiations  were 
translated  by  sworn  interpreters,  and 
are  printed  with  the  other  State  docu- 
ments in  the  Parliamentary  papers. 
A  funny  enough  appearance  they  cut 
in  the  solemn  company  with  which 
they  are  associated,  as  the  following 
specimens  may  show : — 

"  Decanber,  the  2dday,  1843. 
"  Friend,  this  new  Governor, — You  are 
a  stranger,  we  are  strangers  ;  we  do  not 
understand  your  thoughts,  and  you  do 
not  understand  our  thoughts.  What  is 
the  right  (meaning)  of  Governor  Fitz- 
Roy  ?  Land  ?  Not  by  any  means,  be- 
cause God  made  this  country  for  us.  It 
cannot  be  sliced  :  if  it  were  a  whale,  it 
might  be  sliced  ;  but  as  for  this,  do  you 


[Oct. 

return  to  your  own  country,  to  England 
which  was  made  by  God  for  you.  God 
has  made  this  land  for  us,  and  not  for 
any  stranger  or  foreign  nation  to  touch 
(or  meddle  with)  this  sacred  country. 
Yours  is  heavy;  New  Zealand  is  heavy 
too.  My  thoughts  to  (or  towards)  Mr 
Williams  have  ended.  That  is  all. 
"  War  Song. 

«  Oh !  let  us  fight,  fight,  fight,  aha  !  let 
us  fight,  aha  !  let  us  fight :  fight  for  the 
land  which  lies  open  before  us  :  let  us 
fight,  fight.  You  have  not  taken  it 
away  to  your  land  to  Europe,  on  account 
of  the  holding  on  of  Whare-whare — to 
the  Heaven  climbed  is  the  ascent  to  the 
Governor.  *  *  * 

«  From 

"  (Signed)    LITTLE  JOHN  POKAI, 
At  the  Karewa. 

"Write  on  Thursday  precisely.  Be 
quick.  If  it  is  not  done  quickly,  I  shall 
understand  your  sentiments.  If  you  do 
not  write  your  letter  quickly  on  Thurs- 
day precisely,  I  shall  understand  your 
thoughts.  Do  you  not  like  those 
thoughts .« " 

"  TB  RUAPEKAPKKA, 

4  December  1845. 

"Friend,  Mr  Williams, — Salutations 
to  you.  Good  are  the  words  of  your  book 
to  me.  Friend,  let  not  your  heart  be 
hasty  to  make  peace.  I  am  waiting  for 
my  grandson  John  Heke,  that  he  may 
come  to  the  Ruapekapeka  to  me  ;  then 
we  will  assemble  to  (meet)  the  Governor. 
These  words  to  you  are  ended. 

"  Friend,  Governor, — Salutations  to 
you.  Let  not  your  heart  be  in  haste  to 
make  peace  ;  when  my  men  have  finished 
(assembling)  then  (it  will  be.)  That  is 
the  whole  of  my  saying. 

(Signed)     "  KAWITI."* 

Perhaps  the  world  may  never  dis- 
cover whether  the  asterisks  represent 
something  too  dreadful  to  be  trans- 
lated, or  something  which  the  sworn 
interpreter  found  it  impossible  to  put 
into  English.  We  can  only  say  that 
we  think  the  latter  the  more  likely 
theory.  Such  documents,  in  the  formal 
contents  of  the  blue  books,  have  some 
such  effect  as  their  authors  would 
present  if  sitting  in  committee. 

These  chiefs  had  so  much  at  least 
in  common  with  the  leaders  of  civilised 
warfare  that  the  British  flag  was  the 
main  object  of  their  hostility.  They 
did  not  know  what  it  expressed  ;  but 


*  Further  Papers  relative  to  the  Affairs  of  New  Zealand,  presented  to  Parliament, 
by  command  of  Her  Majesty,  2Gth  August  1846,  p.  15. 


1851.] 


The  New  Zealanders. 


42.7 


their  instinct  taught  them  to  dislike  it 
because  the  foreigner  deemed  it  im- 
portant. Among  the  Parliamentary 
documents  from  which  we  have  been 
quoting,  there  is  the  following  state 
paper  in  reference  to  the  flag-staff— 

"  FRIEND  Governor  Fitz-Roy,  friend  the 
new  Governor,  I  say  to  you,  will  you  come 
and  let  us  converse  together  either  at 
Paihia  or  at  Waitangi,  or  at  the  Waimate, 
that  my  thoughts  may  be  right  towards 
you  concerning  the  stick  (flag-staff)  from 
which  grew  the  evil  to  the  world.  Walker 
and  Manu  (Kewa)  and  others  say  they 
alone  will  erect  the  staff ;  that  will  be 
wrong  ;  it  will  be  better  that  we  should 
all  assemble.  They,  we,  and  all  the  many 
chiefs  of  this  place  and  of  that  place,  and 
you  too,  and  all  the  English  also. 

"  Now  this  I  say  to  you,  come,  that  we 
may  set  aright  your  misunderstandings 
and  mine  also,  and  Walker's  too  ;  then 
it  will  be  right ;  then  we  two  (you  and 
I)  will  erect  our  flag-staff ;  then  shall 
New  Zealand  be  made  one  with  England  ; 
then  shall  our  conversation  respecting  the 
land  or  country  be  right. 

"•  Mr  Busby  ;  the  first  Governor  ;  the 
second  Governor ;  the  third  Governor  ; 
the  Queen  :  salutations  to  you  all. 

«  From 
(Signed)  " JOHN  WILLUM  HERE  POKAI." 

Heke  was  a  great  chief,  and  a  great 
leader  in  these  conflicts  ;  but  at  the 
time  when  the  letter  just  cited  was 
written,  the  beginning  of  the  year 
1816,  he  was  losing  position  among 
his  brother  chiefs,  who  were  abandon- 
ing the  conflict  with  the  British 
authorities.  More  than  three  years 
afterwards,  in  July  1849,  when  New 
Zealand  had  become  as  tranquil  as 
the  Orkney  Islands,  Heke  thought 
fit  to  address  a  long  representation  to 
the  Queen,  for  the  purpose  of  instruct- 
ing her  Majesty  on  the  true  state  of 
affairs  in  the  colony.  Like  most 
statements  by  disappointed  men,  it  is 
a  rather  confused  document — 

"  To  the  Queen  of  England,  greeting, — 
Show  us  the  same  affectionate  regard  that 
King  George  did  in  what  he  said  to  Hongi 
when  he  went  to  Europe.  King  George 
asked  him,  '  What  was  your  reason  for 
coming  here;'  he  said,  '  I  had  two  objects 
in  doing  so — muskets  and  sixty  soldiers.' 
To  which  King  George  answered, '  I  will 
not  consent  to  send  soldiers  to  New 
Zealand,  lest  you  should  be  deprived  of 
your  country,  which  I  wish  should  be  left 
for  your  children  and  your  people,  for  they 

VOL.  LXX.— NO.  CCCCXXXII. 


would  not  act  properly.'  They  continued 
arguing  on  the  subject  for  a  long  time, 
and  then  King  George  said  to  Hongi, '  It 
is  better  that  I  should  send  some  mis- 
sionaries to  you,  as  friends  for  you,  for 
they  are  good  people  ;  should  they  act 
wrongly,  send  them  back  ;  but  if  they  act 
properly,  befriend  them.'  And  we  ac- 
cordingly befriended  them.  They  asked 
us,  '  Will  you  not  give  us  some  portions  of 
your  land  ?'  Our  generosity  induced  us 
to  consent,  and  we  divided  it  with  them. 
— giving  them  part  and  retaining  part 
ourselves.  We  thought  that  they  were 
the  only  people  who  were  to  live  in  this 
country  ;  but  no,  there  were  many  thou- 
sands of  others — but  it  was  when  we  were 
foolish  that  we  thought  this. 

"  The  immense  congregations  of  people  • 
that  took  place  here  was  what  brought 
forth  the  day  of  trouble,  which  exactly 
agreed  with  what  King  George  had  said 
to  Hongi.  After  trouble  had  ensued,  Mr 
Busby  arrived  with  a  different  arrange- 
ment, and  then  the  first  governor,  Wil- 
liam Hobson,  with  a  different  one  again: 
the  flag  of  New  Zealand  was  abandoned, 
and  that  of  England  alone  displayed.  He 
did  not  state  this  at  the  meeting  at  Wait- 
angi, in  order  that  everybody  might  know- 
that  the  flag-staff  was  the  great  protec- 
tion of  these  islands  ;  and  his  concealing" 
it  was  the  cause  of  my  error,  for  I  was 
the  person  that  consented  that  both  Mr 
Busby  and  the  first  governor  should  live  on 
shore,  thinking  that  they  would  act  right- 
ly; then  came  Fitz-Roy,  the  second  gover- 
nor, with  a  different  arrangement  again-. 
Not  understanding  the  authority  which 
accompanied  the  appointment  of  gover- 
nors, and  to  which  we  had  in  our  folly 
consented,  I  urged  him  to  come  here,  in 
order  that  we  might  talk  on  the  subject 
of  the  flag-staff ;  he  did  not  come,  but  re- 
erected  it,  having  four  iron  bars,  and? 
covered  with  tar.  The  obstinacy  of  his- 
thoughts  was  the  cause  of  the  war,  and 
of  my  transgressing  against  you.  Then 
came  Governor  Grey,  a  fighting  gover- 
nor; I  therefore  say,  who  was  it  sent 
those  people  here1?  Which  makes  me 
think  that  you  were  the  original  cause  of 
the  dispute  between  us — which  confuted 
what  King  George  had  said  to  Hongi. 
Don't  suppose  that  the  fault  was  mine, 
for  it  was  not,  which  is  my  reason  for 
saying  that  it  rests  with  you  to  restore 
the  flag  of  my  island  of  New  Zealand, 
and  the  authority  of  the  land  of  the  people* 
Should  you  do  this,  I  will  then  for  the 
first  time  perceive  that  you  have  some 
love  for  New  Zealand,  and  for  what  King 
George  said,  for  although  he  and  Hongi 
are  dead,  still  the  conversation  lives ;  and 
it  is  for  you  to  favour  and  make  much  of 
2E 


428 


The  New  Zealanders. 


it,  for  the  sake  of  peace,  love,  and  quiet- 
ness; therefore,  I  say,  it  remains  with 
you  to  decide  about  the  people  who  are 
continually  arriving  here,  viz.,  the  Gover- 
nors, the  soldiers,  the  French,  and  the 
Americans;  to  speak  out  to  them  to  re- 
turn; they  are  quarrelsome,  and  every 
place  will  be  covered  with  them;  I  con- 
sequently am  aware  that  their  acts  are 
making  things  progress  towards  trouble. 
I  thought  that  when  our  fighting  was 
over,  the  men-of-war  and  steamers  would 
cease  coming  here  and  all  their  mischief- 
breeding  concomitants,  for  I  am  careful 
of  the  fiery  darts  of  the  world,  the  flesh, 
and  the  devil." 

These  last  words  showed  that  Heke 
had  been  listening  to  the  missionaries, 
though  he  had  derived  little  of  the 
spirit  along  with  the  phraseology  of 
Christianity.  In  the  letter,  of  which 
the  long  passage  just  cited  is  but  a 
comparatively  small  portion,  the  chief 
says  —  possibly  in  reference  to  the 
varied  authorities,  judicial,  executo- 
rial,  clerical,  military,  &c.,  whose 
conflicting  powers  puzzled  the  na- 
tives— 

"  What  I  consider  very  bad  is  conceal- 
ing the  intentions,  for  there  are  many 
rooms  in  your  house,  which  prevents  their 
being  all  searched  :  the  calico  room  is 
that  of  peace,  but  then  there  is  the  room 
of  red  garments  and  the  room  of  black 
garments — these  two  rooms  ought  to  be 
concealed  in  that  with  peace  of  God." 

It  was  necessary  that  this  state 
paper  should  be  duly  laid  before  her 
Majesty.  We  are  left  in  profound 
ignorance  of  the  shape  in  which 
Heke  may  have  received  the  an- 
nouncement of  its  reception,  but  the 
Parliamentary  papers  contain  a  des- 
patch from  the  Secretary  of  the  Colo- 
nies to  the  Governor  of  New  Zealand 
in  these  terms  : — 

"  I  have  received  your  despatch  of  the 
1 8th  July  last,  forwarding  a  letter  ad- 
dressed by  the  New  Zealand  chief  Heke 
to  the  Queen,  in  explanation  of  his  view 
of  the  causes  of  the  difficulties  which  have 
taken  place  throughout  the  colony,  and  I 
have  to  request  you  will  acquaint  the 
writer  that  I  have  laid  that  communica- 
tion before  her  Majesty." 

But  "the  difficulties,"  many  of 
them  of  Heke's  own  creation,  were, 
as  we  have  already  hinted,  conquered 
before  he  offered  his  intervention. 
The  motives  from  which  the  armed 
forces  in  New  Zealand  gradually 


[Oct. 

dissolved,  as  it  were,  into  peaceful 
workmen,  is  in  itself  a  significant 
symptom  of  the  character  of  this  re- 
markable people.  They  began  to  find 
that  it  was  a  far  better  speculation  to 
enter  into  a  partnership  —  however 
humble — with  the  Europeans,  than  to 
fight  with  them.  They  are  not,  it 
must  be  admitted,  an  imaginative  or 
ideal  people ;  they  judge  values  by 
hard  cash.  Their  superstitions  were 
found  to  be  entirely  subservient  to 
their  interests  —  for  instance,  the  in- 
exorable tapu  or  taboo.  A  field  which 
had  been  bought,  but  which  was  not 
to  be  given  up,  was  found  to  be 
tabooed,  and  so  a  rifle  which,  had  been 
lent,  and  which  the  owner  wanted 
back  again.  "When  a  chief  was  want- 
ed to  fulfil  a  bargain,  or  was  dunned 
by  a  creditor,  he  was  found  to  be  sur- 
rounded by  the  sacred  tapu.  This 
utilitarian  spirit  gradually  undermined 
the  zeal  for  national  resistance.  In 
fact,  it  was  not  national  — it  was  per- 
sonal and  patrimonial.  The  chiefs 
and  their  followers  who  might  side 
with  the  English  had  no  reproaches 
of  baseness,  or  unpatriotic  desertion, 
to  fear.  Some  of  them  were  taken 
into  service  and  employed  as  a  police 
force  —  and  proud  they  were  of  the 
character.  One  or  two  chiefs  who 
were  wounded  in  the  British  service 
received  pensions.  There  came,  as 
among  the  Sepoys,  to  be  a  competi- 
tion to  get  into  the  service,  which 
extinguished  the  insurrections.  Those 
who  could  not  be  employed  in  the 
government  did  still  better  by  em- 
barking in  agricultural,  shipping,  or 
commercial  enterprise.  There  never, 
perhaps,  in  the  history  of  the  world, 
was  so  sudden  a  revulsion  from  bitter 
war  to  the  energetic  pursuit  of  the 
arts  of  peace  as  these  people  have 
exemplified. 

After  agricultural  enterprise,  the 
chief  pursuit  of  the  natives  has  been 
that  of  the  miller.  They  appear  to 
have  entered  on  it  with  surprising 
rapidity.  As  the  New  Zealanders 
are  very  fond  of  letting  her  Majesty 
know  all  they  are  about,  we  have 
among  the  Parliamentary  papers  pre- 
sented in  the  last  session  a  letter 
to  the  Queen,  with  an  account  of  the 
raising  of  one  of  the  earliest  grist 
mills,  accompanied  by  a  present  of 
the  meal  ground  in  it. 


1851.] 


The  New  Zealanders. 


429 


"  Governor  Grey  has  been  here  at 
Otawhao  and  Rangiaohia,  and  has  given 
us  a  plough  ;  he  also  told  us  that  Mr 
Morgan  would  arrange  about  some  white 
man  to  teach  us  to  plough,  at  which  we 
were  much  pleased — and  this  year  we 
commence  to  plough  the  ground.  We 
have  for  a  long  time  been  desirous  of 
this,  but  we  are  a  poor  people,  and  the 
majority  of  our  pigs  had  been  disposed 
of  to  pay  for  the  mill,  which  was 
the  reason  that  we  did  not  plough  ;  but 
now  the  governor  has  generously  given 
us  one,  which  has  greatly  rejoiced  us  ; 
and  we  will  persevere  in  ploughing  the 
land.  We  have  finished  a  water-mill, 
and  paid  for  it  entirely  ourselves.  We 
paid  the  white  man  who  built  it  £200, 
which  he  obtained  by  the  sale  of  pigs  and 
flax— £20  being  for  flax,  and  £180  for 
pigs.  The  common  labour  we  did  our- 
selves— namely,  building  the  dam,  &c. 
&c.  Our  reason  for  constructing  the  mill 
was  on  account  of  having  commenced  to 
grow  wheat  at  Rangiaohia.  We  were  a 
year  in  collecting  the  requisite  amount  of 
money. 


"0  the  Queen,  we  regard  you  with 
affection,  because  we  have  nothing  to  give 
you — because  we,  the  Maoris,  are  a  poor 
people  ;  but  we  wish  that  you  should  see 
and  also  eat  of  the  flour  grown  at 
Rangiaohia.  Don't  find  fault  with  what 
we  send  you,  whether  much  or  little  :  it 
is  little  in  the  presence  of  the  Queen  of 
England.  We  have  nothing  else  except 
this  quantity  of  flour  to  give  you.  Be 
graciously  pleased  with  our  present  in 
order  that  our  hearts  may  be  glad. 

"  The  schools  for  our  children  are  very 
good,  and  we  will  now  become  civilised. 
But  don't  send  convicts  here  to  our 
country.  They  will  cause  us  trouble,  and 
we  will  be  afraid  lest  evil  should  be 
increased  in  our  islands.  This  is  all. 

«  TE  WARU. 
"  KAHAWUI." 


The  following  document,  dated  a 
few  months  later,  shows  what  rapid 
progress  must  have  been  made  in  the 
erection  of  mills  : — 


Return  of  Flour  Mills  now  in  operation,  (22d  August  1849,)  within  one  district  of 
the  Province  of  New  Ulster,  the  property  of  Aboriginal  Natives  (all  but  the  last 
within  a  circuit  of  fifty  miles  of  Otawhao.) 


COST. 

,      Name  of  principal  Owner. 

Cash. 

Labour. 

Te  Waru,       .       .      . 

£200 

0 

0 

£50 

0 

0 

Ti  Tipa, 

80 

0 

0 

40 

0 

0 

Tipa,        .... 

80 

0 

0 

40 

0 

0 

Manihera, 
Pake,       .... 

80 
330 

I) 
0 

0 
0 

40 
40 

0 
0 

0 
0 

Paora  Te  Patu,    . 

100 

0 

0 

40 

0 

0 

£910 

0 

0 

£250 

0 

0 

The  New  Zealanders  are,  at  the 
same  time,  large  shipowners ;  and 
they  have  a  shipping-list,  published  in 
English  and  Maori,  with  departures 
and  arrivals  of  vessels  owned  and 
commanded  by  natives. 

We  find  the  Governor  of  New 
Zealand,  on  7th  March  1849,  report- 
ing,— 

"  During  my  journey  through  the  ex- 
tensive and  fertile  districts  of  the  Wai- 
kato  and  Waissa,  I  was  both  impressed 
and  gratified  at  the  rapid  advances  in 
civilisation  which  the  natives  of  that  part 
of  New  Zealand  have  made  during  the 
last  two  years.  Two  flour-mills  have  al- 


ready been  constructed  at  their  sole  cost, 
and  another  water-mill  is  in  course  of 
erection.  The  natives  of  that  district 
also  grow  wheat  very  extensively  :  at 
one  place  alone,  the  estimated  extent  of 
land  under  wheat  is  a  thousand  acres. 
They  have  also  good  orchards,  with  fruit- 
trees  of  the  best  kind,  grafted  and  budded 
by  themselves.  They  have  extensive  cul- 
tivations of  Indian  corn,  potatoes,  &c.  ; 
and  they  have  acquired  a  considerable 
number  of  horses  and  horned  stock.  Al- 
together, I  have  never  seen  a  more  thriv- 
ing or- contented  population  in  any  part 
of  the  world." 

We    may  remark    that,  from  so 
thinly  peopled  a  country,  so  far  off, 


430 


TJie  New  Zealanders. 


we  must  not  expect  to  receive  authen- 
tic intelligence  down  to  a  recent 
period.  The  Parliamentary  papers 
issued  in  the  past  session  seldom 
contain  intelligence  later  than  1849. 
On  the  25th  June  of  that  year,  the 
Lieutenant- General  of  New  Mun- 
ster  reports : — 

"  At  Otaki,  the  natives  are  still  mak- 
ing rapid  progress  in  civilisation,  and  the 
settlement  is  assuming  the  appearance  of 
a  neat  European  village.  Many  new 
houses  of  a  superior  kind  have  been  built 
during  the  last  eighteen  months  ;  a  mag- 
nificent church  has  been  erected,  and, 
though  not  quite  complete,  is  in  a  state 
which  is  usable  ;  in  fact,  I  have  myself 
attended  service  there,  when,  I  think, 
there  could  have  been  little  short  of 
900  natives  within  its  walls.  More  atten- 
tion has  been  paid  to  neatness  than  was 
formerly  the  case;  and  most  of  the  fences 
are  not  only  substantially  put  up,  but  are 
cut  evenly  at  the  top,  and  present  a  very 
neat  and  clean  appearance.  The  gardens 
are  also  more  attended  to  ;  and  the  use 
of  milk,  butter,  tea,  &c.,  more  appre- 
ciated in  the  domestic  arrangements. 

Other  indications  of  the  advancement  of 
the  native  race,  and  of  their  growing  con- 
fidence in  the  value  of  civilised  institu- 
tions, are  to  be  found  in  their  frequent 
applications  to  the  resident  magistrates' 
courts,  whenever  they  consider  themselves 
aggrieved,  whether  by  Europeans  or  by 
other  natives  ;  and  in  the  readiness  with 
which  they  submit  to  and  abide  by  the 
decisions.  In  these  courts,  during  the  last 
eighteen  mouths,  several  cases  of  grave 
importance,  between  native  and  native, 
have  been  adjudicated  upon,  which  would 
have  formerly  involved  the  life  of  the  of- 
fender, and  might  have  led  to  a  general 
disturbance." 

The  thoroughly  and  almost  impe- 
tuously practical  character  of  the  na- 
tives, and  their  freedom  from  ideal  in- 
fluences, is  shown  in  the  manner  in 


[Oct. 

which  they  have  welcomed  the  ser- 
vices of  the  medical  profession. 

The  colonial  surgeon,  in  his  report 
for  1849,  says,— 

"  The  short,  but,  I  apprehend,  some- 
what indiscreetly  alarming  account  of 
small-pox,  which  was  published  in  the 
native  language  some  twelve  months  ago, 
made  an  extraordinarily  powerful  im- 
pression in  this  district  on  the  Maori 
mind,  creating,  at  the  same  time,  a  sin- 
gularly urgent  anxiety  to  be  vaccinated. 
Hence,  no  sooner  was  it  known  that  the 
antidote  was  in  our  possession,  than  not 
only  the  hospital  and  the  town  practi- 
tioners were  besieged  by  applicants  from 
far  and  near,  but  ex-professional  gentle- 
men also  were  eagerly  solicited  to  be- 
come operators  in  the  cause,  as  if  the 
enemy  they  so  fearfully  dreaded  was  at 
the  threshold,  and  not  a  day  to  be  safely 
lost ;  nay,  so  great  was  the  panic  among 
them,  and  so  precocious,  too,  their  intui- 
tion, that  ere  long  they  began  to  vacci- 
nate one  another  ;  and  finding  that  they 
could  produce  vesicles,  or  pustular  blots 
any  way  like  to  these,  vaccination  hence 
went  on  in  indiscriminate  progress,  to  the 
neglect  of  all  observances,  and  in  hand-in- 
hand  deterioration,  which  it  is  impossible 
now,  with  any  probability  of  truth,  to  es- 
timate or  surmise." 

As  an  equitable  balance  of  the  hard 
and  almost  selfish  character  which  we 
have  attributed  to  these  people,  let  us 
conclude  by  saying,  that  many  docu- 
ments and  works  which  we  have  per- 
used in  reference  to  them,  convince 
us  that  they  are  an  eminently  good- 
hearted  race.  Several  instances  are 
recorded  where  they  have  made  con- 
siderable sacrifices  to  serve  Europeans 
to  whom  they  were  under  obligations  ; 
and  in  more  than  one  instance,  their 
communities  have  subscribed  to  relieve 
distress  caused  by  fire,  shipwreck, 
or  inundation — a  form  of  generosity 
eminently  indicative  of  civilisation. 


1851.] 


The  Kalian  Revolution, 


431 


THE   ITALIAN   REVOLUTION. 


THE  emeute  of  Paris,  which  cast  out 
the  Bourbons,  is  the  key  to  all  the 
subsequent  emeules  of  Europe.  The 
nations  of  the  Continent,  however 
differing  in  features  and  language,  are 
one  family ;  they  have  the  same 
policy,  the  same  habits,  and  the  same 
impulses.  No  member  of  that  family 
£an  be  moved  without  communicating 
that  motion,  more  or  less,  to  the 
whole  body;  like  a  vast  lake,  into 
which,  stagnant  as  it  may  be,  a  stone 
flung  spreads  the  movement  in  circle 
on  circle,  and  spreads  it  the  more  for 
its  stagnation.  But,  if  the  great  moral 
expanse  had  any  inherent  motion ;  if, 
like  the  ocean,  it  were  impelled  by  a 
tide,  the  external  impulse  would  be 
overpowered  and  lost  in  the  regular 
and  general  urgency  of  Nature. 

This  forms  one  of  the  distinctions 
which  mark  England  as  differing 
from  the  Continent ;  in  this  country 
there  is  a  perpetual  internal  move- 
ment. Open  as  England  is  to  all 
foreign  impulses,  they  are  overpower- 
ed by  the  vigour  of  change  among 
ourselves.  She  has  the  moral  tides  ; 
-constantly  renewing  the  motion  of 
the  national  mind,  guided  by  laws 
hitherto  scarcely  revealed  to  man ; 
and  tending,  on  the  whole,  to  the 
general  salubrity  and  permanence  of 
the  national  system.  This  preserves 
England  from  revolutions ;  as  manly 
exercise  preserves  the  human  frame 
from  disease,  and  from  those  violent 
struggles  with  which  nature,  from 
time  to  time,  throws  off  the  excess 
©f  disease.  Thus,  it  is  scarcely  pos- 
sible to  conceive  a  revolution  in  Eng- 
land ! 

In  the  life  of  a  single  generation 
we  have  seen  three  revolutions  in 
France  ;  and  those  three  revolutions 
have  been  of  the  most  decisive  order ; 
— the  first  comprehending  an  over- 
throw of  the  laws,  the  government, 
.and  the  religion— a  total  overwhelm- 
ing of  the  fabric  of  national  society, 
an  explosion  of  the  State  from  its 
foundations; — no  simple  plunder  of  the 
palace,  or  disrobing  of  the  priest— no 
passing  violence  of  the  mob,  like  a 
thunder  cloud  passing  over  the  har- 
vest-field, and  though  it  prostrated 


the  crop,  yet  leaving  the  soil  in  its 
native  fertility  ; — but  a  tearing  up  of 
the  soil  itself;  an  extermination  of 
monarchy,  priesthood,  and  law ;  re- 
quiring a  total  renewal  by  the  sur- 
vivors of  the  storm.  The  two  suc- 
ceeding revolutions  were  overthrows, 
not  merely  of  governments,  but  of 
dynasties — the  exiles  of  kings  and 
the  imprisonment  and  flight  of  cabi- 
nets—  great  national  convulsions, 
which  would  once  have  involved  civil 
war,  and  which,  but  for  the  timid 
nature  and  sudden  ruin  of  those  dy- 
nasties, must  have  involved  civil  war, 
and  probably  spread  havoc  once  more 
through  Europe.  Yet  England  was 
still  unshaken.  She  had  tumults,  but 
too  trifling  for  alarm,  and  apparently 
for  the  purpose  of  showing  to  the 
world  her  innate  power  of  resistance 
to  profitless  innovation ;  or  for  dis- 
covering to  herself  the  depth  of  her 
unostentatious  loyalty  to  the  consti- 
tutional throne. 

The  French  emeute  of  1830  pro- 
pagated its  impulse  through  every 
kingdom  of  Europe.  The  power  of 
the  rabble  was  proved  to  all  by  the 
triumph  of  the  French  mob ;  a  new 
generation  had  risen,  unacquainted 
with  the  terrible  sufferings  of  war ; 
the  strictness  of  the  European  govern- 
ments had  been  relaxed  by  the  long 
disuse  of  arms  ;  the  increasing  influ- 
ence of  commercial  wealth  had  tended 
to  turn  ministers  into  flatterers  of  the 
multitude  ;  and  the  increasing  exigen- 
cies of  kings  had  forced  them  to  rely 
for  their  personal  resources  upon  the 
merchant  and  the  Jew.  A  less  ob- 
vious, yet  perhaps  a  more  effective 
ingredient  than  all  other  materials  of 
overthrow,  was  the  universal  irreligion 
of  the  Continent. 

Divided  between  Popery  and  In- 
fidelity, the  European  mind  was  pre- 
pared for  political  tumults.  Super- 
stition degrades  the  understanding, 
and  makes  it  incapable  of  reason. 
Infidelity,  while  it  makes  the  world 
the  only  object,  gives  loose  to  the 
passions  of  the  world.  The  one,  ex- 
tinguishing all  inquiry,  merges  all 
truth  in  a  brutish  belief;  the  other, 
disdaining  all  experience,  meets  all 


432 


The  Italian  Revolution. 


truth  with  a  frantic  incredulity.  The 
first  temptation  to  political  distur- 
bance finds  both  ready.  The  refusal 
to  "  give  to  God  the  things  that  are 
God's,"  is  inevitably  followed  by  the 
refusal  to  "  give  to  Caesar  the  things 
that  are  Caesar's." 

Superstitition  took  the  lead  in  re- 
volt. In  1830,  the  year  after  the 
expulsion  of  the  Bourbons,  some  of 
the  Papal  provinces  proclaimed  the 
reign  of  Liberty  at  hand,  and  dis- 
owned the  temporal  sovereignty  of  the 
Pope.  But  the  Austrian  army  was 
on  the  alert ;  the  troops  entered  the 
Romagna  ;  the  Legations,  wholly  un- 
prepared for  resistance,  (though  storm- 
ing the  Vatican  in  their  figures  of 
speech,)  at  once  discovered  the  fruit- 
lessness  of  oratory  against  bayonets, 
and  licked  the  dust  before  the  Aus- 
trian grenadiers. 

All  tyranny  is  cruel  in  proportion 
to  its  weakness :  such  is  the  history  of 
all  despotic  governments.  The  Ro- 
magna was  inundated  with  spies  ;  the 
prisons  were  crowded  ;  (and  what 
language  can  describe  the  horrors  of  an 
Italian  prison !)  and  with  an  Austrian 
army  as  the  defenders  of  the  Papal 
throne  against  its  subjects,  the  reign 
of  the  old  despotism  once  more  was 
the  reign  over  all  things  but  the 
minds  of  the  people. 

In  the  midst  of  this  confusion, 
the  old  man  on  the  Roman  throne, 
who  had  exhibited  nothing  of  su- 
premacy but  its  violence,  suddenly 
died.  The  death  of  Gregory  XVI. 
was  a  crisis.  The  presence  of  the 
Austrians  had  begun  to  be  an  object 
of  alarm  to  the  government  of  the 
Cardinals,  and  the  desire  to  get  rid 
of  this  dangerous  defence  was  the 
key  to  the  new  line  of  policy  adopted 
by  Rome.  This  suggested  the  choice 
of  a  man  who  might  influence  the 
popular  mind  by  giving  way  to  the 
feelings  of  the  populace  ;  and  Maria 
Mastai  Feretti  was  raised  to  the 
Papal  sovereignty,  by  the  name  of 
Pius  the  Ninth. 

The  election  of  a  Pope  has  gene- 
rally been  a  matter  of  intrigue  among 
the  ambassadors  of  the  foreign  powers 
at  Rome,  and  especially  among  the 
Cardinals — the  former  intriguing  to 
elect  a  tool  of  their  Government,  and 
the  others  an  instrument  of  their  own. 
The  Popes  have  been  generally  chosen 


[Oct. 

in  old  age,  and  in  the  decay  of  their 
faculties— the  former,  as  affording 
the  speedier  prospect  of  a  successor — 
and  the  latter,  as  throwing  him  more 
completely  into  the  hands  of  his 
court.  But,  the  crisis  demanded 
an  instrument  of  another  capacity. 
Mastai  Feretti  had  been  educated 
for  a  military  career — had  subse- 
quently chosen  the  priesthood — and 
had,  we  understand,  even  been 
employed  in  the  South  American 
missions.  Thus  he  had  lived  out 
of  the  conventual  routine,  and  had 
the  rare  fortune,  for  a  monk,  of 
travelling  beyond  the  borders  of 
Italy.  His  family,  too,  were  known 
by  some  public  offices,  and  the  hope 
of  seeing  the  triple  crown  burnished 
on  the  brow  of  a  vigorous  leader, 
rendered  the  choice  popular  among 
the  crowd. 

The  first  act  was  to  publish  an 
Amnesty — an  act  of  policy  as  well 
as  of  mercy ;  for,  by  it,  he  released 
a  large  number  of  the  partisans  of 
his  new  system.  The  exiles  also 
were  recalled;  and  some  of  the 
most  prominent  actors  in  the  late 
movements  were  purchased  by  the 
hope  of  public  offices.  The  Pope 
even  performed  occasionally  the 
duties  of  the  priesthood.  He  one 
day  visited  a  church  of  which  the 
vicar  was  absent ;  he  put  on  the 
robe,  and  read  the  mass.  Little 
dexterities  of  this  kind,  to  which 
none  could  object,  and  which  all 
were  ready  to  applaud,  raised  popular 
acclamation  to  its  height,  and  for 
a  few  months  Pio  Nono  was,  in  all 
lips,  the  model  of  a  priest,  a  patriot, 
and  a  pope. 

All  those  things  might  have  been 
done  by  a  wise  sovereign ;  but  Pio 
Nono  exhibited  his  ignorance  of 
Italian  nature  by  not  knowing  where 
to  stop.  Every  day  now  produced 
some  memorable  innovation:  the  press 
was  partially  emancipated— a  rational 
measure  only  among  a  rational  people ; 
the  laity  shared  in  the  magistracies 
which  had  been  hitherto  confined  to 
the  priesthood  ;  and  a  Cabinet  Council 
was  formed,  all  the  members  of  which 
were  laymen,  except  the  Minister  of 
Foreign  Affairs,  and  the  Minister  of 
Public  Instruction. 

All  those  reforms,  which  would 
have  been  salutary  among  a  manly 


1851.] 

people,  were  ruinous  among  a  people 
utterly  disqualified  by  their  habits, 
their  'morals,  and  their  religion,  for 
liberty. 

The  news  from  Eome  flew  instantly 
to  all  parts  of  Italy.  The  populace 
everywhere  demanded  a  constitution, 
and  proceeded  to  attack  the  police, 
and  sometimes  to  plunder  the  pos- 
sessors of  property.  When  the  scat- 
tered soldiery  resisted,  the  bloodshed 
was  charged  as  a  crime  on  the  head 
of  their  governments.  The  peasantry 
thronged  the  roads,  crying  out  for 
a  reform,  of  which  they  could  not 
comprehend  the  simplest  principles. 
The  King  of  Naples,  in  not  unnatu- 
ral alarm  at  those  philosophers  of 
the  highway,  attempted  to  exercise 
his  authority.  It  was  answered  by 
rebellion.  Sicily  and  Calabria  at 
once  armed  their  rioters.  The  mob 
seized  upon  Palermo  and  Messina ; 
the  politicians  were  on  the  alert ; 
and  they  drew  up  a  Jacobin  constitu- 
tion, which  the  King,  helpless  and 
hopeless,  was  persuaded  to  sign. 

The  Papacy  was  now  in  danger ; 
the  success  of  the  Neapolitan  rabble 
was  a  stimulus  to  the  rabble  of 
Rome.  The  Pope  found  the  peril 
of  toying  with  popular  passions.  He 
was  forced  to  sign  a  constitution 
entitled — "  a  fundamental  statute  for 
the  temporal  government  of  the 
States  of  the  Church."  He  was 
virtually  dethroned. 

Thus  the  Popedom  had  begun  the 
true  revolutionary  era.  The  Italian 
Revolution  of  1846  was  followed  by 
the  French  Revolution  of  1848.  The 
echo  of  the  thunder  was  thus  louder 
than  the  thunder  itself.  It  was  rever- 
berated from  every  throne  of  the 
Continent ;  Berlin  was  in  the  hands 
of  a  mob ;  Vienna  was  in  open 
rebellion  ;  Prague  fought  the  Imperial 
troops ;  Hungary  rose  in  arms,  and 
fought  the  bloodiest  campaigns  since 
Waterloo, — till  Russia  entered  the 
field  with  her  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  men,  and  extinguished  the 
war  by  a  truce,  which  will  be  broken 
at  the  first  opportunity  of  bloodshed. 

But,  before  the  general  spread  of 
insurrection,  Lombardy  had  risen  in 
rebellion,  tempted  by  the  vauntings 
of  Italian  patriotism,  by  the  lenity 
of  the  Austrian  Government,  and, 
above  all,  by  the  example  of  Rome. 


TJie  Italian  Revolution.  433 

The  dominion  of  Austria  in  Italy 
consists  of  the  provinces  formerly 
known  as  the  duchies  of  Milan  and 
Mantua,  and  the  territory  of  the 
late  Venetian  Republic.  It  is  one 
of  the  most  absurd  blunders  of 
modern  republicanism,  to  represent 
those  possessions  as  the  spoil  of  war. 
On  the  contrary,  if  ancient  right  and 
regular  inheritance  can  give  a  title, 
Austria  possesses  that  title  to  the 
duchies  of  Milan  and  Mantua  — 
Milan  having  been  an  Austrian  fief 
from  the  year  1533,  when  it  descended 
to  Charles  V.,  Emperor  of  Germany, 
by  the  death  of  its  sovereign,  Sforza  ; 
and  Mantua  having  been  also  an 
Austrian  fief,  though  governed  by 
the  Gonzagas  till  the  reign  of  the 
last  Duke  Ferdinand;  who,  taking 
a  hostile  part  in  the  war  of  the 
Spanish  Succession,  the  Emperor, 
Joseph  I.,  placed  him  under  ban, 
and  annexed  his  forfeited  duchy  to 
Milan. 

From  Charles,  Milan  descended  to 
his  son  Philip  II.,  and  from  him  to 
the  Spanish  line  of  the  House  of 
Austria ;  when,  by  the  War  of  the 
Succession,  it  passed  to  the  German 
branch,  and  became  a  province  of 
Austria  ;  and  so  both  remained,  until 
Napoleon's  invasion  of  Italy  in  1796. 

The  Austrian  claim  to  the  Vene- 
tian territory  is  later  and  more 
mixed  with  war,  but  is  equally  clear. 

By  the  peace  of  Campoformio  in 
1797,  Austria  had  been  compelled  to 
give  up  the  duchies  of  Milan  and 
Mantua,  at  the  same  time  with  Bel- 
gium, to  the  French  Republic,  receiv- 
ing in  return  Venice  and  its  territory, 
which  were  then  French  conquests. 
In  the  campaign  of  1805,  by  the 
treaty  following  the  battle  of  Aus- 
terlitz,  Napoleon  again  took  posses- 
sion of  the  Venetian  territory  and 
city,  annexing  them  to  Milan  and 
Mantua,  which,  with  the  subsequent 
annexation  of  Modena,  the  Legations, 
and  in  1808,  the  Papal  Marches,  he 
named  the  Kingdom  of  Italy,  though 
not  comprehending  more  than  a  third 
of  Italy,  and  having  only  a  popula- 
tion of  six  millions.  It  has  been  the 
curious  fate  of  French  aggression,  to 
provide  by  its  grasp  for  possession  by 
others.  In  1814,  the  Austrian  Em- 
peror, by  the  right  of  victory  over 
France,  claimed  the  duchies  of  Milan 


43-1 


The.  Italian  Revolution. 


and  Man t n.i,  with  the  Venetian  ter- 
ritory, which  had  been  united  to 
them,  as  we  have  seen,  only  by 
the  short-sighted  rapacity  of  Napo- 
leon. The  whole  was  then  confirmed 
to  the  Austrian  Emperor,  by  the 
treaty  of  Vienna,  under  the  name 
of  the  Lombardo  -  Venetian  King- 
dom, and  annexed  by  Congress  to 
the  Imperial  Crown  of  Austria.  The 
other  arrangements  of  Italy  were 
also  founded  on  their  former  state. 
Modena  was  restored  to  its  Duke,  the 
Legations  and  Marches  were  given 
again  to  the  Pope  ;  and,  in  general, 
the  provinces  south  of  the  Po  were 
placed  under  their  former  sovereigns. 

Thus  it  is  mere  Italian  coxcom- 
bry to  talk  of  the  Austrian  posses- 
sion of  northern  Italy  as  a  usurpa- 
tion. The  Line  of  Charles  V.  have 
been  its  acknowledged  masters  for 
three  hundred  years  —  a  possession 
.  as  old  as  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  and 
as  thoroughly  acknowledged  as  the 
possession  of  Ireland  by  the  British 
sceptre.  Irish  folly  may  talk  of  the 
English  as  usurpers,  and  Saxons ;  but 
a  right  three  centuries  old  is  as  indis- 
putable as  the  reason  of  man  can  make 
it  in  either  Ireland  or  Italy  ;  and 
nothing  but  absurdity  or  treason  in 
either  case  could  call  it  in  question. 

But  if  it  be  said  that  those  trans- 
fers of  power  were  always  resisted 
by  the  Italians,  and  that  they  merely 
succumbed  to  ill  fortune  in  the  field, 
nothing  can  be  farther  from  the  fact. 
From  the  earliest  period  of  modern 
history,  the  Italians  were  the  mere 
lookers-on  in  the  wars  which  dis- 
posed of  their  country.  The  French 
fought  the  Germans,  and  the  Ger- 
mans fought  the  French ;  but  Italy 
never  fought  for  itself.  Like  Virgil's 
heifer,  it  stood  while  the  two  bulls 
were  lowering  their  horns,  and  toss- 
ing up  the  sand  with  their  hoofs, 
the  patient  prize  of  the  combat. 
When  a  French  army  entered  Milan 
over  the  battalions  of  the  German, 
the  Italians  welcomed  them  with  an 
opera ;  when  a  German  army  entered 
Milan  over  the  bodies  of  the  French 
brigades,  the  Italians  proclaimed  the 
glories  of  Germany  with  a  "  Te 
Deum."  Then  the  affair  was  at  an 
end ;  things  took  their  regular  course ; 
tlie  Italian  returned  to  his  macaroni, 
.and  acknowledged  his  master,  coii- 


[Oct. 

soling  his  submission  by  a  vow  of 
vengeance  in  the  next  generation. 

Not  that  we  would  recommend  a 
change  of  the  national  mind  :  the 
stiletto  will  never  work  a  national 
redemption ;  and  the  bitter  prejudices, 
womanish  caprices,  and  narrow  par- 
tialities of  the  Italian  provincials,  will 
never  combine  in  one  general  and 
generous  view  of  national  independ- 
ence. All  the  Italian's  sense  of  pa- 
triotism is  party ;  all  his  love  of 
liberty  is  love  of  licence  ;  and  all  his 
religion  is  the  denial  of  the  right  of 
judgment,  and  the  practice  of  perse- 
cution. 

The  Italian  republics  of  the  Middle 
Ages  were  engaged  in  perpetual  hos- 
tilities with  each  other.  Milan  detes- 
ted Mantua,  Florence  flamed  against 
Pisa.  Genoa  saw  nothing  in  Venice 
but  an  enemy  whose  wealth  would 
repay  war.  Venice  saw  in  Genoa 
nothing  but  a  rival,  which  she  was 
pledged  to  level  with  the  ground. 
Rome  devoted  them  all  to  the  fires  of 
purgatory.  The  Peninsula  was  a  vast 
hornet's  nest,  in  which  all  alike 
robbed  the  honey  of  others,  and  only 
employed  the  sting.  To  this  hour 
the  same  spirit  lives  from  the  Alps  to 
the  Calabrias.  No  man  on  earth 
more  despises  the  Neapolitan,  than 
his  fellow-subject  the  Sicilian.  The 
Venetian's  contempt  for  the  Tuscan 
is  high  and  haughty  :  the  Tuscan 
calls  the  tongue  of  the  Venetian  bar- 
baresque,  and  says  that  his  manners 
are  suited  to  his  tongue.  How  is  it 
possible  to  form  an  Union  among 
those  scoffers  ?  And  without  union, 
how  is  it  possible  to  establish  National 
independence  ? 

But  Austria  has  founded  her  claims 
to  Italian  supremacy  on  stronger 
grounds  than  even  the  superiority 
of  her  soldiership.  There  will  be 
errors  in  all  things  human— there 
must  be  more  than  errors  in  the 
government  of  a  despotism  ;  the 
vices  of  despotism  must  be  deepened 
where  that  government  is  military : 
yet,  Avith  all  those  drawbacks,  the 
condition  of  Northern  Italy  under  the 
Austrian  government  has  been  almost 
patriarchal  compared  to  what  it 
was  before,  and  to  what  it  must  have 
continued,  under  the  jealousies,  anti- 
pathies, and  ignorance  of  the  native 
governments. 


1851.] 

In  the  first  place,  it  preserved  those 
provinces  from  civil  war.  In  the 
next,  it  expended  immense  wealth  on 
the  improvement  of  the  country,  in 
bridges,  canals,  roads,  hospitals,  &c. 
In  the  next,  it  provided  schools  to  a 
remarkable  extent,  for  the  general 
training  of  the  common  people.  In 
the  next,  it  made  some  provision  for 
civil  liberty  ;  and  even  for  that  most 
improbable  of  all  things  in  Popish 
countries,  some  approach  to  liberty 
of  religion. 

As  the  great  security  of  all,  it  estab- 
lished a  firm,  regular,  and  systematic 
administration  of  the  kingdom.  A 
governor  generally  residing  at  Milan, 
and  frequently  an  archduke,  ruled  the 
whole.  Under  him  were  governors 
of  its  two  grand  divisions  ;  the  Lom- 
bard Provinces,  and  the  Venetian 
Provinces.  Those  divisions  were  again 
subdivided  into  Delegazioni,  or  minor 
provinces,  each  with  an  officer  at  its 
head,  entitled  the  Delegate.  There 
are  even  further  subdivisions,  and 
each  commune  had  its  Podesta,  or 
local  magistrate.  The  Lombard  pro- 
vinces are  nine;  the  Venetian  pro- 
vinces are  eight ;  and  the  spirit  of 
subordination,  and,  we  believe,  of 
justice,  was  thus  made  to  penetrate  to 
the  lowest  orders  of  the  community. 

The  Italian  governments  of  the 
middle  ages  had  chiefly  degenerated 
into  Oligarchies  ;  the  worst  form  of 
government  for  the  progress  of  na- 
tions that  ever  was  invented  by  the 
artifice,  or  continued  by  the  tyranny, 
of  man.  With  exclusiveness  for  its 
principle,  suspicion  for  its  stimulus, 
and  passion  for  its  practice,  it  effec- 
tually renders  the  mind  of  a  people  at 
once  crafty  and  cruel.  In  its  nature 
feeble,  it  has  no  expedient  for  safety 
but  arbitrary  execution ;  and  without 
any  superior  authority  to  restrain  its 
jealousies,  its  perpetual  policy  is  to 
crush  all  talent,  honour,  and  character, 
which  shows  itself  beyond  the  narrow 
circle  of  its  conclave.  It  concentrates 
all  the  evils  of  both  despotism  and  re- 
publicanism, and  has  all  the  remorse- 
less sternness  of  the  one,  and  all  the 
rapid  violence  of  the  other.  Universal 
espionage,  secret  trials,  the  consign- 
ment of  the  accused  to  dungeons  for 
life  or  death  in  the  dungeon,  unacknow- 
ledged and  unknown,  constitute  the 
whole  compass  of  its  theory  of  power. 


The  Italian  Revolution. 


435 


For  those  wretched  and  desperate 
governments,  of  which,  let  history 
develop  them  as  it  will,  it  can  never 
tell  the  ten  thousand  part  of  the 
misery,  the  fortunate  accession  of 
the  Austrian  government  presented  a 
system  which,  on  the  testimony  of 
every  man  qualified  to  judge,  rendered 
the  Lombard  provinces  an  example  of 
agricultural  prosperity,  and  the  cities 
of  splendour  to  the  capitals  of  Europe. 
Since  the  war  with  France,  and  even 
in  the  short  period  between  1820  and 
1834,  the  Austrian  treasury  had  ex- 
pended forty-two  millions  of  livres  for 
the  Lombard  provinces  alone.  The 
testimony  of  an  intelligent  French 
traveller  (VALERY,  Voyages  en  Italic) 
is — "  Nowhere,  perhaps,  on  the  Con- 
tinent is  the  administration  of  the 
roads  and  bridges  more  actively  and 
usefully  carried  on  than  in  Lombardy. 
The  whole  of  this  part  of  Italy  pre- 
sents a  solid  and  material  prosperity ; 
it  presents  the./me  side  of  the  Austrian 
dominion.  The  roads  are  like  the 
walks  of  a  garden,  and  they  are  kept 
in  repair  with  the  greatest  care.  The 
government,  economical  and  parsi- 
monious in  other  respects,  is  great  and 
magnificent  in  this.  The  excellent 
state  of  the  highroads  of  the  Lom- 
bardo- Venetian  kingdom  is  maintained 
at  the  annual  expense  of  1,305,000 
francs  for  1518  Italian  miles  of  road." 

But,  though  the  habits  of  the  empire 
predominate  in  the  forms  of  its  govern- 
ment, the  Austrian  influence,  in  Italy, 
makes  considerable  allowance  for  the 
natural  love  of  freedom.  The  governors 
of  the  two  grand  divisions  of  Milan  and 
Venice  are  each  assisted  by  a  species 
of  parliament,  consisting  of  land- 
holders and  deputies  from  the  royal 
towns.  Each  minor  province  re- 
turns two  landholders,  one  being 
noble,  and  the  other  not,  as  deputies, 
and  the  royal  towns  return  one  each. 
The  Communal  Councils,  besides, 
each  elect  three  persons,  of  whom  the 
emperor  selects  one  as  deputy  ;  those 
deputies  are  elected  for  six  years. 

Of  course  these  provincial  parlia- 
ments are  not  of  the  same  rank  with 
the  British,  but  they  have  nearly  the 
same  financial  duties.  They  settle 
the  proportion  of  the  taxes ;  they  in- 
spect the  accounts  of  repairs  of  the 
roads  and  bridges,  and  have  the 
superintendence  of  the  revenues  of  the 


436 

numerous  charitable  institutions.  They 
have  also  a  right  of  petition  to  the 
throne  concerning  the  wants  of  the 
people.  But,  besides  those  parlia- 
ments, there  is  in  every  principal 
town  of  a  province  a  council  of  eight, 
six,  or  four,  landholders,  one  half  of 
them  being  noble,  and  the  other  not 
of  the  nobility,  whose  office  is  to 
superintend  the  financial  concerns  of 
their  respective  districts.  The  Com- 
munes also  have  their  own  councils, 
and  the  system  of  commercial  admi- 
nistration rounds  the  whole.  Thus 
the  inhabitants  of  the  Lombard  pro- 
vinces have  more  influence  over  the 
collection  and  expenditure  of  the 
taxes,  (the  most  important  and  most 
permanent  interest  of  the  people,) 
than  in  any  other  kingdom  of  the 
Continent. 

We  are  not  the  panegyrists  of 
Austria.  We  do  not  expect  to  see 
her  giving  liberty  to  the  Italian 
dominions.  We  do  not  even  believe 
that  any  Popish  government  ever  will 
give  liberty  to  its  people,  nor  that 
any  Popish  people  will  ever  be  fit  to 
receive  liberty ;  the  slaves  of  super- 
stition must  be  the  slaves  of  power. 
The  man  into  whose  house  a  priest  can 
enter,  at  will,  ransack  his  library,  and 
tear  the  Bible  from  his  hands,  has  no 
right  to  name  the  name  of  liberty. 
The  man  whom  a  priest  can  command 
to  send  his  wife  and  children  to  the 
confessional,  to  do  penance  in  his  own 
person,  and  to  abjure  the  right  of  in- 
quiry into  the  most  solemn  of  all 
human  concerns,  the  truth  of  his 
religion,  is  already  in  the  chain — has 
no  claim  to  the  sympathy  of  freemen — 
and  is  as  incapable  of  civil  freedom 
as  he  is  of  religious  liberation. 

But  the  next  best  government  to  a 
constitutional  monarchy  is  a  benevo- 
lent despotism.  We  have  adverted 
to  the  conduct  of  Austria  in  its  ancient 
Italian  dominions.  Let  us  next  ob- 
serve its  conduct  in  its  later  provincial 
acquisitions:  Long  before  the  extinc- 
tion of  the  Venetian  Republic,  every 
traveller  in  Italy  predicted  its  ruin. 
It  had  been  decaying  for  centuries. 
It  finally  fell  less  by  the  sword  of 
France,  than  by  its  own  inability  to 
live.  Already  broken  on  the  wheel, 
it  waited  only  the  coup-de-grace  to 
hasten  its  dissolution.  Its  surrender 
to  Napoleon  was  not  conquest,  but 


The  Italian  Revolution.  [Oct. 

ruin ;  its  surrender  to  Austria  was 
not  conquest,  but  restoration. 

The  Austrians,  in  1814,  found  not 
less  than  44,000  individuals,  in 
Venice  alone,  dependent  more  or  less 
on  public  charity  —  an  enormous 
weight  of  pauperism.  All  the 
asylums,  hospitals,  and  alms-houses, 
were  in  the  deepest  state  of  decay. 
Those  were  reinstated  by  the  Aus- 
trian government — a  poor  govern- 
ment at  all  times — and  then  impo- 
verished by  a  quarter  of  a  century 
of  war.  Of  this  operation  the  ex- 
penses were  upwards  of  nine  millions 
of  francs  !  There  had  also  been  many 
families  of  the  old  Venetian  nobility 
decayed  by  time  and  casuality,  and 
living  on  pensions  from  the  Republic. 
The  French  invasion,  of  course,  on 
the  desperate  maxim  of  "  making 
war  support  war,"  had  plunged  them 
into  utter  destitution.  The  Austrian 
government  furnished  them  with  the 
means  of  a  decent  existence.  The 
old  officials  of  the  Republic  who  had 
retired  on  pensions,  and  who  had  lost 
everything  in  the  war,  were  put 
again  on  the  pension-list ;  and  to 
make  the  public  bounty  at  once  per- 
manent and  effectual,  "a  committee 
of  public  benevolence  "  was  founded 
under  the  care  of  the  principal 
citizens,  with  the  Patriarch  and  the 
Podesta  at  their  head,  to  which  the 
government  contributed  100,000 
livres  a-year,  and  which  now  has  an 
income  of  half  a  million.  Besides 
those  works  of  beneficence,  the  go- 
vernment devoted  itself  to  the  objects 
of  decoration,  the  repairs  of  the 
palaces,  the  restoration  of  the  state 
buildings,  the  care  of  the  Venetian 
archives,  and  the  collection  of  the 
national  arts,  at  an  expense  of  fifty- 
three  millions  of  livres.  The  autho- 
rities for  these  statements  are  given  in 
iheBolletino  Statistico,  smd.t\iGSimplice 
Verita,  published  in  1834  and  1838. 

The  facts  before  the  eyes  of  every 
man  contradict  the  metaphorical 
misery.  The  commerce  of  the  Re- 
public, perishing  for  fifty  years  before 
the  French  invasion,  and  which  by 
that  invasion  had  almost  disappeared, 
amounted  in  1837  to  3000  vessels  and 
211,000  tons.  The  residence  of  gov- 
ernment in  Venice,  with  all  its  boards 
of  administration  and  public  instru- 
ments, annually  distributed  two  mil- 


1851.] 


The  Italian  Revolution. 


437 


lions  of  livres  in  its  expenditure  in 
the  city.  If  it  is  impossible  to  make 
a  Popish  population  industrious,  or 
a  lazy  population  rich— if  the  Italian 
would  rather  beg  than  work,  and 
relieve  his  self-contempt  by  com- 
plaining of  his  masters,  rather  than 
gain  a  competence  by  honest  toil — 
the  remedy  is  as  hopeless  as  the 
complaint  is  imaginary.  The  laws  of 
nature  cannot  be  subverted  for  the 
luxuries  of  a  Lazzarone. 

The  secret  of  the  Papal  liberalism 
is  still  undeveloped  ;  but  it  apparently 
lies  in  the  Papal  principle  of  univer- 
sal power.  Gregory  VII.  and  Inno- 
cent III.  aimed  at  this  power  by 
enlisting  the  vassal  princes  of 
Europe ;  but  when  the  princes  were 
vassals  no  more,  the  Popes  bowed  to 
the  thrones,  tried  to  obtain  power  by 
intrigue,  and  Jesuits  and  confessors 
took  the  place  of  legates  and  armies. 
A  new  era  had  begun,  and  a  new 
source  of  power  was  to  be  employed. 
From  the  first  French  Eevolution, 
the  populace  have  been  an  element 
of  overthrow.  The  two  following 
French  revolutions  have  made  that 
element  more  conspicuous,  more  dis- 
ciplined, and  consequently  more 
dangerous ;  but  it  is  an  evil  acquir- 
ing strength  alike  with  the  laxity  of 
government  and  the  passions  of  the 
people.  A  mob  had  twice  cast  down 
the  mightiest  monarchy  of  continental 
Europe,  and  the  Pope  of  Rome  be- 
came a  Liberal! 

Insurrection  immediately  broke  out 
in  both  the  extremities  of  Italy.  The 
Calabrias  rose,  and  the  Lombards  rose. 
The  centre,  less  bold  but  equally 
excited,  threatened  the  seizure  of 
its  sovereigns,  and  the  subversion 
of  their  government.  The  King  of 
Sardinia,  at  the  head  of  a  well- disci- 
plined army,  and  a  flourishing  ex- 
chequer, dazzled  by  the  present  pro- 
mise of  Lombard  territory,  and  the 
glory  of  a  future  coronation  in  Rome, 
declared  war,  in  the  face  of  Austrian 
alliance,  and  rnshed  into  the  field. 

In  the  public  concerns  of  kingdoms, 
the  faith  of  treaties  is  so  essential  to 
the  existence  of  society,  that  pro- 
bably it  has  never  been  violated  with- 
out a  condign  and  a  conspicuous 
punishment.  The  French  king's 
breach  of  treaty  with  England  in  the 
American  war  cost  France  a  revolu- 


tion, and  Louis  his  throne.  The 
French  breach  of  treaty  with  Turkey, 
by  the  invasion  of  Egypt,  cost  France 
a  fleet,  an  army,  and  the  loss  of  Italy 
in  a  single  campaign.  And  within 
our  immediate  view,  the  Piedmon- 
tese  breach  of  treaty  with  Austria, 
by  the  invasion  of  Lombardy,  cost 
the  king  his  army,  his  military  repu- 
tation, his  throne,  and  his  death  in  a 
distant  country,  in  a  voluntary  and 
melancholy  exile. 

The  Papal  court  was  now  terrified, 
and  the  Papal  guards  were  ordered 
to  protect  the  Vatican  from  its  new 
pupils  of  liberty  in  the  streets  ;  but 
the  guards  themselves  were  now 
Liberals.  The  Papal  Council,  next, 
modestly  wrote  to  the  Austrian  Em- 
peror to  entreat  his  peaceable  ces- 
sion of  the  Austrian  provinces,  "and 
his  acknowledgment  of  the  Italian 
nation,  each  reducing  its  dominions 
within  their  natural  limits  with  hon- 
ourable compacts,  and  the  blessing  of 
heaven." 

But  the  Pope  was  still  threatened 
by  his  people  ;  and  he  took  into  his 
councils  some  of  the  popular  favour- 
ites, chequering  these  councils,  how- 
ever, by  men  in  his  especial  confidence. 
Thus  Mamiani  was  placed  side  by  side 
with  Soglia — the  tribune  beside  the 
cardinal.  All  was  thenceforth  con- 
fusion. A  levy  of  twenty  thousand 
men  was  ordered  to  march  to  the  Po. 
But,  at  the  next  consistory,  the  Pope 
declared  his  reluctance  to  engage  in 
hostilities  with  Austria.  The  populace 
clamoured,  and  the  new  Ministry  re- 
signed. 

In  June  1848,  an  "Assembly  of 
Legislators"  met  in  Rome.  War, 
in  the  mean  time,  had  broke  out  in 
the  Milanese.  An  Austrian  army 
threatened  Rome.  All  was  terror  in 
the  Court,  and  all  fury  in  the  streets. 
A  new  Ministry  was  chosen.  They 
talked  of  a  new  code  of  laws,  of  re- 
form, and  rules  of  administration  : 
they  might  as  well  have  lectured  on 
astrology.  Such  was  the  wisdom  of 
choosing  theorists  to  meet  the  perils 
of  a  state  in  the  jaws  of  ruin.  The 
Legislative  Assembly  met  on  the  15th 
of  November  ;  the  populace  crowded 
round  the  doors.  The  Minister,  Rossi, 
was  rash  enough  to  pass  through  the 
hooting  multitude.  On  some  pecu- 
liarly stinging  insult,  he  turned,  with  a 


438 


smile  of  scorn ;  a  ruffian  rushed  behind 
the  unfortunate  man,  plunged  a  knife 
into  his  throat,  and  he  expired  I 

That  blow  was  struck  against  the 
Papal  throne.  The  populace  instant- 
ly took  arms ;  the  soldiery  joined 
them  ;  all  cried  out  that  they  were 
betrayed.  They  formed  in  military 
array,  and  with  cannon  in  their  front, 
marched  to  the  Quirinal,  shouting  for 
the  downfall  of  the  Pope,  for  the 
Roman  republic,  for  war  with  Austria, 
and  for  a  new  Ministry  1 

Of  the  councils  of  that  night  of 
•terror,  of  course,  no  exact  detail  can 
be  given  ;  but  they  were  long,  help- 
less, and  distracted.  The  Pope  is 
said  to  have  appealed  to  the  cardinals; 
the  appeal  was  in  vain  ;  and  the 
council  terminated,  with  the  vague 
•but  sufficient  information  to  the  popu- 
lace, that  "  there  should  be  a  compli- 
ance with  their  demands." 

In  the  council,  the  Pope  asked  the 
commandant  of  the  troops  if  they 
were  to  be  relied  on.  His  reply  was, 
"  Yes,  if  they  are  not  ordered  to  act 
against  the  people."  The  answer 
was  decisive.  The  Pope,  pale  and 
confused,  struck  his  hand  against  the 
table,  exclaiming,  "Then  I  have  no 
resource  left  but  to  invoke  the  thun- 
derbolts of  God  against  the  rebels  " 
— and  rushed  out  of  the  chamber. 

Mamiani,  recalled  to  Rome  by  the 
populace,  now  took  the  lead;  the 
multitude  were  still  the  masters.  On 
the  night  of  the  24th  of  November, 
the  Pope  secretly  fled  from  Rome  in 
a  carriage,  with  foreign  arms,  and,  it 
is  said,  in  the  disguise  of  a  valet. 
He  took  the  road  to  Gaeta,  and  there 
remained. 

Those  events  are  worth  recording, 
as  they  will  yet  form  the  essentials 
of  history  ;  and  they  are  peculiarly 
important  to  England,  as  developing 
the  principles  of  a  domination,  never 
more  dangerous  than  when  it  is  weak 
— never  more  haughty  than  when  it  is 
in  the  lowest  depths  of  humiliation — 
and  never  more  aggressive  than  when 
it  has  lost  all  strength,  but  in  the 
folly  of  legislatures  and  the  negligence 
of  nations. 

The  Roman  territory  was  now  left 
without  a  government.  Deputations 
•were  twice  sent  to  supplicate  the 
Pope's  return,  but  he  refused.  The 
-Parliament  appointed  a  commission 


The  Italian  Revolution.  [Oct. 

or    Giunta    of   government.      This 


commission  was  the  only  form  of 
power  during  the  two  months  which 
followed.  The  resolution  was  then 
adopted  to  form  a  government.  The 
people  were  called  on  to  elect,  by 
universal  suffrage,  in  committees,  a 
Constituent  Assembly.  Of  the  popu- 
lation of  the  Roman  States,  consisting 
of  2,000,000  souls,  343,000  voted. 

On  the  6th  of  February  1849,  the 
representatives  met  in  Rome ;  and  on 
the  9th,  after  a  sitting  of  fifteen 
hours,  ihefall  of  the  Papal  authority 
was  decreed,  and  the  Roman  republic 
was  declared  from  the  Capitol ! 

Subsequently  a  triumvirate,  con- 
sisting of  Mazzini,  Saffi,  and  Armel- 
lini,  were  chosen  by  the  Assembly, 
and  in  them  the  executive  power  was 
embodied. 

War  was  now  inevitable,  and  the 
triumvirs  prepared  actively  to  meet  it. 
They  collected  the  dispersed  soldiery; 
they  appointed  the  exiled  General 
Avezzana  Minister  of  War.  They 
provided  arms,  established  a  cannon 
foundry,  organised  an  artillery,  and 
soon  were  enabled  to  exhibit  an  army 
of  forty  thousand  men.  But  the  war, 
which  was  to  dethrone  the  supremacy 
of  Austria,  was  instantly  converted 
into  a  war  of  defence,  by  the  unex- 
pected intelligence  of  a  new  assailant. 
The  republic  was  to  be  crushed  by  a 
republic ;  liberalism  was  to  receive 
its  deathblow  from  liberals ;  and  the 
fantasies  of  Roman  freedom  were  to 
be  scattered  "  into  thin  air  "  by  the 
more  substantial  force  of  faction  in 
France. 

On  the  24th  of  April,  an  expe- 
dition, under  the  command  of  Gene- 
ral Oudinot,  landed  at  Civita  Vecchia. 
Its  motives  were  an  enigma.  It  was 
to  take  part  with  neither  the  people 
nor  the  Pope ;  it  was  neither  to  pre- 
serve the  new  constitution,  nor  to 
restore  the  old ;  it  was  simply  to  look 
on,  while  the  people  settled  the  form 
of  government.  But  it  was  to  pre- 
vent the  possession  of  Rome  by  any 
other;  the  simple  expedient  being 
its  possession  by  the  French  arms  ! 

But  the  people  did  not  comprehend 
this  armed  peace ;  they  shouted  de- 
fiance of  France  as  they  had  done  of 
Austria.  The  Assembly  protested 
"in  the  name  of  God"  against  this 
aggression  by  an  ally.  They  execrated 


1851.] 


The  Italian  Revolution. 


439 


the  attempt  to  control  the  freedom  of 
a  people  who  had  but  followed  the 
example  of  France,  and  they  con- 
temptuously compared  the  immediate 
act  of  the  French  government  with 
its  declaration,  "that  it  made  no 
war  on  the  liberties  of  nations."  To 
this  protest  General  Oudinot  replied 
by  advancing  his  camp  to  the  walls 
of  Rome  ;  the  people  shut  the  gates, 
and  the  siege  began. 

But  the  shock  of  armies  was  to  be 
in  northern  Italy.  The  pamphlets  on 
the  subject  published  by  the  contend- 
ing parties  are  but  imperfect  sources  of 
information ;  but  a  German  volume — 
written  by  one  who  is  neither  Austrian 
nor  Piedmontese,  and  so  far  free  from 
the  partialities  of  either,  and  which 
has  the  additional  testimony  to  its 
truth  of  being  translated  by  Lord 
Ellesmere — gives  a  remarkably  intelli- 
gent view  of  the  campaigns  of  1848 
and  1849.  The  work  is  anonymous, 
but  the  author  is  known  to  be  a  Swiss, 
and  a  soldier. 

The  first  demand  of  revolutionists, 
and  the  first  movement  to  revolution 
everywhere,  is  "  a  National  Guard!" 
In  1847,  the  Pope  established  a 
National  Guard  in  Rome !  The  ex- 
ample was  followed  by  acclamation 
in  all  the  towns  of  the  Papal  States. 
The  acclamation  and  the  example 
spread  to  Tuscany ;  they  then  spread 
to  Lucca.  All  Italy  was  on  fire  for 
"  National  Guards."  The  Pope  spoke 
of  disbanding  the  Swiss  regiments  in 
his  service,  amounting  to  7000  men. 
He  was  thenceforth  to  know  no  protec- 
tion but  "his  beloved  citizens."  The 
unlucky  sovereign  had  now  mounted 
the  first  step  of  the  ladder  of  revolu- 
tion. 

In  Lombardy  there  were  symptoms 
of  conspiracy,  but  there  was  no  Na- 
tional Guard.  The  presence  of  an 
Austrian  force,  and  the  vigour  of  a 
regular  government,  prevented  both 
the  acclamation  and  the  example. 
The  peasantry  cared  little  for  change 
of  masters,  since  they  had  known 
the  grinding  of  the  French  invasions; 
yet  they  hated  the  high  rents  of  their 
nobles.  The  people  of  the  towns,  in 
Italy  the  idlest  of  the  population, 
were  the  chief  malcontents.  The 
shopkeepers,  with  the  little  trade  of 
an  uncommercial  country,  envied  the 
higher  orders  with  nothing  to  do. 


The  nobility,  whose  lives  are  spent 
between  the  opera  and  the  Corso, 
longed  for  politics  and  parliaments, 
if  it  were  only  to  divert  the  monotony 
of  existence.  In  all  Popish  countries, 
the  peasant  believes  [in  the  church 
with  the  blindness  of  ignorance ;  the 
townspeople  worship  the  image  for 
the  sake  of  the  festival ;  and  the  no- 
bility attend  the  altar  through  fashion 
or  fear  of  the  priest,  and  are  pupils  of 
Loyola  in  the  spirit  of  Voltaire !  la 
this  mixture  of  ranks,  of  abject  be- 
lief, of  vulgar  assent,  and  of  indolent 
infidelity,  there  is  always  enough  to 
involve  national  disturbance,  and  to 
consummate  universal  revolution ;  ex- 
cept where  the  government  is  military, 
and  where  the  soldier  is  uncorrupted. 
It  was  soon  found  that  even  Lombardy 
was  unsafe,  and  a  reinforcement  of 
sixteen  battalions  was  ordered  for  the 
viceroyalty. 

The  conspiracy  advanced ;  and  as 
there  is  always  something  ridiculous 
in  the  seriousness  of  foreigners,  the 
Liberals  of  Milan  issued  from  their 
club,  in  the  Cafe  Cava,  a  prohibition 
of  smoking  cigars  in  the  streets.  By 
this  formidable  measure  of  finance, 
they  proposed  the  bankruptcy  of  the 
Austrian  empire  !  —  though  their 
patriotism  did  not  extend  to  their 
firesides,  for  within  doors  the  liberals 
themselves  smoked  as  inveterately  as 
ever.  But  the  prohibition  produced 
quarrels:  the  Austrian  soldiers,  not 
recognising  the  authority  of  the  Cafe 
Cava,  still  smoked  their  cigars,  and 
were  insulted  by  the  mob,  until  two 
proclamations  were  issued  by  the 
viceroy,  the  Archduke  Raynier,  to  his 
"  diletti  Milanese,"  for  "  the  sake  of 
peace,"  forbidding  the  soldiers  to 
smoke.  Such  concessions  are  always 
the  reverse  of  conciliation,  and  the 
"diletti  Milanese  "  became  daily  more 
and  more  insulting. 

But  stronger  measures  suddenly 
became  necessary.  Charles  Albert  of 
Savoy  called  out  a  conscription  of 
20,000  men,  and  fears  were  enter- 
tained for  his  adoption  of  the  LEGA 
ITALIANA,  and  an  attack  on  Lom- 
bardy. On  the  19th  of  January,  an 
order  appeared  from  the  Field-Marshal 
Radetsky,  declaring  "  the  determina- 
tion of  his  imperial  master  to  de- 
fend his  states  against  every  assault, 
whether  from  within  or  ivithout;" 


440 


The  Italian  Revolution. 


[Oct. 


adding,  "The  sword  which  I  have 
borne  for  fifty- six  years  with  honour, 
in  so  many  fields  of  battle,  is  still 
firm  in  my  grasp.'"  This  proclamation 
produced  a  temporary  lull.  But  the 
storm  was  now  gathering  from  every 
point  of  the  horizon.  The  French 
revolution  of  the  24th  of  February 
was  answered  by  the  rising  of  Vienna. 
On  the  18th  of  March  Milan  was  in 
open  insurrection.  Within  six  days 
after,  Charles  Albert  crossed  the 
Tessin,  and  the  war  was  begun ! 

It  has  been  the  misfortune  of 
Austria  to  rely  on  concession,  where 
force  was  essential.  This  policy  has 
always  been  attended  with  the  same 
results.  It  is  mistaken  for  royal  fear, 
and  always  engenders  popular  arro- 
gance. On  the  18th  of  March  it  was 
announced  to  the  Milanese  that  the 
Emperor  Ferdinand  had  yielded  to 
their  demand  of  a"  Constitution  ;"and, 
on  the  same  day,  the  citizens,  with  the 
town  council  at  their  head,  marched 
to  the  palace  of  the  Governor  Count 
O'Donnell,  demanding  the  formation 
of  a  National  Guard  for  the  city,  the 
dissolution  of  the  police,  and  the 
transfer  of  their  arms  to  the  guard. 
They  overpowered  the  piquet  at  the 
palace,  and  finally  took  O'Donnell 
prisoner.  Radetsky  now  delayed  no 
longer  ;  he  ordered  the  alarm-gun  to 
be  fired,  and  moved  to  the  attack  of 
the  Broletto,  or  hall  of  the  town 
council,  on  which  the  tricolor  flag  had 
been  hoisted. 

The  city  was  now  in  arms ;  barri- 
cades were  erected  in  every  quarter ; 
the  windows  flanking  them  were 
filled  with  musketeers,  who  kept  up 
a  heavy  fire  on  the  advance  of  the 
troops.  Missiles  of  every  kind  were 
flung  from  the  windows  and  roofs; 
and  boiling  water,  and  even  boiling 
oil,  was  used  by  men  and  women, 
screaming  like  lunatics,  and  swearing 
destruction  to  the  Austrians.  From 
want  of  preparation,  and  perhaps 
from  compassion  for  the  frantic  city, 
the  troops  made  tardy  progress,  and 
the  fighting  had  lasted  six  hours, 
when  the  Field-Marshal  gave  orders 
that  the  Broletto  should  be  gained 
at  any  risk.  The  building  resisted 
all  attacks  for  four  hours  more.  It 
was  taken,  with  two  hundred  and 
fifty  of  its  defenders,  the  rest  escaping 
over  roofs. 


The  night  was  stormy,  the  lanterns 
in  the  streets  were  extinguished,  and 
the  troops  were  exhausted  by  the 
fatigues  of  the  day,  and  by  the 
inclemency  of  the  night.  But  at 
morning  the  attack  was  renewed. 
The  populace  fought  fiercely — de- 
fending the  entrance  of  every  street, 
and  manning  the  barricades,  but  less 
defending  them  in  front  than  by  the 
fire  from  the  windows.  Thus  the  insur- 
gents were  to  be  fought  only  hand  to 
hand,  and  every  house  was  a  fortress. 
Still  the  troops  made  progress,  till 
the  Field-Marshal,  probably  thinking 
that  his  troops  ought  to  be  preserved 
for  nobler  contests,  abandoned  the 
interior  quarters  of  Milan,  concen- 
trated them  at  some  distance,  and 
threatened  Milan  with  a  bombardment. 

This  retreat  was  magnified  into  a 
victory ;  the  Provisional  Government 
ordered  every  man  from  twenty  to 
sixty  to  be  enrolled  in  the  National 
Guard,  attacked  and  mastered  one 
of  the  city  gates,  and  announced 
war  against  the  empire.  The  intelli- 
gence from  Piedmont,  and  even 
from  Switzerland,  now  began  to  be 
formidable.  It  was  said  that  thirty 
thousand  Swiss  were  in  march.  The 
army  of  Charles  Albert  was  already 
in  the  field ;  further  delay  might  have 
compromised  the  fate  of  the  Austrian 
army  ;  it  was  evident  that  the  fate  of 
the  Austrian  provinces,  while  Vienna 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  rebels,  must 
depend  on  the  conduct  of  the  Field- 
Marshal's  divisions  ;  and  in  order  to 
keep  up  the  communication  with  the 
Austrian  territories,  and  at  the  same 
time  meet  the  shock  of  the  Pied- 
montese  forces,  it  was  resolved  to 
retreat  to  the  line  of  the  Adige  or  the 
Mincio. 

The  Austrian  troops  in  Italy  were 
seventy  thousand  ;  the  Field- Marshal 
had  demanded,  even  before  the 
tumults,  a  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand as  the  least  force  with  which  he 
could  be  answerable  for  the  defence 
of  the  provinces;  he  now  declared 
it  "  to  be  a  terrible  necessity  that 
Milan  should  be  abandoned."  He 
withdrew  the  garrison  from  the 
citadel,  called  in  the  regiments, 
which  had  been  widely  posted  on 
the  frontier,  and,  after  sustaining  a 
succession  of  attacks  from  the  insur- 
gents, now  flushed  with  apparent 


1851.] 

triumph,  moved  in  the  night  of  the 
22d,  encumbered  by  an  immense 
baggage -train,  containing  the  govern- 
ment effects,  the  wounded,  and  the 
public  servants,  in  five  columns,  on 
the  way  to  Lodi. 

The  career  of  the  able  soldier  by 
whom  such  services  were  achieved 
at  the  age  of  eighty-three,  is  singu- 
larly interesting.  Born  in  1766,  of 
a  distinguished  Bohemian  line,  he 
began  his  military  life  in  the  regi- 
ment of  Francis's  Cuirassiers,  serving 
against  the  Turks,  and  against  the 
French  in  the  Netherlands.  In  that 
regiment  he  attained  the  rank  of 
captain.  In  the  famous  compaign 
of  Suwarrow  in  Italy,  1799,  he  ob- 
tained the  rank  of  lieutenant -colonel 
on  the  general  staff,  a  preferment 
which  vouched  for  his  strategical 
talents.  In  1805  he  commanded,  as 
major-general,  a  cavalry  brigade  in 
the  army  in  Italy.  He  fought  in  the 
campaign  of  Aspern  and  Wagram. 
In  1813  he  acted  as  chief  of  the 
general  staff  in  the  "Grand  Army" 
of  invasion  under  Prince  Schwartzen- 
burg,  a  position  which  required  not 
merely  the  qualities  of  a  soldier,  but 
the  intelligence  of  the  diplomatist 
and  minister. 

Promoted  to  the  rank  of  general 
of  cavalry  in  1829,  and  appointed  to 
the  command  in  Italy  in  1833,  he 
devoted  himself  to  a  study  of  the 
country,  as  the  seat  of  a  cam- 
paign, by  holding  his  great  annual 
reviews  in  the  territory  between  the 
Adige  and  the  Mincio — the  very  line 
of  country  in  which  the  mastery  of 
the  Austrian  provinces  must  always 
be  sustained. 

During  the  interval  from  the  peace 
of  1815  to  his  commission  in  1829,' 
he  had  employed  himself  in  military 
studies,  and,  as  their  result,  published 
"  a  System  of  Instruction  for  Gene- 
rals and  the  Staff  in  command  of 
troops  of  all  classes,  over  all  varieties 
of  ground."  Thus,  accomplished  by 
science,  trained  by  long  service,  and 
feeling  nothing  of  age,  but  its  expe- 
rience, his  appointment  to  the  baton 
of  field-marshal  in  1836  placed  in 
the  highest  rank  of  the  service  an 
officer  unsurpassed  by  the  ablest  of 
his  continental  competitors.  He  is 
covered  with  decorations  of  his  own 
sovereign  and  of  foreign  princes — not 


The  Italian  Revolution. 


441 


the  toys  and  trinkets  of  courts,  but 
the  tributes  of  men  who  have  been 
his  comrades  in  the  field.  They  have 
been  gallantly  earned,  and  their 
honours  will  stand  the  test  of  time. 

The  retreat  from  Milan  was  blazon- 
ed as  the  conquest  of  Austria.  "  The 
enemy  flies  from  Milan,"  was  the 
language  of  the  Milanese  proclama- 
tion to  the  rural  clergy  and  autho- 
rities, calling  on  them  for  the  "  anni- 
hilation of  the  remnant  of  those 
savage  hordes."  But  the  retreat 
was  not  too  early.  On  the  same 
day  which  saw  the  Austrian  columns 
moving  from  the  gates,  a  proclama- 
tion appeared  from  the  King  of 
Sardinia  to  the  people  of  Lombardy 
and  Venice,  declaring  for  "  Italian 
Unity,"  and  announcing  the  advance 
of  his  army  into  those  governments. 
His  force  was  about  forty-five  thou- 
sand men,  in  a  state  of  preparation 
such  as  no  army  of  an  Italian  sove- 
reign had  exhibited  for  a  hundred 
years. 

Savoy  and  its  princes  form  one  of 
the  most  striking  examples  of  charac- 
ter resulting  from  condition.  As  the 
key  of  Italy,  Savoy  has  been  com- 
pelled to  have  its  arms  constantly 
in  readiness  for  action.  Thus  the 
whole  long  line  of  its  princes  have 
been  compelled  to  be  perpetually  in 
the  saddle,  and  among  them  have 
been  some  of  the  first  warriors  and 
diplomatists  of  Europe. 

Commencing  with  Amadeus  the 
First,  son  of  the  Count  of  Maurienne 
and  Susa,  and  thus  possessing  the 
great  pass  of  Mont  Cenis,  then  al- 
most the  only  one  into  Italy,  this 
brave  mountaineer  exhibited  the  inde- 
pendence of  a  man  who  knew  his 
power.  It  is  recorded,  that  on 
attending  the  Emperor,  Henry  the 
Third,  at  Verona,  followed  by  a  train 
of  his  officers,  the  Emperor  refused  to 
admit  him  "with  his  tail."  Ama- 
deus spiritedly  refused  to  be  admit- 
ted on  this  condition.  The  Emperor 
eventually  complied,  and  Amadeus 
was  thenceforth  called  "  Caudatus," 
the  man  with  the  tail.  The  phrase, 
which  has  since  become  so  familiar  to 
us,  thus  finds  its  origin  in  the  eleventh 
century,  and  among  the  Alps. 

The  long  succession  of  the  princes 
of  Savoy  were  almost  constantly  bel- 
ligerent, and  in  every  war  increasing 


442 


The  Italian  Revolution. 


[Oct. 


their  influence  and  their  territories. 
Amadous  the  Sixth,  in  the  fourteenth 
century,  was  the  arbiter  of  Italy. 
Amadeus  the  Eighth  was  even  elected 
Pope  at  the  council  of  Basle,  by  the 
title  of  Felix  V.  During  the  Italian 
wars  of  Louis  XIV.  the  princes  of 
Savoy  figured  constantly  in  battle  and 
negotiation  ;  and  when,  by  the  treaty 
of  Utrecht  in  1713,  Philip  V.  of  Spain 
was  forced  to  surrender  Sardinia  to 
the  Emperor  of  Germany,  by  him  it 
was  given  to  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  who 
then  assumed  the  title  of  King  of 
Sardinia. 

In  the  War  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, the  king,  Charles  Emmanuel, 
being  expelled  from  his  throne  by  the 
French,  abdicated  in  favour  of  his 
brother,  Victor  Emmanuel,  who  re- 
mained in  Sardinia  until  the  fall  of 
Napoleon  in  1814. 

The  Prince  of  Carignan,  the  late 
Charles  Albert,  during  the  life  of  his 
predecessor,  Charles  Felix,  had  the 
character  of  a  liberal  of  the  newest 
school.  His  accession  to  the  throne  in- 
evitably changed  his  political  sensibi- 
lities, and  he  became  a  monarch,  in  the 
sense  ofDukePhilibert,  the  founder  of 
absolute  monarchy  in  Savoy.  With  a 
revenue  of  sixty-nine  millions  of  francs 
from  his  Continental  States,  and 
nearly  three  millions  from  Sardinia, 
with  a  regular  army  of  between  fifty 
and  sixty  thousand  men,  the  best 
troops  of  Italy,  and  possessing  one 
of  the  most  defensible  countries  of 
Europe ;  with  a  considerable  navy, 
and  with  a  debt  of  but  eighty-seven 
millions  of  francs,  (scarcely  more  than 
a  year's  revenue,)  he  might  have 
seemed  beyond  the  caprices  of  for- 
tune, if  not  beyond  the  follies  of  am- 
bition. The  King  himself  was  fond 
of  soldiership.  He  had  served  in  the 
Spanish  Invasion  as  a  volunteer,  un- 
der the  Due  d'Angouleme,  and  was 
present  at  the  storming  of  the  Troca- 
dero.  He  was  tall,  robust,  and  bold 
in  the  field.  Yet  his  political  feelings 
were  hostile  to  all  change.  He  had 
completely  thrown  off  the  absurdities 
of  liberalism  ;  he  was  a  rigid  supporter 
of  the  ancient  principles  of  the 
government,  a  champion  of  the  pri- 
vileged, and  a  protector  of  the  pea- 
sant classes.  In  the  midst  of  these 
rational  principles,  and  the  solid  pros- 
perity of  the  State,  the  temptation  of 


territory  was  thrown  out  to  him. 
To  unite  Lombardy  with  his  heredi- 
tary dominions  was  the  snare ;  and 
in  an  hour  of  calamity  to  his  country,, 
and  of  ruin  to  himself,  breaking  his 
treaties  with  Austria,  and  assuming 
the  foolish,  feeble,  and  frantic  resolu- 
tion of  overthrowing  the  imperial 
sovereignty,  he  invaded  the  Lom- 
bardo- Venetian  kingdom. 

At  this  crisis  the  situation  of  the 
Austrian  army  was  perilous  in  the 
extreme.  One- third  of  its  force  was 
composed  of  Italian  regiments.  Of 
those  some  openly  passed  over  to  the 
insurgents ;  some  remained  faithful, 
but  they  were  daily  diminishing  by 
desertion.  The  Austrians  were  en- 
veloped in  an  excited  population  of 
eighteen  millions ;  National  Guards 
were  already  arming  everywhere.  Ill 
this  moment  a  decisive  movement  by 
the  gallant  General  d'Aspre  probably 
alone  saved  Verona,  the  most  import- 
ant post  in  all  Italy.  A  National 
Guard  had  been  formed  in  the  city  ; 
it  demanded  to  share  the  garrison 
duty  of  the  citadel.  The  governor 
refused  the  demand  ;  but  the  popula- 
tion were  sixty  thousand,  already 
tampered  with.  D'Aspre  on  receiving 
this  intelligence  determined  at  once 
to  leave  Padua,  where  he  was  sta- 
tioned, to  its  fate  ;  marched  with  his 
whole  force  for  Verona ;  disarmed  the 
National  Guard,  and  saved  the  city. 
Mantua,  the  fortress  next  in  import- 
ance, was  entered  by  an  Austrian 
brigade,  and  thus  the  defensive  line 
of  the  campaign  was  established. 
Marshal  Radetsky  transferred  his 
headquarters  to  Verona  in  April,  and 
published  an  order  of  the  day  to  the 
troops,  containing  the  expressive 
words,  "  On  military  grounds,  and  in 
my  capacity  as  commander,  I,  not  you, 
have  retired  before  the  enemy ;  you 
have  not  been  conquered ! " 

At  this  time,  in  every  great  town 
of  Italy,  with  the  exception  of  Verona 
and  Mantua,  the  tricolor  had  been 
hoisted,  a  revolutionary  government 
formed,  and  the  population  summoned 
to  arms.  Such  was  the  result  of  the 
trumpet  blown  from  Rome  !  The 
Papal  troops,  at  the  disposal  of  the 
League,  were  about  seven  thousand 
Italians,  including  a  regiment  of  dra- 
goons, besides  a  body  of  Swiss  — 
capital  soldiers  —  amounting  to  up- 


1851.]  The  Italian 

wards  of  four  thousand  men.  The 
whole  amount  of  the  forces  of  the 
League,  including  bands  of  volunteers, 
acting  separately,  probably  amounted 
to  one  hundred  thousand  ;  which  the 
first  defeat  of  the  Austrian  army 
might  have  increased  to  ten  times 
the  number. 

An  inspection  of  the  map  will  show 
the  singularly  difficult  nature  of  the 
country  through  which  the  Austrian 
army  had  now  to  make  its  retreat.  The 
Po,  on  the  right  hand,  forms  the 
natural  boundary  of  Northern  Italy, 
as  the  Alps  form  it  on  the  left :  the 
country  between  is  intersected  by  the 
spurs  of  the  mountains,  and  by  the 
great  rivers  flowing  from  them — the 
Tessin,  the  Oglio,  the  Mincio,  and 
the  Adige.  But  a  march  along  the 
right,  or  southern  bank  of  the  Po, 
may  turn  all  those  positions ;  and  the 
position  of  Venice  finally  outflanks 
them  all.  On  the  parallelogram 
formed  by  Peschiera,  Verona,  Leg- 
nago,  and  Mantua,  is  the  battle  of 
Northern  Italy  to  be  fought ;  and  that 
battle  once  won,  either  army  must 
conclude  the  campaign. 

It  has  been  already  observed,  that 
the  provident  eye  of  the  Austrian 
Field-Marshal  had  made  this  platform 
his  especial  study :  he  had  instructed 
his  staff  to  examine  all  its  features 
with  especial  exactness,  and  had  aided 
their  practical  knowledge  of  the  ground 
by  making  it  the  scene  of  his  Grand 
Reviews,  from  1832.  But  new  diffi- 
culties soon  threatened  him— the  Tyrol 
was  in  danger.  The  portion  verging 
on  Italy  was  revolutionised,  and  thus 
his  communications  with  Germany 
might  be  cut  off.  The  Marshal  in- 
stantly despatched  a  brigade  to  Trent ; 
they  took  possession  of  the  castle,  and 
paraded  the  town  with  patrols  of 
cavalry  —  arrested  the  conspirators, 
chiefly  consisting  of  nobles — disarmed 
the  citizens — prohibited  party  colours 
— and  declared  that,  in  case  of  dis- 
turbance, they  would  set  the  town  in 
flames.  The  only  successful  mode  of 
dealing  with  rebels  is  to  punish  them ; 
and  the  knowledge  that  the  Austrians 
would  not  now  be  chicaned  into  con- 
cession, put  an  end  to  their  disloyalty. 

The  first  collision  of  the  armies  was 
on  the  7th  of  April.  Colonel  Benedek, 
an  officer  already  distinguished  in 
Gallicia,  surprised  a  patrol  of  Genoa 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXII. 


Revolution. 


443- 


dragoons,  and  brought  his  prisoners 
into  Mantua.  Charles  Albert  moved 
on  the  Mincio,  and  a  column  of  four 
thousand  men  attacked  the  Austrian 
post  at  Goito,  on  the  right  bank,  two- 
leagues  above  Mantua.  The  attack 
was  gallantly  resisted  by  the  Tyro- 
lese  Jagers,  and  other  troops;  but 
after  an  action  of  four  hours,  the 
Piedmontese  succeeded  in  crossing  a 
bridge  imperfectly  blown  up,  and  the 
Austrians  retired,  with  the  loss  of 
their  four  guns,  on  the  glacis  of  Man- 
tua. In  this  action  the  two  brothers 
Hofer,  nephews  of  the  famous  Andreas 
Hofer— the  one  a  cadet,  and  the  other 
a  lieutenant  in  the  Tyrolese  Jagers — 
were  unfortunately  killed.  The  Field- 
Marshal  immediately  advanced  with 
eighteen  thousand  men  to  give  battle; 
but  the  Piedmontese  stopped,  to  leave 
the  main  body  time  to  advance  and 
enter  upon  the  true  field  of  the  cam- 
paign. 

The  Field-Marshal  now  determined 
to  leave  the  line  of  the  Mincio.  The 
Piedmontese  were  daily  receiving  rein- 
forcements. On  the  20th,  General 
d'Arco  Ferrari,  the  Tuscan  com- 
mander, conducted  a  column  of  five 
thousand  men  into  the  royal  camp. 
This  number  included  fifteen  hundred 
volunteers  of  the  best  families  of 
Florence  and  Sienna,  a  corps  of  stu- 
dents from  Pisa,  officered  by  their 
professors,  and  a  corps  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  Neapolitans,  raised  by  a 
Neapolitan  enthusiast.  When  this 
man  took  leave  of  the  King  of  Naples,, 
he  asked  him,  "  Your  majesty,  what 
shall  I  say  to  the  Lombards  on  the 
part  of  my  king  ?  "  The  reply  was, 
"  Tell  them  that  I  will  come  to  their 
assistance  with  all  my  forces,  and  will 
myself  fight  by  the  side  of  their  hum- 
blest grenadier."  His  majesty  ap- 
pears to  have  soon  changed  his  mind. 

The  Austrians  continued  to  retire, 
and  Charles  Albert  commenced  the 
siege  of  Peschiera,  and  the  investment 
of  Mantua.  In  the  mean  time  the 
Austrian  Council,  though  the  whole 
empire  was  in  confusion,  made  the 
most  strenuous  efforts  to  reinforce  the 
army  in  Italy ;  and  General  Nugent,, 
with  some  corps  of  Croats,  joined  the 
Field-Marshal. 

Under  the  general  name  of  Croat, 
in  Austrian  military  language,  are 
included  all  the  Borderers  of  the  Aus- 


444 


TJie  Italian  Revolution. 


trian  dominions,  who  serve  as  light 
infantry.  But  of  the  eighteen  regi- 
ments of  Border  light  infantry,  eight 
only  are  of  the  real  Croat  race.  This 
race  belongs  to  the  great  Sclave 
family,  and  passed  from  Bohemia  to 
their  present  province  at  a  remote 
period.  The  Hungarians,  on  the  con- 
trary, came  from  the  far  East.  In 
Bohemia  and  Moravia  the  German 
and  Sclave  races  are  mingled ;  in 
Hungary,  the  Magyar,  the  Sclave, 
the  Wallach,  and  the  Saxon.  From 
Hungary,  at  this  period,  nothing  was 
to  be  hoped,  for  the  Hungarian  nobi- 
lity had  extorted  from  the  emperor  an 
independent  administration.  They 
had  even  gone  so  far  as  to  demand 
the  government  of  the  military  fron- 
tier towards  the  Turkish  dominions. 
This  innovation,  which  would  have 
included  the  subordination  of  Croatia, 
was  resisted  by  its  gallant  people, 
who  now  proved  a  firm  and  loyal 
defence  of  their  country,  and  recover- 
ed a  fame  obscured  since  the  wars  of 
Maria  Theresa. 

Even  in  the  briefest  narrative  of 
this  anxious  period,  the  governor  of 
Croatia  deserves  a  record. 

Joseph,  Baron  Jellachich  de  Buzim, 
was  the  son  of  a  military  man  of  rank, 
who  had  served  in  the  French  war. 
Educated  for  the  army,  he  did  not 
neglect  the  studies  which  accomplish 
man  in  every  condition ;  and  he  has 
been  even  distinguished  as  a  poet. 
His  family  connection  with  Croatia, 
and  his  character  for  intelligence  and 
intrepidity,  rapidly  attracted  notice, 
and  he  was  appointed  to  the  Vice- 
royalty  of  the  province.  The  march 
of  the  corps  of  Croats  to  Vienna  gave 
the  first  favourable  turn  to  the  for- 
tunes of  the  empire,  and  in  the  trying 
Hungarian  campaigns,  the  Ban  of 
Croatia  was  among  the  foremost  offi- 
cers of  the  service,  as  his  troops  were 
among  the  bravest.  On  the  demand 
of  the  army  in  Italy  for  reinforce- 
ment, he  did  not  hesitate  a  moment, 
but  despatched  from  his  force  those 
battalions  which  had  so  large  a  share 
in  the  ultimate  victories  of  the  cam- 
paign. 

Hostilities  now  rapidly  advanced. 
On  the  5th  of  May,  Charles  Albert 
attacked  the  celebrated  position  of 
Rivoli,  but  after  a  heavy  cannonade, 
was  repulsed.  On  the  7th,  the  Pied- 


[Oct. 


montese  army,  amounting  to  forty- 
five  thousand  men,  with  sixty-six 
guns,  attacked  the  Austrian  front  on 
the  heights  of  Sena,  near  Verona.  A 
defeat  on  this  point  would  have  left 
Verona  open  to  a  bombardment,  and 
might  have  been  the  rilin  of  the  Aus- 
trian cause  in  Italy.  The  battle  began 
at  nine  in  the  morning.  The  Aus- 
trians  were  posted  in  a  line  of  villages, 
partly  fortified.  The  Piedmontese 
fought  well,  but  they  failed  in  all  their 
attacks.  The  Austrian  fire  of  artillery 
was  heavy ;  and  at  four,  a  movement 
of  Radetsky  precipitated  the  retreat  of 
the  enemy.  The  king  was  in  the  field, 
as  were  the  Archdukes  Joseph  (the 
present  emperor)  and  Albert,  the  son 
of  the  famous  Archduke  Charles. 

The  action  lasted  till  six  in  the 
evening.  The  returns  of  the  loss,  on 
both  sides,  are  equally  unintelligible. 
The  Piedmontese  loss  was  returned 
at  only  87  killed !  and  659  wounded ; 
and  this  in  a  conflict  which  lasted 
nine  hours,  under  a  perpetual  can- 
nonade. The  Austrians  naturally  lost 
less  than  their  assailants ;  but  foreign 
bulletins  are  always  a  trial  to  English 
credulity. 

The  prospect  still  darkened:  the 
emperor  fled  from  Vienna,  and  took 
refuge  in  the  Tyrol.  News  of  the 
insurrection  in  Naples,  and  fighting  in 
the  streets,  arrived.  Peschiera  was 
besieged,  without  the  hope  of  being 
relieved  ;  it  was  already  famishing ; 
horse-flesh  and  maize  were  its  only 
provision:  it  had  withstood  forty 
thousand  cannon  shots ;  and  for  every 
two  guns  remaining  on  its  ramparts, 
there  was  but  one  artilleryman !  On 
the  30th  it  capitulated.  Intelligence 
next  came  that  Vienna  was  in  complete 
possession  of  the  populace,  and  a  pro- 
visional government  installed !  This 
put  an  end  to  all  expectation  of  rein- 
forcements. It  now  even  became  a 
question,  whether  the  Austrian  army 
should  not  abandon  the  field,  and 
take  shelter  in  Mantua.  "  What  a 
misfortune,"  said  a  German  paper, 
"  for  an  army  to  be  so  commanded. 
What  has  happened  justifies  the  warn- 
ing which  we  gave,  months  ago,  that 
the  conduct  of  such  a  struggle  should 
not  be  committed  to  a  man  eighty-four 
years  of  age." 

On  the  night  of  the  5th  of  June, 
only  two  days  .after  the  disastrous 


1851.] 


The  Italian  Revolution. 


445 


news  from  Vienna,  that  old  man  com- 
menced a  movement  which  decided 
the  war ! 

The  whole  army  suddenly  moved  to 
the  attack  of  Vicenza ;  swept  the 
plain  of  the  enemy's  detachments; 
assailed  the  fortified  heights  of  Moute 
Berico,  the  key  of  Vicenza,  defended 
by  fifteen  thousand  Papal  troops, 
with  Swiss  and  volunteers ;  and 
forced  the  town  to  a  capitulation  next 
day.  This  daring  exploit  stopped 
Charles  Albert  at  once;  convinced 
him  that  he  could  advance  no  farther ; 
and  changed  the  whole  face  of  the 
campaign. 

The  most  interesting  part  in  the 
history  of  nations  at  war  is  the  sud- 
den ebbs  and  flows  of  fortune.  The 
Field-Marshal  had  hitherto  been  com- 
pelled to  keep  a  watchful  eye  on  the 
Alps  ;  for  if  the  French  army,  already 
collected  at  Grenoble,  had  joined  the 
Italians,  there  was  no  resource  for 
him  but  to  have  retired  from  the 
Peninsula.  But  the  four  days'  fighting 
in  the  streets  of  Paris,  in  June,  satis- 
fied him  that  the  French  would  be 
fully  occupied  at  home,  and  relieved 
him  of  anxiety  in  that  quarter.  The 
next  news  was,  that  the  insurrrection 
at  Prague  had  been  crushed,  and  that 
reinforcements- were  sure  to  be  des- 
patched; the  next  was,  that  Count 
Latour,  the  minister,  had  actually 
despatched  twelve  thousand  men  to  the 
army.  In  a  short  period,  his  troops, 
which  had  been  reduced  to  forty  thou- 
sand men,  of  whom  a  large  proportion 
were  in  hospital,  were  increased  to  a 
hundred  and  thirty  -  two  thousand. 
The  cavalry  were  raised  to  upwards 
of  eight  thousand,  and  the  artillery  to 
two  hundred  and  fifty  pieces. 

On  the  22d,  in  the  evening,  the 
troops  moved  to  the  attack  of  the 
entire  Piedmontese  position.  It  was 
on  a  range  of  hills  rising  in  successive 
lines  of  heights.  The  troops  were 
stopped  by  a  heavy  storm  at  mid- 
night. They  halted  till  dawn,  and 
on  the  23d  attacked  and  carried  the 
whole  line  of  the  Piedmontese.  On 
the  next  day  Charles  Albert  advanced 
against  them,  made  a  vigorous  flank 
movement,  broke  an  Austrian  Bri- 
gade, and  fought  desperately  till 
nightfall.  On  the  25th  the  battle 
was  resumed,  the  heat  was  intense, 
and  the  ascent  of  the  hills  was  fear- 


fully exhausting.  In  one  of  the  regi- 
ments a  third  of  the  men  sank  on 
the  road,  and  sixteen  died  of  coup-de- 
soleil.  Such  are  the  toils  and  the 
horrors  of  war.  Charles  Albert 
fought  bravely,  and  manoeuvred  ably, 
but  he  was  everywhere  repulsed. 
Fortune  had  deserted  him.  The 
Austrians  slept  on  the  heights  which 
they  had  won.  Thus  ended  the  great 
battle  of  Costazza. 

General  Radetsky  now  gave  orders 
for  a  vigorous  pursuit.  In  one  of  the 
towns  occupied  by  the  retreating 
enemy,  the  inhabitants  took  part  in 
the  skirmish.  In  this  instance  we 
find  the  first  military  use  of  gun-cot- 
ton, and  it  appears  to  have  excited 
equal  surprise  and  alarm  in  the  pur- 
suers. "  It  was  terrible,"  says  one  of 
of  those  describers,  "to  hear  the 
whistling  of  the  ball  without  the  de- 
tonation. No  despatch  could  be  read, 
because  the  enemy  fired  from  their 
concealment  at  every  light  that 
showed  itself.  Alarms  were  fre- 
quent, and  occasioned  momentary 
confusion  among  us  ;  it  was  an  awful 
night." 

After  an  unsuccessful  attack  on  the 
Austrian  outposts,  the  enemy  re- 
tired. Soon  afterwards,  a  flag  of 
truce  arrived,  proposing  an  armistice, 
taking  the  Oglio  for  the  line  of  de- 
marcation. The  Austrian  general 
demanded  the  Adda,  the  cession  of 
the  captured  fortresses,  and  the  with- 
drawal of  the  king's  troops  from 
Venice,  Modena,  and  Parma.  Those 
conditions  were  rejected,  and  the 
royal  army  renewed  its  retreat.  The 
command  of  the  troops  was  now  re- 
linquished by  the  king,  and  given  up 
to  General  Bava. 

All,  thenceforth,  was  confusion ;  the 
army  began  to  dissolve;  there  was 
neither  rest  for  it,  nor  food.  Many 
threw  themselves  down  by  the  road- 
side and  refused  to  go  farther.  An 
armistice  was  suggested  by  the  Brit- 
ish minister  at  Turin,  but  the  answer 
was  decisive :  u  No  armistice  till  the 
imperial  provinces  are  cleared." 

The  retreat  should  have  been  by 
the  right  bank  of  the  Po  ;  but  Charles 
Albert,  in  a  chivalric  spirit,  resolved 
to  defend  Milan.  The  pursuit  was 
still  continued  through  the  defensible 
and  intricate  country  which  surrounds 
Milan.  On  the  evening  of  the  4th  of 


446 


The  Italian 


August,  the  Austrian  army  was  at  the 
gates  of  the  city.  In  the  night  a 
council  was  held,  which  determined 
on  the  evacuation  of  Milan.  The  popu- 
lace, partly  in  terror,  and  partly  in 
rage,  denounced  the  king  as  a  traitor 
to  their  cause,  and  even  fired  shots  at 
his  palace.  In  the  night  of  the  6th 
the  king  was  conveyed  from  Milan 
under  escort ;  the  report  reached  the 
populace  in  the  morning,  and  they 
proceeded  to  plunder.  A  deputation 
of  the  magistracy  were  sent  to  the 
Field-Marshal.  He  entered  the  city 
at  the  head  of  a  column  of  troops  by 
the  Porta  Roman  a ;  and  on  the  7th, 
an  order  of  the  day  appeared,  thank- 
ing the  troops,  and  containing  these 
words  :  "  The  imperial  flag  is  again 
waving  from  the  walls  of  Milan ; 
there  is  no  longer  an  enemy  on  Lom- 
bard ground."  This  fixed  the  fate  of 
the  imperial  provinces. 

The  campaign  which  followed  in 
1849  may  be  described  in  a  few 
words.  The  mortified  pride  of 
Charles  Albert  provoked  him  to 
make  preparations  for  a  renewal  of 
the  war.  He  raised  his  army  by  the 
conscription — that  terrible  tool  in  the 
hands  of  an  ambitious  or  an  absurd 
government,  to  a  hundred  and  forty- 
eight  thousand  men — (of  whom,  how- 
ever, eighteen  thousand  were  in  the 
hospitals.)  But  the  army  had  known 
the  disasters  of  war,  and  its  romance 
had  died  away.  None  but  the  ora- 
tors were  advocates  for  a  contest  with 
the  mighty  force  of  the  empire. 
General  Bava,  an  able  and  brave 
officer,  who  had  conducted  the  re- 
treat, was  displaced,  and  the  command 
was  given  to  Chrozanowski,  a  Pole, 
who  had  served  on  the  Russian  staff. 
The  Austrian  force,  exclusive  of  sick 
and  garrisons,  was  about  eighty 
thousand  men. 

The  armistice  concluded  on  the 
20th  of  March.  The  Polish  general's 
order  of  the  day  was  in  the  theatrical 
style  of  Napoleon's  bulletins.  "  Sol- 
diers !  the  greater  your  vigour  in  ad- 
vance, the  speedier  will  be  your  vic- 
tory, and  the  earlier  your  return, 
crowned  with  laurels  ! "  The  manlier, 
because  the  more  intelligible  senti- 
ment of  the  Field-Marshal's  order  was, 
"  Soldiers !  forward,  with  Turin  for 
your  watchword ! " 

In  twenty-four  hours  the  Austrian 


Revolution.  [Oct. 

army  was  in  march  for  the  Tessin, 
the  boundary  of  Piedmont  and  Lom- 
bardy.  The  decisive  battle  was  fought 
at  Novara,  a  town  on  the  left  bank  of 
the  Agogna.  In  the  rear  of  the  town, 
the  ground,  consisting  of  watercourses 
and  walled  gardens,  and  with  sub- 
stantial villas,  and  a  slope  towards 
the  town  for  artillery,  is  favourable 
for  defence.  The  sons  of  Charles 
Albert,  the  Dukes  of  Savoy  and 
Genoa,  commanded  brigades,  the 
whole  force  amounting  to  fifty  thou- 
sand men,  with  one  hundred  and 
eleven  guns. 

The  battle  began  at  eleven  in  the 
morning  of  the  23d  of  March,  by  an 
attack  of  the  Archduke  Albert  on  a 
fortified  post.  The  combat  continued 
in  a  succession  of  attacks  on  the  Pied- 
montese  positions,  which  were  stoutly 
defended,  till  four  o'clock ;  when,  all 
the  Austrian  brigades  having  reached 
the  field,  the  Field-Marshal  gave 
orders  for  a  general  advance  of  the 
line.  The  enemy  now  fell  into  dis- 
order, and  retreated.  The  battle  was 
won.  The  Austrian  army  bivouacked 
on  the  field.  The  king,  who  had 
remained  under  fire  during  the  day, 
was  in  despair.  He  exclaimed  to 
General  Durando,  who  led  him  away, 
"  General,  this  is  my  last  day — let 
me  die."  Later  in  the  evening,  he 
called  his  princes  and  chief  officers 
about  him,  and  declared  his  determi- 
nation to  resign  the  crown  to  the 
Duke  of  Savoy.  He  then  dismissed 
them,  wrote  a  letter  of  farewell  to  his 
wife,  and  made  his  appearance  at  the 
quarters  of  the  Austrian  officer,  Count 
Thurn,  at  one  in  the  morning,  under 
the  title  of  a  Count ;  and  being  allowed 
to  pass  the  Austrian  lines,  (of  course 
his  person  being  known,)  went  to  Nice. 
From  Nice  he  went  to  Portugal,  and 
remained  at  Oporto  until  he  died. 

Thus  ended  the  life  of  a  king,  and 
thus  closed  the  first  powerful  effort 
of  that  consummation  of  violence  and 
folly,  misery,  and  popular  ruin,  which 
are  all  included  in  the  name  of  ITALIAN 
INDEPENDENCE. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed,  from  the 
tone  of  our  observations,  that  we  are 
hostile  to  the  freedom  of  nations. 
Hostility  of  that  order  would  contra- 
dict the  character  of  our  country. 
We  have  exposed  only  the  pretences 
to  patriotism— the  love  of  plunder 


1851.] 


Levantine  Rambles. 


447 


under  the  plea  of  reform,  the  hatred 
of  order  under  the  pretext  of  right, 
and  the  convulsion  of  society  under 
the  affectation  of  independence. 

We  affirm,  in  the  most  unequivocal 
manner,  that,  to  be  free,  nations 
must  be  Protestant.  The  Popish 
religion  is  utterly  incompatible  with 
freedom  in  any  nation.  The  slave  of 
the  altar  is  essentially  the  slave  of 
the  throne.  We  prove  this  by  the 
fact,  that  no  Popish  country  in  the 
world  has  been  able  to  preserve, 


or  even  to  have  a  conception  of,  the 
simplest  principles  of  civil  liberty. 
If  we  are  told  that  France  is  free, 
the  obvious  reply  is,  that  though 
France  is  the  least  Popish  of  Popish 
countries,  it  still  has  the  Conscription; 
it  is  wholly  under  military  govern- 
ment ;  it  has  no  Habeas  Corpus ;  and 
no  journalist  can  discuss  any  sub- 
ject without  exposing  himself  to 
Government,  by  giving  his  name. 
Would  this  be  called  liberty  in 
England  ? 


LEVANTINE   RAMBLES. 


EGOTISM  is  a  shoal  upon  which 
literary  travellers  are  particularly  apt 
to  damage  their  barks.  Before  us 
are  two  cases  in  point,  although  of 
different  degree.  Monsieur  Gerard 
de  Nerval,  a  Frenchman  of  letters, 
Mr  F.  A.  Neale,  an  Englishman 
attached  to  the  consular  service,  have 
each  written  a  couple  of  volumes  con- 
cerning Syria  and  adjacent  lands, 
visited  at  about  the  same  period. 
We  need  hardly  say  that  there  is 
little  resemblance  between  the  books. 
The  numerous  points  of  dissimilarity 
between  the  French  and  English 
characters  are  never  more  strikingly 
elicited  than  upon  the  road.  Set  the 
travellers  to  write  down  their  experi- 
ences, and  you  have  the  palpable 
exposition  of  the  diverting  contrast. 
In  two  respects,  however,  Messrs 
Neale  and  Nerval  resemble  each 
other.  Both  are  very  amusing ; 
each  is  more  or  less  of  an  egotist. 
The  Frenchman  is  the  more,  the 
Englishman  the  less.  Mr  Neale's 
egotism  is  artless  and  inoffensive. 
His  book  is  a  collection  of  notes 
made  for  the  amusement  of  himself 
and  friends,  and  which  in  course  of 
years  grew  to  considerable  bulk. 
Long  a  resident  and  rambler  in  the 
country  he  writes  about,  he  unites 
the  advantages  of  an  observant  eye, 
an  agreeable  style,  a  happy  discri- 
mination of  what  is  most  likely  to 
interest  and  prove  novel  to  the 
public.  His  greatest  fault  is  not 


to  have  more  carefully  weeded  his 
manuscript  of  trivial  personal  in- 
cidents, quite  in  place  in  a  letter  to  a 
friend,  but  which  have  no  claim  to 
the  honours  of  type.  Forgive  this 
defect,  and  there  is  little  else  to 
pardon  in  a  book  that  gives  us  an 
excellent  notion  of  the  aspect  and 
mode  of  life  of  a  country  with  which, 
considering  its  proximity  to  Europe, 
and  the  all  -  important  events  in 
sacred  and  profane  history  that  have 
occurred  upon  its  soil,  we  can  hardly 
say  that  our  acquaintance  is  as  in- 
timate as  it  ought  to  be.  Monsieur 
de  Nerval  is  a  gentleman  of  far  dif- 
ferent pretensions  from  Mr  Neale, 
whose  faults  are  the  result  of  literary 
inexperience,  not  of  conceit  or  affecta- 
tion. There  is  more  of  malice  pre- 
pense about  the  Frenchman's  egotism. 
Quite  as  amusing  as  his  English 
rival,  he  makes  us  laugh  twice  as 
much  ;  but  probably  he  would  be  the 
last  man  to  suspect  the  chief  motive 
of  our  mirth.  Deeply  sensible  of  the 
strong  interest  personally  attaching 
to  him,  he  keeps  his  most  private 
feelings  and  proceedings  constantly 
before  the  reader.  Withdraw  from 
his  work  all  those  passages  in  which 
Gerard  de  Nerval  figures  as  the  hero, 
and  the  corpulent  octavos  would 
shrink  into  pamphlets.  As  we  read, 
fancy  presents  us  with  his  portrait 
upon  every  page.  It  simpers  at  us 
out  of  a  graceful  vignette,  or  peeps 
through  the  fantastical  wreaths  of  a 


Eight  Years  in  Syria,  Palestine,  and  Asia,  Minor,  from  1842  to  1850.     By  F.  A. 
NEALE,  Esq.,  late  attached  to  the  Consular  Service  in  Syria.    2  vols.     London,  1851. 
Scenes  de  la  Vie  Orientate.    Par  GERARD  DE  NERVAL.     2  vols.    Paris,  1851. 


448 


Levantine  Rambles. 


[Oct. 


decorative  capital ;  draped  in  Orien- 
tal robes,  surmounted  with  a  Turkish 
head-dress,  the  scalp  despoiled  by 
Mahomedan  razor  of  all  its  flowing 
honours,  save  one  tress  upon  its  sum- 
mit, the  beard  trimmed  in  conformity 
with  the  latest  fashion  of  Stamboul. 
Turn  the  page  and  behold  him  gal- 
loping, with  drawn  yataghan,  and 
glowing  with  military  ardour,  in  the 
suite  of  a  prince  of  Lebanon,  out  for 
a  foray  amongst  the  Maronites.  A 
little  farther  he  languishes  at  the  feet 
of  the  lovely  daughter  of  a  Druse 
Sheik,  or  exerts  his  influence — far 
from  inconsiderable — to  obtain  the 
release  of  her  captive  parent.  But 
however  occupied,  whether  martially, 
amorously,  or  philanthropically,  Ger- 
ard de  Nerval  is  always  before  us, 
the  principal  figure  upon  his  own 
canvass.  He  is  nothing  if  not  ego- 
tistical. As  to  the  value  and  extent 
of  his  information  concerning  the 
countries  he  visited,  it  is  impossible 
to  rate  them  highly,  since  he  admits 
that  his  knowledge  of  Arabic  was  for 
some  time  limited  to  the  single  word 
tayeb — it  is  good — which  conveys,  he 
says,  an  infinity  of  meanings,  accord- 
ing to  the  tone  of  its  utterance,  and 
which  he  takes  to  be  the  root  of  the 
Arabic  tongue.  It  is  quite  clear,  from 
various  passages  of  his  book,  that  he 
attained  no  great  proficiency  in  his 
oriental  studies,  and  that  for  the 
greater  portion,  if  not  for  the  whole 
period,  of  his  stay  in  the  East,  he  was 
at  the  mercy  of  roguish  dragomans 
and  casual  acquaintances.  He  began 
his  peregrinations  farther  south  than 
did  Mr  Neale.  After  an  introduction, 
somewhat  pedantic  and  not  much  to 
the  purpose,  addressed,  as  well  as  the 
epilogue,  to  a  mythic  Hibernian,  one 
Timothy  O'Neddy,  he  abruptly  opens 
his  book  at  Cairo,  by  informing  us 
that  there  the  women  are  more  her- 
metically veiled  than  in  any  other  of 
the  Levantine  towns.  The  ladies,  it 
must  be  observed,  play  a  most  im- 
portant part  in  the  narrative  of  this 
gallant  and  airy  Frenchman,  and 
have  supplied  subordinate  titles  to 
his  volumes,  the  first  of  which  is 
called  The  Women  of  Cairo,  the 
second  The  Women  of  Lebanon. 
At  the  Egyptian  city  he  had  pro- 
jected a  residence  of  six  months,  and 
was  mortally  disheartened  by  the 


dull  aspect  of  the  place  when,  upon 
the  first  day  of  his  arrival,  he  had 
passed  some  hours  in  wandering, 
mounted  on  a  jackass  and  escorted  by 
a  dragoman,  through  its  confused  laby- 
rinth of  narrow  dusty  streets.  The 
dragoman,  whose  name  is  Abdallah, 
is  a  character,  and  deserves  better 
than  to  be  passed  over  without  a 
paragraph.  M.  de  Nerval,  who- 
desired  to  husband  his  travelling 
purse,  soon  began  to  fear  that  he  was 
too  magnificent  an  attendant  for  so 
small  a  personage  as  himself. 

"  It  was  at  Alexandria,"  says  Abdallah's 
employer,  l(  on  the  deck  of  the  Leonidas 
steamer,  that  he  first  appeared  to  me  in 
all  his  glory.  He  came  alongside  in  a 
boat  of  his  own,  with  a  little  black  to 
carry  his  long  pipe,  and  a  younger  drago- 
man to  bear  him  company.  A  flowing  white 
tunic  covered  his  clothes,  and  contrasted 
with  the  colour  of  his  face,  in  which  the 
Nubian  blood  tinted  features  borrowed 
from  the  head  of  some  Egyptian  sphynx. 
Doubtless  he  was  the  offspring  of  two 
mixed  races.  Large  golden  rings  weighed 
down  his  ears,  and  his  indolent  gait  in 
his  long  garments  completed  to  my 
imagination  the  ideal  portrait  of  some 
freedman  of  the  lower  empire. 

<(  There  were  no  English  amongst  the 
passengers,  and  Abdallah,  rather  vexed 
at  this,  attached  himself  to  me  for  want 
of  a  better.  We  disembarked;  he  hired 
four  asses  for  himself,  for  his  suite,  and  for 
me,  and  took  me  straight  to  the  English 
hotel,  where  they  were  good  enough  to 
take  me  in,  at  the  rate  of  sixty  piastres 
a-day ;  as  for  himself,  he  limited  his 
pretensions  to  half  that  sum,  out  of 
which  he  undertook  to  keep  the  second 
dragoman  and  the  little  black.  After 
dragging  this  imposing  escort  at  my 
heels  for  a  whole  day,  I  was  struck  by 
the  inutility  of  the  second  dragoman, 
and  even  of  the  little  boy.  Abdallah 
made  no  objection  to  dismiss  his  young 
colleague  ;  as  to  the  little  black,  he  kept 
him  at  his  own  charges,  reducing,  at  the 
same  time,  his  own  salary  to  twenty 
piastres  (about  five  francs)  a-day.  Ar- 
rived at  Cairo,  the  asses  carried  us 
straight  to  the  English  hotel  on  the 
Esbekieh  Square  ;  but  I  checked  their 
ardour  on  learning  that  the  charges  at 
this  hotel  were  the  same  as  at  the  one  in 
Alexandria. 

" '  You  prefer,  then,  to  go  to  the 
Waghorn  hotel  in  the  Frank  quarter  ? ' 
said  honest  Abdallah. 

"  '  I  should  prefer  a  hotel  which  was 
not  English.' 


1851.] 

"  (  Well !  there  is  Domergue's  French 
hotel.' 

"  «  Let  us  go  to  it.' 

"  '  Pardon  me,  I  will  accompany  you 
thither,  but  I  cannot  remain  there.' 

«  <  Why  not  ? ' 

" '  Because  it  is  an  hotel  that  only 
charges  forty  piastres  a-day  ;  I  cannot 
go  to  it.' 

"  '  But  I  find  it  quite  good  enough  for 
me.' 

"  ( You  are  unknown  ;  I  belong  to  the 
town;  I  am  accustomed  to  attend  Eng- 
lish gentlemen;  I  must  keep  up  my 
rank.' 

"  Nevertheles,  I  considered  the  price 
of  this  hotel  tolerably  high  for  a  country 
where  everything  is  about  six  times  less 
dear  than  in  France,  and  where  a 
piastre,  or  five  sous  of  our  money,  is  a 
labourer's  daily  wage. 

"  '  There  is  a  way  of  arranging  mat- 
ters,' said  Abdallah.  '  You  shall  go  to 
Domergue's  for  two  or  three  days,  and 
I  will  visit  you  as  a  friend;  during  that 
time  I  will  take  a  house  for  you  in 
the  town,  and  then  there  will  be  no 
obstacle  to  my  remaining  in  your 
service.' 

"  On  inquiry,  I  found  that  many  Euro- 
peans take  houses  in  Cairo  if  they  pro- 
pose remaining  there  any  time,  and, 
having  ascertained  this,  I  gave  full 
powers  to  Abdallah." 

Whilst  this  most  dignified  of 
dragomans  was  house-hunting,  M. 
de  Nerval  passed  his  time  as  well 
as  he  could  at  the  despised  French 
hotel,  which  he  found  very  comfort- 
able, and  which  is  built  round  a 
square  white-washed  court,  covered 
with  a  light  trellis -work,  overgrown 
with  vines.  In  an  upper  gallery  of 
this  court,  a  French  artist,  talented 
and  amiable,  but  very  deaf,  had 
established  his  easel  and  his  daguer- 
reotype, and  there  he  studied  and 
sketched  the  forms  of  the  principal 
Egyptian  races.  He  had  no  difficulty 
in  obtaining  models  amongst  the 
lower  classes  of  the  Cairo  women, 
most  of  whom,  however,  were  ex- 
ceedingly punctilious  in  veiling  their 
features,  however  much  of  their 
persons  they  might  be  induced  to 
expose  to  the  artist's  gaze.  The 
face  is  the  last  refuge  of  Oriental 
modesty.  Besides  the  resource  of 
the  painter's  society,  M.  de  Nerval 
found  a  very  fair  table  d'hote  at 
the  hotel  Domergue,  several  Anglo- 
Indians  to  laugh  at,  a  piano,  and  a 


Levantine  Rambles. 


449 


billiard-table.  'He  began  to  think 
he  might  almost  as  well  have  re- 
mained at  Marseilles.  Impatient  to 
commence  a  more  Oriental  mode  of 
life,  he  allowed  Abdallah  to  conduct 
him  to  various  houses  that  were  to 
let.  House-rent  is  almost  nominal 
in  Cairo.  He  found  that  he  might 
have  a  palace  for  about  three  pounds 
a-year.  Abdallah  showed  him  seve- 
ral such  —  stately  mansions  many 
stories  high,  with  marble-paved  halls 
and  cooling  fountains,  with  galleries 
and  staircases  as  in  Genoese  and 
Venetian  palaces,  with  courts  sur- 
rounded by  columns,  and  gardens 
shaded  by  rare  trees.  An  army  of 
slaves  and  servants  was  all  that 
was  needed  to  make  them  fitting 
residences  for  a  prince.  The  engage- 
ment of  such  a  retinue  not  entering 
into  M.  de  Nerval's  calculations,  he 
was  glad  to  take  a  much  smaller 
house,  with  glazed  windows,  (there 
was  not  a  pane  of  glass  in  any  of 
the  palaces,)  which  had  recently  been 
occupied  by  an  Englishman.  Hiring  a 
house  in  Cairo  is  rather  a  complicated 
operation.  An  act  was  drawn  up  in 
Arabic,  and  paid  for ;  presents  were 
made  to  the  Sheik  of  the  quarter, 
to  the  lawyer,  and  to  the  chief  of 
the  nearest  guard-house  ;  the  scribes 
and  servants  had  also  to  be  fee'd* 
When  M.  de  Nerval  had  complied 
with  all  these  forms,  the  Sheik  hand- 
ed him  the  key.  This  was  a  piece 
of  wood  "like  a  baker's  tally,  at 
one  end  of  which  five  or  six  nails 
were  driven  in  as  if  at  random ; 
but  there  was  no  random  in  the 
matter:  this  strange  key  is  intro- 
duced into  a  hole  in  the  door,  the 
nails  correspond  with  little  holes, 
invisible  from  without,  pass  through 
them,  and  raise  a  wooden  bolt."  In 
possession  of  the  key,  the  next  thing 
to  be  done  was  to  furnish  the  house. 
Little  money  and  less  time  sufficed 
to  accomplish  this.  Some  cotton 
and  cloth  were  bought  at  a  bazaar, 
and  converted,  in  a  few  hours,  into 
divan  cushions,  which  served  as 
mattresses  at  night.  A  basket- 
maker  put  together  a  sort  of  bed- 
frame  of  palm  twigs ;  a  little  round 
table,  some  cups  and  pipes — and  the 
house  was  furnished  and  fit  to  receive 
the  best  company  in  Cairo.  M.  de 
Nerval's  first  visitor  was  an  officious 


450 

Jew,  a  breeder  of  silk-worms,  who 
established  himself  on  one  of  the 
divans,  took  coffee  and  a  pipe,  and 
undertook  to  prove  that  his  host  had 
been  swindled  by  Abdallah  and  the 
merchant  at  the  bazaar,  and-  had 
paid  twice  too  much  for  everything 
he  had  bought.  The  Jew  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  Sheik,  who  came  early 
the  next  morning  and  waited  in  the 
opposite  coffee-house  tillM.  deNerval 
was  up.  He  was  a  venerable  old 
man  with  a  white  beard,  and  was 
attended  by  his  secretary  and  negro 
pipe-bearer.  When  he  was  installed 
upon  a  divan,  and  supplied  with  the 
inevitable  pipe  and  coffee,  he  in- 
formed M.  de  Nerval,  through  the 
medium  of  Abdallah,  that  he  had 
brought  him  back  the  money  he  had 
paid  for  the  house.  It  was  an  inti- 
mation that  he  was  not  approved  of 
as  a  tenant.  Greatly  astonished, 
the  Frenchman  asked  the  reason. 
"  His  morality  was  suspicious,"  was 
the  reply  ;  "  he  had  no  wife  or  female 
elave."  This  was  quite  contrary  to 
the  custom  of  the  country.  He  must 
supply  the  deficiency  or  quit  the 
premises.  His  neighbours,  who  were 
better  provided,  would  be  uneasy  at 
the  proximity  of  a  bachelor  resident. 
In  short,  he  had  the  option  given 
him  to  marry  or  move.  For  the 
latter  he  had  no  fancy,  when  he  had 
just  furnished  a  house  that  suited 
him  well ;  he  was  averse  to  matri- 
mony, and  his  European  scruples 
opposed  the  purchase  of  a  female 
slave.  Doubting  the  Sheik's  right 
to  compel  him  to  decamp  or  conju- 
gate, he  requested  the  functionary 
to  take  patience  for  a  few  days  whilst 
he  consulted  his  friends,  to  do  which 
he  at  once  sallied  forth.  We  need 
hardly  inform  the  discerning  reader 
that  this  dilemma  is  the  peg  upon 
which  the  ingenious  and  facetious 
Frenchman  contrives  to  hang  a  whole 
volume.  On  his  way  to  seek  advice 
from  his  countryman  the  painter,  he 
falls  in  with  a  Turk,  whose  acquaint- 
ance he  had  made  on  board  the 
steamboat,  confides  his  difficulty  to 
him,  and  the  conversation  that 
ensues  fills  a  chapter.  Then,  whilst 
rambling  about  with  the  deaf 
artist,  he  gets  into  an  adventure 
with  two  veiled  ladies,  whom  he 
follows  home,  and  who  prove  to  be 


Levantine  Rambles.  [Oct. 

Frenchwomen,  wife  and  sister-in- 
law  of  a  renegade  French  officer. 
But  the  most  practical  information 
he  obtained  on  the  knotty  point  of 
acquiring  a  harem  was  from  Yusef, 
the  Jew  silk-grower,  who  came  daily 
to  take  a  pipe  on  his  divan  and 
improve  himself  in  the  French  lan- 
guage. From  him  he  ascertained 
that  there  are  four  ways  of  contract- 
ing marriage  at  Cairo.  The  first 
and  least  binding  is  with  a  Cophtic 
woman  before  a  Turkish  santon;  a 
union  that,  in  fact,  amounts  exactly 
to  nothing,  the  contracting  parties 
being  both  Christians,  and  the 
officiating  priest  Mahometan.  Then 
there  is  the  marriage  before  a 
Cophtic  priest,  which  admits  of 
divorce  on  payment  of  a  small  sum 
in  compensation;  a  third  sort  is 
binding  so  long  as  the  husband 
remains  in  the  country ;  whilst  the 
fourth  Ccelebrated  both  at  the  Cophtic 
church  and  Franciscan  convent)  gives 
the  wife  a  right  to  follow  him,  and 
is  a  bonajide  and  permanent  union — 
too  permanent  for  M.  de  Nerval's 
taste ;  who,  considering  the  other 
three  modes  as  merely  so  many 
recognised  forms  of  concubinage, 
ended  by  purchasing,  for  twenty- 
five  pounds  sterling,  a  yellow  slave 
of  Malay  or  Javanese  origin,  with 
a  sun  tatooed  upon  her  breast  and 
forehead,  and  a  lance-head  upon  her 
chin,  and  who  had  a  hole  through 
her  left  nostril,  intended  to  receive  a 
nose- ring.  Having  made  this  pre- 
cious acquisition,  he  found  she  had 
pretensions  to  be  treated  as  a  cadine, 
(lady,)  and  esteemed  it  quite  below 
her  dignity  to  attend  to  domestic 
matters ;  and,  in  short,  the  unlucky 
Frenchman's  ill-advised  acquiescence 
in  Eastern  customs  brought  upon  him 
a  host  of  troubles  and  annoyances,  of 
which  he  makes  the  most  for  the 
benefit  of  his  readers.  The  whole 
account  of  the  author's  Egyptian  pro- 
ceedings reads  more  like  a  fantastical 
tale,  invented  at  leisure,  than  a  nar- 
rative of  actual  events  ;  but  in  a  note 
at  the  end  of  his  work  he  protests  that 
all  he  has  written  down  really  occurred. 
He  had  reckoned  on  making  a  consi- 
derable stay  at  Cairo ;  but  notwith- 
standing the  extraordinary  cheapness 
of  that  city,  he  soon  found  his  purse 
getting  very  low,  as  a  consequence  of 


1851.] 


Levantine  Rambles, 


451 


the  extravagance  arid  caprices  of  the 
yellow  woman,  of  his  disorderly  mode 
of  housekeeping,  and  of  the  inexact- 
ness and  roguery  of  most  of  those 
with  whom  he  had  any  dealings.  So 
he  was  obliged  to  shorten  his  term  of 
residence,  lest  he  should  find  himself 
without  sufficient  funds  to  reach 
Syria,  which  was  his  next  destina- 
tion. Having  resolved  on  departure, 
he  offered  her  liberty  to  theslave,  whose 
name  was  Zeynab,  if  she  chose  to 
remain  at  Cairo.  This  proposal,  in- 
stead of  being  gratefully  received, 
excited  the  indignation  of  the  cadine. 
What  was  she  to  do  with  her  liberty? 
She  requested  him  to  sell  her  again 
to  Abd-el-Kerim,  the  wealthy  slave- 
dealer  from  whom  he  had  bought  her. 
But  although  he  had  not  scrupled  to 
buy  her,  he  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  to  take  money  for  human  flesh 
and  blood,  and  began  to  philosophise 
on  the  strange  state  of  a  country 
where  slaves  would  not  accept  their 
freedom.  Meanwhile  Zeynab  wept 
at  the  prospect  of  starvation,  for  she 
could  do  nothing  to  earn  her  bread, 
and  was  too  proud  to  take  service. 
The  European,  by  aping  the  Turkish 
manner  of  life,  had  got  himself  into  a 
perfect  labyrinth  of  embarrassments. 
He  had  changed  his  dress  and  his 
diet,  and  had  taken  the  first  step 
towards  the  formation  of  a  harem ; 
but  he  would  not  change  his  religion, 
nor  could  he  divest  himself  of  certain 
civilised  ideas,  incompatible  with  the 
conditions  of  his  new  existence.  He 
found  all  the  inconveniences  of  his 
ambiguous  manner  of  life,  and  evi- 
dently, although  he  does  not  care  to 
confess  it,  wished  he  had  abstained 
from  his  social  experiments,  and  had 
followed  the  example  of  the  sober- 
sided  English,  whom  he  laughs  at  for 
their  constancy  to  roast-beef,  porter, 
and  potatoes,  and  whom  he  ludi- 
crously sketches  wandering  about 
Cairo  on  donkeys,  with  long  legs 
nearly  touching  the  ground,  with 
green  veils  fastened  to  their  white 
hats,  and  blue  spectacles  protecting 
their  eyes,  with  India-rubber  over- 
coats, long  sticks  to  keep  off  suspicious 
Arabs,  and  a  groom  and  a  dragoman 
on  their  right  hand  and  on  their  left. 
The  die  was  cast,  however ;  he  was 
too  compassionate  to  leave  the  gold- 
coloured  incubus  to  her  fate ;  and  the 
.upshot  was,  that  she  was  allowed  to 


follow  him  to  Syria,  causing  him, 
upon  the  way,  almost  as  many  annoy- 
ances as  she  had  occasioned  him  at 
Cairo.  The  voyage  was  accomplished 
on  board  of  a  Levantine  vessel,  the 
Santa  Barbara,  commanded  by  a 
Greek  named  Nicholas.  This  was  a 
one-masted  craft,  with  a  black,  col- 
lier-like hull,  a  long  yard,  and  a 
single  triangular  sail,  manned  by 
Turks,  and  laden  with  rice.  The 
deck  was  encumbered  with  boxes  of 
poultry — provisions  for  the  voyage. 
The  little  den  known  as  the  captain's 
cabin,  for  the  use  of  which  M.  de 
Nerval  had  bargained,  was  infested 
with  enormous  red  beetles,  so  that  he 
was  glad  to  resign  his  claim,  and  to 
establish  himself  in  the  longboat.  This 
was  suspended  before  the  mast,  and, 
with  the  help  of  cotton  cushions  and 
sail-cloth  awning,  it  was  converted 
into  a  very  tolerable  refuge,  so  long 
as  the  weather  continued  fine.  A 
young  Armenian  scribe,  who  com- 
posed verses,  and  was  in  quest  of 
employment,  and  to  whom  M.  de 
Nerval  had  given  a  passage  in  his 
boat  down  the  Nile,  had  also  em- 
barked in  the  Santa  Barbara,  and 
supplied  the  place  of  Abdallah  as  an 
interpreter.  Captain  Nicholas,  an 
easy-going,  hospitable,  lubberly  ma- 
riner, who  had  been  half  a  pirate  in 
the  time  of  the  Greek  war,  invited  his 
passenger  to  partake  of  his  pillau 
and  Cyprus  wine,  and  confided  to 
him  all  his  affairs.  The  indolent 
Greek  passed  his  time  in  strumming 
one  invariable  tune  on  an  old  guitar, 
and  in  playing  at  chess  with  the 
pilot ;  his  nautical  talents  were  any- 
thing but  brilliant,  and  his  compass 
was  out  of  order,  so  that  it  was 
hardly  to  be  wondered  at  that,  on  the 
third  day  of  the  voyage,  when  they 
should  have  sighted  Syria,  Syria  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  There  was  little 
or  no  wind ;  now  and  then  a  puff  of 
air  filled  the  sail,  but  soon  died 
away,  and  the  canvass  flapped  idly 
against  the  mast.  Captain  Nicholas 
troubled  not  his  head  about  the  mat- 
ter: he  had  his  chessmen  and  his 
guitar;  they  sufficed  to  occupy  his 
attention.  The  Armenian  was  not 
quite  so  tranquil,  and  that  evening 
he  communicated  to  his  French  ac- 
quaintance the  cause  of  his  uneasi- 
ness. Although  but  three  days  from 
port,  they  were  running  short  of 


452  Levantine  Rambles.  [Oct, 

water.  M.  de  Nerval  could  not  credit     by  giving  the  bereaved  sailor  a  couple 


this. 

"  (  You  have  no  notion  of  the  careless- 
ness of  these  people,'  said  the  Armenian. 
'  To  obtain  fresh  water,  they  must  have 
sent  a  boat  as  far  as  Damietta,  that  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Nile  being  salt;  and  as 
the  town  was  in  quarantine,  they  dreaded 
the  forms — at  least,  that  is  the  reason 
they  give;  but  the  fact  is,  they  never 
thought  about  it.' 

((t  Astonishing!'  said  I;  'and  yonder  is 
the  captain,  singing  as  if  our  situation 
were  the  most  natural  in  the  world;' 
and  I  went  with  the  Armenian  to  ques- 
tion him'on  the  subject. 

"  Captain  Nicholas  rose  and  showed 
me  the  water-casks,  which  were  entirely 
empty,  with  the  exception  of  one,  which 
might  still  contain  some  five  or  six  bottles 
of  water ;  then  he  resumed  his  seat  upon 
the  poop,  took  up  his  guitar,  and  resumed 
his  eternal  song,  lolling  back  his  head 
against  the  bulwarks. 

"The  next  morning  I  awoke  early, 
and  walked  forward,  thinking  it  might 
be  possible  to  discern  the  shores  of  Pales- 
tine. But  in  vain  did  I  polish  the  glasses 
of  my  telescope ;  the  line  of  sea  at  the 
extreme  horizon  was  as  sharp  and  un- 
broken as  the  curved  blade  of  a  Damascus 
sabre.  It  was  probable  we  had  hardly 
changed  our  place  since  the  previous 
evening.  I  returned  towards  the  stern 
of  the  vessel.  Everybody  was  fast 
asleep,  with  the  exception  of  the  cabin- 
boy,  who  was  copiously  washing  his 
hands  and  face  in  water  which  he  drew 
from  our  last  cask  of  potable  liquid!  " 

Fortunately  a  light  westerly  breeze 
sprang  up  in  the  evening.  The  next 
morning,  so  said  Nicholas,  the  blue 
peaks  of  Mount  Carmel  would  be 
visible  in  the  horizon.  Suddenly 
shouts  of  horror  and  consternation 
were  heard.  "A  fowl  overboard!" 
was  the  cry.  M.  de  Nerval  was  dis- 
posed to  treat  this  misfortune  pretty 
lightly.  Not  so  the  owner,  a  Turkish 
sailor,  who  was  in  despair,  and  with 
whom  his  messmates  warmly  sym- 
pathised. The  fowl  floated  astern, 
making  signals  of  distress ;  the  Turk 
had  to  be  forcibly  held,  to  prevent 
him  jumping  overboard ;  and,  to 
M.  de  Nerval's  astonishment  and  dis- 
gust, the  captain,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  ordered  the  vessel  to  be 
brought  to.  After  two  days'  calm, 
and  when  running  short  of  water, 
this  seemed  a  singular  way  of  pro- 
fiting by  a  favourable  breeze.  M.  de 
Nerval  hoped  to  accelerate  matters 


of  piastres,  a  sum  for  which  an  Arab 
would  at  any  time  risk  his  life.  The 
man's  countenance  brightened,  he 
pocketed  the  coins,  pulled  off  his 
clothes,  jumped  into  the  sea,  swam  a 
prodigious  distance,  and  returned  in 
half-an-hour,  so  exhausted,  that  he 
had  to  be  lifted  on  board,  but  bring- 
ing back  his  chicken,  which  he  rubbed 
and  warmed  with  as  much  care  as  if 
it  had  been  an  only  child,  and  which 
at  last  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing- 
hop  about  the  deck.  Once  more  sail 
was  made,  and  the  ship  advanced. 
"  The  devil  take  the  hen  ! "  quoth  the 
exasperated  Nerval,  u  we  have  lost  an 
hour.  I  have  plenty  of  fowls,  and 
would  have  given  him  several  for  that 
one."  The  Armenian  explained.  It 
was  a  religious,  or  at  least  a  supersti- 
tious question.  The  sailor  had  been 
on  the  point  of  cutting  his  fowl's 
throat,  when  it  flew  away  over  his 
left  shoulder.  According  to  Turkish 
belief,  had  it  been  drowned,  its  owner 
had  not  three  days  to  live.  M.  de 
Nerval  began  to  weary  of  ship  and 
crew,  and  his  weariness  became  anger 
when  he  discovered  that  one  of  the 
sailors,  an  elderly  Turk  who  had 
great  influence  over  the  others,  as 
being  a  hadji  or  pilgrim  returned  from 
Mecca,  was  endeavouring  to  persuade 
the  yellow  woman  that  a  Christian 
had  no  right  to  own  a  Mahometan 
slave  of  white  blood,  (she  was  the 
colour  of  saffron.)  Captain  Nicholas, 
as  a  Greek  Christian,  had  little  real 
authority  over  his  Turkish  crew,  and 
that  little  he  showed  himself  indis- 
posed to  exercise.  Some  rather  ani- 
mated scenes  ensued,  which  were  near 
ending  in  a  fight  between  the  French- 
man and  the  hadji.  A  sort  of  sullen 
hollow  truce  was  brought  about,  but 
M.  de  Nerval's  position  was  not  very 
agreeable,  nor  perhaps  quite  safe,  when 
he  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had 
in  his  pocket-book  a  letter  of  recom- 
mendation to  Me"hmed  Ke'chid,  pasha 
of  Acre,  from  a  Turkish  friend  of  his 
who  for  some  time  had  been  member 
of  the  divan  at  Constantinople.  He 
himself  had  been  acquainted  with  the 
Pasha  during  his  abode  at  Paris  as 
member  of  the  Turkish  embassy,  and, 
as  luck  would  have  it,  all  this  was 
duly  set  forth  in  the  letter,  ^  which 
was  properly  indited  in  Arabic,  and 
which  the  Armenian,  after  placing  it 


1851.] 


Levantine  Rambles. 


453 


on  his  head  in  token  of  respect,  read 
aloud  to  the  captain  and  crew.  It  so 
happened  that  the  ship  was  now  off 
Acre,  where  she  was  compelled  to 
put  in  for  water;  and  the  bastinado 
which  M.  de  Nerval  had  threatened 
to  procure  for  the  crew,  on  their 
arrival  in  that  port,  no  longer  ap- 
peared to  them  in  the  light  of  an 
empty  menace.  The  hadji  and  his 
shipmates  drew  in  their  horns,  and 
were  all  humility ;  the  Greek  master 
apologised  for  the  little  vigour  he  had 
shown  in  repressing  their  insolence  ; 
and  as  to  the  yellow  slave — "  since 
you  are  the  friend  of  Me'hmed  Pasha, 
who  shall  say  she  is  not  lawfully 
yours ;  who  would  dare  to  contend 
against  the  favour  of  the  great  ? " 
So  spoke  Captain  Nicholas,  a  true 
modern  Greek  in  falseness  and 
servility.  And  Zeynab,  who  had 
been  refractory  and  had  called  her 
master  a  giaour,  was  sent  for  a  short 
space  to  keep  company  with  the  beetles 
in  the  captain's  cabin. 

However  delightful  may  be  a  cruise 
in  the  Levant,  onboard  a  well-found 
vessel  and  with  a  competent  crew,  it 
is  unpleasant,  and  at  times  almost 
perilous,  in  native  craft,  and  with  the 
deceitful  and  ignorant  Greek  and 
Arab  captains.  Mr  Neale  gives  a 
shocking  picture  of  his  discomforts  in 
an  Arab  felucca,  on  board  which  he 
coasted  from  Gaza  to  Caipha,  and 
again  from  Caipha  to  Sidon.  By 
special  stipulation,  he  and  his  servant 
were  to  be  the  sole  passengers. 
"  Allah  Rassi  (by  my  head)  it  shall 
be  as  you  desire,"  vowed  the  lying 
Keis,  when  entering  into  his  agree- 
ment in  presence  of  the  quarantine 
authorities  ;  but  when  the  "  only 
passenger  "  went  on  board,  he  found 
the  little  vessel  crowded  with  men, 
women,  and  children,  and  passed  a 
night  of  extreme  discomfort  and  irri- 
tation. Most  of  his  journeys  were 
by  land.  Starting  from  Gaza,  the 
southernmost  port  of  Syria,  he  made 
excursions  to  Hebron,  Jaffa,  and 
Jerusalem,  returned  to  Gaza,  and 
then  went  northwards  along  the  coast, 
branching  off  inland  to  visit  Antioch, 
Aleppo,  and  other  places,  and  con- 
cluding with  a  trip  into  Asia  Minor. 
Some  of  the  Syrian  towns  he  appears 
to  have  visited  repeatedly  during  the 
eight  years  he  spent  in  the  country, 
and  in  most  of  them  he  made  some 


stay.  To  any  traveller  proposing  to 
visit  Syria,  his  book  will  serve  as  a 
useful  itinerary.  He  had,  over  M. 
de  Nerval,  the  advantage  of  being 
well  acquainted  with  Arabic.  Like 
him,  he  has  a  fling  at  the  eccentrici- 
ties of  English  tourists,  and  exposes 
the  rogueries  of  dragomans.  He  gives 
a  ludicrous  account  of  the  proceed- 
ings of  these  worthies  at  Gaza,  where 
he  passed  some  months.  The  new 
Lazaretto  and  quarantine  establish- 
ment at  that  place  form  a  vast  edi- 
fice, situated  on  a  plain,  about  three 
hours'  journey  from  the  Egyptian 
frontier.  The  construction  was  com- 
pleted in  the  spring  of  1850,  at  great 
expense  to  the  Turkish  government. 
The  apartments  allotted  to  Euro- 
peans are  airy  and  wholesome  in 
summer,  warm  and  comfortable,  in 
winter;  the  charges  made  are  very- 
trifling  ;  and  the  term  of  detention  is 
but  five  days,  including  the  day  of 
entry  and  that  of  pratique :  so  that, 
waiving  the  question  of  the  expedi- 
ency of  quarantine  against  Egypt, 
travellers  might  fairly  be  expected  to 
submit  patiently,  and  with  a  good 
grace,  to  the  brief  incarceration  within 
walls  thirty  feet  high.  And  so  they 
for  the  most  part  do.  The  refrac- 
tory ones,  almost  without  exception, 
are  natives  of  the  British  isles.  In 
1850,  the  Nazir,  or  director  of  the 
quarantine,  was  Achmet  Effendi,  an 
affable  Turkish  gentleman  who  had 
been  educated  in  Italy,  spoke  and 
wrote  Italian  fluently,  was  a  good 
musician,  and  altogether  a  civilised 
and  agreeable  person,  very  different 
from  the  usual  run  of  pompous  pipe- 
smoking  Syrian  effendis.  The  medi- 
cal officer  was  Doctor  Esperon,  from 
whose  plan  and  under  whose  direc- 
tions the  Lazaretto  had  been  built. 
These  two  gentlemen  made  heavy 
complaints  of  the  trouble  occasioned 
by  the  majority  of  their  English 
visitors. 

"  Spanish  grandees,  Italian  nobles, 
German  barons,  and  Frenchmen,  whose 
families  had  pedigrees  more  antediluvian 
than  Noah,  were  wont  to  submit  calmly 
to  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the  estab- 
lishment, and  quitted  it  on  an  intimate 
footing  of  friendship  with  the  authorities ; 
but  no  sooner  was  the  proximity  of  a 
caravan  of  Englishmen  announced  than 
every  one  was  thrown  into  a  state  of  ex- 
citement, and  all  the  twenty  soldiers, 
with  their  truculent  lieutenant,  were  im- 


454 


Levantine  Rambles. 


mediately  drawn  up  in  battle  array.  The 
two  hundred  guardians  looked  hot  and 
fierce ;  ferocious-looking  camel-drivers 
were  pressed  into  the  service.  The 
Naair  twirled  his  huge  mustachios  ;  and 
the  doctor,  to  be  prepared  for  an  emer- 
gency, had  a  table  placed  in  the  gateway, 
on  which  he  made  a  diabolical  display  of 
surgical  instruments.  After  a  great  deal 
of  excitement  and  impatience,  a  little 
cloud  of  dust  proclaimed  the  arrival  of 
the  dreaded  individuals.  First  came  a 
couple  of  guardians,  with  drawn  swords 
and  very  hoarse  voices,  having  been 
wrangling  with  the  dragoman  all  the  way 
from  the  out-posts.  Then  one,  or  perhaps 
two,  nondescript  animals,  in  costumes 
hitherto  unheard  of,  with  sinister  faces 
and  mustachios  nine  inches  from  point  to 
point.  These  were  the  dragomans, -or 
interpreters,  who  always  accompany 
( milords '  on  their  travels,  speaking  a 
little  English,  just  sufficient  to  misunder- 
stand what  you  say,  and  making  them- 
selves a  little  useful  at  times,  in  amends 
for  which  sacrifices  they  are  exceedingly 
skilled  in  the  art  of  fleecing  or  plucking 
their  employers.  After  these,  the  milords 
themselves  heave  in  sight,  generally 
wearing  large  felt  hats,  covered  with 
calico,  the  whiteness  of  which  contrasts 
admirably  with  their  own  highly  inflamed 
countenances.  Once  opposite  the  quaran- 
tine gates,  a  violent  argument  instantly 
ensues.  The  orator  on  these  occasions  is 
generally  the  dragoman,  for  the  travellers 
are  too  weary  and  hot  to  take  any  active 
part.  The  first  concession  for  which  the 
fiery  interpreter  contends  is,  that  they 
may  be  permitted  to  pitch  their  own  tents 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  quarantine,  and  be 
allowed  to  stroll  as  far  as  the  beach 
(accompanied  by  guardians)  for  the  sake 
of  healthful  recreation.  This  point  is 
vainly  combated  by  the  authorities,  who 
*  show  cause  why '  such  privileges  should 
not  be  allowed  them— viz.,  such  as  the 
wind  accidentally  blowing  a  bit  of  straw 
or  a  rag  against  some  passenger,  causing 
the  said  unhappy  individual  to  be  imme- 
diately arrested  and  incarcerated  as  im- 
pure. Finally,  the  camels  on  which  the 
•tents  are  laden  are  forcibly  seized  and 
dragged  into  the  quarantine,  which  act 
settles  this  question  eternally  ;  but  there 
are  others  to  be  arranged,  and  these  are 
disputed  step  by  step,  and  inch  by  inch. 
The  first  set  of  guardians  who  are  placed 
to  guard  the  separate  apartments  of  the 
strangers  are  forthwith  kicked  out  of 
their  rooms.  But  the  uproar  that  ensues 
when  the  travellers  and  their  servants 
are  disarmed,  and  their  guns,  pistols,  and 
swords  taken  from  them  and  lodged  in 
the  armoury — this,  I  was  told,  beggars 
all  description.  The  interpreters  on  such 


[Oct. 

occasions  become  maniacs  ;  they  lie  on 
the  flat  of  their  backs,  and  kick  and  bite 
like  monkeys,  until,  overcome  by  num- 
bers and  their  injured  feelings,  they  go 
into  fits,  and  come  out  of  them  again,  the 
very  points  of  their  mustachios  hanging 
down  in  despair,  and  then  slink  about 
like  dogs  in  a  strange  street, '  effendi-ing' 
and  cringing  to  every  one  they  come 
across." 

The  riotous  proceedings  thus  hu- 
morously described  by  Mr  Neale 
were  often  the  fault  of  the  dragomans 
alone,  whose  employers,  ignorant  of 
any  other  language  than  English,  and 
completely  at  their  mercy,  were  un- 
wittingly made  accomplices  of  their 
turbulent  and  vexatious  manoeuvres. 
The  helplessness  of  Englishmen 
abroad,  when  they  get  off  those  beaten, 
tracks  along  which  their  language  is 
considered  the  necessary  accomplish- 
ment of  hotel-waiters  and  railway- 
clerks,  is  notorious  and  laughable,  and 
is  not  likely  to  diminish  until  a  good 
practical  knowledge  of  at  least  one 
foreign  language  is  set  down  as  an 
indispensable  part  of  the  most  ordi- 
nary education.  Both  in  purse  and 
comfort,  Englishmen  pay  dearly  for 
their  lingual  deficiencies,  and  for 
the  apparent  stiffness  and  reserve 
which  are  their  inevitable  conse- 
quences. Travelling  in  the  course  of 
the  year  perhaps  as  much  as  all  the 
rest  of  Europe  put  together,  they  are 
the  helpless  and  often  unsuspicious 
victims  of  guides,  interpreters,  valets- 
de-place,  and  innkeepers.  It  is  noto- 
rious that  in  most  parts  of  the  Con- 
tinent there  are  two  tariffs — one  for 
the  English,  and  one  for  all  other 
foreigners.  The  practice  extends 
even  to  Syria.  At  Beyrout,  M.  de 
Nerval,  attracted  by  savoury  odours, 
walked  one  day  into  the  trattoria  of  the 
Signor  Battista,  then  the  only  Frank 
hotel-keeper  in  the  place,  which  he 
had  previously  abstained  from  visit- 
ing, from  a  dread  of  exorbitant 
charges.  Upon  that  occasion,  how- 
ever, he  thought  he  would  venture  to 
try  the  table  d'hote,  which  was  spread 
upon  a  terrace  beneath  a  red  and 
white  awning.  Upon  an  adjacent 
door  he  read  the  following  inscription : 
Qm  si  paga  60  piastres  per  giorno. 
Sixty  piastres,  or  fifteen  francs,  for 
every  twenty-four  hours'  board  and 
lodging  at  a  Beyrout  hotel,  seemed  to 
him  rather  a  heavy  price.  He  took 


1851.] 


Levantine  Rambles. 


455 


his  seat,  however,  and  ate  his  dinner, 
side  by  side  with  an  English  mis- 
sionary, who  had  been  on  a  convert- 
ing expedition  into  the  mountains, 
and  who  triumphantly  exhibited  to 
him  a  book  full  of  the  signatures  of 
proselytes,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of 
whom,  a  lad  from  the  vicinity  of 
Bagdad,  he  had  with  him  in  the 
double  capacity  of  a  servant  and  of  a 
sample  of  his  success.  After  dinner, 
on  leaving  the  hotel,  "  I  was  surprised 
to  have  only  ten  piastres  (two  francs 
and  a  half)  to  pay  for  my  meal. 
Signor  Battista  took  me  aside,  and 
reproached  me  in  a  friendly  manner 
for  not  having  gone  to  stay  at  his 
hotel.  I  pointed  to  the  inscription 
announcing  sixty  piastres  a- day  to  be 
the  price  of  admission,  which  was  at 
the  rate  of  eighteen  hundred  piastres 
a-month.  iAh!  corpo  di  me  ! '  cried 
he,  *  that  is  for  the  English,  who  have 
a  great  deal  of  money,  and  are  all 
heretics ;  but  for  the  French,  and  other 
Romans,  it  is  only  five  francs.' " 
"Beyrout,"  says  Mr  Neale,  "is  a  very 
expensive  place  to  live  in,  and  a  very 
easy  one  to  die  in."  It  is  a  most 
flourishing  town,  although  an  un- 
pleasant residence.  Mr  Neale  visited 
it  many  times  during  his  stay  in 
Syria,  and  always  found  it  increasing 
in  wealth,  population,  and  dimen- 
sions. In  a  commercial  point  of  view, 
it  is  the  capital  of  Syria ;  it  contains 
more  European  inhabitants  than  any 
other  town,  is  the  residence  of  the 
various  consuls-general,  and  the  place 
of  adjustment  of  the  oft-recurring  dis- 
putes between  the  Druses  and  Maro- 
nites  of  the  Lebanon.  The  scenery 
around  it  is  beautiful.  M.  de  Nerval 
was  in  raptures  with  the  place.  "  A 
landscape  all  freshness,  shade  and 
silence ;  a  view  of  the  Alps  taken  from 
the  bosom  of  a  Swiss  lake.  Such,"  he 
says,  "  is  Beyrout."  Mr  Neale  says 
little  about  the  surrounding  scenery, 
but  dwells  at  some  length  upon  the 
creature- comforts  of  the  place,  its 
social  resources  and  mercantile  ad- 
vantages, its  hosts  of  fleas  and  mos- 
quitoes, and  horribly  noisy  barracks, 
the  two  greatest  nuisances  in  the 
town,  in  whose  very  centre,  close  to 
the  dwellings  of  some  of  the  most 
respectable  merchants,  the  latter  are 
situated. 

Released  from  quarantine,  M.  de 
Nerval    engaged  a  lodging    in   the 


house  of  a  Maronite  family,  half  a 
league  from  the  town.  During  his 
brief  residence  beneath  the  shadow 
of  the  yellow  flag,  he  had  taken  it 
into  his  head,  or  rather  the  blunder- 
ing Greek  Nicholas  had  made  him 
believe,  that  an  attachment  had 
sprung  up  between  the  young  Arme- 
nian scribe  and  the  yellow  slave. 
With  a  base  affectation  of  magna- 
nimity, but  evidently  with  secret  de- 
light at  the  prospect  of  getting  rid 
of  the  tatooed  beauty  whom  he  had 
so  imprudently  associated  with  his 
fortunes,  he  declared  her  emancipated, 
and  told  the  Armenian  to  marry  her. 
The  poor  scribe,  whose  only  posses- 
sions were  the  clothes  he  stood  in, 
and  the  copper  inkhorn  suspended  at 
his  girdle,  had  never  dreamed  of 
falling  in  love — far  less  of  marrying  ; 
and  as  to  Zeynab,  she  was  mon- 
strously offended  at  its  being  sup- 
posed she  could  bestow  a  thought 
upon  a  mere  raz/a,  the  servant  alter- 
nately of  Turks  and  Franks.  M.  de 
Nerval  found  he  had  been  misled  by 
the  officious  Greek,  and  by  his  own 
very  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  Ori- 
ental tongues.  The  Maronites  with 
whom  he  went  to  lodge  strongly  ad- 
vised him  to  sell  his  encumbrance, 
and  proposed  to  fetch  a  Turk  who 
would  buy  her;  but  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  do  this,  'and  ended  by 
sending  her  to  board  with  a  Marseilles 
lady  who  kept  a  school  at  Beyrout, 
and  who  promised  to  treat  her  kindly, 
and  convert  her  to  Christianity.  This 
matter  settled,  M.  de  Nerval  started 
for  the  mountains.  A  few  days  pre- 
viously, a  young  Emir,  or  Christian 
prince  of  a  district  of  Lebanon,  had 
come  to  lodge  in  the  same  house  with 
himself— had  sought  his  acquaintance, 
and  had  asked  him  to  go  and  pass  a 
few  days  with  him  in  the  interior  of 
the  country ;  an  invitation  which  he 
eagerly  accepted,  and  which  consoled 
him  in  some  measure  for  being  com- 
pelled to  abandon  a  tour  in  Palestine, 
marked  upon  his  itinerary. 

"  For  the  five  purses,"  he  mournfully 
exclaims,  "  expended  in  the  purchase  of 
this  gold-coloured  daughter  of  the  Ma- 
laccas, I  could  hare  visited  Jerusalem, 
Bethlehem,  Nazareth,  and  the  Dead  Sea 
and  the  Jordan !  Like  the  prophet  whom 
God  punished,  I  pause  upon  the  frontier 
of  the  Promised  Land,  of  which  I  can 
scarcely  obtain,  from  the  mountain's 


456 


Levantine  Rambles. 


summit,  a  distant  and  dejected  view. 
Grave  people  will  here  say  that  it  is 
always  wrong  to  act  differently  from 
everybody  else,  and  to  attempt  to  play 
the  Turk,  when  one  is  but  a  mere  Naza- 
rene  from  Europe.  Are  they  perhaps  in 
the  right  I— Who  knows !  " 

And  the  eccentric  rambler,  trying 
to  persuade  himself  that  all  is  for  the 
best  in  this  best  of  all  possible  worlds, 
suggests  the  probability  of  his  five 
purses  becoming  the  spoil  of  Bedouins 
during  his  journey  across  the  desert, 
talks  of  the  fatality  attaching  to  all 
things  Eastern,  mounts  a  hired  nag 
purveyed  for  him  by  the  conscientious 
Battista,  and  gallops  off  with  his 
friend  Abou  Miran,  Emir  of  Lebanon, 
belonging  to  the  most  illustrious 
family  in  the  district  of  Kesrawan, 
and  lord  of  ten  villages,  who  smiles 
good-humouredly  at  the  Frenchman's 
difficulty  in  riding  Arab  fashion, 
perched  on  a  high  saddle,  with  legs 
doubled  up  and  brass  stirrups  as  big 
as  fire-shovels.  "We  had  ridden 
about  a  league  when  they  showed  me 
the  grotto  whence  had  issued  the 
famous  dragon  which  was  on  the 
point  of  devouring  the  daughter  of 
the  King  of  Beyrout,  when  St  George 
pierced  it  with  his  lance.  The  place 
is  held  in  great  reverence  by  the 
Greeks,  and  even  by  the  Turks,  who 
have  built  a  little  mosque  on  the  spot 
where  the  combat  occurred."  For 
its  afternoon  meal,  the  cavalcade 
halted  in  the  village  of  Bethmeria, 
situated  on  a  mountain  platform. 
Here  was  evidence  of  the  constant 
feuds  between  Maronites  and  Druses. 

"We  passed  a  large  house,  whose 
crumbling  roof  and  blackened  beams 
told  of  a  recent  conflagration.  The 
prince  informed  me  that  the  Druses  had 
set  fire  to  the  building,  whilst  several 
Maronite  families  were  celebrating  a 
wedding  within  its  walls.  Fortunately, 
the  inmates  had  time  to  escape,  but  the 
strangest  circumstance  was  that  the  in- 
cendiaries were  inhabitants  of  the  same 
village.  Bethmeria  contains  a  mixed 
population  of  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 
Maronites  and  sixty  Druses,  with  an 
interval  of  scarcely  two  hundred  paces 
between  the  houses  of  the  two  sects.  In 
consequence  of  the  aggressions  of  the 
Druses,  a  bloody  struggle  took  place, 
and  the  Pasha  hastened  to  interpose  be- 
tween the  hostile  divisions  of  the  village 
a  little  camp  of  Albanians,  who  lived  at 
the  expense  of  the  rival  populations.  We 


[Oct. 

had  just  finished  our  repast,  consisting  of 
curdled  milk  and  fruit,  when  the  Sheik  of 
the  village  returned  home.  After  the 
first  salutations,  he  began  a  long  conver- 
sation with  the  prince,  complaining  bit- 
terly of  the  presence  of  the  Albanians, 
and  of  the  general  disarming  that  had 
been  enforced  in  his  district.  He  seemed 
to  think  that  this  measure  should  have 
been  enforced  upon  the  Druses  only,  as 
they  had  been  guilty  of  the  nocturnal 
attack  and  incendiarism.  Whilst  con- 
tinuing our  march,  my  guide  informed 
me  that  the  Maronite  Christians  of  the 
province  of  El  Garb,  in  which  we  were, 
had  endeavoured  to  expel  the  Druses 
scattered  through  several  villages,  and 
that  the  latter  had  called  to  their  assist- 
ance their  co-religionists  of  the  Anti- 
Lebanon.  Hence  one  of  those  struggles 
which  so  often  occur.  The  great  strength 
of  the  Maronites  is  in  the  province  of 
Kesrawan,  situated  behind  Djeba'il  and 
Tripoli,  whilst  the  largest  masses  of 
the  Druses  inhabit  the  provinces  that 
extend  from  Beyrout  to  St  Jean  d'Acre. 
The  Sheik  of  Bethmeria  complained 
to  the  prince  that,  in  the  recent  cir- 
cumstances I  have  spoken  of,  the  peo- 
ple of  Kesrawan  had  not  stirred  ;  but 
they  had  had  no  time,  the  Turks  having 
set  up  the  hue  and  cry  with  a  prompti- 
tude very  unusual  on  their  part.  The 
quarrel  had  occurred  just  at  the  moment 
of  paying  the  miri.  Pay  first,  said  the 
Turks ;  afterwards  you  may  fight  as  much 
as  you  please.  It  would  certainly  be 
rather  difficult  to  collect  tribute  from 
people  who  were  ruining  themselves  and 
cutting  each  other's  throats  at  the  very 
moment  of  the  harvest." 

M.  de  Nerval  was  invited  to  take 
coffee  with  the  Turkish  commandant, 
of  whom  he  inquired  whether  he  could 
safely  visit  the  Druse  portion  of  the 
village.  "  In  all  safety,"  was  the  re- 
ply. "  These  people  are  very  peace- 
able since  our  arrival,  otherwise  you 
would  have  had  to  fight  for  the  one 
or  the  other — for  the  white  cross  or 
the  white  hand  ;  "  the  emblems  that 
distinguish  the  banners  of  the  two 
parties,  both  having  red  grounds. 
M.  de  Nerval's  predilection  is  evi- 
dently for  the  Maronites,  who  ac- 
knowledge the  spiritual  authority  of 
the  Pope,  and  are  particularly  patro- 
nised by  France  and  Austria.  But 
he  did  the  Druses  less  than  justice  if 
he  anticipated  other  than  a  good  re- 
ception at  their  hands,  and  soon  he 
was  compelled  to  admit  and  admire 
their  patriarchal  hospitality.  He  was 
kindly  greeted  as  he  passed,  attended 


1851.] 


Levantine  Rambles. 


457 


only  by  a  lad,  before  their  gardens 
and  houses ;  the  women  brought  him 
fjesh  water  and  new  milk,  and  posi- 
tively refused  reward.  He  was  de- 
lighted with  this  "  more  than  Scot- 
tish hospitality."  At  the  further  end 
of  the  village  he  sat  down  in  the 
shadow  of  a  wall.  He  was  weary, 
and  the  sun  was  scorching  hot. 

"  An  old  man  came  out  of  the  house 
and  pressed  me  to  go  in  and  rest  myself. 
I  thanked  him,  but  declined,  for  it  was 
growing  late,  and  I  feared  my  com- 
panions might  be  uneasy  at  my  absence. 
Seeing  that  I  also  refused  refreshment, 
he  said  I  must  not  leave  him  without 
accepting  something,  and  he  went  in- 
doors, and  fetched  some  little  apricots 
and  gave  them  me  ;  then  he  insisted 
upon  accompanying  me  to  the  end  of  the 
street.  He  appeared  vexed  to  learn 
from  Moussa  that  'I  had  breakfasted 
with  the  Christian  Sheik.  '  Tis  I  who 
am  the  true  Sheik,'  he  said,  '  and  I  have 
a  right  to  show  hospitality  to  strangers.' 
Moussa  told  me  that  this  old  man  had 
been  the  Sheik  or  lord  of  the  village 
in  the  time  of  the  Emir  Be'chir  ;  but 
having  espoused  the  cause  of  the  Egyp- 
tians, the  Turkish  authorities  refused 
any  longer  to  recognise  him,  and  the 
election  had  fallen  on  a  Maronite." 

The  day  after  his  arrival  at  the 
Emir's  castle — a  Gothic  pile  with  a 
vast  internal  court — M.  de  Nerval 
was  presented  to  the  ladies  of  the 
family.  They  were  two  in  number, 
and  were  magnificently  dressed  for 
the  occasion,  with  heavy  girdles  of 
jewellery,  and  ornaments  of  diamonds 
and  rubies,  a  species  of  luxurious 
display  carried  to  a  great  extent  in 
Syria  even  amongst  women  of  rank 
inferior  to  these. 

"  As  to  the  horn  which  the  mistress  of 
the  house  balanced  upon  her  forehead, 
and  which  made  her  movements  resemble 
those  of  a  swan,  it  was  of  chased  enamel 
studded  with  turquoises  ;  her  hair  flowed 
down  upon  her  shoulders  in  tresses  in- 
termingled with  clusters  of  sequins,  ac- 
cording to  the  fashion  prevalent  in  the 
Levant.  The  feet  of  these  ladies,  doubled 
up  upon  the  divan,  were  stockingless, 
which  is  usual  in  this  country,  and  gives 
to  beauty  an  additional  charm,  very  re- 
mote from  our  ideas.  Women  who  hardly 
ever  walk,  who  perform,  several  times 
a  day,  perfumed  ablutions,  and  whose 
toes  are  uncramped  by  shoes,  succeed, 
as  may  be  imagined,  in  rendering  their 
feet  as  charming  as  their  hands.  The 
henna  dye,  which  reddens  the  nails,  and 


the  ankle-rings, rich  as  bracelets,  complete 
the  grace  and  charm  of  this  portion  of 
the  female  person,  in  Europe  rather  too 
much  sacrificed  to  the  glory  of  shoe- 
makers. 

After  the  first  day,  etiquette  and 
display  were  laid  aside;  the  ladies 
resumed  their  ordinary  attire,  and 
superintended  their  household,  then 
busy  gathering  in  the  silk-harvest. 
Hundreds  of  women  and  children 
were  engaged  in  winding  off  the  co- 
coons, which  hung  like  golden  olives 
upon  sheaves  of  cut  branches  piled 
together  in  the  huts.  M.  de  Nerval 
soon  found  himself  at  home  in  the 
Emir's  hospitable  castle,  and  on 
friendly  terms  with  the  ladies,  who 
asked  him  many  questions  about 
Europe,  and  spoke  of  several  travel- 
lers who  had  visited  them.  The  ideas 
of  the  Syrians  concerning  the  state  of 
France  and  other  European  countries 
are  not  generally  very  clear  or  correct. 
Mr  Neale,  when  at  Latachia,  (a  name 
of  aromatic  sound  to  smokers,)  draws 
a  lamentable  picture  of  their  geogra- 
phical ignorance. 

"The  chart  of  the  world,"  he  says, 
"  depicted  in  their  mind's  eye,  consists  of 
Constantinople,  Egypt,  Syria,  Cyprus, 
and  various  remote  islands,  situated  in 
the  centre  of  a  vast  ocean.  From  these 
islands  all  Franks  are  presumed  to  come. 
They  consider  the  nations  of  the  earth  to 
consist  of  the  Jews,  the  Turks,  the 
Egyptians,  the  Syrians,  and  the  Franks, 
who,  according  to  their  notions,  form  one 
empire,  speak  one  tongue,  and  are  of  one 
religion.  As  for  the  different  flags,  they 
ascribe  this  variety  solely  to  the  con- 
flicting tastes  of  the  different  consular 
agents." 

With  respect  to  politics,  the  people 
of  Lebanon  have  derived  many  con- 
tradictory ideas  from  their  European 
visitors,  a  large  proportion  of  whom 
are  French  Legitimists  on  a  pilgrim- 
age to  Jerusalem.  The  feuds  and 
divisions  of  the  Franks  can  have  no 
very  strong  interest  for  these  Turk- 
governed  Christians  and  Druses,  en- 
grossed as  they  are  by  their  own 
dissensions.  M.  de  Nerval  had  passed 
some  time  with  his  mountaineer 
friends,  hawking,  banqueting,  and 
making  excursions  to  convents  and 
other  objects  of  interest,  when  one 
evening,  just  as  he  was  thinking  of 
redescending  into  the  plain,  news 
came  of  an  inroad  of  the  Druses  into 


458  Levantine  Rambles. 

the  districts  which  had  been  disarmed    lately  passed  through, 


by  orders  of  the  Pasha  of  Beyrout. 
The  province  of  Kesrawan,  which 
belongs  to  the  pashalik  of  Tripoli,  had 
kept  its  arms,  and  Prince  Abou  Miran 
mustered  his  men  to  march  to  the 
assistance  of  his  co-religionists.  M. 
de  Nerval  accompanied  him,  planning 
exploits  which  were  to  immortalise 
his  name.  These  reduced  themselves, 
however,  to  a  fierce  onslaught  upon  a 
cactus-hedge,  which  he  gallantly  cut 
in  pieces  with  his  yataghan,  thus 
opening  a  passage  to  some  Maronite 
horsemen  who  accompanied  him,  and 
who,  finding  no  enemy,  began  to 
wreak  their  vengeance  upon  mulberry 
and  olive  trees,  the  chief  wealth  of 
the  unfortunate  Druses.  The  French- 
man presently  discovered,  to  his 
shame  and  regret,  that  the  plantations 
thus  ravaged  were  part  of  the  very 
village  in  which  he  had  been  so  hos- 
pitably treated  on  his  first  arrival  in 
the  mountains.  The  Emir  came  up 
and  checked  the  work  of  brutal  des- 
truction ;  the  alarm  proved  false  ;  the 
Druses  were  quiet  and  had  made  no 
incursion,  and  M.  de  Nerval  was 
defrauded  of  his  anticipated  glory. 
He  returned  to  Beyrout,  and  went  to 
call  on  Madame  Carles,  in  whose  care 
he  had  left  the  yellow  slave.  Zeynab 
was  gentle  and  contented,  but  would 
do  little  or  nothing.  She  picked  up  a 
few  words  of  French  from  the  children 
of  the  school,  but  would  learn  nothing 
useful,  for  fear  she  should  be  made  to 
work,  and  thus  degraded  to  the  rank 
of  a  servant.  Her  progress  towards 
the  religion  of  Rome  was  very  slow. 
When  shown  a  picture  of  the  Virgin, 
she  reminded  her  instructor  that  it 
had  been  written,  "  Thou  shalt  not 
worship  images."  M.  de  Nerval  set 
it  down  as  a  hopeless  case.  Madame 
Carles  was  still  sanguine  of  success. 
The  versatile  traveller's  attention, 
however,  was  quickly  distracted  from 
Zeynab  by  the  fair- haired,  taper- 
fingered  daughter  of  a  Druse  Sheik, 
then  in  prison  at  Beyrout  for  refusing 
to  recognise  the  Turkish  government, 
and  for  non-payment  of  the  tribute. 
His  property  had  been  sequestrated, 
and  all  had  abandoned  him  except  the 
beautiful  Salema,  who  boarded  with 
Madame  Carles,  and  went  every  day 
to  see  her  father.  M.  de  Nerval, 
whose  imagination  was  excited  by  the 
romantic  and  unusual  scenes  he  had 


[Oct. 

fell  in  love 

with  this  Arab  damsel,  went  to  visit 
her  father,  who  was  an  akftal,  a  sort 
of  sage  and  saint ;  and  after  much 
conversation,  and  receiving  a  long 
account  of  Hakem,  the  founder  of  the 
Druse  religion,  he  embarked  for  Acre 
to  obtain  from  the  Pasha  the  pardon 
of  his  future  father-in-law.  For  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  marry  Salema. 

The  Levantines  are  unable  to  com- 
prehend the  squirrel-like  restlessness 
of  the  Franks,  remarks  M.  de  Nerval, 
whilst  pacing  to  and  fro  the  deck  of 
the  English  brig  on  which  he  had 
taken  his  passage,  and  occasionally 
stumbling  over  the  legs  of  a  Turk  or 
Bedouin  who  lay  upon  his  mattress 
in  the  shadow  of  the  bulwarks,  and 
who  removed  his  pipe  from  his  lips  to 
curse  the  clumsiness  of  the  Christian. 
The  English  missionary  was  also  a 
passenger ;  but  M.  de  Nerval  barely 
tolerates  the  English,  and  fancied  that 
the  evangelical  gentleman  treated  him 
coldly  because  he  consorted  with  a 
second-class  passenger,  a  talkative 
bagman  from  Marseilles,  who  had 
got  a  curious  theory,  exaggerated  but 
not  unfounded,  concerning  the  very 
small  number  of  pure  Turks  remain- 
ing in  Turkey. 

"I  have  just  come  from  Constanti- 
nople," he  said  :  "  one  sees  nothing  there 
but  Greeks,  Armenians,  Italians,  Mar- 
seillese.  All  the  Turks  they  can  find 
they  make  into  cadis,  ulemas,  pashas,  or 
they  send  them  to  Europe  to  show  them. 
All  their  children  die;  it  is  a  race  that  is 
becoming  extinguished.  People  talk  of 
the  Sultan's  armies — of  what  do  they  con- 
sist ?  Of  Albanians,  Bosniaks,  Circas- 
sians, Kurds;  the  sailors  are  Greeks; 
only  the  officers  are  of  Turkish  race. 
You  take  them  out  to  fight;  they  all  run 
away  at  the  first  cannon-shot,  as  has 
often  been  seen — unless  the  English  are 
behind  them  with  their  bayonets,  as  in 
the  Syrian  affair." 

In  Syrian  waters,  and  with  the 
shattered  minarets  of  Acre  looming  in 
the  distance,  a  Frenchman  might  be 
excused  for  showing  a  little  irrita- 
bility. M.  de  Nerval  behaves  very 
well  upon  the  occasion,  and  spares 
the  unfortunate  English,  doubtless 
thinking  he  is  sufficiently  hard  upon 
them  in  other  parts  of  his  book, 
especially  when  he  excludes  them 
from  the  European  family,  as  dwellers 
"  upon  an  island  apart ;"  a  separation 


1851.] 


Levantine  Rambles. 


459 


upon  which,  considering  the  very 
turbulent  and  divided  state  of  that 
family,  they  have  certainly  of  late 
years  had  much  reason  to  congratu- 
late themselves.  Fresh  from  the 
semi-feudal  magnificence  of  the  Leba- 
non Emir's  castle,  and  dreaming  of  the 
proud  battlements  of  the  Templars' 
famous  city,  the  last  rampart  of  the 
crusades,  M.  de  Nerval  gazed  mourn- 
fully on  the  heaps  of  ruins  revealed  to 
him  by  the  rising  sun  a  few  hours 
after  his  arrival  in  the  port  of  Acre. 
It  may  console  him  to  learn  from  Mr 
Neale,  who  was  there  last  year,  that 
the  fortifications  are  being  rapidly 
repaired,  and  that  soon  there  will 
remain  but  few  traces  of  the  ravages 
of  British  shot  and  shell.  But  the 
French  traveller  was  too  engrossed 
by  the  main  object  of  his  visit  to  Acre 
to  dwell  long  upon  such  dry  matters 
as  broken  battlements.  He  could  not 
but  feel  moved,  however,  when  at 
daybreak  the  Marseillese  awoke  him 
and  showed  him  the  morning  star 
shining  just  over  the  village  of  Nazar- 
eth, only  eight  leagues  distant.  He 
proposed  to  his  new  acquaintance  to 
make  an  excursion  thither,  but  the 
matter-of-fact  bagman  threw  cold 
water  upon  the  project.  "It  is  a 
pity,"  he  said,  "that  the  Virgin's 
house  is  no  longer  there.  Of  course 
you  know  that  angels  transported  it 
in  a  single  night  to  Loretto,  near 
Venice.  Here  they  show  its  site — 
that  is  all.  It  is  not  worth  while 
going  so  far  to  see  a  thing  that  is  no 
longer  there."  Whilst  thus  damping 
his  companion's  enthusiasm,  the  pro- 
saic child  of  Provence  made  himself 
very  useful  by  his  knowledge  of 
Turkish  habits.  On  learning  that 
M.  de  Nerval  had  known  the  Pasha 
of  Acre  at  Paris,  and  had  a  letter  of 
recommendation  to  him,  which  he 
was  about  to  present,  he  advised  him 
to  resume  his  European  dress,  as 
likely  to  procure  him  an  earlier 
audience.  In  those  latitudes,  the 
bagman  was  as  good  as  a  court-guide. 
He  had  known  the  Pasha  at  Constan- 
tinople, where  he  went  by  the  nick- 
name of  Guezluk,  or  the  spectacle- 
wearer.  And  he  begged  M.  de 
Nerval  to  tell  him  that  he  had  for 
sale  a  musical  clock,  which  played 
airs  out^  of  numerous  Italian  operas, 
and  which  had  birds  on  the  top  of  it, 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXII. 


who  sang  and  flapped  their  wings. 
This  was  exactly  the  thing,  he  said, 
to  delight  the  Turks.  Duly  black- 
coated,  but  retaining  his  Turkish 
tarbusch  to  cover  his  shaven  head, 
M.  de  Nerval  presented  himself  at 
the  summer  kiosk  then  occupied  by 
the  Pasha.  His  European  garb  drew 
all  eyes  upon  him;  by  refusing  to 
take  oif  his  boots  at  the  door,  he 
further  increased  his  importance  ;  his 
letter  was  taken  in  to  the  Pasha,  and 
he  was  at  once  admitted  in  preference 
to  a  crowd  of  persons  who  were 
waiting  for  that  honour. 

"  I  expected  a  European  reception,  but 
the  Pasha  confined  himself  to  making  me 
sit  down  near  him  on  a  divan  which  ex- 
tended round  part  of  the  saloon.  He  af- 
fected to  speak  only  Italian,  although  I 
had  heard  him  speak  French  at  Paris  ; 
and,  having  addressed  to  me  the  custo- 
mary phrase  :  '  Is  your  Jcef  good  \ '  that 
is  to  say,  do  you  find  yourself  well  ?  he 
ordered  the  chibouque  and  coffee  to  be 
brought  to  me.  Some  commonplace  re- 
marks composed  our  conversation.  Then 
the  Pasha  repeated, '  Is  your  kef  good  \ ' 
and  another  cup  of  coffee  was  brought. 
I  had  been  walking  the  streets  of  Acre 
all  the  morning,  and  had  crossed  the  plain 
without  falling  in  with  anything  like  an 
eating-house ;  I  had  even  refused  a  piece 
of  bread  and  a  slice  of  Aries  sausage 
offered  me  by  the  Marseillese,  reckoning 
alittle  onMussuhnanhospitality  jbutwho 
shall  depend  upon  the  friendship  of  the 
great  ?  Our  conversation  continued,  with- 
out the  Pasha's  offering  me  anything  more 
substantial  than  tobacco  smoke  and  su- 
garless coffee.  For  the  third  time  he  re- 
peated, '  Is  your  kef  good  \ '  I  rose  to 
take  leave.  Just  then  noon  struck  upon 
a  clock  suspended  over  my  head,  and 
which  forthwith  began  to  play  a  tune  ; 
almost  immediately  a  second  clock 
struck,  and  began  a  different  air  5  a 
third  and  a  fourth  set  off  in  their  turn. 
The  discordant  effect  may  be  imagined. 
Accustomed  as  I  was  to  Turkish  eccenj 
tricities,  I  could  not  understand  the 
assemblage  of  so  many  clocks  in  one 
room.  The  Pasha  seemed  enchanted 
with  the  noise,  and  proud  to  show  a 
European  his  love  of  progress  and  civi- 
lisation. The  commission  given  to  me  by 
the  Marseillese  occurred  to  me,  but  the 
negotiation  appeared  so  much  the  more 
difficult  that  the  four  clocks  were  sym- 
metrically placed,  each  on  one  of  the  four 
sides  of  the  apartment.  Where  could  a 
fifth  be  put  1  I  said  nothing  about  it. 
Neither  did  I  deem  it  an  opportune  mo- 
2G 


460 


Levantine  Rambles. 


ment  to  broach  the  business  of  the  captive 
Sheik,  but  kept  this  delicate  matter  for 
another  visit,  when  the  Pasha  should 
perhaps  receive  me  less  coldly.  Alleging 
business  in  the  town,  I  took  my  leave. 
As  I  passed  through  the  court,  an  officer 
came  up  to  me,  and  said  that  the  Pasha 
had  ordered  two  cavass  to  accompany  me 
whithersoever  I  went.  I  did  not  exag- 
gerate to  myself  the  value  of  this  atten- 
tion, which  generally  amounts  to  a  heavy 
bakshish  to  be  given  to  each  of  the  said 
attendants." 

Once  more  in  the  town,  M.  de 
Nerval,  feeling  ravenous,  asked  his 
guard  of  honour  where  he  could  get 
breakfast.  They  stared,  and  said  it 
was  not  yet  the  hour,  but,  as  he  in- 
sisted, they  asked  him  for  a  Spanish 
dollar  to  purchase  fowls  and  rice, 
which  they  proposed  cooking  in  the 
nearest  guard-house.  This  appeared 
to  him  both  an  expensive  and  a  com- 
plicated manner  of  obtaining  a  meal, 
and  he  went  to  the  French  Consulate ; 
but  the  Consul  lived  on  the  other 
side  of  the  bay,  on  the  skirts  of 
Mount  Carmel. 

"Acre,  during  the  summer  months," 
says  Mr  Neale,  H  is  considered  the  most 
fatal  residence  for  Europeans  on  the 
western  coast  of  the  Mediterranean.  Its 
fevers  are  so  pernicious  that  few  survive 
an  attack  for  a  longer  space  than  forty  - 
eight  hours.  So  trivial  are  the  causes 
which  give  rise  to  this  malignant  disease, 
that  the  smallest  deviation  from  a  tem- 
perate regimen,  or  the  slightest  exposure 
to  heat  or  cold,  renders  one  liable  to  an 
immediate  attack,  and,  as  the  doctor 
coolly  told  me,  ensuite  vous  succombez." 

To  avoid  which  unpleasant  eventu- 
ality, the  European  residents  have 
country  houses.  Little  disposed  to 
go  as  far  as  Mount  Carmel  for  a 
breakfast,  M.  de  Nerval  went  to  the 
bazaar,  and  hunted  up  the  Marseil- 
lese,  whom  he  found  in  the  act  of 
selling  to  a  Greek  merchant  an  as- 
sortment of  those  old  warming-pan 
watches,  now  out  of  fashion  in  Eu- 
rope, but  which  the  Turks  greatly 
prefer  to  the  modern  flat  ones.  With 
them  the  value  of  a  watch  is  estimated 
by  its  size.  The  Marseillese  produced 
the  never-failing  sausage,  upon  which, 
and  upon  unleavened  bread,  the  only 
sort  obtainable,  the  hungry  Parisian 
made  an  indifferent  repast.  They 
offered  some  sausage  to  the  two  ca- 


[Oct. 

vass,  who  refused,  from  a  religious 
scruple.  "  Poor  devils !  "  said  the 
bagman,  contemptuously,  "  they  think 
it  is  pork;  they  do  not  know  that 
Aries  sausage  is  made  of  mule's  flesh." 
A  fact  which  may  also  be  rather  novel 
to  some  of  the  English  consumers  of 
the  monster  sausages  sold  in  Italian 
warehouses,  into  many  of  which  not 
a  morsel  of  pig  enters.  Rendered 
expansive  by  his  meal,  M.  de  Nerval 
confided  to  the  Marseillese  the  story 
of  his  love  for  the  Druse  maiden,  and 
the  object  of  his  visit  to  Acre.  The 
dealer  in  clocks  and  watches,  who, 
for  common  sense,  was  worth  ten  of 
his  companion,  evidently  thought  him 
a  fool  for  his  pains,  and,  with  a  view 
to  discourage  his  folly,  told  him  cu- 
rious anecdotes  of  the  religious  prac- 
tices of  certain  Druse  sects,  practices 
certainly  well  calculated  to  scandalise 
a  European.  The  day  wore  on,  and 
when  the  hour  of  dinner  approached, 
M.  de  Nerval  was  informed  by  his 
attendants  that  he  was  expected  at 
the  Pasha's  table.  This  was  unex- 
pected by  him,  but  a  matter  of  course 
— so  his  bagman  informed  him — since 
the  Pasha  had  given  him  an  escort. 
When  he  reached  the  kiosk  the  levee 
had  long  been  over.  Passing  through 
the  clock-room,  he  found  the  Pasha 
smoking,  seated  upon  the  window- 
ledge  of  the  apartment  beyond.  The 
Turk  rose  on  his  approach,  held  out 
his  hand,  and  asked  him  how  he  was, 
in  excellent  French.  M.  de  Nerval 
could  not  conceal  his  surprise.  "  You 
must  excuse  me,"  said  his  host,  "  if  I 
received  you  this  morning  en  pasha. 
Those  worthy  people  who  were  wait- 
ing for  an  audience  would  never  have 
forgiven  me  had  I  been  wanting  in 
etiquette  with  a  Frangi.  At  Constan- 
tinople, every  one  would  understand 
it ;  but  here  we  are  in  a  country  town." 
Me"hmet  Pasha  had  studied  at  the 
artillery  school  at  Metz,  and  spoke 
French  exceedingly  well.  He  was 
amiable,  affable,  and  courteous.  He 
and  his  guest  dined  tete-a-tete,  at  a 
table,  and  seated  on  chairs,  in  the 
European  fashion.  M.  de  Nerval,  in 
his  passion  for  Orientalism,  would 
rather  have  squatted  on  a  cushion 
upon  the  floor.  After  dinner,  instead 
of  the  introduction  of  dancing-girls, 
or  some  other  Eastern  amusement, 
he  was  taken  down  stairs  to  a  bil- 


1851.] 


Levantine  Rambles. 


461 


Hard-room,  where  the  Pasha  made 
him  play  till  one  in  the  morning. 

"  I  let  myself  be  beaten  as  much  as  I 
could,  amidst  the  shouts  of  laughter  of 
the  Pasha,  who  was  delighted  at  this  re- 
turn to  the  amusements  of  Metz.  '  A 
Frenchman— a  Frenchman  who  lets  him- 
self be  beaten  ! '  cried  he.  '  I  admit,' 
said  I,  '  that  St  Jean  d'Acre  is  not  fa- 
vourable to  our  arms ;  but  here  you  fight 
alone,  and  the  former  Pasha  of  Acre  had 
the  cannons  of  England.'  At  last  we 
separated.  They  conducted  me  into  a 
very  large  apartment,  lighted  by  a  wax- 
candle,  fixed  in  an  enormous  candlestick, 
and  placed  upon  the  ground  in  the  centre 
of  the  room.  This  was  a  return  to  local 
customs.  The  slaves  made  me  a  bed 
with  cushions  upon  the  ground ;  upon 
which  they  spread  sheets,  sewn  on  one 
side  to  the  blankets.  I  was  moreover 
accommodated  with  a  great  nightcap  of 
yellow  quilted  silk,  with  quarters  like  a 
melon." 

Greatly  diverted  was  the  good  na- 
tured  Pasha  on  being  made  acquainted 
with  his  guest's  matrimonial  designs, 
and  with  the  countless  annoyances  he 
had  brought  upon  his  head  by  the 
imprudent  purchase  of  a  yellow  slave, 
whom  he  now  scrupled  to  send  away, 
to  sell,  or  to  abandon  to  her  fate. 
To  evade  these  scruples,  the  Pasha 
proposed  a  barter :  he  would  give  him 
a  horse  for  Zeynab.  Even  this  would 
not  do.  The  fate  of  the  Druse  Sheik 
depended  more  upon  the  governor  of 
Beyrout  than  upon  Mehmet  Pasha, 
who,  however,  interposed  his  good 
offices,  and  the  saintly  father  of 
Sale'ma  was  released  and  allowed  to 
return  to  his  country.  He  was  in- 
formed, at  the  same  time,  that  he 
owed  his  liberty  to  M.  de  Nerval's 
intercession  with  the  Pasha  of  Acre. 
His  manner  of  returning  thanks  struck 
his  deliverer  as  strange.  "  If  you 
wished  to  be  useful,"  he  said,  "  you 
have  done  but  what  is  every  man's 
duty ;  if  you  had  an  interested  motive, 
why  should  I  thank  you?"  This 
was  grateful  and  encouraging.  Never- 
theless, M.  de  Nerval  accompanied 
the  old  gentleman  and  his  daughter 
to  their  abode,  a  village  embowered 
in  vines  and  mulberry  trees,  within  a 
day's  journey  of  Damascus.  He  is 
kind  enough  to  suppress  the  history 
of  his  courtship,  merely  mentioning 
that  the  amiable  Salema  presented 
him  with  a  red  tulip,  and  planted  in 
her  father's  garden  an  acacia  sapling, 


which  was  to  have  some  mysterious 
connection  with  their  loves.  The 
period  of  their  marriage  was  fixed, 
and  not  very  remote,  when  the  future 
bridegroom  was  attacked  by  one  of 
those  Syrian  fevers  which,  if  they  do 
not  carry  off  the  patient  in  less  time, 
often  last  for  months  and  even  for 
years.  In  hopes  of  regaining  his 
health,  he  went  to  Beyrout,  which 
enjoys  the  reputation  of  one  of  the 
least  feverish  places  in  Syria,  with- 
out on  that  account,  according  to 
Mr  Neale,  having  much  to  boast  of 
in  the  way  of  salubrity.  It  did  not 
restore  M.  de  Nerval,  who  with  diffi- 
culty mustered  sufficient  strength  to 
proceed,  by  an  Austrian  packet,  to 
Smyrna  and  Constantinople.  There 
he  gradually  recovered  his  health. 
Profiting  by  the  opportunities  for  cool 
reflection  afforded  by  a  long  conva- 
lescence, he  weighed  the  advantages 
and  disadvantages  of  his  projected 
marriage,  and  finally  wrote  to  the 
Sheik  to  declare  off.  A  narrow  es- 
cape, cheaply  purchased  at  the  price 
of  a  fever. 

Whilst  tracing  the  vagaries  of  this 
fantastical  Frenchman,  we  have  given 
less  than  his  share  of  space  to  Mr 
Neale,  whose  experience  of  Syria  is 
more  recent,  and  his  acquaintance 
with  the  country  more  general  and 
complete.  Travel  in  Syria  is  not 
without  its  perils  and  inconveniences, 
even  for  Englishmen,  to  whom  the 
events  of  1840  have  secured,  espe- 
cially along  the  sea-board,  a  peculiar 
degree  of  civility  and  consideration. 

"  The  general  opinion  of  an  English 
traveller,"  says  Mr  Neale,  referring  par- 
ticularly to  the  lower  classes,  "  is,  that 
he  is  either  a  lunatic  or  a  magician  ; — 
a  lunatic,  if  on  closely  watching  his 
movements,  they  discover  that  he  pays 
little  attention  to  anything  around  him  ; 
— a  confirmed  lunatic,  if  he  goes  out 
sketching,  and  spends  his  time  in  spoiling 
good  paper  with  scratches  and  hierogly- 
phics ; — and  a  magician,  when  inquisitive 
about  ruins,  and  given  to  picking  up 
stones  and  shells,  gathering  sticks  and 
leaves  of  bushes,  or  buying  up  old  bits  of 
copper,  iron,  and  silver.  In  these  cases 
he  is  supposed,  by  aid  of  his  magical 
powers,  to  convert  stones  and  shells  into 
diamonds  of  immense  price  ;  and  the 
leaves  and  sticks  are  charms,  by  looking 
at  which  he  can  bestow  comforts  upon 
his  friends,  and  snakes  and  pestilence 
upon  his  luckless  enemies.  If  a  tra- 


462 

veller  pick  up  a  stone,  and  examine  it 
carefully,  he  will  be  sure  to  have  at  his 
heels  ahost  of  malapert  little  boys  deriding 
him,  though  keeping  at  a  very  respectful 
distance,  in  deference  to  his  magical 
powers.  Should  he,  indeed,  turn  round 
suddenly,  and  pursue  them  a  few  steps, 
they  fly  in  an  agony  of  fear,  the  very 
veins  in  their  naked  little  legs  almost 
bursting  ;  and  they  never  stop  to  look 
back  till  they  have  got  well  amongst  the 
-crowd  again,  where,  panting  for  breath, 
they  recount  to  their  auditors  the  dread- 
ful look  that  devil  of  a  Frank  gave  them, 
making  fire  come  out  of  his  eyes,  and 
adders  out  of  his  mouth." 

There  are  places  in  Syria  where 
Europeans  are  subject  to  far  more 
serious '  annoyances  than  these.  At 
Latachia,  for  instance,  although  it  is  a 
place  of  considerable  intercourse  with 
Europe,  in  the  way  both  of  trade  and 
travellers,  the  Turkish  inhabitants  are 
furious  fanatics,  and  have  several 
times  assembled  in  mobs,  and  attacked 
and  maltreated  European  and  native 
Christians,  compelling  them  to  seek 
safety  in  flight.  ISTot  more  than  three 
years  ago,  the  Roman  Catholic  inha- 
bitants were  besieged  within  the  walls 
of  the  Latin  monastery,  whilst  hear- 
ing mass  in  its  chapel,  by  a  mob  of 
bigoted  Turks,  who  were  escorting  a 
renegade  Christian  to  the  mosque.  At 
this  fellow's  instigation  a  plan  was 
formed  to  storm  the  convent,  and  put 
to  death  all  its  inmates.  The  gates 
were  not  strong  enough  long  to  resist 
the  desperate  assault  made  upon  them ; 
so  the  congregation,  by  means  of  a 
ladder,  got  through  a  window  of  the  ad- 
jacent French  Consulate,  and  through 
a  garden  to  the  sea-side,  where  they 
took  boat  for  the  little  island  of  Ruad, 
the  usual  refuge  of  the  Latachia 
Christians  when  thus  molested.  Satis- 
faction was  demanded  and  obtained 
by  a  French  man-of-war,  and  the 
ringleaders  of  the  riot  were  basti- 
nadoed and  sent  into  exile,  which 
checked  for  a  while  the  violence  of  the 
Turks ;  but  they  are  still  very  insolent 
to  Christians,  and  Mr  ISTeale  declares 
he  should  never  feel  altogether  secure 
at  Latachia,  "  so  long  as  many  of  the 
Ayans  and  Effendis  are  permitted  to 
carry  on  their  intrigues  and  machina- 
tions with  impunity."  But  for  this 
drawback,  Latachia  would  be  one  of 
the  most  desirable  residences  in  Syria. 
"  The  environs  are  extremely  beauti- 
ful, and  abound  with  delicious  apricot 


Levantine  Rambles.  [Oct. 

and  peach  trees.  Mulberry  planta- 
tions and  vineyards  are  also  very 
plentiful ;  and  the  melon  and  water- 
melon here  attain  great  perfection. 
The  dark-leaved  pomegranate,  with  its 
deep  vermilion  blossoms,  intertwines 
with  its  fairer  neighbour,  the  orange  - 
tree,  and  behind  them  rises  the  stately 
poplar,  over  which  peeps  the  more 
stately  minaret,  making  altogether  a 
charming  picture."  Minarets  abound. 
This  little  town,  of  about  five  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  "  contains  upwards 
of  a  dozen  mosques,  each  endeavour- 
ing to  surpass  the  other  in  the  beauty 
of  its  architecture  and  the  quaint 
elegance  of  its  cupolas  and  minarets. 
The  other  public  buildings  are  also 
fine  structures,  and  the  gardens  teem 
with  rich-scented  flowers  and  shrubs." 
Water  is  very  scarce,  and  to  get  it 
pure  the  Latachiaus  are  compelled  to 
send  daily  to  a  distance  of  six  miles. 
The  climate  is  excellent,  and  fever,  so 
general  in  Syria,  would  there  scarcely 
be  known,  but  for  the  uncleanly  ways 
of  the  people.  The  streets  are  the 
receptacle  for  skins  of  fruit,  decayed 
vegetables,  dead  cats,  rats,  and  dogs. 
The  atmosphere  thus  generated  may 
be  imagined.  In  vain  has  the  qua- 
rantine doctor  endeavoured  to  work  a 
reform  by  urgent  representations  to 
the  governor  of  the  town.  "  Peki" 
(very  good,)  says  that  dignitary, 
touching  the  side  of  his  turban  with 
his  hand ;  but  that  is  the  whole  extent 
of  his  co-operation.  The  doctor  is 
approved  of,  his  wishes  are  acceded 
to,  but  the  streets  remain  foul.  Turk- 
ish activity  seldom  gets  beyond  peki. 
Once,  however,  some  men  really  were 
set  to  play  the  scavenger.  They 
swept  all  the  oflal  into  heaps  at  the 
street-crossings ;  and  having  thus 
stirred  up  the  filth,  and  concentrated 
the  nuisance,  considered  their  duty 
done,  and  retired,  proud  of  their  ex- 
ertions. 

The  tobacco  commonly  known  in 
Europe  as  Latachia,  is  shipped  at 
that  port,  but  grown  at  or  around  the 
pretty  little  town  of  Gibili,  a  short 
distance  to  the  south.  The  Gibili 
tobacco,  and  the  Aboo  Reah,  or 
father  of  essences,  are  renowned  all 
over  the  East,  and  esteemed  the 
finest  and  most  aromatic  tobaccoes  in 
the  world.  The  fields  in  which  they 
are  grown  are  manured  with  goats' 
dung,  and  more  or  less  watered  ac- 


1851.] 


Levantine  Rambles. 


463 


cording  to  the  strength  of  tobacco 
required.  The  less  the  water,  the 
stronger  the  flavour  of  the  weed. 
When  gathered,  the  leaves  are  ex- 
posed for  three  nights  to  the  dew, 
then  strung  together,  hung  up  to  dry, 
packed  in  bales  and  sent  in  feluccas 
to  Latachia,  where  they  are  stored  in 
dry  warehouses  until  exported.  The 
port  of  Latachia,  which  retains  the 
town's  ancient  name  of  Laodicea, 
was  once  of  great  capacity,  and  could 
contain,  it  is  said,  six  hundred  ves- 
sels ;  but  time  and  earthquakes,  war- 
fare and  neglect,  have  played  havoc 
with  it.  Rocks  and  ruins  have  rolled 
into  the  basin  ;  and  although  its  sur- 
face is  still  spacious,  its  depths  are 
treacherous ;  and  it  is  not  deemed 
safe  and  convenient  for  more  than 
thirty  vessels,  averaging  two  hundred 
and  fifty  to  three  hundred  tons  each. 
The  commercial  importance  of  the 
town  would  be  likely  to  increase  con- 
siderably, were  the  road  from  Aleppo 
less  steep  and  dangerous  for  camels, 
whose  drivers  consequently  demand 
exorbitant  rates  for  the  carriage  of 
goods  to  Latachia,  and  take  them  on 
much  easier  terms  to  the  more  nor- 
therly port  of  Scanderoon  or  Alex- 
andretta,  through  which  passes  the 
whole  commerce  of  northern  Syria. 
Independently  of  the  better  road, 
Scanderoon  is  nearer  than  Latachia 
to  Aleppo,  and  is  its  natural  port ; 
otherwise  its  abominable  climate 
would  alone  suffice  to  make  commer- 
cial residents  prefer  its  rival. 

"  The  first  thing  that  strikes  a  stranger 
on  arriving  at  Alexandretta  is  the  com- 
plexion of  the  inhabitants,  natives  as 
well  as  Europeans.  They  have  a  strange 
unearthly  yellow  tinge,  with  deep  sunken 
eyes  and  a  shrivelled  frame,  facts  which 
speak  more  than  volumes  for  the  perni- 
cious effects  of  marsh  miasma.  Fever 
and  ague  have  set  their  seal  on  every 
face  ;  and  with  so  indelible  a  mark,' that 
a  Scanderoon  is  easily  distinguished  in 
any  other  city,  and  immediately  pointed 
out." 

The  wretched  aspect  of  these 
"churchyard  deserters,"  as  an  English 
merchant  captain  called  them,  is  trace- 
able to  the  most  brutal  Turkish  folly 
and  obstinacy.  Alexandretta  is  en- 
circled for  miles  with  pestilential 
marshes.  On  approaching  the  port 
from  Aleppo,  an  ancient  Roman  road, 


infamously  out  of  repair,  brought  Mr 
Neale  and  his  guide  to  "a  very 
rickety  old  bridge,  spanning  a  canal, 
filled  from  a  small  but  restless  spring, 
whose  waters,  (which  never  cease 
trickling,)  finding  no  adequate  outlet, 
have  created  those  baneful  marshes 
which  surround  the  town,  extending 
over  nearly  the  whole  plain.  The 
canal  was  originally  cut  by  Ibrahim 
Pasha,  at  the  instigation  of  an  intel- 
ligent Italian,  who  acted  as  consul 
for  several  European  states,  Mr  Mar- 
tinelli,  and  it  still  retains  his  name." 
So  long  as  the  Egyptian  viceroy  was 
paramount  in  Syria,  this  canal  was 
kept  in  good  order,  and  duly  cleansed 
of  mud  and  weeds  by  an  English 
machine.  Then  came  the  evacuation 
of  Syria.  Before  marchiug  away,  the 
Egyptian  soldiery  destroyed  the  ma- 
chine. The  canal,  which  had  already 
in  great  measure  drained  the  marshes, 
and  had  proved  a  blessing  to  the  fever- 
ridden  population,  was  neglected  by 
the  Turks,  is  now  choked  up,  and  wilt 
soon  altogether  disappear.  The  mer- 
chants oif  Aleppo  and  the  European 
consuls  have  done  all  in  their  power 
to  get  the  Turkish  government  to 
resume  the  work  of  drainage.  "  Some 
soi-disant  engineers  were  sent  to 
form  an  estimate  of  what  the  cost- 
would  be :  these  employes,  the  bane 
of  Turkey  as  far  as  useful  works  are 
concerned,  estimated  what  ought  ta 
be  their  gains,  and  the  sum  frightened 
the  authorities,  who,  as  they  always 
do  upon  like  occasions,  religiously 
concealed  the  estimate  under  the- 
divan  cushions,  and  there  the  matter 
rested."  In  1844,  the  European  re- 
sidents in  Scanderoon  got  up  a  sub- 
scription amongst  themselves,  and 
actually  began  to  drain.  What  did 
the  Turkish  authorities?  Threatened 
the  labourers  with  the  bastinado, 
which  effectually  stopped  the  good 
work.  The  motive  assigned  was  that 
"  the  Franks,  when  the  work  was 
completed,  would  probably  lay  claim 
to  the  recovered  land  !  "  Thus  are 
matters  managed  in  Syria,  and  thus 
are  replenished  the  graveyards  of 
Scanderoon.  The  self-same  Turks, 
whose  parsimony  and  paltry  jealousy 
prohibit  the  sanitary  measure  so 
greatly  needed,  are  martyrs  to  fever 
and  ague,  whilst  the  poor  peasants, 
thanks  to  unwholesome  diet,  damp 


464  Levantine  Rambles. 

lodgings,  and  the  ridiculously  long 
and  rigid  fasts  prescribed  by  the  Greek 
church,  are  subject,  in  addition  to 
those  two  maladies,  to  dropsy  and 
various  other  diseases.  The  unwilling- 
ness of  the  local  authorities  to  aid  or 
even  to  sanction  any  amelioration 
of  the  wretched  state  of  Scanderoon, 
arises  partly  from  the  blundering  ar- 
rangement by  which  that  port  and 
Aleppo  are  in  different  Pashaliks.  As 
the  custom- dues  are  paid  at  Aleppo, 
the  Pasha  of  Adana,  under  whose  sway 
is  Scanderoon,  takes  little  interest  in 
the  welfare  of  a  port  from  which  he 
derives  no  revenue,  great  though  its 
trade  is.  "  The  whole  male  popula- 
tion of  Alexandretta  are  occupied  in 
landing,  weighing,  and  rolling  to  the 
warehouses  the  cargoes  of  Manches- 
ter bales  brought  by  the  different 
vessels.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  a 
scene  more  bustling  and  discordant." 
Clamorous  muleteers  and  camel- 
drivers  load  and  unload  their  beasts, 
custom-house  officers  and  factors  con- 
tinually dispute,  masters  of  mer- 
chantmen are  anxious  to  land  their 
goods,  or  eager  to  settle  and  depart ; 
"  cadaverous  Italian  skippers,  who 
have  been  three  months  '  on  the 
berth'  for  Leghorn,  and  have  as  yet 
about  as  many  bales  of  wool  on 
board,  make  frantic  inquiries  about 
their  Syrian  consignee's  intentions, 
and  being  pacified  with  stout  pro- 
mises, return  on  board,  and  catch 
fish  for  the  crew  till  dinner-time." 
All  are  busy,  and  all  foreigners  long 
to  get  away  from  a  place  where,  if 
they  stop  but  a  day  too  long,  they 
may  remain  for  ever,  tenants  of  a 
grave  in  its  marshy  and  feverish  soil. 
The  loading  of  the  camels  is  an  espe- 
cially ticklish  matter,  and  leads  to 
much  wrath  amongst  the  drivers. 
"  Two  bales  must  be  found  of  equal 
weight ;  these  are  not  always  to  be 
secured,  and  the  struggle  that  ensues 
amongst  the  cameliers  for  such  a 
couple  defies  description."  The 
Turkoman  camel,  a  much  finer  ani- 
mal than  the  Syrian,  will  carry, 
equally  poised,  two  bales  weighing 
together  half  a  ton.  "  I  have  seen 
at  times  as  many  as  one  thousand 
camels  leave  Alexandretta  for  Aleppo 
in  one  day,  bearing  high  aloft  upon 
their  backs  two  thousand  Manchester 


[Oct. 


iron-bound  bales  of  twist  and  manu- 
factures." A  sight  to  rejoice  the 
heart  of  Cobden,  and  to  reconcile 
even  that  peace-loving  agitator  to 
the  bombardments  and  skirmishings 
by  which  so  important  a  debouche  was 
secured  for  the  produce  of  the  city  of 
his  affections.  It  might  interest  him 
to  calculate  at  what  rate  per  quarter, 
when  a  loaf  of  bread  costs  twopence 
at  Alexandretta,  (Neale's  Syria,  ii. 
212,)  Syrian  wheat  might  be  de- 
livered in  Liverpool  by  way  of  returns 
for  the  camel-borne  Manchester  cot- 
tons. If  it  is  easy  to  die  at  Scande- 
roon, it  is  certainly  cheap  to  live 
there.  Mutton  costs  twopence  the 
pound,  fresh  butter  less  than  a  penny, 
and  other  articles  of  food  are  at  pro- 
portionably  low  prices.  So  says  Mr 
F.  A.  Neale,  who  must  be  held  excel- 
lent authority,  since  he  was  long  re- 
sident at  Scanderoon,  where  he  was 
never  entirely  free  from  ague,  but 
passed  his  time  swallowing  quinine, 
and  thought  himself  the  happiest  of 
mortals  when  he  enjoyed  three  weeks 
of  uninterrupted  health. 

No  book  of  the  class  of  Mr  Neale's 
ought  to  be  issued  to  the  public  un- 
accompanied by  a  map.  A  small  one 
would  suffice,  and  it  need  comprise 
little  more  than  the  outline  of  the 
coast,  the  definition  of  boundaries, 
the  course  of  large  rivers  and  moun- 
tain ranges,  and  those  towns  and  vil- 
lages referred  to  in  the  text.  Such 
means  of  reference  and  elucidation 
add  greatly  to  the  interest  and  value 
of  a  narrative  of  travel  and  descrip- 
tion of  a  country.  Only  a  minority 
of  readers  are  likely  to  have  an  atlas 
always  at  hand,  or  to  possess  such 
great  familiarity  with  geographical 
details  as  may  render  one  unneces- 
sary. Authors  and  publishers  of 
books  of  travels  are  prone  to  expend 
upon  lithographed  landscapes  and 
other  embellishments — things  glanced 
at  for  a  moment,  and  regarded  no 
more — money  which  might  be  laid 
out  to  the  greater  advantage  of  their 
readers  and  of  themselves  in  the 
engraving  of  maps.  We  cannot 
make  an  exception  to  this  general 
rule,  even  in  favour  of  the  two  pretty 
sketches  of  Gaza  and  Nargheslik, 
which  face  the  title-pages  of  Mr 
Neale's  agreeable  volumes. 


1851.]  Day-Dreams  of  an  Exile.  465 


DAY-DREAMS   OF  AN  EXILE. 


COME,  love,  and  seat  you  here  awhile, 
Cheer  me  with  your  happy  smile  ; 
Fast  the  days  of  life  slip  by, 

Though  each  may  now  seem  slow, 
Comes  swift  and  irresistibly 
The  last  one,  and  we  go. 
This  I  know,  and  do  but  crave 

(If  I  leave  a  word  or  two) 
After  I  am  in  my  grave, 

They  may  speak  of  me  to  you. 
Far  away  from  English  things, 
Here  my  spirit  folds  her  wings  ; 

Content  if  all  she  looks  upon, 
Even  if  neither  rare  nor  strange 

Speak  of  pleasures  she  has  known, 
Or  hopes  that  cannot  change. 

Ever,  as  I  gaze  around 
Our  little  chamber's  hallowed  ground, 
Each  familiar  sight  I  see 
Speaks  aloud  of  Home  to  me, 
Here,  and  there  beyond  the  Sea, 
And  the  fair  Home  that  is  to  be. 
Familiar  as  their  faces  seem 
Do  they  not  minister  a  dream 
Of  pasture  green,  and  cool  hill-side, 
Waving  wood  arid  moorland  wide, 
Distant  meadows  white  with  flocks, 
Streams  that  shine  among  their  rocks, 
Stormy  shadow  broadly  borne 
O'er  yellow  fields  of  bending  corn, 
And  sheeny  sparklings  of  the  sea 
Heaving  and  murmuring  delightedly. 

In  the  long  dawn  of  vernal  day 
How  often  have  I  burst  away, — 
Fared  gaily  through  the  sleeping  Town 
And  wandered  to  the  woods  alone. 
The  Bee  hummed  in  the  Eglantine, 
And  the  breeze  swayed  the  curls  of  the  young  Woodbine  ; 
The  May  scented  the  hedges  along, 
The  Lark  was  above  like  a  star  of  song ; 
Through  the  hay-hung  lanes  we  go 

Over  the  style,  across  the  meadow, 
Where  the  swift  streams  whispering  flow, 

Where  the  black  pools  sleep  in  shadow. 
Where  the  angler  seeks  his  sport, 
That  Verdurer  of  Nature's  Court, 
Who  never  lets  his  occupation 
Balk  him  of  happy  contemplation. 


466  Day-Dreams  of  an  Exile.  [Oct. 

Look  down — the  long  straight  Pike  has  past, 
Like  Death's  keen  arrow,  flying  fast, 
Where  Dace  and  Minnows,  silver-coated  fools, 
Are  playing  on  the  surface  of  the  Pools. 

Look  up— the  thin- winged  Dragon-fly 
Is  insolently  gleaming  by ; 
Look  up — the  Oak-tree  stirs,  and  in  it 
Floods  of  sweet  song  betray  the  linnet ; 
Over  all  the  dark  blue  sky 
Overhangs  us  smilingly, 
Flecked  with  many  fleecy  wreaths 
As  the  Watery  West  wind  breathes. 

Look  round — the  Primrose  peeps  at  you 

From  a  nest  of  crumpled  leaves  ; 
The  Periwinkle,  bathed  in  dew, 
Is  like  a  maiden's  eye  of  blue 

Turned  to  the  Moon  from  under  alien  eaves. 
The  sword-grass,  and  the  mimic  rye, 
The  clover,  and  the  lucerne  sweet, 
And  the  chamomiles,  that  die, 
Spent  in  fragrance  at  your  feet ; 
Every  herb,  wind-stirred,  or  shaking 

With  some  insect's  tiny  weight, 
(Such  as  all  around  are  making 

Myriad  noises  delicate) 
Swells  the  universal  tone 
That  Summer  sings — a  music  of  her  own. 

False  season  !  she  has  brought  the  shower ! 
Away  to  yonder  trellised  bower 

Of  clematis  and  vine  ; 
The  skies  may  weep  ten  times  an  hour, 

As  oft  they'll  smile  and  shine. 
Here  sit  secure ;  or,  sweeter  still, 
Seek  the  hospitable  mill, 
Where  the  clattering  cog-wheels  ply, 
And  the  clouds  of  white  dust  fly, 
There,  leaning  at  the  casement,  look 

On  the  fresh  and  fragrant  scene  : 
The  drops  flash  in  the  eddying  brook, 

The  grass  puts  on  a  tender  green ; 
The  soft  rain  whispers  to  the  leaves — 

Ceases,  the  shower  is  clone ; 
The  big  drops  hang  upon  the  eaves, 

And  sparkle  in  the  sun. 

The  images  that  Memory  yields 

Are  crowding  on  my  mind 
Of  ruined  Abbeys,  lone  in  fields 

With  purple  hills  behind. 
Of  Churchyards,  with  their  tombs  and  yews, 

Seen  in  a  night  of  June, 
What  time  the  fertilising  dews 

Are  falling  in  the  Moon. 

The  little  Church,  five  hundred  years 
Has  seen  the  spring  of  hopes  and  fears 
To  all  the  lowly  villagers  ; 


1851.]  Day-Dreams  of  an  Exile.  467 

Who  with  ancestral  tombs  around 
Meet  weekly  on  the  holy  ground. 

They  seat  them  orderly  within, 
Purging  their  hearts  from  taint  of  sin  ; 
They  see  the  tables  of  the  Law, 
The  Altar  that  their  fathers  saw, 
The  war-worn  banners,  full  of  rents, 
The  helmets  with  their  stains  and  dents 
That  hang  above  the  monuments ; 
The  squire's  great  pew,  the  lackeys  tall, 

A  stately,  well-fed  band, 
Who  mock  the  manners  of  the  Hall, 

Vicariously  grand. 
They  hear  the  minister's  calm  voice, 

The  tinklings  of  a  grazing  flock, 
The  whispering  trees,  the  runnel's  noise, 

The  pulses  of  the  ancient  clock ; 
The  which,  like  well  according  parts 
Sound  harmony  to  happy  hearts. 

And  even  when  the  misery 

Of  loved  ones  having  ceased  to  be 
Had  brought  the  black  and  hushed  procession 

To  see  the  friend  they  could  not  save 
Take  imperturbable  possession 

Of  his  last  tenement — the  grave — 
And  when  the  Sun  was  dim  and  red 
That  shone  above  that  earthy  bed, 
Throwing  a  watery  noon  and  brief 
On  autumn's  worn  and  wind-beat  leaf; 
And,  for  the  fog  that  wrapped  the  land, 
The  trees  were  like  a  spectral  band  ; 
Even  then  the  lichen- covered  tower, 

The  yew-trees  and  the  monuments, 
Consoled  them,  howsoe'er  the  hour 

Heaped  up  their  withering  discontents  ; 
Save  that  nor  Hope  nor  Memory, 

Nor  thought  of  "  sure  and  certain  trust," 
Could  quell  the  sob  of  Agony, 
As  fell  those  handfuls  audibly, 

Gross  Earth,  dead  Ashes,  kindred  dust. 


Ah  come  to  me !  the  dream  is  flown, 
Thank  God,  I  am  not  all  alone  ; 
Thank  God,  no  burthen  on  me  lies, 

More  than  the  homeless  heart  can  bear  j 
For  sadness,  and  tear-darkened  eyes, 
And  visions  vague,  and  Memories, 

Are  sweeter  than  oblivious  Despair. 


II. 

Where  Summer  is,  there  'tis  fresh  and  fair, 

For  forest  and  field  are  gay, 
When  the  Sun  looks  down  on  tower  and  town 

That  smile  beneath  his  ray. 
Upon  the  hills  the  morning  breeze 

Still  whispers  in  the  yellow  broom  ; 


468  Day-Dreams  of  an  Exile.  [Oct. 

The  poplar  throws  a  quivering  shade, 

The  oak-tree  sheds  a  broader  gloom ; 
And  in  the  hazel-thicket  hangs 

The  silence  of  a  tomb. 

A  shade  comes  o'er  the  face  of  day, 
Tempering  afresh  the  genial  May ; 

The  light  air  softly  drops, 
And  nestles  in  the  tall  tree-heads, 
And  stirs  the  violets  in  the  glades, 

The  spraylets  in  the  copse. 

In  such  an  hour  as  this, 

The  earth-impeded  soul, 
Entranced  with  Nature's  bliss, 

Surmounts  the  Bear- watched  Pole, 

And  the  great  space  wherein  the  firm  spheres  roll ; 
Knows  of  a  brighter  Sun, 

Basks  in  his  beams, 
Sees  crystal  waters  run, 

And  drinks  their  streams, 

And  spreads  her  wings,  and  floats  into  the  land  of  dreams — 
Dreams  vague,  uncomprehended. 

Fold  again 

Those  unfledged  wings,  poor  Captive  of  the  clay  ! 
The  flesh  has  need  of  thee,  thy  moans  are  vain, 

Vain  thy  forebodings  of  the  Coming  Day  ; 
Only  the  World's  fair  beauty  bids  thee  hope 
That  none  more  dark  may  lie  beyond  the  Cope. 

And  the  Beam,  unsaddened 

Is  on  the  wood, 
And  the  Soul  is  gladdened, 

And  sways  her  mood 

Into  a  chastened  mirth,  the  joy  of  Solitude. 
Now  the  hushed  noon, 

Growing  broad  and  bright, 
Like  the  painless  swoon 

Of  a  deep  delight, 
Slumbers  as  calmly  as  a  moonlit  Night. 

The  Memories  of  Childhood  cannot  pass 

The  Joy  of  such  an  hour  of  Nature's  Joy ; 
The  brawling  of  the  brook,  the  lisping  grass 

Should  charm  the  Man  more  than  they  charmed  the  Boy. 
They  do,  they  do,  I  feel  their  influence 
With  fresh  delight  to-day,  and  unpolluted  sense. 
Sickness  may  bend  the  weak  corporeal  frame, 

And  Grief  anticipate  the  work  of  years  : 
Beautiful  Nature's  sighs  would  still  the  same 

Delight  mine  eye,  even  through  the  mist  of  tears. 
The  fountains  of  our  pleasures  need  not  change, 

— Though  Inexperience  cease  to  veil  the  Truth  ; 
The  Senses'  strength  not  circumscribe  their  range 

Nor  the  Heart's  impulses  have  Age  and  Youth. 
O  Sun,  Earth,  Water,  all-embracing  sky, 
May  it  be  mine  to  see  you  smiling  when  I  die ! 


