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at jhttp : //books . qooqle . com/ 



WDENl»B!Sffi[, 



111 mm 

HX AH34 E 



y Vnc 2 S713.P.40 



HARVARD COLLEGE 
LIBRARY 




FROM THE BEQUEST OF 

MRS. ANNE E. P. SEVER 
OF BOSTON 

Widow of Col. James Warren Sever 

(Class of 1817) 



r 



_J 



THE EAGLE. 



CAMBRIDGE : 

PEIXTED BT W. METCALFK, OBIE* BTBMT. 



THE EAGLE. 



A MAGAZINE, 



SUPPORTED BT 



MEMBERS OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE. 



VOL. III. 



PBINTED BY W. METCALFE, GKEEN STREET, 
fob smacxaxxa oirzr. 

1868. 



ir * 



ue R 5713.P.40 







CONTENTS. 



Frontispiece— View of the New Chapel, St. John's College. 



PAGB 



Three Days among the Alps of Dauphine . .1 

Our College Friends . . . . 14 

Our Emigrant. Part III. . .18 

Thetis . . . . . . 37 

After-Hall Reflections . . .39 

Hope ...... 43 

Johnian Worthies. No. I. Roger Ascham . . 45 

XLVL To himself, at Spring's coming, (Catullus) . 68 

Lost . . . . .69 

The Cloud ..... 64 

Our Chronicle . . . . .66 

Notes, brief, but multifarious, of a Winter in Madeira . 69 

Our College Friends (Second Group) . . .80 

How to deal with the Bucolic Mind, No. II. Village Clubs . 83 
A Few Words about some of the Earliest Inhabitants of Europe 88 



VI CONTENTS. 

PA«B 

Rome in 1860 ..... 97 

Sturbridge Fair ... .104 

Letters from the East . 116 

Bridal Song . . . .124 

Our Chronicle ..... 127 

A Fortnight in Sicily ..... 133 
The Picture ..... 142 

Translations, New and Old .... 144 

The Scentless Hose .... 153 

Reviews and their Victims .... 154 

Our College Friends (Final Group) . 161 

From Zermatt to Zinal and back . . .165 

The Moral Sense ..... 173 

Our Chronicle . . . . .180 

Christmas and the New Year . . . 189 

A Note on the Bower in « GEnone ' . .196 

A Ghost Story . . . .200 

Virgil, Geergic II. 458, 499 . . .205 

A Day with the Fitzfungus Foxhounds . . 207 

A (Bachelor's) Farewell . . . .213 

Salutations , 214 

An April Squall . . . . . 225 

Remarks on Physiognomy .... 226 

"Phyllidaamo ante alias" . . . .234 

Slaves versus Hands .... 235 

Our Chronicle ..... 240 

Letters from the East. — II. Monghyr . . . 245 

nOTNIA NYB . . . . .252 

My Favourite Scotch Village . . . 255 

The Stroke's Dream . . . , .266 



CONTENTS. Yll 

PACK 

A Ghost Story. (Continued from page 204) . . 208 

The Return of the Twilight . . .274 

Naples and Lake Avernus .... 276 

The Alpine Club Man . . . . .286 

A Long Vacation Trip ... 289 

Our Chronicle . . . . .301 

In the May Term ..... 309 

The Last Sigh of the Bachelor . . .327 

How to deal with the Bucolic Mind, No HI. Village Festivals 330 

Chidher. (From the German) . . .337 

A Ghost Story. (Continued from page 273) . . 339 

The Lady Margaret 5th Boat, May, 1863 . . .346 

Two Pictures ("Home," and "The Silver Cord Loosed") . 348 

Our Chronicle ... , . . 354 



Errata. 

Page 275, for ' stray stress/ read ' stray tress.' 
•• 286, " 'before zero/ •« 'below zero/ 



THE EAGLE. 



THEEE DATS AMONG THE ALPS OF DAUPHINE. 



^fHE summer of 1860 will not be soon forgotten by Alpine 
Tourists, and many successful seasons must pass by, 
before the dismal impressions of wet days and unsuccessful 
expeditions are effaced from their memory. As ill luck 
would have it, I had arranged to spend part of my summer 
Vacation in exploring the unfrequented districts of the Alps 
of Dauphine, and I started with the hope of being the first 
to plant my foot upon more than one hitherto unsealed peak. 
All this was frustrated by the bad weather, which, bad 
enough in a frequented country, where the inns are good 
and the passes well known, is intolerable in a desolate and 
unexplored district like Dauphin^. The consequence was, 
that after a stay of about ten days I was driven out of the 
country by the weather, having only succeeded in one expe- 
dition during the whole time. Still though unsuccessful 
in the two great things I had hoped to effect, the ascents of 
Mont Pelvoux and Monte Viso, I had added largely to my 
stock of alpine experiences — and met with a few adventures, 
one of which will form the subject of the following Paper. 

The country of which I have spoken, has already been in- 
troduced to the readers of The Eagle in a paper* entitled S€ Our 



* Vol. I, page 241. 



VOL. III. 



2 Three Days among the Alps of Dauphinh 

Tour." The mountain also which I am going to describe, 
is mentioned there, but by some accident the name Pelvoux 
is mis-spelt Petrous. However, as the country is very little 
known and the majority of maps are worthless for this part 
of the Alps, I may venture upon a few words to describe the 
general character of the district. 

The great chain of the Southern Alps sweeps round at 
Mont Blanc, like a castle wall about a corner tower, so 
as to enclose the plains of Piedmont, into which the mass 
of the Graians is thrust, like an out- work to Mont Blanc. 
After this the great mass, no longer preserves its general 
plan of a single ridge, pierced by lateral vallies running at 
right angles to the line of the higher peaks, but breaks up 
into a confused mass of mountains which cover Savoy and 
the eastern side of France. Among these wind the vallies 
of the Isere and its tributaries, running in a north westerly 
direction, and of the Durance, running south. The line of 
the great watershed between the basins of the Po and the 
Rhone runs almost due south from Mont Blanc for a con- 
siderable distance till, near the pass of the Mont Cenis, it forms 
an angle, with the point towards France. The sides of this 
angle are nearly equal, so that, when it turns again to the 
south, it is nearly in the same line as it was before ; there- 
fore, on a common map, the rough tracing of the line of the 
watershed from the Matterhorn to the Col di Tenda is not 
unlike the plan of one of Vauban's fortifications. To the 
east of this watershed lie most of the great mountains of the 
Tarentaise district, some of which are at least twelve thousand 
feet high — and the Alps of Dauphinfe. The former approach 
the northern side of the angle mentioned above, the latter 
the southern side, the two being separated by the valley of the 
Romanche. The Alps of Dauphinfe therefore generally lie in 
an angle formed by the vallies of the Romanche and the Du- 
rance, the Col de Lautaret forming the watershed between 
them, and acting as a bridge to connect the district of the 
Pelvoux with the main chain. The Pelvoux, the highest 
mountain in France, is thirteen thousand four hundred and 
sixty-eight feet high, and there are several other peaks not 
very much lower near it The mountains are extremely 
precipitous, and the snow does not lie so low as in Switzer- 
land, consequently the glaciers are smaller, and to my mind 
the scenery is not so fine. Some of the rock scenery however 
is very grand, especially on the high road from Grenoble to 
Briancjon. Two vallies lead up to the Pelvoux, the one the 
Val de St. Christophe, leaving the Romanche at Bourg 



Three Days among the Alps of Daupkink 3 

d'Oysans, the other the Val Louise, leaving the Durance at 
L'Abesse; this latter is divided into two branches, the 
northern called the Val de Verges, the southern the Val 
Sapeniere. 

So much then for Dauphinfe and the Pelvoux, and now 
for my story. Our party consisted of three ; let my two 
companions be represented by the letters H. and M. H. and 
I were to be at La Berade in the Val de St. Christophe by 
Sunday, August 12th at the latest, and there await M., who 
had left England about a fortnight before us for a tour in the 
Tarentaise. Our plan was to explore the Pelvoux on that 
side, in order to discover if an ascent was practicable from 
the west flank — if it was not, we purposed crossing over 
a high glacier pass into the northern branch of the Val 
Louise, and seeing what could be done there. M., owing to 
the bad weather, did not arrive till Monday evening, so we 
spent that morning in an excursion to the Col de Sais, a fine 
glacier pass near the Pelvoux, and convinced ourselves that 
the huge crags overhanging the valley offered no chance to 
the climber. Arrangements were accordingly made for 
crossing next morning to the Val Louise ; this the rain pre- 
vented, so that we were obliged to retrace our steps to 
Bourg d'Oysans, and go round to the Val Louise via Brian- 
<jon. Accordingly, on the third morning we halted for 
breakfast at L'Abesse, a little village about twelve miles from 
Brianqon, opposite the entrance to the Val Louise. We 
alight from our carriage at a most unpromising hotel ; to us 
enters the hostess, large, dirty, and loud in voice, strong- 
minded, no doubt, and strong-fisted. " Madame," we cry, " we 
are hungry, bring us plenty of meat for breakfast." " Monsieur, 
there is but one poulet in the house." * " Bring it then, Ma- 
dame, directly and some eggs" ; we enter the Salle & Manger. 
It is like all others in the country inns in Dauphine — and as 
they differ somewhat from English inns, I may venture on a 
brief description. The Salle h Manger is a good sized room, 
with rude pine or walnut-wood tables and benches dirty and 
ricketty — on the walls a print or two of saints, and one or 
two lithographs of some of Napoleon L victories ; the walls 
and ceiling have been guiltless of whitewash for years ; the 
floor, I suppose is boarded, but of that I cannot be sure, 
for a thick cake of dirt hides the original material. It is 
never swept, and, as the way of cleaning a dish or plate is to 
throw the contents on the floor, is soon covered with bones 
and debris of every kind. Up-stairs you will find things on 
a similar scale, bones again on the floor, cleanly polished by 

B2 



4 Three Days among the Alps of Dauphinh 

the dog — and no jug or basin, or any of those luxuries 
which we over-civilized Englishmen demand. However, to 
return — while breakfast is preparing we take a short stroll, 
and on our return find it ready. The poulet is on the table — 
a dreadful sight, withered, black, and unpromising. Ap- 
proaching for a nearer view of this singular specimen of the 
Barndoor Fowl, I find it considerably gnawed about the 
breast, and the impressions of a dog's paw on the not over 
clean cloth reveal the delinquent. The " poulet" is sum- 
marily banished, rather to my relief, for I could not have 
eaten such a disagreeable looking creature. The hostess 
retired, cursing the dog at the top of her voice. Breakfast 
was not a success. Eggs not too fresh, sour bread and sourer 
wine do not go down well, especially when one is rather 
out of sorts. M., especially, feeling the effects of his hard 
fare in the Tarentaise, was so unwell, that for some time we 
feared he could not proceed. In despair I invaded the 
sanctity of the kitchen, and seizing upon a vessel like a deep 
frying-pan made a brew of tea from some we had with us. 
This did him good, and in a short time we started up the 
valley for Ville de Val Louise, at which place we were in- 
formed that we should find guides. We were now five in 
number, our three selves, M.'s Chamounix guide, Michel 
Croz, one of the best and bravest fellows I have ever met, 
and a French gentleman, by profession an engineer, who was 
engaged on some works in the neighbourhood, and volunteered 
to accompany us. We found him a very pleasant companion 
and a capital walker. The entrance to the valley is guarded 
by an old wall, said to date from the time of the struggles 
between the Roman Catholics and Vaudois. About three 
hours walking up a tolerable road took us to Ville de Val 
Louise, a poor village, still bearing marks of the destructive 
inundations of 1856. Here, however, we managed to get 
something like a decent meal and, what we wanted quite as 
much, some information about guides. We were told that a 
man who had ascended the Pelvoux lived at the village of 
Au Clos, a little higher up the valley, and that we should 
have to pass the night at a " Cabane des Bergers de Pro- 
vence" on the highest pastures. Supposing from this name 
that we should have to pass the night in a hay chalet, we 
packed up a few necessaries in one knapsack and left the rest 
of our things in the landlord's charge — a great mistake as it 
afterwards proved; we also got as large a store of bread, 
meat and wine as we could, and a porter to carry it till we 
got our guide. Passing through Au Clos we met the man 



Three Days among the Alps of Dauphini. 5 

we were in search of driving a mule ; he was not a bad look- 
ing fellow, and seemed fit for his work. We accosted him. 
Did he know the mountain ? Yes, well. Had he ascended 
it ? Yes, several times. To the highest* point of all ? Yes, 
even there, but it was very difficult, there was a lower peak 
much easier to reach. That would not do— we must go to 
the highest ; could he shew us the way ? Yes, if we would 
let him bring his comrade. A bargain as to price, Ac. was 
soon struck, and increased to eight, we walked on. From 
Au Clos to L'Alefred where the rallies divide is a pretty 
walk through a pine wood, up a steep winding path bordered 
in many places with wild yellow gooseberries. At the last 
Chalets of L'Alefred we parted with our porter, and halted 
for some black bread and milk. This black bread is a curio- 
sity, it is made in flat round cakes about eighteen inches in 
diameter. They bake only once or at most twice a year, 
and keep their bread on shelves in the lofts exposed to the 
air. Consequently it is as hard as a board, and has to be cut 
either with an axe or a knife, made to act as a lever — when 
soaked in wine or milk it is not bad, when dry it eats rather 
like conglomerated sawdust. While we were refreshing, all 
the natives turned out of their chalets to have a stare. On the 
whole I think they were the ugliest folk I ever saw ; short, 
squat, flat-nosed, and pig-eyed — in fact, rather like Esqui- 
maux — they are reputed to be the most uncivilized people in 
Dauphind, but I saw a good many others not much better in 
other mountain vallies. Refreshed, we now struck up the 
Val de Sapeniere, following a rough track by the side of the 
stream. It is a mere gorge with precipices to the right and 
steep slopes to the left. There is however a tragical story 
connected with it. ^In 1488, a number of Vaudois families 
sought refuge from persecution in a cavern among the pre- 
cipices to the right. For some time they eluded their 
enemies, but at last were discovered by a soldier who climbed 
down from above ; straw and faggots were piled at the mouth 
of the cave, and set on fire ; of those within, some rushing 
out, were slain, others in despair leapt down the precipices 
and were dashed to pieces, the rest perished miserably in the 
smoke. It is said that four hundred infantsf were found 
within the cave dead in their mothers' arms, and that three 



* The highest point of the Pelvoux is called in the country the 
Point des Arcines, or des Ecrins. 
t Gilly's Memoirs of Neff, p. 90. 



6 Thre$ days among the Alps of Dauphinl. 

thousand persons perished on this occasion. The cave is 
still called the Baume des Vaudois. After walking a mile or 
so we turned off short to the right and began to climb oyer 
the blocks of fallen rock in the direction of a narrow gorge, 
which must at times be occupied by a waterfall. As we 
drew near, the slope became steeper and steeper, till at last 
we took to the rocks themselves on the left-hand side of the 
gorge. A stiff climb now commenced up some very steep 
rocks, on which both skill and care were sometimes requisite ; 
we however made rapid progress, till at the end of about an 
hour and-a-half we came to the end of the rocks and emerged 
upon a slope of turf, thickly spread with huge blocks, to one 
of the largest of which the guide pointed, saying " voild. le 
cabane." I confess to feeling disgusted — I ' had not hoped 
for much — but I had expected a hut and a truss of hay for a 
bed. Nothing of the kind was here. There was nothing 
but a huge mass of rock, that had in former times fallen 
down from the cliffs above, and had rested so as to form a 
shelter under one of its sides. This had been still farther 
enclosed with a rough wall of loose stones, and thus a sort of 
kennel was made about nine or ten feet by five or six, and 
about four feet high at the entrance, wfeence it sloped 
gradually down to about two feet at the other end. Our 
thoughts turned regretfully to some extra wraps left down 
below, but there was no help for it, and " what can't be 
cured, must be endured," is excellent philosophy for the 
Alps. Accordingly we put the best face on it, and set to 
work to make all comfortable for the night. Dead juniper 
boughs were collected for a fire, and the guides set to work 
to clean out the cave, which, being frequented by the sheep 
as well as the shepherds, was in a sufficiently filthy condition. 
The first who entered quickly emerged again holding at 
arm's length the mortal remains of a defunct mutton in a 
very lively condition, which he quickly sent over the preci- 
pice for the ravens to sup on, if they had any fancy for it. 
The floor was then swept and strewed with fern and dock 
leaves, and a fire lighted to sweeten the place. While this 
was going on we were occupied with taking Barometer and 
Thermometer observations* and with sketching. Evening 
drew on, and one by one my companions retired into the 



* These observations gave a height of seven thousand three 
hundred and eighty-one feet above the level of the sea for our 
cabane. 



Three Day* among the Alps of Dauphine. 7 

cave, but not fancying the look of it, I stopped outside as 
long as possible. It was a strange wild scene— overhead 
hung the crags of the Pelvoux, splintered into flame-like 
points; from their feet sloped down vast banks of fallen 
blocks overgrown with serpent-like branches of old junipers, 
and broken here and there with slopes of turf — a few feet in 
front of me steep precipices, overhanging the fatal " Baume/* 
led down into the valley below, beyond which rose another 
mass of rocks and pine covered slopes, surmounted with a 
ridge of cliffs somewhat overtopping us — a fine pyramid of 
snow-streaked rock closed the valley, from whose shoulders 
a large glacier descended. 

Night however came on, the sky grew wild and stormy, 
and it became too cold to remain out longer, so mustering 
up my resolution I crawled into the cave, and almost instantly 
retreated much faster, more than half choked. A fire is 
a very comfortable thing on a cold night, but has its draw- 
backs when the house is without a chimney, and the smoke 
has to escape by the door. If, in addition to this, the house 
be about four feet high, and the fire of damp juniper wood, 
matters are still worse. However, human nature can adapt 
itself to a good deal, and so by lying down so as to avoid 
the thickest part of the smoke, I contrived to endure it 
after a time. Supper over, we prepared for the night. My 
attire was simple, but certainly not ornamental ; a travelling 
cap, with the flaps tied over my ears, a huge woollen 
" comforter" about my neck, and a spare flannel shirt over 
my usual costume; my boots were taken off and placed 
in a safe corner, a second pair of socks drawn on, and 
my slippers worn during the night; then spreading my 
gaiters on the ground I lay down on them, having picked 
the softest stone I could find for a pillow. My companions 
did the same, and despite of the blasts of the storm, which 
howled round our cabane, we did not suffer from cold. It 
was a strange sight, when, stiff and cramped by my hard 
bed, I woke from time to time during the night. The 
fire, flickering with the wind, lit up the faces of the sleepers 
and the rocky walls of the cavern with a weird unearthly 
light, such as would have gladdened Salvator Rosa's heart. 
Croz alone was generally on the alert, smoking his pipe 
and feeding the fire. Now and then he would step outside 
to examine the state of the night and return with a hearty 
curse on the bad weather. So passed the night, wearily 
and drearily, to give birth to a drearier day. The dawn 
did but reveal thick banks of clouds and mist, above, below, 



8 Three Days among the Alps of Dauphint. 

around, pouring down a steady, hopeless rain. One by 
one we roused up with a true British growl at our ill-luck. 
Then we held a council of war; the expedition was for 
that day evidently impossible — what then was to be done, 
should we give it up altogether, or await better weather ? 
Angry at our last disappointment, we unanimously resolved 
that we would wait at least one day before retreating. This 
however would require a fresh stock of provisions. Ac- 
cordingly, we sent the two local guides down to Ville de 
Val Louise to bring up what they could get, and composed 
ourselves to watch out the weary day. Sleep was tried 
again, but not much was done that way. Breakfast was 
spun out as long as possible, but that cannot be carried 
on long when the fare is bad. Happily I discovered that 
the lining of my coat had been much torn in climbing 
over the rocks, and that I had a needle and thread with 
me ; so I set to work and spent an hour in tailoring. 
Presently the rain began to find its way through various 
cracks in the rock, and obliged us to set out the cups of 
our flasks to catch it. I don't envy the unfortunate shepherds 
who have to spend a month or two in that cave — they come 
from Provence with their flocks every year, and go gradually 
up to the higher pastures as the snow melts away. In about 
a couple of months' time they recommence their descent, 
and rgturn home with their flocks in the autumn. They 
live in caves or wretched chalets often without seeing a 
human being for days together, so that nothing more miserable 
according to our notions, can well be imagined; but they, 
I am told, like it, nay, prefer it to living in the valley. 

About mid-day snow fell at intervals, and the rain became 
less heavy. The Frenchman, who had a liking for botany, 
sallied forth occasionally for a few minutes and returned 
with a handful of weeds (I cannot dignify them with the 
name of flowers). Then would commence a botanical argu- 
ment between him and M. The Frenchman, after diligently 
turning over two paper covered volumes, would affix a name 
to a plant. This was generally controverted by M., then 
after the manner of opposing "Savants" they recklessly 
flung about long names, till at last M., who was a good 
botanist, forced his antagonist to confess himself vanquished. 
These discussions helped to pass away the time till dinner. 
During the meal H. suddenly remembered that it was 
his birthday ; we accordingly drank his health, and sincerely 
wished that he might never again spend so dull a day* 
Late in the afternoon it ceased raining, and we strolled about 



Three Days among the Alps of Dauphine. 9 

the broken rocks near our cave, hunting for plants and 
* minerals, with very little success. Dauphin^ is, in general, 
very rich in plants, and those too of a kind that can gratify 
unbotanical persons like myself, but here there were very 
few, and those not pretty. However, we collected a good 
store of dead juniper boughs for fuel during the night, 
which I placed near the fire to dry, not caring to be choked 
with the smoke of wet wood. Soon after our return to 
the cave the guides came in with the provisions; they 
looked rather done up with their walk, though it was 
not a very long one. Night at last brought the day to 
an end, and we prepared for bed. This time we had to 
vary our proceedings, for the earth was too wet to lie 
upon; we therefore placed smooth stones upon the floor 
and lay or sat upon them. In consequence of this, we 
were more uncomfortable this night than before ; we were 
crowded closer together, our legs, which all pointed to the 
fire, frequently getting in a hopeless tangle. I woke up 
once so stiffened with the pressure of my stony seat that 
for some time I could not identify my own legs. How- 
ever, all things come to an end, and so did this night, 
morning dawned again — not indeed exactly " smiling morn," 
but still giving us some hopes ; so about four we bid adieu 
to the Hotel du Mont Pelvoux, which we agreed had but 
one recommendation, that of having no bill to pay when 
we left it. 

For some little time we walked along the pastures 
steering for the head of the valley, till we reached a wide 
open gorge that led down to the valley below. Here we 
halted and concealed all our baggage and some provisions 
under a stone, taking with us nothing but what was necessary 
for the day. It was now light, the sky was tolerably clear of 
clouds, and we ventured to hope for a fine day and successful 
excursion ; at the same time the rocks, sprinkled with snow 
for a couple of thousand feet below the usual level, warned 
us that the labour of our work would be much increased. 
We now began to ascend, and soon exchanged the turf 
for a steep slope of fallen rocks, that separated us from 
the precipices of the mountain. Suddenly one of our guides 
stopped and pointed to a jagged ridge above, we looked 
up, and there in relief against the clear morning sky stood 
a chamois, calmly contemplating our proceedings: though 
I had many times been among their haunts, this was the 
first that I had ever seen, and I watched it for some time 
with much interest, till, after it had satisfied its curiosity, 



10 Three Days among the Alps of Dauphmt. 

it disappeared behind a crag. We soon reached the foot 
of the precipices and bepan our work* The rocks were 
steep and frequently difficult; and the quantity of loose 
fresh enow and slippery ice that covered them, compelled 
us at times to proceed with great caution. Our work was 
varied by occasional couloirs* of hard snow, across which 
we generally found it necessary to cut steps. These are 
awkward places for a novice. It requires a good head 
and sure foot to step from notch to notch, along a steep 
slope of frozen snow, which plainly terminates in a precipice 
some two or three hundred feet below. The rocks too were 
some times by no means easy : one place, I remember, was 
particularly disagreeable, where we had to climb round 
a buttress of splintered rock, just above an unusually steep 
couloir of snow : the chinks of the rock were filled with 
ice, so that it was very difficult to get a good foothold, 
and at one place the foot rested on a mere knob, not much 
more than an inch in height. I confess to feeling a " creep" 
as I took this step. The mountain, however, was less 
difficult than I had been led to expect, and as the view 
widened, our spirits rose, like ourselves, higher and higher, 
while we looked down on a wide expanse of serrated peaks, 
from among which the great pyramid of the Visof rose 
like an island out of a stormy sea. 

Our second local guide now began to look very unhappy. 
I had had my doubts of him from the very first, as he 
had a very miserable appearance and bad shoes, and as 
we went on he evidently became more and more fatigued. 
At last, when we halted for breakfast, he declared that 
he " could no more," so we left him to his meditations, 
bidding him go back and look after our things. Soon after 
this the clouds began to gather, and ere long a dense 
"brouillard" swept up to, and surrounded us. Our other 
local guide now began to complain. His tone, so confident 
two days before, was strangely changed, and he said that 
he was afraid to venture on the glacier. However, at last 



* A couloir is a steep narrow gully frequently filled with snow ; 
after a heavy fall of snow they are very difficult and dangerous 
to cross; sometimes also showers of stones are discharged down 
them. 

f Twelve thousand five hundred and eighty-six feet. After 
the Matterhorn it is perhaps the most striking mountain in the 
Alps. 



Three Days among the Alps of Dauphinh. 1 * 

we persuaded him to take us up to it, that we might see 
what it was like. In about twenty minutes more its white 
cliffs gleamed through the mist, and we halted at the side 
of the ice, just where it poured in a cascade oyer the pre- 
cipice. Here we consulted what to do. We were now 
reduced to five, for our French friend, despairing of success, 
had left us a little below. A parliament was accordingly 
held, in which the local guide found himself in a decided 
minority. " You promised to take us up to the top of the 
mountain," said we. "That was when it was fine/' said 
he, "now I dare not, the * crevasses' are all covered with 
snow, and we shall be lost." " Nonsense," said we, " here 
is a rope long enough and strong enough to bear the whole 
party, so what does it matter if one does break through, 
the others can hold him up." "No," said he, "I am 
tired, an old wound hurts me, and I will not go on." " You 
are a coward," said we, "if your general had told you 
to attack a place, would you have said — 'My general, I 
am afraid 9 ? We care for our lives as much as you do 
for your's, and we are not afraid of the danger — you shew 
us the way and we will do all the work." No, he would 
not; entreaties, promises, threats, were all in vain, and at 
last we were reluctantly obliged to agree that it was no 
use going on. The mist shewed no signs of clearing. We 
had not the least notion of the direction of the top of the 
mountain. If the day had only been clear we would have 
gone on with our Chamounix guide who would have found 
out the right way somehow. There was no help for it: 
we set up the barometer, took an observation,* and then 
descended with heavy hearts, scolding the scoundrel as we 
went down. Angry as I was, I could not help laughing 
at the variety of contemptuous epithets which Croz heaped 
on the country, its inhabitants in general, and its guides 
in particular. For my own part I do not believe that the 
guide had ever ascended the mountain. I doubt whether 
he had been much beyond the place where we halted, and 
suspect that he imagined we were like the usual tourists 
of his own nation, and would turn back as soon as we met 
with a bit of stiff climbing. We found that all the people 
about regarded the mountain as inaccessible. It was always 
the same story : — " You will get a little way up and then 



* When worked out it gave ten thousand four hundred and 
thirty-five feet as the height of our position. 



1 2 Three Days among the Alps of Dauphini. 

meet with inaccessible precipices." These I suspect we 
had conquered, and I fancy no great difficulties lay between 
us and the foot of the final peak. The next morning we 
got a view of the range some twenty miles off, from a point 
on the high road above Guillestre. If we were right in our 
identification of the mountains (as I believe we were) we saw 
the very point at which we turned back, and nothing but a 
long series of snow fields lay between us and the foot of the 
highest peak. Still I cannot be positive, for it is most difficult 
to find out the names of the mountains in this country; 
the inhabitants are either entirely ignorant of them or else 
have patois names, which differ in different vallies. I fancy 
also that General Bourcet's map is not quite correct in the 
immediate neighbourhood of the Pelvoux, and the bad 
weather prevented our having good views of the range with 
which to test our knowledge. 

We descended carefully over our former route, and in 
due time reached the stone, where our baggage was deposited. 
There we found our friend and the other guide, together 
with several of the people from the chalets of L'Aiefred. 
We rested two or three minutes, and then struck down 
the gorge into the valley ; the descent was rough, but much 
easier than the path by which we had ascended to the 
cabane ; so we came down as hard as we could, revenging 
ourselves upon our guides by giving them a good dose 
of quick walking, which we thought would act like Mr. 
Weller's recipe of a plank and barrow of earth, and shake 
the nonsense out of them. As soon as we arrived at the 
bottom of the valley we halted by the side of the stream. 
Here, though the clouds still hung about the top of the 
mountain, it was sunny and warm ; so we enjoyed the luxury 
of a good wash, and then dined upon the provisions which 
we had hoped to have eaten up aloft. Dinner over, we 
stretched ourselves out in the sun and went to sleep for 
half-an-hour. After this we started quite fresh again for 
L'Abesse. At Ville de Val Louise we parted from our 
French friend with many expressions of mutual good will. 
He was a very agreeable companion and a capital mountaineer, 
a very rare accomplishment in men of his nation. We ar- 
rived at L'Abesse in about four hours, having walked at 
a great pace the whole way. After some trouble we got 
a carriage, for sleeping there was out of the question, when 
better quarters were within reach, and drove to Guillestre, 
about twelve miles ; we arrived there soon after dark, found 
the inn, though not too clean, a palace as compared with 



Three Days among the Alps of Dauphinb. 1 3 

that of L'Abesse, and after some supper went straight to 
bed. May my reader never sleep worse than I did that 
night. 

The Pelvoux was ascended this year by Messrs. Whymper and 
Macdonald, accompanied by Mons. Reynaud (our French com- 
panion). They had even more trouble with the guides than we 
had, but the weather was more propitious, so that they were 
enabled to take the matter into their own hands. The first at- 
tempt failed, owing to the lies the guide told them : on the second 
occasion they took only porters, and found their own way. Re- 
turning, they were benighted about two thousand feet above the 
tree limit, and suffered much from the cold. I am indebted to the 
courtesy of Mr. Whymper for these and many other interesting 
particulars of their excursion. 



Q O 

QJSLQ 
® © 



OCR COLLEGE FBIENDS. 



"Egli se xTando dianxi in quel boschetto, 
Che aualche fantasia ha per la mente ; 
Vorr a frntaaticar fane on Sannetto."— 

{Lorenzo de' Medici.) 



I. To the Ladt Margaret. 

Poets who moved the hearts of fellow-men, 
Sharing their joys and sorrows through the years 
Of pilgrimage ; Philosophers and seers 

Who sought for truths beyond the common ken ; 

Warriors who strove alike with sword and pen 
For Liberty, despising selfish fears ; 
Martyrs of science, gazing on far spheres 

Of knowledge, shackled in oppression's den ; 
Artists, who wove bright-tinted dreams among 

The scenes of daily toil : Musicians blest 
With rapturous melodies of holy song, — 

These were the Friends we loved : On earth repressed, 
Their souls outsoared the enmity and wrong, 

And shine serenely now in God's eternal rest. 

II. The Greek Poets. 

Their very names are invocative spells, 
Their ransomed beauties peer through the dim Past, 
Like gleams through forest-branches that are cast 

From stars at midnight to the sleeping dells ; 

When faintly heard is every rill that wells 
'Mid autumn leaves, by years of old amassed, 
And all the unseen heavens appear more vast 

As Fancy re-illumes their darkened cells. 
For still the burning words of Sappho flow, 

And still Tyrtaeus pours his patriot lay, 
Anacreon binds the vine-wreath on his brow, 

Alcseus bird-like trills, while o'er decay 
Simonides enchants with tender woe ; 

And with Theocritus in pastoral dreams we stray. 



Our College Friends. 15 

III. Homer. 

Aged he seemed, and travel-worn, and blind, 
Yet through his sightless eyes a deeper glow 
From visions and observant life would flow 

Than fired his glance when youth with hope combined ; 

Thin silvery locks 'neath fillet-bondage 'twined, 
Or fell upon his breast, that heaving wide 
Attested manhood's bygone strength and pride ; 

Massive the brow, enthroned wherein his mind 
Held solemn audience of each thought that cast 

A stately presence in life's eventide, 

Like those who fought for Ilium, panoplied, 
Undying hosts ; a wandering king the last, 

Calmly heroic, fears and toils defied :— 
Then knew I Homer, smiling through the Past. 

IV. jEschylus. 

Upon the sword he wore at Marathon, 
That foremost struck at Salamis, and rose 
Amid Platea's carnage when the foes 

Of Athens perished, leans Euphorion's son ; 

And, whilst the fickle tributes of renown 
Peal forth the Warrior-poet's name from those 
Who on the morrow will that fame oppose, 

He weighs the double triumph he hath won : 
Dauntless as his own Titan on the rock, 

And all unused to bend should Fortune frown, 
Sternly prepared to meet each coming shock, 

Whether a younger rival claim the crown, 
Or the vile herd of changeful rabble mock, — 

Heroic to the last in lonely pride looks down. 

V. Sophocles. 

The bloom of evening melted into night 
While the gray head drooped silent on his breast, 
Whose heaving some unmastered grief expressed ; 

But now he gazes from Colonos' height, 

And as the walls of Athens greet his sight, 
Pride in her fame all selfish tears repressed : 
"No more," he cries, "I. murmur, while thus blest 

With visions that have turned my gloom to light. 
Before mine eyes may still Cephiaus wind ! 

Still hold th' Eumenides their sacred grove ! — 
And he who wanders on, discrowned and blind, 

Guarded by his Antigone, shall prove 
How yet unwrecked by ingrates is the mind 

That can create this pledge of deathless love." 



16 Our College Friends. 

VL Euripides. 

A sadness born of earthly joys and woes, 
Affections ill bestowed and known as vain, 
Leaving a sense of emptiness and pain, 

Doth that still patient face of thine disclose : 

Not the rapt glance of genius, while the throes 
Of some Titanic birth convulse the brain, 
But solemn with a gentleness that fain 

Would on affection's breast in Peace repose. 
Thy lot, Euripides, to brook the taunt 

Of mocking malice, and to feel mistrust 
Of thine own soul, which spectral glories daunt; 

But lowlier paths, amid the scorn and dust 
Of poverty and grie£ it loved to haunt : 

Reviled or praised, the world to thee unjust. 

VII. Aristophanes. 

Not thine the laugh of happiness, or wand 
Sportively smiting what it could not rear, 
No trembler's thrust palsied by selfish fear ; 

Armed by chastising Furies fell thy hand 

In vengeful scorn on a once-glorious land 
That more polluted festered year by year, 
Of good suspicious, in praise insincere : 

What deathless bay strikes root in slime and sand ? 
Genius and courage thine ! a wasted dower 

For one whose voice inspired not, but amused 
With cynic mockery and railings sour : 
Calm is thy face, and cold ; heroic power, 

Curbed by some pride of caste, slumb'ring unused : 
Distrustful of thy race and of the hour. 

VIII. Plato. 

Beneath the shade of Academic grove 
He walks with waving garments and rapt gaze, 
Communing with the spirit of past days 

In its primeval majesty and love. 

For him all Good seems beautiful, to move 
In stately cadence to a choral praise ; — 
All Beauty, soul of goodness, in whose rays 

As an exhaustless sun are virtues wove. 
No trace of passion bears that mild clear eye ; 

Furrows of thought, not pain, are on his brow, 
And age gives strength to pierce infinity : 

Sportive with tender grace the accents flow 
To noblest sons of Athens, yielding free 

Those airy dreams that only sages know. 



Our College Friends. 17 

IX. Our College Friends. 

We loved the music of the same sweet-lyres, 
We sought the same deep waters for our oars, 
And plucked the same fair flowerets on the shores 

By which we sped in giddy youth's desires. 

And still our hearts are warmed by kindred fires 
While from an earthly fane our worship soars 

To God's calm heaven on high, and meekly pours 
Commingled hymns where all we love aspires. 

Thus far together have we trod, thus far 

Across the moorland and the dreary marsh, 
The tempting gardens and the plains of war ; 

Firm on the rock stand, brethren ! — though the scar 
On each brow tell of toil and conflict harsh ; — 

Yearning for heights beyond the brightest star. 

J. W. E. 



& 



VOL. III. 



OUR EMIGRANT. 
Put ni. 



None. — To connect this paper with the preceding, it may be 
necessary to say, that shortly after I wrote last I purchased a run 
adjoining my previous one; subsequently to that I purchased 
another — also adjoining — and stocked with sheep. These purchases 
rendered a change necessary in my place of abode, and I moved on 
to a spot about ten miles nearer civilisation. 

Here I am now likely to reside, and to this spot it was, that I 
was bringing up the dray which forms the principal subject of the 
succeeding pages. 

J COMPLETED the loading of my dray on a Tuesday 
afternoon in the early part of October, 1860, and deter- 
mined on making Main's accommodation house that night ; 
of the contents of the dray I need hardly speak, though 
perhaps a full enumeration of them might afford no bad 
index to the requirements of a station ; they are more nume- 
rous than might at first be supposed — rigidly useful and 
rarely if ever ornamental. 

Flour, tea, sugar, tools, household utensils, few and 
rough, a plough and harrows, doors, windows, oats for seed, 
potatoes for seed, and all the usual denizens of a kitchen 
garden; these with a few private effects formed the main 
bulk of the contents amounting to about a ton and a-half in 
weight. I had only six bullocks, but these were good ones 
and worth many a team of eight. A team of eight will draw* 
from two to three tons along a pretty good road ; bullocks 
are very scarce here ; one cannot get one under twenty 
pounds, while thirty pounds is no unusual price for a good 
harness bullock. They can do much more in harness than 
in bows and yokes, but the expence of harness and the con- 
stant disorder into which it gets, render it cheaper to use 
more bullocks in the simpler tackle. Many stations have a 
small mob of cattle from whence to draw their working 



Our Emigrant, 19 

bullocks, so that a few mare or a few less makes little or no 
difference ; besides bullocks are not fed with corn at accom- 
modation houses as horses are; when their work is done they 
are turned out to feed till dark, or till eight or nine o'clock ; 
a bullock fills himself, if on pretty good feed, in about three 
or three and a-half hours ; he then lies down till very early 
morning, at that hour the chances are ten to one, that 
awakening, refreshed, and strengthened he commences to 
stray back along the way he came, or in some other direc- 
tion ; accordingly it is the custom about eight or nine o'clock 
to yard one's team, and turn them out with the first daylight 
for another three or four hours feed. They do their day's 
work of from fifteen to twenty miles or sometimes more at 
one spell, and travel at the rate of from two and a-half to three 
miles an hour ; yarding bullocks is however a bad plan. 

The road from Christ Church to Main's is metalled for 
about four and a-half miles ; there are fences and fields on both 
sides either laid down in English grass or sown with grain ; 
the fences are chiefly low ditch and bank planted with gorse, 
rarely with quick, which detracts from the resemblance to 
English scenery which would otherwise prevail. The copy 
however is slatternly compared with the original ; the scarcity 
of timber, the high price of labour, and the pressing urgency 
of more important claims upon the time of the small agricul- 
turist, prevent him usually from attaining the spic and span 
neatness of an -English homestead. Many makeshifts are 
necessary, a broken rail or gate is mended with a bundle of 
flax, so are the roads not unfrequently. I have seen the 
government roads themselves being repaired with no other 
material than stiff tussocks of grass flax and rushes; this is 
bad, but to a certain extent necessary, where there is so 
much to be done and so few hands and so little money 
to do it. 

After getting off the completed portion of the road, the 
track commences along the plains unassisted by the hand of 
man; before one and behind one and on either hand, waves 
the yellow tussock upon the stony plain, interminably mono- 
tonous ; on the left, as you go southward, lies Banks's penin- 
sula, a system of submarine volcanos culminating in a 
flattened dome, a little more than three thousand feet high* 
Cook called it Banks's island, either because it was an island 
in his day, or because no one, to look at it, would imagine 
that it was anything else ; either solution is highly probable, 
the first, because the highest land immediately at the foot of 
the peninsula is not twenty feet above the level of the sea, 

c2 



20 Our Emigrant. 

and the earthquakes are continually raising these coasts (the 
harbour of Wellington has been raised several feet since the 
settlement of the province), so that in Cook's day the water 
may well have gone round the present peninsula ; the second, 
because it presents exactly the appearance of an island lying 
a little way off the shore. 

On the right, at a considerable distance, rise the long range 
of mountains, which the inhabitants of Christ Church suppose 
to be the back-bone of the island, and which they call the 
snowy range. The real axis of the island, however, lies much 
further back, and between it and the range now in sight, the 
land has no rest, but is continually steep up and steep down, 
as if nature had determined to try how much mountain she 
could place upon a given space ; she had, however, still some 
regard for utility, for the mountains are rarely precipitous — 
very steep, often rocky and shingly when they have attained 
a great elevation, but rarely, if ever, until in immediate 
proximity to the west coast range, like the descent from the 
top of Snowdon towards Capel Curig, or the precipices of 
Clogwyn du *r arddu. The great range is truly Alpine, and 
the front range is nearly seven thousand feet high in parts. 

The result of this absence of precipice is, that there are no 
water-falls in the front ranges and few in the back, and these 
few very insignificant as regards the volume of the water. 
In Switzerland one has the falls of the Rhine, of the Aar, 
the Giesbach, the Staubach, and cataracts great and small 
innumerable ; here there is nothing of the kind, quite as 
many big rivers, but few water-falls, to make up for which 
the rivers run with an almost incredible fall. Mount Peel is 
twenty-five miles from the sea, and the river-bed of the 
Rangitata underneath that mountain is eight hundred feet 
above the sea line, the river running in a straight course 
though winding about in its wasteful river-bed. To all ap- 
pearance it is running through a level plain. Of the remark- 
able gorges through which each river finds its way out of 
the mountains into the plains, I must speak when I take my 
dray through the gorge of the Ashburton, though this is the 
least remarkable of them all ; in the meantime I must return 
to the dray on its way to Main's, although I see* another 
digression awaiting me as soon as I have got it two miles 
ahead of its present position. 

It is tedious work keeping constant company with the 
bullocks, they travel so slowly. I will lie behind and sun 
myself upon a tussock or a flax bush, and let them travel on 
until I catch them up again. 



Our Emigrant 21 

They are now going down into an old river-bed formerly 
tenanted by the Waimakiriri, which then flowed down into 
Lake Ellesmere ten or a dozen miles south of Christ Church, 
and which now enters the sea at Kaiapoi twelve miles north 
of it ; besides this old channel, it has numerous others which 
it has discarded with fickle caprice for the one in which it 
happens to be flowing at present, and which there appears 
great reason for thinking it is soon going to tire of. If it 
eats about a hundred yards more of its gravelly bank in one 
place, and the required amount is being eaten at an alarming 
rate, the river will find an old bed several feet lower than its 
present; this bed will conduct it only into Christ Church. 
Government had put up a wooden defence at a cost of some- 
thing like two thousands p6unds, but there was no getting 
any firm starting ground, and a few freshes carried embank- 
ment, piles and all away, and eat a large slice of the required 
amount into the bargain ; there is nothing for it but to let 
the river have its own way — every fresh changes every ford, 
and to a certain extent alters every channel ; after any fresh 
the river may shift its course directly on to the opposite side 
of its bed and leave Christ Church in undisturbed security 
for centuries, or again any fresh may render such a shift in 
the highest degree improbable, and seal the fate of our 
metropolis sooner or later; at present no one troubles his 
head much about it, although the thing is a fact as patent to 
observation and as acknowledged as any in the settlement. 

These old river channels, or at any rate channels where 
portions of the rivers have at one time come down, are every- 
where about the plains, but the nearer you get to a river the 
more you see of them ; on either side the Rakaia, after it has 
got completely disembarrassed from its gorge, you find channel 
after channel now completely grassed over for five or six 
miles — nay more; betraying the action of river water as 
plainly as is possible. The rivers after leaving their several 
gorges lie as it were on the highest part of a huge fanlike 
delta, which radiates from the gorge down to the sea ; the 
plains are almost entirely, for many miles on either side the 
rivers, composed of nothing but stones, all betraying the 
action of water ; these stones are so closely packed, that at 
times one wonders how the tussocks and fine sweet under- 
growth can force their way up through them, and even where 
the ground is free from stones at the surface, I am sure that 
at a little distance down, stones would be found packed in 
the same way. One cannot take one's horse out of a walk in 
many parts of the plains when off the track ; I mean one 



22 Our Emigrant. 

cannot without doing violence to did world notions concern- 
ing horses' feet. 

I said the rivers lie on the highest part of the delta, not 
always the highest but seldom the lowest; I believe myself, 
that in the course of centuries they oscillate from side to side. 
For instance, four miles North of the Rakaia there is a terrace 
some twelve or fourteen feet high ; the water in the river is 
nine feet above the top of this terrace ; to the eye of the 
casual observer there is no perceptible difference between the 
levels, still the difference exists and has been measured. I 
am no geologist myself, but have been informed of this by 
one who is in the government 'survey office, and whose 
authority I can rely on. 

Again, I think the rivers oscillate from side to side, be- 
cause I have seen the river eat a large piece of its bank, and 
flow much more mainly on the north side since I have been 
in the settlement; a fresh comes down upon a crumbling 
bank of sand and loose shingle with incredible force, tearing 
it away hour by hour in ravenous bites. In fording the 
river one crosses now a good big stream on this side, where 
four months ago there was hardly any ; while after one has 
done with the water part of the story, there remains a large 
extent of river-bed, in the process of gradually being covered 
with cabbage-trees, flax, tussock, Irishman, and other plants 
and evergreens ; and for several miles after getting clear of 
what one may term the blankets of the river-bed, one sees 
what appear to me to be fresher tracks of the river than those 
on the north side ; this may be all wrong, I merely write my 
own impressions. 

From the mountains at the back of my run I look down 
upon the cross road as it were of four great river-beds, pro- 
digal and capricious. Here I see the same thing in minia- 
ture. A large delta radiating from a gorge, indeed much 
too large for the water that now appears to have formed it. 
Above a gully and ravines, out of which the delta aforesaid 
has come ; the delta and gorge looking like an egg-glass 
when the egg has been boiled. Here is the top glass empty 
with the sand out of it, and there the bottom glass full with 
the sand in it. Here I see palpably the river running down 
the delta on the highest part of it, or trending down to one 
side or another, and can watch the part that is being deserted 
slowly grassing itself over, and the gullies that have been 
long left, completely grassed; thus I conclude, seeing ex- 
actly the same phenomena on a large scale upon the plains, 
that these too, between one and two hunded miles in length 



Our Emigrant. 23 

as they are, and upwards of forty stales across, hare been 
deposited by the rivers that intersect it, their deltas gradually 
meeting and filling up together* or rather that the rivets 
have been the main agents in their composition But there 
must, one would think, have been £lt fcnore water in them once 
than there in now, though how to prove this I don't know. 

So we crossed the old river-bed of the Waimakiriri and 
crawled slowly on to Main's through the descending twi- 
light ; one sees Main's about six miles off, and it appears to 
be about six hours before one reaches it. A little hump 
for the house and a longer hump for the stables. 

The tutu not yet having tagun to spring, I yarded tny 
bullocks at Main's. This demands explanation. Tutu is ft 

; riant which died away in the winter, and springs up anew 
rom the old roots in spring, growing from six inches to two 
or three feet in height, sometimes five or six. It is of a rich 
green colour, and presents something the appearance of 
myrtle if one does not examine it I have seen three varieties 
of it, though I am not sure whether two of them may not be 
the same* only varied somewhat by soil and position; the 
third grows only in high situations* and is unknown upon 
the plains, it has leaves very minutely subdivided, the blossom 
and seed are nearly identical with the other varieties, The 
peculiar property of the plant is, that though highly nutri- 
tious both for sheep and cattle when eaten upon a tolerably 
full stomach, it is very fatal when eaten upon an empty one ; 
sheep and cattle eat it to any extent and with perfect safety 
when running loose on their pasture, because they are always 
pretty full ; but take the same sheep and yard them for some 
few hours, or drive them so that they cannot feed, then 
turn them into tutu and the result is, that they are imme- 
diately attacked with apoplectic symptoms, and die unless 
promptly bled, often then too. The worst of it is, that when 
empty they are keenest after it, and nab it in spite of one's 
most frantic appeals both verbal and flagellatory. I am scep- 
tical about the bleeding being beneficial myself, but the 
f general opinion is in favour of \U Some say that tutu acts 
ike clover and blows the stomach out so that death ensues. 
The seed stones, however, contained in the dark pulpy berry, 
are poisonous to man and superinduce apoplectic symptoms ; 
the berry (about the size of a small currant) is rather good 
though insipid, and is quite harmless if the stones are not 
swallowed. The poison, however, lies below the stone. 
Tutu grows chiefly on and in the neighbourhood of sandy 
river-beds, but occurs more or less all over the settlement, 



94 Our Emigrant, 

and causes considerable damage every year. Horses won't 
touch it As then my bullocks could not get tuted on being 
turned out empty I yarded them. The next day we made 
thirteen miles over the plains to the Waikitty (written Wai- 
kirikiri) or Selwyn ; still the same monotonous plains, the same 
interminable tussock, dotted with the same cabbage-trees. 

On the morrow, ten more monotonous miles to the banks 
of the great river Rakaia. This river is one of the largest 
in the province, second only to the Waitangi. It contains 
about as much water as the Rhone above Martigny, or more 
than that, but it rather resembles an Italian than a Swiss 
river. It is fordable in many places with due care, though 
very rarely so when occupying a single channel. It rarely is 
found in one stream, flowing like the rest of these rivers 
with alternate periods of rapid and comparatively smooth 
water every few yards. The place to look for a ford is just 
above a spit where the river forks into two or more branches ; 
there is generally here a bar of shingle with shallow water, 
while immediately below in each stream there is a dangerous 
rapid. A very little practice and knowledge of each river 
will enable a man to detect a ford at a glance. These fords 
shift every fresh. In the Waimakirin or Rangitata they 
occur every quarter of a mile or less, in the Rakaia one may 
go three or four miles for a good ford. On a fresh the 
Jttakaia is not fordable ; the two first named rivers, however, 
may be crossed with great care in pretty heavy freshes with- 
out the water going higher than the knees of the rider. It is 
always, however, an unpleasant task to cross a river in a 
fresh, unless one is thoroughly acquainted with it. Then a 
glance at the colour and consistency of the water will tell 
whether the fresh is coming down, at its height, or falling. 
If one is acquainted with the ordinary volume of the stream, 
the height of the water can be estimated at a spot one has 
never seen with wonderful correctness. The Rakaia some- 
times comes down with a run ; a wall of water two feet high 
rolling over and over, rushes down with irresistible force. 
I know a gentleman who had been looking at some sheep 
upon an island in the Rakaia, and after finishing his- survey 
was riding leisurely to the bank on which his house was 
situated ; suddenly he saw the river coming down upon him 
in the manner I nave described, and not more than two or 
three hundred yards off; by a forcible application of the spur 
he was enabled to reach terra-firma, just in time to see the 
water sweeping with an awful roar over the spot that he had 
been traversing not a second previously. This is not frequent, 



Our Emigrant 25 

a fresh generally takes four or five hours to come down, and 
from two days to a week, ten days or a fortnight to subside 
again. 

If I were to speak of the rise of the Rakaia, or rather of 
the numerous branches which form it ; of their vast and 
wasteful beds ; the glaciers that they spring from, one of them 
coming down half-way across the river-bed, of the wonderful 
gorge with its terraces, shelf upon shelf, fortification like and 
mysterious, rising eight hundred feet above the river ; the 
crystals found there and the wild pigs, I should weary the 
reader too much and fill half a volume ; the bullocks must 
again claim my attention, and I unwillingly revert to my 
subject. 

On the night of our arrival at the Rakaia I did not yard 
my bullocks, as they seemed inclined to stay quietly with 
some others that were about the place, next morning they 
were gone. Were they up the river or down the river, 
across the river or gone back ? You are at Cambridge and 
have lost your bullocks. They were bred in Yorkshire but 
have been used a good deal in the neighbourhood of Dor- 
chester, and may have consequently made in either direction ; 
they may however have worked down the Cam and be in full 
feed for Lynn, or again they may be snugly stowed away in 
a gully half-way between the Fitzwilliam Museum and Trum- 
pington. You saw a mob of cattle feeding quietly about 
Madingley on the preceding evening, and they may have 
joined in with these, or were they attracted by the fine feed 
in the neighbourhood of Cherryhinton ? Where shall you go 
to look for them ? 

Matters in reality, however, are not so bad as this. A 
bullock cannot walk without leaving a track, if the ground he 
travels on is capable of receiving one. Again, if he does not 
know the country in advance of him, the chances are strong 
that he has gone back the way he came ; he will travel in a 
track if he can, he finds it easier going. Animals are cautious 
in proceeding onwards when they don't know the ground. 
They have ever a lion in the path until they know it, and 
have found it free from beasts of prey. If, however, they 
have been seen heading decidedly in any direction over-night, 
in that direction they will certainly be found sooner or later. 
Besides bullocks cannot go long without water. They will 
travel to a river, then they will eat, drink, and be merry, 
and during that period of fatal security they will be caught ; 
ours had gone back to the Waikitty, ten miles, we soon 
obtained clues as to their whereabouts and had them back 



26 Owr Emigrant 

again in time to proceed with our journey. Die river being 
very low we did not unload die dray, and put the contents 
across in the boat, but drove the bollocks straight through. 
Eighteen weary monotonous miles over the same plains, 
covered with the same tussock grass and dotted with the 
same cabbage-tress. The mountains however get gradually 
nearer, and Banks's peninsula dwindles perceptibly. That 
night we made Mr. M ■ ' s station and were thankful. 

Again we did not yard the bullocks, and again we lost 
them. This time, though they were only five miles off, we 
did not find them till afternoon and lost a day. As they had 
travelled in all nearly forty miles, I had mercy upon them, 
intending that they should fill themselves well during the 
night and be ready for a long pull next day. Even the 
merciful man himself, however, would except a working 
bullock from the beasts who have any claim upon his good 
feeling. Let him go straining his eyes examining every dark 
spot in a circumference many long miles in extent. Let him 
gallop a couple of miles in this direction and the other, and 
discover that he has only been lessening the distance between 
himself and a group of cabbage-trees ; let him feel the word 
" bullock 9 ' eating itself in indelible characters into his heart, 
and he will refrain from mercy to working bullocks as long as 
he lives. But as there are few positive pleasures equal in in- 
tensity to the negative one of release from pain, so it is when 
at last a group of six oblong objects, five dark and one white 
appears in remote distance, distinct and unmistakeable. Yes, 
they are our bullocks, a sigh of relief follows, and we burst 
them home, gloating over their distended tongues and slob- 
bering mouths. If there is one thing a bullock hates worse 
than another, it is being burst, i.e. over-driven. His heavy 
lumbering carcase is mated with a no less lumbering soul. He 
is a good, slow, steady, patient slave if you let him take his 
own time about it, but don't hurry him. He has played a 
very important part in the advancement of civilisation and 
the development of the resources of the world, a part which 
the horse could not have played ; let us then bear with his 
heavy trailing gait and uncouth movements, only next time 
we will keep him tight, even though he starve for it. If 
bullocks be invariably driven sharply back to the dray, 
whenever they have strayed from it, they soon learn not to 
go far off, and are cured even of the most inveterate habits 
of straying. 

Now we follow up one branch of the Ashburton to 
Weaver's, making straight for the mountains ; still, however, 



Our Emigrant. 27 

we are on the same monotonous plains, and crawl our twenty 
miles with very few objects that could possibly serve as 
landmarks. It is wonderful how small an object gets a 
name in the great dearth of features. Cabbage-tree hill, 
half-way between Main's and the Waikitty, is an almost 
imperceptible rise some ten yards across and two or three 
feet high: the cabbage-trees have disappeared. Between 
the Rakaia and Mr. M — 's station is a place they call the 
half-way gully, but it is neither a gully nor half-way, being 
only a grip m the earth, causing no perceptible difference 
in the level of the track, and extending but a few yards 
on either side of it. So between Mr. M — 's and the next 
halting place (save two sheep stations) I remember nothing 
but a rather curiously shaped gowai-tree (with a square 
hatchet-like head, the trunk coming down from one side 
like a handle) and a dead bullock, that can form milestones 
as it were, to mark progress; for myself, however, I have 
made innumerable ones, such as where one peak in the 
mountain range goes behind another, and so on. 

In the small river Ashburton, or rather one of its most 
trivial branches, we had a row with the bullocks ; the leaders, 
for some reason best known to themselves, slewed sharply 
round, and tied themselves into an inextricable knot with 
the polars, while the body bullocks, by a manoeuvre not 
unfrequent, shifted, or as it is technically termed, slipped 
the yoke under their necks, and the bows over; the off 
bullock turning upon the near side, and the near bullock 
on the off. By what means they do this I cannot explain, 
but believe it would make a conjuror's fortune in England. 
How they got the chains between their legs and how they 
kicked to liberate themselves, how we abused them, and 
finally, unchaining them, set them right, I need not here 
particularise: we finally triumphed, but this delay caused 
us not to reach our destination till after dark. 

Here the good woman of the house took me into her 
confidence in the matter of her corns, from the irritated 
condition of which she argued that bad weather was about 
to ensue. The next morning, however, we started anew, 
and after about three or four miles entered the valley of 
the south and larger Ashburton, bidding adieu to the plains 
completely. 

And now that I approach the description of the gorge, 
I feel utterly unequal to the task, not because the scene 
is awful or beautiful, for the gorge of the Ashburton is 
neither, unlike in this respect to the other gorges, though 



38 Our Emigrant. 

its characteristic* are the same, bat because the subject is 
replete with difficulty and I haye never heard a satisfactory 
account as to how the phenomena they exhibit can have 
come about It is not, however, my province to attempt 
this. I must content myself with narrating what I see. 

First I see the river, flowing very rapidly upon a bed 
of large shingle, with alternate rapids and smooth places, 
constantly forking and constantly reuniting itself. Tangled 
skeins of silver ribbon surrounding lozenge-shaped islets 
of sand and shingle ; on either side is a long flat composed 
of shingle similar to the bed of the river itself, but covered 
with vegetation, tussock, and scrub: fine feed for sheep 
or cattle among the burnt Irishman thickets. The flat is 
some half-mile broad on either side the river, narrowing 
as the mountains draw in closer upon the stream; it is 
terminated by a steep terrace. Twenty or thirty feet high 
above this terrace is another flat, we will say semicircular, 
for I am generalising, which again is surrounded by a 
steeply sloping terrace like an amphitheatre; above this 
another flat receding still farther back, perhaps half-a-mile, 
in places; perhaps almost close above the other terrace; 
above this another flat receding farther, and so on, until 
the level of the plain proper, or highest flat, is several 
hundred feet above the river. I have not seen a single 
river in Canterbury which is not more or less terraced even 
below the gorge; the angle of the terrace is always very 
steep: I seldom see one less than 45°, one always has to 
get off and lead one's horse down, except an artificial cutting 
has been made, or advantage taken of some gully that 
descends into the flat below. Tributary streams are terraced 
in like manner on a small scale, while even the mountain 
creeks repeat the same phenomena in miniature : the terraces 
being always highest where the river emerges from its gorge 
and slowly dwindling down as it approaches the sea, till 
finally, instead of the river being many hundred feet below 
the level of the plains, as is the case at the foot of the 
mountains, the plains near the sea are considerably below 
the water in the river, as on the north side of the Rakaia 
before described. 

At first sight one imagines that the river must have cut 
these terraces out of the plains; but that presupposes the 
existence of the plains before the rivers brought them down. 
I expect that the part played by upheaval in the physical 
geography of the island will ultimately afford a solution of 
the difficulties. I feel utterly unable to tackle the subject. 



Our Emigrant. 29 

Our road lay up the Ash burton, which we had repeatedly 
to cross and recross. 

A dray going through a river is a pretty sight enough 
when you are utterly unconcerned in the contents thereof, 
the rushing water stemmed by the bullocks and the dray, 
the energetic appeals of the driver to Tommy or Nobler 
to lift the dray over the large stones in the river; the 
creaking dray, the cracking whip, form a tout ensemble 
rather "agreeable than otherwise. But when the bullocks 
having pulled the dray into the middle of the river refuse 
entirely to pull it out again — when the leaders turn sharp 
round and look at you or stick their heads under the 
bellies of the polars — when the gentle pats on the forehead 
with the stick of the whip prove unavailing, and you are 
obliged to have recourse to strong measures, it is less agree- 
able : especially if the animals turn just after having got 
your dray half-way up the bank, and twisting it round upon 
a steeply inclined surface, throw the centre of gravity far 
beyond the base: over goes the dray into the water; oh 
my sugar! oh my tea! oh my flour! Alas my crockery I 
It is all over — drop the curtain. 

I beg to state my dray never upset this time, though 
the centre of gravity fell far without the base : what Newton 
says on that subject is erroneous; so are those charts con- 
taining illustrations of natural philosophy, in which a loaded 
dray is represented as necessarily about to fall, because a 
dotted line from the centre of gravity falls outside the wheels. 
When my dray was on one side I watched attentively to 
see this dotted line. I saw it not; dotted lines do not 
drop from the centres of loaded drays ; had there been 
one, however, it would have fallen far outside the wheels ; 
the English of all which is that it takes a great deal more 
to upset a well loaded dray than one would have imagined ; 
at other times, however, the most unforeseen trifle will effect 
it. Possibly the value of the contents may have something 
to do with it ; but my ideas are not fully formed yet upon 
the subject. 

We made about seventeen miles and crossed the river 
ten times, so that the bullocks had become quite used to it, 
and manageable, and have continued so ever since. 

We halted for the night, with one Jimmy Rawle, a 
shepherd : awakening out of slumber I heard the fitful gusts 
of violent wind come puff, puff, buffet, and die away again, 
nor- wester all over. I went out and saw the unmistakeable 
north-west clouds tearing away in front of the moon. I 



30 Our Emigrant. 

remembered Mrs. W.'s corns, and anathematised them in 
my heart. 

I must digress again. The reader may imagine that 
I turned out of a comfortable bed, slipped on my boots 
and then went oat; no such thing: we were all lying on 
the floor with nothing but our clothes between it and our 
bodies ; on these occasions I always sleep in full costume, 
using my saddle bags for a pillow, and folding up my 
great coat so as to save my hip-bone from the hard floor. 
In this way, especially if he have arranged himself so that 
his hip shall fit into one of the numerous hollows in a 
clay floor, a man may pass an excellent night. 

The next day we made only three miles to Mr. Phillips's 
station. There we unloaded the dray, greased it, and re- 
stored half the load, intending to make another journey 
for the remainder, as the road was very bad. 

One dray had been over the ground before us. That 
took four days to do the first ten miles, and then was 
delayed several weeks on the bank of the Rangitata, by 
a series of very heavy freshes, so we determined on trying 
a different route : we got farther on our first day than our 
predecessor had done in two, and then Possum, one of 
my bullocks, lay down (I am afraid he had had an awful 
hammering in a swampy creek where we had stuck for 
two hours), and would not stir an inch; so we turned the 
bullocks adrift with their yokes on, (had we taken them 
off we could not have yoked them up again) whereat Possum 
began feeding in a manner which plainly shewed that there 
had not been much amiss with him. But during the interval 
that elapsed between our getting into the swampy creek 
and getting out of it a great change had come over the 
weather. While poor Possum was being hammered I had 
been reclining on the bank hard by, and occasionally 
interceding for the unhappy animal, there were four of 
them at him (but what is one to do if one's dray is buried 
nearly to the axle in a bog, and Possum won't pull?); 
and I, considering that to be plenty, was taking it easy, 
without coat or waistcoat, and even then feeling as if no 
place could be too cool to please me, for the nor'-wester 
was still blowing strong and intensely hot; suddenly I 
felt a chill, and looking at the lake below I saw that the 
white headed waves had changed their direction,, and that 
the wind had chopped round to sou'-west. It was blowing 
from the N.-E., but it was a sou'-wester for all that. The 
sou'-wester always blows from the N.-E. in that valley* 



Our Emigrant 32 

It comes from the S.-W. along the plains, turns up the 
valley of the Ashburton, and then turns round still further, 
so that it is a sou'-wester proper, for all its direction is 
from the north-east. Waistcoat, coat, great coat, became 
necessary at once, and then, it was chilling cold still. 

By the time that Possum had laid down, the thin cold 
clouds had enshrouded the higher mountains and were de- 
scending, into the high valley in which we were, (it is two 
thousand feet above the level of the sea, and there is not 
a single perceptible rise up to it)* There was not a stick 
of wood about, and no shelter ; so we determined on carrying 
our food, blankets, &c. &c. to a spot a little distance on, 
where Phillips had begun building a sod-hut when they 
had been detained on the banks of the ftangitata three 
months previously. The hut had no roof on yet, and was 
in fact nothing but four walls. It was, however, in a 
sheltered situation, and there was a great deal of burnt 
scrub about to serve for firewood. So we camped there, 
soon made the kettle boil, had tea, and turned into our 
blankets : waking once, however, in the middle of the night, 
I poked my nose out,, and immediately drew it in again. 
It was snowing fart. 

Next morning (Thursday) the snow began thawing, but 
it was the rawest, wettest thaw that can be conceived : in two 
hours or so it began to snow again steadily, and all we 
could do that day was to move the dray on to the top of 
the terrace above where the hut lay, perhaps half-a-mils 
from the hut. We got down a few more comforts, or rather 
necessaries, and rejoiced. 

All that night it snowed, and we were very cold. Next 
day, Friday, still snow all day. By this time the highest 
tussocks were obliterated, and the snow was fully knee-deep 
everywhere, foe it had fallen quietly and kindly, and had 
not drifted. 

Friday night I determined that we would have a nobbier 
aH round, and told the men. who were coming up to build 
my hut, &c. &c, that if they chose to go to the dray and 
fetch a two-gallon cask of brandy which they would find 
there,, they should have some of it. It was no light matter. 
The night was dark, the way was very difficult. The 
terrace was not less than a hundred and fifty feet high, 
and too steep, even when clear of snow, to ascend without 
frequent pauses; full too of small gullies and grips, now 
invisible ; besides, there was some distance between the top, 
of the terrace and the dray ;, but men will brave anything 



32 Our Emigrant. 

for spirits, and in about an hour and-a-half they returned 
in triumph with the little cask. We have got the kettle 
to boil, and are ourselves all ready for a good stiff nightcap. 
The cork won't come out. At last it snakes a little, after 
repeated tugs. It is coming— don't break it — you'll, push 
it in — out — hurrah! I put a little into a pannikin, and 

discovered it to be excellent vinegar. The wretches 

had brought the vinegar cask instead of the brandy. It 
was too late to face a second journey, so we went comfortless 
to bed. That night it snowed as before. 

And all next day it snowed too: then it cleared and 
froze intensely hard ; next morning a hot nor'-wester sprung 
up, and the snow began disappearing before its furnace-like 
blasts. In the evening we moved the dray on over the 
last really difficult place, and on Monday morning crossed 
the river without adventure, and carried it triumphantly 
home : my own country, lying only one thousand four hundred 
feet above the sea, was entirely free of snow, while we 
learnt afterwards that it had never been deeper than four 
inches. There was a little hut upon my run built by another 
person, and tenanted by his shepherd; when he built he 
was under the impression that that piece of land would 
fail to him: when, however, the country was surveyed it 
fell to me. The survey having been completed before 
I started with my dray I was well aware of this, and 
therefore considered myself at full liberty to occupy it, as 
it was a mile and-a-half within my own boundary. We 
did so, and accordingly had a place to lay our heads in 
until we could put up our own buildings. Of course we 
did not turn out the shepherd. The person who had bi^ilt 
this little hut had given orders that if we came up we 
were not to be allowed to enter it, and were to be excluded, 
it possible, vi et armis. We happened unfortunately to 
have more vim and arma on our own side, and had no 
occasion to contest the matter. He was wroth exceedingly, 
and started down to Christ Church to buy the freehold 
of the site, which is one of great beauty and convenience, 
and as he rode one hundred miles, night and day, in 
less than twenty-four hours upon one horse, in order to 
effect his purpose, he naturally expected to succeed. It 
would have been a very serious nuisance to me had he 
done so. I had offered him compensation to go quietly 
off to his own country, but he answered me with threats ; 
and as I saw plainly that he meant buying the land, I did 
exactly the same thing that he did, and also rode down 



Our Emigrant. 33 

to Christ Church, bat borrowing a horse after the first 
fifty miles I left my tired one, and got to Christ Church 
before him. As, by a mere piece of luck for me, my name 
had been entered in the list of those who had business with 
the land commissioners, on the day previously : I settled 
the matter by purchasing the freehold, and with it the little 
hut It would be uninteresting to the general reader were 
I to give full particulars of this, to me, decidedly exciting 
race, and I forbear. I mention it as shewing one of the 
incidents that colonists are occasionally liable to. A good 
many little things happened during that race which were 
decidedly amusing, but they would be out of place here. 
I will return to the Bangitata. 

There is a large flat on either side the Bangitata sloping 
very gently down to the river-bed proper, which is from one 
to two miles across. The one flat belongs to me and the other 
on the north bank of the river to another. The river is 
very easily crossed, as it flows in a great many channels; 
in a fresh, therefore, it is still often fordable. We found 
it exceeding low, as the preceding cold had frozen up the 
sources, and the nor'-wester that followed was of short 
duration, and unaccompanied with the hot tropical rain, 
which causes the freshes. The nor'-westers are vulgarly 
supposed to cause freshes simply by melting the snow upon 
the back ranges. I, however, residing within sight of these, 
and seeing the nor'-wester while he is still among the snowy 
ranges, am in a position to assert definitely that the river 
does not rise more than two or three inches, nor lose its 
beautiful milky blue colour, unless the wind be accompanied 
with rain upon the great range — rain extending generally as 
low down as my own hut. These rains are warm and heavy, 
causing a growth of grass that I have no where seen excelled. 

These nor'-westers are a very remarkable feature in the 
climate of this settlement. They are violent; sometimes 
shaking the very house ; hot, dry, except among the moun- 
tains, and enervating. They blow from two to three hours 
to as many days, and if they last any length of time, 
are generally succeeded by a sudden change to sou'- 
west — the cold, rainy, or snow wind. We catch the nor'- 
west in full force, but are sheltered from the sou'-west, 
which, with us, is a quiet wind, accompanied with gentle 
drizzling but cold rain, and in the winter, snow. 

The nor'-wester is first visible on the river-bed. Through 
the door of my hut at our early breakfast I see a lovely 
summer's morning, breathlessly quiet, and intensely hot, 
VOL. in. D 



34 Our Emigrant. 

Suddenly a little cloud of dust is driven down the river-bed 
a mile and-a-half off; it increases, till one would think 
the river was on fire, and that the opposite mountains were 
obscured by volumes of smoke. Still it is calm with me; 
by and by, as the day increases, the wind gathers strength, 
and extending beyond the river-bed gives the flats on either 
side a benefit: then it catches the downs, and generally 
blows hard till four or five o'clock, and then calms down, 
and is followed by a cool and tranquil night, delightful to 
every sense. If, however, the wind does not cease and 
it has been raining up the gorges, there will be a fresh; 
and if the rain has come down as far as my place, it will 
be a heavy fresh ; while if there has been a clap or two 
of thunder (a very rare occurrence) it will be a fresh in 
which the river will not be fordable. 

The sand on the river-bed is blinding during a nor'- 
wester, filling eyes, nose, and ears, and stinging sharply 
every exposed part. I lately had the felicity of getting a 
small mob of sheep into the river-bed, (with a view of 
crossing them on to my own country) during a nor'-wester. 
There were only between seven and eight hundred, and 
as we were three, with two dogs, we expected to be able 
to put them through ourselves. We did so through the 
two first considerable streams, and then could not get them 
to move on any further. As they paused, I will take the 
opportunity to digress and describe the process of putting 
sheep across a river. 

The first thing is to carefully secure a spot fitted for 
the purpose, for which the principal requisites are: first, 
that the current set for the opposite bank, so that the sheep 
will be carried towards it: sheep cannot swim against a 
strong current, and if the stream be flowing evenly down 
mid channel they will be carried down a long way before 
they land ; if, however, it sets at all towards the side from 
which they started, they will probably be landed by the 
stream on that same side. Therefore the current must flow 
towards the opposite bank. Secondly, there must be a good 
landing place, for the sheep: a spot must not be selected 
where the current sweeps underneath a hollow bank of 
gravel or a perpendicular wall of shingle: the bank on 
to which the sheep are to land must shelve, no matter how 
steeply, provided it does not rise perpendicularly out of 
the water. Thirdly, a good place must be chosen for putting 
them in; the water must not become deep all at once, 
or the sheep won't face it. It must be shallow at the com- 



Our Emigrant. 85 

mencement, so that they may have got too far to recede 
before they find their mistake. Fourthly, there should be 
no tutu in the immediate vicinity of either the place where 
the sheep are put into the river or that on to which they 
are to come out ; for, in spite of your most frantic endeavours, 
you are sure to get some sheep tuted (tutu is pronounced 
toot — the final u not being sounded). These requisites being 
secured, the depth of the water is, of course, a matter of 
no moment; the narrowness of the stream being a point 
of far greater importance. These rivers abound in places 
combining every requisite, and accordingly we soon suited 
ourselves satisfactorily. 

The sheep being mobbed up together near the spot 
where they are intended to enter the water, the best plan 
is to split off a small number, say a hundred or hundred 
and fifty (a smaller mob would be less easily managed), 
dog them, bark at them yourself furiously, beat them, spread 
out arms and legs to prevent their escaping, and raise all 
the unpleasant din about their ears that you possibly can. 
Still they will very likely break through you and make 
back; if so, dog them again, and so on, and in about ten 
minutes a single sheep will be seen eying the opposite 
bank, and evidently meditating an attempt to gain it. Pause 
a moment that you interrupt not a consummation so devoutly 
to be wished, the sheep bounds forward with three or four 
jumps, into mid-stream, is carried down, and thence on to 
the opposite bank ; immediately that one sheep has entered, 
let one man get into the river below them, and splash water 
up at them to keep them from working lower and lower 
down the stream and getting into a bad place ; let another 
be bringing up the remainder of the mob, so that they 
may have come up before the whole of the leading mob 
are over; if this be done they will cross in a string of 
their own accord, and there will be no more trouble from 
the moment when the first sheep entered. 

If the sheep are obstinate and will not take the water, 
it is a good plan to haul one or two over first, pulling 
them through by the near hind leg, these will often entice 
the others on, or a few lambs will encourage their 
mothers to come over to them: this was the plan we 
adopted, and as I said, got the sheep across the first 
two streams without much difficulty. Then they became 
completely silly. The awful wind, so high that we could 
scarcely hear ourselves talk, the blinding sand, the cold 
glacier water, rendered more chilling by the strong wind, 

d2 



86 Our Emigrant 

which, contrary to custom, was very cold, all combined 
to make them quite stupid ; the little lambs stuck up their 
backs and shut their eyes and looked very shaky on their 
legs, while the bigger ones and the ewes would do nothing 
but turn round and stare at us. Our dogs, knocked up 
completely, and we ourselves were somewhat tired and 
hungry, partly from night-watching, and partly from having 
fasted since early dawn, whereas it was now four o'clock. 
Still we must get the sheep over somehow, for a heavy 
fresh was evidently about to come down; the river was 
still low, and could we get them over before dark they 
would be at home. I galloped home to fetch assistance 
and food ; these arriving, by our united efforts we got them 
over every stream, save the last, before eight o'clock, and 
then it became quite dark. The wind changed from very 
cold to very hot, it literally blew hot and cold in the same 
breath. Rain came down in torrents, six claps of thunder 
followed in succession about midnight, and very uneasy 
we all were (thunder is very rare here, I have never before 
heard more than two consecutive claps). Next morning, 
before daybreak, we were by the . river side, and found 
the fresh down, crossed over to the sheep with difficulty, 
found them up to their bellies in water huddled up in a 
mob together, shifted them on to one of the numerous 
islands, where they were secure, and had plenty of feed, 
and with great difficulty recrossed, the river having greatly 
risen since we had got upon its bed. In two days 9 time 
it had gone down sufficiently to allow of our getting the 
sheep over, and we did so without the loss of a single one. 

I hardly know why I have introduced this into an account 
of a trip with a bullock dray; it is, however, a colonial in- 
cident, such as might happen any day. In a life of continual 
excitement one thinks very little of these things, and when 
they are over one is no more impressed with the notion 
that there has been anything odd about them than a reading 
man is when he takes a constitutional between two and four, 
or goes to hear the University sermon. They may, however, 
serve to give English readers a glimpse of some of the 
numerous incidents which, constantly occurring, in one 
shape or other, render the life of a colonist not only en- 
durable but actually pleasant. 

CELLARIUS. 



THETIS. 



Alone with her great sorrow, — in a cave 
Clov'n in the mighty rocks, — a lonesome cave, 
Haunt of the sullen blasts and wailing surge. 
The queenly Thetis laid her down to mourn 
Her desolation; and the tangled sedge 
Trailed its chill fibres o'er her shining limbs, 
And stained the silvery feet, torn with rough stones, 
That once had sped in glad career, more bright 
Than gleam of halcyon's wing, along the isles, 
That crown the proud jEgean; and her cry 
Disconsolate was as the cry of one 
Whose hope is crushed for ever, and whose bane 
Is immortality that only brings 
An immortality of utter woe. — 

"Ah mine own Son!" she cried, "mine own, whom Fate, 
More pitiless than rudest storms, more hard 
Than pointed rocks to bark in midmost sea, 
Hath ravished from my love! Vainly, I say, 
Oh vainly, did I boast that I had borne thee 
Fairer than sons of men, yea, peer for him, 
High Leto's ray-crowned scion; for the end 
Hath come, as black as midnight thunder-cloud, 
And wrapt thee in its shadow. All in vain 
I watched the brightness of thy glory grow 
When rough Scamander's tawny wave scarce stayed 
Thy prowess, leaping on thy mailed knees 
All purple with the slain, or when thy car 
Dragged Troy's proud chieftain through the shameful dust, 
'Neath Pergamos, and stained the waving curls 
Andromache had loved to toy withal. 

Now know I why, when Pelion's caverns shook 
With loud acclaim of the assembled gods, 
There crept about my heart a deadly cold, 
And in mine ears an inarticulate wail 
Rang ever, like the mournful whisperings 
Prisoned in wreathen shells that deck the halls 
Of Nereus' azure palaces. — Ah me! 



88 Thetis. 

They called me blest, they sang me fair, they deemed 
'Twas better in Thessalian halls to reign 
Than dwell a virgin daughter of the deep. 
But ne'er was lonely maid so lone as I, 
Ill-starred, whom neither the crisp morning waves. 
Nor crystal grottoes silvered by the moon, 
Nor dance of Nereids, nor the witching tones 
Of ocean shell may ever glad again, 
Weighed down with an eternal load of woe. 

Oh Death, cold horror, that didst clasp my son, 
And chill the bounding pulses of his life, 
Would I could take thee to mine arms, and clasp thee 
As a cold bridegroom till thy chillness stole 
Into mine heart, that I might die with him! 
Then would we wander o'er the solemn fields, 
And drink of sluggish Lethe, and in shade 
Of secret myrtle-groves lead calmest lives 
And reck not of the glories that are past." — 

So mourned she in the ocean solitudes, 
Oft till the midnight stars peered coldly in 
Through rifted chasms above her, but her plaint 
Arose unpitied, for the iron Fates 
Bar with stern hand the portals of the grave. 

C. S. 



•£ q* q* 
* * 



AFTEB-HAIL REFLECTIONS. 



QN coming oat of hall one rainy afternoon at the beginning 
of my second year I was met by a freshman, an old 
school-friend, who thus addressed me: "My good fellow, 
what on earth is the matter with you? Where ever have 
you been? The clouds above are nothing to those that 
are now obscuring your usually beaming face." "Don't 
be such a fool/' replied I, "cease your chaff and listen 
to my grievance. I changed my seat in hall to-day, and 
found myself in a nest of high mathematical men, who 
did nothing but talk of sines and cosines." 

" There you are again, always crying down mathematics. 
If you had not sat there, you would have got among some 
classical men. Besides who asked you to sit there? Not 
they, I warrant. Tou really have a monomania on the 
subject of shop : you had better give us your wise criticisms 
on shop proper and shop improper, in the next Number 
of The Eagle." 

"Very well, if you will read them." So here they 
are offered to the indulgent public, just as they came upper- 
most. I sat down in my arm-chair and tried to arrange 
my subject under heads, but finding that no hydra ever 
had more, I soon gave up that idea and burst forth into 
the following philosophical treatise. 

"Le moi est haissable," said a garrulous Frenchman, 
and no more have I heard of his sayings. Did he never 
talk shop, think you ? 

Are we really to suppose that that wise man never 
alluded to any subject in which he felt personal concern? 
that he was silent altogether, or that he only conversed 
on matters of general interest ? Ah, there it is again, that 
odious objection of my friend B — , that the amount of 
shop varies inversely as the amount of information your 
neighbour or neighbours have acquired, that shop is com- 
parative and subjective. Confound him! he is always 



40 After-Hall Reflections. 

taking away my grievances. Subjective indeed! that is 
his euphemism for a concoction of my brain ; he shall not 
do me of this grievance. I will be more special, less philo- 
sophical. Well reader, I — that is— (as I7i* Eagle some- 
times reminds its readers), I, not personal, but legible, am 
not a boating-man. I go out to tea with an enthusiastic 
freshman. Enter a few second year men, one of whom 
comes up to my host, and says, "Now B — , you really 
must catch the beginning; you might as well have gone 
to Caius, if you don't attend to our coaches better. And 
there's that other man, who will not go forward, and keeps 
his back as round as a rifleman's; he'll never make an 
oar ; I wonder what brings such a fellow up here." Then 
follows a discussion of the chances of the college four, a 
matter of wider interest, and so on up and down the river, 
till you go to bed, and do not dream of boating. 

Again "I" am a classical man. I have been reading 
from nine till two, and some one, thinking to interest me 
in hall, talks of the readings of such and such a passage, 
the beauties of this or that author, or who will do what 
in the tripos. Let such a man know he is mistaken, — his 
charms come to deaf ears : I own 1 like my own shop in 
its place, but there are times and seasons for all kinds of 
conversation, and hall is not the place for such a kind; 
particularly when my two friends on the other side of the 
table are obliged to console themselves with the theory 
that, after all, hall is not the place for talking, but eating. 

Of mathematical shop B — has advised me not to speak, 
as it excites me too much. I therefore refrain. 

Rifle corps' shop has hardly obtained at all in the Uni- 
versity, so I need not discuss that, save only to congratulate 
my readers on its absence, for of all shops it is the least 
generally interesting. 

At this moment my pertinacious friend B — enters the 
room, and deliberately reads all I have written. 

" So this is your first landing-place, is it V 9 says he, 
"you are a nice mass of contradictions. It is you and 
such as you who by a perpetual abuse of shop drive 
men to form sets, boating-tables, scholars'-tables, mathe- 
matical-corners, classical-corners; and yet you are always 
saying the College is not shaken up enough. It is merely 
because classics is in a minority, that you are so discontented. 
What would you ever have men talk about ?" 

I certainly was in a fix; so I contented myself with 
observing that of course in a big college there must be sets. - 



After-Hall Reflections. 41 

" Never mind about sets ; we pretty well agree in wishing 
to mix them up ; but how are we to do it ? The College 
is large enough to divide into sets, but not large enough 
to mix them up again. Once divided, they are 60 closely 
packed that they cannot move about, and so they get welded 
closer and closer together, till you know nothing about 
your next door neighbour, because he happens to be in 
a different set." 

" Well of course it is a great thing to have a man who 
associates with a great many sets, to throw out a connecting 
link, as our Captain would call it, between our skirmishers' 
in the University society and our hard-reading or gate- 
keeping reserve." 

" Ah, I have it ! the University is the great mixing bowl, 
which ought to keep our sets together more than at present, 
by rubbing off their respective angles, and lodging them, 
like smooth pebbles, at the bottom of the stream." 

"That is just what old S — was saying the other day 
when he was up from Oxford; he could not see any Uni- 
versity here : there were two or three very jolly Colleges, 
but he did not believe in the existence of an University 
at all." 

S€ Well, how did you try to prove that it does exist?" 

" Oh, I took him to the Union, and set him down there ; 
and the first thing he noticed was, that each College had 
a separate gown, and so I showed him the B.A. gown, 
and told him we had different nurses, but the same alma 
mater, and all wore her livery in the end. Then he asked 
me if our fellowships were open: I must confess I was 
stumped there: so I requested him not to wander from 
the first point of discussion, but to look on the Union as 
an emblem of University feeling." 

" Did that convince him V 

"Unfortunately there was an election for some officer 
going on, so S — sidled up to the voting-table and watched 
the votes. To my disgust he discovered that the Trinity 
men, all but two, voted for the Trinity candidate, and 
the Johnians for the Johnian." 

"Here," says he triumphantly, "I perceive a law.** 
If it had not been for a debate on Lord Palmerston, in 
which the Johnians did not take the liberal side, I believe 
he would have thought that our political feelings were 
equally sectionalized." 

"There is however a great work going on in places 
like the Union, where men of different Colleges meet and 



42 After-Hall Reflection. 

debate and see one another, and read 'matters of general 
interest/ as yon would say." 

" Yes, I do believe in the Union, whatever people think : 
I wish I were a swell speaker, and I would convene the 
freshmen, and lecture them on its importance/' 

"I am afraid we shall have to wait till we have got 
anew building, before we attempt to bring about a general 
move Unionward. It really is a foul shame to have such 
a room for such an University/ 9 

"No, no, fill this room first, and then you will shew 
all the importance of the move." 

"That argument did not answer with our chapel; we 
had to wait till it began to empty again, before there waa 
a move to build another." 

"Never mind; the move has been made, so feel grateful 
to those who have made it. Talking of chapel, I shall be 
late to-night, if I am not quick, so farewell." 

" Good bye — all sets will meet there at least" 

Reader of The Eagle, if you reach the end of this 
rambling discourse, do not be angry with me; it expresses 
my convictions; they may be different from yours; what 
if they are ? Give them a thought, or refute them. They 
may be written in a chaffy strain. But more grain escapes 
with chaff than people think of. Again these remarks may 
be trite: but are there not seventy men who have just 
come up to educate themselves within our walls ? 

May these remarks find some response in their minds. 

B. 



* 



wmfomr£\r&yrm 



HOPE. 



The white mist in the valley creeps, 
And on the mountain's shoulder bare 
Awhile the brooding tempest sleeps, 
Then breaks in thunder there. 

But far above, the snowy pikes 
Are ever beautiful with light; 
Before the dawn the sunlight strikes 
Their ice caves sparkling bright. 

They flash like lightning at day-break, 
Like diamonds in the glowing noon; 
At sunset burn like fire, and take 
Pale splendours from the moon. 

He watches them from vineyard gates, 
Far off among the ripening grapes ; 
With him a band of spirits waits, 
Sweet voices, heavenly shapes, 

And joying, more than mortals glad ; 
Save only one, the fairest far, 
Whose brow is clear and pale and sad, 
As the sweet evening star. 

Long lingered they beside the streams, 
And long thro' winding pathways strayed; 
By twisted branches quaint as dreams 
With sun-gold overlaid. 

But now beyond the land of vines, 
They come — to where the upland heaves, 
With golden corn in waving lines, 
Or bound in nodding sheaves. 

Now onward press the shining band, 
And ever eager lead the way, 
To where the western summits stand, 
The limit of the day. 



44 Hope. 

Onward, and past the land of corn, 
And upward thro 9 the shadowing woods, 
To where the pine trees crest the horn. 
And fringe the mountain flood. 

Still on they lead, but more and more 
The wearied traveller halts below, 
Till their white robes far on before, 
Are lost against the snow. 

But one remains, the fairest far; 
She takes the traveller by the hand, 
And points where near yon rising star 
His bright companions stand: 

Already have they reached the height. 
They will not turn, but wait him there, 
And Hope inspires him at the sight. 
The upward way to dare. 

The boundary line of Ice is crossed, 
The last dwarf pines are left below, 
His wearied limbs are stiff with frost, 
And sinking in the snow. 

The sharp rocks pierce his bleeding feet, 
Her shining robe with blood she soils, 
Yet bends on him a smile so sweet, 
As lightens all his toils. 

On her supporting arm he rests, 
With her the weary way is past; 
Sweep Hope, of all our heavenly guests 
The fairest, and the last ! 





O © 

© Q © 

V 



JOMIAN WOBTHIES. No. I. 
Roger Ascham. 



[I purpose, should the plan and its execution meet with the 
approval of the Committee and the Subscribers at large, to con- 
tribute to the pages of The Eagle biographical sketches of a few of 
the most eminent men who have gone forth from St. John's, and 
whose influence has been felt in the world's history. I shall endea- 
vour to select names which will be familiar to all, while at the 
same time the record of their lives is either not accessible to the 
general reader, or is in a form too bulky for ordinary perusal. 
The latter qualification will, to a certain extent, be interfered with 
by Mr. Cooper's excellent work, the Athena Cantabrigienses, now 
in course of publication, but the space which I shall have at my 
disposal, will enable me to enter into more detail than is possible 
within the limits of an article in such a work. Should my present 
effort meet with success, I shall possibly in another Number attempt 
a life of William Cecil, Lord Burghley.] 

J^EVER in modern times has there been so rapid a de- 
velopement of intellectual power, as that which followed 
the revival of letters. If I may be allowed to apply, though 
more minutely, the analogy which Dr. Temple has drawn 
between the developement of the nation and of the individual, 
it was as the freshness which follows upon a long slumber. 
Awakened by the dawning of a new day from the long 
night's sleep of the dark ages, the minds of Europeans, of our 
countrymen in particular, showed an unwonted vigour; 
the delight of fulfilling the healthy functions of life seems to 
have filled them almost to intoxication, an intoxication which 
found its vent at times in the extravagances and" quaint con- 
ceits of a Spenser or a Sidney. The pulse of mental life 
beat fast and warm, and no era of subsequent progressive 
developement is likely in its catalogue of lasting names to 
rival the sudden growth of the age of a Cecil, a Bacon, 
a Shakespeare. 

The Revival of Letters and the Reformation mutually 



46 Johnian Worthies. 

influenced each other. As it was the diffusion of the know- 
ledge of Greek which helped to clear the truths of the New 
Testament from the thick coat of error with which they were 
overlaid, so it was the crusade waged by some of the Re- 
formers, with Melancthon at their head, against the attempts 
of Borne to shackle men's minds, that mainly contributed 
to support the cause of letters. Nowhere was this influence 
more prominent than in our own University, where many, 
by reading the New Testament in the original, were led to 
embrace the so-called new doctrines. Amongst them was 
Roger Ascham, the subject of the present article. 

Roger the son of John and Margaret Ascham, was born 
at Kirkby Wiske, in Richmondshire, in or about the year 
1515. His father was steward to Lord Scrope of Bolton; 
his mother appears to have satisfied Pericles' idea of woman's 
excellence, and to have been one whose name for praise or 
blame was little mentioned among men. After living together 
in the closest affection forty-seven years, they died in the 
same day, almost in the same hour.* Roger was educated in 
the house of Sir Humphrey Wingfield, who " ever loved 
and used to have many children brought up in learninge in 
his house" ; his tutor being a Mr. R. Bond, who had charge 
of Sir Humphrey's sons. While here he showed a marked 
taste for English reading, and also laid the foundation of 
that skill in archery, which afterwards produced the " Toxo- 
philu8".t The advantages offered to him by this connexion 
would be seized on the more readily, seeing that, if we may 
believe his own account, the grammar-schools were at that time 
in a very unsatisfactory state. He remarks in the School" 
master (p. 31, verso) "I remember when I was yong, in 
the North, they went to the Grammer Schoole little children ; 
they came from thence great lubbers ; alwayes learning, and 
little profiting; learning without booke everything, under- 
standing within the booke little or nothing." 

