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Full text of "Edward Wortley Montagu. An autobiography [ficious]"

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aiBRAHY 
OF THE 

U N IVERSITY 
Of 1LLI NOIS 




K55le. 

v. *L 



THIS DAY.- In 3 Vols. 

DR. ARMSTRONG. 

An Autobiography. 

e< The characters in this tale are very boldly sketched. It has 
many excellent qualities to recommend it." — Liverpool Albion. 

"The history of a woman's wrongs and a woman's sorrows told 
with simple and touching pathos." — Evening Post. 



A CHEAPER EDITION. 
In 1 Vol. Price 6s. 

THE SPAS OF GERMANY, SWITZERLAND, 
FRANCE, AND ITALY. 

A HAND-BOOK OF THE PRINCIPAL WATERING PLACES 

ON THE CONTINENT. 

By THOMAS MORE MADDEN, M.D., 

Author of " Change of Climate in Pursuit of Health," &c. 

"A work accurate and serviceable in all its important details. 
The chapter on the art of travel is a small volume in itself." — 
Morning Post. 

c ' "We cordially recommend this book not only to the medical pro- 
fession, but to educated persons of every calling." — Medical Press. 

"The great value of the book lies in the judicious directions given 
to invalids as to the use and abuse of the individual springs they are 
enjoined to visit."— The Warder. 

"Dr. Madden's 'Guide to the Spas' will find equal acceptance 
with medical and non -professional readers, as it supplies what has 
hitherto been a serious want — namely, a complete manual on the 
subject of mineral waters." — Irish Times. 



In 1 Vol. 10s. 6d. 

THE MAGICAL EYE-GLASS 



THE NEWEST NOVELS. 



In 2 Vols. 

FAVILLA'S FOLLIES. 

" The author has evident power of imagination, and the ar* 
writing 3imply, clearly, unaffectedly, and grammatically. There is 
not a line in the two volumes bordering on coarseness."— AtheNjEUM. 

11 It will please all lady readers."— Observer. 



In 2 Vols. 

PHILIP VAUGHAN'S MARRIAGE. 

By MES. FITZMAUPJCE OKEDEX, 
Author of "Felicia's Dowry." 

" The author has produced a book that may be read without skip- 
ping, and with legitimate interest. It will be appreciated at the sea- 
side."— Morning Tost. 

" Nettine is a brilliant conception, worked out with great force 
and power."— Pembrokeshire Herald. 



In 2 Vols. 

CUTHBERT KNOPE. 

"Mrs, Knope (a Mrs. Poyser), is well conceived." — Liverpool 
Daily Post. 

" The sketches of village life and gossip are very good." — LlVCfc- 
pool Albion. 

11 A domestic novel, and a very good one." — Scotsman. 

" Simply, cleverly, and pleasantly written." — Birmingham 
Journal. 



In 1 Vol. 

MY BRIDES. 

By MISS NESBETT. 

"A conciso and pithy tale." — Liverpool Albion. 

" A very readable and pleasant book, which may be cordially 

recommended. Mitt Nesbett's first novel justifies us in encouraging 
her to write another."— Atuenjeum. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 



AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



IN THREE VOLUMES 



13 "6lK DP -ftt? 

" Let the day perish in which I was born." 



VOL. II. 



JTanbnn : 

T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 

30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 

1869. 
[all eights keserved.] 






CHAPTER XIV. 

But a certain man named Ananias with Sapphira his wife, sold 
a possession. . . . Ananias, why hath Satan filled thine 
heart to lie to the Holy Ghost ? . . . Then fell down she 
straightway at his feet, and yielded np the ghost ; and the 
young men came in and found her dead, and carrying her forth, 
buried her by her husband. ... ... ••• ••• 1 

CHAPTER XV. 

Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after 
thee; for whither thou goest, I will go ; and where thoulodgest, 
I will lodge ; thy people shall be my people, and thy God, my 
God. Where thou diest, I will die ; and there will I be buried ; 
the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part 
thee and me. ... ... ... ... ... ••• 20 

CHAPTER XVI. 

My dove, my undefiled is but one ; she is the only one of her 
mother, she is the choice one of her that bare her, and they 
blessed her, yea the queens and the concubines, and they 
praised her. Who is She that looketh forth as the Morning, 
fair as the Moon, clear as the Sun ? ... ... ... ... 31 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Then a Spirit passed before my face ; the hair of my flesh stood up ; 
it stood still, but I could not discover the form thereof; an 
image was before mine eyes ; there was silence, and I heard a 
voice. ... ••• ••• .»• •• ... ••• 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Immediately there met him out of the tombs, a man with an un- 
clean spirit, who had his dwelling among the tombs ; and no 
man could bind him, no not with chains ; because that he had 
been often bound with fetters and chains, and the chains had 
been plucked asunder by him, and the fetters broken in pieces, 
neither could any man tame him, ... ... ... ••• $7 

CHAPTER XIX. 

O full of all subtlety and all mischief, thou child of the devil, thou 
enemy of all righteousness, wilt thou not cease to pervert the 
the right ways of the Lord ?... ... ... ... ... 78 



4S 



II 



CHAPTER XX. 

Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his ways ? hy taking beed 
thereto according to Thy word. With my whole heart have 1 
sought Thee. ... ... ... ... ••• ••• 10* 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Then entered Satan into Judas, surnamed Iscariot, being of the 
number of the Twelve, and he went his way, and communed 
with the Chief Priests and Captains how he might betray Him 
unto them. And they were glad, and commanded to give him 
money. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... US 

CHAPTER XXH. 

Behold as wild asses in the desert, go they forth to their work, 
rising betimes for a prey ; the wilderness yieldeth food for them, 

and for their children And as for thee, thou shalt 

be as one of the fools in Israel. ... ... ... -• 137 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

generation of vipers, how can ye being evil speak good things ? — 
for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. ... 167 

CHAPTER XXIV. 
And we entered into the house of Philip the Evangelist. ... 199 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Israel hath not obtained that which he seeketh for, but the election 

hath obtained it, and the rest were blinded And 

David saith. Let their table be made a snare and a trap, and a 
stumbling-block, and a recompense unto them. ... ... 226 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

The sword without and terror within, shall destroy both th« 
young man and tho virgin. ... ... ... ••• ••• 275 



EDWAED WOKTLEY MONTAGU. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



' ' But a certain man named Ananias with Sapphira his wife, 
sold a possession. . . , Ananias, why hath Satan filled thine 
heart to lie to the Holy Ghost ? . . . Then fell down she 
straightway at his feet, and yielded up the ghost ; and the young 
men came in and found her dead, and carrying her forth, buried 
her by her husband." 



Fair and beautiful art thou, 0, Morning Star ! 
Thou gleamest high in the blue heaven ; the 
purple waves awaken into light, and watch thy 
golden brightness on their crests. I sit within 
my moveless gondola, and gaze aloft ; I think me 
of the olden days when she also shone ; when she, 
who was fairer to my soul than all the host of 
heaven, lived and beamed, and shed her lustre on 

VOL. IL b 



Z EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 

my heart. O, days ! 0, long lost days ! never 
once to be forgotten — limned in splendour, yet in 
darkness and in grief upon my spirit, to perish 
only when that spirit perishes, if die it ever 
should. How shall I recall ye? How shall I 
endure to live again in the blank past, and 
awaken memories that should repose for aye? 
How shall I retrace the bitter woe, the agony of 
recollection, the frenzy of my love, despair and 
madness ; and yet survive to pen them down on 
paper, and calmly read them in my solitude ? 
Yet must the effort be made — a pang, and reso- 
lution comes ; the iron-cased and conquering 
resolution that never yet forsook me in my need; 
and my hand and heart are nerved alike, and cold 
and firm as steel. 0, star of beauty, shine upon 
me with propitious light ! For well I know that 
in thy luminous sphere she now abides and looks 
upon the lone recluse, the weary wanderer — the 
Ishmael of men, whom once she loved. And 
often in the dawn she visits me in dream — visits 
me, and fills me with the music of the spheres. 
She comes to me from thee ; she descends fro m 
thy silver orb; she presses my lips and whispe rs 
hope into my heart. She says, u I am not dead ; 
1 mi but gone before. In the Morning Star we 
yet shall meet, and in our union, think not of the 
inelaucholy earth." 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. d 

Thou art gone mine own ; thou art lost to me 
indeed. For a brief space only didst thou gild my 
darkness. We heard the songs of Paradise ; we 
heard them but for a moment, and all was chaos. 
Yet, oh how vividly that moment lives within, 
around, and through me. Other wandering lights 
have flitted on my path— other false fires have 
dazzled and misled the pilgrim of misfortune. 
But never once wert thou erased from my soul ; 
never once was thy celestial image hurled from 
the altar on which, as in some sacred temple, 
thou wert all enshrined. 0, Francesca, angel of 
my life, this at least is true, that never once wert 
thou forgotten. In the burning conflict, when 
foe clashed with foe, in the tumult of the tem- 
pest, in the turmoil of ambition, in the corrupt 
war of courts and senates, in the whirlpool of 
fashionable madness, in the far and silent wil- 
derness, in the thought-uplifting mountains of the 
Orient, and on the whirling billows of the ocean, 
still, still was I thine own ; and when the last 
moment of my life draws near, and the death 
pang quivers through my frame, and my heart 
throbs again faintly in the mortal agony, still, 
still, shall one image beam before me, conjoined 
with that of God ; and that image shall be thine. 
Do I rave, or do I see thee now ? The Morning 
Star opens her golden gates ; she sends thee forth 

b 2 



4 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

a beautiful winged spirit; thou glidest down- 
wards over the silver tracks, over tbe blue waters. 
I see thee, and now thou art beside me. An 
ethereal light overshadows me. I feel thy pre- 
sence ; my heart is in an ecstacy. It is thou — 
it is thou, my Francesca, who art come again, 
who art come again to cheer me in my desolation ; 
to whisper happiness, and breathe endurance and 
content. 

Yes, she was indeed most beautiful ! The 

pencil of liaffaele — I have seen its masterpieces — 

but none was fair as she. The forms of Titian 

and Giorgione, the bright creations of liubens 

and Lely, the life-like women of Vandyke, ah ! 

they please, indeed, the passing eye ; but to me 

they typify a loveliness far inferior to that of 

Francesca. She was but thirteen when first I 

sought protection among the Gitanos. I saw her 

not forupwarda of a year after. She was secluded 

from all vulgar observation; the sun was not 

permitted to shine upon her. Some strange, 

dark mystery seemed to hang around her very 

tent. My friend and tutor knew nothing of her ; 

the old Queen of the Encampment was silent as 

the grave on all that appertained to the lone 

recluse, ^he was guarded like the apple of the 

eye. Accident alone revealed her to me, and it 

happened in this way. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 5 

We were encamped on Salisbury Plain. The 
night was fair and beautiful, ten thousand glit- 
tering stars shone in the broad heaven; shone 
above those sacred ruins of our grand ancestors, 
who brought the true and holy faith of God into 
England, and reared those solemn arches to His 
honour. I wandered away at some distance from 
the tent — alone with my thoughts ; alone and 
far removed from the homely sights that ever 
appertain to mere prosaic life. I lifted up my 
heart to the Stars. I singled out the golden 
beaming Jupiter, and thought my fate identified 
with him — bright, when he was glorious ; dark, 
when he was dimmed. The distant bark of the 
watch-dog alone reminded me that I was in the 
neighbourhood of life. I wandered farther and 
farther until even this was but faintly echoed. 
Then did I give myself wholly up to reverie. My 
musings probably were not highly philosophic or 
profound ; what musings of a boy ever were so ? 
but I can now feel that they were sublime and 
pure ; that they were wholly disconnected with 
earth, and all the base and wretched properties of 
that theatrical and tinsel puppet show which we 
call existence. At length I retraced my steps, 
and had nearly reached the place of encampment, 
when I beheld a tall figure gliding noislessly 
about the great pillars, like the spectre of some 



6 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

ancient priest of Boodh, or Brahm — for are not 
both the names of the One God ? I was myself 
at the moment in such a position that I must 
have been invisible ; but the form of the stranger 
stood out distinctly against the gleaming purple. 
A wanderer or a watcher at that late hour was a 
mystery, perhaps a danger in disguise. He. pre- 
sented all the tokens of a spy, and it became my 
duty to observe him. I stole with panther-like 
tread through the prostrate ruins ; I glided like 
a serpent to the very monolith beside which the 
stranger stood, and yet he knew not that I was 
near. He seemed gazing with the most fixed 
earnestness in the direction of our tents ; all the 
energies and faculties of his mind seemed con- 
centrated into his eyes. As a sentinel on the eve 
of some long-expected battle, when all before 
him is wrapped in darkness, and even the bivouac 
fires smoulder in the gloom, peers into the obscure 
to catch the least glimpse of an advancing foe, 
for well he knows his life depends upon his 
vigilance — even so was the anxious gaze of this 
man upon the far-off tents of my companions. He 
seemed fixed to the spot, and thus he stood 
motionless for half an hour. At length I heard 
a light and cautious footstep, then a low and 
quick whistle, and one emerged suddenly, though 
from what quarter it was impossible for me to 



EDWARD WOKTLEY MONTAGU. 7 

see ; nor could I at first distinguish whether it 
was a man or a woman. But all doubt was soon 
dispelled. It was a man, and one of the Gitanos. 
He was called Antonio. He came up right to 
the very side of the watcher, and I could see him 
plainly by the starlight. Nay, I think my boding 
heart had divined who he was, even before it 
beheld him so near me. I crouched closer 
beneath the shade and ruin, and felt certain that 
no on e but with lion eyes would be able to detect 
me in the gloom. Luckily I was right. Both 
were probably too much wrapped up in their own 
thoughts to notice anything around them. Their 
faculties were concentrated only on one point, 
and in this I felt was my chief security. For 
this Antonio was no ordinary man. He was no 
unobservant drudge. He was short and thick, 
low in the forehead, like Fox ; large in the back 
of his head, like Bute ; his dark eyes peered out 
from underneath hanging brows, like ferret's out 
of a cage ; they were restless and ever changing, 
as you must have seen a rat's eyes are. I have 
seen plenty of such fellows in Westminster Hall. 
Wherever you turned he seemed to be watching 
you. There was an ever-moving, glittering ex- 
pression about them. They seemed as volatile as 
quicksilver. You never could fix, or catch them 
in the same position for more than an instant. 



8 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

They gave you a most unpleasant feeling. I had 
always disliked this fellow. Believing faithfully 
in the Indian doctrine of metempsychosis, I was 
convinced that his next phase of being would be 
that of a rat, or some such hideous creature, and 
I kept out of his path as carefully as I could. 
This vagabond now accosted the watcher. 
" Have I kept your lordship waiting ?" he said, 
" I fear that I have, but I made all the haste I 
could. I half suspect that I am watched ! " 

u Pooh ! " answered the other, " that is im- 
possible. What news ?" 

tl She would have been out to-night as usual, 
my lord, but her attendant was unwell, so she 
stayed within to nurse her." 

" And how long will this illness last?" 
" Ch ! no time — she will doubtless take her 
accustomed walk to-morrow night. Let your 
lordship then be ready." 
" At what hour?" 
" Nine." 

" 'Tis well, till then— take this ! " and he flung 
him a purse, and turned away. The gipsy stole 
towards our watch fires. I waited until he was 
out of sight, and then taking a circuitous route, 
I ran as if I were winged and got to the encamp- 
ment before him. When he arrived there, I was 
quietly seated in front of my own tent with 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 9 

Manasam. Antonio passed and wished us good 
night We returned it, and he went on. As he 
disappeared I heard a death shot ringing in mine 
ears ; I saw a conflict, and it was for life or death ; 
a mortal struggle, a weeping female, a finely 
dressed man — and then I heard the whizzing 
bullet and the last scream of guilty horror. A 
red film of gore seemed to pass before my eyes, 
and all was bright and clear again. Satanas had 
got another subject. 

" Well," I uttered, " so be it." 
W hen I turned to my companion I was startled 
to see his fixed gaze upon me. He seemed 
stricken with a strange awe ; his eyes penetrated 
my heart and spirit. 

" Zala-Mayna," said he, "Zala-Mayna — what 
means this ? Are you mad, or dreaming?" 

" How now," I answered, " what's the matter ? 
who fired ?" 

" My poor boy," said he, " you have fatigued 
yourself with this wild ramble, go to bed — go to 
bed." 

"Who fired?" said I, " who is shot?" 
" No one that I know of," he answered, " but 
speak." 

I then recounted to him in a low whisper what 
I had witnessed and heard beside the giant pillar 
of the plain, and told him also what had just 

b 5 



10 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

passed before my eyes. He was silent for a time. 
He then said — 

" Come, let us go into our tent" 

When we got there, and had interchanged 

thought for half an hour, we concerted measures 

for the following night. These were soon arranged. 

I flung myself on my bed, and slept. And I had 

a dream, and my dream was beautiful. For the 

Morning Star descended from his throne in heaven 

and came into my presence glorious, like a youth 

of God, and kissed my lips, and left celestial fire 

upon them, and then departed with a smile, which 

seemed to say, " Be prosperous, Son of Fate ! ' 

And when I woke, the early sun shone full upon 

me, and the larks made sweet melody, and I felt 

secure and strong. 



" And were they indeed gods who built Stone- 
henge, nurse?" 

" Aye, little one, the gods of India, from whom 
we are descended, and who guard us still." 

"And why did not the gods preserve their 
beautiful temple until now ? Methinks that 
having brought these huge stones so far from 
heaven they might have kept them ever in per- 
fection." 

' ' Ah ! little one, these are questions that no 
mortal can solve." 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 11 

" And shall we ever see those glorious, mighty 
gods ?" 

" Yes, indeed, let us hope so, and that soon." 

" And are they as beautiful as you said?" 

li Beautiful ! they are more beautiful than the 
sun. Each one is twelve feet high, splendid as 
light, and pure as diamond. Their wings are 
silver — white as moonbeams. Their diadems are 
living fire ; their words are like sweet harps." 

" Oh, how I long to see those splendid gods, 
will you n ot take me soon to their country ? It 
is India — is India far away ?" 

" Many a day's sail, and many a night's journey 
is India ; but when we get there we shall see the 
gods." 

There was a shrill whistle, at which the young 
damsel and her nurse startled. We crouched 
closer beneath our column. All around was clear 
moonlight, but we were in shadow. Two figures 
suddenly rushed upon them — they were Antonio, 
and the man he called "my lord." 

u You must come with us," said the latter ; and 
he laid hold of the young girl. In doing so her 
face became revealed in the moonlight ; her hood 
had fallen off. It was the face of an angel. All 
heaven seemed open in that innocent countenance. 
The eyes were softly, darkly blue ; the hair was 
golden and lustrous, like the Evening Star re- 



12 EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 

fleeted on a lake ; the skin was whiter than 
Italian marble. No sculptor ever carved a form 
bo transcendent; no painter ever drew one. I 
could have fallen before her on my knees as if 
she were the Holy Spirit. 

She did not scream, but stood as if surprised. 
She seemed puzzled to know what this man could 
want with her. She merely said — 

u Oh ! no, sir, I must go home ; it is now time. 
This is my nurse; yonder are our tents." 

c< You must come with me,' 1 said my lord ; and 
he began to pull her away. But now the nurse inter- 
posed. She demanded fiercely what they wanted. 
My lord made no reply. Antonio, who was 
masked, swore at her, and told her to be still. 

" Ah !" said she, " I know your voice ;" and 
she tore off his mask. She had scarcely done so 
when he stabbed her. She fell. 

" Now, my lord," said he, " lose no time;" and 
he caught the little maid and began to gag her. 
But scarcely had he laid his rude hand upon her 
when he fell dead ; a shot from my pistol had 
done the work. My last night's vision was ful- 
filled. My lord trembled ; he looked round, but 
saw no one. Dropping the child's hand, he fled 
with the rapidity of guilt. Manasam pursued him. 
I went up to the girl. She was firm, but pale 
as death. I accosted her in softest words, but 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 13 

she seemed to hear me or to heed me not. She 
said, " Nurse, nurse, where are you? Come, let 
us go home." 

A faint voice answered, u The villain has 
stabbed me. Help, or I shall die." 

I tore off my coat, I bound up her wound, I 
tended her, and gave her a restorative from a 
flask. This revived her, and after some delay she 
stood up, but her tread was feeble in the extreme. 
si Good mother," said I, "lean on me." And I 
helped her forward. The damsel said not a word, 
but clung to her in speechless silence. We 
wended slowly homeward. Before we got there 
Manasam overtook us. (i lie has escaped," he 
said. 

I was summoned next day to the nurse's tent, 
and went with Manasam. She was evidently 
dying ; the seal of death was on her pale features. 
When we entered a faint smile of gratitude or 
welcome stole over her countenance, but it soon 
passed away. She motioned to us to sit down, 
and we did so. 

" Zala-Mayna," said she, " I have sent for you; 
I have much to say, and my time is short. She 
whom you have saved is yours by right ; from 
this day forth she is your betrothed. You have 
given her her life ; that life should be henceforth 
given unto you. And it will be so. I have al- 



14 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

ready spoken unto her, and she says it is but just. 
Will you pledge yourself to the dying woman to 
receive, to cherish, to defend her against all ?" 

I willingly promised. It was like the realiza- 
tion of a wild celestial dream. Manasam wit- 
nessed it. The dying woman seemed content. 
" Now," said she, " let me tell all." 

" The man from whom I have got my death 
blow was my second husband. His name is 
Antonio ; let him be seized and brought to 
justice." 

I told her he was dead. She expressed no 
surprise. " Ah!" said she, " that is right. He 
has got his reward. I shall die content." 

"My first husband," she continued, "was 
equally wicked. He stole this beautiful one 
while she was yet an infant. She was the sole 
heiress to a great estate. Her father and mother 
doted on her. The child of their old age, when 
there was no further hope of male offspring to 
supplant her in her fortune, she became the very 
light of their eyes. They worshipped her — and 
Devee stepped in to punish them. The father 
had a younger brother — the man whom you saw 
last night. He is now a great lord, and holds 
Francesca's rightful estate ; but justice shall be 
done, and she shall put the false usurper out. 
He came to our tents some nine or ten years 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 15 

since. My husband and he had some former 
dealings together, and he sought him out and 
found him. For an immense bribe — immense I 
mean to my husband, but to this fellow it was as 
nothing — he employed him to steal this infant, 
the sole obstacle between himself, a peerage, and 
ten thousand acres. My husband did so. He 
brought her to me. We were then childless. 
1 See/ said he, ' what a pretty babe I have found 
for you ; she lay on the road side ; she was 
deserted ; she had no father, no mother. The 
gods have sent her to us, as we had none our- 
selves.' I believed him. I brought her up. You 
have seen her. Does she cast discredit on me? 
Your eyes say no. Well, you could not say other- 
wise with truth. When she was twelve years old 
my husband fell sick ; he was dying, he was afraid. 
He said that he had had a dreadful dream ; that 
he could not die until he told all ; and then for 
the first time he confessed the truth — and what a 
truth it was. The father and mother had searched 
the whole country for their child, but could get 
no tidings of her. The mother died broken- 
hearted in six months. The father lingered yet 
a little longer, but he soon followed her to the 
grave. The brother became my lord : he jumped 
into the estate, and keeps it still. And my hus- 
band said, i Nana, I cannot die until you swear 



16 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

to me to restore her to her rights. I cannot rest 
in my grave as long as she is defrauded. G-o at 
once to the uncle, proclaim the robbery, restore 
her to her own, and my spirit will rest ; now it is 
in fire.' I made the promise he demanded. He 
Heemed more easy, but in an hour he died in 
dreadful agony. Never shall I forget his cries, 
his imprecations* his convulsive madness. Well, 
he is no more." 

Here she stopped. She was growing fainter 
and fainter. The thick damps of death stood in 
large drops upon her face. After a time she re- 
commenced. 

" Antonio became my second husband. I told 
him all. Could I do otherwise ? We were then 
in a distant part of the country. We came here 
about a year ago, and kept her close. He went 
to my lord and demanded a great sum to hide his 
infamy from the world. My lord refused. He 
then threatened an exposure. Several interviews 
passed, but little of their plans he told to me. 
Doubtless they at length agreed, and last 
night's treachery disclosed their compact. My 
lord had always said he would pay no more 
money because he could not trust him. c Give 
me up the girl,' he said, ' and name your own re- 
ward ; she shall be safe, but in a foreign land ; 
without this you shall have nothing.' Antonio 



EDWARD WORTLET MONTAGU. 17 

proposed it to me, but I refused. It was In the 
night. My husband's ghost stood before me. 
He was covered in blood ; he was wrapped in 
fire. He wept, he screamed, he cursed at me. 
He gave me no rest night or day. I refused to 
come in to Antonio's plans. I said if you restore 
her not I will call the whole tribe together ; I will 
expose you, I will expose the dead, but she shall 
have her rights. He pretended to agree with all 
I said, but now I know that it was a snare. He 
acted but to lull me. He knew that we walked 
out at night ; he prepared this plot, doubtless, for 
an immense price, but he was deceived. He be- 
trayed himself — he fell into his own pit. Well, 
it is right and just ; but I also am punished for 
my weakness. I also suffer this because I rein- 
stated her not myself, but entrusted that sacred 
duty to a knave. Ha ! what see 1 ? It is my 
husband's phantom. He comes to drag me with 
him into ruin. Now, now he approaches — keep 
him away, keep him away — God ! good 
friends, keep him away. Ah ! he is upon me. He 
will not be removed. He will not pardon. He 
will not forgive me for my broken oath. Yet I 
was not wholly guilty ; all my intentions were 
good. friends, save me — save me from this 
appalling vision. He seizes me by the throat — 
he chokes — he strangles — he slays me. Oh !" 



18 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

She died in agony. We were affrighted with 
a wild horror. Alas ! she took the secret of 
Francesca' s birth with her. It was lost for ever. 

We buried both next day in the same grave ; 
the deceived wife, the treacherous husband. We 
piled a small mound of stones over them, and 
left the place of blood. No one enquired how 
Antonio perished ; but Manasam called the tribe 
together. He recounted all, even from the be- 
ginning. We were betrothed the same day ; I 
and Francesca. No one lifted up a murmur for 
the death of this accursed scoundrel ; every heart 
felt, confessed, and knew that it was his fate — 
his merited fate. 

Among the Gitanos, when a couple are be- 
trothed, they wander not together alone. This 
were infamy — for their women must not even be 
suspected. They are all chaste. The highest- 
born princess of Europe is not so modest in every 
thought and word as the poor Gitana who sleeps 
under the tent, with only the bright stars to be 
her sentinels. But the Queen gipsy took com- 
passion on our youth. Francesca, too, was not a 
Gitana, and I was the sent of the Eagle. She 
said, " These must not abide in all things by our 
laws. Let them be together ; let them pass the 
next year in sweet communion, side by side. He 
will not harm her. T know it by his eyes. Even 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 19 

if he tried, the Gods of Brightness would defend 
her. Let it be;" and so it was. We walked 
thenceforth together ; we went wherever we 
pleased. The Gipsy-queen received her into her 
tent, and in a year our nuptials were to take 
place. 



20 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 



CHAPTER XV. 



"Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following 
after thee ; for whither thou goest, I will go ; and where thou 
lodgest, I will lodge ; thy people shall be my people, and thy God, 
my God. Where thou diest, I will die ; and there will I be buried ; 
the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee 
and me." 



And what a year was that! Nature herself 
seemed all propitious. Never shone the sun 
more beautifully over the earth ; never bloomed 
the flowers and the trees with more vernant 
brightness ; never gleamed the stars with lustre 
more divine. Ye fair and pastoral hills, how 
sacred ye are! ye are dedicated to an everlasting 
holiness in my heart. We strayed over their 
smooth undulations, and gazed upon the distant 
ocean, blue and sparkling, like the seas in heaven ; 
we descended to the dappled beach, white with 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 21 

many a shell, and, hand in hand, wandered by 
its resounding margin ; now watching the great 
waves as they rolled, and boomed, and broke in 
glittering fragments upon the beach ; now gazing 
upon the transparent fall of emerald which they 
mimicked when the evening sun shone through 
their curling depths ; now hearkening to their 
wild chorus when they hoarsely broke upon the 
strand ; and now charmed with the soft and fairy- 
like whisper with which they glided over the 
soft sand, and melted away within its bosom, as 
if too gentle to do ought but touch it with their 
slightest kiss. We looked upon the West, and 
saw the Golden Palaces of the Sun ; we lingered 
until the Evening Star arose, and roved in fancy 
amid the lakes, the gardens, the deeply purple 
glens, and castellated halls that seemed to live 
and glitter in the sky, and offer us a home of 
peace within that far-off Paradise. 

Francesca, though now fifteen, was a perfect 
child. Ihe calm seclusion in which she had been 
brought up had made her wholly iguorant of the 
world, or its ways. She was so fair that to her 
nurse it seemed a profanation to dye that lily 
skin ; she was so gentle and so pure that she had 
not the heart to expose her to the rude gaze even 
of her own people . She guarded her as they guard 
the sacred Caaba in the fane of Mecca. No pro- 



22 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

fane eye had ever shed its evil light upon her 
loveliness. The gypsy who had stolen her had 
always impressed upon his wife the necessity of 
keeping her away from view. When he was 
dying, and the terrible secret of his heart was at 
length revealed, solitude had become so much her 
habit, that she and her nurse continued it from 
choice. The Queen of the Encampment was the 
only person to whom the latter disclosed the cir- 
cumstances under which she had become possesed 
of her ; and it was principally under the guidance 
of the Queen that the nurse had urged Antonio 
to seek the usurping lord, and extort from his 
fears, if not from his justice, the tardy recogni- 
tion of Francesca's rights. How both were dis- 
appointed has been seen. 

Thus brought up in solitude and silence, seldom 
coming forth into the world, except when the 
moon and stars were in their glory, and wholly 
kept apart from aught that could stain her pure 
mind, her character was in a great measure 
wholly different from that of other females, and 
she seemed to be the denizen of a different 
sphere. When I first knew her, she could neither 
read nor write; her mind was that of a young 
mountaineer; a crystal tablet all unmarked, but 
yet as beautiful as a seraph's soul. In a little 
time she learned both accomplishments, and when 



EDWAKD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 23 

I opened to her this world of wonders, sweet and 
boundless was her gratitude. This task was 
exquisitely delightful ; her innocent surprise at 
all she heard was the most rapturous reward I 
could have received. I told her all the faery lore 
I knew myself; of the little hill men who dwell 
in topaz palaces beneath the earth, and the 
nymphs that fill the shell and coral caves of 
ocean ; of the elves and water-necks, the trolls 
and dwarfs ; the fair invisible existences that 
connect the race of mortals with the angelic 
choir above them, and the glorious Essences that 
dwell in light. From these I lifted up her mind 
to the celestial tenants of the stars, and taught 
her how in ancient ages they stood before the 
Throne of God, each a sun in brightness and 
magnificence, until the schism rose which first 
divided the sons of Heaven, and separated Light 
from Darkness. 

I told her of the soul and its immortal splen- 
dour, its heavenly origin, and final hope ; how it 
became a wanderer from the Gardens of Eden, 
that have their place high with God ; how it 
suffered, and wept, and ever longed to return to 
its primal home ; how it was clogged and fettered 
by the flesh, the world, and temptation, but how 
it finally should triumph over all obstacles, and 
be numbered once agai n among the golden, 



24 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

shining bands of the Father and the King. I 
spoke to her of the innumerable spheres of light 
which rolled in silence over our heads — each one 
a world inhabited by splendid Existences, en- 
tirely different from men, as men differ from 
birds and insects, fishes or flowers ; and taught 
her how these Star-dwellers lifted up their 
thoughts to the All-Father, and were filled with 
reverence and love, even as all created beings 
should be. I gave my fancy wings, and endea- 
voured to depicture the many grades and orders of 
happiness which in perpetual Cycles revolve 
around the Divine Centre ; and thus, with truth 
and imagination intermingled, I sought to colour 
her soul with those tints of beauty which make 
it wholly perfect. Why did I not confine myself 
to plain matter of fact ? Because I hate it, 
because it is detestable, because it is false, because 
it is lowering and degrading. When we soar in 
fancy above this clay, we are near to God; wheo 
we chain ourselves down to one, two, three, and 
carry nought, we are very sober, decent, ti\ 
manlike persons, but are only earthly, carnal, 
grubbing moles . 

"Oh! Zala-Mayna," she would say, " how 
thankful ought I to be to the good God that he 
has sent you here to us. The old Queen calls 
you Eagle-sent. Are you indeed so ?" 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 25 



" I believe, indeed, I am Heaven-sent to you, 
my sweet Francesca." 

11 Whether Heaven or an Eagle sent you, I 
know not ; but however it may have happened, 
it was a happy hour for both." 

" Nay, it was more happy still for me than you, 
for have I not your love ?" 

She hung down her head in silence ; but I 
looked into her violet blue eyes, and saw her heart 
imaged in their light. 

" But how came it that you have learned all 
these wonderful things? You are not much 
older than myself." 

" I have always been a hard worker, Francesca ; 
and I have had hard teachers, too, and of late a 
sage one ; but best of all are you." 

u Why what could I teach you, Zala-Mayna ?" 

"The flower and fruit of knowledge — endur- 
ance of life, of man. Until I knew you I hated 
myself — I haled almost everyone in the world. 
I disbelieved in virtue, for I had never seen any ; 
I had no faith in truth, or honesty, or chastity. 
My whole existence was poisoned. I believe 
I cursed God for letting me come into being. 
But now I bless Him, and I begin to feel that 
love, and charity, and soft-eyed gentleness are 
germinating in my heart; and I could even for- 
give my enemies their crimes." 

vol. it. o 



26 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

" And what crimes have they committed against 
you, Zala-Mayna?" 

" The worst — the crimes of blind, unreasoning 
hatred, for no cause ; a mother's detestation — a 
father's cold forgetfulness — a sister's enmity. 
Why am I an exile and a wanderer ? Why am I 
the associate of these wild people ? For I am 
not of their breed, or blood, or kindred. Why ? 
— but because I have been wronged, like Ishmael, 
and like Ishmael's glorious children may I have 
revenge." 

u Oh, Zala-Mayna, you frighten me. Said you 
not but now that love and gentleness were in 
your heart ? Whither are they gone ?" 

iC One word of thine, Francesca, brings them 
back. When I have wedded thee, I will put reins 
over my proud heart. I will go home and seek 
my father ; I will fall on my knees before him. 
I will present my angel to him. He will see and 
love thee; he will forgive the past; he will 
embrace his son ; he will take us to his heart and 
home. Then shall my Francesca assume her pro- 
per place ; then shall we unveil the treacherous 
kinsman who has robbed her." 

The sun grew faint and dark as I spoke these 
words; his disk was covered with a dun cloud; a 
chill — a foreboding crept over my spirit. What ! 
was this blessing then to be denied ? I shuddered ; 



EDWARD W0RTLE7. MONTAGU. 27 

I dared not think it would be so. Had God wholly 
left me ? 

" That will be indeed pleasant, Zala-Mayna. 
Bat I would not have thee count upon success in 
restoring me to that which I have lost. It will 
not weaken thy love, dearest, if it fail ?" 

" No, Francesca, my love is for ever, as I hope 
thine is." 

" And so is my love, also, Zala-Mayna ; for 
you are all the world to me. Before I knew thee, 
I was dead. Now I am alive and happy. If my 
life could serve thee, I would give it. For you 
have given me more than life; you have given 
me a soul, which I had not until I knew and 
learned from thee." 

Thus we talked and speculated — and Nemesis, 
I suppose, heard us, and laughed behind that 
dan cloud. And what is Nemesis? Have you 
ever thought, wise student? 

Mach of our time was spent on the water. 1 
had put together a rude boat, which was just 
capable of containing three persons^myself, 
Francesca, and a young britana, who sometimes 
accompanied us. The boat carried a small sail, 
and from long practice I had grown fearless, and 
cared not what winds blew, or waves rolled • 
secure in a sort of consciousness of invulnera- 
bility which has always accompanied me, and I 

c 2 



28 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

believe preserved me through the greatest dangers, 
I have never yet been wounded, and I know I 
never shall. Yet I have passed through war and 
terror more than most men, and have wrestled 
for life in dreadful conflict on the land and sea. 
What life can be compared to this ? life in the 
free open beam of Nature, amid her hills, and by 
her waters, beneath her blue and smiling skies, 
and her stars of lights ? The very atmosphere 
seemed loaded with purity ; the whole aspect of 
all that was around us seemed ineffably sacred. 
Our tent existence was a dark, prosaio spot, 
indeed, in this delicious picture, for there we 
came in contact with strange and wild characters, 
now homely, now earth-born in the extreme; 
but when we were away in the silent, green, and 
lonely Downs, on which the sun glittered with re- 
splendent softness, and over which the choir of 
lurks, and blackbirds, and thrushes warbled with 
the wildest melody, and in strains that poured glad- 
ness through the vital being ; when we reclined 
among the wild thyme, or amid beds of violets, 
and heath, and clover with which the place was 
filled, and gazed upon the solemn, grand, majestic 
wall of ocean in the sapphire distance, over which 
the silver sea-gull twinkled, or some solitary ship 
moved in full sail ; or when we looked aloft into 
the purple heaven above us, and fashioned to 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 29 

ourselves the fancy of some lovely sphere to 
which our spirits might ascend, and go through 
scenes of wonder, and delight, and rare achieve- 
ment — then, indeed, we were most happy ; for 
we were far removed from all that makes actual 
life a thing of dullness and routine, except in 
those fiery passages of war, or travel, or adven- 
ture, which are so rare, and so exciting. To pass 
one's time with Nature is always sweet ; this the 
anchorites of old felt; her heavenly calm im- 
penetrates our essence and makes us like herself; 
but when love like ours becomes a portion of the 
life so passed, there is no dweller in a palace, or 
wearer of a crown whom I would envy for a 
moment. And ye, O green and shining waters, 
receive, I pray ye, the gratitude of my soul. To 
ye I owe most fervent thanks for days and 
evenings of delight, when my spirit became a 
part of yours ; and I felt that holy kindred with 
the Universal of which ye are so bright a portion. 
We sailed along a little lagune which flows up 
just below the green meadows, where, under the 
arch of a few old trees, our camp was pitched ; 
we bore our light skiff over the barrier of beach 
which divided this from the open sea, and 
launched it on its purple bosom. The gentle 
winds filled the white sail, and wafted us 
smoothly into the full ocean ; there we cast our 



30 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

nets and snared the fish, or mnsed over some 
favourite volume, for I had now procured a few 
books ; and Tasso, Ariosto, and Dante became 
alike companions of our love-winged hours. We 
lived again in the days of knighthood and en- 
chantment. We meditated on the spirit-secrets 
of the Dark Unknown, to which the lonely 
Florentine led us as it were in dream. I told 
her of my past life, its follies, failings, and 
aspirations. I recounted the odd scenes into 
which chance had thrown me, and contrasted the 
drawing-room, or the assembly, their artificial 
lights and poison-breathing flowers, and hollow 
habitants, with that in which we now moved. As 
we both reflected more and more on the falseness 
that is the distinguishing characteristic of towns 
and polite people, we turned to each other with 
renewed happiness ; and feeling all the rapture of 
our situation on which no evil eye intruded, on 
which no female tongue vented its venom, on 
which no snake-like heart effused its malice, we 
thanked the errant chance that had thus brought 
together two spirits so congenial, fervent, and 
united. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 31 



CHAPTER XVI. 



• ' c My dove, my undefiled is but one ; she is the only one of her 
mother, she is the choice one of her that bare her, and they 
blessed her, yea the queens and the concubines, and they praised 
her. Who is She that looketh forth as the Morning, fair as the 
Moon, clear as the Sun ?" 



He who hath not known love let him die. To 
him the great Mysteries of Life are a sealed 
volume. He is but half a man ; and when he 
passes away from earth he passes as an incom- 
plete being, whose mission among his brethren 
has been unfulfilled. For there is no passion 
that awakens the heart and evokes its mystic 
faculties but this. Ambition — I have felt it, but it 
is a base and selfish feeling ; its every energy is 
concentrated into one focus, for the individual 
advancement of the labourer, the two-legged 
mite, who wishes to be worshipped by other 



32 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

mites. Avarice is the same ; the pride of know- 
ledge is also a poor selfish thing ; but love alone 
is a dual divinity ; its hopes, efforts, and objects 
are all shared with another, and that other is the 
better and purer half of our own nature. 
woman ! how true, how noble, how heavenly a 
being thou art ! I have read and heard of men 
at whose name the world bows the knee, and 
have been taught to think in honour of their 
heroism ; but the true, the sole, the great and 
perfect heroic, exists in Woman only — or if there 
be an exception among Men, it is only that it 
may prove the rule to be true which I have first 
enunciated. There have been moments when I 
would have curled the lip at any man who spake 
this truth, and sneered him down as most un- 
worthy of his race ; when I would have smitten 
him to the dust with a mocking glance and a 
satirical smile, as one but fitted to comb a lap- 
dog, or be " brained by my lady's fan;" but in 
the confessions of my heart I will not lie, nor 
deceive myself or others. I will put forth the 
broadly honest opinions of my soul, founded upon 
experience and reflections. Man is intellectually 
superior, but morally inferior to Woman ; and all 
the great things of the earth will be found on ex- 
amination to have been inspired, fostered, and 
fed under the sunshine of female auspices. 



EDWARD WOKTLEY MONTAGU. 33 

It would be easy to prove this, by reference to 
history and biography ; but this is not a disquisi- 
tion. Let him who questions it enquire with an 
honest spirit, and he will find that I am right. 
He will trace back every noble discovery, either 
in art or science ; every holy principle of philan- 
thropy that has been reduced into practical action ; 
every institution that redeems earth from ignominy, 
and gives a glimpse of the Paradise Gardens from 
which we are hapless exiles, to the guiding in- 
fluence of sacred Woman. From her the philoso- 
pher has learned the truest love ; the soldier the 
most lofty courage; the navigator the rarest 
patience ; the poet the purest sentiment. Open 
the historic page, and every line is full of feminine 
devotion and grandeur of soul, faithfulness in 
affliction, courage in misfortune, wisdom in the 
midst of danger, hope when whirled in the eddies 
of despair. Accursed ever be the wretch who 
injures but in thought one of this sacred race 
of beings. May God eternally exclude him from 
light, and mankind spit upon him, living as well 
as dead. This is my prayer. So be it ! So be 
it! 

Think not, O grave and stolid man, that I am 
an enthusiast because I have known and loved 
one perfect woman. I know the sanity of that 
species of philosophy which judges generally from 

o 5 



34 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

units. I know how wild would be the delusion 
of supposing that all women are alike great and 
holy, because I happen to be acquainted with one 
who combined within herself greatness and holi- 
ness. I have not said that all women are alike ; 
I should be mad if I were to say it. I have met 
women that were baser than wolves. I have not 
compared all women with my Francesca. I should 
be a dupe or a liar if I had done so, for I have 
seen some that were as fiends. But all that I 
have said implies this and no more, that compar- 
ing Woman with Man, the former is immeasure- 
ably his superior in all that elevates our race 
above mere earthliness ; and that Men would be a 
horde of savages, or worse, if they were not 
humanised, and even etherealised by the benign 
influence of Women. I know that men have be- 
come effeminate, and women have become detes- 
table, when female power was in the ascendant 
over the male, as it is in France at this moment ; 
but I speak not of a state of things which is the 
result of vice, but that which is the inevitable 
consequence of virtue. 

Let me have done, however, with moralising. 
It is at all times dull work, and never more so 
than when introduced into a Life Story, which 
must depend upon its facts for its value. This 
book is a record of things that actually took 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 35 

place. Let those who will, draw their own lessons 
from the circumstances narrated ; and if they do 
not like my conclusions, let them adopt their own 
as better. I shall not quarrel with them, but 
leave them to their self applause. I have lived 
too long and seen too much to regard myself as 
anything but most fallible ; and I am quite sure 
that for one sensible thing I may say or write, I 
both avow and think fifty foolish ones. I claim 
credit only for this — that in all I say I am sincere ; 
and that if I am constrained to appear undutiful 
or severe in portraying the lineaments of one 
woman, her who gave me birth, it is from no 
hatred of the sex, but from scorn of one who in 
reality was of no sex, but a heartless being de- 
void of all true or natural feeling. I never 
wronged her, yet she always loathed me ; she 
laboured all her life to destroy me as far as she 
could ; and she carried her hatred with her to the 
grave. I have endeavoured to forgive her ; but 
when I sat down to compose this volume, I was 
resolved to write my very soul itself in every page ; 
and what a rascal should I have been if I had 
spared this woman, and written down, a heap of 
lies because, forsooth, she gave me birth ! 

The sun shines sweetly in the heaven ; I see 
the sparkling distant sea, lit by ten million 
glittering splendours. The rich blue sky canopies 



36 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

the deep waters ; all is peace, beauty, and divine- 
ness. I lean back in my chair and let my thoughts 
wander back into the Past. I dream a dream of 
exquisite fancy. A series of pictures rises up 
before my memory like those that gleam upon 
us as we muse over Spenser's Faerie Queen ; 
but they are indescribable. Their evanescent 
tints are gone before I can commit them to the 
dull paper. I cast my eyes backwards, far, far 
over my whole pilgrimage, and it is a varied 
one ; but is at times brightened by sweet scenes. 
Those of early youth are perhaps alone the 
pleasantest — yet are not they wholly without a 
cloud ? 