1851.]  Day -Dreams  of  an  Exile.  469 

III. 

"  Death  cannot  be  an  evil,  for  it  is  universal." — Last  words  of  Schiller. 

Earth  is  the  realm  of  Death,  who  reigns, 

— No  King  of  Shadows  he — 
O'er  towers,  and  towns,  and  sacred  fanes, 

On  land,  and  ships  at  Sea. 
His  subjects  all  avoid  his  Court, 

Small  love  they  bear  to  him  ; 
For  when  he  mingles  in  their  sport, 

The  business  waxes  grim. 
They  make  alliances  with  life, 

And  fear  to  be  alone  ; 
Flushed  with  the  brilliancy  and  strife 

Which  round  their  path  is  thrown. 
Yet  some  can  wander  up  and  down, 

Where  daisies  hide  the  sod ; 
Far  from  the  turmoil  of  the  Town, 

They  own  that  Death  is  God. 
Yes,  without  Death  our  Life  were  nought ; 

Death  consummates  our  hopes— 
The  one  bright  Day -beam  softly  brought 

Above  the  misty  slopes. 

IV. 

"  God  said,  Let  us  make  man  in  our  own  image." 

Stand  by  the  Ocean  : 

Behold  its  undulating  shelves, 

How  they  alternately  uplift  themselves — 
Their  ceaseless  motion ! 
Turn  to  the  Sky : 

Night  after  night,  the  golden- visaged  crowds 

Peep  at  us  through  the  clouds, 
Till  royal  Morning  ope  her  dreaded  eye. 

Earth's  days  and  hours, 
Seed-time  and  harvest,  cold  and  heat,  remain, 
And  bring  forth  fruit,  by  sunshine  and  by  rain, 

After  the  flowers. 
Unchanging  laws 

This  brute  Creation's  pulses  sway ; 

Contented,  they  obey 
No  self-originated  cause. 

That  power  is  given, 
Of  all  created  things,  to  Man  alone, 
Who  is,  if  he  will  only  take  his  own, 

Made  free  of  Heaven. 

H.  a.  K. 

India,  1851. 


470 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


[Oct. 


A  VOICE   FROM  THE   DIGGINGS. 


THE  scapegrace  Michael  Lambourne, 
fresh  from  the  Spanish  Main,  made  the 
mouths  of  his  uncle's  guests  to  water 
by  stories  of  lands  where  the  precious 
metals  grew,  and  might  be  had  for  the 
gathering;  where  the  very  pantiles 
were  of  purest  gold,  and  the  paving- 
stones  of  virgin  silver.  The  smug  mer- 
cer of  Abingdon,  greedily  swallowing 
these  traveller's  tales,  thought  con- 
temptuously of  his  moderate  but  cer- 
tain gains,  and  dreamed  of  rich  argosies 
and  of  sudden  wealth,  amassed  at  will 
upon  a  gold- encumbered  shore.  Many 
are  the  changes  since  Queen  Eliza- 
beth's day,  but  human  nature  is  ever 
the  same.  Instead  of  the  exaggerated 
reports  of  roving  adventurers,  a  thou- 
sand newspapers  trumpet  authentic 
tidings  of  golden  discoveries.  The 
mine  is  on  the  farthest  shore  of  a 
far  distant  continent ;  yet,  whilst  the 
marvel  is  still  young,  and  the  first  ring 
of  the  metal  still  echoes  in  our  ears, 
we  obtain  ocular  confirmation  of  the 
scarcely  credible  intelligence.  The 
pioneers  of  enterprise — those  who,  by 
accident  or  activity,  were  first  upon 
the  spot — come  straggling,  wealth- 
laden,  from  the  glittering  strand. 
Scarcely  had  the  first  shovelful  of  golden 
sand  been  thrown  up  from  the  bed  of 
the  mill-stream  at  Coloma,  when  these 
men,  favoured  by  chance,  and  well 
suited  to  the  work,  were  toiling,  delv- 
ing, Avashing.  Now  they  are  in  our 
streets — rich,  comparatively  ;  for  less 
than  twelve  months  ago  they  were 
penniless.  And  see,  in  the  refiners' 
windows  are  heaps  of  the  precious 
dust,  and  lumps  of  the  quartz-mingled 
metal.  Forgetting  past  hardships  in 
the  excitement  of  success,  the  gold- 
seekers — their  first-fruits  safely  be- 
stowed— plan  a  return  to  El  Dorado, 
and  fire  the  imaginations  of  eager 
listeners  by  glowing  accounts  of  a  cer- 
tain fortune  to  be  made  at  small  pains. 
No  wonder  if  many  snap  at  the  bait — 
if  husbandmen  quit  their  plough, 
traders  their  till,  publicins  their  tap- 
room, and  if  California  suddenly  be- 


comes a  word  of  daily  occurrence 
upon  English  shipping-lists.  Three 
thousand  miles  nearer  to  the  golden 
vein  dwells  the  most  restless,  ambi- 
tious, speculative,  and  aggressive  of 
civilised  nations ;  and  soon  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  to  it  will  fall  the 
lion's  share  of  the  newly-found  trea- 
sure. Where  hundreds  sail  from 
Europe,  thousands  quit  the  States, 
for  California  bound.  By  land  and 
by  sea,  across  the  Isthmus  and  up  the 
coast,  or  t>y  the  long  and  dangerous 
route  over  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
armies  of  energetic  Yankees  swarm  to 
the  placeres.  Buoyant  and  confident, 
they  quit  their  homes — many  to  leave 
their  bones  in  the  wide  prairies  and 
hungry  solitudes  of  the  Far  West, 
others  to  perish  of  Californian  fever 
and  ague,  a  few,  and  but  a  few,  to 
realise  the  wealth  they  so  sanguinely 
anticipate. 

Nearly  two  years  ago  *  we  noticed 
the  proceedings  of  a  member  of  the 
adventurous  mob  of  gold-seekers.  Mr 
Theodore  Johnson,  of  New  York,  was 
pretty  early  in  the  field  ;  but  even  in 
the  spring  of  1849  the  cream  had  been 
taken  off,  and  he  returned  home  dis- 
heartened, disgusted,  and  poorer  than 
when  he  started.  Since  then,  Cali- 
fornia has  filled  countless  newspaper 
columns  and  scores  of  books  in  many 
languages.  The  latest  of  these,  pro- 
ceeding from  an  English  pen,  has 
opportunely  appeared  at  the  very 
moment  that,  from  the  far  south, 
intelligence  has  reached  us  of  the 
discovery  of  another  gold  region. 
Intending  gold-seekers,  whether  in 
California  or  Australia,  will  find 
much  to  interest  and  instruct  them 
in  Mr  Shaw's  eventful  record. 

The  great  majority  of  the  emigrants 
to  California,  whether  from  Europe  or 
from  other  parts  of  the  globe,  has  been 
hitherto  composed  of  needy  and  reck- 
less adventurers.  We  trace  one  proof 
of  this  in  the  terrific  amount  of  crime 
and  immorality  of  which  the  new 
American  State  has  been  the  constant 


Golden  Dreams  and  Waking  Realities ;  being  the  Adventures  of  a  Gold-Seeker 
California  and  the  Pacific  Islands.     By  WILLIAM  SHAW,     London:  1851. 
*  Blackwood's  Magazine,  No.  CCCCXI.,  for  Janu.iry  1850. 


1851.] 

scene,  up  to  the  date  of  the  most  recent 
advices.  Mr  Shaw  belongs  to  the  re- 
spectable but  exceedingly  limited  class 
who  contrived  to  pass  through  the 
ordeal  with  clean  hands  and  a  good 
conscience,  enduring  much  suffering, 
but  preserving  an  unstained  reputa- 
tion. As  a  boy,  he  followed  the  sea, 
and  sailed  for  India  as  a  midshipman 
in  1845,  but  left  the  service  three 
years  later,  and  emigrated  to  Adelaide. 
Finding  no  suitable  occupation  there, 
he  was  about  to  return  to  England, 
when  news  reached  South  Australia 
of  the  golden  harvest  then  reaping  in 
California.  He  was  still  a  lad— about 
nineteen,  as  we  infer  from  his  narra- 
tive ;  and  in  the  distant  colony  where 
he  found  himself,  he  had  friends  to 
advise,  but  none  to  control  him.  Of 
a  sanguine  spirit,  and  lured  by  the 
hope  of  fortune,  he  disregarded  re- 
monstrances, dangers,  and  uncertain- 
ties, and  embarked  as  a  steerage 
passenger  by  the  clipper-built  ship 
Mazeppa,  manned  by  a  Malay 
crew,  and  chartered  for  San  Francisco. 
This  was  the  first  vessel  that  left 
South  Australia  for  the  gold  regions. 
She  took  one-and-twenty  passengers 
— five  in  the  cabin  at  sixty  pounds, 
sixteen  in  the  steerage,  who  paid  but 
twenty,  and  included  bushmen  and 
blacksmiths,  a  carpenter  and  a  shoe- 
maker, and  some  Germans. 

"  The  steerage  measured  only  sixteen 
feet  square  by  four  feet  ten  inches  high — 
close  packing  for  sixteen  passengers.  Our 
scale  of  provisions,  however,  was  exceed- 
ingly liberal — far  superior  to  any  given 
out  of  English  ports — and  no  ship-regula- 
tions were  imposed  upon  us:  each  one 
was  left  to  his  own  discretion,  and  the 
greatest  good  feeling  and  harmony  pre- 
vailed on  board.  In  the  steerage  we  were 
very  social;  and  though,  being  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life  thrown  amongst  such 
a  rough  lot,  I  felt  somewhat  embarrassed, 
yet,  being  of  a  flexible  disposition,  I  soon 
got  accustomed  to  my  companions,  and 
found  them  a  very  good  set  of  fellows." 

On  entering  the  tropics,  things  be- 
came rather  less  pleasant  in  the  nar- 
row crib,  owing  to  cockroaches  arid 
other  vermin,  to  the  effluvia  from  the 
Malays,  and  to  the  visits  of  rats,  who 
bit  the  passengers  in  their  sleep,  car- 
rying their  audacity  so  far  as  to 
browse  upon  an  emigrant's  eyebrows. 
So  the  occupants  of  the  steerage  were 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


471 


driven  to  sleep  upon  deck.  A  narrow 
escape  from  a  waterspout  was  the  only 
incident  worth  noticing  between  the 
Mazeppa's  departure  from  Adelaide 
and  arrival  at  San  Diego  in  Lower 
California,  where  she  cast  anchor  for 
a  few  days,  and  took  on  board  more 
passengers — 

"  Yankee  backwoodsmen,  some  of  whom 
had  travelled  over  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
others  through  Central  America.  One  of 
those  who  had  come  the  latter  route  was 
half  crazy  from  drink  and  dissipation; 
he  had  not  shaved  or  washed  for  two 
months,  and  had  altogether  a  most  re- 
pulsive appearance.  The  other  over- 
landers  looked  equally  miserable;  their 
cadaverous  features  bearing  marks  of 
recent  suffering;  their  long  beard  and 
hair  clotted  into  knots,  and  their  clothes 
and  boots  tattered  and  wayworn.  The 
only  articles  they  possessed  were  blankets, 
wallets,  and  firearms." 

The  exhausting  fatigues  of  a  journey 
by  land  across  the  American  continent 
are  manifestly  a  bad  prelude  to  labour 
in  the  diggings.  Neither  weariness, 
poverty,  nor  sickness  could  abate  the 
indomitable  national  vanity  of  these 
Americans.  Some  of  them  had  agreed 
only  for  a  deck  passage,  but  when  the 
weather  grew  wet  and  squally,  the 
inmates  of  the  steerage  were  too  com- 
passionate to  refuse  them  shelter. 
They  requited  the  kindness  by  raising 
violent  political  discussions,  and  con- 
tinually asserting  the  immeasurable 
inferiority  of  the  Britishers  to  the  free 
and  enlightened  citizens  of  the  States. 
Were  it  only  for  the  release  from 
such  ill-conditioned  society,  Mr  Shaw 
might  well  rejoice  when,  ^  at  the 
beginning  of  September  1*849,  the 
Mazeppa  dropped  her  anchor  in  the 
bay  of  San  Francisco.  Scarcely  had 
she  done  so,  when  the  anomalies 
entailed  by  the  strange  state  of  things 
in  the  gold  regions  became  apparent 
to  her  passengers.  The  first  boat  that 
boarded  her  was  rowed  by  the  doctor 
and  mate  of  a  Sydney  vessel,  who 
were  plying  for  hire  as  watermen, 
their  usual  occupations,  we  are  left  to 
infer,  being  gone  in  consequence  of 
the  desertion  of  the  Sydneyman's 
crew.  This  example,  then  common 
enough,  was  quickly  followed  by  the 
Malays  of  the  Mazeppa.  In  the 
course  of  the  very  first  night  a  party 
of  them  stole  the  gig,  and  ran  from 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


472 

the  ship.  The  captain,  as  yet  a  novice 
in  Californian  ways,  went  ashore  next 
morning,  pulled  by  four  of  his  men, 
"  saying  that  he  should  pay  his  respects 
to  the  authorities,  and  bring  back  the 
deserters  in  irons.'1'1  Authorities,  in- 
deed, at  San  Francisco,  and  in  1849, 
when,  even  in  1851,  the  only  real 
authority  is  exercised  by  a  revolver- 
bearing  rabble !  The  captain  returned 
on  board  in  a  waterman's  boat,  and 
in  a  towering  passion,  minus  his  four 
oarsmen,  who  had  followed  their  com- 
rades. The  next  night  the  ship's  boats 
were  hauled  on  board,  but  the  rest  of 
the  crew  attempted  to  float  ashore  on 
strong  planks.  Some  were  drowned, 
the  remainder  reached  the  land,  and 
the  Mazeppa  was  left  to  the  guardian- 
ship of  captain,  mate,  and  supercargo. 

The  reports  of  visitors  from  the 
shore  had  already  somewhat  damped 
the  ardour  of  the  treasure-seekers 
from  Adelaide,  when  they  landed  at 
Miller's  Point.  Above  high-water 
mark  the  beach  was  strewed  with 
quantities  of  baggage  and  merchan- 
dise, and  hard  by  stood  some  three 
hundred  fellows,  unshaven  and  dis- 
reputable-looking, with  knives  in  their 
belts,  awaiting  employment.  It  was 
Sunday ;  but  nothing  is  sacred  in 
California.  No  Sabbath  stillness  pre- 
vailed amidst  the  canvass  booths  and 
wooden  framehouses  of  the  infant  city 
of  San  Francisco.  Hammers  sounded 
on  all  sides,  and  work  of  every  de- 
scription actively  went  on. 

"  Skirting  the  beach  was  a  vast  collec- 
tion of  tents,  called  the  '  Happy  Valley,' 
since  more  truly  designated  the  *  Sickly 
Valley,'  where  filth  of  all  kinds  and 
stagnant  pools  beset  one  at  every  stride. 
In  these  tents  congregated  the  refuse  of 
all  nations,  crowded  together — eight 
people  occupying  what  was  only  space  for 
two.  Blankets,  firearms,  and  cooking 
utensils  were  the  only  worldly  property 
they  possessed.  Scenes  of  depravity, 
sickness,  and  wretchedness  shocked  the 
moral  sense  as  much  as  filth  and  effluvia 
did  the  nerves  ;  and  such  was  the  state 
of  personal  insecurity,  that  few  '  citizens' 
slept  without  firearms  at  hand." 

Of  course,  many  fatal  broils  and 
accidents  arose  from  the  universal 
practice  of  carrying  arms ;  but  there, 
where  law  and  justice  were  alike  dis- 
regarded, a  loaded  revolver  was  the 
only  security  from  personal  outrage 
and  oppression.  The  extraordinary 


[Oct. 


activity  of  all,  and  the  immense 
amount  of  business  transacted,  were 
what  chiefly  struck  Mr  Shaw  during 
his  first  day's  ramble  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. 

"  Looking  at  the  rude  signboards  in- 
scribed in  various  languages,  glancing  at 
the  chaos  of  articles  exposed  for  sale,  and 
listening  to  the  various  dialects  spoken, 
the  city  seemed  a  complete  Babel.  Gold 
was  evidently  the  mainspring  of  all  this 
activity.  Tables,  piled  with  gold,  were 
seen  under  tents,  whence  issued  melodious 
strains  of  music  ;  and  the  most  exagge- 
rated statements  were  current  respecting 
the  auriferous  regions.  But  amid  scenes 
of  profusion  and  extravagance,  no  sign  of 
order  or  comfort  was  perceptible,  nor  did 
any  one  appear  happy  :  wan,  anxious 
countenances,  and  restless,  eager  eyes, 
met  you  on  every  side.  The  aspect  of 
personal  neglect  and  discomfort,  rags  and 
squalor,  combined  with  uneasiness,  avi- 
dity, and  recklessness  of  manner — an  all- 
absorbing  selfishness,  as  if  each  man  were 
striving  against  his  fellow-man — were 
characteristics  of  the  gold-fever,  at  once 
repulsive  and  pitiable  ;  and,  notwith- 
standing the  gold  I  saw  on  every  side,  a 
feeling  of  despondency  crept  insensibly 
over  me." 

An  allowance  made  to  Mr  Shaw  by 
his  friends,  and  payable  in  Australia, 
had  been  lost  by  his  departure  from 
that  colony.  In  the  uncertainty  of  his 
movements,  he  had  not  written  for 
remittances;  and  here  he  was,  in 
California,  cast  entirely  on  his  own 
resources.  He  could  not  aiford  to 
despond,  unless  he  also  made  up  his 
mind  to  perish.  He  had  a  hard  battle 
to  fight;  and  although  little  more  than 
a  boy,  he  fought  it  like  a  man — with 
temper,  pluck,  and  judgment.  His 
first  move  was  to  get  rid  of  superfluous 
baggage.  Superfluity  in  California 
means  bare  necessaries  anywhere  else. 
Warehouse  room  was  scarce  and  dear, 
and  change  of  raiment  little  in  vogue. 
As  for  luxuries  —  varnished  boots, 
satin  waistcoats,  and  the  like — they 
strewed  the  beach.  Mr  Shaw  realised 
seventy  dollars  by  the  sale  of  part  of 
his  kit.  This  done,  one  of  his  ship- 
mates asked  his  assistance  to  retail  a 
few  barrels  of  spirits.  A  tent  being 
unobtainable,  they  drove  posts  into 
the  ground,  nailed  quilts  over  them, 
and  opened  their  grog-store.  At  night 
his  partner,  who  had  been  drinking 
overmuch,  went  to  sleep  with  his  pipe 
in  his  mouth,  and  set  fire  to  the  flimsy 


1851.] 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


473 


edifice.  Mr  Shaw  extinguished  the 
flames,  and  dissolved  the  partner- 
ship in  disgust.  Thenceforward,  until 
he  started  for  the  diggings,  he  often 
passed  his  nights  in  lodging-houses. 
Of  these  there  were  too  few  for  the 
numerous  lodgers,  and  sheds,  stables, 
and  skittle-alleys  were  put  in  requisi- 
tion. Nasty  dens  the  very  best  of 
them  were. 

"  The  one  I  sometimes  resorted  to  was 
about  sixty  feet  long  by  twenty  in  width ; 
it  had  no  windows,  and  the  walls,  roof, 
and  floor  were  formed  of  planks,  through 
the  seams  of  which  the  rain  dripped. 
Along  the  sides  were  two  rows  of '  bunks,' 
or  wooden  shelves,  and  at  the  end  was 
some  boarding,  serving  as  a  bar  for 
liquors  :  here  the  proprietor  slept.  From 
about  ten  till  twelve  at  night,  men  flocked 
in  with  their  blankets  round  them,  for  no 
mattress  or  bedding  was  furnished  by 
this  establishment  ;  and  a  dollar  being 
paid,  your  sleeping-place  was  pointed  out 
to  you." 

Out  of  consideration  for  the  more 
squeamish  of  our  readers,  we  abstain 
from  transcribing  Mr  Shaw's  vivid 
account  of  this  abominable  caravan- 
serai. On  a  wet  night,  the  bunks  and 
the  floor  would  be  crowded  with 
lodgers  of  all  nations — Yankees,  Eu- 
ropeans, Chinese,  South  Americans — 
all  sleeping  in  their  clothes  and  boots, 
many  smoking  and  chewing  tobacco, 
and  indulging  in  the  Transatlantic 
practice  which  these  two  enjoyments 
provoke.  The  atmosphere  was  doubt- 
less unfavourable  to  tranquil  repose, 
for  restless  sleepers  abounded,  and 
kicks  in  the  ribs,  or  on  the  head,  were 
no  uncommon  occurrences.  Some- 
times, Mr  Shaw  relates,  he  awoke 
with  the  toe  of  a  boot  in  his  mouth  ; 
at  others  he  was  so  oppressed  with 
heat,  that  he  was  glad  to  rush  out 
into  the  rain,  to  inhale  fresh  air  at 
any  price.  When  the  night  was  fine, 
he  much  preferred  a  bivouac  to  a 
dollar's  worth  of  plank  in  such  com- 
pany, and  under  such  unpleasant  cir- 
cumstances. If  he  was  disgusted  at 
the  sleeping  accommodation,  he  was 
not  much  better  pleased  at  meal- times. 
Plenty  of  good  eating  was  there  in 
San  Francisco — for  those  who  could 
pay  the  price.  Food  was  cheaper 
than  it  had  been  a  few  months  pre- 
viously; but  still  ten  dollars  were  easily 
spent  by  one  person,  if  very  hungry 
or  rather  dainty,  at  a  Californian 


eating-house.  The  table  tfhotes  were 
more  economical,  varying  from  one 
to  three  dollars  a  head.  Here  less 
fault  was  to  be  found  with  the  fare 
than  with  the  manners  of  the  guests. 

"  It  is  not  uncommon  to  see  your  neigh- 
bour coolly  abstract  a  quid  from  his  jaw, 
placing  it  for  the  time  being  in  his  waist- 
coat pocket  or  hat,  or  sometimes  beside 
his  plate  even  :  then  commences,  on  all 
sides,  a  fierce  attack  on  the  eatables,  and 
the  contents  of  the  dishes  rapidly  disap- 
pear. Lucky  is  the  man  who  has  a  quick 
eye  and  a  long  arm  ;  for  every  one  helps 
himself  indiscriminately,  and  attention  is 
seldom  paid  to  any  request.  The  nature 
of  the  fixing  (as  a  viand  is  called)  is  per- 
fectly immaterial ;  whichever  is  nearest 
commonly  has  the  preference  ;  and  as 
they  generally  confine  themselves  to  one 
dish,  it  is  difficult  to  get  that  from  their 
grasp.  Molasses  is  a  favourite, fixing,  and 
eaten  with  almost  everything." 

Ten  minutes  sufficed  for  the  Ame- 
ricans to  gorge  themselves.  If  slower 
feeders  were  behindhand,  the  worse 
for  them,  for  it  was  customary  for  all 
to  rise  together,  and  the  table  was 
cleared  and  replenished  for  a  second 
gang  of  gormandisers.  The  "  free 
and  enlightened,"  who  had  eaten  their 
dinner  with  their  knives,  then  picked 
their  teeth  with  their  forks,  resumed 
their  quids,  lit  cigars  or  pipes,  and 
rambled  off  to  liquor  and  gamble. 

"  In  almost  every  part  of  San  Fran- 
cisco there  are  gaming-houses,  chiefly 
spacious  l  frame-houses,'  imported  from 
the  States.  The  interior  is  hung  with 
coloured  calico,  and  paintings  and  mirrors 
decorate  the  walls.  There  is  usually  a 
bar  at  the  farther  end.  It  is  very  ex- 
citing to  enter  these  Pandemoniums  : 
loud  music  resounds,  amidst  which  is 
heard  the  chinking  of  money;  and  the 
place  is  redolent  of  the  fumes  of  wines, 
spirits,  and  tobacco.  From  the  twanging 
of  guitars,  and  scraping  of  violins,  to  the 
clashing  of  cymbals  and  banging  of  drums, 
musical  sounds  of  all  kinds  attract  the 
ear  of  the  passer-by.  In  the  Aguila 
d'Oro,  a  band  of  Ethiopian  serenaders 
beat  their  banjos,  rattled  their  bones,  and 
shouted  their  melodies.  In  some  gaming- 
houses, fascinating  belles,  theatrically 
dressed,  take  their  stand  at  the  roulette- 
tables,  purposely  to  allure  men  to  play  ; 
and,  there  being  a  scarcity  of  the  fair  sex 
in  this  country,  these  syrens  too  often 
prove  irresistible." 

In  convenient  and  appropriate  prox- 
imity to  some  of  the  principal  hells 
was  the  "  suicide  shop,"  a  hardware 


474 

stall,  kept  by  a  "  Down-Easter,"  who 
sold  pistols,  bowie-knives,  and  other 
weapons.  Self-murder  was  no  un- 
common occurrence.  Tire  desperate 
character  of  a  large  proportion  of  the 
crowd  that  continually  thronged  the 
gaming-  houses  rendered  precautions 
necessary  for  the  safety  of  the  bank  of 
doubloons  and  gold  eagles  heaped  in 
the  centre  of  the  tables.  "  In  some 
rooms  loaded  revolvers  garnish  the 
table  on  each  side  of  the  banker ;  he 
generally,  however,  secretes  a  small 
one  in  his  breast.  On  the  slightest 
disturbance,  his  rigid  countenance  be- 
comes agitated,  and  without  inquiring 
into  the  cause  of  tumult,  the  ring  of  a 
pistol-ball  commonly  suppresses  the 
confusion."  In  California  everything 
is  managed  by  the  trigger. 

Mr  Shaw  cast  in  his  lot  with  the 
second  mate  of  the  Mazeppa,  whom 
he  designates  as  Mac.  Having  pro- 
visioned themselves  with  biscuit,  ham, 
and  brandy,  they  embarked  on  board 
a  small  cutter,  and  sailed  up  the  San 
Joachim  to  the  new  town  of  Stockton. 
Their  suite  consisted  of  two  Chinese 
(Celestials  they  are  called  in  Califor- 
nia) and  a  Malay  boy.  Mac,  who 
spoke  Malay,  had  great  influence  over 
all  three.  Stockton,  whatever  it  may 
since  have  become,  was  then  a  very 
primitive -looking  place,  with  few 
wooden  buildings,  the  stores  and 
taverns  being  chiefly  of  canvass  nailed 
on  frames,  whilst  quantities  of  mer- 
chandise lay  exposed  to  the  weather. 
There  was  great  bustle  and  activity : 
the  gambling  was  even  more  extra- 
vagant than  at  San  Francisco,  and 
everything  was  awfully  dear — Mac 
having  to  pay  a  dollar  for  a  shave. 
Mr  Shaw  arrived  just  in  time  to  wit- 
ness two  flagrant  examples  of  Cali- 
fornian  justice.  An  emancipated  con- 
vict, from  Van  Diernen's  Land,  had 
stolen  some  trifles  from  a  tent.  The 
usual  punishment  for  such  petty 
offences  was  the  loss  of  an  ear.  He 
was  condemned  to  death  and  executed 
within  twelve  hours  of  the  commis- 
sion of  the  theft.  The  prejudice  is 
strong  against  emigrants  from  Aus- 
tralia, who  are  all  set  down  as  con- 
victs. A  young  man  of  respectable 
family,  from  the  States,  had  shot  a 
German  dead  with  a  revolver,  for 
having  made  some  severe  remarks  on 
America.  An  American  jury  acquit- 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


[Oct. 


ted  him  of  guilt,  influenced  partly  by 
the  feeling  address  of  his  counsel,  who 
represented  him  as  "a  martyr,  who 
endangered  his  life  in  defending  the 
reputation  of  the  republic,"  and  partly 
by  fear  of  a  lawless  mob  assembled 
round  the  hulk  of  a  superannuated 
brig,  in  which  this  curious  and  impar- 
tial tribunal  held  its  sittings.  Stock- 
ton was  evidently  an  undesirable 
abode  for  Britishers,  who  might  be 
pistoled  without  redress,  or  hung  for 
a  petty  larceny.  Shouldering  their 
"  possibles,"  Mr  Shaw  and  Mac  has- 
tened to  quit,  with  a  party  of  twenty 
persons  bound  for  the  diggings. 

a  The  company  was  composed  mostly 
of  Americans  of  different  grades,  two 
Chilians,  a  Frenchman,  two  Germans, 
and  two  Cornish  miners.  Our  followers, 
the  two  Chinese  and  the  Malay  boy, 
stuck  pertinaciously  to  us  :  one  of  them, 
the  cook,  we  persuaded  to  return,  which 
he  very  reluctantly  did  ;  the  other  two 
persisting  in  following  us,  we  consented, 
thinking  they  might  be  useful.  Mahomet, 
the  Malay  boy,  carried,  strapped  to  his 
back,  a  brass  bowl  for  gold-washing — a 
utensil  somewhat  similar  to  the  barber's 
basin  that  Don  Quixote  mistook  for 
Mambrino's  helmet,  an  appellation  which 
it  consequently  bore." 

Five  mules,  loaded  with  provisions 
for  the  store-keepers  at  some  remote 
diggings,  accompanied  the  party,  in 
charge  of  two  guides.  The  first  day's 
march  began  late,  and  lasted  but  four 
hours.  At  seven  in  the  evening  they 
hailed  hard  by  a  band  of  fifty  Ame- 
ricans, who  had  just  arrived  at  Stock- 
ton by  the  overland  route.  These 
emaciated,  wayworn  men  were  the 
remnant  of  a  party  of  settlers  from 
the  backwoods  of  Illinois.  A  glance 
at  the  map  of  North  America  gives 
the  best  idea  of  the  immense  length 
of  their  pilgrimage  to  Mammon's  new 
shrine.  "The  difficulties  they  had 
encountered  were  indescribable — as- 
cending and  descending  mountains, 
and  crossing  rivers,  dogged  by  Indians 
and  wild  beasts.  Many  had  died  on 
the  way ;  and  the  latter  part  of  the 
track,  they  said,  resembled  the  route 
of  a  retreating  army :  the  road  was 
strewed  with  abandoned  goods  and 
broken  -  down  waggons  ;  funereal 
mounds  were  raised  by  the  wayside  ; 
whilst  carcasses  of  bullocks  and  skele- 
tons of  men  bleached  in  the  sun." 


1851.] 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


The  next  day  the  start  was  at  sun- 
rise, and  until  ten  o'clock  the  road 
lay  through  woodlands.  Then  the 
party  entered  the  plain.  As  far  as 
they  could  see  were  sandhills,  with- 
out a  trace  of  vegetation  ;  the  ground, 
parched  and  fissured  by  the  sun, 
glowed  beneath  their  feet;  gigantic 
columns  of  dust  stalked  majestically 
over  the  monotonous  level.  Wearily  the 
travellers  proceeded,  sinking,  at  every 
step,  ankle- deep  in  sand,  their  eyes 
inflamed  and  irritated  by  the  glare 
and  dust,  with  the  thermometer  at 
120°.  A  scorching  wind  closed  their 
pores,  and  excited  intense  and  un- 
quenchable thirst. 

"  Most  of  the  party  had  water-kegs 
and  bottles,  which,  as  joint  property, 
they  carried  alternately  ;  the  muleteers 
had  skins  of  water  for  themselves  and 
animals.  Mac  and  I  luckily  had  each 
an  India-rubber  bag,  which  contained  a 
gallon  of  water,  sparing  us  much  suffering 
and  no  little  peril :  we  drank  from  them 
very  moderately,  however,  being  uncertain 
when  they  would  be  again  replenished." 

This  abstinence  was  most  judicious. 
That  day  they  came  to  no  water. 
They  were  promised  some  for  the 
next  morning,  but  on  reaching  the 
water-hole  it  was  found  dry.  Dig- 
ging was  in  vain ;  not  a  drop  was 
obtainable.  Terrible  now  was  the 
situation  of  those  who,  relying  on  a 
supply  in  the  morning,  had  expended 
their  store  during  the  night.  "I 
thought  of  the  parable  of  the  foolish 
virgins,  as  I  looked  on  the  flushed 
faces  and  glazing  eyes  of  the  unfortu- 
nates." But  "Forward"  was  the 
word,  and  every  man  for  himself.  If 
any  compassionate  hearts  there  were 
amongst  those  who  had  husbanded 
the  precious  element,  they  had  to  re- 
press their  impulses,  for  generosity 
would  have  been  suicidal  ;  and  reso- 
lution was  necessary  not  to  swallow 
at  one  eager  gulp  the  small  remain- 
ing supply.  Even  with  occasional 
moistening  of  the  lips  and  throat, 
"  my  vitals  seemed  on  fire,"  says 
Mr  Shaw.  Those  whose  improvi- 
dence had  forestalled  that  alleviation 
soon  began  to  lag  behind. 

"  By  degrees  they  divested  themselves 
of  their  burdens  and  their  clothes,  which 
they  left  strewed  on  the  plain.  Two  of  them 
actually  licked  the  bodies  of  the  mules, 
for  the  sake  of  the  animal  exudations,  to 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXII. 


475 

relieve  their  thirst  ;  but  a  thick  coating 
of  dust  prevented  their  deriving  any 
beneficial  effects.  In  vain  they  beseeched 
us  to  halt;  our  lives  were  at  stake.  One 
man,  in  his  desperation,  seized  hold  of  the 
water-skin  hanging  to  the  mule.  '  Avast 
there,  stranger ! '  cried  the  muleteer,  and 
a  loaded  pistol  intimidated  the  sufferer.'* 

Some  had  recourse  to  brandy, 
which  made  them  almost  delirious. 
At  last,  in  the  afternoon,  four  re- 
mained behind;  keeping  togetherr 
as  their  last  slender  chance  of  safety 
from  wolves  and  Indians.  It  seemed 
barbarous  to  leave  them,  but  what 
could  be  done?  The  life  of  all  de- 
pended on  their  speed.  The  Stanis- 
laus river  was  the  nearest  water,  and 
when  they  halted,  at  nightfall,  it  still 
was  twenty  miles  distant.  That 
evening,  at  supper,  the  majority 
finished  their  water,  and  the  muleteer 
hinted  to  the  fortunate  minority  the 
possibility  of  theirs  being  forcibly 
taken  from  them.  Too  fatigued  to 
keep  watch,  they  slept  together  in  a 
group,  rolled  in  their  blankets,  with 
pistol  in  hand  and  the  water-bags 
tied  to  them.  Their  rest  was  broken 
by  the  howling  of  wolves,  and  still 
more  by  the  imploring  cries  and 
angry  exclamations  of  the  water- 
less. Before  daybreak  some  of  the 
party  were  afoot,  striding  forward  at 
a  desperate  pace.  On  reaching  the- 
river,  "  the  mules  were  disencum- 
bered, and,  throwing  down  our  bur- 
thens, we  ran  to  the  banks,  and, 
without  doffing  our  clothes,  eagerly 
rushed  into  the  cooling  stream, 
mules  and  men  indiscriminately,  up 
to  the  neck."  One  can  imagine  the 
luxury  of  such  a  bath,  after  such  a 
journey.  The  river  was  wide  but 
shallow,  the  water  clear  as  crystal  and 
full  of  salmon,  the  bank  fringed  with 
trees.  Their  bodies  cooled,  and  their 
clothes  washed  in  the  current,  the  next 
impulse  of  the  party,  it  might  have 
been  thought,  would  be  to  retrace  their 
steps,  with  good  store  of  water,  in 
search  of  the  companions  they  had 
left  behind.  With  Arabs  or  Indians 
the  expectation  might  be  well 
founded,  but  not  with  gold-hunters. 
All  the  worse  for  stragglers  if  they 
could  not  keep  up.  Time  was  pre- 
cious; the  diggings  were  ahead.  For- 
ward !  to  gather  gold  ! 
That  evening  the  camp  was  at  the 
2  H 


476  A  Voice  from 

foot  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  whose 
summits  rose,  snow-crowned^  before 
the  wanderers.  Wood  and  water  were 
plentiful ;  a  blazing  fire  cheered  the 
bivouac ;  the  mules,  luxuriating  in 
abundant  herbage,  recovered  from  the 
exhaustion  of  the  previous  day.  On  the 
morrow  a  narrow  river  was  crossed, 
and  the  steep  ascent  of  the  mountains 
began.  The  scenery  grew  wild  and 
picturesque,  and  there  was  evidence  of 
some  great  convulsion  of  nature  having 
occurred  there.  The  travellers  passed 
cataracts,  ravines,  and  water- courses, 
pyramids  of  rocks  piled  on  each  other, 
and  chasms  of  unfathomable  depth. 
At  the  extremity  of  a  beautiful  valley 
they  came  to  a  singular  tumulus, 
which  it  was  proposed  to  open,  the 
Germans  of  the  party  being  particu- 
larly desirous  of  its  scientific  investi- 
gation ;  but  the  guides  scoffed  at 
archaeology.  "  You  will  have  digging 
enough,"  said  they,  "  when  you  get  to 
the  placer,  without  rummaging  in  old 
tombs."  So  the  progress  was  unin- 
terrupted ;  and,  before  noon  upon  the 
following  day,  the  promised  laud,  its 
golden  river  and  clusters  of  tents,  were 
in  sight. 

"  The  '  digging '  was  in  a  deep  valley, 
having  an  abrupt  mountain  acclivity 
eight  hundred  feet  high  on  one  side,  and 
on  the  other  a  plain  bounded  by  moun- 
tains. On  the  evening  of  our  arrival  we 
walked  along  the  bank  of  the  river  for 
two  miles  ;  on  each  side  were  diggers, 
working  at  distances  apart,  or  congre- 
gated together,  according  to  the  richness 
of  deposit.  About  twenty  feet  is  the 
space  generally  allowed  to  a  washing- 
machine.  The  majority  of  diggers  exca- 
vated close  to  the  bank  ;  others  partially 
diverted  the  river's  course  to  get  at  its 
bed,  which  was  considered  the  richest 
soil.  At  a  bend  of  the  river  a  company 
of  eighty  were  digging  a  fresh  channel  to 
turn  its  course  ;  on  the  sides  of  the 
mountain,  in  '  gulches '  formed  by  tor- 
rents and  water-courses,  men  were  like- 
wise at  work." 

After  taking  a  survey  of  the  diggings 
— "  prospecting"  as  it  is  called  in 
miner's  phrase — Mr  Shaw  and  his 
comrade  Mac  fixed  upon  a  likely  spot 
to  commence  operations.  With  the 
assistance  of  the  Chinese,  who  was  a 
carpenter  by  trade,  they  quickly  con- 
structed a  bush  hut,  and  slept  in  it  the 
first  night  of  their  arrival,  The  settle- 


the  Diggings. 


[Oct. 


ment  consisted  of  numerous  tents, 
accommodating  from  six  to  twelve  men 
each,  and  of  a  few  larger  ones,  serving 
as  stores.  At  one  of  the  latter,  on 
the  following  morning,  the  partners 
opened  an  account  for  provisions  and 
implements.  Prices  were  exorbitant. 
A  frying-pan,  a  saucepan,  and  two 
tin  mugs,  cost  twelve  dollars — L.2, 8s. 
Four-and-thirty  pounds  weight  of 
coarse  provisions  (biscuit,  salt-junk, 
&c.)  cost  fifty  dollars!  In  short, 
twenty-two  pounds  sterling  were  ex- 
pended for  the  merest  necessaries  be- 
fore they  could  begin  work,  which 
they  did  in  the  following  manner  : — 

"  Commencing  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
water's  edge,  I  handled  a  pick  and  spade, 
shovelling  out  the  earth  to  Mac,  whose 
shoulders  were  best  able  to  carry  a  bur- 
den ;  he  delivered  the  soil  to  the  Celes- 
tial, who  stood  in  the  water  shaking  to 
and  fro  the  rocker  ;  he  then  handed  the 
auriferous  sediment  to  the  inspection  of 
the  sharp-eyed  Malay  boy,  who  washed 
it  in  Mambrino's  helmet  till  nothing  but 
pure  gold  dust  remained.  For  the  first 
few  days  the  arduous  labour  very  sensi- 
bly affected  our  limbs  ;  but  when  we  be- 
came more  accustomed  to  our  tools  it 
wore  off.  Unremitting  labour  from  sun- 
rise to  sunset  was  necessary,  our  very 
existence  depending  on  the  day's  produce. 
Indeed,  but  for  the  excitement,  and  the 
hope  of  great  gain,  gold  digging  might 
be  pronounced  the  severest  and  most 
monotonous  of  all  labour.  We  changed 
our  digging  occasionally,  but  we  gene- 
rally obtained  sufficient  gold  dust  to 
procure  us  the  necessaries  of  life. 
Twenty-five  dollars'  worth  was  the  most 
we  ever  secured  in  a  day,  and  that 
only  on  one  occasion  :  from  fifteen  to 
eighteen  dollars  seemed  to  be  the 
usual  average  of  daily  findings,  not  only 
with  us,  but  with  most  others  ;  and  our 
station  seemed  to  be  considered  by  old 
hands  as  prolific  as  any  other." 

This  is  surely  a  most  suggestive 
quotation.  Here  are  three  able-bodied 
men  and  a  boy  toiling,  from  daybreak 
till  dusk,  as  hard  as  any  journeyman 
stone-mason  or  railway  navigator,  to 
earn — what?  a  bare  subsistence.  For 
the  privilege  of  doing  this  they  had 
performed  an  immense  journey,  un- 
dergone cruel  hardships  and  suffer- 
ings, and  risked  themselves  in  a 
climate  which,  for  part  of  the  year  at 
least,  is  most  unwholesome  and  per- 
nicious. No  matter  that  the  nominal 


1851.] 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


477 


amount  of  their  gains  was  ten  times 
as  much  as  they  could  have  obtained 
in  Europe,  by  digging  or  other  un- 
skilled labour  ;  in  a  region  where 
junk  and  biscuit  averaged  a  dollar  and 
a  half  a  pound,  this  was  of  little  ad- 
vantage. "  We  generally  obtained 
sufficient  gold  dust  to  procure  us  the 
necessaries  of  life.'1'1  Without  care  for 
the  morrow,  the  Celestial  and  the 
Malay  might  have  been  sure  of  that 
much  by  sticking  to  their  berths  as 
carpenter  and  boy  on  board  the 
Mazeppa.  Was  it  for  no  better  than 
this  that  Mac,  the  second  mate,  had 
abandoned  his  ship,  to  the  astonish- 
ment and  disgust  of  the  skipper,  when 
the  cargo  was  but  half  discharged? 
As  yet,  however,  there  were  no  signs 
of  regret  for  the  rash  step  taken. 
*'  Excitement  and  hope  of  great  gain1'1 
kept  up  the  hearts  of  the  gold-diggers. 
In  defiance  of  experience,  they  per- 
sisted, expectant  of  some  sudden 
stroke  of  good  luck.  Such  things  had 
been,  certainly,  but  only  when  the 
gold  store  was  first  developed,  and 
afterwards  at  very  long  intervals ;  and 
the  few  persons  who  have  obtained 
what  might  be  considered  important 
amounts  of  the  precious  metal  in 
California,  have  done  so  by  barter 
with  the  Indians  (who  at  first  were 
willing  enough  to  work  and  trade  for 
gold)  rather  than  by  their  own  unassist- 
ed exertions.  Mr'  Theodore  Johnson 
and  many  other  writers  have  deposed 
to  this.  Of  course,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  large  fortunes  have  been 
and  will  be  amassed  in  California,  but 
that  is  done  by  crafty  and  grasping 
traders,  and  by  the  unscrupulous 
keepers  of  the  countless  gambling- 
tables,  who  squeeze  from  the  toiling 
miner  his  hard-  earned  dust  and  ingots. 
"The  storekeeper,  or  the  gaming- 
house keeper,"  says  Mr  Shaw,  "  is  the 
ravenous  shark  who  swallows  up  all. 
The  majority  of  gold-finders,  if  they 
avoid  the  demon  of  the  hells,  are  at 
the  mercy  of  the  ogre  of  the  store,  who 
crams  them  first  and  devours  them 
afterwards."  In  a  pamphlet  now  be- 
fore us — the  Report  on  California, 
dated  from  Washington,  22d  March 
1850,  and  addressed  by  the  United 
States  Government  Agent,  T.  Butler 
King,  to  the  Honourable  John  Clay- 
ton— we  find  statistics  of  the  gains  of 
the  gold-diggers  confirmatory  of  the 


passages  we  have  quoted  from  Mr 
Shaw.  The  first  discovery  of  the  gold 
took  place  late  in  May  or  early  in 
June  1848  ;  authentic  intelligence  of 
it  did  not  reach  the  States  till  late  in 
the  autumn — too  late  for  emigration 
that  year.  "  The  number  of  miners," 
says  Mr  King,  ."  was  consequently 
limited  to  the  population  of  the  terri- 
tory— some  five  hundred  men  from 
Oregon,  Mexicans  or  other  foreigners 
who  happened  to  be  in  the  country,  or 
came  into  it  during  the  summer  and 
autumn,  and  the  Indians,  who  were 
employed  by,  or  sold  their  gold  to, 
the  whites.  It  is  supposed  there 
were  not  far  from  five  thousand  men 
employed  in  collecting  gold  during 
that  season."  One  thousand  dollars 
a-head  is  considered  a  low  estimate  of 
what  they  amassed  per  man  upon  an 
average.  The  total  amount — of  about 
a  million  pounds  sterling — which  this 
would  make,  must,  however,  have 
been  unequally  divided.  The  Indians 
would  take  trifles  in  exchange  for 
their  gold,  and  no  doubt  many  of  the 
whites  got  together  important  sums. 
At  the  commencement  of  the  dry 
season  of  1849,  foreigners  came  pour- 
ing in  from  all  quarters,  and  by  the 
month  of  July  it  is  estimated  that 
fifteen  thousand  men  were  at  work 
in  the  mines — increased  to  twenty 
thousand  by  the  beginning  of  Septem- 
ber ;  that  is  to  say,  during  the  first 
half  of  that  season  which  permits  suc- 
cessful search  for  gold  in  the  rivers. 
"  Very  particular  and  extensive  in- 
quiries respecting  the  daily  earnings 
and  acquisitions  of  the  miners,"  says 
Mr  King,  "led  to  the  opinion  that 
they  averaged  an  ounce  a-day.  This 
is  believed  by  many  to  be  a  low  esti- 
mate ;  but  from  the  best  information 
I  was  able  to  procure,  I  am  of  opinion 
it  approaches  very  near  actual  re- 
sults." With  provisions,  it  must  be 
borne  in  mind,  at  worse  than  famine 
prices,  a  slender  breakfast — as  record- 
ed by  Mr  Johnson,  who  was  there 
during  this  first  half  of  the  season  of 
1849 — costing  three  dollars,  and  other 
things  in  proportion.  During  the 
last  half  of  the  same  season,  the  Ameri- 
can emigration  had  come  in  by  land 
and  sea,  and  Mr  King  calculates  that 
there  were  forty  or  fifty  thousand 
United  States  citizens  in  California, 
whose  average  gains,  owing  to  their 


478 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


[Oct. 


inexperience  in  mining,  did  not  ex- 
ceed eight  dollars  a-day  per  man. 
This  was  the  period  of  Mr  Shaw's 
abode  in  the  diggings,  and  the  esti- 
mated rate  very  nearly  tallies  with 
the  gains  of  himself  and  companions. 
A  comparison  of  his  narrative  with 
that  of  other  Californian  adventurers 
inclines  us  to  think  that  provisions,  at 
least  of  some  kinds,  had  rather  fallen 
in  price  during  the  latter  part  of  the 
1849  season — at  least  in  San  Francisco 
and  its  vicinity,  although  up  at  the 
diggings,  owing  to  monopoly  and  ex- 
pense of  carnage,  there  was  probably 
but  little  difference.  "  Where  I  was," 
he  says,  "on  the  setting-in  of  the 
winter  season,  the  storekeeper  paid 
four  shillings  for  every  pound- weight 
of  goods,  these  being  transported  on 
mules  to  the  settlement.  Retailing 
almost  everything  at  the  rate  of  from 
six  to  twelve  shillings  a  pound,  the 
storekeepers  gave  credit  ;  but  the 
digger,  unless  he  had  a  continuous 
supply  of  gold,  soon  fell  into  arrears." 
As  a  specimen  of  the  extravagant 
prices  paid  in  particular  cases,  he 
mentions  the  arrival  from  the  Sand- 
wich Islands  of  two  casks  of  potatoes, 
"a  most  welcome  supply,  as  many, 
from  eating  salt  provisions,  were  suf- 
fering from  scurvy.  These  potatoes 
had  a  rapid  sale  atfour  shillings  a-piecc, 
and  were  eaten  raw,  like  apples ! " 
This  is  a  match  for  Mr  Johnson's 
story  of  the  boxes  of  raisins  which  were 
sold,  also  as  an ti- scorbutics,  for  their 
weight  in  gold  dust. 

To  revert,  however,  to  Mr  Shaw's 
adventures.  Gradually  were  disclosed 
to  him  the  various  advantages  of  gold- 
digging,  and  he  experienced  the  ame- 
nities of  American  enlightenment. 
"Prospecting"  one  morning  for  a 
likely  spot,  he  and  Mac  had  just 
pitched  upon  one,  remote  from  any 
other  diggers,  when  down  came  three 
Americans,  and  coolly  took  possession 
of  the  ground.  "  They  were  very  in- 
different about  giving  an  explanation, 
merely  saying  that  we  were  within 
their  limits,  and  they  '  guessed  we 
had  better  remove.'  As  it  would  have 
been  a  matter  of  contest  vi  et  armis, 
we  beat  a  retreat."  A  small  thing 
produced  a  deadly  encounter  at  the 
diggings.  The  company  of  eighty 
men,  already  mentioned,  who  had 
been  excavating  a  channel  to  divert 


the  river's  course,  and  get  at  its  bed, 
where  they  hoped  to  find  a  great  ac- 
cumulation of  gold,  at  last  completed 
their  work.  The  stream,  dammed  up, 
and  driven  into  the  new  cutting,  over- 
flowed the  banks,  and  flooded  other 
people's  diggings. 

"  Indemnification  was  asked,  but  re- 
fused ;  the  inundated  diggers,  therefore, 
commenced  digging  in  the  old  river-bed, 
exclusively  appropriated  for  those  who 
belonged  to  the  company  ;  when  a  mur- 
derous attempt  to  eject  them  ensued  : 
knives  and  picks,  rifles  and  pistols,  were 
freely  used.  The  company,  being  strong- 
est, were  triumphant  ;  though  not  before 
deadly  wounds  had  been  inflicted  on  both 
sides.  I  viewed  the  barbarous  encounter 
from  an  eminence  ;  at  its  termination, 
when  I  visited  the  field  of  battle,  I  was 
horror-struck  at  the  sanguinary  atrocities 
which  had  been  committed.  Some  men 
lay  with  their  entrails  hanging  out  ; 
others  had  their  skulls  smashed  with  the 
pickaxe,  and  bodies  lopped  with  the  axe  ; 
whilst  a  few  lay  breathing  their  last, 
seemingly  unscathed,  but  shot  to  death 
with  bullets." 

The  prospect  of  gain  should  be  very 
great,  to  compensate  civilised  men  for 
the  disgust  and  many  disagreeables 
inevitable  from  the  proximity  of  Ame- 
ricans of  a  certain  stamp.  None 
appreciate  the  better  qualities  of  our 
Transatlantic  cousins  more  highly 
than  ourselves.  It  has  been  our  good 
fortune  to  meet  with  Americans  who 
would  do  honour  to  any  nation.  We 
willingly  believe  that  such  men  are 
numerous  in  the  United  States.  But 
we  regard  with  aversion  a  class  of 
Americans  which  we  much  fear  is 
both  large  and  increasing — that  rest- 
less, reckless,  offensive  class,  who  lay 
down  for  others  laws  which  they 
themselves  disregard;  who  use  license 
and  exact  submission ;  and  who,  them- 
selves childishly  susceptible,  affect 
astonishment  when  others  take  um- 
brage at  their  encroachments.  These 
are  the  men  who  fill  the  ranks  of 
usurping  armies,  to  despoil  feeble 
neighbours  ;  who  man  piratical  expe- 
ditions against  the  possessions  of  an 
allied  and  friendly  country  ;  and  who, 
when  the  pirates  have  met  their  de- 
serts— as  richly  earned  as  was  the 
fate  of  any  freebooter  and  murderer 
who  ever  hung  in  chains  on  bank  of 
Thames  or  West  Indian  key — muster 
by  twenties  of  thousands  in  the  great 


1851.] 

cities  of  the  States,  utter  frantic  yells 
for  vengeance,  set  police  and  order  at 
defiance,  destroy  the  property  of  in- 
nocent traders,  and  drive  diplomatic 
agents  to  seek  safety  for  their  lives 
within  prison  walls.  To  this  disre- 
putable class,  and  to  its  worst  speci- 
mens, belonged,  as  will  easily  be  ima- 
gined, a  great  majority  of  the  Ameri- 
can immigrants  into  California.  Their 
two  chief  characteristics  were  the 
grossest  selfishness  and  the  most 
unwarrantable  interference  in  their 
neighbours'  concerns.  A  party  of  these 
men,  including  two  of  the  three  who 
had  accused  Shaw  and  Mac  of  tres- 
passing, paid  them  a  visit,  fully  arm- 
ed, one  night  after  dark,  as  the  two 
Englishmen,  weary  with  the  day's 
work,  lay  smoking  their  pipes  be- 
neath their  roof  of  leaves  and  branches. 
The  Yankee  diggers  came  to  grumble 
and  bully.  Their  pretext  was,  the 
presence  of  the  Chinese  and  Malay, 
whom  they  either  believed,  or  pre- 
tended to  believe,  were  serfs  to  the 
others,  working  for  their  benefit. 

"  We  assured  the  men  that  we  exer- 
cised no  compulsion  over  the  blacks,  who 
might  leave  us  at  pleasure  ;  and,  notwith- 
standing they  had  previously  declared 
that  coloured  men  were  not  privileged  to 
work  in  a  country  intended  only  for  Ame- 
rican citizens,  some  of  them  were  incon- 
sistent enough  to  ask  the  Celestial  and 
Malay  to  work  for  them  for  pay  ;  but 
nothing  would  shake  their  allegiance  to  us. 
Some  time  afterwards,  this  feeling  against 
the  coloured  races  rose  to  a  pitch  of  ex- 
asperation. .  .  The  mines  becoming 
more  thickly  populated  by  Americans, 
these,  relying  on  their  numerical  strength, 
commenced  acts  of  hostility  and  aggres- 
sion on  any  placer  inhabited  by  coloured 
people,  if  it  were  worth  appropriating,  or 
excited  their  cupidity  :  ejectments  con- 
stantly occurred,  and  thousands,  driven 
from  the  placeres,  left  the  country,  whilst 
others  penetrated  farther  into  the  hill 
ranges." 

The  wet  season  in  California  is 
usually  from  November  till  March  ; 
but  in  1849  it  set  in  unusually  early. 
Mr  Shaw  and  his  partner  had  been  but 
three  weeks  at  the  diggings  when  a 
flood  of  rain  descended.  Their  habi- 
tation was  a  delightful  one  for  hot 
weather— a  sort  of  sylvan  bower  in  a 
clump  of  trees,  with  a  park-like  tract 
i-a  the  rear,  and  the  bright  stream 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


479 


about  a  hundred  paces  in  front.  Now 
the  rain  poured  in  through  their  bower 
of  foliage,  soaking  everything  in  an 
instant.  They  tried  to  keep  it  off  with 
blankets,  but  in  vain  ;  the  weight  of 
the  torrent  overwhelmed  everything. 
They  continued  their  search  after  gold. 
The  labour  had  been  hard  at  first ;  it 
now  was  painful  and  desperate. 

u  At  mid-day  it  was  a  July  heat,  of  au 
evening  and  morning  the  chill  of  January. 
In  the  dry  season  we  had  not  minded, 
when  in  a  profuse  perspiration,  and  op- 
pressed with  heat,  taking  a  turn  in  the 
water  ;  but,  now  that  the  river  was  fill- 
ing, none  liked  standing  long  up  to  the 
waist  in  snow-water  from  the  mountains. 
When  we  thought  of  former  exposures, 
and  contemplated  our  present  position, 
the  terrors  of  ague,  rheumatism,  fever, 
dysentery,  and  other  accompaniments  of 
a  California!!  winter,  occurred  to  our 
minds." 

Ominous  forebodings,  speedily  to  be 
fulfilled.  As  fast  as  they  built  up 
their  hut,  it  was  knocked  down  again, 
until  at  last  they  almost  gave  up  hopes 
of  shelter,  wrapped  themselves  in  their 
blankets,  and  cowered  round  the  fire, 
the  teeth  of  Mahomet  and  the  Celes- 
tial chattering  dismal  duets.  Again 
they  tried  to  work,  and  again  desisted, 
deterred  by  symptoms  of  sickness, 
which  the  Chinese  was  the  first  to  feel. 
Anything  more  dreary  and  wretched 
than  their  situation,  as  described  by 
Mr  Shaw,  can  hardly  be  conceived. 
The  whole  country  was  becoming  de- 
luged ;  a  chilly  south-east  wind  blew 
through  their  hut,  which  resembled  a 
shower-bath,  and  Mac,  applying  his 
nautical  experience  to  the  considera- 
tion of  the  Californian  clouds,  pre- 
dicted much  foul  weather.  In  the 
midst  of  all  this  misery  and  discom- 
fort, provisions  ran  low.  Mr  Shaw 
and  the  Malay  volunteered  to  fetch  a 
small  supply,  and,  making  their  way 
through  bush  and  swamp,  at  last 
reached  the  ford.  This  was  hard  by 
the  place  where  the  cutting  had  been 
made  which  had  caused  the  desperate 
fight  between  the  two  parties  of 
miners.  Labour  and  blood  had  alike 
been  fruitlessly  expended ;  for  want  of 
duo  precaution,  the  mountain  torrents 
had  carried  away  the  embankments. 
The  waters  at  the  ford  were  agitated 
and  dangerous.  "  Mahomet  looked 
sagaciously  at  the  current,  then,  pick- 


480 


A  Voice  from 


ing  pebbles  from  the  bank,  sat  him- 
self down,  and  pitched  them  succes- 
sively into  different  portions  of  the 
river,  complacently  watching  the  re- 
sults :  this,  he  told  me,  was  his  coun- 
try fashion  of  finding  out  the  depth  of 
water,  as,  by  the  bubbles  produced 
by  the  falling  stones,  the  depth  of 
water  was  ascertained." 

Having  at  length  got  across,  "  we 
went  to  our  customary  store,  kept  by 
a  knowing  'Down-East'  youth,  whom 
we  found  seated  astride  on  the  top  of 
a  sugar  cask,  chewing  lustily  at  a  plug 
of  tobacco.  He  was  a  good-natured 
fellow,  for  when  he  saw  the  plight  we 
were  in,  (both  of  us  wet  up  to  the 
waist,  and  Mahomet  rueful  and  shiver- 
ing,) he  pulled  from  his  pocket  a 
brandy  bottle,  and  handed  it  to  us  to 
drink."  Most  rare  generosity  at  the 
diggings !  Provisions  procured,  they 
returned  to  the  hut ;  but  next  morning 
Mahomet  awoke  with  spasms,  and  the 
Celestial  was  very  bad.  Brandy  there 
was  none ;  the  poor  fellows'  funds 
were  running  low ;  and  as  the  Malay's 
case  was  urgent,  Mr  Shaw  went  to 
the  nearest  tent  where  spirits  were. 
u  Christian  men  wanted  liquor,"  was 
the  reply  of  the  humane  and  Christian- 
like  Americans,  "  and  they  would  be 
darned  if  they  would  give  any  to  black 
cattle."  So  Mr  Shaw  made  another 
trip  to  the  store,  and  then  he  and  Mac, 
defying  the  weather,  went  down  to 
dig,  and  were  so  fortunate  as  to  get  a 
full  ounce  of  gold.  A  little  encouraged 
by  this  success,  Mr  Shaw  took  his  gun 
and  walked  off  "  in  search  of  some- 
thing suitable  for  an  invalid."  After 
rambling  far  and  finding  nothing,  he 
espied  a  flock  of  crows,  clustered  on 
the  decayed  carcasses  of  some  ox  on, 
and  knocked  over  three.  The  very 
picking  them  out  of  the  putrid  mass 
amongst  which  they  had  fallen  was  a 
most  disgusting  task ;  but  he  bagged 
them  with  a  shudder,  and,  on  return- 
ing witli  his  loathsome  prize,  so  eager 
were  the  party  to  eat  something  that 
was  fresh — or  rather,  not  salt — that  it 
was  decided,  nem.  con.,  to  make  a 
supper  on  the  crows.  "  They  actually 
smelt  of  carrion,  but  were  very  plump  ; 
and  when  plucked  and  boiled  by  the 
Celestial,  they  ate  much  better  than  I 
anticipated."  After  such  a  repast,  no 
wonder  that  "  the  following  day  both 
Mac  and  myself  experienced  a  shivcr- 


the  Diggings.  [Oct. 

ing  sensation ;  the  Chinese  and  Ma- 
homet were  also  worse."  Indeed, 
it  was  the  wretched  condition  into 
which  the  two  Asiatics  now  fell  that 
partly  detained  their  masters  at  the 
diggings.  As  to  remaining  there  in 
hope  of  profit,  Mr  Shaw  and  his  mess- 
mate were  getting  daily  more  per- 
suaded of  the  fallacy  of  any  such 
expectation.  Hard  work,  frugality 
and  economy,  had  as  yet  done  little 
towards  enriching  them ;  and  here  they 
were,  with  five  or  six  months'  rain 
before  them,  during  which  they  would 
necessarily  gain  less  and  spend  more. 
Themselves  were  now  so  poorly,  and 
the  pains  in  their  limbs  so  severe, 
that  it  was  all  they  could  do  to  keep 
up  the  fire  and  dress  their  food.  But 
the  Malay  and  the  Chinese  were  in  a 
terrible  state,  and  lay  moaning  dis- 
mally, to  the  consternation  of  the 
others.  And  all  this  time  the  party 
of  sufferers  may  be  said  to  have  lived 
in  water,  for  they  had  been  refused 
admittance  into  a  tent,  and  the  roof 
of  branches  kept  out  no  rain.  "  On 
one  occasion,  after  an  agitated  sleep, 
the  boy  sprang  up  shrieking  in  a  fit, 
and  fell  into  the  fire.  Luckily  his 
clothes  were  too  wet  to  catch  a  light, 
and  we  pulled  him  out  instantly ;  but 
after  this  occurrence  we  thought  it 
prudent  to  bind  him  by  the  feet.'* 
When  things  are  at  the  worst  they  must 
mend,  says  the  proverb  ;  and  certainly 
it  were  difficult  to  imagine  anything 
worse  than  the  condition  of  the  four 
unfortunates  in  the  ruined  hut.  But  one 
day  a  man  was  seen  coming  over  the 
hill ;  they  hailed  him,  and  he  ap- 
proached them.  It  was  the  Down- 
Easter  from  the  store.  That  jewel  of 
a  fellow,  who  deserved  to  be  put 
under  a  glass- case  as  an  unparalleled 
specimen  of  a  humane  Yankee  at  the 
diggings,  offered  them  shelter  in  his 
store.  How  joyfully  they  accepted  it 
needs  hardly  to  be  said.  Poor  Ma- 
homet could  not  walk  ;  but  he  was  by 
this  time  a  mere  skeleton,  and  easily 
carried.  The  two  Englishmen  were 
quartered  in  the  store  itself;  their 
coloured  dependants  were  sheltered  in 
an  adjoining  tent.  A  German — self- 
dubbed  a  surgeon,  but  who  in  his  own 
country  had  been  more  accustomed  to 
dress  hair  than  wounds — now  came 
to  see  them,  at  the  moderate  rate  of 
five  dollars  a  visit,  and  insisted  upon 


1851.] 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


bleeding  Mac,  who  unwisely  submit- 
ted, although  already  extremely  weak, 
and  in  greater  need  of  nourishment 
than  blood-letting.  Mr  Shaw  mis- 
trusted the  quack-salver,  suffered  no 
lancet  to  approach  his  veins,  and  his 
health  rapidly  mended.  "Jn  the 
morning  I  took  a  stroll  round  the 
tents :  a  most  ominous  silence  pre- 
vailed ;  of  the  busy  crowds  not  one 
was  to  be  seen  at  work ;  all  was  as 
still  as  an  hospital.  We  had  not  been 
the  only  sufferers  ;  sickness  univer- 
sally prevailed,  seeming  as  infectious 
as  the  plague.  In  every  tent  lay 
sufferers  in  various  stages  of  disease  ; 
out  of  two  hundred,  at  least  twenty 
had  died,  and  not  more  than  sixty 
were  able  to  move.  Those  convales- 
cent would  be  seen  gathered  together 
in  the  stores,"  gambling  the  gold  dust 
for  which  they  had  toiled  all  summer, 
knocking  the  necks  off  champagne 
bottles,  devouring  turtle,  lobsters,  and 
other  delicacies,  preserved  in  tins  and 
sold  at  fabulous  prices.  Idleness  and 
ostentation  were  the  motives  of  this 
lavish  expenditure  of  their  hard- 
gotten  wealth,  and  Mr  Shaw  believes 
"  that  the  majority  wished  themselves 
again  in  the  backwoods,  preferring  beef- 
broth  and  spruce-beer  there  to  cham- 
pagne and  turtle  in  the  diggings." 
Meanwhile,  the  sick  "lay  huddled 
together  in  tents,  moaning  and  cursing, 
many  of  them  dying,  with  no  one  to 
attend  to  their  spiritual  or  bodily 
wants  ;  and  I  cannot  but  think  that 
many  died  from  sheer  starvation  or 
mere  want  of  attendance."  California 
is  the  place  for  contrasts.  In  one  tent 
revelry,  gambling  and  drunkenness ; 
in  ^  the  next,  disease,  delirium,  des- 
pair :  a  reckless  life  terminated  by  a 
godless  death. 

The  monotony  of  the  wet  season  at 
the  diggings  was  presently  varied  by 
an  exciting  incident.  A  tent  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  settlement  was  ran- 
sacked, and  its  two  inmates  speared, 
by  a  party  of  Indians.  A  dozen  men 
assembled  to  follow  and  take  ven- 
geance, chiefly  Yankee  backwoods- 
men, with  two  English  hunters  from 
Oregon  for  their  leaders.  Mr  Shaw 
cleaned  his  gun  and  pistols,  put  a 
store  of  flour  in  his  knapsack,  slung 
his  blanket,  and  accompanied  them,  in 
spite  of  the  arguments  of  his  two 
countrymen,  who  thought  him  physi- 


481 

cally  unequal  to  the  hardships  of  the 
expedition.  On  the  second  day  they 
came  upon  the  Indian  camp,  consist- 
ing of  some  thirty  men  and  twenty 
women.  The  marauding  party  had 
just  come  in,  and  were  narrating  their 
exploits— their  plunder  displayed  upon 
the  ground.  The  Indians — who  seem, 
for  Indians,  to  have  been  extremely 
incautious,  and  to  have  dispensed 
altogether  with  vedettes  or  sentries — 
gathered  together  in  a  group  to  sup, 
when  their  repast  was  unpleasantly 
interrupted  by  the  crack  of  the  white 
men's  rifles,  immediately  followed  by 
a  headlong  charge  with  pistol  and 
bowie-knife.  Five  were  killed  by  the 
first  volley,  and  a  number  wounded, 
most  of  whom  were  remorselessly 
put  to  death,  whilst  a  few  were  saved 
by  the  intercession  of  Oregon  Frank 
and  others  of  the  more  humanely  dis- 
posed. One  old  squaw  had  got  a 
bullet  in  her  leg,  but  as  a  string  of 
scalps  was  amongst  her  personal  orna- 
ments, she  excited  little  compassion. 
"  Knowing  the  treachery  of  Indians," 
Mr  Shaw  artlessly  remarks — meaning, 
we  suppose,  the  possibility  of  an 
attack  from  the  remnant  of  the  party 
which  he  and  his  friends  had  so  mer- 
cilessly decimated — "  we  loaded  our 
firearms  before  sitting  down  to  sup- 
per, keeping  a  watchful  eye  about  us. 
The  repast,  of  which  we  took  posses- 
sion, consisted  of  roots,  venison, 
acorn -bread,  boiled  horse-chestnuts, 
and  a  dish  of  vermin :  the  former 
were  very  palatable  after  our  fatiguing 
march,  but  the  slugs  and  worms  we 
declined  tasting.  When  we  first  sat 
down,  some  arrows  were  shot  with 
great  precision  into  the  midst  of  us : 
one  stuck  firm  in  a  large  piece  of 
venison,  which  we  were  compelled  to 
throw  away  for  fear  of  the  arrow  being 
poisoned."  A  forced  march  of  sixty 
miles  in  twenty-eight  hours  saved 
them  from  an  attack  by  overwhelming 
numbers  on  their  way  homewards,  and 
they  reached  the  diggings  without 
loss.  There  things  were  gloomy 
enough.  During  their  absence  a  man 
had  had  his  ear  cut  off  for  larceny ; 
Mac  was  rather  worse  than  better ; 
the  Malay  and  Celestial  were  on  the 
brink  of  the  grave.  The  overflow  of 
the  river  had  flooded  most  of  the 
diggings  ;  Mr  Shaw's  was  completely 
inundated,  and  not  a  vestige  remained 


482  A  Voice  from 

of  his  hut.  "  As  I  viewed,"  he  says, 
"  the  desolation  of  all  around,  I 
thanked  God  that  I  had  regained  my 
health,  and  involuntarily  shuddered 
at  what  might  otherwise  have  been 
my  fate,  thinking  with  sadness  upon 
the  probable  death  of  those  who 
accompanied  me  hither."  It  now 
appeared  that,  owing  to  the  rainy 
season  having  set  in  a  month  earlier 
than  usual,  the  provisions  in  store 
were  insufficient  to  pass  the  winter. 
Many  of  the  diggers  had  their  own 
tents  and  stock  of  food,  and  they 
might  weather  it  out ;  others  had 
gold  wherewith  to  buy  food,  so  long 
as  food  there  was  to  buy  :  this  latter 
•class  were  not  secure  from  starvation, 
which  would  be  the  almost  certain 
-fate  of  those  who  had  but  the  labour 
of  their  arms  to  depend  upon.  The 
friendly  storekeeper  intended  selling 
off  and  starting  ;  the  two  Oregonians 
were  about  to  quit  —  perhaps  to  try 
the  dry  diggings,  perhaps  to  return 
home  through  the  mountains — and 
wished  Mr  Shaw  to  accompany  them. 
He  had  but  thirty  dollars  left,  and  his 
digging  was  under  water.  In  this 
perplexity  he  took  council  with  Mac, 
who  was  in  stout  spirits,  although 
still  an  invalid.  He  advised  a  retreat 
to  Stockton.  Mr  Shaw  acquiesced, 
and  as  he  would  only  have  expended 
his  slender  funds,  without  benefit  to 
his  friend,  by  awaiting  Mac's  con- 
valescence, he  resolved  to  set  out 
alone  upon  the  following  day.  As  to 
Mahomet  and  the  Chinaman,  their 
case  was  utterly  hopeless.  They  were 
dreadfully  emaciated,  and  so  delirious 
that  they  did  not  seem  to  recognise 
their  old  master  and  fellow- labourer 
when  he  paid  them  a  farewell  visit. 
With  painful  regret  he  parted  from 
Mac,  and  set  out  upon  his  lonely 
journey  across  two  hundred  miles  of 
wilderness.  Here,  as  in  other  parts 
of  the  book,  one  cannot  but  admire 
the  judgment  and  resolution  of  this 
young  fellow,  then  not  out  of  his  teens, 
but  who  displayed,  on  many  occa- 
sions, qualities  that  would  do  credit 
to  a  man  of  mature  age  and  far 
greater  experience. 

In  the  midst  of  a  storm  of  wind  and 
rain,  and  encumbered  by  a  heavy 
load,  Mr  Shaw  took  a  last  look  at 
those  diggings  where  his  "golden 
•dreams "  had  been  so  rudely  dis- 


the  Diggings.  [Oct. 

pelled,  and  ascended  the  steep  moun- 
tain which  commenced  his  laborious 
march.  His  knapsack  contained 
"twelve  yards  of  jerked  beef,  dried 
in  strips,  six  pounds  of  biscuits,  one 
pound  of  beans,  and  two  of  flour." 
He  was  further  loaded  with  his  blan- 
kets and  bag  for  water,  his  pistols, 
gun,  and  a  huge  bowie-knife.  Road 
there  was  none  ;  the  track  that  there 
had  been  was  obliterated  by  the  rain  ; 
he  steered  his  course  by  landmarks. 
The  summer  streamlets  and  mountain 
gullies  were  converted  into  deep  and 
rapid  rivers ;  cataracts  roared  down 
amongst  the  rocks,  bringing  with  them 
avalanches  of  soil  and  trees ;  the 
whole  surface  of  the  earth  was  flooded. 
At  dark  he  was  compelled  to  halt,  lest 
he  should  find  a  grave  in  some  ravine. 
Establishing  his  bivouac  beneath  a 
tree,  he  at  first  hesitated  to  light  a 
fire  lest  it  should  attract  Indians ;  but 
this  risk  he  was  compelled  to  run,  in 
order  to  deter  wild  beasts,  for  a  couple 
of  coyotes  and  a  tiger-cat  showed 
themselves ;  and  although  pretty  well 
used  to  the  howling  of  wolves,  he 
could  not  think  without  trepidation 
of  the  certain  results  of*an  encounter 
with  a  grizzly  bear,  a  monster  by  no 
means  uncommon  in  those  latitudes, 
and  between  which  and  the  ursine 
specimens  we  have  opportunities  of 
observing  in  England  there  is  as  wide 
a  difference,  as  between  a  lady's  park 
palfrey  and  the  mad  charger  that  bore 
Mazeppa  to  the  desert.  "  Their  speed 
being  almost  equal  to  that  of  a  horse, 
notwithstanding  their  clumsy  appear- 
ance and  gait,  foot-travellers  have  no 
chance  with  them,  as  they  can  climb 
a  tree  or  gnaw  the  trunk  away  with 
equal  facility.  The  most  marvellous 
accounts  of  their  bulk  are  current 
amongst  hunters.  Some  of  these 
monsters  are  said  to  be  the  height  of 
a  jackass,  and  weigh  fifteen  hundred 
pounds."  No  wonder  that,  in  hopes 
of  scaring  away  carnivora  of  this 
magnitude,  he  lit  a  fire  and  risked  his 
scalp.  We  were  puzzled  to  think 
how,  in  the  midst  of  the  deluge  he 
describes,  he  got  his  fire  to  burn. 
But  here  nature  has  been  merciful, 
and  there  is  a  crumb  of  compensation 
and  comfort  for  the  drenched  way- 
farer in  California.  The  gum-trees 
and  firs  of  the  country  are  his  resource. 
However  wet  the  weather,  he  has  but 


1851.] 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


483 


to  strip  the  bark  from  the  base  of  one 
of  these ;  the  wood  underneath  is 
perfectly  dry  ;  a  few  resinous  chips, 
cut  out  with  a  hatchet,  are  easily 
persuaded  to  flame,  and  these  set  light 
to  the  foot  of  the  tree,  which,  once 
kindled,  burns  steadily  and  gradually, 
without  spreading  or  blazing,  and 
gives  out  a  genial  heat.  Mr  Shaw 
usually  selected  a  tree  about  three 
feet  in  diameter  for  his  watch-fire, 
which  seems  to  have  been  just  the 
right  size  to  last  the  night,  for  "  on 
awaking  in  the  morning,"  he  says 
"  agreeably  surprised  to  find  myself 
unmolested,  the  tree,  being  almost 
burnt  through,  fell  with  a  crash." 
To  avoid  the  risk,  otherwise  immi- 
nent, of  being  crushed  by  the  remains 
of  this  sylvan  fireplace,  it  is  necessary 
to  select  a  tree  so  inclined  as  to  be 
certain  to  fall  in  a  contrary  direction 
to  the  wind,  which  serves  to  keep  up 
the  fire  and  to  keep  the  embers  from 
the  sleeper,  who  of  course  lays  him- 
self down  to  windward. 

At  about  noon  on  his  third  day's 
march,  Mr  Shaw  found  his  progress 
barred  by  a  swollen  stream,  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  wide,  whose  current 
raced  past  at  fully  seven  knots  an 
hour.  After  patrolling  its  banks  in 
quest  of  a  shallower  and  narrower 
place,  and  finding  none,  he  risked  the 
passage.  "Unbuckling  the  burden 
on  my  shoulders,  holding  it  by  a 
slender  cord  with  one  hand,  my  gun 
above  my  head  with  the  other,  and 
my  knife  between  my  teeth,  I  cau- 
tiously entered  the  water.  On  gain- 
ing the  middle  of  the  stream,  I  felt 
with  painful  anxiety  the  water  rising 
higher  and  higher ;  and  the  current, 
nearly  carrying  me  off  my  legs,  com- 
pelled me  reluctantly  to  use  the  gun 
as  a  support  and  sounding  rod.  The 
general  depth  averaged  from  my  waist 
upwards  to  my  neck ;  for  a  minute  I 
was  immersed  over  head,  but  regained 
a  footing  without  sacrificing  my  pack, 
and  succeeded  in  crossing  safely." 
That  night,  the  wolves,  as  if  aware 
of  the  unserviceable  state  of  his  fire- 
arms, were  unusually  clamorous  and 
daring,  and  he  was  awakened  at  mid- 
night by  their  abominable  serenade. 
"From  rock  to  rock  their  dismal 
howls  were  echoed,  responded  to  in 
the  distance  by  the  fiendish  laugh 
-of  a  jackall.  Casting  a  look  around, 


a  huge  shaggy  wolf  stood  within  five 
yards,  his  eyes  glaring    at  me    like 
burning  coals.     Snatching  up  a  fire- 
brand,  I    hurled   it    at    him,   which 
made  him  turn  tail  and  beat  a  rapid 
retreat."     By  a  very  long  march  the 
next  day  he  cleared  the  mountains 
and  got  to  the   Stanislaus,  but  not 
until   after  dark.      "The  moonlight 
was  palely  reflected  on  the  silvery 
surface  of  the  water,  which  sparkled 
with    the    leaping    of  salmon ;    the 
stream  made    a    hollow  murmuring 
sound,  as  it  dashed  over  the  rocky 
obstructions  in  its  bed ;  and  a  grove 
of  trees  and  shrubs,  which  overhung 
the  edge,  cast  a  deep  shade  around. 
As  far  as  I  could  guess,  it  was  at  least 
three  quarters  of  a  mile  in  width." 
Near  the  ford,  which  he  made  correct- 
ly, but  which,  owing  to  the  increase 
of  the  waters,  was  hardly  recognisable, 
a  party  of  Indians  were  salmon-spear- 
ing.     To  the  hungry  traveller,  long 
unused  to  better  food  than  dry  biscuit 
and  salt  beef,  the  idea  of  a  slice  of 
fresh-broiled  salmon  was  most  capti- 
vating.     But  although  pretty  well 
convinced,   from   some    Spanish  ex- 
clamations he  overheard,  that  these 
were  Mission-Indians,  belonging   to 
a   friendly  and   Christian   tribe,    he 
thought  it  as  prudent  not  to  accost 
them,  and  plunged  into  the  stream. 
When  about  half-way  across,  he  got 
out  of  his  depth,  was  swept  away  by 
the  current,  and  shouted  for  succour. 
He  was  got  ashore   insensible,  but 
was  brought  to  life  by  the  exertions 
of  a  hideous  squaw,  who  kneeled  upon 
his  chest  to  pump  the  water  out  at  his 
mouth.      At  first  doubtful  whether 
humanity   or  hunger  had  prompted 
his  rescue,  and  whether  he  was  to  be 
fed  or  fed  upon,  he  was  soon  relieved 
from    the  unpleasant  doubt  by  the 
kindness  of  the  poor   Indians,  who 
wrapped  him  in  blankets  and  gave 
him  salmon  and  maize-cake  for  sup- 
per.    A  cross  tatooed  upon  his  arm 
(sailor  fashion)  increased  their  regard 
for  him,  by  convincing  them  he  was 
a  Roman  Catholic ;  and  on  learning 
he  was  an  Englishman,  they  testified 
extreme    satisfaction.       "The    two 
leading  characteristics  of  the  Mission- 
Indians  are  Catholic  zeal,  and  an  in- 
herent detestation  of  Yankees."    Af- 
ter leaving  these  hospitable  savages, 
who  were  bound  inland  to  winter- 


484 

quarters,  Mr  Shaw  had  to  traverse 
the  sandy  plain  which  had  been  the 
scene  of  so  ranch  suffering  on  his 
march  to  the  diggings.  The  weather 
was  now  cool,  and  he  was  plentifully 
supplied  with  water,  so  all  that  he 
had  to  put  up  with  was  the  fatigue  of 
walking  through  sand  into  which  he 
sank  ankle-deep  at  every  step.  Not- 
withstanding this  disadvantage,  he 
accomplished  thirty-five  miles  the 
first  day,  proving  himself  a  stout  pe- 
destrian. He  passed  a  dead  mule, 
laden  with  a  pack  of  hosiery,  and 
saw  various  skeletons,  partly  buried 
ill  sand-drifts  ;  and  the  next  morning 
his  route  took  him  by  several  recently- 
made  graves.  That  evening  he  en- 
tered Stockton,  heartily  glad  once 
more  to  find  himself  in  a  civilised 
settlement,  but  not  without  misgiv- 
ings as  to  how  he  should  manage  to 
earn  a  living  and  get  on  to  San  Fran- 
cisco. It  was  too  late  to  hunt  for  his 
old  shipmates,  so  he  warmed  his  pot 
of  coffee  at  a  deserted  fire,  and  then, 
creeping  under  a  cart,  lay  down  upon 
some  rotten  wood  and  rushes.  Just  as 
he  was  falling  asleep,  he  was  roused  by 
a  singular  incident.  A  hale  gigantic 
man  of  thirty,  who  was  sleeping  near 
him,  was  stung  by  a  venomous  insect 
peculiar  to  that  country,  whose  sting 
he  knew  to  be  mortal. 

"  A  convulsive  tremor  shook  his  frame, 
and  the  perspiration  dropped  from  his 
brows,  as  he  stood  before  a  large  fire 
with  his  hands  clasped,  exclaiming, (  The 
Lord  have  mercy  on  my  soul  ! '  Various 
remedies  were  proposed,  but  he  shook 
his  head  :  '  No,'  said  he  ;  '  die  I  must,' 
and  thus  philosophically  he  resigned  him- 
self to  his  fate.  Intelligence  of  this  dis- 
aster had  a  startling  effect  on  most  of  the 
sleepers.  I,  as  well  as  others,  from  a 
morbid  anxiety,  watched  the  gradual 
working  of  the  venom.  The  doomed 
man,  with  the  equanimity  of  a  Socrates, 
joined  in  the  conversation,  but  kept 
drinking  large  draughts  of  brandy  ;  vio- 
lent spasms  soon  came  on,  and  he  shouted 
for  more  liquor  ;  his  features,  seen  by  the 
lurid  light  of  the  fire,  were  horrible  to 
contemplate" ;  and  it  was  not  without  vio- 
lent struggles  that  he  gave  up  the  ghost." 

This  melancholy  event  so  disturbed 
Mr  Shaw  that  he  quitted  his  sleeping- 
place  beneath  the  cart,  and,  after 
some  prowling  about,  took  up  his 
quarters  in  a  dilapidated  tent,  con- 
taining a  forge  and  anvil.  There  he 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


[Oct. 


lay  down  under  a  bench,  upon  some 
iron  rubbish,  u  arranged  as  comfort- 
ably as  could  be,  for  a  mattress ; " 
and  there,  in  the  morning,  he  was 
awakened  by  a  kick  in  the  ribs  from 
the  inhospitable  smith  who  owned 
the  "  location,"  and  who  overwhelmed 
him  with  foul  language  for  intruding 
into  his  shop.  "  As  it  is  useless  to 
expostulate  with  surly,  ill-conditioned 
people,  I  merely  made  a  brisk  exit." 
In  California,  a  man  who  is  at  all 
scrupulous  about  taking  human  life, 
and  whom  nature  has  not  gifted  with 
the  thews  and  muscles  of  an  athlete, 
or  art  endowed  with  the  pugilistic 
science  of  a  prize-fighter,  must  make 
up  his  mind  to  submit  to  occasional 
rough  treatment.  Not  possessing 
sufficient  bodily  strength  to  pummel 
the  brutal  Vulcan  who  grudged  him 
a  nap  upon  his  old  iron,  Mr  Shaw — 
whose  courage  and  resolution  no  one 
will  doubt  who  reads  his  unassuming 
narrative,  but  who  appears  to  be  of 
active  rather  than  of  powerful  frame 
— might,  had  it  so  pleased  him,  have 
had  recourse  to  Colt,  and  sent  half-a- 
dozen  bullets  in  rapid  succession 
through  the  vitals  of  his  assailant. 
The  chances  are  that,  in  the  infant 
state,  and  with  the  provocation  given, 
he  would  have  escaped  unpunished, 
unless,  indeed,  his  quality  of  a  Britisher 
had  rendered  him  particularly  ob- 
noxious to  Judge  Lynch.  To  thrive 
in  California,  or  even  to  hold  his  own 
— at  least  in  the  year  1849,  and  we 
have  shrewd  doubts  about  things 
having  much  mended  since  that  date 
— a  man  must  not  be  over-particular 
about  defacing  the  image  of  his  Maker, 
but  prompt  to  revenge  his  own  griev- 
ances, and  act  as  judge  and  execu- 
tioner in  his  own  quarrel.  There, 
ascendency  and  impunity  are  too  often 
accorded  to  brutal  violence  and 
cruelty,  whilst  fair-play  is  almost 
unknown.  At  San  Francisco,  soon 
after  Mr  Shaw's  arrival  there,  the 
influx  of  thousands  of  sick  and  im- 
poverished miners,  come  in  from  the 
diggings  to  winter,  caused  a  glut  in 
the  labour  market,  and  large  nightly 
meetings  were  held — 

"  Ending  in  furious  tirades,  forbidding 
foreigners  to  seek  employment,  or  people 
to  hire  them;  accusing  them  of  being  the 
cause  of  a  fall  in  wages,  and  holding  out 
deadly  threats  to  all  who  dared  labour 


1851.] 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


under  the  fixed  rate  of  payment,  ten 
dollars  a-day.  These  nocturnal  assem- 
blies had  in  them  something  appalling, 
being  composed  of  from  three  hundred  to 
a  thousand  cut-throats,  armed  with  bowie- 
knives  and  firearms,  and  often  intoxi- 
cated. The  stump-orators  and  leading 
demagogues  were  usually  notorious  cha- 
racters, celebrated  not  for  mental  superi- 
ority, but  for  their  extreme  democratic 
principles  and  physical  powers.  On  one 
occasion,  an  orator,  being  interrupted  in 
his  harangue  by  certain  remarks  deroga- 
tory to  his  person,  leaped  off  his  tub  into 
the  midst  of  the  crowd  and  seized  the 
.  offender.  Fierce  was  the  struggle,  a  ring 
was  formed,  when,  throwing  his  antago- 
nist down,  the  orator  jumped  on  him  with 
his  heavy  boots  !  In  vain  were  the 
victim's  shrieks  of  agony — no  one  ventured 
to  interpose.  The  demagogue's  rage  being 
satiated,  he  remounted  the  tub  and  con- 
tinued his  oration." 

In  default  of  protection  from  the 
laws,  surely  a  bowie-knife  could  find 
no  more  appropriate  sheath  than  be- 
tween the  ribs  of  such  a  ruffian. 

During  Mr  Shaw's  brief  absence, 
the  town  of  Stockton  had  greatly 
increased  in  size.  Regular  streets  of 
wooden  houses  had  been  built;  vessels 
were  discharging  cargo,  steamers  were 
puffing  at  the  wharf,  strings  of  mules 
stood  in  the  streets,  laden  with  goods 
for  the  interior.  Dollars  were  plenti- 
ful, but  the  bakers  had  formed  a 
league,  and  bread  was  six  shillings  a 
loaf.  Unable  to  find  any  of  his  ship- 
mates, Mr  Shaw  walked  down  to  the 
quay  in  search  of  work.  After  nume- 
rous unsuccessful  attempts,  he  ob- 
tained employment  as  a  rough  carpen- 
ter. Poor  fellow !  he  knew  little  of 
the  trade,  and  was  discharged  at 
night,  with  four  dollars  for  his  ser- 
vices. Next  day  he  was  hired  by  a 
sailmaker,  to  stitch  canvass  for  tents. 
Again  found  inefficient,  his  services 
were  dispensed  with,  but  he  received 
seven  dollars.  Then  he  turned  cook — 
to  a  gang  of  carpenters  who  were 
constructing  a  foot-bridge.  His  duties 
were  to  hew  wood  for  firing,  to  cook 
beefsteaks  and  damper,  and  boil  coffee, 
five  dollars  a-day  being  the  stipulated 
guerdon.  His  twelve  masters  were 
never  satisfied  :  the  steak  was  always 
voted  tough,  or  the  damper  heavy ; 
and  seeing  that  some  of  them  were 
determined  to  grumble  till  they  got 
rid  of  him,  he  gave  warning  on  the 


485 

third  day,  and  left  without  a  charac- 
ter. Once  more  his  own  master,  he 
took  a  stroll  through  the  town,  and 
visited  the  hospital—"  a  silent  and 
sombre  tenement,  eighty  feet  long  by 
fifteen  in  width,  made  of  tarred  can- 
vass, and  lighted  by  two  slush-lamps." 
The  rain  dripped  through  the  roof ; 
about  thirty  patients,  of  all  countries, 
classes,  and  colours,  lay  on  straw  upon 
the  ground,  with  only  their  blankets 
to  cover  them.  Nurses  there  were 
none.  Twice  a-day  a  doctor  came — 
such  a  doctor  as  one  might  expect  to 
find  in  such  a  place.  Here  lay  a  man 
with  a  gaping  wound  in  the  abdomen, 
received  from  a  bowie-knife  in  a 
drunken  fray.  When  any  died,  they  lay 
for  days  waiting  removal — the  dead 
amongst  the  living.  Here  Mr  Shaw 
met  one  of  his  shipmates,  a  young 
man  whom  he  had  left  at  Stockton 
when  he  started  for  the  diggings,  and 
who  had  since  been  driven  mad  by 
disease,  misfortune,  and  despondency. 
He  was  seated  on  the  straw,  busily 
untwisting  the  threads  of  his  quilt. 
Mr  Shaw  hurried  to  the  doctor,  stated 
the  respectability  of  the  maniac's 
friends,  and  the  certainty  of  a  hand- 
some recompense  if  his  health  were 
restored,  and  he  were  conveyed  on 
board  the  Mazeppa.  The  humane 
medico  calculated  his  recovery  was 
considerable  unlikely  ;  and  as  for  the 
promised  reward,  why,  he  was  too  far 
Down-East  to  trust  to  that.  The  poor 
fellow,  who  then  had  lucid  intervals, 
became  totally  deranged,  and  subse- 
quently died.  "  Insanity,  as  may  be 
supposed,  is  very  frequent  in  this 
country,  where  the  mind  is  liable  to 
very  violent  shocks,  caused  by  sudden 
reverses  of  fortune,  privation,  and 
danger."  Having  expended  his  last 
dollar  in  bread  for  supper,  Mr  Shaw, 
when  grievously  at  a  loss  for  break- 
fast, was  so  lucky  as  to  fall  in  with 
a  party  of  sailors,  recently  paid  off 
from  the  American  man-of-war  Ohio. 
They  had  come  to  Stockton  in  a 
whale-boat,  intending  to  proceed  to 
the  diggings  ;  but  the  narrative  of  Mr 
Shaw's  mishaps  made  them  abandon 
their  project,  in  which  they  had  al- 
ready begun  to  waver,  discouraged  by 
the  sight  of  so  many  sickly  disap- 
pointed miners.  Several  of  these 
men-of-war's-men  were  of  English 
extraction,  and  one,  Cockney  Bill, 


486 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


[Oct. 


from  the  "  New  Cut,  Lambeth,"  who 
was  the  leading  character  amongst 
them,  made  Mr  Shaw  heartily  wel- 
come to  their  mess  and  a  seat  in  the 
whale-boat,  in  which,  after  a  severe 
pull,  they  reached  San  Francisco. 
Here  Mr  Shaw  was  fortunate  enough 
to  find  out  the  tent  of  a  passenger  by 
the  Mazeppa,  who  gave  him  a  kind 
welcome  and  the  shelter  he  greatly 
needed.  This  was  the  same  man  who 
had  got  drunk,  and  set  fire  to  the 
grog-store,  when  they  first  landed  in 
California.  He  was  now  a  steady 
fellow,  and  was  making  money  by 
retailing  spirits.  Under  his  canvass 
roof,  and  partly  by  his  assiduous 
attentions,  Mr  Shaw  got  through  a 
bad  attack  of  fever  and  ague  ;  having 
recovered  from  which,  he  went  out  to 
look  for  work.  Certainly  he  was  just 
the  lad  to  rough  it,  in  any  part  of  the 
world.  Nothing  came  amiss  to  him. 
u  My  occupations  were  manifold,"  he 
says — "discharging  cargoes,  carrying 
merchants'  goods,  cutting  roads,  tent- 
making,  vending  fruit,  and  packing 
timber.  Five  was  my  usual  hour  of 
rising,  and,  however  miserable  and 
dark  the  morning,  I  was  at  the  vari- 
ous '  points '  in  search  of  occupation, 
eager  to  seek,  and  willing  to  accept, 
any  description  of  work.  Having  no 
settled  abode,  I  lived  according  to  the 
day's  luck,  sleeping  wherever  chance 
directed."  Soon,  owing  to  the  mob 
of  labourers  and  the  prevailing  agita- 
tion, it  was  not  very  safe  for  a 
foreigner  to  seek  work,  whilst  it  was 
decidedly  dangerous  to  work  under 
wages.  "  There  was  a  high  cliff  near 
the  rendezvous  at  Miller's  Point, 
which  I  carefully  avoided  at  night,  as 
from  this  '  Tarpeian  rock '  three  poor 
fellows  were  hurled  who  had  worked 
under  wages,  or  were  suspected  of 
having  done  so.  The  beach  below 
was  used  as  a  bury  ing- ground ;  those 
who  perished  from  want  or  sickness 
were  conveyed  thither.  The  labour 
of  digging  graves  was  unnecessary, 
the  bodies  being  either  covered  at  high 
tide  with  a  layer  of  saiid,  or  carried 
out  to  sea.  When  digging  sand  fur 
the  masons,  I  exhumed  several  bodies 
in  various  places."  He  had  made  a 
contract  to  work  for  a  mason  for  one 
hundred  dollars  a-month  and  his 
board,  including  sleeping-room  in  the 
forecastle  of  a  vessel,  the  driest  lodg- 


ing he  had  had  since  he  left  the 
Mazeppa.  About  this  time  (the 
latter  autumn  of  1849)  occurred  one 
of  those  terrible  conflagrations  to 
which  San  Francisco  has  been  so 
liable.  Several  of  the  principal  gam- 
bling-houses and  largest  buildings  were 
blazing ;  from  a  distance  the  appear- 
ance was  that  of  an  immense  burning 
crater  :  owing  to  the  direction  of  the 
wind,  the  whole  city  was  in  danger 
of  being  burned  down.  But  the  mob 
would  not  stir  a  finger  towards  extin- 
guishing the  flames,  until  "  the  rate 
of  compensation  was  decided  upon." 
Highly  characteristic  is  this  of  that 
greed  and  selfishness  which  are  such 
prominent  symptoms  of  the  Califor- 
nian  gold-fever.  Three  dollars  an 
hour  was  the  rate  of  payment  ulti- 
mately fixed.  Water  was  very  diffi- 
cult to  procure,  and  some  of  the 
merchants  were  said  to  have  paid 
sixty  dollars  for  a  water-cart  load. 
The  loss  was  estimated  at  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  dollars. 
Some  of  the  frame-houses  destroyed 
were  three  stories  high,  contained  a 
hundred  rooms,  and  paid  eight  thou- 
sand dollars  ground-rent.  The  part 
of  the  town  burned  down  being  noto- 
rious for  its  gambling-houses,  "  many 
regarded  the  fire  as  a  visitation  of 
Providence;  opposite  the  scene  of 
ruin,  some  zealous  preachers  were 
mounted  on  tubs,  crying  '  Woe  unto 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah  ! '  and  exhort- 
ing the  people  to  turn  from  the  error 
of  their  ways,  and  erect  places  of 
worship.  Nor  was  this  calamity 
without  its  good  effects,  as  funds  for 
a  church  were  raised ;  many  calcu- 
lating men  paying  the  subscription  as 
they  would  an  insurance,  not  to  pro- 
mote the  salvation  of  souls,  but  in  the 
hope  of  thereby  saving  their  goods 
and  chattels." 

His  back  nearly  broken,  and  his 
hands  cut  to  pieces  by  carrying  huge 
blocks  of  coral  rock,  brought  from  the 
Sandwich  Islands  for  building  pur- 
poses, Mr  Shaw,  dreading  a  return  of 
sickness,  then  very  prevalent  in  San 
Francisco,  resolved  to  quit  "  that  city 
of  sordid  selfishness  and  heartless  pro- 
fligacy," and  to  seek  shelter  for  the 
remainder  of  the  bad  season  in  some 
remote  ranclto.  A  few  hours'  walk 
brought  him  to  the  "  Mission  of  Do- 
lores." A  wing  of  this  old  convent 


1851.] 


A  Voice  from  the  Diggings. 


487 


had  been  converted  into  an  inn,  and 
was  kept  by  a  family  of  Yankee  Mor- 
mons, in  partnership  with  the  supe- 
rior. Here  Mr  Shaw  obtained  em- 
ployment ;  and  a  laughable  description 
he  gives  of  his  multifarious  duties,  of 
his  bed  upon  a  soft  plank  amongst 
the  rats  in  the  granary,  of  his  break- 
fasts on  brandy  bitters— the  favourite 
morning  beverage  of  the  Mormon  hos- 
tess and  her  daughters— of  his  milk- 
ing cows  and  mixing  juleps,  and  of 
the  gambling,  cock-fighting,  bullock- 
hunting,  and  other  diversions  of  the 
frequenters  of  the  tavern.  His  pos- 
session of  a  tooth-brush,  and  the  use 
he  made  of  it,  were  cause  of  great 
wonder  to  the  primitive  people  amongst 
whom  he  now  found  himself.  The 
Mormon  ladies  looked  upon  him  as  a 
superior  being,  and  were  immensely 
edified  by  his  descriptions  of  European 
habits ;  his  master  treated  him  with 
confidence  and  consideration  ;  and 
regular  diet  and  freedom  from  anxiety 
renovated  his  strength,  although  he 
was  still  subject  at  intervals  to  a 
depression  of  spirits  and  weakness  in 
the  limbs  peculiar  to  that  country. 
His  stay  at  the  sign  of  the  Bull's 
Head,  however,  was  shorter  than  he 
had  expected,  and  than  his  employers 
wished.  Going  into  San  Francisco 
to  make  some  purchases,  the  captain 
of  the  Mazeppa  offered  him  a  free 
cabin  passage  to  Sydney  or  the  Sand- 
wich Islands — an  offer  with  which  he 


thankfully  closed.  Owing  to  the  ex- 
orbitant price  of  labour,  the  captain, 
supercargo,  and  chief  mate,  had  been 
obliged  to  discharge  the  cargo  them- 
selves. A  portion  of  it,  consisting  of 
assortments  of  musical  instruments, 
ladies'  apparel,  and  other  commodi- 
ties useless  in  California,  had  not  paid 
charges.  "  As  no  return-freight  could 
be  obtained,  the  Mazeppa  was  going 
pack  in  ballast  of  sand  and  rum — this 
inferior  spirit,  which  would  not  pay 
customs'  duty,  being  cheaper  to  buy 
than  stone  ballast."  Mr  Shaw  pro- 
posed recruiting  his  health  at  the 
Sandwich  Islands,  and  returning  to 
the  diggings  in  the  following  spring  ; 
but  he  afterwards  changed  his  mind, 
and  went  on  to  Sydney.  His  account 
of  the  voyage,  of  his  visit  to  the  Sand- 
wich and  Navigator's  Islands,  of  Mr 
Pritchard  the  consul,  and  of  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  Sa- 
moans,  is  very  entertaining.  From  the 
first  page  to  the  last,  his  book  is  full 
of  incident  and  interest ;  and  although 
carelessly  enough  written  upon  the 
whole,  the  reader  is 'struck  at  times 
by  a  sort  of  vivid  simplicity  of  style, 
examples  of  which  are  afforded  by 
some  of  our  extracts.  As  regards 
California,  Mr  Shaw  has  unquestion- 
ably presented  us  with  the  black  side 
of  the  picture ;  but  we  have  no  reason 
to  think  that  he  has  tinted  it  one 
shade  darker  than  the  facts  of  the 
case  fully  warrant. 


488 


The  Experiment. 


[Oct. 


THE    EXPERIMENT. 


Ix  the  moral  and  political  sciences 
the  Mends  of  truth  seem  doomed  to 
wage  an  incessant  warfare  with  the 
advocates  of  error  and  the  patrons  of 
delusion.  In  these  fields  of  inquiry 
no  ground  seems  ever  to  be  incontes- 
tibly  won,  and  no  conquest  so  securely 
made  as  to  defy  hostile  challenge. 
Errors  that  had  been  refuted  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  thinking  men,  and 
consigned  to  the  limbo  of  oblivion,  are 
prone  to  appear  in  vigorous  rejuve- 
nescence, and  to  demand,  like  the 
heads  of  the  fabulous  hydra,  a  second 
extermination.  In  physical  science 
the  progress  may  be  slow ;  but,  a  step 
in  advance  being  gained,  it  can  neither 
be  lost  nor  questioned.  The  law  of 
gravitation  once  proved,  the  most 
daring  Pyrrhonist  could  not  deny  it 
without  raising  a  doubt  of  his  sanity  ; 
and  the  moment  Pythagoras  offered 
his  hecatomb  to  the  gods,  no  geome- 
trician could  ever  be  asked  to  re- 
demonstrate  that  the  square  of  the 
hypotheneuse  of  a  right-angled  tri- 
angle was  equal  to  the  squares  of  the 
sides.  In  morals,  and  the  mixed  science 
of  politics,  so  much  is  the  case  reversed, 
that  no  one  position  can  be  held  as 
settled  beyond  the  chance  of  subse- 
quent controversy.  To  repine  at  such 
a  result  would  be  ridiculous,  and 
would  imply  an  unpardonable  igno- 
rance of  an  elementary  law  regulating 
every  moral  and  political  inquiry.  No 
evidence  in  favour  of  any  one  pro- 
position in  these  branches  of  human 
knowledge  can  ever  amount  to  scien- 
tific certainty ;  and,  not  amounting 
to  scientific  certainty,  no  proposition 
can  be  determined  so  that  it  may 
not  be  opened  up  for  fresh  adjudica- 
tion and  discussion.  These,  accord- 
ingly, have  ever  been  the  fields  in 
which  moonstruck  speculators  have 
delighted  to  disport ;  it  being  im- 
possible to  demonstrate  that  any 
experiments  made  in  these  metaphy- 
sical regions  have  resulted  in  disas- 
.trous  failures. 

The  adoption  of  what,  by  a  pleasant 
fiction,  is  called  "  Free  Trade,"  was, 
at  the  time,  described  by  some  of  our 
wisest  statesmen  as  "  an  experiment." 
This  was  the  expression  used  by  the 


Duke  of  Wellington  and  the  Marquis 
of  Lansdowne  in  reference  to  free 
trade  in  corn  ;  and  the  Earl  of  Aber- 
deen, at  an  agricultural  meeting  in 
Scotland,  characterised  it  as  a  u  pro- 
blem." The  language  was  ominous ! 
To  "  experiment "  on  the  largest  in- 
terest in  the  kingdom,  and  that  which 
admittedly  forms  the  very  basis  of 
national  prosperity  —  to  experiment 
on  the  capital,  industry,  and  welfare 
of  millions  of  the  most  loyal  and  best 
conditioned  of  the  people — was  surely 
a  very  daring  enterprise  in  the  annals 
of  modern  statesmanship.  And  yet 
there  was  candour  in  the  confession. 
Tremendous  was  the  "  problem  5"  but 
in  describing  it  as  such,  the  parties 
implied  a  readiness,  in  the  event  of 
failure,  to  retrace  their  steps,  and  to 
retrieve  the  injury  they  had  been  in- 
strumental in  inflicting.  But,  as  an 
"  experiment,"  is  Free  Trade  to  be 
ranged  in  the  same  category  with  one 
of  those  problems  in  morals  or  in  poli- 
tics to  which  allusion  has  been  made, 
and  which,  from  their  very  nature, 
never  can  admit  of  such  a  certain  solu- 
tion as  to  render  the  question  at  issue 
no  longer  doubtful  or  debatable? 
Assuredly  not.  It  is  certainly  an 
experiment,  the  success  or  failure  of 
which  can  be  tested  by  its  fruits.  It 
is,  in  truth,  an  experimentum  crucis, 
the  results  of  which  admit  of  ocular 
demonstration.  It  may  be  allowed, 
indeed,  that  the  Free-Trade  policy  is 
a  system  so  vast  and  complex  in  itself, 
and  that  the  influences  which  contribute 
to  eliminate  its  results,  more  especially 
in  the  department  of  agriculture,  are 
so  many  and  various,  and  so  slow  and 
operose  in  developing  themselves, 
that  it  would  require  some  time  to 
elapse  ere  honest  but  inexperienced 
observers  could  be  convinced  of  the 
actual  effect  of  the  change.  There 
can  be  no  doubt,  for  instance,  that  the 
unpreparedness  of  the  Continental 
nations  to  avail  themselves  of  the 
boon  bestowed  on  them  by  the  British 
Legislature  with  such  cosmopolitan 
liberality,  and  the  diminution  of 
human  food  caused  by  the  potato 
failure,  contributed  for  three  years  to 
retard  the  full  effect  of  Free  Trade  on 


185L] 


The  Experiment. 


489 


the  agriculture  of  the  kingdom.*  After 
the  natural  consequences  of  the  change 
began  to  appear,  the  depreciation  of 
agricultural  produce  was  alleged,  by 
the  admirers  of  the  Free-Trade  policy, 
to  be  temporary.  This  was  a  dis- 
honest pleading  upon  the  part  of  these 
gentlemen  ;  for  the  avowed  object  of 
their  own  measure,  in  abolishing  the 
Corn  Laws,  was  permanently  to 
cheapen  agricultural  produce.  If  it 
was  not,  they  were  duping  the  manu- 
facturing world  ;  and  if  it  was,  they 
were  now  deceiving  the  agricultural 
community,  by  asserting  that  the  low 
price,  of  corn  was  temporary  and  eva- 
nescent ;  and  on  one  or  other  of  the 
horns  of  this  dilemma  they  impaled 
themselves.  In  such  disingenuous 
and  ambidexter  see-saw  it  is  lamen- 
table to  think  that  her  Majesty's 
ministers  have  largely  indulged.  In 
the  Royal  Speech  of  1850  the  Minis- 
try talked  lightly  of  the  "  complaints" 
of  the  agriculturists ; 

"  And,  without  sneering,  taught  the  rest  to 
sneer." 

The  organs  of  the  Free-Trade  press 
took  the  hint,  and  enjoyed  a  brilliant 
season  of  sneering  at  the  Boeotian 
stupidity  and  ridiculous  melancholy 
of  the  ,"  agricultural  mind."  These 
were  halcyon  times  for  the  wits  ;  for 
then  to  call  a  farmer  "  a  chawbacon," 
"  a  clodpole,"  "  a  horse-shoe  idiot," 
was  enough  to  prove  you  endowed 
with  the  mens  divinior.  The  experi- 
ment, however,  proceeds  ; — another 
year  passes  away  and  contributes  its 
quota  of  evidence.  A  host  of  new 
facts  have  emerged  in  the  interval ; 
and  the  truth  has  assumed  so  promi- 
nent an  aspect  that  Lord  John  Rus- 
sell's courage,  great  as  it  is,  begins  to 
quail,  and  he  feels  it  necessary  to 
pitch  his  voice  in  a  lower  key.  Accor- 
dingly, in  the  Queen's  Speech  of  1851, 


he  admits  that  "  the  owners  and  occu- 
pants of  land  are  suffering,"  to  the 
great  consternation  and  manifest  in- 
convenience of  the  Free-Trade  press. 
To  have  allowed  that  the  suffering 
was  permanent  in  its  nature,  would 
have  falsified  predictions  of  his  own 
but  lately  broached,  and  would  have 
compelled  him,  at  the  very  least,  to 
devote  the  surplus  revenue  at  his  com- 
mand to  the  relief  of  the  agricultural 
suffering.  He  suggested,  therefore, 
that  the  suffering  was  temporary,  and 
incidental  to  the  state  of  transition  in 
which  the  agricultural  interest  was 
placed ;  and  the  other  classes  being 
prosperous,  (so  he  thought,)  he  ex- 
pressed his  conviction  that  the  agricul- 
tural community  must  soon  participate 
in  the  general  prosperity.  The  Minis- 
ter has  never  propounded  the  reasons 
on  which  this  conviction  is  based,  and 
it  may  be  presumptuous  in  us  to  divine 
what  they  may  be.  Probably  he 
meant  to  imply  that  the  prosperity  of 
other  classes  would  enable  them  to 
consume  more  bread  and  butcher- 
meat,  and  would  thus  increase  the 
demand  for  the  products  of  agricul- 
ture. According  to  the  Free-Trade  wri- 
ters, the  nation,  during  the  past  year, 
has  consumed  from  nine  to  ten  mil- 
lions of  quarters  of  bread-stuffs  more 
than  it  ever  did  ;  but  it  would  seem 
that  John  Bull's  stomach  is  an  abyss 
of  measureless  capacity;  that  his  appe- 
tite is  insatiable,  and  his  powers  of  de- 
glutition and  digestion  are  unbounded. 
But  if  it  were  so,  how  would  the  na- 
tional voracity  benefit  the  British 
agriculturist,  if  unlimited  supplies  of 
corn  and  cattle,  at  the  present  prices, 
as  is  now  proved,  can  be  poured  into 
our  market  ?  The  logic  of  the  Minister, 
too,  seems  not  very  conclusive  or  in- 
fallible. There  are  about  eight  millions 
in  the  United  Kingdom  directly  depen- 
dent on  agriculture  for  their  support, 


*  The  Continental  nations,  however,  have  perfectly  appreciated  "  the  experiment," 
and  have  earnestly  set  themselves  to  take  advantage  of  our  folly.  Contrary  to  the 
ignorant  expectations  of  our  economic  pundits,  France  has  already  shown  what  she 
can  do  in  supplying  us  with  flour ;  and  from  the  private  correspondence  of  the 
Standard,  it  appears  that  an  unusual  breadth  of  ground  in  the  United  States  has, 
during  the  past  season,  been  laid  under  cultivation,  and  with  the, especial  view 
of  meeting  the  demands  of  the  British  market. — (Standard,  1st  Sept.)  And  while 
cultivation  is  rapidly  advancing  abroad,  it  is  receding  as  rapidly  at  home.  Upwards 
of  a  million  of  fertile  acres  in  Ireland  (the  weak  limb  of  the  Empire,  where  the 
effects  of  the  experiment  might  naturally  be  expected  first  to  appear)  have  gone  out 
of  cultivation  under  the  desolating  influence  of  our  new  commercial  policy.  The 
caudle  is  thus  burning  at  both  ends  ! 


490 


The  Experiment. 


[Oct. 


and  there  may  be  about  double  that 
number  whose  prosperity  is  indissolu- 
bly  associated  with  the  prosperity  of 
agriculture ;  and  that  might  seem  an 
inference  somewhat  more  reasonable 
arid  natural  than  what  the  Prime 
Minister  enunciated,  which  should 
suppose  that  the  prosperous  classes 
might  ere  long  participate  in  the  suf- 
fering of  the  agricultural  community ; 
that  an  epidemic  so  widely  spread 
might  communicate  contagion  to  the 
healthy  ;  that  a  disease  infesting 
the  vital  function  might  extend  itself 
to  the  extremities  of  the  body  politic. 
But  the  suffering  is  the  concomitant  of 
"  a  state  of  transition."  The  expres- 
sion is  happily  vague  and  mysterious. 
A  state  of  transition  from  what,  to 
what?  is  the  question  which  the 
experimenters  are  bound  to  consider 
and  to  answer.  Infallibly  it  is  a  state 
of  transition ;  but  a  state  of  transition 
from  remunerative  prices  to  prices 
ruinously  low— to  invested  capital 
diminished  and  impaired — to  profits 
obliterated  and  gone  —  to  suffering 
severe  and  enduring.  But  in  a  little 
while  a  farther  change  seems  to  take 
place  on  the  mind  of  our  statesmen, 
whose  opinions  on  the  agricultural 
depression  are  plainly  in  a  state  of 
transition,  and  who  seem  to  be 
watching,  in  blank  ignorance,  the 
evolutions  of  their  own  experiment. 
The  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer 
intimated  his  intention  to  devote  part 
of  the  surplus  revenue  to  the  relief  of 
the  occupants  and  owners  of  the  soil. 
But  if  the  calamity  was  temporary 
and  evanescent,  why  prescribe  a  cure 
that  was  only  admissible  in  the  case 
of  the  suffering  being  constitutional 
and  permanent  ?  A  temporary  grant 
might,  indeed,  have  been  warrantable ; 
but  this  was  not  the  measure  medi- 
tated. To  alienate  surplus  revenue 
for  the  purpose  of  meeting  any  ephe- 
meral evil,  under  which  any  portion 
of  the  community  may  for  a  time  be 
labouring,  is  surely  the  merest  finan- 
cial charlatanry.  Very  true,  Sir 
Charles  Wood  withdrew  his  proffered 
boon ;  and  for  a  reason  so  exquisitely 
ludicrous,  that  the  nation  for  a 


moment  was  convulsed  with  laughter. 
He  withdrew  it  because  the  gratitude 
of  the  agriculturists  was  not  sufficiently 
intense,  and  because  they  had  not 
proclaimed  his  generosity  in  pceans 
of  praise  sufficiently  enthusiastic ! 
But  even  after  Sir  Charles  Wood's 
ridiculous  recalcitration,  Parliament 
has  passed  two  measures,  trivial  in 
themselves,  but  implying  that  the 
sufferings  of  the  agriculturists  are 
permanent,  and  intended  to  minister 
to  them  some  modicum  of  relief.* 
Upon  the  whole,  we  may  now  take 
it  for  granted,  that  the  present  Par- 
liament at  last  allow  that  the  agricul- 
tural depression  is  enduring — that  the 
price  of  grain  is  permanently  lowered. 
It  is  of  consequence  to  fix  and  deter- 
mine this  position  in  the  discussion. 
The  manifold  delusions  long  circulated 
on  this  subject  will  not  now  avail. 
The  low  price  of  grain  was  at  one 
time  ascribed  to  an  abundant  harvest ; 
at  another,  the  potato  failure — the 
universal  solvent  of  every  agricultural 
anomaly— was  the  cause;  now  it  was 
temporary  and  would  pass  away ;  and 
now  it  is  the  concomitant  of  a  state 
of  transition.  The  period  for  such 
poor  drivel  is  gone.  On  the  part  of 
the  Free-Trade  press  it  was  essentially 
dishonest  and  uncandid  ;  the  avowed 
object  of  their  policy  being  to  cheapen 
the  loaf,  and  permanently  to  lower 
the  price  of  agricultural  produce. 
The  Free -Trade  writers,  however, 
seem  now  unanimously  to  admit  the 
permanency  of  the  change  effected  on 
the  price  of  grain  by  the  Free-Trade 
measures.  The  agricultural  editorials 
of  the  Times  are  based  upon  this 
change  as  an  admitted  fact.  A  late 
writer  in  the  Edinburgh  Review,  in 
commenting  upon  Sir  E.  Bulwer's 
Letters,  proceeds  upon  the  same  hypo- 
thesis. Our  Free-Trade  pamphleteers 
manfully  speculate  upon  the  present 
low  prices  of  grain,  not  only  as  that 
which  is  undeniable,  but  as  what  must 
permanently  continue.  "The  experi- 
ment," then,  has  proceeded  so  far  as 
to  develop  one  result  so  clearly,  as 
to  admit  neither  of  debate  nor  denial. 
The  value  of  grain  grown  in  the 


*  The  expense  of  certain  criminal  prosecutions,  by  one  of  these  measures,  has  been 
transferred  from  the  owners  of  land  in  Scotland  to  the  Crown.  This  is  a  boon  to 
the  landlords.  By  the  other,  a  tenant  is  now  liberated  from  paying  income-tax 
when  he  has  no  income.  This  is  a  boon  to  the  tenants  ! 


1851.] 


The  Experiment. 


491 


United  Kingdom  is  permanently  re- 
duced by  the  compulsion  of  an  Act  of 
Parliament;  and  the  permanency  of 
the  reduction  is  as  certain  as  any- 
thing can  be  that  is  dependent  upon 
the  seasons. 

The  permanency  of  the  fall  being 
admitted,  there  fortunately  is  no 
room  for  mystifying  the  extent  of  that 
fall.  The  fiars  prices  of  grain,  judici- 
ally determined  every  year  in  the 
several  counties  of  Scotland,  and  the 
averages  struck  in  the  great  grain 
markets  of  England,  furnish  unchal- 
lengeable data,  whereby  the  amount 
of  the  fall  may  be  certainly  estimated. 
Without  encumbering  the  reader  with 
statistics,  we  may  mention,  that  after 
a  careful  collation  of  the  prices,  it 
would  seem  that  the  prices  of  grain 
during  the  last  two  years  of  unmodi- 
fied Free  Trade  have  fallen  about 
one- third,  when  contrasted  with  its 
average  price  during  the  twenty  pre- 
ceding years  of  Protection.  In  seve- 
ral of  the  counties  of  Scotland,  which 
we  have  compared,  the  fall  ranges 
from  30  to  35  per  cent.  In  the 
great  county  of  Perth,  the  Yorkshire 
of  Scotland,  and  which  may  be  quoted 
as  a  fair  sample  of  the  Scottish 
corn  market,  the  reduction  amounts 
to  a  fraction  more  than  33  per  cent. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  this 
part  of  the  case,  because  we  are  not 
aware  that  the  amount  of  the  fall  in 
the  price  of  grain  has  ever  been 
questioned.  Indeed,  it  is  scarcely 
possible  that  it  could  be  so.  It  was 
the  permanency  of  the  reduction  that 
the  Free  Trade  theorists  so  long  and 
so  strenuously  denied — thus  repudi- 
ating, with  reckless  effrontery,  the 
promised  blessing  of  their  own  policy. 

The  vital  question  immediately 
arises,  "  Can  our  national  agriculture 
withstand  such  a  tremendous  diminu- 
tion of  its  annual  income  ?  The 
husbandman,  from  the  very  nature  of 
his  art,  cannot  be  speedily  ruined, 
but  can  he  ultimately  survive  such  an 
abstraction  of  his  means?"  The  high- 
farming  fraternity  were  the  first  to 
volunteer  a  remedy,  and  to  solve  the 
question.  With  flippant  confidence 
they  propounded  their  panacea  as 
the  substitute  for  Protection  5  but  in 
Avhat  high  farming  consisted,  not  two 
of  the  teachers  were  agreed.  One 
summoned  the  farmer  to  grow  more 

VOL.  LXX.— NO.  CCCCXXXII. 


corn,  another  enjoined  him  to  make 
green  crop  his  sheet-anchor,  and  the 
recreant  knight  of  Netherby  avows 
his  partiality  for  pasturage.  Bullocks 
were  "  ungrateful  fellows,"  but  pigs 
would  do  it.  Sheep  on  pasture  were 
profitless,  but  sheep  on  "  boards " 
would  pay.  The  mysterious  powers 
of  "  ammonia  "  promised  to  meet  the 
emergency,  when,  lo !  Porcius  inter- 
posed, and  converted  the  subtle  agent 
into  laughing-gas!  One  wonders 
how  such  idle  puerilities,  such  quack - 
ish  nostrums,  could  have  deluded, 
even  for  a  day,  any  portion  of  the 
community,  however  ignorant  of  rural 
affairs ;  and  yet  it  is  undeniable  that 
they  served  to  mystify  the  question, 
and  to  prolong  for  a  little  while  the 
reign  of  delusion.  The  high  farming 
prescriptions,  as  a  remedy  and  com- 
pensation for  the  35  per  cent  of  loss 
on  the  value  of  agricultural  produce, 
were  most  effectually  exposed,  and 
they  have  passed  away  as  entirely 
as  Cobbet's  crotchet  about  locust- 
trees,  or  the  cow-cabbage  mania  of 
1836.  The  high  farming  friends  of 
an  injured  agriculture  have  either 
retired  from  public  notice,  discom- 
fited and  abashed,  or  are  totally  ne- 
glected. The  sufferings  of  the  patient 
are  too  poignant  to  allow  him  to  be 
even  amused  with  their  fantastic  re- 
creations. The  lucubrations  of  Mr 
Mechi  fail  even  to  awaken  a  moment- 
ary interest,  and  the  farmer  of  Tiptree 
Hall  has  sunk  into  a  Mechior  insipidus. 
It  is  impossible,  however,  not  to  ad- 
mire the  brave  enterprise  and  manly 
candour  of  Mr  Mechi.  Robbing  no 
tenant,  and  experimenting  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  own  pocket,  he  is  quite 
an  experimenter  to  our  mind,  and 
worthy  of  all  approbation.  Were, 
however,  his  agricultural  adventure 
to  prove  profitable,  of  which  there  is 
an  entire  lack  of  evidence,  it  would 
be  utterly  chimerical  to  suppose  that 
Mr  Mechi's  system  could  be  intro- 
duced into  the  general  agriculture  of 
the  country.  Mr  Mechi's  capital  and 
genius  are  alike  awanting.  His 
schemes  can  only  be  contemplated  as 
curious  and  interesting,  and  likely  in 
their  progress  to  evolve  principles 
which,  in  better  times,  may  be  made 
available  in  improving  the  art  of 
husbandry.  In  the  mean  time,  so 
far  from  high  farming  being  in  the 
2i 


492 


TJte  Experiment. 


[Oct. 


ascendant,  we  believe  that  the  pro- 
gress of  good  farming  is  arrested. 

The  question  how  the  reduction  in 
the  price  of  grain  is  to  be  met,  remains 
still  to  be  answered.  The  current 
and  popular  answer  with  the  Free- 
Trade  press  seems  now  unanimously 
to  be  by  a  reduction  of  rent.  It  is  a 
question,  say  they,  that  concerns  the 
landlord  alone.  The  incidence  of  the 
evil  can  affect  him  only.  In  the  end 
he  must  be  the  sole  and  exclusive 
sufferer.  This  doctrine  is  advanced 
as  an  undeniable  truth  by  one  of  the 
latest  Free -Trade  pamphleteers,  who 
has  rushed  into  the  agricultural  arena 
with  a  juvenile  confidence  that  no- 
thing but  the  profoundest  ignorance 
of  the  subject  can  explain.  The 
writer  in  the  Edinburgh  Review 
speaks  with  more  timidity  and  hesi- 
tation, as  if  aware  of  the  result  to 
which  such  a  position  must  conduct. 
Sometimes  he  seems  half  inclined  to 
deny  the  extent  of  the  evil.  He 
apparently  fancies  that  his  readers 
are  so  stupid  as  to  forget,  or  so  igno- 
rant as  not  to  know,  that  the  price 
of  wheat,  under  Free  Trade,  has  been 
40s.,  while  under  Protection  it  was  56s. 
He  admits,  however,  although  reluc- 
tantly, the  necessity  of  a  readjust- 
ment of  rent.  This  question  has  been 
frequently  discussed  in  our  pages ; 
but,  as  the  received  solution  of  the 
agricultural  difficulty,  it  may  be  well  to 
look  at  it  again.  The  capital  and  fatal 
blunder  which  such  writers  fall  into,  is 
by  supposing  that  the  rent  is  the  only 
payment  which  the  tenant-farmers 
have  to  make.  But  on  a  grain  farm  he 
has  other  two  payments  to  make,  each 
of  them  equal  to  the  rent.  The  usual 
allocation  of  the  total  farm-income  is 
tripartite — one-third  is  the  landlord's 
rent,  and  the  other  two -thirds  meets 
the  farm  expenditure,  &c.  But  if  the 
value  of  the  cereal  produce  is  reduced 
30  per  cent,  and  if  the  landlord  is  to 
be  the  sole  sufferer,  then  the  reduction 
of  rent  must  be  90  per  cent !  Is  this 
the  readjustment  of  rent  meditated  ? 
If  it  is  meant  that  the  rent  should  be 
reduced  30  per  cent,  and  that  this 
only  is  the  proportion  of  the  loss  that 
properly  falls  upon  the  owner  of  the 
soil,  then  most  certainly  the  landlord 
is  not  the  only  sufferer.  There  is  still 
a  loss  of  60  per  cent  entailed  upon  the 
farmer  and  his  dependants.  It  would 


be  a  cruel  delusion,  were  it  not  utter 
folly,  in  Free-Trade  writers  to  attempt 
to  deceive  practical  men  on  such  a 
subject.  The  idea  that  the  landlord 
should  suffer  the  whole  loss  inflicted 
upon  the  gross  annual  income  of  the 
farm  by  Free  Trade  is  not  only  vision- 
ary, but  to  us  it  would  seem  to  be 
unjust.  Before  landlords  generally 
can  be  brought  to  consent  to  sacrifice 
the  30  per  cent  even,  what  suffering 
and  misery  will  overtake  the  tenant- 
farmers.  Suppose  the  rent  of  the  farm 
was  £500,  then  £1500  is  the  gross 
sum  to  be  realised  from  the  farm.  The 
loss  entailed  on  each  of  the  three 
parties,  the  landlord,  the  tenant,  and 
his  dependants,  is  £150.  Suppose  the 
landlord  has  relinquished  his  £150, 
the  farmer  has  first  to  consider  whether 
his  profits  in  the  past  have  been  such 
as  to  enable  him  to  bear  an  annual 
loss  of  £150;  and  if  he  is  satisfied 
that  he  can  meet  such  a  defalcation, 
then  the  next  question  he  has  to  dis- 
pose of  is,  who  is  to  bear  the  loss  of 
the  other  £150  ?  Is  he  sure  that  he 
will  be  successful  in  lowering  the  wages 
of  his  ploughmen  from  £15  to  £10 — 
of  his  female  workers  from  9d.  a-day 
to  6d.  Will  he  be  able  to  reduce  the 
accounts  of  his  manure -merchant, 
saddler,  smith,  wright,  grocer,  tailor, 
&c.  one-third.  The  farmer  is  the 
paymaster;  and  if  he  cannot  bring 
about  such  an  equalisation  of  the  loss 
as  this  over  all  the  parties  implicated, 
he  will  continue  to  be,  as  he  has  been, 
the  great  sufferer.  If,  indeed,  there 
is  such  an  agricultural  phenomenon  as 
a  Free-Trade  farmer  who  says  that 
he  is  able  to  bear  the  whole  loss — that 
Protection  is  and  was  unnecessary — 
then  that  man  must  evidently  have 
been  coining  money  in  the  past,  and 
must  be  now  a  Croesus  of  wealth.  But 
he  convicts  himself,  too,  of  having  been 
guilty  of  unfair  dealing.  He  has  been 
defrauding  the  landlord  of  his  just 
share  of  the  farm-income  ;  and  he  has 
done  that  on  which  a  curse  is  pro- 
nounced— he  has  been  keeping  back 
the  hire  of  his  labourers.  He  has  paid 
them  with  a  third  less  wages  than 
they  ought  to  have  received  ;  and 
before  he  can  be  rehabilitated  as  a 
witness  on  the  question,  he  must  dis- 
gorge his  ill-gotten  gains.  The  Free- 
Trade  press  anxiously  conceal  the  con- 
sequences of  their  measure  to  the  poor 


1851.] 


The  Experiment. 


493 


from  the  observation  of  their  readers ; 
and  they  know  the  reason  why.  Did 
they  venture  to  enter  into  details,  the 
tendency  of  their  policy  to  trench 
deeply  upon  the  hard-won  wages  of 
honest  industry  would  be  instantly 
seen,  and  their  odious  confiscation 
would  expose  them  to  national  repro- 
bation. They  content  themselves 
with  vaguely  asserting  that  the  land- 
lord must  bear  the  whole  loss.  This 
is  the  solatium  which  they  administer 
to  the  suffering  tenant ;  and  they  fancy 
him  such  an  idiot,  and  so  profoundly 
ignorant  of  his  own  business,  as  to 
believe  them.  If  the  owner  of  the 
soil  is  to  be  the  sole  sufferer,  then  it 
is  certain  that,  in  his  position  as  a 
proprietor,  there  must  be  some  econo- 
mic anomaly.  The  principle  would 
not  apply  to  any  other  owner  of  pro- 
perty. If  the  gross  income  of  a  cot- 
ton-spinner is  reduced  30  per  cent, 
then  who  believes  that  the  owner  of 
the  mill  who  has  let  the  building 
will  alone  suffer  ?  Infallibly  the 
spinner  and  his  workpeople  will  suffer 
a  depreciation  of  income.  If,  how- 
ever, the  landlord  is  to  bear  the  whole 
loss,  we  conceive  that  it  would  be  an 
exaggeration  of  that  loss  to  state  it  in 
every  case  at  90  per  cent.  That  may 
be  in  reality  the  amount  of  the  depre- 
ciation accomplished  by  Free- Trade 
legislation  in  the  gross  income  of  the 
farm ;  but  from  the  great  improve- 
ments that  have  of  late  years  been 
made  in  the  culture  of  the  soil,  and 
from  the  advantages  generally  enjoyed 
by  the  tenant-farmer  from  the  new 
manures,  and  from  railway  communi- 
cation— which  enables  him  to  transport 
not  only  his  grain,  but  his  root-crops, 
to  markets  formerly  inaccessible — we 
conceive  that  he  is  able  to  bear  some 
portion  of  the  loss.  In  other  words, 


we  conceive,  had  Parliament  not 
forcibly  lowered  the  price  of  agricul- 
tural produce,  that  the  farmer,  from 
the  causes  mentioned,  would  have 
been  able  to  give  some  rise  of  wages 
to  the  agricultural  labourer,  and  some 
rise  of  rent  to  the  owner  of  the  soil. 
Upon  this  subject,  very  probably, 
the  reviewer  of  Sir  E.  L.  Bulwer's 
Letters  may  be  near  the  mark.  The 
landlord  may  ponder  the  following 
pregnant  sentence  : — "  The  necessity 
must  then  be  put  up  with  of  returning 
to  the  rents,  or  nearly  so,  which  he 
drew  previous  to  the  war,  and  before 
the  successive  Corn  Laws  which  fol- 
lowed had  enabled  him  to  occupy,  at 
the  general  expense,  a  higher  position 
in  society  than  is  the  lot  of  the  land- 
owner in  other  countries,  or  than  was 
the  lot  of  his  own  father  or  grand- 
father." *  But  since  the  period  refer- 
red to  by  the  reviewer,  the  rent  of 
land  has  been  doubled,  and  in  many 
cases  there  has  been  a  threefold  in- 
crease. Any  one  may  satisfy  himself 
of  this  fact,  as  far  as  this  part  of  the 
kingdom  is  concerned,  by  comparing 
the  rental  as  given  in  Sir  John  Sin- 
clair's Statistical  Account  of  Scotland, 
1796,  with  the  rental  given  in  the 
New  Statistical  Account,  1844.  f  So 
the  consummation  of  the  experiment 
which  the  candid  critic  points  out  as 
awaiting  the  landlord,  is  the  confisca- 
tion of  half  his  income  at  the  very 
least.  The  reviewer,  however,  forgets 
that  at  the  era  to  which  he  looks  back 
the  wages  of  agricultural  labour,  and 
the  price  of  the  implements  of  hus- 
bandry, were  about  a  third  less  than 
they  are  now.  How,  then,  are  the 
labourers  and  implement-makers  not 
likewise  to  fall  back  to  the  condition  of 
their  fathers  and  grandfathers  ?  Ah! 
it  would  be  unpopular — dangerous,  to 


*  Edinburgh  Review,  July  1850,  p.  163. 

t  The  following  table  of  comparative  statistics,  taken  from  the  New  Statistical 
Account  of  a  parish  in  Perthshire,  is  instructive.— See  Perthshire,  pp.  1191-2. 


In  1843. 

Total  rent  of  parish,  £7087,  Os.  8d. 

Ploughman's  wages,  £12  ;  6^  bolls  oat- 
meal per  annum;  and  1  Scotch  pint 
sweet  milk  per  day. 

Woman's  wages,  with  board,  £6. 

Price  of  new  cart,  £10. 

Harness  for  do.,  £3,  10s. 

New  plough  wood,  £3. 

New  harrow,  10s. 


In  1796. 

Total  rent  of  parish,  £2460,  14s.  Od. 

Ploughman's  wages,  with  board,  per  an- 
num, £10. 

Woman's  wages,  with  board,  £4  per  an- 
num. 

Price  of  new  cart,  £6. 

Harness  for  do.,  £2,  10s. 

New  plough,  £2. 

New  harrow,  7s. 


494 


The  Experiment. 


[Oct. 


mention  sucli  a  contingency.  The 
friend  of  the  poor,  the  advocate  of  the 
cheap  loaf,  cannot  afford  to  reveal  so 
much  of  the  truth !  It  is  false  to  say 
that  the  Corn  Laws  raised  the  land- 
lord's rent  at  the  general  expense. 
On  the  contrary,  they  likewise  greatly 
increased  the  wages,  and  multiplied 
the  comforts  of  the  industrious  classes. 

One  of  the  stale  and  commonplace 
fallacies  repeated  usque  ad  nauseam 
by  the  Free-Trade  economists,  and 
greatly  relied  on  by  them,  is  the  fol- 
lowing. Farmers,  say  they,  are  in- 
veterate grumblers.  They  have  always 
grumbled.  They  grumbled  in  1815, 
when  the  price  of  wheat  was  80s. ; — and 
they  give  copious  quotations  from  the 
evidence  of  practical  agriculturists, 
taken  by  Parliamentary  Committees, 
to  prove  their  charge.  The  statement, 
and  the  intended  inference  from  it,  are 
based,  however,  upon  an  inexcusable 
ignorance,  or  a  most  criminal  conceal- 
ment of  the  facts.  The  unparalleled 
taxation  and  other  expenses  of  the  pe- 
culiar period  referred  to,  rendered  even 
the  80s.  a  poor  remuneration  to  the 
home-grower.  In  1815  the  annual  ex- 
penditure of  the  nation  amounted  to 
£100,000,000,  while  the  population 
was  only  13,000,000— the  rate  of  con- 
tribution being  thus  about  £7, 15s.  per 
head.  At  present,  the  national  expen  - 
diture  is  about  £52,000,000,  and  the 
population  about  20,000,000,  (Census 
1841)— that  is,  £2, 12s.  per  head.  The 
truth  is,  with  wheat  at  56s.,  we  believe 
that  the  farmer  of  the  present  day 
would  be  better  able  to  maintain  his 
position  than  the  farmer  of  1815  was 
•with  wheat  at  80s.  It  is  marvellous  to 
consider  what  unconscionable  drafts 
the  Free-Trade  sophists  make  upon  the 
ignorance  of  their  readers.  Abolish 
taxation  and  lower  wages  to  the  Con- 
tinental rate,  and  the  energy  and 
enterprise  of  the  British  farmer  will 
enable  him,  even  with  his  inferior 
climate,  to  compete  with  the  agricul- 
turists of  more  favoured  climes. 

There  is  another  enigma  involved 
in  the  greatest  experiment  of  modern 
times,  requiring  elucidation.  The  rent 
of  land  is  maintained  ;  in  some  cases 
even  there  is  a  rise  of  rent,  it  is  said  ; 
and  it  is  triumphantly  added,  this 
settles  the  question  irrevocably,  and 
ends  the  debate.  This  position  is 
supported  by  individualising  vacant 


farms  that  have  been  re-let  at  the 
former  rents,  or  for  which  the  new 
tenant  has  promised  a  rise  of  rent. 
This  has  been  an  admirable  instru- 
ment of  delusion  in  the  hands  of  the 
Free-Trade  press,  and  we  believe  that 
many  honest  observers  of  the  experi- 
ment, but  totally  ignorant  of  rural  af- 
fairs, have  held  it  as  quite  conclusive 
of  the  question  at  issue.  Free-Trade 
landlords  are  willing  to  be  deluded, 
and  they  have  greedily  swallowed  the 
anodyne,  while  the  circumstance  has 
contributed  to  conceal  from  others  the 
true  state  of  the  case.  It  seems 
certainly  inexplicable  how,  with  the 
value  of  agricultural  produce  reduced 
thirty  per  cent,  there  can  be  any  good 
reason  for  a  rise  of  rent,  or  how,  in 
such  circumstances,  the  old  rent  even 
can  be  paid,  without  impairing  griev- 
ously the  income  of  the  farmer  and 
the  wages  of  the  labourer.  Is  it  not 
the  fact,  too,  that  very  generally  land- 
lords have  been  granting  reductions 
of  from  ten  to  thirty  per  cent  to  their 
tenantry?  Upon  the  theory  that  the 
rent  of  land  is  rising,  this  must  seein 
a  very  Quixotic  liberality,  and  argues 
a  singular  blindness  to  their  own  inte- 
rests. According  to  the  Parliament- 
ary Returns,  the  estimated  rental  of 
land  is  £45,755,610.  Mr  Villiers 
stated,  in  his  place  in  Parliament  last 
year,  on  unquestionable  authority, 
that  the  depreciation  in  the  value  of 
agricultural  produce,  effected  by  Free 
Trade,  amounted  to  £91,000,000;  and 
yet  rent  of  land  is  rising  !  It  may  be 
remarked  that  it  is  in  Scotland  only 
that  we  hear  of  any  rise  of  rent ;  and 
we  venture  to  assert  that  only  a  few 
isolated  cases  of  this  kind  in  peculiar 
localities,  each  one  of  which  is  char- 
acterised by  specialties  of  its  own,  can 
be  pointed  out.  It  is  an  immense 
leap  that  the  Free-Trade  logician 
makes,  when  he  concludes  from  such 
premises  that  the  rent  of  land  is 
rising  generally  over  the  kingdom. 
If  a  man  is  content  to  reason  in  this 
fashion,  he  may  certainly  be  able  to 
satisfy  himself  of  the  flourishing  po- 
sition of  any  one  branch  of  trade, 
which,  nevertheless,  is  notoriously 
going  to  rack  and  ruin.  The  duration 
of  the  lease  in  Scotland  is  generally  for 
nineteen  years.  The  farm  may  have 
been  greatly  under- rented,  and  it  may 
have  been  greatly  improved  during 


1851.] 


The  Experiment. 


495 


the  currency  of  the  lease  ;  and  in  such 
a  case  it  is  conceivable,  even  with  pre- 
sent prices,  that  it  may  bear  some  rise 
of  rent.  This  is  not  all.  In  agricul- 
ture, as  in  other  departments  of  trade, 
there  are  wild  speculators  who  will 
promise  any  rent.  Whether  they  will 
pay  it,  remains  to  be  seen.  Most 
probably,  too,  a  few  farmers  have 
been  imposed  upon  by  the  fallacies  of 
the  Free-Trade  press.  They  have 
been  confidently  told  that  the  depres- 
sion was  temporary,  and  would  pass 
away.  They  may  have  believed  the 
philosophers,  and  acted  upon  their 
doctrine.  Sometimes,  too,  a  penni- 
less adventurer,  without  character  or 
skill,  gives  the  rise  of  rent,  which  an 
experienced  tenant  with  abundant 
capital  feels  unable  to  offer.  A  new 
tenant  was  lately  asked  how  he  ex- 
pected to  be  able  to  continue  to  pay 
his  rent,  which  he  had  somewhat 
raised.  His  answer  was  prompt  and 
full  of  meaning.  "  I  do  not  expect  to 
be  able  to  pay  it  at  present  prices. 
There  must  be  a  sweeping  reduction 
of  rent  over  the  country,  or  there 
must  be  a  rise  in  the  value  of  grain 
from  some  cause  or  other.  In  either 
event,  I  will  share  in  the  general  bene- 
fit. If  neither  of  these  things  occur, 
my  farm  being  in  high  order,  I  will 
tide  over  a  season  or  two,  and  then, 
whatever  be  the  case  with  the  farm,  I 
will  not  be  in  a  worse  condition  than 
I  at  present  am."  We  do  not  hazard 
these  statements  at  random,  but  as 
the  result  of  patient  investigation. 
They  will  be  found  to  explain  the 
cases  where  there  has  been  an  al- 
leged rise  of  rent ;  but  they  do  not 
fully  exhibit  the  present  position  of 
British  agriculture.  During  the  last 
nineteen  years  an  immense  amount  of 
capital  has  been  expended  by  the 
tenant-farmers  of  the  nation  in  the 
permanent  improvement  of  the  soil. 
Since  1849,  £2,500,000  of  the  public 
money  has  been  granted  for  the  pur- 
poses of  drainage.  It  is  impossible 
to  ascertain  accurately  what  money 
from  private  sources  has  been  ex- 
pended for  the  same  purpose.  We  may 
safely  state  it  at  £1,500,000,  so  that 
£4,000,000  have  been  lately  expended 
in  the  drainage  of  the  soil.  It  would 
not  be  easy  to  state  the  exact  amount 
of  the  increased  value  which  thorough 
drainage  gives  the  land ;  but  that  it  adds 


greatly  to  its  productive  powers  is  unde- 
niable. The  cost  of  such  drainage  has 
been  from  £4  to  £8  per  imperial  acre ; 
the  higher  price  being  incurred  until 
the  cost  of  making  tiles  was  reduced 
by  improved  machinery  and  the  mul- 
tiplication of  tile-works.  Taking  the 
average  cost  of  thorough  drainage  at 
£5  per  acre,  this,  at  four  per  cent  in- 
terest, burdens  the  land  with  4s.  per 
acre.  The  £4,000,000,  at  the  same 
rate,  must  have  drained  800,000  acres ; 
and  these  acres,  at  4s.  per  acre, 
must  give  an  additional  annual  rent 
of  £160,000  to  meet  the  expense  of  the 
drainage  alone.  If  the  old  rent,  then, 
is  merely  maintained,  the  four  millions 
have  evanished.  They  have  been 
consumed  on  the  altar  of  Free  Trade. 
Besides,  however,  the  fertilising  ef- 
fects of  drainage,  flowing  from  the 
altered  condition  of  the  soil,  both 
mechanically  and  chemically,  the  soil 
has  likewise  been  enriched  by  the 
application  of  extraneous  manures. 
Not  less  than  £200,000  worth  of 
bone-dust,  and  £800,000  of  guano, 
have  been  annually  applied  to  it. 
Guano  is  supposed  to  be  evanescent 
in  its  action,  from  its  abundance  of 
ammonia ;  but  it  contains  fifteen  per 
cent  of  phosphates,  while  bone-dust 
contains  twenty-five  per  cent,  and  the 
fertilising  properties  of  phosphates 
continue.  The  effect  of  these  agen- 
cies, not  only  in  themselves,  but  in 
adding  to  the  quantity,  and  in  deve- 
loping the  virtues  of  the  ordinary  farm- 
yard manure,  cannot  be  estimated  at 
less  than  3s.  per  acre ;  so  that,  unless 
a  farm  that  has  been  so  drained  and 
so  manured  for  years  realises  a  rise  of 
7s.  per  acre  of  rent  at  the  present 
date,  the  rent  virtually  has  largely 
declined.  We  have  only  adduced  two 
kinds  of  expenditure,  but  more  might 
be  stated  whereby  the  value  of  the 
soil  has  been  greatly  enhanced.  This 
is  the  true  light  in  which  to  contem- 
plate this  specious  delusion.  Even  if 
it  were  possible  to  maintain  the  old 
rent,  we  see  what  an  immense  amount 
of  money  has  already  been  expended 
in  the  most  extravagant  experiment 
ever  indulged  in  by  any  nation,  and 
the  folly  of  which  continues  to  excite 
the  wonder  of  the  greatest  statesmen 
in  Europe  and  the  western  continent. 
We  have  considered  only  the  value 
of  soil  that  has  lately  received  the 


496 


The  Experiment. 


[Oct. 


advantage  of  thorough  drainage;  but  in 
the  case  of  old  arable  soils,  that  have 
not  required  drainage,  the  loss  will 
come  out  more  clearly  and  observably. 
Nobody  now,  saving,  perhaps,  Sir 
James  Graham  and  a  few  more  Free- 
Trade  landowners,  believes  that  the 
present  rents  can  be  maintained;  and 
the  Free -Trade  press  with  ooe  voice 
loudly  demand  from  landowners  a 
"  readjustment,"  which,  when  ex- 
plained, means  the  loss  of  half  their 
income,  and  degradation  from  their 
present  position  to  the  comparative 
poverty  and  barbarism  of  their 
"  grandfathers."  The  owners  of  the 
soil  have  not  been  more  elevated  by 
the  tide  of  national  advancement  than 
the  other  classes  of  society :  the  very 
reverse  is  the  case.  But  in  the  midst 
of  an  alleged  national  prosperity,  they 
must  retrograde  to  the  position  held 
by  their  ancestors  a  century  ago! 
Will  they  fall,  or,  indeed,  can  they, 
without  dragging  along  with  them 
the  occupants  of  the  soil,  and  the 
millions  of  others  immediately  de- 
pendant on  its  cultivation  ? 

But  the  Free-Trade  philosophers  are 
quite  disposed  to  sacrifice  the  agricul- 
tural community  in  one  vast  holocaust 
at  the  shrine  of  their  idol,  in  order 
that  their  experiment  may  be  fairly 
wrought  out ;  and  they  give  us  the 
vaunted  proof  of  the  undoubted  suc- 
cess of  their  measure,  the  immense 
importation  of  bread-stuffs  into  the 
kingdom,  and  the  consumption  of 
these  by  the  people.  The  people  have 
eaten  upwards  of  nine  million  quarters 
of  bread-stuffs  more  than  they  did 
before.  The  additional  supplies  are 
the  undeniable  measure  of  the  dread- 
ful privations  they  suffered  in  former 
years!  The  plausible  sophism  has 
been  sported  by  Parliamentary  ora- 
tors, and  expatiated  upon  by  the  ex- 
perimenters, as  an  unanswerable  vin- 
dication of  their  policy  ;  and,  with  a 
tender  care  of  the  poor,  they  say  that 
with  them  it  is  a  sacred  moral  duty 
to  continue  to  uphold  a  measure  that 
for  the  first  time  has  furnished  the 
people  of  this  country  with  a  suffi- 
ciency of  food.  Most  laudable  and 
amiable  would  such  benevolence  be, 
were  it  not  indulged  at  other  people's 
expense.  The  hypothesis  is  itself 
sufficiently  startling.  It  implies  that 
the  industrious  poor  of  the  kingdom 


have  hitherto  been  only  half-fed.  It 
implies  that  the  labourer  and  the  me- 
chanic were  wont  to  rise  up  from 
every  meal  hungry,  with  their  appe- 
tite unsated,  having  had  only  half  a 
diet.  Does  any  sane  man,  not  be- 
sotted with  the  prejudices  and  pas- 
sions of  the  Free-Trade  experimenters, 
believe  this?  Is  it  only  now  that  John 
Bull  has  had  a  bellyful  ?  He  never 
had  enough  to  eat  before,  it  seems ;  but 
now  he  is  waxing  fat.  The  idea  is 
certainly  original,  and  as  certainly 
visionary.  We  believe  that  the  qua- 
lity of  the  food  of  the  labouring  poor 
has  been  changed—  not  its  quantity. 
Wheaten  bread  is  much  more  largely 
consumed  over  the  kingdom  than  it 
was;  but  whether  the  oaten-meal  cake 
or  porridge,  and  the  occasional  dish 
of  "flowery"  potatoes,  were  not  as 
nutritious  and  salubrious  food  as  the 
imported  substitutes,  may  admit  of 
serious  doubt.  Cheap  bread  must  be 
an  undoubted  boon  to  the  labourer, 
provided  he  continues  to  be  fully  em- 
ployed, and  provided  his  wages  are 
not  lowered.  This  latter  process  is 
rapidly  taking  place  among  the  agri- 
cultural labourers  of  England.  Earl 
Fitzhardinge,  a  Free-Trade  peer,  tells 
us  that  in  his  county  u  the  wages  of 
agricultural  labourers  are  already 
lower  by  at  least  £5  per  annum," 
(Times,  April  1851  ;)  and  it  is  noto- 
rious that  the  manufacturing  capital- 
ists, with  grinding  rapacity,  are  screw- 
ing down,  bit  by  bit,  the  wages  of 
their  workpeople  ;  so  that  immediately 
the  cheap  loaf  will  be  to  them  a 
mockery,  as  it  has  been  a  delusion 
and  a  snare.  In  Scotland,  saving 
where  they  are  paid  in  kind,  the  agri- 
cultural labourers  have  as  yet  scarcely 
experienced  the  effects  of  Free  Trade. 
It  is  curious,  however,  to  observe 
with  what  stealthy  steps  the  pressure 
approaches  them.  Very  many  farmers 
are  trying  to  labour  their  land  with 
fewer  servants,  or  are  substituting 
raw  lads,  at  half  wages,  for  the  expe- 
rienced ploughmen  they  formerly  em- 
ployed. We  have  noticed,  too,  during 
the  harvest  which  has  just  closed 
under  such  auspicious  circumstances, 
that,  in  many  districts  where  it  was 
not  formerly  used,  the  scythe  has 
suddenly  usurped  the  place  of  the 
sickle.  Murderous  has  been  the  havoc 
which  the  unskilful  workmen,  unac- 


1851.] 

customed  to  wield  the  implement, 
have  in  many  instances  made  in  the 
corn-fields.  But  thus  the  farmer  has 
largely  abridged  his  harvest  expen- 
diture— and  thus,  too,  very  many 
labourers  have  been  driven  from  the 
harvest-field.  To  our  certain  know- 
ledge, a  vast  number  of  female  workers 
in  our  rural  villages  and  hamlets  have, 
for  the  first  time  this  season,  wanted 
employment  in  cutting  down  the  corn, 
who  formerly  with  their  harvest  earn- 
ings paid  the  rent  of  their  cottages,  or 
provided  themselves  with  warm  cloth- 
ing against  the  inclemency  of  the  sea- 
son. Our  parochial  boards  may  pro- 
bably hear  more  of  this  during  the 
approaching  winter.  To  postpone  his 
own  impoverishment,  the  agricultur- 
ist is  compelled  to  adopt  eveiy  par- 
simonious expedient ;  and  nothing  can 
be  more  certain  than  that  foreign 
labour,  in  the  shape  of  foreign  pro- 
duce, will  eventually  lower  to  the 
Continental  level  the  wages  of  British 
labour.  Reaping  machines  and  im- 
proved implements  are  not  necessary 
to  eifect  this  result.  The  introduction 
of  new  and  improved  implements,  in- 
stead of  diminishing,  rather  diverts 
labour  into  new  channels ;  but  at  pre- 
sent, the  diminution  of  employment 
arises  from  the  straitened  circum- 
stances of  the  agriculturist.  Before  the 
full  effects,  however,  of  the  experiment 
in  this  direction  can  be  exhibited,  more 
time  must  elapse.  If,  again,  we  de- 
scend to  the  unhappy  class  below  the  in- 
dustrious poor,  who  win  and  eat  their 
own  bread,  do  we  find  fewer  begging 
their  bread,  and  fewer  perishing  of 
inanition  and  want?  How,  then,  it 
may  be  asked,  do  we  dispose  of  the 
immense  importation  of  foreign  corn? 
The  answer  to  this  query  may  be  easily 
found  by  any  impartial  inquirer.  We 
have  only  to  look  to  the  agricultural 
condition  of  Ireland  for  the  past  two 
years  to  discover  almost  the  complete 
solution  of  the  supposed  difficulty. 
From  the  agricultural  returns  it  is 
undeniable  that  nearly  250,000  acres 
have  been  thrown  out  of  wheat  culti- 
vation in  Ireland,  and  it  is  certain 
that  in  many  districts  of  that  country 
a  large  extent  of  acreage  formerly  in 
cultivation  has  been  lying  waste.  We 
speak  of  the  years  1849-50.  The 
Edinburgh  Review  makes  a  most  feeble 
and  disingenuous  attempt  to  deny,  or 
rather  to  explain  away  the  fact,  while 


The  Experiment.  497 

that  sage  Economist,  Mr  Wilson, 
is  at  the  very  time  contending  in  Par- 
liament for  the  undoubted  existence 
of  the  phenomenon,  and  quotes  it  as 
a  sufficient  explanation  of  the  depres- 
sion under  which  the  Irish  millers 
are  now  labouring.  But,  in  fact,  the 
position  can  be  demonstrated  on 
grounds  independent  of  the  agricul- 
tural returns.  Formerly  agricultural 
produce  used  to  be  imported  into 
Liverpool  from  Ireland  in  very  large 
quantities ;  now,  with  the  exception 
of  live  stock,  the  importation  is  trivial. 
Formerly  Ireland  used  to  send  both 
flour  and  wheat  to  Glasgow;  now 
the  Glasgow  market  is  supplied  with 
foreign  wheat  from  Leith — quite  a 
new  trade.  Formerly  large  quanti- 
ties of  oats — to  the  extent,  we  believe, 
of  2,000,000  quarters  annually— were 
shipped  from  the  western  ports  of 
Ireland,  Galway,  and  Limerick,  for 
the  London  market.  Now  this  trade 
has  dwindled  down  almost  to  nothing, 
and  London  is  chiefly  supplied  with 
feed-oats  direct  from  Denmark  and 
the  Baltic.  Formerly  Ireland  used  to 
export  largely — now  that  country  im- 
ports as  largely.  With  an  immensely 
diminished  population,  how  can  this 
fact  be  otherwise  explained  but  upon 
the  supposition  that  there  has  been  a 
greatly  diminished  cultivation  ?  The 
conclusion,  apart  from  authoritative 
statistics,  is  inevitable.  The  potato 
failure  in  Ireland  would  naturally 
have  led  to  an  increased  cultivation  of 
wheat;  but  Free  Trade  intervenes, 
and  the  Irish  and  English  markets 
are  inundated  with  French  and  Ame- 
rican flour  :  and  thus  the  Irish  millers 
and  grain-growers  are  depressed  and 
impoverished.  To  this  solution  of  the 
imagined  dilemma  other  considera- 
tions may  be  added.  From  the 
extremely  low  price  of  grain,  it  has 
of  late  been  largely  used  in  the  feed- 
ing of  stock.  In  this  way  there  has 
undoubtedly  been  a  greatly  increased 
consumption  of  grain.  In  the  cotton 
manufactures  a  great  deal  of  starch  is 
required.  This  article  used  chiefly  to 
be  extracted  from  the  potato  ;  but  the 
poato  being  scarce  and  dear,  and  grain 
plentiful  and  cheap,  it  is  now  manu- 
factured from  wheat.  Some  years  ago 
Porter  stated  the  quantity  required  for 
this  purpose  at  200,000  quarters  ;  the 
quantity  at  present  needed,  we  have 
heard  estimated  at  500,000  quarters. 


498 


The  Experiment. 


[Oct. 


For  this  and  similar  purposes  there 
has  no  doubt  been  a  large  additional 
employment  of  wheat.  By  means  of 
these  explanatory  causes,  we  are 
enabled  clearly  to  see  how  the  enor- 
mous importations  of  foreign  corn  have 
been  disposed  of,  without  credulously 
fancying  that  the  labouring  poor  have 
been  eating  a  third  more  food,  and 
that  until  now  they  have  been  always 
under-fed.  But  the  additional  supplies 
have  been  consumed,  and  therefore 
they  have  been  needed,  it  is  con- 
tended. These  supplies,  however, 
would  not  have  been  wholly  required, 
had  Free  Trade  not  paralysed  the 
agriculture  of  Ireland,  and  depopulated 
her  shores  ;  and  even  if  they  had,  Con- 
tinental nations  would  have  abun- 
dantly supplied  our  wants,  and  paid 
at  the  same  time  a  reasonable  import 
duty ;  thus  adding  to  our  revenue, 
mitigating  our  intolerable  taxation, 
and  maintaining  such  a  price  for  our 
home-grown  corn  as  would  have  offer- 
ed fair  remuneration  to  the  cultivators 
of  our  soil.  The  sole  difference  seems 
to  be,  that  we  have  paid  away  to  the 
cultivators  of  foreign  lands,  and  to 
the  enslaved  serfs  and  degraded 
labourers  of  Continental  nations,  what 
we  formerly  paid  to  our  own  people. 

But  still  the  cry  of  the  Free-Trade 
philanthropists  against  what  they  call 
u  a  bread-tax,"  is  clamorously  pro- 
claimed. There  never  was  a  happier 
phrase  to  serve  the  ends  of  faction  ! 
The  compendious  watchword  suffices 
for  argument  and  proof,  and  appeals 
directly,  as  intended,  to  the  angry 
passions  of  the  masses.  What  a  horrid 
thing,  say  these  gentlemen,  is  a  tax  on 
the  bread  of  the  poor !  How  iniquitous, 
how  cruel,  what  a  sin  !  And,  their 
benevolence  warming,  they  launch 
out  into  a  flood  of  grandiloquent 
indignation  at  all  who  venture  to 
gainsay  them.  They  write  and  speak 
as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  high  prin- 
ciple— a  thing  as  sacred  as  the  holiest 
article  of  their  creed,  and  as  soon  to 
be  abandoned.  Can  these  men  be 
honest  ?  They  forget,  or  affect  to  for- 
get, that  by  their  own  one-shilling  duty 
they  are  at  this  moment  taxing  the 
bread  of  the  poor  to  the  amount  of 
some  £700,000  per  annum.  A  bread- 
tax,  then,  cannot  be  a  question  of  such 
holy  import — a  matter  so  vital  to  their 
consciences  as  they  represent  it  to  be. 
But,  in  their  histrionic  horror  of  a 


bread-tax,  they  are  quite  callous 
about  taxing  the  beer  of  the  poor, 
the  butter  and  cheese  of  the  poor, 
the  boots  and  shoes  of  the  poor,  the 
tea  and  tobacco  of  the  poor,  the 
knowledge  of  the  poor  !  What  pre- 
cious morality  is  this,  and  what  tender- 
conscienced  gentlemen  are  these! 
Never  in  our  memory  was  there  a 
more  hollow  or  unprincipled  piece  of 
cant  palmed  upon  a  great  nation 
than  this  hypocritical  cry  about  a 
bread-tax.  In  determining  to  hold 
their  cheap  loaf,  it  might  become 
these  parties  to  remember,  what  they 
do  not  now  deny,  that  they  are 
thereby  impoverishing  ten  thousands 
of  tenant-farmers  and  their  families  ; 
that  even  now  in  many  localities 
they  are  entailing  deep  injury  on  the 
industrious  classes,  which,  if  their 
policy  is  persevered  in,  will  grow  and 
extend  itself  until  the  whole  rural 
population  are  environed  in  want 
and  misery.  In  this  recollection,  can 
such  kind-hearted  politicians  eat  their 
"  big  loaf"  pleasantly  and  with  quiet 
consciences?  In  men  so  kind  and 
good,  it  is  a  marvel  that  such  a  mor- 
sel has  not  stuck  in  their  throat  long 
ago.  One  principal  object  of  the  tax, 
so  odiously  nicknamed,  was  to  protect 
the  poor.  It  defended  them  against 
competition  with  the  serf  labour  of 
Continental  countries;  and  it  kept 
them  from  the  physical,  intellectual, 
and  moral  degradation  in  which  the 
toil-worn  sons  of  labour  in  many 
other  lands  are  so  deeply  sunk.  It 
gave  them  employment,  and  it 
secured  them  "  a  fair  day's  wage  for 
a  fair  day's  work."  "  To  buy  in  the 
cheapest  market,  and  sell  in  the 
dearest,"  is  the  stereotyped  dogma  of 
the  new  experimental  philosophy. 
Labour  is  the  commodity  which  the 
workman  has  to  sell,  and  it  must  be 
bought  at  the  cheapest  cost — at  the 
Russian  rate  of  4£d.  a- day.  This  is 
the  pleasant  prospect  held  out  by  the 
new  friends  of  the  poor  to  the  indus- 
trious classes.  The  maxim  is  a  self- 
ish and  self-destructive  sophism.  To 
buy  in  the  cheapest  market  cannot 
bo  good  to  the  seller,  and  selling  in  the 
dearest  market  cannot  be  good  to  the 
buyer.  According  to  this  sapient 
principle  of  commerce,  the  business 
of  one  half  of  the  industrious  com- 
munity is  to  rain  the  other  half.  It 
is  playing  at  the  old  and  pleasant 


1851.] 


The  Experiment. 


499 


game  of  "beggar  my  neighbour." 
One  limb  of  the  aphorism  cripples  the 
other,  and  sends  it  forth  a  deformed 
monster  of  political  immorality.  With 
one  class,  indeed — the  idle,  moneyed, 
and  non-producing  class — the  maxim 
ought  to  be  in  especial  favour.  It 
suits  them  precisely,  and  for  them  it 
has  been  evidently  coined.  They 
have  nothing  to  sell,  and  they  cleave 
to  the  first  clause  of  the  rubric,  and 
buy  in  the  cheapest  market — a  most 
agreeable  prescription  to  those  who 
think  it  immaterial  whether  the  in- 
dustrious classes  of  the  nation  shall 
be  allowed  to  live  comfortably  upon 
the  fruit  of  their  labour.  It  requires 
remarkable  courage  in  the  Free  Trade 
press  to  uphold  the  practical  wisdom 
of  this  theorem.  Do  they  practise  it  ? 
Why  should  we  not  have  our  news- 
papers as  cheap  as  our  American 
cousins  ?  Did  the  Times,  in  proof  of 
his  sincerity,  volunteer  to  sell  his  jour- 
nal at  3d.  when  the  cry  of  a  cheap 
press  was  raised  ?  No  :  he  saw  that 
that  would  destroy  his  profits  and  his 
capital,  and  with  admirable  ability  he 
exposed  the  fallacious  clamour.  Cheap 
newspapers,  like  many  other  cheap 
things,  are  trashy  and  noxious,  and 
he  demonstrated  that,  with  the  taxes 
and  wages  which  he  paid,  he  could 
not,  without  certain  ruin,  furnish  the 
public  with  cheap  editorials.  It  is 
the  very  case  and  argument  of  the 
agricultural  community.  With  the 
enormous  load  of  taxation  lying  on 
them,  and  the  wages  which  they  have 
at  present  to  disburse,  they  cannot 
continue  to  grow  the  cheap  loaf  with- 
out ultimate  ruin.  The  Times  it- 
self seems  to  concede  this.  In  April 
last,  the  Times  said  of  farmers,  "  If 
their  payments  and  receipts  continue 
long  at  the  present  rate,  they  must  be 
utterly  ruined;"  and  more  lately  (7th 
July)  it  adds,  "  For  nearly  two  years 
and  a  half,  agricultural  prices  have 
been  below  a  remunerative  level." 

If  wehadFreeTrade  in  reality,  which 
we  cannot  have  without  national 
bankruptcy  and  the  destruction  of  the 
empire,  instead  of  the  selfish  and 
one-sided  legislation  called  FreeTrade, 
skilfully  contrived  to  impoverish  the 
many,  and  to  aggrandise  a  select  few, 
there  would  have  been  no  ground  for 
peculiar  complaint.  Even  if  rent  and 
wages  were  so  reduced  as  to  meet  the 
present  prices,  it  must  not  be  forgot- 


ten, that,  under  the  potent  influence 
of  the  great  experiment,  an  immense 
amount  of  agricultural  capital  has 
disappeared.  We  have  seen  how  the 
drainage  money  has  evaporated;  and 
according  to  a  Free-Trade  authority — 
Earl  Fitzhardinge,  formerly  quoted — 
"  in  stocking  a  farm,  £600  will  buy 
about  as  much  stock  as  £1000  used 
to  do !  "  That  is  to  say,  the  existing 
tenant-farmers  of  the  nation  have 
been  plundered  of  two-fifths  of  the 
capital  which  they  had  invested  in 
stock!  And  yet  Sir  J.  Graham 
fancies  that  he  does  a  fair  and  gene- 
rous thing  in  refusing  all  reduction 
of  rent,  and  in  offering  sixty- six  of 
his  tenants  twenty  days  to  make  up 
their  mind  to  displenish  and  depart, 
(See  Carlisle  Patriot,  12th  July  1851,) 
two-fifths  of  their  means  being  likely 
to  disappear  in  the  displenishing  pro- 
cess. Sir  J.  Graham  had  a  prime 
hand  in  planning  the  experiment. 
Without  the  consent  of  his  tenantry, 
he  interpolated  and  altered  the  terms 
of  their  agreement.  By  an  Act  of 
Parliament  he  lowered  prices  thirty 
per  cent,  and  destroyed  two-fifths  of 
their  invested  capital ;  and  when  his 
tenantry,  under  a  calamity  brought 
about  by  himself,  ask  some  relief,  he 
coldly  refuses  it,  and  gives  them 
twenty  days  to  resolve  whether  they 
shall  remain  and  undergo  a  gradual 
impoverishment,  or  get  out  of  the  way 
with  their  wives  and  children,  and 
their  goods  and  chattels,  as  far  as 
these  are  recoverable.  Was  there 
ever  such  bitter  mockery— such  in- 
sulting cruelty?  He  tells  us  in  a 
heroic  ecstasy,  that  he  has  girded  on 
his  armour,  and  is  prepared  for  a  great 
"  struggle"—  (Times,  10th  February 
1851.)  He  has  determined  to  be  a 
patriot  of  the  first  water,  and  to  de- 
fend, at  all  hazards,  the  poor  man's 
cheap  loaf;  but  lo!  he  has  determined, 
too,  to  cheapen  it  at  the  sole  expense 
of  his  tenantry,  and  out  of  the  pockets- 
of  his  neighbours.  This  is  the  mag- 
nanimous struggle  in  which  he  has 
embarked  ;  and  to  aid  him  in  this  he 
treasonably  invoked  the  British  army 
to  rebellion,  and  summoned  the  sol- 
diery to  mutiny.  We  have  reason 
for  heartfelt  gratitude  that  ^the  rene- 
gade statesman  has  exhibited  him- 
self in  his  true  colours;  and  that  all 
the  world  now  knows  the  value  of 
his  cheap  loaf,  and  of  his  fine  speeches- 


500 


The  Experiment. 


[Oct. 


about  the  labouring  poor.  If  the  Free- 
Trade  journalists  are  sincere  in  believ- 
ing that  the  only  possible  remedy  of 
agricultural  distress  is  a  reduction  of 
rent,  why  have  they  not  exposed  the 
selfish  rapacity  of  Sir  J.  Graham,  and 
gibbeted  this  mock  friend  of  the  poor 
to  the  detestation  of  all  honourable 
and  fair-dealing  Free-traders  ?  Are 
they  not  aware  that  their  silence 
suggests  the  suspicion  that,  in  spite 
of  their  benevolent  professions,  they, 
too,  care  not  for  the  poor,  but  only 
for  themselves  ?  Is  Sir  J.  Graham  a 
true  type  of  the  Free-Trade  landlords 
of  the  kingdom  ?  It  is  a  remarkable 
fact,  when  compared  with  Conserva- 
tive and  Protectionist  landlords,  that 
very  few  of  them  have  conceded  any 
relief  to  their  suffering  tenantry ;  and 
yet  the  former  class  have  fewer  mo- 
tives on  the  grounds  of  equity  and 
honour  to  grant  relief.  They  did  not, 
by  agitation  and  interference,  alter 
the  terms  of  their  tenants'  bargains, 
and  deteriorate  their  property,  and 
they  are  innocent  of  the  ruin  which 
has  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  expe- 
riment. If  Sir  J.  Graham  is  a  fair 
representative  of  his  class,  then  the 
Free-Trade  lairds  have  resolved,  in 
patriotic  generosity,  to  cheapen  the 
loaf,  but  not  at  their  own  personal 
expense/  but  exclusively  and  alto- 
gether out  of  the  pockets  of  their 
tenantry  and  neighbours.  Cheap  loaf, 
and  cheaper  patriotism,  and  happy 
illustration  of  buying  in  the  cheapest 
market  and  selling  in  the  dearest ! 
With  the  progress  of  the  experiment 
the  ruin  of  the  tenant-farmers  will 
proceed  with  rapid  acceleration.  But 
they  are  not  the  only  parties  who 
can  be  demonstrated  to  be  suffering 
deeply.  On  one  section  of  land- 
owners the  blow  has  fallen  with  un- 
broken effect.  We  mean  those  who 
farm  their  own  properties.  They 
constitute  a  very  numerous  and  in- 
fluential class  of  society.  They  lead 
the  way  in  the  path  of  agricultural 
improvement,  and  perform  many  im- 
portant duties  to  the  country,  such  as 
those  of  parochial  boards  and  of  the 
magistracy  ;  they  reside  on  their  pro- 
perties, and  shed  oftentimes  around 
them  the  amenities  of  hospitality,  and 
the  light  of  cultivated  life ;  at  least 
they  spend  their  income  at  home,  and 
are  the  friends  or  counsellors  of  their 
poorer  neighbours.  The  experiment 


has  gone  straight  to  the  vitals  of  this 
interesting  class,  and  they  feel  the  full 
measure  of  its  evil.  It  might  be  well 
of  any  of  our  landed  potentates,  who 
may  fancy  that  the  complaining  far- 
mer is  an  impostor,  to  ask  a  land- 
owner, who  farms  his  own  soil,  the 
effect  of  Free  Trade  on  agriculture. 
He  should  be  a  competent  and  an 
impartial  witness.  Sir  E.  Bulwer 
Lytton,  in  his  unanswered  and  un- 
answerable Letters,  states  the  case 
of  the  parochial  clergy  of  England, 
and  makes  a  graceful  appeal  on 
their  behalf.  When  the  next  sep- 
tennial commutation  of  their  tithes 
is  fixed,  there  will  be  a  large  in- 
fringement on  their  income,  and  the 
day  of  their  impoverishment  ap- 
proaches. But  the  parochial  clergy  of 
Scotland  were  at  once  seized  upon  by 
the  experiment,  as  its  immediate  vic- 
tims, and  enclosed  incontinently  in 
its  remorseless  gripe.  It  may  be 
necessary  to  inform  our  southern 
readers  that  the  parochial  clergy  of 
this  part  of  the  kingdom  are  almost 
universally  paid  in  grain:  so  many 
quarters  are  allocated  by  the  Teind 
Court,  and  these  are  paid,  not  in  kind, 
but  according  to  the  fiars  prices  of 
grain  and  meal  annually  struck  in  the 
several  counties.  The  consequence  is, 
that  the  Scotch  clergyman  has  in  the 
experiment  lost  nearly  one-third  of  his 
stipend.  This  seems  to  us  an  act  of 
unmitigated  confiscation.  Heretofore, 
when  Parliament,  for  the  general 
good,  has  thought  meet  to  effect,  by 
statute,  some  great  fiscal  change,  they 
have  scrupulously  kept  inviolate  the 
rights  of  existing  beneficiaries.  If  it 
is  determined  to  reduce  the  emolu- 
ment attached  to  a  judgeship,  the 
salary  of  the  incumbent  judge  is  held 
sacred.  Why  was  this  principle,  at 
the  very  least,  not  acted  upon  in  re- 
ference to  the  ministers  of  religion  ? 
By  an  expensive  and  prolonged  curri- 
culum of  education  they  qualified 
themselves  for  the  duties  of  their 
office,  and  they  entered  on  the  enjoy- 
ment of  its  meagre  emoluments  on  the 
faith  of  Acts  of  Parliament  as  solemn 
and  binding,  they  believed,  as  those 
that  keep  the  State  from  bankruptcy, 
and  give  the  fundholder  his  annuity. 
There  are  in  the  Scotch  Church  what 
are  called  small  livings.  These  were 
cases  in  which  there  was  a  lack  of 
teiud,  and  by  an  annual  grant  from 


1851.] 


the  Exchequer  they  are  made  up  to 
£150  per  annum;  but,  under  the 
fatal  pressure  of  Free  Trade,  many 
stipends  not  in  this  class  have  sunk 
far  below  £150 — so  low  even  as  £100. 
It  is  most  painful  to  hear,  as  we  have 
heard,  of  the  penury  and  difficulty 
into  which  many  educated  men  have 
thus  been  plunged.  The  case  of  the 
parochial  clergy  is  clear  and  disen- 
cumbered, and  cannot  be  concealed 
or  mystified  by  the  specious  plausibi- 
lities of  the  Free-Trade  press.  It  is 
very  well  for  the  Free-Trade  pam- 
phleteer to  attempt  to  palm  upon  the 
tenant-farmer  what  we  believe  to  be 
a  pernicious  delusion — namely,  that 
the  landlord  must  be  the  sole  sufferer, 
and  that  a  reduction  of  rent  will  com- 
pletely meet  his  loss  ;  or  for  the  shal- 
low quack  to  call  upon  him  to  farm 
high,  and  to  take  to  science.  These 
remedies  at  least  cannot  reach  the 
case  we  are  now  considering.  What 
is  the  cheap  loaf  to  the  clergyman  of 
a  parish?  His  glebe  acres  provide 
the  household  with  that.  The  wages 
of  his  domestic  servants — his  contri- 
bution to  the  Ministers'  Widows'  Fund 
— his  life  insurance — his  doctor's  bill 
— the  expense  of  educating  his  chil- 
dren— his  taxes,  are  all  undiminished ; 
and  how,  with  an  income  always 
small,  but  now  so  grievously  dilapi- 
dated, any  frugality  can  meet  the  un- 
avoidable expenditure  of  his  position, 
seems  inexplicable.  And,  to  quote 
language  as  justly  applicable  to  the 
clergy  of  Scotland  as  of  England, 
u  When  we  remember  how  the  income 
of  these  men  is  for  the  most  part 
devoted,  the  unostentatious  charity 
which  they  practise,  the  popular  edu- 
cation they  so  liberally  help  to  elevate 
and  diffuse — compelled,  by  their  resi- 
dence in  the  country,  to  spend  what 
they  require  for  their  wants  chiefly 
among  the  neighbouring  traders  —  I 
can  conceive  nothing  more  calculated 
to  retard  the  prosperity  and  wellbeing 
of  the  rural  districts  than  the  impo- 
verishment of  that  class  of  gentlemen, 
which  applies  means  the  most  mode- 
rate to  services  the  most  useful." — 
(Sir  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton's  Letters^ 
p.  88.) 

We  have  pleasure  in  directing 
attention  to  the  case  of  the  Scotch 
clergy,  as  affected  by  the  Free-  Trade 
experiment ;  and  not  the  less  so,  that 
not  a  syllable  of  complaint  has  as  yet 


The  Experiment.  501 

been  uttered  by  them.  The  cause  of 
their  silence  is  to  us  not  unintelligible. 
Were  they  to  publish  their  suffering, 
they  know  that  the  Free-Trade  jour- 
nals, in  one  harmonious  howl,  would 
denounce  them  as  mercenary  wolves, 
and  as  the  enemies  of  the  poor — an 
imputation  painful  to  every  generous 
nature,  and  one  which,  however  false, 
Christian  ministers  must  have  felt  an 
anxiety  to  avoid,  as  likely  to  prove 
injurious  to  the  success  of  their  pas- 
toral duties.  In  silence,  therefore, 
have  they  suffered ;  and  the  right  of 
a  plundered  party  to  complain  is 
with  elaborate  cruelty  denied  them. 
And  will  the  respectable  gentlemen 
who  minister  to  our  Dissenting  con- 
gregations not  soon  be  made  to  feel 
the  pressure  ?  In  rural  districts,  espe- 
cially, can  the  agricultural  community 
be  expected  to  pay  their  religious 
instructors  as  they  did  in  more  pros- 
perous times?  The  Scottish  people 
have  proverbially  a  warm  regard  for 
their  clergymen,  and  an  earnest  effort 
will  be  made  not  to  abate  their  offer- 
ing ;  but  the  insidious  drain  upon 
their  resources  which  Free  Trade  has 
opened  must  ere  long  extinguish  their 
means.  There  is  another  class,  too, 
whose  meritorious  labours  have  proved 
of  scarcely  less  value  to  the  common- 
wealth, who  will  speedily  be  in  the 
fangs  of  the  Free-Trade  experimen- 
ters. The  parochial  schoolmasters  of 
Scotland  have  their  salaries  paid 
according  to  the  average  value  of  oat- 
meal. By  the  Act  43  Geo.  III.  c.  54, 
the  average  price  over  all  Scotland  is 
struck  once  every  twenty-five  years, 
and  by  that  average  they  are  paid. 
The  next  average  for  the  preceding 
twenty-five  years  falls  to  be  taken  in 
1856 ;  and  it  appears,  from  an  inter- 
esting report  on  education  laid  before 
the  last  meeting  of  the  General 
Assembly  of  the  National  Church, 
that  if  prices  continue  at  their  pre- 
sent rate,  the  maximum  salary  of 
£34— a  miserable  maximum,  and  dis- 
graceful to  the  State  that  doles  out 
such  a  driblet  of  pay  to  its  public 
teachers — will  be  reduced  in  1856  to 
£26  sterling!  And  thus  it  appears 
that  the  religious  instructors  and 
teachers  of  the  people  of  this  kingdom 
are  to  be  crushed  under  the  chariot- 
wheels  of  the  Juggernaut  of  Free 
Trade.  We  believe  that  there  are  very 
many  men  who  love  their  country, 


502 


Tlie  Experiment. 


[Oct. 


and  hate  injustice,  who  have  never 
yet  calmly  considered  the  effects  of 
Free  Trade  which  can  be  proved  now 
to  have  taken  place,  and  have  still 
less  contemplated  the  coming  and 
future  results  of  the  experiment.  If 
they  saw  that  the  impoverishment  of 
the  farmer,  the  clergyman,  and  the 
teacher,  had  already  been  certainly 
accomplished,  they  would  revolt  at 
the  legalised  plunder. 

The  evil  has  not  reached  them,  and 
they  may  have  been  bewildered  by 
the  mendacious  statistics  and  specious 
sophistry  of  the  Free-Trade  press, 
and,  with  heedless  indifference  to  the 
ruin  of  others,  they  conclude  that 
the  cheap  loaf  is  an  excellent  thing. 
The  lawyer's  fee  and  the  doctor's 
are  as  yet  unimpaired,  and,  intact 
themselves,  they  may  not  have  taken 
time  to  consider  that"  they  are  eating 
their  cheap  loaf  at  the  expense  of 
the  unoffending  agriculturist,  and  to 
the  impoverishment  of  the  members 
of  the  two  other  learjied  professions. 
The  sleek  citizen,  with  his  snug 
money  income,  approves  of  the 
wisdom  of  the  cheap  loaf,  and 
marvels  that  there  should  be  any 
difference  on  a  question  so  plain. 
In  the  mean  time,  this  may  be  all 
very  well.  But  if  the  laird  and  the 
farmer,  the  parson  and  the  teacher, 
are  to  be  compelled  to  retrograde 
to  the  primitive  habits  and  diminish- 
ed income  of  their  grandfathers,  they 
will  certainly  refuse  to  proceed  alone 
in  the  backward  path.  They  are  of 
too  kindly  a  nature  to  think  for  a 
moment  of  parting  with  their  friends. 
They  will  insist  upon  going  arm  in 
arm  in  this  journey  of  declension  with 
their  legal  and  medical  advisers — 
with  the  agreeable  annuitants  and 
the  comfortable  owners  of  house 
property.  The  plaintive  morality  and 
music  of  the  old  song  must  find  a 
response  in  every  bosom : — 

"John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 
We  clamb  the  hill  thegither, 
And  mony  a  canty  clay,  John, 
We've  had  with  ane  anither  ; 
Now  we  maun  totter  doun,  John, 
But  hand  in  hand  we'll  go, 
John  Anderson  my  jo." 

If  the  cheap  loaf  is  indispensable, 
then,  for  its  production,  we  must  have 
an  impartial  and  equitable  confisca- 
tion of  all  property  and  of  all  income. 
If  it  is  a  national  boon,  then,  in  the 


name  of  fair  play  and  common  jus- 
tice, let  the  nation  pay  for  it.  But 
while  we  believe  that  many  benevolent 
and  just  men,  from  sheer  inconsider- 
ateness,  remain  blind  to  the  bitter 
fruits  of  Free  Trade,  there  are  some 
for  whom  even  such  a  poor  apology 
cannot  be  offered.  There  are  many 
burning  with  a  hatred,  not  only 
of  what  is  called  landlordism,  but 
of  the  institutions  of  the  country. 
They  are  wise  in  their  generation, 
and  they  see  that  the  experiment  is 
insidiously  but  surely  sapping  the 
foundations  of  the  empire.  To  the 
liberal  laird,  too,  who  repudiates  the 
idea  of  readjustment,  and  who 
extorts  from  his  tenant  an  mi- 
diminished  rental,  and  pays  to  his 
parish  minister  a  third  less  stipend, 
Free  Trade  has  brought  clear  and 
unequivocal  gain.  The  day,  how- 
ever, of  his  retribution  draws  near. 
Nor  do  we  despair  of  his  conversion 
to  sound  views  regarding  the  protec- 
tion due  to  our  native  industry. 
Sequestrated  tenants,  deteriorated 
farms,  and  a  diminished  rental,  will 
purge  his  "  visual  orb,"  and  dispel 
the  delusive  mist  in  which  he  has 
fondly  enveloped  himself.  We  be- 
lieve that  he  will  not  remain  insen- 
sible to  the  potent  influence  of  that 
text  which  the  great  master  of  satire 
has  thus  celebrated — 

"  What  makes  all  doctrines  plain  and  clear  ? 
About  two  hundred  pounds  a- year. 
And  that  which  was  proved  true  before 
Prove  false  again  ?     Two  hundred  more." 

The  experiment  proceeds,  but  not 
without  falsifying  every  promise  held 
out  by  its  authors.  We  have  had 
the  curiosity  to  re-peruse  the  debates 
in  Parliament  when  the  Corn  Laws 
were  abolished  ;  and  not  only  has  not 
one  of  their  predictions  been  verified  r 
but,  to  the  stultification  of  the 
speakers,  the  very  reverse  of  every 
one  of  them  has  been  realised.  The 
other  nations  would  follow  our 
example,  another  golden  age  of 
reciprocity  would  commence,  said  Sir 
R.  Peel.  Our  folly  has  only  con- 
firmed France  and  America  in  a 
course  of  equitable  protection ;  and, 
by  the  mouths  of  their  greatest 
statesmen,  they  have  told  us  that 
we  are  madmen,  and  are  "  digging 
our  own  graves."  In  Prussia,  the 
government  of  Dantzig,  looking  upon 
Free -Trade  agitators  apparently  as 


1851.] 


The  Experiment. 


503 


enemies  of  the  country,  has  lately 
performed  summary  justice  on  some 
of  them,  by  committing  them  to  the 
mercy  of  the  minister  of  justice. 
The  nation  was  to  enjoy  universal 
prosperity.  The  prices  of  grain 
would  not  fall,  and  landlords  and 
tenants  would  not  suffer — (Sir  R. 
Peel,  Sir  J.  Graham,  Messrs  Villiers, 
Milner  Gibson,  Cobden,  and  Bright.) 
The  fulfilment  of  the  promise  is  thus 
recorded  in  the  Queen's  Speech  of 
1851 :  "  I  have  to  lament,  however, 
the  difficulties  which  are  still  felt  by 
that  important  body  among  my 
people  who  are  owners  and  occupants 
of  soil."  And  are  the  other  indus- 
trious classes  prospering?  The  in- 
come-tax returns,  according  to  the 
Times,  are  the  infallible  test  of 
national  prosperity,  and  they  give 
the  lie  to  the  alleged  prosperity. 
Since  the  commencement  of  Free 
Trade,  the  taxable  profits  of  the 
nation  have  decreased  about  one  and 
a  half  millions.  The  labouring  poor 
were  promised  more  abundant  em- 
ployment and  better  wages — (Sir  R. 
Peel,  Mr  Sydney  Herbert,  and  Sir 
C.  Wood.)  The  labouring  poor  are 
rushing  in  shiploads  from  the  shores 
of  their  native  land,  as  if  it  were 
infested  with  pestilence  and  plague. 
Infatuated  men,  thus  to  flee  from 
prosperity !  "  The  necessity  for  emi- 
gration altogether  is  created  by  the 
landlords  and  their  Corn  Laws,"  said 
the  Anti-Bread-Tax  Circular,  (No. 
27,  Dec.  1841.)  And  again,  in  a 
subsequent  number:  "  But,  apart 
from  individual  suffering,  this  is  a 
subject  of  high  and  serious  import 
to  the  State ;  it  betokens  a  disease 
which  threatens  to  end  in  the  per- 
manent weakness,  if  not  destruction, 
of  the  State.  We  have  a  remark- 
able expression  on  this  point  in  the 
writings  of  John  Milton.  That  great 
man  says,  '  I  shall  believe  there 
cannot  be  a  more  ill-boding  sign  to  a 
nation,  (God  turn  the  omen  from  us,) 
than  when  the  inhabitants,  to  avoid 
insufferable  grievances  at  home,  are 
forced,  by  heaps,  to  forsake  their 
native  country,'" — (No.  87,  April 
1842.)  The  divine  Milton  quoted 
in  the  Anti-  Bread-Tax  Circular! 
Horrid  profanation !  But  the  disas- 
trous portent  which  "  the  old  man 
eloquent"  so  devoutly  deprecated, 
Free  Trade  has  shed  upon  the  nation. 


During  the  four  years  immediately 
preceding  Free  Trade,  the  annual 
average  number  of  emigrants  was 
87,000,  and  the  annual  average  of 
the  last  four  years  of  Free  Trade 
has  been  271,000 !  Nor,  since  the 
experiment  was  originated,  have  the 
seers  been  more  happy  in  their  vati- 
cinations. So  adverse  is  fortune  to 
the  soothsayers,  and  so  unpropitious 
the  stars  to  the  Free-Trade  astro- 
logers, that  they  cannot  now  venture 
upon  a  prediction  without  being 
startled  with  its  prompt  refutation. 
The  Industrial  Exhibition  in  Hyde 
Park  was  to  be  the  inaugurating 
festival  of  Free  Trade,  according  to 
the  Morning  Chronicle;  and  the  Times 
is  constrained  to  confess  that  there 
is  scarcely  an  article  exhibited  that 
does  not  enjoy  the  benefit  of  protec- 
tion. Sir  J.  Graham  quotes,  as  a 
proof  of  the  agricultural  prosperity, 
the  thriving  condition  of  his  tenantry, 
and  the  punctual  payment  of  his 
rents ;  and  forthwith  his  tenantry 
publish  their  suffering  to  the  world, 
and  ask  a  reduction  of  rent.  The 
time  seems  to  have  arrived  when 
the  Free-Trade  sages  should  doff 
the  prophet's  mantle.  'Tis  a  pity 
they  did  not  think  of  prefacing  their 
prophecies  as  good  old  Tiresias  did — 
Quid  dico,  aut  erit  aut  non. 

It  seems  undeniable,  then — and 
indeed,  according  to  their  own  con- 
fession, this  is  in  a  great  measure 
admitted — that  the  planners  and  pro- 
moters of  the  experiment  were  origi- 
nally in  a  state  of  the  profoundest 
ignorance  regarding  its  effects,  and 
have  been  most  signally  mistaken 
regarding  its  results.  If  there  is  any 
patriotism  in  them,  or  any  sense  of 
honour,  one  course  only  is  open  to 
them — to  do  justice,  namely,  to  the 
victims  of  their  temerity,  and  to 
retrace  their  steps.  To  talk  of  a 
mere  fiscal  arrangement  as  unalter- 
able, as  an  irrevocable  finality — an 
arrangement,  too,  ruinous  to  agricul- 
ture and  other  branches  of  home 
trade — that  is  pauperising  the  educa- 
tional and  religious  instructors  of  the 
nation,  and  expatriating  the  poor, 
is  a  ridiculous  mockery,  ,and  is  con- 
tradicted by  all  our  Parliamentary 
history.  The  only  measure  of  im- 
portance passed  in  last  session  of 
Parliament— the  Ecclesiastical  Titles 
Bill — was  the  retracing  of  a  false 


504 


The  Experiment. 


[Oct.  1851. 


step,  and  the  correction  of  a  grave 
blunder.  In  his  speech  on  the  bill, 
the  Duke  of  Wellington,  with  heroic 
magnanimity,  admitted  this  ;  and  the 
great  majority  of  the  Liberal  journals 
have  in  this  matter  retraced  their 
steps,  and  are  writing,  and  many  of 
them  with  great  power,  in  the  teeth 
of  the  opinions  and  policy  which  they 
advocated  in  1829. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  wait  a  little 
longer,  that  all  reasonable  men,  who 
have  their  country's  welfare  at  heart, 
may  see  more  fully  the  failure  of  the 
experiment.  Our  past  patience  has 
not  been  without  its  reward.  The 
millers  of  England  and  Ireland,  once 
enthusiastically  Free-Traders,  have 
seen  reason  to  alter  their  opinions.  The 
shipowners,  once  greatly  indifferent  to 
the  encroachments  of  Free  Trade,  have 
changed  their  mind,  and  have  pro- 
claimed the  change  in  no  uncertain 
accents  at  Scarborough.  The  glowing 
editorials  of  the  great  journalist  of 
Free  Trade  are  pointedly  refuted  by  his 
income-tax  returns,  his  trade  reports, 
and  his  import  tables.  Intimidation, 
the  last  refuge  of  baffled  demagogues, 
is  now  resorted  to.  Free  Trade,  it 
seems,  cannot  be  trusted  to  the  care  of 
the  present  electoral  body,  (humiliating 
confession !)  and  the  agricultural  con- 
stituencies and  the  electors  of  our 
maritime  towns  are  to  be  swamped  by 
a  new  reform  bill,  that  the  experiment 
may  proceed  undisturbed.  The  trum- 
pet of  terror  was  first  blown  by  that 
false  knight  who  proposed  rebellion 
to  the  British  soldier,  and  the  smaller 
terrorists  have  taken  the  key-note 
from  Netherby.  The  Edinburgh  Re- 
viewer of  Sir  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton 
with  laughable  solemnity  mutters  dark 
threats  in  the  ears  of  the  owners  of 
land.  Their  apathetic  indifference  has 
doubtless  encouraged  the  strain,  and 
suggested  to  him  that  they  must  be 
men  of  a  craven  spirit.  Our  yeomen 
at  least  are  not  cowards,  and  suffer- 
ing gives  courage  even  to  timid  men. 

There  are  venerated  names  which 
once  were  a  tower  of  strength  in  the 
land.  We  wait  for  an  avowal  from 
them  that  an  experiment,  to  the  sup- 


port of  which  unparalleled  treachery 
may  have  originally  seduced  them, 
has  totally  disappointed  their  just  ex- 
pectations. With  trembling  anxiety 
we  wait  for  their  return  to  their  natu- 
ral and  rightful  position,  for  delay  may 
be  continued  until  retractation  becomes 
worthless,  and  until  character  and  in- 
fluence are  alike  shipwrecked.  The 
Newark  election,  and,  more  lately,  the 
conduct  of  the  Suffolk  farmers  rushing 
blindfold,  in  the  bitterness  of  intoler- 
able suffering  and  blighted  hope,  into 
the  arms  of  democracy,  should  teach 
Conservative  landlords  a  lesson  which, 
if  not  bereft  of  reason,  they  will 
speedily  improve,  But  there  are  some 
for  whom  we  cannot  wait.  We  may 
wait  to  the  Greek  Kalends  ere  the 
economists  of  the  Cobden  school  shall 
be  satisfied  of  the  undeniable  and  in- 
. tolerable  suffering  of  the  agricultural 
community.  If  the  tenant-farmers  of 
the  nation  fancy  that  these  men  may 
yet  relent,  and  extend  to  them  some 
measure  of  justice,  they  are  indulging 
in  a  fond  imagination.  With  as  much 
hope  of  being  heard  may  the  sailor 
sue  the  angry  surge  for  safety,  or  the 
bleating  lamb  bespeak  the  butcher's 
pity.  This  class  of  experimenters  has 
so  mastered  the  weakness  of  humanity, 
that  they  will  cut  and  carve  upon 
their  patient  until  the  last  drop  of 
blood  has  oozed  from  his  tortured 
body.  For  the  conversion  of  these 
ardent  devotees  to  experimental 
science,  who  will  proceed  until  their 
victim  drops  exhausted  from  the  ope- 
rator's table,  we  cannot  wait.  Nor 
can  we  wait  for  him  who  once  told  us* 
"  that  the  Corn  Laws  would  never  be 
abolished ; "  that,  if  they  were,  "  this 
was  the  last  country  he  would  wish 
to  inhabit ;  "  that  "  despotism  itself 
could  not  inflict  a  greater  cruelty  on 
the  poor  than  the  system  of  Free 
Trade ; "  and  who,  nevertheless,  did 
repeal  the  Corn  Laws,  and  does  now 
inhabit  the  country,  and  did  lately 
despotically  inflict  cruelty  on  his 
tenantry  at  Netherby.  For  the  arch- 
experimenter  we  cannot  wait.  The 
traitorous  presence  would  poison  even 
the  pleasure  of  recovered  prosperity. 


*  See  Hansard,  3d  series,  vol.  xlvi. 


Printed  by  William  Slachcood  $  Sons,  Edinburgh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 


EDINBURGH    MAGAZINE 


No.  CCCCXXXIIL          NOVEMBER,  1851. 


VOL.  LXX. 


THE  DRAMAS  OF  HENRY  TAYLOR; 


THERE  is  no  living  writer  whose 
rank  in  literature  appears  to  be  more 
accurately  determined,  or  more  per- 
manently secured  to  him,  than  the 
author  of  Philip  Van  Artevelde.  Not 
gifted  with  the  ardent  temperament, 
the  very  vivid  imagination,  or  the 
warmth  of  passion  which  are  supposed 
necessary  to  carry  a  poet  to  the  high- 
est eminences  of  his  art,  he  has, 
nevertheless,  that  intense  reflection, 
that  large  insight  into  human  life, 
that  severe  taste,  binding  him  always 
to  a  most  select,  accurate,  and  admi- 
rable style,  which  must  secure  him 
a  lofty  and  impregnable  position 
amongst  the  class  of  writers  who 
come  next  in  order  to  the  very 
highest. 

There  have  been  greater  poems, 
but  in  modern  times  we  do  not  think 
there  has  appeared  any  dramatic 
composition  which  can  be  pronounced 
superior  to  the  masterpiece  of  Henry 
Taylor.  Neither  of  the  Sardanapalus 
of  Lord  Byron,  nor  the  Remorse  of 
Coleridge,  nor  the  Cenci  of  Shelley, 
could  this  be  said.  We  are  far  from 
asserting  that  Taylor  is  a  greater 
poet  than  Byron,  or  Coleridge,  or 
Shelley ;  but  we  say  that  no  dramatic 
composition  of  these  poets  surpasses, 
as  a  whole,  Philip  Van  Artevelde. 
These  writers  have  displayed,  on 


various  occasions,  more  passion  and 
more  pathos,  and  a  command  of  more 
beautiful  imagery,  but  they  have 
none  of  them  produced  a  more  com- 
plete dramatic  work ;  nor  do  any 
of  them  manifest  a  profounder  in- 
sight, or  a  wider  view  of  human 
nature,  or  more  frequently  enunciate 
that  pathetic  wisdom,  that  mixture  of 
feeling  and  sagacity,  which  we  look 
upon  as  holding  the  highest  place 
in  eloquence  of  every  description, 
whether  prose  or  verse.  The  last 
act  of  Shelley's  drama  of  the  Cenci 
has  left  a  more  vivid  impression  upon 
our  mind  than  any  single  portion  of 
the  modern  drama  ;'  but  one  act  does 
not  constitute  a  play,  and  this  drama 
of  the  Cenci  is  so  odious  from  its  plot, 
and  the  chief  character  portrayed  in 
it  is,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  so 
utterly  monstrous,  (for  Shelley  has 
combined,  for  purposes  of  his  own,  a 
spirit  of  piety  with  the  other  ingre- 
dients of  that  diabolical  character, 
which  could  not  have  co-existed  with 
themj  that,  notwithstanding  all  its 
beauty,  we  would  willingly  eiface  this 
poem  from  English  literature.  If  one 
of  those  creatures,  half  beautiful 
woman  and  half  scaly  fish,  which 
artists  seem,  with  a  traditional  de- 
pravity of  taste,  to  delight  in,  were 
really  to  be  alive,  and  to  present 


Philip  Van  Artetelde  :     A  Dramatic  Romance. Edwin  the  Fair :     An  His- 
torical Drama  ;  and  Isaac  Comnenus :  A  Play The  Eve  of  the  Conquest,  and  other 

Poems.    By  HENRY  TAYLOR. 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXIIL  2  K 


506 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor, 


[Nov. 


itself  before  us,  it  would  hardly  excite 
greater  disgust  than  this  beautifully 
foul  drama  of  the  Cenci. 

The  very  fact  of  our  author  having 
won  so  distinct  and  undisputed  a 
place  in  public  estimation,  must  be 
accepted  as  an  excuse  for  our  pro- 
longed delay  in  noticing  his  writings. 
The  public  very  rapidly  passed  its 
verdict  upon  them :  it  was  a  sound  one. 
The  voice  of  encouragement  was  not 
needed  to  the  author;  nor  did  the 
reading  world  require  to  be  informed 
of  the  fresh  accession  made  to  its 
stores.  If  we  now  propose  to  our- 
selves some  critical  observations  on 
the  dramas  of  Mr  Taylor,  we  enter 
upon  the  task  in  exactly  the  same 
spirit  that  we  should  bring  to  the 
examination  of  any  old  writer,  any 
veritable  ancient,  of  established  cele- 
brity. We  are  too  late  to  assist  in 
creating  a  reputation  for  these 
dramas,  but  we  may  possibly  throw 
out  some  critical  suggestions  which 
may  contribute  to  their  more  accurate 
appreciation. 

In  Philip  Van  Artevelde,  the  great 
object  of  the  author  appears  to  have 
been  to  exhibit,  in  perfect  union,  the 
man  of  thought  and  the  man  of 
action.  The  hero  is  meditative  as 
Hamlet,  and  as  swift  to  act  as  Corio- 
lauus.  He  is  pensive  as  the  Dane, 
and  with  something  of  the  like  cause 
for  his  melancholy  ;  but  so  far  from 
wasting  all  his  energies  in  moody  re- 
flection, he  has  an  equal  share  for  a 
most  enterprising  career  of  real  life. 
He  throws  his  glance  as  freely  and  as 
widely  over  all  this  perplexing  world, 
but  every  footstep  of  his  own  is  plant- 
ed with  a  sure  and  certain  knowledge, 
and  with  a  firm  will.  His  thoughts 
may  seem  to  play  as  loose  as  the  air 
above  him,  but  his  standing-place  is 
always  stable  as  the  rock.  Such  a 
character,  we  need  not  say,  could 
hardly  have  been  selected,  and  cer- 
tainly could  not  have  been  portrayed 
with  success,  by  any  but  a  deeply 
meditative  mind. 

It  is  often  remarked  that  the  hero 
is  the  reflection  of  the  writer.  This 
could  not  be  very  correctly  said  in 
instances  like  the  present.  A  writer 
still  lives  only  in  his  writings,  lives 
only  in  his  thoughts,  whatever  martial 
feats  or  bold  enterprises  he  may 
depict.  We  could  not  prophesy  how 


the  poet  himself  would  act  if  he  had 
been  the  citizen  of  Ghent.  It  is 
more  accurate  to  content  ourselves 
with  saying  that  the  delineation  of 
his  hero  has  given  full  scope  to  the 
intellectual  character  of  the  author, 
and  to  his  own  peculiar  habits  of 
thought.  For  if  the  great  citizen  of 
Ghent  combines  in  an  extraordinary 
degree  the  reflective  and  the  energetic 
character,  our  author  ^unites,  in  a 
manner  almost  as  peculiar,  two  modes 
of  thinking  which  at  first  appear  to 
be  opposed :  he  unites  that  practical 
sagacity  which  gives  grave,  and  seri- 
ous, and  useful  counsels  upon  human 
conduct,  with  that  sad  and  profound 
irony — that  reasoned  despondency — 
which  so  generally  besets  the  specula- 
tive mind.  All  life  is — vanity.  Yet 
it  will  not  do  to  resign  ourselves  to 
this  general  conclusion,  from  which  so 
little,  it  is  plain,  can  be  extracted. 
From  nothing,  nothing  comes.  We 
must  go  back,  and  estimate  by  com- 
parison each  form  and  department  of 
this  human  life — which,  as  a  whole, 
is  so  nugatory.  Thus,  practical  saga- 
city is  reinstated  in  full  vigour,  and 
has  its  fair  scope  of  action,  though 
ever  and  anon  a  philosophic  despon- 
dency will  throw  its  shadow  over  the 
scene. 

As  it  is  a  complete  man,  so  it  is  a 
whole  life,  that  we  have  portrayed  in 
the  drama  of  Philip  Van  Artevelde. 
The  second  part  is  not  what  is  un- 
derstood by  a  u  continuation  "  of  tho 
first,  but  an  essential  portion  of  the 
work.  In  the  one  we  watch  the  hero 
rise  to  his  culminating  point ;  in  the 
other  we  see  him  sink — not  in  crime, 
and  not  in  glory,  but  in  a  sort  of  dim 
and  disastrous  twilight.  We  take  up 
the  hero  from  his  student  days  ;  we 
take  him  from  his  philosophy  and  his 
fishing-line,  and  that  obstinate  pon- 
dering on  unsolvable  problems,  which 
is  as  much  a  characteristic  of  youth 
as  the  ardent  passions  with  which  it 
is  more  generally  accredited ;  we  take 
him  from  the  quiet  stream  which  he 
torments,  far  more  by  the  thoughts 
he  throws  upon  it,  than  by  his  rod 
and  line. 

"  He  is  a  man  of  singular  address 
In  catching  river-fish," 

says  a  sarcastic  enemy,  who  knew 
nothing  of  the  trains  of  thought  for 


1851.] 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


507 


which  that  angling  was  often  a  con- 
venient disguise.  A  hint  given  in 
the  drama  will  go  far  to  explain  what 
their  hue  and  complexion  must  have 
been.  The  father  of  Philip  had 
headed  the  patriotic  cause  of  the 
citizens  of  Ghent ;  it  had  triumphed 
in  his  person ;  the  same  citizens  of 
Ghent  had  murdered  him  on  the 
threshold  of  his  door.  When  he  was 
a  boy,  the  stains  of  his  father's  blood 
were  still  visible  on  that  threshold : 
the  widowed  mother  would  not  suffer 
them  to  be  removed,  and,  nursing  her 
revenge,  loved  to  show  them  to  the 
thild.  There  was  something  here  to 
colour  the  thoughts  of  the  young 
fisherman. 

But  passion  and  the  world  are  now 
knocking  at  the  heart  of  the  medita- 
tive student.  Love  and  ambition  are 
there,  and,  moreover,  the  turbulent 
condition  of  the  city  of  Ghent  seems 
to  forbid  the  continuance  of  this  life 
of  quietude.  The  passions  of  the 
world  crave  admittance.  Shall  he 
admit  them?  The  great  theatre  of 
life  claims  its  new  actor.  Shall  he 
go  ?  Shall  he  commit  himself  once 
and  for  ever  to  the  turmoil  and  delu- 
sions of  that  scene — delusions  that 
will  not  delude,  but  which  will  exer- 
cise as  great  a  tyranny  over  him  as 
if  they  did  ?  Yes ;  he  will  go.  As 
well  do  battle  with  the  world  with- 
out, as  eternally  with  his  own  thoughts; 
for  this  is  the  only  alternative  youth 
presents  to  us.  Yes,  he  will  go  ;  but 
deliberately :  he  will  not  be  borne 
along,  he  will  govern  his  own  foot- 
steps, and,  come  what  may,  will  be 
always  master  of  himself. 

Launoy,  one  of  Ghent's  bravest 
patriots,  has  been  killed.  The  first 
reflection  we  hear  from  the  lips  of 
Artevelde  is  called  forth  by  this  in- 
telligence. It  does  not  surprise  him. 

"  I  never  looked  that  he  should  live  so  long. 
He  was  a  man  of  that  unsleeping  spirit, 
He  seemed  to  live  by  miracle :  his  food 
Was  glory,  which  was  poison  to  his  mind 
And  peril  to  his  body.     He  was  one 
Of  many  thousand  such  that  die  betimes, 
Whose  story  is  a  fragment,  known  to  few. 
Then  comes  the  man  who  has  the  luck  to  live, 
And  he's  a  prodigy.     Compute  the  chances, 
And  deem  there's  ne'er  a  one  in  dangerous 

times 

Who  wins  the  race  of  glory,  but  than  him 
A  thousand  men  more  gloriously  endowed 
Have  fallen  upon  the  course ;  a  thousand  others 


Have   had    their   fortunes    foundered   by    a 

chance, 
Whilst  lighter  barks  pushed  past  them  ;  to 

whom  add 

A  smaller  tally,  of  the  singular  few 
Who,  gifted  with  predominating  powers, 
Bear  yet  a  temperate  will,  and    keep    the 

peace. 
The    world   knows  nothing   of    its  greatest 

men." 

If  ambition  wears  this  ambiguous 
aspect  to  his  mind,  it  is  not  because 
he  is  disposed  to  regard  the  love  of 
woman  too  enthusiastically. 

"  It  may  be  I  have    deemed  or  dreamed  of 

such. 

But  what  know  I  ?     We  figure  to  ourselves 
The  thing  we  like,  and  then  we  build  it  up 
As  chance  will  have  it,  on  the  rock  or  sand : 
For  thought  is  tired  of  wandering  o'er  the 

world, 
And  home-bound  fancy  runs  her  bark  ashore.'1 

Yet  Artevelde  is  at  this  time  on 
his  way  to  Adriana  to  make  that 
declaration  which  the  Lady  Adriana 
is  so  solicitous  to  hear.  This  a  lover ! 
Yes ;  only  one  of  that  order  who 
hang  over  and  count  the  beatings  of 
their  own  heart. 

Launoy  being  destroyed,  and  the 
people  of  Ghent  having  lost  others  of 
their  leaders,  and  growing  discon- 
tented with  the  stern  rule  of  Van  Den 
Bosch,  some  new  captain  or  ruler  of 
the  town  is  looked  for.  The  eyes  of 
men  are  turned  to  Philip  Van  Arte- 
velde. He  shall  be  captain  of  the 
Whitehoods,  and  come  to  the  rescue 
of  the  falling  cause  ;  for,  of  late,  the 
Earl  of  Flanders  has  been  everywhere 
victorious.  Van  Den  Bosch  himself 
makes  the  proposal.  It  is  evident, 
from  hints  that  follow,  that  Artevelde 
had  already  made  his  choice ;  he  saw 
that  the  time  was  come  when,  even 
if  he  desired  it,  there  was  no  main- 
taining a  peaceful  neutrality.  But 
Van  Den  Bosch  meets  with  no  eager 
spirit  ready  to  snatch  at  the  perilous 
prize  held  out  to  him.  He  is  no  dupe 
to  the  nature  of  the  offer,  nor  very 
willing  that  others  should  fancy  him 
to  be  one — 

«  Not  so  fast. 
Your  vessel,  Van  Den  Bosch,  hath  felt  the 

storm : 

She  rolls  dismasted  in  an  ugly  swell, 
And  you  would  make  a  jury-mast  of  me, 
Whereon  to  spread  the  tatters  of  your  can- 
vass." 

It  is  worth  noticing  how  the  pas- 
sion of  revenge,  like  the  others,  is 


508 

admitted  to  its  post;  admitted,  yet 
coldly  looked  upon.  He  will  revenge 
his  father.  Two  knights,  Sir  Guise- 
bert  Grutt  and  Simon  Bette,  (we  wish 
they  had  better  names,)  were  mainly 
instrumental  in  his  murder.  These 
men  have  been  playing  false,  by  mak- 
ing treacherous  overtures  to  the  Earl 
of  Flanders ;  they  will  be  in  his  power. 
But  they  cannot,  he  reflects,  render 
back  the  life  they  have  destroyed — 

Life  for  life,  vile  bankrupts  as  they 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


[Nov. 


are, 
Their  worthless  lives   for  his   of    countless 

price, 

Is  their  whole  wherewithal  to  pay  the  deht. 
Yet  retribution  is  a  goodly  thing, 
And  it  were  well  to  wring  the  payment  from 

them, 
Even  to  the  utmost  drop  of  their   heart's 

blood." 

Still  less  does  the  patriotic  harangue 
of  Van  Den  Bosch  find  an  enthusiastic 
response.  He  was  already  too  much 
a  statesman  to  be  a  demagogue ;  not 
to  mention  that  his  father's  career 
had  taught  him  a  bitter  estimate  of 
popularity,  and  of  all  tumultuary  en- 
thusiasm:— 

Van  Den  Bosch.  Times  are  sore  changed,  I 

see.     There's  none  in  Ghent 
That  answers  to  the  name  of  Artevelde. 
Thy  father  did  not  carp  or  question  thus 
When   Ghent   invoked  his   aid.      The  days 

have  been 

When  not  a  citizen  drew  breath  in  Ghent 
But  freely  would  have  died  in  Freedom's 

cause. 
Artevelde.  With  a  good  name  thou  christenest 

the  cause. 
True,  to   make   choice  of    despots  is  some 

freedom, 

The  only  freedom  for  this  turbulent  town, 
Rule  her  who  may.     And  in  my  father's 

time 

We  still  were  independent,  if  not  free  ; 
And  wealth  from  independence,   and   from 

wealth 

Enfranchisement  will  partially  proceed. 
The  cause,  I  grant  thee,  Van  Den  Bosch,  is 

good  ; 

And  were  I  linked  to  earth  no  otherwise 
But  that  my  whole  hearb  centred  in  myself, 
I  could  have  tossed  you  this  poor  life  to  play 

with, 
Taking  no  second  thought.     But  as  things 

_  are, 

I  will  resolve  the  matter  warily, 
And  send  thee  word  betimes  of  my  conclusion. 
Van  Den  Bosch.  Betimes   it   must  be;    for 

some  two  hours  hence 
I  meet  the  Deans,  and  ere  we  separate 
Our  course  must  be  determined. 
Artevelde.  In  two  hours, 

If  I  be  for  you,  I  will  send  this  ring 
In  token  I  have  so  resolved." 


He  had  already  resolved.  Such  a 
man  would  not  have  suffered  himself 
to  be  hemmed  in  within  the  space  of 
two  hours  to  make  so  great  a  deci- 
sion ;  but  he  would  not  rush  precipi- 
tately forward  ;  he  would  feel  his  own 
will  at  each  step.  He  had  already 
resolved;  but  his  love  to  Adriana 
troubles  him  at  heart :  he  must  first 
make  all  plain  and  intelligible  there, 
before  he  becomes  captain  of  the 
Whitehoods.  From  this  interview 
he  goes  to  Adriana ;  and  then  follows 
a  dialogue,  every  sentence  of  which, 
if  we  were  looking  out  for  admirable 
passages  for  quotation,  would  offer 
itself  as  a  candidate.  We  quote  only, 
from  a  drama  so  well  known,  for  the 
purpose  of  illustrating  the  analytic 
view  we  would  present  of  its  chief 
hero ;  but  the  passages  selected  for 
this  purpose  can  hardly  fail  of  being 
also  amongst  the  most  beautiful  in 
themselves.  Artevelde  is  alone,  wait- 
ing for  the  appearance  of  Adriana — 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  that  still  harks  me 

back. 

To  bring  a  cloud  upon  the  summer  day 
Of  one  so  happy  and  so  beautiful, — 
It  is  a  hard  condition.     For  myself, 
I  know  not  that  the  circumstance  of  life 
In  all  its  changes  can  so  far  afflict  me 
As  makes  anticipation  much  worth  while. 

Oh  she  is  fair! 

As  fair  as  Heaven  to  look  upon  !  as  fair 
As  ever  vision  of  the  Virgin  blest 
That  weary  pilgrim,  resting  by  the  fount 
Beneath  the  palm,  and  dreaming  to  the  tune 
Of  flowing  waters,  duped  his  soul  withal. 
It  was  permitted  in  my  pilgrimage 
To  rest  beside  the  fount,  beneath  the  tree, 
Beholding  there  no  vision,  but  a  maid 
Whose  form  was  light  and  graceful  as  the 

palm, 
Whose  heart  was  pure  and  jocund  as  the 

fount, 
And  spread  a  freshness  and  a  verdure  round." 

Adriana  appears,  and  in  the  course  of 
the  dialogue  he  addresses  her  thus  : — 

"Becalm; 
And  let  me  warn  thee,  ere  thy  choice  be 

fixed, 
What  fate  thou  may'st  be  wedded  to  with 

me. 

Thou  hast  beheld  me  living  heretofore 
As  one  retired  in  staid  tranquillity  : 
The  dweller  in  the  mountains,  on  whose  ear 
The  accustomed  cataract  thunders  unobserved ; 
The  seaman,  who  sleeps  sound  upon  the  deck, 
Nor  hears  the  loud  lamenting  of  the  blast, 
Nor  heeds   the  weltering  of    the    plangent 

wave, — 
These    have    not    lived    more    undisturbed 

than  I: 


1851.] 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


But  build  not  upon  this ;  the  swollen  stream 
May  shake  the  cottage  of  the  mountaineer, 
And  drive  him  forth ;  the  seaman,  roused  at 

length, 
Leaps  from  his  slumber  on  the  wave-washed 

deck: 
And  now  the  time  comes  fast  when  here,  in 

Ghent, 

He  who  would  live  exempt  from  injuries 
Of  armed  men,  must  be  himself  in  arms. 
This  time  is  near  for  all, — nearer  for  me  : 
I  will  not  wait  upon  necessity, 
And   leave   myself  no   choice    of    vantage- 
ground, 
But  rather  meet  the  times  where    best  I 

may, 

And  mould  and  fashion  them  as  best  I  can. 
Reflect  then  that  I  soon  may  be  embarked 
In  all  the  hazards  of  these  troublesome 

times, 
And  in  your  own  free  choice  take  or  resign 

me. 
Adri.     Oh,  Artevelde,  my  choice  is  free  no 

more." 

And  now  he  is  open  to  hear  Van 
Den  Bosch.  That  veteran  in  war  and 
insurrection  brings  him  news  that  the 
people  are  ready  to  elect  him  for  their 
captain  or  ruler. 

"  Artev.     Good  !  when  they  come  I'll  speak 

to  them. 
Van  Den  B.  'Twere  well. 

Canst  learn   to  bear  thee  high  amongst  the 

commons  ? 
Canst  thou  be  cruel  ?     To  be  esteemed  of 

them, 

Thou  must  not  set  more  store  by  lives  of  men 
Than  lives  of  larks  in  season. 
Artev.  Be  it  so. 

/  can  do  what  is  needful." 

The  time  of  action  is  at  hand.  We 
now  see  Van  Artevelde  in  a  suit  of 
armour;  he  is  reclining  on  a  window- 
seat  in  his  own  house,  looking  out 
upon  the  street.  There  is  treason  in 
the  town ;  of  those  who  flock  to  the 
market-place,  some  have  already  de- 
serted his  cause. 

"  A  rtev.     Not  to  be  feared — Give  me  my 

sword  !  Go  forth, 
And  see  what  folk  be  these  that  throng  the 

street.  [Exit  the  page. 

Not  to  be  feared  is  to  be  nothing  here. 
And  wherefore  have  I  taken  up  this  office, 
If  I  be  nothing  in  it  ?     There  they  go. 

(Shouts  are  heard.) 
Of  them  that  pass  my  house  some  shout  my 

name, 

But  the  most  part  pass  silently;  and  once 
I  heard  the  cry  of  '  Flanders  and  the  Lion  ! ' 

That  cry  again  ! 

Sir   knights,  ye   drive   me   close   upon   the 

rocks, 
And  of  my  cargo  you're  the  vilest  bales, 


509 

So   overboard   with  you  !     What,   men   of 

blood  ! 

Can  the  son  better  auspicate  his  arms 
Than  by  the  slaying  of  who  slew  the  father  ? 
Some  blood  may  flow  because  that  it  needs 

must, 
But  yours  by  choice — I'll  slay  you,  and  thank 

God. 

(Enter  Van  Den  Bosch.) 
Van  Den  B.     The  common  bell  has  rung  ! 

the  knights  are  there; 
Thou  must  come  instantly. 
Artev.  I  come,  I  come. 

Van  Den  B.     Now,  Master  Philip,  if  thou 

miss  thy  way 
Through  this  affair  we're  lost.     For  Jesus' 

sake 
Be  counselled   now   by  me;   have   thou   in 

mind 

Artev.     Go  to,  I  need  not  counsel;  I'm  re- 
solved. 

Take  thou  thy  stand  beside  Sir  Simon  Bette, 
As  I  by  Grutt;  take  note  of  all  I  do, 
And  do  thyself  accordingly.     Come  on." 

They  join  the  assembly ;  they  take 
their  stand  each  by  one  of  the  traitor 
knights ;  the  debate  on  the  proposal 
of  the  Earl  proceeds  ;  three  hundred 
citizens  are  to  be  given  up  to  him, 
and  on  this,  and  other  conditions, 
peace  is  to  be  granted.  Artevelde 
addresses  the  assembly,  and  then 
turning  to  these  knights,  he  con- 
tinues : — 

"  Your  pardon,  sirs,  again  ! 
(To  Grutt  and  Bette.) 
You  are  the  pickers  and  the  choosers  here, 
And  doubtless  you're  all  safe,  ye    think — 

ha !  ha ! 
But  we  have  picked  and  chosen,  too,  sir 

knights — 

What  was  the  law  for  I  made  yesterday — 
What !  is  it  you  that  would  deliver  up 
Three  hundred  citizens  to  certain  death  ? 
Ho  !  Van  Den  Bosch  !  have  at  these  traitors 
— ha!— 

(Stabs  Grutt,  who  falls.) 
Van  Den  B.     Die,  treasonable  dog  ! — 
(Stabs  Bette.)" 

He  can  do  "  what  is  needful."  It  is 
admirable;  everything  that  is  said 
and  done  is  admirable  ;  but  an  in- 
voluntary suspicion  at  times  creeps 
into  the  mind,  that  such  a  man  as 
Philip  Van  Artevelde  never  lived,  or 
could  live.  No  man  could  move  along 
such  a  line  of  enterprise  with  such  a 
weight  of  reflection  on  all  the  springs 
of  action.  We  see  the  calm  states- 
man at  the  head  of  a  tumultuary 
movement ;  and  the  meditative  man, 
to  whom  revenge  is  the  poorest  of  our 
passions,  striking  a  blow  from  which 
an  old  warrior  might  shrink.  Could 
a  man  be  really  impelled  along  a  path 


510 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


[Nov. 


of  life  like  this  by  passions  that  are 
admitted,  indeed,  into  the  bosom,  but 
watched  like  prisoners?  The  suspi- 
cion, we  say,  creeps  involuntarily  into 
the  mind  ;  but  we  will  not  entertain 
it — we  will  not  yield  to  it.  That  the 
reflective  and  energetic  characters 
are,  in  certain  degrees,  combined  toge- 
ther, we  all  know  ;  and  who  shall  say 
within  what  degrees  only  this  is  pos- 
sible? And  why  may  not  an  ideal 
perfection  of  this  kind  be  portrayed 
as  well  as  an  ideal  patriot,  or  an  ideal 
monk,  or  an  ideal  warrior?  We 
throw  the  suspicion  aside,  and  con- 
tinue our  analysis. 

There  is  a  passage  which  is  often 
quoted  for  its  great  beauty :  we  quote 
it  also  for  its  great  appropriateness. 
Philip  Van  Artevelde  is  master  of  the 
city;  he  is  contemplating  it  at  night- 
time from  the  tower  of  St  Nicholas. 
The  reflection  here  put  into  the  mouth 
of  the  anxious  captain  brings  back  to 
us,  in  the  midst  of  War  and  the  cares 
of  government,  the  meditative  man: — 

"  There  lies  a  sleeping  city.  God  of  dreams  ! 

What  au  unreal  and  fantastic  world 

Is  going  on  below  ! 

Within  the  sweep  of  yon  encircling  wall 

How  many  a  large  creation  of  the  night, 

Wide  wilderness  and  mountain,  rock   and 

sea, 

Peopled  with  husy  transitory  groups, 
Finds  room  to  rise,  and   never  feels    the 

crowd !  " 

The  famous  scene,  which  has  for 
its  place  the  summit  of  this  tower, 
between  Artevelde  and  Van  Den 
Bosch,  is  fresh  in  the  recollection  of 
every  reader:  we  must  pass  it  by, 
and  the  admirable  and  pathetic  de- 
scription of  the  famine  that  is  raging 
in  Ghent,  and  proceed  to  the  last  act 
of  this  part  of  the  drama.  Artevelde 
has  stimulated  the  citizens  to  make 
one  brave  effort  more— to  sally  from 
the  walls,  and  meet  the  Earl  in  battle 
before  Bruges.  He  has  arranged  in 
order  of  battle  his  lean  and  famine- 
stricken,  but  desperate  little  army. 
He  knows  the  extreme  peril  in  which 
they  stand  :  no  food  in  the  camp  ; 
fearful  odds  to  be  encountered ;  yet 
the  only  hope  lying  in  immediate 
battle.  He  does  not  delude  himself 
for  a  moment ;  he  sees  the  danger 
clear,  and  entertains  it  with  a  certain 
sarcastic  levity.  He  does  not  hope, 
but  he  acts  as  if  he  did.  He  is  not  a 
man  given  to  hope,  but  he  has  a 


tempered  despondency,  which  sits 
with  him  at  the  council-board,  and 
rides  with  him  to  the  field,  and  which 
he  compels  to  do  the  services  of  hope. 