Through the influence, probably, of Dr. Nicholas 
Medcalfe, then Master of St. John's, who was himself a 
native of Richmondshire, Ascham was entered in this College 
in 1530. We have but few details of his life as an under- 
graduate. His tutors were one Hugh Fitzherbert, of whom 
little else is known, and John Gheke, afterwards tutor and 

* Aschami Epist. I. 5. 

f Bennet's Ascham, 154, 5. The name, as given here and in 
the edition of 1571 is Humphrey. Grant, who is followed by sub- 
sequent biographers, calls him Anthony, (p. 5, Ed. 1703.) 



Johnian Worthies. 47 

Secretary of State to Edward VI, With the latter, he read 
daring his residence in Cambridge all Homer, Sophocles 
and Euripides, Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Isocrates 
and Plato, and was hoping to read Aristotle and Demos- 
thenes, when Cheke was called away to take charge of the 
education of Prince Edward. Among his chief friends were 
Day, Redman, Grindal, Smith, Haddon and Pember. The 
last-named commends him for his practice of reading some 
author in Greek to a class of boys ; telling him that he would 
learn more Greek by thus reading one of jEsop's fables, than 
if he were to hear the whole of the Iliad translated into , 
Latin* by the most accomplished scholar. 

The life of a scholar here was then no time of luxurious 
ease. Thomas Lever, afterwards Master of this College, 
preaching at St. Paul's Cross in 1550, and pleading the 
cause of the Universities, gives no alluring picture of it. 
He says, " A smalle number of poore godly dylygent studentes 
nowe remaynynge only in Colleges (i.e. not in Hostels), be 
not able to tary and continue their studye in y e Universitye 
for lacke of exibicion and healpe. There be divers ther 
which rise dayly betwyxt foure and fyve in the mornynge, 
and from fyve untyll syxe of the clocke, use commen prayef 
wy th an exhortacyon of God's worde in a common chappell, 
and from syxe unto ten of the clocke use ever eyther private 
study or commune lectures. At ten of the clocke they go to 
dynner, where as they be contente with a penye piece of 
biefe amongest iiii., havinge a fewe potage made of the broth 
of the same biefe, wyth sake and otemel, and nothynge elles. 
After this slender dinner they be eyther teacnynge or 
learnynge untyll v. of the clocke in the evening, when as 
they have a supper not much better than theyr dynner. 
Immediatelye after the whyche they go eyther to resonynge 
in problemes, or unto summe other studye, untyl it be nine 
or tenne of -the clocke, and there beyng without fyre, are 
faine to walk or runne up and downe haulfe an houre, to 
gette a heate on theyr fete when they got to bed." f 

Dr. Medcalfe appears to have shewn to Ascham consi- 
derable kindness, as was his wont to those who showed 
" either will to goodness, or wit to learning;" indeed, it may 
be from his own experience that he is speaking, when he 

* Enarratam Latvne, (Grant) which possibly conveys the idea of 
a lecture. 

t Those who are curious about some University Customs of the time 
may consult Dr. Caius' book. Hut. Acad. Cantab, p. 91, Ed. 1574. 



48 Johnian Worthies. 

says, "I am witness myself that monie many times was 
brought into yong mens studies by 6trangers whom they 
knew not." The Master, though himself a strict Papist, 
showed all favour to those who pursued the " new learning," 
and, as Fuller says, " whetstone-like, though dull in himself, 
by his encouragement set an edge on most excellent wits in 
that foundation." Ascham was admitted B.A. on the 18th 
of February* 1534, and soon afterwards sat for a fellowship, 
to which he was elected under singular circumstances. His 
reading of the Greek Testament had made him dissatisfied 
with Romanism, nor had he made any secret of his views. 
At the same time that he " stood to be fellow," Dr. Heynes 
the President of Queens', and Dr. Skip, afterwards Master of 
Gonville Hall, were sent to Cambridge by the Court to preach 
in favour of the king's supremacy. For the rest Ascham shall 
tell his own tale. " I chanced amonges my companions to 
speake against the Pope ; my taulke came to D. Medcalfe's 
eare : I was called before hym and the Seniours ; and after 
greevous rebuke, and some punishment, open warning was 
geeven to all the felowes, none to be so hardie to geeve me hys 
voyce at that election. And yet for all these open threates, 
the good father hymselfe privilie procured, that I should 
even then be chosen felow. But, the election being done, 
he made countenance of great discontentation thereat."* 

He was admitted fellow on the 26th of March, 1534, and 
proceeded to the degree of M.A. with some eclat on the 
Wednesday after St. Peter's day, 1537. For the next eleven 
years he appears to have been chiefly resident in Cambridge, 
reading in private with pupils, and delivering public lectures 
in Greek in the College, and in the University, previously to 
the appointment of a Regius Professor in 1540. In 1540-41, 
we find him also Mathematical Lecturer in the University. 
Somewhere about this time he must have been absent from 
Cambridge for two years, for we have an account of a visit 
home, during which he was laid aside for that time by an 
attack of quartan fever. In July, 1542, he applied to Ox- 
ford for incorporation, but we do not know with what success. 
In 1544 appeared his first English work, entitled Tozophilus, 
the schole, or partitions of shooting. This book which was 
dedicated to Henry VIII. and presented to him in the gallery 
at Greenwich, had a threefold object ; 1st, to set the example 
of writing in English ; 2ndly, to reply to those who blamed 
him for his devotion to Archery ; 3rdly, to obtain such help 

* Schoolmaster, p. 54. 



Johnian Worthies. 49 

from the king as should enable him to fulfil his wish for 
foreign travel. Through the recommendation of Sir W. 
Paget and Sir W. Petre, he obtained his third object in 
a pension of £10 per annum granted to him by the king. 

The history of this pension is somewhat amusing. It was 
" revived by the goodness of King Edward VI., and con- 
firmed by his authority." Ascham adds, that " he did in- 
crease it by his liberality ;" but as he speaks in the same 
letter of the " old sume of tenn poundes," and makes no 
mention of any change in his application to Gardiner for its 
second renewal, I infer that the increase came only from the 
king's private purse. The patent was however renewed by 
Edward only " durante voluntate," and Ascham on his return 
from the continent in 1553, having "crept without care into 
debt, by the hope which he had bothe to be rewarded for 
his service, and also to receive his pension due at Michaelmas 
of that year/' was somewhat surprised to find the payment 
of it stopped. At the close of that year, or the beginning of 
the next, he writes to Bishop Gardiner, the Lord Chancellor, 
urging his claims upon the Queen for some support One is 
rather surprised at the way in which the court payments 
were managed in those days. " I was sent for," he says, 
u many times to teache the King to wryte, and brought him 
before a xi yeres old to wryte as fayre a hand, though I say 
yt, as any child in England, as a lettre of his owne hand 
dothe declare, which I kept as a treasure for a wy tnes of my 
service, and will showe yt your L. whensoever you will. 
But what ill luck have I that can prove what paines I tooke 
with his highnes, and can showe noe profite that I had of his 
goodnes. Yea I came up dyvers times by commaundment to 
teach him, when each jorney for my man and horses would 
stand me in 4 or 5 marks, a great charge for a poore student* 
And yet they that were aboute his Grace were so nigh to 
themselves, and so farr from doing good to others, that not 
only my paines were unrewarded, but my verie coaste and 
charges were unrecompensed, which thing then I smallye 
regarded in his nonage, trusting that hd himself should one 
daie reward me for all."* 

There is another letter to Gardiner which is so amusing 
that I may be pardoned for quoting more fully. 

"My singuler good lord, in writeing out my patent 
I have left a vacant place for your wisedome to value the 

* Asoham to Gardiner. Communications to the Comb. Antiq. 
Soe. 1. 100. 

VOL. III. E 



50 Johnian Worthies. 

su'me, wherein I trust to find farther favour; lor I hare 
both good cause to aske itt, and better hope to obtayne itt, 
partly in considerac'on of my unrewarded paines and undis- 
charged costes, in teaching king Edward's person, partly 
for my three yeares service in the Emperor's cort, but 
cheifely of all when king Henry first gave itt me at 
Greenwiche; your lo'pp in the gallorye there asking me 
what the king had given me, and knoweing the truth* 
your lo'pp said it was too litle and gently offired to speake 
to the kinge for more. •••••• And I beseech your 

lo'pp see what good is offired me in writeing the patent, the 
space w'ch is left by chance doth seem to crave by good 
lucke some wordes of lengthe, as viginti or triginta, yea 
with the help of a litle dashe quadraginta wold serve best 
of all. But sure as for decern it is somewhat with the 
shortest ; nevertheless I for my parte shalbe noe less con- 
tented with the one then glad for the other, and for either 
of both more then bound to your lo'pp."* 

His plan was so far successful that the word ' viginti' was 
written for ' decern. 9 In a letter to Queen Elizabeth, dated 
at Windsor, October 10, 1567, after relating with some glee 
the success of this trick, he prays the Queen's goodness to 
ask of the Queen's highness that as her three predecessors 
had each bettered the other, so she would make these bene- 
factions, which were not so large as that he could out of 
them make any provision for his children, to be continued 
to his sons, by granting to one the form of Salisbury Hall, 
near Walthamstow, of which he had a lease from Queen 
Mary, and to the other the living of Wicklyfourd (poss* 
Wicnford, in the Isle of Ely) which had been left him by 
his mother-in-law. 

But to return to the regular course of our history. On 
the removal of Cheke from Cambridge, in July, 1546, by 
his appointment as tutor to Prince Edward, Ascham was 
elected to succeed him as Public Orator. He had previously 
been employed to write letters for the University, for which 
he possessed an eminent qualification in his penmanship. 
Mention has been already made of his teaching Edward VI. 
to write : he also instructed Elizabeth and the two Brandons 
in the same accomplishment. On the fly-leaves of a copy 
of Osorius de NobUitate Civili in the College Library is an 



* Ascham to Gardiner. Whitaker's History of BiehmondsMre, 
Vol. i., p. 274. 



Johnian Worthies. 51 

autograph letter from him to Cardinal Pole, which is cer- 
tainly a beautiful specimen of caligraphy. 

In November or December, 1548,* a disputation was 
held in the Chapel of St. John's on the question of the 
identity of the Mass with the Lord's Supper, which was 
" handled with great learning by two learned fellows of the 
House, Thomas Lever and Roger Hutchinson." The sen- 
sation caused thereby was not confined to the College, and 
many took offence at the discussion, whereupon Ascham 
was prevailed upon by the rest of the Society to "bring 
this question out of the private walls of the College into 
the public Schools :" but Dr. Madew, the Vice-Chancellor, 
stopped the disputation. 

Ascham's residence in Cambridge appears not to have 
agreed with his health. To sustain it he was obliged to 
give much time to archery. But even with this healthy 
exercise, his constitution, which was naturally weak, and 
had never recovered the effects of the quartan fever, found 
the damp of the fens very trying. We have a letter ad- 
dressed by him to Archbishop Cranmer, asking for a dis- 
pensation to enable him to eat no fish, stating his inability 
to change his place of abode, and arguing the point both on 
its own merits and as a relic of Popery. A second letter 
informs us that Cranmer acceded to his request, and sent him 
the dispensation, free of all charge, through Dr. Taylor, 
then Master of the College.f 

Of his means of support during his residence here we 
have but little account. Dr. Lee, the Archbishop of York, 
gave him a pension of 40*. per annum. One of the works 
on which Ascham was engaged while in Cambridge was a 
translation of CEcumenius' Comment on the Epistle to Titus, 
a copy of which he presented to Lee, through his brother, 
not being admitted himself to see him owing to his illness. 
The book was sent back " non sine munere," but the Arch- 
bishop took serious offence at a comment on the words, 
" the husband of one wife," which characterized as heretics 
those who condemned marriage. This was too much for 
Lee, who was a bigoted Romanist, but it is doubtful whether 
it seriously affected Ascham's interests, as the illness in 

* EpisL m. 35, dated January 5, 1548. "Dr. Madew being 
mentioned as Vice -Chancellor in this letter, there must be a mis- 
take in the date. He was Vioe-Chancellor in 1546 and part of 
1547, but in no part of 1548." Note in Mr. Baker's hand. 

f Aschami EpisL, n., 51, 53. 

E2 



52 Johnian Worthies. 

question proved fetal, and Ascham, in a letter to Cheke, 
laments that by the death of His Grace of York he suffered 
a serious diminution of income * 

Early in his career he had to part with his old friend 
and patron. Dr. Medcalfe, who was compelled by a con- 
spiracy amongst the junior fellows to resign his Mastership, 
and retire to his benefice of Woodham Ferrers, where he 
survived only a few months. The cause of dissatisfaction 
is not known, "only,** says Fuller ,t "let not his enemies 
boast, it being observed that none thrived ever after who 
had a hand in Medcalfe's ejection, but lived meanly and 
died miserably. This makes me more confident, that neither 
master Cheke, nor master Ascham, then Fellows of the 
College, had any hand against him; both of them being 
well known afterwards to have come to good grace in the 
commonwealth." 

From Ascham's words quoted above, I think we may 
infer that while he acted as joint tutor to Edward, he still 
was in residence at Cambridge. But in the year 1548, upon 
the death of his former pupil, William Grindal, he was 
chosen by the Princess Elizabeth to be her tutor. Writing 
to Cheke on the 12th of February,? he states that the 
Princess was minded to bestow upon him all the heritage 
of her affection for Grindall, and in his perplexity, loth to 
leave his quiet life in St. John's, and loth to refuse so 
complimentary an offer, asks Cheke's counsel, as to what 
he shall do. We may assume that it was favourable to the 
proposal, for he accepted the post, and removed to Sir 
Anthony Denys' house at Cheshunt, where the Princess 
then lived. She was but sixteen, and yet in the couple of 
years that Ascham was with her, they read through nearly 
the whole of Cicero, a good part of Livy, some select 
Orations of Isocrates, the Tragedies of Sophocles, and, for 
divinity, the Greek Testament, Cyprian, and Melancthon's 
Common P laces. § The Princess every morning did a double 
translation from Demosthenes or Isocrates, and the afternoon 
from Tully.ll I should infer from the tone of a letter 
addressed to W. Ireland, a Fellow of St. John's, and dated 



* Aschami Epist., n«, 1, 5, 6, 15. 

f History of Cambridge, vn., 1-3, (p. 168, ed. Tegg, 1840). 

t Aschami Epist, n«, 40. 

§ Ibid, i., 2. 

|| Schoolmaster, p. 35. 



Johnian Worthies, 53 

July 8, 1549, that the change was not congenial to him. 
He appears, whether from any fault of his own we do not 
know, to have made enemies in the Princess' household, 
who not only made him uncomfortable themselves, but 
poisoned Elizabeth's ears against him. About the beginning 
of 1550 he suddenly left his post, and returned to Cam- 
bridge. His own account is that he was driven to resign 
through no fault of his own, but by the ill-treatment he 
received not from the Lady Elizabeth herself, but from her 
Steward. That there is some secret involved appears from 
the fact that he will not entrust the matter to writing, but 
in two letters, one to Sir John Cheke, the other to Lady 
Jane Grey, says, "that if he should meet the former or 
Mr. Aylmer, the tutor of the latter, he would pour out 
his grief." On this point however he is clear, that no blame 
could be attributed to the Princess herself. Elizabeth, ever 
prompt to take offence, was piqued at this apparent slight. 
Ascham applied to Martin Bucer, who had lately come to 
England, and was then at Lambeth, to use his influence to 
reinstate him in the Princess* favour; but owing to the 
illness of Bucer, these good offices were delayed, and it 
was not till Ascham left England some nine months later 
that a reconciliation was effected. He then called on 
Elizabeth to bid her farewell, and she at once shewed her 
forgiveness by asking him why he had left her and made 
no effort to be restored to her favour* 

In April of the same year (1550) we find him again 
at St. John's, where he resumed his Greek Lecture and 
his work as Public Orator, which latter office must have 
been supplied meanwhile by a deputy. He was also at 
this time keeper of the king's library, but the date of his 
appointment does not appear. In the summer he visited 
his friends in Yorkshire, whence he was summoned, at 
the instance of Sir John Cheke, to take the office of Secretary 
to Sir Richard Morysine, who was proceeding on an embassy 
to the Emperor Charles V. It was on this journey to 
London that he called at Broadgate in Leicestershire, and 
found Lady Jane Grey reading Plato's Phcedo, while the 
rest of the party were out hunting. He has told the story 



* Aschami Epist., n., 43, in., 5, 7. This I think the fairest 
account. Some persons believe that Ascham simply got tired of 
Court life. Miss Strickland states erroneously that his sudden 
removal was owing to some disturbances in his own family. 



54 Johnian Worthies. 

in The Schoolmaster (p. 12, verso). The number of learned 
ladies in that age is quite wonderful. Lady Jane is to 
my mind a standing protest against the notion, that a 
girl cannot be " blue" without losing her true womanliness. 

Of the first part of Ascham's sojourn abroad we have 
a connected account in a series of letters addressed to his 
friends Edward Raven and William Ireland, fellows of St. 
John's. They are interesting as showing his powers of 
observation as well as for the facts which they relate, but 
were I to pretend to give their substance, I should trespass 
far beyond the necessary limits of this paper ; I must there- 
fore content myself with referring the more curious of my 
readers to the letters themselves. They will be found in 
Aschami Epist. in. 1 — 4. Bennet's Ascham, 869, sqq. 
Tytler's History of England under Edward VI. and Mary, 
Vol. ii. pp. 124, sqq. Ascham also embodied the result of 
his observation of continental politics, &c. in a Report and 
Discourse of the Affaires of Germany, published in 1552. 

He seems meanwhile to have been in great uncertainty 
as to his future plans in England. In a letter to Cecil 
'(Spires, September 22, 1552) he makes a strong appeal 
for provision in one of three ways ; either to be allowed 
to continue his Greek Lecture at St. John's without being 
bound by any statutes, (which would appear to be one of 
the shadows which coming events cast before them, for he 
was married within two years)— or to undertake some post 
at court, — or to remain abroad and serve his country at 
some foreign court. From a subsequent letter we gather 
that some court appointment was being found for him, 
(possibly the Latin Secretaryship, which he afterwards had) 
but impediments had been put in the way; so he presses 
still his first application, which does not seem to have suc- 
ceeded.* 

On his return to England in September, 1553, he found 
the state of affairs changed. Edward VI. was dead, Lady 
Jane Grey beheaded, protestantism already practically under 
ban. But he had a friend at court, who now stood him 
in good stead. On the death of Lee, he had attached himself 
to Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, who in the latter part 
of Henry's reign, and during that of Queen Mary, was 
Chancellor of this University. The Bishop was true to 

* European Magazine, Vol. xxin. 89, 157. In one of these 
letters, he asks permission to converse with the Pope's nuncio's 
men, which he had hitherto refrained from doing. 



Johnian Worthies. 55 

him through all the storms of the Marian persecution, and 
upheld his cause against some who were most anxious for 
his downfall. 

During his residence in Germany, Ascham had been 
appointed to be the king's Secretary for the Latin tongue, 
which appointment seems to have been filled for a time 
by a Mr. Vanes, to whom Ascham acted as deputy, dividing 
the fees. His duties required him to leave Cambridge and 
come to live in London, a step which added seriously to 
his expenditure. He writes to Sir W. Petre preferring a 
request for some further provision, which was answered 
by a proposal to induct him to a prebend or some eccle- 
siastical office, and, on his declining that, by a lease of a farm 
called Salisbury Hall, near Walthamstow. To Gardiner he 
writes to ask for some deed in writing which shall secure 
him the Secretaryship when vacant, and be a guarantee 
for him in the incurring the expenses of court life. " It is 
my greate griefe," says he, "and some shame that I these 
tenn years, was not able to keepe a maun, being a scholler, 
and now am not able to keepe myselfe being a courtier." 
This application resulted in the issuing of the Queen's letters 
patent on the 7th of May, 1554, granting him the office 
of Secretary "a Latinis" with all the emoluments &c. thereto 
appertaining, at a stipend of forty marks, or a little over 
£20, a-year, and ratifying his old pension. 

During this interval he still held the offices of Greek 
Lecturer at St John's, and Orator in the University, the 
duties of which had been supplied during his absence by 
Raven and Ireland.* He resigned them, however, at Mid- 
summer, 1554, having married on the 1st of June of the 
same year Margaret Howe, a lady considerably younger 
than himself, with whom he lived very happily. In 1555 
he is at Greenwich enjoying literary leisure to the full; 
reading ^Eschines and Demosthenes with the Lady Elizabeth, 
and having frequent opportunities of intimate intercourse 
with the Queen, f It has been cause of great wonder to 
some, that, while professing protestant opinions, Ascham 
should have been left unscathed during the persecutions of 
Mary's reign. He tells us that some persons objected to 
his appointment as Latin Secretary, and we know that 
one Sir Francis Englefield proposed to cite him before 
the council, but was stopped from doing so by Gardiner. 

# Bennet's Atohcm, p. 395. 
f Aschami Epist. I. 11. 



66 Johnian Worthies. 

His religions feelings may possibly have prevented him 
from accepting Petre's proposed prebend: out in spite of 
them he was in great favour not only with the Queen, 
but also with Cardinal Pole, and seems to have enjoyed 
a fair share of worldly prosperity. 

October 9, 1559. Queen Elizabeth, unasked, granted 
to her old tutor the prebend of Wetwang in York Cathedral, 
to which he was admitted on the 11th of March, 1559-60. 
This involved him in a long course of litigation. Archbishop 
Young, by some further dispensation of his own, and pro- 
bably objecting to the appointment of a layman, seems to 
have nullified the Queen's presentation. It is scarcely 
possible from Ascham's letter to Leicester, to make out 
the rights of the case: the letter was, however, effectual 
to its purpose, and the Queen's letters were addressed to 
the Archbishop, directing him to countermand his dispen- 
sation, and institute Ascham, at the same time making him 
amends for the expense he had incurred.* 

Of the latter years of Ascham's life we have scarcely 
any information, save that we find him constantly struggling 
with debt. The lease of Salisbury Farm was pledged to 
one Anthony Hussey to relieve Mrs. Howe, who was left 
at her husband's death in Lent, 1559, in heavy debt, — sub- 
sequently released by a grant from the Queen, — then the 
lease gets into Sackville's hands, and Ascham still in diffi- 
culties, has to apply to Cecil for relief. In a letter dated 
the 18th of January, 1563, he made application to the 
Master, Fellows, and Scholars of St. John's for a lease 
of their farm of Bromehall near Windsor, which was granted 
November 7 of the same year, for forty years, f 

This same year, 1563, is notable in our author's life 
for a meeting which gave birth to The Schoolmaster, the 
most lasting of his English works. On the 1 Oth of December 
in that year, the plague being in London, the Queen was 
at Windsor, and there at a dinner party in Cecil's apartments 
a discussion arose about flogging in schools, and education 
in general, originating in the tidings that "divers scholars 
of Eton be run away from' the school for fear of a beating." 
Sir R. Sackville, who was "present, but took no part in 
the discussion, afterwards entreated Ascham to put into 
an extended form the views which he had advocated, to 



• Whitaker's Richmondshire, I. 285, sqq. 

f Aschami Eput. in. 34, and MS. note of Mr. Baker's. 



Johnian Worthies. 67 

the effect that "young children be sooner allured by love 
than^ driven by beating, to attain good learning. " The 
treatise thus begun expanded into a general system of Classical 
Education, and is interesting, not only as one of the earliest 
specimens of decent English prose, but also for its sound 
common sense. It is a book which will fully repay the reader 
for the time spent on it.* 

Ascham'8 constitution, naturally weak, was much broken 
by frequent attacks of ague, and a hectic fever, which visited 
him in the year in which he died. Imprudently sitting 
up late to finish some Latin verses which he was to present 
to the Queen as a New- Year's gift, and to write some 
letters to his friends, he fell into a lingering disease, which 
Grant calls "gravem morbum," and Whitaker a violent 
attack of ague, from which he never recovered. He died 
on the 30th of December, 1568, in the fifty-third year of 
his age. His last words were, "I desire to depart and 
to be with Christ" He was buried on the 4th of January, 
in St. Sepulchre's Church. Dr. Nowell, the Dean of St. 
Paul's, visited him during his illness, and preached his 
funeral sermon, in which he spoke of his character in the 
highest terms. 

Camden says, " he died in poverty, which he had brought 
on himself by dicing and cock-fighting." • It is to be feared 
that the accusation is true. In The Schoolmaster he says : 
" But of all kinde of pastimes fitte for a jentleman, I will, 
God willing, in fitter place more at large declare fullie 
in my ' book of the Cockpitte,' which I do write to satisfie 
some," &c. (p. 20)f. He displayed a want of firmness in 
the way in which he excused himself to Lee,$ which does 



* See Preface to The Schoolmaster. A new edition of this 
work is now going through the press under the supervision of the 
Rev. J. E. B. Mayor. 

f Cp., also p. 51, where is a selection from the cock-fighting 
vocabulary. I doubt whether Mr. Cooper is warranted by this 
passage (p. 21) in putting this book of the cock-pit in his list 
of Ascham's writings, The Schoolmaster itself being posthumous. 

J There is a strange and almost incredible statement in this 
apology, which altogether is so weak. He says, "So much has 
my mind always shrunk from reading any books, be they in 
English or in Latin, in which some new doctrine might be 
imported, that except the Psalter of David and the New Testa- 
ment, and that in Greek, I have read no book on the Christian 
religion, small or great. Aschami Epist. u. 6. 



«• Johman Worthi*. 

not heighten our opinion of his character, bat it is scarcely 
fair to attribute to a similar cause his freedom from perse- 
cution in the reign of Mary. It were better to say with 
Dr. Johnson, "Nothing is more rain than at a distant time 
to examine the motives of discrimination and partiality; 
for the inquirer having considered interest and policy is 
obliged at last to omit more frequent and more active motives 
of human conduct, caprice, accident, and private affections/ 9 
But with all his failings Ascham was one of the lights 
of his day, and did much to further the revival of learning 
in England: himself deeply attached to study, he seems 
to have had a power of imparting his enthusiasm to others- 
Were it only as tutor to Edward VI. and Elizabeth, every 
Englishman owes him a debt of gratitude, and our College 
in particular may well be proud to have numbered amongst 
its alumni a man like Roger Ascham.* 

R. W. T. 



* I must not omit to acknowledge my obligation to Mr. Cooper's 
Athena, especially for the list of authorities at the end of his 
article, of which I have consulted all such as are accessible. 



XLVI. 

TO HIMSELF, AT SPRING'S COMING. 

(Catullus.) 



Now the Spring with a tepid sweetness hovers, 
Now, a truce to the equinoctial fury, 
Now, the lull of the easy pleasant Zephyrs. 
Up, away, from the Phrygian land, Catullus, 
Leave the bountiful meadows, leave Nicasa; 
Hie away to the famous Asian cities. 
Now the soul in a tremor beats to seek them, 
Now the feet with an eager strength grow restless, 
So, farewell, to the knot of dear companions, 
Ye that each from a distant home come hither, 
Back again with a lonely way to wander. 

A. 







LOST. 



JT almost seems to be a law of nature that what looks 

interesting in theory should be disagreeable in practice. 
How delightful are romantic incidents and romantic situations 
on paper; but how distressing and cold-catching in actual 
fact ! May-day ; moonlight, — sentimental walk in the same. 
Next morning, — rheumatism and bronchitis. Evening 
party; — pathetic and confidential t£te-a-t£tes. Following 
day, — haunted by an unpleasant consciousness of having said 
something hopelessly ridiculous. And so the world wags. We 
pick up a novel, read glowing descriptions of wild luxuriant 
savagedom, and long for the life of a gay roving trapper 
on the prairie. " That's just the sort of thing that would 
suit me," think we, "the excitement of danger and the 
freedom of a trackless waste would be simply enchanting." 
Hair-breadth escapes and physical fatigue all assume a rosy 
hue, and we sigh for a taste of such romantic experiences. 
But softly, O Romancer; a well built house, a cheerful 
fireside, and a happy home, are far more enjoyable than 
any hunter's encampment or half-raw buffalo supper. My 
life has been almost as prosaic as Alison's History of Europe* 
Only one romantic incident has as yet crossed it, and this, 
though a small one, was decidedly " moist and unpleasant" 

It was once my fortune (or rather, misfortune) to be lost. 

"I see," says the sagacious reader, "in London; on 
Salisbury Plain ; in the New Forest." 

Nothing of the kind. I was lost in Greenwich Park. 

On a chill November evening, a few years ago, business 
directed my steps to the picturesque town of Greenwich. 
I accordingly set out, and, having performed my mission, 
about a quarter before six I began to retrace my steps 
by entering the Park at the gate near the circus. Now 
I am not a coward by nature, for I take a cold bath every 
morning through the winter, and none but a brave man 
can do that. Still I must confess, when I entered that Park 



66 Lo$t. 

in the dark, and, what was worse, in the midst of a thick 
London fog, I did feel a little hesitation, which an enemy 
might have called fear. The darkness I did not mind, for 
I had often crossed the Park in the dark; but the fog 
was entirely another matter, and I certainly did not like 
it. Let the reader recall the days of his babyhood, when 
he sat by the nursery fire, and watched the tea-kettle spouting 
away a fizzing column of white steam; let him fancy me 
walking, by some undiscovered method of aerial perambu- 
lation, in the aforesaid steam, and he will have some notion 
of the nature of my trip across the Park. Not a thing 
was visible. Simple darkness was daylight compared to that 
misty blankness. On the darkest night I could see paths 
and trunks of trees, the lights in the Observatory, and the 
direction of my walking. But, in that fog, all was blank, 
invisible, and confusing. 

" Now," thought I, " the Park is but small, and I know 
it as well as I know my own garden. I have only to keep 
in the path, and 'twill be all right" So I valiantly pushed 
on. 

I soon however began to find that I had entered on a very 
awkward business. Scarcely two consecutive steps could 
I take, without finding myself either on the wet grass, 
or affectionately hugging a tree. This latter difficulty was 
certainly no joke, unless indeed a black eye and a contused 
nose be supposed to be of a humourous character. Ships 
running on hidden shoals were quite voluntary agents com- 
pared with me. I invariably had the satisfaction of feeling 
a tree before I saw it ; so that, after a piece of a broken 
branch had suddenly bored a little hole in my cheek, I 
could just ejaculate "Ah, to be sure, another tree," pre- 
cisely in time to be too late. Sometimes my experiences 
would take another direction. I should all at once discover 
I was walking through a miniature lake, and that a little 
cataract was playing picturesquely down the side of each 
boot, and forming little basins within. The fact that all 
this was going on in a manner perfectly invisible to me 
rendered it all the more curious; for I certainly could not 
see anything that took place below the level of my chin. 
Indeed I am not very sure but the circle traced out by 
the apex of my nose was my horizon of vision for the time 
being. At another time I would walk innocently up to 
one of the rough wooden seats by the side of the path, 
and quietly tumble over it. Then, picking myself up, I 
found it a mental operation of some minutes to re-discover 



Lost. 61 

my bearings. Now from the time that as a small boy I 
was under the autocratic dominion of a nurse-maid, I have 
felt the strongest aversion to that species of gymnastic evo- 
lution which consists of a sudden arrest of the lower ex- 
tremities, while the head and other apparatus attached thereto 
travel, in a sort of parabolic curve, to the earth. Of all 
the various styles of tumbling, the face tumble, the back 
tumble, the side tumble, and so forth, there is not one 
to my mind half so irritating as a bond fide hip tumble. 
Such a luxury you can get, in its full perfection, by an 
attempt to walk through a backless seat; and if after ac- 
complishing the feat thoroughly, the experimenter feels 
anything approaching to the amiable, — a blessing on his 
bruised pate for a regularly good-natured fellow ! For my 
own part I am an ordinary mortal, and as I picked up 
my head and bleeding nose from under the seat, I most 
assuredly felt as though I could have annihilated every 
creature connected therewith, from the ranger of the Park 
down to the carpenter's apprentice who hammered the seat 
together. 

This feeling of general benevolence was not diminished 
by the discovery that during my embrace of mother earth, 
my hat had quietly rolled away, and was at that moment 
trundling about somewhere, as happy and contented as a 
creature of so few enjoyments could be. 

It was, I own, an imprudent thing for me to do, to start 
under such circumstances in pursuit of my hat. But does 
it not daily happen that a man faces any danger to recapture 
his hat? Some men will lose a horse, or a bank-note, or 
a case of wine, with tolerable ease and resignation ; but who 
ever saw a man, worthy of the name, calmly relinquish a 
run-a-way hat? No, he leaves the wife of his bosom and 
the children of his love standing helpless on the pavement, 
while he dashes with concentrated recklessness after his 
best Lincoln and Bennet. Ye laughing crowd, ye jeering 
boys, ye sarcastic cabmen, avaunt ! He cares not for your 
laughter, your ridicule, or your anathemas. Yonder he sees 
the glossy velvet one gamboling in the mud, and on that 
prize his every thought is fixed. And he regains it, and 
returns in triumph. Why then should I claim freedom 
from a weakness as extensive as my sex? But this is a 
digression. Thoughtless of fog, of path, of everything, 
I rushed wildly in pursuit Whither I went, I know not. 
The next few minutes are a blank in my existence. This 
much I know, I lost the path, but (oh ! joy) found the hat : 



62 Lost 

My congratulations on my own sagacity were scarcely 
ended, when other thoughts of a more practical description 
obtruded themselves on my mind. They came not in a 
mixed and thronging crowd, as thoughts are sometimes 
supposed to come; but packing themselves up in a most 
gentlemanly manner, they appeared in the modest form of 
a little question ; — " where are you P* This was more than 
I could tell. How many times I had turned round in my 
mad chase, I could not remember ; and as to guessing with 
any reasonable chance of correctness at the bearings of the 
place, — it was out of the question. All I knew was, that 
I stood on the grass somewhere, and that somewhere was 
in Greenwich Park. Suddenly all power of thought seemed 
to leave me, and I became as helpless as a child. The 
white floating steam of the fog was wreathing around me. 
Blankness, unutterable blankness, was on this side and that. 
I had no power of casting about for probabilities, or of 
seizing on any chance of help, supposing such had been 
offered. I felt then for the first time in my life what the 
peasants of the west of England mean by " pixing-led." 
I groped about like an idiot, without motive, object, or 
success. Meanwhile I was conscious of this feeling, and 
was amazed at it. I knew I was helpless, and, — paradoxical 
as it may appear, — I thought on how strangely I was de- 
prived of the power of thinking. I was just in that state, 
that if any one had come to me and said, " Here you are, 
this way," I should not have been able to command the 
necessary mental effort to obey. I reflected on this, and 
at last determined by a vigorous wrench of reason to collect 
my thoughts, if possible, and try to do something. After 
a little time I succeeded sufficiently to make up my mind 
to advance steadily in one direction, till I reached a path. 
This however was a work of some trouble, for huge trees 
came constantly in the way, and every little deflection served 
to render my proceedings less systematic. Every now and 
then I stooped down and swept away the withered leaves to 
feel for the gravel path. But the grass seemed interminable, 
and I began to suspect the melancholy fact that I was me- 
andering in a circle despite all my care. Still I persevered, 
now bouncing up against black gigantic trees; now losing 
them in a moment, and, crawling on hands and feet, in vain 
feeling for the path. I was first getting tired of this style 
of thing, and began seriously to entertain the project of 
climbing a tree, and making my bivouac for the night. 
I was busy considering ways and means, when a shout 



Lost. 63 

attracted my attention. I shouted in reply; and a few 
seconds brought me right up against a fellow-wanderer. 

" Oh, could you kindly tell me," asked the stranger, " my 
shortest way out of the Park V 9 

" I should only be too glad to do so," I replied, " but 
I have not the remotest idea where I am." 

We immediately agreed to join company, and see what 
we could do together. My companion (none of whose 
features I could in the least see) told me that for nearly 
twenty years he had been in the habit of crossing the Park 
from the Railway Station to his house on Maire Hill, and 
that to him the idea of losing his way was too ridiculous to 
be annoying. So we wandered on together, and after 
tumbling over and upon each other several times, at last 
reached some by-path. 

Well this was hopeful anyhow. It required very little 
logical acumen to conclude, that, being evidently a path, it 
must certainly lead somewhere ; so we diligently prosecuted 
it, and finally emerged into one or other of the main avenues. 
Hereupon rose the question as to where the town lay, where 
the Heath. We stood a few minutes debating the point, 
when slowly and distinctly Greenwich parish church struck 
seven. With what delight we heard the sound 1 Face 
about; march. Straight a-head we went, and five minutes 
walking brought us to the Park wall. Then along the 
wall; and finally we passed out through the gate by the 
Naval school. Shortly afterwards my companion and myself 
parted. The fog was still too thick for us to have a look at 
each other ; so we shook hands and separated. I kept close 
to the Park wall as long as my route lay that way, and then 
by dint of most careful navigation, gained the main road, 
and then got along without difficulty. 

Such has been my worst experience of a London fog. 
It is not one of a very harrowing description ; but still, 
when I reflect upon it, I invariably feel sorry that Fenimore 
Cooper never had the acuteness to place a Mohican or 
Delaware in a kindred position, for then I should consider 
myself as having, in at least this one microscopic particular, 
passed through a phase of the life heroic. 

Xafivplvdeio? t*9. 






THE CLOUD. 



Bathed in the glory of the west 
One cloud o'erhangs the couch of day,— 
Clinging, all wrinkled, grim and grey 

Upon the sunset's golden vest 

Ghost-like it hangs. Methinks it grieves 

Deserted of day's dying king ; 

Sad, as the song the breezes sing 
To whirling dance of autumn leaves. 

Pale spectre of a pleasure gone, 
Pale emblem of our mortal state 
Thou showest the sorrows that await 

Man's age. To wander grey and lone 

Through darkening halls, that once were rife 
With clear-toned laugh and lofty song 
And Heaven's bright chariot rolled along 

From phase to phase of glowing life. 

To tremble in a doubtful light 

'Twixt day and darkness, on the brink, 
To mark the last long beam, and sink 

Into the bosom of the night. 



M. B. 



OUR CHRONICLE. 



f HE object of the Chronicle of The Eagle is to record as 

simply and briefly as possible any information on past 
events which is likely to possess peculiar interest for the 
members of our College. Without any apology therefore for 
' the disjointed character of his narrative, or for a brevity 
which places side by side class-lists and boat-club officers, 
church preferments and rifle-corps promotions, and in a word 
combines in these pages at once arms the toga and the oar, 
the Chronicler, imitating the style of the ancient annals, will 
simply put down fact after fact, in the hope that out of so 
many facts and all so different, some one at least may strike 
each reader's fancy. 

To begin then by enumerating the successes attained by 
past or present Johnians ; we have to congratulate Exeter 
for its gain, and to condole with Cambridge for its loss. 
The particulars of the appointment of the late Hulsean Pro- 
fessor to the Deanery of Exeter, and the high compliment 
with which it was accompanied, are two well known to 
require repetition here. Mr. Ellicott is succeeded in the 
Professorship by the Rev. J. B. Lightfoot, Fellow and 
Tutor of Trinity College. 

Dr. Atlay, Vicar of Leeds, late Fellow and Tutor of this 
College, has been appointed to a Residentiary Canonry at 
Ripon. 

The Rev. John Rigg, B.D., has been appointed to the 
Second Mastership of Shrewsbury School, and the Rev. H. 
G. Day to the Head-Mastership of Sedbergh. The late Head 
Master,' the Rev. J. H. Evans, late Fellow of this College, 
retires through ill health from the post which he has ably 
occupied for twenty-three years. 

The present vacancies of the Registrary and the Pro- 
fessorship of Chemistry can scarcely be said to come under 
the head of Johnian intelligence, but as our College is not 

VOL. III. f 



66 



Our Chronicle. 



unrepresented among the candidates* for these offices, they 
may possibly, let us as true Johnians say probably, affect 
the interests of our society, and therefore the Chronicler may 
perhaps be pardoned for their insertion. 

The following gentlemen have vacated Fellowships since 
the issue of our last Number : 



The Rev. C. Elsie, M.A. 
TheRev.T.B.Rowe, M.A. 
The Rev. A. Holmes, B.A. 
Mr. W. Baily, B.A. 



The Rev. B. Williams, B.D. 
The Rev.W. F.Woodward, M.A. 
The Rev. J. F. Bateman, M.A. 
Mr. H. J. Roby, M.A. 
The Rev. W. T. Brodribb, M.A. 

The subjoined lists contain the names of those gentlemen 
who in their respective years succeeded last June in ob- 
taining a first-class in the College Examination : 

Sephton. 
Laing. 
Main. 
Torry. 

Hockinl 
Stevens. 
Rudd. 
Snowdon. 

Stuckey. . 

Baron. 

Archbold. 
fEwbank. 
•< Smallpeice. 
(^ Sutton. 

Moss. 

Terry. 

Home. 

Newton. 

The following gentlemen were last June elected Scholars 
of the College : 



Third Year. 




Oinnis. 


Williams. 


Whitworth. 


Groves. 


Taylor. 


Fynes-Clinton. 


Jones. 


Catton. 


Second Tear. 




Pooley. 


JRees. 
( Rounthwaite. 


Cotterill. 


Warmington. 


Austen. 


Falkner. 


Johnson. 


First Year. 




Creeser. 


Stobart. 


Clare. 


f La Mothe. 


Meeres. 


■< Lee-Warner. 


Tomkins. 


^Marsden, J. F. 


5 Pearson. 
1 Stuart. 


^ Atherton. 
{ Pharazyn. 


Tinling. 


Reece. 


HilL 


fClay,E. K. 
\ Quayle. 


Robinson. 


Wood. 





• The Rev. S. Parkinson, Fellow and Praelector of this College, 
is a Candidate for the Registrary, and Mr. G. D. Liveing, late 
Fellow and present Superintendent of the Laboratory, for the Pro- 
fessorship of Chemistry. 



Fynes-Clinton, 0. 
Gwatkin, T. 
Williams, H. S. 
Laing, J. G. 
Spencer, D. H. 



Our Chronicle. 67 

Third Year. 

Whitworth, W. A. 
Catton, A. R. 
Dinnis, F. H. 
Sephton, J. 
Torry, A. F. 

Second Year. 
Hockin, C. | Falkner, T. T. 

First Year. 
Stuckey, J. J. 

Messrs. Stevens, Rudd, Archbold, Sephton, Laing, Main, 
Jones, Bateman, Hockin, Stuckey, Burn, Groves, Ingram, 
Graves, J. D. Evans, Snowdon, Pooley, Cotterill, Ewbank, 
Sutton, Smallpeice, Moss, Cherrill, Warmington, and Berry 
were elected Exhibitioners. 

Mr. J. C. Thompson has been elected to a legal Student- 
ship on the Tancred Foundation. 

The Minor Scholars were — 

Mr. Cope, from Rugby School. 

Mr. Roach, from Marlborough College.'; 

Mr. K. Wilson, from Leeds Grammar School. 

Mr. Wiseman, from Oakham Grammar School. 

Messrs. Marshall, Cust, J. R. Wilson, Barlow and Watson 
were elected Exhibitioners. 

Mr. H. C. Barstow and Mr. H Beverley have passed 
their final examination for the Indian Civil Service ; and 
Messrs. A. L. Clay, A. J. Stuart, F. W. J. Rees, and J. W. 
Best, the First Examination. 

The total number of Freshmen hitherto entered on the 
College boards, amounts to about seventy. 

In the year 1862 there will be open for competition four 
Minor Scholarships, two of the value of £70 per annum, 
and two of £50 per annum, besides the eight following 
Exhibitions : 

Two of £50 per annum, tenable on the same terms as 
the Minor Scholarships. 

One of £40 per annum, tenable for four years. 

One of £50 per annum, tenable for three years. 

One of £40 per annum, tenable for three years. 

One of £33 6s. %d. per annum, tenable for three years. 

One of £40 and one of £20, tenable for one year only. 

The Examination of Candidates for the above-mentioned 
Scholarships and Exhibitions will take place on Tuesday, 
the 29th of April, 1862, at 9 a.m. 



68 Our Chronicle. 

The Officers of the Lady Margaret Boat Club are : — 
1st Captain, T. £. Ash. Secretary, J. R. W. Bros. 

2nd Captain, C. C. Scholefield. Treasurer, D. S. Ingram. 
3rd Captain, J. H. Branson. 
4th Captain, F. W. J. Bees. 

Those of the Lady Somerset Boat Club are : — 
1st Captain, Mr. A. T. R. D. Kennedy. 
2nd Captain, Mr. J. F. Rounthwaite. 
3rd Captain, Mr. W. P. Meres. Secretary, Mr. C. J. E. Smith. 

An account of this term's boat races will be found on 
the cover of this number. 

An antiquarian may take pleasure in remembering that 
from a time as far back as seven years ago the Lady Margaret 
has invariably rowed in the time-race of the four-oars. 

A spirited race was rowed on the thirtieth of November 
last between two University Trial Boats. Messrs. Gorst and 
Alderson of the L.M B.C., and Messrs. La Mothe and 
Stephenson of the L.S.B.C. were in the winning boat; 
Mr. Branson of the L.M.B.C. was in the losing boat. 

On the second of November last, the new rifle-butts of 
the University Corps were opened, and a rifle challenge- 
cup, presented by the honorary Colonel of the Corps, the 
Prince of Wales. We regret to say that hitherto the 
number of recruits among the freshmen of this College has 
been but barely sufficient to maintain the credit of the 
Johnian Company, or requite the zeal and energy of its 
captain and officers. 

The Rifle-Corps and the College alike, have to regret the 
absence of Sergeant Potts, who has been succeeded by 
Corporal Liveing. 

The Prince of Wales' Challenge-Cup was shot for on the 
second of this month, and was gained by Private Ross of the 
Sixth Company. The competition was confined to six 
members of the Corps selected at a trial match ; amongst this 
number were Corporal Marsden and Private Guiness, both 
of the Second (St. John's) Company. 

Another fifth of November is past and gone, and has 
left behind it no details worthy the pen of the historian — 
even the historian of St. John's College. A few good blows 
were given and taken, a few gowns torn and caps lost, a 
few opportunities afforded for proctorial fortitude, a few 
butchers achieved a transitory but brilliant triumph — beyond 
this there took place nothing worthy of record. May the 
recorder's labour be as light next year. 



LIST OF BOAT RACES. 



THE FOUR OARS. 
November 11. 

1 3rd Trinity \ I 8 1st Trinity 

2 Lady Margaret/ | 4 Trinity Hall 

November 12. 



1 Trinity Hall 

2 1st Trinity 

3 Lady Margaret 



November 13. 

1 1st Trinity 

2 Trinity Hall 

3 Lady Margaret 

November 14. 

Time Race, 

1 Trinity Hall | 2 1st Trinity | 3 Lady Margaret 

A dead heat between Trinity Hall and 1st Trinity, Lady Margaret 
being 7 seconds behind. 



THE COLQUHOUN SCULLS. 
November 18. 

1 Garfitt, 1st Trinity * 

2 Yearsley, 1st Trinity \ 

3 Dickinson, Lady Margaret j 

4 Gibbs, Christ's 1 

5 Pixell, 1st Trinity J 

6 Barker, Corpus Christi > 

7 Hawkshaw, 3rd Trinity j 

8 Talbot, Trinity Hall 

9 Chambers, 3rd Trinity 

November 19. 

1 Garfitt, 1st Trinity \ 

2 Pixell, 1st Trinity J 

3 Chambers, 3rd Trinity > 

4 Hawkshaw, 3rd Trinity j 

5 Dickinson, Lady Margaret 

November 20. 

1 Dickinson, Lady Margaret > 

2 Pixell, 1st Trinity j 
S Hawkshaw, 3rd Trinity 

November 21. 
1 Pixell, 1st Trinity | 2 Hawkshaw, 3rd Trinity 

Won by Hawkshaw by 1 1 seconds. 



NOTES, BBIEF, BUT MULTIFABIOUS, OF A WINTER IN 
MADEIBA. 



" ^INTER in Madeira ! all about diseased lungs, cod-liver- 
oil, respirators and haemoptysis, I suppose : probably 
the writer, with but one lung and a bit, will take a miserably 
low and depraved view of all enjoyments, and give us a 
discourse on the ultimate advantage of early temperance 
and regularity. Who is to read such a melancholy article ? 
But possibly it may be about wine, and if so, I withdraw 
my disparaging remarks, and will read it. In either case, 
it smacks strongly of consumption." 

Entirely wrong, my dear reader, you jump to conclusions 
in a manner, unbecoming a € practical' Cantab, and even 
unpardonable in a member of St. John's, the most attentive 
and successful worshipper at the shrine of the exact Sciences. 
Did you never hear of what you € might call, if you was 
anyways inclined/ a tutor? and might not one, sound in 
lungs, reasonably spend some months in the balmy South 
in such a capacity? Might not the prospect of a warmer 
climate, and affection for that 

* Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, 
To teach the young idea how to shoot, 
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, 
To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix 
The generous purpose in the glowing breast/ 

not to mention a more substantial inducement, naturally 
combine to cause a B.A. to flit swallow-like and enjoy per- 
petual summer? — Then as to the wine, in 1852 a disease 
appeared which has almost entirely destroyed the cultivation 
of the grape, so that where formerly the yearly produce 
reached 25,000 pipes, now not a single pipe of Madeira, 
Malmsey, Btial, Sercial or Tinta, is made fit for drinking. 

But we must be off without further preliminaries, or 
we shall never traverse our 1800 miles of ocean. My 
vol. in. o 



70 Notes, brief \ but multifarious, 

pupil ( W), his mother, her maid, and my dog Joe (a neat 
sprinkling of possessive pronouns) were my voyage-com- 

E anions; W also took a dog with him, a very old spaniel, 
ut I omit him as he was not a favourite, and, de mortals nil 
nisi bonum, (if he is not dead it is quite time he was). I was in 
fear and trembling as to the effect of the warm climate on Joe, 
and was strongly recommended to leave him at home ; but 
the event proved the groundlessness of my anxiety, as he 
flourished amazingly : this I mention for the benefit of others 
in a similar position regarding pets. I hope I shall be 
forgiven for alluding to my dog, my excuse being that he 
is almost a Johnian, having often taken tea in various rooms 
in the New Court, without ever meeting with the cries that 
always greeted Crab of ' whip him out, 9 ' out with the dog/ 
' whose cur is that?' or feeling the effects of a porter's wrath. 
On Monday, October 8th, 1860, at 12 o'clock, we em- 
barked on board the Sultan for Madeira, viA Lisbon. 

On first embarking, my nervous temperament received 
a severe shock, from which it took long to recover. A voice 
of authority was heard to call loudly, ' Give that dog to 
the butcher. 9 One look round was sufficient to prove the 
correctness of the agonizing thought that it was my dog who 
was to be treated in that barbarous manner. What cruelty ! 
and what swindling! they had only just made me pay 15* 
for his passage and now were going to convert him into 
fresh provisions for the voyage. Imagine, if possible, my 
horror; there was no escape; the butcher persisted in 
having him, and all I could do was mentally to determine 
not to touch any meat pies till after we reached Lisbon. 
Fortunately however before my senses deserted me, I found 
that it was part of the butcher's duty to take charge of all 
live stock on board, and that I had no just cause for ap- 
prehension that Joe was about to meet with an untimely 
death. To Lisbon we had a very fast and prosperous voyage 
of three days twenty-one hours ; the weather was fine, though 
rough in the Bay, and the ' Sultan/ a paddle wheel converted 
into a screw, famed for her rolling propensities, fully main- 
tained her character. On Thursday morning we awoke in 
the lovely Bay of Vigo, having steamed in during the night 
for the purpose of landing mails ; we took the opportunity 
of going on shore for an hour or so, and now talk of the time 
when we were in Spain. The same afternoon we touched at 
Oporto, and on Friday morning steamed up the Tagus. 
Here we paid our parting adieux to the ' Sultan, 9 and were 
introduced to a Portuguese Custom-House, badly managed 



of a Winter in Madeira* 71 

and extremely tiresome. On emerging from this place of 
torment, we were instantly surrounded by beggars, clamouring 
for alms, and insisting on calling us by the honorable title of 
Capitaos (Captains.)" Our commissionaire settled these for 
us, and guided us to an hotel, and during our stay proved 
most useful. Lisbon did not impress us favourably, it was 
intensely hot, dirty, and crammed with beggars; so we 
were glad to escape. I should recommend all visitors to 
follow our example: visit S. Boque Church and that at 
Belem, Don Pedro and the Black Horse Squares, the Aque- 
duct and a few other celebrities, stroll up and down Gold 
and Silver streets, and then away to Cintra. It is a most dusty 
disagreeable drive of fourteen miles, but the reward is well 
worth the trouble. At Cintra is the summer residence of 
the king, and thither the nobility betake themselves when 
the warm weather sets in ; the scenery is charming ; a short 
range of rocky hills springs suddenly up from the plain 
without any apparent reason, the highest point being 
crowned with the Pena Convent. The climate is very 
different to that of Lisbon, and the relief of escaping from 
the baking streets to the cool luxuriant country is immense. 
Here we had an amusing excursion up the hills on donkeys, 
to see the Pena and Moorish Convents ; we also visited the 
Palace, where the great joke is to induce visitors to enter 
a particular room, and then water them by touching a secret 
spring : ' at the magic touch of the guide,' small jets of 
water spurt out from numberless holes in the walls, and 
sprinkle the unwary to his intense astonishment There is 
a capital hotel at Cintra, kept by a Mrs. Lawrence, who 
formerly was washerwoman to the English fleet at Lisbon ; 
she chatters wonderfully, and will spin yarns for hours about 
any naval officer who was ever on the station. Our stay at 
Cintra lasted only from Monday to Wednesday: we had 
spent Sunday at Lisbon on account of the English Service ; 
the Church is chiefly remarkable for its pretty cemetery 
thickly planted with cypresses, and for the dizzy height of 
its pulpit. 

On Thursday, the 18th, we embarked on board the 
Portuguese sailing brig € Galgo,' (Greyhound) of 248 tons. 
Our orders were to be ready for starting at 1 1 o'clock, a.m., 
and naturally we were not much behind time ; but there was 
not a breath of wind, and we soon experienced the incon- 
venience of a sailing vessel : our only hope was to float down 
with the tide ; this turned at 6, but as no ship is allowed 
to pass the bar at the mouth of the Tagus after sunset, it was 

g2 



72 Notes, brief, but multifarious, 

no use leaving oar anchorage in the evening, and we were e'en 
obliged to wait until 6 o'clock the next morning for the 
second tide. The Custom-House officials having once seen 
us safely on board would not for a moment entertain the 
idea of letting us go on shore again, so we had the pleasure of 
passing eighteen nours in the little brig before we stirred. 
Even when we reached the open sea, matters did not much 
improve ; we had nothing worthy of the name of breeze until 
we were very nearly at Madeira : at times we crept along at 
four or five knots, at other times we were quite still. Yet 
the weather being most delightful, we spent a very enjoyable 
time ; and the sea being very smooth, we were not much 
troubled with sickness. The idiotic gambols of shoals of 

Crpoises enlivened us, and the company of pretty little 
other Carey's chickens. We used to watch with great 
anxiety the catepaws coming across the sea, and hope they 
were the forerunners of the breeze, but were continually 
disappointed. However everything comes to an end, and so 
did our voyage ; on the morning of Friday, the 26th, we 
sailed quietly into the Bay of Funchal; the weather was 
perfect, and our first view of our winter's home was charm- 
ing; the lovely blue of the water, the light green of the 
young sugar-canes, the brilliant white of the houses, and the 
dark and lofty hills combined to produce a most favourable 
impression upon our minds, which a more familiar acquaint- 
ance did not destroy. We were soon on shore, and located 
at Miles' Boarding-house until we could meet with a private 
residence that would suit us ; this we effected in a few days 
and then settled down comfortably for the winter. 

Having now safely completed our voyage, and found 
ourselves once more on land, let us turn our thoughts to the 
position, history, &c, of our new home. 

Madeira is situated between 30°. 37' and 32°. 47' North 
Latitude, and 16°. 39' and 17°. 16' West Longitude. It is 
about forty miles long, and thirteen broad, ue., about 
one-third larger than the Isle of Wight, and one-sixth 
less than the Isle of Man, but more thickly populated 
(population about 100,000) than either. The longer axis of 
the island lies almost due East and West, and is a ridge of 
mountains rising to 6062 feet, the highest point, Pico Ruivo, 
being nearly in the centre of the island ; up to this central 
chain numerous deep ravines penetrate from both the North 
and South coasts. Funchal, the chief town, where all the 
English reside during the winter, faces the South ; it con- 



of a Winter in Madeira. 73 

tains about 30,000 people of whom 600, equally divided 
between visitors and residents, are English. 

For ordinary purposes, this account of the geography of 
Madeira will be sufficient ; the ethnology will give us even 
less trouble. When it was first discovered by Zargo in 1419, 
the island was uninhabited, and we are thus saved the 
arduous inquiry as to the ancestral stock of the aborigines, 
whether their descent was from Hottentots, Patagonians, or 
Pelasgi (I place them alphabetically, not wishing to display 
any invidious partiality). There is a tradition which at first 
sight seems to contravene this fact of the island being un- 
inhabited. Robert Machim and Anna d'Arfet eloped in 
1346, preferring to meet the storms of the ocean rather than 
the lady's irate parent ; in attempting to cross from Bristol to 
France they were driven by a violent storm which eventually 
landed them in Madeira, and when Zargo arrived at Machico 
(called after Machim) 

Beneath four clustering orange-trees, 

A stone's throw from the surf, 
There rose a Cross of cedar-wood, 

And two fair graves of turf. 

The question naturally arises ' who was the Sexton V and 
we are inclined rashly to conclude that the island could not 
have been without inhabitants. However it is now generally 
believed that in some way unknown to the present race of 
man, they contrived to give each other decent burial. After 
drifting 1300 miles in an open boat, probably with a very 
scanty stock of provisions, nothing which they did need 
surprise jus: possibly too, they came originally from Kil- 
kenny. 

I shall pass over the geology, natural history, and botany 
of Madeira ; not from want of materials ; for although I am 
not intimately acquainted with old Bed Sandstone, the 
Miocene tertiary epoch, or even trap (except as it is con- 
nected with horses, rats, portmanteaus, and bat and ball,) 
nor do I know any more lengthy names for daddylonglegs or 
daffydowndilly, yet have I not a Hand-book to Madeira, 
which gives every particular of this and every other kind, 
which tells me that there are forty-one species of ferns in the 
island, thirty breeding birds, and sixty-eight stragglers, &c, 
&c. ? But I dread the wrath of the other contributors to, 
and all the readers of the King of Birds, if I do not hasten 
onwards, and so hurry on at once to our employments. 

And now a difficulty meets me; if I omit all mention of 



74 Note*, brief, but multifarious, 

work, some frequenter of the Senior Wranglers' walk 
or the Trumpington and Grantchester grind, will exclaim 
'a lively tutor this, of whose employments work did not 
form a part/ Consequently, I mention it sufficiently to say 
that such inquirers must imagine the work; the secrets of 
the shop will not be disclosed; no one will be admitted 
behind the counter. I shall not say whether we made up 
doses of Euclid and Algebra, or whether we ventured on the 
stronger narcotics of Differential and Integral, or even 
whether I instructed my apprentice in the properties of the 
Osculating Plane, which seem to have taken so strong a hold 
upon the vivid, not to say voluptuous, imagination of a con- 
tributor to a late number of The Eagle. Our work which 
was a reality, must now exist only in imagination. 

' Os Cavallos est&o promptos, Senhori.' ' The horses are 
ready ; come then, let's be off, and exhibit ourselves on the 
New Road.' This may perhaps require some slight ex- 
planation : saddle-horses are in great request in Madeira, for 
riding is the principal amusement of the Visitors, and the 
New Road is die only part of the island where a comfortable 
canter can be obtained. All the other roads are paved with 
cobbles, and most of them are very steep, whereas the 
Caminho Novo, or New Road, has been lately made for the 
express purpose of affording a good place for horse exercise : 
it is very like an ordinary English Road, only more dusty, 
and is two miles and a-half long ; in the afternoons it is 
very lively, for it is the Rotten Kow of Funchal, and from 
four to six the fashion takes its airing. Horses are hired by 
the month for thirty dollars (about six guineas) ; this includes 
keep and an especial attendant to each horse : these attend- 
ants are known by the name of burriqueiros (lit : donkey- 
drivers) : they are a fine, active and clean race, who mostly 
smatter English to a certain extent: they are always in 
attendance on their horses, accompanying them wherever 
they may be taken ; they keep up wonderfully, and in going 
up-hill hold on by the horses' tails. It is very rarely that 
they are left behind, except by Middies, whose first amuse- 
ment on reaching land is to get a horse and galop off to the 
Curral ; the burriqueiros are then at times obliged to give in, 
but no one to whom it is of any importance in what kind of 
condition his horse is on the following day, will ever find his 
burriqueiro far away. They are most useful for holding the 
horses, for guiding strangers in excursions, and more espe- 
cially for shoeing the horses or putting in fresh nails, when 
requisite ; they always carry with them up the hills a spare 



of a Winter in Madeira. 75 

horse-shoe, some nails, and other necessary implements. There 
are not many four-wheel carriages in Madeira, owing to the 
steepness of the roads ; but besides riding, the other means 
of conveyance are bullock-cars, palanquins, and hammocks. 

Almost our daily employment was riding on the New 
Road ; this was varied by occasional excursions to Camacha. 
Cama de Lobos, Campanaria, or the Curral ; by three cricket- 
matches, a boat-race, and other amusements, of some of 
which I will give a short account presently. A militaryflband 
used to play once a week in the Praqa, the public walks in 
the centre of the town, and a subscription was raised for the 
purpose of inducing it to perform on Tuesdays at the be- 
ginning of the New Road ; this proved a great attraction, 
for numbers of people used to collect to hear the band, and 
take canters between the tunes. 

Memories of the past crowd so thickly upon me, that I 
hardly know which is to have the precedence : suppose we 
give the signal for the boats. The origin of our boat-race 
was this : the residents challenged the visitors to row a four- 
oared race on the day of the Regatta ; the course to be from 
the landing-stage round the buoy and back. We naturally 
accepted the challenge, though, owing to the fact that the 
majority of the visitors were at Madeira for the benefit 
of their health, and could not venture to row a race beneath 
a broiling sun, the difficulty of getting a crew together was 
almost insurmountable; we had numerous changes, from 
laziness, illness, &c, and even when 1 went down to row in 
the race, I actually did not know who was going to take the 
bow-oar. However the race did come off, and moreover, 
under the eyes of the whole Mite of Funchal ; the natural 
result was, that the boat in which I was rowing stroke was 
not triumphant. Our opponents were accustomed to row in 
the sea, and together; we were accustomed to neither; our 
boat was what the Captain of the Lady Margaret would very 
possibly call an Ark, and the oars. . . . ; then what is a man 
to do, when during the race he puts on a spirt, and No. 3 
requests him not to row so fast, as he can't keep it up? 
Never mind, at my time of life one has long since got used 
to being beaten ; besides, we had the fun of it, and the 
exercise of rowing over the course every morning for a 
fortnight at 7 o'clock, was something most charming. But the 
grand consolation was the way in which we took the change 
out of the residents at Cricket ; here I for one, felt more at 
home, and as it was not so great an exertion, it was easier to 
induce men to take part in a cricket-match than in a boat- 



76 Notes, brie/, but multifarious, 

race ; the result was, visitors one hundred and twenty-two, 
residents, fifty-two and twenty-eight ; and the revenge was 
sweet, the only drawback being, that the cricket-match did 
not take place under the eyes of the fair beauties of Madeira. 
Our other matches were (1) against the crews of the ' Gorgon 
and Firebrand,* which had lately steamed into the bay ; and 
(2) against the crews of the ' Victoria and Albert,* and 
' Osborne/ when they came to escort the Empress of Austria 
to Trieste ; we were victors in both, as we expected, and as 
is usually the case where the enemy wear blue-jackets. The 
ground is good for the part of the world, and beautifully 
situated, about eight miles from Funchal, and three thousand 
feet above the sea; it is at Camacha where the English 
residents spend their summer, and although so far away, we 
used to get a fair sprinkling of spectators, the rides there and 
back being very attractive and amusing. 

The second highest accessible peak in Madeira is Pico 
Ariero ; I chose a fine day and ascended it without a guide, 
my only companions being Joe and Ws dog ; it is generally 
thought impossible to take long walks in the island, owing 
to the peculiar climate, and for my rashness I earned the 
reputation of being a lunatic ; luckily I have no fortune, or 
this might be made a strong case before Mr. Commissioner 
Warren. I was well repaid for my trouble, and succeeded 
to the astonishment of all in reaching the right peak. I was 
closely cross-questioned on my descent as to the peculiar 
features of the mountain and the general style of the scenery, 
and convinced the most unbelieving that I had really accom- 
plished the ascent. 

Another variety in the monotony of our life, was a picnic 
to the Achada at Campanaria ; all went on horseback, with 
the exception of two less youthful ladies who preferred 
hammocks. The ride occupied about four hours, as we made 
a slight dfetour to visit Cabo Gir&o, a cliff of nineteen hundred 
feet rising perpendicularly from the sea. We were saved 
the usual trouble of picnics, that of providing the refresh- 
ments and necessary etceteras ; Mr. Payne, the factotum of 
the English, provision-dealer and everything-seller, took all 
this responsibility, and when we reached the Achada, we 
found that every requisite had been brought up on mules. 
I have not space to give any description of our ride through 
the chesnut woods, but possibly you may find something to 
suit in G. P. B. James, about prancing steeds, young cava- 
liers, and gaily-habited ladies. Omitting this and other parti- 
culars of our picnic, I must hasten on to give but a rapid 



of a Winter in Madeira. 77 

outline of two trips I made to the north of the island, each 
lasting three days ; of the numbers of English who spend 
the winter in Madeira, few ever visit the north; it is too 
cold for invalids, the weather is too variable and the journey 
too fatiguing, so that not more than three or four parties are 
generally made up each season ; my first trip was made with 
one lady and four gentlemen, and the weather was perfect; 
in the second I had only one companion, and we got twice 
wet through in three days. I shall do little more than just 
mention the names of the places we visited, for the benefit 
of those who have already been to Madeira, and those who 
intend to visit it. First day, — to Mount Church, the Poizo, 
Pico di Suma, Lamoqeiros, and Porta di Cruz; the view 
of the Penha d' Aguia as we descended the Lamoqeiros is 
never to be forgotten ; this immense rock, called the Eagle's 
Wing, rises perpendicularly from the sea to a height of 
nearly two thousand feet, and extending inland for about a 
quarter of a mile, with its outline nearly horizontal, suddenly 
drops again almost as perpendicularly as it rose out of the 
sea. The effect of this huge wall facing you as you descend 
to Porta di Cruz is most grand and unique. Second day, — 
to Fayal, the Cortade, and St. Anna; as soon as we had 
passed the Cortade, we struck inland and walked into the 
very centre of the island, our object being to visit the entire 
length of the Fayal Levada. The Levadas are water-courses 
which bring supplies of water from the very heart of the 
mountains, and by them the whole system of irrigation is 
managed ; water is very valuable, and each owner of land 
has his particular days or portions of days in the year, during 
which the Levada is turned on to his property, while it is 
stopped back from that of others. The right to a supply of 
water is strictly looked after, and each Levada is under the 
management of a committee ; the Fayal Levada is the largest 
in the island, it commences under Pico Ruivo (the highest 
mountain), and is built along the face of the cliff for a 
distance of two or three miles, where it reaches the open 
country. The walk along it is magnificent, through the 
finest scenery of the island ; the only footpath is the outer 
ledge of the Levada, sixteen inches wide, and at times there 
is a sheer precipice beneath of four hundred or five hundred 
feet; this is rather alarming at first, but the top of the wall 
being very smooth and level, the walking is easy, and one 
soon gets accustomed to the position. We slept at St. Anna, 
and here in the Visitors' Book we found these lines, with the 
signature of an eminent scholar : 



78 Notes, brief, but multifarious, 

Venimus hue, vernos com spiralis blanda per agios 

Panderet aura tuas, Insula dives, opes : 
Venimus, et soopulos requievimus inter et umbras, 

Egimus et laetos non sine sole dies. 

fortunatos, queis sors hie degere vitam, 
Inque tuo, felix terra, jaoere sinu ! 

1 Hie presens Deus est' loquitur Natura : jugorum 

Culmina respondent, ' Hio manifestus adest/ 

A few pages farther on, in the same book, there were some 
lines in answer by a late Fellow and Tutor of St John's, but 
they were much longer, and I was too tired to take the 
trouble to copy or even translate them. I say the trouble, 
not from any disparagement to the learned languages, but 
simply on account of my own ignorance. I never took 
kindly to foreign tongues, and I don't remember ever being 
an ancient Roman ; probably Sir Caesar would know, and if 
I should happen to meet him, I would make the inquiry; 
unfortunately, however, it may be difficult to discover him, 
for he may be anybody now ; perhaps he may inhabit the 
frail humanity of the Prime Minister of Honolulu. Instead 
of reading Latin, we settled down to a sleepy game of Whist, 
in which we were joined by our host Accaioli, a very plea- 
sant and lively little man, who chattered French most glibly, 
which was more than some, at least one, of our party did. 
Third day, — we started at 5 o'clock for the summit of the island, 
Pico Ruivo, where we left a bottle (having indulged in 
Bass), with the names of the pedestrians, including Joe, 
secreted in a cavity, (I ought to have mentioned that the 
lady and one of the gentlemen would not venture upon this 
long day's work, and went home in hammocks by the direct 
road); then on by a desperate path, which is impassable for 
horses or hammocks, and very seldom traversed by English, 
to the Torrinhas, then down into the Curral and so to Fun- 
chal, this took us fourteen hours. The Curral, which is one 
of the principal lions of Madeira, is a narrow valley inclosed 
by walls of nearly two thousand feet, situated in the centre 
of the island. From the summit of Pico Ruivo we could 
discern the sea the whole way round, with the exception of 
two very small parts where the Torres and Pico Ariero 
hid it. 

Our second trip was by boat to'Calheta; second day to 
the falls of Raba$al, over the desolate Paul da Serra, to St. 
Vicente ; third day along the north coast to Ponta Delgada, 
then inland over the pass of Boa Ventura, generally considered 
the grandest in the island, into the Curral, and so home. 



of a Winter in Madeira. 79 

I have long exceeded the space which I at first allotted 
myself, and must therefore leave out all mention of Ribeiro 
Frio, the Metade Valley, and other celebrities. I must 
omit to describe the manufactures of the island, such as inlaid 
wood, baskets and needlework ; I must forbear to do more 
than hint at the extraordinary head-dress of the natives, like 
an inverted wine-strainer with a very long tube, which will 
never remain on an Englishman's head, and is probably only 
kept in its place by capillary attraction; I must leave to 
your imagination our very pleasant voyage home in the 
'Derwent,' from the 16th to the 25th of May; our games at 
whist, chess, draughts, &c. ; the jokes that were made, the 
riddles thaj were asked, and the happy good temper that 
seems to cling to everything and everybody connected with 
the sea ; but yet before my dog and I bow our adieux, I 
must not omit strongly to advise any one in want of a plea- 
sant tour to go to Madeira. I imagine you to be an incept- 
ing B. A., with enough spare cash for a six weeks' trip, and a 
need of 6ome refreshing voyage after the Great Go; the 
mountains of Switzerland, the Fiords of Norway are closed 
to you by the time of year ; then go to Madeira, take the 
packet of the 24th from Liverpool, this will reach the island 
by the 1st ; a whole month will be well 6pent in seeing all 
that is to be seen, and the return packet from Africa will 
touch to take you home about the 1st or 2nd of the following 
month, landing you safely in England about six weeks after 
your departure. Perhaps you dread the sea-voyage, you 
would c sicken o'er the heaving wave ;' nothing more proba- 
ble, although I don't mean in the least to imply that you are 
a ' luxurious slave ;' but don't be alarmed, you will soon get 
over that, and then really enjoy the sea ; a sound and healthy 
sleep, a fierce appetite will testify to the good the voyage is 
doing you after the trials of a hard Examination. 

To those who have waded through these notes, I return 
my thanks for their patience, and hope they are not much 
fatigued ; and feelingly drink to ' absent friends and I wish 
they were nearer,' the oft repeated but most hearty toast of 

The very Old Man of Madeira. 



T.-T--T : T--r'T^ .T» T .T^-T-- T , T A T .T^ T .'yA y ..TA y ..yAr-y^ 



OUB COLLEGE FRIENDS. 
(Second Group.) 



" — — But you have climbed the mountain*! top, there ait 
On the calm flourishing head of it ; 
And whilst, with wearied step*, we upward go, 
See ua and clouds below."— (Cowley). 



I. Chaucer, 

Quiet in watch when all the board's astir 
With song and jest, when the wine freely flits 
From hand to hand* as combating in wits 

Eaoh boon confrere unveils his character ; 

Cheered by bright eyes that still demurely spur 
The flagging gallantries ; he, as befits 
Some youthful vestal, there serenely sits, 

A guileless-hearted, silent listener : 
And, as the Pilgrimage of life wends on, 

Nor foils to read the soul, and prize the flower, 
Nor truckles to the proud, nor tramples down 

The bruisdd reed ; but aye in court or bower, 
In field, or student's cell, or crowded town, 

Is unperturbed and true, — equal to every hour. 

II. Spenser. 

What on thy vision breaks, as thou dost peer 
Through the dark forest, where the gnarled trees 
Are intertwined with changeful phantasies, 

And sun-glints deck the turf and tangled brere? 

The saintly Una with her lion near 
Se&t thou, O Spenser ! — with heart ill at ease, 
And golden tresses waving in the breeze, 

She moves, yet lingers — the lost voice to hear ? 
There knightly forms crusading against wrong, 

And wanton fauns and donjon-walls arise, 
And dames of peerless charms thy visions throng ; 

Dread spells of magic, bowers of Paradise, 
From faery realms the gorgeous masque prolong : 

Nor scorns Religion's self to don the sweet disguise. 



Our College Friends. 81 

III. Shaxspere. 

Early I saw thee, — in my boyish dream, — 
Circled with friends, king of that glorious throng, 
Sportive with laughter, crowned by jest and song 

In Mermaid Tavern ; saw thee 'neath the gleam 

Of moonlight, seeking Avon's hallowed stream, 
Where fairies dance and revelry prolong : — 
Again, in riper age, I view thee ; strong 

And calm in wisdom thou dost ever seem ; 
With thoughts that pierce the heavens, with deathless love 

And sympathy for all ; the mild sad gaze 
That would with mercy even vice reprove ; 
Prizing all threads of good with life enwove : 

Serene, unhurt by plaudits or dispraise, 
With healing touch the world's heart thou dost move. 

IV. Milton. 

A lonely student, rapt in antique dreams 
Of, heathen sages, loving cloistered aisles, 
O'er-lacing thickets, ivy-mantled piles 

And mystic haunts of fays by woodland streams ; 

Pensive, pure-hearted, lovely, ere the schemes 
Of a harsh world banished his youthful smiles, 
Such Milton was, — ere from unseen Greek isles 

And Poets 9 bliss recalled by Faction's screams. 
Yet lonelier, still unstained, when years of toil 

Have quenched those eyes ; else neither adverse time 
Nor household grief could 'bate the midnight oil : 

The Patriot yields, but to a heavenly clime 
The Poet soars, viewing God's angels foil 

Satanic hosts — and Paradise becomes his theme sublime. 

V. Burns. 

True manhood speaking in that fearless eye — 
That foot pressed on his native sod, whose flower 
His verse embalms, with gentleness and power, 

He stood before us in his majesty, 

Simple and brave and loving ; the free sky 
Of Scotland smiling through the summer shower 
Had sprinkled sun-lit tears on Doon-side bower, 

And wakened on his lip fresh melody. 
Nature's pure joys, that haunt the fields and hills 

Where lowly men have laboured, 'void of blame, 
He sang — and blithely, as a wild bird trills : 

While servile Greed, Hypocrisy, and Shame, 
Shrank from his scorn, and yet his voice instils 

Affection and Content, wherever rings his name. 



82 Our College Friends. 

VI. Byron. 

Than few less noble, and than few less proud, 
A sad, lone spirit on the shores of Time, 
Gazing with dauntless eye on themes sublime. 

Yet quailing at the murmurs of a crowd ; 

Gifted with all to mortal race allowed, 
Tet dragged to earth, fitter to soar than climb, — 
To dwell with gods, than act the praise-bought mime, 

Loathing the self-wrought chain 'neath which he bowed : 
On the sea-shore he stands, the winds 9 caress 

Lifting the curls from off his brow, the foam 
Kissing his feet as the waves onward press ; 

But far aoross the blue Greek isles doth roam 
That wistful gaze of deep unhappiness : 

One who had life-long sought, but ne'er had found, a Home. 

VIL Shellet. 

With dreams and whispering of oracles, 
Faces reflected round thine own within 
The glassing lake, the Muses sought to win 

Thy heart, O star-eyed Shellet, in their spells : 

Like Hylas to the river-nymphs, up-wells 
Thy love to ministrants so fair, no sin 
Suspected in the beauties that begin 

To lure thee from where manly duty dwells. 
Yet, soon the wild-wood echoes cease to hymn 

Contentment to thy soul, and though ye cling 
To Virtue, grief and wrong thy visions dim ; 

Nature is mute when thou wouldst worship bring, 
Mistaking her for God : while Seraphim 

And saints would train thy voice His praise to sing. 

VIII. Walter Scott. 

Haunting the mouldering towers of feudal time, 
Tracing their records, long obscured or lost ; 
Decyphering quaintest legends, gravestones mossed 

In lonely glen, old ballads where the rhyme 

Of wandering minstrel told of love and crime, 
Sere parchments that revealed how at the cost 
Of peace and honour, by mischances crossed, 

Ambitious men to power had dared to climb : 
We see him ! — mirth and shrewdness in his eye, 

Warm human love and fellowship with all, 
From courtliest knight to lowliest peasantry? 

One whom misfortune's shocks could not appal, 
Though they might shatter, — who in honesty 

Toiled onward, brave and honoured in his fall. 

"J.W.E." 



HOW TO DEAL WITH THE BUCOLTC MIND. 



No. II. Village Clubs. 

JN my last paper I spoke of Village Schools as the first 
means of influencing and improving the Bucolic Mind. 
Village Clubs of many different kinds, will, if judiciously 
managed, prove most useful agencies in following up that 
improvement, and I shall in the course of this paper mention 
one or two clubs that may attract those younger members 
of a country Parish, who have only just become too old to be 
under the humanizing influence of the National School. 
I of course allude to lads between the ages of thirteen and 
twenty. 

The word " Club," to begin in the approved style with 
an attempt at definition, has a different meaning in almost 
every class of English Society. The "man about town" 
talks of " his Club" meaning thereby " the United Service," 
the "Carlton," or the "Oxford and Cambridge."— The 
country clergyman talks of his Clerical Society and Book 
Club. — The St. John's man prides himself on belonging to 
the Lady Margaret Boat Club, and if he meets a fellow- 
undergraduate in the country, enquires if he is " in the Club." 
The village labourer speaks of being " on his Club" when 
he is ill, and " off his Club" when restored to health. In 
fact there is something in the very idea of a Club that suits 
the English mind, and harmonizes with its notions. There is 
something very attractive to our countrymen in that uniting 
together for a common cause, that combination of free and 
independent persons to promote their own profit or pleasure, 
which makes sturdy plain-spoken merry England a country 
of clubs. Whether it be for pleasure, or profit, — and of 
course it will be " profit" in its best sense that this paper 
will chiefly deal with, — I think that the country clergyman 
or squire will do well to promote the formation of Village 
Clubs. And I think it will be universally admitted that if 



84 How to deal with the Bucolic Mind. 

any society of persons constantly remember the uncertainty 
of life, and the changeableness of men's characters and 
dispositions, common sense will suggest habits of self-reliance. 
Common sense will teach the inhabitants of an English 
Tillage that they ought not to habituate themselves to lean 
upon any one person, whether it be the Squire or the Rector, 
but that they ought to encourage that feeling which leads 
men, after asking God's blessing on their own individual 
exertions, to strengthen their position still further, not by 
seeking the protection of any one person 9 but by combining, 
with those of their own rank, for mutual assistance and 
support In entering into such combinations there is no 
sacrifice of independence. There is indeed an apparent 
sacrifice of freedom of action, for of course so long as a man 
is a member of a club he must obey its laws, but then it 
must be remembered that he has a voice in framing those laws, 
and moreover he can free himself at any time by leaving the 
society. 

The first kind of club on which I will remark shall be the 
Benefit Club, the village society for mutual assistance. These 
clubs have many fantastic names, but whether they be " Odd 
Fellows f " Ancient Druids ;" " Foresters ;" " Rechabites ;" 
" Crimson Oaks," or the like, their professed object is, the 
relief of members or their relatives in times of sickness or 
old age, the payment of funeral expences for a member or 
his wife, the assistance of members when travelling in search 
of work, and various similar objects. 

The " Manchester Unity of Odd Fellows" is the most 
extensive Friendly Society in the world, and I think the 
Clubs or Lodges connected with it, are the most sound and 
solvent of any Village Benefit Clubs, though there is no 
reason why other clubs should not be equally secure if they 
are properly enrolled and certified. These two terms " enrolled" 
and " certified" are often supposed to be identical, but there 
is an important difference between them. An enrolled and 
certified society is one registered so as to be under the 
protection of the law, and governed by rules which an 
Actuary has declared to be sound, i.e. that the payments into 
the club bear a proper proportion to the probable payments 
out. 

A Society " enrolled" but not " certified ,, is under the 
protection of the law, but its rules may be so faulty as to 
ensure a certain break-up before long. A Society neither 
enrolled nor certified, places its funds at the mercy of any 
designing knave who may have the key of the strong box, or 



How to deal with the Bucolic Mind. 85 

if their funds are in the hands of any honest though unfortunate 
man who becomes bankrupt, they can only claim a share of 
his estate with the other creditors, instead of being entitled 
to have the whole of their money returned first Mr. 
Hardwicke in his valuable work on Friendly Societies gives 
the five following conditions of security, which he considers 
to be essential : 

1. The rates of contribution for the assurance of any 
specified benefit must be determined from a knowledge of 
average liability, and not by benevolent impulse, or capricious 
and fortuitous legislation. 

2. If these institutions are to be founded upon equitable 
as well as upon secure principles, the rates of monthly or 
other payment for each benefit promised must be graduated 
in accordance with the ages of members at the time of 
entrance, or an equivalent initiation fee must be paid to 
compensate for equality of periodical contribution* 

8. The number of members over which the joint liability 
extends must, not in name only, but de facto, be sufficiently 
large to ensure a reasonable approximation to a working 
average of liability. 

4. Legislative protection to the funds, and their regular 
and judicious investment. 

5. A quinquennial or other periodical revision or in- 
vestigation of the state of the assets and liabilities, with a 
view to the adjustment of any irregularity which the pre- 
ceding conditions may have failed to provide for. 

Of course it is impossible within my present limits to 
prove by actual argument the necessity of these five points. 
I simply give my authority for them, and I hope this paper 
may have the practical effect of inducing those among my 
readers, who have the means and opportunity, to do what they 
can to support any well-ordered benefit-club not only with 
their money but with their advice. 

One great evil to be spoken against is the prevalent habit of 
meeting every month at the public-house, especially where, 
instead of renting a room, the club pay the landlord by con- 
suming a fixed amount of beer. For instance, in a village 
I am well acquainted with, it is the custom of an " Odd 
Women's" club to have a certain quantity of beer up every 
lodge-night: those present to divide it among themselves. 
Some of them indeed take jugs, and carry home their share 
to their husbands, but I am told that many, who have no 
husbands, drink it all themselves, and in consequence behave 
very oddly y to say the least of it. I think there is no doubt 
vol. in. h 



86 How to deal with the Bucolic Mind. 

that though the Tillage publican may very properly be 
employed to provide the dinner at the Anniversary, the 
monthly meetings for payments, &c, ought to be held 
either in the school-room or in some public room or 
building. I should like to see in all large villages and 
small towns a neat "Odd Fellows 9 Hall" for this purpose, 
and it might be most useful for many other purposes, e.g., 
a reading-room, adult school, or mechanics* institute. A 
room of this sort would be very useful for a club, such 
as we established last year in my late Parish, and which, 
for want of a better name, we called a " Young Men's 
Evening Club." Its object was, to provide " three evenings 
a-week the use of a well-warmed and well-lighted room, 
newspapers and periodicals of various kinds; fire-side 
games of skill, such as chess, draughts, &c, together with 
improvement in general knowledge, by means of classes and 
occasional Lectures." Chess soon took a decided lead among 
the games, and I think our three boards were always in use. 
We concluded our season early in March, with a sale amongst 
the members of the periodicals that had accumulated, and the 
other fragile property of the club. The competition was very 
spirited and amusing ; and one of the chess-boards sold for 
a penny more than it cost when new. The proceeds of the 
safe, and some donations from honorary members, amounting 
to about two pounds, enabled us to wind up in a solvent 
state, though our ordinary members had only paid sixpence 
entrance and one penny a-week. 

In the summer-time most of our members joined the 
village Cricket Club. This is an institution which the 
clergyman of a country parish may support, I am sure, 
with great advantage, and he may do much good by join- 
ing in the game and in a friendly match with a neighbouring 
village, provided he can flay sufficiently well to avoid making 
a fool of himself. Take the hint, my undergraduate friend, 
and make good use of the advantages offered you by the 
St. John's Cricket Club ! 

The principles on which we managed the cricket club 
were the same that we observed in keeping up our other 
" village clubs." We required a small subscription from 
each member; a Committee of management was elected 
annually; and no respectable person was excluded on any 
sectarian grounds. Our motto was " self-support, self- 
management, and freedom from party." On these prin- 
ciples we kept up our " Mural Library." A Committee 
of management — amongst whom were small farmers, shop- 



How to deal with the Bucolic Mind. 87 

keepers, and labouring men — were chosen annually at the 
Anniversary Festival ; and the new books were from time 
to time decided on, at a committee meeting, out of a quan- 
tity obtained on approval by the Secretary. Our aim was 
to introduce standard works of every variety, religious and 
secular, avoiding only books of religious controversy, and 
any whose price exceeded five or six shillings. As a sample 
of our books, I may mention " Blunt's Reformation," 
" English Hearts and Hands," " Settlers x in Canada,'* 
u The Power of Prayer," " Historical Sketches," « Pick- 
wick Papers," and "Ten Thousand a Year." 

At our Anniversary meeting in January, after the in- 
dispensable " Public Tea" (tickets 7d. each), we had a 
musical performance, vocal and instrumental, by village 
amateurs, and various addresses from friends of the in- 
stitution. 

The last kind of club I will mention is the village 
" Clothing Club," the object of which is to collect a small 
weekly payment from each member, and at the end of the 
year to provide clothing according to the amount received. 
The treasurer will, of course, add a small bonus to each 
deposit, if he is able, either from his own purse or by the 
assistance of charitable parishioners. 

"J. F. B." 



O 
G O 

© QfiL. 
Q G G ® 

G G © 

© G 
O 



H 2 



A FEW WORDS ABOUT SOME OF THE EAELIEST 
INHABITANTS OF EUBOPE. 



■JHERE appear to be four stages through which a nation 
would naturally pass, in its progress from a state of 
barbarism to one of civilization. In the first, its cutting 
tools and weapons would be formed from the stones lying 
about, without the aid of any metal. In the next, some 
metal would be used, probably copper, which occurs not 
rarely in its native state and the ores of which are con- 
spicuous and readily smelted. After this the copper would 
be hardened by some amalgam, such as tin, and then bronze* 
would come into general use; and finally the dull, un- 
promising ores of iron would be made to yield up their 
treasures, and supplant all the other materials. Through such 
a progression most of the European nations have passed. 
In many parts of Europe relics of two of the first three ages 
are abundant, and tell us somewhat of those ages of stonef 
and bronze on which history is silent My object in the 
following paper is to give a brief account of the chief facts 
that have up to this time been discovered about these periods. 
I make, of course, no claim to originality ; I have but put 
together the facts which have been collected by others — 
still I trust that the reader may feel some interest in the 
story of an age, unknown to history, and not be sorry to 
gratify it without the trouble of hunting through the 
volumes of Transactions of various Societies from which 
my information is mainly derived. 

* In the bronze found in Europe there are generally about nine 
parts of copper to one of tin. There is, however, considerable 
variation in the proportions of the metals. 

f No distinct trace of an age of copper is found in Europe ; 
the race that brought the bronze appear to have discovered It before 
their emigration (probably from the east). Instruments of copper 
have been found in Hindustan. 



A few words about the Earliest Inhabitants of Europe. 89 

Three districts in Europe have especially supplied us 
with information upon the stone age — the north-west of 
France, Denmark, and Switzerland, I shall consider them 
separately, because there does not appear to have been 
any immediate connexion between the inhabitants of these 
three localities. 

The history of the discovery of what are probably the 
earliest relics of man in Europe, affords a useful lesson to 
enquirers. From time to time, during the last twenty 
years, rude stone instruments have been found in caverns 
and other places, associated with the bones of animals, 
supposed to have become extinct long before the appearance 
of the human race. For some time these facts were very 
generally neglected or scouted, as being so little in ac- 
cordance with the theories commonly received. At last, 
however, Mons. Boucher de Perthes announced that he 
had discovered instruments, wrought from flints, lying in 
strata apparently undisturbed, and associated with the bones 
of extinct animals. The most searching examination, con- 
ducted by the most competent persons, has fully confirmed 
the accuracy of his statement, and the following are some 
of the results that have been arrived at. The wrought 
flints have been discovered in several places along the 
valley of the Somme, in some cases twenty feet below the 
present surface of the ground, and covered by two distinct 
deposits.* There is not the slightest evidence that the 
surrounding earth has been in any way disturbed since 
they were buried; the localities are in some cases ninety 
feet above the Somme, and one hundred and sixty feet 
above the sea; with the instruments are found the bones 
of Elephas primigenius, Bhinocerus tichorhinus, Bos primi- 
genius and other extinct mammals. Several species of 
fresh-water shells are also found and a few marine. The in- 



Avmrag* thickM*$. 

* Section (1) Brown brick earth (many old tombs I ,«. , . ~ 
and some coins) no organic remains/ 

(2) Marl and sand with land and fresh-) 

water shells, mammal bones and> 2 to 8 ft. 
teeth occasionally ) 

(3) Coarse subangular flint gravel, re- \ 

mains of shells as above. Teeth/ fi 19f . 
and bones of elephants, &c. Flint I ° w 1JI *' 
instruments ) 

(4) Uneven surface of chalk strata. 



90 A few wards about some of 

struments* vary considerably in size, perhaps the commonest 
are about three or four inches long, two wide, and one 
thick; — there appears to be about three distinct types. — 
They are very rudely fashioned, but in some cases con- 
siderable pains have been taken in their manufacture. The 
surface is left chipped and rough, without any attempt at 
producing a level edge or surface, but even to do what 
has been done must have been no easy task when metals 
were unknown. There cannot be the slightest doubt that 
they are the work of man. 

Besides the above named place they have also been 
found in various spots in the vallies of the Seine and Oise. 
France, however, is not the only country where they have 
occurred; they were discovered at Hoxne, in Suffolk, so 
long ago as 1797, associated with large bones (probably of 
E. primigenius), but the discovery did not meet with the 
general attention it deserved. The place, however, has been 
recently visited and some more have been obtained.f 
Specimens were also found in 1858 in a cave at Brixham, 
Devonshire, mingled with the bones of extinct animals. In 
France also a human jaw and a separate tooth were met with 
in a similar position in a cave at Arcy;$ and in a cave 
at Massah,|| three feet below the surface, on which lay a 
bed of cinders containing fragments of pottery, an iron 
dagger, and two Roman coins, was another bed of cinders and 
charcoal containing an arrowhead of bone and two human 
teeth, together with bones of the Tiger or Lion, Hyaena 
(H. spelaea), Bear (Ursus spelseus), &c. Marks have been 
noticed in bones of extinct animals collected in different 
parts of France, which appear to have been made by 
sawing them with a sharp stone. § 

* There are now a good number of specimens in England. 
Three (presented by the late Professor Henslow) in the possession 
of the Cambridge Antiquarian Society. Some very fine specimens 
are in Jermyn Street Museum, London ; and there was a magnifi- 
cent series exhibited at the Crystal Palace last summer. 

f Since the above was written I have read an account of the 
discovery of some of these flint weapons in Bedfordshire, and seen 
one found near Burwell in Cambridgeshire. 