Francesca ! my own, my loved, my fond 
twin-heart ! — where art thou now ? Shinest thou 
upon me from the heaven of light, where alone 
thy dwelling place can be ? Hast thou revisited 
earth to bring me comfort in my loneliness? 
Oh ! where art thou ? Thou seest how T love 
thee — albeit, thou art lost to mine embrace; 
yet in thy pure spirit must abide one strong con- 
viction, that thou alone wert as my soul's second 
self, and that losing thee I lost all. I dream of 
thee on my lonely couch ; in the day when I walk 
forth I see and feel thee in the surrounding: sun- 
shine. When the bright and warm rays play 
around me, methinks it is thy clasp I feel; 



EDWARD WORTLEf MONTAGU. 37 

when the stars glitter over me at midnight me- 
thinks it is thy smile, thy vigilant eye of love 
that effuses its beam above my form, and beckons 
me to yonder glowing spheres. I move upon 
the ocean, and I am conscious of thy presence ; 
I wander into the mountain, and I know that 
thou art there ; a magnetic effluence from all 
surrounding beautiful objects glides through me, 
and speaks to me of thee. Music ; — when I hearken 
to it, it is thy witching speech I hear ; the rain- 
bow ; — when I look upon it, it is thy softening 
presence ; the breath of flowers, when they charm 
me ; — it is thy breath I feel ; the wind whispers 
amid the pine trees, and lo ! it is thy voice that 
calls to me from heaven. When I recall those bye- 
gone days, how beautifully they revive in heavenly 
brightness. Methinks I was a spirit then — now 
I am a man ; a mere man of base, muddy flesh 
and blood — all over animal, all over earthliness, 
unetherealized, disenchanted. I can scarcely 
fancy that I am the same. Am I the same? 
Answer me, O Heaven; or if thou wilt not, 
answer me some other Power. My feelings, 
sentiments, sensations, are all so altered from 
what they have been. I have grown so thoroughly 
wordly and animal-like that I can almostbelieve the 
wild theory of those who tell us every man is two* 
fold — half an angel, half a demon ; and that as 



38 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

the influence of each predominates, so is his life 
shaped. In those days I feel that I was pure. 
In her presence I was a spirit worthy of the 
Divine Presence. All my thoughts were high 
and august. I could no more have conceived an 
impure idea when my loved Francesca was beside 
me than I could have risen up and blasphemed 
God ; for she was purity itself. It is said that 
the most venemous serpent is dazzled and blinded 
by the light of the emerald. Even so is it with 
the most wicked man in the presence of a virgin 
wholly chaste in thought as God himself. Such 
was Francesca, and such was the spell which 
sanctified our love. 

We were entirely isolated from all the world. 
Over the gypsies she seemed silently to hold some 
wondrous spell. She was among them, but not 
of them. Generally speaking, they are not much 
inclined to yield submission to the stranger — but 
Francesca appeared to exercise even over the 
rudest, some mysterious mighty influence. They 
did not accost her as they were used to accost 
others ; to me also they manifested a sort of 
savage deference ; and as it were by common 
consent, we were unmolested in all things. The 
lonely Downs were ever ours ; the green dales, in 
which only were a few wandering sheep, formed 
our favourite walk. When the sun was bright, 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 39 

we crept into a shepherd's hut, and looked upon 

the distant sea, which seemed to rear its sapphire 

sparkling wall against the land. But for some 

wandering barque, it would have resembled a 

solid barrier of glittering gems. Here also was 

our shelter when the rain fell — but this is a rare 

event in this southern clime. What was 

our employment in those hours, it may be 

asked ? In truth we had none. We sat silent ; 

we sat entranced. For both it was delight 

enough to hold the hand within the hand; to 

look into the eyes, and give utterance to the 

heart in a sigh ; to breathe some simple vow of 

love into the ear ; to watch the light that beamed 

in the happy smile, or the lustre that played over 

the rosy lip, and then fall back into mute reverie. 

Love scenes are said to be tedious in description. 

No wonder, for there is nothing in them that can 

be described. They are all such as I have 

narrated. 

But there was one feeling, which above all 
others was deeply impressed upon the heart of 
this sweet and dreaming child of beauty — the 
feeling of Religion — let me add, without pre- 
sumption, that I laboured all I could to foster it ; 
for without dependence and belief in God, what 
is man, and what is life 9 Heaven knows I am 
no puritan, and my career has been wild, way- 



40 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

ward, and eccentric, but never have I forgot Him 
who is above all; nor ever have 1 ceased to 
breathe this name into the heart of any who 
would listen. But my Francesca was naturally 
pious and good. Her pure and heavenly heart 
was in harmony with pure and heavenly things. 
Akiba had given a solemn tinge to my own mind ; 
the old man had so long outlived the vanities of 
earth, and had so fully experienced that in life 
there is, after all, nothing certain but the Future, 
and the Lord of the Future, that he had often 
checked my youthful folly, and brought me back 
from mere earthliness to themes of heaven and 
immortal life. I was a boy, indeed — yet I hope 
with feelings that were not wholly boyish ; and 
though X could not venture to dictate to her, yet 
I could direct her thoughts where they needed it 
But they flowed naturally into religion, holiness, 
and purity. She was unperplexed by schools or 
systems ; her religion was the outpouring of the 
heart to God in gratitude, in veneration, in faith ; 
the three essentials which, as it seems to me, con- 
stitute the whole secret of the truly religious 
spirit. She loved Him not because of liturgies 
or theories, but because she felt he deserved her 
love — and the love of all his creatures, no matter 
how lowly they may be. 

She lifted up her sweet eyes to Heaven, and 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 41 

saw the Supreme everywhere — in His golden, 
beaming stars, peopled with everlasting exis- 
tences ; in His rainbow, which we are told is the 
canopy of His everlasting throne of splendour — 
in His moon, the nearest of all His spheres to this 
our wandering earth — bright luminary of the 
blue heaven, whose presence is like soft music to 
the contemplative heart ; in His sun, that emblem 
of himself, which ever and ever revolves in light 
and beauty, and brings happiness and health 
whenever he appears. For did she recognize the 
Holy One in these only — they are such vast and 
wondrous evidences that they flash conviction 
even upon the dullest. But in the minutest of 
His works she saw Him not less clearly mani- 
fested. The mountain towering in sublime 
grandeur was not more clearly indicative of His 
power, than the little mite which ran over the 
leaf, and which in the minutest form presented 
all the functions of a living being, with heart, 
brain, eyes, veins, and muscles — may I add, a 
soul. For who can doubt every living thing is 
immortal and can never die ? The blue and silver 
arch of heaven every moment presenting new and 
glorious aspects, was not a more certain demon- 
stration of the Eternal One, than the leaf of the 
rose tree, which shewed in its minute ramifica- 



42 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

tions of veins, and nerves, and arteries, the 
astonishing benevolence of God, who wills not 
that even a bit of herbage shall be without its 
happiness ; and who provides for that happiness 
by giving it all those fine and delicate fibres of 
organization which are of the same nature as those 
that pervade the brain and heart of man, and lift 
him from the earth to God. 

One day she fell on her knees before me. I 
had been wayward, foolish, inconsiderate, impor- 
tunate. Methinks I see her now. Her hat was 
half suspended on her shoulders ; her hair in wild 
ringlets hung down her snowy neck ; her white 
robe shone like the raiment of some celestial 
spirit But her eyes — who can paint their 
heavenly expression of sadness, passion, and 
undying fondness ? She wept ; she held my 
hands in hers ; she kissed them a thousand times ; 
she hung her head on my lap. Her look, so full 
of loveliness, besought love, sympathy, protec- 
tion. The sunshine fell around us in golden 
showers ; the birds sang ; the heaven rejoiced in 
light ; the distant ocean sparkled like one of the 
rivers of Indra ; the wind bore the fragrance of 
the violets that were thickly bedded on the 
adjoining hillock. I raised her to my heart; I 
folded her as if I should never lose her again. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 43 

What mighty passion then convulsed our souls ? 
Either would at that moment have sacrificed life 
for the welfare of each other. 

u My own darling Edward," she said, " say 
again, and again, that you will never leave 
me ?" 

"Never, Francesca — never will I leave thee 
while life lasts." 

u Yet I feel a sad presentiment of evil. Do you 
believe in presentiments?" 

" Why do you ask me, dearest, if you are 
certain of my love ?" 

" Yes — I am certain of your love, but this con- 
dition seems too heavenly to last, and my heart 
is sad, and my hopes are clouded." 

" Love me, and then you will not be sad." 

u Oh ! I cannot love you more than I now do. 
It is the very force of my love that makes me fear 
we shall be parted." 

u Fear not, my Francesca — but even if we are, 
know that it will be but for a time. Your soul 
and mine are one. Nothing can disunite them. 
Death may separate, but after death — there is 
God—" 

" Well then, I shall hope on — convinced that 
death, if nothing else, will make us one." 

" In that hope abide, my own love, and then 
nothing can make you sad." 



44 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

And hand in hand we descended from the 
Downs, and launched our little boat. The wind 
blew freshly; we sped along the lagune, and 
watched the wavering sail and flitting clouds, 
and she nestled by my side, as with a guiding 
hand I managed sheet and rudder. We passed 
out into the deep waters. The waves rose in 
azure light above our prow ; there was an emerald 
track behind us where we had cut the green and 
yielding sea. We went out into the deep waters. 
It was little more than noon. All was still, sunny, 
heavenly, bright. The ocean was like a sleeping 
child. The sun gleamed on the verdant laughing 
hills ; the far off cottages and villas sparkled like 
snow on the distant shore. Every feature of the 
scene was placid and delightful. We saw the 
sauntering horseman glide along the inland high- 
way; we watched the sea-birds skimming over 
the marble-like face of ocean ; we leaned back in 
the boat and were happy, if ever children of the 
earth were happy. 

Thus the lazy hours passed, and thus it was 
for months. On land, we chased the butterfly, 
or gathered thyme ; on sea we cast our nets, and 
captured the many-coloured fish. And books 
also were our companions ; and when books tired, 
Francesca sang, and sweetly rolled her voice over 
those blue waters. The echo entered my soul ; 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 45 

it melted my very heart. I was like a spirit of 
love embodied in human form. At times too, we 
brought a flute with us, and as I had acquired 
some skill in playing, I often made the distant 
Downs re-echo the soft melody, that floated along 
the sea like some water nymph. Meanwhile our 
wandering boat skimmed listlessly about, we 
cared not how or whither. When we got into 
deep water, I furled the sail, and gave her up to 
chance to waft her as it willed. There was a 
wild excitement in thus surrendering our souls to 
the present, and living in the summer day sun- 
shine without a thought or care. And when we 
woke out of our ecstatic dreams, it often hap- 
pened that we found ourselves far and far away 
from land, and reached the shore at night with 
difficulty. 

On one of these excursions the sun had been 
particularly powerful ; not a breath stirred the 
sea. Our boat lay still as if she had been 
fastened into the solid emerald ; there was not 
wind enough even to lift the light vane that she 
carried at her mast head. We were weary. 1 
pulled the sail over our heads, and we lay down 
in each other's arms. We mused awhile, and 
then fell asleep. And a dream appeared above 
us. A fair woman, but her eyes were sad, and 
there was sorrow painted in her face ; she gazed 



46 EDWAKD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

on us for a long time with an indescribable look 
of love and hope, and tenderness, and light. A 
whole eventful life was written in her clear brown 
eyes ; my heart yearned towards her with a strange 
sympathy. She was richly dressed, but with a 
simple air, devoid of art. After contemplating 
us in silence, she beckoned as it were upwards, 
and I heard in soft voice, the words ; " Come and 
see." And suddenly beside her stood a man, not 
very tall, but with a commanding presence, and 
noble bearing. She cast her eyes downwards 
upon us and smiled ; he also did the same, and 
each looked upon the other, and a heavenly ray 
played over their features. They now stood by 
my side, and my heart seemed gladdened. I felt 
an invisible energy within that seemed to uplift 
me from the sea, and to transport me into a 
distant sphere. Then Francesca rose up, I knew 
not whence, for I had not befor e seen her, and 
she stood between them, and they kissed her with 
a holy fondness, and each taking a hand, they 
led her towards me, and placed her in my arms, 
and I thought I heard these words, " Take her, 
she is thine, guard her as the app le of thine eye, 
for no purer, fairer being breathes the breath of 
life. We give her to thee for thine own, for 
thou hast saved her, and we know that in thy 
heart she is the shrined and loved one." And 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 47 

the dream was gone and we awoke, both in the 
same instant, and I told her what I had seen, 
and we knew that it was a vision of those who 
had given her birth, and of whom we yet knew 
nothing. 



48 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



" Then a Spirit passed before my face ; the hair of my flesh stood 
up; it stood still, but I could not discover the form thereof; an 
image was before mine eyes ; there was silence, and I heard a 



voice." 



-And now I became filled with an intense desire 
to know the secret of her birth and history. 
Francesca remembered nothing herself ; she had 
been stolen away at a period when memory can 
scarcely be said to exist. I often questioned her, 
but she strove in vain to recall a glimpse of her 
early life. At length I mentioned my perplexity 
to Akiba. He listened and made answer — 

" To me this is not difficult. Bring her 
hither." 

It was with some difficulty that I could per- 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 49 

6uade this sweet child to a meeting with the old 
man. During her sojourn with the nurse, she 
had heard so much of his weird and eldritch 
powers, exaggerated as all such things are by 
common report, that she dreaded even to hear him 
named. But what will not a lover's lips per- 
suade his beloved to do? She consented at 
length, and we went to the old man's tent. It 
was on the new moon eve ; no one else was 
present. We found him sitting in a corner ap- 
parently in reverie. A small mukhooroo or 
tabernacle stood in the centre made of wicker- 
work, and over it was placed a brass image of 
some Indian deity, and half a dozen ancient 
looking amulets. There was also an earthen 
vessel of curious shape, in which frankincense, 
camphor, and other precious perfumes were alight 
and burning. The old man having a twisted 
silken sash of many colours, fumed it over the 
smoking fire, and bound it round his head, and 
then after a considerable pause chanted words 
somewhat in the following fashion : — 

My being ia filled with the waren of the Supreme, 
I see nought else but the All-knowing. 

wielder of the all-beaming light, 

Let tby Splendour illuminate thy servant. 

Let my whole form be made luminous, 
My heart, my soul, my brain, my spirit. 

VOL. II. D 



50 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 



My being is filled with the waren of the Supreme, 
I see nought else but the All-knower. 

As the sun puts the darkness to flight, 
Even so let thy Wisdom dispel ignorance 

That I may penetrate the dim Past, 

That I may behold the secrets of former days, 

That I may view imaged the hidden d eeds 
That were done in defiance of Thee. 

My being is filled with the waren of the Supreme, 
1 see nought else but the All-knower . 



Then concentrating his gaze with a fixed stare 
upon Francesca, he regarded her for about five 
minutes. A strange, unearthly, greenish light 
glittered in his eyes. He seemed possessed. His 
colour came and went ; now his cheeks were icy 
pale, and now suffused with fire. But his eyes 
never lost that fixed and flaming emerald-coloured 
splendour which I have since seen only in the 
eyes of a hyena in the midnight hour. Then in a 
hollow voice the old man spake these words — 

u l see a noble-looking man in the flower of 
life, and by his side is a fair bride. They pass 
from the gray old church ; they are borne through 
a vast park, into a mansion of great exteut ; a 
double line of servants greets them with many a 
blessing. They are followed by a youuger man, 
who bears a strong resemblance to the first — a 
brother, or some near relative. He smiles upon 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 51 

the newly married pair, and offers them his warm 
wishes. But I see into his heart; there is a 
chalice of poison hidden there, and under the 
chalice there is the symbol of a serpeat. Happy 
are the days and years of the young couple. But 
one blessing only is denied. They have no child 
to be the heir of their vast possessions. They 
have every wish gratified but this. At leagth a 
child is born, but it is a daughter. Great never- 
theless is the rejoicing ; the brother comes and is 
glad, but I see into his heart, and he meditates 
death or some other evil. And friends are sum- 
moned from all parts of the country to celebrate 
the auspicious birth, and there are young heads 
crowned with flowers, and old temples mantled 
with joy, and the ancient mansion is lit up, and 
all is splendour and festivity, and happiness, for 
another scion of that noble family is born, and 
its great possessions shall not pass out of the 
direct line. And the husband smiles upon his 
wife, and they look forward to years of happi- 
ness, and anticipate the career that opens for 
the lovely stranger who has come to them from 
God. 

66 And some years pass, and the babe is grown, 
and is the beauty of the whole country ; golden 
are her flowing locks, and blue her eyes, and her 
skin is like the water-lotus in its sunny bright- 

D 2 






52 EDWARD WOBTLEY MONTAGU. 

ness ; her complexion is the rainbow's pink. And 
proud and happy are the parents of so fair a 
flower. She wanders in her father's garden — a 
lovely place, with balustrades of marble, and 
terraces with flowers, and fountains launching 
their silver waters into the sunny air; and her 
father's brother is by her side; her nurse also is 
there. 

" It is night, and there is a gypsy tent, and the 
brother comes into the tent, and there is a Calero 
waiting for him, and him he bribes with gold, 
and the Calero gives him a drug, aud the two 
men look at each other and laugh, and the 
stranger goes away smiling, but I can see into 
his heart, and I do not like the root from which 
that smile springs. 

" And I see the garden once again, and the 
little one is crowned with flowers, and the female 
attendant who is always with her, has played on 
a mandoline, and sang a sweet song for the little 
one ; and she rests on her knee, and the nurse 
pulls a silver flask out of her pocket — she knows 
not that it has been drugged — and she tastes it, 
and instantly she is wrapped in a deep and death- 
like slumber. And from behind a large tree the 
Calero comes, and he muffles up the little one, 
and disappears ; and in the night he strikes his 
tent, and is away at a great distance. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 53 

" And on the day after a letter comes to the 
parents of the little one, and it bears a foreign 
postmark, France or Italy — I see not which, and 
it announces the return home of the brother, who 
has been absent for many weeks. And no one 
suspects him to be in league with the Calero to 
rob his brother of the child who stands between 
himself and the estate. 

" But they — I see them stricken with a mighty 
grief; and first the mother pines away. Messen- 
gers have gone into all places, but no tidings 
of the lost one are heard. The nurse is ques- 
tioned ; she knows only of the death-like slumber, 
during which her charge was stolen, or wandered, 
and was lost. The child's hat is found on the 
banks of the river, and this gives rise to a report 
of drowning, and the river is searched even to the 
mouth of the sea, but no body is discovered, nor 
any trace or rumour of the lost one. And the 
brother arrives from a foreign land, and he gives 
way to loud lamentation — but I look into his 
heart, and I can see at the bottom of it, the 
chalice of poison bubbling high, and the symbol 
of the serpent coiling itself around in glee. 

" There is an open tomb, and a hearse drawn 
by four horses, and a coffin covered with black 
velvet, and the mother's body is brought forth 
and deposited in the ancestral vault. She is 



54 EDWAKD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

followed by a gray and stricken man. Can this 
be he who but within a few short years was the 
brave and noble looking bridegroom in the flower 
of life ? Alas it is. Six months passed, and he 
also is borne forth in death. Tesolation sits upon 
his house. 

" The brother has become the lord of the estate. 
The Calero is departed ; he is troubled in mind 
lest the Calero may restore her again, and blast 
his prospects and his place. But years pass and 
the Calero comes not. He feels contented. 
Suddenly he receives a letter. A new Calero 
comes and threatens him with disgrace. He 
bargains with him for gold to deliver up the girl. 
The compact is made. They meet ; the meeting 
fails ; the Calero is in death ; the usurping lord 
flies away in terror. 1 see the semblance of two 
whom I know.'* 

Here he stopped. But 1 had grown impatient. 
" venerable sage," I asked, " canst thou not 
give us any clue to the parentage of Francesca ? 
She is my betrothed ; she is the rightful owner of 
large possessions. "What avails all, if we know 
not this ?" 

He paused, and answered, " I cannot tell 
names. Ihe personages whom I su vpeak not 
audibly. I can see their lips move; I can lehold 
their dresses and appearance ; the localities in 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 55 

which they act and dwell ; but I cannot go beyond 
this. The castle that should be hers is a great 
and noble baronial pile ; the park is vast, and 
crowned with beauty. It is in England, but 
where, I know not. This must be for thee to 
discover." 

Then I said, " venerable sir and teacher, 
where now is this false lord ?" 

Again he meditated, and the emerald fire 
flashed out of his eyes ; he seemed e xhausted ; 
but seeing my importunity, he nerved himself to 
a great effort. 

" I see him in a drawing room in a great house. 
A fair lady is reclining on a sofa ; she wears a 
loose robe, and on her brow the crescent emblem 
of Diana ; she has a writing-desk near her, and 
looks as if she had but just parted with the pen. 
She seems to have written something that gives 
her pleasure. There is a case of scarlet covered 
books, finely gilt; there is a full length portrait 
of a man in ducal dress ; he wears a star and 
garter, and has a plumed hat in his hand." 

I started — this was the exact description of our 
drawing-room in Cavendish Square, and of the 
likeness of my ducal grandfather. 

" Look closer, I said ; look and see what is in 
one of the corners of the room." 

The old man looked, and said — 



56 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

M I see only a marble bust ; it wears the 
semblance of a crown ; but whether gold or laurel 
I cannot say." 

I had now no doubt it was Lady Mary's own 
room ; this was a bust which she had brought 
from Vienna, having received it there from one 
of the royal archdukes. 

Akiba resumed — 

"The door opens, and a tall man enters — 
deadly pale and cadaverous, but finely dressed, 
and with a courtly badge. It is the brother. His 
crimes write themselves in his face. He smiles, 
but it is a corpse-like grin. He seats himself by 
the lady ; he takes her by the hand ; he appears 
to make an ardent declaration of love. She 
shows him what she has written. He now falls 
on his knee before her. Shall I go on ? Let me 
draw the cur tain.' ' 

I needed no more. The usurper was then 
known to Lady Mary — intimate with her, as it 
would seem, beyond even common friendship. 
Why should I not discover him ? But even 
when I had done so, how could I prove his 
guilt? 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 57 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



c c Immediately there met him out of the tombs, a man with an 
unclean spirit, who had his dwelling among the tombs ; and no 
man could bind him, no not with chains ; because that he had 
been often bound with fetters and chains, and the chains had 
been plucked asunder by him, and the fetters broken in pieces, 
neither could any man tame him." 



About this time we were visited by a noisy, 
swearing, swaggering, roystering fellow, who 
called himself Dom Balthazar, and who looked a 
knave and a villain, if any one of that honourable 
and wide-spread confraternity ever did. There 
is an old maxim that, si an open countenance is a 
letter of recommendation ;" and if this be true, it 
may fairly be concluded that from a face on 
which roguery is written, it is the duty of honest 
men to fly. This piece of advice, indeed, I ven- 

D 5 



58 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

tured to give Manasam when first this stranger — 
who certainly did not descend from heaven— con- 
descended to make one among us; but my re- 
monstrance was wholly lost upon my friend ; and 
Dom Balthazar seemed to have made a firm 
footing among the tribe almost as soon as he 
appeared. The Zingari are generally sober and 
temperate ; decent in discourse, and modest in 
recounting their exploits ; but this new comer 
was a swill-pot and a glutton, who never seemed 
satisfied ; and if you were to believe his own story, 
he had stormed every fort, succeeded in every 
battle, and carried every woman, whether maid, 
wife, or widow, that he had ever adventured upon. 
If you looked incredulous, or even doubtful upon 
any one of these golden legends, he swore so 
dreadfully and twirled his moustache with such 
an overbearing fierceness, and stamped his foot, 
and flashed so much fire, smoke, and foetid vapour 
all about, that for the sake of peace and quiet, it 
seemed better to submit, and swallow any amount 
of lying and braggadocio than to be dragged into 
a war of words or blows with so redoubtable an 
antagonist, who would probably kill you first and 
gulp you down afterwards. I remember the 
very first visit he made to us, as well as if it 
were only yesterday. He walked boldly up to 
the chief tent of our encampment, whistling 



EDWAKD WOKTLEY MONTAGU. 59 

loudly, with a long Toledo trailing and clanking 
after him, a military cloak, which had seen some 
service, if one might judge from, its stains and 
patches, a faded feather in his hat, a pair of 
pistols in his belt, a cigaret stuck in his mouth, 
and an easy, deuce-may- care expression of 
recklessness about him which took the most 
experienced by surprise. One of the fierce dogs 
which usually acted as our sentinels having run 
out to meet him, and raised a desperate howl ; 
putting forth a hand of iron, the new comer 
coolly seized him by the throat, and dashing him 
against the ground, left the animal half dead ; 
muttering all the while, " Holy Jesus ! What a 
savage beast ! ,5 So unusual a prelude would 
have disconcerted most persons ; but Dom Bal- 
thazar took no notice of the accident, but walking 
up to where we all sat at supper, he took his seat 
uninvited, stared down the company when they 
examined him rather inquiringly, and began to 
eat away ravenously before we had recovered from 
our surprise. At length the elder of the feast, 
looking steadfastly at him was, about to speak, 
when our self-invited guest, anticipating his 
words, cried out — 

" Bah, Jacomo, bah ! my brother, thou knowest 
me, and I know thee. Let there be no nonsense 
between us," and he whispered into his ear, and 



60 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

made him a sign at the same instant, whereat 
the other bent in reverence, and the new comer 
continued — 

" Hare, rabbit, pheasant, wild duck, fish — in 
truth a goodly show, and hungry I am after 
many a weary mile and broiling day of travel and 
adventure. Look sharp, Jacomo, and let me have 
of the best, and that speedily" ; and then, without 
waiting for reply, he helped himself to nearly 
half a hare, which he flung in great handfulls 
down his throat, that, like the wide-expanded 
gullet of Polyphemus, ever and ever gaped for 
more. 

"Ho!" said he, "Hoi what news? what 
news. Any bloodshed in these parts ? any forts 
to be attacked, or garrisons to be plundered ? I 
have just come from Spain, my brothers, where 
the blessed little children learn to stab before 
they can say the Ave Maria, and the highest 
feather in the cap is to draw the life blood from 
the heart. And this I saw, my brothers, not a 
month ago on the French frontier, and a fine and 
gallant sight it was — a fine and gallant sight, 
my brothers, for a brave man's eyes to witness. 
We were a stout and bold party of contraband- 
istas, and as we crossed the mountains, we came 
up with a negro and a young girl, who was a half 
bred, a Creole, and faith a pretty brisk and lovely 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 61 

damsel enough ; but how she got into the com- 
pany of this accursed son of the accursed Ham 
was then wholly unknown to all of us. Not like 
your sly, mincing maids was she; no prim, demure, 
perfidious prude, with eyes half veiled, who seems 
so modest that butter won't melt in her mouth ; 
mild as she- cats when you and the priest are 
looking on ; but when the charming pusses are 
shut up alone with their spouses, or wrangling 
with other she- cats for his favour, ye gods ! how 
frightfully they scratch and howl, and tear, and 
come to fisticuffs. And they wear their petticoats 
so long, and slouch their bonnets so over the 
face, that if a Roman could come back from hell, 
he'd fancy they were vestals ; but quickly would 
he change his mind, my brothers, if he saw them 
in their homes, when the domino is laid aside, 
and the female fiend steps forth in all her brim- 
stone. But this little one looked indeed a dainty 
morsel, and was a banquet for a prince. For her 
eyes were full and dark, and like the purple 
grapes that glow beneath the clustering vine 
leaves, and her ringlets were like the deep, violet- 
coloured hyacinths, that curl in a thousand ten- 
drils ; and her foot — ah ! my sisters, you should 
have seen that pretty foot — twinkling, glancing, 
like a firefly under her scarlet petticoat — then 
would the loveliest here declare that she had 



62 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

never before seen in any other woman a foot and 
ancle in perfection, and confess that except her 
own there was nothing to be compared to it on 
earth." And here the fellow looked at all the 
younger women, and winking, burst into a roar 
of hideous laughter, which resounded through 
the hills more like the growl of a wild beast than 
any human utterance of satisfaction. 

" Poison, my dears, poison, is not the merchan- 
dise which these modest little ones buy from us ; 
but lace, and trinkets, and a pair of earrings, or, 
mayhap, a set of gilded buttons for their sweet- 
hearts. But there are she-cats that T could name 
in pleasant France, and sunny Italy, and tawny - 
coloured Spain, that if I offer them gems or 
golden finery, will smirk, and smile, and pout, 
and ask me in an undertone — * Not these, good 
friend, but poison — poison is the ware I want ; 
and so I sell them poisons to their hearts' and 
liver's content. And if in days or weeks some 
faithless lover perishes, or some too watchful 
father kicks the bucket, or some confiding hus- 
band is born out feet foremost to his ancestral 
grave, followed by a weeping spouse, who holds 
an onion to her eyes — why what is that to you or 
me, my brothers? We do but trade; we are not 
reverend confessors. Ah ! I could many a tale 
unfold, of rich and poor, great and mean ; but 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 63 

silent, sure, discreet am I ; faithful to his trust 
and all his goodly customers is Dom Balthazar ; 
faithful also to his foes, for them he follows to 
the death." 

" But ho I Jacomo, ho ! let me have that 
rabbit, and hark ye, bring forth that jar of red 
wine, which well I know is in the innermost 
corner of thy tent, for thirsty am 1, my brother, 
after many a weary mile of broiling sun, of travel 
and adventure." And as the huge jar was 
brought forth — for his commands seemed to 
meet with ready obedience — he lifted it to his 
lips, and took a hearty draught, swallowing me- 
thought a whole quart in a single gulp. Then 
attacking the rabbit, it began to disappear in 
that capacious cavern which had already en- 
gorged the greater part of a whole hare, and 
still seemed void enough to contain half a dozen 
more. 

" Well, my brothers, the little girl pleased our 
fancy, and we thought it a shame that this 
detested negro should be her sole companion, so 
we cast lots who should take her from him, and 
the lot fell on Pedro— thou didst know him once, 
Jacomo — thou didst know and love him my 
brother ! but thou shalt never see thy friend 
again. Pedro — glad was he. He went up to the 
child, and with his usual gallantry requested her 



64 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

to leave the negro, and take him for her com- 
panion ; but the little fool began to cry, and she 
clung to the negro, and the knave declared — I 
could have stabbed him for the lie, for was it not 
a lie, my brothers ? — that she was his master's 
only daughter, and he was under solemn bond 
and oath to take her safely to a certain convent. 
At this we all laughed, and we cheered on Pedro, 
who, nothing loth, seized the girl in his arms. 
Then the negro — curse on him, my brothers — 
rose up, and drawing a sharp dagger, which none 
of us had seen, before the quickest could cry 
hold ! he stabbed our poor friend Pedro to the 
heart, and instead of a blooming young lass, he 
had only cold steel. But ho ! Jocomo, ho ! reach 
me that pheasant — in truth it seems a fat and 
comely bird — and give me again of thy red wine, 
for well the wine and bird agree with one who 
hath journeyed many a weary mile, and sweltered 
under the broiling sun of travel and adven- 
ture." Thus saying, he helped himself to a 
whole pheasant, of which he seemed to swallow 
even the bones, for he crunched them beneath his 
huge and boar-like tusks, making all the while 
the most horrible grimaces ; and when the 
pheasant also had disappeared, he again lifted 
the heavy jar to his lips, and continued drinking 
until we thought he should burst. Smacking his 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 65 

lips, he laid down the jar beside him, and then 
resumed, " Ho ! Jacomo, ho ! — where was I in 
my story ? Let me see, brother — let me see, I 
pray thee. Aye, now I remember — Our friend 
Pedro tumbled dead down one of the precipices, 
and the negro looked after him and laughed, and 
horrible it was, the sound of that accursed 
wretch's laughter. Then came I up to him, and 
whispered in his ear, 'My friend, thou art a dead 
man ; thou shalt never escape hence with life for 
this deed, for we are all like sworn brothers, and 
are bent on thy destruction, wherefore I counsel 
thee to blood and more blood.' And when the 
negro heard me, great indeed was his rage. And 
now, my brothers, hearken with attention. For 
the negro believing well that what I said was 
truth, and looking about him, could see no 
loophole for escape, so he looked imploringly 
at the young girl, and she at him, and she said, 
' 0, Domingo, kill me rather,' and we fearing 
that she would thus escape, advanced like brave 
and gallant knights of old to her delivery ; when 
just as we were near, this thrice accursed black 
fiend plunged his dagger into her side ; and when 
he saw that she was indeed dead, he turned upon 
us and charged as if ten thousand devilkins were 
in his soul. Greatly did I rejoice, my brothers, 
when I saw this ; but not much did I exult when 



66 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

I saw my loved companions, who were wholly 
taken by surprise, and had scarcely time to draw 
their faithful knives — when I say I saw them fall 
one by one, by his detested hand ; until four more 
as brave and noble contrabandistas as ever Spain 
sent forth were food for dogs and birds upon the 
hill. And now the negro seemed exhausted, 
when we rushed upon him, and with our knives 
cut him into five hundred pieces, and we gathered 
up all the dead, and made a mighty pyre, and 
burned them there that night ; and a finer pyre 
was never reflected upon the snowy mountains 
than that which we raised then and there in 
honour of our slain companions. And now, my 
brothers, did I not say truly that a fine and 
gallant sight I saw upon the frontier ; a fine and 
gallant sight for a brave man's eye to witness ?" 

We were all silent and horror stricken. But 
Dom Balthazar did not notice our foolishness ; but 
again lifting the jar, he drained another mighty 
draught, and laid it down exulting in his 
strength. Then turning to the women, he said, 
while he fiercely twisted his moustache — 

" This tale have I told, my sisters, for men, 
brave men ; but now, O beautiful ones ! hearken 
ye also, for I will expound rare wisdom, and 
freely give the wealth of long experience. Ye, 
when ye go out to prey upon the highways and 



EDWAED WORTLEY MONTAGU. 67 

the byeways, are often at a loss when the sons of 
devils, who are called Christians, accost and ask 
their fortunes to be told ; and when they tempt ye 
with the shining metal of the East; but never 
shall she be at a standstill who hearkens unto my 
rules; neither shall she falter in an answer to male 
or female. When married women ask ye for their 
fate be sure and let the man be far removed ; 
whisper not into their souls until the sneaking 
cully be out of earshot. Then may ye safely tell 
them, one and all, old and young, rich and poor, 
halt and blind, fair and frail, that they have 
broken their nuptial promise ; and with some other 
favoured one have laughed in secret at the faith 
they owed to him who stands apart, and thinks 
himself — O Cuckoo ! — the sole and worshipped 
object of his smiling spouse. And when ye have 
whispered this into their souls, mark ye well 
their looks, their eyes, their cheeks. For some 
will smile assent, as if they knew ye could not be 
deceived ; and some will redden in the face — but 
these are not quite hardened — and some will, with 
a quick suspicious movement of the eye, betray 
the inmost riddle of their hearts. Then shall ye 
know that ye have power over these, the Chris- 
tian children of devils ; and ye shall demand gold, 
and it shall be given ye, as the price of secresy. 
And when their husbands come and ask their 



68 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

fate assure them that their sainted wives love only 
them alone, and are more pure than the snows of 
Ararat. 

" Never but once did I meet with an exception 
to this wise rule and maxim, and she, God wot ! 
was but a poor silly child, who had been brought 
up in a cottage, and had a kind of religious faith 
in ancient things, and thought the marriage vow 
was binding on her conscience. Great was her 
shame when I told her she had deceived her 
husband; but she answered me not; only she 
left me in silent scorn, and I knew that she 
alone of all the sex was pure, and I went away 
abashed. But this happened only once, and 1 
suppose she has learned better since; so let us 
drink her health, my sisters, and greater in- 
sight into knowledge. 

u And next ye may predict handsome children ; 
for every long-eared silly woman thinks she must 
produce the most angelic specimens of human 
nature ; wherefore be most lavish in your pro- 
phecies of this kind, for they cost ye nothing 
and always give delight. 

" And next ye may foretell a journey, soon to 
be undertaken ; a letter to be received which will 
convey pleasant tidings ; and a present on the 
road which will be gladly welcomed. So that if 
the silly dame shall but go to church on Sunday, 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 69 

or gets a note containing nothing but ' how are 
you,' or receives an apple or an orange from some 
fool as stupid as herself, each and all your pro- 
phecies will be fulfilled ; and you will be thence- 
forth regarded as sibyls in sagacity, who may de- 
mand gold, and spurn silver if presented. 

" But to the single, every foolish speech sounds 
like heavenly wisdom. The poor birds think only 
of the young men. Tell them that a hundred 
youths are going distracted for them ; they believe 
it all and go away in happiness. Predict mar- 
riage — marriage with the man they love most — 
let him be black if the postulant be fair ; if she 
be black her husband must be fair, with blue 
eyes. Children, happiness, love in abundance, 
letters breathing fidelity — all this is the trash 
for them." 

All this the wretch delivered in a sing-song 
voice, which made me loathe him. There seemed 
such savage cruelty and mocking hate in all he 
spoke that a strong and fierce antipathy against him 
burst out of my heart. I felt it like volcanic fire 
within me. I could not and I would not contain 
it. We both felt it at the same moment We 
looked into each other's eyes. He hated me — he 
saw that I abhorred him. There was a murderous 
light in his eye, but he could not well stab me 
unprovoked. I knew he would seek his oppor- 



70 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

tunity ; but relying on myself and Fate, I scorned 
him. 

u Ho, Jacomo, ho," said he, H who may this 
gallant be? Methinks I see not often sparks of 
his quality among the Gitanos. One of us, you 
would say. Yes, I see it by his well dyed skin, 
and hands that show the walnut juice. No, 
Jacomo, no brother, he is not one of our race — 
he is not of the true Galore — whatever lie may 
pretend, or however loudly he may claim our 
royal blood. Black his eyes and dark his hair 
may be, but he has the juice of devils in him 
— not the blood of the favourite of the gods. But 
come, let us drink around. If ye are well con- 
tent why so am I." And saying this he drained 
another draught, and leered horri bly at some of 
the younger gypsies. " And well thou knowest, 
Jacomo," he continued, ls that I of all men 
living know the royal blood. I have seen it 
bubbling into light — though it was rather black 
and dirty blood, I own — but was it not of the 
true royal stock? Fine regal Guelphic blooJ, 
which never has been contaminated by grooms or 
fierce huzzars ? Ah! Count Koningsmark, thou 
art in hell-fire now, and thy bones are rotting 
beneath the bedchamber of the pretty Sophy of 
Halle ; but thou wert once a roaring blade, only 
thou didst fly into the fire more heedlessly than 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 71 

any moth or daddy-long-legs that I ever knew. 
For when our late royal master, George the First 
(who is now a black raven if her grace of Kendal 
can be believed), was away in the wars, and his 
young wife was at the old Elector's court, she 
laughed at some of the frowsy queans who shared 
the favours of that gallant old booby. But it is 
dangerous playing with such edged tools as court 
ladies be ; they are more cruel than lynxes when 
their passions are aroused. So they filled the doting 
old scoundrel with all sorts of tales about his 
pretty daughter-in-law and the gallant Swede; 
and he was decoyed one night by a page who came 
with a pretended message from the princess to 
meet him in her bed-chamber ; but the little sim- 
pleton sent no such invitation ; and when he got 
there, instead of a beautiful lady, he found half a 
dozen grim Hanoverians, who stifled him in five 
minutes, and thrust his body into a grave ready 
dug beneath the floor. And when her valiant 
lord came back from his campaign covered with 
laurels — I suppose he plucked them from the 
stone wall behind which he couched, while the 
shots were flying in the distance — the lynxes got 
around him and told him all they pleased ; so the 
pretty fool was locked up for life in the Castle of 
Ahlen, where she lived on bread and water for 
two-and-thirty years. Two-and-thirty long years 



72 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

she lingered there, until her heart froze into ice ; 
a sad price for a thoughtless laugh, my brothers; 
a heavy penalty to pay, my sisters, for the out- 
burst of a young heart. But this is the way of 
the world. Well, I was a soldier then — on busi- 
ness of Egypt, my brothers — in the grim old 
barrack, and was on guard outside her door just 
before she died. So I was called in. and a purse 
of gold was put into my pouch, and I saw the 
dying woman, and she said, ' Gypsy, for I know 
you to be such, I once served your people, and 
they gave me this as a token that if ever I should 
want the aid of one I should show him this medal 
and I could command it. Now I am in need of 
a trusty messenger ; behold this, and if there is 
faith in thy people swear that thou wilt obey.' 
And she showed me the silver medal that thou 
wottest of, which all our tribe are bound to wor- 
ship. Then I kissed the medal, and I said : ' Com- 
mand me, and 1 will do it with my life ; ' and she 
looked at me with a dying look, and I knew that 
she believed my oath. So she said, ' Take this 
letter ; give it to the Kiug of England.' And 
she read it thus — 

" ' J am dying, hi a few hours I shall be before 
God. But 1 cite thee, George of Hanover and 
England, to meet me before the Judgment Throne 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 73 

of Heaven within the year ; and if thou convict not 
me, I will convict thee. Fail not , for it shall be a 
solemn trial, and may God adjudge the guilty to 
eternal fire and torture, 

" c Sophia Dorothea of Halle.' 

u And I took the letter from her hand and 
went my way ; and she died in five minutes. 
And right glad was I to have such a message to 
the adulterous old vagabond. But days and 
weeks elapsed, and I was detained still on busi- 
ness of Egypt, and I could not go away, nor 
knew how I could cross the seas. And my oath 
troubled me, but I knew I must fulfil it, though 
all the strength of hell should interpose. At 
length I was free from Ahlen, and I began my 
journey to England, but suddenly — for I had 
prayed to ten thousand fiends to aid me — the 
news was brought that George was on his way to 
Hanover ; so I struck out of my path, and met 
the royal carriage on the road to Osnaburg, and 
right glad was I, for now my oath would be ful- 
filled. And as the heavy coach lumbered along, 
with guards and dust and noise, and all the clatter 
that attends these kings, I could see the old 
villain within, and one of his fat, snuffy mis- 
tresses was by his side. So I called aloud to the 
coachman — Halt! and the coachman was one of 

VOL. 1L E 



74 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

us, and I made the sign, and he halted ; and I 
said — c This letter of importance is for your Ma- 
jesty.' The king took it and frowned, for he was 
enraged at the stoppage, and he tore it open. 
But the moment he read it he grew black in the 
face and fell back ; his eyes and mouth moved 
strangely ; his hands fell down as if lifeless ; his 
tongue hung half a yard out of his mouth. I 
never saw so pretty a sight before ; but I knew 
now that all was over with him. He died in a 
few hours ; but how he stood the terrible trial 
above, the best historians of the Kings of Eng- 
land have not announced; though I suppose if 
he were acquitted we should have certainly heard. 
And whether he is now a raven, with his former 
mistress, the duchess in Grosvenor Square, or 
tumbles in eternal flame and punishment, will 
never be known until you and I, Jacomo, are 
cold corpses ; and the princess calls me to her 
presence to thank me for fulfilling her com- 
mands." 

And now I thought the wretch had done, but 
1 was mistaken, for he suddenly pulled off his 
cloak, and unbuttoning his jerkin disclosed a 
shagged black breast ; and tearing the lappels 
aside, he said — 

" Ho 1 Jacomo, my brother, look here — this 
wound I got in the Morisco land," and he pointed 



EDWARD WORTLEV MONTAGU. 75 

to a huge scar in which you might have hidden 
your forefinger. Then he grinned at me and 
went on. "And thus it happed, my brothers —thus 
it came to pass my little sisters of Egypt, pure 
gitanas by the four sides. He and I loved the 
same one — she was a black Calore, and she 
favoured him more than me. So I watched them 
both one night under an old battlement, and 
fond indeed were they, the unconscious fools. 
Then I stood before them and laughed, and I 
seized her from his arms, but he rushed against 
me, and with a great Manchegan knife inflicted 
this wound, and I fell, and they both grappled 
with me, and I was well nigh death, my brothers ; 
and I thought never again shall I go forth on 
business of Egypt, and see my brothers of the 
wood, and my dark eyed sisters of the forest — 
pure Zincali of the four bloods. But this thought 
gave me courage rather than despair ; and exert- 
ing all my strength, I suddenly flung them from 
me, and wresting the knife out of the villain's 
hand, I plunged it in his throat, and left the 
gypsy bright with her betrothed. But this wound 
my brothers, laid me prostrate for many a long 
day afterwards. 

"But, ho! Jacomo, ho! what, my brother, 
and hast thou no cheese, no delicate fruits, no 
sweetmeats after this rough repast? Bring forth 

e 2 



76 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

that mighty orb of Cheshire, and give thy half 
starved brother of the best," and strange to say 
Jacomo brought it; and the bravo, cutting a slice, 
crammed it down his throat, grinning, laughing, 
coughing all the while, until he seemed more 
like a demon than a human being ; and I half 
expected to see him seize the one who sat next 
him, and swallow him down body and bones at a 
single gulp. For this feat, however, he was 
probably too full, and the adventure seemed only 
deferred. And now for the sixth time he lifted 
up the jar, no longer heavy as it had been, but 
easily wielded, and containing but a small 
modicum for so accomplished a drinker as this 
new friend of ours proved to be. He raised it, 
and in a trice, we saw the bottom upturned to the 
skies. The whole jar had been drained to the 
dregs — the mighty stomach was at length ap- 
peased. Then tossing it from him with a dis - 
dainful oath, the fellow looked again at me, and 
said, " Thou of the true Calore ! thou, a son of 
devils. But I will soon ferret thee out ; soon 
will I end this mumming." He shook his fist, 
he grinned again most horribly ; he half rose up 
as if to strike me — probably he would have done 
so if he came near ; for no one interfered ; all 
seemed awe-stricken ; but the effort was too much 
for the swollen drunkard, and he fell helpless on 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 77 

the grass, muttering with a horrid voice a verse 
that I afterwards heard more than once sung in 
our tents — 

Throughout the night, the dusky night, 

I prowl in silence round ; 
And with my eyes look left and right 

For him the Spanish hound ; 
That with my knife I may him smite, 

And to the vitals wound. 



78 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



" O full of all subtlety and all mischief, thou child of the devil, 
thou enemy of all righteousness, wilt thou not cease to pervert 
the right ways of the Lord." 