"  Artev.  I  would  to  God 

The  sun  might  not  go  down  upon  us  here 

Without  a  battle  fought  ! 

Van  Den  B.  If  so  it  should, 

We  pass  a  perilous  night, 

And  wake  a  wasted  few  the  morrow  morn. 

Van  Muck.     We  have  a  supper  left. 

Artev.  My  lady's  page, 

If  he  got  ne'er  a  better,  would  be  wroth, 

And  burn  in  effigy  my  lady's  steward. 

Van  Den  B.     We'll  hope  the' best; 

But  if  there  be  a  knave  in  power  unhanged, 

And  in  his  head  a  grain  of  sense  uudrowned, 

He'll  be  their  caution  not  to 

Artev.  Van  Den  Bosch, 

Talk  we  of  battle  and  survey  the  field, 
For  I  will  light." 

We  like  this  last  expression.  What 
in  another  man  would  have  been  a 
mere  petulance,  is  in  Artevelde  an 
assumed  confidence — consciously  as- 
sumed, as  the  only  tone  of  mind  in 
which  to  pass  through  the  present 
crisis.  Nor  can  we  omit  to  notice  the 
following  passage,  which,  to  our  appre- 
hension, is  very  characteristic  of  our 
contemplative  politician  and  warrior; 
it  shows  the  sardonic  vein  running 
through  his  grave  and  serious 
thoughts : — 

Art.  (to  Van  Ryk.)     I  tell  thee,  eat, 

Eat  and  be  fresh.    Pll  send  a  priest  to  shrive 

thee. 
Van  Muck,  tliou  tak'st  small  comfort  in  thy 

prayers, 
Put  thou  thy  muzzle  to  yon  tub  of  wine.'1'' 

The  battle  is  fought  and  a  victory 
won.  Justice  is  executed  with  stern 
and  considerate  resolve  on  the  villains 
of  the  piece,  and  we  leave  Van  Arte- 
velde triumphant  in  his  great  contest, 
and  happy  in  the  love  of  Adriana. 

The  subordinate  characters  who 
are  introduced  into  this  first  part  of 
the  drama,  we  have  no  space  to 
examine  minutely.  The  canvass  is 
well  filled,  though  the  chief  figure 
stands  forward  with  due  prominence. 
Adriana  is  all  that  an  amiable  and 
loving  woman  should  be.  The  lighter- 
hearted  Clara  is  intended  as  a  sort  of 
contrast  and  relief.  Her  levity  and 
wit  are  not  always  graceful ;  they  are 
not  so  in  the  early  scene  where  she 
jests  with  the  page :  afterwards, 
when  in  presence  of  her  lover,  she 
has  a  fitter  and  more  genial  subject 


1851.]  The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 

for  her  playful  wit,  and  succeeds  much  Philip  Van  Artevelde 
better.  In  the  course  of  the  drama, 
when  the  famine  is  raging  in  Ghent, 
she  appears  as  the  true  sister  of  Philip 
Van  Artevelde.  At  her  first  intro- 
duction she  is  somewhat  too  hoy- 
den ish  for  the  mistress  of  the  noble 
D'Arlon.  D'Arlon  is  all  that  a  knight 
should  be,  and  Gilbert  Matthew  is  a 
consummate  villain. 

Between  the  first  and  second  parts 
is  a  poem  in  rhyme,  called  "  The 
Lay  of  Elena."  This  introduces  us 
to  the  lady  who  is  to  be  the  heroine 

of  the  second  part  of  the  drama.    All 

the  information  it  gives,  might,  we 

think,  have  been  better  conveyed  in  a 
few  lines  of  blank  verse,  added  to 

that    vindication    of    herself    which 

Elena  pours  forth  in   the  first   act, 

when  Sir  Fleureant  of  Heurlee  comes 

to  reclaim  her  on  the  part  of  the 

Duke  of  Bourbon.     This  poem  is  no 

favourite  of  ours ;  but  the  worst  com- 
pliment we  would  pay  it  implies,  in 

one  point  of  view,  a  certain  fitness 

and  propriety — we  were  glad  to  re- 
turn to  the  blank  verse  of  our  author, 

in  which  we  find  both  more  music 

and  more  pathos  than  in  these  rhymes. 
If  we  are  tempted  to  suspect,  whilst 

reading  the  first  part  of  this  drama, 

that   the    character    of  Philip    Van 

Avtevelde  combines  in  a  quite  ideal 

perfection  the  man  of  thought  with 

the  man  of  action,  we,  at  all  events, 

cannot   accuse    the    author,   in    this 

second  part,  of  representing  an  ideal 

or  superhuman  happiness  as  the  result 

of  this  perfect  combination.     It  is  a 

very  truthful  sad-coloured  destiny  that 

he  portrays.     The  gloomy  passionate 

sunset  of  life  has  been  a  favourite 

subject  with  poets ;  but  what  other 

author  has  chosen  the  clouded  after- 
noon of  life,  the  cheerless  twilight, 

and  the  sun  setting  behind  cold  and 

dark  clouds  ?    It  was  a  bold  attempt. 

It  has  been  successfully  achieved.  But 
no  amount  of  talent  legitimately  ex- 
pended on  it  could  make  this  second 
part  as  attractive  as  the  first.  When 
the  heroic  man  has  accomplished  his 
heroic  action,  life  assumes  to  him, 
more  than  to  any  other,  a  most  ordi- 
nary aspect:  his  later  years  bring 
dwarfish  hopes  and  projects,  or  none 
at  all ;  they  bring  desires  no  longer 
u  gay>"  and  welcomed  only  for  such 
poor  life  as  they  may  have  in  them. 


511 

is    now  the 

Regent  of  Flanders,  and,  like  other 
regents,  has  to  hold  his  own  :  Adriana 
he  has  lost ;  her  place  is  supplied  by 
one  still  fair  but  faded,  and  who, 
though  she  deserved  a  better  fate, 
must  still  be  described  as  lately  the 
mistress  of  the  Duke  of  Bourbon.  It 
is  the  hero  still,  but  he  has  descended 
into  the  commonplace  of  courts  and 
politics. 

That  it  is  the  same  Philip  Van 
Artevelde  we  are  in  company  with, 
the  manner  in  which  he  enters  into 
this  new  love  will  abundantly  testify. 
He  has  been  describing  to  Elena  his 
former  wife,  Adriana.  The  description 
is  very  beautiful  and  touching.  He 
then  proceeds  with  his  wooing  thus : — 

"  Artev.    .     .     .     Well,  well — she's  gone, 
And  I  have  tamed  ray  sorrow.     Pain  and  grief 
Are  transitory  things  no  less  than  joy, 
And  though  they  leave  us  not  the  men  we 

were, 

Yet  they  do  leave  us.     You  behold  me  here 
A  man  bereaved,  with  something  of  a  blight 
Upon  the  early  blossoms  of  his  life 
And  its  first  verdure,  having  not  the  less 
A  living  root,  drawing  from  the  earth 
Its  vital  juices,  from  the  air  its  powers  : 
And  surely  as  man's  health  and  strength  are 

whole, 

His  appetites  regerminate,  his  heart 
Reopens,  and  his  objects  and  desires 
Shoot  up  renewed.  What  blank  I  found 

before  me, 

From  what  is  said  you  partly  may  surmise  ; 
How  I  have  hoped  to  fill  it,  may  I  tell  ? 
Elena.  I  fear,  my  lord,  that  cannot  be. 
Artev.  Indeed ! 

Then  am  I  doubly  hopeless.     .     .     . 
Elena.  I  said  I.  feared  another  could  not  fill 
The  place  of  her  you  lost,  being  so  fair 
And  perfect  as  you  give  her  out." 

In  fine,  Elena  is  conquered,  or  rather 
led  to  confess  a  conquest  already 
achieved. 

"  Elena.  I  cannot— no — 

I  cannot  give  you  what  you've  had  so  long  ; 

Nor  need  I  tell  you  what  you  know  so  well. 

I  must  be  gone. 

Arler.  Nay,  sweetest,  why  these  tears  ? 

Elena.  No,  let  me  go — I  cannot  tell — no — 

no — 

I  want  to  be  alone — 

Oh  !  Artevelde,  for  God's  love  let  me  so  ! 
[Exit. 
Artev.    (after  a  pause.)    The  night  is  far 

advanced  upon  the  morrow, 
—  Yes,  I  have  wasted  half  a  summer''s  nuilit. 
Was  it  well  spent  ?     Successfully  it  was. 
How  little  flattering  is  a  woman's  love  ! 
Worth  to  the   heart,  come  how  it  may,  a 

world  ; 
Worth  to  men's  measures  of  their  own  deserts, 


512 

If  weighed  in  wisdom's  balance,  merely  no- 
thing. 

The  few  hours  left  are  precious— who  is  there  ? 
Ho !  Nieuverkerchen ! — when  we  think  upon 

How  little  flattering  is  a  woman's  love  ! 
Given  commonly  to  whosoe'er  is  nearest 
And  propped  with  most  advantage  ;  outward 

grace 

Nor  inward  light  is  needful  ;  day  by  day 
Men  wanting  both  are  mated  with  the  best 
And  loftiest  of  God's  feminine  creation. 
Ho  !    Nieuverkerchen  ! — what,  then,  do  we 

sleep  ? 

Are  none  of  you  awake  ? — and  as  for  me, 
The  world  says  Philip  is  a  famous  man — 
What  is  there  woman  will  not  love,  so 

taught  ? 
Ho !    Ellert !    by  your   leave  though,    you 

must  wake. 

(Enter  an  officer.) 

Have  me  a  gallows  built  upon  the  mount, 
And  let  Van  Kortz  be  hung  at  break  of 

day." 


It  is  worth  noticing,  as  a  charac- 
teristic trait,  that  Philip  Van  Arte- 
velde  speaks  more  like  the  patriot, 
harangues  more  on  the  cause  of  free- 
dom, now  that  he  is  Regent  of 
Flanders,  opposed  to  the  feudal  nobi- 
lity, and  to  the  monarchy  of  France, 
and  soliciting  aid  from  England,  than 
when  he  headed  the  people  of  Ghent, 
strong  only  in  their  own  love  of  inde- 
pendence. "  Bear  in  mind,"  he  says, 
answering  the  herald  who  brings  a 
hostile  message  from  France  and 
Burgundy — 

"  Bear  in  mind 

Against  what  rule  my  father  and  myself 
Have  been  insurgent :  whom  did  we  supplant  ? 
There  was  a  time,  so  ancient  records  tell, 
There  were  communities,  scarce  known  by 

name 

In  these  degenerate  days,  but  once  far  famed, 
AVhere  liberty  and  justice,  hand  in  hand, 
Ordered  the  common  weal  ;  where  great  men 

grew 

Up  to  their  natural  eminence,  and  none, 
Saving  the  wise,  just,  eloquent,  were  great. 

.    .     .     .     But  now,  I  ask, 
Where  is  there  on  God's  earth  that  polity 
Which  it  is  not,  by  consequence  converse, 
A  treason  against  nature  to  uphold  ? 
Whom  may  we  now  call  free?  whom  great  ? 

whom  wise? 

Whom  innocent  ? — the  free  are  only  they 
Whom  power  makes  free  to  execute  all  ills 
Their  hearts  imagine  ;  they  alone  are  great 
Whose  passions  nurse  them  from  their  cradles 

up 

In  luxury  and  lewclness, — whom  to  see 
Is  to  despise,  whose  aspects  put  to  scorn 
Their  station's  eminence.     .     .     . 
.     .     .     .     What  then  remains 
But  in  the  cause  of  nature  to  stand  forth, 
And  turn  this  frame  of  things  the  right  side 

up  ? 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor.  [Nov. 

For  this  the  hour  is  come,  the  sword  is  drawn, 
And  tell  your  masters  vainly  they  resist." 

We  regret  to  be  compelled  to  garble 
in  our  extract  so  fine  a  passage  of 
writing.  Meanwhile  our  patriot  Re- 
gent sends  Father  John  to  England 
to  solicit  aid— most  assuredly  not  to 
overthrow  feudalism,  but  to  support 
the  Regent  against  France.  His  am- 
bition is  dragging,  willingly  or  un- 
willingly, in  the  old  rut  of  politics. 
When  Father  John  returns  from  this 
embassy,  he  is  scandalised  at  the 
union  formed  between  Artevelde  and 
Elena.  Here,  too,  is  another  sad 
descent.  Our  hero  has  to  hear  re- 
buke, and,  with  a  half- confession, 
submit  to  be  told  by  the  good  friar 
of  his  u  sins."  He  answers  bravely, 
yet  with  a  consciousness  that  he 
stands  not  where  he  did,  and  cannot 
challenge  the  same  respect  from  the 
friar  that  he  could  formerly  have 
done. 


"  Artev.  You,  Father  John, 

I  blame  not,  nor  myself  will  justify; 

But  call  my  weakness  what  you  will,  the 

time 

Is  past  for  reparation.  Now  to  cast  off 
The  partner  of  my  sin  were  further  sin; 
'Twere  with  her  first  to  sin,  and  then  against 

her. 

And  for  the  army,  if  their  trust  in  me 
Be  sliding,  let  it  go  :  I  know  my  course; 
And  be  it  armies,  cities,  people,  priests, 
That  quarrel  with  my  love — wise  men  or 

fools, 
Friends,  foes,  or  factions — they  may  swear 

their  oaths, 
And  make  their  murmur — rave  and  fret  and 

fear, 
Suspect,  admonish — they    but    waste    their 

rage, 
Their  wits,  their  words,  their  counsel :  here 

I  stand, 

Upon  the  deep  foundations  of  my  faith 
To  this  fair  outcast  plighted;  and  the  storm 
That  princes  from  their  palaces  shake  out, 
Though  it  should  turn  and  head  me,  should 

not  strain 
The  seeming  silken  texture  of  this  tie." 

And  now  disaster  follows  disaster  ; 
town  after  town  manifests  symptoms 
of  treachery  to  his  cause.  His  tem- 
per no  longer  retains  its  wonted 
calmness,  and  the  quick  glance  and 
rapid  government  of  affairs  seems 
about  to  desert  him.  Note  this  little 
trait  :— 

"  Artev.  Whither  away,  Vauclaire  ? 

Vaudaire.  You'll  wish,  my  lord,  to  have  the 

scouts,  and  others 
That  are  informed,  before  you. 
Artev.  'Twere  well." 


1851.] 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


It  is  something  new  that  another 
should  anticipate  the  necessary  orders 
to  be  given.  The  decisive  battle 
approaches,  and  is  fought.  This  time 
it  is  lost.  Our  hero  does  not  even 
fall  in  the  field;  an  assassin  stabs 
him  in  the  back.  The  career  of 
Artevelde  ends  thus ;  and  that  public 
cause  with  which  his  life  was  con- 
nected has  at  the  same  time  an  inglo- 
rious termination :  "the  wheel  has 
come  full  circle." 

The  catastrophe  is  brought  about 
by  Sir  Fleureant  of  Heurlee.  This 
man's  character  undergoes,  in  the 
course  of  the  drama,  a  complete  trans- 
formation. We  do  not  say  that  the 
change  is  unnatural,  or  that  it  is  not 
accounted  for ;  but  the  circumstances 
which  bring  it  about  are  only  vaguely 
and  incidentally  narrated,  so  that  the 
reader  is  not  prepared  for  this  change. 
A  ^gay,  thoughtless,  reckless  young 
knight,  who  rather  gains  upon  us  at 
his  first  introduction,  is  converted 
into  a  dark,  revengeful  assassin.  It 
would,  we  think,  have  improved  the 
effect  of  the  plot,  if  we  had  been  able  to 
trace  out  more  distinctly  the  workings 
of  the  mind  of  one  who  was  destined 
to  take  so  prominent  a  part  in  the 
drama. 

The  character  of  Lestovet  is  admi- 
rably sustained,  and  is  manifestly  a 
favourite  with  the  author.  But  we 
must  now  break  away  from  Philip 
Van  Artevelde,  to  notice  the  other 
dramas  of  Mr  Taylor.  Edwin  the 
Fair  next  claims  our  attention.  Here 
also  we  shall  make  no  quotations 
merely  for  the  sake  of  their  beauty ; 
and  we  shall  limit  ourselves  to  an 
analysis  of  the  principal  character, 
Dimstan,  on  which,  perhaps,  a  word 
or  two  of  explanation  may  not  be 
superfluous. 

Let  us  suppose  a  dramatic  writer 
sitting  down  before  such  a  character 
as  this  of  Dunstan,  and  contemplating 
the  various  aspects  it  assumes,  with 
the  view  of  selecting  one  for  the 
subject  of  his  portraiture.  In  the  first 
place,  he  is  aware  that,  although, 
as  a  historical  student,  he  may,  and 
perhaps  must,  continue  to  doubt  as 
to  the  real  character  of  this  man — 
how  much  is  to  be  given  to  pride,  to 
folly,  to  fanaticism,  to  genuine  piety, 
or  to  the  love  of  power— yet  that,  the 
moment  he  assumes  the  office  of  dra- 


513 

matic  poet,  he  must  throw  all  doubt 
entirely  aside.  The  student  of  history 
may  hesitate  to  the  last ;  the  poet  is 
presumed  to  have  from  the  beginning 
the  clearest  insight  into  the  recesses 
of  the  mind,  and  the  most  unquestion- 
able authority  for  all  that  he  asserts. 
A  sort  of  mimic  omniscience  is  ascribed 
to  the  poet.  Has  he  not  been  gifted, 
from  of  old,  with  an  inspiration,  by 
means  of  which  he  sees  the  whole 
character  and  every  thought  of  his 
hero,  and  depicts  and  reveals  them  to 
the  world?  To  him  doubt  would  be 
fatal.  If  he  carries  into  his  drama 
the  spirit  of  historical  criticism,  he 
will  raise  the  same  spirit  in  his 
reader,  and  all  faith  in  the  imaginary 
creation  he  offers  them  is  gone  for 
ever.  Manifest  an  error  as  this  may 
be,  we  think  we  could  mention  some 
instances,  both  in  the  drama  and  the 
novel,  in  which  it  has  been  com- 
mitted. 

But  such  a  character  as  Dunstan's 
is  left  uncertain  in  the  light  of  history, 
and  our  dramatist  has  to  choose  be- 
tween uncertainties.  He  will  be 
guided  in  his  selection  partly  by  what 
he  esteems  the  preponderating  weight 
of  evidence,  and  partly,  and  perhaps 
still  more,  by  the  superior  fitness  of 
any  one  phase  of  the  character  for 
the  purpose  he  has  in  view,  or  the  de- 
velopment of  his  own  peculiar  powers. 
In  this  case,  three  interpretations 
present  themselves.  The  first,  which 
has  little  historical  or  moral  proba- 
bility, and  offers  little  attraction  to 
the  artist,  is,  that  Dunstan  was  a 
hypocrite,  seeking  by  show  of  piety 
to  compass  some  ambitious  end,  or 
win  the  applause  of  the  vulgar.  Un- 
doubted hypocrites  history  assuredly 
presents  us  with — as  where  the  eccle- 
siastical magnate  degenerates  into  the 
merely  secular  prince.  There  have 
been  luxurious  and  criminal  popes 
and  cardinals,  intriguing  bishops  and 
lordly  abbots,  whom  the  most  chari- 
table of  men,  and  the  most  pious  of 
Catholics,  must  pronounce  to  have 
been  utterly  insincere  in  their  pro- 
fessions of  piety.  But  a  hypocrite 
who  starves  and  scourges  himself — 
who  digs  a  damp  hole  in  the  earth, 
and  lives  in  it — seems  to  us  a  mere 
creature  of  the  imagination.  Such 
men,  at  all  events,  either  begin  or 
end  with  fanaticism.  The  second  and 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


514 

more  usual  interpretation  is,  that 
Dunstau  was  a  veritable  enthusiast, 
and  a  genuine  churchman  after  the 
order  of  Hildebrand,  capable,  per- 
haps, of  practising  deceit  or  cruelty 
for  his  great  purpose,  but  entirely 
devoted  to  that  purpose — one  of  those 
men  who  sincerely  believe  that  the 
salvation  of  the  world  and  the  predo- 
minance of  their  order  are  inseparably 
combined.  There  would  be  no  error 
in  supposing  a  certain  mixture  of 
pride  and  ambition.  Nor,  in  follow- 
ing this  interpretation,  would  there  be 
any  great  violation  of  probability  in 
attributing  to  Dunstan,  though  he 
lived  in  so  rude  an  age,  all  those 
arguments  by  which  the  philosopher- 
priest  is  accustomed  to  uphold  the 
domination  of  his  order.  The  think- 
ing men  of  every  age  more  nearly 
resemble  each  other  in  these  great 
lines  of  thought  and  argument,  than 
is  generally  supposed.  The  third  in- 
terpretation is  that  which  the  histo- 
rical student  would  probably  favour. 
It  is  that  Dunstan  was,  in  truth, 
partially  insane — a  man  of  fervent 
zeal,  and  of  great  natural  powers,  but 
of  diseased  mind.  The  very  ability 
and  knowledge  which  he  possessed, 
combined  with  the  strange  forms 
which  his  asceticism  took,  lead  to 
this  supposition.  Such  men,  we  know, 
exist,  and  sometimes  pass  through  a 
long  career  before  they  are  accurately 
understood.  Exhibiting  itself  in  the 
form  of  fanaticism,  and  in  a  most 
ignorant  and  superstitious  age,  a  par- 
tial insanity  might  easily  escape  de-- 
tection,  or  even  add  to  the  reputation 
of  the  saint. 

This  last  is  the  rendering  of  the 
character  which  Mr  Taylor  has  se- 
lected. It  is  evidently  the  most  diffi- 
cult to  treat.  Perhaps  the  difficulty 
and  novelty  of  the  task  it  presented, 
as  well  as  its  greater  fidelity  to  his- 
tory, induced  him  to  accept  this  in- 
terpretation. That  second  and  more 
popular  one  which  we  have  mentioned 
would  appear,  to  a  mind  like  Mr 
Taylor's,  too  facile  and  too  trite. 
Any  high-churchman  of  almost  any 
age — any  bishop,  if  you  inflate  the 
lawn  sleeves,  or  even  any  young 
curate,  whose  mind  dwells  too  in- 
tensely on  the  power  of  the  keys  — 
•would  present  the  rudiments  of  the 
character.  However  that  may  be, 


[Nov. 


Mr  Taylor  undertook  the  bold  and 
difficult  task  of  depicting  the  strong, 
shrewd,  fervent  mind,  saint  and  poli- 
tician both,  but  acting  with  the  wild 
and  irregular  force  of  insanity.  How, 
we  may  ask  ourselves,  would  such  a 
mind  display  itself?  Not,  we  may 
be  sure,  in  a  tissue  of  weakness  or  of 
wildness.  We  should  often  see  the 
ingenious  reasoner,  more  cunning  than 
wise,  the  subtle  politician,  or  even  the 
deep  moraliser  upon  human  life  ;  but 
whenever  the  fatal  chords  were  touch- 
ed— the  priestly  power,  the  priestly 
mission,  the  intercourse  with  the 
world  of  spirits— there  we  should  see 
symptoms  of  insanity  and  delusion. 
Such  is  the  character  which  Mr  Taylor 
has  portrayed. 

Earl  Leolf,  calm  and  intelligent, 
and  the  perfect  gentleman  (those  who 
remember  the  play  will  feel  the  truth 
of  this  last  expression,)  gives  us  at 
the  very  commencement  the  necessary 
explanation — 

"  Leolf.  How  found  you  the  mid -counties  ? 
A  tlmlf.  Oh  !  monk-ridden  ; 

Raving  of  Dunstan. 

Leolf.  'Tis  a  raving  time  : 

Mad  monks,  mad  peasants  ;  Dunstan  is  not 

sane, 

And  madness  that  doth  least  declare  itself 
Endangers  most,  and  ever  most  infects 
The  unsound  many.     See  where  stands  the 

man, 
And  whero  this  people:  thus  compute  the 

peril 
To  one  and  all.     When  force  and  cunniny 

meet 

Upon  the  confines  of  one  cloudy  mind, 
When   ignorance  and  knowledge  halve  the 

mass, 

When  night  and  day  stand  at  an  equinox, 
Then  storms  are  rife." 

No  justice,  it  is  plain,  can  be  done 
to  Mr  Taylor's  drama,  unless  the  in- 
timation here  given  us  be  kept  in 
view.  Yet  we  suspect,  from  the  re- 
marks sometimes  made  upon  this 
play,  that  it  has  been  overlooked,  or 
not  sufficiently  attended  to.  Passages 
have  been  censured  as  crude  or  ex- 
travagant which,  in  themselves,  could 
be  no  otherwise,  since  they  were 
intended  to  portray  this  half- latent 
and  half-revealed  insanity.  The  ar- 
rogance of  Dunstan,  and  his  commun- 
ings  with  the  spiritual  world,  not 
often  have  the  air  of  sublimity,  for 
they  arise  from  the  disorder  and  hal- 
lucination of  his  mind.  When  he 
tells  the  Queen  Mother  not  to  sit  in 


1851.] 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


his  presence,  as  well  as  when  he 
boasts  of  his  intercourse  with  angels 
and  demons,  we  see  the  workings  of  a 
perturbed  spirit : — 

"  Queen  Mother.  Father,  I  am  faint, 

For  a  strange  terror  seized  me  by  the  way. 

I  pray  you  let  me  sit. 

Dunstan.  I  say,  forbear ! 

Thou  art  in  a  Presence  that  thou  wot'st  not 

of, 

Wherein  no  mortal  may  presume  to  sit. 
If  stand  thou  canst  not,  kneel. 

(S/te  falls  on  her  knees.) 
Queen  Mother.         Oh,  merciful  Heaven  ! 
Oh,  sinner  that  I  am  ! 
Dunstan.  Dismiss  thy  fears  ; 

Thine  errand  is  acceptable  to  Him 
Who  rules  the  hour,  and  thou  art  safer  here 
Than  in  thy  palace.    Quake  not,  but  be  calm, 
And  tell  me  of  the  wretched  king,  thy  son. 
This  black,  incestuous,  unnatural  love 
Of  his  blood-relative — yea,  worse,  a  seed 
That  ever  was  at  enmity  with  God — 
His  cousin  of  the  house  of  Antichrist ! 
It  is  as  I  surmised  ? 

Queen  Mother.  Alas  !  lost  boy ! 

Dunstan.  Yes,  lost  for  time  and  for  eternity, 
If  he  should  wed  her.  But  that  shall  not  be. 
Something  more  lofty  than  a  boy's  wild  love 
Governs  the  course  of  kingdoms.  From  be- 
neath 

This  arching  umbrage  step  aside  ;  look  up  ; 
The  alphabet  of  Heaven  is  o'er  thy  head, 
The  starry  literal  multitude.     To  few, 
And  ?tot  in  mercy,  is  it  given  to  read 
The  mixed  celestial  cipher.'''' 

How  skilfully  the  last  passage 
awakes  in  the  reader  a  feeling  of  sym- 
pathy with  Dunstan  !  When  he  has 
given  his  instructions  to  the  Queen 
Mother,  the  scene  closes  thus : — 

"  Queen  Mother.  Oh,  man  of  God  ! 

Command  me  always. 
Dunstan.  Hist !  I  hear  a  spirit ! 

Another — and  a  third.     They're  trooping  up. 
Queen  MotJier.  St  Magnus  shield  us  ! 
Dunstan.  Thou  art  safe  ;  but  go ; 

The  wood  will  soon  be  populous  with  spirits. 
The  path  thou  cam'st  retread.     Who  laughs 
in  the  air  ?  " 

Dunstan  believes  all  along  that  he 
is  marked  out  from  the  ordinary  roll 
of  men — that  he  has  a  peculiar  inter- 
course with,  and  a  peculiar  mission 
from,  Heaven  ;  but  he  nevertheless 
practises  on  the  credulity  of  others. 
This  mixture  of  superstition  and  cun- 
ning does  not  need  insanity  to  ex- 
plain, but  it  is  seen  here  in  very 
appropriate  company.  He  says  to 
Grumo — 

"  Go,  get  thee  to  the  hollow  of  yon  tree, 

And  bellow  there  as  is  thy  wont. 

Grumo.  How  long  ? 


515 

Dunstan.  Till  thy  lungs  crack.     Get  hence. 
[Exit  Grumo. 

And  if  thou  bellowest  otherwise  than  Satan, 
It  is  not  for  the  lack  of  Satan's  sway 
'Stablished  within  thee. 
(Strange  howls  are  Jieardfrom  the  tree.") 

With  the  same  crafty  spirit,  and 
by  a  trick  as  gross,  he  imposes  on  the 
Synod,  contriving  that  a  voice  shall 
appear  to  issue  from  the  crucifix. 
These  frauds,  however,  would  have 
availed  nothing  of  themselves ;  it  is 
the  spirit  of  fanaticism  bearing  down 
all  opposition  by  which  he  works  his 
way.  This  spirit  sustains  him  in  his 
solitude — 

"  I  hear  your  call ! 

A  radiance  and  a  resonance  from  Heaven 
Surrounds  me,  and  my  soul  is  breaking  forth 
In  strength,  as  did  the  new-created  Sun 
When  Earth  beheld  it  first  on  the  fourth  day. 
God  spake  not  then  more  plainly  to  that  orb 
Than  to  my  spirit  now." 

It  sustains  him  in  his  solitude,  and 
mark  how  triumphantly  it  carries  him 
through  in  the  hour  of  action.  Odo 
the  archbishop,  Ricola  the  king's 
chaplain,  as  well  as  king  and  cour- 
tiers, all  give  way  before  this  inexor- 
able, unreasoning  fanaticism,  a  fana- 
ticism which  is  as  complete  a  stranger 
to  fear  as  it  is  to  reason — 

'*  Dunstan  (to  Elgiva.)  Fly  hence, 

Pale  prostitute  !     Avaunt,  rebellious  fiend, 

Which  speakest  through  her. 

Elgiva.  I  am  thy  sovereign  mistress  and  thy 
queen. 

Dunstan Who  art  thou? 

I  see  thee,  and  I  know  thee — yea,  I  smell 
thee  ! 

Again,  'tis  Satan  meets  me  front  to  front  ; 

Again  I  triumph  !     Where,  and  by  what  rite, 

And  by  what  miscreant  minister  of  God, 

And  rotten  member,  was  this  mockery, 

That  was  no  marriage,  made  to  seem  a  mar- 
riage? 

Ricola.  Lord  Abbot,  by  no 

Dunstan.  What  then,  was  it  thou  ? 

The  Church  doth  cut  thee  off  and  pluck  thee 
out! 

A  Synod  shall  be  summoned !  Chains  for 
both  ! 

Chains  for  that  harlot,  and  for  this  dog-priest ! 

Oh  wall  of  Jezreel !" 

And  forthwith  Elgiva,  in  spite  of 
the  king's  resistance,  is  carried  out  a 
captive.  The  king,  too,  is  imprisoned 
in  the  Tower,  and  here  ensues  a  scene 
which  brings  out  another  aspect  of 
the  mind  of  Dunstan.  It  was  the 
object  of  the  crafty  priest  to  induce 
Edwin  to  resign  the  crown  ;  he  had, 
therefore,  made  his  imprisonment  as 
painful  as  possible.  He  now  visits 


516 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


[Nov. 


him  in  the  Tower,  and  in  this  inter- 
view we  see,  underneath  the  mad 
zealot  and  the  subtle  politician,  some- 
thing of  the  genuine  man.  Dunstan 
had  not  been  always,  and  only,  the 
priest ;  he  understood  the  human  life 
he  trampled  on — 

Dunstan.  What  makes  you  weak  ?     Do  you 

not  like  your  food  ? 
Or  have  you  not  enough  ? 
Edwin.  Enough  is  brought  ; 

But  he  that  brings  it  drops  what  seems  to  say 
That  it  is  mixed  with  poison — some  slow 

drug  ; 

So  that  I  scarce  dare  eat,  and  hunger  always. 
Dunstan.  Your  food  is  poisoned  by  your  own 
suspicions. 

'Tis  your  own  fault. 

But  thus  it  is  with  kings  ;  suspicions  haunt. 
And    dangers  press  around   them  all  their 

days  ; 

Ambition  galls  them,  luxury  corrupts, 
And  wars  and  treasons  are  their  talk  at  table. 
Edwin.  This  homily  you  should  read  to  pros- 
perous kings ; 

It  is  not  needed  for  a  king  like  me. 
Dunstan.  Who  shall  read  homilies  to  a  pros- 
perous king ! 

.     .     .     .     To  thy  credulous  ears 
The  world,  or  what  is  to  a  king  the  world, 
The  triflers  of  thy  court,  have  imaged  me 
As  cruel,  and  insensible  to  joy, 
Austere,  and  ignorant  of  all  delights 
That  arts  can  minister.     Far  from  the  truth 
They  wander  who  say  thus.     I  but  denounce 
Loves  on  a  throne,  and  pleasures  out  of  place. 
I  am  not  old  ;  not  twenty  years  have  fled 
Since  I  was  young  as  thou  ;  and  in  my  youth 
I  was  not  by  those  pleasures  unapproached 
Which  youth  converses  with. 
Edwin.  No  !  wast  thou' not  ? 

How  came  they  in  thy  sight  ? 
Dunstan.  When  Satan  first 

Attempted  me,  'twas  in  a  woman's  shape  ; 
Such  shape  as  may  have  erst  misled  mankind, 
When  Greece  or  Rome  upreared  with  Pagan 
rites 

Temples  to  Venus 

'Twas  Satan  sang, 

Because  'twas  sung  to  me,  whom  God  had 

called 

To  other  pastime  and  severer  joys. 
But  were  it  not  for  this,  God's  strict  behest 
Enjoined  upon  me — had  I  not  been  vowed 
To  holiest  service  rigorously  required, 
I  should  have  owned  it  for  an  angel's  voice, 
Nor  ever  could  an  earthly  crown,  or  toys 
And  childishness  of  vain  ambition,  gauds 
And  tinsels  of  the  world,  have  lured  my  heart 
Into  the  tangle  of  those  mortal  cares 
That  gather  round  a  throne.     What  call  is 

thine 
From  God  or  man,  what  voice  within  bids 

thee 
Such  pleasures  to  forego,  such  cares  confront  ? 

.     .     .     Unless  thou  by  an  instant  act 
Renounce  the  crown,  Elgiva  shall  not  live. 
The  deed  is  ready,  to  which  thy  name  affixed 


Discharges  from  restraint  both  her  and  thee. 
Say  wilt  thou  sign  ? 
Edwin.  I  will  not. 

Dunstan.  Be  advised. 

What  hast  thou  to  surrender  ?  I  look  round; 
This  chamber  is  thy  palace  court,  and  realm. 
I  do  not  see  the  crown — where  is  it  hidden  ? 
Is  that  thy  throne  ? — why,  'tis  a  base  joint- 
stool  ; 

Or  this  thy  sceptre  ? — 'tis  an  ashen  stick 
Notched  with  the  days  of  thy  captivity. 
Such  royalties  to  abdicate,  methinks, 
Should  hardly  hold  thee  long.    Nay,  I  myself, 
That  love  not  ladies  greatly,  would  give  these 
To  ransom  whom  I  loved." 

These  feelings  of  humanity,  in  part 
indeed  simulated,  do  not  long  keep 
at  bay  the  cruelty  and  insane  rage  or 
the  priest.  Edwin  persists  in  his 
refusal ;  Dunstan  leaves  him  for  a 
moment,  but  shortly  after  returns 
holding  the  deed  in  his  hand,  and 
followed  by  his  tool  Grumo. 

"  Dunstan.     Thy  signature  to  this. 

Edwin.     I  will  not  sign. 

Dunstan.    Thou  wilt  not !  wilt  thou  that  thy 

mistress  die  ? 
Edwin.     Insulting  abbot !    she  is   not   my 

mistress  ; 

She  is  my  wife,  my  queen. 
Dunstan.  Predestinate  pair  ! 

He  knoweth  who  is  the  Searcher  of  our  hearts, 
That  I  was  ever  backward  to  take  life, 
Albeit  at  His  command.    Still  have  I  striven 
To  put  aside  that  service,  seeking  still 
All  ways  and  shifts  that  wit  of  man  could 

scheme, 

To  spare  the  cutting  off  your  wretched  souls 
In  unrepented  sin.     But  tendering  here 
Terms  of  redemption,  it  is  thou,  not  I, 
The  sentence  that  deliverest. 
Edwin.  Our  lives 

Are  in  God's  hands. 

Dunstan.  Sot,  liar,  miscreant,  No  ! 

God  puts  them  into  mine  !  and  may  my  soul 
In  tortures  howl  away  eternity, 
If  ever  again  it  yield  to  that  false  fear 
That  turned  me  from  the   shedding  of  thy 

blood  ! 

Thy  blood,  rash  traitor  to  thy  God,  thy  blood  ! 
Thou  delicate  Agag,  I  will  spill  thy  blood  ! " 

We  believe  we  have  done  justice  to 
all  the  aspects  in  which  the  character 
of  Dunstan  is  here  represented  to  us, 
but  it  would  require  a  much  larger 
space  than  we  have  at  command  to 
do  justice  to  the  whole  drama  of 
Edwin  the  Fair.  The  canvass  ia 
crowded  with  figures,  almost  every 
one  of  which  has  been  a  careful  study, 
and  will  repay  the  study  of  a  critical 
reader ;  and  if  the  passages  of  elo- 
quent writing  are  not  so  numerous 
as  in  his  previous  work,  there  is  no 
deficiency  of  them,  and  many  are  the 


1851.] 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


517 


pungent,  if  not  witty  sayings,  that 
might  be  extracted.  The  chief  fault 
which  seems  to  us  to  prevade  this 
drama,  is,  indeed,  that  there  is  too 
much  apparent  study — that  too  much 
is  seen  of  the  artist.  Speaking  gene- 
rally of  Mr  Taylor,  and  regarding 
him  as  a  dramatic  poet,  we  could 
desire  more  life  and  passion,  more 
abandonment  of  himself  to  the  cha- 
racters he  is  portraying.  But  we  feel 
this  more  particularly  in  Edwin  the 
Fair.  We  seem  to  see  the  artist 
sorting  and  putting  together  again 
the  elements  of  human  nature.  His 
Wulfstan,  the  ever  absent  sage,  his 
tricksy  Emma,  and  her  very  silly 
lover,  Ernway,  are  dramatic  creations 
which  may  probably  be  defended 
point  by  point ;  but,  for  all  that,  they 
do  not  look  like  real  men  and  women. 
As  to  his  monks,  the  satellites  of 
Dunstan,  it  may  be  said  that  they 
could  not  have  been  correctly  drawn 
if  they  had  borne  the  appearance  of 
being  real  men.  We  do  not  like 
them  notwithstanding. 

In  the  edition  which  lies  before  us, 
bound  up  with  Edwin  the  Fair  is  the 
republication  of  an  early  drama,  Isaac 
Comnenus.  It  excited,  we  are  told  in 
the  preface,  little  attention  in  its  first 
appearance.  We  ourselves  never  saw 
it  till  very  lately.  Though  inferior 
to  his  subsequent  productions,  it  is 
not  without  considerable  merit,  but 
it  will  probably  gather  its  chief  in- 
terest as  the  forerunner  of  Philip  Van 
Artevelde,  and  from  the  place  it  will 
occupy  in  the  history  of  the  author's 
mind.  A  first  performance,  which 
was  allowed  to  pass  unnoticed  by  the 
public,  might  be  expected  to  be  alto- 
gether different  in  kind  from  its  fortu- 
nate successors.  The  author,  in  his 
advance  out  of  obscurity  into  the  full 
light  of  success,  might  be  supposed  to 
have  thrown  aside  his  first  habits  of 
thought  and  expression.  It  is  not  so 
here.  We  have  much  the  same  style, 
and  there  is  the  same  combination  of 
shrewd  observation  with  a  philoso- 
phic melancholy,  the  same  gravity, 
and  the  same  sarcasm.  It  is  curious 
to  notice  how  plainly  there  is  the 
germ  of  Philip  Van  Artevelde  in  Isaac 
Comnenus.  The  hero  of  Ghent  is  far 
more  sagacious,  more  serious,  and 
more  tender ;  but  he  looks  on  life  with 
a  lingering  irony,  and  a  calm  cyni- 


cism :  to  him  it  is  a  sad  and  disen- 
chanted vision.  In  Isaac  Comnenus 
the  same  elements  are  combined  in  a 
somewhat  different  proportion  :  there 
is  more  of  the  irony  and  a  more  bitter 
cynicism ;  less  of  the  grave  tenderness 
and  the  practical  sagacity.  Artevelde 
is  Isaac  Comnenus  living  over  life 
again — the  same  man,  but  with  the 
advantage  of  a  life's  experience.  In- 
deed Artevelde,  if  we  may  venture  to 
jest  with  so  grave  a  personage,  has 
something  of  the  air  of  one  who  had 
been  in  the  world  before,  who  was 
not  walking  along  its  paths  for  the 
first  time :  he  treads  with  so  sure  a 
footstep,  and  seems  to  have  no  ques- 
tions to  ask,  and  nothing  to  learn  of 
experience. 

Happily  it  has  not  been  necessary 
hitherto  to  say  a  word  about  the  plot 
of  Mr  Taylor's  dramas.  This  of  Isaac 
Comnenus,  being  less  known,  may  re- 
quire a  word  of  preliminary  introduc- 
tion. The  scene  is  laid  at  Constanti- 
nople, at  the  close  of  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury ;  Nicephorus  is  the  reigning  em- 
peror. We  may  call  to  mind  that  the 
government  of  the  Byzantine  monar- 
chy, for  a  long  time,  maintained  this 
honourable  peculiarity,  that,  though 
in  form  a  despotism,  the  emperor 
was  expected  to  administer  the  law 
as  it  had  descended  to  it  from  the 
genius  of  Rome.  Dynasties  changed, 
but  the  government  remained  sub- 
stantially the  same.  It  was  an  Orien- 
tal despotism  with  a  European  ad- 
ministration. Whilst,  therefore,  we 
have  in  the  play  before  us  a  prince 
dethroned,  and  a  revolution  accom- 
plished, we  hear  nothing  of  liberty 
and  oppression,  the  cause  of  freedom, 
and  the  usual  topics  of  patriotic  con- 
spiracy. The  brothers  Isaac  and 
Alexius  Comnenus  are  simply  too 
powerful  to  be  trusted  as  subjects  ;  an 
attempt  has  been  already  made  to 
poison  the  elder  brother  Isaac,  the 
hero  of  the  drama.  He  finds  himself 
in  a  manner  constrained  to  push  for- 
ward to  the  throne,  as  his  only  place 
of  safety.  This  ambitious  course  is 
thrust  upon  him.  Meanwhile  he  en- 
ters on  it  with  no  soft-heartedness. 
He  takes  up  his  part,  and  goes  brave- 
ly through  with  it ;  bravely,  but 
coldly — with  a  sneer  ever  on  his  lip. 
With  the  church,  too,  he  has  contrived 
to  make  himself  extremely  unpopular, 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


518 


and  the  Patriarch  is  still  more  ran- 
corously  opposed  to  him  than  the 
Emperor. 

Before  we  become  acquainted  with 
him,  he  has  loved  and  lost  by  death 
his  gentle  Irene.  This  renders  the 
game  of  ambition  still  more  contemp- 
tible in  his  eyes.  It  renders  him  cold 
also  ^  to  the  love  of  a  certain  fair 
cousin,  Anna  Comnena.  Love,  or 
ambition,  approaches  him  also  in  the 
person  of  Theodora,  the  daughter  of 
the  emperor.  She  is  willing  to  desert 
her  father's  cause,  and  ally  herself 
and  all  her  hopes  to  Isaac  Comnenus. 
Comnenus  declines  her  love.  The 
rejected  Theodora  brings  about  the 
catastrophe  of  the  piece.  The  Em- 
peror Nicephorus  is  deposed;  Isaac 
is  conqueror  in  the  strife,  but  he  gives 
over  the  crown  he  has  won  to  his 
brother  Alexius.  Then  does  Theo- 
dora present  herself  disguised  as  some 
humble  petitioner  to  Isaac  Comnenus. 
Armed  with  a  dagger,  she  forces  her 
way  into  an  inner  chamber  where  he 
is  ;  a  groan  is  heard,  and  the  follow- 
ing stage  direction  closes  the  play — 
"All  rush  into  the  inner  chamber, 
whilst  Theodora,  passing  out  from  it, 
crosses  the  stage,  holding  in  her  hand  a 
dagger  covered  with  blood.  The  cur- 
tain falls." 

This  scanty  outline  will  be  suffi- 
cient to  make  the  following  charac- 
teristic quotations  intelligible  to  those 
who  may  not  have  read  the  play. 
Eudocia,  his  sister,  thus  describes 
Comnenus : — 

«  He 

Is  nothing  new  to  dangers  nor  to  life — 

His  thirty  years  on  him  have  nigh  told  double, 

Being  doubly  loaden  with  the  unlightsome 

stuff 

That  life  is  made  of.     I  have  often  thought 
How  nature  cheats  this  world    in  keeping 

count : 
There's  some  men  pass   for  old  men  who 

ne'er  lived — 
These  monks,  to  wit :  they  count  the  time, 

not  spend  it  ; 

They  reckon  moments  by  the  tick  of  beads, 
And  ring  the  hours  with  psalmody :  clocks, 

clocks  ; 

If  one  of  these  had  gone  a  century, 
I  would  not  say  he'd  lived.    My  brother's  age 
Has  spanned  the  matter  of  too  many  lives  ; 
He's  full  of  years  though  young." 

Comnenus,  we  have  said,  is  on  ill 
terms  with  the  church.  Speaking  of 
the  sanctuary  he  says  : — 

"  I  have  a  safer  refuge.     Mother  church 
Hath  no  such  holy  precinct  that  my  blood 


[Nov. 


Would  not  redeem  all  sin  and  sacrilege 
Of  slaughter  therewithin.     But  there's  a  spot 
Within  the  circle  my  good  sword  describes, 
Which  by  God's  grace  is  sanctih'ed  for  me." 

On  quitting  his  cousin  Anna,  she 
says  :— 

"  Go,  and  good   angels   guard   thee   is   my 

prayer. 
Comnenus. — Good  soldiers,  Anna.     In   the 

arm  of  flesh 

Are  we  to  trust.     The  Mother  of  the  Gods, 
Prolific  Mother,  holiest  Mother  church, 
Hath  banded  heaven  upon  the  side  opposed. 
No  matter  ;  when  such  supplicants  as  thou 
Pray  for  us,  other  angels  need  we  none." 

It  is  plain  that  we  have  no  dutiful 
son  of  the  Church  here  ;  and  that  her 
hostility,  in  this  instance,  is  not 
altogether  without  cause.  We  find 
that  his  scepticism  has  gone  farther 
than  to  dispute  the  miraculous  virtues 
of  the  holy  image  of  St  Basil,  the  eye 
of  which  he  is  reputed  to  have 
knocked  out  with  his  lance : — 

"  Just  as  you  came 
I  moralised  the  matter  of  that  change 
Which  theologians  call — how  aptly,  say — 
The  quitting  of  a  tenement." 

And  his  moralising  is  overcast  with 
the  shadow  of  doubt.  The  addresses, 
for  such  they  are,  of  Theodora,  the 
daughter  of  the  emperor,  he  receives 
and  declines  with  the  greatest  calm- 
ness, though  they  are  of  that  order 
which  it  is  manifestly  as  dangerous  to 
reject  as  to  accept. 

"  Germanus.      My  noble  lord,  the  Csesarissa 

waits 

With  infinite  impatience  to  behold  you  : 
She  bids  me  say  so.    Ah  !  most  noble  count  ! 
A  fortunate  man — the  sunshine  is  upon  you — 
Comnenus.     Ay,  sir,  and  wonderfully  warm 

it  makes  me. 
Tell  her  I'm  coming,  sir,  with  speed." 

With  speed,  however,  he  does  not 
go,  nor  makes  a  better  excuse  for  his 
delay  than  that  he  was  "  sleeping  out 
the  noontide."  In  the  first  interview 
he  escapes  from  her  confidence,  and 
when  subsequently  she  will  not  be 
misunderstood,  he  says — 

"  Nor  now,  nor  ever, 
Will  I  make  bargains  for  a  lady's  love." 

In  a  dialogue  with  his  brother 
Alexius,  his  temper  and  way  of  think- 
ing, and  the  circumstance  which  has 
mainly  produced  them,  are  more  fully 
developed.  We  make  a  few  extracts 
without  attempting  very  closely  to 
connect  them.  Alexius  has  been 


1851.] 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


519 


remarking  the  change  in  Comnenus 
since  they  last  met. 

"  Comnenus.     Change  is  youth's  wonder  : 

Such  transmutations  have  I  seen  on  man 

That  fortune  seemed  a  slow  and  stedfast  power 

Compared  with  nature. 

Alexius.     There  is  nought  thou'st  seen 

More  altered  than  art  thou. 

I  speak  not  of  thy  change  in  outward  favour, 

But  thou  art  changed  in  heart. 

Comnenus.  Ay,  hearts  change  too  : 

Mine  has    grown  sprightly,  has  it  not,  and 

hard? 

I  ride  it  now  with  spurs ;  else,  else,  Alexius- 
Well  is  it  said  the  best  of  life  is  childhood. 
Life  is  a  banquet  where  the  best's  first  served, 
And  when  the  guest  is  cloyed  comes  oil  and 

garlick. 
Alexius.     Hast  thou  forgotten  how  it  was  thy 

wont 

To  muse  the  hours  away  along  this  shore — 
These  very  rippled  sands  ? 
Comnenus.  The  sands  are  here, 

But  not  the  foot-prints.     Wouldst  thou  trace 

them  now  ? 
A  thousand  tides  and  storms  have  dashed 

them  out. 

I  have  no  care  for  beauty. 

Seest  thou  yon  rainbow  based  and  glassed  on 

ocean  ? 

I  look  on  that  as  on  a  lovely  thing, 
But  not  a  thing  of  promise." 

Comnenus  has  wandered  with  his 
brother  unawares  to  a  spot  which  of 
all  others  on  earth  was  the  most  dear 
or  the  most  painful  to  him — the  spot 
where  his  Irene  had  been  buried. 
He  recognises  it  whilst  he  is  in  the 
full  tide  of  his  cynicism  :— 

"Alexius.     What  is  this  carved  upon  the 

rock? 

Comnenus.  I  know  not : 

But  Time  has  ta'en  it  for  a  lover's  scrawl  ; 
He's  razed  it,  razed  it. 

Alexius.  No,  not  quite  ;  look  here. 

I  take  it  for  a  lover's. 

Comnenus.  What  !  there's  some  talk 

Of  balmy  breath,  and  hearts  pierced  through 

and  through 
With  eyes'  miraculous  brightness — vows  ne'er 

broken, 
Until  the  church  had  sealed  them — charms 

loved  madly, 

Until  it  be  a  sin  to  love  them  not — • 
And  kisses  ever  sweet,  till  they  be  innocent — 
But  that  your  lover's  not  put  down  ? 
Alexius.  No,  none  of  it. 

There  are  but  two  words. 
Comnenus.     That's  succinct  ;  what  are  they  ? 
Alexius.      '  Alas,  Irene  !  '      Why  thy  looks 

are  now — 

Comnenus  parries  the  question  of 
his  brother,  contrives  to  dismiss  him, 
and  remains  alone  upon  the  spot. 

"  This  is  the  very  earth  that  covers  her, 
And  lo  !  we  trample  it  like  common  clay  ! 


.     .     .     .     When  I  last  stood  here 
Disguised^  to  see  a  lowly  girl  laid  down 
Into  her  early  grave,  there  was  such  light 
As  now  doth  show  it,  but  a  bleaker  air, 
Seeing  it  was  December.     'Tis  most  strange ; 
I  can  remember  now  each  circumstance 
Which  then  I  scarce  was  conscious  of  ;   like 

words 

That  leave  upon  the  still  susceptive  sense 
A  message  undelivered  till  tfte  mind 
Awakes  to  apprehensiveness  and  takes  it. 
Twas  o'er — the  muttered  unattended  rite, 
And  the  few  friends  she  had  beside  myself 
Had  risen  and  gone  ;    I  had  not  knelt,  but 

stood 

With  a  dull  gaze  of  stupor  as  the  mould 
Was  shovelled  over,  and  the  broken  sods 
Fitted  together.     Then  some  idle  boys, 
Who  had  assisted  at  the  covering  in, 
Ran  off  in  sport,  trailing  the  shovels  with 

them, 

Rattling  upon  the  gravel;  and  the  sexton 
Flattened  the  last  sods  down,  and  knocked 

his  spade 

Against  a  neighbouring  tombstone  to  shake  off 
The  clinging  soil, — with  a  contented  air, 
Even  as  a  ditcher  who  has  done  his  work. 

Oh  Christ ! 

How  that  which  was  the  life's  life  of  our 

being 
Can  pass  away,  and  we  recall  it  thus  !  " 

Whilst  reading  this  play  of  Isaac 
Comnenus  we  seemed  to  perceive  a 
certain  Byronian  vein,  which  came 
upon  us  rather  unexpectedly.  Not 
that  there  is  any  very  close  resem- 
blance between  Comnenus  and  the 
heroes  of  Lord  Byron ;  but  there 
is  a  desperate  wilfulness,  a  tone 
of  scepticism,  and  a  caustic  view 
of  human  life,  which  occasionally 
recall  them  to  mind.  We  turned  to 
the  preface  to  Philip  Van  Artevelde, 
where  there  is  a  criticism  upon  the 
poetry  of  Byron,  not  unjust  in  the 
faults  it  detects,  but  cold  and  severe, 
as  it  seems  to  us,  in  the  praise  that  it 
awards  ;  and  we  found  there  an  inti- 
mation which  confirmed  our  suspicion 
that  Isaac  Comnenus  had  been  written 
whilst  still  partially  under  the  in- 
fluence of  that  poetry  —  written  in 
what  we  may  describe  as  a  transition 
state.  He  says  there  of  Lord  Byron's 
poetry,  "  It  will  always  produce  a 
powerful  impression  upon  very  young 
readers,  and  I  scarcely  think  that  it 
can  have  been  more  admired  by  any 
than  myself,  when  I  was  included  in 
that  category."  And  have  we  not 
here  some  explanation  of  the  severity 
and  coldness  of  that  criticism  itself  ? 
Did  not  the  maturer  intellect  a  little 
resent  in  that  critical  judgment  the 
hallucinations  of  the  youth  ? 


520 

Perhaps  we  are  hardly  correct  in 
calling  the  temper  and  spirit  we  have 
here  alluded  to  Byronian;  they  are 
common  to  all  ages  and  to  many 
minds,  though  signally  developed  by 
that  poet,  and  in  our  own  epoch. 
Probably  the  future  historian  of  this 
period  of  our  literature  will  attribute 
much  of  this  peculiar  exhibition  of 
bitterness  and  despondency  to  the 
sanguine  hopes  first  excited  and  then 
disappointed  by  the  French  Revolu- 
tion. He  will  probably  say  of  certain 
regions  of  our  literature,  that  the 
whole  bears  manifest  traces  of  vol- 
canic origin.  Pointing  to  some  noble 
eminence,  which  seems  to  have  been 
eternally  calm,  he  will  conjecture  that 
it  owed  its  elevation  to  the  same  force 
which  raised  the  neighbouring  ^tna. 
Applying  the  not  very  happy  lan- 
guage of  geology,  he  may  describe  it 
as  "  a  crater  of  elevation  ; "  which, 
being  interpreted,  means  no  crater  at 
all,  but  an  elevation  produced  by  the 
like  volcanic  agency  :  the  crater  itself 
is  higher  up  in  the  same  mountain 
range. 

There  still  remains  one  other  small 
volume  of  Mr  Taylor's  poetry,  which 
we  must  not  pass  over  entirely  with- 
out mentioning.  The  Eve  of  the  Con- 
quest, and  other  Poems.  The  chief 
piece  here  is  of  the  nature  of  a  dra- 
matic scene.  Harold,  the  night  before 
the  battle  of  Hastings,  converses  with 
his  daughter,  unfolds  some  passages 
of  his  past  life,  and  vindicates  himself 
in  his  quarrel  with  that  William  the 
Norman  who,  on  the  morrow,  was  to 
add  the  title  of  Conqueror  to  his  name. 
But  as  it  will  be  more  agreeable  to 
vary  the  nature  of  our  quotations,  we 
shall  make  the  few  extracts  we  have 
space  for  from  the  lyric  poems  which 
follow. 

The  "  Lago  Varese "  will  be,  we 
suspect,  the  favourite  with  most 
readers.  The  image  of  the  Italian 
girl  is  almost  as  distinctly  reflected  in 
the  verse  as  it  would  have  been  in 
her  own  native  lake. 


"  And  sauntering  up  a  circling  cove, 

I  found  upon  the  strand 
A  shallop,  and  a  girl  who  strove 

To  drag  it  to  dry  land. 
I  stood  to  see — the  girl  looked  round — her 

face 
Had  all  her  country's  clear  and  definite  grace. 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


[Nov. 


"  She  rested  with  the  air  of  rest 

So  seldom  seen,  of  those 
Whose  toil  remitted  gives  a  zest, 

Not  languor,  to  repose. 
Her  form  was   poised,   yet  buoyant,    firm, 

though  free, 
And  liberal  of  her  bright  black  eyes  was  she. 

"  The  sunshine  of  the  Southern  face, 

At  home  we  have  it  not; 
And  if  they  be  a  reckless  race, 

These  Southerns,  yet  a  lot 
More  favoured,  on   the  chequered  earth  is 

theirs  ; 
They  have  life's  sorrows,  but  escape  its  cares. 

"  There  is  a  smile  which  wit  extorts 

From  grave  and  learned  men, 
In  whose  austere  and  servile  sports 

The  plaything  is  a  pen ; 
And  there  are  smiles  by  shallow  worldlings 

worn. 
To  grace  a  lie  or  laugh  a  truth  to  scorn : 

"  And  there  are  smiles  with  less  alloy 

Of  those  who,  for  the  sake 
Of  some  they  loved,  would  kindle  joy 

Which  they  cannot  partake; 
But  hers  was  of  the  kind  which  simply  say, 
They  came  from  hearts  ungovernably  gay." 

The  "  Lago  Lugano "  is  a  com- 
panion picture,  written  "  sixteen  sum- 
mers "  after,  and  on  a  second  visit  to 
Italy.  One  thing  we  notice,  that  in 
this  second  poem  almost  all  that  is 
beautiful  is  brought  from  the  social 
or  political  reflections  of  the  writer : 
it  is  not  the  outward  scene  that  lies 
reflected  in  the  verse.  He  is  thinking 
more  of  England  than  of  Italy. 

"  Sore  pains 

They  take  to  set  Ambition  free,  and  bind 
The  heart  of  man  in  chains." 

And  the  best  stanza  in  the  poem  is 
that  which  is  directly  devoted  to  his 
own  country : — 

"  Oh,  England  !  «  Merry  England,'  styled  of 

yore  ! 
Where    is    thy    mirth?     Thy   jocund 

laughter,  where  ? 

The  sweat  of  labour  on  the  brow  of  care 
Make  a  mute  answer— driven  from  every 

door  ! 
The  May-pole  cheers  the  village  green  no 

more, 

Nor  harvest-home,  nor  Christmas  mum- 
mers rare. 

The  tired  mechanic  at  his  lecture  sighs ; 
And  of  the  learned,  which,  with  all  his  lore, 
Has  leisure  to  be  wise  ?  " 

With  some  verses  from  a  poem 
called  "  St  Helen's-Auckland "  we 
close  our  extracts.  The  author  re- 
visits the  home  of  his  boyhood : — 


1851.] 


The  Dramas  of  Henry  Taylor. 


521 


'  How  much  is  changed  of  what  I  see, 

How  much  more  changed  am  I, 
And  yet  how  much  is  left—to  me 
How  is  the  distant  nigh  ! 

'  The  walks  are  overgrown  and  wild, 

The  terrace  flags  are  green — 
But  I  am  once  again  a  child, 
I  am  what  I  have  been. 

The  sounds  that  round  about  me  rise 
Are  what  none  other  hears ; 

I  see  what  meets  no  other  eyes, 
Though  mine  are  dim  with  tears. 


"  In  every  change  of  man's  estate 

Are  lights  and  guides  allowed ; 
The  fiery  pillar  will  not  wait, 
But,  parting,  sends  the  cloud. 

"  Nor  mourn  I  the  less  manly  part 

Of  life  to  leave  behind ; 
My  loss  is  but  the  lighter  heart, 
My  gain  the  graver  mind." 

Poetry  is  no  longer  the  most  popu- 
lar form  of  literature  amongst  us,  and 
the  drama  is  understood  to  be  the 
least  popular  form  of  poetry.  If  this 
be  the  case,  Mr  Taylor  has  the  addi- 
tional merit  of  having  won  his  way  to 
celebrity  under  singular  disadvan- 
tages. But,  in  truth,  such  poetry  as 
Mr  Taylor's  could  never  appeal  to  the 
multitude.  Literature  of  any  kind 
which  requires  of  the  reader  himself 
to  think  in  order  to  enjoy,  can  never  be 
popular.  It  is  impossible  to  deny  that 
the  dramas  we  have  been  reviewing 
demand  an  effort,  in  the  first  instance, 
on  the  part  of  the  reader:  he  must  sit 
down  to  them  with  something  of  the 
spirit  of  the  student.  But,  having 
done  this,  he  will  find  himself  amply 
repaid.  As  he  advances  in  the  work, 
he  will  read  with  increased  pleasure  ; 
he  will  read  it  the  second  time  with 
greater  delight  than  the  first ;  and  if 
lie  were  to  live  twenty  years,  and 
were  to  read  such  a  drama  as  Philip 
Van  Artevelde  every  year  of  his  life, 
he  would  find  in  it  some  fresh  source 
of  interest  to  the  last. 

As  we  have  not  contented  ourselves 
with  selecting  beautiful  passages  of 
writing  from  Mr  Taylor's  dramas,  but 
have  attempted  such  an  analysis  of  the 
three  principal  characters  they  portray 


as  may  send  the  reader  to  their  reperu- 
sal  with  additional  zest,  so  neither 
have  we  paused  to  dispute  the  pro- 
priety of  particular  parts,  or  to  notice 
blemishes  and  defects.  We  wTould  not 
have  it  understood  that  we  admire  all 
that  Mr  Taylor  has  written.  Of  whom 
could  we  say  this?  We  think,  for 
instance,  that,  throughout  his  dramas, 
from  the  first  to  the  last,  he  treats  the 
monks  too  coarsely.  His  portraiture 
borders  upon  farce.  His  Father  John 
shows  that  he  can  do  justice  to  the 
character  of  the  intelligent  and  pious 
monk.  Admitting  that  this  character 
is  rare,  we  believe  that  the  extremely 
gross  portraiture  which  we  have  else- 
where is  almost  equally  rare.  This 
last,  however,  is  so  frequently  intro- 
duced, that  it  will  pass  with  the  reader 
as  Mr  Taylor's  type  of  the  monkish 
order.  The  monks  could  never  have 
been  more  ignorant  than  the  sur- 
rounding laity,  and  they  were  always 
something  better  in  morals  and  in 
true  piety.  We  are  quite  at  a  loss, 
too,  to  understand  Mr  Taylor's  fond- 
ness for  the  introduction  into  his  dra- 
mas of  certain  songs  or  ballads,  which 
are  not  even  intended  to  be  poetical. 
To  have  made  them  so,  he  would  pro- 
bably contend,  would  have  been  a 
dramatic  impropriety.  Very  well;  but 
let  us  have  as  few  of  such  things  as 
may  be,  and  as  short  as  possible.  In 
Edwin  the  Fair  they  are  very  nume- 
rous ;  and  those  which  are  introduced 
in  Philip  Van  Artevelde  we  could 
gladly  dispense  with.  We  could 
also  very  willingly  have  dispensed 
with  the  conversation  of  those  bur- 
gesses of  Bruges  who  entertained  the 
Earl  of  Flanders  with  some  of  these 
ballads.  We  agree  with  the  Earl, 
that  their  hospitalities  are  a  sore  afflic- 
tion. Tediousness  may  be  very  dra- 
matic, but  it  is  tediousness  still— a 
truth  which  our  writer,  intent  on  the 
delineations  of  his  character,  some- 
times forgets.  But  defects  like  these 
it  is  sufficient  merely  to  have  hinted 
at.  That  criticism  must  be  very  long 
and  ample  indeed,  of  the  dramas  of  Mr 
Taylor,  in  which  they  ought  to  occupy 
any  considerable  space. 


VOL.  LXX.—  NO.  CCCCXXXIII, 


522 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


[Nov. 


A  LEGEND  OF  GIBRALTAR. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  Governor's  residence  at  Gib- 
raltar was,  in  days  of  Spanish  domi- 
nation, a  religious  house,  and  still 
retains  the  name  of  the  Convent. 
Two  sides  of  a  long  quadrangular 
gallery,  traversing  the  interior  of 
the  building,  are  hung  with  por- 
traits of  officers  present  at  the  great 
siege  in  1779-83,  executed  in  a  style 
which  proves  that  Pre-Raphaelite 
painters  existed  in  those  days.  One 
of  these  portraits  represents  my 
grandfather.  To  judge  from  a  paint- 
ing of  him  by  Sir  Joshua,  and  a 
small  miniature  likeness,  both  still 
in  possession  of  the  family,  he  must 
have  been  rather  a  good-looking  old 
gentleman,  with  an  affable,  soldier- 
like air,  and  very  respectable  features. 
The  portrait  at  the  Convent  is  doubt- 
less a  strong  likeness,  but  by  no 
means  so  flattering;  it  represents 
him  much  as  he  might  have  appeared 
in  life,  if  looked  at  through  a  cheap 
opera-glass.  A  full  inch  has  been 
abstracted  from  his  forehead,  and 
added  to  his  chin  ;  the  bold  nose  has 
become  a  great  promontory  in  the 
midst  of  the  level  countenance  ;  the 
eyes  have  gained  in  ferocity  what 
they  have  lost  in  speculation,  and 
would,  indeed,  go  far  to  convey  a 
disagreeable  impression  of  my  an- 
cestor's character,  but  for  the  inflex- 
ible smile  of  the  mouth.  Altogether, 
the  grimness  of  the  air,  the  buckram 
rigidity  of  figure,  and  the  uncompro- 
mising hardness  of  his  shirt-frill  and 
the  curls  of  his  wig,  are  such  as  are 
to  be  met  with  in  few  works  of  art, 
besides  the  figure-heads  of  vessels,  the 
signboards  of  country  inns,  and  the 
happiest  efforts  of  Messrs  Millais 
and  Hunt. 

However,  my  grandfather  is  no 
worse  off  than  his  compeers.  Not  far 
from  this  one  is  another  larger  paint- 
ing, representing  a  council  of  officers 
held  during  the  siege,  where,  not- 
withstanding the  gravity  of  the  occa- 
sion and  the  imminence  of  the  dan- 
ger, not  a  single  face  in  the  intrepid 
assembly  wears  the  slightest  expres- 
sion of  anxiety  or  fear,  or,  indeed,  of 


anything  else ;  and  though  my  pro- 
genitor, in  addition  to  the  graces  of 
the  other  portrait,  is  here  depicted  with 
a  squint,  yet  he  is  by  no  means  the 
most  ill-looking  individual  present. 
But  the  illustrious  governor,  Eliott, 
has  suffered  more  than  anybody  at 
the  hands  of  the  artist.  Besides 
figuring  in  the  production  aforesaid, 
a  statue  of  him  stands  in  the  Ala- 
meda,  carved  in  some  sort  of  wood, 
unluckily  for  him,  of  a  durable  nature. 
The  features  are  of  a  very  elevated 
cast,  especially  the  nose ;  the  little 
legs  seem  by  no  means  equal  to 
the  task  of  sustaining  the  enormous 
cocked-hat ;  and  the  bearing  is  so 
excessively  military,  that  it  has  been 
found  necessary  to  prop  the  great 
.  commander  from  behind  to  prevent 
him  from  falling  backwards. 

My  grandfather,  John  Flinders, 
joined  the  garrison  of  Gibraltar  as  a 
major  of  infantry  a  few  years  before 
the  siege.  He  was  then  forty-seven 
years  of  age,  and  up  to  that  time  had 
remained  one  of  the  most  determined 
old  bachelors  that  ever  existed.  Not 
that  he  ever  declaimed  against  matri- 
mony in  the  style  of  some  of  our 
3'oung  moderns,  who  fancy  themselves 
too  strong-minded  to  marry ;  the 
truth  being  that  they  remain  single 
either  because  they  have  not  been 
gifted  by  nature  with  tastes  suffi- 
ciently strong  to  like  one  woman  bet- 
ter than  another,  or  else,  because  no 
woman  ever  took  the  trouble  to  lay 
siege  to  them.  My  grandfather  had 
never  married,  simply,  I  believe,  be- 
cause matrimony  had  never  entered 
his  head.  He  seldom  ventured,  of  his 
own  choice,  into  ladies'  society,  but, 
when  he  did,  no  man  was  more  em- 
phatically gallant  to  the  sex.  One 
after  one,  he  saw  his  old  friends 
abandoning  the  irresponsible  ease  of 
bachelorhood  for  the  cares  of  wedded 
life  ;  but  while  he  duly  congratulated 
them  on  their  felicity,  and  officiated 
as  godfather  to  their  progeny,  he 
never  seemed  to  anticipate  a  similar 
destiny  for  himself.  All  his  habits 
showed  that  he  had  been  too  long 


1851.] 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


523 


accustomed  to  single  harness  to  go 
cleverly  as  one  of  a  pair.  He  had 
particular  hours  of  rising,  and  going 
to  bed  ;  of  riding  out  and  returning ; 
of  settling  himself  down  for  the  even- 
ing to  a  book  and  pipe,  which  the 
presence  of  a  helpmate  would  have 
materially  deranged.  And  therefore, 
without  holding  any  Malthusian 
tenets,  without  pitying  his  Benedick 
acquaintances,  or  entertaining  a 
thought  of  the  sex  which  would 
have  been  in  the  least  degree  dero- 
gatory to  the  character  of  a  De  Cov- 
erley,  his  castles  in  the  air  were  never 
tenanted  by  any  of  his  own  posterity. 

It  was  fortunate  for  my  grandfather 
that  in  his  time  people  did  not  suffer 
so  much  as  now  from  that  chronic 
inflammation  of  the  conscience,  which 
renders  them  perfectly  miserable  un- 
less they  are  engaged  in  some  tangible 
pursuit — "improving  their  minds,"  or 
"  adding  to  the  general  stock  of  infor- 
mation." A  more  useless,  contented 
person  never  existed.  He  never 
made  even  a  show  of  employing  him- 
self profitably,  and  never  complained 
of  weariness  in  maintaining  the  mono- 
tonous jog-trot  of  his  simple  daily 
life.  He  read  a  good  deal,  certainly, 
but  it  was  not  to  improve  his  mind, 
only  to  amuse  himself.  Strong-mind- 
ed books,  to  stimulate  his  thinking 
faculties,  would  have  had  no  charms 
for  him ;  he  would  as  soon  have 
thought  of  getting  galvanised  for  the 
pleasure  of  looking  at  his  muscles. 
And  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  not 
just  as  well.  In  systematically  culti- 
vating his  mind,  he  would  merely 
have  been  laying  a  top-dressing  on  a 
thin  soil— manuring  where  there  would 
never  have  been  a  crop — and  some 
pleasant  old  weeds  would  have  been 
pulled  up  in  the  process.  A  green 
thistly  common,  even  though  a  goose 
could  hardly  find  sustenance  there,  is 
nature  still,  which  can  hardly  be  said 
of  a  patch  of  earth  covered  with 
guano. 

So  my  grandfather  went  on  enjoy- 
ing himself  without  remorse  after  his 
own  fashion,  and  never  troubled  him- 
self to  think — an  operation  that  would 
have  been  inconvenient  to  himself, 
and  productive  of  no  great  results  to 
the  world.  He  transplanted  his  Eng- 
lish habits  to  Gibraltar;  and,  after 
being  two  years  there,  knew  nothing 


more  of  Spain  or  Spaniards  than  the 
view  of  the  Andalu9ian  hills  from  the 
Rock,  and  a  short  constitutional  daily 
ride  along  the  beach  beyond  the  Span- 
ish lines,  to  promote  appetite  and  diges- 
tion, afforded  him.  And  so  he  might 
have  continued  to  vegetate  during  the 
remainder  of  his  service  there,  but  for 
a  new  acquaintance  that  he  made 
about  this  time. 

Frank  Owen,  commonly  called 
Garry  Owen  by  his  familiars,  was 
one  of  those  joyous  spirits  whose 
pleasant  faces  and  engaging  manners 
serve  as  a  perpetual  act  of  indemnity 
for  all  breaches  of  decorum,  and  tres- 
passes over  social  and  conventional 
fences,  committed  by  them  in  the 
gaiety  of  their  hearts.  In  reproving 
his  many  derelictions  of  military  duty, 
the  grim  colonel  of  the  regiment  would 
insensibly  exchange  his  habitual  tone 
of  severe  displeasure  for  one  of  mild 
remonstrance — influenced,  probably, 
quite  as  much,  in  secret,  by  the  popu- 
larity of  the  unrepentant  offender,  as 
by  any  personal  regard  for  him.  Cap- 
tain Hedgehog,  who  had  shot  a  man 
through  the  heart  for  corking  his  face 
one  night  when  he  was  drunk,  and 
all  contact  with  whose  detonating 
points  of  honour  was  as  carefully 
avoided  by  his  acquaintance  as  if 
they  had  been  the  wires  of  a  spring- 
gun,  sustained  Garry's  reckless  per- 
sonalities with  a  sort  of  warning 
growl  utterly  thrown  away  upon  the 
imperturbable  wag,  who  would  still 
persist,  in  the  innocence  of  his  heart, 
in  playing  round  the  den  of  this  mili- 
tary cockatrice.  And  three  months 
after  his  arrival  in  Gibraltar,  being 
one  day  detected  by  a  fierce  old 
Spanish  lady  in  the  very  act  of  kiss- 
ing her  daughter  behind  the  little 
seiiorita's  great  painted  fan,  his  good- 
humoured  impudence  converted  the 
impending  storm  into  a  mild  drizzle 
of  reproof,  ending  in  his  complete  re- 
storation to  favour. 

This  youth  had  brought  with  him 
from  England  a  letter  from  his  mother, 
a  widow  lady,  an  old  friend  of  my. 
grandfather,  who  had  some  thirty 
years  before  held  with  her  a  juvenile 
flirtation.  It  recommended  to  his 
protection  her  son  Frank,  about  to  join 
the  regiment  as  an  ensign,  patheti- 
cally enlarging  on  the  various  excel- 
lencies, domestic  and  religious,  which 


524 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


[Nov. 


shone  forth  conspicuously  in  the 
youth's  character,  and  of  the  comfort 
of  contemplating  and  superintending 
which  she  was  about  to  be  deprived. 
In  fact,  it  had  led  my  grandfather  to 
expect  a  youth  of  extreme  docility 
and  modesty,  requiring  a  protector 
rather  to  embolden  than  to  restrain 
him.  After  in  vain  attempting  to 
espy  in  his  young  acquaintance  any 
of  the  characteristics  ascribed  to  him 
in  his  mother's  letter,  the  Major,  natu- 
rally good-natured  and  accessible  to 
his  youthful  comrades,  very  soon  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  influenced  by  the 
good-humour,  vigorous  vitality,  and 
careless  cleverness  of  the  Ensign,  to  an 
extent  that  caused  him  sometimes  to 
wonder  secretly  at  his  own  transfor- 
mation. His  retired  habits  were 
broken  in  upon,  one  after  the  other, 
till  he  had  scarcely  a  secluded  hour  in 
his  sixteen  waking  ones  to  enjoy 
alone  his  book  and  his  pipe.  His 
peaceful  quarters,  silent,  in  general, 
as  a  monk's  cell,  would  now  be  in- 
vaded at  all  sorts  of  hours  by  the 
jovial  Garry,  followed  by  the  admiring 
satellites  who  usually  revolved  around 
him ;  and  the  Major,  with  a  sound 
between  a  groan  and  a  chuckle,  would 
close  his  well-beloved  volume  to  listen 
to  the  facetious  details  of,  and  some- 
times to  participate  in,  the  un^onge- 
nial  freaks  of  the  humorous  subaltern. 
Once  he  had  actually  consented,  at 
about  the  hour  he  usually  went  to 
bed,  to  accompany  the  youth  to  a 
Carnival  ball— one  of  a  series  of  en- 
tertainments at  which  the  Catholic 
youth  of  the  city  are  wont  to  idemnify 
themselves  for  the  mortifications  of 
Lent,  and  where  masks,  dominoes, 
and  fancy  dresses  lend  their  aid  to 
defeat  the  vigilance  of  the  lynx-eyed 
duennas  and  mammas  who  look  anxi- 
ously on,  perfectly  aware,  in  general, 
that  their  own  watchfulness  is  more 
to  be  relied  on  for  nipping  in  the  bud 
an  indiscreet  amour,  than  any  innate 
iciness  of  temperament  or  austere 
propriety  in  the  objects  of  their  care. 
Not  only  did  the  Major  mingle  in  the 
scene,  but  he  actually,  about  midnight, 
found  himself  figuring  in  a  cotillon 
with  a  well-developed  senorita  of 
thirteen  years,  whose  glances  and  de- 
portment showed  a  precocious  profi- 
ciency in  the  arts  of  flirtation.  At 
this  ball  Garry  had  become  enamoured 


beyond  all  former  passions  (and  they 
were  numerous  and  inconstant,  in 
general,  as  if  he  had  been  a  Grand 
Turk)  of  one  of  his  partners,  a  young 
Spanish  lady.  Her  graceful  figure 
and  motions  in  the  dance  had  at 
first  captivated  him— rand  when,  after 
dancing  with  her  himself,  his  eloquent 
entreaties,  delivered  in  indifferent 
Spanish,  had  prevailed  on  her  to  lift 
her  mask  for  one  coy  moment,  the 
vision  of  eyes  and  eyebrows,  the  com- 
mon beauties  of  a  Spanish  counte- 
nance, and  the  clear  rosy  complexion, 
a  much  more  rare  perfection,  then  re- 
vealed, had  accomplished  the  utter 
subjugation  of  his  errant  fancy.  She 
had  vanished  from  the  ball  silently 
and  irremediably,  as  a  houri  of  Para- 
dise from  the  awakening  eyes  of  an 
opium-eating  Pacha  ;  and  all  his  at- 
tempts to  trace  her,  continued  un- 
ceasingly for  a  couple  of  months  after- 
wards, had  proved  in  vain. 

One  morning  my  grandfather  was 
seated  at  breakfast  in  the  verandah 
of  his  quarters,  situated  high  up  the 
rock  above  the  town.  Below  him  lay 
the  roofs,  terraced  and  balconied,  and 
populous  with  cats,  for  whose  conve- 
nience the  little  flat  stone  squares  at 
the  top  of  most  of  the  houses  appeared 
to  have  been  devised.  Tall  towers 
called  mirandas  shot  up  at  intervals, 
from  whose  summits  the  half-baked 
inhabitants,  pent  within  close  walls 
and  streets,  might  catch  refreshing 
glimpses  of  the  blue  sea  and  the  hills 
of  Spain — conveniences  destined  soon 
afterwards  to  be  ruined  by  the  enemy's 
fire,  or  pulled  down  to  avoid  attract- 
ing it,  and  never  rebuilt.  Beyond  the 
white  sunny  ridge  of  the  line  wall 
came  the  sharp  edge  of  the  bay,  rising 
in  high  perspective  to  the  purple  coast 
of  Spain  opposite,  which  was  sprinkled 
with  buildings  white  as  the  sails  that 
dotted  the  water.  My  grandfather 
was  in  a  state  of  great  sensual  enjoy- 
ment, sniffing  up  the  odour  of  the 
large  geranium  bushes  that  grew  in 
clumps  in  the  little  garden  in  front, 
and  the  roses  that  twined  thickly 
round  the  trellis  of  the  vine- roofed 
verandah ;  sipping  tbick  creamy 
Spanish  chocolate  between  the  mouth- 
fuls  of  red  mullet,  broiled  in  white 
paper,  the  flavour  of  which  he  was 
diligently  comparing  with  that  of 
some  specimens  of  the  same  fish  which 


1851.] 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


525 


he  remembered  to  have  eaten  in  his 
youth  in  Devonshire  ;  and  glancing 
sideways  over  the  cup  at  an  open 
volume  of  Shakspeare,  leaned  slop- 
ingly  on  the  edge  of  a  plate  of  black 
figs  bursting  with  ripeness,  like  trunk 
hose  slashed  with  crimson.  The  Ma- 
jor was  none  of  your  skimming  readers, 
who  glance  through  a  work  of  art  as 
if  it  were  a  newspaper — measure, 
weigh  it,  and  deliver  a  critical  opinion 
on  it,  before  the  more  reverential  stu- 
dent has  extricated  himself  from  the 
toils  of  the  first  act  or  opening  chapter: 
not  he ;  he  read  every  word,  and  af- 
fixed a  meaning,  right  or  wrong,  to 
all  the  hard,  obsolete  ones.  The  dra- 
matic fitness  of  the  characters  was  not 
to  be  questioned  by  him,  any  more 
than  that  of  the  authentic  personages 
of  history.  He  would  reason  on  their 
acts  and  proceedings  as  on  those  of  his 
own  intimate  acquaintances.  He 
never  could  account  for  Hamlet's 
madness  otherwise  than  by  supposing 
the  Prince  must  have,  some  time  or 
other,  got  an  ugly  rap  on  the  head — 
let  fall,  perhaps,  when  a  baby,  by  a 
gin-drinking  nurse — producing,  as  in 
some  persons  he  had  himself  from  time 
to  time  been  acquainted  with,  a  tempo- 
rary aberration  of  the  wits ;  a  piece 
of  original  criticism  that  has  not  oc- 
curred to  any  of  the  other  commen- 
tators on  this  much-discussed  point. 
Of  lago  he  has  recorded  an  opinion 
in  an  old  note-book  still  extant,  where 
his  observations  appear  in  indifferent 
orthography,  and  ink  yellow  with  age, 
that  he  was  a  cursed  scoundrel — an 
opinion  delivered  with  all  the  emphasis 
of  an  original  detector  of  crime,  anxi- 
ous that  full  though  tardy  justice 
should  be  done  to  the  delinquent's 
memory.  But  his  great  favourite  was 
Falstaff:  "  A  wonderful  clever  fellow, 
sir,"  h,e  would  say,  "  and  no  more  a 
coward  than  you  or  I,  sir." 

My  grandfather  proceeded  slowly 
with  his  meal,  holding  the  cup  to  his 
lips  with  one  hand  and  turning  a  leaf 
with  the  other — an  operation  which  he 
was  delaying  till  a  great  mosquito- 
hawk,  (abeautiful  brown  moth  mottled 
like  a  pheasant,)  that  had  settled  on 
the  page,  should  think  proper  to  take 
flight.  He  had  lately  come  from  a 
parade,  as  was  evidenced  by  his  regi- 
mental leather  breeches  and  laced  red 
waistcoat;  but  a  chintz  dressing-gown 


and  a  pair  of  yellow  Moorish  slippers 
softened  down  the  warlike  tone  of 
these  garments  to  one  more  congenial 
with  his  peaceable  and  festive  pur- 
suits. Presently  the  garden  door 
opened,  and  a  well-known  step  as- 
cended to  the  verandah.  Frank  Owen, 
dressed  in  a  cool  Spanish  costume, 
advanced,  and  stopping  three  paces 
from  the  Major,  took  off  his  tufted 
sombrero  and  made  a  low  bow. 

"  You  are  the  picture,  my  dear  sir," 
he  said,  "of  serene  enjoyment  slightly 
tinged  with  sensuality.  But  how 
long,  may  I  ask,  have  you  taken  to 
breakfasting  on  spiders  ?" — pointing, 
as  he  took  a  chair  opposite  the  Major, 
at  an  immense  red-spotted  one  that 
had  dropt  from  the  ceiling  on  the 
morsel  my  grandfather  was  in  the  act 
of  conveying  to  his  mouth. 

The  Major  tenderly  removed  the 
insect  by  a  leg. 

"  'Tis  the  worst  of  these  al-fresco 
meals,  Frank,"  said  he.  "  Yesterday 
I  cut  a  green  lizard  in  two  that  had 
got  on  my  plate,  mistaking  him  for 
a  bit  of  salad— being,  as  usual,  more 
intent  on  my  book  than  my  food — 
and  had  very  near  swallowed  the  tail- 
half  of  the  unfortunate  animal." 

u  There  are  worse  things  than  liz- 
ards in  the  world,"  quoth  Garry. 
"  Ants,  I  should  say,  were  certainly 
less  wholesome  " — and  he  directed  the 
Major's  attention  to  a  long  black 
line  of  those  interesting  creatures 
issuing  from  a  hole  in  the  pavement, 
passing  in  an  unbroken  series  up  my 
ancestor's  left  leg,  the  foot  of  which 
rested  on  the  ground,  then  traversing 
the  cloth,  and  terminating  at  the  loaf, 
the  object  of  their  expedition. 

"  Bless  me,"  said  the  Major,  as  he 
rose  and  shook  his  breeches  gently 
free  from  the  marauders,  "  I  must  be 
more  careful,  or  I  shall  chance  to  do 
myself  a  mischief.  But  they're  worst 
at  night.  I've  been  obliged  to  leave 
off  reading  here  in  the  evenings,  for  it 
went  to  my  heart  to  see  the  moths 
scorching  their  pretty  gauzy  wings  in 
the  candle  till  the  wicks  were  half- 
choked  with  them." 

"Do  you  know,  Major,"  said  Owen, 
gravery,  "  that  either  this  insect 
diet,  or  the  sedentary  life  you  lead,  is 
making  you  quite  fat,  and  utterly  de- 
stroying the  symmetry  of  your  figure? 
In  another  week  there  will  be  one 


526 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


[Nov. 


unbroken  line  of  rotundity  from  your 
chin  to  your  knees." 

My  grandfather  glanced  downward 
at  his  waistcoat.  u  No,  my  boy,  no," 
said  he  ;  "if  there  had  been  any  dif- 
ference, I  should  have  known  it  by  my 
clothes.  I  don't  think  I've  gained  a 
pound  this  twelvemonth." 

"  More  than  a  stone,"  quoth  Garry. 
"  We  all  remarked  it  on  parade  to- 
day— and  remarked  it  with  sorrow. 
Now,  look  you,  a  sea  voyage  is  the 
very  thing  to  restore  your  true  pro- 
portions, and  I  propose  that  we  shall 
take  a  short  one  together." 

"  A  sea  voyage  ! "  quoth  my  grand- 
father ;  "  the  boy  is  mad  !  Not  if  all 
the  wonders  seen  by  Sinbad  the 
Sailor  lay  within  a  day's  sail.  Did  I 
not  suffer  enough  coming  here  from 
England?  I  don't  think,"  said  my 
grandfather  with  considerable  pathos, 
u  that  my  digestion  has  ever  been 
quite  right  to  this  day." 

"  '  Sick  of  a  calm,'  eh  ?— Like 
your  friend  Mistress  Tearsheet,"  said 
the  youngster.  "  But  I've  settled  it  all, 
and  count  on  you.  Look  here,"  he 
continued,  drawing  from  his  pocket  a 
large  printed  bill,  and  unfolding  it 
before  my  ancestor.  At  the  top  ap- 
peared in  large  capitals  the  words, 
"  Plaza  de  Toros;"  and  underneath 
was  a  woodcut  representing  a  bull, 
of  whose  sex  there  could  be  no  doubt, 
gazing,  with  his  tail  in  the  air,  and  an 
approving  smile  on  his  countenance, 
on  the  matadore  about  to  transfix  him. 
Then  followed  a  glowing  account  in 
Spanish  of  the  delights  of  a  great 
bull-fight  shortly  to  take  place  at 
Cadiz,  setting  forth  the  ferocity  of  the 
bulls,  the  number  of  horses  that  might 
be  expected  to  die  in  the  arena,  and 
the  fame  of  the  picadores  and  espadas 
who  were  then  and  there  to  exhibit. 

The  Major  shook  his  head  —  the 
captivating  prospectus  had  no  charms 
for  him :  he  had  not,  as  I  have  be- 
fore said,  an  inquiring  mind,  and 
habit  was  so  strong  in  him  that  a 
change  was  like  the  dislocation  of 
a  joint.  The  Ensign  proceeded  to 
paint  the  delights  of  the  excursion  in 
the  brightest  colours  he  could  com- 
mand. They  were  to  go  to  Cadiz  in 
a  boat  which  he  had  lately  bought — 
she  was  a  capital  sailer — there  was  a 
half-deck  forward,  under  which  the 
Major  might  sleep  as  comfortably  as 


in  his  own  bed — a  cooking  apparatus, 
(and  here,  as  he  expatiated  on  the 
grills  and  stews  and  devils  that  were 
to  be  cooked  and  eaten,  with  the  ad- 
ditional stimulus  to  appetite  afforded 
by  sea  air,  there  was  a  spark  of  re- 
lenting in  my  grandfather's  eye.) 
"  You  shall  return,"  said  the  tempter, 
"  with  a  digestion  so  completely  re- 
novated, that  my  name  shall  rise  to 
your  tongue  at  each  meal  as  a  grace 
before  meat,  and  a  thanksgiving  after 
it ;  and  as  to  sea -sickness,  why,  this 
Levanter  will  take  us  there  in  twelve 
hours,  so  smoothly  that  you  may 
balance  a  straw  upon  your  nose  the 
whole  way."  Finally,  the  cunning 
Ensign  laid  before  him  an  application 
for  leave  already  made  out,  and  only 
awaiting  his  signature. 

My  grandfather  made  some  feeble 
objections,  which  Owen  pooh-poohed 
in  his  usual  oif-hand  fashion.  There 
was  no  standing  against  the  young- 
ster's strong  will,  that,  like  Aaron's 
rod,  swallowed  up  all  opposition, 
and  at  five  o'clock  that  same  even- 
ing the  Major  found  himself  pro- 
ceeding through  the  town  towards 
the  Waterport  for  embarkation,  by  no 
means  fully  reconciled  to  the  abandon- 
ment of  his  beloved  Lares.  My  luck- 
less grandfather  !  did  no  presentiment 
warn  you  of  a  consequence  then  hang- 
ing in  the  clouds,  that  was  to  change 
utterly  for  you  the  untroubled  aspect 
of  those  household  gods  ? 

Owen  had  attired  himself  for  the 
trip  in  a  half- nautical  costume — a 
shirt  of  light-blue  flannel,  fastened  at 
the  collar  with  a  smart  bandana,  a 
blue  jacket,  loose  duck  trousers,  and 
a  montero  cap,  which  costume  be- 
came the  puppy  well  enough.  He 
seemed  of  this  opinion  himself,  as  he 
walked  gaily  along  beside  the  Major : 
so  did  the  black-eyed  occupants  of 
many  houses  on  each  side,  who  peep- 
ed forth  smilingly  from  behind  their 
green  lattices,  sometimes  nodding 
and  kissing  their  hands— for  the  En- 
sign had  an  incredible  acquaintance 
with  the  budding  and  full-blown  por- 
tion of  the  population  of  Gibraltar. 
The  Major  had  stuck  to  his  buck- 
skins, (which  stuck  to  him  in  return,) 
over  which  he  had  drawn  a  pair  of 
jack -boots,  and  wore  his  red-laced 
coat  and  regimental  hat — for  in  those 
days  that  passion  for  mufti,  now  so 


1851.] 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


prevalent  in  the  army,  did  not  exist. 
Whenever  he  caught  sight  of  any  of 
the  greetings  bestowed  from  the  win- 
dows, he  would  take  off  his  laced  hat, 
and,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  tittering 
seiiorita,  who  generally  let  fall  the 
lattice  with  a  slam,  would  make  her 
a  low  bow — and,  after  each  of  these 
acts  of  courtesy,  my  grandfather 
walked  on  more  elated  than  before. 

They  passed  the  drawbridge  at 
Waterport,  and,  struggling  through 
the  crowd  of  Turks,  Jews,  infidels, 
and  heretics,  who  usually  throng  the 
quay,  entered  a  shore-boat  that  was 
to  row  them  out  to  where  Owen's 
vessel — the  Fair  Unknown,  as  he  had 
christened  her,  in  memory  of  his  un- 
forgotten  partner  at  the  Carnival 
ball— lay  moored.  In  her  they  found 
a  sailor  who  was  to  accompany  them 
on  their  voyage — a  noted  contra- 
bandista,  called  Francisco,  whose 
friendship  Owen  had  lately  acquired, 
and  who  acted  as  his  lieutenant  on 
his  marine  excursions.  The  boat  was  a 
neat  affair — a  small  cutter,  smartly 
painted,  well  found,  and  capable  of 
holding  several  persons  comfortably ; 
and  Francisco  was  a  ruddy,  portly, 
dark-skinned,  large- whiskered  son  of 
the  sea,  the  picture  of  good-humour. 
My  grandfather  stept  in,  in  his  jack- 
boots. There  was  much  settling  of 
carpet-bags  and  stowing  of  provisions 
in  the  lockers,  and  then  they  hoisted 
sail,  and  glided  smoothly  out  from 
among  the  shipping  into  the  bay. 

The  breeze  was  light  and  fair,  and 
they  went  on,  as  Frank  had  promised, 
pleasantly  enough.  My  grandfather 
for  the  first  time  surveyed  the  scene 
of  his  two  years'  residence  from  the 
sea.  The  grey  old  rock  looked  mel- 
low in  the  evening  light,  as  an  elderly 
gentleman  over  his  wine — the  win- 
dow-panes glanced  ruddily,  the  walls 
gleamed  whitely,  and  the  trees  were 
tinted  with  a  yellower  green ;  behind, 
in  the  eastern  sky,  floated  one  single 
purple  cloud.  As  the  objects  became 
confused  in  the  distance,  the  sharp 
rugged  outline  of  the  rock  assumed 
the  appearance  that  has  caused  the 
Spaniards  to  call  it  El  Cuerpo — the 
appearance  of  a  vast  human  body  laid 
out  on  its  back,  and  covered  with  a 
winding-sheet,  like  a  dead  Titan  on 
his  funeral  pile — the  head  towards 
Spain,  the  chest  arched  at  Middle 


527 

Hill,  the  legs  rising  gently  upward 
to  the  knees  at  O'Hara's  Tower, 
and  then  sloping  down  till  the  feet 
rest  on  Europa.  The  sun  went  down 
as  they  rounded  Cabrita  Point,  and 
the  breeze,  freshening,  took  them 
swiftly  along  under  the  huge  hills 
that  rise  abruptly  upward  from  the 
Spanish  coast.  Then  Francisco,  light- 
ing a  charcoal  fire,  placed  thereon,  in 
a  frying-pan,  tender  steaks  thickly 
strewn  with  sliced  tomatas  and  onions, 
from  whence  arose  a  steam  that 
brought  tears  of  gratitude  and  de- 
light into  my  grandfather's  eyes.  He 
anxiously  watched  the  cooking — 
even  threw  out  slight  suggestions, 
such  as  another  pinch  of  pepper,  an 
additional  onion,  a  slight  dash  of 
cayenne,  and  the  like ;  and  then,  set- 
tling a  plate  firmly  on  the  knees  of 
his  jack-boots,  with  a  piece  of  bread 
and  a  cup  by  his  side,  and  a  knife  and 
fork  pointing  upwards  in  his  hands 
like  lightning  conductors,  gazed  cheer- 
fully around  him.  And  when  Fran- 
cisco, rising  from  his  knees,  where  he 
had  been  blowing  the  charcoal  fire, 
removed  the  hissing  pan  towards  my 
grandfather's  plate,  transferring  to  it 
a  liberal  portion  of  the  contents,  the 
good  man,  gazing  on  the  white  and 
red  streaks  of  vegetable  relieved  by 
the  brown  background  of  steak,  and 
the  whole  picture  swimming  in  a  juicy 
atmosphere  of  gravy,  felt  sentiments 
of  positive  friendship  towards  that 
lawless  individual,  and,  filling  a 
bumper  ofXerez,  drank  success  to 
the  voyage. 

Three  times  was  my  grandfather's 
plate  replenished  from  the  thrice- 
filled  pan.  Afterwards  he  dallied  a 
little  with  a  cold  pie,  [followed  by  a 
bit  of  cheese  for  digestion.  Then, 
folding  his  hands  across  his  stomach, 
he  expressed  his  sincere  opinion,  that 
he  had  never  tasted  anything  so  good 
as  that  steak ;  and  when  Owen 
placed  in  his  hand  a  smoking  can  of 
grog,  he  looked  on  the  young  man  with 
a  truly  paternal  eye.  He  talked  com- 
placently and  benevolently,  as  men 
do  who  have  dined  well — praised  the 
weather,  the  boat,  the  scene — and 
wondered  where  a  man  was  going 
who  rode  slowly  along  a  mountain- 
path  above  them,  within  hail,  follow- 
ing him,  in  imagination,  to  his  home, 
in  a  sort  of  dreamy  contentment. 


528 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


[Nov. 


After  a  second  can  he  began  to  grow 
drowsy,  and,  just  aware  that  Owen 
said  the  breeze  was  still  freshening, 
retired  to  the  soft  mattress  spread  for 
him  under  the  half- deck,  and  replac- 
ing his  cocked  hat  by  a  red  nightcap, 
slept  till  morning. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  he 
woke,  conscious  that  for  an  hour  or 
two  past  he  had  been  sleeping  most 
uneasily.  There  was  a  violent  swing- 
ing motion,  a  rushing  of  wind  and  of 
water,  that  confused  him  extremely ; 
and,  forgetting  where  he  was,  he 
nearly  fractured  his  skull  by  rising  sud- 
denly into  a  sitting  posture.  Steady- 
ing himself  on  his  hands,  in  the  pos- 
ture of  the  Dying  Gladiator,  he  slewed 
himself  round  on  the  pivot  of  his  stern, 
and  protruded  his  powdered  head, 
like  an  old  beaver,  out  of  his  hole. 
Owen  and  Francisco  were  sitting  in  a 
pool  of  water,  trying  to  shelter  them- 
selves under  the  weather-side  of  the 
boat — dripping  wet,  and  breakfasting 
on  cold  potatoes  and  fragments  of 
meat  left  from  last  night's  meal.  My 
grandfather  did  not  like  the  appear- 
ance of  things  at  all.  Rent  in  twain  by 
horrible  qualms,  he  inquired  feebly 
of  Owen  if  they  were  near  Cadiz  ? 
Frank,  in  reply,  shook  his  head,  and 
said  they  were  at  anchor.  Then  my 
grandfather,  making  a  vigorous  effort, 
emerged  completely  from  his  place  of 
repose,  and,  rising  to  his  feet,  looked 
over  the  gunwale.  The  scene  he  be- 
held was  in  dreary  contrast  to  that  of 
the  evening  before.  Ridges  of  white 
foam  were  all  around — ahead  was  a 
long  low  line  of  sandy  coast,  termi- 
nating in  a  point  of  rock  whereon 
stood  a  lighthouse;  and  to  leeward 
the  bay  was  enclosed  by  steep  hills. 
Over  the  low  coast-line  the  wind  blew 
with  steady  violence.  A  bright  sun 
rather  increased  the  dreariness  of  the 
prospect,  which  was  suddenly  closed 
to  my  grandfather  by  a  shower  of 
spray,  that  blinded  him,  and  drenched 
him  to  the  skin,  converting  his  jack- 
boots into  buckets.  The  wind  had 
increased  to  a  gale  during  the  night, 
and  they  had  been  forced  to  take 
precarious  shelter  in  the  harbour  of 
Tarifa.  The  Major  did  not  venture  on 
a  second  peep,  but  sat,  dismally  wet 
and  sea-sick,  the  whole  morning,  try- 
ing to  shelter  himself  as  he  best  could. 
Once,  a  man  came  down  to  the  beach, 


and  gesticulated  like  a  scaramouch, 
screaming-  also  at  the  same  time ; 
but  what  his  gestures  and  screams 
signified  nobody  on  board  could  tell. 
At  length,  as  the  gale  did  not  mode- 
rate, while  their  position  increased  in 
discomfort,  and  was  also  becoming  pre- 
carious, (for  one  of  their  anchors  was 
gone,  and  great  fears  were  entertained 
for  the  other,)  Owen  and  Francisco 
decided  to  weigh,  and  stand  in  for  the 
shore,  trusting  to  the  smuggler's  sea- 
manship for  a  safe  run.  The  Major, 
in  spite  of  his  sickness,  stood  np  and 
pulled  gallantly  at  the  cable,  the  wind 
blowing  his  pigtail  and  skirts  perpen- 
dicularly out  from  his  person.  At 
last,  after  tremendous  tugging,  the 
anchor  came  up.  The  jib  was  hoisted 
with  a  reef  in  it,  Owen  holding  the 
sheet,  while  the  smuggler  ran  aft  and 
took  the  helm.  They  bent  over  to  the 
gale,  till  the  Major  stood  almost  per- 
pendicularly on  the  lee  gunwale,  with 
his  back  against  the  weather-side,  and 
ran  in  till  he  thought  they  were  going 
to  bump  ashore;  then  tacking,  they 
stood  up  along  the  coast,  close  to  the 
wind,  till  Francisco  gave  the  word. 
Owen  let  go  the  sheet,  and  the  jib 
fluttered  loosely  out  as  they  ran 
through  a  narrow  passage  into  smooth 
water  behind  the  sea-wall,  and  made 
fast  to  a  flight  of  steps. 

Presently  some  functionary  apper- 
taining to  the  harbour  appeared,  and 
with  him  an  emissary  from  the  Go- 
vernor of  the  place,  who,  aware  of 
their  plight,  had  civilly  sent  to  offer 
assistance.  The  messenger  was  the 
same  man  who  had  made  signals  to 
them  from  the  beach  in  the  morning ; 
and  he  seemed  to  think  it  advisable 
that  they  should  wait  on  the  Governor 
in  person,  saying  that  he  was  always 
disposed  to  be  civil  to  British  officers. 
This  advice  they  resolved  to  act  upon 
at  once,  before  it  should  grow  dark, 
foreseeing  that,  in  case  of  their  deten- 
tion from  bad  weather  in  Tarifa,  the 
Governor  might  prove  a  potent  auxi- 
liary. The  Major  would  have  wished 
to  make  some  little  alterations  in  his 
toilette,  after  his  late  disasters  ;  but, 
after  trying  in  vain  to  pull  off  his 
jack-boots,  which  clung  to  him  like 
his  skin,  he  was  obliged  to  abandon 
the  idea,  and  contented  himself  with 
standing  on  his  head  to  let  the  water 
run  out  of  them.  As  they  advanced 


1851.] 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


529 


along  the  causeway  leading  to  the 
town,  (the  point  where  they  landed  is 
connected  with  the  town  by  a  long 
narrow  sandy  isthmus,)  the  gale  swept 
over  them  volumes  of  sand,  which, 
sticking  to  my  grandfather's  wet  uni- 
form, gave  him  somewhat  the  appear- 
ance of  a  brick-wall  partially  rough- 
cast. His  beard  was  of  two  days' 
growth — his  hair-powder  was  con- 
verted into  green  paste  by  the  sea- 
water —  and  his  whole  appearance 
travel-stained  and  deplorable.  Never- 
theless his  dignity  by  no  means  for- 
sook him,  as  they  traversed  the  nar- 
row alleys  of  the  ancient  town  of 
Tarifa,  on  their  way  to  the  approach- 
ing interview. 

His  excellency  Don  Pablo  Dotto, 
a  wonderfully  fat  little  man,  received 
them  very  courteously.  He  was  a 
Spaniard  of  the  old  school,  and  re- 
turned the  stately  greeting  of  my 
grandfather,  and  the  easy  one  of  the 
Ensign,  with  such  a  profusion  of  bows, 
that  for  the  space  of  a  minute  they 
saw  little  more  of  his  person  than 
the  shining  baldness  on  the  top  of 
his  head.  Then  they  were  presented 
to  his  wife,  a  good-natured,  motherly 
sort  of  old  lady,  who  seemed  to  com- 
passionate them  much.  But,  while 
Owen  was  explaining  to  her  the  object 
of  their  trip,  and  its  disastrous  inter- 
ruption, he  suddenly  stopped,  open- 
mouthed,  and  blushing  violently,  with 
his  gaze  directed  towards  the  open 
door  of  a  neighbouring  apartment. 
There  he  beheld,  advancing  towards 
him.  the  Beauty  of  the  Carnival  ball. 

The  Governor's  lady  named  her  as 
"  her  daughter,  the  Sefiorita  Juana." 
Spite  of  the  different  dress  and  circum- 
stances, she,  too,  recognised  Frank, 
and  coloured  slightly  as  she  came  for- 
ward to  receive  his  greeting.  The 
Ensign,  an  impudent  scamp  enough 
in  general,  was,  however,  the  more 
confused  of  the  two ;  and  his  embar- 
rassed salutation  was  entirely  thrown 


into  the  shade  by  the  magnificence  of 
my  grandfather's  bow.  However,  he 
presently  recovered  his  assurance,  and 
explained  to  the  elder  lady  how  he 
had  previously  enjoyed  the  pleasure 
(with  a  great  stress"  upon  the  word) 
of  making  her  daughter's  acquaintance. 
Then  he  recounted  to  Juana  the  man- 
ner in  which  they  had  been  driven  in 
here,  when  on  their  way  to  Cadiz  to 
see  the  bull-fight. 

"  We  also  are  going  to  ride  thither 
to-morrow,"  said  the  Seiiorita,  softly. 

"  Ah,  then,  we  shall  meet  there," 
said  Frank,  who  presently  after  was 
seized  with  a  fit  of  absence,  and  made 
incoherent  replies.  He  was  considering 
how  they  might  travel  together,  and 
had  almost  resolved  to  offer  to  take 
the  whole  family  to  Cadiz  in  his  boat 
— a  proposal  that  would  probably  have 
somewhat  astonished  the  little  Gover- 
nor, especially  if  he  had  seen  the  di- 
mensions of  the  craft  thus  destined  to 
accommodate  himself  and  retinue.  But 
Garry  was  an  adept  in  manoeuvring, 
and  marched  skilfully  upon  the  point 
he  had  in  view.  He  drew  such  a  pathe- 
tic picture  of  the  hardships  they  had 
endured  on  the  voyage — their  probable 
detention  here  for  most  of  their  short 
leave — their  friendless  condition,  and 
their  desire  to  see  something  of  the 
country — that  the  little  Governor  was 
in  a  manner  impelled  (fancying  all 
the  time  that  the  impulse  sprang  al- 
together from  his  own  native  benevo- 
lence,) to  desire  that  the  two  forlorn 
Englishmen  would  travel  to  Cadiz 
under  his  escort.  So  it  being  settled 
entirely  to  Garry's  satisfaction  that 
they  were  to  start  next  morning  at 
break  of  day  on  horseback — an  ar- 
rangement which  my  grandfather's 
total  ignorance  of  Spanish  prevented 
him  from  knowing  anything  about — 
they  retired  to  the  principal  fonda, 
where  the  Major  speedily  forgot,  over 
a  tolerable  dinner,  the  toils  and  perils 
of  the  voyage. 


CHAPTER  II. 


Daybreak  the  next  morning  found 
them  issuing  forth  from  the  ancient  city 
of  Tarifa  on  a  couple  of  respectable- 
lookinghacks,l)iredfromtheinnkeeper. 
Frank  had,  with  his  accustomed  gene- 
ralship, managed  to  secure  a  position 


at  the  off-rein  of  the  Seiiorita  Juana, 
who  was  mounted  on  a  beautiful  little 
white  barb.  Under  her  side-saddle,  of 
green  velvet  studded  with  gilt  nails, 
was  a  Moorish  saddle-cloth,  striped 
with  vivid  red  and  white,  and  fringed 


530 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


[Nov. 


deeply.  From  the  throat-lash  of  the 
bridle  hung  a  long  tassel,  as  an  artifi- 
cial auxiliary  to  the  barb  s  tail  in  the 
task  of  keeping  the  flies  off,  further 
assisted  by  a  tuft  of  white  horse-hair 
attached  to  the  butt  of  her  whip.  She 
Avore  a  looped  hat  and  white  plume, 
a  riding-skirt,  and  an  embroidered 
jacket  of  blue  cloth,  fastened,  as  was 
the  wrought  bosom  of  her  chemise, 
with  small  gold  buttons.  Frank  could 
not  keep  his  eyes  off  her,  now  riding 
off  to  the  further  side  of  the  road  to 
take  in  at  once  the  whole  of  the  beau- 
teous vision,  now  coming  close  up  to 
study  it  in  its  delightful  details. 

In  front  of  the  pair  rode  the  little 
Governor,  side  by  side  with  a  Spaniard 
of  about  thirty,  the  long-betrothed 
lover  of  Juana — so  long,  in  fact,  that 
he  did  not  trouble  himself  to  secure 
his  authority  in  a  territory  so  unde- 
niably his  own,  but  smoked  his  cigar 
as  coolly  as  if  there  were  no  good- 
looking  Englishman  within  fifty  miles 
of  his  mistress.  He  wore  garments 
of  the  Spanish  cut,  made  of  nankeen — 
the  jacket  frogged  with  silver  cords, 
tagged  with  little  silver  fishes— the 
latter  appended,  perhaps,  as  suitable 
companions  to  the  frogs.  A  hundred 
yards  ahead  was  an  escort  of  four 
horse-soldiers  with  carbines  on  their 
thighs,  their  steel  accoutrements  flash- 
ing ruddily  in  the  level  sunlight.  Be- 
hind Frank  came  Major  Flinders,  clean 
shaved,  and  with  jack-boots  and  re- 
gimental coat  restored  to  something 
like  their  pristine  splendour;  by  his 
side  rode  another  lady,  the  Seflorita 
Carlota,  Juana's  aunt,  somewhere 
about  thirty  years  old,  plump  and 
merry,  her  upper  lip  fringed  at  the 
corners  with  a  line  of  dark  down, 
quite  decided  enough  for  a  cornet  of 
eighteen  to  be  proud  of— a  feminine 
embellishment  too  common  for  remark 
in  these  southern  regions,  and,  in  the 
opinion  of  some  connoisseurs,  rather 
enhancing  the  beauty  of  the  fair  wear- 
ers. She  talked  incessantly,  at  first, 
to  my  grandfather,  who  did  not  under- 
stand a  word  she  said,  but  whose  na- 
tive politeness  prompted  him  to  say, 
"  Si,  Scnorita,"  to  everything — some- 
times laying  at  the  same  moment  his 
hand  on  his  heart,  and  bowing  with 
considerable  grace.  Behind  this  pair 
came  another  interesting  couple — viz., 
two  servants  on  mules,  with  great 


saddle-bags  stuffed  to  extreme  corpu- 
lence with  provisions. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning — a  gentle 
breeze  sweeping  on  their  faces  as  they 
mounted  the  hills,  but  dying  into  si- 
lence in  the  deep  valleys,  fresh,  and 
glistening  with  dew.  Sometimes  they 
rode  along  a  rocky  common,  yellowed 
with  a  flowering  shrub  like  furze — 
sometimes  through  unfenced  fields — 
sometimes  along  broad  plains,  where 
patches  of  blossoming  beans  made  the 
air  rich  with  scent,  and  along  which 
they  galloped  full  speed,  the  Governor 
standing  high  in  the  stirrups  of  his 
derni-pique,  the  Seiiorita's  white  barb 
arching  his  neck  till  his  muzzle  touched 
his  chest  under  the  pressure  of  the 
long  bit,  and  my  grandfather  pranc- 
ing somewhat  uneasily  on  his  hard- 
mouthed  Spanish  entero,  whose  nose 
was,  for  the  most  part,  projected  ho- 
rizontally in  the  air.  The  Major  was 
not  a  first-rate  seat — he  rode  with  a 
long  stirrup,  his  heel  well  down,  his 
leg  straight,  and  slanting  a  little  for- 
ward, body  upright,  and  elbows  back, 
as  may  be  seen  in  the  plates  to  ancient 
works  on  equitation — a  posture  im- 
posing enough,  but  not  safe  across 
country :  galloping  deranged  it  mate- 
rially, for  the  steed  was  hard-mouthed, 
and  required  a  long,  strong  pull,  with 
the  body  back,  and  a  good  purchase 
on  the  stirrups.  The  animal  had  a 
most  voracious  appetite,  quite  over- 
coming his  sense  of  what  was  due  to 
his  rider;  and,  on  seeing  a  tuft  of 
juicy  grass,  down  went  his  nose, 
drawing  my  grandfather,  by  means  of 
the  tight  reins,  well  over  the  pummel. 
On  these  occasions,  the  Major,  feeling 
resistance  to  be  in  vain,  would  sit 
looking  easily  about  him,  feigning  to 
be  absorbed  in  admiration  of  the  pros- 
pect— which  was  all  very  well,  where 
there  was  a  prospect  to  look  at,  but 
wore  a  less  plausible  appearance  when 
the  animal  paused  in  a  hollow  between 
two  hedges,  or  ran  his  nose  into  a 
barn-door.  But  whenever  this  hap- 
pened, Carlota,  instead  of  half-smo- 
thering a  laugh,  as  a  mischievous 
English  girl  would,  ten  to  one,  have 
done,  sat  most  patiently  till  the  Major 
and  his  steed  came  to  an  understand- 
ing, and  would  greet  him,  as  they 
moved  on  again,  with  a  good-natured 
smile,  that  won  her,  each  time,  a 
higher  place  in  his  estimation. 


1851.] 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


531 


Thus  they  proceeded  till  the  sun 
rose  high  in  the  heavens,  when,  on 
reaching  a  grove  on  the  edge  of  one 
of  the  plains,  they  halted  under  a  huge 
cork-tree,  near  which  ran  a  rivulet. 
The  cavalcade  dismounted — the  horses 
were  tethered,  the  mules  disburdened 
of  the  saddle-bags,  and  the  contents 
displayed  under  the  tree ;  horse-cloths 
and  cloaks  were  spread  around  on  the 
ground  and  a  fire  of  dry  sticks  was 
lit  on  the  edge  of  the  stream  with 
such  marvellous  celerity  that,  before 
my  grandfather  had  time  to  take  more 
than  a  hasty  survey  of  the  eatables, 
after  seating  himself  on  the  root  of  a 
tree,  a  cup  of  steaming  chocolate  was 
placed  in  his  hand. 

"  Confess,  Major,"  said  Garry, 
speaking  with  his  mouth  full  of  sau- 
sage, "  that  a  man  may  lose  some  of 
the  pleasures  of  existence  by  leading 
the  life  of  a  hermit.  Don't  you  feel 
grateful  to  me  for  dragging  you  out 
of  your  cobweb  to  such  a  pleasant 
place  as  this?" 

"  "Tis  an  excellent  breakfast,"  said 
my  grandfather,  who  had  just  assisted 
the  Seiiorita  Carlota  to  a  slice  of  tur- 
key's breast,  and  himself  to  an  entire  leg 
and  thigh — dividing  with  her,  at  the 
same  time,  a  crisp  white  loaf,  having 
a  handle  like  a  teapot  or  smoothing- 
iron—"  and  my  appetite  is  really  very 
good.  I  should  be  perfectly  easy  if  I 
could  only  understand  the  remarks  of 
this  very  agreeable  lady,  and  make 
suitable  replies." 

"  Let  me  interpret  your  senti- 
ments," said  Garry;  "and  though  I 
may  not  succeed  in  conveying  them  in 
their  original  force  and  poetry,  yet 
they  shall  lose  as  little  as  possible  in 
transmission.  Just  try  me  —  what 
would  you  wish  to  say?" 

"  Why,  really,"  said  my  grand- 
father, pondering,  "  I  had  a  great 
many  things  to  say  as  we  came  along, 
but  they've  gone  out  of  my  head.  Do 
you  think  she  ever  read  Shakspeare  ?" 

"  Not  a  chance  of  it,"  said  Owen. 

Here  the  Seiiorita  laughingly  ap- 
pealed to  Frank  to  know  what  my 
grandfather  was  saying  about  her. 

"  Ah,"  quoth  my  grandfather,  quot- 
ing his  friend  Shakspeare — 

"  '  I  understand  thy  looks — the  pretty  Spanish 
Which  thou  pourest  down  from  these  swell- 
ing heavens 
I  am  not  perfect  in ' 


She's  an  extremely  agreeable  woman, 
Frank,  I'll  be  sworn,  if  one  only 
understood  her,"  quoth  my  grand- 
father, casting  on  her  a  glance  full  of 
gallantry. 

The  Ensign  was  not  so  entirely  oc- 
cupied in  prosecuting  his  own  love 
affair  as  to  be  insensible  to  the  facili- 
ties afforded  him  for  amusing  himself 
at  the  Major's  expense.  Accordingly, 
he  made  a  speech  in  Spanish  to  Car- 
lota,  purporting  to  be  a  faithful  trans- 
lation of  my  grandfather's,  but  teem- 
ing, in  fact,  with  the  most  romantic 
expressions  of  chivalrous  admiration, 
as  was  apparent  from  the  frequent 
recurrence  of  the  words  "ojos,"  (eyes,) 
"  corazon,"  (heart,)  and  the  like  ama- 
tory currency. 

"There,  Major,"  said  the  inter- 
preter, as  he  finished ;  "  I  've  told  her 
what  you  said  of  her." 

The  Major  endorsed  the  compli- 
ments by  laying  his  hand  upon  his 
heart,  and  bowing  with  a  tender  air. 
Whereupon  Carlota,  laughing,  and 
blushing  a  deeper  red,  made  her  ac- 
knowledgments. 

"  She  says,"  quoth  Frank,  "  that 
she  knew  the  English  before  to  be  att 
gallant  nation;  but  that  if  all  the 
caballe'ros  (that's  gentlemen)  of  that 
favoured  race  are  equal  to  the  present 
specimen,  her  own  countrymen  must 
be  thrown  entirely  into  the  shade." 

"  Delightful ! "  cried  my  grand- 
father ;  but  it  is  doubtful  whether  this 
expression  of  pleasure  was  called  forth 
by  the  sentiments  attributed  to  the 
Seilorita,  or  by  the  crisp  succulent 
tenderness  of  a  mouthful  of  sucking- 
pig  which  was  at  that  moment  spread- 
ing itself  over  his  palate. 

Following  up  his  idea,  the  mis- 
chievous Ensign  continued  to  diversify 
the  graver  pursuit  of  prosecuting  his 
own  suit  with  Juana,  by  impressing 
Carlota  and  the  Major  with  the  idea 
that  each  was  favourably  impressed 
with  the  other.  In  this  he  was  toler- 
ably successful — the  speeches  he  made 
to  Carlota,  supposed  to  originate  with 
my  grandfather,  had  a  very  genuine 
warmth  about  them,  being,  in  fact, 
very  often  identical  with  those  he  had 
just  been  making,  under  immediate 
inspiration,  to  his  own  divinity;  while 
as  for  the  Major,  it  would  have  been 
an  insult  to  the  simplicity  of  that 
worthy  man's  nature  to  exert  any 


532 

great  ingenuity  in  deceiving  him ; 
it  would  have  been  like  setting  a  trap 
for  a  snail.  So  they  journeyed  on, 
highly  pleased  with  each  other,  and 
occasionally,  in  the  absence  of  their 
faithful  interpreter,  conversed  by 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


[Nov. 


means  of  smiles  and  courteous  ges- 
ticulations, till  my  grandfather  felt 
entirely  at  his  ease,  and  was 
almost  sorry  when  on  the  evening 
of  the  second  day  they  got  to 
Cadiz. 


CHAPTER  III. 


A  whole  city  full  of  people  con- 
densed into  one  broad  amphitheatre, 
all  bearing  a  national  resemblance  to 
each  other  in  countenance  and  cos- 
tume, all  apparently  animated  by  the 
same  spirit — for  nothing  could  be 
more  unanimous  than  the  applause 
which  greeted  a  favourite  smilingly 
crossing  the  arena,  the  abuse  which 
overwhelmed  an  object  offensive  to 
the  eye  of  the  many-headed,  or  the 
ridicule  which  descended  in  a  joyous 
uproarious  flood  on  the  hapless  indivi- 
dual in  whose  appearance,  dress,  or 
manner,  anything  was  detected  cal- 
culated to  appeal  to  the  highly- 
sensitive  risible  faculty  of  a  Spanish 
assembly; — a  gay  and  picturesque 
mixture  of  colours,  waving  and  toss- 
ing like  a  garden  in  a  breeze,  as  the 
masses  of  white  mantillas,  heads 
black  as  coal,  decorated  with  flowers 
and  green  leaves,  red  sashes,  tufted 
sombreros,  and  yellow  gaiters,  with 
here  and  there  a  blue- and- white 
soldier  standing  stiffly  up,  were,  agi- 
tated by  each  new  emotion — such  was 
the  scene  that  met  the  eyes  of  our 
travellers  on  entering  the  bull-ring  at 
Cadiz  before  the  sport  commenced. 

My  grandfather  had  made  his  entry 
in  spectacles — appendages  highly  pro- 
vocative of  the  public  mirth — and  had 
looked  wonderingly  for  a  minute  or 
two  through  the  obnoxious  glasses 
on  a  sea  of  faces  upturned,  sideturned, 
and  downturned,  all  looking  at  him, 
and  all  shouting  some  indistinguish- 
able chorus ;  while  the  men  beat  time, 
each  with  the  long,  forked,  painted 
stick,  without  which  no  Spaniard  pos- 
sessing sentiments  of  propriety  ever 
comes  to  a  bull-fight,  in  a  manner 
most  embarrassing  to  a  somewhat 
bashful  stranger,  till  their  attention 
was  luckily  diverted  to  an  unhappy 
man  in  a  white  hat,  in  derision  of 
whom  they  immediately  sang  a  song, 
the  burden  of  which  was  "  El  de 
sombrero  bianco,"  (he  of  the  white 


hat.)  the  multitude  conducting  itself 
throughout  like  one  man. 

My  grandfather  and  his  friends 
occupied  a  distinguished  position  in  a 
box  high  above  the  multitude,  and 
near  that  of  the  alcalde.  The  Senorita 
Juan  a  looked  more  lovely  than  ever 
in  a  white  dress,  over  which  flowed  a 
white  gauzy  mantilla,  giving  a  kind 
of  misty  indistinctness  to  the  wavy 
outlines  of  her  figure,  and  the  warm 
tint  of  her  neck  and  arms.  From  her 
masses  of  black  hair  peeped  one  spot 
of  vivid  white,  a  rosebud  ;  and  a  green 
plumy  leaf,  a  favourite  ornament 
with  Spanish  girls,  drooped,  bending, 
and  soft  as  a  feather,  on  one  side 
of  her  gold-and-tortoiseshell  comb. 
The  Major  sat  beside  Carlota,  who, 
naturally  frank,  and  looking  upon 
him  now  as  an  old  acquaintance, 
would  tap  his  arm  most  bewitchingly 
with  her  fan,  when  she  wanted  to 
direct  his  attention  to  any  object 
of  interest.  So  the  Major  sat  by  her, 
all  gallantry  and  smiles,  gazing  about 
him  with  wonder  through  the  double 
gold  eyeglass,  which  still,  in  spite  of 
the  late  expression  of  popular  feeling, 
bestrid  his  nose.  He  looked  with  the 
interest  of  a  child  at  everything — at 
the  faces  and  dresses  around  him, 
distinct  in  their  proximity,  and  at 
those,  confused  in  their  details  by 
distance,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
arena.  He  shared  in  the  distress  of 
an  unfortunate  person  (a  contractor 
for  bulls,  who  had  palmed  some  bad 
ones  on  the  public)  who  tried,  as  he 
walked  conspicuously  across  the  ring, 
to  smile  off  a  torrent  of  popular  exe- 
cration about  as  successfully  as  a 
lady  might  attempt  to  ward  off 
Niagara  with  her  parasol,  and  who 
was,  as  it  were,  washed  out  at  an 
opposite  door,  drenched  and  sodden 
with  jeers.  And  when  the  folding- 
gates  were  opened,  and  the  gay  pro- 
cession entered,  my  grandfather  gazed 
on  it  with  delight,  and  shouted 


1851.] 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


"  Bravo !"  as  enthusiastically  as  if  he 
had  been  a  habitual  frequenter  of 
bull-rings  from  his  earliest  youth. 
First  came  the  espadas  or  matadores, 
their  hair  clubbed  behind  like  a 
woman's,  dressed  in  bright- coloured 
jackets,  and  breeches  seamed  with 
broad  silver  lace,  white  stockings, 
shoes  fastened  with  immense  rosettes, 
and  having  their  waists  girt  with  silk 
sashes,  bearing  on  their  arms  the 
blood-coloured  cloaks  that  were  to 
lure  the  bull  upon  the  sword-point. 
Next  followed  the  chulos,  similarly 
attired;  then  the  picadores,  riding 
stiffly,  with  padded  legs,  on  their 
doomed  steeds ;  and  mules,  whose 
office  it  was  to  drag  off  the  dead  bulls 
and  horses,  harnessed  three  abreast 
as  in  classic  chariots,  and  almost 
hidden  under  a  mass  of  gay  housings, 
closed  the  procession.  Marching 
across  the  middle  of  the  ring  to  the 
alcalde's  box,  they  requested  permis- 
sion to  begin,  and,  it  being  granted, 
the  picadores  stationed  themselves  at 
equal  distances  from  each  other 
round  the  circumference  of  the  arena. 
Then,  at  a  signal  from  the  alcalde, 
two  trumpeters  in  scarlet,  behind  him, 
stood  up  and  sounded — a  man,  stand- 
ing with  his  hand  ready  on  a  bolt 
in  a  door  underneath,  drew  it,  and 
pulled  the  door  swiftly  back,  shutting 
himself  into  a  niche,  as  the  dark  space 
thus  opened  was  filled  by  the  formi- 
dable figure  of  a  bull,  who,  with  glanc- 
ing horns  and  tail  erect,  bounded  out, 
and,  looking  around  during  one  fierce 
brief  pause,  made  straight  at  the  first 
picador.  The  cavalier,  standing 
straight  in  his  stirrups,  his  lance 
tucked  firmly  under  his  arm,  fixed 
the  point  fairly  in  the  shoulder  of  the 
brute,  who,  never  pausing  for  that, 
straightway  upset  man  and  horse. 
Then  my  grandfather  might  be  seen 
stretching  far  over  the  front  of  his 
box,  his  eyes  staring  on  the  prostrate 
picador,  and  his  hands  clenched  above 
his  head,  while  he  shouted,  "  By  the 
Lord,  sir,  he'll  be  killed!"  And 
when  a  chulo,  darting  alongside,  waved 
his  cloak  before  the  bull's  eyes  and 
lured  him  away,  the  Major,  drawing 
a  long  breath,  turned  to  a  calm 
Spaniard  beside  him,  and  said,  u  By 
heaven,  sir,  'twas  the  mercy  of  Provi- 
dence!"— but  the  Spaniard,  taking 
his  cigar  from  his  mouth,  and  expel- 


533 

ling  the  smoke  through  his  nostrils, 
merely  said,  "  Bien  esta,"  ('tis  very 
well.)  Meanwhile,  the  bull  (who, 
like  his  predecessor  in  the  china-shop, 
seemed  to  have  it  all  his  own  way) 
had  run  his  horn  into  the  heart  of  a 
second  horse,  and  the  picador,  perceiv- 
ing from  the  shivering  of  the  wounded 
creature  that  the  hurt  was  mortal, 
dismounted  in  all  haste,  while  the 
horse,  giving  one  long,  blundering 
stagger,  fell  over  and  died,  and  was 
immediately  stript  of  his  accoutre- 
ments. This  my  grandfather  didn't 
like  at  all ;  but,  seeing  no  kindred 
disgust  in  the  faces  round  him,  he 
nerved  himself,  considering  that  it 
was  a  soldier's  business  to  look  on 
wounds  and  death.  He  even  be- 
held, with  tolerable  firmness,  the 
spectacle  of  a  horse  dashing  blindfold 
and  riderless,  and  mad  with  fear  and 
pain,  against  the  barrier — rebounding 
whence  to  the  earth  with  a  broken 
shoulder,  it  was  forced  again  on  its 
three  legs,  and  led  stumbling  from 
the  ring.  But  when  he  saw  another 
horse  raised  to  its  feet,  and,  all  ript 
open  as  it  was,  spurred  to  a  second 
assault,  the  Major,  who  hadn't  the  heart 
himself  to  hurt  a  fly,  could  stand  it 
no  longer,  but,  feeling  unwell,  retired 
precipitately  from  the  scene.  On 
reaching  the  door,  he  wrote  over  the 
same,  with  a  bit  of  chalk,  part  of  the 
speech  of  Henry  V.,  "  the  royal  imp  of 
fame,"  to  his  soldiers  at  Agincourt : — 

"  He  that  hath  not  stomach  for  the  fight, 
Let  him  depart " 

to  the  great  astonishment  of  the  two 
Spanish  sentries,  who  gazed  on  the 
words  as  if  they  contained  a  magical 
spell. 

Frank  sat  till  it  was  over — "played 
out  the  play."  Not  that  he  saw 
much  of  the  fight,  however ;  he  had 
eyes  and  speech  for  nothing  but 
Juana,  and  was  able  to  indulge  his 
penchant  without  interruption,  as  the 
little  Governor  took  great  interest  in 
the  fight,  and  the  lover  with  the  silver 
fishes  was  a  connoisseur  in  the  sport, 
and  laid  bets  on  the  number  of  horses 
that  each  particular  bull  would  kill 
with  great  accuracy.  So  the  Ensign 
had  it  all  his  own  way,  and,  being  by 
no  means  the  sort  of  person  to  throw 
away  this  or  any  other  opportunity 
with  which  fortune  might  favour  him, 


534 

got  on  quite  as  well,  probably,  as  you 
or  I  might  have  done  in  his  place. 

Leaving  Cadiz  next  morning,  they 
resumed  the  order  of  march  they  had 
adopted  in  coming  —  Don  Pablo 
riding,  as  before,  in  front  with  the 
knight  of  the  silver  fishes,  discussing 
with  him  the  incidents  of  the  bull- 
ring. The  old  gentleman,  though  very 
courteous  when  addressing  the  two 
Englishmen,  had  but  little  to  say  to 
them — neither  did  he  trouble  himself 
to  talk  much  to  the  ladies  ;  and  when 
he  did,  a  sharp  expression  would  some- 
times slip  out,  convincing  Owen  that 
he  was  something  of  a  domestic  ty- 
rant in  private — a  character  by  no 
means  inconsistent  with  the  blandest 
demeanour  in  public.  The  Ensign 
was  at  great  pains  to  encourage  the 
Major  to  be  gracious  to  Carlota. 
"  Get  a  little  more  tropical  in  your 
looks,  Major,"  he  would  say;  u  these 
Spanish  ladies  are  not  accustomed  to 
frigid  glances.  She's  desperately  in 
love  with  you — pity  she  can't  express 
what  she  feels  ;  and  she  mightn't  like 
to  trust  an  interpreter  with  her  sen- 
timents." 

"  Pooh,  nonsense,  boy,"  said  the 
Major,  colouring  with  pleasure,  "  she 
doesn't  care  for  aa  old  fellow  like  me." 

"  Doesn't  she? — see  what  her  eyes 
say — that's  what  I  call  ocular  demon- 
stration," quoth  the  Ensign.  "  If 
you  don't  return  it,  you're  a  stock,  a 
stone."  Then  he  would  say  some- 
thing to  Carlota,  causing  her  eyes  to 
sparkle,  and  canter  on  to  rejoin  Juana. 

It  was  genial  summer-time  with 
Carlota— she  had  passed  the  age  of 
maiden  diffidence,  without  having  at- 
tained that  of  soured  and  faded  spins- 
terhood.  She  had  a  sort  of  jovial 
confidence  in  herself,  and  an  easy  de- 
meanour towards  the  male  sex,  such 
as  is  seen  in  widows.  These  supposed 
advances  of  the  Major  were  accord- 
ingly met  by  her  rather  more  than 
half-way.  None  but  the  Major  was 
permitted  to  assist  her  into  the  saddle, 
or  to  receive  her  plump  form  descend- 
ing from  it.  None  but  the  Major  was 
beckoned  to  her  rein  when  the  path 
was  broken  and  perilous,  or  caught  on 
his  protecting  arm  the  pressure  of  her 
outstretched  hand,  when  her  steed 
stumbled  over  the  loose  pebbles.  None 
was  repaid  for  a  slight  courtesy  by  so 
many  warm,  confiding  smiles  as  he. 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


[Nov. 


These,  following  fast  one  on  another, 
began  to  penetrate  the  rusty  casing  of 
the  Major's  heart.  On  his  own  ground 
— that  is,  in  his  own  quarters — he 
could  have  given  battle,  successfully, 
to  a  score  of  such  insidious  enemies  : 
his  books,  his  flowers,  his  pipe,  his 
slippers,  and^a  hundred  other  Penates 
would  have  encircled  him  ;  but  here, 
with  all  his  strong  palisading  of  habit 
torn  up  and  scattered,  all  his  wonted 
trains  of  ideas  upset  and  routed  by 
the  novelty  of  situation  and  scenery, 
he  lay  totally  defenceless,  and  open  to 
attack.  The  circumstance  of  himself 
and  Carlota  being  ignorant  of  each 
other's  language,  far  from  being  an 
obstacle  to  their  mutual  good-will, 
rather  favoured  its  progress.  In  com- 
pany with  an  Englishwoman,  in  simi- 
lar circumstances,  my  grandfather 
would  have  considered  himself  bound 
to  entertain  her  with  his  conversation, 
and,  perhaps,  have  spoiled  all  by  try- 
ing to  make  himself  agreeable — it 
would  have  been  a  tax  on  the  patience 
of  both :  but  being  absolved  from 
any  such  duty  in  the  present  instance, 
he  could  without  awkwardness  ride 
onward  in  full  and  silent  communion 
with  his  own  thoughts,  and  enjoy  the 
pleasure  of  being  smiled  upon  without 
being  at  any  pains  to  earn  it. 

His  note- book,  containing  an  ac- 
count of  the  expedition,  which  I  have 
seen — and  whence,  indeed,  the  greater 
part  of  this  chronicle  is  gathered — ex- 
hibits, at  this  period  of  the  journey, 
sufficient  proof  that  the  Major  enjoyed 
this  new  state  of  being  extremely,  and 
felt  his  intellect,  his  heart,  and  his 
stomach  at  once  stimulated. 

"  Spain,"  says  my  grandfather,  in 
a  compendious  descriptive  sentence, 
"  is  a  country  of  garlicky  odours,  of 
dirty  contentment,  of  overburthened 
donkeys,  and  of  excellent  pork  ;  but  a 
fine  air  in  the  hills,  and  the  country 
much  sweeter  than  the  towns.  The 
people  don't  seem  to  know  what  com- 
fort is,  or  cleanliness,  but  are  never- 
theless very  contented  in  their  igno- 
rance. My  saddle  is  bad,  I  think, 
for  I  dismounted  very  sore  to-day. 
The  Seiiorita  mighty  pleasant  and 
gracious.  I  entertain  a  great  regard 
for  her — no  doubt  a  sensible  woman, 
as  well  as  a  handsome.  A  pig  to- 
day at  breakfast,  the  best  I  have 
tasted  in  Spain." 


1851.] 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


535 


The  desultory  style  of  the  compo- 
sition of  these  notes  prevents  me  from 
quoting  largely  from  them.  Statistics, 
incidents  of  travel,  philosophic  reflec- 
tions, and  the  state  of  his  digestive 
organs,  are  all  chronicled  indiscrimi- 
nately. But,  from  the  above  mixture 
of  sentiments,  it  will  be  perceived  that 
the  Major's  admiration  for  Carlota 
was  of  a  sober  nature,  by  no  means 
ardent  or  Quixotic,  and  pretty  much 
on  a  par  with  his  passion  .for  pig. 

This  was  far  from  being  the  case 
with  Garry,  who  became  more  and 
more  enamoured  every  hour.  The 
Spanish  lover  continued  to  conduct 
himself  as  if  he  had  been  married 
to  Juana  for  twenty  years,  never 
troubling  himself  to  be  particularly 
agreeable  or  attentive,  for  which 
obliging  conduct  Garry  felt  very 
grateful  to  him.  The  Major  had 
been  too  long  accustomed  to  witness 
Owen's  philanderings  to  see  anything 
peculiar  in  the  present  case,  till  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  a  little 
incident  he  accidentally  witnessed. 
After  the  last  halt  they  made  before 
reaching  Tarifa,  Garry  was,  as  usual, 


at  hand,  to  assist  Juana  to  her  saddle. 
The  strings  of  her  hat  were  untied, 
and  he  volunteered  to  fasten  them; 
and,  having  done  so,  still  retaining 
his  hold  of  the  strings,  he  glanced 
quickly  around,  and  then  drew  her 
blooming  face  towards  his  own  till 
their  lips  met — for  which  piece  of 
impudence  he  only  suffered  the  slight 
penalty  of  a  gentle  tap  with  her  whip. 
My  grandfather  discreetly  and  mo- 
destly withdrew  his  eyes,  but  he  was 
not  the  only  observer.  He  of  the 
silver  fishes  was  regarding  them  with 
a  fixed  look  from  among  some  neigh- 
bouring trees,  where  he  had  tethered 
his  horse.  Probably  the  Spaniard, 
with  all  his  indifference,  thought  this 
was  carrying  matters  a  little  too  far, 
for,  after  conversing  a  moment  with 
the  Governor,  he  took  his  place  at 
Juana's  side,  and  did  not  again  quit 
it  till  they  arrived  at  Tarifa.  Then 
both  he  and  the  Governor  took 
leave  of  our  travellers  with  a  cold 
civility,  defying  all  Garry's  attempts 
to  thaw  it,  and  seeming  to  forbid  all 
prospect  of  a  speedy  renewal  of  the 
acquaintance. 


CHAPTER   IT. 


At  the  inn,  that  night,  the  Major 
betook  himself  to  rest  early,  that  he 
might  be  ready  to  start  for  Gibraltar 
betimes  in  the  morning,  for  on  the 
following  day  their  leave  was  to  expire. 

He  had  slept  soundly  for  several 
hours,  when  he  was  awoke  by  Owen, 
who  entered  with  a  candle  in  his  hand. 
The  Major  sat  up  in  bed  and  rubbed 
his  eyes. 

"Time's up,  my  boy,  eh?"  said  he, 
withacavernousyawn.  "Ishould  have 
liked  another  hour  of  it,  but  it  can't 
be  helped,"  (preparing  to  turn  out.) 

"  I  didn't  want  to  spoil  your  rest 
last  night,"  said  Owen,  seating  him- 
self on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  u  so  I 
said  nothing  about  a  mishap  that  has 
occurred.  That  smuggling  villain, 
Francisco,  took  advantage  of  our  ab- 
sence to  fetch  a  contraband  cargo  in 
the  boat  from  Gibraltar,  and  has  been 
caught  in  attempting  to  run  it  here." 

u  God  bless  me,"  said  my  grand- 
father, "who  would  have  thought  it! 
— and  he  such  a  capital  cook!  But 
what's  to  be  done?  where's  the  boat?" 


"  The  boat  is,  for  the  present,  con- 
fiscated," said  Garry;  "  but  I  daresay 
the  Governor  would  let  us  have  it  in 
the  morning,  on  explaining,  and 
perhaps  release  Francisco,  with  the 
loss  of  his  cargo  ;  but — but — in  fact, 
Major,  I  don't  want  the  Governor  to 
know  anything  about  our  departure." 

My  grandfather  stared  at  him, 
awaiting  further  explanation. 

"Juana  looked  pale  last  night," 
said  the  Ensign  after  a  pause. 

The  Major  did  not  dispute  the  fact, 
though  he  could  not,  for  the  life  of 
him,  see  what  it  had  to  do  with  the 
subject. 

"She  never  liked  that  dingy  Spanish 
lover  of  hers,"  said  the  Ensign,  "  and 
her  father  intends  she  shall  marry 
him  in  a  monih.  'Twould  make  her 
miserable  for  life." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  my  grandfather, 
"  how  do  you  know  that?" 

"  She  told  me  so.  You  see,"  said 
Owen,  shading  the  candle  with  his 
hand,  so  that  my  grandfather  couldn't 
see  his  face,  and  speaking  hurriedly, 


536 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


[Nov. 


"  I  didn't  intend  we  should  start 
alone — in  fact — that  is — Juana  has 
agreed  to  fly  with  me  to  Gibraltar." 

"  Agreed  !  —  fly  ! "  — "gasped  my 
grandsire  :  "  what  an  extraordinary 
young  fellow !" 

"  She's  waiting  for  us  now,"  re- 
sumed Garry,  gathering  courage  after 
the  first  plunge  into  the  subject ;  "  we 
ought  to  be  off  before  daylight.  Oblige 
me,  my  dear  sir,"  (smiling  irresistibly,) 
u  by  getting  up  immediately." 

"And  how  are  we  to  get  away," 
asked  my  grandfather,  "supposing 
this  insane  scheme  of  yours  to  be 
attempted?" 

"  I've  bribed  the  sentry  at 
Francisco's  place  of  durance,"  re- 
turned the  Ensign.  "We  shall  get 
out  of  the  town  the  instant  the  gates 
are  opened ;  and  the  boat  is  tied  to 
the  steps,  as  before,  only  under  the 
charge  of  a  sentry  whom  we  can 
easily  evade.  Every  guarda  costa  in 
the  place  was  sent  out  last  night  to 
blockade  a  noted  smuggler  who  has 
taken  refuge  in  Tangier ;  so,  once  out, 
we  are  safe  from  pursuit :  I  found  it 
all  out  after  you  had  gone  to  bed." 

The  disposition  of  Major  Flinders, 
as  the  reader  knows,  was  the  reverse 
of  enterprising — he  wouldn't  have 
given  a  straw  to  be  concerned  in  the 
finest  adventure  that  ever  happened 
in  romance.  He  paused  with  one 
stocking  on,  inclined,  like  the  little 
woman  whose  garments  had  been 
curtailed  by  the  licentious  shears  of 
the  pedlar,  to  doubt  his  own  identity, 
and  wondering  if  it  could  be  really 
he,  John  Flinders,  to  whom  such  a 
proposition  was  broached,  requiring 
Lim  to  assist  in  invading  the  peace  of 
a  family.  As  soon  as  he  recovered 
his  powers  of  speech,  of  which 
astonishment  had  for  a  moment  de- 
prived him,  he  began  earnestly  to 
dissuade  the  Ensign  from  the  enter- 
prise ;  but  Owen  knew  his  man  too 
well,  and  had  too  much  youthful 
vivacity  of  will  to  allow  much  time 
for  remonstrance. 

"  Look  you,  Major,"  said  he,  "  I'm 
positive  I  can't  live  without  Juana. 
I'll  make  a  bold  stroke  for  a  wife.  The 
thing's  settled — no  going  back  now  for 
me;  and  I  shall  go  through  with  it  with 
or  without  yon.  But  you're  not  the 
man,  I'm  sure,  to  desert  a  fellow  in 
extremity,  at  a  time,  too,  when  the  ad- 


vantages of  your  experience  and  cool- 
ness are  so  peculiarly  needed.  '  Call 
you  that  backing  of  your  friends  ?'  " 

The  compliment,  or  the  quotation, 
or  both,  softened  the  Major.  " '  Would 
it  were  night,  Hal,  and  all  well,'  " 
said  he,  half  mechanically  following 
the  Falstaffian  train  of  ideas  Owen 
had  artfully  conjured  up,  and  at  the 
same  time  drawing  on  the  breeches 
which  that  astute  youth  obsequiously 
handed  to  him. 

It  was  still  dark  when  they  issued 
forth  into  the  narrow  and  dingy  streets 
of  Tarifa.  My  grandfather,  totally 
unaccustomed  to  visit  the  glimpses  of 
the  moon  in  this  adventurous  fashion, 
was  full  of  strange  fears — heard  as 
many  imaginary  suspicious  noises  and 
voices  as  Bunyan's  Pilgrim  in  the 
dark  valley — and  once  or  twice  stopt 
abruptly  and  grasped  Owen's  arm, 
while  he  pointed  to  a  spy  dogging 
them  in  the  distant  gloom,  who  turned 
out  to  be  a  door-post.  But  Owen  was 
now  in  his  element ;  no  tom-cat  in 
Tarifa  was  more  familiar  with  house- 
tops and  balconies  at  the  witching 
hour  than  he,  and  he  stepped  gaily  on. 
Presently  they  were  challenged  by  a 
sentry,  to  whom  Owen  promptly 
advanced  and  slipped  into  his  itching 
palm  a  doubloon,  when  the  trust- 
worthy warrior  immediately  turned 
upon  his  heel,  and,  walking  to  the 
extremity  of  his  post,  looked  with  great 
vigilance  in  the  opposite  direction. 

Owen  advanced  to  a  grated  window 
and  tapped.  Immediately  the  burly 
face  of  Francisco  showed  itself  thereat, 
his  white  teeth  glancing  merrily  in  a 
glimmer  of  moonshine.  A  bar,  pre- 
viously filed  through,  was  removed 
from  the  window,  and  Owen,  taking 
him  by  the  collar  to  assist  his  egress, 
drew  him  through  as  far  as  the  third 
button  of  his  waistcoat,  where  he 
stuck  for  a  moment ;  but  the  sub- 
stance was  elastic,  and  a  lusty  tug 
landed  him  in  the  middle  of  the  narrow 
street.  Receiving  Frank's  instruc- 
tions, given  in  a  hurried  whisper,  to 
go  at  once  to  where  the  boat  lay,  and 
cast  her  off,  ready  to  shove  off  on  the 
instant,  he  nodded  and  disappeared  in 
the  darkness,  while  Owen  and  the 
Major  made  for  the  Governor's  house. 

Arrived  near  it,  Owen  gave  a  low 
whistle  —  a  peculiar  one,  that  my 
grandfather  remembered  to  have 


1851.] 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


heard  him  practising  to  Juana  on  the 
previous  day— when,  to  the  unutter- 
able surprise  of  the  Major,  two  veiled 
figures  appeared  on  the  balcony. 

"Why,  Owen,  boy,  d'ye  see!" 
quoth  the  Major,  stuttering  with 
anxiety,  "who  can  the  other  be? — her 
maid,  eh?" — indistinct  stage  recol- 
lections of  intriguing  waiting- women 
dawning  on  him. 

"  Ahem  ! — why,  you  see,  Major," 
whispered  Owen,  "  she  wouldn't  come 
alone — couldn't  manage  it  at  all,  in 
fact,  without  the  knowledge  of  her 
aunt,  who  sleeps  in  the  next  room  ;  so 
I  persuaded  Carlota  to  come  too,  and 
gave  her  a  sort  of  half  promise  that 
you  would  take  care  of  her.'1'1  Here, 
wishing  to  cut  short  a  rather  awkward 
explanation,  he  ran  under  the  balcony 
— one  of  the  ladies  dropped  a  cord — 
and  Owen  producing  from  under  his 
coat  a  rope  ladder,  (he  had  sat  up  all 
night  making  it,)  attached  it,  and,  as 
soon  as  it  was  drawn  up,  ascended, 
motioning  to  my  astounded  grand- 
father to  keep  it  steady  below.  The 
Major,  after  a  moment's  desperate 
half-resolve  to  make  a  hasty  retreat 
from  the  perilous  incidents  which 
seemed  momentarily  to  thicken  round 
him,  and  leave  his  reckless  friend  to 
his  fate,  yielded  to  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances, and  did  what  was  re- 
quired of  him.  Then  Owen  lifted  the 
ladies,  one  after  the  other,  over  the 
railing  of  the  balcony,  and  they 
swiftly  descended.  First  came  Juana, 
who,  scarcely  touching  the  Major's 
offered  hand,  lit  on  the  pavement  like 
gossamer;  then  Carlota  descended, 
and  making,  in  her  trepidation,  a 
false  step  near  the  bottom,  came  so 
heavily  on  the  Major,  that  they  rolled 
together  on  the  stones.  By  the  time 
they  were  on  their  feet  again,  Owen 
had  slipped  down  the  ladder,  and, 
taking  Juana  under  his  arm,  set  off 
rapidly  towards  the  bay. 

If  anything  could  have  added  to  the 
Major's  discomfiture  and  embarrass- 
ment, it  would  have  been  the  pres- 
sure of  Carlota's  arm  on  his,  as  she 
hung  confidingly  on  him — a  pressure 
not  proceeding  from  her  weight  only, 
but  active,  and  with  a  meaning  in  it ; 
but  he  was  in  that  state  of  mental 
numbness  from  the  successive  shocks 
of  astonishment,  that,  as  with  a 
soldier  after  the  first  two  dozen,  any 

VOL.  LXX. —  NO.  CCCOXXXIII. 


537 

additional  laceration  passed  unheeded. 
He  was  embarked  in  an  adventure  of 
which  he  could  by  no  means  see  the 
end  ;  all  was  strange  and  dark  in  the 
foreground  of  his  future;  and  if  he 
had  been  at  that  moment  tried,  cast, 
and  condemned  for  an  imaginary 
crime,  he  would  have  been  too  apa- 
thetic to  say  anything  in  arrest  of 
judgment. 

Silently  and  swiftly,  as  a  forlorn 
hope,  they  passed  through  the  town 
and  along  the  sandy  causeway.    The 
succession  of  white  rolling  waves  on 
their  left,  where  extended   the  full 
breadth  of  the  Straits,  while  the  bay 
on  their  right  was   almost  smooth, 
showed  the  wind  to  be  still  against 
them ;  but  it  was  nowso  moderate  that 
they  might  safely  beat  up  for  the  Rock. 
Arrived   at   the  head  of  the  stairs 
leading  to  the  water,  they  paused  in 
the  angle  of  the  wall  to  reconnoitre. 
Francisco  was  lying  coiled  up  in  the 
head   of  the  boat,  his  hand  on  the 
rope,  ready  to  cast  her  loose,  and  the 
boat-hook  projecting  over  the  bow. 
Above  them,  and  behind  the  wall,  at 
a  little  distance,  they  could  hear  the 
measured  tread  of  the  sentry,   and 
catch  the  gleam  of  his  bayonet  as  he 
turned  upon  his  walk  :  a  few  vigorous 
shoves  would  carry  them  outside  the 
sea-wall  and  beyond  his  ken.    All 
depended  on  their  silence ;  and  like 
two    stealthy  cats    did    Owen    and 
Juana  descend  to  the  boat — the  Major 
and  Carlota  watching  the  success  of 
their  attempt  with  protruded  necks. 
Cautiously  did  Owen  stride  from  the 
last  stair  to  the  deck — cautiously  did 
he  transfer  Juana  to  the  bark,  and 
guide  her  aft.    The  Major  was  just 
preparing  to  follow,  when  a  noise  from 
the  boat  startled  him:    Juana  had 
upset    an    unlucky   wine-jar    which 
Francisco  had  left  there.    The  sentry 
put  his  head  over  the  wall,  and  chal- 
lenged ;  Francisco,  starting  up,  shoved 
hastily  off;  the  sentry  fired  his  piece, 
his  bullet  shattering  the  wine-jar  that 
had    caused    the    mischief.      Juana 
screamed,  Owen  swore  in  English, 
and  Francisco  surpassed  him  in  Span- 
ish.    There  was  no  time  to  return  or 
wait  for  the  other  pair,  for  the  guard 
was  alarmed  by  the  sentry's  shot,  and 
their  accoutrements  might  be  heard 
rattling  near  at  hand,  as  they  turned 
hastily  out.    Before  they  reached  the 

2M 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


538 

wall,  however,  the  boat  had  disap- 
peared. 

Major  Flinders  watched  it  till  it 
was  out  of  sight,  and,  at  first,  experi- 
enced a  feeling  of  despair  at  being 
thus  deprived  of  the  aid  of  Garry's 
boldness  and  promptitude,  and  left  to 
his  own  resources.  Presently,  how- 
ever, a  gleam  of  comfort  dawned  upon 
him  —  perhaps  Carlota  would  now 
abandon  the  enterprise,  and  he  should 
thus,  at  any  rate,  be  freed  from  the 
embarrassment  her  presence  occa- 
sioned him.  In  this  hope  he  was 
shortly  undeceived.  To  have  added 
the  shame  of  failure  and  exposure  to 
her  present  disappointment,  while  an 
opening  to  persevere  still  remained, 
did  not  suit  that  lady's  ardent  spirit ; 
and  whether  it  was  that  the  unscru- 
pulous Garry  had  really  represented 
the  Major  as  very  much  in  love,  or 
whether  such  an  impression  resulted 
from  her  own  lively  imagination,  she 
certainly  thought  her  companion 
would  be  as  much  chagrined  at  such 
a  denouement  as  herself.  She  dis- 
played a  prompt  decision  in  this 
emergency,  being,  indeed,  as  remark- 
able for  presence  as  the  Major  was 
for  absence  of  mind.  Taking  the 
Major's  arm,  she  caused  him  swiftly 
to  retrace  his  steps  with  her  to  the 
inn  where  he  had  slept.  As  they 
retreated,  they  heard  the  boom  of  a 
gun  behind  them,  fired,  doubtless, 
from  the  Point,  at  the  Fair  Unknown. 
At  Carlota's  orders,  a  couple  of  horses, 
one  with  a  side-saddle,  were  speedily 
at  the  inn- door;  they  mounted,  and, 
before  the  sun  was  yet  risen,  had 
issued  forth  from  the  gate  of  Tarifa, 
on  the  road  to  Gibraltar. 

The  Major  rode  beside  her  like  a 
man  in  a  dream — in  fact,  he  was 
partly  asleep,  having  been  deprived 
of  a  large  portion  of  his  natural  and 
accustomed  rest,  and  partly  be- 
wildered. A  few  days  before  he  had 
been  the  most  methodical,  unroman- 
tic,  not  to  say  humdrum,  old  bachelor 
in  his  Majesty's  service  ;  and  here  he 
was,  how  or  why  he  did  not  well 
know,  galloping  away  at  daybreak 
with  a  foreign  lady,  of  whose  existence 
he  had  been  ignorant  a  week  before, 
with  the  prospect  of  being  appre- 
hended by  her  relatives  for  her  ab- 
duction, and  by  the  Government  for 
assisting  in  the  escape  of,  a  smuggler. 


[Nov. 


When  at  length  roused  to  complete 
consciousness  by  the  rapidity  of  their 
motion,  he  positively  groaned  in 
anguish  of  spirit,  and  vowed  inter- 
nally that,  once  within  the  shelter  of 
his  own  quiet  quarters,  nothing  on 
earth  should  again  tempt  him  forth 
on  such  harum-scarum  expeditions. 

It  was  near  noon  when  they  reached 
AlgeQiras,  where  they  stopped  to 
breakfast,  both  of  them  rather  ex- 
hausted with  fatigue  and  hunger. 
This  town  stands  just  opposite  Gib- 
raltar, across  the  bay — the  road  they 
had  come  by  forms  the  base  of  a  tri- 
angle, of  which  Cabrita  Point  is 
the  apex,  the  bay  washing  one  side 
of  the  projecting  coast,  the  Straits  the 
other.  The  Major  was  reserved  and 
embarrassed  ;  there  was  a  tenderness 
about  Carlota's  manner  that  fright- 
ened him  out  of  his  usual  gallantry, 
and,  to  avoid  meeting  her  glance,  he 
looked  steadily  out  of  the  window  at 
the  rock  of  Gibraltar,  casting  wistful 
glances  at  the  spot  where  his  quarters 
lay  hidden  in  a  little  clump  of  foliage. 
Immediately  after  the  meal  he  quitted 
the  room,  on  pretence  of  looking  after 
the  horses.  He  determined  to  pro- 
tract their  stay  in  Algeciras  till  late 
in  the  afternoon,  that  they  might 
enter  Gibraltar  in  the  dusk,  and  thus 
avoid  awkward  meetings  with  eques- 
trian parties  from  the  garrison,  who 
would  then  be  hastening  homewards, 
in  order  to  be  in  before  gun-fire,  when 
the  gates  are  shut. 

On  returning,  still  out  of  temper, 
to  the  room  where  he  had  left  Car- 
lota,  he  found  her,  quite  overcome 
with  fatigue,  asleep  on  the  sofa.  Her 
head  was  thrown  a  little  back  on  the 
cushion  ;  her  lips  were  just  parted, 
and  she  looked  in  her  sleep  like  a 
weary  child.  The  Major  approached 
on  tiptoe,  and  stood  regarding  her. 
His  ill-humour  melted  fast  into  pity. 
He  thought  of  all  her  kindness  to  him, 
and,  by  a  sudden  soft-hearted  im- 
pulse, took  gently  one  of  her  hands 
projecting  over  the  side  of  the  sofa. 
Carlota  opened  her  eyes,  and  squeezed 
the  hand  that  held  hers  ;  whereupon 
the  Major  suddenly  quitted  his  hold, 
and,  retreating  with  great  discompo- 
sure to  the  window,  did  not  venture 
to  look  at  her  again  till  it  was  time  to 
resume  their  journey. 

At  a  little  distance  from  Alge9iras 


1851.] 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


is  the  river  Palmones,  called  by  the 
English  the  Second  River.  This  was 
crossed  by  a  floating  bridge,  pulled 
from  shore  to  shore  by  a  ferryman 
warping  on  a  rope  extended  across. 
They  had  just  reached  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  stream,  when  Carlota 
noticed  two  horsemen  galloping  fast 
along  the  road  they  had  just  traversed. 
A  second  glance  showed  them  to  be 
Don  Pablo  and  the  lover  of  Juana. 
The  first  inquiries  of  the  Governor 
had  led  him  to  suppose  that  all  had 
escaped  in  the  boat,  and  it  was  not 
till  some  time  after  that  he  had  learned 
the  true  state  of  affairs. 

The  fugitives  now  hastened  on  in 
earnest,  and  roused  their  horses  to  a 
steady  gallop,  never  pausing  till  they 
reached  the  Guadaranque,  or  First 
River,  about  a  mile  nearer  Gibraltar 
than  the  other,  and  furnished  with  a 
similar  bridge.  The  delay  of  the  pur- 
suers at  the  former  ferry  had  thrown 
them  far  in  rear ;  and  my  grandfather, 
inspired  by  the  imminence  of  the 
peril,  now  conceived  a  bright  idea — 
the'  brightest,  probably,  that  ever 
flashed  upon  him — by  executing  which 
they  might  effectually  distance  their 
pursuers.  Dropping  his  glove  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  shore,  he  sent 
the  ferryman  to  fetch  it,  and  then 
pushed  off,  (Carlota  having  already 
embarked,)  and  warped  the  bridge  to 
the  opposite  bank,  heedless  of  the 
frantic  gesticulations  of  the  proprietor, 
who  screamed  furiously  after  them  to 
stop.  When  he  reached  the  opposite 
side,  he  took  out  his  pocket-knife  and 
deliberately  cut  the  rope.  Having 
thus,  as  it  were,  blown  up  the  com- 
munication in  his  rear,  my  grand- 


539 

father,  without  the  loss  of  his  bag- 
gage, continued  his  retreat  to  the 
fortress  ;  while  the  little  Governor, 
who  galloped  up  just  as  they  were 
disappearing,  was,  like  Lord  Ullin, 
left  lamenting. 

The  sun  was  already  declining,  and 
threw  their  shadows  far  before  them 
on  the  sands,  as  they  rode  along  the 
beach  close  to  the  water.  The  bay  at 
this  inner  extremity  makes  a  great 
circular  sweep — radii  drawn  from  the 
rock  to  different  distant  points  of  the 
arc  would  be  almost  equal  ;  and  for 
half  an  hour  they  continued  to  see 
Gibraltar  at  nearly  the  same  distance 
to  the  right  and  in  front  of  them, 
holding  itself  aloof  most  provokingly. 
Twilight  descended  as  they  passed  the 
Spanish  lines  and  entered  on  the 
Neutral  Ground.  The  Major  glanced 
anxiously  at  his  watch  — in  a  few 
minutes  the  gun  from  Middle  Hill 
would  give  the  signal  for  shutting  the 
gates,  and  doom  them  irretrievably  to 
return  into  Spain  for  the  night.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  Major  Flin- 
ders really  punished  his  horse,  lifting 
the  tired  beast  along  with  whip  and 
rein.  Carlota's  kept  easily  beside  him 
under  her  lighter  weight,  and  they 
rapidly  neared  the  barrier.  Just  as 
they  passed  it,  a  stream  of  flame  shot 
from  the  rock,  illumining  objects  like 
a  flash  of  lightning; — then  came  the 
heavy  report  of  the  gun  —  another 
minute  and  the  drawbridge  at  Land- 
port  would  be  lifted ;  but  they  were 
upon  it.  They  dashed  across  some- 
what in  the  style  of  Marmion  quitting 
Douglas's  castle,  "  just  as  it  trem- 
bled on  the  rise,"  and  were  safe  in 
Gibraltar. 


CHAPTER  V. 


After  life's  fitful  fever,  the  Major 
did  not  sleep  well.  He  had  left 
Carlota  comfortably  established  at 
the  inn ;  and  he  now  lay  nervously 
thinking  how  his  embarrassment  with 
regard  to  her  was  to  terminate,  espe- 
cially if  Owen  did  not  shortly  make 
his  appearance.  Then  he  was  worried 
by  doubts  as  to  the  fate  of  the  Fair 
Unknown  and  her  passengers.  They 
might  have  been  recaptured,  as 
escaped  smugglers,  by  a  guarda  costa 
—  they  might  be  detained  in  the 


Straits  by  adverse  winds  or  calms — 
they  might  have  run  ashore  into  some 
bay,  and  come  on  overland.  This  last 
supposition  haunted  him  most  perti- 
naciously, and  he  resolved  to  go  up 
the  rock  as  soon  as  it  should  be  day- 
light to  look  out  for  them  along  the 
road  from  Spain.  He  lay  tossing 
restlessly  till  the  morning  gun  gave 
the  signal  of  the  approach  of  dawn, 
and  before  the  echoes  died  away  he 
had  his  breeches  on. 

Night  was  at  odds  with  morning 


540 

when  my  grandfather,  with  a  teles- 
cope under  his  arm,  sallied  forth  and 
began  the  ascent.  Silence  was  over 
the  rock,  except  an  occasional  sighing 
of  a  remnant  of  night  wind  that  had 
lost  itself  among  the  crags.  At  first, 
the  only  clear  outline  visible  was  that 
of  the  rugged  edge  of  the  rock  above 
against  the  colourless  sky  ;  but  as  he 
toiled  up  the  steep  zig-zag  path,  the 
day  kept  pace  with  him — each  moment 
threw  a  broader  light  on  the  scene — 
blots  of  shadow  became  bushes  or 
deep  fissures,  and  new  shapes  of  stone 
glided  into  view.  The  only  symptoms 
of  animal  life  that  he  beheld  were  a 
rabbit  that  fled  silently  to  his  hole, 
and  a  great  white  vulture  that,  startled 
from  his  perch  on  a  grey  crag,  sailed 
slowly  upward  on  his  black- tipped 
wings,  circling  higher  and  higher,  till 
his  breast  was  crimsoned  by  the  yet 
unrisen  sun. 

The  path  led  diagonally  to  the 
summit ;  and,  turning  a  sharp  level 
corner,  my  grandfather  looked  per- 
pendicularly down  on  the  Mediterra- 
nean, whose  lazy  waves,  sending  up  a 
gentle  murmur,  rippled  far  below 
him.  On  his  left,  also  steep  down 
below  him,  was  the  Neutral  Ground, 
level  as  the  sea  itself,  extending 
northward  into  sandy  plains,  abruptly 
crossed  by  tumbled  heaps  of  brown 
mountains.  A  reddening  of  the  sky 
showed  that  the  sun  was  at  hand; 
and  presently  the  glowing  disk  came 
swiftly  up  from  behind  the  eastern 
hills  ;  the  pale  earth  shared  in  the 
ruddiness  of  the  sky,  and  a  long  rosy 
gleam  swept  gradually  over  the 
breadth  of  the  grey  sea,  like  an  un- 
willing smile  spreading  itself  from  a 
man's  lips  to  his  eyes  and  forehead. 

Conspicuous  on  the  highest  point  in 
the  landscape  stood  my  grandfather, 
panting  with  his  exertions  as  he  wiped 
his  forehead.  After  standing  for  a 
moment,  bronzed  in  front  like  a  smith 
at  the  furnace,  face  to  face  with  the 
sun,  he  turned  and  swept  with  his 
telescope  the  road  into  Spain.  Early 
peasants,  microscopic  as  ants,  were 
bringing  their  fruits  and  vegetables 
into  the  fortress — a  laden  mule  or 
two  advanced  along  the  beach  over 
which  the  Major  had  last  night  gal- 
loped —  but  nothing  resembling  what 
he  sought  was  in  sight.  Then  turning 
completely  round,  with  his  face  to  the 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


[Nov. 


path  he  had  just  ascended,  he  gave  a 
long  look  towards  the  Straits  ;  and 
as  he  did  so,  the  wind,  which  had 
shifted  to  the  south-west  towards 
morning,  blew  gently  on  his  face.  A 
sail  or  two  was  discernible  in  the  dis- 
tance, outward  bound,  but  nothing 
resembling  the  cutter.  As  the  Major 
looked,  a  signal  was  made  from 
Cabrita,  and  directly  two  feluccas 
left  their  station  at  Al^iras,  and 
swooped  out,  like  two  white  birds,  as 
if  to  intercept  some  bark  yet  hidden 
by  the  Point.  Again  my  grandfather 
looked  out  to  the  Strait,  and  pre- 
sently a  small  white  sail  came  in 
sight  near  Cabrita.  For  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  he  stood  steadily,  with 
levelled  telescope,  and  then  he  was 
almost  sure— yes,  he  could  swear — 
that  he  saw  the  small  English  ensign 
relieved  against  the  sail ;  and  above, 
at  the  mast-head,  the  yellow-striped 
flag  that  Francisco  hoisted  before  as 
the  mark  of  a  yacht.  It  was  the 
Fair  Unknown — and  my  grandfather 
at  once  comprehended  that  the  pur- 
suers, whom  he  had  escaped  the  night 
before,  had,  on  returning  to  Alge9'iras, 
made  arrangements  for  her  capture  as 
soon  as  she  should  appear. 

The  breeze  was  on  her  beam,  and 
much  fresher  with  her  than  farther  in 
the  bay,  so  that  the  feluccas  steered 
slantingly  across  her  course  as  she 
made  for  the  rock.  They  held  on 
thus,  the  pursuers  and  pursued,  till 
within  a  mile  of  each  other,  when  the 
cutter  suddenly  altered  her  course  to 
one  nearly  parallel  with  that  of  the 
feluccas.  The  latter,  however,  now 
gained  fast  upon  her,  and  presently  a 
puff  of  smoke  from  the  bow  of  the 
foremost  was  followed  by  the  report 
of  a  gun.  My  grandfather  could  look 
no  longer  through  his  glass,  for  his 
hand  shook  like  a  reed,  but  began, 
with  huge  strides  more  resembling 
those  of  a  kangaroo  than  a  quiet 
middle-aged  gentleman,  to  descend 
the  rock.  Breathless,  he  reached  his 
quarters,  had  his  horse  saddled  and 
brought  out,  and  galloped  off  towards 
Enropa. 

Europa  Point  is  at  the  southern  ex- 
tremity of  the  rock,  and  commands 
at  once  the  entrance  of  the  bay  and 
the  passage  of  the  Straits.  The  road 
to  it  from  the  north,  where  the  Major 
was  quartered,  affords,  for  the  most 


1851.] 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


541 


part,  a  view  of  the  bay.  Many  an 
anxious  glance  did  he  cast,  as  he  sped 
along,  at  the  state  of  affairs  on  the 
water.  The  feluccas  fired  several 
shots,  but  all  seemed  to  fall  wide,  and 
were  probably  intended  only  to 
frighten  the  chase,  out  of  consideration 
for  her  fair  freight.  Still,  however, 
the  English  colours  floated,  and  still 
the  cutter  held  her  course. 

Some  artillerymen  and  an  officer 
were  assembled  at  the  Point  as  the 
Major  galloped  up. 

"  Can't  you  fire  at  'em,"  said  he,  as 
he  drew  up  beside  the  battery. 

11  Too  far  off,"  said  the  Lieutenant, 
rising  from  the  parapet  on  which  he 
was  leaning,  and  showing  a  drowsy 
unshaven  countenance;  "we  should 
only  frighten  them." 

"By  heavens!"  said  my  grand- 
father, "  'tis  horrible.  I  shall  see  the 
boy  taken  before  my  eyes !" 

"Boy!"  quoth  the  Lieutenant, 
wondering  what  particular  interest 
the  Major  could  take  in  the  smuggler. 
"What  boy?" 

"  Why,  Owen  of  ours — he's  running 
away  with  a  Spanish  lady." 

"  The  devil !"  cried  the  Lieutenant, 
jumping  down.  "  What,  Garry 
Owen  ! — we  must  try  a  long  shot. 
Pull  those  quoins  out,"  (to  a  gunner.) 
"  Corporal,  lay  that  gun  ;  a  dollar  if 
you  hit  the  felucca.  I'll  try  a  shot 
with  this  one."  So  saying,  he  laid 
the  thirty- two  pounder  next  him  with 
great  care. 

"Fire!"  said  he,  jumping  on  the 
parapet  to  see  the  effect  of  the  shot. 
At  the  second  rebound  it  splashed 
under  the  bows  of  the  leading  felucca, 
which  still  held  on.  She  was  now 
scarcely  three  hundred  yards  from  the 
cutter. 

.  "  Why,  d— n  their  impudence  ! " 
muttered  the  Lieutenant,  on  seeing 
his  warning  pass  unheeded,  "they 
won't  take  a  hint.  Corporal,  let 
drive  at  'em." 

The  Corporal  earned  his  dollar. 
The  shot  went  through  the  side  of  the 
felucca,  on  board  of  which  all  was 
presently  confusion  ;  in  a  few  minutes 
it  was  apparent  she  was  sinking. 
The  other,  abandoning  the  chase, 
went  to  the  assistance  of  her  consort, 
lifting  the  crew  out,  some  of  whom 
were  evidently  hurt. 

"  A  blessed  shot ! "  cried  my  grand- 


father, giving  the  lucky  Corporal  a 
bit  of  gold;  "but  I'm  glad  they're 
picking  up  the  crew." 

The  cutter  instantly  stood  in  for  the 
harbour,  and  half  an  hour  afterwards 
the  Major  bade  his  young  friend  and 
Juana  welcome  to  Gibraltar. 

Carlota  was  beside  herself  with  joy 
at  seeing  the  wanderers  safe.  She 
first  cast  herself  upon  Juana,  and  cried 
over  her ;  then  embraced  the  Ensign, 
who  made  no  scruple  of  kissing  her ; 
lastly,  threw  herself  tenderly  upon 
the  Major,  who  gazed  over  her  head 
as  it  lay  on  his  shoulder  with  a  dis- 
mayed expression,  moving  his  arms 
uneasily,  as  if  he  didn't  know  what 
he  was  expected  to  do  with  them. 
Every  moment  it  was  becoming 
clearer  to  him  that  he  was  a  compro- 
mised man,  no  longer  his  own  pro- 
perty. On  his  way  through  the  streets 
that  morning  he  had  passed  a  knot  of 
officers,  one  of  whom  he  overheard 
describing  "  Old  Flinders  "  as  "  a  sly 
old  boy,"  for  that  he  "had  run  away 
with  a  devilish  handsome  Spaniard — 
who  would  have  thought  it  ?  "  "  Ay, 
who  indeed!"  groaned  the  Major, 
internally.  But  the  seal  was  put  to 
his  doom  by  the  Colonel,  who,  when 
he  'went  to  report  himself,  slapped 
him  on  the  shoulder,  and  congratu- 
lated him  on  his  happiness.  "  Fine 
woman,  I  hear,  Flinders — didn't  give 
you  credit  for  such  spirit — hope  you'll 
be  happy  together."  The  Major, 
muttering  an  inarticulate  denial, 
hastily  retreated,  and  from  that  mo- 
ment surrendered  himself  to  his  fate 
an  unresisting  victim. 

About  dusk  that  night,  Owen  came 
to  him. 

"  By  heavens !"  the  Ensign  began, 
throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  "  I'm 
the  most  unlucky  scoundrel !  No- 
thing goes  right  with  me.  I  promised 
myself  that  this  should  be  my  wed- 
ding-night— and  here  I  am,  as  forlorn 
a  bachelor  as  ever." 

"  What  has  gone  wrong  ?  "  inquired 
my  grandfather,  removing  his  pipe 
from  his  mouth. 

"  I  pressed  her  with  all  my  elo- 
quence," said  Owen ;  "  reminded  her 
of  her  promise  to  marry  me  the  day 
we  should  arrive  here — of  the  neces- 
sity of  caring  for  her  reputation,  after 
leaving  her  father's  house  and  coming 
here  under  my  protection,"  (here  my 


542 


A  Legend  of  Gibraltar. 


[Nov. 


grandfather  winced ;)  "  talked,  in 
fact,  like  an  angel  who  had  been  bred 
a  special  pleader — yet  it  was  all  of 
no  use." 

"  Deliberating  about  marriage  I " 
said  the  Major,  "  after  leaving  her 
father  and  lover  for  you !  What  gnat 
can  she  be  straining  at,  after  swallow- 
ing a  camel  of  such  magnitude  ?  " 

"  A  piece  of  female  Quixotry," 
returned  Owen.  u  She  says  she  can't 
think  of  such  selfishness  as  being 
comfortably  married  herself,  while 
Carlota  is  so  unhappy,  and  her  fate 
so  unsettled."  Here  he  made  a  sig- 
nificant pause ;  but  my  grandfather 
was  immovably  silent,  only  glancing 
nervously  at  him,  and  smoking  very 
hard. 

"  In  fact,  she  protests  she  won't 
hear  of  marrying  me,  till  you  have 
settled  when  you  will  marry  Carlota." 

"  Marry  Carlota  ! "  gasped  the 
Major  in  an  agonised  whisper. 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say 
you're  not  going  to  marry  her!" 
exclaimed  the  Ensign,  throwing  a 
vast  quantity  of  surprise  into  his 
expressive  countenance. 

"  Why — why,  what  should  I  marry 
her  for?"  stammered  the  Major. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  said  Garry,  "here 
will  be  pleasant  news  for  her  1  Curse 
me  if  I  break  it  to  her." 

"  But  really,  now,  Frank,"  the 
Major  repeated  —  "  marriage,  you 
know — why,  I  never  thought  of  such 
a  thing." 

"  You're  the  only  person  that  hasn't 
then,"  rejoined  Owen.  "  Why,  what 
can  the  garrison  think,  after  the  way 
you  smuggled  her  in ;  what  can  she  her- 
self think,  after  all  your  attentions  ?" 

"Attentions,  my  dear  boy; — the 
merest  civility." 

"  Oh, — ah !  'twas  civility,  I  sup- 
pose, to  squeeze  her  hand  in  the  inn 
at  AlgeQiras,  in  the  way  she  told 
Juana  of— and  heaven  knows  what 
else  you  may  have  done  during  the 
flight.  Juana  is  outrageous  against 
you — actually  called  you  a  vile  de- 
ceiver ;  but  Carlota's  feeling  is  more 
of  sorrow  than  of  anger.  She  is  per- 
suaded that  nothing  but  your  igno- 
rance of  Spanish  has  prevented  your 
tongue  from  confirming  what  your 
looks  have  so  faithfully  promised.  I 
was  really  quite  affected  to-day  at 
the  appealing  look  she  cast  on  me 


after  you  left  the  room  ;  she  evidently 
expected  me  to  communicate  her 
destiny." 

My  grandfather  smoked  hard. 

"  Lots  of  fellows  would  give  their 
ears  for  such  a  wife,"  pursued  the 
Ensign.  "  Lovelace,  the  Governor's 
aide-de-camp,  bribed  the  waiter  of  the 
hotel  to  lend  him  his  apron  to-  day,  at 
dinner,  that  he  might  come  in  and 
look  at  her — swears  she's  a  splendid 
woman,  and  that  he'd  run  away  with 
such  another  to-morrow." 

Still  my  grandfather  smoked  hard, 
but  said  nothing,  though  there  was  a 
slight  gleam  of  pride  in  his  coun- 
tenance. 

"Poor  thing!"  sighed  Garry. 
"  All  her  prospects  blighted  for  ever. 
Swears  she  never  can  love  another." 

At  this  my  grandfather's  eyes  grew 
moist,  and  he  coughed  as  if  he  had 
swallowed  some  tobacco-smoke. 

"  And  as  for  me,  to  have  Juana  at 
my  lips,  as  it  were,  and  yet  not  mine 
— for  she's  as  inflexible  as  if  she'd 
been  born  a  Mede  and  Persian — to 
know  that  you  are  coming  between 
me  and  happiness  as  surely  as  if  you 
were  an  inexorable  father  or  a  cruel 
guardian — worse,  indeed;  for  those 
might  be  evaded.  Major,  major,  have 
you  no  compassion  ! — two  days  of  this 
will  drive  me  crazy." 

The  Major  changed  his  pipe  from  his 
right  hand  to  his  left,  and,  stretching 
the  former  across  the  table,  sympa- 
thetically pressed  that  of  the  Ensign. 

"  Do,  Major,"  quoth  Garry,  chang- 
ing his  flank  movement  for  a  direct 
attack — "  do  consent  to  make  yourself 
and  me  happy;  do  empower  me  to 
negotiate  for  our  all  going  to  church 
to-morrow."  (My  grandfather  gave 
a  little  jump  in  his  chair  at  this,  as  if 
he  were  sitting  on  a  pin.)  "  I'll 
manage  it  all ;  you  shan't  have  the 
least  trouble  in  the  matter." 

My  grandfather  spoke  not. 

"  Silence  gives  consent,"  said  the 
Ensign,  rising.  "  Come,  now,  if  you 
don't  forbid  me,  I'll  depart  on  my 
embassy  at  once  ;  you  needn't  speak, 
I'll  spare  your  blushes.  I  see  this 
delay  has  only  been  from  modesty,  or 
perhaps  a  little  ruse  on  your  part. 
Once,  twice,  thrice, — I  go."  And  he 
vanished. 

The  Major  remained  in  his  chair, 
in  the  same  posture.  His  pipe  was 


1851.] 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


543 


smoked  out,  but  he  continued  to  suck 
absently  at  the  empty  tube.  His  be- 
wilderment and  perturbation  were  so 
great  that,  though  he  sat  up  till  two 
in  the  morning,  during  which  time  he 
smoked  eleven  pipes,  and  increased 
the  two  glasses  of  grog  with  which  he 
was  accustomed  to  prepare  for  his 
pillow  to  four,  he  was  still,  when  he 
went  to  bed,  as  agitated  as  ever. 

In  this  state  of  mind  he  went  to  the 
altar,  for  next  day  a  double  ceremony 
was  performed,  making  Owen  happy 
with  Juana,  and  giving  Carlota  a 
husband  and  me  a  grandfather.  The 
Major  was  more  like  a  proxy  than  a 
principal  in  the  affair;  for  Owen, 
taking  the  entire  management  upon 
himself,  left  him  little  more  to  do  than 
to  make  the  necessary  responses. 

Carlota  made  a  very  good-tempered, 
quiet,  inobtrusive  helpmate,  and  con- 
tinued to  be  fond  of  her  spouse  even 
after  he  was  a  gray-headed  colonel. 
My  grandfather,  though  credulous  in 
most  matters,  could  with  difficulty  be 
brought  to  consider  himself  married. 
He  would  sometimes  seem  to  forget 
the  circumstance  for  a  whole  day 
together,  till  it  came  to  be  forced  on 
his  recollection  at  bed-time.  And 
when,  about  a  year  after  his  marriage, 
a  new-born  female  Flinders  (now  my 
venerable  aunt)  was  brought  one 
morning  by  the  nurse  for  his  inspec- 
tion and  approval,  he  gazed  at  it  with 


a  puzzled  air,  and  could  not  be  con- 
vinced that  he  was  actually  in  the 
presence  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood, 
till  he  had  touched  the  cheek  of  his 
first-born  with  the  point  of  his  tobacco- 
pipe,  removed  from  his  mouth  for  that 
purpose,  making  on  the  infant's  coun- 
tenance a  small  indentation. 

The  little  Governor,  Don  Pablo, 
was  subsequently  induced  to  forgive 
his  relatives,  and  frequent  visits  and 
attentions  were  interchanged,  till  the 
commencement  of  the  siege  put  a  stop 
to  all  intercourse  between  Gibraltar 
and  Spain. 

I  have  often,  on  a  summer's  even- 
ing, sat  looking  across  the  bay  at  a 
gorgeous  sunset,  and  retracing  in  ima- 
gination the  incidents  I  have  related. 
My  grandfather's  establishment  was 
broken  up  during  the  siege  by  the 
enemy's  shells,  but  a  similar  one  now 
stands  on  what  I  think  must  have 
been  about  the  site  of  it.  The  world 
has  changed  since  then  ;  but  Spain  is 
no  land  of  change ;  and,  looking  on 
the  imperishable  outline  of  the  Anda- 
lucian  hills,  unaltered,  probably,  since 
a  time  to  which  the  period  of  my  tale 
is  but  as  yesterday,  it  is  easy  for  me 
to  "  daff  aside  "  the  noisy  world  with- 
out, and,  dropping  quietly  behind  the 
age,  to  picture  to  myself  my  old- 
fashioned  grandfather  issuing  forth 
from  yonder  white- walled  town  of 
Alge9iras  with  his  future  bride. 


GERMAN  LETTERS  FROM  PARIS. 


GERMAN  Professors  are  altered 
men  since  those  joyous  days  when  we 
drank  chopines  and  swang  the 
schlaeger  in  the  thirsty  and  venerable 
University  of  Saxesaufenberg.  We 
remember  them  studious  bookworms, 
uneasy  when  removed  from  library 
and  lecture-room,  their  meerschaum 
their  only  passion,  knowledge  their 
sole  ambition,  beholding  the  external 
world  through  "  the  loopholes  of 
retreat," — the  said  embrasures  being 
considerably  obscured  by  tobacco- 
smoke  and  misty  philosophy.  Such 
is  the  portrait  our  memory  has  pre- 
served of  them;  and  we  doubt  not 


that  its  fidelity  will  be  recognised  by 
our  brother-burschen  of  bygone  days. 
But  great  has  been  the  change.  The 
quality  of  a  German  professor  now 
suggests  the  idea  of  a  red-hot  demo- 
crat, fanning  revolution,  pining  in 
prison,  or  fugitive  in  foreign  lands. 
The  smoking- cap  is  exchanged  for  the 
bonnet  rouge,  and  the  silence  of  the 
sage  for  the  clamour  of  the  dema- 
gogue. This  may  not  be  true  of  all, 
perhaps  not  even  of  a  majority, 
but  it  is  true  of  a  pretentious  and 
prominent  minority.  The  busy, 
bustling  multitude  knows  nothing  of 
the  others. 


Zwei  Monate  in  Paris.  Von  ADOLPH  STAHR.   Two  Vols.    Oldenburg  :  Schulzesohen 
Buchhandlung.    London  :  Williams  and  Norgate,  1851. 


544 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


[Nov. 


Professor  Stahr,  of  the  University 
of  Oldenburg,  is  a  gentleman  chiefly 
remarkable  for  his  democratic  tenden- 
cies, and  for  the  fluent  correctness  of 
his  literary  style.  Few  men  write 
better  German,  or  profess  doctrines 
more  revolutionary.  His  reputation 
as  a  literary  man  rests  principally 
upon  a  work  on  Italy,  published 
after  a  twelvemonth's  residence  in 
that  country.  *  As  a  critic  of  fine 
art,  he  is  not  without  merit.  As 
a  politician  he  is  wild  and  specu- 
lative. The  revolutionary  coterie  to 
which  he  belongs  reckons  amongst 
its  members  Fanny  Lewald,  the  lively 
Hebrew  socialist,  and  Moritz  Hart- 
mann,  the  bitter  radical.  Both  of 
these,  especially  the  former,  are  his 
intimate  friends,  and  appear  to  have 
been  his  constant  companions  during 
two  months  of  last  autumn,  spent  by 
him  in  Paris,  and  which  have  given 
occasion  and  a  title  to  his  latest  book. 
With  Mr  Hartmann  he  forgathered 
at  Brussels,  early  in  the  month  of 
September,  and  together  they  pro- 
ceeded southwards.  In  consideration 
of  Professor  Stahr's  acknowledged 
abilities,  we  will  not  apply  to  him 
a  common  rule,  and  judge  him  by  the 
company  he  keeps.  But,  in  spite  of 
his  well-turned  periods  and  general 
moderation  of  expression,  his  book 
is  not  pleasant  to  read.  There  is 
an  ill-conditioned  tone  about  writers 
of  his  political  class,  extremely  try- 
ing to  the  patience  and  temper  of 
the  reader.  Convinced  of  the  general 
unfitness  of  existing  human  institu- 
tions, and  of  the  necessity  for  radical 
changes,  they  inevitably  fall  into  a 
cavilling  and  censorious  strain.  View- 
ing the  condition  of  society  with  a 
jaundiced  eye,  they  adopt  the  maxim 
that  whatever  is,  is  wrong.  Mr  Stahr 
has  hardly  entered  the  railway  car- 
riage that  is  to  transport  him  to  Paris, 
when  he  shows  himself  querulous 
and  a  grumbler.  He  hoisted  his 
colours  before  leaving  Brussels.  Had 
we  never  before  heard  either  of 
him  or  his  principles,  we  yet  should 
have  been  at  no  loss  to  discover  the 
latter  by  certain  passages  in  his  very 
first  chapter.  Sitting  in  his  inn  at 
eventide,  after  visiting  the  monument 
to  the  slain  of  1830,  he  reads  an 


account  of  the  Belgian  revolution. 
The  Dutch  troops,  he  finds,  made  but 
one  hundred  and  twenty- two  prison- 
ers, whilst  the  insurgents  captured 
four  hundred  and  ninety-five.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Belgian  killed  and 
wounded  exceeded  by  three  hundred 
those  of  their  opponents.  Mr  Stahr 
is  ready  with  an  inference  from  these 
statistics.  It  takes  the  form  of  a  slur 
upon  the  soldiers  who  were  doing  their 
duty  to  their  king  and  country.  "  The 
inequality  in  the  number  of  prisoners 
may  well  arise  from  the  circumstance 
that  the  Dutch,  as  fighters  for  loyal 
tranquillity  and  order,  were  least 
disposed  to  give  quarter.  And  sol- 
diers against  men  without  uniform 
—one  knows  that!"  Then  he  falls 
foul  of  the  writer  of  the  narrative,  for 
attributing  to  Providence  the  preser- 
vation of  the  royal  palace,  and  other 
public  buildings,  to  which  the  Dutch 
attempted  to  set  fire ;  and,  gliding 
thence  into  religious  speculations,  he 
gets  very  profound,  and  rather  pro- 
fane, so  that  we  are  not  sorry  when 
the  current  of  his  ideas  is  diverted 
into  a  more  commonplace  channel, 
by  the  visit,  at  Valenciennes,  of  the 
French  customhouse  officers,  on  the 
look-out  for  Belgian  cigars  and  re- 
prints. He  is  sore  at  this  irk- 
some visitation — wonders  that  power- 
ful France  so  long  endures  the  literary 
piracies  of  her  little  neighbour — and 
finally  prophesies  the  abolition  of  all 
customhouses.  "  A  time  will  come," 
he  says,  "  when  this  system  of  legally 
privileged  waylaying  will  appear  just 
as  fabulous  to  the  people  of  Europe, 
as  do  now  to  us  the  highway  depre- 
dations of  the  robber-knights."  Pend- 
ing the  advent  of  that  desirable  state 
of  things,  he  revenges  himself  on  a 
fellow-traveller  for  his  customhouse 
annoyances.  A  German  book  which 
he  had  left  in  the  carriage  on  alight- 
ing had  disappeared,  and  could  not 
be  recovered.  A  douanier  had  per- 
haps taken  it  for  a  contraband  com- 
modity. He  should  have  declared  it, 
opined  a  fat  Frenchman  in  the  same 
carriage.  Mr  Stahr  was  indignant. 
It  was  a  German  book,  he  tartly  re- 
plied, and  was  not  printed  at  Brussels, 
but  at  Leipzig— a  place,  he  added, 
which  must  still  be  pretty  well  re- 


Ein  Ja.hr  in  Italien.    Three  Vols.,  8vo.    Oldenburg  :  1850. 


1851.] 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


545 


membered  in  France  !  A  polite  and 
tasteful  allusion  which  did  the  German 
radical  infinite  credit,  and  to  which 
the  fat  Frenchman  might  fairly  have 
retorted,  "  Jena,"  and  half  a  dozen 
other  significant  names,  instead  of 
holding  his  tongue,  and  leaving  his 
fellow-traveller  to  digest  at  leisure  his 
loss  and  his  ill-humour. 

Mr  Stahr's  volumes,  composed  of 
letters  to  friends,  are  desultory,  and 
for  the  most  part  slight.  Picture 
galleries  are  favourite  haunts  of  his : 
now  he  criticises  a  pamphlet,  now  a 
play  ;  he  moralises,  after  his  own  pe- 
culiar fashion,  in  deserted  palaces, 
assists  at  a  banquet  of  workmen, 
witnesses  extravagant  dances  at  Ma- 
bille,  sits  by  the  bedside  of  the  infirm 
and  suffering  Heine.  His  first  walk 
in  Paris  was  to  the  Palais  Royal, 
after  nightfall.  "  Stahr,"  said  his 
companion  to  him  suddenly,  on  the 
way,  "  this  is  the  Place  de  Grove  !" — 
44  Were  I  to  live  a  century,"  exclaims 
the  impressionable  professor,  "  I 
should  never  forget  the  shudder  that 
came  over  me  at  these  words."  And 
he  breaks  into  a  tumid  rhapsody  about 
the  lava-streams  of  the  great  Euro- 
pean volcano,  talks  of  the  guillotine, 
tells  the  well-known  story  of  Favras, 
and  proceeds  to  the  Palais  Royal, 
where,  at  ten  o'clock  at  night,  he  is 
unable  to  obtain  a  beef-steak  for 
supper,  and  whose  glory  he  accord- 
ingly declares  departed.  Returning 
to  their  quarters,  at  a  hotel  beyond 
the  Seine,  the  two  Germans  get  be- 
wildered in  the  labyrinth  of  the  Quar- 
tier  Latin,  and  are  indebted  for  guid- 
ance to  some  artisans,  whose  "  Good 
night,  citoyens!"  at  parting,  again 
thrills  the  sensitive  Stahr.  The  his- 
torical and  fanciful  associations  that 
crowd  upon  his  mind  are  of  a  less 
practical  nature  than  the  reflection 
suggested  to  his  companion  by  the 
Republican  mode  of  address — 44  We 
must  exchange  our  grey  Calabrian 
hats"  (the  sort  of  bandit  sombreros 
affected  by  travelling  students  and 
red  republicans)  44  for  the  loyal  hats 
of  order,  or  soon  we  shall  have  Louis 
Napoleon's  police  at  our  heels."  Thus 
spoke  Mr  Hartmann — who  has  a  na- 
tural aversion  to  all  police,  and  who 
gladly  sneers  at  the  party  of  Order, 
and  at  Louis  Napoleon  as  its  re- 
presentative. Mr  Stahr  professes 


no  great  liking  or  tenderness  for  the 
chief  of  the  Republic— the  first  gen- 
darme in  France,  as  he  calls  him, 
meaning  thereby  to  cast  opprobrium 
on  the  President,  gentlemen  of  his 
political  complexion  having  an  in- 
stinctive detestation  of  gendarmes. 
He  saw  him  for  the  first  time  at  the 
celebrated  review  held  at  Satory,  on 
the  10th  October  1850.  On  his  way 
thither,  Mr  Stahr  joined  in  conversa- 
tion with  peasants,  who  were  flocking 
from  all  the  country  round  to  see  the 
President  and  the  military  pageant. 
Many  of  them  had  sons  in  the  regi- 
ments that  were  to  be  reviewed.  They 
made  no  mystery  eof  their  political 
creed.  It  was  simple  enough :  "  Peace 
and  moderate  taxation,"  said  they, 
"  is  what  we  want.  He  who  gives  us 
those  two  things  is  our  man,  whether 
as  King  or  President  matters  not." 
The  review  over,  the  throng  of  spec- 
tators drew  up  to  see  Louis  Napoleon. 
After  the  Minister  of  War,  d'Haut- 
poul,  and  the  then-all-powerful  Chan- 
garnier,had  passed,  each  with  his  staff, 
44  there  came  by,  mounted  on  a  tall 
gray  horse,  the  elect  of  six  millions  of 
voters.  Judiciously-distributed  adhe- 
rents waved  their  hats  and  shouted,  at 
the  top  of  their  voices,  4  Long  live  the 
Emperor !  Vive  Napoleon  ! '  The 
people  were  mute.  It  was  a  laugh- 
able farce.  The  hero  of  Strasburg 
and  Boulogne,  mounted  on  a  tall 
charger,  in  a  brilliant  general's  uni- 
form, the  broad  riband  of  the  Legion 
of  Honour  over  his  shoulder,  in 
plumed  hat  and  jackboots,  was  the 
very  model  of  a  circus  equestrian." 
An  air  of  helplessness  and  exhaustion, 
according  to  Mr  Stahr,  was  the  main 
characteristic  of  the  President's  ap- 
pearance. 44  I  stood  near  enough," 
he  continues,  <4  to  see  him  well,  and 
never  did  I  behold  a  more  unmeaning 
countenance.  An  unwholesome  grey- 
brown  is  its  prevailing  tint.  Of  like- 
ness to  the  great  Emperor  there  is 
scarcely  a  trace."  There  is  no  chance, 
Mr  Stahr  declares,  of  such  a  person 
as  Louis  Napoleon  putting  the  repub- 
lic in  his  pocket.  Having  given  his 
opinion  of  the  President's  exterior, 
he  proceeds  in  the  next  chapter 
to  sketch  his  character,  as  described 
by  a  person  who  had  known  him 
from  his  youth.  44  He  is  naturally 
goodtempered  and  harmless,"  said 


546 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


[Nov. 


this  anonymous  informant,  "  and  by 
no  means  without  ability.  But  he 
is  tainted  with  the  moral  corruption 
of  all  European  societies,  Italian, 
French,  and  English.  He  has  the 
pourriture  of  the  drawing-room  edu- 
cation of  all  nations.  Still  he  is  not 
devoid  of  sense,  nor  of  a  certain 
goodness  of  disposition.  He  can 
weep,  unaffectedly  weep^  over  a 
touching  case  of  wretchedness  and 
misery,  and  he  willingly  shows  cle- 
mency, when  asked,  even  to  political 
opponents.  But  no  reliance  can  be 
placed  in  him.  In  a  word,  his  cha- 
racter is  that  of  a  woman.  As  a 
result  of  his  wandering  and  adven- 
turous existence,  he  appears  to-day 
as  a  German,  to-morrow  as  a  French- 
man, and  the  day  after  to-morrow  as 
an  Englishman  or  Italian.  He  is 
wholly  without  fixed  principles,  and 
without  moral  stay.  If  one  repre- 
sents to  him  the  immorality  of  an 
act,  he  will  laugh  and  say,  ''Bah! 
what  is  that  to  me  ? '  But  the  very 
next  day  you  shall  find  him  as  much 
oppressed  with  moral  scruples  as  any 
German  candidate.  He  has  the  phy- 
sical courage  of  his  unusual  bodily 
strength — corporis  robore  stolideferox 
— supported  by  a  fatalist  belief  in  his 
star ;  and  this  belief,  which  has  lately 
acquired  increased  strength  by  his 
extraordinary  vicissitude  of  fortune, 
blinds  him  to  his  real  position,  and 
renders  him  deaf  to  the  warning 
voices  of  his  few  honest  friends.  In 
this  respect  his  mother,  who  unceas- 
ingly stimulated  his  ambition,  did 
him  much  harm.  Personally  he  is 
modest  and  unassuming,  but  he  is 
madly  vain  of  his  name  and  of  his 
legitimate  claims.  That  he  has  done 
and  continues  to  do  himself  grievous 
harm,  as  it  is  universally  said,  by 
excesses  of  the  most  unrefined  de- 
scription, and  by  opium-smoking, 
seems  unfortunately  to  be  only  too 
true.  For  the  change  in  him  since 
his  youth  has  been  altogether  too 
great.  Nevertheless,  he  is  much  less 
the  tool  of  others  than  might  be  sup- 
posed. He  has  a  way  of  half-closing 
his  inexpressive  light-blue  eyes,  which 
he  has  adopted  to  prevent  persons 
from  reading  his  thoughts.  His  chief 
delusion  is  that  the  army  is  uncondi- 
tionally devoted  to  him.  This  is  by 
no  means  the  case."  We  give  this 


curious  sketch,  in  which  truth  and 
malignity  are  ingeniously  blended,  for 
no  more  than  it  is  worth.  The  reader 
will  have  little  difficulty  in  sifting  the 
grain  from  the  chaff,  the  idle  or  mali- 
cious gossip  from  the  well-founded 
observations.  Mr  Stahr  supports  the 
assertion  of  the  indifference  of  the 
French  army  to  the  commonplace 
nephew  of  their  great  idol,  by  anec- 
dotes derived  from  personal  expe- 
rience. After  the  review,  he  dined 
for  some  days  in  company  with  three 
hussar  officers,  quartered  in  the 
house  he  lived  in.  His  account  of 
them  hardly  agrees  with  the  popu- 
lar notion  of  French  officers.  "  They 
are  modest,  reserved,  and  serious  in 
manner.  Nowhere  in  Paris  have  I 
found  a  trace  of  that  overweening 
presumption  by  which  German  offi- 
cers, especially  cavalrymen,  seek  to 
give  themselves  importance  at  tables 
d'hote  and  other  public  places.  We 
spoke  of  yesterday's  manoeuvres,  and 
I  paid  them  a  compliment  on  the 
really  splendid  bearing  of  the  troops 
and  the  capital  equipments.  There 
are  no  longer  grounds  to  depreciate 
the  French  cavalry.  Africa  has  been 
an  excellent  school  for  them.  '  But 
there  was  one  thing  wanting,'  I  re- 
marked— '  namely,  enthusiasm.'  '  You 
are  quite  right,  sir,'  replied  one  of  the 
officers ;  '  but  there  is  not  much  to  be 
enthusiastic  about  in  the  position  in 
which  we  are.'  The  speaker  was  a 
thorough  soldier,  and  anything  but  an 
upholder  of  revolutionary  or  socialist- 
democratic  ideas.  The  supporters  of 
the  latter  he  invariably  spoke  of  as 
4  les  Voraces,'  and  bitterly  complained 
that  for  years  past  he  and  his  com- 
rades had  had  nothing  else  to  do  than 
to  ^faire  la  chasse  aux  voraces ! '  But 
with  the  '  Nephew  of  the  Uncle'  none 
of  the  officers  showed  the  least  sym- 
pathy. Concerning  him  they  all 
observed  a  very  eloquent  silence." 
In  contrast  to  the  ridicule  and  cen- 
sure levelled  by  Mr  Stahr  at  the  more 
recent  portion  of  Louis  Napoleon's 
career,  are  some  anecdotes  he  tells  us 
of  his  earlier  years.  "  In  his  youth," 
he  says,  "he  must  have  been  very 
amiable.  I  have  had  opportunity  to 
look  through  a  collection  of  letters 
written  by  him  to  a  friend  of  his 
family,  and  extending  over  more  than 
twenty  years.  It  included  even  notes 


1851.] 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


647 


written  when  he  was  a  boy  of  eleven, 
some  of  them  in  the  German  language 
and  character.  Louis  Napoleon  is 
known  to  be  a  perfect  master  of 
German.  The  most  pleasing  and 
amiable  of  these  letters  were  a  series 
written  from  his  prison  at  Ham. 
Good  feeling,  hearty  gratitude  for 
proofs  of  faithful  adherence  and  for 
affectionate  little  services,  and  a  deep 
dejection  at  his  lot,  were  the  charac- 
teristics of  these  letters.  He  read 
and  studied  a  great  deal  at  Ham, 
especially  military  science,  but  also 
poetry  and  literature.  Within  those 
prison-walls  he  now  and  then  began 
to  distrust  the  'star'  of  his  destiny." 
These  letters  were  doubtless  the  same 
spoken  of  elsewhere  by  Mr  Stahr  as 
filling  several  volumes,  and  as  having 
been  addressed  to  Madame  Hortense 
Cornu,  a  well-known  writer  on  fine 
art,  who  was  long  attached  to  the 
household  of  Queen  Hortense.  She  had 
known  Louis  Napoleon  from  his  child- 
hood, and  retained  sufficient  influence 
over  him  to  obtain  the  rescue  from  the 
hands  of  the  Eoman  priesthood  of  the 
Italian  republican  Cernuschi.  The 
letters,  says  Mr  Stahr,  abound  in  evi- 
dence of  the  esteem  and  gratitude 
entertained  by  the  French  President 
for  the  staunch  and  trusty  friend 
of  his  youth.  "  This  correspondence, 
fragments  of  which  I  was  favoured 
with  permission  to  read,  includes  all 
the  epochs  of  his  adventurous  life.  It 
ceases  with  the  day  when  the  infa- 
tuated man,  having  attained  to  power, 
laid  hands  upon  the  right  of  universal 
suffrage  which  had  raised  him  from  the 
dust.  Madame  Cornu's  last  letter  was 
a  solemn  exhortation  to  abstain  from 
that  step.  She  laboured  in  vain,  for 
fate  is  stronger  than  humanity.  But 
it  is  an  honourable  testimony  to  the 
originally  good  disposition  of  the 
blinded  man  that  he  did  not  withdraw 
his  favour  from  his  tried  friend.  A 
proof  of  this  is  to  be  found  in  Cernu- 
schi's  deliverance." 

During  a  visit  paid  by  Mr  Stahr 
to  Alexander  Dumas,  the  French 
romance-writer  told  the  German  pro- 
fessor an  anecdote  of  Louis  Napoleon 
and  the  late  Duke  of  Orleans,  which 
is  curious,  if  true.  Perhaps  it  is  as 
well  to  bear  in  mind,  whilst  reading 
it,  that  its  narrator  is  a  story-teller  by 
profession,  and  the  most  imaginative  • 


and  decorative  of  historians.  Dumas, 
it  appears,  had  been  long  acquainted 
with  the  imperial  pretender  and  his 
mother;  was  aware  of  the  rash 
schemes  of  the  Prince,  then  meditat- 
ing the  Strasburg  expedition  ;  and 
advised  him,  by  letter,  to  abandon 
them,  or  at  least  to  adopt  a  totally 
different  mode  of  carrying  them  out. 
If  he  would  uproot  (deraciner)  the 
dynasty  of  Louis  Philippe,  wrote 
Dumas,  he  must  try  very  different 
means.  He  must  endeavour  to  obtain 
the  revocation  of  his  sentence  of  exile, 
get  himself  elected  member  of  the 
French  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  so 
follow  up  his  plans  in  opposition  to 
the  ruling  dynasty.  Deaf  to  this 
advice,  which  was  certainly  sensible 
enough,  Louis  Napoleon  made  his 
ridiculous  attempt  at  Strasburg,  and 
was  taken  prisoner.  Thereupon  his 
mother,  Queen  Hortense,  hurried  to 
the  neighbourhood  of  Paris  under  an 
assumed  name,  and  with  one  confi- 
dential attendant.  This  person  she 
sent  to  Dumas,  to  entreat  him  to 
apply  to  his  patron,  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  to.know  what  the  Court  had 
decided  with  respect  to  the  prisoner's 
fate.  Dumas  wrote  forthwith  for  an 
audience ;  the  Duke  received  him  with 
a  smile.  "Well!"  he  said,  "so 
your  protege  has  not  succeeded  in 
uprooting  us  ?  "  "  Prince,  you  know 
?  "  stammered  the  terrified  novel- 
ist. "  Do  you  suppose  we  are  so 
badly  served  for  our  money  as  not  to 
know  what  brings  you  here,  and 
where  Queen  Hortense  is  at  this  very 
moment  ?  "  After  a  short  pause,  dur- 
ing which  he  enjoyed  the  embarrass- 
ment of  Dumas,  the  Duke  continued, 
"Tell  Madame  Hortense,"  he  said, 
"  that  the  Orleans  do  not  yet  feel 
themselves  strong  enough  to  have  their 
Duke  tfEnghien." 

"It  is  a  bitter  answer,  your  royal 
highness,"  replied  Dumas,  taking  his 
leave,  "but  still  it  will  console  the 
mother's  heart." 

"  And  now,"  muses  Mr  Stahr,  "  the 
shattered  bones  of  the  unfortunate 
young  Duke  of  Orleans  have  long 
been  mouldering  in  the  grave,  his 
statue  in  the  court  of  the  Louvre  has 
been  dragged  down  and  stowed  away 
in  a  corner  of  the  Versailles  Museum, 
and  the  Adventurer  of  Strasburg  rules 
France  as  a  republic,  with  power 


548 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


[Nov. 


more  unlimited  than  the  wily  Louis 
Philippe  ever  possessed  over  it  as  a 
monarchy !  For  so  long  as  it  lasts, 
that  is  to  say ;  for  methinks  the  feet 
of  those  who  shall  carry  him  out  are 
already  before  the  door.  But  how 
did  he  ever  get  in?  How  was  it 
that  even  his  candidature  for  the  pre- 
sidency was  not  overwhelmed  and 
rendered  impossible  by  that  most 
dangerous  of  all  opponents  in  France, 
the  curse  of  the  Ridiculous,  which  had 
already  decorated  with  cap  and  bells 
the  hero  of  the  blunders  of  Strasburg 
and  Boulogne,  the  trainer  of  the  tame 
eagle,  the  special  constable  of  Lon- 
don ?  "  It  has  puzzled  acuter  poli- 
ticians than  Mr  Stahr  to  reply  to  this 
question,  which  millions  have  asked. 
The  riddle  interests  him,  and  he  runs 
about  on  all  sides  seeking  its  solution. 
He  has  little  success,  and  evidently 
himself  mistrusts  the  ingenious  and 
original  conclusion  to  which  he  at  last 
comes,  that  the  election  of  Louis 
Napoleon  was  a  homage  to  the  here- 
ditary principle.  "  When  I  recently, 
on  my  way  across  the  plain  of  Satory, 
asked  a  countryman  if  he  had  given 
his  vote  to  the  President,  his  reply 
was,  '  Of  course !  was  he  not  the 
rightful  heir,  his  uncle's  legitimate 
successor?'  This  may  sound  ill  for 
the  republican  education  of  the  people 
of  the  French  republic ;  but  it  is  the 
truth.  The  principle  of  hereditary 
rule  may  be  perfectly  incompa- 
tible with  that  of  *  liberty  and  equa- 
lity,' but  it  is,  or  was,  (at  the  time  of 
Louis  Napoleon's  election  J  the  pre- 
vailing principle  in  the  heads  of  the 
French  rural  population.  '  One  must 
know  the  French  peasantry  as  I  know 
them,  who  have  grown  up  amongst 
them,'  lately  said  to  me  the  represen- 
tative De  Flotte,  '  to  find  their  con- 
duct in  this  matter  quite  natural. 
The  French  peasant  has  only  one 
fundamental  idea  in  politics,  and  that 
is  derived  from  his  own  family  rela- 
tions. That  fundamental  idea  is  the 
sacredness  and  necessity  of  hereditary 
right.  That  the  territorial  property 
of  the  father  should  descend  to  the 
son,  or  next  of  kin,  seems  to  him  the 
main  condition  of  all  human  exist- 
ence.'" Admitting,  for  argument's 
sake,  the  soundness  of  this  statement, 
and  that  the  French  peasant  is  thus 
devoted  to  the  hereditary  principle, 


the  natural  inference  is  that,  when 
he  perceived  his  country  to  be  in  a 
state  of  transition,  ruled  by  provisional 
intruders,  and  anxiously  looking  out  for 
a  more  permanent  chief  of  the  state,  he 
should  have  hoisted  the  white  cockade, 
and  tossed  up  his  beaver  for  the  Fifth 
Henry.     Messrs  Stahr  and  De  Flotte 
explain  why  he  did  not  do  this.  "  The 
French  peasant  has  no  longer  any  sort 
of  sympathy  with  the  elder  Bourbons. 
For  him  the  glory  of  Louis  XIV.  is 
far  too  remote.     What  else  he  knows 
of  them  is,  that    they  brought  the 
foreigner  into   his   country,   and  on 
that  account  he  curses  them."     In 
this  there  is  some  truth.    The  old 
royalist  spirit  still  lingers  in  certain 
departments  of  France,  but  in  the 
country    generally     the    Count     de 
Chambord's  partisans  are  rather  in- 
telligent and  influential  than  nume- 
rous.    Should  he  ascend  the  throne, 
it  will  not  be  in  virtue  of  zeal  for  the 
principle  of  legitimacy  or  of  personal 
attachment  to  himself,  but  because 
the  nation  will  see  in  his  accession 
the  best  guarantee  of  order  and  econo- 
mical   administration.      These    two 
things  are  the  real  wants  and  desires 
of  the  mass  of  the  population.    The 
peasant  who  told  Mr  Stahr  he  wished 
for  peace  and  light  taxation,  spoke  the 
feeling  of  a  great  majority  of  French- 
men.    "  The   dynasty  of    Orleans," 
says  the  professor's  informant,  con- 
tinuing his  explanation   of  the   con- 
currence of  circumstances  which  raised 
Louis  Napoleon  to  the  president's  chair, 
"  never  enjoyed  much  prestige  amongst 
the  rural  population,  who  did  not  for- 
give old   Louis  Philippe  for  having 
violated  the  principle  of  hereditary 
right."     This  is  rather  far-fetched. 
If  the  provinces  cared  little  for  Louis 
Philippe,    it    was    because    he    had 
troubled   himself  little   about   them. 
True  to  his  system  of  centralisation, 
Paris,  to  him,  was  France,  and  un- 
grateful   Paris    it    was   that    finally 
abandoned  and  expelled  him.     It  is 
unnecessary  to  go  out  of  one's  way  to 
seek  reasons  for  the  fact,  that  when, 
in  December  1848,  the  French,  ex- 
hausted by  nine  months'  anarchy  and 
misery,  and  ashamed  of  those  Feb- 
ruary follies  into  which  a  few  deluded 
and  designing  men  had  led  them,  cast 
about  for  a  ruler  under  whom  they 
might  hope  for  respite  and  breathing 


1851.] 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


time,  none  turned  a  wishful  or  ex- 
pectant eye  to  any  member  of  the 
house  of  Orleans.  The  family  had 
been  weighed  and  found  wanting. 
From  the  astute  politician,  u  whose 
word  no  man  relied  on,"  and  who 
reaped  in  his  latter  days  those  bitter 
fruits  of  usurpation  and  anarchy 
whose  seeds  he  had  sown  in  his  prime, 
down  to  the  youngest  of  the  sons  to 
whose  advancement  he  had  sacrificed 
his  conscience  and  his  country,  and 
who,  in  the  supreme  hour  of  peril  and 
confusion,  were  found  utterly  deficient 
in  princely  and  manly  qualities,  in 
self-possession,  energy,  and  resource, 
there  was  not  one  of  the  line 
whom  France  would  trust.  The 
time  was  too  short  that  had  elapsed 
since  the  picture  of  selfishness  and 
incapacity  had  been  exhibited  to  won- 
dering Europe :  the  cause  had  been 
unable  to  revive  from  the  grievous 
and  self-inflicted  shock ;  it  lay  supine 
and  seemingly  dead,  awaiting  the  day 
when  intrigue  and  hypocrisy  should 
galvanise  it  into  a  precarious  vitality. 
When  the  crisis  of  May  1852  arrives, 
we  shall  see  what  has  been  the  effect 
of  the  complicated  mano3uvres  of  the 
house  of  Orleans,  which,  in  December 
1848,  stood  so  low  in  public  estima- 
tion. Then,  according  to  Mr  Stahr, 
Buonapartism  was  the  only  political 
creed  that  appealed  to  the  prejudices 
and  feelings  of  the  French  peasant,  and 
it  required  no  great  skill  to  get  him  to 
write  upon  his  election-ticket  the  name 
of  the  prince  whom  he  looked  upon  as 
the  rightful  heir  of  the  Emperor. 
"  He  did  it  of  his  own  accord,  out  of 
a  conviction  that  he  was  performing 
an  act  of  justice,  and  that  hereditary 
right  demanded  it.  Other  motives 
concurred.  The  forty-five-centime 
impost  had  embittered  the  country- 
man against  the  Republic,  which  had 
increased  instead  of  lightening  his 
load.  Upon  the  Democrat-Socialists 
he  looked  distrustfully.  He  would  have 
nought  to  say  to  those  '•partageux' 
(dividers.)  He  cared  nothing  for  the 
fine  speeches  of  parliamentary  orators. 
The  peasant  is  by  nature  taciturn,  and 
has  little  confidence  in  assemblies  of 
great  talkers.  He  was  not  disposed 
to  make  a  stir  about  the  freedom  of 
the  press,  of  which  he  makes  no  use. 
His  political  understanding  did  not 
extend  beyond  one  wish,  and  that 


549 

wish  was,  a  strong  government,  which 
should  secure  to  him  the  enjoyment 
and  inheritance  of  his  property.  And 
who  could  do  that  better  than  a 
Napoleon — Napoleon  himself,  the  Em- 
peror of  Beranger  ? — for  there  are  many 
places  where  the  country  people  have 
never  believed  the  Emperor  dead." 
The  clever  author  of  Jerome  Paturot 
has  expressed  a  similar  opinion  as 
regards  the  prevalence  of  this  scarcely 
credible  delusion  amongst  the  un- 
educated classes  in  certain  districts  of 
France.  It  does  not  appear  to  be 
entirely  confined  to  that  country. 
"I  myself  am  witness,"  says  Mr 
Stahr,  "that,  in  the  year  1848,  a 
peasant  of  a  province  of  Northern 
Germany,  on  hearing  of  the  new 
French  revolution,  and  of  its  first 
consequences  in  Germany,  remarked 
that,  l  without  doubt  old  Buonaparte 
had  a  finger  in  the  pie.' "  It  is  Mr 
Stahr's  belief  that  Louis  Napoleon  is 
destined  to  dispel,  by  his  inability 
to  fulfil  the  expectations  of  the  igno- 
rant portion  of  his  constituents,  that 
Buonapartist  prestige  to  which  he 
partly  owed  his  election,  and  that 
attachment  to  the  hereditary  prin- 
ciple which  the  professor  assumes  still 
to  exist  in  France.  "The  nephew 
of  the  great  Emperor,"  he  says,  "  is 
selected  by  fate  to  disturb,  if  not  to 
destroy,  the  idolatry  with  which  a 
large  portion  of  the  French  nation 
has  hitherto  regarded  the  name  and 
memory  of  its  greatest  tyrant.  Na- 
poleon the  Second  throws  a  grey 
shadow  over  Napoleon  the  First." 

If  the  French  President  receives 
but  rude  handling  from  the  German 
republican,  the  Orleans  family  can- 
not congratulate  themselves  on  much 
better  treatment.  His  first  reference 
to  that  fallen  dynasty  is  suggested  by 
a  little  book,  which,  at  the  time  of  its 
appearance,  attracted  some  attention 
both  in  England  and  France.  M. 
Louis  Tirol's  La  Republique  dans  les 
Carrosses  dn  Roi  was  neither  calcu- 
lated nor  intended  to  please  the  de- 
mocrats. Mr  Stahr,  however,  is  pretty 
fair  in  his  appreciation  of  it,  sneering 
a  little  at  the  author  for  taking  what 
he  calls  a  valet- de-chambre's  view  of 
the  February  revolution,  but  doing 
justice  to  the  interest  and  instruction 
to  be  found  in  his  pages,  which  show 
up  the  parties  honttuses  of  that  most 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


550 

disastrous  and  ill-advised  political 
convulsion ;  the  scandalous  greed, 
vanity,  and  egotism  of  the  adven- 
turers and  knaves  who  alone  profited 
by  the  storm  they  had  contributed  to 
raise.  M.  Tirel,  although  to  all  ap- 
pearance honest  and  truthful,  cer- 
tainly wrote  like  a  partisan.  His 
position  and  attachments  were  incom- 
patible with  a  just  estimate  of  cir- 
cumstances. Whilst  accurately  de- 
scribing events,  he  deluded  himself 
as  to  the  causes  that  led  to  them, 
and,  above  all,  he  could  see  no 
wrong  in  his  master ;  could  not  for 
the  life  of  him  comprehend  how  it 
was  that  Louis  Philippe,  "  who  had  so 
faithfully  observed  his  oath  to  main- 
tain the  charter,  and  who  had  a 
majority  in  the  Chambers,"  should 
have  been  ejected  from  his  throne 
and  kingdom.  The  worthy  keeper 
of  the  royal  carriages  never  attains 
to  more  than  a  glimmering  and 
confused  notion  that  the  nation 
could  scarcely  be  said  to  be  repre- 
sented by  the  majority  in  question, 
and  that  a  moderate  extension  of 
the  suffrage,  accorded  with  a  good 
grace,  would  probably  have  main- 
tained the  July  dynasty  at  the  helm 
of  French  affairs  to  this  day,  and 
for  years  to  come.  His  admiration 
of  Louis  Philippe's  wisdom  and  skill 
is  unlimited,  as  is  also  his  in- 
dignation at  the  ingratitude  of  the 
people.  Mr  Stahr  loses  patience 
at  the  affectionate  manner  in  which 
the  ex-conlrolleur  des  equipages  lauds 
the  virtues  of  the  old  "  Jesuit -King," 
as  the  German  irreverently  styles 
the  defunct  monarch;  and,  pro- 
voked by  Tirel's  exaggerated  en- 
comiums, he  retorts  by  the  following 
severe  but  too  true  remarks  with 
reference  to  the  oft-repeated  accusa- 
tion of  miserly  hoarding,  brought 
against  Louis  Philippe  by  Republican 
and  Legitimist  writers  :  — "  Louis 
Philippe,"  he  says,  "  was  no  avare 
such  as  Moliere  has  drawn— no 
comedy-miser — but  yet  he  was  im- 
moderately avaricious.  There  was 
no  end  to  his  demands  of  money 
for  the  princes  of  his  house.  He 
knew,  or  thought  he  knew,  that 
money  is  power;  and  as  he  could 
not  obtain  enough  of  the  latter,  he 
restlessly  strove  after  the  former 
as  the  means  to  an  object.  He  was 


[Nov. 


a  good  father  of  a  family,  in  the 
bourgeois  sense  of  the  word ;  but  he 
had  no  conception  of  that  which 
makes  a  king  the  father  of  his  people. 
His  defenders  celebrate  the  care 
which  this  prince,  denounced  as 
grasping,  expended  upon  the  con- 
servation of  the  royal  palaces,  the 
great  sums  which  he  laid  out  upon 
rich  furniture,  numerous  attendants, 
brilliant  equipages,  and  luxurious 
festivals — to  which  latter  often  three 
or  four  thousand  guests  were  invited. 
*  How,'  it  is  said,  *  could  the  people 
tax  such  a  sovereign  with  niggardli- 
ness and  greed  of  gold?'  But  the 
people  had  no  part  or  share  in  these 
enjoyments.  It  suffered  hunger  and 
want,  whilst  the  higher  and  middle 
classes  of  the  bourgeoisie  revelled  in 
these  feasts,  and  grew  rich  by 
supplying  their  materials."  Raised 
to  the  throne  by  the  suffrages  of 
the  middle  classes,  Louis  Philippe 
relied  on  them  for  support.  He 
was  bitterly  disappointed.  Scandal - 
pus  and  cowardly  was  the  manner 
in  which  the  men  of  July — those 
whom  he  had  fed,  pampered  and 
decorated,  favoured  and  preferred — 
deserted  him  in  the  hour  of  danger. 
The  very  national  guards  of  Neuilly, 
who  had  lived  and  flourished  in  the 
shadow  of  the  chateau  walls,  refused 
to  turn  out,  when,  in  February  1848, 
the  intendant  of  the  castle  appealed 
to  them  to  protect  from  plunder  the 
property  of  their  patron  and  king. 
They  had  caught  the  contagion  of 
that  intense  selfishness  which  was 
Louis  Philippe's  most  striking  cha- 
racteristic. "  Let  those  who  choose 
go  out  to  be  shot,"  said  the  burghers 
of  Neuilly ;  "  we  shall  stop  at  home 
and  take  care  of  our  houses."  And  as- 
suredly the  inert  and  unsympathising 
attitude  of  the  Paris  national  guard 
contributed  more  than  anything  else 
to  deter  Louis  Philippe  from  resist- 
ing by  force  the  progress  of  the  Feb- 
ruary revolutionists.  The  burghers 
were  disgusted  by  the  dilapidation 
of  the  finances,  and  the  venality  of 
the  administration — they  were  dis- 
gusted with  Guizot  for  not  daring 
to  resist  the  headstrong  will  of 
the  old  king — and  they  cried  out 
for  electoral  reform.  With  a  little 
more  patience  they  would  have 
achieved  their  desire  ; — over-hasty, 


1851.] 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


551 


they    suddenly    beheld    themselves 
plunged  into  revolution.     They  had 
not  foreseen  it ;  they  lacked  presence 
of  mind  to  repel  its    first  inroads. 
And  they    also    lacked,    there    can 
be  no  question,  that  feeling  of  per- 
sonal  attachment    to  the  sovereign 
which  would  have   prevented  their 
standing  by,  tame  witnesses  of  his 
dethronement.      "  Louis    Philippe,  " 
says  Mr  Stahr,   "  never  knew  how 
to  inspire  an    earnest    and    cordial 
attachment    even    in    those   nearest 
his  person.      The  circumstances   of 
his  fall  are  the  most  speaking  proof 
of  this.      His  own  panegyrist  tells 
us  that  Louis  Philippe  himself  had 
a  misgiving  that    none    loved    him 
for  his  own  sake.     He  often  said 
to  his  most  confidential  attendants : 
*  You  serve   me  faithfully,   but  not 
with  the  zeal  and    warmth    which 
distinguished  the  servants  of  Napo- 
leon.    Their  devotion  to  his  person 
was  unbounded.'     If  such  was  the 
case  in  the  French  king's  prosperous 
days,  what  could  he  expect  in  the 
hour  of  adversity?    M.   Tirel  him- 
self proves,   beyond  the    possibility 
of  refutation,  that,  when  the  moment 
of  danger  arrived,  the  nearest  per- 
sonal attendants  of  the  king  thought, 
almost  without  exception,    only   of 
themselves.     Not  one  of  them  trou- 
bled himself  about  the  safety  of  the 
immense  sums  contained  in  the  trea- 
sury of  the  Tuileries.     None  thought 
of  holding  in   readiness  the  neces- 
sary   means    of   travelling,    in    the 
possible  case   of   the    departure    or 
flight  of  the  king  and  his  family; 
and  even   M.  Tirel  exclaims,   with 
reference  to  this — '  It  is  difficult  to 
credit  such  utter  want  of  foresight, 
when  they  knew  they  were  standing 
on    a    volcano.'"      At    Neuilly,    as 
already    mentioned,     the     national 
guard  refused  to  turn  out ;  whilst  the 
servants  of  the  royal  residence  busied 
themselves    in    saving    their     own 
things,   leaving   their  master's  pro- 
perty to  be  pillaged  and  burned  by 
the  rabble,  with  whose  disgusting  and 
disgraceful  depredations  the    troops 
of  the  line  did  not  interfere.    Regu- 
lars and  militia,  domestics  and  mob, 
the  same  want  of  feeling  was  mani- 
fest in  all ;  none  showed  attachment 
or  devotion  to  the  prince,  whose  star 
was  on  the  decline.    Mr  Stahr  made 


a  pilgrimage  to  Neuilly,  and  devotes 
a  letter  to  it.    It  was  a  grey,  sad- 
looking  autumn  afternoon,   and  the 
road  was  silent  and  deserted  along 
which    he    took    his    way    to     the 
favourite  residence  of  the   departed 
king.      The  impression  made  upon 
him  was  most  melancholy.     "  Vous 
verrez    de    belles    choses"    said    the 
porter  at  the  lodge,  as  he  pointed 
out  to  the  Germans  the  way  to  the 
ruins.      "  Up    to   this  time,"    says 
Mr  Stahr,    "  nothing  in  Paris  had 
reminded  me  that  here  had  raged, 
but  a  very  few  years  before,  the  hum- 
cane  of  a  revolution  that  shook  the 
world,  and  that  had  swept  a  dynasty 
from  the   soil   of  France  like  chaff 
from  the  thrashing-floor.    At  Neuilly 
I  first  received  this  impression.  They 
made  clean  work  of  it,  those  bands 
of  incendiaries  of  the  28th  February 
.1848.      A  single    night  sufficed    to 
convert   that    stately  building,  and 
all    its    splendour,    into    a  heap  of 
hideous  ruins.     .     .     .     High  grass 
now  grows  upon  the  floors  of  the 
state  apartments  of  the    destroyed 
king's-home.        Bushes    spring    up 
around    the    columns,     over    which 
creepers  luxuriantly  twine ;  and  the 
red  poppy  and  the  yellow  king-cup 
wave  their  blossoms  in  the  chambers 
and  saloons  in  which,  so  short  a  time 
ago,    the    ruler    of    proud    France 
paced  his  Persian  carpets,  revolving 
plans  for  the  eternal    consolidation 
of  his   dynasty !      On   the    ravaged 
foot-paths  before  the  windows,   the 
melted  glass  of  the  magnificent  panes 
has  flowed  down  and  formed  a  bril- 
liant  flooring.      At  the    foot    of   a 
balcony,  whose  pillars  still  supported 
the  remains  of  broken  beams,  a  flush 
of  pale  pink  harvest  roses  exhaled 
their  delicate  fragrance.     It  was  an 
incredibly    melancholy    sight.      The 
closely-locked    doors    and  shattered 
windows  of  the  wing  that  was  saved 
increased  the    gloom   of   the  whole 
impression.      Everywhere    the    tall 
iron  lattice-work,  and  the  iron  posts 
supporting     lamps,     are    rent     and 
broken;    the   statues  on  the  flights 
of  steps    are    shivered    to    pieces ; 
there  remain  but  a  couple  of  colossal 
sphinxes,     which    gaze     inquiringly 
out     of    the    dark     green    of    the 
shrubbery.     Who   shall    solve  their 
riddle  —  the    riddle  of   the    history 


552 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


[Nov. 


of  France  and  of  mankind  ?  Louis 
Philippe,  wise  amongst  the  wise, 
thought  he  had  done  so.  Where  is 
he  now?  His  weary  bones  sleep 
the  eternal  sleep  in  the  country  of 
the  banished  kings  of  France." 