X Between Chalons-sur-Maine and Troyes, Department de 
1'Aube. 

jl In the department of Ariege, Pyrenees. 

§ Since writing the above my attention has been called to a 
paper in the Natural History Review, No. V., giving an account of a 
cave at Aurignac, Haute Garonne, in which human skeletons were 



the Earliest Inhabitants of Europe. 9 1 

^ These are the principal facts at present known about 
this early race of men. We have not as yet sufficient data 
to enable us to speculate on their history and antiquity. 
For the present we must be content to wait till more facts 
are accumulated. We are, however, I think justified in 
asserting that, either changes, far greater than have hitherto 
been imagined, have taken place in the configuration and 
fauna of Europe during the last six thousand years ; or that 
the period during which man is popularly believed to have 
existed on the globe is much too short. 

The race which I take next in order seems, so far as 
we can judge from its remains, to occupy an intermediate 
position in civilization (and possibly in antiquity) between 
the one I have just described and that which I shall mention 
last. Its chief haunt, so far as we at present know, was 
the coasts of Denmark; and our two great sources of in- 
formation are the tumuli and kjokkenmoddinger. Their 
skeletons lie buried beneath the former in chambers formed 
of huge slabs. They are in a sitting posture with their 
hands crossed on their breasts ; buried with them are found 
axes and other weapons of stone, but no trace of bronze 
or iron. The kjokkenmoddinger {anglice, kitchen middens) 
are heaps of shells, the refuse cast out from their huts, 
mixed with bones of fish, birds, and quadrupeds, among 
which are found stone axes and other weapons. There 
is some difference between the weapons that have as yet 
been found in these heaps and those from the tumuli. 
The former are rude and unpolished, the latter have been 
carefully finished off by polishing them on a whetstone. 
This difference, though remarkable, is susceptible of ex- 
planation, and indeed future exploration may shew that 
the law does not hold universally. 

The Savants, who have examined these relics of a bye- 
gone age, have come to the conclusion that there once 
dwelt on the shores of the Danish Archipelago a race of 
men of short stature, round heads, and overhanging brows, 
resembling in appearance the Laps of the present day ; that 
they lived on shell-fish, fish and such birds and quadrupeds 
as they could obtain by hunting ; that they did not possess 
any of the metals, were ignorant of the cultivation of 
cereals, and had no domestic animal except the dog. Two 

found with the bones of Ursus spekeus, Felis spetaa Hyffina spelaea, 
Elephas primigenius Rhinoceros tichorinus, Megaceros hibernicus, 
and other animals no longer existing in Europe. 



92 A few words about some of 

of the birds whose bones hare been found are worth 
special notice ; one is the great Auk (alia impennis) which 
is now extinct in Denmark, and so nearly so in the world 
that a specimen commands a very large price.* The other 
is the capercailxie (Tetrao urogallus) still common in Norway. 
The occurrence of this bird is yery interesting because it 
gives some slight due to the antiquity of the remains ; it 
feeds on the buds of the pine, consequently, during the 
stone age, Denmark must have been covered with pine 
forests. Now in the peat bogs are found hollows which 
have been filled up by the trunks of trees which once 
grew round them, and when dead fell into them. These 
trunks belong to three kinds of trees; the lowest are 
pines of great size, and tall in proportion to their diameter, 
shewing that the country was densly covered by them; 
above them lie oaks; and above them are beeches which 
flourish in Denmark in the present day. Stone instruments 
are found among the pines, bronze among the oaks, and 
iron among the beeches. Since the stone age the pines 
have been replaced by oaks and these again by beeches, 
which last were flourishing there at least eighteen hundred 
years ago ; we, therefore, may fairly suppose that the stone 
age cannot have concluded much less than three thousand 
years ago, and possibly belongs to a still more remote 
period. 

Lastly, we come to the stone age of Switzerland. This 
I consider last in order, not so much because I think it 
of necessity more modern than that last named, but be- 
cause the links uniting it to the historic period are less 
broken here than elsewhere. The relics found in the Swiss 
lakes tell us of three distinct periods during which stone, 
bronze, and iron were respectively used by the occupants 
of the country. Before examining into the testimony of 
these remains I will briefly describe the manner of their 
discovery. In the winter of 1853-4 the waters of the lake 
of Zurich were much below their ordinary level ; a number 
of black waterworn stumps were observed projecting out 
of the mud thus left exposed, among which lay hearthstones, 
calcined by fires long ago extinguished, fragments of 
charcoal, broken bones, weapons and other instruments. 

* The last specimens were killed at Eldey, a small island 
near the S.W. corner of Iceland, in 1844. Since then there 
has not been any well authenticated instance of its occurrence. 
See an interesting paper in the Ibis, Vol. hi., p. 374. 



the Earliest Inhabitants of Europe. 9 3 

The hint thus gi?en was not neglected; search was made 
in other places ; similar discoveries were made in the lakes 
of Neufchatel, Bienne, Geneva, and Constance ; and a vast 
number of objects were amassed by dint of careful search, 
aided by the dredge. It was evident that the first in- 
habitants of the country had not occupied houses upon the 
shore, but had constructed their villages on piles driven 
into the mud, grouping them together on esplanades, and 
linking them to one another and to the land by light bridges, 
which in many cases, no doubt, were so constructed as to 
be easily removed.* In this manner some of the tribes in 
Papua and New Guinea still pass their lives, and so in old 
times did some of the nations in Mexico and the Fseoniansf on 
Lake Frasias. These villages were constructed in the follow- 
ing way : at some distance from the land, the exact distance 
depending on the average depth of the water and the nature 
of the bottom, strong piles were driven into the soft mud; on 
these an esplanade was formed of transverse beams fastened 
to the piles and to each other with withes, pegs, and inter- 
lacing boughs, constructed, of course, so as to be always 
about the level of the water. In some cases it consisted 
of two or three floors of wood separated by layers of clay, 
so as to be of considerable strength and thickness ; on. it 
were placed the cabins built of poles, interlaced with smajl 
branches, and plastered internally with clay; these were 
probably circular in form, since several masses of their inner 
coating have been found, hardened by the fire that destroyed 
the houses, which are arcs of circles from ten to fifteen 
feet in diameter. These villages must often have been of 
considerable size : their inhabitants supporting themselves by 
hunting, fishing, and agriculture. To procure wood or 
food, or as weapons of offence or defence, they had smooth 
wedge-shaped axes fixed in handles of stagshorn or wood, 
chisels, arrowheads, and knives of flint, and saws formed 
by teeth of flint fixed in a handle of bone. They sewed 
their garments, made of a rude tissue woven from some 

* These lake houses are not confined to Switzerland, though 
at present most that have been discovered are there. Re- 
cently similar remains have been found in Italy on the Lago 
Maggiore and in other places. Remains of piles have been 
found also in Holland, Denmark, and England. In Ireland the 
lake house seems to have been represented by the "crannoge," 
or small fort, built with timber and stones upon an islet or shoal. 

f Herodotus, v. 16. 



94 A few word* about some of 

vegetable fibre, with needles of stags-horn, some of which 
closely resemble oar packing needles; they manufactured 
a coarse kind of pottery, and wove osier baskets. Wheat 
and barley were their grain ; apples, pears, cherries, plums, 
(perhaps only the wild varieties) their fruits, besides the nut, 
the beech, the blackberry, and others, which grow in the 
woods. A long list of animals, wild and domesticated, has 
been made out from the remains discovered. Space does 
not allow me to transcribe this catalogue, but we learn from 
it that the natives had domesticated the dog, the horse, the 
ox, the pig, the sheep, and the goat. In their age too the 
urus was not, as now, extinct; tne bison not confined to 
the forests of Lithuania, nor die bouquetin to the lonely 
fastnesses of the Graian Alps. 

From the occurrence of amber among the remains we 
may perhaps infer some kind of intercourse with nations 
on the shores of the Baltic, from that of coral, with the 
Mediterranean, from that of nephrite with the East, from 
that of flint with France. 

Nothing certain can be ascertained about their religious 
belief. Lie the inhabitants of Denmark they buried their 
dead in a sitting posture, the knees bent up to the chin 
and the arms crossed on the breast, in tombs about three feet 
long, and rather less in breadth and height, built of rude 
slabs. 

From what has been said it will be evident that the 
civilization of the race inhabiting Switzerland was of a 
much higher order than that of the old inhabitants of 
Denmark. The identity in their mode of burying the dead 
certainly points to a common origin, in all probability in 
the East, possibly from the great rhrygian family, of which 
the Paeonians are considered a branch.* In that case the 
northern family may, as did the Celts afterwards, have 
travelled in a north-west direction till they reached the 
shores of the North Sea, and there, meeting with a cold 
inhospitable climate, have degenerated and lost the arts 
of agriculture, which they had once practised, while the 
southern family, going westward and settling down on the 
sunny shores of the Swiss and Italian lakes, retained and 
perhaps pushed to a higher degree the arts of pastoral 
and agricultural life; or, which is perhaps more probable, 
the northern family migrated from the east at an earlier 

* Tombs have been discovered under the most ancient buildings 
of Babylon, in which the corpses are buried in the same position. 



the Earliest Inhabitants of Europe. 95 

period than the southern, when civilization was less fully 
developed.* 

It remains only to say a few words on the probable 
antiquity of the remains of the lake-people. Although of 
course we can do little more than conjecture, yet we have 
a few data to guide us. For instance, the neighbourhood 
of Yverdun, on the lake of Neufchatel, supplies us with 
some useful facts. About two thousand five hundred feet 
from the present margin of the lake, on a little ridge, of 
raised ground stand some Roman remains. Between this 
ridge and the shore is a tract of ground evidently deposited 
by the waters of the lake, and in this no Roman remains 
have been found. It has, therefore, in all probability, been 
formed since the commencement of the Christian era. Now, 
if the waters washed the foot of the ridge above mentioned 
in the fourth century, it has taken about one thousand five 
hundred years to form this tract, two thousand five hundred 
feet across; but beyond the ridge is another tract of flat 
alluvial land, and in this, some three thousand feet beyond 
the ridge, are piles and other remains of the stone period. 
If then we suppose, as we should naturally do, the rate 
of increase of the ground to be approximately uniform; 
we cannot refer these remains to a date later than 1500 B.C., 
and they may of course belong to a much earlier period 
than this. 

Towards the conclusion of the stone age another race 
begin to make their appearance, bringing with them a new 
metal. In the later habitations of the stone age a few bronze 
weapons are found, which must have been brought in by 
another nation, for, had the art been home-born, the use 
of copper would have preceded bronze. The invaders, 
commonly called Celts, appear to have come from the east, 
and to have divided into two streams, one pressing towards 
the northern sea, the other passing by the Black and 
Mediterranean Seas, to the countries of central Europe. 
These races burned the bodies of their dead, and inurning 
the remains, buried them beneath a tumulus; they were 
armed with weapons of bronze, and the remains we find 
denote a state of civilization far above that of the old in- 
habitants, who were conquered by them, and their lake 

* A tribe when migrating would naturally go back in civilization. 
Thus the art of working in metals might be lost, if the tribe rested 
during two or three generations in a country in which the necessary 
ores were not to be found. 



96 A few %oord$ about the Earliest Inhabitants of Europe. 

villages stormed and burnt The invaders, however, do 
not appear to have retained possession of the whole of 
Switzerland, for, while on the shores of the eastern lakes 
the rained towns were never restored, but were left to 
the slow destructive action of the winds and waters, those 
on the western lakes were again rebuilt, but at a greater 
distance from the land than before, as though experience 
had taught the builders the need of greater precautions to 
guard against the more formidable weapons of the invading 
race. 

Among the remains in these towns we find bronze 
weapons and ornaments mixed in large quantities with those 
of stone, shewing that the conquered race, partook in 
some degree of the civilization of their conquerors. But 
another age, that of iron, succeeded, and a new race 
and a new metal came in together, the towns that remained 
were again destroyed to be no more rebuilt, and the 
stone weapons of the first inhabitants and the bronze 
arms of the Celts were eoually powerless against the iron 
swords of the Helvetii. With the invasion of this race 
the construction of lake dwellings entirely ceases, and we 
approach the period of written history. 

Note. My principal authorities in compiling the above paper have 
been, for the firat part, a paper by Mr. Prestwich, in the Transactions 
of the Royal Society, Vol. 150, Ft. 2 ; several papers and notices 
in the Journal of the Geological Society, and the Geologist: 
for the second, a paper by Mr. Lubbock, in the Natural History 
Bedew, No. 4: for the third, Mons. Troyon's admirable and 
interesting work, Habitations Lacustres des temps Ancient et 
Moderns*. I should also state that the last part of my paper 
was written before I saw the article on the same subject in the 
Saturday Review of March 1st. The author of that paper has 
obtained all his information from the same source as myself, 
but has unfortunately forgotten to acknowledge the obligations he 
is under to Mons. Troyon. 

"0" 






BOME IN 1862. 



Ron, 

January 28th, 1862. 

Dear Mr. Editor, 

It has been hinted to me that a letter from 
Rome would be of some interest to your readers ; that the 
Johnian Eagle would rejoice to hear how fares the ancient 
bird out here. 

In writing from a place like Rome, with such a crowd 
of interesting subjects around one, it is difficult to know 
what to select particularly, as a six weeks' residence can 
pre but scanty information on any one. I shall not go 
into questions of art or archaeology, as it might be but a 
poor repetition of Smith or Murray, or some other such 
book, which is to be seen in the hands of every excited 
'Inglese* rushing madly about the ruins of this Eternal 
City, and their contents are I dare say well known to most 
of your readers. 

There has been so much of interest written on the 
existing ruins of Rome, and their history through different 
ages so well traced and so well connected, that it would be 
presumptuous on my part to attempt, in so short a space, what 
has taken others much careful study to make at all explicit. 
In the course of a few months there will be a real fresh 
subject for all who delight in antiquities, but at present 
it is useless to say anything about it, as the work has as 
yet made so little progress. I allude to the excavations 
of the Palatine, which were commenced about six weeks 
ago under the directions of the French Emperor — the whole 
undertaking is put in the hands of St. Rosa, who has 
already distinguished himself by several interesting dis- 
coveries. I have visited the works with him by special 
leave (for the public are strictly prohibited from entering); 
what little they have found promises well, for instance, 
a road leading from the Arch of Titus to the summit of 



98 Borne in 1862. 

the Palatine, a large hall belonging to some Baths, &c. &c. 
If the Emperor only carries out what his great namesake 
contemplated, he will lodge no little claim against many 
of our sightseeing fellow-countrymen. Since the Palatine 
always was, from the earliest days of Borne, adorned with 
the finest buildings, and art and money were expended 
there in the most unheard of and lavish manner, the ex- 
pectations of an excavator you can imagine are naturally 
great, and I have no doubt they will be well gratified. 
Interesting as this work is, it is too much a matter of 
speculation to say any thing decided upon at present, 
and the purport of my letter will be more to acquaint 
you with any little particulars going on at Rome. A dis- 
cussion about any debated ruin, or an attempt at reconciling 
any of the trite and hackneyed difficulties, would, on my 
part, be impertinent. I shall not attempt anything of 
the sort. 

As far as political news is concerned it is no easy matter 
to get at the real truth; however, from conversation with 
the people here, and resident English, one can get a fair 
idea, certainly more to be depended on than the ever changing 
rumours of the papers. 

There is, undoubtedly, much that pleasingly surprises 
one here, and many who have not visited the place have 
I fancy false ideas as to the general management and public 
order of Borne. The streets of a night instead of being 
the rendezvous of assassins and cut-throats, as one has 
heard, are far quieter than those of moderate sized towns 
in England, the caf fes all close at a very early hour, and 
the standard of order and morality is certainly high. To 
an outward observer Borne presents the most peaceable 
appearance possible, and what contributes still more to this, 
is the general backwardness of the people to speak on the 
subject of politics ; unless you draw them out, they never 
volunteer their opinions. There always was, and ever will 
be, a great love of the "dolce fur niente" which forms a 
main ingredient in the essential character of an Italian; 
and it is this, coupled with the fear which an absolute 
government enforces, that makes them so silent even in a 
critical moment like the present. The battle really going 
on in their mind is between freedom with its requisite 
costs, and an ease undisturbed save by the fretting re- 
strictions that must attend upon an absolute government, 
and these are no paltry ones. Of these two conflicting 
powers, there is no doubt which would get the mastery in 



Rome in 1862. 99 

a moment of excitement, or some unusual crisis ; and they 
would then hail a free government and Rome as their 
Capital with great glee — but there is a fear that this might 
be only the working of a sudden impulse. In the excite- 
ment of the moment and in the heat of revolution no one 
would fight with more spirit and patriotism than an Italian — 
but has this patriotism got any last in it ? When the storm 
is over and the passion lulled, and a ministry settling upon 
a sober form of government, then there is a fear that the 
old feelings of Rienzi's time might spring up again to light, 
and they would shrug their shoulders with meaning dis- 
approbation when asked to support with their money what 
they had but lately clamoured for so eagerly. Taxes are 
mysteries to an Italian ; so short-sighted are they that unless 
they can see an immediate result, they will not open their 
purse in a hurry ; let them have their quiet enjoyment, their 
hands in their pockets and cigar in their mouth, their 
Lung'Amo or Corso to stroll along in the afternoon, their 
opera and theatre in the evening, and it makes little odds 
to a great many whether € Papa* is at the Vatican or Victor 
Emmanuel in the Capitol. 

There is no doubt that in the last two years a very 
great advance has been made; the representatives of the 
Neapolitan states show up with far better grace in their 
Parliament, or rather, I would say, are not the disgrace 
to it that they were — but still, improved as they may be, 
has the time for their entire freedom yet arrived? The 
'pro's* and 'con's* are very evenly balanced, even supposing 
the change of government could be upheld. Rome would 
become a finer, cleaner, and more open city, and we should 
not twist our ankles on such miserable pavement and through 
suet wretched streets as we do now; we should not be 
left to the mercy of 'vetturini' and other like impostors 
without any tariff or possibility of redress, and that most 
ancient evil and nuisance, the beggars, who iqfest the streets 
and even the churches, might m some measure be done 
away with: but there would creep in other multitudinous 
evils, to counterbalance these improvements. And if the 
time is not come for Rome to be the Capitol, no more is 
the time come for Italy to be united — for Rome must be 
the Capitol, Turin is not central enough and Naples out 
of the question — it can be nowhere else than at Rome, and 
when the time comes here it will be. 

Beneath the quiet surface there is a strong undercurrent, 
and this in time will make its way in spite of all obstacles, 



100 Rome m 1862. 

but at present it flows too deep to carry the floating mass 
quickly with it The secrecy and dissimulation of the people 
in some instances are yery amusing — you go into their 
shop, and after a while they stealthily pull out of Borne 
drawer behind the counter a splendid mosaic likeness of 
Garibaldi, or a fine cameo of 'II nostra Be.' The Pope 
drives by, and in the same breath they giye him a cheer 
and tellyou how they long to see the others fill the place 
of his Holiness. However they are rarely as open as this, 
there are too many spies at work to allow their confiding 
to you their real sentiments. This is the sort of spirit that 
works unseen, particularly among all who are engaged in 
trade, as they know well the benefits that would accrue to 
them, if the change were effected, for commerce now is 
perfectly at a stand still ; however, there is no head of any 
importance to guide or concentrate this opposing power — 
there exists ( a committee/ but all is kept so quiet that 
I fear it is but of little influence. The change is therefore 
but a very gradual one, and, working in such an isolated 
manner it will take a long time before it has any general 
effect. 

Whatever the French Emperor's motives may be in 
keeping his troops here, there is no doubt that the delay 
is of essential service to Italy, if ever it is to be united, 
provided that delay is not extended too far; had Home 
fallen to Victor Emmanuel when Naples did, and a united 
kingdom been attempted then, a disastrous failure might 
have accrued ; from trying a free government in other cities 
they have learnt the disposition of the people they have 
to deal with, the troubles, as well as the advantages — the 
experience has been of the utmost service. Thus Rome, 
hitherto, instead of being an obstacle, has in reality been 
the cause of making the work more perfect, and has let 
people into the secret that there is a mighty difference be- 
tween the patriotism of an Italian in the heat of revolution 
and that of one sobered down under a steady government. 

Their patience now has been sorely tried, and I know, 
for a positive fact, that the chief families in Rome feel the 
existing state of things most keenly; some young Italians 
are even leaving Rome at the expense of banishment ; but 
will there not be good arise out of this, provided it is not 
prolonged too far — what they will earn by suffering they 
will appreciate the more, and when they have earned it, 
they will be more circumspect than they would have been 
had their wishes been gratified all in a moment. Again, many 



Rbme in \B62. 101 

of the more influential and educated have been drawn over 
from this delay to see the necessity of a change, and their 
weight thrown into the scale will be sure to give matters a 
better face. There are but two or three of the great Roman 
families who support the temporal power, such as the 
Borghese, Doria, and Colonna; and these chiefly from 
the reason that they have relations in close connexion with 
the Pope. 

Again, if Borne is to be the centre of government, there 
is another enemy that she has to contend with, most unseen, 
and most mysterious — the malaria, no ideal or imaginary 
evil: but is this to baffle all human skill and energy? 
Surjely the great remedies remain yet to be tried — if better 
inhabited and better cultivated, there might be a great 
difference. The population certainly is on the increase, 
but it is a very gradual increase. Rome in its original 
grandeur extended really from the Capitol to Ostia, but 
where are the millions to come from that peopled it then ? 

The railway is now open to the Neapolitan frontier, and 
will soon be complete to Naples ; this is a great epoch in the 
history of modern Rome ; but they are painfully and miser- 
ably slow about it ; the Pope is to open it, but then if he is 
to turn out for such a job, we must wait until the warm spring 
weather comes, and when the warm weather comes we must 
wait for a particularly fine day, and when that very fine 
day arrives there will probably be some particular mass which 
will detain him ; so whichever side we look to, the advance- 
ment in either direction is slow; the one is contributing 
however imperceptibly to the furtherance of the other, and 
the fear and caution of the one act as a corrective to any 
premature attempts on the part of the other. 

Our fellow countrymen abound here — in fact where 
do they not ? Go where you will, the hotels and lodgings 
are always full of English— mammas with families of all 
dimensions, delicate daughters and desperate daughters and 
daughters of every degree, strong minded maiden ladies, 
elderly batchelors, worn out officers, etc... The majority of 
these people, especially the feminine portion, seem to come 
here for die ' season, 9 and the real interests of Rome take 
but a subordinate place in their minds — the showy ceremonies 
in St. Peter's and other churches have far greater charms, 
and they rush to them with frantic excitement, sit there for 
two or three hours before the time so as to secure a good 
place, and then when the Misses Smith go to the Misses 
Jones's 'at home' in the evening, these ceremonies afford 

VOL. III. I 



102 Jfem*ff>1862. 

topics for delightful conversation. These ' at homes 9 form 
the chief society in Borne, and the only way that the English 
meet together; about half-past eight of an evening some 
select thirty or forty blunder up a Roman lodging staircase 
to a 'terzo piano' — tea, coffee, and small talk form the 
amusement — dancing in most houses being strictly prohibited, 
for being built so shockingly bad, there is reasonable fear 
that the vibration of some fifteen couple in motion would 
cause the ' terzo' to subside into the 'secondo piano 9 and 
so on. I know * lady who attempted it, but a couple of 
gensdarmes appeared in the room after a very short time 
with drawn swords — accordingly we have recourse to small 
talk which is of a decidedly trifling description — some 
patronising mamma or simpering girl with an aim at a classi- 
cal air will ask some vague question about Fhocas or Gallienus, 
as they remember the ' brave Courier 9 having pointed out a 
fine Column erected to the one and an Arch to the other, 
as they were driving along in their carriage : and as about 
all that is known of these men is that " they were notorious 
for their profligacy, and debauchery, and their vices knew 
no bounds, 9 ' it requires a stretch of the imagination to depict 
them in glowing colours —and so with a sonnet and then an 
ice, an ice and then a sonnet beautifully intermingled, the 
small talk goes on with redoubled vigour, a spell comes over 
our dear wanderers, Some and its ruins fade away, and they 
really feel themselves once more, to their delight or — shall 
I say it — to their shame, transported to their own long re- 
gretted metropolis. Such then is the diversion for the 
evening; and for the day, something perhaps not so very 
dissimilar, and so they manage to eke out a couple of months, 
the Carnival always affording a bright prospect in the distance ; 
when this is over, they hail the return of Lent with great 
glee, because they then retire to Naples, and spend the time 
of penitence in seclusion ! returning to Some for the Easter 
festivities. 

However, to those who have any appreciation for Some's 
interests, however long their stay may be, time never hangs 
heavy ; after making an acquaintance with all that is known of 
the important ruins, there remains the still more interesting 
work of finding out something fresh, or at all events of giving 
the imagination the benefit of a good free range, and this is 
quite lawful where so much is veiled in uncertainty and 
doubtfulness. Those who take less delight in ruin hunting, find 
plenty of amusement in riding — the Campagna is a splendid 
place for such recreation — the gates are invariably locked, 



Borne in 1862. 103 

but the fences are easy. The fashion is to ride out in parties, 
some twelve or fifteen together. These parties form the 
remnant of the old hunt which was kept up in great force 
here, until two years ago two ' faithful children* of the Pope 
met with accidents from their shamefully bad riding, and an 
order was issued by his Holiness forbidding this innocent 
amusement ; the meets were very numerously attended, and 
hundreds of carriages belonging to the Roman aristocracy 
joined and formed a most interesting scene. Foxes abound 
round the city, and in the neighbouring woods the ' Laurens 
aper* must be as common as ever it was, for we get well 
supplied with it at table. Game generally is tolerably 
abundant ; and the game market presents the most peculiar 
appearance; if any ornithologist wishes to increase his 
collection, I should recommend him to pay it a visit. Every 
miserable little bird of every description is caught and set 
out for sale, even robins tied up in bunches, plucked and . 
ready for the spit ; down by the sea coast snipe and wood- 
cock shooting must be good, judging by the prices here, 
woodcocks being only lOrf. a couple. There is considerable 
difficulty I believe attending shooting, a decent gun and a 
licence being no easy matters to obtain. I cannot speak from 
experience ; my stay here is limited, and there is so much 
of interest within the walls and the immediate environs 
that at present I have not found time for anything else. 

This letter will I fear be of but little interest. Naples and 
its neighbourhood may suggest something more manageable. 
Suffice it to add that the Old Bird is flapping his wings again 
and has good hopes for the future. 




i 2 






STUBBR1DGE FAIR 



1 Expoaitas late Cami prope flamina merces, 
Dmtiaaque loci, vicoaque, hominumque labores, 
Sparaaque per yiridea passim magalia oampoa 
Atlantis die magne nepoe." — 

Ntmdina SturbrigienssM. 



]£VERY one who has taken the trouble to wade through 
Barnwell, must have noticed, on crossing the railway- 
bridge, an old building on his left, which, at some period 
or other, has evidently been used for religious purposes. 
It is a good specimen of Anglo-Norman architecture, and 
deserves, even from the most incurious, something more 
than a mere passing glance ; and I have no doubt it would 
receive more notice, were it not for the innumerable patches 
of every description of stone, slate, rubble, brick and mortar, 
which adorn its roof and walls, and give it a decided smack 
of the adjoining village. It is long since the building has 
been used for other than the most secular objects, but it 
once was the chapel of a hospital of lepers, and was dedicated 
to St Mary Magdalene. It is not known when the hospital 
was founded, but as the chapel I believe belongs to the 
period of Henry L, we must at least date it back to the 
beginning of the twelfth century. The first mention I can 
find of the hospital is in the year 1199 a.d.* Shortly after 
this, about the year 1211 A.D., king John granted to the 
lepers a fair in the close of the hospital, on the vigil and 
feast of the Holy Crossf (September 14th). This is un- 
doubtedly the origin of Sturbridge Fair, of which I purpose, 
in this article, to give a short history and description. 
Sturbridge, or Steresbrigg, which has also been corrupted 

* Palgrave. Vide Cooper's AnnaU of Cambridge, Vol. I. 31. 
I am indebted to Mr. Cooper for most of my references, and 
sometimes, as in this ease, where I have been unable to verify 
the reference, I have quoted directly from the Annals. 

f Cooper's AnnaU, i. 34 ; Rot Hun. f n. 360. 



Sturbridge Fair. 105 

into Sturbitch, takes its name from the brook, which crosses 
the road near the chapel, and flows into the Cam near 
the railway-bridge. Blomefield, however, in his Collectanea 
Canlabrigtensia, says, that " Sturbrige Fair takes its name 
from the toll or custom that was paid at it for all steres 
and young cattle that passed here." Fuller gives the follow- 
ing legend as to the origin of the fair: "A clothier of 
Kendal casually wetting his cloth in that water in his passage 
to London, exposed it there to sale, on cheap terms, as 
the worse for wetting; and yet, it seems, saved by the 
bargain. Next year ne returned again, with some other 
of his townsmen, proffering drier and dearer cloth to be sold ; 
so that within few years hither came a confluence of buyers, 
sellers, and lookers-on, which are the three principles of 
a fair."* He adds that Kendal-men, in memorial whereof, 
challenge some privilege in the fair. 

As the hospital was at the disposal of the burgesses of 
Cambridge till about 1245, when the Bishop of Ely unjustly 
obtained the patronage, we may fairly assume that the fair 
from the very first was to a great extent in the hands of 
the Corporation. The University, however, about the reign 
of Richard II. was entrusted with the management of the 
weights and measures used in Steresbrigge Fair, a right 
that has been exercised from that time down to the present 
century.f 

The earliest records of the fair have reference principally 
to dishonesties practised in it, and to disputes concerning 
the occupation and transfer of booths. We may, however, 
find proofs of the rising importance of this fair during 
the fourteenth century. For instance, in 1376, " The Bishop 
of Ely granted licence to the vicar and parishioners of 
the parish of the Holy Trinity to change the feast of the 
dedication of the Church to the 9th of October, on the 
ground that the then feast fell in the time of Sterbrige 
Fair, when the parishioners were much occupied with the 
business thereby occasioned."]: Again a petition presented 
in the Parliament of Henry VI., 1423, stating that u diverse 
werkes of brauderie of insuffisaunt stuff, and undewly 



* History of Cambridge University. 

t Dyer Priv. Univ. Comb. 

% Vide Hist, and Antiq. of BarnweU Abbey and Sturbridge Fair, 
App. IV. in Bibliotheca Topographka Britannica, and Cooper's 
Annals, i. 113. 



106 Sturbridge Fair. 

wrought" were offered for sale at Steresbrugg, and praying 
that such spurious works might be forfeited to the king, 
shews that this fair was then a celebrated mart for works 
of embroidery. In the same reign the monks of the priories 
of Maxtoke in Warwickshire, and of Bicester in Oxfordshire, 
laid in their stores of common necessaries, which consisted 
of nearly everything, from a horse-collar to a silk-cope, 
at this mart, which was at least one hundred miles distant, 
and notwithstanding that Oxford and Coventry were in 
their immediate neighbourhood. 

I have already alluded to the connection between the 
fair and the town of Cambridge. In 1411 it was settled 
by the court of exchequer that the Custos of the chapel 
had the right to the stallage in the chapel-yard, and it 
appears that the bailiffs of the town received the rents for 
booths on the other lands.* In 1497 Master John Fynne, 
Perpetual Chaplain and Incumbent of the Free Chapel of 
blessed Mary Magdalene of Barnwell, commonly called 
Sterbrigge Chapel, demised all lands, liberties, profits, rents, 
services, &c. to the said free chapel belonging, except the 
chapel itself, the oblations and fourteen feet of ground round 
it, to the mayor, bailiffs, and burgesses, for ninety-nine 
years, they rendering £12 yearly for the same.f Again 
on the 27th of September, 1544, the Bishop and the Dean 
and Chapter of Ely, and Christopher Fulnely, Incumbent 
of Styrrebrige Chapel, demised to the Corporation of Cam- 
bridge the aforesaid chapel with all lands, tenements, booths, 
&c. for sixty years, for £9 per annum.} It appears that 
in February, 1596-7, Elizabeth, in consideration of the 
surrender of the previous lease, granted Styrbridge Chapel, 
with all glebe lands, booths, rents, &c. to the Corporation 
for the same annual payment.)) But in 1605, the sixty 
years lease having expired, the profits of the hospital were 
granted by James I. to John Shelbury and Philip Chewte, 
gentlemen.§ What became of the land and chapel after 
this I know not, but suppose it must have reverted to the 
Corporation. 

The original grant to the Corporation to hold the fair 
does not appear, but in a controversy between the prior 
and convent of Barnwell and that body, concerning the 

* Cooper's Annals, I. 153. f Ibid, i. 2481 

X Ibid, i. 416. || Ibid, hi. 148. 

§ Blomefield, CoU. Cantab., 171, 172; Hist, and Antiq. of 
Barnwell and Stwrbridge, p. 76. 



Sturbridge Fair. 1 07 

fair, it was ordered on the 20th of August, 8 Henry 
VIII. — " That the Mayor, Bailiffs, and Burgesses, for ever- 
more shall hold, enjoy, and maintain the fair from the 
feast of St. Bartholomew unto the feast of St. Michael." 

In Hilary term, 1538, the attorney-general filed an 
information in the court of King's Bench against the Mayor, 
Bailiffs, and Burgesses, charging that they had misused their 
privileges and liberties in Sturbrigg Fair. The Mayor was 
required to answer this information, and in default, the 
liberties, &c. were seized into the king's hands. The Cor- 
poration then agreed to pay the king a fine of 1000 marks for 
the grant of the fair.* During the last year of the reign 
of Edward VI. the Corporation tried to raise this sum, 
agreeing that the town and the possessors of the booths 
should each pay half, and they sue for a new charter. The 
charter, however, was not obtained, although 200 marks 
were paid that year. The Corporation seem to have been 
unable* to raise the remaining 800 marks, and in the mean- 
while the University are struggling to get the fair into 
their hands, and thus we are led into half a century of 
quarrelling ; the legal part of the business being enlivened 
every now and then, especially during the fair time, by 
the most delightful town and gown rows, the authorities 
on both sides conniving at them. The sparring between 
the University and Town must have commenced at least 
as early as 1525, but we do not notice anything very decided 
till 1534, when the lords in council decreed that the Vice- 
Chancellor or his commissary might keep courte cyvyll in 
the fair for pleas where a scholar was the one party. At 
the same time it is mentioned that the University had " the 
oversight, correction, and punishment of all weights and 
measures, of all manner of vytayll, of all regratersf and fore- 
stallers." The consequence of this was, that the Mayor 
would not allow the Vice-Chancellor to use the Tolbooth, 
(the prison which had previously been used by both) : and we 
find in a letter from Sir Thomas Audley, Lord Chancellor, 
and Thomas Cromwell, Secretary of State, to the town, 
written in the following year, that a breach of the peade 
was expected at the fair; and they beseech the Mayor 
and Burgesses to settle their disputes with the University. 

* Cooper, i. 393 ; Hist, of Barnwell Abbey, Sturbridge Fair, 
p. 76, and App. No. V. 

t A regrater is one who buys up any commodity for the purpose 
of charging an exorbitant price for it. 



108 Sturbridge Fair. 

This letter kept things quiet for a while, but, in 1547, 
we find* " the heads making application to their patron the 
Archbishop to befriend them at court against their old 
enemies the townsmen, who were wresting from them their 
ancient privileges." During Sturbridge Fair the Proctors 
going their rounds one night had taken "certain evil 

Persons in houses of sin/' and had brought them to the 
'olbooth in order to commit them. Having sent to the 
Major for the keys, he refused to part with them, and 
they were compelled to take the prisoners to the Castle. 
Fortune, however, befriended the evil persona; as the 
Mayor's son-in-law, who was then under-sheriff, let them 
out The University requested that this insolence might 
be punished, and as we might expect the Lords of the 
Council enjoined the retractation of the Mayor and his son, 
and "that the Mayor in the common hall shall openly 
among his brethren acknowledge his wilful proceeding."! 
It is evident that about this time disturbances at the 
fair were very common, as in 1550 it was ordered that 
the Colleges were to send twenty watchmen nightly to the 
Proctors, and besides to have twenty-four others in readi- 
ness; J and, in 1555, Sir Edward North and Sir James 
Dyer addressed a letter to the Vice-Chancellor and Mayor, 
requesting their joint exertions for the preservation of the 
peace in " Sturbridg fayre wherto the resort and con- 
fluence ys from all parts of this realme." Allusion also is 
made in the letter to the differences between the University 
and Town with respect to the fair.|| These differences, 
however, continued to exist, and again came to a head in 
1559, when, one night during the fair time, the Vice- 
Chancellor would not permit the University night-watch 
to join that of the Town, and when the Mayor sent for it, 
the Vice-Chancellor informed him that he was not prepared 
with a watch that night. Consequently the Town-watch 
set out to the fair alone. And, when the watchmen were 
returning from the fair, between 11 and 12 o'clock, they 
were met by the Proctors with a body of sixty men, and 
deliberately attacked by them. An engagement of course 
ensued, but the Town-watch being much the weaker body, 

* Strype, Memorials of Archbishop Cranmer, Bk. il, Chap. VI. 
t Dr. Lamb's Original Documents, p. 78 ; vide Dyer's Privileges 
of the University of Cambridge, I., p. 112. 
J Dr. Lamb's Documents, p. 151. 
|| Cooper, Annals, n., p. 98. 



Sturbridge Fair. 109 

the Proctors obtained an edsy victory. After this we are 
not surprised to find the Vice-Chancellor and Proctors 
winking at, if not encouraging, some very serious town 
and gown rows; rows, which in these degenerate days of 
policemen and active Proctors we can have but a faint 
notion of. It is satisfactory to find that on the whole the 
gown was victorious, as we read that the scollers nearly 
killed a man called John Dymmocke, a name, by the way, 
which is as well known to the scatters of the present day 
as it must have been three centuries ago. These little 
events not only elicited a letter from the Lord Chief Justice 
and Lord North, but brought those gentlemen to the spot.* 
It is to be presumed they pacified the combatants for a 
time, as we find no mention of the disputes for fifteen or 
sixteen years, but they appear to have come to no decision 
with respect to the fair. 

Ip 1574 the Vice-Chancellor in a letter to Lord Burghley, 
then Chancellor of the University, suggested that Sturbridge 
Fair should be granted to the University, they letting the 
booths to the townsmen at a reasonable rate. Lord Burghley 
appears to have done his utmost for the University, and 
Lord North on the other hand took the part of the town. 
The former at this time was more successful, as, according 
to Strype,f he procured, in 1576, the settlement of the 
benefit of the fair upon the University, and, moreover, 
obtained from the Queen a declaration that no petition 
from the Townsmen respecting the fair should be received 
to the prejudice of the University : so that in the following 
year when the Townsmen again petitioned for a grant of 
the fair, the Queen gave answer, "that she would not 
take away any privileges that she had granted the Uni- 
versity, but would rather add to them.' 9 For this reply 
the University wrote her a letter of thanks. 

After this the disputants negociated between themselves 
respecting the charter for the fair, and, in 1584, they were 
agreed on all points but three. Two years later, however, 
the old jealousies again blazed forth, but fortunately only for 
a time, as, in 1589, the rights of both parties were settled. 
The tolls and government of the fair were given to the 
Corporation, while the University retained all their old 
privileges. The Vice-Chancellor and Proctors were to hold 

* Cooper, Annals, n., p. 154. 

| Annals of the Reformation, Vol. n., Bk. ii., Ch. V. ; vide 
Cooper, Annals, n., pp. 349, 358. 



110 Sturbridge Fair. 

a court in the fair, with the same power as the«Mayor in 
his Court, the former having cognizance in suits between 
strangers and where a scholar is one party, the latter having 
the judgement connected with the townsmen. The Proctors 
were to have the inspection, searching, and trying of all 
victuals and gauging of all vessels, and the forfeitures, fines, 
and profits coming therefrom. Also a special grant of the clerk- 
ship of the market; the assize of bread, wine, and ale; 
the punishment of all forestalled, regraters; and several 
other similar privileges and rights were given to the Uni- 
versity.* It was also settled that the Chancellor, Masters, 
and Scholars, and the Mayor, Bailiffs, and Burgesses should 
proclaim the fair in alternate years, the former commencing 
in the year 1589. The reason of this no doubt was that 
both parties had been in the habit of proclaiming it, and 
disturbances ensued from such a custom. The importance 
in the eyes of the University of the proclamation, and 
indeed the fair itself, appears from the following : — On the 
17th of January, 1577-78, a grace was passed for the better 
observance of scarlet days, and a fine of 10$. was imposed 
on all Doctors who should not appear in red at Midsummer 
and Sturbridge Fairs.f And again on the 7th of September, 
1586, the Heads made an order that yearly the Vice- 
Chancellor, with such Doctors as accompany him, shall 
upon their foot-cloaths ride to the fair and there make 
their solemn proclamation on horseback.} It is just as 
well that the University has relinquished these rights, as 
imagination fails to conceive a Vice-Chancellor of the pre- 
sent day riding through Barnwell in scarlet. The day of 
proclamation was changed from Holyrood day to the 7th 
of September,!! the birthday of Queen Elizabeth. The old 
form used by the University at the opening of the fair is 
very curious, but it is too long for insertion here.g It issues 
injunctions to buyers, sellers, and visitors, and regulates 
the price of bread, &c. To brewers, for instance, we have 
the following: "that they sell no longe Ale, no red Ale, 
no ropye Ale, but good and holsome for man's body under 

* The Egerton Papers, p. 127—130; Dr. LamVs Original 
Documents, p. 311 ; Hist, and Antiq. of Sturbridge Fair, App. X. 

t Stat. Acad. Cantab., p. 353. $ Ibid, p. 467. 

|| At present it is the 18th on account of the alteration of 
style. 

§ Vide Cooper, Annals, n., p. 18 ; and for a more modern 
and corrupted form of it, Hist, and Antiq. of Sturbridge Fair, p. 84. 



Sturlridge Fair. Ill 

y e payne of forfeiture." A gallon of good ale was not 
to cost more than 4rf., nor a gallon of Hostill Ale more 
than 2rf. 

A fortnight before the proclamation, the fair is set out by 
the Mayor, Aldermen, and the rest of the Corporation, who 
formerly went to the fair on both occasions in procession, 
preceded by music, and followed by the boys of the Town 
on horseback, " who, as soon as the ceremony is read over, 
ride races about the place; when returning to Cambridge, 
each boy has a cake and some ale at the town-hall.'" The 
procession of the Corporation was abolished in 1790, and 
the fair has since been set out and proclaimed by the 
Mayor, Bailiffs, and Town Clerk, alone. 

Gunning, in his Reminiscences >\ gives the following 
amusing account of the ceremony of proclaiming the fair 
in 1789: "At 11 a.m., the Vice-Chancellor, with the 
Bedells, and Begistrary, the Commissary* the Proctors, and 
the Taxors, attended in the Senate-House, where a plentiful 
supply of mulled wine and sherry, in black bottles, with 
a great variety of cakes awaited their arrival. Strange as 
it may seem the company partook of these things as heartily 
as if they had come without their breakfasts, or were ap- 
prehensive of going without their dinners. This important 
business ended, the parties proceeded to the Fair, in 
carriages provided for the occasion. The proclamation was 
read by the Begistrary in the carriage with the Vice- 
Chancellor, and repeated by the Yeoman Bedell on horse- 
back, in three different places. At the conclusion of this 
ceremony, the carriages drew up to the Tiled Booth, where 
the company alighted for the dispatch of business — and 
of oysters.'' They afterwards dined, and he informs us 
that the dishes and their order never varied. " Before the 
Vice-Chancellor was placed a large dish of herrings ; then 
followed in order a neck of pork roasted, an enormous 
plum-pudding, a leg of pork boiled, a pease-pudding, a 
goose, a huge apple-pie, and a round of beef in the centre," 
the same dishes recurring in inverse order, the whole being 
terminated by the Senior Proctor. The oysters and dinner 
were repeated on the day that the Court was held. In 1803, 
however, the Proctor transferred the first dinner to the 
Bose Tavern in Cambridge, and after a time both dinners 



* Carter's History of Cambridgeshire, p. 23. 
t Vol. i., p. 162. 



112 Sturbridge Fair. 

were discontinued. On the 2nd of July, 1842, a grace 
passed dispensing with the entertainments theretofore given 
by the Proctors at Midsummer and Stourbridge Fairs. 

I have as yet attempted no description of this Fair, which 
Camden calls " the most famous in the whole kingdom/' and 
which Defoe says is the greatest in die world, and that the 
fairs at Leipsic, Frankfort, Nuremberg and Augsburg are not 
to be compared with it Fuller also remarks, — " that it is at 
this day the most plentiful of wares in England ; (most fairs 
in other places being but markets in comparison thereof;) 
being an amphibion as well going on ground as swimming by 
water, by the benefit of a navigable river. 9 ' 

If any one has taken the trouble to read so far, he will 
perhaps be willing to follow me while I try to recall what 
Stirebridge Fair was like in its palmy days, (say the beginning 
of last century). 9 

In wending our way towards it, our ears would no doubt 
be affected some time before our eyes, and I think to give 
due effect to the remainder of this article, it ought to be read 
with a gong or kettle-drum accompaniment. On leaving, 
Barnwell, attention would be first drawn to the shows on the 
left of the road, where no doubt, tame tigers and wild Indians 
would be found in perfection, where the lion would lie down 
with the lamb with two heads, and where infant prodigies 
would be on the closest terms with prodigious pigs. Besides 
these we very probably should find a good company of come- 
dians, although divers acts have been passed prohibiting plays. 
The authorities however winked at them, and in Gunning's 
time, the Vice-Chancellor and heads after the proclamation and 
dinner, adjourned to the theatre. On the other side of the road 
is the cheese fair, where we should not only find dealers from 
Cottenhamf and the other villages in the county, but also 
traders from Leicestershire, Derbyshire, Cheshire and Glou- 
cestershire. The farmers also from the adjoining counties 
used to bring butter and cheese here for sale, and in return 
buy their clothes and other household necessaries. 

• There is a description of the Fair in De Foe's Tour thro' 
the whole Island of Great Britain, which seems to have been followed 
and in some parts, word for word, by most of the writers on the 
subject, for instance Carter's History of Cambridgeshire, and the 
Bibliotheca Topographiea Brtiannica. There is however an inde- 
pendent description given in Hone's Year Book, p. 1539-48, and 
a slight one in Gunning's Reminiscences. 

f Cottenham cheeses are, or were celebrated. 



Sturbridge Fair. 113 

" At Bartilmewtide, or at Sturbruge faire 

buie that as is needful, thy house to repaire ; 
Then sel to thy profit, both butter and cheese 
who buieth it sooner the more he shall leese."* 

" Cheese row" terminates opposite to where the road branches 
off that leads to Chesterton ferry. This road in fair-time 
is called Garlick row, and the Newmarket road is called 
Cheapside. Behind Garlick row on both sides, but more 
especially on the east are other rows or streets formed with 
the booths, devoted to different trades,,for instance Cook row ; 
Shoemaker's row ; Ironmonger's row ; which was in the neigh- 
bourhood of the chapel ; and Bookseller's row, concerning 
which I may remark from Strypef " that Styrbrydge-fair time 
(in the reign of Elizabeth) was the chiefest time for selling 
books, at least prayer-books and Bibles." 

These rows are formed by the different booths being 
built so as to make a continuous line. The principal portion 
of each booth is the shop, a room about thirty feet by eighteen, 
with shelves containing the goods for sale, and counters for 
serving the customers ; behind this is a smaller room used as 
a keeping-room and bed-room. In front of the booths is a 
colonnade, extending throughout the whole length of the 
row, and covered in with hair-cloth to secure passengers from 
sunshine and rain. The booths themselves are roofed with 
planks, and over that roofing is stretched a tarpaulin. 

The west side of Garlick row is the Begent street of the 
Fair. Here are the silk-mercers, linen-drapers, furriers, 
stationers, silversmiths, and in fact most of the higher class of 
tradesmen, and moreover many of the booths are occupied by 
important London dealers, few of whom take less money 
during the fair than £1000, and several take more. 

On the south of Cheapside is an important portion of the 
fair called the Duddery.} This is a large square, eighty or 



* Tusser's Husbandrie. Vide Drake's Shakspeare and his Times, 
vol. i. 215. 

f Annals, vol. iv. No. li. 

} Dudde an old word signifying cloth. " Duds" in the north 
of England is the ordinary word for clothes. Some writers place 
the Duddery of the north of the road, and some describe Cheapside 
as being parallel to the main road and not coinciding with it. No 
doubt in early times the road was not so decidedly marked as now, 
and the rows might have been set out differently at different periods. 
The Duddery was however at the south east corner of the fair. Gunn- 
ing remarks that in his time that portion of the fair was on the decline. 



114 Sturbridge Fair. 

one hundred yards long, containing the largest booths in the 
fair, and set apart for the wholesale dealers in woollen goods. 
Many of the booths here are divided into several compart- 
ments, and Defoe says he saw one with six apartments in it, 
all belonging to a dealer in Norwich stuffs, who had there 
above twenty thousand pounds value in those goods alone. 
He also states that one hundred thousand pounds worth of 
woollen manufactures have been sold here in less than a week, 
exclusive of all orders for goods; and that more trade is 
transacted by orders than could be supplied by all the goods 
actually brought to the fair. 

To the north of the Duddery and near the chapel are the 
hop and wool fairs, which at one time were perhaps the most 
important part of the whole fair. The price of hops in 
England was regulated by what they fetched at Stirbitch, and 
the northern and western counties were supplied with hops 
from that mart The importance of the sale of hops may be 
learnt from the fact that the University and Town were for 
a long period quarrelling as to which had the right of weighing 
hops. In 1733 the Commissary of the University and re- 
corder of the Town decided in the favour of the former, but 
in 1759 the Corporation ordered the collector of the tolls 
to provide weights and scales for weighing hops and other 
goods at Sturbridge Fair, and agreed to indemnify him 
against any suit in relation to the weighing of such goods. 
What was the result of this I know not. With respect to 
the wool-fair, I may notice that fifty or sixty thousand pounds 
worth has been sold during one fair. 

Besides these manufacturers of every description are 
here represented, from Birmingham, from Manchester, from 
Sheffield, from Nottingham, and retail dealers of every trade 
that is known in London. The day of greatest hurry and 
confusion is the 14th (new style 25th), the day of the horse- 
fair, which is held on the common, and at present is best 
known by the name of " Charon's Common/' 

Space will not permit me to dilate on the eating and re- 
freshment booths, in which the supplies consisted principally 
of hot and cold roast goose, pork and herrings, nor on the 
officers who preserved order in the fair, the red coats as they 
were called, nor yet on the "Lord of the Tap," another 
official who looked after the beer. I must content myself by 
remarking that nearly all these things have passed away ; 
the fair had declined in importance in the middle of last 
century, and by the end of the century one street held all the 



Sturbridge Fair. ' ' 115 

booths. Last year we were told* that the proclamation of 
the Mayor was a mere farce, that the amusements were limited 
to a " few dancing booths, a swinging-boat, a shooting-gallery, 
and some cheap photographic establishments." The Horse 
Fair day is still an important one, and many good animals 
are shewn and sold, but it is about the only day on which 
much business is transacted. Two or three firms still sell 
hops ; and there seems still a demand for onions and besoms ; 
but the glory of the place has departed, and it is no doubt 
well that it is so. No one could possibly think of uttering 
a regret that Mac Adam and Stephenson have brought to our 
very doors the necessaries and luxuries which our forefathers 
could only purchase at such places as Sturbridgef Fair. 

P.S. — A friend has drawn my attention to the fact, that Newton 
purchased the lenses with which he performed his experiments on 
light at Sturbridge Fair. — Vide Brewster's Life of Newton. 

* Cambridge Chronicle, September 7th, 21st and 28th. 

f Every one must have noticed the number of different ways I 
have spelt this word. I have generally spelt it in the same manner 
as the authority I am then quoting. Besides the seventeen various 
spellings given above, the following may be noticed, viz. Stwrberige f 
Stirberch, Styrebridge. 



O 

8 O O 

O Q 

© 



LETTEBS FBOM THE EAST. 



I. — Alexandria. — Cairo. — Aden. 

*y^E came in view of the lights at Alexandria soon after 
sunset on the fourth. As there is some danger in cross- 
ing the bar, we were compelled to stay out till daylight, 
when we took in our Arab pilot and entered the harbour. 
We were received by the Company's agent, from whom we 
learnt to our dismay that the Transit Railway having been 
destroyed a day or two previously by the inundation of the 
Nile, we should in consequence have , to prosecute our 
journey to Cairo by steam-boat up the river. Pleasant news 
certainly! as we seemed to foresee all the delay and dis- 
comfort — the heat and the filth of the proposed trip. Now 
however, our dangers surmounted, our discomforts at an end, 
I am inclined to think we were singularly fortunate in 
arriving at that critical moment. For besides the fact of our 
thus seeing more of that noble river than we otherwise should 
have seen, and at a time too when it had overftawed its 
banks and inundated a larger tract of country than usual; 
besides all this, we were enabled to make some stay at 
Alexandria and Cairo, instead of being hurried through 
Egypt in less than thirty-six hours according to contract. 
There is the satisfaction too, such as it is, of having seen 
something worth writing home about, and of being able to 
send one's friends a true and veritable history of this lament- 
able catastrophe from the pen of an eye-witness. 

"What a stirring drive that is from the Port to the Hotel — 
the European's first glimpse of Oriental life ! I should 
doubt if any^ one could give an exact description of their 
first impressions. The wonder and amazement excited by 
the grotesque pictures which assail his eye, national pride 
with a sublime contempt for the half-civilized beings which 
surround him, the idea that he is treading ground so famous 
in history, sacred as well as profane. Yes ! his feelings are 



Letters from the East. 1 1 7 

certainly of a very mixed character. The streets are narrow, 
the widest not exceeding twelve feet, yet they are crowded 
to an extent which always astonishes the stranger. Every 
shop-keeper assumes a right to sit outside his shop, some 
even extend this right to their journeymen tailors or 
cobblers. Thus on eitner side stretches a long line of pic- 
turesque figures, arranged in every colour and smoking every 
variety of pipe or cigarette. Look! here is a string of 
camels, laden with firewood or merchandize ; here again a 
native waggon drawn by a pair of stout oxen, and there goes 
some grandee or other, mounted on a magnificent Arab. 
Now we are stopped by a drove of donkeys, their owner 
quite unconscious of the fact, till aroused to a painful sense 
of his position by sundry hard words and harder blows from 
our excitable Jehu, when he proceeds to hoist his quadrupeds 
successively by their hinder quarters out of our path. But 
what are those odd figures so completely shrouded in drapery ? 
Those are the Egyptian ladies. Stare as much as you like, 
you can see nothing but a pair of flashing eyes. A mantle 
of rich silk, black or white, — black is the prevailing fashion 
at present, — is thrown over the head and extended by the 
arms like wings, and thus Madame waddles along in her 
red or yellow slippers, a hideous spectacle. The lower 
classes are still more disgusting objects. Their only garment is 
of blue cloth, and as they cannot spare their hands to hold it, 
it is fastened by a piece of brass or a string of beads over the 
nose, so as to leave a gap for their killing eyes to pierce 
through. Now and then we meet one mounted k la Turque 
on a donkey, attended by her husband's servants. 

At length we reach the Hotel d' Europe, where the 
crowd is even greater and the jabbering more confused 
than elsewhere. At the entrance are congregated innumer- 
able carriages drawn by horses that would not disgrace 
Eotten Kow, donkeys and donkey-boys, a crowd of filthy 
beggars, the lame, the blind, and the halt, supplicating for 
" Baksheesh," and wily dragomen looking out like vultures 
for their prey. A pretty set of fellows those dragomen are ! 
Reader, if ever you go to Egypt, keep a tight rein on them ; 
you can't possibly do without them, but beware, they will 
tell you lies as fast as they can. I was amused at the first 
specimen I had of this. Mustapha was a fine handsome 
fellow, and evidently thought no small-beer of himself. He 
coolly took himself off for some hours in the middle of the 
day, and when I rebuked him on his return for his desertion, 
the lying scoundrel stroked his beard with pious horror, laid his 

VOIi. III. £ 



118 Letters from the East 

hand on his heart and called Allah to witness he had been 
sent for to interfere in a domestic quarrel between his 
daughter and her husband. His brother had told me he had 
gone to dinner ! At Cairo the ladies wished to see a real 
Turkish bath ; our dragoman told the proprietress they were 
coming to bathe next day and wanted to inspect the baths 
first. " Why did you tell a lie, sir V 9 •' Because I cannot 
do anything better/' was his impudent reply, and I don't 
believe he could* 

We drove past the Mussulman cemetery, a bare tract 
without enclosure of any kind, to inspect Pompey's Pillar. 
We were rather disappointed; the column is about one 
hundred feet high, and consists of four blocks of granite, 
brought from above the first Cataract, some seven hundred 
or eight hundred miles away. For further particulars, vide 
Murray, Hard by are some catacombs lately discovered, 
apparently as far as I could make out from the inscriptions 
late Greek. We drove on by the side of Mehemet Ali's 
famous canal to the Pasha's gardens ; gardens never equal 
one's expectations in Egypt ; these are no exceptions to the 
rule, but the drive is pleasant as affording almost the only 
shade in Alexandria. It is indeed a lamentably bare country, 
dazzling with its inches of white dust, with only here and 
there a group of palm trees or an avenue of sycamores. We 
saw Cleopatra's needles of course. Only one obelisk is stand- 
ing at present, on the edge of the sea, a fine object from the 
harbour ; the other is prostrate, covered with some feet of 
earth, a small aperture being dug to assure European visitors 
of its existence. The Pasha's Palace was the next object of 
our curiosity ; it is situated at the west corner of the Port, 
of which it commands an exquisite view ; with the exception 
however of the inlaid floors, which to some extent repay the 
trouble of a visit, the internal arrangements are tawdry and 
insignificant in the extreme. French paper and French gilt ! 
that is all ! Another peculiarity with all the Oriental " lions" 
is this — once erected, they are forgotten and utterly neglected, 
their pristine glory soon falls into decay. The grand Mosque 
at Cairo is the only exception to this rule, to be accounted 
for perhaps by the amount of English perquisites. 

At nine p.m. we were at the railway station, a ride of ten 
or fifteen miles brought us within a few hundred yards of 
the canal. So away we had to scramble, nearly two hundred 
of us, for the ladies came in half-an-hour after us ; away we 
scrambled, lighted by some scores of torches, held aloft by 
figures who seemed to have made a nocturnal trip from the 



Letters from the East. 1 19 

infernal regions for the purpose ; away we scrambled with 
these imps of darkness yelling and jabbering, as if to impress 
us more fully with their origin. And what a scene on board 
the Nile boat! no larger than a Thames steamer, it was 
intended to accommodate us for two nights and a day : cer- 
tainly they were rather taken by storm, but if the passengers 
by the next mail are not better treated, shame on the Transit 
Administration Company altogether ! That night I slept or 
tried to sleep on deck, for vermin and cold are strong anti- 
dotes to repose ; there was a saloon which might have held 
half the ladies, and a fore-cabin which might contain a fourth 
of the gentlemen, lie as thick as they could. The majority 
like myself had to brave it out on deck, though unlike my- 
self they had mostly a good supply of rugs. 

We reached Atfih at dawn, the point where the canal 
joins the Nile. This was our first view of the sacred river ! 
Ah ! honoured stream ! worshipped as the fertilizing principle 
by thine ancient devotees, appearing to us rather as a mighty 
engine of destruction ! Stretching away far as the eye could 
reach, thou had'st washed out nearly every trace of humanity ! 
And what waters ! surely the Naiads of thy stream must bear 
a striking resemblance to the swarthy people that crowd thy 
banks! Water in its natural state like pea-soup, when 
filtered a trifle better than ditch-water. But what of that ? 
thy fertilizing properties consist in thy dregs. The current 
was so strong as to carry us half a mile out of our course on 
emerging from the locks, and we were able to make but little 
progress against it, our speed never exceeding from four to 
five miles an hour. As we proceeded, the scenes pf the late 
devastations successively burst upon our view; fields of 
cotton and Indian corn hopelessly immersed, villages swept 
away, while the unfortunate population were collected on the 
embankments with their flocks of camels and buffaloes, a 
long line of misery on either side of Egypt's mighty river. 
To be sure the towns and villages spared by this Egyptian 
Vishnu, did not give us much cause to regret those which had 
fallen victims to his divine wrath. Half-a-dozen palm trees, 
a minaret, and some scores of square mud-houses, like so 
many unburnt brick-kilns, and you have the facsimile, they 
are all alike. But notwithstanding the scene of devastation 
which everywhere met our eyes, there was something inex- 
pressibly grand in stemming the current that had wrought 
the woe, and casting a glance upon the vast expanse of 
water, darkened here and there with the sail of a native 
boat, or the carcase of a drowned buffalo. And this was 

k2 



1 20 Letters from the East 

Sunday too! may I never spend such another! I don't 
know how the day passed, much of it I know was occupied 
in eating or in scrambling for something to eat, for the 
arrangements in the commissariat department were lament* 
ably deficient. At one o'clock we reached Kafr Zayat, 
where the railway crosses this branch of the Nile. We 
stopped here to coal and take in water, while the shore was 
crowded with the wondering natives offering fruits for sale ; 
the limes and pomegranates are good, but the melons in- 
ferior to our own. There lay the railway several feet under 
water, and there actually a train stopped in its progress by 
the waters. What a sketch for the Illustrated ! The bridge 
was considerably damaged, only one point was considered 
navigable, so we were detained till the Pasha's boat had 
passed safely through. We left Kafr Zayat at five o'clock; 
another wretched night, with the same discomfort, but rather 
more sleep, for I managed by entering at half-past six to 
secure the last place on the floor of the cabin. Soon after 
dawn, — by the way, sunrise and sunset on the Nile as we saw 
it are very grand and impressive sights, — soon after dawn we 
were at Cairo. There lay the city on our left, with its citadel 
rising far behind, while the dome and minarets of the mosque 
towered to the skies ; far away to the right stretch the plains 
of the Desert, bearing the mighty Pyramids. Now we feel 
we are in Egypt, in the land of History and Antiquities ! 

After a bath and a good breakfast at Shepheard's Hotel, 
both of which the reader will imagine we thoroughly 
enjoyed, we drove to the Shoobra Gardens. The road leads 
down a long avenue of sycamores, shady as well as pictu- 
resque ; the gardens are not much, but within them is a large 
quadrangular colonnade of marble, containing a huge basin 
of Nile water with a superb fountain in the centre. At each 
corner of the building is a small boudoir magnificently fitted 
up'for the ladies of the Pasha's harem. We met a coach 
full of them on our way, with the requisite number of atten- 
dant eunuchs, riding magnificent horses. 

After tiffin we paid a visit to the different bazaars, 
Frank, Turkish, and Egyptian. Here we were struck for 
the first time with the reality of the " Arabian Nights." 
What interesting scenes ! Just the same barbers, just the 
same tailors, just the same dervishes as lived a thousand 
years ago ! The long labyrinth of alleys, the houses nearly 
meeting overhead, the little square pigeon-holes, set out 
with scarfs and tarbooshes of the brightest colours; the 
rich merchant smoking his fragrant hookah in placid uncon- 



Letters from the East. 121 

sciousness of what is passing around him ; the various groups 
as they throng the streets, all remind us forcibly of the good 
old times of Caliph Haroun al Bashid. 

But if we linger too long we shall not see the sunset 
from the citadel. Allons! The ascent from the town is 
decidedly steep, but our horses pull us up famously, and 
here we are on the summit. What a view ! Below us lies 
the fairest city of Egypt with its countless minarets, beyond 
flows the mighty stream of this great river, still further 
stretch the vast plains of the desert, and stay! we can 
count seven pyramids. On the other side lie the fertile 
fields of Goshen, recalling sacred memories — I do not think 
I ever gazed on a more extensive or a more magnificent 
landscape, revealing as it does the milk and honey as well 
as the nakedness of the land. 

The Citadel contains the Pasha's Palace and the grand 
Mosque. As a fortress I believe it is considered of little 
practical use, except to command the town. The Palace 
we did not explore, the Mosque certainly did entice us; 
so, clothing our infidel feet in the consecrated shoes, we 
entered a spacious quadrangle containing a handsome 
fountain and surrounded by a marble colonnade. One 
side of the quadrangle is formed by the Mosque, and 
here we entered. The building consists of a large centre 
dome resting on four marble pillars, from which eight semi- 
domes branch out. The interior is not only well ornamented, 
but kept in good repair. Hard by, the scene of the 
"Mameluke's Leap" is pointed out. Every one knows 
the bloody tale — why should I repeat it? 

We left Cairo on Wednesday morning; the rail took 
us across the desert to Suez in three hours and a-half — 
we dined at the Hotel there, and were on board the ' Bengal 9 
at 6 p.m. Suez is a miserable little place—the Hotel being 
by far the finest building — there is nothing in the world 
there to see; there was, as I suppose there always is, 
considerable discussion ' as to the exact point where the 
Israelites crossed, but I believe according to the best 
authorities it is much higher up— the gulf formerly ex- 
tending much farther than it does at present. The rocks 
at Suez are rather fine, of a dull reddish colour. 

We weighed anchor at midnight, and the routine of the 
next few days contained little worth mentioning; the heat 
of course was intense, as long as we were in the Bed Sea, 
the thermometer generally standing at 94° — 97° in the 
afternoon. The * Bengal' is a screw steamer of nearly 



122 Letters from the East. 

two thousand two hundred tons with four hundred and 
sixty-fire horse power; we are quite full, one hundred 
and twelve first class passengers feeding every day together 
in the saloon. The crew is composed of upwards of one 
hundred Lascars, superintended by a few Jacktars. They 
are as weak as kittens, so we require a good many, but 
they are of little use, I believe, in a storm. 

On Sunday we had Divine Service morning and evening 
on deck ; some little diversion was caused by our meeting 
the ' Colombo 9 with the Calcutta mails. Next day we passed 
Perim and that other island so fatal to the 'Alma. 9 At 9 a.m. 
on Tuesday morning we anchored in Aden harbour. 

Aden is the key of the Bed Sea, and consequently a 
most important position for our trade with the East. It 
consists of a very mountainous peninsula, connected with 
the mainland by a narrow flat neck of land, and enclosing 
a magnificent harbour. The rocks are volcanic and contain 
a large amount of lava — the town itself is built in the 
crater of a volcano. The outline of the hills is very jagged ; 
a flagstaff is erected on the highest peak, and a gun 
has been dragged up with immense exertion. The fortifi- 
cations are chiefly on the land side and facing the straits ; 
the cantonments being placed in two small bays connected 
with each other and with the town by tunnels through 
the rock. A long line of wall and scraped rock render 
the fortifications impregnable from the land side. The 
town and cantonments are two miles at least from Steam 
Point, the entrance to the harbour, where we landed. The 
entrance seemed to me hardly sufficiently protected, there 
being only one small battery commanding it; but other 
authorities have judged the place impregnable. Above 
the town some large tanks are being constructed for the 
maintenance of a supply of water during the dry season, 
for the heat is intolerable, and all the water at present 
has to be brought in skins on the backs of camels. We 
hardly saw a green plant there, the wants of the population 
being supplied either from Africa or the interior of Arabia. 
I understand there is a very fertile tract, about thirty miles 
broad, lying just underneath the range of mountains you 
see in the distance; for I should say, though Aden itself 
is so rocky, the mainland is a flat arid desert. 

Many persons do not think Aden worth the trouble of 
exploring, the heat certainly is excessive, but I was well 
satisfied. The place may play an important part in the 
world's history one of these days. 



Letter* from the East 123 

We left Aden at six in the evening ; on Thursday the 
17th passed Cape Guarda Fui about 10 a.m., and are now 
fairly in the Indian Ocean. Beading and writing with an 
occasional rubber are our only amusements. But writing 
on shipboard has to be carried on under difficulties not 
experienced in the Old College. My readers then will 
charitably excuse my many deficiencies, if I have at all 
succeeded in interesting them; I write as much to amuse 
myself as them — unwilling to lose sight of old associations 
and The Eagle. 

"H.B." 







BRIDAL SONG. 
(Catullus.) 



Youths. 

Vesper is rising, fair youths, my good youths: look, afar, on 

Olympus, 
Waited so long for, he comes, very pale, with a tremulous glimmer. 
This is the time, the sweet time : leave the feasting : the maiden is 

near us. 
Sing we the song, as is meet, for the beautiful bride at her wedding. 
Hymen, good Hymen, O listen ! be near us, good Hymen, sweet 

Hymen! 

Vibgins. 

See ye the youths, true girls, still un wedded? Up! hasten to 

meet them ! 
That is the star of the night in the gold by the summit of (Eta. 
Yonder, indeed, is the star ! See the youths ! how they leap to 

the contest ! 
Not to no end are they eager ; they seek to win praise with their 

singing. 
Hymen, good Hymen, O listen ! be near us, good Hymen, sweet 

Hymen! 

Youths. 

Easily think ye, fair youths, ye shall carry the prize of this singing? 
Look, how the virgins advance ! how they whisper, they ponder 

together ! 
Not to no end do they muse, — we shall find by the charm of their 

music. 
Well it may charm, when they give the best of their powers to the 

making. 
We have divided our ears to the song, and our minds to the answer : 
E'en may they bear off the palm ; for victory favours the striving. 



Bridal Sang. 125 

Youths, have a care, and be ready ! — why, shall the fair maidens 

surpass us ? 
Hark, they begin, as is meet ; when they cease, we shall answer 

the challenge* 
Hymen, good Hymen, O listen ! be near us, good Hymen, sweet 

Hymen! 

Vraonrs. 

Hesperus, dull is thy star ! what star, looks can gaze on, is sadder ? 

You, that so ruthlessly snatch a fair maid from the arms of her 
mother ! 

Ruthlessly snatch her, reluctant, and loth, from a parent's em- 
braces ! 

Yielding her, virgin, untainted, at once to the arms of a husband ! 

What could a victor do worse, in his rage, when he plunders a city ? 

Hymen, good Hymen, O listen ! be near, near us, good Hymen, 
sweet Hymen ! 

Youths. 

Hesperus, bright is thy star! what star, looks can gaze on, is 

gladder ? 
Binding at last, with thy beams, the beautiful bond of the wedded ! 
Promises, vows, those sweet pledges of lovers and parents aforetime, 
Doubtfully waiting, not bound, are made strong in the dawn of thy 

sweetness. 
Is there an hour we would have, which the gods can allot us, more 

happy? 
Hymen, good Hymen, O listen ! be near us, good Hymen, sweet 

Hymen! 

Virgins. 

Hesperus, maids, of the maidens another true maiden has taken. 
Star, they set watch at your advent. Mad lovers, like robbers, lie 

lurking ! 
They, — in such watch never tired ! Till you mix with the morn* 

ing they linger. 
Hymen, good Hymen, O listen ! be near us, good Hymen, sweet 

Hymen! 

Youths. 

Hark, how the maids, those unwedded ones, love to be loud in 

their chiding ! 
What ! do they chide you, pale star? yet and how would they 

grieve if you came not ! 
Hymen, good Hymen, O listen ! be near us, good Hymen, sweet 

Hymen ! 



126 Bridal Song. 

Viboins. 

When your new flower, from its birth, in a well-guarded garden 

grows hidden, 
Safe from the browsing of cattle, nor bent by the braise of the 

harrow. 
Fed with the rain, and the sun, and the delicate air of the Zephyr, 
Gladly the youths gather round it, the maidens are proud of its 

beauty; 
But if you pluek it, — but pluck it,— just sever the stem of your 

blossom, 
Little the youths will desire it, and little the maidens care for it. 
So will a virgin be loved, if she live still a virgin, unmarried. 
But if she give her sweet self to the resolute arms of a husband, 
None of the youths will take trouble to praise, nor the maidens 

to love her. 
Hymen, good Hymen, O listen ! be near us, good Hymen, sweet 

Hymen ! 

Youthb. 

As a wild vine that is set, by some chance, in the soil of the furrow, 
Never can lift up itself, nor be clad in the pride of its clusters ; 
Stooping its delicate length to the ground with the weight of its 

burden, 
Stooping its head to its root, and trailing the pride of its beauty, 
Cannot be dear to the hind, nor be dear to the hearts of the 

herdsmen ; 
But if it cling, by good hap, to the cherishing elm with its branches, 
Then it is dear to the hind, and the hearts of the herdsmen joy 

in it ; 
So will a virgin grow old, and be little desired, if unmarried : 
Who, if she wed in her youth, in the bud of her prime, as is fitting, 
Then is more dear to her lord, and less to her parents a trouble. 
Prithee, sweet maiden, no more ! why so timid ? so willing to dally ? 
Dally no more, — such a lord as your lord! and your parents 

approving ! 
Father and mother alike ! it is fit that a maiden obey them. 
Maidenhood is not your own : you may claim but a share in it only. 
Still to the mother a third is allotted, a third to the father : 
So to the maiden a third,-— but a third. You, be willing ! obey, 

then! 
Have they not yielded their right to your lord, and a dowry 

beside it ? 
Hymen, good Hymen, O listen ! be near us, good Hymen, sweet 

Hymen! 

" T. ASHE." 



'^xrxf^rsfYrySnSrWYT* 



OUE CHRONICLE. 
Lent Term, 1862. 



^TE are glad to present to our readers this term an 
abundant answer to our appeal of last Lent Term. 
They will find in our pages communications from our friends 
in different parts of the globe, — letters from Rome, from 
Madeira, from the Pacific, — which we hope will not fail to 
keep up a feeling of mutual kindness between those of us 
who remain here, and those who are scattered over the face 
of the earth. 

The year has opened upon us but mournfully. The loss 
which the nation has had to deplore in the death of the 
Prince Consort, has doubly affected us, who lose thereby our 
former Chancellor. It is not for us to add anything to the 
tribute of praise which has been paid on all sides to his 
memory : but as regards his work as Chancellor, we believe 
that his merits have been underrated, and that the interest 
which he took in University affairs was deeper and more 
frequently manifested than many imagined. The election of 
the Duke of Devonshire as his successor we need scarcely 
put on record here. 

In some respects the chronicle of this term is cheering to 
us. Though our neighbour has again carried off the " blue 
riband" both in Mathematics and Classics, St. John's is in 
both cases successful in claiming " proximos honores." The 
Mathematical list shows the now almost usual six in the 
first ten, while of the thirty-two wranglers, St. John's* 
has thirteen ; of the remaining six candidates, four are senior 
optimes and two junior optimes. In the Classical Tripos 
also we have four in the First Class. 

Other successes which we have to record are (1) the 
Craven University Scholarship awarded to Mr. H. "W. 
Moss, (2) the Second Smith's prize awarded to Ds Laing y 
and (3) the Chancellor's Medal for Legal Studies adjudged 
to Ds Freeman. 



128 


Our Chronicle. 




Subjoined are 


the lists of the First Classes at 


Christmas Examination : — 






First Year. 




Arranged in the order of the Boards. 


Watson 


Vawdrey 


Wood, A. 


Sanders 


Baynes 


Whalley 


Cope 


Noble 


Clarke 


Kempthorne 


Earnshaw 


Huntly 


Smith, R. P. 


Selbf 


Peachell 


Levett 


Meyricke 


Waterfield 


Isherwood 


Smythies 


Yeld 


Marshall 


Beebee 


Walker 


Roach 


Masefield 


Keeling 


Cust 


Knowles 


Russell 


Robson 


Cooper 


Shackleton 


Wilson, K. 


Langdon 


Geare 


Wiseman 


Blanch 

Second Year. 


Coutts 


Stuckey 


Archbold 


Newton 


Baron 


Moss 


Pearson ? 
Tinling $ 


Ewbank 


Creeser 




Third Year. 




Hockin 


Rudd 


Pooley 


Snowdon 


Stephenson 


Rounthwaite 


Warmington 


Cotterill 





It is our melancholy office to record the death of our 
late Senior Dean, the Rev. Basil Williams. Mr. Williams 
entered in June last upon the College living of Holme on 
Spalding Moor, and died on January 5th. The living is 
consequently again vacant. We believe Mr. Williams' suc- 
cessor will be the Rev. W. C. Sharpe, the present Senior 
Dean. 



Since our last, Mr. G. D. Liveing has been elected 
to be Professor of Chemistry in the place of the late Pro- 
fessor Cumming. The post of Registrary is filled by the Rev. 
H. R. Luard of Trinity College, who was nominated by the 
Council together with Mr. Power of Pembroke. 



Our Chronicle. 129 

Our readers will be glad to learn that Mr. G. G. Scott 
has been requested to submit to the Master and Seniors plans 
for a new Chapel. 



The account of the Boat Races will be found as usual on 
our fly leaf. The Lady Margaret, it will be seen, has had 
considerable success. 

The officers of the two Clubs are :— 

Lady Margaret. 

Rev. A. Holmes, President. 

E. A. Alderson, Treasurer. 

3. R. W. Bros, Secretary. 

T. E. Ash, First Captain. 

C. C. Scholefield, Second Captain. 

Lady Somerset. 

Rev. J. R. Lunn, President. 

C. J. E. Smith, Secretary. 

J. F. Rounthwaite, First Captain. 



One Member of our College, Mr. Gorst, is now pulling 
injthe University Boat. 



The Lady Margaret scratch-fours were rowed on Saturday, 
March 8th. There were nine boats entered, which rowed 
four races. The time race was won by Mr. W. J. Stobart's 
boat, Mr. S. B. Barlow's boat being second. The crews in 
the time race were : 



1 A. Cust 

2 W.F.DeWend 

3 J. Snowdon 

4 C C. Scholefield 

W. F. Meres (Cox.) 



1 A. M. Beamish 

2 F. C. Wace 

3 T. E. Ash 

4 H. S. Beadon 

S. B. Barlow (Cox.) 



1 A. LI. Clay 

2 H. H. Allott 

3 E. A. Alderson 

4 P. F. Gorst 

W. J. Stobart (Cox). 



180 Our Chronicle. 

The College Rifle Company still maintains its numbers and 
efficiency (more than fifty having been present at the last 
parade) although the Recruits out of the Freshman's year 
have not been so numerous as might fairly have been ex- 
pected. A match which took place on March 15th between 
the 2nd (St. John's) and 5th (Trinity) Companies resulted 
in a tie ; on the tie being shot off the 5th Company won 
by four points. 



Upwards of £50 has been subscribed during the present 
Term to provide a Challenge Cup, to be shot for by those 
members of the College who are also members of the 
C.U. R. V. A very handsome Cup has been procured 
from Messrs. Smith and Nicholson of London. The first 
competition took place on March 22nd, when Private Clare 
succeeded in making the highest number of points, viz. 
twenty, Drum-Major Bigwood making nineteen. 

A Code of Rules has been drawn up to regulate the 
shooting, from which we extract those of most general 
interest : 

Rule 1. That the Cup be competed for towards the 
end of every Term, on a day to be fixed by the Captain 
of the Company, by members of St. John's College being 
also members of the Cambridge University Rifle Volun- 
teers. 

Rule 3. That the Cup be shot for with the Government 
pattern Long Enfield Rifle at the following ranges : — 200, 
300, 500, 600 yards, 5 shots at each range, minimum pull 
of trigger 6 lbs. 

Rule 8. That on a day towards the end of the Easter 
Term in each year, to be fixed by the Captain of the 
Company, the winners of the three Terms in that year 
contend for a small silver cup, of uniform pattern, value £3. 



We hear that the Cambridge University Volunteers 
intend meeting the Oxford Corps and the Inns of Court 
Corps in Hyde Park on Whit Monday. This is an im- 
portant event for the Volunteers generally, as there will no 
doubt be a large concourse of foreigners drawn to London 
by the International Exhibition, who will form their estimate 
of the efficiency of the British Volunteers from the manner 
in which these three Corps acquit themselves. We have 



Our Chronicle. 



181 



no doubt that the University, and our own College, will 
be ably represented on this occasion. 



List of Boat Races. 

Second and Third iUvision. 

On account of the increase in the number of boats this 
year it was found necessary to make a third division. 
The third division rowed down from the Railway Bridge. 



February 26th. 


Third Division. 




40 Caius 3 


47 Jesus 2 \ 

48 Peterhouse 2 j 




41 Sidney 2 




42 Christ's 3 


49 Caius 4 




43 1st Trinity 6 


50 Trinity Hall 4 

51 Lady Margaret ( 


.} 


44 2nd Trinity 4 


45 Queens' 2 \ 

46 Lady Margaret 5 j 


52 1st Trinity 7 








Second j 


Division. 




20 Pembroke 


30 Christ's 2 "> 

31 Queens' 1 j 




2 1 Jesus \ 

22 1st Trinity 4) 




32 2nd Trinity 3 \ 

33 Clare 2 j 




23 2nd Trinity 2 > 

24 3rd Trinity 2 j 




34 Lady Somerset 2 


1 


25,. Catharine 


35 Emmanuel 3 




26 King's \ 

27 Lady Margaret 3 j 


36 Corpus 3 


.} 


37 Lady Margaret 4 


28 Emmanuel 2 


38 Trinity Hall 3 




29 Corpus 2 


39 1st Trinity 5 

40 Caius 3 




February 27th. 


Third Division. 




40 Caius 3 


46 Queens' 2 \ 

47 Peterhouse 2) 




41 Sidney 2 




42 Christ's 3 \ 

43 1st Trinity 6j 


48 Jesus 2 




49 Caius 4 


.} 


44 2nd Trinity 4 \ 

45 Lady Margaret 5 j 


50 Lady Margaret ( 

51 Trinity Hall 4 




52 1st Trinity 7 





132 



Our Chronicle. 



>roke \ 

rinity 4 j" 

1 1 

'rinity 2 ) 



Second Division. 



20 Pembroke 

21 1st Trinity 

22 Jesus 
28 3rd Trinity 

24 2nd Trinity 2~ 

25 Catharine > 

26 Lady Margaret 3 J 

27 King's \ 

28 Emmanuel 2 j 

29 Corpus 2 > 



30 Queens' 



81 Christ's 2 \ 

82 Clare 2 f 

83 2nd Trinity 2 

34 Lady Somerset 2 \ 

85 Trinity Hall 3 j 

86 Lady Margaret 4 

37 Emmanuel 3 

38 Corpus 3 > 
89 1st Trinity 5 J 
40 Caius 3 



February 2Sth. Third Division. 



i 



40 Emmanuel 3 * 

41 Sidney 2 

42 1st Trinity 6' 
48 Christ's 8 \ 

44 Lady Margaret 5 j 

45 2nd Trinity 4 \ 



46 Peterhouse 2 



47 Queens' 2 \ 

48 Jesus 2 j 

49 Lady Margaret 6 

50 Caius 4 

51 Trinity Hall 4 

52 1st Trinity 7 



Second Division. 



} 



20 1st Trinity 4 

21 Pembroke 

22 3rd Trinity 9^ 

23 Jesus 1 ~> 

24 2nd Trinity 2 j 

25 Lady Margaret 3 

26 Catharine \ 

27 Emmanuel 2 j 

28 King's 

29 Queens' 1 



} 



30 Corpus 2 

31 Clare 2 

32 Christ's 2 \ 

33 Lady Margaret 4 j 

34 Trinity Hall 3 

35 Lady Somerset 2 \ 

36 2nd Trinity 3 j 

37 Caius 3 > 

38 1st Trinity 5 j 

39 Corpus 3 1 

40 Sidney 2 j 



Errata in No. XII. 

Page 2, line 27, for "east" read " west." 

" 66, " 18, " "two" " "too." 

" 66, " 7, " "Elsie" " "Elsee." 

" 66, «« 8, " "W. F." " "E. H." 

" 66, " 10, " "W. T." " "W. J." 

" 67, " 12, " "Barn" " "Baron." 

" 67, " 14, " "Berry" " "Terry." 



A F0ETN1GHT IN SICILY. 



Dear Mr. Editor, 

As you have done me the compliment to insert a pre- 
vious letter in your valuable periodical, I venture to hope that 
a subject less hackneyed and probably more interesting, may 
also find a place in the lighter portion of your pages. 

On the 24th of March, our party, consisting of five 
gentlemen and one lady, left Naples on board the ' Vatican* 
for Sicily. 

To get out of the noisy, dusty, hot town of Naples, must 
be a matter of rejoicing I think to any traveller, particularly 
when on leaving he can sit in peace and quietness, and 
enjoy the lovely view which that bay and town afford. It 
was a beautiful bright clear day, the boy and girl in the little 
boat moored close by us had finished their Tarantella dance, 
and wished us a ' buon viaggio* when we bid adieu to the 
noisy quay of Santa Lucia and the picturesque Neapolitan 
fishermen. A forest of shipping passed, we were soon 
steaming quietly along, looking back at Naples and its 
environs edging that blue bay with their white line of houses, 
Castel St. Elmo above, and still towering higher the hill and 
monastery of the Camaldoli. The islands had quite a fairy 
appearance through the blue mist which always veils those 
enchanted waters. As we were bound for Messina, our 
course lay between the Isle of Capri and the promontory of 
Sorrento ; off the Sorrentine foreland lie the Three Sirens, 
no longer * multorum ossibus albos,' but none the less inte- 
resting for that. ' Difficiles quondam. 9 Capri is a lovely spot, 
the rocks and rocky mountains are tossed about in unusually 
wild and picturesque shapes ; a favourite retreat for the Eng- 
lish artist, there to paint and fall in romantic love with the 
island's pretty daughters ; and so this fairy scene gradually 
faded off, the sun set in gorgeous colours, nature's curtain was 
drawn, and nothing remained but an unpleasant night in a 
small steamer. 

VOL. III. L 



'■i 



134 A Fortnight in Sicily. 

In the early morning we passed Stromboli, and were 
fortunate enough to see the volcano in a very active state, 
the flames finding a vent some little way down on the 
north-east side of the mountain. Soon afterwards we found 
ourselves between Scylla and Charybdis, the former a huge 
rock on the Calabrian coast, the latter now marked only by 
the meeting of the currents round the north-east headland 
of Sicily ; of these, as of the Sirens before, ' difficiles quon- 
dam. 9 About nine o'clock we entered the 'Zancle' of 
Messina ; the town extends along the beach, a widish row of 
white houses with a low line of volcanic cliff and hill behind, 
Etna's snowy mass rising high to the left. We were soon on 
shore. ' Douane' troubles in these parts are now no more. 
It was Lady-day, and the town in a state of ' festa' and great 
ado. The ' brave' national guard marching in strong force, 
with a decided 'tiro' step; ladies in silks and mantillas 
hurrying to the churches, and lazzaroni feeling a decided 
right in demanding one's 'grani' on the Santa Madre's 
morning. I went to the church of the Annunziata, where 
the chief service was being performed, the music and singing 
were most peculiarly operatic. There is very little to in- 
terest in Messina ; we accordingly took a carriage the same day 
and started off along the eastern coast, ringing and rattling 
away merrily. Across the blue straits, on our left, lay Ehe- 
gium and the Calabrian Coast ; on our right, most picturesque 
lines and ridges of low mountain scenery, with frequent 
peeps of Etna; the villages we drove through presented the 
most miserable appearances, houses one-storied, windowless, 
and filthy; the road was unmistakeably Sicilian, taking us 
across a succession of dry torrent beds, and our travelling 
not of the easiest description; however the scenery was 
ample compensation for these little troubles, and as we 
approached Jiardini, a village lying under Taormina, the 
soft evening views were very beautiful. At Jiardini we 
arrived just as it was dark, and were deposited at a place 
which our vetturino called an hotel. No one who has not 
travelled in Sicily can form a just and fair idea of a Sicilian 
hotel in an out-of-the-way part of the country. The outside 
gave no signs whatever of life or lodging within, not a soul 
was moving ; after we had threaded our way, one at a time, 
up a very narrow dirty alley, and then up a still narrower 
and still dirtier row of steps, we came to a low roofed cottage 
and knocked at the door ; a being with a lantern appeared at 
the door, and was thunderstruck at seeing six * forestieri.' 
We asked the way to the hotel, and found to our surprise we 



A Fortnight in Sicily. 135 

were already at it. There was no other place of refuge, so 
we were obliged to take it for better or for worse ; on ask- 
ing for bed-rooms, he informed us he had one where he 
would immediately arrange six beds ; there was one other in 
the house, but that was occupied by four of his own country- 
men. When the being, whom I suppose I must call the land- 
lord, found disgust getting the better of our amusement, and 
that there was a lady in the party, he suddenly bethought 
himself of a clever plan, and disappeared lantern and all in 
order to carry his idea into effect, leaving us in darkness, 
solitude, and amazement ; in the course of a few minutes a 
grating door was heard gradually to open, and four ghost- 
like beings in night-shirts slunk across the passage in the 
direction of the kitchen, followed by the lantern'd Mercury, 
who acquainted us with the now not surprising intelligence, 
that another room was vacant; the four 'contadini* having 
been turned out in the most merciless way to seek a pillow 
where they could find one ; four of us occupied those four 
deserted beds, — proh nefas !— and the other gentleman and his 
wife the other room. It was in vain I took our landlord and 
showed him the small animals hopping about in empty search 
after their departed sleepers ; he brushed them off on to the 
floor, tmkilled, with a ' niente, niente, caro mio !* and off he 
ran to prepare dinner. A table was found, and a rough 
towel thrown over it in the passage; maccaroni prepared, 
enough to last a poor English family for a week, and afar off 
we saw a weird shaggy old hag fanning some blazing sticks, 
and over the sticks hanging in the smoke the last poor old 
hen, that ten minutes ago had gone off snugly to roost ; this 
with black bread formed our repast, and I will' only add that 
we laughed heartily over it. The night — 'vate caret, non 
illacrymabilis.' The next day was bright and lovely, and 
we set off to walk Up the mountain to Taormina, the ancient 
Tauromenium ; a stiff hour's ascent brought us to the old 
picturesque town; the people stared as though not much 
accustomed to tourists ; the pigs that lay at the cottage door- 
steps even got up and grunted : one of the barbarians escorted 
us to the ancient theatre, which ran^s as the next interesting 
sight in Sicily after' the ruins of Girgenti, not only on 
account of the comparatively perfect state of its seats and 
orchestra, its pilasters and proscenium, but the grand and 
extensive view commanding the old town picturesquely 
situated on the mountain slope, Etna perfect and uninter- 
rupted, below the blue bay, and far, far away the coast-land 
melting away in blue haze ; besides this, the old tombs and 

l2 



136 A Fortnight in Sicily. 

! the church of S. Pancratius are of interest We descended to 

\ our ever-memorable hotel and started off to Nicolosi, a 

I village at the foot of Etna, a drive of some thirty-five miles. 

The views of Etna were grand, but the immediate country com- 
paratively wanting in picturesque scenery ; the route crossing 
streams of lava of various ages, through villages built 
entirely, houses, walls, churches, and everything else of lava, 
and by roads strikingly barbarian. Nicolosi is a miserable 
looking village, with a refuge but little better than that at 
Jiardini. I went off at once to Dr. Gemellaro, who is a sort 
of honorary guide, undertaking the arrangement of parties 
who ascend Etna, a well-informed kind fellow, whose aid 
and experience I would advise any one to take advantage of: 
he was glad to see * Inglesi' once again, greedily snatched at 
any news we could tell him, and told us all would be ready 
at four o'clock the next morning. 

Accordingly, early the next morning we started. I must 
tell you the usual time for ascending is in mid-summer at 
midnight, so as to see the sunrise from the summit ; at that 
time of the year you can ride to the ' Casa Inglese,' which is 
a small refuge, only one hour's distance from the top, sleep 
there, and so make easy work of the excursion ; but in early 
spring it is a far different matter, the Casa Inglese being 
entirely buried in snow, and the cold at night on the moun- 
tain intense. We accordingly started early, our company 
consisting of eight on mules and one on foot, with an 
escort of enquiring peasants until we were some way out of 
the village. The sunrise was splendid ; we rode for three 
hours up a part of the mountain called the ' Bosco,' covered 
with scrubby oaks and a few pines, when the depth of 
the snow obliged us to dismount ; here we fortified ourselves 
with cold fowls and eggs, and left our mules to await our 
return. 

For three hours and a half we toiled up ridge after ridge 
of snow, passing over the left shoulder of Monte Agnola, the 
views getting gradually more extensive, not perfectly clear 
but extremely grand ; this brought us to the bottom of the 
cone, and now the worst was to come, the ascent being very 
steep and slippery over mixed snow and ashes, with a furious 
wind blowing. In fifty minutes we were at the lip of the 
crater, and heartily did we congratulate our heroic fair one 
on the feat she had accomplished ; we were the first to tread 
those snows this year, and I doubt if any lady at all has ever 
made the ascent so early as the month of March, saving the 
Two Unprotected Females who have published their exploit. 