Ah ! those were wild days. I recall them now 
as one recalls the memory of some feverish dream. 
You are lying in your bed, in the cool vesper 
hour; the soft evening sunlight gently streams 
in upon your chamber ; the breath of flowers is 
wafted from the trellis beneath ; the sweet chirp 
of the birds is heard, as they hop among the tree 
branches that overshadow your bedroom windoT 
you raise yourself up occasionally to catch a 
glimpse of the azure heaven outside, and you 
see the silver clouds travel over the blue li ills, or 
the distant sea, orange-coloured in the descending 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 79 

sunlight. You think how happy they must be 
who can wander about in that open Paradise, like 
the birds, or sail over that celestial sea, with 
sharply cutting keel, and bellying foresail, or 
mount those happy hills with gay elastic foot- 
step. And you contrast your own pale, weak, 
nerveless limbs, with those which you assign in 
fancy to the wanderers outside, and you are un- 
happy. And after many a hard struggle with 
these purple thoughts, you sink into an uneasy 
slumber, and you are a corsair battling with a 
desperate foe, on an ensanguined ocean; or a 
general urging on your wild and fire-eyed 
followers into an opposing camp, and yourself 
proudly bearing aloft a banner, or a sword, on 
which victory is seated ; or you are a toiling 
traveller mounting up hill after hill, until you 
sigh sorely for the glorious summit, which is to 
reveal to you some splendid glimpse of seas or 
lands unknown, and to herald in the day which is 
to crown your name with the splendid diadem of 
immortality. 

Suddenly you are hurled from the midst of all 
these bright and shining scenes into utter dark- 
ness ; you are flung into the Tartarus of Hell. 
Now it is an iceberg bearing down upon you, big 
and black with fate, and crushing yourself, your 
galley, and your horror-stricken crew into the 



80 EDWARD WORTLET MONTAGU. 

abyss of boiling waters, while ten thousand blue 
sharks leap upon you, and tear you into as many 
pieces. Now it is a thunderstorm, a very simoom 
that, ere you are aware, folds you in its black 
wings, and in a moment, camp and foeman dis- 
appear, and you and yours collapse into baneful 
death, and all is silence and despair. Now it is 
a fierce, volcanic fire that shatters the mountain ; 
at your feet a fearful crater yawns ; a crater 
filled with fire and poison, and in an instant you 
are devoured with all your brilliant hopes, and 
nothing remains but a swollen corpse upon a 
barren mound of ashes. reader, if thou hast 
felt and experienced these things, know that 
those dreams of the past are like unto them. 
And if thou art young, as I once was, be happy 
while you may, and strive to make the best of 
that enchanted period ; and if thou art old, as I 
alas ! now am, then seek to stifle all remem- 
brance of them, for bitterly will they contrast 
with that which now thou dost experience. Ah, 
me ! thine eye is dim ; thy hand shakes, thy 
limbs are not the steel-cased limbs they were of 
yore ; thy blood is cold and sluggish, and thy 
thoughts are dull and dreamless. What remains 
for thee and me, but Lethe — the oblivion of the 
dark and silent stream ? For memory but en- 
hances present misery. We are like the sleeper, 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 81 

who dreamed he dwelled in gardens, and waked 
and found himself on a dung heap, and was un- 
happy — as how could he be otherwise. 

Akiba had taken a strange fancy to me. He 
was never tired of shewing me new sights, or 
introducing me into new scenes. One evening 
as we were parting, he said — 

u Zala-Mayna, you must set out with us to- 
morrow. We are going to Norwood to see 
Margaret Finch, the Gypsy Queen. Our tribe 
have business with her," He said no more, but 
I knew that I should go. 

Early in the morning we were all astir ; horses 
were saddled ; packs were opened and filled; 
the dukes, counts, and knights of our encamp- 
ment equipped themselves in their best attire, 
and we formed a brilliant cavalcade. We rode 
hard all that day, and at night slept in a fine 
plantation, more than midway ; the next day 
saw us in the midst of the Norwood camp, then 
the largest in England. Great was the joy with 
which we were received. The Zingari, young 
and old, gathered round us with a hearty wel- 
come. Their tents were pitched amid the old 
forest trees ; and beautiful was the carpet which 
the old forest turf spread beneath their feet. 
Scarlet and blue cloaks flashed around the greeu, 
with a picturesque effect, on which a painter's 

e 5 



82 EDWABD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

eye would have lingered with rapture ; it was a 
scene for Salvator Rosa. Had he been alive, he 
might have left the bandits among whom, it 
said, he loved to sojourn, that he might study 
the wild and beautiful, and pitched his canva 
under the auspices of old Mother Finch, who 
was herself not the least remarkable of her tri; 
For she was bent almost double with years ; — 
her age, indeed, was more than a hundred ; and 
with her red cloak and hood, her shining black 
eyes, and aquiline nose, the deep, shrewd, 
thoughtful, yet cunning expression of her mouth, 
such as I have seen in some of the Indian 
princes, and the incessant pipe which she puffed, 
under the shadow of a venerable oak tree, si 
presented all the appearances of the wild and 
picturesque, sufficient to satisfy the most fastidi- 
ous artist. 

Jnto the secret conclave which was held, I was 
not, of course, permitted to enter. Of our tril 
only Akiba, Manasam, and the old gyr la- 
como, were taken into counsel ; the rest seemi d 
bent on enjoyment, and they indulged themseft 
to the full. And quick and pleasant wen 
hours. Robin Hood in merry Sherwood * 
more free, more independent, or more hapi 
How delightful were those vagabond days and 
nights ; indolent as sloths we seemed, but the 



EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 83 

mere sensation that we lived was in itself a rap- 
ture ; for we were all in perfect health, and when 
the stomach is good, and the skin clear, when 
the blood circulates freely, and the sun shines, 
what is like existence? I have lived since then 
in courts and drawing-rooms and palaces, and 
tasted all that is delicious in the jewelled cups of 
pomp and pride, but give me one hour of the 
past when I was a boy, and a gypsy, and for 
such an hour would I barter a whole year of fine 
and fashionable vegetation. Young and old, we 
all seemed to have but one aim and object, and 
that was happiness. We lay upon the velvet 
sward, soft and warm in the sunlight, or under 
the spreading boughs of ancient trees, which 
might have sheltered the Druids, or the Centur- 
ions of the Romans ; the younger ones of the 
male gypsies sang and played for us, while the 
females danced and chanted like the wild Almas 
of the Oriental Princes. ere, as among us, but 
on a larger scale, were seen artizans of all the 
trades which the Zingari follow ; tinkers, horn 
spoon makers, potters, besom binders, net 
weavers, hop pickers, horse dealers, coiners (1 
fear), chain and basket weavers, bird catchers, 
and the dark eyed archimages, male and female, 
skilled in palmistry, and in decyphering the 
mystic tablets of the Future. And here amid 



84 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

many a wild tradition, I heard first of Hather, 
the first King, and Calot, the first Queen of the 
English gypsies ; and of the dark, mysterious 
sovereign Zandahlo, of whose marvels so many of 
their legends are full. 

" A great king was Zandahlo," said one of the 
elder gypsies to ns, as we sat beneath the stars ; 
" there are no such kings now, my brother — no, 
no ; they are all departed — they perished in the 
flood of waters. For he was tall as any tree, and his 
eyes were bright like the star Aldebaran, and his 
long hairs were like the spreading branches of the 
cedars of Lebanon ; you might shield yourself 
from sun and tempest beneath his royal shadow. 
But he is gone, my brother, and with him sank 
the glory of the Calore — the true sons of the 
Gods of Fire. Once upon a time, long, long ago, 
when the true Calore were the lords of the earth, 
and King Zandahlo was the master of the world, 
and there were no pale faces, or pale eyes among 
the Children of Fire, then indeed it came to pass 
that King Zandahlo walked amid his gardens — 
his gardens that were the wonder of all men. 
And as King Zandahlo walked amid his gardens, 
behold he saw two Angels descend from heaven, 
and they disported themselves in a fountain of 
crystal waters, and the sun shone upon them, and 
their white wings flashing more beautifully than 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 85 

silver in the sparkling waters, dazzled the eye ; 
but their resplendent forms were still more bright 
and lovely, and King Zandahlo looked and fell in 
love with these Celestial Ones. And it came to 
pass, brother, that King Zandahlo did accost 
these fair spirits ; and the beauty of the King was 
pleasant to their eyes, and they abided near the 
fountain, and loved King Zandahlo, and told him 
certain magical secrets of the flashing spheres of 
fire, and cloud, and water, such as no man ever 
knew before, nor was anyone among mankind 
worthy that he should know them, but King 
Zandahlo himself. And the mystic measures of 
the moon, and the magnetic essence of the stars, 
and the chain of sympathy that runs through all 
existences, and the force of the Monad, theDuad, 
the Triad, and the Tetractys ; all these the 
heavenly ones revealed to our noble King Zan- 
dhalo. 

And it came to pass that on a certain night, 
when all the purple arch was burnished with 
stars, and the heaven seemed one shining mass of 
burning fires, as if all the angels were assembling 
before the Throne of the Unnamed One, King 
Zandahlo also was in his garden, and he hearkened 
to mystic secrets of the fair spirits. And he said 
unto them ; ' 0, spirits, will ye not uplift me into 
heaven, that I may see some of these things V 



86 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

But the spirits answered, * N^ay, it is forbidden V 
And King Zandahlo besought them, and yet 
again besought them, but they would not. And 
they strove to comfort him ; but King Zandahlo 
would not be comforted, but still he looked up- 
ward into the blue and beaming arch, and he 
entreated them, < 0, spirits, will ye not uplift me 
unto heaven, that 1 may see some of these things 
And the spirits wept, but they would not ; bo Ki 
Zandahlo rose up in rage, and he cried out ; < B 
gone, deceitful spirits ! begone ! nor trouble j 
me any longer. Behold ye are of the tribe of the 
faithless ones.' And the spirits wept ; but ti 
left King Zandahlo, though they often looked 
back upon him as they faded away. And it 
deep night, and King Zandahlo was alo 
he was sore grieved in his spirit, and he h 
repented him of what he had done; audL ed 

unto the spirits to comfort him, but they came 
not. And it was now dark midnight, and he still 
lingered by the fountain, and was unhappy. And 
he heard a voice, saying, ' 0, King, why art tnou 
unhappy T And King Zandahlo turned him I 
wards the place from which the voice came, and 
behold he saw a Spirit shining also like the fail 
spirits in outer semblance ; but he marked not 
the dark drao in his deep eyes, nor the snake tli 
was hidden in his tongue. Neither did he note 



EDWARD WORTLEf MONTAGU. 87 

that the voice of this Spirit was sharp, harsh, and 
hollow— unlike the melodious voices in which the 
fair spirits spake. So KiDg Zandahlo told the 
Spirit why he was unhappy, and he said unto 
him ; ' Thou, Spirit, cans't thou uplift me into 
Heaven that I may see some of these things T 
And the Spirit answered, i This will I do for thee, 

King.' And he raised him in his arms, and he 
bare him aloft into a splendid place — and it seemed 
a palace of the finest art, and King Zandahlo 
looked upon the palace, and he said unto his heart, 

1 Never knew I anything until this day.' And 
when the Spirit had shewn him the palace, he 
took him into the gardens of the palace, and 
pointed out to him the manifold appearances of 
beauty. And King Zandahlo again said, * Never 
knew I anything until this day.' And the Spirit 
brought him back into his own place and left him. 
And King Zandahlo was unhappy because he 
could not own that mighty place and those splen- 
did gardens. And he grew thin and refused food, 
and was well nigh come unto death. And the 
Spirit came unto him and said, ( Rise up ! be 
bold and strong, and make thy people build for 
thee a palace like unto that palace, and gardens 
like unto those gardens. And King Zandahlo 
rose up as the Spirit had commanded him, and 
he sent forth his edicts, and he summoned all his 



88 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

people, and compelled all his artificers to come in 
and build a new palace, and new gardens. And 
when they were completed, and a million 
men had perished, the sea broke in and swept 
them all away in one night, and in their mire was 
King Zandahlo buried. And over the deluge of 
waters, there was seen a dark Spirit broodir 
and the Spirit cried aloud, before all the people, 
c This is the reward of folly and discontent 
Zandahlo might have been the happiest of men, 
had he not emulated the Palace of the Gods ; and 
lo where is he?' " 

A week thus passed — a pleasant week of free 
agrestic sports. I might have easily attached 
myself to one of the franksome young gypsies 
who were about me, and who put forth many a 
lure, but my heart was unalterably wedded to 
Francesca ; and I looked upon the glittering bevy 
of dark-eyed singers and dancers with no more 
passion than I should have gazed upon a picture 
by the hand of Rubens. At the end of this 
period Dom Balthazar appeared, greatly to my 
disgust and disappointment. I could not imagine 
what had brought the fellow hither, but he boldly 
entered the Queen's presence, and whenever he 
pleased went into her tent as if he were a privi- 
liged person, and indeed he was so without any 
question. He seemed well known to all the noisy 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 89 

crowd, and he strutted and swaggered among 
them like a cock upon a dunghill, just as he had 
done among our quiet little community in Sussex, 
being ever the loudest, noisiest, and most glut- 
tonous. Akiba and Manasam did not much 
associate with him ; there was an utter disparity 
in their tastes and habits ; and the years of the 
elder man made him as indisposed to mingle in 
such rude revelry, as always followed wherever 
Dom Balthazar was present, as the silent student 
habits of Manasam kept him aloof from the 
bacchanalian roystering in which our new com- 
panion delighted to indulge. But Dom Balthazar 
heeded, or appeared not to heed in the least, the 
feelings of either. He followed his own course 
as if no such person existed, and set the whole 
assembly in a bacchanalian mood. Before he 
came we were like peaceful foresters, disporting 
in holiday after some long continued labour ; our 
amusements were simple and rustic ; We pleased 
ourselves with country sports and country sobriety ; 
but Dom Balthazar turned all things topsy 
turvy. Midnight excursions were made into 
many a choice preserve ; and at the dawn he re- 
turned with his wearied followers laden with 
spoil — hares, rabbits, pheasants, fawns, peacocks, 
salmon, swans, and even herons. Then the fires 
were lighted, fresh casks or jars were broached, 



90 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

and tipsy jollity and feasting followed, worthy 
of a city banquet, or an election dinner. 

Perhaps these revels were more in accordance 
with the rude nature of the gypsies themselves , 
than the more staid and sober pleasures in which 
we had previously sought and found content At 
all events I have always observed that men gene- 
rally will find amusement in simple sports, and 
unless some incident intervenes to arrest them, 
will go on to the end as they began. But let 
some knavish, dissolute scoundrel interpose, and 
by word or example lead them into other and 
worse enjo) r ments; let him propose something 
desperately foolish, wild, or wicked, and there is 
such a contagion in vice that it will suddenly 
seize every one of them, as if by a spell of magic ; 
and they who five minutes since played with 
the simple zest of boys will suddenly rage as if 
impelled by the fiery nature of demons. Th< 
is a natural devil-may-care spirit about multitudes 
which drives them in a moment into the wild, 
and most imthoujiht. of excesses ; and I hn 
often felt convinced that no men were more aston- 
ished at themselves next morning than those who 
have figured prominently in history, in oiu breaks 
that have had the greatest influence on times and 
empires. Thus has it ever been, and thus i 
suppose it ever will be. A single word applied at 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 91 

the fitting moment, like a spark of gunpowder, 
will produce an explosion, with whose echo the 
world will ring until the annals of the world be 
no more. 

Nor was our little kingdom exempt from this 
feeling. Dom Balthazar, as I have before hinted, 
delighted in viciousness for its own sake; his 
example stirred up others ; and as there were 
many among us who I have no doubt deserved 
death a hundred times, if such could be inflicted, 
men and women were now found to boast of ex- 
ploits, and give revelations of their inner life 
which they would not have dared to confess a few 
days before ; and which if they had been confessed, 
would have been heard with a feeling very 
different from that which now awaited them. 

" Ho, ho! Meg Finch," he cried, " ho ho! 
Meg, my Queen, my beauty, my bright and 
splendid star of Venus, verily thou hast a goodly 
crew of men and women ; and some I think 
would take the devil by the horns, nor would my 
pretty lasses fear to catch him by the tail ; but 
brave and gallant though they be, they equal not 
in gorgeous devilry the fine Calore of Granada 
and its mountains, whom I left some moons ago, 
and whom I hope speedily to meet again. One 
fellow have we among us — by heaven he is a 
trump card, and I would not give his little finger 



92 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

for the souls or bodies of all the kings, queens, 
and popes (male or female) in Christendom. 
Why what think ye he did? — fill ye bumpers to 
his health, my brothers, and then ye shall hear — 
fill ye purple bumpers to his welfare, my 6isters, 
and then shall your ears be gladdened by tidings 
of a brave and gallant man. He was a monk — 
nay, shrink not — for though in cowl and cassock, 
and with a shaven pate, a true son of Egypt was 
he — no truer lives in whom the red blood does 
roll. And from the hill he came — but my lord 
abbot knew it not, so he was enrolled a monk ; 
and would, had he lived, been prior and perhaps 
cardinal, if not Holy Father of the Faithful ; 
but the monks offended him, and as he had the 
molten, fiery blood of all the true Calore, he 
answered roundly, and gave the lazy scoundrels 
tit for tat. But tit for tat is not in convent laws ; 
so they shut him up in a cell, and exhorted him 
to patience, and let him fast on dry bread and 
cold water for three weary months, until my 
brother was well nigh dead. Well, at the end of 
that time he vowed repentance, and confessed his 
sins, and was absolved, and was released ; and 
when the next feast was held, he prayed hard to 
be allowed to serve the wine to all his 
kind, good, pardoning brethren. So the holy 
men consented, and my brother fetched the 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 93 

wiDe from the cellars in many a brimming 
flaggon ; and when the morning stars arose 
in heaven, there were forty monks lying 
dead beneath the festal table, and the goodly 
abbot at their head. And the matter was en- 
quired into, and my brother wept indeed in true 
sorrow for the departure of all his pious comrades ; 
and when the hogshead was examined behold a 
viper of the most poisonous quality was found in 
the bottom of the cask, dead and swollen ; but 
how it entered no man ever knew. So my brother 
was acquitted from all blame ; but he soon after 
joined our sacred band, for he had heard that the 
Holy Inquisitors liked not much the manner of 
his acquittal, and were preparing for him a charge 
of heresy, which would have ravished him from 
us for ever. So he fled to us, and now he is one 
of our firmest, fastest friends ; and he often 
laughs when he recounts the story of the forty 
dead and swollen rats — I mean monks — on the 
marble pavement of the house of God ; and he 
bids them God speed, and he drains his flaggon 
to their memory. So now, my brothers, and ye 
also, my sisters dear, a bumper, a bumper, and 
yet another flowing bumper to the health of the 
ex-monk of Cordova. 

" My brother went into the wood, 
His heart athirst for monkish blood j 



94 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 



My brother sought a viper's nest — 
He hid the viper in his breast. 

He charmed the pretty poisoned elf 
By secrets known best to himself ; 

He put the viper in tho cask, 

And grinned beneath his pious mask. 

' Ho, ho,' quoth he, ' these knaves shall find 
That gypsy skill their eyes shall blind.' 

They drunk the viper wine, and woke 
In fire of hell when morning broke." 



Whether there were any internal shudders at 
this recital I cannot say, I only know there would 
have been a week before; but Dom Balthazar 
seemed to magnetize all by his own evil nature. 
After a pause he continued — 

" And now, my brothers, hearken ye unto me, 
and I will reveal the Ten Commandments of 
Gypsydom, which whoso followeth he shall grow 
rich and happy ; but he who followeth them not 
shall be as a church mouse — lean, scraggy, and a 
coward. 

" First — All charity is humbug and pretence. 
No man would give a farthing to another did he 
not hope to gain something for himself by it ; but 
the great source of the thing is to be found in the 
vaingloriousness of men and women who love to 
appear better than they really are. Wherefore, 
when thou begg est an alms, always seek it where 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 95 

two or three are gathered together, for shame or 
vanity will get thee something. 

u Second — It is in vain to ask a charity from a 
wedded pair, for they know each other too well — 
the humbug mask is off, and so they will give 
you nothing ; but from a poor man sneaking at- 
tendance on a rich one seek it, or from a lover, 
dangling, like a hungry dog, after his mistress. 
For these suitors always love to appear other than 
they really are ; and they who would not give 
thee a maravedi to save thy soul from damnation, 
will give it that they may get a smile from the 
patron, or a kiss from the flirting quean. 

u Third — If there be any man of good estate in 
the neighbourhood who hath lost a favourite 
child, go to him, attired in robes of woe, and tell 
him— as if thou wert ignorant of his misfortune — 
that thou hast lost a blind boy or girl, and make 
the resemblance of thy fancied loss as like to his 
as possible. Then, with many a sigh and tear, 
and supplication, cant to the feeling booby, until 
he melts and well rewards thee for thy pains. 

" Fourth — If any tender fool hath a husband 
sick, accost her as she walks the streets, and say 
thou prayest hard for his recovery, and add 
that Heaven hearkeneth to the poor man's 
prayer ; but if the wife be very young and the 
husband very old, pretend not that thou knowest 



96 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

of my lord's illness, but say to her — ' God grant 
thee, beauteous lady, a young and bouncing 
husband.' 

" Fifth — But if the husband dies, then let your 
wife or sister go unto the widowed dame, and, 
dressed in sable weeds, recount a loss which she 
herself has first experienced, pretending that a 
husband has been snatched from her by untimely 
death, and weeping hard until the rich one sighs 
in sympathy, and gives thee of her purse, with- 
out at all considering whether thy tale be true or 
not. 

" Sixth — But most of all rely on wives or 
widows with small children ; for if thou goest 
unto these with a pitiful tale of thine own seven 
starving babes, without food or raiment, or a 
roof, never yet knew I the one who could resist, 
or who did not weep in heart over the dismal fate 
of thos?. helpless ones. 

" Seventh — The dandy loves to hear his person 
praised ; the dainty dame to hear her eyes and 
fair complexion extolled ; the strutting mamma 
is pleased to learn that no one's children equal 
hers in beauty ; the military monkey thinks him- 
self a Charles XII., and ' noble captain ' will 
draw forth his purse, particularly if thou cele- 
bratest his bravery in the presence of some 
woman just as brainless as himself; and so the 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 97 



priest is glad when thou speakest of his piety ; 
but I hardly counsel thee to beg of such, for they 
dread to part with even a half-farthing. 

" Eighth — If a pretty woman pass thee by and 
looks dejected, be sure her husband or her lover 
is unkind, and soap thy tongue accordingly. 

" Ninth — The ugliest woman thinks herself a 
beauty, unless she has a large and broad forehead, 
and then mayhap she despises outward charms ; 
but in mind she thinks herself a Plato or a Dante, 
and therefore praise her as thou wilt, she never 
will be satisfied with the feast. 

" Tenth — But this, the tenth commandment, is 
the crowning one. If ever thou seest a tender 
husband with a pregnant wife, take with thee one 
who is blind or halt, and press him with thy 
prayers for alms. Fear will extort them amply ; 
and thou and thy companion shall exult at hav- 
ing terrified the fool out of gold or silver.'' 

But let me drop this hateful fellow ; I cannot 
bear to think of him. I only lament there should 
be so many of his odious type on earth. 

Another week passed, and we had completed 
the purpose for which we came. Akiba, Giacomo, 
and Manasam gave the word, and all was ready 
for departure. We had a glorious parting feast 
by moonlight ; the stars were also in the heaven, 
and we needed not lamp or watch fire, for it was 

vol. it. f 



98 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

in the delicious month of August, when all is 
balm and beautifulness. 

" My brothers," said Akiba, " I go from among 
you. Never again shall we meet on earth. My 
sands of life are nearly run ; I and your Queen 
are the two oldest of the tribes that now exist in 
England. We cannot hope that we shall look 
into each other's eyes after this night; but such 
is the way of human beings. Let me exhort 
each and all to be true as steel to their native 
tents and to one another — thus only can they 
prevail against the common enemy.' ' 

" Thou speakest wisely, Bazecgur," answered 
one of the most aged and venerable of the Nor- 
wood companions. " Hearken unto it, my 
brothers; hearken, and be advised." 

" Nevertheless," continued Akiba, " though we 
shall never meet again on earth, there is anotherland 
of life where we may all assemble ; thither shall 
the true Calore, the Sons of Fire, the beloved of 
the Gods, go, and joyful shall be their union un- 
der one tent. For what says Kubeer ? Verily 
his words are pearls of great price. 'The spirit 
that is in man dieth not ; it is a spirit of life 
and love, it shall exist in another form, and in a 
different orb.' They who know us not, say that 
we are infidels as to a future being ; that we have 
neither gods nor demons. But ye, O my brothers, 



EDWAED WORTLEY MONTAGU. 99 

know better ; ye are all persuaded that ye shall 
not perish like the beasts of the field, but that 
ye shall survive, and be whatever ye have de- 
served to be. Be ye, therefore, true and faithful 
to one another in all right things unto the end. 
So shall ye prosper and rejoice." 

And after this we struck our tents, and de- 
parted. 



F Z 



100 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 



CHAPTER XX. 



"Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his ways ? by taking 
heed thereto according to Thy word. With my whole heart have 
I sought Thee." 



One day as Manasam and myself were out fish- 
ing, our conversation turned upon the past, and 
from those learned stores which he possessed he 
displayed an amount of vast and varied know- 
ledge, greater than he had ever yet shown me. 
He was in sooth a man of wonderful accomplish- 
ments, and to me it was then matter of surprise 
to find such a one leading a vagrant life with 
gypsies ; but of such incidents I have since found 
life is full, and nothing amazes me now. He 
knew seven or eight languages, which he spoke 
perfectly ; he had read also, and mastered a great 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 101 

number of books, and he was not destitute 
of eloquence; he was at all times witty, wise, 
and moral. He was fond of metaphysical specu- 
lation, and infused into my mind the primary 
seeds of many an odd notion, which I have since 
made my own, and which have put forth strange 
blossoms, and still stranger fruit. For age, he 
was about eight-and-twenty ; his appearance was 
dark, but noble ; there was a haughty flash in his 
eye, which only occasionally shone out, but when 
it did it told a tale of fiery and romantic passion. 
I had attached myself to him with so much 
boyish trust, and he saw that my liking was so 
genuine and unfeigned, that he reciprocated my 
regard with the sincerest friendship, and I loved 
him with more than fraternal fondness. He de- 
lighted in softening that fierce pride and unsocial 
temper which from the first were mine ; and 
humanizing me, not so much by counsel — which 
seldom succeeds — as by example, which almost 
always vanquishes. 

11 Manasam," I said, " how comes it to pass 
that you live with my brothers of Egypt? You 
are not of them. " 

"I scarcely know," he answered, "but the 
Zingari reject no one, and I feel a vague sort of 
happiness among them, such as I cannot describe, 



102 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

but which contents me more than anything in 
my former life." 

u And what may your former life have been, 
Manasam ?" 

"Well, it is not remarkable for any telling 
incidents, but if you would like to hear it you 
shall. My father was a gentleman of large for- 
tune in one of the western countries; he had 
two sons ; I am the second. Our home was an 
ancient mansion that had been in our family for 
centuries, and we possessed all that heart could 
desire. Thus time flowed pleasantly on until 
my sixteenth year, when I was to be sent to 
Oxford. I had a little cousin, a sweet, innocent 
girl, whose father and mother dying early, had 
left her to the guardianship of my father, and 
she lived with us. As her fortune when she 
came of age would be considerable, my father 
was not disinclined to secure it if he could, so 
he placed her with us, and she was our playmate 

in all youthful pranks. I soon noticed that she 
was particularly fond of me ; and I suppose I let 

her and others see that I was not insensible of 

it ; for one day my father called me into the 

library and spoke thus. 

" l George, you must go to Oxford in a day or 

two. It will not do for you to remain here mak- 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 103 

ing love to Sophy. She is to be your brother's 
wife, so you had better put away all nonsense out 
of your head.' 

tl ' But, sir,' I said, * is it not enough for Will 
to have the estate ? He is my eldest brother, and 
I don't grumble about that. But why should he 
have my cousin ?' 

w * My dear George,' he replied, ' the estate is 
mortgaged so heavily that unless your cousin's 
money redeems it, there will be no estate at all, 
and we must all turn out and seek our fortune 
as we can.' 

" I bowed and was silent. What could I say? 
I had no doubt it was true, and I supposed all 
was for the best. That evening I strolled into 
the old park. It looked beautiful. There was 
not an ancient mossgrown tree that I did not love 
as an old friend. i Yes,' I said, ' I will sacrifice 
myself; this noble old place shall never pass to 
strangers if 1 can help it. But how are Sophy's 
feelings? Is she also to be sacrificed? Yet will 
it be a sacrifice ? My brother is a finer and 
bigger fellow than I am. Perhaps she will love 
him in time, and all will go well.' While I 
mused in this way I saw her in one of the distant 
walks. How sweet, how beautiful, how inno- 
cent she looked. She was twining some wild 
flowers about her little straw hat, and singing 



104 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

merrily all the while. She does not know that I 
am leaving her, I thought. Alas ! she will be 
sorry when she does. I went to meet her, and 
as gently as I could told her I was going in a 
day or two. She struggled hard with her feel- 
ings, but she fainted in my arms. 

u I went to Oxford and remained there four 
years. I was then, for the first time since my 
departure, invited home. My cousin had grown 
into a beautiful young woman. The moment I 
saw her I knew that she loved me still. She 
had been betrothed to my brother during 
my absence, and I suppose she had not 
thought very seriously about the matter, or 
about poor absent George, but when she saw 
me it was evident that she felt for the 
first time the ordeal through which she must 
pass. My father did not notice, or if he did he 
affected not to do so. However, he took care 
that we should have no interview, for he stuck 
close to me all the while I was there, and in a 
week he sent me on the Grand Tour. My al- 
lowance was liberal, but I would rather have 
stayed at home ; this, however, was not to be, so 
I went. I did all I could to have but one short 
private meeting with my cousin ; but every de- 
vice failed, and I was obliged to leave without 
unburthening my soul of its secret passionate 



EDWARD WORTLET MONTAGU. 105 

love. For I did indeed love her, with all the 
intense feeling of a man, and I struggled hard 
with all my emotions in her presence. My father's 
grave look, however, awed me, and I departed. 
' George,' he said, ' your cousin is dead to you ; 
she is your brother's affianced bride. It would 
be dishonourable in the extreme, if even by a 
look you made that faith to waver which now be- 
longs to another. I have brought you up as a 
gentleman and man of honour. Remember the 
obligations which these sacred words impose, and 
be worthy of them.' So I went my way. 

"Three years passed, during which I heard only 
from my father, and he wrote about everything 
but her of whom I longed most to hear. One 
day I was at Milan admiring the beauty of that 
famous capital. I had sauntered from gallery to 
gallery, from palace to palace, but I could not 
rest. I was wretched and most unhapppy. I 
strolled into the open country ; then a strange 
feeling came over me, and I fell into a species of 
reverie, in which I thought I could see what was 
actually going on at that instant. Have you ever 
had this feeling ? If not you cannot understand 
me. I walked along, but I saw nothing of the 
things before me. I was in England ; I was in 
my father's house. I went into the old parish 
church ; I saw her stand in bridal veil beside the 

F 5 



106 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

altar ; I heard her utter irrevocable vows. I was 
in a magnetic stupor, but everything passed 
vividly, not before my eye indeed, but in my 
mind within. I felt the holy magic of her pre- 
sence, yet I knew that seas and lands divided us ; 
I could perceive the divine effluence that seemed 
to flow from her being into mine ; yet I knew 
that we were separated by thousands of miles. It 
was not a dream, it was not a vision, it was not a 
jealous man's ideal torture ; but it was the strong 
conviction of my soul that at that moment her 
nuptials were being celebrated ; that our hearts 
were one though far apart ; that her soul was 
blended into mine, as mine appeared to be with 
hers ; and that she was probably experiencing the 
very same sort of sensation herself, and though 
corporeally present in the church, yet was she 
spiritually far away in some old Italian haunt 
with him she loved. 

" Yes, the Soul is indeed a Divine thing, and has 
some wondrous faculties, far apart from and 
superior to mere earth. For how happened it 
that it knew all this as vividly as if it saw it take 
place ? Nay, who shall tell me that it saw it not ; 
and that partaking, though distantly, of the 
omnipresenc e and infinity of its Heavenly 
Maker, it cannot, like him, be in many places at 
the same moment ? He would be a bold man who 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 107 

would deny this before me, who have had in my 
own life such powerful testimony of its truth. 
But they who have never experienced such a feel- 
ing cannot understand it, and I can scarcely blame 
them if they are sceptical. I only know that what 
I say is true, and that I felt it with an abiding 
sense of its reality that has never left me. 

" Three months passed, and still I heard no 
tidings from England. I was at Naples one 
night, at the theatre ; the play had already begun, 
and T was rapt in the scene. Suddenly I heard 
a door open — the door of a distant box, and I 
heard it close again. By heaven, I said, it is 
she — my cousin is in the theatre. My heart 
knew it at once; a magnetic, fiery thrill ran 
through it. It came from her and entered into 
me. I dared not look around, for I dreaded to 
see her with her husband. My heart was swollen 
and almost burst. At last I could bear it no 
longer. I turned my eyes from the stage, and 
cast them backwards towards one of the central 
boxes. She was there. My brother Will was 
with her. How beautiful she looked ! She out- 
shone the princesses of the land; but not like 
them was she arrayed in costly pearls. She was 
dressed simply in a white robe. How I loved to 
look upon her. Yet the sight made me unhappy. 
There she was, hopelessly lost to me — the pro- 



108 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

perty of another ; so young, so beautiful, so 
heavenly good, and lost to me for ever. I retired 
into the further corner of my box, and contem- 
plated her face. Her eye was restless ; she 
seemed to me not happy. Methought her mind 
was far away. She looked about in various 
quarters, eagerly, as if hoping to see some one ; 
but recurred again to the stage, and ever with a 
disappointed expression. At length I mustered 
courage to approach her. She was agitated for 
a moment — she grew deadly pale — but it passed 
off, and our greetings were cordial. My brother 
was, as usual, good humoured, and he manifested 
no jealousy. 

" I stayed with them a month. One night as I 
wandered by that glorious bay, and sent my 
thoughts aloft among the moon and stars, then 
shining splendidly in that intensely azure arch, 
I perceived that I was followed. The figure was 
muffled. I was not afraid of the stiletto, for I 
had iDj'ured no man ; but 1 thought it well to be 
on my guard. I stood beside a fallen column, 
and still gazed aloft, occasionally looking at the 
distant figure ; it came nearer and was at length 
beside me. The dark hood was then thrown 
aside ; the stars of heaven then shone upon that 
heavenly face — it was my cousin, my first, my 
last, my only love on earth — alas ! my brother's 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 109 

wife. Upon no fairer, sweeter face or form did 
that moon ever shine, since God commanded it 
to take its place in the firmament, and to give 
brightness to the sons of men. 

" ' George,' she said, ' I have followed you 
here this night, for the first and last time, because 
I see that you have shunned me since we have 
met ; and I can bear this silence no longer. Why 
am I your brother's wife ? Why have you for- 
gotten me ?' 

u I groaned aloud, but could not answer. 

" ' They told me you were married,' she re- 
sumed, ' married to an Italian lady ; and now I 
find that I was deceived. Until this falsehood 
had been urged, I still refused to name a day for 
my marriage; after that I resisted no longer. 
Why should I? He alone whom I loved was 
another's, and I should never again see him. 
George, can you forgive me ?' 

" I flung myself at her feet. 

ci i Oh ! spare me,' I cried. 

" ■ Yes, you do forgive me, my cousin ; but I 
can never forgive myself. Your brother — I accuse 
him not. He is my husband — but only in name. 
I have tried to love him; but I cannot My 
heart is broken in the struggle. Yet a little 
while and it will beat no more. But while it 
does, it beats only for you. Tell me — tell me 



110 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

once, before we part for ever, that you love me 

•tOL' 

" My tears answered for me — tears of blood 

from my heart. 

" l Sophy,' I said, ' I love you more than 
God.' I could say no more. 

a i Now,' she said, ' I am content. We part 
for ever. Kiss me, dear, dearest George ; obey 
my command. Go — and never let us meet again, 
until we meet in heaven above, and shall be no 
more separated by deceit.' 

u I obeyed her. I was passive as a bird in her 
hands. I pressed her to my heart beside that 
silver sea, and then I tore myself away. I never 
again saw her living, but I have wept for nights 

over the cold grave at M , where she sleeps 

her final sleep. She died in three months, but 
my brother soon forgot her, and consoled himself 
with another wealthy bride. I followed her coffin 
home to England in disguise. I watched it until 
it was conveyed to earth ; then I knew that I was 
alone and woe-stricken for ever ; and I cursed my 
fate, and lifted up my tongue even against God. 
I became like Cain, a vagabond and a wanderer. 
I could not bear a settled home ; I shunned the 
daylight; I loathed to look upon the sun. At 
night only I roamed abroad and fed my soul on 
melancholy meditation. In the course of these 



EDWAKD WORTLEY MONTAGU. Ill 

midnight rambles I found myself in a gypsy 
encampment in a distant county. I had money 
in abundance, for our fortunes were now secured, 
and my father atoned to me as far as he could for 
the one great wrong by giving me an ample in- 
come. I shared it with these wild people, and 
became one of themselves. I concealed my name, 
and was adopted into their community, receiving 
the surname which I now bear. From them, 
after a stay of two or three years, I came among 
these, attracted hither by Akiba, with whom I 
had formed an acquaintance among my first gypsy 
friends ; but who left them for some reason, 
and persuaded me to accompany him. Since 
then we have lived like brothers, and in his com- 
pany I have forgotten or have striven to forget 
the Past. He has taught me many things— more 
indeed than all the books I ever read have taught ; 
and I believe his friendship for me is sincere. 
That we both regard you, I need not say, and 
since you have made us acquainted with your 
story, our regard has increased. But you must 
not abide with us much longer. It is a species of 
deception. You must not do it. Besides, you 
are but beginning life, and you have fair pro- 
spects. I, on the contrary, am an old, and 
broken-hearted man. When you have been tried 
like me, then you may seclude yourself for ever 



112 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

from the busy world — but not till then Mean- 
while, rely implicitly on us, and prepare to remove 
Francesca, for in this place is no longer a safe 
abiding for her. This is the counsel of your 
friend, who, when he loses you, will lose a part 
of himself; but who would not be your friend if 
he counselled otherwise." 

I strove to dissuade Manasam from this view 
of my affairs, but in vain. He and the Indian it 
seemed had talked them over, and they had both 
decided that I must depart soon. Money, as 
much as I required, was to be at my disposal, and 
everything that friendly wisdom could suggest 
was prepared for my departure — but as to the 
departure itself they were inflexible. I was 
scarcely pleased with this symbol of their friend- 
ship ; but where I could not win, I had learned 
not to murmur, and I hoped to gain time, and 
trusted to the chapter of accidents. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 113 



CHAPTER XXI. 



" Then entered Satan into Judas, surnamed Iscariot, being of 
the number of the Twelve, and he went his way, and communed 
with the Chief Priests and Captains how he might betray Him 
unto them. And they were glad, and commanded to give him 



money." 



Dom Balthazar had now abided with us nearly 
three months. During the whole of this period, 
with the exception, perhaps, of the first week I 
passed at Norwood, I felt uneasy, restless, agitated 
by a dim uncertain fear of an impending danger. 
Wherever I went his eye was upon me. He 
seemed to watch my every movement. I could 
have no interview with Francesca, nor was it 
possible for me to have. Manasam was gone 
away to a distant part of the country ; Akiba was 
laid up with illness; the journey to Norwood 



114 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

having proved too much for one of his advanced 
years. Everything seemed to conspire against 
me. I knew not what was the matter — yet was 
I sure that something evil was lowering above my 
head. Meanwhile Dom Balthazar was swaggering 
about in his usual style ; he did not seek to come 
into any open collision with me. We both shunned 
each other as if by mutual consent — yet were 
both perpetually thrown together and clashing in 
some odd, unaccountable way, that between 
friends would have been awkward, but between 
sworn enemies like us, was particularly disagree- 
able. There was a mocking sneer about his lip 
whenever he saw me. But what could I do ? He 
could have crushed me like a bird or a smelt, 
within his iron grasp — his thews and muscles 
were like cords of steel, and his resolution was 
equal to his strength. 

He seemed to have no occupation. He lived 
among the tribe like an independent nobleman. 
He had plenty of gold, which he exhibited with a 
careless improvidence; he had but to put his 
hand in his pocket, and it immediately appeared 
laden with guineas. These he distributed 
freely among the Gitanos — as freely indeed, 
as if his resources were inexhaustible. Yet 
it was not this lavish profusion so much as 
some mysterious influence about him, which 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 115 

seemed to consolidate his power. Despite his 
roughness, blasphemy, contempt of all things 
sacred and divine ; his mockery of the women, 
and his assumption that they were all detestable, 
and the audacious arrogance with which he re- 
counted his own personal admixture among the 
most degrading and infamous exploits, all of 
which would have been quite enough to destroy 
any ordinary adventurer, and certainly tended to 
make him odious to all the gypsies, there was an 
indefinable something about him which spoke of 
force, and the consciousness of an importance 
among his people which produced its effect upon 
the mind ; and the Queen herself and her chief 
councillors acknowledged his sway, or at all 
events, did not disdain to play a subordinate part 
while he was present. He issued commands 
and they were obeyed ; he advised measures and 
they were adopted ; he prescribed routes and 
they were followed; he organised expeditions 
and they were carried out. In a word he seemed 
suddenly to have usurped the part of a prime 
minister, nor was his adoption of the character 
disputed or denied. 

All this was particularly odious to me. I knew 
the frailty of my hold on these people ; my tenure 
in fact depended more on their caprice than on 
any other basis. I had now lived for two years 



116 .EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 

with them, during which I had certainly made 
many friends, but the Calero character is fickle 
in the extreme ; the revolutions of a second 
overset it from its whole foundation. Indians 
in descent, they have all the qualities of that 
mercurial race ; easily impressible by the fancy 
of the moment, they will be ready to die for you 
to-day, and destroy you to-morrow, just as you 
happen to appear to their excitable imaginations. 
I was well aware that I had done nothing for 
these people in return for the amount of hospit- 
able kindness which they had shewn to me ; they 
had fed and clothed me for a long time ; nor did 
there seem the remotest possibility that I should 
be ever able to remunerate them. They had 
sheltered me when I was a houseless wanderer. 
All fealty was due to me from them. I was 
conscious of the most ardent desire to prove 
my gratitude, and display my loyalty ; but what 
availed the gratitude and loyalty of a stripling of 
seventeen, if either or both were to be balanced 
against the strength of gold, or the mysterious 
influence of a man like Dora Balthazar, who 
evidently had immense resources at his command, 
had a profound and horrible antipathy to myself, 
and was by no means likely to falter in gratify- 
ing it by any scruples of conscience, or suggc 
tions of fear ? 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 11? 

But whence originated this fiery hate which it 
was now obvious raged in both our hearts ? This, 
reader ! is one of the mysteries of mankind 
which never have been, and never can be solved, 
unless by the doctrine of our pre-existence 
in some former condition of being, before we 
breathed the air of earth. For how else can that 
dread hostility which at the first view exists 
between two men, arise and be explained, except 
on the supposition that they were deadly foes in 
some other sphere of existence ? I go into a 
theatre, or drawing-room, whose carpet I have 
never crossed until this night ; I see a man or 
woman there whom I never saw before to the best 
of my belief. We look on each other, and vivid 
hate is seen in the eyes of each; a cold chill 
creeps over the frame; some nerve within the 
heart seems to quiver ; a nameless weight and 
oppression, a feeling of disgust, or fear, or 
antipathy arises between us; each views the 
other with scorn or with an icy glare that fills one 
for the moment with a tormenting sensation. 
This cannot be mere accident ; it must be some- 
thing more than want of harmony ; neither does 
it always arise from a mutual repulsion ; I have 
myself been seized by this feeling against a man 
who exhibited no similar dislike to myself; I 
have myself been an object of virulent hatred and 



118 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

persecution by persons to whom I had no distaste 
at all, whom I was not conscious of having 
offended, and whom I really would not iDJure, 
even though the most favourable opportunity for 
doing so were presented to my very hand. 

How then can it be rationally explained ? In 
no way except as my Gooroo explained it — we 
were foes in a former life ; we lived and hated ; 
and one of us probably became the victim of the 
other. I know a man at this present moment, 
who stands high in the world, a fine scholar, a 
civil gentleman, and so forth — yet I never by 
accident find myself in his presence without feel- 
ing satisfied that he once deprived me of life. 
His company becomes odious, hateful, fearful to 
me ; my blood runs cold as ice from brain to heel ; 
I have the idea all through of blood, blood, blood ; 
of fierce tusks or claws ; of something ferocious, 
savage and sanguinary. My flesh creeps ; my 
blood curdles ; if I were to be beside that man 
for an hour, I should swoon; if I were to be near 
him for a month, I should die. This is not mere 
antipathy, for I have none towards him. I have 
laboured hard to divest myself of the feeling; I 
have accosted him in friendly spirit — but all is 
useless. I never can get over this fixed idea ; or 
fail to associate him with death in my own miad. 
J robablv it may be said, he is destined to murder 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 119 

me ; and perhaps this would be a fair answer to 
my argument, while we both live. I can only 
remark, however, that at present there seems no 
possible chance of such a contingency ; it seems, 
in sooth, the most unlikely event that could occur. 
But whether I have at one time been his victim, 
or whether he is destined at some future period 
to destroy me, I never can get rid of the strong 
and powerful idea that he has revelled in my 
blood, and drank it hot as it flowed out of my 
heart. And I believe he has. 