Neuilly  has  become  a  place  of  pil- 
grimage for  the  friends  of  the  fallen 
dynasty.  A  host  of  inscriptions, 
mostly  in  an  anti-republican  sense, 
were  to  be  read  upon  the  walls  and 
pillars  at  the  period  of  Mr  Stahr' s 
visit.  Of  several  which  he  took  the 
trouble  to  copy,  one  only  is  superior 
in  tone  and  significance  to  the  usual 
average  of  such  scribblings.  "  High 
upon  a  broken  column  a  firm  hand 
had  inscribed  with  charcoal,  and  in 
gigantic  characters,  these  three  words: 

DROIT  DU  TALION.   1830.   1848. 

Other  hands  had  tried  to  obliterate 
the  writing,  but  in  vain.  The 
revengeful  word  *  RETALIATION  ' 
was  still  quite  legible.  And  this 
word  best  expresses  the  feeling  with 
which  plain-dealing  probity  contem- 

Slates  the  fate  of  the  overthrown 
uly  monarch.  For  here  at  Neuilly 
was  it  that  he,  a  modern  Richard  III., 
played  the  hypocritical  part  of  reject- 
ing power,  when  the  blood  of  the 
July  revolution  still  reddened  the 
streets  of  Paris.  Here  was  it  that 
he  wrote  the  letter  to  Charles  X. 
in  which  he  assured  him  of  his 
fidelity  and  devotion,  when  he  was 
already  extending  a  lustful  hand 
towards  the  crown  of  the  rightful 
heir.  Here  too,  in  Neuilly,  was  it 
that  he  spun  that  Spanish  web,  whose 
most  secret  documents  Lord  Palmer - 
ston  carefully  preserves,  and  which 
gave  the  world  a  glimpse  into  an  abyss 
of  moral  foulness  at  which  the  soul 
shudders.  And  here,  in  presence  of 
tliis  funeral  pile  of  his  happiness  and 
his  splendour— here,  before  the  memo- 
rial of  his  disgraceful  and  ignominious 
fall — here,  when  I  called  to  mind  his 
acts,  I  felt  no  touch  of  pity  for  the  fallen 
King.  But  the  man  I  did  indeed  pity, 
the  husband  and  the  father.  He  had 
loved  this  Neuilly.  Here  had  he 
enjoyed  such  a  measure  of  domestic 
happiness  as  is  rarely  vouchsafed  to  a 
monarch.  This  house  had  he,  for 
many  a  long  year,  built  up  and  deco- 
rated with  that  fine  feeling  for  art  and 
architecture  which  was  proper  to  him. 


To  this  green  retirement  and  solitude, 
to  this  remote  dwelling,  hidden  from 
all  eyes,  he  loved  to  withdraw.  Here, 
where  all  was  his  own  creation — where 
no  stone  was  added,  no  tree  planted, 
no  path  cut,  but  under  his  eye — ex- 
actly here,  in  the  most  sensitive  spot, 
the  blow  struck  him.  The  destruction 
of  this  house  was  more  deeply  felt  by 
the  man  than  was  the  loss  of  his  throne 
by  the  king!  Before  the  Count  of 
Neuilly  had  left  French  ground,  the 
building  had  ceased  to  exist  from 
which  he  had  borrowed  the  name. 
And  all  his  wiles  and  stratagems,  all  his 
cunning,  were  as  insufficient  to  avert, 
from  the  man  and  from  the  king,  this 
last  fated  climax,  as  were  the  fortifi- 
cations and  bastilles  with  which  he 
had  surrounded  the  dreaded  Paris." 

Quitting  Neuilly,  Mr  Stahr  was 
startled,  as  well  he  might  be,  by  the 
terms  of  a  bill  stuck  upon  the  park- 
gates— 

"  House  of  Orleans,  (thus  it  ran,) 
chateau  and  domain  of  Neuilly  to  let 
for  three  years  with  immediate  posses- 
sion ;  about  one  hundred  and  eighty 
acres,  meadows,  forest-land,  &c., 
bordering  on  the  fortifications  I  " 

Wandering  through  the  endless 
galleries  of  Versailles,  Mr  Stahr  is 
naturally  enough  led  to  reflect  how 
strange  it  is  that  Louis  Philippe,  the 
Napoleon  of  Peace,  as  his  flatterers 
called  him,  and  as  he  loved  to  hear 
himself  called — the  man  whose  motto, 
as  his  enemies  constantly  asserted, 
was  "  Peace  at  any  price,"  and  who 
avowedly  and  upon  principle  disliked 
war — should  have  devised  and  carried 
out  the  plan  of  a  national  gallery  of 
French  military  fame.  A  merci- 
less analyser  of  the  citizen  king's 
secret  thoughts  and  motives,  Mr  Stahr 
declares  this  gallery  to  have  been  a 
speculation  of  "  the  crowned  shop- 
keeper,"— a  speculation  by  which  his 
dynasty  was  to  gain  strength  at  the 
expense  of  a  national  weakness. 
There  is  truth  in  this;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  the  professor's  opinion 
must  not  here  be  accepted  as  impartial 
evidence.  He  is  evidently  led  into 
unusual  fervour  by  his  holy  horror  of 
war.  We  suspect  him  of  being  a 
member  of  the  Peace  Congress — to 
which  he  in  one  place  kindly  alludes, 
as  the  humble  commencement  of  a 
great  movement.  Like  many  other 


1851.] 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


adherents  of  the  political  sect  which 
proposes  to  itself  an  aim  that  could 
never  possibly  be  attained  without 
terrible  convulsions  and  sanguinary 
conflicts,  he  cannot  abide  the  sight  of 
blood,  shudders  at  wounds,  and  recoils 
in  terror  and  dismay  from  the  "slaying 
and  murdering,  singeing  and  burning, 
cutting  and  stabbing,"  depicted  upon 
the  walls  of  the  Versailles  gallery. 
He  looks  not  lovingly  upon  this 
pictorial  history  of  France,  sketched 
from  her  battle-fields,  and  including 
the  exploits  of  her  innumerable 
warriors,  from  Clodwig  down  to 
Bugeaud.  On  the  other  hand, 
he  curiously  and  eagerly  examines 
the  pictures  illustrating  the  events 
of  1830  and  Louis  Philippe's  acces- 
sion. Of  the  battle-pieces  he  has 
set  down  some  (and  not  altogether 
without  reason)  as  mere  daubs, 
which  no  one  would  glance  at  twice 
but  for  the  sake  of  the  subject. 
When  surveying  the  illustrations  of 
the  July  revolution,  he  forgets  artistic 
criticism  in  his  satirical  account  of  the 
personages  that  fill  the  canvass,  and 
especially  of  the  chief  actor  in  those 
scenes,  Louis  Philippe  himself.  "  His 
arrival  at  the  Palais  Royal,"  says  the 
rancorous  professor,  "  has  something 
sneaking  about  it.  He  is  profusely 
adorned  with  tricolor  ribbons,  wears 
white  trousers,  a  brown  coat,  and  a 
round  hat.  He  looks  like  a  rogue  who 
has  just  crept  into  another  man's 
estate.  But  characteristic  above  all 
is  the  picture  in  which  he  signs  the 
proclamation  naming  him  Lieutenant- 
General  of  the  Kingdom  (July  31, 
1830.)  The  figures  are  the  size  of 
life,  all  in  plain  clothes,  and  decorated 
with  the  tricolor.  They  sit  round  a 
green  council-table,  the  coming  Citi- 
zen-King in  the  midst  of  them,  dressed 
in  a  brown  coat  with  a  black  velvet 
collar  and  a  black  satin  waistcoat,  a 
large  fine  shirt- frill,  a  neatly  tied 
white  cravat,  his  hair  carefully  curled, 
his  eyes  half  closed,  the  corners  of 
his  mouth  lugubriously  drawn  down. 
He  holds  up  the  momentous  sheet  of 
paper,  close  above  which  the  pen  in 
his  right  hand  hovers,  and  seems  to 
ask  those  around  him  —  '  Ought  I 
then  ? — must  I  ?  '  All  eyes  are  fixed 
trustingly  upon  him,  especially  those 
of  honest  Laffitte,  in  the  corner  on 
the  left.  Sebastiani  looks  somewhat 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXIII. 


553 

keener  and  shrewder.  Never  in  my 
life  did  I  see  a  picture  that  so  per- 
fectly represents  an  assemblage  of  Jew 
bankers,  gathered  round  their  leader 
to  advise  on  a  '  bull '  or  4  bear ' 
speculation.  The  whole  party  have 
this  Jewish  calculating  expression  — 
Louis  Philippe  more  than  any  of  them. 
And  this  is  the  countenance  the  man 
has  himself  had  perpetuated  !  It  is  a 
strange  historical  irony.  All  the  old 
Bourbons,  even  the  two  last  Louises 
and  Charles  X.  looked  noble,  or  at 
least  like  noblemen,  in  the  expression 
of  their  features,  compared  with  this 
essentially  common  physiognomy. 
Their  faces,  at  any  rate,  expressed  the 
decided  and  undeniable  consciousness 
of  high  descent,  whilst  the  predomi- 
nating expression  in  Louis  Philippe's 
countenance  is  that  of  a  cunning  shop- 
keeper. And  this  expression  is  every- 
where the  same,  in  all  the  pictures, 
&c.  &c."  There  is  more  in  the  same 
strain.  Some  may  be  disposed  to 
quarrel  with  Mr  Stahr  for  pressing  so 
hard  upon  a  dead  man ;  but,  Jiving  or 
dead,  kings  are  fair  subjects  of  criti- 
cism ;  and,  unsparing  and  savage  as 
are  often  the  professor's  strictures  on 
the  character  and  policy  of  Louis  Phi- 
lippe, they  yet  are  the  most  truthful 
and  just  of  all  the  political  portions 
of  his  book.  Messrs  Montalivet  and 
Miraflores,  and  the  other  unscrupulous 
panegyrists  of  the  late  King  of  the 
French,  would  have  too  good  a  game 
left  them  if  it  were  forbidden  to  reply 
by  more  exact  and  impartial  state- 
ments to  their  exaggerated  enco- 
miums. 

Passing  from  the  deceased  sove- 
reign to  his  family,  we  are  led  to  an 
apparently  remote  subject— namely, 
Mr  Stahr's  visit  to  Alexander  Dumas, 
who,  as  is  well  known,  was  a  favourite 
and  intimate  of  the  dukes  of  Orleans 
and  Montpensier.  When  reviewing, 
a  few  years  ago,  the  Paris  diary  of 
a  countryman  of  Mr  Stahr's— a  gen- 
tleman of  similar  politics  and  equal 
discretion  —  we  noticed  an  offensive 
practice  common  amongst  modern 
German  writers,  many  of  whom,  on 
return  from  foreign  travel,  scruple 
not  to  commit  to  print  the  most  con- 
fidential conversation  and  minute 
domestic  details  of  persons  who  have 
hospitably  welcomed  them,  and  im- 
prudently admitted  them  to  intimacy. 
SN 


554 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


[Nov. 


No  consideration  of  propriety  checks 
these  impudent  scribblers.  Delicacy 
and  reserve  are  things  unknown  to 
them.  The  persons  concerning  whom 
they  flippantly  babble  may  dwell 
within  a  day's  railroad  of  them,  and 
be  sure  to  see  their  books — may  be 
equally  sure  to  feel  vexed  or  dis- 
gusted by  their  unwarrantable  revela- 
tions and  offensive  inferences  ;  no 
matter,  they  speak  of  them  as  though 
Pekin  were  their  domicile.  As  re- 
gards the  radical  professor  from 
Oldenburg,  we  sincerely  trust  that  he 
may  fall  in,  at  an  early  day,  with  the 
martial  author  of  the  Mousquetaires, 
and  receive  from  him,  as  guerdon  for 
his  gossip,  a  delicately  administered 
estocade.  We  never  heard  whether 
Janin  chastised  Mr  Carl  Gutzkow, 
either  with  pen  or  pistol,  for  his  slip- 
shod and  indecent  chatter  concerning 
him  and  Madame  Janin  ;  but  we  re- 
member somebody  doing  it  for  him  in 
the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  where 
we  suspect  Mr  Stahr  has  a  fair  chance 
of  being  in  his  turn  gibbeted.  Here 
is  the  German  professor's  account  of 
Dumas's  personal  appearance  and  pri- 
vate residence.  It  is  a  curious  bit  of 
miniature-painting.  "In  person  he  is 
tall  and  powerful  ;  his  movements, 
once  unquestionably  very  flexible,  are 
now  characterised  by  an  easy  negli- 
gence. His  bright  complexion  and  large 
prominent  light-blue  eyes  contrast 
with  the  mouth  and  nose,  which  betray 
his  African  origin.  Good-nature, 
and  a  combination  of  intellectuality 
with  a  keen  relish  of  life,  are  the  most 
prominent  characteristics  of  his  broad 
round  face.  His  thick  woolly  hair,  now 
all  but  grey,  seems  to  have  been 
formerly  light-coloured.  He  sits  in  a 
very  large  room  on  the  first  floor  of 
the  last  house  in  the  Avenue  Frochot. 
His  apartment  is  reached  through  a 
dark  corridor.  On  the  side  that 
looks  out  upon  the  very  quiet  street, 
is  a  glass  gallery,  which  serves  as 
a  greenhouse.  There  was  nothing 
remarkable  in  it.  Mignonette  and 
heliotropes  were  growing  in  the  tubs 
in  which  a  few  large  oleander  bushes 
were  planted.  Of  the  magnificent 
tropical  vegetation  of  which  report 
has  spoken,  there  was  no  sign.  The 
room  was  decorated,  and  divided  into 
two  parts,  with  brown  woollen  hang- 
ings. In  the  largest  division,  into 


which  visitors  are  conducted,  and  in 
front  of  the  greenhouse  windows, 
stands  a  vast  writing-table.  Ancient 
and  modern  arms  deck  the  walls.  But 
of  Oriental  luxury  there  was  not  the 
least  appearance.  And  some  other 
apartments  through  which  he  after- 
wards took  me,  to  show  me  his  winter 
reception-room,  were  by  no  means  so 
luxuriously  fitted  up  as  has  been 
reported  in  Germany." 

"  I  found  his  bookseller  with  him. 
'  Look  well  at  the  man,'  said  Dumas, 
'  who  pays  to  one  author  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  a-year.  Such  men 
are  not  to  be  seen  every  day.'  Not- 
withstanding this  little  bit  of  brag,  I 
hear  that  his  finances  are  in  no  very 
brilliant  state,  and  that  the  failure  of 
his  Theatre  Historique,  especially, 
threatens  him  with  heavy  losses.  In 
the  course  of  conversation,  he  humour- 
ously complained  of  the  total  absence 
of  repose  in  his  laborious  existence, 
of  which  we  easy-going,  comfortable, 
German  authors  could  scarcely  form 
an  idea.  So  many  newspapers,  a 
theatre  of  his  own,  the  contract- 
romances,  and  the  stipulated  dramas 
— truly,  it  amounts  to  a  considerable 
total.  On  subsequent  visits,  I  never 
found  his  room  and  antechamber  free 
from  a  throng  of  visitors — booksellers, 
printers,  managers,  actors,  secretaries, 
and  others— all  of  whom  he  knew  how 
to  despatch  with  great  rapidity,  and 
without  interrupting  the  thread  of 
our  conversation  for  more  than  a  few 
moments  at  a  time."  Conversations 
with  so  lively  and  versatile  a  genius 
as  M.  Dumas,  turned,  as  may  be 
supposed,  on  a  vast  variety  of  sub- 
jects, but  that  of  which  Mr  Stahr 
has  given  us  most  details  related 
to  the  ex-royal  family  of  France. 
"  In  a  side-room  he  showed  us  some 
very  pretty  pen-and-ink  drawings — 
hunting  subjects,  by  the  late  Duke  of 
Orleans.  This  gave  him  opportunity 
to  speak  of  his  high  respect  for  the 
mental  endowments  of  the  prince, 
with  whom  it  is  well  known  that  he 
was  on  a  footing  of  intimacy.  '  He 
had  wit  enough  for  ten,'  said  Dumas. 
'  When  we  were  five  or  six  hommes 
d'esprit  de  Paris  together,'  added  he, 
with  amusing  naivete,  '  it  was  quite 
impossible  to  distinguish  which  was 
the  prince  and  which  the  wit.  The 
prince  was  the  incarnation  of  French 


1851.] 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


555 


esprit,  and  of  the  Parisian-French 
esprit,  which  includes  all  possible 
qualities.  Her  inability  to  under- 
stand and  appreciate  this  esprit  Pa- 
risien  was  a  drawback  upon  the  do- 
mestic happiness  of  the  Duchess  of 
Orleans,  notwithstanding  her  many 
excellent  qualities.  Her  heavier 
German  nature  did  not  harmonise 
with  her  husband's  light  elastic  dis- 
position. It  put  her  beside  herself 
when  he  transgressed  in  the  presence 
of  a  third  person  the  rules  prescribed 
by  the  etiquette  of  little  German 
courts.'  Dumas  told  some  interest- 
ing examples  of  this — examples,  how- 
ever, not  adapted  for  publication,  as 
they  related  to  the  prince's  private 
life.  The  Duke  of  Orleans  foresaw  a 
revolution,  in  a  republican  sense,  as  a 
consequence  of  his  father's  system. 
His  testamentary  arrangements  with 
respect  to  the  education  of  his  son 
were  all  made  in  anticipation  of  such 
an  event  coming  to  pass.  In  any 
case,  he  wished  his  wife  to  have  no- 
thing to  do  with  the  government  of 
the  country.  The  passage  of  his  will 
relating  to  this  point  is  conceived 
quite  in  the  spirit  of  the  words  with 
which  Homer's  Telemachus  consigns 
his  mother  Penelope  to  the  society  of 
her  women.  '  If,  unhappily,  the 
king's  authority  could  not  watch  over 
my  son  until  his  majority,  Helen 
should  prevent  her  name  being  pro- 
nounced for  the  regency.  Leaving, 
as  it  is  her  duty  and  her  interest,  all 
the  cares  of  government  to  virile 
hands,  accustomed  to  handle  the 
sword,  Helen  should  devote  herself 
entirely  to  the  education  of  our  chil- 
dren.' The  Duke  of  Orleans'  death 
was  pregnant  with  fatal  consequences 
for  the  dynasty,  because  he,  the  most 
highly  gifted  of  all  the  old  king's  sons, 
was  perhaps  the  only  one  who  would 
have  been  capable  of  giving  things  a 
different  turn  in  the  event  of  a  con- 
flict like  the  February  revolution.  He 
knew  his  brothers  too  well  not  to  be 
convinced  that  they  were  unequal  to 
such  an  emergency.  'Nemours,' 
said  he  to  one  of  his  confidants,  '  is 
the  man  of  rule  and  etiquette :  he 
keeps  step  well,  and  keeps  himself  be- 
hind me  with  scrupulous  attention. 
He  will  never  assume  the  initiative.' 
He  held  the  Dukes  of  Nemours  and 
Aumale  to  be  brave  soldiers.  Of  the 


Prince  de  Joinville  he  said  :  *  He  has 
a  passion  for  danger  :  he  will  commit 
a  thousand  acts  of  brilliant  impru- 
dence, and  will  receive  a  ball  in  his 
breast  at  the  assault  of  a  barricade,' 
— a  fate  which  Joinville  escaped  in 
February  probably  only  by  his  absence 
from  Paris.  *  Now  that  younger  sons 
are  no  longer  made  abbes,'  continued 
the  Duke  of  Orleans,  referring  to  little 
Montpensier,  '  I  am  at  a  loss  to  ima- 
gine what  is  to  be  done  with  them.' 

"  Of  none  of  his  sons  was  the  old 
king  more  jealous,"  says  Mr  Stahr, 
"  than  of  the  heir  to  the  crown.  Let- 
ters found  in  the  Tuileries  in  February 
1848  show  that  he  kept  him  in  the 
strictest  dependence,  and  had  spies 
observing  him  wherever  he  was.  In 
the  year  1839  the  duke  complained 
'  that  he  had  less  power  than  any  pri- 
vate citizen  who  had  a  vote  at  elec- 
tions ;  that  he  did  nothing  but  the 
commissions  of  the  ministers ;  that 
everything  was  in  danger,  nothing 
gave  promise  of  durability,  and  that  it 
was  impossible  to  say  what  might 
happen  from  one  day  to  the  other.' 
The  prince  expressed  himself  thus 
whilst  upon  a  journey,  in  aconfidential 
circle  of  officers  of  rank.  Two  days 
later  his  words,  set  down  in  writing, 
were  in  the  hands  of  the  king.  The 
surprising  irresolution  and  want  of 
presence  of  mind  displayed  by  the 
other  princes  in  the  hour  of  danger, 
can  only  be  accounted  for  by  the  slav- 
ish dependence  in  which  the  old  mo- 
narch had  kept  them." 

Although  easy  and  affable  in  his 
intercourse  with  his  friends,  a  certain 
jealous  vigilance  with  regard  to  the 
respect  due  to  his  rank  formed  a 
feature  in  the  character  of  the  Duke 
of  Orleans.  The  anecdote  told  to  Mr 
Stahr  by  Dumas,  as  an  illustration 
of  this  trait,  can  hardly,  however,  be 
admitted  to  prove  undue  suscepti- 
bility, but  rather  the  prince's  ^con- 
sciousness that  his  house  stood  upon 
an  unstable  foundation.  It  was  at  a 
hunting-party  at  Fontainebleau.  The 
chase  was  very  unsuccessful.  The 
Duke  of  Orleans  turned  to  an  Italian 
nobleman,  to  whose  family  Louis 
Philippe  had  obligations  of  ancient 
date,  and  who  on  that  account  was  on 
a  friendly  footing  at  court.  "  Well ! 
Monsieur  de— ,"  said  the  duke,  "how 
are  we  hunting  to-day?"  "Like 


556 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


[Nov. 


pigs,  Monseigneur,  (comme  les  co- 
chons,)"  was  the  Italian's  coarse  reply. 
The  duke,  evidently  annoyed,  said  to 
Dumas :  u  And  you  believe  our  mo- 
narchy possible,  when  a  De  . .  .  dares 
thus  to  answer  the  heir  to  the  throne?  " 
Mr  Stahr  was  interested  to  find  that 
Dumas,  notwithstanding  his  monar- 
chical friendships  and  associations, 
believed  in  the  necessity  and  durabi- 
lity of  the  republic.  "  It  seems," 
said  the  ingenious  and  versatile  author 
of  Monte  Christo,  "  as  if  Providence 
had  resolved  to  let  us  try  all  manner 
of  monarchies,  in  order  to  convince 
us  that  not  one  of  them  is  adapted  to 
our  character  and  condition."  Then 
he  gave  his  auditors  a  detailed  sketch 
of  all  the  French  monarchies  previous 
to  the  Revolution  of  1789.  "  Since 
that  Revolution,"  he  went  on,  "  we 
have  had  the  monarchy  of  Genius  : 
it  lasted  ten  years.  We  have  had  the 
restoration  of  the  monarchy  of  esprit 
and  chivalrous  gallantry :  it  lasted 
fifteen  years  ;  and  was  succeeded  by 
the  citizen-monarchy,  which  lasted 
eighteen.  What  would  you  have  us 
try  now  ?  This  republic  is  bad.  But 
a  child  in  swaddling-clothes  matures 
into  a  man."  Sensibly  enough  spoken 
for  a  romance-writer,  indulgently  re- 
marks Mr  Stahr,  who  is  always  glad 
to  obtain  a  suffrage  in  favour  of  re- 
publican institutions.  We  attach  the 
same  degree  of  value  to  M.  Dumas's 
political  vaticinations  as  to  his 
Frenchified  rifaccimenti  of  Shak- 
speare's  plays.  Shakspeare  in  French, 
as  Mr  Ford  remarks  in  his  Spanish 
Handbook,  "is  like  Niagara  passed 
through  a  jelly- bag."  A  miracle  of 
degradation  which  reminds  us  to  turn 
to  a  scornful  and  indignant  chapter 
suggested  to  Mr  Stahr  by  a  certain 
Monsieur  Michel  Carre's  version  of 
Goethe's  Faust,  performed  at  the  Gym- 
nast theatre.  "  Goethe  is  unknown  in 
France,"  says  the  Countess  d'Agoult, 
one  of  the  few  competent  French 
apprcciators  of  German  literature,  in 
her  Esquisses  Morales  et  Politiques. 
Nothing,  according  to  Mr  Stahr, 
could  be  better  fitted  to  confirm  and 
perpetuate  French  ignorance  of  the 
great  German  than  such  dramas  as 
that  which  he  painfully  endured  at 
the  Gymnase.  According  to  Madame 
d'Agoult,  her  countrymen  will  not  take 
the  trouble  to  study  Goethe.  To  do 


so  they  must  first  learn  a  language. 
"  Why  did  he  not  write  in  French  ? 
He  has  only  what  he  deserves,  after 
all.  How  is  it  possible  to  be  a  Ger- 
man ? — (comment  est  on  Allemand?)  " 
"  If  this  is  not  exactly  out-spoken," 
says  Madame  d'Agoult,  "  it  is  at 
least  privately  thought  in  a  country 
where  the  arrogance  of  ignorance 
attains  proportions  unknown  to  other 
nations."  "La  superbe  de  Vignorance" 
"  der  Uebermuth  der  Unwissenheit !  " 
cries  Mr  Stahr  in  an  ecstasy  :  u  I  kiss 
the  fair  lady's  hand  who  wrote  the 
word,  for,  without  it,  I  should  never 
have  hit  upon  the  appropriate  term 
for  this  newest  French  atrocity  of 
M.  Michel  Carre,  perpetrated  upon 
the  most  profound  work  of  German 
genius.  I  am  not  without  experience 
of  the  theatrical  sufferings  of  our 
day  ;  but  such  torture  as  was  yester- 
day inflicted,  at  the  Gymnase  theatre, 
upon  every  German  fibre  in  our 
frames,  I  never  before  in  my  whole 
life  witnessed  or  underwent.  I  was 
prepared  for  little  that  was  good,  and 
for  much  that  was  laughable ;  but  my 
expectations  and  fears  were  surpassed 
to  an  extent  it  was  impossible  to 
anticipate.  Marsyas  flayed  by  Apollo 
is  no  very  pleasing  picture,  but  the 
Belvidere  Apollo  flayed  by  a  Marsyas 
is  a  spectacle  which  it  takes  all  the 
nerve  of  German  critical  observation 
to  endure."  Mr  Stahr  then  proceeds 
to  dissect  the  drama,  act  by  act,  and 
almost  scene  by  scene,  with  consider- 
able acuteness  and  humour.  The 
specimens  of  fustian  he  gives,  the 
execrable  French  taste  he  exposes, 
fully  justify  the  intensity  of  his  dis- 
gust. The  Gymnase  drama  is  evidently 
worse  than  a  tame  translation  ;  it  is 
an  obscene  parody  of  Goethe's  great 

§oem.  It  is  a  compound,  as  Mr 
tahr  expresses  it,  of"  dirt  and  fire — 
that  sort  of  fire,  namely,  which  is 
lighted  by  the  brandy-bottle."  We 
believe  it  impossible  that  Faust 
should  ever  be  done  justice  to  in  a 
French  version.  But  if  translators, 
owing  to  the  want  of  power  of  the 
French  language,  and  to  the  utter 
absence  of  affinity  and  sympathy 
between  it  and  the  German,  must 
ever  fail  to  a  certain  extent,  they  at 
least  may  avoid  degrading  and  dis- 
torting the  tone  and  sentiments  of 
the  original.  This  M.  Carre",  of 


1851.] 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


557 


whom  we  now  hear  for  the  first 
time,  seems  to  have  cultivated  his 
taste  and  sought  his  inspirations  in 
the  worst  school  of  modern  French 
literature,  and  in  the  orgies  of  Parisian 
rakes.  The  inference  is  inevLable 
from  the  scenes  and  passages  de- 
scribed and  quoted  by  Mr  Stahr.  As 
to  the  verbal  spirit  and  fidelity  of  the 
translation,  the  following  may  serve 
as  a  specimen.  "In  the  church-going 
scene,  the  lines,  so  charming  in  the 
original : — 

'  Mein  schones  Fraulein,  darf  ich  wagen, 
Arm  und  Greleite  anzutragen  ?  ' 

are  thus  rendered  in  M.  Carre's 
French  :  Oserai-je,  Mademoiselle,  vous 
offrir  mon  bras,  pour  vous  conduire 
jusqu'a  chez  vous?  For  Gretchen's 
exquisitely  graceful  and  saucy  reply — 

'  Bin  weder  Fraulein,  weder  schon, 
Kann  ungeleitet  nach  Hause  gehn  !  ' 

which  so  completely  captivates 
Goethe's  Faust,  this  Frenchman  has 
been  able  to  discover  no  better  equi- 
valent than,  '  Pardon,  Monsieur,  je 
puisfort  bien  rentrer  seule  a  la  maison  ' 
— an  answer  too  flat  and  insipid  even 
for  a  Paris  Lorette  of  the  present 
day."  Mr  Stahr  was  tolerably  well 
pleased  with  the  bearing  of  the 
audience  who  had  come  to  partake  of 
this  pitiable  French  hash.  They  may 
have  felt  a  natural  curiosity  to  know 
something  about  the  Faust  and  Mar- 
garet whose  acquaintance  they  had 
made  in  the  print-shop  windows,  but 
their  sympathy  with  the  piece  went 
no  farther.  Even  the  Rose  of  the 
Gymnase,  the  Rose  Cheri,  so  cherished 
by  the  Parisian  public,  failed  to  ex- 
tract applause  as  M.  Carre's  Margaret. 
"It  is  very  romantic,"  Mr  Stahr 
heard  some  of  his  neighbours  remark, 
"  but  it  is  a  little  too  German  ;  Mon- 
sieur Goethe's  poetry  does  not  suit 
the  French  taste."  Poor  public  ! 
Poor  Goethe  !  introduced  to  each 
other  under  such  dismal  auspices.  It 
must  have  been  a  relief  to  Mr  Stahr 
to  quit  this  miserable  travesty,  and 
turn  to  the  native  drama ;  although 
even  by  this,  judging  from  a  letter  on 
theatrical  subjects  addressed  to  his 
friend  Julius  Mosen,  he  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  much  gratified. 
"  I  know  not,"  he  says,  "  whether 
my  taste  for  theatres  is  gone  by,  or 


what  is  the  reason,  but  as  yet  I  have 
been  scarcely  half-a-dozen  times  to 
the  play.  Beginning  with  the  Theatre 
Frangais,  I  might  place  as  a  motto  at 
the  beginning  of  this  letter  the  words 
of  Courier  :  *  The  fact  is  that  the 
Theatre  Fran^ais,  and  all  the  old 
theatres  of  Paris,  the  Opera  included, 
are  excessively  wearisome.'  To  be  sure, 
Rachel  is  not  here.  She  is  gathering 
laurels  in  Germany;  and  when  I  com- 
plained confidentially  to  an  acquaint- 
ance that  the  tragedy  of  the  Theatre 
Francais  did  not  move  me,  he  en- 
deavoured to  console  me  by  telling 
me  of  Madlle.  Rachel,  and  of  her 
speedy  return  to  Paris.  She  stands 
alone,  incomparable,  a  phenomenon. 
But  the  phenomenon  is  absent ;  and 
the  Paris  stage  is  consequently  dark- 
ened. It  is  always  a  bad  sign  for  the 
condition  of  an  art  when  it  thus 
entirely  depends  upon  one  of  its  pro- 
fessors." Mr  Stahr  was  better  pleased 
with  the  lively  performances  at  the 
four  Vaudeville  theatres,  and  gives  an 
amusing  analysis  of  La  Fille  bien 
gardee,  the  little  one-act  piece  which, 
for  many  weeks  of  last  year,  nightly 
drew  crowds  to  the  Theatre  Montan- 
sier.  It  belongs  to  a  class  of  dra- 
matic trifles  in  which  French  play- 
wrights and  actors  are  perfect  and  ini- 
mitable ;  trifles  which  only  grow  upon 
French  soil,  and  will  not  bear  trans- 
planting. 

After  his  savage  attacks  upon  Louis 
Philippe  and  the  French  President,  it 
would  be  quite  out  of  character  if  Mr 
Stahr — who  evidently  bears  monarchy 
a  grudge,  and  will  tolerate  no  govern- 
ment that  can  possibly  be  identified 
with  the  cause  of  order — had  not  a 
fling  at  Henri  Cinq.  Perhaps  it  is 
because  he  deems  the  Legitimist  in- 
terest less  formidable  to  his  views  than 
the  Orleanist  or  Buonapartist,  that  he 
adopts  a  different  mode  of  attack,  and 
exchanges  ferocity  for  raillery.  The 
German  tongue  being  but  indiffer- 
ently adapted  to  the  lighter  manner 
of  warfare,  he  glides  into  French,  in 
which  language  he  writes  nearly  a 
whole  chapter.  Stepping  one  day 
into  a  hair-dresser's  rooms,  he  was 
so  fortunate  as  to  come  under  the 
hands  of  the  master  of  the  estab- 
lishment, an  eager  politician  and  a 
red-hot  Legitimist,  voluble  and  com- 
municative as  only  a  Frenchman 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


558 

and  a  barber  can  be.  With  the 
very  first  clip  of  the  scissors  an  ani- 
mated conversation  began,  which  Mr 
Stahr  has  set  down  so  far  as  his 
memory  serves  him,  although  he 
much  doubts  that  his  pen  has  con- 
veyed all  the  minuter  comical  touches 
of  the  dialogue.  This  began  with 
the  usual  exordium  of  Frenchmen  of 
all  classes  since  the  revolution  — 
"You,  Monsieur,"  said  the  man  of 
wigs,  "  are  a  foreigner,  and  con- 
sequently uninterested  in  our  quarrels. 
Tell  me  what  you  think  of  our  situa- 
tion ?  " 

"I  think,"  replied  I,  "that  the 
President  will  never  willingly  resign 
power." 

"But,  Monsieur,  what  is  to  be 
hoped  for  from  such  an  imbecile?" 

"  I  do  not  say  he  will  succeed  ;  I 
say  he  will  make  the  attempt." 

"  And  /  say  that  he  will  fail. 
Henry  the  Fifth  for  me !  a  la  bonne 
heure !  There  is  a  man  for  you." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  him  ? 
You  are  very  anxious,  then,  to  make 
tonsures?" 

"What  do  I  know  about  him?  But, 
Monsieur,  I  have  seen  him,  I  am 
acquainted  with  him,  I  have  spoken 
to  him,  and  I  tell  you  he  is  a  charm- 
ing man  !  " 

"  Where  did  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Did  I  not  go  to  see  him  at  Wies- 
baden !  Sir,  there  were  thirty-nine 
of  us — workmen,  we  called  ourselves, 
though  we  were  all  masters — who 
went  of  our  own  accord  to  pay  our 
respects  to  Henry  V.  The  thing 
was  briskly  done,  I  beg  you  to 
believe.  I  spoke  to  him  as  I  speak 
to  you,  sir,  at  this  moment.  At  first 
I  was  received  by  M.  de  la  Ferron- 
naye,  his  aide-de-camp.  '  Good  morn- 
ing, Monsieur  R.,'  said  he,  '  how  do 
you  do  ?  '  —  '  Very  well,  sir,  I  thank 
you,'  answered  I  ;  and  far  from 
making  me  wait  whole  hours  at  the 
door,  like  those  republicans  of  the 
Veille,  he  made  me  sit  down  beside 
him  on  the  sofa,  as  affable  as  could 
be." 

Mr  Stahr  inquired  of  the  worthy 
coiffeur  what  had  been  the  motive 
of  his  journey  to  Wiesbaden,  which 
he  seemed  to  look  upon  as  a  sort 
of  North  Pole  expedition,  and  of 
whose  fatigues  and  privations  he 
drew  a  vivid  picture.  He  wished  to 


[Nov. 


judge  for  himself,  he  said;  to  see 
whether  the  rightful  heir  to  the 
throne  was  as  ill-favoured  as  his 
enemies  represented  him  to  be.  He 
found  him,  on  the  contrary,  full  of 
amiable  qualities.  He  was  a  little 
lame,  but  his  smile  was  irresistible. 
Warming  with  his  subject,  the  en- 
thusiastic Henriquinquist  asked  his 
customer's  permission  to  relate  all  the 
particulars  of  his  reception  at  Wies- 
baden. This  was  just  what  Mr 
Stahr  wished,  and  he  duly  encou- 
raged his  interlocutor. 

"On  our  arrival,"  continued  the 
hairdresser,  "  we  presented  ourselves 
to  the  aide-de-camp,  as  I  have  had 
the  honour  of  informing  you.  He 
took  down  our  names,  and  gave  us 
each  a  number  of  rotation,  according 
to  which  we  were  arranged  in  the 
afternoon  at  the  general  audience. 
We  were  formed  in  three  ranks.  The 
prince  was  informed  beforehand  of 
the  name  and  trade  of  each  number, 
so  that  he  was  able  to  address  a  few 
well-chosen  words  to  everybody. 
When  we  were  all  drawn  up  in  order, 
he  came  in,  placed  himself  in  the 
midst  of  us,  at  a  few  paces  distance, 
and  addressed  us.  '  Good  day  to 
you,  my  friends,'  he  said :  '  believe 
me  when  I  say  that  I  am  most  sensible 
of  the  mark  of  sympathy  you  have 
so  spontaneously  given  me,  by  quit- 
ting your  families  and  occupations, 
and  undertaking  a  journey  into  a 
foreign  country  to  see  and  console 
me  in  my  exile.  Be  sure  that  I  will 
never  forget  what  you  have  done  for 
me.'  Then  he  said,  'Come  nearer, 
my  friends  ! '  We  advanced  a  step. 
'  Nearer  yet,  my  friends.  You  come 
from  too  far  not  to  come  nearer  !  I 
hope  to  see  you  all  at  eight  o'clock 
to-night ! ' " 

The  hairdresser  acted  this  scene 
as  he  related  it,  addressing  himself 
and  Mr  Stahr  alternately  as  the 
prince,  by  whose  mandate  to  draw  a 
step  nearer  he  was  evidently  vastly 
flattered.  The  professor,  immensely 
amused  by  the  performance,  still 
fancied  he  saw  that  the  main  cause  of 
the  fascination  which  Henry  V.  had 
exercised  upon  his  devoted  adherent 
was  still  undivulged.  The  sequel 
showed  that  he  was  not  mistaken. 

"  In  the  evening,"  continued  the 
coiffeur,  "  we  returned  to  the  Prince's 


1851.] 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


559 


residence ;  there  we  partook  of  re- 
freshments, and  the  Prince  had  an 
amiable  word  for  each  and  all  of  us. 
He  talked  about  the  state  of  affairs  in 
France,  and  wished  to  know  all  our 
opinions  of  it.  The  next  day  some  of 
us  were  received  in  private  audience. 
I  was  of  the  number.  But  as  we  were 
numerous,  and  the  Prince  was-  very- 
busy,  I  could  not  have  mucft  con- 
versation with  him.  However,  he 
gave  me  a  silver  medal,  and — '  MrR.,' 
said  he,  *  have  you  a  comfortable  bed 
at  your  hotel  ?  '  '  Monseigneur,'  I 
replied,  '  since  you  deign  to  ask  the 
question,  I  am  accustomed  to  sleep 
between  two  sheets,  and  as  I  do  not 
understand  a  word  of  German,  I  have 
been  unable  to  make  them  under- 
stand this  at  my  hotel.  They  put 
the  sheet  sometimes  over  and  some- 
times under  the  blanket,  but  never 
more  than  one.'  Sir,"  continued  the 
delighted  barber,  addressing  himself 
to  Mr  Stahr,  whilst  his  face  beamed 
with  triumph,  "  that  night  I  had  two 
sheets  upon  my  bed.  Could  anything 
be  more  amiable?  Ah,  sir,  I  have 
seen  them  from  very  near,  those  re- 
publicans of  the  Mountain,  those  mem- 
bers of  the  Provisional  Government ! 
—  what  blockheads!  what  boors! 
They  aspired  to  command,  and  in 
their  whole  lives  scarcely  one  of  them 
had  had  as  much  as  a  servant  at  his 
orders !  Sir,  it  was  pitiable  to  behold." 

Mr  Stahr  observed  to  the  loyal 
hair-curler  that  he  had  seen  the  per- 
sons in  question  only  after  they  had 
attained  power,  and  that  there  are  few 
more  amiable  people  in  the  world 
than  a  pretender,  before  he  has 
gained  his  object.  He  thought  it 
possible  that,  once  at  the  Tuileries, 
Henry  V.  might  show  himself  in  a 
less  agreeable  light,  and  trouble  him- 
self less  about  his  adherent's  bed- 
linen.  The  barber's  sensible  reply 
did  him  honour.  But  barbers,  from 
Don  Quixote's  day  downwards,  have 
been  men  of  good  counsel. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  coiffeur,  u  I 
am  not  a  fool.  Do  you  suppose  I 
shall  go  and  plague  him,  when  he  is 
king  ?  He  will  have  other  matters  to 
mind  then.  I  have  no  pretensions  to 
be  made  minister  or  prefect,  when 
there  are  people  who  have  studied 


those  things  all  their  lives.  I  am  a 
hairdresser,  and  I  shall  remain  one. 
But  /  want  to  dress  a  great  deal  of  'hair \ 
and  under  the  republic  I  dress  none." 

"But,"  remarked  Mr  Stahr,  "you 
dress  more  under  the  President." 

The  barber,  however,  was  no  ad- 
mirer of  the  President,  whom  he  had 
also  been  to  see,  before  his  election, 
and  upon  the  appearance  of  whose 
head  he  passed  a  most  unfavourable 
opinion.  He  was  sulky,  he  said,  and 
not  conversable.  The  affairs  of 
France  could  never  go  on  well  under 
a  man  who  knew  not  how  to  talk. 
Moreover,  nothing  could  suit  him  but 
Henry  V.  He  was  neither  Buona- 
partist  nor  Republican.  But  when 
things  were  at  the  worst,  he  said,  his 
cry  had  always  been  "  Vive  la 
France!  "  "Stick  to  that !  "  said  a 
customer  who  just  then  stepped  in. 
"  France  has  a  tough  existence,  and 
will  outlive  your  Henri  Dieudonne  and 
all  his  kin,  and  the  President  to  boot. 
And  now  have  the  goodness  to  curl 
my  hair." 

Whether  fact  or  invention,  this 
sketch  has  one  truthful  point :  it  gives 
a  sound  enough  notion  of  the  manner 
of  reasoning  of  the  French  shopkeeper 
and  petit  bourgeois — a  numerous  and 
weighty  class,  without  whose  concur- 
rence no  state  of  things  can  long  be 
permanent  in  France.  With  them 
the  whole  question,  since  they  first 
awoke  from  the  shock  and  folly  of 
the  February  revolution,  has  been  one 
of  two  sheets  on  their  bed  and  more 
hair  to  dress.  They  will  support  any 
government  under  which  they  can 
sleep  in  peace  and  drive  a  good 
trade.  Some  of  our  readers  will  not 
have  forgotten  the  sufferings  and 
fate  of  poor  Monsieur  Bonardin.* 
The  disasters  and  commercial  de- 
pression of  1848  were  a  severe  but 
perhaps  a  wholesome  and  necessary 
lesson  to  many  thousands  of  French- 
men. Unfortunately,  as  illustrated  in 
M.  Bonardin's  case,  the  lesson  was 
given  to  many  who  neither  required 
nor  deserved  it.  Wandering  near 
Versailles,  in  the  pleasant  valley  of 
Jouy,  Mr  Stahr  and  his  companions 
were  invited  by  a  friendly  dame, 
whose  acquaintance  they  had  made  in 
the  omnibus,  to  walk  into  her  house 


Blackwood's  Magazine  for  December  1848. 


560 


German  Letters  from  Paris. 


[Nov. 


and  taste  her  grapes.     She  perhaps 
thought  the  object  of  the  foreigners' 
pedestrian  stroll  was  to  purchase  one 
of  the  pleasant  country  houses,  sur- 
rounded by  vineyards  and  orchards, 
which  there  abound ;  for  she  took 
them  all  through  her  kitchen -garden 
and  vineyard,  and  through  the  copse  of 
chestnuts  and  hazel  bushes,  to  the  fish- 
pond, and  to  the  pleasant  grotto,  fitted 
up  as  a  chapel,  and  even  to  the  vine- 
dresser's cottage,  from  whose  windows 
a  lovely  view  repaid  the  ascent  of  the 
numerous  terraces.     During  this  tour 
of  inspection  the  good  lady's  tongue 
was  not  altogether  idle,  and  a  melan- 
choly page  out  of  a  Paris  citizen's 
life  was  laid  open  to  the  Germans' 
eyes.   The  pleasant  little  domain  they 
were  rambling  over  was  the  fruit  of 
five-and-twenty  years'  toil.     "  Mon- 
sieur Cendrell,  a  skilful  gilder,  had 
bought  it  a  few  years  before  the  last 
revolution,  and  had  laid  out  consider- 
able sums  in  building  and  embellish- 
ment.   The  revolution  broke  out  just 
as  he  had  given  up  his  business  to  a 
friend  and   assistant.       He  suffered 
heavy  losses,  and  was  now  compelled, 
in  spite  of  the  general  depreciation  of 
all  landed  property,  to  part  with  his 
little  estate.    It  was  to  be  had  for 
only  thirty   thousand   francs,    as   it 
stood — garden  and  vineyard,  dwell- 
ing-house and  garden-cottage,  shady 
copse,   and  pond   well  stocked  with 
carp,    and    right   of   shooting    over 
I    know     not     how     many    acres. 
And    how    neatly    and    comfortably 
arranged  was  the  house,  with  its  bath 
and   billiard-rooms,   and  its   library 
with  portraits  of  Louis  Philippe  and 
the  Count  de  Paris — how  cleanly  kept 
was  every  room  from  the  kitchen  to 
the  attics,  the  gardener's  house  and  the 
stable  included  !     There  was  nothing 
wanting,  but — thirty  thousand  francs 
to  buy  it  with,  and  as  much  more  to 
live  there  quietly  till  the  end  of  one's 
days.     We  sat  full  half-an-hour  in 
the   cottage  on   the   hill,   refreshing 
ourselves    with     the    sweet    grapes 
that  clustered  round  the  windows  of 
the    rush-matted   room,    whilst   the 
kindly    Frenchwoman    told    us    her 
story.     It  is  that  of  thousands  of  her 
class   in   Paris   since   the    February 
revolution.     Truly  it  grieved  us,  both 
for  her  sake  and  our  own,  that  we 
could  not  purchase  the  pleasant  coun- 


try house."    This,  it  will  be  said,  is 
a  common-place  incident.    There  is 
certainly  nothing  in  it  very  striking 
or  dramatic.    Every  day  somebody  or 
other  suffers  losses,  and  is  compelled 
to  reduce  his  establishment,  or  to  put 
it  down  altogether ;   to  sell  his  last 
acre  of  sunny  meadow  and  vineyard, 
and  toil  in  an  obscure  lodging  for 
daily  bread.     But  there  will  be  found 
in  the  picture  something  deeply  affect- 
ing, if  we  suffer  the  mind  to  dwell 
upon  it  for  a  moment,  recalling,  at 
the  same  time,  the  well-known  fact 
referred  to  by  Mr  Stahr,  that,  since 
the  dreary  days  of  1848,  the  fate  of  the 
frame-gilder  of  Jouy  has  been  that  of 
multitudes  of  others  who,  like  him, 
had  passed  a  laborious  manhood  in 
earning,  for  their  old  age,  a  compe- 
tency and  a  right  to  repose.    Thus  we 
obtain  a  glimpse  of  a  mass  of  misery,  of 
domestic  happiness  broken  up,  if  not 
destroyed,   of  hallowed  associations 
rudely  ruptured — by  no  fault  of  the 
victims,  but  as  a  melancholy  effect  of 
the  obstinacy  of  a  selfish  king,  and  of 
the  rashness  and   precipitancy  of  a 
section  of  his  subjects.      But  these 
material  evils,  deplorable  as  they  are, 
sink,  in  our  opinion,   into  insignifi- 
cance, contrasted  with  the  moral  re- 
sults of   the    last    most    ill-omened 
French  revolution.     These  strike  Mr 
Stahr  in  a  very  different  light.     The 
early  part  of  the  month  of  October 
was  passed  by  him  at  the  pretty  village 
of  Loges,  near  Versailles,  whither  he 
went  to  enjoy  the  beautiful  scenery 
and  the  mellow  aujtumnal  weather, 
and  to  escape  for  a  few  days  from  the 
whirl  and  rattle  of  Paris.     In  the 
course  of  his  walks,  he  and  his  friends 
not  unfrequently  visited  a  little  rural 
inn  on  the  way  to  Jouy,  kept  by  a 
corpulent     but     active    dame,    who 
usually    favoured     them    with    her 
society  and  conversation,  whilst  they 
consumed  a  glass  of  her  country  wine 
and  a  slice  of  her  frontage  de  Brie. 
She  read  no  newspapers— none  were 
received  in  her  modest  tavern — and 
knew  but  little  of  the  intricacies  of 
her   country's    dissensions;  but   she 
had  political    notions   of   her    own, 
and  was  a  warm  republican.      "  We 
French,"  said  she  to  Mr  Stahr,  "  soon 
get  tired  of  governments.    They  have 
driven  away  all  that  have  been  chosen 
since  Napoleon ;  and  when  they  were 


1851.] 


German  Letters  from  Paris, 


driven  away  the  consequence  always 
was  a  terrible  shock,  affecting  all 
kinds  of  property.  Now,  in  a  repub- 
lic, there  is  no  one  person  to  drive 
away  with  so  much  clatter,  and  that 
is  why,  for  my  part,  I  desire  neither 
a  Napoleon  nor  a  king."  "  Query," 
exclaims  Mr  Stahr,  "  whether  the 
woman  is  so  much  in  the  wrong  ? 
For  my  part,  from  no  French  politi- 
cian have  I  yet  heard  a  more  striking 
remark  with  respect  to  the  present 
circumstances  of  France.  That  France 
has  no  longer  any  king,  any  family 
ruling  her  by  right  divine,  that  is  the 
chief  thing  won  by  the  February  re- 
volution. The  dynastic  and  monar- 
chical illusion  is  completely  eradicated 
from  the  people's  mind,  never  again 
to  take  firm  root."  This  prospect,  in 
which  the  German  radical  exults,  we, 
as  staunch  upholders  of  the  monar- 
chical principle,  should  of  course  de- 
plore, did  we  attach  any  value  to  his 
predictions.  But,  after  what  has 
passed,  we  think  anything  possible  in 
France,  and  should  be  no  more  as- 
tonished at  a  Bourbon  restoration, 
than  at  a  consolidation  of  the  repub- 
lic; at  Joinville's  presidency,  than 
at  Louis  Napoleon's  re-election.  It 
needs  more  temerity  than  judgment 
to  hazard  a  prophecy  concerning 
what  will  or  will  not  take  place  in  a 
country  which,  as  far  as  politics  go, 
has  become,  above  all  others,  le  pays 
de  Vimprevu.  The  title  used  to  be- 
long to  Spain  ;  and  in  the  years  of 
Continental  tranquillity  that  preceded 
1848,  it  was  amusement  for  unoccu- 
pied politicians  to  watch  the  unfore- 
seen crises  constantly  occurring  in  the 
Peninsula.  It  is  infinitely  more  ex- 
citing to  wait  upon  the  caprices  of  a 
great  and  powerful  country,  whose 
decisions,  however  unreasonable,  may 
influence  the  state  of  all  Europe. 


561 

They  can  but  be  waited  upon,  they 
cannot  be  foretold.  Since  the  me- 
morable 10th  of  December  1848,  this 
has  been  our  conviction.  Before  that 
date  there  was  at  least  a  certain  logi- 
cal sequence  in  the  conduct  of  the 
French  nation.  Although  often  im- 
possible to  approve,  it  had  always 
been  possible  to  account  for  it.  But 
the  common  sense  of  Europe  certainly 
stood  aghast  when  Louis  Napoleon 
Buonaparte  was  elected  ruler  of 
France,  by  a  majority  so  great  as  to 
attach  a  sort  of  ridicule  to  the  petty 
minorities  obtained  by  men  who, 
in  ability  and  energy,  and,  as  far 
as  two  of  them  were  concerned,  in 
respectability,  were  infinitely  his 
superiors.  At  that  period,  Louis 
Napoleon  had  never  given  one  proof 
of  talent,  or  rendered  the  slightest 
service,  civil  or  military,  to  the 
nation  that  thus  elected  him  its 
head.  Twice  he  had  violated,  by 
armed  and  unjustifiable  aggression, 
resulting  in  bloodshed  and  disgrace, 
the  laws  of  his  country.  Pardoned 
the  first  time,  on  a  pledge  of  future 
good  corduct,  he  took  an  early  oppor- 
tunity of  forfeiting  his  word.  Not- 
withstanding the  stigma  thus  incurred, 
four  districts,  when  universal  suffrage 
became  the  law  of  France,  elected 
him  their  representative  to  the  Na- 
tional Assembly.  This  may  not  be 
worth  dwelling  upon.  There  were 
stranger  elections  to  the  Assembly 
than  that,  after  the  February  revolu- 
tion. But  when,  out  of  seven  millions 
of  voters,  five  and  a  half  millions 
gave  their  voices  to  a  man  whose  sole 
recommendation  was  a  name, — then 
did  wonder  reach  its  perigee.  And 
thenceforward  bold  indeed  must  be 
the  politician  who  attempts  to  fore- 
shadow the  possible  whims  of  the 
fickle  people  of  France. 


The  Submarine  Teleyraph. 


[Nov. 


THE    SUBMARINE    TELEGRAPH. 


WHO  will  venture  to  make  cata- 
logue of  the  possible  results  of  the 
"  Submarine  Electric  Telegraph  ?  " 
The  more  we  meditate,  the  more  new 
wonders  open  before  us.  We  are 
running  a  race  with  Time  ;  we  out- 
strip the  sun,  with  the  round  world 
for  the  race-course. — Yet,  let  us  not 
boast :  we  do  not  run  the  race,  but 
that  more  than  a  hundred  million 
horse-power  invisible  to  us,  which 
was  created  with  the  sun.  We  are  but 
the  atoms  involved,  and  borne  about 
in  the  secrets  of  nature.  And  the 
secrets — what  know  we  of  them? — 
The  facts  only  of  a  few  of  them  :  the 
main-springs  of  their  action  are,  and 
perhaps  ever  will  be,  hidden.  The 
world  progresses;  it  has  its  infant 
state,  its  manhood  state,  and  its  old 
age  —  in  what  state  are  we  now? 
and  what  is  the  world's  age? 
Madame  de  Stael  considered  it  quite 
in  its  youth — only  fifteen — scarcely 
responsible  !  It  seems,  however,  mak- 
ing rapid  growth.  Is  it  past  the 
conceited  epoch,  and  now  cutting  its 
wise  teeth?  We  stand  like  specta- 
tors at  the  old  fair- show  ;  we  see  the 
motley,  the  ever  busy,  ever  running 
harlequin  and  columbine ;  we  are  as- 
tonished at  the  fooleries,  and  are 
amazed  at  the  wit,  the  practical  wis- 
dom, the  magical  wand  power  of  the 
fantastic  descendants  of  Adam  and 
Eve,  the  masculine,  and  the  femi- 
nine ;  and  we  laugh  to  behold  the 
shuffling  step  of  old  Grandfather 
Time, 


"  Panting  Time  toiled  after  them  in  vain." 

It  is  through  the  agency  of  mind 
that  a  few  secrets  are  disclosed  to  us, 
and  for  our  use.  We  call  the  recipient 
and  the  inventor  Genius.  It  is  given, 
as  it  is  wanted,  at  the  right  time, 
and  for  the  preordained  purpose.  We 
are  sceptical  as  to  "  mute  inglorious 
Miltons."  Where  the  gift  is  bestowed 
it  is  used  ;  and  if  it  appear  to  be  par- 
tially used,  it  is  where  partially  given, 
that  one  man  may  advance  one  step, 
his  successor  another — and  thus  in- 
vention leads  to  invention.  Genius  for 
one  thing  arises  in  one  age,  and 
sleeps  after  his  deed  is  done ;  genius 


for  another  thing  succeeds  him.  Who 
shall  dare  to  limit  the  number  ?  One 
thing  only  we  pause  to  admire — how 
seldom  does  the  gift  fall  upon  bad  men ! 

There  have  been,  perhaps,  those 
who  have  had  thrown  in  upon  their 
minds  a  wondrous  vision  of  things  to 
come,  which  they  were  not  allowed, 
themselves,  to  put  forth  in  manifest 
action  to  the  world.  There  have 
been  seers  of  knowledge ;  and,  per- 
haps, prophesiers  in  facts.  No  one 
will  credit  the  assertion,  therefore  we 
make  it  not,  that  thousands  of  years 
ago  steam  was  known,  and  applied  to 
the  purposes  of  life.  We  call,  then,  cer- 
tain records  the  prophecies  of  Facts  ; 
that  is,  there  was  a  certain  practical 
knowledge,  which  in  its  description  is 
prophetic  of  a  new  knowledge  to  be 
developed.  Semiramis  set  up  a  pillar 
on  which  it  was  written,  "  I,  Semira- 
mis, by  means  of  iron  made  roads  over 
impassable  mountains,  where  no 
beasts  [of  burthen]  come."  Did  Se- 
miramis prophecy  a  railroad — or  were 
there  Brunells  and  Stephensons  then  ? 
When  Homer  spake  of  the  ships  of 
the  Phzecians,  how  they  go  direct  to 
the  place  of  their  venture,  "  knowing 
the  mind  "  of  the  navigator,  "  covered 
with  cloud  and  vapour,"  had  the  old 
blind  bard  a  mind's -eye  vision  of  our 
steam-ships?  Many  more  may  be 
the  prophecies  of  Facts ;  for  in  these 
cases  doubtless  there  were  facts,  the 
prophecy  being  in  the  telling. 

But  there  have  been  visions  also 
without  facts — that  is,  without  the 
practical  visions  of  an  inward  know- 
ledge— wherein  nature  had  given  a 
mirror  and  bade  genius  look  into  it. 
Friar  Bacon's  prophecy  is  an  example. 

"Bridges,"  says  he,  "unsupported 
by  arches,  can  be  made  to  span  the 
foaming  current ;  man  shall  descend 
to  the  bottom  of  the  ocean  safely 
breathing,  and  treading  with  firm 
step  on  the  golden  sands  never  bright- 
ened by  the  light  of  day.  Call  but 
the  secret  powers  of  Sol  and  Luna 
into  action,  and  behold  a  single 
steersman,  sitting  at  the  helm,  guid- 
ing the  vessel  which  divides  the 
waves  with  greater  rapidity  than  if 
she  had  been  filled  with  a  crew  of 


1851.] 


The  Submarine  Telegraph. 


563 


mariners  toiling  at  the  oars.  And  the 
loaded  chariot,  no  longer  encumbered 
by  the  panting,  steeds,  darts  on  its 
course  with  relentless  force  and  rapi- 
dity. Let  the  pure  and  simple  ele- 
ments do  thy  labour ;  bind  the  eternal 
elements,  and  yoke  them  to  the  same 
plough." 

Here  is  poetry  and  philosophy 
wound  together,  making  a  wondrous 
chain  of  prophecy.  Who  shall  ad- 
venture upon  a  solution  of  that  golden 
chain,  which  the  oldest  of  poets  told 
us  descended  from  heaven  to  earth, 
linking  them  as  it  were  together? 
Was  it  an  electric  fluid  in  which 
mind  and  matter  were  in  indissoluble 
union  ? 

What  prophetic  truths  may  yet  be 
extracted  from  myth  and  fable,  and 
come  blazing  like  comets  we  know 
not  whence,  into  the  world's  field ! 
Hermes  "the  inventor,"  what  is 
his  wand,  serpent-twined,  and  its 
meaning,  brought  into  vulgar  transla- 
tion, and  seen  in  the  buffoonery  of 
harlequinade?  of  what  new  power 
may  it  not  be  the  poetical  prototype  ? 
Who  shall  contemplate  the  multipli- 
city of  nature's  facts,  and  the  myriads 
of  multiplicities  in  their  combination  ? 
Knowing  that  all  that  has  ever  been 
written  or  spoken,  in  all  languages,  is 
but  the  combination  of  a  few  sounds 
transferred  to  the  alphabet  of  twenty- 
four  letters,  or  even  less,  are  we  not 
lost  in  the  contemplation  of  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  myriads  of  facts,  in 
their  interchangings,  combinations, 
and  wonderful  dove-tailings  ? 

Perhaps,  that  we  may  not  know 
too  much  before  our  time,  facts  are 
withdrawn  from  us  as  others  are  pro- 
truded. Memory  may  sleep,  that  in- 
vention may  awake.  Did  we  know 
by  what  machinery  Stonehenge  was 
built,  we  might  have  rested  satisfied 
with  a  power  inadequate  to  other  and 
new  wants,  for  which  that  power 
might  have  been  no  help.  Archime- 
des did  that  which  we  cannot  do,  in 
order  that  we  might  do  that  which  he 
did  not.  Who  shall  lift  the  veil  of 
possibility  ? 

Of  this  we  may  be  sure,  as  the 
mind  is  made  inventive,  (and  there  is 
no  seeming  probability  that  a  faculty 
once  given  will  be  taken  away  from  our 
created  nature,)  there  is  a  large  and 
inexhaustible  store-house,  wherefrom 


it  shall  have  liberty  to  gather  and  to 
combine.  We  do  not  believe  that 
steam  itself,  the  miracle  of  our  age,  is 
anything  more  than  a  stepping-stone 
to  the  discovery  of  another  power — 
means  superseding  means.  There  is 
and  will  be  no  end,  as  long  as  the 
abric  of  the  world  lasts. 

There  is  an  old  German  play,  in 
which  the  whimsical  idea  of  bringing 
the  Past  and  Present  together  in 
dramatis  persona  is  amusingly  embo- 
died. We  forget  the  particulars,  but 
we  think  Ca3sar  or  Cicero  figure  in  the 
dialogue.  The  ridiculous  is  their  laugh- 
able ignorance  of  the  commonest  things. 
The  modern  takes  out  his  watch  and 
puts  it  to  his  ear,  and  tells  the  ancient 
the  hour  of  the  day.  This  is  but  one 
out  of  many  puzzling  new  things  ; 
but,  even  here,  how  little  is  told  of 
the  real  post-Ciceronian  inventions  ; 
for  the  object  of  the  play  is  to  show 
the  skill  of  the  Germans  only ;  it  is 
but  an  offering  to  the  German  genius 
of  invention. 

Could  a  tale  of  Sinbad's  voyage 
have  been  read  to  the  Roman — how, 
as  he  approached  the  mountain,  the 
nails  flew  out  of  the  ship,  for  lack  of 
comprehension  of  the  load-stone — he 
would  have  thought  it  only  fantasti- 
cally stupid  ;  and  if  he  had  laughed,  it 
would  have  been  at  the  narrator's 
expense.  And  so,  indeed,  it  has 
fared  with  discoverers :  they  have 
been  before  the  time  of  elucidation, 
like  Friar  Bacon ;  and  some  for  fear  of 
ridicule  have  kept  back  their  know- 
ledge ;  but  not  many  perhaps ;  for 
knowledge,  when  it  is  touched  by 
genius,  becomes  illuminated  and  illu- 
minating, and  will  shine  though  men 
may  shut  the  door,  and  stay  them- 
selves outside  and  see  it  not,  while  it 
brightens  up  only  the  four  walls  of 
a  small  chamber  as  it  were  with  the 
magic  lantern  in  a  student's  hand. 
Whereas  it  ought,  according  to  its 
power,  to  gild  the  universe.  The 
secresy  of  invention  is  rather  of  others' 
doing  —  of  an  envious  or  doubting 
world  of  lookers-on,  than  of  the  first 
perceiving  genius.  Fortunately  the 
gift  of  genius,  as  intended  for  the  use 
of  mankind,  comes  with  an  expansive 
desire  of  making  it  known. 

If  the  memory  of  tradition  fails, 
and  some  inventions  are  lost,  that 
their  detail  may  not  hamper  the  fa- 


564 


The  Submarine  Telegraph. 


[Nov. 


culty  that  should  take  altogether  a 
new  line,  so  have  we  what  we  may 
term  false  lines,  that  yet,  neverthe- 
less, lead  into  the  true.  Science  may 
walk  in  an  apparently  unnecessary 
labyrinth,  and  awhile  be  lost  in  the 
wildest  mazes,  and  yet  come  out  into 
day  at  last,  and  have  picked  up  more 
than  it  sought  by  the  way.  Wisdom 
herself  may  have  been  seen  sometimes 
wearing  the  fool's  cap.  The  child's 
play  of  tossing  up  an  apple  has  ended 
in  establishing  the  law  of  gravitation. 
The  boy  Watt  amused  himself  in 
watching  a  kettle  on  the  fire :  his 
genius  touched  it,  and  it  grew  and 
grew  into  a  steam-engine ;  and,  like 
the  giant  in  the  show,  that  shook  off 
his  limbs,  and  each  became  another 
giant,  myriads  of  gigantic  machines, 
of  enormous  power,  hundred- armed 
Briareuses,  are  running  to  and  fro  in 
the  earth,  doing  the  bidding  of  the 
boy  observant  at  his  grandam's  hearth. 
Is  there  an  Arabian  tale,  with  all  its 
magic  wonders,  that  can  equal  this?4 
We  said  that  Wisdom  has  worn  the' 
fool's  cap ;  true,  and  Foolery  was  the 
object — the  philosopher's  stone ;  but 
in  the  wildest  vagaries  of  her  thought, 
there  were  wise  things  said  and  done, 
and  her  secretary,  Common  Sense, 
made  notes  of  the  good  ;  and  all  was 
put  down  together  in  a  strange  short- 
hand, intelligible  to  the  initiated  ;  and 
the  facts  of  value  were  culled,  in  time, 
and  sifted  from  the  follies,  and  from 
the  disguises — for  there  were  disguises, 
that  strangers  should  not  pry  into 
them  before  the  allowed  hour.  Al- 
chemy has  been  the  parent  of  chemis- 
try— that  ue7rto-T77/L07  ifpa,"  and  its  great 
mysteries,  to  reveal  which  was  once 
death ! !  Secrets  were  hidden  under 
numbers,  letters,  signs  of  the  zodiac, 
animals,  plants,  and  organic  sub- 
stances. Thus  in  the  vocabulary  of 
the  alchemists,  the  basilisk,  the  dra- 
gon, the  red  and  green  lions,  were  the 
sulphates  of  copper  and  of  iron ;  the 
salamander,  the  fire ;  milk  of  the  black 
cow,  mercury ;  the  egg,  gold ;  the  red 
dragon,  cinnabar.  There  is  a  curious 
specimen,  in  the  work  of  the  monk 
Theophilus,  translated  by  Mr  Hen- 
drie,  how  to  make  Spanish  gold : — 

u  The  Gentiles,  whose  skilfulness 
in  this  art  is  probable,  make  basilisks 
in  this  manner:  They  have  under- 
ground a  house,  walled  with  stones 


everywhere,  above  and  below,  with 
two  very  small  windows,  so  narrow 
that  scarcely  any  light  can  appear 
through  them  :  in  this  house  they 
place  two  old  cocks,  of  twelve  or  fif- 
teen years,  and  they  give  them  plenty 
of  food.  When  these  have  become 
fat,  through  the  heat  of  their  good 
condition,  they  agree  together,  and 
lay  eggs.  Which  being  laid,  the  cocks 
are  taken  out,  and  toads  are  placed 
in,  which  may  hatch  the  eggs,  and  to 
which  bread  is  given  for  food.  The 
eggs  being  hatched,  chickens  issue  out 
like  hens'  chickens,  to  which,  after 
seven  days,  grow  the  tails  of  serpents, 
and  immediately,  if  there  were  not  a 
stone  pavement,  they  would  enter  the 
earth,"  &c.  &c.— "  After  this,  they 
uncover  them,  and  apply  a  copious 
fire,  until  the  animals'  insides  are  com- 
pletely burnt.  Which  done,  when 
they  have  become  cold,  they  are  taken 
out,  and  carefully  ground,  adding  to 
them  a  third  part  of  the  blood  of  a 
Red  Man,  which  blood  has  been  dried 
and  ground." 

Doubtless  it  was  the  discovery  of 
some  such  language  as  this  which  led 
to  the  popular  belief  that  the  Jews, 
who  were  great  goldsmiths  and  alche- 
mists, made  sacrifices  with  the  blood 
of  children  ;  and  many  a  poor  Jew 
suffered  for  the  sin  of  mistifying  know- 
ledge. "  The  toads  of  Theophilus," 
says  Mr  Hendrie,  "  are  probably 
fragments  of  the  mineral  salt,  nitrate 
of  potash,  which  would  yield  one  of 
the  elements  for  the  solvent  of  gold  ; 
the  blood  of  the  Red  Man,  which  had 
been  dried  and  ground,  probably  a 
muriate  of  ammonia,"  &c.  Such  were 
the  secrets  of  the  "  Ars  Hermetica  ;" 
and  their  like  may  have  been  hidden 
in  the  wand  of  Hermes.  Dragons, 
serpents,  and  toads !  Awful  the  voca- 
bulary, to  scare  the  profane ;  but  fair 
Science  came  at  length  unscathed  out 
of  the  witches'  cauldron  :  and  thus  it 
appeared  that  natural  philosophy,  like 
its  own  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 
bore  a  "  precious  jewel  in  its  head." 

Alchemy  and  magic  were  twin  sis- 
ters, and  often  visited  grave  philoso- 
phers in  their  study  both  together. 
The  Orphic  verses  and  the  hexameters 
of  Hesiod,  on  the  virtues  of  precious 
stones,  exhibit  the  superstitions  of 
science.  They  descended  into  the 
deeply  imaginative  mind  of  Plato, 


1851.J 


The  Submarine  Telegraph. 


565 


and  perhaps  awakened  the  curiosity 
of  the  elder,  scarcely  less  fabulous 
Pliny,  the  self- devoted  martyr  to  the 
love  of  discoveries  in  science.  The 
Arabian  Tales  may  owe  some  of  their 
marvels  to  the  hidden  sciences,  in 
which  the  Arabs  were  learned,  and 
which  they  carried  with  them  into 
Spain.  Albertus  Magnus,  in  his  writ- 
ings, preserved  the  Greek  and  Arab 
secrets  ;  and  our  Roger  Bacon  turned 
them  over  with  the  hand  of  a  grave 
and  potent  genius,  and  his  touch  made 
them  metaphorically,  if  not  materially, 
golden.  His  prophecy,  which  we  have 
given,  was,  when  uttered,  a  kind  of 
"  philosopher's  stone." 

Superstitions  of  science,  of  boasted 
and  boasting  philosophy  !  And  why 
not  ?  Is  there  not  enough  of  super- 
stition now  extant — a  fair  sample  of 
the  old  ?  Is  the  new  philosophy 
without  that  original  ingredient?  It 
is  passed  down  from  the  old,  and  will 
incorporate  itself  with  all  new  in 
some  measure  or  other,  for  the  very 
purpose  of  misleading,  that  the  very 
bewilderment  may  set  the  inventive 
brain  to  work,  in  ways  it  thought  not 
of.  Reasoners  are  every  day  reason- 
ing themselves  out  of  wholesome,  air- 
breathing,  awakening  truths  into  the 
visionary  land  of  dreams,  and,  speak- 
ing mysteriously  like  uncontradicted 
somnambulists,  believe  themselves  to 
be  oracular.  Materialists  have  fol- 
lowed matter,  driven  it  into  corners, 
divided  it,  dissected  it,  and  cut  it  into 
such  bits  that  it  has  become  an  un- 
discernible  evaporation;  and  they  have 
come  away  disappointed,  arid  denied 
its  existence  altogether.  Thus,  mes- 
merism is  the  bewildered  expression 
of  this  disappointment,  their  previous 
misapprehension.  They  will  not  be- 
lieve that  the  wand  of  Hermes  repre- 
sents two  serpents  intertwined — they 
see  but  one,  though  the  two  look  each 
other  in  the  face  before  them,  and 
they  are  purblind  to  the  wand  and 
the  hand  that  holds  it.  Even  the 
Exact  Sciences,"  as  they  are  called, 
are  not  complete ;  they  lead  to  preci- 
pices, down  which  to  look  is  a  giddiness. 
The  fact  is,  the  action  of  the  mind  is 
as  that  of  the  body :  mind  and  body 
have  their  daily  outward  work,  and 
their  times  of  sleep  find  of  dreaming, 
and  the  dreaming  of  the  one  is  not 
unfrequently  the  life  of  the  other. 


The  dream  of  the  philosopher,  be  he 
waking  or  sleeping,  is  his  refreshment, 
and  at  times  suggestive  of  the  to  come. 
How  know  we  but  that  "  such  stuff 
as  dreams  are  made  of"  may  serve  for 
the  fabrication  of  noble  thoughts,  and 
be  inwoven  into  the  habit  of  life,  and 
become  useful  wear  ? 

Perhaps  magic  was  the  first  and 
needful  life  of  philosophy — needful  as 
a  covering  while  it  grew,  and  which 
it  shook  off  as  its  swaddling-clothes, 
and  became  a  truth.  How  few  can 
trace  invention  to  its  germ,  or  know 
where  the  germ  lies,  and  how  that 
it  fed  upon  reached  it !  The  sugges- 
tion of  a  dream  begetting  a  reality ! 
They  are  no  fools  who  think  that 
good  and  bad  angels  are  the  authors 
of  inventions.  It  is  ingenious  to 
suppose  that  we  are  rather  the  receiv- 
ers and  encouragers  of  our  original 
thoughts  than  the  authors  of  them. 
We  may  use  the  magnifying  glasses 
of  our  reason  or  our  passions,  and  do 
but  a  little  distort  them,  or  advance 
them  to  use  and  beauty,  as  we  are 
good  or  bad  in  ourselves.  And  thus, 
from  suggestions  given,  the  imagina- 
tive genius,  inventing,  magnifies  and 
multiplies  by  these  his  glasses  and  his 
instruments ;  and  the  thing  invented 
requires  much  of  this  brilliant  finery 
of  our  own  to  be  removed  before  it  be 
fitted  for  demand  and  use.  Like 
wrought  iron,  the  sparks  must  be 
beaten  out  of  it  while  it  is  forming 
into  shape.  It  must  be  off  its  red 
heat  or  white  heat — be  dipped  in  the 
cold  stream  of  doubt,  and  look  ugly 
enough  to  the  eye  of  common  opinion, 
and  be  long  in  the  hand  of  experiment 
to  try  the  patience  of  the  inventor. 
And,  after  all,  will  the  benefited  be 
thankful  ?  History  has  many  a  sad 
tale  to  tell  on  this  subject.  The  "  Sic 
vos  non  vobis  "  should  be  inscribed 
over  the  portals  of  the  patent  office. 
Yet  sometimes,  in  pity  to  lost  expec- 
tations, in  the  carrying  out  one  great 
idea  to — shall  wesayits  final  incomple- 
tion,  to  its  last  residuum  of  insanity  ?— 
some  little  scarcely  noticeable  matter 
in  the  machinery  has  been  by  some 
kind  suggesting  spirit  held  up  to  the 
eye  of  the  philosopher,  which  has 
proved  to  be  the  magnum  bonum  of 
the  whole  scheme. 

We  once  knew  a  tradesman  who 
had  spent  the  best  years  of  his  life,  as 


566 

well  as  his  substance,  to  discover 
"  perpetual  motion."  He  sold  off  his 
goods  when  he  fancied  he  had  dis- 
covered it,  and  left  his  provincial  town 
for  the  great  metropolis  and  a  phi- 
losopher's fame.  As  he  travelled  by 
the  coach,  going  over  in  his  mind  the 
processes  of  his  machinery,  a  portion 
of  it  struck  him  as  applicable  to  a 
manufacture  of  common  use,  but  of  no 
very  high  pretensions.  His  perpetual 
motion  failed.  There  was  a  good 
angel  that  whispered  to  him,  "Descend 
from  the  ladder  of  your  ambition— do 
not  lose  sight  of  it ;  but  try  the  little 
interloping  suggestion,  and  raise  the 
means  for  prosecuting  more  favourably 
your  perpetual  motion."  He  did  so. 
The  action  saved  him  from  lunacy — 
the  undignified  and  bye-sport,  as  it 
were,  of  his  invention  answered — from 
a  ruined  man  he  became  rich,  and  his 
new  business  required  of  him  so  much 
perpetual  motion  bodily,  that  the  idea 
of  it,  wonderful  to  say,  was  driven 
out  of  his  speculative  mind. 

A  sudden  thought — a  happy  hit — 
we  are  too  apt  to  call  a  lucky  one. 
Will  it  be  the  worse  if  we  give  it  a 
better'name,  and  say  it  is  a  gift  ?  The 
thankfulness  implied  in  gift  may  make 
it  a  blessing.  It  was  no  deep  study 
that  brought  the  great  improvements 
into  our  manufacturing  machinery. 

The  poor  boy  Arkwright,  in  a  mo- 
ment of  idleness  or  weariness,  thought 
happily  of  a  cog  in  the  wheel ;  and 
that  little  cog  was  to  him  and  his  pos- 
terity a  philosopher's  stone  ;  realising 
the  alchemist's  hopes,  by  far  more 
sure  experiment  than  the  dealings 
with  "  green  "  and  "  red  lions  "  and 
"  dragons,"  for  a  result  never  to  be 
reached.  How  wonderful  has  been 
the  result,  even  to  the  whole  world, 
of  that  momentary  thought — that 
simple  invention ! 

We  have  often  heard  it  remarked 
that  this  is  an  age  of  inveotions.  It 
is  true:  not  that  the  inventive  mind 
Avas  ever  wanting.  It  is  a  practical 
age ;  the  necessities  of  multiplied  life 
make  it  so.  The  well-known  "cen- 
tury of  inventions"  of  the  Marquis 
of  Worcester  is  a  stock  not  yet 
exhausted.  But  to  speak  of  this  our 
ape,  how  can  it  be  otherwise?  Not 
only  are  material  means  enlarged  by 
geographical  and  other  discoveries, 
but  the  inventive  mind  is  multiplied 


The  Submarine  Telegraph. 


[Nov. 


because  mankind  are  multiplied,  whose 
nature  it  is  to  invent.  A  population 
• — to  speak  of  England,  for  it  is  of 
England  we  are  thinking — of  five 
millions,  as  it  was  in  the  time  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  cannot  bear  com- 
parison with  ours  of  nearer  twenty 
millions.  Then,  if  we  enlarge  our 
view,  and  take  in  England's  trans- 
planted progeny,  whose  activity  and 
whose  advancement  in  knowledge 
and  science  we  share,  under  every 
facility  for  the  transmission  of  know- 
ledge, we  may  fairly  speculate  upon  a 
very  wonderful  futurity.  The  glory 
of  the  German  dramatist,  with  his 
watch,  and  perhaps,  but  we  forget, 
his  printing-press,  (for  it  ought  to  be 
in  the  play,)  is  annihilated :  the  author 
himself  would  now  stand  in  the  place 
of  his  Caesar  or  Cicero. 

It  Avould  be  a  dream  worth  dream- 
ing to  bring  back  from  his  Elysian 
Fields  Agricola,  the  Roman  governor 
of  Britain — he  who  first  discovered 
that  it  was  an  island — to  show  him  his 
semi-barbarians,  whom  he  so  equitably 
governed,  (passing  by,  however,  how 
far  we  are,  any  of  us,  their  descen- 
dants.) We  will  imagine  but  an  hour 
or  two  passed  with  him  at  the  Poly- 
technic Rooms,  to  show  him  enormous 
iron  cables  twisted  into  knots,  as  if 
they  were  pieces  of  tape — to  see  vast 
ponderous  masses  suspended  by  mag- 
netism only — to  let  him  look  into  the 
wonders  of  the  telescope  and  the 
microscope,  besides  a  thousand  mar- 
vellous things,  too  numerous  and 
too  often  enumerated  to  mention. 
Nor  would  it  be  unamusing  to 
dream  that  we  return  with  him, 
and  on  his  way  accompany  him, 
summoned  to  the  court  of  Pluto  and 
Proserpine  to  narrate  the  incidents  of 
his  sojourn  above.  We  could  believe 
the  line  of  Homer  verified,  and  that 
we  see  the  grim  and  sceptical  Pluto 
leap  up  from  his  throne  in  astonish- 
ment, and  perhaps,  as  the  poet  would 
have  it,  fear  lest  our  subterranean 
speculators  should  break  in  upon  his 
dominions,  and  let  in  the  light  of  our 
day.  We  have  taken  the  humblest 
walk  for  the  "  surprise."  What  if  we 
had  accompanied  the  ex-governor  of 
Britain  to  the  Crystal  Palace  ?  That 
we  will  not  venture  upon.  But  had 
he  continued  his  narrative  of  all  he 
saw  there,  Pluto  would  have  given  a 


1851.] 


The  Submarine  Telegraph. 


look— at  which  Cerberus  would  have 
growled  from  his  triple  throats — and 
that  the  unlucky  narrator  might 
escape  the  castigation  of  Rhada- 
mantlius,  he  would  have  been  ordered 
a  fresh  dip  in  Lethe,  as  one  conta- 
minated, and  who  had  contracted  the 
lying  propensities  of  people  in  the 
upper  air. 

We  know  not  if  the  wonder  in  us 
be  not  the  greater  that  we  have  not 
the  slightest  pretensions  to  mechanical 
knowledge.  But  we  confess  that, 
when  we  suddenly  came  upon  the 
mechanical  department,  and  saw  the 
various  machinery  at  work,  the 
world's  life  and  all  its  business  came 
out  vividly  upon  the  canvass  of  our 
thought,  as  the  great  poetry  of  nature. 
Yes,  nature  rather  than  art,  for  art  is 
but  the  capability  of  nature  in  prac- 
tice. We  thought  of  Sophocles  and 
his  chorus  of  laudation  of  man — the 
inventor  and  the  irovTorropos — and  how 
impoverished  did  the  Greek  seem, 
how  tame  and  inadequate  the  descrip- 
tion ! 

Shakspeare  is  more  to  the  mark. 
The  whole  world  is  scarcely  large 
enough  for  the  exhibition  of  man's 
thought  and  deed,  as  Shakspeare  sees 
him.  There  is  no  small  talk  of  his 
little  doings — how  he  passes  over  the 
seas  and  bridles  the  winds.  Inimit- 
able Shakspeare  omits  the  doing  to 
show  the  capacity ;  makes,  for  a  mo- 
ment of  comparison  only,  the  earth  a 
sterile  promontory,  and  man  that  is 
on  it  hjmself,  and  in  his  own  bosom,  the 
ample  region  of  all  fertility,  in  unde- 
fined thought  and  action.  "  What  a 
piece  of  work  is  man  i— how  noble  in 
reason  ! — how  infinite  in  faculties  1 
In  form  and  moving  how  express  and 
admirable! — in  action  how  like  an 
angel! — in  apprehension  how  like  a 
god !  The  beauty  of  the  world,  the 
paragon  of  animals  !  "  Behold  man 
the  inventor ! 

We  have  said  that  the  increase  of 
population  must  necessarily  enlarge 
the  stock  of  inventions,  both  by  new 
and  multiplied  demands,  and  by  the 
added  number  of  inventors.  But 
there  is  another  cause  in  operation, 
that  is  seldom  taken  into  the  account 
— there  are  not  only  more  millions  of 
human  hands  to  do  the  work,  but 
there  is  an  artificial  working  popula- 
tion, if  we  may  call  horse-power  of 


567 

steam  a  population  as  equivalent  to 
hands. 

In  this  view  the  working  population, 
or  working  power,  so  far  exceeds 
our  actual  population,  that  they  can 
scarcely  be  named  together.  If  it  be 
said,  this  is  not  a  power  of  mind,  and 
therefore  cannot  be  said  to  be  inven- 
tive ;  it  may  be  answered,  that  every 
instrument  is  a  kind  of  mind  to  him 
who  takes  it  up,  improves,  and  works 
upon  it,  and  with  it :  for,  after  all,  it  is 
mind  that  is  operating  in  it.  The  man 
is  not  to  be  envied  who  in  heart  and 
understanding  is  dead  to  the  manifold 
evolutions  of  this  great  workshop  of 
the  human  brain,  who  cannot  feel 
the  poetry  of  mechanics.  Is  it  not 
a  creative  power? — and  is  it  not 
at  once  subjecting  and  civilising 
the  world?  Is  not  this  poetry  of 
mechanics  showing  also  that  man  has 
dominion  given  him  over  the  inert 
materials,  as  over  other  livingcreatures 
of  the  earth  ?  We  hail  it  in  all  its 
marvellous  doings,  as  subject  for 
creative  dreams,  scarcely  untrue. 
Let  those  who  will  (and  many  there 
be  who  profess  this  blindness  to  the 
poetry  of  art  and  science)  see  nothing 
but  the  tall  chimneys  and  the  black 
smoke.  To  the  imaginative,  even  the 
smoke  itself  becomes  an  embodied 
genie,  at  whose  feet  the  earth  opens 
at  command ;  and  they  who  yield 
themselves  to  the  spell  are  conducted, 
through  subterranean  ways,  to  the 
secret  chambers  of  the  treasures  of 
nature ;  and,  by  a  transition  to  a 
more  palpable  reality,  find  themselves 
in  a  garden  covered  with  crystal,  to 
behold  all  beauteous  things  and 
precious  stones  for  fruit,  such  as 
Aladdin  saw,  and  fountains  throwing 
out  liquid  gems,  and  fair  company,  as 
if  brought  together  by  enchantment — 
and  this  is  the  romance  of  reality.  If 
we  write  rhapsodically,  let  the  sub- 
ject be  the  excuse,  for  the  secrets  of 
nature  throw  conjecture  into  the 
depths  of  wonder,  and  thought  far 
out  of  the  conveyance  of  language. 

It  was  our  purpose  to  speak  of  the 
Submarine  Telegraph,  and  it  is  not 
surprising  if  we  have  in  some  degree 
been  transported  to  great  distances 
by  its  power. 

The  inventors,  Messrs  Brett,  under 
every  difficulty  and  discouragement, 
have  at  length  succeeded.  Our 


568 


The  Submarine  Telegraph. 


[Nov. 


greatest  engineers  for  a  long  while 
withheld  their  countenance;  practical 
philosophers  denied  the  probability. 
The  possibility  was  tested  by  the  first 
experiment.  Fortunately  no  accident 
occurred  in  laying  down  the  wire 
across  the  Channel,  until  communica- 
tion by  means  of  it  had  been  made 
between  France  and  England ;  and 
even  the  subsequent  accident — the 
cutting  the  wire  by  the  fishermen — 
has  only  served  the  good  purpose  of 
making  more  sure  the  permanent 
setting  up  of  this  extraordinary  tele- 
graph. The  protection  of  the  wires 
by  the  gutta-percha  covering  is  con- 
sidered perfect ;  but  should  it  turn  out 
otherwise,  it  will  not  affect  the  cer- 
tainty of  the  invention :  it  must  be 
permanent.  A  narrative  of  all  the 
difficulties  which  beset  the  inventors, 
and  which  have  delayed  the  experi- 
ment for  years,  would  be  curious.  The 
discouragements  and  the  expenses 
would  have  crushed  men  of  less  en- 
ergy. Even  at  last,  in  making  the 
cable,  there  was  a  disappointment 
and  a  hitch,  arising  from  rival  com- 
panies. We  extract  from  the  Times. 

"On  the  19th  of  July  last,  Mr  Cramp- 
ton  undertook  to  construct  and  lay  down 
a  cable  containing  four  electric  wires, 
each  insulated  in  two  coatings  of  gutta 
percha,  and  the  whole  protected  by  ten 
strands  of  galvanised  iron  wire,  on  or  be- 
fore the  30th  of  September.  The  electric 
wires,  covered  with  gutta  percha,in  length 
a  hundred  miles,  were  turned  out  by  Mr 
Statham,  at  the  works  of  the  Gutta  Per- 
cha Company,  and  nothing  can  be  more 
perfect  than  the  manner  in  which  that 
order  was  executed.  The  wire  covering 
was  ordered  from  Messrs  Wilkins  and 
Weatherly  ;  but  unfortunately,  a  dispute 
respecting  the  patent  for  making  wire 
ropes  occurred  between  that  firm  and 
Messrs  Newall,  which  seriously  delayed 
the  progress  of  the  work,  as  an  injunction 
was  served  by  the  latter  to  prevent  Messrs 
Wilkins  and  Co.  from  proceeding  with 
the  order. 

"  This  was  eventually  compromised, 
and  the  rope  was  made  conjointly  by  the 
workmen  of  the  two  firms  on  the  premises 
of  Messrs  Wilkins  and  Weatherly,  at 
Wapping. 

"The  very  hurried  manner  in  which 
(from  this  unforeseen  delay)  the  work 
had  to  be  accomplished,  prevented  that 
close  attention  that  ought  to  have  been 
given  to  any  fracture,  however  small,  of 
the  wire  ;  and  in  consequence,  the  outer 


casing,  though  of  great  strength  and 
solidity,  was  not  made  with  the  same 
exquisite  nicety  and  care  that  had  been 
bestowed  on  the  core  of  the  cable." 

The  weather  was  unpropitious,  and 
was  probably  the  cause,  from  the  cir- 
cumstance of  the  Blazer  being  driven 
somewhat  out  of  her  course,  that  the 
length  of  the  wire  cable  was  not  suffi- 
cient This  defect  was,  however,  only 
of  a  temporary  kind,  and  was  supplied 
by  that  which  was  intended  for  an- 
other purpose.  We  extract  the  in- 
teresting account  of  the  proceedings 
from  the  Times : — 

"  Shortly  after  7  o'clock  the  fastenings 
at  the  end  of  the  cable  at  the  Foreland 
were  completed,  and  the  Fearless  started 
to  point  out  the  exact  course  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  Blazer,  which  was  towed 
by  two  tugs,  one  alongside,  and  the  other 
ahead  of  her. 

"  A  third  tug  belonging  to  the  Govern- 
ment was  also  in  attendance. 

"  The  arrangements  for  paying  out  the 
cable  consisted  simply  of  a  bar  fixed 
transversely  above  the  hold,  over  which 
the  rope  was  drawn  as  it  was  uncoiled 
from  below,  and  a  series  of  breaks  acting 
by  levers  fitted  to  the  deck,  in  order  to 
arrest  the  passage  of  the  rope  in  the  case 
of  too  rapid  a  delivery.  On  reaching  the 
stem  the  cable  passed  overboard  through 
a  '  chock '  of  a  semicircular  shape,  lined 
with  iron.  On  starting,  the  steam-tugs 
proceeded  at  much  too  rapid  a  pace,  (from 
four  to  five  knots  an  hour,)  and  conse- 
quently one  of  the  fractured  wires  (before 
alluded  to)  caught  in  the  friction-blocks, 
and,  before  the  way  of  the  vessel  could  be 
checked,  one  strand  of  the  iron  wir«  was, 
for  a  length  of  about  eighteen  yards, 
stripped  from  the  cable.  The  steam- tug 
towing  ahead  was  then  ordered  alongside, 
when  the  speed  could  be  better  regulated, 
and  the  rate  was  reduced  to  about  one 
and  a  half  to  two  knots  an  hour.  About 
six  miles  from  shore  it  was  determined 
to  test  the  wires  ;  but,  from  a  misappre- 
hension of  instructions,  the  telegraph  in- 
struments at  the  South  Foreland  were 
not  joined  up  with  those  on  board  the 
Blazer.  A  steam-tug,  with  one  of  the 
engineers  and  directors  on  board,  imme- 
diately returned  to  the  Foreland,  when 
communication  was  made  by  telegraph 
and  fusees  fired  from  the  vessel  to  the 
shore,  and  from  the  shore  to  the  Blazer. 

"  At  about  mid-Channel,  in  the  midst 
of  a  heavy  sea,  and  a  strong  wind  from 
the  SW.,  an  accident  occurred,  but  for 
which  the  enterprise  would  have  been 
carried  out  with  the  most  perfect  suc- 
cess ;  this  was  the  snapping  of  the  tow- 


1851.] 


The  Submarine  Telegraph. 


rope  (an  eight-inch  cable)  and  the  conse- 
quent drifting  of  the  Blazer  from  her 
appointed  course  to  the  length  of  a  mile 
and  a-half.  Notwithstanding  the  delay 
caused  by  this  untoward  incident,  the 
Blazer  arrived  off  Sangatte  at  about  6 
o'clock.  The  evening  was,  however,  too 
far  advanced,  and  the  weather  too  stormy 
to  attempt  a  landing  ;  and,  after  embark- 
ing most  of  her  passengers  on  board  one 
of  the  steamers  that  ran  into  Calais,  she 
was  anchored  for  the  night  about  two 
miles  from  the  shore. 

"  On  Friday  the  wind  blew  a  strong 
gale  from  the  westward,  which  rendered 
all  near  approach  to  the  shore  impracti- 
cable ;  but  the  Blazer  was  towed  to 
within  a  mile  of  the  beach,  when,  it 
being  considered  dangerous  to  leave  her 
at  anchor,  the  remainder  of  the  rope  was 
made  fast  to  a  buoy  and  hove  overboard. 
The  steam-tugs  then  returned  with  the 
Blazer  to  England. 

"  On  Saturday  the  weather  continued 
unfavourable,  but  Captain  Bullock  pro- 
ceeded with  the  Fearless  to  the  buoy  off 
Sangatte,  and,  having  hauled  up  the  end 
of  the  rope,  he  towed  it  some  hundred 
yards  nearer  the  shore,  and  then  again 
moored  it. 

"  On  Sunday  the  wind  shifted  more  to 
the  southward  and  moderated.  Accord- 
ingly, the  engineers  and  managers  of  the 
Gutta  Percha  Company  took  on  board 
the  Fearless  a  large  coil  of  gutta  percha 
roping,  and,  after  hauling  up  the  end  of 
the  telegraph  cables,  the  first  wires  were 
carefully  attached,  and  at  half-past  five 
in  the  afternoon  a  boat  landed  them  on 
the  beach  at  Sangatte.  The  moment 
chosen  for  landing  was  low-water,  and 
the  coil  of  gutta  percha  ropes  was  imme- 
diately buried  in  the  beach  by  a  gang  of 
men  in  attendance,  up  to  low-water  mark, 
and  even  to  a  short  distance  beyond  it. 
Thence  to  where  the  cable  was  moored 
did  not  much  exceed  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

"The  telegraphs  were  instantly  attached 
to  the  submarine  wires,  and  all  the  instru- 
ments responded  to  the  batteries  from  the 
opposite  shore.  At  six  o'clock  messages 
were  printed  at  Sangatte  from  the  South 
Foreland,  specimens  of  which  Captain 
Bullock  took  over  to  Dover  the  same 
evening  for  the  Queen  and  the  Duke  of 
Wellington. 

"  On  Monday  morning  the  wires  at  San- 
gatte were  joined  to  those  already  laid 
down  to  Calais,  and  two  of  the  instru- 
ments used  by  the  French  Government 
having  been  sent  to  the  South  Foreland, 
Paris  was  placed  in  immediate  communi- 
cation with  the  English  Court." 

We  have  remarked  that  very  im- 
portant discoveries  are  accidentally 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXIII. 


569 

made  in  pursuing  one  of  quite  a  dif- 
ferent character  from  those  which 
come  up  in  the  search  unexpectedly. 

They  who  remember  our  towns 
lighted  with  the  old  lamps,  that  in 
comparison  with  our  gas-lights  made 
but  a  "  palpable  obscure,"  should  also 
remember  how  the  change  was  brought 
about.  The  gas,  which  has  proved 
of  such  vast  utility  that  we  can  now- 
a-days  scarcely  conceive  how  the 
world  could  go  on  without  it,  was 
first  a  misfortune.  It  was  generated 
in  the  coal  mines,  and,  in  order  to 
get  rid  of  it,  it  was  conveyed  by  tubes 
to  the  outer  air  :  in  doing  this  it  was 
found  there  to  ignite,  and  from  this 
simple  attempt  to  effect  an  escape  for 
a  nuisance  is  almost  every  town  in 
the  civilised  world  illuminated  by  gas 
— besides  which,  the  advantageous  use 
of  it  in  manufactories  is  beyond  cal- 
culation. Even  of  gutta  percha,  now- 
applied  as  a  coating  to  these  wires, 
who  can  determine  all  the  uses  to 
which  it  may  be  found  applicable? 
Nature,  it  should  seem,  does  not  fab- 
ricate one  material  for  itself,  or  for 
one  use  only,  but  adapts  one  thing  to 
many  purposes — arid  thus,  as  it  were, 
teaches  us  that  there  is  a  chain  in  the 
facts  of  nature,  by  showing  us  a  few 
of  the  connected  links;  and,  at  the 
same  time,  so  far  from  exhibiting  any 
sudden  breaks,  offering  evidences  of  a 
continuous  connection  reaching  beyond 
our  conception.  Verily  this  poor 
opaque  earth  of  ours  is  the  founda- 
tion on  which  the  Jacob's  ladder  of 
invention  is  laid.  We  know  not 
where  it  reaches,  but  there  may  be 
suggesting  angels  passing  to  and  fro, 
and  when  their  feet  touch  the  ground, 
it  delivers  up  its  secrets,  that  float 
into  the  ears  of  the  dreamer. 

Electricity,  it  would  appear,  is  the 
great  agent  in  this  connecting  chain 
—  nay,  is  it  not,  whatever  it  be 
in  its  essence,  the  chain  itself,  and 
the  universal  power  equally  in  inert 
matter  and  in  life?  It  has  neither 
boundary  on  the  earth  nor  in 
space.  Its  home  is  ubiquity;  like 
the  sphere  of  Hermes,  its  centre 
is  everywhere,  its  circumference  no- 
where. That  this  astonishing  power 
is  yet  under  restraint  —  that  it  is 
not  only  kept  from  the  evil  it  would 
do,  but  rendered  to  us  serviceable — is 
a  proof  of  the  great  beneficence  of 
2o 


570  The  Submarine  Telegraph. 

Him  who  made  it  and  us.  When  the 
admiring  child  touches  that  gem,  the 
dew-drop  on  the  rose-leaf,  it  knows 
not  that  the  little  hand  is  on  that 
which  has  lightning  in  it  enough  to 
cause  instant  death.  It  is  scarcely 
the  lover's  poetical  dream  that  he 
may  be  killed  by  the  lightning  of  an 
eye  — done  dead  by  the  tear  that 
only  moves  his  pity,  on  his  mistress's 
eye-lid.  In  that  little  drop  is  the 
power  of  death — and  by  what  miracle 
(truly  all  nature  is  miraculous)  is  the 
•execution  staid — the  power  forbidden 
to  act  ?  Nay,  even  the  pity  that  we 
speak  of,  love  itself,  strange  in  its 
suddenness  as  we  see  it,  how  know 
we  what  of  electricity  be  in  it,  in- 
stantly conveying  fjom  person  to  per- 
son natural  but  unknown  sympathy  ? 

Let  us  not  get  out  of  our  depths, — 
but  emerge  from  "  the  submarine,"  to 
land  ;  and  for  this  purpose,  and  to 
complete  our  argument  of  unexpected 
and  collateral  uses,  we  offer  an  ex- 
tract from  the  Army  and  Navy  Regis- 
ter : — 

"  NEW  MODE  OP  DISCHARGING  GUN- 
POWDER.— On  Monday,  August  1 8,  some 
interesting  experiments  were  tried  at  the 
Gutta  Percha  Company's  Works,  Warf 
Road,  City  Road,  for  the  purposes  of  de- 
monstrating the  means  by  which  this 
extraordinary  production  may  be  applied 
to  the  operation  of  discharging  gun- 
powder. A  galvanic  battery  was  con- 
nected with  upwards  of  50  miles  of 
copper  wire  covered  with  gutta  percha, 
to  the  thickness  of  an  ordinary  black  lead 
pencil.  The  wire,  which  was  formed 
into  coils,  and  which  has  been  prepared 
for  the  projected  submarine  telegraph, 
was  attached  to  a  barge  moored  in  the 
canal  alongside  the  manufactory,  the  coils 
being  so  fixed  together  (although  the 
greater  portion  of  them  were  under 
water)  as  to  present  an  uninterrupted 
communication  with  the  battery  to  a 
distance  limited  at  first  to  57  miles,  but 
afterwards  extended  to  70.  A  "cartridge" 
formed  with  a  small  hollow  roof  of  gutta 
percha,  charged  with  gunpowder,  and 
having  an  intercommunicating  wire  at- 
tached, was  then  brought  into  contact 
with  the  electric  current.  The  result  was, 
that  a  spark  was  produced,  which,  ignit- 
ing the  gunpowder,  caused  an  immediate 
explosion  similar  to  that  which  would  arise 
from  the  discharge  of  a  small  cannon. 
The  same  process  was  carried  out  in 
various  ways,  with  a  view  of  testing  the 
efficient  manner  in  which  the  gutta 
percha  had  been  rendered  impervious  to 


[Nov. 

wet,  and  in  one  instance  the  fusee  or 
cartridge  was  placed  under  the  water. 
In  this  case  the  efficiency  of  the  insula- 
tion was  equally  well  demonstrated  by 
the  explosion  of  the  gunpowder  at  the 
moment  the  necessary  "  contact"  was 
produced  ;  and  by  way  of  showing  the 
perfect  insulation  of  the  wire,  an  experi- 
ment was  tried  which  resulted  in  the 
explosion  of  the  fusee  from  the  charge  of 
electricity  retained  in  the  coils  of  wire, 
three  seconds  after  contact  with  the 
battery  had  been  broken.  This  feature 
in  the  experiment  was  especially  interest- 
ing from  the  fact  of  its  removing  all 
difficulty  and  doubt  as  to  whether  the 
gutta  percha  would  so  far  protect  the 
wires  as  to  preserve  the  current  of 
electricity  under  the  most  disadvantageous 
circumstances.  Another  experiment  was 
successfully  tried  by  passing  the  electric 
current  to  its  destination  through  the 
human  body.  Mr  C.  J.  Wollaston,  civil 
engineer,  volunteered  to  form  part  of  the 
circuit  by  holding  the  ends  of  35  miles  of 
the  wire  in  each  hand.  The  wire  from 
the  battery  was  brought  to  one  end  of 
the  entire  length  of  70  miles,  and  instant 
explosion  of  the  cartridge  took  place  at 
the  other  end.  The  experiments  were 
altogether  perfectly  successful,  as  show- 
ing beyond  all  question  that  the  pro- 
perties of  gutta  percha  and  electricity 
combined  are  yet  to  be  devoted  to  other 
purposes  than  that  of  establishing  a  sub- 
marine telegraph.  The  blasting  of  a  rock, 
the  destruction  of  a  fortification,  and 
other  operations  which  require  the  agency 
of  gunpowder,  have  often  been  attended 
with  considerable  danger  and  trouble,  be- 
sides involving  large  outlays  of  money ;  but 
it  may  be  truly  said  that  the  employment 
of  electricity  in  the  manner  described  is 
calculated  to  render  such  operations  com- 
paratively free  from  difficulty.  Amongst 
the  company  present  on  this  occasion 
was  Major-General  Sir  Charles  Pasley, 
who  took  a  warm  interest  in  the  pro- 
ceedings, and  expressed  himself  much 
gratified  at  the  result.  It  is  impossible 
to  foretell  the  value  of  this  discovery, 
particularly  in  engineering  and  mining 
operations.  It  forms  a  valuable  addition 
to  the  benefits  already  conferred  upon 
the  public  by  the  enterprise  of  the  Gutta 
Percha  Company." 


This  extract  may  lead  the  reader 
to  conclude  that  there  are  double 
and  opposite  purposes  in  the  secrets 
of  nature.  The  chain  which  was 
intended  to  connect  all  nations  in  a 
bond  of  peace,  has,  it  should  seem, 
also  (incidental  to  the  first  discovery) 
its  apparatus  for  war. 


1851.] 


The  Submarine  Telegraph. 


571 


When  his  Grace  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  was  blessing  the 
Crystal  Palace,  and  all  within  it, 
as  emblems  of  a  religious  bond  of 
peace,  and  of  amity  of  all  nations, 
and  it  pleased  the  admiring  masses 
to  proclaim  it  the  Temple  of  Peace 
and  of  Love,  there  was  little  thought 
that,  among  the  machinery  and 
instruments  it  contained,  those  of 
murderous  purpose  would  be  the 
first  required  for  use,  which  was 
actually  the  case,  when  permission 
was  asked  and  given  for  the  removal 
of  revolving  firearms  from  the  Ame- 
rican department,  to  be  sent  out  to 
the  Cape. 

Thus,  good  and  evil  are  not  un- 
mixed. Either  may  be  extracted, 
and  leave  the  remainder,  in  appear- 
ance to  us,  a  kind  of  caput  mortuum, 

It  is  far  more  pleasant  to  look 
to  the  peaceful  results  of  inventions — 
to  hear  the  spirit  that  is  in  the 
electric  fluid  say — 

"  I  will  be  correspondent  to  command, 
And  do  my  spiriting  gently." 

Let  it  be  the  means  that  far-off 
friends  at  the  Antipodes  shall  com- 
municate, if  not  by  voice,  by  that 
which  is  like  it — by  sound  and  by 
lettered  words.  Let  it  touch  a  bell 
at  their  mid-day,  and  it  may  tingle 
at  that  instant  in  your  ears  at  mid- 
night, and  awake  you  to  receive, 
evolved  from  the  little  machinery 
at  your  bed's  head,  a  letter  in  a 
printed  strip,  conveying  "  thoughts 
that  breathe,  and  words  that  burn," 
even  as  though  you  felt  the  breath 
that  uttered  them.  Reader,  be  not 
sceptical.  How  many  very  practi- 
cable things  have  you  denied,  and 
yet  found  brought  tangibly  before 
your  eyes,  and  into  your  hands ! 
This  simultaneous  tingle,  of  two 
bells — one  at  the  Antipodes,  and 
one  within  reach  of  your  own  touch, 
and  at  your  own  ear — may  cause 
you  to  curl  your  lip  in  derision ; 
but  say,  is  it  impossible?  We  have 
heard  you  say  of  much  more  impro- 
bable things,  "  Where  there  is  a 
will  there  is  a  way."  Well,  here  it 
is  evident  you  have  only  a  little 
to  strengthen  your  will,  and  the 
length  of  the  way  will  be  no  obstacle. 
You  may  amuse  yourself  with  the 
idea,  and  make  a  comparison  of  it, 
and  look  at  the  figures  on  your 


China  plate,  and  imagine  them 
moved  to  each  other  under  spell  of 
their  passion,  (see  the  tale  of  the 
willow  pattern,)  to  the  defiance  of 
all  the  ordinary  rules  of  distance. 
Did  not  the  foreseeing  artist  intimate 
thereby  that  love  and  friendship 
have  no  space -limits,  and  hold 
within  themselves  a  power  that 
laughs  at  perspective,  as  it  does 
"  at  locksmiths  ?  "  The  artist  whom 
you  contemned  as  ignorant  was,  you 
acknowledge,  wise — wise  beyond  his 
art,  if  not  beyond  his  thought.  He 
had  a  second- sight  of  a  new  mode  of 
communication,  and  expressed  it  pru- 
dently in  this  his  hieroglyphic. 

Does  any  marvel  exceed  this  in 
apparent  absurdity  —  that  you,  in 
London  or  Edinburgh,  shall  be  able 
to  communicate  instantaneously  with 
your  friend  or  relative  at  St  Peters- 
burg or  Vienna ;  for  which  purpose 
you  have  but  to  touch  a  few  keys 
denoting  letters  of  the  alphabet,  and 
under  water  and  over  land  your 
whole  thoughts  pass  as  soon  as  your 
fingers  have  delivered  them  to  the 
keys — nay,  the  letters  are  forestalling 
your  thought,  and  those  before  it? 
Does  it  not  seem  very  absurd  to 
say  that  all  the  foreign  news  may 
be  at  your  breakfast-table,  fresh 
from  every  capital  in  Europe,  before 
the  Times  can  be  published  and 
circulated?  How  will  the  practice 
of  the  press  be  affected  by  this 
novelty  ?  "  The  latest  intelligence  " 
becomes  a  bygone  tale,  "  flat,  stale, 
and  unprofitable."  Far  greater  things 
than  the  poet  dreamed  of  become 
daily  realities.  Richest  in  fancy, 
Shakspeare  apologetically  covers  the 
incredible  ubiquity  of  his  Ariel  with 
a  sense  of  fatigue — of  difficulty  in 
his  various  passages  —  Ariel,  the 
spirit  who 

"  thought  it  much  to  tread 
The  ooze  of  the  salt  deep." 

Our  Government  officers  wilt  have 
ready  on  the  instant,  messengers  far 
swifter  than  Ariel  —  wondrous  per- 
formers on  the  "  slack-wires."  They 
will  put  you 

"  A  girdle  round  about  the  earth 
In  forty  minutes." 

No;  that  was  the  lagging,  loitering 
pace  of  the  old  spirit.  It  will  not 


572 


The  Submarine  Telegraph. 


[tfov. 


take  forty  seconds.  What  are  thou- 
sands of  miles  to  a  second  of  time  ? 
Time  is,  as  it  were,  annihilated :  the 
sand  in  the  glass  must  be  accele- 
rated, or  the  glass,  held  for  ages, 
taken  out  of  his  hand,  and  some 
national  exhibition  ransacked  for  a 
new  hour  -  instrument.  The  Pros- 
pero's  wand  broken,  and  newer 
wonders  to  be  had  for  a  trifle. 
Fortunatus's  "  wishing-cap "  to  be 
bought  at  the  corner-shop,  and  the 
famed  "  seven-league  boots "  next 
door — and  to  be  had  cheap,  con- 
sidering that  you  may  tell  all  your 
thoughts,  at  ever  so  great  a  dis- 
tance, by  a  little  bell  and  a  wire, 
while  you  are  sitting  in  your  arm- 
chair. It  will  be  quite  an  easy 
matter  to 

"  Waft  a  sigh  from  Indus  to  the  Pole." 

Railroads  and  the  Submarine  Tele- 
graph more  than  double  man's  life, 
if  we  count  his  years  by  action. 
History  itself  must  now  begin  as 
from  a  new  epoch.  All  the  doings 
of  the  world,  through  this  rapidity 
given  to  person  and  to  thought,  must 
be  so  altered  as  to  bear  no  parallel 
with  the  past.  The  old  locomotive 
and  communicating  powers  are  de- 
funct—they are  as  the  water  that 
has  passed  the  mill.  It  must  grind 
with  that  which  succeeds.  They 
are  new  powers  that  must  set  the 
wheels  of  governments  and  of  all 
the  world's  machinery  in  motion. 

There  is  in  the  Spectator  a  paper 
of  the  true  Addisonian  wit,  descriptive 
of  an  Antediluvian  courtship,  in  which 
the  young  couple,  having  gone  through 
the  usual  process  in  the  early  art  of 
love,  complete  their  happiness  in  the 
some  hundredth  year  of  their  ages. 
Theorists  have  entertained  the  notion 
that  this  long  life  was  bestowed  upon 
man  in  the  world's  first  era,  that 
knowledge  might  be  more  readily 
transmitted,  there  being  few  genera- 
tions to  the  Flood.  To  the  lovers  of 
life  it  would  be  a  sad  thing  to  be  led 
to  the  conclusion,  that,  transmission 
being  quickened,  life  will  be  shortened ; 
or  that,  as  in  the  winding-up  of  a 
drama,  events  are  crowding  into  the 
last  act  of  our  earth's  duration.  It 
may  relieve  their  apprehensions  to 
read  of  the  advance  the  medical 


science  is  making  simultaneously  with 
all  other  sciences,  so  that  they  may 
look  to  a  state  in  which  a  man  may 
live  as  long  as  he  likes,  and  at  the 
same  time  do  ten  times  the  work :  a 
man's  day  will  perhaps  be  a  year, 
counting  by  his  doings.  Morose  poets 
and  philosophers  have  lamented  over 
us  as  ephemeral ;  if  so,  we  are  at  least 
like  the  Antediluvian  butterflies,  and 
our  day  long.  And  now,  with  all  our 
sanitary  inventions,  it  stands  a  fair 
chance  of  a  tolerable  lengthening. 

We  have  observed  that  it  has  been 
said  that  the  world  is  not  fifteen 
years  of  age ;  and,  indeed,  it  looks 
like  enough.  Hitherto  Nature  has 
treated  us  as  a  kind  mother  does 
her  children  —  given  us  toys  and 
playthings,  to  be  broken  and  dis- 
carded as  we  get  older.  We  are 
throwing  them  by,  we  are  becoming 
of  age,  and  Nature  opens  her  secrets 
to  us,  and  we  are  just  setting  up  for 
ourselves — as  it  were,  commencing 
the  business  of  life,  like  grown  men  in 
good  earnest ;  and  every  day  we  find 
out  more  secrets,  and  all  worth 
knowing. 

We  will  not  lay  down  the  pen 
without  expressing  our  congratula- 
tions to  the  inventors  of  the  Sub- 
marine Telegraph,  the  Messrs  Brett, 
and  wishing  them  the  fullest  success. 
They  themselves  as  yet  know  not 
the  extent  of  the  reach  of  their  own 
invention,  or  they  might  well  wonder 
at  their  own  wonders,  like 

"  Katerfelto,  with  his  hair  on  end  !  " 

We  wish  them  long  life  to  see  the 
results— and  that  they  will  not, 
through  mistrust  of  so  great  a  dis- 
covery, imitate  Copernicus,  who,  says 
Fontenelle,  "  distrusting  the  success 
of  bis  opinions,  was  for  a  long  time 
loth  to  publish  them,  and,  when 
they  brought  him  the  first  sheet  of 
his  work,  died,  foreseeing  that  he 
never  should  be  able  to  reconcile 
all  its  contradictions,  and  therefore 
wisely  slipped  out  of  the  way." 
Messrs  Brett  will  think  it  wiser  to 
live,  and  be  in  the  way  and  at 
their  post,  (no  post  obit,)  ready  to 
answer  all  queries  and  contradictions, 
through  the  convincing,  the  very 
satisfactory  means,  of  their  "  Sub- 
marine Telegraph." 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XV. 


573 


MY  NOVEL ;    OR,    VARIETIES   IN   ENGLISH  LIFE. 

BY    PISISTRATUS   CAXTON. 
BOOK    VIII. — INITIAL   CHAPTER. 


THE   ABUSE   OF  INTELLECT. 


THERE  is  at  present  so  vehement 
a  flourish  of  trumpets,  and  so  prodi- 
gious a  roll  of  the  drum,  whenever  we 
are  called  upon  to  throw  up  our  hats, 
and  cry,  "  Huzza  "  to  the  "  March  of 
Enlightenment,"  that,  out  of  that  very 
spirit  of  contradiction  natural  to  all 
rational  animals,  one  is  tempted  to 
stop  one's  ears,  and  say,  "  Gently, 
gently ;  LIGHT  is  noiseless ;  how  comes 
'Enlightenment'  to  make  such  a  clat- 
ter? Meanwhile,  if  it  be  not  im- 
pertinent, pray,  where  is  Enlighten- 
ment marching  to?  "  Ask  that  ques- 
tion of  any  six  of  the  loudest  bawlers 
in  the  procession,  and  I'll  wager  ten- 
pence  to  California  that  you  get  six 
very  unsatisfactory  answers.  One  re- 
spectable gentleman,  who,  to  our  great 
astonishment,  insists  upon  calling  him- 
self "a  slave,"  but  has  a  remarkably 
free  way  of  expressing  his  opinions, 
will  reply — "  Enlightenment  is  march- 
ing towards  the  nine  points  of  the 
Charter."  Another,  with  his  hair  a  la 
j'eune  France,  who  has  taken  a  fancy  to 
his  friend's  wife,  and  is  rather  embar- 
rassed with  his  own,  asserts  that  En- 
lightenment is  proceeding  towards  the 
Rights  of  Women,  the  reign  of  Social 
Love,  and  the  annihilation  of  Tyranni- 
cal Prejudice.  A  third,  who  has  the  air 
of  a  man  well  to  do  in  the  middle  class, 
more  modest  in  his  hopes,  because  he 
neither  wishes  to  have  his  head  bro- 
ken by  his  errand-boy,  nor  his  wife 
carried  off  to  an  Agapemone  by  his 
apprentice,  does  not  take  Enlighten- 
ment a  step  farther  than  a  siege  on 
Debrett,  and  a  cannonade  on  the  Bud- 
get. Illiberal  man !  the  march  that 
he  swells  will  soon  trample  him  under 
foot.  No  one  fares  so  ill  in  a  crowd 
as  the  man  who  is  wedged  in  the 
middle.  A  fourth,  looking  wild  and 
dreamy,  as  if  he  had  come  out  of  the 
cave  of  Trophonius,  and  who  is  ames- 
meriser  and  a  mystic,  thinks  Enlight- 
enment is  in  full  career  towards  the 
good  old  days  of  alchemists  and  ne- 


cromancers. A  fifth,  whom  one  might 
take  for  a  Quaker,  asserts  that  the 
march  of  Enlightenment  is  a  crusade 
for  universal  philanthropy,  vegetable 
diet,  and  the  perpetuation  of  peace, 
by  means  of  speeches,  which  certainly 
do  produce  a  very  contrary  effect  from 
the  Philippics  of  Demosthenes  !  The 
sixth — (good  fellow,  without  a  rag  on 
his  back) — does  not  care  a  straw 
where  the  march  goes.  He  can't  be 
worse  off  than  he  is  ;  and  it  is  quite 
immaterial  to  him  whether  he  goes  to 
the  dogstar  above,  or  the  bottomless 
pit  below.  I  say  nothing,  however, 
against  the  march,  while  we  take  it 
altogether.  Whatever  happens,  one 
is  in  good  company  ;  and  though  I  am 
somewhat  indolent  by  nature,  and 
would  rather  stay  at  home  with  Locke 
and  Burke,  (dull  dogs  though  they 
were,)  than  have  my  thoughts  set 
off  helter-skelter  with  those  cursed 
trumpets  and  drums,  blown  and  dub- 
a-dubbed  by  fellows  that  I  vow  to 
heaven  I  would  not  trust  with  a  five- 
pound  note — still,  if  I  must  march, 
I  must ;  and  so  deuce  take  the  hind- 
most. But  when  it  comes  to  indivi- 
dual marchers  upon  their  own  account 
— privateers  and  condottieri  of  En- 
lightenment— who  have  filled  their 
pockets  with  lucifer-matches,  and 
have  a  sublime  contempt  for  their 
neighbours'  barns  and  hay-ricks,  I 
don't  see  why  I  should  throw  myself 
into  the  seventh  heaven  of  admiration 
and  ecstasy. 

If  those  who  are  eternally  rhap- 
sodising on  the  celestial  blessings  that 
are  to  follow  Enlightenment,  Uni- 
versal Knowledge,  and  so  forth, 
would  just  take  their  eyes  out  of  their 
pockets,  and  look  about  them,  I  would 
respectfully  inquire  if  they  have  never 
met  any  very  knowing  and  enlighten- 
ed gentleman,  whose  acquaintance  is 
by  no  means  desirable.  If  not,  they 
are  monstrous  lucky.  Everyman  must 
judge  by  his  own  experience ;  and  the 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XV.  [Nov. 


574 

worst  rogues  I  have  ever  encountered 
were  amazingly  well-informed,  clever 
fellows !  From  dunderheads  and 
dunces  we  can  protect  ourselves ;  but 
from  your  sharp-witted  gentleman, 
all  enlightenment,  and  no  prejudice, 
we  have  but  to  cry,  "  Heaven  defend 
us !"  It  is  true,  that  the  rogue  (let  him 
be  ever  so  enlightened)  usually  comes 
to  no  good  himself,  (though  not  before 
he  has  done  harm  enough  to  his  n$igh- 
bours.)  But  that  only  shows  that  the 
world  wants  something  else  in  those 
it  rewards ,  besides  intelligence  per  se 
and  in  the  abstract ;  and  is  much  too 
old  a  world  to  allow  any  Jack  Horner 
to  pick  out  its  plumbs  for  his  own  per- 
sonal gratification.  Hence  a  man  of 
very  moderate  intelligence,  who  be- 
lieves in  God,  suffers  his  heart  to  beat 
with  human  sympathies,  and  keeps  his 
eyes  off  your  strong-box,  will  perhaps 
gain  a  vast  deal  more  power  than 
knowledge  ever  gives  to  a  rogue. 

Wherefore,  though  I  anticipate  an 
outcry  against  me  on  the  part  of  the 
blockheads,  who,  strange  to  say,  are 
the  most  credulous  idolaters  of  en- 
lightenment, and,  if  knowledge  wer-e 
power,  would  rot  on  a  dunghill ;  yet, 
nevertheless,  I  think  all  really  en- 
lightened men  will  agree  with  me, 
that  when  one  falls  in  with  detached 
sharpshooters  from  the  general  march 
of  enlightenment,  it  is  no  reason  that 
we  should  make  ourselves  a  target, 
because  enlightenment  has  furnished 
them  with  a  gun.  It  has,  doubtless, 
been  already  remarked  by  the  judi- 
cious reader,  that  of  the  numerous 
characters  introduced  into  this  work, 
the  larger  portion  belong  to  that  spe- 
cies which  we  call  the  INTELLECTUAL 
—that  through  them  are  analysed 
and  developed  human  intellect,  in 
various  forms  and  directions.  So 
that  this  History,  rightly  considered, 
is  a  kind  of  humble  familiar  Epic,  or, 
if  you  prefer  it,  a  long  Serio-Comedy, 
upon  the  Varieties  of  English  Life  in 
this  our  Century,  set  in  movement 
by  the  intelligences  most  prevalent. 
And  where  more  ordinary  and  less 
refined  types  of  the  species  round  and 
complete  the  survey  of  our  passing 
generation,  they  will  often  suggest, 
by  contrast,  the  deficiencies  which 
mere  intellectual  culture  leaves  in 
the  human  being.  Certainly,  I  have 
no  spite  against  intellect  and  en- 


lightenment. Heaven  forbid  I  should 
be  such  a  Goth.  I  am  only  the  advo- 
cate for  common  sense  and  fair  play. 
I  don't  think  an  able  man  necessarily 
an  angel;  but  I  think  if  his  heart 
match  his  head,  and  both  proceed  in 
the  Great  March  under  a  divine  Ori- 
flamme,  he  goes  as  near  to  the  angel 
as  humanity  will  permit :  if  not,  if  he 
has  but  a  penn'orth  of  heart  to  a  pound 
of  brains,  I  say,  u  Bon  jour,  mon  ange  ! 
I  see  not  the  starry  upward  wings, 
but  the  grovelling  cloven-hoof."  I'd 
rather  be  offuscated  by  the  Squire 
of  Hazeldean,  than  enlightened  by 
Randal  Leslie.  Every  man  to  his 
taste.  But  intellect  itself  (not  in  the 
philosophical,  but  the  ordinary  sense 
of  the  term)  is  rarely,  if  ever,  one 
completed  harmonious  agency ;  it  is 
not  one  faculty,  but  a  compound  of 
many,  some  of  which  are  often  at  war 
with  each  other,  and  mar  the  concord 
of  the  whole.  Few  of  us  but  have 
some  predominant  faculty,  in  itself  a 
strength ;  but  which,  (usurping  unsea- 
sonably dominion  over  the  rest,)  shares 
the  lot  of  all  tyranny,  however  brilliant, 
and  leaves  the  empire  weak  against 
disaffection  within,  and  invasion  from 
without.  Hence  intellect  may  be  per- 
verted in  a  man  of  evil  disposition, 
and  sometimes  merely  wasted  in  a 
man  of  excellent  impulses,  for  want  of 
the  necessary  discipline,  or  of  a  strong 
ruling  motive.  I  doubt  if  there  be 
one  person  in  the  world,  who  has  ob- 
tained a  high  reputation  for  talent, 
who  has  not  met  somebody  much 
cleverer  than  himself,  which  said 
somebody  has  never  obtained  any  re- 
putation at  all!  Men,  like  Audley 
Egerton,  are  constantly  seen  in  the 
great  positions  of  life-;  while  men,  like 
Harley  1'Estrange,  who  could  have 
beaten  them  hollow  in  anything  equal- 
ly striven  for  by  both,  float  away  down 
the  stream,  and,  unless  some  sudden 
stimulant  arouse  the  dreamy  ener- 
gies, vanish  out  of  sight  into  silent 
graves.  If  Hamlet  and  Polonius  were 
living  now,  Polonius  would  have  a 
much  better  chance  of  being  Chancel- 
lor of  the  Exchequer,  though  Hamlet 
would  unquestionably  be  a  much  more 
intellectual  character.  What  would 
become  of  Hamlet?  Heaven  knows  I 
Dr  Arnold  said,  from  his  experience 
of  a  school,  that  the  difference  between 
one  man  and  another  was  not  mere 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

ability — it  was  energy.  There  is  a 
great  deal  of  truth  in  that  say- 
ing. 

Submitting  these  hints  to  the  judg- 
ment and  penetration  of  the  sagacious, 
I  enter  on  the  fresh  division  of  this 
work,  and  see  already  Randal  Leslie 
gnawing  his  lip  on  the  back-ground. 
The  German  poet  observes,  that  the 
Cow  of  Isis  is  to  some  the  divine  sym- 


English  Life.— Part  XV.  575 

bol  of  knowledge,  to  others  but  the 
milch  cow,  only  regarded  for  the 
pounds  of  butter  she  will  yield.  O 
tendency  of  our  age,  to  look-  on  Isis 
as  the  milch  cow  !  O  prostitution  of 
the  grandest  desires  to  the  basest 
uses !  Gaze  on  the  goddess,  Randal 
Leslie,  and  get  ready  thy  churn  and 
thy  scales.  Let  us  see  what  the  but- 
ter will  fetch  in  the  market. 


CHAPTER   II. 


A  new  reign  has  commenced.  There 
has  been  a  general  election  ;  the  un- 
popularity of  the  Administration  has 
been  apparent  at  the  hustings.  Aud- 
ley  Egerton,  hitherto  returned  by 
vast  majorities,  has  barely  escaped 
defeat— thanks  to  a  majority  of  five. 
The  expenses  of  his  election  are  said 
to  have  been  prodigious.  *  But  who 
can  stand  against  such  wealth  as 
Egerton's — no  doubt  backed,  too,  by 
the  Treasury  purse?'  said  the  defeated 
candidate.  It  is  towards  the  close  of 
October ;  London  is  already  full ; 
Parliament  will  meet  in  less  than  a 
fortnight. 

In  one  of  the  principal  apartments 
of  that  hotel  in  which  foreigners  may 
discover  what  is  meant  by  English 
comfort,  and  the  price  which  foreign- 
ers must  pay  for  it,  there  sat  two 
persons,  side  by  side,  engaged  in  close 
conversation.  The  one  was  a  female, 
in  whose  pale  clear  complexion  and 
raven  hair  —  in  whose  eyes,  vivid 
with  a  power  of  expression  rarely 
bestowed  on  the  beauties  of  the 
north,  we  recognise  Beatrice,  Mar- 
chesa  di  Negra.  Undeniably  hand- 
some as  was  the  Italian  lady,  her 
companion,  though  a  man,  and  far 
advanced  -into  middle  age,  was  yet 
more  remarkable  for  personal  advan- 
tages. There  was  a  strong  family 
likeness  between  the  two  ;  but  there 
was  also  a  striking  contrast  in  air, 
manner,  and  all  that  stamps  on  the 
physiognomy  the  idiosyncrasies  of 
character.  There  was  something  of 
gravity,  of  earnestness  and  passion, 
in  Beatrice's  countenance  when  care- 
fully examined ;  her  smile  at  times 
might  be  false,  but  it  was  rarely  ironi- 
cal, never  cynical.  Her  gestures, 
though  graceful,  were  unrestrained 
and  frequent.  You  could  see  she  was 


a  daughter  of  the  south.  Her  com- 
panion, on  the  contrary,  preserved  on 
the  fair  smooth  face,  to  which  years 
had  given  scarcely  a  line  or  wrinkle, 
something  that  might  have  passed,  at 
first  glance,  for  the  levity  and  thought- 
lessness of  a  gay  and  youthful  nature  ; 
but  the  smile,  though  exquisitely 
polished,  took  at  times  the  derision 
of  a  sneer.  In  his  manners  he  was 
as  composed  and  as  free  from  gesture 
as  an  Englishman.  His  hair  was  of 
that  red  brown  with  which  the  Italian 
painters  produce  such  marvellous 
effects  of  colour ;  and,  if  here  and 
there  a  silver  thread  gleamed  through 
the  locks,  it  was  lost  at  once  amidst 
their  luxuriance.  His  eyes  were 
light,  and  his  complexion,  though 
without  much  colour,  was  singularly 
transparent.  His  beauty,  indeed, 
would  have  been  rather  womanly 
than  masculine,  but  for  the  height 
and  sinewy  spareness  of  a  frame  in 
which  muscular  strength  was  rather 
adorned  than  concealed  by  an  admir- 
able elegance  of  proportion.  You 
would  never  have  guessed  this  man 
to  be  an  Italian  ;  more  likely  you 
would  have  supposed  him  a  Parisian. 
He  conversed  in  French,  his  dress 
was  of  French  fashion,  his  mode  of 
thought  seemed  French'.  Not  that 
he  was  like  the  Frenchman  of  the 
present  day — an  animal,  either  rude 
or  reserved ;  but  your  ideal  of  the 
Marquis  of  the  old  regime — the  roue 
of  the  Regency. 

Italian,  however,  he  was,  and  of  a 
race  renowned  in  Italian  history. 
But,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  country  and 
his  birth,  he  affected  to  be  a  citizen 
of  the  -world.  Heaven  help  the  world 
if  it  hold  only  such  citizens ! 

"But,  Giulio,"  said  Beatrice  di 
Negra,  speaking  iu  Italian,  "even 


576  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XV.  [Nor. 


granting  that  you  discover  this  girl, 
can  you  suppose  that  her  father  will 
ever  consent  to  your  alliance?  Surely 
you  know  too  well  the  nature  of  your 
kinsman?" 

"  Tu  te  trompes,  ma  sceur,"  replied 
Ginlio  Franzini,  Count  di  Peschiera, 
in  French  as  usual — "  tu  te  trompes ; 
I  knew  it  before  he  had  gone  through 
exile  and  penury.  How  can  I  know 
it  now?  But  comfort  yourself,  my 
too  anxious  Beatrice,  I  shall  not  care 
for  his  consent  till  I've  made  sure  of 
his  daughter's." 

"But  how  win  that  in  despite  of 
the  father  ?  " 

"£7*,  mordieu!"  interrupted  the 
Count,  with  true  French  gaiety ; 
"  what  would  become  of  all  the  co- 
medies ever  written,  if  marriages 
were  not  made  in  despite  of  the 
father?  Look  you,"  he  resumed, 
with  a  very  slight  compression  of  his 
lip,  and  a  still  slighter  movement  in 
his  chair — "look  you,  this  is  no 
question  of  ifs  and  buts  ;  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  must  and  shall— a  question  of 
existence  to  you  and  to  me.  When 
Danton  was  condemned  to  the  guillo- 
tine, he  said,  flinging  a  pellet  of  bread 
at  the  nose  of  his  respectable  judge — 
1  Mon  individu  sera  bientot  dans  le 
neant"1 — My  patrimony  is  there  al- 
ready !  I  am  loaded  with  debts.  I 
see  before  me,  on  the  one  side,  ruin 
or  suicide  ;  on  the  other  side,  wedlock 
and  wealth." 

"  But  from  those  vast  possessions 
which  you  have  been  permitted  to 
enjoy  so  long,  have  you  really  saved 
nothing  against  the  time  when 
they  might  be  reclaimed  at  your 
hands  ?  " 

"My  sister,"  replied  the  Count, 
"do  I  look  like  a  man  who  saved? 
Besides,  when  the  Austrian  Emperor, 
unwilling  to  raze  from  his  Lombard 
domains  a  name  and  a  house  so  illus- 
trious as  our  kinsman's,  and  desirous, 
while  punishing  that  kinsman's  rebel- 
lion, to  reward  my  adherence,  for- 
bore the  peremptory  confiscation  of 
those  vast  possessions  at  which  my 
month  waters  while  we  speak,  but, 
annexing  them  to  the  Crown  during 
pleasure,  allowed  me,  as  the  next  of 
male  kin, to  retain  therevenues  of  one- 
half  for  the  same  very  indefinite  period 
— had  I  not  every  reason  to  suppose, 
that,  before  long,  I  could  so  influence 


his  Majesty  or  his  minister,  as  to  ob- 
tain a  decree  that  might  transfer  the 
whole,  unconditionally  and  absolutely, 
to  myself?  And  methinks  I  should 
Jiave  done  so,  but  for  this  accursed, 
intermeddling  English  Milord,  who 
has  never  ceased  to  besiege  the  court 
or  the  minister  with  alleged  extenua- 
tions of  our  cousin's  rebellion,  and 
proofless  assertions  that  I  shared  it 
in  order  to  entangle  my  kinsman,  and 
betrayed  it  in  order  to  profit  by  his 
spoils.  So  that,  at  last,  in  return  for 
all  my  services,  and  in  answer  to  all 
my  claims,  I  received  from  the  minis- 
ter himself  this  cold  reply — '  Count 
of  Peschiera,  your  aid  was  important, 
and  your  reward  has  been  large.  That 
reward,  it  would  not  be  for  your 
honour  to  extend,  and  justify  the 
ill  opinion  of  your  Italian  country- 
men by  formally  appropriating  to 
yourself  all  that  was  forfeited  by  the 
treason  you  denounced.  A  name  so 
noble  as  yours  should  be  dearer  to 
you  than  fortune  itself.'  " 

"Ah,  Gitilio,"  cried  Beatrice,  her 
face  lighting  up,  changed  in  its  whole 
character — "  those  were  words  that 
might  make  the  demon  that  tempts 
to  avarice  fly  from  your  breast  in 
shame." 

The  Count  opened  his  eyes  in  great 
amaze;  then  he  glanced  round  the 
room,  and  said,  quietly — 

"  Nobody  else  hears  you,  my  dear 
Beatrice ;  talk  common  sense.  He- 
roics sound  well  in  mixed  society ; 
but  there  is  nothing  less  suited  to  the 
tone  of  a  family  conversation." 

Madame  di  Negra  bent  down  her 
head  abashed,  and  that  sudden  change 
in  the  expression  of  her  countenance, 
which  had  seemed  to  betray  suscepti- 
bility to  generous  emotion,  faded  as 
suddenly  away. 

"  But  still,"  she  said  coldly,  "  you 
enjoy  one-half  of  those  ample  reve- 
nues—why talk,  then,  of  suicide  and 
ruin  ?  " 

"  I  enjoy  them  at  the  pleasure  of 
the  crown  ;  and  what  if  it  be  the 
pleasure  of  the  crown  to  recall  our 
cousin,  and  reinstate  him  in  his  pos- 
sessions?" 

"  There  is  a  probability,  then,  of 
that  pardon  ?  When  you  first  em- 
ployed me  in  your  researches,  you 
only  thought  there  was  a  possi- 
bility:1 


1851.] 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XV. 


"  There  is  a  great  probability  of  it, 
and  therefore  I  am  here.  I  learned 
some  little  time  since  that  the  ques- 
tion of  such  recall  had  been  suggested 
by  the  Emperor,  and  discussed  in 
Council.  The  danger  to  the  State, 
which  might  arise  from  our  cousin's 
wealth,  his  alleged  abilities — (abili- 
ties !  bah  !) — and  his  popular  name, 
deferred  any  decision  on  the  point ; 
and,  indeed,  the  difficulty  of  dealing 
with  mjTself  must  have  embarrassed 
the  ministry.  But  it  is  a  mere  ques- 
tion of  time.  He  cannot  long  remain 
excluded  from  the  general  amnesty 
already  extended  to  the  other  refu- 
gees. The  person  who  gave  me  this 
information  is  high  in  power,  and 
friendly  to  myself;  and  he  added  a 
piece  of  advice,  on  which  I  acted. 
4  It  was  intimated,'  said  he,  *  by  one 
of  the  partisans  of  your  kinsman,  that 
the  exile  could  give  a  hostage  for  his 
loyalty  in  the  person  of  his  daughter 
and  heiress ;  that  she  had  arrived  at 
marriageable  age ;  that  if  she  were  to 
wed,  with  the  Emperor's  consent, 
some  one  whose  attachment  to  the 
Austrian  crown  was  unquestionable, 
there  would  be  a  guarantee  both  for 
the  faith  of  the  father,  and  for  the 
transmission  of  so  important  a  heri- 
tage to  safe  and  loyal  hands.  Why 
not'  (continued  my  friend)  '  apply  to 
the  Emperor  for  his  consent  to  that 
alliance  for  yourself? — you,  on  whom 
he  can  depend  ;- — you  who,  if  the 
daughter  should  die,  would  be  the 
legal  heir  to  those  lands  ? '  On  that 
hint  I  spoke." 

"  You  saw  the  Emperor?  " 

"  And  after  combating  the  unjust 
prepossessions  against  me,  I  stated, 
that  so  far  from  my  cousin  having  any 
fair  cause  of  resentment  against  me, 
when  all  was  duly  explained  to  him, 
I  did  not  doubt  that  he  would  will- 
ingly give  me  the  hand  of  his  child." 

"  You  did !"  cried  the  Marchesa, 
amazed. 

u  And,"  continued  the  Count  im- 
perturbably,  as  he  smoothed,  with 
careless  hand,  the  snowy  plaits  of  his 
shirt  front — "  and  that  I  should  thus 
have  the  happiness  of  becoming  my- 
self the  guarantee  of  my  kinsman's 
loyalty — the  agent  for  the  restora- 
tion of  his  honours,  while,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  envious  and  malignant,  I 
should  clear  up  my  own  name  from 


577 

all  suspicion    that    I  had   wronged 
him." 

"  And  the  Emperor  consented  ?  " 

"  Pardieu,  my  dear  sister.  What 
else  could  his  majesty  do  ?  My  pro- 
position smoothed  every  obstacle,  and 
reconciled  policy  with  mercy.  It 
remains,  therefore,  only  to  find  out, 
what  has  hitherto  baffled  all  our  re- 
searches, the  retreat  of  our  dear  kins- 
folk, and  to  make  myself  a  welcome 
lover  to  the  demoiselle.  There  is 
some  disparity  of  years,  I  own ;  but — 
unless  your  sex  and  my  glass  flatter 
me  overmuch — I  am  still  a  match  for 
many  a  gallant  of  fi ve-and-twenty." 

The  Count  said  this  with  so  charm- 
ing a  smile,  and  looked  so  pre-emi- 
nently handsome,  that  he  carried  off 
the  coxcombry  of  the  words  as  grace- 
fully as  if  they  had  been  spoken  by 
some  dazzling  hero  of  the  grand  old 
comedy  of  Parisian  life. 

Then  interlacing,  his  fingers,  and 
lightly  leaning  his  hands,  thus  clasped, 
upon  his  sister's  shoulder,  he  looked 
into  her  face,  and  said  slowly — "  And 
now,  my  sister,  for  some  gentle  but 
deserved  reproach.  Have  you  not 
sadly  failed  me  in  the  task  I  imposed 
on  your  regard  for  my  interests  ?  Is 
it  not  some  years  since  you  first  came 
to  England  on  the  mission  of  dis- 
covering these  worthy  relatives  of 
ours?  Did  I  not  entreat  you  to 
seduce  into  your  toils  the  man  whom 
I  knew  to  be  my  enemy,  and  who  was 
indubitably  acquainted  with  our 
cousin's  retreat — a  secret  he  has 
hitherto  locked  within  his  bosom  ?- 
Did  you  not  tell  me,  that  though  he 
was  then  in  England,  you  could  find 
no  occasion  even  to  meet  him,  but 
that  you  had  obtained  the  friendship 
of  the  statesman  to  whom  I  directed 
your  attention,  as  his  most  intimate 
associate?  And  yet  you,  whose 
charms  are  usually  so  irresistible, 
learn  nothing  from  the  statesman,  as 
you  see  nothing  of  Milord.  Nay, 
baffled  and  misled,  you  actually  sup- 
pose that  the  quarry  has  taken  refuge 
in  France.  You  go  thither— you 
pretend  to  search  the  capital — the 
provinces,  Switzerland,  que  sais-je  ? — 
all  in  vain, — though  — foi  de  gentil- 
homme — your  police  cost  me  dearly, 
— you  return  to  England — the  same 
chace,  and  the  same  result.  Pal- 
sambleu,  ma  sceur,  I  do  too  much  credit 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XV. 


578 


to  your  talents  not  to  question  your 
zeal.  In  a  word,  have  you  been  in 
earnest — or  have  you  not  had  some 
womanly  pleasure  in  amusing  your- 
self and  abusing  my  trust  ?" 

"  Giulio,"  answered  Beatrice  sadly, 
44  you  know  the  influence  you  have 
exercised  over  my  character  and  my 
fate.  Your  reproaches  are  not  just. 
I  made  such  inquiries  as  were  in  my 
power,  and  I  have  now  cause  to  be- 
lieve that  I  know  one  who  is  possessed 
of  this  secret,  and  can  guide  us  to  it." 

44  Ah,  you  do  ! "  exclaimed  the 
Count.  Beatrice  did  not  heed  the 
exclamation,  and  hurried  on. 

44  But  grant  that  my  heart  shrunk 
from  the  task  you  imposed  on  me, 
would  it  not  have  been  natural? 
When  I  first  came  to  England,  you 
informed  me  that  your  object  in  dis- 
covering the  exiles  was  one  which  I 
could  honestly  aid.  You  naturally 
desired  first  to  know  if  the  daughter 
lived ;  if  not,  you  were  the  heir.  If  she 
did,  you  assured  me  you  desired  to 
effect,  through  my  mediation,  some 
liberal  compromise  with  Alphonso,  by 
which  you  would  have  sought  to  obtain 
his  restoration,  provided  he  would 
leave  you  for  life  in  possession  of  the 
grant  you  hold  from  the  crown. 
While  these  were  your  objects,  I  did 
my  best,  ineffectual  as  it  was,  to 
obtain  the  information  required." 

44  And  what  made  me  lose  so  im- 
portant, though  so  ineffectual  an  ally?" 
asked  the  Count,  still  smiling ;  but  a 
gleam  that  belied  the  smile  shot  from 
his  eye. 

44  What !  when  you  bade  me  re- 
ceive and  co-operate  with  the  miser- 
able spies — the  false  Italians — whom 
you  sent  over,  and  seek  to  entangle 
this  poor  exile,  when  found,  in  some 
rash  correspondence,  to  be  revealed 
to  the  court ;  —  when  you  sought  to 
seduce  the  daughter  of  the  Counts  of 
Peschiera,  the  descendant  of  those 
who  had  ruled  in  Italy,  into  the 
informer,  the  corrupter,  and  the 
traitress  !  No,  Giulio — then  I  re- 
coiled ;  and  then,  fearful  of  your  own 
sway  over  me,  I  retreated  into  France. 
I  have  answered  you  frankly." 

The  Count  removed  his  hands  from 
the  shoulder  on  which  they  had  re- 
clined so  cordially. 

44  And  this,"  said  he,  "  is  your 
wisdom,  and  this  your  gratitude. 


[Nov. 


You,  whose  fortunes  are  bound  up  in 
mine — you,  who  subsist  on  my  bounty 
— you,  who " 

44  Hold, "  cried  the  Marchesa, 
rising,  and  with  a  burst  of  emotion,  as 
if  stung  to  the  utmost,  and  breaking 
into  revolt  from  the  tyranny  of  years 
— 44  Hold—  gratitude  1  bounty !  Bro- 
ther, brother — what,  indeed,  do  I 
owe  to  you?  The  shame  and  the  misery 
of  a  life.  While  yet  a  child,  you  con- 
demned rne  to  marry  against  my  will 
—  against  my  heart  —  against  my 
prayers — and  laughed  at  my  tears 
when  I  knelt  to  you  for  mercy.  I 
was  pure  then,  Giulio— pure  and  in- 
nocent as  the  flowers  in  my  virgin 
crown.  And  now — now —  " 

Beatrice  stopped  abruptly,  and 
clasped  her  hands  before  her  face. 

44  Now  you  upbraid  me,"  said  the 
Count,  unrufiled  by  her  sudden  pas- 
sion, 44  because  I  gave  you  in  mar- 
riage to  a  man  young  and  noble  ?  " 

44  Old  in  vices,  and  mean  of  soul ! 
The  marriage  I  forgave  you.  You 
had  the  right,  according  to  the  cus- 
toms of  our  country,  to  dispose  of  my 
hand.  But  I  forgave  you  not  the 
consolations  that  you  whispered  in 
the  ear  of  a  wretched  and  insulted 
wife." 

44  Pardon  me  the  remark,"  replied 
the  Count,  with  a  courtly  bend  of  his 
head, u  but  those  consolations  were  also 
conformable  to  the  customs  of  our 
country,  and  I  was  not  aware  till  now 
that  you  had  wholly  disdained  them. 
And,"  continued  the  Count,  "  you 
were  not  so  long  a  wife  that  the  gall 
of  the  chain  should  smart  still.  You 
were  soon  left  a  widow — free,  child- 
less, young,  beautiful." 

44  And  penniless." 

44  True,  Di  Negrawas  a  gambler,  and 
very  unlucky ;  no  fault  of  mine.  I  could 
neither  keep  the  cards  from  his  hands, 
nor  advise  him  how  to  play  them." 

44  And  my  own  portion  ?  Oh  Giulio, 
I  knew  but  at  his  death  why  you 
had  condemned  me  to  that  renegade 
Genoese.  He  owed  you  money,  and, 
against  honour,  and  I  believe  against 
law<  you  had  accepted  my  fortune  in 
discharge  of  the  debt." 

44  He  had  no  other  way  to  discharge 
it — a  debt  of  honour  must  be  paid — 
old  stories  these.  What  matters?  Since 
then  my  purse  has  been  open  to  you." 

44  Yes,  not  as  your  sister,  but  your 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XV. 


instrument — your  spy!  Yes,  your 
purse  has  been  open — with  a  niggard 
hand." 

"  Un  pen  de  conscience,  ma  chere, 
you  are  so  extravagant.  But  come,  be 
plain.  What  would  you  ?  " 

"  I  would  be  free  from  you." 

"  That  is,  you  would  form  some 
second  marriage  with  one  of  these 
rich  island  lords.  Ma  foi,  I  respect 
your  ambition." 

"  It  is  not  so  high.  I  aim  but  to 
escape  from  slavery — to  be  placed 
beyond  dishonourable  temptation.  I 
desire,"  cried  Beatrice  with  increased 
emotion,  "I  desire  to  re-enter  the 
life  of  woman." 

"EnoM"  said  the  Count  with  a 
visible  impatience,  "  is  there  anything 
in  the  attainment  of  your  object  that 
should  render  you  indifferent  to  mine  ? 
You  desire  to  marry,  if  I  comprehend 
you  right.  And  to  marry,  as  becomes 
you,  you  should  bring  to  your  husband 
not  debts,  but  a  dowry.  Be  it  so. 
I  will  restore  the  portion  that  I  saved 
from  the  spendthrift  clutch  of  the 
Genoese  —  the  moment  that  it  is 
mine  to  bestow — the  moment  that  I 
am  husband  to  my  kinsman's  heiress. 
And  now,  Beatrice,  you  imply  that 
my  former  notions  revolted  your 
conscience ;  my  present  plan  should 
content  it ;  for  by  this  marriage 
shall  our  kinsman  regain  his  country, 
and  repossess,  at  least,  half  his  lands. 
And  if  I  am  not  an  excellent  husband 
to  the  demoiselle,  it  will  be  her  own 
fault.  I  have  sown  my  wild  oats. 
Je  suis  bon  prince,  when  I  have  things 
a  little  my  own  way.  It  is  my  hope 
and  my  intention,  and  certainly  it  will 
be  my  interest,  to  become  digne  epoux 
et  irreprochable  pere  de  famille.  I 
speak  lightly — 'tis  my  way.  I  mean 
seriously.  The  little  girl  will  be  very 
happy  with  me,  and  I  shall  succeed 
in  soothing  all  resentment  her  father 
may  retain.  Will  you  aid  me  then — 
yes  or  no  ?  Aid  me,  and  you  shall 
indeed  be  free.  The  magician  will 
release  the  fair  spirit  he  has  bound  to 
his  will.  Aid  me  not,  ma  chere,  and 
mark,  I  do  not  threaten — I  do  but 
warn  —  aid  me  not;  grant  that  I 
become  a  beggar,  and  ask  yourself 
what  is  to  become  of  you — still  young, 
still  beautiful,  and  still  penniless? 
Nay,  worse  than  penniless ;  you  have 
done  me  the  honour,  (and  here  the 


579 

Count,  looking  on  the  table,  drew  a 
letter  from  a  portfolio,  emblazoned 
with  his  arms  and  coronet,)  you  have 
done  me  the  honour  to  consult  me  as 
to  your  debts." 

^"You  will  restore  my  fortune?" 
said  the  Marchesa,  irresolutely — and 
averting  her  head  from  an  odious 
schedule  of  figures. 

"  When  my  own,  with  your  aid,  is 
secured." 

"But  do  you  not  overrate  the 
value  of  my  aid  ?" 

"  Possibly,"  said  the  Count,  with 
a  caressing  suavity — and  he  kissed 
his  sister's  forehead.  "  Possibly  ; 
but  by  my  honour,  I  wish  to  repair 
to  you  any  wrong,  real  or  supposed,  I 
may  have  done  you  in  past  times. 
I  wish  to  find  again  my  own  dear 
sister.  I  may  overvalue  your  aid, 
but  not  the  affection  from  which  it 
comes.  Let  us  be  friends,  cara  Bea- 
trice mia,"  added  the  Count,  for  the 
first  time  employing  Italian  words. 

The  Marchesa  laid  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  and  her  tears  flowed  softly. 
Evidently  this  man  had  great  influ- 
ence over  her — and  evidently,  what- 
ever her  cause  for  complaint,  her 
affection  for  him  was  still  sisterly 
and  strong.  A  nature  with  fine 
flashes  of  generosity,  spirit,  honour, 
and  passion,  was  hers — but  uncul- 
tured, unguided — spoilt  by  the  worst 
social  examples  —  easily  led  into 
wrong — not  always  aware  where  the 
wrong  was — letting  affections  good 
or  bad  whisper  away  her  conscience 
or  blind  her  reason.  Such  women 
are  often  far  more  dangerous  when 
induced  to  wrong,  than  those  who  are 
thoroughly  abandoned — such  women 
are  the  accomplices  men  like  the 
Count  of  Peschiera  most  desire  to 
obtain. 

"  Ah,  Giulio,"  said  Beatrice,  after 
a  pause,  and  looking  up  at  him 
through  her  tears,  "  when  you  speak 
to  me  thus,  you  know  you  can  do 
with  me  what  you  will.  Fatherless 
and  motherless,  whom  had  my  child- 
hood to  love  and  obey  but  you  ?  " 

"Dear  Beatrice,"  murmured  the 
Count  tenderly — and  he  again  kissed 
her  forehead.  "So,"  he  continued 
more  carelessly — "  so  the  reconcilia- 
tion is  effected,  and  our  interests  and 
our  hearts  re-allied.  Now,  alas  !  to 
descend  to  business.  You  say  that 


580  My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in 

you  know  some  one  whom  you  believe 
to  be  acquainted  with  the  lurking-place 
of  my  father-in-law — that  is  to  be  !" 

"I  think  so.  You  remind  me  that  I 
have  an  appointment  with  him  this  day : 
it  is  near  the  hour — I  must  leave  you." 

"To  learn  the  secret ?— Quick- 
quick.  I  have  no  fear  of  your  success, 
if  it  is  by  his  heart  that  you  leadhim?" 

"  You  mistake ;  on  his  heart  I  have 
no  hold.  But  he  has  a  friend  who 
loves  me,  and  honourably,  and  whose 
cause  he  pleads.  I  think  here  that  I 
have  some  means  to  control  or  per- 
suade him.  If  not  —  ah,  he  is  of  a 
character  that  perplexes  me  in  all 
but  his  worldly  ambition  ;  and  how 
can  we  foreigners  influence  him 
through  that?" 

"  Is  he  poor,  or  is  he  extravagant?  " 

"  Not  extravagant,  and  not  posi- 
tively poor,  but  dependent." 

"  Then  we  have  him,"  said  the 
Count  composedly.  "  If  his  assist- 
ance be  worth  buying,  we  can  bid 
high  for  it.  Sur  mon  ame,  I  never 
yet  knew  money  fail  with  any  man 
who  was  both  worldly  and  depen- 
dent. I  put  him  and  myself  in  your 
hands." 

Thus  saying,  the  Count  opened  the 
door,  and  conducted  his  sister  with 
formal  politeness  to  her  carriage.  He 


English  Life.— Part  XV.  [Nov. 

then  returned,  reseated  himself,  and 
mused  in  silence.  As  he  did  so,  the 
muscles  of  his  countenance  relaxed. 
The  levity  of  the  Frenchman  fled 
from  his  visage,  and  in  his  eye,  as  it 
gazed  abstractedly  into  space,  there 
was  that  steady  depth  so  remarkable 
in  the  old  portraits  of  Florentine 
diplomatist  or  Venetian  oligarch. 
Thus  seen,  there  was  in  that  face, 
despite  all  its  beauty,  something  that 
would  have  awed  back  even  the  fond 
gaze  of  love;  something  hard,  col- 
lected, inscrutable,  remorseless.  But 
this  change  of  countenance  did  not 
last  long.  Evidently  thought,  though 
intense  for  the  moment,  was  not 
habitual  to  the  man.  Evidently  he 
had  lived  the  life  which  takes  all 
things  lightly — so  he  rose  with  a  look 
of  fatigue,  shook  and  stretched  him- 
self, as  if  to  cast  off,  or  grow  out  of,  an 
unwelcome  and  irksome  mood.  An 
hour  afterwards,  the  Count  of 
Peschiera  was  charming  all  eyes,  and 
pleasing  all  ears,  in  the  saloon  of  a 
high-born  beauty,  whose  acquaint- 
ance he  had  made  at  Vienna,  and 
whose  charms,  according  to  that  old 
and  never  -  truth  -  speaking  oracle, 
Polite  Scandal,  were  now  said  to  have 
attracted  to  London  the  brilliant 
foreigner. 


CHAPTER   III. 


The  Marchesa  regained  her  house, 
which  was  in  Curzon  Street,  and 
withdrew  to  her  own  room,  to  re- 
adjust her  dress,  and  remove  from 
her  countenance  all  trace  of  the  tears 
she  had  shed. 

Half- an -hour  afterwards  she  was 
seated  in  her  drawing-room,  com- 
posed and  calm  ;  nor,  seeing  her  then, 
could  you  have  guessed  that  she  was 
capable  of  so  much  emotion  and  so 
much  weakness.  In  that  stately  ex- 
terior, in  that  quiet  attitude,  in  that 
elaborate  and  finished  elegance  which 
comes  alike  from  the  arts  of  the 
toilet  and  the  conventional  repose  of 
rank,  you  could  see  but  the  woman 
of  the  world  and  the  great  lady. 

A  knock  at  the  door  was  heard, 


and  in  a  few  moments  there  entered 
a  visitor,  with  the  easy  familiarity  of 
intimate  acquaintance — a  young  man, 
but  with  none  of  the  bloom  of  youth. 
His  hair,  fine  as  a  woman's,  was  thin 
and  scanty,  but  it  fell  low  over  the 
forehead,  and  concealed  that  noblest 
of  our  human  features.  "  A  gentle- 
man," says  Apuleius,  "  ought,  if  he 
can,  to  wear  his  whole  mind  on  his 
forehead."  *  The  young  visitor  would 
never  have  committed  so  frank  an 
imprudence.  His  cheek  was  pale, 
and  in  his  step  and  his  movements 
there  was  a  langour  that  spoke  of 
fatigued  nerves  or  delicate  health. 
But  the  light  of  the  eye  and  the  tone 
of  the  voice  were  those  of  a  mental 
temperament  controlling  the  bodily — 


*  1  must  be  pardoned  for  annexing  the  original,  since  it  loses  much  by  translation : 
— "  Hominem  liberum  et  magnificum  debere,  si  queat,  in  primori  fronte,  animum 
gestare." 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

vigorous  and  energetic.  For  the  rest, 
his  general  appearance  was  distin- 
guished by  a  refinement  alike  intel- 
lectual and  social.  Once  seen,  you 
would  not  easily  forget  him.  And 
the  reader  no  doubt  already  recognises 
Randal  Leslie.  His  salutation,  as  I 
before  said,  was  that  of  intimate 
familiarity ;  yet  it  was  given  and 
replied  to  with  that  unreserved  open- 
ness which  denotes  the  absence  of  a 
more  tender  sentiment. 

Seating  himself  by  the  Marchesa's 
side,  Randal  began  first  to  converse 
on  the  fashionable  topics  and  gossip 
of  the  day ;  but  it  was  observable, 
that,  while  he  extracted  from  her  the 
current  anecdote  and  scandal  of  the 
great  world,  neither  anecdote  nor 
scandal  did  he  communicate  in  return. 
Randal  Leslie  had  already  learned  the 
art  not  to  commit  himself,  nor  to  have 
quoted  against  him  one  ill-natured 
remark  upon  the  eminent.  Nothing 
more  injures  the  man  who  would  rise 
beyond  the  fame  of  the  salons,  than  to 
be  considered  backbiter  and  gossip  ; 
4  yet  it  is  always  useful,'  thought  Ran- 
dal Leslie,  '  to  know  the  foibles — the 
small  social  and  private  springs  by 
which  the  great  are  moved.  Critical 
occasions  may  arise  in  which  such 
knowledge  may  be  power.'  And  hence, 
perhaps,  (besides  a  more  private  mo- 
tive, soon  to  be  perceived,)  Randal  did 
not  consider  his  time  thrown  away  in 
cultivating  Madame  di  Negra's  friend- 
ship. For  despite  much  that  was 
whispered  against  her,  she  had  suc- 
ceeded in  dispelling  the  coldness  with 
which  she  had  at  first  been  received 
in  the  London^circles.  Her  beauty,  her 
grace,  and  her  high  birth,  had  raised 
her  into  fashion,  and  the  homage  of 
men  of  the  first  station,  while  it  per- 
haps injured  her  reputation  as  woman, 
added  to  her  celebrity  as  fine  lady. 
So  much  do  we  cold  English,  prudes 
though  we  be,  forgive  to  the  foreigner 
what  we  avenge  on  the  native. 

Sliding  at  last  from  these  general 
topics  into  very  well-bred  and  elegant 
personal  compliment,  and  reciting 
various  eulogies,  which  Lord  this  and 
the  Duke  of  that  had  passed  on  the 
Marchesa's  charms,  Randal  laid  his 
hand  on  hers,  with  the  license  of 
admitted  friendship,  and  said — 

"  But  since  you  have  deigned  to 
confide  in  me,  since  when  (happily 


English  Life.— Part  XV.  581 

for  me,  and  with  a  generosity  of 
which  no  coquette  could  have  been 
capable)  you,  in  good  time,  repressed 
into  friendship  feelings  that  might 
else  have  ripened  into  those  you  are 
formed  to  inspire  and  disdain  to 
return,  you  told  me  with  your  charm- 
ing smile,  '  Let  no  one  speak  to  me 
of  love  who  does  not  offer  me  his 
hand,  and  with  it  the  means  to 
supply  tastes  that  I  fear  are  terribly 
extravagant;' — since  thus  you  allowed 
me  to  divine  your  natural  objects, 
and  upon  that  understanding  our 
intimacy  has  been  founded,  you  will 
pardon  me  for  saying  that  the 
admiration  you  excite  amongst  these 
grands  seigneurs  I  have  named,  only 
serves  to  defeat  your  own  purpose, 
and  scare  away  admirers  less  brilliant, 
but  more  in  earnest.  Most  of  these 
gentlemen  are  unfortunately  married  ; 
and  they  who  are  not  belong  to 
those  members  of  our  aristocracy  who, 
in  marriage,  seek  more  than  beauty 
and  wit— namely,  connections  to 
strengthen  their  political  station,  or 
wealth  to  redeem  a  mortgage  and 
sustain  a  title." 

"  My  dear  Mr  Leslie,"  replied  the 
Marchesa  —  and  a  certain  sadness 
might  be  detected  in  the  tone  of  the 
voice  and  the  droop  of  the  eye — 
"I  have  lived  long  enough  in  the 
real  world  to  appreciate  the  baseness 
and  the  falsehood  of  most  of  those 
sentiments  which  take  the  noblest 
names.  I  see  through  the  hearts  of 
the  admirers  you  parade  before  me, 
and  know  that  not  one  of  them  would 
shelter  with  his  ermine  the  woman  to 
whom  he  talks  of  his  heart.  Ah," 
continued  Beatrice,  with  a  softness  of 
which  she  was  unconscious,  but  which 
might  have  been  extremely  dangerous 
to  youth  less  steeled  and  self-guarded 
than  was  Randal  Leslie's—"  ah,  I  am 
less  ambitious  than  you  suppose.  I 
have  dreamed  of  a  friend,  a  companion, 
a  protector,  with  feelings  still  fresh, 
undebased  by  the  low  round  of  vulgar 
dissipation  and  mean  pleasures— of  a 
heart  so  new,  that  it  might  restore  my 
own  to  what  it  was  in  its  happy 
spring.  I  have  seen  in  your  country 
some  marriages,  the  mere  contempla- 
tion of  which  has  filled  my  eyes  with 
delicious  tears.  I  have  learned  in 
England  to  know  the  value  of  home. 
And  with  such  a  heart  as  I  describe, 


My  Novel  •  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  X  V. 


582 

and  such  a  home,  I  could  forget  that 
I  ever  knew  a  less  pure  ambition." 

"This  language  does  not  surprise 
me,"  said  Randal ;  "  yet  it  does  not 
harmonise  with  your  former  answer 
to  me." 

44  To  you,"  repeated  Beatrice  smil- 
ing, and  regaining  her  lighter  manner; 
"to  you  —  true.  But  I  never  had 
the  vanity  to  think  that  your  affection 
for  me  could  bear  the  sacrifices  it 
would  cost  you  in  marriage ;  that  you, 
with  your  ambition,  could  bound 
your  dreams  of  happiness  to  home. 
And  then,  too,"  said  she,  raising  her 
head,  and  with  a  certain  grave  pride 
in  her  air — u  and  then,  I  could  not 
have  consented  to  share  my  fate  with 
one  whom  my  poverty  would  cripple. 
I  could  not  listen  to  my  heart,  if  it 
had  beat  for  a  lover  without  fortune, 
for  to  him  I  could  then  have  brought 
but  a  burden,  and  betrayed  him  into 
a  union  with  poverty  and  debt.  Now, 
it  may  be  different.  Now  I  may  have 
the  dowry  that  befits  my  birth.  And 
now  I  may  be  free  to  choose  accord- 
ing to  my  heart  as  woman,  not  accord- 
ing to  my  necessities,  as  one  poor, 
harassed,  and  despairing." 

44  Ah,"  said  Randal,  interested,  and 
drawing  still  closer  towards  his  fair 
companion — "  ah,  I  congratulate  you 
sincerely ;  yon  have  cause,  then,  to 
think  that  you  shall  be — rich  ?  " 

The  Marchesa  paused  before  she 
answered,  and  during  that  pause 
Randal  relaxed  the  web  of  the  scheme 
which  he  had  been  secretly  weaving, 
and  rapidly  considered  whether,  if 
Beatrice  di  Negra  would  indeed  be 
rich,  she  might  answer  to  himself  as 
a  wife ;  and  in  what  way,  if  so,  he 
had  best  change  his  tone  from  that  of 
friendship  into  that  of  love.  While 
thus  reflecting,  Beatrice  answered — 

44  Not  rich  for  an  Englishwoman ; 
for  an  Italian,  yes.  My  fortune 
should  be  half  a  million — " 

41  Half  a  million!"  cried  Randal, 
and  with  difficulty  he  restrained  him- 
self from  falling  at  her  feet  in  adoration. 

"Of francs!"  continued  the  Mar- 
chesa. 

"  Francs  !  Ah,"  said  Randal,  with 
a  long-drawn  breath,  and  recovering 
from  his  sudden  enthusiasm,  "  about 
twenty  thousand  pounds !  —  eight 
hundred  a-year  at  four  per  cent.  A 
very  handsome  portion,  certainly — 


[Nov. 


(Genteel  poverty !  he  murmured  to 
himself.  What  an  escape  I  have  had  ! 
but  I  see — I  see.  This  will  smooth 
all  difficulties  in  the  way  of  my  better 
and  earlier  project.  I  see) — a  very 
handsome  portion,"  he  repeated  aloud 
— "  not  for  a  grand  seigneur,  indeed, 
but  still  for  a  gentleman  of  birth 
and  expectations  worthy  of  your 
choice,  if  ambition  be  not  your  first 
object.  Ah,  while  you  spoke  with 
such  endearing  eloquence  of  feelings 
that  were  fresh,  of  a  heart  that  was 
new,  of  the  happy  English  home, 
you  might  guess  that  my  thoughts 
ran  to  my  friend  who  loves  you  so 
devotedly,  and  who  so  realises  your 
ideal.  Proverbially,  with  us,  happy 
marriages  and  happy  homes  are  found 
not  in  the  gay  circles  of  London 
fashion,  but  at  the  hearths  of  our  rural 
nobility — our  untitled  country  gentle- 
men. And  who,  amongst  all  your 
adorers,  can  offer  you  a  lot  so  really 
enviable  as  the  one  whom,  I  see  by 
your  blush,  you  already  guess  that 
I  refer  to  ?  " 

41  Did  I  blush?"  said  the  Marchesa, 
with  a  silvery  laugh.  "  Nay,  I  think 
that  your  zeal  for  your  friend  misled 
you.  But  I  will  own  frankly,  I  have 
been  touched  by  his  honest  ingenuous 
love — so  evident,  yet  rather  looked 
than  spoken.  I  have  contrasted  the 
love  that  honours  me  with  the  suitors 
that  seek  to  degrade ;  more  I  cannot 
say.  For  though  I  grant  that  your 
friend  is  handsome,  high-spirited,  and 
generous,  still  he  is  not  what — " 

44  You  mistake,  believe  me,"  inter- 
rupted Randal.  '4  You  shall  not 
finish  your  sentence.  He  is  all  that 
you  do  not  yet  suppose  him ;  for 
his  shyness,  and  his  very  love,  his 
very  respect  for  your  superiority,  do 
not  allow  his  mind  and  his  nature  to 
appear  to  advantage.  You,  it  is  true, 
have  a  taste  for  letters  and  poetry 
rare  among  your  country  women.  He 
has  not  at  present — few  men  have. 
But  what  Cimon  would  not  be  refined 
by  so  fair  an  Iphigenia  ?  Such  frivo- 
lities as  he  now  shows  belong  but  to 
youth  and  inexperience  of  life.  Happy 
the  brother  who  could  see  his  sister 
the  wife  of  Frank  Hazeldean." 

The  Marchesa  leant  her  cheek  on  her 
hand  in  silence.  To  her,  marriage  was 
more  than  it  usually  seems  to  dreaming 
maiden  or  to  disconsolate  widow.  So 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XV. 


had  the  strong  desire  to  escape  from 
the  control  of  her  unprincipled  and  re- 
morseless brother  grown  a  part  of  her 
very  soul — so  had  whatever  was  best 
and  highest  in  her  very  mixed  and 
complex  character  been  galled  and 
outraged  by  her  friendless  and  ex- 
posed position,  the  equivocal  worship 
rendered  to  her  beauty,  the  various 
debasements  to  which  pecuniary  em- 
barrassments had  subjected  her — (not 
without  design  on  the  part  of  the 
Count,  who,  though  grasping,  was 
not  miserly,  and  who  by  precarious 
and  seemingly  capricious  gifts  at  one 
time,  and  refusals  of  all  aid  at  another, 
had  involved  her  in  debt  in  order  to 
retain  his  hold  on  her) — so  utterly 
painful  and  humiliating  to  a  woman 
of  her  pride  and  her  birth  was  the 
station  that  she  held  in  the  world — 
that  in  marriage  she  saw  liberty,  life, 
honour,  self-redemption;  and  these 
thoughts,  while  they  compelled  her  to 
co-operate  with  the  schemes,  by 
which  the  Count,  on  securing  to  him- 
self a  bride,  was  to  bestow  on  herself 
a  dower,  also  disposed  her  now  to 
receive  with  favour  Randal  Leslie's 
pleadings  on  behalf  of  his  friend. 

The  advocate  saw  that  he  had  made 
an  impression,  and  with  the  marvel- 
lous skill  which  his  knowledge  of 
those  natures  that  engaged  his  study 
bestowed  on  his  intelligence,  he  con- 
tinued to  improve  his  cause  by  such 
representations  as  were  likely  to  be 
most  effective.  With  what  admirable 
tact  he  avoided  panegyric  of  Frank  as 
the  mere  individual,  and  drew  him 
rather  as  the  type,  the  ideal  of  what  a 
woman  in  Beatrice's  position  might 
desire,  in  the  safety,  peace,  and  honour 
of  a  home,  in  the  trust,  and  constancy, 
and  honest  confiding  love  of  its  part- 
ner !  He  did  not  paint  an  elysium ; 
he  described  a  haven;  he  did  not 
glowingly  delineate  a  hero  of  romance 
— he  soberly  portrayed  that  Repre- 
sentative of  the  Respectable  and  the 
Real  which  a  woman  turns  to  when 
romance  begins  to  seem  to  her  but 
delusion.  Verily,  if  you  could  have 
looked  into  the  heart  of  the  person  he 
addressed,  and  heard  him  speak,  you 
would  have  cried  admiringly,  u  Know- 
ledge is  power ;  and  this  man,  if  as 
able  on  a  larger  field  of  action,  should 
play  no  mean  part  in  the  history  of 
his  time." 


583 

Slowly  Beatrice  roused  herself  from 
the  reveries  which  crept  over  her  as 
he  spoke— slowly,  and  with  a  deep 
sigh,  and  said — 

"  Well,  well,  grant  all  you  say ;  at 
least  before  I  can  listen  to  so  honour- 
able a  love,  I  must  be  relieved  from 
the  base  and  sordid  pressure  that 
weighs  on  me.  I  cannot  say  to  the 
man  who  wooes  me,  *  Will  you  pay 
the  debts  of  the  daughter  of  Franzini, 
and  the  widow  of  di  Negra  ? '  " 

"  Nay,  your  debts,  surely,  make  so 
slight  a  portion  of  your  dowry." 

"  But  the  dowry  has  to  be  secured ;" 
and  here,  turning  the  tables  upon  her 
companion,  as  the  apt  proverb  ex- 
presses it,  Madame  di  Negra  extended 
her  hand  to  Randal,  and  said  in  her 
most  winning  accents,  "  You  are, 
then,  truly  and  sincerely  my  friend  ?  " 

"Can  you  doubt  it?" 

"  I  prove  that  I  do  not,  for  I  ask 
your  assistance." 

"Mine?    How?" 

"  Listen  ;  my  brother  has  arrived 
in  London — " 

UI  see  that  arrival  announced  in 
the  papers." 

"  And  he  comes,  empowered  by  the 
consent  of  the  Emperor,  to  ask  the 
hand  of  a  relation  and  countrywoman 
of  his ;  an  alliance  that  will  heal  long 
family  dissensions,  and  add  to  his  own 
fortunes  those  of  an  heiress.  My 
brother,  like  myself,  has  been  extra- 
vagant. The  dowry  which  by  law  he 
still  owes  me  it  would  distress  him  to 
pay  till  this  marriage  be  assured." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Randal. 
"  But  how  can  I  aid  this  marriage  ?" 

"  By  assisting  us  to  discover  the 
bride.  She,  with  her  father,  sought 
refuge  and  concealment  in  England." 

"  The  father  had,  then,  taken  part 
in  some  political  disaffections,  and  was 
proscribed?" 

"  Exactly  so ;  and  so  well  has  he 
concealed  himself  that  he  has  baffled 
all  our  efforts  to  discover  his  retreat. 
My  brother  can  obtain  him  his  pardon 
in  cementing  this  alliance — " 

"  Proceed." 

"Ah  Randal,  Randal,  is  this  the 
frankness  of  friendship  ?  You  know 
that  I  have  before  sought  to  obtain 
the  secret  of  our  relation's  retreat — 
sought  in  vain  to  obtain  it  from  Mr 
Egertou,  who  assuredly  knows  it — " 

"  But  who  communicates  no  secrets 


584 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties 


to  living  man,"  said  Randal,  almost 
bitterly ;  "  who,  close  and  compact 
as  iron,  is  as  little  malleable  to  me  as 
to  you." 

44  Pardon  me.  I  know  you  so  well 
that  I  believe  yon  could  attain  to  any 
secret  you  sought  earnestly  to  acquire. 
Nay,  more,  I  believe  that  you  know 
already  that  secret  which  I  ask  you 
to  share  with  me." 

"  What  on  earth  makes  you  think 
so?" 

"  When,  some  weeks  ago,  you 
asked  me  to  describe  the  personal 
appearance  and  manners  of  the  exile, 
which  I  did  partly  from  the  recollec- 
tions of  my  childhood,  partly  from 
the  description  given  to  me  by  others, 
I  could  not  but  notice  your  counte- 
nance, and  remark  its  change ;  in 
spite,"  said  the  Marchesa,  smiling, 
and  watching  Randal  while  she  spoke 
— "in  spite  of  your  habitual  self- 
command.  And  when  I  pressed  you 
to  own  that  you  had  actually  seen 
some  one  who  tallied  with  that  de- 
scription, your  denial  did  not  deceive 
me.  Still  more,  when  returning  re- 
cently, of  your  own  accord,  to  the  sub- 
ject, you  questioned  me  so  shrewdly 
as  to  my  motives  in  seeking  the  clue 
to  our  refugees,  and  I  did  not  then 
answer  you  satisfactorily,  I  could 
detect—" 

"  Ha,  ha,"  interrupted  Randal,  with 
the  low  soft  laugh  by  which  occa- 
sionally he  infringed  upon  Lord  Ches- 
terfield's recommendations  to  shun  a 
merriment  so  natural  as  to  be  ill- 
bred, — "  ha,  ha,  you  have  the  fault  of 
all  observers  too  minute  and  refined. 
But  even  granting  that  I  may  have 
seen  some  Italian  exiles,  (which  is 
likely  enough,)  what  could  be  more 
simple  than  my  seeking  to  compare 
your  description  with  their  appear- 
ance ;  and  granting  that  I  might  sus- 
pect someone  amongst  them  to  be  the 
man  you  search  for,  what  more  simple, 
also,  than  that  I  should  desire  to 
know  if  you  meant  him  harm  or  good 
in  discovering  his  4  whereabout  ?'  For 
ill,"  added  Randal,  with  an  air  of 
prudery,  "  ill  would  it  become  me  to 
betray,  even  to  friendship,  the  retreat 
of  one  who  would  hide  from  persecu- 
tion ;  and  even  if  I  did  so — for  honour 
itself  is  a  weak  safeguard  against 
your  fascinations — such  indiscretion 
might  be  fatal  to  my  future  career." 


in  English  Life.— Part  XV.  [Nov. 

"How?" 

"  Do  you  not  say  that  Egerton 
knows  the  secret,  yet  will  not  com- 
municate ? — and  is  he  a  man  who 
would  ever  forgive  in  me  an  impru- 
dence that  committed  himself?  My 
dear  friend,  I  will  tell  you  more. 
When  Audley  Egerton  first  noticed 
my  growing  intimacy  with  you,  he 
said,  with  his  usual  dryness  of  counsel, 
4  Randal,  I  do  not  ask  you  to  dis- 
continue acquaintance  with  Madame 
di  Negra— for  an  acquaintance  with 
women  like  her  forms  the  manners 
and  refines  the  intellect;  but  charming 
women  are  dangerous,  and  Madame 
di  Negra  is — a  charming  woman.'" 

The  Marchesa's  face  flushed.  Ran- 
dal resumed  :  "  '  Your  fair  acquain- 
tance '  (I  am  still  quoting  Egerton) 
'  seeks  to  discover  the  home  of  a  coun- 
tryman of  hers.  She  suspects  that  I 
know  it.  She  may  try  to  learn  it 
through  you.  Accident  may  possibly 
give  you  the  information  she  requires. 
Beware  how  you  betray  it.  By  one 
such  weakness  I  should  judge  of  your 
general  character.  He  from  whom  a 
woman  can  extract  a  secret  will  never 
be  fit  for  public  life.'  Therefore, 
my  dear  Marchesa,  even  supposing  I 
possess  this  secret,  you  would  be  no 
true  friend  of  mine  to  ask  me  to  reveal 
what  would  em  peril  all  my  prospects. 
For  as  yet,"  added  Randal,  with  a 
gloomy  shade  on  his  brow, — "  as  yet 
I  do  not  stand  alone  and  erect — I  lean; 
— I  am  dependent." 

"  There  may  be  a  way,"  replied 
Madame  di  Negra,  persisting,  "to 
communicate  this  intelligence,  without 
the  possibility  of  Mr  Egerton's  tracing 
our  discovery  to  yourself;  and,  though 
I  will  not  press  you  further,  I  add  this 
— You  urge  me  to  accept  your  friend's 
hand ;  you  seem  interested  in  the  suc- 
cess of  his  suit,  and  you  plead  it  with 
a  warmth  that  shows  how  much  you 
regard  what  you  suppose  is  his  hap- 
piness ;  I  will  never  accept  his  hand 
till  I  can  do  so  without  blush  for  my 
penury — till  my  dowry  is  secured, 
and  that  can  only  be  by  my  brother's 
union  with  the  exile's  daughter.  For 
your  friend's  sake,  therefore,  think 
well  how  you  can  aid  me  in  the  first 
step  to  that  alliance.  The  young 
lady  once  discovered,  and  my  brother 
has  no  fear  for  the  success  of  his 
suit." 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XV. 


"  And  you  would  marry  Frank  if 
the  dower  was  secured  ?  " 

"  Your  arguments  in  his  favour 
seem  irresistible,"  replied  Beatrice, 
looking  down. 

A  flash  went  from  Randal's  eyes, 
and  he  mused  a  few  moments. 

Then  slowly  rising,  and  drawing  on 
his  gloves,  he  said — 

"  Well,  at  least  you  so  far  reconcile 
my  honour  towards  aiding  your  re- 
search, that  you  now  inform  me  you 
mean  no  ill  to  the  exile." 

"  111 ! — the  restoration  to  fortune, 
honours,  his  native  land." 

"  And  you  so  far  enlist  my  heart 
on  your  side,  that  you  inspire  me  with 
the  hope  to  contribute  to  the  happi- 
ness of  two  friends  whom  I  dearly 
love.  I  will,  therefore,  diligently  seek 
to  ascertain  if,  among  the  refugees  I 
have  met  with,  lurk  those  whom  you 
seek ;  and  if  so,  I  will  thoughtfully 


585 

consider  how  to  give  you  the  clue. 
Meanwhile,  not'  one  incautious  word 
to  Egerton." 

"  Trust  me — I  am  a  woman  of  the 
world." 

Randal  now  had  gained  the  door. 
He  paused,  and  renewed  carelessly — 

"  This  young  lady  must  be  heiress 
to  great  wealth,  to  induce  a  man  of 
your  brother's  rank  to  take  so  much 
pains  to  discover  her." 

"  Her  wealth  will  be  vast,"  replied 
the  Marchesa ;  "  and  if  anything 
from  wealth  or  influence  in  a  foreign 
state  could  be  permitted  to  prove  my 
brother's  gratitude — " 

"  Ah,  fie,"  interrupted  Randal,  and 
approaching  Madame  di  Negra,  he 
lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  said 
gallantly, 

"  This  is  reward  enough  to  your 
preux  chevalier." 

With  those  words  he  took  his  leave. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


With  his  hands  behind  him,  and  his 
head  drooping  on  his  breast — slow, 
stealthy,  noiseless,  Randal  Leslie 
glided  along  the  streets  on  leaving 
the  Italian's  house.  Across  the 
scheme  he  had  before  revolved,  there 
glanced  another  yet  more  glittering, 
for  its  gain  might  be  more  sure  and 
immediate.  If  the  exile's  daughter 
were  heiress  to  such  wealth,  might  he 

himself  hope .  He  stopped  short 

even  in  his  own  soliloquy,  and  his 
breath  came  quick.  Now,  in  his  last 
visit  to  Hazeldean,  he  had  come  in 
contact  with  Riccabocca,  and  been 
struck  by  the  beauty  of  Violante.  A 
vague  suspicion  had  crossed  him  that 
these  might  be  the  persons  of  whom 
the  Marchesa  was  in  search,  and  the 
suspicion  had  been  confirmed  by 
Beatrice's  description  of  the  refugee 
she  desired  to  discover.  But  as  he  had 
not  then  learned  the  reason  for  her 
inquiries,  nor  conceived  the  possi- 
bility that  he  could  have  any  personal 
interest  in  ascertaining  the  truth,  he 
had  only  classed  the  secret  in  question 
among  those  the  farther  research  into 
which  might  be  left  to  time  and  occa- 
sion. Certainly  the  reader  will  not 
do  the  unscrupulous  intellect  of  Randal 
Leslie  the  injustice  to  suppose  that  he 
was  deterred  from  confiding  to  his  fair 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  ccccxxxiir. 


friend  all  that  he  knew  of  Riccabocca, 
by  the  refinement  of  honour  to  which 
he  had  so  chivalrously  alluded.  He 
had  correctly  stated  Audley  Egerton's 
warning  against  any  indiscreet  con- 
fidence, though  he  had  forborne  to 
mention  a  more  recent  and  direct 
renewal  of  the  same  caution.  His 
first  visit  to  Hazeldean  had  been  paid 
without  consulting  Egerton.  He  had 
been  passing  some  days  at  his  father's 
house,  and  had  gone  over  thence  to 
the  Squire's.  On  his  return  to  London, 
he  had,  however,  mentioned  this  visit 
to  Audley,  who  had  seemed  annoyed 
and  even  displeased  at  it,  though 
Randal  well  knew  sufficient  of  Eger- 
ton's character  to  know  that  such 
feelings  could  scarce  be  occasioned 
merely  by  his  estrangement  from  his 
half  brother.  This  dissatisfaction 
had,  therefore,  puzzled  the  young 
man.  But  as  it  was  necessary  to 
his  views  to  establish  intimacy  with 
the  Squire,  he  did  not  yield  the  point 
with  his  customary  deference  to  his 
patron's  whims.  He,  therefore,  ob- 
served, that  he  should  be  very  sorry 
to  do  anything  displeasing  to  his 
benefactor,  but  that  his  father  had 
been  naturally  anxious  that  he  should 
.not  appear  positively  to  slight  the 
friendly  overtures  of  Mr  Hazeldean. 
2p 


586 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XV.  [Nov. 


"  Why  naturally  ?"  asked  Egerton. 

"  Because  you  know  that  Mr  Hazel- 
dean  is  a  relation  of  mine — that  my 
grandmother  was  a  Hazeldean." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Egerton,  who,  as  it 
has  been  before  said,  knew  little,  and 
cared  less,  about  the  Hazeldean  pedi- 
gree, "  I  was  either  not  aware  of  that 
circumstance,  or  had  forgotten  it. 
And  your  father  thinks  that  the  Squire 
may  leave  you  a  legacy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,  my  father  is  not  so  mer- 
cenary— such  an  idea  never  entered 
his  head.  But  the  Squire  himself  has 
indeed  said — *  Why,  if  anything 
happened  to  Frank,  you  would  be 
next  heir  to  my  lands,  and  therefore 
we  ought  to  know  each  other.'  But — " 

"  Enough,"  interrupted  Egerton, 
"  I  am  the  last  man  to  pretend  to  the 
right  of  standing  between  you  and 
a  single  chance  of  fortune,  or  of  aid 
to  it.  And  whom  did  you  meet  at 
Hazeldean?  " 

"  There  was  no  one  there,  sir ;  not 
even  Frank." 

"  Hum.  Is  the  Squire  not  on  good 
terms  with  his  parson  ?  Any  quarrel 
about  tithes  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  quarrel.  I  forgot  Mr 
Dale;  I  saw  him  pretty  often.  He 
admires  and  praises  you  very  much, 
sir." 

"  Me— and  why  ?  What  did  he 
say  of  me  ?  " 

"  That  your  heart  was  as  sound  as 
your  head  ;  that  he  had  once  seen  you 
about  some  old  parishioners  of  his  ; 
and  that  he  had  been  much  impressed 
with  a  depth  of  feeling  he  could  not 
have  anticipated  in  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  a  statesman." 

"  Oh,  that  was  all ;  some  affair 
when  I  was  member  for  Lansmere  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

Here  the  conversation  had  broken 
off;  but  the  next  time  Randal  was 
led  to  visit  the  Squire  he  had  formally 
asked  Egerton's  consent,  who,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  had  as  formally 
replied,  "  I  have  no  objection." 

On  returning  from  this  visit,  Randal 
mentioned  that  he  had  seen  Ricca- 
bocca ;  and  Egerton,  a  little  startled 
at  first,  said  composedly,  "  Doubtless 
one  of  the  political  refugees  ;  take  care 
not  to  set  Madame  di  Negra  on  his 
track.  Remember,  she  is  suspected  of 
being  a  spy  of  the  Austrian  govern- 
ment." 


"Rely  on  me,  sir,"  said  Randal; 
"  but  I  should  think  this  poor  Doctor 
can  scarcely  be  the  person  she  seeks 
to  discover." 

"That  is  no  affair  of  ours,"  an- 
swered Egerton ;  "we  are  English 
gentlemen,  and  make  not  a  step 
towards  the  secrets  of  another." 

Now,  when  Randal  revolved  this 
rather  ambiguous  answer,  and  recalled 
the  uneasiness  with  which  Egerton 
had  first  heard  of  his  visit  to  Hazel- 
dean,  he  thought  that  he  was  indeed 
near  the  secret  which  Egerton  desired 
to  conceal  from  him  and  from  all — 
viz.,  the  incognito  of  the  Italian  whom 
Lord  1'Estrange  had  taken  under  his 
protection. 

"  My  cards,"  said  Randal  to  him- 
self, as,  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  he 
resumed  his  soliloquy,  "are  become 
difficult  to  play.  On  the  one  hand, 
to  entangle  Frank  into  marriage  with 
this  foreigner,  the  Squire  could  never 
forgive  him.  On  the  other  hand,  if  she 
will  not  marry  him  without  the  dowry 
— and  that  depends  on  her  brother's 
wedding  this  countrywoman  —  and 
that  countrywoman  be,  as  I  surmise, 
Violante — and  Violante  be  this  heir- 
ess, and  to  be  won  by  me!  Tush, 
tush.  Such  delicate  scruples  in  a 
woman  so  placed  and  so  constituted 
as  Beatrice  di  Negra,  must  be  easily 
talked  away.  Nay,  the  loss  itself  of 
this  alliance  to  her  brother,  the  loss 
of  her  own  dowry — the  very  pres- 
sure of  poverty  and  debt  —  would 
compel  her  into  the  sole  escape  left 
to  her  option.  I  will  then  follow  up 
the  old  plan ;  I  will  go  down  to 
Hazeldean,  and  see  if  there  be  any 
substance  in  the  new  one  ; — and  then 
to  reconcile  both — aha — the  House  of 
Leslie  shall  rise  yet  from  its  ruin — 
and—" 

Here  he  was  startled  from  his  re- 
verie by  a  friendly  slap  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  an  exclamation — "  Why, 
Randal,  you  are  more  absent  than 
when  you  used  to  steal  away  from 
the  cricket  ground,  muttering  Greek 
verses  at  Eton." 

"My  dear  Frank,"  said  Randal, 
"  you — you  are  so  brusque,  and  I  was 
just  thinking  of  you." 

"  Were  you  ?  And  kindly,  then,  I 
am  sure,"  said  Frank  Hazeldean, 
his  honest  handsome  face  lighted  up 
with  the  unsuspecting  genial  trust  of 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XV. 


friendship  ;  "and  heaven  knows,"  he 
added,  with  a  sadder  voice,  and  a 
graver  expression  on  his  eye  and  lip — 
"  heaven  knows  I  want  all  the  kind- 
ness you  can  give  me ! " 

"I  thought,"  said  Randal,  "that 
your  father's  last  supply,  of  which  I 
was  fortunate  enough  to  be  the  bearer, 
would  clear  off  your  more  pressing 
debts.  I  don't  pretend  to  preach,  but 
really  I  must  say  once  more,  you 
should  not  be  so  extravagant." 

FRANK,  (seriously). — "  I  have  done 
my  best  to  reform.  I  have  sold  off 
my  horses,  and  I  have  not  touched 
dice  nor  card  these  six  months :  I 
would  not  even  put  into  the  raffle 
for  the  last  Derby."  This  last  was  said 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  doubted 
the  possibility  of  obtaining  belief  to 
some  assertion  of  preternatural  ab- 
stinence and  virtue. 

RANDAL.— "Is  it  possible?  But, 
with  such  self-conquest,  how  is  it  that 
you  cannot  contrive  to  live  within  the 
bounds  of  a  very  liberal  allowance  ?  " 

FRANK,  (despondingly). — "  Why, 
when  a  man  once  gets  his  head  under 
water,  it  is  so  hard  to  float  back  again 
on  the  surface.  You  see,  I  attribute 
all  my  embarrassments  to  that  first 
concealment  of  my  debts  from  my 
father,  when  they  could  have  been  so 
easily  met,  and  when  he  came  up  to 
town  so  kindly." 

"  I  am  sorry,  then,  that  I  gave  you 
that  advice." 

"  Oh  you  meant  it  so  kindly,  I 
don't  reproach  you;  it  was  all  my 
own  fault." 

"Why,  indeed,  I  did  urge  you  to 
pay  off  that  moiety  of  your  debts  left 
unpaid,  with  your  allowance.  Had  you 
done  so,  all  had  been  well." 

"Yes,  but  poor  Borrowwell  got 
into  such  a  scrape  at  Goodwood ;  I 
could  not  resist  him — a  debt  of  honour, 
that  must  be  paid ;  so  when  I  signed 
another  bill  for  him,  he  could  not  pay 
it,  poor  fellow  :  really  he  would  have 
shot  himself,  if  I  had  not  renewed  it ; 
and  now  it  is  swelled  to  such  an 
amount  with  that  cursed  interest,  that 
he  never  can  pay  it ;  and  one  bill,  of 
course,  begets  another,  and  to  be  re- 
newed every  three  months  ;  'tis  the 
devil  and  all !  So  little  as  I  ever  got 
for  all  I  have  borrowed,"  added  Frank 
with  a  kind  of  rueful  amaze.  "  Not 
£1500  ready  money;  and  it  would 


587 


cost  me  almost  as  much  yearly,  —  if  I 
had  it." 

"  Only  £1500." 

"Well,  besides  seven  large  chests 
of  the  worst  cigars  you  ever  smoked  ; 
three  pipes  of  wine  that  no  one  would 
drink,  and  a  great  bear,  that  had  been 
imported  from  Greenland  for  the  sake 
of  its  grease." 

"  That  should  at  least  have  saved 
you  a  bill  with  your  hairdresser." 

"  I  paid  his  bill  with  it,"  said  Frank, 
"  and  very  good-natured  he  was  to 
take  the  monster  off  my  hands  ;  it  had 
already  hugged  two  soldiers  and  one 
groom  into  the  shape  of  a  flounder. 
I  tell  you  what,"  resumed  Frank, 
after  a  short  pause,  "  I  have  a  great 
mind  even  now  to  tell  my  father 
honestly  all  my  embarrassments." 

RANDAL,  (solemnly.)  —  "  Hum  !  " 

FRANK.—"  What  ?  don't  you  think 
it  would  be  the  best  way  ?  I  never  can 
save  enough  —  neveiican  pay  off  what 
I  owe  ;  and  it  rolls  like  a  snowball." 

RANDAL.  —  "  Judgingby  the  Squire's 
talk,  I  think  that  with  the  first  sight 
of  your  affairs  you  would  forfeit  his 
favour  for  ever  ;  and  your  mother 
would  be  so  shocked,  especially  after 
supposing  that  the  sum  I  brought  you 
so  lately  sufficed  to  pay  off  every 
claim  on  you.  If  you  had  not  assured 
her  of  that,  it  might  be  different  ;  but 
she  who  so  hates  an  untruth,  and  who 
said  to  the  Squire,  '  Frank  says  this 
will  clear  him  ;  and  with  all  his  faults, 
Frank  never  yet  told  a  lie.'  " 

"Oh  my  dear  mother  !—  I  fancy  I 
hear  her!"  cried  Frank  with  deep 
emotion.  "But  I  did  not  tell  a 
lie,  Randal  ;  I  did  not  say  that  that 
sum  would  clear  me." 

"You  empowered  and  begged  me 
to  say  so,"  replied  Randal  with  grave 
coldness  ;  "  and  don't  blame  me  if  I 
believed  you." 

"No,  no!  I  only  said  it  would 
clear  me  for  the  moment." 

"  I  misunderstood  you,  then,  sad- 
ly; and  such  mistakes  involve  my 
own  honour.  Pardon  me,  Frank  ; 
don't  ask  my  aid  in  future.  You 
see,  with  the  best  intentions  I  only 
compromise  myself." 

"If  you  forsake  me,  I  may  as  well 
go  and  throw  myself  into  the  river," 
said  Frank  in  a  tone  of  despair; 
"  and  sooner  or  later  my  father  must 
know  my  necessities.  The  Jews 


588 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XV. 


[Nov. 


threaten  to  go  to  him  already ;  and 
the  longer  the  delay,  the  more  terrible 
the  explanation." 

u  I  don't  see  why  your  father  should 
ever  learn  the  state  of  your  affairs ; 
and  it  seems  to  me  that  you  could 
pay  off  these  usurers,  and  get  rid  of 
these  bills,  by  raising  money  on  com- 
paratively-easy terms — " 

44  How  ?  "  cried  Frank  eagerly. 

44  Why,  the  Casino  property  is  en- 
tailed on  you,  and  you  might  obtain  a 
sum  upon  that,  not  to  be  paid  till  the 
property  becomes  yours." 

44  At  my  poor  father's  death  ?  Oh, 
no — no !  I  cannot  bear  the  idea  of 
this  cold-blooded  calculation  on  a 
father's  death.  I  know  it  is  not  un- 
common ;  I  know  other  fellows  who 
have  done  it,  but  they  never  had 
parents  so  kind  as  mine ;  and  even  in 
them  it  shocked  and  revolted  me. 
The  contemplating  a  father's  death 
and  profiting  by  the  contemplation, — 
it  seems  a  kind  or  parricide — it  is  not 
natural,  Randal.  Besides,  don't  you 
remember  what  the  governor  said — 
he  actually  wept  while  he  said  it, 
4  Never  calculate  on  my  death;  I 
could  not  bear  that.'  Oh,  -Randal, 
don't  speak  of  it !  " 

41  I  respect  your  sentiments  ;  but 
still  all  the  post-obits  you  could  raise 
could  not  shorten  Mr  Hazeldean's  life 
by  a  day.  However,  dismiss  that 
idea ;  we  must  think  of  some  other 
device.  Ha,  Frank !  you  are  a  hand- 
some fellow,  and  your  expectations 
are  great — why  don't  you  marry  some 
woman  with  money  ?  " 

44 Pooh  !"  exclaimed  Frank,  colour- 
ing. 44  You  know,  Randal,  that  there 
is  but  one  woman  in  the  world  I  can 
ever  think  of,  and  I  love  her  so  de- 
votedly, that,  though  I  was  as  gay  as 
most  men  before,  I  really  feel  as  if 
the  rest  of  her  sex  had  lost  every 
charm.  I  was  passing  through  the 
street  now, — merely  to  look  up  at 
her  windows — " 

44  You  speak  of  Madame  di  Negra? 
I  have  just  left  her.  Certainly  she  is 
two  or  three  years  older  than  you  ; 
but  if  you  can  get  over  that  misfor- 
tune, why  not  marry  her  ?  " 

44  Marry  her  !  "  cried  Frank  in 
amaze,  and  all  his  colour  fled  from 
his  cheeks.  44  Marry  her ! — are  you 
serious?" 

44  Why  not  ?  " 


44  But  even  if  she,  who  is  so  accom- 
plished, so  admired  —  even  if  she 
would  accept  me,  she  is,  you  know, 
poorer  than  myself.  She  has  told 
me  so  frankly.  That  woman  has  such 
a  noble  heart !  and — and — my  father 
would  never  consent,  nor  my  mother 
either.  I  know  they  would  not." 

44  Because  she  is  a  foreigner?" 

44  Yes— partly." 

44  Yet  the  Squire  suffered  his  cousin 
to  marry  a  foreigner." 

44  That  was  different.  He  had  no 
control  over  Jemima ;  and  a  daughter- 
in-law  is  so  different ;  and  my  father 
is  so  English  in  his  notions  ;  and 
Madame  di  Negra,  you  see,  is  alto- 
gether so  foreign.  Her  very  graces 
would  be  against  her  in  his  eyes." 

44 1  think  you  do  both  your  parents 
injustice.  A  foreigner  of  low  birth — 
an  actress  or  singer,  for  instance — of 
course  would  be  highly  objectionable ; 
but  a  woman,  like  Madame  di  Negra, 
of  such  high  birth  and  connections — " 

Frank  shook  his  head.  44 1  don't 
think  the  governor  would  care  a  straw 
about  her  connections,  if  she  were  a 
king's  daughter.  He  considers  all 
foreigners  pretty  much  alike.  And 
then,  you  know  " — Frank's  voice  sank 
into  a  whisper — 44  you  know  that  one  of 
the  very  reasons  why  she  is  so  dear  to 
me  would  be  an  insuperable  objection 
to  the  old-fashioned  folks  at  home." 

44 1  don't  understand  you,  Frank." 

44 1  love  her  the  more,"  said  young 
Hazeldean,  raising  his  front  with  a 
noble  pride,  that  seemed  to  speak  of 
his  descent  from  a  race  of  cavaliers 
and  gentlemen — 44 1  love  her  the  more 
because  the  world  has  slandered  her 
name — because  I  believe  her  to  be 
pure  and  wronged.  But  would  they 
at  the  hall — they  who  do  not  see  with 
a  lover's  eyes — they  who  have  all  the 
stubborn  English  notions  about  the 
indecorum  and  license  of  Continental 
manners,  and  will  so  readily  credit 
the  worst? — Oh,  no — I  love — I  cannot 
help  it — but  I  have  no  hope-" 

44  It  is  very  possible  that  you  may 
be  right,"  exclaimed  Randal,  as  if 
struck  and  half-convinced  by  his 
companion's  argument — 4t  very  pos- 
sible ;  and  certainly  I  think  that  the 
homely  folks  at  the  Hall  would  fret 
and  fume  at  first,  if  they  heard  you 
were  married  to  Madame  di  Negra. 
Yet  still,  when  your  father  learned 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

that  you  had  done  so,  not  from  passion 
alone,  but  to  save  him  from  all  pecu- 
niary sacrifice — to  clear  yourself  of 
debt— to—  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  exclaimed 
Frank  impatiently. 

"  I  have  reason  to  know  that  Ma- 
dame di  Negra  will  have  as  large  a 
portion  as  your  father  could  reason- 
ably expect  you  to  receive  with  any 
English  wife.  And  when  this  is  pro- 
perly stated  to  the  Squire,  and  the 
high  position  and  rank  of  your  wife 
fully  established  and  brought  home 
to  him — for  I  must  think  that  these 
would  tell,  despite  your  exaggerated 
notions  of  his  prejudices— and  then, 
when  he  really  sees  Madame  di 
Negra,  and  can  judge  of  her  beauty 
and  rare  gifts,  upon  my  word,  I  think, 
Frank,  that  there  would  be  no  cause 
for  fear.  After  all,  too,  you  are  his 
only  son.  He  will  have  no  option  but 
to  forgive  you;  and  I  know  how 
anxiously  both  your  parents  wish  to 
see  you  settled  in  life." 

Frank's  whole  countenance  became 
illuminated.  "  There  is  no  one  who 
understands  the  Squire  like  you,  cer- 
tainly," said  he,  with  lively  joy.  "  He 
has  the  highest  opinion  of  your  judg- 
ment. And  you  really  believe  you 
could  smooth  matters  ?  " 

41 1  believe  so,  but  I  should  be  sorry 
to  induce  you  to  run  any  risk  ;  and  if, 
on  cool  consideration,  you  think  that 
risk  is  incurred,  I  strongly  advise  you 
to  avoid  all  occasion  of  seeing  the  poor 
Marchesa.  Ah,  you  wince ;  but  I 
say  it  for  her  sake  as  well  as  your 
own.  First,  you  must  be  aware,  that, 
unless  you  have  serious  thoughts  of 
marriage,  your  attentions  can  but  add 
to  the  very  rumours  that,  equally 
groundless,  you  so  feelingly  resent ; 
and,  secondly,  because  I  don't  think 
any  man  has  a  right  to  win  the  affec- 
tions of  a  woman— especially  a  woman 
who  seems  to  me  likely  to  love  with 
her  whole  heart  and  soul — merely  to 
gratify  his  own  vanity." 

"  Vanity  !  Good  heavens,  can  you 
think  so  poorly  of  me?  But  as  to 
the  Marchesa's  affection,"  continued 
Frank,  with  a  faltering  voice,  "do  you 
really  and  honestly  believe  that  they 
are  to  be  won  by  me  ?" 

"  I  fear  lest  they  may  be  half  won 
already,"  said  Randal  with  a  smile 
and  a  shake  of  the  head  ;  "  but  she  is 


English  Life.— Part  XV.  589 

too  proud  to  let  you  see  any  effect  you 
may  produce  on  her,  especially  when, 
as  I  take  it  for  granted,  you  have 
never  hinted  at  the  hope  of  obtaining 
her  hand." 

"  I  never  till  now  conceived  such  a 
hope.  My  dear  Randal,  all  my  cares 
have  vanished — I  tread  upon  air — I 
have  a  great  mind  to  call  on  her  at 
once." 

"  Stay,  stay,"  said  Randal.  "  Let 
me  give  you  a  caution.  I  have  just 
informed  you  that  Madame  di  Negra 
will  have,  what  you  suspected  not  be- 
fore, a  fortune  suitable  to  her  birth  ; 
any  abrupt  change  in  your  manner  at 
present  might  induce  her  to  believe 
that  you  were  influenced  by  that  in- 
telligence." 

"  Ah  ! "  exclaimed  Frank,  stopping 
short,  as  if  wounded  to  the  quick. 
"  And  I  feel  guilty — feel  as  if  I  was 
influenced  by  that  intelligence.  So  I 
am,  too,  when  I  reflect,"  he  con- 
tinued, with  a  naivete  that  was  half 
pathetic ;  "  but  I  hope  she  will  not  be 
very  rich — if  so,  I'll  not  call." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy,  it  is  but  a 
portion  of  some  twenty  or  thirty  thou- 
sand pounds,  that  would  just  suffice 
to  discharge  all  your  debts,  clear  away 
all  obstacle  to  your  union,  and  in  re- 
turn for  which  you  could  secure  a  more 
than  adequate  jointure  and  settlement 
on  the  Casino  property.  Now  I  atn 
on  that  head,  I  will  be  yet  more  com- 
municative. Madame  di  Negra  has  a 
noble  heart,  as  you  say,  and  told  me 
herself,  that,  until  her  brother  on  his 
arrival  had  assured  her  of  this  dowry, 
she  would  never  have  consented  to 
marry  you — never  crippled  with  her 
own  embarrassments  the  man  she 
loves.  Ah!  with  what  delight  she 
will  hail  the  thought  of  assisting  you 
to  win  back  your  father's  heart !  But 
be  guarded,  meanwhile.  And  now, 
Frank,  what  say  you— would  it  not 
be  well  if  I  ran  down  to  Hazeldean 
to  sound  your  parents  ?  It  is  rather 
inconvenient  to  me,  to  be  sure,  to 
leave  town  just  at  present ;  but  I 
would  do  more  than  that  to  render 
you  a  smaller  service.  Yes,  I'll  go 
to  Rood  Hall  to-morrow,  and  thence 
to  Hazeldean.  I  am  sure  your  father 
will  press  me  to  stay,  and  I  shall 
have  ample  opportunities  to  judge 
of  the  manner  in  which  he  would  be 
likely  to  regard  your  marriage  with 


590 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XV.  [Nov. 


Madame  di Negra — supposing  always 
it  were  properly  put  to  him.  We  can 
then  act  accordingly." 

"  My  dear,  dear  Randal.  How  can 
I  thank  you  ?  If  ever  a  poor  fellow 
like  me  can  serve  you  in  return — but 
that's  impossible." 

"  Why,  certainly,  I  will  never  ask 
you  to  be  security  to  a  bill  of  mine," 
said  Randal,  laughing.  "  I  practise 
the  economy  I  preach." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Frank,  with  a  groan, 
"  that  is  because  your  mind  is  culti- 
vated—you have  so  many  resources  ; 
and  all  my  faults  have  come  from 
idleness.  If  I  had  had  anything  to  do 
on  a  rainy  day,  I  should  never  have 
got  into  these  scrapes." 

"  Oh  !  you  will  have  enough  to  do 
some  day  managing  your  property. 
We  who  have  no  property  must  find 
one  in  knowledge.  Adieu,  my  dear 
Frank ;  I  must  go  home  now.  By  the 
way,  you  have  never,  by  chance, 
spoken  of  the  Riccaboccas  to  Madame 
diNegra?" 

"  The  Riccaboccas  ?  No.  That's 
well  thought  of.  It  may  interest  her 
to  know  that  a  relation  of  mine  has 
married  her  countryman.  Very  odd 
that  I  never  did  mention  it ;  but,  to 
say  truth,  I  really  do  talk  so  little 
to  her  ;  she  is  so  superior,  and  I  feel 
positively  shy  with  her." 

"  Do  me  the  favour,  Frank,"  said 
Randal,  waiting  patiently  till  this 
reply  ended — for  he  was  devising  all 
the  time  what  reason  to  give  for  his 
request — "  never  to  allude  to  the  Ric- 
caboccas either  to  her  or  to  her 
brother,  to  whom  you  are  sure  to  be 
presented." 

"Why  not  allude  to  them?" 

Randal  hesitated  a  moment.  His 
invention  was  still  at  fault,  and,  for  a 
wonder,  he  thought  it  the  best  policy 
to  go  pretty  near  the  truth. 

"  Why,  I  will  tell  you.  The 
Marchesa  conceals  nothing  from  her 
brother,  and  he  is  one  of  the  few 
Italians  who  are  in  high  favour  with 
the  Austrian  court." 

"Well!" 

"  And  I  suspect  that  poor  Dr  Ric- 


cabocca  fled  his  country  from  some 
mad  experiment  at  revolution,  and 
is  still  hiding  from  the  Austrian  po- 
lice." 

"  But  they  can't  hurt  him  here," 
said  Frank,  with  an  Englishman's 
dogged  inborn  conviction  of  the  sanc- 
tity of  his  native  island.  "  I  should 
like  to  see  an  Austrian  pretend  to 
dictate  to  us  whom  to  receive  and 
whom  to  reject." 

"  Hum — that's  true  and  constitu- 
tional, no  doubt ;  but  Riccabocca  may 
have  excellent  reasons — and,  to  speak 
plainly,  I  know  he  has,  (perhaps  as 
affecting  the  safety  of  friends  in  Italy,) 
— for  preserving  his  incognito,  and  we 
are  bound  to  respect  those  reasons 
without  inquiring  further." 

"  Still,  I  cannot  think  so  meanly  of 
Madame  di  Negra,"  persisted  Frank, 
(shrewd  here,  though  credulous  else- 
where, and  both  from  his  sense  of 
honour ,)  "  as  to  suppose  that  she 
would  descend  to  be  a  spy,  and  injure 
a  poor  countryman  of  her  own,  who 
trusts  to  the  same  hospitality  she  re- 
ceives herself  at  our  English  hands. 
Oh,  if  I  thought  that,  I  could  not  love 
her  ! "  added  Frank,  with  energy. 

"  Certainly  you  are  right.  But  see 
in  what  a  false  position  you  would 
place  both  her  brother  and  herself. 
If  they  knew  Rtccabocca's  secret,  and 
proclaimed  it  to  the  Austrian  govern- 
ment, as  you  say,  it  would  be  cruel 
and  mean';  but,  if  they  knew  it  and 
concealed,  it  might  involve  them  both 
in  the  most  serious  consequences. 
You  know  the  Austrian  policy  is  pro- 
verbially so  jealous  and  tyrannical  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  newspapers  say  so, 
certainly." 

"  And,  in  short,  your  discretion 
can  do  no  harm,  and  your  indiscre- 
tion may.  Therefore,  give  me  your 
word,  Frank.  I  can't  stay  to  argue 
now." 

"  I'll  not  allude  to  the  Riccaboccas, 
upon  my  honour,"  answered  Frank  ; 
u  still,  I  am  sure  that  they  would  be  as 
safe  with  the  Marchesa  as  with" • 

"I  rely  on  your  honour,"  inter- 
rupted Randal  hastily,  and  hurried  off. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Towards  the  evening  of  the  follow- 
ing day,  Randal  Leslie  walked  slowly 
from  a  village  in  the  main  road,  (about 


two  miles  from  Rood  Hall,)  at  which 
he  had  got  out  of  the  coach.  He 
passed  through  meads  and  corn-fields, 


1851.] 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XV. 


and  by  the  skirts  of  woods  which  had 
formerly  belonged  to  his  ancestors, 
but  had  been  long  since  alienated. 
He  was  alone  amidst  the  haunts  of 
his  boyhood,  the  scenes  in  which  he 
had  first  invoked  the  grand  Spirit  of 
Knowledge,  to  bid  the  Celestial  Still 
One  minister  to  the  commands  of  an 
earthly  and  turbulent  ambition.  He 
paused  often  in  his  path,  especially 
when  the  undulations  of  the  ground 
gave  a  glimpse  of  the  grey  church 
tower,  or  the  gloomy  firs  that  rose 
above  the  desolate  wastes  of  Rood. 

"Here,"  thought  Randal,  with  a 
softening  eye — "  here,  how  often, 
comparing  the  fertility  of  the  lands 
passed  away  from  the  inheritance  of 
my  fathers,  with  the  forlorn  wilds  that 
are  left  to  their  mouldering  hall — 
here,  how  often  have  I  said  to  myself 
— '  I  will  rebuild  the  fortunes  of  my 
house.'  And  straightway  Toil  lost  its 
aspect  of  drudge,  and  grew  kingly, 
and  books  became  as  living  armies  to 
serve  my  thought.  Again — again — 
O  thou  haughty  Past,  brace  and 
strengthen  me  in  the  battle  with  the 
Future."  His  pale  lips  writhed  as  he 
soliloquised,  for  his  conscience  spoke 
to  him  while  he  thus  addressed  his  will, 
and  its  voice  was  heard  more  audibly 
in  the  quiet  of  the  rural  landscape, 
than  amidst  the  turmoil  and  din  of 
that  armed  and  sleepless  camp  which 
we  call  a  city. 

Doubtless,  though  Ambition  have 
objects  more  vast  and  beneficent  than 
the  restoration  of  a  name,—  that  in  it- 
self is  high  and  chivalrous,  and  ap- 
peals to  a  strong  interest  in  the 
human  heart.  But  all  emotions,  and  all 
ends,  of  a  nobler  character,  had  seem- 
ed to  filter  themselves  free  from  every 
golden  grain  in  passing  through  the 
mechanism  of  Randal's  intellect,  and 
came  forth  at  last  into  egotism  clear 
and  unalloyed.  Nevertheless,  it  is  a 
strange  truth  that,  to  a  man  of  culti- 
vated mind,  however  perverted  and 
vicious,  there  are  vouchsafed  gleams 
of  brighter  sentiments,  irregular  per- 
ceptions of  moral  beauty,  denied  to 
the  brutal  unreasoning  wickedness  of 
uneducated  villany — which  perhaps 
ultimately  serve  as  his  punishment — 
according  to  the  old  thought  of  the 
satirist,  that  there  is  no  greater  curse 
than  to  perceive  virtue,  yet  adopt 
vice.  And  as  the  solitary  schemer 


591 

walked  slowly  on,  and  his  childhood 
— innocent  at  least  of  deed — came 
distinct  before  him  through  the  halo 
of  bygone  dreams—dreams  far  purer 
than  those  from  which  he  now  rose 
each  morning  to  the  active  world  of 
Man  —  a  profound  melancholy  crept 
over  him,  and  suddenly  he  exclaimed 
aloud,  "  Then  I  aspired  to  be  renown- 
ed and  great — now,  how  is  it  that,  so 
advanced  in  my  career,  all  that  seemed 
lofty  in  the  means  has  vanished  from 
me,  and  the  only  means  that  I  con- 
template are  those  which  my  child- 
hood would  have  called  poor  and  vile  ? 
Ah  !  is  it  that  I  then  read  but  books, 
and  now  my  knowledge  has  passed  on- 
ward, and  men  contaminate  more  than 
books  ?  But,"  he  continued,  in  a  lower 
voice,  as  if  arguing  with  himself,  "  if 
power  is  only  so  to  be  won — and  of 
what  use  is  knowledge  if  it  be  not 
power — does  not  success  in  life  justify 
all  things?     And  who  prizes  the  wise 
man  if  he  fails  ?  "     He  continued  his 
way,   but  still  the  soft  tranquillity 
around  rebuked  him,  and  still  his  rea- 
son was  dissatisfied,  as  well  as  his 
conscience.    There  are  times  when 
Nature,  like  a  bath  of  youth,  seems 
to    restore    to    the  jaded   soul    its 
freshness  —  times  from  which  some 
men  have    emerged,   as    if  reborn. 
The  crises  of  life  are  very  silent. 
Suddenly  the  scene  opened  on  Ran- 
dal Leslie's  eyes.    The  bare  desert 
common — the    dilapidated    church — 
the  old  house,  partially  seen  in  the 
dank  dreary  hollow,   into  which   it 
seemed  to  Randal  to  have  sunken 
deeper  and  lowlier  than  when  he  saw 
it  last.   And  on  the  common  were 
some  young  men  playing  at  hockey. 
That  old-fashioned  game,  now  very 
uncommon    in   England,   except    at 
schools,   was   still  preserved  in  the 
primitive  vicinity   of   Rood  by  the 
young  yeomen  and  farmers.    Randal 
stood  by  the  style  and  looked  on,  for 
among  the  players  he  recognised  his 
brother  Oliver.    Presently  the  ball 
was  struck  towards  Oliver,  and  the 
group  instantly  gathered  round  that 
young  gentleman,  and  snatched  him 
from  Randal's  eye ;    but  the  elder 
brother  heard  a  displeasing  din,  a  de- 
risive laughter.     Oliver  had  shrunk 
from  the  danger  of  the  thick-clubbed 
sticks  that  plied  around  him,  and  re- 
ceived some  stroke  across  the  legs, 


592 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XV. 


[Nov. 


for  his  voice  rose  whining,  and  was 
drowned  by  shouts  of,  "  Go  to  your 
mammy.  That's  Noll  Leslie — all  over. 
Butter  shins." 

Kandal's  sallow  face  became  scar- 
let. "  The  jest  of  boors— a  Leslie!  "he 
muttered,  and  ground  his  teeth.  He 
sprang  over  the  stile,  and  walked 
erect  and  haughtily  across  the  ground. 
The  players  cried  out  indignantly. 
Randal  raised  his  hat,  and  they  re- 
cognised him,  and  stopped  the  game. 
For  him  at  least  a  certain  respect  was 
felt.  Oliver  turned  round  quickly, 
and  ran  up  to  him.  Randal  caught 
his  arm  firmly,  and,  without  saying  a 
word  to  the  rest,  drew  him  away  to- 
wards the  house.  Oliver  cast  a  re- 
gretful, lingering  look  behind  him, 
rubbed  his  shins,  and  then  stole  a 
timid  glance  towards  Randal's  severe 
and  moody  countenance. 

"  You  are  not  angry  that  I  was 
playing  at  hockey  with  our  neigh- 
bours," said  he  deprecatingly,  ob- 
serving that  Randal  would  not  break 
the  silence. 

"  No,"  replied  the  elder  brother ; 
"  but,  in  associating  with  his  inferiors, 
a  gentleman  still  knows  how  to  main- 
tain his  dignity.  There  is  no  harm 
in  playing  with  inferiors,  but  it  is  ne- 
cessary to  a  gentleman  to  play  so 
that  he  is  not  the  laughing-stock  of 
clowns." 

Oliver  hung  his  head,  and  made  no 
answer.  They  came  into  the  slovenly 
precincts  of  the  court,  and  the  pigs 
stared  at  them  from  the  palings,  as 
they  had  stared,  years  before,  at  Frank 
Hazeldean. 

Mr  Leslie  senior,  in  a  shabby  straw 
hat,  was  engaged  in  feeding  the 
chickens  before  the  threshold,  and  he 
performed  even  that  occupation  with 
a  maundering  lack-a-daisical  slothful- 
ness,  dropping  down  the  grains  al- 
most one  by  one  from  his  inert  dreamy 
fingers. 

Randal's  sister,  her  hair  still  and 
for  ever  hanging  about  her  ears,  was 
seated  on  a/ush- bottom  chair,  read- 
ing a  tattered  novel ;  and  from  the 
parlour  window  was  heard  the  queru- 
lous voice  of  Mrs  Leslie,  in  high 
fidget  and  complaint. 