A Fortnight in Sicily. 137 

We could not stay long at the summit, as the wind and storm 
of ashes were intolerable, but soon made a rapid descent. 
The crater of Etna is somewhat larger than that of Vesuvius, 
with a great deal of snow-drift inside, and a small current of 
sulphurous steam much less fitful than that of Vesuvius. 
The last eruption of any importance was that of 1852. The 
lava streams are on a far larger scale than those of Vesuvius, 
very broad and extending into the country in some cases a 
marvellous distance ; all round the base of the mountain are 
numerous conical hillocks, each with its extinct crater in the 
centre, and from its shape very unmistakeable. I would 
strongly advise every one, from the painful experience we 
have had, to protect his face against the Etna winds; in 
fact, the excursion is much better made from Catania than 
from Nicolosi, as at the former place better guides are found 
and every necessary attentively supplied; the landlord of 
the Corona hotel knowing the mountain well. 

From Nicolosi we went down to Catania with faces 
blistered and swollen ; the peasants knew well enough what 
we had done, and I heard some remark as we passed " Eccoli 
dal fuoco." Catania is a large town, with a population of sixty- 
five thousand, so that here we found more civilized accom- 
modation. The place has suffered much in various ways, and 
has a wretched look about it; they say it never escapes 
thirty years without being visited either by a lava stream, an 
earthquake, or a plague ; and certainly the houses with their 
cracked walls and columns declining from the vertical, speak 
very plainly of their contiguous enemy. The town was in a 
great measure destroyed by the eruption of 1669, when the 
present mole was formed by the lava stream pouring down 
into the sea. 

The cathedral and churches are too much spoilt by white- 
wash to be interesting. The old Greek theatre is tolerably 
perfect, its seats made of lava telling of Etna's performances in 
olden times. The shape of the Odeum is quite traceable, and 
some small part remains. The amphitheatre they say was 
on an enormous scale, larger than the Coliseum at Rome, 
but it is so built over, that now it is difficult to form an 
opinion. The Monastero de* Benedettini is worth a visit; 
its escape from the lava was almost miraculous, the stream 
having changed its course just as it reached the walls of the 
building. The organ and carved wood in the church are very 
fine. 

From Catania we drove to Syracuse, a distance of forty- 
five miles. The scenery down the southern half of the 



1 38 A Fortnight in Sicily. 

eastern coast is not so fine as the northern; here and there 
isolated spots are very picturesque, but there is a great deal 
of plain and marsh land ; we crossed the Simsethus, and saw 
Theocritus 9 oleanders and prickly pears flourishing in all their 
primaeval beauty ; our road lay through Lentini, the ancient 
Leontini, but here we did not stop, as there is nothing of 
interest saving one old ruin of which little or nothing is 
known ; crossing the ridge of hills at the back of Lentini, and 
leaving Augusta to our left, we soon came in sight of Syracuse. 
The high road runs straight across the site of the ancient 
town to the Island of Ortygia, on which stands the modern 
city, a mass of white houses, and narrow streets with a 
thickly crowded population, surrounded by fortifications with 
a network of wall, and drawbridges between the island and 
the mainland. Of the other four great divisions of ancient 
Syracuse, Acradina, Epipolae, Tycha and Neapolis, nothing 
scarcely remains but one vast barren plain of a very rocky 
nature, partly cultivated, partly like an English common. 
The relative situation of these I remember is given in Col. 
Leake's maps, that are annexed to Arnold's Thucydides. 
The distance from Ortygia to the 'EvpvrjXo? at Epipolae is 
about three miles : taking 'Et/pi/iyXo? as a centre and this line 
of distance, (viz. from Ortygia to 'Evpvrjko?) as a radius of a 
circle, of which another radius would be the line of hills 
running from 'EvpvrjXo* to the € Porto Trogilo* with the coast 
line as the circumference cut off, you would have a ' sector'- 
shaped piece of land containing the four old cities ; Epipolae 
occupying the part at the angle, Acradina the largest of the 
four, extending widely along the circumference, and Neapolis 
and Tycha filling up the remainder, separated from one another 
by a slight valley ; only let it be remembered that Neapolis 
did not exist at the time of the Peloponnesian war. To the 
south of this piece of land lies the great harbour about five 
miles in circumference, the entrance to it one thousand two 
hundred yards wide, being between Ortygia and the piece of 
coast land called Plemmyrium. There is a ' custode* who 
still points out the ruins of 'Ei/pviyXo?, some scattered frag- 
ments of wall for Labdalus, and the quarries where the 
Athenian prisoners were put to death ; on the right bank of 
the Anapus, just where the two branch streams meet, stand 
two gigantic Doric columns of the temple of Olympian Jove, 
and on Plemmyrium, opposite Ortygia, the so called remains 
of the " Campo e Castello degli Ateniesi/ 5 Besides these, 
there are many ruins of minor importance ; an amphitheatre 
hewn out of the solid rock ; the theatre which Cicero calls 



A Fortnight in Sicily. 139 

' maximum' that held forty thousand people ; this stands in 
Neapolis, which was the finest of the five divisions; an 
aqueduct running from 'EvpvrjXos in the direction of 
Acradina — a street of tombs — a so-called tomb of Archi- 
medes — the Ear of Dionysius, a peculiar shaped hollow in 
the rock, so cut that the least whisper down below can be 
heard distinctly above, where they say ' fort ridiculement' 
that the tyrant listened to the murmurs of his captives — 
several stone quarries and catacombs. In the Island of 
Ortygia, now modern Syracuse, is the fountain of Arethusa ; 
but what would Alpheus' feelings be, could he see the 
object of his affection reduced to a tank for washerwomen ? 
The present cathedral contains some fine remains of a temple 
of the Doric order originally consecrated to Minerva. 

However, the general appearance of ancient Syracuse, as 
I said before, is one vast rocky waste ; one walks over miles of 
barren country, and nothing strikes the eye, save here and 
there a piece of tomb, or street with its old ruts half hidden 
under wild flowers; the goats run up and down the few grass* 
covered steps that led to the aula of some Dionysian lord, 
and the swallow flits across the curved pool of water that 
once was the orchestra of an Odeum. Such is the perfect 
state of silent desolation, it is indeed a marked spot and tells 
its own tale, " all has passed away." 

We embarked on board the " Archimede," a small steamer 
from Alexandria, for Messina en route to Palermo. 

On leaving Messina, the weather was extremely rough 
and stormy, and Charybdis threatened to assume her 
wonted form. However as it is often very rough in the 
straits, and tolerably calm in the open sea beyond, the captain 
thought good to start ; in the straits we rocked about terribly, 
and not much less so when we had turned the north east 
promontory and got into the open. For an hour we went 
fairly enough ; when a heavy storm came on and lashed us 
about in a furious manner; first on one paddle-box, then 
on the other, with the waves dashing clean over us ; every 
moment we felt our danger increasing: the like had not 
been known there for twenty years, and had we not happily 
got under the lee of one of the Lipari Islands and there 
waited until the storm had vented its fury, our miserable 
little boat might have perished: we found out afterwards 
that the " Archimede" had been condemned as unseaworthy, 
so that our escape was indeed a fortunate one. On account of 
this delay we reached Palermo in the evening instead of 
early morning. However "the barbarous people shewed 



140 A Fortnight in Sicily. 

us no little kindness," and I fear we fared at the Trinacria 
hotel in a very different way to what the poor apostle did at 
Melita. 

Palermo is situated on the bay of that name, extending 
for some distance in a curved shape along the beach ; behind 
lies a wide plain thickly planted with orange and lemon 
groves, bounded by an amphitheatre of hills of a ragged 
and rocky nature, on which the olive and prickly pear 
contrast well with' the darker tints of green below. It certainly 
is an extremely picturesque place and presents a most marked 
foreign and Asiatic appearance. The influence of Greece, 
Borne, and Carthage once were great there, but these have died 
out, and the traces of later conquerors, such as the Arab, ♦Nor- 
man and Spaniard, take their place in a most striking manner. 
The two main streets intersect at right angles, and are narrow, 
with tall houses and projecting balconies of iron, wood and 
stone. The shops are endless and occupy all the ground 
floors, even of private houses ; and the street is alive with 
human heads. The first day I was there was the anniversary 
of the late revolution, and the old town was of course decked 
out in an extra bright holiday dress. The upper windows 
all aldng the streets have a peculiar appearance, they are 
inhabited throughout by nuns, and accordingly cased over 
with a projecting bow-shaped grating; looking down the 
streets one catches a fine view of mountain scenery, which with 
the strip of deep blue sky over one's head is very effective. 
The churches are very interesting, especially in point of 
architecture ; and the exterior of the cathedral is delightful 
to an eye that has been surfeited with the heathenish Italian 
style : this building, erected towards the end of the twelfth 
century, after the Saracen power had been destroyed by the 
Normans, is apparently Gothic in architecture, but when you 
look into it there is a great medley of the Sicilian, Arab and 
Norman: possibly from the Arabic inscription discovered 
there it once was a mosque : the exterior is splendid, but 
the interior is entirely spoilt by whitewash. The ' Martorana* 
is a very costly beautiful church, light and elegant, a mixed 
style of Arab and Norman, rich in marbles and precious 
stones. There are many others of minor importance, whose 
chief interest lies in their costly ornaments of lapis-lazuli, 
verde antique, etc., and I will leave it to guide-books to 
describe them ; but of all the sacred edifices, the little Capella 
Falatina or Royal Chapel is the most unique and striking, 
its walls and arches covered with richly coloured mosaic 
work have the most sombre appearance, and their dimly 



A Fortnight in Sicily. 141 

lit up gorgeousness a most imposing effect. The many 
public gardens of Palermo are a pleasant addition to the town — 
an enjoyable retreat from the bustle and noise of the TJoledo— 
flowers and eastern shrubs grow there in perfection, — even in 
the beginning of April they were beautiful. We of course 
went up Monte Pefiegrino and paid a visit to Santa Rosalia, 
the Patroness Saint of Palermo ; on the top of the mountain 
is a grotto where she lived and died at the early age of 
sixteen: mass is celebrated there daily, and commanding 
a perfect view of the bay and town stands a colossal statue of 
the Saint, covered with a robe of solid gold, her right hand 
extended as though blessing the fair scene that lies below : 
her great day is kept in July, when there is a grand 
procession of all the dignitaries of the church, state officers, 
and military through the streets of Palermo ; a silver statue 
of the saint is carried in a great triumphal car, seventy feet 
long and thirty broad, adorned with orange trees and filled 
with bands of music. An account of different excursions would 
be uninteresting ; but every one should drive up to Monreale 
and see the splendid Byzantine mosaic work in the cathedral, 
also pay a visit to the palace of the Zisa, a real Saracenic 
edifice with its Moorish hall. 

The people at Palermo are much more civilized than in 
the parts we had been in previously, and a railway is actually 
in construction from Palermo to Catania. The lighting the 
gas lamps invariably caused a great excitement, a crowd 
collecting at each one, and gesticulating fiercely when the 
magic flame appeared. 

There are various accounts as to the state of discontent 
and brigandage in those parts ; we saw nothing of the sort, 
and I am inclined to think that the English papers draw 
an exaggerated picture ; there are many too glad to seize 
hold of a report and pass it on for fact. Let those who con- 
demn what is going on reflect whether they are not condemning 
a noble attempt that is being made to promote civilization, 
education, peace and religion. If good is at work, there 
must be a conflict with evil ; and it is only prejudice and 
short-sightedness that makes a certain class of people so 
severe in their censure. Poor fated country ! she has known 
many conquerors and many changes ; all who have travelled 
in her bright sunny land will ever take deep interest in her 
lot: — may her new government be lasting and prosperous, 
and a more civilized and enlightened generation steer safely 
between the Scylla of tyranny and the Charybdis of revo- 
lution. 







THE PICTUBE. 



'Tis strange: — sad stories linger in the heart 
Until their very sadness becomes sweet; 
E'en as the lineaments of those he loved. 
Treasured in sacred memories, still heal, 
With their own sorrowful spell, the aching wound 
Of one who, in great loneliness of soul, 
Waits ever for a voice he may not hear, 
And listens for a step that cannot come. 

Ah sad sweet picture! I have gazed on thee, 
And pored upon thy tracery, and mused 
Upon thy story till the mournful lines 
Grew bright with heavenly radiance, and a sense 
Of pain not pain, of joy not wholly joy, 
Tempered itself within me, and I grew, 
Rapt on the past, to love thee reverently. 

And surely 'twas an instinct half divine 
Guided the hand that wrought material things 
To such a wondrous beauty! for the eye, 
Clear with a sudden inspiration, bears 
Into our inmost hearts the whole sad scene, 
With an all-vivid power that fools the ear, 
And mocks the art of poets. — 

For what words 
Can paint the terrible agony, that dwells 
In the closed hands and mutely eloquent eyes 
Of that grief-stricken Lady and pure wife, 
Kneeling beside her lord, 'twixt those stern walls, 
To taste the cup of blessing ere he die, 
And the sweet bonds be snapt? — Methinks the rite 
Hath lifted for a while her sinking heart, 
And, blotting out the page of time, borne up 
Her winged soul unto that purer world 
Where separation is not, and the voice 
Of cruelty vexes not the quiet air, 
And love abides, and peace; till, suddenly, 
Earth claims her own again, and in the glance, 
Sidelong, that fears to move his calm rapt soul, 



The Picture. 143 

Dwells all the dear heart-hunger *of long years, 
Known in one bitter moment, — dwells the woe 
And desolation of a breaking heart, 
That, breaking, still beats on, each pulse a pang, 
That, killing, will not kill. — 

Hut he the while, 
With reverent knee and fair untroubled front, 
Bends o'er the emblems of His dying love 
Who died that death might be the gate of life ; 
A sweet majestic meekness crowning him 
With a divine humility, more grand 
Than haughtiest glance shot from the eye of pride. 
And if there be some human woe for her 
Whose love hath crowned his manhood, lo, his eye 
Half pierced, methinks, the dark mysterious veil, 
And half the pang sinks in the bright to come, 
And the fixed hope of a believing soul 
That conquers, and not scorns, the sting of death. 

Go, ponder, ye who tell us Love shall die; — 
Go, see love stronger at the gates of death, 
Strong when man's ruthless voice would bid it cease, — 
Strong in the dreadful parting hour to raise 
The spirit to those sacred heights, where love 
Shall breathe at length its proper air, and drink 
Large draughts from the pure fountain whence it flowed 
To bless and cheer the parched wastes below. 

"C. S." 



* 

* * 

* 



TRANSLATIONS, NEW AND OLD. 



JTEW will be found to deny, and fewer still perhaps to 
explain, the marked inferiority of modern English prose 
translations from the classical authors of antiquity, to those 
rich racy works of North and Hobbes, and other authors of 
the Elizabethan and subsequent age, full of point, force, and 
vigour, for the most part truthful even to accuracy, at no 
time false to their author's spirit, or tame or chargeable with 
weakness, which differ from our present bald and servile 
copies about as much as a tragedian's verses excel the 
scholiast's explanations. No doubt such works as Mr. 
Kennedy's Demosthenes and Davies and Vaughan's rendering 
of Plato's Republic form striking exceptions to this rule — but 
translations like these are very rare, and even of these two 
the latter, graceful and accurate and powerful as it generally 
is, can certainly not be acquitted of betraying throughout 
its classical original. The Greek limbs move uneasily 
cramped and confined under their English dress. Take up 
even the tenth book, where there is little of that dialogue 
which gives so wide a scope to untranslatable Greek particles, 
and read the adventures of Er — you could be under no 
danger whatsoever of supposing that the narrative sprang 
originally from an English brain. 

What may be the causes of this backward movement, 
whether it be that the classical authors have now fallen into 
so great contempt and desuetude that at this time they are 
not, either in the original languages or in translations, read 
by any but professed scholars, having come to be regarded 
merely as convenient machines for educating the young and 
giving them a somewhat useless but not ungentlemanly 
occupation, let others determine. It would undoubtedly seem 
that in the times when Lady Jane Grey read Plato, Catharine 
Parr is recorded to have written in Latin, and Mrs. Hutchin- 
son to have translated Lucretius, the English people must 
have fed upon more substantial food than is afforded by the 



Translations, New and Old. 145 

Railway-libraries, the Cornhills, the Macmillans, and the 
Temple-bars of the nineteenth century. 

Be it so — "tempora mutantur." The first course, nay 
the second, third, fourth courses are over; the nineteenth 
century is the age not of dinner but of dessert; therefore 
let us say grace for the first blessing and apply ourselves 
thankfully to the second. 

Indeed, the decision of this question is not our present 
business. To decide whether it be the changed tastes of the 
nation or an over fastidious desire for literal accuracy, or the 
decay in vigour of the English language, that has thus 
enslaved our translators, would require more space and time 
than are at the writer's command. But what are the causes 
which among our candidates for the classical tripos are 
wont to make their translations so miserably unenglish, what 
may be the reasons which in our attempts to express the 
sense of the classical poets deprive -53schylus of all his 
grandeur, Virgil of all his beauty, Sophocles of all his per- 
fectness, and even Aristophanes of half his wit, or again, in 
our endeavours to render historical authors, what it is that 
makes speeches spiritless, campaigns unintelligible, and the 
deaths of heroes ludicrous ; this is a subject on which a con- 
jecture may be expressed and it may be a hint given. 

Several causes might be assigned for these failures, as 
first, the want of taste on the part of the translator and a 
defect in his appreciation of the classical originals, which, 
as it is a thing in many men incapable of being remedied, 
and in others only by a patient and careful study of the 
best models both in their own and in the ancient languages, 
we pass over with this remark in order to proceed to other 
causes. Some might be inclined in part to lay our charge 
to the door of Mr. Theodore Alois Buckley and other like 
translators, whose works are at once easily procurable and 
esteemed by some convenient for the purposes of self- 
education. They would be wrong. We are much indebted 
to the circle of classical scholars whom Mr. Bohn has col- 
lected around him: we owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. 
Buckley the translator of Sophocles, to Mr. Davison for his 
literal prose version of Virgil, and to Mr. Watson for his 
labours on the works of Lucretius; they have been our 
pioneers to a better path, they have hastened a new era of 
English translation, they have been the first to indicate and 
example the baldness, the ungracefulness and servility to which 
our language may be degraded, they stand self-appointed 
beacons to warn us against these dangers, and in a great 



146 Translations, New and Old. 

spirit of self-sacrifice to light others upon a fairer and 
more attractive road than it has been allotted to them to 
follow. 

A third and more potent reason is, the strong fear felt by 
men who are perpetually called on to shew what they can do 
in examinations, lest the examiners should think a free 
translation a token or gloss of ignorance. To meet this 
difficulty seems the express purpose of the allowance of 
annotation in our examinations; and further, these very 
points which make the difference between English and 
English-Greek or English-Latin, are those, which if ex- 
pressed, would least hinder a translator from manifesting a 
knowledge of his subject. But the fourth and most cogent 
of all causes seems to be, that Englishmen in general are un- 
aware of the full power and scope of their own language, 
having never studied its varieties and diversities of expres- 
sion, and the points of inferiority and superiority in respect 
of the ancient languages ; and in this ignorance seems to lie 
the real ground for our complaint. 

Now it would be impossible within these narrow limits 
to do anything more than allege some evidence for the truth 
of this statement. To account for it thoroughly and satisfac- 
torily would be a work of no little labour. There is evidence 
at hand to prove, that English translations may be so written 
as to read like English, evidence that will come home to 
every one who is a member of the Church of England. For 
in our daily service, what critical ear discerns between the 
collects that have Latin and English originals ? Who feels 
the Gelasian twang perceptible through the English of the 
sixteenth century ? It is a matter of undoubted truth, that 
upon ordinary ears the translated Latin of the Gelasian 
Sacramentary works no other nor more jarring effect than the 
words of our own English Cranmer. Then wherein lies the 
secret of our Reformers' Alchemy? Whence their trans- 
forming elixir ? I answer, their art consisted, next to their 
living sympathy with the spirit no less than the words of the 
Latin prayers, in their knowledge of the rich variety of their 
language and in the application of this variety to the chaste 
simplicity of the Latin original. And here, at the risk of 
being tedious, or even quoting Latin in a Magazine designed 
for the sole perusal of Members of St. John's College, I 
must bring forward some testimony to the truth of what is 
here stated. 

Who then would prefer a literal version, such as " the 
author and lover of peace in knowing whom men live, in serving 



Translations, New and Old. 147 

whom men reign/* to our well-known commencement of the 
Collect for Peace ; " the author of peace and lover of concord, 
in knowledge of whom standeth our eternal life, whose 
service is perfect freedom," in which it is as certain that the 
words " of concord" are necessary for the English rhythm 
and harmony, as it is, that they are absent from the Latin of 
Gelasius ? Mark again the two different English construc- 
tions which represent one in the Latin, " quern nosse vivere, 
cui servire regnare est;" necessary, because the English 
language cannot render, nor the English ear endure, the 
naked simpleness of the plain antithesis. The same variety, 
the same longing to express the meaning in a number of 
words where one is insufficient, may be found in the Fourth 
Collect after Advent. Instead of " that by the help of thy 
favour that which is clogged by our sins may be hastened by 
the kindness of thy mercy," we have " that whereas, through 
our sins and wickednesses, we are sore let and hindered in 
running the race that is set before us, thy bountiful grace 
and mercy may speedily help and deliver us."* Here have 
we three couplets, if I may so say, of English words, to ex- 
press three single Latin words. Further, on account of the 
great excess of metaphor in English above Latin prose, the 
very suspicion and mere hint of such a thing in the original 
is developed into a finished picture in the English Collect : 
rightly, if it is the business of the English translator to 
say what his Latin author says, just as an Englishman would 
most naturally express it. And of these two translations, as 
there is no doubt the first is the more literal, so none can 
deny the latter to be the more intelligible and, as regards 
the spirit of the prayer, the more truthful also. A third 
instance of the application of English variety to Latin simpli- 
city may perhaps be sufficient. In the Collect for the 
Second Sunday in Lent, we read " that we may be defended 
from all adversities which may happen to the body, and 
from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul ;" 
as a translation of " ut ab omnibus adversitatibus muniamur 
in corpore et a pravis cogitationibus mundemur in mente," 
an example of curtailment as well as development, and, as in 
the other instances, of the use of copiousness and diversity, 
and the avoidance of simple antithesis. 

But because it might be said that we are unable impar- 
tially to judge of words which from our childhood upwards 

* Ut, per auxilium gratiae tuae, quod nostra peccata praepediunt, 
indulgentia tuaa propitiationis acceleret." 



148 Translations, New and Old. 

we have so often heard, that even were they most harsh and 
most unnatural, custom would give them a second naturalness 
to our ears, it may be useful to bring forward one or two 
passages translated from works less known, and to compare 
the ancient versions with such a rendering as in our times an 
ordinary Englishman would give. Whether then will the 
reader prefer as a rendering of the words of Aristotle 
" For one who is above measure beautiful or powerful, or 
well-born, or wealthy, or on the contrary, above measure 
poor or weak, and held in great contempt, it is not easy to 
follow reason,"* or, "Men over high exalted either in 
honour or in power or in nobility or in wealth, they likewise 
that are as much on the contrary hand sunk either with 
beggary or through dejection, or by baseness, do not easily 
give ear unto reason"-? Which, as a rendering of Basil, 
" He mingled the delight that comes from melody with the 
teachings of the church, that by the smoothness and softness 
of the hearing, we might unwittingly take in the profit that 
came from the words ;" or, as Hooker has it,f " It pleased 
him to borrow from melody that pleasure which mingled 
with heavenly mysteries causeth the smoothness and softness 
of that which toucheth the ear, to convey, as it were by 
stealth, the measure of good things into men's minds"? 
Lastly, whether of two interpreters would Seneca prefer, 
the one who should translate his words into such English as 
this : " A great number of sins are removed if a witness be 
standing by those who are on the point of sinning. Let 
the mind have some one to fear, by whose authority it can 
make even its secret thoughts more holy ; choose Cato then, 
or if he appear to you too severe, choose some man of a 
softer mettle, choose him whose life and words have attracted 
you, and carrying before you that man's mind and features, 
ever be shewing him to yourself either as a guardian or as an 
example ;" or would the following version gain greater ap- 
proval. J " Witnesses at hand are as a bridle to many offences ; 

* Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity, v. 76, 5. Arist. Pdit. iv. 11, 
" Yn-cpicaXov, ij virsplayypov, rj vTrepsvyevrj, tj vwepwXovcriov' fj rdv- 
avria TOVTotg, viripirrit>\ov % $ virepaadevfj, ical utyolpa anyLov yaXeirov 
rip \6ya cLKoXovdelv. ' 

t Hooker, v. 38. 3. Bas. in Psal. [1, p. 125.] " To & rfc 
fitXydiac repirvov toIq tioyfxaaiv iyKarifxi^ey. Iva t$ irpoarrivei ical 
Xc/y rrjg dicoiJQ to etc twv Xoytov ofye'Xtftov XavOavovrwQ vvoht^ntQa* 9 

% Hooker, v. 65. 6. Sen. Epist. lib. 1, Ep. 11. " Magna pars 
peccatorum tollitur, si peccaturis testis adsistat. Aliquem habeat 



Translations, Old and New. 149 

let the mind have always some whom it feareth" (a slight 
inaccuracy here), "some whose authority may keep even 
secret thoughts under awe. Take Cato, or, if he be too harsh 
and rigid, choose some other of a softer mettle, whose gra- 
vity of speech and life thou lovest ; his mind and countenance 
carry with thee, set him always before thine eyes, either as a 
watch or pattern.*' 

The inferiority of our modern versions may be perhaps in 
part explained by the present disuse of many excellent and 
useful expressions current in older times. These convenient 
words " whereof," " whereto," or the like, have gone seem- 
ingly never to return, and in consequence of their absence 
we are so often thrown upon " whom" and " which," that 
there has arisen an aversion to the use of the relative wherever 
it can be avoided ; and writers, rather than employ it, prefer 
to make two sentences instead of one. The nominative ab- 
solute is almost lost. We should say now " where," or " if 
necessity urges," not " necessity urging, it is no fault," and 
so also in the passive voice we rarely find, as a translation of 
the Latin ablative absolute, such a phrase as " his work 
done, he rested," but "after he had done his work," or 
some equally verbose equivalent. We can scarcely now 
venture to say with Milton, " when a temple is building," 
for fear of being thought to write vulgarly, but must content 
ourselves with "during the building of a temple." We 
have lost, too, that convenient adjunct of verbs " does." 
How constrained it sounds to say " upon whom the light of 
the gospel shines not yet," how natural and rhythmical the 
alteration to " doth not yet shine !" We must also regret the 
loss of the old sense of the preposition "of" in the phrase 
" of thy mercy grant," which has no exact modern equiva- 
lent. Such a sentence as the Latin " qui scis nos in tantis 
periculis eonstitutos non posse subsistere," we should invari- 
ably render " who knowest that we, placed as we are," or 
" in that we are placed in so great dangers cannot stand," 
instead of " in that" or " for that we are placed," or, as in 
the Collect "who knowest that we are placed in so great 
dangers that, &c."* These terrible particles /uey and 8k 

animus, quern vereatur, cujus auctoritate etiam secretum suum* 
sanctius faciat. Elige itaque catonem ; si hie videtur tibi nimis 
rigidus, elige remissions animi virum : elige eum cujus tibi placuit 
vita et oratio, et ipsius animus ante te ferens et vultqs, ilium sem- 
per tibi ostende, vel custodem vel exemplum." 

* Why do we not make more use of our privileges in accumu- 
vol. in. M 



150 Translations, Old and New. 

cannot always be rendered by "firstly/* "secondly," still 
less by "indeed" and "but," and though we may some- 
times express them by saying, that "while A is doing z, 
B is doing y," yet the monotony would be less if we still 
retained the old antithetical " as" and " so." Further, some 
useful words have deserted without leaving us their substi- 
tutes. Where is the modern equivalent of "towardly"? 
We seldom use the adjective " backward/ 9 except in conversa- 
tion, and yet a periphrasis is necessary to express the 
meaning both of this word and the deceased "froward." 
" Colourable" is a better word than " plausible/' and not ex- 
actly synonymous with the latter : " ought" has expelled, " it 
befits/ " it beseems/ 9 " it behoves ; 99 we miss also the imper- 
sonals " it contents/ 9 " it moves us — that,* 9 and many other 
various expressions which have by their departure made our 
language at once more regular and less vigorous. Bat be- 
sides the loss of these turns and phrases which are compen- 
sated at least in some degree by modern additions, once more 
we must repeat, that it is the want of variety and fulness 
which is the fatal cause of the badness of our modern transla- 
tions. Let the reader turn over the master-piece of English 
prose, Milton's Areopagitica, and he will find that upon his 
apt use of what we called above "couplets," hangs the 
marvellous fascination of his style. What else is the charm 
of the following sentence, " that out of many moderate 
varieties and brotherly dissimilitudes that are not vastly dis- 
proportions! arises the goodly and the graceful symmetry 
that commends the whole pile and structure/ 9 and again, 
"what could a man require more from a Nation so pliant 
and so prone to seek after knowledge ? What wants there 
to such a towardly and pregnant soil, but wise and faithful 
labourers, &c," and lastly, "revolving new notions and 
ideas to present us with their homage and fealty the ap- 
proaching Reformation"? 

The compilers of our Prayer-Book thoroughly understood 
or, however, felt the genius and demands of their language : 
with them " nullum" and " ullum' 9 are in two consecutive 
lines, " no" and " any kind of;" " qui" is at one moment 
" which/' at another " that," at a third " such as," and so 
on ; such a phrase as " a quolibet cuilibet datum/ 9 is " given 
unto any man by every man that listeth." These are little 

lating adjeotives? " Diu acriter pugnatum est ; neque Indi, &c." 
should be translated " Throughout the whole of this sharp contest, 
the Indians, &c." 



Translations, Old and New. 151 

things, but so are Greek particles, and Greek particles rightly 
placed are not more effective in making Greek out of English- 
Greek, than these little minutiae of variety and diversity have 
power to transform Greek or Latin-English into our own true 
genuine and idiomatic language. That such men as will 
make £ood English translations must, whether willingly or 
unwillingly, follow this rule is most certain. The causes are 
not the subject of this paper, but one of them is not far 
to seek. 

In every derived language there is a certain indefinite- 
ness about the meaning of words. The Roman had a clear 
notion of the manly rigorous " virtus" as soon as the word 
was pronounced, while the Englishman must gradually 
acquire his idea of " virtue." Hence it follows that an 
English writer, whether author or translator, fnot quite 
certain that by any one word he is expressing the idea he 
wishes to express, must sometimes resort to two or even 
more words to indicate his meaning. The German would 
have no such difficulty. It is for this reason that, in trans- 
lating Homer, we should have no occasion for these couplets 
which we find so useful in versions of prose-writers ; for inas- 
much as no word of Homer can fail of findingSits Saxon 
mate in our language, his poetry can be rendered word for 
word into homely English, nor need either truthfulness or 
spirit be sacrificed in the process. 

Finally, the classical languages, with their ready power 
of manufacturing new words to suit new purposes, their 
delicacies of order, their apt inflexions and artful links of 
connecting particles possess a serenity and dignity that we 
cannot hope to equal. Alter two words in one of Plato's 
sentences, and what would become of the rhythm? Our 
sentences would fare better under such an ordeal, for 
it is not the outward mould that makes their excel- 
lence. Theirs is the beauty of form, ours the 
beauty of colour: they have grace, we picturesqueness : 
theirs is repose, ours vigorous life; theirs the marked 
order of ruling law, ours the quaint blending of feudality ; 
unity stands eminent in the Greek, the meaning enshrined 
as in some Parthenon, where basement and pillar, jaapital 
and architrave and frieze follow on and on in regular suc- 
cession, the cold lines distinct and clear and uniform, whereon 
the eye rests with calm delight as on a whole perfect and 
self-complete, while within, in her single cell, the Ivory 
Athene holds supreme sway, with nought around to decoy 
the attention from the spectacle of her chaste majesty, nothing 
to distract the brain and intellect from their enforced adora- 

m 2 



162 Translations, Old and New. 

turn ; oui are the never-ending upward infinite lines, which, 
in a Grecian mind, to whom the infinite doee of itself savour 
of somewhat evil, excite aversion and disgust, in us a vague 
and mysterious longing, better far than any satisfied desire ; 
dashed with deep shadows, broken with bright sharp lights, 
enlivened with many a quaint carved corbel, whence look 
forth placid angels and peeping fiends, and bare-head friars, 
while within some twenty chapels hold their twenty several 
saints, claiming each his lesser worship, and the dim purpled 
lines of coloured light, and the rich full varied organ-notes, 
and the awful and the grotesque, and the infinite and the 
finite working in sharp opposition on the kindred emotions 
of the heart, half shape form and half stifle in the birth, that 
indefinite indefinable something which we call religious 
feeling. 



„i ril . 



THE SCENTLESS BOSE. 



In wintry climes, 'tis said, the rose 

Forgets her sweets to pour, 
And scentless lives and scentless dies, 

To bloom again no more: 
She dies, and who her fate can rue, 
Though soft her leaf, though bright her hue? 

Ah proud and obdurate! ah cruel and cold! 

What availeth thee all this fair show, 
If thine eyes only gleam the hard glitter of gold, 

And the livery thou wear'st is of snow? 
Soon, soon in a breast that no summer can move, 
Will wither and fade the sweet blossom of love. 

But if to soil more genial 

That rope transplanted be, 
The perfume-laden air will faint 

In conscious ecstasy: 
For sun and rain break winter's chain 
And call the flower to life again* 

IH seek me another less sullen than thou, 

Whose smile, like the tropical sun, 
Will quicken once more the frost-bitten flower, 

Undoing the work thou hast done; 
And the rain of whose tears, pity-fraught from above, 
Will cherish and foster poor perishing love. 

M.N. 



w .v-v" vJI- ^ .* T -J" I v !• : *■ i?i : i •£" Z '■ *• : Li.^ Z 'Z l ■ Z ' I ■ Z ' 1 : 1- ■ v ' !• ' Z : Z^- Z '-Z'-l - ~~' Z • .* ■ ■ 






BEVIEWS AND THEIR VICTIMS. 



]T requires a little nerve, and some of the readers of The 
Eagle may possibly think no little assurance, to set about 
writing a critique of criticism. And yet I suppose most 
of us do, more or less, criticise the opinions of current 
literature which form one of the staple commodities in the 
periodicals of our time. Our philosophical neighbour at 
Trinity says somewhere that people, from the very fact of 
their human nature, must have a tendency in them to meta- 
physical thought, and that the assertion that they are no 
metaphysicians, or do not believe in metaphysics, is generally 
the preface to some very bad specimen thereof. It is perhaps 
in some measure the same with the subject now proposed 
for consideration. If men read, and think about what they 
read, a necessity of their nature compels them to pass some 
verdict upon the judgments of others, which have set them 
thinking for themselves. All that the writer asks is the 
reader's patience, while they attempt together the solution 
of some such questions as the following: What is the 
general tone of modern critiques? What is the influence 
of this department of journalism upon modern thought? 
Can any remedy be found for existing imperfections ? For 
to assume that modern criticism is not without its failings 
is only to assert its human origin. Perhaps the writer may 
be permitted to add, that he has not yet taken the urgent 
advice of " R., M which appeared a few terms back in these 
pages, and that, consequently, he has not had the advantage 
of attending a recent memorable debate in the Union upon 
a kindred subject to this now proposed. 

To trace the reciprocal influence between the worlds of 
sense and thought, to note how far man is the moulder of 
what a Carlylite would probably call his 'surroundings/ 
and how far himself only the plastic recipient of external 
powers — these are problems which though they have been 
often proposed, and have often served* to excite the genius 
and concentrate the energies of the deepest thinkers, have, 



Reviews and their Vietims. 155 

notwithstanding, never been accurately solved. Of equal 
interest and difficulty is the attempt to search out the 
connection between mind and mind, and to enquire how 
far the manifold apparatus of nineteenth century education 
leaves the subject of its processes an independent identity, 
or only a fainter impress of alien intelligence; in other 
words, how far it helps to think, and how far it only fills 
with things ready thought. 

Here then we come in contact with journalism: to 
which of these ends is its influence directed? Mankind 
may, with more or less accuracy, be divided into two 
exhaustive classes — the leaders and the led. The middle 
classes — neither despots nor serfs in the empire of thought — 
have scarcely thriven so well there as in the lower spheres 
of commerce and politics. Men, who are at once free from 
the ambition which longs to found a school and the coward 
docility which is content wholly to yield its mind to a master, 
are not nearly so abundant as is to vbe desired. There can 
be no doubt that in a vast majority of cases the passive 
tendency remains through life predominant; and it is, 
therefore, fortunate for the world that now and then "a 
towering mind" should step forth from the ranks and direct 
the otherwise useless energies of more ordinary mortals. 

Life is a contest with opposing elements, in which, as 
we must all learn sooner or later, every man is compelled 
by the law of his being to engage. Some start in the 
struggle with a noble independence of spirit, ready to echo 
Rente's manly declaration — ''To truth I solemnly devote 
myself at my first entrance into public life. Without 
respect of party or reputation, I shall always acknowledge 
that to be truth, which I recognise as such, come whence it 
may; and never acknowledge that which I do not believe." 
How many have ever honestly made such a resolution as 
this? How many have kept it? It argues no lack of 
charity to suppose that with an overwhelming majority of 
mankind the case is far otherwise. They need the gay 
colourings and attractive flutterings of a banner to inspirit 
them for their share in the fight. If their latent energies 
are but called out by the insinuation of an ite or an ism, 
they are forthwith prepared to do battle to the last. If the 

Ehilosopher had been defining truth instead of virtue when 
e spoke of a mean between two extremes, his phrase 
would perhaps more nearly have expressed the fact. For 
her abode lies ever between the poles of party warfare, 
and therefore— being unseen by zealous partisans — she be- 



156 Review* and their VicHm$. 

comes to them a vague and indefinite abstraction, and her 
champion runs great risk of being denounced as a spiritless 
proposer of half-measures. 

Of all the various shapes which this zealous partisanship 
assumes, one of the most common is a steadfast and un- 
flinching coherence to some party organ. And yet, upon 
slight consideration, it seems no less unreasonable to prefer 
the vane of a weathercock to a compass for the gnide of 
a homeward voyage, than it is to trust to the pilotage of 
a newspaper in our search for the fair haven of truth. This 
virtual despotism of the press is, 1 think, one of the 
greatest faults in its present working. Instead of belonging 
to a clan, as of old, men belong now-a-day to a party: 
and just as the spirit of feudalism was embodied in the 
feudal lord, so is that of party in the party organ. If we 
look at the question from a politico-economical point of view, 
the absurdity of this organolatry will be yet more evident 
The French proverb— quoted by Professor Kingsley in his 
inaugural lecture — introduces to us a sadly unromantic aspect 
of things, "La bouche va toujours." The establishment of 
a periodical is a speculation which, like other speculations, 
must if possible be made to pay. If one course does not 
bring to the desired El Dorado, another tack must be tried. 
There need be no modesty about the change. The system 
of anonymous writing — though attended with many counter- 
balancing advantages — helps very considerably to do away 
with the feeling of personal responsibility. A man might 
feel disposed to blush with consciousness of vacillation: 
unhappily for journalistic consistency, paper and type are 
not much given to blushes. 

The purveyors to the literary tastes of the people must 
bend to the same unyielding law of supply and demand, 
which regulates production in other departments of the 
commercial world. Although he may flatter himself that 
he is one of the moulders of public opinion, a critic is often 
quite as much moulded by that potent agency. The mutual 
action and reaction between, the tone of thought generally 
prevalent among a people and the literature which it regards 
with favour, must affect the self-appointed Public Censor, 
as well as other authors. In one respect he is even more 
dependent upon the judgment of his contemporaries, for, 
unlike the writers of more solid works, he is unable to 
appeal from the opinion of one age to that of another. 
If a review be not read now, the most probable alternative 
is that it will be never. 



Reviews and their Victims. 157 

If we judge the taste of review-readers by the character 
of the food provided for their gratification, they must 
certainly be allowed to have a very unmistakeable preference 
for the highly seasoned. It appears as though a reviewer 
could scarcely hope to please his patrons better than by 
the thorough castigation, and — if his breath be of precarious 
tenure — annihilation, of any luckless wight who has the 
misfortune to cross the editorial path without the tolerably 
secure protection afforded by previous fame. Have you 
aver read De Quincey on "Murder as one of the Fine 
Arts"? If so, apply his conclusions to " Reviewing as 
one of the Fine Arts/' and you will have a tolerable clear 
idea of the predilections which I am attempting to describe. 
The truth is that good people, who would be at once 
astonished and horrified at an invitation to proceed to the 
nearest exhibition of muscular barbarity, contrive never- 
theless to reconcile literary sparring to their convenient 
consciences. So that the arena be cleared and the spectators 
on the alert, the subject of discussion— the bone of contention 
— is a matter of minor import. Biblical interpretation, 
metaphysical subtleties, ethical theories, disputed points in 
ethnology, philology, geology, &c, &c«, may each assert 
their importance as the occasioning causes of many a fierce 
battle. To watch the learned athletes is an amusement 
which enjoys the reputation of being at once genteel 
and exciting, and has, moreover, the additional recom- 
mendation of savouring somewhat of the scholastic. Search 
after truth— historic, scientific, or moral — is of course for 
the time out of the question. That must wait till the heat 
of party strife be past. A similar account might be given 
of present tendencies to the jocose treatment of serious 
subjects. Of course we have all heard the old tale of 
"No case: abuse the plaintiff's attorney." If the "legal 
adviser" had recommended ridicule instead of abuse, it 
admits of question whether, under the circumstances, he 
would not have shewn a deeper discernment. Wantonness 
and triviality are alien alike to the motives and method 
of the genuine truth-seeker, however useful as light 
arms in a skirmish. There is a world of meaning in 
the opening sentence of Lord Bacon's essay "Of Truth.** 
"'What is truth?' said jesting Pilate; and would not stay 
for an answer. Certainly there be that delight in giddiness," 
— a statement which we cordially recommend to the careful 
consideration of various metropolitan friends. 

But having noticed the despotic tone — the party spirit— 



1 68 Bez>ie%D* and their Victim. 

the flippant style — too often exemplified in recent critique*, 
we hare by no means come to the end of our catalogue of 

Sievances. One of their most noticeable peculiarities is 
e prevalence of what may be termed particular criticism* 
They too often display an inability, or at all events an indis- 
position, to grasp the entire scope of the works of which they 
treat. This failing is probably owing to the desired facility 
of the critic's task. It requires a mnch smaller mental 
effort to pounce upon a particular stanza of a poem or a 
page in a history, and at once come to a verdict of weak, 
fine, eloquent, or sentimental, than to read a book as a 
whole, think about it as a whole, and comment upon it as 
a whole. We may perhaps be reminded — in the familiar 
language of one of " Our College Friends" — that a whole 
is invariably made up of its several parts, and that we cannot, 
therefore, adopt a better means of ascertaining the character 
of the whole than by an examination and analysis of its 
several parts. Granting the axiom, the proposed conclusion 
cannot be admitted to possess an equal universality. A 
beautiful mosaic, for example, is often composed of pieces, 
which taken alone would appear uninteresting and unmean- 
ing. So is it to some extent with books. It is unfair to 
judge by isolated passages, as they are compelled to do 
who depend solely upon their weekly or monthly messenger. 
If talk rather than thought — the acquirement of a smattering 
for conversation, and not the liberation of mind from the 
thraldom of error — be the object of study, then indeed by 
all means read reviews and not books. If your taste be 
theological, the briefs and speeches of ecclesiastical lawyers, 
in cases of suspected heterodoxy, will serve your purpose 
almost as well ; as they would also have served mine, since 
they furnish some of the most glaring instances of the 
particular species of injustice, to which reference has just 
been made. 

An examination of the very slender foundations, upon 
which serious charges of plagiarism have rested, would in 
itself afford abundant materials for several articles. Critics 
sometimes appear anxious to vie with the ingenious versifier, 
who, for the sake of a slashing review of Milton, wrote 
sundry Latin poems, from which he represented the blind 
bard to have derived his inspiration. 

The treatment which the much-abused Coleridge received 
at the hands of his earlier critics would open a very wide 
field of interesting research. One can easily imagine how — 
to quote the words of a contemporary biographer — a mind 



Bedews and their Victims. 159 

like his would be affected by " that confusion between things 
floating in the memory and things self-derived, which 
happens at times to most of us that deal much with books 
on die one hand, and composition on the other." It should 
too be remembered that in the abstruse speculations, in 
which he took a deep interest and prominent part, discovery 
of external phenomena has no place. Having to deal with 
the universal forms of all knowledge, rather than with the 
subject-matter of special physical sciences, the truths which 
the metaphysician elucidates carry with them their own 
proof; and the more powerful the elucidation, the clearer is 
their self-evidence. So, too, the highest task of the moralist 
is not to discover virtue, but to convince mankind of its 
intrinsic beauty, and to clear away the mists of passion and 
prejudice which are ever powerful to hide that excellence 
from mortal gaze. On such subjects as these, we should 
therefore be careful of admitting a charge of plagiarism. The 
true study of the noblest philosophy is the universal con- 
sciousness of man — a book which lies open for the persual 
of all, and from which he who copies, copies from the 
works of God. 

Once more, modern criticism evinces a decided preference 
for all forms of the concrete, accompanied by a corresponding 
impatience of the abstract. And since it is the power of 
abstraction that enables us to glean those lessons of social 
and political wisdom, which the annals of our race — the 
history of facts — are calculated to afford, this inordinate love 
of the concrete becomes in effect an attempt to smother the 
didactic element in history, and so to deprive her of her high 
title of " Philosophy teaching by examples." But it may be 
asked, are not facts and truth synonymous? In gathering 
facts, are we not treasuring truth ? Not necessarily ; truth 
is one, facts are diverse. It requires a higher exertion of 
mind to grasp the great unity of the one, than to collect 
fragmentary specimens of the other. Facts are the medium, 
it is true, but only the medium, through which to attain 
truth: they are the necessary — not seldom tedious and 
uninteresting — route, which our limited faculties must tra- 
verse, if we would ever reach the promised land beyond. To 
accumulate facts is a great thing, to make just deductions 
from them is a greater, but the noblest task of the three is to 
trace general principles in gradual developement. No philo- 
sophy of history need be looked for, " except we can discern 
the region where the eternal and the immutable beams 
through the outward veil of the actual and visible : where 




of 
organs, leaics tis i 
The aim of the 
Jnstaoisit 
in die mind of no 1 
believe, will 
their 

the abyss of the forgotten 

and general ; the latter, temporary and particular, 
of ancient n a tion s , whether in marble or in chronicle, and 
records of modern ones, are important as indices of mental and 
moral progress; if unfortunately, they are viewed as the 
nhhnatp objects of study, many of die nses of such com- 
munion will be entirely lost. 

Let not criticism effect this abandonment of the search 
after something deeper than the surface, and in doe time 
that era shall arise upon the world, which to all honest 
truthseekers shall be the dawn of an eternal brightness, 
while — to every form of criticism with lower aim than this — 
it shall be but the oblivion of an endless night 

P. 




OUB COLLEGE FBIENDS. 
(Final Group.) 



'They often came about me while I slept, 
And brought me dreams, none idle, none profane." 

W. S. Landor's Hellenics. 



I. Vergil. 

A sunset glow rests on him, each dark curl 
Crowned by the wreath of laurel, whose robes hung 
Graceful in servitude, as though they clung 

With willing touch, nor clasped by gold nor pearl : 

A mild, sad smile, lovely as when a girl 
Her latest maiden hymn at evening sang ; 
A brow serene, where still some olden pang 

Had graved a furrow from Youth's maddening whirl. 
A voice not loud, but clear; fitted to theme 

Of earlier days, when gods and men combined 
For deeds which linger long in Poets' dream : 

Yet joys of Peace, more loved, attuned his mind 
To rustic labours, where his Mincian stream 

Like his own verse from charm to charm doth wind. 

II. Dante. 

With mystic fascination in his eye 
Rose the stern-rated Florentine, on whom 
Prophetic task was laid to pierce the tomb 

And scan the secrets of Eternity ; 

Worn by long years of exile, gloomily 
Passing from land to land, without a home, 
Seeking that Peace which ne'er in life might come ; 

With wounded pride that rankled inwardly, 
E'en at the outward scars and miseries ; 

Till with avenging scorn his foes he hurled 
To Malebolge's horror-fraught abyss,— 
Branded throughout the torture-realm of Dis : 

Thence soaring to a purer, brighter world, 
Beheld his boyhood's love, th* angelic Beatrice. 



162 Our College Friends. 

III. Tasso. 

Lo ! worn and shadowy from Onofrio's cell 
A pale and silent man glides forth at eve, 
To gate upon the golden clouds that weave 

A lustre o'er the Rome that prised him well : 

Past all delusive fame, content to dwell 
And, haply, Christian peace ere death retrieve ; 
Made holier by his woes, no more to grieve 

Though saddened memories around may swell. 
And this is he, once foremost in the throng 

Of favoured knights, whom Leonora's eyes 
Had smiled on, whilst he poured his glorious song ! 

Oft came back dreams of her, when maniac cries 
And dungeon gloom nigh phrensied him with wrong, 

Till the foul vault became a Poet's Paradise. 

IV. Cervantes. 

We love thee well, and prize thy cheerful faith 
In knightly honour and chivalric aim, 
That dared with what it reverenced mingle blame 

And playful ridicule, unfearing scathe ; 

For still, with fancies quaint, thy Legend saith 
How gentleness and simple truth must claim 
Affection and respect, despite all shame 

That threatens dupes of each Quixotic wraith. 
Thyself, Cervantes, have we learnt to trace 

In thy creation, though travestied there : 
The proud romance that lights thy pale sad face, 

The dreamy languor, the half-'wildered air, 
The love and mirth that paled not in disgrace ; 

Maimed, wrecked, and scorned— triumphant o'er despair. 

V. Camobns. 

Not here the consummation, the award 
Of final bliss or bane : in poverty, 
Neglected by the land his poesy 

Adorns for aye, expires the Lusian bard ; 

One friend, his faithful slave, with fixt regard 
Seeming to question Fate, — " Thus must it be ? 
So gifted, pure, yet 'whelmed in misery! 

O, were this life the whole, is such reward?" 
But constant as of old, Camoens braves 

The awful phantom that forbids his bark 
To reach an earthly goal : beyond the waves 

New realms of bliss await him, where each spark 
Lustrous shall shine from out heroic graves, 
Redeemed by Love that hallows whilst it saves. 



Our College Friends. 163 

VI. GOETHE. 

Calm, as befitteth Art's crowned oracle, 
In days when Earth had ravened with brute haste 
To clutch what food was nighest, and to taste 

The stagnant pond as pleased as limpid well ; 

Calm as the.magian, trustful of his spell 
Which bars without the howlers of the waste, 
O'er-mastered yet rebelling ; calm and chaste 

In the high realms of thought doth Goethe dwell. 
He, with an easy grasp, the laurel crown 

Sustaineth, nor with arrogance nor shame 
But with the placid smile that tramples down 

All idle taunts which dared assail his name : 
Too coldly proud or merciful to frown 

A god-like vengeance — for the end was fame* 

VII. Schiller. 

On the up-gazing face and earnest eye 
Of the enraptured Schiller falls the sheen 
Of a wan moon, the tremulous boughs between, 

In benediction from the midnight sky ; 

And forms of virgin beauty hover nigh, 
With mailed warriors, kingly and serene, 
And mountain hero who doth musing lean 

On the cross-bow whose shaft brought Liberty. 
A face which looks on death. He reads the doom 

Of his life's harvest-field condemned to dearth : 
The inaction awes him, not the chilly tomb. 

True to the poet-longings, which from birth 
Delighted in the grandeur and the gloom, 

He lives and dies in an ideal earth. 

VIII. 

Thus, in the silent hours of retrospect 
By evening lent to close laborious days, 
Suns that set long-ago entwine their rays, 

And faces which such olden light had decked 

Smile back on me affection's glance unchecked ; 
Eyes, that are dimmed on earth, their calm sheen wear ; 
Forms that are hallowed now as Vestal's prayer ; 

Barks, early fraught with hope, untimely wrecked : 
A calm, sweet beauty dwelling on their sere 

And world-worn brows, now gleaming lustrously, 
The great high-priests of Song like stars appear 

In heaven's blue vault, and smiling tenderly 
Breathe comfort in our loneliness and fear : — 

" We also toiled and bled, yet live in memory !" 



164 Our College Friends. 

IX. 

They are not mute to us, those buried Dead, 
But open-hearted, trustful, with a smile 
Of welcome, when thus summoned to beguile 

Fancy from circling round the daily tread; 

They blame not our long tarrying, but outspread 
Their treasure thoughts ungrudgingly, as though 
For us they garnered Wisdom ; whence they sow 

And reap exhaustless harvests, where they bled : 
No beauteous deed so hidden but illumed 

A train of radiance, never kindly mirth 
But flushed an answering joy when care consumed : 

No martyred hero falls but giveth birth 
To hundred others, ere his dust's entombed : 

Then call them not " The Dead" whose footsteps ring on earth* 

•«J. W. E." 



© © 
»J8fJBJB 

w 



FBOM ZEBMATi! TO Zltt AL AND BACK. 



JTORTUNE, after many disappointments, was kind enough 
to give H. and myself one tolerably fine week during the 
wet summer of 1860. We did our best to improve the 
shining hours, and spent every day except one (which was 
Sunday) on the glaciers, making several first-rate excursions, 
two of which form the subject of this paper. 

No place in the Alps is so well fitted for the head quarters 
of an alpine tourist as Zermatt, lying as it does at the head of a 
valley that runs up to the very heart of the Pennine chain, 
and surrounded by its highest summits* Three large glaciers 
descend into its meadows, and it would be a long task to 
enumerate the number of peaks and passes, which lie within 
easy reach of the comfortable hotels in the village, or the 
little mountain inn on the Riffelberg. After sleeping three 
nights at the latter place, we, accompanied by our guide 
Michel Croz of Chamounix, descended into the village on the 
evening of Wednesday, August 29. The day had been 
unsettled, and we had passed the earlier part of it shivering 
in a snow storm on the upper part of the Lys glacier, but the 
sky looked as if the weather " was arranging itself," so we 
determined to have another excursion on the morrow. A 

fiance at a good map of Switzerland will shew that the 
thone valley and the highest part of the Pennine chain from 
the St. Bernard to the Matterhorn are almost parallel, and 
that several valleys run from the former nearly at right 
angles to it, becoming shorter as they approach the east. 
Around the granitic mass that has upheaved Monte Rosa, 
the mountains extend in different directions thrusting for- 
ward three large chains towards the Rhone valley, between 
which the two branches of the Visp Thai are squeezed. 
Zermatt is in the western of these, and consequently the 
heads of some of the smaller vallies mentioned above can be 
reached from it. The nearest is called the V al d' Anniviers, 
Vol. hi. n 



166 From Zermatt to Zinal and back. 

and this we determined to visit. Just beyond Zermatt, the 
valley, on arriving at the foot of the Matterhorn, breaks into 
two ravines running right and left; in the former is the 
Zmutt glacier, in the latter the Gorner. Consequently the 
chain, of mountains on the right-hand side of the valley turns 
abruptly round, and runs towards the Dent Blanche at 
right angles to its former course ; enclosed by this angle 
is the glacier de Zinal and the head of the Yal d' Anniviers. 
Consequently there are two routes from Zermatt to Zinal, 
one on either side of the Gabelhorn, a mountain forming the 
apex of the angle ; we determined to go by one and return 
next day by the other. 

Enough for topography — now for our journey. Being 
anxious not to lose time on the way, (for we had some idea 
of doing both the passes in the same day), we engaged a 
local guide Johann Kronig, an old friend of mine, and de- 
termined to start as soon after four as possible. Good inten- 
tions, however, in the matter of early rising, as some of my 
readers no doubt know, are hard to carry into effect, espe- 
cially when you have been up between two and three 
the previous morning, so from one cause or another we did 
not get off till 5.30 a.m. The sun had long lit up the obelisk 
of the Matterhorn and had even begun to creep down by the 
dark crags of the Hdrnli into the valley before we started ; 
so when once off we lost no time, and hastening through the 
meadows, fresh with dew and gay with the lilac flowers of 
the autumn crocus, crossed the torrent and entered the pine 
forest on the left side of the Zmutt valley. Let no visitor to 
Zermatt forget this walk. Here he may saunter along at his 
ease, shaded by the dark arollas, and peer over here and there 
into the ravine at his feet, glancing down the crags half-hid 
with feathery ferns and rhododendron bushes, red with 
flowers, till he sees the torrent tumbling among the green 
blocks of serpentine two hundred feet below. Or if he like 
it better, he can lie on the mossy turf, and watch the nut- 
crackers at work on the pine cones, or admire the peak of 
the Matterhorn towering above him, and the glaciers and 
pinnacles around the Dent Blanche. We, however, have no 
time for this now, " vorwarts" is the word, and Kronig's 
caution of " langsam, langsam," as he perspires after us is 
little heeded. We emerge from the wood, and are in the 
pastures just above the Zmutt glacier. Our work is before 
us ; just across the valley, from a point of the range between 
the Dent Blanche and the Gabelhorn comes a steep crevassed 
glacier, called the Hochwang, above which lies our pass. 



From Zermatt to Zinal and back. 167 

We run down to the Zmutt glacier and are soon upon it 
I cannot quite sympathise with Buskin's rapturous de- 
scription.* Fancy a river a mile or so wide, frozen 
hard, ploughed up here and there with crevasses, and then 
covered with stones of every size from a cricket ball to a cottage. 
Macadamization on a small scale on a road is all very well, 
but I disapprove of it when carried to an excess on a glacier. 
You go slowly, — it becomes intolerably tedious and the 
opposite bank will not get any nearer — you try to go faster 
by jumping from stone to stone, you leap on one, it slips, 
on another, it totters, on a third, it rolls over, you twist 
your feet and ankles, till at last you lose your footing and 
your temper together, and come down ignominiously on all 
fours, " barking' 9 your shins in the process and wishing the 
mountains would mend their ways. " Red glacier," indeed, 
the " Smut" would be a much more appropriate name, for 
it is the dirtiest I ever saw. However, we get across' in 
about half-an-hour and toil up the steep bank on the other 
side. A long pull now begins up turf slopes varied by 
patches of rock; uncommonly hot work, but we comfort 
ourselves with the thought that we are rapidly rising in 
the world. In about three-quarters-of-an-hour we begin to 
be conscious that we breakfasted more than four hours since, 
so we sit down and make what would be a dejeuner & la 
fourchette, if only we had any forks. We lose no time 
about this but press on; now the lower part of the 
Hochwang glacier is well beneath us, but it is too much 
crevassed to tempt us on it. We climb rocks steeper 
than before, or scramble clattering up banks of loose 
stones, till we reach a few patches of snow, and see that 
we are above the ice fall and just under the edge of the 
snow-field which feeds it. Here we rest a few minutes 
and feast our eyes on the glorious view before us; far 
below us lies the Zmutt glacier, the dazzling whiteness of 
its upper fields in strong contrast with the foulness of its 
lower end. Like many a life, is the thought that passes 
through the mind. To the extreme right are the Col 
d'Erin, the Tdte Blanche, and the Col de la Valpelline. 
Opposite, across the Zmutt glacier, rises the tremendous 
tower of the Matterhorn, a steep white slope of snow leading 
from the right-hand side to a small glacier, that girdles the 
mountain with an outwork of icy crags, from which now 



* Modern Painters, Vol. nr., p. 242. 

n2 



168 From Zermatt to Zinal and back. 

and then an avalanche it fired like a warning gun. The 
Matterhorn seen from this point loses its spire-like shape 
and appears like a corner-tower terminating a long line of 
ruined wall. It is at once evident that Raskin's ingenious 
argument* about the true summit of the mountain is singularly 
wrong, and that the actual peak, or rather the highest point 
of the ridge forming the summit, is nearly the same as that 
seen from Zermatt Beyond this is the wide field of glacier 
stretching to the Th£odule pass, above which rises the head 
of the Petit Cervin and the snow cap of the Breithorn; 
next are the Twins, vested in robes of purest snow ; beyond 
the ridge of the Lyskamm; then the broken masses of 
the Lys glacier, among which we had been wandering 
the day before; and rising above it the rock-tipped petals 
of Monte Rosa. This is the place for seeing die Queen 
of the Alps in her true beauty ; the subordinate ridges of 
the Gorner and Hochthaligrat are reduced to their proper 
position as mere buttresses of the chain, and her coronet 
of peaks is better seen from here than from the usual 
points of view; next comes the hump of the Cima di Jazi, 
the cone of the Strahlhorn, the jagged wedge of the 
Rympfischhorn, the little peak of the Allelinhorn, and 
the fiat top of the Alphubel closes the view on the ex- 
treme left. 

This is I fear little better than a catalogue of empty 
names to most of my readers, not so to one who has seen 
the mountains they denote. We stood for some time unable 
to tear ourselves away from the scene, tracing out the 
paths of many pleasant excursions and planning new ex- 
peditions. Time, however, was passing, so we turn to the 
snow, a few minutes scrambling and we look on a wide 
basin of neve. The Dent Blanche rears its . unpromising 
triangular head to the left and the cliffs of the Gabelhorn 
are on the right, in the ridge connecting the two are two 
distinct depressions, apparently a few hundred yards apart. 
We desire to try the one to the left, being evidently the 
lower ; Kronig asserts that the one to the right is that usually 
passed, so we follow him. We plunge through the soft 
snow, toil up the slopes, and at 11.50 are on the Col; here 
we rest on a little patch of rock (chloride slate), which 
protrudes through the snow, and luxuriate for a while, 
making what, in these enlightened days, must be termed 



* Modern Painters, Vol. iv., p. 185\ 



From Zermatt to Zinal and back. 169 

a dljefiner dinatolre. ' The view behind us is much less 
extensive than it was from below, but we look down 
now on to the basin of the Zinal glacier and along the 
Val d'Anniviers, till in the purple distance our view is 
closed by a snow mountain* on the other side of the Rhone 
valley. Kronig asserts that when he crossed the Col two 
months before, the " Herr" with him deposited a minimum 
thermometer among the rocks, for which we hunt in vain. 
Rested, we commence our descent,— at first we run merrily 
down a snow slope, this however gets rapidly steeper, and 
we go more cautiously ; suddenly there is a cry of " halt," 
and we find it a case of " no road this way." A few steps 
below us the slope terminates abruptly, and a cliff of ice, 
at least sixty feet high, cuts us off from the glacier below. 
We glance to the right, the precipice rises higher there, so 
We turn to the left ; we walk cautiously for a hundred yards 
or so along the edge, looking out for a means of escape. 
We at last see a promising place, where the cliff is not quite 
vertical and a steep bank of snow like a buttress joins 
it to the glacier below. Croz sets to work and hews steps 
out of the ice. We follow. The position is unpleasant, for 
the slope is so nearly perpendicular that we grasp at its 
icy wall with our hands, in order to secure our footing, 
the snow slope below looks steep and hard, and below it 
a lot of crevasses grin open-mouthed at us : step by step 
we advance very cautiously, and now only about half-a-dozen 
notches remain to be cut, when crack, whirr, and off flies 
the head of Croz* "piolet," and scuds down the snow slope 
towards the crevasses. We all look rather blank as he holds 
up the broken handle, but fortunately are not defenceless. 
We are both armed with good stout alpenstocks, not the 
flimsy things that the unwary tourist is deluded into buying 
at the Righi or Chamounix, but stout six-feet poles, of 
English ash, with a four-inch spike of tempered steel at 
the end, the heaviest of which is handed to our guide,— he 
pecks out a few steps, yet more diminutive than before, 
and after a minute or two we are safe on the glacier. 
Fortunately the broken head of the piolet had escaped the 
crevasses, and was soon recovered. We hasten on, making 
for a snow-capped patch of rock in the middle of the glacier, 
sinking deep in the soft snow, and sometimes grumbling 
at it more than a little, for floundering above the knees 



♦ Probably the Wildstrubel. 



170 FnmZermaU to Zinal and back. 

in loose mow under a hot ran doe$ try the temper. By 
degrees we clear it, harry down the glacier, get on to the 
pastures, and after an hour's walk reach Zinal about S p.m. 
While coming down the glacier we saw that we should 
have descended more easily had we taken the lower Col, 
and 1 have little doubt that the thermometer was there, 
for I do not think that the rocks we rested upon would be 
uncovered early in July. We had expected to find only a 
chalet at Zinal, but were ushered into a newly-built little 
inn, with a comfortable salle-4-manger and two small bed- 
rooms. Everything was scrupulously clean, and an excellent 
dinner was served up to us, with capital muscat wine from 
near Stalden in the V isp Thai. 

We started at 3.45. a.m. next morning, thoroughly 
pleased with the neatness and comfort of our resting place, 
and retraced our steps till we got some distance on the glacier 
when we turned sharp to the left, and took to the left bank 
to avoid an ice fall, and then struck across the tributary 
glacier that descends from between the Rothhorn and Gabel- 
horn. Before us is a steep jagged wall of rocks, perhaps a 
thousand feet high, in which is a deep cleft, looking as if 
some Paladin of old had hewn it out with two blows of a 
magic axe. This is the Col of the Trift. — The sky was 
lowering, so we press on as fast as we can, and reach the 
steep snow and slopes that form the glacis of the wall, up 
these we go as fast as we can. "II faut depficher" says Croz — 
and there is no need to impress the warning on us, for the 
slopes and the glacier below are spotted with stones of every 
size — we are within the range of the clifft of the Rothhorn, 
and if he fires a volley while we are on the slope, skill and 
courage may avail but little — we reach the foot of the wall 
and as we grasp the rough crags breathe more freely, for we 
are out of range now. The next hour-and-a-half is spent 
in contemplating the boots of the man in front, and trying 
into how many contortions it is possible to twist the human 
frame. Here we make spreadeagles of ourselves, there we 
wriggle up a chimney ; here crawl under a projecting ledge, 
there climb on all fours up a smooth sloping bit of rock ; 
now we require a friendly shove in the rear, now a haul 
from a friend's alpenstock in front. At last after nearly an 
hour and a-half of this kind of work we come to the top of a 
steep couloir of snow, terminating in free space two or three 
hundred feet below; this however causes no difficulty, as some 
thoughtful guide has fastened a chain to the rocks on each 
side, and so saved his successors from the trouble of using a 



From Zermatt to Zinal and back. 171 

rope. A few more scrambling steps — we tarn a corner, and 
" hurrah for the Col" is our exclamation, as we look down 
towards Zermatt. The view is not so extensive as from our 
pass of yesterday, but is very fine, and includes the Mischabel 
range ; the clouds however are gathering, and though the most 
difficult part of our work is done, we see that we must not 
waste time if we wish to return unwetted to Zermatt. The 
Col is a mere notch in the rocks — you can almost sit across it 
— and the descent to the Zinal glacier looks awful from where 
we stand. The rock is a very pretty green-grey gneiss 
with pale pink lumps of felspar. There is a small wooden 
cross on the Col, to the arm of which I attach a minimum 
thermometer. 

A steep slope of snow connects us with the Trift glacier, 
down this we descend cautiously for a time, till at last we see 
that we may venture a glissade. Some rocks jutting out of 
the snow threaten to break the continuity of our slide, so we 
make a flank movement to get beyond them — the snow is hard, 
and I expect every moment to commence my voyage " pro- 
miscuously." I object strongly to this ; sliding along, sprawl- 
ing on the back or face, is to say the least undignified, 
and may be detrimental ; so I place my feet together, put the 
rudder on hard with my alpenstock against the snow, and 
sweep round the corner in first rate style. This done we 
unite our forces again, and trudge over the glacier till we come 
to a very decided crevasse with one side rather higher than the 
other — Croz leaps at it, forgetful of the old proverb " look 
before you leap," he alights upon the snow — it breaks under 
him — he is up to his middle — in an instant he throws himself 
forwards, and supports himself on the edge of the crevasse ; 
in another moment he raises himself, and is in safety. It 
was a most fortunate thing that he did not leap a few inches 
shorter, for he had the rope coiled round him, so that had he 
gone down, we could not have helped him. He knocks the 
treacherous snow away with his pole to shew how far we 
must jump, and a good spring puts us by his side. Some 
more tramping through the snow, succeeded by another 
glissade or two, brought us to the lower part of the glacier, 
and after a short walk over it we quitted it for the pastures. 
Just as we did so three chamois appeared on the moraine 
within easy shot, and scampered off in great alarm as soon as 
they saw us ; a few minutes after a fine eagle flew across the 
glacier. The storm clouds had now settled down upon the 
chain of Monte Rosa, but we hurried over the pastures, down 
a winding rocky path on the face of the cliffs, Zermatt all the 



17* From Zer matt to Zinal and back. 

> while lying, spread out like a map below its ; we reached the 
enclosures, raced along the mule track, arrived at the village, 
and entered the Hotel du Mont Rose at one o'clock; we were 
just in time, in a few minutes the rain began, and continued 
without cessation for more than six and thirty hours. While 
it thundered and lightened we congratulated ourselves that 
we had made such good haste, and got back to our com- 
fortable quarters. 



The height of the Col de la Dent Blanohe is 11,398 feet, of the 
Trift Jooh, (sometimes called the Col de Zinal.) 11,614 feet. 



* 

* 



fffffffffffffffffffffffffffftfffffffff 



iMMIMiimi' 



THE MORAL SENSE. 



J^S I was walking with a friend the other day, we happened 
to get into a discussion upon the well-worn subject which 
heads this paper : he maintaining that it was a superstition 
which every educated man should get rid of with all speed, 
and encouraging me to the attempt by his own example. 
For the last year, he told me, he had been constantly on the 
watch for this much vaunted sense, but if any feeling ap- 
peared to resemble it at first sight, he had always found it 
vanish away on closer inspection and give place to something 
of a more tangible and common-place nature ; and he hinted 
that if my experience were different, the cause could only be 
that I had not; practised this closer inspection. I fought for 
my side as though religion and morality and everything were 
bound up in my success, yet when I came home I felt secretly 
dissatisfied with the defence I had made, and determined to 
see whether my arguments might not look a little stronger 
when written. It may be that some readers of The Eagle 
may be interested in the subject; perhaps some one who 
looks at this paper may be stirred to take up the cudgels 
on the contrary side ; at the worst, by sending it in, I shall 
have merited the gratitude of editors for supplying them with 
a larger choice of articles in the present busy and unprolific 
term. 

To begin then, supposing that we take three men of 
equally good repute, we shall find that they will be generally 
agreed as to the course of conduct to be pursued, but it may 
happen that each will defend it on different grounds. A. 
may be a man of a calm judicial term of mind, and of rather 
sluggish feelings, who acts in obedience to the fixed law of 
right and wrong which his intellect accepts just as it does the 
law that two straight lines cannot inclose a space ; to neglect 
the one law is to him as great a blunder as to neglect the 
other. B, of finer emotional nature and smaller intellect, 



174 The Mural Semi e . 

feels impelled br a sort of instinct to act in one way rather 
than another, and, if disobedient to the impulse, is stung with 
shame and remorse* C is one who has neither judgment 
nor feeling with regard to any action, a priori, bat deduces 
his rules of action, a posteriori, from the consequences of his 
acts. The advice of Themistocles would be condemned by 
all three ; by A, because it is contrary to his moral axioms ; 
by B, because the whole instinct of his nature rebels 
against it; by C, because the infamy or odium acquired by it 
would be more detrimental to Athens in the long run, than 
any immediate gain which it might bring about. The three 
persons supposed will represent ronghly the three main 
theories of Ethics : that which derives our knowledge of duty 
from Reason, that which derives it from Feeling, and that 
which derives it from Understanding. 9 It seems to me, that 
there was no ground for opposing these to one another ; in 
every man the idea of duty is supplemented from each source 
thongh it may take its chief colouring from any one source 
according to the nature of the particular mind. There are 
three other subordinate theories which must be noticed by 
the way, viz. those which would derive the idea of duty from 
religion, honour, or social affection. But religion will be 
merged into one or others of those already mentioned. 
Honour is secondary, a code framed upon the moral senti- 
ments of others, however they may have arisen. Social 
affection as such cannot afford a rule of action ; for expe- 
rience proves, that we constantly condemn conduct which 
proceeds from it, as being unjust and otherwise im- 
moral. Joined with the understanding it becomes bene- 
volence, and is the foundation of the Utilitarian theory. 

Now the moral sense, as I understand it, is B's instinct, a 
sentiment of approbation or disapprobation naturally attend- 
ing on moral actions. Of this feeling, instinct or sentiment, 
I assert that it is peculiar and that it is original. It is not 
the same as conscience, because conscience includes A's 
judgement, but it is the emotional, as that is the intellectual 
element in conscience. In order to show that it is peculiar, 
I must distinguish it from other classes of feelings. I shall 
confine myself first to its primary operation in reference to a 
man's self, and then examine how its operation is extended 
from the self to other moral beings. Its primary operations 
are four, either persuading or dissuading, praising or blaming. 



For convenience sake I employ Coleridge's terminology. 



The Moral Sense. 175 

With regard to the two former, any of the particular affections, 
as Butler calls them, may draw us to or from certain acts ; 
they may move us to the gratification of bodily appetites, or 
to do good or harm to certain persons on the ground of 
something pleasing or displeasing in manners or appearance ; 
but no such movement is with authority, we yield to it with 
the consciousness that it is unauthorised until sanctioned by 
the Moral Sense. Perhaps the feelings with which it is most 
likely to be confounded, are natural feelings of pity, gratitude, 
generosity, &c. ; thus, on hearing an enemy unjustly blamed 
in company, unfriendly both to him and to me, I may be in- 
clined to be silent, first, from gratification of malice, secondly, 
from timidity ; but my reason having once set before 
me that it is wrong to yield to this feeling, my moral sense 
keeps pressing and urging till I speak in his defence, coldly 
perhaps and timidly, whereas the man of generous impulse 
will overstate the case in his behalf. The term generosity, 
- however, as well as gratitude, seems to imply a rather com- 
plex quality into which the idea of a moral sense already 
enters, so that when we compare these with the moral sense, it 
is a comparison between the moral sense plus a certain affection 
and the moral sense minus that affection. To illustrate the 
operation of moral sense after action, we may compare it with 
other kinds of satisfaction or dissatisfaction. Thus a child 
forbidden to eat sour fruit, disobeys and makes itself ill ; it 
has the bodily feeling of pain, the conviction of folly, and the 
feeling of remorse for positive wrong ; the two latter are the 
effect of the moral sense, which confirms by its sanction the 
superiority of the intellect to the appetite, as well as the 
parent's right to be obeyed. A self-conscious, sensitive 
person returning from a party, forgets the enjoyment which 
he or she may have had in the shame at some imagined 
breach of etiquette ; is this the action of moral sense, or how 
is it to be distinguished from it ? It cannot be the same, be- 
cause it may be met and overcome by means of the moral 
sense ; and a little consideration shows that it is in part a 
disappointment of the desire to please or to shine, and in 
part a morbid growth of moral sense which has raised a rule 
of society into a principle of morality. This however is con- 
nected with the secondary operation- of the sentiment. 

After being accustomed to feel pleasure and pain at the 
contemplation of our own actions, we begin to do the same with 
the actions of others by means of imagination and sympathy. 
We condemn their actions when we attribute them to motives 
which we should have condemned in ourselves, and we ad- 



176 The Moral Sense. 

mire them when they are such a* we should have approved 
in ourselves. It may even happen, that oar moral sense 
displays itself more strongly at the sight of another's actions 
than at our own, as in the case of David and Nathan ; and 
for this reason, A. Smith preposterously derived our notion 
of duty from a sympathy with the feeling which we imagined 
that our actions would produce in the minds of others. But 
the explanation is perfectly simple. David's moral sense would 
express itself freely in the case proposed by Nathan, while 
in nis own case it was overpowered and silenced by antago- 
nist feeling. Other cases of the kind would be where we had 
become habituated to a certain fault as committed by our- 
selves, and saw it in a new and truer light as committed by 
another ; or perceiving some good quality, our sentiment of 
admiration might be roused and urge us to imitation. How- 
ever, though A. Smith seems to me wrong in deriving our 
notion of duty in general from the reflected sentiments, yet 
no doubt this has given rise to certain virtues which could 
scarcely have been developed from its direct action ; (thus 
justice is a compound of moral sense and resentment). 

There are four different ways in which the moral sense 
operates upon us in relation to others, in approbation or 
disapprobation of others by us, or of ourselves by others. 
The main element in the feeling of honour and of shame is 
the moral sense thus reflected. The feeling which is perhaps 
most likely to be confounded with this secondary use of the 
moral sense is admiration of the beautiful, which in its 
highest exercise does really involve that sense, as was before 
seen in the ease of gratitude and generosity. Thus much in 
proof of the peculiarity of this sense. I have now to show 
that it is original. 

Locke fancied he had disproved this by pointing to 
the different views held at different times or places with 
regard to the morality of the same act; he might as 
well have denied that the pleasure of taste is original, 
because one man likes claret and olives, and another prefers 
train oil. I fully allow the variety of developement of which 
this feeling is capable, perhaps there is scarcely any act 
round which it may not be taught to grow by the influence 
of skilful associations; but I believe it to be among the 
earliest determinations of feeling in the infant as it rises out 
of the mere animal consciousness of comfort and discomfort. 
What ground have I for believing this ? In the first place, 
I find the distinctive feeling existing in the mature man, 
I see no reason for supposing it to be secondary until it is 



The Moral Sense. 177 

shown to be so, and I have never seen any satisfactory ex- 
planation of its genesis. In the second place, its distinctive 
character is shown in the most marked way in very young 
children, which is by no means the case in confessedly deri- 
vative feelings, e.g. avarice. How are we to explain the fact of 
a child submitting patiently to deserved punishment, while it 
instantly resents any injury, (as I have heard of a child under 
a year old which could not endure being laughed at) except 
on the supposition of a moral sense ? In some the conscience 
is marvellously tender, as is shown by the tearful confessions 
they make of faults, which nobody else would have perceived ; 
in others it remains in a half-dormant sluggish state, and 
shews by example what would have been the case of all in a 
higher degree, supposing the moral sense to be a late product 
of some more elementary feelings. The only difficulty 
which suggests itself here is the parallel case of animals i 
a dog is tamed by mixed kindness and severity, it seems to 
have acquired a notion of duty, and shows signs of satisfac- 
tion when it has fulfilled, of shame when it has neglected its 
duty. Here we must either allow that the dog has a moral 
sense which was developed, as reason in man, by discipline 
and education, or its conduct will be the result of affection- 
ateness, fear, hope, and imitation ; the dog wishes to please 
its master, fears his lash, hopes for food and caresses, and 
thus itshows satisfaction when it has succeeded in pleasing 
its master, and sorrow and fear when it has failed. In some 
peculiar cases, such as the poacher's dog, I think imitation 
helps to give the appearance of shame. On the whole, how- 
ever, I incline to the dog's moral sense, because it will take a 
beating from its master, when it knows itself to have offended, 
but not otherwise. 

. The last point I have to consider is the possibility of 
the moral sense disappearing. No doubt repeated acts of 
the will in opposition to the moral sense, will either deaden 
the sense or make us unconscious of its operation, just as 
repeated disregard of the alarum makes us unconscious of 
its sound, or as repeated cutting off of legs makes us in- 
different to the sight of writhing and mangled limbs. . But 
is it possible for it to disappear when not systematically 
resisted ? Butler says the passive impression weakens as 
the active habit strengthens ; so it might be supposed that 
the moral sense might gradually retire into the. background 
as it accomplished its end in the formation of a moral 
habit of the will; still this is not a disappearance of the 
sentiment; it remains there in the background and is ready 



178 7%e Moral Seme. 

to show itself at any moment should the man of confirmed 
virtue relapse into vice. Another supposition rests upon 
the hypothesis of the unreality of the moral sense. It is 
said, a man who has been long deluded by this phantom 
may on close inspection find it resolve itself into benevolence 
and sympathy; these being equivalent I suppose to the 
commonly received rule of right and moral sense, sympathy 
being the natural tendency to reproduce another feeling in 
ourselves, so that their pleasure at our kindness, their 
indignation at our cruelty is reflected in us as self-praise 
and self-blame. I can understand a person tracing 1 back 
our moral sense to sympathy as its original germ, though I 
think the answers which have been made to such a parentage 
are conclusive, but I find it more difficult to account for 
the adoption of the principle of sympathy in its untrans- 
muted shape as the immediate cause of feelings of self- 
satisfaction and self-dissatisfaction. Surely we do often feel 
remorse now without the slightest conscious reference to 
the feelings of others, so much the contrary that we may 
be sure that the majority would not sympathize with our 
remorse, and self-approbation is equally independent of 
sympathy in the case of a solitary martyr. As A. Smith allows, 
tne sympathy which is really the cause of these feelings 
in the grown man is that with an imagined perfectly moral 
being, which fiction seems to me simply a method of adding 
moral sense to the sympathies in an underhand manner, 
but at any rate the sympathy when thus doctored is more 
nearly allied to what is known as moral sense than to 
sympathy " au natural." 

There are several questions which must be left for 
further investigation, e.g., whether the moral sense is ever 
found entirely alone in a simple state, or is only to be 
detected by analysis of various compounds into which it 
enters as an element; whether there is any limit at all to 
the combinations which it forms, &c«; as to which last I 
may observe that most actions are capable of being viewed 
under different lights and thus exciting different emotions, 
e.g. p to put out of the world an aged parent, may be 
an act of atrocious ingratitude according to our modern 
view, or it may be looked upon as a painful act of filial duty 
(which seems to have been the view taken by the ancient 
Thracians); but though the same external act may thus 
give rise to opposing moral sentiments, yet I imagine that 
until the capacity of experiencing those sentiments is entirely 
gone, they will be found in uniform connexion with certain 



The Moral Sense. 179 

motives and certain feelings. If a man murders his father 
solely and distinctly for the purpose of getting his property 
and spending it for his own pleasure, it is inconceivable to me 
that the moral sense should operate in any other way than 
that of self-condemnation; again, if he does it solely and 
distinctly on the ground that his father has finished his 
work in the world, and that the gods call him elsewhere, 
and will make him happy there, but have ordained misery 
for him if he remains here ; on such a supposition I presume 
the parricide would be free from self-condemnation, though 
the blind instinct of natural affection might intervene and 
prevent the sense from running up to the opposite point 
of self-approbation. 

"Y.Z" 




OUB CHBONICLE. 
Easteb Tkrm, 1862. 



^[HE Chronicler is compelled by that dire necessity, of 
which printers' devils are the impersonation, to confine 
himself to a bare statement of the facts which are likely to 
interest his readers. The unwonted shortness of the term, 
and the desire to include in it even more than the usual 
May-term's gaiety has been productive of arrears to others 
besides the Editors of The Eagle: it is to be hoped that 
in having to indulge a regret that it is so, they may stand 
alone. 

To begin, as in duty bound, with the proceedings 
of the College itself. The Commemoration Sermon was 
preached this year by the Rev. Canon Atlay, D.D., Vicar 
of Leeds, the select preacher before the University for the 
time. The rev. gentleman, in a very impressive discourse, 
enforced upon his hearers the words " I must work the works 
of Him that sent me, while it is day : the night cometh when 
no man can work." 

At the close of last term we had the satisfaction of 
welcoming a Bell Scholar in Mr. M. H. Beebee, formerly 
of Rossall School, the other Scholarship being obtained by 
Mr. Image of Trinity. During this term, Mr. H. W. Moss 
has obtained the Forson Prize for the second time, and 
Mr. Lee Warner Sir William Browne's medal for a Greek 
Epigram. 

On Friday, May 9th, the following gentlemen were 
elected Fellows of the Society : 

Mr. E. K. Green, 8th in the first class of Classical 
Honors, 1856. 

Mr. C. Stan well, 15th in the first class of Classical Honors, 
1858; Sir Wm. Browne's Medallist for Greek ode, 1856; 
for Latin ode, 1857 ; and Camden Medallist, 1857. 

Mr. C. J. E. Smith, 7th Wrangler, 1860. 



Our Chronicle. 181 

Mr. E. W. Bowling, 8lh in the first class of Classical 
Honors, 1860. 

Mr. W. H. H. Hudson, 3rd Wrangler, 1861. 

Mr. A. Freeman, 5th Wrangler, and Chancellor's Law 
Medallist, 1861. 

Mr. H. J. Sharpe, 6th Wrangler, 1861. 

Mr. W. D. Bushell, 7th Wrangler, and second class in 
Classical Honors, 1861. 

Mr. £. A. Abbott, 1st in the first class of Classical Honors, 
and Senior Chancellor's Medallist, 1861 : Camden Medallist, 
1*60. 

At the same time the following twelve gentlemen were 
elected to minor scholarships or open exhibitions : 

Mr. Haslam, from Bugby School, and Mr. W. £. Pryke, 
from the Perse School, Cambridge, to Minor Scholarships 
of £70 per annum. 

Mr. Davis, from St. Peter's School, York; Mr. Hart/ 
from Bugby School; Mr. Genge, from Sherborne School; 
and Mr. Pulliblank, from Kingsbridge School; to Minor 
Scholarships of £50 per annum. 

Mr. Smith, from Shrewsbury School, to an open Ex- 
hibition of £50, tenable for three years. 

Mr. Taylor, from St. Peter's School, York, to an open 
Exhibition of £40, tenable for four years. 

Mr. Warren, from Oakham School, to an open Exhibition 
of £40, tenable for three years. 

Mr. Massie, from Atherston School, to an open Exhibition 
of £33 6*. Sd.j tenable for three years. 

Mr. Stevens, from Victoria college, Jersey, and Mr. 
Marsden, from Bugby School, to open Exhibitions of £50, 
tenable for one year. 

The following is a list of the Voluntary Classical Exami- 
nation, May 2nd, 1862, (the names in each class in Alpha- 
betical order) : 





FIRST 


CLASS. 




Falkner 
Lee Warner 
Moss 






Pooley 
Snowdon 




SECOND CLASS. 




Carey 

Hickman 

Beece 






Budd 
Terry 
Willan 


)L. III. 









182 Our Chronicle. 

THIRD CLASS. 

Beadon 
Clay, E. K. 
Green 



Quayle 

Sammons 
Whitehead 



We understand that the parishioners of All Saints have 
presented to their late Vicar, the Rev. W. C. Sharpe, our 
Senior Dean, an elegant silver inkstand, as a token of respect 
on his retirement from the Vicarage. 



The Council of the Royal Society have recommended 
amongst others, for election as fellows of the Society, Mr. 
I. Todhunter, our principal Mathematical Lecturer. 



^ The Town has been this term the scene of extraordinary 
gaieties, owing to the opening of the New Town Hall and 
Public Rooms. Concerts, Ball, and Bazaar have in their 
turn attracted visitors. The room supplies a want which 
has been long felt. 

The May flower show, which was held this year in the 
grounds of Peterhouse, was less successful than usual owing 
to the unfavourableness of the weather. 

The procession of Boats, which came off in King's on 
Saturday, May 24th, was the most successful that has been 
for some years past. 



The officers of the Lady Margaret Boat Club for the 
term are : 

Rev. A, Holmes, President. 

E. A. Alderson, Treasurer. 

J. R. W. Bros, Secretary. 

T. E. Ash, first Captain. 

C. C. Scholefleld, Second Captain. 

The aecount of the races will be found at the end of 
this article. 



The Battalion Parades of the University Rifle Corps held 
during this term have been well attended. A match was 
held on May 14th, 15th, and 16th, for the purpose of 
selecting six members of the Corps to represent the Battalion 
at the Rifle Meeting at Wimbledon ; two of the successful 
competitors, Captain Bushell and Private Nichols, belong to 
the College Company. 



Our Chronicle. 183 

A Shooting-match will now be added to the matches 
which take place annually between the two Universities. 
In the ten chosen to fire against Oxford this year the College 
Company is represented by Captain Boshell. 

A match was fired on May 10th between the 2nd (St. 
John's) and 6th (Trinity) Companies. After a close contest 
our Company won by two points. 



The College has been represented at Cricket this term 
by a very strong eleven. The shortness of the term has 
only allowed of a few matched being played ; in all these, 
however, the St John's eleven was successful. The scores 
are as follows : 

May 14th, St. John's against Emmanuel, won in one 
innings with 109 to spare. The score was Emmanuel 80 
and 66 ; St. John's 208. 

At Ashley, on May 19th; St. John's against Ashley. 
St. John's scored 68 and 98; Ashley 40 and 89 with 5 
wickets. 

On Mav 21st, St John's against King's ; only one innings 
was completed owing to the rain. St. John's scored 126; 
King's 98. 

On May 23rd, the second eleven of St. John's against 
Corpus. Corpus obtained* 106 and 71 for 4 wickets; St. 
John's 171. 



v Subjoined is the list of 
menced on 



the Boat-Races, which com- 



Thursday, May 1 5th. 
First Division. 



1 1st Trinity 1 > 

2 3rd Trinity I j" 
8 Lady Margaret 1 

4 Trinity Hall 1 

5 1st Trinity 2 

6 Trinity Hall 2) 

7 Caius 1 j 

8 2nd Trinity 1 

9 Emmanuel 1 
10 Corpus 1 



1 1 Christ's 1 

12 Clare 1 

13 Sidney 1 > 

14 Lady Margaret 2 J 

15 1st Trinity 3 

16 Feterhouse 1 

17 Caius 2 

18 Magdalene 

19 1st Trinity 4*\ 

20 3rd Trinity 2j 



} 



184 



Our Chronicle. 



Friday, May 16th. 



1 3rd Trinity 1 

2 1st Trinity 1 \ 
8 Lady Margaret 1 j 

4 Trinity Hall 1 

5 1st Trinity 2\ 

6 Cains 1 } 

7 Trinity Hall 2 \ 

8 2nd Trinity J 

9 Emmanuel 1 
10 Corpus 1 



11 Christ's 1 

12 Clare 1 \ 

13 Lady Margaret 2 j 

14 Sidney 1 

15 1st Trinity 3 

16 Feterhouse 1 

17 Magdalene 

18 Caius 2 > 

19 3rd Trinity 2 J 

20 Pembroke 1 



Saturday, May 11th. 



1 3rd Trinity 1 

2 Lady Margaret 1 

3 1st Trinity 1 \ 

4 Trinity Hall 1 J 

5 Caius 1 

6 1st Trinity 2 > 

7 2nd Trinity 1 j 

8 Trinity Hall 2 

9 Emmanuel 1 
10 Corpus 1 



11 Christ's 1 

12 Lady Margaret 2 

13 Clare 1 

14 Sidney 1 

15 1st Trinity 3 \ 

16 Peterhouse 1 J 

17 Magdalene ) 

18 3rd Trinity 2 J 

19 Caius 2 > 

20 Pembroke 1 J 



} 



Monday, May 19 th. 



1 3rd Trinity 1 

2 Lady Margaret 1 ) 

3 Trinity Hall 1 j 

4 1st Trinity 1 

5 Caius 1 

6 2nd Trinity 1 

7 1st Trinity 2 

8 Trinity Hall 2> 

9 Emmanuel 1 ) 

10 Corpus 1 \ 

1 1 Lady Margaret 2 J 



12 Christ's 1 

13 Clare 1 

14 Sidney 

15 Peterl 

16 1st Trinity 

17 3rd Trinity! 

18 Magdalene 

19 Pembroke 1 ) 

20 Jesus 1 j 



evl \ 
rhouse 1 J 
Crinity 3 V 
Trinity 2 j 



Our Chronicle, 



185 



Tuesday, May 20th. 