This, however, was not precisely the feeling 
which I entertained towards Dom Balthazar. 
Towards him there was fierce and burning hatred ; 
but no fear mingled with my sensation. On the 
contrary, while I detested, I felt myself in spirit 
at least his master. As boy to man, I was of 
course no match for him ; he could have crushed 
me at a blow ; but as spirit marshalled against 
spirit, I felt that mine was the superior, and that 
I either conquered him in some other place, or 
would eventually do so here. Even in his 
sternest moods, and when his hard eye was fixed 
on me with a concentrated glare like that of 
Medusa, I confronted him with an unquailing 
gaze, and stared him down ; his shaggy lashes 
were lowered, and his dark glance was arrested, 



120 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

as if in fear ; he could not bear my fixed and lion 
look. At these periods I could see that he shook 
all over ; but whether with rancour or apprehen- 
sion, I could not of course guess. But it in- 
variably happened that after a conflict of this 
kind, he sought to tempt me into open quarrel, 
by taunts, or hints, or shrugs, or insinuations of 
my falsehood, cowardice, or treachery. I bore all, 
however, for it would have been insanity to have 
entered into a fray with this strong and deadly 
man, who, if he failed in bodily vigour— a most 
unlikely chance — would not have scrupled to 
resort to one of his Spanish arguments with the 
dagger, and would have deprived me of life with 
no more scruple than a cat exhibits to an unhappy 
mouse. And if so taken off, what motive could 
there be in any one of the tribe to exert them- 
selves to bring a brother to justice for the sake 
of a wandering stranger like myself? 

" Zala-Mayna," said he to me, one day, " why 
do you linger here among these people ? you are 
not of their blood ; you never can be reconciled 
wholly to their customs. You are young, bold, 
brave, handsome; why chain yourself down to 
the career of a vagabond, when you might be a 
soldier and a hero?" 

" Dom Balthazar," I answered, " when I am 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 121 

sure that you take sufficient interest in my wel- 
fare to justify you in questioning me, then I will 
answer you, but not till then." 

His eye quailed; his lip quivered; his liver 
grew white within him. But he affected then to 
be in a most companionable mood. 

" Nay," said he, " I know not why you should 
repel me, or why you should suspect that any but 
a friendly feeling has prompted my question. 
You are young. I am a man who has travelled 
much, observed much, and suffered much. I have 
traversed nearly the whole habitable earth, and 
can put you in the way of great adventure. I 
see that this is your desire ; more than that, it is 
your destiny ; you cannot avoid ; you must fulfil 
it. Why, then, should you spurn a man who 
could put you in the way of achieving that very 
end for which Fate has marked you ?" 

" And what may that be, most excellent Dom 
Balthazar ? stabbing negroes in the Pyrenees ? 
Keeping guard at Ahlen ? carrying messages to 
devil-kings ? selling poisons to unfaithful wives ? 
None of these will suit me." 

" No," he said, u not these, nor such as these. 
In the vast deserts of Arabia there are tribes who 
make the bravest to be their king. Follow me, 
and I will lead you to tbem ; with your know- 
ledge and your right arm, you may be a second 

vol. ii. a 



122 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

Ahmed, at the head of a new faith, and extend- 
ing your conquering banner from Stamboul to 
Rome or London. Again, there are princes in 
India who require the arts, the sciences, the skill 
of Europe, and will repay their owner with king- 
doms and with peoples. All these are yours, or 
may be yours — what hinders Zala-Mayna from 
wearing the crown of Aureng Zebe, or following in 
the triumphant path of Tamerlane, or Chengiz ?" 

" I answer your question by putting another — 
what hinders you from doing all these fine things, 
which you kindly reserve for me ?" 

" Many obstacles interpose — the first and 
greatest is my age. I am no longer young like 
you. I am fifty — what man of fifty could achieve 
what I have marked out unless he had passed his 
youth in laying the foundation for it ? Again, I 
am not learned as you are ; and it is now too late 
for me to go to school. Finally, I am no longer 
ambitious. I have gained all I need ; and my 
years require repose. But you have a future 
before you. All mine is in the Past." 

" Nevertheless, Dom Balthazar, I am content, 
and will not seek my fortune in the way you point 
out. My fortune is with — " 

I was about to add, " Francesca," but I stopped 
myself in time. I had never breathed her name 
to this villain. It would have beeu a sacrilege. 



EDWARD WORTLEf MONTAGU. 123 

N Ah," said he, u I know what you would say 
— hut you are wrong, you will fail. Poor youth — 
you are, indeed, infatuated." And he left me 
with a scornful sneer, more burning than Alecto's 
torch unto my heart. 

Oh ! how I wished for wings to bear her off 
from this hateful bully's presence; from his 
machinations against both ; for now I felt con- 
vinced that he was devising evil ; and how I 
longed to possess some magic art whereby I 
could dive into his heart, detect his secret, what- 
ever it was, and meet him with his own artifices. 
Lose her ! lose my Francesca ! the very thought 
was death. But how secure her ? I was alone 
helpless, a boy, a beggar, living almost on the 
alms of the Gitanos. I was in the centre of a 
tribe with fierce passions, watched, probably, by 
a hundred eyes, each quick and keen as that of 
a serpent ; for now it flashed on my mind like 
lightning that of late wherever I had been, I 
always saw a gypsy boy or girl loitering near; 
sometimes peering into the grass, sometimes 
rifling the bushes, sometimes lingering about the 
hedges, as if in search of birds' nests. I had not 
noticed it before, but now it ran through my 
whole being like an illuminating flood. 

M Yes," 1 cried, " doubtless there is truth in 
the man's words. Manasam is away ; Akiba is 

G 2 



124 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

ill, experimented upon, doubtless, by some of 
Balthazar's potions. Why suffers the old man 
now for a whole month ? Such a thing never 
happened before. 1 must watch ; I must spy. I 
must discover what is going on, or I am un- 
done." 

I went home to my tent, I flung myself on my bed, 
dressed as I was, but I could not sleep ; I was rest- 
less ; I turned from side to side ; my brain worked 
incessantly, it went round and round like a revolv- 
ing water wheel ; an uneasy passion convulsed 
me ; in vain I closed my eyes and sought repose ; 
in vain I tried to lull my quick-growing thoughts. 
I seemed to lie in a bed of torture ; sleep was 
wholly banished from my lids. The hours marched 
on ; all was still ; the watch dogs were asleep ; 
I could only hear the neigh of our horses as they 
communicated at intervals together. Something 
evil is being devised, I thought ; this restlessness 
is supernatural. Let me explore it. I rose and 
peeped out of my tent. The night was pitch dark. 
I could not trace the outline of the Downs as they 
mingled with the ebon sky, but saw a light 
penetrating through a chink ; 1 crept softly out 
on my nice and hands in the direction from which 
the gleam shone. Not a sound was heard save 
the twitter of a bird occasionally in the thicket. 
One of our dogs, startled from his sleep, came 



EDWAKD WORTLET MONTAGU. 125 

near me and smelled at me. I stilled him with 
my hand; he knew my touch. I bowed him 
down to the ground, and he moved not; he 
seemed to understand that I wished to be un- 
observed ; he made no sign, but I could see he 
watched me with anxious eyes. Over the damp 
grass I crept still; I could hear my beating 
heart. My thoughts were wound up to a point, 
and now I knew the tent from which the light 
flashed. It was that appropriated to Dom 
Balthazar. I heard the sounds of conversation. 
There were evidently more than two within. I 
glided on and on until I was hidden beneath its 
side, burning with restless curiosity to learn my 
fate, for I felt that it was now at stake. Gradually 
I came nearer and nearer, until I was close to 
the place. I hid myself at the back of the tent. 
To look within was, of course, out of the ques- 
tion ; but in a moment I knew all the voices. I 
had no need to learn more. Dom Balthazar was 
there, the Gypsy QueeD, and Giacomo. These con- 
stituted the three great powers of our community. 
Dom Balthazar was speaking when I got near. 

" Thus it is," said he, " my brother, this is a 
Busne — in our tents is not his home ; he must 
abide there no longer. In a week I shall find 
out his birth, his place, and why he is among us. 
The watch which you have just given me will be 



126 EDWARD WOBTLEY MONTAGU. 

a clue to all. The symbol of the eagle is merely 
the coat of arms of his family ; for these ^entilei 
think it fine to say they are descended from birds 
and beasts. They worship not idols of wood 
or stone. So they swear, and so, I suppose, they 
think ; but their great ones worship images of 
this kind more truly than they worship their God ; 
they make them to be their religion, for those 
are emblems of rank and power, which are their 
only creed. They would sooner abandon all than 
relinquish these baubles ; sons of devils ! yet thus 
they seek to cheat their grand progenitor. I have 
said it — he must go." 

"But our faith is pledged to him." said 
Giaconio, " he hath become as one of ourselves. 
He hath broken our bread, hath learned our 
language, hath slept in our tents, hath sworn and 
kept fealty to us." 

" What of that? It was not with him ye made 
a league, but another wholly different, whom ye 
supposed him to be. He hath come here under 
a mask. The mask is off, and ye see he is an 
impostor. What further have ye to do with 
him ?" 

'* But my heart clings to him nevertheless," 
says the Gypsy Queen ; " he is a good youth, and 
hath behaved well." 

" It will be worth gold to us, " answered 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 127 

Balthazar ; " if, as I suppose, his parents are 
people of condition, they will give a large sum for 
his recovery." 

The eyes of all three sparkled at this. I could 
not see them, indeed, but my heart instinctively 
felt it. Place gold before a gypsy, and he is 
half mad. Mention the accursed thing, and all 
other considerations vanish. There was silence 
for some minutes, as if each was ruminating over 
the luxurious idea which the bare name had 
called up. 

The Gypsy Queen first resumed — 
" He is a Busne, doubtless," she said, " and be 
hath lived on our people now for two years. 
Gold will only repay us ; besides, his mother 
will be glad. I suppose she weeps for his loss. 
She will give gold in many a purse for his re- 
covery." 

I could not help smiling bitterly at this, " His 
mother will be glad." The charming serpent — - 
no, seraph — but both mean the same thing in 
the Hebrew. I knew how glad she would be. 
She would be glad, no doubt, to send me back to 
my school torturers ; to remove away for ever the 
living witness of her folly. 

" Well," said Giacomo, " there will be gold — 
but if not, he shall stay. I will depend upon his 



128 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

faith. Besides, if he goes, what becomes of 
her?" 

" Of whom quotha ?" asked Balthazar. 

" Nay, my brother, thou surely must know 
this. I speak of Francesca, his betrothed 
bride." 

" But she also is a Busne. She also must 

go-" 

The Gypsy Queen started ; she was evidently 

excited by the threat. The little girl had twined 

herself around that rugged heart. 

" Francesca must not go," she said. 

" She shall," simply answered Dom Balthazar. 
There was a toue of decision about this short 
speech which cut through my heart. I suppose 
it had its effect also on both his companions ; for 
neither contradicted Balthazar. 

" She cannot get her living like the true 
Calore," he said; "she cannot be a burden to us, 
and to our children. We eat not the bread of 
idleness — why should she? — the daughter of a 
Busne — of a Gentile — of a dog ? Besides, she 
also is worth gold." 

u What mean you, Dom Balthazar ?" said 
both. 

Their eager curiosity affrighted me. It was an 
evil omen. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 129 

u There are ten hundred pieces of red gold for 
him that will deliver her over to a man who 
wants her. He is not safe while she is free. 
He will do her no harm — only send her to Spain 
to be a nun, I think. Will the Calore say unto 
the man of ten hundred pieces, ' Begone — we 
want thee not. We are rich.' " 

rt But who is this man ?" asked Giacomo. 

" He is her uncle," answered Dom Balthazar. 
" I know him ; he sent me here. The gold is 
ready when the girl is his." 

A long and dreadful pause followed. My fate 
was now in the balance. I felt like a criminal 
who awaits the verdict that is to set him free 
once again in the bright open air, or to send him 
to the gallows with bolt and gyve. I could 
count the pulses of my heart. I could number 
the throbbings of my temples ; it seemed an age. 
At length Giacomo spoke. 

" Well," said he, " Dom Balthazar, with you 
be it. Bring the purses ; the Busne girl may 
go. I suppose the boy will soon follow her. 
Farewell," and they rose as if to separate. I 
retreated rapidly. I got into my tent. I flung 
myself on my bed. Suddenly I heard a noise — 
a footstep, as if one entered. I closed my eyes ; 
I breathed heavily. The person stooped — lis- 
tened ; he brought his horrid eyes near mine. I 

g 5 



130 EDWARD WOBTLEY MONTAGU. 

knew by instinct it was he — the accursed fiend 
Balthazar. But I moved not. The thought oc- 
curred, "Is he going to murder me in my sleep?" 
Well — I must risk it. I did not move. He 
muttered, " It is right," and stole away. 

The next day, Dom Balthazar departed. I 
knew where he was gone — to London to make 
enquiries. I went into the town and bought a 
map of the roads. No time was to be lost ; every 
nerve and muscle I had was braced up for the 
occasion of this great crisis. I knew that if I 
faltered now I was undone. If I were separated 
from Francesca, or she from me, what was to 
b ecome of her ? She would be handed over to 
the uncle; — what guarantee was there that he 
would not destroy her? He had already killed 
her parents. Why should he spare the child? I 
did not believe one word of the convent in Spain, 
or the tale that she was to be made a nun. How 
was he more safe with her among the priests 
than with the gypsies? The priests were the 
Soldiers of the Vatican. Here was the heiress 
of a great estate, and an ancient peerage in their 
hands. What might they not accomplish if 
they restored her to both ? First of all, her own 
devotion to their cause, — her wealth, her name, 
her influence, her family connections, no doubt 
powerful. This would be a great deal. Secondly, 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 131 

and this would, perhaps, weigh more with them, 
the renown through Europe of having done a 
transcendent piece of justice. This story, there- 
fore, was evidently . nonsense. It could impose 
but on fools. Onlv her death could make him 
secure — and who could doubt that any scruple of 
conscience would interfere to stay him ? 

I bought my map, and carefully studied it. I 
made myself a thorough master of the roads to 
London. Upon this point, therefore, I was satis- 
fied. But how communicate with Francesca? 
She was securely guarded ; all intercourse be- 
tween us seemed prohibited. Nothing, it is true, 
had been either said or done, which could be 
considered a denial of access. Nevertheless, 
there seemed a moral chain about us both which 
we could not break. She was, in fact watched, 
no doubt as vigilantly as I myself was watched. 
Well, I said, I shall outwatch the watcher. She 
must be saved, or I will perish. I knew she had 
unbounded faith in me. I knew that with one 
word she would follow me all over the earth. No 
persuasion, no tedious argument would be needed 
could I only once approach her. But she lay in 
the tent of the Queen gypsy, and that was always 
carefully guarded. Here she was confined night 
and day. What was to be done ? Time pressed. 
Balthazar would return. All hope would then 



132 EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 

be ended. I should probably be seized, gagged, 
and taken away — home, or to a ship, or I knew 
not whither. I watched, and watched, and still 
I watched, but no communication could I make. 
I could not send her the slightest token from my 
hand. 

Five nights thus passed. My agony during 
all this time I never shall forget. I dreaded the 
lapse of every hour lest it should bring back 
Dom Balthazar. The sixth sunset came, and with 
it departed nearly all my hopes. " To-night," I 
said, " or never." I had marked out two of the 
best horses in the encampment. They were 
strong, docile, and swift. They knew me well. 
I had often fed them, they had licked my hands, 
they had come to me for bread, which was never 
refused. I took care that they should remain 
idle all the week. This required a little manage- 
ment, but none suspected my design. I procured 
some clothes, a basket of food, a lantern, and 
made free with a pair of double-barrelled pistols 
which were in Manasam's tent. These I loaded. 
I had a couple of daggers also, and a large horse- 
man's cloak. 1 got some quick poison, which I 
wrapped up carefully in some pieces of meat, and 
with these I proceeded towards the tent of the 
Gypsy Queen, about midnight. The horses I led 
gently close by, and tethered them to a bush ; the 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 133 

pack saddles were on their backs. On my arm I 
bore the horseman's cloak loose, and Manasam's 
pistols were in my belt. The dogs knew me, 
they barked not ; bat had I sought to enter the 
tent they would have torn me in pieces. I flung 
them the meat ; they swallowed it, and in a few 
moments lay lifeless. Then I stole into the tent. 
I knew where Francesca slept. I crept noise- 
lessly to where she slept. I could perceive by 
her breathing that she was not asleep — she wept 
I sighed into her ear, " Francesca, T am here ; I 
am come to save you from ruin — death. Get up 
quickly, and follow me. There is not a moment 
to be lost." I think she gave a slight scream, 
but she knew my voice. A harsh murmur was 
heard ; some one came from another part of the 
tent. I was suddenly grappled by the throat. 
Then exerting all my strength I flung off the 
Gypsy Queen, for it was she, and cried out, 
'* Quick, quick, Francesca, or we are undone. 
With me life and love — with them your uncle and 
death." I flung the cloak round her, she clung 
to me. A terrific scream was heard. It was 
from the Gypsy Queen. u Treason," she cried, 
M treason ! Rescue 'ere it be too late." She 
pulled a large bell, which was at the entrance of 
her tent, and which I had never seen before. 
The sound rang through my ears like a death 



134 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

knell. From all sides a confused murmur was 
heard. I heard loud and threatening voices — 
tones that gurgled blood. Again she grappled 
me ; again I flung her off, and again she screamed. 
"Treason, treason; Zala-Mayna murders me." 
The shouts of the people increased, they were all 
but on me. I bore Francesca, who had fainted, 
in my arms away into the open air ; the cold air 
revived her. I placed her on one of the horses, 
and mounted the other myself. All tins happened 
in one minute — quicker far than I have described 
it. The gypsies surrounded us — they were half 
naked and variously armed. Luckily the dark- 
ness was in my favour. None of them had 
brought a light ; the hurry and confusion sus- 
pended their faculties. I struck the horses 
fiercely; they leaped and trampled down the 
crowd. A terrible howl arose — a shout of pain, 
anger, madness, and revenge. Suddenly three or 
four of the gypsies mounted horses and began to 
pursue us. Away along the high road we sped, 
the stars glittered on the sleeping ocean; all 
seemed peace and beauty ; but the holy silence of 
the night was broken by curses and terrible 
threats. We soon out-distanced our pursuers, 
but we heard their following footsteps for a long 
time. We slackened our pace. A solitary horse- 
man rode leisurely towards us. He seemed a 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 135 

spectre. My heart felt a foreboding; I drew 
forth a pistol, for never did I disregard that silent 
monitor, which is a divine voice within us. As 
he came near, the moon came from behind a cloud, 
and disclosed the dark hellish features of Dom 
Balthazar. We both saw each other at the same 
instant of time. He turned white with rage and 
astonishment. He put his hand into his breast 
as if feeling for a weapon, and drew forth a dag 
ger. He leaped his horse upon me ; but I avoided 
him. As I passed he aimed at my breast, but 
missed his stroke. He then turned to Francesca ; 
she was close behind me. He interposed. I 
called out to her " Jump !" She struck her horse 
a quick blow, and he also passed the steed of 
Dom Balthazar. I could see the devil quiver in 
his face. He was a picture of all the hate of 
hell concentrated into one small compass. We 
passed on rapidly, but were pursued rapidly. He 
rode a powerful steed, and soon began to gain 
upon us. Francesca trembled ; I almost despaired 
of escape. His horse snorted on our shoulders. 
Suddenly I whirled round. I could -have shot 
him dead that moment, but 1 knew it was need- 
less, I will not shed blood, I thought, now ; if 
I kill him I shall be pursued as a murderer and 
taken. What will then become of Francesca? 
This reasoning seems the result of cool and pro- 



136 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

found calculation. But it was the instinctive 
wisdom of the instant. It was the thought of 
less than half a second. As he was close upon 
me, evidently wondering why I had ceased to 
gallop, I fired and his horse fell dead. The bullet 
had entered his brain. Dom Balthazar tumbled 
heavily to the ground. I heard him groan. We 
rode on all night, and the next were in London. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 137 



CHAPTER XXII. 



"Behold as wild asses in the desert, go they forth to their work, 
rising betimes for a prey ; the wilderness yieldeth food for them, 
and for their children. ***** And as for thee, thou shalt 
be as one of the fools in Israel." 



London, thou vast and terrible desert, how 
shall I describe thee ? — to the duke rolling in 
wealth a Paradise — to the pauper empty of purse, 
a wilderness more blank than El Sahara. Here 
the extremes of riches and poverty meet ; here 
they jostle every moment. In one room I see 
gold flung about like ditch water ; that young 
spendthrift has just succeeded to the accumulation 
of fifty years of fraud and meanness, and depra- 
vity. He has surrounded himself with every 
incentive to vice; loose women, jockeys, prize 



138 EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 

fighters, tailors and decorators. He drinks up 
the most expensive wines ; he feeds only on the 
most costly dishes. Yet is he at he.^rt one of the 
dirtiest and most despicable fellows that poisons 
the atmosphere he breathes. His soul is as small 
as that of a toad ; his heart as base and sneaking 
as that of a polecat. Fortune seems to have filled 
his pockets with her favours, as if in derision of 
those who think gold the chief blessing of mortals. 
He can scarcely write his name ; he is almost 
unable to read the most ordinary volume ; he is 
deplorably ignorant of all things, but that gold 
is power, and that money is luxi; He knows 

only the vilest wretches — for no others will con- 
taminate themselves by contact with a fellow who 
has no recommendation but his estate — and seeing 
in them habitual baseness and subserviency, he 
thinks all mankind are of the same mould ; and 
he disbelieves in virtue, because he has never 
observed it in his own select society. If you read 
his mind, you will be amazed to find it all a blank 
— nor is the page white, as most blank pages are ; 
but it is all dirt and filth, and smuttiness. Yet 
he spends ten thousand yearly in ordure; and 
London is the home for him. Could it but last 
for ever, how glorious would his condition be. 

Come now with me into the opposite end of 
London. Let us climb up this narrow flight of 



EDWAKD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 139 

stairs, which creaks at every step. The smell is 
dreadful ; put thy kerchief to thy nose, and let 
it be well perfumed, or I shall never get thee 
to the garret Let us knock and enter. A 
miserable pallet is on the floor ; a few books are 
strewed about, there is a dying ember in the fire ; 
the rain and cold outside pierce through these 
crazy walls of misery. The air is confined ; the 
window must not be opened, or the east wind 
will penetrate with still greater force, and kill 
the occupants. Alas ! they are already half dead 
with every privation. These people have kuown 
want for years ; they are dying of starvation and 
blood-poisoning, and heart sickness. The man 
is a scholar, a critic, perhaps a poet filled with 
the finest spirit of genius. He shone at his 
university ; the greatest triumphs were predicted 
for him. He came to London, and here he is. 
He is the miserable drudge of booksellers. He 
can get no honest employment ; he is obliged to 
take up with the meanest. He is a bookseller's 
hack. He goes through every phase of wretched- 
ness. Oh ! that his father had but apprenticed 
him to a trade — had made him a shoe-black, or a 
sweep. His life would have been happier than it 
is now. He sits late into the night and writes a 
piece. He passes the whole of the following day 
in hawking it from shop to shop. In some he 



140 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

meets with ribaldry, in others savage rudeness, 
in all contempt. One of those guineas which 
yonder squire is now flinging in handfuls to 
Mother H. would make him and his wife happy 
for a week. But this good luck is denied him. 
He crawls home at night, miserable, heartbroken, 
cowardly, scorning himself and life, and praying 
for the hand of death to release him from life and 
London. Thank heaven it will soon come, and 
he shall beg from booksellers no more. 

Such were my reflections after two or three 
months' residence in London, and while I was yet 
a sort of outcast. I felt their bitterness then, and 
I recognize their truth still. But let me go 
back. 

When I arrived in London, I rode straight to 
an old fashioned inn enough — the Tabard, in 
Southwark. I delivered over my Francesca to 
the landlady, who behaved with as much kindness 
as usually belongs to a landlady in an inn ; and 
after seeing our horses stabled, we supped and 
separated for the night. Our hostess suspected, 
and half hinted our elopement, and we did not 
deny it. Of what use could it be to do so ? This 
interested her in our welfare, — all women like to 
be mixed up in an intrigue. Next day I sold the 
horses. They were honestly worth ten guineas 
each, but I got only three guineas for the two. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 141 

The landlord introduced me to a very pious 
dealer, and the very pious dealer was so con- 
scientious that he would not bid for them himself 
without consulting his foreman ; and the foreman 
thought them such wretched animals, that he 
advised iiis master to have nothing to do with 
them, lest they should die on his hands before 
the week was over : and I was half persuaded 
myself that what they said was true, and should 
have probably given them away as it is said for a 
song, had not the landlord again good-naturedly 
pressed the matter on the dealer, and the bargain 
was at length made, greatly to my satisfaction, and 
that of my worthy landlord too 3 whom I treated 
with a bottle of wine on the occasion. But my 
landlord's good nature did not end here, for he was 
so apprehensive that his friend the dealer would 
lose by the transaction, that he bought the horses 
back again from him ; and I heard him a few 
days after bargaining with an old farmer, and 
saw him get thirty golden guineas for the pair 
that had been sold for three. This little trans- 
action rather opened my eyes to London customs ; 
and I began to think that the gypsies after all, 
were not the only people who earned a question- 
able livelihood. Well, I have since seen man- 
kind iu all countries and under all characters, 
and I am not much disposed to alter my opinion. 



142 EDWAED WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

But methinks I hear someone say, " Master 
Wortley Montagu, art thou thyself so free from 
all blame in this transaction? What right hadst 
thou to sell the horses of the gypsies ? Were 
they not in fact stolen ware ? and wert not thou 
at this very moment liable to be hanged for 
felony?" I admit I was. I half wish I had 
been. I should have escaped many sorrows, and 
shed a novel lustre on our genealogical tree. But 
I reconciled the theft to my conscience in this 
way ; and that same conscience of ours is a mar- 
vellous casuist. No Jesuit was ever more dex- 
trous. In the first place it was essential to my 
own safety — and this I think high politicians and 
statesmen always put forth as an unanswerable 
argument for any departure from the straight 
line of morals. In the second, I had left a gold 
watch in the gypsies' hands, which was worth 
sixty guineas if it was worth sixpence — and this 
doctrine of quid pro quo ought, I think, to satisfy 
the souls of all who have read (i Father Sanchez," 
and the u Seraphic Thomas Aquinas," on cases 
of this nature. In the third place, I resolved, 
the moment I had got any money, to repay the 
gypsies for their steeds — and this I considered 
then not only conclusive proof of my perfect 
honesty, but also have found since that it is an 
answer sanctioned by the universal practise of 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 143 

mankind — except indeed in those rascally places, 
courts of law, where I once saw a very honest 
gentleman sentenced to be hanged, simply for 
borrowing a diamond ring from a jeweller, which 
he protested solemnly to both judge and jury he 
intended to pay for when he could. And I have 
no doubt he did — only that as the time of pay- 
ment was to be left to his own honour, it would 
probably have been deferred longer than con- 
venient. Lastly, I confess I am now sincerely 
ashamed of the transaction ; and though I re- 
mitted a large sum of money to Manasam some 
years after, which was more than ten times the 
value of the horses, the pistols and all the other 
pillage with which 1 had made off, and though 
the said sum was carefully by him distributed 
among those to whom it of right belonged, still I 
am by no means easy about the conveyance, and 
I am in truth very sorry for it. But let it pass. 
It is one of those errors in a man's life which we 
all wish blotted out, and from which I fear few of 
us are free. 

My best course would have been to let the 
horses loose when they served my turn, and to 
have starved on — but even then I very much 
doubt whether their unerring instinct would have 
conducted them safely home — for there were a 
good many horse-stealers at that time as well as 



144 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

myself on the road, and probably they had as 
little strength of virtue to support them against 
temptation as the grandson of His Grace the 
Duke of Kingston. But I did one good act the 
same week — I married Francesca. According to 
all rule, I was a fool to do so, for she was entirely 
in my power. But I think it is, on the whole, 
better to play the fool than the knave in these 
matters. My conscience is rather clearer than 
it would have been had 1 deceived and cast her 
off. Faith ! — I have often since suspected I was 
not of noble blood at all ; for this proceeding was 
against all tradition, and all hereditary cus- 
toms. I never before knew or heard of a duke's 
descendant playing the ass in that way. 

And now arose the grand question, how was I 
to live ? how was I to support a wife ? An inter- 
rogation of a very practical character, which I 
doubt not has often startled many. My landlord 
soon got rid of me ; when my three guineas were 
gone, and he was quite certain that no more re- 
mained, he turned us both out of the Tabard, and 
bid us go to the deuce. But his wife left us 
half-a-guinea, which gave us courage to face a 
new lodging. This was modest enough. For 
half-a-crown a week, I rented an attic, and began 
to look my prospects in the face. I was a good 
scholar ; better I was convinced than most men 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 145 

who have an University education. I wrote some 
nonsense, and to my amazement, got a guinea for 
it. I frequented the coffee houses, and picked up 
a chance sort of acquaintance with wits and scrib- 
blers, and philosophers ; and they put me in the 
way of employment as a translator at the rate of 
a guinea, or a guinea and a half for every printed 
sheet of sixteen pages. This was killing work ; 
but it enabled me to live. I passed under the 
name of Smith-^and a Smith indeed I was, for I 
was fabricating bread out of my own brains. 
George Sale was then translating the " Koran," 
which he published about two years afterwards. 
What I had learned from my Gooroo, Akiba, was 
now called into play. I think I gave him some 
useful information. At all events, he was pleased 
more than once to tell me so ; and out of his 
scanty earnings as a compiler of the " Universal 
History," he often gave me a guinea, and sub- 
sequently engaged me as a contributor to its pages. 
He was a well-looking man ; and though a lawyer, 
honest. He often invited myself and Francesca 
to his house in burrey Street, where we became 
acquainted with his wife and family, and I sadly 
lamented his death, which took place in 1736. 
Here I met another singular character — George 
Psalmannazar — the author of the History of 
Formosa. This was not his real name ; but after 
vol. ii. H 



146 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

the detection of his imposture he was ashamed to 
divulge either it or his native place, lest, as he 
said, it would bring disgrace upon his mother. 
He was a short man with a square face, long hair 
of raven colour, and piercing black eyes. I rather 
think he was of gypsy blood, and indeed the whole 
course of his career would justify me in coming 
positively to such a conclusion. For his marvel- 
lous adventures as a pretended pilgrim on the 
way to Rome, to equip himself for which he stole 
out of a chapel a palmer's robe tha t hung before 
some saint's image ; his assumption of the char- 
acter of a mendicant Japanese, converted to 
Christianity, travelling through Europe to acquire 
knowledge ; his curious experience among the 
Beguines, from whose saintly faces he tears off 
the mask of pudency ; his career as a soldier, in 
which he probably did as many strange mad 
things as Dom Balthazar himself, all struck me 
as being in such singular accordance with what I 
know of the Zingari life, that I entertained little 
doubt at that time, and have none now, that he 
was of the true Galore breed. Like them, he 
knew many languages, and had mingled in almost 
every order of human life ; and I think his 
silence on his origin, birthplace, and family 
name may be viewed as strongly confirming the 
notion that he was an offshoot of this strange 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 147 

people ; who give (as 1 know) more Jesuits, 
Generals, and Cardinals to the world than would 
readily be believed. 

Sale was a lazy man — as lazy and careless as 
Steele himself — and though he had undertaken 
to furnish the booksellers with a dozen sheets a 
month, he in fact did not supply more than one 
or two. He was, therefore, forced to have re- 
course to "understrappers," and of this honour- 
able confraternity I became one. His oriental 
studies, extending over a great number of years, 
had made George sceptical about Moses and his 
cosmogony; he was in fact a Mohamedan in 
principle, and was persuaded of the divine in- 
spiration of the son of Abd'alla. My tutor, 
Akiba, had half impregnated myself with notions 
very nearly alike. A perfect congeniality thus 
existed between us on certain points ; and our 
publishers were of so liberal a turn that when 
Sale soon after abandoned the work, and George 
Fsalmannazar was taken in to fill his place, that 
worthy, who had now become a neophyte of the 
bishops, began to run so counter to the liberal 
views of Sale, that one of the partners in the 
concern, Mr. Provost, sent for him one day in 
great alarm, and begged it as a favour that " he 
would not be righteous over much." The reformed 
Jew, or gypsy, or whatever else he was, however, 

H Z 



148 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

convinced the worthy man that it was much more 
profitable to write up Moses than to write him 
down ; and accordingly an entirely new tone of 
thought was given to the whole work, and it was 
framed for parsons rather than for philosophers. 
But the parsons did not support it as liberally as 
might have been expected. In fact they were 
better employed in putting out their Johns for 
college, and their Jennies for Fox Hall, so that 
the only person who gained much by the tran- 
saction was Psalmannazar, who extended his 
connection among the orthodox, and filled his 
pockets and his paunch through his zeal for 
Moses. 

The Reverend Thomas Woolston was another 
who became known to me at this period, and 
whose brief career furnished matter of amuse- 
ment, blended with melancholy. He used to 
stroll into a poor coffee house where I was accus- 
tomed to resort, and fall into conversation with 
whoever happened to be present, indulging in 
speculation on the most abstruse subjects, with 
an utter disregard of time and place. He was a 
man of great good humour, and extensive learn- 
ing ; but not content with ridiculiug Moses 
and the prophets, he published some des- 
perate pamphlets on the miracles, which he 

Jicated to those right reverend fathers in God, 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 149 

the Bishops of London and Lichfield, St. Davids, 
and St. Asaph, in a strain of cutting sarcasm 
and fun, which was gall and bitterness to those 
truly pious men. But this ecclesiastical merri- 
ment was by no means to the taste of our 
saintly prelates. They got up a most dreadful 
outcry against him, and had the poor fellow tried 
and convicted before Lord Chief Justice Raymond, 
a wretched judge, who of course was base enough 
to side with the popular feeling, and induced a 
jury to convict poor Woolston. He was con- 
demned to a year's imprisonment, and fined one 
hundred pounds ; which last penalty was intended 
to operate as a sentence of perpetual jail, for no- 
body knew better than the judge who imposed it 
that a million could as easily be raised by poor 
Woolston as a hundred pounds. The bishops 
exulted, and the clergy were in raptures. Wool- 
ston was sent to the King's Bench prison-house, 
where he died of the jail fever, and thus relieved 
the minds of the hierarchy. But I have often 
reflected with indignation on this outrage against 
opinion, and I do not envy either the bishops 
who persecuted, or the inquisition who condemned 
him. He was a harmless man, with greater wit 
than judgment ; but his death bed was pious, 
and his last words were: "This is a struggle 



150 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

which all men must go through, and which I 
bear not only patiently, but with cheerfulness." 

I was also accustomed to meet with Kichard 
Savage, the natural son of Lord Rivers, by the 
Countess of Macclesfield — now Mrs. Brett, whose 
singular history is sufficiently known to the 
world. He had published a Miscellany which he 
dedicated to my mother in the most absurd and 
fulsome strain of pangyrick, and on the first occa- 
sion when he and Mr. Smith (myself) became 
acquainted, he entertained me with a satirical 
account of Lady Mary, whom he abused in all 
the phrases of Billingsgate, and did not hesitate 
to pronounce "a brimstone of Tartarus itself." 
u Oh ! how I fooled her," he said ; by u Jupiter I 
duped her out of ten guineas, and though it came 
from her like her blood, still I had so baited my 
hook with flattery, that the she-shark was 
caught." And then he repeated with bitter satire, 
" Since the country has been honoured with the 
glory of your wit, as elevated and immortal as 
your soul, it no longer remains a doubt whether 
your sex have strength of mind in proportion to 
their sweetness. There is something in your 
verses as distinguished as your air. They are as 
strong as truth, as deep as reason, as clear as in- 
nocence, and as smooth as beauty. They contain 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 151 

a nameless and peculiar mixture of force and 
grace which is at once so movingly serene, and so 
majestically lovely, that it is too amiable to 
appear anywhere but in your eyes, and in your 
writings. As fortune is not more my enemy than 
I am the enemy of flattery, I know not how I can 
forbear this application to your ladyship ; because 
there is scarce a possibility I should say more 
than I believe, when I am speaking of your 
Excellence." 

" And did you write her all this ?" I asked. 

" I did more," he said, u Smith, I printed it, — 
I published it. I let it loose upon the town, and 
made her the ridicule of all serious people, while 
she fancied she became a cynosure. " And the 
honest fellow laughed very heartily, in which he 
was joined by a coterie of wits who heard the 
conversation. 

I was amused by this fellow's hypocrisy and 
impudence, both blended as curiously as in Orator 
Henley. When his pockets were empty, and 
your purse was full, he would praise you to your 
face with the most abject servility, and when you 
had rewarded him with a piece, he would abruptly 
turn away without even saying, u Thank ye," and 
would go and spend it all in a debauch. Next 
day he would be as servile as ever, until you had 
again fee'd him, when he would leave you as un- 



152 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

ceremoniously as before. He always presumed on 
his birth, and his misfortunes ; and expected you 
to pay the greatest deference to both. He could 
be gentlemanlike when he pleased, but he seldom 
did please, and he was more in his native element 
when he was coarse and vulgar. In practice, he 
despised and laughed at all morality, virtue, and 
honour; but theoretically he was a Socrates or 
Plato, and he would gurgle forth the finest senti- 
ments of temperance when drunkenness made 
him even incapable of walking. On the whole, 
he was a very worthless, lying fellow, and Samuel 
Johnson has disgraced himself and literature by 
condescending to be his paneygrist, while he has 
offered an outrage to decency by glossing over 
the fellow's vices with an excuse or a palliation, 
which all similar rascals will not fail to copy, 
and even defend under so eminent an authority. 
But Johnson's political pamphleteering proves 
that he is capable of any baseness, if he can get 
gold by it. 

I saw something, too, of Theophilus Cibber, a 
son of the old player, and a most abandoned 
reprobate. He dabbled in literature, but was 
half his time hunted by bailiffs, and he has been 
more than once arrested on the stage ; for he had 
some histrionic talent which he might have profit- 
ably exercised, but his dissipated habits exhausted 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 153 

all he got. He married a most lovely woman, a 
sister of Dr. Arne, and like him, remarkable for 
musical talent, but though she earned a large 
sum by her acting, he sold her to a man of 
fortune named Sloper ; and when he subsequently 
brought an action against him, and laid his 
damages at five thousand pounds, a jury appre- 
ciating his rascality at its proper value, gave him 
the munificent sum of ten pounds, so that he lost 
one of the finest women in the world for a few 
paltry shillings, and while he covered himself with 
infamy, realised the fable of the fool who cut 
open his goose, and for golden eggs found only — 
disappointment. He and Savage were fellows of 
the same kind, who would have stuck at nothing 
for money. Cibber was drowned crossing the 
Irish Channel, and Savage ought to have been 
hanged, and would have been, only that Justice 
Page outraged all decency by his charge to the 
jury on his trial for the murder of Sinclair, and 
that Savage had a half-sister — Miss Brett — who 
saved him. Old Mandeville, also, the author of 
the Fable of the Bees, took a sort of liking to 
me, and often accompanied me home. He 
described Addison as a u parson in a tye wig," 
but he was himself a sly old rogue, and though 
he affected the austerity of a philosopher, I have 
seen him stealing up Drury Lane at night, after 

h 5 



154 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

a tawdry bit of finery and paint in that modest 
neighbourhood. 

London was at this time deluged with periodical 
publications, for most of which Sale wrote, and 
he had given me a sort of introduction to the 
booksellers. There was the Craftsman, n hich was 
great against the Whigs ; there was the London 
Journal, Fog's Journal, Grub Street Journal, 
Weekly Begister, Universal Spectator, Free Briton, 
British Journal, Daily Courant, and Beetfs 
Journal, the whole, or the greater part, of which 
dealt in politics, scandal and lampoonery, for 
whose perpetual production there was one of the 
finest bodies of literary labourers that could be 
got together. These were principally the country- 
men of that great patriot Bute, and they came to 
England with equally noble views, and earned 
money by similar exalted practices. There was 
scarcely any kind of prostitution to which 
they would not submit, so long as it brought 
in " the bawbees." Need I mention Swinton and 
Mitchell, and Campbell, and the notorious Bower, 
who was alternately a Jesuit, an atheist, a pro- 
testant, a quaker, and a Jesuit again, as it suited 
his purposes, and who cheated the publishers of 
the Universal History out of no less than £$00, 
while he pillaged tailors, and plundered land- 
ladies with the most glorious defiance of honesty. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU, lft5 

There was Stephen Duck, who from a thresher 
became a poet, and penned the most ridiculous 
verses, which got him a pension of £30 a year 
from pious, good Queen Caroline. He supplied 
some of these journals with poetry, and the stanzas 
seem to have been written with a flail. There was 
Eustace Budgell, who began his career under the 
infamous Lord Wharton (the father of the Duke), 
and who having amassed a fortune by the most 
discreditable arts, lost it all in one day by the 
failure of the South Sea Scheme. He was now 
libelling Walpole with the most ferocious bitter- 
ness, and receiving bribes from the old Duchess 
of Marlborough for his shocking slanders on the 
party who had displaced her old traitor of a duke. 
Oldmixon was on the other side, and was ridicu- 
ling the Tories with unflagging bitterness, for 
which he was subsequently rewarded by a post 
under government He wrote the life of Arthur 
Mainwaring, the first keeper of poor Mrs. Old- 
field, and would have penned the life of a hang- 
man if he could have got money by the job. 
Welsted was also in the employ of Walpole ; an 
indefatigable scribbler of political trash. Ned 
Ward, who kept a public house in Moorfields, 
was an imitator of Butler, and a desperate 
antagonist of the Low Church W higs, which drew 
a great number of customers to his house, so 



156 EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 

that he derived equal profit from his beer and 
brains. Defoe — but why go on? I saw and 
lived with these gentlemen who constituted all 
the lower empire of letters ; Pope and a few 
others being at the supreme head, and hated and 
abused in every form of satire by these, the 
writhing wretched extremity. 

One morning Sale sent for me in a hurry. 
u Smith," said he, " I find I can have little or no 
employment at which I can profitably put you for 
some time. This vagabond Psalmannazar and 
his canting set have undermined, and underbid 
me. We must therefore see what is to be 
done with Curll, who is always ready to take 
on new hands. His pay is not much, but it is 
certain." 

We went and found the bookseller behind his 
counter in Rose Street, Co vent Garden. From 
all I had heard of him, I was prepared to see in 
him rather a low sort of rascal, but he was not 
so. He had light grey eyes, not unpleasing, only 
that they were enormously large and projecting ; 
he was purblind, and splay-footed, but his 
manner was smooth, and not without a certain 
polish. After an introduction, and some common 
place remarks, Sale mentioned the object of his 
visit, speaking rather favourably of my preten- 
sions. Curll asked me into a room behind his 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 157 

shop, and Sale waited for me at the next 
tavern. 

" Mr. Smith," said the bibliopole, abruptly, " do 
you know Latin ?" 

I answered " Yes." 

<k Any other languages ?" 

" Oh ! yes — French, Italian and Greek." 

Curll lifted up his hands. " But do you really 
know them, sir ? By Jove, sir." 

" Mr. Curll, when I say anything, you may be 
assured it is true." 

" Then, sir, I shall make your fortune, by 
Jove, sir. You are a lucky man to have come 
here this day. Zounds, sir, I have a pack of 
scoundrels in my employ, who pretend that they 
know all these languages, but when I give them 
a work to do into English, by Jove, sir, they can 
do nothing with it until they have got grammars, 
and lexicons, and dictionaries, and the deuce 
knows what ; and then the critics, sir, by Jove, 
sir, when the work is published, the critics fasten 
on it, and in the brutallest manner prove to all 
the town that the translator scarcely knew the 
rudiments of the language which he trans- 
lated." 

" That must be an annoyance to you, Mr. 
Curll." 

" An annoyance, sir, by Jove ! sir, it drives me 



158 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

mad — it makes me desperate, Bir, I can neither 
eat, sleep, walk, nor drink, on account of it, by 
Jove ! sir." 

" Well, Mr. Curll, what do you propose that I 
shall do in this dilemma ?" 

" Why this, sir— -this is what I propose, sir. I 
have at present some half score of these gentle- 
men at work for me, and what I wish you to do 
is to revise their translations, so that none of 
those infernal critics can find a flaw in them, by 
Jove, sir." 

" Nay, Mr. Curll, if you ask me to put out a 
book in which these gentlemen can't find a 
flaw, I'm afraid you ask me an impossibility." 

11 Oh ! dear me, I did not mean that, by Jove, 
sir, I know they will find a flaw in anything, 
from Homer up to the New Testament, but I 
mean, sir — by Jove, sir, you know what I mean — 
a real flaw — a great big boobyish flaw, such as 
changing horses into asses, and men into women, 
which some of my writers frequently do, by Jove, 



sir." 



" I can undertake, Mr. Curll, that no such 
metamorphosis as that shall happen under my 
supervision." 

"Very good, sir, very good, by Jove, sir. 
You'll do — and the terms, Mr. Smith ?" 

" Mr. Curll, I must leave these to yourself." 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 159 

" Well, sir, the trouble will not be great, and 
there will be a good deal of work. Say half a 
guinea for every printed sheet of thirty -two 
pages." 

I was obliged to consent, and Curll introduced 
me to his garret. There I found about fifteen 
poor devils, hack authors in various styles of 
raggery and wretchedness, with woe-begone 
features and unkempt hair, working away silently 
at their various employments. Most of them 
were Scotchmen ; there was an Irishman or two ; 
the rest were of this country. The pens moved 
rapidly and audibly over the paper in the learned 
stillness ; they all looked up when we entered ; 
they seemed afraid of Curll like a pack of 
beaten hounds or school boys. 

" Gentlemen," says Curll, "I have brought 
you Mr. Smith, who is now in my service as 
general reviser of all Greek, Latin, French, and 
Italian translations. So you will have to look 
pretty sharp, I can tell you, and must mind your 
P's and Q's. I am well assured of his competency 
and skill, and the next printed half sheet that 
comes from the printers is to be put into his hands 
before it is revised." 