Somehow  or  other,  as  the  young 
heir  to  all  this  helpless  poverty  stood 
in  the  courtyard,  with  his  sharp,  re- 
fined, intelligent  features,  and  his 


strange  elegance  of  dress  and  aspect, 
one  better  comprehended  how,  left 
solely  to  the  egotism  of  his  knowledge 
and  his  ambition,  in  such  a  family, 
and  without  any  of  the  sweet  name- 
less lessons  of  Home,  he  had  grown 
up  into  such  close  and  secret  solitude 
of  soul — how  the  mind  had  taken  so 
little  nutriment  from  the  heart,  and 
how  that  affection  and  respect  which 
the  warm  circle  of  the  hearth  usually 
calls  forth  had  passed  with  him  to  the 
graves  of  dead  fathers,  growing,  as  it 
were,  bloodless  and  ghoul- like  amidst 
the  charnels  on  which  they  fed. 

"  Ha,  Randal,  boy,"  said  Mr  Les- 
lie, looking  up  lazily,  "how  d'ye  do? 
Who  could  have  expected  you?  My 
dear  —  my  dear,"  he  cried,  in  a 
broken  voice,  and  as  if  in  helpless 
dismay,  "  here's  Randal,  and  he'll  be 
wanting  dinner,  or  supper,  or  some- 
thing." But,  in  the  meanwhile,  Ran- 
dal's sister  Juliet  had  sprung  up  and 
thrown  her  arms  round  her  brother's 
neck,  and  he  had  drawn  her  aside 
caressingly,  for  Randal's  strongest 
human  affection  was  for  this  sister. 

"You  are  growing  very  pretty, 
Juliet,"  said  he,  smoothing  back  her 
hair  ;  "  why  do  yourself  such  injustice 
— why  not  pay  more  attention  to 
your  appearance,  as  I  have  so  often 
begged  you  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  expect  you,  dear  Ran- 
dal ;  you  always  come  so  suddenly, 
and  catch  us  en  dish-a-bill." 

"  Dish-a-bill !  "  echoed  Randal, 
with  a  groan .  ' '  Dishabille  ! — you  ought 
never  to  be  so  caught !  " 

"  No  one  else  does  so  catch  us — 
nobody  else  ever  comes !  Heigho," 
and  the  young  lady  sighed  very 
heartily. 

"  Patience,  patience ;  my  day  is 
coming,  and  then  yours,  my  sister," 
replied  Randal  with  genuine  pity,  as 
he  gazed  upon  what  a  little  care  could 
have  trained  into  so  fair  a  flower,  and 
what  now  looked  so  like  a  weed. 

Here  Mrs  Leslie,  in  a  state  of  intense 
excitement — having  rushed  through 
the  parlour — leaving  a  fragment  of  her 
gown  between  the  yawning  brass  of 
the  never-mended  Brummagem  work- 
table—tore  across  the  hall — whirled 
out  of  the  door,  scattering  the  chickens 
to  the  right  and  left,  and  clutched  hold 
of  Randal  in  her  motherly  embrace. 
"  La,  how  you  do  shake  my  nerves," 


1851.] 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XV. 


she  cried,  after  giving  him  a  most 
hasty  and  uncomfortable  kiss.  "  And 
you  are  hungry  too,  and  nothing  in 
the  house  but  cold  muttoii !  Jenny, 
Jenny,  I  say  Jenny  I  Juliet,  have 
you  seen  Jenny  ?  Where's  Jenny  ? 
Out  with  the  odd  man,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  I  am  not  hungry,  mother,"  said 
Randal ;  "  I  wish  for  nothing  but  tea." 
Juliet,  scrambling  up  her  hair,  darted 
into  the  house  to  prepare  the  tea,  and 
also  to  "  tidy  herself."  She  dearly 
loved  her  fine  brother,  but  she  was 
greatly  in  awe  of  him. 

Randal  seated  himself  on  the 
broken  pales.  "  Take  care  they  don't 
come  down,"  said  Mr  Leslie  with 
some  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  am  very  light ;  nothing 
comes  down  with  me." 

The  pigs  stared  up,  and  grunted  in 
amaze  at  the  stranger. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  young  man, 
detaining  Mrs  Leslie,  who  wanted  to 
set  off  in  chase  of  Jenny—"  mother, 
you  should  not  let  Oliver  associate 
with  those  village  boors.  It  is  time 
to  think  of  a  profession  for  him." 

"  Oh,  he  eats  us  out  of  house  and 
home — such  an  appetite  !  But  as  to 
a  profession — what  is  he  fit  for !  He 
will  never  be  a  scholar." 

Randal  nodded  a  moody  assent ; 
for,  indeed,  Oliver  had  been  sent  to 
Cambridge,  and  supported  there  out 
of  Randal's  income  from  his  official 
pay  ; — and  Oliver  had  been  plucked 
for  his  Little  Go. 

"There  is  the  army,"  said  the 
elder  brother — "  a  gentleman's  call- 
ing. How  handsome  Juliet  ought 
to  be — but — I  left  money  for  masters 
— and  she  pronounces  French  like  a 
chambermaid." 

"  Yet  she  is  fond  of  her  book  too. 
She's  always  reading,  and  good  for 
nothing  else." 

"  Reading ! — those  trashy  novels !" 

"  So  like  you — you  always  come  to 
scold,  and  make  things  unpleasant," 
said  Mrs  Leslie  peevishly.  "  You  are 
grown  too  fine  for  us,  and  I  am  sure 
we  suffer  affronts  enough  from  others, 
not  to  want  a  little  respect  from  our 
own  children." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  affront  you," 
said  Randal  sadly.  u  Pardon  me. 
But  who  else  has  done  so  ?" 

Then  Mrs  Leslie  went  into  a  minute 
and  most  irritating  catalogue  of  all 


593 

the  mortifications  and  insults  she  had 
received ;  the  grievances  of  a  petty 
provincial  family,  with  much  preten- 
sion and  small  power ;  of  all  people, 
indeed,  without  the  disposition  to 
please — without  the  ability  to  serve — 
who  exaggerate  every  offence,  and 
are  thankful  for  no  kindness.  Farmer 
Jones  had  insolently  refused  to  send 
his  waggon  twenty  miles  for  coals. 
Mr  Giles,  the  butcher,  requesting  the 
payment  of  his  bill,  had  stated  that 
the  custom  at  Rood  was  too  small  for 
him  to  allow  credit.  Squire  Thorn- 
hill,  who  was  the  present  owner  of 
the  fairest  slice  of  the  old  Leslie  do- 
mains, had  taken  the  liberty  to  ask 
permission  to  shoot  over  Mr  Leslie's 
land,  since  Mr  Leslie  did  not  preserve. 
Lady  Spratt  (new  people  from  the 
city,  who  hired  a  neighbouring  country 
seat)  had  taken  a  discharged  servant 
of  Mrs  Leslie's  without  applying  for 
the  character.  The  Lord- Lieutenant 
had  given  a  ball,  and  had  not  invited 
the  Leslies.  Mr  Leslie's  tenants  had 
voted  against  their  landlord's  wish  at 
the  recent  election.  More  than  all, 
Squire  Hazeldean  and  his  Harry  had 
called  at  Rood,  and  though  Mrs 
Leslie  had  screamed  out  to  Jenny, 
"  Not  at  home,"  she  had  been  seen 
at  the  window,  and  the  Squire 
had  actually  forced  his  way  in,  and 
caught  the  whole  family  "  in  a  state 
not  fit  to  be  seen."  That  was  a 
trifle,  but  the  Squire  had  presumed 
to  instruct  Mr  Leslie  how  to  manage 
his  property,  and  Mrs  Hazeldean 
had  actually  told  Juliet  to  hold  up 
her  head  and  tie  up  her  hair,  "  as 
if  we  were  her  cottagers ! "  said 
Mrs  Leslie  with  the  pride  of  a 
Montfydget. 

All  these  and  various  other  annoy- 
ances, though  Randal  was  too  sen- 
sible not  to  perceive  their  insignifi- 
cance, still  galled  and  mortified  the 
listening  heir  of  Rood.  They  showed, 
at  least,  even  to  the  well-meant  offi- 
ciousness  of  the  Hazeldeans,  the  small 
account  in  which  the  fallen  family 
was  held.  As  he  sat  still  on  the 
moss-grown  pale,  gloomy  and  taci- 
turn, his  mother  standing  beside  him, 
with  her  cap  awry,  Mr  Leslie  sham- 
blingly  sauntered  up,  and  said  in  a 
pensive,  dolorous  whine — 

"  I  wish  we  had  a  good  sura  of 
money,  Randal,  boy  1 " 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XV. 


594 

To  do  Mr  Leslie  justice,  he  seldom 
gave  vent  to  any  wish  that  savoured 
of  avarice.  His  mind  must  be  singu- 
larly aroused,  to  wander  out  of  its 
normal  limits  of  sluggish,  dull  con- 
tent. 

So  Randal  looked  at  him  in  sur- 
prise, and  said,  "Do  you,  sir? — 
why  ?  " 

"  The  manors  of  Rood  and  Dul- 
mansberry,  and  all  the  lands  therein, 
which  my  great- grandfather  sold  away, 
are  to  be  sold  again  when  Squire 
Thornhill's  eldest  son  comes  of  age, 
to  cut  off  the  entail.  Sir  John  Spratt 
talks  of  buying  them.  I  should  like 
to  have  them  back  again  !  'Tis  a 
shame  to  see  the  Leslie  estates  hawked 
about,  and  bought  by  Spratts  and 
people.  I  wish  I  had  a  great — great 
sum  of  ready-money." 

The  poor  gentleman  extended  his 
helpless  fingers  as  he  spoke,  and  fell 
into  a  dejected  reverie. 

Randal  sprang  from  the  paling,  a 
movement  which  frightened  the  con- 
templative pigs,  and  set  them  off 
squalling  and  scampering,  "  When 
does  young  Thornhill  come  of  age?  " 

"  He  was  nineteen  last  August.  I 
know  it,  because  the  day  he  was  born 
I  picked  up  my  fossil  of  the  sea-horse, 
just  by  Dulmausberry  church,  when 
the  joy-bells  were  ringing.  My  fossil 
sea-horse!  It  will  be  an  heirloom, 
Randal—  " 

"Two  years — nearly  two  years — 
yet — ah,  ah  !  "  said  Randal ;  and  his 
sister  now  appearing  to  announce 
that  tea  was  ready,  he  threw  his 
arm  round  her  neck  and  kissed  her. 
Juliet  had  arranged  her  hair  and 
trimmed  up  her  dress.  She  looked 
very  pretty,  and  she  had  now  the 
air  of  a  gentlewoman — something 
of  Randal's  own  refinement  in  her 


[Nov. 


slender  proportions  and  well-shaped 
head. 

"  Be  patient,  patient  still,  my  dear 
sister,"  whispered  Randal,  "and  keep 
your  heart  whole  for  two  years 
longer." 

The  young  man  was  gay  and  good- 
humoured  over  his  simple  meal,  while 
his  family  grouped  round  him.  When 
it  was  over,  Mr  Leslie  lighted  his 
pipe,  and  called  for  his  brandy  and 
water.  Mrs  Leslie  began  to  question 
about  London  and  Court,  and  the  new 
King  and  the  new  Queen,  and  Mr 
Audley  Egerton,  and  hoped  Mr  Eger- 
ton  would  leave  Randal  all  his  money, 
and  that  Randal  would  marry  a  rich 
woman,  and  that  the  King  would 
make  him  a  prime-minister  one  of 
these  days ;  and  then  she  should  like 
to  see  if  Farmer  Jones  would  refuse 
to  send  his  waggon  for  coals !  And 
every  now  and  then,  as  the  word 
"riches"  or  "money"  caught  Mr 
Leslie's  ear,  he  shook  his  head,  drew 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  mut- 
tered, "A  Spratt  should  not  have  what 
belonged  to  my  great- great-grand- 
father. If  I  had  a  good  sum  of  ready- 
money  ! — the  old  family  estates  !  " 
Oliver  and  Juliet  sate  silent,  and  on 
their  good  behaviour;  and  Randal, 
indulging  his  own  reveries,  dreamily 
heard  the  words  "money,"  "Spratt," 
"  great  -  great  -  grandfather,"  "  rich 
wife,"  "  family  estates ;  "  and  they 
sounded  to  him  vague  and  afar  off, 
like  whispers  from  the  world  of  ro- 
mance and  legend — weird  prophecies 
of  things  to  be. 

Such  was  the  hearth  which  warmed 
the  viper  that  nestled  and  gnawed  at 
the  heart  of  Randal,  poisoning  all  the 
aspirations  that  youth  should  have 
rendered  pure,  ambition  lofty,  and 
knowledge  beneficent  and  divine. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


When  the  rest  of  the  household 
were  in  deep  sleep,  Randal  stood 
long  at  his  open  window,  looking  over 
the  dreary,  comfortless  scene — the 
moon  gleaming  from  skies  half-autum^ 
nal,  half- wintry,  upon  squalid  decay, 
through  the  ragged  fissures  of  the 
firs ;  and  when  he  lay  down  to  rest, 
his  sleep  was  feverish,  and  troubled 
by  turbulent  dreams. 


However,  he  was  up  early,  and 
with  an  unwonted  colour  in  his  cheeks, 
which  his  sister  ascribed  to  the  coun- 
try air.  After  breakfast,  he  took  his 
way  towards  Hazeldean,  mounted  up- 
on a  tolerable  horse,  which  he  hired  of 
a  neighbouring  farmer  who  occasion- 
ally hunted.  Before  noon,  the  garden 
and  terrace  of  the  Casino  came  in  sight. 
He  reined  in  his  horse,  and  by  the 


1851.] 


little  fountain  at  which  Leonard  had 
been  wont  to  eat  his  radishes  and  con 
his  book,  he  saw  Blccabocca  seated 
under  the  shade  of  the  red  umbrella. 
And  by  the  Italian's  side  stood  a 
form  that  a  Greek  of  old  might  have 
deemed  the  Naiad  of  the  Fount;  for  in 
its  youthful  beauty  there  was  some- 
thing so  full  of  poetry — something  at 
once  so  sweet  and  so  stately — that  it 
spoke  to  the  imagination  while  it 
charmed  the  sense. 
Randal  dismounted,  tied  his  horse 


The  Master  Thief.  595 

to  the  gate,  and,  walking  down  a 
trellised  alley,  came  suddenly  to  the 
spot.  His  dark  shadow  fell  over  the 
clear  mirror  of  the  fountain  just  as 
Riccabocca  had  said,  "  All  here  is  so 
secure  from  evil ! — the  waves  of  the 
fountain  are  never  troubled  like  those 
of  the  river !  "  and  Violante  had  an- 
swered in  her  soft  native  tongue,  and 
lifting  her  dark,  spiritual  eyes — "  But 
the  fountain  would  be  but  a  lifeless 
pool,  oh  my  father,  if  the  spray  did 
not  mount  towards  the  skies  1 " 


THE     MASTER     THIEF. 


A  NORSE  POPULAR  TALE. 


ON  a  gloomy  autumn  evening  I  sat 
alone  with  the  "  proprietor,"  to  whose 
children  I  was  then  tutor,  in  his  coun- 
try house,  about  twenty  miles  from 
Christiania.  Out  of  doors  something 
was  falling  which  was  neither  rain, 
nor  snow,  nor  sleet,  but  a  mixture  of 
all  three ;  and  inside,  in  the  "  pro- 
prietor's" parlour,  the  lights  burned  so 
sluggishly,  that  no  other  objects  were 
discernible  through  the  haze  than  a 
corner  cupboard,  filled  with  Chinese 
nick-nacks,  a  great  mirror  in  an  old- 
fashioned  gilt  frame,  and  a  heredi- 
tary tankard,  the  reward  of  one  of  the 
proprietor's  ancestors  for  service  ren- 
dered to  the  state.  That  worthy  in- 
dividual had  nestled  himself  into 
one  corner  of  the  sofa,  where  he 
pored  over  the  proof-sheets  of  his 
pamphlet,  entitled,  "  A  few  Patriotic 
Expressions  for  the  Country's  Good; 
by  an  Anonymous  Writer" 

While  brooding  over  this  goldmine 
of  his  own  ideas  he  gave  birth  to  many 
sagacious  thoughts,  which,  from  time 
to  time,  with  a  twinkle  of  his  grey 
eyes,  he  threw  out  for  my  edification, 
as  I  sat  and  tried  to  read  in  the  other 
corner  of  the  sofa.  After  a  while, 
warming  with  his  theme,  he  poured 
out  a  host  of  "  patriotic  expressions" 
and  opinions,  worthy  of  all  respect, 
but  of  which  nothing  save  the  pam- 
phlet quoted  above,  or  his  great 
Treatise  on  Tithe,  can  give  an  ade- 
quate idea.  I  am  ashamed  to  own 
that  all  this  wisdom  was  lost  upon 
me.  I  knew  it  all  by  heart,  for  I  had 


heard  the  same  story  forty  times  at 
least  before.  I  am  not  gifted  with  a 
patience  of  Indian-rubber ;  but  what 
could  I  do  ?  Retreat  to  my  own  room 
was  impossible,  for  it  had  been  scoured 
for  Sunday,  and  was  full  of  reek  and 
damp.  So,  after  some  fruitless  at- 
tempts to  bury  myself  in  my  book,  I 
was  forced  to  give  in,  and  to  suffer 
myself  to  be  carried  along  in  the 
troubled  stream  of  the  proprietor's 
eloquence.  Of  course  he  dilated  on 
questions  of  profound  national  impor- 
tance, which  he  furbished  up  with  all 
sorts  of  cut-and- dried  figures  of 
speech.  He  was  now  fairly  on  his 
hobby,  and  rose  rapidly  to  the  seventh 
heaven.  He  stood  up  and  gesticu- 
lated ;  then  he  strode  up  and  down, 
and  his  grey  dressing-gown  described 
streaming  circles  behind  him,  as  he 
turned  short  round,  and  limped  back- 
wards and  forwards  on  his  spindle- 
shanks, — for,  like  Tyrtasus,  the  pro- 
prietor had  a  strong  halt.  The  candles 
flared,  flickered,  and  guttered,  as  he 
passed  triumphantly  by  the  table  on 
which  they  stood ;  and  his  winged 
words  sung  in  my  ears  like  humble- 
bees  when  the  linden- trees  are  in 
bloom.  Off  he  went  on  "  Class  Legis- 
lation" and  "  Judicial  Reform,"  on 
u  Corn  Laws  and  Free  Trade,"  on 
"  Native  Industry  and  Centralisa- 
tion," on  the  u  Victorious  progress  of 
Ideas,"  and  the  "  Insufficiency  of  our 
Circulating  Medium,"  on  "  Bureau- 
cracy," and  the  "  Aristocracy  of  Of- 
fice," till  he  bid  fair  to  exhaust  all  the 


596 


The  Master  Thief. 


[Nov. 


cracies,  archies,  and  isms  that  ever 
existed,  from  King  Solomon  to  the 
present  time. 

Mortal  man  could  hold  out  no 
longer,  and  I  was  just  on  the  point 
of  bursting  out  into  a  roar  of  laughter 
in  the  worthy  proprietor's  face, 
when  peal  after  peal  of  laughter 
resounded  from  the  kitchen,  and  came 
to  my  rescue.  It  was  Christian  the 
blacksmith  who  had  the  word  in  that 
quarter  of  the  house,  and  when  he 
ceased  speaking,  repeated  roars  of 
mirth  followed. 

"  I'll  just  go  out  and  hear  some  of 
the  smith's  stories,"  I  cried  as  I  ran 
out,  leaving  the  proprietor  behind  in 
the  parlour  with  the  dull  candles  and 
his  drowsy  current  of  thought. 

44  Children's  prate  and  lying  stories," 
growled  the  proprietor  as  I  shut  the 
door.  "  People  of  intelligence  should 
be  ashamed  to  listen  to  them;  but 
well-meant  patriotic  expressions — " 
The  rest  was  losfc  upon  me. 

Light  and  life  and  mirth  streamed 
forth  in  the  high  and  airy  hall ;  on 
the  hearth  blazed  a  pile  of  logs,  which 
threw  a  strong  light  into  the  furthest 
nook.  In  the  chimney-corner  sat 
enthroned  the  proprietor's  house- 
keeper with  her  spinning-wheel ;  and 
though  for  many  years  she  had  had 
hard  struggles  with  the  rheumatism, 
and  barricaded  the  enemy  out  with  a 
multitude  of  undercoats  and  kirtles, , 
throwing  over  all,  as  an  outwork,  a 
huge  grey  woollen  wrapper,  yet  her 
face  shone  under  her  plaited  cap  like 
the  full  moon.  At  her  feet  lay  the 
proprietor's  children  laughing  and 


cracking  nuts  ;  while  round  about  sat 
a  circle  of  maids  and  workmen's 
wives,  who  trode  their  spinning- 
wheels  with  busy  feet,  or  plied  the 
noisy  carding-comb.  In  the  entrance 
the  threshers  shook  off  the  snow  from 
their  feet,  and  stepping  in  with  icicles 
in  their  hair,  sat  down  at  the  long 
table,  where  the  cook  served  up  to 
them  their  supper — a  bowl  of  milk  and 
a  dish  of  close- pressed  porridge. 
Against  the  high  chimney-piece  leant 
the  smith,  who  smoked  tobacco  from 
a  short  pipe,  and  whose  face,  while 
it  showed  traces  of  the  smithy, 
bore  an  expression  of  dry  humour, 
which  testified  that  he  had  been 
telling  a  good  story,  and  telling  it 
well. 

44  Good  afternoon,  smith,"  said  I ; 
44  what  story  have  you  been  telling 
which  aroused  so  much  laughter  ?  " 

44  Ha,  ha  !  "  shouted  the  boys, 
"  Christian  has  been  telling  us  all 
about  the  '  Devil  and  the  Smith,'  and 
how  the  smith  got  the  fiend  into  a 
hazel-nut;  and  now  he's  going  to  tell 
us  about  the  Master  Thief,  and  how 
he  won  the  Squire's  daughter." 

44  Well,  don't  let  me  stop  the  story, 
smith,"  I  replied,  only  too  glad  to 
escape  for  a  while  from  the  proprietor 
with  his  4'  Patriotic  Expressions,"  his 
44  Corn  Laws  and  Free  Trade,"  his 
44  Circulating  Mediums  and  Bureau- 
cracies," and  to  refresh  myself  with 
hearing  one  of  these  old  national 
tales,  told  in  a  simple  childish  way  by 
one  of  the  people. 

So  after  one  or  two  long-drawn 
puffs,  the  Smith  began 


THE   MASTER   THIEF. 


Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  poor 
cottager  who  had  three  sons.  He 
had  nothing  to  leave  them  when  he 
died,  and  no  money  with  which  to 
put  them  to  any  trade,  so  that  he 
did  not  know  what  to  make  of  them. 
At  last  he  said  he  would  give  them 
leave  to  take  to  anything  each  liked 
best,  and  to  go  whithersoever  they 
pleased,  and  he  would  go  with  them 
a  bit  of  the  way  ;  and  so  he  did.  He 
went  with  them  till  they  came  to  a 
place  where  three  roads  met,  and  there 
each  of  them  chose  a  road,  and  their 
father  bade  them  good-bye,  and  went 


back  home.  I  have  never  heard  tell 
what  became  of  the  two  elder  ;  but  as 
for  the  youngest,  he  went  both  far 
and  long,  as  you  shall  hear. 

So  it  fell  out  one  night  as  he  was 
going  through  a  great  wood  that  such 
bad  weather  overtook  him.  It  blew 
and  drizzled  so  that  he  could  scarce 
keep  his  eyes  open  ;  and  in  a  trice, 
before  he  knew  how  it  was,  he  got 
bewildered,  and  could  not  find  either 
road  or  path.  But  as  he  went  on  and 
on,  at  last  he  saw  a  glimmering  of  light 
far  far  off  in  the  wood.  So  he  thought 
he  would  try  and  get  to  the  light ; 


1851.] 


The  Master  Thief. 


597 


and  after  a  time  he  did  reach  it. 
There  it  was  in  a  large  house,  and  the 
fire  was  blazing  so  brightly  inside 
that  he  could  tell  the  folk  had  not 
yet  gone  to  bed ;  so  he  went  in  and 
saw  an  old  dame  bustling  about  and 
minding  the  house. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  the  youth. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  the  old  dame. 

"  Hutetu !  it's  such  foul  weather 
out  of  doors  to-night,"  said  he. 

"  So  it  is,"  said  she. 

"  Can  I  get  leave  to  have  a  bed 
and  shelter  here  to-night?  "  asked  the 
youth. 

"  You'll  get  no  good  by  sleeping 
here,"  said  the  old  dame;  "  for  if  the 
folk  come  home  and  find  you  here, 
they'll  kill  both  me  and  you." 

"  What  sort  of  folk,  then,  are  they 
who  live  here  ?  "  asked  the  youth. 

"  Oh,  .robbers !  And  such  a  bad  lot 
of  them  too,"  said  the  old  dame. 
"They  stole  me  away  when  I  was 
little,  and  have  kept  me  as  their 
housekeeper  ever  since." 

"Well,  for  all  that,  I  think  I'll 
just  go  to  bed,"  said  theyouth.  "  Come 
what  may,  I'll  not  stir  out  at  night  in 
such  weather." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  old  dame; 
"  but  if  you  stay  it  will  be  the  worse 
for  you." 

With  that  the  youth  got  into  a  bed 
which  stood  there,  but  he  dared  not 
go  to  sleep,  and  very  soon  after  in 
came  the  robbers  ;  so  the  old  dame 
told  them  how  a  stranger  fellow  had 
come  in  whom  she  had  not  been  able 
to  get  out  of  the  house  again. 

"Did  you  see  if  he  had  any 
money  ?  "  said  the  robbers. 

"  Such  a  one  as  he  money !  "  said 
the  old  dame,  "  the  tramper !  Why,  if 
he  had  clothes  to  his  back,  it  was  as 
much  as  he  had." 

Then  the  robbers  began  to  talk 
among  themselves  what  they  should 
do  with  him  ;  if  they  should  kill  him 
outright,  or  what  else  they  should  do. 
Meantime  the  youth  got  up  and  began 
to  talk  to  them,  and  to  ask  if  they  did 
not  want  a  servant,  for  it  might  be 
that  he  would  be  glad  to  enter  into 
their  service. 

"Oh,"  said  they,  "ifyouhaveamind 
to  follow  the  trade  that  we  follow,  you 
can  very  well  get  a  place  here." 

"  It's  all  one  to  me  what  trade  I 
follow,"  said  the  youth  ;  "  for  when  I 


left  home,  father  gave  me  leave  to 
take  to  any  trade  I  chose." 

"  Well,  have  you  a  miud  to  steal  ?  " 
asked  the  robbers. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  the  youth,  for 
he  thought  it  would  not  take  long  to 
learn  that  trade. 

Now  there  lived  a  man  a  little  way 
off  who  had  three  oxen.  One  of  these 
he  was  to  take  to  the  town  to  sell, 
and  the  robbers  had  heard  what  he 
was  going  to  do,  so  they  said  to  the 
youth,  that  if  he  were  good  to  steal 
the  ox  from  the  man  by  the  way 
without  his  knowing  it,  and  without 
doing  him  any  harm,  they  would 
give  him  leave  to  be  their  serving 
man. 

Well !  the  youth  set  off,  and  took 
with  him  a  pretty  shoe,  with  a  silver 
buckle  on  it,  which  lay  about  the 
house  ;  and  he  put  the  shoe  in  the 
road  along  which  the  man  was  going 
with  his  ox  ;  and  when  he  had  done 
that,  he  went  into  the  wood  and  hid 
himself  under  a  bush.  So  when  the 
man  came  by  he  saw  the  shoe  at  once. 

"  That's  a  nice  shoe,"  said  he.  "If 
I  only  had  the  fellow  to  it,  I'd  take  it 
home  with  me,  and  perhaps  I'd  put 
my  old  dame  into  a  good  humour  for 
once."  For  you  must  know  that  he 
had  an  old  wife,  so  cross  and  snap- 
pish that  it  was  not  long  between 
each  time  that  she  boxed  his  ears. 
But  then  he  bethought  him  that  he 
could  do  nothing  with  the  odd  shoe 
unless  he  had  the  fellow  to  it  ;  so  he 
went  on  his  way  and  let  the  shoe  lie 
on  the  road. 

Then  the  youth  took  up  the  shoe, 
and  made  all  the  haste  he  could  to  get 
before  the  man  by  a  short  cut  through 
the  wood,  and  laid  it  down  before  him. 
in  the  road  again.  When  the  man  came 
along  with  his  ox  he  got  quite  angry 
with  himself  for  being  so  stupid  as  to 
leave  the  fellow  to  the  shoe  lying  in 
the  road  instead  of  taking  it  with  him ; 
so  he  tied  the  ox  to  the  fence,  and 
said  to  himself,  "  I  may  just  as  well 
run  back  and  pick  up  the  other,  and 
then  I'll  have  a  pair  of  good  shoes 
for  my  old  dame,  and  so,  perhaps,  I'll 
get  a  kind  word  from  her  for  once." 

So  he  set  off,  and  hunted  and 
hunted  up  and  down  for  the  shoe,  but 
no  shoe  did  he  find ;  and  at  length 
he  had  to  go  back  with  the  one  he 
had.  But,  meanwhile,  the  youth  had 


598 


The  Master  Thief. 


[Nov. 


taken  the  ox  and  gone  off  with  it ; 
and  when  the  man  came  and  saw  that 
his  ox  was  gone,  he  began  to  cry  and 
bewail,  for  he  was  afraid  that  his  old 
dame  would  kill  him  outright  when 
she  came  to  know  that  the  ox  was 
lost.  But  just  then  it  came  across  his 
mind  that  he  would  go  home  and  take 
the  second  ox,  and  drive  it  to  the 
town,  and  not  let  the  old  dame  know 
anything  about  the  matter.  So  he 
did  this,  and  went  home  and  took  the 
ox  without  his  dame's  knowing  it, 
and  set  off  with  it  to  the  town.  But 
the  robbers  knew  all  about  it,  and 
they  said  to  the  youth,  if  he  could  get 
this  ox  too,  without  the  man's  know- 
ing it,  and  without  his  doing  him  any 
harm,  he  should  be  as  good  as  any 
one  of  them.  If  that  were  all,  the 
youth  said,  he  did  not  think  it  a  very 
hard  thing. 

This  time  he  took  with  him  a  rope, 
and  hung  himself  up  under  the  arm- 
pits to  a  tree  right  in  the  man's  way. 
So  the  man  came  along  with  his  ox, 
and  when  he  saw  such  a  sight  hang- 
ing there  he  began  to  feel  a  little 
queer. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  whatever  heavy 
thoughts  you  had  who  have  hanged 
yourself  up  there,  it  can't  be  helped  ; 
you  may  hang  for  what  I  care !  I 
can't  breathe  life  into  you  again ;" 
and  with  that  he  went  on  his  way 
with  his  ox.  Down  slipped  the  youth 
from  the  tree,  and  ran  by  a  footpath, 
and  got  before  the  man,  and  hung 
himself  up  right  in  his  way  again. 

"  Bless  me  !"  said  the  man,  "  were 
you  really  so  heavy  at  heart  that  you 
hanged  yourself  up  there — or  is  it  only 
a  piece  of  witchcraft  that  I  see  before 
me?  Ay,  ay!  you  may  hang  for 
all  I  care,  whether  you  are  a  ghost  or 
whatever  you  are."  So  he  passed  on 
with  his  ox. 

Now  the  youth  did  just  as  he  had 
done  twice  before ;  he  jumped  down 
from  the  tree,  ran  through  the  wood 
by  a  footpath,  and  hung  himself 
up  right  in  the  man's  way  again. 
But  when  the  man  saw  this  sight 
for  the  third  time,  he  said  to  him- 
self,— 

"  Well !  this  is  an  ugly  business  ! 
Is  it  likely  now  that  they  should 
have  been  so  heavy  at  heart  as  to 
hang  themselves,  all  these  three? 
No !  I  cannot  think  that  it  is  any- 


thing else  than  a  piece  of  witchcraft 
that  I  see.  But  now  I'll  soon  know 
for  certain :  if  the  other  two  are  still 
hanging  there,  it  must  be  really  so ; 
but  if  they  are  not,  then  it  can  be 
nothing  but  witchcraft  that  I  see." 

So  he  tied  up  his  ox,  and  ran  back 
to  see  if  the  others  were  still  really 
hanging  there.  But  while  he  went 
and  peered  up  into  all  the  trees,  the 
youth  jumped  down  and  took  his  ox 
and  ran  off  with  it.  When  the  man 
came  back  and  found  his  ox  gone,  he 
was  in  a  sad  plight,  and,  as  any  one 
might  know  without  being  told,  he 
began  to  cry  and  bemoan ;  but  at 
last  he  came  to  take  it  easier,  and  so 
he  thought — 

"  There's  no  other  help  for  it  than 
to  go  home  and  take  the  third  ox 
without  my  dame's  knowing  it,  and 
to  try  and  drive  a  good  bargain  with 
it,  so  that  I  may  get  a  good  sum  of 
money  for  it." 

So  he  went  home  and  set  off  with 
the  ox,  and  his  old  dame  knew  never 
a  word  about  the  matter.  But  the 
robbers,  they  knew  all  about  it, 
and  they  said  to  the  youth,  that,  if 
he  could  steal  this  ox  as  he  had 
stolen  the  other  two,  then  he  should 
be  master  over  the  whole  band.  Well, 
the  youth  set  off,  and  ran  into  the 
wood ;  and  as  the  man  came  by  with 
his  ox  he  set  up  a  dreadful  bellowing, 
just  like  a  great  ox  in  the  wood. 
When  the  man  heard  that,  you  can't 
think  how  glad  he  was,  for  it  seemed 
to  him  that  he  knew  the  voice  of  his 
big  bullock,  and  he  thought  that  now 
he  should  find  both  of  them  again ; 
so  he  tied  up  the  third  ox,  and  ran 
off  from  the  road  to  look  for  them 
in  the  wood;  but  meantime  the 
youth  went  off  with  the  third  ox. 
Now,  when  the  man  came  back 
and  found  he  had  lost  this  ox  too, 
he  was  so  wild  that  there  was  no 
end  to  his  grief.  He  cried  and  roared 
and  beat  his  breast,  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  it  was  many  days  before  he 
dared  go  home;  for  he  was  afraid 
lest  his  old  dame  should  kill  him 
outright  on  the  spot. 

As  for  the  robbers,  they  were  not 
very  well  pleased  either,  when  they 
had  to  own  that  the  youth  was 
master  over  the  whole  band.  So  one 
day  they  thought  they  would  try 
their  hands  at  something  which  he 


1851.]  The  Master  Thief. 

was  not  man  enough  to  do ;  and 
they  set  off  all  together,  every  man 
Jack  of  them,  and  left  him  alone  at 
home.  Now,  the  first  thing  that  he 
did  when  they  were  all  well  clear  of 
the  house,  was  to  drive  the  oxen  out 
to  the  road,  so  that  they  might  run 
back  to  the  man  from  whom  he  had 
stolen  them  ;  and  right  glad  he  was 
to  see  them,  as  you  may  fancy. 
Next  he  took  all  the  horses  which 
the  robbers  had,  and  loaded  them 
with  the  best  things  he  could  lay  his 
hands  on  —  gold  and  silver,  and 
clothes  and  other  fine  things;  and 
then  he  bade  the  old  dame  to  greet 
the  robbers  when  they  came  back, 
and  to  thank  them  for  him,  and  to 
say  that  now  he  was  setting  off  on 
his  travels,  and  that  they  would  have 
hard  work  to  find  him  again ;  and 
with  that,  off  he  started. 

After  a  good  bit  he  came  to  the 
road  along  which  he  was  going  when 
he  fell  among  the  robbers ;  and  when 
he  got  near  home,  and  could  see  his 
father's  cottage,  he  put  on  a  uniform 
which  he  had  found  among  the  clothes 
he  had  taken  from  the  robbers,  and 
which  was  made  just  like  a  general's. 
So  he  drove  up  to  the  door  as  if  he 
were  any  other  great  man.  After 
that  he  went  in  and  asked  if  he  could 
have  a  lodging  ?  No ;  that  he 
couldn't  at  any  price. 

"  How  ever  should  I  be  able,"  said 
the  man,    u  to  make  room 
house  for  such  a  fine  gentleman 
who  scarce  have  a  rag  to  lie  upon, 
and  miserable  rags  too  ?  " 

"  You  were  always  a  stingy  old 
hunks,"  said  the  youth,  "  and  so  you 
are  still,  when  you  won't  take  your 
own  son  in." 

"What,  you  my  son!"  said  the 
man. 

"  Don't  you  know  me  again?"  said 
the  youth.  Well,  after  a  little  while 
he  did  know  him  again. 

"  But  what  have  you  been  turning 
yoar  hand  to,  that  you  have  made 
yourself  so  great  a  man  in  such 
haste  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  Oh,  I'll  soon  tell  you,"  said  the 
youth.  "  You  said  I  might  take  to 
any  trade  I  chose,  and  so  I  bound 
myself  apprentice  to  some  thieves  and 
robbers,  and  now  I've  served  my 
time  out,  and  am  become  a  Master 
Thief." 


599 

Now  there  lived  a  Squire  close  by 
to  his  father's  cottage,  and  he  had 
such  a  great  house,  and  such  heaps 
of  money,  that  he  could  not  tell  how 
much  he  had.  He  had  a  daughter 
too,  and  a  smart  and  pretty  girl  she 
was.  So  the  Master  Thief  set  his 
heart  upon  having  her  to  wife  ;  and 
he  told  his  father  to  go  to  the  Squire 
and  ask  for  his  daughter  for  him. 

"  If  he  asks  by  what  trade  I  get 
my  living,  you  can  say  I  am  a  Master 


in  my 
nan — I 


"  I  think  you've  lost  your  wits," 
said  the  man,  "  for  you  can't  be  in 
your  right  mind  when  you  think  of 
such  nonsense." 

No !  he  had  not  lost  his  wits ; 
his  father  must  and  should  go  up  to 
the  Squire  and  ask  for  his  daughter. 

"  Nay,  but  I  tell  you,  I  daren't  go 
to  the  Squire  and  be  your  spokes- 
man ;  he  who  is  so  rich,  and  has  so 
much  money,"  said  the  man. 

Yes,  there  was  no  help  for  it, 
said  the  Master  Thief;  he  should  go 
whether  he  would  or  no ;  and  if  he 
did  not  go  by  fair  means,  he  would 
soon  make  him  go  by  foul.  But  the 
man  was  still  loath  to  go ;  so  he 
stepped  after  him,  and  rubbed  him 
down  with  a  good  birch  cudgel,  and 
kept  on  till  the  man  came  crying  and 
sobbing  inside  the  Squire's  door. 

How  now,  my  man !  What  ails 
you  ?  said  the  Squire. 

So  he  told  him  the  whole  story; 
how  he  had  three  sons  who  set  off  one 
day,  and  how  he  had  given  them 
leave  to  go  whithersoever  they  would, 
and  to  follow  whatever  calling  they 
chose.  "  And  here  now  is  the  youngest 
come  home,  and  has  beaten  me  till 
he  has  made  me  come  to  you  and 
ask  for  your  daughter  for  him  to  wife ; 
and  he  bids  me  say,  besides,  that  he 
is  a  Master  Thief."  And  so  he  fell  to 
crying  and  sobbing  again. 

"  Never  mind,  my  man,"  said  the 
Squire,  laughing ;  "  just  go  back  and 
tell  him  from  me,  that  he  must  prove 
his  skill  first.  If  he  can  steal  the 
roast  from  the  spit  in  the  kitchen 
on  Sunday,  while  all  the  household 
are  looking  after  it,  he  shall  have  my 
daughter.  Just  go  and  tell  him 
that." 

So  he  went  back  and  told  the 
youth,  who  thought  it  would  be  an 
easy  job.  So  he  set  about  and 


600 


The  Master  Thief. 


[Nov. 


caught  three  hares  alive,  and  put 
them  into  a  bag,  and  dressed  himself 
in  some  old  rags,  until  he  looked  so 
poor  and  filthy  that  it  made  one's 
heart  bleed  to  see ;  and  then  he 
sneaked  into  the  passage  at  the  back- 
door of  the  Squire's  house  on  the 
Sunday  forenoon,  with  his  bag,  just 
like  any  other  beggar-boy.  But  the 
Squire  himself  and  all  his  house- 
hold were  in  the  kitchen  watching 
the  roast.  Just  as  they  were  doing 
this,  the  youth  let  one  hare  go,  and 
it  set  off  and  ran  round  and  round 
the  yard  in  front  of  the  house. 

"  Oh,  just  look  at  that  hare  !"  said 
the  folk  in  the  kitchen,  and  were  all 
for  running  out  to  catch  it. 

Yes,  the  Squire  saw  it  running  too. 
"  Oh,  let  it  run,"  said  he ;  '*  there's 
no  use  in  thinking  to  catch  a  hare 
by  running  after  it." 

A  little  while  after,  the  youth  let 
the  second  hare  go,  and  they  saw  it 
in  the  kitchen,  and  thought  it  was 
the  same  they  had  seen  before,  and 
still  wanted  to  run  out  and  catch  it ; 
but  the  Squire  said  again  it  was 
no  use.  It  was  not  long  before  the 
youth  let  the  third  hare  go,  and  it 
set  off  and  ran  round  and  round  the 
yard  as  the  others  before  it.  Now, 
they  saw  it  from  the  kitchen,  and 
still  thought  it  was  the  same  hare 
that  kept  on  running  about,  and 
were  all  eager  to  be  out  after  it. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  fine  hare,"  said  the 
Squire ;  "  come,  let's  see  if  we  can't 
lay  our  hands  on  it." 

So  out  he  ran,  and  the  rest  with 
him — away  they  all  went,  the  hare 
before,  and  they  after ;  so  that  it  was 
rare  fun  to  see.  But  meantime  the 
youth  took  the  roast  and  ran  off  with 
it ;  and  where  the  Squire  got  a  roast 
for  his  dinner  that  day  I  don't  know ; 
but  one  thing  I  know,  and  that  is, 
that  he  had  no  roast  hare,  though  he 
ran  after  it  till  he  was  both  warm 
and  weary. 

Now  it  chanced  that  the  Priest 
came  to  dinner  that  day,  and  when 
the  Squire  told  him  what  a  trick 
the  Master  Thief  had  played  him,  he 
made  such  game  of  him  that  there 
was  no  end  to  it. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  the  Priest, 
"  I  can't  think  how  it  could  ever 
happen  to  me  to  be  made  such  a 
fool  of  by  a  fellow  like  that." 


"  Very  well — only  keep  a  sharp 
look-out,"  said  the  Squire  ;  "  maybe 
he'll  come  to  see  you  before  you 
know  a  word  of  it."  But  the  Priest 
stuck  to  his  text, — that  he  did,  and 
made  game  of  the  Squire  because  he 
had  been  so  taken  in. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  came  the 
Master  Thief,  and  wanted  to  have 
the  Squire's  daughter,  as  he  had 
given  his  word.  But  the  Squire 
began  to  talk  him  over,  and  said, 
"  Oh,  you  must  first  prove  your 
skill  a  little  more  ;  for  what  you  did 
to-day  was  no  great  thing,  after  all. 
Couldn't  you  now  play  off  a  good 
trick  on  the  Priest,  who  is  sitting  in 
there,  and  making  game  of  me  for 
letting  such  a  fellow  as  you  twist 
me  round  his  thumb." 

"  Well,  as  for  that,  it  wouldn't  be 
hard,"  said  the  Master  Thief.  So  he 
dressed  himself  up  like  a  bird,  threw 
a  great  white  sheet  over  his  body, 
took  the  wings  of  a  goose  and  tied 
them  to  his  back,  and  so  climbed  up 
into  a  great  maple  which  stood  in 
the  Priest's  garden.  And  when  the 
Priest  came  home  in  the  evening,  the 
youth  began  to  bawl  out — 

"  Father  Laurence !  Father  Lau- 
rence!"— for  that  was  the  Priest's 
name. 

"  Who  is  that  calling  me?"  said 
the  Priest. 

"  I  am  an  angel,"  said  the  Master 
Thief,  "  sent  from  God  to  let  you 
know  that  you  shall  be  taken  up  alive 
into  heaven  for  your  piety's  sake. 
Next  Monday  you  must  hold  your- 
self ready  for  the  journey,  for  I  shall 
come  then  to  fetch  you  in  a  sack ; 
and  all  your  gold  and  your  silver, 
and  all  that  you  have  of  this  world's 
goods,  you  must  lay  together  in  a 
heap  in  your  dining-room." 

Well,  Father  Laurence  fell  on  his 
knees  before  the  angel,  and  thanked 
him ;  and  the  very  next  day  he 
preached  a  farewell  sermon,  and  ex- 
pounded how  there  had  come  down 
an  angel  unto  the  big  maple  in 
his  garden,  who  had  told  him  that 
he  was  to  be  taken  up  alive  into 
heaven  for  his  piety's  sake ;  and 
he  preached  and  made  such  a  touch- 
ing discourse,  that  all  who  were  at 
church  wept,  both  young  and  old. 

So  the  Monday  after  came  the 
Master  Thief  like  an  angel  again,  and 


1851.]  The  Master  Thief. 

the  Priest  fell  on  his  knees  and  thank- 
ed him  before  he  was  put  into  the 
sack  ;  but  when  he  had  got  him  well 
in,  the  Master  Thief  drew  and  dragged 
him  over  stocks  and  stones. 

"Ow!  ow!"  groaned  the  Priest 
inside  the  sack,  "  wherever  are  we 
going!" 

"This  is  the  narrow  way  which 
leadeth  unto  the  kingdom  of  heaven," 
said  the  Master  Thief,  who  went  on 
dragging  him  along  till  he  had  nearly 
broken  every  bone  in  his  body.  At 
last  he  tumbled  him  into  a  goose- 
house  that  belonged  to  the  Squire, 
and  the  geese  began  pecking  and 
pinching  him  with  their  bills,  so  that 
he  was  more  dead  that  alive. 

"  Now  you  are  in  the  flames  of 
purgatory,  to  be  cleansed  and  puri- 
fied for  life  everlasting,"  said 
the  Master  Thief ;  and  with  that  he 
went  his  way,  and  took  all  the  gold 
and  silver,  and  all  the  fine  things 
which  the  Priest  had  laid  together  in 
his  dining-room.  The  next  morning, 
when  the  goose-girl  came  to  let  the 
geese  out,  she  heard  how  the  priest 
lay  in  the  sack  and  bemoaned  himself 
in  the  goose-house. 

"  In  heaven's  name,  who's  there, 
and  what  ails  you  ? "  she  cried. 
"  Oh  !"  said  the  Priest,  "if  you  are 
an  angel  from  heaven,  do  let  me  out, 
and  let  me  return  again  to  earth,  for 
it  is  worse  here  than  in  hell.  The 
little  fiends  keep  on  pinching  me  with 
tongs." 

"  God  help  us,  I  am  no  angel  at 
all,"  said  the  girl  as  she  helped  the 
Priest  out  of  the  sack  ;  "I  only  look 
after  the  Squire's  geese,  and  like 
enough  they  are  the  little  fiends  which 
have  pinched  your  reverence." 

"Oh!"  groaned  the  Priest,  "this 
is  all  that  Master  Thief's  doing.  Ah  ! 
my  gold  and  my  silver,  and  my  fine 
clothes."  And  he  beat  his  breast, 
and  hobbled  home  at  such  a  rate  that 
the  girl  thought  he  had  lost  his  wits 
all  at  once. 

Now  when  the  Squire  came  to  hear 
how  it  had  gone  with  the  Priest,  and 
how  he  had  been  along  the  narrow 
way,  and  into  purgatory,  he  laughed 
till  he  wellnigh  split  his  sides.  But 
when  the  Master  Thief  came  and  asked 
for  his  daughter  as  he  had  promised, 
the  Squire  put  him  off  again,  and 
said— 


601 

"You  must  do  one  masterpiece 
better  still,  that  I  may  see  plainly 
what  you  are  fit  for.  Now  I  have 
twelve  horses  in  my  stable,  and  on 
them  I  will  put  twelve  grooms,  one. 
on  each.  If  you  are  so  good  a  thief 
as  to  steal  the  horses  from  under  them, 
I'll  see'what  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  Very  well,  I  daresay  I  can  do  it," 
said  the  Master  Thief ;  "  but  shall  I 
really  have  your  daughter  if  I  can  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  can,  I'll  do  my  best 
for  you,"  said  the  Squire. 

So  the  Master  Thief  set  off  to  a 
shop,  and  bought  brandy  enough  to 
fill  two  pocket-flasks,  and  into  one  of 
them  he  put  a  sleepy  drink,  but  into 
the  other  only  brandy.  After  that 
he  hired  eleven  men  to  lie  in  wait  at 
night,  behind  the  Squire's  stableyard; 
and  last  of  all,  for  fair  words  and  a 
good  bit  of  money,  he  borrowed  a 
ragged  gown  and  cloak  from  an  old 
woman ;  and  so,  with  a  staff  in  his 
hand  and  a  bundle  at  his  back,  he 
limped  off,  as  evening  drew  on,  towards 
the  Squire's  stai5le.  Just  as  he  got 
there  they  were  watering  the  horses 
for  the  night,  and  had  their  hands 
full  of  work. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  want?'r 
said  one  of  the  grooms  to  the  old 
woman. 

"  Oh,  oh !  hutetu !  it  is  so  bitter 
cold,"  said  she,  and  shivered  and 
shook,  and  made  wry  faces.  "  Hutetu ! 
it  is  so  cold,  a  poor  wretch  may  easily 
freeze  to  death  ;"  and  with  that  she 
fell  to  shivering  and  shaking  again. 

"  Oh  !  for  the  love  of  heaven,  can 
I  get  leave  to  stay  here  a  while,  and 
sit  inside  the  stable  door  ?  " 

"To  the  devil  with  your  leave," 
said  one.  "  Pack  yourself  off  this 
minute,  for  if  the  Squire  sets  his  eye 
on  you  he'll  lead  us  a  pretty  dance." 

"  Oh  !  the  poor  old  bag-of-bones," 
said  another,  who  seemed  to  take 
pity  on  her,  "  the  old  hag  may  sit 
inside  and  welcome ;  such  a  one  as 
she  can  do  no  harm." 

And  the  rest  said,  some  she  should 
stay,  and  some  she  shouldn't ;  but 


VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXIII. 


while  they  were  quarrelling  and  mind- 
ing the  horses,  she  crept  further  and 
further  into  the  stable,  till  at  last  she 
sat  herself  down  behind  the  door ; 
and  when  she  had  got  so  far,  no  one 
gave  any  more  heed  to  her. 
As  the  night  wore  on,  the  men, 

2Q 


602 


The  Master  Thief. 


[Nov. 


found  it  rather  cold  work  to  sit  so 
still  and  quiet  on  horseback. 

"  Hutetu !  it  is  so  devilish  cold," 
said  one,  and  beat  his  arms  cross- 
wise. 

"  That  it  is,"  said  another.  "  I 
freeze  so,  that  my  teeth  chatter." 

"  If  one  only  had  a  quid  to  chew," 
said  a  third. 

Well !  there  was  one  who  had  an 
ounce  or  two  ;  so  they  shared  it  be- 
tween them,  though  it  wasn't  much, 
after  all,  that  each  got ;  and  so  they 
chewed  and  spat,  and  spat  and  chewed. 
This  helped  them  somewhat ;  but  in 
a  little  while  they  were  just  as  bad  as 
ever. 

"  Hutetu ! "  said  one,  and  shivered 
and  shook. 

"  Hutetu ! "  said  the  old  woman, 
and  shivered  so,  that  every  tooth  in 
her  head  chattered.  Then  she  pulled 
out  the  flask  with  brandy  in  it,  and 
her  hand  shook  so  that  the  spirit 
splashed  about  in  the  flask,  and  then 
she  took  such  a  gulf,  that  it  went 
u  bop  "  in  her  throat. 

"  What  is  that  you've  got  in  your 
flask,  old  girl?"  said  one  of  the 
grooms. 

"  Oh !  it's  only  a  drop  of  brandy, 
old  man,"  said  she. 

"  Brandy !  Well,  I  never  !  Do  let 
nie  have  a  drop,"  screamed  the  whole 
twelve,  one  after  another. 

"  Oh  !  but  it  is  such  a  little  drop," 
mumbled  the  old  woman,  "  it  will 
not  even  wet  your  mouths  round." 
But  they  must  and  would  have  it ; 
there  was  no  help  for  it ;  and  so  she 
pulled  out  the  flask  with  the  sleeping 
drink  in  it,  and  put  it  to  the  first 
man's  lips  ;  then  she  shook  no  more, 
but  guided  the  flask  so  that  each  of 
them  got  what  he  wanted,  and  the 
twelfth  had  not  done  drinking  before 
the  first  sat  and  snored.  Then  the 
Master  Thief  threw  off  his  beggar's 
rags,  and  took  one  groom  after  the 
other  so  softly  off  their  horses,  and 
set  them  astride  on  the  beams  be- 
tween the  stalls;  and  so  he  called 
his  eleven  men,  and  rode  off  with 
the  Squire's  twelve  horses. 

But  when  the  Squire  got  up  in  the 
morning,  and  went  to  look  after  his 
grooms,  they  had  just  begun  to  come 
to ;  and  some  of  them  fell  to  spurring 
the  beams  with  their  spurs,  till  the 
splinters  flew  again,  and  some  fell  off, 


and  some  still  hung  on  and  sat  there 
looking  like  fools. 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  "  said  the  Squire  ;  "  I 
see  very  well  who  has  been  here  ;  but 
as  for  you,  a  pretty  set  of  blockheads 
you  must  be  to  sit  here  and  let  the 
Master  Thief  steal  the  horses  from 
between  your  legs." 

So  they  all  got  a  good  leathering 
because  they  had  not  kept  a  sharper 
look-out. 

Further  on  in  the  day  came  the 
Master  Thief  again,  and  told  how  he 
had  managed  the  matter,  and  asked 
for  the  Squire's  daughter,  as  he 
had  promised  ;  but  the  Squire  gave 
him  one  hundred  dollars  down,  and 
said  he  must  do  something  better 
still. 

u  Do  you  think  now,"  said  he, 
"  you  can  steal  the  horse  from  under 
me  while  I  am  out  riding  on  his 
back?" 

"  O,  yes !  I  daresay  I  could,"  said 
the  Master  Thief,  "  if  I  were  really 
sure  of  getting  your  daughter." 

Well,  well,  the  Squire  would  see 
what  he  could  do ;  and  he  told  the 
Master  Thief  a  day  when  he  would 
be  taking  a  ride  on  a  great  common 
where  they  drilled  the  troops.  So  the 
Master  Thief  soon  got  hold  of  an  old 
worn-out  jade  of  a  mare,  and  set  to 
work,  and  made  traces  and  collar  of 
withies  and  broom- twigs,  and  bought 
an  old  beggarly  cart  and  a  great  cask. 
After  that  he  said  to  an  old  beggar 
woman,  that  he  would  give  her  ten 
dollars  if  she  would  get  in  the  cask, 
and  keep  her  mouth  agape  over  the 
taphole,  into  which  he  was  going  to 
stick  his  finger.  No  harm  should  hap- 
pen to  her ;  she  should  only  be  driven 
about  a  little ;  and  if  he  took  his 
finger  out  more  than  once,  she  was  to 
have  ten  dollars  more.  Then  he 
threw  a  few  rags  and  tatters  over 
himself,  and  stuffed  himself  out,  and 
put  on  a  wig  and  a  great  beard  of 
goat's  hair,  so  that  no  one  could  know 
him  again,  and  set  off  for  the  com- 
mon, where  the  Squire  had  already 
been  riding  about  a  good  bit.  When 
he  reached  the  place,  he  went  along 
so  softly  and  slowly  that  he  scarce 
made  an  inch  of  way.  Gee  up !  Gee 
up !  and  so  he  went  on  little ;  then 
he  stood  stock  still,  and  so  on  a  little 
again  ;  and  altogether  the  pace  was 
so  miserable  that  it  never  once  cam  e 


1851.] 


The  Master  Thief. 


into  the  Squire's  head  that  this  could 
be  the  Master  Thief. 

At  last  the  Squire  rode  right  up  to 
him,  and  asked  if  he  had  seen  any 
one  lurking  about  in  the  wood  there- 
abouts. 

"  No,"  said  the  man,  "  I  haven't 
seen  a  soul." 

"  Harkye,  now,"  said  the  Squire, 
"  if  you  have  a  mind  to  ride  into  the 
wood,  and  hunt  about  and  see  if  you 
can  fall  upon  any  one  lurking  about 
there,  you  shall  have  the  loan  of  my 
horse,  and  a  shilling  into  the  bar- 
gain, to  drink  my  health,  for  your 
pains." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  go,"  said  the 
man,  "  for  I  am  going  to  a  wedding 
with  this  cask  of  mead,  which  I  have 
been  to  town  to  fetch,  and  here  the 
tap  has  fallen  out  by  the  way,  and 
so  I  must  go  along,  holding  my  finger 
in  the  taphole. 

"  Hide  off,"  said  the  Squire ;  "  I'll 
look  after  your  horse  and  cask." 

Well,  on  these  terms  the  man  was 
willing  to  go ;  but  he  begged  the 
Squire  to  be  quick  in  putting  his 
finger  into  the  taphole  when  he  took 
his  own  out,  and  to  mind  and  keep  it 
there  till  he  came  back.  Yes,  the 
Squire  would  do  the  best  he  could ; 
and  so  the  Master  Thief  mounted  the 
horse  and  rode  off.  But  time  went 
by,  and  hour  after  hour  passed,  and 
still  no  one  came  back.  At  last  the 
Squire  grew  weary  of  standing  there 
with  his  finger  in  the  taphole,  so  he 
took  it  out. 

"  Now  I  shall  have  ten  dollars 
more !  "  screamed  the  old  woman  in- 
side the  cask;  and  then  the  Squire 
saw  at  once  how  the  land  lay,  and 
took  himself  off  home ;  but  he  had 
not  gone  far  before  they  met  him 
with  a  fresh  horse,  for  the  Master 
Thief  had  already  been  to  his  house, 
and  told  them  to  send  one. 

The  day  after,  he  came  to  the 
Squire  and  would  have  his  daughter, 
as  he  had  given  his  word ;  but  the 
Squire  put  him  off  again  with  fine 
words,  and  gave  him  two  hundred 
dollars,  and  said  he  must  do  one 
more  masterpiece.  If  he  could  do 
that,  he  should  have  her.  Well, 
well,  the  Master  Thief  thought  he 
could  do  it,  if  he  only  knew  what  it 
was  to  be. 

"Do  you  think,  now,"   said   the 


Squire,  "  you  can  steal  the  sheet 
off  our  bed,  and  the  shift  off  my 
wife's  back.  Do  you  think  you  could 
do  that?" 

"  It  shall  be  done,"  said  the  Master 
Thief.  "  I  only  wish  I  was  as  sure 
of  getting  your  daughter." 

So  when  night  began  to  fall,  the 
Master  Thief  went  out  and  cut  down 
a  thief  who  hung  on  the  gallows,  and 
threw  him  across  his  shoulders,  and 
carried  him  off.  Then  he  got  a  long 
ladder  and  set  it  up  against  the 
Squire's  bedroom  window,  and  so 
climbed  up,  and  kept  bobbing  the  dead 
man  up  and  down,  just  for  all  the 
world  like  one  who  was  peeping  in  at 
the  window. 

"That's  the  Master  Thief,  old 
lass!"  said  the  Squire,  and  gave  his 
wife  a  nudge  on  the  side.  "  Now  see 
if  I  don't  shoot  him,  that's  all." 

So  saying  he  took  up  a  rifle  which 
he  had  laid  at  jjis  bedside. 

"No!  no!  pray  don't  shoot  him 
after  telling  him  he  might  come  and 
try,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  for  shoot  him 
I  will,"  said  he  ;  and  so  he  lay  there 
and  aimed  and  aimed  ;  but  as  soon 
as  the  head  came  up  before  the  win- 
dow, and  he  saw  a  little  of  it,  so  soon 
was  it  down  again.  At  last  he 
thought  he  had  a  good  aim  ;  "  bang" 
went  the  gun,  down  fell  the  dead  body 
to  the  ground  with  a  heavy  thump, 
and  down  went  the  Master  Thief  too 
as  fast  as  he  could. 

"Well,"  said  the  Squire,  "it  is 
quite  true  that  I  am  the  chief  magis- 
trate in  these  parts ;  but  people  are 
fond  of  talking,  and  it  would  be  a 
bore  if  they  came  to  see  this  dead 
man's  body.  I  think  the  best  thing 
to  be  done  is  that  I  should  go  down 
and  bury  him." 

"  You  must  do  as  you  think  best, 
dear,"  said  his  wife.  So  the  Squire 
got  out  of  bed  and  went  down  stairs, 
and  he  had  scarce  put  his  foot  out  of 
the  door  before  the  Master  Thief  stole 
in,  and  went  straight  up-stairs  to  his 
wife. 

"Why,  dear,  back  already!"  said 
she,  for  she  thought  it  was  her  hus- 
band. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  only  just  put  him  into 
a  hole,  and  threw  a  little  earth  over 
him.  It  is  enough  that  he  is  out  of 
sight,  for  it  is  such  a  bad  night  out  of 


604 


Day-Dreams  of  an  Exile. 


[Nov. 


doors;  by-and-by  I'll  do  it  better. 
But  just  let  me  have  the  sheet  to 
wipe  myself  with — he  was  so  bloody 
— and  I  have  made  myself  in  such  a 
mess  with  him." 

So  he  got  the  sheet. 

After  a  while  he  said — 

"Do  you  know  I  am  afraid  you 
must  let  me  have  your  night-shift  too, 
for  the  sheet  won't  do  by  itself;  that  I 
can  see." 

So  she  gave  him  the  shift  also. 
But  just  then  it  came  across  his  mind 
that  he  had  forgotten  to  lock  the 
house-door,  so  he  must  step  down 
and  look  to  that  before  he  came  back 
to  bed,  and  away  he  went  with  both 
shift  and  sheet. 

A  little  while  after  came  the  right 
Squire. 

"  Why !  what  a  time  you've  taken 
to  lock  the  door,  dear!"  said  his 
wife ;  "  and  what  have  you  done  with 
the  sheet  and  shift  ?  " 


"What  do  you  say?"  said  [the 
Squire. 

"  Why,  I  am  asking  what  you  have 
done  with  the  sheet  and  shift  that  you 
had  to  wipe  off  the  blood,"  said  she. 

"What,  in  the  devil's  name  !"  said 
the  Squire,  "  has  he  taken  me  in  this 
time  too?" 

Next  day  came  the  Master  Thief 
and  asked  for  the  Squire's  daughter 
as  he  had  promised ;  and  then  the 
Squire  dared  not  dp  anything  else 
than  give  her  to  him,  and  a  good 
lump  of  money  into  the  bargain  ;  for, 
to  tell  the  truth,  he  was  afraid  lest  the 
Master  Thief  should  steal  the  eyes 
out  of  his  head,  and  that  people 
would  begin  to  say  spiteful  things  of 
him  if  he  broke  his  word.  So  the 
Master  Thief  lived  well  and  happily 
from  that  time  forward.  I  don't 
know  whether  he  stole  any  more ;  but 
if  he  did,  I  arn  quite  sure  it  was  only 
for  the  sake  of  a  bit  of  fun. 


DAY-DREAMS    OF    AN    EXILE. 


V. 


AIR—"  0  Cara  Memorial 


"  I  perceive  that  there  is  nothing  better  than  that  a  man  should  rejoice  in  his  own  works,  for  that  is 
his  portion."— Eccles.  iii.  22. 


SIGH  thou  not  for  a  happier  lot, 

Happier  may  never  be  ; 
That  thou  hast  esteem  the  best, 

And  given  by  the  gods  to  thee. 
And  if  thy  tender  hopes  be  slain, 
Fear  not,  they  soon  shall  bloom 

For  the  gloomiest  hour 

Is  fair  to  the  flower 
That  heeds  neither  wind  nor  rain. 


Fear  of  change  from  old  to  strange 

Follows  the  fullest  joy ; 
Labour  wears  us  more  than  years ; 

Calms,  never  broken,  cloy. 
Whatever  load  to  thee  be  given, 
Doubt  not  thy  brethren  too  have  striven  ; 

Take  wh*t  is  thine 

In  the  Earth's  confine, 
And  hope  to  be  blest  in  Heaven. 


1851.]  Day-Dreams  of  an  Exile. 

VI. 


Led  by  swift  thought,  I  scale  the  height, 

And  strive  to  sound  the  deep, 
To  find  from  whence  I  took  my  flight, 

Or  where  I  slept  my  sleep  : 
But  the  mists  conceal  that  border-land 

Whose  hills  they  rest  upon  ; 
Again,  with  forward  face,  I  stand, 

For  Gone  is  gone. 

Sometimes  I  brood  upon  the  years 

I  gave  to  self  and  sin  ; 
Or  call  to  mind  how  Doubts  and  Fears 

Fled  from  a  light  within : 
I  might  regret  those  errors  past, 

Might  wish  the  light  still  shone, 
Or  check  Life's  tide  that  ebbs  so  fast ; 

But  Gone  is  gone. 

You,  too,  my  loyal-hearted  wife, 

Saw  many  a  weary  day, 
When,  on  your  morning-sky  of  life, 

The  clouds  of  sorrow  lay. 
True  friends  departed — grief  for  them, 

Joy  for  the  False  made  known, 
And  over  all  this  Requiem, 

That  Gone  is  gone. 

The  glare  of  many  a  spectral  Truth 

Might  haunt  me  still  unchanged, 
The  broken  purpose  of  my  Youth, 

The  loving  hearts  estranged. 
But,  turning  to  your  love-lit  eyes, 

— The  love -lit  eyes  shine  on — 
I  thank  my  God  with  happy  sighs 

That  Gone  is  gone. 

VII. 

Oft,  in  a  night  of  April,  when  the  ways 
Are  growing  dark,  and  the  hedge-hawthorns  dank, 

The  glow-worm  scatters  self- adorning  rays — 
Earth-stars,  that  twinkle  on  the  primrose  bank. 

And  so,  when  Life  around  us  gathers  Night, 
Too  dark  for  Doubt,  and  ignorant  of  Sin, 

The  happy  Heart  of  youth  can  shed  a  light 
Earth-born,  but  bright,  and  feed  it  from  within. 

The  April  night  wears  on,  the  darkness  wanes, 
The  light  that  glimmered  in  the  East  grows  stronger ; 

But  on  the  primrose  banks  that  line  the  lanes, 
Weary  and  chilled,  the  glow-worm  shines  no  longer. 

The  night  of  life  as  quickly  passes  o'er, 

Coldly  and  shuddering  breaks  the  dawn  of  Truth  ; 

Bright  Day  is  coming,  but  we  bear  no  more 
The  happy,  self-adorning  heart  of  Youth. 


606  Day-Dreams  of  an  Exile.  [Nov. 


VIII. 

Dream  on,  ye  souls  who  slumber  here, 
Leave  work  to  those  who  work  so  well ; 

Yet  workers  too  should  haply  hear 
The  messages  that  Dreamers  tell. 

The  aims  of  this  World  shed  a  light, 
Which  shines  with  dim  and  feeble  ray, 

Whose  followers  wander  all  the  night, 
And  scarce  suspect  it  is  not  Day. 

Yet  work  who  will,  the  Night  flies  fast, 
Means  vary,  but  the  end  is  one  ; 

Each,  when  the  waking  throb  is  past, 
Must  face  the  all- beholding  Sun. 

I  will  sleep  on,  the  starry  cope 

Arching  my  head  with  boundless  blue, 

Till  life's  strange  dream  is  o'er,  in  hope 
To  wake,  nor  find  it  all  untrue. 

IX. 
K 

COLONISATION. 
(I-) 

Freemen  of  England,  nourish  in  your  mind 
Love  for  your  Land  ;  though  poor  she  be  and  cold, 
Impute  it  not  to  her  that  she  is  old, 
For  in  her  youth  she  was  both  warm  and  kind. 
True,  it  fits  not  that  yon  should  be  confined 
Within  a  grudging  Island's  narrow  hold, 
That  bred,  but  cannot  feed  you.     O  be  bold  ; 
Blue  heaven  has  many  an  excellent  fair  wind. 
Steer,  then,  in  multitudes  to  other  land, 
Work  ye  the  field,  the  river,  and  the  mine, 
Smooth  the  high  hill,  and  fell  the  long-armed  pine, 
Till  all  GOD'S  Earth  be  honourably  manned  ; 
But,  that  your  glories  may  for  ever  stand, 
Let  Love  be  with  you,  human  and  divine. 


Love,  the  foundation  of  the  public  weal, 

As  of  the  peace  of  houses — Love,  whose  breach 

Sundered  two  bands  of  common  race  and  speech, 

Whose  rankling  wounds  on  each  side  will  not  heal : 

Therefore  be  warned  in  time,  let  none  conceal 

Brotherly  yearnings,  God-sent,  each  for  each. 

Pure  human  sympathies  are  high  of  reach, 

For  the  realities  which  they  reveal 

Teach  us  to  live  in  earnest ;  give  us  faith, 

Godward,  as  well  as  human  :  none  can  say, 

"  I  will  love  only  that  which  I  have  seen." 

By  faith's  lamp,  fed  with  hope,  the  wise  have  been 

Led  to  the  land  where,  as  the  Tarsian  saith, 

Love  rules  when  Hope  and  Faith  are  passed  away. 

H.  G.  K. 
India,  1851. 


1851.] 


Autumn  Politics. 


607 


AUTUMN    POLITICS. 


RARELY,  during  the  autumnal  sea- 
son of  the  year,  is  any  very  vivid 
interest  displayed  in  political  matters. 
This  is  both  natural  and  wholesome. 
The  soldier,  after  a  hard  campaign, 
requires  rest  and  recreation ;  and 
those  whose  destiny  it  is  to  occupy 
themselves  with  public  affairs  and 
their  conduct,  are  all  the  better  for  a 
short  respite  from  these  absorbing 
toils.  So,  after  the  close  of  the  Par- 
liamentary Session,  our  legislators  be- 
take themselves  to  the  provinces  or 
the  Continent,  to  the  skirts  of  Ben 
Nevis,  or  to  the  sequestered  valleys 
of  Switzerland,  with  all  the  glee  of 
schoolboys  who  have  escaped  from 
the  magisterial  yoke.  Who  can 
blame  them  ?  The  mountain  breeze 
is  assuredly  more  fresh  and  salubri- 
ous than  the  loaded  atmosphere  of  St 
Stephen's  ;  the  sound  of  the  purling 
brook  is  more  grateful  to  the  ear  than 
the  cro  akin  gs  of  Joseph  Hume ;  and  the 
details  of  a  restaurant's  bill  of  fare  more 
interesting  than  the  ingenious  statis- 
tics of  Mr  Wilson  of  Westbury.  No- 
body is  sorry  when  the  clattering  of 
the  great  machine  of  Parliament  is 
silenced.  It  is  bad  enough  to  be 
compelled  to  peruse  the  debates  du- 
ring the  months  of  winter  and  spring, 
without  continuing  the  ordeal  through- 
out the  rest  of  the  year.  We  cannot 
live  always  in  a  state  of  excitement. 
Scully  and  Keogh  are  splendid  and 
soul-searching  orators  ;  but  we  would 
as  lieve  submit  to  have  all  our  dishes 
seasoned  with  ether,  as  allow  our 
nerves  to  be  daily  agitated  by  the  roll 
of  their  irresistible  eloquence.  We 
love  John  Bright,  and  are  fascinated 
by  the  humour  of  Fox,  yet  we  can 
find  it  in  our  hearts  to  part  company 
with  them  for  a  season.  In  autumn 
the  towns  are  torpid.  Every  one  who 
can,  endeavours  to  escape  from  them  ; 
and  to  judge  from  the  hurry  on  rail 
and  river,  you  would  conclude  that  at 
least  one-half  of  the  population  of 
these  islands  is  on  the  move.  Subjects 
which  a  few  months  before  engrossed 
the  public  attention  are  now  men- 
tioned with  a  luxurious  languor,  and 
never  ardently  discussed.  Few  people 
know  or  care  what  Cardinal  Wise- 


man may  be  doing.  A  porter  with  a 
load  of  grouse  is  a  more  interesting 
object  than  Lord  John  Russell,  even 
were  he  laden  with  the  draught  of  his 
new  Reform  Bill ;  and  it  is  a  matter 
of  total  indifference  to  the  million 
whether  Earl  Grey  has  gone  to 
Howick  or  to  Kamschatka.  The 
only  class  of  men  who  remain  in- 
defatigably  political  are  the  popu- 
larity hunters,  more  especially  such 
of  them  as  require  a  little  coopering 
for  their  somewhat  leaky  reputations. 
Old  Joe  sets  off  on  a  reforming  tour 
to  the  northern  burghs,  hoping  here 
and  there  to  pick  up  a  stray  burgess 
ticket.  Sir  James  Graham  will  go 
any  distance  to  receive  the  hug  of 
fraternity  from  a  provost,  and  to  add 
to  his  chaplet  such  fresh  leaves  of 
laurel  as  are  in  the  gift  of  a  generous 
town  council.  Lord  Palmerston  un- 
dertakes to  keep  the  electors  of 
Tiverton  in  good  humour,  and  favours 
them  with  a  funny  discourse  upon  all 
manner  of  topics,  excepting  always 
the  projected  measure  of  reform,  on 
which  he  judiciously  keeps  his  thumb. 
These,  however,  are  mere  interludes, 
and  few  people  care  about  them. 
Most  sincerely  to  be  pitied,  at  this 
season  of  the  year,  is  the  condition  of 
the  London-  journalists.  However 
scanty  be  the  crop  of  events,  how- 
ever dry  the  channels  of  public  in- 
terest, they  must  find  subjects  for 
their  leaders.  Each  day  there  is  a 
yawning  gap  of  white  paper  to  be 
filled  ;  a  topic  to  be  selected  and  dis- 
cussed ;  and  an  insatiable  devil  to  be 
laid.  It  was  popularly  believed  on 
the  Border  that  Michael  Scott  was 
saddled  with  an  infernal  servitor,  to 
whom  he  was  compelled  to  assign 
daily  a  sufficient  modicum  of  work, 
under  the  penalty,  in  case  of  failure, 
of  a  forced  visit  to  Pandemonium. 
Quite  as  bad  is  the  predicament  of 
the  journalist.  The  printer's  demon 
is  ever  at  his  elbow ;  nor  dare  he 
attempt  to  escape.  It  is  not  sur- 
prising if  sometimes  our  unhappy 
brothers  should  be  reduced  to  the 
last  extremity.  Generally,  nay 
universally,  they  are  a  kind-hearted 
race  of  men  ;  yet  no  one  who  hears 


COS 


Autumn  Politics. 


[Nov. 


their  complaints  during  a  season  of 
unusual  stagnation  would  set  them 
down  as  philanthropists.    Their  as- 
pirations are  after  revolutions,  mur- 
•ders,  casualties — anything,  in  short, 
which  can  furnish  them  with  a  topic 
for    a    good    stirring    article.      All 
manufacturers,  except  the  dealers  in 
devil's-dust  and  shoddy,  admit  that 
there  is  no  possibility  of  constructing 
a  passable  fabric  out  of  inferior  raw 
material.    Whatever  be  the  capabi- 
lities of  the  artisan,  or  the  excellence 
of  his  tools,  he  cannot  do  without  a 
subject  to  work  upon.  Facts,  accord- 
ing to  the  approved  doctrine  of  the 
public  press,  are  of  two  kinds — real 
and  imagined.    The  distinction  is  as 
wide  as  that  which  lies  between  his- 
tory and  romance.     If  the  first  do 
not  emerge    in    sufficient   value  or 
importance,  recourse   must  be   had 
to    the    second,    provided    nothing 
be  advanced  for  which  there  is  not 
some  apparent  colour.    The  position 
and  prospects  of  parties  is  always 
a    safe    autumnal     theme.      Some 
paragraph  is  sure  to  appear,  some 
-letter  to  be  published,  some  pamphlet 
•  written,  or  some  speech  delivered, 
from  which    ingenuity  can    extract 
matter  of  startling  commentary.  One 
while,  supposed  differences   in   the 
Cabinet  are  made  the  subject  of  con- 
jecture and  discussion,  though  where 
the  Cabinet  is  no  one  can  tell,  the 
members  thereof  being  notoriously  so 
scattered  that  no  two  of  them  are 
within  a  hundred  miles  of  each  other. 
Lord  John  Russell's  resignation  has  of 
late  years  become  a  regular  autumnal 
event.     We  look  for  it  as  confidently 
as  the  housekeeper  expects  her  annual 
supply  of  damsons.    No  one  is  rash 
enough    to    aver    that    Sir  Charles 
Wood  intends  voluntarily  to  resign  ; 
but  somehow  or  other  it  happens  that 
his  colleagues  are  annually  seized  in 
September  with  a  burning  desire  to 
kick  him  out — a  species  of  phrenzy 
which  only  lasts  until  the  return  of 
the  colder  weather.    We  really  for- 
get how  often  Lord  Clarendon  has 
teen  announced  as  the  coming  Pre- 
mier.   If  there  be  any  faith  in  pro- 
phecy, his  time  must  be  nigh  at  hand. 
It  was,  we  believe,  confidently  an- 
ticipated on  the  part  of  the  Liberal 
journals,   that  the   present    autumn 
would   prove    an    exception  to  the 


general  rule,  by  furnishing  a  more 
than  average  crop  of  topics  acceptable 
to  the  public  ear.  After  such  a  dreary 
lapse  of  time,  prosperity  was  expected 
to  arrive  about  the  middle  of  1851, 
and  that  event  would  of  itself  justify 
the  expenditure  of  many  columns  of 
poeans.   True,  there  had  been  various 
attempts  made  at  intervals,  during 
the   last    three    or    four    years,    to 
persuade   the    public  that   the   coy 
nymph  had  either    arrived  or  was 
arriving  on  the  British  shores ;  and 
some  journals  went  so  far  as  to  dis- 
charge a  royal  salute  in  honour  of  her 
supposed  landing.     But  the  mistake 
was  soon  discovered.    If  the  agricul- 
turists were  discontented,   the  ma- 
nufacturers were  depressed,  and  the 
shopkeepers   evidently  sulky.    Pro- 
sperity, if   she  really  had  arrived, 
seemed  to  possess  the  secret  of  the 
fern-seed,  and  to  walk  invisibly,  for 
no    one    had    seen   her  except  Mr 
Labouchere ;  and  on  investigating  his 
experiences,  it  turned  out  that  he  had 
merely  received  his  information  from 
others.    This  year,  however,  every- 
thing   was    to    be    put    to    rights. 
Markets  were  to  rise  so  high  that 
even    the   most    grumbling    of   the 
farmers  would  be  glad  of  heart,  and 
be  enabled  to  make  such  purchases 
at   the  nearest   town    as  would    at 
once  gratify  the  wife  of  his  bosom, 
and  give  a  material  impulse  to  the 
production   of    home   manufactures. 
Great   were   to   be   the    profits    of 
Manchester,  Bradford,  and  Notting- 
ham.    Reciprocity   was   to  be   de- 
veloped ;    and  foreign  nations,  con- 
vinced of  the  necessity  of  universal 
brotherhood,    were    to    fling    their 
tariffs  to  the  winds,  and  admit   our 
produce  duty  free.     By   this    time, 
too,  we  were   to   have  Mr   Mechi's 
balance-sheet  before  us.     Mr  Hux- 
table's   pigs  were  to  have  produced 
ammonia  enough  to  fertilise  the  sea- 
shore;   or,  if  that  scheme  did   not 
answer,    the    Netherby    system    of 
farming  would  be  found  equally  ad- 
vantageous.   Nay,  it  was  even  pro- 
phesied  that   railway  stocks  would 
rise,  and  that  on  some  hyperborean 
lines  there  was  a  possibility  that  a 
dividend  might  be  paid  on  the  pre- 
ference  shares.     The   iron   districts 
were  to  outstrip  California,  and  our 
shipping  to  multiply  indefinitely. 


1851.] 


Autumn  Politics. 


609 


It  is  deeply  to  be  deplored,  on 
every  ground,  that  these  expectations 
have  not  been  realised.  We  have 
been  repeatedly  reproached  by  the 
advocates  of  the  new  commercial 
system  for  the  gloominess  of  our  views, 
and  the  absence  of  that  hopeful  spirit 
which  animates  the  efforts,  and  gives 
vivacity  to  the  style,  of  the  light  and 
lively  Free-Traders.  Now,  it  is  quite 
true  that  we,  being  unable,  after  the 
most  anxious  consideration  of  the 
subject  in  all  its  bearings,  to  discover 
how  the  prosperity  —  that  is,  the 
wealth — of  the  nation  could  be  in- 
creased by  measures  which  had  the 
direct  tendency  to  lower  the  value  of 
its  produce,  have  had  occasion  very 
frequently  to  enunciate  opinions  which 
could  not  be  agreeable  to  the  cotton- 
stuffed  ears  of  Manchester.  We  have 
periodically  exposed,  to  the  great 
dudgeon  of  the  democrats,^the  clumsy 
fallacies  and  egregious  nonsense  of  the 
Economist,  familiarly  known  to  the 
concoctors  of  statistical  returns  by 
the  soubriquet  of  the  "Cook's  Oracle." 
We  have  taken  sundry  impostors  by 
the  nape  of  the  neck,  and  have  shaken 
them,  as  was  our  bounden  duty,  until 
they  had  not  breath  enough  to  squeak. 
But  we  maintain  that  the  facts  and 
results  of  each  successive  year  have 
borne  jis  out  in  the  views  which  we 
originally  entertained;  and  that  the 
working  of  Free  Trade,  when  brought 
into  operation,  has  proved,  as  we 
predicted  it  would  be,  utterly  sub- 
versive of  the  theories  of  the  men 
who  were  its  exponents,  its  cham- 
pions, and  its  abettors.  So  much  the 
worse  for  the  country.  But  why 
should  we  be  blamed  for  having  simply 
spoken  the  truth?  Show  us  your 
prosperity,  if  that  prosperity  really 
exists  ;  or,  at  all  events,  be  kind 
enough  to  specify  to  us  the  pro- 
minent symptoms  of  its  coming.  We 
need  not,  we  are  well  aware,  look  for 
these  among  the  farmers.  Ministers 
have  given  that  up — never  more  de- 
cidedly, though  they  did  not  probably 
understand  the  force  of  the  language 
they  were  using,  or  its  inevitable  con- 
clusion, than  when  they  declared  their 
hope  and  expectation  that  the  British 
agriculturist,  depressed  by  foreign 
importations,  could  not  fail  to  profit 
ultimately  by  the  improved  condition 
of  the  other  classes  of  the  community ! 


The  gentleman  who  devised  that  sen- 
tence must  have  had,  indeed,  an 
implicit  reliance  in  the  gullibility  of 
mankind!  He  might  just  as  well 
have  told  the  stage-coachmen,  who 
were  driven  off  the  road  by  the  sub- 
stitution of  the  rail,  that  they  would 
be  sure  to  profit  in  the  long  run  by 
the  bettered  circumstances  of  the 
stokers !  If  that  is  all  the  comfort 
that  can  be  extended  to  the  agricul- 
turists, they  will  hardly  warm  them- 
selves by  it.  But  among  the  manu- 
facturers, if  anywhere,  we  may  look 
for  some  measure  of  prosperity ;  and 
we  grieve  to  say  that,  if  such  really 
exists,  they  take  especial  care  to  con- 
ceal it.  Talk  of  farmers  grumbling, 
indeed!  If  the  whole  race  of  corn- 
growers,  from  Triptolemus  down- 
wards, were  assembled,  and  entreated 
to  state  their  grievances  and  the 
causes  of  their  dejection,  we  defy 
them  to  produce  such  a  catalogue  of 
continued  woe  as  has  been  trumpeted 
from  the  trade  circulars  and  reports 
during  the  last  three  years.  Falling 
markets  —  continued  stagnation  — 
nothing  doing.  Such  are  the  phrases 
with  which  we  are  familiar,  and  we 
meet  with  nothing  else  ;  wherefrom 
we  conclude  either  that  the  manufac- 
turers are  all  banded  together  in  a 
league  of  unparalleled  and  very  scan- 
dalous deceit,  or  that  Free  Trade,  by 
contracting  the  home  market,  has 
made  wild  work  with  their  profits 
also.  Commercial  failures,  too,  about 
which  we  have  heard  a  good  deal, 
and  are  likely  to  hear  something 
more,  are  not  to  be  accepted  as  un- 
equivocal signs  of  the  rising  prosperity 
of  the  country. 

Messrs  Littledale  write  as  follows, 
in  their  circular  of  4th  October,  since 
which  date  much  has  occurred  to  give 
weight  and  confirmation  to  their  state- 
ments : — 

"Nothing  seems  to  change  the  unto- 
ward course  of  events  in  this  memorable 
year.  An  abundant  harvest  has  been 
gathered,  with  less  damage  and  at  less 
cost  than  for  many  years,  which  was  to 
prove  the  turning-point  in  commercial 
matters ;  instead  of  which,  the  depression 
seems  only  to  increase  from  day  to  day, 
without  apparent  cause  or  termination. 
This  state  of  things  naturally  begets  mis- 
trust amongst  money-lenders  and  bankers; 
and  just  at  the  time  when  their  support 
is  most  needed,  and  would  prove  most 


610 

valuable  in  preventing  that  ruinous  de- 
pression which  forced  sales  on  a  declining 
market  ever  produce,  their  confidence 
is  destroyed,  and  accommodation  is  re- 
fused. 

11  The  losses  on  imports  of  every  kind 
are  alarming,  and  yet  the  tide  is  unabated ; 
and  unless  a  more  vigorous  stand  is  made 
by  importers,  either  to  bring  down  prices 
in  the  foreign  market  to  a  parity  with 
our  own,  or  to  get  their  returns  home  in 
another  form  than  produce,  or,  which 
perhaps  is  the  only  true  course,  to  limit 
their  operations  to  more  legitimate 
bounds,  nothing  but  a  commercial  crisis 
can  be  expected  ;  indeed,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  abundance  of  money  and  the  large 
supply  of  bullion  from  the  West,  aided 
by  a  splendid  harvest,  we  should  doubt- 
less have  had  a  repetition  of  '47  to  some 
extent  at  the  present  moment." 

Shipowners  and  millers  tell  us  a 
tale  of  similar  disaster  ;  and  the  shop- 
keepers, if  unanimous  in  nothing  else, 
agree  that  their  business  is  decreas- 
ing. The  working-classes  have  cheap 
bread,  but  at  the  same  time  they 
have  lowered  wages  ;  so  that  the  ad- 
vantage received  on  the  one  hand  is 
neutralised  by  the  reduction  on  the 
other. 

Grievous,  therefore,  was  the  disap- 
pointment of  the  journalists,  who  had 
expected  this  year  to  wile  away  the 
lazy  autumn  in  "  hollaing  and  singing 
anthems "  in  praise  of  commercial 
resuscitation.  From  that  resource 
they  were  effectually  cut  out.  Some- 
thing was  wanted  to  vary  the  mono- 
tony of  leaders  on  the  Exhibition,  a 
capital  subject  whilst  its  novelty  lasted, 
but  soon  too  familiar  to  admit  of  in- 
definite protraction.  Sewerage  was 
overdone  last  season.  People  will 
not  submit  to  perpetual  essays  on  the 
jakes,  or  diatribes  on  the  shallowness 
of  cesspools  :  the  flavour  of  such 
articles  can  only  be  enjoyed  by  a 
thorough-paced  disciple  of  Liebig. 
It  was  therefore  with  no  small  anxiety 
that  our  brethren  awaited  the  autum- 
nal meetings  of  the  agricultural 
societies,  at  which,  since  Free  Trade 
brought  havoc  to  the  farmer's  home, 
there  has  usually  been  some  excite- 
ment manifested,  and  some  explana- 
tions required  and  given.  The  old 
rule,  that  politics  should  be  excluded 
from  these  assemblies,  is  manifestly 
untenable  at  the  present  time.  Until 
a  trade  is  established  on  a  sound  and 


Autumn  Politics.  [Nov. 

substantial  basis,  it  is  ludicrous  to 
recommend  improvements  involving 
an  enormous  additional  outlay.  The 
farmers  feel  and  know  that  the  blow 
struck  at  their  interests  has  gone  too 
deep  to  be  healed  by  any  superficial 
nostrums.  Their  struggle  is  for 
existence,  and  they  have  resolved  to 
speak  out  like  men. 

One  of  the  worst  effects  of  the  re- 
peal of  the  Cora  Laws,  and  that  which 
may  prove  the  most  permanently  de- 
trimental to  the  welfare  of  the  country, 
is  the  apparent  separation  which  it  has 
caused  in  many  cases  between  the  in- 
terests of  the  landlord  and  the  tenant. 
We  say  "  apparent,"  because  in  rea- 
lity, and  finally,  the  interest  of  both 
classes  is  the  same.  But,  in  the  mean 
time,  there  can  be  no  doubt  whatever 
that  the  farmers  have  endured  by  far 
the  greatest  share  of  the  loss.  Bound 
to  the  land  by  the  outlay  of  their 
capital  in  it  and  upon  it,  they  cannot 
abandon  their  vocation,  or  even  change 
their  locality,  without  incurring  im- 
mediate ruin.  It  is  easy  for  those 
who  know  nothing  about  the  matter, 
to  advise  them  to  emigrate  elsewhere 
if  they  cannot  procure  a  livelihood 
here.  It  is  still  easier  for  a  Free- 
trading  landlord,  to  whose  tergiver- 
sation a  great  part  of  the  mischief  is 
attributable,  to  meet  the  reasonable 
request  of  his  tenantry  for  a  reduction 
of  their  rents  with  an  intimation  that 
he  is  perfectly  ready  to  free  them 
from  the  obligation  of  their  leases. 
Such  conduct  is  not  more  odiously 
selfish  than  it  is  grossly  hypocritical, 
the  landlord  being  perfectly  well 
aware  that  it  is  out  of  the  power  of 
his  tenantry  to  accept  the  offer, 
without  at  once  sacrificing  and  aban- 
doning nearly  the  whole  of  their  pre- 
vious outlay.  The  farmer  is  tied  to 
the  stake,  and  cannot  escape.  He 
must  pursue  his  vocation,  else  he  is  a 
beggar ;  and  he  cannot  pursue  that 
vocation  without  an  annual  and  ma- 
terial loss.  Under  those  circum- 
stances, a  reduction  of  rent  is  all  the 
alleviation  which  the  farmer  can  hope 
to  obtain.  In  many  instances  he  has 
obtained  it.  We  hear  of  remissions 
made  to  the  extent  of  ten  and  fifteen 
per  cent ;  but  these  are  alleviations 
only.  The  farmer  is  still  a  loser,  and 
would  be  a  loser  were  the  remissions 
infinitely  greater.  In  former  papers 


1851.] 


Autumn  Politics. 


611 


we  have  shown  that  the  reduction 
of  fifty  per  cent  on  the  rents  through- 
out Scotland  would  not  avail  to  re- 
munerate the  farmers  at  present 
prices,  and  we  have  ample  testi- 
mony to  prove  that  in  England  the 
case  is  the  same.  On  this  matter 
of  reduction  we  shall  quote  a  few 
sentences  from  a  pamphlet  entitled 
A  Treatise  on  the  present  Condi- 
tion and  Prospects  of  the  Agricul- 
tural Interest,  by  a  Yorkshire  Far- 
mer, published  at  Leeds  in  the  present 
year : — 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  neither  farmers 
nor  landlords  have  been  aware  of  the 
magnitude  of  the  evil;  for  the  intentions 
of  several  of  our  landlords,  who,  I  have 
no  doubt,  were  actuated  by  a  desire  to 
bear  a  fair  proportion  of  the  loss,  were 
published  in  the  newspapers,  stating 
their  determination  to  reduce  their  rent 
from  ten  to  fifteen  per  cent;  and  no 
doubt  they  thought  it  would,  to  some 
considerable  extent,  countervail  the  gene- 
ral reduction  in  the  value  of  agricultural 
produce,  and  perhaps  sincerely  believed 


they  had  acquitted  themselves  of  their 
duty  as  landlords. 

"  But  as  closing  our  eyes  will  not  avert 
the  danger  now  impending,  and  threat- 
ening to  engulph  farmers  and  landlords 
in  one  general  ruin,  I  have  thought  it 
not  amiss  to  insert  the  following  table, 
which  shows  that  a  reduction  of  ten  per 
cent  does  not  reach  a  degree  approach- 
ing to  anything  like  a  comparison  with 
the  losses  farmers  are  suffering.  To  the 
occupier  of  land  rented  at  £4,  it  is  8s. 
an  acre  against  a  loss  of  £2,  4s.  Id. — 
more  than  half  his  rent.  To  the  occu- 
pier of  the  second  class,  rent  £2,  it  is  4s. 
an  acre  against  the  loss  of  £1,  14s.  7|d. 
— nearly  the  whole  of  his  rent.  To  the 
occupier  of  the  third  class,  rent  £1,  it  is 
2s.  an  acre  against  a  loss  of  £1,  6s.  4|d. 
— 6s.  4^d.  more  than  his  rent.  And  to  the 
unfortunate  occupier  of  the  fourth  class> 
rent  7s.,  it  is  Sfd.  an  acre  against  a  loss 
of  £1,  Is.  4|d. — or  more  than  three  times 
his  rent. 

"  I  have  taken  four  farms,  of  one  hun- 
dred acres  each,  of  different  descriptions 
of  soil,  showing  the  net  loss  on  each  farm, 
deducting  ten  per  cent  from  the  rent. 
For  results,  see  below  : — 


j 

og 

0    S 

K< 

Rent  per 
Acre. 

Amount  of 
Bent. 

10  per  cent, 
reduction 
on  Rent. 

Total  Outlay 
on  Farms, 
including 
Rent. 

Per-cent- 
age  on 
Outlay. 

Total  Loss 
per  Farm. 

Net  Loss, 
deducting 
10  per  cent. 

£    8.     d. 

£      s.    d. 

£     s.   d. 

£     s.    d. 

£     s.   d. 

£      s.    d. 

1 

100 

400 

400     0     0 

40    0     0 

975    8    4 

4.1 

220     8    4 

180     8    4 

2 

100 

200 

200     0     0 

20     0     0 

704    7    6 

2.8375 

173    4    7 

153    4     7 

3 

100 

1     0     0 

100    0    0 

10    0     0 

577    1    8 

1.733 

131  15    5 

121  15     5 

4 

100 

070 

35    0    0 

3  10     0 

285  17     6 

1.221 

106  19    7 

103    9    7 

*  The  above  table  shows  that,  though 
a  reduction  of  ten  per  cent  may  be 
thought  considerable  and  fair  on  the 
part  of  the  landlord,  it  is  like  a.  drop  in 
the  bucket  when  viewed  as  a  set-off 
against  the  farmer's  losses  ;  and  that 
along  with  every  possible  reduction  that 
can  be  made  on  the  rent,  other  measures, 
more  comprehensive  in  character,  must 
be  adopted,  to  place  the  farmer  in  a 
position  to  enable  him  to  cultivate  the 
soil."  * 

Thus  much  we  have  said  regarding 
the  adequacy  of  reduction  of  rent 
to  meet  the  agricultural  depression, 
because  of  late  a  very  vigorous  effort 


has  been  made  by  the  Liberal  press  to 
mislead  public  opinion  on  this  sub- 
ject. "After  all,"  say  these  organs, 
deserting  their  first  position  that 
farming  was  as  profitable  as  ever — 
"  after  all,  it  is  a  mere  question  of 
rent :  let  the  farmer  settle  that  with 
the  landlord."  It  is  not  a  mere 
question  of  rent :  it  is  the  question  of 
the  extinction  of  a  class ;  for  if,  in  the 
long  run,  it  shall  become  apparent 
that  no  reduction  of  rent,  short  of 
that  which  must  leave  the  owners  of 
the  soil  generally  without  profit, 
owing  to  the  amount  of  incumbrances 
which  are  known  to  exist  upon  the 


*  Other  tables  contained  in  the  same  pamphlet,  but  which  are  too  long  for  inser- 
tion here,  exhibit  the  various  items  and  particulars  of  the  loss  sustained. 


612 


Autumn 


land,  can  suffice  to  render  cultiva- 
tion profitable,  then  the  landlord 
must  necessarily  supersede  the  tenant, 
and  the  owner  the  occupier  ;  and  one 
of  the  two  profits  which  hitherto 
have  been  recognised  as  legitimate,  be 
extinguished.  To  this  point  things  are 
tending,  and  that  very  rapidly.  The 
process  has  begun  in  Ireland  and  in 
the  northern  parts  of  Scotland,  and 
it  will  become  more  apparent  with 
the  ebbing  of  the  tide.  Continental 
prices  cannot  rule  in  this  country 
without  reducing  the  whole  of  our 
agricultural  system  to  the  Continental 
level,  and  placing  the  collection  of  the 
revenue  and  the  maintenance  of  the 
national  credit  in  the  greatest  jeo- 
pardy. 

Still,  nothing  can  be  more  reason- 
able than  the  request  generally  urged 
by  the  farmers  for  a  reduction  of  their 
rents.  They  say,  and  say  truly,  that 
they  are  not  able  to  meet  the  pressure 
of  the  times.  They  do  not  say,  how- 
ever, that  any  reduction  which  the 
circumstances  of  the  landlords  will 
enable  them  to  make  can  suffice  to 
remedy  the  mischief.  It  insures 
them  no  profit ;  it  merely  saves  them 
from  a  certain  additional  loss.  In 
some  cases  the  landlords  either  will 
not,  or  cannot,  grant  such  reductions. 
They  have  no  margin  left  them.  They 
can  but  preach  hope  against  know- 
ledge ;  and  in  doing  so,  they  play  the 
game  of  the  enemy,  and  justly  lay 
themselves  open  to  the  charge  of 
hypocrisy.  In  fact,  what  the  farmers 
want,  is  less  areduction  of  rent — which 
they  know  to  be  but  a  temporary 
expedient — than  a  more  manly  and 
decided  attitude  on  the  part  of  the 
owners  of  the  soil.  Too  many  of  the 
landlords  allowed  themselves  to  be 
led  astray  by  the  specious  representa- 
tions of  the  Free-Traders,  or  were 
betrayed  into  supporting  the  policy 
of  a  Minister,  for  whose  antecedents 
and  ability  they  entertained  an  egre- 
giously  exaggerated  respect.  Trust- 
ing to  vamped  reports  and  speculative 
opinions,  presumptuously  hazarded  by 
men  who  knew  nothing  whatever  of 
the  subject,  they  disregarded  the  clear 
warnings  of  those  who  foresaw  the 
magnitude  and  imminency  of  the 
danger  ;  and  surrendered  themselves, 
without  retaining  the  means  of  de- 
fence, to  a  faction  which  laughed  at 


Politics.  [Nov. 

their  credulity.  These  are  the  men 
who  at  agricultural  meetings  affect 
to  talk  hopefully  of  the  prospects  of 
agriculture,  and  who  always  assure 
the  farmers  that  their  case  is  regarded 
with  the  utmost  sympathy  by  the 
Legislature.  They  are  constantly  ad- 
vising their  hearers,  not  only  to  have 
patience,  for  that  were  a  proper 
charge,  but  to  augment  the  amount 
of  their  outlay.  They  are  grand 
upon  the  subject  of  artificial  manures, 
and  seem  to  have  an  idea  that  guano 
is  an  inexhaustible  deposit.  They 
will  even  bring  down  lecturers — 
dapper  young  chemical  men  from 
laboratories — to  enlighten  their  ten- 
ants ;  but  seldom,  or  rarely,  will.they 
grant  a  single  sixpence  of  reduction. 
Is  it  wonderful  if  the  honest  farmer, 
thoroughly  alive  to  the  real  peril  of 
his  situation,  and  indignant  at  the 
treachery  of  which  he  has  been  made 
the  innocent  victim,  should  conceive 
any  feeling  but  those  of  respect  and 
cordiality  for  the  landlord  who  is 
acting  so  paltry  a  part,  and  conde- 
scending to  so  wretched  an  impos- 
ture ?  The  farmer  feels  that  now  or 
never  his  cause  must  be  resolutely 
fought.  He  knows  that  the  interest 
of  the  landlord  is  as  much  concerned 
as  his  own  ;  and  yet  when  he  applies 
to  him  for  support  and  encourage- 
ment, he  is  met  with  silly  platitudes. 
As  it  has  turned  out,  the  agricultu- 
ral meetings  of  the  present  autumn 
have  proved  far  more  fruitful  to  the 
journalists  than  they  had  any  reason 
to  expect.  Our  brethren  of  the  Libe- 
ral press  have  extracted  from  them 
grounds  for  exceeding  jubilation  and 
triumph.  Mr  Disraeli,  Mr  Palmer, 
Mr  Henley,  and  others,  justly  con- 
sidered as  very  influential  members 
of  the  Protectionist  party  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  are  represented  to  have 
expressed  themselves  in  a  manner  in- 
consistent with  the  maintenance  of 
the'great  struggle  which,  Session  after 
Session,  has  been  renewed.  They  are 
claimed  as  converts,  not  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  Free  Trade— for  those  they 
have  distinctly  repudiated — but  to 
the  doctrine  that  it  is  impossible,  by 
direct  legislation,  to  disturb  the  pre- 
sent existing  arrangement ;  and,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  a  defection  so 
serious  as  this  is  joyously  announced 
as  an  abandonment  of  the  cause  by 


1851.] 


Autumn  Politics. 


613 


several  of  those  men  who  were  its 
most  doughty  champions. 

Before  proceeding  to  consider  the 
merits  of  that  line  of  policy  which 
Mr  Disraeli  proposes  to  adopt  during 
the  ensuing  session,  and  which,  in 
his  judgment,  is  that  most  likely, 
under  present  circumstances,  to  pro- 
cure some  measure  of  relief  for  the 
agricultural  interest,  let  us  distinctly 
understand  whether  or  not  Protection, 
as  a  principle,  has  been  abandoned 
by  any  of  its  supporters  in  Parlia- 
ment. We  have  perused  the  speeches 
which  have  been  made  the  subject 
of  so  much  comment  with  the 
greatest  care  and  anxiety;  but  we 
have  not  been  able  to  discover  any 
admission  that  the  vie\vs  so  long 
and  so  ably  maintained  by  those 
gentlemen  have  undergone  an  iota 
of  change.  They  may,  indeed,  and 
very  naturally,  despair  of  success  in 
the  present  Parliament.  Knowing, 
as  they  do,  the  weight  and  appor- 
tionment of  parties  in  the  present 
House  of  Commons,  and  enabled  by 
experience  to  calculate  upon  the 
amount  of  support  which  would  be 
given  to  any  proposition,  they  may 
have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
the  best  course  of  policy  which  they 
can  adopt,  is  to  concentrate  their 
efforts  towards  obtaining  relief  from 
what  is  clearly  unjust  taxation, 
leaving  the  grand  question  of  a 
return  to  the  Protective  system  in 
the  hands  of  the  country,  to  be 
decided  at  the  next  general  election. 

This  is  our  distinct  understanding 
of  the  views  which  have  been 
announced  by  these  gentlemen.  It 
may  be  that  some  of  them  have 
not  sufficiently  guarded  themselves 
against  the  possibility  of  misrepre- 
sentation ;  an  error  of  judgment 
which,  in  the  present  state  of  the 
public  mind,  may  have  a  detrimental 
effect.  We  have  no  hesitation  in 
expressing  our  opinion  that  the  sen- 
timents uttered  by  the  Marquis  of 
Granby,  and  those  contained  in  the 
admirable  letters  of  Mr  G.  F.  Young, 
are  more  calculated  to  advance  the 
cause,  and  to  insure  co-operation 
amongst  all  classes  who  are  opposed 
to  the  bastard  system  of  Free  Trade, 
than  speeches  which  are  only  directed 
towards  a  subsidiary  point,  which 
are  apt  to  be  misunderstood,  and 


which  have  been  seized  on  by  our 
opponents  as  proofs  of  despondency 
or  despair. 

No  one,  we  believe,  expected  that, 
in  the  present  Parliament,  such  a 
change  of  opinion  could  be  wrought 
as  would  lead  to  the  immediate 
restoration  of  Protection.  In  May 
1850,  the  Earl  of  Derby,  then  Lord 
Stanley,  distinctly  explained  to  the 
delegates  who  waited  upon  him,  that 
"  it  was  not  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
it  was  not  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, it  was  in  the  country  at  large, 
that  the  battle  must  be  fought,  and 
their  triumph  must  be  achieved." 
"  You  have,"  said  the  noble  lord, 
"  the  game  in  your  own  hands.  You 
may  compel  your  present  members— 
or,  at  least,  you  may  point  out  to 
them  the  necessary,  the  lamentable 
consequences  to  themselves  of  per- 
sisting in  their  present  courses ;  and 
when  the  time  shall  come,  you  will 
have  it  in  your  own  power,  by  the  re- 
turn of  men  who  really  represent  your 
sentiments,  to  exercise  your  constitu- 
tional influence  over  the  Legislature  of 
the  country,  and  to  enforce  your  just 
demands  in  another  House  of  Parlia- 
ment.'1'' What  has  since  taken  place 
has  most  clearly  established  the 
soundness  and  wisdom  of  this  advice. 
Beyond  all  question,  the  cause  of 
Protection  during  the  last  two  years 
has  advanced  with  rapid  strides. 
The  total  failure  of  every  prophe- 
sied result  on  the  part  of  the  Free- 
Traders  —  the  continued  depression 
which  has  prevailed,  not  only  in 
agriculture,  but  in  manufactures, 
trade,  and  commerce — the  state  of 
the  working- classes,  which  has  expe- 
rienced no  amelioration  since  the 
latter  measures  of  Free  Trade  were 
carried — the  depopulation  of  Ireland, 
and  the  astounding  increase  of  emi- 
gration from  the  northern  part  of 
Great  Britain — all  have  contributed 
to  dispel  the  popular  delusion,  and  to 
give  new  courage  and  confidence  to  the 
disinterested  supporters  of  the  cause. 
Public  opinion,  in  so  far  as  that  can 
be  gathered  from  the  results  of  casual 
elections,  has  declared  itself  in  favour 
of  Protection.  Meetings  of  the  work- 
ing-classes have  been  held  in  the 
metropolis,  at  which  resolutions  in 
favour  of  a  return  to  a  general  pro- 
tective policy  have  been  passed  by 


614 

acclamation.  Nothing  whatever  has 
occurred  to  give  a  check  to  the  ad- 
vance of  these  principles ;  much  has 
transpired  to  show  how  rapidly  and 
strongly  they  are  progressing.  That 
progress  does  not  depend,  and  never 
did  depend,  solely  upon  the  result  of 
the  agricultural  experiment.  The 
true  secret  of  the  reaction  against 
Free  Trade  lies  in  this,  that  every  one 
of  the  productive  classes  of  the  com- 
munity is  interested  in  opposing  a 
system  which  crushes  and  enthrals 
labour  for  the  undue  benefit  of  the 
capitalist.  It  may  be  that,  in  some 
quarters,  that  common  interest  is  not 
yet  fully  understood.  It  may  be  that 
relative  cheapness  of  provisions  may 
be  considered  by  many  unthinking 
and  unreflective  people  in  the  light  of 
a  positive  blessing,  irrespective  alto- 
gether of  the  effect  of  that  cheapness 
in  diminishing  the  sphere  of  employ- 
ment, and  contracting  the  wages  of 
labour  at  home.  This  is  not  wonder- 
ful, because,  previous  to  the  repeal  of 
the  Corn  Laws,  the  tariff  had  been 
deliberately  altered,  and  the  pressure 
and  privation  occasioned  by  these 
first  experiments  upon  British  in- 
dustry were,  for  a  time,  materially 
relieved  by  the  fall  on  the  price  of 
provisions  consequent  on  the  later 
measures.  But  very  soon  it  became 
apparent  to  all  thinking  men,  that  the 
prostration  of  so  great  a  branch  of 
industry  as  that  of  British  agricul- 
ture must  act  prejudicially  upon  all 
the  others,  and  that  the  temporary 
benefit  was  more  than  counterbalanced 
by  the  universal  decline  of  employ- 
ment. Among  the  working-classes, 
even  in  larger  towns,  that  opinion  is 
daily  gaming  ground,  and  becoming  a 
settled  conviction.  Labour  is  so  much 
depressed  that  some  effectual  remedy 
must  be  found,  if  the  country  is  to  re- 
main without  convulsion  ;  and  it  is 
most  important  for  us  all  that  the  re- 
medy, which  may  finally  be  resorted 
to,  should  be  a  just  and  equitable 
one,  not  such  as  unscrupulous  dema- 
gogues might  apply. 

Therefore,  at  the  present  time,  and 
in  the  present  temper  of  the  public 
mind,  if  we  read  its  symptoms  aright, 
we  greatly  deprecate  any  deviation 
from  the  broad  principle  and  asser- 
tion of  Protection  to  all  branches  of 
British  Industry.  To  argue  the  Agri- 


Autumn  Politics.  [Nov. 

cultural  case  alone,  however  important 
that  may  be,  is  to  weaken  the  general 
cause,  which  is  the  cause  of  Labour. 
To  make  terms  for  the  agriculturists 
only,  by  adjustment  of  taxation  or 
otherwise,  even  if  such  adjustment 
could  by  possibility  enable  them  to 
struggle  on,  would  not  be  a  wise 
policy.  Never  let  it  be  forgotten 
that  the  Corn  Laws  could  not  have 
been  repealed,  but  for  the  previous 
alterations  on  the  tariff,  stealthily 
and  insidiously  made,  which  left 
the  agriculturists  of  Britain  in  the 
possession  of  an  apparent  mono- 
poly. As  monopolists,  they  never 
can  regain  their  former  position  ;  but 
they  may,  and,  we  believe,  will  re- 
gain it,  if  they  are  true  to  the  com- 
mon cause,  as  British  producers 
against  foreign  competition,  on  ac- 
count of  the  burdens  imposed  upon 
all  production  by  the  State,  and  on 
account  of  monetary  laws  and  changes 
which  have  more  than  doubled  their 
original  burden.  But  they  never  will 
obtain  that  justice  to  which  they  are 
entitled,  unless  they  combine  with  the 
other  classes  who  are  equally  suffer- 
ing under  the  withdrawal  of  Protec- 
tion, and  insist  upon  a  total  change 
in  the  commercial  policy  of  Great 
Britain,  as  affecting  not  this  or  that 
interest  only,  but  the  whole  mass  of 
productive  labour  upon  which  the 
wealth  of  the  nation  depends. 

We  have  no  hesitation  in  stating 
our  opinion  on  this  matter  in  the 
broadest  possible  terms.  We  do  not 
differ  from  Mr  Disraeli  in  his  esti- 
mate of  the  unequal  burdens  which 
are  laid  upon  the  land  in  comparison 
with  the  other  property  of  Great 
Britain.  That  is  a  subject  well  worthy 
of  consideration ;  and  if  it  can  be 
treated  as  entirely  subsidiary  to  the 
greater  question  of  Protection,  and 
enforced  without  any  appearance  of 
an  attempt  at  compromise,  we  are  not 
prepared  to  say  that  any  other  step, 
under  existing  circumstances,  would 
be  preferable.  But  we  cannot  regard 
any  such  adjustment  of  taxation  as  a 
remedy  of  the  grand  evil.  We  doubt  the 
advantage  to  be  derived  from  a  policy 
which,  if  successful,  would  only  pro- 
tract the  period  of  general  suffering  ; 
whilst,  in  the  mean  time,  it  will  as- 
suredly be  represented  as  an  attempt 
to  compromise  a  principle,  and  there- 


1851.] 


Autumn  Politics. 


615 


fore  weaken  the  amount  of  that  sup- 
port upon  which  we  now  can  con- 
fidently   reckon.      "  Never,"    said 
Burke,  in  his    latest  political  trea- 
tise,    "  never    succumb.      It    is    a 
struggle    for    your    existence    as    a 
nation.  But  I  have  no  fears  whatever 
for  the  result.      There  is  a  salient 
living  principle  of  energy  in  the  pub- 
lic mind  of  England,  which  only  re- 
quirej  proper  direction  to  enable  her 
to  withstand  this  or  any  other  .fero- 
cious foe.     Persevere,   therefore,  till 
this  tyranny  be  overpast."    The  les- 
son of  the  great  statesman,  though 
directed  to  other  dangers  than  those 
which  now  beset  us,  has  lost  none  of 
its  value.    Perseverance,  where  the 
principle  is  clear,  is  less  matter  of 
policy  than  a  duty ;  and  therefore  we 
cannot  but  feel  some  regret  that,  at 
such  a  time  as  this,  any  declaration 
should  have  been  made,  or  any  policy 
indicated,  which  can  have  the  effect 
of  damping  the  hopes  or  checking 
the  ardour  of  those  who  are  most  re- 
solute in  the  cause.    That  the  eiforts 
of  our  adversaries  to  misrepresent  the 
tenor  of  some  of  the  late  speeches 
have  been  partially  successful,   can 
hardly    be     doubted    by    any    one 
who  has  noted  the  prevalent  tone  at 
the    subsequent    farmers'    meetings. 
We   believe   that  Mr  Disraeli  is  at 
heart  and  by  conviction  as  much  a 
Protectionist  as  before.    We  do  not 
even  deny  that  his  tactics,  if  pursued 
and  successful,  might,  from  the  uni- 
versal impatience  of  taxation  which 
prevails,  compel  any  Ministry  then  in 
power  to  raise  an  additional  amount 
of  revenue  by  the  imposition  of  cus- 
toms duties.     Or  otherwise,  the  suc- 
cess of  his  movement  might  have  the 
effect  of  displacing  the  present  Minis- 
try, and  necessitating  an  entire  party 
change   in  Her  Majesty's  counsels. 
We  are  fully  alive  to  the  advantage 
of  one  or  other  of  these  results.    We 
are  opposed  to  further  direct  taxa- 
tion, and  we  have  no  confidence  what- 
ever in  the  present  advisers  of  the 
Crown.     But  we  cannot  approve  of 
any  move  or  any  tactics  which  may 
have  the  eifect  of  throwing  even  the 
slightest  doubt  on  the  determination 
of  the  great  Protectionist  party  to 
persevere  in  this  struggle,  until  due 
Protection  is  obtained  for  all  the  pro- 
ductive classes    of   the  community. 


That  party  has  taken  its  stand  upon 
a  principle  so  just  and  so  true,  that, 
sooner  or  later,  despite  every  effort 
on  the  part  of  its  opponents — every 
shortcoming  on  the  part  of  its  advo- 
cates— it  must  be  triumphant ;  for  the 
cause  is  that  of  the  whole  industrious 
population  of  Britain,  not  of  a  section 
or  a  class. 

Mr  Disraeli  proposes  to  equalise 
the  burdens  upon  land.  Let  us  sup^ 
pose  him  successful ;  and,  according 
to  his  own  showing,  £6,000,000  of 
taxation,  or  rather  of  local  rates, 
should  be  removed  from  the  land  and 
levied  elsewhere.  We  do  not  doubt 
the  accuracy  of  his  calculation:  we 
believe  it  to  be  strictly  correct.  But, 
were  that  grievance  remedied,  would 
the  case  be  materially  altered?  We  are 
given  to  understand  that  £90,000,000 
is  the  amount  of  the  annual  deprecia- 
tion of  agricultural  produce  which  has 
taken  place  since  the  Corn  Laws  were 
repealed.  That  calculation  was  made 
nearly  two  years  ago,  and  since  then 
prices  have  considerably  fallen.  Would 
the  farmers  accept  such  share  of  this 
£6,000,000  as  might  fall  to  their  lot 
as  a  compensation  for  their  losses? 
The  idea  is  preposterous.  We  are 
well  aware  that  Mr  Disraeli  has  never 
said  this ;  but  does  he  not  see  that, 
in  bringing  forward  this  subject  in 
any  shape  approaching  to,  or  appear- 
ing to  be,  a  compromise,  he  incurs  the 
danger  of  sacrificing  the  support,  and 
alienating  the  interest  of  the  most  im- 
portant, honest,  and  honourable  body 
of  men  that  exist  within  the  British 
dominions  ?  The  farmers  will  not 
stand  finessing.  They  neither  com- 
prehend circuitous  coups  <?etat,  nor 
will  they  follow  those  who  attempt 
them.  The  plain  English  sense  is 
hostile  to  such  manoeuvres.  They  are 
ready  to  follow  any  one  in  whose 
capacity  and  judgment  they  can  place 
reliance,  so  long  as  he  pursues  a  clear 
and  open  course ;  but  the  moment  that 
his  tactics  are  veiled,  uncertain,  or 
unintelligible,  they  lose  confidence  in 
his  guidance.  That  we  believe  to  be, 
at  all  times,  the  tendency  of  the 
English  character.  Late  events  have 
engendered,  not  without  great  reason, 
much  suspicion  of  the  sincerity  of 
public  men,  whatever  be  their  party 
or  denomination,  and  therefore  it  is 
the  more  needful  that,  wherever  a 


616 


Autumn  Politics. 


[Nov. 


principle  is  involved,  no  step  whatever 
should  be  taken  which  may  lead  to 
the  remotest  suspicion  that  such  prin- 
ciple is  about  to  be  compromised.  We 
believe  most  firmly,  most  sincerely, 
that  any  idea  of  such  compromise 
never  entered  into  the  mind  of  Mr 
Disraeli,  or  any  other  of  the  gentle- 
men whose  speeches  have  been  made 
the  subject  of  joyous  comment  by  the 
Free-Traders.  We  are  satisfied  that 
the  line  of  action  they  have  announced 
is,  in  itself,  honourable  and  praise- 
worthy ;  but  we  regret  that  they  have 
not  made  it  distinctly  and  unequivo- 
cally subordinate  to  the  grand  cause 
in  which  every  man  in  this  country, 
who  lives  by  his  labour,  physical  or 
intellectual,  is  concerned. 

We  have  long  regarded  with  much 
anxiety  the  position  of  the  farmers  of 
England.  Viewed  as  a  body,  they 
form  the  great  conservative  nucleus  of 
the  country  ;  and  it  is  to  their  hatred 
of  innovation,  sound  constitutional 
feeling,  and  determined  loyalty,  that 
we  owe  our  immunity  from  those 
democratic  convulsions  which  have 
taken  place  in  almost  every  other 
part  of  Europe.  To  subject  such  a 
class  of  men  as  this  to  gross  and  cruel 
injustice — to  persevere  in  a  policy 
which  is  reducing  them  to  ruin,  after 
its  effects  have  been  made  evident — 
to  insult  them  by  the  mock  language 
of  sympathy,  whilst  denying  them  an 
effectual  remedy — these  are  acts  of  in- 
fatuation which  were  never  committed 
by  any  British  Ministry  save  that  un- 
der Lord  John  Russell,  or  approved  of 
by  any  House  of  Commons  save  that 
which  is  presently  in  existence.  Of  the 
patience  which  the  farmers  have  exhi- 
bited under  such  trying  circumstances, 
we  cannot  speak  in  terms  of  suffi- 
cient admiration.  But  all  endurance 
has  its  limit.  The  farmers  were  con- 
tent to  wait  so  long  as  there  was 
a  reasonable  prospect  of  a  change 
of  that  policy  which  was  gradually 
bringing  them  to  ruin,  and  long 
abstained  from  joining  in  any  agita- 
tion for  purposes  which,  though  they 
might  have  had  the  effect  of  alleviat- 
ing their  condition,  were  fraught  with 
danger  to  the  commercial  credit  of  the 
country,  and  in  some  respects  to  the 
stability  of  its  institutions.  But  now, 
finding  that  both  Government  and 
Parliament  are  obstinately  deaf  to 


their  representations,  and  dogged  in 
their  refusal  of  redress — meeting  with 
far  less  support  than  they  were  en- 
titled to  expect  on  the  part  of  many 
of  the  landlords — embarrassed  and 
confused  by  the  tactics  announced  by 
some  of  their  supporters  in  Parliament 
— they  have  combined  for  their  own 
defence,  and  are  instituting  a  move- 
ment which  may  hereafter  have  a 
most  important  effect  upon  the  credit 
and  the  destinies  of  the  kingdom.  Are 
they  to  be  blamed  for  this  ?  It  would 
be  difficult  so  to  blame  them.  Bather 
let  the  blame  rest  with  those  whose 
obstinacy,  ignorance,  selfishness,  or 
pride  has  driven  them  to  this  position, 
and  compelled  the  farmer  to  seek 
from  extravagant  and  impracticable 
schemes,  and  from  clamorous  agita- 
tion, that  relief  which  was  denied  him 
as  a  sound  supporter  of  the  Consti- 
tution. 

The  nature  and  objects  of  the  Agri- 
cultural Relief  Associations  may  be 
gathered  from  the  report  of  the  Suf- 
folk meeting,  lately  held  at  Bury  St 
Edmunds.  The  assumption  of  all  the 
speakers  was,  that  Protection  cannot 
be  expected  either  from  the  present 
or  the  future  Parliament. 

"  Politicians,"  said  one  gentleman, "  were 
every  day  shifting  their  ground.  Men 
who  a  few  short  months  ago  threatened 
to  assume  the  reins  of  Government,  with 
the  express  design  of  reversing  the  policy 
of  the  last  few  years,  were  now  faltering 
in  their  purpose,  and  confessing  both 
their  inability  and  unwillingness  to  effect 
these  changes." 

Another  spoke  as  follows  : — 

"  It  was  generally  known,  that  while 
the  farmers  were  asleep  the  Free-Trade 
policy  came  into  operation.  This  at  once 
cut  off  not  less  than  20  per  cent  of  the 
capital  employed  in  farming.  This  blow 
the  farmers  felt  very  keenly.  They  at 
once  began  to  open  their  eyes,  unstop 
their  ears,  and  to  unloose  their  tongues. 
They  earnestly  inquired  what  steps 
should  be  taken  by  them  in  the  new  cir- 
cumstances under  which  they  were  placed. 
They  heard  various  voices  in  reply,  but 
the  loudest  and  most  powerful  of  these 
assured  them  that  they  would  go  back  to 
Protection,  and  that  by  next  Session  too. 
Next  Session  passed,  however,  without 
exhibiting  the  least  prospect  of  that 
result,  and  they  had  been  going  on,  Ses- 
sion after  Session,  until  the  present 
moment,  when  they  seemed  farther  from 


1851.] 


Autumn  Politics. 


617 


Protection  than  ever.  Others  told  them 
to  lay  out  all  their  capital  on  land,  and 
they  would  be  sure  to  get  remuneration. 
They  had  done  that  too,  and  their  capital 
was  gone  without  any  prospect  of  re- 
muneration." 

Another  gentleman,  hitherto  known 
as  a  staunch  Protectionist,  thus  an- 
nounced his  reasons  for  joining  the 
movement :  — 

"  The  fact  was,  that  when  he  found 
members  of  the  House  of  Commons,  who 
had  been  returned  to  Parliament  for  the 
express  purpose  of  supporting  Protection, 
saying,  behind  the  scenes,  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  expect  Protection  back  again  ; 
and  when  he  found  members  of  the 
House  of  Peers  telling  him  that  if  they 
stood  out  for  Protection  it  would  cost 
them  their  coronets,  he  was  forced  to 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  voice  of 
the  people  had  doomed  these  laws.  He 
then  began  to  ask  himself  this  plain  and 
simple  question — if  they  give  the  country 
cheap  corn,  won't  they  give  us  cheap  taxa- 
tion? He  was  willing  to  grow  corn 
against  any  man,  come  from  where  he 
might ;  'but,  at  the  same  time,  he  must 
have  a  fair  field  to  do  it  in." 

Here  are  the  views  of  the  society 
as  contained  in  the  chairman's  sum- 
mary :  — 

"  When  their  agricultural  distress  had 
been  relieved  by  the  repeal  of  the  malt- 
tax,  by  the  permanent  fixation  of  tithe 
on  an  equitable  basis,  by  the  extinction 
of  church-rates,  by  a  revision  of  the 
county  expenditure,  the  abolition  of  the 
game-laws,  the  removal  of  all  restrictions 
on  the  cultivation  of  land,  a  change  in 
the  law  of  distress,  the  rights  of  the 
tenant-farmers  recognised,  the  abominable 
abuses  of  the  poor-law  corrected,  and 
when  the  bulk  of  taxation  was  shifted 
from  the  shoulders  of  the  productive  to 
those  of  the  unproductive  classes — from 
industry  upon  wealth — then  might  they 
hope  that  honesty,  industry,  and  per- 
severance would  meet  their  due  reward." 

We  do  not  make  these  quotations 
with  any  intention  of  criticising  the 
opinions  expressed.  We  simply  lay 
them  before  our  readers  as  a  specimen 
of  that  spirit  which  is  now  possessing 
the  farmers — a  spirit  engendered  by 
wrong,  and  strengthened  by  the  suf- 
fering of  years.  If  anything  could 
make  us  believe  that  coronets  are  in 
danger  of  falling,  it  is  the  expression 
of  such  views  on  the  part  of  men  who 
hitherto  have  been  the  best  defenders 

VOL.  LXX, — NO.  CCCCXXXIII. 


of  the  Constitution,  and  the  most 
averse  to  yield  to  any  of  the  impulses 
of  change.  But,  as  we  have  already 
said,  we  cannot  blame  the  speakers. 
If  they  are  convinced  in  their  own 
minds  that  a  return  to  Protection  is 
impossible,  their  condition  is  such  that 
they  must  necessarily  have  recourse 
to  any  expedient,  however  desperate, 
which  can  afford  them  the  prospect  of 
relief.  We  have  long  foreseen  this 
crisis.  Situated  as  Great  Britain  is, 
the  choice  lies  simply  between  a  re- 
turn to  Protection  to  Labour,  and  an 
assault  on  the  public  burdens.  There 
is  no  other  alternative.  Cheapness 
may  be  established  as  the  rule,  but 
cheapness  cannot  co-exist  with  heavy 
taxation.  To  hope  that  the  burden 
can  be  shifted  from  one  shoulder  to 
another  is  clearly  an  absurdity.  If  it 
is  to  be  sustained,  the  productive 
classes  must  have  the  means  of  sus- 
taining it.  If  those  means  are  denied 
them,  the  burden  is  altogether  intoler- 
able. 

It  is  not  a  little  instructive  to 
remark  that,  even  now,  the  sup- 
porters of  Free  Trade  are  compelled 
to  stop  and  leave  their  scheme  un- 
finished. They  cannot  carry  it  out  in 
its  integrity  without  ruining  the 
finances  of  the  country.  They  have 
exposed  the  farmer  to  unlimited  com- 
petition in  produce,  but  they  still 
continue  to  restrict  the  sphere  of  his 
industry  and  production.  The  malt- 
tax  is  a  heavy  burden  upon  him,  and 
he  is  specially  prohibited  from  grow- 
ing tobacco,  or  engaging  in  the  manu- 
facture of  beetroot  sugar.  These  re- 
strictions, say  the  Free-Traders,  are 
absolutely  necessary  for  revenue. 
Granted  ;  but  if  you  put  on  restric- 
tions, are  you  not  bound  to  give  an 
equivalent  ?  As  for  the  argument  in 
favour  of  the  malt-tax,  that  it  is  the 
consumer  who  really  pays  the  duty, 
that  might  be  extended  with  equal 
justice  to  the  instance  of  raw  cotton. 
Why  is  barley,  the  produce  of  our  own 
country,  to  be  taxed,  and  cotton,  the 
produce  of  a  foreign  country,  to  be 
exempted?  Besides  this,  we  have 
always  understood  that  beer,  tobacco, 
and  sugar,  are  articles  which  enter 
largely  into  the  consumption  of  the 
agricultural  as  well  as  that  of  other 
classes ;  so  that  here  is  a  grievance 
totally  opposed  to  the  principles  of 

2R 


618 


Autumn 


Free  Trade,  and  yet  supported  and 
perpetuated  by  the  very  men  who 
have  adopted  Free  Trade  as  their 
motto  !  We  instance  these  things  as 
proofs  that  Free  Trade  never  can  be 
made,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word, 
the  law  and  system  of  the  land,  so 
long  as  the  present  enormous  expen- 
diture is  continued ;  and  in  saying 
this,  we  hope  it  will  be  understood 
that  we  are  as  much  opposed  as  ever 
to  the  views  of  the  party  who  are  for 
cutting  down  our  national  establish- 
ments. 

We  anticipate,  in  the  course  of  next 
Session,  to  hear  many  propositions 
made  on  the  subject  of  adjustment  of 
taxation.  Each  class  is  anxious  to  be 
freed  from  its  own  peculiar  burdens, 
and  to  devolve  them  upon  others ; 
and  certainly  never  was  there  any 
case  so  strong  or  so  urgent  as  that 
which  can  be  brought  forward  on  the 
part  of  the  agriculturists.  But  who 
is  to  relieve  them  ?  Will  any  other 
class  submit  to  the  transference  which 
is  necessarily  implied?  Willthemanu- 
facturers  or  the  capitalists  undertake 
to  provide  for  the  six  millions  which 
at  present  they  are  most  unjustly 
wresting  from  the  owners  and  occu- 
piers of  the  soil  ?  Here  is  the  real 
difficulty.  Justice,  we  know,  is  not 
regarded  as  an  indispensable  element 
of  taxation :  if  it  were  so,  the  income- 
tax  would  never  have  been  imposed 
in  its  present  form.  If  the  claims  of  the 
farmers  who  are  banded  together  for 
agricultural  relief  were  granted,  imme- 
diate national  bankruptcy  would  be  the 
result.  This  is  the  grand  dilemma  in 
which  we  are  placed  by  the  Free- 
Traders.  Either  a  gross  and  palpable 
act  of  injustice  and  oppression  must  be 
perpetuated — so  long  at  least  as  the 
victims  have  the  means  of  payment 
— or,  as  was  long  ago  prophesied,  the 
capitalists  and  the  fundholders  must 
suffer.  The  truth  is,  that  the  productive 
power  of  the  country  cannot  meet  the 
demands  upon  it  in  the  shape  of  taxa- 
tion if  it  remains  exposed  to  unlimited 
foreign  competition. 

In  order  properly  to  comprehend 
this  point,  which  is  one  of  the  utmost 
importance,  it  is  necessary  to  discard 
theory  altogether,  and  to  adopt  his- 
tory as  our  guide.  The  financial  sys- 
tem of  Great  Britain,  acting  upon  and 
influencing  the  commercial  arrange- 


Politics.  [Nov. 

ments  and  social  relations  of  the 
country,  is  not  difficult  of  comprehen- 
sion if  we  trace  it  step  by  step ;  and 
without  a  due  understanding  of  this, 
and  the  vast  influence  which  monetary 
laws  exercise  over  the  wellbeing  and 
progress  of  a  nation,  it  is  impossible 
for  any  one  to  form  a  sound  judgment 
on  the  conflicting  principles  of  Pro- 
tection and  Free  Trade,  or  to  discover 
the  true  and  only  source  of  the  diffi- 
culties which  now  surround  us.  It  is 
the  misfortune  of  the  present  age  that 
so  little  attention  is  paid  to  the 
abstruser  portions  of  history,  which, 
in  reality,  are  the  most  valuable  for 
us.  Wars  of  succession  or  conquest, 
naval  engagements,  records  of  in- 
trigue or  details  of  diplomatic  dexter- 
ity, have  a  peculiar  charm  and  interest 
for  readers  of  every  kind ;  but  few  take 
the  pains  to  go  more  deeply  into  the 
subject,  and  investigate  in  what  man- 
ner such  events  have  affected  the 
resources  of  a  country,  and  whether, 
by  diminishing  its  wealth  or  by  sti- 
mulating the  energies  of  its  popula- 
tion, they  have  lowered  or  raised  its 
position  in  the  scale  of  nations.  That 
portion  of  history  which  relates  to 
external  events  is  worthless  for  prac- 
tical purposes,  unless  we  combine  with 
it  the  study  of  that  portion  which  re- 
lates to  its  finance.  Under  the  modern 
system,  now  universal  throughout 
Europe,  which  leaves  the  debts  and 
engagements  of  former  generations  to 
be  liquidated  or  provided  for  by  the 
next,  no  man  can  be  called  a  states- 
man or  politician  who  has  not  addicted 
himself  to  these  studies. 

The  Funding  System,  as  is  well 
know,  began  with  the  Revolution, 
and  has  continued  up  to  the  present 
hour.  It  was  strenuously  opposed 
and  vigorously  assailed  by  some  of 
the  most  able  and  clear-sighted  in 
the  country,  such  as  Bolingbroke, 
David  Hume,  and  Adam  Smith,  who 
from  time  to  time  pointed  out  the 
consequences  which  must  ultimately 
ensue  from  this  method  of  mortgaging 
posterity,  more  especially  if  the  bur- 
den were  allowed  to  increase  without 
any  steps  being  taken  to  provide  for 
its  ultimate  extinguishment.  It  is 
the  peculiarity  of  a  debt  so  con- 
stituted, that  for  a  time  it  gives 
great  additional  stimulus  to  the  ener- 
gies of  a  country.  It  enables  it  to 


1851.] 


Autumn  Politics. 


619 


prosecute  conquests,  and  to  undertake 
designs,  which  it  could  not  otherwise 
have  achieved ;  and  it  is  not  until 
long  afterwards,  when  the  payment 
of  the  interest  or  annual  charge  be- 
comes a  severe  burden  upon  a  genera- 
tion which  had  no  share  in  contract- 
ing the  debt,  that  the  mischievous 
effects  of  the  system  become  apparent. 
At  the  outbreak  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution, the  public  debt  of  Great  Bri- 
tain amounted  to  £261,735,059,  and 
the  annual  charge  was  £9,471,675. 
A  very  large  portion  of  this  debt  was 
incurred  for  the  war  waged  with  our 
American  colonies. 

At  that  time  the  currency  of  the 
country  was  placed  on  the  metallic 
basis,  but  the  great  drain  of  the  pre- 
cious metals  occasioned  by  the  enor- 
mous subsidies  which  Great  Britain 
furnished  to  her  allies  on  the  Conti- 
nent, to  engage  their  support  against 
the  revolutionary  armies  of  France, 
reduced  the  nation  to  the  very  verge 
of  bankruptcy,  and  necessitated  in 
1797  the  suspension  of  cash  payments. 
The  immediate  effect  of  this  step 
upon  the  finances  of  the  country  has 
been  so  justly,  and  at  the  same  time 
so  clearly,  stated  by  Mr  Alison  in  his 
History  of  Europe,  and  the  con- 
sequences of  the  subsequent  return 
to  the  old  system  of  cash  payments, 
after  their  suspension  for  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  are  so  graphi- 
cally depicted,  that  we  cannot  do 
better  than  entreat  the  attention  of 
the  reader  to  the  following  extract  :— 

"  This  measure  having  been  carried 
by  Mr  Pitt,  a  committee  was  appointed, 
which  reported  shortly  after  that  the 
funds  of  the  Bank  were  £17,597,000, 
while  its  debts  were  only  £13,770,000, 
leaving  a  balance  of  £3,800,000  in  favour 
of  the  establishment ;  but  that  it  was 
necessary,  for  a  limited  time,  to  suspend 
the  cash  payments.  Upon  this,  a  bill 
for  the  restriction  of  payments  in  specie 
was  introduced,  which  provided  that 
bank-notes  should  be  received  as  a  legal 
tender  by  the  collectors  of  taxes,  and 
have  the  effect  of  stopping  the  issuing  of 
arrest  on  mesne  process  for  payment  of 
debt  between  man  and  man.  The  bill 
was  limited  in  its  operation  to  the  24th 
June  ;  but  it  was  afterwards  renewed 
from  time  to  time,  and  in  November 
1797  continued  till  the  conclusion  of  a 


general  peace  ;  and  the  obligation  on  the 
Bank  to  pay  in  specie  was  never  again 
imposed  till  Sir  Robert  Peel's  Act  in 
1819. 

"  Such  was  the  commencement  of  the 
paper  system  in  Great  Britain,  which 
ultimately  produced  such  astonishing 
effects  ;  which  enabled  the  empire  to 
carry  on  for  so  long  a  period  so  costly  a 
war,  and  to  maintain  for  years  arma- 
ments greater  than  had  been  raised  by 
the  Roman  people  in  the  zenith  of  their 
power  ;  which  brought  the  struggle  at 
length  to  a  triumphant  issue,  and  ar- 
rayed all  the  forces  of  Eastern  Europe, 
in  English  pay,  against  France  on  the 
banks  of  the  Rhine.  To  the  same  sys- 
tem must  be  ascribed  ultimate  effects 
as  disastrous,  as  the  immediate  were 
beneficial  and  glorious ;  the  continued 
and  progressive  rise  of  rents,  the  unceas- 
ing, and  to  many  calamitous,  fall  in  the 
value  of  money  during  the  whole  course 
of  the  war  ;  increased  expenditure,  the 
growth  of  sanguine  ideas  and  extrava- 
gant habits  in  all  classes  of  society  ;  un- 
bounded speculation,  prodigious  profits 
and  frequent  disasters  among  the  com- 
mercial rich ;  increased  wages,  general 
prosperity,  and  occasional  depression 
among  the  labouring  poor.  But  these 
effects,  which  ensued  during  the  war,  were 
as  nothing  compared  to  those  which 
have,  since  the  peace,  resulted  from  the 
return  to  cash  payments  by  the  bill  of 
1819.  Perhaps  no  single  measure  ever 
produced  so  calamitous  an  effect  as  that 
has  done.  It  has  added  at  least  a  third 
to  the  National  Debt,  and  augmented  in 
a  similar  proportion  all  private  debt  in 
the  country,  and  at  the  same  time  occa- 
sioned such  a  fall  of  prices  by  the  con- 
traction of  the  currency  as  has  destroyed 
the  sinking  fund,  rendered  great  part  of 
the  indirect  taxes  unproductive,  and 
compelled  in  the  end  a  return  to  direct 
taxation  in  a  time  of  general  peace. 
Thence  has  arisen  a  vacillation  of  prices 
unparalleled  in  any  age  of  the  world  ;  a 
creation  of  property  in  some  and  destruc- 
tion of  it  in  others,  which  equalled,  in  its 
ultimate  consequences,  all  but  the  dis- 
asters of  a  revolution."  * 

The  immediate  effect  of  the  sus- 
pension of  cash  payments  on  the  part 
of  the  State  bank  was  an  enormous 
increase  in  the  circulation  of  paper. 
The  prices  of  commodities  rose  to 
nearly  double  their  previous  value, 
and  a  period  of  prosperity  commenced, 
at  least  for  one  generation.  During 
the  twenty-two  years  which  elapsed 


*  ALISON'S  History  of  Europe,  chap.  xxii. 


€20 


Autumn  Politics. 


[Nov. 


from  the  suspension  of  cash  payments 
in  1797  down  to  1819,  when  their  re- 
sumption was  provided  for  by  Act  of 
Parliament,  or  at  least  during  eighteen 
years  of  that  period,  reckoning  down 
to  the  re-establishment  of  peace  in 
Europe,  the  career  of  England  has  no 
parallel  in  the  annals  of  the  world. 
The  vast  improvements  and  discoveries 
in  machinery  which  were  made  to- 
wards the  latter  end  of  the  century — 
the  inventions  of  Hargreaves,  Ark- 
wright,  Cartwright,  Crompton,  and 
Watt,  came  into  play  with  astound- 
ing effect  at  a  time  when  Great 
Britain  held  the  mastery  of  the  seas, 
and  could  divert  the  supplies  of  raw 
material  from  all  other  shores  except 
her  own.  During  the  hottest  period 
of  the  war,  and  in  spite  of  all  prohi- 
bitions, England  manufactured  for 
the  Continent.  Capital,  or  that  which 
passed  for  capital,  was  plentiful; 
credit  was  easy,  and  profits  were 
enormous.  Some  idea  of  the  rapidity 
with  which  our  manufactures  pro- 
gressed may  be  drawn  from  the  fact 
that,  whereas  in  1785  the  quantity 
of  cotton  wrought  up  was  only 
17,992,882  Ibs.,  in  1810  it  had  in- 
creased to  123,701,826.  Under  this 
stimulus  the  population  augmented 
greatly.  The  rise  in  the  value  of 
commodities  gave  that  impulse  to 
agriculture  by  means  of  which  tracts 
of  moorland  have  been  converted  into 
smiling  harvest-fields,  fens  drained, 
commons  enclosed,  and  huge  tracts 


reclaimed  from  the  sea.  The  average 
price  of  wheat  in  1792,  was  42s.  lid.; 
in  1810,  it  was  106s.  2d.  per  quarter. 
Wages  rose,  though  not  in  the  same 
proportion,  and  employment  was 
abundant. 

In  short,  the  paper  age,  while  it 
lasted,  transcended,  in  so  far  as 
Britain  was  concerned,  the  dreams  of 
a  golden  era.  Those  who  suffered 
from  the  suspension  of  cash  payments 
were  the  original  fundholders,  annui- 
tants, and  such  landlords  as  had  pre- 
viously let  their  properties  upon  long 
leases.  But  the  distress  of  such 
parties  was  little  heard,  and  less 
heeded,  amid  the  hum  of  the  multi- 
tudes who  were  profiting  by  the 
change.  The  creditor  might  be  in- 
jured, but  the  debtor  was  largely 
benefited.  One  immediate  effect  of 
this  rise  in  prices  was,  a  correspond- 
ing rise  in  fixed  salaries  and  the  ex- 
penses of  government.  Hence,  the 
domestic  expenditure  of  the  country 
was  greatly  increased ;  new  taxes 
were  levied,  and  the  permanent 
burden  of  the  National  Debt  augment- 
ed to  an  amount  which,  sixty  years 
ago,  would  have  been  reckoned  en- 
tirely fabulous.  As  a  specimen  of 
the  increased  expense  of  cultivating 
arable  land,  it  may  here  be  worth 
while  to  insert  the  following  com- 
parative table,  calculated  by  Mr 
Arthur  Young,  and  laid  before  a 
committee  of  the  House  of  Lords. 
The  extent  is  one  hundred  acres  : — 


COMPARATIVE  TABLE  OF  THE  EXPENSES  OF  ARABLE  LAND. 


1790. 

1803.     ^ 

1813. 

Rent, 
Tithe,       . 
Rates,      . 
Wear  and  tear 
Labour,    . 
Seed,        . 
Manure, 
Team, 
Interest,  . 
Taxes,     . 

£88     6    31- 
20  14     \l 
17  13  10 
15  13     5| 
85     5    4 
46    4  10| 
48     0     3 
67    4  10 
22  11  11| 
000 

£121     2    7J 
26     8     0| 
31     7    72 
22  14  10i 
118     0    4 
49    2    7 
68     6     2 
80    8     0| 
30     3     8£ 
000 

£161  12     1\ 
38  17     3| 
38  19     2| 
31     2  lOf 
161  12  Hi 
98  17  10 
37    7    0| 
134  19     8| 
50     5    6 
18     1     4 

Total, 
Deduct  rent, 

£411  15  11| 
88  6  3| 

£547  10  lli 
121     2     7i 

£771  16     4i 
161  12     7| 

Nett  expenses, 

£323     9     8| 

£426     8     4£ 

£610     3     9| 

Price  of  wheat  per  quarter, 

46s. 

56s.  9d. 

108s.  9d. 

1851.] 


Autumn  Politics. 


621 


So  long  as  the  war  lasted,  the  im- 
port of  corn  from  abroad  into  this 
country  was  insignificant  in  amount. 
In  1814  the  amount  of  wheat  and 
wheat  flour  brought  in  amounted  to 
only  681,333  quarters,  being  consider- 
ably above  the  average  of  years  since 
the  commencement  of  the  century. 
In  fact,  Britain  was  then  self-support- 
ing. In  time  of  war  it  is  plain  that, 
from  our  insular  position,  we  cannot 
trust  to  any  supplies  beyond  those 
which  are  raised  at  home,  and  there 
cannot  be  any  doubt  of  the  capability 
of  the  land  to  support  a  much  larger 
population  than  that  which  presently 
exists.  To  those  who  glance  super- 
ficially at  the  above  table,  the  price 
of  wheat  in  the  year  1813  will  appear 
monstrous,  even  when  the  great  in- 
crease in  the  cost  of  cultivation  is 
taken  into  account.  This  is  the 
error,  and  it  is  a  gross  one,  which  has 
been  studiously  perpetuated  by  our 
statists,  and  even  by  some  eminent 
writers  on  political  economy.  True, 
the  price  of  wheat  was  then  108s.  9d., 
but  it  was  estimated  in  a  depreciated 
currency.  Owing  to  various  causes 
which  it  would  be  tedious  to  explain, 
the  apparent  difference  between  the 
value  of  the  pound  note  and  the 
guinea  was  far  slighter  than  might 
have  been  expected,  not  amounting 
to  more  than  seven  or  eight  shillings, 
and  actual  depreciation,  by  sale  of 
the  notes  for  less  than  their  nominal 
value,  was  by  statute  made  penal. 
The  price  of  gold  and  silver  bullion 
never  rose  to  an  extent  commen- 
surate with  the  depreciation  of  the 
paper:  in  fact  the  coinage,  as  must 
be  in  the  recollection  of  many,  almost 
entirely  disappeared,  and  was  re- 
placed by  tokens  of  little  intrinsic 
value,  which  served  as  the  medium  of 
interchange.  In  this  depreciated  and 
fluctuating  currency  commodities  were 
valued,  and  by  far  the  greater  part  of 
our  National  Debt  was  contracted. 
The  paper  pound  in  1813  was  proba- 
bly, we  may  almost  say  certainly,  not 
worth  more  than  10s.  of  metallic  cur- 
rency. In  this  view  the  quarter, 
estimated  according  to  the  present 
standard,  was  sold  for  54s.  4^d. — a 
price  which  modern  statesmen  allow 
to  be  barely  remunerative. 

If  this  point  were  generally  under- 
stood, a  vast    amount   of  delusion 


which  possesses  the  public  mind  would 
be  dispelled.  The  relative  value  of 
money  to  commodities  has  been  as 
entirely  changed,  by  the  return  to 
cash  payments,  as  if  shillings  had 
been  substituted  for  sixpences.  If  the 
creditor  suffered  in  1797,  the  debtor 
has  suffered  far  more  severely  in  con- 
sequence of  the  Act  of  1819,  as  we 
shall  immediately  proceed  to  show. 
Meantime,  we  shall  entreat  the 
reader  to  keep  in  mind  that  all  in- 
comes and  expenditure,  public  or 
private,  during  the  war  and  the  sus- 
pension of  cash  payments,  are  to  be 
estimated  not  by  our  present  metallic 
standard,  but  by  the  fluctuating  value 
of  a  depreciated  currency. 

When  peace  was  established  the 
ports  were  opened.  Then  it  became 
evident  that  foreign  importations,  if 
permitted,  would  at  once  and  for  ever 
extinguish  the  landed  interest.  The 
annual  charge  of  the  debt  alone  was,. 
in  1816,  the  first  year  of  peace, 
£32,938,751  ;  and  the  current  annual 
expenditure  £32,231,020—  in  all,  up- 
wards of  sixty-five  millions.  Had, 
therefore,  the  price  of  wheat  in  Britain- 
been  suddenly  reduced  to  the  Con- 
tinental level,  as  would  have  been  the 
case  but  for  the  imposition  of  the 
Corn  Laws,  the  national  bankruptcy 
would  have  been  immediate.  No 
argument  is  required  to  prove  this  ; 


an  it  has  often  struck  us  as  singular 
that  this  crisis  —  for  such  it  was  —  has 
been  so  seldom  referred  to,  especially 
in  later  discussions.  We  are  not 
now  defending  the  original  suspension 
of  cash  payments  —  a  measure  which,. 
nevertheless,  seems  to  us  to  have'Jbeen- 
dictated  by  the  strongest  political 
necessity,  however  baneful  its  results 
may  prove  to  the  present  and  future 
generations.  We  simply  say,  that 
eighteen  years'  operation  of  that 
system,  with  the  enormous  expendi- 
ture and  liabilities  which  it  entailed, 
rendered  Protection  necessary  the 
moment  importation  was  threatened, 
to  save  the  country  from  immediate 
bankruptcy  following  on  its  unparal- 
leled efforts. 

It  is  utter  folly,  and  worse,  to  say, 
as  political  economists  now  contend, 
and  as  ignorant  demagogues  aver, 
that  the  Corn  Laws  were  originally 

Eroposed  solely  for  the  benefit  of  the 
indlords.    Without  the  imposition 


Autumn  Politics. 


[Nov. 


of  such  laws,  the  whole  financial 
system  of  Great  Britain  must  in- 
stantly have  disappeared.  The 
amount  of  taxes  which  were  required — 
first,  to  pay  the  interest  of  the  National 
Debt,  and,  secondly,  to  meet  the  ex- 
penses of  Government,  (greatly  in- 
creased by  the  change  in  the  monetary 
laws  effected  in  1797) — rendered  Pro- 
tection to  labour  and  to  native  pro- 
duce absolutely  indispensable.  How 
could  it  be  otherwise  ?  Had  wheat 
been  sold  in  the  British  market  at 
46s.,  or  even  50s.,  from  what  sources 
could  the  revenue  have  been  levied  ? 
Under  the  new  system,  the  expenses 
of  cultivation  had  nearly  doubled  in 
twenty-three  years — could  the  pro- 
duce be  put  back  to  the  same  rates 
as  before  ?  So  long  as  the  monetary 
system  then  established  did  exist, 
that  was  clearly  impossible.  Pro- 
tection was  imperatively  demanded, 
not  by  any  class  of  the  community, 
but  by  the  state.  To  refuse  it 
would  have  been  national  suicide.  And 
so  it  was  carried,  doubtless  very  much 
against  the  inclination  of  the  popu- 
lace, who  naturally  enough  expected 
that  the  return  of  peace  would  bring 
with  it  some  substantial  advantages 
in  the  shape  of  cheapness,  and  were 
proportionally  disappointed  when  they 
discovered  that  the  whole  rent- charge 
of  the  wars,  which  had  been  so  long 
maintained,  must  be  liquidated  before 
they  could  taste  the  anticipated  bless- 
ings of  the  cheap  loaf. 

The  return  to  cash  payments,  ef- 
fected by  the  Act  of  1819,  is  by  far 
the  most  important  event  in  our  his- 
tory since  the  change  of  dynasty.  We 
believe  that  the  late  Sir  Robert  Peel, 
then  a  very  young  man,  who  was 
made  the  mouthpiece  of  a  particular 
party  on  that  occasion,  really  did  not 
understand,  to  its  full  extent,  the 
tremendous  responsibility  which  he 
incurred.  He  acted  simply  as  the 
exponent  of  the  measure,  at  the  in- 
stigation and  by  the  direction  of  Mr 
Ricardo,  who,  under  the  guise  of  a 
political  economist,  concealed  the 
crafty  and  selfish  motives  of  the  race 
from  which  he  originally  sprung.  Ri- 
cardo  was  at  that  time  considered  a 
grand  authority  on  matters  of  finance, 
his  field  of  preparatory  study  having 
been  the  Stock  Exchange,  on  which 
he  is  understood  to  have  realised  a 


large  fortune.  All  his  prepossessions, 
therefore,  were  in  favour  of  the  capi- 
talists ;  and  it  is  not  uncharitable  to 
conclude  that  his  private  interests  lay 
in  the  same  direction.  That  act  pro- 
vided for  the  gradual  resumption  of 
cash  payments  throughout  England, 
to  be  consummated  in  1823,  for  the 
establishment  of  a  fixed  gold  standard, 
and  for  the  withdrawal  of  all  bank- 
notes under  the  amount  of  five  pounds. 
Had  this  act  been  carried  into  effect 
in  all  its  integrity,  general  bankruptcy 
must  have  immediately  ensued,from  the 
absorption  of  the  circulating  medium. 
The  existence  of  the  small  notes,  how- 
ever, was  respited,  and  this  enabled 
the  country  bankers  to  go  on  for  some 
time  without  a  crash.  Still  the  vio- 
lent contraction  of  the  currency,  so 
caused,  had  the  necessary  effect  of 
spreading  dismay  throughout  all  sec- 
tions of  the  community.  The  circula- 
tion of  the  Bank  of  England,  at  27th 
February  1819,  was  £25,126,700.  On 
the  28th  February  1823,  it  was  con- 
tracted to  £18,392,240.  At  the  former 
period  its  private  discounts  amounted 
to  more  than  nine  millions ;  at  the  lat- 
ter, they  were  considerably  under  five. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  the  country 
bankers  were  compelled  to  follow  the 
example  of  the  great  establishment, 
and  the  immediate  results  of  this 
grand  financial  measure  may  be  de- 
scribed in  a  few  words.  The  tree  was 
thoroughly  shaken.  According  to  Mr 
Doubleday — 

"  As  the  memorable  first  of  May  1823 
drew  near,  the  country  bankers,  as  well 
as  the  bank  of  England,  naturally  pre- 
pared themselves,  by  a  gradual  narrow- 
ing of  their  circulation,  for  the  dreaded 
hour  of  gold  and  silver  payments  "  on 
demand,"  and  the  withdrawal  of  the  small 
notes.  We  have  already  seen  the  fall  of 
prices  produced  by  this  universal  narrow- 
ing of  the  paper  circulation.  The  effects 
of  the  distress  produced  all  over  the 
country — the  consequence  of  this  fall — 
we  have  yet  to  see. 

"  The  distress,  ruin,  and  bankruptcy, 
which  now  took  place,  were  universal; 
affecting  both  the  great  interests  of  land 
and  trade;  but  amongst  the  landlords, 
whose  estates  were  burdened  by  mort- 
gages, jointures,  settlements,  legacies,  &c., 
the  effects  were  most  marked,  and  out  of 
the  ordinary  course.  In  hundreds  of 
cases,  from  the  tremendous  reduction  in 
the  price  of  land  which  now  took  place, 


1851.]  Autumn  Politics. 

the  estates  barely  sold  for  as  much  as 
would  pay  off  the  mortgages;  and  hence 
the  owners  were  stripped  of  all,  and  made 
beggars.  I  was  myself  personally  ac- 
quainted with  one  of  the  victims  of  this 
terrible  measure.  He  was  a  schoolfellow, 
and  inherited  a  good  fortune,  made  princi- 
pally in  the  West  Indies.  On  coming  of 
age,  and  settling  with  his  guardians,  he 
found  himself  possessed  of  fully  forty 
thousand  pounds;  and  with  this  he  re- 
solved to  purchase  an  estate,  to  marry, 
and  to  settle  for  life.  He  was  a  young 
man  addicted  to  no  vice;  of  a  fair  under- 
standing, and  a  most  excellent  heart;  and 
was  connected  with  friends  high  in  rank, 
and  likely  to  afford  him  every  proper 
assistance  and  advice.  The  estate  was 
purchased,  I  believe,  about  the  year  1812 
or  1813,  for  eighty  thousand  pounds,  one 
moiety  of  the  purchase  money  being  bor- 
rowed on  mortgage  of  the  land  bought. 
In  1822-3  he  was  compelled  to  part  with 
the  estate,  in  order  to  pay  off  his  mort- 
gage, and  some  arrears  of  interest;  aud 
when  this  was  done,  he  was  left  without 
a  shilling — the  estate  bringing  only  half 
of  its  cost  in  1812."  * 

But  isolated  instances,  however 
great  may  be  their  interest,  will  not 
adequately  exhibit  the  effects  of  this 
measure  upon  the  vital  interests  of 
the  country.  At  least  one  half  of  the 
National  Debt  was  incurred  after  the 
suspension  of  cash  payments,  and 
during  the  prevalence  of  the  Paper 
Currency.  The  interest  of  that  debt 
was  no\v,  and  in  all  time  coming,  to 
be  paid  in  coin  greatly  above  the 
value  of  the  currency  in  which  it 
was  contracted  ;  and  the  Private 
Creditor  shared  in  the  advantage 
which  thus  was  given  to  the  Fund- 
holder.  The  taxes  were  all  to  be 
levied  in  the  same  way,  the  metallic 
standard  being  made  of  universal 
application.  As  a  matter  of  course, 
prices  fell,  and  fell  in  a  correspond- 
ing ratio. 

The  great  prosperity  of  England 
during  the  war,  and  the  unexampled 
development  of  its  resources,  whether 
agricultural,  manufacturing,  or  com- 
mercial, may  be  traced  to  the  com- 
bination of  at  least  three  causes.  In 
the  first  place,  England  was  tho- 
roughly protected.  Her  artisans  and 
labourers  had  nothing  to  fear  from 
foreign  competition.  They  had  the 


623 

monopoly  of  their  own  home  market, 
and  were  not  liable  to  be  undersold 
by  the  products  of  other  nations.  In 
the  second  place,  we  had  a  most  ex- 
tensive foreign  trade,  the  real  value 
of  which  cannot  be  ascertained  from 
the  official  tables,  owing  to  the  manner 
in  which  that  trade  was  carried  on. 
But  even  according  to  the  defective 
records  which  we  possess,  it  appears 
that  our  exports  in  1805  were  equal 
to  those  of  1823,  many  of  the  inter- 
mediate years  showing  a  much  larger 
amount.  In  1810,  our  exports  were 
close  upon  forty-six  millions  ;  in  1832 
they  were  barely  above  thirty-six. 
In  the  third  place,  the  country  pos- 
sessed a  large  circulating  medium, 
which  gave  ample  scope  to  enter- 
prise. We  shall  not  enter  upon  the 
vexed  question  of  systems  of  cur- 
rency in  the  abstract ;  it  is  enough 
for  us  to  know  that  for  more  than 
twenty  years  British  prosperity  went 
on  without  a  check,  until  it  was 
strangled  by  the  bullionists.  At  pre- 
sent, we  have  neither  Protection,  nor 
an  Expanded  Currency.  Our  foreign 
trade,  in  so  far  as  exports  are  con- 
cerned, is  nominally  large  ;  but  those 
who  are  best  qualified  to  judge  of  the 
value  of  that  trade,  declare  that  it  is 
unremunerative. 

We  are  therefore  very  much  at  a 
loss  to  know  what  element  of  pro- 
sperity exists  at  the  present  time. 
We  have  every  faith  in  British 
energy  if  it  is  allowed  fair  play,  but 
that  is  precisely  what  we  contend  is 
not  vouchsafed  to  it.  Our  whole 
legislation,  under  the  guidance  of  the 
political  economists,  may  be  charac- 
terised as  a  systematic  attempt  to 
depress  British  industry.  This  could 
not  have  been  effected  at  once,  or  by 
one  isolated  effort :  several  attacks 
upon  the  productive  classes  were  re- 
quired before  this  was  consummated. 
The  change  of  currency  lowered  the 
value  of  produce,  and  increased  the 
burden  of  taxation.  In  other  words, 
it  brought  down  both  prices  and 
wages,  to  the  manifest  gain  of  the 
capitalist.  Then  came  the  gradual 
relaxation  of  the  tariff,  which  has  re- 
sulted in  free  importation — a  mea- 
sure by  which  alljthe  working-classes, 


Financial  History  of  England.     By  THOMAS  DOUBLEDAY. 


624 


without  any  exception,  are  assailed. 
This  was  effected  with  a  perseverance 
and  ingenuity  which  we  cannot  help 
admiring,  even  when  we  denounce  it 
as  diabolical.  The  first  advances  to 
Free  Trade  were  no  more  remarked  by 
the  public  in  general  than  the  foot- 
marks of  the  tiger  in  the  jungle  when 
he  advances  stealthily  on  his  prey. 
The  real  instigators  were  the  export- 
ing manufacturers.  After  the  return 
of  peace,  they  saw  clearly  enough 
that  their  old  monopoly  was  at  an 
end.  Cobbett  wrote,  very  shrewdly, 
though  in  his  own  peculiar  manner,  in 
1815:— 

"  It  is  now  hoped  by  some  persons  that 
the  restoration  of  the  Pope,  the  Inquisi- 
tion, the  Jesuits,  and  the  Bourbons,  will 
so  far  brutalise  the  people  of  the  Conti- 
nent of  Europe  that  we  shall  have  no 
rivals  in  the  arts  of  peace;  and  that  thus 
we  shall  be  left  to  enjoy  a  monopoly  of 
navigation,  commerce,  and  manufactures; 
and  be  thereby  enabled  to  pay  the  inte- 
rest on  our  debt,  and  to  meet  the  enor- 
mous annual  expenses  of  our  government. 
Without  stopping  to  comment  on  the 
morality  and  humanity  of  this  hope,  en- 
tertained in  a  country  abounding  with 
Bible  Societies,  I  venture  to  give  it  as 
my  decided  opinion,  that  the  hope  is 
fallacious.  Russia,  Denmark,  Sweden, 
Holland,  Austria,  Spain,  the  Italian 
States,  and  even  the  Bourbons,  will  all 
push  forward  for  their  share  of  the  bene- 
fits of  the  arts  of  peace.  While  our 
purse  is  open  to  them  all,  they  will  be 
subservient  to  us;  but  that  cannot  be  for 
ever." 

The  old  sergeant  was  perfectly 
right — with  the  return  of  peace  our 
monopoly  of  the  foreign  market  was 
over  ;  but  the  question  still  remained, 
whether,  by  the  sacrifice  of  home 
labour,  our  exporting  manufacturers 
might  not  be  able,  for  a  considerable 
period  at  least,  to  keep  ahead  of  their 
new  rivals  in  distant  markets.  Un- 
fortunately for  us  all,  the  political 
economists  determined  to  make  the 
attempt. 

In  some  important  branches  of 
manufacture  Britain  was  still  unri- 
valled. The  nearest,  readiest,  and 
therefore  most  lucrative  market  for 
these  was  to  be  found  in  Europe,  and 
in  consequence,  it  was  deemed  neces- 
sary that  concessions  should  be  made 
to  admit  some  kinds  of  produce  as  im- 
ports, byway  of  inducing  theforeigners 


Autumn  Politics.  [Novr 

to  concede  a  free  admission  to  our 
exports.  There  is  a  scene  in  Shak- 
speare's  play  of  Julius  Ccesar,  in  which 
Antony,  Octavius,  and  Lepidus  are 
represented,  seated  at  a  table,  con- 
ceding amicably  the  deaths  of  the 
near  relations  of  each,  in  exchange 
for  a  similar  surrender.  This  is  not 
quite  a  parallel  to  the  case  before  us. 
Our  statesmen  doomed  their  friends 
and  fellow-countrymen  without  re- 
quiring a  reciprocal  sacrifice,  and  the 
consequence  was  that  we  gradually 
opened  our  home  market  to  the 
foreigner,  without  insisting  that  he 
should  render  to  us  the  same  measure 
of  justice.  The  artisans  were  the 
first  to  feel  the  blow.  They  had 
already  suffered,  most  severely,  from 
the  change  in  the  currency,  which 
brought  down  prices,  and,  with  them, 
the  remuneration  of  labour  ;  and  the 
withdrawal  of  Protection  from  them 
made  them  the  natural  enemies  of  all 
those  who  were  still  shielded  from 
foreign  competition.  The  feeling  was 
perfectly  natural.  The  system  begun 
by  Huskisson,  and  consummated  by 
Peel,  could  have  no  other  effect  than 
in  arming  one  class  of  the  community 
against  the  other.  Deprive  John 
forcibly  of  his  coat,  under  the  pretext 
of  justice,  and  he  will  immediately 
insist  that  the  same  measure  of  depri- 
vation shall  be  extended  to  James. 
He  has  a  converse  of  a  Christian  rule 
to  utter  in  his  defence — "  Why  should 
not  others  be  done  to,  precisely  as  I 
have  been  done  by  ?  " 

This  argument,"  in  the  hands  of  its 
able  advocates,  has  proved  irresis- 
tible. John  and  James  are  alike  with- 
out coats  ;  and  until  they  agree  with 
one  another,  and  come  to  a  common 
understanding,  there  is  not  much 
likelihood  of  their  resumption  of  their 
necessary  wear.  It  never  has  been, 
and  never  can  be,  for  the  interest  of 
the  producer  that  prices  should  be 
generally  low.  Very  great  nonsense 
has  of  late  years  been  talked  by  pub- 
lic men,  and,  amongst  others,  by 
members  of  the  present  cabinet,  re- 
garding the  "  natural  price  "  of  corn. 
They  seem  to  think  that  they  have 
stumbled  upon  a  happy  phrase,  and 
claim  credit  to  themselves  for  patriot- 
ism in  resisting  all  attempts  to  make 
the  bread  of  the  people  dearer.  But 
they  do  not,  or  will  not,  see  that  the 


1851.] 


Autumn  Politics. 


625 


great  body  of  the  people  are  interested 
in  this  question,  not  as  consumers,  but 
as  producers.  The  vast  majority  of 
the  population  of  these  islands  have 
hitherto  derived  their  means  of  sub- 
sistence, not  from  manufactures,  but 
from  the  soil.  Manufactures  do  not 
in  reality  constitute  more  than  one- 
fourth  part  of  the  annual  creation  of 
our  wealth  ;  and  two-thirds  at  least 
of  all  our  manufactures  are  intended 
for  the  home  market,  and  will  be  pro- 
fitable or  not  according  to  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  general  body  of 
consumers.  Now,  the  natural  price 
of  corn  depends  upon  the  circum- 
stances of  the  country 'in  which  it 
is  produced.  It  may  be  ten  shillings 
in  Poland :  it  may  be  sixty  shillings 
in  England.  No  doubt  you  can  get 
corn,  and  are  getting  it,  from  Poland 
far  cheaper  than  you  can  raise  it  in 
England — but  at  what  cost  ?  Why, 
at  the  sacrifice  of  that  enormous 
capital  which  has  been  sunk  in  the 
cultivation  of  the  land,  and  of  nearly 
one-half  of  the  annual  creation  of  our 
wealth ! 

The  average  price  of  wheat,  for  a 
number  of  years  preceding  1790,  was 
46s.  per  quarter.  It  is  so  stated  in 
Mr  Arthur  Young's  table,  which  we 
have  given  above,  and  may  be  taken 
as  the  average  of  thirty  years.  The 
average  for  1790  was  considerably 
higher,  for  we  observe  that  Mr  Porter 
states  it  at  53s.  2d.  Now,  since  that 
period,  both  the  amount  of  our  debt 
and  of  our  current  annual  public  ex- 
penditure has  been  tripled — that  is,  we 
have  three  times  as  much  to  pay  in 
the  shape  of  taxation  as  formerly. 
This  is  independent  of  poor-rates 
and  local  taxation,  which  have  also 
greatly  increased.  That  being  the 
case,  we  ask  how  it  is  possible  that 
corn  can  be  grown  now  in  Britain  at 
a  profit,  when  the  ruling  price,  owing 
to  importations  from  abroad,  is  eight 
shillings  per  quarter  lower  than  it  was 
on  an  average  of  years  preceding 
1790  ?  The  absurdity  is  palpable. 

How,  then,  are  the  taxes  to  be  paid? 
That  is  the  question.  Not  out  of  the 
profits  of  the  foreign  trade  certainly, 
for  the  whole  value  of  our  exports  is 
not  much  above  the  amount  of  the 
national  expenditure,  and  when  we 
add  the  local  taxes,  would  not  reach 
one-half  of  the  requisite  sum.  Be- 


sides, at  the  present  moment,  the 
exports  are  not  nearly  balancing  the 
imports.  According  to  the  official 
tables,  the  declared  value  of  the  ex- 
ports for  the  year  ending  5th  January 
1850,  was  £63,596,025;  the  official 
value  of  the  imports  for  the  same 
period  was  £105,874,607.  We  pre- 
sume it  will  be  admitted  that  taxes 
can  only  be  permanently  paid  out  of 
profits,  and  we  want  to  know  where 
these  profits  are?  It  is  perfectly 
evident  that  the  cultivation  of  the 
land  cannot  be  carried  on  for  ever  at 
a  loss.  Sooner  or  later  both  capital 
and  credit  must  be  exhausted  ;  soils 
of  an  inferior  description — indeed  all 
except  the  best  land  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  towns — must  be  aban- 
doned and  withdrawn  from  tillage, 
and  the  working-classes  will  find 
themselves  utterly  unable  to  meet  the 
demands  of  taxation.  An  immense 
portion  of  our  taxation  is,  and  must 
be,  drawn  from  the  labouring  men. 
They  contribute  largely  to  our  reve- 
nue through  the  customs  and  excise, 
and  the  extent  of  their  consumption 
depends  entirely  upon  the  amount  of 
the  wages  which  they  receive.  Any 
measure  which  tends  to  lessen  the 
sphere  of  production  is  a  direct  blow 
at  their  interests.  Cheap  bread  is 
just  another  word  for  low  wages,  as 
already  many  of  them  have  discovered 
to  their  cost;  and  we  have  now 
arrived  at  that  stage  of  the  experi- 
ment when  its  effects  will  be  rapidly 
developed. 

Mr  Porter,  whose  brains  are  prin- 
cipally valuable  in  the  preparation  of 
cumbrous  statistics,  breaks  out,  for 
once  in  a  way,  into  a  fine  burst  of 
eloquence  on  the  subject  of  over-po- 
pulation. Let  us  hear  him  in  his 
animated  mood : — 

"  Whence  arises  this  fear  — this 
childish  fear  of  the  increase  of  our 
numbers? — childish,  because  it  exists 
without  regard  to  the  lessons  of  expe- 
rience. What  evidence  is  there  in 
our  present  condition  to  justify  the 
complaint  of  '  surplus  population,' 
that  did  not  exist  in  as  great,  or  even 
in  a  greater  degree  of  force,  when  our 
numbers  had  not  reached  one-half 
their  present  amount?  Why,  then, 
shall  we  not  go  forward  to  double, 
and  again  to  double  our  population 
in  safety,  and  even  to  advantage,  if, 


626 


Autumn  Politics. 


[Nov. 


instead  of  rearing  millions  of  human 
clods,  whose  lives  are  passed  in  con- 
suming the  scanty  supplies  which  is 
all  that  their  task  of  intelligence  en- 
ables them  to  produce,  the  universal 
people  shall  have  their  minds  culti- 
vated to  a  degree  that  will  enable 
each  to  add  his  proportion  to  the 
general  store  ?  "  * 

Good  lack,  Mr  Porter,  there  was  no 
occasion  at  all  for  your  putting  your- 
self into  such  an  inconvenient  heat ! 
Nobody,  so  far  as  we  know,  is  making 
any  complaint  of  surplus  population. 
You  and  your  friends  have  taken 
effectual  measures  to  prevent  such  a 
state  of  matters,  and  we  may  now 
rest  without  any  apprehension  of  a 
visit  from  the  ghost  of  Malthus.  The 
"  universal  people  "  alluded  to  in 
your  last  brilliant  though  somewhat 
unintelligible  sentence,  are  likely  to 
follow  your  advice,  and  abstain  from 
"  rearing  millions  of  human  clods,"  at 
least  upon  British  soil.  Be  satisfied — 
you  have  done  for  the  clods.  Ireland 
is  a  noble  example  of  your  trophies  in 
that  way  ;  and  if  you  want  to  glorify 
yourself  on  another,  you  may  refer  to 
the  Scottish  Highlands.  The  true 
way  to  provide  against  the  evils  of 
over-population  is  to  lower  the  value 
of  produce,  which  is  the  condition  of 
labour,  below  the  remunerative  point. 
Do  that,  and  you  may  make  a  wilder- 
ness out  of  the  most  fertile  region  of 
the  earth.  But  then,  Mr  Porter,  did 
you  never  ask  yourself  what  is  to 
become  of  those  who  derive  their  sub- 
sistence and  incomes  from  the  labour 
of  these  self-same  clods?  A  good 
many  of  us,  we  suspect,  are  in  that 
condition,  and  very  melancholy  in- 
deed would  be  our  countenances  if 
called  upon  to  assist  at  the  funeral  of 
the  last  of  that  race.  "  Meddle  not," 
said  the  Giant,  in  the  German  fable, 
to  his  child,  who  had  picked  up  a 
peasant  as  a  plaything — "  meddle  not 
with  the  husbandman !  But  for  him, 
what  would  become  of  us  Giants  ?  " 
It  would  be  well  if  you  and  your  poli 
tical  allies  had  the  intelligence  to 
apprehend  the  moral. 

The  Times,  in  a  late  number,  has 
treated  the  subject  of  emigration  in  a 
lively  manner.  The  depopulation 


which  has  taken  place  since  Free 
Trade  became  the  law  of  the  land,  is 
too  startling  a  fact  to  be  passed  over 
without  notice;  and  it  is  thus  that  the 
leading  journal  speculates  on  the 
strange  phenomenon.  The  announce- 
ment in  the  opening  sentence  may 
puzzle,  if  not  alarm,  some  of  the  most 
zealous  advocates  of  foreign  produc- 
tion :— 

"The  stream  of  emigration  now 
set  towards  America  will  not  stop  till 
Ireland  is  absolutely  depopulated  ; 
and  the  only  question  is,  when  will 
that  be  ?  Twenty  years  at  the  pre- 
sent rate  would  take  away  the  whole 
of  the  industrious  classes,  leaving  only 
the  proprietors  and  their  families, 
members  of  the  learned  professions, 
and  those  whose  age  or  infirmities 
keep  them  at  home.  Twenty  years 
are  but  a  short  time  in  treating  great 
social  or  political  questions.  It  is 
more  than  twenty  years  since  the 
passing  of  the  Emancipation  Act  and 
the  introduction  of  the  Reform  Bill. 
What  if  it  should  really  come  to  pass 
that  before  another  twenty  years  the 
whole  Celtic  race  shall  have  disap- 
peared from  these  isles,  and  the  pro- 
blem of  seven  centuries  received  its 
solution  ?  We  dwell  in  wonderful 
times,  in  an  age  of  great  discoveries, 
splendid  improvements,  and  grand 
consummations.  Art  has  always 
been  found  the  handmaid  of  human 
developments.  The  discovery  of  gun- 
powder put  an  end  to  the  little  wars 
and  little  states  of  the  middle  ages, 
and  introduced  larger  political  mani- 
pulations. The  discovery  of  printing 
prepared  for  the  revival  of  learning 
and  arts,  and  paved  the  way  to  the 
Reformation.  The  discovery  of  the 
mariner's  compass  showed  our  navi- 
gators a  path  to  the  East  Indies  and 
the  New  World.  It  may  be  the  first 
mission  of  railways  to  set  all  the 
populations  of  the  Old  World  on  the 
move,  and  send  them  in  quest  of  in- 
dependent and  comfortable  homes. 

"And  when  will  this  movement 
stop?  Incuriousness  and  prejudice 
are  ready  with  the  reply,  that  it  will 
stop,  at  all  events,  when  the  Celtic 
race  is  exhausted.  The  Englishman, 
we  are  assured,  is  too  attached  to  his 


PORTER'S  Progress  of  the  Nation)  p.  692. 


1851.] 


Autumn  Politics. 


627 


country,  and  too  comfortable  at  home, 
to  cross  the  Atlantic.  But  surely  it 
is  very  premature  to  name  any  such 
period  for  this  movement,  or  to  say 
beforehand  what  English  labourers 
will  do,  when  seven  or  eight  millions 
of  Irish  have  led  the  way  to  comfort 
and  independence.  The  Englishman 
is  now  attached  to  his  own  home, 
because  he  knows  of  no  other.  His 
ideas  of  other  regions  are  dark  and 
dismal.  He  trembles  at  the  thought 
of  having  to  grope  his  way  through 
the  Cimmerian  obscurity  of  another 
hemisphere.  The  single  fact  that  he 
will  have  no  '  parish  '  in  America  is, 
in  his  mind,  a  fatal  bar  to  locomotion. 
But  all  this  is  quickly  passing  away. 
Geography,  union  workhouses,  ocean 
mails,  and  the  daily  sight  of  letters 
arriving  in  ten  days  from  prosperous 
emigrants,  are  fast  uprooting  the 
British  rustic  from  the  soil,  and  giving 
him  cosmopolitan  ideas.  In  a  very 
few  years  the  question  uppermost  in 
his  mind  will  be  whether  he  will  be 
better  off  here  or  there  ?  Whether  he 
should  go  with  the  young  and  enter- 
prising, or  stay  at  home  with  the  old 
and  stupid  ?  If  a  quarter  of  a  million 
British  subjects  have  left  this  country 
for  the  Australian  colonies  in  the 
present  generation,  there  may  easily 
be  a  much  larger  movement  to  a 
nearer  and  more  wealthy  region.  It 
has  been  imagined,  indeed,  that  such 
a  migration  will  have  a  natural  ten- 
dency to  stop  itself  at  a  certain 
stage.  We  are  told  that  the  English 
labourer  will  find  a  new  field  in 
Ireland,  deserted  by  the  Celt.  It 
will,  however,  cost  no  more  effort 
of  mind  to  cross  the  ocean  at  once 
than  to  cross  the  Irish  Channel  for 
a  land  which,  in  the  English  mind, 
must  ever  be  associated  with  violence 
and  blood.  High  wages,  again,  we 
are  told,  the  enjoyment  of  a  liberal 
government,  and  an  improved  condi- 
tion, will  bind  the  Englishman  afresh 
to  the  soil  of  his  ancestors.  But 
when  you  make  the  English  labourer 
richer,  more  independent,  more  in- 
telligent, and  more  of  a  citizen,  you 
have  put  him  more  in  a  condition  and 
temper  to  seek  his  fortune,  wherever 
it  may  be  found.  The  men  who  in 
the  United  States  leave  their  homes 
for  the  Far  West  are  generally  they 
Who  have  prospered  where  they  are, 


and  who  want  the  excitement  of 
another  start  in  life.  On  the  whole, 
we  are  disposed  to  think  that  the  pro- 
spect is  far  too  serious  to  be  neglected, 
or  treated  as  a  merely  speculative 
question.  The  depopulation  of  these 
isles,  supposing  the  Celtic  exodus  to 
run  out  its  course,  and  a  British  exo- 
dus to  follow,  constitute  about  as 
serious  a  political  event  as  can  be 
conceived ;  for  a  change  of  dynasty, 
or  any  other  political  revolution,  is 
nothing  compared  with  a  change  in 
the  people  themselves.  All  the  de- 
partments of  industry — the  army,  the 
navy,  the  cultivation  of  the  fields,  the 
rent  of  landed  property,  the  profit  of 
trades,  the  payment  of  rates  and  taxes 
— depend  on  the  people,  and  without 
the  people  there  must  ensue  a  general 
collapse  of  all  our  institutions.  We 
are,  however,  rather  desirous  to 
recommend  the  question  to  the  con- 
sideration of  others,  and  especially  of 
our  statesmen,  than  to  answer  it  our- 
selves." 

Is  it  only  now  that  this  question  is 
submitted  to  the  consideration  of  our 
statesmen  ?  Why,  if  they  are  states- 
men at  all,  they  must  have  thought 
and  dreamed  of  little  else  for  the  last 
few  years.  The  picture  here  pre- 
sented, though  a  frightful  one,  is  by 
no  means  new.  It  has  been  drawn 
over  and  over  again  by  the  advocates 
of  the  protective  policy,  and  as  re- 
gularly ridiculed  by  the  Free-Traders 
as  a  suggestion  of  a  diseased  imagi- 
nation. Now,  the  facts  have  emerged, 
the  prophecy  has  proved  strictly 
true,  and  we  are  asked  to  consider 
about  a  remedy!  What  remedy  is 
there  open  to  us,  save  one?  Let 
labour  be  made  remunerative  at  home, 
which  can  only  be  done  by  Protec- 
tion, and  we  shall  answer  for  it  that 
the  tide  of  emigration  will  be  stayed. 
People  do  not  leave  their  country 
and  their  homes,  at  least  in  numbers 
like  this,  except  under  the  coercion 
of  the  most  stringent  necessity.  Give 
an  Englishman  work  to  do,  and  wages 
to  live  by,  and  he  will  rather 
remain  here  than  attempt  to  better 
his  condition  in  a  foreign  soil.  But 
in  order  that  he  may  remain  here,  his 
labour  must  be  protected.  Very 
truly  says  the  writer  in  the  Times, 
that  "  all  the  departments  of  indus- 
try, the  army,  the  navy,  the  cultiva- 


628 


tion  of  the  fields,  the  rent  of  landed 
property,  the  profit  of  trades,  the 
payment  of  rates  and  taxes,  depend 
on  the  people;  and  without  the 
people,  there  must  ensue  a  general 
collapse  of  all  our  institutions."  To 
every  word  of  this  we  adhere.  But 
unless  we  can  suppose  that  the  people 
will  submit  to  the  degraded  position 
of  the  foreign  serfs,  with  whose  pro- 
duce they  are  now  called  upon  to 
compete,  Britain  cannot  hope  to  re- 
tain anything  like  its  present  popu- 
lation. The  exodus  must  go  on,  and 
every  vestige  of  our  former  greatness 
disappear.  Unprotected  labour  and 
high  taxation  cannot  exist  together. 
Prolong  the  struggle  as  we  may,  the 
experience  of  each  succeeding  month 
will  show  the  impossibility  of  such  a 
reconciliation. 

We  are  curious  to  know  if,  with 
such  facts  before  them  as  those 
admitted  in  the  Times,  Ministers  will 
have  the  temerity  next  year  to  assure 
us  that  the  country  generally  is  in 
prosperous  circumstances.  Do  men 
emigrate  wholesale  from  prosperous 
countries  ?  Are  they  ever  ready  to 
leave  comfort  behind  them,  and  re- 
commence the  struggle  of  life  on  a 
more  unpromising  field  ?  If  we  are 
forced  to  reject  that  conclusion,  then 
we  defy  any  one  to  arrive  at  another 


Autumn  Politics.  [Nov.  1851. 

save  this — that  our  recent  legislation 
has  so  narrowed  the  sphere  of  la- 
bour, and  so  depressed  its  prospects, 
that  the  population  are  driven  per 
force  from  their  native  country,  to 
seek  elsewhere  the  means  of  exis- 
tence which  they  cannot  procure  at 
home. 

To  talk  of  Protection  as  hopeless, 
is  to  acquiesce  in  the  national  doom. 
All  classes  of  the  community,  from 
the  fundholder  and  capitalist  down 
to  the  meanest  labourer,  have  a  stake 
in  this  great  question.  Let  not  the 
former  deceive  themselves.  Without 
the  labour  of  the  people  their  securi- 
ties are  as  valueless  as  the  mere  paper 
on  which  they  are  written.  There- 
fore, it  is  their  part  to  see  that  no 
line  of  policy  shall  be  allowed  to  con- 
tinue if  it  has  the  effect  of  drying  up 
the  springs  of  our  national  prosperity. 
If  they  will  not  listen  to  the  remon- 
strances of  the  distressed,  let  them  at 
all  events  view  their  own  position  dis- 
passionately. We  may  be  on  the 
verge  of  a  great  crisis,  and  a  great 
struggle  may  be  approaching,  but  we 
have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  the 
cause  which  must  ultimately  prevail 
is  that  which  is  essentially  the  cause 
of  the  people.  Prosperity  will  only 
return  to  the  nation  when  Native 
Industry  is  protected. 


Printed  by  William  Blackwood  $  Sons,  Edinburgh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBURGH    MAGAZINE. 


No.  CCCCXXXIV. 


DECEMBER,  1851. 


VOL.  LXX. 


TO   THE   SHOPKEEPERS   OF   GREAT  BRITAIN. 


GENTLEMEN, — As  it  is  customary 
for  most  men  about  this  season  of  the 
year,  when  accounts  are  balanced  and 
squared,  to  take  a  serious  survey  of 
the  posture  of  their  affairs,  and  to 
examine  into  their  business  prospects, 
perhaps  you  may  not  consider  a  few 
observations,  touching  the  welfare 
and  position  of  that  important  class 
of  the  community  to  which  you  be- 
long, either  impertinent  or  ill-timed. 
You  are  aware  that,  for  the  last  year 
or  two,  Her  Majesty's  Ministers  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  opening  Parlia- 
ment with  a  congratulatory  assurance 
of  the  continued,  and  even  augment- 
ed, prosperity  of  the  country.  The 
reason  why  such  statements  were 
made,  altogether  irrespective  of  their 
truth  or  falsehood,  is  obvious  enough. 
In  a  political  point  of  view,  they 
were  necessary  for  the  vindication  of 
the  measures  which  Government 
either  originated  or  adopted.  To  have 
admitted  that  the  country  was  not 
prospering  under  the  new  commercial 
system,  would  have  been  considered 
by  the  public  as  tantamount  to  an 
acknowledgment  that  the  policy  which 
dictated  those  measures  was  vicious  ; 
and  that  the  Whig  ministry,  if  not 
deficient  in  duty,  had  at  least  erred 
sorely  in  judgment.  In  private  life, 
we  rarely  meet  with  that  degree  of 
candour  which  amounts  to  an  unequi- 
vocal admission  of  error  in  point  of 
judgment  —  in  public  life,  such  an 
admission  is  altogether  unknown. 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXIV. 


Failure  may  indeed  be  acknowledged 
when  the  fact  becomes  too  evident  to 
admit  of  further  denial;  but  the 
causes  of  that  failure  are  never 
attributed  to  their  real  source.  Not 
only  the  purity  of  the  motive,  but  the 
wisdom  of  the  conception,  is  vindi- 
cated to  the  last.  In  this  case,  how- 
ever, failure  is  totally  denied.  So  far 
from  being  put  upon  their  defence, 
the  Whigs  maintain  that  they  have 
achieved  a  triumph.  Their  averment 
is,  that,  with  the  exception  of  the 
agricultural  producers,  among  whom 
they  allow  that  a  certain  degree  of 
distress  prevails,  all  other  classes  of 
the  community  are  prosperous.  Even 
for  the  agriculturists  there  is  balm  in 
store.  The  prosperity  of  the  other 
classes  is  to  react  upon  them ;  so 
that,  within  some  indefinite  period  of 
time,  we  shall  all  find  ourselves  in 
circumstances  of  ease  and  comfort 
which  have  hitherto  been  unknown  in 
our  land. 

With  you  the  benefit  is  represented, 
not  as  prospective,  but  as  present. 
The  agriculturist  may  have  to  wait  a 
little  longer,  but  you  are  already  pro- 
vided for.  Your  cake  is  baked  ;  and 
we  are  assured  that  you  are  eating  it 
in  thankfulness  and  joy.  If  this  ia 
really  the  case,  there  is  no  more  to  be 
said  on  the  subject.  If  the  harvest 
of  Free  Trade  has  actually  yielded 
you  such  a  large  measure  of  profit,  it 
would  be  madness  in  any  one  to  decry 
that  line  of  policy  in  your  hearing. 
2s 


630 

You  constitute  the  class  which,  from 
its  peculiar  position  and  vocation,  is 
better  qualified  than  any  other  to 
judge  accurately,  and  from  experience, 
of  the  degree  of  prosperity  which  is 
actually  known  in  the  country.  The 
verdict  of  twelve  shopkeepers,  given 
after  an  inspection  of  their  books  for 
an  average  of  years,  ought  to  be  of 
more  weight,  in  settling  the  merits  of 
any  disputed  commercial  question, 
than  the  random  assurances  of  a 
dozen  cabinet  ministers  whose  repu- 
tation and  official  existence  are  bound 
up  in  the  vindication  of  their  own 
policy.  The  reason  of  this  is  per- 
fectly obvious.  Your  profit  is  simply 
a  commission  upon  your  sales.  You 
do  not  produce  or  manufacture 
articles  of  consumption — you  simply 
retail  them.  Your  profit  depends 
upon  the  briskness  of  trade,  that  is, 
the  amount  of  demand.  It  rises  or 
falls  according  to  the  general  circum- 
stances of  your  customers.  In  good 
times  you  make  large  profits ;  in  bad 
times  those  profits  decrease.  One 
while  your  stock  sells  off  rapidly  ;  at 
another,  it  remains  upon  your  hands. 
Your  interest  is  inseparable  from  that 
of  the  great  body  of  consumers  by 
whom  you  live.  You  have  little  or 
nothing  to  do  with  the  foreign  trade ; 
for,  whatever  be  the  nature  of  the 
articles  in  which  you  deal,  you  sell 
them  in  the  home  market.  You  have, 
therefore,  the  best  opportunity  of 
estimating  the  real  condition  of  your 
customers.  The  state  of  your  own 
books,  and  the  comparative  degree  of 
ease  or  difficulty  which  you  experience 
in  the  collection  of  your  accounts, 
furnish  you  with  a  sure  index  of  the 
purchasing  power  of  the  community. 
Compared  with  this  criterion,  which 
is  common  to  every  man  among  you, 
tables  of  exports  and  imports,  state- 
ments of  bank  bullion,  and  such  like 
artificial  implements  as  have  been 
invented  by  the  political  impostors 
and  economists,  are  absolutely  worth- 
less. When  our  sapient  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer,  or  Mr  Labouchere, 
tell  you,  with  an  air  of  unbounded 
triumph,  that  the  exportation  of 
calicoes  to  China  or  Peru  has  mightily 
increased  —  and  therefore  argue, 
without  condescending  to  inquire 
whether  such  exportation  has  been 
attended  with  any  profit  at  all  to  the 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


[Dec. 


manufacturers,  that  the  prosperity  of 
the  country  is  advancing  at  a  railway 
pace — you  may  indeed  be  gratified  by 
the  statistical  information,  but  you 
will  fail  to  discover  in  what  way  the 
public  are  benefited  thereby.  It  is 
pleasant  to  know  that  there  are  fif- 
teen millions  of  gold  in  the  vaults  of 
the  Bank  of  England,  and  that,  so 
long  as  this  hoard  remains  undimi- 
nished,  there  is  little  chance  of  a  com- 
mercial crisis,  or  a  violent  contraction 
of  credit.  But  we  take  it  you  would 
be  infinitely  better  pleased  to  know 
that  sovereigns  were  circulating  freely 
from  hand  to  hand  amongst  the  people, 
and  that  your  customers  had  their 
pockets  so  well  filled  as  to  enable 
them  to  purchase  largely,  and  to  pay 
their  accounts  when  due.  To  you 
any  depression  whatever  is  a  serious 
matter— a  depression  which  assumes 
a  permanent  appearance  cannot  be 
much  short  of  ruin.  Therefore  you 
ought  most  especially  to  take  care 
that  no  false  representation  is  made 
regarding  your  circumstances,  which 
may  be  the  means  of  perpetuating 
a  system  that  has  already  proved 
detrimental  to  a  large  body  of  your 
customers. 

Were  we  to  take  for  granted  the 
ministerial  statement  of  prosperity — 
which  no  doubt  will  be  repeated  next- 
February — your  Whig  minister  being 
an  incorrigible  cuckoo — this  paper 
would  certainly  not  have  been  writ- 
ten. But,  having  had  occasion  early 
to  doubt  the  truthfulness  of  this 
vernal  note,  and  having  taken  some 
pains  to  examine  the  statements 
which  from  time  to  time  are  issued 
by  the  great  houses  engaged  in  com- 
mercial and  manufacturing  industry, 
as  also  the  accounts  of  the  present 
condition  of  the  poor,  which  have  ex- 
cited so  much  public  interest,  we 
have  really  been  unable  to  discover 
any  one  influential  class,  beyond  the 
money-lenders  and  creditors,  or  any 
one  large  and  important  branch  of 
industry,  which  can,  with  truth,  be 
described  as  prospering,  or  will  con- 
fess to  the  existence  of  such  pro- 
sperity. Shipmasters,  manufacturers, 
merchants,  iron-masters,  and  agricul- 
turists, all  tell  the  same  tale.  This 
is  very  strange.  You  may  possibly 
remember  that  Mr  M'Gregor,  once 
Secretary  to  the  Board  of  Trade,  and 


1851.] 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


now  member  for  Glasgow,  the  great 
commercial  city  of  Scotland,  estimated 
the  additional  amount  of  wealth  which 
was  to  accrue  to  Great  Britain,  in 
consequence  of  the  repeal  of  the  Com 
Laws,  at  two  millions  sterling  per 
week!  Upon  what  data  that  pro- 
found gentleman,  who  thus  enunci- 
ated the  prophecy  and  assumed  the 
mask  of  Midas,  proceeded  in  his  cal- 
culation, we  know  not,  and  perhaps 
it  would  be  superfluous  to  inquire.  It 
certainly  was  a  good  round  sum  ;  for, 
by  this  time,  without  insisting  upon 
compound,  or  even  simple  interest,  it 
should  have  amounted  to  rather  more 
than  one-half  of  the  national  debt ; 
but  unfortunately  nobody  will  own  to 
having  fingered  a  farthing  of  the 
money.  In  recalling  to  your  memory 
this  little  circumstance,  it  is  by  no 
means  our  intention  to  offer  any  dis- 
respect to  the  intellectual  powers  of 
M'Gregor,  for  whom,  indeed,  we  en- 
tertain a  high  degree  of  veneration, 
similar  to  that  which  is  manifested 
by  the  Mussulman  when  he  finds 
himself  in  the  company  of  a  howling 
derveesh.  We  merely  wish  to  repro- 
duce to  you  one  phantom  of  the 
golden  dream,  which,  five  or  six 
years  ago,  when  the  fever  of  gain  was 
epidemical,  possessed  the  slumbers  of 
so  many ;  and  having  done  so,  to  ask 
you,  now  that  the  fever  is  gone, 
whether  it  was  not  indeed  a  phantom? 
We  are  wiser  now — at  all  events,  we 
have  had  more  experience— and  the 
producing  classes  tell  us  very  dis- 
tinctly, and  quite  unanimously,  that 
they  have  derived  no  benefit  what- 
ever from  the  commercial  changes 
which  have  taken  place.  Capital, 
whether  invested  in  ships,  factories, 
mines,  or  land,  is  less  profitable,  and 
therefore  less  valuable,  than  it  was 
before ;  and  in  some  instances,  where 
the  depression  has  been  most  heavy, 
it  has  been  almost  annihilated. 

These  are  not  our  statements,  but 
the  statements  of  the  several  inte- 
rests, as  put  forward  by  their  own 
representatives.  They  are  state- 
ments which  emanate  alike  from  the 
Free-Trader  and  the  Protectionist. 
Men  may  differ  as  to  the  cause,  but 
they  all  agree  as  to  the  grand  fact  of 
the  depression.  So  that,  when  we 
hear  ministers  congratulating  them- 
selves and  the  country  upon  its  gene- 


631 

ral  prosperity,  and,  part  passu  with 
this  congratulation,  find  the  accredited 
organs  of  each  of  the  great  branches 
of  productive  industry  vehemently 
asserting  that  they  are  exceptions 
from  the  general  rule,  an  anxious 
believer  in  the  probity  of  all  parties 
has  his  faith  somewhat  rudely  shaken. 
We  believe  that,  collectively,  you 
are  the  best  judges  as  to  this  dis- 
puted matter.  As  the  real  wealth  of 
the  country  depends  upon  the  amount 
and  value  of  its  yearly  produce — as 
from  that  annual  creation,  when  mea- 
sured by  the  monetary  standard,  and 
circulated  through  a  thousand  chan- 
nels, all  our  incomes  are  derived — 
you,  who  supply  the  whole  population 
with  the  necessaries  and  luxuries  of 
life,  (fabricated  by  others,  but  passing 
through  your  hands,)  must  neces- 
sarily have  the  best  means  of 
knowing  whether  the  circumstances 
of  that  population  have,  on  the  aggre- 
gate, been  bettered  or  made  worse. 
When  Napoleon  in  the  bitterness  of 
his  heart  declared  that  we  were  a 
nation  of  shopkeepers,  he  uttered  no 
terms  of  reproach,  though  he  intended 
to  convey  a  taunt.  Your  position 
in  the  community  is  such  that  you 
cannot  flourish  independent  of  its 
general  prosperity.  The  exporting 
manufacturer,  and  even  the  foreign 
merchant,  may  multiply  their  gains, 
and  realise  fortunes,  whilst  other 
classes,  whose  wellbeing  is  far  more 
important  to  the  stability  of  the 
empire,  are  hastening  to  decay.  Such 
phenomena  are  common  in  old  states, 
when  the  process  of  dissolution  has 
begun.  The  parasite  lives  and  thrives, 
while  the  tree  round  which  it  has 
wound  its  tendrils  is  crumbling  into 
rottenness.  But  such  is  not  your 
case.  Your  interests  are  identical 
with  those  of  the  productive  classes, 
for  without  them  you  could  not  exist. 
Ill-remunerated  labour — unproductive 
capital  —  lessened  means  —  deterio- 
rated property  —  are  things  which 
affect  you  as  deeply  as  though  you 
were  the  direct  sufferers  or  losers. 
Upon  the  wealth  of  your  customers 
depends  your  own.  And  therefore, 
in  such  an  important  crisis  as  the 
present,  when  the  existing  commer- 
cial system  of  the  country  is  vigor- 
ously assailed  by  one  party,  and  as 
obstinately  defended  by  another — 


632 

when  facts  and  statements  apparently 
of  much  weight  are  adduced  on  either 
side,  to  serve  as  arguments  for  the 
overthrow  or  the  maintenance  of  that 
system — when  some  cite  statistical 
tables  to  prove  that  the  country 
must  be  prosperous,  and  others  ad- 
duce real  evidence  to  show  that  the 
reverse  is  the  case — you  cannot  aiford 
to  sit  idly  by,  without  throwing  the 
weight  of  your  testimony  and  expe- 
rience into  one  or  other  of  the  scales. 
You  have  had  admirable  opportuni- 
ties of  noticing  the  working  of  the 
Free-Trade  system.  It  matters  not 
what  were  the  original  prepossessions 
of  any  of  you,  or  what  might  have 
been  your  opinion  with  regard  to  the 
merits  of  this  or  that  scheme,  while  it 
was  still  in  embryo  and  untried.  A 
more  complex  question  than  that  of 
Free  Trade,  as  affecting  the  importa- 
tion of  corn,  probably  never  was  pre- 
sented to  the  public  consideration. 
Many  excellent,  judicious,  and  tho- 
roughly patriotic  men,  relying  upon 
the  truth  of  statements  which  were 
regarded  by  others  as  mere  plausible 
theories,  were  willing  to  submit  to 
the  experiment.  And  when,  by  the 
grossest  act  of  political  perfidy  that 
was  ever  perpetrated — an  act  .which 
future  times,  if  not  the  present,  will 
stigmatise  with  deserved  opprobrium 
— the  last  and  most  important  change, 
save  that  which  subsequently  assailed 
our  maritime  interest,  was  suddenly 
effected,  it  was  the  declared  opinion 
of  the  majority  that  the  new  system 
must  at  least  have  a  trial,  until  its 
real  results  were  developed,  and  until 
it  became  apparent  to  the  nation 
whether  or  not  Free  Trade  would 
operate  for  the  advantage  of  the 
people,  as  its  advocates  and  pro- 
moters had  predicted. 

Here  we  must,  for  a  moment  or 
two,  however  unwillingly,  digress. 
The  later  measures  of  Free  Trade 
have  assailed  interests  so  important 
and  so  strong,  that  its  former  and 
earlier  advances,  stealthily  and  cau- 
tiously made,  have  almost  faded  from 
the  public  view.  Free  Trade,  as  a 
political  system,  did  not  alone  strike 
at  the  agricultural  or  the  shipping 
interest.  Since  the  days  of  Mr  Hus- 
kisson,  who  brought  with  him  into 
active  life  the  principles  which  he 
had  imbibed  in  youth  from  his  asso- 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


[Dec. 


dates    in    French    Jacobinism,    the 
principles  of  Free  Trade  have  been 
gradually  _but  cautiously  applied  to 
various  branches  of  British  industry. 
The  slow  and  insidious  nature  of  the 
movement  on  the  part  of  the  states- 
men, who,  even  then,  were  yielding 
to  the  influence  of  the  modern  eco- 
nomical school,  showed  their  distrust 
of  the  system,  which,  if  true,  ought 
at  once  to  have  been  openly  promul- 
gated.  Like  the  late  Sir  Robert  Peel, 
Huskisson  was  destitute  of  that  manly 
courage  which  scorns  concealment  or 
deceit,   and  walks  steadfastly  to  its 
goal.     Cunning  \vas  an  ingredient  of 
his  nature :     whatever  he  did  was 
accomplished  by  tortuous  methods, 
and  vindicated  upon  false  pretences. 
The  tendency  of  that  policy  which 
he  commenced  was  to  maintain  by 
all  means,  at  all  hazards,  and  at  the 
sacrifice,  if  needful,  of  every  other 
interest,    the    manufacturing    supre- 
macy   of   England    in    the    foreign 
market — an  object  for  which  we  still 
are  striving,  though  at  the  imminent 
risk  of  the  dismemberment  of   the 
British  empire.   It  is  due,  however,  to 
the  memory  of  Mr  Huskisson,  to  re- 
mark, that,  although  the  originator  of 
this  policy,  he  does  not  seem  to  have 
contemplated  the  extent  to  which  it 
wrould  be  carried  out  by  his  succes- 
sors.   His  opinions  upon  the  subject 
of    protection    to    agriculture    were 
clear  and  decided :    "  There  is    no 
effectual    security,    either   in    peace 
or  war,  against  the   frequent  return 
of  scarcity,  but  in  making  ourselves 
independent  of  foreign  supply.     Let 
the  bread  we  eat  be  the  produce  of 
corn  grown  among  ourselves  ;  and,  for 
one,  I  care  not  how  cheap  it  is — the 
cheaper  the  better.    It  is  cheap  now, 
and  I  rejoice  at  it,  because  it  is  alto- 
gether owing  to  a  sufficiency  of  corn 
of  our  own  growth  ;  but,  to  insure  a 
continuance  of  that  cheapness,  and  that 
sufficiency,  we  must  insure  to  our  own 
growers  protection  against  foreign  im- 
portation, which  has  produced  those 
blessings,  and  by  which  alone  they  can 
be  permanently   maintained."      The 
time,  however,  was  fast  approaching 
when  the  reins  of  government  were  to 
fall  into  the  hands  of  a  scion  of  the 
manufacturing  body,  in  whose  eyes 
the  momentary  supremacy  of  party  was 
of  more  importance  than  any  prin- 


1851.] 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


ciple  of  national  policy.  There  is  no 
more  curious  page  in  history  than 
that  which  records  the  rise  of  British 
manufactures  towards  the  close  of 
last  century.  Invention  after  inven- 
tion, whereby  manual  labour  was 
superseded  by  machinery,  and  the 
power  of  production  almost  indefi- 
nitely multiplied,  'paved  the  way  for 
that  monopoly  which  our  manufac- 
turers enjoyed  for  at  least  a  quarter 
of  a  century,  during  which  time  every 
other  country  in  Europe  except  our 
own  was  devastated  by  war,  and  the 
peaceful  arts  forgotten  or  overthrown. 
It  wras  during  that  period  that  the 
gigantic  fortunes  of  the  Arkwrights 
and  the  Peels  were  made,  and  that 
influence  secured  to  the  manufac- 
turing body  in  the  British  House  of 
Commons  which  it  never  possessed 
before.  But  with  the  return  of  peace 
the  monopoly  disappeared.  By  in- 
vention in  mechanical  appliances, 
Britain  had  the  start  of  other 
nations  in  the  creation  of  manufac- 
tures ;  by  war,  she  was  enabled 
long  to  enjoy  the  undivided  benefits. 
But  inventions  are  not  the  property 
of  a  single  nation ;  they  pass  from 
one  to  another  with  the  rapi- 
dity of  lightning  ;  they  are  avail- 
able by  the  foreign,  even  more 
easily  than  by  the  domestic,  rival. 
Hence  it  very  soon  became  apparent 
that  other  states  were  preparing  to 
compete  with  us  in  those  branches 
of  industry  which  had  proved  so 
exceedingly  profitable.  France,  Bel- 
gium, Germany,  Russia,  Switzerland, 
and  America,  all  entered  keenly  into 
the  contest ;  and  then  commenced 
that  decline  of  prices  which  has 
continued,  almost  without  intermis- 
sion, to  the  present  hour.  Recipro- 
city treaties  were  tried,  but  were  in 
fact  of  little  avail ;  for  the  great  bulk 
of  the  English  exports  consisted  of 
those  very  textile  fabrics  which  it 
was  the  object  of  each  country  to 
produce  for  its  own  consumption, 
if  not  to  export  to  others.  During 
the  war,  both  the  expenses  of  go- 
vernment and  the  interest  of  the 
National  Debt  had  doubled  in  amount, 
and  the  monetary  changes  effected 
in  1819  added  at  least  one-third  to 
the  weight  of  that  augmented  burden. 
In  order  to  make  this  taxation 
bearable,  the  industry  of  the  people 


C33 

was  protected  in  their  own  market 
by  a  scale  of  customs  duties,  which 
prevented  the  influx  of  foreign  pro- 
duce at  rates  which  must  have 
annihilated  the  British  workman. 
Protection  is  a  clear  necessity  whicli 
arises  out  of  taxation.  If  the 
tobacco,  tea,  coffee,  sugar,  beer,  soap, 
and  other  articles  of  the  labourer's 
consumption,  are  taxed  in  order  to 
maintain  an  expensive  establish- 
ment, and  to  defray  the  interest 
of  an  enormous  debt,  he  must  have 
a  compensation  of  some  kind.  The 
only  kind  of  compensation  which 
can  be  granted,  and  whicli  the  wit 
of  man  can  devise,  is  to  be  found 
in  an  equitable  scale  of  duties,  by 
means  of  which  all  produce  imported 
into  Britain  shall  be  taxed  as  heavily 
as  though  it  had  been  reared,  grown, 
or  made  up  on  British  ground  by 
British  labourers.  Unless  this  be 
done,  there  is  no  fair  competition. 
The  less  burdened  foreigner  must 
ultimately  carry  the  day  against 
the  heavily-taxed  Englishman.  And 
when  we  consider  that  all  taxes  must 
be  paid  out  of  produce,  there  being 
no  other  source  whatever  from  which 
they  can  be  drawn,  the  importance 
of  maintaining  the  market  value  of 
our  produce  at  a  point  equal  to  the 
pressure  of  our  taxation  will  at  once 
become  apparent. 

There  are,  however,  plausible, 
though  in  reality  most  fallacious 
grounds,  upon  which  the  Protective 
System  may  be  assailed.  In  this, 
as  in  every  other  country,  the  first 
and  most  important  branch  of  in- 
dustry is  that  which  provides  food 
for  the  population.  To  that  all 
others  are  subordinate.  It  is  im- 
possible to  estimate  the  amount  of 
capital  which  has  been  laid  out 
upon  the  soil  of  Britain,  first  in 
reclaiming  it  from  a  state  of  nature, 
and,  since  then,  in  maturing  and 
increasing  its  fruitfulness.  But  some 
idea  may  be  formed  of  its  magni- 
tude from  the  fact  that,  in  1846, 
the  annual  agricultural  produce  of 
the  United  Kingdom  was  valued, 
according  to  the  prices  then  current, 
at  £250,000,000.  Whatever  impe- 
rial taxation  is  imposed  on  other 
classes'  of  the  community  is  shared 
equally  by  the  agriculturists ;  and 
they  are,  moreover,  exposed  to 


634 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


[Dec. 


heavy  local  rates,  from  which  the 
others  are  comparatively  free.  It  is 
a  received  maxim  in  political  eco- 
nomy— we  ought  rather  to  say  a 
rule  of  common  sense — that  all  taxes 
and  charges  paid  by  the  producer, 
over  and  above  his  necessary  profit, 
fall  ultimately  to  be  defrayed  by 
the  consumer — that  is,  that  such 
taxes  and  charges  form  a  component 
part  of  the  selling  price  of  the  article. 
There  is  no  specialty  whatever  in 
the  case  of  corn  or  provisions  to 
exempt  them  from  the  general  rule. 
But  all  restrictions  which  tend  to 
enhance  the  price  of  the  first  neces- 
saries of  life  are  obnoxious  to  that 
section  of  the  people  who,  from 
ignorance  or  incapacity,  cannot  un- 
derstand why  bread  should  be  dear 
in  one  country  and  cheap  in  another. 
They,  too,  are  subjected  to  their 
share  of  indirect  taxation,  and  the 
knowledge  that  they  are  so  taxed 
in  the  consumption  of  articles  which 
constitute  their  only  luxuries,  renders 
them  doubly  impatient  of  a  system 
which,  on  the  authority  of  wicked 
and  designing  demagogues,  they  are 
led  to  believe  was  invented  by  the 
landlords  solely  for  their  own  benefit. 
Thus  heavy  taxation,  however  en- 
gendered, must  always  be  fraught 
with  great  peril  to  the  permanency 
of  a  state.  The  burden  of  such 
taxation  falls  most  heavily  upon 
the  land,  and  yet  the  agriculturist 
is  expected  to  provide  food  for  the 
people  as  cheaply  as  though  he  were 
altogether  exempt  from  the  burden. 

The  reason  why  the  exporting 
manufacturers,  and  those  politicians 
who  entered  thoroughly  into  their 
views,  were  so  bent  upon  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  Corn  Laws,  was  twofold. 
In  the  first  place,  the  competition 
in  foreign  markets  threatened  to 
become  so  strong,  owing  to  the  rapid 
development  of  textile  industry  on 
the  Continent,  that  it  was  necessary 
to  lower  prices.  England  had  given 
machinery  and  models  to  the  Conti- 
nent, and  the  Continent  was  now 
fighting  her  with  her  own  weapons, 
and  at  a  cheaper  cost,  as  labour 
abroad  is  less  expensive  than  it  is 
here.  In  order  to  bring  down  the  value 
of  labour  in  England,  for  the  purpose 
of  protracting  this  grand  manufac- 
turing contest,  it  was  necessary  to 


lower,  in  some  way  or  other,  the 
price  of  food  in  England,  and  this 
could  only  be  accomplished  by  free 
admission  of  foreign  supplies.  In 
short,  their  object  was  to  bring  down 
wages.  On  this  point  we  have  the 
testimony  of  Mr  Muritz,  M.P.  for 
Birmingham,  as  early  as  February 
1842.  He  wrote  as  follows :— "  Say 
what  you  will,  the  object  of  the 
measure  is  to  reduce  wages,  and 
the  intention  is  to  reduce  them  to 
the  Continental  level.  I  repeat  it, 
the  Corn  Laws  very  materially  sup- 
port labour  in  this  country.  .  .  . 
Why,  the  professed  object  of  the 
repeal  is  to  enable  the  English  mer- 
chant to  compete  with  the  foreigner, 
and  how  can  he  do  that  unless  by  a 
reduction  of  wages,  which  reduction 
will  be  upon  all  trade,  home  and 
foreign  ?  "  Mr  John  Bright  was  not 
less  clear  as  to  the  necessity  of 
such  reduction  of  wages  in  order  to 
maintain  our  exports  :  "  If  the  tariff 
in  Russia  imposed  a  heavy  duty  on 
English  yarn,  and  if  English  yarn 
went  there  and  had  to  be  sold  at 
the  same  rate  as  the  yarn  of  the 
Russian  spinner,  he  (that  is,  the 
Russian  spinner)  not  paying  the 
heavy  duty,  it  followed  that  we 
must,  by  some  means  or  other,  make 
our  goods  cheaper  by  the  amount 
of  duty  which  we  paid,  and  to  do 
that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that 
the  wages  of  the  operatives  in  this 
country  should  be  reduced.'1'1  And  Mr 
Greg  of  Manchester,  a  leading  mem- 
ber of  the  An ti- Corn  Law  League, 
wrote  as  follows  :  —  "  In  the  only 
remaining  item  of  the  cost  of  produc- 
tion— that  is,  the  wages  of  labour — 
foreign  nations  have  a  decided  advan- 
tage; and  although  a  free  trade  in 
provisions,  by  lowering  them  here, 
and  raising  them  abroad,  might  regu- 
late the  difference,  I  doubt  if  it  ever 
could  be  entirely  removed.  Better 
education,  more  sober  habits,  more 
frugality,  and  general  forethought, 
together  with  cheaper  food,  will  no 
doubt  enable  our  people  to  live  in 
much  greater  comfort  than  at  pre- 
sent UPON  CONSIDERABLY  SMALLER 

EARNINGS."  These  extracts  suffi- 
ciently disclose  the  designs  of  the 
Free-Traders  against  the  wages  of 
the  workman.  In  the  second  place, 
it  was  believed  by  many  of  them, 


3851.] 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


that,  by  sacrificing  the  agriculturists, 
they  would  be  able  to  turn  the 
attention  of  other  countries,  espe- 
cially America,  from  the  prosecution 
of  their  rising  manufactures.  They 
argued,  that  if  we  were  to  surrender 
and  secure  our  provision  market  to 
foreign  states,  they  would  return 
the  compliment  by  allowing  us  to 
manufacture  for  them  —  in  other 
words,  that  the  foreigners  were  to  feed 
England,  and  England  was  to  clothe 
the  foreigners  !  This  precious  scheme 
has  since  been  avowed,  seriously  and 
gravely,  by  men  who  have  seats  in 
the  present  House  of  Commons ;  and, 
so  far  as  we  can  understand  their 
language,  the  philosophers  of  the 
Edinburgh  Review  consider  this  a 
most  sensible  arrangement ! 

The  agricultural  interest,  however, 
was  of  too  great  magnitude  to  be 
attacked  at  once.  Several  outworks 
were  to  be  gained  before  the  citadel 
was  summoned  to  surrender.  Ac- 
cordingly Mr  Huskisson  began,  and 
Sir  Robert  Peel  continued,  that  sys- 
tem of  commercial  relaxations,  (which, 
some  five-and- twenty  years  ago,  was 
exposed  and  denounced  in  this  Maga- 
zine,) annihilating  some  branches  of 
industry  and  depressing  others — pau- 
perising whole  districts,  as  in  the 
Highlands,  and  merging  the  villages 
in  the  towns — until  the  time  seemed 
ripe,  and  the  opportunity  propitious, 
for  the  accomplishment  of  the  grand 
design.  It  is  not  now  necessary  to 
dwell  upon  the  circumstances  which 
attended  the  change  in  the  Corn  and 
Navigation  Laws — these  are  still  fresh 
in  the  memory  of  all  of  us,  and  will 
not  soon  be  forgotten.  Our  object 
in  this  digression  was  simply  to  re- 
niind  you  that  Free  Trade,  in  its 
insidious  and  stealthy  progress,  has 
warred  with  other  interests  than  those 
which  belong  to  the  agricultural  and 
the  maritime  classes. 

Neither  is  it  necessary  at  present 
to  advert  to  the  gross  inconsistencies 
of  the  system  —  to  the  restrictions 
which  it  still  continues  upon  that 
very  branch  of  industry  which  it  has 
laid  bare  to  foreign  competition. 
Let  us  take  the  system  as  it  is,  of 
which  you  have  had  now  nearly  three 
years'  experience,  dating  from  the 
time  when  the  ports  were  opened. 

Three  years  constitute  a  long  pe- 


635 

riod  for  the  endurance  of  a  commer- 
cial experiment.  During  that  time 
you  have  had  ample  opportunity  of 
observing  how  the  system  has  worked. 
Are  you  richer  or  poorer  than  you 
were  before  the  experiment  began? 
If  the  former,  Free  Trade  has  worked 
well ;  if  the  latter,  it  is  a  mischievous 
delusion. 

This  is  a  question  which  you  alone 
can  answer — or  rather,  every  man 
must  answer  it  for  himself.  But  this 
much  we  may  be  allowed  to  say,  that, 
from  what  information  we  can  gather 
regarding  the  state  of  general  trade — 
from  the  sentiments  which  we  have 
heard  expressed  by  many  of  the  most 
respectable  of  your  own  body — the 
experiences  of  the  last  year  have  not 
been  such  as  to  give  you  much  encou- 
ragement for  the  future.  If  it  is  so, 
then  you  will  do  well  to  consider 
whether  or  not  you  ought  to  lend  that 
great  political  influence  which  you  un- 
doubtedly possess,  in  support  of  a 
system  which  has  not  only  failed  to 
realise  the  anticipations  of  its  found- 
ers, but  has  actually  diminished  in  a 
great  degree  the  power  of  purchase  of 
the  community. 

This  is  no  trivial  matter  to  any  of 
us,  least  of  all  is  it  trivial  to  you.  The 
next  general  election  will  be,  in  its 
results,  by  far  the  most  important  of 
any  which  has  taken  place  for  cen- 
turies. If,  in  the  new  Parliament, 
all  idea  of  a  return  to  the  Protective 
System  is  abandoned,  we  may  pre- 
pare ourselves  for  that  most  dismal 
conflict  which  can  convulse  a  country 
— a  war  against  taxation,  and  ulti- 
mately against  property.  For — rely 
upon  this — heavy  taxation  and  cheap 
produce  are  things  which  never  can 
be  reconciled.  You  may,  if  you 
please,  hand  over  the  home  market  of 
Britain  to  the  foreigner,  and  allow 
him,  without  toll  or  custom,  to  supply 
our  wants  with  produce  of  his  own 
rearing  ;  but,  if  you  do  so,  what  is  to 
become  of  our  own  population,  and 
their  labour? — and  how  are  you  to 
levy  those  taxes  which  labour  alone 
can  supply  ?  That  manufacturing  in- 
terest, for  which  such  desperate  sacri- 
fices have  been  made,  is  daily  losing 
ground  in  the  markets  of  the  world. 
The  fact  will  brook  no  denial,  and  it 
is  admitted  even  by  its  own  members. 
America  has  refused  the  bait  offered 


636 


To  the  SJiopTteepers  of  Great  Britain. 


[Dec. 


to  her  by  the  Free -Traders,  and  is 
engaged  heart  and  soul  in  the  cotton 
manufacture,  for  which  she  possesses 
within  herself  the  command  of  the 
raw  material.  To  those  countries 
which  supply  us  with  corn,  our  ex- 
ports of  manufactures  have  alarm- 
ingly decreased.  We  may  continue 
to  glut  (for  that  is  what  we  are 
doing  at  present)  the  markets  of  In-  , 
dia  and  China,  and  our  export  tables 
may  exhibit  a  cheering  increase  in 
the  amount  of  yards  of  calico  sent  out ; 
but,  unless  the  trade  circulars  are 
ntterly  mendacious,  the  speculation 
has  been,  and  will  continue  to  be  for 
a  long  tract  of  time,  unprofitable. 
The  fact  is,  that  the  extent  and  value 
of  our  foreign  trade  in  manufactures 
is  little  understood  by  most  of  us,  and 
grossly  exaggerated  by  others.  It 
constitutes,  after  all,  a  mere  fraction 
of  the  national  production.  The  con- 
sumption of  manufactures  at  home  is, 
or  was,  before  the  late  changes  were 
made,  twice  as  great  as  the  whole 
amount  of  our  annual  exports.  The 
prosperity  of  this  country  does  not 
depend  upon  the  amount  of  wares 
which  it  sends  or  forces  abroad, 
though  that  is  the  doctrine  which  is 
constantly  clamoured  in  our  ears  by 
the  political  economists — a  generation 
of  ridiculous  pretenders,  of  whom  it  is 
only  necessary  to  know  one,  in  order 
to  form  an  accurate  estimate  of  the 
mental  capabilities  of  his  tribe.  It 
depends  on  our  own  labour,  on  our 
own  internal  arrangements,  and  on 
that  reciprocity  between  man  and 
man,  and  between  class  and  class  of 
our  fellow-subjects,  which  is  the  only 
real  security  for  the  peace  and  tran- 
quillity of  a  kingdom.  Those  export- 
ing manufacturers,  who  rummage  fo- 
reign markets,  are  no  better  than  so 
many  buccaneers.  Their  object  is  to 
evade  the  burden  of  taxation  at  home, 
and,  wherever  they  can  with  advan- 
tage to  themselves,  to  bring  in  foreign 
labour,  untaxed  and  untolled,  to  su- 
persede that  of  the  British  workman. 
You  cannot  have  failed  to  remark 
that  the  arguments  which  are  now 
put  forward  by  the  Free-Traders,  in 
support  of  their  system,  are  totally 
different  from  those  which  they  ad- 
vanced while  recommending  it  for  the 
adoption  of  the  country.  How  often 
were  we  told,  during  the  struggle 


which  preceded  the  repeal  of  the 
Corn  Laws,  that  all  the  apprehensions 
expressed  of  a  permanent  fall  in  the 
value  of  produce,  and  of  overwhelm- 
ing importations  from  abroad,  were 
purely  visionary!  Learned  statists 
undertook  to  prove  by  figures  that 
the  whole  quantity  of  grain  which 
could  be  brought  into  this  country 
was  absolutely  insignificant,  and  that 
it  could  not  disturb  prices.  Mr  James 
Wilson  of  the  Economist,  in  his  valu- 
able tractate  entitled  Influences  of  the 
Corn  Laws,  which  was  published  ele- 
ven years  ago,  thus  favoured  the 
public  with  his  anticipations  for  the 
future,  in  the  event  of  the  repeal  of 
the  Corn  Laws  : — 

"  Our  belief  is,"  says  the  sage  of 
Westbury,  "  that  the  whole  of  these 
generally  received  opinions  are  erro- 
neous; that  if  we  had  had  a  free  trade 
in  corn  since  1815,  the  average  price 
of  the  whole  period,  actually  received 
by  the  British  grower,  would  have 
been  higher  than  it  has  been  ;  that 
little  or  no  more  foreign  grain  would 
have  been  imported  ;  and  that  if,  for 
the  next  twenty  years,  the  whole 
protective  system  shall  IDC  abandon- 
ed, the  average  price  of  wheat  will  be 
higher  than  it  has  been  for  the  last 
seven  years,  (52s.  2d.,)  or  than  it 
would  be  in  the  future  with  a  con- 
tinuance of  the  present  system  ; — but 
with  this  great  difference,  that  prices 
would  be  nearly  uniform  and  unalter- 
ing  from  year  to  year  ;  that  the  dis- 
astrous fluctuations  would  be  greatly 
avoided,  which  we  have  shown,  in 
the  first  proposition,  to  be  so  ruinous 
under  the  present  system." 