*} 



1 3rd Trinity 1 

2 Trinity Hall 1 

3 Lady Margaret 

4 1st Trinity 1 

5 Caius 1 

6 2nd Trinity 1 

7 1st Trinity 2 \ 

8 Emmanuel 1 J 

9 Trinity Hall 2 \ 
10 Lady Margaret 2) 



11 Corpus 1 

12 Christ's 1 
,13 Clare 1 

14 Peterhouse 1 

15 Sidney 1 \ 

16 3rd Trinity 2 j 

17 1st Trinity 3 

18 Magdalene 

19 Jesus 1 

20 Pembroke 1 



Wednesday, May 2UL 



1 3rd Trinity 1 \ 

2 Trinity Hall 1 j 

3 1st Trinity 1 

4 Lady Margaret 1 

5 Caius 1 > 

6 2nd Trinity 1 J 

7 Emmanuel 1 

8 1st Trinity 2 

9 Lady Margaret 2 

10 Trinity Hall 2 ~ 

11 Corpus 1 



} 



12 Christ's 1 

13 Clare 1 

14 Peterhouse 1 

15 3rd Trinity 2 

16 Sidney 1 

17 1st Trinity 3 > 

18 Magdalene ) 

19 Jesus 1 

20 Pembroke 1 



Thursday, May 22nd. 



1 Trinity Hall 1 

2 3rd Trinity 1 
8 1st Trinity 1 

4 Lady Margaret 1 

5 2nd Trinity 1 

6 Caius 1 

7 Emmanuel 1 

8 1st Trinity 2 

9 Lady Margaret 2 
10 Corpus 1 



} 



11 Trinity Hall 2 

12 Christ's 1 

13 Clare 1 

14 Peterhouse 1 > 

15 3rd Trinity 2 J 

16 Sidney 1 \ 

17 Magdalene j" 

18 1st Trinity 3 > 

19 Jesus 1 ) 

20 Pembroke 1 



186 



Owr Ckromde. 



Friday, May 23rd. 



1 Trinity Hall 1 

2 3rd Trinity 1 
8 1st Trinity 1 

4 Lady Margaret 1 

5 2nd Trinity 1 

6 Cains 1 > 

7 Emmanuel 1 J" 

8 1st Trinity 2l 

9 Corpus 1 ) 
10 Lady Margaret 2 



11 Trinity Hall 2 

12 Christ's 1 

13 Clare 1 

14 3rd Trinity 2 

15 Peterhonse I 

16 Magdalene 

17 Sidney 1> 

18 Jesus 1 j 

19 1st Trinity 3 

20 Pembroke 1 



Second and Third Divisions. 
Thursday, May 1 5th. Third Division. 



40 1st Trinity 6 

41 Lady Margaret 5 f 

42 Christ's 3 ' 

43 Peterhonse 2 

44 Jesus 2 

45 Queens' 2 



} 



46 Lady Margaret 6 

47 Caius 4 \ 

48 Trinity Hall 4 j 

49 3rd Trinity 3> 

50 Pembroke 2 j 



Second Division. 



} 



20 3rd Trinity 2 

21 Pembroke 1 

22 2nd Trinity 2 

23 Jesus 1 

24 Lady Margaret' 3 

25 Emmanuel 2 > 

26 Catharine > 

27 King's \ 

28 Queens' 1 j 

29 Clare 2 

Friday, May 

40 Emmanuel 3 > 

41 1st Trinity 6 j 

42 Queens' 2 > 

43 Jesus 2 J 

44 Peterhonse 2 1 

45 Christ's 3 J 



16*A. 



30 Corpus 2 1 

31 Lady Margaret 4 j~ 

32 Christ's 2 

33 Trinity Hall 3 -1 

34 2nd Trinity 3 j" 

35 1st Trinity 5 

36 Caius 3 

37 Sidney 2 \ 

38 Corpus 2 j 

39 Emmanuel 3 \ 

40 Lady Margaret 5j 

Third Division. 

46 Lady Margaret 6 

47 Trinity Hall ~ 

48 Caius 4* 

49 Pembroke 2 

50 3rd Trinity 8 



ret t> 



* Missed race. 



Our Chronicle. 



187 



Second Division* 



} 



20 1st Trinity 4 

21 Pembroke 1 

22 Jesus 1 

23 2nd Trinity 2 \ 

24 Lady Margaret 3 J 

25 Catharine 

26 Emmanuel 2 

27 Queens' 1 

28 King's 1 

29 Clare 2 J 

30 Lady Margaret 4 



31 Corpus 2 1 

32 Christ's 2 J 

33 2nd Trinity 3 

34 Trinity Hall 3 

35 1st Trinity 5 

36 Caius 3 > 

37 Corpus 3 J 

38 Sidney 2 \ 

39 Lady Margaret 5 ) 

40 1st Trinity 6 



} 



Saturday, May 11th. Third Division. 



40 1st Trinity 6 

41 Emmanuel 3 

42 Jesus 2 

43 Queens' 2 

44 Christ's 3 

45 Peterhouse 2 



} 



46 Lady Margaret 6 

47 Pembroke 2 

48 Trinity Hall 4 

49 Caius 4 > 

50 3rd Trinity 2 J 



} 



Second Division. 



20 Pembroke 1 

21 1st Trinity 4 

22 Jesus 1 

23 Lady Margaret" 3 

24 2nd Trinity 2 

25 Catharine 

26 Emmanuel 2 

27 Queens* 1 

28 Clare 2 

29 King's 

30 Lady Margaret 4 



} 

t 3 

} 



} 



31 Christ's 2 

32 Corpus 2 

33 2nd Trinity 3 

34 1st Trinity 5 

35 Trinity Hall 3 

36 Corpus 8 \ 

37 Caius 8 J 

38 Lady Margaret 5 

39 Sidney 2 

40 1st Trinity 6 



} 



} 



Monday, May \9th. Third Division. 



40 Sidney 2 

41 Jesus 2 

42 Emmanuel 3 

43 Queens' 2 

44 Christ's 3 



i 



> 



45 Peterhouse 2 \ 

46 Pembroke 2 J 

47 Lady Margaret 6 

48 Trinity Hall 4 

49 3rd Trinity 3 

50 Caius 4 



} 



188 



Our Chronicle. 



Second Division. 



20 Caius 2 1 

21 Jesus 1 ) 

22 1st Trinity 4 > 

23 Lady Margaret 3) 

24 Catharine 

25 2nd Trinity 2 > 

26 Emmanuel 2 ) 

27 Queens' 1 

28 King's 

29 Clare 2 i 

30 Lady Margaret 4 J 



31 Christ's 2 I 

82 2nd Trinity 2 J 

33 Corpus 2 I 

34 1st Trinity 5 | 

35 Trinity Hall 8 
86 Caius 8 

37 Corpus 3 \ 

38 Lady Margaret 5 j 
89 1st Trinity 6 

40 Queens' 2 



Tuesday, May 20th. Third Division. 



40 Queens' 2 

41 Emmanuel 3 

42 Jesus 2 

43 Sidney 2 ) 

44 Christ's 8 ) 

45 Pembroke 2 



46 Peterhouse 2 

47 Trinity Hall 4 

48 Lady Margaret 6 1 

49 3rd Trinity 3 j 

50 Caius 4 



Second Division. 



20 Pembroke 1 

21 Caius 2 ) 

22 Lady Margaret 3) 

23 1st Trinity 4 > 

24 Catharine J 

25 Emmanuel 2 

26 2nd Trinity 2 1 

27 Queens' 1 J 

28 King's > 

29 Lady Margaret 4 j 



30 Clare 2 > 

31 2nd Trinity 3 j 

32 Christ's 2 

33 1st Trinity 5 \ 

34 Corpus 2 j 

35 Trinity Hall 3 

86 Caius 3 \ 

37 Lady Margaret 5 j 

38 Corpus 3 

39 1st Trinity 6 

40 Queens' 2 




CflBISTMAS AND THE NEW TEAE. 

(Two Cards, for "Our CoUege Friends.") 



" When icicles hang by the wall, 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
And Tom bears logs into the hall, 

And milk comes frozen home in pail, 
When blood is nipped, and ways be fool, 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 

To- who : 
Tu-whit, tu-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot." 

Loyb's Laboub Lost. 



JT is the Christmas time ; and here at College we maintain 
all the good old customs that were wont to bring together 
men whom feuds and selfish occupations had dissevered 
throughout the year. 

It is well for us that Christmas comes in winter, when 
our fellow-labourers have most need of help and cheerful 
greetings. There are days in summer when we feel so happy 
in the general joy and beauty of the earth, that we retain no 
evil feeling against rivals and persecutors; but at best it is 
only passive toleration, for even any merry kindness towards 
them has a spice of mischief in it, because we see their ridicu- 
lous impotence to wound us further while the sun is shining, 
the birds are singing, the streams are cajoling us to come 
and dive into cool baths among the willow roots, and the 
swallows are flitting with all sorts of vagabond suggestions. 
No, in summer we are not charitably disposed on the whole ; 
we possess merely a speculative benevolence ; we wish every- 
body to be well off, in health, wealth, and contentment, as in 
that case we need not be teased by them, and therefore can 
indulge ourselves unrestrainedly. Nor do I think that we 
are distinguished as philanthropists in autumn; for at that 
season memory is busy preaching sermons from the withered 

VOL. III. p 



190 Christmas and the New Tear. 

leaves, stubble-fields, widowed partridges, and other trite 
texts. We are then meditating too busily about ourselves, 
and what we have lost, or ought to have done, and how 
changed and mournful life is now — with the dearest friends 
removed for ever from our sight; the voices, that gave 
loveliest music once, no more to sound in our ears ; and we to 
go on, becoming older and older, sick and sorry, lonely and 
disquieted. I do not imagine that we are either good neigh- 
bours or good. company at such a time; and though it may 
be said that our thoughts then turn affectionately towards 
others, yet these others are always prolongations of our own 
shadow — they are persons intimately connected with our 
own happiness. 

If you ask for a season when we really feel unselfishly 
disposed to make others happy, you must choose winter — 
Christmas time and the New Year especially. What energies 
we shall have in spring to work out the liberal plans that we 
now propose 1 Many of us have been prosing or maundering 
it may be, over some musty German metaphysics, or addling 
our brains with Fourieristn and the crotchets of Model 
Government. Querulously we doubted whether there was 
any use in attempting to cure the wholesale iniquity of the 
times ; everything being so mismanaged, everybody so stupid, 
and malicious, and treacherous (as the police reports and the 
newspaper leaders declared). Why, we would wash our 
hands of the whole concern! But, mark the change; 
Christmas is coming on, and the cold weather has revealed 
innumerable cases of destitution in Lancashire and else- 
where. We hear little voices pleading for parents out of 
work ; we see poor widows and crippled men, still weak from 
fever and insufficiency of food ; we no longer harden our 
hearts and waste our time with sickly fancies, but we stride 
out into the bleak air of the world, and work our work asf 
citizens and Christian brethren. Thence, we shall find that 
the holly has a sparkle which is not only of green leaves and 
red berries, and that the New Year's bells are ringing in* 
not only a Triple Bob Major, but something like an advent 
of " peace and good-will towards men." Let us sing our 
own Carol for the 

CHRISTMAS EVE. 

Clehr and breezy is the day which Father Christmas has selected 
He well knowing that a somewhat wintry aspect was expected, 
For Yule logs blaze, no charm displays, save in a frosty time ; 
The Carol floats with choicest notes, when all around is rime. 



Christmas and the New Year. 191 

Hoar trellised are our windows, there is snow on field and hill, 
Unstained in virgin whiteness, though the stream is dark and chill, 
Silver frosted are the branches against the pale gray sky ; 
And the smoke from hidden cottages is rising cheerily. 
The Robin with his bold black eye and glowing waistcoat comes, 
A welcomed Christmas diner-out, our pensioner for crumbs ; 
And the merry flutter of the flame, the distant evening chime, 
And the Carol at our gate, all sing a song of Christmas-time. 

Our College Hall is decked with boughs of holly and of bay, 
With berries red and polished leaves, in honour of the day, 
We take our place, and when the grace has blessed the wholesome 

cheer, 
We drink a Christmas health to all — a welcome to the year. 

How comes the Eve in London ? Each street a view discloses 

Of fingers blown, and 'comforters' round throats, and goose- 
skinned noses ; 

The 'Bus-men cough amid their shouts (much mocked by small 
boys witty), 

" Going up, Sir? Right ! Come on, now! Cha'ing Cross? Three- 
pence, Marm ! Cityee ? " 

NoVs the time when grocers' windows show Olympian heights of 
raisin, 

Hungry boys the sight beholding, wish themselves such shops had 
place in ; 

For the "oranges and lemons" (sung by Clement's bells, so 
comical), 

Awaken in their infant minds, keen wishes gastronomicjfi. 

Through all the crowded thoroughfares there's nought but noise 

and prattle, 
Where butchers offer up their hecatombs of prize fat cattle. 
Geese arrive from Country Cousins, in exchange for barrelled 

oysters, 
Luscious, large, and worthy dish for plumpest monks in sleepy 

cloisters ; 
Costermongers pass, and donkeys, laden with the sparkling holly, 
And the kissing mistletoe, — to mention which, of course, is folly ; 
Beadles, extra-grand and gracious ; free-school urchins, sly as foxes ; 
Also Dustmen, quite unconscious of approaching Christmas-Boxes ! 
Puddings are stirred up by cooks, and plums by infant "paws" 

abstracted, 
Till one's caught, and t'other tells how Jim, or Jane, or Bob has 

"whack'dit." 
Unpaid bills come in by shoals, and timid debtors, pale with fear, 
Think it quite as well that Christmas only comes round "once 

a-year ! " 

P2 



192 Christmas and the New Year. 

To their mind appears a vision of placards : " This shop to let :" 
" Awful Sacrifice 1" " Great Bargains !" and a name in the Gazette. 

Better cheer in Christmas letters, howsoever late the mail may 
Be in coming, as the snow-drift has completely block'd the railway. 
Snow! who cares? — a million school-boys, free from tasks, in 

exultation 
Catch the train, that takes them homeward to some rural recreation. 
Ponds for skating are awaiting; hands and hearths: — We scorn 

the question, 
Whether Twelfth-Night brings remorses, in the shape of indigestion. 
Ne'er a holiday so long can weary thin-clad labourers know, 
Who in town from birth to death must on through miry pathways go ; 
Needle-workers, clerks and shopmen, in their year for one day only 
Break from the routine of toil, to feel themselves less sad and lonely. 
Gathered up are ravelled threads of families too long disparted, 
Round the fire again together, in the Christmas glow blythe-hearted. 

Up to town, through frost and snow-drift, from the Grange amid 
the limes, 
Comes the Squire and Kate, impatient; to see all the Pantomimes ; 
Bringing with them Tom and 'Etty, who believe in all they see, 
Marvelling much why no Policeman takes up Clown for larceny ; 
Whether folks will let him off, because he only " stole in fun?" — 
Starving Want meets less forbearance, if caught stealing loaf or bun ! 

Now's the time for politicians and old foes to patch up quarrels, 
While the Waits are counting ha'pence, and the gardeners chaunt- 

ting Carols. 
Yet the darkened home looks sadder, which the coffin left to-day, 
And the mourners weep and shudder, though they bend their knees 
to pray. 

Seems the snow to them a white shroud, and the cold dark 

skies a pall, 
But the stars like angels watching, silently, and pitying all : 
Well they know, these stricken orphans, that the dreary winter 

hours * - 

From our world must pass away, and Summer bring return of 

flowers : 
From the grave uprising, surely, from the snow and earthly stains, 
Shall the soul be free for ever, where eternal summer reigns ; 
Free from darkness, sin and sorrow — thus the € still small voice 9 

doth say — 
" He is risen, He is risen ! Hail with joy the sacred day ! " 
They can hear a deeper anthem than the songs of giddy mirth, 
Richer-toned in Christmas Carols, promise of man's second birth : 
Speaking — Glory to the Highest : Peace and Brotherhood on Earth. 



Christmas and the New Year. 193 

May we never fall to prize Christmas-day and the New 
Year. To our mind, Christmas has the higher and more 
sacred beauty, as being a religious solemnity, and even in the 
merriment with which it is received by young people, there 
is evidence of the hearty brotherhood appropriate to the 
time. While commemorating the sublime mystery of the 
Saviour's birth, which speaks to the soul by the record of 
humility and divinest love, it also strengthens by festival 
and greeting the bonds of union among men, encouraging 
mutual forbearance and active beneficence. It is the season 
of affectionate sympathy, drawing together young and old, 
rich and poor, the happy and the suffering. 

The New, Year speaks in a different tone, loudly, 
joyously, with revelling and friendly wishes. But there is 
more alloy of worldliness, more of an attempt to disguise 
the whispers of sad remembrance, of uneasy hearts or vacant 
minds, more of the phrensied desperation of the Dionysia, 
instead of the quiet happiness of Christmas. Surely there 
is something wrong in a system which, especially in the 
North, inaugurates the time with drunkenness and gluttony. 
" It is good to be merry and wise," we are told, but also, 
"it is good to be honest and true," and we need not be 
fools at the Old Year's close, to shew love for the Year 
that is new. However, to prove that we are not haters 
of innocent mirth, before parting, let our Lady Margaret 
friends accept this chant of requiem in honour of 

OLD SIXTY-TWO. 

" Bring my cab to the hall door, precisely at twelve, 

I can't wait," said the tired Old Year, 

" Though they ask me to meet the young Squire whom they praise, 

As they praised me, and all who come here. 

He's a promising fellow, steps up with a grin, 

Glass in hand, plump and rosy, whilst I'm pale and thin, 

Old and gouty, bald-pated and queer. 

But you'll take care to fill up the bowl, 
And heap up the Yule-logs and coal, 
And with shout and song, you 
Will see out Sixty-two — 
For you found him a worthy Old Soul ! " 

All the months in their order assembled to tea ; 
Aquarius, as wont, brought the water in urn, 
And Pisces helped round potted Sardines, whilst Lamb 
And Neat's-tongue served the next two in turn. 



194 Christmas and the New Year. 

But the Twins were so noisy and skittish, good lack ! 
That Crabbed old bachelor Cancer turned back, 
And seemed ready the whole fun to spurn : 

Till they coaxed him to fill up the bowl. 
And heap higher the Yule-logs and coal, 
That with wassail and shout 
Might the Old Year go out, — 
Singing, " Here's to thee, worthy Old Soul ! " 

In July most truly a Lion they hailed; 

While Miss Virgo (with milliners' bills unperplexed,) 

Heard a well- Balanced lawyer, and Scorpio, his clerk, 

Talk some scandal, that made her feel vexed. 

A Capricious Young Fop, with a beard like a Goat, 

Said some things about Crinoline, — which 111 not quote, 

Or there's no knowing what might come next. 

Yet they one and all filled up the bowl, 
And played tricks with Yule-log and coal, 
Then with wassailing shout 
Said they'd " see the Year out, 
With a health to the worthy Old Soul!" 

Then Cassiopea was called to the Chair ; 

Whilst the Equinox acted as Vice, very ill, 

And trod on the Dog-star, who growled like a cur ; 

And the Pleiades flirted (as seven young girls will) : 

Berenice had worked, of her own lovely hair, 

A Christmas-box Belt for Orion to wear 

For her sake, as the winter was chill : 

So he helped her to empty the bowl, 
And cracked chestnuts on Yule-log and coal, 
That with wassailing shout 
They might see the Year out, 
Chanting, "Here's to you, worthy Old Soul. 1 ' 

They played "Yes and No," and " American Post," 

Though the Moon cried for quarter, ere long ; 

And at " Traveller's Inn" many forfeits were lost, 

And Miss-Fortune was doomed for a song : 

So the winds lurked in corners, securing a kiss 

From the Earth, who affected to take it amiss, 

And Atlas upheld her — " 'Twas wrong ! " 

But they soon joined their lips to the bowl, 
And heaped up the Yule-logs and coal, 
Saying, " Whoe'er may flout, 
We will see the Year out ; 
Here's a health to the jolly Old Soul ! " 



Christmas and the New Year. 195 

They at last drank the health of their Grandfather Time ; 

Who replied at such length that, with mocks, 

Life begged to remind him the hour was late ; 

From his face all looked up at the clock's* 

'Twas one minute to Twelve ; and they heard the sharp trot 

Of a nag in the distance, so off like a shot 

Sixty-two rushed away with friend Nox. 

'Twas the New Year himself drained the bowl. 

While the Old Year's oab -wheels quick did roll ; 
They helped Sixty-Three in 
With a shout and a grin, 

Saying " Blythe be his reign, worthy soul ! " 

J. W. E. 



<H*§iKGHf*ftH> 



A NOTE ON THE BOWER IN '(ENONE.* 



"Manie accords more sweete than Mermaid'a Song." — 

Spenser: Visions of BeUay. 



^[THE description of the bower in Tennyson's (Enone is the 
^ most beautiful passage in the whole poem. As this descrip- 
tion is not original, it will be interesting to pass in review 
the various preceding passages- on which it is founded. 
These imaginary Elysian nooks are great favourites with the 
poets ; they love to wander in fancy, with their eyes half 
shut, hand in hand with the Muses and Graces; and to 
dream that they come upon such delightful localities. 

Our first passage is in the Iliad. Homer represents Herd 
as practising a stratagem upon Zeus, in order to aid the 
Greeks. She procures the cestus of Venus, and makes herself 
as attractive as possible; and, appearing to Zeus on Mount 
Gargarus, where he was watching the armies, with the help 
of Sleep, whom she has previously bribed, and who sits 
brooding over the god in the form of a bird, she succeeds 
in overpowering his wakeful sense. In the mean time 
Neptune leads on the forces. The passage in which the 
couch of Zeus is described is extremely beautiful, but short.* 
I scarcely venture to translate it : — 

How sweet the couch! 
The yielding grasses raised it from the ground! 
Crocus, and dewy lotus, and the hosts 
Of hyacinth, smooth-leaved, innumerable! 
And, — o'er the happy lingerers hung, — a cloud, 
Beautiful, golden, dripping lucid dews! 

Virgil imitates this passage of Homer in the first book 
of his JEneid. When the Cyprian goddess, in order to 

♦ II. xiv. 346-^357/ 



A Note on the Bower in ' CEnone. 9 197 

deceive Dido, sends Amor in the disguise of lulus, she 
bears away the offspring of JEneas to one of her secret 
haunts, and casts over him a pleasant sleep. His. resting 
place is thus described : — 

At Venus Ascanio placidam per membra quietem 
Inrigat, et fotum gremio dea tollit in altos 
Idalise lucos, ubi mollis amaracus ilium 
Floribus et dulci adspirans complectitur umbra.— 

JSn. i. 691-4. 

This may be freely rendered : — 

As rillets in the heat 
Refresh the land, she poured a placid ease 
Of peaceful sleep upon him ; and she took 
Daintily in her arms the youth, and bore 
Him to Idalian groves, her secret haunts: 
There soft-leaved odorous-sweet amaracus 
Hid him amid its flowers and pleasant shade. 

Our next passage is taken from Shakspere. We do 
not place it next, because we suppose Shakspere to have 
imitated Virgil or Homer; but rather because those who 
come after imitated him. Oberon, in a wood near Athens, 
is designing to anoint the eyes of Titania, and he thus 
describes a spot where it is likely for the Fairy Queen to 
be found. The reader will scarcely need referring to 
Midsummer Night's Dream: 

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, 
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows; 
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, 
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine: 
There sleeps Titania some time of the night, 
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight; 
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin. 
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in. — 

Mids. Nights Dream, Act n. So. 1, 

And now we pass on to Milton. It is well known that 
our great epic poet never forgets to remember, or to avail 
himself of, the beauties of his predecessors : and so we find 
him imitating the three passages already given in two re- 
markable instances. The first is in Book IV. of Paradise 
Lost, where he describes the secret bower to which Eye 
is. led by Adam : 



198 A Note on the Bower in ' (Enone. 9 

Thus talking, hand in hand alone they passed 
On to their blissful bower: it was a place 
Chosen by the Sovran Planter, when he framed 
All things to Man's delightful use; the roof 
Of thickest covert was inwoven shade 
Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew 
Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side 
Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub, 
Fenced up the verdant wall; each beauteous flower, 
Iris all hues, roses, and jessamin, 
Rear'd high their flourish'd heads between, and wrought 
Mosaic; underfoot the violet, 
Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay 
firoidered the ground, more coloured than with stone 
Of costliest emblem: other creature here, 
Bird, beast, insect, or worm, durst enter none, 
Such was their awe of Man- 
Par. Lost, rr. 688—704. 

The second instance, in which Milton seems chiefly to 
have had an eye to Shakspere, is in Book IX. : 

To a shady bank, 
Thick overhead with verdant root imbowerM, 
He led her nothing loth; flowers were the couch, 
Pansies, and violets, and asphodel, 
And hyacinth; Earth's freshest, softest lap.— 

Par. Lost, ix. 1037—41. 

I have thus enumerated the principal passages to which 
I conceive Tennyson to have been indebted, in his beautiful 
description of the bower in (Enone. I now proceed to quote 
that description. It is the deep mid-noon : " the lizard, with 
his shadow on the stone, rests like a shadow:" the cicala 
sleeps: when Pallas, Here, and Aphrodite come to the 
bower on mount Ida. Paris is to decide which is most 
beautiful, and to give her the golden apple : 

Then to the bower they came, 
Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower, 
And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, 
Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, 
Lotus and lilies: and a wind arose, 
And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, 
This way and that, in many a wild festoon 
Kan riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs 
With bunch and berry and flower thro' and thro'. 

Tejnn., (Enone. 



A Note on the Bower in ' (EnoneJ 199 

Such is Tennyson's exquisite description. There is one 
curious feature which I must not omit. In Oberon's account 
of Titania's sleeping-place there is a pause in the first line : — 

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows: 

we can half imagine Oberon musing upon, and collecting in 
his mind, during this pause, his pleasant memories of the 
spot : and again, in another line! — 

Quite over canopied with luscious woodbine, — 

we seem to catch, in the redundant syllable, the echo of 
Oberon's delight. I know that this will be called fanciful ; 
and perhaps the elision, and then the insertion, of a syllable 
were not intentional : yet I am sure the laureate observed 
the peculiarity, and in his line, — 

And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, 

he would have us observe the effect of the wind that arose ; 
and again, in another line, — 

With branch and berry and flower thro 9 and thro', — 
» 
the wild luxuriance of the interlacing boughs. 

0. B. 




A GHOST STOBY. 



JN this age of scepticism, how refreshing it is to think that. 

there are still many believers in Ghost Stories remaining 
amongst us ! And yet even Ghost Stories are criticised by 
many of us in a sceptical spirit, and woe betide the unfor- 
tunate author of a Ghost Story, which is not well authen- 
ticated by parish registers, by dying depositions, and such 
a mass of circumstantial evidence as can only be unravelled 
by the brain of an Attorney-General, or the imagination of 
a Wilkie Collins ! 

Woe also betide the author of a Ghost £Story that is 
neither melancholy, mysterious, nor awful ! 

And yet, though my Ghost is neither a well authenticated 
one, nor one that will cause my readers 9 " hair to stand on 
end like quills upon a fretful porcupine ;" though I have no 
parish registers to produce, nor blood, bones, and sulphur 
at my command, still I will tell my story in the plain un- 
varnished language of truth, hoping that the events which I 
am about to narrate, and which made a lively and lasting 
impression on my youthful imagination, will also in some 
degree interest the readers of " The Eagle." In order to 
commence my story, I am afraid that I must enter slightly 
into my own personal history. 

My father and mother both died in the year 1 8 — , and at 
the early age of fourteen I was left an orphan. Providence, 
however, raised up a friend for me in an aunt who had not 
seen me for many years. She had married abroad, and had 
settled in Rotterdam, in which place she still continued to 
live, though her husband had for many years been dead. 
Having no children of her own, she wrote at once on hearing 
of my friendless condition, and told me I was henceforth to 
consider myself her child, and her home as mine. 

But a short time elapsed after the receipt of this letter, 
ere I found myself on my way to Rotterdam, under the 



A Ghost Story. 201 

protection of a faithful old servant of our family who was 
herself a native of Rotterdam, and who hailed with pleasure 
this opportunity of revisiting her native land. 

We arrived late at night, and found my aunt sitting up 
to receive us, in an old-fashioned but comfortable library ; a 
blazing fire darted a red quivering light on the oak panels of 
the room, and I well remember the wild unearthly glare 
that at times fell upon the portraits of several ancient citizens 
and rough sea-captains of Rotterdam, the ancestors of my 
late uncle. 

The lights were however brought in, a substantial supper 
served, and the old library soon lost its mysterious appear- 
ance ; my aunt's manner was so Kind that I alrea,dy felt at 
home, and for the first time since my father's death, foj a 
moment I forgot the bitterness of my orphan lot 

Several months passed, and every day saw me more 
attached to my new home, no one could have lived in the 
same house with my aunt without loving her; her's was 
a face on which sorrow had set its mark, and had imparted a 
sad and sweet expression to features which might otherwise 
have betokened a character of more firmness and decision 
than it is pleasant to meet with in a woman. What her 
sorrow had bfeen I knew not at the time ; but that at some 
period of her life an overwhelming grief sufficient to crush a 
mind of weaker fibres, had fallen upon her, was soon 
apparent to me. When I afterwards in some degree dis- 
covered what that affliction had been, and that the very 
house in which we were living had witnessed horrors that 
would have curdled the blood and maddened the brain of 
even an uninterested spectator, I looked upon my aunt 
with feelings of almost religious awe and admiration. But 
I must not anticipate the account of the terrible tragedy 
which dawned upon me by degrees. 

. There was one room in the house, the door of which 
was always locked, and inside which I had never entered. 
It is needless to add, that my childish curiosity was stirred 
up within me, and that I longed to enter that room with all 
the earnestness with which forbidden things always in- 
spire us. 

As far as I could see there was nothing peculiar about 
the room, except that it was isolated from the rest of the 
house, being the only room in a long passage which led to 
the garden by a glass-door and a flight of steps. The 
shutters of the glass-door were always fastened, and the steps 
leading down to the garden seemed not to have been used 



202 A Ghost Story. 

for many years, and were covered with moss, and in many 
places were broken or had crumbled away. I often looked 
curiously at the windows of the room from the garden, but 
as the shutters were always up, my curiosity met with little 
to gratify it I had several times asked my aunt questions 
about the room, but had never received a satisfactory answer 
to my questions, and the only information on the subject I 
could get from my old nurse was, that there were painful 
events connected with the room which she was not at liberty 
to divulge, and that the fewer questions I asked about it the 
better it would be. 

A year had now passed, when one morning pay aunt 
informed me that she expected a house full of visitors in a 
few days; in fact, more visitors than she knew how to 
receive, and that in order to make room for them, she in- 
tended to throw open the room in the long passage. That 
part of the house, she said, was connected with a most painful 
part of her life, and it was for this reason that she had letit 
remain so long untenanted. As to the queer stories of its 
being haunted, " you and I, my dear," she said, " are of 
course sensible enough to be able to laugh at these absur- 
dities; at the same time the room awakens such painful 
recollections in my mind that I cannot persuade myself to 
occupy it, but if you have no dr^ad of the Ghost, the room 
shall for the future be yours." 

I was delighted with the offer, for I had always set my 
heart upon the room, and as I was not the least imaginative 
or nervous, the idea of the Ghost caused me not the slightest 
alarm. 

The servants were all in amazement when my aunt gave 
the order for the room to be prepared for me, and seemed 
astonished at the alacrity with which I began to take posses- 
sion of my new domain. I especially remember the startled 
and horrified expression which appeared on Mrs. Snow's 
face when she heard of the arrangement. 

Agatha Snow, my aunt's lady's-maid, deserves to be 
described briefly, not only because she acts a prominent 
part in the story which I am about to relate, but also as 
being in herself a somewhat remarkable person. 

She was a Swiss by birth, but had married an English- 
man, who had formerly been butler to my aunt. Her 
husband died within two years after the marriage, leaving 
her in great poverty and with one child to support ; upon 
the death of the child which happened soon after the father's ' 
death, Mrs. Snow applied for and obtained the place of 



A Ghost Story. 208 

ladyVmaid in my aunt's house. She had now lived with my 
aunt for ten years, and was about thirty-six years of age, though 
still in the full bloom of her beauty. Her cheeks had lost 
none of the roseate hues of youth ; her eye was as clear and 
bright, her hair as black, and her step as light as when she 
left her native mountains some twelve years before. The 
greatest charm she possessed was a row of Pearly teeth, 
which made her smile perfectly irresistible. Still I never 
could bring myself to like Agatha Snow, though her smile 
was so exquisite, she was too fond of smiling ; and her eye, 
though clear and full of expression, glittered at times like 
that of a serpent, and if fascinating was also stony and 
petrifying. Still she never lost her temper, never spoke 
when she was wanted to hold her tongue, and was so ex- 
cellent a servant, that no one could find it possible to say a 
word against her, except that he or she did not like her, 
though " the reason why we could not tell." 

" And are you really going to sleep with the goblins, 
Miss Hester ?" she said, shewing the pearly teeth. " Well, 
you English ladies have much of courage. I would not 
sleep in that room for the world ; but I am only a poor weak 
silly thing." My room was ready and I took actual posses- 
sion of it two or three days before any visitors arrived. 
As night came on, I own that a slight uneasiness came over 
me at times as I thought of the lonely room in the long 
passage; but this momentary alarm only made me all the 
more determined to do nothing unworthy of the " strong 
mind" of which I felt myself to be possessed. 

My aunt walked with me as far as my bed-room door, 
where she wished me good night. I entered the room and 
shut the door. What is that moving behind the curtains ? 
" It is only Agatha Snow, miss. I thought I would come to 
see that everything was well-air'd and comfortable. If you 
take my advice, miss, you will not sleep in this horrible 
room to night. I would not sleep here for worlds, but then 
I am a poor weak timid thing, and not a fine brave lady like 
madamoiselle." "And yet you are not afraid of coming 
here by yourself in the dark, Agatha," I replied. " How is 
that?" The bright eye seemed to dart forth a green and 
angry light for an instant, but the pearly teeth came to the 
rescue, and with her sweetest smile and a little silvery 
laugh, she replied, €t why madamoiselle knows that ghosts 
cannot appear before midnight, so I am quite safe at present/' 
and she wished me " good night," and curtseyed herself out 
of the room with infinite elegance. 



904 A Ghost Story. 

I listened to her departing footsteps, and did not know 
whether I felt relieved or not when their last faint sound 
died away. There was something in the woman, fascinating 
as she was, that I could not like, and I could not help in 
some way or other connecting her with an uneasy feeling, 
which in spite of my strong mind kept gradually creeping 
over me. However my room looked as snug as could be ; 
the fire blazed merrily, and when I drew aside the curtain, I 
saw that the moon was up and the night fine. I sat looking 
at the fire in a reverie for some ten minutes, undressed, got 
into bed, and in a few minutes was fast asleep. 

How long I had been asleep I cannot tell, when I woke 
with a sudden start; there was a bright light in the room, 
the curtains which I had drawn back letting the full light of 
the moon into my room. The fire was all but out, and the 
falling embers were making a dreary rustling sound ; I felt 
a cold sweat upon my brow, a trembling in every limb, and 
a difficulty in breathing which almost amounted to suffoca- 
tion. Suddenly there stood between me and the moon's 
light a tall dark figure. 

(2b be continued.) 






VIBGIL. GEORGIC. II. 458—499. 



O happy swains if but your bliss ye knew ! 
To whom the teeming Earth in season due, 
Far from the din of arms and bloody strife, 
Supplies unbidden all the wants of life ! 
Though in your homes no entrance gaping wide 
Pour forth at morn the flatterers' early tide ; 
Though with no gems inlaid your portals blaze, 
Nor gold-embroider'd robes allure your gaze : 
Though no Corinthian art your halls adorn, 
And your white fleeces Tyrian purple scorn ; 
Though casia ne'er your olive-oil defile : 
Yours is a life of quiet free from guile ; 
Yours is a life of plenty and repose ; 
For you the cattle low, the fountain flows, 
For you cool glades afford a still retreat, 
O'ershadowing trees, and mid-day slumbers sweet : 
Yours is the wild-beast's lair, the forest's shade, 
A youth by toil and perils undismayed ; 
You still due reverence to the aged pay, 
Still to the gods with due devotion pray ; 
And when indignant from the earth she flew, 
Justice her latest blessings left with you. 

Ye Muses, to the poet ever dear, 

Whose priest I am, my supplication hear. 

Teach me the rolling stars, the heavenly ways, 

Why wanes the sun, what dims the moon's faint rays : 

What makes the earth to heave, the swelling tide 

To burst its barriers and again subside : 

Why 'neath the waves the sun in winter speeds : 

What cause the ling'ring nights' slow path impedes. 

But if the blood around my heart grow cold, 

And nature's wonders I may ne'er behold, 

Still let me roam, inglorious though I be, 

Thro' valleys green, by woodland stream and tree : 

O for Sperohius' plain ! for those wild heights 

Where Spartan maidens hold their Bacchic rites : 

VOL. III. q 



*06 VtrgU. Georgic. IL 458 . . .499. 

Bear me some god to Hamms* thickest glade, 

And hide me 'neath the mighty forest's shade ! 

Happy the man who Nature's law could learn, 

Each human fear, each human passion spurn, 

Inexorable Fate itself despise, 

And greedy Acheron view with fearless eyes. 

Blest too is he who knows the Dryad train, 

Sylvanus, Pan, who guard die fruitful plain. 

Free from ambition he has never bowed 

To regal purple, or to "fasces" proud. 

Nor discord revelling in brothers 9 blood ; 

Nor banded Dacians from liter's flood; 

Nor Roman power, nor kingdoms doom'd to fall 

His path can trouble, or his soul appal 

So blest his lot he lives alike secure 

From Envy of the Rich and Pity for the Poor. 



ARCALUS. 




A DAY WITH THE FITZFUNGUS FOX-HOUNDS. 



^ DAY with the Fitzfungus fox-hounds! "You may 
twist, you may alter the words as you will, but the scent 
of the stable will cling to them still." I am quite aware 
of the fact, gentle reader, and know full well that there is 
much in a name ; I would, therefore, beg of you not to take 
fright at the title which I have given to this sketch ; I will 
do my best to render these pages as unlike a contribution to 
" Bell 9 s Life" as possible ; and in return, merely ask you to 
excuse me if I should seem incapable of handling a theme, 
which Kingsley, Whyte Melville, and others scarcely in- 
ferior to them, as novelists, have not thought beneath their 
attention. To begin then, be so good as to imagine yourself, 
dressed, breakfasted, and jogging slowly along (as becomes 
men who anticipate a long day), through a land of rolling 
heather-topped hill and marshy moorland, beneath you a 
road, which it is painfully evident knew not McAdam, and 
before you, as far as the eye can reach, a somewhat mono- 
tonous succession of barren-looking bluffs, whose tops are 
crowned with clusters of rusty gorse, and round whose 
bases the prattling trout-stream twines its silver threads, 
while a rather unpromising sky of dull lead-colour serves as 
back-ground to the occasional roofless cabin or deserted 
water-mill, which breaks at long intervals the monotony of 
the landscape. A wild and bleak region it undoubtedly is, 
and I think its wildness and bleakness is rather increased by 
the prevalence of those same forsaken water-mills which 
one comes suddenly upon at some turn of the road, rotting 
to pieces in the long dank grass, and seeming in a peculiarly 
weird and ghostly manner " to pore upon the brook that 
babbles by." However, I am not about to enter upon a 
case of " Agricultural distress," nor an endeavour to prove 
that the dullness of the sky and prevalence of rushes and 
water-mills is the result of " Saxon misrule." No, my ' 
friends, my private belief is, that that land (I ought perhaps to 

Q2 



208 A Day with the Fitzfungu* Fox- Hounds. 

have premised that the scene of my sketch is laid in the 
South of Ireland) was intended to produce jack-snipe and 
furze, and that jack-snipe and furze it will produce to the 
end of time, and as a necessary consequence of furze — foxes, 
which brings me, after a considerable detour, back to the 
legitimate subject of my tale. 

Let us suppose that we have arrived at the Meet, which 
being like most other Meets, that is to say, a combination of 
scarlet coats, glossy horses, white neckcloths, slang, and cigar- 
smoke, may be quickly passed over ; and now, while our 
friends are tightening their girths, and the cigar of indo- 
lence and expectation rests half-consumed between my lips, 
permit me to give you a notion of two or three of the 
characters (including of course the noble M. F. H.) with 
whom you are this day to risk your neck. First then there's 
his lordship; he has just driven up, and is in the act of 
mounting that huge grey with the wicked eye and the 
rocking-horse-like dapples on his quarters ; look at him well, 
he is the representative of an ancient family and a radical 
constituency ; amongst those Norman Barons who accompanied 
Strongbow on his expedition to Ireland none bore a higher 
name than Sir Philip Fitz-Fungus, surnamed " Coeur de 
Roi," on account of his kingly generosity and valour. His 
descendants (and their name is Legion), have since spread 
themselves all over the South of Ireland, and no horse 
" knock," no coursing-match or punch-carouse is complete, 
unless some member of the house of Corderoy takes a con- 
spicuous part in it. 

The title of Fitz-Fungus, for some time in abeyance, has 
been revived in the person of the present peer, whose sixteen 
stone of solid flesh — the only solid thing about him — has been 
busy cleaning the boots of her Majesty's ministry and her 
Majesty's opposition any time these twenty years. In person 
our noble friend presents little to describe, if you can imagine 
one of his own short-horn bulls, tightly buttoned up in a 
" pink frock," you will have as good an idea of " the Right 
Hon. Sheridan Corderoy," as is at all necessary. The 
huntsman naturally follows close upon the master. " Jerry," 
as he is universally called (nobody, I once heard a brother 
sportsman assert, being either old enough or ugly enough to 
remember his surname), is a crooked, dwarfish figure, look- 
ing unpleasantly like that proverbial " beggar on horseback," 
who is popularly supposed to be intent upon visiting the 
enemy of mankind, and with a face, if it may be dignified by 
the name, which has all the effect of a singularly plain set of 



A Day with the Fitzfunyus Fox-Hounds. 209 

features thrown at random against a brick wall. If I were 
called upon for a more minute description, I should say that 
his visage was a compromise between the door-knocker and 
battered-orange types, with a slight " pull" in favour of the 
door-knocker. He is however a good horseman despite his 
looks, and what is more rare, a good huntsman, and many a 
stout fox has he " been the death of" over these marshes. 
Let him shamble off upon his varmint-looking 'garron, while 
we turn our attention to a very different subject, — Fred. 
Rowel, the hard-riding man or " bruiser" of the hunt. Now 
It may be said of most " bruisers," that they are a small lean 
race, shrivelled as to the limbs, wiry as to the whiskers, 
scant as to the garments, and altogether looking (like the 
Tweeds which they delight to wear) as if they had been 
well " shrunk" at an early period of their existence. That 
they talk " horse," look " horse," and would if not re- 
strained by the usages of society, eat " horse." Such is not the 
case with our friend Fred, he is not merely a bruiser, his 
voice is as often heard in company with the notes of the 
piano as with the cry of the hounds ; his stalwart form is 
as much at home when whirling Dervish-like in the mazes 
of the waltz, as when sitting grimly down upon that " long 
low bay ;" and to conclude, his conversation does not consist 
solely of Hark forward ! Tally Ho ! and such phrases after 
the manner of stage sportsmen, but possesses a vocabulary of 
somewhat more soothing sounds, if we may judge by the close 
proximity of his curly head and certain " sweet things in 
wreaths" during one of those " supper" dances of which 
We read in the pages of history. In person, he is tall 
beyond the average, long-limbed and broad-chested, with 
high aquiline features, and hair of a colour which (in con- 
sideration of my having known his family for years) I shall 
call auburn, add to this a remarkably "jolly" expression, and 
incipient whiskers of a pale flame colour, and you have a 
complete picture of him whom three parishes unite in pro- 
nouncing a " divilish cliver" man. 

But while I have been talking, the hounds have been 
thrown into the gorse which covers the opposite hill-side, 
and the parapetless bridge spanning the- glen is thick with 
red-coats, whose eyes are fixed intently on the huntsmen and 
whips as they manoeuvre through the furze, which by this 
time is alive with vigorous tails and long greyhound-like 
heads. Hark 1 there's a whimper ! a dead silence succeeds, 
broken only by the rustle of the dogs through the withered 
furze and bramble. But now a long fierce " yowl," which 



210 A Day with the Fitzfungus Fox-Hounds. 

is eagerly taken up by the whole pack, announces that the 
game's afoot indeed, and all round me I can see men's faces 
brighten and set in a determined manner. The same look 
only in a lesser degree, which I can fancy on the face of a 
"front-rank Heavy" when the word "charge" rings out 
" above the storm of galloping hoofs." My neighbour on the 
right stands up in his stirrups, and as I catch his eye, gleaming 
with the "gaudia certaminis," the words ot the "Iron 
Duke" come freshly back upon my mind, "The cavalry- 
officers of England are formed in the hunting field." 

Full cry now with a vengeance! The wild bell-like 
music comes rolling back from the brow of the hill in " deep* 
mouthed thunder," two or three of the keenest-sighted give 
vent to a yell, as they view the fox stealing away in the 
far distance, the horses break into a gallop, and we tear up the 
rocky road with all the energy of a start and no fencing. A 
moment's check, see, the hounds — the true old Irish "grizels," 
lean grey and muscular — cross the road in a body, running 
breast-high, strike the fence and seem to vanish over it like 
spray over a rock, and stream across the adjoining pasture 
with the speed of the wind ; a pause, as the foremost horse- 
man backs his hunter across the road, and sends him at the 
" double." Over he goes ! poising himself for an instant on 
the top, and then shooting over the wide dyke like a bird; 
another, and another, and another, we are on the springy 
turf of the pasture ; the hounds, some ten lengths ahead of 
us, racing like mad, — a gleam of water, a crash of withered 
gorse-roots, a slight shock as the horse lands, and we are in 
the next field, all manner of red specks and streaks whirling 
and flashing around, beside and in front of us, and a single 
gleam of sunlight showing the pack, now in full field ahead, 
flying in a white serried mass over the dark green soil of a 
treacherous-looking marsh ; a clattering in front announces a 
stone wall, two or three hats and caps, and a like number of 
horses' tails appear suddenly in the air, and as suddenly 
disappear as the front rank faces the obstacle; a sharp 
clank, a dull heavy "thud," and the first whip and his 
horse are rolling together amongst the broken stones: he 
staggers to his feet, puts his hand to his head for a moment, 
and then re-mounts with an effort, and, as the chime of the 
staunch pack falls mellowed by distance upon our ears, we 
too take our turn at the " rasper," and, as a matter of course, 
" land cleverly on the other side." 

Away over moor and moss, rough and smooth, plough 
and pasture, through desolate wastes of heather and com- 



A Day with ih$ Ftizfungus Fox-Hounds. 211 

Gratively cheerful farms, on oyer the long bleak line 6f 
lis to the north, rolls the hunt, until the ragged peasant 
who leaps upon the top of a fence, grinning with delight, to 
catch a last view, sees red coats and black coats dip down 
behind an opposing bluff, and hears the last strain of hound* 
music die away, leaving a tingle in his ears as he turns to his 
potatoe furrow in silence,— -With the hunt my friend, and in 
a good place too, we will trust are you and I, but however 
pleasant and exciting the thing may be in real life, I know 
few things more tedious than an accurate hunt upon paper, 
where every fence is inflicted upon you, and you are com* 
pelled to follow every turn of the hounds until the end 

arrives* 

******** 

Let us then pass over in imagination some five and thirty 
minutes — a short space upon paper, but capable of contain- 
ing a vast variety of incident and accident in the crowded 
life of the hunting -field. Let us suppose that we have 
crossed some six miles of country, been once down, seen the 
friend of our bosom deposited in the inky waters of an 
apparently bottomless dyke, and are now within a field of 
the still flying pack, and about two miles from his lordship's 
favourite cover of Mullagahaun. My " gallant grey" (the 
horse happens to be brown, but I use the words merely as a 
conventional compliment, just as we call a boorish duke, 
" your grace";, my gallant grey, I say, is beginning to lose 
somewhat of his elasticity, and an ominous twitching in the 
flank of that worthy animal, tells tales of the rattling gallop 
through which he has not past totally unwearied. Oh 
Diana, "goddess excellently bright/' in pity vouchsafe a 
check, give us " room to breathe how short soever." A 
check it is indeed t the leading hounds throw up their heads 
with a low whine, and the whole pack " feather" listlessly 
over yonder dark poverty-stricken plough. The men in front 
turn their horses' heads to the wind, and " Jerry," with a 
wave of his cap, casts his hounds forward. " Hark to War- 
rior !" cries Fred. Bowel, as the old dog gives out a long deep 
" yowl." 

" Forrard, Forrard. Away !" screams an excited red-coat 
on the left, as he crams his " pumped" horse at the fence, and 
presently lands on his head in the same field with the now 
chiming pack. " Forrard indeed," we mutter, as we prepare 
to follow him, and somehow, we scarcely know how, find 
ourselves on the other side unhurt, while the dogs pack 
closer, and fly on at a pace that looks uncommonly like 



213 A Day with th* FUzfungus Fox-Hound*. 

"killing." Jerry's excited feelings find vent in a view- 
halloa, see! there goes "poor pug/ 9 with a mad-stained 
brush, creeping doggedly along, the hounds running steadily 
break from scent* to view, and in ten minutes more our 
huntsman, throwing himself off his panting horse, holds his 
fox over his head with a clear woo-whoop 1 that makes the 
stony hills ring again, and sends the snipe shrieking up from 
the tufts of rushes around him. Woo-whoop he cries, 
woo-whoop my darlings, well-hunted 1 and so say we as we 
turn our roam-streaked horses homewards, and, lighting our 
weeds, fall leisurely to discussing the adventures of the day, 
each man having some wonderful story to tell about that 
" on-and-off you know, old fellow, just as we got out of the 
lane," &c., and so Good Night. 

M. B. 







A (BACHELOR'S) FAREWELL. 



Flow down, dark River, to the Ouse, 

Thy tribute, Cam, deliver : 
No more on thee my boat shall be, 

For ever and for ever. 

Flow, softly flow, by Bridge and Reach, 
And Plough and Locks ; ah, never 

Again shall I thy course row o'er, 
For ever and for ever! 

To see the Fours i* th' October term, 
By thee shall Freshmen shiver : 

And still shall Cox'ns slang bargees, 
For ever and for ever. 

A thousand Crews shall train on thee, 
With wild excitement quiver: 

But not on thee my form shall be, 
For ever and for ever. 



\f/*.sy\ fss/yi. rsss\* f/\s\\ f/srA fssfA!/\rA'/sl ^M 



r ^y y\rvW vtrvtyvt/vtrxrr/^^^rrvtyV tr vt 



SALUTATIONS. 



JHE institution of Salutations can boast an almost unrivalled 
antiquity. It must certainly have seen the inside of the 
garden of Eden ; and if, as seems too natural to doubt, at 
first expressed by a kiss on the fair cheek of Eve, it must 
have branched forth into innumerable forms when men 
began to multiply upon the earth; when Adam, the man 
of many centuries, must have been regarded with an awful 
reverence; and the endless and bewildering varieties of 
ancestry and cousinship had produced their corresponding 
degrees of familiarity and diffidence. 

To realize such a state of things let us imagine those 
stern Normans who fought at Hastings, and from whom 
many of us as eagerly claim descent as the Athenians of old 
from the misty regions of the demi-gods, to live, not only 
on the Boll of Battle- Abbey, but in actual flesh and blood. 
What an effect their existence would have upon our customs 1 
What an atmosphere of solemnity would pervade society in 
their presence ! the story of England's liberty, wealth, and 
power embraced by the term of one man's life ! History and 
historians superseded by these " living epistles known and 
read of all men !" Breathes there the youth whose flippant 
tongue would venture the appellation of " governor ;" or who 
would not exchange the lifted hat for the bended knee before 
such majestic relics of antiquity? Such thoughts as these 
may suggest the cause, or at least one principal cause, of 
those profound prostrations and obeisances which characterize 
Eastern countries. It was in the East that the history of man 
commenced ; in the East that those lives of eight or nine 
centuries were passed ; when young men must have been 
regarded and treated as mere children, without experience, 
and separated by twenty generations from the venerated 
head of their family. 

Nor is the fact that these countries no longer afford a 
greater longevity than the colder West, sufficient to disprove 



Salutations. 215 

our assertion. The Eastern mind is pre-eminently indisposed 
to change. The traveller of the nineteenth century cannot 
pass through those sacro-classic lands without being forcibly 
reminded of the life-like sketches of the book of Genesis. 
The earliest form of government — absolute despotism, has 
survived and flourished here, while the growing mind of the 
West has tried alternately every form which promised the 
liberty it demanded as its right ; and a few years ago a wild 
son of the desert boasted that he was one of 10,000 descen- 
dants of Jonadab the son of Rechab, who, with as rigid an 
obedience as their ancestors two thousand years ago, ' neither 
drink wine, nor build house, nor sow seed, nor plant vine- 
yard, nor have any, but abide in tents all their days. 9 
From these considerations we should expect a general simi- 
larity to prevade the salutations of the East ; especially tnose 
which lie within the circle of Bible lands. 

Abram and Lot, on seeing the approach of strangers, run 
and bow themselves with their faces toward the ground ; the 
aged Jacob receives the same homage from his son Joseph, 
albeit the land of Egypt acknowledges that son as its gover- 
nor, and a grateful people bow the knee before him. Esau, 
reconciled to his brother, ' falls on his neck and kisses him ;* 
and Joseph exchanges the same salute with his beloved 
Benjamin. Speaking of Ancient Persia, the Father of History 
tells us that M when people meet in the street you may know 
if they are of equal rank by the following token. If they are, 
instead of speaking, they kiss one another on the lips ; where 
one is a little inferior to the other the kiss is given on the 
cheek; where the difference of rank is great, the inferior 
prostrates himself on the ground." Glad indeed would the 
Eastern traveller be if such were the only ceremonies re- 
quired of him. The enervating climate, and consequent 
ignorance of the value of time, have given birth to a custom 
which the European must always regard as wearisome and 
sometimes almost impertinent. The sweet and solemn " peace 
be unto you" is followed by as many as four or five kisses oil 
each cheek, administered with patriarchal gravity ; your 
hand is held all the time with a most pertinacious affection, 
while questions are rapidly poured forth about your own 
health, the health of your wife, if you are so fortunate as to 
have one, your appetite and digestion, the state of your 
cattle, and a thousand other matters which you cannot 
imagine to be of the slightest interest to your loquacious 
friend ; and even when you have parted company you may 
suppress your pious ejaculation of thankfulness till you are 



216 Salutations. 

sure that he does not tarn round and run beside your horse 
for a quarter of a mile under the impression that he has not 
yet been sufficiently civil. A recent traveller in Persia, 
under such circumstances as these, being naturally anxious to 
equal the Persian in politeness, began to make similar en- 
quiries concerning his state, when the Eastern Chesterfield, 
solemnly stroking his beard, replied, " only let your con- 
dition be prosperous, and I am of course very well." Happily 
there are two exceptions to this tedious rule, viz., persons 
on urgent business, and mourners. Of the former we have 
an example in Elisha's command to his servant to ' salute no 
man by the way,' — a command repeated after an interval of 
nine hundred years by our Lord to his disciples. The history 
of Job gives us a touching picture of the latter. His friends 
" sat down upon the ground beside him for seven days and 
seven nights, and none spake a word unto him ; for they saw 
that his grief was very great." 

But the cause which operates most powerfully upon the 
forms of European salutations is wanting in the countries 
before us. With us the most elaborate salute is paid to 
woman ; in the East woman has no position whatever. A 
Semiramus or Zenobia may occasionally burst from the thral- 
dom of seclusion, and receive the homage which is denied her 
sex ; but such instances are rare indeed, and only the result 
of extraordinary circumstances combined with vast force of 
character. The juvenile exquisite of London or Paris, who 
has just passed his grandsire with the most familiar of nods, 
exerts himself to make his best bow and lifts his hat com- 
pletely off his head to the pretty young lady whom he meets 
immediately after; but alas for the victims of antiquated 
jealousy ! However young, however pretty, and by necessary 
consequence, however willing to be seen, the ladies of the 
East may be, custom immures them in close curtained litters, 
or winds their faces round with ample folds of cambric, 
leaving the eyes alone at liberty, too little to warrant recog- 
nition, though frequently sufficient to excite hopeless 
curiosity. This semi-barbarous custom is the cause of great 
inconvenience and injury to Europeans in the less frequented 
parts of Asia, as an unwary appearance of a woman in the 
public streets is often resented by a shower of stones. Such 
an accident is especially likely to befall the traveller in the 
smaller towns of Persia, or in that most uninteresting, stag- 
nant, and cowardly nation of China — a nation almost destitute 
of social relationships, and possessing neither clubs, mercan- 
tile associations, or anything deserving of the name of a 



aMBaau 



Salutations. 217 

profession. Yet there is perhaps no people so barbarous as 
not to be, in some one point or other, an example to the most 
enlightened Christian nations ; and England or France might 
envy the unparalleled endurance of the American savage, 
or imitate with advantage the deep respect for age which 
makes the youth of China and Japan, as it did of old, those of 
Egypt and Sparta, "rise up before the hoary head; and 
honour the face of the old man." Before leaving Asia let us 
glance for a moment at ancient Sardis, the capital of Lydia, to 
observe one of the most curious customs which comes within 
the limits of our subject. In that city, Cyrus the younger 
puts to death two noble Persians, nephews of king Darius, 
for the single crime of neglecting to pay him the royal salute, 
which consisted in wrapping up the hands within the folds 
of the sleeves. We are unable to discover the origin of a 
fashion so deservedly unique ; and, were it not attested by 
the solemn seal of history, should be apt to regard such 
a salute rather an insult than otherwise, and to discover 
in it a strong resemblance to the conduct of an acquaintance, 
who, on meeting us, should thrust his hands emphatically 
into the pockets of his ' unmentionables.' We pass now to 
Europe ; and the first country which attracts our attention is 
Turkey. Yet Turkey is European in position alone ; in 
everything else a genuine portion of the old continent. The 
only remaining out-post of Asia, she has maintained, for four 
hundred years, her Eastern manners with Eastern obstinacy ; 
and now that these are gradually yielding to the irresistible 
influence of civilization, under an enlightened sovereign, the 
clouds again gather on her political horizon which were dis- 
pelled at Alma and Inkerman a few years ago, and it is just 
possible that Turkey's end may anticipate her apostasy, and 
the zealous Moslem of the old school may see her die as she 
has lived — an Asiatic. But to return. Leaving Turkey, the 
hallowed associations of the East, give place to the bright 
stirring scenes of our native West. We immediately feel 
ourselves to be among a new people. A distinct genius pos- 
sesses them and gives the tone to their customs. There is such 
a thing as continental idiosyncracy. Not all the barbarous 
hordes which have deluged Europe from Attila down to 
Tamerlane, nor all the counter-tides of Western warriors and 
Western rabble, which have fattened the soil of Syria, have 
produced anything like a fusion of character. The East has 
held fast by the grandeur of antiquity, the West has struck 
boldly out towards the climax of improvement The one is 
now what it was some thousand years ago, and can glory in 



218 Salutations. 

its unsullied sameness ; the other has waded through stage 
after stage of ignorance and toil and blood, and has emerged 
from it all in the van of civilization, and mistress of the world. 
Franco-Germanic England has naturally exerted the most 
important influence on the forms of European Salutations. In 
the words of a late French author of celebrity " she unites the 
simplicity, the calm, the good sense, the slowness of Germany 
with the ecl&t, the rage, the nonsense, the vivacity and elegance 
of France.'* Accordingly we find that a custom now fallen 
into disuse in England, but once so thoroughly established as 
to be styled ' the English method' was introduced among us 
by a Saxon princess, and still maintains itself among our 
friends across the Channel, and generally throughout the 
continent. Need we say that we refer to the queen of all 
Salutations — the time-honoured institution of the * kiss.' "Who 
was the happy discoverer of it — under what circumstances 
it was first enacted — how the first shock was borne we are 
unable to say. Possibly some ' quaint and curious volume of 
forgotten lore' which perished in the library at Alexandria 
might have revealed the secret ; but regrets are useless. We 
have already intimated our opinion that the custom is as old 
as Adam ; a theory which we would commend to the special 
protection of those who consider our first father to have been 
possessed of all mundane knowledge, and to have transmitted 
it to a retrogressing posterity, through whose fingers it ran like 
a handful of sand, to be painfully picked up in after years with 
all the conceit of a first discovery. At all events the kiss ap- 
pears to have been quite unknown in England till Sowena, 
daughter of Hengist of Friezland, at a banquet, "pressed 
the beaker to her lipkins, and saluted the amorous Vortigern 
with a husjen." Could the fair princess have foreseen the con- 
sequences of her rash act ; could she have looked forward 
into England's history and beheld her salute become a prece- 
dent, giving birth to a universal custom, we fear she might 
have paused, and the " amorous Vortigern " might have met 
with a disappointment. " But wiser Fate says no," Vortigern 
gets his kiss ; the custom recommends itself by its novelty 
and its magic influence, and by the time of Chaucer appears 
to have been universally established. The Friar in the Som- 
pnoure's tale, on the mistress of the house entering the room 
where her husband and he are sitting, 

" Ariseth up ful curtisly, 
And hire embraceth in his armes narwe, 
And kiaseth hire swete and chirketh as a sparwe 
With his lippes." 



Salutations. 219 

But how important our subject becomes when we find it 
attracting the attention of the learned Erasmus and the 
serious Bunyan. Lest any of our readers, knowing the 
former, but as the weighty though vaccillating prop of the 
Reformation, should imagine his heart dead to everything but 
pure Latinity, we shall quote his own words from an epistle 
in which he urges a friend to visit Britain — " Just to touch 
on one thing out of many here there are lasses with heavenly 
faces, kind, obliging, and you would far prefer them to all 
your muses. There is besides a practice never to be suffici- 
ently commended. If you go to any place you are re- 
ceived with a kiss by all ; if you depart on a journey you are 
dismissed with a kiss; you return — kisses are exchanged. 
They come to visit you — a kiss the first thing : they leave 
you — you kiss them all round. Do they meet you anywhere — 
kisses in abundance. Lastly, wherever you move there is 
nothing but kisses. And if you Faustus had but once tasted 
them, how soft they are ! how fragrant ! on my honour you 
would wish to reside here not ten years only but for life." 
Very different is the judgment of the stern Bunyan. He 
unequivocally condemns the practice as unchristian ; and in 
this severe decision he is preceded and surpassed by Whyt- 
ford who, in his " Type of Perfection," denounces not only 
the somewhat questionable kiss but even the innocent shaking 
of hands, " or such other touchings that good religious persones 
shulde utterly avoyde." We thank heaven this holy man 
had not the modelling of our social institutions. Our old 
customs withstood the shock of his eloquence ; and we cannot 
but think his success would have been greater and his fate 
happier, had they been cast among those American ladies 
of the nineteenth century, whom the Satire of Trollope inter- 
rupted while covering the legs of their chairs and tables. 
The kiss maintained its ground in England until the time 
of the Restoration, when, having already declined in France 
so far as the ladies were concerned, the ancient national 
salute was gradually superseded by the foreign code of po- 
liteness which accompanied Charles II. to his own dominions. 
And now that we have traced the history of the kiss from 
first to last, and have seen it occupying the attention of 
princes, poets and divines, let us analyse our feelings with 
regard to its exit, to discover whether we have lost a danger- 
ous acquaintance or a useful friend ; whether we have really 
after all something for which to be grateful to the most disso- 
lute of England's kings, or an additional reason for execrating 
his memory. We think the most obstinate advocate of the 



220 Salutations. 

old regime will scarcely venture to throw his cause on the 
shoulders of St. Paul, when he considers how very different 
the ' holy kiss 9 of the early Christians must have been from 
the casual and. indiscriminating salute of the middle ages. 
Amongst the former, so long as it expressed the meaning of 
the pure-minded apostle, it was but the affectionate greeting 
of the members of one persecuted family, bound together by the 
strongest of ties, and separated by one absorbing object from 
the littlenesses of every-day life. But when this state of things 
had ceased to exist; when the title of Christian became com- 
patible with that of villain, it is obvious that prudence would 
call for restrictions which would once have been an insult 
to the purity of the times. These restrictions our own age 
enjoys ; our ancestors we think needed them too ; but the 
public mind moves slowly, and requires many years of ex- 
periment and experience to arrive at truth. A brilliant genius 
occasionally appears two centuries before his time to shew 
mankind their folly ; but these are not the men from whom 
society takes its tone. It is shocked at their impiety ; it hates 
their forwardness ; it fears their sarcasm. A prison is fre- 
quently their reward; and the world, relieved of their 
f)resence, jogs leisurely onwards, till when their bones have 
ong mouldered into dust, it opens its dull eyes on their past 
discoveries. We must not, however, forget that the conse- 
quences of a long established custom are very different from 
the consequences of the same custom suddenly revived after 
it has lain for ages obsolete. We do not believe that there 
is one right-minded man or woman in England who would 
wish the old salute to be immediately revived upon the lips 
of their wives and daughters ; simply because the kiss of the 
nineteenth century has acquired a deeper meaning than the 
kiss of the sixteenth. We cannot indeed deny, in the face of 
Erasmus's enthusiastic testimony, that there is something 
intrinsically superior in the kiss to all other forms of Saluta- 
tion, even when it is most common. Yet " 'tis distance lends 
enchantment to the view." In the middle ages it was an 
every day circumstance, common alike to the accepted lover 
and his rejected rival ; to the chance acquaintance and the 
intimate friend. With us it is an almost sacred rite, cele- 
brated with especial pleasure, under especial circumstances, 
by especial friends; and we are inclined to think that, as 
Bishop Butler would say, " more happiness on the whole 
is produced*' by its present than its ancient use. It must 
be evident to our readers that we have been speaking of the 
kiss between persons of different sexes. That exchanged by 



Salutations. Hi 

ladies in every degree of acquaintance we decline to discuss. 
Whether it be a real expression of affection, or as we fear 
more frequently, only an unmeaning habit, it offers no in- 
ducement to pause. As the former, it is above criticism ; as 
the latter, to say nothing harsher, it is devoid of interest. 
But when the kiss died out in England it did not necessarily 
experience the same treatment elsewhere. Every nation 
takes the liberty to think, or at least to act, for itself in such 
matters ; and the sweet salute, discarded by John Bull, ap- 
pears to have become a greater favourite on the continent 
than ever. An Englishman of the present day, forgetful of 
England's social history, may feel surprised and scandalized 
on observing the hold which this custom has still upon nearly 
all the nations of Europe; how the passengers of a Russian 
steamer on entering port are stormed with kisses by their 
friends of every grade ; or still worse how the entire congre- 
gation of a parish church in Iceland or in Germany salute 
their pastor, after the service, in the same familiar way. Were 
this last custom confined to such countries as Hungary, where 
the ignorant priests, belonging to the peasant class, only 
undertake the sacred office to eke out a scanty living, it 
would be productive of little mischief; and our principal 
sentiment would be one of pity for the wretched man who 
has weekly to run the gauntlet of all the dirty children 
(especially plentiful in Iceland) and old people of his parish. 
But great reason has society to be thankful that it does not 
generally obtain where the clergy are taken from at least the 
middle classes of the people ; and above all, that it has no 
place in that country where c the cloth,* like the mantle of 
charity, has such a tendency to c cover a multitude of sins/ 
and to transform the ordinary mortal into an angel of light 

In casting off the kiss we did not cast off politeness. As 
one salute declined others grew in importance. The bow 
and the shaking of hands admitted of more diversity of form 
and greater variety of expression. From the former we may* 
discover the education or natural politeness of the individual ; 
from the latter his temperament and sentiments. We have 
sometimes met with men and women in the humblest walks 
of life, without any advantages of education or society, who 
have exhibited a peculiar fineness of feeling and grace 
of speech and manner. They are the favourite children of 
Nature in whom she loves occasionally to shew her power 
apart from all artificial assistance, and it is to such that we 
refer when we speak of purely natural politeness. Were we 
to describe the power of hand-shaking as a test of individual 
VOL. in. E 



232 Salutation. 

character, and to enumerate the varieties of manner which 
correspond to the idiosyncracies of different persons, we 
should only be discussing an exhausted subject In fact 
this correspondence is so obvious that while various writers 
have given the public the benefit of their ideas thereon, it is 
more than probable that every man, without such assistance, 
would sooner or later have appreciated it himself, and the 
attention of the most obtuse have been compelled by the man 
who shook both his hands so violently that they smarted for 
five minutes afterwards, or the other who touched but the 
extremities of his digits, and dropped them again immediately 
as if contaminated by the contact. 

Our own times are happily exempt from various absurdi- 
ties connected with Salutations in which our grandfathers 
rejoiced. Truly they were a politer generation than we ; nor 
would the shade of Fabricius surpass them in indignation 
could they behold their degenerate offspring walking in 
Kensington gardens without white cravats, or entering a 
lady's drawing-room in boots. Still we would purchase even 
at the expense of such degeneracy that common sense which 
abolished the innumerable arts and ceremonies of salutation 
in our places of worship. In this respect the congregations 
of the Church of England contrasted very unfavourably with 
Dissenters, Roman Catholics, and Mahometans ; and to such 
an extent was the custom carried that it proved a most for* 
midable obstacle to those who would otherwise have returned 
to the national communion. Mr. Steele tells us in the 
Spectator, that "a Dissenter of rank and distinction was 
once prevailed upon by a friend of his to come to one of the 
greatest congregations of the Church of England about town. 
After the service was over he declared he was very well 
satisfied with the little ceremony which was used towards 
God Almighty, but at the same time he feared he should not 
be able to go through that required towards one another : 
As to this point he was in despair, and feared he was not 
well-bred enough to be a convert. 9 ' Another of these curious 
absurdities, which in England may be reckoned among the 
relics of the past, was the habit of saluting any person who 
had sneezed in your company. Russia, Germany, Austria, 
Italy and Spain still maintain the ancient custom. Traces of 
it are to be found near home, in Scotland and in Erin's isle, 
and far away in India and in Madagascar. Strada says that in 
Ethiopa when the Emperor sneezed, the gentlemen of his privy 
council saluted him so loudly that the noise was heard with* 
out, and immediately the whole city was in commotion. The 



Salutations. 228 

child's primer, published in Italy in 1 555, and professing to be 
a book "enriched with new and moral maxims adapted to 
form the hearts of children," teaches amongst other duties 
(such as abstaining from scratching his head, putting his 
fingers in his mouth and crossing his legs,) the necessity of 
"bein^ prompt in saluting any one who may sneeze on 
returning thanks to any one, who on such an occasion may 
wish him well." A custom so universal can have sprung 
from no modern origin ; and notwithstanding the popular 
opinion that it arose on the occasion of a violent epidemic 
daring the pontificate of Gregory the Great, the feet that it 
is referred to by Athenaeus, Aristotle, and even Homer, is 
sufficient to prove that it is hidden in the clouds that obscure 
the origin of Hellas. Most of the * worries* of life arise from 
the neglect of its " small, sweet courtesies" ; and this neglect 
itself from ignorance, absence of mind or intentional rudeness. 
The cases which really belong to the last head are propor- 
tionately few ; yet the most enlarged charity cannot shut its 
eyes to the fact that they are occasionally to be met with. 
-While there are some people so anxious to shew the per- 
petual summer of their smiles and the accessibility of their 
friendship that they will bow right and left without caring 
to see whether their favours are returned, will acknowledge 
you from the inside of a coach going at full speed, or from 
the opposite side of a crowded thoroughfare, there are others 
who hold the privilege of their acquaintance so high that they 
would rather affront a dozen individuals than bestow a salu- 
tation upon one whom they deemed unworthy of the honour. 
Although this is the natural and usual characteristic of the 
subjects of flattery, who can practise such arts without any 
immediate danger of the fate of the ' saucy crane,' yet it 
is not unfrequently to be met with in all classes of society. 
In fact, since the days of duelling were ended, it lies within 
the power of all, and little minds can gratify themselves by 
petty insults without risking life or limb, But apart from 
such obnoxious examples there are many difficult cases, 
arising from the complications of society, to be decided by 
the common sense of two individuals. For instance — Mr. 
A. has met Mr. B. at the house of a mutual friend. On 
entering into conversation he has found him to be an agree- 
able, well informed man, and altogether one after his own 
heart. Mr. B. has formed the same judgment of Mr. A. 
They meet a fortnight afterwards ; and each is desirous of 
recognition. Mr. A. however fearing a rebuff is resolved 
that Mr. B shall make the first offer of salutation. Unfortu- 

R2 



924 SahdaUon$. 

nately that gentleman has just made the same resolution ; 
and the consequence is that a desirable acquaintance is lost, 
and each passes on with a strong inclination to apostrophize 
the arrogance of the other. 

The modern bow is we believe with some people a 
favourite subject of ridicule. They describe it as awkward 
and complicated, their strictures being chiefly directed 
against the semi-circular form which they describe the body 
as assuming during the movement. We consider such com- 
plaints to be entirely groundless. We look upon the present 
form of salutation as containing the elements of dignity and 
homage more justly balanced than any other with which we 
are acquainted. 

Eastern prostration is antiquated — unsuitable — humiliating ; 
the kiss we have dismissed as too familiar. We are not an 
armed people, or we might adopt the elegant though some- 
what dangerous Montenegrin salutation ; nor could we take 
a hint from New Zealand as to the rubbing of noses. We 
wanted a salute which should express at once our self-respect 
and our deference to the fair sex, and such an one we believe 
that we possess. 

J. F. B. T. 







AN APRIL SQUALL. 



Breathless is the deep blue sky; 
Voiceless doth the blue sea lie; 
And scarcely can my heart believe 
'Neath such a sky, on such a wave, 
That Heaven can frown and billows rave, 
Or Beauty so divine deceive. 

Softly sail we with the tide; 
Silently our bark doth glide; 
Above our heads no clouds appear: 
Only in the West afar 
A dark spot, like a baneful star, 
Doth herald tempests dark and drear. 

And now the wind is heard to sigh ; 

The waters heave unquietly; 

The Heaven above is darkly scowling : 

Down with the sail ! They come, they come ! 

Loos'd from the depths of their wintry home 

The wild fiends of the storm are howling. 

Hold tight, and tug at the straining oar, 
For the wind is rising more and more: 
Row like a man through the dashing brine! 
Row on! — already the squall is past: 
No more the sky is overcast; 
Again the sun doth brightly shine. 

Oh ! higher far is the well-earn'd bliss 

Of quiet after a storm like this 

Than all the joys of selfish ease : 

'Tis thus I would row o'er the sea of Life, 

Thus force my way through the roar and strife, 

And win repose by toils like these. 

ARCULUS. 



BEMABKS ON PHYSIOGNOMY. 



JT is a matter of regret that Physiognomy aa a means of 
knowledge is so little developed, and has become neither a 
science nor an art of universal and certain application ; for 
by it, in an advanced state, we should be able to recognise 
the minds of others as readily as we now do their faces. At 
present it is with most people little more than an instinct by 
which they are in the practice, consciously or unconsciously, 
of judging at first sight of their companions by their personal 
appearance. Still I think it will be admitted that, to a small 
extent at least, something is really known of the science of 
Physiognomy ; namely, that it is within the powers of a few 
gradually to gain knowledge, in a general way, of implied 
temper and intelligence, by means of careful observation and 
comparison of outward form and expression. And though 
the majority of people cannot go beyond their limited in- 
stincts in this direction, while a minority, however small, 
can ; still it is reasonable that the capacity of the few who 
can so discriminate is of more weight in favour of the science 
than the incapacity of the many is against it. 

Am a fundamental principle, comparative anatomy estab- 
lishes the real characteristic of human form. Thus in the 
face the nearly vertical profile of man, effected by the ex- 
tension of the forehead above and the addition of the chin 
below, is attained by no member of the brute creation ; and 
therefore however beautiful, according to other ideas of 
beauty, the rest of the features be, if there be not a suffi- 
ciency of frontal elevation and advancement of chin, we 
must maintain that in this case beauty has declined to be 
fairly present. 

The science of anatomy, in explaining the uses and con- 
nexions of the several parts of the body, is best fitted to 
explain the reasons for the laws of Physiognomy ; but in 
many instances we must be content to proceed without such 
assistance, if only the laws themselves are otherwise estab- 



Remarks on Physiognomy. 227 

lished as generally true. A main object then is to collect 
and classify all the various forms of features in great numbers 
of instances, coupled with the known characters and condi- 
tions of the persons to whom they belonged, and from the 
comparison of the whole to derive general laws, stating how 
different conformations are usually symbolic of their appro- 
priate qualities. 

Of all parts of the body, the forehead has been considered 
the most important as manifesting mental power. It is 
essential that it should be sufficiently large, but not neces- 
sarily very high ; indeed the ancients always preferred a low 
forehead with the hair growing down very low, and some- 
times they even reduced by art the visible part of it, when 
nature in their opinion shewed too much face above the eyes. 
The wide forehead, well projecting in front over the eyes, 
and increasing at the temples, belongs to the best pattern of 
general shape, and exhibits capacity for conceiving a large 
stock of ideas and great analytical power. Very much de- 
pends on the elevations and prominences on the surface of 
the forehead, and especially on the enlarged bumps which 
lie just over the eyebrows, and which ought to be gently or 
plainly marked. The reason usually assigned for this is, 
that the brain ought to be as large as possible, and that the 
shape of the brain be, speaking roughly, a hemisphere rest- 
ing on a horizontal base, this being the form of the solid 
which contains the greatest bulk for its extent of surface ; 
for it has been supposed that mental activity is proportional 
to the magnitude and compactness of the brain. Probably 
all this is .true, but of course it will be remembered, that 
these frontal eminences do not mark the boundary of the 
brain in front, for between the outer table of the frontal bone 
and its inner table which is the wall of the brain, there lie 
cavities which are larger or smaller according as these 
eminences of the outer table are larger or smaller ; so that 
the cavities, which are called the frontal sinuses, do not 
determine the size of the brain. They contribute to effect 
the resonance of the voice, and to give attachment on their 
outer surfaces to some muscles, which aid in distinguishing 
man by those expressions of thought and sentiment which 
are peculiar to him. These sinuses are large in the elephant, 
and extend enormously in that animal over the top of his 
skull, giving him a fine and intelligent look, but at the same 
time detracting very much from the size of his brain. Some 
foreheads have their undulated surfaces elevated chiefly in 
the middle line, and therefore their contours are most easily 



228 Remarks on Physiognomy. 

discernible in the profile; they are signs of a clear and 
sound understanding. Those foreheads which are quite 
smooth and present one uniform arch from the eyes to the 
hair, without any knotty protuberances or disturbed wrinkles, 
belong to vacant child-like and empty-headed simpletons 
who cannot become better than stupid and inoffensive mem- 
bers of society. On the other hand, the more the human 
skull possesses the features of the brute in angular abrupt- 
ness of surface, the more does it symbolize degradation of 
mind. The same may be said of thick and bony skulls, for 
they fall far below the economical principle, which prevails 
so markedly in man, of fineness and lightness in all regions 
where strength and solidity are dispensable. Most large 
foreheads are favourable symbols, for with them are found 
associated large minds capable of comprehending a large 
compass of ideas and retaining them firmly in the memory ; 
but next to insignificant and retreating foreheads, none are 
worse than those large and shapeless inane foreheads, which 
are plain proofs of stupidity. 

Wrinkles on the forehead should be regular and not too 
deep; those which are oblique and parallel or circularly 
arched, do not augur well ; often they are merely the gri- 
maces of idleness, want of thought, and waste of time. 

As well as the forehead, the mid-head or parietal portion 
of the head, and the hind-head or occipital portion have 
their peculiar indications; it is enough briefly to mention 
that in the middle of the head the feelings are supposed to 
reside, and the will in the back of the head. 

The chin also is a principal characteristic of man, and so 
its development is essential to beauty; it generally occurs 
together with a large and prominent forehead, and balances 
it in the face. The bone which corresponds to the chin in 
the lower animals, is commonly much longer from back to 
front in proportion to its lateral breadth than in man, while at 
the same time it retreats backwards under the mouth. 

The eye is said to be the feature which is least compli* 
xnentary to man, for the human eye does not surpass in soft- 
ness, delicacy, and brilliancy that of many brutes ; the eye is 
the strong point in the face of the lower animals, indeed the 
chief privilege which man has reserved to himself is the 
squint. The eye is not on this account less suitable to dis- 
tinguish and mark the beauty of one man as compared with 
that of another; we know the remarkable distinction of a 
.fine and expressive eye, and in estimating the temporary 
feelings and temper, we regard it more than any other feature 



Remarks on Physiognomy. 229 

of the face ; it is not only the light of the countenance, it is 
also the interpretable index of the whole man's self as for the 
present time constituted, and reveals his inmost feelings ; it 
seems to inform us of his animal nature and condition, as 
well as in a less degree of his intellectual qualities ; in short, 
the eye is the expressed summit of animal beauty. One 
condition for the human excellence of the eyes is, that the 
distance between them must be neither much more nor much 
less than an inch ; deviation from this limit on either side par- 
takes of the brutal type ; for instance, in the one case it looks 
like the monkey, in the other like the dog. A similar re- 
mark applies to the comparative size of the ball of the eye, 
which in man holds a middle place between those of brutes. 
Grey, greenish, hazel, black or very dark blue eyes, indicate 
severally hardiness and activity of mind, ardour and subtilty; 
a vigorous and profound mind, vivacity and strength of ex- 
pression ; while on the contrary, light blue eyes are feminine, 
and in a man suggest feebleness and inactivity of mind ; 
however I have met with such eyes in clever and powerful 
men, but then always associated with other and better features 
and a well-formed head ; still lightness of colour in the eye 
is of itself an unfavourable sign. Brilliancy of eye is generally 
preferred to dullness, because it indicates a lively mind and 
temper ; brightness combined with quickness of motion and 
restlessness is a conclusive mark of nervousness. Dull and 
calm eyes are sometimes found in able and far-seeing persons ; 
the present Emperor Napoleon is an instance of this. 

The eyelids ought to cover about half of the pupil when 
open, and to be pretty thick and furnished with well-marked 
lashes ; they should be also either horizontal in their conti- 
guous edges, or slightly inclined downwards in the direction 
of the nose, and the opening should be long and narrow. 

The eyebrows, corresponding to the lids, should be well 
defined and closely cover the eyes, not wandering upwards' 
high on the forehead, but lying low on the projecting eye- 
bones ; faintly marked brows mean the same as light-coloured 
eyes, and unless accompanied by a good frontal development 
are very unsatisfactory. 

The nose is an important index to character; it shews 
the capacity of mind, the degree of mental refinement, and 
the measure of sensibility and education : accordingly it is a 
feature which takes a long time in finishing its growth, 
and leaves us during this time in doubt about its final shape ; 
so that it seems to change its mind very much, and very' 
often surprises us with its varied resolves and ultimate form.' 



280 Remarks on Physiognomy. 

A beautiful nose ia a very rare gift, and, in those faces 
which it adorns, it is sufficient to make its owner a promising 
candidate for graduation in good looks. The bridge of the 
nose ought to be strong, to stand out well, and to be con- 
siderable in breadth, for on it the forehead seems to rest: 
the fleshy part of the nose too should be a fitting continua- 
tion of such a bridge, and maintain a straight outline, or 
continue the convex bend of the nasal bones, so as to make 
up the whole length of the nose equal to one-third of that of 
the face. Napoleon the Great is said to have selected his 
generals by the length and size of their noses. The ridge 
must likewise be broad if it denotes a powerful and ana- 
lytical mind: this opposes the common opinion on this 
subject, namely, that die ridge of the nose is best when 
sharp and thin. Sharpness is quite consistent with a fine 
and delicate mind, with purity of taste, and with moral 
excellence; but, judging from experience of mental power, 
we must prefer, tor manly beauty, breadth and strength in 
the ridge of the nose. 

The Grecian or straight nose indicates refinement of 
character, love of literature and the fine arts, and ability; 
and, being essentially the feminine nose, it may denote pre- 
ference for indirect rather than direct action. It is regarded 
by artists as portraying the finest beauty and elegance, but 
not the highest intellect nor the deepest thoughtfulness. If 
beauty, as it has been defined, is the medium or centre of 
the various forms of the individual; and if every species 
of animal has a fixed and determinate form, towards which 
nature is continually inclining, like various lines terminat- 
ing in a centre, or like pendulums vibrating in different 
directions over one central point; then it will follow that 
the straight line for the ridge of the nose is more- beautiful 
than that which is concave or convex, because that is the 
central form. 

The Roman nose is bent downwards and rather roughly 
undulating in its outline. It indicates energy and persever- 
ance, and is consistent with absence of refinement. 

Those noses which are wide nostrilled, broad, and gradu- 
ally enlarged from the bridge to the tip are called * cogitative 9 
noses, for they symbolize a cogitative mind, having strong 
powers of thought and indulging in deep reflection. Such 
noses are defined by their form as seen in front, and not 
at all by their contour in profile; they may consequently 
occur combined with the Grecian or Roman types, or with any 
other. The depth of thought is represented by the breadth. 



Remarks on Physiognomy. 231 

Lastly, the nose is called 'celestial 9 when it is turned 
up in a bend from the bridge to the end: this nose is 
certainly not beautiful and often looks insolent and disagree- 
able ; when small the nose becomes the ' snub/ which then 
betrays feebleness and sometimes meanness of character. 

In general a large nose is decidedly preferable to a small 
one; but when it is the exclusively conspicuous part of the face 
and seems to have deprived the forehead of its fair share 
of growth, the harmony of the features is broken and the 
result is ugly. 

The mouth differs in man from that of the lower animals 
in its construction, forasmuch as its masticatory arrangements 
are not so strong, and because it is not much used as a 
prehensile member : thus the teeth are smaller and not so 
prominent ; the canine teeth are especially much less, and 
as the length of the mouth's opening depends on the size 
of these teeth, a moderately small mouth and short lips are 
with reason marks of human intelligence. The Uds ought 
to lie together closely and easily so as not to shew the 
teeth: they should not be very thin nor tightly drawn 
together, but harmonize with the broad-ridged nose, the 
goodlv eyelids, and the well-defined eyebrows. 

After taking the features separately, they should be taken 
together, and in the comparison, harmony and agreement 
are more conducive to beauty than the distinct excellence 
of the several parts. 

Among the symbols of character and temper, we must 
not omit the hair, which by its varied qualities of colour, 
length, thickness, and texture, corresponds to many combi- 
nations of vigour, faculties, and temperament. 

Prejudice and taste very much interfere with the attain- 
ment of general and scientific rules of physiognomy re- 
specting the interpretation of the various symbols manifested 
by the hair : that these prejudices and prevailing tastes are 
not founded on sound principles, appears at once from the 
fact that they continue to alter without any particular reason, 
and remain constant only for a short time till the absurdity 
of the fashion is unavoidably exhibited. Indeed taste re- 
garding the colour and quality of the hair is as arbitrary, 
as that regarding its arrangement and dress. For instance, 
red hair, after its term of favour in ancient times, is now 
considered, in this country at least, as not to be mentioned, 
in any one who lays claim to good looks. Men of powerful 
and penetrating minds usually have brown and rather coarse 
hair, and very light and fine hair commonly attends persons 



232 Remarks on Physiognomy. 

of a less vigorous nature and of a feeble constitution. The 
common rule of moderation appears to hold both in the 
thickness and colour of the hair as well as in most things. 

Careful observers state that the hair of men is on the 
average rather finer than that of women, in opposition to 
the prevalent idea on this subject: when, however, we 
consider the great length to which ladies' hair naturally 
grows, it is not surprising that its thickness should be 
partly proportionate. Black hair is the coarsest, red is not 
■o coarse, yellow is finer, and light hair is the finest : the 
separate hairs of all kinds vary from one two hundred and 
fiftieth to one seven hundredth of an inch in diameter. 
Ladies have a great advantage over men in their power of 
making their beads tell, in a phrenological sense, pretty 
well what they please, by the arrangement and disposition 
of their plentiful supply of hair. 

But the countenance is not so much dependent on the 
shape and comparative size of the bones, and on the colour 
of the hair and complexion, as on the position and action 
of the muscles of the face ; for the latter mainly define the 
expression. Now the principal muscles of the face which 
are peculiar to man are the three following: — first, that 
placed on the forehead just over the eyes, whose office is to 
knit the brows, this is the muscle of frowning and of deep 
thought: secondly, that descending over the forehead and 
terminating partly in the skin of the brow and partly in 
the orbicular muscle of the eyelid which closes the eye; 
it opposes the action of the orbicular muscle, elevates the 
brows, and occasions those transverse wrinkles which appear 
in the expression of surprise : thirdly, that arising from the 
oblique line of the lower jaw, having its insertion in the 
angle of the mouth, and intermingling with the other 
muscles in this neighbourhood; it is an important muscle 
expressing the sorrowful emotions, and, in conjunction with 
other muscles, it produces the sentiments of contempt, 
hatred, and jealousy. 

A beautiful face then possesses in their perfection all 
these muscles, and in proportion as they are less capable 
of being well exhibited we consider the face to approximate 
to the brutal type. The smile is also peculiar to man, and 
we at once notice its pleasing action and humanity; it is 
effected by raising the cheek, drawing down the eyebrows 
and arching their outer halves, opening the mouth, and 
dilating the nostrils. 
* Much more might be said, but I conclude these brief 



Remarks on Physiognomy. . 23d 

remarks, and only add the following passage on this subject 
from Sir Charles Bell :— 

"Attending merely to the evidence furnished by ana- 
tomical investigation, all that I shall venture to affirm is 
this, that a remarkable difference is to be found between 
the anatomy and range of expression in man and in animals. 
That in the former, there seems to be a systematic provision 
for that mode of communication and that natural language, 
which is to be read in the changes of the countenance; 
that there are even muscles in the human face, to which 
no other use can be assigned, than to serve as the organs 
of this language : that on the other hand there is in the 
lower animals no range of expression which is not fairly 
referable as a mere accessory to the voluntary or needful 
actions of the animal; and that this accessory expression 
does not appear to be in any degree commensurate to the 
variety and extent of the animal's passions.' 9 

W.P. 







"PHYLUM AMO ANTE ALIAS.' 



It is not that she's fair in face, 

As many maidens be; 
But oh! she hath a hidden grace, 

That makes her dear to me! 

It is not that her eye is blue, 

More blue than is the sky: 
That with her cheek's transparent hue 

No budding rose can vie. 

Ah no! 'tis something more than this 

That makes my Phyllis dear; 
That makes me feel o'erwhelmed with bliss, 

Whene'er she draweth near. 

My Phyllis, would'st thou know the spell 

That charms thy lover true? 
It is — that thou canst cook full well 

A real Irish stew! 

MENALCAS. 



SLAVES VEBSUS HANDS. 



^£HE object of this essay is to draw a comparison between 
slavery and hired labour in the essential features of each. 
The reader will easily see for himself how the train of 
thought here pursued, was suggested by present circum- 
stances in England and America ; there is no need therefore 
for any prefatory observations on this score, but a few intro- 
ductory remarks may be necessary to explain what is intended 
by the essential features of the case. Every Englishman will 
look upon Slavery as a bad thing, but should at the same 
time admit that there are in it various degrees of badness. 
With these various degrees I have in the first instance 
nothing to do. The essential evil of slavery is that, and that 
only, which adheres to it in all possible circumstances, \md 
under all possible modifications ; but in estimating this evil, 
all the possible ills of slavery must be considered, in so far as 
slavery has a tendency to produce them. Further, in estima- 
ting this tendency, we must consider not only the nature of 
slavery, but also human nature. For example, there is 
nothing in the nature of slavery to induce the ill treatment 
of slaves. On the contrary it might be said that, as a man is 
generally more careful of his own property than of other 
people's, slavery would afford a direct inducement to treat 
slaves well. But then we are to take into consideration the 
weakness of human nature, in which we find a natural ten- 
dency to the abuse of power. On this account, the ill-treat- 
ment of slaves is often very justly urged as an argument 
against slavery, not because there is any particular reason in 
the relation itself of master to slave why the slave should be 
ill-treated, but because any kind of absolute power is liable 
to abuse, and therefore to be avoided unless there is some 
particular reason in its favour. But if we thus judge of 
slavery, our opinion of the hiring system ought to be meted 
with the same measure. It is not fair ' to discredit slavery 
with all the evils that flow from it, if we excuse our ownr 



236 Slaves versus Hands. 

plan of hiring labour by saying that the evils observed in 
its working do not belong to the system. It has been said 
for instance, that masters display a culpable indifference to 
the interest of their hired labourers ; that they come at last 
to look upon them only as hands, not as fellow men ; in the 
emphatic language of Carlyle, that they get to look upon 
cash payment as the only nexus between man and man. If 
this be true, it is just as much an objection to hired labour 
as stories of cruelty are to slavery. Merely to say that the 
evil complained of does not belong to the system is of no 
avail in either case; what is required to justify the system, is 
to show that these evils do not belong to it, by separating 
them from it 

After these explanations, I hope that the reader will be leni- 
ent, if the following comparison should prove more favourable 
to slavery than he expected. It is not that I have not as strong 
a sense as he can have of the evils of slavery, but that I think 
I see also not a few evils in the hiring system. A few more 
words of explanation may be necessary on this point. Seeing 
hired labourers contrasted with slaves, some might suppose 
that by hired labourers was intended, those who receive some 
remuneration for their work, in contradistinction to slaves 
who are obliged to work without payment. Such, however, 
is n6t my meaning. In the first place, I could not admit, 
that slaves do not receive some remuneration for their labour, 
and secondly, were this admitted, the characteristic of a 
hired labourer is not in his being paid for his labour, but in 
the particular way in which the payment is in his case regu- 
lated. No one for example would call doctors or clergymen 
hired labourers, though both receive payment for their labour. 
The peculiar characteristics of a hired labourer will be best 
developed in the course of the proposed comparison, to 
which I at once proceed. 