I could see a shudder among some half dozen 
of the poorest devils at this intimation, but they 
dared not murmur; they looked at each other 



160 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

and at me, saying as plainly as they could, 
" We'll soon make this place too hot for you. 
Revise us indeed." 

" I shall have to deduct a penny for every gross 
error in each sheet," added Curll, " and that is 
certainly very little, but I have too long put up 
with impositions. And now let us see how goes 
on business." 

" Mr. MacAuley, have you finished the * His- 
tory of Executions ?' By Jove, sir, 1 want it 
The press is waiting anxiously for it ; so are the 
public." 

" Mr. Curll," said MacAuley, " I have hunted 
through all the lanes and alleys you have directed 
me to, for some of the last dying speeches, but 
could not get them. Besides, I can discover 
little or nothing authentic about Bill Sykes, Sally 
Richardson, Poll Murray,and the man who chopped 
up his wife in Thames Street" 

" Authentic ! Mr. MacAuley ; what the dev — 
by Jove ! sir, you must be mad, or drunk, or 
damnably silly, sir. Authentic indeed 1 Why, 
who the hell — who cares, sir, for Authentic ? If 
you can't find ' authentic,' sir, you must invent 
' authentic,' sir ; or go about your business and 

starve, sir ; and die, sir ; and be d d, sir. Do 

I live to hear one of my writers insult me with 
< authentic ?' " 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 161 

Poor MaeAuley shrank into his shell, and 
Curll passed to another. 

u 'A Defence of the Measures of the Present 
Administration.' Ah! Gleig, you are at the 
patriots again, I see. Hit 'em hard — hard, sir ; 
by Jove ! sir ; hit 'em with a whip of iron, sir — 
the infernal knaves, the lousy, dirty scoundrels, 
who pretend that they only can save the country. 
This will be a very nice sixpenny volume. And 
here is sixpence for yourself, Gleig — only hit the 
patriots right and left, up and down, by Jove, 
sir." 

Gleig took the money very thankfully. He 
had just published an elaborate apology for adul- 
tery, in the biography of a certain great man. 

" What's this ? c A Comparison between the 
Present Ministry and the Turkish Court' 
Capital ! By Jove, sir, that's a taking title. It 
will sell, sir, by Jove, sir : it must sell. Let me 
see, let me see — * When we consider the present 
abandoned and abominable administration, which, 
to the disgrace of England, now holds us in 
thick fetters, we can liken them to nothing so 
much as that accursed gang of eunuchs and cut 
throats which recently brought the Sultan 01 
Turkey to an untimely end.' Very fine, sir, by 
Jove, sir ; that will tell — it will sell. Go on in 
that style, Archie, and you are sure to prosper. 



162 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

They are a set of rogues ; they do deserve hang- 
ing. By Jove, sir, these two pamphlets will be 
a hit, sir— a hit ; for all the Whigs will buy the 
first, and all the Tories will go mad after the last." 

He passed on to another desk, where a raffish, 
drunken-looking fellow was working. He had a 
Bible before him, and he was evidently pleased 
with himself, and his employment. Curll paused 
and read — 

" ' Two letters from a Deist to a Friend, con- 
cerning Revelations, &c.' Mr. Perfitt, sir — by 
Jove, sir, how is it these letters are still un- 
finished ? I have had a dozen orders for them 
for the country ; the fops and fine gentlemen, not 
to mention the Ladies of Quality, are all demand- 
ing them." 

" Why, faith, sir, I have been living rather free 
for the last two or three days, and I could not 
make out some of the Greek of the Emperor 
Julian, which I wish to quote in the middle of 
my second Letter." 

" D n the Emperor Julian, sir, whoever he 

was. What did lie know about the subject. One 
of your rascally Hanover Germans, I suppose, 
who was all for the Pope." 

" No, indeed, Julian was a Roman Emperor." 

"So much the worse, sir; by Jove, sir, a 
regular Jacobite and Papist. You mustn't quote 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 163 

him, sir, in defence of the Bible, or anything, sir. 
It will never do for this Protestant country. 
Anti-Boman, sir, is what we want, not Roman. " 

" Sir, I quote him in defence of Deism, and 
against the Bible. I assure you he didn't believe 
a word of it." 

" Ah I Perfitt, my dear fellow, that alters the 
case ; go on and prosper, but don't live freely 
again until you have finished. Don't, like a good 
boy." 

rt £nd what are you doing, Warren? — 'The 
Parson Hunter,' in two cantos. Very good title 
— very good title, by Jove, sir. Give it to the 
parsons — hypocrites, sly foxes, drones, whited 
sepulchres, hirelings, mammon worshippers, and 
so on ; their belly is their God, and so on. That's 
your sort, Sam, my boy. Finish it soon, and it 
will have a run. And you, Butt, what are you 
at ? Why you dirty, shabby Irish brogueanier, 
have you not finished that 'Letter' yet? What 
do I pay you for ? by Jove, sir. I will send you 
back to hell, sir. I mean Connaught, sir. I will 
send you back to your potatoes and salt, sir ; 
and your lice, sir." 

And here Curll, to my amazement, began to 
kick this wretched fellow, at which he whined 
piteously. Starvation had evidently done its 
work on him ; it had broken even the spirit of 



164 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

poor Paddy. He received his cuffs very con- 
tentedly, and slunk into a corner. But Curll did 
not escape. From some unknown place, tenanted 
in all probability by some brother Hibernian, a 
large leaden ink pot was flung with excellent 
aim, and hit the bookseller right in the poll. 
He howled with rage, and quickly turned round, 
but every hand was busily engaged in writing, 
and when he groaned out " Oh! hell," there was 
a general burst of honest indignation from the 
whole of his literary regiment. Some of them 
kindly ran to his assistance ; others called aloud 
for the discovery of the sacrilegious wretch who 
had dared to lift his hand against the person of 
the master, but the varlet was not to be found. 
Curll's head began to bleed profusely ; some of 
the gang went for Mrs. Curll, who rushed 
upstairs in a sad fright, and caterwauled very 
loudly when she saw her wounded lord. Darting 
around her fiery looks of rage, she sought (I 
would to heaven she could have found) the wrath- 
ful Irishman ; but as there was no possibility of 
this, she and Curll finally left the room, amid 
badly suppressed titters, leaving me to shift for 
myself among my new associates. 

This introduction, it must be owned, was not 
the most favourable in the world. 1 did all I 
could to make my revision as easy as possible, 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 16£ 

and I have often read over and corrected heaps 
of manuscript, so that but few errors appeared 
for the revise. But I soon found that even by 
this indulgence I could not satisfy these gentle- 
men. They were nearly all starving, out-at- 
elbows, and garret or cellar-lodged ; yet in their 
own estimation they were the shining lights of 
literature and England, without whose blaze the 
world would be in darkness. Their conceit was 
dreadful ; their envy of each other quite 
maniacal ; their scandal and detraction made 
you quite wretched to hear it. The most awful 
feuds existed among them ; the Englishmen de- 
spised the Irishmen, scorned the Scotchmen, and 
detested each other; the Irishmen repaid the 
mutual dislike of both with alternate laughter, 
threatenings, and abuse. The Scotchmen hoarded 
up their bile until a proper opportunity arrived, 
when they squirted it indiscriminately upon both 
John and Pat, but never against any of the 
brethren who came from the other side of the 
Tweed. Such of them ds were not translators, 
by degrees scraped up an intimacy with me, and 
we went on well together; but with those gentle- 
men over whom I was placed as supervisor, I 
could do little or nothing. The Irishmen did the 
French and Latin, the Scotchmen stuck to the 
Greek, in which they boasted the most extraor- 



166 EDWARD WOETLEY MONTAGU. 

dinary proficiency, and a Welshman was our 
great hand at Italian. The blunders which each 
and all made were most ridiculous, and I could 
scarcely blame the critics for their severity. But 
these hacks would not, and could not acknow- 
ledge its fairness. With them, all such criticism 
was scoundrelism — yet when they themselves 
dabbled in it, they hunted out the very same sort 
of defects, and held them and their makers up to 
public mockery. At last the Irishmen rose up in 
wrath ; and one of them said to me one day — 

" I tell you what, Mr. Smith, your delight in 
discovering our bulls and blunders is very great, 
but, by my soul, I never yet knew an iLnglish- 
man, who if he was born in Ireland, wouldn't 
make as many bulls and blunders as the very 
worst of us." 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 167 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



' ' O generation of vipers , how can ye being evil speak good 
things ? — for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth 
speaketh." 



" Why don't you join our club?" said Savage, 
to me one day ; " the expense is little, the fun 
great." 

u What club ?" I asked. " I never heard you 
were in a club." 

" Why, the Apollo Club, to be sure ; the club 
of all the wits, poets, and scholars." 

" Yon have yourself supplied a reason why I 
don't join. I belong to neither of these three 
great communities." 

" Pooh, pooh, you'll do very well ; I wish we 
had not many duller dogs than you among us." 



169 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

I bowed, and gravely thanked him for the com- 
pliment. Savage looked confused. 

" No — no," said he, " I didn't mean it in that 
way, drat me. But come and join ; it will 
be good fun for you when you are in the spleen." 

" U here do you meet ? and what are the pre- 
liminaries ?" 

** We meet once a month, in a very convenient 
house in Clare Market, the sign of the Jolly 
Fiddlers. We have a new President every night, 
and there are no preliminaries but to be proposed 
and seconded. When your election follows, you 
pay five shillings, and you take your place 
among us, a regular son of Phoebus." 

" I fear I shall do discredit to so bright a sire ; 
nevertheless, if you wish it, I will see what sort 
of divinities you are." 

" And if you like us, you can join. Nothing 
can be fairer, so be ready by next Friday night ; 
our monthly meeting will then take place. I 
shall call for you about nine, and we shall go 
together. Bring the needful, alias the price of 
your supper, which is eighteen pence ; what you 
order besides in the way of drink or smoke, will 
be an extra. But we are generally sober fel- 
lows. And, by the bye, I was near forgetting — 
bring a good oak stick. It may be useful." 

1 rather stared at this last article of costume, 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 169 

but a club of wits must have their eccentricities, 
and this, no doubt, was one. 

The scene of our symposium was a large tavern 
in Clare Market — the delicacy was tripe ; the re- 
freshment in the way of liquor was strong beer. 
We walked up into a long room, the whole 
centre of which was occupied by a table spread 
with plates and glasses ; the cloth was coarse, 
and not very white, but the worthy landlady, I 
suppose, considered these nice particulars be- 
neath the notice of literary gentlemen, whose 
thoughts are usually in the clouds of heaven. A 
large chair was at the head of the table, and here 
we already found seated Orator Henley, who had 
appointed himself president for the evening. 
Amongst the motley crowd was Mr. John Dennis, 
Aaron Hill, Ward, the author of the London 
Spy, Archibald Bower, Curll, and one of his 
poets, Pattison, whom he literally starved to 
death, and who, indeed, died soon after ; these 
tripe nights, I believe, being the only periods 
from month to month when he had any food. 
Morgan, who sought to make all his readers 
Mohamedans, and who published some funny 
works on the subject : Concanen, a mad son of 
Hibernia, and poor Jack Duuton, a broken down 
bookseller, were there; hunger in their eyes, rag- 

VOL. IT. I 



170 EDWARD WJRTLEY MONTAGU. 

gery on their bodies. Came also Charlie Gildon, 
who lodged at an ale house, in Long Acre, kept by 
Bessie Cox, the frowsy Chloe of Mat Prior, and 
whom that silly bard would have married had he 
not been prevented by death ; Amhurst, the 
Caleb D'Anvers of the Craftsman, Oldmixon, 
Boyer, Mat Green, of the Custom House, Tib- 
bald, who changed his name into the more 
sonorous one of Theobald ; Dr. Martin and Rus- 
sell, the joint editors of the Grub Street Journal ; 
Will Ayers, who called himself a " Squire," 
Eustace Bridgel, and Mat Tindal, whose will the 
first-named afterwards forged, to the great in- 
dignation of the rightful heir; and most ridicul- 
ous of all, Figg, the prize fighter, brought up 
the rear, but how or why he got into this 
literary club, I knew not. We formed altogether 
a harlequin group of about fifty, many of whom 
were out at elbows — the great majority evidently 
at starvation point. At half-past nine, the 
smoking tripe was produced ; by ten it had 
wholly disappeared, and there were poor devils 
among us who seemed inclined to swallow even 
the greasy plates, so ravenous was their appetite, 
and so unusual the appearance of food. Pints 
and pots of strong beer, stout October as it was 
called, were now brought up, with pipes and 



EDWABD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 171 

tobacco, and Henley having called to Figg to 
keep order, knocked on the table with a little 
hammer, ordering silence and attention. 

" Gentlemen," cried Henley, " are you all 
filled ?" 

u No," shouted a score of voices, " we have 
drank only a glass or so, and haven't had half 
as much tripe as we ought." 

" I meant your glasses, not yourselves, you 
sots," retorted the orator. " Fill them, and 
listen." 

This exhortation was joyfully obeyed. After a 
pause the Orator began. 

" I am not going to begin with a text, nor 
shall I detain you with a long preamble about 
the Ten Commandments, everyone of which I 
believe you have broken. I am about to give 
you the health of the most renowned critic in 
England, the best tragedian, and the finest 
political writer — need I name Mr. John Dennis ? 
His father was a decent saddler, which probably 
accounts for the son's detestation of mules and 
donkeys (such as I see around), and also accounts 
for his own Pegasian flights to the highest sum- 
mit of P amasses. I don't believe there is much 
in the tale that he was expelled from Caius for 
attempting to stab a man in the dark — for all 
poignard blows are generally given in the open 

I 2 



172 EDWAKD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

day, as Pope, Addison, and Steele, those Three 
Impostors, can well testify ; but I do very well 
believe that fine and Spartan trait in Mr. Dennis's 
character, which runs, I think, as follows. You 
all know — I mean have heard — of the late Dick 
Steele. Well, in a magnanimous moment, when 
the wine was in, and the wit was out, this Irish 
knight became bail for Mr. Dennis for some fifty 
pounds. Steele, as may be supposed, was soon 
after arrested for this sum ; oar venerable brother 
was informed of the fact. ' Sdeath P said he, ' what 
an ass he was ! Why did he not keep out of the 
way, as I did? 1 And with this grand philoso- 
phical reflection — well worth the whole sum to 
Steele — he allowed that unreflecting Samaritan 
to extricate himself from the Philistines as well 
as he could. Gentlemen, there was a moral 
grandeur about this which I am sure you will all 
well appreciate. But Steele's conduct in return 
I cannot well approve of. For while he affected 
to forgive our friend for that heroic Stoicism 
which I have already mentioned, he had the 
cruelty to cite in the ' Spectator,' as one of the 
happiest couplets in the English language, that 
famous stanza, in which Mr. Dennis -describes 
himself and his brother authors. The stanza is 
as follows — 

11 ' Thus one fool lolls his tongue out at another, 
And shakes his empty noddle at his brother.' 



EDWARD WORTLET MONTAGU. 173 

u Mr. Dennis, though proud, and justly, of 
being the author of these admired verses, was 
conscious that he had written others very much 
better; and as he thought it was a very mean 
piece of envy in Steele to suppress all mention of 
those, while he so pompously cited the foregoing, 
he wrote him a letter, breathing hot the noble 
indignation of his soul ; and from that day until 
the death of Dick, those mighty men continued 
foes. 

11 Gentlemen, Mr. Dennis has always been 
proudly jealous of the high consideration due to 
men of letters. He was once invited to Lord 
Halifax's house, whom they call Mouse Montagu, 
because I suppose he ratted from his party, and 
Bufo, because he was as ugly as a toad, in soul 
and body. Bufo was playing with a parrot, of 
which he was extremely fond, it was so like him- 
self, and not paying that marked attention to 
our venerable Nestor which he was conscious he 
deserved. * My lord,' says he, ; as you and your 
companion are so engaged in admiring each 
other, I'll wait on you at some other opportunity.' 
Whereupon, to the honour of literature, he left 
the scene of insult — a dignified and noble step, 
which, even if it stood alone, deserves our eternal 
gratitude. Bufo did not stop him, but laughed, 
and soon after invited him to supper. The wine 



174 EDWARD WOBTLEY MONTAGU. 

was good, and Mr. Dennis drank it — may I be 
pardoned, O venerable Sage, for just hinting that 
thou didst drink a little too much thereof? — and 
just as he was maintaining that Shakspere was a 
scoundrel, and Pope 'as stupid and venomous as 
a hunchbacked toad,' he received rather a blunt 
contradiction from some vile led-captain of my 
lord, who di4 not properly appreciate our 
Gerenian knight. The blood of Phoebus took 
fire — our noble brother rushed out of the room, 
upsetting in his angry flight a whole sideboard 
of bottles and glasses. Next day Mat Moyle, 
one of the company, met him. Mr. Dennis told 
him he remembered all that happened up to a 
certain point, but after that all was Lethe. l And 
how did I get away T quoth he. ' Why/ says 
Moyle, 'you weDt away like the devil, and took 
one corner of the house with you.' " 

Here there was a general roar of laughter. 
Dennis, I think, did not like the fun, but he sat 
still till we had drank his health, which Savage did, 
with u one cheer more." He then rose up. He 
was now very old, yet he retained all the charac- 
teristics of his earliest years. His eye was small 
and fierce ; he had a squab nose, like a prize- 
fighter's, a mouth of iron, knitted eye-brows, a 
round chin, and a low, narrow forehead. It was 
no wonder that such a man should have a temper, 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 175 

involving him in perpetual squabbles. Pope, 
who always reminds me of a flea, he stung so 
sharply, had but a day or two before given to the 
press that shocking epigram on him which con- 
veys the most malignant poison * to the mind, 
and the old man had evidently been brooding 
over it, for there was a volcano of rage and fire 
suppressed within his angry bosom. He looked 
as black and malignant as a scorpion. He had 
eaten little for supper, but had smoked plentifully, 
and he seemed to have come for solace to the 
place to be encouraged by some of the younger 
men, all of whom he knew detested the hunch- 
back of Twickenham. He was also, I have been 
told, hiding from some creditors, who had set the 
bailiffs after him, so that he was in the very 
humour that Henley liked of all others — inflam- 
mable as gunpowder or naptha ; and the relent- 
less Orator, it must be avowed, had applied a 
very flaming match indeed to this dangerous 
firework. 

" Sir," said Dennis, et that you are a parson is 
your protection from my just indignation. I will 

* Should Dennis publish you had stabbed your brother, 
Lampooned your monarch, or debauched your mother, 
Say what revenge on Dennis can be had ? 
Too dull for laughter, for reply too mad. 
On one so poor you cannot take the law, 
On one so old, you scorn your sword to draw, 
Uncaged then let tbe harmless monster rage, 
Secure in dullness, madness, want, and age. 



176 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

cot sully my sacred hands by thrashing you; 
parsons and women are exempt from the anger of 
men. You have affected to propose my health, 
but you really have insulted me. So be it. The 
moon regards not the yelping of the puppy when 
he bays at her solemn light. My father was a 
saddler ; that is no disgrace — had he been a par- 
son, whose whole life defamed his reverend call- 
ing, it would have been so. You accuse me of 
attacking Addison— he was a smooth-tongued 
hypocrite, as most of your cloth are ; of cen- 
suring Steele — he was an Irish rogue, as poor 
and drunken as yourself; of vilifying Pope, who 
resembles you, for as you delight in the butchers 
of Clare Market, so does he in butchering every 
man. I suppose you think yourself a scholar, 
and can judge of his Homer — but you are not a 
scholar ; you are a dunce, a humbug, and ignora- 
mus ; wherefore it has been well said of you — 

c Orator with brazen-face and lungs, 

Whose jargon's formed of ten unlearned tongues, 

Why standest thou there a whole long hour haranguing, 

When half the time fits better men for hanging P " 

Here there was a general smile, and Henley 
looked rather sheepish for a moment. Dennis 
continued — 

" Sir, I shall always be proud of having been 
among the first to expose that scribbling Papist. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 177 

When I die, let it be graven on my tomb, ' He 
defended the Great Prince of Song from the vilest 
of his imitators.' For I aver, and let none con- 
tradict me, that the Homer which Lintot prints, 
does not talk like Homer at all, but like Pope ; 
and he who translated him, one would swear had 
a hill in Tipperary for his Parnassus, and a 
puddle in some bog for his Hippocrene. But if 
we want further to know what this fellow is, let 
us take the initial, and final letters of his name, 
to wit, A. P. E., and this gives you a true idea of 
the creature. Pope comes from the Latin word 
Popa, which signifies a little wart, or from 
Popysma, because he was continually popping 
out squibs of wit, or rather Popysmata, or 
Popisius — so that when I think of him — " 

Here there was a general coughing ; for though 
the company hated Pope mortally, yet it was 
evident that Dennis was about to give them a 
longer diatribe than they quite liked, and the 
coxcombs were themselves each so anxious to hear 
his own wit, that they listened with impatience 
to any of their neighbours. 

u Pooh, pooh," says Aaron Hill, " we have 
had enough, and more than enough of Pope." 

Tuneful Alexis on the Thames fair side, 
The lady's plaything, and the muse's pride. 

" But won't you allow me to speak, when I 

i 5 



178 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

am attacked ?" asked DenDis ; and his eyes seemed 
flames of fire. 

" Nobody attacked you," said Boyer, u it was 
all fun." 

" Fun to us, but death to the frogs," groaned 
Amhurst. 

" Do you dare to call me a frog?" thundered 
out Dennis. 

" You're an old fool," bawled Gleig from the 
bottom of the table. 

" Then you ought to be my best friend here,'' 
retorted Dennis, " for all fools are kinsmen." 

" Cut it short," said Harry Carey, the author 
of ' Sally in our Alley.' Poor Harry was a son 
of Saville, Marquis of Halifax — he hanged him- 
self in the end, and left no more good-natured 
man alive. Why do so many good fellows hang 
themselves in this best of all possible worlds? 

" Aye, Mr Dennis," put in Henley, " cut it 
short — do please ; as short as your own temper." 

There was no resisting this general outcry, so 
Dennis was obliged to go on. 

" Gentlemen," said he, "you are all in league 
with that sco undrel in the chair, and he is in 
league with Pope, and Pope is in league with the 
Pretender, and the Pretender is in league with 
the French — and the whole oi them against me 
because I did them more harm than all the Duke 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 17 ( J 

of Marlborough's battles ; but this will teach me 
never again to sit in company with a parson, nor 
will I die with one either." 

" Faith, you can't help that," says an Irish- 
man, " for I've a notion you'll die at Tyburn." 

This last sally produced fresh laughter, in the 
midst of which Dennis resumed his seat, trembling 
with fury. 

" Gentlemen, and brother wits," says Henley, 
as cool as Socrates himself when his wife threw a 
dirty pail over him, "it is quite true that I am a 
parson, but that is more my misfortune than my 
fault, and I hope it is not enough to exclude me 
for ever from the company of honourable men, or 
virtuous women. For this 1 can say, that though 
a parson, I am no hypocrite, nor did I ever stab 
a man in the dark like some that I know. The 
Bishop indeed has waved his atheistical hand 
over me, and at that touch generally 

Fugnint pudor, verumque, fidesque 
In quorum subeunt locum, fra/udes, dolique, insidi&quer 

— but then there are exceptions to every rule ; and 
though the episcopal touch like the money which 
Caiaphas gave Iscariot generally gives entrance 
to a whole legion of devils, yet in my case it was 
not so, for I had been well washed in holy water 
the day before by our Jesuitj friend Archie Power 



180 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

here ; and he well knows that this potent liquor 
is impassible by all demons." 

Here there was a general shont of langhter, 
and Dennis looked quite crestfallen. Henley 
begged his pardon in a way irresistibly ludicrous, 
and we drank the Orator's health with a gusto 
rather displeasing to the old critic, who soon rose 
up, and in a horrible, silent rage, disappeared. 

Here I ventured to put in a word. 

" Gentlemen/' I said, " as you have mentioned 
Steele, allow me to suggest that his memory is 
deserving of honour in any literary society — more 
especially in one like ours, many of whose mem- 
bers have been beholden to him." And I told 
them, with a little variation, all that had happened 
between myself and him. 

" Aye," says another, " Dick was a fine, good 
fellow. I was down in Wales when he died; 
where, as it was said— - 

1 From perils of a hundred jails, 
Steele fled to starve and die in Wales.' 

He retained his cheerful, happy temper to the 
last. When he was so far gone that he could not 
walk, he would be carried out of a summer's 
evening, when the country lads and lasses were 
assembled at their rural sports ; and 1 have seen 
him give one of his few guineas to buy a new 
gown for the best dancer." 



EDWARD WORTLEf MONTAGU. 181 

We drank his memory — God bless him. I am 
now old, and as hard as adamant itself; but I 
sometimes find the tears in my eyes when I think 
of Steele. He was as wild as Will-o'- the- Wisp, 
but he was the only one amid the rascally crew 
of what is called our Augustan age of poetry, 
who had any human feeling. To have had even 
a glimpse of him has helped to humanise me. 
What a jest it was to make such an honest fellow 
Master of the Royal Company of Comedians — 
the greatest company of rogues and demireps I 
suppose that ever were brought together out of 
St. James's Palace. Bnt even this funny berth 
he never could have got had he not by some 
means got himself to be M.P. for Wendover. 

" Another bumper," cried Henley ; " another 
full and flowing bumper ; and let me preface it 
with a story. When I was in Scotland, last year, 
I found to my amazement that there was nothing 
but rain, rain, rain. Rain in the hills, rain in 
the valleys, ram in the lakes, rain in the streets, 
everywhere perpetual drizzle. The universal 
cloud and mist reminded me of Aaron Hill's 
tragedies, or John Oldmixon's operas. At last I 
said to a fellow, ( My good sir, does it always 
rain here V " 

u i Oh, dear nay/ answered the fellow, ' it 
snaws whiles.' Now I found that it not only 
4 snawed,' but that it ' Hawed,' also — and as I 



182 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

doubt not that it was in one of those Scotch 
hurricanes our noble compotator MacAuley was 
'blawed ' here to us, I beg to propose his health 
and success, and may his muse be always like his 
country's showers in perpetual flow from Hel — " 

" Bravo," squeaked out Savage. 

" Helicon, I should have said, only that you so 
impertinently interrupted me," said Henley. 
il Mr. Savage, I fine you a bottle ; you should 
not be too fond of reminding us where you your- 
self come from." 

" A bottle !" says Savage ; (t and where the 
deuce do you expect I shall get the money to pay 
for it ? If I were a mountebank like you I could 
raise pence at will from the butchers, but 1 have 
to depend on more unfeeling brutes than they — 
the booksellers." 

" You know the law, Mr. Savage," said Henley, 
" and you must either pay the fine, or give us an 
impromptu.' 

' Flow, Savage, flow, like thine inspirer— beer, 
Though stale not ripe, though thin yet never clear ; 
So sweetly mawkish, and so smoothly dull, 
Heady not strong, o'erflowing though not full.' 

The Orator repeated these lines with a mock- 
heroic imitation of Pitt, irresistibly comical, and 
when he had done, he again bawled out, " Now 
for the impromptu." 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 183 

" An impromptu ! an impromptu !" cried half- 
a-dozen, who probably knew from experience of 
their own pockets, the impossibility of getting a 
bottle from Savage. 

" On what subject ?" asked this hopeful scion 
of Lady M. 

" A friend, a friend," said Henley ; a then we 
know you can be severe. Let me see, Pope feeds 
you now and then — give us a stave about Pope." 

" Aye, Pope — Pope," echoed nearly all the 
company. The bard had made them smart under 
his hoofs, and they now gathered at his name 
like a nest of hornets. There was no zest in 
satire on that subject from Dennis, but Savage 
had been supported by Pope's bounty, and the 
thing promised sport. 

" Gentlemen," says Savage, with a mock air 
of sadness, " it is too bad for you to force me to 
attack my friend and benefactor ; but if I must, 
I must, and here goes." And after musing 
awhile, the grateful pensioner of Twickenham's 
imp began as follows : — 

"Oft have I, moved with anger, seen 
Sad object of envenomed spleen 
A painted butterfly unfold 
Its spangled wings bedropt with gold, 
And basking in a summer's day 
The glories of its plumes display, 
While issuing from his mazy cell 
With rage replete, a spider fell." 



184 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 



" Hear, hear," says Hill; " that's Pope, I'll 
swear." 



" Indignant views the pretty form, 
And spits upon the painted worm , 
So Pope of spiders kind and make — ' ' 

u Hurrah ! hurrah !" clamoured half a dozen. 



" A monstrous form, all legs and back, 
Crawls hateful from his hole obscure. 
Nor lovely object can endure, 
But views with envy, pride, and hate, 
The shining honours of the great ; 
Till squeezing forth his poisonous steam, 
The subtle still malignant stream , 
Blackens infectious as it flows ; 
Heroes and statesmen, belles and beaux, 
He rails and bids the world despise 
Whate'er his ugly soul outvies." 



These verses were received with applause. 
Savage was vain of them as an author, though I 
think somewhat ashamed of them as a man. 

" Are they, indeed, your own ?" asked Aaron 
Hill. "I think 1 have read them before." 

" That is what everybody says of your rubbish," 
answered Savage ; t4 though nobody is mad 
enough to doubt it is your own." 

" By St. Patrick," says one of the Irishmen, 
" nobody else except himself could write as bad 
as Hill, even if he was paid for it." 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 185 

" Aye," says Gleig, " and we know what 
Leviticus says :— 

" Says Moses to his brother Aaron, 
Your songs are bad and beyond bearing." 

Poor Aaron, who was not at all prepared for 
this onslaught, remained silent for the rest of the 
evening. 

"And yet," says Concanen, "I own I feel 
anxious to see his tragedy of Cinna, on which 
Rowe has written. 

' Hill for his precious soul cares not a pin-a, 
For he can now do nothing else but Gin-na.' 

" But we have not heard MacAuley's speech," 
says Booth, the actor, who by some odd chance 
found himself amid this troop of ragamuffins. 

" Nay," says Mac, " I have no speech to 
make, but I should like to say a word or two." 

" Bear ! hear ! hear ! " bawled Henley. 

"Was any one present t'other night/' asked 
our Scotchman, " when the Orator was floored 
by two lads from Oxford?" 

" Order ! order ! chair! silence ! " roared Hen- 
ley. 

" Tell us — tell us ! " bellowed out a dozen 
voices in reply. 

" You know, 1 ' cries Mac, " that our noble 



186 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

chairman has covered the metropolis with posters, 
promising to give an impartial decision on any 
question that may be discussed before him at his 
Wednesday night meetings. Well, two lads 
came before him a night or two ago — I hear their 
names were Selwyn and Parsons— and argued at 
great length, one in favour of Henley's ignorance, 
while the other contended that impudence was 
his chief characteristic. When the question came 
to be decided by the chair, I am sorry to say, it 
was found empty, the universal genius having 
sneaked off." 

u It appears to me," says Morgan, " that these 
Oxford boys treated our reverend friend as dis- 
courteously as Swift did when he waited on him ; 
for they say he offered him the dregs of a bottle 
of wine, saying that he always kept a poor parson 
about him to drink up his dregs." 

" Bravo ! bravo ! " cried MacAuley. 

A general titter went round the room ; the 
Scotchman had avenged himself, and Henley 
looked black with fury. Theobald got up. 

" Mr. President," said he u allow me to 
address you." 

"About what?" demanded Henley, "haven't 
you sufficiently exposed yourself?" 

" How ? why ? when ? where ? explain ! order ! 
shame ! chair ! chair ! chair ! silence ! ' Such 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 187 

was the Babel of sounds that greeted this ques- 
tion of the oratorical parson. 

" Why/' said Henley, " if Mr. Theobald had 
had the good sense to remain silent, no one would 
have known that he was drunk, or guessed that 
he was a pedant; but he now proposes by a 
speech to exhibit himself in both characters at 
once. I hope gentlemen, for the sake of our 
credit as a club, we shall not permit this folly." 

" Henley, you dirty scoundrel of a parson ! " 
began Theobald ; — but ere he could say another 
word, Henley beckoned to Figg and said, 
" Now." 

Figg at once rose, and making towards Theo- 
bald, carried him downstairs, and having de- 
posited him in the kennel (I hope), came back 
as if there was nothing unusual in such a trifle. 
This summary proceeding silenced some of those 
who would have been refractory, but who after 
this were prudent enough to be still. 

" Gentlemen wits of high Olympian places,'* 
said Henley, " it now devolves on me to propose 
the health of an illustrious and honoured Poet, 
whose fate is not so splendid as he deserves, but 
who will be regarded by all future ages as the 
Naso, Lucan, perhaps even the Maro of the 
present. I won't couple his name with that of 
the judge who tried him, for the two should not 



188 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

be mentioned on the same Page; nor will I 
allude to his right honourable dame, whose 
renown will last while rivers run into the ocean, 
or the town of Macclesfield produces savages. 
But this I will say, that of all the bardic tribe 
that ever flourished, or rather faded in the dusty 
groves of London, our celebrated composer 
Richard Savage has the most right to fling all the 
dirt he can collect upon that tipsy jade Miss 
Fortune. Well has the poet written : 

' Of those few fools who with ill stars are curst, 
Sure scribbling fools called Poets, fare the worst ; 
For they're a set of fools which Fortune makes, 
And after she has made 'em fools, forsakes. 
With Nature's oafs 'tis quite a different case, 
For Fortune favours all her idiot race ; 
In her own nest the cuckoo eggs we find, 
O'er which she broods to hatch the changeling kind ; 
No portion for her own she has to spare, 
So much she doats on her adopted care.* 

And never has the caprice of that ill-favoured 
harridan been more clearly developed than in the 
harlequin career of our vagabond — I mean our 
wandering friend and brother, who from the 
moment of his birth down to the present instant, 
when he can scarcely be said to live at all, has 
been the flying football for her incessant kicks/' 
11 Hear, hear," shouted half a score of wits, 
poetasters who envied, or hated Savage ; and who 
had not a tenth of his genius. 



EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 189 

" Therefore," continued Henley, " I beg leave 
to propose Richard Savage and his health, as our 
next and honoured toast," 

We all drank it ; indeed we would have drank 
Satan's health had it been given. The thing 
served as an excuse for tossing off a pot. 

u May he be promoted to the peerage," said 
one. 

" Aye," answered another, " I should like to 
see him with his hereditary coronet. He will do 
honour to the House of Lords." 

" And I hope he will impeach Page," said 
Warren. 

" And spend his mone\ on literature," added 
Butt. 

" My lords and gentlemen," said Savage, 
rising gracefully enough, for he was not drunk 
yet, "I thank you for this high and unexpected 
honour. Pliny I think it was who said that he 
could collect gold ex Enniano stercore. I also 
have been equally happy in getting applause 
from a source as dignified; — 1 mean our reverend 
illustrious chairman, and the noble wits by whom 
he is surrounded. I beg to drink all your good 
healths," and he sat down. 

This horrible sarcasm would probably have 
produced bloodshed had it been understood ; but 
the great majority of the assembled wits knew 



190 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

Latin only when it was made plain to them by 
a dictionary, and the rest were perhaps too drunk 
or indolent to resent what was a general rather 
than an individual insult. Henley, of course, knew 
what his friend intended to convey, but he was 
for once abashed, and did not retort. After a 
pause of some minutes he again rose. 

" Gentlemen," quoth he, u I hope your glasses 
are all filled ;" — the company immediately re- 
plenished. 

u I give you," says the Orator, u the health 
of our great literary patron, Henry Howard, Earl 
of Suffolk, an illustrious prose and poetical writer, 
great in Pastoral, greater in Sapphick's, though 
I very much doubt whether a future age will have 
the happiness of knowing anything about him." 

" How can that be?" says Savage, " when his 
lordship has nine living muses to inspire him? 
each as chaste and beautiful as those of Helicon 
itself." 

" Explain, explain," shouted Henley. " I al- 
ways thought his only muse was ' Bysshe's Art of 
Poetry.' " 

" I called on his lordship last week to, ahem — 
to—" 

"Out with it," says Amhurst, " to solicit a 
subscription — to beg a guinea." 

" To ask him whether in the last Craftsman 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 191 

the mad, the silly, or the stupid element most 
predominated ?" added Savage, apparently pur- 
suing the same train of thought, " when the Earl 
began to read some of his most impassioned 
verses. He came to a passage something like 
this — 

* But who can paint the splendours of her eyes 
Which fill the Gods of Heaven with surprise, 
And makes Jove's lightning envious as it flies P 

" Here he stopped and said, * Mr. Savage, I 
am not like most poets. I do not draw from ideal 
mistresses , I always have my subject before me ;' 
and ringing for a footm an, he said ■ Call up Fine 
Eyes.' A splendid vestal from Drury Lane, 
Mother Holcombe's, or some such classic neigh- 
bourhood, appeared. ' Fine Eyes,' said my lord, 
' look full on this gentleman,' and he read some 
more of this nonsense descriptive of her goggles. 
Another and another was summoned, as neck, 
breast or arms came to be portrayed, until I had 
seen all his Muses from head to foot, and com- 
pared the living charms which they presented 
with those which Lord Suffolk had described." 

" And how much did you swindle the fool out 
of ?" asked Bower, when our chorus had subsided. 

li I think 1 should have nailed him for a dedi- 
cation fee, but that he said you had sent to him 
a week before from the Fleet, and his last avail- 



192 EDWAKD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

able funds were expended in releasing you," an- 
swered Savage, with fine coolness. 

u I vow it would puzzle Satan," retorted Bower, 
" to find which of you was the greater liar and 
rascal." 

" Order, order, illustrious and noble writers," 
shouted Henley, " don't let us quarrel over such 
a dunce as this. I remember seeing one of his 
plays in manuscript. It was a glorious tragedy, 
such as Tibbald should write notes on, in which 
Charles the Second played the chief character. 
After the battle of Worcester, seeking shelter at 
the hut of an old woman, the royal fugitive was 
accosted as follows : — ( Why, you black, tawney- 
faced, lanthom-jawed, charcoal-browed, wide- 
mouthed, long-nosed, lath-backed, spindle- 
shanked ninny ' — which it must be owned was an 
accurate description enough. But that rogue 
Colley wouldn't play it, and so I think we had, 
therefore, betterproceedtothenext toast on my list. 
Gentlemen, fill — fill, replenish grandly, plentifully 
and bounteously, until we resemble the happy fly 
of Babelais. If there was any one here who knew 
Latin, I would say — 

* In cyatlw vini pJeno cum musca periret 
Sic ait Densus, sponte perire velim.' " 

Here a tumult arose among the translators, 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 193 

who were indignant at this reflection on their 
classical lore. 

" Why, faith, gentlemen," says Henley, "see. 
ing that not one of you knows English, I could 
scarcely suppose you knew Latin — but fill full- 
I give you the health of Archibald Bower, Esq., 
late a Jesuit and lover of the pretty nun of 
Perugia ; though I regret much, for the sake of 
the cloth, that the scandal was found out. Hip, 
hip, hurrah !" 

" I don't see why you should regret it," saya 
Sparrow, one of our translators, " as the discovery 
of the amour caused him to come among us, and 
shine so brightly in the literary world. 

1 Parnassus has a mighty flower, 
Which Phoebus saw and christened Bower.' " 

" Aye, faith," says Mil wood, another poor 
hack, " but I think he didn't shine so well in 
that affair of Lyttleton." 

" What affair?" demanded half a dozen voices. 
Bower got very uneasy, and I think if he had 
been near Mil wood he would have choked him. 
But the latter knew Bower's temper, and took 
care to be a good distance away from him, other- 
wise I am sure he would not have opened his 
lips. 

u Gentlemen," says Bower, hastily, " this 
story about Lyttleton is a lie." 
vol. u. K 



194 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

"What story?" says the Orator, "I didn't 
hear any yet." 

" Caught, caught — fairly caught," roared 
Savage. 

" Why, then," shouted Bower, " you are all a 
parcel of low-bred rogues if you won't believe me, 
and I won't disgrace myself any longer by sitting 
in your company." And he left the room in 
great dudgeon. We could hear his curses as he 
rolled down stairs. 

"Now then, Mil wood," says the Orator. 

" Why this Jesuit bragged everywhere that he 
had written a poem called Blenheim, and as it 
was a pretty thing he got some applause. The 
next time he waited on his patron Lyttleton, he 
said to Bower, i But, Mr. Bower, is this true what 
I hear — that you wrote Blenheim ?' 

" c Yes, indeed, sir,' says the Scotchman, ■ 1 
did, and I hope you like it.' 

" i And how long did it take you, Mr. Bower, 
to spin so fine a work ?' 

" ' Oh ! sir, I did it all at one sitting.' 

" * I should like to see the original manuscript,' 
said the patron. 

" i You certainly shall, sir, and when next 1 
call I will bring it. 5 

u Lyttleton turned to Pope, who was present, 
saying, l What do you think of this. Our friend 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 195 

here does a' t know that I wrote the poem myself.* 
How Bower got out of the room report saith 
not ; but as he still understraps for Lyttleton, 
and does his dirty — I mean his political— work, 
I suppose he has forgiven him." 

" Hurrah !" says Henley. " Archie did well to 
take his leave, though I doubt it would be no 
easy matter to make his Scotch hide wear a blush. 
Another bumper, gentlemen ; fill fall, and drink 
the conjoined healths of Squire Mil wood and 
Squire Amhurst. I know no man since the days 
of Teofilo Folingi who knows Latin better than 
the first ; and none since the era of Thersites 
who can reason like the second. They are indeed 
Arcades ambo — which I have heard translated, 
though I won't say how. 

" ' Great weekly writers of seditious news, 
Take care your subject artfully to choose ; 
Write panegyricks strong, or boldly rail, 
You cannot mis3 preferment or a jail. 
Wrap up your poison well, nor fear to say 
What was a lie last night is truth to-day. 
Tell this, sink that, arrive at Ridpath's praise, 
Let Abel Roper your ambition raise, 
Let pilloried Daniel be the light refined 
That girds your path and animates your mind. 
To lie fit opportunity observe, 
Saving some double meaning in reserve. 
But oh ! you'll merit everlasting fame 
If you can quibble on Sir Robert's name." 

And Henley sat down like some mocking devil 

E 2 



]96 EDWARD WOBTLEY MONTAGU. 

of Pandemonium. Poor Milwood, and still 
poorer Amhurst, who was great only with his 
pen, were both fairly knocked on the head by 
these compliments. They could not speak a 
word, but seemed verily bursting with shame. 
So we drank to them without calling for a 
speech. 

In this manner Henley proceeded until nearly 
every member of this gay and brilliant company 
had smarted under his tongue. I could see rage 
gathering and growing into boiling heat, and was 
anxious to escape before matters came to a crisis. 
The club was now, indeed, more than half-drunk. 
Henley's eyes twinkled, and he began to get 
more personal and savage. At last he singled 
out a Scotchman, who had sat in terrible silence 
ever since Bower's discomfiture, and was evidently 
meditating vengeance for the insult to his country - 
man. # 

" Now then, you Scotch louse," said the Orator, 
" i, r ive us a song. I'm tired of having to do all 
this talk." 

L'he " Scotch louse " made no answer, but 
rising up he rushed at Henley, to my immense, 
intense delight, and hit him between the eyes 
with all his force. The blow took effect, and 
knocked him over. Like a Clare market pig he 
fell. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 197 

There was a general uprising, in the midst of 
which an Irish bard, whose blood was at fever 
heat, and who had evidently been long panting 
for a battle, jumped up and exclaimed " Fighting 
at last — thank God ! " whereupon he struck out 
right and left with a noble disregard of any con- 
sideration but the exquisite luxury of inflicting 
blows. The pommelling now became general. 
Figg, like a lion aroused, rushed into the conflict ; 
the lights were extinguished ; there was a com- 
mon rush towards the chair — not, I fear, to pro- 
tect it, but to give vent to their long concealed 
frenzy and revenge on the unfortunate tenant in 
possession; sticks rattled, and glasses were 
smashed — I now knew why Savage had counselled 
me to bring a cudgel — groans, threats, and curses 
were intermingled, and I escaped, luckily, with 
whole bones, getting free just as the ni^ht watch 
entered to convey the ringleaders to the round- 
house, where, I fear, they fared but badly until 
next morning. 

11 Thus the soft gifts of sleep conclude the day, 
And stretched on bulks, as usual poets lay ; 
Why should I sing what bards the nightly muse, 
Did slumbering visit, and convey to stews ? 
Who prouder marched with magistrates in state 
To some famed round-house ever open gate ? 
How Henley lay inspired beside a sink, 
And to mere mortals seemed a priest in drink, 
While others timely to the neighbouring Fleet 
Haunt of the muses, make their safe retreat." 



198 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

How it really ended I never enquired ; and this 
sickened me for the rest of my days with literary 
clnbs and coteries, which I found to be only hot- 
beds of falsehood and defamation. Savage did 
not come near me for some weeks. Even he was 
ashamed of the rapscallions to whom he had in- 
troduced me, and when we did meet he made no 
allusion to the fray. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 199 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



«i 



And we entered into the house of Philip the Evangelist." 



One day, about a week after this, Curll sent for 
me. I found him in a small room behind his 
shop. He took me by the hand as I entered. 

" Mr. Smith," he said, " I have had an offer 
made to me by a noble lord of a sum of money — 
not very much, by Jove, sir, but still it is money, 
by Jove, sir." 

Here he looked at me very hard, and seeing 
that I enquired as plainly as I could with my eyes 
how much it was, he added — 

" A hundred pounds, which I propose to divide 
equally between us. The consideration for which 
it is to be paid is this : you are aware of the ap- 
proaching election for the borough of Bilge water ? 