For  this  very  notable  sentiment,  Mr 
Wilson  was  clapped  on  the  back  by 
the  Manchester  men,  and  commended 
thus  in  the  seventh  circular  of  the 
League  : — "  We  are  much  indebted  to 
Mr  Ibbotson  of  Sheffield,  Mr  James 
Wilson,  and  our  esteemed  correspon- 
dent, for  labouring  to  prove  to  the 
landlords  that  they  may  safely  do 
justice  to  others,  without  endangering 
their  own  interests.  And  we  think 
very  much  has  been  done  towards 
justifying  their  opinions,  that  the  mo- 
ney price  of  grain  would  not  be  lowered 
even  by  the  total  repeal  of  the  Corn 
Laws!"  Sir  Robert  Peel,  in  the  memo- 
rable debates  of  1846,  attempted  to 
justify  his  experiment  on  the  ground 


1851.] 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


that  previous  commercial  relaxations 
had  been  found  beneficial  to  the  par- 
ties who  were  directly  engaged  in  the 
trade,  his  inference  being,  that  the 
same  result  would  follow  in  the  case 
of  the  agriculturists.  Unfortunately 
the  data  upon  which  he  proceeded 
were  altogether  fallacious :  for,  not- 
withstanding his  dexterity  in  select- 
ing figures,  and  bringing  out  balances 
which  were  apparently  favourable,  it 
was  clearly  demonstrated  by  Lord 
George  Bentinck,  that  in  no  one  in- 
stance whatever  had  those  relaxa- 
tions proved  favourable  to  the  British 
producer,  and  that  many  of  them  had 
moreover  occasioned  a  large  loss  to 
the  public  revenue.  But  the  language 
held  by  Sir  Robert  Peel,  upon  that 
occasion,  cannot  be  construed  other- 
wise than  as  the  expression  of  an 
opinion  that,  by  the  repeal  of  the 
Corn  Laws,  prices  would  not  be  mate- 
rially disturbed — at  all  events,  that 
they  would  not  be  lowered  so  as  to 
fall  below  the  remunerative  point. 

The  immense  influx  of  foreign  grain 
which  followed  the  opening  of  the 
ports  in  1849,  and  the  immediate  fall 
of  price,  were  calculated  to  alarm  not 
only  the  farmers,  but  even  that  sec- 
tion of  the  Free-Traders  who  believed 
conscientiously  that  the  productive 
powers  of  Europe  and  America  were 
unequal  to  the  supply  of  so  very  con- 
siderable a  surplus.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  the  farmers  were  frightened, 
when  they  saw  grain  coming'  in  at 
the  rate  of  a  million  of  quarters  per 
month  1  They  were,  however,  told  by 
the  highest  Free-trading  authorities  in 
both  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  the 
same  view  was  violently  maintained 
by  the  Liberal  press,  that  their  fears 
were  altogether  groundless  ;  that  such 
importations  could  not  possibly 'be 
maintained ;  and  that  the  first  inunda- 
tion was  simply  caused  by  an  accumu- 
lation of  corn  at  the  foreign  ports, 
stored  up  in  readiness  for  the  opening 
of  the  English  market — a  contingency 
which  could  not  happen  again.  The 
utmost  pains  were  taken,  by  those  who 
had  consented  to  the  repeal  of  the  Corn 
Laws,  to  persuade  the  farmers  that  the 
low  prices  of  1849  were  attributable 
principally  to  the  superabundance  of 
the  harvest  at  home ;  and  they  were 
exhorted  to  wait  patiently,  but  hope- 
fully, for  the  advent  of  better  times. 


637 

In  short,  every  means  were  taken  to 
persuade  the  agriculturists  that  they 
were  labouring  under  a  temporary  but 
not  a  permanent  difficulty,  and  that  a 
very  short  time  would  suffice  to  re- 
store them  to  their  former  condition. 
But  no  one  attempted  to  maintain,  in 
1849,  that,  if  wheat  continued  to  sell 
at  or  about  40s.  per  quarter,  its  cul- 
tivation could  be  profitable  in  Britain ; 
and  when,  at  a  later  period,  one  or 
two  rash  theorists  attempted  to  broach 
that  doctrine,  they  were  instantly  put 
to  silence  by  the  overwhelming  nature 
of  the  proof  which  was  brought  against 
them — not  the  least  instructive  part  of 
it  being  the  admissions  of  the  leading 
Free-Traders  as  to  what  really  was,  on 
an  average  of  years,  the  remunerative 
price  of  wheat  to  the  British  grower. 

It  is  now  clearly  established,  that, 
under  Free  Trade,  40s.  per  quarter  is  a 
price  which  the  British  farmer  cannot 
calculate  on  receiving.  The  averages 
of  England  are  now  about  36s.  per 
quarter,  being  20s.  lower  than  the 
sum  which  Sir  Robert  Peel  considered 
as  the  lowest  which  could  remunerate 
the  grower.  Therefore,  taking  the 
average  yield  of  good  wheat-land  at 
four  quarters  per  acre,  it  appears  that, 
by  continuing  to  grow  that  kind  of 
grain  which  is  convertible  into  ordi- 
nary bread,  the  farmer  must  be  a 
positive  loser  to  the  extent  of  four 
pounds  per  acre!  In  other  words, 
even  suppose  no  rent  at  all  were  taken 
for  the  land,  wheat  cannot  continue 
to  be  grown  at  a  profit  in  Great  Bri- 
tain, so  long  as  the  averages  remain 
below  40s. ;  and  we  leave  a  large 
margin  to  the  credit  of  improved  hus- 
bandry and  strict  economy,  exercised, 
as  it  must  be,  at  the  expense  of  the 
labourer's  wages.  That  such  is  the 
present  condition  of  the  British  farm- 
ers—a hopeless  one,  unless  a  legisla- 
lative  remedy  is  applied — will  brook 
no  denial.  Last  year  we  were  told  of 
farms  letting  at  an  increase  of  rent, 
and  of  other  symptoms  of  agricultural 
prosperity,  whereof  nothing  now  is 
heard.  The  fact  of  the  depression — 
if  we  may  use  so  mild  a  term  in  re- 
spect to  a  branch  of  industry  which  is 
now  merely  existing  upon  capital,  not 
by  income — is  beyond  all  possibility 
of  doubt  or  cavil.  The  causes  of  it 
are  obvious  ;  and  it  now  only  remains 
to  be  seen  whether  we  can  afford  to 


638 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


[Dec. 


allow  agriculture  to  be  extinguished 
from  among  us,  or  at  best  raised  to 
that  poiiit  which  will  afford  a  bare 
subsistence  to  the  grower,  without 
the  risk  of  involving  the  rest  of  us 
in  a  like  calamity. 

You  may  have  heard  it  said — for  it 
has  been  often  written — that  it  signi- 
fies little  to  the  people  of  this  country 
from  what  source  they  receive  their 
bread.  It  is  worth  your  while  to 
examine  into  this.  That  a  loaf  baked 
of  American  flour,  grown  in  the  valley 
of  the  Mississippi,  may  taste  quite  as 
•well  in  the  mouth  of  the  consumer  as 
a  loaf  of  English  material  is  a  circum- 
stance which  we  can  readily  believe  ; 
but  is  this  all  that  is  to  be  considered? 
Does  the  American  bear  any  part  of 
our  national  taxation  ?  Does  he  con- 
tribute, directly  or  indirectly,  to  the 
burdens  which  are  common  to  the 
British  producer?  Does  he  deal  with 
any  of  you,  and  caii  you  call  him  a 
customer?  These  are  the  questions 
which  you  ought  to  ask  yourselves, 
in  making  up  your  minds  on  this 
matter ;  and  if  you  will  only  examine 
the  subject  patiently  and  dispassion- 
ately, your  own  common  sense  will 
lead  you  to  a  just  conclusion.  Let 
us  suppose  that  all  the  food  which 
you  purchase  and  consume  was  grown 
on  a  foreign  soil,  and  admitted  free  of 
duty.  You  might  then  have  cheap 
bread,  but,  as  a  necessary  consequence, 
you  would  lose  more  than  half  your 
customers.  Unless  people  have  money 
they  cannot  buy ;  and  if  agricultural 
production  were  to  be  abandoned  in 
the  British  islands,  all  those  who  de- 
rive their  incomes— not  only  directly, 
but  indirectly — from  the  soil,  would 
necessarily  be  stripped  of  their  means. 
Are  you  aware  of  the  fact  that,  on  a 
minute  analysis  of  the  census  of  1841, 
it  appeared  that  the  relative  numbers 
of  the  population  of  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland,  supported  and  maintained  by 
the  two  great  sources  of  production, 
agriculture  and  manufactures,  were 
as  18,734,468,  dependent  on  the  first, 
to  8,091, 621,  dependenton the  second? 
Do  you  believe  that  the  country  can 
remain  prosperous,  if  you  strike  a 
deathblow  at  the  produce  which  main- 
tains more  than  two -thirds  of  its 
inhabitants  ? 

Let  us  go  a  little  further,  and  sup- 
pose— what  may  hereafter  be  the  case 


— that  other  countries  could  undersell 
us  in  the  home  market  in  the  article 
of  manufactures  —  that  America, 
France,  or  Germany  could  send  us 
cotton  and  woollen  stuffs,  and  other 
ware,  cheaper  than  we  could  make 
them  at  home.  In  that  case,  where 
would  be  the  sources  of  our  income? 
All  industry  would  be  prostrated — for 
you  know  very  well  that  a  losing 
trade  will  not  and  cannot  be  carried 
on  long,  and  that  the  time  will  soon 
arrive  when,  through  the  failure  of 
capital,  it  must  be  abandoned.  In 
such  an  event,  what  would  become  of 
our  population,  with  their  labour  en- 
tirely destroyed  ?  How  could  the 
taxes  be  levied,  and  the  expenses  of 
government  paid,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  interest  of  the  National  Debt? 
Great  cheapness  you  would  have,  no 
doubt,  but  nobody  would  be  able  to 
buy. 

If  cheapness  is  a  blessing  in  food, 
it  is  a  blessing  in  clothing  and  in 
everything  else.  The  rule  admits  of 
no  exception.  It  is  as  advantageous 
for  any  of  us  to  save  a  pound  on  the 
price  of  his  coat  as  a  penny  on  the  price 
of  his  loaf.  Bread  is,  no  doubt,  the 
most  important  article  of  the  working- 
man's  consumption,  but  at  the  same 
time  it  is  no  less  a  fact  that  the  raising 
of  food  is  the  most  important  part 
of  the  production  of  the  labouring- 
classes.  Without  home  labour,  all 
capital  in  this  country  would  be  an- 
nihilated, or  at  least  would  depart 
from  it.  Labour  depends  entirely 
upon  wages,  and  wages  upon  the 
market  price  of  the  article  produced. 
If  from  the  introduction  of  foreign 
labour,  in  the  shape  of  products,  the 
price  of  any  article  is  forced  down 
below  the  cost  of  production,  then 
wages  begin  to  fall,  and  in  the  end 
production  is  extinguished.  Why  is 
it  that  foreign  countries  have  imposed 
heavy  duties  upon  our  exported  articles 
of  manufacture?  Simply  for  this 
object — that  their  own  manufacturers, 
who  give  employment  to  large  num- 
bers of  their  population,  may  not  be 
imdersold  by  ours,  nor  those  means 
of  employment  annihilated.  In  acting 
thus,  these  governments  perform  a 
paternal  duty  to  the  people — shielding 
them  against  the  competition  of  an 
older  manufacturing  power,  and  pre- 
paring them  hereafter,  when  skill  and 


1851.]  To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain.' 

capital  are  acquired,  to  enter  neutral     undersell    us  in  several 


markets,  with  a  fair  chance  of  ulti- 
mately overcoming  the  other. 

It  stands  to  reason  that,  with  an 
equal  degree  of  energy  on  the  part  of 
its  inhabitants,  the  country  which  is 
the  least  heavily  burdened  must  dis- 
tance others  in  all  branches  of  in- 
dustry, where  nature  does  not  oppose 
a  barrier,  or  place  it  at  a  disadvantage. 
The  mineral  wealth  of  England,  and 
our  priority  in  manufacturing  inven- 
tion, gave  us  for  a  long  time  an 
advantage  over  all  other  nations. 
America  was  not  advanced  enough  to 
enter  into  the  lists  of  manufacturing 
competition  ;  the  distracted  state  of  the 
Continent,  and  the  perpetual  presence 
or  apprehension  of  war,  effectually 
prevented  the  European  states  from 
attempting  to  rival  Britain.  But  since 
that  time  vast  changes  have  taken 
place.  The  mineral  resources  of 
other  countries  have  been  devel- 
oped. Some  idea  of  the  manufacturing 
power  which  America  now  possesses 
may  be  formed  from  the  enormous 
increase  of  her  domestic  production  of 
iron  and  coal.  In  1829,  the  amount 
of  iron  manufactured  in  the  United 
States  was  90,000  tons;  in  1848,  it 
had  risen  to  800,000  tons.  The  coal 
raised  in  1829  was  37,000  tons;  in 
1849  it  was  3,200,000  tons.  In  the 
article  of  cotton,  which  is  our  great 
manufacturing  staple,  America  has 
the  inestimable  advantage  of  growing 
the  raw  material  —  an  advantage  which 
never  can  be  counterbalanced,  as, 
even  if  we  were  to  obtain  our  supplies 
from  some  other  quarter,  the  expenses 
of  freightage  must  still  continue  to 
be  great.  In  fact,  to  all  appearance, 
our  supremacy  in  the  conversion  of 
cotton  is  already  doomed.  That 
branch  of  industry  rests  upon  no  sub- 
stantial basis.  It  rose  like  an  exhala- 
tion, and  so  it  will  disappear.  These 
are  not  merely  our  opinions,  but  those 
of  the  most  shrewd  and  calculating  of 
the  Free-Traders.  Hear  Mr  Greg  of 
Manchester  on  this  subject,  previous 
to  the  repeal  of  the  Corn  Laws  :  — 

"  At  present  we  are  undersold  by 
foreigners  in  neutral  markets  in  all  the 
staple  articles  of  English  manufacture. 
In  the  articles  of  cotton,  hosiery,  and 
cutlery,  which  amount  altogether  to  three- 
fourths  of  our  exports,  this  is  notoriously 
the  case.  In  cotton  fabrics  the  Swiss 


639 

us  in  several  markets.  In 
cutlery  Sheffeld  is  immensely  undersold 
by  the  Alsace,  and  our  exports  are  yearly 
decreasing.  In  hosiery,  the  case  is  still 
worse.  Saxon  hosiery,  after  paying  a 
duty  of  20  per  cent,  is  sold  in  London 
25  to  30  per  cent  cheaper  than  the  pro- 
duce of  the  Leicester  and  Nottingham 
looms.  In  Leicester  the  stocking  frames 
have  diminished  from  16,000  in  1815  to 
14,000  in  1840  ;  whilst  in  Saxony,  in  the 
same  time,  they  have  increased  from  4590 
to  25,000.  The  English  manufacturer 
pays  2s.  6d.  for  the  same  work  that  the 
French  manufacturer  gets  done  for  2|d. 
The  American  cutlery  market  (the  most 
important  of  all)  has  been  wrested  from 
us,  and  our  exports  of  that  article  to  all 
the  world  have  fallen  from  £1,620,000 
in  1831  to  £1,325,000  in  1841.  How  far 
with  cheaper  food,  no  taxes  on  the  raw 
material,  and  no  duties  but  for  the  sake  of 
revenue,  we  might  yet  recover  our  lost 
superiority,  is  a  matter  for  grave  considera- 
tion. I  do  not  believe  we  could  either  in 
woollens  or  hosiery  ;  and  even  in  the 
cutlery  or  cotton  trade  I  think  it  very 
doubtful.  Now,  under  a  free  commercial 
system,  the  raw  material  would  be  nearly 
the  same  in  all  countries,  and  the  advan- 
tage, where  there  was  one,  would  be 
generally  on  the  side  of  foreigners. 
France  and  Italy  would  have  an  advan- 
tage in  silk,  and  America  in  cotton  ;  the 
current  expenses  would  also  be  nearly 
equal.  The  machinery  of  foreign  nations 
even  now  is  not  very  inferior  to  our 
own,  and  is  daily  and  rapidly  improving  ; 
their  capital  is  fast  accumulating,  and 
the  yearly  interest  of  it  approximating  to 
our  own  rate." 

Here,  you  see,  is  a  confession  of 
opinion  by  a  leading  Free-Trader,  that 
even  the  cheapening  of  food,  by  which 
he  means  the  reduction  of  the  wages 
of  labour,  will  not  suffice  ultimately  to 
secure  us  the  supremacy  of  the  foreign 
markets.  He  is  perfectly  right. 
In  this  insane,  and  we  believe  almost 
entirely  unprofitable  competition  with 
the  rest  of  the  world,  we  must  in- 
fallibly be  overcome.  No  cheapness 
of  food  can  countervail  the  pressure 
of  our  heavy  taxation.  The  cotton- 
lords,  if  they  could,  would  fain  bring 
down  the  price  of  labour  to  the  Con- 
tinental level,  which  doubtless  would 
enable  them,  for  a  long  time,  to  pro- 
long the  contest ;  but  this  they  cannot 
do,  if  our  national  engagements  are 
to  be  fulfilled,  and  our  most  valuable 
institutions  maintained.  So  long  as 
the  revenue  duties  exist,  labour  can- 


G40 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain, 


[Dec. 


not  be  forced  down  to  that  point. 
But,  in  the  mean  time,  agriculture  may 
be  ruined,  and  the  home  trade,  by 
which  alone  you  subsist,  be  palsied. 
In  fact,  the  present  struggle  lies  be- 
tween the  home  trade  and  the  foreign 
trade.  One  or  other  of  these  must 
ultimately  succumb.  The  effect  of 
our  present  commercial  system  is  to 
paralyse  the  home  trade,  by  decreas- 
ing the  value  of  all  kinds  of  domestic 
produce  ;  by  lowering  all  incomes, 
and  consequently  reducing  the  amount 
of  the  internal  business  of  the  country. 
It  has  enabled  our  manufacturers,  for 
the  time,  to  make  a  show  of  larger 
exports  than  before ;  but  it  has  not, 
according  to  their  own  acknowledge- 
ment, at  all  enhanced  their  profits. 
It  may  have  enabled  them  to  lower 
their  prices,  but  it  has  not  increased 
their  returns. 

And  no  wonder  that  it  should  be  so. 
Except  in  the  most  miserable  and 
unimportant  quarters,  our  relaxations 
have  been  met  by  augmented  tariffs 
instead  of  eager  reciprocity.  The 
nations  of  the  world  have  refused  to 
sacrifice  their  advantages,  to  renounce 
their  prospects,  and  to  become  Free- 
Traders  at  the  call  of  Britain.  Their 
statesmen  thoroughly  understood  the 
motive  of  the  ingenuous  offer :  they 
were  not  to  be  cozened  even  by  the 
plausibility  of  Sir  Robert  Peel.  It  is 
almost  melancholy  now,  when  we  re- 
member what  has  actually  taken  place, 
to  revert  to  the  peroration  of  that 
statesman's  speech  delivered  on  16th 
February  1846.  A  more  lamentable 
instance  of  delusion,  as'  to  the  true 
feeling  and  position  of  other  countries, 
was  never  perhaps  exhibited.  Mark 
his  words : — 

"  Many  countries  are  watching  with 
anxiety  the  selection  you  may  make. 
Determine  for  '  Advance,'  and  it  will  be 
the  watchword  which  will  animate  and 
encourage  in  every  state  the  friends  of 
liberal  commercial  policy.  Sardinia  has 
taken  the  lead.  Naples  is  relaxing  her 
protective  duties,  and  favouring  British 
produce.  Prussia  is  shaken  in  her  ad- 
herence to  restriction.  The  government 
of  France  will  be  strengthened  ;  and, 
backed  by  the  intelligence  of  the  reflect- 
ing, and  by  conviction  of  the  real  welfare 
of  the  great  body  of  the  community,  will 
perhaps  ultimately  prevail  over  the  self- 
interest  of  the  commercial  and  manufac- 
turing aristocracy  which  now  predomi- 


nates in  her  Chambers.  Can  you  doubt 
that  the  United  States  will  soon  relax 
her  hostile  tariff,  and  that  the  friends  of 
a  freer  commercial  intercourse  —  the 
friends  of  peace  between  the  two  coun- 
tries— will  hail  with  satisfaction  the  ex- 
ample of  England  ?" 

How  strangely  did  this  remarkable 
man,  whose  career  in  all  time  coming 
will  be  a  warning  to  the  aspiring 
statesman,  misunderstand  the  true 
nature  of  his  country's  position !  In 
order  to  tempt  reciprocity  he  opened 
the  British  ports — that  is,  he  con- 
ceded gratuitously  the  only  condition 
by  which  we  ever  could  have  hoped 
to  insure  it !  At  the  expense  of  the 
British  agriculturist  he  opened  the 
British  market  to  the  foreigner,  in 
the  expectation,  as  he  expressly  de- 
clared, that  the  boon  would  be  repaid 
by  measures  which  would  prevent 
the  rise  of  manufactures  abroad,  and 
restrain  other  nations  from  employing 
capital  profitably,  from  entering  into 
rivalry  with  Britain,  and  from  using 
those  natural  advantages  which  were 
ready  to  their  hand ;  and  which,  if 
used,  could  not  fail  to  add  to  their 
wealth,  and  to  furnish  employment 
for  millions  of  their  increasing  popu- 
lation !  Most  egregious  was  the 
blunder,  and  terrible  is  the  penalty 
which  we  are  certain  to  pay  for  it,  if 
we  do  not  retrace  our  steps. 

It  is  always  useful  to  know  what 
intelligent  men  of  other  countries 
think  of  our  system.  They  survey 
and  examine  it  without  those  preju- 
dices which  are  apt  to  beset  all  of  us, 
and  are  better  able  than  ourselves  to 
determine  with  what  degree  of  favour 
it  will  be  received,  or  is  received,  by 
those  who  are  removed  beyond  the 
scope  of  our  immediate  observation. 
Certainly,  of  all  others,  from  their 
affinity  to  ourselves,  and  their  pro- 
verbially shrewd  acuteness  in  all 
matters  of  commercial  detail,  the 
Americans  arc  most  likely  to  form 
an  accurate  estimate  both  of  our  po- 
sition and  our  prospects  in  regard  to 
foreign  trade.  It  is  well  worth  our 
while  to  read  and  consider  the  follow- 
ing opinion  of  Mr  Carey,  the  most 
distinguished  Transatlantic  writer  on 
points  of  political  economy.  It  occurs 
in  his  work  entitled  The  Harmony 
of  Interests,  published  in  America  so- 
late  as  December  1849. 


1851.] 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


"Men  are  everywhere  flying  from 
British  commerce,  which  everywhere 
pursues  them.  Having  exhausted  the 
people  of  the  lower  lands  of  India,  it 
follows  them  as  they  retreat  towards  the 
fastnesses  of  the  Himalaya.  Affghani- 
stan  is  attempted,  while  Scinde  and  the 
Punjaub  are  subjugated.  Siamese  pro- 
vinces are  added  to  the  empire  of  Free 
Trade,  and  war  and  desolation  are  car- 
ried into  China,  in  order  that  the  Chi- 
nese may  be  compelled  to  pay  for  the 
use  of  ships,  instead  of  making  looms. 
The  Irishman  flies  to  Canada  ;  but  there 
the  system  follows  him,  and  he  feels  him- 
self insecure  until  within  the  Union. 
The  Englishman  and  the  Scotchman  try 
Southern  Africa,  and  thence  they  fly  to 
the  more  distant  New  Holland,  Van  Die- 
men's  Land,  or  New  Zealand.  The  farther 
they  fly,  the  more  they  use  ships  and  other 
perishable  machinery,'  the  less  steadily 
can  their  efforts  be  applied,  the  less  must 
be  the  power  of  production,  and  the  fewer 
must  be  the  equivalents  to  be  exchanged ; 
and  yet  in  the  growth  of  ships  caused  by 
such  circumstances,  we  are  told  to  look 
for  evidence  of  prosperous  commerce  ! 

"  The  British  system  is  built  upon  cheap 
labour,  by  which  is  meant  low-priced  and 
worthless  labour.  Its  effect  is  to  cause  it 
to  become  from  day  to  day  more  low- 
priced  and  worthless  ;  and  thus  to  de- 
stroy production  upon  which  commerce 
must  be  based.  The  object  of  protection 
is  to  produce  dear  labour — that  is,  high- 
priced  and  valuable  labour,  and  its  effect 
is  to  cause  it  to  increase  in  value  from 
day  to  day,  and  to  increase  the  equiva- 
lents to  be  exchanged,  to  the  great  in- 
crease of  commerce. 

"  The  object  of  what  is  now  called 
Free  Trade,  is  that  of  securing  to  the 
people  of  England  the  further  existence 
of  the  monopoly  of  machinery,  by  aid  of 
which  Ireland  and  India  have  been 
ruined,  and  commerce  prostrated.  Pro- 
tection seeks  to  break  down  this  monopoly, 
and  to  cause  the  loom  and  the  anvil  to 
take  their  natural  places  by  the  side  of 
the  food  and  the  cotton,  that  production 
may  be  increased,  and  that  commerce 
may  revive." 

In  short,  the  harmony  of  interests 
is  regarded  in  America  as  the  grand 
point  of  aim  for  the  statesman.  With 
us,  our  most  important  home  interests, 
on  which  depend  the  welfare  of  by 
far  the  greater  part  of  our  population, 
are  sacrificed  to  prolong  a  struggle  in 
which  our  exporting  manufacturers 
cannot  possibly  be  the  victors,  and 
from  which,  even  at  present,  they 
derive  little  or  no  profit. 


611 

Now,  let  us  ask  you  to  consider  for 
one  moment,  what  is  the  natural 
effect,  upon  the  whole  of  us,  of  a 
forcible  diminution  of  prices,  and  de- 
preciation of  produce.  Here  we  shall 
borrow  an  illustration  and  argument 
from  our  adversaries,  referring  to  a 
point  which  is  in  the  recollection  of 
all  of  you,  and  about  which  there  can 
be  no  possible  mistake.  You  will 
recollect  that  the  Liberal  and  Free- 
trading  journals,  almost  without  ex- 
ception, as  well  as  most  of  the  de- 
fenders of  ttie  Peel  policy  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  attributed  much  of  that 
general  depression  and  stagnation  of 
trade  which  followed  the  repeal  of  the 
Corn  Laws  to  the  losses  sustained  by 
the  failure  of  the  potato  -  crop  in 
1845-6.  Was  there  a  general  want 
of  confidence  visible — were  the  shop- 
keepers scant  of  custom — was  there  a 
less  demand  than  usual  within  the 
country  for  home  manufactures — was 
there  a  decline  in  the  price  of  iron — 
all  was  laid  at  the  door  of  the  unfor- 
tunate potato.  Since  Cobbett  uttered 
his  anathema  against  the  root,  it 
never  was  in  such  bad  odour.  To 
every  complaint,  remonstrance,  or 
lamentation,  the  reply  was  ready — 
"  How  can  we  remedy  a  calamity  of 
this  kind?  The  potato  has  done  it 
all ! "  At  that  time  it  was  very  con- 
venient, nay,  absolutely  necessary, 
for  the  Free-Traders  to  discover  some 
tangible  cause  for  the  gross  failure  of 
their  predictions.  They  looked  about 
them  in  every  direction,  and  they 
could  discover  nothing  except  the 
potato  which  could  endure  the  blame. 
Now,  although  we  believe  that  this 
esculent  has  been  unduly  reviled,  and 
made  to  bear  a  greater  burden  than 
was  its  due  for  political  misfortune, 
we  nevertheless  accept  the  illustra- 
tion at  the  hands  of  our  opponents, 
and  we  beg  you  to  mark  its  signifi- 
cance. The  loss  of  the  potato-crop 
in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  during 
the  year  in  question,  has  been  vari- 
ously estimated,  but  if  we  assume  it 
to  have  been  £20,000,000  we  are 
making  a  very  large  calculation  in- 
deed. So  then,  according  to  the  Free- 
Traders,  the  loss  of  twenty  millions  of 
agricultural  produce  was  sufficient  to 
bring  down  profits,  embarrass  trade, 
and  cause  a  stagnation  in  home 
manufactures!  And  yet,  when  Mr 


642 


To  the  Shopkeepers 


Villiers  came  forward  in  the  begin- 
ning of  1850,  and  told  you,  in  his 
capacity  of  proposer  of  the  Address 
to  the  Crown,  that  £91,000,000 
were  annually  taken  from  the  value 
of  the  agricultural  produce  of  the 
country,  you  were  expected,  and 
directed,  to  clap  your  hands  with 
joy,  and  to  congratulate  one  another 
on  this  symptom  of  the  national  pros- 
perity ! 

The  sum  of  twenty  millions  lost  by 
the  failure  of  the  potato- crop— a  single 
event,  not  one  of  annual  occurrence 
— was  taken  from  the  country's  power 
of  produce;  and  therefore,  said  the 
Free-Traders,  there  was  stagnation. 
But  they,  of  course,  could  not  help  it. 
Of  course  they  could  not ;  but  what 
about  the  ninety-one  millions  of  annual 
loss,  which  is  equally  deducted  from 
the  internal  expenditure  of  the  coun- 
try? About  that  we  do  not  hear  a 
word.  And  yet  ask  yourselves,  and  that 
most  seriously — for  it  is  time  that  we 
should  get  rid  of  all  such  pitiful  pal- 
tering— whether  there  is  any  diffe- 
rence whatever  between  the  two 
cases,  except  that  the  one  was  an 
isolated  casualty,  and  that  the  other 
is  an  annual  infliction  to  which  we 
are  subjected  by  statute  ?  Weigh  the 
matter  as  you  will,  you  cannot,  we 
are  satisfied,  be  able  to  detect  any 
difference.  If  the  grower  of  grain  at 
present  prices  has  no  remuneration 
for  his  toil,  or  return  for  his  capital, 
he  cannot  buy  from  you,  any  more 
than  could  the  farmer  whose  crop 
perished  by  the  potato  disease.  What 
caused  the  stagnation?  The  failure 
of  the  power  to  purchase,  because 
there  was  no  return  for  produce. 
What  causes  the  stagnation?  Pre- 
cisely the  same  thing  perpetrated  by 
Act  of  Parliament. 

Do  not,  we  beseech  you,  allow 
yourselves  to  be  fooled  any  longer  by 
the  Jesuitry  of  these  political  econo- 
mists, but  apply  your  own  reason  to 
discover  the  cause  of  the  present  de- 
pression, Do  not  believe  them  when 
they  talk  about  exceptional  causes, 
affecting  temporarily  the  industry 
of  the  nation,  but  certain  imme- 
diately to  disappear.  If  you  were 
to  live  as  long  as  Methusaleh,  no 
one  ^year  would  elapse  without  fur- 
nishing those  gentlemen  with  a  special 
and  exceptional  cause.  One  year 


of  Great  Britain.  [Dec. 

it  is  the  potato  disease;  another 
the  French  Revolution  ;  another  the 
Great  Exhibition.  Heaven  only 
knows  what  will  be  their  excuse  next 
year— perhaps  the  new  Reform  Bill, 
or  some  other  similar  godsend.  You 
are  the  particular  class  upon  whom 
the  deception  is  to  be  played,  and  for 
whose  especial  benefit  the  fraud  is 
concocted.  The  producers  know  very 
well  how  they  stand,  and  what  they 
have  to  expect.  They  can  be  no 
longer  cajoled  by  assurances  of  higher 
prices,  by  vague  promises  of  profit 
after  the  disappearance  of  "  the  tran- 
sition state,"  or  by  impudent  aver- 
ments that,  by  an  entire  change  of 
system  and  the  expenditure  of  more 
capital,  they  will  be  able  to  maintain 
themselves  in  affluence.  To  do  the 
Free- Traders  justice,  they  have  for 
some  time  desisted  from  such  at- 
tempts. They  now  address  their 
victims,  through  their  organs,  in  a 
fine  tone  of  desperado  indifference, 
telling  them  that,  if  they  do  not  like 
the  present  arrangement,  the  sooner 
they  go  elsewhere  the  better.  And 
the  people  are  taking  them  at  their 
word  and  going.  Hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  tax-payers  are  leaving  the 
country  as  fast  as  possible,  carrying 
with  them  the  fragments  of  their  pro- 
perty, and  bequeathing  to  those  who 
remain  behind  their  share  of  the  na- 
tional burdens.  But  in  your  case, 
the  Free-Traders  cannot  yet  afford  to 
pull  off  the  mask.  They  are  appre- 
hensive that  you  should  see  them  in 
their  real  character ;  and  therefore,  so 
long  as  you  are  likely  to  be  amused 
with  "  specialties  "  and  "  exceptional 
causes,"  these  will  be  furnished  to 
you  gratis,  and  in  great  variety. 
There  seems,  however,  to  be  an  ap- 
prehension among  their  camp  thafr 
you  are  beginning  to  evince  suspicion. 
Recent  elections  have  not  been  quite 
as  they  should  be ;  and  in  the  sea- 
port and  large  commercial  towns  there 
are  evident  symptoms  of  mutiny.  So, 
by  way  of  diverting  your  attention, 
you  are  likely  to  have  a  measure 
of  Reform  next  year,  possibly  as 
satisfactory  in  its  result  as  the  Eccle- 
siastical Titles  Bill,  upon  which  Mi- 
nisters cleverly  managed  to  con- 
centrate the  whole  public  attention 
throughout  last  session,  and  then, 
having  carried  it,  allowed  its  pro- 


1851.] 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


visions  to  become  a  dead  letter, 
almost  before  the  ink,  which  made 
the  measure  complete,  was  dry !  We 
say  this,  not  as  opponents  of  an 
extension  of  the  suffrage — for  on  that 
point  we  reserve  our  opinion  until 
the  details  are  fully  before  us — but 
as  enemies  and  leathers  of  a  miserable 
system  of  chicane  and  deception  which 
has  now  crept  into  the  public  counsels, 
and  which  threatens  very  speedily 
to  destroy  the  independence  of  public 
opinion,  by  opposing  state  obstacles 
to  its  free  and  legitimate  expression. 
We  ask  any  of  you,  fearlessly,  to 
look  back  at  the  records  of  last 
session,  and  then  say  whether  the 
country  was  not  degraded  and  stulti- 
fied by  the  act  of  the  Prime  Minister  ? 
Right  or  wrong,  at  his  invitation  and 
call,  the  Protestants  of  Great  Britain 
demanded  a  security  against  what 
they  considered  an  intolerable  in- 
stance of  Romish  insolence  and  ag- 
gression. They  received  it  from 
Parliament ;  and  the  moment  it 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  executive 
power,  it  became  as  worthless  as  the 
paper  upon  which  it  was  written ! 
And  why  was  this  ?  Simply  because 
the  object  was  gained — you  had  been 
amused  for  a  whole  session.  If  no- 
thing was  intended  to  be  done  in  the 
way  of  repelling  aggression,  and  if 
Ministers  durst  have  told  you  so  a 
year  ago,  there  were  many  points  affect- 
ing your  more  immediate  interests 
which  would  have  been  forced  upon 
their  attention.  But  they  were  very 
glad  to  escape  from  such  discussions 
under  cover  of  a  Protestantism  which 
they  did  not  feel,  and  an  affected 
indignation  of  Papal  claims,  which 
they  had  done  everything  in  their 
power,  by  diplomatic  agency,  to  en- 
courage ;  and,  having  escaped  the 
perils  of  one  session  upon  that  ground, 
they  will  strain  every  effort  to  turn 
your  attention  from  your  own  position, 
during  the  next,  by' bringing  forward 
some  measure  which  they  hope  may 
enlist  your  sympathies,  or  provoke 
controversy,  so  far  as  to  render  you 
indifferent  to  the  real  nature  of  your 
position.  The  selection  of  the  battle- 
field is  the  oldest  trick  in  strategy. 
Get  up  the  appearance  of  a  battle, 
and  people  will  flock  from  any  dis- 
tance to  witness  it,  regardless  of  their 
own  interest.  Lord  John  Russell  is 


643 

famous  for  bloodless  fields,  which 
resolve  themselves  into  reviews — shall 
we  have  another  such  in  the  course  of 
the  approaching  session  ? 

That  manufactures  are  now  ex- 
ceedingly depressed,  and  have  been 
so  for  a  long  time,  notwithstanding 
the  reduction  in  the  price  of  food 
consequent  upon  foreign  importations, 
is  an  admitted  and  notorious  fact. 
We  have  from  time  to  time  kept  this 
before  the  public  view  by  quoting 
from  the  trade  circulars  ;  and  though 
further  evidence  may  be  unnecessary, 
we  shall  subjoin  extracts  from  the 
last  accounts  received  from  three 
seats  of  industry,  two  of  which  are 
represented  in  Parliament  by  Colonel 
Peyronnet  Thompson  and  Mr  Fear- 
gus  O'Connor.  Gloomy  as  they  are, 
they  are  by  no  means  the  worst 
which  we  have  had  occasion  to  cite 
during  the  last  two  years. 

"  BRADFORD,  November  6. — The  market 
here  does  not  show  any  symptom  of  im- 
provement in  the  demand  for  any  kind  of 
combing  wools.  All  seem  in  wonder  and 
anxiety  as  to  what  may  be  next  expected, 
for  to  buy  none  are  willing,  whether  with 
stock  or  without.  The  staplers  appeared 
to  expect  that  the  spirited  buying  of 
colonial  wools  would  give  a  tone  of  con- 
fidence, but  that  appears  to  have  no 
effect.  The  spinners  pause  when  they 
contrast  the  comparative  high  prices  of 
English  wool,  especially  those  of  the  finer 
class,  with  what  they  were  in  1848,  when 
yarns  were  at  the  present  prices,  and  will 
not  buy  with  the  certainty  of  making  so 
great  a  loss  as  a  purchase  would  entail. 
The  supply  of  Noils  and  Brokes  was 
never  so  limited  as  at  present,  and  the 
small  quantity  making  brings  full  prices. 
The  business  doing  in  yarns  is  certainly 
small,  and  the  transactions  confined  to 
immediate  delivery.  No  one  seems  in- 
clined to  enter  into  engagements  for 
distant  delivery.  For  to  go  on  at  the 
present  prices  of  yarns  is  worse  than  mad- 
ness, the  price  for  low  numbers  of  good 
spinning  and  standing  having  reached  8s. 
per  gross,  and  those  of  a  secondary  class 
sold,  if  reeled,  for  what  may  be  the  in- 
structions to  the  commission  houses,  who 
have  needy  parties  pressing  sales.  The 
quantity  so  offering  is  not  so  great,  but 
the  sacrifices  which  have  now  for  so  long 
been  made  render  the  position  of  the 
trade  exceedingly  embarrassing.  The 
production  continues  to  be  daily  curtailed, 
and  from  the  whole  district  the  same  cheer- 
less tidings  are  received.  Some  large 
houses,  who  have  never  reduced  their  opera- 


644 


tions  before,  hate  adopted  it,  their  loss 
being  so  immense,  and  the  whole  condition 
of  the  trade  so  thoroughly  disjointed.  In 
pieces  the  business  during  the  week  has 
not  shown  any  feature  of  increased  ac- 
tivity, and  the  stocks  in  the  manufac- 
turers' hands  are  somewhat  increasing, 
but  not  so  fast  as  last  year  at  this  period, 
and  especially  in  Coburgs  and  fancy  goods: 
the  former  are  chiefly  made  in  this  dis- 
trict, and  not  in  Lancashire,  for  the  ruin- 
ous price  has  driven  them  on  to  other 
classes  of  goods  adaptable  to  their  looms ; 
and  for  some  months  several  large  houses 
have  been  engaged  in  making  Bareges 
for  the  American  market.  This,  has  pre- 
vented mousselines-de-laine  being  made 
to  stock,  and,  perhaps  for  many  years, 
this  branch  of  the  trade  has  not  opened 
with  so  small  a  stock  on  hand. 

*'  NOTTINGHAM,  November  6. — In  lace 
we  have  no  improvement  to  notice  this 
week  in  the  general  sale  of  goods,  and, 
with  very  few  exceptions,  there  is  a  great 
falling  off  in  demand;  but,  as  many  of 
the  manufacturers  are  wisely  lessening 
their  production,  we  do  not  anticipate 
any  serious  losses  resulting  from  the  pre- 
sent temporary  stagnation.  Many  are 
stopping  their  frames  to  make  fresh  de- 
signs altogether ;  which,  if  done  with 
good  taste,  some  advantage  may  result 
from  present  difficulties.  In  hosiery  our 
trade  is  not  so  much  depressed  as  we  had 
reason  to  anticipate.  There  is  still  a  fair 
business  doing  in  wrought  hose,  and  a 
little  increased  demand  for  '  cut-ups,'  as 
well  as  gloves  made  of  thread  and  spun 
silk.  The  price  of  yarn  is  low,  which  is 
in  favour  both  of  the  manufacturer  and 
merchant. 

"  LEICESTER,  November  6.  —  The  un- 
settled state  of  the  price  of  workmanship 
for  straight-down  hose  has  caused  a 
great  depression  in  that  branch,  and  led 
to  nearly  a  total  cessation  of  work,  many 
hosiers  declining  to  give  out  until  prices 
are  settled.  In  wrought  hose  a  better 
business  is  doing,  though  not  so  good  as 
usual  at  this  season.  Yarns  continue 
dull  of  sale." 

Now,  why  do  \ve  insist  upon  these 
things  ?  For  two  reasons.  In  the 
first  place,  we  wish  you  to  observe 
that  the  cheapness  of  manufacturing 
products  does  not  of  itself  induce  con- 
sumption. There  must  be  buyers  as 
well  as  sellers  in  order  to  constitute 
a  market,  and  the  tendency  of  our 
late  legislation  has  been  to  diminish 
the  means  of  the  former.  It  by  no 
means  follows  that,  if  we  have  cheap 
food  and  cheap  manufactures,  the 
relative  position  of  all  classes  can  be 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


[Dec. 


maintained.  Never  forget  that  our 
burdens  all  the  while  remain  at  a  fixed 
money  rate,  and  that,  as  the  value  of 
produce  is  lowered,  the  weight  of 
those  burdens  is  aggravated.  This 
consideration,  which  is  now  well  un- 
derstood, is  beginning  to  tell  strongly 
against  the  doctrines  of  the  Free- 
Traders,  even  with  some  of  those 
who  were  once  their  ardent  sup- 
porters. Mr  James  Harvey  of  Liver- 
pool, late  a  member  of  the  Anti- Corn- 
Law  League,  but  now  a  strenuous 
opponent  of  their  system,  thus  chron- 
icles the  leading  cause  of  his  conver- 
sion. We  quote  from  his  pamphlet 
just  published,  Remunerative  Price 
the  Desideratum,  not  Cheapness.  He 
says :  —  "  My  suspicions  were  first 
awakened  by  the  blind  devotion  of 
the  Manchester  school  of  political 
economy  to  the  doctrine  of  CHEAP- 
NESS ;  for  it  struck  me  as  a  self- 
evident  proposition,  that  to  buy  cheap 
is  to  sell  cheap,  in  which  case  there 
can  be  no  possible  gain,  but  a  positive 
loss,  arising  from  the  necessary  ag- 
gravation of  all  fixed  charges."  In 
order  to  place  the  producers  of  this 
country  in  the  same  position  as  before, 
it  would  be  necessary  to  reduce  all 
fixed  charges,  the  interest  of  debt 
both  public  and  private,  the  expenses 
of  government,  and  all  salaries  and 
annuities,  to  an  amount  corresponding 
to  the  forced  decline  of  prices.  This 
would  be  called  a  war  against  pro- 
perty ;  but,  in  reality,  the  war  against 
property  began  when  the  Legislature 
admitted  foreign  untaxed  produce  to 
compete  with  the  produce  and  labour 
of  our  tax-paying  population  at  home. 
Our  second  reason  for  drawing 
your  attention  to  the  cheerless  pro- 
spect of  manufactures,  has  reference 
to  the  sacrifices,  not  only  indirect 
but  direct,  which  the  other  classes  of 
the  community  weje  called  upon  to 
make  in  order  to  prop  them  up.  In  the 
first  place,  the  Property  and  Income 
Tax,  which  we  are  still  called  upon  to 
pay,  was  imposed  by  Sir  Robert  Peel 
expressly  for  the  object  of  effecting 
"  such  an  improvement  in  the  manu- 
facturing interests  as  will  react  on 
every  other  interest  in  the  country." 
He  admitted  that  it  was  an  unjust 
and  partial  impost,  and  therefore 
promised  that  it  should  be  only  tem- 
porary— however,  we  have  endured 


1851.]  To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 

it  for  ten  years,  and  the  Whigs  will 
no  doubt  make  an  effort  to  continue 
it  still  longer.  Here,  then,  you  have 
a  sum  of  five  millions  and  a  half 
annually  confiscated  for  the  benefit  of 
the  manufacturers,  who  were  relieved 
from  taxation  to  that  amount.  So 
far  for  sacrifice  the  first.  Then  came 
sacrifice  the  second,  in  the  shape  of 
Free  Trade,  mulcting  the  productive 
classes  of  this  country  to  the  extent 
of  at  least  five-and-thirty  per  cent  of 
their  annual  returns.  Then  came 
sacrifice  the  third,  which  handed  over 
the  carrying  trade  to  the  foreigner. 

Now,  considering  that  all  these 
sacrifices  have  been  made  for  the 
encouragement  of  manufactures,  or  at 
least  with  that  professed  object,  is  it 
not,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  extraordi- 
nary that  they  have  not  thriven  ? 
How  are  we  to  account  for  a  result 
so  wholly  contrary  to  the  avowed 
anticipations  of  our  statesmen  ?  The 
explanation  is,  after  all,  not  very 
difficult.  All  these  sacrifices  have 
been  made,  not  for  the  great  body  of 
the  manufacturers,  but  for  a  mere 
section  of  them.  We  possess  no 
authentic  official  information  as  to  the 
amount  of  manufactures  consumed  at 
home  ;  but  we  have  records,  more  or 
less  trustworthy,  of  the  amount  of 
our  exports,  and  these  are  used  to 
mislead  the  minds  of  the  multitude  as 
to  the  actual  extent  and  relative  im- 
portance of  our  trade.  England  has 
no  more  title  than  France  has  to  the 
character  of  the  workshop  of  the 
world.  We  are  driven  from  the 
markets  of  civilised  countries  by  the 
protective  duties  imposed  by  their 
governments  for  the  righteous  and 
prudent  purpose  of  fostering  native 
industry,  and  we  are  compelled  to 
seek  our  marts  among  people  who 
are  not  yet  so  far  advanced  in  political 
economy  as  to  detect  the  enormous 
discrepancy  between  our  principles 
and  our  practice.  Listen  to  Mr  Har- 
vey's sketch  of  our  foreign  trade  : — 


645 

out  of  capital.  I  also  perceived  that  the* 
change  in  our  commercial  policy  had  sub- 
stituted a  cosmopolitan  cant  in  the  place 
of  patriotism  and  nationality.  To  become 
the  friend  of  every  country  but  his  own 
had  become  the  pride  and  the  glory  of 
statesmanship.  Foreign  goods  were  ad- 
mitted, duty  free,  into  our  ports,  in  the 
vain  hope  of  reciprocity  being  establish- 
ed ;  but  our  manufactures  were  subjected 
to  heavy  imposts  on  the  Continent  of 
Europe,  and  in  the  United  States.  China, 
unversed  in  the  mysteries  of  political  eco- 
nomy, only  levies  five  per  cent  upon  our 
goods,  whilst,  in  direct  contravention  of 
our  pet  notions  of  Free  Trade  and  reci- 
procity, we  impose  a  tax  of  300  per  cent 
upon  her  teas.  OUR  HOPES  HAVE  BEEN 

DISAPPOINTED,  OUR  CALCULATIONS  FALSI- 
FIED. WE  ARE  THE  DUPES  OF  OUR  OWN 
FANTASTIC  IDEAS  AND  QUIXOTIC  CONCES- 
SIONS. We  are  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
Old  and  the  New  Worlds.  The  Germanic 
Zollverein  shuns  our  overtures  ;  the  Ame- 
rican excludes  our  ships  from  his  sea- 
board." 


"  From  the  theories  and  systems  I 
turned  my  attention  to  passing  events 
and  recorded  facts  :  I  saw  the  West  In- 
dies prostrated  ;  Canada  thrown  into  a 
state  of  revolt,  succeeded  by  a  smothered 
feeling  of  discontent  ;  Ireland  depopu- 
lated ;  the  magnificent  resources  of  India 
undeveloped  ;  and  the  British  farmer  re- 
duced to  the  dire  necessity  of  paying  rent 

VOL.  LXX.— NO.  CCCCXXXIV. 


Can  these  things  be  controverted  ? 
We  defy  the  ingenuity  of  mankind  to 
do  it. 

So  much  for  the  foreign  trade ;  but 
there  still  remains  the  home  trade,  in 
which  by  far  the  largest  portion  of  OUF 
manufacturing  capital  is  embarkedr 
and  which  furnishes  a  much  greater 
amount  of  employment  to  British 
labour  than  the  other.  You  see  what 
is  the  state  of  that  trade,  notwith- 
standing the  savings  which  may  havo 
been  effected  by  the  lowered  price 
of  food,  and  also  notwithstanding 
that  partial  protection  which  several 
branches  of  it  are  still  allowed  to  re- 
tain. One  word  as  to  that  incidental 
point.  Mr  Cobden  is  reported  to  have- 
said,  that  he  did  not  care  how  soon 
these  remnants  of  protection  were 
abolished.  Let  him  be  as  good  as  his 
word,  and,  IF  HE  DARES,  rise  up  in  his 
place  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
make  a  motion  to  that  effect.  We 
shall  then  have  an  opportunity  of 
testing  the  exact  nature  of  his  prin- 
ciples. To  what  cause  can  such  a 
depression  as  this,  so  long  and  conti- 
nuous, be  attributed,  except  to  a 
general  curtailment  of  demand  on  the 
part  of  the  consumers,  arising  from 
the  insufficiency  of  their  means  to  make 
purchases  as  before  ?  You  are  probably 
aware  that  what  is  called  strict  eco- 
nomy in  families  is  not  favourable  to 
the  interests  of  manufacture  or  of 

2T 


646 

*  trade.  Of  manufactures  of  all  kinds 
there  must  be  a  certain  yearly  con- 
sumption, based  upon  the  necessities 
of  the  people.  Besides  food,  men  re- 
quire clothes  to  cover  them,  and 
houses  in  which  to  dwell,  and  those 
houses  must  be  more  or  less  fur- 
nished. But  between  the  bare  supply 
of  such  necessities,  and  that  point 
which  is  considered  by  persons, 
according  to  their  tastes,  education, 
or  habits,  as  constituting  comfort, 
there  is  a  wide  interval.  Nothing  is 
a  more  sure  criterion  of  the  wealth 
and  income  of  a  people  than  the  order- 
ing of  their  homes,  and  the  manner 
of  their  living ;  and  the  traveller  who 
passes  from  one  country  into  another 
can  at  once  form  an  estimate,  from 
such  appearances,  of  their  respective 
wealth  or  poverty.  Diminish  income, 
and  a  reduction  is  immediately  made. 
All  superfluities  are  lopped  off  and 
renounced.  The  broker,  who  deals  in 
second-hand  articles,  drives  a  larger 
business  than  the  man  who  is  the 
vendor  of  new  ones;  and  even  in 
domestic  labour  there  is  a  large  eco- 
nomy practised,  by  reducing  establish- 
ments. That  this  must  be  so,  will  be 
evident  on  the  slightest  reflection. 
Eeduce  a  man's  income  from  £1000 
to  £800  or  £600,  and  he  will,  if  he 
has  any  wisdom  or  prudence,  cut 
down  his  expenses  to  meet  the  fall. 
It  is  upon  the  home  manufacturer  in 
the  first  place,  and  upon  the  shop- 
keeper secondly,  that  these  reductions 
rtell.  The  one  finds  that  his  amount 
of  production  is  much  greater  than 
the  demand ;  the  other  does  not  turn 
over  his  capital  nearly  so  rapidly  as 
before.  Add  to  this  that  the  home 
manufacturer,  in  many  branches,  is 
exposed  to  strong  foreign  competition. 
Sir  Robert  Peel,  in  his  last  alterations 
of  the  tariff,  did  indeed  continue  Pro- 
tection— more  largely  than  is  gene- 
rally understood,  for  the  mere  amount 
of  revenue-duty  drawn  from  importa- 
tions of  foreign  articles,  adapted  to 
compete  with  ours  in  the  home,  is  no 
criterion  of  the  Protective  value — to 
some  branches  of  industry;  but  others 
were  exposed  without  shelter,  and 
have  since  suffered  accordingly.  It 
is  undeniable  that  a  very  large  amount 
of  foreign  manufactures,  which  have 
paid  no  duty  at  all,  or  merely  an 
elusory  one,  are  consumed  within  this 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


[Dec. 


country — thereby  inflicting  extreme 
injury  upon  British  labour,  and  de- 
pressing trades  which,  though  seve- 
rally not  important,  give  in  the 
aggregate,  or  ought  to  give,  the 
means  of  employment  to  thousands. 
Regard  the  subject  in  any  light  you 
will,  this  cheapness,  of  which  we  have 
heard  so  much,  just  amounts  to  a 
diminution  of  the  income  of  every 
class,  except  the  annuitants  and  fund- 
holders,  while  it  consequently  renders 
the  payment  of  the  fixed  burdens 
more  grievous  to  every  one  of  us. 

You,  gentlemen,  to  whom  we  have 
ventured  to  submit  these  remarks, 
have  a  very  great  deal  in  your  power. 
You  can,  by  your  decision,  either 
confirm  the  present  policy,  or  cause 
it  to  be  reversed ;  and  your  own 
experience  will  suffice  to  show  you  in 
what  manner  the  system  has  worked. 
Statists  may  parade  their  figures,  eco- 
nomists may  puff  their  plans,  states- 
men may  indulge  in  high  -  coloured 
pictures  of  the  success  which  they  ex- 
pect to  follow  their  measures — but  the 
true  test  of  every  measure  which  has 
a  practical  tendency  will  be  found  in 
the  effect  which  it  produces  upon  the 
circumstances  of  the  people,  and  espe- 
cially upon  those  of  the  middle  classes. 
We,  who  have,  from  the  very  first, 
anticipated  the  baneful  effects  of  this 
attack  upon  British  industry  —  we, 
who  have  no  more  connection  than 
any  of  yourselves  with  territorial  aris- 
tocracy, and  who  consider  the  wel- 
fare of  the  people  as  the  grand  object 
which  it  is  the  duty  of  the  Govern- 
ment to  promote — ask  you  to  apply 
your  own  reason  to  the  facts  which 
are  before  you  and  in  your  reach,  and 
to  decide  and  act  accordingly.  It 
was,  we  knew  from  the  very  begin- 
ning of  this  struggle,  impossible  that 
you  could  decide  until  the  effects  of 
the  Free-Trade  experiment  became 
visible  •  and  palpable  among  your- 
selves. We  foresaw  that  it  was  only 
through  the  suffering  and  impoverish- 
ment of  the  producers  that  the  prac- 
tical lesson  could  reach  you,  and  that, 
until  this  took  place,  it  was  of  little 
use  to  invoke  your  aid,  or  even  to 
entreat  your  judgment.  Probably,  by 
this  time,  you  will  have  formed  an 
accurate  estimate  of  the  value  of  the 
doctrines  promulgated  by  the  bab- 
blers on  political  economy  —  a  sect 


1851.] 


To  the  Shopkeepers  of  Great  Britain. 


which  has  never  yet  been  allowed  to 
interfere  with  the  internal  affairs  of 
any  nation,  without  producing  the 
most  disastrous  results.  To  them  we 
are  indebted  for  that  change  of  the 
currency  which  has  added  fully  one- 
third  to  our  fixed  burdens,  and  for 
those  complex  monetary  arrange- 
ments which  insure  periodically  the 
return  of  a  commercial  crisis.  But 
whatever  you  may  think  of  them,  do 
not  allow  yourselves  to  be  influenced 
by  their  representations,  or  by  those 
of  their  accredited  organs.  The  time 
for  theory  is  over.  You  have  now  to 
deal  with  facts,  regarding  which  every 
man  of  you  is  competent  to  form  an 
opinion.  We  do  not  ask  you  to  accept 
our  statements  implicitly,  any  more 
than  those  of  our  opponents — though, 
if  we  did  so,  we  might  hold  ourselves 
justified  on  this  ground,  that  the 
greater  part  of  our  evidence  is  taken 
from  the  admissions  of  our  adver- 
saries. We  appeal  to  your  own 
experience,  and  upon  that  we  leave 
you  to  decide. 

And  do  not  be  afraid  to  give  free 
utterance  to  your  opinion.  There 
exists  not  in  this  land— there  exists 
not  in  all  the  world,  the  power  which 
can  rise  up  against  you.  The  British 
producer  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
exporting  manufacturer  on  the  other, 
may  have  conflicting  interests  not 
altogether  reconcilable  with  the  pub- 
lic good,  for  isolated  interest  always 
begets  selfishness ;  and  where  indivi- 
dual or  class  profit  is  concerned, 
principle  is  apt  to  be  overlooked. 
But  you  are,  eminently,  THE  CLASS 
to  pronounce  upon  conflicting  opi- 
nions. Your  interest  is  that  of  the 
nation  whose  pulse  is  beneath  your 
finger.  You  can  tell,  with  greater 
accuracy  than  others,  whether  any 
political  prescription  has  stimulated 
the  circulation  of  the  blood,  or  caused 
it  to  run  torpidly  in  the  national 
veins.  You  can  mark  the  changes  in 
the  circumstances  of  your  customers, 
and  from  these  you  can  form  an  esti- 
mate whether  or  not  the  late  experi- 
ment has  been  successful. 

If,  judging  by  that  test,  you  should 
think  it  has  been  successful,  our  case 
is  lost.  We,  who  have  advocated  the 
Protective  Principle  in  legislation, 
cannot  continue  to  maintain  it,  if 
those  whose  incomes  depend  mainly 


647 

upon  British  custom  find  themselves 
advantaged  by  measures  which  have 
reduced  the  value  of  British  produce. 
In  matters  of  this  kind  there  is  no 
abstract  dogma  involved,  on  the 
strength  of  which  any  man  could 
make  himself  a  creditable  martyr. 
Men  have  died  for  their  faith  or  for 
their  allegiance,  believing  either  to  be 
their  highest  duty ;  but  no  one  in  his 
senses  will  spend  a  lifetime,  or  any 
considerable  portion  of  it,  in  combat- 
ing absolute  facts.  The  reason  why 
Protection  is  still  a  living  principle — 
the  reason  why  it  finds  so  many  sup- 
porters among  the  learned  and  the 
thoughtful — the  reason  why  it  is  pro- 
gressing step  by  step  towards  tri- 
umph— is  because,  in  the  minds  of 
those  who  advocate  it,  there  is  a 
strong  and  deep -rooted  conviction  that 
you  already  know  that  the  opposite 
system  has  entirely  failed  to  realise 
the  predictions  of  its  advocates,  and 
that  you  feel  that  its  permanency  is 
contrary  to  your  interest,  and  to  that 
of  the  great  body  of  the  people.  If 
we  are  right  in  this  conviction,  then 
we  are  entitled  not  only  to  solicit, 
but  to  demand,  your  earnest  co-opera- 
tion. These  are  not  times  for  poli- 
tical cowardice,  or  weak  suppression 
of  opinion.  Liberty  of  thought,  and 
liberty  of  the  expression  of  sentiment, 
are  our  unalienable  prerogative ;  but 
of  late  years,  and  in  the  hands  of  a 
certain  party,  that  prerogative  has 
been  scandalously  overstretched.  We 
now  hear  men— even  members  of  the 
Legislature— threatening  the  country, 
and  you,  with  hints  of  insurrection, 
in  case  you  exercise  your  undoubted 
right  of  pronouncing  a  free  and  un- 
biassed judgment  upon  any  point  of 
commercial  policy.  Let  the  caitiffs 
bluster !  They  know,  from  the  bottom 
of  their  ignoble  souls — for  none  save 
an  ignoble  soul  would  have  dared  to 
conceive  that  such  threats  would  in- 
timidate any  man  of  British  birth  or 
blood — that  their  menace  is  as  mean- 
ingless and  vain  as  their  miserable 
motives  are  apparent.  Let  them 
bluster!  They,  the  advocates  of 
lowered  wages — they,  the  combatants 
for  lengthened  labour  —  they,  the 
crushers  of  the  infants,  have  no  large 
margin  of  operative  sympathy  upon 
which  they  can  afford  to  trade.  Had 
John  Fielden  been  alive,  he  could 


648  The  Jew's  Legacy. 

have  told  yon  what  these  men 
were,  and  what  sympathy  they  were 
likely  to  command.  Well  do  the 
workmen  know  with  whom  they  have 
to  deal ! 

Let  us  not  be  misunderstood.  We 
never  have  underrated  the  difficulty 
of  a  change  such  as  we  contemplate  ; 
but  no  difficulty  attending  that,  is  for 
a  moment  to  be  put  into  the  balance 
against  the  general  welfare  of  the 
country,  if,  on  reflection,  and  on  con- 
sidering your  own  position,  you  shall 
be  of  opinion  that  the  interests  of  the 
country  demand  that  change.  But, 
at  any  hazard,  we  cannot  afford  to  go 
down-hill.  To  bring  us,  as  the  Man- 
chester men  contemplate,  to  the  Con- 


[Dee. 

tinental  level  in  point  of  wages  as 
well  as  expenditure,  is  to  seal  the 
ruin  of  the  British  empire,  burdened 
as  it  is ;  or,  in  the  least  dangerous 
view,  to  necessitate  repudiation.  That 
matter  is,  as  we  have  said  before,  for 
you  to  decide ;  and  the  period  for 
your  decision  is  rapidly  drawing  near. 
On  the  next  general  election  depends 
the  fate  of  the  country,  and — without 
saying  one  syllable  more  upon  the 
merits  of  the  systems  at  issue  —  the 
decision  or  inclination  of  your  body 
will  form  the  most  important,  because 
it  must  be  considered,  as  between 
conflicting  interests,  the  most  impar- 
tial element,  of  the  expression  of 
British  opinion. 


TIIE    JEAV'S   LEGACY. 
A    TALE    OF    THE    SIEGE    OP    GIBRALTAR. 


CHAPTER   I. 


THE  note-book  of  my  grandfather, 
Major  Flinders,  contains  much  matter 
relative  to  the  famous  siege  of  Gib- 
raltar, and  he  seems  to  have  kept  an 
accurate  and  minute  journal  of  such 
of  its  incidents  as  came  under  his  own 
observation.  Indeed,  I  suspect  the 
historian  Drink  water  must  have  had 
access  to  it,  as  I  frequently  find  the 
same  notabilia  chronicled  in  pretty 
much  the  same  terms  by  both  these 
learned  Thebans.  But  while  Drink- 
water  confines  himself  mostly  to  pro- 
fessional matters  —  the  state  of  the 
fortifications,  nature  of  the  enemy's 
fire,  casualties  to  the  soldieiy,  and  the 
like — and  seldom  introduces  an  anec- 
dote interesting  to  the  generality  of 
readers  without  apologising  for  such 
levity,  my  grandfather's  sympathies 
seem  to  have  been  engrossed  by  the 
sufferings  of  the  inhabitants  deprived 
of  shelter,  as  well  as  of  sufficient  food, 
and  helplessly  witnessing  the  destruc- 
tion of  their  property.  Consequently, 
his  journal,  though  quite  below  the 
dignity  of  history,  affords,  now  and 
then,  a  tolerably  graphic  glimpse  of 
the  beleagured  town. 

From  the  discursive  and  desultory 
nature  of  the  old  gentleman's  style, 
as  before  hinted,  it  would  be  vain  to 
look  for  a  continuous  narrative  in  his 
journal,  even  if  it  contained  materials 


for  such.  But  here  and  there  a  lite- 
rary Jack  Homer  might  extract  a 
plum  or  two  from  the  vast  quantity 
of  dough — of  reflections,  quotations, 
and  all  manner  of  irrelevant  observa- 
tions, surrounding  them.  The  fol- 
lowing incidents,  which  occurred  at 
the  most  interesting  period  of  the 
long  and  tedious  siege,  appear  to  me 
to  give  a  fair  idea  of  some  of  the  cha- 
racteristics of  the  time,  and  of  the 
personages  who  figured  in  it ;  and 
accordingly,  after  subjecting  them  to 
a  process  analogous  to  gold-washing, 
I  present  them  to  the  reader. 

After  a  strict  blockade  of  six 
months,  reducing  the  garrison  to  great 
extremity  for  want  of  provisions, 
Gibraltar  was  relieved  by  Sir  George 
Rodney,  who  landed  a  large  quantity 
of  stores.  But  about  a  year  after  his 
departure,  no  further  relief  having 
reached  them  except  casual  supplies 
from  trading  vessels  that  came  at  a 
great  risk  to  the  Rock,  their  exigen- 
cies were  even  worse  than  before. 
The  issue  of  provisions  was  limited  in 
quantity,  and  their  price  so  high,  that 
the  families,  even  of  officers,  were  fre- 
quently in  dismal  straits.  This  has 
given  rise  to  a  wooden  joke  of  my 
grandfather's,  who,  although  he  sel- 
dom ventures  on  any  deliberate  fac'e- 
tiousness,  has  entitled  the  volume  of 


The  Jew's  Legacy. 


649 


his  journal  relating  to  this  period  of 
the  siege,  The  Straits  of  Gibraltar. 
He  seems  to  have  estimated  the 
worth  of  his  wit  by  its  rarity,  for  the 
words  appear  at  the  top  of  every 
page. 

The  llth  of  April  1781  being  Car- 
lota's  birthday,  the  Major  had  invited 
Owen  (now  Lieutenant  Owen)  to  dine 
with  them  in  honour  of  the  occasion. 
Owen  was  once  more,  for  the  time,  a 
single  man ;  for  Juana,  having  gone 
to  visit  her  friends  in  Tarifa  just  be- 
fore the  commencement  of  the  siege, 
had  been  unable  to  rejoin  her  hus- 
band.  In  vain  had  Carlota  requested 
that  the  celebration  might  be  post- 
poned till  the  arrival  of  supplies  from 
England  should  afford  them  a  banquet 
worthy  of  the  anniversary — theMajor, 
a  great  stickler  for  ancient  customs, 
insisted  on  its  taking  place  forthwith. 
Luckily,  a  merchantman  from  Minorca 
had  succeeded  in  landing  a  cargo  of 
sheep,  poultry,  vegetables,  and  fruit 
the  day  before,  so  that  the  provision 
for  the  feast,  though  by  no  means 
sumptuous,  was  far  better  than  any 
they   had    been    accustomed  to  for 
many  months    past.     The    Major's 
note-book  enables  me  to  set  the  mate- 
rials for  the  dinner,  and  also  its  cost, 
before  the  reader — viz.  a  sheep's  head, 
price  sixteen  shillings,  (my  grand- 
father was  too  late  to  secure  any  of 
the  body,  which  was  rent  in  pieces, 
and  the  fragments  carried  off  as  if  by 
wolves,  ere  the  breath  was  well  out 
of  it)  —  a  couple  of  fowls,  twenty 
shillings,  (scraggy  creatures,  says  my 
ancestor  in  a  parenthesis) — a  ham, 
two  guineas — raisins  and  flour  for  a 
pudding,  five  shillings — eggs,   (how 
many  the  deponent  sayeth  not,)  six- 
pence each — vegetables,  nine  and  six- 
pence— and  fruit  for  dessert,  seven  and 
tenpence.    Then,  for  wine,  a  Spanish 
merchant,  a  friend  of  Carlota's,  had 
sent  them  two  bottles  of  champagne 
and  one  of  amontillado,  a  present  as 
generous  then  as  a  hogshead  would 
have  been  in  ordinary  times ;    and 
there  was,  moreover,  some  old  rum, 
and  two  lemons  for  punch.    Altoge- 
ther, there  was  probably  no  dinner 
half  so  good  that  day  in  Gibraltar. 

At  the  appointed  hour,  the  Major 
was  reading  in  his  quarters  (a  tole- 
rably commodious  house  near  the 
South  Barracks,  and  at  some  distance 


outside  the  town)  when  Owen  ap- 
peared. 

"You're  punctual,  my  boy;  and 
punctuality's  a  cardinal  virtue  about 
dinner-time,"  said  my  grandfather, 
looking  at  his  watch ;  "  three  o'clock 
exactly.  And  now  we'll  have  dinner. 
I  only  hope  the  new  cook  is  a  tole- 
rable proficient." 

"  What's  become  of  Mrs  Grigson  ?  " 
asked  Owen.  "  You  haven't  parted 
with  that  disciple  of  Apicius,  I  should 
hope?" 

"  She's  confined  again,"  said  my 
grandfather,  sighing ;  "  a  most  pro- 
lific woman  that !  It  certainly  can't 
be  above  half- a-y ear  since  her  last 
child  was  born,  and  she's  just  going 
to  have  another.  'Tis  certainly  not 
longer  ago  than  last  autumn,"  he 
added  musingly. 

"  A  wonderful  woman,"  said  Owen ; 
"  she  ought  to  be  purchased  by  the 
Government,  and  sent  out  to  some  of 
our  thinly -populated  colonies.  And 
who  fills  her  place?" 

"Why,  I'll  tell  you,"  responded 
the  Major.  "  Joe  Trigg,  my  old  ser- 
vant, is  confined  too — in  the  guard- 
room, I  mean,  for  getting  drunk — 
and  I've  taken  a  man  of  the  regiment, 
one  Private  Bags,  for  a  day  or  two, 
who  recommended  his  wife  as  an 
excellent  cook.  She  says  the  same 
of  herself ;  but  this  is  her  first  trial, 
and  I'm  a  little  nervous  about  it." 

"  Shocking  rascal  that  Bags,"  said 
Owen. 

"Indeed!"  said  my  grandfather; 
ul'm  sorry  to  hear  that.  I  didn't 
inquire  about  his  character.  He  offered 
his  services,  saying  he  came  from  the 
same  part  of  England  as  myself, 
though  I  don't  recollect  him." 

"  Terrible  work  this  blockade,"  said 
the  Major  after  a  pause.  "  Do  you 
know,  if  I  was  a  general  in  command 
of  a  besieging  army,  I  don't  think  I 
could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  starve  out 
the  garrison.  Consider  now,  my  dear 
boy,"  (laying  his  forefinger  on  Owen's 
arm,) — "  consider,  now,  several  thou- 
sand men,  with  strong  appetites, 
never  having  a  full  meal  for  months 
together.  And  just,  too,  as  my  diges- 
tion was  getting  all  right— for  I  never 
get  a  nightmare  now,  though  I  fre- 
quently have  the  most  delicious 
dreams  of  banquets  that  I  try  to  eat, 
but  wake  before  I  get  a  mouthful. 


650 


The  Jew's  Legacy. 


[Dec. 


"Tis  enough  to  provoke  a  saint.  And, 
as  if  this  was  not  enough,  the  supply 
of  books  is  cut  off.  The  Weekly 
Entertainer  isn't  even  an  annual  en- 
tertainer to  me.  The  last  number  I 
got  was  in  '79,  and  I've  been  a  regu- 
lar subscriber  these  twelve  years. 
There's  the  Gentleman's  Magazine, 
too.  The  last  one  reached  me  a  year 
since,  with  a  capital  story  in  it,  only 
half-finished,  that  I'm  anxious  to  know 
the  end  of;  and  also  a  rebus  that  I've 
been  longing  to  see  the  answer  to. 
*  The  answer  in  our  next,'  says  the 
tantalising  editor.  It's  a  capital  re- 
bus—just listen  now.  'Two-thirds 
of  the  name  of  an  old  novelist,  one- 
sixth  of  what  we  all  do  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  a  heathen  deity,  make  toge- 
ther a  morsel  fit  for  a  king.'  I've 
been  working  at  it  for  upwards  of  a 
year,  and  I  can't  guess  it.  Can 
you?" 

"Roast  pig  with  stuffing  answers 
the  general  description,"  said  Owen. 
"  That,  you'll  admit,  is  a  morsel  fit 
for  a  king." 

"Pooh!"  said  my  grandfather. 
"  But  you  must  really  try  now.  I've 
run  through  the  mythology,  all  that  I 
know  of  it,  and  tried  all  the  old  novel- 
ists' names,  even  Boccaccio  and  Cer- 
vantes. Never  were  such  combinations 
as  I've  made — but  can't  compound 
anything  edible  out  of  them.  Again, 
as  to  what  we  do  in  the  morning :  we 
all  shave,  (that  is,  all  who  have 
beards) — and  we  yawn,  too  ;  at  least 
I  do,  on  waking ;  but  it  must  be  a 
word  of  six  letters.  Then,  who  can 
the  heathen  deity  be  ?  " 

"  Pan  is  the  only  heathen  deity 
that  has  anything  to  do  with  cookery," 
said  Owen.  "  Frying-pan,  you  know, 
and  stew-pan." 

My  grandfather  caught  at  the  idea, 
but  had  not  succeeded  in  making  any- 
thing of  it,  or  in  approximating  to  the 
solution  of  the  riddle,  when  Carlota 
entered  from  an  inner  room. 

"  I  wish,  my  dear,  you  would  see 
about  the  dinner,"  said  the  Major ; 
*'  'tis  a  quarter  past  three." 

"  Si,  mi  vida,"  (yes,  my  life,)  said 
Carlota,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  be- 
stowing lavishly  on  my  grandfather 
the  most  endearing  epithets  in  the 
Spanish  language,  some  of  them,  per- 
haps, not  particularly  applicable — 
nino  de  mi  alma,  (child  of  my  soul,) 


luz  de  mis  ojos,  (light  of  my  eyes.)  and 
the  like ;  none  of  which  appeared  to 
have  any  more  effect  on  the  object  of 
them  than  if  they  had  been  addressed 
to  somebody  else. 

Carlota  rung  the  bell,  which  nobody- 
answered.  "Nurse  is  busy  with  de 
mna,"  she  said,  when  nobody  answer- 
ed it ;  "I  go  myself  to  de  cocina"' 
(kitchen,) — she  spoke  English  as  yet 
but  imperfectly. 

"There's  one  comfort  in  delay," 
said  the  Major ;  "  'tis  better  to  boil  a 
ham  too  much  than  too  little — and  yet 
I  shouldn't  like  it  overdone  either." 

Here  they  were  alarmed  by  an  ex- 
clamation from  Carlota.  "Ah  Dios ! 
Caramba  I  Ven,  ven,  mi  nino  !  "  cried 
she  from  the  kitchen. 

The  Major  and  Owen  hastened  to 
the  kitchen,  which  was  so  close  at 
hand  that  the  smell  of  the  dinner 
sometimes  anticipated  its  appearance 
in  the  dining-room.  Mrs  Bags,  the 
new  cook,  was  seated  before  the  fire. 
On  the  table  beside  her  was  an  empty 
champagne  bottle,  the  fellow  to  which 
protruded  its  neck  from  a  pail  in  one 
corner,  where  the  Major  had  put  it  to 
cool ;  and  another  bottle  of  more 
robust  build,  about  half- full,  was  also 
beside  her.  The  countenance  of  Mrs 
Bags  wore  a  pleasant  and  satisfied, 
though  not  very  intelligent  smile,  as 
she  gazed  steadfastly  on  the  ham  that 
was  roasting  on  a  spit  before  the  fire 
— at  least  one  side  of  it  was  done 
quite  black,  while  the  other  oozed 
with  warm  greese ;  for  the  machinery 
which  should  have  turned  it  was  not 
in  motion. 

"Caramba!"  exclaimed  Carlota, 
with  uplifted  hands.  "  Que  pica- 
rilla  /" — (What  a  knave  of  a  woman !) 

"  Gracious  heavens  !  "  said  my 
grandfather,  "  she's  roasting  it !  Who 
ever  heard  of  a  roast  ham?" 

"  A  many  years,"  remarked  Mrs 
Bags,  without  turning  her  head,  and 
still  smiling  pleasantly,  "  have  I  lived 
in  gentlemen's  families — "  Here  this 
fragment  of  autobiography  was  ter- 
minated by  a  hiccup. 

"And  the  champagne  bottle  is 
empty,"  said  Owen,  handling  it.  "  A 
nice  sort  of  cook  this  of  yours,  Major. 
She  seems  to  have  constituted  herself 
butler,  too." 

My  grandfather  advanced  and 
lifted  the  other  bottle  to  his  nose. 


1851.] 


The  Jew's  Legacy. 


651 


u'Tis  the  old  rum,"  he  ejaculated 
with  a  groan.  "  But  if  the  woman 
has  drunk  all  this  'twill  be  the  death 
of  her.  Bags,"  he  called,  "  come 
here." 

The  spouse  of  Mrs  Bags  emerged 
from  a  sort  of  scullery  behind  the 
kitchen — a  tall  bony  man,  of  an  ugli- 
ness quite  remarkable,  and  with  a 
very  red  face.  He  was  better  known 
by  his  comrades  as  Tongs,  in  allusion 
probably  to  personal  peculiarities ;  for 
the  length  of  his  legs,  the  width  of 
his  bony  hips,  and  the  smallness  of 
his  head,  gave  him  some  distant  re- 
semblance to  that  article  of  domestic 
ironmongery;  but  as  his  wife  called 
herself  Mrs  Bags,  and  he  was  entered 
in  the  regimental  books  by  that  name, 
it  was  probably  his  real  appellation. 

"  Kun  directly  to  Dr  Fagan,"  said 
the  Major,  "  and  request  him  to  come 
here.  Your  wife  has  poisoned  her- 
self with  rum." 

"  'Tisn't  rum,"  said  Bags,  somewhat 
thickly—"  'tis  fits." 

"  Fits  !"  said  my  grandfather. 

"  Fits,"  doggedly  replied  Mr  Bags, 
who  seemed  by  no  means  disturbed 
at  the  alleged  indisposition  of  his 
wife — ''she  often  gets  them." 

"  Don't  alarm  yourself,  Major," 
said  Owen,  "I'll  answer  for  it  she 
hasn't  drunk  all  the  rum.  The 
scoundrel  is  half- drunk  himself,  and 
smells  like  a  spirit-vault.  You'd 
better  take  your  wife  away,"  he  said 
to  Bags. 

"  She  can  leave  if  she  ain't  wanted," 
said  Private  Bags,  with  dignity :  "  we 
never  comes  where  we  ain't  wanted." 
And  he  advanced  to  remove  the  lady. 
Mrs  Bags  at  first  resisted  this  mea- 
sure, proceeding  to  deliver  a  eulogium 
on  her  own  excellent  qualities,  moral 
and  culinary.  She  had,  she  said,  the 
best  of  characters,  in  proof  of  which 
she  made  reference  to  several  persons 
in  various  parts  of  the  United  King- 
dom, and,  as  she  spoke,  she  smiled 
more  affably  than  ever. 

"  La  picarilla  no  tiene  verguenza" 
(the  wretch  is  perfectly  shameless,) 
cried  Carlota,  who,  having  hastily 
removed  the  ham  from  the  fire,  was 
now  looking  after  the  rest  of  the 
dinner.  The  fowls,  cut  up  in  small 
pieces,  were  boiling  along  with  the 
sheep's  head,  and,  probably  to  save 
time,  the  estimable  Mrs  Bags  had  put 


the  rice  and  raisins  destined  for  a 
pudding  into  the  pot  along  with  them 
—  certainly,  as  Owen  remarked,  a 
bold  innovation  in  cookery. 

Still  continuing  to  afford  them 
glimpses  of  her  personal  history,  Mrs 
Bags  was  at  length  persuaded  to 
retire  along  with  her  helpmate. 

"  What  astonishingimpudence,"  said 
the  Major,  shutting  the  door  upon  her, 
"to  pretend  to  be  a  cook,  and  yet 
know  no  better  than  to  roast  a  ham !" 

Carlota,  meanwhile,  was  busy  in 
remedying  the  disaster  as  far  as  she 
could ;  cutting  the  ham  into  slices 
and  frying  it,  making  a  fricassee  of  the 
fowls,  and  fishing  the  raisins  out  of 
the  pot,  exclaiming  bitterly  all  the 
while,  in  English  and  Spanish,  against 
the  tunanta  (equivalent  to  female 
scoundrel  or  scamp)  who  had  spoilt 
the  only  nice  dinner  her  pobrecito, 
her  m'7/.o,  her  querido,  (meaning  my 
grandfather,)  had  been  likely  to  enjoy 
for  a  long  time,  stopping  occasionally 
in  her  occupations  to  give  him  a  con- 
solatory kiss.  However,  my  grand- 
father did  not  keep  up  the  character 
of  a  martyr  at  all  well :  he  took  the 
matter  really  very  patiently;  and 
when  the  excellent  Carlota  had  set 
the  dinner  on  the  table,  and  he  tasted 
the  fine  flavour  of  the  maltreated 
ham,  he  speedily  regained  his  accus- 
tomed good-humour. 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  he  said  pre- 
sently, while  searching  with  a  fork  in 
the  dish  before  him,  "  that  a  pair  of 
fowls  should  have  only  three  wings, 
two  legs,  and  one  breast  between 
them." 

It  certainly  was  not  according  to 
the  order  of  nature ;  nevertheless  the 
fact  was  so,  all  my  grandfather's 
researches  in  the  dish  failing  to  bring 
to  light  the  missing  members.  This, 
however,  was  subsequently  explained 
by  the  discovery  of  the  remains  of 
these  portions  of  the  birds  in  the 
scullery,  where  they  appeared  to  have 
been  eaten  after  being  grilled;  and 
Mrs  Bags'  reason  for  adopting  this 
mode  of  cooking  them  was  also  ren- 
dered apparent — viz.,  that  she  might 
secure  a  share  for  herself  without  im- 
mediate detection. 

However,  all  this  did  not  prevent 
them  from  making  the  best  of  what 
was  left,  and  the  Major's  face  beamed 
as  he  drank  Carlota's  health  in  a  glass 


662  The  Jew's  Legacy. 

of  the  remaining  bottle  of  champagne, 
as  brightly  as  if  the  dinner  had  been 
completely  successful. 

"It  is  partly  my  fault,  Owen," 
said  the  Major,  "  that  you  haven't  a 
joint  of  mutton  instead  of  this  sheep's 
head.  I  ought  to  have  been  sharper. 
The  animal  was  actually  sold  in  parts 
before  he  was  killed.  Old  Clutter- 
buck  had  secured  a  haunch,  and  he  a 
single  man  you  know — 'tis  thrown 
away  upon  him.  I  offered  him  some- 
thing handsome  for  his  bargain,  but 
he  wouldn't  part  with  it." 

"  We're  lucky  to  get  any,"  returned 
Owen.  "  Never  was  such  a  scramble. 
Old  Fiskin,  the  commissary,  and  Mrs 
O'Regan,  the  Major's  wife,  both 
swore  the  left  leg  was  knocked  down 
to  them ;  neither  would  give  in,  and 
it  was  put  up  again,  when  the  staff 
doctor,  Pursum,  who  had  just  arrived 
in  a  great  hurry,  carried  it  off  by 
bidding  eightpence  more  than  either. 
Not  one  of  the  three  has  spoken  to 
either  of  the  others  since ;  and  people 
say,"  added  Owen,  "Mrs  O'Regan 
avers  openly  that  Fiskin  didn't  behave 
like  a  gentleman." 

"God  knows!"  said  ray  grand- 
father, "  'tis  a  difficult  thing  in  such  a 
case  to  decide  between  politeness  and 
a  consciousness  of  being  in  the  right. 
Fiskin  likes  a  good  dinner." 

The  dinner  having  been  done  justice 
to,  Carlota  removed  the  remains  to  a 
side-table,  and  the  Major  was  in  the 
act  of  compounding  a  bowl  of  punch, 
when  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 
"  Come  in,"  cried  Carlota. 

A  light  and  timid  step  crossed  the 
narrow  passage  separating  the  outer 
door  from  that  of  the  room  they  sat 
in,  and  there  was  another  hesitating 
tap  at  this  latter.  "  Come  in,"  again 
cried  Carlota,  and  a  young  girl  entered 
with  a  basket  on  her  arm. 

"  'Tis  Esther  Lazaro,"  said  Carlota 
in  Spanish.  "Come  in,  child;  sit 
here  and  tell  me  what  you  want." 

Esther  Lazaro  was  the  daughter  of 
a  Jew  in  the  town,  whose  occupations 
were  multifarious,  and  connected  him 
closely  with  the  garrison.  He  dis- 
counted officers'  bills,  furnished  their 
rooms,  sold  them  everything  they 
wanted — all  at  most  exorbitant  rates. 
Still,  as  is  customary  with  military 
men,  while  perfectly  aware  that  they 
could  have  procured  what  he  supplied 


[Dec. 

them  with  elsewhere  at  less  expense, 
they  continued  to  patronise  and  abuse 
him  rather  than  take  the  trouble  of 
looking  out  for  a  more  liberal  dealer. 
As  the  difficulties  of  the  garrison  in- 
creased, he  had  not  failed  to  take 
advantage  of  them,  and  it  was  even 
said  he  was  keeping  back  large  stores 
of  provisions  and  necessaries  till  the 
increasing  scarcity  should  enable 
him  to  demand  his  own  terms  for 
them. 

His  daughter  was  about  fifteen 
years  old — a  pretty  girl,  with  hair  of 
the  unusual  colour  of  chestnut,  plaited 
into  thick  masses  on  the  crown  of  her 
head.  Her  skin  was  fairer  than  is 
customary  wi^i  her  race — her  eyes 
brown  and  soft  in  expression,  her 
face  oval,  and  her  figure,  even  at  this 
early  age,  very  graceful,  being  some- 
what more  precocious  than  an  English 
girl's  at  those  years.  She  was  a 
favourite  with  the  ladies  of  the  garri- 
son, who  often  employed  her  to  pro- 
cure feminine  matters  for  them.  Car- 
Iota,  particularly,  had  always  treated 
her  with  great  kindness — and  hence 
the  present  visit.  She  had  come,  she 
said  timidly,  to  ask  a  favour — a  great 
favour.  She  had  a  little  dog  that  she 
loved.  (Here  a  great  commotion  in  the 
basket  seemed  to  say  she  had  brought 
her  protege  with  her.)  He  had  been 
given  to  her  by  a  young  school  friend 
who  was  dead,  and  her  father  would 
no  longer  let  her  keep  it,  because,  he 
said,  these  were  no  times  to  keep 
such  creatures,  when  provisions,  even 
those  fit  for  a  dog,  were  so  dear.  He 
was  a  very  good  little  dog — would  the 
Seiiora  take  him  ? 

"  Let  us  look  at  him,  Esther," 
said  Owen — "  I  see  you  have  brought 
him  with  you." 

"He  is  not  pretty,"  said  Esther, 
blushing  as  she  produced  him  from 
the  basket.  He  certainly  was  not, 
being  a  small  cur,  marked  with  black 
and  white,  like  a  magpie,  with  a  tail 
curling  over  his  back.  He  did  not 
appear  at  all  at  his  ease  in  society, 
for  he  tried  to  shrink  back  again  into 
the  basket. 

"  He  was  frightened,"  she  said, 
"  for  he  had  been  shut  up  for  more 
than  a  month.  She  had  tried  to  keep 
him  in  her  bedroom,  unknown  to  her 
father,  feeding  him  with  part  of  her 
own  meals  ;  but  he  had  found  it  out, 


1851.] 


and  had  beaten  her,  and  threatened 
to  kill  the  dog  if  ever  he  saw  it 
again." 

"  Pobrecito  !  "  (poor  little  thing,) 
said  the  good  Carlota — "  we  shall  take 
good  care  of  it.  Toma"  (take  this,) 
offering  him  a  bit  of  meat.  But  he 
crept  under  her  chair,  with  his  tail  so 
depressed,  in  his  extreme  bashfulness, 
that  the  point  of  it  came  out  between 
his  forelegs. 

Carlota  would  have  made  the  young 
Jewess  dine  there  forthwith,  at  the 
side-table  still  spread  with  the  re- 
mains of  the  dinner  ;  but  she  refused 
to  take  anything,  only  sipping  once 
from  a  glass  of  wine  that  Carlota  in- 


The  Jew's  Legacy.  653 

sisted  on  making  her  drink  of.  Then 
she  rose,  and,  having  tied  the  end  of 
a  string  that  was  fastened  to  the  dog's 
collar  to  the  leg  of  the  table,  to  pre- 
vent his  following  her,  took  her  leave, 
thanking  Carlota  very  prettily. 

"A  Dios,  Sancho!"  she  said  to 
the  little  dog,  who  wagged  his  tail 
and  gave  her  a  piteous  look  as  she 
turned  to  go  away  —  "  A  Dios, 
Sancho,"  she  repeated,  taking  him  up 
and  kissing  him  very  affectionately. 
The  poor  child  was  ready  to  cry. 

"Come  and  see  him  every  day, 
my  child,"  said  Carlota,  "  and  when 
better  times  come  you  shall  have  him 
again." 


CHAPTER  II. 


Lazaro  the  Jew  was  seated  towards 
dusk  that  evening  in  a  sort  of  office 
partitioned  off  by  an  open  railing 
from  a  great  store  filled  with  a  most 
motley  collection  of  articles.  Sofas, 
looking  -  glasses,  washing  -  stands — 
bales  of  goods  in  corded  canvass— rows 
of  old  boots  purchased  from  officers' 
servants  —  window  curtains  lying  on 
heaps  of  carpeting  and  matting  — 
bedsteads  of  wood  and  iron— crockery 
arid  glass  —  were  all  piled  indiscri- 
minately. Similar  articles  had  also 
overflowed  along  the  passage  down 
the  wooden  steps  leading  to  the 
square  stone  court  below,  which  was 
lumbered  with  barrels,  packing-cases, 
and  pieces  of  old  iron.  This  court 
was  entered  from  the  street,  and  an 
arched  door  on  one  side  of  it,  barred 
and  padlocked,  opened  on  a  large 
warehouse,  which  nobody  except  the 
Jew  had  set  foot  in  for  many  months. 

The  Jew  himself  was  a  spare, 
rather  small  man,  with  a  thin  eager 
face,  small  sharp  features,  and  a 
scanty  beard.  Being  by  descent  a 
Barbary  Jew,  he  wore  the  costume 
peculiar  to  that  branch  of  his  race — a 
black  skull-cap ;  a  long-skirted,  col- 
larless,  cloth  coat,  buttoned  close,  the 
waist  fastened  with  a  belt;  loose 
light-coloured  trousers  and  yellow 
slippers— altogether  he  looked  some- 
what like  an  overgrown  scholar  of 
Christ's  Hospital.  He  was  busied  in 
turning  over  old  parchment- covered 
Ledgers,  when  an  officer  entered. 

VonDessel  was  a  captain  in  Harden- 


berg's  regiment.  He  was  a  square, 
strong-built  man,  about  forty,  with 
very  light  hair,  as  was  apparent  since 
the  governor's  order  had  forbidden  the 
use  of  powder  to  the  troops,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  scarcity  of  flour. 
His  thick,  white,  overhanging  eye- 
brows, close  lips,  and  projecting  under 
jaw  gave  sternness  to  his  counte- 
nance. 

"  Good  afternoon,  captain,"  said 
the  Jew ;  "  what  I  do  for  you  to-day, 
sare?" 

"  Do  for  me !  By  Gott,  you  have 
done  for  me  already,  with  your  cursed 
Hebrew  tricks,"  said  the  captain. 
The  German  and  the  Jew  met  on  a 
neutral  ground  of  broken  English. 

"I  always  treat  every  gentleman 
fair,  sare,"  said  the  Jew.  "I  tell  you, 
captain,  I  lose  by  that  last  bill  of 
yours." 

" Der  leufel!  who  gains,  then?" 
said  Von  Dessel,  "  for  you  cut  me  off 
thirty  per  cent." 

The  Jew  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  make  it  so,  sare ;  the  siege 
makes  it  so.  When  the  port  is  open, 
you  shall  have  more  better  ex- 
change." 

"  Well,  money  must  be  had,"  said 
the  German.  uWhat  will  you  give 
now  for  my  bill  for  twenty  pounds  ?" 

The  Jew  consulted  a  book  of 
figures— then  made  some  calculations 
on  paper — then  appeared  to  consider 
intently. 

«*  Curse  you,  speak  ! "  said  the 
choleric  captain.  "  You  have  made  up 


654 


The  Jew's  Legacy. 


[Dec. 


your  mind  about  how  much  roguery 
long  ago." 

"  Captain,  sare,  I  give  you  feefty 
dallars,"  said  the  Jew. 

The  captain  burst  forth  with  a 
volley  of  German  execrations. 

"  Captain,"  said  the  Jew  presently, 
"  I  like  to  please  a  gentleman  if  I 
can.  I  give  you  one  box  of  cigars 
besides — real  Cubas — one  hundred 
and  feefty  in  a  box." 

The  captain  at  this  broke  forth 
again,  but  checked  himself  presently 
on  the  entrance  of  the  Jew's  daughter, 
who  now  returned  from  the  Major's. 
She  advanced  quietly  into  the  room, 
made  a  little  bow  to  the  captain,  took 
oif  and  laid  aside  her  shawl,  and, 
taking  up  some  work,  sat  down  and 
began  to  sew. 

Von  Dessel  resumed  his  expostula- 
tion in  a  milder  tone.  The  Jew, 
however,  knew  the  money  was  neces- 
sary to  him,  and  only  yielded  so  far 
as  to  increase  his  box  of  cigars  to 
two  hundred ;  and  the  captain,  finding 
he  could  get  no  better  terms  from 
him,  was  forced  to  agree.  While  the 
Jew  was  drawing  out  the  bills,  the 
German  gazed  attentively  at  Esther, 
with  a  good  deal  of  admiration  ex- 
pressed in  his  countenance. 

"  I  can't  take  the  money  now," 
said  he,  after  signing  the  bills.  "  I 
am  going  on  duty.  Bring  it  to 
me  to-morrow  morning,  at  nine 
o'clock." 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't,  sare,"  said 
Lazaro  ;  "  too  moch  business. 
Couldn't  you  send  for  it,  captain  ?  " 

"  Not  possible,"  said  the  German  ; 
"  but  you  must  surely  have  somebody 
that  might  bring  it — some  trust- 
worthy person  you  know."  And  his 
eye  rested  on  Esther. 

"  There's  my  dater,  sare,"  said  the 
Jew—"  I  shall  send  her,  if  that  will 
do." 

"  Good,"  said  the  captain,  "  do  not 
forget,"  and  quitted  the  room  forth- 
with. 

He  was  scarcely  gone  when  a  pair 
with  whom  the  reader  is  already 
slightly  acquainted,  Mr  and  Mrs 
Bags,  presented  themselves.  The 
effects  of  their  morning  conviviality 
had  in  a  great  measure  disappeared'. 

"  Your  servant,  sir,"  said  Bags. 
The  Jew  nodded. 

"  We've  got  a  few  articles  to  dis- 


pose of,"  pursued  Mr  Bags,  looking 
round  the  room  cautiously.  "  They 
was  left  us,"  he  added  in  a  low  tone, 
"  by  a  diseased  friend." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  the  Jew,  "  never 
mind  where  you  got  'em.  Be  quick 
— show  them." 

Mrs  Bags  produced  from  under  her 
cloak,  first  a  tin  teakettle,  then  a  brass 
saucepan  ;  and  Mr  Bags,  unbuttoning 
his  coat,  laid  on  the  table  three  knives 
and  a  silver  fork.  Esther,  passing 
near  the  table  at  the  time,  glanced 
accidentally  at  the  fork,  and  recog- 
nised the  Flinders  crest — a  talbot,  or 
old  English  bloodhound. 

"  Father,"  said  she  hastily,  in 
Spanish,  "  don't  have  anything  to  do 
with  that— it  must  be  stolen."  But 
the  Jew  turned  so  sharply  on  herr 
telling  her  to  mind  her  work,  that 
she  retreated. 

The  Jew  took  up  the  tea-kettle,  and 
examined  the  bottom  to  see  that  it 
was  sound — did  the  same  with  the 
saucepan — looked  at  the  knives  nar- 
rowly, and  still  closer  at  the  fork — 
then  ranged  them  before  him  on  the 
table. 

"  For  dis,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand 
on  the  tea-kettle,  "  we  will  say  one 
pound  of  rice ;  for  dis  (the  saucepan) 
two  pounds  of  corned  beef;  for  de 
knives,  a  bottle  of  rum ;  and  for  de 
fork,  seex  ounces  of  the  best  tea." 

"  Curse  your  tea  !  "  said  Mr  Bags. 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Mrs  Bags,  who  had 
with  difficulty  restrained  herself  dur- 
ing the  process  of  valuation,  "we 
doesn't  want  no  tea.  And  the  things 
is  worth  a  much  more  than  what  you 
say :  the  saucepan 's  as  good  as  newt 
and  the  fork  's  silver —  " 

"  Plated,"  said  the  Jew,  weighing 
it  across  his  finger. 

"A  many  years,"  said  Mrs  Bags, 
"  have  I  lived  in  gentlemen's  families, 
and  well  do  I  know  plate  from  silver. 
I've  lived  with  Mrs  Milson  of  Pid- 
ding  Hill,  where  everything  was  sil- 
ver, and  nothing  plated,  even  to  the 
handles  of  the  doors;  and  a  dear  good 
lady  she  was  to  me;  many's  the  gown 
she  giv  me.  And  I've  lived  with — ^ 

Here  the  Jew  unceremoniously  in- 
terrupted the  train  of  her  recollections 
by  pushing  the  things  from  before 
him,  "Take  what  I  offer,  or  else 
take  your  things  away,"  said  he. 
shortly. 


1851.]  The  Ms  Legacy.  655 

Mr  and  Mrs  Bags  grumbled  consi-  on  the  table.  "  Then  give  me— or 

lend  me,"  said  he,  "  some  food,  much 
or  little,  and  I'll  work  for  you  every 
hour  I'm  off  duty  till  you're  satis- 
fied. I  will,  Mr  Lazaro,  so  help  me 
God ! " 

"  I  got  plenty  of  men  to  work  for 
me,"  said  Lazaro  ;  "  don't  want  any 
more.  Come  again,  when  you've  got 
something  to  sell,  my  friend." 

The  man  rolled  up  the  gown  with- 
out speaking,  then  lifted  it  over  his 
head,  and  dashed  it  into  the  furthest 
corner  of  the  store.  He  was  hurrying 
from  the  place,  when,  as  if  unwilling 
to  throw  away  his  last  chance,  he 
turned  back,  gathered  it  up,  and, 
thrusting  it  under  his  arm,  quitted 
the  store  with  lingering  steps,  as  if 
he  even  yet  hoped  to  be  called  back. 
ISTo  such  summons  reached  him,  how- 
ever ;  but,  immediately  after  he  was 
gone,  Esther  rose  and  stole  softly 
down  the  stairs.  She  overtook  him 
at  the  street-door  opening  from  the 

tis  her  last  stitch  of  court  before  mentioned,  and  laid  her 

The  man  turned 


derably.  The  tea  they  positively  re- 
fused at  any  price:  Mr  Bags  didn't 
like  it,  and  Mrs  Bags  said  it  disagreed 
with  her.  So  the  Jew  agreed  to  give 
them  instead  another  bottle  of  rum, 
a  pound  of  onions,  and  two  pounds  of 
beef;  and  with  these  terms  they  at 
length  closed,  and  departed  with  the 
results  of  their  barter. 

During  the  altercation,  a  soldier  of 
another  regiment  had  entered,  and 
stood  silently  awaiting  his  turn  to  be 
attended  to.  He  was  a  gaunt  man, 
with  want  written  legibly  in  the  hol- 
lows of  his  face  and  the  dismal  eager- 
ness of  his  eye.  He  now  came  forward, 
and  with  trembling  hands  unfolded 
an  old  gown,  and  handed  it  to  the 
Jew. 

"  'Tis  no  good  to  me,"  said  the 
latter,  giving  it  back,  after  holding  it 
against  the  light ;  "  nothing  but 
holes." 

"  But  my  wife  has  no  other,"  said 
the  man 


clothes,  except  her  petticoat  and  a 
blanket.  I've  brought  everything  else 
to  you." 

The  Jew  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  spread  out  his  hands,  in  token 
that  he  could  not  help  it. 

"  I  swear  'tis  her  last !  "  reiterated 
the  man,  as  if  he  really  fancied  this 
fact  must  give  the  garment  as  much 
value  in  the  Jew's  eyes  as  in  his 
own. 

"  I  tell  you  I  won't  have  it ! "  said 
the  Jew,  testily. 

"  Give  me  only  a  loaf  for  it,  or  but 
one  pound  of  potatoes,"  said  the  sol- 
dier :  "  'tis  more  than  my  wife  and 
four  children  have  had  among  them 
for  two  days.  Half-rations  for  one, 
among  six  of  us,  is  too  hard  to  live." 

"  A  pound  of  potatoes,"  said  the 
Jew,  "  is  worth  four  reals  and  a-half 
— eighteenpence ;  your  wife's  gown  is 
worth— nothing ! " 

"Then  take  this,"  said  the  man, 
beginning  frantically  to  pull  off  his 
uniform  coat ;  "  anything  is  better 
than  starving." 

The  Jew  laughed.  "  What ! "  said 
he,  "  you  think  I  don't  know  better 
than  to  buy  a  soldier's  necessaries, 
eh  ?  Ah,  ah  !  no  such  a  fool,  I  think, 
my  friend.  What  your  captain  say  ? 
—eh  ?  " 

The  man  struck  his  hand  violently 


hand  on  his  arm. 

and  glared  on  her.     "  What ! — he'll 

buy  it,  will  he  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Esther—"  keep  it 
for  your  poor  wife.  Look;  I  have  no 
money,  but  take  these,"  and  she 
placed  in  his  hand  two  earrings 
hastily  detached  from  her  ears. 

The  man  stood  looking  at  her  for  a 
space,  as  if  stupified,  without  closing 
his  hand  on  the  trinkets  that  lay  on 
the  palm ;  then,  suddenly  rousing 
himself,  he  swore,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  that  for  this  service  he  would 
do  for  her  anything  on  earth  she 
should  require  from  him ;  but  she 
only  begged  him  to  go  away  at  once, 
and  say  nothing,  lest  her  father  should 
overhear  the  transaction,  who  would 
certainly  be  angry  with  her  for  it. 

Bags  and  his  wife  had  stopt  in  a 
corner  of  the  court,  to  pack  up  their 
property  in  a  commodious  form  for 
conveyance,  and  had  witnessed  this 
scene  in  silence.  As  soon  as  the 
soldier  had,  in  compliance  with  Es- 
ther's entreaties,  disappeared,  Bags 
came  forward. 

"And  your  father  would  be  angry, 
would  he,  my  dear  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Oh,  very — oh,  so  angry !  Please 
don't  stop  me,"  she  said,  trying  to 
pass  him. 

"  And  what'll  ye  give  me  not  to  tell 


656 


The  Jew's  Legacy. 


[Dec. 


him,  now  ?  "  asked  Mr  Bags.  "  Ain't 
ye  got  nothing  for  me  ?  " 

"No— oh,  no— indeed,  nothing.  Do 
let  me  pass." 

"Yes,  you  have  ;  you've  got  this, 
I  think,"  said  Bags,  snatching  at  a 
silver-mounted  comb  glistening  in  her 


hair,  which,  thus  loosened,  all  fell 
down  on  her  shoulders  as  she  darted 
past  him.  "And  now,"  said  Mr 
Bags,  inspecting  his  prize,  "  I  think 
me  and  that  'ere  cheating  Jew  is  quits 
for  the  silver  fork.  I'll  allow  it's 
plated  now." 


CHAPTER    III. 


Early  the  next  morning  (the  12th  of 
April)  a  rumour  went  through  the 
town  that  an  English  fleet  was  sig- 
nalled as  in  sight.  The  news  roused 
the  starving  people  like  electricity. 
The  pale  spectres  of  men  that,  on  the 
previous  day,  had  stalked  so  gauntly 
through  the  dreary  streets  —  the 
wretched,  sinking  women,  and  chil- 
dren careworn  as  grandfathers  — 
poured  forth,  with  something  like  a 
natural  light  in  their  hollow  eyes,  to 
witness  the  joyful  spectacle.  The 
sea-wall  of  the  city  was,  like  the  mar- 
gin of  a  vast  pool  of  Bethesda,  throng- 
ed with  hopeful  wretches  awaiting 
the  coming  of  the  angel. 

The  streets  were  instantly  deserted. 
Those  who  could  not  leave  their 
homes  got  on  the  housetops,  but  the 
great  mass  of  the  population  spread 
itself  along  the  line-wall,  the  Grand 
Parade  and  Alameda,  and  the  heights 
skirting  the  chief  slopes  of  the 
Rock.  Moors  and  Jews,  Spaniards 
and  English,  citizens  and  soldiers, 
men,  women,  and  children,  of  all 
ages,  grades,  and  nations,  ranged 
themselves  indiscriminately  wherever 
they  could  obtain  a  view  of  the  sea. 

For  some  time  the  wished- for  sight 
was  delayed  by  a  thick  fog  that 
spread  itself  across  the  Straits  and 
the  entrance  of  the  bay.  A  murmur 
rose  from  each  successive  rank  of 
people  that  forced  itself  into  a  front 
place  on  the  line-wall.  Terrible 
doubts  flew  about,  originating  no  one 
knew  where,  but  gaining  strength  and 
confirmation  as  they  passed  from 
mouth  to  mouth.  On  the  summit  of 
the  Rock  behind  them  the  signal  for 
a  fleet  flew  steadily  from  the  mast  at 
Middle  Hill;  but  still  in  this,  as  in 
all  crowds,  were  some  of  little  faith, 
who  were  full  of  misgivings.  Many 
rushed  up  to  the  signal  station,  unable 
to  bear  the  pain  of  the  delay.  My 
.grandfather  noticed  the  Jew  Lazaro 


among  the  throng,  watching  the  event 
with  an  anxious  eye,  though  his  an- 
xiety was  from  the  opposite  cause  to 
that  of  most  of  the  spectators.  The 
arrival  of  supplies  would  at  ouce 
bring  down  the  price  of  provisions, 
and  rob  him,  for  the  present,  of  his 
expected  profits  ;  and  as  each  succes- 
sive rumour  obtained  credence  with 
the  crowd,  his  countenance  brightened 
as  their  hopes  fell,  and  sank  as  they 
again  emerged  from  despondency. 

Not  far  from  him  was  an  old 
Genoese  woman,  wearing  the  quaint 
red  cloak,  trimmed  with  black  velvet, 
that  old  Genoese  women  usually  wear 
in  Gibraltar.  She  hovered  round  the 
skirts  of  the  crowd,  occasionally 
peering  beneath  an  uplifted  arm, 
or  thrusting  it  between  two  obstruct- 
ing figures,  to  catch  a  glimpse,  though 
it  was  evident  that  her  dim  eyes 
would  fail  to  discern  the  fleet  when 
it  should  come  in  view.  Her  thin 
shrivelled  features,  relieved  against 
her  black  hood,  were  positively  wolfish 
from  starvation.  She  frequently  drew 
one  hand  from  beneath  her  cloak,  and 
gazed  at  something  she  held  in  it — 
then,  muttering,  she  would  again  con- 
ceal it.  My  grandfather's  curiosity 
was  roused.  He  drew  near  and  watch- 
ed for  the  reappearance  of  the  object 
that  so  engrossed  her.  It  was  a  blue 
mouldy  crust  of  bread. 

The  wished-for  spectacle  was  at 
length  revealed.  "  As  the  sun  be- 
came more  powerful,"  says  Drink  - 
water,  rising  into  positive  poetry 
with  the  occasion,  "  the  fog  gradually 
rose,  like  the  curtain  of  a  vast  theatre, 
discovering  to  the  anxious  garrison 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  pleasing 
scenes  it  is  possible  to  conceive.  The 
convoy,  consisting  of  near  a  hundred 
vessels,  were  in  a  compact  body,  led 
by  several  men-of-war — their  sails 
just  filled  enough  for  steerage,  while 
the  majority  of  the  line-of-battle 


1851.] 

ships  lay  to  under  the  Barbary  shore, 
having  orders  not  to  enter  the  bay, 
lest  the  enemy  should  molest  them 
with  their  fireships." 

Then  rose  a  great  shout — at  once 
the  easting- off  of  long-pressing  anxiety 
and  the  utterance  of  delight.  Happy 
tears  streamed  down  haggard  faces 
overgrown  with  hair,  and  presently 
men  turned  to  one  another,  smiling 
in  the  face  of  a  stranger  neighbour 
as  in  that  of  an  old  friend,  while  a 
joyful  murmur,  distilled  from  many 
languages,  rose  upward.  Assuredly, 
if  blessings  are  of  any  avail,  the  soul 
of  Admiral  Darby,  who  commanded 
the  relieving  fleet,  is  at  this  moment 
in  Paradise. 

Friends  and  relations  now  began 
to  search  for  one  another  in  the 
crowd,  which  broke  quickly  into 
knots,  each  contriving  how  to  enjoy 
together  the  plenty  that  was  to 
descend  upon  them.  My  grand- 
father's eye  at  this  juncture  was 
again  attracted  by  the  old  Genoese 
woman.  When  the  crowd  shouted, 
she  screened  her  eyes  with  her 
•withered  hand,  and,  with  her  nostril 
spread,  her  chin  fallen,  in  her  eager- 
ness gazed  towards  the  sea — but 
presently  shook  her  head,  discerning 
nothing.  Then  she  plucked  by  the 
arm  a  joyful  Spaniard. 

"  Es  verdad?  For  Dios,  es  verdad?" 
she  cried;  "jura!  jura!"  — (Is  it 
true?  Swear  by  Heaven  it  is 
true.) 

"  &i,  si,"  said  the  Spaniard,  point- 
ing ;  "  es  verdad,"  ('tis  true.)  "  You 
may  see  them  yourself." 

Instantly  the  old  woman,  for  the 
last  time,  drew  forth  her  treasured 
crust,  and  began  to  devour  it,  mut- 
tering, as  she  tore  away  each  mouth- 
ful, "Mas  manana!  mas  manana!" 
(I  shall  have  more  to-morrow — more 
to-morrow !) 

After  the  crowd  had  partially  dis- 
persed, Owen  was  returning  to  his 
quarters  to  breakfast,  when,  as  he 
paused  to  open  the  door,  he  heard 
a  voice  he  thought  he  knew  crying 
out  in  affright  in  the  rooms  opposite, 
where  Von  Dessel  resided.  Presently 
the  door  of  the  quarters  was  opened, 
and  the  flushed  and  frightened  face 
of  Esther  Lazaro  appeared,  as  she 
struggled  to  escape  from  Von  Dessel, 
who  held  her  arm. 


The  Jew's  Legacy.  657 

"  Seiior,  sefior,  speak  to  the  gen- 
tleman ! "  she  cried  to  Owen. 

"  Leetle  foolish  girl,"  said  Von 
Dessel,  grinning  a  smile  on  seeing 
him;  "  she  frightens  at  nothing. 
Come  in,  child  " — trying  to  shut  the 
door. 

"  Why  don't  you  let  her  alone?" 
said  Owen ;  "  don't  you  see  she 
doesn't  like  you  ?  " 

"  Pouf ! "  said  the  captain.  "  We 
all  have  trouble  with  them  some- 
times— you  must  know  that  well." 

"No,  by  Jupiter!"  cried  Frank 
Owen.  "  If  I  couldn't  gain  them 
willingly,  they  might  go  to  the 
devil  for  me.  But  you  hurt  her — 
pray  let  her  go — you  must  indeed." 

"  Do  you  mind  your  own  affair," 
said  the  captain,  "  and  don't 
meddle  ;"  and,  exerting  his  strength, 
he  drew  Esther  in,  and  partially 
succeeded  in  shutting  the  door — she 
calling  the  while  again  on  Owen 
to  help  her.  Frank  stepped  forward, 
and,  putting  his  foot  against  the 
door,  sent  it  into  the  room,  causing 
Captain  Von  Dessel,  who  was  behind 
it,  to  stagger  back  with  some 
violence,  and  to  quit  his  hold  of 
Esther,  who  ran  down  stairs. 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  the  captain, 
stalking  grimly  out  of  his  room,  pale 
with  rage.  "  You  have  thought 
right  to  interfere  with  me,  and  to 
insult  me.  By  Gott!  I  will  teach 
you  better,  young  man.  Shall  we 
say  in  one  hour,  sir,  in  the  Fives' 
Court?" 

Owen  nodded.  "  At  your  pleasure," 
said  he,  and,  entering  his  own  quar- 
ters, shut  the  door. 

Meanwhile  my  grandfather  walked 
about  with  the  telescope  he  had 
brought  with  him  to  look  after  the 
fleet  under  his  arm,  enjoying  the 
unusual  sight  of  happy  faces  around 
him.  And  he  has  remarked  it  as  a 
singular  feature  of  humanity,  that 
this  prospect  of  relief  from  physical 
want  inspired  a  far  more  deep  and 
universal  joy  than  he  had  witnessed 
in  any  public  rejoicings  arising  from 
such  causes  as  loyalty  or  patriot- 
ism evinced  at  a  coronation  or  the 
news  of  a  great  victory ;  and  hence 
my  grandfather  takes  occasion  to 
express  a  fear  that  human  nature,  as 
well-  as  other  nature,  is,  except 
among  the  rarer  class  of  souls,  more 


658 


The  Jew's  Legacy. 


[Dec. 


powerfully  and  generally  influenced 
by  its  animal  propensities  than  by 
more  refined  causes. 

He  was  so  engrossed  with  the 
philanthropic  pursuit  of  enjoying  the 
joy  of  the  multitude,  and  the  philoso- 
phic one  of  extracting  moral  reflec- 
tions therefrom,  that  he  quite  forgot 
he  had  not  breakfasted.  He  was 
just  beginning  to  be  reminded  of  the 
circumstance  by  a  feeling  of  hollow- 
ness  in  the  region  of  the  stomach, 
and  to  turn  his  steps  homeward,  when 
a  light  hand  was  laid  on  his  arm. 
My  grandfather  turned,  and  beheld 
the  face  of  the  young  Jewess  looking 
wistfully  in  his. 

She  began  at  first  to  address  him 
in  Spanish — the  language  she  spoke 
most  naturally ;  but,  quickly  perceiv- 
ing her  mistake  on  hearing  the 
extraordinary  jargon  in  which  he 
replied,  (for  it  is  a  singular  fact  that 
nobody  but  Carlota,  who  taught 
him,  could  understand  my  grand- 
father's Spanish,)  she  exchanged  it 
for  his  own  tongue.  She  told  him 
in  a  few  hurried  words  of  the  quarrel 
Owen  had  incurred  on  her  account 
with  Von  Dessel,  and  of  the  chal- 
lenge she  had  overheard  given  by 
the  latter,  beseeching  the  major  to 
hasten  to  prevent  the  result. 

"  In  the  Fives'  Court !  in  an 
hour !"  said  my  grandfather.  "  When 
did  this  happen?" 

Esther  thought  nearly  an  hour 
ago — she  had  been  almost  so  long 
seeking  my  grandfather. 

"  I'll  go,  child— I'll  go  at  once," 
said  the  Major.  "  With  Von  Dessel, 
too,  as  if  he  could  find  nobody  else 
to  quarrel  with  but  the  best  swords- 
man in  the  garrison.  '  Souls  and 
bodies'  quoted  my  grandfather, 
*  hath  he  divorced  three.'" 

With  every  stride  he  took,  the 
Major's  uneasiness  was  augmented. 
At  any  time  his  anxiety  would  have 
been  extreme  while  peril  threatened 
Frank ;  but  now,  when  he  was  cal- 
culating on  him  as  a  companion  at 
many  a  well- spread  table,  when  they 
might  forget  their  past  miseries,  it 
peculiarly  affected  him. 

"  To  think,"  muttered  my  grand- 
father, "  that  these  two  madmen 
should  choose  a  time  when  every- 
body is  going  to  be  made  so  happy, 
by  getting  plenty  to  eat,  to  show 


their  gratitude  to  Providence  by 
cutting  one  another's  throats !  " 

The  danger  to  Owen  was  really 
formidable  ;  for,  though  a  respectable 
swordsman,  he  was  no  unusual  pro- 
ficient in  the  graceful  art,  while  his 
opponent  was  not  only,  as  my  grand- 
father had  said,  the  best  swordsman 
in  the  garrison,  but  perhaps  the 
best  at  that  time  in  the  army.  As 
a  student  in  Germany  he  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  some  sanguinary 
duels ;  and  since  his  arrival  in  Gib- 
raltar, a  Spanish  gentleman,  a  very 
able  fencer,  had  fallen  beneath  his 
arm. 

"  God  grant,"  said  my  grand- 
father to  himself,  as  he  neared  the 
Fives'  Court,  "  that  we  may  settle 
this  without  the  perdition  of  souls. 
Frank,  my  dear  boy,  we  could  better 
spare  a  better  man !  " 

On  attempting  to  enter  the  Fives' 
Court  he  was  stopped  by  the  master, 
posted  at  the  door.  u  It  was  en- 
gaged," he  said,  "  for  a  private 
match." 

41  Ay,  ay,"  said  my  grandfather, 
pushing  past  him  ;  "  a  pretty  match, 
indeed !  Ay,  ay — pray  God  we  can 
stop  it ! " 

Finding  the  inner  door  locked,  the 
Major,  who  was  well  acquainted 
with  the  locality — for,  when  he  had 
nothing  else  particular  to  do,  he 
would  sometimes  mark  for  the 
players  for  a  rubber  or  two — ascend- 
ed the  stairs  to  the  gallery. 

About  the  centre  of  the  court 
stood  the  combatants.  All  preli- 
minaries had  been  gone  through — 
for  they  were  stripped  to  their  shirts — 
and  the  seconds  (one  a  German,  the 
adjutant  of  Hardenberg's  regiment — 
the  other,  one  Lieutenant  Rushton, 
an  old  hand  at  these  affairs,  and 
himself  a  fire-eater)  stood  by,  each 
with  a  spare  sword  in  his  hand.  In 
a  corner  was  the  German  regimental 
surgeon,  his  apparatus  displayed  on 
the  floor,  ready  for  an  emergency. 
Kushton  fully  expected  Owen  to 
fall,  and  only  hoped  he  might 
escape  without  a  mortal  wound. 
Von  Dessel  himself  seemed  of  the 
same  opinion,  standing  square  and 
firm  as  a  tower,  scarcely  troubling 
himself  to  assume  an  attitude,  but 
easy  and  masterly  withal.  Both  con- 
tempt and  malice  were  expressed  for 


1851.] 

his  antagonist  in  his  half-shut  eyes 
and  sardonic  twist  of  the  corners  of 
his  mouth. 

"  Owen,  Owen,  my  boy !"  shouted 
iny  grandfather,  rushing  to  the  front 
of  the  gallery,  and  leaning  over,  as 
the  swords  crossed — "  stop,  for  God's 
sake.  You  mustn't  fight  that  swash- 
buckler !  They  say  he  hath  been  fencer 
to  the  Sophy,"  roared  the  Major,  in 
the  words  of  Sir  Toby  Belch. 

The  combatants  just  turned  their 
heads  for  a  moment  to  look  at  the 
interrupter,  and  again  crossed  swords. 

Immediately  on  finding  his  remon- 
strance disregarded,  the  Major  de- 
scended personally  into  the  arena — 
not  by  the  ordinary  route  of  the  stairs, 
but  the  shorter  one  of  a  perpendicular 
drop  from  the  gallery,  not  effected 
with  the  lightness  of  a  feathered  Mer- 
cury. But  the  clatter  of  his  descent 
was  lost  in  the  concussion  of  a  dis- 
charge of  artillery  that  shook  the 
walls.  Instantly  the  air  was  alive 
with  shot  and  hissing  shells  ;  and  be- 
fore the  echoes  of  the  first  discharge 
had  ceased,  the  successive  explosion 
of  the  shells  in  the  air,  and  the  crash- 
ing of  chimneys,  shattered  doors,  and 
falling  masonry,  increased  the  uproar. 


The  Jew's  Legacy.  559 

One  shell  burst  in  the  court,  filling 
it  with  smoke.  My  grandfather  felt, 
for  a  minute,  rather  dizzy  with  the 
shock.  When  the  smoke  cleared,  by 
which  time  he  had  partially  recovered 
himself,  the  first  object  that  caught 
his  eye  was  Von  Dessel  lying  on  the 
pavement,  and  the  doctor  stooping 
over  him.  The  only  other  person 
hurt  was  Eushton,  a  great  piece  of 
the  skin  of  whose  forehead,  detached 
by  a  splinter,  was  hanging  over  his 
right  eye.  Von  Dessel  had  sustained 
a  compound  fracture  of  the  thigh, 
while  the  loss  of  two  fingers  from  his 
right  hand  had  spoiled  his  thrust  in 
tierce  for  ever. 

"  What  can  be  the  matter?  "  said 
my  grandfather,  looking  upward,  as 
a  second  flight  of  missiles  hurtled  over- 
head. 

"  Matter  enough,"  quoth  Rushton, 
mopping  the  blood  from  his  eye  with 
his  handkerchief ;  "  those  cursed 
devils  of  Spaniards  are  bombarding 
the  town." 

The  Major  went  up  to  Owen,  and 
squeezed  his  hand.  "  We  won't  abuse 
the  Spaniards  for  all  that,"  said 
he — u  they've  saved  your  life,  my 
boy." 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Enraged  at  seeing  their  blockade 
evaded  by  the  arrival  of  Darby's  fleet, 
the  Spaniards  revenged  themselves 
by  directing  such  a  fire  upon  Gibral- 
tar, from  their  batteries  in  the  Neutral 
Ground,  as  in  a  short  time  reduced 
the  town  to  a  mass  of  ruins.  This 
misfortune  was  rendered  the  more  in- 
tolerable to  the  besieged,  as  it  came  in 
the  moment  of  exultation  and  general 
thanksgiving.  While  words  of  con- 
gratulation were  passing  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  the  blow  descended,  and 
"  turned  to  groans  their  roundelay." 

The  contrast  between  the  elation 
of  the  inhabitants  when  my  grand- 
father entered  the  Fives'  Court,  and 
their  universal  consternation  and  de- 
spair when  he  quitted  it,  was  terrible. 
The  crowd  that  had  a  few  minutes 
before  so  smilingly  and  hopefully  en- 
tered their  homes,  now  fled  from  them 
in  terror.  Again  the  streets  were 
thronged  by  the  unhappy  people,  who 
began  to  believe  themselves  the  sport 


of  some  powerful  and  malevolent  de- 
mon. Whole  families,  parents,  chil- 
dren, and  servants,  rushed  together 
into  the  streets,  making  their  way  to 
the  south  to  escape  the  missiles  that 
pursued  them.  Some  bore  pieces  of 
furniture  snatched  up  in  haste,  and 
apparently  seized  because  they  came 
first  to  hand  ;  some  took  the  chairs 
they  had  been  sitting  on ;  one  man 
my  grandfather  noticed  bearing  away 
with  difficulty  the  leaf  of  a  mahogany 
table,  leaving  behind  the  legs  which 
should  have  supported  it;  and  a 
woman  had  a  crying  child  in  one 
hand,  and  in  the  other  a  gridiron,  still 
reeking  with  the  fat  of  some  meat  she 
had  been  cooking.  Eubbish  from  the 
houses  began  to  strew  the  streets; 
and  here  and  there  a  ragged  breach 
in  a  wall  rent  by  the  cannon  afforded 
a  strange  incongruous  glimpse  of  the 
room  inside,  with  its  mirrors,  tables, 
and  drapery,  just  as  the  inhabitants 
left  them.  Armed  soldiers  were  has- 


660 


The  Jew's 


tening  to  their  different  points  of 
assembly,  summoned  by  bugles  that 
resounded  shrilly  amid  the  din,  and 
thrusting  their  way  unceremoniously 
through  the  impeding  masses  of  fugi- 
tives. 

The  house  of  the  Jew  Lazaro  was 
one  of  the  first  that  was  seriously  in- 
jured. The  blank  wall  of  the  great 
warehouse  before  mentioned,  that 
faced  the  street,  had,  either  from  age 
or  bad  masonry,  long  before  exhibited 
several  cracks.  A  large  segment, 
bounded  by  two  of  these  cracks,  had 
been  knocked  away  by  a  shot,  and 
the  superincumbent  mass  falling  in 
consequence,  the  great  store,  and  all  its 
hoarded  treasures,  appeared  through 
the  chasm. 

The  Jew's  instincts  had,  at  first, 
led  him  to  save  himself  by  flight. 
But,  on  returning  timorously  to  look 
after  his  property,  the  sight  of  the 
ruined  wall,  and  the  unprotected 
hoards  on  which  he  had  so  securely 
reckoned  as  the  source  of  wealth, 
obliterated  in  his  mind,  for  the  time, 
all  sense  of  personal  danger.  Seeing 
a  party  of  soldiers  issuing  from  a  wine- 
house  near,  he  eagerly  besought  them 
to  assist  him  in  removing  his  property 
to  a  place  of  safety,  promising  to  re- 
ward them  largely  for  their  risk  and 
trouble. 

One  of  the  soldiers  thus  appealed 
to  was  Mr  Bags. 

"  Ho,  ho !  "  said  Mr  Bags ;  "  here's 
a  chance — here's  a  pleasure,  com- 
rades. We  can  help  Mr  Lazaro,  who 
is  always  so  good  to  us— this  here 
Jewish  gentleman,  that  gives  such 
liberal  prices  for  our  things.  Cer- 
tainly— we'll  remove  'em  all,  and  not 
charge  him  nothing.  Oh — oh — ah  !" 
And,  to  give  point  to  his  irony,  Mr 
Bags  distorted  his  face  hideously,  and 
winked  upon  his  friends. 

The  iclea  of  giving  Lazaro  any 
assistance  was  considered  a  capital 
joke,  and  caused  a  great  deal  of  mirth 
as  they  walked  towards  the  store,  to 
which  the  Jew  eagerly  led  the  way. 

u  If  there's  anything  good  to  eat 
or  drink  in  the  store,  we  may  remove 
some  of  it,  though  it  won't  be  on  our 
backs,  eh,  boys?"  said  Bags,  as  he 
stept  in  advance,  over  a  heap  of  rub- 
bish, into  the  store. 

"  These  first— these,  my  friends," 
cried  the  Jew,  going  up  to  a  row  of 


Legacy.  [Dec. 

barrels,  standing  a  little  apart  from 
the  crowded  masses  of  articles. 

"  Oh,  these  first,  eh  ?  "  said  Bags  ; 
"  they're  the  best,  be  they  ?  Thank 
you,  Mr  Lazaro;  we'll  see  what's  in 
'em ;"  and,  taking  up  a  gimlet  that 
lay  near,  he  proceeded  to  bore  a  hole 
in  one  of  the  barrels,  desiring  a  friend, 
whom  he  addressed  as  Tim,  to  tap 
the  next  one. 

"  Thieves ! "  screamed  the  Jew,  on 
witnessing  this  proceeding,  seizing 
Bags'  arm  ;  "  leave  my  store — go  out 
— let  my  goods  alone  !  "  Bags  lent 
him  a  shove  that  sent  him  into  a  cor- 
ner, and  perceiving  liquor  flowing 
from  the  hole  he  had  drilled,  applied 
his  mouth  to  the  orifice. 

"  Brandy,"  said  he,  as  he  paused 
for  breath;  "real  Cognac.  Comrades, 
here's  luck  to  that  'ere  shot  that 
showed  us  the  way  in  ;"  and  he  took 
another  diligent  pull  at  the  hole. 

Meantime  his  comrades  had  not 
been  idle  ;  other  barrels  were  opened, 
and  their  contents  submitted  to  a  cri- 
tical inspection. 

The  Jew  tried  various  modes  to 
induce  them  to  relinquish  their  booty : 
first  threats — then  offers  of  reward — 
then  cajolery ;  and,  at  last,  attempted 
to  interpose  and  thrust  them  from 
their  spoil.  A  shot  from  the  enemy 
entering  the  store,  enfiladed  a  long 
line  of  barrels,  scattering  the  staves 
and  their  contents.  The  place  was 
instantly  flooded  with  liquor — wine, 
molasses,  spirits,  and  oil,  ran  in  a 
mingled  stream,  soaking  the  debris  of 
biscuit  and  salt  provisions  that  strew- 
ed the  floor.  One  soldier  was  struck 
dead,  and  Mr  Bags  only  escaped  de- 
struction by  the  lucky  accident  of 
having  his  head  at  that  moment  apart 
from  the  barrel  which  had  engrossed 
his  attention,  and  which  was  knocked 
to  pieces. 

The  Jew,  partly  stunned  by  a 
wound  in  the  forehead  from  the 
splinter  of  a  barrel,  and  partly  in 
despair  at  the  destruction  of  his  pro- 
perty, came  to  the  entrance  of  the 
store,  seating  himself  among  the 
rubbish.  Other  plunderers  speedily 
followed  the  example  of  the  maraud- 
ing soldiers,  but  he  made  no  attempt 
to  stop  them  as  they  walked  past  him. 
My  grandfather,  passing  at  the  time 
on  his  way  home,  was  horrified  at  the 
sight  of  him.  Flour  from  a  splintered 


1851.] 


barrel  had  been  scattered  over  his 
face,  and  blood  from  the  wound  in 
his  forehead,  trickling  down,  had 
clotted  it  on  his  cheeks  and  scanty 
beard,  giving  him  an  aspect  at 
once  appalling  and  disgusting.  His 
daughter  had  waited  at  the  door  of  the 
Fives'  Court  till  she  saw  Owen  come 
forth  in  safety,  and  had  then  availed 
herself  of  the  protection  of  the  Major 
as  far  as  her  own  home.  Shrieking 
at  the  dismal  sight,  she  sprang  for- 
ward and  threw  herself  before  the 
Jew,  casting  her  arms  around  him. 
This  seemed  to  rouse  him.  He  arose 
— looked  back  into  the  store;  and 
then,  as  if  goaded  by  the  sight  of  the 
wreck  into  intolerable  anguish,  he 
lifted  his  clenched  hands  above  his 
head,  uttering  a  sentence  of  such 
fearful  blasphemy,  that  a  devout 
Spaniard,  who  was  emerging  from 
the  store  with  some  plunder,  struck 
him  on  the  mouth.  He  never  heeded 
the  blow,  but  continued  to  rave,  till, 
suddenly  overcome  by  loss  of  blood 
and  impotent  rage,  he  dropt  senseless 
on  the  ground. 

My  grandfather,  calling  some  sol- 
diers of  his  regiment  who  were  pass- 
ing, desired  them  to  convey  him  to 
the  hospital  at  the  South  Barracks, 
and,  again  taking  the  terrified  and 
weeping  Esther  under  his  protection, 
followed  to  see  the  unfortunate 
Jew  cared  for. 

At  the  various  parades  that  day 
Mr  Bags  was  reported  absent,  being 
in  fact  engaged  in  pursuits  of  a  much 
more  interesting  nature  than  his  mili- 
tary duties.  A  vast  field  of  inter- 
prise  was  opened  to  him  and  other 
adventurous  spirits,  of  which  they 
did  not  fail  to  avail  themselves,  in  the 
quantity  of  property  of  all  kinds 
abandoned  by  the  owners,  in  houses 
and  shops  where  locks  and  bolts  were 
no  longer  a  protection ;  and  although 
the  firing,  which  ceased  for  an  hour 
or  two  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  was 
renewed  towards  evening  and  con- 
tinued with  great  fury,  the  ardour  of 
acquisition  by  no  means  abated. 

About  midnight  a  sentry  on  the 
heights  of  Rosia  (the  name  given  to 
a  portion  of  the  rugged  cliffs  towards 
the  south  and  near  the  hospital) 
observed,  in  the  gloom,  a  figure  lurk- 
ing about  one  of  the  batteries,  and 
challenged  it.  Receiving  no  answer, 

VOL.  LXX.— NO.  CCCCXXXIV. 


The  Jew's  Legacy.  661 

he  threatened  to  fire,  when  Bags  came 
forward  reluctantly,  with  a  bundle  in 
his  hand. 

"  Hush,  Bill,"  said  Bags,  on  find- 
ing the  sentry  was  a  personal  friend 
— "  don't  make  a  row  :  it's  only  me, 
Bags— Tongs,  you  know,"  he  added, 
to  insure  his  recognition. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  doing 
there,  you  fool  ?  "  asked  his  friend  in 
a  surly  tone — "  don't  you  know  the 
picquet's  after  you  ?  " 

"  I've  got  some  little  things  here 
that  I  want  to  lay  by,  where  nobody 
won't  see  'em,  in  case  I'm  catched," 
returned  Bags.  "  Don't  you  take  no 
notice  of  me,'  BUI,  and  I'll  be  off 
directly." 

"  What  have  ye  got  ?  "  asked  Bill, 
whose  curiosity  was  awakened  by  the 
proceedings  of  his  friend. 

*'  Some  little  matters  that  I  picked 
up  in  the  town,"  returned  Bags. 
"  Pity  you  should  be  on  guard  to-day, 
Bill— there  was  some  pretty  pickings. 
I'll  save  something  for  you,  Bill," 
added  Bags,  in  an  unaccountable 
access  of  generosity. 

The  sentry,  however,  who  was  a 
person  in  every  way  worthy  of  the 
friendship  of  Mr  Bags,  expressed  no 
gratitude  for  the  considerate  offer, 
but  began  poking  at  the  bundle  with 
his  bayonet. 

-"Hands  off,  Bill,"  said  Bags, 
"  they  won't  abear  touching." 

"  Let's  see  'em,"  said  Bill. 

"Not  a  bit  on  it,"  said  Bags; 
"  they  ain't  aworth  looking  at." 

"Suppose  I  was  to  call  the  ser- 
geant of  the  guard,"  said  Bill. 

"  You  wouldn't  do  such  a  action?" 
said  Bags,  in  a  tone  strongly  expres- 
sive of  disgust  at  such  baseness. 
"  No,  no,  Bill,  you  ain't  that  sort  of 
fellow,  Pm  sure." 

"  It's  my  dooty,"  said  the  sentry, 
placing  the  butt  of  his  musket  on  the 
ground,  and  leaning  his  elbow  on  the 
muzzle.  "  You  see  that  what  you 
said,  Tongs,  was  very  true,  about  its 
being  hard  upon  me  to  be  carrying 
about  this  here  damnable  weppin" 
(slapping  the  barrel  of  the  musket) 
"  all  day  for  fourpence  ha'penny, 
while  you  are  making  your  fortin. 
It  is,  Tongs,  d — d  hard." 

"  Never  mind ;  there'll  be  plenty 
left  to-morrow,"  said  Bags  in  a  con- 
solatory tone. 

2u 


662 


TJie  Jeufs  Legacy. 


[Dec, 


"  What  shall  we  say,  now,  if  I  lets 
ye  hide  it  ?"  said  Bill,  pointing  to  the 
bundle.  "  Half-shares  ?" 

"This  ain't  like  a  friend,  Bill," 
returned  Tongs,  highly  disgusted 
with  this  ungenerous  proposal.  "  No- 
body ever  knowed  me  interfere  with 
a  comrade  when  I  was  on  sentry. 
How  long  ago  is  it  since  I  let  ye  stay 
in  my  box  an  hour,  till  ye  was  sober 
enough  to  walk  into  barracks,  when 
I  was  sentry  at  the  gate  ?  Why,  the 
whole  bundle  ain't  worth  eighteen- 
pence — and  I've  worked  hard  for 
it." 

" Half-shares?"  reiterated  Bill,  not 
melted  in  the  least  by  the  memory  of 
ancient  benefits. 

"  No,  by  G — !"  said  Bags  in  great 
wrath. 

"  Serg ,"  began  Bill  in  an  ele- 
vated voice,  porting  his  arms  at  the 
same  time. 

"Stopl"  said  Bags;  "don't  call 
the  sergeant.  Half  is  better  nor 
nothing,  if  ye're  going  to  behave  like 
that.  We'll  say  half,  then." 

"Ab,"  said  Bill,  returning  to  his 
former  position  —  "I  thought  we 
should  agree.  And  now  let's  see 
'em,  Tongs." 

Muttering  still  his  disapprobation 
of  this  unworthy  treatment,  Bags 
put  his  bundle  on  the  stone  embra- 
sure of  'the  battery,  and  began  to 
unfold  it. 

Eighteenpence  was  certainly  a  low 
valuation.  Bags  appeared  to  have 
visited  a  jeweller's  shop.  Watches, 
rings,  bracelets,  gold  chains,  and 
brooches  glittered  on  the  dingy  sur- 
face of  the  handkerchief. 

"  My  eye ! "  said  Bill,  unable  to 
repress  a  low  laugh  of  delight — 
"why,  we'll  turn  bankers  when  we've 
sold  'em.  Tongs  and  Co.,  eh?"  said 
Bill  with  considerable  humour. 

Bags,  however,  told  him  he  was 
altogether  mistaken  in  his  estimate — 
most  of  the  things  were  pinchbeck, 
he  said,  and  the  stones  all  glass ; 
and,  to  save  Bill  any  trouble,  he 
offered  to  dispose  of  them  himself  to 
the  best  possible  advantage,  and 
bring  his  partner  his  share  of  the 
proceeds,  which  would  certainly  be 
at  least  ninepence,  and  might  perhaps 
be  half-a-dollar.  This  arrangement 
did  not,  however,  meet  the  appro- 
bation of  the  astute  William,  who 


insisted  on  dividing  the  spoils  by  lot. 
But  here,  again,  there  was  a  slight 
misunderstanding,  for  both  fixed 
their  affections  on  a  gigantic  watch, 
which  never  could  have  been  got  into 
any  modem  pocket,  and  whose  face 
was  ornamented  with  paintings  from 
the  heathen  mythology.  Both  of 
them  supposed,  from  the  size  and  the 
brilliancy  of  the  colours,  that  this 
must  be  of  immense  value.  Finding 
they  were  not  likely  to  come  to  a 
speedy  arrangement  on  this  point, 
they  agreed  to  postpone  the  division 
of  the  spoils  till  morning. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  where  to  put  it,  Bags," 
said  Bill.  "  These  here  guns  in  this 
battery  haven't  been  fired  for  years, 
nor  ain't  likely  to  be,  though  they 
loaded  'em  the  other  day.  Take  out  the 
wad  of  this  one,  and  pu  t  in  the  bundle." 

Bags  approved  of  the  idea,  with- 
drew the  wad  from  the  muzzle  of  the 
gun,  put  in  the  bundle  as  far  as  his 
arm  would  reach,  and  then  replaced 
the  wad. 

"  Honour  bright  ?"  said  Bags,  pre- 
paring to  depart. 

"Honour  bright,"  returned  Bill; 
and  Bags  disappeared. 

Nevertheless  he  did  not  feel  suffi- 
cient confidence  in  his  confederate's 
integrity  to  justify  his  quitting  the 
place  and  leaving  him  to  his  own 
devices.  He  thought  Bill  might 
perhaps  avail  himself  of  his  absence 
to  remove  the  treasure,  or  be  guilty 
of  some  other  treachery.  He  there- 
fore crept  back  again  softly,  till  he 
got  behind  a  crag  from  whence  he 
had  a  full  view  of  the  battery. 

For  some  time  Bill  walked  sternly 
to  and  fro  on  his  post.  Bags  observed, 
however,  that  he  always  included  the 
gun  where  the  deposit  lay  in  his  per- 
ambulations, which  ^became  shorter 
and  shorter.  At  last  he  halted  close 
to  it,  laid  down  his  musket  against 
the  parapet,  and,  approaching  the 
muzzle  of  the  gun,  took  out  the  wad. 

At  this  moment  a  neighbouring 
sentry  gave  an  alarm.  The  guard 
turned  out,  and  Bill,  hastily  replac- 
ing the  wad,  resumed  his  arms  and 
looked  about  for  the  cause  of  the 
alarm.  About  a  mile  out  in  the  bay 
several  red  sparks  were  visible.  As 
he  looked  there  were  a  corresponding 
number  of  flashes,  and  then  a  whist- 
ling of  shot  high  overhead  told  that 


1851.] 


The  Jew's  Legacy. 


the  guns  from  which  they  had  been 
discharged  had  been  laid  too  high. 
The  Spanish  gunboats  were  attacking 
the  south. 

The  drums  beat  to  arms,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  battery  was  manned 
with  artillerymen.  To  the  incon- 
ceivable horror  of  Bags  and  Bill,  the 
whole  of  the  guns  in  the  battery  were 
altered  in  position,  and  a  gunner  took 
post  at  the  rear  of  each  with  a  lighted 
portfire.  Then  a  flushed  face  might 
be  seen,  by  the  blue  light  of  the  port- 
fires, rising  from  behind  a  neighbour- 
ing piece  of  rock,  the  eyes  staring,  the 
mouth  open  in  agonised  expectation. 

"Number  one— fire  !"  said  the 
officer  in  command,  to  the  gunner  in 
rear  of  the  gun  in  which  Mr  Bags 
had  invested  his  capital. 

"No,  no!"  shouted  Bags,  rising 
wildly  from  behind  the  rock. 

The  portfire  touched  the  vent — 
there  was  a  discharge  that  seemed 
to  rend  Mr  Bags's  heartstrings  and 
blow  off  the  roof  of  his  skull — and 
the  clever  speculation  on  which  he 
had  counted  for  making  his  fortune 
ended,  like  many  others,  in  smoke. 
He  gazed  for  a  moment  out  in  the 
direction  of  the  flash,  as  if  he  ex- 
pected to  see  the  watches  and  rings 
gleaming  in  the  air ;  then  he  turned 
and  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 


After  a  few  ineffectual  discharges, 
the  Spaniards  seemed  to  become 
aware  of  the  badness  of  their  aim, 
and  to  take  measures  to  amend  it. 
Several  shot  struck  the  hospital  ;  and 
some  shells  falling  through  the  roof, 
exploded  in  the  very  wards  where 
the  sick  lay.  The  unhappy  Jew, 
Lazaro,  lying  in  a  feverish  and  semi- 
delirious  state  from  his  former  hurt 
and  agitation,  was  again  struck  by  a 
splinter  of  a  shell  which  burst  in  the 
ward  where  the  Major's  care  had 
seen  him  deposited,  blowing  up  the 
ceiling  and  part  of  the  wall.  In  the 
midst  of  the  confusion,  the  Jew, 
frantic  with  terror,  rushed  unre- 
strained from  the  building,  followed 
only  by  his  daughter,  who  was 
watching  by  his  bed.  He  was  not 
missed  for  some  time,  and  the  at- 
tempts to  discover  him,  made  after 
his  disappearance  became  known, 
were  of  no  avail.  A  neighbouring 
sentry  had  seen  a  white  figure,  fol- 
lowed by  another  crying  after  it, 
dash  across  the  road  and  disappear 
in  the  bushes  ;  but  the  search  made 
about  the  vicinity  of  the  spot  failed 
in  detecting  any  traces  of  them,  and 
those  who  troubled  themselves  to 
think  of  the  matter  at  all,  sur- 
mised that  they  had  fallen  into  the 
sea. 


CHAPTER  V. 


For  some  pages,  my  grandfather's 
note-book  is  filled  with  memoranda  of 
singular  casualties  from  the  enemy's 
shot,  wonderful  escapes,  and  hasty 
moments  of  quietude  and  attempted 
comfort  snatched  "  even  in  the  can- 
non's mouth."  The  fire  from  the 
Spanish  batteries  shortly  reduced  the 
town  to  ruins,  and  the  gunboats  at 
night  precluded  all  hope  of  peace  and 
oblivion  after  the  horrors  of  the  day. 
Dreams,  in  which  these  horrors  were 
reproduced,  were  interrupted  by  still 
more  frightful  nocturnal  realities.  One 
of  the  curious  minor  evils  that  my 
grandfather  notices,  as  resulting  from 
an  incessant  cannonade,  to  those  not 
engaged  in  it  actively  enough  to  with- 
draw their  attention  from  the  noise, 
is  the  extreme  irritation  produced  by 
its  long  continuance,  amounting,  in 
persons  of  nervous  and  excitable 


temperament,  to  positive  exaspera- 
tion. 

Some  of  the  numerous  incidents  he 
chronicles  are  also  recorded  by  Drink- 
water,  especially  that  of  a  man  who 
recovered  after  being  almost  knocked 
to  pieces  by  the  bursting  of  a  shell. 
u  His  head  was  terribly  fractured,  his 
left  arm  broken  in  two  places,  one  of 
his  legs  shattered,  the  skin  and 
muscles  torn  off  his  right  hand,  the 
middle  finger  broken  to  pieces,  and 
his  whole  body  most  severely  bruised 
and  marked  with  gunpowder.  He 
presented  so  horrid  an  object  to  the 
surgeons,  that  they  had  not  the 
smallest  hopes  of  saving  his  life,  and 
were  at  a  loss  what  part  to  attend 
to  first.  He  was  that  evening  tre- 
panned ;  a  few  days  afterwards  his 
leg  was  amputated,  and  other  wounds 
and  fractures  dressed.  Being  pos- 


664 


The  Jew's 


sessed  of  a  most  excellent  constitu- 
tion, nature  performed  wonders  in  his 
favour,  and  in  eleven  weeks  the  cure 
was  completely  effected.  His  name," 
continues  Mr  Drinkwater,  with  what 
might  be  deemed  irony — if  the  worthy 
historian  ever  indulged  in  that  figure 
of  rhetoric — "is  Donald  Ross,  and 
he"  (i.  e.  the  remaining  fragment  of 
the  said  Donald  Ross)  "  now  enjoys 
his  sovereign's  bounty  in  a  pension 
of  ninepence  a-day  for  life."  One 
might  almost  suppose  that  Mr  Hume 
had  some  hand  in  affixing  the  gra- 
tuity ;  but  in  those  days  there  was  a 
king  who  knew  not  Joseph. 

My  grandfather  appears  to  have 
had  also  an  adventure  of  his  own. 
During  a  cessation  of  the  cannonade, 
he  was  sitting  one  morning  on  a  frag- 
ment of  rock,  in  the  garden  behind 
his  quarters,  reading  his  favourite 
author.  The  firing  suddenly  recom- 
menced, and  a  long-ranged  shell, 
striking  the  ground  at  some  distance, 
rolled  towards  him.  He  glanced 
half- absently  at  the  hissing  missile  ; 
and  whether  he  actually  did  not  for 
a  moment  recollect  its  character,  or 
whether,  as  was  often  the  case  on 
such  occasions,  the  imminence  of  the 
danger  paralysed  him,  he  sat  immov- 
ably watching  it  as  it  fizzed  within  a 
couple  of  yards  of  him.  Unquestion- 
ably in  another  three  seconds  my 
grandfather's  earthly  tabernacle  would 
have  been  resolved  into  its  original 
atoms,  had  not  the  intrepid  Carlota 
(who  was  standing  near  gathering 
flowers  to  stick  in  her  hair)  darted  on 
him,  and,  seizing  him  by  the  arm, 
dragged  him  behind  a  wall.  They  were 
scarce  under  shelter  when  the  shell 
exploded — the  shock  laying  them  both 
prostrate,  though  unhurt  but  for  a 
few  bruises — while  the  stone  on  which 
the  Major  had  been  sitting  was 
shivered  to  atoms.  To  the  descrip- 
tion of  this  incident  in  the  Major's 
journal  are  appended  a  pious  reflec- 
tion and  a  short  thanksgiving,  which, 
being  entirely  of  a  personal  nature,  I 
omit. 

The  stores  landed  from  the  fleet 
were  in  a  very  precarious  position. 
Owing  to  the  destruction  of  the 
buildings,  there  were  no  means  of 
placing  them  where  they  might  be 
sheltered  at  once  from  the  fire  of  the 
enemy  and  from  rain.  Some  were 


Legacy.  [Dec. 

piled  under  sails  spread  out  as  a  sort 
of  roof  to  protect  them,  and  some, 
that  were  not  likely  to  sustain  imme- 
diate injury  from  the  damp  air  of 
such  a  depository,  were  ordered  to  be 
conveyed  to  St  Michael's  Cave. 

This  cave  is  one  of  the  most  curious 
features  of  the  Rock.  Its  mouth — an 
inconsiderable  opening  in  the  slope  of 
the  mountain — is  situated  many  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  sea.  Within,  it 
expands  into  a  spacious  hall,  the  roof, 
invisible  in  the  gloom,  supported  by 
thick  pillars  formed  by  the  petrified 
droppings  of  the  rock.  From  this 
principal  cavern  numerous  smaller 
ones  branch  off,  leading,  by  dark, 
broken,  and  precipitous  passages,  to 
unknown  depths.  Along  one  of 
these,  according  to  tradition,  Gover- 
nor O'Hara  advanced  farther  than 
ever  man  had  gone  before,  and  left 
his  sword  in  the  inmost  recess  to  be 
recovered  by  the  next  explorer  who 
should  be  equally  adventurous.  But 
whether  it  is  that  the  tradition  is  un- 
founded, or  that  the  weapon  has  been 
carried  off  by  some  gnome,  or  that 
the  governor's  exploit  is  as  yet  unri- 
valled, the  sword  has  never  been 
brought  to  light. 

For  the  duty  of  placing  the  stores 
here,  the  name  of  Lieutenant  Owen 
appeared  in  the  garrison  orders.  My 
grandfather  having  nothing  particular 
to  do,  and  being  anxious  to  escape  as 
much  as  possible  for  a  short  time  from 
the  din  of  the  bombardment,  offered 
to  accompany  Frank  in  the  execution 
of  this  duty. 

The  day  was  dark  and  gloomy,  and 
the  steep  path  slippery  from  rain,  so 
that  the  mules  bearing  the  stores 
toiled  with  difficulty  up  the  ascent. 
At  first,  my  grandfather  and  Owen 
indulged  in  cheerful  conversation  ;  but 
shortness  of  breath  soon  reduced  the 
Major  to  monosyllables,  and  the  latter 
part  of  the  journey  was  accomplished 
in  silence.  Frequently  the  Major 
paused  and  faced  about,  at  once  to 
look  at  the  prospect  and  to  take 
breath.  Far  below,  on  his  right,  was 
seen  the  southern  end  of  the  town, 
consisting  partly  of  a  heap  of  ruins, 
with  here  and  there  a  rafter  sticking 
out  of  the  mass,  partly  of  roofless 
walls,  among  which  was  occasionally 
heard  the  crashing  of  shot ;  but  the 
guns  that  discharged  them,  as  well  as 


1851.] 


those  that  replied  from  the  town,  were 
invisible  from  this  point.  Directly 
beneath  him  the  ground  afforded  a 
curious  spectacle,  being  covered  with 
tents,  huts,  and  sheds,  of  all  sorts 
and  sizes,  where  the  outcast  popula- 
tion of  the  ruined  town  obtained  a 
precarious  and  insufficient  shelter. 
The  only  building  visible  which  still 
retained  its  former  appearance  was 
the  convent — the  governor's  residence 
— which  was  protected  by  bomb- 
proofs,  and  where  working-parties 
were  constantly  engaged  in  repairing 
the  injuries.  The  bay,  once  thickly 
wooded  with  masts  and  dotted  with 
sails,  was  now  blank  and  cheerless ; 
only  the  enemy's  cruisers  were  visible, 
lying  under  the  opposite  shore  of 
Spain. 

Owen  and  my  grandfather  arrived 
at  the  mouth  of  the  cave  somewhat 
in  advance  of  the  convoy.  To  their 
surprise  a  smoke  was  issuing  from  it; 
and,  as  they  approached  nearer,  their 
iiostrils  were  greeted  by  an  odour  at 
once  savoury  and  spicy.  Going  softly 
up  they  looked  in. 

Mr  Bags  and  a  couple  of  friends 
were  seated  round  a  fire,  over  which 
was  roasting  a  small  pig,  scientifically 
butchered  and  deprived  of  his  hair, 
and  hung  up  by  the  heels.  The  fire, 
in  the  absence  of  other  fuel,  (of  which 
there  was  an  extreme  scarcity  in 
Gibraltar,)  was  supplied  by  bundles 
of  cinnamon  plundered  from  the  store 
of  some  grocer,  and,  as  the  flame 
waxed  low,  Mr  Bags  took  a  fresh 
bundle  from  a  heap  of  that  fragrant 
spice  by  his  side,  and  laid  it  on  the 
embers.  Mrs  Bags  was  occupied  in 
basting  the  pig  with  lard,  which  she 
administered  from  time  to  time  with 
an  iron  ladle. 

Presently  Mr  Bags  tapped  on  the 
pig's  back  with  his  knife.  It  sent 
forth  a  crisp  crackling  sound,  that 
made  my  grandfather's  mouth  water, 
and  caused  Mr  Bags  to  become  im- 
patient. 

"  Polly,"  said  he,  "  it's  my  opinion 
it's  been  done  these  three  minutes. 
I  can't  wait  much  longer." 

And  he  cast  a  glance  at  the  other 
two  soldiers,  (in  whom,  as  well  as  in 
Bags,  Owen  recognised  men  of  his 
company  who  had  been  reported  ab- 
sent for  some  days,  and  were  sup- 
posed to  have  gone  over  to  the  enemy,) 


The  Jew's  Legacy.  665 

to  ascertain  if  their  opinions  tallied 
with  his  own  on  this  point. 

"  It  can't  be  no  better,"  said  one, 
taking  hold  of  the  pig's  neck  between 
his  finger  and  thumb,  which  he  after- 
wards applied  to  his  mouth. 

"  I  can't  abear  my  meat  overdone," 
said  the  third.  "What  I  say  is,  let 
them  that  likes  to  wait,  wait,  and  let 
them  that  wants  to  begin,  begin."  So 
saying,  he  rose,  and  was  about  to  at- 
tack the  ribs  of  the  porker  with  his 
knife. 

"  Do  stop  a  minute — that's  a  dear," 
said  Mrs  Bags ;  "  another  bundle  of 
cinnameut  will  make  it  parfect.  I'll 
give  ye  something  to  stay  your 
stomach ; "  and  stepping  to  a  nook 
in  the  wall  of  the  cavern,  where  stood 
a  large  barrel,  she  filled  a  pewter 
measure,  and  handed  it  to  the  impa- 
tient advocate  for  underdone  pork, 
who  took  a  considerable  dram,  and 
passed  it  to  his  companions. 

"  Cinnament's  better  with  pork 
nor  with  most  things,"  said  Bags. 
"  It  spoils  goose,  because  it  don't 
agree  with  the  inions,  and  it  makes 
fowls  wishy-washy ;  but  it  goes  ex- 
cellent with  pig." 

"  What's  left  in  the  larder  ?  "  asked 
one  of  the  party. 

"  There's  a  week's  good  eating  yet," 
said  Mrs  Bags,  "  and  we  might  make 
it  do  ten  days  or  a  fortnight'" 

"Well!"  said  the  other,  "they 
may  say  what  they  like  about  sieges, 
but  this  is  the  jolliest  time  ever  /  had." 

"  It's  very  well  by  day,"  said  Bags, 
"  but  the  nights  is  cold,  and  the  com- 
pany of  that  ghost  ain't  agreeable — I 
seed  it  again  last  night." 

"Ah!"  said  his  friend,  "what 
was  it  like,  Tongs  ?  " 

"  Something  white,"  returned  Bags 
in  an  awful  whisper,  "  with  a  ghost's 
eyes.  You  may  allays  know  a  ghost 
by  the  eyes.  I  was  just  rising  up, 
and  thinking  about  getting  a  drink, 
for  my  coppers  was  hot,  when  it 
comes  gliding  up  from  that  end  of  the 
cave.  I  spoke  to  you,  and  then  I 
couldn't  see  it  no  more,  because  it 
was  varnished." 

"  Ghosts  always  varnishes  if  you 
speak,"  said  Mrs  Bags.  "  But  never 
mind  the  spirit  now — let's  look  after 
the  flesh,"  added  the  lady,  who  pos- 
sessed a  fund  of  native  pleasantry : 
"  the  pig's  done  to  a  turn." 


666  The  Jew's  Legacy. 

At  this  interesting  juncture,  and 
just  as  they  were  about  to  fall  to,  the 
footsteps  of  the  approaching  mules 
struck  on  their  ears.  Owen  went  to 
meet  the  party,  and  hastily  selecting 
six  men  from  it,  advanced,  and  de- 
sired them  to  secure  the  astounded 
convivialists. 

On  recovering  from  their  first  as- 
tonishment, Bags  begged  Owen  would 
overlook  the  offence  ;  they  were  only, 
he  pleaded,  having  a  little  spree — 
times  had  been  hard  lately.  Mrs 
Bags,  as  usual,  displayed  great  elo- 
quence, though  not  much  to  the  pur- 
pose. She  seemed  to  have  some  idea 
that  an  enumeration  of  the  gentle- 
men's families  she  had  lived  in,  and 
the  high  estimation  in  which  she  had 
been  held  in  all,  would  really  tell 
powerfully  in  favour  of  the  delin- 
quents, and  persevered  accordingly, 
till  they  were  marched  off  in  custody 
of  the  escort,  when  she  made  a  final 
appeal  to  my  grandfather,  as  the  last 
gentleman  whose  family  she  had  lived 
in  —  with  what  advantage  to  the 
household  the  reader  knows.  The 
Major,  who  could  not  forgive  the 
roasting  of  his  ham,  called  her,  in  re- 
ply, a  "  horrible  woman,"  but,  at  the 
same  time,  whispered  to  Owen  that 
he  hoped  the  fellows  would  not  be 
severely  punished.  u  If  we  had 
caught  them  after  dinner,"  said  he,  "  I 
shouldn't  have  pitied  them  so  much." 

"  Never  mind  them,"  said  Owen  ; 
"let  us  proceed  to  business.  We 
must  select  the  driest  spot  we  can  find 
to  put  the  stores  in." 

[Here,  by  way  of  taking  leave  of 
Mr  Bags,  I  may  remark,  that  he  nar- 
rowly escaped  being  hanged  as  a 
plunderer — failing  which,  he  was  sen- 
tenced by  a  court-martial  to  receive 
a  number  of  lashes,  which  I  refrain 
from  specifying,  because  it  would  cer- 
tainly make  the  hair  of  a  modern 
humanitarian  turn  white  with  horror.] 

"  Come  along,  Major,"  said  Owen ; 
"  perhaps  we  may  find  more  of  these 
scoundrels  in  the  course  of  our  re- 
searches." 

The  Major  did  not  move  ;  he  was 
earnestly  regarding  the  carcase  of  the 
pig,  that  steamed  hissing  above  the 
embers. 

"  Queer  idea  that  of  the  cinnamon 
fire,"  said  he.  "  I  wonder  how  the 
meat  tastes." 


[Dec. 


Owen  did  not  hear  him,  having 
walked  forward. 

"  Have  you  got  a  knife  about  you, 
Frank?  "  said  the  Major.  "  Do  you 
know  I  have  a  curious  desire  to  as- 
certain the  flavour.  It  may  be  a  fea- 
ture in  cookery  worth  knowing." 

Owen  had  not  a  knife,  nor  had 
any  of  the  men,  but  one  of  them  sug- 
gested that  the  Major's  sword  would 
answer  the  purpose. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  Major.  "  A 
good  idea !  I  don't  see  why  swords 
shouldn't  be  turned  into  carving- 
knives  as  well  as  into  pruning-hooks." 
So  saying,  he  drew  it  from  the  sheath, 
and,  straddling  across  the  fire,  de- 
tached a  crisp  brown  mouthful  from 
the  pig's  ribs,  and  putting  a  little 
salt  on  it,  he  conveyed  it  to  his 
mouth. 

"Excellent!"  cried  the  Major. 
"I  give  you  my  word  of  honour, 
Owen,  'tis  excellent !  The  cinnamon 
gives  it  a  sort  of  a " 

Here  a  second  and  larger  mouthful 
interrupted  the  criticism. 

"  It  must  be  very  near  lunch-time," 
said  the  Major,  pausing,  sword  in 
hand,  when  he  had  swallowed  it ; 
then,  pretending  to  look  at  his  watch 
— "  Bless  me,  it  only  wants  half-an- 
hour  of  it.  Do  you  think  this  busi- 
ness will  take  you  long,  Owen?  " 

"  About  a  couple  of  hours,"  said 
Owen. 

"  Ah,  why,  there  you  see,"  returned 
the  Major,  "  we  shan't  get  home  till 
long  past  lunch- time.  I  really  don't 
see  why  we  shouldn't  take  a  snack 
now.  Nothing  can  be  better  than 
that  pig.  I  only  wish  the  woman 
had  dressed  my  dinner  half  as  well. 
Corporal  Hoclson,  would  you  oblige 
me  with  a  piece  of  that  biscuit  near 
you  ?  "  And,  detaching  a  large  frag- 
ment of  pork,  he  placed  it  on  the 
biscuit,  and'sprinkling  it  with  pepper 
and  salt,  which  condiments  had  not 
been  forgotten  in  the  gastronomic  ar- 
rangements of  Mr  Bags,  he  proceeded 
to  follow  Owen  into  the  interior  of 
the  cave,  taking  huge  bites  as  he 
went. 

The  path  slopes  at  first  steeply 
downward  from  the  mouth  to  the  in- 
terior of  the  cavern,  where  it  becomes 
more  level.  Light  being  admitted 
only  at  the  entrance,  the  gloom  of  the 
interior  is  almost  impenetrable  to  the 


1851.] 


The  Jew's  Legacy. 


667 


eye.  The  men  had  brought  torches 
to  assist  them  in  their  work,  and,  a 
suitable  spot  having  been  selected, 
these  were  stuck  on  different  points 
and  abutments  of  the  rocky  wall, 
when  the  party  proceeded  to  unload 
the  mules  at  the  entrance,  conveying 
their  burdens  into  the  cave. 

In  the  midst  of  the  bustle  and  noise 
attending  the  operation,  the  little  dog 
given  by  Esther  to  Carlota,  which 
had  that  morning  followed  the  Major, 
to  whom  it  had  speedily  attached  it- 
self, began  barking  and  howling  dis- 
mally in  a  dark  recess  behind  one  of 
the  great  natural  pillars  before  spoken 
of.  As  the  noise  continued,  inter- 
mixed with  piteous  whinings,  one  of 
the  men  took  a  torch  from  the  wall, 
and  stepped  forward  into  the  dark- 
ness, to  see  what  ailed  the  animal. 
Presently  he  cried  out  that  "there 
was  a  man  there." 

My  grandfather,  who  was  next 
him,  immediately  followed,  and  five 
paces  brought  him  to  the  spot.  The 
soldier  who  held  the  torch  was  stoop- 
ing, and  holding  it  over  a  figure  that 
lay  on  the  ground  on  its  back.  In  the 
unshaven,  blood-stained  countenance, 
my  grandfather,  at  first,  had  some 
difficulty  in  recognising  Lazaro  the 
Jew.  Some  fiery  splashes  of  pitch 
from  the  torch  dropping  at  the  mo- 
ment on  his  bare  throat,  produced  no 
movement,  though,  had  he  been  liv- 
ing, they  must  have  scorched  him  to 
the  quick. 

On  the  body  was  nothing  but  the 
shirt  he  wore  the  night  of  his  flight 
from  the  hospital,  but  his  legs  were 
wrapt  in  a  woman's  dress.  Across 
his  breast,  on  her  face,  lay  Esther,  in 
her  white  under- garments — for  the 
gown  that  wrapt  the  Jew's  legs  was 
hers.  The  glare  of  the  torch  was 
bright  and  red  on  the  two  prostrate 
figures,  and  on  the  staring  appalled 
countenance  of  the  man  who  held  it — 
the  group  forming  a  glowing  spot  in 
the  vast,  sombre,  vaulted  space,  where 
dim  gleams  of  light  were  caught  and 
repeated  on  projecting  masses  of  rock, 
more  and  more  faintly,  till  all  was 
bounded  by  darkness. 

Years  afterwards  my  grandfather 
would  sometimes  complain  of  having 
been  revisited,  in  dreams  of  the  night, 
by  that  ghastly  piece  of  Kenibrandt 
painting. 


The  rest  quickly  flocked  to  the  spot, 
and  Esther  was  lifted  and  found  to 
breathe,  though  the  Jew  was  stiff  and 
cold.  Some  diluted  spirit,  from  the 
cellar  of  Bags,  being  poured  down  her 
throat,  she  revived  a  little,  when  my 
grandfather  caused  two  of  the  men  to 
bear  her  carefully  to  his  house ;  and 
the  body  of  the  Jew  being  wrapt  in  a 
piece  of  canvass,  was  placed  on  a 
mule  and  conveyed  to  the  hospital 
for  interment. 

Medical  aid  restored  Esther  to  con- 
sciousness, and  she  told  how  they 
came  to  be  found  in  the  cave. 

Her  father,  on  leaving  the  hospital, 
had  fled  by  chance,  as  she  thought, 
to  this  cave,  for  he  did  not  reach  it  by 
the  usual  path,  but  climbed,  in  his 
delirious  fear,  up  the  face  of  the  rock, 
and  she  had  followed  him  as  well  as 
she  could,  keeping  his  white  figure  in 
sight.  They  had  both  lain  exhausted 
in  the  cave  till  morning,  when,  finding 
that  her  father  slept,  she 'was  on  the 
point  of  leaving  him  to  seek  assis- 
tance. But,  unhappily,  before  she 
could  quit  the  place,  Bags  and  his 
associates  entered  from  their  plunder- 
ing expedition  into  the  town,  and, 
frightened  at  their  drunken  language, 
and  recognising  in  Bags  the  man  who 
had  robbed  her,  she  had  crept  back  to 
her  concealment.  The  party  of  ma- 
rauders never  quitted  the  cavern  from 
the  moment  of  establishing  themselves 
in  it.  They  spent  the  day  in  eating, 
drinking,  singing  songs,  and  some- 
times quarrelling.  Twice,  at  night, 
she  ventured  forth ;  but  she  always 
found  one  of  them  asleep  across  the 
entrance,  so  that  she  could  not  pass 
without  waking  him,  and  once  one  of 
them  started  up,  and  seemed  about  to 
pursue  her — doubtless  Bags,  on  the 
occasion  when  he  thought  he  saw  a 
ghost.  Nevertheless,  she  had  mus- 
tered courage  twice  to  take  some  frag- 
ments of  food  that  were  lying  near 
the  fire,  leaving  each  time  a  piece  of 
money  in  payment ;  and  she  had  also 
taken  a  lighted  candle,  the  better  to 
ascertain  her  father's  situation.  He 
had  never  spoken  to  her  since  the  first 
night  of  their  coming,  and,  during  all 
those  dark  and  weary  hours,  (for  they 
were  three  nights  and  two  days  in 
the  cavern,)  she  had  remained  by 
him  listening  to  his  incoherent  mut- 
terings  and  moans.  The  candle  had 


668 


The  Jew's  Legacy. 


[Dec. 


showed  her  that  he  had  lost  much 
blood,  from  the  wound  in  his  fore- 
head breaking  out  afresh,  as  well  as 
from  the  other  received  in  the  hospital, 
though  the  latter  was  but  a  flesh 
wound.  These  she  had  bandaged  with 
shreds  of  her  dress,  and  had  tried  to 
give  him  some  of  the  nourishment  she 
had  procured,  but  could  force  nothing 
on  him  except  some  water.  Some 
hours,  however — how  long  she  did  not 
know,  but  it  was  during  the  night — 
before  Owen's  party  found  her,  the 
Jew  had  become  sensible.  He  told 
her  he  was  dying ;  and,  unconscious  of 
where  he  was,  desired  her  to  fetch  a 
light.  This  she  had  procured  in  the 
same  way  as  before,  lighting  the 
candle  at  the  embers  of  the  fire  round 
which  Bags  and  his  friends  reposed. 
Then  the  Jew,  who  seemed  to  imagine 
himself  still  in  the  hospital,  bid  her 
say  whom,  among  those  she  knew  in 
Gibraltar,  she  would  wish  to  have 
charge  of  her  when  he  was  no  more  ; 
and,  on  her  mentioning  Garlota,  had 
desired  her  to  take  pen  and  paper  and 
write  his  will  as  he  should  dictate  it. 
Pen  she  had  none,  but  she  had  a 
pencil  and  a  scrap  of  paper  in  her 
pocket,  and  with  these  she  wrote, 
leaning  over  to  catch  the  whispered 
syllables  that  he  with  difficulty  arti- 
culated. 

From  this  paper  it  would  appear 
that  the  Jew  had  some  fatherly  feel- 
ings for  Esther  concealed  beneath  his 
harsh  deportment  towards  her.  I  can 
describe  the  will,  for  I  have  often  seen 
it.  It  is  written  on  a  piece  of  crumpled 
writing-paper,  about  the  size  of  a  bank- 
note, very  stained  and  dirty.  It  is 
written  in  Spanish ;  and  in  it  the  Jew 
entreats  "  the  Senora,  the  wife  of  Sr. 
Don  Flinder,  English  officer,  to  take 
charge  of  his  orphan  child,  in  requital 
whereof  he  leaves  her  the  half  of  what- 
soever property  he  dies  possessed  of, 
the  other  half  to  be  disposed  of  for  the 
benefit  of  his  daughter."  Then  follows 
a  second  paragraph,  inserted  at  Es- 
ther's own  desire,  to  the  effect  that, 
should  she  not  survive,  the  whole  was 
to  be  inherited  by  the  aforesaid  Senora. 
It  is  dated  "  Abril  1781,"  and  signed 
in  a  faint,  straggling  hand,  quite 
different  from  the  clear  writing  of  the 
rest — "  Josf  LAZARO." 

Esther  would  now  have  gone,  at  all 
hazards,  to  obtain  assistance,  but  the 


Jew  clutched  her  arm,  and  would  not 
permit  her  to  quit  him.  He  breathed 
his  last  shortly  after,  and  Esther 
remembered  nothing  more  till  she 
came  to  herself  in  the  Major's  house. 
The  paper  was  found  in  her  bosom. 

Some  days  after  this  event  my 
grandfather  went  with  Owen  into  the 
town,  during  a  temporary  lull  in  the 
enemy's  firing,  to  visit  the  house  of 
Lazaro,  in  order  to  ascertain  whether 
anything  valuable  was  left  that  might 
be  converted  to  Esther's  benefit. 
They  had  some  difficulty  in  finding 
the  exact  locality,  owing  to  the  utter 
destruction  of  all  the  landmarks.  The 
place  was  a  mass  of  ruins.  Some 
provisions  and  goods  had  been  left  by 
the  plunderers,  but  so  mixed  with 
rubbish,  and  overflowed  with  the 
contents  of  the  casks  of  liquor  and 
molasses,  as  to  be  of  no  value  even  in 
these  times  of  dearth. 

Owen,  poking  about  among  the 
wreck,  observed  an  open  space  in  the 
middle  of  one  of  the  shattered  walls, 
as  if  something  had  been  built  into  it. 
With  the  assistance  of  my  grand- 
father's cane,  he  succeeded  in  dis- 
lodging the  surrounding  masonry,  al- 
ready loosened  by  shot,  and  they  dis- 
covered it  to  be  a  recess  made  in  the 
thickness  of  the  wall,  and  closed  by  a 
small  iron  door.  At  the  bottom  was 
lying  a  small  box,  also  of  iron,  which 
they  raised,  not  without  difficulty,  for 
its  weight  was  extraordinary  in  pro- 
portion to  its  dimensions.  This  being 
conveyed  to  my  grandfather's,  and 
opened,  was  found  to  contain  more 
than  six  hundred  doubloons,  (a  sum 
in  value  about  two  thousand  pounds,) 
and  many  bills  of  exchange  and  pro- 
missory notes,  mostly  those  of  officers. 
The  latest  was  that  of  Von  Dessel. 
These  the  Major,  by  Esther's  desire, 
returned  to  the  persons  whose  signa- 
tures they  bore. 

Esther  never  completely  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  her  sojourn  in  the 
cave,  but  remained  always  pale  and 
of  weak  health.  My  grandfather  took 
good  care  of  her  inheritance  for  her, 
and  on  leaving  Gibraltar,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  siege,  invested  the 
whole  of  it  safely  for  her  benefit, 
placing  her,  at  the  same  time,  in  the 
family  of  some  respectable  persons  of 
her  own  religion.  She  afterwards 
married  a  wealthy  Hebrew ;  and,  in 


1851.] 


Life  amongst  the  Loggers. 


669 


whatever  part  of  the  world  the  Major 
chanced  to  be  serving,  so  long  as  she 
lived,  valuable  presents  would  con- 
stantly arrive  from  Gibraltar— man- 
tillas and  ornaments  of  jewellery  for 
Carlota,  and  butts  of  delicious  sherry 
for  my  grandfather.  These,  however, 
ceased  with  her  death,  about  twenty 
years  afterwards. 

This  is,  I  believe,  the  most  con- 
nected and  interesting  episode  to  be 
found  in  the  Major's  note-book ;  and 
it  is,  I  think,  the  last  specimen  I  shall 
offer  of  these  new  "  Tales  of  my 
Grandfather." 

As  a  child  I  used  to  listen,  with 
interest  ever  new,  to  the  tale  of  the 
young  Jewess,  which  the  narrator 


had  often  heard  from  the  lips  of  Car- 
lota  and  her  husband.  St  Michael's 
Cave  took  rank  in  my  mind  with  those 
other  subterranean  abodes  where  Cas- 
sim,  the  brother  of  AH  Baba,  who 
forgot  the  words  "  Open  Sesame" 
was  murdered  by  the  Forty  Thieves ; 
where  Aladdin  was  shut  by  the  magi- 
cian in  the  enchanted  garden ;  and 
where  Robinson  Crusoe  discovered 
the  dying  he-goat.  And  when,  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  tale,  the  scrap  of 
paper  containing  the  Jew's  will  was 
produced  from  a  certain  desk,  and 
carefully  unfolded,  I  seemed  to  be  con- 
nected by  some  awful  and  mysterious 
link  with  these  departed  actors  in  the 
scenes  I  had  so  breathlessly  listened  to. 


LIFE  AMONGST  THE   LOGGERS. 


THE  northern  and  elder  States  of 
the  great  American  Union  have  ceased 
to  be  associated  in  our  minds  with 
those  ideas  of  wild  and  romantic  ad- 
venture which  are  inseparably  con- 
nected with  some  of  their  younger 
brethren  far  west  and  south.  There 
is  nothing  suggestive  of  romance  in 
such  names  as  New  York,  Maine, 
and  Pennsylvania  :  cotton  bales,  keen 
traders  and  repudiated  debts,  drab 
coats,  wooden  clocks,  and  counterfeit 
nutmegs,  compose  the  equivocal  and 
unpoetical  visions  they  conjure  up  to 
European  imaginations.  But  drop  we 
our  eyes  down  the  map  to  lawless 
Arkansas,  feverish  Louisiana,  and 
debateable  Texas,  or  westwards  to 
the  still  newer  State  of  California,  and 
a  host  of  stirring  and  picturesque  as- 
sociations throng  upon  our  memory. 
Strange  scenes  and  a  motley  array 
pass  before  us.  Bands  of  hunters  and 
trappers,  scarce  more  civilised  than 
the  Indians  with  whom  they  war,  or 
gentler  than  the  buffalo  which  yields 
them  sport  and  food;  predatory  armies, 
for  Mexico  bound,  keen  for  spoil  and 
regardless  of  right ;  caravans  of  ad- 
venturous gold- seekers  braving  the 
perilous  passage  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains ;  hardy  squatters,  axe  in  hand, 
hewing  themselves  a  home  in  the  heart 
of  the  wilderness ;  innumerable  traits 


of  courage  and  endurance — incredible 
sufferings  and  countless  crimes — make 
up  a  picture-gallery  unrivalled  of  its 
kind.  In  those  districts,  not  a  league 
of  prairie,  not  a  mountain  or  stream, 
not  a  bayou  or  barranca,  but  has 
derived  recent  and  vivid  interest  from 
the  animated  sketches  of  Sealsfield, 
Ruxton,  Wise,  and  a  host  of  other 
graphic  and  vigorous  delineators. 

As  if  to  vindicate  the  claims  to  in- 
terest of  the  northern  American  pro- 
vinces, a  Down-easter,  Springer  by 
name,  who  hails  from  the  State  of 
Maine,  has  exhibited,  in  a  curious  little 
volume,  the  adventurous  side  of  life  in 
his  part  of  the  Union.  At  a  first 
glance,  there  would  appear  to  be  few 
created  things  whose  history  was 
likely  to  be  less  interesting  than  that 
of  a  Yankee  pine-log.  Get  astride  it 
with  Springer,  and  paddle  up  the 
Penobscot,  clearing  rapids  and  other 
impediments  as  best  you  may  on  so 
unpromising  a  float  —  and,  before 
reaching  the  place  where  it  grew,  you 
shall  marvel  at  the  skill  and  daring 
expended,  and  at  the  risks  run  to 
procure  it.  Springer,  who  was  reared 
amongst  the  pine  forests,  which  his 
axe  afterwards  helped  to  thin,  is  an 
enthusiastic  woodsman,  and  feels 
"  kinder  jealous "  that  whilst  the 
habits  and  adventures  of  many  classes 


Forest  Life  and  Forest  Trees. 
London  :  Sampson  Low.    1851. 


By  JOHN  S.  SPRINGER.      New  York  :   Harper. 


670 


Life  amongst 


of  his  countrymen  have  occupied  skil- 
ful writers  and  public  attention,  no 
chronicler  should  have  been  found  for 
the  deeds  and  perils  of  that  numerous 
class  to  which  he  for  some  years 
belonged.  To  supply  this  deficiency, 
he  himself,  although  more  used  to 
handle  axe  than  goose-quill,  has  writ- 
ten a  plain  and  unpretending  account 
of  scenes  and  incidents  which  he 
shared  in  and  witnessed.  The  fresh- 
ness of  the  subject,  and  the  honest 
earnestness  of  the  man,  would  atone 
for  clumsier  treatment  than  it  has 
met  with  at  his  hands. 

The  second  title  of  Mr  Springer's 
book  gives  a  clearer  idea  of  its  con- 
tents than  the  primary  one.  The 
volume  comprises,  says  the  title-page, 
u  Winter  camp  -life  among  the  Loggers, 
and  wild-wood  adventure,  with  de- 
scriptions of  lumbering  operations  on 
the  various  rivers  of  Maine  and  New 
Brunswick."  It  is  divided  into  three 
parts ;  the  first  and  shortest  being  a 
dissertation  on  forest  trees,  with  par- 
ticular reference  to  those  of  America; 
the  second,  entitled  "  The  Pine  Tree, 
or  Forest  Life,"  giving  an  account  of 
wood-cutting  operations;  the  third, 
"  Kiver  Life,"  detailing  the  progress 
of  the  timber  from  the  forest  to  the 
44  boom,"  or  depot.  The  chief  interest 
of  the  book  begins  with  the  second 
chapter  of  the  second  part,  wherein  is 
described  the  commencement  of  the 
labours  of  a  gang  of  "  loggers,"  or 
woodcutters.  In  the  hunt  after 
timber,  as  after  certain  animals,  the 
first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  mark  the 
whereabout  of  your  game  preparatory 
to  starting  in  its  pursuit.  On  the  eve 
of  the  chase  the  keeper  reconnoitres 
the  retreat  of  the  wild-boar.  Before 
a  party  of  loggers  proceed  to  establish 
a  camp  and  pass  the  winter  wood- 
cutting, they  send  out  scouts  to  as- 
certain where  timber  is  plenty. 
Thirty  years  since,  this  was  scarcely 
necessary — the  pine,  that  forest  king 
of  the  northern  States,  abounded  on 
every  side.  Fifty  years  hence— so  it 
is  estimated  by  those  best  qualified  to 
judge— the  vast  pine  forests,  through 
which  the  Penobscot  flows,  will  be  on 
the  eve  of  extinction.  Now  is  the 
intermediate  stage.  A  man  cannot, 
as  he  formerly  could,  step  from  his 
house  to  his  day's  work  ;  but  research 
and  labour  still  command  a  rich 


the  Loggers.  [Dec. 

timber  harvest.  Exploring  expedi- 
tions may  be  made  at  any  period  of 
the  year,  but  autumn  is  the  favourite 
season.  They  consist  generally  of 
only  two  or  three  men,  accustomed  to 
the  business,  who,  provided  with  the 
necessary  provisions,  with  a  coffee- 
pot and  a  blanket,  axe,  rifle,  and 
ammunition,  embark  on  skiff  or 
bateau,  and  pole  and  paddle  their  way 
two  hundred  miles  or  more  up  the 
Penobscot  or  the  St  Croix,  and  their 
numerous  tributaries.  On  reaching 
the  district  it  is  proposed  to  explore, 
the  boat  is  hauled  ashore  and  turned 
bottom  upwards,  the  load  of  stores  is 
divided  amongst  the  party,  and  they 
strike  into  the  forest,  rousing,  on  their 
passage,  the  stately  moose,  the  timid 
deer,  the  roaming  black  bear,  and 
many  an  inferior  denizen  of  the  lone- 
some wilderness.  They  now  begin 
44  prospecting."  Often  the  thickness 
of  the  forest  and  the  uneven  surface 
of  the  country  prevent  their  obtaining 
a  sufficiently  extensive  view,  and 
compel  them  to  climb  trees  in  order 
to  look  around  them. 

"  When  an  ascent  is  to  be  made,  the 
spruce  tree  is  generally  selected,  princi- 
pally for  the  superior  facilities  which  its 
numerous  limbs  afford  the  climber.  To 
gain  the  first  limbs  of  this  tree,  which  are 
from  twenty  to  forty  feet  from  the  ground, 
a  smaller  tree  is  undercut  and  lodged 
against  it,  clambering  up  which  the  top 
of  the  spruce  is  reached.  Sometimes, 
when  a  very  elevated  position  is  desired, 
the  spruce  tree  is  lodged  against  the 
trunk  of  some  lofty  pine,  up  which  we 
ascend  to  a  height  twice  that  of  the 
surrounding  forest.  From  such  a  tree- 
top,  like  a  mariner  at  the  mast-head  upon 
the  look-out  for  whales,  (and  indeed  the 
pine  is  the  whale  of  the  forest,)  large 
'clumps'  and  'veins 'of  pine  are  dis- 
covered, whose  towering  tops  may  be 
seen  for  miles  around.  Such  views  fill 
the  bosom  of  timber-hunters  with  an 
intense  interest.  They  are  the  object  of  his 
search — his  treasure,  his  Eldorado  ;  and 
they  are  beheld  with  peculiar  and  thrill- 
ing emotions.  To  detail  the  process  more 
minutely,  we  should  observe,  that  the 
man  in  the  tree-top  points  out  the  direc- 
tion in  which  the  pines  are  seen  ;  or,  if 
hid  from  the  view  of  those  below  by  the 
surrounding  foliage,  he  breaks  a  small 
limb,  and  throws  it  in  the  direction  in 
which  they  appear,  whilst  a  man  at  the 
base  marks  the  direction  indicated  by  the 
falling  liuib  by  means  of  a  compass  which 


1851.]  Life  amongst  the  Loggers. 

he  holds  in  his  hand,  the  compass  being 
quite  as  necessary  in  the  wilderness  as  on 
the  pathless  ocean.  In  fair  weather  the 
sun  serves  as  an  important  guide  ;  and  in 
cloudy  weather  the  close  observation  of 
an  experienced  woodman  will  enable  him 
to  steer  a  tolerably  correct  course  by  the 
moss  which  grows  on  the  trunks  of  most 
hardwood  trees,  the  north  sides  of  which 
are  covered  with  a  much  larger  share 
than  the  other  portions  of  the  trunk. 
This  Indian  compass,  however,  is  not  very 
convenient  or  safe,  particularly  in  passing 
through  swampy  lands,  which  are  of 
frequent  occurrence." 

Two  reflections  are  suggested  by 
the  paragraph  we  have  just  copied. 
The  substance  of  one  of  them  is  noted 
in  the  Preface.  "  This  volume,"  says 
the  modest  and  sensible  Springer, 
"  makes  no  pretensions  to  literary 
merit ;  sooner  would  it  claim  kindred 
with  the  wild  and  uncultivated  scenes 
of  which  it  is  but  a  simple  relation." 
The  second  reflection  is,  that  our 
wood-cutter  is  an  enthusiast  in  his 
craft ;  for  wood-cutting  in  Maine  is  a 
craft,  and  no  common  log-chopping. 
To  Springer,  a  towering  grove  of 
timber  is  as  exciting  a  sight  as  is  to 
the  hunter  that  of  a  herd  of  antlered 
deer  or  shaggy  buffalo.  The  pine 
especially  is  the  object  of  his  love  and 
admiration.  He  abounds  in  anec- 
dotes and  arguments  to  prove  its  good 
qualities,  and  labours  hard  to  establish 
its  superiority  to  the  oak.  Reared 
amongst  the  noble  pines  of  Maine,  he 
says,  even  as  a  child,  he  could  never 
hear,  without  feelings  of  jealousy, 
the  oak  extolled  as  monarch  of  the 
forest.  Admitting  it  to  excel  in 
strength,  he  vaunts,  upon  the  other 
hand,  the  superior  grandeur  and  girth 
of  the  pine,  its  value  in  building,  the 
breadth  of  its  planks,  their  clearness, 
beauty,  and  freedom  from  knots,  the 
numerous  uses  to  which  it  is  applicable, 
its  excellence  as  fuel,  its  perfect  adap- 
tation to  all  the  joiner's  purposes. 
He  extols  in  turn  each  of  its  varieties ; 
the  red  pine,  remarkable  for  its  tall 
trunk,  which  sometimes  rises  eighty 
feet  from  the  ground  before  putting 
out  a  limb  ;  the  pitch  pine,  inferior  in 
size,  but  preferable  to  any  other  wood 
for  generating  steam  in  engines ;  the 
white  pine,  superior  to  all  in  value 
and  dimensions.  He  tells  us  of  pines, 
of  which  he  has  read  or  heard,  of 
extraordinary  grandeur  and  diameter: 


671 

of  one,  two  hundred  and  sixty -four 
feet  long;  and  of  another  which,  at 
three  feet  from  the  ground,  was  fifty- 
seven  feet  nine  inches  in  circumference. 
These  extraordinary  specimens  were 
cut  some  years  ago.  Trees  of  such 
dimensions  are  now  rare. 

"  I  have  worked  in  the  forests  among 
this  timber  several  years,"  says  Springer, 
"  have  cut  many  hundreds  of  trees,  and 
seen  many  thousands,  but  I  never  found 
one  larger  than  one  I  felled  on  a  little 
stream  which  empties  into  Jackson  Lake, 
near  the  head  of  Baskahegan  stream,  in 
eastern  Maine.  This  was  a  pumpkin 
pine,  (a  variety  of  the  white  pine.)  Its 
trunk  was  as  straight  and  handsomely 
grown  as  a  moulded  candle,  and  measured 
six  feet  in  diameter  four  feet  from  the 
ground,  without  the  aid  of  spur  roots. 
It  was  about  nine  rods  in  length,  or  one 
hundred  and  forty-four  feet,  about  sixty- 
five  feet  of  which  was  free  of  limbs,  and 
retained  its  diameter  remarkably  well. 
I  was  employed  about  one  hour  and  a 
quarter  in  felling  it.  The  afternoon  was 
beautiful;  everything  was  calm,  and  to 
me  the  circumstances  were  deeply  inte- 
resting. After  chopping  an  hour  or  so, 
the  mighty  giant,  the  growth  of  centuries, 
which  had  withstood  the  hurricane,  and 
raised  itself  in  peerless  majesty  above  all 
around,  began  to  tremble  under  the 
strokes  of  a  mere  insect,  as  I  might  appear 
in  comparison  with  it.  My  heart  palpi- 
tated as  I  occasionally  raised  my  eye  to 
its  pinnacle  to  catch  the  first  indications 
of  its  fall.  It  came  down  at  length  with 
a  crash,  which  seemed  to  shake  a  hundred 
acres,  whilst  the  loud  echo  rang  through 
the  forest,  dying  away  amongst  the  distant 
hills.  It  had  a  hollow  in  the  butt  about  the 
size  of  a  barrel,  and  the  surface  of  the 
stump  was  sufficiently  spacious  to  allow 
a  yoke  of  oxen  to  stand  upon  it.  It  made 
five  logs,  and  loaded  a  six-ox  team  three 
times.  The  butt-log  was  so  large,  that 
the  stream  did  not  float  it  in  the  spring; 
and  when  the  drive  was  taken  down,  we 
were  obliged  to  leave  it  behind,  much  to 
our  regret  and  loss.  At  the  boom,  that 
log  would  have  been  worth  fifty  dollars." 

The  pine  tracts  ascertained,  the 
quality  of  the  trees  examined,  the 
distance  the  timber  will  have  to  be 
hauled  duly  calculated,  and  the  ground 
inspected,  through  which  logging 
roads  must  be  cut,  the  exploring 
party  retrace  their  steps  to  the  place 
where  they  left  their  boat.  Foot-sore 
with  their  forest  roamings,  they  gladly 
look  forward  to  the  quick,  gliding 


672 


Life  amongst  the  Loggers. 


[Dec. 


passage  down  stream.  A  grievous 
disappointment  sometimes  awaits 
them.  In  the  fall  of  the  year,  the 
black  bear  is  seized  with  a  violent 
longing  for  pitch  and  resinous  sub- 
stances, and  frequently  strips  fir  trees 
of  their  bark  for  the  sake  of  the  exu- 
dations. Occasionally  he  stumbles 
over  a  timber-hunter's  bateau,  and 
tears  it  to  pieces  in  the  course  of  the 
rough  process  he  employs  to  extract 
the  tar  from  its  planks.  If  it  is  in- 
jured beyond  possibility  of  repair, 
the  unlucky  pioneers  have  to  perform 
their  homeward  journey  on  foot,  un- 
less indeed  they  are  so  fortunate  as  to 
fall  in  with  some  Indian  trapper, 
whose  canoe  they  can  charter  for  a 
portion  of  the  way.  Once  at  home, 
the  next  step  is  to  obtain  permits 
from  the  State  or  proprietors,  securing, 
at  a  stipulated  price  of  so  much  per 
thousand  feet,  the  exclusive  right  to 
cut  timber  within  certain  bounds. 
Then  comes  haymaking  —  a  most 
important  part  of  the  loggers'  duty ; 
for  on  nothing  does  the  success  of  the 
wood-cutting  campaign  depend  more 
than  on  the  good  working  condition  of 
the  sturdy  teams  of  oxen  which  drag  the 
logs  from  the  snow-covered  forest  to 
the  river's  brink.  Hard  by  the  forest 
extensive  strips  of  meadow-land  are 
commonly  found,  covered  with  a 
heavy  growth  of  grass,  and  thither 
large  bands  of  men  repair  to  make 
and  stalk  the  hay  for  the  ensuing 
winter's  consumption.  The  labour  of 
haymaking  in  these  upland  meadows 
of  Maine  is  rendered  intolerably 
painful  by  the  assaults  of  flies  and 
mosquitoes,  and  especially  by  the  in- 
sidious attacks  of  millions  of  midges, 
so  small  as  to  be  scarcely  perceptible 
to  the  naked  eye,  and  which  get  be- 
tween the  clothes  and  the  skin,  causing 
a  smarting  and  irritation  so  great  as 
to  impede  the  progress  of  the  work. 
The  torment  of  these  insect  attacks 
is  hardly  compensated  by  the  pastimes 
and  adventures  incidental  to  the 
occupation.  Now  and  then  a  shot  is 
to  be  had  at  a  stray  deer ;  the  streams 
swarm  with  beautiful  trout  and 
pickerel ;  skirmishes  with  black  bears 
are  of  frequent  occurrence.  Mr 
Springer's  volume  abounds  with  stories 
of  encounters  with  bears,  wolves,  and 
"Indian  devils" — a  formidable  species 
of  catamount,  of  which  the  Indians 


stand  in  particular  dread.  Although 
the  bear  rarely  shows  himself  pug- 
nacious unless  assailed,  his  meddle- 
some, thievish  propensities  render 
him  particularly  obnoxious  to  the 
hay-makers  and  wood-cutters ;  and 
when  they  meet  him,  they  never  can 
abstain  from  the  aggressive,  however 
civilly  Bruin  may  be  disposed  to  pass 
them  by. 

"  On  one  occasion,"  says  Mr  Springer, 
"  two  men,  crossing  a  small  lake  in  a 
skiff,  on  their  return  from  putting  up  hay, 
discovered  a  bear  swimming  from  a  point 
of  land  for  the  opposite  shore.  As  usual 
in  such  cases,  temptation  silenced  pru- 
dence— they  changed  their  course,  and 
gave  chase.  The  craft  being  light,  they 
gained  fast  upon  the  bear,  who  exerted 
himself  to  the  utmost  to  gain  the  shore  ; 
but,  finding  himself  an  unequal  match  in 
the  race,  he  turned  upon  his  pursuers, 
and  swam  to  meet  them.  One  of  the 
men,  a  short,  thick-set,  dare-devil  fellow, 
seized  an  axe,  and,  the  moment  the  bear 
came  up,  inflicted  a  blow  upon  his  head. 
It  seemed  to  make  but  a  slight  impres- 
sion, and  before  it  could  be  repeated  the 
bear  clambered  into  the  boat.  He  in- 
stantly grappled  the  man  who  struck 
him,  firmly  setting  his  teeth  in  his  thigh  ; 
then,  settling  back  upon  his  haunches,  he 
raised  his  victim  in  the  air,  and  shook  him 
as  a  dog  would  a  wood-chuck.  The  man  at 
the  helm  stood  for  a  moment  in  amazement, 
without  knowing  how  to  act,  and  fearing 
that  the  bear  might  spring  overboard  and 
drown  his  companion ;  but,  recollecting 
the  effect  of  a  blow  upon  the  end  of  a 
bear's  snout,  he  struck  him  with  a  short 
setting-pole.  The  bear  dropped  his  vic- 
tim into  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  sallied 
and  fell  overboard,  and  swam  again  for 
the  shore.  The  man  bled  freely  from  the 
bite,  and,  as  the  wound  proved  too  serious 
to  allow  a  renewal  of  the  encounter, 
they  made  for  the  shore.  But  one  thing 
saved  them  from  being  upset :  the  water 
proved  sufficiently  shoal  to  admit  of  the 
bear's  getting  bottom,  from  which  he 
sprang  into  the  boat.  Had  the  water 
been  deep,  the  consequences  might  have 
been  more  serious." 

From  its  first  to  its  last  stage,  the 
logger's  occupation  is  one  of  severe 
toil  and  frequent  peril.  When  the 
pioneer's  duty  is  accomplished,  and 
when  the  hay  is  made,  there  is  still 
hard  work  to  be  done  before  he  can 
begin  to  level  the  forest  giants.  No 
kind  of  labour,  Mr  Springer  assures 
us,  tests  a  man's  physical  abilities 
and  powers  of  endurance  more  than 


1851.]  Life  amongst 

boating  supplies  up  river.  The  wood- 
cutters come  to  a  fall,  and  have  to 
land  their  implements  and  provisions, 
and  to  carry  them  past  it.  Their 
boats,  too,  must  be  carried,  and  that 
over  rocks  and  fallen  trees,  through 
thickets  and  pathless  swamps.  Then 
they  come  to  rapids,  up  which  they 
have  to  pole  their  heavy  -  laden 
bateaux.  For  this  work,  prodigious 
skill,  nerve,  and  strength  are  requi- 
site. Then  come  the  long  portages 
from  lake  to  lake,  and  the  danger 
of  being  swamped,  when  traversing 
these,  by  sudden  gusts  of  wind  lash- 
ing the  lake,  in  a  few  minutes'  time, 
into  foaming  waves,  in  which  the 
deeply-loaded  boats  could  not  for  a 
moment  live. 

"  Our  frail  skiff  was  about  eighteen 
feet  long,  and  four  feet  across  the  top  of 
the  gunwale  amidships,  tapering  to  a 
point  at  either  end,  constructed  of  thin 
slips  of  pine  boards,  nailed  to  some  half- 
dozen  pair  of  slender  knees,  about  two 
inches  in  diameter.  On  board  were  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  of  provisions,  with  seven 
men,  which  pressed  her  into  the  water 
nearly  to  the  gunwale ;  three  inches 
from  the  position  of  a  level,  and  she 
would  fill  with  water." 

In  such  an  overburthened  cockle- 
shell as  this  did  Mr  Springer  once 
find  himself  in  company  with  a 
drunken  man,  who  was  only  withheld 
from  capsizing  the  boat  by  the  threat 
of  having  his  skull  split  with  a  paddle  ; 
for  an  inordinate  addiction  to  rum  is 
the  loggers'  chief  vice,  a  vice  palliated 
by  the  hardship  and  exposure  they 
endure.  Drinking,  however,  is  on 
the  decline  amongst  them  of  late 
years,  since  "it  has  been  fully  de- 
monstrated that  men  can  endure  the 
chilling  hardships  of  river  -  driving 
quite  as  well,  and  indeed  far  better, 
without  the  stimulus  of  ardent  spirits, 
and  perform  more  and  better- directed 
labour."  Black  pepper  tea  is  drunk 
on  cold  nights  when  camping  in  the 
open  air,  and  is  found  a  warming  and 
comfortable  beverage.  Both  in  drink 
and  diet  the  loggers  look  more  to 
strength  than  to  delicacy.  Salt  pork, 
ship  bread,  and  molasses,  compose  the 
staple  of  their  consumption.  The 
drippings  from  a  slice  of  pork,  roasted 
before  the  fire,  are  allowed  to  fall  on 
the  bread,  which  is  then  dignified  by 
the  name  of  buttered  toast.  Some- 


the  Loggers. 


673 


times  the  salt  pork  is  eaten  raw, 
dipped  in  molasses,  —  a  mixture  un- 
equalled for  nastiness,  we  should 
imagine,  excepting  by  that  of  oysters 
and  brown  sugar.  "  The  recital  may 
cause,"  says  honest  Springer  in  his 
comical  English,  "  in  delicate  and 
pampered  stomachs  some  qualms,  yet 
we  can  assure  the  uninitiated  that, 
from  these  gross  samples,  the  hungry 
woodsman  makes  many  a  delicious 
meal."  An  assurance  which  gives  us 
a  most  exalted  idea  of  the  appetite 
and  digestion  of  the  loggers  of 
Maine. 

Once  in  the  forest  with  their  stores, 
the  woodmen  carefully  select  a  suit- 
able spot,  clear  the  ground,  build 
their  "camp"  and  "hovel,"  and 
commence  their  winter's  work.  The 
"camp"  and  "hovel"  are  two  log- 
houses,  the  former  being  for  the  men, 
the  latter  for  the  oxen.  In  some 
respects  the  beasts  are  better  treated 
than  their  masters,  for  their  hovel  is 
floored  with  small  poles,  a  luxury 
unknown  in  the  camp,  where  the  men 
sleep  on  branches  strewn  upon  the 
bare  earth.  "  Having  completed  our 
winter  residences,  next  in  order  comes 
the  business  of  looking  out  and  cut- 
ting the  'main'  and  some  of  the 
principal  *  branch  roads.'  These 
roads,  like  the  veins  in  the  human 
body,  ramify  the  wilderness  to  all  the 
principal  '  clumps  '  and  '  groves  '  of 
pine  embraced  in  the  permit."  Mr 
Springer  expatiates  on  the  graceful 
curves  of  the  roads,  whose  inequali- 
ties soon  become  filled  with  snow, 
and  their  surface  hard-beaten  and 
glassy,  polished  by  the  sled  and  logs 
which  are  continually  passing  over  it, 
whilst  overhead  the  trees  interlace 
their  spreading  branches.  "  Along 
this  roadside,  on  the  way  to  the  land- 
ing, runs  a  serpentine  path  for  the 
'knight  of  the  goad,'  whose  devia- 
tions are  marked  now  outside  this 
tree,  then  behind  that  'windfall,'  now 
again  intercepting  the  main  road, 
skipping  along  like  a  dog  at  one's 
side."  The  teamster,  if  he  does  his 
duty,  works  harder  than  any  man  in 
camp.  Under  a  good  teamster,  the 
oxen  receive  care  almost  as  tender  as 
though  they  were  race-horses  with 
thousands  depending  on  their  health 
and  condition.  With  proper  attention 
and  management,  they  should  be  in 


674 

as  good  flesh  in  the  spring  as  when 
they  began  hauling  early  in  winter. 

"  The  last  thing  at  night  before  '  turn- 
ing in,'  the  teamster  lights  his  lantern 
and  repairs  to  the  ox-hovel.  In  the 
morning,  by  peep  of  day,  and  often  be- 
fore, his  visits  are  repeated,  to  hay  and 
provender,  and  card,  and  yoke  up.  While 
the  rest  of  the  hands  are  sitting  or  loung- 
ing around  the  liberal  fire,  shifting  for 
their  comfort,  after  exposure  to  the  win- 
ter frosts  through  the  day,  he  must  re- 
peatedly go  out  to  look  after  the  comfort 
of  the  sturdy,  faithful  ox.  And  then,  for 
an  hour  or  two  in  the  morning  again, 
whilst  all,  save  the  cook,  are  closing  up 
the  sweet  and  unbroken  slumbers  of  the 
night,  so  welcome  and  necessary  to  the 
labourer,  he  is  out  amid  the  early  frost 
with,  I  had  almost  said,  the  care  of  a 
mother,  to  see  if  *  old  Turk'  is  not  loose, 
whether  '  Bright'  favours  the  near  fore- 
foot, (which  felt  a  little  hot  the  day  be- 
fore,) as  he  stands  up  on  the  hard  floor, 
and  then  to  inspect '  Swan's '  provender- 
trough,  to  see  if  he  has  eaten  his  meal, 
for  it  was  carefully  noted  that  at  the 
'  watering-place '  last  night  he  drank  but 
little  ;  whilst  at  the  further  end  of  the 
'  tie-up'  he  thinks  he  hears  a  little  clat- 
tering noise,  and  presently  '  little  Star ' 
is  having  his  shins  gently  rapped,  as  a 
token  of  his  master's  wish  to  raise  his 
foot  to  see  if  some  nail  has  not  given  way 
in  the  loosened  shoe  ;  and  this  not  for 
once,  but  every  day,  with  numberless 
other  cares  connected  with  his  charge." 

"  The  oxen  are  taken  out  to  the  forest 
by  the  last  detachment  of  wood- cut- 
ters, when  winter  fairly  sets  in.  This 
is  the  hardest  trip  of  any.  Both  man 
and  beast  experience  much  incon- 
venience from  the  cold.  Often,  when 
driving  a  boat  up  rapids,  ice  forms 
upon  the  poles  in  the  men's  hands, 
which  are  already  so  cold  and  stiff 
that  they  can  scarcely  retain  their 
grasp ;  yet  an  instant's  cessation  of 
exertion  would  be  fraught  with  im- 
minent peril  to  life  and  goods.  The 
oxen,  attached  to  long  lightly-loaded 
sleds,  are  driven  over  rough  miry 
tracks.  "  In  crossing  large  streams, 
we  unyoke  the  oxen  and  swim  them 
over.  If  we  have  no  boat,  a  raft  is 
constructed,  upon  which  our  effects 
are  transported,  when  we  reyoke  and 
pursue  our  route  as  before.  Our 
cattle  are  often  very  reluctant  to 
enter  the  water  whilst  the  anchor-ice 
runs,  and  the  cold  has  already  begun 


Life  amongst  the  Loggers. 


[Dec. 


to  congeal  its  surface."  Lakes  are 
crossed  upon  the  ice,  which  not  un- 
frequently  breaks  in.  Mr  Springer 
gives  an  account  of  a  journey  he 
made,  when  this  misfortune  hap- 
pened, and  ten  oxen  at  one  time 
were  struggling  in  the  chilling  waters 
of  Baskahegan  Lake.  They  were  all 
got  out,  he  tells  us,  although  rescue 
under  such  circumstances  would  ap- 
pear almost  hopeless. 

"  Standing  upon  the  edge  of  the  ice,  a 
man  was  placed  by'the  side  of  each  ox  to 
keep  his  head  out  of  the  water.  We  un- 
yoked one  at  a  time,  and  throwing  a  rope 
round  the  roots  of  his  horns,  the  warp 
was  carried  forward  and  attached  to  the 
little  oxen,  (a  pair  that  had  not  broken 
in,)  whose  services  on  this  occasion  were 
very  necessary.  A  strong  man  was 
placed  on  the  ice  at  the  edge,  so  that, 
lifting  the  ox  by  his  horns,  he  was  able 
to  press  the  ice  down  and  raise  his 
shoulder  up  on  the  edge,  when  the  warp- 
oxen  would  pull  them  out.  For  half-an- 
hour  we  had  a  lively  time  of  it,  and  in  an 
almost  incredibly  short  time  we  had  them 
all  safely  out,  and  drove  them  back  upon 
the  point  nearly  a  mile.  It  was  now 
very  dark.  We  left  our  sleds  in  the 
water  with  the  hay,  pulling  out  a  few 
armsful,  which  we  carried  to  the  shore 
to  rub  the  oxen  down  with.  Poor  fel- 
lows !  they  seemed  nearly  chilled  to 
death,  and  shook  as  if  they  would  fall  to 
pieces." 

So  great  is  the  labour  of  taking  oxen 
to  the  forest  every  Fall — often  to  a  dis- 
tance of  two  hundred  miles  into  the 
interior — that  the  wood-cutters  some- 
times leave  them,  when  they  go  down 
stream  in  the  spring  to  get  their  own 
living  in  the  wilderness,  and  hunt 
them  up  again  in  autumn.  They 
thrive  finely  in  the  interval,  and  get 
very  wild  and  difficult  to  catch  ;  but 
when  at  last  subjugated,  threy  evi- 
dently recognise  their  mastersT  and 
are  pleased  to  see  them.  Occasionally 
they  disappear  in  the  course  of  the 
summer,  and  are  heard  of  no  more ; 
they  are  then  supposed  to  have  got 
"  mired  or  cast,"  or  to  have  been 
devoured  by  wolves — or  by  bears, 
which  also  are  known  to  attack  oxen. 

"  An  individual  who  owned  a  very  fine 
'  six-ox  team '  turned  them  into  the 
woods  to  brouse,  in  a  new  region  of 
country.  Late  in  the  evening,  his  atten- 
tion was  arrested  by  the  bellowing  of  one 
of  them.  It  continued  for  an  hour  or 


1851.] 


Life  amongst  the  Loggers. 


two,  then  ceased  altogether.  The  night 
was  very  dark,  and  as  the  ox  was  sup- 
posed to  be  more  than  a  mile  distant,  it 
was  thought  not  advisable  to  venture  in 
search  of  him  until  morning.  As  soon  as 
daylight  appeared,  the  owner  started,  in 
company  with  another  man,  to  investi- 
gate the  cause  of  the  uproar.  Passing 
on  about  a  mile,  he  found  one  of  his  best 
oxen  prostrate,  and,  on  examination, 
there  was  found  a  hole  eaten  into  the 
thickest  part  of  his  hind  quarter  nearly 
as  large  as  a  hat ;  not  less  than  six  or 
eight  pounds  of  flesh  were  gone.  .He 
had  bled  profusely.  The  ground  was 
torn  up  for  [rods  around  where  the  en- 
counter occurred  ;  the  tracks  indicated 
the  assailant  to  be  a  very  large  bear, 
who  had  probably  worried  the  ox  out, 
and  then  satiated  his  ravenous  appetite, 
feasting  upon  him  while  yet  alive.  A 
road  was  bushed  out  to  the  spot  where 
the  poor  creature  lay,  and  he  was  got 
upon  a  sled  and  hauled  home  by  a  yoke 
of  his  companions,  where  the  wound  was 
dressed.  It  never,  however,  entirely 
healed,  though  it  was  so  far  improved  as 
to  allow  of  its  being  fattened,  after  which 
he  was  slaughtered  for  food." 

In  cold  weather  in  those  forests 
the  bears  and  wolves  are  exceedingly 
audacious.  The  latter  have  a  curious 
habit  of  accompanying  the  teams  on 
their  journeys  between  the  forest  and 
the  river  to  which  they  drag  the  logs. 
This  has  only  occurred  of  late  years, 
and  the  manner  in  which  they  thus 
volunteer  their  services  as  assistant 
drivers  is  exceedingly  curious. 

"  Three  teams,"  says  Springer,  a  in  the 
winter  of  1844,  all  in  the  same  neigh- 
bourhood, were  beset  with  these  ravenous 
animals.  They  were  of  unusually  large 
size,  manifesting  a  most  singular  bold- 
ness, and  even  familiarity,  without  the 
usual  appearance  of  ferocity  so  charac- 
teristic of  the  animal.  Sometimes  one, 
and  in  another  instance  three,  in  a  most 
unwelcome  manner,  volunteered  their 
attendance,  accompanying  the  teamster 
a  long  distance  on  his  way.  They  would 
even  jump  on  the  log  and  ride,  and  ap- 
proach very  near  the  oxen.  One  of  them 
actually  jumped  upon  the  sled,  and  down 
between  the  bars,  while  the  sled  was  in 
motion.  Some  of  the  teamsters  were 
much  alarmed,  keeping  close  to  the  oxen, 
and  driving  on  as  fast  as  possible. 
Others,  more  courageous,  would  run  for- 
ward and  strike  at  them  with  their  goad- 
sticks  ;  but  the  wolves  sprang  out  of  the 
way  in  an  instant.  But,  although  they 
seemed  to  act  without  a  motive,  there 


675 

was  something  so  cool  and  impudent  in 
their  conduct  that  it  was  trying  to  the 
nerves — even  more  so  than  an  active  en- 
counter. For  some  time  after  this,  fire- 
arms were  a  constant  part  of  the  team- 
ster's equipage." 

The  distant  howling  and  screaming 
of  the  wolves,  compared  by  an  old 
Yankee  hunter  to  the  screeching  of 
forty  pair  of  old  cart-wheels,  is  par- 
ticularly ominous  and  disagreeable. 
Springer  has  collected  a  number  of 
curious  anecdotes  concerning  them. 
One  night  a  pack  of  the  prowling 
marauders  were  seen  trailing  down 
Mattawamkeag  Kiver  on  the  ice. 
The  dwellers  in  a  log-house  hard 
by  soaked  some  meat  in  poison  and 
threw  it  out.  Next  morning  the 
meat  was  gone,  and  six  wolves  lay 
dead,  all  within  sight  of  each  other. 
"  Every  one  of  them  had  dug  a  hole 
down  through  the  snow  into  the 
frozen  earth,  in  which  they  had 
thrust  their  noses,  either  for  water 
to  quench  the  burning  thirst  pro- 
duced by  the  poison,  or  to  snuff  some 
antidote  to  the  fatal  drug.  A  bounty 
was  obtained  on  each  of  ten  dollars, 
besides  their  hides,  making  a  fair  job 
of  it,  as  well  as  ridding  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  an  annoying  enemy." 
Several  of  Mr  Springer's  logging  and 
lumbering  friends  have  contributed 
to  his  book  the  results  of  their  ex- 
perience, and  narratives  of  their  ad- 
ventures, some  of  which  he  gives  in 
their  own  words.  Amongst  these  is 
an  ill- written,  but  yet  a  very  exciting, 
account  of  a  wolf-chase,  or  we  should 
perhaps  rather  say  a  man-chase,  the 
wolves  in  this  instance  being  the  pur- 
suers, and  Springer's  neighbour  the 
pursued.  The  person  in  question  was 
passionately  fond  of  skating,  and  one 
night  he  left  a  friend's  house  to  skate 
a  short  distance  up  the  frozen  Ken- 
nebeck,  which  flowed  before  the  door. 
It  was  a'bright  still  evening ;  the  new 
moon  silvered  the  frosty  pines.  After 
gliding  a  couple  of  miles  up  the  river, 
the  skater  turned  off  into  a  little 
tributary  stream,  over  which  fir 
and  hemlock  twined  their  evergreen 
branches.  The  archway  beneath  was 
dark,  but  he  fearlessly  entered  it, 
unsuspicious  of  peril,  with  a  joyous 
laugh  and  hurra — an  involuntary  ex- 
pression of  exhilaration,  elicited  by 
the  bracing  crispness  of  the  atmo- 


676 


Life  amongst 


sphere,  and  glow  of  pleasant  exercise. 
What  followed  is  worth  extracting. 

".  All  of  a  sudden  a  sound  arose,  it 
seemed  from  .the  very  ice  beneath  my 
feet.  It  was  loud  and  tremendous  at 
first,  until  it  ended  in  one  long  yell.  I 
was  appalled.  Never  before  had  such 
a  noise  met  my  ears.  I  thought  it  more 
than  mortal — so  fierce,  and  amid  such 
an  unbroken  solitude,  that  it  seemed  a 
fiend  from  hell  had  blown  a  blast  from 
an  infernal  trumpet.  Presently  I  heard 
the  twigs  on  the  shore  snap  as  if  from 
the  tread  of  some  animal,  and  the  blood 
rushed  back  to  my  forehead  with  a  bound 
that  made  my  skin  burn.  My  energies 
returned,  and  I  looked  around  me  for 
some  means  of  defence.  The  moon  shone 
through  the  opening  by  which  I  had 
entered  the  forest,  and,  considering  this 
the  best  means  of  escape,  I  darted  to- 
wards it  like  an  arrow.  It  was  hardly 
a  hundred  yards  distant,  and  the  swal- 
low could  scarcely  outstrip  my  desperate 
flight ;  yet  as  I  turned  my  eyes  .to  the 
shore,  .1  could  see  two  dark  objects 
dashing  through  the  underbrush  at  a 
pace  nearly  double  mine.  By  their  great 
speed,  and  the  short  yells  which  they 
occasionally  gave,  I  knew  at  once  that 
they  were  the  much  dreaded  grey  wolf." 

Here  Springer  interposes  a  vignette 
of  a  wolf— a  most  formidable  and  un- 
wholesome-looking quadruped — grin- 
ning over  the  well-picked  bone  of 
some  unlucky  victim.  The  logger's 
pages  are  enlivened  by  a  number  of 
illustrations — woodcuts  of  course — 
rough  enough  in  execution,  but  giving 
an  excellent  notion  of  the  scenery, 
animals,  and  logging  operations 
spoken  of  in  the  text.  Grey  wolves 
are  of  untameable  fierceness,  great 
strength  and  speed,  and  pursue  their 
prey  to  the  death  with  frightful  te- 
nacity, unwearyingly  following  the 
trail— 

"  With  their  long  gallop,  which  can  tire 
The  hounds'  deep  hate,  the  hunter's  fire." 

A  more  dangerous  foe  a  benighted 
traveller  could  hardly  fall  in  with. 

"  The  bushes  that  skirted  the  shore," 
continues  the  hunted  of  wolves,  "  flew 
past  with  the  velocity  of  light  as  I 
dashed  on  in  my  flight.  The  outlet  was 
nearly  gained  ;  one  second  more  and  I 
should  be  comparatively  safe  ;  when  my 
pursuers  appeared  on  the  bank,  directly 
above  me,  which  rose  to  the  height  of 
some  ten  feet.  There  was  no  time  for 


the  Loggers.  [Dec. 

thought  ;  I  bent  my  head,  and  dashed 
wildly  forward.  The  wolves  sprang, 
but,  miscalculating  my  speed,  sprang 
behind,  whilst  their  intended  prey  glided 
out  into  the  river. 

"Nature  turned  me  towards  home. 
The  light  flakes  of  snow  spun  from  the 
iron  of  my  skates,  and  I  was  now  some 
distance  from  my  pursuers,  when  their 
fierce  howl  told  me  that  I  was  again  the 
fugitive.  I  did  not  look  back  ;  I  did  not 
feel  sorry  or  glad  ;  one  thought  of  home, 
of  the  bright  faces  awaiting  my  return, 
of  their  tears  if  they  should  never  see  me 
again,  and  then  every  energy  of  body  and 
mind  was  exerted  for  my  escape.  I  was 
perfectly  at  home  on  the  ice.  Many  were 
the  days  I  spent  on  my  skates,  never 
thinking  that  at  one  time  they  would  be 
my  only  means  of  safety.  Every  half 
minute  an  alternate  yelp  from  my  pur- 
suers made  me  but  too  certain  they  were 
close  at  my  heels.  Nearer  and  nearer 
they  came  ;  I  heard  their  feet  pattering 
on  the  ice  nearer  still,  until  I  fancied  I 
could  hear  their  deep  breathing.  Every 
nerve  and  muscle  in  my  frame  was 
stretched  to  the  utmost  tension.  The 
trees  along  the  shore  seemed  to  dance  in 
the  uncertain  light,  and  my  brain  turned 
with  my  own  breathless  speed,  when  an 
involuntary  motion  turned  me  out  of  my 
course.  The  wolves  close  behind,  unable 
to  stop  and  as  unable  to  turn,  slipped, 
fell,  still  going  on  far  ahead,  their  tongues 
lolling  out,  their  white  tusks  gleaming 
from  their  bloody  mouths,  their  dark 
shaggy  breasts  freckled  with  foam  ;  and 
as  they  passed  me  their  eyes  glared,  and 
they  howled  with  rage  and  fury.  The 
thought  flashed  on  my  mind  that  by  this 
means  I  could  avoid  them— viz.,  by  turning 
aside  whenever  they  came  too  near  ;  for 
they,  by  the  formation  of  their  feet,  are 
unable  to  run  on  ice  except  in  a  right 
line. 

"I  immediately  acted  on  this  plan. 
The  wolves,  having  regained  their  feet, 
sprang  directly  towards  me.  The  race 
was  renewed  for  twenty  yards  up  the 
stream;  they  were  already  close  on  my 
back,  when  I  glided  round  and  dashed 
past  them.  A  fierce  howl  greeted  my 
evolution,  and  the  wolves  slipped  upon 
their  haunches,  and  sailed  onward,  pre- 
senting a  perfect  picture  of  helplessness 
and  baffled  rage.  Thus  I  gained  nearly 
a  hundred  yards  each  turning.  This  was 
repeated  two  or  three  times,  every  mo- 
ment the  wolves  getting  more  excited 
and  baffled,  until,  coming  opposite  the 
house,  a  couple  of  staghounds,  aroused  by 
the  noise,  bayed  furiously  from  their 
kennels.  The  wolves,  taking  the  hint, 
stopped  in  their  mad  career,  and,  after  a, 


1851.] 


Life  amongst  the  Loggers. 


moment's  consideration,  turned  and  fled. 
I  watched  them  till  their  dusky  forms 
disappeared  over  a  neighbouring  hill ; 
then,  taking  off  my  skates,  I  wended  my 
way  to  the  house." 

From  some  unassigned  reason, 
wolves  have  increased  of  late  years  in 
the  wild  forests  of  north-eastern 
Maine.  Up  to  1840,  Mr  Springer,  who 
had  been  much  in  that  district,  logging 
in  winter  and  clearing  land  in  sum- 
mer, never  saw  one.  Since  then  they 
have  frequently  been  seen  in  numerous 
parties,  and  of  most  formidable  size. 
There  would  not  seem  to  be  much  to 
choose,  as  far  as  the  pleasure  of  the 
thing  goes,  between  an  encounter 
with  one  of  these  ravenous  brutes  and 
a  tussle  with  a  catamount.  Springer, 
however,  who  must  be  competent  to 
judge,  considers  the  catamount  the 
worse  customer.  He  tells  an  ugly 
story,  which  may  serve  as  a  pendant 
to  that  of  the  bear's  breakfast  on  live 
beef,  of  what  happened  to  a  logger 
named  Smith,  when  on  his  way  to 
join  a  timbering  party  in  the  woods. 
He  had  nearly  reached  camp,  when 
he  fell  in  with  a  catamount,  or 
"  Indian  devil."  Retreat  was  impos- 
sible; for  reflection  there  was  no 
time:  arms  he  had  none.  Acting 
from  impulse,  he  sprang  up  a  small 
tree — perhaps  as  sensible  a  thing  as 
he  could  have  done.  He  had  scarcely 
ascended  his  length,  when  the  crea- 
ture, fierce  from  hunger,  made  a  bound 
and  caught  him  by  the  heel.  Al- 
though badly  bitten,  Smith  managed 
to  get  his  foot  out  of  the  shoe,  in 
which  the  tiger-cat's  teeth  were  firmly 
set,  and  shoe  and  savage  fell  together 
to  the  ground.  What  then  ensued  is 
so  horrible  and  extraordinary  that  we 
should  suspect  our  wood-cutting  friend 
of  imaginative  decoration,  but  for  the 
assurance  he  gives  us  in  his  preface, 
that  "  the  incidents  he  has  related 
are  real,  and  that  in  no  case  is  the 
truth  sacrificed  to  fancy  or  embellish- 
ment." He  shall  finish  his  yarn 
himself. 

"  The  moment  he  was  disengaged, 
Smith  sprang  for  a  more  secure  position, 
and  the  animal  at  the  same  time  leaped 
to  another  large  tree,  about  ten  feet  dis- 
tant, up  which  he  ascended  to  an  eleva- 
tion equal  to  that  of  his  victim,  from 
which  he  threw  himself  upon  him,  firmly 
fixing  his  teeth  in  the  calf  of  his  leg. 

VOL.  LXX.— NO.  CCCCXXXIV. 


677 

Hanging  suspended  thus  until  the  flesh, 
insufficient  to  sustain  the  weight,  gave 
way.  he  dropped  again  to  the  ground, 
carrying  a  portion  of  flesh  in  his  mouth. 
Having  greedily  devoured  this  morsel,  he 
bounded  again  up  the  opposite  tree,  and 
from  thence  upon  Smith,  in  this  manner 
renewing  his  attacks,  and  tearing  away 
the  flesh  in  mouthfuls  from  his  legs. 
During  this  agonising  operation,  Smith 
contrived  to  cut  a  limb  from  the  tree,  to 
which  he  managed  to  bind  his  jack-knife, 
with  which  he  could  now  assail  his  enemy 
at  every  leap.  He  succeeded  thus  in 
wounding  him  so  badly  that  at  length  his 
attacks  were  discontinued,  and  he  dis- 
appeared in  the  dense  forest." 