The fundamental distinction between a slave and a hired 
labourer, is commonly expressed by saying, that the slave is 
the property of his master, while the hired labourer is not so. 
If we were to enquire further what is meant by property, the 
answer that we should be most likely to receive is, that a 
man's property is that which is his own, to do what he likes 
with. It might be interesting at some other time to enter 
fully into the question, whether anything is property in this 
most extensive sense of the term. A few hints on the sub- 
ject will suffice for the present purpose. Probably all pro- 
perty has some moral obligation attached to it, so that no 
one has a complete right to do what he will with, his own. 



Slaves versus Hands. 237 

Further, some obligations are attached to property by law, 
so that in some cases a man has not in any sense a right to do 
whatever he pleases with his own, seeing that there are some 
things which he is expressly forbidden to do with it. Lastly, 
intermediate between these two is the restraint of popular 
opinion, which, so far as it is efficacious, may practically 
be said to deprive a man of the right of doing what it forbids. 
But while a man's right over his own property may thus in 
various ways be curtailed, it is evident that he may also possess 
rights over what is not his property. The most obvious case 
is that of letting and hiring. If I have hired a house, I have 
certain rights over it, just as if it were my own private pro- 
perty. The landlord, it is true, may and probably will, in- 
troduce some conditions into his lease, which will limit 
my rights over the house, and make them less than if it 
were my own. But he is not obliged to do so. He may 
give me a lease without any stipulations in it, and then, 
as long as the lease lasts, I shall have just as much power 
over the house as if it were my own. On the other hand 
it is quite possible that all the stipulations of an ordinary 
lease might be converted into laws binding on owners of 
houses. A man for instance might be bound by law to 
keep his house in repair, and to ask leave of some one if 
he wished to make any alteration in it, and so on. Indeed 
this last was very nearly the case in London a few years 
ago, under some local building act. In this case a man 
would have no more right over his own house than over 
a hired house. Thus we see that the real difference between 
owning a thing and having hired it, is that the rights 
possessed over the thing last in the first case for an un- 
limited, in the second for a limited period : and, further, 
that the rights possessed over a hired thing have a natural 
tendency to be less or fewer than those possessed by the 
owner of property. 

Let us see how these considerations can be applied to 
the case of slavery and hired labour. First, whatever may 
be thought of the more general question, it is certain that 
the rights of a master over a slave are not unlimited. He 
has no* right at any rate to kill his slave. In fact, his right 
may be limited to a considerable extent without the con- 
nection ceasing to be slavery. When the master loses the 
right to sell his labourers away from the land, we cease to 
speak of slavery and call it by the milder name of serfdom ; 
but there is no radical distinction between the cases. The 
power of the master may diminish gradually, from an almost 
vol. in. a 



238 Slaves versus Hands. 

absolute power, down to nothing : we arbitrarily take one point 
in the scale to mark the division between slavery and serfdom, 
which are thus seen to differ in name and degree only, not 
in essence. Further, as the rights of a master over his 
slaves are limited, so he is bound also, by law or effective 
public opinion, to give his slave some remuneration for 
his labours. He must at least give him food and clothing, 
fire and shelter. He might be compelled, by law or public 
opinion, to give much more than this. 

In the second place, let us consider the case of the 
hired labourer. The master, whether he hire for a day or 
a month or a year or longer, obtains for that time certain 
rights over the labourer, and binds himself in return to 

S've a certain remuneration. The rights which the master 
us obtains are usually much less than those which the 
slave owner has over his slave, but they are not necessarily 
so. It is easy to imagine a mild form of slavery which 
would reserve more right to the slave, than a freeman might 
be able to retain in hiring himself out to service. 

Thus far we have traced three essential distinctions 
between slavery and the hired labour system. The slave 
owner possesses certain rights and incurs corresponding obli- 
gations in perpetuity ; the rights are probably greater and the 
obligations less than in the case of free labour ; and, lastly, 
the labourer has no share in settling what these rights and 
obligations shall be. On the other hand, the hirer of 
labour possesses certain rights and incurs corresponding 
obligations for a limited time only ; the rights are probably 
less and the obligations greater than in the case of free 
labour ; and, lastly, the labourer has some share in settling 
what those rights and the corresponding obligations shall be. 

In applying these distinctions to form an estimate of the 
comparative advantages of slavery and hired labour, two 
further points must be taken into consideration; namely, 
first, what is likely to happen on the expiration of a contract 
of hiring ; and, secondly, how much share practically has 
the labourer in settling the rate of his own wages and the 
extent of his own obligations. 

Now the rate of wages is adjusted by competition, and 
is ultimately regulated by the extent of the population. 
I have no time here to enter into any demonstration of these 
points, they are received doctrines of Political Economy ^ 
and I assume them as such, and immediately proceed to 
the application. On the expiration of a contract of hiring, 
if things remain in the state in which they were at its 



Slates versus Hands. 239 

commencement, the contract may be renewed in its original 
terms. But if this is not so, the master may be more or 
he may be less willing to hire than he was before. If he 
is quite unwilling, the labourer will remain unemployed; 
otherwise the effect will be, an alteration in his wages. 
Now the rate of wages depends ultimately on population, 
so that if the labourer wishes to influence it in his own 
favour, his only possible means of doing so is by acting on 
the population. That is to say, if the labouring population 
would marry late and have small families, they would 
ultimately increase the rate of wages, but this is the only 
possible way in which they could do so. 

Thus it appears, of the three advantages that the hired 
labourer apparently possesses over the slave, the first, that 
his servitude is only temporary, is clogged with the heavy 
disadvantage that he is liable without any fault of his own 
to be left without work and therefore without wages : while 
the third, that he can partly regulate the amount of his 
own wages, is in any but the most advanced state of 
society rendered completely inoperative by the ignorance 
and want of self-restraint of the working classes. The 
second advantage of the free labourer, that derived from 
the comparative tendency of slavery and hiring, I do not 
intend to touch upon at present, further than to remark 
that this is just the point in which both slavery and the 
hiring system are capable of regulation from without. 

The conclusion I would now draw is that a system of 
slavery might possibly be devised that would not be in- 
tolerable in comparison with the hiring system. This 
conclusion obviously points the way to further enquiries, 
which it may perhaps be my task to pursue at some 
future time. 

A K. C. 





OUB CHRONICLE. 
Michaelmas Term 1862. 



"§OME Poets plunge at once in media* res": let the 
Johnian Chronicler be allowed to do the same; and 
let us without further preface proceed to record such facts 
as we have to note. 

At an election for members of the Council of the Senate 
this Term the Rev. the Master was elected as a Head, 
Professor Liveing as a Professor, and the Key. A. V. Hadley 
as an ordinary member. 

Mr. F. C. Wace, M.A. has been appointed Junior 
Moderator for the ensuing Mathematical Tripos. 

The Bev. E. A. Abbott, B.A. has been appointed Com- 
position Master at Birmingham Grammar School. Mr. 
H. J. Sharpe, B.A. has accepted temporarily the post 
of Professor of Mathematics at Belfast in the place of 
Professor Slesser, who has been incapacitated from discharging 
his duties through illness. 

The following gentlemen have vacated Fellowships since 
the appearance of our last number : 

The Rev. W. C. Sharpe, B.D. 

Mr. E. Headlam, M.A. 

The Rev. J. Rigg, B.D. 

Mr. W. C. Evans, M.A. 

The Rev. H. G. Day, M.A. 

Mr. R. B. Clifton, M.A. 



We give the List of Honours in the Moral Science 
Tripos which appeared on Monday last. 

It contains the names of none but Johnians : of whom 
we may congratulate two on obtaining a First Class. 

FIRST CLASS SECOND CLASS THIRD CLA8S 

Austen I Devey I 

Cherrill | Guinness, F. W. | 8 



Our Chronicle. 



241 



The following lists contain the names of those gentlemen 
who obtained a First Class in the June Examination ; 



THIRD YEAR 



Hockin 
Snowdon 
Rudd 
Warmington 

Ewbank 
Stuckey 
Baron 



Marshall 

Beebee 

Wood, A. 

Russell 

Robson 

Levett 

Blanch 

Isherwood 

Cope 

Roach 

Huntly 

Watson 

Kempthorne 

Burgess 

Clarke 

Cust 

Sanders 

Masefield 



FIRST YEAR 



Stevens 
Cotterill 
Pooley 
Rounthwaite 



SECOND YEAR 



Small peice 

Archbold 

Moss 



Wilson, K. 

Yeld 

Griffiths 

Waterfield 

Vawdrey 

Coutts ] 

Shackleton > 

Wiseman J 

Peachell 

Baynes \ 

Gurney f 

Mills 

Barlow 

Keeling 

Hawkins 

Smith, H. P. 

Whalley 

Meyricke 



} 



English Essay Prizes 

Third Year — Austen 
Second Year — Pearson 
First Year — Burgess 

Prizes for Greek Testament and Ecclesiastical History : 
1 Rudd | 2 Austen | 3 Snowdon 

Beading Prizes : 

Lee Warner | Ebsworth 

A prize for Hebrew was adjudged to O. Fynes-Clinton. 



842 



Our Chronicle. 



On the 13th of June the folio wing gentlemen were elected 
Foundation Scholars : 

Baron, E. 
Moss 



Warmington 

Fooley 

Budd 

Snowdon , 

Cotterill 

Stevens 

Lee Warner 



Ewbank 
Smallpeice 
Marshall 
Beebee 



The Naden Divinity Studentship was awarded to C. E. 
Graves. 

The Wood and Hare Exhibitions were given as follows : 

£40 each 



Hockin 






Carey 


Rounthwaite 






Hickman 


Austen 






Stuckey 


Falkner 






Terry 




£30 each 




Snowdon 






Russell 


Budd 






Bobson 


Moss 






Levett 


Archbold 






Blanch 


Wood, A. 






Isherwood 




£20 each 




Lee 






Creeser 


Brown, J. C. 

Pearson 






Beece 
Newton 


Robinson 









£18. 1*. ed. to Tinling. 

Mr. H. S. Beadon has passed the first examination for 
the Indian Civil Service : and Messrs. A. LLClay, A. Yardley, 
F. W. J. Bees, and J. W. Best, the final examination. 



The officers of the Lady Margaret Boat Club for this 
term are: 

E. W. Bowling, President 
C. C. Scholefield, Treasurer 
B. C. Farmer, Secretary 
E. A. Alderson, First Captain 
S. W. Cope, Second Captain 
W. W. Hawkins, Third Captain 
E. K. Clay, Fourth Captain 



Our Chronicle. 243 

The Kst of University Boat-races during the term will 
be found on an adjoining page : the following was the crew 
sent in for the Fours by the L.M.B.C. : 

1 M. H. L, Beebee 

2 E. A. Alderson 

3 C. H. La Mothe 

T. E. Cremer (Stroke) 
R. C. Farmer (Cox.) 

Mr. C. C. Scholefield, the winner of the Lady Margaret 
Challenge Cup, represented the College in the contest for 
the Colquhoun Sculls. 



The Lady Margaret Scratch Fours were rowed on Satur- 
day November 15. 

Ten boats were entered : after seven bumping races the 
time race was rowed between the following crews : 



1 R. B. Masefield 
2.A. D. Clarke 
3 E. A. Alderson 
A. Cust (Stroke) 
R. Levett (Cox.) 



1 F. Young 

2 J. Alexander 

3 C. H. La Mothe 

C. C. Scholefield (Stroke) 
W. J. Stobart (Cox.) 



Mr. Levett's boat won by about a second. 



The Lady Margaret Trial Eights came off on Wednesday 
and Thursday November 26 and 27 ; there being four boats 
in. The following was the successful crew : 



1 S. B. Barlow 

2 A. Marshall 

3 H. Rowsell 

4 W. Dunn 

R. H. Docl 



5 M. H. Marsden 

6 H. Watney 

7 C. Yeld 
A. Langdon (Stroke) 

tray (Cox.) 



The University Scratch Fours commenced on Monday 
December 1. Thirty-eight boats were entered. The time race 
was rowed December 5 ; Messrs. M. H. L. Beebee and J. 
Alexander of the L.M.B.C. being in the winning crew. 



The officers of No. 2 (St. John's) Company of the Cam- 
bridge University Volunteers are : Captain, W. D. Bushell ; 
Lieutenant, W. H. Besant; Ensign, W. Marsden; Ensign 



244 Our Chronicle. 

J. B. Davies having resigned his commission on leaving 

Cambridge. 

. On Monday November 17th, a Match took place between 

No. 1 (University) Company and No. 2 ; seven men on either 

side ; in which our Company proved victorious by 1 1 marks 

(hits and points): the scores being respectively 228 and 217. 

The Officers have this Term subscribed for a Challenge 
Cup to be shot for weekly by members of the Company ; if 
won three times to become the property of the winner. Won 
for the first time by Captain Bushell. 

The Johnian Challenge Cup was shot for on Thursday- 
November 27. The victor was Captain Bushell, who made 
27 points. Ensign Marsden and Sergeant Clare scored 
26 and 25 points respectively. 

We regret to say that the work of recruiting has not 
hitherto proceeded so briskly among the freshmen of this 
College as might have been hoped; indeed we fear that 
without a speedy accession of strength the Johnian Company 
will scarcely be able to maintain its well-earned reputation. 

The final contest for the Prince of Wales* Cup took 
place on Thursday December 4. It was again carried off 
by Lieut. E. C. R. Boss of the 6th Company. 

The match for Chaplain Emery's Cup was concluded 
yesterday (Dec. 9.) Ensign J, Grant-Peterkin of the 1st 
Company was the winner with 52 marks (hits and points): 
Lieut-Colonel Baker and Captain Bushell scoring 50 marks 
each. 



The Newbery Challenge Racquet Cup was won easily on 
Thursday December 4th, by Mr. E. W. Bowling, who played 
the concluding match with Mr. A. Smallpeice. 



A subscription has been opened in the College to aid in 
the relief of the distress at present prevailing in the Cotton 
Districts. The amount already received, not reckoning 
several subscriptions promised, exceeds £300, of which more 
than £6 has been contributed by the College Servants. 



LIST OF BOAT RACES. 

Michaelmas Term 1862. 
Thb Four-Oars — November 10. 



1 1st Trinity 

2 Trinity Hall 

3 Cains 

4 Lady Margaret 



} 



5 3rd Trinity 

6 Sidney 

7 2nd Trinity) 

8 Emmanuel ) 



1 Emmanuel 

2 Trinity Hall> 

3 3rd Trinity j 



November 11. 

4 Sidney 



5 1st Trinity j 

6 Lady Margaret 

November 12. 

13 Lady MargareO 
4 1st Trinity J 

November 13 — Time Rage. 

1 1st Trinity I 3 Emmanuel 

2 2nd Trinity | 

Won by 3rd Trinity by about five seconds. 



1 3rd Trinity 

2 Emmanuel 



The Colquhoun Sculls — November 17. 



1 Lawes, 3rd Trinity 

2 Edgell, Queens' 

3 Yearsley, 1st Trinity") 

4 Bolden, Christ's j 



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November 18. 

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November 19. 

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LETTERS FBOM THE EAST. 

II. MONGHYR. 



Lower Bengal, Oct, Zrd, 1862. 

WE are now celebrating the Doorga Poojah festival, a season 
when the British Government proclaims a general ten-days' 
respite from the fatigues of office, that its pagan subjects may 
be at leisure to worship, burn, and drown their idols. A 
very satisfactory arrangement, so far as the holiday is con- 
cerned; though I can't quite see why a Christian Govern* 
ment should consider itself bound to conform to heathen 
fancies, and grant holidays at the unhealthiest season of the 
year. A month or two later we should be able to enjoy the 
livelong day with our guns in the jungle — now we are 
compelled to pass melting moments under the punkah, with 
the thermometer at 92° in the shade, listening to the inhaj> 
monious beat of the tom-tom, as it is wafted on the breeze 
from the thronged Ghaut, where our truant servants ar# 
holding their " tamasha." However as there's no Cutcherry 
to-day, we have an opportunity of looking back on the 
friends and associations of former days— and not least among 
them the venerable Courts of our beloved College. Often 
and often do we yearn towards her, as we revisit the scenes, 
where her great Apostle Martyn lived and laboured. Would 
she sent forth a noble army to follow in his footsteps, hush 
these tom-toms, and abolish the degrading worship of Doorga. 
But my intention is not to write a sermon, any more than 
another long-winded dissertation on the capabilities of India 
for supplying cotton. That subject has been handled enough, 
and it is but of little importance to Cambridge. Just at 
this moment however, when the people of England for 
several reasons are taking more interest than usual in their 
one hundred and eighty millions of fellow subjects out here, 
it may not be altogether amiss to say a few words about one 
of the favourite stations of Bengal. 

Monghyr is a place of great antiquity, though compara- 
tively little is known of its history. Buchanan states that 

VOL. III. T 



246 Letters /ram the East. — II. Monghyr. 

the ancient name was Magdalpoor, and that the fort was 
erected by Husain, the greatest of the kings of Bengal. We 
know that it was strengthened and fortified about a.d. 1660, 
by Shuj&j second son of Shahjehin, in the struggle for empire 
with his younger brother Aurungzebe. Shahjeh&n is nowa- 
days chiefly memorable as connected with the peacock-throne 
and the Taj Mahal at Agra, of which you have a magni- 
ficent model in the Fitzwilliam Museum. Shuj& was 
entrusted with the government of Bengal, and appears to 
have resided at Monghyr, where, besides several mosques, 
he built a splendid palace on the site of the present gaol. 

In later times Monghyr was made the arsenal of Mir 
Cossim Ali, when preparing to free himself from his connec- 
tion with tilie English. It was probably from this circum- 
stance that the town became noted for the fabrication of 
hardware and fire-arms. 

But these scenes of war and bloodshed have long since 
passed away. The fort lies dismantled and in ruins. The 
only sentries are the Police which guard the Treasury and 
Gaol. The very hardware made now-a-days is of an execra- 
ble quality. It has always been a favourite civil station. 
The picturesque beauty of the Fort, with its crumbling 
battlements ; the loveliness and fertility of the surrounding 
scenery ; the neighbourhood of the Jumalpore hills, and the 
salubrity of the climate, have always had special charms for 
the European. Yet even in this respect its palmy days are 
over : the extension of our Empire and the increased facilities 
of transit have brought new scenes to view which have 
eclipsed the fair fame of Monghyr. Dismantled as a military 
station, the scarlet coats of our brave no longer dazzle the 
eyes of our fellow-countrymen, the strains of martial music 
no longer enchant their ears. Abandoned as an invalid 
depdt, society droops and, covering her face with her wings, 
mourns the loss of the fair daughters of her ancient families. 
Add to this, that Government is seriously meditating the 
removal of the Civil Station to the opposite side of the river, 
and then say — doth not its history deserve to be recorded, 
ere its ruin is complete ? Monghyr is situate on the western 
side of a promontory of land, from six to eight miles in 
length and three or four in width, intercepting the course 
of the Ganges. On three sides therefore it is surrounded by 
a vast expanse of water at greater or less distance, and this 
may account in some measure for its salubrity. The river, 
as may be supposed from its erratic propensity above der 
scribed, abounds in " churs" in this neighbourhood. An 



Letters from the East — II. Monghyr. 247 

English reader will have difficulty in comprehending my 
meaning in its full extent, his ordinary experience being con- 
fined to rivers, which present pretty much the same aspect 
all the year round — and in comparatively few instances ever 
rising more than two or three feet. The law of alluvion, I 
should imagine, very rarely enters into the practice of an 
English lawyer — in this country it is a subject of every-day 
cognizance. The reader consequently will hardly under- 
stand what " cnur" lands are ; there are several descriptions ; 
as land separated from the main land by the river ; or allu- 
vial deposit added thereto ; islands thrown up in the middle 
of the channel ; or swamps dry at certain times. This class 
of land, though generally inundated during the rainy season, 
is culturable in the cold Weather, and frequently produces 
very rich crops. An Englishman too, unaccustomed to see 
such large rivers as are met with here, is no little astonished 
at first at the changes a river will suddenly make in ite 
course. This is always the case in a country where the 
rivers present a different appearance at different seasons of 
the year. A large body of water rushing suddenly down 
into the plains is not necessarily confined to the old channel, 
and as the body of water varies each year, so may we expect 
to find the course of the stream vary more or less accord- 
ingly. For example, the Ganges used to flow towards 
Monghyr from the south ; this is evident, not only from the 
construction of the moat, but from the fact that a higher 
water-mark is found on that side than the present one. Of 
late years it has been cutting a new course in a more easterly 
direction, encroaching annually on the farther bank. The 
other day I had the case of an estate there, which had been 
diminished by diluvion from one thousand biggahs to about 
three hundred and fifty, and again in the last twenty years to 
half that area. The former channel however is still unford- 
able, and it is generally believed now that the Naiad of this 
sacred stream is about to return to it, and in a few years 
will kiss and encircle her old love as she did in the days of 
yore. 

But the suits thus arising from the sudden changes in a 
river are not confined to the Civil or Kevenue Courts ; and 
I may mention this as exhibiting a trait in the character of this 
people very much akin to the Irish spirit of combativeness 
we see displayed at times nearer home. Suppose a parcel 
of land to become a subject of dispute, either being newly 
formed by the dereliction of the river, or cut off from the ori- 
ginal estate by a sudden inroad of the main course of the 

t 2 



248 Letters from the East. — II. Monghyr. 

stream. Two or three parties advance claims, and, acting on 
the principle that " possession is nine-tenths of the law/ 9 
each party makes an effort to obtain possession, before a 
reference to the Civil Court is ever thought of. One party 
will go in large force, armed with sticks and staves, to sow 
the land — perhaps he may be encountered in the same way, 
whereupon an affray ensues; heads are broken and often 
life is at stake — perhaps the opposing party may prefer to 
work by guile, and restraining his impatience until the crops 
are ready, will suddenly pounce upon them, cut, loot, and 
carry them off. Both parties complain to the magistrate, and 
his endeavour should be to punish the offenders for a breach 
of the peace, in such a manner and to such an extent, as may 
drive the parties to the Civil Court to adjust their differences 
and establish their rights. 

The Fort has been a work of immense labour, and indeed 
most probably was dismantled on account of its extravagant 
size. A garrison of twenty thousand men would hardly 
suffice. In length it is about four thousand feet, in breadth 
three thousand five hundred feet, being nearly square in 
shape. The western side is washed by the Ganges and de- 
fended by a wall with strong towers at intervals ; the three 
other sides are protected by a high rampart and a moat of no 
insignificance — probably in the pristine glory of Monghyr 
always full of water, but now-a-days, except just at the height 
of the rains, dry all the year round. A gateway is in the 
middle of each side, but the north gate alone is entire; 
on the west, it takes the form of a strongly fortified Ghaut, 
approached by the present entrance to the Gaol, though 
the intermediate space is now occupied by a cabbage garden. 
Each of the other gateways is provided with a stone bridge 
across the moat, which judging from an interstice of five or 
six feet in width, now bricked up, was furnished probably 
with a drawbridge. The palace occupied a considerable 
area, and appears to have been strongly fortified. The 
magazine is still standing with walls twelve feet in thickness, 
"pukka" or brickwork throughout. 

Close by are the vestiges of an immense wall of solid 
masonry, thirty feet in diameter, filled up only a few years 
ago. There is another nearly as large existing still, near the 
rampart outside the gaol, but having a connection with it, so 
that the water may be drawn from inside. 

At the present day the Fort contains, besides numerous 
European residences, the Cutcherries and offices of the 
Civil Station, the Church, the public gardens, and reading- 



Letters from the East. — II. Monghyr. 249 

room. There are three large tanks, evidently excavated at 
the time the fort was built. Thornton speaks also of a black 
marble mosque, but I have not myself been able to find it. 
The Government School and Charitable Hospital are outside 
the walls on the east of the fort The native town is further 
south — it is of considerable size, the "bazars" being most 
numerous. 

Now come with me down to the "Point", and I will 
shew you one of the fairest views in India. The " Point" 
is a prominent rock jutting out into the river at the north* 
west corner of the fort. Its natural strength you see has not 
been overlooked, witness those ruinous towers, where the 
dusky sentinels have given place to screeching water-fowl. 
Nor has the spot been furnished less with sacred memories 
than the munitions of war. The Hindoo deems the ground 
we tread on holy. Tradition tells thrilling legends of the 
temples whose ruins lie scattered about us ; that Ghaut be- 
fore you is still held in the highest veneration, and pilgrims 
drag their weary steps from far to perform ablution in these 
waters of peculiar virtue. Sit down and enjoy the view. 
Before us lies the broad expanse of the noble river, dotted 
with its fleet of boats ; their black hulls cast long shadows on 
the rippling rosy-tinted waters, which mirror the golden 
glory of the setting sun. Over there is a "chur," where 
the waving sheen of the ripe white grass resembles some 
placid lake, ruffled by the action of the transient breeze. 
Beyond is the dark line of the opposite shore, bushy with 
palm and tamarind. To our left the sombre palace-gaol of 
Shujd rises towering over the bulwarks, agreeably relieved 
by the temples and ghauts and the white English bungalows 
beyond ; while in the distance the blue hills of Jumalpore 
stretch far away to the west, shutting out as it were our little 
station from the rest of the world. Fit landscape for an 
artist's talents ! Scene best adapted to reconcile the weary 
discontented spirit to the disagreeables of a life in India ! 

There are other waters and another temple in this neigh- 
bourhood, which contest the palm with those now existing at 
the Point. These are to be found at the hot springs 01 
Seetacoond. Both places are frequented by thousands on all 
the great festivals and more especially at the Churruch 
Poojah. The scenery about Seetacoond presents a decidedly 
volcanic aspect, curious rocks and hills thrown about in the 
most fantastic taste, interspersed with jheels abounding with 
snipe and water-fowl. The temperature of the springs is 
generally 137°, and probably it is for this reason held in such 



250 Letters from the East — II Monghyr. 

high repute, " the very dirty people" as I was told, coming' 
hither to bathe. Odd that warm water should be supposed 
to have an effect on spiritual as well as bodily impurity. 
The Brahmins pointed out another spring close to — cold 
however, and certainly not inviting. "That is very dirty 
water," they said, "Mussulmans wash there." The en- 
closure here contains, besides these several springs, a temple 
and sacred banyan-tree. The temple used to contain a 
famous idol, stuffed with rupees, but some godless idolater 
carried it off. Suspicion plainly points to the Brahmins, the 
custodians of the temple ; but they grin, as they tell the tale, 
with an air of innocence, and appear to despise the god for 
not being able to take care of itself. The groves about afford 
refuge and shelter for the most beautiful birds of the country, 
the sacred paroquet, the gaudy woodpecker, the Indian jay, 
the golden mangoe-bird, these and a thousand others delight 
the eye with their bright varied colours. 

But the chief temple, the waters of rarest virtue, are to be 
found at Sultangung, about twenty miles from here. The 
temple is perched like an eagle's nest at the very summit of 
a pile of gigantic boulder stones, thrown up by volcanic 
agency in this extraordinary way to the heignt of one 
hundred or one hundred and fifty feet. This pile of crags 
stands in the river, at a little distance from the shore, though 
probably at one time on the mainland; for far below the 
water-mark one can descry the figures, which are every- 
where carved on the stones. There are however no inscrip- 
tions, and the history of the far-famed Jungeerah temple yet 
remains to be learnt. Something however has been done 
towards it during the last year. In excavating for the rail- 
way, they came upon the traces of a large Buddhist temple, 
and following up the clue, they were enabled to discover the 
complete site of the building. Buried among the ruins, 
though in a wonderful state of preservation, was found a 
copper image of Buddha, the only copper idol ever yet 
discovered. Its history probably dates from before the com- 
mencement of our era ; for this reason : several smaller images 
of this same idol sculptured in stone, basalt, &c. and un- 
doubtedly copies of this, were dug out of the same ruins. 
Only one of these has an inscription, but the characters used 
in it have not, I believe, been found in any inscription later 
than the third century. The original image measures up- 
wards olF seven feet in height. 

It is the figure of Buddha in the act of preaching to the 
people. With his right hand raised he exhibits the palm 



Letters from the East — //. Monghyr. 251 

with a seal in the centre, the left holding the " chudder" 
or mantle with which he is girded. The image is entire, 
with the exception of portions of the " chudder," and half of 
one foot. It has been constructed in a carious and original 
manner. A framework of iron bars constitutes the skeleton 
of this ponderous god, it is filled up with a cement, said to be 
composed of human ashes, charcoal, and rice, the husks of 
which are visible. Over such a mould the copper has been 
laid in small patches, not continuously, and one may easily 
discern two coatings, each perhaps a quarter of an inch in 
thickness. 

What connection may have existed between this Buddhist 
temple and the Brahmins of Jungeerah some half mile dis- 
tant, is not at present very clear, though possibly future 
discoveries may throw more light on the subject. Certain it 
is, the Brahmins came down from their nest in the crag, and 
offered a thousand rupees for the image ; while the common 
people flocked in by hundreds to do obeisance to the god, so 
miraculously restored to the light. We are promised how- 
ever a fuller account of this curious idol, from the able pen of . 
Baboo Rajendra Lai Mitra, a name well knofrn to those of 
my readers who may take any interest in the proceedings of 
the Asiatic Society. For this reason I shall offer no sugges- 
tions of my own, however incontrovertible they may appear 
to myself. But my paper is growing to an unaccountable 
length, without I fear creating a corresponding interest in my 
subject. I have said nothing whatever of the people them- 
selves, their habits or the state of their religion ; nothing of 
that mighty engine of civilization and enlightenment, the 
East Indian Railway. I must reserve my remarks on these 
points, till by more mature experience and more thorough 
knowledge of the nations I ean speak with greater certainty 
and authority. At present I afci but a griff> and it requires 
almost a lifetime spent amongst them thoroughly to under- 
stand the Hindoos and their several spring? of action. 

H. B. 






nOTNIA NTS. 



I. 

'Tifl night : in silence sleeps the silvery river i 

The Stars, bright jewels on the robe of Nighty 
With each breath of the sable goddess quiver, 

As she comes forth in radiance bedight. 

How mellow from yon fleecy cloud the light 
Is shed o'er mountain, meadow, stream and tree, 

While in the west still lingers to the sight 
The last faint streak of day : and now the sea 
Is lulled to rest — all nature slumbers peacefully. 

II. 

How clear is heard the distant sea-bird's cry, 
Like that of some lone spirit, which in vain v. 

Hovers for ever 'twixt the earth and sky, 
Seeking for rest o'er ocean, hill and plain, 
And finding none ! ah me that thought of pain 

Should mar the enjoyment of a night like this ! 
Yet, such in sooth is sin and sorrow's bane, 

There lurk within us bitter thoughts, I wis, 

Tho' all around suggest peace, beauty, joy and bliss. 

III. 

Ton peaceful sea is full of hidden storms : 

Ton silv'ry river flows, and soon 'tis gone : 
Earth's fairest scenes, her most celestial forms, 

Ere long appear lone, desolate, and wan. 

How soon man's little course of joy is run! 
How soon his mocking dreams of bliss are o'er ! 

We wake, when scarce our triumph is begun, 
We wake to toil and tears and sorrow sore, 
We wake sweet dreams, vain hopes, fond fancies to deplore. 



Uorvla Nvf. 253 

VI. 

'Tia this that makes me banish thoughts of rest, 

Tho* nature seems so lovely, so serene : 
High aspirations rise within my breast, 

High thoughts of all who on this earth have been 

Good, great and glorious : and the glittering sheen 
Of Heaven attracts my soul to realms on high : 

For gazing on so soft and fair a scene, 

My soul doth long for angels' wings to fly, 
And mingle with the radiance of the glowing sky. 



V. 

I know that labour is our lot below ) 
And rather would I be yon ocean-wave, 

Which restless night and day must onward flow, 
Now lashed by all the winds which fiercely rave, 
iNow moaning in some rocky ocean cave : 

Than yon fair stream, which slowly gliding down 
Unheard it's flowery banks doth idly lave, 

Till the vast sea it's little waves doth drown, 

Which straightway lose all name, existence, and renown. 



VI. 

But now the night is calm, the moon's mild light 

Softens the outline of each rugged hill : 
No sounds are heard save such as give delight ; 

The whisp'ring woods, the sea, the falling rill — 

What need at such an hour to think of ill, 
When all seems happy, beautiful, and calm ? 

Come then soft Night, thro' all my being thrill ! 
My soul shall feel nor sorrow or alarm, 
Tho' storms may mar ere morn the night's sweet soothing charm. 



VII. 

On such a night as this Endymion woke, 
To hear the pale moon tell her tale of love : 

On such a night as this Anchises spoke, 

Nor could the Queen of Love his suit reprove : 

For such a night towards Earth kind Heaven doth move, 

Which weeps for us with all it's " starry eyes," 
And lends it's light in pity from above, 

To brighten this dark earth, this earth of sighs, 

Where sin and sorrow reign, whence misery never flies. 



264 YlorvUi Ni/£. 

VIII. 

O lovely night ! soother of mortal woe, 

What tho 9 thou art the time of empty dreams, 

Of hopes and joys which soon we must forego, 
Yet thro 9 thy misty veil upon us gleams 
Heaven's light, or all that to us heavenly seems. 

Let me dream on while Heaven doth seem so nigh ; 

Far from the wild world's fears, cares, hopes and schemes. 

I'll picture mansions in yon glowing sky, 

Wherein Pain cannot live, and Joy can never die. 



IX. 

Familiar faces hover in the air : 

Familiar voices whisper in my ear, 
Now rising dusky from the mountain bare, 

Now shining on me from the moonbeams clear, 

They whisper words man's lonely lot to cheer : 
That life hath something else than woe and pain : 

That all below is not dull dark and drear, 
But that the light of Heaven doth ofttimes deign 
On the dark spots of earth its radiant floods to rain. 



^^l^^^WXir^KSpW* 



MY FAVOURITE SCOTCH VILLAGE. 



" Labour, Art, Worship, Lore, these make man's life : 
How sweet to spend it here ! Beautiful dale, 
What time the virgin favour of the Spring 
Bursts in young lilies, they are first in thee ; 
Thine lavish Summer lush of luminous green, 
And Autumn glad upon thy golden crofts. 
Let Winter come : on January morn, 
Down your long reach, how soul-inspiriting, 
Far in the frosty yellow of the East, 
To see the flaming horses of the Sun 
Come galloping up on the uptrodden year ! 
If storm-flaws more prevail, hail, crusted snows, 
And blue- white thaws upon the spotty hills, 
With dun swollen floods, they pass and hurt thee not ; 
They but enlarge, with sympathetic change, 
The thoughtful issues of thy dwellers' hearts. 
Here, happy thus, far from the scarlet sins, 
From bribes, from violent ways, the anxious mart 
Of money-changers, and the strife of tongues, 
Fearing no harm of plague, no evil star 
Bearded with wrath, his spirit finely touched 
To life's true harmonies, old Sylvan dwells, 
Beep inthe bosom of his native vale." 

The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird. 4th Edition, 



I. Why we Write about it 

YEAR by jrear, ever since the early time when I was carried 
thither in long clothes, without my consent being asked 
or cared for, I have found myself returning to Scotland. 
On these occasions my head quarters have generally been 
the "gray metropolis of the North," but Perthshire and 
Dumfries have often yielded a temporary home. All honour 
to the dear old country. In her wild hills and simple 
worship, her gravity of manners and sturdy nationality, 
her sons feel little need of the seductive graces of more 
sunny lands; and we may find as reverent devotion in 
many a moorland 'kirk' as in our own beautiful minsters 
or the gorgeous Cathedrals of Italy, with frescoed walls, 



266 My Favourite Scotch Village. 

marble pillaro, and stained glass windows. Suum caique : 
for my own part I love them all. 

The memory of innumerable boyish rambles comes back 
to me, and I watch the rapid changes in familiar scenes 
with unabated interest. The last fifteen years have opened 
railway communications into many a quiet little nook, and 
hurried more than a few villages, now bustling and thriving, 
into a state bordering on township. Other places, again, 
have been left behind in the race, and seem lazily slipping 
into oblivion, as the new lines of traffic refuse to have 
anything to do with them. Getting a branch-line of their 
own is the sole remaining card for them to win a trick with, 
evidently. Often have I walked from Stirling to Blackford, 
as a boy, by the drove road, over the Sherriemuir, where 
was fought the great battle, of which Argyle said that, 

" If it wasna weel bobbit,* weel bobbit, weel bobbit, 
If it wasna weel bobbit, we'll bob it again/' 

But that old drove-road from Stirling is, like other ancient 
ways, fallen into disuse. Deserted is the "wee public," 
where we used to refresh on ginger-beer and whisky 
mixed — a pleasant substitute for nectar, which the Olym- 
pians would have preferred, if Hebe had known her 
business and been a Scotch lassie. At times would be 
encountered long droves of Highland cattle, where Tugalt 
and Tonalt were exchanging " cracks " about their beasties, 
or a pinch of elegant extracts from each other's snuff-mulls 
and spleuchans. Then what glee was on the lower road, 
the old coach road to Greenloaning, alongside of the driver, 
Peter, who knew the history of every mansion, farm, turn- 
pike, and pedestrian that we passed, and would delight with 
it his fortunate companion on the box-seat — if the stars 
and temper were propitious ! But now we go by railways, 
attended by civil guards who never lose their temper, or 
communicate information about anything except time- 
tables. Instead of the inn-door, with a smart hostess and 
a pretty chambermaid smiling at the bar-windows, a red- 
faced landlord with capacious waistcoat, some sprawling 
children, and jaunty chanticleer insanely mocking the 
coach-horn from sheer spite, whilst the hostler removes 
the steaming cattle, — we now have cleanly platforms, 
square-built station-houses, and flat palings with large 



1 Bobbit/ Anglice, 'fought/ 



My Favourite Scotch Village. 257 

notices of local dues, which never fall at eve, and of 
"Passengers going to Whatsitsname keep on this side;'* 
where the only incidents are a ringing of bells, slamming of 
doors, collecting of tickets, losing of luggage, and taking 
in of water : whereof a little goes a great way, with some 
of us. Oftentimes we have a collision, but sometimes we 
have not: just as it happens. Very quickly, tolerably 
safely, and comfortably, we journey, it is true, wrapped in 
railway-rugs and reading this morning's Times; but we 
have lost much of the old romance of travel which ac- 
companied us to some favourite Scotch Village. 

We must not grumble at these changes, but pay the 
price when receiving certain advantages. Whilst these 
fifteen years have ripened the boy into the man, and 
turned the stalwart grandsires into frail "auld bodies/ 1 
leading in new occupants of pulpits and cradles, many 
have been the inroads of culture on sterility. Of the 
extensive moorlands, much has been wire-fenced, ploughed, 
and sown, and scores of well-managed farms that we could 
name, attest what can be done by intelligence and persever- 
ance. The drain-tile, the schoolmaster, and the clergyman 
have severally done their duty ; and nowhere better than in 
Scotland, (to give the country its due,) is seen the triumph of 
manly natures over obstacles. It has rapidly arisen from what 
may truly be called barbarism, into a position of intellectual 
and political equality with other nations, seemingly more 
favoured by external circumstances, and deserves respectful 
admiration. The land of Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns 
has become endeared to us. And this not only because they 
wrote cheerfully, doing their best to extend more brotherly 
feelings, but because it is a land especially distinguished by 
the qualities of honesty, manly vigour, determined perseve- 
rance and patriotic affection: qualities that made these 
Scottish writers recognised in their usefulness throughout 
the world. 

§ II. How toe heard about it. 

There is yet another Scottish writer whose works are 
gradually becoming known on both sides of the Tweed, and 
who is still living in the Green Vale of Dumfries. We 
refer to Thomas Aird, author of "Religious Character- 
istics," a " Memoir of Delta?' a large volume of truly noble 
"Poems," now in a fourth edition (Blackwood, 1863), and 
the delightful " Old Bachelor of the Old Scottish Village/' 



258 My Favourite Scotch Village. 

a book which for quiet humour, tenderness, and thought- 
fulness, can scarcely be surpassed. The volume is not 
altogether of late birth. It has grown larger in successive 
editions: but, in its germ, it first saw the light eighteen 
years ago. 

" The Old Bachelor " made his way slowly, but surely. 
How many publications have attained a blaze of popularity, 
sputtering and flashing like rockets and penny squibs, 
whilst this genial little book has risen gradually above 
the horizon. Not many telescopes discerned it glimmering 
in its first edition of 1845. People were busy making 
their own money or losing other persons' in the railway 
mania; "stags," " bulls," and "bears" were noisily bel- 
lowing and growling around Capel Court, so that the rural 
melodies of a Scottish Village remained unheeded. Then 
came the panic — a British epidemic whose return is periodi- 
cal; and two years later, that interrupted dinner-party in 
Paris, which caused Guizot to look out for lodgings in a 
retired neighbourhood, and Louis Philippe to part with his 
whiskers and his crown, (he had lost his head before, though 
not en rfyle) making his second appearance in England in 
the character of a private gentleman; whilst the Bourbon 
Princes disappeared too hurriedly to think about their own 
wives, — the girls they left behind them. At such an excit- 
ing time, — when continental monarchs speculated " Where 
shall we dine?" and the question "Who's your friend?" 
was being asked by the enlightened patriots who were 
cutting each other's throats, — it was not to be expected 
that the general public could have much opportunity for 
enjoying the quaint delineations of character and faithful 
rural descriptions in the Old Bachelor's " Scottish Village." 
Was it not a day of Chartist agitation, moreover, when 
Louis Napoleon bore the truncheon of a special constable, 
and Kennington Common was looked on as — almost but 
not quite — an interrupted Waterloo, that had been deprived 
of its proper triumph? Yet, whilst the Austrians were 
meeting Charles Albert at Novara, and Garibaldi, with 
his heroic wife, proved that the spirit of ancient days had 
not decayed in the Transtaverini of Rome, "The Old 
Bachelor" continued his own innocent campaign, and won 
bloodless victories at many a hearth in the North Countrie. 
How things imperceptibly fell into order everywhere, we 
most of us know: how in 'some lands a compromise, 
in most an intrigue, in a few the combination of despotic 
forces, and in all the reaction from excessive enthusiasm, 



afiMB ^ 



My Favourite Scotch Vittaffe. 259 

brought a lull in Europe. Soon came the Exhibition of 
1851, somewhat ostentatiously hailed as an assurance of 
perpetual and Universal Peace ! — two years after a general 
approach to anarchy, and other two years preceding the 
Russian Campaign which threatened to set the Continent 
in a blaze. Amid that Exhibition of the Industry of all 
Nations, however, the little Old Scottish Village was not 
unrepresented, and an increasing number of admirers re- 
turned to it after their excursion to the metropolis. The 
Coup d'etat did not disturb its serenity ; the fall of Sebastopol 
did not affect its stocks; and — mirabile dictu — even the 
patched-up Treaty of Peace could not disgust it utterly. It 
was a genial, loveable, little village at the beginning, and 
such it has remained, although (Anno Dom. 1858) a few new 
houses have since been built by the amiable laird, and the 
minister's walks are greatly extended ; the Library also is 
enlarged to almost double the early dimensions. All who 
visited the place, and made acquaintance with its " Neigh- 
bours," its "Innocents," and its " Children" in their " Summer 
Saunterings," were glad to return there. Delightful friends 
were always to be met in the Village. What happy nooks 
in which to nestle! what holy thoughts to be awakened! 
what a loving knowledge of nature to be shewn to us by that 
mild " Old Bachelor !" He has studied every flower of the 
field and laid it to his heart even more fondly than Words- 
worth of Our College. He loves to daunder by the stream, 
and listen to the milkmaiden's song, as Isaac Walton used to 
do before him. Bewick, or Alexander Wilson, the Orni- 
thologist, had not a keener eye for plumage, and nests of our 
British Birds, — White of Selborne no more patient ob- 
servance of their domestic history or truant wanderings, 
than Thomas Aird. We can scarcely manage at times to 
separate him from his imaginary Old Bachelor — the creature 
of his fancy. Brave old Frank Sylvan! long may you 
move from door to door, welcomed in every home where your 
bright eye and cheering voice are known ; or rest easily in 
your arm-chair, whilst birds are building in security at your 
window, or the kettle sings an evening song, taking oc- 
casionally a three bars' rest, above the red heart of the fire. 
May no screaming Chanticleer, noisy and unclean fowl, 
disturb your morning slumbers before the wished-for hour ! 
May no incendiarising innovations come to disturb, the sacred 
quiet of your Scottish Village. 



260 My Favourite Scotch Village. 

% III. Where it hoe been sought and not found. 

Where is that happy Village ? Alas ! its latitude and lon- 
gitude are not given. Arrowsmith's maps have not set it forth ; 
the Ordnance Surveyors declare " We have never seen it, or 
we would have thrown up our erratic situations, and have taken 
one of those apartments for single gentlemen which have been 
the unrealised to teahJov of our life-long dreams." Senior 
Warden of our Lodge (No. 36, on roll of G.L. Scot.), 
we forbade intrigue with Post Office Officials, coaxing 
them during adjournments, .to tell whether any letters or 
money-orders passed through their hands, directed to the 
Old Scottish Village. But even the M.W.G.M. could 
ascertain nothing. What is to be done? We used to 
learn a few things worth knowing among the clairvoy- 
ants, in the West Biding, dreadfully in earnest, but not 
a rap can be got from any spirit to tell where is the Old 
Scottish Village. Yet we know for certain that the descrip- 
tion is genuine, its truthfulness is convincing. The vrai 
may not always be the vraisemblable, but vraisemblance 
often directs to the vrai. Our friends here urge us to 
discover all we know, which is painfully little. Did Gulliver 
or Prince Legion find the Village in their Travels ? did Bacon 
mark it out in his New Atlantis ? Was Sir Thomas More 
cognizant of its existence when he described Utopia, or was 
it connected with Irving's Island of St. Brandon and the 
Adelantado of the Seven Cities ? Is it in Ayrshire, or the 
Isle of Sky, or any of the Scilly Islands? and, if so, are they 
the "happy isles" where Tennyson's Ulysses expected to 
" meet the great Achilles whom we know," and do not con- 
sider an eligible person for the next vacancy in the Editor- 
ship of The Eagle ? Is Tom Tiddler's ground .at all like it, 
where gold and silver are to be had for the picking up. 
Everybody who has read or heard about it, wishes to visit 
the old Scottish Village. 

Well, I think I must have been there myself in one of the 
many wanderings of my early days, when the whole of the 
Border land was familiar to me. 1 seemed to recognise, as I 
read, many of the inhabitants of Mr. Aird's " Old Scottish 
Village." Of all the quiet little country nooks to which 
fancy could guide us in the realm of literature, where people 
pay no rent or taxes, and are not compelled to register their 
names in the columns of a Census, few, if any, offer a more 
tempting refuge from the worry of this over-hasty time. It 
always remains the same, while other places lose their 



My Favourite Scotch Village. 261 

individuality with frightful rapidity. Who can much longer 
expect to see the old Innkeeper, or the old Coachmen and 
Guards, or the old Waiter, and the old " Bagmen," such as 
we used to know at the Cross Keys of Kelso, and at the 
Jedburgh of our boyhood ? The railways have demolished 
them: they have broken them down altogether. A new 
tril?e of " Commercial Gents" have arisen, like fiery exha- 
lations of the Train, and they bear no token of their pro- 
genitors. Yet before the Iron ways were established, how 
magnificent appeared the Bagmen! For them the hostler 
grinned, for them the barmaid bloomed, the chambermaid 
was bland, and landlords all were kind. How full of anec- 
dote ! how jovial and how sly ! sometimes they sung their 
chorused song, and quaintly winked their eye. And when 
they met together, in Winter and rough weather, how well 
they knew the best of means to make the time pass by. 
What tricks of trade they told, how men and goods were 
sold ; and how they saved their gold by clubbing for " a 
fly." They were the kings confessed, each came as favoured 
guest, and of all rooms the best they shared in company. 
They knew all roads and towns, had seen all Ups and 
Downs, and very keen for " browns" were they, none could 
deny. But brave and tough and gay, as man could ask, 
were they; and when they passed away, many had cause 
to sigh. The Country Inns all sank, the landlord 
moped and drank, and in the Poor-house tank the ostler's 
corpse did lie. No call for horse or mare, no chamber- 
maiden fair, no " Bar" beyond compare, we as of old can 
spy. For the Bagmen have decayed, since the railways 
have been made, and have almost ruined trade on the roads 
that are called " high." Soon the last Inns they close ! no 
more we chant their woes, but again subside to prose, from, 
the Bagmen's Threnody. 

§ IV. In which we think we have arrived there. 

The Village will be looking lovely in the Long Vacation, 
'63, and in the glow of the Indian Summer. But even earlier it 
is charming, as soon as the long Winter months are ended ; 
when lambs are frisking on the hill side, and the ewes are 
plaintively bleating to them if they stray far. Pleasant 
meadow land and wood-walks are near, a noisy stream ex- 
pands occasionally into breadth and peacefulness, delightful 
to saunter beside, especially if we be followers of Isaac 
Walton's so-called "gentle art," and are skilful in all 

VOL. III. u 



262 My Favourite Scotch Village. 

varieties of flies, preferring the elaborate deception of a 
feathered wire to the insinuating a hook through the inter- 
nals of a worm — ts tenderly as if you loved him." Of course, 
we do not need to display an excess of sensibility concerning 
the sufferings of the trout, beautiful though he be when his 
spotted sides are glittering in the limpid water. We re- 
member that he is also beautiful when done up with bread 
crumbs, and lying peacefully in a breakfast-dish, flanked 
with newly-baked scones and innocent fresh batter. " No- 
thing jn his life became him like the leaving it." In his 
youthful pride he had gone on his way, mercilessly snapping 
at the midges, day-flies, and such small deer ; and if he at 
last has caught a tartar, and the iron has entered into his 
very soul — or what some people call his in'ards — he merits 
no pity. Like an unskilful reviewer, he attempted murder 
and it turned out to be suicide. How well he loved the 
sequestered nooks of deep brown water, underneath stones 
that never had been lifted by the village boys, who " gud- 
dled" most successfully. To how many persons has he been 
the chief inducement for a visit to the locality ! Those who 
came to fish remained to dine (as Widow Jenny, who keeps 
the Crown Inn, at the Bridge-end, well knows); romantic 
scenery and pleasant companionship tempting them to stay or 
to return. More than a few ballads have made the district 
celebrated, and there might have been annoyance from a 
greater visitation of idle tourists, had they not been lured 
away to the Medicinal Well, thirty miles distant, and thus 
left the village to repose. 

Not that repose here is stagnation. Certainly not The 
sons of old Peter Stirling, the weaver, will tell you how 
prosperous is trade; the three battles of Bull's Bun not 
having done much to disturb the peace of this Village. 
Jenny herself can say how many marriages have taken place 
in her time, and point to a score of farmers with wives and 
bairns, whose steadings were not built or thought of when 
she was a bit lassie hersel'. Beggars are few, and only suffi- 
cient to keep alive a community of feeling between rich and 
poor. Gipsies well know these fields and hen-roosts, and 
that the rural police is lenient. But at wakes and fairs, or in 
odd moments when kettles require to be tinkered, the sight 
of these ruddy vagrants is cheering ; and they have taught 
many clever arts of basket- weaving and wire-working to the 
youth of the old Scottish village, whose knowledge of dress- 
ing hooks has owed much to the visitors from Yetholm. 

No lack of industry is in the village, however. Go to the 



My Favourite Scotch Village. 263 

saw-pit and see the movements of the carpenters, with their 
strong bare-arms and monotonous swayings at work. Their 
" weans" having tilted a plank across one of the tree-stumps, 
are enjoying a noisy see-saw ; now quivering high in air and 
gripping the wood with their hands and knees, anon being 
dunted down on the ground at the risk of a capsize, but 
always in an ecstacy of merriment. Our Blacksmith, honest 
" Burn-the-win'," is a model for Phidias, when he wheels 
his ponderous hammer above his head, and makes the sparks 
of heated iron fly around him, till he appears to be a gigantic 
Catharine Wheel of a new and improved pattern. As for 
exertion, if you watched the bell-ringer on Sabbath, hauling 
the rope of the cracked piece of metal which summons all 
good folks to Church, you would own that the man earned 
his stipend. How lustily he pulls, the perspiration running 
down his thin grey locks, and being mopped up from his 
temples by a coloured handkerchief, large enough for a 
hearth-rug. Neither are the ploughmen and herd-laddies 
the sort of boys to eat the bread of idleness. When holiday 
is made on Auld Handsel Monday, you will find them doing 
hard work at the Houlaken, with grave face and moist brow, 
covering the buckle with their hobnailed shoon, and giving 
a short quick skreigh of intense delight, as they link arms 
and whirl their neighbour round, while the lasses look on 
and await their turn demurely. Blithely will the fiddle 
sound, played by some Orpheus of the soil, who has charmed 
listeners many a long Winter evening, when the snow-drift 
enmantled every dale, and prevented all save^ in-door labour. 
As the evening twilight fades into starry night, you may 
be fortunate enough to encounter Frank Sylvan himself, — 
" brave old buck!" — with his rod in his hand, returning 
homeward from such a day of line-casting as will be long re- 
membered in the annals of Troutland. Perhaps you find 
him lingering near the Post-Office, where he has called for 
his newspaper and letters, talking with the English school- 
master, who also has been busy with the rod in his own way, 
but who has lately adapted himself to the palmy days of the 
north country in which he finds employment, learning to do 
at Rome as the Romans do; some believe that there is 
nothing like leather. He knew well that as the twig is bent 
so is the tree inclined, and in his own land he used to bend 
the birch twig to good purpose. If you are so lucky as to 
secure the company of the Old Bachelor himself, Frank 
Sylvan, you will do well to set him talking about the days 
that have gone by, — the men whom he has known, both the 

TJ2 



264 My Favourite Scotch Village. 

" serene creators of immortal things" whose names are lus- 
trous on the scrolls of literature, and the simple, honest, and 
laborious dwellers in such an old Scottish Village as that 
wherein he was born. Best of all it is to stand with him at 
his own garden door, and watch the sunset glory of the sky, 
with the clear outline of the purple hills, and to listen to the 
musical tinkling and gurgling of the spring of water, unseen 
but garrulous, that fills up every pause of conversation. He 
is not of despondent mood, yet you may find him not unfre- 
quently in the church-yard, where u the rude forefathers of 
the hamlet sleep," and where every humble mound is asso- 
ciated with a remembered life of patient labour, suffering, 
or simple happiness. At such times the seriousness which 
especially distinguishes the Scottish character, reveals itself 
by a tone of elevated piety, totally removed from gloom, and 
we know that the good old man is thinking of the home that 
is awaiting those who toiled and mourned, who sowed in 
tears but who will reap in joy, when the fashion of this 
world has passed away, and the Rest that is promised to the 
people of God shall be theirs eternally. 

" O soft place of the earth ! down-pillowed couch, 
Made ready for the weary. Everywhere, 
O Earth, thou hast one gift for thy poor children, 
Room to lie down, leave to cease standing up, 
And to return to thee ; and in thy bosom 
To lie in perfect luxury of peaoe, 
Fearless of morn and day," 

J. W. E. 




THE STROKE'S DREAM. 



The last night's racing had come and gone, 

The shades of night had descended, 
(I mean by that figure t'was half-past one) 

When a "stroke" to his rooms ascended. 
He seemed in that happy frame of mind 

Which by some's styled "elevated," 
But as I don't wish to say aught unkind, 

I shall merely call him "elated." 



II. 

He sought his couch, and announced by snores 

(It could snore could that stroke's proboscis) 
That he slept the sleep peculiar to oars, 

And overworked omnibus "osses." 
As into slumber he, toplike sank, 

The spirit of Dreams drew nigh him, 
And he dreamt that he stood upon Grassy 's bank, 

And the eights went sweeping by him. 



III. 

But strange, strange faces did seem to float 

O'er that river o* Dreams careering, 
For Gladstone rowed stroke to the foremost boat, 

And Palmerston was steering. 
He heard a chattering, rattling row, 

A species of wordy tussle; 
He looked at the man who was rowing bow, 

And found it was Johnny Russell. 



266 The Stroke's Dream. 

IV. 

And struck by a faded 'Varsity Blue 

He asked " who number two is ?" 
A shadow in flannels replied, "what, two? 

Lord bless you it's Cornewall Lewis." 
He looked them over from stern to stem, 

Examined their time and feather; 
Quoth he " there's plenty of putt in them 

If only they swing together." 



V. 

While pondering over their future fate 

He caught the oars double knocks on 
The rowlock, and by him there passed an eight, 

To which Lord Darby was coxswain, 
While Dizzy ever on the alert 

Was playing the leading fiddle, 
And Whiteside game for the quickest spurt 

Was swinging fierce in the middle. 

VI. 

At length they too disappeared from view 

And life from the scene departed, 
And our stroke began to look rather blue 

And feel somewhat anxious hearted, 
When a gun's report o'er the meadows flew 

And he heard a roar of " well started " I 
They come round the corner and up the gut 

With every muscle straining, 
All doing their darn'dest in pace and putt, 

But the boat behind seems gaining. 



VII. 

And Gladstone still kept putting it on, 

But yet could'nt keep her going, 
And hard upon Grassy "the late Lord John," 

Seemed more for "row"ing than rowing: 
And Dizzy was creeping up fast behind, 

With Whiteside the strong and strapping, 
Resolved that the coxswain in front should find 

That he was not giv'n to napping : 
A lift — a shoot as swift as the wind — 

See Benjamin's overlapping ! 



The Stroke's Dream. 267 

VIII. 

But somehow (perhaps the claret-cup 

Did his natural powers diminish) 
The Dreamer forgets if Pam's hand went up, 

Or what was the struggle's finish; 
He only remembers waking dry 

And looking uncommonly yellow, 
And how his friends said, as they passed him by, 

"You must have been cut old fellow." 

ATTICUS MOUNTGARRET. 



O 

1 o 

GOO 

Q 



A GHOST STOBY. 



(Continued from page 204.) 

X FEEL that some apology is due to my readers for the 
somewhat abrupt termination of the first part of my story, 
in the last Number of The Eagle. The only excuse I can 
make for myself, is that the recollection of the horrors 
which I was describing so upset mjr nerves that I was 
unable at the time to go on with my narrative. After 
this brief explanation let me now resume my story. 

Suddenly there stood between me and the moon's light 
a tall dark figure. Its face was turned from me, and 
toward the window ; and at times the right arm was raised 
in an excited and threatening manner, and its fist was 
shaken angrily at some invisible object: again the same 
arm was tossed wildly on high; the feet stamped on the 
floor so as to shake the room, and as I lay cowering and 
trembling in my bed, I thought 1 could hear the creature 
gnashing its teeth, and muttered imprecations coming from 
its lips. All this rnust have gone on for several minutes, 
though each minute seemed to be as long as an hour, when 
at length summoning all my resolution I half raised myself 
in bed, intending to slip quietly out by the door before 
my nocturnal visitor should detect my presence. In an 
instant the wild, agitated movements of the apparition 
seemed to cease. Slowly it turned round till it stood facing 
me at the foot of the bed, its face staring into mine with 
only a few feet between us. No words that I can find 
will ever describe the effect produced upon me by the 
sight which my eyes encountered. The process of petri- 
faction is, I believe, a process to which few or none of 
my readers have ever been subjected, still they may be 
able to understand my state at the time, when I inform 
them that the sight which met my eyes actually petrified 
me, and had I continued to look at it for a few minutes 



A Ghost Siory. 269 

more I should have become as fine a fossil as ever gladdened 
the heart and the hammer of a Professor of Geology. 
Fortunately, ere fear had entirely fossilized me, I fainted, 
and remained unconscious of everything till I awoke and 
found the sun shining brightly into my room at five o'clock 
in the morning. The birds were singing blithely, and 
nowhere was the slightest trace of the unearthly disturber 
of my night's rest visible. But on trying to rise I found 
my limbs refused to support me, and sinking back in an 
exhausted state I soon fell into a deep sleep. I must have 
been asleep some time, when I became aware of the presence 
of some one in the room. I lay in a dreamy half-conscious 
state, but still I felt almost certain some one was leaning 
over me, and all doubt on the subject was removed, when 
I heard some one say in a tremulous whisper, " Good 
heavens! she is dead, and I have killed her." I opened 
my eyes, and my visitor quickly retreated, not however, 
before I recognized, or thought I recognized, the neat 
quakerish dress and the elegant figure of Agatha Snow. 
My surprise was therefore great, when within a few minutes, 
that young lady re-appeared, having previously knocked 
at the door, and wished me " good morning " in the most 
natural manner possible. Never did the pearly teeth smile 
more beautifully than they did then, as she hurried about 
the room, telling me what a shame it was for me to have 
over-slept myself on so lovely a morning, and that I must 
dress myself quickly as they had begun breakfast without 
me. A horrid suspicion that she was directly or indirectly 
the cause of the fearful night which I had passed, was 
rising in my mind, and I found it impossible to make any 
answer to all her civil speeches. Suddenly she gave a 
half-scream, and looking me in the face cried, " Mademoiselle 
you are ill ! I must fetch madame, I must fetch the doctor !" 
and she rushed out of the room much to my relief, for 
I must confess that her presence had anything but a soothing 
effect upon my nerves, weakened as they were by the 
events of the past night. But I must not delay too long 
the conclusion of my story. Know then, O reader, that 
though I suffered from trembling nerves for a day or two, 
yet thanks to a good constitution, neither did my hair turn 
white, nor did I lose the use of my limbs, nor feel any other 
of the sufferings which all orthodox ghost-seers experience. 
I had been afraid that my aunt's opinion of my courage 
and firmness would have fallen very low after the sorry 
figure, which I had made. To my surprise however the 



270 A Ghost Story. 

account of the night I had passed seemed to make a deep 
impression on her ; the only part of my story to which she 
gave no attention, was the part which related to Agatha 
Snow, which she dismissed at once as absurd. In fact 
she almost laughed me out of my suspicions, and made 
me believe that the apparition of Agatha by my bed-side 
was the result of the excited state of my nerves, and had 
only existed in my imagination. The conduct of Agatha 
herself towards me almost made me ashamed of having 
suspected her, she insisted on sitting up with me for 
several nights, and proved so kind and gentle a nurse, that 
in spite of myself, I began almost to love her, and to wish, 
for her sake, that all the mystery might be cleared up. 

Before the arrival of our guests I had several conferences 
with my aunt, in which we deliberated how we were to 

Proceed in order to find out who the ghost was. My aunt * 
ad ordered me not to communicate what I had seen to 
any one but herself. During one of our conferences, after 
I had described to her as well as I was able the exact 
appearance of the object of our consultation, she suddenly 
rose, went to a picture which was on the wall, and removing 
a curtain which covered it, asked me to look at it carefully. 
At first it seemed to me that I saw nothing but the portrait 
of a dark, handsome, though somewhat melancholy young 
man, whose face I had never seen before. But on holding 
a light close to the picture I could scarcely suppress a 
scream. In the peculiar fashion of the dress, in the beard 
and moustache, the empty sleeve of the coat shewing that 
the young man had lost an arm, in all these details I 
recognized the figure which had stood by my bed-side but 
two nights before. 

"Hester/* said my aunt, "this is the portrait of my 
late husband. I cannot now relate to you the dreadful story 
which ere long I will communicate to you. It will be 
enough for me to say that I believe some one has been 
acting the part of his ghost, and that some one must have 
an object, of which we are ignorant, in making us all believe 
the room to be haunted." 

We agreed to keep a sharp look-out, and to observe 
every one in the house, I for my part determining that 
Agatha Snow should be kept under strict "surveillance." 
My aunt also told me that she intended to put one of our 
guests into the haunted room, hoping that we might in this 
way arrive at a solution of the mystery. The important day 
arrived and brought with it all our guests with one ex- 



A Ghost Story. 2?1 

ception. A brother of my aunt's, General Mackenzie, 
wrote to tell us he was obliged to postpone his visit till the 
next day. This was unfortunate, as we had fixed %pon him 
as the hero who was to deliver us from our ghostly foe. The 
General had served in India for many years; and if the 
newspapers and despatches spoke the truth, his nerve, courage, 
and coolness in battle were only equalled by his abilities as 
a commander, and his bodily strength which was reported 
to be almost superhuman. On one occasion, when leading 
a storming party, he had been the first man to mount the 
wall of a fortress, when owing to an accident to the ladder, 
he found himself alone facing a desperate enemy. For 
several minutes he held his own, till the scaling-ladder was 
replaced, and his men came to his relief. He had on this 
occasion received a severe wound, the only wound which he 
was ever known to have received, and his wonderful escape 
from death, added to his previous achievements, caused his 
soldiers to regard their chief as a man of more than mortal 
mould. Here then was just the man we wanted to annihi- 
late our Ghost! Unfortunately, as I have stated, he was 
unable to come till the next day, and as we were too im- 
patient to wait, we resolved that another gentleman should 
be honoured with the post of danger. 

This gentleman was a staid, sober, snuff-coated and but- 
tonless Quaker. A man about whom you felt certain at 
once that he wore a night-cap at night, and had a fine 
bass snore of his own: in fac£ he looked the last man 
in the world with whom a ghost would meddle. The night 
passed quietly enough, but at breakfast no Mr. Broadbrim 
appeared. The servant who had gone to call him, said 
that upon entering his room he found the window wide 
open, the bed empty, and no Mr. Broadbrim visible. The 
same day came a letter from that most estimable of old 
gentlemen, apologizing for his abrupt departure from the 
house, but declaring that after the night he had passed, 
no inducement could prevail upon him to sleep another 
night beneath our roof. Mr. Broadbrim went on to say that 
no words of his could describe the horrors which he had 
witnessed, and which had so affected him that at break of day 
he had unceremoniously found his way into the garden from 
the window, and made his. escape from the premises as 
quickly as he was able. 

This letter as might be expected created no slight sensation 
among us all, and General Mackenzie, who arrived about the 
same time as the letter, was at once taken into our confidence. 



272 A Ghost Story. 

He at once proposed that the terrible room should be assigned 
to him, declaring that he had smelt gunpowder too often to 
be alarmed by a ghost who had allowed a poor Quaker 
chiel to escape from him unhurt ; adding at the same time 
that he had a very fine brace of pistols which he should take 
the liberty of loading, and with which he hoped to give any 
nocturnal intruder a warm reception. My uncle had a very 
fine Newfoundland dog, which rejoiced in the name of 
" Tartar " : this dog always slept in the same room with his 
master, and was at the present moment asleep at his master's 
feet. It occurred to me that the ghost who dared to face 
either the dog or the master would find his match in either 
of them, and I felt confident that the coming night would 
solve the mystery, which was causing us so much excitement. 
My uncle rose, saying that he would go at once and load his 
pistols, and at the same time Agatha Snow opened the door to 
tell us that it was time to dress for dinner. 

I thought dinner would never come to an end : my ex* 
citement increased every moment as the evening went 
on, and when I was called upon to play an accompaniment 
to the singing of one of our guests, my thoughts were so 
devoted to the ghostly terrors of our haunted room, that my 
performance was execrable. Poor Signor Cariotti, who had 
intended to electrify us all by his superb Tenor and his 
exquisite rendering of " II mio tesoro," all but broke down, 
and at the conclusion of his song honoured me with a very 
low bow and a most sarcastic " merci, mademoiselle." The 
poor man had fallen in love with me with that ardour, which 
none but an Italian who after ten minutes acquaintance with 
a lady comes to the conclusion that she is an angel can ever 
hope to experience. However my performance on the piano 
qualified his belief in my angelic qualities considerably, for 
wjjo ever heard of an angel murdering Mozart, and a tenor 
voice which Rome, Florence and Milan had declared to be 
superb, magnificent, and all but divine ? 

But to return to our muttons, the longest day has an end, 
and at length we all went off to bed. My uncle went off to 
his room, having wished myself and my aunt " good-night " 
with his usual calm smile, and assured us that he and Tartar 
were a match for any ghost our establishment could produce. 

It was a long time before my excitement allowed me to go 
to sleep, and scarcely had I fallen into a doze when I was 
roused from sleep by two loud reports. I sprung out of bed, 
and hastily dressed myself, and the minute after my aunt 
came into my room as pale as a ghost, and told me to follow 



A Ghost Story. 273 

her at once. We found the whole establishment up in 
alarm. They had all heard the noise, but did not know 
from whence it came. 

My aunt at once led the way to my uncle's room ; we 
entered the room, and a scene was before us which I shall 
remember to the last day of my life. 

{To be continued.) 



Q O 

Q O O 

Q Q 

8 



THE BETUBN OF THE TWILIGHT. 



Ueber alien Gipfeln 

1st Ruh, 
In alien Wipfeln 

Spiirest du 
Kaum einen Hauch; 
Die Vogelein echweigen in Walde. 
Warte nur, balde 

Ruhest dn auch. 

(Goethe* s Lieder.) 



Thou hast returned, season of holy rest, 

And fairest visions : crowned by Day with smiles, 
By Night with stars and sadness, ere the West 
Receives thee, calmly fading on her breast. 

Pale is the bloom slow stealing o'er the sky ; 
In deepest purple haze the fields below 
Are wrapt and silent, — save when Evening's sigh 
Like an iEolian harp soothes murmuringly : 

A hymn of wordless music, timed by sails 

Of distant wind-mills on the sea-cliff s verge, 
Now quivering, touched by lightest fanning gales : 
To thee its yearning love the heart unveils. 

Severed no more by time or space, the soul 

Thrills with its kindred soul : thy languid glow, 
Freeing us from the aching world's controul, 
All grief, all joy doth blend in one mysterious whole. 

Dreams and pure hopes, by thee of old inspired, 

Thy melancholy glory wakes again, 
When, like a Childhood's fairy, thou'dst attired 
The winds with words that told all we desired. 



The Return of the Twilight. 275 

Solemnly glidest thou across the sea, 

So silent, mournful, tender, that the tears 
Which olden grief could never wring from me, 
Obey thy spell, in lonely reverie. 

The shell-strewn beach throbs to th' encroaching tide. 

And murmurs, now it cannot see thee more : 
While the swart fisher who doth o'er it glide 
Hushes the song to which these cliffs replied. 

The cool gray shades droop low and hide the vale, 

Where yon Church spire peers heavenward from the trees; 
The moon, half-veiled in light, her path doth scale, 
Gazing from her lone height — a vestal pale. 

And as we watch thy gold empurpled dyes 

The star-lit Night enfolds thee in her smile ; 
The last reflected sunbeam wanes and flies, 
Like one stray stress of sinking Paradise. 

Sink we as calm ! From earth there fades no bloom, 

But heaven receives with holier loveliness ; 
And starry angel-lamps the soul illume 
When fadeth all Life's sunshine in the tomb. 

J. W. E. 



** 

**** 

** 



NAPLES AND LAKE AYEENUS. 
{By the Author of " Our College Friends. 99 ) 



"Unto a land 

In which it seemed always afternoon." — Tennyson* 



I. — Naples. 

J^APLES is not the pleasantest place in the world in bad 
weather. Down its steep thoroughfares the rain pours 
in rivers that sweep small boys off their feet, and land 
them half-a-mile lower, amongst the fishing-boats. There 
are gutters, at rare intervals, but as they are more for 
ornament than for use, and few things work in Naples, the 
inhabitants prefer availing themselves of any other chance 
which may remove the pestilential litter without employing 
human labour. Woe betide the stranger who attempts to 
walk down to the Market-place — say from Toledo street — 
in a heavy rain ! One almost requires a life-buoy. 

The after-experience is as bad, since the Neapolitans 
have an ingenious method of drying boots after such inun- 
dation; they half-fill them with burning charcoal, which 
soon dispels the moisture — and usually burns a hole or 
two. This, however, encourages trade, both of shoemakers 
and cab-drivers : and " poor folks must live, Signori !" - 

Naples rises in estimation, after rambling through its 
streets in fine weather, study in the museum, and an evening 
at Lenni's Cafe and the Opera of San Carlo. 

Let us take a sketch of the scenery as we come down 
the steep path from Castel di San Ermo, which crowns 
the city; a pathway paved, as all the streets are here, with 
hard blocks of dark gray lava from Vesuvius. We look 
forth on the broad sweep of the bay, now calmed from 
the storms of yesterday, lying there so pale and blue, with 



Naples and Lake Avernus* 277 

the gay city crescent-like encircling it. From our height 
we peer down on the flat roofs of the houses — terraced and 
promenaded, — into the gardens, whose presence we had 
scarcely perceived or suspected hitherto, and losing all the 
noisome adjuncts which a nearer inspection had revealed, we 
begin to understand the witchery of Naples. The hills of the 
coast-line stretch onward to our left, with bold graceful 
outline; Castel-a-mare glittering in distance, and nearer 
villages continuously dotting the declivities of Vesuvius. 
To the other side, now hidden from us, but lately seen, lie 
the little towns of Baiee and Posilipo. We descend to 
the majestic palace of King Bomballino,* its lunette piazza 
fronting it, and the San Carlo theatre closely adjacent; 
we see the officers in sumptuous rooms knocking the billiard- 
balls about; and then, the moon illuminating the bay, we 
stroll down from the Mole, watching the rack of clouds, 
or the chafing surge that breaks, retreats, and breaks again, 
with its monotony of change. 



II. — The Neapolitans at Mid-day. 

Truly in the sunny weather the whole extent of shore 
is beautiful. Many are the bays and headlands, houses 
and small towns. Light fishing boats are on the water ; gay 
Neapolitans in their spring-cars are whirling along the road. 
We traverse Naples swiftly, as we desire to walk to Cumae 
and Baise. Yonder massive towers are near the Castel-a- 
mare Railway station, guarded by sentinels. By the Capuan 
gate we enter one of the Market-places; very dirty it is, 
swarming with red-capped men and frowsy women, selling 
and eating tripe, pig's-feet, and other dainties, not savoury 
to smell. We turn quickly under that archway to the left, 
and behold the sea once more lying so glassily, with the 
blue isles and mountains in the distance, and the projecting 
piers or moles before us. To these moles we proceed, 
passing on our way countless groups of seamen from every 
land, of all classes, cleanly and dirty, men-of-war sailors 
and officers; red-garbed felons linked in gangs, with 
chains round their legs; stall-keepers, vending eels and 
those pretty pink fish so common here, others with melons 
and luscious ficarines from Palermo; others, again, with 

* Like Otho's of Greece, since then his Oak is sported, and 
he has left no word with his bedmaker as to when he may return, 

VOL. III. X 



278 Naples and Lake Acernus. 

pine-tops steaming over charcoal braziers, the heat opening 
the cones and making them yield their seeds, which, thus 
prepared, are in continual demand and taste like Brazil-nuts. 
Passing by these groups, with more jokes than purchases, 
we reach the Custom-house. Next the Arsenal, on one side, 
on the other the Post-Office, dear to expatriated tourists. 
We are at the Mole, a broad, well-paved promenade, exten- 
ding from the light-houses to the end of the main thorough- 
fare — Strada Toledo, where it enjoys the title of Largo di 
Castello. The place is almost impassable with loungers, 
shoe-blacks, cafes, lottery-offices and minor theatres. 
Outside these booths, are paintings, changed daily, with 
exhibitions of monkeys and of Punchinello. Polichinello, 
be it remembered is an important character in Naples, 
possessing much political influence in his popularity. A 
government may do almost whatever it likes with the im- 
prisoned patriots, so long as Polichinello is left free : the 
Lazzaroni care not for the rest. Vesuvius may have a 
volcano every week, and frizzle all the sea coast, and bake 
the vineyards; but, whilst Polichinello escapes the lava, 
people will rather enjoy the excitement. King Bomba 
dies when his time comes, and his successor, like his ances- 
tors, may go to the bow-wows ; but Azrael has no power 
over Polichinello. No matter what joys or sorrows chequer 
the days, he is ever the same ; always hungry and gluttonous, 
cowardly and in dangerous blunders, tossed from each 
mischance into other mis-adventures ; a false friend and 
selfish lover, certain to be preserved when better creatures 
perish, but never winning peace, happiness or respect: — 
He is the Neapolitan beau ideal, and the popular idol of 
any land is generally the index to national character.* 

III.— The Tomb of Virgil. 

Let us escape from the confusion of these sheds, and 
pass the immense Opera-house, the " San Carlo," with the 
Palace, its colonnade, and the castle of St. Elmo on its com- 
manding rock. Two good bronze statues of Sicilian kings, 

# Polichinello — a Pierrot, or clown in loose white garments and 
a black half-mask — is always full of trickery, blunders, and comi- 
cally stupid sayings. He comments freely upon all social questions 
(so far as may be permitted by the Police), and in this is not unlike 
our Punch, whilst we have resemblances of him in the circus-clown 
and the Scaramouch of Don Juan, though the half-mask is only 
retained by our Harlequin. 



Naples and Lake Avernus. 279 

equestrian, are in the Piazza. "We pass now to what is 
termed Chiaja, where are the finest hotels, facing the sea ; 
a noble drive, with public gardens on the shore, decked with 
statues, for a mile or two. Where the land juts to the sea 
we turn inland to an immense portal in the rock, the cele- 
brated " Grotto of Posilipo," before entering which we 
salute the tomb of Virgil. 

This tomb, with its lengthy modern inscription, has a 
heavy, but impressive appearance. We are compelled to linger 
here, remembering the poet and his anxiety for the glory of 
his country. That little handful of ashes, those laurel-leaves 
whose parent tree has withered ages ago, surely it is a not 
unfitting temple for such mouldered relics ; neither in total 
solitude and desertness, nor yet amid all the noisy revelry 
and traffic of the sinful city. Here branches wave above his 
tomb, the long festoons of grass drop dews upon the stone, 
the starlight and the sunshine come alternately to brighten 
where he sleeps, and in the quiet midnight the roll and clash 
of the sea-waves sound lullingly from below, and all around 
is peace. 

*' Call it not vain ; they do not -err 
Who say, that when the Poet dies 
Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, 

And celebrates his obsequies ; 
Who say tall cliff and cavern lone 

For the departed bard make moan ; 
That mountains weep in crystal rill ; 

That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 
Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, 

And oaks, in deeper groans, reply ; 
And rivers teach their rushing wave 
To murmur dirges round his grave/' 

Nearly a mile in length is Posilipo Grotto, which com- 
mences with a height of more than a hundred feet, but is less 
lofty at the other end. It is a tunnel through the solid rock, 
which could only thus be passed, unless surmounted ; leading 
us out to a flat meadow-land. Soon the sea-shore is regained. 
The numerous islands and jutting points are finely relieved 
against the blue unruffled waters of the bay. Yonder bold 
mound, a promontory crowned with buildings, is Pozzuoli; 
behind it is an irregular line of coast,- with one sudden group 
of towers and dwellings; that is Baise. Stretching out 
therefrom is Cape Misenum, and behind appear the needle 
peaks of Ischia. We wind round the crags where men are 
quarrying, amid the groups of fishermen and car-drivers, and 

x 2 



280 Naples and Lake A vermis, 

enter Pozzuoli: see its fragments of ancient temples — as 
that of Serapis, which only retains three columns, precious to 
geologists; its Caesarean bridge at the harbour; and, after 
awhile, depart, still by the shore, for Baiee. Soon we turn 
aside into the Cuma road, oyer the hills, conducting to the 
upper crest of a volcanic lake: — and that lake is called 
Avernus. 

IV. — Lake Avernus. 

Yes, actually Lake Avernus. We are treading the con- 
fines of the Virgilian Hades. Yonder brook is the Acherusia, 
that ruin at the edge of the lake is still called, by passing 
villagers, The Grotto of the Cumsean Sybil — although the 
antiquaries place it farther off, and assert this ruin to be a 
Temple of Apollo : but such archaeological gentry are always 
quarrelling in Italy — and, perhaps, elsewhere. Yet they 
agree on one point, that this is certainly the country of the 
Cimmerians, where they dwelt in their caves and gloomy 
thickets. The rocks are soft, and incline naturally to the 
cellular formation, which favours the assertion ; but the ancient 
forests are only scantily represented by a few twiggy trees ; 
probably, in the words of some rusticated Collegian (" not to 
speak it profanely I") the former population had " cut their 
sticks." 

With such sorry jests and quibbles, with buffoonery and 
lassitude, the modern tourists chatter and sketch upon the 
ground where heroes of old were accustomed to " believe and 
tremble." Like Epicharmus with the Greek mythology, 
like G. A. a'Becket and the other witlings of the Cockney 
school, travestying the History of Borne and of England, 
are we desirous of spurting low ridicule on whatsoever had 
won veneration ? We hope not ! there has been too much, 
of that degradation. It is not a conclusive proof of our being 
enlightened Christians, that we sneer and misinterpret bygone 
creeds, as though in the old Greek and Roman poetry were 
shewn nothing worthier than Fetish idols, rotten mummies, 
Australasian Ram-Jams and ..Ethiopian Mumbo-Jumbos. 
Have we no better moral to extract from all we read, than 
shrugging shoulders at the darkened heathens and rejoicing 
" that we are not even as this publican" ? As we now glance 
over the meadows called Elysian Fields, and yonder slimy 
Acheron, gloomy under the gathering shadows of evening, 
we feel that some of the ancient attributes remain. Here, on 
the shores of the blue Mediterranean, where this volcanic 
range of hillocks still support a few ruined shrines, were 



Naples and Lake Avernus. 281 

fabled to have moved the restless spirits of the dead. Can 
we not, like -SSneas and Ulysses, summon them to view, or 
has our own more lovely Christian faith destroyed the charm 
of the old creed, and revealed nobler destinies to the freed 
soul of man ? 

Creatures of an age of poetry, they linger still, though 
dimly visible, and we see them for a moment, as the pious 
Fenelon had seen them — with the stains of earth remaining, 
even in the Elysian Fields; Achilles limping with his 
wounded heel, Theseus and Agamemnon with melancholy 
on their kingly brows; Ajax ever stern and revengeful for 
his wrong, and Deiphobus bearing ghastly tokens of the 
wrath of Menelaus. Can we conduct the shades of our great 
men to such assemblage ? Is Milton sitting blind amid his 
daughters; Spenser wailing for his slaughtered son who 
died in fires of Kilcolman ? Is Bacon meditating with frost- 
bitten hands; Wolfe with the sword-hilt in his wounded 
breast, and Nelson mutilated as when he lay on his own 
Victory ? At once we feel the inherent difference of creed : 
we, who hold that all the weaknesses and individual blemishes 
must fade before that wonderful awakening; we, who re- 
membering the pale and care-worn Tasso on his death-pallet 
in the Eoman monastery — the shouts which hail his laurel- 
crown now insufficient to efface remembrance of Ferrara's 
mad-house cell, — contrast him with the unseen spirit of Tasso, 
thereafter gazing on the earth where he had erred and 
suffered, — with the intelligence, which in its fitful partial 
revelations had been alternately regarded as genius and 
insanity, now fuller-blossomed, nearer to its consummated 
bliss and power. It was not strange that Socrates and others 
of noble mind cherished the hope of immortality : though 
only dimly seen and all-unproved, the possibility of future 
life allured them. 

A riper faith is ours : not the cold immortality of heathen 
poets, to whom the life beyond the grave was but a saddening 
dream : at best a weary flitting across sunny meadows, 
or a resting upon beds of Asphodel, listening to the 
sounds of Orpheus' harmony, and musing on the world 
which they had parted from for evermore ;■»— unless, indeed, 
the gift were given that they might drink of Lethe, and 
return as other beings to the earth. With their olden 
passions and desires remaining, ever unfulfilled and yet 
renewed, they lingered in the Land of Shadows, unconsoled 
and anxious for their kindred, knowing merely the far 
future, but not the movements of the passing hour in their 



282 Naples and Lake Avernus. 

distant homes ; only at rarest intervals would some mortal 
come, like Odysseus or JEneas, and question them, and 
hearken to their prophecies, or speak of those they loved. 
There, across the trench filled with the black blood of sacri- 
fice, which they best liked to quaff, the bold enquirer would 
stand with guardian sword, compelling truthful answer from 
those whom he had bribed to speech by means of that ghastly 
nectar. Around him, from their several haunts of wretched- 
ness or sad-hued joy, the shades would gather, eager, insati- 
able, and isolated though in crowds. Not the secluded 
groves, the flowery meadows where in sport they wrestled or 
drove their visionary chariots, could content them wholly ; 
not the balmy air and rivulets ever freshly flowing, whilst 
the hymns to* Apollo sounded. Even Achilles mourned — 
even he, so honoured whilst alive, and ruling still with 
power among the Shades, — and longed that he might be a 
rustic, serving for hire under some other needy man, rather 
than thus rule as chief over all the unquiet Shades in the 
Eiysian Fields * 

But joy for us, who know we have a more assured Eternity 
awaiting ; we rest on no vague hope but on a certain pro- 
mise. We look across the years of sorrow with confidence, 
though with an humble eye. We pray with certainty that 
we are heard. And it is not the grim boatman Charon, but 
an Angel with ever-lustrous brow, who waits to guide us — 
'Into the Silent Land.' 

V.— After Nightfall 

When returning to Naples from Baiae, as night ap- 
proaches, I accept the invitation of a charioteer who is going 
my way, and, for the fun of the thing, stand upon the back- 
springs of his clattering car, which already is carrying nine 
peasants — but there is here no Society for the prevention of 
cruelty to animals. It gives a fair notion of the jolts and 
recklessness in an ancient Biga, during a chariot race. At 
what a pace we go! and what a noisy crew! There's a 
wheel off: no it isn't ! Now we're spilt against that cairn, 
and come to grief? Missed it by Romulus ! Crash we go 
against another car; half-a-dozen bones broken, of course? 
Corpo di Bacco, not a fibula ! Off again we go — a pack of 
mad scoundrels, with shouts, yells, screams, oaths (no Proc- 
tors near to take their names or colleges !) clatter, jingle, 
■ 

» Od. xi. 488. 



Naples and Lake Avernm. 2 S3 

dash and discord through the darkness, till we "stop to 
liquor," as Jonathan would say, before the Posilippo Grotto, 
where I hand my buono-mano to the driver, and depart on 
foot ; not ill pleased to avoid the Saturnalia, and yet have 
had the experience, without bodily maiming — of Neapolitan 
car-driving by the Bay of Naples. 

VI. — Between Midnight and Morn. 

Well, we have got home and may go to bed, whilst the 
moon is shining. It is time. The streets of Naples, like the 
streets of London, shew you enough of uproarious mirth, of 
reckless folly and wretchedness side by side. But where, 
indeed, do we ever find the one without the other close at 
hand ? When we are told, on beholding our public amuse- 
ments and festivities, that this is the way in which people 
enjoy themselves, the remark would not be unnatural, that if 
in their pleasure they act such miserable parts, how inconceiv- 
ably terrible must be their tragedy ! 

Not that from festive meetings, any more than from 
familiar intercourse, should mirth or cheerfulness be ban* 
ished. Some folly may be tolerated, whether in Naples or 
even in a University. There is so much of sadness in life 
that we have need of laughter to smooth out the wrinkles 
from our brows, and whilst it is kindly humour who shall 
dare deny his neighbour's pleasantries ? We are all the 
better for a smile at times, so long as it does not degenerate 
into a sneer. Little use is there in dwelling on painful 
topics, recapitulating how many ounces, pounds, or cwts. we 
are trying to upheave : chronicling the advent or departure 
of an aching tooth, or laying bare a sorrow that may be 
darkening all Nature. If we cannot lay the phantom 
in the Red Sea of self-forgetfulness, let us be content 
that it stay in its own corner, making mouths at us, with 
its grisly finger pointing as in mockery or warning; it 
is scarcely fair to bid our friends come hither and share the 
unquiet company. Certainly not ! says the World. " If no 
other way is easy, plait your garlands in its face, newly 
string with bells your cap of Folly, and if you cannot wear it 
with a jaunty air, at least your very trembling may thus yield 
some music. If you cannot be Philosopher, the part of 
mountebank is always open to you." Sometimes the wages 
tempt adventurers, but generally the labours are gratuitous.. 
And the more of folly that we have to-day, so much the 
heavier is the reckoning claimed by melancholy to-morrow. 



2B4 Naples and Lake Avermis. 

Most of us have felt in hours of bitter retrospection, that of 
all the melancholy things in this world, which takes its colour 
from our own glasses, tne most intensely melancholy is that 
which we mistakenly regard as Fan. 

It was well enough for the young Dane to draw compa- 
rison between the grinning skull of Yorick and the olden 
jokes which " set the table in a roar." Some of ourselves, at 
the "A. D. C." and elsewhere, have seen the muscles twitch 
beneath the whitening on the face of Scaramouch, with other 
spasms than the audience noticed. Billy Barlow may pre- 
tend to stagger in drunken hilarity, while little Joe, his 
first-born, lies coffined on the bed at home ; and Lord Lovel 
in the wildest antics of his mock-heroics, describing the 
funeral of Ladye Nancie Bell, may have a dismal recollec- 
tion foreign to the foot-lights and the howls within his 
tattered handkerchief. Very grim in his buffoonery is 
Thackeray; and Swift, inditing Tales of Tubs, Yahoos, 
and Houyhnhnms, or the keen-edged Voltaire with Candide 
and with Cunegunde, is but a sorry sight. Punch, in our 
British streets, perhaps is relished chiefly for the eccentric 
lawlessness of his mirth, travestying that freedom from con- 
trol which the spectators long for, but possess not; and 
the jaded tumblers, and the girls on stilts, the " Ethiopian 
Serenaders," and even the musicians who are hired to attend 
our out-college supper-parties, give us no sunny laughter when 
reflective. For my own part, I feel inclined to put in sober 
earnest that enquiry which Dickens mentions scornfully of 
Nickleby's Mr. Curdle, as to whether the husband of Juliet's 
Nurse were really or not " a merry man." Not very merry 
to our thinking. In his few recorded words, told by his widow, 
there is a vein of melancholy knowledge of the hypocrisies 
and failings that he had found in human nature, and dictating 
his fore-shadowings of futurity. The Fool in King Lear, 
moreover, is wild and mournful in his snatches, — the Melan- 
choly of Fun everywhere to be seen. .^Lnobarbus, the jester, 
dies of a broken heart for his own ingratitude to Antony ; 
and Falstaff, the butt, who is ever so ready to ridicule him- 
self and assume the guise of braggart for amusement of 
others — (for* observe ! he does not boast in solitude, but 
shews a painful observance of his companions' weaknesses, and 
a consciousness of his own) — he even pines away and dies 
remorsefully, with his sincere though whimsical affection for 
Prince Hal rebuked and made the scourge for his own 
punishment. Whether is the fantastic brave Mercutio or the 
boastful u Fiery Tybalt," the man of deepest feelings ? And 



Naples and Lake Avernus. 285 

may we not read in their author's Sonnets some confessions 
of one who " made himself a motley to the view" ? And is 
it not true that in life, as in our College groves, when the 
trees wear party-coloured foliage, like Touchstone's vest- 
ments, they are nighest the cold sterility of winter ? Was it 
altogether Fun, and of a lively character that dictated the 
epitaphs of Gay and of Churchill ; or made Mephistopheles 
more worldly wise and dangerous than Milton's Lucifer? 
And is not the sight of what is termed " Fast life" merri- 
ment a little fraught with sadness ? The Chinese mourn in 
white, and some of us in Harlequin-like patchery, as though 
believing motley to be the only wear. What would you 
have ? It is the tribute which hypocrisy must pay to Ges- 
ler's cap, conventionality being thereby satisfied. Let us go 
to our sleep then, not with the loud shout of ribald laughter 
in our ears, but with tender memories and humble trustful 
thoughts in our hearts. Is it Naples or St. John's that shall 
be seen at awakening ? Or does it matter much what the 
outside is, so long as inside there is peacefulness and faith ? 
So Farewell ! 