200 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

Great excitement is kindled on both sides ; it is 
rather a question between two rival houses — for 
one of the candidates is secretly backed by 
Pulteney — than between opposite political fac- 
tions. Money will be spent, by Jove, sir, and 
votes will be procured, no matter how. The 
noble individual who has applied to me is de- 
termined to win ; and he wants me to get him 
some sharp, shrewd, clever fellow, by Jove, sir, 
who can compose squibs, ballads, and broadsides, 
write letters, and, if need be, pen a pamphlet 
during the squabble. He will also probably have 
to see after the doubtful electors, and make him- 
self generally useful, by Jove, sir, at the place. 
I think there is no one of my staff on whom I 
can so fairly depend as on yourself for these 
varied qualifications ; and now what do you say, 
by Jove, sir?" 

What could I say ? I had only five shillings 
in the world at the time, and but little prospect 
of an immediate increase. Fifty pounds was like 
the mines of Potosi. 

" Mr. Curll," I replied, " I suppose I must do 
as you wish. It is a sort of work to which I am 
new, and I fear I shall play my part but indiffer- 
ently in it. However, needs must when the 
devil or a noble lord drives — and so I am at vour 



service." 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 201 

11 1 am very glad you see it in so sensible a 
point of view, by Jove ! sir," answered my 
patron ; " you need not be much alarmed, though 
you are a novice ; you will not be alone in the 
work, but shall have a couple of companions, 
who are up to all this sort of thing, and will 
enlighten you fully upon these masonic mat- 
ters." 

" And pray who may these gentlemen be, Mr. 
Curll ?" 

" Well, they are rather loose characters, but 
useful, useful, by Jove ! sir, when work turns 
up. The first we call The Cannibal. His real 
name is Rooke ; but he is so horribly ugly and 
fierce, that he has acquired this pleasant nick- 
name. He is the secretary of the bribing com- 
mittee at , and will do most of that sort of 

work which is a little too dirty for his employers. 
When a deluge of corruption — for I speak frankly 
to you, Mr. Smith — is to be poured upon some 
unlucky town, the Cannibal, by Jove ! sir, is 
called into requisition, and as he is an adept, the 
greatest confidence is reposed in his tricks and 
schemes. He has done more bribing than any 
man in England ; and there is not an electioneer- 
ing dodge, device, or fraud, by Jove ! sir, in 
which he is not well skilled. He it was who in- 
vented the grand mysteries of ' hocussing,' 

K 5 



202 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

' bottling,' l buying cats,' aDd * polliDg dead 
men ;' and when his friends come in, they will 
probably make him a judge in one of our plan- 
tations, or something else equally dignified, in 
r eward for his invaluable services, by Jove ! 
sir." 

Need I say how glad I felt at the approaching 
happiness of knowing such an illustrious charac- 
ter ? Curll continued : 

" The other gent we call Shaveley Bill. It is a 
sort of travelling name, such as the knowing 
'uns, by Jove, sir, use at racecourses and prize- 
fights. He will do the showman's part at the 
election. Ee can speak for twenty-four hours 
by Shrewsbury clock, and there will be nothing 
in it but words, words, words ; but, by Jove ! sir, 
they sound like tinkling brass : when he sees 
the attention of his audience flagging, he will 
introduce something broad, fat, and nasty, and 
make them laugh, by Jovel sir, but whether at 
his filth, or his folly, he don't much care. This 
gets votes, and this, by Jove ! sir, is his voca- 
tion. He can laugh like a horse, and tell lies 
like an Austrian ambassador ; you should have 
seen him at Coventry last election ; he can drink, 
smoke, and jollify with the greatest blackguards 
in their own style. Ee, like the Cannibal, is 
looking out for a comfortable berth, and he was 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 203 

last year secretary to a sham committee for an 
Oxford election, in which a noodle lordling was 
put up against a statesman, so that he will work 
indefatigably, by Jove ! sir, and he may possibly 
get you into something good, such as a foot- 
man's place, with the prospect of a pension. 
Indeed, I have no doubt this business will be one 
of the best introductions into public life that you 
can possibly have— and after all, my dear Mr. 
Smith, though literature is a fine thing (here he 
put his hand upon his nose, and cried c fudge') 
nothing pays like politics, by Jove ! sir. Brains 
command their price, to be sure, but then a 
man's soul is of more worth to a politician ; and 
the ablest head in England, by Jove ! sir, tells 
only for just as much in the House on a divi- 
sion, as the vilest dunce, who having no talent 
to dispose of, sells his soul to the minister, and 
gets a bribe, or a baronetcy for his compliance, 
by Jove ! sir." 

Little as I had seen of the active world of life, 
I had beheld enough to convince me, that in this 
at least, Curll spoke accurately, and I asked my- 
self in disgust and surprise, why in the name of 
heaven was man formed and the earth framed 
in this goodly fashion, if nothing else is to be 
transacted upon it but rascality like this ? 



204 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

The bookseller guessed my thoughts ; and 
grinned at ray inexperience. 

"Well," he said, " to be sore it is a shabby 
mode of getting on in life, but if the good men, 
by Jove ! sir, won't do it, why the blackguards 
will ; and would it not be bad, Mr. Smith, if all 
the fine things on earth belonged only to the 
knaves and vagabonds, by Jove ! sir ?" 

I answered that I certainly thought it would ; 
but I did not add, as I ought, that I would 
rather do without them myself than become a 
knave and vagabond for their sake. At twenty, 
I am afraid, though we surmise these things — 
poor boys ! poor boys ! — we have not self- 
restraint enough to do them ; and so we live and 
live, and end at last by going with the herd after 
the loaves and fishes, and finishing our career in 
Hell, which, indeed, is the only place for which 
we have fitted ourselves, in this mortal career. 
And I suppose there is the same amount of in- 
trigue, and scheming, and faction, and violence 
there, to get into a cool corner, as there is on 
this earth to get into a warm one. Nor can I 
doubt that the monarch of those regions gets as 
much adulation from his subjects as Walpole, 
Bute, or Pitt ever received at St. James's ; and 
all for the same reason, and with the same ob- 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 205 

ject; and with equal sincerity of heart. There 
is a fanatic of the name of Swedeberg, or Sweden- 
borg, who has made more voyages to hell than 
Eneas, and talked more with the devil than Dr. 
Luther, and he, I think, gives nearly a similar 
account of the infernal polity ; and, as he speaks 
from experience, we may well believe him. 
Dante's notions of the place are all evidently 
founded on delusion. The real truth is, that it 
is something like this earth, only not quite so 
wicked. 

Curll gave me a note to the Cannibal, whom I 
found in a fashionable street at the West end of 
London. He had just before married a farmer's 
daughter as ugly as a witch, and rotten with the 
king's evil ; but he got five hundred a year 
settled on himself by the old fool of a father, who 
would not have given a shilling to save any fel- 
low Christian from starvation; and his wife 
dying off in six months, the man-eater was now 
as free and merry as a baboon, and was probably 
looking ont for another stroke of luck of the same 
nature, being at all times ready to take half a 
dozen putrid women on his hands, so long as 
they brought him " de monish." He sat in a 
room surrounded by looking glasses, and was 
contemplating with Narcissus-like delight the 
ugliest countenance that God ever made since 



206 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

Judas ; for his eyes were not fellows, but one 
squinted upwards towards his eyebrow, while the 
other glanced askew over his shoulder, as if on 
the look-out for a bailiff; his face was pitted all 
over with the small pox, as if Satan had been 
playing the devils' tattoo upon it when it was 
first moulded and was yet soft ; and he looked 
exactly like Thersites, whom he resembled also in 
ail mental, moral, and physical qualifications. I 
presented my note, and as the fellow read it I 
could not help asking myself what sort of ■ 
minister of state must that man be who would 
appoint such a creature to adjudicate on the 
liberties or fortunes of others ; and yet nothing 
seemed more likely than that this scoundrel would 
wake up one fine morning and find himself • 
judge, and all as a reward for a career of base- 
ness, lying, and subserviency of the meanest and 
foulest description. The minister would, indeed, 
say, if asked why he had committed such a crime, 
u What was I to do ? I wanted scavenger's work 
done, and I could get nobody to do it except a 
scavenger." But this, though plausible enough, 
is no valid excuse ; for what business have affairs 
of state with cesspool matters such as this ruffian 
was engaged about? 

11 Mr. Smith," said my new acquaintance, in a 
hoarse, gutteral voice, such as an imp in the 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 207 

influenza would use, " you have come in good 
time. I am just going off to Lord Chesterfield, 
who takes a great interest in this election, and 
who, indeed, is to be the medium through which 
the money comes. I scarcely know whether I 
ought to take you to his lordship, but I will run 
the risk, and if he don't like it he may go to hell. 

There must be no d d humbug between him 

and me, or you either. He wants us just now, 
and he must have us— so come along." 

We proceeded to Grosvenor Square, where this 
noble statesman then lived. We found him sur- 
rounded by all the appliances of splendid and 
luxurious wealth. His house was a temple of the 
arts, while he, the divinity of the temple,was like 
an Egyptian idol, a monkey, a weasel, or a cat. 
He was short, with coarse features, and a cadaver- 
ous complexion, long-visaged, and long-necked; 
but from the shoulders to the waist so stunted 
that he gave you the notion of a grenadier cut 
down. There was an appearance of self-conceit 
about him that was very sickening; his eyes 
showed an immense depth of dissimulation, aDd 
his forehead was utterly deficient in any moral 
quality. It was the head and body of an ouran- 
outang, but an ouran-outang of great subtlety. 
1 had by this time begun to read the hand- 
writing of nature upon every man, and I knew 



208 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

what sort of a mammal was now present Yet 
this varlet was thought to be the finest gentleman 
of the time. From this you may judge what its 
gentlemen were. 

" Bully Rooke," said Lord Chesterfield, " lam 
glad you are come. Who is your friend ?" 

My companion handed his lordship the note 
which I had brought from Curll, and that illus- 
trious peer, having read it, turned to me with a 
knowing look. 

" Mr. Smith," he said, " I find you can be 
trusted. This election must be won, per fas aut 
nefas, as the Romans, our great prototypes, used 
to say, and which the Septuagint translates ' by 
hook or by crook,' and I believe if you and Mr. 
Rooke work cordially we may mark down the 
place as our own." 

I bowed, and said — 

" My lord, I will do what I can ; I have no 
doubt all will be right." 

The peer stared at me. 

u I don't know," he said, " what you mean by 
' right ;' but, Mr. Smith, I know that this elec- 
tion must be won. Walpole will go wild if that 
dirty fellow Pulteney gets his man in. The fact 
is the spread of baseness and rascality is so much 
enlarged that every barrier is needed to stay the 
advancing tide, and so long as we can command 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 209 

a majority in the House of Commons — for we are 
always sure of the Lords — so loug will everything 
be safe. As, therefore, the saltation of the whole 
empire depends upon the condition of this branch 
of the legislature, it follows, logically, that no 
means must be left untried to secure this great 
and splendid result. As Sidney said — I presume, 
sir, you 'know Latin ? — aut mam inveniam — aut 
faciam" 

" Which means," says Eooke, u If the devil 
don't find me out I'll find him," at which there 
was a general laugh. 

" Is it your lordship's opinion, then," I said, 
€t that the end justifies the means ?" 

" Undoubtedly it is ; I believe not only that 
the end justifies the means, but that the means 
justify the end. Indeed no man can pretend to 
be a statesman who does not hold both as the 
very principal foundation of his polity. Is not 
this your notion, my good Doctor ?" 

And Lord Chesterfield turned to a solemn, 
shallow-looking individual in black, whom I 
afterwards ascertained to be Dr. Young, and who 
was then in the beginning of that career of 
desperate sycophancy which won for him in a short 
time, from his noble patrons, the lavish wealth 
in which he rolled. 

"My dear and noble lord," answered Dr. 



210 EDWABD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

Young, " your lordship speaks now with the 
same consummate wisdom and truth which dis- 
tinguishes every sentiment which falls from your 
lips. The greatest statesmen have always acted 
upon this principle which your lordship has so 
beautifully and tersely enunciated, and I have 
no doubt they will so continue to act until the 
consummation of all things. Nor, indeed, could 
affairs of moment be conducted otherwise ; and 
it augurs well for the future of our happy land 
that such illustrious ornaments of the nobility as 
your lordship should maintain and act upon 
axioms which may be truly called the amulets of 
wisdom herself." And the reverend gentleman 
smiled and bowed obsequiously, like the devil 
when he begged as a little favour from Heaven 
the right to persecute holy Job. 

M But, sir," I ventured to put in, " I had 
always thought it was only the Jesuit order who 
preached and practised the maxim you have 
alluded to." 

Young looked at me with profound contempt. 
I was shabbily dressed, and evidently poor of 
purse — the two superlative degrees of baseness 
and abomination in the eyes of this paragon of 
parsons. He did not even deign to answer, but 
curled his lip, and grinned at his lordly patron, 
with a supercilious glance at myself and a servile 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 2 1 I 

smile of adulation upon the peer, which were 
absolutely loathsome to look upon. Chesterfield 
himself regarded me as one regards some 
prattling child or braying ass, but unlike Young, 
he was too well bred to treat anyone with 
scorn. 

" My good Mr. Smith," asked he, u how long 
have you been under the guidance of our esteemed 
friend Rooke here ? I should have thought you 
would have learned better under such excellent 
auspices." 

u By God ! my lord,'' said the Cannibal, 
evidently frightened at being supposed to have 
instructed me in such blasphemous notions as 
that which I had just broached ; " by Grod ! my 
lord," said he, " I am wholly unanswerable for 
Mr. Smith, or his cursed follies in this respect, 
for I never saw him until this day." 

"You have in truth, sir," said Young, 
glancing sarcastically at myself and my thread- 
bare coat, "called them 6 cursed follies;' for 
surely that must be c accursed,' which questions 
the excellence of any of the wise and holy men, 
who are celebrated in Holy Writ, and who as we 
know, based much of their practice on what 
this inexperienced young gentle — I mean, man — 
has ventured to controvert. Laban, the son of 
Nahor, deceived Jacob when he covenanted for 



212 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAQTJ. 

Rachel — both were men of God, and we may he 
assured that the inspired penman would have 
left his stigma on the fraud if it were any in the 
eyes of Heaven. Abraham told lies to King 
Abimelech, and utterly frustrated him ; the 
daughters of Lot also deceived their father, and 
became the mothers of great tribes. Jacob and 
his most religious mother deceived Isaac in his 
old age, for the righteous purpose of excluding 
Esau from his birthright, and we know how 
Heaven blessed the pious stratagem. The sons 
of Jacob answered Sheckem and Hamor his 
father deceitfully, and a great and splendid 
moral lesson of retribution was soon after given 
to these two royal, but most pagan personages, 
and their people, for i the sons of Jacob came 
upon the city boldly, and slew all the males; and 
they slew Hamor, and Sheckem his eon with the 
edge of the sword, they took their sheep and their 
oxen, and their asses, and that which was in the 
city, and that which was in the field, and all their 
wealth, and all their little ones, and their wiws 
took they captive, and spoiled even all that was 
in the house.' These facts afford proofs, if any 
were wanted, that the means justify the end 
and the end justifies the means, for the end in 
all these cases was most holy ; and though the 
means were such as very rigid moralists, or very 



EDWAED WORTLEY MONTAGU. 213 

silly youths" (here again he glanced at me), 
" might venture to question, still I would 
rather believe the Sacred Scriptures than either." 

"Capital, capital, my dear Doctor," cried 
Chesterfield, " you ought to be a Bishop, and if 
ever I come to be Prime Minister, you shall be 
the first to whom I give a wig, my blessing, and 
lawn sleeves." 

" May God grant then that your lordship shall 
soon reach the object of your deserts," replied 
Young, with a prayer evidently from the 
heart. I thought within myself of Shakspere's 
line — 



(( 



The Devil can cite Scripture for his purp° se >" 



and I remained silent and ashamed. What a 
simpleton I must have looked ! How these wise 
men must have despised me. 

Lord Scarborough was now announced. He 
was a thick vulgar looking man, but not destitute 
of a certain intellectual development. Like his 
friend Chesterfield, he prided himself on infidelity; 
prated about Plato with a shallow flippancy ; aped 
Voltaire, who had been in England a short time 
before, and had set the wits of half the peerage 
astray with his monkey scepticism and frog-like 
grimace ; and having learned to laugh at all true 
religion, was of course a very apt tool for such a 



214 EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 

minister as Sir Robert. My dear mother gives 
an account of him in one of her epistles, and 
alludes, I think, to some girl whom he seduced, 
and then abandoned (I rather fancy it was poor 
Miss Howe), which she supposes preyed on his 
sensitive conscience, for a very short time after 
this, he shot himself through the head — I sup- 
pose he had no heart — and was found a corpse 
by one of his domestics; who like a loyal 
follower, picked his pockets and fled. But what- 
ever it was that made him felo de se, I have no 
doubt at all that he did that execution on himself 
which the hangman in the natural course of 
things, must have performed, had he not been a 
peer of the realm. 

" My dear friend," cried Chesterfield, calling 
a smile into his yellow features, as I have seen 
the sun playing on an Egyptian mummy, " I am 
enchanted to see you. You have come about the 
election at Bilgewater, I suppose. Well, I 
think we shall be all right in that quarter. 
These two gentlemen here," and he pointed to 
the Canuibal and myself, " are about most kindly 
to take a great deal of trouble off our hands, and 
I have no doubt they will manage all things per- 
fectly in order. L e Bayeux may make his mind 
easy about it." 

" I have just left Sir Robert," answered Scar- 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 21£ 

borough, " and he feels great anxiety on the 
subject — indeed, he sent me direct to you. He 
will be glad to hear your report, and I think I 
can't do better than return and let him know." 

" No, no," answered Chesterfield, " let him 
wait. At present I would rather you stayed. 
We are in the middle of a curious metaphysical 
discussion." 

u A metaphysical discussion!" ejaculated Scar- 
borough. 

u Yes, indeed," replied Chesterfield, " and upon 
a very intricate subject, too." 

" I should have supposed," said the other, 
" that the election occupied all your thoughts." 

"Not at all," rejoined my lord; " the election 
is safe 1 tell you, so now for ethics. The grand 
question is, whether the end justifies the means, 
and the means justify the end." 

ei Why, that has been settled long ago," said 
Scarborough, — il of course they do ; everything is 
fair in war, love, or politics ; and Jove does not 
more certainly laugh at lover's perjuries than the 
country does at the perjuries of elections." 

Dr. Young fell into hysterics of delight at 
this sally. I really thought he would have fallen 
off his chair. A parson laughing at a great 
man's joke is a spectacle. 



216 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

"Pooh, pooh," said Chesterfield, "Jove is 
nothing at all in these cases. Here is my good 
friend Dr. ^oung, who proves that Jehovah also 
laughs at them, and that you know is much 
better for us, constituted as things are in this 
Christian community." 

Then there was another laugh. Vagrant as I 
had been, and living among vagabonds, I had 
not been used to this species of blasphemous 
wit, and I really began to get frightened. For 
the moment I began to think I was in Hell, and 
not on the earth at all. The nonchalance, how- 
ever, of these two noble lords encouraged me. 
Surely the fires of Sodom and Gomorrah would 
not dare to fall down on Grosvenor Square while 
they were within its precincts, and Schulenberg 
was living next door. In such company I felt 
that I was safe. Heaven could not be so mean- 
minded as to sweep away in a horrid brimstone 
shower, Philip, Earl of Chesterfield, and Lumley , 
Baron Scarborough. As it turned out, I was 
right in my surmise. Grosvenor Square still 
flourishes. 

" And how did our reverend friend establish 
that?" asked Lord S. 

" By the plainest proofs from Scripture," an- 
swered Chesterfield — "but I won't ask him to 



EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 21? 

repeat them, for I have no doubt that he has 
twenty others equally good, and which will have 
the additional merit of novelty." 

" My dear good noble lords," said Young, 
" you quite put me to the blush." (I looked at 
him, but saw none.) U I must really protest 
against being thus unexpectedly thrust into a 
discussion on a subject where I feel that my 
powers are feeble, indeed, before two such great 
wits and accomplished scholars as these I see 
before me ; I have no objection to take a place 
in the picture, but if you please, it must be in 
the back ground." 

" Oh ! shameful," cried Chesterfield ; "call 
you this backing your friends ? Divinity, like a 
hangman, takes the lead in all questions of this 
nature, and we poor laymen philosophers, like 
the victim, follow humbly in the distance." 

" Aye, aye," said Scarborough, " if the church 
don't guide us into the true way where else shall 
we find a lamp ? She is the cur dog, and we the 
poor blind beggars that she leads. And I have no 
doubt that our reverend friend here will flash such 
new fireworks upon this cloudy subject, that we 
shall both be a match henceforth for any quib- 
bling rascal who maintains that nothing can 
afford an excuse for artifice, or deceit, in the 
affairs of life." 

VOL. jl L 



218 EDWAKD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

" There are such rascals, indeed," said Rooke, 
with a melancholy air, u but if I were absolute 
monarch, I'd burn 'email at Smithfield— or stick 
their silly heads on Temple Bar." 

And as he spoke, 1 thought what a very ap- 
propriate administrator of colonial justice my 
friend would make. 

Encouraged by this brace of great men, and 
the little dog that yelped at their heels, Dr. 
Young again launched forth into a subject in 
which he was well calculated to shine. He told 
us that as the Jews were the especial people of 
God, we must suppose that everything they did 
was under the direct inspiration of the Holy 
Gnost ; and that as what was once right, must 
always be so, it followed naturally that whatever 
they did was the safe rule of action for all man- 
kind. Hence deceit in speech was not only right 
and proper in all matters of life ; but it was in 
fact most truly virtuous and excellent, and com- 
mendable, whenever any purpose was to be gained 
which the speaker believed to be good. And even 
if the purpose were radically vicious, that made 
no difference in point of morals, provided the 
deviser of it had persuaded himself that it was 
good. Thus assassination was by some persons of 
rigid scruples regarded as criminal ; persons of 
mean capacity, and narrow understanding, who 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 219 

had forgotten the most glorious pages of Greek 
and Roman history, where the assassin rose up 
refulgent with his dagger and afforded an heroic 
spectacle to Gods and men. But these men had 
not reflected that this species of political achieve- 
ment was well-known in the most perfect govern- 
ment the world had yet seen, namely that of the 
Jews, and was expressly sanctioned — as in the 
case of Judith and Holofernes — if not commanded 
by Heaven. Nay, so anxious was their Deity to 
divest this glorious masterpiece of statesmanship 
of any features of horror that might be supposed 
to attach to it, and to clothe it with romance, 
loveliness, and poetry, that he in many cases in- 
spired women with the illustrious design of free- 
ing their people of a foe by the use of the dagger, 
or the nail. Thus Jael, the wife of Heber the 
Kenite, invited Sisera into her tents and gave 
him milk to drink, and covered him, and when 
he was asleep, *' she took an hammer in her hand, 
and weut softly unto him, and smote the nail 
into his temples, and fastened it into the ground, 
for he was fast asleep and weary. So he died." 
Therefore did the Lord inspire Deborah 
and Barak to sing this song, u Blessed 
above women shall Jael, the wife of Heber the 
Kenite be ; blessed shall she be above women in 
the tent. He asked water, and she gave him 

L 2 



220 EDWARD WOKTLEY MONTAGU. 

milk ; she brought forth butter in a lordly dish. 
She put her hand to the nail, and her right hand 
to the workman's hammer ; and with her ham- 
mer she smote Sisera ; she smote off his head, 
when she had pierced and stricken through his 
temple. At her feet he bowed ; he fell ; he lay 
down ; at her feet he bowed ; he fell ; where he 
bowed, there he fell down dead. So let all thine 
enemies perish, Lord," &c, &c. Here in truth 
was the most powerful and convincing proof that 
the end justified the means, for the pure and 
sacred penman concluded his narrative of this 
majestic stroke of politics, by significantly add- 
ing, "And the land had rest for forty years." 
None but vile atheists and blasphemers therefore, 
would dare to question the legality of this heaven- 
descended maxim. So also when the Lord re- 
pented him that he had made Saul King, he 
advised Samuel to deceive Saul with a lie, M and 
Samuel did that which the Lord spake," and 
Saul was deluded, and David was anointed mon- 
arch by the pious and Heaven-inspired son of 
Hannah. 



But why pursue the theme. The reader may 
judge for himself from these samples the kind of 
learned and philosophical discourse which pre- 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 221 

vailed. The world has since had the inestimable 
advantage of perusing Lord Chesterfield's private 
thoughts on morality, religion, deceitfulness and 
dancing ; and though the public benefit has not 
perhaps been so great as might have been hoped 
for, still the public must be grateful for anything 
that fell from the mouth or pen of so great, so 
wise, so noble, and so good a man. Suffice it to 
say, that everything that passed was as witty and 
profound as that which the reader has just read ; 
and that the two peers and the parson strove to 
out-do each other in educing prototypes of their 
own purity in religion and politics from the 
most noted characters in sacred or profane his- 
tory. My cannibal companion occasionally joined 
in, but the three were so deeply interested in their 
speculations, that they took but little notice of 
him. 

At last the Bully interrupted them — 

u There is one matter," he said, " which I had 
almost forgotten — we must get Hogden." 

" Who is he ?" says Lord Chesterfield. 

" Well," answered the Bully, " I hardly know. 
He is the best hand at bribery, after myself. He 
has already been the means of disfranchising one 
borough, which he corrupted by giving a shilling 
a piece for bloated herrings, and the whole place 
was in a state of drunkenness, riot, blasphemy, 



222 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

debasement, and debauchery for a month. This 
is the way to win elections, my lord. Since then 
they call him i The Bloater/ and he is like one. 
He and the notorious Ganderbill hunt in couples ; 
but Ganderbill is now in difficulties, and we can't 
get him, so we must content ourselves with Hog- 
deu. All that humbug can do, he will do ; his 
motto is, 'Go in and win, cost what it may; 5 
and he trusts to the chapter of accidents to secure 
what he has won." 

" We must certainly have Am," says Scar- 
borough. 

And so it was agreed. We found him at a 
pot-house, on our way down — a short, fat, vulgar 
fellow, with a gold chain; very greasy, and 
smelling nastily, like an unsound codfish. I took 
care that he never came between me and the 
wind. He was the exact realization of Dryden's 
picture of the bookseller, Jacob Tonson — 

11 With leering look, bull-faced, and codlike stare, 
With two left-legs, and Judas-coloured hair, 
And frowzy pores that taint the ambient air." 

But he was a grand chap for all that. And the 
beauty of his tactics was this : he made it a 
habit to go about everywhere, and say that he 
abhorred bribery; and that if a shilling cor- 
ruptly spent could return his man to parliament, 
he would not give it. As soon as he had been at 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 223 

this talk for ^ye minutes, he thrust a handfull of 

gold into the pocket of the voter, and with a 

wink and his blessing departed to play the same 

game with the next. This trick he learned from 

our House of Commons itself, which always 

preaches against corruption ; while, tall bully as 

it is, it never fails to protect every scoundrel 

briber it can ; and if a fellow like Hogden could 

by any trick become one of its members, it would 

support him even though a thousand committees, 

or commissioners, reported him guilty of the 

crime, which all its hypocritical members pretend 

to look at with horror. 

But did they not expel Walpole ? asks some 
amazed reader, for an offence of the same kind. 
They did, my dear friend ; but the parliament of 
Queen Anne was honesty itself compared to the 
rogues that now constitute the lower house, 
though it did not profess half so much. 

" Could I from the building's top 
Hear the rattling thunder drop, 
While the devil upon the roof 
(If the devil be thunder proof) 
Should, with poker fiery red, 
Crack the stones and melt the lead ; 
Drive them down on every scull, 
When the den of thieves is full ; 
Quite destroy the Harpie's nest — 
How might then our isle be blest," 

After a long interview Bully and I rose to take 



224 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

our leave. As we did so, Lord Chesterfield handed 
to Rooke a leathern bag. 

" Mr. Rooke," said he, il this bag contains two 
thousand guineas : there will be two thousand 
more ready before the end of the week. The 
number of electors I think is four hundred ; we 
must have at least three hundred on our side. 
You may corrupt the men, seduce their wives, 
debauch their sisters, and promise to marry their 
daughters ; if no other means succeed, empty 
the jails of imprisoned voters, and fill the jails 
with such as are in debt ; distribute ' sugar ' as 
lavishly as may be ; in a word, stick at nothing, 
so that our man wins. Let this be your morning 
prayer and midnight orison — this election must be 
gained at all hazards. Now give me a receipt." 

The Cannibal, who was a wag in his way, re- 
ceived the bag, and handed Lord Chesterfield the 
following memorandum : — 

" Grosvenor Square. 

u Received from the Rt. Hon. Lord Chester- 
field the sum of two thousand guineas, to be ex- 
pended in the purchase of three hundred English 
souls ; and to be repaid with interest on the 1 
of Judgment. 

" Bully Rooke, 
" Chief Chaplain to the Devil " 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 225 

His lordship read the document, and smiled. 
Turning with his most fascinating grin to Dr. 
Young, he said — 

" My dear doctor, I perceive that Mr. Rooke 
calls himself your chaplain — but the title is pre- 
mature, for you are not yet an Archbishop, though 
quite ripe enough for any mitre ;" upon which he 
bowed us out. 



L 5 



226 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 



CHAPTER XXV. 



" Israel hath not obtained that which he seeketh for, but the 

election hath obtained it, and the rest were blinded 

And David saith, Let their table be made a snare and a trap, and 
a stumbling-block, and a recompense unto them." 



Animated by the sublime and noble sentiments 
which we had the advantage of thus hearing 
from this inimitable ornament of the peerage, we 
took our leave and proceeded to Fetter Lane, 
from which we took coach to Bilgewater. The 
Cannibal was in high glee ; his cock eye gleamed 
with a cat-like lustre ; he put his hand repeatedly 
on the pocket which contained my lord's golden 
prescription, and, as he felt it safe and sound, a 
gratified smile crept over his rugged features, as 
I have seen the torch-light play upon the 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 227 

boulders of the sea beach. At the end of the 
first stage we took up Shaveley Bill, a tall, 
awkward-looking customer, with tow-coloured 
whiskers, mean, cowardly, malignant features, 
and an eye full of malevolence, cunning, and envy, 
badly concealed by an affectation of bluff honesty 
which deceived many, but could not blind me. 
This genius was at present rather under a cloud ; 
he had shortly before seduced an unfortuuate 
wretch of a barber's daughter, and taken her to 
live with him in a garret in the Temple ; remorse 
preyed upon her, and within ten days of her ruin 
she poisoned herself, or was poisoned by him — 
Heaven knows which. I suppose he was glad to 
be rid of her. An inquest was held on her dead 
body. The jury got five pounds a piece, and the 
coroner fifty, so they brought in a verdict of death 
from natural causes. Shaveley's father, who was 
a banker's clerk, supplied the money ; but swore 
that Shaveley himself should never enter his 
presence till he had repaid it. Hence his present 
expedition, for Rooke and he had been old pals, 
and the former put the present job in his way. 
The two interchanged some hieratic signals which 
I could not understand, and held a private con- 
versation, apparently on matters too delicate for 
the public ear, but I did not much heed what they 
were about, having fallen into a reverie of thought 



228 EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 

on the scene which I had just witnessed. Here 
were two men of patrician birth, with large for- 
tunes, good health, and sound brains, and all 
that could make life pleasant, hereditary legisla- 
tors in our happy land ; yet they were so 
thoroughly impregnated with baseness, villainy, 
and corruption, as to be wholly insensible to any 
truth, any virtue, any excellence, and to live only 
for the gratification of vile and selfish desires, 
which they were not ashamed, but indeed gloried 
to avow. What wonder could it be if Savage and 
fellows of that class, who had never known what 
it was to possess a ten pound note that they could 
fairly call their own, were so low and lost when 
men of this high rank were utterly dead to all 
decency ? I have seen young fellows of eighteen 
or twenty, young women, with babies at their 
breasts, hanged week after week at Tyburn who 
had stolen only a few shillings, or a few yards of 
ribbon ; who had probably been guilty, at the 
worst, of only mere recklessness, the result of 
tipsy jollity, or boyish folly, or thoughtless indis- 
cretion, and who had generous hearts, courage, 
faith, and truth in all ordinary matters, while 
the ribald mob rejoiced to see them die, and my 
lords the king's judges, those scarlet-coloured 
beasts, as an old Quaker once called them, pro- 
nounced their sentences to be right and well- 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 229 

merited, as they adjourned to the corporation 
turtle soup and punch up-stairs at the Old Bailey. 
But here were two whom the world impudently 
called noblemen, and the law shamelessly pro- 
nounced right honourable, yet who in all respects 
— but an open violation of the statutes of their 
country — were as consummate scoundrels as ever 
swung upon the gallows tree. Here they were 
luxuriating like pigs in their filthiness, uncon- 
scious of their degradation, and half worshipped 
by admiring hundreds, perhaps thousands of per- 
sons, who thought themselves clever, and candid, 
and discriminating. And when I looked up and 
saw my two ugly companions engaged in carrying 
out the same kind of manoeuvres as those in which 
these eminent personages were plotting, I began to 
despise and loathe myself for being involved in 
such foul proceedings ; and was half inclined to 
jump off the coach, and walk back to London as 
poor as I left it ; but I was almost starving, and 
I had not bravery enough — poor wretch that I 
was — to resist the fiend ; so I stayed on. A base 
excuse, 1 own, but it is the true one. 

We were now, indeed, engaged on one of the 
most rascally errands that can be imagined ; we 
were about to corrupt the electors of an important 
borough, to vote black white, and white black ; 
and by returning to parliament not the man best 



230 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

suited to make laws for this imperial isle, or to 
advise on state policy, but tbe most dirty, low, or 
piggish knave who bribed them best, we were 
about to poison law and right at their very 
foundations ; and introduce discord, dishonesty, 
and the certain seeds of dissolution to the whole 
empire. For as the franchise is a trust reposed 
in one man by several, and as upon the votes of 
a very few people the administration of the whole 
land depends, it follows that there is no respon- 
sibility on earth greater than that which thus 
enables a man to send a representative to the 
House of Commons ; for the casting vote of that 
very representative may inOuence our destinies 
for ever ; as, in fact, it did in the Habeas Corpus 
Act when passing through the House ; it may 
plunge us into a war that will entail ruin. It may 
involve us in a dispute with powerful neighbours 
or aspiring colonies that will involve the lives of 
thousands of men, the happiness of babes and 
mothers, and wives and sisters ; the destinies of 
unborn millions, and the destruction of blood and 
treasure to an incalculable amount. And our 
late war with Spain, and our present contests 
with the colonies in America, area striking proof 
of what I have said ; for they include within them 
as much sanguinary wickedness as ever was per- 
petrated on earth ; but they have got the sanction 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 231 

of Parliament, and all is therefore as correct as 
possible. 

We got to Bilgewater late in the evening. We 
found that Hogden was well known there, he and 
Ganderbill having operated largely at the last 
election : both had been reported to the House 
for corruption and mal-practice ; but the House 
thought it was a joke, laughed, said a few words 
to humbug the lieges, and went to something 
else, which also ended in a bottle of smoke. This 
is what always happens. The Red Lion, which 
was the head hotel, had been engaged for us 
beforehand, and we were ushered into the 
presence of the Hon. Thomas Vere Cavendish 
Plantagenet, eldest son and heir of Lord Rollo de 
Bayeux, and at the present moment one of the 
aspiring candidates in whose interests we were 
engaged. The Hon. Thomas was a small, mean- 
looking wretch, with a little head, a receding 
brow, the eyes and face of a polecat, and a soul 
and a mind to correspond ; but his noble father 
had thirty thousand a year, and was a keeper of a 
privy something in the royal household, which as 
it was a post which nobody but a footman or a 
scavenger ought to occupy, was bitterly contested 
for by a score of illustrious families who traced 
their pedigree up to William the Conqueror, and 
who were accordingly the proudest people in the 



232 EDWARD WOTTLF.Y MONTAGU". 

whole world. The right honourable Lord Rollo 
de Bayeux carried gold candlesticks for his Majesty 
King George the Second, walking all the while 
backward, but with his face turned to that 
glorious monarch ; he brought him waste paper, 
fetched his tobacco, carried billets of sweetness to 
his mistresses, or those whom he wanted to be so, 
and submitted to be kicked by the royal foot, and 
damned by the royal tongue when his Majesty 
was dyspeptic, or was out of temper with one of 
his German frows. For this dignified employ- 
ment he drew about twelve hundred a year wages, 
and had the privilege of basking in the celestial 
sunshine of the court — which like certain other 
sunshine that falls upon a rotten pool, or a 
stinking dunghill, only fosters worms and grubs, 
and centipedes, and a hundred other crawling, 
slimy things, which we cannot bear to think of, 
and certainly should not like to see. But the 
crawling, slimy things admire themselves very 
much ; and I have no doubt despise all other 
animals that do not creep and wriggle like them- 
selves through dirt and rotteness. 

The opponent of the honourable Thomas was 
worthy of the town which he came to represent, 
and the honest people whom he proposed to buy. 
He was a dirty broker from the city of London, 
of the name of Johnson, who had heaped up gold 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 233 

by every fraudulent art known to commerce, and 
who would have sold himself to the Devil readily 
for any sum of money which that potentate would 
give. People talk of Jews ! Why I have never 
yet known a Jew whom I would not rather deal 
with than most of the Christians with whom I 
have had the pleasure of transacting business. 
This fellow had sprung from nothing, but was 
now worth about two hundred thousand pounds ; 
and as the people all about him worshipped 
wealth, much more than ever a bishop worshipped 
God, the little villain believed that gold was the 
summum bonum of everything, and accordingly 
concluded that he himself, as the possessor of this 
summum bonum, was the greatest man in the 
world. And now having exhausted almost all 
the knavish arts known on the Exchange for 
transferring money from the pockets of A into the 
bank of B, he resolved to get into Parliament, 
where he hoped to buy a baronetcy, and to shine 
at court, or at the levee of the great Sir Robert, 
whom all these monied men adored as the imper- 
sonation of everything that was exalted upon 
earth. He longed, also, to transmit hereditary 
honours to an only son, a spindle shanks noodle, 
with no more brains than a whelk, who spent all 
his time at the cockpit, and whom this worthy 
trader regarded as the apple of his eye. With 



234 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

these grand hopes he came down to the borough, 
and made no secret of his intention to buy as 
many votes as money could purchase, and by hook 
or by crook to wrest the representation from the 
son and heir of Lord Rollo de Bayeux, whose 
castle was in the county, and whose family had 
usually commanded the consciences of the lick- 
spittle constituency whom we came to canvass. 
He had already set half the public houses flowing, 
and opened an unlimited credit at the Bank, but 
as he was new to the noble art of electioneering 
bribery, it was calculated, and not unwisely, that 
an experienced hand would eventually drive him 
out of the field. A third caudidate had, indeed, 
shewn himself, but he was only a great scholar, a 
most wise and honourable person, who had no 
landed estate, nor any considerable balance at his 
bankers. He could offer nothing to the con- 
stituents but unimpeachable integrity, the purest 
and most elevated views of politics, united, how- 
ever, with a practical statesmanship, that had 
merit its due, would have raised him to the ad- 
ministration of the government. But when it 
was clearly ascertained that he had no money to 
lavish in purchasing the pigs of electors, he was 
hooted out of the place as one of the most rascally 
and shallow impostors that had ever dared to 
practice on an enlightened constituency. Indeed, 



EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 235 

his advent was looked upon as a crime, and himself 
a violator of everything human and divine for 
coming into Bilgewater without bags full of gold 
and a brain full of fraud. So that the contest 
was now confined to the two honourable and 
worthy gentlemen whom I have described, namely, 
Plantagenet and Johnson. 

The honourable Thomas, &c, &c, &c. (I can't 
write so many grand names) was alone, and was 
reclining on a sofa. A table was before him, 
covered with fruit and various wines ; and the 
honourable gentleman, if we may judge by his 
flushed features and staring eyes, had tasted 
rather freely of the latter. c< He is slightly 
inebriated," whispered the Cannibal, when he saw 
him, and ' slightly inebriated" let it be. In a 
meaner man, or in the candidate who had been 
hissed out of the place, it would be, he is u three 
parts drunk." He attempted to rise, but the 
effort was too much for him, and he merely 
put out one finger to the Cannibal, and said, 
" How do, Cannibal, how do ?° at which gracious 
mark of friendly condescension the recipient of 
the finger and haveley Bill expressed their 
gratitude by genuflexions and prostrations worthy 
of a Dutch ambassador at Japan, or an English 
Catholic peer when he has the supreme honour of 
kissing the Pope's toe. As I was merely one of 



236 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

the obscure rabble, I had not the superlative 
happiness of being introduced to the heir of Lord 
Eollo de Bayeux ; so after staring at me for some 
time, he said to my companion, whom he appeared 
to know well, and treated with the most delicate 
politeness — 

" Cannibal, who the devil is this?" 

" One of our agents, sir," answered the party 
addressed ; and then he spoke lower, and in a 
tone which I could not hear if I wished, and 
would not have bothered myself by hearing if I 
could. When he had ceased our host motioned 
me to take a chair, and rang for fresh glasses which 
soon were brought, after which the business of 
of the night began. 

"May I ask sir, is your address out?" asked 
Rooke. 

" No," replied the other; " not at all, 1 did'nt 
know what to say to the d — d fools," at which 
lively burst of wit, Shaveley Bill burst into a large 
guffaw of laughter in which the Cannibal, and the 
writer of this memoir (with shame I confess it) 
very quickly joined. 

" May I ask then, sir, how you have employed 
yourself since you came?" asked Rooke with the 
most submissive politeness. 

" Look !" answered the other, and he pointed 
to the fireplace, on which a scene presented itself 



EDWARD WORTLEf MONTAGU. 237 

that would have gratified the worthy and inde- 
pendent electors of the town, had they but had 
the high privilege of being introduced as we 
were into this respectable presence. For there 
were about sixty rats, all dead and tied together 
by the tails, which formed a graceful festoon over 
the mantelpiece, and hung down to the floor at 
each side, like the flowing ends of a curtain, the 
carpet being spotted with the blood which dropped 
from the pretty creatures. 

"God God!" sir, exclaimed the Cannibal, 
" what a sight," and he began to count the 
victims. 

Shaveley Bill rubbed his hands, horse-laughed, 
and said — 
"How jolly." 

"Aye! by the everlasting Gad," says the 
candidate, " may I be d — d if ever I had better 
fun in my life — it beats fox hunting, which after 
this day's sport I vote low and vulgar in the 
extreme. By Gad ! Cannibal, you shall see my 
dog. By Gad ! he is the prettiest dog in the 
world ; by Gad ; you shall kiss him for the fun 
he has given me to-day," and reaching a bell 
rope, he tugged at it until it gave way and a 
frightened servant came into the room. 

" Is that you, Fitz Howard ?" asked our host, 



238 EDWABD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

" damme yes — I see 'tis you; fetch Billy here, 
and be d — d quick." 

Fitz Howard vanished and soon after appeared 
with Billy. It was the renowned terrier which 
had given the honourable Mr. Plantagenet such 
rare pleasure, and the dog was certainly worthy of 
its master. Let us hope that in other and more 
spiritual regions, " His faithful dog shall bear 
him company." 

" There are sixty rats in all," said the candidate, 
observing that the Cannibal was engaged in 
counting the heads of game — a only sixty — the 
infernal rascal of a ratcatcher could get no more. 
I paid him a shilling a piece for them. Damme, 
he should have had a five pound note if he bad 
got me the hundred. But after scouring the 
whole place he could hunt up no more. So I 
laid a wager with the parson —damme you know 
him — Tom Fireaway — he and I were at College 
together — a great scamp he was too. My father 
gave him the living ; faith I sometimes think 
he's my father's own son by Molly Segrave ; 
damme, he bet me twenty guineas that Billy 
wouldn't kill the fellows in five minutes, and I 
took him, and we staked the money with the 
landlord. Then we housed the rats in here five 
minutes before dinner, and in four minutes and 



EDWARD WOKTLEY MONTAGU. 239 

forty seconds, by Gad ! they were all squashed. 
What a scene it was — by Gad ! it was splendid — 
by the Lord Harry I never had such cursed fun 
before. For we stopped up all the holes and 
corners and windows, and the fire place, and then 
the rats were let loose and Billy after them, 
while Tom and I got a d — d table, and damme 
the squeaking was fine. They scudded in all 
directions ; they ran pell mell about and up and 
down, like so many hunted devils. By Gad ! 
Cannibal you would have liked the sport — so we 
killed 'em all, and landlord and I fastened 'em 
together, and then Tom and myself sat down to 
dinner, and by Gad ! I had a plate and chair 
brought up for Billy too, and now Tom is gone 
away to evening service, and by Gad ! Cannibal, 
you shall kiss Billy, for he has won me twenty 
guineas" — and he absolutely pressed Rooke to it, 
until the fellow consented and kissed the terrier 
with every demonstration of satisfaction. And 
Shaveley Bill, scorning to be outdone in anything, 
performed the like feat, ejaculating as he did so, 
" how jolly." 

Mr. Plantaganet looked next at me, but I 
would not take the hint. 

" Damme," says he in a half whisper to 
the Cannibal, "your friend seems an infernal 
ass — don't he?" and he disdained to take 



240 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

any further notice of me for the rest of the 
evening. 

And now pens, ink, and paper were called for, 
and Rooke and Bill sitting on opposite sides of 
the table, began to put down various hints and 
sentences, and after about an hour's work, in 
which they occasionally consulted me (the 
honourable candidate was fast asleep during the 
whole period), the following address was pro- 
duced, and when it was fairly copied, Rooke 
hummed loudly, which waked up Mr. Plantaganet, 
who said — 

" Damme, why did you wake me ? I was hav- 
ing a damned pleasant snooze." 

Note here, dear reader, that in the course of a 
very long experience I have never yet known a 
true gentleman curse and swear, as some of my 
honourable comrogues have done. 