Smith,  who,  as  Springer  coolly 
informs  us,  "  had  exerted  his 
voice  to  the  utmost,"  whilst  the 
catamount  was  devouring  him  in 
detail,  (we  can  perfectly  imagine  a 
man  bellowing  like  twenty  bulls  under 
such  circumstances,)  was  found  by 
his  friends  in  a  state  of  dreadful 
exhaustion  and  suffering,  and  was 
carried  to  camp  on  a  litter.  He  ulti- 
mately recovered,  but  had  sustained 
irreparable  injuries.  "  Such  despe- 
rate encounters  are  of  rare  occur- 
rence," Springer  quietly  adds.  We 
should  think  they  were.  Really  these 
loggers  are  cool  hands.  Encounters 
with  black  bears  are  much  more  com- 
mon, we  are  informed.  These  are 
strong  fellows,  clever  at  parrying 
blows,  and  at  wrenching  the  weapon 
from  their  assailant's  hand  —  very 
tenacious  of  life,  and  confirmed  rob- 
bers. Springer  and  his  comrades 
were  once,  whilst  ascending  a  river, 
followed  by  one  of  them  for  several 
days.  He  was  bent  upon  plunder, 
and  one  night  he  walked  off  with  a 
bundle  containing  clothing,  boots, 
shaving  implements,  and  other  things, 
for  which  it  might  be  thought  a  bear 
could  have  little  occasion.  He  exa- 
mined his  prize  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  camp,  tore  the  clothes  to 
shreds,  and  chewed  up  the  cow-hide 
boots  and  the  handle  of  a  razor. 
From  the  roof  of  a  log-house,  which 
the  woodmen  erected  a  few  miles  far- 
ther on,  he  carried  off  a  ten-gallon  keg 
of  molasses,  set  it  on  one  end,  knocked 
the  head  in  or  out,  and  was  about  to 
enjoy  the  feast,  when  he  was  dis- 
covered, pursued,  and  at  last  killed. 
At  page  140  we  find  a  capital  ac- 
count of  a  fight  between  a  family  of 
2  x 


678 


Life  amongst  the  Loggers. 


[Dec. 


bears  (father,  mother,  and  cubs)  and 
two  foresters :  and  at  page  100  the 
stirring-up  of  a  bear's  den  is  graphi- 
cally described. 

The  pine  tree  is  subject  to  disease  of 
more  than  one  kind,  the  most  frequent 
being  a  sort  of  cancer,  known  amongst 
lumber-men  as  "Conk"  or  "Konkus," 
whose  sole  external  manifestation  is  a 
small  brown  spot,  usually  at  several 
feet  from  the  ground,  and  sometimes  no 
larger  than  a  shilling.  The  trees  thus 
afflicted  are  noway  inferior  to  the 
soundest  in  size  and  apparent  beauty ; 
but  on  cutting  into  them  the  rot  is  at 
once  evident,  the  wood  being  reddish 
in  colour,  and  of  spungy  texture. 
"Sometimes  it  shoots  upwards,  in 
imitation  of  the  streaming  light  of  the 
aurora  borealis ;  in  others  downwards, 
and  even  both  ways,  preserving  the 
same  appearance."  Unscrupulous  log- 
gers cheat  the  unwary  by  driving  a 
knot  or  piece  of  a  limb  of  the  same 
tree  into  the  plague-spot,  and  hewing 
it  off  smoothly,  so  as  to  give  it  the 
appearance  of  a  natural  knot.  A 
great  many  pines  are  hollow  at  the 
base  or  butt,  and  these  hollows  are 
the  favourite  winter- retreats  of  Bruin 
the  bear. 

"  A  few  rods  from  the  main  logging 
road  where  I  worked  one  winter,"  said 
Mr  Johnston,  (a  logger  whom  Springer 
more  than  once  quotes,)  "  there  stood  a 
very  large  pine  tree.  We  had  nearly 
completed  our  winter's  work,  and  it  still 
stood  unmolested,  because,  from  appear- 
ances, it  was  supposed  to  be  worthless. 
Whilst  passing  it  one  day,  not  quite  sa- 
tisfied with  the  decision  that  had  been 
made  upon  its  quality,  I  resolved  to  satis- 
fy my  own  mind  touching  its  value;  so, 
wallowing  to  it  through  the  snow,  which 
was  nearly  up  to  my  middle,  I  struck  it 
several  blows  with  the  head  of  my  axe, 
an  experiment  to  test  whether  a  tree  be 
hollow  or  not.  When  I  desisted,  my 
attention  was  arrested  by  a  slight  scratch- 
ing and  whining.  Suspecting  the  cause, 
I  thumped  the  tree  again,  listening  more 
attentively,  and  heard  the  same  noise  as 
before.  It  was  a  bear's  den.  Examin- 
ing the  tree  more  closely,  I  discovered  a 
small  hole  in  the  trunk,  near  the  roots, 
with  a  rim  of  ice  on  the  edge  of  the  ori- 
fice, made  by  the  freezing  of  the  breath 
and  vapour  from  the  inmates." 

The  logging  crew  were  summoned, 
and  came  scampering  down,  eager  for 
the  fun.  The  snow  was  kicked  away 


from  the  root  of  the  tree,  exposing 
the  entrance  to  the  den  ;  and  a  small 
hole  was  cut  in  the  opposite  side, 
through  which  the  family  of  bears 
were  literally  "  stirred  up  with  a  long 
pole ;  "  and  when  the  great  "she-bear, 
annoyed  at  this  treatment,  put  her 
head  out  at  the  door,  she  was  cut 
over  the  pate  with  an  axe. 

"The  cubs,  four  in  nulnber — a  thing 
unusual  by  one-half — we  took  alive,  and 
carried  to  camp,  kept  them  a  while,  and 
finally  sold  them.  They  were  quite 
small  and  harmless,  of  a  most  beautiful 
lustrous  black,  and  fat  as  porpoises.  The 
old  dam  was  uncommonly  large — we 
judged  she  might  weigh  about  three  hun- 
dred pounds.  Her  hide,  when  stretched 
out  and  nailed  on  to  the  end  of  the  camp, 
appeared  quite  equal  to  a  cow's  hide  in 
dimensions." 

The  attacks  of  wild  animals  are 
far  from  being  the  sole  dangers  to 
which  the  wood-cutters  of  Maine 
are  exposed  in  following  their  toil- 
some occupation.  Scarcely  any  phase 
of  their  adventurous  existence  is 
exempt  from  risk.  Bad  wounds  are 
sometimes  accidentally  received  from 
the  axe  whilst  felling  trees.  To  heal 
these,  in  the  absence  of  surgeons, 
the  loggers  are  thrown  upon  their 
own  very  insufficient  resources.  Life 
is  also  constantly  endangered  in  fell- 
ing the  pine,  which  comes  plunging 
down,  breaking,  splitting,  and  crush- 
ing all  before  it.  The  broken  limbs 
which  are  torn  from  the  fallen  tree, 
and  the  branches  it  wrenches  from 
other  trees, 

"  rendered  brittle  by  the  intense  frosts, 
fly  in  every  direction,  like  the  scattered 
fragments  of  an  exploding  ship.  Often 
these  wrenched  limbs  are  suspended 
directly  over  the  place  where  our  work 
requires  our  presence,  and  on  the 
slightest  motion,  or  from  a  sudden  gust  of 
wind,  they  slip  down  with  the  stealthiness 
of  a  hawk  and  the  velocity  of  an  arrow. 
I  recollect  one  in  particular,  which  was 
wrenched  from  a  large  pine  I  had  just 
felled.  It  lodged  in  the  top  of  a  towering 
birch,  directly  over  where  it  was  neces- 
sary for  me  to  stand  whilst  severing  the 
top  from  the  trunk.  Viewing  its  position 
with  some  anxiety,  I  ventured  to  stand 
and  work  under  it,  forgetting  my  danger 
in  the  excitement.  Whilst  thus  engaged, 
the  limb  slipped  from  its  position,  and, 
falling  directly  before  me,  end  foremost, 
penetrated  the  frozen  earth.  It  was 


1851.] 

about  four  inches  through,  and  ten 
feet  long.  It  just  grazed  my  cap  ;  a 
little  variation,  and  it  would  have  dashed 
my  head  to  pieces.  Attracted  on  one 
occasion,  whilst  swamping  a  road,  by 
the  appearance  of  a  large  limb  which 
stuck  fast  in  the  ground,  curiosity  in- 
duced me  to  extricate  it,  for  the  purpose 
of  seeing  how  far  it  had  penetrated. 
After  considerable  exertion,  I  succeeded 
in  drawing  it  out,  when  I  was  amazed 
to  find  a  thick  doth  cap  on  the  end  of  it. 
It  had  penetrated  the  earth  to  a  con- 
siderable depth.  Subsequently  I  learned 
that  it  [the  cap,  we  presume,  but  Springer 
makes  sad  work  of  his  pronouns]  belong- 
ed to  a  man  who  was  killed  instantly  by 
its  fall,  [here  our  logging  friend  must  be 
supposed  to  refer  to  the  timber,]  strik- 
ing him  on  the  head,  and  carrying  his 
cap  into  the  ground  with  it." 

This  is  not  impossible,  although 
it  does  a  little  remind  us  of  certain 
adventures  of  the  renowned  Mun- 
chausen.  And  Springer  is  so  pleasant 
a  fellow,  that  we  shall  not  call  his 
veracity  in  question,  or  even  tax 
him  with  that  tinting  of  truth  in 
which  many  of  his  countrymen  excel, 
but  of  which  he  only  here  and  there 
lays  himself  open  to  suspicion.  He 
certainly  does  put  our  credulity 
a  little  to  the  strain  by  an  anecdote 
of  a  moose  deer,  which  he  gives, 
however,  between  inverted  commas, 
on  the  authority  of  a  hunter  who 
occasionally  passed  the  night  at  the 
logger's  camp.  The  moose  is  the 
largest  species  of  deer  found  in  the 
New-England  forests,  its  size  varying 
from  that  of  a  large  pony  to  that  of 
a  full-grown  horse.  It  has  immense 
branching  antlers,  and,  judging  from 
its  portrait,  which  forms  the  frontis- 
piece to  Forest  Life,  we  readily 
believe  Springer's  assurance,  that 
"  the  taking  of  moose  is  sometimes 
quite  hazardous."  Quite  astonish- 
ing, we  are  sure  the  reader  will  say, 
is  the  following  ride : — 

"  Once,"  hunter  loquitur,  "  whilst  out 
on  a  hunting  excursion,  I  was  pursued 
by  a  bull-moose.  He  approached  me 
with  his  muscular  neck  curved,  and 
head  to  the  ground,  in  a  manner  not 
dissimilar  to  the  attitude  assumed  by 
horned  cattle  when  about  to  encounter 
each  other.  Just  as  he  was  about  to 
make  a  pass  at  me,  I  sprang  suddenly 
between  his  wide-spreading  antlers,  be- 
stride his  neck.  Dexterously  turning 
round,  I  seized  him  by  the  horns,  and, 


Life  amongst  the  Loggers. 


679 


locking  my  feet  together  under  his  neck, 
I  clung  to  him  like  a  sloth.  With  a 
mixture  of  rage  and  terror,  he  dashed 
wildly  about,  endeavouring  to  dislodge 
me;  but,  as  my  life  depended  upon 
maintaining  my  position,  I  clung  to  him 
with  a  corresponding  desperation.  After 
making  a  few  ineffectual  attempts  to 
disengage  me,  he  threw  out  his  nose, 
and,  laying  his  antlers  back  upon  his 
shoulders,  which  formed  a  screen  for  my 
defence,  he  sprang  forward  into  a  furious 
run,  still  bearing  me  upon  his  neck. 
Now  penetrating  dense  thickets,  then 
leaping  high  '  windfalls, '  (old  fallen 
trees,)  and  struggling  through  swamp- 
mires,  he  finally  fell  from  exhaustion, 
after  carrying  me  about  three  miles. 
Improving  the  opportunity,  I  drew  my 
hunting-knife  from  its  sheath,  and  in- 
stantly buried  it  in  his  neck,  cutting  the 
jugular  vein,  which  put  a  speedy  termi- 
nation to  the  contest  and  the  flight." 

After  which  we  presume  that  he 
spitted  the  moose  on  a  pine  tree, 
roasted  and  ate  it,  and  used  its  antlers 
for  toothpicks.  The  adventure  is 
worthy  of  Mazeppa  or  the  Wild 
Huntsman.  By  the  antlers  forming 
a  screen  for  the  rider's  defence,  we  are 
reminded  of  that  memorable  morning 
in  the  life  of  the  great  German  Baron, 
when  his  horse,  cut  in  two,  just  be- 
hind the  saddle,  by  the  fall  of  a  port- 
cullis, was  sewn  together  with  laurel- 
twigs,  which  sprouted  up  into  a  plea- 
sant bower,  beneath  whose  appro- 
priate shade  the  redoubtable  warrior 
thenceforward  rode  to  victory.  An 
awful  liar,  indeed,  must  have  been 
the  narrator  of  this  "singular  adven- 
ture," as  Springer,  who  tells  this  story 
quite  gravely,  artlessly  styles  it. 
Doubtless  such  yarns  are  acceptable 
enough  by  the  camp-fire,  where  the 
weary  logger  smokes  the  pipe  of  re- 
pose after  a  hard  day's  work ;  and 
they  are  by  no  means  out  of  place  in 
the  logger's  book,  of  which,  however, 
they  occupy  but  a  small  portion— by 
far  the  greater  number  of  its  chapters 
being  filled  with  solid  and  curious 
information.  The  third  and  longest 
part,  "  River  Life,"  upon  which  we 
have  not  touched,  is  highly  interest- 
ing, and  gives  thrilling  accounts  of 
the  dangers  incurred  during  the  pro- 
gress down  stream  of  the  various 
"  parcels"  of  logs,  which,  each  dis- 
tinguished like  cattle  by  the  owner's 
mark,  soon  mingle  and  form  one 


680  Life  amongst  the  Loggers. 

grand  "  drive"    on  the  main 

"  Driving"   of  this  kind   is   a  very 


[Dec. 


river, 
a 

hazardous  occupation.  Sometimes 
the  logs  come  to  a  "jam,"  get  wedged 
together  in  a  narrow  part  of  the  river 
or  amongst  rocks,  and,  whilst  the 
drivers  work  with  axe  and  lever  to 
set  the  huge  floating  field  of  tree- 
trunks  in  motion  again,  lives  are  fre- 
quently lost.  This  is  easy  to  under- 
stand. The  removal  of  a  single  log, 
the  keystone  of  the  mass — nay,  a 
single  blow  of  the  axe — often  suffices 
to  liberate  acres  of  timber  from  their 
"  dead  lock,"  and  set  them  furiously 
rushing  down  the  rapid  current. 
Then  does  woe  betide  those  who  are 
caught  in  the  hurly-burly.  Some- 
times, the  key-log  being  well  ascer- 
tained, a  man  is  let  down,  like  a  sam- 
phire-gatherer, by  a  rope  from  an 


adjacent    cliff, 
Then— 


on    to    the    "jam. 


"  As  the  place  to  be  operated  upon  may 
in  some  cases  be  a  little  removed  from 
the  shore,  he  either  walks  to  it  with  the 


rope  attached  to  his  body,  or,  untying  the 
rope,  leaves  it  where  he  can  readily  grasp 
it  in  time  to  be  drawn  from  his  perilous 
position.  Often,  where  the  pressure  is 
direct,  a  few  blows  only  are  given  with 
the  axe,  when  the  log  snaps  in  an  instant 
with  a  loud  report,  followed  suddenly 
by  the  violent  motion  of  the  'jam  ;'  and, 
ere  our  bold  river-driver  is  jerked  half 
way  to  the  top  of  the  cliff,  scores  of  logs, 
in  wildest  confusion,  rush  beneath  his 
feet,  whilst  he  yet  dangles  in  the  air 
above  the  trembling  mass.  If  that  rope, 
on  which  life  and  hope  hang  thus  sus- 
pended, should  part,  worn  by  the  sharp 
point  of  some  jutting  rock,  death,  certain 
and  quick,  were  inevitable." 

The  wood-cutter'soceupation,  which, 
to  European  imagination,  presents 
itself  as  peaceful,  pastoral,  and  void 
of  peril,  assumes  a  very  different  as- 
pect when  pursued  in  North  Ameri- 
can forests.  If  any  doubt  this  fact,  let 
them  study  Springer,  who  will  repay 
the  trouble,  and  of  whose  volume  we 
have  rather  skimmed  the  surface  than, 
meddled  with  the  substance. 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XVI.  681 

MY  NOVEL  ;    OR,   VARIETIES   IN   ENGLISH  LIFE. 
BY    P1SISTRATUS   CAXTON. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


RANDAL  advanced—"!  fear,  Sig- 
nior  Riccabocca,  that  I  am  guilty  of 
some  want  of  ceremony." 

u  To  dispense  with  ceremony  is 
the  most  delicate  mode  of  conferring 
a  compliment,"  replied  the  urbane 
Italian,  as  he  recovered  from  his  first 
surprise  at  Randal's  sudden  address, 
and  extended  his  hand. 

Violante  bowed  her  graceful  head 
to  the  young  man's  respectful  saluta- 
tion. "I  am  on  my  way  to  Hazel- 
dean,"  resumed  Randal,  "  and,  seeing 
you  in  the  garden,  could  not  resist 
this  intrusion." 

RICCABOCCA. — "You  come  from 
London  ?  Stirring  times  for  you  Eng- 
lish, but  I  do  not  ask  you  the  news. 
No  news  can  affect  us." 

RANDAL,  (softly.)  —  "  Perhaps — 
yes." 

RICCABOCCA,  (startled.)—"  How?" 

VIOLANTE. — "  Surely  he  speaks  of 
Italy,  and  news  from  that  country 
affects  you  still,  my  father." 

RICCABOCCA. — "Nay,  nay, nothing 
affects  me  like  this  country  ;  its  east 
winds  might  affect  a  pyramid! 
Draw  your  mantle  round  you,  child, 
and  go  in ;  the  air  has  suddenly 
grown  chill." 

Violante  smiled  on  her  father, 
glanced  uneasily  towards  Randal's 
grave  brow,  and  went  slowly  towards 
the  house. 

Riccabocca,  after  waiting  some 
moments  in  silence,  as  if  expecting 
Randal  to  speak,  said  with  affected 
carelessness,  "  So  you  think  that  you 
have  news  that  might  affect  me? 
Corpo  di  Bacco  1  I  am  curious  to 
learn  what !" 

"I  may  be  mistaken— that  depends 
on  your  answer  to  one  question.  Do 
you  know  the  Count  of  Peschiera  ?  " 

Riccabocca  winced,  and  turned 
pale.  He  could  not  baffle  the  watch- 
ful eye  of  the  questioner. 

"  Enough,"  said  Randal ;  "  I  see 
that  I  am  right.  Believe  in  my  sin- 
cerity. I  speak  but  to  warn  and  to 
serve  you.  The  Count  seeks  to  dis- 


cover the  retreat  of  a  countryman 
and  kinsman  of  his  own." 

"  And  for  what  end  ?  "  cried  Ricca- 
bocca, thrown  off  his  guard,  and  his 
breast  dilated,  his  crest  rose,  and 
his  eye  flashed  ;  valour  and  defiance 
broke  from  habitual  caution  and  self- 
control.  "  But  pooh,"  he  added, 
striving  to  regain  his  ordinary  and 
half-ironical  calm,  "  it  matters  not  to 
me.  I  grant,  sir,  that  I  know  the 
Count  di  Peschiera;  but  what  has 
Dr  Riccabocca  to  do  with  the  kins- 
men of  so  grand  a  personage  ?" 

"  Dr  Riccabocca — nothing.  But — " 
here  Randal  put  his  lip  close  to  the 
Italian's  ear,  and  whispered  a  brief 
sentence.  Then  retreating  a  step, 
but  laying  his  hand  on  the  exile's 
shoulder,  he  added — "  Need  I  say 
that  your  secret  is  safe  with  me  ?  " 

Riccabocca  made  no  answer.  His 
eyes  rested  on  the  ground  musingly. 

Randal  continued — "  And  I  shall 
esteem  it  the  highest  honour  you 
can  bestow  on  me,  to  be  permit- 
ted to  assist  you  in  forestalling 
danger." 

RICCABOCCA,  (slowly.)  —  "Sir,  I 
thank  you;  you  have  my  secret,  and  I 
feel  assured  it  is  safe,  for  I  speak  to 
an  English  gentleman.  There  may 
be  family  reasons  why  I  should  avoid 
the  Count  di  Peschiera ;  and,  indeed, 
He  is  safest  from  shoals  who  steers 
clearest  of  his — relations." 

The  poor  Italian  regained  his 
caustic  smile  as  he  uttered  that  wise, 
villanous  Italian  maxim. 

RANDAL.—"  I  know  little  of  the 
Count  of  Peschiera  save  from  the 
current  talk  of  the  world.  He  is  said 
to  hold  the  estates  of  a  kinsman  who 
took  part  in  a  conspiracy  against  the 
Austrian  power." 

RICCABOCCA. — "It  is  true.  Let 
that  content  him  ;  what  more  does  he 
desire.  You  spoke  of  forestalling 
danger  ;  what  danger?  I  am  on  the 
soil  of  England,  and  protected  by  its 
laws." 

RANDAL.— "  Allow  me  to  inquire 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XVI.  [Dec. 


if,  had  the  kinsman  no  child,  the 
Count  di  Peschiera  would  be  legiti- 
mate and  natural  heir  to  the  estates 
he  holds  ?  " 

RICCABOCCA. — "  He  would.  What 
then?" 

RANDAL.  —  "  Does  that  thought 
suggest  no  danger  to  the  child  of  the 
kinsman  ?  " 

Riccabocca  recoiled,  and  gasped 
forth,  "  The  child!  You  do  not  mean 
to  imply  that  this  man,  infamous 
though  he  be,  can  contemplate  the 
crime  of  an  assassin  ?  " 

Randal  paused  perplexed.  His 
ground  was  delicate.  He  knew  not 
what  causes  of  resentment  the  exile 
entertained  against  the  Count.  He 
knew  not  whether  Riccabocca  would 
not  assent  to  an  alliance  that  might 
restore  him  to  his  country — and  he 
resolved  to  feel  his  way  with  precau- 
tion. 

"  I  did  not,"  said  he,  smiling 
gravely,  "  mean  to  insinuate  so  horri- 
ble a  charge  against  a  man  whom  I 
have  never  seen.  He  seeks  you — that 
is  all  I  know.  I  imagine,  from  his 
general  character,  that  in  this  search 
he  consults  his  interest.  Perhaps  all 
matters  might  be  conciliated  by  an 
interview ! " 

"  An  interview!"  exclaimed  Ricca- 
bocca ;  "  there  is  but  one  way  we 
should  meet — foot  to  foot,  and  hand 
to  hand." 

"Is  it  so?  Then  you  would  not 
listen  to  the  Count  if  he  proposed 
some  amicable  compromise ;  if,  for  in- 
stance, he  was  a  candidate  for  the 
hand  of  your  daughter?  " 

The  poor  Italian,  so  wise  and  so 
subtle  in  his  talk,  was  as  rash  and 
blind  when  it  came  to  action,  as  if  he 
had  been  born  in  Ireland,  and  nourish- 
ed on  potatoes  and  Repeal.  He  bared 
his  whole  soul  to  the  merciless  eye  of 
Randal. 

"My  daughter!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Sir,  your  very  question  is  an  insult." 
Randal's  way  became  clear  at  once. 
"  Forgive  me,"  he  said  mildly  ;  "  I 
will  tell  you  frankly  all  that  I  know. 
I  am  acquainted  with  the  Count's 


sister.  I  have  some  little  influence 
over  her.  It  was  she  who  informed 
me  that  the  Count  had  come  here, 
bent  upon  discovering  your  refuge, 
and  resolved  to  wed  your  daughter. 
This  is  the  danger  of  which  I  spoke. 
And  when  I  asked  your  permission  to 
aid  in  forestalling  it,  I  only  intended 
to  suggest  that  it  might  be  wise  to 
find  some  securer  home,  and  that  I, 
if  permitted  to  know  that  home,  and 
to  visit  you,  could  apprise  you  from 
time  to  time  of  the  Count's  plans  and 
movements." 

"  Sir,  I  thank  you  sincerely,"  said 
Riccabocca  with  emotion ;  "  but  am  I 
not  safe  here  ?  " 

"I  doubt  it.  Many  people  have 
visited  the  Squire  in  the  shooting 
season,  who  will  have  heard  of  you — 
perhaps  seen  you,  and  who  are  likely 
to  meet  the  Count  in  London.  And 
Frank  Hazeldean,  too,  who  knows 
the  Count's  sister—" 

"True,  true,"  interrupted  Ricca- 
bocca. "  I  see,  I  see.  I  will  consider. 
I  will  reflect.  Meanwhile  you  are 
going  to  Hazeldean.  Do  not  say  a 
word  to  the  Squire.  He  knows  not 
the  secret  you  have  discovered." 

With  those  words  Riccabocca  turn- 
ed slightly  away,  and  Randal  took 
the  hint  to  depart. 

"  At  all  times  command  and  rely 
on  me,"  said  the  young  traitor,  and 
he  regained  the  pale  to  which  he  had 
fastened  his  horse. 

As  he  remounted,  he  cast  his 
eyes  towards  the  place  where  he  had 
left  Riccabocca.  The  Italian  was 
still  standing  there.  Presently  the 
form  of  Jackeymo  was  seen  emerg- 
ing from  the  shrubs.  Riccabocca 
turned  hastily  round,  recognised  his 
servant,  uttered  an  exclamation  loud 
enough  to  reach  Randal's  ear,  and 
then  catching  Jackeymo  by  the  arm, 
disappeared  with  him  amidst  the 
deeper  recesses  of  the  garden. 

"  It  will  be  indeed  in  my  favour," 
thought  Randal  as  he  rode  on,  "  if  I 
can  get  them  into  the  neighbourhood 
of  London — all  occasion  there  to  woo, 
and  if  expedient,  to  win — the  heiress." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


"  By  the  Lord  Harry  ! "  cried  the 
Squire,  as  he  stood  with  his  wife  in 


the  park,  on  a  visit  of  inspection  to 
some    first-rate    South-Downs    just 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XVI.  683 


added  to  his  stock—"  By  the  Lord, 
if  that  is  not  Randal  Leslie  try- 
ing to  get  into  the  park  at  the  back 
gate  !  Hollo,  Randal !  you  must  come 
round  by  the  lodge,  my  boy,"  said  he. 
"  You  see  this  gate  is  locked  to  keep 
out  trespassers." 

"A  pity,"  said  Randal.  "I  like 
short  cuts,  and  you  have  shut  up  a 
very  short  one." 

"  So  the  trespassers  said,"  quoth 
the  Squire ;  "but  Stirn  would  not 
hear  of  it ; — valuable  man,  Stirn.  But 
ride  round  to  the  lodge.  Put  up  your 
horse,  and  you'll  join  us  before  we  can 
get  to  the  house," 

Randal  nodded  and  smiled,  and 
rode  briskly  on. 

The  Squire  rejoined  his  Harry. 
"  Ah,  William,"  said  she  anxiously, 
"  though    certainly    Randal    Leslie 
means  well,  I  always  dread  his  visits." 
"  So  do  I,  in  one  sense,"  quoth  the 
Squire,  "  for  he  always  carries  away 
a  bank-note  for  Frank." 

"  I  hope  he  is  really  Frank's  friend," 
said  Mrs  Hazeldean. 

"  Whose  else  can  he  be  ?  Not  his 
own,  poor  fellow,  for  he  will  never 
accept  a  shilling  from  me,  though  his 
grandmother  was  as  good  a  Hazeldean 
as  I  am.  But,  zounds !  I  like  his 
pride,  and  his  economy  too.  As  for 
Frank—" 

"Hush,  William!"  cried  Mrs  Hazel- 
dean,  and  put  her  fair  hand  before  the 
Squire's  mouth.  The  Squire  was 
softened,  and  kissed  the  fair  hand 
gallantly — perhaps  he  kissed  the  lips 
too  ;  at  all  events,  the  worthy  pair 
were  walking  lovingly  arm-in-arm 
when  Randal  joined  them. 

He  did  not  affect  to  perceive  a  cer- 
tain coldness  in  the  manner  of  Mrs 
Hazeldean,  but  began  immediately  to 
talk  to  her  about  Frank  ;  praise  that 
young  gentleman's  appearance ;  expa- 
tiate on  his  health,  his  popularity,  and 
his  good  gifts,  personal  and  mental ; 
and  this  with  so  much  warmth,  that 
any  dim  and  undeveloped  suspicions 
Mrs  Hazeldean  might  have  formed 
soon  melted  away. 

Randal  continued  to  make  himself 
thus  agreeable,  until  the  Squire,  per- 
suaded that  his  young  kinsman  was  a 
first-rate  agriculturist,  insisted  upon 
carrying  him  off  to  the  home  farm, 
and  Harry  turned  towards  the  house  to 
order  Randal's  room  to  be  got  ready : 


"  For,"  said  Randal,  "  knowing  that 
you  will  excuse  my  morning  dress,  I 
venture  to  invite  myself  to  dine  and 
sleep-  at  the  Hall." 

On  approaching  the  farm-buildings, 
Randal  was  seized  with  the  terror 
of  an  impostor ;  for,  despite  all  the 
theoretical  learning  on  Bucolics  and 
Georgics  with  which  he  had  dazzled 
the  Squire,  poor  Frank,  so  despised, 
would  have  beat  him  hollow  when  it 
came  to  judging  of  the  points  of  an  ox 
or  the  show  of  a  crop. 

"  Ha,  ha!  "  cried  the  Squire,  chuck- 
ling, "  I  long  to  see  how  you'll  aston- 
ish Stirn.  Why,  you'll  guess  in  a 
moment  where  we  put  the  top-dress- 
ing ;  and  when  you  come  to  handle 
my  short-horns,  I  dare  swear  you'll 
know  to  a  pound  how  much  oilcake 
has  gone  into  their  sides." 

"  Oh,  you  do  me  too  much  honour 
— indeed  you  do.  I  only  know  the 
general  principles  of  agriculture — the 
details  are  eminently  interesting ;  but 
I  have  not  had  the  opportunity  to  ac- 
quire them." 

"  Stuff! "  cried  the  Squire.  "  How 
can  a  man  know  general  principles 
unless  he  has  first  studied  the  details  ? 
You  are  too  modest,  my  boy.  Ho  ! 
there's  Stirn  looking  out  for  us  ! " 

Randal  saw  the  grim  visage  of  Stirn 
peering  out  of  a  cattle-shed,  and  felt 
undone.  He  made  a  desperate  rush 
towards  changing  the  Squire's  humour. 
"  Well,  sir,  perhaps  Frank  may  soon 
gratify  your  wish  and  turn  farmer 
himself." 

u  Eh  ! "  quoth  the  Squire,  stopping 
short.  "What  now?" 

"  Suppose  he  was  to  marry?  " 
"  I'd  give  him  the  two  best  farms 
on  the  property  rent  free.  Ha,  ha ! 
Has  he  seen  the  girl  yet  ?  I'd  leave 
him  free  to  choose,  sir.  I  chose  for 
myself— every  man  should.  Not  but 
what  Miss  Sticktorights  is  an  heiress, 
and,  I  hear,  a  very  decent  girl,  and 
that  would  join  the  two  properties, 
and  put  an  end  to  that  lawsuit  about 
the  right  of  way,  which  began  in  the 
reign  of  King  Charles  the  Second,  and 
is  likely  otherwise  to  last  till  the  day 
of  judgment.  But  never  mind  her ; 
let  Frank  choose  to  please  himself." 

"  I'll  not  fail  to  tell  him  so,  sir.  I 
did  fear  you  might  have  some  preju- 
dices. But  here  we  are  at  the  farm- 
yard." 


684 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in 


"  Burn  the  farm-yard  !  How  can 
I  think  of  farm-yards  when  you  talk 
of  Frank's  marriage  ?  Come  on — this 
way.  What  were  you  saying  about 
prejudices?" 

"  Why,  you  might  wish  him  to  marry 
an  Englishwoman,  for  instance." 

"  English  !  Good  heavens,  sir,  does 
he  mean  to  marry  a  Hindoo  ?" 

"  Nay,  I  don't  know  that  he  means 
to  marry  at  all :  I  am  only  surmising  ; 
but  if  he  did  fall  in  love  with  a 
foreigner — " 

"A  foreigner!  Ah,  then  Harry 
was—"  The  Squire  stopped  short. 

"  Who  might,  perhaps,"  observed 
Randal — not  truly  if  he  referred  to 
Madame  di  Negra — "  who  might,  per- 
haps, speak  very  little  English  ?" 

"  Lord  ha'  mercy  ! " 

"  And  a  Roman  Catholic  — " 

"  Worshipping  idols,  and  roasting 
people  who  don't  worship  them." 

"  Signior  Riccabocca  is  not  so  bad 
as  that." 

^  "  Rickeybockey  !  Well,  if  it  was 
his  daughter!  But  not  speak  English! 
and  not  go  to  the  parish  church  !  By 
George  !  if  Frank  thought  of  such  a 
thing,  I'd  cut  him  oif  with  a  shilling. 
Don't  talk  to  me,  sir  ;  I  would.  I'm 
a  mild  man,  and  an  easy  man  ;  but 
when  I  say  a  thing,  I  say  it,  Mr  Leslie. 
Oh,  but  it  is  a  jest— you  are  laughing 
at  me.  There's  no  such  painted  good- 
for-nothing  creature  in  Frank's  eye, 
eh?" 

"  Indeed,  sir,  if  ever  I  find  there  is, 
I  will  give  you  notice  in  time.  At 
present  I  was  only  trying  to  ascertain 
what  you  wished  for  a  daughter-in- 
law.  You  said  you  had  no  prejudice." 

"  No  more  I  have — not  a  bit  of  it." 

"  You  don't  like  a  foreigner  and  a 
Catholic  ?  " 

"Who  the  devil  would?" 

"  But  if  she  had  rank  and  title  ?  " 

"Rank  and  title!  Bubble  and 
squeak !  No,  not  half  so  good  as 
bubble  and  squeak.  English  beef  and 
good  cabbage.  But  foreign  rank  and 
title! — foreign  cabbage  and  beef! — 
foreign  bubble  and  foreign  squeak  ! " 
And  the  Squire  made  a  wry  face,  and 
spat  forth  his  disgust  and  indignation. 

"  You  must  have  an  English- 
woman?" 

44  Of  course." 

"  Money  ?  " 

44  Don't  care,  provided  she  is  a  tidy, 


English  Life.— Part  X  VI.  [Dec. 

sensible,   active  lass,   with    a    good 
character  for  her  dower." 

44  Character — ah,  that  is  indispen- 
sable?" 

"  I  should  think  so,  indeed.  A  Mrs 
Hazeldean  of  Hazeldean ;  you  frighten 
me.  He's  not  going  to  run  off  with  a 
divorced  woman,  or  a — " 

The  Squire  stopped,  and  looked  so 
red  in  the  face,  that  Randal  feared  he 
might  be  seized  with  apoplexy  before 
Frank's  crimes  had  made  him  alter  his 
will. 

Therefore  he  hastened  to  relieve 
Mr  Hazeldean's  mind,  and  assured 
him  that  he  had  been  only  talking  at 
random  ;  that  Frank  was  in  the  habit, 
indeed,  of  seeing  foreign  ladies  occa- 
sionally, as  all  persons  in  the  London 
world  were ;  but  that  he  was  sure  Frank 
would  never  marry  without  the  full 
consent  and  approval  of  his  parents. 
He  ended  by  repeating  his  assurance, 
that  he  would  warn  the  Squire  if  ever 
it  became  necessary.  Still,  however, 
he  left  Mr  Hazeldean  so  disturbed  and 
uneasy,  that  that  gentleman  forgot  all 
about  the  farm,  and  went  moodily  on 
in  the  opposite  direction,  re-entering 
the  park  at  its  farther  extremity. 
As  soon  as  they  approached  the  house, 
the  Squire  hastened  to  shut  himself 
with  his  wife  in  full  parental  consulta- 
tion ;  and  Randal,  seated  upon  a 
bench  on  the  terrace,  revolved  the 
mischief  he  had  done,  and  its  chances 
of  success. 

While  thus  seated,  and  thus  think- 
ing, a  footstep  approached  cautiously, 
and  a  low  voice  said,  in  broken  Eng- 
lish, "  Sare,  sare,  let  me  speak  vid 
you." 

Randal  turned  in  surprise,  and  be- 
held a  swarthy  saturnine  face,  with 
grizzled  hair  and  marked  features.  He 
recognised  the  figure  that  had  joined 
Riccabocca  in  the  Italian's  garden. 

u  Speak-a  you  Italian?"  resumed 
Jackeymo. 

Randal,  who  had  made  himself  an 
excellent  linguist,  nodded  assent ; 
and  Jackejmo,  rejoiced,  begged  him 
to  withdraw  into  a  more  private 
part  of  the  grounds. 

Randal  obeyed,  and  the  two  gained 
the  shade  of  a  stately  chestnut  avenue. 

44  Sir,"  then  said  Jackeymo,  speak- 
ing in  his  native  tongue,  and  express- 
ing himself  with  a  certain  simple 
pathos,  "  I  am  but  a  poor  man  ;  my 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

name  is  Giacomo.  You  have  heard 
of  me ;  —  servant  to  the  Signior 
whom  you  saw  to-day — only  a  ser- 
vant ;  but  he  honours  me  with  his 
confidence.  We  have  known  danger 
together  ;  and  of  all  his  friends  and 
followers,  I  alone  came  with  him  to 
the  stranger's  land." 

"  Good,  faithful  fellow, "  said 
Randal,  examining  the  man's  face, 
"  say  on.  Your  master  confides  in 
you  ?  He  confided  that  which  I  told 
him  this  day?" 

"  He  did.  Ah,  sir !  the  Padrone 
was  too  proud  to  ask  you  to  explain 
more — too  proud  to  show  fear  of 
another.  But  he  does  fear— he  ought 
to  fear — he  shall  fear,"  (continued 
Jackeymo,  working  himself  up  to 
passion) — "for  the  Padrone  has  a 
daughter,  and  his  enemy  is  a  villain. 
Oh,  sir,  tell  me  all  that  you  did  not 
tell  to  the  Padrone.  You  hinted 
that  this  man  might  wish  to  marry 
the  Signora.  Marry  her! — I  could 
cut  his  throat  at  the  altar ! " 

"  Indeed,"  said  Randal ;  "  I  be- 
lieve that  such  is  his  object." 

"  But  why  ?  He  is  rich— she  is 
penniless ;  no,  not  quite  that,  for  we 
have  saved — but  penniless,  compared 
to  him." 

"  My  good  friend,  I  know  not  yet 
his  motives  ;  but  I  can  easily  learn 
them.  If,  however,  this  Count  be 
your  master's  enemy,  it  is  surely 
well  to  guard  against  him,  whatever 
his  designs;  and,  to  do  so,  you 
should  move  into  London  or  its 
neighbourhood.  I  fear  that,  while 
we  speak,  the  Count  may  get  upon 
his  track." 

"  He  had  better  not  come  here!" 
cried  the  servant  menacingly,  and 
putting  his  hand  where  the  knife  was 
not. 

"  Beware  of  your  own  anger, 
Giacomo.  One  act  of  violence,  and 
you  would  be  transported  from  Eng- 
land, and  your  master  would  lose  a 
friend." 

Jackeymo  seemed  struck  by  this 
caution. 

"  And  if  the  Padrone  were  to  meet 
him,  do  you  think  the  Padrone  wonld 
meekly  say,  '  Come  sta  sa  Sig- 
noria?'  The  Padrone  would  strike 
him  dead ! " 

"  Hush — hush  !  You  speak  of 
what,  in  England,  is  called  murder, 


English  Life.— Part  XVI.  685 

and  is  punished  by  the  gallows.  If 
you  really  love  your  master,  for 
heaven's  sake  get  him  from  this 
place — get  him  from  all  chance  of 
such  passion  and  peril.  I  go  to 
town  to-morrow ;  I  will  find  him  a 
house  that  shall  be  safe  from  all 
spies  —  all  discovery.  And  there, 
too,  my  friend,  I  can  do — what  I  can- 
not at  this  distance  —  watch  over 
him,  and  keep  watch  also  on  his 
enemy." 

Jackeymo  seized  Randal's  hand 
and  lifted  it  towards  his  lip ;  then,  as 
if  struck  by  a  sudden  suspicion, 
dropped  the  hand,  and  said  bluntly — 
"  Signior,  I  think  you  have  seen 
the  Padrone  twice.  Why  do  you 
take  this  interest  in  him  ?  " 

"  Is  it  so  uncommon  to  take 
interest  even  in  a  stranger  who  is 
menaced  by  some  peril?" 

Jackeymo,  who  believed  little  in 
general  philanthropy,  shook  his  head 
sceptically. 

"  Besides,"  continued  Randal,  sud- 
denly bethinking  himself  of  a  more 
plausible  reason — "  besides,  I  am 
a  friend  and  connection  of  Mr  Eger- 
ton  ;  and  Mr  Egerton's  most  intimate 
friend  is  Lord  L'Estrange;  and  I 
have  heard  that  Lord  L'Estrange — " 

u  The  good  lord !  Oh,  now  I 
understand,"  interrupted  Jackeymo, 
and  his  brow  cleared.  "  Ah,  if  he 
were  in  England !  But  you  will  let 
us  know  when  he  comes  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Now,  tell  me,  Gia- 
como, is  this  Count  really  unprin- 
cipled and  dangerous?  Remember, 
I  know  him  not  personally." 

"  He  has  neither  heart,  head,  nor 
conscience." 

"That  makes  him  dangerous  to 
men  ;  but  to  women,  danger  comes 
from  other  qualities.  Could  it  be 
possible,  if  he  obtained  any  interview 
with  the  Signora,  that  he  could  win 
her  affections?" 

Jackeymo  crossed  himself  rapidly, 
and  made  no  answer. 

"  I  have  heard  that  he  is  still  very 
handsome." 

Jackeymo  groaned. 

Randal  resumed—"  Enough  ;  per- 
suade the  Padrone  to  come  to 
town." 

"  But  if  the  Count  is  in  town? 

"  That  makes  no  difference ;  the 
safest  place  is  always  the  largest 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XVI.  [Dec. 


city.  Everywhere  else  a  foreigner 
is  in  himself  an  object  of  attention 
and  curiosity." 

"  True." 

"  Let  your  master,  then,  come  to 
London.  He  can  reside  in  one  of  the 
suburbs  most  remote  from  the  Count's 
haunts.  In  two  days  I  will  have 
found  him  a  lodging  and  write  to 
him.  You  trust  to  me  now  ?  " 

41 1  do  indeed — I  do,  Excellency. 
Ah,  if  the  Signorina  were  married, 
we  would  not  care !" 

"Married  !  But  she  looks  so  high ! " 

"  Alas  !  not  now — not  here  ! " 

Randal  sighed  heavily.  Jackey- 
mo's  eyes  sparkled.  He  thought 
he  had  detected  a  new  motive  for 
Randal's  interest — a  motive  to  an 
Italian  the  most  natural,  the  most 
laudable  of  all. 

"  Find  the  house,  Signior — write 
to  the  Padrone.  He  shall  come.  I'll 
talk  to  him.  I  can  manage  him. 
Holy  San  Giacomo,  bestir  thyself 
now  —  'tis  long  since  I  troubled 
thee!" 

Jackeymo  strode  oif  through  the 
fading  trees,  smiling  and  muttering 
as  he  went. 

The  first  dinner-bell  rang,  and,  on 
entering  the  drawing-room,  Randal 
found  Parson  Dale  and  his  wife,  who 
had  been  invited  in  haste  to  meet 
the  unexpected  visitor. 

The  preliminary  greetings  over, 
Mr  Dale  took  the  opportunity  afforded 
by  the  Squire's  absence  to  inquire 
after  the  health  of  Mr  Egerton. 

u  He  is  always  well,"  said  Randal. 
"  I  believe  he  is  made  of  iron." 

"  His  heart  is  of  gold,"  said  the 
Parson. 

"  Ah!"  said  Randal,  inquisitively, 
"  you  told  me  you  had  come  in 
contact  with  him  once,  respecting, 
I  think,  some  of  your  old  parishioners 
at  Lansmere  ?  " 

The  Parson  nodded,  and  there  was 
a  moment's  silence. 

u  Do  you  remember  your  battle  by 
the  Stocks,  Mr  Leslie?"  said  Mr 
Dale,  with  a  good-humoured  laugh. 

"  Indeed,  yes.  By  the  way,  now 
you  speak  of  it,  I  met  my  old 
opponent  in  London  the  first  year  I 
went  up  to  it." 

"You  did!— where?" 

"  At  a  literary  scamp's — a  cleverish 
man  called  Burley." 


"  Burley  !  I  have  seen  some  bur- 
lesque verses  in  Greek  by  a  Mr 
Burley." 

"  No  doubt,  the  same  person.  He 
has  disappeared — gone  to  the  dogs, 
I  dare  say.  Burlesque  Greek  is  not 
a  knowledge  very  much  in  power 
at  present." 

"  Well,  but  Leonard  Fairfield  ?— 
you  have  seen  him  since  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Nor  heard  of  him  ?  " 

"No!— have  you?" 

"  Strange  to  say,  not  for  a  long 
time.  But  I  have  reason  to  believe 
that  he  must  be  doing  well." 

"  You  surprise  me !    Why  ?  " 

"  Because,  two  years  ago,  he  sent 
for  his  mother.  She  went  to  him." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  It  is  enough  ;  for  he  would  not 
have  sent  for  her  if  he  could  not 
maintain  her." 

Here  the  Hazeldeans  entered, 
arm-in-arm,  and  the  fat  butler 
announced  dinner. 

The  Squire  was  unusually  taciturn 
—Mrs  Hazeldean  thoughtful  —  Mrs 
Dale  languid,  and  headachy.  The 
Parson,  who  seldom  enjoyed  the 
luxury  of  converse  with  a  scholar, 
save  when  he  quarrelled  with  Dr 
Riccabocca,  was  animated,  by  Ran- 
dal's repute  for  ability,  into  a  great 
desire  for  argument. 

"  A  glass  of  wine,  Mr  Leslie.  You 
were  saying,  before  dinner,  that  bur- 
lesque Greek  is  not  a  knowledge  very 
much  in  power  at  present.  Pray,  sir, 
what  knowledge  is  in  power?  " 

RANDAL,  (laconically.)—"  Practi- 
cal knowledge." 

PAKSON.— "  What  of?  " 

RANDAL. — "  Men." 

PARSON,  (candidly.)  —  "  Well,  I 
suppose  that  is  the  most  available 
sort  of  knowledge,  in  a  worldly  point 
of  view.  How  does  one  learn  it  ?  Do 
books  help  ?" 

RANDAL. — "According  as  they  are 
read,  they  help  or  injure." 

PARSON.—"  How  should  they  be 
read  in  order  to  help  ?  " 

RANDAL.— "  Read  Specially  to  ap- 
ply to  purposes  that  lead  to  power." 

PARSON,  (very  much  struck  with 
Randal's  pithy  and  Spartan  logic.)— 
"  Upon  my  word,  sir,  you  express 
yourself  very  well.  I  must  own  that 
I  began  these  questions  in  the  hope  of 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

differing  from  you  ;  for  I  like  an  argu- 
ment." 

"That  he  does,"  growled  the  Squire ; 
"  the  most  contradictory  creature !  " 

PARSON. — "Argument  is  the  salt 
of  talk.  But  now  I  am  afraid  I  must 
agree  with  you,  which  I  was  not  at 
all  prepared  for." 

Randal  bowed,  and  answered — 
"No  two  men  of  our  education  can 
dispute  upon  the  application  of  know- 
ledge." 

PARSON,  (pricking  up  his  ears.) — 
"Eh!  what  to?" 

RANDAL. — "  Power,  of  course." 

PARSON,  (overjoyed.) — "  Power ! — 
the  vulgarest  application  of  it,  or  the 
loftiest  ?  But  you  mean  the  loftiest  ?  " 

RANDAL,  (in  his  turn  interested 
and  interrogative.) — "  What  do  you 
call  the  loftiest,  and  what  the  vul- 
garest ?  " 

PARSON. — "The  vulgarest,  self-in- 
terest ;  the  loftiest,  beneficence." 

Randal  suppressed  the  half  disdain- 
ful smile  that  rose  to  his  lip. 

"You  speak,  sir,  as  a  clergyman 
should  do.  I  admire  your  sentiment, 
and  adopt  it ;  but  I  fear  that  the 
knowledge  which  aims  only  at  benefi- 
cence very  rarely  in  this  world  gets 
any  power  at  all." 

SQUIRE,  (seriously.) — "That's  true ; 
I  never  get  my  own  way  when  I  want 
to  do  a  kindness,  and  Stirn  always 
gets  his  when  he  insists  on  something 
diabolically  brutal  and  harsh." 

PARSON. — "  Pray,  Mr  Leslie,  what 
does  intellectual  power  refined  to  the 
utmost,  but  entirely  stripped  of  bene- 
ficence, most  resemble  ?  " 

RANDAL. — "  Resemble  ?  —  I  can 
hardly  say.  Some  very  great  man — 


English  Life.— Part  XVI.  687 

almost  any  very  great  man — who  has 
baffled  all  his  foes,  and  attained  all 
his  ends." 

PARSON.— "I  doubt  if  any  man 
has  ever  become  very  great  who  has 
not  meant  to  be  beneficent,  though  he 
might  err  in  the  means.  Cassar  was 
naturally  beneficent,  and  so  was  Alex- 
ander. But  intellectual  power  refined 
to  the  utmost,  and  wholly  void  of 
beneficence,  resembles  only  one  being, 
and  that,  sir,  is  the  Principle  of  Evil." 

RANDAL,  (startled.) — "  Do  you 
mean  the  Devil  ?  " 

PARSON.— " Yes,  sir— the  Devil; 
and  even  he,  sir,  did  not  succeed! 
Even  he,  sir,  is  what  your  great  men 
would  call  a  most  decided  failure." 

MRS  DALE. — "My  dear — my  dear." 

PARSON. — "  Our  religion  proves  it, 
my  love:  he  was  an  angel,  and  he 
fell." 

There  was  a  solemn  pause.  Randal 
was  more  impressed  than  he  liked  to 
own  to  himself.  By  this  time  the 
dinner  was  over,  and  the  servants 
had  retired.  Harry  glanced  at  Carry. 
Carry  smoothed  her  gown  and  rose. 

The  gentlemen  remained  over  their 
wine  ;  and  the  Parson,  satisfied  with 
what  he  deemed  a  clencher  upon  his 
favourite  subject  of  discussion,  changed 
the  subject  to  lighter  topics,  till  hap- 
pening to  fall  upon  tithes,  the  Squire 
struck  in,  and  by  dint  of  loudness  of 
voice,  and  truculence  of  brow,  fairly 
overwhelmed  both  his  guests,  and 
proved  to  his  own  satisfaction  that 
tithes  were  an  unjust  and  unchristian- 
like  usurpation  on  the  part  of  the 
Church  generally,  and  a  most  especial 
and  iniquitous  infliction  upon  the 
Hazeldean  estates  in  particular. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


On  entering  the  drawing-room, 
Randal  found  the  two  ladies  seated 
close  together,  in  a  position  much  more 
appropriate  to  the  familiarity  of  their 
school-days  than  to  the  politeness  of 
the  friendship  now  existing  between 
them.  Mrs  Hazeldean's  hand  hung 
affectionately  over  Carry's  shoulder, 
and  both  those  fair  English  faces  were 
bent  over  the  same  book.  It  was  pretty 
to  see  these  sober  matrons,  so  different 
from  each  other  in  character  and  as- 
pect, thus  unconsciously  restored  to 


the  intimacy  of  happy  maiden  youth 
by  the  golden  link  of  some  Magician 
from  the  still  land  of  Truth  or  Fancy — 
brought  together  in  heart,  as  each  eye 
rested  on  the  same  thought; — closer 
and  closer,  as  sympathy,  lost  in  the 
actual  world,  grew  out  of  that  world 
which  unites  in  one  bond  of  feeling 
the  readers  of  some  gentle  book. 

"  And  what  work  interests  you  so 
much?"  said  Randal,  pausing  by  the 
table. 

"  One  you  have  read,  of  course, 


688 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XVI.  [Dec. 


replied  Mrs  Dale,  putting  a  book- 
mark embroidered  by  herself  into 
the  page,  and  handing  the  volume  to 
Randal.  "  It  has  made  a  great  sen- 
sation, I  believe." 

Randal  glanced  at  the  title  of  the 
work.  "True,"  said  he,  "I  have 
heard  much  of  it  in  London,  but  I 
have  not  yet  had  time  to  read  it." 

MRS  DALE. — "  I  can  lend  it  to  you, 
if  you  like  to  look  over  it  to-night, 
and  you  can  leave  it  for  me  with  Mrs 
Hazeldean." 

PARSON,  (approaching.) —  "  Oh  ! 
that  book! — yes,  you  must  read  it. 
I  do  not  know  a  work  more  instruc- 
tive." 

RANDAL. — "Instructive!  Certainly 
I  will  read  it  then.  But  I  thought  it 
was  a  mere  work  of  amusement — of 
fancy.  It  seems  so,  as  I  look  over  it." 

PARSON. — "  So  is  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield;  yet  what  book  more  in- 
structive ?  " 

"RANDAL. — "I  should  not  have 
said  that  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield. 
A  pretty  book  enough,  though  the 
story  is  most  improbable.  But  how  is 
it  instructive  ?  " 

PARSON. — "By  its  results:  it  leaves 
us  happier  and  better.  What  can 
any  instruction  do  more?  Some 
works  instruct  through  the  head,  some 
through  the  heart ;  the  last  reach  the 
widest  circle,  and  often  produce  the 
most  genial  influence  on  the  character. 
This  book  belongs  to  the  last.  You 
Avill  grant  my  proposition  when  you 
have  read  it." 

Randal  smiled  and  took  the  volume. 

MRS  DALE. — "  Is  the  author  known 
yet  ?  " 

RANDAL. — "I  have  heard  it  as- 
cribed to  many  writers,  but  I  believe 
no  one  has  claimed  it." 

PARSON. — "I  think  it  must  have 
been  written  by  my  old  college  friend, 
Professor  Moss,  the  naturalist ;  its  de- 
scriptions of  scenery  are  so  accurate." 

MRS  DALE. — "La,  Charles  dear! 
that  snuffy,  tiresome,  prosy  professor? 
How  can  you  talk  such  nonsense  ?  I 
am  sure  the  author  must  be  young ; 
there  is  so  much  freshness  of  feeling." 
MRS  HAZELDEAN,  (positively.)— 
"  Yes,  certainly  young." 

PARSON,  (no  less  positively.) — "I 
should  say  just  the  contrary.  Its 
tone  is  too  serene,  and  its  style  too 
simple  for  a  young  man.  Besides,  I 


don't  know  any  young  man  who  would 
send  me  his  book,  and  this  book  has 
been  sent  me — very  handsomely  bound 
too,  you  see.  Depend  upon  it,  Moss 
is  the  man — quite  his  turn  of  mind." 

MRS  DALE. — **  You  are  too  pro- 
voking, Charles  dear!  Mr  Moss  is 
so  remarkably  plain,  too." 

RANDAL.  —  "Must  an  author  be 
handsome  ?  " 

PARSON. — "  Ha,  ha !  Answer  that, 
if  you  can,  Carry." 

Carry  remained  mute  and  disdain- 
ful. 

SQUIRE,  (with  great  naivete^  — 
"  Well,  I  don't  think  there's  much  in 
the  book,  whoever  wrote  it ;  for  I've 
read  it  myself,  and  understand  every 
word  of  it." 

MRS  DALE. — "  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  suppose  it  was  written  by  a 
man  at  all.  For  my  part,  I  think  it 
must  be  a  woman." 

MRS  HAZELDEAN. — "Yes,  there's 
a  passage  about  maternal  affection, 
which  only  a  woman  could  have 
written." 

PARSON. — "  Pooh,  pooh  1  I  should 
like  to  see  a  woman  who  could  have 
written  that  description  of  an  August 
evening  before  a  thunderstorm  ; 
every  wildflower  in  the  hedgerow 
exactly  the  flowers  of  August  — 
every  sign  in  the  air  exactly  those  of 
the  month.  Bless  you!  a  woman 
would  have  filled  the  hedge  with 
violets  and  cowslips.  Nobody  else, 
but  my  friend  Moss  could  have  writ- 
ten that  description." 

SQUIRE. — "I  don't  know.;  there's 
a  simile  about  the  waste  of  corn- seed 
in  hand-sowing,  which  makes  me 
think  he  must  be  a  farmer  !  " 

MRS  DALE,  (scornfully.) —  A  far- 
mer !  In  hob-nailed  shoes,  I  suppose  ! 
I  say  it  is  a  woman." 

MRS  HAZELDEAN. — "  A  WOMAN, 
and  A  MOTHER!" 

PARSON. — "  A  middle-aged  man, 
and  a  naturalist." 

SQUIRE. — "  No,  no,  Parson  ;  cer- 
tainly a  young  man  ;  for  that  love- 
scene  puts  me  in  mind  of  my  own 
young  days,  when  I  would  have  given 
my  ears  to  tell  Harry  how  handsome 
I  thought  her;  and  all  I  could  say 
was — 'Fine  weather  for  the  crops, 
Miss.'  Yes,  a  young  man,  and  a 
farmer.  I  should  not  wonder  if  he 
had  held  the  plough  himself." 


1851.]          My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XVI. 


RANDAL,  (who  had  been  turning 
over  the  pages.) — "This  sketch  of 
Night  in  London  comes  from  a  man 
who  has  lived  the  life  of  cities,  and 
looked  at  wealth  with  the  eyes  of 
poverty.  Not  bad  !  I  will  read  the 
book." 

"  Strange,"  said  the  Parson,  smil- 
ing, "  that  this  little  work  should  so 
have  entered  into  our  minds,  sug- 
gested to  all  of  us  different  ideas,  yet 
equally  charmed  all — given  a  new  and 
fresh  current  to  our  dull  country  life 
— animated  us  as  with  the  sight  of 
a  world  in  our  breasts  we  had 
never  seen  before,  save  in  dreams  ; — 
a  little  work  like  this,  by  a  man  we 
don't  know,  and  never  may  !  Well, 
that  knowledge  is  power,  and  a  noble 
one !  " 

"  A  sort  of  power,  certainly,  sir," 
said  Randal,  candidly ;  and  that 
night,  when  Randal  retired  to  his 
own  room,  he  suspended  his  schemes 
and  projects,  and  read,  as  he  rarely 
did,  without  an  object  to  gain  by  the 
reading. 

The  work  surprised  him  by  the 
pleasure  it  gave.  Its  charm  lay  in 
the  writer's  calm  enjoyment  of  the 
Beautiful.  It  seemed  like  some  hap- 
py soul  sunning  itself  in  the  light  of 
its  own  thoughts.  Its  power  was  so 


689 

tranquil  and  even,  that  it  was  only  a 
critic  who  could  perceive  how  much 
force  and  vigour  were  necessary 
to  sustain  the  wing  that  floated  aloft 
with  so  imperceptible  an  effort. 
There  was  no  one  faculty  predominat- 
ing tyrannically  over  the  others  ;  all 
seemed  proportioned  in  the  felicitous 
symmetry  of  a  nature  rounded,  inte- 
gral, and  complete.  And  when  the 
work  was  closed,  it  left  behind  it  a 
tender  warmth  that  played  round  the 
heart  of  the  reader,  and  vivified  feel- 
ings that  seemed  unknown  before. 
Randal  laid  down  the  book  softly  ; 
and  for  five  minutes  the  ignoble  and 
base  purposes  to  which  his  own  know- 
ledge was  applied,  stood  before  him, 
naked  and  unmasked. 

"Tnt,"  said  he,  wrenching  himself 
violently  away  from  the  benign  influ- 
ence, "  it  was  not  to  sympathise  with 
Hector,  but  to  conquer  with  Achilles, 
that  Alexander  of  Macedon  kept 
Homer  under  his  pillow.  Such  should 
be  the  true  use  of  books  to  him  who 
has  the  practical  world  to  subdue  ;  let 
parsons  and  women  construe  it  other- 
wise as  they  may  !  " 

And  the  Principle  of  Evil  de- 
scended again  upon  the  intellect, 
from  which  the  guide  of  beneficence 
was  gone. 


CHAPTER  X. 


Randal  rose  at  the  sound  of  the 
first  breakfast  bell,  and  on  the  stair- 
case met  Mrs  Hazeldean.  He  gave 
her  back  the  book;  and  as  he  was 
about  to  speak,  she  beckoned  to  him 
to  follow  her  into  a  little  morning- 
room  appropriated  to  herself.  No 
boudoir  of  white  and  gold,  with  pic- 
tures by  Watteau,  but  lined  with 
large  walnut-tree  presses,  that  held 
the  old  heirloom  linen  strewed  with 
lavender— stores  for  the  housekeeper, 
and  medicines  for  the  poor. 

Seating  herself  on  a  large  chair  in 
this  sanctum,  Mrs  Hazeldean  looked 
formidably  at  home. 

"  Pray,"  said  the  lady,  coming  at 
once  to  the  point,  with  her  usual 
straightforward  candour,  "  what  is 
all  this  you  have  been  saying  to  my 
husband  as  to  the  possibility  of  Frank's 
marrying  a  foreigner?  " 

RANDAL.  —  "  Would    you    be    as 


averse  to  such  a  notion  as  Mr  Hazel- 
dean  is  ? 

MRS  HAZELDEAN.— "  You  ask  me 
a  question,  instead  of  answering 
mine." 

Randal  was  greatly  put  out  in  his 
fence  by  these  rude  thrusts.  For  in- 
deed he  had  a  double  purpose  to  serve 
— first  thoroughly  to  know  if  Frank's 
marriage  with  a  woman  like  Madame 
di  Negra  would  irritate  the  Squire 
sufficiently  to  endanger  the  son's  in- 
heritance ;  and,  secondly,  to  prevent 
Mr  and  Mrs  Hazeldean  believing 
seriously  that  such  a  marriage  was  to 
be  apprehended,  lest  they  should  pre- 
maturely address  Frank  on  the  subject, 
and  frustrate  the  marriage  itself.  Yet, 
withal,  he  must  so  express  himself, 
that  he  could  not  be  afterwards  ac- 
cused by  the  parents  of  disguising 
matters.  In  his  talk  to  the  Squire 
the  preceding  day,  he  had  gone  a  little 


690 


Mi/  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XVI. 


[Dec. 


too  far — farther  than  he  would  have 
done  but  for  his  desire  of  escaping  the 
cattle-shed  and  short-horns.  While 
he  mused,  Mrs  Hazeldean  observed 
him  with  her  honest  sensible  eyes, 
and  finally  exclaimed — 

"  Out  with  it,  Mr  Leslie ! " 

"  Out  with  what,  my  dear  madam  ? 
The  Squire  has  sadly  exaggerated  the 
importance  of  what  was  said  mainly 
in  jest.  But  I  will  own  to  you  plainly, 
that  Frank  has  appeared  to  me  a  little 
smitten  with  a  certain  fair  Italian." 

"Italian!"  cried  Mrs  Hazeldean. 
"  Well,  I  said  so  from  the  first.  Ita- 
lian ! — that's  all,  is  it  ?  "  and  she 
smiled. 

Randal  was  more  and  more  per- 
plexed. The  pupil  of  his  eye  con- 
tracted, as  it  does  when  we  retreat 
into  ourselves,  and  think,  watch,  and 
keep  guard. 

"  And  perhaps,"  resumed  Mrs 
Hazeldean,  with  a  very  sunny  expres- 
sion of  countenance,  "  you  have  no- 
ticed this  in  Frank  since  he  was 
here?" 

"It  is  true,"  murmured  Randal; 
"  but  I  think  his  heart  or  his  fancy 
was  touched  even  before." 

"  Very  natural,"  said  Mrs  Hazel- 
dean  ;  "  how  could  he  help  it? — such 
a  beautiful  creature  !  Well,  I  must 
not  ask  you  to  tell  Frank's  secrets; 
but  I  guess  the  object  of  attraction ; 
and  though  she  will  have  no  fortune 
to  speak  of — and  it  is  not  such  a 
match  as  he  might  form— still  she 
is  so  amiable,  and  has  been  so  well 
brought  up,  and  is  so  little  like  one's 
general  notions  of  a  Roman  Catholic, 
that  I  think  I  could  persuade  Hazel- 
dean  into  giving  his  consent." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Randal,  drawing  a 
long  breath,  and  beginning  with  his 
practised  acuteness  to  detect  Mrs 
Hazeldean's  error,  "  I  am  very  much 
relieved  and  rejoiced  to  hear  this ;  and 
I  may  venture  to  give  Frank  some 
hope,  if  I  find  him  disheartened  and 
desponding,  poor  fellow  1 " 

"  I  think  you  may,"  replied  Mrs 
Hazeldean, laughingpleasantly.  "  But 
you  should  not  have  frightened  poor 
William  so,  hinting  that  the  lady 
knew  very  little  English.  She  has 
an  accent,  to  be  sure ;  but  she  speaks 
our  tongue  very  prettily.  I  always 
forget  that  she's  not  English  born  ! 
Ha,  ha,  poor  William  !  " 


RANDAL.—"  Ha,  ha!" 

MRS  HAZELDEAN. — "  We  had  once 
thought  of  another  match  for  Frank — 
a  girl  of  good  English  family." 

RANDAL.—"  Miss  Sticktorights  ?  " 

MRS  HAZELDEAN. — "  No  ;  that's 
an  old  whim  of  Hazeldean's.  But 
he  knows  very  well  that  the  Stickto- 
rights would  never  merge  their  pro- 
perty in  ours.  Bless  you,  it  would 
be  all  off  the  moment  they  <;ame  to 
settlements,  and  had  to  give  up  the 
right  of  way.  We  thought  of  a 
very  different  match  ;  but  there's  no 
dictating  to  young  hearts,  Mr  Leslie." 

RANDAL. — "  Indeed  no,  Mrs  Hazel- 
dean.  But  since  we  now  understand 
each  other  so  well,  excuse  me  if  I 
suggest  that  you  had  better  leave 
things  to  themselves,  and  not  write 
to  Frank  on  the  subject.  Young 
hearts,  you  know,  are  often  stimulated 
by  apparent  difficulties,  and  grow 
cool  when  the  obstacle  vanishes." 

MRS  HAZELDEAN. — "Very  possibly ; 
it  was  not  so  with  Hazeldean  and 
me.  But  I  shall  not  write  to  Frank 
on  the  subject,  for  a  different  reason- 
though  I  would  consent  to  the  match, 
and  so  would  William  ;  yet  we  both 
would  rather,  after  all,  that  Frank 
married  an  Englishwoman,  and  a 
Protestant.  We  ^ill  not,  therefore, 
do  anything  to  encourage  the  idea. 
But  if  Frank's  happiness  becomes 
really  at  stake,  then  we  will  step  in. 
In  short,  we  would  neither  encourage 
nor  oppose.  You  understand  ?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"  And,  in  the  meanwhile,  it  is 
quite  right  that  Frank  should  see 
the  world,  and  try  to  distract  his 
mind,  or  at  least  to  know  it.  And 
I  dare  say  it  has  been  some  thought 
of  that  kind  which  has  prevented  his 
coming  here." 

Randal,  dreading  a  farther  and 
plainer  eclair  cissement,  now  rose, 
and  saying,  "  Pardon  me,  but  I 
must  hurry  over  breakfast,  and  be 
back  in  time  to  catch  the  coach " — 
offered  his  arm  to  his  hostess,  and 
led  her  into  the  breakfast- parlour. 
Devouring  his  meal,  as  if  in  great 
haste,  he  then  mounted  his  horse, 
and,  taking  cordial  leave  of  his  enter- 
tainers, trotted  briskly  away. 

All  things  favoured  his  project — 
even  chance  had  befriended  him  in 
Mrs  Hazeldean's  mistake.  She  had 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XVI.  691 


not  unnaturally  supposed  Violante  to 
have  captivated  Frank  on  his  last 
visit  to  the  Hall.  Thus,  while  Randal 
had  certified  his  own  mind  that 
nothing  could  more  exasperate  the 
Squire  than  an  alliance  with  Madame 
di  Negra,  he  could  yet  assure  Frank 
that  Mrs  Haz^ldean  was  all  on  his 
side.  And  when  the  error  was  dis- 
covered, Mrs  Hazeldean  would  only 
have  to  blame  herself  for  it.  Still 
more  successful  had  his  diplomacy 
proved  with  the  Riccaboccas ;  he 
had  ascertained  the  secret  he  had 
come  to  discover ;  he  should  induce 
the  Italian  to  remove  to  the  neigh- 


bourhood of  London  ;  and  if  Violante 
were  the  great  heiress  he  suspected 
her  to  prove,  whom  else  of  her  own 
age  would  she  see  but  him?  And 
the  old  Leslie  domains — to  be  sold 
in  two  years  —  a  portion  of  the 
dowry  might  purchase  them !  Flushed 
by  the  triumph  of  his  craft,  all  former 
vacillations  of  conscience  ceased. 
In  high  and  fervent  spirits  he  passed 
the  Casino,  the  garden  of  which  was 
solitary  and  deserted,  reached  his 
home,  and,  telling  Oliver  to  be 
studious,  and  Juliet  to  be  patient, 
walked  thence  to  meet  the  coach  and 
regain  the  capital. 


CHAPTER.   XI. 


Violante  was  seated  in  her  own 
little  room,  and  looking  from  the  win- 
dow on  the  terrace  that  stretched 
below.  The  day  was  warm  for  the 
time  of  year.  The  orange-trees  had 
been  removed  under  shelter  for  the 
approach  of  winter ;  but  where  they 
had  stood  sate  Mrs  Riccabocca  at 
work.  In  the  Belvidere,  Ricca- 
bocca himself  was  conversing  with 
his  favourite  servant.  But  the  case- 
ments and  the  door  of  the  Belvidere 
were  open ;  and  where  they  sate, 
both  wife  and  daughter  could  see  the 
Padrone  leaning  against  the  wall, 
with  his  arms  folded,  and  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  floor ;  while  Jackeymo, 
with  one  finger  on  his  master's  arm, 
was  talking  to  him  with  visible  ear- 
nestness. And  the  daughter  from 
the  window,  and  the  wife  from  her 
work,  directed  tender  anxious  eyes 
towards  the  still  thoughtful  form  so 
dear  to  both.  For  the  last  day  or 
two,  Riccabocca  had  been  peculiarly 
abstracted,  even  to  gloom.  Each  felt 
there  was  something  stirring  at  his 
heart— neither  as  yet  knew  what. 

Violante's  room  silently  revealed  the 
nature  of  the  education  by  which  her 
character  had  been  formed.  Save 
a  sketch-book  which  lay  open  on  a 
desk  at  hand,  and  which  showed 
talent  exquisitely  taught,  (for  in  this 
Riccabocca  had  been  her  teacher,) 
there  was  nothing  that  spoke  of  the 
ordinary  female  accomplishments.  No 
piano  stood  open,  no  harp  occupied 
yon  nook,  which  seemed  made  for 
oiie;  no  broidery  frame,  nor  imple- 


ments of  work,  betrayed  the  usual 
and  graceful  resources  of  a  girl  ;  but 
ranged  on  shelves  against  the  wall  were 
the  best  writers  in  English,  Italian, 
and  French ;  and  these  betokened  an 
extent  of  reading,  that  he  who  wishes 
for  a  companion  to  his  mind  in  the 
sweet  commune  of  woman,  which 
softens  and  refines  all  it  gives  and 
takes  in  interchange,  will  never  con- 
demn as  masculine.  You  had  but  to 
look  into  Violante's  face  to  see  how 
noble  was  the  intelligence  that  brought 
soul  to  those  lovely  features.  Nothing 
hard,  nothing  dry  and  stern  was  there. 
Even  as  you  detected  knowledge,  it 
was  lost  in  the  gentleness  of  grace. 
In  fact,  whatever  she  gained  in  the 
graver  kinds  of  information,  became 
transmuted,  through,  her  heart  and 
her  fancy,  into  spiritual  golden  stores. 
Give  her  some  tedious  and  arid  his- 
tory, her  imagination  seized  upon 
beauties  other  readers  had  passed  by, 
and,  like  the  eye  of  the  artist,  de- 
tected everywhere  the  Picturesque. 
Something  in  her  mind  seemed  to 
reject  all  that  was  mean  and  com- 
monplace, and  to  bring  out  all  that 
was  rare  and  elevated  in  whatever  it 
received.  "Living  so  apart  from  all 
companions  of  her  age,  she  scarcely 
belonged  to  the  Present  time.  She 
dwelt  in  the  Past,  as  Sabrina  in  her 
crystal  well.  Images  of  chivalry — 
of  the  Beautiful  and  the  Heroic — 
such  as,  in  reading  the  silvery  line  of 
Tasso,  rise  before  us,  softening  force 
and  valour  into  love  and  song — haunt- 
ed the  reveries  of  the  fair  Italian  maid. 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XVI.  [Dec. 


692 

Tell  us  not  that  the  Past,  examined 
by  cold  Philosophy,  was  no  better 
and  no  loftier  than  the  Present ;  it  is 
not  thus  seen  by  pure  and  generous 
eyes.  Let  the  Past  perish,  when  it 
ceases  to  reflect  on  its  magic  mirror 
the  beautiful  Romance  which  is  its 
noblest  reality,  though  perchance  but 
the  shadow  of  Delusion. 

Yet  Violante  was  not  merely  the 
dreamer.  In  her,  life  was  so  puissant 
and  rich,  that  action  seemed  necessary 
to  its  glorious  development — action, 
butstillin  the  woman's  sphere — action 
to  bless  and  to  refine  and  to  exalt  all 
around  her,  and  to  pour  whatever  else 
of  ambition  was  left  unsatisfied  into 
sympathy  with  the  aspirations  of 
man.  Despite  her  father's  fears  of 
the  bleak  air  of  England,  in  that  air 
she  had  strengthened  the  delicate 
health  of  her  childhood.  Her  elastic 
step— her  eyes  full  of  sweetness  and 
light— her  bloom,  at  once  soft  and 
luxuriant  —  all  spoke  of  the  vital 
powers  fit  to  sustain  a  mind  of  such 
exquisite  mould,  and  the  emotions  of 
a  heart  that,  once  aroused,  could  en- 
rioble  the  passions  of  the  South 
with  the  purity  and  devotion  of  the 
North. 

Solitude  makes  some  natures  more 
timid,  some  more  bold.  Violante  was 
fearless.  When  she  spoke,  her  eyes 
frankly  met  your  own  ;  and  she  was 
so  ignorant  of  evil,  that  as  yet  she 
seemed  nearly  unacquainted  with 
shame.  From  this  courage,  combined 
with  affluence  of  idea,  came  a  delight- 
ful flow  of  happy  converse.  Though 
possessing  so  imperfectly  the  accom- 
plishments ordinarily  taught  to  young 
women,  and  which  may  be  cultured 
to  the  utmost,  and  yet  leave  the 
thoughts  so  barren,  and  the  talk  so 
vapid — she  had  that  accomplishment 
which  most  pleases  the  taste,  and  com- 
mands the  love,  of  the  man  of  talent ; 
especially  if  his  talent  be  not  so  ac- 
tively employed  as  to  make  him  desire 
only  relaxation  where  he  "'seeks  com- 
panionship— the  accomplishment  of 
facility  in  intellectual  interchange— 
the  charm  that  clothes  in  musical 
words  beautiful  wo  in  an  ty  ideas. 

"  I  hear  him  sigh  at  this  distance," 
said  Violante  softly,  as  she  still 
watched  her  father ;  "  and  methinks 
this  is  a  new  grief,  and  not  for  his 
country.  He  spoke  twice  yesterday 


of  that  dear  English  friend,  and 
wished  that  he  were  here." 

As  she  said  this,  unconsciously  the 
virgin  blushed,  her  hands  drooped  on 
her  knee,  and  she  fell  herself  into 
thought  as  profound  as  her  father's, 
but  less  gloomy.  From  her  arrival 
in  England,  Violante  had  been  taught 
a  grateful  interest  in  the  name  of 
Harley  L'Estrange.  Her  father,  pre- 
serving a  silence,  that  seemed  dis- 
dain, of  all  his  old  Italian  intimates, 
had  been  pleased  to  converse  with 
open  heart  of  the  Englishman  who 
had  saved  where  countrymen  had 
betrayed.  He  spoke  of  the  soldier, 
then  in  the  full  bloom  of  youth, 
who,  unconsoled  by  fame,  had  nursed 
the  memory  of  some  hidden  sorrow 
amidst  the  pine-trees  that  cast  their 
shadow  over  the  sunny  Italian  lake ; 
how  Rlccabocca,  then  honoured  and 
happy,  had  courted  from  his  seclu- 
sion the  English  Signor,  then  the 
mourner  and  the  voluntary  exile ; 
how  they  had  grown  friends  amidst 
the  landscapes  in  which  her  eyes  had 
opened  to  the  day;  how  Harley 
had  vainly  warned  him  from  the  rash 
schemes  in  which  he  had  sought  to  re- 
construct in  an  hour  the  ruins  of  weary 
ages;  how,  when  abandoned,  deserted, 
proscribed,  pursued,  he  had  fled  for 
life — the  infant  Violante  clasped  to 
his  bosom — the  English  soldier  had 
given  him  refuge,  baffled  the  pursuers, 
armed  his  servants,  accompanied  the 
fugitive  at  night  towards  the  defile  in, 
the  Apennines,  and,  when  the  emis- 
saries of  a  perfidious  enemy,  hot  in 
the  chase,  came  near,  had  said,  "  You 
have  your  child  to  save !  Fly  on ! 
Another  league,  and  you  are  beyond 
the  borders.  We  will  delay  the  foes 
with  parley;  they  will  not  harm  us." 
And  not  till  escape  was  gained  did 
the  father  know  that  the  English 
friend  had  delayed  the  foe,  not  by 
parley,  but  by  the  sword,  holding  the 
pass  against  numbers,  with  a  breast 
as  dauntless  as  Bayard's  in  the  im- 
mortal bridge. 

And  since  then,  the  same  English- 
man had  never  ceased  to  vindicate 
his  name,  to  urge  his  cause,  and  if 
hope  yet  remained  of  restoration  to 
land  and  honours,  it  was  in  that 
untiring  zeal. 

Hence,  naturally  and  insensibly, 
this  secluded  and  musing  girl  had 


1651.]  My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  X  VI. 


associated  all  that  she  read  in  talcs 
of  romance  and  chivalry  with  the 
image  of  the  brave  and  loyal  stranger. 
He  it  was  who  animated  her  dreams 
of  the  Past,  and  seemed  born  to  be,  in 
the  destined  hour,  the  deliverer  of  the 
Future.  Around  this  image  grouped 
all  the  charms  that  the  fancy  of  virgin 
woman  can  raise  from  the  enchanted 
lore  of  old  Heroic  Fable.  Once  in  her 
early  girlhood,  her  father  (to  satisfy 
her  curiosity,  eager  for  general  de- 
scription) had  drawn  from  memory  a 
sketch  of  the  features  of  the  English- 
man— drawn  Harley,  as  he  was  in 
that  first  youth,  flattered  and  idea- 
lised, no  doubt,  by  art  and  by  partial 
gratitude— but  still  resembling  him 
as  he  was  then ;  while  the  deep 
mournfulness  of  recent  sorrow  yet 


693 

shadowed  and  concentrated  all  the 
varying  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance ;  and  to  look  on  him  was  to 
say,— "So  sad,  yet  so  young!"  Never 
did  Yiolante  pause  to  remember  that 
the  same  years  which  ripened  herself 
from  infancy  into  woman,  were  pass- 
ing less  gently  over  that  smooth 
cheek  and  dreamy  brow — that  the 
world  might  be  altering  the  nature, 
as  time  the  aspect.  To  her,  the  hero 
of  the  Ideal  remained  immortal  in 
bloom  and  youth.  Bright  illusion, 
common  to  us  all,  where  Poetry  once 
hallows  the  human  form  !  Who  ever 
thinks  of  Petrarch  as  the  old  time-worn 
man  ?  Who  does  not  see  him  as  when 
he  first  gazed  on  Laura  ? — 

"  Ogni  altra  cosa  ogni  peusier  va  fore  ; 
E  sol  ivi  con  voi  rimansi  Amore  !  " 


CHAPTER    XII. 


And  Violante,  thus  absorbed  in 
reverie,  forgot  to  keep  watch  on  the 
Belvidere.  And  the  Belvidere  was 
now  deserted.  The  wife,  who  had  no 
other  ideal  to  distract  her  thoughts, 
saw  Riccabocca  pass  into  the  house. 

The  exile  entered  his  daughter's 
room,  and  she  started  to  feel  his  hand 
upon  her  locks  and  his  kiss  upon  her 
brow. 

"My  child!"  cried  Riccabocca, 
seating  himself,  "  I  have  resolved  to 
leave  for  a  time  this  retreat,  and  to 
seek  the  neighbourhood  of  London." 

"  Ah,  dear  father,  that,  then,  was 
your  thought?  But  what  can  be 
your  reason  ?  Do  not  turn  away ;  you 
know  how  carefully  I  have  obeyed 
your  command  and  kept  your  secret. 
Ah,  you  will  confide  in  me." 

"  1  do,  indeed, "  returned  Riccabocca, 
with  emotion.  "I  leave  this  place, 
in  the  fear  lest  my  enemies  discover 
me.  I  shall  say  to  others  that  you 
are  of  an  age  to  require  teachers,  not 
to  be  obtained  here.  But  I  should 
like  none  to  know  where  we  go." 

The  Italian  said  these  last  words 
through  his  teeth,  and  hanging  his 
head.  He  said  them  in  shame. 

"  My  mother — (so  Violante  always 
called  Jemima)  —  my  mother,  you 
have  spoken  to  her?" 

"  Not  yet.    There  is  the  difficulty." 

"  No  difficulty,  for  she  loves  you  so 
well,"  replied  Yiolante,  with  soft 
reproach.  "Ah,  why  not  also  con - 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXIV. 


fide  in   her  ?      Who    so    true  ?    so 
good?" 

"Good— I  grant  it!"  exclaimed 
Riccabocca.  "What then?  'Dacat- 
tivaDonna  guardati,  ed  alia  buona  non 
fidar  niente,'  (from  the  bad  woman, 
guard  thyself;  to  the  good  woman 
trust  nothing.)  And  if  you  must  trust," 
added  the  abominable  man,  "  trust 
her  with  anything  but  a  secret ! " 

"Fie,"  said  Violante,  with  arch 
reproach,  for  she  knew  her  father's 
humours  too  well  to  interpret  his 
horrible  sentiments  literally  —  "  fie 
on  your  consistency,  Padre  carissimo. 
Do  you  not  trust  your  secret  to  me?" 

"  You !  A  kitten  is  not  a  cat,  and 
a  girl  is  not  a  woman.  Besides,  the 
secret  was  already  known  to  you, 
and  I  had  no  choice.  Peace,  Jemima 
will  stay  here  for  the  present.  See 
to  what  you  wish  to  take  with  you ; 
wre  shall  leave  to-night." 

Not  waiting  for  an  answer,  Ricca- 
bocca hurried  away,  and  with  a  firm 
step  strode  the  terrace  and  approached 
his  wife. 

"  Anima  mia,"  said  the  pupil  of 
Machiavel,  disguising  in  the  tenderest 
words  the  cruellest  intentions — for 
one  of  his  most  cherished  Italian  pro- 
verbs was  to  the  effect,  that  there  is 
no  getting  on  with  a  mule  or  a  woman 
unless  you  coax  them—"  Anima  mia, 
— soul  of  my  being — you  have  already 
seen  that  Violante  mopes  herself  to 
death  here." 

2  Y 


694 


My  Novel ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XVI. 


[Dec. 


"  She,  poor  child !  Oh  no  ! " 

"She  does,  core  of  my  heart,  she 
does,  and  is  as  ignorant  of  music  as  I 
am  of  tent-stitch." 

"  She  sings  beautifully." 

u  Just  as  birds  do,  against  all  the 
rules,  and  in  defiance  of  gamut. 
Therefore,  to  come  to  the  point,  O 
treasure  of  my  soul !  I  am  going  to 
take  her  with  me  for  a  short  time, 
perhaps  to  Cheltenham,  or  Brighton 
— we  shall  see." 

"  All  places  with  you  are  the  same 
to  me,  Alphonso.  When  shall  we  go  ?" 

"We  shall  go  to-night ;  but,  terrible 
as  it  is  to  part  from  you — you — " 

"Ah!"  interrupted  the  wife,  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Riccabocca,  the  wiliest  and  most  re- 
lentless of  men  in  his  maxims,  melted 
into  absolute  uxorial  imbecility  at  the 
eight  of  that  mute  distress.  He  put 
his  arm  round  his  wife's  waist,  with 
genuine  affection,  and  without  a 
single  proverb  at  his  heart — "  Caris- 
sima,  do  not  grieve  so ;  we  shall  be 
back  soon,  and  travelling  is  expensive ; 
rolling  stones  gather  no  moss,  and 
there  is  so  much  to  see  to  at  home." 

Mrs  Riccabocca  gently  escaped 
from  her  husband's  arms.  She  with- 
drew her  hands  from  her  face,  and 
brushed  away  the  tears  that  stood  in 
her  eyes. 

"Alphonso,"  she  said  touchiugly, 
"  hear  me  !  What  you  think  good, 
that  shall  ever  be  good  to  me.  But 
do  not  think  that  I  grieve  solely 
because  of  our  parting.  No  ;  I  grieve 
to  think  that,  despite  all  these  years 
in  which  I  have  been  the  partner  of 
your  hearth  and  slept  on  your  breast 
— all  these  years  in  which  I  have  had 
no  thought  but,  however  humbly,  to 
do  my  duty  to  you  and  yours,  and 
could  have  wished  that  you  had  read 
my  heart,  and  seen  there  but  your- 
self and  your  child  —  I  grieve  to 
think  that  you  still  deem  me  as  un- 
worthy your  trust  as  when  you  stood 
by  my  side  at  the  altar." 

"  Trust  1"  repeated  Riccabocca, 
startled  and  conscience  -  stricken  ; 
"  why  do  you  say  *  trust  ?  '  In  what 
have  I  distrusted  you?  I  am  sure,"  he 
continued,  with  the  artful  volubility 
of  guilt,  "  that  I  never  doubted  your 
fidelity  —  hook-nosed,  long-visaged 
foreigner  though  I  be  ;  never  pryed 
into  your  letters ;  never  inquired  into 


your  solitary  walks ;  never  heeded 
your  flirtations  with  that  good-look- 
ing Parson  Dale ;  never  kept  the 
money ;  and  never  looked  into  the 
account-books ! "  Mrs  Riccabocca  re- 
fused even  a  smile  of  contempt  at 
these  revolting  evasions ;  nay,  she 
seemed  scarcely  to  hear  them. 

"  Can  you  think,"  she  resumed, 
pressing  her  hand  on  her  heart  to 
still  its  struggles  for  relief  in  sobs — 
"  can  you  think  that  I  could  have 
watched,  and  thought,  and  tasked  my 
poor  mind  so  constantly,  to  conjecture 
what  might  best  soothe  or  please  you, 
and  not  seen,  long  since,  that  you 
have  secrets  known  to  your  daughter 
— your  servant — not  to  me  ?  Fear  not 
— the  secrets  cannot  be  evil,  or  you 
would  not  tell  them  to  your  innocent 
child.  Besides,  do  I  not  know  your 
nature  ?  and  do  I  not  love  you  because 
I  know  it  ? — it  is  for  something  con- 
nected with  these  secrets  that  you 
leave  your  home.  You  think  that  I 
should  be  incautious  —  imprudent. 
You  will  not  take  me  with  you.  Be  it 
so.  I  go  to  prepare  for  your  departure. 
Forgive  me  if  I  have  displeased  you, 
husband." 

Mrs  Riccabocca  turned  away ;  but 
a  soft  hand  touched  the  Italian's  arm. 
"  O  father,  can  you  resist  this? 
Trust  her  ! — trust  her !  I  am  a  woman 
like  her !  I  answer  for  her  woman's 
faith.  Be  yourself— ever  nobler  than 
all  others,  my  own  father." 

"  Diavolo !  Never  one  door  shuts 
but  another  opens,"  groaned  Ricca- 
bocca. "  Are  you  a  fool,  child?  Don't 
you  see  that  it  was  for  your  sake  only 
I  feared — and  would  be  cautious  ?  " 

"  For  mine  !  O  then,  do  not  make 
me  deem  myself  mean,  and  the  cause 
of  meanness.  For  mine !  Am  I  not 
your  daughter — the  descendant  of 
men  who  never  feared  ?  " 

Violante  looked  sublime  while  she 
spoke  ;  and  as  she  ended  she  led  her 
father  gently  on  towards  the  door, 
which  his  wife  had  now  gained. 

"  Jemima — wife  mine! — pardon, 
pardon,"  cried  the  Italian,  whose 
heart  had  been  yearning  to  repay  such 
tenderness  and  devotion, — "  come 
back  to  my  breast — it  has  been  long 
closed — it  shall  be  open  to  you  now 
and  for  ever." 

In  another  moment,  the  wife  was 
in  her  right  place— on  her  husband's 


1851.]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XVI.  695 

bosom ;  and  Violante,  beautiful  peace-     and  then  lifted  her  eyes  gratefully  to 
maker,  stood  smiling  a  while  at  both,     heaven,  and  stole  away. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


On  Randal's   return   to  town,  he 
heard  mixed  and  contradictory  ru- 
mours in  the  streets,  and  at  the  clubs, 
of  the  probable  downfall  of  the  Go- 
vernment at  the  approaching  session 
of  Parliament.     These  rumours  had 
sprung  up  suddenly,  as  if  in  an  hour. 
True  that,  for  some  time,  the  saga- 
cious had  shaken  their  heads  and  said, 
u  Ministers  could  not  last."     True 
that  certain  changes  in  policy,  a  year 
or  two  before,  had  divided  the  party 
on  which  the  Government  depended, 
and  strengthened  that  which  opposed 
it.     But  still  its  tenure  in  office  had 
been  so  long,  and  there  seemed  so 
little  power  in  the  Opposition  to  form 
a  cabinet  of  names  familiar  to  official 
ears,  that  the  general  public  had  anti- 
cipated, at  most,  a  few  partial  changes. 
Eumour  now  went  far  beyond  this. 
Randal,   whose  whole   prospects   at 
present  were  but  reflections  from  the 
greatness  of  his  patron,  was  alarmed. 
He  sought  Egerton,  but  the  minister 
was  impenetrable,  and  seemed  calm, 
confident,   and  imperturbed.     Some- 
what relieved,  Randal  then  set  him- 
self to  work  to  find  a  safe  home  for 
Riccabocca ;    for  the    greater    need 
to  succeed  in  obtaining  fortune  there, 
if  he  failed  in  getting  it  through  Eger- 
ton.    He  found  a  quiet  house,  de- 
tached and  secluded,  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Norwood.     No  vicinity 
more  secure  from  espionage  and  re- 
mark.    He  wrote  to  Riccabocca,  and 
communicated    the    address,   adding 
fresh  assurances  of  his  own  power  to 
be  of  use.    The  next  morning  he  was 
seated  in   his    office,   thinking  very 
little  of  the  details,  that  he  mastered, 
however,  with  mechanical  precision, 
when  the  minister  who  presided  over 
that  department  of  the  public  service 
sent  for  him  into  his  private  room,  and 
begged  him  to  take  a  letter  to  Egerton, 
with  whom  he  wished  to  consult  rela- 
tive to  a  very  important  point  to  be 
decided  in  the  Cabinet  that  day.    "  I 
want  you  to  take  it,"  said  the  minister 
smiling,  (the  minister  was  a  frank, 
homely  man,)  "  because  you  are  in  Mr 
Egerton's  confidence,  and  he  may  give 
you  some  verbal  message  besides  a 


written  reply.  Egerton  is  often  over 
cautious  and  brief  in  the  litera  scripta." 
Randal  went  first  to  Egerton's 
neighbouring  office— he  had  not  been 
there  that  day.  He  then  took  a 
cabriolet  and  drove  to  Grosvenor 
Square.  A  quiet-looking  chariot  was 
at  the  door.  Mr  Egerton  was  at 
home  ;  but  the  servant  said,  "  Dr  F. 
is  with  him,  sir;  and  perhaps  he  may 
not  like  to  be  disturbed." 
"  What,  is  your  master  ill  ?  " 
"  Not  that  I  know  of,  sir.  He  never 
says  he  is  ill.  But  he  has  looked 
poorly  the  last  day  or  two." 

Randal  hesitated  a  moment ;  but 
his  commission  might  be  important, 
and  Egerton  was  a  man  who  so  held 
the  maxim,  that  health  and  all  else 
must  give  way  to  business,  that  he 
resolved  to  enter ;  and,  unannounced, 
and  unceremoniously,  as  was  his  wont, 
he  opened  the  door  of  the  library. 
He  started  as  he  did  so.  Audley 
Egerton  was  leaning  back  on  the  sofa, 
and  the  doctor,  on  his  knees  before 
him,  was  applying  the  stethoscope  to 
his  breast.  Egerton's  eyes  were  par- 
tially closed  as  the  door  opened.  But 
at  the  noise  he  sprang  up,  nearly 
oversetting  the  doctor.  "  Who's 
that  ? — How  dare  you !"  he  exclaimed, 
in  a  voice  of  great  anger.  Then 
recognising  Randal,  he  changed  co- 
lour, bit  his  lip,  and  muttered  drily, 
"  I  beg  pardon  for  my  abruptness  ; 
what  do  you  want,  Mr  Leslie?" 

"  This  letter  from  Lord ;  I  was 

told   to  deliver  it  immediately  into 
your  own  hands  ;  I  beg  pardon — ; 

"There  is  no  cause,"  said  Egerton, 
coldly.  "  I  have  had  a  slight  attack  of 
bronchitis ;  and  as  Parliament  meets  so 
soon,  I  must  take  advice  from  my  doc- 
tor, if  I  would  be  heard  by  the  report- 
ers. Lay  the  letter  on  the  table,  and 
be  kind  enough  to  wait  for  my  reply." 
Randal  withdrew.  He  had  never 
seen  a  physician  in  that  house  before, 
and  it  seemed  surprising  that  Egerton 
should  even  take  a  medical  opinion 
upon  a  slight  attack.  While  waiting 
in  the  ante- room  there  was  a  knock  at 
the  street  door,  and  presently  a  gentle- 
man, exceedingly  well  dressed,  was 


•696 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life. — Part  XVI.  [Dec. 


shown  in,  and  honoured  Eandal  with 
an  easy  and  half  familiar  bow.  Ran- 
dal remembered  to  have  met  this  per- 
sonage at  dinner,  and  at  the  house  of 
a  young  nobleman  of  high  fashion,  but 
iiad  not  been  introduced  to  him,  and 
did  not  even  know  him  by  name.  The 
visitor  was  better  informed. 

"  Our  friend  Egerton  is  busy,  I 
hear,  Mr  Leslie,"  said  he,  arranging 
the  camelia  in  his  button  hole. 

"  Our  friend  Egerton  !"  It  must  be 
a  very  great  man  to  say,  "  Our  friend 
Egerton." 

"  He  will  not  be  engaged  long,  I 
dare  say,"  returned  Randal,  glancing 
his  shrewd  inquiring  eye  over  the 
stranger's  person. 

"  I  trust  not ;  my  time  is  almost  as 
precious  as  his  own.  I  was  not  so 
fortunate  as  to  be  presented  to  you 
when  we  met  at  Lord  Spendquick's. 
Good  fellow,  Spendquick ;  and  de- 
cidedly clever." 

Lord  Spendquick  was  usually  esteem- 
ed a  gentleman  without  three  ideas. 

Randal  smiled. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  visitor  had 
taken  out  a  card  from  an  embossed 
morocco  case,  and  now  presented  it 
to  Randal,  who  read  thereon,  "  Baron 
Levy,  No.  — ,  Bruton  St." 

The  name  was  not  unknown  to 
Randal.  It  was  a  name  too  often  on 
the  lips  of  men  of  fashion  not  to  have 
reached  the  ears  of  an  habitue  of  good 
society. 

Mr  Levy  had  been  a  solicitor  by 
profession.  He  had  of  late  years  re- 
linquished his  ostensible  calling  ;  and 
not  long  since,  in  consequence  of  some 
services  towards  the  negotiation  of  a 
loan,  had  been  created  a  baron  by  one 
of  the  German  kings.  The  wealth  of 
Mr  Levy  was  said  to  be  only  equalled 
by  his  good  nature  to  all  who  were  in 
-want  of  a  temporary  loan,  and  with 
sound  expectations  of  repaying  it 
some  day  or  other. 

You  seldom  saw  a  finer-looking  man 
than  Baron  Levy — about  the  same  age 
as  Egerton,  but  looking  younger :  so 
well  preserved  —  such  magnificent 
black  whiskers — such  superb  teeth  ! 
Despite  his  name  and  his  dark  com- 
plexion, he  did  not,  however,  resemble 
a  Jew— at  least  externally ;  and,  in 
fact,  he  was  not  a  Jew  on  the  fa- 
ther's side,  but  the  natural  son  of  a 
rich  English  grand  seigneur,  by  a 


Hebrew  lady  of  distinction — in  tho 
opera.  After  his  birth,  this  lady  had 
married  a  German  trader  of  her  own 
persuasion,  and  her  husband  had  been 
prevailed  upon,  for  the  convenience 
of  all  parties,  to  adopt  his  wife's  son, 
and  accord  to  him  his  own  Hebrew 
name.  Mr  Levy  senior  was  soon 
left  a  widower,  and  then  the  real 
father,  though  never  actually  owning 
the  boy,  had  shown  him  great  atten- 
tion— had  him  frequently  at  his  house 
— initiated  him  betimes  into  his  own 
high-born  society,  for  which  the  boy 
showed  great  taste.  But  when  my 
Lord  died,  and  left  but  a  moderate 
legacy  to  the  younger  Levy,  who  was 
then  about  eighteen,  that  ambiguous 
person  was  articled  to  an  attorney  by 
his  putative  sire,  who  shortly  after- 
wards returned  to  his  native  laud,  and 
was  buried  at  Prague,  where  his  tomb- 
stone may  yet  be  seen.  Young  Levy, 
however,  continued  to  do  very  well 
without  him.  His  real  birth  was 
generally  known,  and  rather  advan- 
tageous to  him  in  a  social  point  of 
view.  His  legacy  enabled  him  to  be- 
come a  partner  where  he  had  been  a 
clerk,  and  his  practice  became  great 
amongst  the  fashionable  classes  of 
society.  Indeed  he  was  so  useful,  so 
pleasant,  so  much  a  man  of  the  world, 
that  he  grew  intimate  with  his  clients 
—chiefly  young  men  of  rank  ;  was  on 
good  terms  with  both  Jew  and  Chris- 
tian; and  being  neither  one  nor  the 
other,  resembled  (to  use  Sheridan's 
incomparablesimile)theblankpagebe- 
tween  the  Old  and  theNewTestament. 

Vulgar,  some  might  call  Mr  Levy, 
from  his  assurance,  but  it  was  not  the 
vulgarity  of  a  man  accustomed  to  low 
and  coarse  society — rather  the  mau- 
vais  ton  of  a  person  not  sure  of  his 
own  position,  but  who  has  resolved  to 
swagger  into  the  best  one  he  can  get. 
When  it  is  remembered  that  he  had 
made  his  way  in  the  world,  and 
gleaned  together  an  immense  fortune, 
it  is  needless  to  add  that  he  was  as 
sharp  as  a  needle,  and  as  hard  as  a 
flint.  No  man  had  had  more  friends, 
and  no  man  had  stuck  by  them  more 
firmly — as  long  as  there  was  a  pound 
in  their  pockets ! 

Something  of  this  character  had 
Randal  heard  of  the  Baron,  and  he 
now  gazed,  first  at  his  card,  and  then 
at  him,  with — admiration. 


185L]  My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in 

"  I  met  a  friend  of  yours  at  Borrow- 

Ts  the  other  day,"  resumed  the 
Baron—"  Young  Hazeldean.  Careful 
fellow— quite  a  man  of  the  world." 

As  this  was  the  last  praise  poor 
Frank  deserved,  Randal  again  smiled. 

The  Baron  went  on—"  I  hear,  Mr 
Leslie,  that  you  have  much  influ- 
ence over  this  same  Hazeldean.  His 
affairs  are  in  a  sad  state.  I  should 
be  very  happy  to  be  of  use  to  him,  as 
a  relation  of  my  friend  Egerton's  ;  but 
he  understands  business  so  well  that 
he  despises  my  advice." 

"  I  am  sure  you  do  him  injustice." 

"  Injustice !  I  honour  his  caution. 
I  say  to  every  man,  '  Don't  come  to 
me— I  can  get  you  money  on  much 
easier  terms  than  any  one  else  ; '  and 
what's  the  result  ?  You  come  so  often 
that  you  ruin  yourself ;  whereas  a  regu- 
lar usurer  without  conscience  frightens 
you.  '  Cent  per  cent,'  you  say ;  *  oh, 
I  must  pull  in.'  If  you  have  influence 
over  your  friend,  tell  him  to  stick  to 
his  bill-brokers,  and  have  nothing  to 
do  with  Baron  Levy." 

Here  the  minister's  bell  rung,  and 
Randal,  looking  through  the  window, 
saw  Dr  F.  walking  to  his  carriage, 
which  had  made  way  for  Baron  Levy's 
splendid  cabriolet— a  cabriolet  in  the 
most  perfect  taste — Baron's  coronet 
on  the  dark  brown  panels — horse  black, 


English  Life.— Part  X  VI.  697 

with  such  action !— harness  just  re- 
lieved with  plating.  The  servant  now 
entered,  and  requested  Randal  to  step- 
in  ;  and  addressing  the  Baron,  as- 
sured him  that  he  would  not  be 
detained  a  minute. 

"Leslie,"  said  the  minister,  sealing  a 

note,  "take  this  back  to  Lord ,and 

say  thatlshall  bewithhimin  anhour." 

"No  other  message? — he  seemed 
to  expect  one." 

"I  dare  say  he  did.  Well,  my 
letter  is  official,  my  message  is  not ;. 

beg  him  to  see  Mr  before  we 

meet— he  will  understand— all  rests- 
upon  that  interview." 

Egerton  then,  extending  the  letterr 
resumed  gravely,  "  Of  course  you  will- 
not  mention  to  any  one  that  Dr  F. 
was  with  me :  the  health  of  public 
men  is  not  to  be  suspected.  Hum — 
were  you  in  your  own  room  or  th& 
ante-room  ?  " 

"  The  ante-room,  sir." 

Egerton's  brow  contracted  slightly, 
"  And  Mr  Levy  was  there,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes— the  Baron." 

"  Baron  !  true.  Come  to  plague 
me  about  the  Mexican  loan,  I  suppose.- 
I  will  keep  you  no  longer." 

Randal,  much  meditating,  left  the- 
house,  and  re-entered  his  hack  cab. 
The  Baron  was  admitted  to  the  states- 
man's presence. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


Egerton  had  thrown  himself  at  full 
length  on  the  sofa,  a  position  exceed- 
ingly rare  with  him ;  and  about  his 
whole  air  and  manner,  as  Levy  en- 
tered, there  was  something  singularly 
different  from  that  stateliuess  of  port 
common  to  the  austere  legislator. 
The  very  tone  of  his  voice  was 
different.  It  was  as  if  the  states- 
man—  the  man  of  business  —  had 
vanished  ;  it  was  rather  the  man  of 
fashion  and  the  idler,  who,  nodding 
languidly  to  his  visitor,  said,  "  Levy, 
what  money  can  I  have  for  a 
year  ?  " 

"The  estate  will  bear  very  little 
more.  My  dear  fellow,  that  last  elec- 
tion was  the  very  devil.  You  cannot 
go  on  thus  much  longer." 

"  My  dear  fellow  !"  Baron  Levy 
hailed  Audley  Egerton  as  "  my  dear 
fellow."  And  Audley  Egerton,  per- 


haps, saw  nothing  strange  in  the- 
words,  though  his  lip  curled. 

"  I  shall  not  want  to  go  on  thus 
much  longer,"  answered  Egerton,  as 
the  curl  on  his  lip  changed  to  a 
gloomy  smile.  "  The  estate  mustr 
meanwhile,  bear  £5000  more." 

"  A  hard  pull  on  it.  You  had  really 
better  sell." 

"  I  cannot  afford  to  sell  at  present. 
I  cannot  afford  men  to  say,  '  Audley 
Egerton  is  done  up— his  property  is 
for  sale.' " 

"It  is  very  sad  when  one  thinks 
what  a  rich  man  you  have  been — and 
may  be  yet !  " 

"  Be  yet !    How  ?  " 

Baron  Levy  glanced  towards  the 
thick  mahogany  doors— thick  and  im- 
pervious as  should  be  the  doors  of 
statesmen.  "  Why,  you  know  that, 
with  three  words  from  you,  I  could- 


My  Novel;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life.— Part  XVI.          [Dec. 


698 

produce  an  effect  upon  the  stocks  of 
three  nations,  that  might  give  us  each 
a  hundred  thousand  pounds.  We 
would  go  shares." 

"  Levy,"  said  Egerton  coldly,  though 
a  deep  blush  overspread  his  face, 
"  you  are  a  scoundrel ;  that  is  your 
look-out.  I  interfere  with  no  man's 
tastes  and  conscience.  I  don't  intend 
to  be  a  scoundrel  myself.  I  have  told 
you  that  long  ago." 

The  Baron  laughed,  without  evinc- 
ing the  least  displeasure. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  are  neither 
wise  nor  complimentary,  but  you  shall 
have  the  money.  But  yet,  would  it 
not  be  better,"  added  Levy,  with  em- 
phasis, "to  borrow  it,  without  interest, 
of  your  friend  L'Estrange  ?  " 
Egerton  started  as  if  stung. 
"  You  mean  to  taunt  me,  sir  ! "  he 
exclaimed,  passionately.  "  I  accept 
pecuniary  favours  from  Lord  L'Es- 
trange !  I ! " 

"  Tut,  my  dear  Egerton,  I  dare  say 
my  Lord  would  not  think  so  ill  now 
of  that  little  act  in  your  life  which  — " 
"  Hold  ! "  exclaimed  Egerton,  writh- 
ing.    "Hold!" 

He  stopped,  and  paced  the  room, 
muttering  in  broken  sentences,  "  To 
blush  before  this  man !  Chastisement, 
chastisement ! " 

Levy  gazed  on  him  with  hard  and 
sinister  eyes.  The  minister  turned 
abruptly. 

"  Look  you,  Levy,"  said  he,  with 
forced  composure — "you  hate  me — 
why,  I  know  not.  I  have  never  in- 
jured you— never  avenged  the  inex- 
piable wrong  you  did  me." 

"  Wrong! — you  a  man  of  the  world  ! 
Wrong !  Call  it  so  if  you  will,  then," 
he  added  shrinkingly,  for  Audley's 
brow  grew  terrible.  "  But  have  I  not 
atoned  it?  Would  you  ever  have 
lived  in  this  palace,  and  ruled  this 
country  as  one  of  the  most  influential 
of  its  ministers,  but  for  my  manage- 
ment— my  whispers  to  the  wealthy 
Miss  Leslie  ?  Come,  but  for  me  what 
would  you  have  been — perhaps  a 
beggar  ?  " 

"  What  shall  I  be  now  if  I  live? 
Then  I  should  not  have  been  a  beggar; 
poor  perhaps  in  money,  but  rich — 
rich  in  all  that  now  leaves  my  life 
bankrupt.  Gold  has  not  thriven  with 
me  ;  how  should  it  ?  And  this  fortune 
—it  has  passed  for  the  main  part  into 


your  hands.  Be  patient,  you  will 
have  it  all  ere  long.  But  there  is  one 
man  in  the  world  who  has  loved  me 
from  a  boy,  and  woe  to  you  if  ever 
he  learn  that  he  has  the  right  to  des- 
pise me ! " 

"  Egerton,  my  good  fellow,"  said 
Levy,  with  great  composure,  "you 
need  not  threaten  me,  for  what  inte- 
rest can  I  possibly  have  in  tale-telling 
to  Lord  L'Estrange  ?  As  to  hating 
you — pooh  !  You  snub  me  in  private, 
37ou  cut  me  in  public,  you  refuse  to 
come  to  my  dinners,  you'll  not  ask 
me  to  your  own ;  still,  there  is  no 
man  I  like  better,  nor  would  more 
willingly  serve.  When  do  you  want 
the  £5000  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  in  one  month,  perhaps 
not  for  three  or  four.  Let  it  be  ready 
when  required." 

"  Enough  ;  depend  on  it.     Have 
you  any  other  commands  ?  " 
"  None." 

"  I  will  take  my  leave,  then.  By 
the  by,  what  do  you  suppose  the 
Hazeldean  rental  is  worth — net  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  nor  care.  You 
have  no  designs  upon  that,  too  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  like  keeping  up  family 
connections.  Mr  Frank  seems  a  libe- 
ral young  gentleman." 

Before  Egerton  could  answer,  the 
Baron  had  glided  to  the  door,  and, 
nodding  pleasantly,  vanished  with 
that  nod. 

Egerton  remained,  standing  on  his 
solitary  hearth.  A  drear,  single  man's 
room  it  was,  from  wall  to  wall,  despite 
its  fretted  ceilings  and  official  pomp 
of  Bramah  escritoires  and  red  boxes. 
Drear  and  cheerless— no  trace  of  wo- 
man's habitation— no  vestige  of  intrud- 
ing, happy  children.  There  stood  the 
austere  man  alone.  And  then  with  a 
deep  sigh  he  muttered,  "Thank  heaven, 
not  for  long— it  will  not  last  long." 

Repeating  those  words,  he  mechani- 
cally locked  up  his  papers,  and  pressed 
his  hand  to  his  heart  for  an  instant, 
as  if  a  spasm  had  shot  through  it. 

"  So — I  must  shun  all  emotion  !  " 
said  he,  shaking  his  head  gently. 

In  five  minutes  more,  Audley  Eger- 
ton was  in  the  streets,  his  mien  erect, 
and  his  step  firm  as  ever. 

"That  man  is  made  of  bronze," 
said  a  leader  of  the  Opposition  to  a 
friend  as  they  rode  past  the  minister. 
"  What  would  I  give  for  his  nerves !  " 


1851.] 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


699 


JOHNSTON'S  NOTES  ON  NORTH  AMERICA. 


PROFESSOR  JOHNSTON  had  three 
objects  in  view  in  his  visit  to  the  New 
World.  His.  high  reputation  as  an 
agricultural  chemist  had  induced  the 
Agricultural  Society  of  New  York  to 
request  him  to  give  a  course  of  lectures 
at  Albany  upon  the  connection  of  che- 
mical and  geological  science  with  that 
of  the  cultivation  of  land.  He  had  also 
been  commissioned  by  the  Govern- 
ment of  New  Brunswick  to  examine 
and  report  on  the  agricultural  capabi- 
lities of  that  province.  And  besides 
these  public  duties,  he  was  impelled 
by  a  strong  desire  to  study  the  actual 
position  of  the  art  of  husbandry  in  the 
fertile  regions  of  the  West,  and  the 
influence  which  its  progress  is  likely 
to  exert  upon  British  agriculture. 

Our  shrewd  brother  Jonathan,  how- 
ever brilliant  his  achievements  have 
been  in  other  arts,  has  not  hitherto 
earned  any  great  reputation  as  a  scien- 
tific farmer.  Nature  has  been  so  boun- 
tiful to  him,  that,  with  "  fresh  fields 
and  pastures  new  "  ever  before  him, 
he  has  hitherto  had  no  need  to  resort 
to  the  toilsome  processes  and  anxious 
expedients — "  curis  acuens  mortalia 
corda" — of  our  Old  World  systems 
of  agriculture.  On  the  newer  lands 
of  the  Union,  at  least,  the  rotations 
followed,  the  waste  of  manures,  and 
the  general  contempt  of  all  method 
and  economy,  are  such  as  would 
break  the  heart  of  a  Haddingtonshire 
u  grieve,"  and  in  a  couple  of  seasons 
convert  his  trim  acres  into  a  howling 
wilderness.  What  would  our  respect- 
ed friend  Mr  Caird  say  to  a  course 
of  cropping  like  the  following,  which, 
though  given  by  Professor  Johnston  as 
a  specimen  of  New  Brunswick  farm- 
ing, is  the  usual  method  followed  on 
most  of  the  new  soils  of  North 
America? — 

*'  He  cuts  down  the  wood  and  burns 
it,  then  takes  a  crop  of  potatoes,  follow- 
ed by  one  of  wheat,  with  grass  seeds. 
Nine  successive  crops  of  hay  follow  in  as 
many  years ;  after  which  the  stumps 
are  taken  up,  the  land  is  ploughed,  a 


crop  of  wheat  is  taken;  it  Is  then 
manured  for  the  first  time,  or  limed, 
and  laid  down  again  for  a  similar  succes- 
sion of  crops  of  hay.  This  treatment 
is  hard  enough;  but  the  unskilful  man, 
after  burning  and  spreading  the  ashes, 
takes  two  or  three  more  crops  of  grain, 
leaves  it  to  sow  itself  with  grass,  then 
cuts  hay  as  long  as  it  bears  a  crop  which 
is  worth  cutting — after  all  which  he 
either  stumps  and  ploughs  it,  or  leaves 
it  to  run  again  into  the  wilderness 
state."—  (Johnston,  vol.  i.  p.  104.) 

Such  a  system  seems,  at  first  sight, 
to  argue  a  barbarous  ignorance  of  the 
very  first  elements  of  agriculture ; 
and  yet,  as  Professor  Johnston 
remarks,  "  we  English  farmers  and 
teachers  of  agricultural  science,  with 
all  our  skill,  should  probably,  in  the 
same  circumstances,  do  just  the 
same,  so  long  as  land  was  plenty, 
labour  scarce  and  dear,  and  markets 
few  and  distant."  Let  no  one  sup- 
pose that  our  wide-awake  kinsman 
does  not  know  perfectly  well  what 
he  is  about.  His  apparently  rude 
agricultural  practice  is  regulated  by 
a  maxim  which  some  of  our  Mechista 
at  home  would  do  well  to  bear  in 
mind  —  that  high  farming  is  bad 
farming  if  it  is  not  remunerative. 
He  knows  that  to  manure  his  land 
would  be  to  insure  the  lodging  and 
destruction  of  his  crops,  and  he 
therefore  leaves  his  straw  to  wither 
in  the  fields,  and  lives  on  in  blessed 
ignorance  of  the  virtues  and  cost  of 
guano.  To  plough  deep  furrows  in 
a  virgin  soil,  saturated  with  organic 
matter,  would  be  an  idle  waste  of 
labour;  and  the  primitive  Tripto- 
lemus  of  Michigan  scatters  the  seed 
upon  the  surface — or,  raising  a  little 
mould  on  the  point  of  a  hoe,  drops 
in  a  few  grains  of  maize,  covers 
them  over,  and  heeds  them  no  more 
till  the  golden  pyramids  are  ripe  for 
the  knife.  The  first  three  crops, 
thus  easily  obtained,  generally  repay- 
to  the  settler  in  the  wilderness  the 
expense  of  felling  the  timber,  burning, 
and  cultivating.  If  he  then  abandon 


Note*  on  North  America,  Agricultural,  Social,  and  Economical.   By  JAMES  F.  W, 
JOHNSTON,  M.A.,  F.R.SS.L.  and  K,  &c.    Two  Vols.  post  8vo.     William  Blackwood 

&  Sons. 


700 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


[Dec, 


it,  he  is  at  least  no  loser;  but  for 
eight  or  ten  years  the  soil  will  still 
continue  to  produce  crops  of  natural 
hay;  and  then,  having  extracted 
from  it  all  that  its  spontaneous 
fertility  will  yield,  he  sells  his  pos- 
session for  what  it  may  bring,  and 
moves  off  westward  to  repeat  the 
same  exhaustive  process  on  a  fresh 
portion  of  the  forest,  leaving  to  his 
successor  the  task  of  reinvigorating 
the  severely  tested  powers  of  the  soil 
by  rest  and  restoratives. 

This  locust -like  progress  of  the 
American  settler  —  ever  on  the  move 
to  new  lands,  and  leaving  comparative 
barrenness  in  his  track  —  must  evi- 
dently place  the  case  of  America 
beyond  the  sphere  of  those  ordinary 
laws  of  political  economy  which  are 
applicable  in  European  countries;  and 
Professor  Johnston  seems  to  consider 
the  fact  of  the  incessant  exhaustion 
and  abandonment  of  lands  as  the 
chief  key  to  a  right  understanding  of 
the  peculiar  economical  position  of 
the  United  States.  The  owner  of 
land  in  the  older  and  more  populous 
States,  who  has  not  learnt  to  apply 
a  restorative  system  of  culture, 
derives  little  benefit  from  the  com- 
parative advantage  of  situation,  while 
the  inhabitants  of  the  towns  and 
villages  around  him  are  fed  with  the 
surplus  spontaneous  produce  of  the 
far  off  clearings  in  Ohio  or  Missouri. 
But  these  in  their  turn  become  worn 
out— and  as  cultivation  travels  on 
westward,  the  chief  centres  of  agri- 
cultural production  are  gradually  re- 
ceding farther  and  farther  from  the 
chief  centres  of  population  and  con- 
sumption;  and  this  increasing  dis- 
tance, and  consequent  cost  of  trans- 
port, is  every  year  enhancing  the  price 
of  grain  in  the  busy  and  crowded 
marts  of  the  West— ever  filling  up 
with  the  incessant  stream  of  immi- 
gration from  Europe.  Such  is  Mr 
Johnston's  view  of  the  present  nor- 
mal condition  of  the  Union  in  regard 
to  the  sustenance  of  her  people  ;  and 
he  makes  it  the  ground- work,  as  we 
shall  presently  see,  of  certain  rather 
doubtful  inferences,  of  some  importance 
in  their  bearing  on  the  agriculture  of 
this  country.  One  consequence,  how- 
ever, of  any  material  increase  in  the 
price  of  food  in  the  Eastern  States  of 
the  Union  is  very  obvious — the  pro- 


prietor of  land  in  these  districts  will 
gradually  be  enabled  to  apply,  with 
profit  to  his  exhausted  soil,  the  artifi- 
cial aids  and  costlier  system  of  cul- 
ture followed  in  Britain.  Already  this 
result  is  apparent  in  Professor  John- 
ston's account  of  the  energetic  spirit 
of  agricultural  improvement  which  is 
rapidly  spreading  over  most  of  the 
New  England  States.  In  the  keen, 
restless,  and  enterprising  New  Eng- 
lander,  our  Old  Country  farmers  will 
undoubtedly  find  a  more  formidable 
competitor,  for  the  honour  of  the  first 
place  in  agricultural  advancement, 
than  any  they  have  yet  met  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic.  We  have  seen 
this  year  what  his  invention  can  pro- 
duce in  mechanical  contrivances  for 
economising  the  labour  of  the  field ; 
and,  that  he  is  not  indifferent  to  the 
aids  which  science  can  afford  him,  is 
sufficiently  proved  by  the  occasion  of 
that  visit  to  America  of  which  Pro- 
fessor Johnston  has  here  given  so  plea- 
sant and  instructive  a  record.  The 
invitation  was  not  more  creditable  to 
the  character  of  the  Professor,  than  to 
the  discernment  of  the  zealous  and 
patriotic  men  who  thus  showed  how 
correctly  they  apprehend  the  true 
method  of  improving  their  fine 
country.  His  engagement  was  ful- 
filled during  the  sitting  of  the  State- 
Legislature  at  Albany  in  January 
1850,  when  the  hall  of  the  Assembly 
was  given  up  to  him  as  a  lecture- 
room  ;  the  leading  members  of  the 
Assembly  and  of  the  State  Agricul- 
tural Society  were  among  his  auditors, 
and  the  greatest  public  interest  was 
evinced  in  the  important  subjects  of 
his  prelections. 

It  is  apparent,  from  many  passages 
of  the  Notes,  that  the  author  ha3 
listened  too  confidingly  to  the  flatter- 
ing tale — the  u  canor  mulcendas  natus 
ad  aures  "  of  the  syren  of  Free  Trade. 
He  seems  to  be  gifted  with  a  strong 
natural  faith,  and  a  patriotic  confi- 
dence in  what  British  enterprise,  and 
especially  British  agriculture,  can. 
achieve  in  the  way  of  surmounting 
difficulties.  It  is  not  perhaps  to  be 
wondered  at  that  one,  whose  profes- 
sional pursuits  naturally  lead  him  to 
place  a  high  value  upon  the  aids  which 
science  has  in  store  for  the  agricul- 
turist, should  encourage  the  farmer 
to  think  lightly  of  his  present  difficul- 


1851.] 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


701 


ties,  and  keep  up  his  spirits  with  the 
hope  of  some  paulo-post-future  pro- 
sperity. It  must  be  allowed  that  the 
farmer,  poor  fellow,  has  not  wanted 
abundance  of  kind  friends  to  comfort 
him  in  his  adversity.  Generally, 
however,  their  consolations  —  like 
those  of  the  sympathetic  Mrs  Gamp — 
have  been  rather  indefinite—vague 
moralisings  upon  his  calamity,  as  if 
it  were  some  inevitable  stroke  of  Pro- 
vidence, to  be  bowed  to  in  silent 
resignation,  and  hazy  anticipations  of 
good  luck  awaiting  him.  Others, 
again — who  have  professed  the  great- 
est friendship  for  him,  and,  like  the 
Knight  of  Netherby,  have  come  down 
to  hearten  up  the  broken-down  man 
by  imparting  to  him  some  plan  of 
theirs,  as  sheep-pasturage  or  the  like, 
for  setting  him  on  his  legs  'again — • 
are  mentally  taking  an  inventory  of 
his  remaining  chattels,  and  calculat- 
ing when  to  send  the  sheriff's  officer. 
But  Professor  Johnston  belongs  to 
neither  of  these  classes  of  comforters. 
His  opinion,  we  know,  is  at  least 
disinterested,  and  he  brings  it  before 
us  in  the  shape  of  a  distinct  proposi- 
tion— viz.,  that  the  wheat-exporting 
capabilities  of  the  United  States  are 
not  so  great  as  have  generally  been 
supposed,  and  that,  as  they  must 
diminish  rather  than  increase  in 
future,  the  prospect  of  competition 
with  American  produce  need  cause  no 
alarm  to  the  British  farmer. 

This  opinion,  coming  from  such 
an  authority,  claims  a  deliberate 
examination  ;  and  the  more  so  that, 
in  the  dearth  of  other  gratulatory 
topics,  it  has  been  eagerly  laid  hold 
of  by  the  Edinburgh  Review,  the 
Economist,  and  other  Free -Trade 
organs,  and  vaunted  as  a  complete 
proof  that  protective  duties  are  quite 
unnecessary. 

The  reasons  which  Professor  John- 
ston assigns  for  believing  that  the 
present  wheat-exporting  powers  of  the 
United  States  have  been  exaggerated, 
may  be  passed  over  with  very  little 
comment.  The  Board  of  Trade  re- 
turns leave  no  room  for  doubt  as  to 
the  quantity  that  has  actually  reached 
this  country,  and  it  is  therefore  un- 
necessary for  us  to  follow  him  through 
his  hypothetical  estimate  of  the  ex- 
portable grain,  grounded  on  what 
they  ought  to  have  had  to  spare  for 


us.  We  may  remark,  however,  that 
the  data  on  which  his  calculations 
proceed  are  far  from  satisfactory.  He 
shows  that  all  the  wheat  produced  in 
the  United  States,  as  given  in  the 
estimates  of  the  Patent  Office,  is  in- 
adequate to  afford  the  eight  bushels 
which  in  England  we  reckon  to  be 
requisite  for  the  annual  supply  of 
each  inhabitant — the  population  of 
the  Union  being  about  twenty- one 
millions,  and  the  produce  of  wheat  one 
hundred  and  twenty-seven  millions 
of  bushels.  He  does  not  overlook 
altogether  the  fact  that  wheat  is 
not  in  America,  as  it  is  with  us,  al- 
most the  sole  cereal  food  of  the 
people ;  and  he  admits  that  a  con- 
siderable allowance  must  be  made 
for  the  consumption  of  Indian  corn 
instead  of  wheat.  But  how  much  ? — 
That  is  the  question.  The  compilers 
of  the  State  Papers  at  Washington 
estimate  that  Indian  corn,  buckwheat, 
and  other  grain,  form  so  large  a  pro- 
portion of  the  food  of  the  people,  that 
they  require  only  three  bushels  of 
wheat  per  head  ;  and  no  doubt  they 
have  good  grounds  for  this  calculation. 
Professor  Johnston,  however,  with- 
out indicating  any  reason  whatever 
for  his  assumption,  has  set  down  the 
consumption  of  each  individual  atjfoe 
bushels  per  annum  ;  and  thus,  by  a 
stroke  of  his  pen,  he  reduces  the  ave- 
rage exportable  surplus  of  the  Union 
to  only  three  millions  of  quarters. 

As  to  what  may  be  expected  in  fu- 
ture— Professor  Johnston  anticipates 
the  gradual  diminution  of  the  supply, 
from  the  circumstance,  already  ad- 
verted to,  of  the  progressive  exhaus- 
tion of  the  newer  lands  of  the  Union, 
and  the  rapid  increase  of  population 
in  the  old.  If  several  of  the  Western 
States,  he  argues,  have  even  already 
ceased  to  raise  enough  wheat  for  the 
supply  of  their  present  inhabitants, 
and  are  compelled  to  draw  largely  on 
the  produce  of  the  remote  States  of 
Illinois,  Ohio,  &c. — and  if  the  pro- 
ductive power  of  these  new  lands  is 
annually  becoming  less,  the  virgin 
soils  more  distant,  and  the  transport 
of  subsistence  more  difficult— if  this- 
is  the  state  of  matters  now,  what 
will  it  be  in  I860,  when  immigration 
and  natural  increase  will  probably 
have  raised  the  population  of  the 
Union  to  some  thirty-four  millions? 


702 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


4 '  It  is  very  safe,"  he  concludes,  "  to 
say  that  in  1860  their  wheat-export- 
ing capability  will  have  become  so 
small  as  to  give  our  British  farmers 
very  little  cause  for  apprehension."  It 
may  perchance  occur  to  these  gentle- 
men, that  the  consolation  Professor 
Johnston  here  offers  them  is  not  very 
cheering  after  all ;  and  as  long  as 
they  see  the  provision  stores  in  every 
market  town  piled  up  with  the  in- 
terloping flour  barrels  of  New  York, 
and  their  own  waggons  returning 
home  with  their  loads  unsold,  it  is 
not  to  be  wondered  at  if  they  are 
not  greatly  exhilarated  with  the 
prospect  of  what  may  possibly  hap- 
pen nine  years  hence.  And  slender 
as  is  the  hope  deferred  here  held  out 
to  them,  it  rests,  we  fear,  on  very 
questionable  grounds. 

Professor  Johnston's  opinion  is 
founded  on  two  suppositions :  1st, 
That  the  exhaustion  of  the  Western 
States,  on  which  he  dwells  so  much,  is 
proceeding  so  rapidly  as  already  to 
affect  the  markets  of  the  eastern  dis- 
tricts ;  2d,  That  these  older  districts 
will  be  unable  to  increase  the  quantity 
of  produce  raised  within  their  own 
boundaries,  without  so  adding  to  its 
cost  as  to  prevent  its  being  profitably 
exported. 

As  to  the  first  supposition,  it  may 
be  conceded  that,  in  the  course  of 
time,  a  period  must  necessarily  come 
when  the  spontaneous  fertility  of  the 
newer-settled  States  will  cease  to 
yield  grain  with  the  same  bountiful 
abundance  it  has  done  hitherto.  But, 
when  may  that  period  be  expected 
to  arrive  ? — to  what  extent  has  ex- 
haustion already  taken  place  ? — and 
what  is  the  rate  of  its  progress  ?  For 
a  reply,  we  have  only  to  point  to 


[Dec. 

that  vast  territory,  bounded  by  the 
lakes  on  the  north  and  Ohio  on  the 
south,  comprising  the  five  States  of 
Ohio,  Indiana,  Illinois,  Michigan,  and 
Wisconsin — a  territory  eight  times 
the  size  of  England  and  Wales,  with 
a  population  about  equal  to  that 
of  Scotland,  containing  180,000,000 
acres  of  arable  land,  a  large  portion 
of  which  is  of  surprising  fertility — 
and  ask  whether  it  is  possible  to 
believe  that  it  has  already  reached 
the  turning  point  of  its  wheat-pro- 
ductiveness,* or  can  by  any  possibil- 
ity do  so  for  centuries  to  come? 
Why,  the  extent  of  land  advertised 
in  these  five  States  for  sale,  (which 
forms  only  a  fraction  of  what  still 
remains  in  the  hands  of  government,) 
is  greater  by  a  fourth  than  the  whole 
area  of  England ;  and  of  the  territory 
that  has  been  actually  sold,  it  is 
estimated  that  five-sevenths  is  still 
unreclaimed  from  the  wilderness. 
Then  look  at  the  means  of  transport 
provided  for  conveying  the  over- 
flowing abundance  of  those  rich 
alluvial  regions  to  the  markets  of  the 
East,  by  way  of  the  two  great  outlets 
— the  lakes  on  the  north,  and  the 
Mississippi  on  the  south.  The  cost  of 
such  transport  is  no  doubt  consider- 
able ;  the  conveyance  of  a  quarter  of 
wheat  from  the  centre  of  Illinois  to 
Boston,  by  New  Orleans,  averages 
about  16s.  6d.  But,  nevertheless,  so 
trifling  is  the  original  cost  of  produc- 
tion, that  immense  quantities  of  corn 
do  annually  reach  the  eastern  sea- 
board by  this  route,  a  considerable 
portion  of  which  is  re-shipped  to 
Liverpool,  and  sold  there  at  prices 
greatly  below  its  cost  of  production 
in  this  country.  The  annexed  tablet 
shows  the  remarkable  fact,  that,  of 


*  The  estimated  produce  of  wheat  in  these  five  States  in  the  year  1847  was 
38,400,000  bushels. 

t  Quantity  of  bread-stuffs  exported  from  the  whole  of  the  United  States,  and 
from  the  ports  of  New  York  and  Philadelphia,  in  the  years  1842-46  inclusive  : — 


United  States,    .     . 

New  York,    .     .     . 
Philadelphia,      .     . 

Total  of  both  ports, 

Wheat 
(bushels.) 

Flour 
(barrels.) 

Indian  Corn         Indian  Corn 
(bushels.)       !  (Meal  barrels.) 

2,691,711 

7,048,356 

4,764,450 

1,199,255 

1,985,900 
474,788 

2,610,944 
1,055,382 

2,443,733 
677,530 

242,294 
565,682 

2,460,688 

3,666,326 

3,121,263 

807,976 

1851.] 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


703 


the  whole  quantity  of  grain  exported 
from  the  United  States  in  the  five 
years  1842-6,  twelve-thirteenths  of 
the  wheat,  about  one-half  of  the 
flour,  and  a  large  proportion  of  the 
Indian  corn,  came  from  the  two  ports 
of  New  York  and  Philadelphia  alone. 
Now,  as  we  know  that  these  large 
supplies  were  not  grown  within  the 
confines  of  the  Eastern  States,  and 
must  have  been  brought  from  the 
westward,  the  inference  is  obvious 
that  the  two  causes  insisted  on  by 
Professor  Johnston — the  distance  of 
the  virgin  soils,  and  the  expense  of 
transport — are  as  yet  inoperative ;  or 
at  least  that  they  have  not  prevented 
the  transmission  of  grain  to  the  east 
in  such  vast  quantities,  as  not  only 
to  meet  the  wants  of  all  the  popula- 
tion of  that  part  of  the  Union,  but  to 
afford  an  average  surplus  for  exporta- 
tion to  other  countries  equivalent  to 
the  annual  maintenance  of  a  million 
and  a  half  of  men.  We  need  only 
mention  one  other  fact,  which  seems 
in  itself  a  sufficient  refutation  of  the 
theory  Professor  Johnston  has  taken 
up.  The  causes  which  he  thinks  are 
so  soon  to  dry  up  the  supplies  now  de- 
rived from  the  West  are  of  no  recent 
or  sudden  emergence.  The  process 
of  exhaustion  on  the  new  lands,  and 
the  rapid  population  of  the  old,  has 
been  going  on  for  many  years.  If, 
then,  these  causes  are  so  influential 
as  he  imagines,  their  eifects  should  at 
least  be  apparent  in  a  gradual  in- 
crease of  the  prices  of  bread-stuffs  in 
the  Eastern  States.  Now,  no  such 
effect  is  to  be  found.  On  the  con- 
trary, we  find  that,  during  the  last 
twenty  years,  the  price  of  wheat,  as 
well  as  of  maize,  in  the  chief  marts 
of  the  east,  has  been  steadily  dimin- 
ishing, instead  of  increasing .  We  ex- 
tract from  the  .returns  published  by 
the  Board  of  Trade  the  annexed 


comparison*  of  the  prices  of  wheat 
flour  at  New  York,  during  two  pe- 
riods, from  which  it  appears  that,  in 
the  very  State  where  the  results  of 
Professor  Johnston's  hypothesis  ought 
to  have  been  most  manifest,  the  expe- 
rience of  twenty  years  shows  a  reduc- 
tion of  price  instead  of  an  enhance- 
ment, notwithstanding  that  the  latter 
period  in  the  comparison  embraces 
the  years  of  the  potato  failure.  An 
examination  of  similar  returns  from 
Baltimore  and  New  Orleans  estab- 
lishes the  same  fact,  namely,  that 
the  tendency  of  prices  for  twenty 
years  past  is  not  upwards,  but  down- 
wards—  a  fact  quite  irreconcilable 
with  the  supposed  rapid  exhaustion 
of  the  wheat  soils  of  the  interior. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  Pro- 
fessor Johnston  was  unable  to  extend 
his  tour  to  these  granary  States  of  the 
West.  It  would  have  been  satisfac- 
tory to  have  had  from  him  an  esti- 
mate of  their  capabilities  founded  on 
actual  survey  and  personal  observa- 
tion, instead  of  indirect  inference. 
We  are  quite  ready  to  admit,  that 
many  of  the  accounts  of  those  regions 
which  have  reached  us,  drawn  up  to 
suit  the  purposes  of  speculators  in 
land,  are  of  very  dubious  authenticity, 
and,  like  the  stage-coach  in  which 
Mr  Dickens  travelled  to  Buffalo,  have 
"  a  pretty  loud  smell  of  varnish." 
But,  on  the  other,  hand,  we  cannot 
discredit  the  official  data  supplied  by 
the  State  papers — without  at  least 
stronger  grounds  than  those  inferences 
from  general  geological  structure 
which  Professor  Johnston  has  adduced 
to  disprove  the  alleged  fertility  of  the 
State  of  Michigan.  There  can,  of 
course,  be  no  more  valuable  criterion 
of  the  natural  agricultural  value  of  a 
country  than  is  afforded  by  its  geo- 
logy— provided  the  survey  be  suffi- 
ciently extensive  and  accurate.  But 


*  Comparative  statement  of  the  prices,  per  barrel,  of  best  wheat  flour  at  New- 
York,  (taken  from  the  Monthly  Averages)  in  1829-33,  and  1844-48  :— 


FIRST  PERIOD. 


1829, 

1830, 
1831, 
1832, 
1833, 


Dr.  6.23 
.  5.02 
.  5.84 
.  5.70 
.  5.70 


Average  of  five  years,          5.69 


SECOND  PERIOD. 

1844,  .    .    -Dr.  4.60 

1845,  ....  5.00 

1846,  ....  5.16 

1847,  ....  6.77 

1848,  .    .    .    .5.83 

Average  of  five  years,          5.47 


704 


JolmstorCs  Notes  on  Nortli  America. 


[Dec, 


it  is  difficult  to  follow  those  enthu- 
siasts in  the  science,  whom  we  occa- 
sionally find  drawing  the  most  start- 
ling deductions  from  very  narrow 
data  —  and  prophesying  the  future 
history  of  the  territory,  and  even  the 
character  of  its  inhabitants,  from  a 
glance  at  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  as 
the  Roman  augur  foretold  the  fate 
of  empires  from  the  entrails  of  his 
chickens. 

We  find,  for  example,  a  writer  of 
high  standing  in  America  accounting 
for  a  remarkable  diminution  in  the 
amount  of  bastardy  in  Pennsylvania, 
some  thirty  years  ago,  by  the  fact — 
that  the  settlers  at  that  time  had  got 
off  the  cold  clays  and  on  to  the  lime- 
stone! A  Scottish  geologist,  with 
more  apparent  reason  perhaps,  has 
founded  an  argument  for  an  extensive 
emigration  of  the  Highlanders  on  the 
prevalence  of  the  primitive  rocks  in 
the  north  and  west  of  Scotland.  It 
is  only  from  a  complete  and  systema- 
tic survey  that  we  can  venture  to 
predicate  anything  with  certainty  of 
the  future  agricultural  powers  of  a 
country  ;  and,  in  the  absence  of  such 
trustworthy  data,  we  must  be  con- 
tent to  estimate  the  future  wheat- 
productiveness  of  Michigan,  as  well  as 
of  the  other  States  we  have  named 
along  with  it,  from  what  we  know  of 
their  present  fertility,  and  of  the  vast 
extent  that  is  still  uncleared. 

As  to  New  York  and  the  other  old- 
settled  States  of  the  Union,  which  we 
are  told  do  not  now  produce  enough 
for  their  own  consumption,  are  we  to 
take  it  for  granted  that  they  are  al- 
ways to  continue  stationary,  and  to 
make  no  effort  to  keep  pace  with  the 
growing  demands  of  an  increasing 
population?  Professor  Johnston,  we 
observe  in  one  passage,  has  qualified 
his  opinion  as  to  the  prospective  dearth 
of  grain  by  this  curious  condition — 
"  Provided  no  change  takes  place  in 
their  agricultural  system.'1'1  But  what 
shadow  of  a  reason  can  be  given  for 
supposing  it  will  not  take  place  ?  The 
area  of  New  York  State  is  only  one- 
twelfth  less  than  that  of  England,  and 
is,  at  least,  no  way  inferior  as  to  cli- 
mate or  quality  of  soil.  As  far  as 
material  means  go,  it  is  quite  capable 


of  maintaining,  under  an  improved 
culture,  at  least  four  times  its  pre- 
sent population  of  three  millions. 
The  only  question  is  as  to  the  will 
and  ability  of  her  people  to  develop 
these  means ;  and  on  this  point  Pro- 
fessor Johnston's  own  work  is  full 
of  multiplied  proofs  of  the  zealous 
and  intelligent  spirit  of  improvement 
which  is  extending  rapidly  all  over 
the  North-Eastern  States.  We  find 
the  central  government  of  the  Con- 
federation occupied  in  organising  the 
plan  of  an  Agricultural  Bureau  on  a 
scale  worthy  of  a  great  and  enlight- 
ened nation — a  work  that  contrasts 
in  a  very  marked  way  with  the 
studious  neglect  which  such  subjects 
meet  with  from  the  government  of 
this  country.*  We  find  the  several 
State  legislatures  anxiously  encou- 
raging every  species  of  improve- 
ment— that  of  New  York,"  in  par- 
ticular, devoting  large  grants  to  the 
support  of  exhibitions ;  preparing  to 
found  an  Agricultural  College ;  dis- 
tributing widely  and  gratuitously  the 
annual  public  reports  on  the  state 
of  agriculture ;  and,  finally,  sending 
to  Europe  for  a  celebrated  chemist 
to  assist  in  maturing  their  plans,  and 
sitting — senators  and  great  officers  of 
state— at  the  feet  of  a  British  Gama- 
liel, laying  down  the  law  to  them  on 
the  true  principles  of  the  all-import- 
ant science  of  agriculture.  Nor  are 
the  owners  of  the  land  asleep.  It  is 
a  strong  indication  of  their  growing 
desire  for  information,  that  seven  or 
eight  agricultural  periodicals  are  pub- 
lished in  the  State  of  New  York  alone. 
Professor  Johnston  found  no  less  than 
fifty  copies  of  such  papers  taken  regu- 
larly in  a  small  town  in  Connecticut 
of  some  two  thousand  inhabitants ; 
and  he  had  occasion  to  observe,  in 
his  intercourse  with  the  farmers  of 
New  York,  their  general  acquaintance- 
with  the  geology  of  their  country,  and 
its  relation  to  the  management  of 
their  lands.  Their  implement-makers^ 
who  had  already  taught  us  the  use 
of  the  horse-rake,  the  cradle- scythe, 
and  the  improved  churn,  have 
recently  outstripped  us  by  the  inven- 
tion, or  at  least  the  great  improve- 
ment, of  the  reaping-machine,  the 


Vol.  ii.  p.  389. 


1851.] 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


705 


advantages  of  which  are  so  appre- 
ciated in  the  country  of  its  origin 
that  at  Chicago  1500  of  M'Cormick's 
machines  were  ordered  in  one  year. 
In  short,  the  proverbial  energy,  per- 
severance, and  sagacity  that  distin- 
guish our  Yankee  friends,  seem  now 
to  be  all  directed  towards  effecting  a 
change  of  system  in  the  management 
of  land  ;  and  the  true  question  is,  not 
whether  the  hitherto  laggard  progress 
of  American  agriculture  is  to  be  quick- 
ened in  future,  but  whether  we  shall 
be  able  to  keep  pace  with  it. 

But  then  Professor  Johnston  tells 
us  that  improvement  is  expensive,  and 
that  every  process  for  reviving  the 
dormant  powers  of  the  soil,  and  pre- 
serving their  activity,  must  necessarily 
be  attended  with  an  addition  to  the 
price  of  the  produce,  which  will  thus 
prevent  its  coming  into  competition 
with  that  of  England.  This  view  rests 
upon  a  fallacy,  which  we  are  sure  the 
author  must  have  drawn  from  hisread- 
iug  in  political  economy,  and  not  from 
his  experience  as  an  agriculturist.  It  is 
an  off-shoot  from  the  rent-theory,  (the 
pestilent  root  of  so  much  error  and 
confusion,)  which,  however,  we  shall 
not  notice  at  present,  further  than  by 
affirming,  in  direct  contradiction  to  it, 
that  improvements  do  not  necessarily, 
nor  generally,  involve  an  increase  of 
price.  Even  those  which  require  the 
greatest  outlay— even  a  complete  sys- 
tem of  arterial  drainage  all  over  the 
State  of  New  York,  instead  of  adding 
to  the  cost  of  wheat,  may  very  proba- 
bly reduce  it,  as  it  has  certainly  done 
in  this  country.  But  most  of  the  im- 
provements readily  available  in  the 
Eastern  States  involve  scarcely  any 
expenditure  at  all.  The  most  obvious 
and  effectual  is  to  save  and  apply 
the  manure,  which  is  now  wasted  or 
thrown  away  ;  and  when  that  proves 
insufficient,  abundant  supplies  of 
mineral  manures  are  easily  procur- 
able. On  the  exhausted  wheat-lands 
of  Virginia,  a  single  dressing  of  lime 
or  marl  generally  doubles  the  first 
crop.  Deposits  of  gypsum,  and  of 
the  valuable  mineral  phosphate  of 
lime,  seem  to  be  abundant  both  in 
New  York  and  New  Jersey.  Again, 
in  the  former  State,  where  the  com- 
mon practice  is  to  plough  to  a  depth 
of  not  more  than  four  inches,  the  sim- 
ple expedient  of  putting  in  the  plough 


a  few  inches  deeper  would  of  itself 
add  one-half  to  the  return  of  wheat 
over  a  very  large  district. 

On  the  whole,  so  far  from  seeing  any 
reason  to  anticipate,  with  Professor 
Johnston,  a  material  reduction  in  the 
quantity  of  our  wheat  imports  from 
the  States,  we  look  rather  to  see  it 
increased ;  and,  at  all  events,  we  have 
no  hesitation  in  saying,  that  to  en- 
courage our  English  farmers  to  expect 
a  cessation  of  competition  from  that 
quarter  is  to  deceive  them  with  very 
groundless  hopes. 

We  have  already  dwelt  at  consider- 
able length  on  this  topic,  both  be- 
cause of  the  prominent  place  it  occupies 
in  Professor  Johnston's  volumes,  and 
of  the  notice  which  his  speculations 
upon  it  have  attracted  in  this  country. 

It  has  been  mentioned  that  a  large 
proportion — probably  not  less  than 
one-half — of  the  cereal  food  consumed 
in  the  States  consists  of  maize  and 
buckwheat.  Mr  Johnston  always 
alludes  to  this  fact,  as  if  the  use  of 
these  grains  were  a  matter  of  com- 
pulsion—as if  the  Americans  resorted 
to  them  from  being  unable  to  afford 
wheaten  bread.  Now,  according  to 
the  information  we  have  from  other 
sources,  the  truth  is  just  the  reverse 
of  this.  We  are  told  that  in  the 
Eastern  and  Central  States,  as  well 
as  on  the  West  frontier  and  among 
the  slave  population,  the  various  pre- 
parations of  Indian  corn  are  becom- 
ing more  relished  every  year;  and 
that  the  extension  of  its  cultivation 
is  to  be  attributed,  not  to  the  failure 
of  the  wheat  crops,  but  to  a  growing 
preference  for  it  as  an  article  of  food. 
In  a  less  degree  the  use  both  of  oats 
and  buckwheat  seems  to  be  spread- 
ing in  the  States,  as  well  as  in  our 
own  colonies  of  New  Brunswick  and 
Canada  East ;  and  one  can  scarcely 
wonder  at  the  taste  for  the  latter 
grain,  after  reading  the  appetising 
descriptions  our  author  gives  of  the 
crisp  hot  cakes,  with  their  savoury 
adjuncts  of  maple-honey,  which  so 
often  formed  his  breakfast  during  his 
wanderings.  The  general  use  of  these 
three  kinds  of  grain— maize,  oats,  and 
buckwheat — has  somehow  come  to  be 
considered  by  political  economists  as 
indicative  of  a  low  degree  of  social 
advancement.  And  yet  we  know  that, 
in  the  countries  suited  to  their  growth, 


706 


a  given  area  of  ground  cultivated  with 
any  of  them  will  return  a  greater 
quantity  of  nutritious  food,  at  a  smaller 
expense  and  with  less  risk  of  failure, 
than  if  it  were  cropped  with  wheat. 
We  are  told  that  the  great  objection  to 
them  is,  that  their  culture  is  too  easy. 
Professor  Johnston  touches  upon  this 
notion  in  some  remarks  he  makes  on 
the  disadvantage  of  buckwheat  as  a 
staple  article  of  food.  The  objections 
to  it,  he  tells  us,  consist  in  the  ease 
with  which  it  can  be  raised,  the  rapidity 
of  its  growth,  and  the  small  quantity 
of  seed  it  requires :  it  induces,  he  says, 
like  the  potato,  an  indolent,  slovenly, 
and  exhausting  culture ;  and  "it  is 
the  prelude  of  evil,  when  a  kind  of 
food  that  requires  little  exertion  to 
obtain  it  becomes  the  staple  support 
of  a  people."  *  It  may  be  noticed  in 
passing,  that,  in  point  of  fact,  the 
results  alleged  are  at  least  not  uni- 
versal ;  for,  in  regard  to  this  very 
grain,  we  find  its  cultivation  preva- 
lent in  some  of  the  best-managed  dis- 
tricts of  the  hard-working,  provident, 
and  intelligent  Belgians.  But  taking 
the  axiom  as  it  stands,  we  cannot 
help  suspecting  that  there  is  some 
fallacy  lurking  at  the  bottom  of  it. 
Misled  by  what  we  have  observed  of 
the  Irishman  and  his  potato  diet,  we 
have  confounded  the  cum  hoc  with 
the  propter  hoc,  and  come  to  regard 
an  easily-raised  food  as  the  cause  of 
that  indolence  of  which  it  is  only  the 
frequent  indication.  It  were  other- 
wise a  most  inexplicable  contrariety 
between  the  physical  and  the  moral 
laws  which  govern  this  world,  that 
in  every  country  there  should  be  a 
penalty  of  social  wretchedness  and 
degradation  attached  to  the  use  of 
that  particular  food  which  its  climate 
and  soil  are  best  suited  to  produce. 
Can  it  be  supposed  that  the  blessings 
of  nature  are  only  a  moral  snare  for 
us,  and  that,  while  she  has  given  to 
the  American  the  maize  plant — oats 
to  the  Scotch  Highlander  —  rice  to 
the  Hindoo — the  banana  to  the  inha- 
bitant of  Brazil  —  a  regard  for  their 
social  well-being  requires  each  of 
them  to  renounce  these  gifts,  and  to 
spend  their  labour  in  extorting  from 
the  unwilling  soil  some  less  cougenial 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America.  [Dec. 

kind    of    subsistence?    Virgil    has 


warned  the  husbandman — 

"  Pater  ipse  colendi 
Haud  facilem  esse  viam  voluit." 

But  it  were  surely  a  dire  aggravation 
of  the  difficulties  of  his  task  if  his 
most  plentiful  harvest  were  also  the 
most  injurious  to  his  advancement 
and  true  happiness.  We  cannot 
now,  however,  examine  the  grounds 
of  a  doctrine  so  paradoxical,  and 
have  adverted  to  it  only  to  remark 
that  in  seems  destined  to  meet  with  a 
most  direct  practical  refutation  in 
North  America,  where  we  find  the 
habitual  use  of  what  we  choose  to 
consider  the  coarser  grains  associated 
with  the  highest  intelligence  and  the 
most  rapid  development  of  social 
progress.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  nature  of  the  food  generally 
used  in  any  nation  must  exert  an  im- 
portant influence  on  its  prosperity ; 
but  it  is  difficult  to  understand  how 
that  prosperity  should  be  promoted 
by  the  universal  use  of  that  variety 
which  costs  most  labour.  At  all 
events,  it  is  certainly  a  subject  of 
very  interesting  inquiry,  in  reference 
to  the  increasing  consumption  among 
ourselves  of  wheat — the  dearest  and 
most  precarious  species  of  grain, 
much  of  it  imported  from  other  coun- 
tries— and  its  gradual  abandonment 
in  North  America,  what  effect  these 
opposite  courses  may  have  on  the 
future  destinies  of  the  two  great 
branches  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race. 

Leaving  this  as  a  problem  for  po- 
litical economists,  let  us  now  follow 
him  in  his  visit  to  the  British  side 
of  the  St  Lawrence.  His  brief  three 
weeks'  survey  of  the  Canadas  did 
not,  of  course,  enable  him  to  form 
any  very  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  condition  of  these  provinces; 
and  he  prudently  abstains  from  pro- 
nouncing any  judgment  upon  the 
vexed  topics  of  Canadian  politics. 
His  presence  at  the  great  exhibition, 
at  Kingston,  of  the  Agricultural  So- 
ciety of  Upper  Canada,  gave  him  a 
good  opportunity  of  estimating  the 
progress  that  has  been  made  in  prac- 
tical agriculture.  The  stock,  as  well 
as  the  implements,  there  brought 


Vol.  i.  p.  80. 


1851.] 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


forward  in  competition  for  the  various 
premiums,  amounting  in  all  to  £1000, 
gave  most  satisfactory  indications  of 
improvement ;  while  the  large  attend- 
ance, and  the  interest  taken  in  the 
proceedings,  sufficiently  showed  that 
the  inhabitants  of  the  Upper  Province 
are  now  awake  to  the  necessity  of 
agricultural  improvement  as  the  main 
source  of  their  future  prosperity.    In 
a  country  where  eighty  per  cent  of 
the  whole  population  are  directly  en- 
gaged in  the  cultivation  of  the  soil, 
the  land  interest  is,  or  ought  to  be, 
predominant.    But  the  bitter  animo- 
sity of  political  parties,  and  the  abor- 
tive attempts  of  government  to  soothe 
and  reconcile    them,  have    hitherto 
stood  much  in  the  way  of  any  com- 
bined effort  towards  the  encourage- 
ment of  improved  cultivation.    The 
art  of  husbandry  is  not  likely  to  thrive 
in  a  country  where  every  man  is  bent 
on  proving  himself   a   Cincinnatus. 
Of  late,  however,  public  spirit  has 
shown  symptoms  of  taking  a  more 
wholesome  direction ;    and,  notwith- 
standing occasional  ministerial  crises 
and  political  explosions,  which  we  on 
this  side    the  water  are  sometimes 
puzzled  to  understand,  all  parties  in 
the  province  seem  now  fully  aware 
that   the    development  of  the   vast 
resources  of  their  fertile  soil  is  the 
only  road  to  permanent  prosperity. 
The  encouragement  of  local  competi- 
tions, the  provision  for  systematic  in- 
struction in  agriculture  in  the  colleges 
— which  Professor  Johnston  tells  us  is 
in  progress — and  the  introduction  of 
elementary  lessons  in  the  art  as  a  re- 
gular branch  of  common  school  learn- 
ing, are  all  steps  in  the  right  direction. 
It  is  precisely  in  such  a  community  as 
that  of  Canada  that  the  last-men- 
tioned kind  of  instruction  is  really  of 
essential    benefit.      From    the    last 
census  of  Upper  Canada,  it  appears 
that  there  are  sixty  thousand  owners 
of  land  in  the  province,  and  only  ten 
thousand    labourers    without    land. 
The  great  majority  of  the  boys  in 
the  ordinary  schools  will  become  pro- 
prietors, and,  at  the  same  time,  cul- 
tivators ;  and,  in  such  circumstances, 


707 


it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that 
the  youth  should  acquire  betimes  a 
competent  knowledge  of  the  princi- 
ples on  which  his  future  practice  is, 
or  ought  to  be,  founded — such  know- 
ledge as  will,  at  least,  enable  him  to 
shake  off  the  traditional  prejudices 
and  slovenly  habits  which  his  father 
may  have  imported  with  him  from 
Harris  or  the  County  Kerry. 

The    querulous    and    depreciatory 
tone  which  our  Canadian  fellow-sub- 
jects are  apt  to  employ  in  speaking  of 
their  country,  and   its  prospects,  is 
remarked  by  Professor  Johnston  as 
contrasting  oddly  with  the  unquali- 
fied adulation  of  everything  —  from 
the  national  constitution  to  the  navy 
button  —  which  one  constantly  hears 
from  his  republican  neighbour.     One 
consequence    of  this    habit    is,   the 
existence  of  a  prevalent  but  very 
mistaken  notion  that,  in  the  march  of 
social  advancement,  Canada  has  been 
completely  distanced  by  the  United 
States.    Professor  Johnston  has  been 
at  some  pains  to  demonstrate,  and  we 
think  most  successfully,  that  this  im- 
pression is  entirely  erroneous.    In- 
deed, if  we  only  recollect  the  history 
of  Canada  for  the  last  fifteen  years — 
the  disunion  of  her  own  people,  and 
the  reckless  commercial  experiments 
to  which  she  has  been  subjected  by 
the  home  government,  the  rapid  strides 
in  improvement — of  the  Upper  Pro- 
vince especially — are  almost  marvel- 
lous. As  a  corroboration  of  what  Pro- 
fessor Johnston  has  said  on  the  sub- 
ject, we  have  thrown  together  in  the 
subjoined   table,  collected  from  the 
Government   returns,    some    of  the 
most  striking  and  decisive  evidences 
of    the    recent    progress    of   Upper 
Canada.     In  certain  particulars,  no 
doubt,  she  is  outstripped  by  some  of 
those  districts  of  the  States  to  which 
from    time     to    time   extraordinary 
migrations    of   their  unsettled    and 
nomadic  population  have  been  di- 
rected. But  putting  such  exceptional 
cases  out  of  view,  the  inhabitants  of 
Canada    need    fear    no    comparison 
with  the  Union  in  all  the  chief  ele- 
ments of  national  advancement. 


708 


Johnstons  Notes  on  North  America. 

PROGRESS  OF  UPPER  CANADA, — 1837-47. 


[Dec. 


1837. 

1842. 

Increase 
per  cent. 

1847. 

Increase 
per  cent. 

Population,     . 

o96,721 

486,055 

22 

723,332 

48 

Number  of    cultivated 

acres  assessed  for  lo- 

cal taxes,    . 

4,736,268 

5,548,357 

17 

6,477,338 

1C 

Number  of  houses  as- 

sessed for  ditto,  . 

22,057 

31,638 

43 

42,937 

35 

Value  of  property  as- 

sessed, 

£4,431,098 

£6,913,341 

56 

£8,567,001 

23 

Number    of    carriages 

kept  for  pleasure, 

1,627 

2,188 

34 

4,685 

114 

Number  of  elementary 

schools, 

— 

927 

— 

2,464 

165 

Number  of  scholars  in 

ditto, 

— 

29,961 

— 

80,461 

170 

Number  of  cattle,    .         !          — 

504,963 

— 

565,848 

12 

Number  of  horses,  . 

— 

113,675 

— 

151,389 

33 

Number  of  sheep,    . 

^~ 

575,730 

~~ 

833,869 

45 

In  looking  at  the  great  sources  of 
wealth  possessed  by  these  provinces, 
our  attention  is  at  once  arrested  by 
the  growing  importance  of  the  St 
Lawrence  as  an  outlet  to  the  produce, 
not  only  of  the  Canadas,  but  of  a  vast 
area  of  the  States  territory.  With 
the  exception,  perhaps,  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, no  river  in  the  world  opens  up 
so  grand  a  highway  for  the  industry 
of  man  as  the  St  Lawrence,  with  the 
chain  of  vast  lakes  and  innumerable 
rivers  that  unite  with  it  in  the  two 
thousand  miles  of  its  majestic  progress 
to  the  ocean.  Never  was  there  an 
enterprise  more  worthy  of  a  great 
nation  than  that  of  surmounting  the 
obstacles  to  its  navigation,  and  com- 
pleting the  channels  of  connection 
with  its  tributary  waters  ;  and  nobly 
have  the  people  of  Canada  executed 
it.  Taking  into  account  the  infancy 
of  their  country,  and  the  amount  of  its 
population  and  revenue,  it  is  not  too 
much  to  say,  with  Mr  Johnston,  that 
their  exertions  to  secure  water-com- 
munication have  been  greater  than 
those  of  any  part  of  the  Union,  or 
any  country  of  Europe.  The  im- 
provements on  the  St  Lawrence  itself, 
and  the  canals  connected  with  it, 
have  already  cost  the  colony  two  mil- 
lions and  a  quarter  sterling,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  expenditure  of  £800,000 
by  the  home  government  on  the  con- 
struction of  the  Ricleau  Canal.  The 
results  of  this  liberal  but  judicious 


outlay  are  already  showing  themselves, 
not  only  by  the  rapidly -increasing 
Canadian  traffic  on  the  St  Lawrence, 
but  by  its  drawing  into  it,  year  after 
year,  a  larger  share  of  the  commerce 
of  the  States.  That  the  influx  of 
trade  from  the  south  must  ere  long 
vastly  exceed  its  present  amount,  is 
evident  from  a  consideration  of  the 
gigantic  projects  already  completed, 
or  in  course  of  construction,  for  effect- 
ing an  access  between  the  lakes  and 
the  fertile  regions  of  Ohio,  Indiana, 
and  Illinois,  &c.,  already  spoken  of, 
and  thus  saving  the  longer  and  cost- 
lier transit  by  the  Mississippi.  One 
of  the  Reports  of  the  State  of  New 
York  thus  speaks  of  them  : — 

"  Three  great  canals,  (one  of  them 
longer  than  the  Erie  Canal,)  embracing 
in  their  aggregate  length  about  one  thou- 
sand miles,  are  to  connect  the  Ohio  with 
Lake  Erie;  while  another  deep  aud  capa- 
cious channel,  excavated  for  nearly  thirty 
miles  through  solid  rock,  unites  Lake 
Michigan  with  the  navigable  waters  of 
the  Illinois.  In  addition  to  these  broad 
avenues  of  trade,  they  are  constructing 
lines  of  railroads  not  less  than  fifteen 
hundred  miles  in  extent,  in  order  to  reach 
with  more  ease  and  speed  the  lakes 
through  which  they  seek  a  conveyance  to 
the  seaboard.  The  circumstance,  more- 
over, is  particularly  important,  that  the 
public  works  of  each  of  these  great  com- 
munities are  arranged  on  a  harmonious 
plan,  each  having  a  main  line,  supported 
and  enriched  by  lateral  and  tributary 


1851.] 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


branches,  thereby  bringing  the  industry 
of  their  people  into  prompt  and  profitable 
action;  while  the  systems  themselves  are 
again  united,  on  a  grander  scale,  with 
Lake  Erie  as  its  common  centre." 

The  various  streams  of  the  trade 
from  the  interior  being  thus  collected 
in  the  lakes— which  form,  as  it  were, 
the  heart  of  the  system — there  are 
two  great  channels  for  its  redistribu- 
tion and  dispersion  through  the  mar- 
kets of  the  world.  These  are  the  St 
Lawrence,  and  the  Erie  Canal  with 
the  Hudson ;  and  the  vital  question 
as  regards  the  prosperity  of  Canada 
is.  by  which  of  these  outlets  will  the 
concentrated  traffic  of  the  lakes  find 
its  way  to  the  ocean  ?  Mr  Johnston 
has  devoted  considerable  attention  to 
this  subject,  and  assigns  two  good 
reasons  for  believing  that  the  St 
Lawrence  is  destined  immensely  to 
increase  the  share  which  it  has  already 
secured.  In  the  first  place,  the 
American  artery  is  already  sur- 
charged and  choked  up  ; — notwith- 
standing all  the  efforts  that  have 
been  made  to  expedite  the  traffic  on 
the  Erie  Canal,  it  has  been  found 
wholly  inadequate  to  accommodate 
the  immense  trade  pouring  in  from 
the  west ;  and,  secondly,  the  route 
of  the  St  Lawrence,  besides  being 
the  more  expeditious,  is  now  found 
to  be  the  cheaper  one.  In  a  docu- 
ment issued  by  the  Executive  Coun- 
cil of  Upper  Canada,  it  is  mentioned 
that  the  Great  Ohio  Kailway  Com- 
pany, having  occasion  to  import  about 
11,000  tons  of  railway  iron  from 
England,  made  special  inquiries  as  to 
the  relative  cost  of  transport  by  the 
St  Lawrence  and  New  York  routes, 
the  result  of  which  was  the  preference 
of  the  former,  the  saving  on  the  in- 
land transport  alone  being  11,000 
dollars.  There  seems  good  reason  to 
expect  that  a  considerable  portion  of 
the  Mississippi  trade  may  be  diverted 
into  the  Canadian  channel ;  but  put- 
ting this  out  of  view  altogether,  it  is 
certain  that  the  navigation  of  this 
glorious  river  is  every  year  becoming 
of  greater  importance  to  the  United 
States,  as  well  as  to  Britain  :  let  us 
hope  that  it  is  destined  ever  to  bear 
on  its  broad  breast  the  blessings  of 
peace  and  mutual  prosperity  to  both 
nations. 

After    a    rapid    glance  at  Lower 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXIV. 


709 

Canada,  Professor  Johnston  crossed 
the  St  Lawrence,  in  order  to  complete- 
the  survey  of  New  Brunswick,  which, 
before  leaving  England,  he  had  been 
commissioned  to  make  for  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  colony.  We  have  had 
no  opportunity  of  seeing  the  official' 
Report,  in  which  he  has  published 
the  detailed  results  of  his  observa- 
tions ;  but  the  valuable  information 
collected  in  these  volumes  has  strongly 
confirmed  our  previous  impression, 
that  the  resources  and  importance  of 
this  fine  colony  have  never  yet  been 
sufficiently  appreciated  at  home. 
With  an  area  as  nearly  as  possible 
equal  to  that  of  Scotland,  it  possesses 
a  much  larger  surface  available  for 
agriculture.  The  climate  is  healthy 
and  invigorating ;  it  is  traversed  by 
numerous  navigable  rivers  ;  its  rocks 
contain  considerable  mineral  wealth  ; 
and  the  fisheries  on  its  coasts  are  in- 
exhaustible. Imperfectly  developed 
as  its  resources  are,  the  trade  from 
the  two  ports  of  St  John's  and  Sfc* 
Andrew's  alone,  exceeds  that  of  the 
whole  of  the  three  adjoining  States  of 
the  Union  —  Maine,  Vermont,  and- 
New  Hampshire — although  its  inhabi- 
tants do  not  number  one- sixth  of  th® 
population  of  these  States.  As  to  the 
fertility  of  the  soil,  Professor  Johnston, 
by  a  comparison  of  authentic  returns, 
shows  that  the  productive  power  of 
the  land  already  cultivated  in  the 
province  considerably  exceeds  the 
averages  of  New  York,  of  Ohio,  and 
of  Upper  Canada — countries  which 
have  hitherto  been  considered  more- 
favoured  both  in  soil  and  climate. 
By  classifying  the  soils  in  the  several 
districts,  he  has  estimated  that  the 
available  land,  after  deducting  areserve 
for  fuel,  is  capable  of  maintaining  in 
abundance  a  population  of  4,200,000  ; 
while  its  present  number  little  ex- 
ceeds 200,000.  In  all  the  course  of 
his  travels,  he  met  with  but  a  few 
rare  instances  in  which  the  agricul- 
tural settlers  did  not  express  their 
contentment  with  their  circumstances ;. 
and  although  it  seems  still  question- 
able whether  farming  on  a  Large 
scale,  by  the  employment  of  hired 
labour,  can  be  made  remunerative, 
the  universal  opinion  of  the  experi- 
enced persons  he  consulted  testified 
that,  with  ordinary  prudence  and  indus- 
try, the  poorest  settler,  who  confines- 
2z 


710 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


[Dec. 


his  attention  to  tbe  clearing  and  cul- 
tivation of  land,  is  sure  of  attaining  a 
comfortable  independence. 

The  question  naturally  occurs — 
How  is  it  that,  with  all  these  natural 
advantages  and  encouragements  to  co- 
lonisation, and  with  its  proximity  to 
our  shores,  so  very  small  a  proportion — 
not  more  than  one  in  sixty  or  seventy 
of  the  emigrants  from  Great  Britain — 
make  New  Brunswick  their  destina- 
tion? Professor  Johnston,  while  he 
maintains  that,  taking  population  into 
account,  New  Brunswick  is  in  this 
respect  no  worse  off  than  Canada, 
adverts  to  several  causes  of  a  special 
nature  which  may  have  retarded  its 
settlement.  But  the  truth  is,  that 
the  question  above  started  leads  us 
directly  to  another  of  far  greater  com- 
pass and  importance — What  is  the 
reason  that  all  our  colonies  taken 
together  absorb  so  small  a  proportion 
of  our  emigrants  compared  with  the 
United  States  ?  What  is  the  nature 
of  the  inducements  that  annually 
impel  so  large  a  number  of  our  coun- 
trymen to  forfeit  the  character  of  Bri- 
tish subjects,  and  prefer  a  domicile 
among  those  who  are  aliens  in  laws, 
interests,  and  system  of  govern- 
ment? 

We  hardly  know  how  to  venture 


upon  anything  connected  with  the 
ominous  subject  of  emigration,  at  a 
moment  when  the  crowds  leaving  our 
shores,  at  the  rate  of  nearly  a  thou- 
sand every  day,  are  such  as  to  startle 
the  most  apathetic  observer,  and 
shake  the  faith  of  the  most  dogmatic 
economist  in  the  truth  of  his  specula- 
tions. This  is  not  the  place  to  in- 
quire what  strangely  compulsive  cause 
it  may  be  that  has  all  at  once  swelled 
the  ordinary  stream  of  emigration 
into  a  headlong  torrent.*  Mayhap  it 
is  neither  distant,  nor  doubtful,  nor 
unforetold.  But  whatever  it  may  be, 
there  stands  the  fact — which  we  can 
neither  undo,  nor,  for  aught  that  can 
be  seen  at  present,  prevent  its  annual 
recurrence  in  future,  or  say  how  and 
when  the  waves  are  to  be  stayed. 
"  When  the  Exe  runs  up  the  streets 
of  Tiverton,"  says  a  certain  noble 
prophet — whose  vaticinations,  how- 
ever, have  not  been  very  felicitous 
hitherto — "  then,  and  not  till  then, 
may  we  expect  to  see  the  reversal  of 
the  free-import  system ; "  and  then, 
and  not  till  then,  we  take  leave  to 
add,  may  we  hope  to  see  the  ebbing 
of  that  tide  of  British  capital  and 
British  strength  which  is  now  flow- 
ing strongly  and  steadily  into  the  bay 
of  New  York. 


PROPORTION  OF  BRITISH  EMIGRATION  TO  THE  COLONIES  AND  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES, 
1846-50  INCLUSIVE. 


Destination. 

1846. 

1847.        1848. 

1849. 

1850. 

Quarter 
ending  Sept 
30,  1851. 

United  States,      . 

45.1 

31.8 

57.3 

73.3 

79.4 

80.5 

British  America,  . 

33.4 

42.5 

12.5 

13.9 

11.7 

10.8 

All  other  place?,  . 

21.5 

25.7 

30.2 

12.8 

8.9 

8.7 

Total, 

100. 

100. 

100. 

100. 

100. 

100. 

The  accompanying  abstract,  from 
the  returns  of  the  Emigration  Com- 
missioners, exhibits  two  most  remark- 
able results : — 1st,  The  proportion  of 
emigration  to  British  America  and 
other  destinations  is  gradually  falling 
off ;  2d,  That  to  the  United  States  is 


steadily  and  rapidly  increasing,  so 
that  they  now  receive  four  out  of 
every  five  emigrants  who  leave  our 
shores.  Is  this  distribution  to  be 
regarded  as  a  matter  of  indifference 
in  a  political  point  of  view  ?  Are  we 
to  understand  that  it  is  no  concern  to 


*  Total  number  of  registered  emigrants  for  the  twenty-one  years  from  1825  to 

1845  inclusive,      ....         1,349,476— Average,    64,260 
Do.  do.  for  the  fite  years  1846  to  1850  inclusive,  1,216,557— Average,  243,311 


.1851.] 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


711 


us  who  remain  behind,  whether  the 
labour  and  capital  of  those  who  leave 
us  shall  go  to  fill  up  the  vacuum  of 
our  own  colonial  empire,  or  to  carry 
new  accessions  of  wealth  and  power 
to  those  in  whose  prosperity  (to  put 
the  matter  mildly)  we  have  only  a 
secondary  interest?  This  question 
the  consistent  Free-Trader  is  bound 
to  answer  unhesitatingly  in  the  affir- 
mative. In  his  cosmopolitan  philo- 
sophy, the  interests  of  one  country 
are  no  more  to  be  considered  than 
those  of  any  other.  The  theory  of 
absolute  freedom  of  exchange  ex- 
punges altogether  the  idea  of  nation- 
alism, and  regards  man,  not  as  a 
member  of  this  or  that  community, 
but  as  the  denizen  of  a  great  univer- 
sal republic.  Local  and  historical 
associations — ties  of  kindred  and  of 
birth — are  only  so  many  obstructions 
in  the  way  of  human  progress  ;  and 
an  Englishman  is  nothing  more  than 
the  subject  of  certain  animal  wants 
and  instincts,  the  gratification  of 
which  he  must  be  left  to  seek  wher- 
ever he  finds  the  materials  most 
abundant.  Such  is  Free  Trade  in  its 
true  scope  and  ultimate  tendency. 
What  shall  be  said,  then,  of  the  con- 
sistency or  sincerity  of  those  pseudo- 
apostles  of  the  doctrine,  who,  having 
been  the  most  active  in  promoting 
that  nibbling  and  piecemeal  legisla- 
tion which  they  choose  to  call  free- 
dom of  trade — who  have  been  loudest 
in  proclaiming  a  universal  commer- 
cial fraternity,  and  in  denouncing 
colonies  as  a  wasteful  encumbrance — 
are  now  the  first  to  take  alarm  at  the 
natural  and  inevitable  result  of  their 
own  measures,  and  to  call  out  for  a 
better  regulation  of  emigration ;  in 
other  words,  for  legislative  interfer- 
ence with  the  free  action  of  those 
of  our  countrymen  who,  being  thrust 
out  of  employment  in  the  land  of  their 
birth,  are  so  literally  following  out 
the  great  maxim  of  buying  in  the 
cheapest  market  and  selling  in  the 
dearest  ? 

The  text  is  a  tempting  one,  but  we 
must  refrain  from  wandering  further 
from  the  subject  with  which  we  start- 
ed— namely,  the  inducements  which 
lead  so  many  of  our  emigrants  to 
select  the  United  States  as  their 
future  home.  One  of  the  prevalent 
causes  has  been  very  well  stated  by 


Professor  Johnston— that  which  we 
may  call  the  capillary  attraction  of 
former  emigration : — 

"  A  letter  from  a  connection  or  ac- 
quaintance determines  the  choice  of  a 
place  to  go  to,  and,  without  further  in- 
quiry, the  emigrant  starts.  Thus  for  a 
while,  emigration  to  a  given  point,  once 
begun,  goes  on  progressively  by  a  sort  of 
innate  force.  Those  who  go  before  urge 
those  who  follow  by  hasty  and  inaccu- 
rate representations  ;  so  that,  the  more 
numerous  the  settlers  from  a  particular 
district,  the  more  numerous  also  the  in- 
vitations for  others  to  follow,  till  the 
fever  of  emigration  subsides.  In  other 
words,  in  proportion  as  the  home-born 
settlers  in  one  of  these  countries  increases, 
will  the  number  of  home-born  emigrants 
to  that  country  increase — but  for  a  time 
only,  if  the  place  have  real  disadvan- 
tages:3—(Vol.  ii.  p.  204.) 

It  is  vain  to  shut  our  eyes  to  the 
fact  that  the  government  of  the 
United  States  offers  to  the  emigrant 
many  real,  substantial,  and  peculiar 
advantages.  The  first  and  most  im- 
portant aid  that  can  be  given  to  the 
intending  settler  is  a  complete  and 
accurate  survey  of  the  country  ;  and 
this  has  been  accomplished  by  the 
States  government  at  great  expense, 
but  in  so  perfect  a  manner  that  a 
purchaser  has  no  difficulty  in  at  once 
pointing  out,  on  the  official  plan,  any 
lot  he  may  have  selected  in  the  most 
remote  corner  of  the  wilderness.  The 
next  point  of  importance  to  him  is 
simplicity  of  conveyance  and  security 
of  title ;  and  so  effectual  and  satis- 
factory is  the  American  system  that 
litigation  in  original  land-titles  is 
almost  unknown.  Then  as  to  the 
weighty  consideration  of  price  — 
which  perhaps  ought  to  have  been 
first  mentioned — the  uniform  and 
very  low  rate  in  the  States  of  5s.  3d. 
an  acre  saves  infinite  trouble,  dispu- 
tation, and  jealousy.  Such  are  some 
of  the  temptations  held  out  to  the 
intending  purchaser  of  land ;  and  it 
must  be  confessed  that,  in  each  parti- 
cular, they  present  a  striking  contrast 
to  the  difficulties  he  has  to  meet  in 
some  of  the  British  colonies — the 
arbitrary  changes  of  system,  the 
vexatious  delays,  and  the  compara- 
tively exorbitant  charges  —  which 
must  appear  to  the  settler  as  if  they 
had  been  contrived  on  purpose  to 


712 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


discourage  him.  When  we  add  to 
these  the  prospects  of  ready  employ- 
ment in  the  States  held  out  to  other 
classes  of  emigrants,  and  the  strin- 
gent laws  lately  made  for  their  pro- 
tection, both  on  the  passage  and  on 
their  arrival,  we  cannot  be  at  a  loss 
to  see  that  the  direction  which  emi- 
gration has  lately  taken  is  not  the 
result  of  chance  or  caprice,  but  of  a 
deliberate  comparison  of  advantages, 
which  the  most  ignorant  can  easily 
understand  and  appreciate. 

The  main  object  of  Professor  John- 
ston's visit  being  of  a  scientific  charac- 
ter, his  remarks  on  the  general  topics  of 
manners  and  politics  occur  only  inci- 
dentally ;  but  it  is  impossible  for  any 
traveller  to  keep  clear  of  such  sub.- 
jects  in  writing  of  a  country,  the 
peculiarities  of  which  are  pressed 
upon  his  notice  at  every  hour  of  the 
day,  and  at  every  corner  of  the 
street.  Rabelais  tells  us  of  a  certain 
island,  explored  by  the  mighty  Panta- 
grnel,  whose  inhabitants  lived  wholly 
upon  wind — that  is,  being  interpreted, 
on  flattery;  and  the  visitor  of  the 
States  who  finds  himself,  as  it  were, 
pinned  to  the  wall,  and  compelled  to 
yield  up  his  admiration  at  discretion, 
may  be  sometimes  tempted  to  be- 
lieve that  he  has  made  a  similar  dis- 
covery, and  that  the  flatulent  diet  of 
compliment  is  somehow  congenial  to  an 
American  appetite.  Professor  John- 
ston seems  to  have  had  his  candour  or 
his  eulogistic  powers  sometimes  se- 
verely tested,  if  we  may  guess  from  his 
quiet  hint,  that  "  it  is  unpleasant  to 
a  stranger  to  be  always  called  on  to 
admire  and  praise  what  he  sees  in  a 
foreign  country ;  and  it  is  a  part  of 
the  perversity  of  human  nature  to 
withhold,  upon  urgent  request,  what, 
if  unasked,  would  have  been  freely 
and  spontaneously  given."  He  is  of 
course  prepared  for  the  reception 
which  any  work,  aiming  at  mere 
impartiality,  is  sure  to  meet  with 
among  Transatlantic  critics;  and  it 
will,  therefore,  not  surprise  him  to 
find  that  the  above  peccant  sentence 
has  been  already  pounced  upon  by 
them  as  proving  malice  prepense,  and 
as  affording  a  significant  key  to  all 
his  observations  on  the  institutions 
of  the  States. 

The  following  extract  explains  the 
origin-  of  two  of  those  euphonious 


[Dee. 

party  designations  in  which  our 
neighbours  delight,  and  which  may 
perchance  have  puzzled  some  of  our 
readers : — 

"  In  England,  to  be  a  democrat  still 
implies  a  position  at  the  very  front  of 
the  movement  party,  and  a  desire  to 
hasten  forward  political  changes,  irre- 
spective of  season  or  expediency.  But 
among  the  American  democrats  there  is 
a  Conservative  and  a  Radical  party. 
The  former,  who  desire  to  restrain 
'the  amazing  violence  of  the  popular 
spirit,'  are  nicknamed  by  their  demo- 
cratic adversaries  the  '  Old  Hunkers-' 
the  latter,  who  profess  to  have  in  their 
hearts  ^  sworn  eternal  hostility  against 
every  form  of  tyranny  over  the  mind  of 
man,'  are  stigmatised  as  *  Barnburners.' 
The  New  York  Tribune)  in  reference  to 
the  origin  of  the  names  themselves,  says 
that  the  name  *  Hunkers  '  was  intended 
to  indicate  that  those  on  whom  it  was 
conferred  had  an  appetite  for  a  large 
'  hunk  '  of  the  spoils  ;  though  we  never 
could  discover  that  they  were  peculiar 
in  that.  On  the  other  hand,  the  '  Barn- 
burners '  were  so  named  in  allusion  to 
the  story  of  an  old  Dutchman  who  re- 
lieved himself  of  rats  by  burning  his 
barns,  which  they  infested,  just  like  ex- 
terminating all  banks  and  corporations, 
to  root  out  the  abuses  connected  there- 
with."—(Vol.  i.  p.  218.) 

Equally  mysterious  is  the  term 
"log-rolling,"  though  the  thing  itself 
is  not  altogether  unknown  in  legisla- 
tures nearer  home. 

"  When  the  trees  are  felled  and  trim- 
med, rolling  the  logs  to  the  rivers  or 
streams  down  which  they  are  to  be 
floated,  as  soon  as  the  spring  freshets  set 
in,  remains,  to  be  done.  This  being  the 
hardest  work  of  all,  the  men  of  several 
camps  will  unite,  giving  their  conjoined 
strength  to  the  first  party  on  Monday, 
to  the  second  on  Tuesday,  and  so  on.  A 
like  system  in  parliamentary  matters  is 
called  '  log-rolling. '  You  and  your 
friends  help  me  in  my  railroad  bill,  and  I 
and  my  friends  help  you  wfth  your  bank 
charter ;  or  sometimes  the  Whigs  and 
Democrats,  when  nearly  balanced,  will 
get  up  a  party  log-rolling,  agreeing  that 
the  one  shall  be  allowed  to  carry  through 
a  certain  measure  without  much  opposi- 
tion, provided  a  similar  concession  is 
granted  to  the  other."— (Vol.  ii.  p.  297.) 

The  Notes  convey  to  us  the  strong 
impression  that  Professor  John- 
ston's visit  to  the  West  has  operat- 
ed as  a  wholesome  corrective  of  a 


1851.] 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


certain  tendency  in  his 
cal  opinions.  He  seems 
left  home  with  a  warm 
ef  American  institutions  generally, 
which,  like  Slender's  love,  "  it  pleased 
heaven  to  diminish  on  further  ac- 
quaintance." At  all  events,  he  could 
not  avoid  being  struck  with  some  of 
the  many  perplexities  and  anomalies 
that  result  from  referring  everything 
directly  to  the  popular  voice.  In 
England,  whatever  dissensions  may 
arise  about  the  enactment  of  law,  all 
are  agreed  in  a  sensitive  jealousy  as  to 
the  purity  of  its  administration.  The 
most  rampant  Radical  among  us  looks 
upon  justice  as  far  too  sacred  a  thing 
to  be  hazarded'  in  the  rude  chance- 
medley  of  popular  election.  The 
keenest  partisan  feels  that,  in  the  lofty 
and  unswerving  integrity  of  our 
judges,  he  possesses  a  substantial 
security  and  blessing,  for  the  loss  of 
which  no  place,  power,  or  parlia- 
mentary triumph,  could  compensate. 
To  one  accustomed  to  regard  with 
veneration  the  dignified  independence 
of  the  judicial  office  in  Great  Britain, 
nothing  will  appear  more  harshly  re- 
pugnant to  sound  policy  than  the 
system,  lately  introduced  into  some  of 
the  New  England  States,  of  appoint- 
ing all  judges,  high  and  low,  by  the 
votes  of  the  electors  of  the  district 
over  which  they  are  to  preside,  and 
for  a  limited  term  of  years. 

tf  It  was  deservedly  considered  a  great 
triumph  when  the  appointment  of  judges 
for  life  liberated  the  English  bench  from 
the  influence  of  the  Crown,  and  when 
public  opinion  became  strong  enough  to 
enforce  the  selection  of  the  most  learned 
in  the  law  for  the  highest  judicial  offices. 
Now,  passing  over  the  objection  which 
some  will  strongly  urge,  that  the  popular 
electors  are  not  the  best  judges  of  the 
qualifications  of  those  who  aspire  to  the 
bench,  and  that  the  most  popular  legal 
demagogue  may  expect  to  obtain,  from 
them  the  highest  legal  appointment,  it 
may  be  reasonably  asked  whether  popu- 
lar influence  in  seasons  of  excitement, 
and  on  questions  of  great  moment,  may 
not  bias  the  minds  of  judges  whose  ap- 
pointment is  in  the  hands  of  the  people  ? 
— whether  the  fear  of  a  coming  election 
may  not  deter  them  from  unpopular  deci- 
sions ?  The  influence  of  a  popular  majo- 
rity may  here  as  profoundly  pollute  the 
fountains  of  justice  as  the  influence  of  the 
Crown  ever  did  among  us  at  home." — 
(Vol.  i.  p.  150.) 


713 


politi-  At  first  sight,  it  seems  quite  un- 
3  to  have  accountable  that  an  enlightened  people 
admiration  should  ever  have  devised  or  sanctioned 
a  system  which  so  obviously  exposes 
the  bench  to  the  risk  of  corruption  ; 
and  one  is  at  a  loss  to  reconcile  a 
reverence  for  the  law  with  an  ordi- 
nance that  subjects  her  minister  to 
the  ordeal  of  canvassing  and  cajoling 
all  and  sundry — perhaps  the  very 
men  who  may  next  day  be  in  the 
dock  before  him.  But  the  root  of  the 
anomaly  is  not  hard  to  find.  Into 
the  purest  of  republics  ambition  and 
cupidity— the  love  of  office  and  the 
love  of  dollars— will  force  their  way. 
But  then,  under  that  form  of  consti- 
tion,  situations  of  trust  and  emolu- 
ment are  necessarily  few  in  compari- 
son to  the  number  of  candidates  for 
them.  The  offices  in  the  civil  depart- 
ments of  the  United  States  govern- 
ments are  not  numerous.  The  navy 
employs  altogether  some  five  hundred 
officers  above  the  rank  of  midshipman 
— exactly  the  number  of  our  post- 
captains  ;  and  the  whole  army  of  the 
Confederation,  rank  and  file,  musi- 
cians and  artificers  included,  is  very 
little  over  ten  thousand  men.  There 
is  little  temptation  to  enter  the  medi- 
cal profession,  in  which  learning  and 
experience  go  for  nothing,  and  a 
Brodie  is  precisely  on  a  level  with 
a  u  Doctor  Bokanky  ;  "  —  nor  the 
Church,  in  which  the  pastor  is  hired 
by  the  twelvemonth,  and  is  thought 
handsomely  paid  with  a  wage  of  £100 
a-year.  What  field,  then,  remains 
for  the  aspiring  spirit  but  the  law  ? — 
and  what  wonder  if  the  sixteen  thou- 
sand attorneys,  who,  we  are  told, 
find  a  living  in  the  States,  and  take  a 
leading  part  in  the  management  of 
all  public  business,  should  vote  "  the 
higher  honours  of  the  profession  "  far 
too  few  to  be  retained  as  perpetual 
incumbencies?  Hence  has  sprung 
the  device  of  popular  election  to,  and 
rotation  in,  the  sweets  of  office, 
which,  by  "passing  it  round,"  and 
giving  every  one  a  chance,  is  designed 
to  render  it  as  generally  available  as 
possible.  The  constitution  of  the 
judiciary  is  not  uniform,  but  varies  in 
almost  every  different  state.  In  New 
York,  the  Judges  of  Appeals,  as  well 
as  those  of  the  Supreme  and  Circuit 
Courts,  are  elected  by  the  people 
at  large,  and  for  a  term  of  eight 


714 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


years,  each  leaving  office  in  rota- 
tion. In  New  Jersey  they  are 
appointed  for  six  years  by  the  gov- 
ernor and  senate ;  in  Vermont,  an- 
nually by  the  legislature.  In  Con- 
necticut nearly  the  same  system  pre- 
vails as  that  in  Vermont;  while  in 
Massachusetts  the  judges  retain  office 
41  during  good  behaviour."  The  sala- 
ries are  not  less  various,  in  some 
States  the  remuneration  of  judges  of 
supreme  courts  being  £500  a-year, 
which  is  about  the  highest  rate ;  and 
in  others  so  low  as  £180.  There  are 
no  retiring,  allowances  in  any  case; 
and  as  they  are  thus  liable  to  be 
thrown  out  of  office  at  an  uncertain 
period,  or  compelled  to  vacate  it 
after  a  short  term  of  years,  it  can 
scarcely  be  expected  that  such  remu- 
neration will  secure  the  highest  grade 
of  legal  acquirements,  either  for  the 
bench  itself,  or  for  the  inferior  offices 
of  attorney-generalships  and  chief- 
clerkships,  which  are  all  held  by  the 
same  lax  tenure  of  popular  favour. 
Even  if  the  system  has  "  worked 
well,"  as  it  is  said  to  have  done  by 
American  writers,  during  the  four  or 
five  years  it  has  been  in  operation  in 
New  York— even  if  it  be  true  that 
the  lawyers  of  the  Empire  State  have, 
by  avoiding  the  snares  thrown  in 
their  way,  given  proof  individually  of 
the  probity  of  Cato,  and  of  a  con- 
stancy worthy  of  Socrates,  we  still 
say  that  the  State  does  wrong  in  put- 
ting their  virtues  to  such  a  test.  Mr 
Johnston  supplies  us  with  an  example 
of  the  temptation  it  holds  out  to  a 
dangerous  pliancy  of  principle.  Most 
of  our  readers  must  be  aware  of  the 
existence  of  an  active  and  noisy  party 
in  the  States,  who,  under  the  name  of 
"  Anti-renters,"  are  seeking  to  free 
themselves  from  payment  of  certain 
reserved  rents,  or  feu-duties,  as  they 
would  be  termed  'in  Scotland,  which 
form  the  stipulated  condition  of  land 
tenure  in  a  certain  district. 

"  The  question  has  caused  much  ex- 
citement and  considerable  disturbance  in 
the  State.  It  has  been  agitated  in  the 
legislature  and  in  the  courts  of  law,  and 
the  supposed  opinion  in  regard  to  it  of 
candidates  for  legal  appointments,  is  said 
to  have  formed  an  element  which  weighed 
with  many  in  determining  which  candi- 
date they  would  support.  During  the 
last  canvass  for  the  office  of  attorney- 


[Dec. 


general,  I  met  with  the  following  adver- 
tisement in  the  public  journals  of  the 
State  :— 

"  '  I  have  repeatedly  been  applied  to 
by  individuals  to  know  my  opinions  with 
regard  to  the  manorial  titles,  and  what 
course  I  intend  to  pursue,  if  elected,  in 
relation  to  suits  commenced,  and  to  be 
commenced,  under  the  joint  resolution  of 
the  Senate  and  Assembly.  I  have  uni- 
formly replied  to  these  inquiries,  that  I 
regard  the  manor  titles  as  a  public  curse 
which  ought  not  to  exist  in  a  free  govern- 
ment, and  that  if  they  can  be  broken  up 
and  invalidated  by  law,  it  will  give  me 
great  pleasure;  and  I  shall  prosecute  the 
pending  suits  with  as  much  vigour  and 
industry  as  I  possess,  and  will  commence 
others,  if,  on  examination,  I  shall  be  sa- 
tisfied there  is  the  least  chance  of  suc- 
cess. I  regard  these  prosecutions  as  a 
matter  of  public  duty,  and,  in  this  in- 
stance, duty  squares  with  my  inclination 
and  wishes.  '  L.  S.  CHATFIELD.' 

"Mr  Chatfield,"  adds  Professor  John- 
ston, "  is  now  attorney-general ;  and  I  was 
informed  that  the  known  opinions  of  cer- 
tain of  the  old  judges  on  this  exciting 
question  was  one  of  the  understood  rea- 
sons why  they  were  not  re-elected  by 
popular  suffrage,  when,  according  to  the 
new  constitution,  their  term  of  office  had 
expired."— (Vol.  ii.  p.  291.) 

Here,  then,  we  see  the  highest  law 
officer  of  the  State  openly  "bidding" 
for  office— truckling  to  faction — and 
indecently  condescending  to  enact  the 
part  of  a  "  soft-sawderer."  That 
term,  we  presume,  is  the  proper  Ame- 
rican equivalent  for  the  stinging  sou- 
briquet  with  which  Persius  stigma- 
tises some  Chatfield — some  supple 
attorney -general  of  his  day — 

"  PALPO,  quern  ducit  hiantem 
Cretata  ambitio." 

When  persons  of  the  highest  offi- 
cial position  scruple  not  thus  undis- 
guiseclly  to  trim  their  course  accord- 
ing to  the  "  popularis  aura"  one 
can  scarcely  help  suspecting  a  want 
of  firmness  of  principle  and  genuine 
independence  among  the  classes  be- 
low them.  De  Tocqueville's  obser- 
vations have  taught  us  to  doubt 
whether  the  tree  of  liberty  that  grows 
under  the  shadow  of  a  tyrant  majo- 
rity can  ever  attain  a  healthy  stability, 
however  vigorous  it  may  appear  ex- 
ternally. No  one  questions  that  the 
Americans  enjoy,  under  their  institu- 
tions, very  many  of  the  blessings  of  a 


1851.] 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


715 


liberal  and  cheaply-  administered  gov- 
ernment. You  have  perfect  liberty 
of  speech  and  action,  so  far  as  the 
government  is  concerned.  The  avowal 
of  one's  opinion  is  not  followed,  as  in 
Italy,  or  in  the  rival  republic  of 
France,  by  a  hint  that  your  passport 
is  ready,  or  by  the  polite  attendance 
on  you,  wherever  you  go,  of  a  myste- 
rious gentleman  in  black;  but  you 
feel  yourself,  nevertheless,  perpetually 
"  en  surveillance"  and  constrained 
either  to  sail  with  the  stream,  or  to 
adopt  a  reserve  and  reticence  which, 
to  an  Englishman,  is  almost  as  irk- 
some as  the  knowledge  that  there  is  a 
spy  sitting  at  the  same  dinner-table 
with  him. 

The  spirit  of  Professor  John- 
ston's strictures  on  such  anomalies 
will,  of  course,  insure  his  being  set 
down  by  his  democratic  friends  in 
America  as  an  unmitigated  "  old 
hunker;  "  and  he  certainly  shows  no 
great  liking  for  practical  republican- 
ism. But  to  find  fault  with  our 
neighbours'  arrangements,  and  to  be 
contented  with  our  own,  are  two  very 
different  things ;  and,  accordingly, 
our  author  takes  many  opportunities, 
as  he  goes  along,  of  showing  that  he 
is  quite  aware  of  the  innumerable 
rents  in  our  own  old  battered  tea- 
kettle of  a  constitution,  and  of  the 
infinite  tinkering  it  will  take  to  make 
it  hold  water. 

We  should  have  held  him  unworthy 
of  the  character  of  a  true  Briton  if  he 
had  omitted  the  occasion  of  a  grumble 
at  our  system  of  taxation,  though,  of 
course,  we  differ  with  him  entirely  in 
the  view  he  takes  of  the  evil.  After 
an  elaborate  comparison-  of  the  taxa- 
tion in  the  United  States  with  that  of 
Great  Britain,  he  sums  up  all  with 
the  following  somewhat  sententious 
apophthegm : — 

"  The  great  contrast  between  the  two 
sections  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  on  the 
opposite  sides  of  the  Atlantic  is  this — 
On  the  one  side  the  masses  rule  and  pro- 
perty pays;  on  the  other  side  property 
rules  and  the  masses  pay." — (Vol.  ii.  254.) 

The  sentence  sounds  remarkably 
terse  and  epigrammatic.  Most  of 
such  brilliant  and  highly-condensed 
crystals  of  wisdom,  however,  will  be 
found  on  analysis  to  contain,  along 
•with  some  exaggerated  truth,  a  con- 
siderable residuum  of  nonsense  ;  and 


this  specimen  before  us,  we  appre- 
hend, forms  no  exception.  Even  if 
the  fact  so  broadly  asserted  were  in- 
disputable, we  should  still  be  inclined 
to  doubt,  after  what  the  author  has 
himself  told  us,  whether  the  "  rule  of 
the  masses "  is  always  an  unmixed 
blessing  to  a  community.  He  has 
seen  enough  of  it  to  know  at  least 
that  the  preponderance  of  popular 
sway  is  not  incompatible  with  much 
social  restraint — with  prejudice  and 
narrow-mindedness  —  with  what  he 
considers  a  false  commercial  principle 
— with  a  disregard  of  public  faith, 
and  of  the  rights  of  other  nations ; 
and  lastly,  with  a  contempt  of  the 
rights  of  humanity  itself,  and  a  legal- 
ised traffic  in  our  fellow  men.  But,  if 
we  understand  him  rightly,  he  does 
not  so  much  defend  the  abstract  ex- 
cellence of  the  democratic  principle 
as  advocate  a  nearer  approach,  on  our 
part,  to  the  American  model  of  taxa- 
tion. In  the  States,  he  says,  property 
pays — in  England  the  masses  pay ; — 
that  is,  if  we  strip  the  proposition  of 
its  antithetical  obscurity,  the  owners 
of  property  pay  less  here  than  they 
do  in  America — not  only  absolutely 
less,  but  less  in  proportion  to  the 
whole  amount  of  taxation.  The  cal- 
culations on  which  he  founds  this  as- 
sertion are  too  long  and  involved  to 
be  quoted  at  length,  but  we  will 
endeavour  to  abridge  them  so  as  to 
enable  the  reader  to  jndge  of  their 
accuracy. 

The  taxes  in  the  United  States  are 
of  three  classes  :  1st, — the  national 
taxes,  amounting  to  about  six  millions 
a-year,  which  are  raised  chiefly  by 
customs  duties  on  imports ;  2d, — the 
state  taxes  ;  3d, — the  local  taxes,  for 
the  service  of  the  several  counties, 
cities,  and  townships.  These  two 
last  classes  are  levied  chiefly  in  the 
form  of  an  equal  rate  assessed  upon 
the  estimated  value  of  all  property, 
real  and  personal. 

In  order  to  compare  the  incidence 
of  the  public  burdens  upon  property  in 
the  two  countries,  Professor  Johnston 
selects  the  case  of  New  York  State, 
in  which  the  total  taxable  property 
(personal  as  well  as  real)  in  1849  was 
666,000,000  of  dollars,  and  the  amount 
of  rates  levied  for  state  and  local  taxes 
5,500,000  dollars,  or  about  |  per  cent 
on  the  gross  valuation.  Turning  then 


716 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America.  [Dec. 


to  Great  Britain,  (excluding  Ireland,) 
lie  sets  down  the  fee  simple  value  of 
the  real  property  alone  in  estates 
above  £150  a-year,  as  rated  to  the 
income-tax,  at  £2,382,000,000. 

"Four-fifths  of  a  per  cent  (the  rate 
levied  in  New  York)  on  this  sum  would 
realise  £19,000,000  sterling;  and  were 
all  property,  real  and  personal,  in  this 
island  below  £150  a-year,  and  the  amount 
of  property  in  Ireland  rated  in  a  similar 
way,  and  fairly  collected,  our  entire  re- 
venue of  £50,000,000  would  probably  be 
obtained  as  the  revenue  of  the  State  of 
New  York  now  is,  by  this  one  property 
tax  only."— (Vol.  ii.  p.  257.) 

And  he  thus  concludes  that,  as 
regards  the  absolute  amount  of  taxa- 
tion, property  in  Britain  escapes  for 
a  smaller  payment  than  that  in 
America. 

Now,  it  must  be  remarked,  on  this 
branch  of  the  comparison,  that  before 
we  can  form  any  opinion  as  to  its 
soundness,  it  is  essential  that  we 
should  know  on  what  principles  the 
valuation  of  property  is  conducted 
.in  New  York.  The  whole  question 
depends  upon  this.  If  the  system  of 
•valuation  is  different  in  the  two 
•countries,  there  are  no  materials 


on  which  to  build  a  conclusion.  We 
know  what  discrepancies  may  arise 
out  of  the  mode  of  valuation,  from 
the  fact  that,  while  the  annual  value 
of  all  real  property  in  England  and 
Wales  was  assessed  for  the  poor- 
rate,  in  1841,  at  about  £62,500,000, 
a  portion  of  it  only — that  over  £150 
a-year — was  valued  two  years  after- 
wards, for  the  income-tax,  at  nearly 
£86,000,000.  We  observe  that  Pro- 
fessor Johnston  has  arrived  at  the 
amount  of  real  property  in  Britain,  by 
assuming  the  fee-simple  value  to  be 
twenty-seven  years'  purchase  of  the 
income.  But  in  New  York,  he  tells 
us,  the  value  of  income  is  calculated 
at  only  sixteen  and  a  half  years? 
purchase.  The  terms  of  the  com- 
parison are,  therefore,  manifestly 
faulty.  And  mark  how  this  affects 
the  result.  The  real  income  of  Great 
Britain,  capitalised  at  sixteen  and  a 
half  years'  purchase,  would  amount 
to  only  £1,447,000,000,  and,  if  taxed 
at  the  same  rate  as  in  New  York, 
would  yield,  instead  of  £19,000,000 
only,  £11,500,000,  which,  as  it  hap- 
pens, is  three  millions  less  than  it 
actually  pays,  as  may  be  plainly  seen 
from  the  underacted  statement : — 


DIRECT  AND   LOCAL  TAXATION   OP   BEAL  PROPERTY  IN   GREAT  BRITAIN. 

1.  Land  Tax,    .......  £1,164,000 

2.  Poor  and  County  Rate,  (England,)              .             .            .  6,847,205 

3.  Highway  Rate,                      „                       ...  1,169,891 

4.  Church  Rate,                          .,                       ...  506,812 

5.  Proportion  of  Stamp  Duties  on  deeds  affecting  real  property,  1,200,000 

6.  Proportion  of  Legacy  Duty  affecting  do.,     .            .             .  300,000 

7.  Property  Tax,          ......  2,600,000 

8.  Poor  Rate,  (Scotland,)  £577,000— say  on  real  property,    .  500,000 

9.  Statute  Labour,  (Scotland.)              ....  81,226 

Total,  .  .    £14,369,134 

Note. — The  first  six  items  are  taken  from  the  Report  of  the  House  of  Lords  on 
burdens  affecting  land,  and  some  of  them  are  below  the  present  amounts. 
The  items  affecting  Scotland  are  obviously  defective. 

To  this  extent  at  least,  then,  we  are     aims  also  at  proving,  that  while  tho 
justified  in  correcting  Professor  John- 
ston's calculations,  and  in  affirming 
with 


certainty  that  the  owner  of 
real  property  in  Britain  surrenders 
a  larger  portion  of  his  wealth  for 
the  public  service  than  in  New  York, 
or  any  other  State  of  the  Union. 
Whether  the  same  can  be  said  of 
the  British  owner  of  personal  pro- 
perty is  another  question,  which  we 
shall  come  to  by-and-by. 

So  much  for  the  absolute  compari- 
son.     But  then  Professor  Johnston 


rich  man  is  better  off  here,  the  poor 
man  is  worse — that  the  "masses" 
(i.  e.,  we  presume,  those  who  are 
dependent  on  the  wages  of  labour) 
pay  a  larger  share  of  the  public 
burdens  than  the  same  "masses" 
do  in  America.  And  this,  he  thinks, 
is  demonstrated  by  the  fact,  that  the 
customs  duties  of  America  amount 
to  only  a  dollar  a-head  of  the  whole 
population,  whereas  in  Great  Britain 
they  are  three  dollars — three  times 
heavier.  Now,  we  venture  to  affirm 


1851".] 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


717 


that,  as  a  contrast  between  the  posi- 
tion of  the  labouring  man  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  and  that  of  his 
brother  on  the  other,  this  statement 
is  quite  a  nest  of  fallacies.  In  the 
first  place,  it  proceeds  on  the  assump- 
tion (a  very  common  but  erroneous 
one  among  our  Free-Trade  autho- 
rities) that  it  is  the  labouring  class 
who  pay  the  bulk  of  the  taxes 
drawn  in  the  shape  of  customs.  As 
this  error,  however,  may  be  held  to 
affect  both  sides  of  the  comparison 
equally,  we  have  next  to  notice  that, 
admitting  it  to  be  the  case,  the  fact 
of  the  customs  being  three  dollars 
a-head  in  this  country,  and  only 
one  in  the  States,  only  shows  that 
the  English  labourer  pays  absolutely 
more  than  the  Yankee,  which  no 
one  ever  doubted.  It  amounts  only 
to  this  —  that  in  an  old  country 


which  has  to  uphold  numerous  public 
institutions  unknown  in  America, 
and  with  a  public  debt  to  provide  for 
of  some  £800,000,000  sterling,  the 
burden  of  this,  as  well  as  of  all 
other  branches  of  taxation,  is  heavier 
than  in  the  youthful  republic,  with 
a  national  debt  of  only  £13,000,000. 
In  order  to  draw  a  fair  parallel  be- 
tween the  cases  as  regards  the 
poorer  classes  of  both  countries, 
we  must  put  the  question  in  a  diffe- 
rent way,  and  inquire,  what  pro- 
portion does  the  amount  of  customs 
(assumed  as  representing  the  poor 
man's  share  of  taxation)  bear  to  the 
whole  public  burdens  in  the  two 
countries  respectively?  The  con- 
trasted account  would  then  show  the 
matter  in  a  very  different  aspect  from 
that  in  which  Professor  Johnston  has 
represented  it,  and  would  stand  thus : — 


GREAT  BRITAIN. 

UNITED   STATES. 

National  taxes,  . 
Local  ditto,* 

Total, 
Whereof  the  poor  man's 
share,  or  customs,  is 
or  32  £  per  cent. 

£50,000,000 
14,000,000 

National  taxes,   . 
Local  ditto,  f 

Total, 
Whereof  the  poor  man'a 
share,  or  customs,  is 
or  52  per  cent. 

£6,000,000 
5,680,000 

£64,000,000 
£20,000,000 

£11,680,000 
£6,000,000 

Even  if  we  were  to  throw  into  the  scale 
a  large  portion  of  the  excise  duties 
levied  in  Britain,  which  Professor 
Johnston  may  be  entitled  to  claim  as 
a  peculiar  burden  on  "  the  masses" — 
at  least  as  much  as  the  customs— it 
would  still  be  apparent,  that,  if  such 
payments  are  to  be  taken  as  a  fair 
criterion,  the  people's  burdens  are  not 
relatively  heavier  here  than  in  America. 
We  shall  only  add  further  on  this 
subject,  that  while  many  of  the  less 
opulent  class  of  our  fellow-citizens 
have  undoubted  real  grievances  to 
complain  of,  and  while  writers,  with 
worse  intentions  than  Professor  John- 
ston, are  ever  ready  to  exaggerate 
them,  and  to  foster  discontent,  it  be- 
comes one  of  his  high  character  to 
guard  against  allowing  a  somewhat 
undisciplined  taste  for  statistics  to 
betray  him  into  rash  general  allega- 


tions, calculated  to  produce  error  and 
irritation. 

The  parallel  he  has  drawn,  how- 
ever, is  very  instructive  on  one  point, 
although  he  has  failed  to  notice  it. 
He  has  taken  some  pains  to  prove 
that,  tried  by  the  American  standard, 
our  poor  men  pay  too  much,  and  our 
owners  of  real  property  too  little,  in 
both  which  conclusions  we  have 
shown  his  grounds  to  be  fallacious  ; 
but  he  takes  no  notice  of  a  far  more 
obvious  anomaly,  the  glaring  injus- 
tice of  which  is  every  day  attracting 
more  public  comment — the  compara- 
tive immunity  of  the  owners  of  per- 
sonal property  in  this  country.  The 
local  taxation  of  the  States,  it  has 
been  seen,  is  levied  by  an  equal  as- 
sessment on  property  of  all  kinds ;  and 
although,  from  the  character  of  a 
great  part  of  the  country,  the  real 


*  We  give  this  amount  as  it  is  usually  estimated,  although  it  is  certainly  far 
Ibelow  the  truth. 

-f  The  American  Almanac  for  1851. 


718 


Johnston's  Notes  on  North  America. 


property  much  exceeds  the  movable 
in  amount,  the  rate  upon  both  is  a 
uniform  one.  No  description  of  pos- 
sessions is  favoured  with  an  invidious 
exemption.  We  will  take  the  assess- 
ment of  one  State  as  an  example,  and 
copy  the  following  "Items  of  the 
valuation  of  the  taxable  property  for 
the  State  of  Iowa,  according  to  the 
assessor's  returns  for  1849."  They 
are  as  follows  : — 

"  Acres  of  land  —  Improvements  on 
land — Town  lots  and  improvements  — 
Capital  employed  in  merchandise — Mills, 
manufactories,  distilleries,  carding  ma- 
chines and  tan  -  yards,  with  the  stock 
employed  —  Horses,  cattle,  sheep,  &c. — 
Pleasure  carriages,  watches,  pianofortes 
— Capital  stocks  and  profits  in  any  com- 
pany incorporated  or  unincorporated — 
Property  in  'boats  and  vessels — Gold  and 
silver  coin,  and  bank-notes  in  actual  pos- 
session —  Claims  for  money,  or  other  con- 
sideration—Annuities— Amount  of  notes, 
mortgages,  &c.  All  other  personal  pro- 
perty over  100  dollars." 

All  these  descriptions  of  property 
contribute  alikex  dollar  for  dollar, 
towards  the  expenses  of  the  State, 
which — be  it  remarked— embrace  not 
only  the  general  charges  for  interest 
of  debt,  and  for  the  support  of  the 
legislative,  executive,  and  judiciary 
departments,  but  include  also  pay- 
ments for  prisons,  asylums,  the 
militia,  the  public  roads,  and  several 
other  branches  of  expenditure,  which 
in  this  country  are  saddled  either 
upon  real  property  or  upon  the  land 
alone.  Let  any  one  look  at  the 
items  of  the  above  list  printed  in 
italics,  and  say  what  portion  of  such 
wealth  passes  through  the  national 
exchequer,  or  goes  to  uphold  the 
public  institutions,  of  Great  Britain. 
The  whole  annual  incomes  above  £50 
a-year  in  Great  Britain  are  estimated, 
on  the  best  attainable  data,*  to 
amount  to  upwards  of  £352,000,000 
sterling,  of  which  the  taxed  real 
income  is  £86,000,000,  or  one-fourth 
part  only.  Is  there  any  one  with  a 
conscience  so  elastic  as  to  maintain 
that  the  owners  of  the  other  three- 
fourths  contribute  fairly  to  the  sup- 
port of  the  State,  in  proportion  to  the 
revenue  they  enjoy  under  its  protec- 
tion ?  From  the  investigations  of  Mr 
Smee,  to  whom  we  have  referred,  it 


[Dec. 

appears  that  while  the  number  of 
those  who  pay  the  direct  taxes  is 
about  five  hundred  thousand,  there 
are  upwards  of  one  million  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  persons  in  Great  Britain 
enjoying  incomes  of  above  £50  a-year, 
who  do  not  contribute  one  farthing  to 
them.  What  is  this  but  a  system  of 
iniquitous  exemption  of  the  one  class, 
and  of  virtual  confiscation  as  to  the 
other  ?  But  the  whole  subject  occu- 
pies far  too  prominent  a  place  in  the 
public  mind  to  be  treated  thus  inci- 
dentally. For  the  present  then  we 
leave  it,  thoroughly  persuaded  that, 
under  a  form  of  government  which 
acknowledges  no  distinctions  between 
classes  and  interests,  so  shameless  a 
violation  of  the  plainest  principles  of 
equity  cannot  long  be  permitted  to 
continue,  and  cordially  joining  in  the 
wish  that  no  object  of  less  momentous 
interest — no  schemes  of  impracticable 
retrenchment — no  wily  bait  of  ex- 
tended suffrage  — no  flourishing  of  the 
old  red  rag  of  reform,  may  be  suffered 
to  distract  the  attention  of  the  public 
from  the  one  great  paramount  prac- 
tical reform — A  READJUSTMENT  OF 
TAXATION. 

We  owe  an  apology  to  Professor 
Johnston  for  having  deviated  some- 
what from  the  ordinary  course  of  a  re- 
view. His  work  has  already  been  so 
much  and  so  flatteringly  noticed,  that 
to  have  limited  ourselves  to  mere  ab- 
ridgment and  quotation  from  the  Notes 
would  have  led  us  over  the  same 
ground  that  has  been  already  ex- 
hausted by  other  critics.  We  have 
therefore  preferred  discussing  some  of 
the  questions  of  greatest  public  inte- 
rest which  his  observations  have  sug- 
gested ;  and  if,  on  some  of  these,  we 
have  been  led  to  dissent  from  his 
opinions,  we  have  done  so  in  no  un- 
friendly spirit,  which  indeed  would 
have  been  impossible  in  judging  of  an 
author  whose  own  views  are  always 
expressed  with  perfect  candour  and 
moderation.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that,  under  the  unpretending  title 
which  he  has  chosen  to  adopt,  he  has 
contrived  to  bring  together  a  larger 
mass  of  varied  and  valuable  informa- 
tion on  the  present  condition  of  North 
America  than  is  to  be  found  in  any 
work  yet  published. 


*  See  Mr  Smee's  pamphlet  on  the  Income-Tax. 


1851.] 


The  Ansayrii. 


719 


THE  ANSAYRII. 


HAIL  to  the  bright  East,  with  all 
its  mysteries,  its  mighty  past,  its 
pregnant  future,  its  inexhaustible 
sources  of  airiest  amusement  and 
most  solemn  interest !  We  welcome 
with  pleasure  the  original  and  truly 
Oriental  book  before  us.  It  har- 
monises rather  with  the  poetic  than 
the  historic  character  of  Eastern  lands ; , 
but  in  its  wild  and  dreamy  narrative 
there  are  to  be  found  vivid  and  faith- 
ful pictures,  such  as  those  that  lighted 
up  the  charmed  reveries  of  DeQuincey. 
For  the  present  we  will  lay  aside  the 
critic's  task:  we  will  postpone  all 
such  considerations,  and  invite  the 
reader  to  accompany  us  in  a  rapid 
tour  over  the  varied  regions  which 
Mr  Walpole  has  recalled  to  our 
memory  and  imagination.  Let  us 
turn  for  a  little  from  the  "  world 
that  is  too  much  with  us,"  and, 
ranging  away  from  chilly  mists 
and  gloomy  skies,  sun  our  fancy 
in  the  lands  where  Paradise  was 
planted. 

Egypt  and  Palestine  appear  fami- 
liar to  us  all ;  they  are  of  common 
interest  to  the  whole  Christian  world — 
classic  lands  to  every  old  villager  who 
can  read  his  Bible,  as  well  as  to  the 
profound  scholar.  In  them,  sacred 
and  profane  history  are  so  intimately 
blended  that  the  latter  assumes 
almost  the  authenticity  of  the  former. 
Herodotus  and  his  followers  have 
actually  a  people  still  in  the  flesh  (if 
flesh  the  mummy  may  be  called)  to 
refer  to :  subterranean  Egypt  is  still 
inhabited  by  the  undecayed  bodies  of 
the  very  men  who  associated  with  the 
Israelites,  and  forms  that  were  beauti- 
ful and  loved  three  thousand  years 
ago.  Imperishable  as  their  old  inha- 
bitants, their  temples  and  their  monu- 
ments still  stand  above  them,  and 
will  there  remain  unparalleled,  until 
their  long-buried  architects  shall  rise 
again. 


Passing  on  to  Palestine,  we  find 
memories  and  associations  still 
stronger  and  more  striking ;  for  here 
nature  is  invested  with  the  sentiment 
that  in  Egypt  is  awakened  by  art. 
Palestine  belongs  not  to  time  only, 
but  to  eternity ;  with  which,  by  types 
and  illustrations,  its  earthly  history 
is  so  beautifully  blended  and  aggran- 
dised. Its  literature  is  inspired  truth, 
its  annals  are  prophecies  fulfilled,  and 
the  very  face  of  the  land  itself  vindi- 
cates the  beauty  it  once  wore,  through 
all  the  sorrow  and  desolation  that 
have  fallen  on  it  since.  Owing  to 
the  metaphorical  style  of  Oriental 
composition,  every  object  in  nature 
was  used  to  illustrate  or  impress  by 
its  analogy;  and  hence  not  only  the 
holy  mountains,  the  sacred  rivers, 
and  the  battle  plains  have  memories 
for  us,  but  the  very  "  hyssop  on  the 
wall,"  the  blasted  fig-tree,  the  cedar, 
the  "  high  rock  in  the  thirsty  land  ;" 
every  vale,  and  hill,  and  lake,  and 
city,  is  consecrated  by  some  associa- 
tion with  the  men  who  spoke  the 
words  of  God — with  the  time  that 
witnessed  His  presence  in  the 
flesh. 

The  remorseless  Jews  were  swept 
from  the  Promised  Land,  as  their 
ancestor  was  from  Eden,  for  the  irre- 
parable sin;  and  the  sword  of  the 
Roman  waved  over  the  ruined  walls 
of  Jerusalem,  forbidding  all  return. 
The  Saracen  and  the  Crusader  suc- 
ceeding, add  another  element  of  inte- 
rest —  an  English  association  —  to 
long-tried  and  suffering  Judea.  The 
Crusaders  were  rather  a  warlike  emi- 
gration than  invasion ;  they  were  the 
angry  overflow  of  discontented  Europe, 
which  sought  to  vent  its  spleen  and 
dogmas  upon  the  Infidel.  Their  ebb- 
ing tide  bore  back  to  us  the  arts  and 
sciences  and  chivalry  of  Arabia ;  and 
thus  Palestine  became  the  channel  for 
all  our  best  temporal  acquirements, 


The  Ansayrii,  (or  Assassins;)  with  Travels  in  the  Further  East.  By  the  Hon. 
FREDERIC  WALPOLE,  R.N.,  Author  of  Four  Tears  in  the  Pacific.  London  :  Bentley, 
1851. 


720 


The  Ansayrii. 


[Dec. 


as  it  had  long  since  furnished  us  with 
our  eternal  hope. 

All  this,  and  more — much  more — 
invests  Syria  with  undying  and  ex- 
haustless  interest  to  the  student  and 
the  traveller ;  but  we  will  not  linger 
on  such  impressions  now.  We  have 
a  lighter  task  to  fulfil,  though  we  are 
about  to  visit  the  land  of  Nimrod, 
of  Abraham's  nativity,  and  of  the 
empire  of  Semiramis.  The  pleasant 
company  in  which  we  travel  will 
speed  us  on ;  and,  in  the  old  trouba- 
dour fashion,  lay  and  legend  will 
beguile  the  way.  But  before  we  enter 
fairly  on  our  pilgrimage  to  "  Ur  of 
the  Chaldees"  and  the  tomb  of 
Nineveh,  we  shall  pause  to  make  some 
practical  observations  on  the  route 
which,  iii  its  present  aspect,  may  bo 
new  to  some  of  our  readers. 

EGYPT  MAY  SOON  BE  BEACHED  IN 
TEN  DAYS.*  This  is  almost  incredible; 
still  more  so,  when  we  add  that  it 
may  be  accomplished  without  fatigue, 
hardship,  or  self-denial.  The  traveller 
even  now  embarks  at  Southampton  in 
one  of  the  Oriental  Company's  mag- 
nificent steamers,  and  finds  himself 
landed  at  Alexandria  in  fifteen  days, 
having  visited  Gibraltar  and  Malta, 
besides  having  travelled  three  thousand 
miles  in  as  much  comfort  as  he  would 
have  enjoyed  at  Brighton,  with  far 
more  advantage  to  his  health  and 
spirits,  and  but  trifling  additional  ex- 
pense. For  our  own  parts,  we  believe 
that,  before  long,  sea  voyages,  instead 
of  sea  shores,  will  be  resorted  to,  not 
only  by  the  invalid,  but  by  the, epicu- 
rean and  the  idler.  The  floating 
hotels  of  our  ocean  steamers  afford 
as  comfortable  quarters  as  any  of 
their  more  stationary  rivals,  with  the 
additional  advantage  of  present- 
ing a  change  of  air  and  of  scenery 
every  morning  that  the  "  lodger " 
rises. 

The  autumn — the  later  the  better 
— is  the  best  period  for  visiting  Egypt. 
October  is,  on  the  whole,  the  best 
month  for  beginning  the  ascent  of  the 
Nile.  We  will  suppose  the  traveller 
landed  at  Alexandria  :  he  achieves 
the  lions  of  that  suddenly- created 


city  (except  Aboukir  Bay)  in  a  few 
hours,  and  is  ready  to  start  for  Cairo 
in  the  mail  steamer,  with  the  India- 
bound  passengers  who  accompanied 
him  from  England.  The  country  in 
which  he  now  finds  himself,  by  so 
sudden  a  transition,  is  full  of  apparent 
paradoxes;  amongst  others,  he  maybe 
surprised  to  find  that  the  canal  on 
which  he  travels  to  Atfeh  winds  con- 
siderably, though  no  engineering  ob- 
stacles whatever  oppose  themselves  to 
a  straight  course.  The  reason  of  this 
sinuosity  was  thus  explained  to  us  by 
Mehemet  Ali  himself:— "You  ask  why 
my  canal  is  not  straight :  Ya,  Wallah ! 
it  is  owing  to  a  bit  of  bigotry.  The 
dog  who  made  it  was  a  true  Believer, 
and  something  more.  He  said  to 
himself,  *  Ya,  Seedee,  thou  art  about 
to  make  what  Giaours  call  a  canal, 
and  Giaours  in  their  impiety  make 
such  things  straight.  Now,  a  canal 
is  made  after  the  fashion  of  a  river — 
(Allah  pardon  us  for  imitating  his 
works !)— and  all  rivers  wind:  Allah 
forbid  that  my  canal  should  be  better 
than  His  river ;  it  shall  wind  too.'  " 

And  so  it  does. 

Landed  at  Cairo,  the  traveller  of 
the  present  day  will  find  a  steamer 
once  a  fortnight  ready  to  take  him  up 
to  the  first  cataract  and  back  again, 
as  fast  as  Young  Rapid,  or  any  other 
son  of  a  tailor,  could  desire.  But 
even  the  rational  tourist  will  be 
tempted  to  send  on  his  Kandjiah, 
(the  old-fashioned  Nile  boat,)  well 
found  and  provisioned,  a  fortnight  or 
three  weeks  before  him,  and  over- 
take her  in  the  steamer.  The  Kand- 
jiah voyage  up  stream  is  often  weari- 
some, downward  never  —  as  in  the 
descent  you  are  borne  softly  along 
at  from  three  to  six  miles  an  hour, 
even  when  you  sleep.  From  the  first 
cataract  to  the  second  is  only  about 
two  hundred  miles,  and  occupies 
about  three  weeks  ;  but  to  those  who 
can  find  pleasure  in  what  is  most  wild 
and  dreamy  and  unearthly  in  scenery 
and  art,  the  desert  view  from  Mount 
Abousir,the  temples  of  Guerf,  Hassan, 
and  Ipsamboul,  are  worth  all  the  rest 
of  the  Nile  voyage,  except  Thebes 


*  By  the  leviathan  steamers  now  building  for  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Steam 
.Company.  They  are  calculated  to  make  from  sixteen  to  eighteen  miles  an  hour,  which 
-would  reduce  the  sea-goiug  part  of  the  voyage  to  eight  days  two  hours. 