8 

O & 

© & a 
o & 

o 




THE ALPINE CLUB MAN. 



"Up the high Alps, perspiring madman, steam, 
To please the school-boys, and become a theme." 

Cf. Juv. Sat. x. v. 166. 



Ye who know not the charms of a glass before Zero, 
Come list to the lay of an Alpine Club Hero; 
For no mortal below, contradict it who can, 
Lives a life half so blest as the Alpine Club man. 

When men of low tastes snore serenely in bed, 
He is up and abroad with a nose blue and red ; 
While the lark, who would peacefully sleep in her nest, 
Wakes and blesses the stranger who murders her rest. 

Now blowing their .fingers, with frost-bitten toes, 
The joyous procession exultingly goes; 
Above them the glaciers spectral are shining, 
But onward they march undismay'd, unrepining. 

Now the glacier blue they approach with blue noses, 
When a deep yawning <Schrund' further progress opposes; 
Already their troubles begin: here's the rub! 
So they halt, and nem. con. call aloud for their grub. 

From the fountain of pleasure will bitterness spring, 
Yet why should the Muse aught but happiness sing? 
No! let me the terrible anguish conceal 
Of the Hero whose guide had forgotten the veal!* 



Cf. Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers, 1st. Series, p. 296. 



The Alpine Club Man. 28Y 

Now "all full inside" on the ice they embark: 
The moon has gone down, and the morning is dark, 
Dreary drizzles the rain, O, deny it who can, 
There s no one so blest as the Alpine Club man! 



But why should I dwell on their labours at length? 
Why sing of their eyelids' astonishing strength? 
How they ride up "aretes" with slow, steady advance, 
One leg over Italy, one over France. 



Now the summit is gained, the reward of their toil : 

So they sit down contentedly water to boil : 

Eat and drink, stamp their feet, and keep warm if they can, 

O who is so blest as the Alpine Club man ? 



Now their lips and their hands are of wonderful hue, 
And skinless their noses, that 'erst were so blue: 
And they find to their cost that high regions agree 
With that patient explorer and climber — the flea. 



Then they slide down again in a manner not cozy, 
(Descensus haud facilis est Montis Rosse) 
Now spread on all fours, on their backs now descending, 
Till broad-cloth and bellows call loudly for mending. 



Now harnessed together like so many— horses, 
By bridges of snow they cross awful crevasses; 
So frail are these bridges that they who go o'er 'em 
Indulge in a perilous " Pons Asinorum." 



Lastly weary and jaded, with hunger opprest, 

In a hut they chew goat's flesh, and court gentle rest : 

But Entomological hosts have conspired 

To drive sleep from their eyelids, with clambering tired. 



O thou who with banner of strangest device 
Hast never yet stood on a summit of ice, 
Where "lifeless but beautiful" nature doth show 
An unvaried expanse of rock, rain, ice, and snow. 



288 The Alpine Club Man. 

Perchance thou may'st ask what avails all their toil ? 
What avails it on mountain-tops water to boil? 
What avails it to leave their snug beds in the dark? 
Do they go for a view? do they go for a lark? 

Know, presumptuous wretch, 'tis not science they price, 
The lark 9 and the view ('tis all mist) they despise; 
Like the wise king of France with Ids ten thousand men, 
They go up their mountain, and come down again. 

TURGIDUS ALPINU& 





© O 
© © 



a 



A LONG VACATION TEIP. 



IT may seem presumptuous, after the thrilling accounts of 
hair-breadth escapes and accidents by ice-flood and snow- 
field which Aquila has recently given to the world, for 
an ordinary mortal pedestrian to intrude his insignificant 
experiences on its pages. He can tell of no dangers sur- 
mounted, no difficulties overcome ; he never in his life stood 
where to his certain knowledge no one had been before him, 
— he has discovered no new Col, climbed no as yet virgin 
peak, — why should he think anyone will be interested in his 
story ? I console myself, however, with the thought that of 
those who travel, a vast majority will take the same course 
with myself, especially on their first visit to an unknown land, 
and that the Alpine Club, like the Epoptae of the Egyptian 
mysteries, is likely ever to be an esoteric and privileged 
class. My story, such as it is, may be of use to some fellow 
Collegian, who wishes to refresh himself after the fatigues 
of a summer's work, and to widen his knowledge of men 
and things. 

It was on a London day of September, the 4th, that B. 
and myself met on the deck of the Antwerp Steamer. 
The sun 

"was struggling with the gloom 
Which filled the Eastern sky/' 

but he did not triumph, and the clouds continuing to 
have it all their own way, we were disappointed of the 
pleasure which we had anticipated of a moonlit night at sea. 
We found ourselves amongst a motlev company, mainly 
of Germans and Dutchmen returning from the Exhibition. 
Some of them might certainly have gone there "spec- 
tarentur ut ipsi;" one man in particular, who was the 
beau ideal of a Dutch burgomaster. With the usual con- 
sideration of English companies for the comfort of foreigners, 



290 A Long Vacation Trip. 

though this route is one of the most direct for Germany, none 
of the steward's men knew a word of German. It was quite 
pitiable and at the same time ludicrous to witness the sorrows 
of a stolid looking Deutschmann who sat next me at dinner, 
and in vain tried to get his wants supplied. Being utterly- 
innocent of the language of Vaterland I could not help 
him, and other people seemed too busy in supplying their own 
wants to attend to his. 

When I turned out of my berth in the morning I found 
we were steaming somewhat slowly up the " lazy Scheldt." 
The country through which it flows is of course very flat, 
but possesses, I should think, a quiet beauty of its own. 
There was an appearance of homely comfort about the 
villages which are dotted here and there along the banks, 
each with its quaint looking church peeping out from among 
the trees, or lifting its red-tiled tower above their tops, which 
made me think I could sympathise with the sturdy patriotism 
with which the Batavian race have so often defended hearth 
and home. The scene on deck was far from homely ; a 
more general picture of misery I never saw. The passage 
had been too smooth for serious effects, but traces of slight 
uneasiness were visible on more faces than one, and the raw r 
damp morning with a quiet drizzling rain was not exactly the 
thing to improve the general appearance. 

Our first object of interest was of course the Cathedral 
spire, which is visible from a great distance, and which 
as a whole appears to better advantage at a distance than from 
a nearer position, the Church being closed in by buildings on 
all sides but one. We were soon alongside the pier, and 
having satisfied the douaniers, stepped lightly out into the 
streets of Antwerp. And, notwithstanding the comparative 
dreariness of the voyage, I would strongly recommend those 
same streets of Antwerp as a first introit to the Continent. 
I have not visited many towns, but of all that I have seen this 
is the most quaint and peculiar, in fact, as B. remarked with 
great originality, " thoroughly continental." The somewhat 
picturesque dress of the women, with their full-lappeted caps, 
somewhat short petticoats and sabots, (a bonnet is a sure sign 
of position) ; the houses irregular in height covered with tiles 
of different colours, and with strange enseignes before them ; 
the priests and novices in shovel hats and cassocks, a race in 
which Antwerp seems to be prolific; the hearing now French, 
now low Dutch, and occasionally a word of English ; — all 
conspire to make the place most striking to an Englishman. 

The Museum at Antwerp is a valuable school for the 



A Long Vacation Trip. 291 

study of the Dutch and Flemish schools of painting, and the 
admirable catalogue which gives a sketch of the life of each 
painter with a description and history of each separate paint- 
ing, is a ready help to the study. The chef-d'ceuvres of 
Quentin Matsys, Rubens, and Vandyck are preserved here * 
The curiosity of the place, however, is an artist, and teacher of 
painting who generally works there, and who has lost both his 
arms ; not only does he paint with his foot, but he will take 
up a piece of thin paper with it, write his address upon it, 
and foot it to you with a most polite and gracious air. 

Having spent a pleasant day in Antwerp, we went on in the 
afternoon to Brussels. And here I must give vent to a 
grievance in the matter of foreign railways. In England we 
always consider that while we wait for a train, we may 
relieve the tedium by a walk about the station. Ima- 
gine then the disgust of a liberty-loving Englishman at 
being politely shewn into a salle d' attente, marked off ac- 
cording to his class, and told that he must wait there till " le 
bureau est ouvert" — then, when the bureau is open and he 
has taken his ticket being ushered back into his pen, to be 
released thence by another officer ere long, the train proba- 
bly waiting all the time ready before his very eyes. And 
all this is done to prevent scrambling and disorder I I must 
do them the justice of saying, that their carriages when you 
do get into them are good, but the pace is not killing. 

Of Brussels I will not betray my ignorance, having only 
taken a two hours' walk therein by gas-light. We quitted 
it by the night express for Cologne, which place we reached 
at 6.30 in the morning, fairly tired and sleepy. A good wash 
however at the comfortable lavatory, with additional help from 
the refreshment-room, set Mis up again, and we sallied forth 
to see the Cathedral and the large suspension bridge, which 
is a splendid erection. The Cathedral we found behind an 
advanced trench of squared stones and other signs of masons' 
work. Unfortunately we could only walk once round it, for 
the early service was going on, and we were warned that 
visitors were not allowed to walk about till a later hour. I 
confess to having felt some qualms of conscience on more oc- 
casions than one at walking about in Churches, and evidently 

* I was most struck with a Pietk of Vandyck, No. 346 in 
the Catalogue ; the expression of anguish in the Virgin's face as she 
holds the dead body of the Saviour in her lap is poignant in the 
extreme. The Rubenses here are not so good as those in the 
Churches. 



292 A Long Vacation Trip. 

disturbing persons who were at their devotion ; but the way 
in which the worshippers generally took a long stare at the 
strangers, at the same time continuing mechanically to count 
their beads or mutter their paternosters, convinced me that 
they came there to pray, not because the sanctity of the place 
increased their devotional feeling, but because they attached 
a special merit to the place itself. We did not find any 
attraction either in the bones of St. Ursula and her ten thou- 
sand nine hundred and ninety-seven companions/ or in the 
' boutiques 9 of the six original Johann Marie Farinas, but I 
can endorse the general testimony of travellers as to the need 
Cologne has of its own waters. 

From Cologne to Bonn is a journey by rail of some 
seventy minutes. It is best to go by rail, for there is 
nothing of interest by river. The Museum at Bonn contains 
some good collections, I should' imagine, though I am no 
— ologist. There is however besides these a capital model of 
the Rhine valley, and the valleys that branch out from it, 
which is invaluable to any one who wishes to spend a 
pleasant fortnight in exploring their recesses. 

Albert Smith has made the Bhine steamers known to 
every one. As we were late in the season, however, we did 
not find them over-crowded. The day was not fine enough 
for us to land at Konigswinter, and climb the " castled crag of 
Drachenfels," so we contented ourselves with the charming 
view from below the island of Nonnenswerth. This is, I 
think, after all, the most beautiful view on the Bhine. The 
island with its old cloister forms a fine fore-ground, leading up 
to the peaks of the Seven Hills, which are very picturesquely 
grouped together. It is superior I think to the neighbour- 
hood of St. Goar and the Lurlei. -* But each to his own taste. 
The whole of the valley is very pretty, but when the first 
charm of novelty is over, one is rather struck by a feeling of 
sameness and uniformity about it. This is owing to the fact, 
that the natural outline of the hills that skirt the river is 
trimmed down to an uniform slope or series of terraces, for 
the cultivation of the vines, with whose produce Mr. Glad- 
stone has made us better acquainted. This did not seem to 
be the case nearly so much in the side valleys. That even- 
ing we reached Coblenz, and, after two nights of unrest, 
heartily enjoyed our slumbers and our Sunday's rest. Ehren- 

* As the Lady Ursula was returning from Borne, three of her 
11,000 companions remained at Basel, one of whom, Crischona, 
founded a chapel on a hill near Basel, that bevs her name. 



A Long Vacation Trip. 293 

breitstein gave us occupation for the afternoon. The even- 
ing I shall not soon forget. The moon was at full, and was 
shining now in perfectly unclouded brilliance, and gleaming 
with reflected light on the rushing waters of the Rhine, as we 
paced up and down the bridge of boats, talking of what we 
had seen and indulging in pleasurable anticipation of what 
was yet to come. 

It is at Coblenz that the wood which has floated down in 
small rafts from the forests of the upper Rhine is made into 
the large floating islands, which are so familiar to the visitor 
of Cologne and the lower Rhine ; one which we saw had some 
80 or 100 men upon it. From Coblenz we went by early 
steamer to Bingen and thence to Mainz by rail, so saving 
time and avoiding a somewhat uninteresting part of the river. 
The main object of interest at Mainz is the Cathedral, which 
was undergoing a thorough restoration internally, and pre- 
sented to us a very forest of scaffolding. The apse of the 
Church, however, and one or two side chapels were com- 
pleted, and form the best specimen of decorative colouring 
that I have seen. There are also some very pleasant public 
grounds outside the town which on a clear day command a very 
good view of the Rhine valley and are worth visiting. The 
young gamins of Mainz had an addition to their enjoyment on 
the 8th of September, 1862, to which they can scarcely have 
looked forward previously, and it must be confessed ^that 
a light cap with a soft brim, when it has been folded in your 
pocket into all possible shapes, does give to a man a some- 
what comical appearance. 

Being desirous of seeing something of a German gaming 
spa, we decided to turn out of our way to spend an hour 
or two at Wiesbaden, and $ee the inside of the Kursaal. The 
grounds attached to it are beautifully laid out more in the 
style of an English gentleman's park than the dull formality 
of the grounds at Buxton. Add the charm of excellent music 
twice a day, and the possibility of getting refreshments at 
any moment, (for body and soul must be fed together,) and 
I think you would find the place a very pleasant one for a 
convalescent. The play-tables (roulette and rouge et noir) 
did not put on for us any of the tragic interest with which 
they have been so often invested. Certainly we had not 
time for much study of physiognomy— and the only sight that 
awakened in us any strong feeling of pity was that of a pretty 
girl of some twenty summers who had evidently caught the 
gambling fever, and was being tutored in her play by a hard' 
faced prompter at her elbow. Frankfort was our resting 
vol. in. V 



294 A Long Vacation Drip. 

place for the night. We regretted that we coald not see 
more of this charming town. The Zeil may vie with Regent 
street* and the grounds for promenades which form a semi- 
circle round half the town are an " institution " which de- 
serves imitation. 

I must not dwell on our passing peep of Heidelberg which 
was in a very gay state of flags &c., in honour of the 
Grand Duke's birthday— nor on the tempting glimpses of the 
Black Forest which our course along the Duke of Baden's 
railway gave us, but ask my readers to suppose us safely 
housed at the Hotel Bellevue au Lac at Zurich. 

The morning of the 10th was hazy and dim, so that we 
saw little of the lake. Taking the early steamer we crossed 
to Horgen. Our attention was at once attracted by an 
officious American who had got hold of two unfortunate 
unprotected females and was laying down the law to them in 
a marked Yankee drawl as to what they ought to see. At 
Horgen we shouldered our knapsacks and made our way 
over the spur of the Albis which separates the basin of Zurich 
from that of Zug. The mist gradually lifted, or rather melted, 
so that we got a delicious peep of the lake at our feet, but 
we soon lost sight of it, and passing through a most lovely 
amphitheatre of rock, wood, and water at Sihlbriicke, we 
reached Zug about 1 1£. After a comfortable dinner we took 
steamer for Arth, a village from which the ascent of the Rigi 
is commenced. The early haze had cleared away, the sky 
was of the deepest blue, with not a cloud to cast its silvery 
reflexion in the blue-green waters of the lake. Before us 
were the slopes of the Rigi and the crest of Pilatus bathed 
in all the warmth of a mid-day sun, the many folds and 
furrows in their sides creating most beautiful effects of light 
and shade. Gradually as we neared our destination the snow- 
clad tops of the mountains of the Rheinthal and the aiguille- 
shapes of the Mythen came into view, the latter reflecting 
back the sun's rays from their steep and rocky sides. After 
a visit to Goldau and the fallen Rossberg we climbed the 
Rigi. What need to repeat the story so often told. The 
ascent and descent for us were most interesting, for we were 
new to snow scenery, and the gradual unfolding of summit 
after summit had for us all the charms of novelty, but the 
sunrise and sunset were the usual failure. If a man wants 
to feel alone in a multitude let him go to the Rigi Kulm. 
Much is said of the unsociability of Englishmen at home and 
abroad, but I have never been at a table-d'hote when English- 
men were present, at which I could not at once get into conver- 



A Long Vacation Trip. 29$ 

sation, but here I could not get a word out of anybody. A 
Frenchman on my right resisted all overtures, and as my 
left-hand neighbour was a German I could not make any to 
him. 

Descending on the morrow to Weggis we took a 
row-boat to Alpnach. As we came down to the lake of 
Lucerne, the light haze rose in flocks around us and gradually 
unveiled its beauties. The Bungenstock on one side goes 
sheer down into the water, which has all the beautiful 
transparency of a depth of some 800 feet. The road from 
Alpnach to Sarnen skirts tfce spurs of Filatus on the one 
side — while on the other is the singularly-formed rocky bed 
of the Aa, backed by loftier hills. The whole of the district 
is richly cultivated. Fruit is so plentiful that quantities are 
left to rot by the wayside. From Sarnen our road led over 
the Brunnig pass to Meyringen. The road over this pass is 
a masterpiece of Swiss engineering ; by frequent zigzags it is 
carried along the face of a steep rocky slope, and crests the 
hill at a height of 3668 feet above the level of the sea. 
Much to our chagrin, when we reached the summit, the 
clouds which had been gathering since noon began to 
discharge their freight, and we could see nothing, but reached 
Meyringen thoroughly drenched. 

The following day, (September 12th), was given up 
to the gods of the waters, so as the only thins to be 
done on such a day, we visited the upper fall oi Reich' 
enbach, which delighted us much. The stream imme- 
diately before taking its final leap comes round a sharpish 
corner, and so falls in most gracefully varied curves, while 
the water disintegrated, if I may so speak, looks like a 
shower of crystal stalactites, lengthening by some magic 
power of elasticity as they fall. In sunshine the effect must be 
wondrous. On Saturday we crossed the greater Scheideck to 
Grindelwald. The gloom and later still the rain of the 
preceding day still prevailed, so my notes of the way are 
very scanty. My recollections are of stony roads, pine 
forests and wood-cutter's chalets. At one of these latter we 
had a good instance of the evil of lowering oneself to the 
standard of inferiors instead of raising them to yours. I was 
a little in advance, and passing a ch&let where a man was at 
work, addressed to him an Englishman's usual salutation, 
in what I believe to be correct German, " schlechtes "Wetter 
ist" and received a most courteous reply ; but B. who was in 
my rear, wishing to condescend to what he had observed to. 
be a popular weakness of dialect, made the same original 

T2 



296 A Long Vacation Trip. 

remark in the form " schlachtes Watter ist," and received by 
way of response an ignominious stare. 

The wonders of this route are the glacier and remarkable 
rocky chasm of Bosenlaui, and the echoes of the Wetterhorn. 
The latter are the most heavenly music human ear can listen to. 
Each reflexion of sound comes to you purged of some of its 
dross, till the last strikes upon the ear perfectly etherialised, 
and freed from all that could mar a perfect music. The village 
ofGrindelwald is most charmingly situated, with the precipitous 
Wetterhorn, the bastion of the Bernese Oberland, at its one 
extremity, and the Eigher, looking like a huge primeval axe of 
the stone period reversed, at the other. We spent the Sun- 
day here very pleasantly in the company of a very agreeable 
party who had followed us from Meyringen. 

On Monday we crossed the little Scheideck and skirted 
the Wengern Alp to Lauterbrunnen. I should be provoking 
too u odorous comparisons " were I to attempt to describe 
the beauties of the maid of mountains, the Nun, if I may say it, 
with her attendant Monk. Have they not been recorded 
in every book of Swiss travel yet published? We were 

S gladdened at the little inn by the sight of several Cambridge 
aces, from which we parted with regret. 

There are two spots in Canton Berne which combine, I 
should think, as much variety of scenery as any place can do : 
the valley of Lauterbrunnen and the breast of the lake of 
Thun. In the former you have for foreground a gorge with 
steep sides of curiously marked and stratified rock, narrowing 
and widening, with the Staubbach fall on your right, hang- 
ing like a silver thread from the 6ky, and a wall of precipitous 
rock on your left, further on gradually receding to a field of 

f lacier and nev£e surmounted by the giants of the Oberland. 
rom the latter you see these same giants in regular pano- 
rama, distance increasing your perception of their grandeur, 
while the foreground consists of tree-clad slopes and the 
clear waters of the lake. 

Thun is, I think, the beau ideal of a Swiss town. 
We reached it on Tuesday the 16th, having spent the 
preceding night at Interlaken. The next evening found 
us at Kandersteg, en route for the Gemmi pass into 
the valley of the Rhone. No one should visit this place 
without devoting three hours or so to the little (Eschinen. 
lake. Under a clear sky it must be of surpassing beauty. 
In situation like one of our mountain tarns, it shares with all 
the glacier-fed streams and lakes a bright bluish green hue. 
To the South lie the snows of the Blumlis Alp, on the west 



A Long Vacation Trip. 297 

the land opens towards the Kander Thai, while on the east 
and north a vertical wall of cliff rises from the water to 
a considerable height. What there was above was hidden 
by a curtain of cloud which hung uniformly over the whole, 
and yet could not sully the bright clearness of the waters. 
Warned by the gathering clouds, I beat an unwilling re- 
treat, and soon found myself performing a scanty ablution in 
one of the pie-dishes of the Hotel Victoria. In the salle h 
manger we found some old acquaintances, and were shortly 
after surprised by the appearance of our old companions of 
Grindelwald, who were my companions for the rest of my tour. 

The morning of the 1 8th was more auspicious, and we 
were under way in good time. The head of the Kander 
Thai is very grand and majestic, rocky cliffs rising on every 
hand, and forming to all appearance a regular cul de sac. 
The track of the Gemmi winds up the hill and then passes 
along a level terrace for some distance, commanding a fine 
view of the sublime solitude of the Gasteren Thai, some 
thousand or two of feet below you, with the Doldenhorn on 
the one side, and the buttresses of the Altels on the other. 
It then passes over a bleak plain and by the side of a dismal 
suicidal lake between the Altels and the Wildstriibel till you 
suddenly reach apparently the edge of a precipice with the 
mountains of the Monte Rosa district spread out as a pano- 
rama before you, and the village Leukerbad three thousand 
feet beneath you, seeming as it were within a stone's throw 
of you. Down the face of these precipices, inaccessible as 
they seem, a path has been cut by human iugenuity, winding 
in and out, and at last landing us at the Hotel des Alpes in 
Leukerbad. The bathing season was over, so we had not 
the pleasure of seeing the different pleasures of life in a tub, 
but an inspection of the place satisfied me that Diogenes' 
could not have been much dirtier. 

The valley of the Rhone to which we were now approach- 
ing, forms a great contrast in everything to the Canton 
Berne which we had left. Subject to malaria from the stag- 
nant waters of the valley, subject to yearly inundations 
which sweep away the results of their labour, its inhabitants 
seem quietly to have acquiesced in a destiny of misery, and 
not to make any effort to struggle against it. The people 
frightfully ugly and filthy, the houses without one trace of 
neatness or housewifely pride or even self-esteem, one general 
scene of misery and decay, all seem to tell the same story. 
Mr. Ruskin has drawn the picture of Sion, lower in the 
valley,* and it is true from Leuk to Visp. 

* Modern Painters, rv. 346, Sqq. 



300 A Long Vacation Trip. 

Diorama, knows the long plain building by the side of that 
dreary lake. I will only stop therefore, to recommend any 
one who may follow in my steps to rise early, take a guide, 
who may generally be got over-night, and go to the top of 
the hill that fronts the Hospice (called Point de Drouas in 
Leuthold, Chenellettaz in Murray) to see the sun rise on 
Mont Blanc. He will be amply repaid for his trouble, for 
this is one of the finest views of the monarch of mountains. 
The rest of the view too is very fine. A cloud of morning 
mist was hanging over the Val d' Aosta, and the valleys of 
the Graian Alps, but their summits were marshalled above 
the mist in grand array. A few hours later we were on our 
way to Martigny, where we spent most of the Sunday. If 
you have a day at Martigny, it is worth while to walk to 
St. Maurice, seeing the gorge of the Trient and the Pisse- 
vache on your way — cross the bridge into the Canton Vaud 
and go a few yards in the direction of Martigny : the view 
of the Dent du Midi is worth the walk, especially if you see 
it as I did, with all the richness of autumn's colouring. 

On Monday we crossed the Forclaz to the T&te Noire, where 
Mr. H. and myself left the rest of the party in the charge of 
the faithful Biner, and taking a guide from the hotel started 
across the hills for the Col de Balme, hoping thus to combine 
the beauties of the two approaches to Chamounix. Our 
guide talked most glibly of the difficulties of the way, and the 
danger of traversing it without some one who knew the 
country, in case of mist : but when shortly a regular Scotch 
mist came on he was utterly at fault, and lost his way and his 
head at the same time. After some time however we got 
into the right track, and reached Chamounix at nightfall. 
Here again I am on old ground, so I will not enter into the 
splendours of our day at Chamounix, but simply add that 
Wednesday saw us at Geneva. I left Geneva at four o'clock 
on Thursday, and at twelve on Friday walked into my rooms, 
only to hear the music of a learned savant's nose making 
melody to the god Somnus in my sanctum sanctorum, and to 
console myself with the thought that a sofa at home in good 
old England, was a little better than a sleepless night in a 
French railway carriage, and had its charms after thirty 
hours of almost uninterrupted travelling. 

I fear my story may be more interesting to myself than to 
my readers. I can only advise them to follow my example, 
and so create for themselves an interest in the scenes I have 
attempted somewhat hastily at the shortest notice to describe, 
and wish them as happy a time as I enjoyed in my Long 
Vacation Tour. 



OUR CHRONICLE. 



"^E regret that the appearance of The Eagle has been un- 
avoidably postponed this Term, owing in a great measure 
to the small number of contributions received from members 
of the College who are not on the Editorial Committee, 
We must remind our readers that The Eagle was established 
as a College Magazine, with the avowed intention of dis- 
cussing subjects of general interest, and of ascertaining the 
general public opinion of the College ; and we most earnestly 
call upon them not to allow it to become a periodical con- 
ducted by a few writers to amuse the leisure moments of 
the subscribers. At present, though our list of subscribers 
is larger than it has been at any previous time, the number 
of contributors has we believe never been so small. 

This is not a healthy symptom; we feel sure that we 
need only appeal to the spirit of the College for a speedy 
remedy. 

With this number of The Eagle we give an engraving of 
the new Chapel to be erected from the designs of G. G. Scott, 
Esq. r.a. The following extract from a letter lately issued 
by the Master, will put our readers in possession of the 
present prospects of the proposed additions to the College : — 

" It has for many years past been the anxious wish of the 
Members of St. John's College to see a Chapel of more 
suitable character and dimensions than the present one 
erected for the use of the College. With this view the 
College has gradually, by successive purchases, acquired 
possession of the greater portion of the ground lying between 
the three older courts and Bridge Street; and an agree- 
ment has been recently entered into with the Town Council 
of the Borough of Cambridge, whereby the College is to 
obtain the right of closing St. John's Lane and appropriating 
the ground which it occupies, on giving up to the public 
sufficient ground to widen St. John's Street. The necessary 



302 Our Chronicle. 

steps have been taken to obtain an Act of Parliament 
daring the approaching Session for the confirmation of 
this agreement 

"The College has also obtained the assistance of Mr. 
George Gilbert Scott, the Architect, who has prepared 
Drawings for a new Chapel with a transeptal Ante-Chapel 
on the north side of the present Chapel. This plan involves 
the erection of a new Master's Lodge, and enables the 
College to enlarge the Hall by including within it the 
present Combination Boom and the rooms which are 
above it 

" Mr. Scott has estimated the Cost of the New Chapel 
alone at £36,000, without taking into account any charge 
for Stained Glass Windows. 

" The Master and Seniors are prepared to expend on the 
proposed works the sum of Forty thousand pounds from 
the Corporate Funds of the College ; but as this sum will be 
manifestly inadequate to accomplish all that will be 
necessary for the completion of Mr. Scott's designs, it has 
been deemed expedient that a Subscription should be opened, 
and that the Members and Friends of the College should be 
invited to promote the work by their contributions. It will 
probably be thought to be a sufficient reason for this appeal 
that the character and beauty of the New Chapel must 
depend, to a great extent, upon the amount which can be 
made available by voluntary offerings/ 9 



The valuable College living of Frating cum Thorington, 
in the county of Essex, has lately been rendered vacant 
by the death of the Rev. Richard Duffield, B.D., formerly 
fellow of this College, who has held it since 1832. 



The number of Johnian candidates for this year's Mathe- 
matical Tripos was not so large as usual. Of these 
however six were placed among the Wranglers and six 
among the Senior Optimes. 

We have great pleasure in announcing that Mr. J. B. 
Haslam has been elected First Bell's Scholar, and Mr. 
W. F. Smith Second Bell's Scholar, (equal> 



The following are the names of those gentlemen who 
obtained a First Class in the College Christmas Examination : 





Our Chronicle. 


30 




Third Year 




Ewbank 


1 Smallpeice 


1 Archbold 


Stuckey 


1 Baron 

Second Year 


1 Creeser 


Marshall 


Levett 


Kempthorne 


Wood 


Isherwood 


Huntly 


Beebee 


Coutts 


Smith, R. P. 


Blanch 


f Griffiths 


Sutton 


Russell, C. D. 


\ Wiseman 


Masefield 


Roach 


Wilson 

First Year 




(Arrai 


aged in order of the boards) 


George 


Cotterill, C. C. 


Earnshaw, W. J. 


Rowband 


Edmonds 


Thompson 


Barker 


Covington 
Dewick 


Bloxam 


Pryke 


Hayne 


Pulliblank 


Bell 


Brayshaw 
Carleton 


Stevens, A. J. 


Constable 


Warren 


Trousdale 


Charlton 


Davis, A. 


Agabeg 


Doiff 

Jamblin 


Haslam, J. B. 


Haslam, C. E. 


Hart 


Ribton, T. 


Marrack 


Smith, W. F. 


Johns 


Burrow 


Genge 


Allen 


Payton 


Taylor, J. W. W. 


DeWet 


Pearson, C. H. S, 


Massie 


Hewitt 


Bray 


Rowsell 


Hathornthwaite 




Hill,E. 


Miller 





The officers of the Lady Margaret Boat Club for the 
present term are : 

President, E. W. Bowling 
Treasurer, E. K. Clay 
Secretary , R. C. Farmer 
First Captain, W. W. Hawkins 
Second Captain, S. W. Cs^e 
Third Captain, A. Langdon 
Fourth Captain, G. W. Hill 
Fifth Captain, S. B. Barlow 
Sixth Captain, M. H. Quayle 



304 



Our GJironicIe. 



We have pleasure in chronicling the success of the 
College boats in the late races, the account of which will 
be found on another page. The third boat made its 
bump on the first day, and afterwards easily maintained 
its place at the head of the division: while the fourth 
boat succeeded in making its bump each day. 

The crews of the boats which sustained the honour 
of the College were as follows : 



Third Boat. 


Fourth Boat. 


1 R. C. Farmer 


1 F. Young 


2 H. D. Jones 


2 S. Burgess 


3 H. Watney 


3 A. J. Edmonds 


4 F. C. Wace 


4 H. Newton 


5 T. Knowles 


5 C. Warren 


6 K. Wilson 


6 A. D. Clarke 


7 C. Yeld 


7 W. F. Meres 


A. Lang don, Stroke 


G. W. Hill, Stroke 


R. H. Dockray, Cox. 


M. H. Quayle, Cox. 


Fifth Boat. 


Sixth Boat 


1 S. B. Barlow 


1 R. Levett 


2 B. Le Mesurier 


2 H. G. Hart 


3 W. Boycott 


3 A. M. Beamish 


4 R. Trousdale 


4 A. Marshall 


5 C. Bamford 


5 E. W. Bowling 


6 J. W. W. Taylor 


6 H. H. Allott 


7 W. Pharazyn 


7 J. Alexander 


W. P. Hiern, Stroke 


C. Taylor, Stroke 


W. J. Stobart, Cox. 


E. K. Clay, Cox. 



The Lady Margaret Scratch Fours were rowed on 
Saturday, March 7. Eight boats entered. After four 
exciting bumping races, the following crew won the time 
race: 

1 E. K. Clay 

2 W. Pharazyn 

3 H. Watney 

F. Young, Stroke 
R. C. Farmer, Cox. 
The Bateman Silver Pair Oars were rowed for on Satur- 
day last, and were won by Messrs. E. K. Clay, and C. C. 
Scholefield. 

The College is represented this year in the University 
Boat by Mr. C. H. La Mothe. 

The Johnian Athletic Sports, which had not been 



Our Chronicle. 305 

previously held for two years, came off at Fenner's ground, 
on Monday, Feb. 23. The following is the list of 
sports with the names of the winners : 

Walking Race, two miles 
1. H. Watney | 2. K. Wilson 

Time 13min. 10 sec. 

Throwing the Cricket Ball 

1. J. A. Whitaker | 2. M. H. Marsden 

Distance 102 yds. 2 ft. 2 in. 

Flat Race, 1 mile 
1. A. Langdon | 2. H. D. Jones 

Time 5min. 19 sec. 

High Jump, Running 

1. J. Fitzherbert | 2. G. R. Cfrotch 

Height 5 ft. 1 in. 

Long Jump, Standing 
1. G. R. Crotch | 2. T. Knowles 

Distance 9 ft. 6^ in. 

Flat Race, quarter mile 
1. J. A. Whitaker | 2. J. Alexander 

Time 1 min. 2 sec. 

High Jump, Standing 

Height 4 ft. 2 in. 
Long Jump, Running 
1. J. Payton | 2. J. B. Boyle 

Distance 16ft. 10 in. 

Flat Race, 100 yards 
1. J. A. Whitaker | 2. W. H. H. Hudson 

Time ll^sec. 

Pole Jump, High 

1. G. R. Crotch | 2. A. Smallpeice 

Height 8 ft. 4 in. 

Hurdle Race, 200 yds., 10 hurdles 

1. A. D.Clarke | 2. T. H. Baynes 

Time 31 sec. 



306 Our Chronicle. 

Putting the Weight 

TiaSjL }•** Dirtaac8 27ft - ^ 

Sack Race 
1. M. H. Marsden | 2. T. Knowles 

Flat Race, half mile {Consolation Stakes) 
1. C. Yeld | 2. A. Cost 

Time 2 min. 32 sec. 



The Officers of No. 2 (St John's) Company of the Cam- 
bridge University Volunteers are the same as last term. 

The Johnian Challenge Cup was shot for on Tuesday, 
March 17th. The successful competitor was Lance-Corporal 
Guinness, who scored 48 marks (hits and points). The same 
gentleman also won the Officers' Pewter. 

It was determined at the beginning of the present term 
that the University Corps should take part in a Field Day 
at Oxford on March 10th. This was however found 
impracticable. The University Corps will probably be 
reviewed at Oxford early in June. It is expected that this 
arrangement will allow the Inns of Court to join the two 
University Corps on that day. 

The Newberry Challenge Racquet Cup was won on 
Saturday, March 21st, by Mr. E. W. Bowling, who again 

played the concluding match with Mr. A. Smallpeice. 

» 

The contributions collected in the University for the 
relief of the Lancashire distress amount to £3,329. 18*. 10d., 
exclusive of considerable sums not sent through the Univer- 
sity fund. Our own College contributed £414. 175. 6tf. The 
Managing Committee have announced that the Subscription 
list is for the present closed. 

One pleasing duty is left — briefly to wish every happiness 
to our young Prince of Wales and the Princess Alexandra, 
and to join in the country's hope, that the union be- 
tween the descendants of the Sea-Kines of the North 
may promote the well being of both nations, and conduce 
to the peace and prosperity of Europe. 

We need not say how on the day of the Royal marriage 
Cambridge, determined not to be outdone in demonstrations 
of loyal affection and tokens of rejoicing, decorated with 
banners and triumphal arches by day and illuminated at night, 
wore a look of gaiety of which few among us have seen the 



Our Chronicle. 



807 



like. The lamps which we lit, and the fire-works which we 
threw, the planks which we burnt, and the bonfire which we 
made on the Market Hill — are they not written in the Paper . 
of the Chronicle of the King of Israel.* Of one thing we 
are all sure, that the 10th of March 1863 is a day long to be 
had in remembrance among us : one thing we all hope, that 
the fair promise of that day may never be clouded by sorrow 
and disappointment. 



UNIVERSITY BOAT CLUB.— LENT RACES. 

Monday, March 2nd. 
Third Division. 



40 
41 
42 
43 
44 
45 
46 
47 

20 
21 
22 
23 
24 
25 
26 
27 
28 
29 
30 
31 



40 
41 
42 
43 
44 
45 
46 



Queens' 2 \ 

Emmanuel 3 j 

Jesus 2 

Christ's 3 

Pembroke 2 

Peterhouse 2 

Trinity Hall 4 1 
^ 



} 



Third Trinity 3 



48 
49 
50 
51 
52 



Lady Margaret 6 
Caius 4 > 
Magdalen 2 J 
Jesus 3 
Second Trinity 4 



Second 

} 



Pembroke 1 

Lady Margaret 3 

Caius 2 

S. Catharine's \ 

First Trinity 4j 

Emmanuel 2 

Queens' 1 

Second Trinity 2 \ 

Lady Margaret 4 ) 

King's. 

Second Triftity 3) 



'. Division. 

32 Christ's 2 

33 Corpus 2 

34 First Trinity 5 

35 Trinity Hall 3 

36 Lady Margaret 5 

37 Caius 3 \ 

38 First Trinity 6 j 

39 Corpus 3 > 

40 Emmanuels j 



Clare 2 



■} 



Corpus 3 
Queens' i 
Jesus 2 
Christ's 3 
Peterhouse 3 
Pembroke 2 ' \ 
Third Trinity 8 j 



Tuesday, March Zrd. 
Third Division. 

47 Trinity Hall 4 



} 



48 
49 
50 
51 
52 



Lady Margaret 6 \ 

Magdalen 2 ) 

Caius 4 

Jesus 3 

Second Trinity 4 



♦ We allude to Solomon. 



308 



Our Chronicle. 



Second 

20 Lady Margaret 3 

21 Pembroke 1 

22 Caius 2 *> 

23 First Trinity 4j 

24 S. Catharine's ) 

25 Emmanuel 2 ) 

26 Queens' 1 \ 

27 Lady Margaret 4 j 

28 SecondTrinity 2 > 

29 King's J 

30 Clare 2 



Division. 

31 Second Trinity 3 > 

32 Christ's 2 J 

33 Corpus 2 

34 First Trinity 5 

35 Trinity Hall 3 

36 Lady Margaret 5 

37 First Trinity 6 

38 Caius 3 \ 

39 Emmanuel 3 j 

40 Corpus 3 



} 



Wednesday, March \ih. 
Third Division. 



40 Corpus 3 \ 
41 ' Jesus 2 J 

42 Queens' 2 

43 Peterhouse 2 

44 Christ's 3 

45 Third Trinity 3 

46 Pembroke 2 ) 
4J 



} 



} 



Trinity Hall 



48 Magdalen 2 

40 Lady Margaret 6 

50 Caius 4 

51 Jesus 3 

52 Second Trinity 4 



Second Division. 



20 Lady Margaret 3 

21 Pembroke 1 1 

22 First Trinity 4 j 

23 Caius 2 \ 

24 Emmanuel 2 j 

25 S. Catharine's \ 

26 Lady Margaret 4 ) 

27 Queens' l\ 

28 King's j 

29 Second Trinity 2 
80 Clare *> 

31 Christ's 2 j 



32 Second Trinity 3 > 

33 Corpus 2 j 

34 First Trinity 5 

35 Trinity Hall 3 

36 First Trinity 6 

37 Lady Margaret 5 > 

38 Emmanuel 3 j 
39 ' Caius 3 
40 Jesus 2 



} 



IN THE MAT TERM. 



"TTeber alien Gipfeln 

1st Huh, 

In alien "Wipfeln 

Spiirest du 
Kaum einen Hauch; 
Die Vogelein schweigen in Walde : 
Warte nur, balde 
Ruhest du auch."— Goethe,* 



L Evening. 

JN the happiest of his early days, Goethe wrote the poem 
" TJeber alien Gipfeln ist Huh," on the wall of a hunting 
lodge, or forest-hut, at Ilmenau. Shortly before he died he 
revisited the scene, and read the memorial lines. Regret* 
came to him, and tender remembrance of the time when that 
simple little verse was written, an impromptu of the moment 2 
he thought of changes that years had brought since then— r 

* Mrs. Austin says these beautiful lines by Goethe have all 
"the calm and harmony of a summer night;" and adds, "their 
sweetness is perhaps unattainable" by translation. Her version has 
little either of the music or of the solemn impressiveness of the 
original. Almost all who have attempted to transfer into our 
language " Ueber alien Gipfeln " have been defeated by the airy 
witchery of the Poem. Longfellow's translation in "Hyperion/* 
is sweet, but not faithful to the enchanting irregularity of rhythm. 
It is pretty and soothing, however : — 

"Under the tree-tops is quiet now! 
In all the woodlands hearest thou 

Not a sound! 
The little birds are asleep in the trees ; * 
Wait! wait! and soon, like these, 
Sleepest thou ! n 
VOL. III. Z 



310 In the May Term. 

how Wieland and Herder, Schiller and Karl August, his 
dearest friends, had died and left him, a lonely-hearted old 
man, the patriarch of German literature, to drop into his 
grave and sleep at peace. His eyes filled with tears, we are 
told, as he repeated the lines. " Yes/ 9 he murmured softly 
to himself, " Warte nur, balde ruhest du aueh ! — Thou, too, 
soon shalt rest!" 

The words of that " old man eloquent" return often to 
memory, as we pace the quiet groves of St. John's, or sit 
at twilight musing happily, though somewhat sadly, at our 
life, study window. Happily, for we dearly love this College 
its holiness and seclusion, precious to those who desire the 
calm and peaceful regularity of labour ; its healthy activity, 
sociality, and buoyancy of heart, such as the "Lady Margaret" 
men enjoy : Sadly, moreover, for though not much of the 
world's misery shews itself here, where poverty, sickness, wrath, 
and injustice are not frequent visitors, and where the " Shadow 
feared of man" rarely crosses the threshold, there are many 
painful revelations even here : hours of weakness and of 
folly, in ourselves and others, as well as glimpses and echoes 
of the sterner warfare that is held outside, with deeper 
anguish and more hopeless entanglement of wrong-doing. 
Thence comes it that we may not be lulled into false security, 
Or forget that the hour is drawing nigh when we must quit 
these honoured walls, and take whatever place awaits us 
among the crowd of workers, in town or country, striving 
to accomplish our little task with patience and fearless 
energy, before the head is laid beneath the sod. " Warte 
nur, balde ruhest du auch." Even the May-term, in its 
sacred hour of Twilight, forbids not such meditations as 
these. 

Theodore Martin gave a charming paraphrase, under the title 
of " Evening " : — (Vide Aytoun and Martin's " Poems and BaMads 
by Goethe. n ) 

Whilst acknowledging that all must needs fail, we can only 
offer our own attempt, to share the blame of imperfection. 

Calm on all the hills now 

Rests around: 
Through each topmost bough 
Scarce a sound 
There doth creep: 
The Woodland birds have hushed their soft tune: 
Pause thou, then! soon 
Thou, too, shalt sleep. 



In the May Term. 311 

The thoughts of the evening-time do not greatly differ, 
whatever be the season, and whilst we grow older, roving on 
from land to land, wave by wave advancing, they repeat 
themselves, uttering the same warnings, shewing the same 
visionary faces, leading us upward and onward with the 
same spiritual blessing that they offered to us in our child- 
hood, so long as we yield ourselves trustfully to their 
whisperings and are softened by the holy influence of that 
same hour, wherein, we read, the Lord Himself was wont 
to hold converse with our first parents, "Walking in the 
garden in the cool of the day." 

Can we ever exhaust the beauty of the evening time, 
which unites the loveliness of day and night ? Where the 
sun sank from view, the long bars of cloud now stretch 
onward, line above line, yielding fanciful resemblance to the 
rocky ledges of a shore to the eternal sea of clear and 
glowing sky: the calm sweet heavens, that underlie all 
the disguises of the storm, the terrors of the thunder, and 
the slanting sun-gleams through the rain ; all the dazzling 
glare of summer days, and the myriad sparkles of the 
winter stars at night: remaining inexhaustible in depth 
and mystery, richest where least adorned, most awful in the 
bare and beckoning beauty, to which our spirit yearns, yet 
cannot go, but which sometimes comes down to us and 
fills us with its wondrous fascination of repose. 
- Is it life or death that breathes there, in the depths of 
heaven? can the soul doubt its immortality, even for an 
instant, with such a vision before it of the Silent Land, where 
nobler forms of life appear to wait for us ? Assuredly the 
thought of Gliick cannot be otherwise than true : — 

" There's peace and welcome in yon sea 
Of endless blue tranquillity : 

These clouds are living things ; 
I trace their veins of liquid gold — 
I see them solemnly unfold 

Their soft and fleecy wings. 

These be the angels that convey 
Us weary children of a day, 

Life's tedious nothing o'er, 
Where neither passions come, nor woes, 
To vex the genius of repose 

On Death's majestic shore." 

Twilight ever has been, ever will remain, our favourite 
hour, and at such time it little matters where we be, on 

z2 



312 In the May Term. 

mountain-side or sea-shore, on the wild moorland or *'in 
populous city pent/' so that the evening sky be visible tons 
in solitude, — if, indeed, that can be called a solitude which 
is full of all companionship in holy thoughts and feelings. 
It is because we believe the influence of the evening hour 
left some impress on the verse, that we now venture to offer 
to our fellow-students, before we part at the close of this 
" May-term," a few lines which shaped themselves even as 
they are read below. Some years ago, we were resting for 
the night in an old ChAteau, zur Philipsburg, one of the most 
spacious dwellings on the Rhine. Almost opposite lay a 
little village, unknown to fame, quietly rejoicing in the 
name of Niederspay. Our thoughts concerning it, went 
to this tune: — 



NIEDERSPAY. 

(In the Rhine-Land.) 

In a chateau, quaint and spacious, that looks forth upon the Rhine, 
I am sitting at my window, crowned with tendrils of the vine. 
And the stream flows swift and softly, and the evening shadows lie 
On its foliaged banks and roadway, and the hamlet Niederspay. 
Niederspay, that with half-timbered gables fronts the Marxburg 

rock, 
Thin blue smoke and rustic chapel feudal grandeur seem to mock ; 
Dwelling there serene and hazy, while the swarm of tourists climb 
To inspect yon dark memorial of the horrors of old time. 
FoUer-Kammer, den of torture, Hundloch grim and Donjon high, 
Bristling bayonet and cannon,— none of these suit Niederspay. 
Timber-rafts float past; it sees them: — hears the measured sweep 

of oars, 
Feels, but heedeth not, the swell of water lashing on its shores : 
Cares not for the flaunting steam-ship more than for the sluggish 

boat, 
Droning like a lazy school-boy who has got his task by rote. 
Time brings change to other regions, politics may heat men's blood, 
Niederspay has no such fever : " after us, let come the Flood ! " 
Should another Huss, Napoleon, Shakspere, rise, 'twere all the 

same ; 
If their cry were Reformation, Conquest, Freedom, Truth, or 

Fame : 
Zeitungs might propound grave terrors, timid matrons wail and 

sigh, 
Warriors burnish up old weapons ; 'twould not waken Niederspay.. 



hi the May Term. 313 

Creeping slowly go its oxen with a rough-hewn cart behind, 
And a herdsman stretched upon it with closed eyes, like " Hood- 
man Blind;" 
Still its children — for it has some— Heaven alone knows how or why 
Children ever could be born in such a place as Niederspay : — 
Still its children rest in shallops from the glare of noontide sun. 
Or drop tiny sounding pebbles in the stream with sleepy fun ; 
Far too listless to take notice of the bubbles as they rise, 
Or at most regarding such with easy open-mouthed surprise. 
Winter brings no slides to them, they snooze like marmots in 

a hole, 
Scarcely conscious on awak'ning, how the seasons round them roll: 
Dozing feebly, harming no one, dozing from their hour of birth ; 
Little change can death bring to them, pillowing on their mother 

earth, 
Who retains less trace of them than water does of clouds that fly : 
What would our old world be doing if 'twere all like Niederspay ? 

Deeper fall the evening shadows, cold and solemnly they fall, 
As on one I loved descended cold and solemnly the pall. 
Only by its darker outline 'gainst the sky appears the shore, 
And the vineyards green and cornfields are reflect in Rhine 

no more ; 
Yet like beat of pulse the oar sounds, with the plash, that checks 

the stroke, 
And the voices on the water echo from the beetling rock ; 
And a distant bell, that slowly chimes the hour from Stohsenfels, 
With the light wind on the river dies away or grandly swells ; 
And the one bright streak that moonlight sends as herald of 

her reign, 
Pierces through the growth of Darkness, as a gleam of health 

'mid pain. 
Something moveth o'er the water, sweetly, mournfully, and dim, 
And I hear a voice of greeting that belongs to none but him ; 
And the things that never may be now, but once had seemed 

so near, 
Come upon my heart once more, and chill its gladness even here. 
Here, where Nature's loveliest scenes are decked with all the. 

charms of Art, 
Where associated grandeur proudest feelings can impart ; 
For they raise the soul above the petty troubles of the day, 
Give it freedom, give it rapture, far beyond its prisoning clay : 
But they cannot give oblivion, nor the balm for wasted youth, 
Sicklied hopes and narrowed wishes, wanderings from the path 

of Truth; 
Cannot give the clasp of hands, that now are cold and far removed. 
From the idols of our boyhood, from the friend* whom we had 

loved. 



*U In the May Term. 

We may smile, and jest, and ramble, pass the else-fatiguing tune 

With a song of noisy laughter, with a picture or a rhyme ; 

But we cannot dull the stinging thoughts which to our bosom 

creep, 
Tis enough if with all efforts we conceal the tears we weep. 
— So I close my window sadly, close it gently, with a sigh. 
For my heart awakes to memory and forgctteth Niederspay. 



//. "Hesperus." 

When, in our own love for evening, we rccal to memory 
the many beautiful works which have been produced by 
J. Noel Faton, chief among living Scottish artiste, and find 
that in almost all of them he has chosen the sweet hour of 
Twilight, we are guided to the secret of his power, aa well as 
to an instinct of his nature. Scarcely any other painter has 
so thoroughly given the dreamy loneliness of what in the 
expressive northern speech is called the gloaming : when the 
air seems filled with a stillness more musical than song, and 
the gathering darkness enfolds a mysterious glow that reveals 
holier beauties than the daylight could display ; when the 
earth appears almost a living thing, breathing a hymn of 
adoration, and the heavens above seem wooing us to their 
serene depths, far, far away from all those cares and struggles 
that had bound us captive : The hour when we pause and 
listen to the whispers of our own soul, and yearn for purer 
joy and freedom, with eyes fixed on the one star that waits 
for us, shedding its mild and melancholy beams as if in pity 
for the agonies and sin that have defaced the world. All is 
hushed and solemn ; not like the dull torpor of midnight, 
but tremulous with imagined messages and visions, so 
mystically interwoven that the separate functions of sight 
and hearing almost lose distinction, and become blended 
into one. We are no longer imprisoned in this fragile body, 
for our own spirit is drawn upward to the skies, away past 
ail those filmy streaks of cloud, into the clear expanse; 
away across the distant streams that lie thus motionless and 
lit by lurid light, as if from some internal source of brilliancy ; 
over the purpled hills, the darkening fields or moorlands 
pulsing with strange vapoury exhalations that lend fantastic 
unreality to familiar objects ; away into a Dreamland tenanted 
alone by the perfect holiness and beauty that feel no stain 
of guilt, no doubt or selfish craving, but where we cease to 
shudder under life's impurities and pass into an ecstacy of 
silent worship. 



In the May Term. 815 

• No one who has loved that hour of sacred quietude 
can fail to recognize how deeply and how constantly it has 
impressed itself on Noel Paton. Year after year he has 
resumed attempts to embody in his pictures that spirit of 
gentleness and dreamy sadness which fills the evening 
twilight. It allures him ever again to fresh achievements, 
nearer and nearer to success ; but he has felt that it is in- 
exhaustible and etherial, — that even he can only partially 
convey its marvellous loveliness. He has shewn us the 
wild revels of the fairies, — their forms symbolising capri- 
cious fancies, with airy grace and tenderness, with wanton 
trickery and quaintest goblin antics— all united to coherence 
in the quarrel of "Oberon and Titania." In his €€ Dante 
meditating on Francesca da Rimini," he more thoroughly 
penetrated to the mournfulness of the twilight; and also 
in his " Silver Cord Loosed," where, more than in all the 
others, he has shewn the soul-subduing gloom, the hopeless 
agony of grief. For in this picture, evening itself has passed 
away, with the Dead Lady, and night is drawing over all a 
solemn darkness, as though it were to hide for ever the 
heart-broken and the dead. Sorrow more intensely over- 
whelming could not be revealed by the artist's brush : it is of 
all his works the most awful and impressive. But even in 
his " Home from the War," the symbolical beauty of the 
evening hour lends a charm, telling of the Sabbath rest, the 
night of slumber and of consolation, that await the mutilated 
veteran and those who are dear to him. The days of their 
toil and anguish are newly ended, the dusty wayside and the 
anguish of suspense are quitted now, and these long-parted 
ones can enfold each other once again, while the stillness of 
evening is over all, scarcely broken by the sobs and miirmur- 
ings of thankfulness, or the soft breathings of the slumbering 
child. In each of these pictures, except the " Oberon and 
Titania," the time chosen was verging on the close of twi- 
light, when night had almost come, and sorrow attained 
supremacy. Not so in the " Hesperus," which shews the 
earliest aspect of the evening, the first few minutes after 
sunset, whilst brightness lingers, though the gaudy colours 
that dazzle the eye by day have acquired sufficient mellow* 
ness of tone to become massed together. 

What is this picture, " Hesperus," and what does it tell 
us of the twilight hour in the May-term ? 

A young girl is seated in a romantic glen; her lover, 
on his knees beside her, holds her delicate hands and raises 
bis face towards her own in mute affection. His mandolin 



316 In the May Term. 

or gitern, forgotten already, has fallen at her feet, with 
the scroll of music of a song that in some trembling of the 
notes revealed how dearly she was loved. The sounds have 
not left her heart, though they are heard no longer. A 
richly-bound and jewelled volume lies on the moss, and has 
a bunch of blue-bells between the closed leaves, marking the 

flace where the youth and maiden ceased to fasten on the 
'oet's words, and only listened to the whispers of their own 
affection. "That day we read no more." Melody and 
motion have long ceased : all is so stilly that the field-mouse 
has approached them unscared, and its watchful eyes are 
sparkling from under the curled and reddening fronds of fern. 
Already the bat is abroad, circling above in the cloudless 
sky, where a thin crescent moon is shining, and the star 
Hesperus glitters brightly, as if it were a tender sentinel over 
the young lovers. A dewy freshness is on everything: 
insects are happy on the grass, the pink eyebright and wild 
strawberry twinkle amid the brake and herbage ; honeysuckle 
and ivy enclasp the tortuous stems of trees, which like the 
rocks are velvet-mantled with moss and lichens, and the 
polished leaves around them form a bower. The distant hills 
are becoming sharply defined against the horizon, and even* 
ing is slowly melting into night. But the delicious dream of 
love, love given and interchanged, has so absorbed the every 
thought of minstrel and of lady, that they heed not the ap- 
proaching darkness. Scarcely conscious of themselves, 
they see only one another: a little more of approach, a 
touch of the lips, or a simple word, and the spell will be 
broken, — their secret made known, once and for ever. With 
downcast eyes, with heaving breast, half shrinking from, yet 
half advancing to his implied caress, the maiden leans 
towards him, as, with his face turned close to her, he seems 
to yearn for her consent and plight of troth. The world of 
vague desire for sympathy, with its delirious minglings of 
joy and fear, its naif regrets and hopes and questionings, 
trembles on the breath, which may either yield to him one 
sigh of acceptance, or even yet utter the word of denial and 
banishment. Too near for friendship — too far off for love — 
they may not part unplighted now to meet again to-morrow 
as to-day. If not already gained, that heart of hers has 
become aware of too much danger, and unrest, willingly to 
risk another interview so sweet and perilous beneath the 
rays of Hesperus. Her love is either wholly won, or in 
the failure of the hour she is lost to him for ever. 

Happy mortals, who have the sunshine of life and of 



In the May Term. 317 

life's primeval joy upon your path : Students, whose fair 
cousins and sisters' friends are flitting with you through, the 
leafy walks of the May-Term, and lending something of a 
fairy-land enchantment to the banks of Cam, even whilst 
Collegiate honours are mndecided in the balance : ye, who, 
unable to stand before Noel Paton's picture, as we have 
loved to do, can yet gain a suggestion of its beauty from the 
engraving by W. Simmons (newly published by Mr. Hill of 
Edinburgh, and exhibited on King's Parade). Are your 
dreams of "Hesperus" more fall of the assurance of a 
blissful ending, than are those which, according to our 
sadder thought, seem not unwarranted ? In the dark, melan- 
choly face of the young minstrel, and in the rich antique 
costumes, we read indications of the scene being that land 
of love and song beyond the Alps, the Italy where Dante 
garnered such devotion for his Beatrice. Indeed, though 
this may have been undesigned, there is resemblance in this 
face to that of the world-worn Florentine, who raised the 
veil from early sorrow in his "Vita Nuova." It may be 
simply such an association, with the land of passionate 
devotion, and the haunting pensiveness of twilight, but we 
cannot banish a presentiment of sorrow. As they sit there, 
so youthful and as yet so innocent, we wonder whether it is 
by accident or as an allegory that the artist has placed the 
lovers on the edge of a precipice ! Amid the trim devices 
and luxurious elegancies of their courtly lives, the affections 
of simple nature survive unchanged : also symbolised, perhaps, 
by those sweet flowers in the gay volume. And will these 
affections aid to preserve them, or be blighted in the contact 
with a luxurious world ? Surely not without special meaning is 
the stately lily blooming in the dell, but with a bee hovering 
above as though to rifle its sweets, whilst two roses, the 
customary tokens of passionate love, lie already neglected 
and withering at the feet of the beautiful girl and her 
worshipper. Over all the scene there is such calm and 
tenderness, there is such innocence and confiding truth in 
the young lovers, that ours may be excess of fear and mis* 
giving : but life is full of saddening changes, and it seems 
natural to believe with him who gave us the "Dream of 
Fair Women " that " Beauty and Sorrow go ever hand in 
hand" : a remembrance which made Byron ask, 

" O Love, what is it in this world of ours 
That makes it fatal to be loved ? O why 
With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, 
And made thy best interpreter a sigh ?" 



318 In the May Term. 

III. Spring-Time. 

The brief Easter Vacation gives us a glimpse of other 
scenery than the parallelograms and very mild inclined-planes 
which are characteristically offered at Cambridge, as suitable 
for every walk in life, to University Students. A fortnight's 
absence, with the aid of railways, may be amply sufficient 
to revive our spirits with the sight of mountains loftier than 
the Gogmagogs, promenades more lively than Trumpington 
Road on Sundays, street-architecture of imposing grandeur 
surpassing Petty Cury, and even streams more majestic and 

i)ellucid than the classic Cam; though no College-grounds 
ovelier than those of Trinity and St. John's, or recreation 
more invigorating than a steady pull in the eights, fours, or 
pair-oars for the coveted pewters. We all come back for 
the May Term with a sense of returning ' Home ' : inasmuch 
as few places so thoroughly seem our own private dwellings, 
with the commingling of rest and labour, as our College 
rooms. The bright Spring weather nowhere shews to 
greater advantage than here, although we confess it some- 
times relapses into a sullen, penitential, cold, misty, raw, 
disagreeable state of wintry humidity, suggestive of ag- 
gravated Diptheria and Exams., rather than of perfect 
happiness. The gardeners sigh when they think of 
the wall-fruit. The farmers, whose faces had been daily- 
attaining a resemblance of the definition that is given in 
a book tolerably familiar to us here, " length without 
breadth," at the prospect of continued drought, now begin 
to jingle the half-pence in their pockets, with an air of 
contentment. A few weeks of nice mud-making showers 
cause their hearts to sing with joy, and they count the 
* tumults' and measure the blades of wheat with an ap- 
proach to satisfaction rare in the bucolic mind; which has 
had much to trouble it ever since the epoch of the gentleman 
who is known to fame as reclining sub tegmine fagi. At 
such times it will be to the advantage of " The Eagle " not 
to call upon us for a poem in celebration of the season, as 
it might obtain nothing better than the following : 

Cold and raw is this Spring-time weather, Nipping the 
winds and dreary the sky, Making one's skin like goose- 
flesh or leather, Or flaying the tender folks altogether, 
Blueing the nose and reddening the eye. Poets have sung 
of this charming season : Do not believe what those rhyme- 
sters say! Think you such fellows will listen to reason? 
Would Mr. Spenser with ecstacy freeze on Clare Bridge, 



In the May Term. 319 

and chaunt lyrics in praise of May ? Bitter and blowy, or 
drizzly and snowy, Bringing bronchitis and coughs each day, 
Rheumatic cramps and catarrh, though showy Buds on the 
trees may appear, well know ye This is no beau ideal of 
May. Coaches of Cubs now may take their measure, 
Papers and Cram filling up each day ; Drill tempting few, 
and the boats no pleasure, Causing the Captain and Cox 
distress sure, As they think of the prospects of bumps for 
May. Useless are "gates," for no man cares to go out; 
Bull-dogs at Leap-frog may freely play ; And the Proctor's 
walk must be rather a slow bout ; And lectures in hall are all 
idle forms, no doubt, When nine-tenths JEgrotants possess in 
May. Sport me the Oak, Mon cher Aigle ; Pm smitten With 
a cold in my head, and the pen will stray Into shivering 
rhymes, for my thumb's frostbitten Through staying outside 
of its worsted mitten, And my ink has congealed, and the 
f words I've written Form a sort-of-a-rhythmic Ode to May. 

- But, you know, this would never do; although justifiable 

under the circumstances, inasmuch as our doctor's bills 
i always increase in an inverse ratio whilst the Constitutionals 

: diminish, and poetry goes down to zero with the Fahrenheit. 

In the May term we must generally be prepared for changes 
5 in weather and literary articles, — some being shivery, windy, 

i and cold, but with occasional bursts of sunshine (let us 

I hope) and joyousness : alas ! the Editorial Committee may 

i discover that there are contributors as capricious as any 

i April, and at odd hours as disagreeable as November itself, 

% that b&te noir of the months. Why do we Britons concern 

:', ourselves about the weather? Why is it our first and 

£ unfailing topic of conversation when friends meet or when 

; they write ? Is it not because, in addition to the national 

t prosperity as regards crops, and the consequent increase or 

i alleviation of misery for our countrymen, we feel how de- 

% pendent all are on the state of the atmosphere ? Mists and 

i melancholy, sunshine and serenity, wind and whimsies, 

; < drizzle and despondency, pair off together : onr spirits are 

barometers, and the rise or fall in our happiness is indexed 
by the mercury. Consequently, in estimating the strength 
of acerbity in a critic — whether Gifford, Dr. Johnson, 
Buskin, or anybody in general — we must make allowances 
for his indigestion, and the state of the weather when he 
wrote. Local philosophies and superstitions explain local 
meteorology : and vice versa. Optimism and universal phil- 
anthropy are improbable results in Nova Zembla or 
Spitzbergen. 



920 In the May Term. 

As the former attempt on behalf of May Was perha.p» 
unsatisfactory, here is another, made since the sun shone 
again; 

SPBffiQ TIME. 

Spring oomes, with sunshine and with showers, 

And snow-white lambs that blissful play, 
And nestling birds and balmy flowers, 

Dear month to hopeful lovers — May ! 
Fast flit the shadows o'er the hills, 

Soft verdure conquering wintry knolls, 
And on the ever-dancing rills 

The Season's gladness downward rolls. 

Blest time, that never failed to shed 

Some hope within each weary breast, 
Bousing us to a firmer tread 

If wavering or seeking rest. 
"Up, yet again!" it calls, "nor lose 

The golden hours of manly toil : 
Who now desponding fear pursues 

Reaps barren harvest from the soil/ 

Season of Hope, we welcome thee, 

Clear healthful skies thou bring'st again; 
Morn of the Year, thy child-like glee 

Lightens our heart from wintry pain. 
All things are new once more, thy flowers 

Are pure and fragrant, blossoming 
Through bleak March winds and April showers: 

A May-day wreath for thee, dear Spring. 

We hear thee whisper of bright days 

That on thy sister, Summer, tend; 
And buoyant Fancy forward strays, 

To bask in dreams thy sunbeams lend. 
All wayward as thou art, and wild 

In playful beauty, thou dost fling 
Alternate blights and blooms, thou Child 

Of storm and loveliness, dear Spring, 

We waited thee by brook and field, 
We sought thy steps on heath and lull, 
. By lakes where snowy drifts congealed, 

And Winter haunted sadly still* 



In the May Term; Ml 

We sought thee long; the flowerets slept 
Beneath the mould, no birds would sing; 

The shrill winds moaned, the gray clouds wept, 
Where wert thou lingering, dear Spring? 

Thou heedest not that we may chide, 

But laughing in thy girlish mirth 
With faery minstrelsy canst glide, 

Making an Eden of our earth. 
The seas are calmed, the woods and dells 

To foliage burst, on wandering wing 
Each bird of passage comes : thy spells 

Wake nature into beauty, Spring! 

Consoler, in whose elvish mirth 

Resides a touch with strength imbued, 
From slumbering force and wasteful dearth, 

To raise a harvest bloom of Good; 
Thy, buried grain, thy buds unroll, 

To us a mystic embleming 
Of Resurrection for the soul. 

To blossom in eternal Spring. 

IV. Sweet Summer- Time. 
Having thus, we trust, made our peace with the Spring- 
time, which deserves all loving- tenderness of speech from us, 
we would gladly speak our praise of Summer. Has the 
reader been already detained too long? Is his button- 
hole very weary ? in fear of such being the case we postpone 
the river-sketches with which we might otherwise have 
afflicted him, and shall lie in wait for another opportunity,' 
when the king of feathered fowls becomes clamorous for 
Commons. As the warm days advance, the labour of perusal 
would grow more oppressive, and "reading for his May n 
will be found sufficiently hard, without having to read about 
the May, in addition. Yet before we say farewell to the 
term, let some one hand us over a harp, a lyre, or a banjo 
(we not being difficult to please with any instrument, except 
the hurdy-gurdy or the bagpipes), so that we may do our 
best in chaunting a lay of welcome to that Circean damsel, 
the 

SWEET StJMMEB-HME. 

'Tis Summer, love, and Summer time is brief, 
And fair things die with Autumn's earliest leaf; 
Then take thy joy ere Winter bringeth grief, 
For Youth still guides our bark in fond belief 
Though terror-stricken Age drifts on the reef. 

Sweet Summer-time ! ..; 



*29 In the May Term. 

O Summer-time, O lovely Summer-time ! 
Frail insects we: is happiness a crime? 
Somewhile we frolic in a fragrant clime, 
Though Wisdom frowns, and with a lofty rhyme 
Ambition bids us tread a path sublime. 

Sweet Summer-time ! 

O Summer skies, O skies so blue and clear ! 
Is it not well that 'mid this grief and fear 
Our hearts respond to what we see and hear 
Of festive beauty and of mirthful cheer, 
And yield us still a Poet's Golden- Year ? 

Sweet Summer-time. 

Summer woods and shady bowers of green, 
Whereto we glide like streamlets from the sheen, 
Now lost in moss, now tortuous roots between, 
In sun or shade, in gladness through each scene, 
Then issuing forth to deeper vales serene. 

Sweet Summer-time. 

Sweet Summer, Summer-time, ere yet you go, 

1 taste the joys that with free hand you throw : 
Whate'er ensues, whatever bliss or woe, 
Life's festal goblet in its over flow, 

Yields me one long deep draught : 'Tis all I know. 
Sweet Summer-time. 

Karl of Nirgends declares that nothing ought to be done 
in the Sweet Summer-time, except to lie on the grass, under 
green leaves, blinking at the white clouds (if there are any to 
be had) or at the waters that keep slipping up to one's feet, 
with a gentle rustle, and perhaps with " tender curving line 
of creamy spray, 9 ' whereof Tennyson discourses. He, that is, 
Karl — but it is also true of the Laureate — likes to dive into 
a forest nook where he may hear the little rivulets gush and 
gurgle, half-hidden by the fern, and, with the slumbrous buz 
of insects around him, yield himself up to such a delightful 
book as Allan Park Paton's " Web of Life," George Mac- 
donald's " Phantastes," Longfellow's t€ Hyperion," George 
Meredith's inimitable " Shaving of Shagpat", or Professor 
Charles Kingsley's "Water-Babies:" wherein we agaia 
meet NoelPaton; and if there be any other volume as 
deliciously entrancing, and over-brimming with kindly 
humour or poetic feeling, we shall be glad to know it 
Quite as great a pleasure will it be to Karl. He says it is 
an insult to the bright skies and the fragrance of the flowers 



In the May Term. 323 

for any one to annoy himself with politics or musty meta- 
physics, and either sort of Mathematics, in the Sweet Summer- 
time: which declaration is very annoying to Questionists 
near the close of the May-Term, as well as to people who 
imagine that they have any chance of becoming Senior- 
Wrangler, if the Fates are propitious. You would scarcely 
think that Karl was the same person who in winter was up 
to his eyebrows in Scandinavian lore, Malthus on Population, 
Adam Smith on the Wealth of Nations, and the disputes of 
Cyprian, Origen, or the other Fathers. Despite his affec- 
tation of idleness, Karl is no less busy at present, watching 
the wondrous transformations of insect life, dissecting flowers, 
and studying the marvels of atmospheric changes. He is 
thinking more of the labours of Professors Babington, 
Liveing, Sedgwick, Balfour, and other Natural Science 
celebrities, than of those very interesting books in green 
covers, published by Macmillan, devoted to the consider- 
ation of sines, cots, tans, the four normals, constants, and 
other nursery-literature of the Abstract Students, up to the 
cobweb intricacies of diagrams which form the art-treasures 
of our revered top-three in the Tripos. Karl says that " En- 
joyment" is the one word spoken by the Sweet Summer-time ; 
even as u Hope" is whispered in every breeze of " Spring," 
and " Memory" is written on withered leaves of Autumn ; 
whilst Winter, with its stormy weather, exhorts to " Forti- 
tude." He is a strange creature, this Karl, it must be 
confessed, and it is not always easy to discover whether he 
is in jest or earnest ; especially if he be in high spirits, with 
the sunshine and bird-warblings of Sweet Summer-time. 
He becomes intoxicated with thunder and lightning, as the 
infant Schiller is reported to have been ; and the wilder the 
wind is on dark nights, filling his Academic gown like a 
ship's sail, and carrying him off his feet under a press of 
canvass sufficient to capsize a sugar-puncheon, why — all the 
more delight is it to Karl. He has no idea of what 
some folks call maintaining his dignity, and likes to startle 
conventional proprieties out of their daily routine, en- 
joying the fun of their perplexity as with raised eye- 
orows they wonder what will next ensue. He plays 
tricks as absurdly as a schoolboy, thinks nothing of 
exploding puns in a white cravat, or a University Ex- 
amination (e.g n he said something in very crabbed Greek 
about CEdipus's poor feet, which caused a serious difference 
of opinion between himself and the Examiners,) and would 
have been willing to make an April-fool of a Russian 



334 In the May Term. 

Domitian, like JElius Lamia with the " Heu taceam I " 
although the knout and Siberia might be in immediate 
reversion. We have heard him gravely proclaim the neces- 
sity of laws in England to fetter the press, enforce shaving, 
and encourage the presence of double yolks in Madingley 
eggs. All this is " very tolerable and not to be endured." 
Thus he occasionally mystifies a quidnunc, though he seldom 
plays these vagaries with his friends, and gets him keyed up 
to a tone of seriousness. If you met our Karl afterwards, 
his quiet manner and sad countenance might reveal more 
earnestness than you at first had given him credit for possess- 
ing. Is it that he is afraid of the deeper sorrows and 
aspirations being seen by those who are sceptical of any 
worthiness existing without the pale of their own sect or 
clique? Does he decline to "wear his heart upon his 
sleeve/' because, in such case, "daws will peck at it?" 
In the apparent want of balance in his nature, so different 
from the grave equality and proud gentleness of Guzman — 
is he unjust to himself or to others ? The answer is difficult 
to be given. Persons boast themselves deep and un- 
fathomable in their reserve ; but we have seen Karl solve 
their shallow mysteries in a brace of interviews. He himself 
seems to remain a riddle, to-day's verdict contradicting that 
of yesterday. Those who have for _years most closely 
watched him, on his frequent re-emergences from absence 
and obscurity, always find fresh elements, to puzzle them, 
and they gradually acquiesce in the belief that he is more 
thoroughly in earnest with the game of life than he cares to 
admit to anybody. His orbit is so eccentric that you can 
never be certain whither he is going, or whence he came. 
His individual acts and words are incongruous. Is he 
wasting strength on trifles, or obeying the law of his 
temperament? Is he ever going to do anything great, or 
is he to be allowed to sport noisily, like a perverse gun- 
powder cracker, in all Life's Sweet Summer-Time? He 
asks for no permission, no. ad vice, no assistance, no praise, 
ana no extenuation. He is aggravating or conciliatory, 
destructive or constructive, entirely according to his 6wn 
disposition. He flashes in and out of all the social mansions, 
scarcely resting in them, even as tents of a pight. His 
wants are so few that he is seldom at the mercy of Fortune ; 
his enjoyments are so many that he finds happy moments 
everywhere. It may be this reckless yielding to all whim* 
not actually sinful, combined with a chivalric courtesy towards 
the weak, and pure reverence of Womanhood, that has made 



In the May Term. 325 

him a favourite with such diverse persons. He has found 
more affection in the world than has that solemn hidalgo, 
Guzman, whom all respect, but nobody except intimate 
friends may presume to love. A dislike to the trammels of 'a 
position ' is possibly the cause of Karl hitherto encouraging 
others in a feeling of distrust towards him. He too well 
loves the freedom of his present movements to allow himself 
to be enslaved by any sect or party in social politics. 
Therefore, glorying in this versatility, he is now careless, 
now exacting, about things which seem to others of dispro- 
portionate value. We might plead for one, who refuses 
to plead for himself, in some such words as these : — 

KARL'S CAP AND BELLS. • 

Sometimes he'll vent a shocking pun, 

Sometimes a sentimental rhyme, 
Alternating 'twixt gloom and fun, 
As, more or less, through life he's done, 

And may continue through all time* 

An idle dog! — yet he may think, 

In such a chequered world, 'twere well 

When he has found his spirits sink, 

To jest (whilst others growl, or drink) 
And jingle Folly's cap-and-bell. 

You'll say, the bauble on his staff 

Is not a proper Pilgrim's crook ! 
But those who weep and those who laugh 
Alike from Truth's pure well may quaff, 

However diverse they may look. 

To us it cannot matter wholly 
In what quaint mood his thoughts are clad : 

Whether in austere melancholy 

Or in the pathwork skirts of Folly. 
Belike the heart in each is sad. 

If warm that heart, and firm in faith, 
Why need his censors frown or snarl, 

Though he may chase each fancy's wraith? 

" 'Tis not the best of ways ! " one saith : 
"Friend, are thy ways the best?" says Karl. 

Well, we leave the question undecided, except by making 

this final remark, that the hour is surely come when there is 

call for every honest worker to rouse and do his stint of 

labour with full devotedness, " laying aside the sin that doth 

vol. ill. A A 



996 In the May Term. 

most easily beset us," even though it be the luxurious 
revelling in all sweet sights and sounds and Midsummer 
fancies, such as appeal to natures that are less tempted by 
baser lures. Whatever leads us aside from the pathway 
that we are imperatively called to tread, must needs be evil 
and to be resisted; whether by flowers or quagmires, the 
danger of delay is almost equal. Not here, and not now, 
should we fail to urge the importance of the command that 
is laid upon us:-— "Whosoever will come after me, let him 
deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me !" Truly the 
self-denial may be as fullv needed in a May-term as at any 
othermoment. Forsome ofus the hour of departure approaches: 
the sweet harbour of College study must be quitted, and the 
cordage will soon be strained in tempest, or the loyalty of 
the crew be proved when becalmed in mid-ocean, tet the 
last words be those of hopeful cheer and friendly warning, as 
our students pass from the sight of feUow-goWnsmen, when 
entering on the world's struggle in 

THE NEW VOYAGE. 

The bark is manned, the sails are filled, 

The sea-track lureth golden bright, 
The waters of the West are stilled 

Whereon the setting sun doth light ; 
And from the shore a chorus flows 

Voices of friends that hail the bark 
With cheers — " God speed thee 'gainst the woes 

And perils of the ooming dark I " 

Creeps from the hold a coward fear, 

And whispers " Pause ! thy bark is frail ; 
No sunny harbour will be near 
: If wrecked by fell Ambition's gale. 
The world has abler men, shouldst thou 

Abjure these tasks and seek thine ease : 
Too long thou'st lingered— wherefore now 

With unfit powers assay the breeze?' 9 

I answer: "Standing at their helms, 

In barks like mine, I view around 
Those whom I love, for diverse realms 
, With diverse hopes and cargo bound. 
We quit the harbour's calm, not loth 

We seek instead the gloom and gale; 
Before us Work, behind us Sloth, 

And God our pilot : — Can we fail ? " 

J.W.E. 



THE LAST SIGH OF THE BACHELOB. 



11 — for three years term to live with me, 
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes 
That are recorded in this schedule here/'-* 
*< Love $ Labour Lost." 



I've put on my hood; I am going* 
My lovM Alma Mater, from you ; 

Scenes hallowed by reading and rowing, 
Red brick and rough plaster adieu 1 

Fve ta'en my last sniff of your breezes, 
My last hurried glance at your Dons, 

From the ivy-wreathed windows of Jesus.. 
To the half-coloured turrets of John's. 



fades off from my soul's recollection 
The Degree-week and all its sad hours, 

And I think with unfailing affection 

Of the joys that I knew 'neath thy towers* 

Our Feeds— e'en the great Martin Tupper's 
Whole talent and time t'would take up, 

To sing of our wines and our suppers 
And the divers descriptions of " Cup.'* 

How we'd tunefully treat the aspersion 
Of a friend's genial powers as a lie, 

How we'd make that immortal assertion 
" Which nobody can deny." 

AA 2 



8SS The Laet Sigh of the Bachelor. 

The woes of the dread " Paley Monday," 
The straggles to read in the " Long," 

The Trumpington lounges on Sunday, 
The Euclid which wwld come out wrong. 

Scratch-fours where we did'nt win Pewters, 
"Exams" which we passed by mere cheek, 

Religious disputes with our Tutors 
On the subject of " chapels a week," 

The glories of " Friday on Fenner's," 
The hope of a " 'Varsity Blue," 

The ohanoes of landing our Tenners 
By spotting the man for the cue. 

The rows on the Fifth of November, 
The crush of the Trinity Ball, 

The classics we oould'nt remember, 
And the boat we so lovM after all. 



Smith's bayonet which caused us to shiver, 
Our own which stuck fast in its sheath ; 

The thousand delights of the river, 

The " Two Thousand " joys of the Heath. 

The Match at Lords, won in a canter, 

(Td say so of Putney but can't) 
The Double-first Honours which Granta 

Objected so strongly to grant. 

All these we must needs leave behind us, 
Be they cared for or not as they may ; 

On that long-looked-for day which shall find us 
Possessed of the letters " B. A.* 

'Mid crowds on the towing-path cheering 

I ne'er shall perspire as before, 
No more shall I swear at the steering, 

Or furiously call upon "four." 

The shout of (< Hard in from the willows!* 
Shall ne'er again mil on mine ear, 

As eight pump'd aquatic gorillas 
Are struggling to row their boat clear. 



The Last Sigh of the Bachelor. 329 

No more 'mid the dangers of cricket 

Shall I be seen crossing the Piece, 
Struck down as I hear from the wicket 

An outcry of "Ball if you please! " 

No more! — one might go on "no more"-ing 

Till doomsday for aught that I know ; 
But what were the object of flooring 

One's subject and them at one blow? 

Bash outlay of talent or money 

I consider the work of an ass, 
So, seeing the weather is sunny, 

Here, Porter, to Shoreditch— Third Clou. 



L. 

f 



HOW TO DEAL WITH THE BUCOLIC MIND. 



No. 8. Village Festivals. 



J FEEL that some apology is due to the Editors of The Eagle 
for the long break in my communications on the subject 
I chose for some papers about two years ago. The stern 
business of life will, I hope, be admitted as an excuse, and 
the fact that, since writing my last paper on " the Bucolic 
Mind, " I have, been brought face to face, and mind to mind 
with Bucolics of a new county, and have entered upon an 
incumbency, with all its responsibilities, among a new people, 
instead of a curacy among people who knew me from my 
boyhood. In such cases much patient study and inves- 
tigation is required to find out differences of character and 
habits of thought, as well as no small amount of caution, in 
first beginning to deal with a people who will be led but not 
driven. 

However, after the appeal in the last number of The 
Eagle, I am determined to make an effort, and send off a 
Paper on " Village Festivals, 99 having already treated of 
Vtuage Schools and Village dubs. As in my opening 
paper, I wish first to point out for whom I write. — My object 
is practical, in accordance with the invitation of the Editors, 
that Members of the College should write on subjects they 
were personally acquainted with, and should keep in view 
the benefit or amusement of at least some of the subscribers 
to The Bogle. My humble contributions then do not aspire 
to attract the attention of the embryo Barristers and 
Physicians and Statesmen among the Undergraduates of 
St John's, but merely to offer a few hints to those who are 
expecting to be some day Country Squires, or Country 
Parsons in our scattered English Villages. 

And now, a few remarks on Village Festivals: It is 
happily unnecessary to dwell on the advantage of both 



How to deal with the Bucolic Mind. $31 

Squire and Parson taking an interest in the amusements of 
the people. The time is gone by in which the amusements 
and festivities of different classes were as different as their 
houses or their food ; when it was an understood thing that 
the labourers on an estate, or the small cottagers in a Parish 
had their amusements on the sly, when bull baiting, cock 
fighting and violent faction fights at football were the recrea- 
tions of the lower orders, in which of course no respectable 
person could join. The danger now is rather the other way, 
and in many country villages the recreations of the labouring 
class suffer from a little too much fostering, and nursing, on the 
part of their superiors. 

Just as, in the establishment of Benefit Clubs, the most 
solid and enduring will not always be those framed for the 
members, on the soundest principles, by men of rank and 
talent, so in promoting the amusements of the labouring class 
it will always be well to develope and improve upon their 
own ideas, and to encourage the proper observance of days 
and festivals that harmonize with their old associations. 
Of these days the principal is that called in most villages 
pre-eminently t€ the Feast/ 9 in others M the Wakes." The ori- 
gin of these festivals is involved in some obscurity, but they 
probably date from the first establishment of Christianity in 
Britain, when Christian festivals were instituted in the room 
of the idolatrous entertainments of the heathen, and the day 
of the Saint to which the Parish Church was dedicated be- 
came the established feast of the parish. The Festival 
included the day itself and the eve or vigil before it, and 
the services both religious and festal were naturally denomi* 
nated from their late hours wcecan or wakes. The immense 
value of this connection between the Parish Feast and the 
Parish Church is obvious, and where it is possible, the Church 
should endeavour to regain her own, and have the wakes 
celebrated in a seemly and Christian manner, on the Saint's 
day to which they belong. Let there be a short Choral 
Service in the morning, a good dinner and rustic games in th# 
afternoon, with a few popular addresses, a little singing, and 
'God Save the Queen* to wind up with. 

Occasionally perhaps there will be some doubts about the 
day, if the Church is dedicated to some of those canonized old 
worthies Saint Werburgh, Saint Vedast or Saint Ethelburgha » 
but in these days of Church restoration there are few Parishes 
where the Re-opening of their restored old Church will not 
afford the inhabitants a creditable and interesting subject for 
an annual commemoration. I think it is important that the 



SSS Hoto to deal with the Bucolic Mind. 

day or days, of the reformed Parish Feast should be fixed 

by some rule well understood by the people, as it is very 

desirable that arrangements for home-visits from young 

people in service should be made dependent on the period 

of its celebration. In one of my former Parishes I remember 

there used to be an annual dispute about the right week for 

the wakes. Generally, it was said, the Butchers " ruled it" 

as providers of the indispensable roast beef and boiled 

mutton, but one year the rival parties succeeded in having 

two successive wakes ; and that fortnight, as the Yankees say, 

" was a caution " to the quieter inhabitants. The Festivals 

however, which will be most readily fixed by a period of the 

year, are of course those which are now becoming common 

in most country parishes, viz. " Harvest Homes." Instead of 

the old practice of each farmer giving a heavy supper with 

an inordinate quantity of ale and spirits to his men, and 

sending them staggering out of his house to conclude the 

night at the village " public/' it is hoped that the chief 

inhabitants and farmers of every parish may be induced to 

club together, in friendly concert with their clergyman, to 

provide a good reasonable holiday and day of recreation, both 

mental and bodily, for their poorer neighbours who have been 

engaged in the work of gathering in the crops. Of course such 

a day is easily planned and arranged where the whole Parish 

belongs to one Squire, who is moreover on good terms with 

the Clergyman. The Church will be especially decorated for 

the occasion, wreaths for the piers being made of a band 

of plaited straw about half an inch wide with ears of wheat, 

barley, and oats introduced at regular intervals, and the 

capitals being adorned with garlands of vine or oak. Pretty 

devices for the east end of the Chancel over the Communion 

Table may be formed by placing miniature wheat-sheafs within 

wreaths of vines, and no one will be at a loss to think of 

suitable texts to place in green letters on the walls. In the 

procession to Church, from the village schoolroom or dining 

tent, as the case may be, a wheat sheaf will of course be borne 

aloft, composed of the finest ears contributed by the different 

farmers of the Parish, the time-honoured flags and banners 

of the Independent Order of Eechabites will do duty for a 

second time within the twelve months, and the boys 9 Drum- 

and-Fife Band will "play" the procession through the 

admiring village. The Service and sermon, a short and 

pointed one let us hope, being ended, the procession will 

wend its way back, with no halting step, to the roast beef 

and plum pudding, at which each person, on shewing the 



Sow to deal with the Bucolic Mind. 333 

card of admission, given to him and paid for by his employer, 
will speedily be seated by the stewards of the day. Dinner 
over, and a short time having been allowed for conversation, 
which is always, I have observed, very stiff and constrained as 
long as the serious business of the knife and fork is being 
attended to, a few loyal toasts and local sentiments will be 
cordially received, until the adjournment of the juniors to 
cricket, quoits, skittles, &c. at which the seniors will look on, 
and smoke the pipe of benignant contemplation. But all this 
time the women must not be forgotten, or the new system of 
Harvest Homes will hardly gain much of their praise. They 
must at all events join their husbands at the tea, if not, as is 
to be desired, at the dinner of the day, and then after some 
concluding songs and music we may look for the pleasant 
though hitherto rare sight of an English 'labourer quietly 
walking home with his wife after a day's enjoyment, instead 
of being angrily fetched by her, with mutual recrimination 
and abuse, from the village alehouse. 

Of course all the details of the Harvest Festival will be 
managed in a parish such as I have supposed, more easily 
than m one which is owned by a number of small freeholders, 
but even then I think that the Clergyman, if he will be 
content with merely taking the lead in die preliminary 
deliberations of a committee of farmers, may gradually effect 
much in promoting a reformed " Harvest Home." 

But there is one kind of Village Festival that will 
naturally fall almost entirely under the Clergyman's sole 
direction and guidance. It is the privilege of the Church 
of England to have the education of the young in our 
country villages almost entirely under the control of her 
Ministers, and I think that all who take an active part in 
the daily routine work of the National School, will look 
forward with pleasure to the annual School treat 

The best time of year for this Festival will generally be 
about the end of July, when the Harvest holidays are 
approaching, and the school is beginning to get thin, as the 
prospect of the treat, limited of course to those in regular 
attendance, will be very effective in keeping up the numbers 
until the proper day of breaking up. At the same time, 
although great strictness should be shewn in refusing all on 
the School Begister who have not been regular in attendance, 
I think it is very desirable to extend the invitation to former 
pupils who have left the school with credit, and are working 
in the parish, or at service. By connecting old scholars 
with this day, and other special days of their old school's 



334 Sow to deal with the Bucolic Mind. 

year, I think the greatest benefit may be produced both to 
themselves and the cause of education in their native place. 
It is needless to go into the details of the usual school-treat, 
the tea, the cake, the games, &c, but I would just suggest 
an occasional variation which I have myself found very- 
successful, and that is, the School Excursion. To be fully- 
appreciated by the children, a large town should be the 
point of a Village-School excursion. The following descrip- 
tion of one appeared in the Leicester Guardian of the period 
some years ago : 

" Wyichswold National School Excursion. 

" School Treats in these days have a strong tendency to 
degenerate into mere eating matches, where that boy or 
gin will appear the most highly rewarded, and consequently 
the most meritorious who can ' take in ' the largest quantity 
of plum-cake or bread and butter. We think therefore, that 
any effort to raise the character of these entertainments, and 
impart to them something of a more intellectual cast, is very 
commendable, and deserves encouragement. A scheme of 
this sort was projected by the Curate of Wymeswold, for 
those children of the National School who had attended 
regularly since Whitsuntide, and on Friday the 11th inst., 
the happy party, fifty-one in number, started about nine 
o'clock, in three vans, for Nottingham, reached the Victoria 
Hotel at half-past eleven, and thence walked up to the 
Arboretum. The passing view of the Castle, the noble 
Market-place, the Blind Asylum, and the new Cemetery, 
drew forth many genuine exclamations of wonder and 
delight, but the thing decidedly, was the Arboretum, its 
beautifully planned walks and flower-beds, and gracefully 
undulating grounds. After spending a couple of hours very 
pleasantly, including a brief adjournment to the refreshment 
pavilion for sandwiches, cake, &c, the older boys and girls, 
under the guidance of their Master and the Clergyman, 
proceeded to the Mechanic's Institute, and inspected the 
valuable collection of stuffed birds, animals, fossils, &c, at the 
Museum. On returning to the Arboretum, various games 
were carried on with great spirit till about five o'clock, when 
a general muster took place, the final slice of cake was 
served out, and with many a longing, lingering look behind, 
the party commenced their homeward journey." 

Where the Parish School is a large one, an excursion of 
this kind is rather a serious undertaking, but the idea may 
be worked out with advantage in connexion with the Parish 
Choir, who must certainly be indulged with an occasional 



How to deal with the Bucolic Mind. 335 

Festival. In most Dioceses an excellent opportunity for a 
treat to the Choir is afforded by an annual gathering of 
Parish Choirs in the Cathedral Church, and I can testify to 
the success of several held at Southwell, Peterborough, and 
Norwich. 

Excursions on a large scale, open to die whole Parish, 
have sometimes proved very successful, as for instance, some 
of those recorded in the lately published and very interesting 
biography of Professor Henslow, to Ipswich, Norwich, 
Cambridge, and even to the Great Exhibition in London. 