" Sir," answered Rooke, " we have concocted 
an address to the electors, and we wish to know 
if it will meet your pleasure. Will you be good 
enough to hear it, sir ?" 

u tli," replied the other, "you needn't have 
done that, you know I'll sign anything ; the 
whole thing is humbug, isn't it ?" And he 
winked very knowingly and began to whistle 
" The Rogue's March," in which these two 
worthy scribes at once joined. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 241 

" Humbug, indeed," said all three, and then 
they laughed, and then my friend and guide read 
aloud as follows : 

" To the Worthy and Independent Electors of 
the Ancient Borough of Bilgewater. 

66 Gentlemen, 

" The vacancy in your important town, 
caused by the melancholy demise of your lat6 
respected representative, entails upon you the 
honourable duty of returning to Parliament a 
successor worthy of your confidence, and of the 
great agricultural and commercial interests con- 
nected with the locality." 

" That is all fudge," says our host, putting 
his finger to his nose, " but it reads d — d fine." 

" Fudge indeed," rejoined Rooke, "for we 
know how the late member sold them whenever 
he could." 

u And why the blazes shouldn't he," says 
Plantagenet, " when we know he bought them ? 
Can't I do what I like with my own ? If I buy 
a voter, can't I sell him?" 

" Bravo, bravo," cried out Shaveley Bill ; a re- 
mark at which Billy barked in unison with his 
fellow dog. The Cannibal resumed reading. 

"Never was there a period in the history of 
vol. i T . M 



242 EDWARD WORT LEY MONTAGU. 

this great country, when it more behoved the 
worthy and independent men whom I have the 
high honour to address, to exercise their electoral 
functions with greater calmness, honesty, and 
discrimination. The eyes of all England are upon 
you ; the whole empire watches the approaching 
contest with the most anxious eagerness as to its 
result; and you will be either crowned with 
glory by returning me as your representative, or 
politically annihilated by selecting the gentleman 
who I understand means to contest with me the 
distinguished post of your representative." 

"Very good, very good," muttered Plan- 
tagenet, who was again getting sleepy, and the 
little beast began to snore on the sofa. 

"The present is indeed a momeutous crisis. 
Who can doubt that men like you — " 

" And women," suggested our host, half 
waking. But Rooke paid no attention to the 
proposed amendment. 

" Who can doubt that men like you will prove 
yourselves worthy of it, and of their country. 
The enemies of order — " 

" Who are they?" asked Plantageuet, startled 
at the louder key in which Rooke read this para- 
graph. 



EDWABD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 243 

u All humbug," said Rooke, in answer, u hum- 
bug — humbug," and he read on : — 

u The enemies of order, conspiring against our 
beautiful and perfect constitution in Church and 
State, seek gradually to undermine the founda- 
tions of the splendid fabric which has been reared 
by the wisdom of our ancestors, and has outlived 
a thousand years, the envy and admiration of the 
whole civilized world. Against these enemies 
you may reckon on me as your most determined 
champion. Return me to Parliament, and I will 
oppose them with all the energies I possess." 

" Bravo ! " shouted the candidate ; " it's d— d 
fine." 

" I'm glad you like it," said Rooke, with a 
self-satisfied smile, " but I'm used to this kind 
of thing." Shaveley Bill drank off a tumbler of 
port, and said "how jolly," but whether he 
alluded to the wine, or to the address, remains 
unexplained. 

The Cannibal resumed — 

" Few boroughs in this country have been more 
eminently adorned with members of the British 
senate, or have been more devotedly served by a 
long line of celebrated men. Nor is this owing 
to chance alone, but to the independence, honour, 
and enlightenment of your incorruptible electors . 

m 2 



244 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

The late statistical returns which have been laid 
before the House of Commons, by his Majesty's 
command, shew, that while in all other boroughs 
in England the average amount of persons who 
can read and write is not quite a half- quarter per 
cent, among you, I am delighted to say it is as 
much as seventy three and the three ninths, thus 
affording the clearest demonstration of your 
superiority above other places that possess the 
franchise, and unfortunately use it only to abuse 
it — a thing which you have never done." 

" Well I'm damned!" interposed our host, 
but he added, thoughtfully, u I say, Cannibal , 
isn't that rather 6trong ? I never heard of such 
statistics, and even if I had, I shouldn't believe 
'em. Where are they ?" 

" No where," answered Rooke, in the coolest 
possible manner. 

" No where ! ' ejaculated Plantagenet, with 
open eyes. 

u Of course not," added Shaveley Bill, " the 
whole thing is a lie ; everything in politics is a 
lie. You didn't believe it, sir, did you ?" 

" But we shall be found out, you artful boy." 

"Who'll find us?" 

u The enemy — the opposite candidate." 

u What ! and by telling the worthy electors that 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 245 

it is all moonshine, awaken their self love against 
himself, enable us to denounce him as a libeller 
and villainous slanderer, and probably secure 
his being tossed in a blanket for daring to 
question what the asses' own vanity will make 
them swallow down like new milk ?" 

" By Gad ! " ejaculated our patrician friend, 
u you're a precious pair, and I think the thing 
will do devilish well, so read on, by Gad !" 

The Cannibal continued — 

" With these principles — " 

" Stop — stop !" said the host, u I have heard of 
no principles or pledges yet. Have you not 
missed some portion ? " 

" Not at all," replied Rooke, u there are no 
principles. Would you have us pledge you to 
anything ? Principles indeed ! I thought you 
had none, sir." 

" Of course not," said the other, " of course 
not, my dear boy ; I see, you're quite right ; I see, 
I see." 

iC Principles be damned," said Shaveley Bill ; 
and the Cannibal laughed, and read on. 

u With these principles animating my public 
conduct, I ask you to return me to the Commons 
House of Parliament. Descended from a long line 



246 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

of ancestors, whose names figure in the brightest 
pages of England's history, you may be 6ure I 
shall do nothing to disgrace them." — The Cannibal 
here winked at both of us, and made a sly gesture 
towards the dead rats ; but Mr. Plantagenet did 
not notice it. — " I will devote myself night and 
day with an unselfish zeal to the promotion of 
your public and your private interests with a fear- 
lessness of the court, and a freedom from popular 
interference that will, I hope, add to my influence 
as your representative. I shall be guided by the 
principles of glorious John Hampden, and 
actuated by the policy of our present Heaven- 
born minister, who, I believe, under Heaven and 
the king, is the best friend of liberty that England 
has. My efforts shall be directed to make our 
country the standard of wealth, freedom, and en- 
lightenment, and to promote in all possible ways 
the best and truest interests of my constituents. 

u I have the honour to be, 

" Gentlemen, 

" With the most devoted sincerity, 

" Your truly faithful Servant, 

" T. Vere Cavendish Plantagenet. 

'• Bayeux Castle.'''' 

Rooke laid down the paper, and burst out 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. . 24 7 

laughing. His example was contagious. We 
all indulged in a hearty explosion of mirth at the 
nonsense that had been read. Shaveley, as 
. usual, howled out ei how jolly !" I have read 
plenty of such things since, and when I do I al- 
ways think of the u Red Lion/' and laugh. 

w Now," says the candidate, " as sure as Gad 
made Moses this will do 'em finely; and the 
beauty of it is, it pledges me to nothing, eh, isn't 
that so ?" 

"Except to the minister," put in the Cannibal. 

(l Oh ! of course, of course — that's a matter of 
course," said our new friend ; u and now, gentle- 
men, good-night — I'm sleepy. Send this hum- 
bug to the printer, and come to me in the 
morning to breakfast." 

So he yawned, and we went away. We sat in 
the bar for an hour, drinking and smoking at his 
expense, chatting to the barmaid, and sounding 
his praises far and wide. 

When we got into the streets next morning we 
found them placarded with long posters contain- 
ing the precious epistle which had been concocted 
the night before. Before each one was an ad- 
miring crowd, and we could see by the looks of 
the electors that our flummery had not been 
thrown before swine, but that they believed all 
the fine things that we had told them, swallowing 



248 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

it down with a truly British gusto, for who so 
gullible as dear fat John Bull, with all his 
boasted common sense ? 

We found our host at breakfast ; he had not 
condescended to wait for us ; and when that 
meal was finished we prepared measures — Bully, 
Hogden, Bill, and I. The following was only a 
portion of our tactics : — 

We first engaged about a dozen deep knaves, 
who went into the enemy's camp, and by the 
most furious denunciations of Mr. Plantagenet 
and his principles, got into the confidence of the 
opposition, and were initiated, before the week 
was over, into all their devices, every one of which 
they communicated to us, thus enabling us in all 
things to countermine the foe. As the whole 
constituency numbered about four hundred, five- 
and-twenty of whom alone were unbribable, we 
engaged a great proportion of them, their wives, 
brothers, sisters, and sons as messengers, 
musicians, bill-stickers, laundresses, seamstresses, 
&c, &c.,at the simple remuneration of five-and- 
sixpence a day ; and as the nomination day was 
about a fortnight off they thus secured a very 
handsome allowance. But as the day of the 
grand struggle came near we found that the other 
side were paying seven shillings a head for 
messengers, and numerous were the deserters 



EDWARD W0RTLEY MONTAGU. 249 

from our side, whose names were nightly repeated 
to us. We were now obliged to pay up the 
difference in arrear, so as to make the pay given 
by our side equal to that which our opponents 
had given from the first. Suddenly there was a 
great demand for cider, and we purchased from a 
doubtful publican twenty pounds 1 worth of that 
delicious beverage which, as his wife assured us, 
would make him ours for ever ; as for the publi- 
can himself, he declined to give any pledge, but 
referred us to his wife, who, he always said, 
guided him in politics. The other side gave her 
a brocade silk dress ; the Cannibal sent her one of 
satin, embroidered with velvet, and a pair of 
glittering gold ear-rings — we bought them off a 
Jew pedlar for half-a- crown, but they certainly 
looked splendid. Hogden sent her a hymn-book, 
with a bank note inside, which carried the day, 
and we had, after that, no more staunch or de- 
voted adherent than the publican and his spouse. 
But the excitement now became dreadful. Mr. 
Plantagenet ordered two dozen pairs of boots, and 
the worthy maker received for each of these 
useful articles of attire the moderate price of five 
guineas — leather, I suppose, having suddenly been 
raised in price, owing to the war, or the peace, or 
the bad harvest, or the plentiful supply of rain, 
or some other calamity of a similar description. 

m 5 



250 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

Hats were sold for five pounds each, whereupon 
the other side bade six, and fairly drove us out of 
the market. We could not get a single indepen- 
dent hatter to have anything to do with us ; they 
voted us mean, shabby, niggardly, and enemies 
of the British Constitution. Every tavern in the 
place was now kept open at the expense of one or 
other of the honourable candidates. Hogden was 
in his element; he became more sanctimonious 
every day ; he seemed to have got the whole of 
Sternhold and Hopkins off by heart, and where 
ever he went he poured it into the ears of the 
godly. He had already presented a couple of 
sucking pigs, one to the Rev. Aminadab Grroanley; 
another to the Rev. Jehosaphat Diggnan, who 
presided over a few select spirits, whose religious 
tenets were hardly known, but who numbered 
certain voters among them, and made no secret 
that money was the god of their political prin- 
ciples. These sucking pigs had a new kind of 
stuffing, of which Hogden was the grand iuven- 
tor ; this was simply a bit of paper, which, when 
opened, discovered to the delighted recipient a 
fifty pound note ; and it was marvellous what a 
stimulus to electioneering zeal a dainty of this 
kind gave to the reverend recipients ! Nothing 
but Plantagenet ! Plantagenet ! rang from their 
lips, at pulpit and tea party ; nor were they 
silent on the virtues of Hogden. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 251 

Two more wretches remained, who were also 
secured. These rapscallions were joint proprietors 
of the Bilgewater Post, a wretched rag which 
circulated in the town, and had a good pot-house 
connection. A few pounds bought this journal, 
with all its staff, body and soul ; they sent their 
farthing-a- liners to all Plantagenet's meetings, 
and though the little rat-catcher could not speak 
two sentences of decent English, they represented 
him as a second Pitt. They sent the same as- 
sassins to our opponent's meetings, and every- 
thing he said was so coloured, falsified, and 
perverted that the electors who did not attend 
half believed he was little better than a maniac ; 
and this, though it did not prevent their taking 
his money, merely gave them an excuse for de- 
manding higher prices, for the greater the fool 
the higher the bribe. This became the shibboleth 
of the town, and increased our opponent's ex- 
penses — a trick never to be forgotten in elec- 
tions. 

All soon became riot, drunkenness, and 
debauchery as befits an election carried on ac- 
cording to truly Constitutional principles. We 
were blue, our opponents were scarlet ; and when 
the respective bands and backers of each met, 
awful and sanguinary were the struggles. These 
brought the surgeons, the apothecaries, &c, &c, 



252 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

into requisition, and as we paid handsomely as 
well for our own wounded men as those of the 
enemy we had the medical profession secure-' 1. 
Shaveley Bill shouted every night from the 
balcony of the hotel until he got hoarse and 
could speak no more. Hogden attended no end 
of pious tea parties, quoted scripture, and in- 
sinuated guineas. The honourable candidate also 
addressed the electors, but nearly ruined himself 
by once having his umbrella held over his head 
during a shower of rain while the electors endured 
the pelting of the storm, and greeted him with 
groans and laughter for his effeminacy. Now 
the blue was in the ascendant, now the scarlet 
was victorious, and on the day before the election 
the Cannibal came to me in despair, and said — 

" We must buy cats, bottle voters, bid for 
bloaters, and poll dead men, or we shall lose the 
election." 

The feline merchandise at once commenced. 
Never had grimalkin been so valuable — at least 
never since Dick Whittington sold his cat 
to the Soldan of Morocco for a ton of gold, 
and blessed the day that he came back a 
happy boy to Bow Bells. Mousers that 1 
longed to free and independent voters were 
sought after everywhere — those of the constituents 
who hadn't cats stole them, and great was the 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 253 

outcry among the old women whose tabbies were 
ruthlessly abducted from them. The " Red 
Lion " was soon filled with these unfortunate 
creatures, and as each was purchased for twenty 
pounds, there seemed no end to their importa- 
tion. We could only destroy them as fast as 
they were brought ; and a man offered Fitz- 
Howard sixpence a piece for their carcases, which 
that worthy was but too happy to receive. Hog- 
den went about in all directions purchasing 
bloaters at unheard-of prices. He penetrated 
every lane and alley ; wherever he went he opened 
his pockets. In one hole we bought a grey 
parrot for fifty guineas ; in another we gave the 
same amount for an old pig which was at the 
point of death, kindly allowing the owner to kill 
and eat it. To the women who were in the 
family-way we said " Goody this, or Goody that," 
whatever her name might be, i( wouldn't you like 
a silver cup for the young 'un ? Christen him 
after Mr. Plantagenet, and the thing is done." 
And there were actually some twenty cups 
brought down from London to the " Red Lion " 
for these precious babes. 

Mr. Plantagenet's address was printed on blue 
satin by one of the mercers in the town and dis- 
tributed in hundreds. This cost a vast sum, but 
the worthy mercer's vote was won. Such an ex- 



254 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

hibition of high and patriotic principle worked 
an astonishing change in our favour. We now 
began to " bottle." Thirty-five doubtful voters 
were invited to a champagne supper at the tl King's 
Head," the landlord of which was in our interest. 
Shaveley Rill was appointed to fill the chair. Three 
large waggons, each drawn by six horses, with 
plentiful relays, were engaged. After a most 
delightful entertainment the waggODS and the 
visitors were found next night some fifty miles 
away from the town where the election was held, 
and even then the independent freemen had not 
wholly recovered the intoxicating effects of the 
champagne which they had drank — I won't say 
how much our laudanum bill was, as Rooke 
managed all these matters. Rooke next prepared 
his " dead men." The lists of the constituency 
were carefully gone through, and various worthy 
fellows were procured who personated voters who 
had long since lain at rest in the churchyard. 
The make up of these varlets was excellent, even 
the widows of the real defunct parties, and in 
many instances their mothers, and surviving 
friends and relations boldly declared — after they 
had had a short interview with the Cannibal in 
a private room — that the dressed-up voters were 
the bondjide persons whom they represented, and 
though the other side were on the alert, Rooke 
did not care a farthing. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 265 

" Win the election any way," said he, " then 
let them petition if they like. We can make it 
cost them nine or ten thousand pounds ; the 
chances are we can buy them off for a quarter of 
the sum, and then the election will be ours." 

So we resolved to poll the dead men with the 
most utter fearlessness. This, and the bottling, 
and the lying, and the cat buying, and bloater 
catching, we hoped would secure us the election — 
a hope in which, as it subsequently turned out, 
we were not disappointed. 

But the grand stroke of all remained, in which 
our new but unsavoury friend Hogden won great 
laurels ; indeed, " The Bloater " considered it his 
trump card. Two or three days before the no- 
mination the whole district, even for miles round, 
was covered with gigantic posters, bordered with 
black, in which our opponent was represented as 
a man noted for his blasphemies and debauch- 
eries ; the character of his wife — a most honour- 
woman — but what did Hogden care? — was viru- 
lently assailed, and she was dragged into all the 
filth of the election whirlpool, in away that ought 
to have made any body of Englishmen blush ; 
but the majority of the constituency were now so 
debased that they seemed to think any amount of 
dirt, falsehood, or filth, which could secure a 
triumph for their favourite was perfectly 
allowable, and their reverend advisers, T am sorry 



256 EDWARD WORTLKY MONTAGU. 

to say, were foremost in their approval of these 
tactics. After this other posters came out, in 
which our opponent was represented to the con- 
stituency as having come down to the borough 
under false colours, being bribed to sell his party ; 
to profess principles of which he was not the true 
advocate, and to commit I know not how manv 
other equally odious treasons. Lastly, on the 
very day before the election, the following 
placard was posted, as having emanated from the 
religious community, of which our opponent was 
a leading and a shining light ; and as it purported 
to have come from London there was of course 
no time for a contradiction to be put forth. 

Mr. Johnson and his Church.* 

The following communication has been received 
by the hon. candidate for Bilgewater ; and the 
true, honest, and religious " Scarlets M are affec- 
tionately asked whether they can possibly vote 
for a man who has been expelled from his own 
religious community for his sayings and doings 
while canvassing this borough ? 

Drar Sir, 

Since our interview with you last night, 
when you positively denied the charges of blas- 
phemy and debauchery brought against you in 

* This, with one or two alterations, is an actual copy of a short 
blasphemous excommunication, which really took place at B. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 257 

the Hon. Mr. Plantagenet's committee bills, we 
have made the fullest enquiries, and are now 
satisfied that the charges are true, and that your 
denial cannot be relied on. Our deacons likewise 
have had interviews with various gentlemen who 
attest their truth in every particular. It appeared 
to us, also, from your manner that when you were 
giving your denials, you were evidently stating 
what you knew to be false. Under these painful 
circumstances we felt that we could do no other 
than bring the matter before the Church, who 
have this evening passed a resolution for your ex- 
pulsion. This step is solely taken because of 
your conduct while at Bilgewater, which is 
already the topic of general remark, to the injury 
of the cause of Christ, with which vou and we 
have been connected. We most earnestly assure 
you we have taken this step in no spirit of un- 
kindness, but solely as a duty we owe to Christ ; 
and our earnest prayer has been, and will be, that 
God will give you repentance unto life eternal, and 
that you may find peace and pardon again, 
through the blood of Christ, which cleanse th 
from all sin. 

Shalmanezer Tomkins, Pastor. 

Jeroboam Dully, ) r. 
Abiathab Jones, j Deacons - 

London. 



268 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

It was in vain that our honourable opponent, 
Johnson, went about everywhere denouncing this 
as a forgery. Wherever he went he was followed 
by hired gangs, the very scum and filth of Bilge- 
water, pelted with stones, old bottles, mud, and 
rotten eggs. On the day of the election a num- 
ber of fellows were sent in every direction, with 
bells and handbills, and copies of the Bilgewater 
Post, in which the honest electors were warned 
against voting for him, as he had been taken to 
the county jail the night before on some criminal 
charge connected with the election. The lowest 
rabble with eyes like ravenous wolves, and 
tongues like mad dogs, were posted round each 
polling place howling at all his supporters ; din- 
ning these and all sorts of lies into the ears of 
the general body of voters; hurrying them off to 
public houses and taverns ; plying them with 
drink, till the whole constituency grovelled before 
us like dirty beasts ; slipping money into their 
hands, and perpetually asking : " Would you 
vote for a man that's hired to sell you ? Hasn't 
he got his price in his pocket ? Hasn't he been 
expelled by his own church, after full enquiry ? 
Didn't I hear him swear and blaspheme so aDd 
so ?" repeating all the awful language which was 
contained in Hogden's placards. Need I say 
that all this had an immense effect ? 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 259 

I was near forgetting another and final stroke 
of ours, which I believe decided the election. 
About the last hour, when there were still a great 
number of " doubtfuls"-— and only conscientious 
characters, who even then could not make up their 
minds as to the respective merits of the rival 
candidates, and when we could hardly be said to 
be safe, Rooke rushed into the head committee- 
room in great excitement. rt Now is the time for 
the hundreds," he shouted, and with a profusion 
of oaths and blasphemies, he summoned Hogden, 
Shaveley Bill, and the bell-man to his presence. 
The three came, and the Cannibal pulled out an 
immense bundle of hundred- pound bank notes. 
Giving a handful to our two worthy friends, he said 
to the bell-man, i: Up and ring the street, you 
ugly hang-gallows ; up and down like wild fire. 
Let your bell ring and your throat proclaim a 
hundred-pound note to every man who has not yet 
voted." And to Hogden and Shaveley he said, 
u Give these to all the doubtful, right and left." 
I started at this open act of suicide, as it seemed 
to be ; but Hogden and Shaveley, put their fingers 
to their noses and called out " How jolly !" then 
rushing into the streets, did as they were told. 
In less than twenty minutes all the " doubtfuls'' 
were secured and had voted for us ; and it was 
only when they took their notes to be changed 



260 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

that the unfortuDate victims, who could neither 
read nor write, discovered they had been shame- 
fully cheated, and instead of a hundred-pound note 
of the Bank of England, they found they had sold 
themselves for a base bit of paper which was pay- 
able only at the Bank of Elegance. But their 
votes had then been given, and it was neither 
bribery nor corruption, as several good lawyers 
held.* But I anticipate. The day preceding the 
election, Plantagenet, who was a horrid coward, 
sent for the Cannibal. We found him in his 
bed-room ; he was quite pale. 

" Cannibal," said he, " I'm told I shall be at- 
tacked going to the hustings to-morrow. How 
shall we manage ?" 

u That's all right," replied my friend, " I have 
got Figg, the Champion of England, down al- 
ready ; he represents the heavy weights. Jem 
Blood, of the light weights, is also come. I have 
promised them twenty guineas apiece, and woe 
to the man that lifts his haud against your 
honour." 

Plantagenet smiled faintly. The dirty little 
craven took courage, and shook the Cannibal by 
the hand. 



* This excellent electioneering device was afterwards imitated 
with success at an election for the County of Worcester, when 
Mr. Foley owed his retxirn to it. 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 261 

" Bravo ! my good fellow," said he, "you 
shall have the first Judgeship that I can procure j 
and an honour you'll be to the Bench I" 

Next day we proceeded to the hustings, with 
drums beating, colours flying, trumpets sound- 
ing, dogs barking, the populace shouting, Groan- 
ley and Diggnan singing psalms, the women 
waving handkerchiefs, and all the other stupid 
folly of a contested election. Our plans and plots 
all succeeded ; we carried everything before us. 
The opposition candidate was half murdered ; his 
proposer and seconder were overwhelmed with 
filth, and the day ended with the triumphant 
return of the honourable scion of Plantagenet. 

A great moral victory this was, no doubt, and 
so the honourable member regarded it. We had 
a grand dinner, at which every one present got 
drunk, to the music of Sternhold and Hopkins, 
which Hogden led off, and from whose effects 
they did not recover for a week, to the great 
profit (again) of the medical profession, but to 
the great disgust of Brownlow Blades, a very 
honest fellow, who had written several excellent 
pamphlets, strongly recommending temperance. 
We had a chairing through the streets, and 
several more fights, and half the town was mad 
with gin, tobacco, and excitement ; and the elec- 
tors were in fact changed as by the Wand of 



262 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

Comus, into dogs, swine, and monkeys. We had 
a funeral procession, and a coffin bearing the 
name and character of our opponent carried 
through the town of Bilgewater, with Rooke and 
Shaveley Bill for mourners. Tom Fireaway read 
a burlesque of the burial service, in which he 
was assisted by the other two reverend gents, 
and the coffin was buried under a dung h ill, 
amid a profusion of dead cats, for which we 
had so handsomely paid. And now our election 
bills came in fast and furious, and the Honour- 
able Thomas pulled several very long faces as 
he perused them ; but the lord privy, &c, paid 
them, and so there was no trouble on that score ; 
though the other side basely whispered thai the 
" heaven born minister of the day" discharged 
them out of some secret fund which was annually 
set apart for that especial purpose. If Walpite 
did 1 have no doubt he was quite right, and i am 
sure that he was very properly reimbursed for 
it by the patriotic votes of the new member; 
so all came straight and square in the end, and 
the Scarlet party were thoroughly put down, and 
scarcely ventured to wag their tongues against 
us. The defeated candidate petitioned, but noth- 
ing came of it; everything seemed a humbug, 
from the beginning to the end; and though a 
few choice spirits called attention to the matter 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 263 

in the House, Walpole and some of his buffoons 
laughed them down ; and even Pulteney did not 
stick to his man. It was all a swindle. The 
House went the length, it is true, of ordering 
Hogden to be prosecuted for bribery ; but that 
worthy was true to his colours, and having con- 
trived to fee the Attorney General's Clerk and 
one or two others connected with the office, he 
managed to escape that high functionary, who 
was himself probably too busy to bother himself 
much about such raggabrash ; and thus Hogden 
escaped amid a derisive cheer of joy from all 
the bribers and blackguards of the kingdom. 
But what did they think of a Senate that con- 
nived at such rascality ? Why simply this, that 
every fellow in it, being tarred with the same 
brush, thought it hard to press upon a delinquent 
like Hogden and his like, without whose aid, 
arts, and appliances, every honourable member 
knew that he himself also must have lost the 
seat to which he aspired. But thus this honest 
world wags, and so I suppose it perpetually 
will wag on, while the true British lion shakes 
his mane at all the earth, and with his roar 
quells the affrighted forest. 

And Mr. Plantagenet went into Parliament, 
where he distinguished himself by his anecdotes 
of rat- catching, told at Bellamy's with great 



264 EDWAKD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

applause (for he was too modest to address Mr. 
Speaker), until from rat-catching he mounted to 
the noble sport of dog-fighting, bear and badger- 
baiting, the cock -pit, the bull, and, finally, the 
prize ring, where once in a combat with his old 
backer, Jem Blood, who was teaching him to 
spar, at half-a-guinea a lesson, his left eye was 
unfortunately knocked out, which reduced him to 
a political nonentity, for he soon after retired 
from the exalted position of a British senator, and 
settled in the country as an active magistrate and 
patron of the cucking-stool and stocks. Here he 
passed his rosy leisure, till he succeeded to 
the peerage, when he married the eldest daughter 
of the Duke of A., one of the loveliest women in 
England, who soon after ran away from him, and 
left him to the company of his dog Billy, who 
thus became the joy and solace of his old age. 
He — the nobleman, not the dog — enjoyed the 
reputation of having killed more rats and cor- 
rupted more country girls than any other mem- 
ber of the peerage, and his son and heir inherits 
the same exalted tastes. I met him at White's 
some years ago, and was present at a wager he 
laid with the Marquis of Queensbury as to the 
respective speed of two black beetles. The stake 
was five thousand guineas, and Queensbury won 
(as he usually docs), and laughed at young Plan- 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 265 

tagenet, which I thought rather unfeeling. But I 
digress. Let me come back to more modest 
themes. 

An incident which happened a day or two 
after the election deserves to be recorded. The 
Cannibal, Shaveley, Hogden, and myself, re- 
mained of course in town, to settle all outstand- 
ing claims, and to arrange certain little matters 
with our honourable and independent committee- 
men. We were rather surprised one evening to 
receive a message from Alderman Bullface, who 
had been among the bitterest of our opponents in 
the late struggle. He was down stairs, and 
begged to be admitted. He was shown into the 
room, and the Cannibal warmly shook hands with 
him; for Bullface had great influence over his 
own people, and if we could but get him to our 
own side, all hope for the Scarlets would be 
utterly and for ever extinguished, so nicely were 
these two great constitutional parties balanced. 
Bullface returned the Cannibal's greeting with 
equal favour, and having shaken hands with 
several of the committeemen, begged permission 
to be heard. It was at once granted, and Shaveley 
Bill and Parson Fireaway simultaneously cried 
out, " Hear, hear ; a cheer for Mr. Alderman 
Bullface.' ' 

" Gentlemen," says the Alderman, " I admire 

VOL. II. N 



266 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

the spirit and the pluck with which the late 
election was carried. All is now over ; let bye- 
gones be bye-gones. We have had a fair stand-up 
fight ; we have got a bellyfull, and you have won 
the belt. All this is right and fair, and I don't 
complain. But the election has had this im- 
portant effect on my own mind, and on those of 
the gentlemen who usually go with me. It has 
separated us for ever from the Scarlet party." 

Here there was a tremendous burst of applause, 
which nearly knocked the ceiling of the room to 
pieces. The excitement was perfectly dreadful ; 
several of the committeemen in their wild eager- 
ness to embrace and congratulate Bullface on his 
independent spirit, jostled against and knocked 
each other down, and the cheering for " Bull- 
face," "Bravo, Alderman." "Three cheers for 
Alderman Bullface," a Well done, my hearty," 
" Bullface for ever," &c, &c, which arose, 
almost broke the drums of our ears. The 
Alderman listened calmly and philosophically; 
he was as unmoved as Socrates when his friends 
surrounded him in prison — and some wept, while 
others preached. I often wonder the Grecian 
sage did not kick both the pedants and the 
pulers to the deuce. When the hurricane had 
subsided, the worthy Alderman resumed — 

" Yes, gentlemen, I have been treated with 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 267 

base ingratitude ; but no more of this. I am 
here to make the arrangement I have mentioned ; 
in all coming struggles you may rely on me and 
on my friends, and I hope to make up by my 
future conduct for any inconvenience I may have 
put you to by my former opposition. And now, 
gentlemen, I bid you all good night," and the 
Alderman appeared as if he were about to with- 
draw. 

The thing was impossible. What ! suffer the 
worthy Bullface to depart in this manner ? It 
was out of the question. He must stay — he must 
have a glass — a bottle — a pipe — anything, 
everything — nothing that money could procure 
would be too precious for this high-spirited and 
independent elector, who carried six and forty 
votes in his breeches pocket. We all gathered 
round him and entreated him to remain. The 
Cannibal would not permit his departure — he 
went and locked the door. The chairman of the 
committee, who happened also to be the mayor 
of the town, never heard of such a proposition in 
his life. The Rev. Mr. Fireaway begged him not 
to go. Shaveley Bill said he'd sing " The Great 
Plenipotentiary " if the Alderman would but 
Bit with them half-an-hour. Hogden offered to 
sing one of Sternhold and Hopkins's psalms if 
he'd remain. 



268 EDWARD WOKTLEY MONTAGU. 

At length, after great entr eaty, Bullface again 
addressed them — 

" Mr. Mayor, and gentlem en of the Blue Com- 
mittee," said he, " this is the proudest, happiest 
moment of my life. It is impossible for me to 
express what I feel. Why, oh, why have we 
been so long on opposite sides ? Why have we 
been so long blind to each other's excellencies ? 
I am delighted to have found so many and such 
kind friends — and all for the performance of a 
simple act of duty. With pleasure I accept your 
kind hospitality — but only on this condition, that 
you also will partake of mine. When we have 
had a glass or two, sutler me to hope that you 
will not refuse to partake of a little supper with 
me. If I receive your consent, I will but step 
over to the Swan and order it ; we shall have 
it nice and hot, and it shall be ready in an hour. 
It m ust be pot luck, gentleman, for I really don't 
know what they can get at a moment's notice ; 
but though plain and simple, we shall not the 
less heartily enjoy it." 

There were several hungry fellows on our com- 
mittee, who enjoyed nothing better than a feast 
at another man's expense. They smacked their 
lips at the anticipated Aldermanic banquet ; the 
invitation was accepted, and Bullface stepped 
across the street to give his orders. He was not 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 269 

away more than five minutes, and when he came 
back there was a sunny smile on his face. 

" Mr. Mayor and Gentlemen," said he, " I am 
happy to inform you that they can supply us. It 
is now eight o'clock — supper will be ready at nine. 
Until then, let us sit down and talk over the past 
like good fellows.'* 

And we did sit down ; what capital boon com- 
panions we all were. Since the days of the 
primitive Christians there was not a more delight- 
ful M love feast" than that which was to come, 
and of which this drinking bout was to be the 
prelude. Groanley and Diggnan compared the 
meeting to the primitive Agapse. We drank, at 
Plantagenet's expense, the most excellent claret 
that could be got for money— we swilled it about 
like water ; we warmed it with real Cogniac. At 
nine we adjourned to the Swan, and were shewn 
into the supper room. Covers were laid for thirty. 
We were twenty-five committeemen ; Bullface, 
Hogden, the Cannibal, Fireaway, Shavely Bill, 
myself, and the landlord of the Red Lion, who 
had shewn himself a most desperate partisan all 
through the election, completed the number. 
Bullface sat at the head near the door, with the 
Cannibal and Fireaway on his right, Shaveley Bill 
and Hogden on the left ; the landlord of the Red 

n 5 



270 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

Lion occupied the vice-chair, and the dishes were 
quickly uncovered. 

" Mr. Mayor and Gentlemen," says Mr. Bull- 
face, " it is a plain supper ; at this short notice I 
could get nothing but rabbits in the borough — 
nor could even these be got in sufficient quantity, 
only that, as you know, to-morrow is our great 
rabbit fair, and I fortunately waylaid a higgler 
who was on his way to it, and bought two dozen 
of his finest. Mine host of the Swan tells me 
they have made a most beautiful stew, and indeed 
they smell deliciously. Let us dispatch them as 
soon as possible. I have ordered four or five 
dozen champagne to follow." 

Saying this, the Alderman began to help those 
who sat near him. There were six dishes of 
these delicious animals, each containing four ; 
they steamed with onions, pepper, and many 
other fragrant condiments. The sparkling vision 
of the coming champagne inspired the committee- 
men, and ample justice was done to the Alder- 
man's rabbits. The company indeed was profose 
in their praises. 

" I never tasted anything sweeter," said the 
Mayor. 

" They are perfectly delicious," said Hogden. 

" Babbit me," cried the Cannibal, " but this is 
the best part of the election. 



EDWARD WORT LEY MONTAGU. 271 

" How jolly !" roared out Shaveley Bill. 

" Gentlemen," said Bullface, " enjoy yourselves, 
I am delighted to see you." 

" But, Mr. Alderman," cried the Mayor, t€ how 
is it you're eating none yourself?" 

" My dear Mr. Mayor," answered our host, " I 
have drank so much of your excellent claret, that 
I really have no room, but I will begin presently. 
In the meantime let me help you to this back — 
it is fat and plump." 

And so the plates went round, and silvery was 
the clatter of knives and forks. I was myself 
rather a spectator than an actor in this happy 
scene. The fact was, like the Alderman himself, 
I had indulged in the claret, until 1 felt disposed 
for nothing else ; I therefore fiddled with a bit of 
bread. But Groanley and Diggnan stuffed them- 
selves like boas. 

Half an hour or more, having been thus 
delightfully enjoyed, the Alderman arose, and 
apologising for leaving the room, said he was 
going to see after the champagne. In his absence 
we drank his health in some very good beer, and 
all agreed that there was not a better fellow in 
the world. 

In a few minutes the hamper of champagne 
was brought in, and laid on the table. A note at 
the same time was handed from the Alderman to 



272 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

the Mayor, which the latter read aloud. It was 
as follows : — 

" Friday night. 

"Dear Mr. Mayor, — 

a I am unexpectedly called away by a sudden 
matter, which admits of no delay. Pray make 
my apology to the company for my unlooked for 
absence. I hope you will enjoy the sham. 

" Yours truly, 

"John Bullface." 

We had a laugh at the worthy alderman's 
mode of spelling the first syllable of cham- 
pagne. 

" But as it's French," says the Mayor, taking, 
as a matter of course, the vacant chair, " why our 
departed friend cannot be expected to know any- 
thing of a foreign lingo. He's a good John 
Bull, and true son of old England, I know. In 
the meantime, gentlemen, so long as his wine is 
real, we can overlook the spelling," and gently 
smiling at his easy humour, he drew the hamper 
towards him. 

" Waiter," said he, " bring the nippers, and 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 273 

Champagne tumblers. Gentlemen we shall drink 
in bumpers and no mistake." 

It seemed to me, that for a hamper containing 
so many bottles of wine, it was wielded without 
much trouble by our worthy President. How- 
ever, he himself, intent on approaching bliss, 
evidently heeded nothing but to draw forth the 
contents as speedily as possible. He cut the 
cords and lifted up the lid. We could see no 
bottles, nor any straw in which they were likely 
to be concealed. The mayor put in his hand, and 
drew forth a brown paper parcel nicely sealed, 
and addressed to " His Worship." We all 
gathered round him. With anxious trembling 
hand he tore open the parcel, and revealed to 
our astonished view, twenty-four cat's tails, 
together with the head and claws of an old gray 
parrot. In a moment the horrible truth flashed 
on us. We had supped on — but let me pause. 
0! Bullface. 

The whole company was sick in five minutes. 
Never was there a more awful catastrophe. 



The reader may probably ask me, " Pray, Mr. 
Montagu, what were you doing, during all this 
hard fought election ?" That is my secret, which 
I am not at all bound to reveal. I only know, 



274 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

instead of fifty, I got a hundred pounds out of 
the successful candidate, and that was all I cared 
for. Disgusted with myself, and all I had seen, 
I hastened back to London, and made a vow 
that before I would again mix myself in an 
election contest with such dirty fellows as Rooke 
and Hogden, I would beg my bread from door 
to door, even if I had to take my wife and children 
on my back ; or enlist as a soldier, and starve 
honestly on sixpence a day. 



EDWARD WORTLEf MONTAGU. 275 



CHAPTER XXVI. 



"The sword without and terror within, shall destroy both tha 
young man and the virgin." 



During all this time, I had not forgotten what I 
owed to my loved Francesca. I searched the 
peerage books, consulted a lawyer, and made 
enquiries as largely as I could without attracting 
particular attention to either of us. Under my 
incognito of Smith, I was to some extent safe, 
but I did not care much to go into the fashionable 
parts of the metropolis too openly, for I dreaded 
recognition, not only by my mother's friends, but 
by Dom Balthazar, whom I instinctively knew 
to be after me, animated as much by vengeance 
as by thirst of money. My Francesca scarcely 
ever ventured out except in my company. I dis- 



276 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

guised myself so as to be as unlike as possible 
what I had been among the gypsies. It may be 
asked why I did not keep my promise to 
Francesca, to fly with her to my father, and 
replace her in her proper sphere ? The answer 
is — and I know that it is an unsatisfactory one — 
I delayed doing so until I could present her in 
her true character. I plumed myself with the 
grand hope that I should go before Mr. Wortley 
Montagu, and say, " Here I am, I present to 
you as your daughter-in-law, a scion of a most 
noble house. She is all mine, for she loves me 
entirely for myself. She loved me when she 
knew not that I was other than a wanderer." 
This I thought would be at least a part in which 
I should worthily appear. But how could I 
venture before him until the great object of my 
search was accomplished ? To introduce into his 
house a gitana — for in no other light would she 
stand until her true descent was established — 
would be to incense him and his wife against 
both with anunextinguishable fury. Besides, to 
own the truth, 1 did not, particularly desire to face 
him. There was a vagabond independence, an 
erratic Arab sort of freedom in my present mode 
of life that pleased me. For mere animal 
pleasures I did not care much. My father with 
a million at his back, could live on fifty pounds 



EDWARD WOHTLEY MONTAGU. 277 

a year ; why should not I be able to make the 
same boast ? Our garret was neat and modest ; 
we passionately loved each other ; we read, wrote, 
and studied together, fche was delighted — poor 
child — with my scanty earnings. Our treasures 
in that way seemed inexhaustible* My brain 
appeared a golden mine on which 1 could draw at 
will. And then how exquisite a luxury was her 
praise of my works when perfected. One word 
of commendation from her was worth all the 
applause of the critics. Mrs. Sale was enchanted 
with her, as who would not be? She flashed 
upon her like a new star. I repeat there was a 
vagrant charm, a strange eccentric fascination in 
the whole affair, which restrained me from making 
any offer to return home, and though I knew that 
I had outgrown schools and rods, and had no fear 
on that head, still I did not really need Lady 
Mary, her husband, or their splendid home. We 
had love in a garret, and that sufficed for all 
things — let misers and money-grubbers say what 
they will. 

One day when I returned home (we had now 
been about six months in London), Francesca 
told me, with an appearance of strange alarm, 
that she had seen Dom Balthazar pass by, and 
look up at our house. She happened to be at 
the window at the moment, and suddenly drew 

VOL. II. 



278 EDWARD WOKTLEY MONTAGU. 

back, but did Dot venture to look out again to 
observe whether he had stayed to reconnoitre, or 
whether his movement had been anything indeed 
but casual. This information gave me some 
alarm ; yet 1 heeded little that could be done in 
the way of open violence. I was in the middle of 
the metropolis, where it would have been hard at all 
events to perpetrate any great outrage ; or openly 
violate the laws. However, I thought it as well 
to guard against all risk of danger, and we left 
our lodgings the following day, and went into an 
entirely different part of London. We neglected, 
however — as afterwards appeared — one most 
material precaution ; for the person who removed 
our things carried them straight into our new 
dwelling, and we forgot to bribe him into silence, 
or rather we never suspected that our change of 
residence might thus by an active adversary be 
easily traced. We were now happy again. 
Francesca's (ears gradually abated, and I went 
abroad as usual among my coffee-house friends 
and patrons. It happened that I remained there 
one night later than usual. \\ hen I left, it was 
past midnight. I had been detained by the 
buffooneries of that reverend quack Orator, Henley, 
who held forth to an admiring audience of fops 
and witlings in the most extraordinary medley of 
learning, farce, scurrility, and indecency that has 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 279 

been heard since the days of Aretino, or Rabe- 
lais — or to go further back, perhaps Aristophanes 
himself, that mad wag of quality who has so 
many sins against propriety and Socrates to 
answer for. The subject was, I think, " The 
Marriage of Oana in Galilee," and while a large 
portion of the comedy was borrowed from poor 
Woolston, a great deal more was the proper 
lucubration of our renowned tub-Thersites ; 
and loud was the applause which he excited. We 
cheerfully subscribed our sixpence at tbe close, 
and the r.j mntebauk making a low bow, wished 
us all with old Nickolas, who he assured 
us was his proper Metropolitan and Archiman- 
drite, and would gratefully reward us for the 
lessons which we had just learned from his 
accredited clergyman. I walked home part of 
the way with old Colley Cibber, who among 
other profane sexagenerians, had been loudest of 
all the assembled rascals in his applause. He 
was not quite old enough to remember Sir Charles 
Sedley's horrible exhibition of himself in Covent 
Garden, or Rochester's sermon as a foreign quack 
on Tower Hill ; but he had known persons who 
had been present at bo*h, and having heard them 
frequently described, he declared that Henley's 
was a more agreeable treat to all blackguard- 
minded individuals than either; adding he 



280 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

wouldn't have missed it for a score of guineas. 
We parted at a cross street, and I wandered 
slowly homeward. Suddenly I felt myself seized, 
gagged, and bound. I was flung into a hackney 
coach ; two men instantly jumped in after me ; 
a secret direction was given to the driver, and I 
was hurried off with the rapidity of a hunt. The 
night was dark, and we moved so rapidly that 
even had I known my companions, I doubt whether 
I could have recognised them. A passing glimpse 
of light from a dying lamp revealed two faces 
masked. Not a word was spoken We rode for 
about two hours, without once stepping. We 
made a momentary halt at some turnpike gates ; 
but they flew open as if by magic, and we passed 
through unchallenged. At length, when the 
morning gray was almost breaking, we stopped at 
an iron gate ; it opened, and we proceeded up a 
dark avenue. A house with one solitary light 
appeared in the distance. I was brought in, led 
upstairs, and thrust into a bedroom in which a fire 
was burning, screened by an iron-wire guard. A 
light also was hung against the wall, but so as to 
be inaccessible to the inmate of the room. The 
door was locked on the outside, and I was left to 
my meditations. 

My first thought was, of course, home — I do 
not mean Lady Mary's, for that was never a home 



EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 281 

to me — but my true home — the home and house- 
hold of my heart. My wife, Francesca — poor 
child ! I said, what will become of thee ? Alone 
in London — I dread to think. Oh ! let me fly to 
thee ! I rushed to the bed — I tore off the clothes. 
I tied the sheets together in a long knot. I 
rushed to the window. It was fastened down and 
securely barred. All escape that way seemed im- 
possible. I stamped, I thundered against the 
door, the floor. I broke the panes themselves to 
pieces, and shouted aloud through the aperture. 
But no voice answered. My words seemed lost in 
vastness and vacuity. No one came near me. I 
was left to my own reflections. Oh ! how I raved 
and roared. My passion was frightful — but I was 
powerless. I could do nothing. I strove to get 
at the lamp, at the fire, that I might burn the 
house and take my chance of an escape during 
the tumult. But even here I was baffled. In a 
word, I could devise no method of getting out, 
and the agony of thought was worse than mad- 
ness. At length I threw myself on the floor, and 
sobbed myself to sleep. To sleep — aye and to 
dream — but those were nightmare dreams of 
horror. 