1851.]  The  Ansayrii.  721 

and  exquisite  Philae.*    Returned  to  iously  through  the  town,  exposed  to 

Alexandria,  as  we  will  suppose,  in  insult     and    unpunished    violence : 

March,   the  traveller  will  be  quite  without  the  walls,  the  robber  enjoyed 

early  enough  for  Syria,  whose  winter  as  much  impunity  as  the  bigot  did 

(considering  the  tented  life  he  is  com-  within  ;  and,  between  both,  Beyrout 

pelled  to  lead)  is  not  to  be  despised,  became,  or  continued  to  be,  a  miser- 

A  steamer  transports  him  to  Beyrout  able  village.    Its  environs  were  wild 

in  thirty  hours;  and  there  our  true  wastes,  where  the  gipsy  alone  ven- 

travel  begins."^  tured  to  pitch  his  tent,  and  the  wild 

Thus,    (omitting    the    somewhat  dog  prowled.   Now,  pleasant  gardens 

important  episode  of  Egypt,)  we  find  and  picturesque  kiosks,  or  summer- 

ourselves  transported,  in  little  more  houses,  replace  the  wilderness ;  the 

than  a  fortnight,  from  the  murky  fogs  town  expands,  grows  clean,  doubles 

and  leafless  trees  of  England,  to  the  its  population,  and  welcomes  a  crowd 

delicious  temperature  and  tropical  ver-  of  shipping  to  its  port.    A  more  de- 

dure  that  surrounds  the  most  beau-  lightful  residence,  as  a  refuge  from 

tiful  town  of  the  Levant.    As  every  winter,   can  scarcely  be    conceived, 

improvement     in     steam-navigation  An  infinite  variety  of  excursions  may 

lessens  its  distance  from   Christen-  be  made  from  hence ;  and  every  time 

dom,  Beyrout  increases  and  expands,  the  traveller  mounts  his  horse,  whe- 

Nor  must  we  omit  an  honest  tribute  tlier  he  be  historically,  picturesquely, 

to  the  iron  but  even-handed  justice  controversially,  botanically,  or  geolo- 

of  Ibrahim  Pasha,  which  first  ren-  gically  given,  he  may  return  to  his 

dered  it  safely  accessible  to  Euro-  flat-roofed  home  with  some  valuable 

peans.     Before  his  conquest  of  Syria,  acquisition  to  his  note-book.  The  views 

the  Frank  was  wont  to  skulk  anx-  are  everywhere  magnificent,  and  the 

*  The  mere  physical  pleasure  of  the  upper  voyage  has  been  thus  described — "  No 
words  can  convey  an  idea  of  the  beauty  and  delightfulness  of  tropical  weather,  at 
least  while  any  breeze  from  the  north  is  blowing.  There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  very 
act  of  breathing — a  voluptuous  consciousness  that  existence  is  a  blessed  thing  :  the 
pulse  beats  high,  but  calmly;  the  eye  feels  expanded;  the  chest  heaves  pleasureably, 
as  if  air  was  a  delicious  draught  to  thirsty  lungs;  and  the  mind  takes  its  colouring 
and  character  from  sensation.  No  thought  of  melancholy  ever  darkens  over  us — no 
painful  sense  of  isolation  or  of  loneliness,  as  day  after  day  we  pass  on  through  silent 
deserts,"  upon  the  silent  and  solemn  river.  One  seems,  as  it  were,  removed  into 
another  state  of  existence ;  and  all  the  strifes  and  struggles  of  that  from  which  we 
have  emerged  seem  to  fade,  softened  into  indistinctness.  This  is  what  Homer  and 
Alfred  Tennyson  knew  that  the  lotus-eaters  felt  when  they  tasted  of  the  mysterious 
tree  of  this  country,  and  became  weary  of  their  wanderings  : — • 


-To  him  the  gushing  of  the  wave 


Far,  far  away,  did  seem  to  mourn  and  rave 

On  alien  shores  :  and,  if  his  fellow  spake, 

His  voice  was  thin,  as  voices  from  the  grave  ! 

And  deep  asleep  he  seemed,  yet  all  awake, 

And  music  in  his  ears  his  beating  heart  did  make.' 

If  the  day,  with  all  the  tyranny  of  its  sunshine  and  its  innumerable  insects,  be 
enjoyable  in  the  tropics,  the  night  is  still  more  so.  The  stars  shine  out  with  diamond 
brilliancy,  and  appear  as  large  as  if  seen  through  a  telescope.  Their  changing 
colours,  the  wake  of  light  they  cast  upon  ithe  water,  the  distinctness  of  the  milky 
way,  and  the  splendour,  above  all,  of  the  evening  star,  give  one  the  impression  of  be- 
-ing  under  a  different  firmament  from  that  to  which  we  have  been  accustomed  ;  then 
the  cool  delicious  airs,  with  all  the  strange  and  stilly  sounds  they  bear  from  the 
desert  and  the  forest ;  the  delicate  scents  they  scatter,  and  the  languid  breathings 
with  which  they  make  our  large  white  sails  appear  to  pant,  as  they  heave  and  lan- 
guish softly  over  the  water."— (The  Crescent  and  the  Cross,  vol.  i.  p.  210.) 

f  The  journey  from  Cairo  across  the  desert  by  Suez,  or  at  least  thence  by  baza 
or  Sinai  to  Jerusalem,  is  performed  in  the  same  manner  as  it  was  in  the  days  when 
Eothen,  Dr  Robinson,  and  Lord  Castlereagh  described  it.  The  only  difference  occurs 
in  the  route  between  Cairo  and  Suez,  which  is  now  performed  on  wheels  m  about 
twelve  hours,  and,  in  the  course  of  eighteen  months,  is  expected  to  be  easily  accom- 
plished in  two  hours  and  a  half  by  railway. 


722 


The  Ansayrn. 


[Dec. 


warm  breezes  from  the  bluest  of 
oceans  are  tempered  by  the  snowy 
neighbourhood  of  the  loveliest  of 
mountains. 

Five  roads  of  leading  interest  (be- 
sides many  a  cheering  byway  among 
the  hills)  branch  out  from  the  walls 
of  Beyrout.  Damascus  is  about 
eighteen  hours  off ;  Jerusalem  six 
days  ;  Djouni,  the  romantic  residence 
and  burial-place  of  Lady  Hester  Stan- 
hope, ten  hours  ;  Baalbec,  the  flower 
of  all  Eastern  ruins,  eighteen  hours, 
and  Latakia,  whither  we  are  bound, 
five  days.  These  distances  may  be 
accomplished  in  less  time  ;  they  are 
here  given  at  the  calculation  of  a 
walking  pace,  as  the  roads,  or  rather 
paths,  are  for  the  most  part  steep  and 
difficult ;  and  the  baggage-horses,  at 
all  events,  can  seldom  advance  more 
rapidly.  One  word  more  of  dry  de- 
tail, and  we  shall  put  ourselves  en 
route  for  the  mountains  of  the  An- 
sayrii  and  the  further  East.  Not- 
withstanding the  advance  of  civilisa- 
tion at  Beyrout,  where  a  European 
consulocracy  has  established  a  more 
than  European  equality  of  privileges 
between  Turks  and  Christians,  the 
interior  of  the  country  is  daily  be- 
coming more  dangerous  to  travel  in. 
Eight  years  ago,  when  the  stern  rule 
of  Ibrahim  Pasha  had  still  left  its 
beneficent  traces,  the  writer  of  this 
article  wandered  over  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  land,  attended  by  a 
single  servant  and  a  muleteer.  Since 
our  Government,  for  inscrutable  rea- 
sons, has  restored  Syria  to  the  em- 
broilment of  its  native  factions,  all 
security  for  the  traveller,  and  indeed 
for  the  native,  has  ceased.  To  reach 
Jerusalem,  or  even  Damascus,  in 
safety,  a  considerable  escort  is  now 
necessary ;  though  the  Vale  of  Baal- 
bec may  still  be  reached  in  less  war- 
like fashion  from  Latakia  or  Tripoli, 
if  the  traveller  is  endowed  with  libe- 
rality, courage,  and  courtesy — the 
leading  virtues  of  his  profession. 

Before  we  proceed  on  our  travels, 
let  us  introduce  our  guide.  Mr  Wai- 
pole  is  a  young  naval  officer,  and 
there  is  in  most  of  his  narrative  a 
dashing  impetuous  style,  which  savours 
of  his  profession.  In  this  there  is  a 
certain  charm,  imparting  as  it  does 
an  air  of  frank  and  fearless  confidence 
in  his  reader's  quick  perception  and 


favourable  construction.     There  is  in 
his  writings  what  we  would  also  hope 
is  professional — a  chivalrous  feeling 
and  generous  sentiment,  that  is  never 
obscured  by  a  sordid  thought  or  un- 
worthy imputation.  As  he  sees  clearly, 
of  course  he  also  sees  faults  in  men, 
and  minds,  and  manners ;  but  such 
discoveries  are  made  in  a  tone  of  re- 
gret rather  than  of  triumph ;  or  thrown 
off   in    a  strain    of  good-humoured 
satire  that  could  not  offend  even  its 
objects.    His  descriptive  powers  are 
graphic,   and  often  very  vivid;  his 
humour  is  very  original,  being  gener- 
ally tinged  with  melancholy,  in  such 
sort  as  that  of  a  philanthropic  Jacques 
might  be :  finally,  he  does  not  fear 
to  display  a  profound  and  manly  re- 
verence for  holy  things  and  sacred 
places.     On  the  other  hand,  to  set 
against  all  these  high  merits,  we  must 
confess  that  many  faults  afford  some 
drawback  to  his  book.  It  is  often  inco- 
herent, and  deficient  in  arrangement. 
The  first  volume  is  rather  the  ground- 
work than    the    accomplishment    of 
what  an  author  with  Mr  Walpole's 
powers    and    material  should    have 
effected.  Most  of  these  faults,  however, 
may  find  their  excuse  in  the  circum- 
stances under  which  they  were  com- 
posed.   They  smack  of  the  tent,  the 
boat,  and  the  bivouac,  as  old  wine 
does  of  the  borachio.    Whatever  they 
may  be,  this  work  is  one  that  will  be 
widely  read  ;  and  wherever  it  is  read 
with  appreciation,  it  will  direct  the 
interest  not  only  to  its  subject,  but  its 
author  :  his  individuality,  unostenta- 
tiously and  unconsciously,  is  impressed 
on  every  page ;  and  his  genius,  how- 
ever erratic,  is  unquestionable. 

The  cockpit,  and  even  the  gun- 
room of  a  man-of-war,  are  little 
favourable  to  intellectual  effort,  or 
the  habit  or  the  love  of  learning 
which  it  can  alone  accomplish.  We 
can  therefore  make  greater  allow- 
ances for  errors  in  composition,  and 
concede  greater  credit  for  the  attain- 
ments in  languages  and  general  know- 
ledge which  our  young  author  has 
achieved.  This  is  perhaps  still  more 
striking  in  a  work  written  by  Mr  Wai- 
pole  three  years  ago,  entitled  Four 
Years  in  the  Pacific,  which,  though 
written  in  a  midshipman's  berth, 
abounds  in  passages  of  beauty,  and  in 
his  peculiar  and  original  humour. 


1851.]  The  Ansayrii. 

Having  said  so  much  in  his  praise  and 
dispraise,  and  only  premising,  in  addi- 
tion, that  he  speaks  Arabic  and  Turk- 
ish, so  as  to  interpret  for  himself  the 
quaint  unusual  thoughts  of  the  people 
among  whom  he  lives,  we  enter  upon 
a  survey  of  what  he  saw. 

We  have  unwillingly  passed  over 
the  whole  of  our  author's  outward  voy- 
age, which  is  graphically,  and  almost 
dramatically,  described.  We  shall  only 
refer  to  one  or  two  passages  respect- 
ing the  Levant.  The  following  sen- 
tence may  dispel  some  fanciful  visions 
of  the  sunny  climate  of  Stamboul : — 


"  Snow, '  thick  and  deep,'  enveloped  the 
city ;  cupola,  dome,  and  cypress  were 
burdened  with  icicles  ;  above,  was  an 
angry  winter  sky  with  a  keenly  piercing 
wind.  .  .  .  English  fires  and  Eng- 
lish coals  were  the  best  things  we  saw 
—we  were  actually  blockaded  by  the 
weather.  ...  At  length  we  embark- 
ed :  the  crew  were  shovelling  the  deep 
snow-drift  off  the  deck,  so  we  rushed 
below  into  a  cabin  whose  bulkheads 
were  beautifully  varnished,  sofas  perfect, 
skylights  closed,  the  whole  atmosphere 
tobacco.  We  were  off,  gliding  past  the 
Seraglio  Point,  which  was  swathed  in 
snow,  and  looking  like  a  man  in  summer 
clothes  caught  in  a  wintry  storm.  .  .  . 
Masses  animate  and  inanimate  encum- 
bered the  deck  ;  the  former  for  the  most 
part  consisting  of  the  Sultan's  subjects  ; 
among  the  latter  our  baggage,  which  was 
thrown  into  the  general  heap,  and  kicked 
about  until  it  found  quiet  in  the  hold. 
.  .  .  .  The  numbers  thus  congre- 
gated were  principally  pilgrims,  on  their 
way  to  Jerusalem  and  to  the  Jordan; 
though  others,  on  more  worldly  journey 
bent,  were  mingled  with  the  rest.  Each 
family  had  taken  a  spot  on  the  deck, 
and  there,  piled  over  with  coverings, 
and  surrounded  with  their  goods,  they 
remained  during  the  voyage  :  one  side 
of  the  after-deck  was  alone  kent  clear 
for  the  first-class  passengers,  and  even 
this  was  often  invaded  by  others,  who 
wisely  remarked  that  we  had  cabins 
below. 

"  Each  family  forms  a  scene  in  itself ; 
and  an  epitome  of  life  in  the  East  is 
found  by  a  glance  around.  Four  mer- 
chants, on  their  return  from  a  trading 
tour,  have  bivouacked  between  the  sky- 
lights ;  and  they  sing  and  are  sick  ;  call 
Tcief*  and  smoke,  with  true  Moslem  indif- 
ference. On  the  starboard  quarter,  our 


723 

notions  of  Eastern  domesticity  are  sadly 
put  out,  for  there  a  Moslem  husband  is 
mercilessly  bullied  'by  a  shrill-voiced 
Houri.  It  is  curious  to  observe  her  per- 
severance in  covering  her  face,  even  dur- 
ing the  agonies  of  sea-sickness.  Their 
black  servant  has  taken  us  into  the  num- 
ber of  licensed  ones,  and  her  veil  now 
hangs  over  her  neck  like  a  loosened  neck- 
cloth. 

"  On  the  other  side,  a  Greek  family  in 
three  generations  lies  along  the  deck, 
fortified  by  a  stout  man-servant  across 
their  legs,  whose  attentions  to  the  girls 
during  his  own  heart-rending  ailments 
is  very  pretty.  The  huge  grandmother 
was  set  on  fire  and  smouldered  away 
most  stoically,  until  her  foot  began  to 
burn,  when,  while  others  put  her  out,  she 
sank  blubbering  to  sleep  again.  The 
pretty  granddaughters  find  the  long  pros- 
tration more  irksome  ;  but  send  their 
flashing  eyes  about  with  careless  move- 
ment, and  so  the  mass  goes  on.  Here 
one  appears  to  be  offering  up  nazam,  but 
nearer  inspection  shows  that  his  shoe  is 
only  receiving  the  offering  to  the  heav- 
ing waves 

"  Our  steamer  had  passed  sad  hours  of 
toil,  and  pitched  and  tossed  us  all  out  of 
temper  before  we  entered  the  calm 
waters  to  leeward  of  Rhodes,  and  at  last, 
passing  the  low  points  covered  with 
detached  houses  and  windmills,  we  shot 
round  in  front  of  the  harbour.  Our  view 
of  the  intervening  coast  had  been  too 
vague  to  form  a  judgment  upon  it  ;  but 
here  and  there  a  peak  towered  up  above 
the  mists,  all  else  being  veiled  by  the 

cloudy  sky No  place  it  has 

ever  been  my  fortune  to  visit,  more,  by 
its  appearance,  justifies  its  character  than 
Rhodes.  Around  the  harbour's  shore, 
one  continued  line  of  high  castellated 
wall,  unbroken  save  by  flanking  towers 
or  frowning  portals  ;  from  the  wave  on 
either  side,  dovetailed  to  the  rock,  rise 
the  knightly  buildings ;  and  as  the  eye 
reaches  round,  no  dissonant  work  mars 
the  effect,  save  £hat  one  lofty  palm  rears 
its  tropic  head — but  it  adds  to,  rather 
than  lessens,  the  effect.  Above  the  walls, 
a  mosque  with  its  domed  roof  or  minaret 
appears  ;  and  the  fragile  building  speaks, 
how  truly !  in  its  contrast  to  the  massive 
walls  and  ponderous  works  of  former 
rulers,  that  the  battle  is  not  always  to 
the  strong." 

In  speaking  of  the  sister  island- 
fortress,  Malta,  our  author  remarks 
(in  a  former  page)  the  immediate  con- 


*  Kief:  a  word  difficult  to  translate,  but  expressing  perfect  abandonment  to 
repose ',  a  dolcefar  niente  which  only  Orientals  can  thoroughly  achieve. 


724 


TJie  Ansayrii. 


[Dec. 


trast  presented  by  these  luxurious 
arsenals : — 

"  The  Eastern  reclines  on  the  cushioned 
divan,  the  embodiment  of  repose;  the 
softest  carpets,  the  freshest  flowers,  sur- 
round him  —  soft  women  attend  the 
slightest  motion  of  his  eye — all  breathes 
of  indolence,  abandonment,  and  ease  ;  yet 
his  girdle  bristles  with  arms — his  gates 
are  locked  and  guarded.  So  at  Malta, 
the  bower  is  a  bastion,  the  saloon  a  case- 
mate, the  serenade  the  call  of  martial 
music,  the  draperies  war-flags,  the  orna- 
ments shot  in  ready  proximity." 

Proceeding  to  Tarsus,  we  pass  on 
to  Alexandretta,  u  a  wretched  collec- 
tion of  hovels.  The  harbour  is  splen- 
did ;  the  ruins  of  the  old,  the  skeleton 
of  the  new  town,  standing  on  the 
beach.  Behind  it,  in  every  direction, 
stretches  a  fetid  and  swampy  plain, 
which  only  requires  drainage  to  be 
rendered  fertile  and  wholesome." 
This  is  the  seaport  of  Aleppo,  on  the 
road  to  which  lies  the  town  of  Beilau, 
and  the  village  of  Mortawan,  where 
Pagan  rites,  especially  those  of  Venus, 
are  still  said  to  be  maintained.  But 
again  we  reimbark — 

"  Again  the  vessel  cuts  the  wave.  The 
mountains  become  a  feeble  bleached  out- 
line, save  Cassius  on  the  north,  who 
frowns  on  his  unrecorded  fame.  Yes, 
noble  hill !  though  not  so  high  as  Strabo 
tells,  though  not  lofty  and  imposing  ; 
though  dark  thy  path  now — unnoticed, 
solitary.  There  blazed  up  the  last  effort 
of  the  flame  of  pagan  civilisation  :  tbere 
Julian  the  Great — whatever  other  title 
men  may  bestow  upon  him — offered  his 
solemn  sacrifice  to  Jupiter  the  Avenger, 
previous  to  his  last  campaign,  when 
the  eagles  were  to  wave  over  Mesopo- 
tamia. 

"  The  Sabbath  dawned  fresh,  uncloud- 
ed, and  beautiful,  as  we  anchored  in  the 
pretty  little  port  of  Latakia,  the  ancient 
Laodicea.  The  town  of  Latakia,  built 
by  Seleucus  Nicator,  in  honour  of  his 
mother,  is  comprehended  in  the  Pashalic 
of  Saida,  or  Beyrout.  It  stands  on  a 
spur  of  the  Ansayrii  Mountains.  About 
half  a  mile  inland,  the  spur  falls  into  the 
pea,  and  forms  Cape  Zairet  ;  the  town 
stands  on  its  southern  slope,  and  is  joined, 
by  gardens  and  a  port,  to  the  sea.  The 
port  is  small  and  well  sheltered  ;  but 
time,  Turks,  and  ruins,  are  filling  it  up. 
The  buildings  on  the  shore,  having  their 
backs  to  the  sea,  present  the  appearance 
of  a  fortification.  On  a  reef  of  rock  that 
shelters  the  harbour  stands  a  pile  of 


building  of  different  eras.  It  seems  to 
be  castle,  mosque,  and  church.  Along 
the  beach  lie  hundreds  of  shafts  of 
columns,  and  many  are  built  into  the 
walls,  of  whose  remains  you  catch  a 
glimpse  on  the  southern  side." 

Here  we  must  pause,  though  our 
traveller  proceeds  to  Beyrout,  of 
which  he  gives  a  charming  account, 
which  our  limits  forbid  us  to  quote. 
We  reserve  our  space  for  more  novel 
scenes,  and  must  pass  over  a  chapter 
on  Damascus,  which  is  rich  in  legends 
and  graphic  pictures.  Thence,  en 
route  to  Horns,  by  the  way  of  the 
desert,  eastward  of  the  Anti-Lebanon, 
we  have  a  sketch  that  is  too  charac- 
teristic of  Eastern  travel  to  pass 
over : — 

'•'  North,  south  and  east,  dead  plain  ; 
west,  a  low  range  of  hills,  and  beyond, 
the  fair  Anti-Lebanon  in  all  its  snowy 
beauty.  Desert  all  around  us,  but  no 
dreary  waste.  Here  and  there  were 
loose  stones  and  rocks;  the  rest  a  carpet 
of  green,  fresh,  dewy  grass,  filled  with 
every  hue  of  wild-flowers — the  poppy  in 
its  gorgeous  red,  the  hyacinth,  the  simple 
daisy  and  others,  thick  as  they  could 
struggle  up,  all  freshened  with  a  breeze 
heavy  with  the  scents  of  thyme.  The 
lark  sent  forth  its  thrill  of  joy  in  wel- 
come to  the  coming  day  ;  before  us  the 
pennon  of  the  spearmen  gleamed  as  they 
wound  along  the  plain.  We  passed  the 
site  of  an  Arab  encampment  strewn  with 
fire -blackened  stones,  bones,  and  well 
picked  carcasses.  Storks  and  painted 
quails  sauntered  slowly  away  at  our  ap- 
proach, or  perched  and  looked  as  if  they 
questioned  our  right  to  pass.  At  eight 
o'clock  halted  at  a  khan  called; Hasiah 
also.  The  population  consisting  of  robust, 
wild-looking  fellows  ;  and  very  pretty 
women  poured  out  to  sell  hard-boiled 
eggs,  leban,  bread,  and  milk  :  they  were 
all  Mussulmans.  .... 

"  We  were  soon  disturbed  by  a  multi- 
tude of  sick,  which  recalled  to  one's  mind 
how  in  this  land,  of  old,  the  same  style 
of  faces,  probably  in  the  same  costumes, 
crowded  to  Him  who  healed.  The  lame, 
carried  by  the  healthy  ;  feeble  mothers 
with  sickly  babes  ;  hale  men  showing 
wounds  long  self-healed  ;  others  with  or 
without  complaints." 

Arrived  at  Horns,  we  have — 

"  Fish  for  dinner,  from  the  Lake  of 
Kades,  whose  blue  waters  we  saw  hi  the 
distance  to-day.  The  Lebanon  opens 
behind  that  lake,  and  you  may  pass  to 
the  sea,  on  the  plain,  without  a  hill. 
This  plain,  but  rarely  visited,  is  among 


1851.]  TJieAmayni. 

the  most  interesting  portions  of  Syria, 
containing  numerous  convents,  castles, 
and  ruins,  and  its  people  are  still  but 
little  known.  Maszyad,  the  principal 
seat  of  the  sect  called  Jsmayly  :  the  An- 
sayrii  also,  and  Koords,  besides  Turks, 
Christians,  and  gipsys,  may  be  found 
among  its  varied  population.  The  ancient 
castle  of  El  Hoshn,  supposed,  by  the 
lions  over  its  gates,  to  have  been  built 
by  the  Count  of  Thoulouse,  is  well  worth 
a  visit.  The  Orontes,  taking  its  rise  in 
a  rock,  from  whence  it  gushes  just  west 
of  the  Tel  of  Khroumee,— (true  bearing 
from  Horns  from  south  60°  32'  east,)— 
flows  through  the  Lake  of  Kades,  and 
passes  about  2°  to  the  west  of  Horns  :  it 
is  called  Nahr  El  Aazzy,  or  "the  rebel 
river,"  some  say  because  of  its  running 
north,  while  all  the  other  rivers  run 
south  ;  more  probably,  however,  on 
account  of  its  rapidity  and  strength  of 
current.  It  is  an  historical  stream  ;  on 
its  banks  were  altars,  and  the  country  it 
waters  is  almost  unmatched  for  beauty — 
'  Oh,  sacred  stream  !  -whose  dust 
Is  the  fragments  of  the  altars  of  idolatry.'" 
It  was  at  Horns  —  the  ancient 
Emessa — that  Zenobia  was  brought 
as  a  captive  into  the  presence  of 
Aurelian. 


725 


"  Why  did  she  not  there  fall  1  why 
add  the  remaining  lustreless  years  to 
her  else  glorious  life  ?  why,  in  the  words 
of  Gibbon,  sink  insensibly  into  the 
Roman  matron  ?  Zenobia  fat,  dowdy, 
and  contented — profanation  !  Zimmer- 
man, however,  invests  the  close  of  her 
career  with  graceful  philosophy  :  at 
Tivoli,  in  happy  tranquillity,  she  fed  the 
greatness  of  her  soul  with  the  noble 
images  of  Homer,  and  the  exalted  precepts 
of  Plato  ;  supported  the  adversity  of  her 
fortunes  with  fortitude  and  resignation, 
and  learnt  that  the  anxieties  attendant 
on  ambition  are  happily  exchanged  for 
the  enjoyments  of  ease  and  the  comforts 
of  philosophy." 


we  reach  Aleppo  in 


From  Horns 
four  days. 

"  It  was  a  spring  morning,  and  a  gentle 
keenness,  wafted  from  snow-clad  moun- 
tains, rendered  the  climate  delightful. 
The  town  lay  beneath  me,  and  each 
terrace,  court,  serai,  and  leewan  lay  open 
to  my  view.  I  saw  Aleppo  was  built  in 
a  hollow,  from  which  ran  plains  north 
and  west,  surrounded  by  mountains.  To 
the  north,  Djebel  Ma  Hash  and  his  range, 
untouched  by  the  soft  smiles  of  the  young 
spring,  lay  deep  in  the  snow  ;  the  flat 
connected  grass-grown  roofs  and  well- 
watered  sparkling  courts,  with  their 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXIV. 


carefully-tended  trees,  relieving  the  glare 
of  the  houses,  while  all  around  the  town 
lay  belted  in  its  garden.  The  scene  was 
pretty  and  pleasing  ;  here  and  there  the 
forests  of  tomb-stones,  the  perfect  min- 
aret, the  Eastern  dome  swelling  up  from 
the  mob  of  flat  roofs, — these  formed  a 
sight  that  told  I  was  in  the  East,  in  the 
cradle  of  mankind— the  home  of  his- 
tory."   

"  And  here,  though  sorely  pressed  for 
time,  we  must  stop  for  a  picnic,  which 

E and  myself  were  told  it  would  be 

right  to  give.  We  provided  carpets,  nar- 
gillehs,  horse-loads  of  sundries,  cushions, 
a  cargo  of  lettuces  ;  and  thus  equipped, 
we  sallied  out,  a  very  numerous  party. 
The  first  thing  to  select  was  a  garden,  a 
point  on  which  our  own  choice,  and  not 
the  owner's  will,  seemed  alone  to  be  con- 
sulted. Let  not  the  reader  fancy  an 
Eastern  garden  is  what  a  warm  Western 
fancy  would  paint  it — wild  with  luxuri- 
ant but  weedless  verdure,  heavy  with  the 
scent  of  roses  and  jessamine,  thrilling 
with  the  songs  of  the  bulbul  and  the 
nightingale,  where  fair  women  with 
plaited  tresses  touch  the  soulful  lute  in 
graceful  attitudes.  No  ;  it  is  a  piece  of 
ground  enclosed  by  high  walls,  varying 
in  size.  A  wretched  gate,  invariably 
badly  made,  probably  ruined,  admits  you 
to  the  interior.  Some  enclose  a  house 
with  two  or  three  rooms — windowless, 
white-washed  places.  Before  this  is  a 
reservoir  of  dirty,  stagnant  water,  turned 
up  from  a  neighbouring  well  by  an  ap- 
paratus as  rude  as  it  is  ungainly  and 
laborious  :  this  is  used  to  irrigate  the 
ground,  which  therefore  is  alternately 
mud  and  dust.  Fruit  trees  or  mulberries 
are  planted  in  rows,  and  the  ground 
beneath,  being  ploughed  up,  is  productive 
of  vegetables  or  corn.  One  or  two  trees, 
for  ornament,  may  be  planted  in  the  first 
row,  but  nothing  more  ;  and  weeds,  un- 
cut, undestroyed,  spring  up  in  every 
direction.  Such,  without  exaggeration, 
is  the  Bistan  zareff  quiess  / — the  Lovely 
Garden. 

"  We  selected  one  that  belonged  to 
the  Mollah.  Oh,  true  believer  !  in  thy 
pot  we  boiled  a  ham  ;  on  thy  divan  we 
ate  the  forbidden  beast  ;  thy  gardener, 
for  base  reward,  assisting  to  cook — who 
knows,  but  also  to  eat  the  same  ?  We 
chose  a  spot  shaded  by  a  noble  walnut 
tree,  and  spread  carpets  and  cushions. 
Fire  was  lighted,  nargillehs  bubbled, 
and  kief  began." 

On  the  2d  of  May  we  start  for  the 
Euphrates,  and  follow  for  some  time 
nearly  the  route  recommended  by 
Colonel  Chesney  for  the  great  Indian 
railway  to  Bussora,  on  the  Persian 
SA 


726 


The  Ansayrii. 


[Dec. 


Gulph.  The  distance  is  little  more 
than  800  miles — scarcely  thirty  steam- 
winged  hours — the  level  surpassingly 
uniform.  Truly  those  who  desire  to 
find  either  solitude,  or  what  our  au- 
thor calls  kief,  in  the  East,  must 
repair  thither  quickly,  for  the  iron  of 
the  engineer  has  already  entered  into 
its  soul.  Already  the  blue  and  white 
rivers  of  the  Nile  are  more  easily 
attainable  than  were  the  Tiber  and 
the  Po  to  our  grandfathers.  Beyrout 
and  Latakia  will  soon  be  fashionable 
watering-places ;  Baalbec  as  well 
known  as  Melrose  Abbey ;  and  the 
excavated  ruins  of  Nimroud  will  come 
under  the  range  of  "  return  tickets." 
The  grim.  Arab  will  look  out  from 
any  quiet  spot  that  the  all-searching 
Cockney  may  have  spared  him ;  and 
he  will  gaze  with  wonder  on  the  awful 
processions  of  the  "  devil-goaded  " 
tourists,  as  they  rush  with  magic 
speed  across  his  wilderness — only  to 
retrace  their  steps.  The  Turk,  at  the 
utmost  bounds  of  the  Othman  Em- 
pire, will  marvel  at  this. new  freak  of 
kismet  (destiny ;)  with  a  sigh  he  will 
abandon  his  beloved  bockra  (the  "  to- 
morrow "  in  which  he  loves  to  live ;) 
and  commending  himself  to  Islam,  or 
resignation  in  its  most  trying  form, 
he  will  "jump  in"  like  the  mere 
Giaours,  and  be  hurled  along  with 
the  rest  across  the  desert  behind  the 
Afreet  stoker. 

But  at  present  the  wilderness  knows 
nothing  of  all  this,  and  we  have  be- 
fore us  the  scenery  of  other  days  as 
Abram  beheld  it.  We  now  cross  the 
Chalus  River,  and  enter  upon  a 
series  of  vast  plains,  varied  by  myste- 
rious tels  or  mounds,  rising  up  from 
the  level  surface  like  bubbles  on  a 
pool.  On,  or  among  these,  the  ever 
restless  Turkomans  pitch  their  tents, 
and  welcome  the  traveller  kindly  to 
their  wandering  homes.  On  the  third 
day  from  Aleppo  we  reach  Aintab, 
on  the  river  Sadschur,  "  which,  fresh 
and  young,  danced  brightly  on,  as  if 
eager  to  join  the  Euphrates  and  see 
the  wide  world  beyond." 

"  At  Aintab,  among  other  visitors  was 
Doctor  Smith,  an  American  missionary. 
He  was  a  well-bred,  sensible  man,  a 
clever  linguist,  and,  from  all  I  ever 
heard,  an  earnest  and  zealous  servant 
of  his  heavenly  Master.  His  mission  al- 
ready shows  results  which  must  indeed 


be  a  source  of  peace  to  his  heart,  aiid 
proves  that  some  are  allowed  even  in 
this  world  to  reap  the  fruits  of  their  toil 
for  the  Lord.  In  that  very  town,  whence 
a  few  years  ago  he  was  insulted  and 
abused,  a  faithful  flock  now  join  in  hum- 
ble prayers  to  God ;  and  surely  they 
pray  for  him,  the  instrument  of  their 
salvation.  I  was  much  pleased  at  the 
plain  unexaggeratingwayin  which  he  told 
the  history  of  his  mission.  .  .  .  The 
good  work  has  progressed,  and  he  now 
has  from  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  three 
hundred  pupils  in  his  school,  many  the 
children  of  non-converted  parents.  And 
in  this  year's  enrolment — great  glory  to 
our  ambassador  at  Constantinople! — the 
Protestants  are  enrolled  as  a  separate 
religious  community  :  the  males  are  two 
hundred  and  odd  here. 

"  All  sects  recognised  by  the  Porte  are 
enrolled  separately,  as  their  taxes,  &c,, 
are  apportioned  by  their  own  heads 
(chiefs.)" 

Many  of  the  Armenians  here  have 
been  converted  to  the  Church  of 
England,  and  this  has  proved  to  be  a 
most  advantageous  change  for  their 
women. 

"  They  are  now  emancipated  from  the 
bondage  they  have  so  long  been  held  in 
— I  do  not  mean  personal  bondage,  for 
perhaps  there  is  less  of  it  in  the  East 
than  in  the  West — but  their  whole  moral 
position  has  undergone  a  vast  change. 
The  man  is  now  first  taught  that  the 
woman  is  his  best  friend  ;  his  firmest, 
truest  companion  ;  his  equal  in  the  social 
scale,  as  God  made  her — a  help  meet  for 
him,  not  a  mere  piece  of  household  fur- 
niture. The  woman  is  also  taught  to 
reverence  the  man  as  her  head  ;  thus 
imparting  that  beautiful  lesson, '  He  for 
God  only,  she  for  God  through  him.' 
She  is  also  taught  perhaps  a  harder  les- 
son, a  more  painful  task — to  relinquish 
all  her  costly  ornaments,  when  such  may 
be  more  usefully  employed  in  trade  and 
traffic  ;  to  consider  necessaries  more 
beautiful  than  costly  clothes  or  embroi- 
dered suits.  Gradually  she  is  allowed 
to  unite  with  the  man  in  prayers,  which 
is  permitted  by  no  other  sect  in  the  East, 
women  always  having  a  portion  of  the 
church  set  apart  for  them,  and  the  Mos- 
lems praying  at  different  times.  May  it 
please  Him  who  gives  and  dispenses  all 
things,  to  prosper  this  and  all  other  good 
and  holy  works!  ....  On  leaving 
Aintab,  we  passed  over  the  hills  that 
environ  the  town,  and  entered  a  pretty 
valley,  through  which  the  Sadschur  river 
accompanies  us.  Here,  at  a  small  village 
called  Naringa,  we  chose  a  pretty  spot 


1851.] 


The  Ansayrii, 


727 


under  some  trees,  and  pitched  our  tents. 
The  horses  browsed  at  our  door,  the 
stream  jumped  by  before  us  as  we  took 
our  evening's  repose.  And  repose  it  is 
to  sit  thus  at  the  close  of  a  day  of  travel, 
to  enjoy  the  view  of  the  lovely  regions 
given  man  to  dwell  in  ;  to  see  the  various 
changes  time,  circumstances,  and  reli- 
gion have  wrought  in  the  family  of  Adam, 
or,  as  the  Arabs  say,  in  the  Beni  Adam. 
It  was  a  lovely  evening  ;  and  as  I  re- 
clined apart  from  my  more  gregarious 
fellow-travellers,  I  felt 

'  That  the  night  was  filled  with  music, 
And  the  cares  that  infested  the  day 
Had  folded  their  tents,  like  the  Arab, 
And  as  silently  stolen  away.' " 

From  Naringa  our  route  lies  east- 
ward over  low  undulated  hills,  still 
marked  by  frequent  tels,  generally 
surmounted  by  a  village.  "Are 
these  mounds  natural,  or  does  man 
still  fondly  cling  to  the  ruined  home 
of  his  fathers  ?  "  Crossing  the  river 
Kirsan,  we  arrive  at  Nezeeb,  lying 
among  vineyards  and  plantations  of 
figs,  pistachios,  and  olives,  inter- 
spersed with  fields  of  wheat.  At  this 
village  the  Sultan's  forces,  70,000 
strong,  were  defeated  by  Ibrahim 
Pasha  with  45,000  men — a  bootless 
victory,  soon  neutralised  by  a  few  lines 
from  our  "  Foreign  Office."  On  the 
6th  day  after  leaving  Aleppo,  we  find 
ourselves  on  the  Euphrates,  the 
Mourad  Shai,  or  "  Water  of  desire."* 

"  In  all  its  majesty,  it  glides  beneath 
our  gaze.  It  is  needless  to  tell  the  his- 
tory of  this  river,  renowned  in  the  earliest 
traditions.  Watering  the  Paradise  of 
earth,  it  has  been  mingled  with  the  fables 
of  heaven;  the  Lord  gave  it  in  his  cove- 
nants unto  Abram  ;  Moses,  inspired, 
preached  it  in  his  sermon  to  the  people. 
In  its  waters  are  bound  the  four  angels, 
and,  at  the  emptying  of  the  sixth  vial, 
its  waters  will  dry  up,  'that  the  '  way  of 
the  kings  of  the  East  may  be  prepared.' 
In  every  age  it  has  formed  a  prominent 
feature  in  the  diorama  of  history,  flash- 
ing with  sunshine,  or  sluggish  and  turbid 
with  blood  ;  and  here,  on  its  bank,  its 
name  unchanged,  all  now  is  solitude  and 
quiet. 

"  Descending  amidst  wide  burial- 
grounds,  where  here  and  there  a  IcubbG 
sheltered  some  clay  more  revered  than 
the  rest,  we  reached  its  shores,  and 


patiently  took  up  our  quarters  beneath 
the  shade  of  a  tree,  till  a  boat  should 
arrive  to  carry  us  over.  The  redoubt, 
Fort  William,  as  it  was  called,  of  the 
Euphrates  expedition  still  remains.  In 
ancient  times  four  shallows  existed  where 
there  were  bridges  over  the  Euphrates  : 
the  northernmost  at  Samosata,  now  un- 
used; Rum  Kalaat,  further  south,  being 
the  route  frequented;  Bir,  the  khan  and 
eastern  bank  of  which  is  called  Zeugma, 
or  the  Bridge,  to  this  day  ;  and  the 
fourth  at  Thapsacus,  the  modern  Thap- 
saish,  where  Cyrus,  Alexander,  and 
Crassus  passed  into  Mesopotamia.  The 
Arabs  now  generally  pass  here,  or  else 
by  fords  known  only  to  themselves. 
Julian  crossed  at  a  place  called  Men- 
bidjy,  which  was  probably  abreast  of 
Hierapolis. 

"  But  what  avails  to  recount  individual 
cases  ? — the  whole  land  is  history.  Near 
us  is  Racca,  once  the  favourite  residence 
of  Aaron  the  Just.  Here  he  delighted 
to  spend  his  leisure — 

'  Entranced  with  that  place  and  time, 
So  worthy  of  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid.' " 

We  cross  the  Euphrates  to  the 
town  of  Bir,  and  proceed  still  east- 
ward, along  a  flat  desert,  strewn  with 
a  small-bladed  scanty  grass,  aroma- 
tic flowers,  and  wormwood.  "  One 
small  gleam,  like  a  polished  shield  or 
a  dark  sward,  is  all  we  see  of  the 
mighty  river  that  flows  around  us. 
Every  hour  of  the  day  changes  the 
aspect  of  the  desert :  now  it  is  wild 
and  gloomy,  as  scudding  clouds  pass 
over  the  sun ;  now  smiling  with 
maiden  sweetness,  as  the  sun  shines 
out  again."  Often  we  pass  by  the 
tented  homes  of  the  desert  tribes, 
with  their  flocks  and  herds  tended 
by  busy  maidens,  now  screaming 
wildly  after  their  restless  charge — 
now  singing  songs  as  wild,  but 
sweeter  far.  Then  comes  sunset  with 
its  massed  clouds  of  purple,  blue,  and 
gold;  the  air  is  full  of  bleatings  as 
the  flocks  all  tamely  follow  their 
shepherds  home.  On  the  tenth  day 
after  leaving  Aleppo,  we  descend  into 
a  plain  covered  with  some  dusty 
olive-trees :  we  come  to  a  hill  with  a 
low  wall,  and  a  castle  on  its  summit. 
"  And  this  is  the  Ur  of  the  Chaldees, 


*  The  Moslems  being  water-drinkers,  are  as  curious  about  their  streams  as  bons 
titans  are  about  their  cellars.  One  of  the  Caliphs  sent  to  weigh  all  the  waters  in 
his  wide  kingdom,  and  found  that  of  the  Euphrates  was  the  lightest. 


728  The  Ansayrii. 

the  Edessa  of  the  Romans,  the  Orfa 
of  the  Arabs.  Here  God  spake  to 
Abram."  From  this  city,  very  fruit- 
ful in  legends,  we  reach  Haran  in  six 
hours ;  travelling  over  a  plain  strewn 
with  tels  and  encampments  of  the 
Koords. 

"  Perhaps  by  this  very  route  Abraham 
of  old  and  those  with  him  travelled;  nor 
is  it  extravagance  to  say,  the  family  we 
now  meet  may  exhibit  the  exact  appear- 
ance that  the  patriarchs  did  four  thou- 
sand years  ago — the  tents  and  pots  piled 
on  the  camels;  the  young  children  in  one 
saddle-bag  balancing  the  kids  in  the 
other;  the  matron  astride  on  the  ass;  the 
maid  following  modestly  behind  ;  the 
boys  now  here,  now  there;  the  patriarch 
himself  on  his  useful  mare,  following  and 
directing  the  march.  As  we  pass,  he 
lays  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  says, 
*  Peace  be  with  you  ;  where  are  you 
going  ? — Depart  in  peace.'  " 

Haran  appears  to  be,  without 
doubt,  the  ancient  city  of  Nahor, 
where  Laban  lived,  and  where  Jacob 
served  for  Leah  and  Rachel.  Here, 
too,  is  Rebekah's  well,  and  here  our 
traveller  beheld  the  very  counterpart 
of  the  scene  that  Eleazar  saw  when  he 
sought  a  bride  for  his  master's  son.  By 
this  time  our  author  had  so  far  identi- 
fied himself  with  the  desert  tribes,  their 
language,  their  interests,  their  enjoy- 
ment of  the  desert  life,  and  their  love 
of  horses,  that  he  seems  to  feel,  and 
almost  to  speak,  in  the  Arab  style. 
We  have  never  seen  that  interesting 
people  so  happily  described  and  so 
vividly  illustrated.  If  we  had  not  so 
much  before  us  still  to  investigate, 
we  would  gladly  dwell  upon  the 
desert  journey  from  Haran  to  Tel 
Bagdad,  and  on  the  raft  voyage 
thence  down  the  Tigris  to  Mosul. 
One  graphic  sketch  of  an  Arab  sheik 
must  serve  for  many :  his  charac- 
teristic speech  contains  volumes  of 
his  people's  history. 

"  The  young  sheik  was  not,  probably, 
more  than  seventeen  or  eighteen  years  of 
age;  handsome,  bat  with  that  peculiarly 
girlish  effeminate  appearance  I  have  be- 
fore mentioned  as  so  frequently  found 
among  the  younger  aristocracy  of  the 
desert,  and  so  strangely  belied  by  their 
character  and  deeds.  He  now  held  my 
horse,  and,  apologising  for  his  father's 
temporary  absence,  welcomed  us.  The 
tent  was  large  and  well  made.  We  re- 


[Dec. 

mained  here  smoking  and  drinking  coffee 
till  the  sheik  Dahhal  arrived.  He  was 
fully  dressed  in  silk — a  fine  figure  of  a 
man,  with  light  clear  eyes.  Wounds, 
received  long  ago,  have  incapacitated 
him  from  the  free  use  of  his  hands,  but 
report  says  he  can  still  grasp  the  rich 
dagger  at  his  girdle  with  a  fatal  strength 
when  passion  urges  him.  Though  every 
feeling  was  subdued,  there  showed 
through  all  his  mildness  the  baffled  tiger, 
whose  vengeance  would  be  fearful — he 
resembled  a  netted  animal,  vainly  with 
all  its  cunning  seeking  to  break  the 
meshes  that  encompassed  him  on  all 
sides. 

"  He  received  us  with  a  hospitality 
that  seemed  natural  ;  his  words  were 
more  sonorous,  grand,  and  flowing  than 
those  of  any  Arab  I  had  before  seen. 
They  reminded  me  of  the  pleasure  I  had 
felt  in  South  America  in  listening  to  the 
language  of  a  true  Spaniard,  heard  amidst 
the  harsh  gutturals  of  a  provincial  jargon; 
strings  of  highflown  compliments,  uttered 
with  an  open,  noble  mien,  that,  while  it 
must  please  those  to  whom  it  is  used, 
seems  but  a  worthy  condescension  in  him. 

'  He  was  a  man  of  war  and  woes  ; 
Yet  on  his  lineaments  ye  cannot  trace, 
While  gentleness  her  milder  radiance  throwi 
Along  that  aged  venerable  face, 
The  deeds  that  lurk  beneath,  and  stain  him 
with  disgrace.' 

"  If  report  speaks  true,  never  did  there 
breathe  a  truer  son  of  Hagar  than  Sheik 
Dahhal.  Dnring  his  whole  life  his  hand 
has  been  against  every  man,  and  every 
man's  against  him.  Gaining  his  social 
position  with  his  dagger,  he  openly  en- 
deavoured to  enlarge  it  by  every  exercise 
of  force  or  fraud.  The  whole  frontier  of 
Mardin,  Nisibis,  Mosul,  Bagdad,  &c.,  are 
his  deadly  enemies,  made  so  by  his  acts. 
It  must  be  sad  in  declining  years  to  see 
the  wreck  of  a  youth  thus  spent;  already 
the  punishment  and  repayment  are  hard 
at  hand. 

"  Successful  violence  brings  temporary 
rewards — power,  rule,  dominion  ;  but  for 
this  he  has  bartered  honour,  fame,  youth, 
conscience  :  every  stake,  every  ruse,  has 
been  used,  and  he  gains  but  defeat,  dis- 
grace, and  contempt.  It  must  be  hard, 
very  hard,  for  the  proud  man  to  live  on 
thus.  I  pitied  him,  and  could  feel  for 
him  as  he  fondled  his  young  son,  a  lovely 
little  naked  savage,  who  lay  crouching  at 
his  side.  He  had  two  or  three  other 
children,  all  strikingly  handsome. 

"  We  were  ultimately  obliged  to  refuse 
his  escort.  '  It  is  well,'  said  he,  *  whether 
you  go  or  stay,  all  Dahhal  has,  all  his 
enemies  have  left  him,  is  yours.'  We 
asked  him  if  he  saw  any  change  in  the 


Arab  since  he  remembered  :  he  looked 
quietly  round  at  his  tents,  at  his  camels 
now  crowded  round  them,  the  flocks  low- 
ing to  their  homes ;  his  dress,  his  arms, 
and  then  said,  '  No  :  since  the  time  of 
the  Prophets — since  time  was,  we  are 
unchanged  ;  perhaps  poorer,  perhaps  less 
hospitable  in  consequence  ;  but  otherwise 
unchanged.'  He  made  a  very  just  re- 
mark afterwards  :  *  Our  habits  are  the 
only  ones  adapted  to  the  country  we  live 
in  ;  they  cannot  change  unless  we  change 
our  country :  no  other  life  can  be  lived 
here.'" 

Our  travellers,  sending  their  horses 
and  servants  along  the  banks  of  the 
Tigris,  themselves  embarked  on  board 
a  raft  composed  of  inflated  skins  ; 
and  their  voyage,  after  many  inci- 
dents, terminated  in  the  following 
scene : — 

"  At  last  the  pious  true-believing  eye 
of  the  boatman  detected  the  minarets  of 
Mosul  over  the  low  land  on  the  right. 
On  our  left  was  a  large  temporary  village, 
built  of  dried  grass,  roughly  and  coarsely 
framed  ;  low  peaked  mountains  ahead 
broke  the  steel  line  of  the  sky.  No  sooner 
did  our  boatman  detect  the  minarets, 
than  he  continued  his  prayers,  confiding 
the  oars  to  one  of  the  servants.  Poor 
fellow  !  it  was  sad  work  ;  for  the  raft,  as 
if  in  revenge  for  the  way  he  had  pulled 
her  about,  kept  pertinaciously  turning, 
and  as  it  bore  his  Mecca— turned  front 
to  the  north,  east,  or  west— he  had  to 
stop  his  pious  invocations,  that  otherwise 
would  have  been  wafted  to  some  useless 
bourne ;  and  then,  as  in  the  swing  she 
turned  him  to  the  black  stone,  he  had  to 
hurry  on,  like  sportsmen  anxious  for 
some  passing  game.  Often  he  rose,  but 
seemed  not  satisfied,  and  again  he  knelt, 
and  bowing  prayed  his  Caaba-directing 
prayers.  This  man  had  not  prayed  be- 
fore during  the  voyage. 

"  At  last,  over  the  land  appeared  a 
mud  fort  hardly  distinguishable  from  the 
hill ;  before  it  a  white-washed  dome,  a 
few  straggling  buildings — it  was  Mosul. 
Presently  an  angle  is  turned,  and  the 
broken  ruinous  wall  of  an  Eastern  town 
lies  before  us." 

Mosul  is  only  sixteen  days'  journey 
from  Aleppo.  Although  now  invested 
with  a  lasting  interest  by  its  connec- 
tion with  Mr  Layard's  magnificent  dis- 
coveries, it  is  one  of  the  least  attrac- 
tive cities  of  the  East.  Its  neigh- 
bourhood, with  the  grand  exception 
of  buried  Nineveh,  and  some  curious 
naphtha  springs,  is  equally  devoid  of 


The  Ansayrii.  729 

interest.  The  huge  mound  called 
Koyunjik,  u  cpverer  of  cities,"  lies  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  Tigris,  about 
two  miles  from  the  river.  Tel  Nim- 
roud,  where  the  first  successful  exca- 
vations were  made,  is  about  eighteen 
miles  lower  down.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  Mr  Rich,  a  merchant  of 
Bagdad,  first  directed  attention  to 
these  subterranean  treasures  nearly 
twenty  years  ago:  M.  Botta,  more 
recently,  made  some  energetic  at- 
tempts to  discover  them ;  but  it  re- 
mained for  our  gallant  countryman, 
Mr  Layard,  to  render  his  name  illus- 
trious by  unveiling  the  mysteries  of 
ages,  and  restoring  to  light  the  won- 
ders of  the  ancient  capital  of  the 
Assyrians.  His  renown,  and  still 
more  his  success  itself,  must  be  its 
own  reward ;  but  we  fear  that  in  all 
other  respects  the  nation  is  still 
deeply  in  his  debt.  The  capricious 
liberalities  of  our  Government  with 
respect  to  art  are  very  singular ;  the 
financial  dispositions  of  the  British 
Museum  are  still  more  difficult  to  ex- 
plain. The  former  does  not  hesitate 
to  bestow  £2500  on  transporting  a 
pillar  from  the  sea-shore  of  Egypt  to 
London,  while  it  only  places  at  Mr 
Layard's  disposal  £3000  for  the  ex- 
cavation of  Nineveh  and  its  surround- 
ing suburbs,  eighteen  miles  in  ex- 
tent— together  with  the  support  and 
pay  of  a  numerous  staff  of  artists 
and  others  during  eighteen  months. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  trustees  of 
the  British  Museum,  knowing  them- 
selves already  to  be  deeply  in  Mr 
Layard's  debt,  refuse  to  further  his 
great  efforts,  except  by  the  paltry 
(and  refused)  pittance  of  £12  a- 
month ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  they 
furnish  Colonel  Rawlinson  with  the 
sum  of  £2000  to  proceed  with  exca- 
vations at  Koyunjik,  (three  hundred 
miles  from  his  residence,)  and  at 
Susa,  which  is  one-third  of  the  dis- 
tance. In  the  approaching  session 
of  Parliament,  we  hope  that  Mr 
Layard's  services  to  England  and  to 
art  will  be  more  generously  appre- 
ciated than  they  have  hitherto  been  ; 
and  that,  at  all  events,  we  shall  not 
be  left  to  labour  under  the  disgrace  of 
pecuniary  debt  to  that  enterprising 
gentleman. 

We  have  now  reached  our  travel- 
ler's goal,  and  must  make  brief  work 


730  The  AnsayriL 

of  his  returning  tour,  in  order  to  spare 
some  columns  to  the  consideration  of 
the  Ansayrii,  the  most  important 
matter  in  the  work. 

After  a  residence  of  some  weeks  at 
Mosul,  and  at  the  several  neighbour- 
ing excavations,  Mr  Walpole  accom- 
panied Mr  Layard  in  a  tour  through 
the  fastnesses  of  Koordistan  :  and 
here  we  must  find  space  for  one  or 
two  glimpses  at  those  unknown 
regions,  and  the  life  that  awaits  the 
traveller  there. 

Before  we  begin  to  ascend  the  hill 
country,  we  look  back : 

"  On  either  side,  the  mountain  falls 
away  with  jut  and  crag  almost  perpendi- 
cularly to  the  plain;  at  the  foot,  hills  rise 
above  hills  in  irregular  and  petulant 
ranges,  like  a  stormy  sea  when  the  wind 
is  gone,  and  nothing  save  its  memory 
remains,  lashing  the  waves  with  restless 
motion.  Westward  lies  the  vast  plain, 
its  surface  broken  by  the  mounds  of  im- 
perial cities  long  passed  away. 

"  One  moment  the  eye  rests  on  the  Tigris 
as  it  glides  its  vast  volume  by;  then,  out 
upon  the  plain,  the  desert  broken  by  the 
range  of  Singar,  again  on  to  distance 
where  earth  and  air  mingle  imperceptibly 
together.  To  the  south,  over  a  varied 
land,  is  Mosul,  the  white  glare  of  its 
mosque  glistening  in  the  sun;  to  the  south 
and  east,  a  sea  of  hills,  wave  after  wave, 
low  and  irregular.  The  Zab,  forcing  its 
way,  takes  a  tortuous  course  to  its  com- 
panion; farther  on,  they  join  their  waters, 
and  run  together  to  the  vast  worlds  of 
the  south.  Beyond  are  Arbela  and  the 
Obeid.  Kara  Chout  and  its  crags  shut 
out  the  view,  passing  many  a  spot  graven 
on  the  pages  of  the  younger  world. 

"What  a,  blank  in  history  is  there 
around  those  vast  cities,  now  brought  to 
light !  A  few  vague  traditions,  a  few 
names  whose  fabulous  actions  throw  dis- 
credit on  their  existence,  are  all  that 
research  has  discovered.  Even  the  na- 
tions following  after  these  we  know  but 
dimly — tradition,  garlanded  by  poetry, 
our  only  guide. 

'  Belshazzar's  grave  is  made, 

His  kingdom  passed  away; 
He  in  the  balance  weighed, 

Is  light  and  worthless  clay. 
The  shroud  his  robe  of  state; 

His  canopy  the  stone; 
The  Mede  is  at  his  gate, 

The  Persian  on  his  throne.' 

"  Fancy  conjures  up  to  the  south  a 
small  and  compact  body  of  Greeks :  around 


[Dec. 

them,  at  a  distance,  like  vultures  round 
a  struggling  carcase,  hover  bands  of 
cavalry.  Now,  as  a  gap  opens,  they 
rush  on;  now,  as  the  ranks  close  up,  they 
melt  away,  snooting  arrows  as  they  fly, 
vengeful  in  their  cowardice — it  is  the 
retreat  of  Xenophon  and  his  gallant 
band.  They  encamp  at  Nimroud — as  in 
his  yesterday,  so  in  our  to-day,  a  mound 
smothering  its  own  renown. 

"  Northward  again  comes  a  mighty 
band:  with  careful  haste  they  cross  the 
rivers,  and  with  confident  step  traverse 
the  plain  south.  On  the  south-east  plain, 
a  legion  of  nations,  golden,  glittering, 
yet  timorous,  await  their  approach. 
Alexander,  the  hero,  scatters  dismay: 
assured  of  conquest  ere  he  met  the  foe, 
he  esteems  the  pursuit  the  only  difficulty. 
On  the  one  side,  Asia  musters  her  nations 
— Indians,  Syrians,  Albanians,  and  Bac- 
trians — the  hardiest  population  of  her 
empire.  Elephants  and  war-chariots  are 
of  no  avail :  the  result  was  fore-written, 
and  Darius  foremost  flies  along  the  plain. 

"Faint,  afar,  we  can  see  in  the  north- 
west Lucullus;  and  the  arms  of  Rome 
float  over  the  walls  of  Nisibis,  (B.C.  68.) 
We  may  almost  see  the  glorious  array  of 
Julian  ;  hear  him  subduing  his  mortal 
pain;  hear  him  pronounce,  with  well- 
modulated  tones,  one  of  the  finest  ora- 
tions the  world  can  record.  We  may 
see  the  timid  Jovian  skulking  in  his 
purple  from  the  field  he  dared  not  defend 
in  his  armour.  But  again  rise  up  the 
legions  and  the  Labarum  :  Heraclius 
throws  aside  his  lethargy ;  the  earth 
drinks  deep  of  gore,  and  Khosroo  *  is 
vanquished  under  our  eyes. 

"  The  white  and  the  black  banners  now 
gleam  upon  the  field;  the  crescent  flaunts 
on  either  side.  One  God,  one  faith — 
they  fight  for  nought.  Hell  for  the 
coward,  paradise  for  the  brave.  Abou 
Moslem  and  Merwan.  The  earth,  on  the 
spot  which  had  last  drunk  the  red  life- 
blood  of  Greek  and  Persian,  now  slakes 
its  fill.  Merwan  flies  with  wondrous 
steps,  but  the  avenger  follows  fast.  He 
first  loses  his  army  on  the  Tigris  ;  him- 
self dies  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile  :  there 
perished  the  rule  of  the  Ommiades. 

"  The  hordes  of  Timour  now  approach  : 
their  war-song  ought  to  be  the  chorus  of 
the  spirits  of  destiny  in  Manfred — 

'  Our  hands  contain  the  hearts  of  men, 

Our  footsteps  are  their  graves; 
We  only  give  to  take  again 
The  spirits  of  our  slaves.' 

"  What  a  different  aspect  must  this 
plain  have  presented  when  those  sun- 


He  was  subsequently  murdered,  A.  D.  62. 


1851.] 


The  Ansayrii. 


781 


burnt  mysterious  mounds  were  living, 
teeming,  sinning  cities;  irrigated,  culti- 
vated, protected,  safe;  fruitful  and  pro- 
ductive !  And  these  were  barbarous 
times;  and  now,  in  this  our  day,  peace- 
congresses,  civilisation,  one  vast  federal 
union,  liberty,  equality ; — a  few  villages 
fortified  as  castles,  a  population  flying 
without  a  hope  of  even  a  death-spot  in 
peace  —  fearful  alike  of  robbers  and 
rulers,  robbed  alike  by  protectors  and 
enemies,  planting  the  harvest  they  may 
not  reap  ;  a  government  seizing  what 
the  roving  Arabs  choose  to  leave;  law 
known  but  as  oppression;  authority  a 
license  to  plunder;  government  a  resi- 
dent extortioner. 

"  Too  long  have  we  lingered  on  the 
scene.  Again  the  plain  is  naked,  bare, 
and  lifeless;  the  sun  hovers  on  the 
horizon — he  gilds  the  desert,  licks  the 
river;  the  desert  breaks  his  glorious 
disc.  Slowly,  like  the  light  troops 
covering  a  retreat,  he  collects  his  rays; 
with  fondness  lights  up  each^hill;  warms 
with  his  smile,  lighting  with  unnum- 
bered tints  each  peak  and  crag  of  bold 
desert-throned  Singar.  Reluctantly  he 
holers  for  a  moment  on  the  horizon's 
verge,  large,  fearful,  red ;  then 

'  The  sun's  rim  dips,  the  stars  rush  out ; 
At  one  stride  comes  the  dark.' 

"  Near  the  convent  is  a  dripping  well; 
a  rough  path  leads  us  to  it,  and  its 
entrance  is  shaded  by  a  gigantic  tree. 
The  water  is  very  cold  and  sweet ;  the 
moisture  shed  a  coolness  around,  that 
made  an  exquisite  retreat.  Near  it  is  a 
cave  which  in  days  of  persecution  shel- 
tered securely  many  of  the  poor  fugitive 
Christians.  The  destruction  of  most  of 
the  convents  about  these  mountains  and 
on  this  plain  is  imputed  to  Tamerlane; 
but  in  our  own  time  Sheik  Mattie  was 
attacked  by  the  Koords;  its  fathers  were 
slain,  beaten,  and  dispersed;  and  the 
dust  of  long  ages  of  bishops  scattered 
to  the  winds.  They  still  show  in  the 
church  the  tombs  of  Mar  Halveus  and 
Abou  Faraf,  which  they  say  escaped 
the  observation  of  the  destroyer.  The 
inscription  of  one  we  were  able  to 
decipher;  but  another  resisted  even  the 
efforts  of  the  scholar  then  resident  at 
the  convent.  We  in  vain  tried  many 
learned  men,  but  the  inscription  defies 
all  investigation. 

'  Chaldea's  seers  are  good, 

But  here  they  have  no  skill ; 
And  the  unknown  letters  stood, 
Untold  and  mystic  still.' 

«  We  now  made  straight  for  Sheik 
Mattie,  whose  green  gorge  we  could 
discover  high  up  the  face  of  the  moun- 


tain. The  plain  was  a  succession  of  low 
hills  all  brown  with  the  summer;  here 
and  there  a  Koord  village  with  its  culti- 
vated fields,  cucumbers,  and  cool  melons. 
The  villages  west  of  the  river  are 
nearly  all  Christian,  but  on  to-day's 
ride  we  passed  two  Koordish  ones.  At 
one  we  halted,  and  regaled  ourselves  and 
horses  on  the  fruit  they  pressed  on  us. 

"  The  old  sheik  came  out,  followed  by 
two  men  with  felts  ;  these  were  spread 
in  the  cool,  and  we  made  kief.  He 
begged  the  loan  of  Zea,  (my  Albanian 
greyhound,)  whom  he  praised  beyond 
measure  for  his  extreme  beauty,  to  kill 
hares.  To  hear  him  talk,  his  complaints 
of  game,  of  fields,  hares  destroyed,  &c.,  I 
could  have  believed  myself  once  more  in 
England,  but  that  he  closed  each  sentence 
with  « It  is  God's  will  ;  His  will  be 
done,"  and  such  like  holy  words.  His 
long,  wide,  graceful  robes  also  brought 
one  back  to  the  East,  to  poetry  and  to 
romance." 

And  here  we  find  less  happy  acci- 
dents in  a  traveller's  life,  which  must 
not  pass  unremembered. 

"  At  first,  one  of  the  greatest  priva- 
tions I  experienced  in  Eastern  travel, 
and  one  that  half  did  away  with  the 
pleasure  derived  from  it,  was  the  want  of 
privacy  ;  and  one  can  fully  understand 
(as  probably  centuries  have  produced  but 
little  change  in  their  habits)  the  expres- 
sion in  the  Bible,  of  our  Saviour  retiring 
apart  to  pray  ;  for,  in  the  East,  privacy 
is  a  word  unknown.  Families  live  in 
one  room  ;  men,  women,  sons,  daughters, 
sons'  wives,  &c.,  and  may  be  said  never 
to  be  alone.  This  at  first  annoyed  me, 
but  habit  is  second  nature.  As  soon  as 
the  traveller  arrives  he  has  visits  ;  all 
the  world  crowd  to  see  him  ;  the  thou- 
sand nameless  things  one  likes  to  do 
after  a  tedious  hot  journey  must  be  done 
in  public.  Before  you  are  up  they  are 
there  ;  meals,  all,  there  they  are  ;  and 
there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  proceed  just 
as  if  the  privacy  was  complete.  .  .  . 

"FRIDAY,  12th.  —  I  rose  as  well  as 
usual :  on  one  side  of  the  tent  lay  the 
Doctor,  dead  beat  ;  under  one  flap, 
which  constitutes  a  separate  room,  Ab- 
dallah  perfectly  insensible  :  the  cook  lay 
behind  on  a  heap  of  horse-cloths,  equally 
stricken.  I  sat  down  to  write  in  the  air: 
finding  the  flies  annoyed  me,  I  read,  fell 
asleep,  and  remember  nothing  save  a 
great  sensation  of  pain  and  weariness  for 
two  days.  It  seemed  as  if  a  noise  awoke 
me ;  it  was  early  morning,  and  Mr 
Layard  stood  before  me.  Poor  fellow  ! 
he  had  learned  how  to  treat  the  fever  by 
bitter,  almost  fatal,  personal  experience  ; 


732 


The  Ansayrii. 


[Dec 


and  now  he  dosed  us  and  starved  us,  till 
all  but  Abdallah  were  out  of  danger,  at 
all  events. 

"It  is  curious  how  soon  people  of  warm 
climates, — or,  in  fact,  I  may  say, — all 
uneducated  people,  succumb  to  sickness. 
Hardy  fellows,  apparently  as  strong  as 
iron  :  when  attacked  they  lie  down, 
wrap  a  coat  or  cloak  around  them,  and 
resign  themselves  to  suffer.  It  would 
seem  that  the  mind  is  alone  able  to  rise 
superior  to  disease  :  their  minds,  unculti- 
vated, by  disuse  weak,  or  in  perfect 
alliance  with  the  body,  cease  to  exist 
when  its  companion  falls.  In  intellectual 
man  the  mind  is  the  last  to  succumb  : 
long  after  the  poor  weak  body  has 
yielded,  the  mind  holds  out  like  a  well- 
garrisoned  citadel  :  it  refuses  all  sur- 
render, and,  though  the  town  is  taken, 
fights  bravely  till  the  last." 

And  now  one  glimpse  at  Koordis- 
tan  and  the  beautiful  and  mysterious 
Lake  Van,  which  lies  hidden  in  its 
deepest  recesses. 

"We     now    journeyed     on     through 
strange  regions,  where  Frank  had  never 
wandered.     We  saw  the  Koords  as  they 
are  best  seen,  free  in  their  own  magni- 
ficent mountains ; — not  "  the  ass,"  as  the 
Turk  calls  him,  "of  the  plains."     Ma- 
homet Pasha,  son  of  the  little  standard- 
bearer,  and  Pasha  of  Mosul,  was  requested 
to  provide  for  its  defence  by  the  consuls, 
and  to  attempt  by  better  rule  the  civilisa- 
tion of  the  Arabs.     He  replied  : — 
*  Erkekler  Densige 
Allar  genisig 
Kurytar  Donsig 
Devekler  Yoolarsig.' 

"  '  What  can  I  do  with  people  whose 
men  have  no  religion,  whose  women  are 
without  drawers,  their  horses  without 
bits,  and  their  camels  without  halters  ?' 

"  Thus  we  wandered  over  many  miles, 
plains  spreading  between  their  fat  moun- 
tains, splendid  in  their  grandeur;  now 
amidst  pleasant  valleys,  anon  over  giant 


'Dim  retreat, 


For  fear  and  melancholy  meet; 

Where  rocks  were  rudely  heaped  and  rent, 

As  by  a  spirit  turbulent; 

Where  sights  were  rough,  and  sounds  were 

wild, 
And  everything  unreconciled.' 

"My  health  after  this  gradually  got 
worse  :  repeated  attacks  of  fever,  brought 
on  probably  by  my  own  carelessness, 
weakened  me  so  much  that  I  could 
scarcely  keep  up  with  the  party.  Riding 
was  an  agony,  and,  by  the  carelessness  of 
my  servant,  my  horses  were  ruined. 
One  evening  an  Abyssinian,  one  of  my 


attendants,  went  so  far  as  to  present  a 
pistol  at  my  head.  My  poor  dear  dog, 
too,  was  lost,  which  perhaps  afflicted  me 
more  than  most  ills  which  could  happen 
to  myself.  At  last  we  passed  over  a 
ridge,  and  Lake  Van  lay  before  us.  We 
had,  perhaps,  been  the  first  Europeans 
who  had  performed  the  journey.  The 
last  and  only  other  of  which  we  have  any 
record  was  poor  Professor  Schultz,  who 
was  murdered  by  order  of  Khan  Mah- 
moud  .for  the  baggage  he  unfortunately 
displayed.  The  Khan  received  him  kind- 
ly, entertained  him  with  hospitality,  and 
despatched  him  on  his  road  with  a  guard 
who  had  their  instructions  to  murder 
him  on  the  way.  He  was  an  accurate 
and  capable  traveller,  a  native  of  Hesse, 
and  travelling  for  the  French  govern- 
ment. 

"  The  morning  of  the  3d  of  August  saw 
us  passing  up  a  most  lovely  valley,  the 
Vale  of  Sweet  Waters.  We  had  en- 
camped in  it  the  night  before.  Leaving 
its  pretty  verdure,  we  mounted  a  long 
range  of  sun-burnt  hills  covered  with 
sun-dried  grass  and  immortelles,  whose 
immortality  must  have  been  sorely  tried 
on  that  sun-exposed  place.  Achieving  a 
pass,  we  gained  our  view  of  Van.  The 
scene  was  worthy  of  Stanfield  in  his  best 
mood.  Before  us,  on  the  north-east, 
brown,  quaintly-shaped  hills,  variegated 
with  many  tints,  filled  the  view  of  the 
far  horizon.  From  this  a  plain  led  to  the 
lake;  around  it  were  noble  mountains, 
snow  and  cloud  clad — their  beauty  en- 
hanced by  the  supervening  water.  Saphan 
Dagh,  with  a  wreath  of  mist  and  cap  of 
spotless  snow,  seen  across  the  sea,  was 
imposing — I  might  say,  perfect. 

"  The  plain  on  the  eastern  coast  spread 
out  broad  and  fair  :  here  verdant  mea- 
dows, there  masses  of  fruit-laden  trees ; 
while  between  the  mass  wandered  the 
mountain  streams,  hastening  on  to  their 
homes  in  the  fair  bosom  of  the  lake. 
Van  itself  swept  round  its  castle,  which 
stands  on  a  curious  rock  that  rises  abrupt- 
ly from  the  plain;  but  the  lake,  indeed, 
was  the  queen  of  the  view — blue  as  the  far 
depth  of  ocean,  yet  unlike  the  ocean — so 
soft,  so  sweet,  so  calm  was  its  surface.  On 
its  near  coast,  bounded  by  silver  sands, 
soft  and  brilliant  ;  while  its  far  west 
formed  the  foot  of  Nimrod  Dagh,  on 
whose  lofty  crest  are  said  to  be  a  lake 

and  a  castle 

"  The  waters  of  the  lake  have  lately 
been  analysed,  so  the  curious  substance 
found  floating  on  its  surface,  and  used 
as  soap,  will  be  accounted  for  :  it  is  sold 
in  the  bazaars.  At  present  there  are  but 
three  small  boats  or  launches  on  the 
lake,  and  even  these  can  hardly  find  trade 


1851.] 

enough  to  remunerate  them.  Their  prin- 
cipal occupation  is  carrying  passengers 
to  the  towns  on  the  coast." 

Mr  Layard  remained  at  Lake  Van  in 
order  to  copy  some  inscriptions  ;  but 
Mr  Walpole  was  induced  to  penetrate 
northward  as  far  as  Patnos,  where  no 
European  had  yet  been  seen.  Here 
his  enterprise  was  rewarded  by  the 
view  of  some  magnificent  scenery, 
and  the  more  important  discovery  of 
some  cuneiform,  and  many  ancient 
Armenian  inscriptions.  These  were 
forwarded  by  our  traveller  to  Mr 
Layard,  and  will  doubtless  appear  in 
his  forthcoming  work.*  But  we  must 
now  leave  Koordistan,  recommending 
the  perusal  of  Mr  Walpole's  chapter 
on  the  Christians  of  Lake  Van,  and 
their  beautiful  and  mysterious  inland 
sea,  to  all  who  love  to  picture  to 
themselves  strange  lands  and  wild 
adventure.  We  return  by  way  of 
Erzeroum,  Trebizond,  the  shores  of 
the  Black  Sea,  and  Sansoun,  to  Con- 
stantinople ;  thence  to  Latakia ;  and 
here  we  find  ourselves  within  view  of 
the  mountains  of  the  mysterious 
Ansayrii  and  Ismaylis. 

In  the  title  of  this  work  is  revived 
a  subject  of  very  ancient  interest. 
The  Ansayrii,  or  Nassairi,  or  As- 
sassins, are  a  singularly  surviving 
relic  of  the  followers  of  the  Old  Man 
of  the  Mountain,  so  celebrated  in  the 
history  of  the  Crusades,  f  Historians 
have  fallen  into  a  great  mistake  in 
supposing  this  Order  to  have  been  a 
hereditary  dynasty,  or  to  have  em- 
braced a  nation.  Originally  it  was 
simply  an  Order,  like  that  of  the 
Templars.  Like  them  the  members 
wore  white  garments  set  off  with 


The  Ansayrii.  733 

crimson,  typifying  innocence  and 
blood.  The  policy  of  both  was  to 
obtain  possession  of  strong  places, 
and  by  terror  to  keep  the  surround- 
ing nations  in  subjection.  The  Assas- 
sins succeeded  in  this  object  so  far  as 
to  dictate  their  will  to  several  Sul- 
tans, many  Viziers,  and  innumerable 
minor  authorities.  When  the  Sultan 
of  the  Seljuks  sent  an  ambassador  to 
the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain,  de- 
manding his  submission,  the  follow- 
ing well-known  circumstance  took 
place  : — "The  chief  said  to  one  of  his 
followers,  *  Stab  thyself! '  To  another 
he  said,  'Throw  thyself  from  the 
battlements ! '  Before  he  had  ceased 
to  speak  his  disciples  had  obeyed 
him,  and  lay  dead,  not  only  willing 
but  eager  martyrs  to  their  faith. 
The  chief  then  turning  to  the  envoy, 
said,  '  Take  what  thou  hast  seen  for 
thine  answer.  I  am  obeyed  by 
seventy  thousand  such  men  as  these.'" 
The  founder  of  this  terrible  sect  was 
Hassan  Ben  Sahab.  He  was  a  "  Dai," 
or  master-missionary,  from  the 
Secret  Lodge  established  at  Cairo, 
(about  1004  A.D.),  in  order  to  sap 
and  overthrow  the  Caliphat  of  Abbas, 
and  establish  that  of  the  Fatimites. 
Hassan  gave  promise  of  greatness  in 
his  youth,  became  a  favourite  of  the 
Melekshah,  was  banished  from  court 
by  the  intrigues  of  a  rival,  and  took 
refuge  at  Ispahan.  Here  he  became 
initiated  in  the  voluptuous  and  athe- 
istical doctrines  of  the  Ismailis,  and 
was  sent  to  Egypt,  to  the  Caliph 
Mostansur,  as  a  preacher  and  pro- 
mulgator  of  that  atrocious  creed.  He 
was  banished  from  the  Egyptian 
court  also,  and  cast  ashore  in  Syria. 


*  We  must  here  notice  the  generosity  with  which  Mr  Walpole  forbears  to  enlarge 
upon  any  subject  in  which  he  might  anticipate  the  works  of  other  travellers.  For 
this  reason  he  passes  lightly  over  this  interesting  tour  in  the  mountains  of  Koor- 
distan, and  only  (to  our  regret)  alludes  en  passant  to  a  tribe  of  pastoral  Jews,  whom  he 
and  Mr  Layard  met  on  these  mountains,  following  the  spring  (as  the  snows  receding 
left  fresh  herbage  for  their  flocks)  up  the  mountains.  When  we  consider  how  rarely 
pastoral  Jews  are  met  with,  and  that  this  was  the  very  land  wherein  the  lost  ten 
tribes  disappeared,  and,  moreover,  that  the  elders  of  these  people  spoke  the  Chaldean 
tongue,  we  are  much  disappointed  to  hear  no  more  of  them. 

f  The  mystery  relating  to  this  community  is  so  great  that  the  laborious  Muller, 
in  his  twenty-four  books,  has  not  attempted  to  penetrate  it.  And  Gibbon,  notwith- 
standing his  acknowledged  pleasure  in  painting  scenes  of  blood,  has  treated  the  Order 
of  Assassins  very  superficially.  Marco  Polo  is,  as  usual,  the  most  entertaining  of 
authorities,  as  far  as  he  goes ;  but  it  remained  for  Joseph  Von  Hammer  to  explore  t 
faint  vestiges  of  their  strange  story  with  vast  and  patient  research.  He  has  thrown 
together  the  results  of  his  labours  in  a  small  volume,  of  great  interest. 


734 


The  Ansayrii. 


[Dec. 


After  a  variety  of  adventures  in  the 
course  of  his  travels  from  Aleppo 
through  Persia,  he  at  length  obtained 
possession  of  the  fortress  of  Alamut,* 
near  Khaswin.  Here  he  remained 
for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  never 
leaving  the  castle,  and  only  twice 
moving  from  his  own  apartment  to 
the  terrace  during  a  period  of  thirty- 
eight  years.  Here  he  perfected,  in 
mystery  and  deep  seclusion,  his 
diabolical  doctrines,  and  soon  sent 
"  Dais,"  or  missionaries,  of  his  own 
into  all  lands.  The  secret  society  of 
which  he  was  the  head  contained 
several  grades,  embracing  the  ini- 
tiated, the  aspirant,  and  the  devoted 
— mere  executioners  or  tools  of  higher 
intelligences.!  The  grand-master 
was  called  Sidna  (Sidney)  "  our 
lord ;  "  and  more  commonly  Sheik 
el  Djebel,  the  Sheik  or  Old  Man  of 
the  Mountain,  because  the  Order 
always  possessed  themselves  of  the 
castles  in  mountainous  regions  in 
Irak,  Kuhistan,  and  Syria.  The  Old 
Man,  robed  in  white,  resided  always 
in  the  mountain  fort  of  Alamut. 
There  he  maintained  himself  against 
all  the  power  of  the  Sultan,  until  at 
length  the  daggers  of  his  Fedavie,  or 
devoted  followers,  freed  him  from  his 
most  active  enemies,  and  appalled  the 
others  into  quiescence.  Alamut  was 
now  called  u  the  abode  of  Fortune," 
and  all  the  neighbouring  strongholds 
submitted  to  the  Ancient  of  the 
Mountain.  The  Assassins  were  pro- 
scribed in  all  civilised  communities, 
and  the  dagger  and  the  sword 
found  constant  work  on  their  own 
professors.  The  Assassins,  however, 
like  the  Indian  Thugs,  depraved  all 
societies,  in  all  sorts  of  disguises.  At 
one  time  the  courtiers  of  a  Caliph 
being  solemnly  invoked,  with  a  pro- 
mise of  pardon  and  impunity,  five 
chamberlains  stepped  forward,  and 
each  showed  the  dagger,  which  only 
waited  an  order  from  the  Old  Man 
to  plunge  into  the  heart  of  any  human 
being  it  could  reach.  By  such  agency 
Hassan  kept  entire  empires  in  a 
state  of  revolution  and  carnage. 
From  his  remote  fortress  he  made 
his  influence  felt  and  feared  to  the 
extreme  confines  of  Khorassan  and 


Syria.  And  thence,  too,  he  propagated 
the  still  more  infernal  engines  of  his 
authority,  his  catechisms  of  atheism 
and  licentiousness  —  "Nothing  is 
true ;  all  things  are  permitted  to  the 
initiated."  Such  was  the  foundation 
of  his  creed. 

This  villain  died  tranquilly  in  his 
bed,  having  survived  to  the  age  of 
ninety.  His  spiritual  and  temporal 
power  was  continued  with  various 
vicissitudes  through  a  long  succession 
of  impostors,  the  dagger  still  main- 
taining its  mysterious  and  inevitable 
agency.  The  list  of  the  best,  and  some 
of  the  most  powerful,  of  Oriental 
potentates  who  perished  by  it,  swells, 
as  the  history  of  the  Order  proceeds, 
to  an  incredible  extent.  During  all 
this  time  the  fundamental  maxim  of 
the  creed,  which  separates  the  secret 
doctrines  of  the  initiated  from  the 
public  tenets  of  the  people,  was  pre- 
served. These  last  were  (and  now 
are,  according  to  Mr  Walpole)  held 
to  the  strictest  injunctions  of  Ma- 
hometanism.  TheEast  did  not  detect 
the  motive  power  of  the  Assassins' 
chief:  they  only  saw  the  poniard 
strike  those  who  had  offended  the 
envoy  of  the  invisible  Imam,  who  was 
soon  to  arrive  in  power  and  glory,  and 
to  assert  his  dominion  over  earth.  In 
the  Crusades,  the  hand  of  the  As- 
sassins is  traced  in  the  fate  of  Ray- 
mond of  Tripoli— perhaps  in  that  of  the 
Marquis  of  Montferrat — and  ingnany 
meaner  instances.  At  that  period 
the  numbers  of  people  openly  profess- 
ing the  creed  is  stated  by  William 
of  Tyre  at  sixty  thousand ;  and  by 
James,  Bishop  of  Alia,  at  forty  thou- 
sand. At  this  day  Mr  Walpole  esti- 
mates the  number  of  the  Ansayrii 
at  forty  thousand  fighting  men,  in- 
cluding Ismaylis.  These  numbers 
are  to  be  understood,  however,  in 
former  times,  as  well  as  in  the  pre- 
sent, to  comprise  the  whole  sect,  and 
not  merely  the  executioners,  who 
always  formed  a  very  small  propor- 
tion, and  are  now  probably  extinct. 
The  Old  Man  is  no  longer  recognised, 
so  far  as  can  be  ascertained,  among 
the  mountains,  (where,  as  usual  in 
other  parts  of  Syria,  the  patriarchal 
form  prevails  ;)  and  the  strange  creed 


The  Vulture's  Nest. 


t  Dais,  Refik,  and  Fedavie. 


1851.] 


The  Ansayrii. 


735 


that  their  ancestors  held,  together 
with  a  singular  recklessness  of  life, 
alone  remains  to  mark  their  descent. 
Concerning  this  creed  we  are  referred 
by  Mr  Walpole  to  some  discoveries 
which  he  intends  to  publish  in  a 
future  volume.  We  must  confess  to 
considerable  disappointment  in  the 
meagre  information  that  is  here  af- 
forded to  us  on  the  subject,  espe- 
cially after  our  expectations  have 
been  raised  by  such  a  preface  as  the 
following  :— 

"  Alone,  without  means,  without 
powers  to  buy  or  bribe,  I  have  pene- 
trated a  secret,  the  enigma  of  ages — 
have  dared  alone  to  venture  where  none 
have  been — where  the  government,  with 
five  hundred  soldiers,  could  not  follow; 
and,  better  than  all,  I  have  gained  esteem 
among  the  race  condemned  as  savages, 
and  feared  as  robbers  and  ASSASSINS. 

Nevertheless,  our  author  has  told 
us  a  good  deal  that  is  new  and  inte- 
resting about  the  Ansayrii,  as  will  be 
seen  from  our  extracts. 

The  Ismaylis,  concerning  whose 
woman-worship  and  peculiar  habits 
such  strange  stories  have  been  whis- 
pered, live  among  the  southern  moun- 
tains of  the  Ansayrii.  They  amount 
only  to  five  thousand  souls,  and  ap- 
pear to  be  a  different  tribe,  (probably 
Arab,)  grafted  upon  them,  and  gra- 
dually, by  superior  vigour,  possessing 
themselves  of  the  strongest  places  in 
the  mountains.  These  people  hold  a 
creed  quite  distinct  from  the  Ansayrii, 
among  whom  they  dwell ;  and  the  ex- 
traordinary prayer,  or  address  used  by 
them  seems  fully  to  bear  out  the  long- 
questioned  assertion  of  their  aphrodi- 
sial  worship. 

Marco  Polo*  was  the  first  to  furnish 
some  curious  accounts  of  the  Ansay- 
rii, and  of  the  discipline  and  cate- 
chism of  the  Fedavie  :  we  hope  that 
Mr  Walpole,  in  his  promised  volume, 
will  add  to  the  many  vindications 
which  that  brave  old  traveller  has  re- 
ceived from  time  to  time.  But  at 
the  sack  of  Alamut,  in  1257,  all  the 
Assassins'  books  (except  the  Koran) 
were  burned  as  impious  ;  and  all  that 
now  remains  of  their  doctrines  must 
be  traditional.  We  have  dwelt  thus 


long  on  the  Ansayrii  in  order  to  dis- 
play the  interest  that  belongs  to  that 
secluded  and  mysterious  people,  and 
the  importance  of  any  novel  intelli- 
gence respecting  them.  Before  we 
proceed  to  illustrate  their  country 
from  Mr  Walpole's  volumes,  we  must 
find  space  for  some  account  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  initiation  of  the 
Assassins  is  said  to  have  been  per- 
formed. The  two  great  strongholds 
of_the  Order  were  the  castle  of  Ala- 
mut in  Irak,  and  that  of  Massiat  near 
Latakia  in  the  Lebanon.  These  for- 
tresses, stern  and  impregnable  in 
themselves,  are  said  to  have  been 
surrounded  with  exquisite  gardens, 
enclosed  from  all  vulgar  gaze  by 
walls  of  immense  height.  These 
gardens  were  filled  with  the  most 
delicate  flowers  and  delicious  fruits. 
Streams  flowed,  and  fountains 
sparkled  brightly,  through  the  grate- 
ful gloom  of  luxuriant  foliage.  Bowers 
of  roses,  and  porcelain-paved  kiosks, 
and  carpets  from  the  richest  looms  of 
Persia,  invited  to  repose  the  senses 
heavy  with  luxury.  Circassian  girls, 
bright  as  the  houris  of  Paradise,  served 
the  happy  guests  with  golden  goblets 
of  Schiraz  wine,  and  glances  yet  more 
intoxicating.  The  music  of  harps,  and 
women's  sweetest  voices,  sent  fascina- 
tion through  the  ear  as  well  as  eyes. 
Everything  breathed  rapture  and  sen- 
suality, intensified  by  seclusion  and 
deep  calm.  The  youth,  where  energy 
and  courage  seemed  to  qualify  him  for 
the  office  offedavie,  was  invited  to  the 
table  of  the  grand-master,  (at  Irak,) 
or  the  grand-prior,  (at  Massiat.)  He 
was  there  intoxicated  with  the 
maddening,  yet  delightful  hashishe. 
In  his  insensible  state  he  was  trans- 
ported to  the  garden,  which,  he  was 
told,  was  Paradise,  and  which  he  was 
too  ready  to  take  for  the  scene  of 
eternal  delight,  as  he  revelled  in  all 
the  pleasure  that  Eastern  voluptuous- 
ness could  devise.  He  was  there  lulled 
into  sleep  once  more,  and  then  trans- 
ported back  to  the  grand-master's 
side.  As  he  awoke,  numbers  of  unini- 
tiated youths  were  admitted  to  hear 
his  account  of  the  Paradise  which  the 
power  of  the  Old  Man  had  permitted 
him  to  taste.  And  thus  tools  were 


*  De  Regionibus  Orient.,  lib.  i.  c.  28. 


786 


The  Ansayrii. 


[Dec. 


found  and  formed  for  the  execution 
of  the  wildest  projects.  That  glimpse 
of  Paradise  for  ever  haunted  the 
inflamed  imagination  of  the  novices, 
and  any  death  appeared  welcome  that 
could  restore  them  to  such  joys. 

Such  is  the  theory  of  this  singular 
people,  as  maintained  by  Von  Ham- 
mer, which  it  remains  for  future  dis- 
coveries— now  that  Mr  Walpole  has 
opened  the  way  for  them — to  vindi- 
cate or  refute.  There  are  also  some 
remnants  of  the  Persian  tribes  of  this 
people,  an  account  of  which,  by  Mr 
Badger,  we  are  informed,  is  soon  to 
appear  :  the  Syrians  scarcely  know  of 
their  existence.  The  Syrian  Ansayrii 
amount,  as  we  have  said,  including 
Ismaylis,  to  about  forty  thousand 
souls :  they  have  always  preserved 
their  seclusion  inviolate;  setting  at 
nought  the  various  tyrannies  that  have 
harassed  the  neighbouring  states, 
denying  the  authority  of  the  Sultan, 
and  blaspheming  the  Prophet,  while 
they  outwardly  conform  to  his  rites. 
They  occupy  the  northernmost  range 
of  the  Lebanon,  from  Tortosa  and 
Latakia,  as  far  as  Adana. 

Notwithstanding  Von  Hammer's 
elaborate  and  ingenious  theory,  many 
(amongst  whom  is  our  author)  have 
seemed  disposed  to  treat  the  whole  story 
of  the  Assassins,  and  the  Old  Man 
of  the  Mountain  himself,  as  myths. 
It  was,  they  say,  the  sort  of  romance 
that  the  Crusaders  would  have  lent 
a  ready  ear  to,  and  that  their  trou- 
badours would  have  made  the  most 
of.  They  deny  the  existence  of  the 
powerful  hill  fortresses  surrounded 
by  the  intoxicating  gardens;  they 
point  to  the  renowned  Syrian  castle 
of  El  Massiat,  whose  ruins  occupy 
a  space  of  only  one  hundred  yards 
square,  and  in  whose  vaulted  stables 
there  is  an  inscription  purporting 
that  the  castle  was  "  the  work  of 
Eoostan  the  Mameluke." 

Mr  Walpole,  however,  does  not 
enter  into  any  controversy  respecting 
this  strange  people.  Of  the  little  that 
he  has  confided  in  his  present  two 
volumes  to  the  public,  the  following 
extracts  must  be  taken  as  an  instal- 
ment : — 

"  The    Ansayrii  nation-— for    such  it 

is — being   capable  of    mustering    forty 

thousand   warriors  able   to    bear   arras, 

is    divided     into  two    classes — sheiks 


and  people  ;  the  sheiks  again  into  two 
— Sheiks  or  Chiefs  of  Religion,  Sheik  el 
Maalem,  and  the  temporal  Sheiks,  or 
Sheiks  of  Government;  these  being  ge- 
nerally called  Sheik  el  Zullom,  or 
Sheiks  of  Oppression.  These  latter, 
though  some  of  them  are  of  good  fami- 
lies, are  not  so  generally:  having  gained 
favour  with  government,  they  have  re- 
ceived the  appointment.  Others  there 
are,  however,  whose  families  have  held 
it  for  many  generations — such  as  Shem- 
seen  Sultan,  Sheik  Succor,  &c.  The 
sheiks  of  religion  are  held  as  almost 
infallible,  and  the  people  pay  them  the 
greatest  respect.  With  regard  to  the 
succession,  there  seems  to  be  no  fixed 
rule:  the  elder  brother  has,  however, 
rule  over  the  rest;  but  then  I  have  seen 
the  son  the  head  of  the  family  while  the 
father  was  living. 

"  The  sheik  of  religion  enjoys  great 
privileges:  as  a  boy  he  is  taught  to  read 
and  write;  he  is  marked  from  his  fellows 
from  very  earliest  childhood,  by  a  white 
handkerchief  round  his  head.  Early  as 
his  sense  will  admit,  he  is  initiated  into 
the  principles  of  his  faith:  in  this  he 
is  schooled  and  perfected.  Early  he  is 
taught  that  death,  martyrdom,  is  a  glo- 
rious reward ;  and  that,  sooner  than 
divulge  one  word  of  his  creed,  he  is  to 
suffer  the  case  in  which  his  soul  is 
enshrined  to  be  mangled  or  tortured  in 
any  way.  Frequent  instances  have  been 
known  where  they  have  defied  the 
Turks,  who  have  threatened  them  with 
death  if  they  would  not  divulge,  saying, 
'  Try  me  ;  cut  my  heart  out,  and  see  if 
anything  is  within  there.'  During  his 
manhood  he  is  strictly  to  conform  to  his 
faith:  this  forbids  him  not  only  eating 
certain  things  at  any  time,  but  eating 
at  all  with  any  but  chiefs  of  religion; 
or  eating  anything  purchased  with 
unclean  money; — and  the  higher  sheiks 
carry  this  to  such  an  extent  that  they 
will  only  eat  of  the  produce  of  their  own 
grounds;  they  will  not  even  touch  water, 
except  such  as  they  deem  pure  and  clean. 
Then  the  sheik  must  exercise  the  most 
unbounded  hospitality;  and,  after  death, 
the  people  will  build  him  a  tomb,  (a 
square  place,  with  a  dome  on  the  top,) 
and  he  will  be  revered  as  a  saint. 

"  The  lower  classes  are  initiated  into 
the  principles  of  their  religion,  but  not 
into  its  more  mystical  or  higher  parts  : 
they  are  taught  to  obey  their  chiefs 
without  question,  without  hesitation,  and 
to  give  to  them  abundantly  at  feasts 
and  religious  ceremonies  :  above  all,  even 
the  uninitiated  is  to  die  a  thousand 
deaths  sooner  than  betray  his  faith. 

"  In  their  houses,  which,  as   I   have 


1851.]  The  Ansayrii. 

before  said,  are  poor,  dirty,  and  wretched, 
they  place  two  small  windows  over  the 
door.  This  is  in  order  that,  if  a  birth 
and  death  occur  at  the  same  moment, 
the  coming  and  the  parting  spirit  may 
not  meet.  In  rooms  dedicated  to  hospi- 
tality several  square  holes  are  left,  so 
that  each  spirit  may  come  or  depart 
without  meeting  another. 

"  Like  the  Mahometans,  they  practise 
the  rite  of  circumcision,  performing  it 
at  various  ages,  according  to  the  pre- 
cocity of  the  child.  The  ceremony  is 
celebrated,  as  among  the  Turks,  with 
feasting  and  music.  This,  they  say,  is 
not  a  necessary  rite,  but  a  custom  de- 
rived from  ancient  times,  and  they 
should  be  Christians  if  they  did  not  do  it. 
This  is  the  same  among  the  Mahometans, 
who  are  not  enjoined  by  their  prophet 
to  do  so,  but  received  the  rite  from 
of  old.* 

"  When  a  candidate  is  pronounced  ready 
for  initiation,  his  tarboosh  is  removed, 
and  a  white  cloth  wrapped  round  his  head. 
He  is  then  conducted  into  the  presence  of 
the  sheiks  of  religion.  The  chief  proceeds 
to  deliver  a  lecture,  cautioning  him 
against  ever  divulging  their  great  and 
solemn  secret.  '  If  you  are  under  the 
sword,  the  rope,  or  the  torture,  die,  and 
emile— you  are  blessed.'  He  then  kisses 
the  earth  three  times  before  the  chief, 
who  continues  telling  him  the  articles  of 
their  faith.  On  rising,  he  teaches  him  a 
sign,  and  delivers  three  words  to  him. 
This  completes  the  first  lesson. 

lf  At  death,  the  body  is  washed  with 
warm  soap  and  water,  wrapped  in  white 
cloths,  and  laid  in  the  tomb.  Each  per- 
son takes  a  handful  of  earth,  which  is 
placed  on  the  body;  then  upright  stones, 
one  at  the  feet,  one  at  the  head,  one  in 
the  middle,  are  placed.  The  one  in  the 
middle  is  necessary.  They  have  the 
blood-feud — the  Huck  el  Dum.  In  war, 
blood  is  not  reckoned  ;  but  if  one  man 
kills  another  of  a  different  tribe,  all  the 
tribe  of  the  slayer  pay  an  equal  sum  to 
the  tribe  of  the  slain— generally  one 
thousand  six  hundred  piastres,  (L.I  5.) 

"  In  marriage,  a  certain  price  is  agreed 
on.  One  portion  goes  to  the  father, 
another  to  supply  dress  and  things  neces- 
sary for  the  maiden.  This  will  vary  much, 
according  to  the  wealth  of  the  bride- 
groom and  the  beauty  or  rank  of  the 
bride.  It  is  generally  from  two  hundred 
to  seven  hundred  or  a  thousand  piastres 
(L.I,  15s.  6d.  to  L.9,  10s.)  Sometimes  a 
mare,  a  cow,  or  a  donkey,  merely,  is  given 
for  her.  The  bridegroom  has  then  to 


787 

solicit  the  consent  of  the  hirce,  or  owner 
of  the  bride's  village,  who  will  generally 
extort  five  hundred  piastres,  or  more, 
before  he  will  give  a  permission  of  mar- 
riage. 

"  The  price  being  settled,  and  security 
given  for  its  payment,  the  friends  of  the 
bridegroom  mount  on  the  top  of  the  house 
armed  with  sticks.  The  girl's  friends 
pass  her  in  hastily  to  avoid  their  blows. 
The  bridegroom  enters,  and  beats  her 
with  a  stick  or  back  of  a  sword,  so  that 
she  cries  :  these  cries  must  be  heard  with- 
out. All  then  retire,  and  the  marriage 
is  concluded. 

"  They  are  allowed  four  wives.  The 
marriage  ceremony  is  simple,  and  divorce 
not  permitted.  If  one  of  these  four  wives 
die,  they  are  permitted  to  take  another. 
Generally,  they  have  little  affection  for 
their  wives — treating  them  rather  as  use- 
ful cattle  than  as  rational  creatures. 
They  never  teach  women  the  smallest 
portion  of  their  faith.  They  are  jealously 
excluded  from  all  religious  ceremonies  ; 
and,  in  fact,  are  utterly  denied  creed, 
prayers,  or  soul.  Many  here  have  told 
me  that  the  women  themselves  believe  in 
this  ;  and  do  not,  as  one  would  fancy, 
murmur  at  such  an  exclusive  belief. 

"  The  Ansayrii  are  honest  in  their 
dealings,  and  none  can  accuse  them  of 
repudiation  or  denying  a  sum  they  owe. 
They  regard  Mahomet  el 
Hamyd  as  the  prophet  of  God,  and  thus 
use  the  Mussulman  confession — *  La  ilia 
ill  Allah,  Mahomet  el  Hamyd,  Resoul  e 
nebbi  Allah  ;'  but  they  omit  all  this 
when  before  Mahometans,  saying  merely, 
'  There  is  no  God  but  God,  and  Mahomet 
is  the  prophet  of  God.'  Otherwise,  they 
say, '  There  is  no  God  but  Ali,  and  Ma- 
homet el  Hamyd,  the  Beloved,  is  the 
prophet  of  God.' 

"  I  do  not  intend  here  to  enter  into 
their  belief  more  fully  ;  but  it  is  a  most 
confused  medley — a  unity,  a  trinity,  a 
deity.  '  These  are  five  ;  these  five  are 
three  ;  these  three  are  two  ;  these  two, 
these  three,  these  five — one.' 

",They  believe  in  the  transmigration  of 
souls.  Those  who  in  this  life  do  well, 
are  hospitable,  and  follow  their  faith, 
become  stars  ;  the  souls  of  others  return 
to  the  earth,  and  become  Ansayrii  again, 
until,  purified,  they  fly  to  rest.  The 
souls  of  bad  men  become  Jews,  Chris- 
tians, and  Turks  ;  while  the  souls  of 
those  who  believe  not,  become  pigs  and 
other  beasts.  One  eve,  sitting  with  a 
dear  old  man,  a  high  sheik — his  boys 
were  round  him — I  said, '  Speak  :  where 


*  We  do  not  yet  know  if  any  ceremony  exists  at  the  naming  of  the  child. 


738  The  Ansayrii. 

are  the  sons  of  your  youth  ?  these  are  the 
children  of  your  old  age.' — '  My  son,'  he 
said,  looking  up,  *  is  there  :  nightly  he 
smiles  on  me,  and  invites  me  to  come.' 

"  They  pray  five  times  a  day,  saying 
several  prayers  each  time,  turning  this 
way  or  that,  having  no  keblah.  If  a 
Christian  or  Turk  sees  them  at  their  de- 
votions, the  prayers  are  of  no  avail.  At 
their  feasts,  they  pray  in  a  room  closed 
and  guarded  from  the  sight  or  ingress  of 
the  uninitiated. 

"  This  will  give  a  general  outline  of 
the  faith  and  customs  of  the  Ansayrii. 
My  intercourse  with  them  was  on  the 
most  friendly  footing,  and  daily  a  little 
was  added  to  my  stock  of  information. 
Let  me,  however,  warn  the  traveller 
agaiust  entering  into  argument  with 
them,  or  avowing,  through  the  dragoman, 
any  knowledge  of  their  creed.  They  are 
as  ready  and  prompt  to  avenge  as  they 
are  generous  and  hospitable  to  protect. 
To  destroy  one  who  deceives  them  on 
this  point  is  an  imperative  duty  ;  and  I 
firmly  believe  they  would  do  it  though 
you  took  shelter  on  the  divan  of  the 
Sultan.  For  myself,  the  risk  is  passed  : 
I  have  gone  through  the  ordeal,  and  owe 
my  life  several  times  to  perfect  accident." 


[Dec. 

To  this  long  extract  we  shall  only 
add,  that  a  good  deal  of  additional 
light  is  indirectly  thrown  upon  this 
singular  people  throughout  the  whole 
of  the  third  volume  of  Mr  Walpole's 
work.  It  is  the  best  written,  as  well 
as  the  most  important,  of  the  series ; 
it  abounds  in  humour,  anecdote, 
originality,  and  in  no  small  degree  of 
curious  research. 

And  now,  it  only  remains  for  us  to 
bid  our  entertaining  fellow-traveller 
heartily  farewell.  Although,  espe- 
cially in  the  first  volume,  we  have 
felt  disposed  to  quarrel  with  his  style 
occasionally,  we  have  found  his  good- 
humour,  his  thoughtful  sentiment,  and 
his  reckless  wit,  at  last  irresistible. 
His  very  imperfections  often  prove 
his  fidelity,  and  his  apparent  contra- 
dictions his  innate  truthfulness.  We 
commend  to  him  a  little  more  study 
of  the  art  of  composition,  and  a  good 
deal  more  care ;  but  we  shall  consider 
ourselves  fortunate  when  we  meet 
with  another  author  of  as  many  faults, 
if  they  are  atoned  for  by  as  many 
merits. 


1851.] 


The  Champions  of  the  Rail. 


739 


THE    CHAMPIONS   OF   THE   RAIL. 


A  GOOD  many  years  ago,  a  late 
correspondent  and  writer  in  this 
Magazine,  Dr  M'Nish  of  Glasgow, 
published  a  work  entitled  The  Ana- 
tomy of  Drunkenness.  The  book  was 
an  excellent  one  :  most  perfect  in  its 
portraiture  of  the  different  phenomena 
which  accompany  and  succeed  a  de- 
bauch ;  and  in  the  hands  of  a  regular 
tee-totaller,  it  was  undeniably  worth 
some  reams  of  vapid  sermons.  The 
preacher,  who  never,  we  are  bound 
to  believe,  had  experienced  the  vinous 
or  spirituous  excitement  in  his  own 
person,  was  enabled  from  it  to  hold 
forth,  with  all  the  unction  of  reality, 
to  his  terrified  audience,  upon  the 
awful  effects  of  intemperance.  Old 
ladies,  who  rarely  in  their  lives  had 
transgressed  beyond  a  second  glass  of 
weak  negus  at  some  belated  party, 
when  whist  or  commerce  had  been 
suggested  to  while  away  the  weary 
hours,  listened  to  the  warnings  of  the 
gifted  apostle  of  temperance,  and  hied 
them  home  in  the  tremendous  convic- 
tion that  they  had  only  escaped,  by 
the  merest  miracle,  the  horrors  of 
delirium  tremens.  Dyspeptic  gentle- 
men were  rendered  wretched,  as  they 
reflected  that,  for  years  past,  they 
had  been  accustomed  to  wash  down 
their  evening  Finnan  haddock,  or 
moderate  board  of  oysters,  with  a 
pint  of  Younger's  prime  ale,  or,  may- 
hap, a  screeching  tumbler.  The 
enormity  of  their  offence  became 
visible  to  their  eyes,  and  they  incon- 
tinently conceived  amendment. 

But  we  doubt  very  much  whether 
the  Anatomy  would  have  been  pleasant 
reading  to  a  gentleman  who  overnight 
had  imbibed ' '  not  wisely  but  too  well." 
How  could  he.bear  to  be  told,  not  only 
of  the  sensations  of  the  previous  even- 
ing, minutely  traced  through  the  grada- 
tions of  each  consecutive  decanter, 
but  of  the  state  of  thirst  and  unnatural 
discomfort  to  which  he  was  presently 
a  victim  ?  Would  it  relieve  his  head- 
ach  to  assure  him  that,  after  swallow- 
ing three  bottles  of  claret,  most  men 
are  apt  to  be  out  of  sorts  ?  Could  he, 


the  sufferer,  derive  any  assuagement 
of  his  pains  by  knowing— if  he  did 
not  know  it  already — that  unlimited 
brandy  and  water,  however  agreeable 
during  consumption,  was  clearly  pre- 
judicial to  the  nerves?  Sermons  may 
come  too  soon.  The  sufferer  ought 
to  be  allowed  at  least  a  day  or  two  to 
recover,  before  his  offence  is  laid 
before  him  in  all  its  huge  deformity. 
Give  him  time  to  be  ashamed  of  him- 
self. A  man's  own  conscience  is  his 
best  accuser ;  and,  unless  the  vice 
be  absolutely  inherent,  or  totally 
beyond  the  hope  of  remedy,  his  own 
misery  will  be  more  likely  to  effect  a 
cure  than  any  amount  of  philosophical 
dissertations  upon  its  nature. 

These  thoughts  have  been  irresis- 
tibly suggested  to  us  by  a  perusal  of 
the  two  ponderous  tomes  of  Mr 
Francis,  entitled,  A  History  of  the 
English  Railway :  its  Social  Relations 
and  Revelations.  A  more  unfortunate 
kind  of  apocalypse  could  hardly  have 
been  hazarded  at  the  present  time. 
Most  people  are  tolerably  well  aware, 
without  the  aid  of  Mr  Francis,  of  the 
changes  in  social  relations  which  have 
been  worked  by  the  British  railway ; 
and  as  for  revelations,  a  good  many 
would  give  a  trifle  to  have  these 
entirely  suppressed.  We  have  not 
yet  arrived  at  the  time  when  the 
history  of  the  "'45"  of  this  cen- 
tury can  be  calmly  or  dispassionately 
written.  Too  many  of  us,  still  re- 
manent  here,  have  burned  our  fingers, 
and  too  many  of  our  kith  and  kin 
have  been  sent  to  exile,  in  consequence 
of  that  notable  enterprise.  Since 
the  standard  was  last  unfurled  in  the 
vale  of  Glenmutchkin,  a  considerable 
number  of  the  population  have  been 
bitten  by  the  sod,  if  they  did  not 
literally  bite  it.  That  system  of 
turning  over  turfs,  by  the  aid  of  silver 
spades  and  mahogany  wheelbarrows, 
was  more  fatal  to  the  peace  of  families 
than  the  accumulation  of  any  number 
of  Celtic  bagpipers  whatever.  _  It 
was  a  grand  interment  of  capital. 
Who  has  forgotten  the  misery  of  those 


A  History  of  the  English  Railway:  its  Social  Motion*  and  Revelations. 
FRANCIS.    2  vols.     London. 


By  JOHN 


740 


The  Champions  of  the  Rail. 


[Dec. 


times,  when  letters  of  railway  calls 
arrived  punctually  once  a  quarter? 
Two  pound  ten  per  share  might  be  a 
moderate  instalment ;  but  if  you  were 
the  unfortunate  holder  of  a  hundred 
shares,  you  had  better  have  been 
boarded  with  a  vampire.  Repudiation, 
though  a  clear  Christian  duty  to  your- 
self and  your  family,  was  utterly 
impossible.  It  mattered  not  that  the 
majority  of  the  original  committee- 
men  and  directors  had  bolted ;  you, 
the  subscriber,  were  tied  to  the  stake. 
The  work  was  begun,  the  contracts 
opened,  and  money  must  be  had  at  all 
hazards  and  sacrifices.  You  found 
yourself  in  the  pitiable  situation  of  an 
involuntary  philanthropist.  Three- 
score hulking  Irish  navvies  were  daily 
fed,  liquored,  and  lodged  at  your 
expense.  Your  dwindling  resources 
were  torn  from  you,  to  make  the  for- 
tunes of  engineers  and  contractors. 
So  long  as  you  had  a  penny,  or  a 
convertible  equivalent,  you  were 
forced  to  surrender  it.  Your  case 
was  precisely  similar  to  that  of  the 
Jew  incarcerated  in  the  vaults  beneath 
the  royal  treasury.of  King  John.  One 
by  one  all  your  teeth  were  drawn.  If 
you  managed  to  survive  the  extraction 
of  the  last  grinder,  and  to  behold  the 
opening  of  the  line,  your  position  was 
not  one  whit  improved.  Dividend 
of  course  there  was  none.  That 
awful  and  mysterious  item  of  charge, 
"working  expenses,"  engulfed  nearly 
the  whole  revenue.  What  was  over 
\vent  to  pay  interest  on  preference 
debentures.  That  gallant  body  of 
men,  the  directors,  laid  before  you, 
with  the  utmost  candour,  a  state  oif  the 
affairs  of  the  company ;  from  which 
it  appeared  that  they  had  exceeded 
their  borrowing  powers  by  perhaps  a 
brace  of  millions,  and  had  raised  the 
money  by  interposing  their  own  indi- 
vidual security.  These  obligations 
you  were,  of  course,  expected  to 
redeem  ;  and  an  appeal  was  made  to 
your  finer  feelings,  urging  you  to  con- 
sent to  a  further  issue  of  stock ! 

It  is  no  great  consolation  to  the 
men  who  have  suffered  more  woes 
from  the  railways,  than  fell  to  the 
lot  of  the  much-enduring  Ulysses 
from  the  relentless  anger  of  the 
deities,  to  know  that  they  have  ren- 
dered perfect  a  vast  chain  of  inter- 
Dai  communication  throughout  the 


country.  We  doubt  whether  the 
Israelites,  who  built  them,  took  any 
especial  pride  in  surveying  the  pile  of 
the  pyramids.  The  gentleman  in 
embarrassed  circumstances,  who  is 
pondering  over  the  memory  of  his 
perished  capital,  is  not  likely  to  feel 
his  heart  expand  with  enthusiasm  at 
the  thought  that  through  his  agency, 
and  that  of  his  fellows,  thousands  of 
bagmen  are  daily  being  whirled  along 
the  rails  with  the  velocity  of  light- 
ning. He  may  even  be  pardoned  if, 
in  the  sadness  and  despondency  of 
his  soul,  he  should  seriously  ask  him- 
self what,  after  all,  is  the  use  of  this 
confounded  hurry  ?  Is  a  man's  life 
prolonged  because  he  can  get  along 
at  the  rate  of  forty  or  fifty  miles 
an  hour?  Is  existence  to  be  mea- 
sured by  locomotion  ?  In  that  case 
Chifney,  who  passed  the  best  part  of 
his  life  in  the  saddle,  ought  to  have  been 
considered  as  a  rival  to  Methuselah, 
and  a  stoker  on  the  Great  Western 
lives  in  one  week  far  longer  than  the 
venerable  Parr!  Is  enjoyment  mul- 
tiplied ?  That,  too,  will  admit  of  a 
serious  doubt.  In  a  railway  carriage 
you  have  no  fair  view  of  the  fresh 
aspect  of  nature :  you  dash  through 
the  landscape — supposing  that  there 
is  one — before  its  leading  features,  are 
impressed  upon  your  mind.  There 
is  no  time  for  details,  or  even  for 
reflection.  You  must  accommodate 
your  thought  to  your  pace,  other- 
wise you  are  left  behind,  and  see 
nothing  whatever  for  at  least  a 
couple  of  stations.  But  for  the  most 
part  your  way  lies  between  embank- 
ments and  cuttings,  representing 
either  sections  of  whinstone,  or  bare 
banks  of  turf,  dotted  over  with  brown 
patches,  where  the  engine  has  effected 
arson.  Even  furze  will  not  willingly 
flourish  in  such  an  uncomfortable 
locality.  Then  you  roar  through 
tunnels,  the  passage  of  which  makes 
your  flesh  creep — for  you  cannot 
divest  yourself  of  a  horrid  idea  that 
you  may  possibly  be  encountered  in, 
the  centre  of  the  darkness  by  an 
opposing  engine,  and  be  pounded  into 
paste  by  the  shock  of  that  terrific 
tilt ;  or  that  a  keystone  of  the  arch 
may  give  way,  and  the  whole  train 
be  buried  in  the  centre  of  the  exca- 
vated mountain.  Sensual  gratifica- 
tion there  is  none.  If  you  do  not 


The 

condescend  to  the.  iniquity  of  carrying 
sandwiches  along  with  you — in  which 
case  your  habiliments  are  certain  to 
be  grievously  defiled  with  buttered 
crumbs — you  are  driven  by  the  pangs 
of  sheer  hunger  into  the  refreshment- 
room  at  some  station,  and  find  your- 
self at  the  bar  of  an  inferior  gin- 
palace.    Very  bad  is  the  pork-pie,  for 
which  you  are  charged  an  exorbi- 
tant ransom.     Call  ye  this  sherry, 
my  masters  ?    If  it  be  so,  commend 
us  for  the  future  to  Bucellas.    The 
oranges  look  well  outside,  but  the 
moment    you    have    penetrated  the 
rind,  you  find  that  they  have  been 
boiled  and  are  fozy.    Do  not  indulge 
in  the  vain  hope  that  you  may  ven- 
ture on  a  glass  of  anything  hot.     Hot 
enough  you  will  find  it  with  a  venge- 
ance ;  for,  the  instant  that  you  receive 
the  rummer,  the  bell  is  sure  to  ring, 
and  you  must  either  scald  your  throat 
by  gulping  down  two  mouthfuls   of 
mahogany-water  raised  to  a  tempera- 
ture which  would    melt    solder,  or 
consign  the  prepaid   potion  to  the 
leisure  of  the  attendant  Hebe.  Smok- 
ing is  strictly  prohibited.     Even  if 
you  are  alone  in  a  carriage,  you  can- 
not indulge  in  that  luxury  without 
rendering  yourself  liable  to  a  fine ; 
and,  if  your  appetite  should  over- 
come your  prudence,  and  you  should 
venture  to  set  the  law  at  defiance, 
before  you  have  inhaled  two  whiffs,  a 
railway  guard  appears  as  if  by  magic 
at  the  window  —  for  those  fellows 
have  the  scent  of  the  vulture,  and 
can    race  along  the  foot- boards  as 
nimbly  as  a  cat  along  a  gutter — and 
you  are  ordered    to   abandon  your 
Havanna.       Under     such      circum- 
stances, literature  is  a  poor  resource. 
You  read  the  Times  twice  over,  ad- 
vertisements and  all,  and  then  sink 
into  a  feverish  slumber,  from  which 
you  are  awakened  by  a  demand  from 
a  ruffian  in  blue  livery,  with  a  glazed 
leather  belt  across  his  shoulder,  for 
the  exhibition  of  your  ticket.   Talk  of 
the  inconvenience  of  passports  abroad! 
The  Continental  system  is  paradisai- 
cal compared  with  ours.     At  length, 
after  fingering  your  watch  with  an 
insane  desire  to  accelerate  its  move- 
ment, you  run  into  the  ribs  of  some- 
thing which  resembles  the  skeleton  of 
a  whale— the  train   stops— and  you 
know  that  your  journey  is  at  an  end. 

VOL.  LXX.— NO.  CCCCXXXIV. 


741 

You  select  your  luggage,  after  having 
undergone  the  scrutiny  of  a  member 
of^  the  police  force,  who  evidently 
thinks  that  he  has  seen  you  before 
under  circumstances  of  considerable 
peculiarity,  ensconce  yourself  in  a 
cab,  and  drive  off,  being  favoured  at 
the  gate  of  the  station  by  a  shower 
of  diminutive  pamphlets,  purporting 
to  be  poetical  tributes  to  the  merits  of 
Messrs  Moses  and  Hyams.  You 
have  done  the  distance  in  twelve 
hours,  but  pleasure  you  have  had 
none. 

Mr  Francis,  who  is  gifted  with  no 
more  imagination  than  an  ordinary 
tortoise,  though  he  asserts  the  supe- 
riority of  the  hare,  begins  his  book 
with  an  exceedingly  stupid  disserta- 
tion upon  the  difficulties  of  ancient 
travel.  Broken  bridges,  impassable 
quagmires,  and  ferocious  highwaymen 
constitute  leading  features  in  his  pic- 
ture ;  and,  as  you  read  him,  you  mar- 
vel, between  your  fits  of  yawning, 
what  manner  of  men  our  ancestors 
must  have  been  to  brave  so  many 
dangers.  Sheer  drivel  all  of  it !  The 
old  roads  were  uncommonly  good,  and 
the  bridges  kept  in  splendid  repair 
from  the  time  they  were  built  by  the 
Romans.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  quag- 
mire on  a  turnpike  ?  As  for  a  casual 
encounter  with  Turpin,  Duval,  or  any 
other  of  the  minions  of  the  moon,  we 
are  decidedly  of  opinion  that  such 
incidents  must  have  added  much  to 
the  excitement  of  the  journey.  A 
stout  fellow,  well  mounted,  usually 
carried  about  him  both  pops  and  a 
cutlass,  and,  if  he  was  cool  and  col- 
lected, might  very  easily  square  ac- 
counts with  (he  most  ardent  clerk  of 
St  Nicholas.  Does  Mr  Francis  really 
suppose  that  the  author  of  Jack  Shep- 
pard  likes  railway  travelling?  Not 
he.  Dearer  to  his  soul  is  a  prancing 
prad  upon  Hounslow  Heath  than  all 
the  engines  that  ever  whistled  along 
a  line.  Mount  him  upon  Black  Bess, 
arm  him  with  a  brace  of  barkers,  and 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  there 
would  be  daylight  through  the  car- 
case of  the  Golden  Farmer.  Is  ad- 
venture nothing  ?  Had  the  road  no 
joys  ?  Are  we  to  consider  the  whole 
universe  worthless,  except  those  black 
dots  which  in  the  maps  represent 
cities  ?  Was  nature  made  in  vain, 
in  order  that  men  might  hasten  from 
SB 


The  Champions  of  the  Rail. 


742 

town  to  town,  at  the  tail  of  a  shriek- 
ing engine,  regardless  of  all  the  glori- 
ous scenery  which  intervenes  ?    To 
our  taste,  the  old  mode  of  travelling 
— nay,  the  oldest — was  infinitely  su- 
perior to  the  present  sickening  sys- 
-tem.     You   rose   by   times   in    the 
morning ;   took  a  substantial  break- 
fast of  beef  and  ale — none  of  your 
miserable  slops — and  mounted  your 
horse  between  your  saddle-bags,  in 
time  to  hear  the  lark  carolling  on  his 
earliest  flight  to  heaven.    Your  way 
ran  through  dingle  and  thicket,  along 
the  banks  of  rivers,  skirting  magni- 
ficent parks,  rich  in  the  possession  of 
primeval  oaks,  under  which  the  deer 
lay  tranquilly  and  still.   You  entered 
a  village,  stopped  at  the  door  of  the 
public- house,  and  cooled  your  brow 
in  the  foam  of  the  wholesome  home- 
brewed.   You  dined  at  mid-day,  in 
some  town  where  the  execrable  in- 
ventions of  Arkwright  and  Watt  were 
unknown ;    where    you   encountered 
only  honest,   healthy,  rosy- cheeked 
Christians,  who  went  regularly  once 
a- week  to  church,  and  identified  the 
devil  with  the  first  dissenter — instead 
of  meeting  gangs  of  hollow-eyed  lean 
mechanics,  talking    radicalism,   and 
discussing  the  fundamental  points  of 
the    Charter.    You    moved  through 
merry  England  as  a  man  ought  to  do, 
who  is  both  content  with  his  own  lot 
and  can  enjoy  the  happiness  of  others. 
As  you  saw  the  sun  rising,  so  you 
saw  him  set.    The  clouds  reddened 
in  the  west — you  heard  the  sweet 
carol  of  the  thrush  from  the  coppice, 
and  lingered  to  catch  the  melody. 
The  shades  of  evening  grew  deeper. 
The  glow-worms  lit  their  tiny  lan- 
terns on  the  bank,  the  owl  flitted 
past  with  noiseless  wing,  the  village 
candles  began  to  appear  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  and  as  you  dismounted  at  the 
door  of  your  humble  inn,  and  surren- 
dered your  weary  beast  to  the  hands 
of  the  careful  hostler,  you  felt  that 
you  were  the  richer  by  a  day  spent 
in  the  fresh  air  and  gladsome  sun- 
shine,  and  made  happy  by  all  the 
sounds  and  sights  which  are  dear  to 
the  heart  of  man. 

But  this  was  solitary  travelling, 
and  might  not  suit  every  one.  Well 
— if  you  were  a  little  fellow,  deficient 
in  pluck,  and  sorely  afraid  of  rob- 
bers, you  might  have  company  for 


[Dec. 


the  asking.  At  every  large  inn  on  the 
road  there  were  at  least  a  dozen  tra- 
vellers who,  for  the  sake  of  security, 
agreed  to  journey  in  company.  Was 
that  no  fun?  Have  you  anything 
like  it  in  your  modern  railways? 
Just  compare  your  own  experiences 
of  a  rocket-flight  along  the  Great 
Western  with  Chaucer's  delineation 
of  his  Canterbury  pilgrimage,  and 
you  will  see  what  you  have  lost. 
Nice  sort  of  tales  you  would  elicit 
either  from  that  beetle-browed  Brad- 
ford Free-Trader,  evidently  a  dealer 
in  devil's-dust,  who  is  your  vis-a-vis 
in  the  railway  carriage ;  or  from  that 
singular  specimen  of  a  nun  who  is 
ogling  you  deliberately  on  the  left! 
Can  you  associate  the  story  of  Pala- 
mon  and  Arcite — can  you  connect 
anything  which  is  noble,  lofty,  inspi- 
riting, humane,  or  gentle,  with  a 
journey  made  in  an  express  train? 
If  not,  so  much  the  worse  for  the 
present  times.  Doubtless  you  may 
hear  something  about  Thompson  or 
Bright,  but  we  may  be  excused  if  we 
prefer  the  mention  of  the  earlier 
heroes.  Also,  you  may  pick  up  in- 
formation touching  the  price  of  cali- 
coes, or  the  value  of  stocks,  or  the 
amount  of  exports  of  cotton  twist — 
and  we  wish  you  much  good  of  all 
that  you  get.  But,  O  dear,  is  that 
travelling?  Would  you  like  to  go 
from  London  to  Ispahan  in  such  com- 
pany ?  How  long  do  you  think  you 
could  stand  it  ?  And  yet  this  is  the 
improved  system  of  locomotion  for 
which  we  are  told  to  be  thankful,  and 
in  honour  of  which  such  weariful 
volumes  as  those  of  Mr  Francis  are 
written. 

"But,  mercy  on  us !  "  we  hear  Mr 
Francis  or  some  of  his  backers  ex- 
claim— "  is  it  nothing  that  commer- 
cial gentlemen  can  now  make  four 
trips  a- day  between  Manchester  and 
Liverpool,  and  do  a  stroke  of  business 
on  each  occasion  ?  "  We  reply,  that 
it  would  be  better  for  the  said  com- 
mercial gentlemen,  both  here  and 
hereafter,  if  they  would  content  them- 
selves with  a  more  moderate  pursuit 
of  Mammon.  Happiness  in  this  life 
does  not  depend  upon  the  amount  of 
sales  effected.  The  assistant  in  the 
London  grocer's  shop,  who  daily  ties 
up  a  thousand  packages  of  tea  and 
sugar,  is  not  greatly  to  be  envied 


1851.] 


The  Champions  of  the  Rail. 


beyond  his  brother  in  the  country,  who 
twists  the  twine  around  fifty.  We 
have  an  intense  respect  for  work 
while  kept  within  wholesome  limits  ; 
but  we  cannot  regard  the  man  whose 
sole  pursuit  is  grubbing  after  gold  as 
otherwise  than  an  ignominious  slave. 
The  railways  are  in  one  sense  excel- 
lent things.  You  can  get  from  point 
to  point,  if  necessity  requires  it,  much 
sooner  than  before,  at  less  cost,  and 
perhaps  with  less  inconvenience.  But 
there  the  advantage  ends.  There  is 
no  pleasure  in  them  ;  and,  compared 
with  former  methods  of  locomotion, 
they  are  decidedly  less  healthy  and 
less  instructive.  We  decry  them  not. 
We  only  wish  to  stop  the  babbling  of 
the  blockheads  who  would  have  us  to 
believe  that,  until  the  steam-engine 
was  invented,  this  earth  was  an  un- 
endurable waste,  a  wilderness  of  bar- 
barians, arid  an  unfit  residence  for 
civilised  and  enlightened  man.  Would 
the  genius  either  of  Shakspeare  or 
Newton  have  been  greater  had  they 
known  of  the  rails  ?  Would  the  splen- 
dour of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  have 
been  heightened  had  Stephensou  then 
existed  ? 

The  admiration  of  Mr  Francis  for 
the  railway  system  is  so  intense  as  to 
be  purely  ludicrous.  He  considers 
every  man  connected  with  its  deve- 
lopment— whether  as  engineer,  con- 
tractor, or  director  —  as  a  positive 
public  hero;  and  this  work  of  his 
seems  intended  as  a  kind  of  Iliad,  to 
chronicle  their  several  achievements. 
Since  we  last  met,  Mr  Francis  has 
been  hard  at  work  upon  his  style. 
Formerly  he  went  along,  pleasantly 
enough,  without  any  great  effort: 
now  he  is  not  satisfied  unless  he  can 
eclipse  Mr  Macaulay.  He  has  read 
the  History  of  England  to  some  pur- 
pose. Fascinated  by  the  brilliancy 
of  the  sketches  which  the  accom- 
plished historian  has  drawn  of  the 
statesmen  of  the  age  of  William  of 
Orange,  Mr  Francis  thinks  he  will 
not  do  justice  to  his  subject  unless  he 
adopts  a  similar  mode  of  handling. 
Unfortunately  he  has  no  statesmen 
to  celebrate.  But  he  can  do  quite  as 
well.  There  are  surveyors  and  con- 
tractors by  the  score,  whose  portraits 
in  his  eyes  are  just  as  interesting. 
Accordingly,  we  have  a  repetition  of 
the  old  scene  in  the  play.  A  voice 


743 

without  is  heard  calling,  "  Francis  1" 
To  which  summons  Francis  inconti- 
nently replieth,  "  Anon,  anon,  sir  1 " 
and  then—"  Enter  Poins,  Peto,  Gads- 
hill,  and  the  rest."  No  loftier  appa- 
rition ever  comes  upon  the  stage; 
but  we  are  warned  that,  in  surveying 
these,  we  look  upon  individuals  des- 
tined in  all  coming  time  to  occupy  a 
lofty  niche  in  British  history.  Thus, 
to  quote  at  random  from  the  index, 
we  have  the  following  entries  — 
"Richard  Creed  ...  his  services 
and  character."  "  Who  may  this  Mr 
Richard  Creed  be  ?  "  says  the  uncon- 
scious reader;  "we  never  heard  of 
him  before ! "  "  Fool ! "  quoth  Fran- 
cis, "  he  was  THE  SECRETARY  OF 
THE  LONDON  AND  BIRMINGHAM 
LINE  !  '  On  his  honesty  and  integrity,' 
said  Mr  Glyn  on  one  occasion  empha- 
tically, *  I  pin  my  faith,  and  you  may 
pin  yours  also!'"  And  he  adds,  re- 
ferring to  an  occasion  which  must 
have  been  exceedingly  gratifying  to 
the  feelings  of  the  recipient — "The 
testimonial  to  this  gentleman,  in  1844, 
was  worthy  the  munificence  of  the 
givers.  It  is  not  often  that  a  cheque 
for  two  thousand  one  hundred  guineas 
accompanies  an  expression  of  opinion, 
or  that  the  rich  man's  praise  fructifies 
into  a  service  of  plate."  As  we  con- 
template our  unadorned  sideboard, 
we  acknowledge  the  truth  of  this  re- 
mark ;  still,  we  hesitate  to  exalt  Mr 
Creed  to  the  rank  of  a  hero.  Then 
we  light  on  "  Undertakings  of  Thomas 
Brassey  ....  Anecdote  concerning 
him."  Mr  Brassey  is  a  contractor, 
eminent  no  doubt ;  but  so,  in  his  own 
age,  must  have  been  the  Roman  gen- 
tleman who  undertook  the  construction 
of  the  Cloaca  Maxima,  though  his  name 
has  unfortunately  perished.  Then  ap- 
pears "  Henry  Booth  .  .  .  His  ser- 
vices." We  trust  they  were  properly 
acknowledged.  Then,  "  Personal 
sketches  of  Mr  Locke  and  Mr  C  haplin.' ' 
We  are  greatly  edified  by  the  silhouettes. 
"  Personal  sketch  of  Samuel  Morton 
Peto."  We  shall  try,  if  possible,  not 
to  forget  him.  Much  as  Mr  Francis 
has  done  to  perpetuate  the  memory 
of  these  great  men,  it  is  plain  that  his 
powers  have  been  cramped  with  the 
space  of  two  thick  octavo  volumes. 
In  order  to  make  his  Iliad  perfect,  we 
ought  to  have  had  a  catalogue  of  the 
chiefs  of  the  navvies.  But  we  must 


744 


The  Champions  of  the  Rail. 


[Dec. 


rest  satisfied  with  the  acute  remark 
of  Herder,  that  "  the  burden  of  the 
song  is  infinite,  but  the  powers  of  the 
human  voice  are  finite."  Mr  Francis 
has  done  what  he  can.  Creed  and 
Brassey — Brunei  and  Locke — Chap- 
lin, Peto,  and  Vignolles,  live  within 
his  inspired  volumes ;  and  we  beg  to 
congratulate  them  on  account  of  that 
assured  immortalisation.  They  are 
the  salt  of  the  earth.  The  compilers  of 
traffic-tables  have  disappeared — the 
old  standing  witnesses  before  commit- 
tees  of  the  House  of  Commons  are 
dumb — the  young  engineering  gentle- 
men, who  could  do  anything  they 
pleased  in  the  way  of  levelling  moun- 
tains, are  amusing  themselves  in  Cali- 
fornia or  elsewhere — even  the  mighty 
counsel,  the  holders  of  a  hundred 
briefs,  for  which,  for  the  most  part, 
they  rendered  but  indifferent  service, 
are  unsung.  But  the  others  live.  In 
the  British  Valhalla  they  are  assured 
of  an  adequate  niche,  thanks  to  Mr 
Francis,  who,  as  Captain  Dangerfield 
says,  is  ready  to  stake  his  reputation 
that  they  are  the  only  men  worthy 
of  record  in  such  an  enlightened  age 
as  our  own. 

No— we  are  wrong.  The  man  of 
all  others  to  be  deeply  venerated  is 
"  George  Carr  Glyn,  Esq.,  Chairman 
of  the  London  and  North- Western 
Railway,"  to  whom  these  volumes  are 
respectfully  dedicated.  Of  Mr  Glyn's 
career  as  a  statesman  we  know  abso- 
lutely nothing.  We  are  not  even 
aware  to  what  section  of  politicians 
he  belongs,  so  utter  is  our  ignorance 
of  his  fame.  As  we  read  the  pages 
of  Francis,  and  encountered  the  con- 
tinual eulogiums  heaped  upon  this 
gentleman,  we  felt  remarkably  un- 
comfortable. We  could  not  divest 
ourselves  of  the  notion  that  we  had 
been  asleep  for  some  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury, and  had  therefore  missed  the 
opportunity  of  witnessing  the  appear- 
ance of  a  new  and  most  brilliant  star 
in  the  political  horizon.  About  Mr 
Glyn,  Francis  has  no  manner  of 
doubt.  He  is  not  only  the  most 
sagacious,  but  the  most  clever  per- 
sonage extant,  for  every  purpose 
which  can  smooth  railway  difficulties. 
He  is  the  Ulysses  of  his  line,  and  can 
rap  Thersites  on  the  sconce,  if  that 
cynical  fiend  should  insist  upon  an 
awkward  question.  We  really  and 


unaffectedly  ask  pardon  of  Mr  Glyn, 
if  we  mistake  him  through  his  eulo- 
gist. We  have  no  other  means  of 
knowing  him  ;  and  therefore  he  must 
settle  the  correctness  of  the  following 
sketch  with  Mr  Francis,  who  appears 
as  the  voluntary"artist.  If  the  draw- 
ing is  to  the  mind  of  Mr  Glyn,  and  if 
it  meets  his  ideas  of  ethics,  we  have 
nothing  in  the  world  to  say  against 
it,  having  no  interest  whatever  in  the 
line  over  which  he  presides.  Hear 
Francis :  "  The  proper  place  to  see 
Mr  Glyn  is  as  chairman  in  that  noble 
room,  where,  with  an  earnest  multi- 
tude around  him,  with  the  represen- 
tative of  every  class  and  caste  before 
him — with  Jew  and  Gentile  ready  to 
carp  at  and  criticise  his  statements — 
he  yet  moves  them  at  his  pleasure, 
and  leads  them  at  his  will.  And  per- 
haps the  ascendency  of  one  man  over 
many  is  seldom  more  agreeably  seen 
than  when,  standing  before  a  huge  ex- 
pectant audience,  he  enlivens  the  pla- 
titudes of  one  with  some  light  epigram- 
matic touch,  answers  another  with 
a  clear  tabular  statement,  or  replies 
to  a  third  with  some  fallacy  so  like  a 
fact  that  the  recipient  sits  contentedly 
'down,  about  as  wise  as  he  was  be- 
fore." This  is,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
an  equivocal  sort  of  panegyric.  We 
all  know  what  is  implied  by  the  term 
"fallacies"  in  railway  matters,  and 
some  of  us  have  suffered  in  conse- 
quence. According  to  our  view,  this 
interchange  of  fallacies  between  di- 
rectors and  shareholders  is  a  custom 
by  no  means  laudable,  or  to  be  held 
in  especial  repute.  In  pure  matters 
of  business,  the  less  frequently  fallacies 
are  resorted  to,  the  better.  They  are 
apt,  in  the  long  run,  to  find  their  way 
into  the  balance-sheet — until,  as  we 
have  seen  in  some  notorious  instances, 
the  assumed  fact  of  a  clear  balance,  to 
be  applied  by  way  of  dividend,  turns 
out  also  to  be  a  fallacy.  In  the  case 
before  us,  we  are  willing  to  believe 
that  Mr  Francis  is  altogether  mis- 
taken, and  that  the  statements  of  Mr 
Glyn,  made  in  his  official  capacity, 
which  appeared  to  the  blundering  re- 
porter to  be  fallacies,  were  in  reality 
stern  truths.  But  what  sort  of  esti- 
mate must  we  form  of  Mr  Francis' 
moral  perception,  when  we  find  him 
selecting  such  a  trait  as  the  subject 
of  especial  commendation  ?  He  has, 


1851.] 


The  Champions  of  the  Rail. 


745 


however,  like  most  other  great  men, 
large  sympathies.  He  does  battle  in 
behalf  of  Mr  Hudson  with  consider- 
able energy  ;  though,  after  all,  taking 
his  conclusions  as  legitimate,  his  de- 
fence simply  resolves  itself  into  this — 
that  Mr  Hudson's  conduct  was  not 
more  blamable  than  that  of  others. 
So  be  it.  We  never  joined  in  the 
wholesale  censure  directed  against 
the  quondam  railway  monarch,  be- 
cause we  knew  that  the  whole  tone  of 
the  morals  of  society  had  been  poi- 
soned by  the  villanous  system  en- 
gendered by  railway  speculation ; 
and  because  we  saw  that  many  of  his 
accusers,  if  their  own  conduct  had 
been  sifted,  might  have  been>rraigned 
equally  with  him  at  the  bar  of  pub- 
lic opinion.  Therefore  we  have  no 
desire  to  interfere  with  the  operations 
of  Mr  Francis,  when  he  appears  with 
his  pot  of  whitewash.  Nay,  we  wish 
that  the  implement  were  more  roomy 
than  it  is,  and  the  contents  of  less 
questionable  purity — for  assuredly  he 
has  a  large  surface  of  wall  to  cover, 
if  he  sets  himself  seriously  to  the  task 
of  obliterating  the  traces  of  past  ini- 
quity. 

The  reader,  however,  must  not 
suppose  that  Mr  Francis  sees  nothing 
to  condemn,  or  that  he  has  not  at 
command  thunderbolts  of  wrath  to 
launch  at  the  heads  of  offenders. 
According  to  him,  the  most  painful 
feature  of  the  railway  system  was  the 
rapacity  of  the"  owners  of  the  soil  in 
driving  hard  bargains  for  their  land. 
As  this  is  a  charge  which  has  often 
been  made  by  men  more  competent 
to  form  an  opinion  upon  any  subject 
than  the  gentleman  whose  work  we 
are  now  reviewing,  we  shall  conde- 
scend to  notice  it.  Let  us  premise 
however,  that,  in  this  matter,  the 
howl  is  distinctly  traceable  to  the 
harpies  who  inveigled  the  public  to 
join  their  nefarious  schemes,  and  to 
advance  their  capital  on  the  assurance 
of  enormous  dividends. 

After  referring  to  the  negotiations 
made  with  landowners  by  the  pro- 
moters of  the  London  and  Birming- 
ham line,  Mr  Francis  comments  as 
follows : — 

"  These  things  are  written  with  pain, 
for  they  display  a  low  tone  of  moral  feel- 
ing in  that  class  which,  by  virtue  of  in- 
heritance, of  birth,  and  blood,  should 


possess  a  high  and  chivalrous  sense  of 
honour.  The  writer  is  far  from  wishing 
to  blame  those  who  honestly  opposed  the 
rail.  The  conscientious  feeling  which 
prompts  a  man,  even  in  an  unwise  action, 
if  mistaken,  is  at  least  respectable.  There 
is  much  to  palliate  the  honest  opposition 
of  the  landowner.  Scenes  and  spots 
which  are  replete  with  associations  of 
great  men  and  great  deeds  cannot  be 
pecuniarily  paid  for.  Sites  which  bear 
memories  more  selfish,  yet  not  less  real, 
have  no  market  value.  Homes  in  which 
boyhood,  manhood,  and  age  have  been 
passed,  carry  recollections  which  are 
almost  hallowed.  Such  places  cannot 
be  bought  and  sold  ;  nor  are  the  various 
prejudices  which  cling  to  the  country  to 
be  overlooked.  If  the  nobleman  disliked 
the  destruction  of  his  fine  old  English 
park,  the  yeoman  deplored  the  desecra- 
tion of  his  homestead.  The  one  bore  its 
splendid  remembrances,  the  other  its 
affectionate  recollections.  If  the  peer 
hallowed  the  former  for  the  sake  of  xits 
royal  visits,  the  farmer  cherished  the 
latter  for  the  sake  of  those  who  had  tilled 
the  land  before  him.  There  are  fancy 
spots  in  this  our  beautiful  England  which 
it  would  pain  the  most  indifferent  to  de- 
stroy ;  what  then  must  be  the  feelings  of 
those  who  have  lived,  and  only  wish  to 
die  there  ? 

"  It  is  the  trafficker  in  sympathies,  it 
is  the  dealer  in  haunts  and  homes,  at 
whom  the  finger  of  scorn  should  be 
pointed.  It  is  the  trader  in  touching 
recollections,  only  to  be  soothed  by  gold, 
that  should  be  denounced.  It  is  the  peer 
who  made  the  historic  memories  of  his 
mansion  a  plea  for  replenishing  an  im- 
poverished estate  ;  it  is  the  farmer  who 
made  the  sacred  associations  of  home  an 
excuse  for  receiving  treble  its  value  ;  it  is 
the  country  gentleman  who  made  his  oppo- 
sition the  lever  by  which  he  procured 
the  money  from  the  proprietors'  pockets, 
who  should  be  shamed.  And  a  double 
portion  of  ignominy  must  rest  upon  these, 
when  it  is  remembered  that  the  money 
thus  immorally  obtained  is  a  constant 
tax  on  the  pleasures  of  the  artisan,  on 
the  work  of  the  manufacturer,  and  on 
the  wages  of  the  railway  official.'* 

Mr  Francis,  it  is  evident,  is  fight- 
ing hard  for  his  service  of  plate ;  but 
we  doubt  much  whether  he  will  get 
it.  He  evidently  considers  the  fore- 
going passage  as  a  specimen  of  splen- 
did writing.  He  is  mistaken.  It  is 
nothing  better  than  unadulterated 
drivel.  Let  us  try  to  extricate,  if  we 
can,  his  argument  from  this  heap  of 
verbiage. 


746 


The  Cliampions  of  the  Rail. 


[Dec. 


He  admits  that  associations  ought 
to  be  respected,  but  he  denies  that 
they  ought  to  have  been  paid  for. 
What  does  he  mean  by  this?  By 
whom  were  the  said  associations  to  be 
respected  ?  By  the  projectors  of  the 
railway  companies  ?  Hardly :  for 
those  very  sympathising  gentlemen 
were  precisely  the  persons  who  in- 
sisted upon  running  their  rails  right 
through  park  and  cottage,  and  who 
would  have  prostrated  without  re- 
morse the  Temple  of  Jerusalem  or  the 
Coliseum,  had  either  edifice  stood  in 
their  way.  What,  then,  was  the 
value  of  that  respect?  Precisely 
the  worth  of  the  tear  which  stood  in 
the  eye  of  the  tender-hearted  sur- 
veyor. What  was  the  operation  of 
that  respect?  Not  to  spare,  but  if 
possible  to  destroy. 

In  a  word,  Mr  Francis  maintains 
that  the  railway  companies  ought  to 
have  had  their  own  way  in  every- 
thing, and  to  have  got  possession  of 
the  land  at  the  lowest  conceivable 
prices.  He  thinks  that,  because  gen- 
tlemen whose  property  was  threatened 
with  invasion,  whose  privacy  it  was 
purposed  to  destroy,  and  whose  homes 
were  to  be  rendered  untenantable, 
demanded  a  high  price  from  the  joint- 
stock  trading  companies,  as  an  equi- 
valent for  the  surrender  of  such  pri- 
vileges, they  manifested  a  "  low  tone 
of  moral  feeling."  In  fact,  so  far  as 
we  can  gather  from  his  language,  he 
puts  no  value  whatever,  in  a  pecu- 
niary sense,  upon  the  associations 
which  he  admits  to  be  entitled  to 
respect ;  and  hardly  any,  if  any,  upon 
the  score  of  amenity.  He  is  anything 
but  an  Evelyn.  An  oak,  in  his  eyes, 
is  merely  a  piece  of  standing  timber 
to  be  measured,  valued,  and  paid  for 
according  to  the  current  price  in  the 
dockyards.  The  land — no  matter  of 
what  kind — is  to  be  estimated  accord- 
ing to  the  amount  of  its  yearly  return, 
and  handed  over  without  further 
question  to  the  enterprising  company 
which  demands  it.  Perhaps  Mr 
Francis  may  remember  a  certain  pas- 
sage in  sacred  history,  narrating  the 
particulars  of  a  proposed  transfer  of 
ground — the  parties  being  King  Ahab 
on  the  one  hand,  and  Naboth  the 
Jezreelite  on  the  other  ?  If  not,  we 
recommend  it  to  his  attention,  assur- 
ing him  that  he  will  find  it  to  contain 


a  very  important  lesson  touching  the 
rights  of  property.  His  present  ar- 
gument, if  it  is  worth  anything,  would 
go  far  to  vindicate  Ahab.  He  wanted 
the  other  man's  vineyard  because  it 
lay  contiguous  to  his  house,  and  he 
offered  to  give  him  in  exchange  a 
better  vineyard  for  it,  or  an  equivalent 
in  money.  According  to  the  view 
maintained  by  Mr  Francis,  Naboth 
was  not  justified  in  refusing  the  offer. 
But  let  us  look  into  this  matter  a 
little  more  closely.  On  the  one  hand 
there  is  the  owner  of  a  property  which 
has  been  transmitted  through  a  long 
line  of  ancestors,  and  which  is  now  to 
be  intersected  and  cut  up  by  a  pro- 
jected line  of  railway.  On  the  other 
hand  there  is  the  company,  which 
cannot  progress  a  step  until  they  have 
possession  of  the  land.  Now  let  us 
see  what  is  the  nature,  and  what  are 
the  objects  of  this  company.  It  will 
not  do  for  Mr  Francis  or  any  one  else 
to  babble  about  public  advantages, 
arising  from  more  direct  communica- 
tion between  cities  or  towns  of  impor- 
tance. Public  advantage  may  be 
taken  for  granted  as  a  result,  but 
upon  pure  considerations  of  public 
advantage  no  railway  whatever  was 
undertaken.  It  is  the  commercial 
speculation  of  a  private  company.  No 
man  ever  took  a  share  in  any  railway 
from  motives  of  disinterested  philan- 
thropy. He  took  them  because  he 
expected  to  make  a  profit  by  them,  to 
hold  them  as  a  safe  investment,  or 
finally  to  sell  them  for  a  larger  sum 
than  he  paid.  A  condition,  and  the 
main  one,  of  the  existence  of  the  rail- 
way is  the  possession  of  the  land,  and 
at  this  point  proprietors  and  specula- 
tors join  issue.  The  former  do  not 
want  the  railway.  Their  wish  is  to 
preserve  their  property  un dissevered, 
and  to  be  spared  from  the  spectacle 
of  engines  roaring  by  at  all  hours  of 
the  day  and  night  close  to  the  bottom 
of  the  lawn.  They  very  naturally 
think  it  a  monstrous  hardship  that  the 
rights  of  private  property  should  be 
invaded  by  private  individuals,  even 
though  acting  upon  an  incorporated 
semblance,  who  are  simply  seeking 
their  own  profit  ;  and  they  argue 
that,  if  the  railway  was  required  for 
public  purposes,  the  government  was 
the  proper  party  to  have  undertaken 
its  construction.  But  as,  under  the 


1851.] 


The  Champions  of  the  Rail. 


747 


existing  law,  they  are  liable  to  be 
dragged,  session  after  session,  into  a 
ruinous  expense  to  oppose  the  de- 
mands of  the  capitalists,  they  wisely 
determine  to  make  the  best  arrange- 
ment they  can,  and  at  aU  events  to 
secure  a  full  remuneration  for  the 
sacrifice.  So  the  Squire,  finding  that 
the  law  is  so  conceived  and  modified 
that  any  one  individual  who  is  pos- 
sessed of  landed  property  may  be 
compelled  to  surrender  it  at  the 
demand  of  a  hundred  leagued  capital- 
ists, makes  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and 
demands  a  sum  corresponding  in  some 
degree  to  the  extent  of  the  extorted 
sacrifice :  whereupon  the  promoters 
of  the  railway  instantly  raise  such  a 
howl  that  you  would  think  somebody 
was  trying  to  rob  them,  or  to  take 
their  property  by  force — the  case  being 
notoriously  the  reverse. 

Undoubtedly  the  Squire  demands 
more  from  the  railway  company,  as 
compensation  for  his  land,  than  he 
could  calculate  on  receiving  from  a 
neighbouring  proprietor  at  an  ordi- 
nary sale.  And  on  what  principle, 
in  the  majority  of  cases,  does  he 
base  his  calculation  of  value?  Strictly 
upon  that  adopted  by  the  projectors 
of  the  line.  For  instance,  a  pro- 
spectus of  a  railway  is  put  out, 
announcing  that,  after  the  most 
careful  considepation  of  district 
traflic,  &c.,  the  clear  dividend,  after 
clearing  all  expenses,  must  be  fifteen 
per  cent  per  annum  to  the  proprietors. 
That  is  the  statement  of  the  pro- 
jectors. Well,  then,  if  such  are  the 
prospects  of  the  concern,  is  it  un- 
reasonable that  the  land,  which  must 
be  taken  for  its  construction,  and 
which  is,  in  fact,  to  form  the  railway, 
should  be  valued,  less  on  account  of 
its  productiveness,  than  on  account 
of  its  adaptation  for  the  peculiar 
purpose  for  which  it  is  required? 
Why  is  an  acre  in  the  centre  of  a 
town  a  hundred  times  more  valuable 
than  an  acre  in  a  rural  district? 
Simply  because  it  is  required  for 
building,  and  the  value  of  the  land 
rises  in  just  correspondence  to  the 
demand.  The  subsequent  failure  or 
diminution  of  the  railway  dividends 
cannot  be  made  a  just  article  of 
dittay  against  the  landed  proprietors. 
Fifteen  per  cent,  or  ten,  as  the  case 
might  be,  was  the  amount  of  divi- 


dend which  the  promoters  undertook 
to  prove,  to  the  satisfaction  of  Parlia- 
ment and  the  public,  as  their  reason- 
able expectation.  It  was  part  of 
their  case  always,  and  very  often 
the  most  important  part ;  and  if  they 
chose  so  to  commit  themselves,  they 
were  bound  to  pay  accordingly.  Just 
conceive  a  body  of  men  addressing 
an  urban  proprietor  of  land,  upon 
which  no  houses  were  yet  built,  in 
the  following  terms : — "  Sir,  we  per- 
ceive you  have  an  acre  and  a  half 
of  land  which  would  be  very  conve- 
nient for  our  purpose.  We  propose 
to  build  a  street  of  houses  upon  it, 
and  a  hotel,  from  the  rents  of  which 
we  expect  to  draw  fifteen  per  cent 
yearly.  At  present  your  land  yields 
you  Jittle  or  nothing,  and  therefore 
we  wish  you  to  dispose  of  it  at  its 
present  value.  Let  us  say  that  just 
now  it  is  worth  to  you  five  pounds 
a-year :  we  shall  buy  it  from  you 
at  fi  ve-and-twenty  years'  purchase  ! " 
We  leave  to  the  imagination  of  the 
reader  the  exact  terms  in  which  the 
proprietor  would  assuredly  reply  to 
the  propounders  of  this  reasonable 
request.  And  yet,  where  is  the  dif- 
ference between  the  cases?  The 
railway  projector  tells  the  landed 
proprietor  that  he  desires  to  have 
his  property  for  the  purpose  of 
securing  fifteen  per  cent  for  his 
own  money :  the  landed  proprietor 
tells  him  that  he  may  have  the  pro- 
perty at  a  rate  corresponding  to  the 
advantage  which  he  anticipates.  Can 
anything  be  fairer?  If  Mr  Francis 
understood  even  the  simplest  ele- 
ments of  political  economy  —  an 
amount  of  mental  comprehension  of 
which  we  believe  him  to  be  wholly 
incapable — he  ought  to  know  that 
demand  and  supply  are  the  leading 
conditions  of  price.  If  there  is  only 
one  salmon  in  the  London  market, 
it  will  sell,  as  it  has  done  before  now, 
at  the  rate  of  a  guinea  per  pound, 
and  it  would  be  obviously  unfair  to 
charge  the  fishmonger  with  being 
actuated  by  "  a  low  tone  of  moral 
feeling."  He  coerces  no  customer: 
he  simply  states  his  price,  and  if 
no  one  chooses  to  buy,  no  one  has  a 
right  to  complain.  Our  friend  Francis 
seems  to  labour  under  the  hallucina- 
tion that  everything  required  for  a 
railway  ought  to  be  furnished  at 


748 

prime  cost.  That  the  promoters  ex- 
pect fifteen  per  cent  is  nothing.  Nay, 
even  the  free-trading  rule  of  selling 
in  the  dearest  and  buying  in  the 
cheapest  market  is  to  be  suspended 
for  their  behoof.  The  seller  is  to 
have  no  option:  he  must  be  cheap 
to  them,  else  he  is  a  moral  monster. 
If,  however,  the  judicious  panegyrist 
of  Mr  Carr  Glyn  does  not  carry  his 
principles  quite  so  far,  he  lays 
himself  open  to  the  charge  of  most 
monstrous  inconsistency.  During  the 
prevalence  of  the  railway  mania,  all 
commodities  requisite  for  their  con- 
struction rose  greatly  in  value.  From 
iron  to  railway  sleepers — in  wood, 
metal,  and  everything  connected  with 
the  making  of  the  lines — there  was 
an  enormous  enhancement  of  price. 
And  why?  On  account  of  the  de- 
mand. Was  the  soil  on  which  that 
iron  and  wood  was  to  be  laid— the 
absolute  foundation  of  the  railway 
itself— to  be  paid  for  at  a  meaner 
rate?  Mr  Francis  seems  to  think 
so;  and  we  cannot  help  honouring 
him  for  the  candid  expression  of  his 
opinions,  even  while  we  regret  the 
conglomeration  of  ideas  which  gave 
them  birth.  We  are  afraid  that  he 
has  been  talked  over  by  some  of  his 
acute  acquaintances.  It  is  the  fashion 
at  railway  meetings  to  attribute  all 
disasters  to  some  other  cause  than 
the  mismanagement  of  the  directors  ; 
and  we  daresay  that  Mr  Francis  has 
been  fully  indoctrinated  with  such 
opinions.  It  is  not  agreeable  to  meet 
shareholders  with  a  confession  of 
dwindled  dividend.  But  when  impe- 
rious circumstances  render  such  a 
course  inevitable,  it  is  convenient  to 
be  prepared  with  some  "  fallacy" 
which  may  help  to  account  for  the 
fact,  and  to  stifle  too  curious  investi- 
gation. The  readiest  scapegoat  is  the 
landowner.  All  accounting  with  him 
is  past  and  gone,  yet  he  still  can  be 
made  to  bear  the  blame  for  a  vast 
amount  of  reckless  prodigality.  He 
is  not  there  to  speak  for  himself— he 
has  no  connection  with  the  company. 
Therefore,  whenever  failure  must  be 
acknowledged,  the  onus  is  cast  upon 
him.  Railway  orators  and  railway 
writers  alike  conceal  the  real  cause 
of  the  disaster,  and  combine  to  cast 
discredit  and  aspersion  upon  the 
gentry  of  England. 


The  Champions  of  the  Kail. 


[Dec. 


The  truth  is,  that  the  system  of 
railway  management  in  this  country 
has  been,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end,  decidedly  bad.  Each  line,  as 
it  came  into  existence,  was  fostered 
by  quackery  and  falsehood.  The 
most  extravagant  representations 
were  used  to  secure  the  adhesion 
of  shareholders,  and  to  procure  the 
public  support.  Rival  lines  fought 
each  other  before  the  committees 
with  a  desperation  worthy  of  the 
cats  of  Kilkenny,  and  enormous 
expenses  and  law  charges  were  in- 
curred at  the  very  commencement. 
No  economy  whatever  was  used  in 
the  engineering,  and  no  check  placed 
on  the  engineers.  In  those  days, 
indeed,  an  engineer  of  established 
reputation  was  a  kind  of  demigod, 
whose  doctrine,  or,  at  all  events, 
whose  charges,  it  was  sinful  to 
challenge.  But  engineers  have  their 
ambition.  They  like  viaducts  which 
will  be  talked  of  and  admired  as 
splendid  achievements  of  mechanical 
skill;  and  the  most  virtuous  of  the 
tribe  cannot  resist  the  temptation 
of  a  tunnel.  Such  tastes  are  natural, 
but  they  are  fearfully  expensive  in 
their  indulgence,  as  the  shareholders 
know  to  their  cost.  The  remunera- 
tion of  these  gentlemen  was  monstrous. 
In  the  course  of  a  few  years  most  of 
them  realised  large  fortunes,  which  is 
more  than  can  be  said  for  the  majo- 
rity of  the  men  who  paid  them.  So  was 
it  with  the  contractors.  Mr  Francis 
tells  us  of  many,  "  who,  beginning  life 
as  navigators,  have  become  contrac- 
tors ;  who,  having  saved  money,  have 
become  'gangers,'  realised  capital 
and  formed  contracts,  first  for  thou- 
sands, and  then  for  hundreds  of 
thousands.  These  are  almost  a  caste 
by  themselves.  They  make  fortunes, 
and  purchase  landed  estates.  Many 
a  fine  property  has  passed  from 
some  improvident  possessor  to  a 
railway  labourer;  and  some  of  the 
most  beautiful  country  seats  in  Eng- 
land belong  to  men  who  trundled 
the  barrow,  who  delved  with  the 
spade,  who  smote  with  the  pick-axe, 
and  blasted  the  rock."  With  such 
statements  before  us,  it  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  see  how  the  money  went. 
Alas  for  the  shareholders!  Poor 
geese !  they  little  thought  how  many 
were  to  have  a  pluck  at  their  pinions. 


1851.] 


The  Champions  of  the  Rail. 


Industry,  we  freely  admit,  ought  to 
have  its  reward;  but  rewards  such  as 
these  are  beyond  the  reach  of  pure 
industry,  as  we  used  formerly  to 
understand  the  term.  These  reve- 
lations may,  however,  be  of  use  as 
indicating  the  direction  in  which  a 
great  part  of  the  money  has  gone. 
We  accept  them  as  such,  and  as  illus- 
trations of  that  profound  economy 
which  was  practised  by  the  different 
boards  of  railway  direction  through- 
out the  kingdom.  Mr  Francis,  in  his 
laudatory  sketches  of  his  favourite  he- 
roes, usually  takes  care  to  tell  us  that 
they  are  "  sprung  from  the  ranks  of  the 
people."  Of  course  they  are.  Where 
else  were  ^they  to  spring  from  ?  Does 
Mr  Francis  suppose  it  to  be  a  popular 
article  of  belief  that  they  emerged 
from  the  bowels  of  a  steam-engine? 
What  he  means,  however,  is  plain 
enough.  Judging  from  the  whole 
tenor  of  his  book,  we  take  him  to 
be  one  of  those  jaundiced  persons 
who,  without  any  intelligible  reason 
beyond  class  prejudice,  are  filled 
with  bile  and  rancour  against  the 
aristocracy,  and  who  worship  at  the 
shrine  of  money.  He  grudges  every 
farthing  that  the  railway  companies 
were  compelled  to  pay  for  land  ;  he 
bows  down  in  reverence  before  the 
princely  fortunes  of  the  contractors. 
Every  man  to  his  own  taste.  We 
cannot  truthfully  assert  that  we 
admire  the  selection  of  his  idols. 

But  what  is  this  ?  We  have  just 
lighted  upon  a  passage  which  compels 
us,  in  spite  of  ourselves,  to  suspect 
that  our  Francis  is,  at  least,  a  bit  of 
a  repudiator,  and  that  he  would 
regard  with  no  unfavourable  eye 
another  pluck  at  the  shareholders. 
Here  it  is :  — 

"  The  assertion  that  land  and  com- 
pensation on  the  line  to  which  Mr 
Robert  Stephenson  was  engineer,  which 
was  estimated  at  £250,000,  amounted  to 
£750,000,  appears  to  call  for  some  addi- 
tional remark  ;  and  the  question  which  is 
now  proposed  is,  how  far  the  right  is  with 
the  railroads  to  demand,  and  the  passen- 
gers to  pay  an  increased  fare,  in  conse- 
quence of  bargains  which,  unjust  in 
principle,  ought  never  to  havebeen  allowed? 
It  is  now  a  historic  fact  that  every  line 
in  England  has  cost  more  than  it  ought. 
That  in  some — where,  too,  the  directors 
were  business  men  —  large  sums  were 


749 

improperly  paid  for  land,  for  compensa- 
tion, for  consequential  damages,  for  fancy 
prospects,  and  other  unjust  demands 
under  various  names.  These  sums  being 
immorally  obtained,  is  it  right  that  the  pub- 
lic should  pay  the  interest  on  them  ?  Is  it 
just  that  the  working  man  should  forego 
his  trifling  luxury  to  meet  them  ?  Is  it 
fair  that  the  artisan  should  be  deprived 
of  his  occasional  trip,  or  that  the  fre- 
quenter of  the  rail  should  pay  an  addi- 
tional tax I  " 

Is  it  fair  that  anybody  should  pay 
anything  at  all  for  travelling  on  the 
railways  ?  That  is  the  question  which 
must  finally  be  considered,  if  Mr 
Francis'  preliminary  questions  are  to 
be  entertained.  Because  some  part 
of  the  capital  of  the  shareholders  may 
have  been  needlessly  expended,  they 
ought  in  this  view  to  receive  a  less 
amount  of  interest  for  the  remainder ! 
The  silliness  of  the  above  passage  is 
so  supreme— the  ignorance  which  it 
displays  of  the  first  rules  of  law  and 
equity,  regarding  property,  is  so  pro- 
found, that  it  is  hardly  worth  while 
exposing  it.  It  betrays  an  obliquity 
of  intellect  of  which  we  had  not  pre- 
viously suspected  even  Mr  Francis. 
Pray  observe  the  exquisite  serenity 
with  which  this  important  personage 
opens  his  case  :  u  The  question  which 
is  now  proposed!"  Proposed— and 
for  whose  consideration?  Not  surely 
for  that  of  the  Legislature,  for  the 
Legislature  has  already  pronounced 
judgment.  Are  the  public  to  take 
the  matter  in  hand,  and  decide  on  the 
tables  of  rates  ?  It  would  seem  so. 
In  that  case,  we  might  indeed  calcu- 
late upon  travelling  cheap,  provided 
the  rails  were  not  shut  up.  But  the 
whole  of  his  remarks  are  as  practi- 
cally absurd  as  they  are  mischievous 
in  doctrine.  What  right  has  Jack, 
Tom,  or  Harry  to  question  the  cost 
of  his  conveyance?  Are  there  not, 
in  all  conscience,  competing  lines 
enough,  independent  altogether  of  Par- 
liamentary regulations,  to  secure  the 
public  against  being  overcharged  on 
the  railways  ?  On  what  authority  does 
Mr  Francis  assume  that  a  single  acre 
of  the  land  was  paid  for  at  an  unjust 
rate?  Mr  Kobert  Stephenson's  es- 
timate, we  take  it,  has  not  the  autho- 
rity of  gospel.  No  engineer's  esti- 
mate has.  Their  margin  is  always 
a  large  one ;  and  it  almost  never  hap- 


750 

pens  that,  when  the  works  are  com- 
pleted, their  actual  cost  is  found  to 
correspond  with  the  hypothetical 
calculation.  But  the  truth  is,  that 
the  value  paid  for  the  land  taken  by 
railways  is  the  only  item  of  expense 
which  cannot  be  justly  challenged. 
The  reason  is  plain.  A  railway  com- 
pany has  in  the  first  instance  to 
prove  the  preamble  of  its  bill — that 
is,  it  must  show  to  the  satisfaction  of 
the  Legislature  that  the  construction 
of  the  work  will  be  attended  with 
public  and  local  advantages.  The 
settlement  of  the  money  question, 
regarding  the  value  of  the  land,  is 
reserved  for  the  legal  tribunals  of  the 
country.  To  complain  of  the  verdicts 
given  is  to  impugn  the  course  of 
justice,  and  to  cast  discredit  on  the 
system  of  jury  trial.  Very  wisely 
was  it  determined  that  such  questions 
should  be  so  adjudicated,  because  no 
reasonable  ground  of  complaint  can 
be  left  to  either  party.  The  decision 
as  to  the  value  of  the  land,  and  the 
amount  of  compensation  which  is 
due,  is  taken  from  the  hands  both  of 
Ahab  and  Naboth,  and  their  respec- 
tive engineers  and  valuators,  and  in- 
trusted to  neutral  parties,  whose  duty 
it  is  to  see  fair  play  between  them. 

We  have  done  with  this  book.    It 
has  greatly  disappointed  us  in  every 


The  Champions  of  the  Rail. 


[Dec.  1851. 


respect.  As  a  repertory  of  facts,  or 
as  a  history  of  the  railways,  it  is 
ill- arranged,  meagre,  and  stupid ; 
and  the  sketches  which  it  contains 
are  so  absurdly  conceived,  and  so 
clumsily  executed,  that  they  entirely 
fail  to  enliven  the  general  dulness  of 
the  volumes.  At  the  very  point 
which  might  have  been  rendered 
most  interesting  in  the  hands  of  an- 
able  and  well-instructed  writer — the 
period  of  the  great  mania  —  Mr 
Francis  fails.  His  pen  is  not  adequate 
to  the  task  of  depicting  the  rapid 
occurrences  of  the  day,  or  the  fearful 
whirl  which  then  agitated  the  public 
mind.  In  short,  he  is  insufferably 
prosy  throughout  the  first  four  acts 
of  his  drama,  and  makes  a  lamentable 
break-down  at  the  catastrophe.  His 
work  will  fail  to  please  any  portion  of 
the  public,  except  the  heroes  whose 
praises  he  has  sung.  He  has  given 
them  sugar,  indeed ;  but,  after  all,  it  is 
a  sanded  article.  We  hope  they  will 
combine  to  buy  up  the  edition,  and 
thus  fulfil  the  prophecy  of  Shak- 
speare — "Nay,  but  hark  you,  Francis: 
for  the  sugar  thou  gavest  me — 'twas 
a  pennyworth,  was't  not?  "  "  O  Lord, 
sir !  I  would  it  had  been  two."  "  I 
will  give  thee  for  it  a  thousand  pound : 
ask  me  when  thou  wilt,  and  thou 
shalt  have  it."  "  Anon,  anon,  sir  1 " 


INDEX   TO   VOL.   LXX. 


Abdallah,  a  dragoman,  sketch  of,  448 
et  seq. 

Aborigines,  general  characteristics  of, 
416. 

Abrantes,  the  marquis  of,  354. 

Achmet  Bascha,  a  campaign  in  Taka  un- 
der, 251  et  seq. 

Achmet  Effendi,  sketch  of,  453. 

Acre,  sketches  at,  459. 

Administration,  system  of,  in  Russia,  164 
et  seq. 

Adolphe  the  clairvoyant,  performances  of, 
70. 

Africa,  recent  travels  in,  251. 

Agricultural  depression,  amount  of,  in 
Ireland,  136— reaction  of  it  on  other 
classes  of  the  community,  303. 

Agricultural  interest,  experienced  results 
of  free  trade  to  the,  133 — Lord  John 
Russell  on  its  state,  489. 

Agricultural  Relief  Associations,  proceed- 
ings and  demands  of  the,  616. 

Agriculture,  Huskisson  on  protection  to, 
632— state  of,  &c.  in  the  United  States, 
699  et  seq. — relations  of  geology  to, 
703 — improvements  in,  in  New  York, 
&c.,  704 — its  state,  &c.,  in  Canada,  707. 

Agriculturists,  effects  of  the  depression  of 
the,  on  the  home  trade,  109 — lowering 
of  the  wages  of  the,  496. 

Albany,  Professor  Johnston's  Lectures  in, 
700. 

Alchemy,  origin  of  chemistry  with,  &c., 
564. 

Aleppo,  town  of,  725. 

Alexandretta,  town  of,  463,  724. 

Alexandria,  a  voyage  from,  to  Syria,  451. 

Alexis  the  clairvoyant,  77. 

Ali-Beg,  the  pass  of,  100. 

Amadeus  I.  of  Savoy,  414. 

American  lakes,  the,  708,  709. 

American  slavery,  on,  385. 

Americans  in  California,  character,  &c. 
of  the,  478. 

Amiens,  sketches  at,  199. 

ANSAYRII,  THE,  719 — their  tenets,  num- 
bers, &c.,  733. 

Apes,  shooting  of,  at  Hassela,  270. 

Arab  Scheik,  an,  728. 

Arable  culture,  expense  of,  1790,  1803, 
and  1813,  620. 

Arc  de  Triomphe  de  1'Etoile,  the,  319. 

Arches,  the  triumphal,  of  Paris,  320. 


Ark wright,  sir  R.,  origin  "of  the  disco- 
veries of,  566. 

Army,  the  French,  feeling  in,  toward 
Louis  Napoleon,  547. 

ARNABOLL,  THE  RAID  OF,  chap.  I.  220 — 
chap.  II.  225— chap.  III.  230-chap. 
IV.  236. 

Artesian  well,  the,  at  Paris,  317. 

Aspre,  general  d',  notices  of,  during  the 
campaign  in  Italy,  29  et  seq.  passim — 
his  march  on  Verona,  442. 

ASSASSINS  or  Ansayrii,  the,  71 9  —  their 
tenets,  &c.,  733. 

Atbara  river,  the,  257  et  seq.  passim. 

Atoi,  a  New  Zealand  chief,  417. 

Auber's  opera  of  Zerline,  on,  311. 

Aumale,  the  duke  d',  the  duke  of  Orleans 
on,  555. 

Australia,  character  of  the  aborigines  of, 
416 — a  voyage  to  California  from,  471. 

Austria,  sketches  of  the  war  between  her 
and  Piedmont,  25  et  seq. — her  interven- 
tion in  the  Papal  States  in  1830,  432— 
her  long  possession  of  Lombardy  and 
acquisition  of  Venice,  433— her  admi- 
nistration of  the  Lombardo- Venetian 
kingdom,  434. 

AUSTRIAN  AIDE-DE-CAMP,  the  campaigns 
of  an,  25. 

AUTUMN  POLITICS,  607. 

Bacon,  Friar,  the  prophecy  of,  562. 

Bagdad,  sketches  of,  97. 

Ballet-dancing,  Fanny  Lewald  on,  217. 

Baranken,  fur  called,  172. 

Bassora,  a  voyage  to,  96. 

Bears,  the,  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes, 
314 — sketches  of,  in  North  America, 
672,  677. 

Beautiful,  Ruskin's  theory  of  the,  exa- 
mined, 333. 

Belgian  Revolution,  Stahr  on  the,  544. 

Benares,  sketches  by  Madame  Pfeiffer  at, 
93. 

Berchthold,  count,  fellow-traveller  of 
Madame  Pfeiffer,  87  et  seq.  passim. 

Bethmeria,  village  of,  in  Lebanon,  456. 

Beyrout,  sketches  at,  454,  721. 

Blanc,  Louis,  account  of,  by  Fanny  Le- 
wald, 2 14. 

Bombay,  a  voyage  from  Bassora  to,  96. 

BOROUGHS,DISFRANCHISEMENT  OF  THE,  296. 

Boroughs,  apparent  secession  of  the,  from 
the  free-trade  cause,  299. 


752 


Index. 


Boulevard  of  Paris,  the,  200. 

Boulogne,  difficulties  of  the  invasion  of 
England  from,  197— sketches  in,  198. 

Bradford,  present  state  of  manufactures 
at,  643. 

Brazil,  sketches  in  the  interior  of,  87. 

Bread-stuffs,  the  exports  of,  from  the 
United  States,  702. 

Brett,  Messrs,  the  inventors  of  the  sub- 
marine telegraph,  567. 

Bribery,  parliamentary,  on,  303. 

Bright,  John,  on  the  reduction  of  wages, 
634. 

British  empire,  statistics  regarding  popu- 
lation of  the,  1801  to  1851, 127. 

British  shipping,  influence  of  free  trade 
on,  138. 

Browne,  sir  Thomas,  testimony  of,  con- 
cerning witchcraft,  81. 

Buckwheat,  use  of,  in  North  America, 
705. 

Buffon,  superintendence  of  the  Jardin 
des  Plantes  by,  315. 

Buonaparte,  Napoleon,  restoration  of  the 
Jardin  des  Plantes  by,  315 — the  monu- 
ment to,  in  the  Hotel  des  Invalides, 
317 — measures  of,  regarding  the  dra- 
ma, 324. 

Buonaparte,  Napoleon,  son  of  Jerome, 
206. 

Burdon,  captain,  British  resident  at  Kot- 
tah,  94. 

Burke,  E.,  proposal  by,  to  gild  the  dome 
ofSt  Paul's,  316. 

Burning  forest,  a,  in  Brazil,  88. 

Cagliostro,  supposed  mesmeric  power  of, 

Cairo,  sketches  of  life,  &c.  at,  449. 

California,  sketches  in,  470  et  seq. 

Camino  theatre,  the.  at  St  Petersburg, 
168. 

CAMPAIGN  IN  TAKA,  a,  251. 

CAMPAIGNS  OF  AN  AUSTRIAN  AIDE-DE- 
CAMP, the,  25. 

Canadas,  sketches  by  Professor  Johnston 
in  the,  706 — statistics  of  their  pro- 
gress, 708. 

Cancrin,  finance  minister  of  Russia, 
166. 

Cannibalism  of  New  Zealand,  the,  415. 

Caravan  journey  to  Mossul,  a,  98. 

Cards,  playing,  consumption  of,  in  Russia, 
169. 

Carey's  Harmony  of  Interests,  &c.,  ex- 
tracts from,  640. 

Carlists,  fall  of  the,  in  Spain,  356. 

Carre,  Michel,  French  translation  of 
Goethe's  Faust  by,  556. 

Carrousel,  the  arch  of  the,  320. 

Cash  payments,  influence  of  the  suspen- 
sion of,  619 — and  that  of  their  resump- 
tion, 622. 

Catamount,  adventure  with  a,  677. 

Cavalry,  the  Russian,  165. 

Caxton,  Pisistratus,  My  Novel  by,  Part 
XI.  Book  VI.  chapters  I.  to  XII.  1— 


Part  XII.  Book  VI.  chapters  XIII.  to 
XXV.  173— Part  XIII.  Book  VII. 
chapters  I.  to  XV.  275— Part  XIV. 
Book  VII.  chapters  XVI.  to  XXII. 
392— Part  XV.  Book  VIII.  chapters 
I.  to  VI.  573— Part  XVI.  Book  VIII. 
chapters  VII.  to  XIV.  681. 

CENSUS  AND  FREE  TRADE,  the,  123. 

CHAMPIONS  OF  THE  RAIL,  the,  739. 

Charles  Albert,  King  of  Sardinia,  sketches 
of,  30  et  seq.  passim — his  conduct  with 
regard  to  Lombardy,  437 — hostilities 
begun  by  him,  440 — sketch  of  his  pre- 
vious career,  442 — the  campaign  under 
him,  444 — his  last  defeat,  abdication, 
and  death,  446. 

Chartum,  the  town  of,  251. 

Cheapness,  examination  of  the  question 
of,  638. 

Chemistry,  alchemy  the  parent  of,  564. 

Cherbourg,  the  harbour  of,  197. 

China,  sketches  in,  by  Madame  Pfeiffer, 
92. 

Chinese  junk,  voyage  in  a,  93. 

Church,  Mr  Phelps  on  the,  388. 

Churches,  Ruskin  on,  327. 

"  Claims  of  Labour,"  remarks  on  the, 
380. 

Clairvoyance,  examination  of  the  claims 
of,  70  et  seq. 

Clam,  General  Count,  33. 

Clergy,  influence  of  free  trade  on  the, 
500. 

Clouds,  Ruskin  on,  330. 

Coal  gas,  how  first  discovered,  569. 

Colonisation,  two  sonnets,  606. 

Column,  on  the,  as  the  monument,  319. 

"  Companions  of  my  solitude,"  review  of, 
386. 

Concorde,  the  Place  and  Pont  de  la,  in 
Paris,  202,  203,  312. 

CONGRESS  AND  THE  AGAPEDOME,  the, 
chap.  I.  359— chap.  II.  365  — chap. 
III.  370— chap.  IV.  375. 

Conjurors,  Indian,  94. 

"  Conquerors  of  the  New  World,  the," 
remarks  on,  380. 

Conscription,  the,  in  France,  323. 

Constable  the  painter,  the  trees  of,  332. 

Constantinople,  winter  aspect  of,  723. 

Constituencies,  large,  the  Times  on,  301. 

Continent,  revolutionary  tendencies  on 
the,  and  their  causes,  431. 

Cook,  Captain,  on  the  cannabalism  of 
New  Zealand,  416. 

Corn  laws,  causes  which  brought  about 
the  repeal  of  the,  115 — separation  be- 
tween landlord  and  tenant  induced  by 
their  repeal,  610 — circumstances  which 
orginated  them,  &c.,  621 — Huskisson 
in  favour  of  the,  632 — effects  of  their 
repeal  on  prices,  637. 

Cornu,  Madame,  letters  of  Louis  Napo- 
leon to,  547. 

Costazza,  defeat  of  Charles  Albert  at, 
445. 


Index. 


753 


Cotton  manufacture,  wheat  used  for 
starch  in  the,  497. 

Counties,  decrease  of  population  in, 
1841  to  1851,  129. 

Country,  immigration  of  population  into 
the  towns  from  the,  307. 

Country  districts,  first  failure  of  popula- 
tion in  the,  125. 

Crime,  increase  of,  under  the  free-trade 
system,  139 — increase  of  it  in  the 
towns,  307. 

Croats,  the  troops  called,  443. 

Crusades,  increase  of  population  during 
the,  124. 

CRYSTAL  PALACE,  VOLTAIRE  IN  THE,  142. 

Currency  reform,  necessity  for,  111. 

Currency  system,  the  new,  the  monetary 
crisis  due  to,  132— relation  of  it  to  the 
free-trade  question,  618. 

Custine,  M.  de,  his  book  on  Russia,  160. 

Cuvier,  superintendence  of  the  Jardin 
des  Plantes  by,  316. 

Daun,  Marshal,  the  victory  of,  at  Kolin,  26. 

DAY-DREAMS  OF  AN  EXILE,  Longings — 

I.  To  ,  465 — II.  Where  summer 

is,  467— TIL  Earth  is  the  realm  of 
death,  469— IV.  Stand  by  the  ocean, 
ib.—V.  Sigh  thou  not  for  a  happier  lot, 

604— VI.  To ,  605— VII.  Oft  in  a 

night  of  April,  ib. — VIII.  Dream  on, 
606  —  IX.  Colonisation,  two  sonnets, 
ib. 

Defalla,  an  African  chief,  259. 

Delta,  The  Lament  of  Selim,  by,  103— 
his  death,  aud  sketch  of  his  life,  &c., 
249. 

Dembinski,  General,  in  the  Hungarian 
war,  37. 

Depression,  the  present,  its  universality, 
630. 

Derby,  the  Earl  of,  on  protection,  613. 

Digby,  Sir  Kenelm,  supposed  acquaint- 
ance of,  with  mesmerism,  77. 

DIGGINGS,  A  VOICE  FROM  THE,  470. 

DlSFRANCHISEMENT  OF  THE  BOROUGHS, 
the,  296. 

Disraeli,  Mr,  new  policy  proposed  by, 
against  free  trade,  612  et  seq.  passim. 

Domestic  tyranny,  Mr  Helps  on,  381. 

Doubleday,  Mr,  on  the  effects  of  Peel's 
currency  system,  622. 

DOWNWARD  TENDENCIES,  106. 

Drama,  sketch  of  the  rise  and  history  of 
the,  in  France,  323 — its  present  state 
there,  324. 

"  Dream  on,  ye  souls  who  slumber  here," 
606. 

Druses,  sketches  of  the,  456. 

Dumas,  Alexander,  sketches  of,  fey  Pro- 
fessor Stahr,  and  account  of  the  duke 
of  Orleans  by  him,  547,  554. 

Dunshunner,  A.  R.,  letter  to  R.  M'Cork- 
indale  by — "  Downward  tendencies," 
106. 

Dunstan  the  monk,  on  the  character  of, 
513. 


Duprat,  M.,  speech  of,  on  the  National 

Guard,  207. 
Durando,  general,  defence    of  Vicenza, 

by,  35. 
Earle,   Mr,  account   of   cannibalism    in 

New  Zealand  by,  417. 
"Earth    is    the    realm    of  death,  who 

reigns,"  469. 
East,  interest  of  the,  719. 
Eastlake's  Good  Samaritan,  on,  212. 
Eating-houses  in  San  Francisco,  472. 
Edinburgh  Review,  the,  on  protection, 

306. 

Education,  Mr  Helps  on,  383. 
Edwin  the  Fair,  review  of,  513. 
Egypt,    interest    of,    719— sketches    in, 

720  et  seq. 
Electric  telegraph,  laying  down  of  the, 

from  England  to  France,  568. 
Elliotson,  Dr,   Phreno-mesmeric  exhibi- 

bition  by,  74. 

Elora,  visit  to,  by  Madame  Pfeiffer,  95. 
Emigration,    increase    of,    from    Great 

Britain,    113 — rapidity    of   it    in    a 

declining    state,   126 — amounts   of    it 

from  Great  Britain,  1841  to  1850,  128 

note—  amount  of  it  from  Ireland,  131 — 

influence  of   free    trade    on  it,    139, 

503— the  Times  on  the  increased,  626— 

encouragements    to,    to    the    United 

States,  710,  711. 
Employers,  on  the  relation  between,  and 

employed,  381. 
Employment,  influence  of,  on  population, 

123. 
England  and  France,  laying  down  of  the 

submarine  electric  telegraph  between, 

568. 
English  travellers,  contrast  between,  and 

French,  447— follies,  &c.  of,  454— how 

regarded  in  the  East,  461. 
Esperon,  Dr,  453. 
"  Essays  written  in  intervals  of  business," 

remarks  on,  380. 
Etoile,  the  Arc  de  1',  319. 
Euphrates,  the,  727. 
Europe,  the  advances  of  population  in, 

123 — tendencies  to  revolution  in,  431. 
Eve  of  the  Conquest,  Taylor's,  remarks 

on,  520. 
Exhibition  of  paintings,  Fanny  Lewald 

on  the,  211. 

Exile,    day-dreams     of   an,    see    Day- 
dreams. 

EXPERIMENT,  the,  488. 
Exports,  increase  of,  under  free  trade, 

140. 

Eye,  alleged  power  of  charm  in  the,  79. 
Farmers,  loss  at  present   sustaining  by 

the,   492— their   right   to   relief,   614, 

615.     See  also  Agriculturists. 
Faucher,  M.,  speech  of,  in  the  Legislative 

Assembly,  207. 

Faust,  French  translation  of,  the,  556. 
Finances,  influence  of  free  trade  on  the, 

137. 


754 


Index. 


Financial  system,  relations  of  the,  to  the 
free-trade  question,  618. 

Flour,  falling  price  of,  in  New  York,  703. 

Folkstone,  sketches  of,  ]  97. 

Foreign  snipping,  influence  of  free  trade 
on,  138. 

Foreign  trade,  state  of,  &c.,  645. 

Forest  life,  sketches  of,  in  Maine,  &c., 
670  et  seq. 

Forests  of  Brazil,  the,  88,  89. 

Fountains  of  the  Place  de  la  Concorde, 
the,  314. 

France,  the  protective  policy  of,  117 — 
increase  of  population  in,  during  the 
war,  124,  125 — increased  facilities  of 
communication  with,  195 — the  revolu- 
tions of,  and  their  influences,  431 — the 
intervention  of,  in  Rome,  438 — the  im- 
portation of  flour  into  Great  Britain 
from,  489  note — sketches  of  the  present 
state  of,  by  Professor  Stahr,  545— 
belief  in,  as  to  Napoleon  being  still 
alive,  549 — laying  down  of  the  sub- 
marine telegraph  from  England  to,  568. 

FRANCIS'  HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  RAIL- 
WAY reviewed,  739. 

Frederick  the  Great,  his  defeat  at  Kolin, 
26. 

FREE  TRADE,  THE  CENSUS  AND,  123. 

Free  trade,  the  experienced  results  of, 
108  et  seq. — contrast  between  its  results 
and  those  of  protection,  116 — influence 
of  it  on  trading  profits,  1 37 — influence 
of  it  on  shipping,  138 — its  influence 
on  crime,  emigration,  and  poor-rates, 
139 — and  on  exports  and  imports,  140 
— general  summary  of  its  results,  141 
— general  reaction  against  it,  245 — 
declarations  from  the  boroughs  against 
it,  299— the  experiment  of,  488— influ- 
ence of  it  on  the  income,  &c.,  of  the 
clergy,  500  —  continued  depression 
under  it,  609 — reaction  against  it,  613 
— address  to  the  shopkeepers  on  its 
effects  on  them,  629  et  seq. — universa- 
lity of  the  depression  from  it,  630 — its 
progress  from  the  time  of  Huskisson, 
632— prices  of  corn  under  it,  637. 

Free-traders,  preponderance  of,  among 
the  Scottish  representatives,  297  — 
present  views  of,  regarding  the  smaller 
boroughs,  305. 

Freedom,  Protestantism  essential  to,  447. 

French  in  Tahiti,  the,  90. 

French  army,  feeling  in,  toward  Louis 
Napoleon,  546. 

French  opera,  the,  at  Paris,  310. 

French  railroads,  on,  199. 

French  theatres,  Stahr  on  the,  557. 

French  travellers,  contrast  between,  and 
English,  447. 

"  Friends  in  council,"  notice  of,  382. 

Funds,  danger  of  the,  112. 

Furs,  prices  of,  in  Russia,  171. 

Gaming  and  gaming-houses  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, 473. 


Gand,  Dr,  253,  254. 

Garcia,  Madame,  reception  of,  in  St 
Petersburg,  168. 

Gas,  how  first  discovered,  569. 

Gaufridy,  Louis,  the  case  of,  76. 

Gaza,  the  Lazaretto  at,  453. 

Geology,  relations  of,  to  agriculture,  703. 

Georgey,  General,  36. 

GERMAN  AUTHORESS,  London  diary  of  a, 
209. 

GERMAN  LETTERS  FROM  PARIS,  543. 

German  literature,  non-appreciation  of, 
in  France,  556. 

German  professors,  former  and  present 
characters  of,  543. 

German  women,  Fanny  Lewald  on,  216. 

Gibelin,  the  Count  de,  case  of,  82. 

Gibili  tobacco,  462. 

GIBRALTAR,  A  LEGEND  OF,  Chap.  I.  522 — 
Chap.  II.  529— Chap.  III.  532— Chap. 
IV.  535— Chap.  V.  539. 

GIBRALTAR,  A  TALE  OF  THE  SIEGE  OF, 
648. 

Glasgow,  increase  of  population  in,  1841 
to  1851,  129—1811  to  1851,  131— 
immigrations  of  Irish  into,  ib. 

Glastonbury  waters,  alleged  cure  by  the, 
81. 

Goethe's  Faust,  French  translation  of, 
556. 

Goito,  engagement  at,  443. 

Gold  diggings  in  California,  sketches  in 
the,  470  et  seq. 

Gos  Rajeb,  an  African  town,  259. 

Grahame,  Sir  James,  position  of,  and  his 
party,  118— his  conduct  towards  his 
tenantry,  499. 

Grain,  importations  of,  into  Ireland,  134 
— fall  in  the  prices  of,  in  Scotland,  491. 

GREAT  BRITAIN,  TO  THE  SHOPKEEPERS  OF, 
629. 

Great  Britain,  increase  of  population  in, 
during  the  war,  124 — statistics  regard- 
ing her  population,  1801  to  1851,  127 
et  seq. — immigration  of  Irish  into,  131 
— aversion  to  revolution  among  the 
middle  classes  of,  297 — recent  foreign 
works  on,  209 — contrast  between,  and 
the  Continent,  as  regards  revolution, 
431 — comparative  pressure  of  taxa- 
tion in,  and  in  the  United  States, 
715. 

Greatrakes,  Valentine,  the  cures  of,  81. 

Greenwich  fair,  Fanny  Lewald  on,  212. 

Greg,  Mr,  on  the  reduction  of  wages, 
634 — on  the  competition  to  which  our 
manufactures  are  exposed,  639. 

Gregory  XVI.,  death  of,  432. 

Gunpowder,  new  mode  of  discharging, 
570. 

H.  G.  K.,  Day-dreams  of  an  exile,  by, 
Nos.  I.  to  IV.  465— Nos.  V.  to  IX. 
604. 

Haddendas,  African  tribe  of  the,  261  et 
seq.  passim — a  visit  to  them,  264. 

Hallengas,  the,  an  Arab  tribe,  268,  272. 


Index. 


755 


Hamilton,  Mr,  British  resident  at  Indore, 
95. 

Harles'  "  Career  in  the  Commons,"  notice 
of,  120. 

Harris'  Ethiopia,  remarks  on,  251. 

Harvey,  James,  on  free  trade  and  its 
results,  644,  645. 

Hassan,  the  founder  of  the  Assassins,  733. 

Heke  the  New  Zealand  chief,  427. 

HELPS,  MR,  THE  ESSAYS  OF,  379. 

HELSHAM,  CAPTAIN,  note  on  the  case  of, 
122. 

Henry  V.,  Stahr  on,  557. 

High  farming,  inefficiency  of,  to  counter- 
act the  agricultural  depression,  491. 

Highlands,  present  state  of  the,  and  its 
causes,  308. 

Home  trade,  falling  off  in  the,  108— effects 
of  free  trade  on  the,  645. 

Horn,  Cape,  a  voyage  round,  90. 

Hortense,  Queen,  mother  of  Louis  Napo- 
leon, 547. 

Hotel  des  Invalides,  the,  316. 

Human  responsibility,  relations  of  mes- 
merism to,  81. 

Hungary,  sketches  of  the  war  in,  35  et 

Huskisson,  effects  of  the  commercial  sys- 
tem begun  by,  308 — strictures  on  his 
statue  at  Lloyds',  211 — his  character, 
and  commencement  of  the  free-trade 
system  under  him,  632. 

Hussars,  the  Hungarian,  38. 

Imitation,  Ruskin  on,  331. 

Immorality,  increase  of,  in  the  towns, 
307. 

Imports,  increase  of,  under  free  trade, 
140. 

Income-tax  returns,  falling  off  in  the,  137. 

India,  sketches  by  Madame  Pfeiffer  in, 
93. 

Indians  of  Brazil,  the,  89. 

Indore,  sketches  at,  95. 

Industry,  relations  of,  to  population,  123. 

Infidelity,  influence  of,  on  Continental 
revolution,  431. 

Interests,  harmony  of,  Carey  on,  640. 

Invalides,  the  Hotel  des,  316. 

Invention,  the  progress  of,  563. 

Ionic  column,  Ruskin  on  the,  327. 

Ireland,  diminution  of  the  population  of, 
1 23  —  decrease  of  its  population  since 
1846,  128  —  increase  of  the  population 
in  the  towns  and  its  diminution  in  the 
counties,  129 — the  alleged  influence  of 
the  potato  failure  on  the  population, 
131,  132— diminution  of  cultivation  in, 
489,  note.  —  proofs  of  agricultural  de- 
pression in,  497. 

Irish,  immigration  of  the,  into  Great 
Britain,  131. 

Isaac  Comnenus,  the  drama  of,  reviewed, 
517. 

Ismaylis,  the  sect  of  the,  735. 

Italian  insurrection,  sketches  of  the,  25 
et  seq. 


Italian  opera,  the,  in  St  Petersburg,  168. 

ITALIAN  REVOLUTION,  the,  431. 

Italy,  the  war  between  Austria  and  Sar- 
dinia in,  29  et  seq. — its  disunited  state, 
434  —  character  of  the  Austrian  ad- 
ministration in,  ib.  et  seq. 

Jacobleff,  a  Russian,  anecdotes  of,  170. 

Jardin  des  Plantes,  sketches  in  the,  314. 

Jellachich,  baron,  operations  of,  during 
the  Hungarian  insurrection,  39 — sketch 
of  his  career,  444. 

JERRMANN'S  PICTURES  FROM  ST  PETERS- 
BURG, review  of,  154. 

JEW'S  LEGACY,  the,  a  tale  of  the  siege  of 
Gibraltar,  chap.  I.  648— chap.  II.  653 
—chap.  III.  656— chap.  IV.  659— 
chap.  V.  663. 

JOHNSTON'S  NOTES  ON  NORTH  AMERICA, 
699. 

Joinville,  the  prince  de,  character  of,  555. 

Judicial  system,  the,  of  the  United  States, 
713. 

Justice,  the  administration  of,  in  St 
Petersburg,  162  et  seq. 

Kassela,  the  African  mountain  of,  270. 

Kent,  the  scenery  of,  196. 

King,  Mr,  report  by,  on  the  gold  diggings 
of  California,  477. 

Kiss,  general,  43. 

Kleber,  general,  skeleton  of  the  murderer 
of,  316. 

Kleinmichael,  general,  reconstruction  of 
the  winter  palace  at  St  Petersburg  by, 
159. 

Knaresborough  election,  the,  245,  246. 

Kohl,  misstatements  of,  regarding  Russia, 
171. 

Kolin,  an  incident  of  the  battle  of,  26. 

Kurdistan,  journey  of  madame  Pfeiffer 
through,  99. 

Labourers,  the  agricultural,  loss  which 
will  fall  on,  from  free  trade,  492. 

Labouring  classes,  on  the  condition  of  the 
dwellings  of  the,  381. 

LAMENT  OF  SELIM,  the,  103. 

Lanarkshire,  increase  of  population  in, 
1841  to  1851, 129. 

Landlord  and  tenant,  separation  induced 
by  free  trade  between,  610. 

Landlords,  proportion  of  loss  from  free 
trade  to  be  sustained  by  the,  492 — 
their  conduct  as  regards  their  tenantry, 
612. 

Latachia,  sketches  at,  462,  724. 

Latour's  dragoons,  Austrian  regiment 
called,  26. 

Law,  proposed  change  in  the  mode  of  ad- 
ministering, 386,  387. 

Lazaretto  at  Gaza,  the,  453. 

Lebanon,  sketches  in,  455. 

LEGEND  OF  GIBRALTAR,  a,  chap.  I.  522 — 
chap.  II.  529— chap.  III.  532— chap. 
IV.  535- chap.  V.  539. 

Legislative  assembly,  the  present,  of 
France,  202— sketch  of  a  debate  in  it, 
205. 


756 


Index. 


Legislative  interference,  on,  as  applied  to 
sanitary  measures,  381. 

Leicester,  depressed  state  of,  644. 

Leitzendorf,  colonel,  death  of,  31. 

LEVANTINE  RAMBLES,  447. 

LEWALD'S  DIARY  IN  ENGLAND,  review  of, 
209. 

Liberal  policy,  experienced  results  of,  in 
the  Peninsula,  349. 

Liberals,  preponderance  of  the,  in  Scot- 
land, 297. 

Liberals,  the  Portuguese,  division  among 
the,  &c.,  352. 

LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOGGERS,  669. 

Limerick  Examiner,  the,  on  emigration 
from  Ireland,  134. 

Liszt  the  pianist,  reception  of,  at  St 
Petersburg,  169. 

Littledale,  Messrs,  on  the  manufacturing 
depression,  609. 

Lodging-house,  a,  in  San  Francisco,  473. 

LOGGERS,  LIFE  AMONG  THE,  669. 

Logrolling,  origin  of  the  phrase,  712. 

Lombardo- Venetian  Kingdom,  the  Aus- 
trian administration  of  the,  435. 

Lombardy,  the  insurrection  of,  against 
Austria,  26  et  seq.,  433 — the  govern- 
ment of  it  by  Austria,  435. 

London,  the  shopkeepers  of,  effects  of  free 
trade  on,  111  — increase  of  population 
in,  1841  to  1851,  129. 

LONDON  DIARY  OF  A  GERMAN  AUTHORESS, 
the,  209. 

Louis  XIII.,  foundation  of  the  Jardin 
des  Plantes  by,  315. 

Louis  Napoleon,  improvement  of  the 
passport  system  by,  196  —  Stahr's  pic- 
ture of  him,  545  —  anecdotes,  &c.  of 
him,  547 — causes  of  his  election,  548. 

Louis  Philippe,  improvement  of  the  Bou- 
levard of  Paris  under  him,  202  —  the 
final  act  of  his  dethronement,  204 — 
Stahr's  sketches,  &c.  of  him,  548  et  seq. 
passim,  550  et  seq. 

Luxor,  the  obelisk  of,  at  Paris,  312. 

M'Corkindale,  R.,  letter  from  A.  R.  Dun- 
shunner  to — Downward  tendencies,  1 06. 

Madeleine,  church  of  the,  at  Paris,  312. 

Magic,  the  secrets  of,  564. 

Maine,  sketches  among  the  wood-cutters 
of,  669  et  seq. 

Maize,  extensive  use  of,  in  the  United 
States,  705. 

Malthus,  the  views  of,  on  population,  123. 

Mammiani,  the  Roman  demagogue,  437, 
438. 

Mantua,  the  Austrian  possession  of,  433. 

Manufactures,  British,  their  rise  during 
the  war,  633  —  their  state  under  free 
trade,  643. 

Manufacturers,  depressed  state  of  the, 
108. 

Manufacturing  districts,  distress  and  de- 
pression in  the,  305,  609. 

Manufacturing  towns,  check  to  the  popu- 
lation in  the,  130, 131. 


Maria,  Donna,  position  of.  in  Portugal, 

349. 

Maronites,  sketches  of  the,  455. 
Martineau,  Miss,  testimony  of,  regarding 

mesmerism,  75  —  atheistical  work  by 

her,  76,  note. 
MASTER  THIEF,  the,  a  Norse  popular  tale, 

595. 
Mazarin,  encouragement  of  the  drama  by, 

in  France,  323. 

Mazzini,  proceedings  of,  in  Rome,  438. 
Mechanics,  the  poetry  of,  567. 
Mechi,  Mr,  his  high  farming  system,  491. 
Medusa's  head,  the,  in  connection  with 

mesmerism,  77. 
Mehmet  Pasha  of  Acre,  sketches  of,  459 

et  seq. 

Mesmer,  the  alleged  powers,  &c.  of,  82. 
MESMERISM,  WHAT  is  IT  ?  70 — postscript, 

83. 

Metallic  tractors,  cure  by,  79. 
Metropolitan   representatives,  character 

of  the,  300— the  Times  on  them,  301. 
Middle  classes,  their  aversion  to  revolu- 
tion in  Great  Britain,  297. 
Miguel,  Don,  Whig  policy  toward,  and 

its  results,   349  —  his   dethronement, 

350  —  party  still  adhering  to  him,  351 

et  seq.  passim. 
Miguelites,  strength   of  the   party  of,  in 

Portugal,  352. 

Milan,  the  duchy  of,  the  Austrian  posses- 
sion of,  433. 
Milan,  city  of.     Radetsky's  retreat  from 

it,  440 — its  aspect  after  the  suppression 

of  the  insurrection,  35. 
Military  service,  term  of,  in  Russia,  155. 
Millais,  painting  by,  212. 
Milton  on  emigration,  503. 
Ministry,  uncertain  position  of  the,  110. 
Mitkenab,  visit  to  village  of,  264. 
"  Modern  Painters,"  review  of,  326. 
MODERN  STATE  TRIALS  —  Note  on  Part 

III.—  Captain   Helsham  —  Duelling, 

122. 
Mohammed   Din,   an    Arab    chief,    261 

et  seq.  passim. 

MOIR,  THE  LATE  D.  M.,  249. 

Molesworth,  Mr,  account  of  cannibalism 
in  New  Zealand,  by,  418. 

Monetary  Crisis,  the,  its  alleged  influ- 
ence on  population,  132. 

Montanara,  battle  of,  33. 

Montemolin,  the  Count  de,  356. 

Montpensier,  the  duke  de — his  character, 
555. 

Monuments  of  London,  Fanny  Lewald  on 
the,  210. 

Moor,  action  at,  in  the  Hungarian  war, 
37. 

Moose-deer,  adventure  with  a,  679. 

Morgan,  lady,  sketch  of,  by  Lewald,  218. 

Morroqueimado,  Swiss  settlement  of,  in 
Brazil,  88. 

Mossul,  a  caravan  journey  to,  98. 

Mosul,  town  of,  729. 


Index. 


757 


Mulgrave,  the  earl  of,  defeat  of,  at  Scar- 
borough, 245. 

Mulot,  M.,  the  engineer  of  the  great 
Artesian  well  at  Paris,  317. 

Muntz,  Mr,  on  the  reduction  of  wages  by 
free  trade,  634. 

Music,  passion  for,  in  St  Petersburg,  168. 

MY  NOVEL  ;  or,  Varieties  in  English  Life, 
by  Pisistratus  Caxton.  Book  VI.,  Ini- 
tial Chapter,  1. — chap.  ii.  3 — chap.  iii.  5 
— chap.  iv.  6 — chap.  v.  7 — chap.  vi.  10 
— chap.  vii.  11 — chap.  viii.  13 — chap, 
ix.  15 — chap.  x.  17— chap.  xi.  20 — 
chap.  xii.  21— chap.  xiii.  173— chap.  xiv. 
175 — chap.  xv.  178 — chap.  xvi.  ib. — 
chap.  xvii.  180 — chap,  xviii.  ib. — chap, 
xix.  184— chap.  xx.  185— chap,  xxi.187 
— chap.  xxii.  189 — chap,  xxiii.  190 — 
chap.  xxiv.  192— chap.  xxv.  194— 
Book  VII.,  Initial  Chapter,  275— chap. 
ii.  277— chap.  iii.  ib.— chap.  iv.  278— 
chap.  v.  280— chap.  vi.  281— chap.  vii. 
ib.— chap.  viii.  283— chap.  ix.  285— 
chap.  x.  286— chap.  xi.  288— chap.  xii. 
289 — chap.  xiii.  290 — chap.  xiv.  291 — 
chap.  xv.  292— chap.  xvi.  392— chap. 
xvii.  397— chap,  xviii.  399— chap.  xix. 
400— chap.  xx.  403— chap.  xxi.  407 — 
chap.  xxii.  412— Book  VIII.,  Initial 
Chapter,  the  abuse  of  intellect,  573 — 
chap.  ii.  575— chap.  iii.  5&0— chap.  iv. 
585— chap.  v.  590 — chap.  vi.  594 — 
chap.  vii.  681— chap.  viii.  682 — chap.  ix. 
687 — chap.  x.  689 — chap.  xi.  691— 
chap.  xii.  693— chap.  xiii.  695— chap, 
xiv.  697. 

Naples,  the  revolt  and  revolution  in,  453. 

Napoleon  column,  the,  in  the  Place 
Vendome,  318. 

Narvaez,  the  downfall  of,  in  Spain,  356. 

National  debt,  recent  increase  of  the,  138. 

National  gallery,  the  British,  buildings 
of  the,  210. 

National  guard,  debate  on  the,  in  the 
French  Assembly,  206 — their  conduct 
during  the  Revolution  of  1848,  550, 
551. 

National  wealth,  origin  of,  from  the  soil, 
107. 

NEALE'S  EIGHT  YEARS  IN  SYRIA,  &c.  re- 
viewed, 447. 

Nelson  column,  the,  210. 

Nemours,  the  duke  de,  character  of,  555. 

NERVAL'S  SCENES  DE  LA  VIE  ORIENTALE, 
reviewed,  447. 

Neuilly,  conduct  of  the  National  guard  of, 
in  1848,  550— the  destruction  of  the 
chateau  of,  551 — its  present  state,  552. 

New  Brunswick,  sketches  in,  709. 

New  York,  diminishing  price  of  flour  at, 
703 — agricultural  improvement  in,  704. 

New  Zealand  Company,  the,  422. 

New  Zealand  Pahs,  sketches  of,  420. 

NEW  ZEALANDERS,  the,  414. 

Nicholas,  the  emperor,  character  of,  154 
et  seq. 

VOL.  LXX. — NO.  CCCCXXXIV. 


Nile,  expedition  up  the,  251  et  seq. 
Nineveh,  the  excavations  at,  &c.,  729. 
NORTH  AMERICA,  JOHNSTON'S  NOTES  ON, 

699. 
North  America,  wood-cutting  life  in,  669 


Nottingham,  depressed  state  of,  644. 

Novara,  defeat  of  Charles  Albert  at,  446. 

Novo  Friburgo,  Swiss  colony  of,  in  Brazil, 
88. 

Nugent,  general,  443. 

Obelisk  of  Luxor,  the,  at  Paris,  312. 

"  Oft  in  a  night  of  April,"  605. 

Oligarchies  of  medieval  Italy,  the,  435. 

Opera,  the,  at  Paris,  310. 

Orleans,  the  late  duke  of,  anecdotes  and 
sketches  of,  547,  et  seq.  passim,  554, 555. 

Orleans,  the  duchess  of,  conduct  of,  on  the 
24th  February,  204. 

Orleans  dynasty,  Stahr  on  the,  549. 

Otaki,  New  Zealand  village  of,  430. 

Ottinger,  general,  sketches  of,  36,  37. 

Oudinot,  general,  the  siege  of  Rome  by, 
438. 

Ouroomia,  American  missionary  settle- 
ment at,  101. 

Palestine,  interest  of,  719. 

Palmerston,  lord,  on  the  state  of  Spain, 
355. 

Papal  states,  the  revolution  of  1848  in 
the,  437. 

PARIS  IN  1851,  195— the  journey,  &c., 
196  et  seq.— the  Boulevard,  200— the 
Legislative  Assembly,  202 — the  De- 
bate, 205— the  Opera,  310— the  Obelisk 
of  Luxor,  312 — the  Jardin  des  Plantes, 
314— the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  316— 
the  Artesian  well,  317 — the  Napoleon 
column,  318— the  Arc  de  1'Etoile,  319 
— the  Arc  du  Carrousel,  320 — suicides, 
321— the  drama,  323. 

PARIS,  GERMAN  LETTERS  FROM,  543. 

Paris  in  1815,  picture  of,  201. 

Parochial  clergy  and  schoolmasters,  in- 
fluence of  free  trade  on  the,  501. 

Pasquali,  the  baron  di,  a  Sicilian  rene- 
gade, 253,  254. 

Passport  system,  improvement  in  the, 
195. 

Pauperism,' increase  of,  under  free  trade, 
139. 

PEACEFUL  LIEUTENANT  AND  HIS  FRIENDS, 
the,  a  three  hours'  platonic  gossip. 
Hour  Third — containing  sundry  pas- 
sages in  the  lieutenant's  own  history, 
and  the  strange  legend  of  his  supposed 
grandfather,  45. 

Peel,  Sir  R.  effects  of  his  free-trade  sys- 
tem, 115 — insidious  character  of  his 
free-trade  advances,  635— on  the  anti- 
cipated price  of  corn  under  free  trade, 
636 — effects  of  his  measures,  640. 
Peel,  the  present  Sir  R.,  his  letter  to  his 

tenantry,  106. 

Peninsula,  experienced  results  of  the 
Liberal  policy  in  the,  349. 

3c 


758 


Index. 


Perowsky,  a  Russian  minister,  163. 
Persia,  sketches  by  madame  Pfeiffer  in, 

97. 
Peschiera,  the  capture  of,  by  the  Pied- 

montese,  444. 
Peter  the  Great,  the  first  residence  of, 

at  St  Petersburg,  171. 
Peterwardein,  a  captivity  in,  39. 
Petropolis,  German  colony  of,  in  Brazil, 

87. 
PFEIFFEB,  MADAME,  WANDERINGS  ROUND 

THE  WORLD,  by,  reviewed,  86. 
Philip  van  Artevelde,  review  of,  505. 
Phreno-mesmerism,  exhibitions  of,  74. 
Picnic,  an  Eastern,  725. 
Picture  gallery  of  Versailles,  Stahr  on 

the,  552. 

PICTURES  FROM  ST  PETERSBURG,  154. 
PlMODAN,  THE  COUNT  DE,  CAMPAIGNS  OF, 

reviewed,  25. 

Pine,  the,  in  America,  671. 
Pius  IX.,  the  accession  of,  and  review  of 

his  proceedings,  432  et  seq. 
Place  de  la  Concorde,  the,  at  Paris,  202. 
Place  Vendome,  the  Napoleon  column  in 

the,  318. 
Playing  cards,  consumption  of,  in  Russia, 

169. 
Poetry  :  The  Lament  of  Selim,  by  Delta, 

103 — Day-dreams  of  an  exile,  by  H. 

G.  K.,  465,  604. 
Police,  abuses  of  the,  in  St  Petersburg, 

162  etseq. 
Political  agitation,  evils  connected  with, 

296. 

Pomaree,  queen,  sketches  of,  91. 
Poor-rates,  influence   of  free  trade   on, 

139. 

Popery,  influence  of,  on  Continental  Re- 
volution, 431. 
Population,  the  views  of  Mai  thus  on,  123 

— the  influence  of  employment  on  it,  ib. 

— its  decrease  in  Great  Britain  since 

1845, 128 — immigration  of  it  from  the 

country  into  the  towns,  307. 
Porter,  Mr,  on  surplus  population,  625. 
Portugal,  the   ancient    constitution    of, 

351. 

PORTUGUESE  POLITICS,  349. 
Potato  failure,  influence  of  the,  on  popu- 
lation, 131— the  free- traders  on  it,  641. 
Poussin,  Ruskin  on,  328. 
Pre-Raphaelitism,  Lewald  on,  212. 
Production,  true  policy  with  regard  to, 

107. 
Productive  classes,  all  classes  dependent 

on  the,  631. 
Property-tax  returns,  falling  off  in  the, 

137. 
Prosperity,  anticipations  regarding,  and 

their  disappointment,  609. 
Prostitution,  Mr  Helps  on,  389. 
Protection,    prosperity    enjoyed    under, 

115. 
Protestantism,  necessity  of,  to  freedom, 

447. 


Purchas,  account  of  cannibalism  in  Africa 
by,  416. 

Puris  of  Brazil,  the,  89. 

Pusey,  Mr,  his  letters  on  protection,  &c., 
119. 

Radetsky,  marshal,  sketch  of  the  charac- 
ter of,  31 — sketches  of,  during  the 
campaign  in  Italy,  26,  et  seq.  passim — 
his  first  proclamation  on  the  outbreak 
of  the  insurrection,  439 — sketch  of  his 
previous  career,  441. 

RAID  OF  ARNABOLL,  the,  chap.  i.  220— 
chap.  ii.  225— chap.  iii.  230— chap.  iv. 
236. 

RAIL,  THE  CHAMPIONS  OF  THE,  739. 

Railroads,  French  and  English,  199. 

Railway  travelling,  on,  196. 

Rangihaeata,  a  New  Zealand  chief,  425. 

Rauparaha,  a  New  Zealand  chief,  425. 

Ravandus,  town  of,  100. 

Recreation,  Mr  Helps  on,  384. 

Reform  Bill,  agitation  connected  with 
the,  296. 

Reform  Bill,  the  proposed  new,  297  et 
seq. 

Rent,  reduction  of,  its  inefficiency  to 
meet  the  agricultural  crisis,  492,  611, 
612. 

Rents,  alleged  rises  of,  494. 

Responsibility,  application  of  the  prin- 
ciple of,  in  Russia,  164. 

Resumption  of  cash  payments,  influence 
of,  622. 

Revenue,  influence  of  free  trade  on  the, 
137. 

Revolution,  aversion  to,  in  Great  Britain, 
297. 

Revolutionary  war,  increase  of  popula- 
tion during  the,  124. 

Rhodes,  sketch  of,  723. 

Richelieu,  encouragement  of  the  drama 
by,  in  France,  323. 

Rivoli,  defeat  of  Charles  Albert  at,  444. 

Roman  states,  the  revolt  of  the,  in  1830, 
432— and  in  1848,  437. 

Rome,  rise  of,  after  the  battle  of  Cannae, 
124 — progress  of  the  decline  of  popu- 
lation in,  125 — the  siege  of,  by  Oudi- 
not,  438. 

Rosicrucians,  supposed  acquaintance  of 
the,  with  mesmerism,  77. 

Rossi,  the  papal  minister,  murder  of,  437. 

Rossi,  the  countess,  168,  169. 

Royal  Academy's  exhibition,  Fanny  Le- 
wald on  the,  211. 

Rubini,  reception  of,  in  St  Petersburg, 
168. 

RUSKIN,  THE  WORKS  OF,  326. 

Russell,  Lord  John,  his  proposed  new 
Reform  Bill,  297  et  seq.— on  the  state 
of  the  agricultural  interest,  489. 

Russia,  sketches  of  government,  society, 
&c.  in,  154  et  seq. — extravagance  of 
the  higher  classes,  170. 

Russians,  cheerfulness  of  the,  166. 

Sabbath,  a,  in  California,  472. 


Index. 


759 


St  Denis,  the  arch  of,  320. 
St  Jean  <T  Acre,  sketches  in,  459. 
St  Lawrence  river,  the,  708. 
St  Martin,  the  arch  of,  320. 
St  Petersburg,  pictures  from,  154. 
Saldanha,  the  marquis,  his  insurrection 
in  Portugal  and  its  results,  349 — his 
present  position,  357. 
Salis,  general,  death  of,  30. 
San  Francisco,  sketches  in,  472  et  seq. 
Sanitary  measures,  on  government  inter- 
ference in,  381. 

Sanitary  regulations,  Mr  Helps  on,  383. 
Sardinia  and  Austria,  sketches  of  the 

war  between,  25  et  seq.,  437  et  seq. 
Savoy,  sketch  of  the  princes  of,  441. 
Scanderoon,  the  town  of,  463. 
SCARBOROUGH    ELECTION,  the,  245— the 

Times  on  it,  303. 

Scheremetiew,  count,  anecdote  of,  156. 
Schoolmasters,  influence  of  free  trade  on 

the,  501. 

Science,  the  superstitions  of,  565. 
Scotland,  increase  of  population  in,  1841 
to  1851,  129 — preponderance   of  the 
liberal  representatives  in,  297 — fall  in 
the  prices  of  grain  as  shown  by  the 
Fiars,  491 — alleged  rise  of  rents,  494. 
Scottish  clergy  and  schoolmasters,  influ- 
ence of  free  trade  on  the  incomes  of, 
500  et  seq. 

Scribe,  M.,  the  words  of  Zerline  by,  311. 
Scully,  Mr,  bis  motion  regarding  pauper- 
ism in  Ireland,  136. 
SELIM'S  LAMENT,  by  Delta,  103. 
Sena,  defeat  of  Charles  Albert  at,  444. 
Serfdom,  provisions  for  the  abolition  of, 
in  Russia,  155 — sketches  of  it  there, 
156  et  seq. 
Servants  and  employers,  on  the  relations 

between,  381. 
SHAW'S  GOLDEN  DREAMS  AND  WAKING 

REALITIES,  review  of,  470. 
Shelley's  Cenci,  remarks  on,  505. 
Shipping,  influence  of  free  trade  on,  138. 
SHOPKEEPERS  OF  GREAT  BRITAIN,  to  the, 

629. 

Shopkeepers,  effects  of  free  trade  on  the, 
111 — serfdom  of  the,  in  St  Petersburg, 
156. 

' '  Sigh  thou  not  for  a  happier  lot,"  604. 
Slavery,   Mr   Helps    on,   384— different 
circumstances    in    which    originated, 
385. 
Small  boroughs,  the  Times  on  the,  246, 

300. 
Small  trades,  effects  of  the  suppression  of 

the,  308. 

Snake-charming  in  India,  94. 
Snakes,  accounts  of,  271. 
Soil,  true  origin  of  national  wealth  with 

the,  107. 
Soliman  Effendi,a  renegade  Sicilian,  25  3, 

254. 

Sontag,  madame,  at  St  Petersburg,  168, 
169. 


Spain,  results  of  liberal  policy  in,  354— 
its  state  compared  with  that  of  Portu- 
gal, ib. 
Spiral  column,  Ruskin  on  the,  327. 

SPRINGER'S  FOREST  LIFE  reviewed,  669. 

Stage,  state  of  the,  in  St  Petersburg, 
167. 

STAHR'S  Two  MONTHS  IN  PARIS,  review 
of,  543— his  "  A  Year  in  Italy,"  re- 
marks on,  544. 

"  Stand  by  the  Ocean,"  469. 

Stanley,  lord,  see  Derby,  earl  of. 

Starch,  quantity  of,  used  in  the  cotton 
manufacture,  497. 

Stockton,  (California,)  sketch  of,  474. 

Strada,  account  of  a  case  of  magnetic 
communication  by,  78. 

Strang,  Dr,  his  statistics  regarding  the 
population  of  Glasgow,  130. 

Streams,  Ruskin  on,  330. 

SUBMARINE  TELEGRAPH,  the,  562. 

Suffolk  Agricultural  Association,  resolu- 
tions of  the,  616. 

Suicide,  prevalence  and  character  of,  in 
Paris,  321. 

Sunday  in  London,  Lewald  on,  213. 

Superstitions  of  science,  the,  565. 

Suspension  of  cash  payments,  influence  of 
the,  619. 

Swiss,  defence  of  Vicenza  by  the,  35. 

Syria,  sketches  in,  453. 

Tabriz,  sketches  by  madame  Pfeiffer  at, 
101. 

Tahiti,  sketches  at,  90. 

TAKA,  A  CAMPAIGN  IN,  251. 

Taxation,  impossibility  of  reduction  of, 
adequate  to  meet  the  agricultural  de- 
pression, 113 — influence  of,  on  industry, 
306— the  question  of,  in  relation  to  that 
of  free  trade,  633 — comparative  pres- 
sure of,  in  the  United  States  and 
Great  Britain,  715. 

TAYLOR,  HENRY,  THE  DRAMAS  OF,  505. 

TELEGRAPH,  THE  SUBMARINE,  562. 

Tenantry,  separation  between,  and  their 
landlords,  induced  by  free  trade,  610 — 
their  losses  by  free  trade,  611. 

Thames,  the  approach  to  London  by  the, 
210. 

Theatre,  state  of  the,  in  Russia,  167. 

Theatres,  the  London,  Fanny  Lewald  on, 
217— statistics  of  those  of  Paris,  323. 

Theoretic  faculty,  Ruskin  on  the,  334. 

Thiennes,  the  count  de,  heroism  of,  26. 

Tiger  hunt  in  India,  a,  95. 

Times  newspaper,  the,  on  the  results  of 
free  trade,  133 — on  the  depopulation 
of  Ireland,  134 — on  the  Scarborough 
election,  246 — on  the  small  boroughs, 
300 — on  the  metropolitan  representa- 
tives, 301— account  of  the  laying  down 
of  the  submarine  telegraph  from,  568 
— on  the  increased  emigration  and  its 
results,  626. 

Tirel's  La  Republique,  &c.,  remarks  on, 
549. 


760 


Index. 


To ,  by  H.  G.  K.,  465,  605. 

Towns,  increase  of  the,  at  the  expense  of 
the  country,  125 — increase  of  popula- 
tion in  the,  1841  to  1851, 129— reaction 
of  the  agricultural  depression  on  the, 
303 — immigration  of  population  from 
the  country  into  them,  307 — state  of 
their  population,  i&. — ventilation,  drain- 
age, &c.  of  them,  381. 

Trade  circulars,  general  tone  of  the,  108. 

Traders,  influence  of  free  trade  on  the, 
137. 

Trafalgar  Square  fountains,  the,  314. 

Travelling,  modern  universality  of,  86— 
increased  facilities  and  abundance  of 
it,  195. 

Tucket,  Mr,  account  of  the  massacre  of 
Wairau  by,  425. 

United  States,  protective  policy  of  the, 
117 — increase  in  their  population,  123 
— on  slavery  in  the,  385 — increased 
cultivation  of  grain  in  the,  489  note— 
sketches  of  agriculture  in  the,  699  et 
seq. — Johnston  on  their  wheat  produc- 
ing powers,  701 — the  exports  of  bread- 
stuffs  from,  702— the  prices  of  these 
falling  in,  703 — extensive  use  of  maize 
and  buckwheat  in,  705 — encourage- 
ments to  emigration  to,  710, 711 — their 
judicial  system,  713— taxation,  715. 

Upper  Canadaj  progress  of,  708.    ' 

Vaccination  in  New  Zealand,  430. 

Van,  lake,  732. 

Van  Diemen's  land,  the  aborigines  of, 
416. 

Vendome  column,  the,  318. 

Venetian  territories,  the  insurrection  in 
the,  26  et  seq. — how  acquired  by  Aus- 
tria, 433— her  administration  of  them, 
435,  436. 

Venice,  the  revolt  at,  27. 

Ventilation,  Mr  Helps  on  the  importance 
of,  383. 

Vernet  the  actor,  anecdote  of,  161. 

Verona,  the  battle  of,  30  et  seq. — capture 
of  it  by  general  d'Aspre,  442. 

Versailles,  Stahr  on  the  galleries  of,  552. 


Vicenza,  the  capture  of,  by  Radetsky,  34, 

VOICE  FROM  THE  DIGGINGS,  A,  470. 

VOLTAIRE  IN  THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE,  142. 

Wages,  lowering  of,  among  the  agricultu- 
ral classes,  496— the  general  reduction 
of  them  the  object  of  the  free-traders, 
634. 

Wairau,  the  massacre  of,  425. 

Walmsley,  sir  J.,  his  reception  in  Scot- 
land, 298. 

WALPOLE'S  ANSAYRII,  reviewed,  719. 

WANDERINGS  ROUND  THE  WORLD,  86. 

Wanganui,  treaty  of,  with  the  New  Zea- 
land chiefs,  423. 

Warburton's,  "  Crescent  and  Cross,"  ex- 
tract from,  721  note. 

Wellington  statues,  Fanny  Lewald  on  the, 
211. 

WERNE,  F.  A.,  A  CAMPAIGN  IN  TAKA  by, 
reviewed,  251. 

Wheat,  alleged  increased  consumption  of, 
496— its  price  under  free  trade,  636— 
powers  of  producing,  in  the  United 
States,  701. 

"  Where  summer  is,  there  'tis  fresh  and 
fair,"  467. 

Wilson,  James,  on  the  corn  laws,  636. 

Windischgratz,  sketches  of  the  campaign 
in  Hungary  under,  36. 

Winter  palace,  destruction  and  rebuilding 
of  the,  in  St  Petersburg,  158. 

Wolves,  sketches  of,  in  America,  675. 

Women,  English  and  German,  Fanny 
Lewald  on,  216. 

Woodcutters'  life  in  Maine,  sketches  of, 
669  et  seq. 

Working-classes,  effects  of  free  trade  on 
the,  113. 

WORLD,  WANDERINGS  ROUND  THE,  86. 

York  column,  the,  211. 

Young,  G.  F.,  return  of,  for  Scarborough, 
245. 

Zerline,  the  opera  of,  311. 

Zichy,  count,  Austrian  commandant  at 
Venice,  28. 

Zichy,  lieutenant  count,  death  of,  33. 


Printed  %  William  Blackwood  #  Sons,  Edinburgh. 


AP       Blackwood's  magazine 

1+ 

B6 

v.70 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMOVE 
CARDS  OR  SLIPS  FROM  THIS  POCKET 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO  LIBRARY