There are however, of course, very few country Clergy- 
men who have Professor Henslow's ability to organize 
recreations for their parishioners on so large a scale, but 
I think that most of my clerical brethren can avail themselves 
of what is really becoming quite an important agency for 
influencing the country parish, an agency borrowed I admit 
from Dissenters, but not on that account to be despised. 
Fas est et ab hoste doceri. The Tea Meeting is one of the 
simplest, cheapest, and best means I know for ensuring to 
any useful Institution a favourable start or a prosperous 
anniversary in the Village. Mr. Whitehead's "Village 
Sketches " will give the necessary details to those of my 
readers who care to have them, and I will simply say that 
in connection with a Rural Library, a Penny Bank, or a 
Village Horticultural Society, there is nothing like a judicious 
use of the Tea-pot 

The last Village Festival I have time and space to treat 
of shall be the Cricket Match. My readers who play three 
Matches a-week on Parker's Piece, and think nothing of it, 
can hardly realise the interest which the one Match of the 
season creates in the country village. It generally comes off 
about the end of August, when the Little Barton Club con- 
sider themselves sufficiently adepts to " send a channels " to 
their ancient rivals at Norton-on-the-Hill. Great is the 
excitement in Little Barton when the eventful morning for 
"the Match'* arrives, and the open van conveying "the 
opposite party" is descried in the distance. The wickets 
having been duly pitched by the Umpires, at the hazard of 
their lives, among the sturdy young fellows who are slogging 
at practise bowlers all round them, everything is ready for 
a start, except the champion and mainstay of Little Barton, 
who has not yet vouchsafed an appearance. At length, 
after an immense deal of shouting for him, that worthy 
emerges from his carpenter's shop on the border of the 
ground, and surrounded by an admiring throng of small 



3S6 Horn to deal with the Bucolic Mind. 

beys, rolls down to the scene of action, with a couple of bats 
of his own manufacture, carried Robinson Crusoe fashion, 
on each shoulder. The game commences amid the breathless 
excitement of the Little Barton side, who have been 
sedulously drilled for the last few weeks into the positions 
and duties to be occupied by them in the field, Longstop 
especially, having been cautioned about the "byes." 
Presently the Norton batsman lets drive at a delicious €€ off 
ball," but merely touches it with the edge of his bat, and 
sends it just over short slip's head, within a few yards of 
Longstop, past whom it rolls for three runs without any 
attempt on his part to stop it "Muve Jem! why don't 
you muve?" is shouted at unlucky Longstop, from all parts of 
the field ; but only brings forth the indignant protest, " Talk 
of me moving ; why it were *hit!" Enlivened with sundry 
similar little episodes, the game proceeds with all the glorious 
uncertainty of Cricket, and terminates at a late hour of the 
evening. Of course the losing side are disappointed, but 
still it has been a thoroughly good English day's pleasure, and 
both winners and losers part good Mends. " A very har- 
monious game," said a country umpire to a friend of mine, 
after one of these rustic encounters. "Yes" replied my 
friend, "very much so." "Harmonious, pleasant, good 
feeling on both sides," urged the Umpire. "Certainly," 
acquiesced my friend, "and I hope we shall soon meet 
again." "Well," said the Umpire, " that's just it, I did'nt 
wish to disturb the harmony of the game, but you've been 
bowling a foot over the crease all day. I'm glad I didn't 
' no-ball ' you. It's been such a very harmonious game " / 

J. F. B. 



© © 
© © © 

©:© 
© 



IttltittilMtilillitilillliiMl 



CHIDHEB. 
(From ike German.) 



Thus spake the ever young Chidher :— 

I passed a town as I rode along, 
A man plucked fruit in a garden fair, 

And I asked, " how old is the town so strong?" 
" The town" said he, and he plucked again, 
" The town stands here, 'tis very plain, 
As ever it did, and will remain. 

When half a thousand years had died, 

The self-same way I chanced to ride- 
No town found I, but a lonely mead ! 

And flocks were scattered far and near, 
A single shepherd tuned his reed, 

And I asked, "how long have they pastured here? 9 
He said, and turned again to play, 
" The young leaves grow where the old decay; 
This is my pasture-land for aye." 

When half a thousand years had died, 

The self-same way 1 chanced to ride — 



I found the seething ocean strand; 

A boatman cast his meshes near, 
And as he drew them full to land 

I asked, "when came the waters here?" 
He said, and laughed the thought away, 
" Since first the Ocean dashed his spray, 
Our boats have anchored in this bay/' 

When half a thousand years had died, 

The self-same way I chanced to ride— 



338 Chidher. 

I found a forest greenly dressed ; 

A woodman felled a lordly tree, 
And y as the echoes sank to rest, 

I asked "how old that wood might be?' 
He said " for ever hath it stood, 
A holy refuge, firm and good, 
My chosen home of solitude." 

When half a thousand years had died, 

The self-same way I chanced to ride — 

I found a market town ; and loud 

Arose the hum of industry. 
I asked them " whence that busy crowd ? 

And where the forest and the sea?" 
An answer came above the roar : 
" So had it ever been before, 
And so would be for evermore." 

And as the time again is gliding, 

Perchance that way IH go a-riding. 






A GHOST STOET. 

(Continued from page 273.) 



gNORING soundly in bed, with his night cap well pulled 
over his ears, my uncle ought to have been found at one 
o'clock in the morning. But we found him in a very differ- 
ent state from this. He was lying on the floor apparently 
lifeless, and when we brought a light nearer to him, we saw 
that blood was flowing from a wound in his head. Tartar 
was lying stretched over his master's body, alive, but alas ! 

" Quantum mutatus ab illo 
Tartare" 

whom we had seen a few hours before so full of animal life 
and courage. He was shivering and* shaking all over, and at 
intervals ne howled and whined in a most melancholy 
fashion. Nevertheless the faithful creature was keeping 
guard over his master's body, and at times licked the lifeless 
hand that could no longer answer the dumb creature's 
affection. As I said before, I shall never forget the scene as 
long as I live. The servants gently lifted the General on to 
his bed, and even then I could not help admiring the calm 
and resolute expression of his face, and had I not seen the 
dark stream of blood trickling slowly down from his iron 
grey locks, 1 could have fancied he was only enjoying 
the deep and placid sleep denied to the sons of luxury ; and 
which none but soldiers and the sons of toil ever know ; or, 
if I may quote the eloquent words of an Aquiline Bard, 
that sleep 

" Peculiar to oars, and overworked Oittmbus 'osset." 

It seemed hard that a man who had escaped the dangers of 
war, famine, and disease in foreign lands should be thus 



340 A Qhosl Story. 

struck down by a cowardly assassin in an hour of seeming 
peace and security. But I rejoice to say that my uncle, 
though severely wounded, was not dead : in fact the surgeon 
(who had arrived within a quarter of an hour after the alarm) 
declared after a few days that the General, thanks to his iron 
constitution, would probably be as well as ever he had been 
in the course of a week. And here I must not omit to 
mention an instance of Agatha Snow's coolness of judgment 
and presence of mind. While the rest of the family were 
giving way to expressions of horror and grief, my uncle 
might have bled to death. My aunt was the first who re- 
covered her senses, and she told one of the servants at 
once to fetch a doctor. But before the servant had gone, to 
our great relief, our own medical man made his appearance. 
We afterwards discovered that on the first alarm Agatha 
had of her own accord rushed off for him, and insisted on his 
coming with her immediately. But in accordance with her 
retiring and reserved character she never made mention of 
this fact to any of us, and it was not till after some days 
had passed that we knew to whom we were indebted for the 
doctor's opportune arrival, and even then Agatha seemed 
distressed by our expressions of gratitude, and positively re- 
fused to accept the handsome present which General Mac- 
kenzie wished to give her. Nevertheless she was unremitting 
in her attentions to him, and volunteered to sit up with him 
at night as nurse, a duty which none of the other servants 
and no professional nurse could be found to undertake. For, 
of course, the whole affair had been noised abroad, and a 
legal inquiry had taken place, which had however thrown no 
light on the mysterious event As my uncle still lay in the 
ghost-room, it was not probable that we should find many- 
nurses willing to sit up with him through the night, and as 
my aunt insisted on sitting up with her Brother all night till 
he could be removed into another room, Agatha and I 
contented ourselves with being as useful as we could during 
the day. 

In a few days my uncle was removed to another room, 
and recovered sufficiently to be able to give us the following 
account of what had befallen him : 

€t On the night of the 25th, when I wished you all 'good 
night, 9 I little thought what a night of it I should have. 
I did not trouble myself about your ghostly friend, and 
though I put my pistols within easy reach, I laughed at 
myself for doing so, and thought I had been a great fool when 
I took the trouble of loading them before dinner. I now 



A Ghost Story. HI 

regret that I did not examine them to see whether they 
were properly loaded as I had left them a few hours before*. - 
Tartar, who as you know has been carefully trained never 
to jump on my bed, soon made himself at home on the 
floor before the fire, and I, following his example, fell 
asleep as fast as I was able. I could not have been asleep for 
more than an hour when Tartar awoke mo by jumping on 
to the bed. This being a decided breach of discipline, I 
reprimanded him, and ordered him to jump down : but the 
animal did not seem at all inclined to obey: he kept 
"whining and shivering most piteously. However, I neither 
saw nor heard anything that could have alarmed him, so 
I forcibly ejected him, and again fell asleep. Again Tartar 
awoke me by jumping on to me: he was trembling violently, 
and this time positively refused to be moved from the bed. 
Determined to see what was the cause of his fear, I sat up 
in bed: I then saw a figure standing by the fire, I im- 
mediately seized my pistols, and as the figure did not move, 
I politely asked to whom I was indebted for the honour of 
a nocturnal visit. The figure at once turned round toward * 
me, and I saw a tall dark man who seemed to have lost his 
right arm. But what struck me most was a frightful gash 
extending across his throat, nearly from one ear to the 
other: in facJt> in all respects he corresponded to the descrip- 
tion given me by Hester of the apparition which had 
frightened her, and which, you remember, I laughed at as 
the result of a romantic imagination, or an indulgence in hot 
suppers. However I had smelt gunpowder too often to be 
afraid of a ghost, and I repeated my question politely but 
firmly : upon which my friend became very fierce* and, as 
far as I can remember, told me he was the ghost of my 
late brother-in-law, and uttered fearful imprecations upon me 
for having intruded upon his privacy, and at the same time 
advanced towards me in a threatening manner. I must 
admit that though I have seen the human countenance 
distorted by every sort of evil passion, I never yet saw so 
diabolical an expression as that of his ghost-ship. In fact 
he looked so bent upon doing me a mischief, that I covered him 
with my pistol as he advanced, and warned him, that if he came 
a step further I should fire. His only answer was a hollow laugh, 
and an assurance that no earthly weapon could have any effect 
upon him. I then fired, and feel confident that, had my pistol 
been loaded properly, the ball must have killed or wounded him. 
You may judge how great was my horror when the figure 
merely laughed scornfully, and addressed me thus : 
vol. in. bb 



S4* A Ghort Stay. 

U€ This time I leave you: bat venture to sleep another 
night in this room, and yon will pay the penalty for it with 
your life. 9 

" Scarcely knowing what I was doing, I fired my second 
pistol, bat it evidently had as little effect as my first, for the 
creature merely scowled at me fiercely and saying, ' Remem- 
ber my words/ turned as if to leave the room. But I was 
not to be settled so easily as this by a fellow who had only 
one arm : eo I sprang out of bed, and rushed upon him. 
The fellow faced me at once, and as I was closing with him 
struck me a terrific blow with some concealed weapon, 
Shewing me at the same time that though his right sleeve 
was empty, he had a right arm to use, and an uncommonly 
strong one, for after I received the blow I can remember 
nothing till I found myself in bed with all of you around me. 
However, though I certainly got the worst of it, I think I 
have cleared up one or two points. This villain is no more 
a ghost than I am. He appears with only one arm in order 
to personate my brother*in«»law; and he got into my room 
• between dinner-time and bed-time, and drew the balls from 
my pistols. But as soon as I am well, I will try my luck 
with him again, and take good care this time that my pistols 
have something better than powder in them.'* 

As I have already stated, a legal enquiry had been set on 
foot, and notwithstanding the apparent simplicity of the case, 
every effort to solve the mystery had been baffled; and 
many people believed that my uncle had been visited by 
a bond fide ghost of his brother-in-law. To this belief all the 
servants inclined, while my aunt and uncle believed that the 
whole affiur could be explained by natural causes, and 
suspected that some of the servants were possibly concerned 
in the matter* I for my part had never quite got rid of my 
old suspicions about Agatha Snow, and I was in consequence 
not a little disturbed when I found that my aunt had de- 
termined to dismiss every servant in the house, except 
Agatha, in whose fidelity she seemed to have a belief that 
amounted to infatuation. It was fated however that we 
should get rid of Agatha sooner than we had expected* 
X was seated one morning with Agatha by my uncle's bed* 
aide, she reading the Newspaper to herself while I was 
working, when suddenly I heard a piercing shriek, and saw 
Agatha fall hack senseless; I rushed to her and when she 
came to herself, we carried her off to her bed-room, though 
she insisted there was nothing the matter with her. ^ The 
newspaper had fallen on to the floor, and I now picked it up, 



A Ghost Story. 8*3 

determined to find out what had so violently affected her. 
The Paper did not seem to contain much news, or at least 
news that could have interested Agatha much : there was a 
description of Napoleon's Italian Campaign ; the arrest in 
Rotterdam of a gang of English Coiners; and lastly an 
article on the mysterious adventure of General Mackenzie, 
the writer of which article found fault with the magistrates 
for not having subjected all our servants to a more searching 
examination. 

Next morning to our great surprise Agatha Snow had 
disappeared, having left most of her property in the house. 
After a few days a distant relative of hers, living in Rotter- 
dam, called and presented a note from Agatha Snow, in which 
she said that private affairs had rendered it necessary for her 
to leave us without any notice, that her property and all 
wages due to her were to be entrusted to her relative, and 
that we need not trouble ourselves to make enquiries for her 
as she was quite Well and happy. Thus we lost our charming 
Lady '8 Maid. I cannot say that t regretted her much, though 
my aunt seemed to feel her loss deeply. Meanwhile General 
Mackenzie Was quite well and strong again, and the first 
thing he did on his recovery was to return to the ghost-room. 
But no ghost disturbed his night s test, nor ever afterwards 
was anything uncanny known to intrude in the room. 
After the General's departure iriy aunt made the room her 
own, and continued to sleep in it as long as I lived with her, 
without the slightest interruption from the one-arm M spectre 
of her late husband. , 

Ten years had pissed and nothing more had been heard 
of the ghost; new scenes and new ties had almost banished 
the remenlbrance of the whole mystery from my mind ; still 
I could not help thinking about it sometimes, and hoping that 
the truth might yet be brought to the light; and as I started 
with my husband for a Continental Tour* in Which we hoped 
to stay some weeks with iriy aunt at Rotterdam, I could not 
help expressing to him that I felt a presentiment that before 
our return some due to the mystery would be found. But 
alas I after staying a month in ^Rotterdam; and investigating 
the case, as far as we could, we were as far off from the 
truth as ever, though I mtist admit that I became acquainted 
with several facts in the foririer life of my uncle and aunt* 
Which before had been kept secret from me, or only mys? 
teriously hinted at. These facts it is not now necessary for me 
to relate, for though they accounted for much that I had 
previously thought peculiar in my aunt's conduct, they did 

BB 2 



944 A Ghat Stay. 

Dot seem to have much connection with the eolation of the 

5 host story, on the supposition that the assailant of General 
fackenzie was no ghost, but an utter impostor. I left 
Rotterdam much vexed by my failure ; but, as it turned out, 
chance led me to the information which all my efforts had 
been unable to obtain. After spending the winter in Italy we 
returned home through Switzerland. We intended to stay for 
a month at Lucerne after the fatigues of the St. Gothard Pass. 
A crowd was waiting the arrival of our steamer at Lucerne, 
and as I landed I thought I recognized a face amid the 
people who thronged around us. I saw a pale face, which 
still retained evident traces of beauty, looking at me with, 
a fixed gaze. But directly our eyes met, the face disap- 
peared and I could nowhere see it again, though owing to 
a certain indefinable impression made upon me by the look 
which I encountered, I was extremely anxious to keep the 
nee in sight I fancied however as we walked slowly to 
our hotel that I caught occasional glimpses of a woman 
following us, and I was confirmed in this suspicion when 
I observed that as we walked up the steps of our hotel the 
woman suddenly stopped, and retraced her steps as fast as 
she could. That evening a note was brought me by the 
waiter, who said it had been left by a boy for Miss Hester—. 
Tearing open die envelope, I found a few words written in 
evident haste on a Bcrap of paper. The writer, as I have 
stated, had addressed me by my maiden name, thus showing 
that he or she knew something of my earlv life. The note 
itself implored me to meet the writer that night at 12 o'clock 
on the second covered bridge (which, if 1 remember right 
bears the name of " Miihlenbrucke"), and assured me that, if 
I would do this, I should hear die whole history of some 
mysterious events which had happened during my early life 
at Rotterdam. The writer added that, unless I came alone 
I should receive no information. My mind was soon made 
up. I shewed the letter to my husband, telling him that we 
had at last arrived at the object of our desires : that I felt 
sure the woman who had followed me from the steamer was 
the writer of the letter, and that I suspected her to be no 
one else than the once beautiful Agatha Snow. At first my 
husband would not hear of my meeting this unknown 
writer — but what good and true wife ever failed to persuade 
her husband that her judgement was vastly superior to his ? 
He of course yielded after a little opposition, but stipulated 
that he should walk with me to the bridge and wait near to 
it, so as to be able to assist me at once in case of danger. 



A Ghost Story. 345 

As the hour of midnight came on, I confess I began to feel 
a little nervous as to the result of my expedition, for the 
night was threatening, and the moon was at times hidden, and 
at times drifted angrily through a cloudy sky. The old Cathe- 
dral clock struck twelve as I stepped on to the bridge, and 
at the same time the moon was hidden by a long black cloud. 
It is not a cheerful bridge in broad daylight, with its dark 
corners, and its ghastly roof-paintings of the "Dance of 
Death," but then it seemed more than usually dismal : for, 
below, the dark Reuss was almost invisible, as it went 
gliding swiftly and silently along, except where it fumed and 
fretted against the timbers of the old bridge; while the 
wind was howling in a dismal and discontented manner, as 
if it had conspired with the water to destroy the ' Miihlen- 
briicke/ and was made sulky by its failure. As the last 
vibration of the clock died away I stood in the middle of the 
bridge, and became conscious that there was a figure by my 
side, though whether it was a man or woman I could not 
determine because of the darkness. But I was not long in 
doubt. 

" Do I speak to Miss Hester — ?" I heard some one say 
in a voice which, though scarcely familiar to me, I thought 
I had heard before. 

" I once was Miss Hester " — " I replied, " but my name 
is now changed. What information have you to give me ?" 

" Come here, out of the wind," the voice replied, a where 
we can hear one another more easily." 

I felt my arm touched gently, and at the same moment 
the clouds broke and the moon burst forth in all her glory, 
and I saw before me the figure of a tall dark man : and fear, 
like unto the fear which I had felt long years ago in the 
haunted room, fell upon me. 

(To be continued.) 






SSaMBBHB&MBSS 



vAivXl^vA 



THE LADY MABGABET 5TH BOAT, HAY 1869. 



Eight B.A/s stout from town came out ALA. degrees to take, 

And made a tow from stroke to bow a bump or two to make. 

Weary were they and jaded with the din of London town, 

And they felt a tender longing for their long-lost Cap and Gown. 

So they sought the old Loganus : well pleased I trow was he, 

The manly forms he knew so well onee more again to see : 

And they cried — "O old Loganus, can'st thou find us e'er 

a boat, 
In which our heavy carcases may o'er the waters float?" 
Then laughed aloud Loganus — a bitter jest lov'd he— 
And he cried " Such heavy mariners I ne'er before did see ; 
1 have a fast commodious barge, drawn by a well-fed steed, 
'Twill scarcely bear your weight I fear : for never have I see'd 
Eight men so stout wish to go out a rowing in a ' height/ 
Why, Gentlemen, a man of war would sink beneath your weight. 9 
Thus spake the old Loganus, and he laughed long and loud, 
And when the eight men heard his words, they stood abashed 

and cowed; 
For they knew not that he loved them, and that, sharply thp' 

he spoke, 
The old man loved them kindly, tho' he also loved his joke: 
For Loganus is a Trojan, and tho' hoary be his head, 
He loveth Margarets, and the ancient Johnian red. 
So he brought them out an eight-oarM tub, and oars both light 

and strong, 
And bade them be courageous, and row their ship along. 
Then in jumped Casa Minor, the Captain of our crew, 
And the gallant son of Fergus in a ' blazer ' bright and new : 
And Ow/iac 6 KvXlytiwv full proudly grasped his oar, 
And 'Iderwv 6 XaXrovpyoc, who weighs enough for " four ; " 
For if Jason and Medea had sailed with him for cargo, 
To the bottom of the Euxine would have sunk the good ship Argo. 
Then Pallidulus Bargoeus, the mightiest of our crew, 
Than whom no better oarsman e'er wore the Cambridge blue. 



The Lady Margaret 5th Boat, May 1863. 347 

And at number six sat Peter, whom Putney's waters know ; 
Number seven was voting Josephus, tbe ever-sleepless Joe: 
Number eigbt was John Piscator, at his oar a wondrous dab, 
-Who, tho' all his life a fisher, yet has never eaught a crab : 
Last of all the martial Modius, having laid his good sword by, 
Seized the rudder-strings, and uttered an invigorating cry : 
"Are you ready all? Row Two, a stroke! Eyes front, and 

sit at ease ! 
Quick March! I meant to say, Row on! and mind the time 

all, please." 
Then sped the gallant vessel, like an arrow from a bow ; 
And the men stood wond'ring on the banks, to see the " Old- 

'uns" row; 
And Father Camus raised his head, and smiled upon the crew, 
For their swing, and time, and feather, and their forms, full 

well he knew. 
They rowed past Barnwell's silvery pool, past Charon'* gloomy 

bark, 
And nearly came to grief beneath the Railway rafters dark : 
But down the willow-fringed Long Reach so fearful was their pace. 
That joyous was each Johnian, and pale each foeman's face. 
They rowed round Ditton corner, and past the pleasant Plough, 
Nor listened to the wild appeal for beer that came from bow : 
They rounded Grassy Corner, and its fairy forms divine, 
But from tbe boat there wandered not an eye of all the nine : 
They rowed round First-Post Corner, the Little Bridge they 

passed; 
And calmly took their station two places from the last. 
Off went the gun ! with one accord tbe sluggish Cam they smote, 
And were bumped in fifty seconds by the Second Jesus Boat. 

TURGIDUS DEMEX. 



L 




TWO PICTURES. 
(" Barney and « The Silver Cord Loo$ed."f 



THAT the talkie hand should have given us " The Pursuit 
of Pleasure," " Hesperus," "Home," and "In Me- 
moriam," will not appear strange to those who love to 
watch the ripening of an artist's mind, and see the subjects 
of his paintings, or his poems, ever deepening in human 
interest, howsoever graceful and fantastic were his earlier 
dreams. J. Noel Paton, whose " Oberon and Titania" secured 
popular favour at the Crystal Palace Exhibition, 1851, and 
whose "Pursuit of Pleasure " was in later years an object of 
attraction to many thousand spectators, touched the heart of 
the nation when he painted " Home, — the Soldier's return." 
The yearning tenderness and grace of " Hesperus" leads us 
into a different world of thought, and appeals to a smaller 
circle of sympathy than the Droad human interest of the 
" Soldier's Return from the War." Too many were wrung 
with . agony for the sufferings of beloved relatives, wounded 
and slain in the Russian campaign, to allow this noble picture 
to be received with indifference. Even in times of continued 
peace it would have spoken to all by its simple earnestness, 
out it was doubly impressive when it harmonised with recent 
recollections. The "In Memoriam" — an episode in the 
Sepoy insurrection, although impressive and admirable as a 
work of art, was less suited to be a favourite, from the painful 
nature of the subject. 

" Home," also, tells the story of bygone ^ danger and 
present joy. In its quiet tenderness and pathos it is austerely 
true to nature. It is a cottage interior, glowing in the fire- 
light, and again evening. Newly returned, a wounded 
soldier is seated once more at his own hearth, wearied and 
faint with past suffering, and encircled by the arms of his 
young wife, who kneels before him, pressing her cheek 

* A note on page 315. 



Two Pictures. 349 

against his breast. Pale, and with closed eyes she leans there 
silently, the tear stealing down her -face, her lips parted, 
almost swooning from excess of joy and grief, — joy that he 
is saved, mingling with the agony of knowing him to be thus 
mutilated and feeble. His aged mother bends over him, 
hiding her face on his shoulder. The baby in its cradle 
sleeps unconscious of what passea; a solemn calm reigns 
throughout. In mournful tenderness the soldier enfolds his 
wife vrith his only arm. Thin and pallid, although bronzed 
by a foreign sun, his face tells of sufferings ; languor and 
gentleness are visible, yet the brow records courage and 
indomitable energy into the past. How often and how 
longingly, by the watchfire in the trenches, on his pallet in 
the hospital, and on the voyage home, has he yearned for 
this moment. His garments are tattered and dusty: his 
shoes shattered with long marches ; the armless sleeve of his 
coat, fastened to the breast that is decorated with medals ; 
the Russian helmet, brought as a trophy to please her who 
welcomes him ; all these assist to tell the story of his 
journey home, and of hastening before recovery of strength 
to seek the mother and the wife who long have prayed for 
him, and to gaze on the infant that has seen the light since he 
had left them for the war. 

By innumerable touches, graceful and unobtrusive, we 
are admitted to knowledge of what quiet life was led by 
that soldier's family while he was far away. We see this in 
the simple neatness of their attire, in the cleanliness and 
order of the cottage furniture, the snow-white hangings of 
the bed, the clock ticking monotonously, the open Bible with 
the aged woman's spectacles, as she had hastily laid them 
down, when his long-absent tread was heard at the door ; 
the fishing-rod and violin near the old cabinet, revealing days 
of early comfort ; the little needle-box filled with all his letters 
from abroad, treasured and often re-perused, till every word 
has been learnt by heart ; % the sewing- work hurriedly flung 
aside, the infant in its sweet healthy sleep, unmindful of past 
anxiety and present rapture. The cheerful blaze of firelight 
is on the wearied man, as if in welcome ; and the distant 
church among the trees — seen through the window, where 
blooms the solitary flower which he planted long, long ago, 
— is now silvered by the evening twilight, that falls like a 
benediction on the Soldier 9 s Home. 

Such a picture, fitted to adorn all dwellings, aids to sanc- 
tify our daily work. What is before our eyes in the hours 
of leisure and meditation, of social kindness and of family 



350 Two Pictures. 

affection, should be worthy of oar best regard. This pain- 
ting of " Home/' and the masterly engraving from it also, is 
nearly as perfect in execution as it is lovely in conception. 
There is a holiness in its tender beauty. With the exception 
of one early picture, of the Saviour bearing the Cross, 
J. Noel Faton has abstained from that most difficult walk 
of art, in which so few modern Painters escape failure — 
the illustration of Scripture. Irreverence too often prompts 
to these rash attempts. 

But whatever he selects for subject, the work bears indica- 
tion of a pure and aspiring nature ; whether the gambols of 
the fairies who haunt the moonlit glade, the meeting of lovers, 
the mingling of chivalric daring and impassioned affection, or 
the anguish and religious faith of our own day. In daintiest 
imagery of works that held a tendency to allegory, with 
most minute attention to details, on which he conscientiously 
bestowed his patient labour, he never failed to shew true 
poetic nature. Ideal art has found in him an unflagging 
son of toil. His industry has been remarkable, and few men 
have united so many rich qualities of genius. A cold and 
repelling style of colouring was one of his few defects, but 
he has almost conquered this crudeness by incessant study 
and practice. Even now, however, there is too little resem- 
blance to flesh in some of his figures, which have, at times, 
the pallor of wax and the hardness of ivory. He has attained 
peculiar impressiveness with the deathly aspect of the dying or 
the dead, or of those labouring under intense emotion. His 
tendency towards the lurid and evanescent hues of twilight, 
seems to have assisted in fastening on his works an occasional 
ghastliness. In his drawing he is almost faultless, to the 
minutest detail of anatomy, costume and ornament, whilst 
the natural beauty of the forest, and the brake or field, he 
has pourtrayed with graceful fidelity. Already he has shewn 
a worthy commencement of an artist's career, a poet's life 
so far as aim and work can make it, and we cherish the 
thought that all his successes in the past, are little compared 
to what he may yet achieve in his new field of usefulness. 

" Love has he found in huts where poor men lie, 
His daily teachers have been woods and rills ; 
The silence that is in the starry sky, 
The sleep that is among the lonely hills/' 

Yet the cheerfulness of spirit that pervaded his earlier 
pictures, has been of late years toned into something more 
sad and mournful. To his eyes which see beauty every- 



Two Pictures. 861 

where, is revealed much of the anguish and desponding gloom 
which underlie all the sunshine and many-featured time. 
Surely there* have been many hours of melancholy musing in 
that busy life of his, whilst labouring to record the beauty, 
and he could not help recording, half unconsciously, the 
sadness also. He has learnt to understand that mournful 
declaration of the material world being made subject to 
vanity, and in the reiterated failures of fulfilment, the 
promises made by leaf and blossom, that meet blight and 
rottenness before maturity,* has been compelled to read the 
same law which is forced on our attention in crowded city 
or in dusty chronicles of bygone time. No wonder is it that 
the messages he hears are notunfrequently of late the mourn- 
ful echoes of the preacher that " all is vanity," and that like 
the strange and richly-gifted daughter of the Yorkshire 
moors, Emily Bronte, he has thought with calmness on 

"The long war closing in defeat, 
Defeat serenely borne: 
Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, 
And break in glorious morn." 

Let us remember the sublime beauty of what Dean Mil- 
man says: — "The less of this cold earth, the more of 
heaven." In the hour of sorrow and of humiliation, it may 
also be that the soul perceives life is merely a probation and 
a burden which it must soon lay down. It recognises death 
to be the last of earthly blessings, the last of friendly 
messengers that are bestowed on man. Not with the 
hysterical outcry of impatience, but with holy calm, are we 
intended to regard our removal. 

• This subject is diseussed with noble impressiveness by Bishop 
Ellieott, in one of his least known, but most spirit-stirring works : 
"The Destiny of the Creature/* He observes regarding "the 
peculiar amplitude of the term ' vanity/ It is not said that the 
creation was subject to death or corruption, though both lie in- 
volved in the expression, but to something more frightfully generic, 
to something almost worse than non-exiatence,-~to purposelessness, 
to an inability to realise its natural tendencies and the ends for 
which it was called into being, to a baffled endeavour and mocked 
expectation, to a blossoming and not bearing fruit, a pursuing and 
not attaining, yea, and as the analogies of the language of the 
original (Romans viii. 21, 22,) significantly imply,— to a searching 
ana never finding/ 9 

See also Dean Trench's recent University Sermons: "The 
Creature Subject to Vanity/' • 



352 Two Pictures. 

These thoughts press on us in quiet hours and do much 
to mould our lives, so that we walk more humbly yet more 
unfalteringly, than of old. Seldom absent from our mind is 
a remembrance of some one whom the earth holds no longer, 
and the solemn tones of that sublime requiem, the Dead 
March in Saul, linger on our ear. And of all the pictures 
that we have seen and loved, scarcely any has a firmer hold 
upon us than that one, by Joseph Noel Faton, which we 
first saw in the possession of a dearly valued friend (the late 
Edward Plint of Leeds), a picture without name, except that 
of " the Dead Lady/ 9 It bore, instead of title, a quotation 
from Isaiah, lx. 19, — " The sun shall be no more thy light 
by day, neither for brightness shall the moon give light 
unto thee : but the Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting 
light, and thy God thy glory." 

The same picture, now oeing engraved, bears a title from 
Ecclesiastes, " The Silver Cord Loosed." This solemnly im- 

{ressive work is, to our mind, one of Noel Paton's best, 
n intensity of tragic grandeur he has never risen so high 
elsewhere. He had been overmastered, lifted out of the 
mere conventionalities of art, by awe and anguish of personal 
sorrow, when he painted this. To some it may appear 
almost too real in its exhibition of death, although nothing 
repulsive or horrible is shewn. Doubtless, it was the 
depth and force of anguish, which was in the painter's 
own heart at the time, soon after the death of his mother, 
gave this strange fascination of sincerity to his work. Yet 
how truly has the etherealising influence of true art been 
manifested, by transfiguring the actual into what we see, 
instead of insulting the dead by literality of representment. 
He has felt the force of that warning which is spoken to 
every genuine poet, lest he bare too much of private grief to 
the public gaze : — 

" Be wise ! not easily forgiven 
Are those who setting wide the doors that bar 
The secret bridal chambers of the heart, 
Let in the day." 

(Tennyson.) 

The picture shews two figures, a young man encircling 
with his arms a Dead Lady. In his desolate grief he lingers, 
whilst the darkness gathers round them. In silent agony he 
clasps her who has been to him dearer than all the world. 
Nay, not her he clasps, but that which is left behind by her; 
for all the life and light, the smiles and loving tenderness 



Two Pictures. 353 

and patience, which had made her known to him, have now 
passed away, except from memory. The dead lady . is 
sketched on her bier-like couch, her beautiful face seen as a 
darkened profile against the evening sky ; her eyes are half 
closed, her lips parted, the whole figure lying composed in 
the sleep of death. The mountains in the distance are coldly 

Eurple ; long bars of cloud are across the heavens ; the sun 
as set, and one pale star shines sadly, — seen through the 
Moorish arch which over-canopies the whole. In front of all 
sits the mourner ; his face, hidden from us, pillowed on the 
bosom which is cold tohim for evermore. His cloak partially 
conceals his figure, and its heavy drooping folds increase the 
effect of that breathless awe which pervades the picture. 
For nothing stirs, nothing has stirred or changed except the 
deepening of shadows around and within, and only slowly, 
silently, will the light return ; the dawn of morning to the 
sky, the dawn of hope to the heart> as that glorious sym- 
bolising of the soul's resurrection is beheld, and the sun 
which shines upon the just and on the unjust leads the 
stricken heart to put its trust in Him who is the Suft 
of Righteousness. 

Sitting here, at this study-window, I see the picture 
vividly before me. And perhaps to each of us who have 
seen and loved that work of our Scottish artist, the remem- 
brance of some one Dead Lady, already laid to rest and 
seemingly forgotten by many who had loved her of old, may 
be often present, and yielding a strange enhancement to the 
charm that we acknowledge to have found in " The Silver 
Oord Loosed." 

J.W.K 



8 Q Q 

& 



tmw®m£j*mmm 



OUR CHBONICLE. 
May Term, 1863. 



fflE present number concludes the third volume of " The 
Eagle. 9 * For six years the aspiring bird of St. John's 
has winged its flight above the region of mathematics and 
classics, and done its best to draw more closely into cheer- 
ful fellowship of literary tastes the graduates and under- 
graduates of our well-beloved College. The success of the 
magazine has been beyond dispute, and we venture to hope 
lor an increase of strength and popularity with each following 
term. The large number of our subscribers continues to be 
gratifying, and by the exertion of our friends might easily be 
increased: indeed, we scarcely think it right that any 
member of the College should fail to be a supporter of " The 
Hogle? Our present readers might do effectual services by 
employing their influence, at the commencement of the October 
Term, in bringing the magazine fairly under the notice of 
the fresh recruits who arrive to' All each vacated place in 
hall, chapel, lecture*room, cricket-ground, boating*shed, and 
Senate-house. We have also to remind our friends that they 
ought not to desert " The Eagle*' when they themselves quit 
College. "We furnish opportunities for the communication 
of intelligence between resident and non-resident members, 
between those who are still working onward towards B.A., 
and those who have already commenced their labours in the 
busy world outside. 

Already We have published papers from "Our Emi- 
grant*' in New Zealand, from Madeira, and from India ; and 
are expecting other valuable contributions from diverse parts 
of the world, where Johnians fail not to flourish. Yet we 
feel that it is necessary once more to remind our well-wishers 
that not only their subscription but also, when possible, their 
writings, would be thankfully received. We are certain that 
there are now many able men among our readers who ought to 
contribute some of those thoughts and experiences which 



Our Chronicle. 356 

might hereafter prove useful for the guidance of others. Oar 
[Editorial staff is annually changing, but there is no reason 
why our friends should cease to favour us with their assis- 
tance as contributors when they cease to be in residence ; 
for wherever Rowland Hill has power, and the Queen's 
portrait ornaments the corner of the packet, the winged 
thoughts may travel to Aquila, and Aquila may fly back with 
a joyful paean of gratitude to each loyal son of St. John's. 

And with this respectful suggestion we bid farewell to our 
friends, dispersing for the Long Vacation. We wish them 
a happy rest from labours and a blithe reunion, with renewed 
strength and hopefulness, when Autumn brings the caps and 
gowns once more into requisition, and the Lady Margaret 
crews assemble to recount experiences of travel, and specu- 
late on the chances of gaining the Head of the River. May 
they, with vigorous bumps> with steady grind, and genial 
thoughts, win further honour for their College ; on the Cam, 
and in the Class Lists, and— lastj not least — in the pages of 
" The Eagle." 

The Commemoration Sermon was preached this year by 
the Rev. the Master. 

The Rev. R. B. Mayor, B.D., Senior Fellow of the College, 
has been presented by the Master and Seniors to the 
Eving of Frating-cum-Thorington, in the County of Essex. 

We have great pleasure in announcing that the Forson 
Prize has been adjudged for the third time to Mr. H. W. 
Moss, of this College, and that the same gentleman has gained 
the Browne Medal for a Greek Ode. 

The Rev. G. N. Hedges, B.A., has been elected a 
Tyrwhitt's Hebrew Scholar of the First Class. 

Messrs. C. Taylor, B.A., and A. F. Torry, B.A., obtained a 
First Class in the Voluntary Theological Examination with 
marks of distinction for Hebrew. 



The following gentlemen were elected Minor Scholars 
and Exhibitioners of this College, on Friday, April 24 : — 

Mr. Sandys from Repton School, and Mr. Humphreys 
from King's College, London, to Minor Scholarships of 
£70 per annum* 

Mr. Brogden from Shrewsbury School, and Mr. Chaplin 
from the City of London School, to Open Exhibitions of £50, 
tenable for three years* 

Mr. Evans, from Merchant Taylors' School, and Mr. 
Boden from Rossall School, to Open Exhibitions of £40, 
tenable for four years. 



356 Our Chronicle* 

Mr. Gwatkin from Shrewsbury School, and Mr. Blunn 
from Oundle School, to Minor Scholarships of £50 per 
annum. 

Mr. Beaumont from Highgate school, Mr. Chumley from 
Lancaster school, and Mr. Souper from Bradford College, to 
Open Exhibitions of £50, tenable as Minor Scholarships. 

Mr. Frith from Sedbergh school, to an Open Exhibition of 
£30 per annum, tenable for four years. 

Mr. Carpmael from Clapham school to an Open Ex- 
hibition of £20 per annum, tenable for three years. 



The following are the names of those who were placed in 
the First Class in the College Voluntary Classical Exami- 
nation, at the beginning of this term : 



Beebee 
tee Warner 
Moss 



Terry 
Wiseman 



The May Flower-Show was held this year in the grounds 
of our own College. The day was chilly but dry, and 
the numerous assemblage evidently was gratified at the com- 
pleteness of the entertainment. 

The Procession of Boats came off in King's on Saturday, 
May 25, and was more than usually successful.* 

At the University Subscription Concert, May 27th, 
Beethoven's Symphony in B flat, No. 4, Weber's Overture 
to "Oberon", Mendelssohn's Overture to "the Isles of 
Fingal," and the Barcarole from Professor Bennett's 4th Con- 
certo, Op. 19, were excellently performed by the Orchestra. 
Madame Alboni and Mr. Weiss gave great satisfaction, 
although some disappointment was felt at the absence of 
Mr. Sims Beeves, whom illness prevented from attending. 



. The Officers of the Lady Margaret Boat Club, elected 
this term, are : 

President, E. W. Bowling 
Treasurer, E. K. Clay 
/Secretary, S. W. Cope 
First Captain, W. W. Hawkins 
Second Captain, W. Mills 
Third Captain, G. W. Hill 
Fourth Captain, F. Young 
Fifth Captain, R. C. Farmer 
Sixth Captain, W. J. Stobart 





Owr Chronicle. 




First Boat. 




Second Boat 


1 


W. Mills 


1 


E. K. Clay 


2 


H. Watney 


2 


F. Young 


3 


M. H. L. Beebee 


3 


C. Yeld 


4 


C. H. La Mothe 


4 


H. Newton 


5 


M. H. Marsden 


5 


S. W. Cope 


6 


W. W. Hawkins 


6 


A. Langdon 
W. F. Meres 


7 


A. Cust 


7 




C. C. Scholefield (it) 




G. W. Hill (it) 




R. C. Farmer (cox.) 




R. G. Hurle (cox.) 




Third Boat. 




Fourth Boat 


1 


S. Burgess 
A. D. Clarke 


1 


R. Levett 


2 


2 


H. G. Hart 


3 


H. Rowsell 


3 


W. Covington 


4 


F. C. Wace 


4 


A. Marshall 


5 


T. Knowles 


5 


J. B. Haslam 


6 


H. Allott 


6 


K. Wilson 


7 


S. B. Barlow 


7 


W. P. Hiern 




D. Jones (it) 




C. Taylor (it) 




M. H. Quayle (cox.) 




R. H. Dockray (cox.) 




Fifth Boat 




Sixth Boat. 


1 


W. Boycott 


1 


R. S. StepheA 


2 


R. S. Ferguson 


2 


W. J. Stobart 


8 


E. W. Bowling 


3 


E. B. PAnson 


4 


J. Smith 


4 


F. E. Hilleary 


5 


S.H.Paley 


5 


J. J. Cartwright 


6 


P. F. Gorst 


6 


T. Roach 


7 


T. H. Seeker 


7 


C. E. Graves 




T. Fisher (it) 




R. C. Farme* (it) 




W. D. Bushell (cox.) 




J. T. Watson (cox.) 



357 



On Saturday, May 23rd, the University Volunteers werd 
inspected by Colonel M'Murdo, who spoke of their appear- 
ance and proficiency in terms of warm commendation. Oil 
Whit Monday the U niversity Corps took part in a review oil 
Stourbridge Common, in company with several bodies of" 
Volunteers from the neighbouring districts. 

On Monday, June 8th, the Battalion will be reviewed at 
Oxford, with the Oxford University Corps, by Colonel 
Mc Murdo. A good muster is expected, about three hundred 
men having signified their intention of being present. 



CG 



668 Our Chronicle. 

The Johnian Challenge Cap was shot for on Thursday, 
May 26th, and was carried off by Private J. O. Barnes. 

The .same gentleman won the Officers 9 Pewter, for this 
Term. 

We regret to say that our Company will lose the services 
of Ensign Marsden, who resigns his commission after this 
Term. 

The annual match for the small silver Cup, between the 
three winners for the year of the Challenge Cup, took place 
on Friday, June 5th. Corporal Guinness (the winner in the 
Lent Term) did not appear, and the contest therefore lay- 
between Captain Bushell and Private Barnes; the former 
gentleman was victorious. 



In the contest for the Newbery Challenge Racquet Cup 
this Term, Mr. A. Smallpeice defeated Mr. T. H. Seeker, 
and played the concluding match with Mr. Bowling. Mr. 
Bowling proved the victor. 



The Officers of the St. John's College Cricket Club for 
this year are : 

President, Rev. A. Calvert 
First Captain, A. Smallpeice 
Treasurer, O. L. Clare 
Secretary, T. Knowles 
Setond Captain, W. J. E. Percy 

The First Eleven have played five matches this term: 
April 28th, against Christ's, which was won by St. John's 
in one innings by 88 runs. Score: — St. John's 231. 
Christ's, 1st innings 49, 2nd innings 93. 

May 25th against trinity (barring University Eleven men), 
and was won by St. John's by 55 runs on the 1st innings. 
Score : — Trinity, 1st innings 76, 2nd innings 198 with 6 
wickets down, St. John's 131. 

May 22nd, against King's, and was won by St. John's 
by 103 runs on the 1st innings. Score : — King's, 1st innings 
47, 2nd innings 193 with 3 wickets down, St. John's 150. 

May 27th, against Jesus. This was won by Jesus by 
17 runs on the 1st innings. Score: — Jesus, 1st innings 100, 
2nd innings 124 with 9 wickets down, St. John's 83. 

May 28th, against Caius, which was won by Caius by 
26 runs on the 1st innings. Score: — Caius, 1st innings 160, 
2nd innings 113, St. John's, 1st innings 134,2nd innings 
49 with 1 wicket down. 



Our Chronicle. 



359 



The Second Eleven have played two Matches : 

April 16th, against the 2nd eleven of Caius, won by St. 
John's by 161 runs. Score : — Caius 46, St. John's 207. 

May 2nd, against the 2nd eleven of Christ's, won by St. 
John's in 1 innings by 47 runs. Score: — Christ's, 1st 
innings 77, 2nd innings 117, St. John's 241. 

A Scratch eleven was sent out on May 15 th, to Ashley, 
and were defeated in one innings by a few runs. 

The Master and Fellows have announced their intention 
of putting the cricket ground at the back of the College into 
playing order. This will doubtless be a great boon to our 
cricketers, as it is most necessary for the welfare of Cricket 
anywhere that the ground should be easy of access. 



UNIVERSITY BOAT CLUB.— MAY RACES. 



Wednesday, May 13th. 
Third Division 



40 Caius 3 

41 Corpus 3 \ 

42 Peterhouse 2 j 

43 Queens' 2 

44 3rd Trinity 3 



} 



'} 



45 Christ's 3 

46 Trinity.Hall4' 

47 Pembroke 2 

48 Magdalene 

49 Lady Margaret 6 

50 Jesus 3 > 

51 Catharine 2) 



Second Division. 



20 Lady Margaret 3 > 

21 1st Trinity 4 j 

22 Pembroke \ 

23 Emmanuel j 

24 Caius 

25 Lady Margaret \ 

26 Catharine j 

27 King's 

28 Queens' 

29 2nd Trinity 2 \ 

30 Christ's J 



31 Clare \ 

32 Corpus j" 

38 2nd Trinity 3 

34 1st Trinity 5 *) 

35 Trinity Hall 3 j 

36 1st Trinity 6 \ 
*37 Emmanuel 3 j 

38 Lady Margaret 5 > 

39 Jesus 2 j 



360 



Our Chronicle. 



1 Trinity Hall 

2, 3rd Trinity 

3 1st Trinity 

4 Lady Margaret 

5 2nd Trinity \ 

6 Emmanuel J 

7 Caiua \ 

8 Corpus f 

9 1st Trinity 2 
10 Lady Margaret 2 



First Division. 

11 Trinity Hall 2 \ 

12 Christ's j 

13 Clare \ 

14 Peterhouse j 

15 3rd Trinity 2 

1 6 Magdalene \ 

17 Jesus j 

18 Sidney ) 

19 1st Trinity 3 j 

20 1st Trinity 4 



Thursday, May Uth. 
Third Division. 



40 
41 
42 
48 
44 
45 



20 
21 
22 
28 
24 
25 
26 
27 
28 
29 



} 



Caius 3 
Peterhouse 2 
Corpus 8 
3rd Trinity 8 
Queens 9 2 
Magdalene 2 

Second 
1st Trinity 4 
Lady Margaret 8 \ 
Emmanuel 2 j 
Pembroke 
Caius 2 

Catharine Hall 
Lady Margaret 4> 
King's | 

Queens' 
Christ's 2 ' 



46 
47 
48 
49 
50 
51 



Pembroke 2 
Trinity Hall 4 
Christ's 3 1 

Lady Margaret 6 1 
Catharine Mall 2 
Jesus 3 



Division. 

80 2nd Trinity 2 
Corpus 2 
Clare 2 

2nd Trinity 8 \ 
Trinity Hall 8 j 
1st Trinity 5 \ 
Emmanuel 3 J 
1st Trinity 6 \ 
Jesus 2 y 

Lady Margaret 5 ") 
Caius 8 j 



31 
32 
83 
34 
35 
36 
37 
38 
39 
40 



! } 



1 Trinity Hall \ 

2 8rd Trinity 1 j 

3 1st Trinity 

4 Lady Margaret 

5 Emmanuel 

6 2nd Trinity ) 

7 Corpus ) 

8 Caius ) 

9 1st Trinity 2 j 
10 Lady Margaret 2 



First Division. 

11 Christ's 



12 
13 
14 
15 

16 
17 
18 
19 
20 



Trinity Hall 2 " 

Peterhouse 

Clare 

3rd Trinity 2 

Jesus 

Magdalene 

1st Trinity 3 

Sidney ) 

1st Trinity 4 ) 



Our Chronicle. 



861 



Friday, May 15th. 
Third Division. 



40 
41 
42 
48 
44 
45 
46 



20 
21 
22 
23 
24 
25 
26 
27 
28 
29 



Lady Margaret 5 
Peterhoiwe 2 } 
3rd Trinity 3 
Corpus 3 
Magdalene 2 
Queens' 2 
Pembroke 2 



47 
48 
49 
50 
51 



Catherine 2 
Lady Margaret 6 
Christ's 3 
Trinity Hall 4 \ 
Jesus 3 J 



'} 



30 
31 
32 



Second Division 

Sidney \ 

Emmanuel 2 j 

Lady Margaret 3 \ 

Pembroke ) 

Caius 2 

Catharine 

King's 

Lady Margaret 4 

Queens' 

Christ's 2 



34 
35 
36 
37 
38 
39 



Corpus 2 
2nd Trinity 2 
Clare 2 
Trinity Hall 8 
2nd Trinity 3 
Emmanuel 3 
1st Trinity 5 ' 
Jesus 2 
1st Trinity 6" 
Caius 3 



} 



} 



1 3rd Trinity 

2 Trinity Hall 
8 1st Trinity 

4 Lady Margaret 

5 Emmanuel 

6 Corpus 

7 2nd Trinity \ 

8 1st Trinity 2 J 

9 Caius 

1 Lady Margaret 2 . 



First Division, 

11 Christ's 



12 
13 
14 
15 
16 
17 
18 
19 
20 



Peterhouse 
Trinity Hall 2 
3rd Trinity 2 
Clare i 
Jesus ) 
Magdalene 
1st Trinity 3 
1st Trinity 4 
Emmanuel 2 



} 



} 



40 
41 
42 
43 
44 
45 



Saturday, May i6tL 
Third Division. 

Lady Margaret 5 > 
3rd Trinity j 

Peterhouse 2 \ 
Magdalene 2 ) 
Corpus 3 
Pembroke 2 



46 
47 
48 
49 
50 
51 



} 



Queens' 2 
Catharine 2 _ 
Lady Margaret 6 
Christ's s\ 
Jesus 3 j 
Trinity Hall 4 



363 



Our Chronicle. 



Second Division. 



20 
21 
22 
23 
24 
25 
26 
27 
28 
29 
30 



1st Trinity 4 
Sidney \ 

Pembroke J 
Lady Margaret 3 \ 
Caius 2 ) 

Catharine \ 
King's f 
Queens 9 

Lady Margaret 4 > 
Christ's 2 J 

Corpus 3 



31 
32 
33 
34 
35 
36 
37 
38 
39 
40 



2nd Trinity 2 > 
Trinity Hall 3 j 
Clare 2 > 

Emmanuel 3 y 
2nd Trinity 3 £ 
Jesus 2 
1st Trinity 5 



} 



Caius 3 

1st Trinity 6' \ 

3rd Trinity 3 j 



First Division. 



1 3rd Trinity 




12 Trinity Hall 2 


2 Trinity Hall 




13 Peterhouse \ 

14 3rd Trinity 2 j 


3 1st Trinity 




4 Lady Margaret 




15 Jesus 


5 Emmanuel 




16 Clare \ 

17 Magdalene j 


6 Corpus 

7 1st Trinity 2 






18 1st Trinity 3 


8 2nd Trinity 


} 


19 Emmanuel 2 


9 Lady Margaret 2 


20 1st Trinity 4 


Caius *) 

1 Christ's j 










Monday, . 


May Ibth. 


Third Division. 


40 1st Trinity 6 


>} 


47 Queens' 2 > 

48 Lady Margaret 6 j 


41 Lady Margaret « 


42 Magdalene 2 




49 Jesus 3 


43 Peterhouse 2 




50 Christ's 3 


44 Corpus 3 




51 Trinity Hall 4 


45 Pembroke 2 


} 




46 Catharine Hall 2 





Our Chronicle. 



Second Division. 



20 
21 
22 
23 
24 
25 
26 
27 
28 
29 
30 



1st Trinity 4 \ 
Pembroke j 
Sidney \ 
Caius 2 ) 
Lady Margaret} 
King's 3 j 

Catharine Hall 
Queens' 
Christ's 

Lady Margaret 4 \ 
Corpus 2 j 



31 
32 
33 
34 
35 
36 
37 
38 
39 



Trinity Hall 3 
2nd Trinity 2 
Emmanuel 3 
Clare 2 \ 
Jesus 2 ) 
2nd Trinity 3 
Caius 3 
1st Trinity 5 
3rd Trinity 3 



} 



Fiitsl? DiVisibN. 



1 3rd Trinity 

2 Trinity Hall 

3 1st Trinity 

4 Lady Margaret 

5 Emmanuel 

6 Corpus 

7 1st Trinity 2 

8 Lady Margaret 2 

9 2nd Trinity ) 
10 Christ's j 



11 
12 
13 
14 
15 
16 
17 
18 
19 
20 



Caius 

Trinity Hall 2 

3rd Trinity 2) 

Feterhouse ) 

Jesus 

Magdalene 

Clare 

1st Trinity 3 

Emmanuel 2 

Pembroke 



} 



Tuesday, May 192&* 



First Division. 



1 3rd Trinity 

2 Trinity Hall 

3 1st Trinity 

4 Lady Margaret 

5 Emmanuel 

6 Corpus 

7 1st Trinity 2 

8 Lady Margaret 2 > 

9 Christ's J 
10 2nd Trinity 



11 Trinity Hall 2 

12 Caius I 
1 & Peterhouse j 

14 3rd Trinity 2 

1 5 Magdalene 

16 Jesus *) 

17 1st Trinity 3 \ 

18 Clare ( 

19 Emmanuel 2 j 

20 Pembroke 



364 



Our Chronicle. 





Wednesday, May 20th. 




First Division. 


1 


3rd Trinity 


12 Peterhouse 


2 


Trinity Hall 


13 Caius 


3 


1st Trinity 


14 3rd Trinity 2 


4 


Lady Margaret 
Emmanuel 


15 Magdalene 

16 1st Trinity 3 


5 


6 


Corpus 


17 Jesus 


7 


1st Trinity 2 


18 Clare 


8 


Christ's 


19 Emmanuel 2 


9 


Lady Margaret 2 


20 Pembroke 


10 


2nd Trinity 7 
Trinity Hall 2 ) 




11 






Thursday, May 2Ut. 




First Division. 


1 


3rd Trinity 


11 2nd Trinity 


2 


Trinity Hall 


12 Peterhouse 


3 


1st Trinity 


13 3rd Trinity 2 


4 


Lady Margaret 
Emmanuel 


14 Caius 7 

15 Magdalene ) 


5 


6 


Corpus 


16 1st Trinity 3 


7 


1st Trinity 2) 
Christ's J 


17 Jesus 


8 


18 Clare 


9 


Lady Margaret 2 


19 Emmanuel 2 


10 


Trinity Hall 2 


20 Pembroke 



END OF VOL. III. 



W. l&etcalfe, Printer, Green Street, Cambridge. 




No. XIL-Vol. mo 



[December, 1861. 




THE EAGLE. 



t^tr 



Jtr puts 




'&tJ. 









fats SVfUi/ittSn ff'J 




^uAy 






aJ fi&l' ez4 






a4^y 





£a4ty ^^^^>^^^^ 






PRINTED BY W. METCALFE, GREEN STREET. 
1861. 





364 



Our Chronicle. 



1 
2 
8 
4 
5 
6 
7 
8 
9 
10 
11 



1 
2 
8 
4 
5 
6 
7 
8 
9 
10 



Wednesday, May 20th. 
First Division. 



8rd Trinity 

Trinity Hall 

1st Trinity 

Lady Margaret 

Emmanuel 

Corpus 

1st Trinity 2 

Christ's 

Lady Margaret 2 

2nd Trinity ? 

Trinity Hall 2 ) 



12 Peterhouse 

13 Caius l 

14 3rd Trinity 2 J 

15 Magdalene 

16 1st Trinity 3 

17 Jesus 

18 Clare 

19 Emmanuel 2 

20 Pembroke 



Thursday, May 21*1. 
First Division. 



8rd Trinity 
Trinity Hall 
1st Trinity 
Lady Margaret 
Emmanuel 
Corpus 
1st Trinity 2) 
Christ's J 
Lady Margaret 2 
Trinity Hall 2 



11 2nd Trinity 

12 Peter house 

13 3rd Trinity 2 

14 Caius 7 

15 Magdalene ) 

16 1st Trinity 3 

17 Jesus 

18 Clare 

19 Emmanuel 2 

20 Pembroke 



} 



END OF VOL. III. 



W. l&etealte, Printer, Green Street, Cambridge. 




No. XIL-Vol. raj 



[December, 1861. 




THE EAGLE. 



<Ljr 




' tHti/. 



JtT 0444/ 







f^n^ufcttsu &/? 








*/ /, // /, x ^y 



/ /&le/ 




^»W4ty 



fauty a^n^u^t^y^ 



PRINTED BY W. METCALFE, GREEN STREET. 
1861. 





CONTENTS. 







Page 


Three Days among the Alpe 


i of Dauphinfe . 


1 


Our College Friends 


• • • 


14 


Our Emigrant Part III. 


• . 


. 18 


Thetis 


• . . 


87 


After-Hall Reflections 


... 


. 39 


Hope 


• 


43 


Johnian "Worthies. No. I. 


Roger Aschatn . 


. 45 


XLVL To himself, at Spring's coming. (Catullus) 


58 


Lost , 


• • 


. 59 


The Cloud . 


i . • 


64 


Our Chronicle . 


... 


. 65 



NOTICES TO CONTRIBUTORS. 

It is particularly requested that articles intended for insertion 
be written legibly and on one side only of each half sheet. 

As a guarantee of good faith, it is essential that the name of 
every contributor should be made known either to the Secretary, 
or to one of the Committee. 

Each contributor wili be made responsible for correcting the 
proofs of his own article. 



The Committee of Editors wish it to be distinctly understood that 
the insertion of an article by no means implies their acquiescence in 
the opinions contained therein ; — their sole rule of selection is to insert 
that article, which, from the thought it exhibits, or some other merit, 
shall appear most deserving of the reader's attention. 

Notices of rejected communications will not in future be inserted, 
but the articles will be returned to the Authors by the Secretary. 

It is particularly requested that articles intended for insertion 
in the next number be forwarded to the Secretary on or before 
February 22nd, 1862. 

NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS. 

The Subscription for the fourth year's issue, comprising Numbers IX., 
X., and XI., is fixed at 3*. 6d. It is requested that it may be paid without 
delay to Mr. Elijah Johnson, Bookseller, Trinity Street. 

The Subscription foi last year's issue, (Numbers VI., VII., VIII.), was 
fixed at 3*. 6d. The Committee will feel obliged if those Subscriptions, 
which are not yet paid, be forwarded at once to the same address. 

Subscribers may obtain extra copies of any of the numbers on appli- 
cation to Mr. E. Johnson, at a charge of Is. 6d. or 2s. , according to size. 
Subscribers' names will be received by the Secretary or by Mr, Johnson. 

St. John's College, December 5th, 1861. 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 



(•) Denote the Members of the Committee, (+) Late Members of the Committee. 



THE REV. THE MASTER, D.D. 

Thb Vbhbrablb Abchdbaoon Fraxcb, B.D., President, 

Fellows of the ColUgo and Masters of Arts : 



Adam, Rev. S. C, m.a. 
Atlay, Rev. J., d.d. 
Attenborough, Rev. W. F., m.a. 
fBaily, Walter, b.a. 
fBarlow, Rey. W. H., m.a. 
Barnacle, Rey. H., m.a. 
Barnes, Rev. T., m.a. 
Bateman, Rev. J. F., m.a. 
Beasley, R. D., m.a. 
Bennett, Prof. W. S., mus.d. 
Besant, W. H., m.a. 
Bompa8, H. M., m.a. 
Bonney, Rev. T. G., m.a. 
Brodribb, Rev. W. J., m.a. 

Butler, Rev. T., m.a, 

Calvert, Rev. A., m.a. 

Clifton, R. B., b.a. 

Coombe, Rev. J. A., m.a. 

Courtney, L. H., m.a. 

Day, Rev. H. G., m.a. 

Drew, Rev. G. S., m.a. 

Durell, J. V., b.a. 

Evans, Rev. J. H., m.a. 

Field, Rev. T., b.d. 

Gorst, J. E., m.a. 

Hadley, Rev. A. V., m.a. 

Harpley, Rev. W., m.a. 

Harvey, Rev. B. W., m.a. 

Hiley, Rev. S.^.d. 

fHolmes, Rev. A., b.a. 

Holmes, C. F., m.a. 

Home, B. W., m.a. 

Jessopp, Rev. A., m.a. 

Jones, Rev. C. A., m.a. 



Kitchen, Rev. J. L., m.a. 
Lewty, Rev. T. C, m.a. 
Li vein g, G. D., m.a. 
Lunn, Rev. J. R., m.a. 
Lupton, Rev. J. H., m.a. 
Lyall, Rev. F. J., m.a. 
Lys, Rev. F. G., m.a. 
Marten, A. G., m.a. 
Mason, Rev. P. H., m.a. 
f Mayor, Rev. J. B., m.a. 
Mayor, Rev. J. E. B., m.a. 
Mc Cormick, Rev. J., m.a. 
Merriman, J., b.a. 
Parkinson, Rev. S., b.d. 
Pennant, P. P., m.a. 
Pieters, Rev. J. W., b.d. 
Potts, A. W., M.A. 
Richardson, G., b.a. 
Roberts, Rev. E., m.a. 
Roby, H. J., m.a. 
Rowe, Rev. T. B., m.a. 
Rowsell, Rev. E. E., m.a. 
Selwyn, Rev. Prof., b.d. 
Sharpe, Rev. W. C, b.d. 
Snow, Rev. H., m.a. 
♦Taylor, R. W., b.a. 
Taylor, Rev. W. T., m.a. 
Underwood, Rev.C.W., m.a. 
Valentine, J. C, m.a. 
tWace, F. C.,m.a. 
Walton, Rev. S. S., m.a. 
t Wilson, J. M., b.a. 
Wood, Rev. J. S., b.d. 



♦Abbott, E. A., b.a., (Sec) 
Adams, W. G., b.a. 
Andraa, C. H., b.a. 
Andrews, R. 
Armstrong, J. E., b.a. 
Ash, T. E. 
Ashe, Rev. T., b.a. 
Atherton, C. I. 
Bamford, C, b.a. 
Baring-Gould, F., b.a. 
Baron, E. 
Barrowby, J., b.a. 
Barstow, H. C , b.a. 
Bateman, A. 
Baynes, T. H. 
Beales, J. D. f b.a. 
Beamish, A. M. 
Bennett, Rev. W. M., b.a. 
fBeverley, H., b.a. 



Bachelors and Undergraduates: 

Blissard, Rev. J. C, b.a. 
Blyth, Rev. E. K., b.a. 
Bond, J. W., b.a. 
Boodle, Rev. J. A., b.a. 
Borradaile, Rev.R. H., b.a. 
fBowling, E. W., b.a. 
Branson, J. II. 
Bros,. J. R. W. 
Brown, J. C. 
Brown, J. E., b.a. 
Buckley, A., b.a. 
Bull, W. L., B.A. 
Bullock, W. G. 
Burnet, F. P. 
Bush, Rev. T. H., b.a. 
fBushell, W. D., b.a. 
Butler, S., b.a. 
Cargill,R. J., b.a. 
Cartwright, J. J. 



Casey, H. E. 
Catton, A. R. 
Causton, E. A. 
♦CherrUl, A. K. 
Cheyne, C. H. H., b.a. 
Churchill, S. W., b.a. 
Clare, O. L. 
Clark, J. H., b.a. 
Clay, A. L. 
Codd, H. F., b.a. 
Cooke, C. R., b.a. 
Cope, S. W. 
Cotterill, G. E., b.a. 
Cremer, J. C. 
Creswell, Rev. S. F., b 
Cross, H. 

Custance, G. M., b.a. 
Cutting, J. H. 
Darby, Rev. E. G., b.a. 









1 







No. xm.-voi. mo 



[March, 1862. 




THE EAGLE. 



A MAGAZINE SUPPORTED BY MEMBERS OF 
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE. 



PRINTED FOR SUBSCRIBERS ONLY. 



LENT TERM, 1862. 



PRINTED BY W. METCALFE, GREEN STREET. 
1862. 










I 
























vii 






*mL*r he 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 



(•) Denotes the Members qf the Committee. (+) Late Members of the Committee. 



THE REV. THE MASTER, D.D. 
The Venerable Archdeacon France, B.D., President. 

Fellows of the College and Masters qf Arts : 



Adam, Rev. S. C, m.a. 
Atlay, Rev. J., d.d. 
Attenboroueh, Rev. W. F., M.A. 
fBaily, Walter, b.a. 
fBarlow, Rev. W. H., m.a. 
Barnacle, Rev. H„ m.a. 
Barnes, Rev. T., m.a. 
Bateman, Rev. J. F., m.a. 
Beasley, R. B., m.a. 
Bennett, Prof. W. S., mtts.d. 
Besant, W. H., m.a. 
Bompas, H. M., m.a. 
Bonney, Rev. T. G., m.a. 
Brodribb, Rev. W. J., m.a. 
Butler, Rev. T., m.a. 
Calvert, Rev. A., m.a. 
Clifton, R. B., b.a. 
Coombe, Rev. J. A., m.a. 
Courtney, L. H., m.a. 
Day, Rev. H. G., m.a. 
Drew, Rev. G. S., m.a. 
Durell, J. V., b.a. 
Evans, Rev. J. H., m.a. 
Field, Rev. T., b d. 
Gorst, J. E., m.a. 
Hadley, Rev. A. V., m.a. 
Harpley, Rev. W., m.a. 
Harvey, Rev. B. W., m.a. 
Hiley, Rev. S., b.d. 
f Holmes, Rev. A., b.a. 
Holmes, C. F., m.a 
Home, B. W., m.a. 
Jessopp, Rev. A., m.a. 
Jones, Rev. C. A., m.a. 



Kitchen, Rev. J. L., m.a. 
Lewty, Rev. T. C, m.a. 
Liveing, G. D., m.a. 
Lunn, Rev. J. R., m.a. 
Lupton, Rev. J. H., m.a. 
Lyall, Rev. F. J., m.a. 
Lys, Rev. F G., m.a. 
Marten, A. G., m.a. 
Mason, Rev. P. H., m.a. 
t Mayor, Rev. J. B., m a. 
Mayor, Rev. J. E. B., m.a. 
Mc Cormick, Rev. J., m.a. 
Merriman, J., b.a. 
Newton, T. H. G., m.a. 
Parkinson, Rev. S., b.d. 
Pennant, P. P., m a. 
Pieters, Rev. J. W., b.d. 
Potts, A. W., M.A. 
Richardson, G., b.a. 
Roberts, Rev. E., m.a. 
Roby, H. J., m.a. 
Rowe, Rev. T. B., m.a. 
Rowsell, Rev. E. E., m.a. 
Selwyn, Rev. Prof., b.d. 
Sharpe, Rev. W. C, b.d. 
Snow, Rev. H., m.a. 
♦Taylor, R. W., b.a. (Sec.) 
Taylor, Rev. W. T., m.a. 
Underwood, Rev.C.W., m.a. 
Valentine, J. C, m.a. 
fWace, F. C, m.a. 
Walton, Rev. S. S., m.a. 
f Wilson, J. M., b.a. 
Wood, Rev. J. S., b.d. 



•Abbott, E. A., b.a. 
Adams, W. G., b.a. 
Andrews, R. 
Archbold, T. 
Armstrong, J. E., b.a. 
Ash t T. E. 
Ashe, Rev, T., b.a. 
Atherton, C. I. 
Bamford, C, b.a. 
Baring-Gould, F., b.a. 
Barlow, S. B. 
Baron, E. 
Barrowby, J., b.a. 
Barstow, H. C, b.a. 
Bateman, A., b.a. 
Baynes, T. H. 
Beadon, H. S. 
Beales, Rev. J. D., b.a. 
Beamish, A. M. 



Bachelors and Undergraduates: 

Beebee, M. H. 

Bennett, Rev. W. M., b.a. 

fBeverley, H., b.a. 

Bigwood, J. 

Blissard, Rev. J. C, b.a. 

Blyth, Rev. E. K., bjl. 

Bond, J. W., b.a. 

Boodle, Rev. J. A., b.a. 

Borradaile, Rev. R. H., b.a. 

fBowling, E. W., b.a. 

Branson, J. H, 

Bros, J. R. W. 

Brown, J. C. 

Brown, J. E., b.a. 

Buckley, A., b.a. 

Bull, W. L , B.A. 

Bullock, W. G. 

Burnet, F. P. 

Bush, Rev. T. H., b.a. 



fBushell, W. D., b.a. 
Butler, S., b.a. 
Cargill, R. J., b.a. 
Cartwright, J. J . 
Casey, H. E., b.a. 
Catton, A. R., b.a. 
Causton, E. A., b.a. 
tCherrill, A. K., b.a. 
Cheyne, C. H. H., b.a. 
Churchill, S. W., b.a. 
Clare, O. L. 
Clark, J. H., b.a. 
Clay, A. LI. 
Codd, H. F., b.a. 
Cooke, C. R., b.a. 
Cope, S. W. 
Cotterill, G. E., b.a. 
Creeser, J. 
Cremer, J, C. 




No. xiv.-voi. mo 



[June, 1862. 




THE EAGLE. 



A MAGAZINE SUPPORTED BY MEMBERS OF 
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE. 



PRINTED FOR SUBSCRIBERS ONLY. 



EASTER TERM, 1862. 



PRINTED BY W. METCALFE, GREEN STREET. 
•" 1862. 





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No. XV.— Vol. m.j 



[December, 1862. 




THE EAGLE. 



A MAGAZINE SUPPOBTED BY MEMBERS OF 
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE. 



PRINTED FOR SUBSCRIBERS ONLY. 



MICHAELMAS TERM, 1862. 



PRINTED BY W. METCALFE, GREEN STREET. 
1862. 














■ 












I 



I / ihiJ 

I 









, 









LIST OF SUBSCRIBEKS. 

(•) DmoU* the Members of the Committee. (+) Late Members of the Committee. 

THE REV. THE MASTER, D.D. 

The Vbnbrablb Abchdeacon France, B.D., President 

Fellows of the College and Masters of Arts : 



f Abbott, R«v. E. A., b.a. 
Adam, Rev. S. C, m.a* 
Adams, W. G., k.a. 
Atlay, Rev. J., d.d. 
Attenborough, Rev. W. F., M.A. 
fBaily, Walter, b.a. 
t Barlow, Rev. W. H„ m.a. 
Barnacle, Rev. H., m.a. 
Barnes, Rev, T., m.a. 
Bateman, Rev. J. F., m.a. 
Beaaley, R. D., m.a. 
Bennett, Prof. W. S.,mus.d. 
Besant, W. H., m.a. 
Bompas, H. M„ m.a. 
Bonney, Rev. T. O., m.a., p.g.b. 
Boodle, Rev. J. A., m.a. 
•fBowling, E. W., b.a. 
Brodribb, Rev. W. J., m.a. 
Bush, Rev. T. H., m.a. 
•Bushell, W. D., b.a. 
Butler, Rev. T., m.a. 
Calvert, Rev. A., m.a. 
Clifton, R. B., m.a. 
Coombe, Rev. J. A., m.a. 
Courtney, L. H., m.a. 
Creswell, Rev. 8. F.,m.a., f.r.o.s, 
Day, Rev. H. G., m.a. 
Dixon, Rev. R., m.a. 
Drew, Rev. G. S., m.a. 
Durell, J. V., b.a. 
Eastburn, Rev. C. F., m.a. 
Evans, Rev. J. H., m.a. 
Field, Rev. T., b.d. 
Gorst, J. E., Mjt. 
Hadley, Rev. A. V., m.a. 
Harpley, Rev. W„ m.a. 
Harvey, Rev. B. W., m.a. 
Hiley, Rev. 8., b.d. 
t Holmes, Rev. A., m.a. 
Holmes, C. F., m.a. 
Home, B. W., m.a. 
Hudson, W. H. H., b.a. 
Jackson, Rev. A., m.a. 



Alderaon, E. A., b.a. 
Andrews, R. 
Archbold, T. 
Armstrong, J. E., b.a. 
Ash, T. E., b.a. 
Ashe, Rev. T., b.a. 
Atherton, C. I. 
Bamford, C, b.a. 
Baring-Gould, F., b.a. 
Barlow, 8. B. 
Baron, E. 
Barrowby, J., b.a. 
Bar s tow, H. C, b.a. 
Bateman, A., b.a. 
Baynes, T. H. 
Beadon, H. S.,b.a. 



Jessopp, Rev. A., m.a. 
Jones, Rev. C. A., m.a. 
Kitchen, Rev. J. L., m.a. 
Lewty, Rev. T. C, m.a. 
Liveinjr, Prof. G. D., m.a. 
Lunn, Rev. J. R., m.a. 
Lupton, Rev. J. H., m.a. 
Lyall, Rev. F. J., m.a. 
Lys, Rev. F. G., m.a. 
Marten, A. G., m.a. 
Mason, Rev.' P. H., m.a. 
fMayor, Rev. J. B., m.a. 
Mayor, Rev. J. E. B., m.a. 
McCormick, Rev. J., m.a. 
Merriman, Rev. J., b.a. 
Newton, T. H. G.,m.a. 
Parkinson, Rev. 8., b.d. 
Peckover, Rev. E. G., m.a. 
Pennant, P. P., ma. 
Pickles, Rev. J. S., m.a. 
Pieters, Rev. J. W., b.d. 
Potts, A. W., M.A. 
Richardson, G., b.a. 
Roberts, Rev. E., m.a. 
Roby, H. J., m.a. 
Rowe, Rev. T. B., m.a. 
Rowsell, Rev. E. E., m.a. 
Selwyn, Rev. Prof., b.d. 
Sharpe, H. J., b.a. 
Sharpe, Rev. W. C, b.d. 
Slight, Rev. J. B., m.a. 
Smith, C. J. E., b.a. 
Snow, Rev. H., m.a. 
fStanwell, Rev. C, m.a. 
fTaylor, R. W., b.a. 
Taylor, Rev. W. T., m.a. 
Underwood, Rev.C.W.,M.A. 
Valentine, J. C, m.a. 
fWace, F. C, m.a. 
Walton, Rev. S. S., m.a. 
White, Rev. W. F., m.a. 
f Wilson, J. M., m.a. 
Wood, Rev. J. 8., b.d. 
Bachelors and Undergraduates: 



Beales, Rev. J. D., b.a. 
Beamish, A. M. 
Beebee, M. H. L. 
fBeveriey, H., b.a. 
Bigwood, J., b.a. 
Blissard, Rev. J. C, b.a. 
Blyth, Rev. E. K., b.a. 
Bond, J. W., b.a. 
Borradaile, Rev.R.H., b.a. 
Branson, J. H. A. 
Bros, J. R. W., b.a. 
Brown, J. C. 
Brown, J. E., b.a. 
Buckley, A., b.a. 
Bull, W. L., B.A. 
Bullock, W. G. 



Bunbury, Rev.T. E. G. , b. a . 
Burnet, F. P. 
Burrows, C. H. 
Butler, S., b.a. 
Cargill, R. J., b.a. 
Cartwright, J. J . 
Casey, H. E., b.a. 
Catton, A. R., b.a. 
Causton, E. A., b.a. 
tCherrill, A. K„ b.a. 
Cheyne, C. H. H., b.a. 
Churchill, S. W., b.a. 
Clare, O. L. 
Clark, J. H., b.a. 
Clarke, A. D. 
Codd, H. F., b.a. 




No. XVI.— Vol. m.J [March, 1863. 



THE EAGLE. 



A MAGAZINE SUPPOBTED BY MEMBERS OF 
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE. 




PRINTED FOR SUBSCRIBERS ONLY. 



LENT TEEM, 1863. 



PRINTED BY W. METCALFE, GREEN STREET. 
1863. 

















1 






tint 



< 



yM 



■ ■-. • ' ' ' ' 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 

(•) Denotes the Members of the Committee. (+) Late Members of the Committee. 

THE REV. THE MASTER, D.D. 
Ths Venerablb Akchdbacon Francb, B.D., President. 



Fellows of the College 

t Abbott, Rev. E. A., b.a. 
Adam, Rev. S. C, m.a. 
Adams, W. G., m.a. 
Atlay, Rev. J., d.d. 
Attenborough, Rev. W. P., m.a. 
tBaily, Walter, b.a. 
fBarlow, Rev. W. H., m.a. 
Barnacle, Rev. H., m.a. 
Barnes, Rev. T., m.a. 
Bateman, Rev. J. F., m.a. 
Beasley, R. D., m.a. 
Bennett, Prof. W. S., mus.d. 
Besant, W. H., m.a. 
Bompas, H. M. f m.a. 
Bonney, Rev. T. G., m.a., p.g.b, 
Boodle, Rev. J. A., m.a. 
•fBowling, E. W., b.a. 
Brodribb, Rev. W. J., m.a. 
Bush, Rev. T. H., m.a. 
•tBushell, W. D., b.a. 
Butler, Rev. T., m.a. 
Calvert, Rev. A., m.a. 
Clifton, R. B., m.a. 
Coombe, Rev. J. A., m.a. 
Courtnev, L. H., m.a. 
Creswell, Rev. S. F., m.a., f.b.o.b 
Day, Rev. H. G. f m.a. 
Dixon, Rev. R., m.a. 
Drew, Rev. G. S., m.a. 
Durell, JT. V., b.a. 
Eastbum, Rev. C. F„ m.a. 
Evans, Rev. J. H., m.a. 
Field, Rev. T., b.d. 
Hadley, Rev. A. V., m.a. 
Harpley, Rev. W., m.a. 
Harvey, Rev. B. W., m.a. 
Hilev, Rev. S., b.d. 
t Holmes, Rev. A., m.a. 
Holmes, C. F., m.a. 
Home, B. W., m.a. 
Hudson, W. H. H., b.a. 
Jackson, Rev. A., m.a. 



and Masters of Arts : 

Jessopp, Rev. A., m.a. 
Jones, Rev. C. A., m.a. 
Kitchen, Rev. J. L., m.a. 
Lewty, Rev. T. C, m.a. 
Liveing, Prof. G. D., m.a. 
Lunn, Rev. J. R., m.a. 
Lupton, Rev. J. H., m.a. 
Lyall, Rev. F. J., m.a. 
Marten, A. G., m.a. 
Mason, Rev. P. H., m.a. 
fMayor, Rev. J. B., m.a. 
Mayor, Rev. J. E. B., m.a. 
Mc Cormick, Rev. J., m.a. 
Merriman, Rev. J., b.a. 
Newton, T. H. G., m.a. 
Parkinson, Rev. S., b.d, 
Peckover, Rev. E. G., m.a. 
Pennant, P. P., m.a. 
Pickles, Rev. J. S., m.a. 
Pieters, Rev. J. W., b.d. 
Potts, A. W., M.A. 
Richardson, G., b.a. 
Roberts, Rev. E., m.a. 
Roby, H. J., m.a. 
Rowe, Rev. T. B., m.a. 
Rowsell, Rev. E. E., m.a. 
Selwyn, Rev. Prof., b.d. 
Sharpe, H . J., b.a. 
Sharpe, Rev. W. C, b.d. 
Slight, Rev. J. B., m.a. 
Smith, C. J. E., b.a. 
Snow, Rev. H., m.a. 
fStanwell, Rev. C, m.a. 
fTaylor, R. W., b.a. 
Taylor, Rev. W. T., m.a. 
Tom, Rev. E. N., m.a. 
Underwood, Rev.C.W.,M.A. 
Valentine, J. C, m.a. 
fWace, F. C, m.a. 
Walton, Rev. S. S., m.a. 
f Wilson, J. M., m.a. 
Wood, Rev. J. S., b.d. 



Alderson, E. A., b.a. 
Andrews, R., b.a. 
Archbold, T. 
Ash, Rev. T. E., bjl. 
Ashe, Rev. T., bjl. 
Atherton, C. I., b.a. 
Bamford, C, b.a. 
Baring-Gould, F^ bjl. 
Barlow, 8. B. 
Baron, E. 
Bairowby, J., bjl, 
Bftteman, A., b.a. 



Bachelors and Undergraduate* 

Baynes, T. H. 
Beadon, H. S., b.a. 
Beales, Rev. J. D., b.a. 
•Beamish, A. M. 
Beck, J. T. 
Beebee, M, H. L. 
f Beverley, BL, bjl. 
Bigwood, JT., b.a. 
Bhssard, Rev. J. C, b.a* 
Blyth, Rev. E. K., bjl. 
Bond, J. W., b.a. 
Boxradaile, Rev.R.H., b.a. 



Bros, J. R. W., b.a. 
Brown, J. C, b.a. 
Brown, J. E., b.a. 
Buckley, A., b.a. 
Bull, W. L., b.a. 
Bullock, W. G. 
Bunbury, Rev.T.E. G., b.a. 
Burnett, F. P. 
Burrows, C. H. 
Butler, S., b.a. 
.Cargill, R. J., b.a. 
Cartwright, J. J., b.a. 















I 

■ 

maw. 






■ 






i 



■■ 






■ 



■i ■-*.. 






2u, *,&, 



wmi 




Wo. XVIL-Vol. ra.j 



[June, 1863. 




THE EAGLE. 



A MAGAZINE SUPPORTED BY MEMBERS OF 
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE. 



PRINTED FOR SUBSCRIBERS ONLY. 



MAY TEEM, 1863. 



tolrcftrge: 

PRINTED BY W. METCALFE, GREEN STREET. 
1863. 





CONTENTS. 



Page 
In the May Term ..... 309 

The Last Sigh of the Bachelor . . .327 

How to deal with the Bucolic Mind— No. III. Village Festivals . 330 

Chidher (from the German) . . .337 

A Ghost Story (Continued from p. 273) . . .339 

The Lady Margaret 5th Boat, May, 1863 . 346 

Two Pictures (" Home," and " The Silver Cord Loosed" . . 348 

Our Chronicle ..... 354 



NOTICES TO CONTRIBUTORS. 

It is particularly requested that articles intended for insertion 
be written legibly and on one side only of each half sheet. 

As a guarantee of good faith, it is essential that the name of 
every contributor should be made known either to the Secretary, 
or to one of the Committee. 

Each contributor will be made responsible for correcting the 
proofs of his own article. 

The Committee of Editors wish it to be distinctly understood 
that the insertion of an article by no means implies their ac- 
quiescence in the opinions contained therein; — their sole rule of 
selection is to insert that article, which, from the thought it 
exhibits, or some other merit, shall appear most deserving of the 
reader's attention. 

Rejected communications will be returned on application by 
the Secretary. 



It is particularly requested that articles intended for insertion 
in ike next number be forwarded to the Secretary on or before 
November lOto, 1863. 

There wiU be an election of Editors at the beginning of next 
Term. 

St. John 1 a College, June 4th, 1863. 



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 

(*) Denotes the Members of the Committee, (+) Late Members of the Committee, 

THE REV. THE MASTER, D.D. 

The Venerable Archdeacon France, B.D., President, 

Fellows of the College and Masters of Arts : 

t Abbott, Rev. E. A., b.a. 
Adam, Rev. S. C, m.a. 
Adams, W. G., m.a. 
Atlay, Rev. J., d.d. 
Attenborough, Rev. W. F., m.a. 
fBaily, W., m.a. 
f Barlow, Rev. W. H., m.a. 
Barnacle, Rev. H., m.a. 
Barnes, Rev. T., m.a. 
Bateman, Rev. J. F., m.a. 
Beasley, R. D., m.a. 
Bennett, Prof. W. S., mus.d. 
Besant, W. H., m.a. 
Bompas, H. M., m.a. 
Bonney, Rev. T. G., m.a., p.g.S: 
Boodle, Rev. J. A., m.a. 
•Bowling, E. W., m.a. 
Brodribb, Rev. W. J., m.a. 
Bush, Rev. T. H., m.a. 
fBushell, W. D., b.a. 
Butler, Rev. T., m.a. 
Calvert, Rev. A., m.a. 
Clifton, R. B., m.a. 
Coombe, Rev. J. A., m.a. 
Courtney, L. H., m.a. 
Creswell, Rev. S. F.,m.a.,f.r.g.s. 
Day, Rev. H. G., m.a. 
Dixon, Rev. R., m.a. 
Drew, Rev. G. S., m.a. 
Durell, Rev. J. V., m.a. 
Eastburn, Rev. C. F., m.a. 
Evans, Rev. J. H., m.a. 
Farman, Rev. S., m.a. 
Ferguson, R. S., m.a. 
Field, Rev. T., b.d. 
Hadley, Rev. A. V., m.a. 
Harpley, Rev. W., m.a. 
Harvey, Rev. B. W., m.a. 
Hiley, Rev. S., b.d. 
Hoare, T., m.a. 
fHolmes, Rev. A., m.a. 
Holmes, C. F., m.a. 
Home, B. W., m.a. 
Hudson, W. H. H., b.a. 
Jackson, G., m.a. 
Jackson, Rev. A., m.a. 
Jessopp, Rev. A., m.a. 
Jones, Rev. C. A., m.a. 
Kitchen, Rev. J. L., m.a. 



Lewty, Rev. T. C, m.a. 
Liveing, Prof. G. D., m.a. 
Lunn, Rev. J. R., m.a. 
Lupton, Rev. J. H., m.a. 
Lyall, Rev. F. J., m.a. 
Marrack, J. R., m.a. 
Marten, A. G., m.a. 
Mason, Rev. P. H., m.a. 
f Mayor, Rev. J. B., m.a. 
Mayor, Rev. J. E. B., m.a. 
Mc Cormick, Rev. J., m.a. 
Merriman, Rev. J., m.a. 
Newton, T. H. G., m.a. 
Newton, Rev. W. A., m.a. 
Paley, G. A., m.a. 
Parkinson, Rev. S„ b.d. 
Peckover, Rev. E. G., m.a. 
Pennant, P. P., m.a. 
Pickles, Rev. J. S., m.a. 
Pieters, Rev. J. W., b.d. 
Proctor, Rev. W. A., m.a. 
Previte, Rev. W., m.a. 
Potts, A. W., M.A. 
Raven, Rev. B. W., m.a. 
Richardson, G., m.a. 
Roberts, Rev. E., m.a. 
Roby, H. J., m.a. 
Rowe, Rev. T. B., m.a. 
Rowsell, W. F., m.a. 
Rowsell, Rev. E. E., m.a. 
Seeker, J. H., m.a. 
Selwyn, Rev. Prof., b.d. 
Sharpe, H. J., b.a. 
Sharpe, Rev. W. C., b.d. 
Shoults, W. A., m.a. 
Slight, Rev. J. B., m.a. 
Smith, Rev. C. J. E„ m.a. 
Smith, J., m.a. 
Snow, Rev. H., m.a, 
tStanwell, Rev. C, m.a. 
fTaylor, R. W., m.a. 
Taylor, Rev. W. T., m.a. 
Tom, Rev. E. N., m.a. 
Underwood, Rev.C.W., m.a. 
Valentine, J. C, m.a. 
tWace, F. C, m.a. 
Walton, Rev. S. S., m.a. 
fWilson, J. M., m.a. 
Wood, Rev. J. S., b.d. 



Alderson, E. A., b.a. 
Andrews, R., b.a. 
Archbold, T. 
Ash, Rev. T. E., b.a. 
Ashe, Rev. T., b.a. 
Atherton, C. I., b.a. 
Bamford, C, b.a. 



Bachelors and Undergraduates: 
Baring-Gould, F., b.a. 
Barlow, S. B. 
Baron, E. 

Barrowby, J., b.a. . 
Bateman, A., b.a. 
Baynes, T. H. 
Beach, T., b.a. 



Beadon, H. S., b.a. 
Beales, Rev. J. D., b.a. 
♦Beamish, A. M. 
Beck, J. T. 
Beebee, M. H. L. 
fBeverley, H., b.a. 
Bigwood, J., b.a, 



Blisaard, Rev. J. C, b.a. 

Blyth, Rev. E. K., b.a. 

Bond, J. W., b.a. 

Borradaile, Rev.R.H., b.a. 

Branson, J. II. 

Bros, J. R. W., b.a. 

Brown, J. C, b.a. 

Brown, Rev. J. E., b.a. 

Bucklev, A., b.a. 

Bull, Rev. W. L., b.a. 

Bullock, W. G. 

Bunbury, Rcv.T.E.G.,b.a. 

Burnett, F. P. 

Burrows, C. II. 

Butler, S., b.a. 

Cargill, R. J., b.a. 

Cartwright, J. J,, b.a. 

Casey, II. E., b.a. 

Cattori, A. R., b.a. 

Causton, Rev. E. A. f b.a. 

tCherrill, A. K„ b.a. 

Cheyne, C. H. H., b.a. 

Churchill, S. W., b.a. 

Clare, O. L. 

Clark, J. H., B.A. 

Clarke, A. D. 

Clay, E. K. 

Cooke, C. R., b.a. 

Cope, S. W. 

Cotterill, G. E., b.a. 

Covington, W. 

Creeser, J. 

Cremer, J. E. 

Cust, A. 

Cutting, J. H. 

Darby, Rev. E. G,, b.a. 

Davies, J. B., b.a. 

DeWend, W. F., b.a. 

Dinnis, Rev.F. H., b.a. 

Dobson, F. S., ll.b. 

Dorsett, W. 

Earle, W., b.a. 

Earnshaw, T. G. 

♦Ebsworth, J. W. 

Edwards, G. 

Evans, A., b.a. 

Evans, G. F. J. G. 

Evans, J. D. t b.a. 

Farmer, R. C. 

Field, Rev. A. T., b.a. 

Fox, Rev. C. A., b.a. 

Francis, Rev. J., b.a. 

Francis, J., b.a. 

Fy nes- Clinton, Rev.O., b.a. 

Gabb, J. W., b.a. 

Genge, E. H. 

Gordon, T. W. W. 

Gorst, Rev. P. F., b.a. 

Govind, W. 

♦Graves, C. E., b.a. (Sec.) 

tGreen, J., b.a. 

Green, T. 

Green- Army tage, N., b.a. 

Grist, Rev. W., b.a. 

Groves, W., b.a. 

Grylls, Rev. H. B., b.a. 



List of Sulscribcrs. 

Gunter, Rev. W., b.a. 

Gwatkin, T., b.a. 

Hart, H. G. 

Hartley, J., ll.b. 

Haslam, J. B. 

Hawkins, \V. W. 

Hedges, Rev. G. N., b.a. 

Heppenstall, Rev. F., b.a. 

Hewitt, H. M. 

Hibbert, H. 

Hickson, C. S. 

flliern, W. P., b.a. 

Hiles, Rev. R. f b.a. 

Hill, G. W. 

Hilleary, F. E., b.a. 

Hoare, H., b.a. 

llockin, C, B.A. 

Hod K es, T. 

Hooke, Rev. D. 

Hogg, A. 

Houghton, H. 

Ingram, D. S., b.a. 

Jackson, Rev. G., b.a. 

Johns, T. 

Jones, H. D. 

Jones, W., b.a. 

Keeling, C. N. 

Kemp, J. G., b.a. 

Kennedy, A. T. R. D., b.a. 

Kent, F. W., b a. 

Kershaw, S. W., b.a. 

Knowles, T. 

La Mothe, C. H. 

Langdon, A. 

Leather, F. J. 

Lee, F.,b.a. 

fLee Warner, H. 

Levett, R. 

Lewis, W. A. H. 

Lorimer, Rev. J. H., b a. 

tLudlow, H., b.a. 

Main, P. T., b.a. 

Marrack, R. G. 

Marsden, J. F. 

Mars den, M. H. 

Marsden, W. 

Marshall, A. 

Masefield, R. B. 

Massie, J. 

Mathews, Rev. A. D., b.a. 

Mayne, Rev. J., b.a. 

Meres, W. F. 

Metcalfe, Rev. W. H., b.a. 

Meyricke, R. H. 

Mills, W. 

Moore, P. H. 

fMoss, H. W. 

fMullins, W. E., b.a. 

Newton, H. 

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Matienal GsaneH ef Edaeatien 

Proceedings 1887.