I slept about an hour. When I awoke I could 
scarcely think that last night's scene was real. It 
was now day. I started up. I was still dressed. 

o 3 



282 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

I looked around ; the lamp still faintly burned ; 
the fire was expiring slowly. I saw that it was 
all true. I was a prisoner. Why ? Wherefore ? 
This I could not answer. Dom Balthazar occurred 
to me. But why should he imprison me ? This 
was not the way to get a reward from a loving, 
heartbroken, dovelike pair of parents such as I 
had. I rejected the thought. But then was it 
not a contrivance to secure me so as to practice 
against Francesca ? I started to my feet at the 
su^restion. Yes — this it was — this it was — the 
secret was out. T am undone — and she ? — oh ! I 
was like a wild beast. I roared, I raved, I raged 
against my prison. They will decoy her — they 
will bear her away — she will be murdered — and 
I — am powerless. After a wild paroxysm, I must 
have fallen insensible, for when I recovered 
I found food placed near me — bread and water — 
but I regarded it not. The pangs of hunger had 
not yet seized me. My mental sufferings were 
now at fever heat. Reader ! will you believe it ? 
I lay in this place for three whole months. I saw 
no one but servants. I was denied paper, or 
pens, or ink ; to my questions I received no 
answer. At the end of that time I was free. I 
flew as if on wings to the place where I had left 
Francesca, hoping against hope that I should find 
her there. She was gone — the people of the 






EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 283 

house knew nothing of her. She had received a 
letter the morning after I had been seized. She 
sat up for me the whole nigh t-^ poor girl ? — wild, 
wondering, agitated. In the morning a letter 
was brought from Mr. Smith. She opened and 
read it ; she danced with joy. Oh ! I am going 
to him, she said. She dressed and left the house ; 
she had never returned. I rushed upstairs — the 
room was as I had left it. There was the bed un- 
lain on — the withered violets — the little trunk 
which contained our all in the corner — the volume 
of Tasso which she had been reading, open and 
turned down, just as she had left it in her hurry. 
My papers were untouched ; my few books still 
ready for my hand in the usual place. All re- 
minded me of her, and my irreparable loss. I 
looked into the people's eyes for tidings. Alas ! 
they could give none. I felt my heart sicken ; 
my brain turned round. I fell down in con- 
vulsions. 

Five weeks passed. The crisis of my fever was 
gone. In my frenzy I had revealed all — my real 
name and rank — Francesca's rights — my fearful 
sufferings. When I recovered, I was in a room 
which I thought I knew again. A nurse was 
sitting at my bedside. She put her hand to her 
lips and made a sign to be still. I lay down. 
This, said I, also is a dream. It is like my old 



284 EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 

room at Twickenham — but this cannot be. Yet 
it was. For a few days I was better — I rapidly 
recovered. I was well. Lady Mary came into 
my room. She looked at me coldly, and said — 
u So you have come back. We thought you 
were dead long ago. We did not know you had 
been a madman. What do you mean to do with 
yourself?" 



NOTES. 



Note Q. — Chapter XVIII., P. 7l. — Sophia of Halle. 
— During her whole confinement she behaved with no less 
mildness than dignity, and on receiving the sacrament once 
every week never omitted on that awful occasion making 
the most solemn asseverations that she was not guilty of 
the crime laid to her charge. Subsequent circumstances 
have come to light which appear to justify her memory, and 
reports are current at Hanover that her character was 
basely defamed, and that she fell a sacrifice to the jealousy 
and perfidy of the Countess of Platen, favourite mistress of 
Ernest Augustus, George the First's father. Being en- 
amoured of Count Konigsmark, who slighted her overtures, 
jealousy took possession of her breast; she determined to 
sacrifice both the lover and the princess to her vengeance, 
and circumstances favoured her design. 

Those who exculpate Sophia, assert either that a common 
visit was construed into an act of criminality, or that the 
Countess of Platen, at a late hour, summoned Count 
Konigsmark in the name of the princess, though without 
her connivance ; and that on being introduced Sophia was 
surprised at his intrusion ; that on leaving the apartment 
he was discovered by Ernest Augustus, whom the countess 
had placed in the gallery, and was instantly assassinated 
by persons whom she had suborned for that purpose. 

It is impossible at this distance of time to discover and 
trace the circumstances of this mysterious transaction, at 
which no person at the Court of Hanover durst at that time 
deliver his opinion. But the sudden murder of Count 
Konigsmark may be urged as a corroboration of this 
statement, for had his guilt and that of Sophia been un- 



11. NOTES. 

equivocal, would he not have been arrested and brought to 
a trial for the purpose of proving their connection, and 
confronting him with the unfortunate princess ? 

Many persons of credit at Hanover have not scrupled, 
since the death of Ernest Augustus and George the First, 
to express their belief that the imputation cast on Sophia 
was false and unjust It is also reported that her husband 
having made an offer of reconciliation, she jjave this disdain- 
ful answer: " If what I am accused of is true, I am un- 
worthy of his bed ; and if my accusation is false, he is 
unworthy of mine. I will not accept his offer." 

George the Second was fully convinced of his mother's 
innocence. He once made an attempt to see her, and even 
crossed the Aller on horseback, opposite to the Castle, but 
was prevented from having an interview by the Baron de 
Bulow, to whose care the Elector, her husband, had com- 
mitted her. Had she survived his accession, he intended 
to restore her to liberty, and acknowledge her as Queen 
Dowager. He secretly kept her portrait in his possession, 
and the morning after the news of the death of Georire the 
First had reached London, Mr. Howard observed (in the 
antechamber of the new King's apartment) a picture of a 
woman in the electoral robes, which proved to be that of 
Sophia. 

George the Second told Queen Caroline that in making 
some repairs in the Palace of Hanover, the bones of Count 
Koniusmark were found under the floor of the antechamber, 
which led to the apartment of Sophia. The Queen men- 
tioned this fact to Sir Robert Walpole, and in various con- 
versations which she held on this subject, she appeared 
fully convinced of her innocence. — Coxe's Walpole. 

Note R. — Chapter XXIV., P. 207. — Lord 
Chesterfield. — For some years previous to the death 
of George I., Chesterfield had been the favourite 
among many suitors for the hand of his Majesty's 
daughter, by Schulenberg, created in her own right, 
Countess of Walsingham, and considered as \o\vz M her 
father lived, as likely to turn out one of the wealthiest 
heiresses in the kingdom. Her mother wished her to be 
George IPs. mistress, but this was rather too strong, even 
for him. Perhaps also Queen Caroline, who was in all other 
respects so accommodating, thought that her husband 
might do better than with his own supposed half sister. 
George I. opposed himself to the young lady's subsequent 



NOTES. 111. 

inclinations for C, in consequence, it was said, of Chester- 
field's notorious addiction to gambling. She took her own 
way, as ladies usually do, so soon as circumstances per- 
mitted : — Lady Walsingham became Lady Chesterfield. 
Chesterfield's house in Grosvenor Square was next door to 
the Duchess of Kendal's (Madame Schulenberg), and from 
this time he was domesticated with the mother as well as 
the daughter,* The ancient mistress suggested and stimu- 
lated legal measures respecting a will of George I., which 
George II., was said to have suppressed and destroyed, and 
by which, as the Duchess alleged, the late King had made 
a splendid provision for Lady Walsingham ; and at last, 
rather than submit to a judicial examination of the affair. 
George II. compromised the suit bv a payment of £20,000 
to the Earl and Countess of Chesterfield. 

It may be thought unlikely that so utterly selfish a man as 
Chesterfield would take this trouble about an election in the 
country. The following anecdote, mentioned by his biogra- 
pher, will show to what lengths he proceeded for the sake of 

a vote : — "The late Lord R , with many good qualities 

and even learning and parts, had a strong desire of being 
thought skilful in physic, and was very expert in bleeding. 
Lord Chesterfield, who knew his foible, and on a particular 
occasion wished to have his vote, came to him one morning, 
and after having conversed upon indifferent matters com- 
plained of the headache, and desired his lordship to feel his 
pulse. It was found to beat high, and a hint of losing blood 
given. 'I have no objection, and as I hear your lordship 
has a masterly hand, will you try your lancet upon me V 
'Apropos,' said Lord Chesterfield, after the operation, 'do 

you go to the House to-day ?' Lord R answered, 'i 

did not intend to go, not being sufficiently informed of the 
question which is to be debated, but you, who have considered 
it, which side will you be of?' The earl having gained his 
confidence, easily directed his judgment ; he carried him to 
the House, and got him to vote as he pleased. He used 
afterwards to say that none of his friends had done as much 
as he, having literally bled for the good of his country." — 
Life, vol. 1, p. 131. 

» Dr. Maty, Chesterfield's biographer, alluding to this, says t— " He divided 
his time between his business in his own house, and his attentions and duties 
at the other. Minerva presided in the first, and in the last Apollo with the 
Muses." But how came Apollo and the Muses to dwell with old Schulen- 
berg ? Her only companion was George I. transformed into a Haven. 



IV. NOTES. 

This noble lord used to relate the following story, which 
Mr. Carruthers, in his life of Pope, say.- is "incredible." It 
appears almost " incredible " that these fine gentlemen and 
wits should live in such an atmosphere of falsehoods. "I 
went," he says, " to Pope one morning at Twickenham, and 
found a large folio Bible, with gilt clasps, lying before him on 
his table, and as 1 knew his way of thinking upon that book, I 
asked him jocosely if he was going to write an answer to it ? 
4 It is a present,' said he, ' or rather a legacy, from my old 
friend the Bishop of Rochester. I went to take my leave of 
him yesterday in the Tower, when I saw this Bible upon the 
table. The Bishop said to me, "My friend Pope, consider- 
ing your infirmities and my age and exile, it is not likely we 
should ever meet again, and therefore I give you this legacy 
to remember me by. Take it home with you, and let me 
advise you to abide by it." "Does your lordship abide by it 
yourself?" " I do. - ' "If you do, my lord, it is but lately ; 
may I beg to know what new lights or arguments have pre- 
vailed with you now to entertain an opinion so contrary to 
that which you entertained of that book all the former part 
of your life ?" The Bishop replied, " AVe have not time to 
talk of these things ; but take home the book I will abide 
by it, and I recommend you to do so too ; and so God bless 
you.'' "The tenor, tone, and dates of Atterbury's cor- 
respondence," adds Carruthers, "all refute this story." But 
why did Chesterfield invent such a lie ? What was his ob- 
ject in representing the Bishop as a disbeliever in the Bible? 
It makes one think of Dr. Colenso's strange assertion, "that 
all the bishops entertain the same ideas as himsell, but are 
afraid to make them public." A famous scholar and divine 
of the last century, Dr. Middleton, a notorious disbeliever, 
subscribed the thirty-nine articles politically merely to ob- 
tain the living of Ilascombe, though he was a man of good 
fortune, and he thus apologises for it: ''Though there are 
many things in the Church which I wholly dislike, yet while 
I am content to acquiesce in the ill, I should be glad to taste 
a little of the good; and to have some amends for the ugly 
assent and consent, which no man of sense can appro\ 
Heading over these things and considering the crimes which 
are thus daily committed for the sake of a little distinction 
one is reminded of what Pope Urban the Eighth said of 
Cardinal Richelieu, " Se gli t un Dio lo pagara : ma verawente 
se non e Dio e galant no/no." If there be a God, he will pay 
for it; but if there be not a God, he is a fine fellow ! The 



NOTES. T. 

Pope's own language leaves some doubt on the mind whether 
His Holiness himself had any very decided belief. He who 
regards the world as it is can hardly be persuaded that any 
one really believes in a future, though outwardly everything 
goes on, as if there were nothing more certain. 

The " Quarterly Review " (Earl Stanhope probably) in 
commenting on this man's infamous letters to his son, says : 
— "We give Lord Chesterfield full credit for his parental 
zeal and anxiety ; in this respect he was very amiable ; but 
we are afraid he went to his grave — he certainly drew up 
his last will — without ever having reflected seriously on the 
nature of his own dealings with his son's mother, or on — to 
speak of nothing more serious still — the personal, domestic, 
and social mischiefs inevitably consequent on the sort of 
conduct which his precept as well as his example held up 
for the imitation of his own base-born boy. By his will he 
leaves five hundred pounds to Madame de Bouchet, ' as 
some recompense for the injury he had done her.' The 
story we believe to have been this. About a year before 
Chesterfield's marriage, when he was ambassador in Holland, 
he was the great lion, and, moreover, the Cupidon dechaine 
of the Hague. Rome of his adventures excited in a parti- 
cular manner the horror of an accomplished Frenchwoman 
of gentle birth, who was living there as dame de compagnie 
to two or three Dutch girls — orphans, heiresses, and beau- 
ties. Her eloquent denunciations of his audacious practices, 
and her obvious alarm lest any of her fair charges should 
happen to attract his attention, were communicated some- 
how to the dazzling ambassador ; and he made a let that he 
would seduce herself first, and then the prettiest of her pupils. 
With the duenna, at least,he succeeded. She seems to have 
resided ever afterwards in or near London, in the obscurest 
retirement and solitude — cut off for ever from country, 
family, and friends. Five hundred pounds recompense ! 
Five hundred pounds from one of the wealthiest lords in 
England, who had no children — Philip himself had died 
some years before — and whose vast property was entirely at 
his own disposal. It is satisfactory to add that she refused 
the recompense." In the magnificent mansion which the 
Earl erected in Audley Street, you may still see his favourite 
apartments furnished and decorated as he left them — among 
the rest what he boasted of as "the tinest room in London," 
and perhaps even now it remains unsurpassed, his spacious 
and beautiful library looking on the finest private garden in 

VOL. II. P 



u 



VI. NOTES. 

London. The walls are covered halfway up with rich and 
classical stores of literature. Above the cases are in close 
series the portraits of eminent authors — French and English 
— with most of whom he had conversed; over these, and 
immediately under the massive cornice, extend all round in 
foot-long capitals the Horatian lines — 

NUNC VETERUM LIBRI8 NUNC SOMNO ET INERTIBU8 HORI8 
DUCERE SOLICITS JUCUNDA OBLIVIA VIT^E. 

On the mantel pieces and cabinets stand busts of old orators, 
interspersed with voluptuous vases and bronzes, antique, or 
Italian, and airy statuettes of opera nymphs. We shall 
never recall that princely room without fancying Chester- 
field receiving in it a visit of his only child's mother— while 
probably some new victim or accomplice was sheltered in the 
dim mysterious little boudoir within — which still remains 
also in its original blue damask and fretted gold work, as 
described to Madame de Moncouseil. Did this scene of 
" sweet forgetfulnesi '' rise before Mrs. Norton's vision when 
she framed that sadly beautiful episode of the faded broken- 
hearted mistress, reproaching in his library amidst the busts 
of bard, and ora' ors, and sages, the 

" Protestant and protesting gentleman," 

who had robbed her innocence and blasted her life? — 
Quart. Rev., vol 76, pp. 483, 484. 

So far, Earl Stanhope. But his allusion to Mrs. Norton 
is hardly fortunate, as those will say whenever the Autobio- 
graphy of Rosina, Lady Lytton, the most singular, eloquent, 
earnest, and pathetic work in the English language, comes 
to be published, as no doubt it one day will. The writer of 
these notes has read it — read it, he may confess, with tears in 
his eyes, and with the deepest sympathy for a woman of 
wonderful genius. The Duke of Wellington was accus- 
tomed to say when his dispatches were published in their 
entirety, that many statues would come down ; the same 
may be declared when the tragic life of this much injured lady 
shall have been presented to the public. A great many 
false masks will then be pulled off, and the virtuous people 
of our own time will figure in the same gallery with those 
of the apostolic age of George I. and George II. 

Whether Chesterfield, says the writer just cited, had the 
satisfaction of making his filial pupil either a libertine or an 



NOTES. VU. 

infidel we have no sufficient evidence. We suppose there is 
no question that the noble tutor failed in his grand object of 
social elegance, and that as Chesterfield had for his father a 
saturnine Jacobite, so he had a pedantic sloven for his son. 
But we hope these lines, which we take from the fly leaf of 
a friend's copy of the fifth edition of the letters (1774), the 
handwriting unknown to that friend, though he is well 
skilled in such matters, have no merit but their point : — 

" Vile Stanhope— demons blush to tell ; 

In twice two hundred places 
Has shown his son the road to hell, 

Escorted by the Graces ; 
But little did the ungenerous lad 

Concern himself about them, 
For base, degenerate, meanly bad — 

He sneaked to hell without them." 

Of his wife the reviewer says : " Her birth was, according 
to the now obsolete notions of that time, an illustrious dis- 
tinction, to - hich were added a peerage in her own right, a 
handsome : 'tune, the prospect of a great one, and unless 
her painters rivalled her lovers, no common share of beauty. 
In truth, that this tall, dark-haired, graceful woman sprung 
from the amours of a Hanoverian King and a Dutch built 
concubine seems to us, after all, very doubtful. These 
pretensions and advantages, however, were all hers, when 
she selected Chesterfield from a host of suitors ; and cer- 
tainly during the flower of her life and his own, he was a 
most profligate husband." — Quart Eev., vol. 76, pp. 486, 
487. 

It is to be regretted that Lord Stanhope, who could tell so 
much and who has so thoroughly honest a mind, has not 
completed his edition of Chesterfield's letters by a plain 
outspoken memoir of that eminent ornament of our country, 
and his no less excellent friends and conirojmes. 

Note S. — Chapter XXIV., P. 213. — Lord Scar- 
borough. — This man was one of Lord Chesterfield's set. 
He destroyed himself in the most deliberate manner ; being 
in the most perfect possession of his faculties. In the morn- 
ing he paid a long visit to Lord Chesterfield, and opened 
himself to him with great earnestness on many subjects. It 
happened in the course of the conversation that something 
was spoken of which related to Sir William Temple's nego- 
tiations, and the two friends not agreeing about the circum- 
stances, Lord Chesterfield, whose memory at all times was 
remarkably good, referred Lord Scarborough to the page of 



Vlll. NOTES. 

Sir William's memoirs where the matter was mentioned. 
After his lordship's death, the book was found open at that 
very page. His body, in fact, was found surrounded with 
several volumes which he had brought into the room, and 
piled about him with the pistol in his mouth. These 
volumes treated of self-destruction, and it was generally 
reported at the time that his conversation with Chesterfield 
mainly related to a question of a future, and that Chester- 
field ridiculed the notion as being absurd. He was to have 
been married the following day, to Isabella, the widow of 
William, Duke of Manchester, a woman celebrated for her 
beauty. Lady Mary, in a letter to Lady Pomfret, thus 
alludes to the suicide : — " Have you not reasoned much on 
the surprising conclusion of Lord Scarborough. * * I am 
most inclined to superstition in this accident, and think it a 
judgment for the death of a poor silly soul, that you know 
he caused some years ago." Lord Wharncliffe says that 
Lady Kingston, to whom Scarborough b haved with the 
most unfeeling and savage falsehood and cj Ity, is meant ; 
she was Lady Mary's sister. The annotate? has reason to 
believe that his conduct to poor Howe had something also 
to do with his remorse. Had we the whole of Lady Mary's 
correspondence, this matter doubtless would have been 
cleared up. 

" I have discovered," say9 Israel dTsraeli, " that a con- 
siderable correspondence of Lady Mary's, for more than 
twenty years' with the widow of Colonel Forester, who had 
retired to Rome, has been stifled in the birth. These letters, 
with other MSS. of Lady Mary, were given by Mrs. 
Forester to Philip Thicknesse, with a discretionary power to 
publish. They were held as a great acquisition by Thick- 
nesse and his bookseller ; but when they had printed olf the 
first thousand sheets, there were parts which they con- 
sidered might give pain to some of the family. Thicknesse 
says, " Lady Mary had been in many places uncommonly 
severe upon her husband, for all her letters were loaded 
with a scraj) or two of poetry at him. There was one pas- 
sage which he recollected — 



o 



" Just left my bed, a lifeless trunk, 
And searce a dreaming head.'' 



A negotiation took place with an agent of Lord Bute's. 
After some time Miss Forester put in her claims for the 
manuscripts, and the whole terminated as Thicknesse tells us, 






NOTES. IX. 

in her obtaining a pension, and Lord Bute all the MSS. 
Curiosities of Literature. The reader cannot fail to admire 
this arrangement, by which Lord Bute, with £1,350,000 of 
Mr. "W. Montagu's money, does not himself purchase the 
manuscripts of his mother-in law, but makes the British 
public pay for them, by giving a pension to their possessor. 
These letters would have thrown great light on the times and 
their public characters ; no wonder that history has been 
called "a liar;" it is compounded of things that appear to 
the public, but which are wholly different from things as 
they are. 

Thanks also to the zeal of executors ; we know but little 
of the real facts that cause all history; but the external fea- 
tures that seem to cause it we well know. The result is 
perpetual delusion, which seems, indeed, to be the condition 
of all things in this terrestrial orb. The date of the corres- 
pondence with the Forresters is not given. We shall never 
now know the thousand miseries which Lady Mary endured 
with her spouse. In 1722 she was so badly off as to be 
selling her diamonds. Soon after she says, " I run about 
though I have five thousand pins and needles running into 
my heart." I doubt if she ever had a happy clay, for in a 
letter from Rome to Lady Pomfret she says, "If among the 
fountains I could find the waters of Lethe I should be com- 
pletely happy : — 

" Like a deer that is wounded I bleed and run on, 
And fain I my torment would hide, 
But alas ; 'tis in vain, for wherever I run, 
The bloody dart sticks in my side." 

And I carry the serpent that poisons the paradise I am in.'' 
These are not the only memorials of Lady Mary which 
the Butes destroyed. After Lord Hervey's death, his 
eldest son, sealed up and sent her letters to his father, 
with an assurance that none of them had been read or 
opened. The late Lord Orford affirmed that Sir Robert 
Walpole did the same with regard to these she had written 
to his second wife (Skerrett). That dessous des cartes, says 
Lady Louisa Stuart, who had probably seen these letters, or 
hear 1 of ihem from her mother, would here have betrayed 
that Lord and Lady Hervey had lived together upon very 
amicable terms, "as well bred as if not married at all," ac- 
cording to the demands of Mrs. Millimant in the play ; but 
without any strong sympathies, and more like a French 

p 3 



X. NOTES. 

couple than an English one. * * At the time of Lady 
Mary Wortley's return home, Lady Hervey was living in 
great intimacy with Lady Bute. On hearing of her mother's 
arrival she came to her, owning herself embarrassed by the 
fear of giving her pain or offence, but yet compelled to de- 
clare that formerly something had passed betweeen her and 
Lady Mary which made any renewal of their acquaintance 
impossible. No explanation followed. But surely the real 
reason must have been well known to Lady Bute. There 
was no love lost between this beautiful pair. In 1725 Lady 
Mary writes : — " Lady Hervey and Lady Bristol have quar- 
relled in such a polite manner, that they have given one 
another all the titles so liberally bestowed amongst the 
ladies at Billingsgate." * * * Again: "Lady Hervey 
makes the top figure in town, and is so good as to show 
twice a week at the drawing-room, and twice more at the 
opera for the entertainment of the public." * * * Again 
in 1739; "The melancholy catastrophe of poor Lady Letch- 
mere is too extraordinary not to attract the attention of every 
body. After having played away her reputation and for- 
tune, she has poisoned herself. * * Lady Hervey, by 
aiming too high, has fallen very low, and is reduced to try- 
ing to persuade folks she has an intrigue, and gets nobody 
to believe her, the man in question taking a great de 1 of 
pains to clear himself of the scandal. '' There was a Mrs. 
Murray, who was well acquainted with both, and who seems 
to have known a little of Lady Mary. We find the k;ter 
writing about her to her sister in 1726: — "Mrs. Murray 
is in open wars with me, in such a manner as makes her very 
ridiculous without doing me much harm. Firstly, she was 
pleased to attack me in very Billingsgate language at a 
masquerade, where she was as visible as ever she was in her 
own clothes. 1 had the temper not only to keep silence my- 
self, but enjoined it to the person* with me, who would have 
been very glad to have shown his great skill in rousing 
upon that occasion. She endeavoured to sweeten him by 
very exorbitant praises of his person, which might even 
have been mistaken for making love from a woman of less 
celebrated virtue, and concluded her oration with pious 
warnings to him to avoid the company of one so un- 
worthy his regard as myself, lofto, to her certain knowledge. 



• Who was this person? Was it Lord Hervey J — for Mrs Murray was a 
great friend of Lady II., and may have been set upon Lady Mary. 



NOTES. XI. 

loved another man. This last article, I own, piqued me more 
than all her preceding civilities." We are not told who 
this favoured gentleman was. Some short time before, my 
lady had written — " There are but three pretty men in 
England, and they are all in love with me at this present 
writing.'' Mr. Wortley Montagu, senior, was probably not 
one of these "pretty men." One hardly knows whether 
most to pity, to scorn, or to laugh at him. 

The following melancholy picture of Lady Mary is drawn 
by her own hand, under the date 1736 : — 

" With toilsome steps I passed through life's dull road, 
No pack horse half so weary of his load ; 
And when this dirty journey shall conclude, 
To what new realms is then my way pursued ? 
Say then does the embodied spirit fly 
To happier climes and to a better sky? 
Or sinking, mixes with its kindred clay, 
And sleeps a whole eternity away ? 
Or shall this form be once again renewed, 
With all its frailties, all its hopes endued ? 
Acting once more on this detested stage, 
Passions of youth, infirmities of age 
I see m Tully what the ancients thought, 
And read unprejudiced what moderns taught ; 
But no conviction from my reading springs — 
Most dubious on the most important things. 
Yet one short moment would at once explain, 
What all philosophy has sought in vain ; 
Would clear all doubt and terminate all pain. 
Why then not hasten that decisive hour, 
StUl in ray view and ever in my power? 
Why should I drag along this life I hate, 
Without one thought to mitigate the weight ? 
Whence this mysterious bearing to exist, 
When every joy is lost, and every hope dismissed ; 
In chains, in darkness, wherefore should I stay, 
And mourn in prison whilst I keep the key P" 

These verses were given by Lady Mary to Lady Pomfret, 
who sent a copy of them to her correspondent Lady Hert- 
ford. That lady's reply was as follows: — 

" My dear Lady Pomfret, Lady Mary Wortley" s verses 
have a wit and strength that appear in all her writings, but 
her mind must have been in a very melancholy disposition 
when she composed them. I hope it was only a gloomy 
hour, which soon blew over to make way for more cheerful 
prospects. If I had been near her then I should have per- 
suaded her to look into the New Testament, in hopes that it 
might have afforded her the conviction which she sought in 
vain from Tuliy and other authors. She has so much judg- 
ment and penetration, that I am satisfied if the Scriptures 



Xll. NOTES. 

were to become the subject of her contemplation, and if she 
would read them with the same attention and impartiality 
that she does any other books of knowledge, they would 
disperse a thousand mists which, without such assistance, 
will too certainly hang upon the finest understandings." 

Lady Pomfret did not share her correspondent's hopes, 
for in reply she says : — 

M What a pity and terror does it create to see wit, beauty, 
nobility, and riches, after a full possession of fifty years, talk 
that language, and talk it so feelingly that all who read must 
know that it comes from the heart. But, indeed, dear 
madam, you make me smile when you proposed putting the 
New Testament into the hands of the author.'' 

In a subsequent part of the correspondence Lady Pomfret 
sent to Lady Hertford Lady Mary's town eclogue, entitled 
Saturday, in which an altered beauty laments " her disfigured 
face," and both the ladies treat it as descriptive of Lady 
Mary's own case. 

"Nothing," she says, "can be more natural than her 
complaint for the loss of her beauty ; but as that was only 
one of her various powers to charm, I should have imagined 
she would have felt only a small part of the regret that many 
others have suffered in a like misfortune, who having no 
claim to admiration, but the loveliness of their persons, have 
found all hope of that vanish much earlier in life than Lady 
Mary, for, if I mistake not, she was near forty before she 
had to deplore the loss of beauty greater than ever I saw in 
any face but her own." 

Lady Mary was born in 1690, which makes her mishap — 
whatever it was — about 1730. 

After this she always wore a mask. In 1733 Pope pub- 
lished his imitation of the first satire of the second book of 
Horace. In the lines referring to " furious Sappho " we 
read Pope's solution of the mask — one perfectly dreadful to 
think of, but which the poet would surely not have dared to 
print if there had been no foundation laid for it, and no 
corroboration of it in the lady's own personal disfigure- 
ment. 

After she left England she was never seen but in a mask 
and domino. Her visitors were numerous and he allusions 
to them are hardly complimentary. Writing to Lady Pom- 
fret she says, " This is at present infested with English, who 
torment me as much as the frogs and lice did the palace of 
Pharoah, and are surprised that I will not sutler them to 



NOTES. Xlll. 

skip about my house from morning till night." These visitors 
brought back to England strange reports. 

Croker, in the Quarterly Review, alluding to all these 
scandals, says, " Lord Wharncliffe, although he does advert 
to one or two of these stories, appears to be by no means 
apprized how Augean the task would be of clearing Lady 
Mary's character from all the imputations which her con- 
temporaries for half a century concurred in heaping upon 
it. We are not going to rake up all that filth, nor indeed to 
go farther into such questions than the observations of the 
editors lead us ; but we think that a regard for moral justice 
and historical truth obliges us to enter our protest against 
the entire and absolute acquittal which Mr. Dallaway and 
Lord Wharncliffe, both writing under the influence of a 
laudable partiality, are inclined to pronounce upon her whole 
conduct. We abhor, with Lord Wharncliffe, Pope's detest- 
able and unmanly charges — inter politos non nominanda — 
which have eventually done at least as much injury to his own 
character as to Lady Mary's, which constitute the chief 
drawback of his popularity, and will for ever exclude his 
work from the unrestricted perusal of youth and innocence. 
But on the other hand it must be recollected that if Pope 
had dared to make even one — the least — of these atrocious 
attacks on a lady of respectable character, he must have 
been either shut up in a madhouse or a jail, or at all events 
have been punished by total exclusion from society." — Quart. 
Rev., vol. 58, p. 187. 

Note T.— Chapter XXV., P. 226.— The election scene 
described in this chapter, and the observations made by Mr. 
Montagu on the indifference of the House of Commons in 
his day to bribery, while it made loud demonstrations of 
anger against it in public, seem to be as true of our own time 
as they were in the days of George the Second. In the 
Standard report of the Bridgewater Election Commissioners, 
September 24th, 1869, we read as follows: — 

Mr. G. S. Pool then stepped into the witness box. He 
said efforts had been made by gentlemen to put down 
bribery in the town, but so long as the general opinion of 
the House of Commons was what it was, the general opinion 
of the public would be the same. There was a feeling 
abroad now that the House of Commons was not in earnest. 
The feeling was that while this was being probed to the very 
bottom it ought to be probed upwards also (applause). He 
referred to the case of Bristol, and that of some of the 



XIV. NOTES. 

Liberal party of Bridgewater, who went to Mr. Drake, a 
gentleman who had been knighted for services rendered to 
the Liberal party, and said that showed that the Liberal 
party in the House of Commons did look at this offence 
as a thing to be connived at, and until there was a different 
opinion in the House of Commons, it would not be different 
in the provinces. 

Mr. Anstey said it was to be hoped, now they had the 
case of Brogden they would deal with it sharply. 

Mr. Westropp, a former candidate, having said on exam- 
inasion — You know it is no pleasure for a gentleman to 
spend money in bribery. 

The Chairman (Mr. Price, Q.C.) made answer — If you 
ask me if it is any pleasure, I must say I believe some men 
feel it downright pleasure to come down and corrupt a con- 
stituency, as in the case of Mr. Brogden. 

Mr. Anstey — And if Mr. Vanderbyl did not participate in 
that pleasure, he would not have participated with Mr. 
Brogden in doing so. 

Here we have it stated authoritatively, by two of her 
Majesty's Commissioners, that these persons actually entered 
upon the corruption of those unfortunate drunken wretches 
of Bridgewater, as a matter of personal gratification. It 
remains to be seen whether Mr. Pool's words are true or not? 
whether parliament will interfere and punish? whether the 
Lord Chancellor will allow them to administer law and the 
jail from the bench at petty sessions — for we suppose they 
are J. P.'s ? If all goes on as usual will anybody believe 
that bribery is seriously regarded by those who are in 
authority ? 

But will the House deal with any case sharply? It may 
well be doubted. Whigs and Tories are equally debased 
and corrupted. There is hardly an honourable member who 
is not tarred with the brush. Electoral demoralization in 
the present age, seems to have reached the acme of corrup- 
tion. It is appalling to look upon ; and the practices de- 
tailed by Mr. Montagu are now as rife as in the worst days of 
the Georges. What must be the feelings of the bribed and 
beastly constituency of Bridgewater, when they knew that 
their venality has ended in the self-destruction of the late 
Lord Justice Clerk ; and who can read the melaneholy 
termination of this unfortunate gentleman's life without a 
pang of sorrow ? After the burlesque comes the tragedy. 
The following is taken from the Scotsman : — 



NOTES. XV. 



11 The mystery connected with the disappearance of Lord Jus- 
tice Clerk Patton has at length received a very melancholy solu- 
tion in the discovery of his body on Friday afternoon. The dis- 
covery was made in the bed of the river Almond, immediately 
beyond Buchanty Spout, and it is painful to have to add that 
the appearance presented by the corpse fully confirms the worst 
surmises that have been formed as to the manner in which his 
lordship came by his death. Malloch, the Perth boatman, who 
has for the last three days had charge of the exploring party, 
found that the apparatus with which he was supplied was insuffi- 
cient for the thorough examination of the deep pools at Buchanty. 
He accordingly returned to Perth, and provided himself with a 
sand-boat boom or pole, such as is used by the boatmen to propel 
their vessels on the Tay. On his arrival at Glenalmond on Friday 
morning he attached an iron creeper to the lower end of the boom, 
and commenced dragging the river about twelve o'clock. He 
was assisted by Mr Forrest, the overseer at the Cairnies ; and 
a number of the workmen on the Glenalmond estates were em- 
ployed in guiding the boat from which the exploration was 
conducted, by means of ropes stretched from the river banks. 
Attention was in the first instance turned to the deep pool in the 
immediate vicinity of the fall j but at this point the strength of 
the current is very great, and the tests applied duiing the 
early part of the week had satisfied the searchers that there 
was little likelihood of the body being found there. The party 
accordingly worked gradually down the river, but the undertak- 
ing was found to be one of the most tedious and difficult nature. 
On reaching Buchanty Bridge, Malloch became much more hope- 
ful of success. At this point the chasm through which the river 
flows become considerably wider, the strength of the current 
decreases, and a series of whirlpools are formed in deep hollows, 
scooped out of the solid rock. These were in succession examined 
with special care, but the first examination was without result. 
Malloch, however, was satisfied that it was here the body must 
have lodged if it went into the river at the point supposed. 
This impression was strengthened by the circumstance that seve- 
ral of the parties who explored the river on Tuesday and Wed- 
nesday had stated that they thought they felt a yielding sub- 
stance in one of the pools near the centre of the river, about 
ten or fifteen yards below the bridge, and 150 yards from 
Buchanty Spout- It was accordingly resolved to institute a 
second search, and, beginning underneath the bridge, Malloch 
again worked his way slowly down the river. The pool above 
referred to, and which is upwards of fifteen feet deep, ne dragged 
with special care. For more than an hour he continued working 
the creeper over the rock bottom. Weeds, shrubs, and branches 
of trees were brought to the surface, but there seemed not tho 
least indication of the presence of the object sought for. The 
boatman, however, persevered in his exertions, and shortly after 
three o'clock he became convinced that the body lay at the bot- 
tom of the pool. With great care he again dragged his pole 
along the bottom, and in a few minutes he found that he had 
hooked some heavy substance. The catch he had obtained was, 



XVI. NOTES. 



however, the slightest possible, and the greatest caution was 
necessary to prevent the creeper losing its hold. The few spec- 
tators who had collected about the bridge now rushed down to 
the water's edge, and the excitement became painfully intense ; 
but Malloch kept himself perfectly cool and collected throughout. 
Instructing his assistants to keep the boat perfectly steady, he 
proceeded to raise tlie object he had hold of gradually to the 
surface. He had not obtained sufficient hold to enable him to 
lift it perpendicularly, and found it necessary to employ the pole 
rather as a lever to float it slowly upwards. At length 
he succeeded in bringing the object to the surface, but 
at a considerable distance from the boat. It now be- 
came apparent that the object was a corpse, and the 
interest of the bystanders was correspondingly intensified. 
Instead of taking the body into the boat, Malloch deemed 
it advisable to work it slowly towards the water's edge ; and this 
he succeeded in doing, bnt not without considerable difficulty. 
An assistant on the bank straightway grasped the lappel of a 
coat, he in turn being grasped by another person to prevent him 
falling over the sloping bank into the deep pool beneath. Malloch 
thereupon dropped the pole, and springing ashore, got upon the 
point of a projecting rock, and succeeded in bringing the body to 
the land. When examined, it was found to have been hooked by 
the right hand. It had been lying with the face downwards j but 
in rising, it turned slowly round and floated for sometime with the 
face upwards. The forehead was seen to be much bruised,- the 
neck and breast were completely exposed, and there was a cut 
across the throat. It is said that the wound was not very deep ; 
and there seems to have been but little blood upon the clothes, 
which consisted of a suit of black. Besides the injuries described 
there were no other marks upon the body, and the countenance is 
described as having been quite placid and serene. On being 
brought to the bank the body was taken charge of by Constable 
Wilson, of the county constabulary. It was wrapped in a white 
sheet, and conveyed on a stretcher to Glenalmond House, where 
it was placed in one of the bedrooms to await the attendance of 
the proper authorities- Malloch, the boatman was immediately 
driven to Perth, where he communicated his discovery to Mr. 
Jameson, procurator fiscal, and Mr. Gordon, chief constable of 
the county. At a quarter-past five o'clock the Procurator Fiscal 
and Dr. Absolon left Perth, for Glenalmond House, for the pur- 
pose of making a post-mortem examination. 

After the discovery of the body the spot where the razor, case, 
and necktie were found, on Tuesday afternoon was visited with 
renewed interest. It now seemed but too evident that the case 
had been one of suicide, and the whole circumstance pointed to 
the inference that there had been deliberate premeditation. It 
will be remembered that the articles referred to were found on a 
bank overhanging the fall of Buchanty. The deceased appears 
to have advanced to the edge of this bank, which stands about 
five or six feet above the torrent, to have there cut his throat, and 
then allowed himself to fall backwards, instinctively clutching as 
he fell the ash sapling growing on the bank, which was subse- 



NOTES. XVU. 

quently found with bloody finger marks. The body would be 
swept at once into the deep pool below the linn, from which 
it subsequently drifted downwards to the pool where it was dis- 
covered. 

The Right Hon. George Patton was born at Perth in 1803, and 
was consequently in his 67th year. He received his early educa- 
tion at the academy of that city, from which he was sent to the 
University of Edinburgh, and subsequently to Trinity College, 
Cambridge, where he took the English declamation prize. He 
was admitted a member of the Faculty of Advocates in 1828. 
His politics were staunch Conservative, and when Lord Derby 
came into office in 1859 he was appointed Solicitor General for 
Scotland. In 1866 he became Lord Advocate, and was elected 
member for Bridgewater, which lie contested twice at great expense. 
In the same year he was raised to the dignity of Lord Justice 
Clerk in the ruom of Lord Glencorse, who succeeded the now 
Lord Colonsay as Lord Justice General. About the same time he 
was made a member of the Privy Council. 

This gentleman had been summoned by the Commis- 
sioners to explain his connection with the borough and the 
charges of bribery which had been made against him. 
Knowing that an examination would cause such a report 
from the Commissioners as must make his further retention 
of the judicial office impossible, he destroyed himself. A few 
more incidents of this kind, and bribery may become so 
universally odious, that Parliament will be compelled to 
make it, as it ought long since to have been made, a felony, 
punishable by hard labour. 

While these pages are passing through the press we read 
in the papers the following letter descriptive of this noto- 
rious borough. It bears the signature H. Is it possible that 
it comes from Hogden's Ghost ? There is another borough, 
that of Wednesbury in Staffordshire, where every one of 
the atrocities mentioned in Bridgewater, was repeated last 
election, with more than tenfold virulence ; but it escapes 
while B. is ruined. This demonstrates the general humbug. 

TO THE EDITOR. 

Sir, The Liberal press— more particularly the semi-local West 
of England portion of it — is loud in its complaints of the " in- 
quisition," as they please to term it, which is holding its 

terrorism " over the good folk, the " free and independent of 
Bridgewater. While one portion attributes the " terrorism " and 
''inquisition" to the love of power on the part of the Commis- 
sioners, and the opportunity laid open to them of exerting it, the 
other lays it at the door of the Conservative party in general, and 
the bias of the Commissioners in particular. Referring to this 
last agitation (which by its prominence had come more particu- 

VOL. II. Q 



• • • 



XV111. NOTES. 

larly before his notice), Mr. Anstey remarked a day or two ago 
that the fact was that two out of the three Commissioners were of 
Liberal politics. As regards the former, it goes for what it is 
worth. The Commissioners have a public duty to perform, and it 
is a duty of the most unpleasant and onerous description. They 
have each expressed himself as being sick and disgusted at the 
whole affair, and the Chairman has been thoroughly knocked up 
and prostrated by the unceasing toil and hard work. 

The fact is this. The Commissioners inquired first into the 
state of affairs in the Liberal camp in the borough. The Liberal 
members were unseated on petition, and, therefore, it was most 
natural to inquire into the corrupt practices which rendered their 
election void in the first instance. The most gloomy and notorious 
forebodings were only too well realised. A nest of the vilest cor- 
ruption was wnearthed and the most wide-spread and abominable 
villainy brought to light. Now, I do not for a moment wish to be 
considered invidious. The Conservative party was bad. There 
was very little to choose between the one and the other, as far as 
their antecedents were concerned. 

The poor uneducated voters have given their evidence far more 
satisfactorily and honestly than have the " gentlemen "— gentle- 
men, forsooth ! — who have met with such plain and unequivocal 
treatment at the Commissioners' hands. When we 6ee magis- 
trates, town councillors, solicitors, and the leading inhabitants of 
the town prevaricating and quibbling with the questions put to 
them— nay, more, when we see these most " respectable" of the 
people— men of rank and education— stooping to the most paltry 
pretences and meannesses to endeavour to hide their misdeeds, 
when they commit the most unblushing perjury and are forced to 
give tliemselves the lie afterwards ; when we see all this happen 
daily we need feel no surprise at the plain language used by the 
Commissioners. One thing is certain— that did they not express 
themselves strongly they would never get the truth from these in- 
telligent witnesses. It is, after all, to the conduct of these " gen- 
tlemen " that we must attribute all the evils which have come 
upon the constituency. If the " gentlemen," who ought to have 
known better, had not corrupted and attempted the artisans, who 
do not know better it would never have come to pass. Let the 
shame and disgrace accrue to them alone. 

The Commissioners are doing their disagreeable duty con- 
scientiously and fairly. They are showing up vice in its true 
colours, and praising honesty when they come across it. No one 
need complain of their judgment, save those who, by stooping 
to wilful misdeeds, have laid themselves open to its full force. 
The Commission at Bridgewater has taught a good and wholesome 
lesson to every constituency in the kingdom, and it is to be hoped 
they will read, learn, and inwardly digest the same. 
I am. Sir, yours faithfully, 

Bridgewater, Oct. 11. H. 

END OF VOL. II. 



T. C. Newby, 30, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square, London. 



ME. F. TROLLOPE'S NEW NOVEL. 

(Second Edition.) 
In 2 Vols. 

A WOMAN'S ERROR, 



* ' Few writers of fiction have made snch steady progress in their 
vocation as Mr. Trollope, and this, his latest novel will largely in- 
crease his reputation, and help to place his name in the highest rank 
umong the best of our modern novel writers." — Brighton Examinee. 

" One of the very best novels of the day."- Daily Post. 

"This novel will be considered a decided success." — Observer. 

" Smoothly written, and is easy and agreeable reading."— Morn- 
ng Advertiser. 

"In a 'Woman's Error' there is much thoughtful writing, and 

though not as exciting a novel as Mr. Trollope's ' Broken Fetters,' 

t displays more real genius. It will be read with pleasure, and place 

Mr. F. Trollope's name amongst the very best of modern novelists." — 

Messenger. 

" Ladies will read this book, and nine-tenths of them at least will 
like it."— Manchester Guardian. 

" This novel has reached a second edition, and we can fully indorse 
the high praise given Mr. Trollope in the principal London papers. 
It is a pure moral novel, and the story, which is extremely interest- 
ing, is well told, and we defy the most ardent novel reader to discover 
the mystery of the tale, so well is the secret kept, until he or she 
reaches the final chapter. The descriptions of the scenery are as 
graphic and picturesque as those of Sir Walter Scott." — Scar- 
borough Mercury. 



In 3 Vols. 

M A R R I E D . 

By MKS. C. J. NEWBY, 

Author of "Wondrous Strange," "Kate Kennedy," 
"Common Sense," &c. 

" Constructed on Mrs. Newby's laudable system of discarding sen- 
sationalism." — Athenaeum. 

"A lively story smartly told."— Morning Advertiser. 

"We compliment Mrs. Newby on her story. It is well told ; the 
characters are boldly and truthfully sketched, and the lesson taught 
an excellent one." — Liverpool Albion. 

" It will be found both instructive and interesting."— Observer. 

"'Married' must be classed amongst the best of novels. The 
authoress writes to please as well as improve readers, and admirably 
she does both." — Messenger. 

"In endeavouring to raise the tone of thought, we believe Mrs. 
Newby to be doing a great deal of good. This is the kind of instruc- 
tion the world wants, and our author has taken her acknowledged 
place among the purest and best teachers of the day." — Brighton 
Examiner. 

"Mrs. Newby's novels are pure in tone and intention; interesting 
and well written." — Now-a-Days. 



i c 



Pleasantly written."— John Bull. 



"We heartily commend it as worthy of careful reading, and sure 
to bear good fruit." — Standard. 

"The writer of c Kate Kennedy' may always be trusted, and in 
' Married ' she exhibits in a very high degree some of the very be.-t 
qualities of her craft."— Manchester Guardian. 






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